(call me skog | they/them)
30s - queer - art department amateur - artist - disaster nerd - gay cowboy enthusiast - corvid tendencies
hey! don't forget: make bad art / assume ignorance, not malice / the world is good and we belong here / no one is free until everyone is free / everything is connected
(a playlist raccoon, hoarding songs like trash & always taking playlist requests)
need a smile? or some hope for humanity?
hey look it's a pinned post! general info: please feel absolutely free to dm/yap at me about any of my tags/spec/writing/posts/your thoughts/whatever. bouncing around ideas is my love language and it helps me write (& like evan "buck" buckley I crave validation)
[my writing tag] [Ao3 link]
main 9-1-1 wip/story tags:
[tommy begins]
[dead probie saga]
[antarct-fic]
[8:39 pm]
[pothos | pathos]
[sweetmeats au / what can ail thee, knight-at-arms?]
[keep the streets empty]
-
I also love making playlists and am happy to take requests
[need a smile?]
chronological list of snippets below (severely outdated) ↓
tommy begins snippets/drabbles [tag]
these snippets all belong to the same world/timeline to form a backstory for tommy. the categories nearly all overlap to some degree (e.g. both abby and victor appear in the dead probie saga)
27: Swim [army]
meeting Abby [tag]
shortly after Tommy returns to LA from the army, he witnesses an accident and calls 911. this is how he meets dispatcher abby clark
2: Family
Snippet 1
Snippet 4
Snippet 2
Snippet 3
[story with abby continues into dead probie saga & beyond - see links marked a]
-
bad habits aka the dead probie saga [tag]
"you don't name a puppy until you know it's gonna pull through." meet Brian Emmerson, probie to the 118, and puppy who didn't pull through.
post-break up and staring down the barrel of spending the holidays alone, tommy does the one thing any normal, reasonable person would do in his situation: he signs up to fly helicopters in antarctica
41: Hostage
Tommy & Lucy talk Abby
10: Pole
12: Disguise
11: Viral
Bubbling Buck pt 1
Bubbling Buck pt 2
43: Station
13: Volunteer
14: Begin
44: Triage
16: Treasure
33: Faith
Buck & Madney galley crew snippet
Buck & Madney & The Thing Tease Tidbit
Talk with Eddie snippet
17: Approach
-- tommy arrives in antarctica
24: Bizarre
29: Christmas
31: Imposter
34: Complex
Complex cont. snippet
48: Expose
23: Fantasy
-- buck arrives in antarctica
37: Bewilder
49: Moon
45: Wish
42: Lasagna
50: Recuperate
35: Proposal
Lunch order snippet
53: Strike
51: Floor
52: Panic
Drinks with Katie
Larry
46: Instinct
26: Enlist
54: Alarm
55: Mayday
57: Avoid
56: Captain
58: Sink
59: Flight
61: Stuck
39: Worst
38: School
40: Confess
The universe wants us to talk snippet
Buck yelling wip snippet
60: Karma
-
8:39 fic
turns out, the string of fate that connects buck and tommy passes through a specific moment in time: 8:39 PM. when a truck swerves off the road and a helicopter crashes at the exact same time, the string crumples and all those instances of 8:39 PM collide. oh, and they're both dying.
a chronological timeline for this one is... complicated. so just check out the tag. :]
what if you were in love with a guy and he was in love with you and none of your issues in your relationship were insurmountable but you only existed within a narrative that punished you for trying to break out of the narrow story format that your creator had bound you to? and you were both firefighters?
Send me a word and I’ll see if it’s in one of my WIPs.
(If it is, I’ll share a snippet. If it’s not, I’ll write a bit!)
I had to write a bit.
Under the cut because spoilers for Sad Dag Hours.
•
Dag watches across the venue as Tommy slowly makes his way to one of the side doors and then walks outside. Another smoke break probably. Dag exhales and considers his options. He still doesn’t really know Tommy yet, not enough to interrupt his break for no reason. Dag could pretend he needs a light again, but using a lost lighter as an excuse too often will make him look like a forgetful asshole, which is not the goal. No, the goal is to make himself look charming and blow job worthy… not that Dag even knows if Tommy is the type to give blow jobs. Dammit.
Maybe Dag should wait. Take his time. There’s still a lot of tour left, Dag doesn’t need to go and bother Tommy every single time he takes a break. That’ll get annoying, which is also not part of Dag’s plan to be charming and blow job worthy. Dag’s gotta think of something else, gotta find another reason to be outside when Tommy is.
“Hey!”
Dag turns in the direction of the voice. It’s Niklas.
“Wanna smoke?” Niklas asks, gesturing to the side door Tommy just went through.
Send me a word and I’ll see if it’s in one of my WIPs.
(If it is, I’ll share a snippet. If it’s not, I’ll write a bit!)
I had to write a bit.
Under the cut because spoilers for Sad Dag Hours.
•
Dag watches across the venue as Tommy slowly makes his way to one of the side doors and then walks outside. Another smoke break probably. Dag exhales and considers his options. He still doesn’t really know Tommy yet, not enough to interrupt his break for no reason. Dag could pretend he needs a light again, but using a lost lighter as an excuse too often will make him look like a forgetful asshole, which is not the goal. No, the goal is to make himself look charming and blow job worthy… not that Dag even knows if Tommy is the type to give blow jobs. Dammit.
Maybe Dag should wait. Take his time. There’s still a lot of tour left, Dag doesn’t need to go and bother Tommy every single time he takes a break. That’ll get annoying, which is also not part of Dag’s plan to be charming and blow job worthy. Dag’s gotta think of something else, gotta find another reason to be outside when Tommy is.
“Hey!”
Dag turns in the direction of the voice. It’s Niklas.
“Wanna smoke?” Niklas asks, gesturing to the side door Tommy just went through.
Send me a word and I’ll see if it’s in one of my WIPs.
(If it is, I’ll share a snippet. If it’s not, I’ll write a bit!)
I had to write a bit!
From the sequel to Crossover Appeal.
•
“Everyone’s gonna start showing up in an hour or so,” Evan says, pushing a pair of dark sunglasses onto his face.
“Cool,” Tommy looks him up and down.
Evan’s in a pair of swim trunks with a logo Tommy doesn’t recognize on them, and a white t shirt. The sleeves cling to his biceps. His cheeks are pink. He’s still smiling. Tommy glances back at the pool, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Where’s your phone?” Tommy asks, putting his own onto one of the lounge chairs.
“Uh…” Evan pats at his pockets, “I think I left it inside.”
“Empty pockets?” Tommy asks.
“Hmm? Yeah I…”
Tommy watches as Evan puts two and two together, as his smile gets wider.
“Don’t you dare.” Evan takes a step back. “Tommy—”
Evan’s quick on his feet, but Tommy’s quicker. It’s easy for Tommy to snag and tug him close. He's strong, squirming in Tommy's arms.
“No! Nonono—” Evan’s laughing, trying to twist away.
The water, when they both tumble into it with a splash, is refreshingly cold.
For the 5 facts au prompt: canon-based Time Traveller's Wife. Tommy is unstuck in time.
This is funny because way back when I first joined the fandom in 2024, I started writing a time traveler's husband au where Buck was the one who got unstuck in time. Maybe I'll do a wip amnesty post of it one day.
If I had planned this better and had a better sense of the inevitable passage of time, I would have posted this on you birthday. But I don't and I didn't. So belated happy birthday, my beloved rc. I hope you enjoy time traveling Tommy.
1. Of course Buck only learned about it after they broke up. God forbid Tommy share a single detail about his life. God forbid Buck notice how little he know about Tommy’s life. God forbid they try to fix it.
There was someone waiting on his front steps. Buck knew that silhouette, that nose, that build. He about fell out of the truck, bag full of the overrun muffins Chimney refused to take bouncing against his leg.
“Tommy,” he said.
Tommy lifted his head. It was all wrong.
If this was Tommy then it was a Tommy missing twenty years. He had the height but none of the muscles, so lean and thin that Buck might actually have a shot at winning a Muay Thai match. His face was sharp and made sharper by his buzzed hair, even sharper than the few photos Chim dug up from when Tommy was a probie. His ears were pierced, and he couldn’t be older than twenty.
“Oh,” Tommy said, grinning so wide that his nose, still the same, scrunched, “I’m so glad it’s you.”
2. Twenty year old Tommy ate the muffins, most of a chocolate pumpkin loaf—“I really like pumpkin," Tommy had said like it was a secret, as if Buck didn't already know—and was on his second piece of lasagna. Buck remembered being that young and perpetually hungry, and he hadn’t been trying to get survive a tour of Afghanistan.
“So you're unstuck in time," he said when Tommy came up from air.
“It doesn't happen a lot. I just slip.” Tommy shoved another forkful of lasagna in his mouth. “This is really good.”
“It’s one of your favorites,” Buck said. When they were dating, Tommy had been so quietly thrilled to eat Bobby's cooking again that Buck collected the few recipes Bobby hadn't already shared. He paused. “Wait, should I be telling you that?”
“You can’t cause a time paradox,” Tommy said, scooping up another huge forkful. “What happens is gonna happen, no matter how hard you wish it didn't.”
The last part was said in a tone Buck knew well: Tommy was trying to pretend he wasn’t bleeding hurt everywhere.
“But I’ve never tried,” Buck said. “I bet I could do it. I’m a firefighter. We help people.”
In the twenty years between this Tommy and Buck’s Tommy, Tommy had perfected his inoffensivelu bland mask. This Tommy was still learning and wore it poorly, and what slipped through broke Buck’s heart.
“You won’t have to put up with me for long,” Tommy said, a subject so obvious it nearly made Buck laugh. “I usually snap back in an hour or so.”
“What’s the longest you ever been unstuck?” he asked.
Tommy diverted his entire attention to scooping up the last of the lasagna. “Most of day, once.” He smiled, such a small and tender thing. “It was nice.”
Buck knew better than to ask where Tommy spent that day, and instead said, “Can you take anything back with you? I can load you up with loaves.”
Tommy regretfully shook his head; the only thing he could take was himself. Buck better feed him while he was there. He reached for the brownies.
An hour later when he went to pull out the chocolate chip cookies he was saving for Jee, displaced air sent his ears popping. When he turned around, Tommy was gone.
3. Buck spent the new week drafting texts to Tommy he never sent:
you were a string bean back in the day
why didn’t you tell me
what does it feel like being unstuck
how long have you known me
In the end, he sent none of them. If Tommy wanted him to know then Buck would know. He was tired of giving Tommy chances to tell him.
4. Buck was halfway home when he saw a Tommy walking down the sidewalk, head down and missing his shoes. Buck cut across a lane of traffic, ignoring the angry car horns, and rolled down the window. “Need a lift?” he called.
Tommy’s head jerked around and he said, hopeful and soft, “Evan?”
Buck reached across to fumble the door open. “Get in.”
Tommy climbed in with a wince. His feet were lightly abraded rather than torn up, although Buck wished they had time to take him for a tetanus shot. This was a slightly older Tommy, late twenties rather than early twenties, his hair grown out enough he could brush it into a mohawk. His ears were pierced.
Buck reached into the back and pulled out a container of leftover french toast casserole. “It’s not exactly warm anymore but you’re welcome to it. Oh, wait.” Another rummage unearthed his travel utensils, and he passed those over.
“Thanks,” said Tommy, and wasted no time in digging in. “Fuck, this is so good. I spent my entire tour in Afghanistan thinking about that lasagna. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My captain taught me,” Evan said as he carefully pulled back out into traffic and carefully did not think that Tommy had known that the entire time they were together. “He’s, uh, really good.”
Tommy twitched. “Captain?”
“Firefighter captain. I’m a firefighter, remember?” Buck glanced over to invite Tommy in on the joke. “I would not have made in the army.”
Tommy’s gaze darted away and then back again. Buck used to think Tommy was simply avoidant, but he knew better now; he was shy. “You wouldn’t have.” Tommy said it like that was a good thing.
Buck cleared his throat. “I like the earrings.”
“My dad would hate them.” Now Tommy’s was inviting him in on the joke. “It’s why I got them.”
“That’s the same reason I once bought a motorcycle,” Buck said, and was so pleased by the way Tommy smiled. “Hey, do me a favor and finish that. I don’t want to deal with the leftovers.”
By the time he pulled into the driveway, Tommy was gone and Buck was left with an empty container.
5. He limped out of the 118. It had been a long, grueling shift and Buck was very worried that if Chimney made one more joke at his expense he might actually let loose and pop him one. What a fucking awful feeling. Was this how Eddie spent his days, skin so small he had to work to keep from scratching it off? He could almost see the appeal of a secret fight club.
There was someone standing by his truck. Buck’s stomach curled up small and scared. It was Tommy dressed in that black tank top and button up shirt, his date outfit from their anniversary.
“Tommy,” Evan said.
“Jesus Christ,” Tommy said, eyes red and wet, voice hoarse like the tears had scoured his throat. Tommy had only just started to cry when he opened the door and stepped out of the loft. “Why is it always you?”
“I don’t know,” Buck said, body betraying him by locking down. “Why is it always you?”
“I wish I fucking knew,” Tommy said, and was gone.
6. Buck was so furious that he had to take fifteen minutes to calm himself down before it was safe to drive, which meant he got stuck in the morning rush hour., and that meant he was in a truly foul mood when he got home and saw a kid sitting on the giant tire in his background. Most of the neighborhood kids—who called him Mr. Buckley and made him feel so unbelievably old—had gotten used to cutting through the yard when the house was empty. Most days Buck was happy enough to remind them it wasn’t safe, especially when he wasn’t around, and unloading some cookies or brownies or a loaf or two for their parents.
But this wasn’t most days. He threw open the back door and snapped, “You can’t be here.”
The kid scrubbed the hoodie cuff over his face. “I’m not doing anything,” the kid said, mustering a defiant glare. He couldn’t be older than thirteen. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“That makes two of us,” Buck muttered. There was something about the way the kid was dressed—beat up sneakers, baggy pants, baggy hoodie—that softened his irritation. He had only the passing knowledge of what kids thought was cool, and that only came from the few times he saw Denny, but the clothes were off. Old, maybe.
And then the kid lifted his head, and there was no mistaking that nose or that chin, even if they were now on a face still round with baby fat.
“Tommy,” he said.
Tommy popped up, gaze darting around the yard. There were no visible bruises, but Tommy was holding himself so careful and still, the same way Buck had after the bombing and the tsunami and the lightning strike; Tommy was hurt.
“You know me?” Tommy asked, sour wariness seeping from him.
“Yeah, I do. I’m Evan.” That wasn’t strictly true, but he could no more explain they were ex-boyfriends to thirteen year old Tommy than he could to twenty year old Tommy. “I’m Evan.”
Tommy impossibly grew more suspicious. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“Well, I’m guessing you got unstuck again,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
Hunger beat wariness, and Tommy sat at the island and ate everything Buck put in front of him. Buck remembered being that young and hungry all the time, but he got the feeling his parents provided a lot more regular meals than Tommy’s did.
“Do I show up a lot?” Tommy asked after polishing off a second slice of french silk pie. Good to know Tommy always had a terrible sweet tooth.
“More lately,” Buck said.
Tommy sighed a sigh much too heavy for someone who hadn’t hit his first big growth spurt. “Sorry about that.”
Oh, so Tommy could break his heart more than once.
“Hey, I’m not.” He waited until Tommy looked at him. “I like hanging out with you.”
Tommy ducked his head too slow to hide his smile.
I’m gonna love the hell out of you one day, Buck thought, but said, “So what do you want to do while you’re here?”
What Tommy wanted to do was play Pokemon—like the very first Pokemon game—but his Gameboy, an old black and white one his friend Ellis gave him when he got a colored one, was back in 1998. Lucky for him, Chris wasn’t too cool for Pokemon yet, and Buck had picked up the latest Switch game.
“This is gonna blow your mind,” he said, and Tommy’s mind was blown.
They played Pokemon and Buck made them lunch and then dinner. As night crept in, Tommy’s face went pinched and tight.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Buck said, digging out his phone. This was the longest Tommy had hung around. Maybe some cellular degradation was happening, like in that one animated Spiderman movie Chris made him watch. This wasn’t the way he wanted to talk to Tommy, his Tommy, again, but he might be the only one who could help.
“I’m supposed to go back.” Tommy set his baby soft jaw. “I want to stay here.”
There went his heart again.
“I know,” Buck said. “It’s going to be okay.”
Tommy shook his head wildly, hands balled up into fists on his thighs. “It’s not. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Buck ducked his head and met Tommy’s gaze. “I do. It’s going to be hard for a little longer, but you’re get out and it gets better. It gets good.”
“You promise?” Tommy asked, desperate and hopeful and so achingly trusting.
“I promise,” Buck said, and his ears popped as air rushed into the void Tommy left behind.
7. why didn’t you tell me, he texted Tommy.
The bubble appeared. The bubble disappeared.
Buck threw his phone across the room.
8. It was suffocatingly hot, and Buck kicked one leg free from the covers and rolled over into the lee of Tommy’s body. That’s why he was burning up; Tommy was his own personal heater.
“Hot,” he muttered, draping himself along Tommy’s side. “Your fault.”
He had mostly dropped off again when Tommy, so lightly he barely felt it, brushed knuckled along his shoulder and then down his spine. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He burrowed closer, sighing happily when Tommy hesitantly touched the curling hair at the nape of his neck. “I still like you.”
“I like you,” Tommy said, hushed and quiet like it was a secret, but Buck was already asleep.
He woke up with the sheets neatly tucked around him, last night’s dream already slipping away.
9. Buck frantically tugged at the duct tape. He was not going to die in this desert. Eddie was not going to die in this desert. He was going to get free and he was going to find Eddie and they were going home. They were—they were—the tape didn’t give and a howl clawed at his throat.
“Evan.”
Buck blinked. There was Tommy crouched before him, but this was a Tommy he’d never seen before. This Tommy was at least twenty years older, hair gone completely white, those beautiful laugh lines now dug deep and permanent, skin spotted and thinner, jawline softened with age, that cleft still just as devastating.
“What are you doing here?” Buck asked, the fever burning up all this thoughts. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” Tommy said. Even his voice was older, still with that bitchy lilt, but softened the same way his jaw had softened.
“Wait,” he said as Tommy pulled out a pen knife. “You gotta leave me. They’re gonna kill Eddie. You have to save him.”
“Sweetheart,” Tommy said, “we both know there is absolutely no timeline where I leave you here. Hold still.”
Tommy sawed through the tape. Buck was free, and Tommy helped him to his feet.
“I gotta get to Eddie,” Buck said, swaying.
Tommy gently cupped his cheek. His eyes were still so blue. “I know.”
Buck forced himself away and out into the harsh light. He had to save Eddie. They had to live. Tommy was wearing a wedding ring.
10. Buck woke in the hospital to Tommy holding his hand. His body was muffled and far away; maybe he left it back in Derek’s room.
“Hey, honey,” Tommy said, his smile creating even more breathtaking lines and furrows. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe,” Buck repeated. He touched Tommy’s wedding ring. “Can I?”
“Of course,” Tommy said softly.
It took two tries but Buck slid the ring down over the knuckle. There was a band of pale skin where the ring had sat. Tommy had been wearing it for a very long time.
“Is it me?” he asked, only for remorse to sour his mouth. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He didn’t know what would hurt more, if Tommy married him or if he hadn’t.
“I won’t,” Tommy said, sliding his ring back into place and gathering Buck’s hand in between his wrinkled ones.
“You’re so old,” Buck said, too tired and hurt to keep the tears away. “You got to grow old.”
Tommy leaned forward like he was sharing a secret. “Someone told me it was going to get good. Turns out he was right. He’s a pretty smart guy.”
“Not that smart,” Buck said, wishing he could move over and Tommy could lay beside him. “I let you get away.”
Tommy laughed at that, and then pressed an apologetic kiss to Buck’s knuckles. “You’ll also find that funny when you get to be my age.”
Oh. They could grow old together.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. “Did you think I would leave? Is that why you left?”
His Tommy carried sadness like an old friend, but it sat poorly on this Tommy, like he had so much happiness in his life he forgot what it was like to be anything else. “I couldn’t believe it was you when I saw you at Harbor,” Tommy said, cradling their joined hands to his chest. “I’d been waiting years to find you and then there you were. But you didn’t know me. We were out of sync.” Tommy paused to press another kiss to his hand, his knuckles, his palm. “You were this beautiful, kind man who always made sure I had enough to eat and who stayed with me. I was already half in love with you and you didn’t know who I was, even after six months. That’s why I left.”
“You asshole,” he said, furious. “That’s not fair. You could have tried. You could still try.”
“I know,” Tommy said with all the infuriating knowledge of twenty years that Buck didn’t have. “Would you believe me if I tell you it gets better?”
“No. Tell me anyway.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Tommy said, so tender that it hurt. “It gets so fucking good.”
He was crying now. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too.” Tommy sweetly thumbed away the tears. “When you see me next, ask me why I keep going to you.”
“Okay,” he said, and tucked Tommy’s hand to his cheek. “Can you stay? Just for a little while.”
“Of course.” Tommy kissed the corner of his mouth, and Buck would give up just about anything if it meant he got to keep that. “I’ll stay.”
Buck held his hand until he fell asleep.
10. Tommy answered the door in bare feet and slung low sweatpants, hair tangled in great tufts, and Buck knew what he looked like at thirteen and twenty and sixty-five. He was beautiful.
“Why do you always find me when you get unstuck?” Buck asked.
Tommy sighed. There was the sadness that he always carried, but there was hope, too. “Because,” Tommy said, “you make me feel safe.”
I’m gonna love the hell out of you, Buck vowed, for as long as you’ll have me. But he said, “Can I come in?”
Tommy stepped back and held the door open.
11. Buck finished weeding their small vegetable patch and stood with a wince. Another year, he promised himself, and then Nichols would be ready to take over as captain and he could join Tommy in retirement.
“For someone who wanted a victory garden,” Buck called as he entered the kitchen, taking care that his gloves didn’t snag on his wedding ring as he tugged them off, “you sure do weasel out of taking care of it.”
There was no sarcastic retort how Buck had been the one to draft literal plans. His ears popped from displaced air.
His husband leaned against the island, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. Tommy was older now, they both were, and even if he no longer carried the same muscle mass from his youth and even if his hair was thinning in the back and even if he was gaining new wrinkles every day, he was still the most beautiful man Buck had ever seen. Buck loved him endlessly.
“Where were you?” he asked.
“The same place I always am,” Tommy said with the smile that scrunched his nose and sent Buck’s heart tripping. “I was with you.”
about sports. I have negative knowledge. You could tell me anything about any sport and I'd be like yeah that seems right. So if any point you're like hey this doesn't seem right dharma are you making it up? The answer is yes obviously I know nothing sports. That being said let's get to it and see what nonsense I make up.
1. Buck never got into football. He hit his first growth spurt, and the high school swim coach took one look at him and threw him into the pool. For the first time since he shot up four inches over a single summer, his body actually felt like it was working like it was meant to. Practice meant he had an actual reason to be out of the house, which had become unbearable after Maddie left for Boston. It didn't hurt that he was good at it. Sure, he was never going to the Olympics, but he won a few races, got a few medals, was the anchor for the relay. It got him friends and a new name, and he looked good enough in swimsuit that Taylor Gianno agreed to go to prom with him and then agreed to go to the after party and then to take him up to her room. It made his life so much more bearable.
2. It also got him a partial scholarship, and Buck left for California, as far as he could get from Hershey and Boston while still remaining in the continental states. He got sortedinto a suite with Connor and a bunch of other guys, and they got along well enough that they kept rooming together. He went to practice and he went to his classes, and if he ever felt ground down by the grueling schedule, all he had to do was think about the house in Hershey that felt too empty, and then he buckled down and got back to work.
3. His junior year, practice was ending just as diving practice was beginning. There was a guy who looked familiar--maybe he was in one of Buck's intro to chemistry lecture that he had to take to fulfill his science requirement--and who, wow, looked great in that swimsuit. Buck really needed to ask what his gym routine was because that his arms and chest and thighs and ass was insane. And then the guy did his first dive, and that incredible body hung in the air for one breathless, beautiful moment before he spun and twisted and sliced so cleanly into the water that there was barely a splash. "Oh," Buck said, and stayed for the rest of practice.
4. The guy was in his intro class. His name was Tommy and he was older than the rest of the students because he'd been in the army and flown--flown!--helicopters in Afghanistan and then Iraq and he was politely baffled at why Buck was talking to him.
"What’s the desert like?" Buck asked after the lecture was over and the TAs were returning their quizzes.
"Hot," Tommy said dryly.
"You're so cool," Buck said, not even caring for once that he had just barely scrapped a passing grade. Tommy had done much better. "Dude, you gotta help me here. I'm going to fail and I need to keep my scholarship. I'll buy you a coffee if you explain this to me. Also you gotta give me your lifting routine. I saw you dive the other day. You've got like an insane core."
Tommy's eyebrows rose with each word, but he said, "Sure, kid. Why not?"
Kid. Buck's stomach clenched.
5. Since Tommy was older, he had an apartment off campus, and he left Buck come over and study when the guys were too loud and he couldn't spend another moment in the library without going insane. Buck made it through Chemistry with a respectable B- and Tommy agreeing to be lab partner even though Buck's schedule meant he had to take the 8 am lab.
Tommy kept mostly to himself and did diving more for fun than to compete. But he still flew, and he took Buck up in a small Cessna that one of his army buddies owned. It was maybe the greatest afternoon of his life since the time Alan Peterillo rode on the back of his motorcycle and shouted with joy as Buck popped a wheelie down the length of the street.
Tommy started coming to his swim meets. When Buck finished his relay, panting and exhausted from pushing to close the gap, Tommy was the first person he looked for. Later, after they were given their medals and released, Tommy hugged him so tight and said, "You're amazing, kid."
Buck rode that high the rest of the semester.
6. Then finals week was over, he made it through chemistry, and he was faced with either taking some summer credits or going home.
"I just don't really want to spend another summer in the dorms," Buck said, head on the bar at their favorite dive. "But I really don't want to go back to Hershey."
"Isn't that where they make chocolate?" Tommy asked, slightly less drunk and therefore more upright.
"They moved production overseas," he said sadly.
"Figures." Tommy finished his beer. "Look, I don't have a lot of space, but my couch is yours if you want it."
Buck sat up so fast his head spun. "Wait, really?"
Tommy shrugged. "You end up crashing there like three times a week anyway."
"I can pay," Buck said quickly. "And I don't have much stuff. I'll help cook."
Tommy laughed. "You don't have to talk me into it. I offered. Toss me a few bucks to help pay for internet and we'll call it even." He shyly nudged Buck's ankle. "I like having you around."
"Oh," Buck said, and flushed red from all the tequila.
7. Living together went so well that by the time the new semester started they moved into a new place with two bedrooms. It was their final year, and despite being roommates, they didn’t see each other. Tommy's classes fell in the afternoon and Buck's in the morning, and all of his time outside of class was spent at practice or at the library. He went to one party Connor threw, briefly made out with a girl from his Gothic LIt class, and then went home to find Tommy making out with some guy in the kitchen where the kept the food.
Jealousy was an ugly emotion, and Buck seethed with it. Tommy had confessed he was gay that summer, drunk but still terrified, and Buck had been cool with it because he was an ally, had always been an ally, which didn't make sense why he wanted to punch that guy in the face. Maddie would be so disappointed if he knew.
Tommy must have picked up on his mood and was avoiding him the few times they were both at home. When Buck stuttered his way through an agonizing apology, Tommy sighed and said, "Kid, do you even know what you're sorry for?"
"Um, being homophobic?" Buck said.
Tommy laughed, but not in the mean that meant he was laughing at Buck. "You're so lucky you're cute," Tommy said, and took Buck by the chin and kissed him.
"Huh," Buck said, touching his tongue to his bottom lip. "Wait, is this why I kept asking about your gym routine?"
Tommy laughed again and only stopped when Buck kissed him.
8. After graduation, they packed up their apartment and got into Tommy's truck and head out to start their lives.
#sal deluca union man…save 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.
--
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 figurine—that would have been one more thing for the kids to break—but 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 they—”
"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 didn’t 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 that’s eating away at you.”
"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."
“You don’t seem sure about that.”
Chim opened his mouth to tell Sal to stop harassing him in his own station, but Sal had the audacity to be right: he wasn’t 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 wasn’t like they were all retreating to their separate corners—people tended to cluster around the tv, on the couch, at the table, or leaning against counters because they were all raised in a barn—but they weren’t eating together, not like they before. Chim closed his mouth.
“Yeah,” Sal said, almost sympathetic. “This is your house now and you’re not handling it well.”
“So,” Chim said cheerfully, “this is the part where I tell you to get the hell out of my house.”
“This is what I’ve observed in the time I’ve been here,” Sal said, terrifyingly serious. “You 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?”
“Let me tell you what I’ve observed,” Chim shot back, forcing his hands to lay flat against the desk. “Everything you just said exclusively pertains to how I’m treating Buck, which isn’t helping your case that he doesn’t immediately go running to you when another kid is being mean to him on the playground. My actual four year old daughter doesn’t complain as much.”
“That is a hell of a thing to say about your brother-in-law,” Sal said, “and an actionable offense as his captain.”
“Jesus Christ.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I know he’s your brother-husband, but this is still Buck we’re talking about. I’ve known him longer than you. Hell, I’m the reason you two even met.”
“You thought he was being unfairly treated and brought in an union rep to help him,” Sal said, tone heavy with meaning.
“Worst mistake of my life. Now I’m stuck dealing with both of you until one of us dies.” That was, Chim once again realized too late, too mean and too honest. “Bad joke.”
“That wasn’t a joke,” Sal said.
He gritted his teeth, and said, “I admit that was out of line. My son wouldn’t go down last night. I’m operating on about an hour of sleep.”
“The thing is, Howie, I don’t fucking care.” And there was the Sal that he knew and barely tolerated. “And those people out there, your people, don’t care either. You’re the captain. You don’t get to be tired or cranky or a goddamn asshole just because you missed some sleep. You don’t get to take out your frustration and resentment on Buckley because he’s 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 I’m seeing is a child throwing a tantrum. And my actual child knows how to behave better.”
“Tell me how you really feel, Sal,” 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 wasn’t 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. “I’m serious. Dig deep. Lay it on me.”
“No one wakes up and makes the decision to be a hateful asshole, not even Gerrard.” Sal sounded as tired as Chim felt. “We 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 didn’t 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.”
Chim winced. “I get it, okay? I’m being a real asshole.”
“You don’t actually get it,” 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. “I told you I’m here as a courtesy since we’re old friends. What’s happening here, all these little permissions and excuses you give yourself, this is how you get a Vincent Gerrard.”
“And you won’t let that happen again,” Chim said through a mouth gone sick and sour with shame.
“I never liked Nash, but I liked what he did for his place and what he did for you. I don’t want to have to salt the 118’s earth, but I will if I have to.” Sal stood. He wasn’t the biggest guy Chim knew—that honor went to his brothers-in-law—but had a talent for for filling the room, and right now there was no space left for him. “You saved Tommy’s life, and I am forever grateful for that, but I won’t protect you if you keep going down this road. The next time I com here, it will be in an official capacity.”
“Good talk, Sal,” Chim said, unable to summon up even the thinnest sarcasm. “My favorite part was the explicit threat at the end.”
Sal flashed that shark smile. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ll know when I’m threatening you.” The smile softened into something approaching genuine affection. “If you going to do this, Howie, you gotta do it right. And you don’t have to do it at all if you don’t want to. You can step down.”
“That will be all, Firefighter Deluca,” Chim said.
“Good to see you, Captain Han.” Sal nodded at him and then finally got the hell out of Chim’s house.
Chim got a full four minutes of quiet before the bell went off and then another minute before Hen shouted, “We gotta go, Cap!”
There was no time to be a person. Captain Han got up and went to work.
