This Is Love

Tommy Kinard in 9-1-1 → 7x06

tommy getting cozy on that couch with the tiny blanket, feet uncovered

sleepy voice as he listens to buck tell the story of billy boils, while he barely clings to consciousness, he still recognizes when buck says the same thing twice

and then the next morning he lets buck sleep in while he prepares breakfast in bed armchair for him

and as buck wakes up, sits up and takes off his hood we can see another blanket on the couch that wasn't there the night before... looks like someone got up during the night and saw his boyfriend covered with the tiniest blanket in the world and got him a second one 🥰

first kiss (longer version) 911 | bucktommy clips | masterlist

Just a guy looking at his ex-boyfriend

7x05 / 8x05

This is the same picture

groomzilla buck for a prompt

“What is this?”

“Lilies.”

“I know what kind of flowers they are, Enrique, I'm wondering why they're in front of me.”

“For the wedding,” Enrique replied with a shrug.

Buck stared down at his clipboard, lips pursed, nodding slightly before looking back at Enrique. “We talked about ranunculus and peony in ivory and coral peach. There was nothing said about lilies.”

“I know Mr. Buckley, but these lilies are beautiful and they would cost you less-”

“No no no no,” Buck interrupted. “I don't want lilies. Lilies stink. Lilies smell like a funeral. I do not want my wedding to contain the smell of death, Enrique!”

Tommy and Eddie stood in the kitchen, watching the interaction happening in the living room from a distance.

“Should we be doing something?” Eddie asked.

“Probably,” Tommy answered.

Eddie looked over at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Oh, this one's all you, Bud. I took care of the caterer yesterday.”

“You're the one marrying the guy.”

“You're his best man.”

Eddie put his hands on his hips, puffing his chest slightly. “Coward.”

Tommy matched his posture. “Scaredy-cat.”

Eddie shot him a glare, then held his hand out in a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Tommy sighed. “Fine. But not a best of three this time. One chance.”

“Deal.”

Tommy counted to three and they held out their hands. Tommy paper, Eddie rock.

“Damn it!” Eddie exclaimed, a grin on Tommy's face.

“Shoo, shoo,” Tommy said, “Go on. I can't afford to lose a third florist.”

Reluctantly, Eddie made his way over to Buck. It seemed to be perfect timing, as Buck was starting to go into a detailed history of floral arraignments and why his choice was superior to anything Enrique thought would be a good idea.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie began, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him away from Enrique.

“What is it, Eddie? I'm busy.”

“Yeah, I can tell. I just needed to talk to you about the suits that I and the other grooms-people will be wearing.”

Buck's eyes widened. “What do you mean? Is something wrong with the suits? Are they the wrong color? Light peach with black, double breasted. Eddie, it's supposed to compliment Tommy and I's black suits,” he continued, starting to panic. “Please, tell me there is nothing wrong with the suits!”

“Oh my God, Buck! Cool it!” Eddie exclaimed. He should have known better. “There's nothing wrong with the suits.”

Buck brought a hand to his chest, breathing deeply. “Thank God.”

As Eddie continued to distract Buck, Tommy made his way over to Enrique. The poor man's hands were shaking as he fiddled with the floral arraignments.

“Enrique,” he began, his voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you for all the help you've given us over the last couple weeks. I know you've had to put all this together rather quickly.”

“Yes, Mr. Kinard, thank you. I do appreciate you.”

“And I know my fiance can be-”

“Scary.”

“-a lot to handle, but he really means well. I'll make you a deal, Enrique. You give Evan the flowers he wants, and I'll give you a tip so large you'll be able to afford that trip to Yosemite with your wife that you've been saving up for.”

Enrique's eyes lit up, a smile rising on his face. “Are you sure, Mr. Kinard?”

“I promise. Now, I am going to need you to do one more thing.”

“Yes, Sir, anything!”

“I'm gonna need you to leave before Eddie loses Evan, okay? Judging by the look on his face, you're only safe for like twenty more seconds. I will bring your flowers back to your shop later this evening.”

“Oh, um, yes!” Enrique replied, already heading for the door. “Thank you, Mr. Kinard.”

“No, thank you, Enrique.”

Buck realized Enrique was leaving just as he opened the front door and headed out. “Hey!” he yelled, starting after him. “Hey, excuse me!”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender, going back to the kitchen to eat the cake samples Buck rejected from the baker.

Tommy managed to get a hold of Buck's arm, stopping him from following Enrique out of the house.

“Tommy, I gotta-”

“It's been taken care of, Evan,” Tommy assured him.

“Wha... How?”

“I asked nicely.”

When Buck opened his mouth to argue, Tommy stopped him by pressing their lips together. Buck instantly melted into the touch, maneuvering himself until he could wrap his arms around Tommy's waist, clipboard still in his hand. Tommy brought his own hands up to cradle Buck's face, deepening the kiss.

“Y- You can't keep getting away with that,” Buck said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to speak.

“Getting away with what?” Tommy asked with a smirk.

“Calming me down with kisses.”

“Now that's a major accusation, Mr. Buckley-Kinard.”

“Ugh!” Buck whined. “You know how weak that makes me too.” He pulled Tommy close again, kissing him more passionately this time.

When he froze suddenly, Tommy opened his eyes. “What'samatter,” he mumbled against Buck's lips.

Buck disconnected himself from Tommy. “Wait a minute,” he said, quickly moving toward the kitchen. “Eddie, I swear to God you better not be eating the cake rejects! I have to write the baker a detailed explanation as to why all his options are insane!”

“Tommy!” Eddie yelled, his mouth full. “Come save me! Bring your lips!”

Sad no 911 day to those who are mourning it 😞

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!! 🔥