#911whatisyourpride

[swearphil]

@911whatisyourpride week 2: queer culture (fashion)

[911whatisyourpride]

Welcome to the first annual 911WhatIsYourPride event! This is a month-long event dedicated to the canon queer characters and relationships in 911. Each week will have a different theme, with a few different prompts to help with inspiration, but you are encouraged to interpret the theme in your own way.

This event is open to all type of fanwork: gifs, edits, fanart, fic. Please tag all creations with #911whatisyourpride and feel free to shoot us a message if you we've missed yours.

Week 1: June 1-7

Theme: Firsts

Prompts: First Meeting, First Kiss, First Date

Week 2: June 8-14

Theme: Queer Culture

Prompts: Fashion, Flag Symbolism, Pride

Week 3: June 15-21

Theme: Family

Prompts: Marriage/Kids, Found Family, Allies

Week 4: June 22-28

Week 4: Sex & Romance

Prompts: Kissing, Casual Touch, Kink

[bigheartbuck]

For @911whatisyourpride week one: firsts bucktommy, first time calling each other boyfriends It feels different.

The 217 isn't as tight. They don't invite each other over for barbecues, they don't hang around the hospital waiting room for hours when one of them gets hurt and they don't always eat together. But when Donato dislocates her shoulder on a call, Bird wordlessly shoves it back in, and slaps an ice pack on it and hands her painkillers and water and keeps eying her for the rest of the shift. When Sal's family leaves after an extended visit he loads the fridge with lasagna his mom made and tells everyone to take home a piece. And when the new probie flies a helico for the first time on his own on a call, they don't make a big deal out of it but Tommy says "Somebody trained you well. Next call, you're flying again." And Buck knows how that feels, earning Tommy's trust. So he can relate to Ahmad's big eyes and the flush on his face. He's only 23 and Tommy's attention must feel like the biggest rush to him. Also, no one calls Ahmad probie.

There's less personal responsibility for each other but it feels freeing, too. Buck still has no idea what Bird's ex boyfriend's name is but he knows she's damn capable in the field. Bird is Irish, hair buzzed short, and she can bench more than Buck. He's allowed one, and exactly one, quip about her last name ("Flying like a bird, man") and then she shuts it down firmly. But she never calls him stupid or too much. None of them do. They laugh at his jokes. Tommy laughs, too. Eyes crinkling, face bright.

They haven't talked about It yet. It being Buck temporarily living at Tommy's place until he finds an apartment of his own. It being Buck shoving Tommy against various surfaces of the house and attaching his lips to his neck before sinking down to his knees to suck him off. Buck climbing into Tommy's lap, saying "Please," voice breathy and head ducked so he can peer at him through his eye lashes, knowing it drives Tommy crazy. Buck tucking himself behind Tommy in the kitchen, hand firmly planted between his shoulder blades as he slides in and out of his hole, achingly hard, fucking him with short, heated thrusts, Tommy cursing under his breath until they both shudder apart.

Donato brings it up once. They're restocking the helicopter and she asks when exactly Buck is gonna stop pretending he's gonna move out. "When are you gonna tell Bird?" Buck shoots back and Lucy grins. "Touché."

They don't talk about it again but Buck waggles his eyebrows at her when Bird asks them all to get drinks after a shift and her eyes suspiciously stick on Lucy. "You look like you need a beer, Donato," she says and Buck watches Lucy preen under her gaze. Is that what he looks like to others when Tommy talks to him? Wide eyed, mouth hanging half open, cheeks pink. Probably. Tommy touches the small of his back and Buck melts into him. Lucy waggles her eyebrows right back at him. Tell him, she mouths and Buck mouths Tell her.

"You wanna head home?" Tommy asks quietly against Buck's ear. He looks tired. Freshly showered, jeans on, and Buck's favorite Henley. Buck wants to bite his arm, where the fabric stretches and where he knows shapes are inked into his skin. "One drink?" he says instead because he also kind of doesn't want to miss Bird and Donato hopelessly flirting. Tommy grins. "Alright. You're buying." Which is a lie. Tommy always buys. For the sake of their bit Buck nods earnestly. "Yes, cap." Tommy raises an eyebrow and Buck's stomach swoops. But Tommy never initiates, never. Waits patiently for Buck to get so riled up he's going insane with it. Buck wants to claw at him, wants to tell him he can just take it if he wants, that he's up for grabs and that there's no one else.

Communication, Ravi had told him, sounding mildly bored and exasperated. You gotta talk.

Ravi is the only one he's been keeping in touch with regularly. There's still a tightness in his chest when he thinks of the 118. Misses Hen and Chimney, misses Eddie even. Stings that they don't reach out. Maddie keeps him updated on things of course. Chim sends a hi through her, every now and then. Eddie texted him still pouting? a few weeks ago and Buck hasn't replied yet. But Ravi's turning out to be a good friend, actually. He likes Tommy, which is a plus. He sends Buck dog reels on instagram and he's into true crime podcasts and he listens to Buck's rambling voice notes and replies accordingly.

So maybe Ravi is right about this, too. Well, he most definitely is. They need to talk. It was sort of their downfall last time. Buck chews on his bottom lip the entire uber ride to the bar. Tommy's pressed against his side. He'll bring it up when they get home later, Buck decides. He's gonna ask him, hey what are we? And he's not gonna feel weird about sounding needy. One drink, and then they go home. And then he's gonna talk to his maybe ex boyfriend maybe boyfriend like a whole ass adult.

His entire plan is derailed when he's at the bar, ready to grab a round of drinks for the entire gang.

"Buck?"

It's Eddie. Hair strand falling into his face. It looks just as annoying as Buck remembers. Eddie's beaming at him like they haven't been out of touch, like they're still best friends, like Buck hasn't transferred from the 118 to get away from the people he thought cared about him the most.

Buck musters a tight smile. "H-hey Eddie." He glances over to his table. Ahmad is shuffling cards while Sal and Bird argue over the rules of Hearts. Donato is sipping from Bird’s glass like it’s hers. Bird doesn’t seem to mind—she just leans closer and says something that makes Lucy bite her lip and look away.Tommy's not looking at him either, busy with his phone. Squints at the screen. Buck keeps telling him to wear his glasses or at least contacts but Tommy's adamant that he's fine. Eddie follows his gaze and nudges Buck in the side. "So when are you coming back, hm? Done spiralling soon?"

Buck flinches. "What?"

Eddie squeezes his shoulder. "I'm here with Marisol. If you wanna join us?"

Buck is genuinely surprised and momentarily forgets the sting in the pit of his stomach. "Marisol?"

"Yeah, uh - I apologized. Explained what I was going through, so..." Eddie's sentence trails off. He leans against the bar. Sometimes when he looks at Buck there's a look on his face that no one else gets. Like he knows something Buck doesn't. Like he pities him a little bit for not knowing. For being dumb and stupid. Buck chews on the inside of his cheek. "I'm not spiralling," he says after a few beats. "But I am glad you figured out how to apologize. Just not to me, apparently."

It comes out clipped. Bitchy. Good, Buck thinks as Eddie's face twists in surprise. "Buck-," he begins and then Buck feels a warm, big weight around his hip. Tommy. Thick arm. Hand on his waist. Buck doesn't even have to look at him to know what he looks like

"Everything good here?" Tommy's voice is deep. His no bullshit voice. Eddie glances between them, clearly baffled, and if it wasn't such a dire situation it would almost be comical.

Tommy's hand is pressed firmly against Buck, sending a pang of heat through him. It really shouldn't be a turn on, Buck thinks. Really shouldn't make his brain go brrr. But Tommy's solid and massive and Eddie is being a dick and Tommy's in Buck's corner and Tommy thinks Buck is funny and cool and competent and Tommy never, ever makes Buck feel small in a bad way. Only the good way that has heat curl into his bones like molten wax.

Buck leans into the touch. “Yeah. All good."

Tommy kisses the side of his face. Stubble catching on Buck's cheek. Buck's stomach swoops.

Then, because he's still buzzing with adrenaline and sick of second-guessing himself, because Tommy kissed his cheek in front of his ex-best friend and because he remembers Tommy's jealousy, his insecurity about Eddie and it's ridiculous and so he blurts out, "Eddie, you've met my boyfriend." Feels Tommy's grip against his hip tighten. It's not a lie. Not really. Buck feels a swell of pride in his chest. That is his boyfriend. In all the ways one can be a boyfriend, Tommy is his. He eats Buck's cooking. He suffers through every documentary Buck shows him. He sends him selfies from work. Serious bitch face, cleft, cheekbones and nose. God, he's attractive. Handsome. Jawline that makes Buck a little jealous. He's patient with him. Boyfriend.

"Oh, uh. That was fast," Eddie comments, surprised.

"Tell me about it." Tommy says dryly and for a split second Buck is worried he made the completely wrong call but Tommy looks at him soft and warm and fond. "See you back at the table then. Boyfriend." He huffs out a laugh, heads back to the others and Buck desperately needs to pull him into a bathroom and kiss him stupid. That's his boyfriend.

He glances over his shoulder. Tommy's sat down, keeps checking on him. Laughs at something Bird says. Looks at Buck again. Their eyes meet. Tommy winks.

Yep. Definitely boyfriend.

"So I guess you were serious about not coming back to us." Eddie looks half pissed, half-something Buck can't quite place. Maybe genuine hurt. He lets out a long breath. "Come on Buck. I was a dick, sure but--"

Buck pinches the bridge of his nose. "The thing is, this isn't about you, Eddie. O-or maybe it is, I don't know. I'm just --" He shakes his head. "At Harbor, they like me for me. And I'm not the dumb kid to them. I'm just Evan. And--"

"We like you for you," Eddie interjects. Insists. Buck shrugs. "Do you?"

Eddie blanches.

Somewhere, someone’s shouting over the noise about karaoke. The bustle has picked up a litte. "I'll text you." Eddie reaches out and squeezes Buck's arm. "I'll fix this."

And then he disappears into the back of the bar and Buck watches him sit down next to Marisol, thin-lipped, shaking his head. Angry, maybe.

At Buck's own table, Ahmad’s now miming something dramatic while Bird fake-swoons and Sal has his face in his hands. Tommy’s leaning back, arm resting lazily over the back of Buck's empty chair.

Their eyes meet again. Tommy quirks an eyebrow, that same amused, easy confidence that always makes Buck's knees feel weak. Tommy mouths okay? and Buck nods. He's more than okay.

In about five minutes he's gonna be at the table with their drinks and he's gonna pull Tommy into the bathroom and suck his dick and tell him that they're gonna be boyfriends for life now.

He's gonna shove his hands under Tommy's henley and squeeze at the meat of his waist, marvel at how real and solid he is. How steady.

"Boyfriends, huh" Tommy is going to pant, out of breath, having just come down Buck's throat. "Mhmh." Buck is going to rock up on his toes and press him into the tiles. "For life," he's going to reiterate. "And no running."

"Sounds like a threat." Tommy is going to quip but it comes out tender, hands cupping Buck's face. "Promise?"

They're gonna kiss for a very long time. "Promise." Buck is going to say.

Buck grabs the drinks.

Oh they're going to be insanely happy.

[xlozx]

911 Pride Event @911whatisyourpride ↪ week 4: Sex & Romance (kissing) ♡

[screamlet]

911 what is your pride (week 3; family)

@911whatisyourpride

bucktommy; 2.7k tags: future fic; kid fic; dialogue heavy; see note below

notes: in the mess of my wip folder there's the beginning of a story where buck and tommy, after bobby's death, leave LA and start a new life in southern new jersey, going mostly no contact with the 118 until athena comes to them five years later. they're married with two kids in that story, and this is the story of how they got those kids. this got long, but i probably won't put it on the ao3 until the rest of the story is written (if it happens!) so. uh. here you go.

---

Buck wasn't being held hostage in his captain's office by a six-year-old girl, but he wasn't… not being held hostage by a six-year-old girl.

"Who's there?" Layla demands, pointing at the door.

"That's my captain," Buck says easily, meeting Captain Reynolds's eyes. He minutely shakes his head, so Cap holds up a big transparent Ziploc bag to the door's window. "Looks like he brought lunch for us. I can go get it, and you and Bailey stay right here."

"Okay but he can't come in," Layla says. Bailey, her two-year-old brother, sniffles and holds onto Buck's belt loop as he tries to get up. "Bailey, he's coming back, he's bringing lunch."

Buck gently pries Bailey's hand off his belt, holds it between his own for a second, then walks carefully to the door and opens it just wide enough for the bag to slip through.

"Tommy's here, so are the state adoption officials," Reynolds whispers. "You sure about this?"

"Buck!" Layla screams. "He can't come in!"

Buck nods, takes the bag and shuts the door securely behind him. "Alright, how do we feel about applesauce? Ooh, I haven't seen this before: blueberry applesauce? I don't get it. Huh. It's applesauce that tastes like blueberries?"

He sits on the floor again, Bailey between him and Layla. Bailey eagerly gets close to Buck again and looks into the bag, pulling things out and holding them out to Layla curiously. Layla doesn't like being on the outside, though, so she comes around and sits in front of them.

"Alright, so, while we eat," Buck says, popping open some veggies and hummus for Bailey. Layla examines the sandwiches inside and settles on tuna fish, which surprises him. "My husband's here. Tommy. I told you about Tommy."

"You can't leave," Layla says immediately.

"I didn't say I was gonna," Buck says. "But he'd like to meet you guys, if you want."

"Why?"

Buck didn't think this is how it would happen, but it's not like anything else in his life has gone normally before. Ever. Ever.

"Last year, we put ourselves in the state adoption registry," Buck says, keeping cool. "And maybe… maybe we could adopt both of you."

Layla stops chewing and stares at him. Bailey wants another carrot stick and another fistful of hummus, so Buck helps him with that.

"Both of us," Layla says. "Or no deal."

"We want both of you," Buck agrees. "I grew up with a big sister and I wouldn't be who I am without her. She's everything to me. Tommy doesn't have any brothers or sisters, but he wanted them as a kid, so we said that in our paperwork: we want to adopt siblings, if we could." Buck smiles at her. "So maybe this is a good deal for all four of us."

Layla takes another bite of her sandwich, watching him suspiciously. "Bailey likes you," she says finally. "He hasn't yelled since we got here."

"I like him, too," Buck says. "And I like you. Maybe you guys will like Tommy. I hope you do. I like him a lot. I love him."

"Why don't you already have kids?" Layla asks.

"Well, we didn't feel ready until now. Kinda feels like things are lining up for us, all of us."

Layla hmphs to herself. She looks at Bailey, who's thrilled with his hummus situation and sitting in Buck's lap. "Bailey, let's meet this other guy. Maybe he's not so bad, either."

"He's great," Buck says. "Best guy I know. Wouldn't have married him if he wasn't."

"Yeah, okay," Layla says.

"I'm gonna use my radio," Buck says, reaching for the mic clipped on his shirt. "Cap, this is Buck. Tommy can come in, just Tommy, over."

"Copy that, sending him in, over."

"You guys really talk like that? Why don't you just say okay?"

"Easier for emergencies," Buck says. "Okay sounds like too many things; copy that, roger, over, not a lot of words that sound like that. It's important when things around you are too loud or you can't say much."

Layla nods and then whips around when there's a knock at the door. Tommy has both his hands up and Layla flips back to Buck. "That's him?"

"Yup, that's Tommy," Buck says. "Can I let him in?"

"Okay, but if he tries to take us away—"

"He's just here to sit with us, get to know you guys," Buck replies. He tries to get Bailey out of his lap, but he fusses and clutches Buck tighter. "Okay, let's both—"

"Don't go anywhere," Layla says sharply. "Don't take him anywhere. Open the door and then come back."

Buck leans in close and meets her eyes. "I'm not leaving, okay? And neither are you, until you and Bailey want to. I promise."

She stares right back at him. "I don't believe you."

Buck's only met her twice, but he knows that face and how much she wants to believe him.

"Believe me a little, please." She doesn't agree, but doesn't argue either, so Buck stands up and balances Bailey on his hip. "Boy, you are a big guy," Buck says, bouncing him a little. He lets Tommy in, then shuts the door behind him again. "Come on in, we're just having lunch."

It must have been a classroom day for Tommy in his (relatively) new job training medevac pilots, so he's dressed in his best responsible nerd chic: a button down shirt with a V-neck sweater over it. Perfect for convincing the state adoption agency that they're responsible potential parents, even if one of them has been trapped in the captain's office for almost two hours. As they look at each other, though, the mature silver fox instructor look gives way to pure Tommy: what the fuck are you doing/are we doing this/alright I guess we're doing this/christ now we're here aren't we/guess we're rolling with it. His face takes a real journey as they cross the room to where Layla is still sitting, watching them suspiciously.

"Layla, Bailey, this is Tommy Kinard," Buck says. "Tommy, this is Layla Hoffman, age six, and Bailey Hoffman, age two."

Tommy nods, hands at his sides. "Nice to meet you. Can I sit?"

"Fine," Layla says. She doesn't make room for Tommy, so Tommy folds himself up the best he can next to her, across from Buck and Bailey. "Tommy, why do you want kids?"

"Right out the gate, huh?" To Tommy's credit, he doesn't blink. Buck could swoon if he wasn't playing it so, so cool.

Layla points at Buck. "He's really nice and hasn't lied to us yet, and Bailey likes him. What about you?"

"Well, I also don't lie to children," Tommy says. "And…" He looks across to Buck, eyebrows up by his hairline. "And it's not just me. We both want kids. We want a family."

"You like kids?"

"I do."

"Someone at the adoption center told me to stop being a little jerk or I'd never get adopted," Layla says. "Are you gonna get rid of us if I'm a little jerk?"

"Absolutely not, and I can't believe someone said that," Tommy says, glancing with horror at Buck, who's hearing this for the first time, too. "You're kids. You're going through stuff for the first time. Of course it's gonna be a lot. You're gonna feel how you feel."

Layla looks at Buck seriously. "Good answer."

Buck can't help preening a little. "Told you. He's a good guy."

"Yeah, maybe," Layla says. "Okay. You can hold Bailey."

Tommy hums to himself as he takes in Bailey, who's getting his face wiped clean of hummus while the conversation goes on around him. "Seems like he's busy."

Layla tugs at Bailey's hand and points at Tommy. Buck watches him turn curious, so he gets him to stand up near Tommy. He fusses a little to be away from Buck, but Tommy's solid and steadies him right away. He stands behind Tommy and drapes his arms on Tommy's shoulders, chin leaning against Tommy's head. He looks at Layla and Buck like, okay, this guy's fine.

"Tommy's got that effect on everyone," Buck says to Layla. "He's so cool."

Tommy gives Buck a look as he answers dryly, "I put my socks on one at a time, just like anyone else. And I make really good pancakes."

Layla's skeptical. "Better than IHOP? What makes them really good?"

"Love, patience, and more butter than I should admit to," Tommy says, glancing at Buck. "Sorry. That's my secret."

"Yeah, not that much of a secret," Buck replies, then assures Layla, "but they're really good."

She nods and then, to Buck's surprise, comes around and sits next to Buck, side-by-side. "So what happens now?"

"Well, I'd like to eat this sandwich, and maybe you and me can watch Tommy try to win Bailey over."

"He already did. Bailey screams right away if he doesn't like someone."

"Good to know," Tommy says, still in Bailey's clutches.

"But what happens to us? Are we getting in trouble?" Layla looks into Buck's face with her piercing eyes. "Are you really gonna try to adopt us or are you just saying that so we get out of here?"

"So, I talked to the state adoption people outside," Tommy says, motioning to the door. "We had a home visit before we submitted our paperwork so…" He glances at Buck, who nods. No time like the present. "So we can take you home, if you want to come with us. Both of you."

"You'd have to share a room for tonight, both of you, but we have a room for each of you," Buck says. "We can shop for stuff tomorrow. Pick out your own bed, sheets and blankets, whatever you need. Your stuff."

"And Bailey's," Layla says.

"And Bailey's," Tommy agrees.

"Are you gonna get fired?" Layla asks Buck, eyes glancing at the door. "Because I locked us in here?"

"Nah, Cap loves kids, he's got three," Buck replies. "No one got hurt, you didn't set any fires—"

"It's a firehouse, you can handle fires," Layla says.

"Yeah, but we didn't have to," Buck replies. "So what do you say? Do you want to try us out as your adopted dads?"

"I finally have a good excuse to put that tire swing in the yard," Tommy says.

Buck gasps. "I'm not a good excuse?"

"That's not what I meant."

Layla touches Buck's shoulder to get his attention. "You drive a hard bargain, but okay."

"Yeah? Okay?"

"Yeah," Layla says, standing up. "Let's see how good you guys are at this dad thing."

Buck's trying not to scream or cry as he stands up from the floor. One minute he was Buck, the next he was a dad. Isn't that how it always happens? "First thing's first: let's clean all this up and put it in the trash."

"Is this a chore?" She thinks of something. "Do we get an allowance?"

"We'll talk about it," Buck says. "Do you think Bailey can be paid off in celery sticks?"

"Can you be paid off in celery sticks?" Tommy asks Layla.

"Cash only," she says.

Buck helps Tommy stand, too, and gets Bailey situated on his hip. "You've got an incredible vocabulary," Tommy informs her.

"Thanks! I hate reading and I love TV."

"You haven't met our book collection," Buck says. "We'll find you something you like."

"Yeah, and no Seinfeld until you're 12," Tommy replies.

"I don't know what that is."

"Fantastic."

When they emerge from the office onto the main floor of the firehouse, there's a wave of applause from everyone gathered: Buck's usual crew and the staff from the state adoption agency.

"Remember what you said," Layla whispers as she grabs Buck's hand tightly, then Tommy's, too. "You said you're keeping us, both of us."

"We are," Buck says, his heart quietly breaking and mending itself, all at once. He looks behind at Tommy; exhaustion and lunch have suddenly hit Bailey, so he's on Tommy's hip and dozing on his shoulder like he belongs there.

"Congratulations," Captain Reynolds informs them. "Looks like negotiations went well?" He says to Layla, "Thank you for giving me my lieutenant back. And my office."

"So far so good," Buck says, Layla gripping his hand with all of her strength. "Okay if I take some time off, Cap?"

He nods at Buck, and at Tommy, too; they like each other a lot, and he looks just as happy for Tommy as he does for Buck. "Give us a call if you need anything, like another rescue."

"You got it," Buck says, then meets Tommy's eyes. "But I don't think we will."

"I don't think we will," Tommy agrees.

---

Buck doesn't think it'll happen again, but Bailey and Layla are asleep in the guest room by 9:30, completely conked out. Buck and Tommy leave the door ajar behind them with two nightlights gently glowing in the dark room, then head down the hall to their room.

"Okay, so what the hell did we do today?" Tommy whispers as he shuts the door most of the way closed. "I got to the office at 8 AM, no kids, and I got home at 7 PM, plus two kids. What."

"Life comes at you fast," Buck says, though he forgot the movie it's from. "Are—"

"Am I okay with it? Yeah, for the 500th time today: yes. Yes." He rests his hands on both sides of Buck's face and kisses him. "Yes, absolutely yes."

Buck kisses him, too, then pulls away laughing. "Oh, wow, she's—Layla's a handful."

"You're already so in love with the six-year-old who took you hostage in your own station."

"She reminds me of you," Buck says, joking and not. She does, though. Those sharp edges, that tough shell to crack, the way she finally sidled up to Buck and let him take care of her—that's a Tommy girl, through and through.

As Buck understood it and relayed to Tommy, with help from the state adoption officials: Layla and Bailey had been orphaned close to a year ago and had no other living relatives, but they had yet to find a long-term family. People were scared off by Layla, and Bailey was (according to Layla) too sensitive for the temporary locations where they had already been placed.

Today happened because they had already met Buck before on a scene last week, when there was a small fire at the adoption center where Layla and Bailey were staying. Captain Reynolds had invited all the kids to Engine Co. 19 for a special visit and safety presentation, where they ran into Buck again.

"And Bailey remembered you?" Tommy asks.

"I think it's the tattoo on my arm. He spotted it and waved me down, then Layla recognized me."

"And then she disappeared with her toddler brother, you found them in Reynolds's office, and she took you hostage in your own station. Got it. And now they're our kids."

"And now they're our kids," Buck agrees.

Tommy nods and takes Buck's hand. "Our usual hardware store doesn't open until nine tomorrow, so I'm gonna drive to the big box store when they open at seven so I can get as much babyproofing and kid stuff as I can find. I'll come right back and I can make breakfast, as promised."

"Hey." Buck tucks his finger under Tommy's chin and turns his face to him. "Thanks for following my lead. For—for this."

"Are you kidding? Bypass the whole waiting process and get two kids dropped right in our laps? It could only happen to you. I'm just lucky I'm here."

"I'm lucky you're here," Buck says, kissing him again.

"Alright, if you insist."

Buck laughs against his mouth and kisses Tommy again, lost in the kiss until his phone is in his hand and he can start making a list of supplies Tommy will be picking up before breakfast tomorrow. "Eyes down here, Kinard," Buck says, waving his phone, but Tommy has to sneak one more kiss before focusing on the first of their many, many checklists.

[cull3nblaze]

better

than

fake

mouth

static

@911whatisyourpride - First Kiss

[xofemeraldstars]

9-1-1 WHAT IS YOUR PRIDE -> week one: firsts

"How else are you going to turn my world upside down?"

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

now on ao3!

------------

Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.