When Jake Seresin is peer pressured into taking a last minute vacation, he certainly doesnât expect Bradley Bradshaw to tag along. He also doesnât expect to discover that his hotel is a hotspot for newlyweds. Nothing, however, could be more unexpected than finding himself on a fake honeymoon with his coworker, who just so happens to be inconveniently attractive.
OR
Bradley convinces Jake to fake a marriage for a fruit platter (and other reasons).
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chapter 1 - love island is a documentary
chapter 2 - bradshaw(s), baby
chapter 3 - some people are immune to good advice
chapter 4 - tequila sunrise is a truth serum
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thank you to everyone who heard me whinge about/rant about/painstakingly explain the plot of fake honeymoon, you know who you are! shout out @mxrcusflint who talked me off a ledge re: substantially reducing my word count (aka. saving my sanity) and @butchbradshaw and @shorelinetides who lived the nightmare/dream with me in the doc đ you may all have one fruit basket.
#sal deluca union manâŠsave me... sal deluca union man. save me sal deluca union man (via @26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat)
This must be what Batman feels like seeing the bat signal. After the dumpster fire that is s9 I think we all deserve some Sal Deluca Union Man, as a treat.
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The very first thing Buck said at eight in the goddamn morning was: "I didn't call him."
"And hello to you too, Sunshine," Chim said, heading directly to the kitchen for his third cup of coffee of the day. "Your beautiful nephew kept me and your sister up all night. Thank you for asking."
Jee had been a nightmare of a sleeper, taking hours to drop off only to wake up around four and refusing to go back down again. The only reason they got her on any kind of schedule was because preschool tired her out. Nash was a dream in comparison. That very first night they brought him home from the hospital, Nash was out by eight and slept through the night. When Chim jerked awake at seven the next morning and realized he gotten an unprecedented eight undisturbed hours, he rushed to the baby's room expecting to find Nash dead in his crib. What he got instead was his son happily staring up at Jee's old mobile, as happy as could be. But Nash occasionally suffered from bouts of insomnia, which left him frustrated and cranky, and nothing he or Maddie did could soothe him to sleep.
"My nephew?" Buck said, trailing after him. "How is that my fault?"
"It's the Buckley genes," Chim said. God, there were so many stairs. Why couldn't the 118 be a single story? "He can't turn off his brain."
"You know Maddie is a Buckley," Buck said.
"Yeah, but she got all the good genes and is a beautiful woman who has never done anything wrong in her life." The coffee pot was finally in sight. "There better be coffee in there. Actually, is there a way we can shoot espresso directly into my veins?"
"The best I can do is a quad shot," Sal fucking Deluca said from the kitchen table where they used to have family dinner, his phone in one hand and a takeout cup in front of him. "My favorite angry barista made it. It will give you heart palpitations."
"Sal," Chim said pleasantly, like his last hope of a good morning hadn't been snatched away by Buck's big fat mouth, "what are you doing here?"
Buck opened said big fat mouth but Sal beat him to the punch. "I planned this little social visit all on my lonesome."
Chim was too tired to even begin to detangle the Raso-Deluca-Kinard-Buckley codependency web to figure out if Buck had gone crying to his union daddy about whatever had his panties in a bunch now. With Buck, it could be anything.
"If this is union business then get in line." He held out for an entire ten seconds before giving in and snatching up the cup. "I already got the deputy chief after my head about the late evaluations. You know how long it takes to write up an entire station's evals when half your shift is spent putting out literal fires?"
"I'm familiar," Sal said dryly.
Chim downed half the coffee, which was a mistake; his pulse rabbited. "What the hell is in this?"
"Four shots of espresso, a fuck ton of syrup, and I think she poured in a packet of instant coffee."
He stared in horror at the cup. "Why?"
"She fears neither god nor death." Sal stood and slid his phone into his shirt pocket. Chim would bet good money if those cell phone belt clips were still around, Sal would be a proud owner. He was such a dad. "Let's take this to your office."
His vagus nerve went wild and his pulse kicked up another notch that had nothing to do with the espresso. "You've already made yourself comfortable. We can do it here."
Sal made a point of looking around the open concept loft at where all of Chim's firefighters were doing a great job at pretending not to listen in on their conversation. He was particularly impressed by Eddie's intense pantomime of searching the fridge for the quart of milk two inches from his face.
"This is a conversation better suited to an office that has a door, Captain Han," Sal said.
Ravi, who was heading towards the coffee machine, turned on his heel and beelined straight for the stairs. Coward.
Chim forced a smile. "If you would follow me, Steward Deluca."
"I know the way, asshole," Sal said, and didn't even wait for Chim to take the lead.
"Now who's the asshole?" he muttered and hurried to catch up with Sal. He was surrounded by assholes with long legs. This was why Hen was his favorite.
They made it all the way to the office before Sal paused, hand on the doorknob. Like the bay doors, Bobby had liked to keep his office open. "It sends the wrong message if it's closed," Bobby had said once. "We're here to help. People need to know they're welcome."
Before Sal could get off a quip or, even worse, be understanding, Chim pushed past and inside. At some point between the lab and all of them returning to work, someone had packed up all of Bobby's personal effects and cleaned the place out. The pictures and the #2 Dad mug that May and Harry had gotten Bobby as a gag gift on Father's Day went to Athena. The little figurine of an old fire wagon was in the Buckley-Kinard household. He'd caught a glimpse of it when they went over for dinner, which was a whole ordeal as they had to pack up the kids and both Jee and Nash hated being in their car seats. He had been irritated when he saw it, not because he wanted the figurineâthat would have been one more thing for the kids to breakâbut because it hadn't even been a choice. Of course it went to Buck, just like Bobby's recipe cards, written by various Nash generations, had gone to Buck. Just like Bobby's final orders had gone to Buck.
The only attempt Chim had made at personalizing the office was to put up the obligatory framed photos of the wife and kids. He hadn't seen the point of anything else given how little time he was in there since the LAFD was all in on going paperless, which meant his laptop's new home was on the kitchen table. The air was stale. A tin layer of dust covered everything. Sal sneezed.
"So," Chim said, absolutely not hesitating as he took a seat behind the desk and laced his fingers over his stomach, "why are you here, Sal?"
Sal sat across him, mimicking his posture with his own hands folded over his stomach. "I'm just curious about why Firefighter Buckley has not taken the full family leave he's entitled to as a new parent."
The effort it took not to roll his eyes hurt. "Christ, I can't believe he went whining to you about this. Actually, you know what? I can believe he went whining to you. Isn't this a conflict of interest?"
"Buckley is only married to my best friend," Sal said, deeply unimpressed. "It's not like he's my brother-in-law and I'm his direct supervisor. Now that would be a lawsuit waiting to happen."
Chim took a deep, calming breath. "Buck took a couple of weeks when Theo moved in. I can't force him to take every minute available to him." That was polite and professional and more of an explanation than Sal was owed, and yet something about Sal's face, the set of his mouth or the fact he apparently stole Tommy's bitchy eyebrows, goaded him into adding, "It's just a foster placement. It's not like he's got a new baby. Besides, Buck is the donor, not the dad."
Sal went very still and very quiet and very dangerous. "Then I guess you think Hen shouldn't have taken her family leave when she and Karen took in Mara."
Through the horrific churning of his stomach, Chim said, "That's different. Hen and Karen were adopting Mara. And Hen didn't take the full leave either. Hell, I only took a couple of weeks when my son was born. Buck isn't being singled out."
"Yeah, let's talk about PTO." Sal deliberately unlaced his fingers. If this were a nature program, this would be the point where Buck would explain to Jee and Nash what a threat display was. "I've been doing some digging. Unofficially, of course."
"Of course," Chim agreed, annoyed.
"The 118 has a lot of unused PTO sitting on the books, which I find concerning."
"Oh, do you?" The annoyance was reaching the flashover point. "Tell me more about how to do my job."
Sal's expression didn't change; he used to be easier to rile. "It's not a good sign when your people aren't using the time they're due and that they've earned. Now I don't know if it's because they're all workaholics, in which case you got yourself a culture problem, Captain Han, or because they don't think they're allowed to take it. And if they don't think they're allowed then that's where I come in."
The flashover ignited. "You know, Sal," Chim said with forced geniality, "it's a shame that you never made captain. I remember you keeping us going through all those shitty captains after Gerrard. You were good at it."
"I sense a 'but' coming," Sal said, clearly amused, which only made the Chim's anger burn hotter by sucking up all the oxygen in the room.
"But you are not a captain and you are definitely not the captain of the 118." He jabbed a finger into the desk. "You do not get to come into my house and lecture me about my job and tell me how to look after my people. And if Firefighter Buckley has an issue with the way I'm running this place then he can put on his big boy pants and come talk to me instead of running to the nearest dad shaped figure to fight his battles for him. We all miss Bobby but some of us have to be the actual grown up in the room!"
Now Sal's expression changed, but instead of the self-righteous fury he remembered Sal being so good at it, Sal just seemed sad. "Howie, do you even want to be captain?"
That shocked him out of his fury. "What kind of question is that?"
"An overdue one, I'm guessing." Sal looked around the office, taking in the blank walls and the few framed photos and, more irritatingly, the ill fitting way Chim sat behind the desk. "I was surprised when I heard Hen declined the captaincy. I had her marked down for climbing the ranks ever since that night she found the car we all missed. You remember that?"
He snorted. Did he remember the night he and Hen became partners? Like he could forget how Hen metaphorically kicked their asses into being brave enough to dump Gerrard.
"I faintly recall it," he said at his most snide.
That got Sal to smile. "That's when I knew that someday I'd be calling her chief." The smile dropped away. "But then I hear she turned Simpson down. She didn't want it anymore."
"Bobby was mentoring her. She stepped up as interim captain when he was away. She was the one making the hard decisions. That's how she got on Ortiz's shit list." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "She doesn't want it like this."
"Nobody wants it like this." Sal heaved an old man sigh. "Do you know why I became a union steward?"
"Well, Sal, if I had to guess, I'm going with the fact you got an anti-authority streak a mile wide and love to fight with the brass."
"Well, you're not wrong," Sal said, a flash of wry humor. "But I was here for Gerrard. I saw what he did to Tommy. It was worse for you and Hen, I know," Sal added before Chim could rightfully protest. "He ground us down and turned us into the worse version of ourselves."
"Us?"
"Me." Sal leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. "I hate who I was under Gerrard. I hate how I treated you. I hate that my own best friend didn't feel safe to come out to me for years. I hate that it took me so long to do the right thing. I won't let another firefighter go through what we did. I will not let the brass protect more Gerrards."
"Is this your superhero origin story?" Chim said, knowing he'd crossed the line from good natured shit talking to mean bastard, but he couldn't stop. "It doesn't have the same flair as Spider-Man's origin, but, hey, at least you get the power without the responsibility."
Sal leaned back and donned a wide smile. "I'm going to do you a favor, Howie, since you're an old friend and we were in the trenches together."
"Lucky me," he said dryly. "That favor better be getting Buck to cool it on the snickerdoodle front. If I have to so much as see another cookie I'm transferring him to Alaska. I don't care how much Theo likes him."
"I'll do you one better. I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Bobby back when Firefighter Diaz almost killed a guy." Sal's smile became that of a great white shark. "I shut down the 138. I made sure there was an investigation into the culture the captain fostered and the harassment he encouraged. Every single firefighter who participated in the systematic sexual harassment was fired and denied all benefits. I oversaw the transfer of those affected firefighters to good houses with good captains. I dug and documented and uncovered every terrible, horrific thing they did, and I burned it all down and put heads on pikes and I salted the fucking earth. There will never be another Gerrard. I will not allow it, not even if it's the 118 and not even if it's your head."
"You self-righteous asshole," Chim said quietly, so furious he couldn't take a full breath. "You think you scare me? I've been dealing with people like you my entire life. I survived Gerrard. So if you want my head, Deluca, you're gonna have to fight for it."
"Howie," Sal said, not gentle because the only people Sal were gentle with was his daughter and Tommy, but kind, "do you want to be captain?"
Chim threw up his hands because the only other option was throwing a punch. "What fucking difference does it make? Hen doesn't want it. Eddie and Buck aren't anywhere near being ready to take command."
"You're not the only senior firefighter here," Sal said.
"But I am the only who fucking cares."
That was, Chim realized too late to do any good, a horrifying thing to say about the 118. It was the same thing Gerrard said every shift, the little phrase that allowed him to turn people into things: Gerrard was the only who cared about the job.
"I didn't mean that," Chim said into the asphyxiating silence.
"How did you mean it?" Sal said with what certainly sounded like genuine curiosity.
He forced himself to take a breath and then another. He brought his shoulders down a notch. "If I didn't take the badge," he said slowly, carefully feeling his way through the sentence, "then we would be stuck with whoever Simpson assigned here. We wouldn't get another Gerrard. I know you won't let that happen." He wasn't even annoyed with the way Sal tipped his head in faux modesty. "But we had a lot of captains between Gerrard and Bobby. You remember what they were like, right? They weren't bad captains but theyââ
"Didn't give a shit," Sal said. "I remember."
The exhaustion ate away the last of the anger. "I don't want to get some guy who doesn't care about this place or about family dinner or about us." God, he was so tired. "We're Bobby's legacy and that matters."
Sal nodded thoughtfully and said, "I gotta ask one more time. Howie, do you want to be captain?"
"You're killing me, Smalls," Chim groaned. "Why do you keep asking that? Are you actually gunning for my job?"
"I'm asking because what it sounds like to me is that you took this job because no one else would and you were afraid the station would get saddled with a--"
"Mook?" he suggested.
Sal flashed a smile. "Yeah, with another fucking mook." The smile faded. "But you didnât want this job, not like how Hen did and how Buckley does. And I think you resent the hell out of everyone for not stepping up and forcing you to do it, and I think thatâs eating away at you.â
"I don't," he protested. "I'm not saying I would have chosen this if it weren't for everything, but I don't resent them for it. I'm doing this for them and for Bobby. We're a family."
Sal looked at him like Chim was an unstable building and Sal was trying to figure out the safest way to evacuate everyone inside. And then, with devastating precision, he asked, "And when was the last time you had family dinner?"
"Last shift," he said automatically, and then: "Wait, we had that call and Buck didn't get a chance to cook when we got back. So the shift before that. Or on Sunday. One of those days."
âYou donât seem sure about that.â
Chim opened his mouth to tell Sal to stop harassing him in his own station, but Sal had the audacity to be right: he wasnât sure the last time they all sat down to dinner together. Buck had taken over cooking duties, but dinner was served buffet style with everything laid out so the rest of them could come and eat when they wanted to. It wasnât like they were all retreating to their separate cornersâpeople tended to cluster around the tv, on the couch, at the table, or leaning against counters because they were all raised in a barnâbut they werenât eating together, not like they before. Chim closed his mouth.
âYeah,â Sal said, almost sympathetic. âThis is your house now and youâre not handling it well.â
âSo,â Chim said cheerfully, âthis is the part where I tell you to get the hell out of my house.â
âThis is what Iâve observed in the time Iâve been here,â Sal said, terrifyingly serious. âYou have accused Firefighter Buckley of going behind your back by bringing me in, stated that he is not entitled to his full family leave per California law because he is only fostering Theo and implied that Firefighter Buckley is a child. You admitted to setting the precedence for not using PTO that the people under your command are entitled to and are resentful that Firefighter Buckley any family leave at all. You then proceeded to make several unprofessional and disparaging remarks about a firefighter under your command to another member of the LAFD. Is this you handling it well, Captain Han?â
âLet me tell you what Iâve observed,â Chim shot back, forcing his hands to lay flat against the desk. âEverything you just said exclusively pertains to how Iâm treating Buck, which isnât helping your case that he doesnât immediately go running to you when another kid is being mean to him on the playground. My actual four year old daughter doesnât complain as much.â
âThat is a hell of a thing to say about your brother-in-law,â Sal said, âand an actionable offense as his captain.â
âJesus Christ.â He dragged his hands down his face. âI know heâs your brother-husband, but this is still Buck weâre talking about. Iâve known him longer than you. Hell, Iâm the reason you two even met.â
âYou thought he was being unfairly treated and brought in an union rep to help him,â Sal said, tone heavy with meaning.
âWorst mistake of my life. Now Iâm stuck dealing with both of you until one of us dies.â That was, Chim once again realized too late, too mean and too honest. âBad joke.â
âThat wasnât a joke,â Sal said.
He gritted his teeth, and said, âI admit that was out of line. My son wouldnât go down last night. Iâm operating on about an hour of sleep.â
âThe thing is, Howie, I donât fucking care.â And there was the Sal that he knew and barely tolerated. âAnd those people out there, your people, donât care either. Youâre the captain. You donât get to be tired or cranky or a goddamn asshole just because you missed some sleep. You donât get to take out your frustration and resentment on Buckley because heâs your brother-in-law and you think that makes him a safe target. As you so aptly put it, Captain Han, you have to be the grown up in the room but all Iâm seeing is a child throwing a tantrum. And my actual child knows how to behave better.â
âTell me how you really feel, Sal,â he said, too exhausted to work up more anger. A tension headache throbbed behind his right eye. All he wanted was five goddamn minutes of quiet where someone wasnât crying or grieving or expecting him to fix the unfixable. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could remember how to be a person again. âIâm serious. Dig deep. Lay it on me.â
âNo one wakes up and makes the decision to be a hateful asshole, not even Gerrard.â Sal sounded as tired as Chim felt. âWe give ourself little permissions every day. Your kid kept you up last night so that gives you permission to disparage Buckley in front of his coworkers. You didnât take your full family leave so no one else should either. You care more about this job than anyone else, which means you can treat them however you want.â
Chim winced. âI get it, okay? Iâm being a real asshole.â
âYou donât actually get it,â Sal said, and Chim had never seen him look so sad, not when Tommy was in the hospital and not even when he got himself fired. âI told you Iâm here as a courtesy since weâre old friends. Whatâs happening here, all these little permissions and excuses you give yourself, this is how you get a Vincent Gerrard.â
âAnd you wonât let that happen again,â Chim said through a mouth gone sick and sour with shame.
âI never liked Nash, but I liked what he did for his place and what he did for you. I donât want to have to salt the 118âs earth, but I will if I have to.â Sal stood. He wasnât the biggest guy Chim knewâthat honor went to his brothers-in-lawâbut had a talent for for filling the room, and right now there was no space left for him. âYou saved Tommyâs life, and I am forever grateful for that, but I wonât protect you if you keep going down this road. The next time I com here, it will be in an official capacity.â
âGood talk, Sal,â Chim said, unable to summon up even the thinnest sarcasm. âMy favorite part was the explicit threat at the end.â
Sal flashed that shark smile. âDonât be dramatic. Youâll know when Iâm threatening you.â The smile softened into something approaching genuine affection. âIf you going to do this, Howie, you gotta do it right. And you donât have to do it at all if you donât want to. You can step down.â
âThat will be all, Firefighter Deluca,â Chim said.
âGood to see you, Captain Han.â Sal nodded at him and then finally got the hell out of Chimâs house.
Chim got a full four minutes of quiet before the bell went off and then another minute before Hen shouted, âWe gotta go, Cap!â
There was no time to be a person. Captain Han got up and went to work.
For the five facts AU: Bucktommy au where Tommy is a librarian and Buck is the guy that keeps coming in researching some crazy topics and Tommy is always the one having to help him find the right books.
This one is very fun. Also I know nothing about how libraries work; I just use them.
1. The first thing Tommy did when he returned home after his honorable discharge was to move into the small apartment above his grandfatherâs house. No, the first thing he did was stand in departures fighting the urge to get right back on the plane and get the hell out of town. The fourth thing he did, after buying a new mattress for the apartment because the old one was too soft after years of sleeping in various barracks and bases, was go to the library.
It hadnât changed in the years heâd been away: childrenâs section on the first floor, young adult tucked away in the far corner, fiction on the second level, microfiche and nonfiction in the basement, and Mr. Artie behind the main desk.
âMy gracious, is that little Tommy Kinard?â Mr. Artie said, practically sprinting around the desk, arms held out in invitation. Tommy stepped into them. âOof, not so little anymore. What as the army done to you?â
âGiven me PTSD and a new appreciation for good water pressure,â he said.
âOh, honey,â Mr. Artie said, and rubbed his back in the way Tommy always figured parents who loved the kids did. âI have missed you.â
Mr. Artie hadnât changed either. He still wore colorful bow ties and listened intently to the small kids who were so excited to use their library cards to check out books and patiently helped older folk use the computer and sign up for email and navigate various government websites. And when he wasnât doing that, Mr. Artie was handing him books to read like he was still that angry little kid who would have lived in the library full time if it meant he never had to go home again.
Just like then, Tommy hung around so often that Mr. Artie designated him a volunteer and showed him how to check out books for the patrons. He read and he shelved books and he helped a kid find books on dinosaurs and put in a request for the Bunnicula books for another and, once, pulled some queer books for a terrified fourteen year old and reserved them a small study room so they could read in peace and not have the books show up on their account.
âYouâre good with them,â Mr. Artie said quietly.
Tommy shrugged and requested a few other books from the library system to be checked out under his account. The kid could read them when they came in. âBeing fourteen is hard. No reason to make it harder.â
âCome to dinner tomorrow,â Mr. Artie said. âI know youâre not busy and Steven is grilling.â
2. Tommy forwent buying a bottle of wine because he knew fuckall about wine, but he picked up some flowers and a some pretentious beers from the one pretentious liqour store in town and went to dinner. Everyone knew Mr. Artie was gay, but they were polite enough not call attention to it, probably because the entire population under the age of twenty would riot if they tried to oust him from his position.
Mr. Artie was delighted by the flowers and Tommy nursed a beer and watched as Mr. Artie and Steven moved around each other with the familiarity of long years and pretended that he didnât ache.
When dinner was eaten and Steven had chased them to the rocking chairs on the back porch so he could clean up, Mr. Artie said, âHave you thought about what youâll do now that youâre home?â
His grandfather had also been asking that, but it stung less coming from Mr. Artie.
âI have my pilots license,â Tommy said. âThereâs some outfits nearby that run tours. I might do that. Itâs not bad money.â
âAnd you like flying,â Mr. Artie said, gently rocking. âYouâre good with the kids at the library. Youâre even good with the people you donât like.â
âNow thatâs not true,â Tommy said, matching his rocking speed to Mr. Artieâs.
âIt is. Youâre a kind man, Tommy, and I donât want you wasting away here.â Mr. Artie reached across the space between them and gently took Tommyâs hand in his. âYou more than earned that GI Bill. Consider putting it to use. Thereâs no rule saying you canât keep your license and do something else.â
Tommy swallowed around the familiar pain. âDo you think school is for me?â
Mr. Artie squeezed his hand. âItâs for everyone, but I think you would make a wonderful librarian, if thatâs where your passion leads you.â
âOkay,â he said quietly, and squeezed back.
3. Tommy took a couple classes at the community college and then took a couple more. His grades were decent and then more than decent when he really buckled down. Mr. Artie helped him apply to school, most of them in Los Angeles, all of them out of town, and wrote a recommendation letter so glowing it felt like it belongs to someone else.
When he received an acceptance letter, Mr. Artie whooped so loudly he disturbed every teenager in the manga section.
âThereâs something else,â Tommy said, hands shaking so hard that Mr. Artie took hold to steady him. âIâm gay.â It was the first time he ever admitted it out loud.
âWelcome to the family, honey,â Mr. Artie said, and held him so tightly that Tommy felt it in his ribs.
4. Tommy got his bachelorâs and then his masterâs and joined the greater Los Angles Public Library system as a reference librarian who had a reputation for being able to find information on any subject, no matter how obscure or embarrassing. Tommy lost count of how many times he directed a blushing queer kid toward The Joy of Gay Sex and then on to his favorite informative pamphlet on trans sex.
So it didnât even make his top five strangest requests when a beautiful man with a birthmark stamped above his eye said, âHey, what are the new frogs?â
âIs this for a school project?â Tommy asked, already pulling up JSTOR.
âPersonal research,â the guy said.
A cute kid on crutches, practically hidden by the guyâs, holy shit, long legs, piped up. âMy cousin says we discovered all the frogs and there are no new ones, and sheâs wrong.â
âBut you need citations to support your case,â Tommy said, and the kid nodded vigorously. He refined his search to find something more kid friendly. âWell, it turns out youâre in luck. New species were discovered this year. Iâll get you set up at a computer and you can read some articles. Iâll even show you how to format a bibliography. That should shut up your cousin.â
Tommy led the kid and his dad to a computer and showed him the same search he used and pointed to him where the printers were and ignored how the dadâs gaze kept tracking to him.
âLet me know if you need anything,â Tommy said.
âYouâll be our first call,â the dad said. âI-I mean, if we have more frog questions. Or other questions. Like about, um, space.â
âSpace?â the kid said.
âYeah, like whatâs going on up there,â the dad continued with an agonized expression that meant he was actively wishing for death. âUm, thanks for your help.â
âAny time,â Tommy said.
By the time the kid finished with his research, a stack of printed articles stuffed in his backpack, Tommy handed the dad a list of books about the history of space exploration. âJust in case you were curious about whatâs going on up there,â he said.
âI know youâre making funny of me,â the dad said, âbut jokeâs on you. Iâm going to read every one of these.â
âThatâs why I gave you the list,â Tommy said, and smiled as the kid groaned and dragged his dad to the exit.
5. âDo you got anything on the history of ceiling fans?â
Tommy looked up into the handsome face of the dad from last week.
âMoved on from frogs, huh?â he said, already defining the parameters of the search. âDid your son win the argument?â
The guy blinked. âMyâyou mean Chris? Heâs not my son. Heâs the son of my partner. Work partner,â he added quickly. âIâm a firefighter, and so is Eddie. Thatâs Chrisâs dad. Iâm Buck. Uh, Evan Buckley. Hi.â
âHello, Evan Buckley,â Tommy said, and tapped the nameplate on his desk. âThatâs me.â
Evan made a show of looking at the plate. âThanks for the space recs, Tommy. I really liked the one about the cosmonauts.â
âJust donât go reading that one article about the lost cosmonauts. The scholarship on it is appalling.â
Evan was suspiciously quiet.
âEvan.â
âSo are you really not going to ask me why I want to know about the history of ceiling fans?â Evan said.
âThat doesnât even make the list of top twenty weird things Iâve been asked to find references for,â he said. âAnd I donât research and tell.â
Evan pouted. âWe had a call the other day where a ceiling fan beaned this guy hard on the head, and I got curious about them.â
Of course he did. Tommy printed the list he compiled. âA lot of this is going to be about design, but I think youâll find some good sources in there.â He tapped the bottom of the list. âI also added some micro histories in case you got bored with the fans. The one on salt is good. So is the butter.â
Evan stared intently at the list. âYou didnât have to do that.â
Tommy leaned in and lowered his voice. âYou seem like the type to like fun facts. These are very fun facts.â He leaned back. âAnything else I can help you with?â
Evan jumped and glanced behind him where a sleep deprived student looked to on the verge of tears. âUh, no, this is great. Thank you.â
âItâs what I do,â Tommy said, and waved the student forward.
6. Evan became a regular after that, stopping at least once a week with a new topic he was interested in: tattoos, African currency swords, clown eggs, a biography on Archduke Ferdinand, bones.
âBones,â Tommy repeated. âAre you talking about in an anthropological sense? Do you want to read up on hominid fossils? Or are you more interested in it from a medical science angle?â
âSurprise me,â Evan said, and smiled at his sigh. âHey, whatâs your favorite thing someone has asked you to look up?â
Tommy thought about it while he picked out the densest anthropological textbooks to give Evan. âOne woman came in asking for more information on sky burials. I never heard of it before, so I liked that I got to learn about it alongside her.â
Evan perked up. âWhatâs a sky burial?â
âItâs a mainly Tibetan practice. In higher elevations, the ground is too hard to bury the bodies and there isnât enough wood for cremations. So when a person dies, their bodies are broken down and fed to the vultures.â He chanced a glance at Evan who was listening intently, the same as he did with everything Tommy told him. âI know it sounds macabre, but itâsââ
Tommy turned his attention back to his search. âYeah, me too.â
When he sent Evan off to find the textbooks and the few resources on sky burials, his coworker June rolled over and said, âItâd be less embarrassing if you just asked to suck his dick.â
âThis is why they donât let you around kids,â Tommy said, and shoved her away.
7. Evan, Tommy learned, liked documentaries and histories and saw maybe two movies a year, and made a noise when Tommy asked if he ever read fiction.
âSometimes,â Evan said. âI have a hard time finding anything that keeps my attention.â
Tommy started him with some Alexander Dumas (The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Crisco) and then a few old adventure stories (The Scarlet Pimpernel), and then a couple of romances and some fantasy, some of which he liked (Discworld) and some of which he didnât (Tolkien was a bust), and then some scifi since Evan liked learning about space.
âTry this,â Tommy said handing over a copy of A Matter of Oaths, which heâd set specifically aside. âItâs one of the early queer space operas.â
Evan mentioned some ex-girlfriends and Tommy had carefully let slip that he dated men, and Evan had sweetly proclaimed himself an ally. But this was different. This was the book Mr. Artie had given him one rainy, miserable day that had made little fourteen year old Tommy feel less alone.
Evan smoothed gentle fingers along the spine. âIâm excited to read it.â
6. âWhile this courtship is very sweet,â Mr. Artie said that evening during their regularly scheduled call, âhave you considered asking him out?â
âHeâs straight,â Tommy said, pawing through his fridge for something that was edible. âAnd it would be unprofessional.â
âHoney, you told him about sky burials and had him read A Matter of Oaths. The only thing left at this point is to ask him to dinner.â
âAsk him to marry you!â Steve called out.
âI should have become a grossly overpaid private pilot,â Tommy said.
âYou would have been so miserable,â said Mr. Artie, âand you would never have met your Evan.â
Well, Mr. Artie wasnât wrong.
7. Tommy was late coming back to lunch, which meant he was going to get an earful from June, who hated covering the reference desk. She saw him heading over and, with audible relief, said, âThank god. Your regular needs some help.â
Evan reluctantly turned around with a small wave. âI thought you were off today.â
âThe fluâs been taking everyone out. Iâm covering.â He slipped behind the desk. âWhat are we looking up today? You were on that bee kick last week.â
Evan turned a beseeching look on June, but he would have better luck with some actual bees; she happily abandoned him for her beloved microfiche archive.
âUh, queer history?â Evan fiddled with the cuffs of his baby pink cardigan. âMy coworker, uh, friend Hen, sheâs married to a woman and I thought I should look into it more. I mean, I know thereâs Stonewall and the AIDs crisis and then gay marriage.â
âThose are the highlights,â he said dryly and instantly regretted it when Evan winced. He made an effort to soften his tone. âThereâs a lot more to it than that.â
âThere is!â Evan snapped his fingers. âAnd I figured maybe I should learn more since Pride is coming up.â
âIn four months,â he said absently, trying to figure out what to even suggest. Evan liked histories, but did Tommy start him with Stonewall? Did he give Evan a history about queerness during the Harlem Renaissance? There were more contemporary sources, things Evan had been alive forâthe repeal of Donât Ask Donât Tell and Obergefellâbut that was an US centric approach, and so many countries had their own queer cultures.
âI didnât think this would stump you,â Evan said with a brave little smile.
âYou know I like to make sure I get it right,â Tommy said, and printed out the list. âStart with these photography collections. Itâs just queer people living their lives. If you like that, we can move on to specifics.â
âThank you,â Evan said quietly, and made it two steps before turning back. âHey, you also have a copy of The Joy of Gay Sex, right? I just want to be thorough.â
Tommy laughed so hard he could barely point Evan in the direction of the stacks.
8. Between his shifts and Evanâs shifts and a baby version of the flu felling him, it was three weeks before he saw Evan again. Theyâd been short staffed and apparently every high school student in the city waited until the last minute to write their report on Of Mice and Men, and all he wanted was to go home and watch something devoid of any kind of educational value.
Evan, dressed in a nice button up shirt and nervously bouncing on his heels, was waiting outside.
His eyebrows bounced up. âEvan, what are you doing here?â
Evan shoved his hands into his pockets only to immediately take them out again. âI, uh, was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner. With me, if that wasnât clear.â His hair was so carefully styled. âAlso I watched this program on sky burials the other day and thatâs genuinely what I want now.â
Tommy cracked up and reached for Evanâs hand. âTell me about it at dinner.â
Evan laced this fingers together.
9. Tommy brought Evan home for Mr. Artieâs retirement party.
âOh, honey, you did good,â Mr. Artie said, immediately pulling Evan into a hug. âBe honest with me, did the sky burials work?â
âThat and the history of salt,â Evan said, any nervous shyness vanishing. âIâve really been looking forward to meeting you.â
âYou are the first boy Tommy has ever brought home.â And Mr. Artie hugged Evan so hard he must have felt in his ribs. âWelcome to the family, Evan. Iâm so glad youâre here.â
âMe too,â Tommy said softly, and Evan smiled bright and joyous and free.
tagged by @rcmclachlan and @ambernotember - thank you!
dealer's choice.
There's the Ilya character study fic that hand to god @cecilyv and I are going to finish one of these days (we think we've identified the problem ... now we just have to fix it?)
"Some people have suggested that having you both on the same team makes the league unbalanced. What do you say in response to that?"
Shane looks at him to see which one of them wants to answer this. He shrugs. "Seems like a them problem."
and the chat ficlet that @cecilyv and I are throwing lines back and forth at each other about right now.
He is still drowning in Melton's backlog of paperwork. He's a little afraid that if he demonstrates that he's actually become good at it -- well, that Buck is good at it, and willing to lend Tommy his wisdom in exchange for chicken parmesan and orgasms -- that Melton will delegate it to him permanently.
tagging @welcometololaland, @freneticfloetry, and @iboatedhere
Was no one going to warn me that The Pitt was going to conclude its second season by turning to the camera and being like HEY. DIRA. IT'S BEEN LIKE TEN FIFTEEN YEARS SINCE YOU WROTE ABOUT A NEW DAD STRUGGLING TO COPE WITH HIS PTSD. WHAT IF YOU WROTE THAT AGAIN BUT THIS TIME HE'S FIFTY-SOMETHING.
So Harris decides to do something special for the moms of the team for Mother's Day and lines up a series of posts to go live hourly throughout the day, wherein there is a featured picture of each player's mother wearing that player's jersey and a few extra pictures provided by that player's mom--pictures from Timbits games, family vacations through the years, holidays. A few players' moms actually provide Harris with pictures of themselves in the hospital holding the newborn who would someday become an Ottawa Centaur! Super cute! And if making these posts in alphabetical order by last name means that Harris gets to make sure that his own wonderful mother-in-law goes first, well...you didn't see anything.
It's just a day of cute posts, and Ilya keeps checking to see if Yuna's post has gone live because those baby Shane pictures always hit like crack and Shane so rarely lets his parents pull them out.
Delightfully, Yuna chose one of Ilya's favorites--a VERY nineties newborn photoshoot where Shane already has a shock of black hair sticking up in all directions, and a pinched little expression on his face. He is all cheek and eyebrow, and Yuna is twenty-four and has bangs and denim overalls, and it is so nineties.
"Yuna sent Harris the Sears photo," Ilya tells Shane, giddy.
"Oh great," Shane groans.
"People are saying you make the same face when you argue with ref."
"I don't argue with the refs," Shane mutters.
"True, you have very smart and sexy Captain husband to do this for you now."
Ilya scrolls through the rest of the pictures--not to be outdone, Yuna has provided more than most. Shane in the Metros onesie that Ilya knows he was brought home from the hospital in. Yuna holding a year-old Shane in her lap, her narrow frame nearly dwarfed by his chubby body. Yuna with little Shane at what is clearly a Centaurs game, circa 1995.
The next one--he sort of wasn't expecting, but he isn't completely surprised either. His own face, smiling politely next to Yuna and David the day he flew out to Ottawa to sign some paperwork for his contract with the Centaurs. It was only the second or third time he'd seen them without Shane, and maybe the first picture they'd taken together as well. He'd been carefully cropped out of previous ones.
"Oh, that's nice," Shane mumbles. He's stopped pretending he's not looking over Ilya's shoulder, watching him scroll.
The next picture is of their wedding day, unsurprisingly--one of several pictures from that day wherein Shane and Yuna had matching misty eyes and Ilya was actually just visibly crying with his face pressed to someone's shoulder.
Lastly, Yuna in her jersey--custom-made, Hollander-Rozanov on the back and 24|81 below. She's smiling over her shoulder at some game or other, proud of it.
Then there is one more picture. Yuna's hand in frame, holding a wallet-size picture of Irina Rozanova as she was thirty-two years ago, young and smiling with a baby Ilya pressed to her cheek.
It's one of only a few pictures that Ilya knows exist of his mother, and he thought the only copy was in a frame in the room he's currently sitting in.
"Why does Yuna have tiny picture of Mama?" Ilya murmurs.
"Oh." Shane rubs the back of his neck. "She, uh, she does this thing--she has pictures of all of us in her purse. It's, like, so that she has us with her. She asked me for Irina's picture a little while ago."
In the picture, Yuna is holding Irina's picture up next to the Jumbotron broadcasting Ilya's grinning face from the season intro video.
"Oh," Ilya murmurs. "That's..."
"If you think it's weird--"
"No," Ilya snaps. "Don't even finish that sentence, Hollander. I love it."
The caption of the post reads:
Yuna Hollander, mother of #24 and mother-in-love to #81! Mama Hollander is a reformed Metros fan and a proud Ottawan who can almost always be seen in the crowd at Canadian Tire Centre cheering on the home team. We love you and your boys, Yuna! Happy Mother's Day!
The Hollander-Rozanovs also treasure the memory of Irina Rozanova, mother to #81. Happy Mother's Day, Irina.
conflicted because theo is unbelievably fucking adorable and i am absolutely not immune to the emotional mack truck of a big man suddenly being the caregiver of a tiny child. but i hate that it reframes a decent, relatively nuanced arc about buck making an emotionally mature and generous decision. and i'm infuriated that the recipients of that decision, characters i didn't love but still had a tiny attachment to as established people in this universe, were dispensed with in such a careless, brutal matter
reminder to visit museums, even if you feel out of place. you feel out of place because there is an established concept of inaccessibility of "high culture" to the masses, purposefully developed to distinguish between social classes.
take up space, read the plaques, get the audioguides. you are just as entitled and right in being there. visit museums, boycott museums, be expressive about your opinions about museums.
a lot of museums are free, or discounted for youth and students. take advantage of that. check your local art museum. check your local history museum. museums are there for you, they are there to educate the public, not to distinguish between class. it isn't a private collection, it's a public exhibit.
Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Evan âBuckâ Buckley/Tommy Kinard
Characters: Evan âBuckâ Buckley, Tommy Kinard, Harry Grant (9-1-1 TV)
Additional Tags: The Sinister Work of Love Ballads
Buckâs not entirely sure when his house became the de facto hangout spot for Harry and his little cadre of academy buddies, who invade at least twice a week like a particularly loud and obnoxious elephant herd, with their stupid, nonsensical sayings and incomprehensible memes and bad music and tendency to suck up every platter of cookies within range like theyâre shooting the latest TikTok ad for Dyson, butâ
He fucking loves it.
Even when theyâre bitching and moaning about their latest instructorâs diabolical use of love songs during drills.
+
Since Harryâs joined the Everyone Shit On Buck Train For Some Reason train in canon, I wanted to bring this fic back to show what things couldâve looked like in a better world.
One of the things I've never had any interest in writing is infidelity, for a number of reasons I won't go into here, but sometimes an idea takes grip of you and won't let go. What if Buck fell back on old maladaptive behaviors where he used sex to get people to like him? What if the 118 in s9 is so broken it can't be fixed? What if Buck has sex with Eddie like how he had sex with Dr. Wells? What if there is still a happy ending in here somewhere?
I wrote 1300 words in a fugue state to try to exorcise this from me, but I guess let's call this proof of concept. cw: infidelity
Tommy, liked Taylor, would rather not cry if there was a choice. They would both try to force the tears back in through force of will, and then when that failed, pretended they werenât crying at all. But unlike Taylor, Tommy only cried when he was breaking his own heart. When Buck was doing the breaking, Tommy was dry eyed and untouchable.
âHow many times?â Tommy asked. He wasnât looking at Buck but beyond him, like he was watching some movie on a faraway screen and couldnât make out the set details. Tommy loved the details no one else cared about.
âJust the once,â Buck said. He was crying; heâd started the second he asked Tommy to sit down and hadnât stopped. âIâm sorry.â
Tommy nodded absently. âWere you safe?â
Buck twisted his hands into the hoodie. Tommyâs hoodie. Most of his clothes came from Tommy now. Boyfriend privileges. âW-what?â
âDid you use a condom?â Tommy said patiently.
Buck curled into himself. âOh. Uh, no.â
Another nod. âThis was two weeks ago?â
âJust about,â he said in a small voice.
âIâll have to get tested,â Tommy said, hand twitching to his pocket like he was going to pull out his phone and program it into his calendar. And then the words registered and Tommy covered his face with one hand. His shoulders shook.
âIâm sorry, Tommy. Iâm so sorry.â And then, like every cheating bastard before him, Buck said, âIt didnât mean anything.â
Tommyâs shoulders straightened. His hand dropped. His face was perfectly, horribly still. âI guess you really donât need to have feelings for everyone you sleep with.â
Buck had never been shot. He never had shrapnel from a factory explosion embedded in his ribs. Eddie never talked about the shooting. Tommy let him touch the scar but never talked the bits of hot metal the surgeons had spent hours removing. But his leg had been crushed and a lightning strike had stopped his heart, and he would give anything to be back under that engine or hanging off that ladder if it meant he didnât have to feel like this.
âI donât know what you want me to say,â he said, and reached for Tommy.
âPlease donât touch me,â Tommy said, and stood. âI donât know what I want you to say either. Excuse me.â He walked down the hallway and into the bedroom, the door shut quietly behind him.
Buck sat on the couch and gripped his own knees. You bucked it up, Chimneyâs voice isaid n his head. You bucked it up, you bucked it up, you bucked it up.
Bile rose. He swallowed it down. He hadnât vomited back in Eddieâs living room when they realized what theyâd done, and he wasnât going to do it here, in the home he shared with Tommy. He wasnât going to make Tommy clean up another one of his messes.
The clock on the cable box ticked over. They really should cancel and switch over to any of the streaming services, but Tommy had a soft spot for watching old movies on cable and Buck liked spending those lazy Sunday afternoons with his head in Tommyâs lap as TNT showed The Mummy for the nine hundredth time. Tommy had been gone almost fifteen minutes.
Buck went to their bedroom. There was suitcase on the bed. On top of the neatly folded shirts, Tommy layered the socks, the thick ones Buck like to sleep in.
âPlease donât leave,â he said in a small voice.
âThis isnât for me,â Tommy said. He crossed to Buckâs side of the bed and unplugged the charging cord and gathered up his pill organizer and the library book. âDid you check this out on my card or yours?â
They didnât have separate library cards so much as communal ones to go along with the communal books they checked out. Buck would hand over whichever card he could find first, and the librarians knew to send the circulation notices to both their emails.
âMine, I think,â he said, and the charging cord and pills and book went into the suitcase alongside the tolietry bag Tommy had already tucked in. The suitcase was zipped and set on the floor. âDid I fuck this up?â
Tommy closed his eyes, and the first line of pain etched itself into his brow. âI donât know how to answer that.â
âIâm sorââ
âDonât.â Tommy opened his eyes. âWhy Diaz? Out of everyone on this planet, why did you have to fuck him?â
Buck flinched. âI donât know.â
Tommy nodded and said, âLet me through.â
Buck stepped to the side, and Tommy went past, dragging the suitcase behind him. Buck followed him all the way to the front door.
Tommy set the suitcase to the side and started sifting through the small wooden bowl they overpaid for at a craft fair, but Buck had liked the shape and color of it and Tommy had liked that he liked it.
âWe got this so you could keep your keys in it,â Tommy upended the bowl, sending pens and small pebbles and various of lengths of wire sliding and skipping over the small end table. âWhy are your keys never fucking in it?â
Buck rescued a pebble before it go skidding over the edge. Jee had given it to them last time she was over. âI think I left it in my jacket pocket.â
The jacket was pulled from the closet. Tommy patted the pockets. âWallet is in here, too. You need anything else?â
Buck shook his head. Tommy held the jacket out, shaking it impatiently until someone reached out and took it. His body was far away. âWhere am I going?â he asked.
âYou can stay with your sister and her husband,â Tommy said, hand on the doorknob.
âThey have the kids,â he said.
The corners of Tommyâs mouth tightened. âThe Wilsons, then.â
âThey also have kids. Weâre not really close anymore. Hen and me, I mean.â
âThen get a motel room,â Tommy snapped. âOr go sleep on Diazâs couch. He owes you for the blow job, right?â
Buck recoiled, hip colliding with the table. Pens and pebbles and wires scattered. Maybe this was what being gut shot felt like. It took hours to die from a gut wound. It hurt the entire time.
âI shouldnât have said that,â Tommy said. His skin was pale and gray, leeched of color. Buck had delivered his own mortal wound. They were just two dying men. âBut you canât be here, Evan. I canât doââ his voice wobbled, and Tommy took a moment to firm his jaw. âI need you to go.â
âOkay,â he said, and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. âYeah, okay. Weâll talk later?â
A terrible noise was wrenched from Tommy. Oh, that was a laugh. Tommy was laughing. âSure. Weâll talk.â He opened the door, waiting for Buck to step through it. He did. âYou should get tested, too.â
He nodded and then kept nodding, a head on a string. âI will. Iâm sorry.â
âI know,â Tommy said, closing the door and throwing the lock.
Buck stood outside their home as Tommy turned the lights off one by one. Tommy always took care of lights while Buck loaded any dirty plates and cups into the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. They would meet in the bathroom, playfully jostling for the sink as they brushed and flossed their teeth before settling into bed, Buck with his library book and Tommy with his. It was their nightly routine, and he no longer got to be part of it.
He couldnât be here; Tommy couldnât bear it. Buck got into the truck. It was his turn to leave.
buck shows up for their shift feeling like someone reached in and tore his guts free. when asked, he clears his throat and says theo's child advocate argued to family court, successfully, that buck isn't fit because of his recent drug dependency and investigation for theft of fentanyl. the social worker, accompanied by cops, followed buck home, stayed at the door while he packed all of theo's belongings, and then took the little boy with them.
as he gets to the end of his very short explanation, all eyes on him, buck gets too choked up to continue and runs for the bathroom.
he pulls it together quickly, telling himself the tones could go off any minute. after he throws water on his face and starts walking back out there, he hears voices.
"no, it's definitely sad! just, you got buck on one side, and pretty much any other adult in the world on the other. can you blame the judge?"
buck plasters himself against the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs. harry? it's harry saying this?
"harsh, probie." chim sighs, and buck squeezes his eyes shut. "but not wrong. when buck was spiraling after he first met the kid, i told him he's not a bad person. i didn't say anything about whether i thought he'd make a bad parent."
"chim," hen protests. buck waits for five seconds, ten, twenty. but she doesn't say another word.
after thirty seconds he changes direction and goes for his locker. he takes his jacket and his keys, and he walks out of the building still in uniform.
upon realizing buck fled the coop, they commence to text pretty much everyone they know.
when chim gets the response to his extremely undetailed text to maddie, hi! i've got athena over for lunch. he rolls his eyes at harry. "you're my partner on this mission, grant." there's no way he's facing athena and buck's number one enabler alone.
he budgets fifteen minutes, in and out. they'll tell them what happened, pass the torch onto the concerned sister and actual cop, and get back to the job the city is paying him for.
"that," athena says, once the story is out. she gives her youngest child a lethal sideeye. "is a hell of a thing to say about the man who went out of his way to talk me down after +you got injured."
"i didn't know he did that," harry says, voicing all their thoughts.
"he doesn't need me hyping him up and making that head any bigger," she says. that aligns in with chimney's approach. what are they supposed to do, keep thanking him for every little thing? get on their knees about his cooking? write sonnets about the cookies? give him a medal every time he babysits? he does these things out of appreciation for all of them. he gets as much out of it as they do.
"or so i thought," she continues, and now she's spearing chimney with her gaze. on his other side, maddie is frowning deeply.
damn it. chimney groans. "hen was getting upset. you know, the reminder of losing mara, and nia. i wanted to make a distinction, so she didn't get lost in the memories."
"hen was getting upset?" athena says.
he shrugs, a little helpless. he won't apologize for looking out for his best friend.
"how is it different, chim," maddie asks.
"maddie," he sighs.
"howie."
fine, she's making him say it. "the guy's a third grader in the body of a lumberjack. he knows it; we all know it."
athena scoffs. "it's a wonder you trust him with a hose."
a groan comes from the depth of chimney's soul. "it's not a matter of trust. he's a vital part of our crew."
"he's just fundamentally unfit to take care of a child," maddie says quietly.
her saying this in front of other people freaks him out enough to explode, a little. "you were over there every spare minute helping out!"
she gasps. "he was a new parent. do you count the hours the lees have spent at our place?"
"maddie, let's call it what it was. he was floundering. he did more whining about it every shift than he did working."
"you mean seeking support and advice from his friends who've been in his shoes," athena says. "he's 'whined' at me once or twice, enough to know he loved that little boy with his whole heart."
chimney throws up his hands. "i never said he didn't love him! how did i become the bad guy?"
"you think he's still the cocky idiot who almost chopped a baby up with an axe." her shrewd gaze is like a tangible spotlight. chimney is sweating. "you really don't see the thirty-something man he grew into, the man bobby loved with his whole heart."
there it is, the accusation he never stopped expecting. no matter how they word it, they are always, always thinking that a certain someone would have handled the situation better. chimney has to tell himself not to grit his teeth. "i will never be bobby, athena."
"she didn't say any of us wanted you to be," maddie says thickly.
he opens his mouth to respond, but she turns to athena like he's not even there.
"i'm gonna try to call buck," she says. "can you text him if he doesn't respond?"
as maddie announces the call went straight to voicemail, chim's phone blows up.
everyone locks onto him. "my alarm," he says sheepishness overtaking the nausea for a second. he tips his chin at his useless would-be buffer. "we gotta get back."
harry pushes himself away from the table.
"go ahead," athena says, not looking up from her phone. "you've both done quite enough."
with about an hour of daylight left, hen tells everyone, "buck texted me."
"what did he say," harry asks. the kid's been quieter than a church-mouse since buck disappeared.
"'don't worry. i won't do anything stupid.' direct quote."
"he say where he is?" eddie asks.
she shakes her head. "that's all he said. i invited him to the house for breakfast, but he didn't reply."
it's fine. it's far better than nothing. buck had a meltdown, for which he should be written up, but there were extenuating circumstances. chim is willing to give him this one--technically another one, adding to the pile started by the fentanyl situation.
now he just. needs to smooth things over with the wife.
when he gets in, she's already showered and dressed, even though she doesn't have to go in until noon today. he finds her in the kitchen at the coffee machine. jee's backpack and nash's baby bag are on the table.
it takes about thirty seconds for her to acknowledge his presence. "were they ever actually jokes," she asks, her back to him. "maybe there's a point when you stopped kidding. was it bobby? do-" she turns around and he almost wishes she hadn't. "do you blame buck for not saving him?"
chimney clutches the back of the chair. "what in the world? of course not."
she swallows heavily. "i love you," she says with a hint of a doubtful upnote that burns a hole in his duodenum. "but the way you see him is... i didn't know you had that kind of ugliness in you, not towards someone so important to me." her mouth dips, her eyes getting wet. "you've been telling him to his face that you don't like him, he let you, and i laughed half the time, because we thought you had to be kidding."
"look, just because i don't think the sun shines out his precious asshole-"
she flinches. "what?"
"with you around, he doesn't need me or anyone else to kiss the booboos he gets walking into walls or hold out tissues when he messes up yet another relationship."
she starts to walk away, and he lifts his hands, his heart pounding. "okay, okay. that was a lot. i got a little heated. maddie, i'm sorry. i don't understand what's going on right now!"
she pulls her arms around herself. "did i ever tell you? one big reason i felt safe enough to fall for you was you cared about buck. anyone who'd gotten to know him and wanted him around had to be worth my time."
"so... what? the foundation of our marriage is shaken because i'm the only one who'll admit your brother is annoying? go ahead, say something mean about albert. dig deep."
"you're not even trying to hear me. god, i can't look at you right now." she tugs the ponytail holder from around her wrist and ties her hair back. "athena has him at her place. i think i'll join them."
chimney's mouth goes dry. at least she's telling him first this time, right? he knows where she's going. that's something. "what about work? what about, you know, our children?"
with a little growl, she stops fighting with the zipper of her purse and throws it to the floor. "i lost my nephew, do you understand that? buck lost his son. and it doesn't affect you in the slightest because you believe it was for the best." she crouches down to pick everything up, her keys, wallet, lip gloss, hand cream. "figure today out for yourself."
Sometimes you just need to write. @liminalmemories21 and I were in that place where we wanted to get something on a page that was fun (and done!). Everyone likes a good timestamp, right? We went back to Biscuit in the Basket and wrote a slice of life for Sergei and his dads. Specifically â these boys are definitely going to get walked in on having sex, right?Â
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov
Additional Tags: Coitus Interruptus, Kid Fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition
Series: Part 2 of Shimmy, Shimmy Cocoa Puffs
Summary: Sergei walks in at absolutely the wrong time.Â
We made this a series and if youâre curious where Shimmy, Shimmy Cocoa Puffs came from â every time I say biscuit, in my head, I hear the song from Big â âshe said a triscuit, a biscuit.â And yes, apparently he says Cocoa Pop? But Iâve sang Cocoa Puff for way too many years to stop now.Â
