Work Text:
It spins like a wheel inside you:
green yellow, green blue
green beautiful green.
It’s simple: it isn’t over, it’s just begun.
It’s green. It’s still green.
- Meanwhile by Richard Siken
“It’s yours,” Tommy confirms, and watches Buck’s face fall as if through a fog.
They’re at Tommy’s place; there aren’t many places Tommy particularly wants to go these days, and it’s not like Buck doesn’t already know where his house is. When he texted Buck, he asked to talk. When Buck said yes, and Tommy asked to meet at his split-level craftsman, Buck had paused and said I don’t want to hook up. Tommy assured him they weren’t going to hook up, and told him to text Maddie.
(Maddie knew. Maddie’s known longer than even Tommy’s Captain. Maddie saw him buy a Chai latte one morning and, with narrowed eyes and tone like a scalpel, said, “Evan says you hate Chai.”
“I’m trying something new,” Tommy had replied, and that was his downfall. He’s not sure what about his demeanor made Maddie clock him. His bump was virtually non-existent; passable as a big meal.
When Tommy walked out of the coffee shop, so did Maddie. Without picking up her own order.
“When are you due?” she’d asked. It had startled Tommy so bad he almost dropped his drink, which would have been catastrophic. There’s probably nothing more embarrassing than crying about a spilled Chai to your ex’s sister.
“Early August,” Tommy had confessed. A second fatal error, because Maddie’s calculating gaze was back on him.
“It’s Evan’s, isn’t it?” she said, and Tommy could only nod.)
Whatever Maddie had told him was enough for Buck to go back and text Tommy—Ok. Sorry for making assumptions. See u soon—and show up on Tommy’s doorstep on time with a Chai latte. Buck had raised an eyebrow at him, glanced down, and promptly shut the fuck up until Tommy sat down with him at his kitchen table and said those horrifying words.
It’s yours. Something in Tommy’s body belonged to Buck. Something of Tommy tied him inextricable and conclusively to Buck. Tommy can never undo that knot, even with divorce. And that makes his heart thud in his chest and his mouth dry out. It’s yours.
“W—what?” Buck rasps, “Y—you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” Tommy says, chin trembling, body anticipating the blow even after all this time, even twenty-eight years since he last saw his father, even twelve years since Lawrence Kinard was laid to rest in a box in the dirt.
“That’s really all you have to say?” Buck blinks, hurt plain and open on his face, “You’re sorry? How—how many months, Tommy?”
“Seven,” Tommy confesses, unable to make eye contact, “Almost eight. Thirty-one weeks. And there was nobody else, so. We can do a paternity test if you want.”
“N—no, that’s not why I’m asking,” Buck says, a crease forming above his brow, “How many check-ups did you go to alone? How many milestones did I miss? Tommy, I would have been there.”
(“Do you have anyone to go with you to appointments?” Maddie had asked. Tommy, curled in on himself on a sidewalk bench where they’d finally stopped to have a real chat, said nothing, and that was answer enough.
“Listen,” Maddie said, “Put your number in my phone. If you need anything—someone to hold your hand, pregnancy advice, a shoulder to cry on—all you have to do is text.”
“Why?” Tommy asked, even as he took Maddie’s phone, “I—you don’t owe me this. You should be mad at me.”
“Oh, I am,” Maddie said, with a twinkle in her eye that spoke more of mischief than rage, “You broke my baby brother’s heart. But he loved you. He still loves you. And I think he’d be even more heartbroken knowing you didn’t have anyone to reach out to.”)
“I know,” Tommy confesses, wiping desperately at his eyes, “I know you would have been there. That’s what scares me. Don’t you get that?”
“No, Tommy, I don’t,” Buck says, reaching a hand out to try and grab Tommy’s, try to offer comfort Tommy doesn’t deserve. Tommy doesn’t let him take his hand.
“Well, try,” Tommy laughs, a little cruelly, “All my life, the only way I’ve ever been able to protect myself is by leaving. My dad beat the shit out of me from the day of my mom’s funeral until the day I turned seventeen. He stopped hitting me because I got my GED and joined the Army, and he couldn’t reach me there. Then, I had to leave the Army before Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell caught up with me. When I started taking testosterone, in those in-between years, I did nothing but running, until I could go completely stealth and hide behind toxic masculinity in the LAFD. Then, I had to leave the 118, and that was my own fault, but I was scared. I was scared of Hen, and Howie, and Bobby, and how they made me feel like family. I had to leave you because it scared me to love someone that much. I want it so bad, but it scares me.”
By the end of his speech, tears are falling from Buck’s chin to where his hands are still stuck, half-reaching out for Tommy’s. “I’m so sorry,” Buck whispers, with his stupid big eyes and his stupid big heart and of course he looks absolutely gutted, because he’s never felt anything but the full weight of everyone else’s emotions, “I had no idea. You never told me.”
“I didn’t tell you a lot of things,” Tommy says, “And I regret it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Buck assures him, a tinge of desperation on his tongue, “I—I—I forgive you. I wasn’t there for the first bit, but I’m here now, and—and whatever you need, whatever the—the baby needs, I’ll do it.”
“You’re gonna be such a good dad,” Tommy smiles, and this is the part he knew was going to hurt. This is the part he almost couldn’t stomach. This is the part he knows he has to do more than anything else. “That’s why I’m relinquishing parental rights. The baby’s going to be yours—just yours.”
(For the most part, Tommy was okay going to appointments on his own. The fewer people that got up close and personal with his junk, the better.
There was just one day when he broke down and called Maddie. The doctors told him he was high-risk for a lot of problems if only due to his age and the testosterone, but also because they didn’t know his family medical history. He didn’t know his own family medical history. He thinks he remembers hearing a story about how he was a difficult pregnancy for his mom, but it was told so long ago that he doesn’t remember if it was gestational diabetes or eclampsia or tearing or any of the other myriad problems a pregnant person could have.
It struck Tommy, all of forty-two years old, that this would be so much easier with his mom. With a dad who cared, or a partner, or a friend. Anyone.
After his appointment, he sat in his truck and pulled out his phone and dialed Maddie, who picked up on the second ring.
“Tommy?” she’d asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Tommy said, but it was probably unconvincing. His chin crumbled, and a few seconds later he confessed, “I want my mom.”
“I’m so sorry,” Maddie had whispered, “Did she pass?”
“Thirty-three years ago,” Tommy laughed wetly, “When I was nine. It’s stupid. It was a long time ago.”
“You can still miss her,” Maddie promised. “I still miss my mom.”
“Your mom’s alive,” Tommy pointed out, an echo of a previous conversation in a previous life that Tommy missed more than anything.
“When I was nine, my brother died, and part of my mom died with him,” Maddie said, soft and full of grief, “She used to make me sun butter and jelly sandwiches cut into fun shapes. One time she even made a pretty intricate horse for my birthday, because I was going through an intense horse phase. She—uh. Never did that again after Daniel passed. I tried to do the same thing for Buck, when he got to an age where he could eat solid foods, but I never really got the hang of it. Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but I really miss my mom sometimes.”
“Did she,” Tommy started, before taking a breath to collect himself and continuing, “Did she come down here at all for Jee’s birth?”
“She did,” Maddie said consideringly, “And I still missed her, even when she was right in front of me.”)
“You’re just… giving up the baby?” Buck asks, deep concern flashing across his face, “Why?”
“They won’t remember me if I’m never there,” Tommy says, a prayer and a desperate hope and a terrible fear all at once, “I’d make a shitty dad. I’d rather be an absent one.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Buck insists, because he’s kind and stupid and perfect and Tommy wants to curl up in his arms forever, “I see prenatal vitamins on the counter. I heard from Lucy that you’re on leave. I thought you were taking a vacation—but it’s paternity leave, isn’t it? I bet if I opened that fridge I’d find food that’s safe for the baby. I bet you haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since you figured out you were pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Tommy argues weakly.
“Tommy, I know you,” Buck says, leaning forward, looking up at Tommy with watery blue eyes, “You already love this baby.”
“That’s why I have to give them up,” Tommy says, choking on the end of the sentence.
“No, you’re scared,” Buck shakes his head, poking a finger teasingly into Tommy’s arm, “You’ll make a great dad, Tommy.”
“You don’t know me at all,” Tommy sighs, a foregone conclusion, “You’re welcome to relinquish custody, too, but I knew you wouldn’t want to.”
“Of course I don’t want to,” Buck says. There’s a beat of silence, and then Buck continues, “Can—can I come with you? To your future appointments.”
“I don’t think I could handle having this conversation again,” Tommy stipulates, eyes burning.
Buck hurriedly stammers out, “Of—of course not! I—I—I just want to see our baby. I want to make sure you’re okay. Zero expectations for—for our relationship, or your relationship with the baby.”
Tommy thinks Buck even being there will feel like the iron jaws of family, but he can’t stop himself from agreeing. He can’t possibly bear to hurt Buck again. “Okay.”
Buck beams, and it shines like the sun. Tommy manages to hold it together long enough for Buck to give him a long, warm hug goodbye. He sits back down at his kitchen table, takes one sip of his now-room temperature Chai, and sobs until he bursts a blood vessel in his eyes.
Even before the appointments—Buck knowing is, in and of itself, a unique form of torture. Tommy shares the Google Calendar of his appointments, and within an hour Buck texts him back—Cleared my schedule w/ Bobby. See u Thursday <3
The side-effect torture of this is he gets a text from Bobby, too. Buck told me the news. Wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need anything.
And Tommy aches. Because he’s not the one Bobby’s looking after. Bobby’s worried about Buck’s baby. He hasn’t talked to any of the 118 since the breakup—not that they didn’t try, at first, but Tommy never responded, and it didn’t take long for them to get the hint.
Tommy’s not sure why, but he picks up the phone and calls Maddie. He gets an automated voicemail that says, “Hello, you’ve reached Maddie Han! I’m at work right now, if this is an urgent call, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Tommy doesn’t leave a message. Instead, he eats a head of lettuce leaf-by-leaf with Taco Bell hot sauce, because his baby is a freak, apparently.
It’s a surprise, then, when Maddie calls him back fifteen minutes later. “Hey, Maddie,” Tommy says, around a mouthful of the world’s worst salad.
“What’s up, Tommy?” she asks, “I’m on my thirty, by the way, so we have time.”
“It’s really not important, I don’t want to interrupt your break—”
“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Maddie says, “I don’t know where you got this idea that you’re not important, but you are. I like you, Tommy, and not just because of whatever feelings my brother has. I want to hear what’s going on with you. And we’re down to twenty-eight minutes, so spill.”
“I told him,” Tommy says, “And… I don’t know how to feel.”
“He didn’t take it bad, did he?” Maddie asks, and Tommy can hear the frown in her voice.
“No,” Tommy admits, “In fact, he might have taken it too well. He wants to come with me to my appointments. I can physically feel him trying not to micromanage me. He told Bobby, which is fair, because how else was he going to get the time off, but it’s still—” Tommy shudders.
“It’s still a lot,” Maddie says gently, “You’re used to doing this entirely on your own, with no input from anyone else.”
“I don’t want to get attached to him again,” Tommy urges, “It was hard enough pulling the plug the first time.”
Maddie doesn’t ask why. Tommy thinks maybe she knows anyway. “It’s hard to trust someone with your health like that, too.”
“Oh, Buck? I trust him with my health almost as much as I trust my doctors,” Tommy tilts his head back and laughs, “If we didn’t have the history, I’d kill for a pregnancy partner like him.”
“He’s excited to be a dad,” Maddie says. She takes a breath like she wants to say something else, and then thinks better of it. A few seconds later, she finds her words. “How are you, Tommy? Other than Evan.”
“I—” Tommy starts, stops. Starts again, “It’s been hard. I haven’t been able to fly for a while now. They’re worried about the stress. I’ve been on leave for a week. It’s boring.”
“You and I should have movie nights,” Maddie suggests, “I’ll kick Howie and Jee out of the house. Evan won’t be invited.”
It sounds nice. Tommy’s an introvert, but he’s going a little stir-crazy not having anyone to talk to. He almost agrees on impulse, and then thinks about leaving the house, driving in his truck to Maddie’s. All the people who might see him and his protruding stomach and know. It makes his stomach churn. “I’ll think about it.”
Maddie sighs, but doesn’t argue. “I’ll send you some possible dates, you let me know.”
At his next OB appointment, they do a routine ultrasound. Buck cries. Tommy rolls his eyes and scoffs and holds out his hand, unable to keep the fondness from his expression. Buck clings to his hand gratefully, and cries even harder when the doctor lets him listen to their baby’s heartbeat. Tommy mentally kicks himself for ever denying Evan Buckley an ounce of fatherhood.
After, they do the talking part. The part Tommy hates, because inevitably his OB will ask—
“And how has your agoraphobia been?”
Belatedly, Tommy realizes that Buck is still sitting right next to him. Buck’s eyes flash to Tommy, only once, full of concern. It probably speaks to an uncharacteristic iron discipline that Buck doesn’t follow it up with a million immediate questions.
“I still haven’t really gotten out of the house,” Tommy admits, “I’ve been taking walks at night, like my therapist suggested, but it’s… hard.”
“That’s okay,” she says, infuriatingly calm and understanding, like she’s said every other time since Tommy’s bump became less beer belly and more baby belly. “As long as you’re getting fresh air. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you with a support person this time. Have you talked to any of your friends?”
“One,” Tommy says, delicately looking away from Buck, “She wants me to visit, but I don’t know.”
“Are you out to her?”
“I am,” Tommy confirms, “And she knows I’m pregnant. She’s been really supportive. It’s not her I’m worried about, it’s—her husband. Her neighbors.”
And God does Tommy hate to throw Howie under the bus, especially with Buck sitting right there, but it’s true. Howie scares Tommy shitless. He’s not out to him. He’s not out to Hen, either. He’s not entirely sure how Maddie even knew during the Chai incident. He trusts Buck didn’t out him to her. Maybe there’s some sort of pregnancy hivemind.
“Why don’t you invite her over to your house?” Buck suggests, after Tommy and the OB have both been silent for a little too long, “I—I could even mediate, if you needed.”
“I appreciate the offer, but,” It’s your sister. Even if she knows, she hasn’t seen me in months, and I don’t want her to look at my stomach in disgust. I don’t want to take up her time when she has a real family. I like it better when I have no one. If we spend much more time together I’ll forget what it’s like to not have you, and it’ll break me all over again, “I think this is something I need to do on my own.”
Tommy’s OB is a very nice woman, and she came highly recommended from the LA-specific trans pregnancy Facebook group Tommy joined just to lurk in. But for the way Buck’s hands grip the steering wheel as he drives Tommy back to his house, tight like he’s physically holding back comments and questions and Wikipedia facts, he kind of hates her for just a few moments.
“So… see you on Tuesday?” Tommy asks, in lieu of anything else to say, when they’re finally parked in Tommy’s driveway. It’s the first thing said between them after a very awkward drive. It’s not anything close to what Tommy wants to say.
“Am I allowed to care about you?” Buck responds, and oh, he’s upset, chin wobbling and eyes shiny, “Can—can I do anything to make this easier? I don’t want you to be lonely.”
Tommy flashes him an empty smile. “You’re sweet. I’m okay. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
It really shouldn’t surprise him when he gets a text from Eddie later.
DIAZ: Hey man. Buck told me you were going thru some stuff. No specifics. Want you to know I still care about you. Up for beers or hoops if you ever want 2 talk.
(Tommy hasn’t been to a basketball game in a few months—ever since it started jostling the baby when he jumped.)
Tommy reserves the right to be surprised when the others start crawling out of the woodwork too.
HOWIE: Kinard!! It’s been too long. Thought you could escape me now that you’re not dating my brother????? Think again. Movie night? It’s been so long since I’ve seen something not disney.
HEN: Tommy, I wanted to apologize for not keeping up with you as much as I wanted to. Let’s do dinner at my house sometime. Denny’s started cooking, and he’s a lot better than when he used to try to feed you mud pies.
[UNKNOWN SENDER]: hey tommy this is chris buck gave me ur number. i think he’s trying to get me to cheer u up even tho that trick usually only works on him. let me kno if it does work bc he’s stressed tf out
It’s the last text that gets Tommy’s attention. He saves the number in his phone as DIAZ JR and actually responds to a text for once.
You’re back in LA?
yea. did a year of school in el paso, it was not great.
Sorry to hear that. Things going OK with your dad?
getting better. i’m still mad at him but we’ve been going to therapy and it helps.
being around buck helps too.
Smooth.
hey, i only get a new video game if this works.
Oh, so you’re just in it for the games, I see how it is.
are you still hanging out w my dad? he seems lonely.
What do you get if I agree to hang out with your dad too?
nothing extra. i just want him to be happy, and before i left for el paso you made him happy.
I’ll think about it.
Chris sends him a meme of a wizard with glowing hands looking into a crystal ball. On closer inspection, the wizard also has a sizeable rack. The text reads PONDERING MY ORBS and Tommy doesn’t really get it but damn if it doesn’t make him laugh so hard he pisses himself a little.
Tommy isn’t surprised when someone knocks on his door, unannounced and insistent. If he were Henrietta Wilson, he’d be running an over-under on who got there first and when they’d get there. He’s not sure how many people would have put money on less than 24 hours.
It’s Eddie. Four hours after Buck drops Tommy off from the OB. With a six-pack.
“Um,” Tommy says awkwardly, “I can’t have alcohol.”
“Why not, man?” Eddie asks, already shouldering his way into Tommy’s house.
Tommy feels his shoulders tense reflexively. “It’s… complicated.”
“Well, uncomplicate it,” Eddie says, a little terse, setting the booze down on the peninsula countertop between Tommy’s kitchen and living room.
“I’m pregnant,” Tommy spits, because he really feels like Eddie should have put two and two together by now.
Still, Eddie looks at him in shock, eyes flickering down to Tommy’s abdomen. When he sees the way Tommy’s loose t-shirt is hanging off him, his mouth falls open, jaw slack.
“See?” Tommy scoffs, “This is why I didn’t want to tell anyone.”
Eddie, in a respectably quick turnabout, schools his face into something far more neutral. “Tommy, that’s not—it just caught me off-guard. You’re… trans?”
“Oh, so you can figure things out!” Tommy says, and he can hear the rough sarcasm in his voice, and he almost regrets it.
“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, you’re doing a great job,” Tommy snarls. He knows what this is, what it would be if he weren’t carrying another living being in his body.
“You spoilin’ for a fight, Kinard?” Eddie asks anyway, squaring his shoulders.
“Oh, I haven’t been in a real fight in years, and you know it,” Tommy says, and goes for the kill, “I’d love to see you take a swing at your best friend’s unborn baby, though.”
That stops Eddie in his tracks, almost like he suddenly remembers where he is. He glances down at Tommy’s stomach again, but his eyes bounce back up just as quickly. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you, even if you weren’t pregnant, right? I thought you might want to spar. That’s all I was suggesting.”
“Can’t,” Tommy grunts, the anger draining out of him and fading into exhaustion. He flops down on his couch and closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “No fighting, no flying. No harsh chemicals, so I can’t work on the car. All the jumping around in basketball makes the baby go all over the place, and they’re kicking the shit out of my organs. And I can’t—I can’t leave the house looking like this.”
Tommy feels the other end of the couch dip as Eddie sits down. Strangely, he also feels Eddie grab one of his ankles and pull it up into his lap. Tommy cracks an eye open and shoots him a questioning glare.
“I used to do this for Shannon when she was pregnant,” Eddie says by way of explanation, taking Tommy’s foot in hand and gently rolling the pads of his thumbs over the center of Tommy’s arch. Tommy allows it, and Eddie goes deeper and deeper with each pass, finding the exact spot where all the tension in Tommy’s entire body is being held, apparently. It hurts, but it feels good.
“You know, if you hadn’t told me you were pregnant, and I didn’t know what you looked like before, I would have assumed it was just a beer gut,” Eddie says, “You’re not some hideous freak of nature. You just have a bigger stomach than you used to.”
“I know,” Tommy groans, half-irritation and half-massage induced relief, “My therapist tells me that all the time. I know cis men have bodies that look kind of like mine, especially if I’m wearing layers. It’s just a mental thing. I mean, you didn’t know I was trans until just now.”
“I also didn’t know you were gay until after that date you went on with Buck,” Eddie points out, “I’m not exactly Sherlock Holmes.”
“My point is,” Tommy huffs, “I’m scared of people knowing. Being gay is one thing, but when people know you’re trans, they… ask questions. They want to know my given name, they want to know what my dick looks like. Suddenly they start calling me she in front of their friends. I can deal with the homophobia, but when it’s gender stuff, it’s different. It hurts worse, for some reason.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Eddie hums, patting his leg for Tommy to kick his other foot into Eddie’s lap, “I can’t say I understand it, because I’ve never really been there, but I can sympathize.”
“I really missed you,” Tommy says, voice wobbling. “God, I hate pregnancy hormones so much. I can’t wait to get my testosterone back.”
“I missed you too,” Eddie smiles, a full-faced grin with blushing red cheeks. “If it makes you feel better, one time when Shannon was pregnant we saw an armadillo family crossing the road and Shannon cried so hard I thought she was going to throw up.”
“I know Buck put you up to this,” Tommy huffs out a laugh, “But I really can’t be mad at him.”
“Hey now,” Eddie says, “Buck had nothing to do with it. Chris wanted to spend time with Buck, I wanted to give them some privacy, and I just so happened to be driving around the area with a six pack of beers.”
“Oh, the three of you are all the same,” Tommy grouches, without any genuine anger, “Meddlers!”
“Where do you think Chris gets it from?” Eddie asks, amusement gleaming in his eyes, “Now, c’mon, where’s your remote? The Kings are playing.”
And just like that, they’re watching the game like nothing’s changed, Eddie massaging Tommy’s feet, up his ankles and calves. Eddie orders Thai food because Tommy wants Pad Thai so spicy it makes him cry. They don’t talk about Buck, or the baby, or what’s going to happen after Tommy gives birth and they don’t have a reason to care about him anymore.
Tommy goes to bed that night with a bittersweet warmth in his chest. He’s grateful he made it this long without Buck finding out, because with Buck comes the rest of the 118, and it’s going to hurt so goddamn much when Tommy has to leave them again.
Tommy tries to keep his distance, but with Buck in the mix, it’s nearly impossible. He gets the impression that they’re trying to be sneaky about it, but it’s pitifully transparent that there’s some sort of schedule. Tommy gets a few hours to himself, and then Hen and Howie are texting him, or Eddie’s coming over to hang out, or Buck’s stopping by with a home-cooked Bobby Nash meal that “he made too much of.”
He caves the next week and texts Maddie his address on the next night she has off along with Movie night. Alien vs Predator. Bring your husband.
When Maddie sees him, she brings him into an awkward, bump-to-bump hug, in which Tommy has to hunch over, but it’s more than worth it. Behind her is Howie, wearing an old Alien graphic tee and holding a box of microwave popcorn bags.
“You know, it’s never that difficult to convince Buck to take Jee, but this was almost suspiciously easy to arrange,” Howie says, “Hen and I were starting to worry that you were deathly ill.”
“No, just,” Tommy sighs, “Come in, and I’ll explain.”
As it turns out, he doesn’t have to, because Howie is much more observant than Eddie, and the instant he closes the door behind him and gets a good look at Tommy, he goes, “Oh. Huh. Y’know, Buck’s whole nervous breakdown makes a lot more sense now. When are you due?”
“Eight weeks,” Tommy says, “Give or take. Wait—nervous breakdown?”
“He’s gonna be a good dad, but God is he panicked about it,” Maddie says, with a scrunched nose and toothy grin, “You’d think he was preparing to be a single parent. He’s doing all the planning himself. Daycares, parenting classes, books. I think I even caught him watching an embryonic development lecture when I went to drop off Jee.”
“He is,” Tommy says softly, “Preparing to be a single parent. I’m giving him full custody.”
“Oh,” Howie blinks, like he doesn’t quite believe Tommy, “Is that… what you want?”
“Yeah,” Tommy lies, “He’s going to be the best dad. I couldn’t possibly hope to keep up. And isn’t that—I don’t know, the point? To give your child the best?”
When Maddie looks at him again, her eyes are big and soulful and alarmingly similar to Eddie’s. “That doesn’t sound like you don’t want to be a dad. That sounds like you’re scared.”
Tommy swallows, but can’t find the words to defend himself.
“You know what else Buck’s been researching?” Maddie prompts, so tenderly, “How to support a trans partner with dysphoria. How to support a partner with postpartum depression. Coparenting with a friend. He thinks he’s slick, but he’s really not. He wants you in his life, and in the baby’s life. More than that—he cares about you. He’s worried. And you trying to pull away like that, Tommy, it worries me too.”
“I made up my mind a long time ago,” Tommy says, voice thick and wobbly, “Can we please just watch the movie?”
Maddie sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Okay. Can you at least text him that I know? He’s going insane without anyone to talk to.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Tommy says weakly, “Shit, yeah, of course.”
“Hey, no beating yourself up,” Maddie impresses, stern, “Not during movie night.”
The movie is good. Maddie leans into Tommy’s side and when he looks, he realizes she’s actually fallen asleep. Howie glances over at Tommy and mouths something that looks like let her sleep, and Tommy, for the first time, thinks maybe Maddie has been struggling too.
Tommy feels like a terrible friend, pulling away and hiding and making everyone else do all the work. It doesn’t take long for him to start crying, silent and still. The movie isn’t even sad, so he doesn’t have an excuse—he’s just sitting there watching two giant space aliens fight each other while his only real friend takes a nap on his shoulder.
Howie takes an open plastic bag of tissues and hands it to Tommy wordlessly. Tommy sniffles and says nothing in return.
After the movie, Howie wakes Maddie up with a gentle hand on her arm. She jolts awake, wipes some drool from her face, and smacks her mouth, which is probably dry.
“Well, I had fun!” Howie grins, hastily grabbing the empty popcorn bags and beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
When he does, Tommy looks at Maddie. “Have you been sleeping lately?”
“Yeah, I’m just… still tired,” Maddie says softly, out of earshot of Howie, “Everything’s exhausting these days. I’m kinda glad I’m taking fewer hours at work.”
“I know what you mean,” Tommy says, “I try to keep up my workout routine in my home gym, but it’s a lot.”
“We’re growing two whole people,” Maddie points out, “Cousins.”
“I didn’t really have cousins,” Tommy says, and he’s not quite sure why, “Well—I did, but my dad never wanted to talk to his family, and he didn’t really like it when my mom talked to hers.”
“I’m sorry,” Maddie says softly, “I think I have cousins, but we lost touch with them a long time ago. My parents self-isolated pretty hard after Daniel died. I think they were worried that our family might bring him up.”
“I’m sorry,” Tommy smiles, even if he knows it’s a useless thing to say. It was nice when Maddie said it. Maddie smiles back like she thinks it’s nice, too.
Howie claps his hands, startling both of them. “Alright! I think it’s time to get this show on the road. Darling wife?” he reaches over the back of the couch to offer Maddie a hand to help her get up.
Maddie gets up, and she and Howie both hug him on the way out. Howie even has the grace not to mention the way he’s definitely able to feel Tommy’s bump. They promise to come by again soon. Tommy tries to convince himself they’re not telling a well-meant lie.
Tommy feels the microcosm of loss again, and tries not to dwell on the impending doom of birth and relinquishment.
He does actually text Buck. Hey, I told Maddie and Howie. Eddie knows too.
EVAN: That’s great!!! Hopefully they can help out where I can’t.
Yeah, Tommy hears the subtext: where you won’t let me. He doesn’t know how to make him understand. It’s not about wanting, it’s not about deserving, it’s not even about the stupid pedestal Buck put him up on for six months. At the end of the day, it’s about safety. Tommy can’t risk his own heart, or the baby’s.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Tommy says to his empty room, and whether he’s talking to the one in his uterus or the one he left broken-hearted in his apartment, even he’s not sure of.
Buck is there the next day to bring Tommy to an appointment. When Tommy sees him, he feels a rush of affection so immense it startles him.
“I know what you’re doing,” Tommy says as he buckles himself into Buck’s Jeep, “Telling everyone to check up on me. Kicking Eddie out of the house.”
“He gives really good foot massages, doesn’t he?” Buck grins, the little shit, “I got more than a few after I broke my leg.”
Tommy chews on his words and tries not to ruin the mood. “Not that I’m not grateful, but you really didn’t have to. I would’ve been just fine on my own.”
“Tommy,” Buck insists, “How many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick head? I—I care about you. Not just the baby. You. You’ve been going through this—this big bodily change, that’s hard for anyone, but it’s—it’s so gendered, and that’s probably really difficult, all the subreddits I looked at said it could be really difficult, and I—I—I don’t want you to do it alone. I know you can do it. But you don’t have to. I mean—what’s the harm in letting us help?”
“You looked at trans parent subreddits?” Tommy asks, amused almost as much as he is touched. It’s a lovely speech. He wishes he could believe it.
Buck’s ears flush bright red. “I posted on—on a trans parent subreddit and a partners of trans parents subreddit. I didn’t give any personal information, but I asked for tips on how to help you with dysphoria and social anxiety. They were all really nice.”
“You never post on Reddit,” Tommy observes, with his brows raised.
“They were my first two posts,” Buck admits.
“And what did they say?” Tommy pries.
“They told me to talk to you,” Buck says, quiet, like he’s trying to say the words around a lump in his throat, “To tell you that I still think you’re just as handsome as the first day I saw you. That I’ll be here as long as you want me.”
“Thank you,” Tommy rasps, repeating a mantra of don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry in his head.
“It’s the truth,” Buck says, wiping at his eyes when they’re stopped at a light. “Tommy, do you think—”
He stops. Tommy’s heart stutters in his chest.
“Do you think we can try being friends?” Buck asks, sniffling, “I really miss you.”
The voice in Tommy’s head says no. It’s risky. What happens when you need to leave? What happens when you break his heart a second time?
Against his better judgment, Tommy says, “Yeah. I really miss you too.”
It doesn’t really hit him, the decision they’ve made, until after Tommy’s appointment when Buck drives Tommy back to his own place and Tommy pauses, unsure if he should invite him in.
“Um—is it okay if I come in for a bit?” Buck asks, before Tommy can decide.
“Yeah,” Tommy nods. They walk into the house together, and settle together on the couch, and then… nothing. Like they’re not quite sure what to do now.
“Maddie says you’re excited to be a dad,” Tommy starts tentatively.
A strangely complicated look flits over Buck’s face. “I am. It’s—I’ve wanted to be a dad for a long time.”
There’s something more Buck wants to say, but he doesn’t.
“We’re bad at this,” Tommy says, wrinkling his nose to avoid the awkwardness.
“Not bad,” Buck argues gently, “Just out of practice. Tell me what you’ve been doing to avoid cabin fever lately.”
So Tommy starts, and then they just… don’t stop. The dam opens, and they’re laughing and talking like nothing ever happened. Tommy forgot about this part. How easy it is to spend time with Buck. And there’s no deluding himself now that it’s the shiny, nice, cool version of Tommy Kinard that Buck gets along with so well. Tommy, right now, is dressed in ratty sweats and a giant t-shirt he thrifted a few months ago. His hair is a mess, he knows he looks far less attractive than he did before, and he can’t be bothered to do much besides keeping his facial hair trimmed.
For some reason, Buck is still looking at him like he hung the moon. It’s doing dangerous, dangerous things to his heart.
Tommy gets two more beautiful, horrible weeks of family. He loves his friends, and he’s not about to turn them away. He’s not even sick of them or their coddling yet. Hen and Karen come over at his bequest, and they take one look at him and wrap him up in their arms, and they tell him about their kids. Chris sends him memes that he doesn’t get but finds funny anyway. Eddie watches the game with him and massages his legs—he’s also the only person Tommy lets stand behind him and hold up his baby bump for a little, to take the weight off his back. Maddie and Howie are there for a game nights, and shitty 90s horror, and Maddie texts him near-daily.
And Buck is there more than anyone else. They’re magnets in each others’ orbits, twisting and almost colliding and flying off into space again. Buck obliges every weird craving and doesn’t say a word, Buck cuts his hair for him, Buck gives him a good, clean shave.
The lines start to blur. Tommy can’t do much as the days march on except talk, so he and Buck talk a lot. About their childhoods, about their misspent youth, about the evolution of placental mammals and echidnas with their weird dicks and albatross who mate for life and sea otters who hold hands while they float in the ocean. (“But they’re actually freaks, Tommy, like, absolute monsters. I’m never looking at an otter the same way again.”)
Tommy finds himself opening up. It’s scary. It’s awful. Buck never looks at him any differently.
Tommy goes to bed thirty-four weeks pregnant and doesn’t know how he’s going to do it. Doesn’t know how he’s going to give all this up with the baby.
Tommy wakes up, still thirty-four weeks pregnant, and in more pain than he’s ever been in before. Something is wrong. Worse, he thinks he feels something wet between his legs. He scrambles for his phone, turns the flashlight on, finds a sticky, thick substance when he reaches down with a hand. When he pulls it back, his fingers are red.
No. Tommy’s head swims, his heart nearly stops. This is worse than crashing a helicopter. This is worse than being lost in the desert. With trembling fingers, Tommy punches out 911 on his phone and calls.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” a smooth, female voice asks over the line.
“Is Maddie there?” Tommy begs, another wave of pain wracking his abdomen, his back. It feels like cramps, maybe, if cramps were from an even deeper layer of Hell.
“Sorry?” the dispatcher questions.
“Maddie Han, please, please, I need to talk to her,” Tommy grits out, before groaning in pain, “Tell her it’s Tommy.”
There’s a brief silence, and then a few seconds later, Maddie’s perfect, wonderful voice comes through. “Tommy? What’s wrong?”
“I’m bleeding,” he sobs, the gravity of the situation landing square on his shoulders, “I think I’m miscarrying.”
“That’s not necessarily the case, Tommy,” Maddie says, “I’m not at work right now, so I can’t help you, but I’m sending your information to Linda—she’s the one who took your call. She’ll be sending an RA unit directly to you, isn’t that right?”
“Entirely correct, Maddie,” Linda assures, “Tommy, are you in any pain right now?”
“Yes!” Tommy says, into a half-cut-off groan. “My lower abdomen, and my—my back. God, it hurts so fucking bad. I can’t move. I’m—lightheaded.”
“That’s okay, Tommy, you don’t have to move at all,” Maddie says, “The paramedics will come to you.”
“We’re sending the 133,” Linda adds, and Tommy mourns the fact that it won’t be his friends. That there will be some random paramedic looking at him, touching him. He wishes more than anything that it was Howie and Hen—if only so that Buck could be there.
“Be honest, Maddie, what’s the worst thing this could be?” Tommy pants.
Maddie is silent for a few seconds. “It could be a hemorrhage. You could be right, and you might be delivering a stillbirth. You were right to call, Tommy. This isn’t good. But it’s not automatically a death sentence for you or your baby, okay?”
“ETA one minute,” Linda says, “Tommy, help is on the way. What’s the best way to get to you?”
“Front door, up the stairs, down the hall to the right,” Tommy says, “I’m in bed. I think I’m bleeding a lot, Maddie.”
“That’s okay, just try not to move,” Maddie instructs. Tommy pretends not to hear the fear behind her voice.
“If I—if I—” Tommy swallows, grief and pain and something much, much scarier warring in his chest, “Tell Evan I never stopped loving him. Tell him he’s going to be the best dad in the world. Tell our kid I love them. God, Maddie, I love them so much.”
In the distance, Tommy’s door slams open with a thud that sounds expensive. “Paramedics!” calls a new voice.
Maddie is saying something else to him in an urgent, wobbly tone. Something gushes out between Tommy’s thighs, wet and warm and disgusting. Tommy’s head spins, even as he’s laying down.
The last thing Tommy thinks before he goes under is I wish I had kissed him one last time.
Tommy wakes up slow, and then all at once. He can’t really open his eyes, and he’s somehow numb and sore at the same time. He feels stiff, and his abdomen hurts.
“Ow,” he manages, weakly. To his right, there’s a flurry of movement, and someone is caressing his forehead with a shaky hand.
“Tommy, Tommy, can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart?” Evan’s low, soft voice coaxes, “They’re on their way with pain meds. Let me see those pretty eyes.”
Tommy, somehow, blinks awake to a bright, sterile hospital room. “Happened?” he asks, mouth so dry his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Everything feels uncoordinated and shaky. He’s pretty sure, without even looking at Evan’s red-rimmed eyes or the tear tracks on his face, that it was bad.
“Placental abruption,” Evan sniffles, “You—you almost bled out. Your blood pressure dropped. You seized in the ambulance. They—they—they brought you in for an emergency c-section. I almost lost you.”
Tommy hears between the lines. Evan almost lost him. His placenta detached from his uterine wall. His baby went for God knows how long without adequate oxygen. No mention of the baby. When he looks around, there’s no bassinet in his room.
The first, world-shaking sob hits Tommy square in the chest. It hurts. Crying hurts. He thinks no and this isn’t happening and I wanted it so bad. Evan is still there, somehow, hands reaching forward to cup Tommy’s face and shush him.
“I’m so sorry,” Tommy manages through wild, uncontrollable heaving breaths, “I know—I know how bad you wanted this—”
“Tommy, what are you talking about?” Evan asks, brow furrowed.
“The—the baby,” Tommy gasps, “No oxygen. I—I suffocated them—”
“No, no, no, Tommy, sweetheart, listen to me,” Evan soothes, “The baby is just fine. She’s getting oxygen upstairs in the NICU. She’s just a few weeks early. She barely even counts as premature. I saw her with my own eyes earlier—she’s perfect.”
Relief crashes into Tommy like a city bus. He can’t stop crying, but it’s less desperate, more hysterical. He hiccups pathetically, and Evan is still there, thumbs brushing away his tears.
“Please don’t make me do this alone,” Evan begs, sudden and desperate, “Tommy, I tried. I thought about it, when I was looking at her, but—but—but I couldn’t even think of a name. Not without you. I know I’d have my family, and they’d support me, but I don’t want to be a single dad, not when I could have you. I don’t—I don’t care if we’re in it as friends or as boyfriends, but I—”
“I love you,” Tommy interrupts, because if Evan can see him snot-covered and half-dead, sobbing his eyes out, wearing what feels like a diaper to catch the afterbirth, and still love him—maybe Evan just loves him. Maybe there’s no more pedestal. Maybe there’s just Tommy. And he still doesn’t understand it, but this, he believes. Forever becomes a little less scary. “I love you so much, Evan.”
Evan crashes forward into a bruising kiss, emotional and over-wrought and probably pretty gross given all of the crying they’ve both been doing. It’s perfect.
“We really need to go to therapy,” Evan says into the space between their parted lips, “Couples counseling. And maybe—”
“My mom’s name was Valerie,” Tommy interrupts, “How does Valerie Madeline sound?”
“Valerie Madeline Buckley-Kinard,” Evan hums, “It’s long.”
“You’ll teach her how to spell.”
“She won’t be able to fit the whole thing on those bubble forms.”
“Do you really care about the bubble forms?”
“God, no,” Evan says, smiling bright enough to light up the sun, “Will you say my name again?”
“Evan, I will say your name as many times as you want forever, as long as you stay,” Tommy says, swallowing against the reflexive urge to cut and run, “As long as you know I’m never going to be perfect. Or even that good.”
“You don’t need to be good,” Evan says, a promise that Tommy’s pretty sure he’s heard in a poem somewhere, “You just need to be Tommy. That’s enough.”
The nurse comes in then, apologizing for the delay, with IV pain meds and anti-inflammatories that make Tommy woozy and tired. Somehow, they still manage to get him into a wheelchair, and Evan pushes him from his room, to the elevator, up to the NICU.
All the pretty words in the world could never compare to her. She’s sleeping, with the tiniest, reddest face Tommy has ever seen. She’s so, so small. In a single instant, Tommy knows he’s looking at the entire universe. And maybe that’s the drugs talking, but he swears when her little fist twitches in her sleep, he could get up from his wheelchair and pull the moon from the sky for her.
Valerie Madeline, he thinks but doesn’t say, I was such an idiot for thinking I could ever live without you.