Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

EIGHT YEARS AGO...

Bobby hadn’t planned on saying yes when Buck asked him to the Springsteen concert. But Buck’s eyes had lit up with this earnest excitement—half nostalgia, half plea—and Bobby, despite himself, had nodded.

“You sure you want to go with me, Cap?” Buck had asked, teasing. “Not exactly your usual company.”

Bobby had smiled then, warm but measured. “Maybe not. But I think you and I could both use the music.”

The concert was electric. Springsteen’s voice rang out over the crowd like scripture, rough and full of longing. Buck threw himself into it completely—eyes shining, mouth open in pure joy, shouting lyrics like confessions. Bobby stood beside him, watching the way Buck lived every beat like it belonged to him taking a drink from a beer, Bobby didn't know he had gotten.

Afterward, they walked the short distance to the hotel, still humming Born to Run. Their arms brushed once or twice. Neither pulled away.

Upstairs, in the quiet glow of the room, they stood by the window, watching taillights snake through the dark below.

Buck leaned on the railing and said softly, “You ever feel like... like you only exist in moments like this? Like the rest of the time, you’re just—faking it?”

Bobby looked at him for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know that feeling.”

Buck turned to face him, expression raw. “Feels real right now. You feel real.”

Bobby stepped closer, slowly. “Buck.”

Buck’s breath hitched. “Yeah?”

“If you kiss me right now,” Bobby said, voice low and steady, “I need you to be sure it’s what you want. Not just adrenaline or… confusion. I won’t let this be something you regret.”

Buck didn’t move away. His hand came to rest just lightly against Bobby’s chest. “It’s not confusion,” he said, quiet but certain. “It’s you.”

Still, Bobby waited. Gave him the space to change his mind.

Buck leaned in first.

The kiss was tentative at first—soft, almost uncertain—but it deepened slowly. They moved together with a hunger neither had expected, but just when Bobby’s hands slid to Buck’s hips, he pulled back, breathing heavy.

“Wait,” Bobby said. “Are you okay?”

Buck blinked, lips kiss-swollen, a flush on his cheeks. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m not gonna take advantage of you, Buck,” Bobby said. “I don’t care if you think you’re fine. If you’re unsure at all, we stop. I need that to be clear.”

Buck swallowed, eyes searching Bobby’s. “I’m sure. I want this. Want you. Been trying not to want it since my second week at the station.”

Bobby let out a slow breath and touched Buck’s cheek gently, reverently. “Then let’s take it slow.”

In the bed, under dim lights and the lingering hum of a night full of music, they undressed each other carefully. Every touch was a question. Every sigh, an answer.

More than once, Bobby paused, eyes meeting Buck’s, asking silently: Still okay? Still want this?

Every time, Buck responded with soft touches, quiet yeses, and a kind of vulnerable honesty that left Bobby breathless.

After, Buck lay curled into Bobby’s chest, fingers drawing idle patterns over his skin. Bobby kissed the top of his head and whispered, “If you change your mind tomorrow, we never have to speak of it again. You’ll still be Buck. I’ll still be here.”

Buck shook his head against him. “I’m not going to regret this.”

Bobby stayed awake for a long time, listening to Buck breathe. The music had faded, but the echo of the night still lingered between them—steady, quiet, and real.

THE NEXT MORNING...

The early light spilled through the cheap hotel curtains, casting soft gold across the room. Buck stirred, warm and drowsy, stretched out on tangled sheets that still smelled like Bobby’s cologne and the ghost of last night’s electricity.

But the space beside him was cold.

He sat up slowly, blinking sleep from his eyes.

Bobby was by the window, shoulders tense, shirtless and the sweatpants he’d pulled on sometime after they’d come down from the high. His arms were crossed. He didn’t turn around when Buck said softly, “You been up long?”

Bobby exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t really sleep.”

Buck swung his legs off the bed and padded over. “Because of me?”

That made Bobby turn. His face was shadowed with something heavier than fatigue—remorse.

“Buck… last night shouldn’t have happened.”

Buck stilled. “Why?”

“Because you’re young. New. Still figuring yourself out. And I—” Bobby looked away, voice raw. “I was supposed to look out for you, not take advantage of you in a moment when your guard was down.”

Buck stepped closer, calm but deliberate. “You didn’t take advantage of me.”

“Even if you think you meant it,” Bobby said quietly, “that doesn’t mean you didn’t feel pressured. I’m your captain. You might not have felt like you could say no.”

“I said yes, Bobby,” Buck replied, eyes locked on his. “Not just once. Every time you paused, I said yes. Every time you checked in, I looked you in the eye and told you I wanted you.”

“You were emotional. That concert—what we shared—”

“Yeah, it meant something,” Buck cut in gently. “It wasn’t just about the music. It was you. It is you. And if you need me to prove that, I will.”

There was heat now, low and simmering between them, but it didn’t burn like recklessness. It burned like truth.

Buck stepped into Bobby’s space, crowding him slightly. His hand reached up, thumb grazing Bobby’s jaw. “I haven’t stopped thinking about touching you since the second week I met you. And last night? You made me feel… seen. Safe. Wanted.”

“Evan—”

“No.” Buck’s voice dropped, low and sure. “You don’t get to rewrite this as a mistake just because it scares you.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Bobby’s neck, just below the ear. “Let me show you I meant every second of it.”

Bobby’s hands found Buck’s waist automatically, but he held back. “We shouldn’t—”

Bucks fingers teasing the skin of Bobby's waist. “Then tell me to stop.”

Bobby didn’t. He couldn't.

Buck smiled against his throat, voice husky. “That’s what I thought.”

The kiss that followed was softer than the night before, but more certain. Bobby let himself feel it this time—Buck’s hands on him, confident and reverent. Not because he was drunk on the moment. Not because he felt obligated. Because he wanted him.

They didn’t rush this time. Buck pushed Bobby back onto the bed and followed, every movement slow, deliberate. There was nothing frantic about it. Only reverence. Permission. Connection.

And afterward, when Bobby’s breathing evened out and he finally, finally let himself rest, Buck curled in beside him, one arm slung across his chest.

“No regrets,” Buck whispered.

Bobby ran a hand over Buck’s hair, eyes closed, voice quiet.

“Not a single one.”...

PRESENT DAY...

The suit didn’t feel right.

Buck stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the tie for the third time, trying to smooth out wrinkles that didn’t exist. His hands moved automatically, but his mind was miles away — somewhere between the past and a silence that still hadn’t settled in his chest.

Behind him, Tommy leaned in the doorway, tie in hand, eyes steady. “You okay?” Tommy said kissing his neck.

Buck let out a breath, sagging against Tommy's chest. “Not really.”

Tommy didn’t press. Just nodded, stood behind him, and took over the tie with practiced ease.

Buck watched their reflection — his own red-rimmed eyes, Tommy’s quiet steadiness. It was surreal, preparing for Bobby’s funeral like it was just another day. Like the world hadn’t cracked open.

“I keep thinking about that concert,” Buck murmured.

Tommy stilled for a second. “Springsteen?”

“Yeah.” Buck gave a small, sad smile. “Anaheim. My probie year. Bobby went with me. I think half the reason I invited him was because I knew he’d say no.”

“But he didn’t.”

Buck shook his head. “He didn’t. He watched me like I was a song he didn’t know how to stop playing.” He paused. “We spent the night together. Nothing ever came of it after that — not officially. We didn’t change how we worked together, never talked about it again. But it stuck.”

Tommy didn’t look surprised. “He told me about it. After it happened.”

That made Buck turn, blinking. “He did?”

“Not the details, obviously. Just that… he was thinking about you. That something about you got under his skin in a way he hadn’t let anyone in a long time. He was scared, Evan. Not because of you. Because he felt something real, and he didn’t want to take something from you that you didn’t mean to give.”

Buck’s eyes burned again. “He didn’t. I gave it freely.”

Tommy nodded. “I know.”

They stood in silence for a moment, tie finally neat, the weight of memory thick in the air.

“I remember him standing by the window the next morning,” Buck said softly. “He thought he’d crossed a line. Thought I felt coerced. I told him I didn’t, a hundred times. That I wanted him. But he still couldn’t forgive himself. And now—” His voice broke. “Now I can’t even tell him again.”

Tommy rested a hand on his shoulder. “You already did. In the way you looked at him every damn day. He knew.”

Buck closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and nodded.

A few minutes later, they left the apartment together. The city was quiet in a way that felt almost reverent, as if it knew it was mourning someone it couldn’t replace.

As Buck walked into the church with his head high, the notes of Dancing in the Dark played quietly in his memory — not the stadium roar of it, but the version in the hotel room. Muffled, soft, half-hummed into skin.

It wasn’t just a memory. It was a part of him now. Something Bobby had given him, and something Buck would carry, always.

Tommy held him while he cried.

Chapter Text

8 years earlier...

A diner in Echo Park, early morning

The sun was barely up, casting a dull orange hue over the vinyl booths and chrome edges of the diner. The place was mostly empty — just an old man in a corner reading the paper, and the waitress refilling decaf like it was lifeblood. Bobby sat across from Tommy, two steaming mugs between them.

Tommy took a sip of his black coffee — no sugar, no cream, just the way Bobby always remembered. “Cap, what’s up? What did you want to meet for coffee for?”

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward the window. “I need some advice,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy tilted his head. “Why are you whispering? We aren’t near anyone.”

Bobby exhaled, hands curled around his own mug. He looked down into it, like he could find clarity in the steam.

“It’s about Buck,” he said finally. “About last week, after the concert.”

Tommy leaned back slightly. “Okay.”

“We got back to the hotel, and… one thing led to another.” Bobby shook his head. “No, that’s not fair. He kissed me first. Told me he wanted it. I asked if he was sure. He said yes.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed just slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t drink. I was sober. We were talking for hours, and it just… it felt like we were the only two people in the world. He was looking at me like I was his safe place. And I wanted to be.”

Bobby paused, the silence between them filled only by the low clink of plates from the kitchen.

“I need to know what you think,” he added finally. “If I crossed a line. If I let something happen that shouldn’t have.”

Tommy set his mug down slowly. “Do you regret it?”

Bobby looked up. “No. That’s the worst part. I don’t. I care about him. Not in some temporary way. It’s... been creeping up on me, and that night just brought it out into the open.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment, nodding slowly. “Do you think he regrets it?”

“No,” Bobby said. “He’s been... light. Happy. Not clingy, not weird. Just... himself. Maybe even more himself.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not asking if it was wrong. You’re asking if it looks wrong.”

Bobby flinched, like the truth hit harder than he expected. “Yeah,” he said, almost ashamed. “I’m his captain. I’m older. I’ve got a past full of failures, and he deserves someone who doesn’t second-guess himself every damn morning.”

Tommy leaned forward. “Bobby, let me ask you something. Did you ever once see this Buck, kid as anything less than capable on that rig?”

“No,” Bobby said instantly. “He’s one of the best we’ve got.”

“Then stop treating him like he’s a kid who didn’t know what he was doing. He’s young, not stupid. He made a choice. So did you. The only way this becomes something you should regret is if you lie about it — to him or to yourself.”

Bobby swallowed. “So what now?”

“That depends. Are you planning to pretend it never happened?”

“No... Maybe”

“Are you planning to keep sleeping with him just to avoid talking about it?”

“No,” Bobby said again, quieter.

“Then tell him how you feel,” Tommy said. “Be honest. Set boundaries if you need to, make a plan if this goes anywhere — but don’t ghost him emotionally. Don’t make him feel like what happened was a mistake.”

Bobby nodded slowly, eyes finally meeting Tommy’s. “Thanks.”

Tommy smirked and took another sip of his coffee. “Just remember, you’re still allowed to fall in love, Cap. Even if it scares the hell out of you.”