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This is so cute y’all

Yeah, I did another Buck/Tommy-Tevan-whatever ship name-fic!

Buck is finally taking his flight lessons, and of course they go wrong.

Tags: Character Study, Fluff, Whump, Hurt Tommy Kinard, Hurt/Comfort, Angst.

Read below the cut (4,691 words) or on AO3! And this is the song which gave this fic its name.

- Face the fear, grow stronger by the scars -

"Are you sure that's all right?"

Did he sound nervous? Buck let a broad grin appear on his face, if only to prevent this potential impression – he could certainly feel his stomach prickle, and it wasn’t because of Tommy. Tommy, who was sitting next to him looking very relaxed (and handsome), hands in his lap instead on the cyclic.

"Relax, Evan, and focus on what I've explained to you," the pilot returned.

Buck clung to the controls, almost squinting to watch the sky and the lights in the helicopter at the same time, pondering, geez, what was I thinking? He couldn't admit to Tommy that he was scared shitless, nor that he had never actually wanted to take flying lessons. He’d always thought it was a clever and somewhat frivolous metaphor because Tommy had more experience with men. Buck had thought that was some kind of gay code for yes, I want to try that.

Apparently not. Maybe Tommy was playing a prank on him, but even if the guy had a wry sense of humor, Buck didn’t believe he would do something like that. Tommy… he had changed. Or maybe he’d just evolved, had peeled out of his shell to finally show what was underneath. And Buck quite liked that.

That's why he didn't think he needed to pull this off to please Tommy (although he very much wanted to), but to be honest. He'd asked for flying lessons and got them, and it wasn't like him to look for excuses now – even if this was way more literal than he'd thought.

"Pulling up the collective increases the pitch angle of all rotor blades by the same amount," Buck repeated Tommy’s lesson.

"The pitch angle and…?"

"Uh… the… the angle of attack!"

Tommy's satisfied smile made fine lines appear next to his eyes, which caused Buck's stomach to tingle even more – only this time he knew the reason.

"You were paying attention after all, Evan," Tommy said, chuckling. "All right, well done. That's enough for the first time, I think. Watch out, I'll take over."

Tommy had used his connections and actually managed to get one of the training helicopters; these had dual controls allowing the flight instructor to intervene if need be. However, in less than an hour, real student pilots were waiting for the machine, and Buck was already looking forward to feeling solid ground under his feet again.

"All right."

Buck kept his hands on his cyclic, watched the altitude display and waited for Tommy to take over. The pilot’s hands were already on his own controls, and it was only when he nodded to Buck that the latter dared to let go of his. If he had his way, he would never get behind the controls of a helicopter again. That meant he would have to tell Tommy the truth at some point and that he would lose a little bit of coolness in Christopher's eyes, but the thrill just wasn’t worth it. Maybe Buck had also changed – or evolved –a bit. He cared for his life, and Tommy was one of the reasons.

"Fine day for a flight," said Tommy, casting a glance out of the canopy as he flew an extremely elegant loop.

And Buck had to admit that the view was fantastic. They had left the city’s concrete jungle behind, headed east, gliding across the Californian desert. The sparse vegetation beneath the helicopter was a patchwork of green, yellow and brown spots, occasionally adorned by incredibly colorful flowers, and it all looked much more exciting from up here. The same was true for Tommy, though... the telltale extra heartbeat that consistently filled Buck's chest when he looked at the man told him he didn't care where Tommy was. Just as long as he could be next to him. It sure was exciting, dating a pilot, but it didn’t quite explain Tommy’s overwhelming, mesmerizing charisma. There was way more to him than being a great guy with a fascinating job, much underneath, and Buck wanted to get to know these parts.

"Have you ever kissed up in the air, Evan?" Tommy asked abruptly, his smile way too confident.

"Well," Buck countered without flinching, "I'm a member of the High Mile Club, you know."

Tommy let out a good-natured laugh, filling the helicopter’s small cockpit with mirth. It ended abruptly when a warning light suddenly came on, its frantic red flashes announcing something that Buck believed bode no good.

"What's going on?"

Tommy stared ahead, his knuckles white from clutching the cyclic.

"Engine problem," he admitted, when shortly afterwards a signal tone was heard and more controls began to flash.

"Engine," Buck echoed, already feeling a hint of damp palms. "That's... uh, not good, right?"

"Don't panic," Tommy replied with a curt sideways glance that was apparently intended to be reassuring, yet wasn't at all. "If the helicopter's engine fails, autorotation kicks in. Remember? ’T was pretty much one of the first things you asked me."

"With the help of autorotation, we descend in a controlled manner," said Buck, who actually remembered, "and can make an emergency landing."

"Exactly. It's bound to be a bit bumpy, but…"

His words died away in a dull rumble shaking the cockpit.

"That's normal, right?"

By now Buck didn't care if he sounded nervous, the situation was clearly a cause for tension, and Tommy's petrified expression didn't make things any better.

"Autorotation makes for a rough descent," Tommy said, but the steep crease on his forehead was hardly promising. "It's just that…"

Whatever it was, it was immediately forgotten when a huge jolt went through the helicopter. Tommy tore at the cyclic and flipped a few switches, Buck felt them go into a tailspin. His left hand uselessly gripped the canopy, as if he wanted to hold either himself or the whole contraption together.

"Fuck," Tommy cursed, and that's when Buck knew they were really in deep shit.

Tommy grabbed his headset, apparently about to make a distress call – sensible, Buck thought, with a touch of relief – but at that moment the helicopter plummeted several miles. Buck was prepared for it to get bumpy, as Tommy had put it, yet there was no way to prepare for this. Buck's stomach plunged into infinity, and this morning’s sandwich was about to make its way back. The last thing he saw were Tommy's wide eyes, which held no fear, only regret.

———

Later, Buck had no memory of the impact, although it would haunt him in his dreams. Now, however, the high sun stung him hard, it seemed as if it wanted to break through his closed eyelids. He blinked, his vision blurred for a moment, and looked up into a bright blue sky. Such a beautiful day, he thought dazedly, until he wondered why on earth he was lying on the ground. Millions of sharp grains of sand seemed to drill into his back, but there was more, and then reality hit him. The helicopter. They had crashed.

Tommy.

As a first responder, Buck had learned to stay calm. It was just comparatively difficult when it was you, even more so when it was someone you clearly liked. And as much as Buck loved the adrenaline rush, this required a cool head. So he turned his neck very carefully, getting a first overview without moving. Strangely enough, he found himself lying outside the helicopter, he must have been thrown out on impact. So much for seatbelts. The grains of sand, of which there were undoubtedly plenty, turned out to be much less sharp than the splinters from the canopy, piercing his back.

Slowly, Buck sent impulses to his body, bracing for broken bones – he hardly hurt at all, but the human system provided amazing abilities, and he knew pain might come later and be all the more intense. He moved his fingers carefully, felt whether he could move his toes and worked his way from limb to limb. His overall impression was that, apart from a few cuts and no doubt some bruises, he had been incredibly lucky. Fortune favors fools, he thought, and it had probably been extremely stupid to tempt fate with flight lessons. The wreckage of the helicopter, lying overturned on its top and fuming, was witness to that.

The sight shot an extra dose of adrenaline through Buck's veins, and he suddenly felt wide awake. The angle was unfavorable, so he could barely see into the cockpit, but Tommy was certainly not lying out here. If he was still in there... Smoke means fire, Buck thought incoherently, and with a jerk, he ordered his body to straighten up.

Something dripped from his hair down onto his hand, almost hesitantly, and he felt a little dizzy, although he had expected blood. But that didn't matter. His headphones were gone, and as he slowly rose to his feet, he noticed he was missing a shoe –the fucking expensive Nike’s, sure –and his jeans had a few holes that weren't a fashion statement. Buck plucked a slightly larger piece of shard from his lower leg, limping to the wreckage. He prepared himself to simply find an emergency situation, he was familiar with it, he had experienced it hundreds, heck, a thousand times.

But Buck found that nothing could prepare him for this, and that cold fear was eating into his guts. Somewhere in this half-crushed mess of metal was actually Tommy. Frantically, Buck looked at the rest of the helicopter. Was it really on fire? Would the thing explode? Focus, he thought. He couldn't make out the source of the smoke, and as there was no open fire yet, there was need to hurry but not panic. At least that's what he told himself like a mantra in his head.

His bruised knees cracked as he crouched down next to what was left of the cockpit. There was Tommy, and his heartbeat quickened, but a deep breath forced it to calm. Tommy's belts were still intact and had obviously held, because he was hanging in them like a grotesque bat; after all, the helicopter had turned completely on its own axis. A dangerously jagged piece of glass distorted the view, and after Buck had frantically, albeit unsuccessfully, looked around for stones or the like, he smashed his elbow into the glass

without further ado. Then he took off his remaining shoe to remove enough broken pieces to finally get to Tommy.

Tommy's eyes were closed, the left side of his face barely recognizable beneath blood. Buck didn't notice that his hands were shaking as he carefully reached inside, uttering a much too quiet, too insecure "Tommy?" while searching for his carotid artery.

Time stood still, a vacuum of non-time enveloped Buck. His hands were functional, but not his mind, imagining things. Bad things. Buck had perhaps only survived because he had been tossed out of the helicopter as it crashed. And it was a miracle that he only had suffered a few scratches. Tommy, however, hung in his safety belts motionless, his face a peculiar mixture of paleness and blood. Some victims of an accident appeared completely peaceful but were already dead, some did not even reveal their previous agony. Others seemed lucky, happy to have survived a disaster yet died shortly afterwards from a brain haemorrhage.

It was all so wrong, so unfair; one heartbeat long, Buck felt the fearful knot in his stomach turn to rage. He was hot and cold at the same time, completely unrelated to the merciless sun. Worry, he knew, was a monster devouring the mind. But the sensation that rose up inside him, enveloping him from his toes to the tips of his hair, turning his guts inside out, making his nerves tingle... it was more than ordinary worry. His feelings were familiar, to a certain extend. He had already experienced this kind of fear, this vault of anxiety, with his friends, his family of the 118.

But this was different, and it was so strange. It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? Tommy and he barely knew each other, two dates and a surprise kiss hardly justified that claim. There was nothing between them yet, nothing worthy of a name, right? Everything was still new, unknown, and yet... Damn, I still don't know how you like your coffee, he thought. I know what your lips taste like, but not your skin. What's your favorite movie, Tommy? Does your hair curl up in the morning? Buck knew nothing of the sort, and probably not much at all, but he knew one thing: he wanted to find these things out.

Buck's eyes widened in surprise when his fingers finally found the artery. Tommy’s pulse was faint, not quite steady; a trapped, restless bird under his equally uneasy grip. It didn’t matter, he was alive, a beating heart can heal, one of his grandmother's many sayings.

"I’ll manage," Buck said, mostly to convince himself, "we'll get out of this."

They would. Even if he didn’t exactly know where they were, other than somewhere in the Californian desert, less than an hour from the city, not the best conditions for an… Emergency call. Realization hit Buck like a bolt of lightning. It didn't matter that he didn't know where they had crashed, his phone could be tracked via GPS. The helicopter had surely been detected by air traffic control, the crash presumably also been registered. They were in the middle of nowhere, no roads to be seen, but the situation was far from hopeless.

Buck quickly changed his mind when he couldn't find his phone in the pockets of his pants, no matter how much he fumbled. First the shoe, then the phone; Buck clearly remembered how his mother had scolded him as a child when he had lost something. Not my fault, he thought, it was never really my fault. Nevermind, there were still options, weren't there? The helicopter's communication system, or Tommy's phone… Tommy. Buck almost slapped himself in the face to call himself to his senses. First things first. Saving lives was much more than his job, and right now, right here, he desperately wanted to save a life. He shook his head to ease the slight fog in his brain and took stock of the situation.

No tools, not even a simple pocket knife. Buck looked at the belts Tommy was attached to, and he had the absurd thought that he was prepared to bite through it, every single damn thread, if he had to. But of course he didn't have to. His gaze fell on the shards he had smashed himself, and a small, wry smile flickered across his face.

Despite all his care and caution, the shard he had chosen cut into his hand while he was working on the belts. Buck hardly noticed; he was concentrating on cutting the fabric, while at the same time checking again and again whether it would cause Tommy to slip. But that didn't happen, the angle at which the helicopter had touched the ground ensured that the pilot was reasonably safe even after removing the straps. Well, as safe as you could be when you were forced to sit upside down, anyway, and Buck knew it was time to change that.

"I'll have you in a minute," he said, as confidently as he allowed himself to be.

Carefully observing the still unconscious Tommy, Buck patted him down, looking for obvious injuries, open wounds, fractures, and any hints on internal bleedings. Only when he was reasonably sure that Tommy would survive the change of position – and actually he wasn't, but he had no choice – did Buck set about carefully pulling the man from his seat.

———

Grains of sand stuck to Buck's skin, cutting into it almost as much as the numerous shards, and the craziest infection scenarios popped into his mind when he had finally managed to free Tommy from the wreckage. He repeatedly checked his pulse and breathing, mumbled a few words, which again were only meant to calm himself down, and turned to the helicopter.

Amidst the endless, yellow stretch of sand with its occasional dabs of sturdy plants, the jumble of steel and shattered glass looked almost grotesque. A too-big insect that had fallen on its back and would never get up again. The flight school would probably not be happy. Buck stroked his forehead thoughtfully, felt the edges of a laceration and painfully came back to reality. He cast a hesitant glance at Tommy, but then tore himself away and cautiously approached the wreck. The smoke could probably be seen for miles, which was good, but as far as Buck could tell, there was no active fire. A smoldering fire, which bought him time. Those usually sizzled for a long time, and there was nothing he could do about it anyway. As long as they didn't directly breathe in the fumes, they were fine.

Well, fine. For the first time, Buck considered the possibility he might have suffered a concussion, but Tommy was clearly worse off, and that was for him to deal with. He dropped into the sand next to Tommy to examine him more closely. Strangely enough, he appeared... well, almost undamaged. Apart from the blood on his face and his obvious unconsciousness, of course. Very carefully, Buck cupped Tommy's chin, turned the bloody side to get a better view, and found a nasty but mostly harmless laceration near his ear. If they were found in time, and if someone with excellent suturing skills was called in, it would probably only leave a very inconspicuous scar.

Hen’s good at suturing, Buck thought wistfully, but this kind of memories needed to be pushed away. Yes, perhaps he felt something like… homesickness for the 118 because he was in a situation where he could normally rely on an excellent team. But he was neither helpless nor clueless.

"I got this," he assured the unconscious man in the desert sand. "They’ll soon find us, maybe even the 118, wouldn’t that be fun?"

Well, not exactly fun, but a relief nonetheless. Buck remembered Tommy's candor, in his kitchen, when he had admitted that he envied the team's closeness and familiarity. That was true, absolutely; Buck was convinced that Bobby would personally rush the firetruck across the desert if he had a chance to help him. And it was weird to realize that there was someone who felt like he had only a few years ago. Someone who believed that he didn't belong. Someone like Tommy, who was strong on the outside, didn't dare show a weakness, pretended to be something just to keep up appearances. But he had changed. He had opened, just like Buck had to. Because he had realized that this kind of honesty, as corny as it sounded, opened hearts.

It had certainly opened Buck’s.

The hairs on his arms stood up as he realized. That is, he didn't quite realize it yet, but there was something inside him that clearly told him he was on the trail of something big. He looked at Tommy, thinking, oh. They didn't have anything fixed yet, he hadn't even dared to think of Tommy as his possible boyfriend. But what was rising up inside him went beyond any usual concern for a good friend.

A lot of this was new. The feeling was irritating, almost painful, and at the same time it enveloped him like a cosy blanket. Buck knew passion, crushes and deep connection, and all of it felt different. And yet… Now was not the time, and Buck sensed that this feeling inside him was precious. A treasure that was better guarded before it was shown to anyone.

He turned back to Tommy, and now he noticed that his right hand was swollen. Buck carefully touched Tommy’s wrist and immediately felt that it was broken. The pilot had gripped the cyclic so tightly that the force had shattered his wrist at impact. But even that didn't explain why he was unconscious. Of course, it could just have been the impact itself; the forces acting on the human body at such speed were enormous.

Buck had a very clear idea of what injuries were possible, most of which did not have to be visible on the outside. This knowledge was both a blessing and a curse, but right now, it was a hindrance. Because this was Tommy, and the fact that Tommy was injured made Buck's stomach drop to infinity. So much could go wrong. So many ways to miss an opportunity that Buck desperately wanted. So many chances to feel warmth instead of this clamminess when he put his fingers on those cheeks.

He kept his fingers on Tommy's cheeks for a while longer, because what could he actually do? Apart from sheer will and the oppressive knowledge in his head, he had nothing to help Tommy, and that tugged at his nerves. So much so that he felt it physically. Or was that... Electrified, Buck leaned over Tommy, staring at him as if he could see through him, could see his innermost being and understand what was going on.

What was actually going on was simple and yet extremely longed for: Tommy opened his eyes.

———

"'Sup?" he slurred, and relief seemed to pour out of Buck's every pore, so much so that he began to tremble without really realizing it.

The pilot’s gaze was not completely focused, but clearer than one might expect. Buck was so close to him that he could make out tiny speckles in Tommy's eyes, and he placed that information deep in his brain before pulling back a little.

"We crashed," Buck explained, "and it wasn't my fault. I mean, uh, that's probably important for insurance or something."

"Are you saying it was my fault?" Tommy asked, blinking.

"What? No, no way, right before the crash you said something about the engine... wait, y..you're kidding? Now?"

"Now is as good as any time, Evan," Tommy said softly, and Buck's heart went into a big but very pleasant stumble. "Are you okay?"

"Me?"

Buck's exhale was half a laugh, and it must have been contagious, because the corners of Tommy's mouth went up, though he inhaled sharply a moment later.

"Easy," Buck admonished him sternly, "I don't know what's going on yet."

He repeated his palpation, tapping and stroking Tommy's skin, repeatedly asking if this or that hurt. Aside from bruises, cuts, and the broken hand Tommy was regarding with pursed lips, he seemed fine, at least until Buck got to his abdomen.

"Oh," Tommy muttered, as if surprised himself that this felt anything but good.

"Here, left side?" Buck inquired, yet Tommy's pained face told him enough.

Pressure-sensitive abdomen, stiff muscles… Buck's lips were dry, the sun added to it, but he gulped hard.

"Do you feel dazed, confused? Anything else? Blurred vision?"

"I see exactly what I need to see," Tommy said, perhaps a touch too dreamy for Buck's taste, even if it was flattering.

"Wrong time, I guess," Buck said, but he couldn't suppress a small, if shaky grin. "You might have injured your spleen."

"Happens," Tommy replied, seemingly unimpressed, but Buck saw through that facade by now. Then again... was it really that Tommy didn't want to show any weakness even now, or was he so confident that Buck had things under control?

"When will they be here?" Tommy asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Emergency services. Do you have a concussion, Evan? You've got blood on your face."

"I have blood on my face?"

It wasn't funny at all, but a dry, harsh laugh escaped him. Then he remembered.

"I've lost my phone. Maybe the helicopter's coms are still working?"

Buck cast a doubtful glance at the wreck, but Tommy slowly shook his head.

"Shortly before the crash, I tried to send mayday, but the radio had failed just like the engine. It's a miracle we're still alive, Evan."

"A miracle," Buck echoed, filled with strange satisfaction. He had defied death once before, he wasn't going to let this stop him after all.

"But," Tommy continued, his still unsteady gaze searching Buck's, "air traffic control had us on their radar, they noticed the crash. We’ll be found even if the GPS has failed, and that is very unlikely."

"As unlikely as a crash despite autorotation."

"Fair."

"I just wish there was something I could do," Buck said, his voice displaying his restlessness – he always felt this way when he wasn’t able to act.

He took another look at the wreckage of the helicopter, and this time something caught his eye. Tommy had been wearing a hoodie with the flight school logo when they'd met at the helipad – it seemed like days ago now, but probably two or three hours at most. However, he had taken it off before the flight, stowing it somewhere behind the seat. Technically, the garment was still behind the seat, except everything was upside down now, and the hoodie had fallen towards the ceiling. Buck quickly grabbed it, pulled it out and finally placed it on Tommy's chest and stomach.

"There you go. Keeping warm is important in case of internal injuries."

"We're in the desert, Evan."

"Right, but we don't want you to go into hypovolemic shock, better safe than sorry, Tommy."

"Don’t worry." Surprised, Buck realized that Tommy had grabbed his hand. "You're doing a great job. I'm not exaggerating, and I'm not flattering you, Evan Buckley, but I'm glad I'm here with you, in this mess."

"Really?"

Buck felt his face brighten, and he hid neither relief nor pride behind a mask of equanimity.

"Really. I mean... what kind of story is that? Just imagine that. We crashed, and my boyfriend saved me, and we both survived."

"Your… your boyfriend," Buck returned, stunned.

"Evan. Don't tell me you don't want this. I'm badly hurt, remember. Don’t hurt me even more."

Buck was thinking a lot of very confusing thoughts at that moment, but he heard the faint undertone of uncertainty, he saw the hint of vulnerability in Tommy’s face.

"I mean," Tommy added, "it's a bonding thing, isn't it? Two dates and a crash are enough for me to know what I want, Evan."

His gaze became searching, and Buck understood, and he could only hope that despite everything, he now radiated that confidence that Tommy obviously craved as much as he did. Tommy wanted him. Him, in fact, not the ideal image of a guy, not an exciting fireman, not a sex-addicted braggart. Himself, under all the layers, with all his experiences and the ones he was yet to have.

"I like it," he said quietly. "And I'll find out how you like your coffee, just wait and see."

Tommy's laugh came a little raspy, which was quite unsettling. Still, it was a laugh, and Buck liked the sound and what it did to the little wrinkles next to Tommy's eyes.

"You don't have to make an effort for that. It's quite simple, I like my coffee…"

His voice trailed off as his gaze became distant.

"Tommy?" Buck inquired anxiously, mentally going over the numerous complications that could happen.

"I... say, do you see that?"

"See what?"

Buck turned his head and looked out into the endless expanse, nothing but brownish yellow and green speckles, and he thought he had no idea what to do if Tommy's condition worsened now. But way back there, there was something else, a different color, and it reminded him of...

"A... a fire engine, I think," he stammered.

A fire engine racing through the middle of the desert, far away from any road or trail. And Buck couldn't help but think of Bobby and the crew, he almost knew it was them.

"You see? It's all gonna be fine, I told you," said Tommy.

"Did you? Hm. Wait. You were just about to tell me how you like your coffee."

"Yes, but I think you should find out for yourself, Evan."

I will, Buck thought, and he smiled.

#fic rec #911 #9-1-1 #911 fanfic #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley

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