heads up that i might not be doing these as regularly for the rest of @bucktommyfluffebruary, or at least not on time. (boooo, work, boooo).
inspired by @exhaustedpirate's flower language series, here's my offering for today. g, 645 words, pov: a florist. don't @ me about flowers available in california, i am tired. let's go with "it's a magic florist" or "i'm all researched out". pick your poison 💛.
Sasha sees a lot of panicky men in her profession. Ones who've forgotten a birthday or anniversary. Ones who don't know what their pets will be allergic to. Ones who know roses are obvious but don't know what alternatives exist.
This one stands out, though. It's not panic as such, but he does look a little overwhelmed as he moves around the shop looking at the flowers and foliage available.
Sasha takes pity.
"Can I help you?"
The guy turns, gives her a big smile that makes his blue eyes sparkle and his cheeks go endearingly round.
"Maybe," he says. "I have a date with my ex, and I was thinking — well, flowers have meanings, right?"
Sasha shrugs. "Sure. I mean, personally, I think the best bouquet is one that looks and smells nice, but yeah, some people get really into the meanings."
"So is there something that means, like…I don't know. New starts and I'm sorry and I forgive you?"
Sasha smiles. "That's a tall order. Let's see…"
She sends him off with good luck wishes for his date and a bouquet of white tulips for forgiveness, yellow carnations for apology, and a few sprigs of lily of the valley for new beginnings.
💐🌹🌻🌷🌼
He's back a week later, bounding into the shop with a grin on his face.
"Hey!" Sasha says. "I remember you. The date with the ex, right? How'd that go?"
"Well," he says. "He's not my ex anymore."
Sasha pumps her fist and says, "And that's why we call it flower power. So did you just come by to update me, or…"
"Ha, no. He liked the flowers. Like, he really liked the flowers," Buck says, and his smile goes softer, smaller, more private. "More than I expected. So I was thinking maybe I'd make it like, a semi-regular thing."
"You can't go wrong with flowers," Sasha promises.
"I mean, you sorta have to say that," he points out.
"Doesn't mean it isn't true. What were you thinking this time?"
"Well," Buck says. "We said we're going to take it slow. Make sure we're sure, you know? So I was wondering like, are there any flowers than represent…I don't know. Patience? Hope?"
This time, she sets him up with some showy, feathery astilbe for patience, pink gerberas for optimism and affection, and lavender for the scent, the color contrast, and for patience.
💐🌹🌻🌷🌼
He becomes a regular customer — dwarf sunflowers for happiness and adoration when they hit six months, yellow roses and pink peonies for congratulations when his guy gets an advancement at work, a potted blue hyacinth for sincere apology after they have a fight over something stupid, marigolds and zinnias to represent security, home, and family when they move in together, a vibrant collection of chrysanthemums in every color she has because that's the birth month flower for his guy. Somewhere in there, dog-friendly becomes a requirement and he happily shows her a whole bunch of photos of a cute, nervous tripod girl, who couldn't look more like a recent shelter dog if she had it stamped on her collar.
Sasha's so invested in this sweet guy who's making it work, and he makes such a refreshing change from the people who come in and order a dozen red roses for every birthday, valentine's, Christmas, anniversary and apology.
And then one day he shows up towing another guy behind him. Sasha recognizes him from the dog photos. This must be the boyfriend.
"Hey, Sasha!" Buck says, sounding excited. "This is Tommy."
"Hi," she says. "Good to meet you."
"You too. You sell beautiful flowers."
Sasha grins and makes jazz hands at the surroundings. "We aim to please. What can I do for you today?"
"Well," Buck says, and tucks his arm through Tommy's, leaning against his side and beaming. "We wanted to talk to you about wedding flowers."
@bucktommyfluffebruary continues! 810 words, g, pov: general manager of a b&b in tahoe
When the phone rings while Sara's halfway through writing a stern email to one of their suppliers, she swears softly and then hitches her best 'talking to customers' smile onto her face.
"Tahoe Fireside Retreat, Sara speaking. How can I help?"
"Hi Sara. My name's Tommy Kinard, I have a booking with you two weeks from now."
"Hi, Mr Kinard. What can I do for you today?"
"I wanted to see about adding a couple of extras to the booking."
"Of course! Can I just take your booking reference?"
She finds the booking — a week in the Emerald room, which is her personal favorite — and asks, "What would you like to add?"
"Could I get a bottle of champagne for arrival, and a booking at the on-site restaurant for the first night?"
"No problem at all. I can add that to your booking right away."
"Ah. I'd like it to be a surprise for my partner if possible?"
"Aw, of course! That's no problem at all, I'll make sure no email updates are sent. Would you like that on a separate card?"
"That'd be great," he says, sounding relieved. "I think I also saw on your website when we booked that we can book through you for boat trips on the lake?"
"Absolutely, we can help with that. Did you have a particular day in mind?"
Sara takes down the card details, gets — she double checks the booking — gets Tommy and Evan's extras booked in, wishes him a good day, and wraps up the call. She doesn't think much of it beyond, aw, cute. But it's a romantic bed and breakfast on Lake Tahoe, cute is a lot of their custom.
Less cute are the persistent errors with their toiletries, so she turns back to her half finished email and channels her very best abuela kicking up the world's politest stink in a store attitude.
It's a few days later and she's feeling deeply smug about the extremely correct delivery they received this morning when the phone rings again and she picks it up, offering her usual greeting.
"Hi there!" The guy sounds happy and excited and she feels her public service smile becoming more genuine as he talks. "Me and my fiance have a booking with you in a couple weeks and I wanted to see about a couple of additions to our booking?"
"Of course, sir. Can I take your name and booking reference?"
The guy rattles off the booking reference and then says, "And my name's Evan Buckley."
The name rings a bell even before the booking information loads and Sara sees the amendments she made just three days earlier. She figures the 'smile so you sound cheerful' service job thing still holds regardless of the reason for the smile so she lets herself grin.
"Okay, there we go. What can I add for you?"
"Uh. Well. There's a fridge in the room, right?"
"Of course, sir."
"Awesome. Could I get a bottle of champagne for when we arrive?"
Sara hesitates for a second, but really, what's better than one bottle of champagne? Two bottles.
"Absolutely," she says. "Would you like that on a separate card?"
"Oh, that's a great idea!" he says, and gives her the details.
"Wonderful, thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"There's a restaurant too, right?"
She has to cover her eyes with her hand, reminded powerfully of her best friends who've been coupled up since high school and the way she teases them for sharing a single braincell.
"There sure is," she says. "Can I place a reservation for you, Mr. Buckley?"
"That'd be amazing. Maybe for the first night?"
Oh, this is going straight in the group chat, for sure.
She places a booking for their last night instead. They can always cancel if they want.
"All done."
"Awesome, thank you! Also, I was wondering…I think I saw on your site something about boat trips?"
Sara bites the inside of her cheek. "That's right, we have a partnership with a local company that offers private trips on the lake."
"Perfect. Can I book that through you?"
And look, two bottles of champagne and an extra restaurant reservation is one thing, but she can't in all good conscience make these guys pay for two private boat rides.
"You can," she says, improvising wildly. "But you'll need to pay on the day if that's okay?"
"Oh, for sure. Could I get it for our last full day? So the Thursday?"
"Absolutely," Sara says, and types cute cute CUTE into the before backspacing it carefully so it sounds like she's actually doing something.
"Amazing. Thank you so much for your help."
"It's my pleasure, sir. We look forward to welcoming you both!"
Yeah, she thinks, when they end the call. These two are going to be adorable.
more @bucktommyfluffebruary. 2411 words, g, pov: new cadet at harbor who i would fight god for despite only making him up this morning.
It's Sam's first day as a fully fledged cadet and he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He's wanted to do this since he was a little kid, but for a while it looked like the pandemic was going to make it impossible. They're trying to push the programs again now though, and if all goes well he'll have two full years as a cadet before he applies to join for real. And he got Harbor station. He can't believe that — they didn't used to take cadets here, but as part of opening up, they've agreed to offer one place, and he got it.
The morning has been a rush of orientation — he has a locker! In a firehouse! Which has helicopters! — and new faces and introductions to the equipment. He hasn't been allowed anywhere near a helicopter, which he was kind of expecting, but is still a major bummer. But he's been inside an engine, rolled a hose, checked inventory in an ambulance. Sure, he's done it all under supervision, but that's only to be expected. He's still done it.
And now. Now! He's getting to sit down, one-on-one, with Captain Melton to talk about his goals, what he wants out of being a cadet. He gets the feeling that Melton is trying to find out if he's serious about it, or if he just thinks it'll look good on a college application.
" — and ever since then, it's what I wanted to do, you know? The fire wasn't even that bad now I look back on it, we didn't even lose much stuff, but I know that's because of the intervention of the firefighters from the 209, and I just really, really respect what they do, and I want to give back to something that's meant so much to me since I was like, five, you know? Like after the fire, my mom always used to take me to the 209 open days and some of them remembered me, and it just meant so much that they actually cared, like I know they were doing their jobs, but they really, really — "
"Kid," Melton says, holding up a hand. "Take a breath."
Sam can feel his cheeks heating up and he does as he's told. One breath. Two breaths. He's making an idiot of himself, but he'd rather make an idiot of himself by being too enthusiastic than by getting things wrong or missing an opportunity.
"So. I think we've established that you really, really want to be a firefighter."
"Uh-huh. Yes, sir."
"Any specific interests? Engineering, equipment, heavy rescue?"
"Um. I mean. In an ideal world? I'd love to be a pilot."
Captain Melton smiles and Sam doesn't think he's imagining a little bit of relief in that smile.
"Great," he says, rapping his knuckles on the desk between them. "Go talk to Kinard, he's our lead pilot. He'll be out with the birds."
"Yes, sir!" Sam says, scrambling to his feet and ripping a textbook salute that he's been practicing in the mirror for weeks.
Twenty minutes later, Sam is starting to wonder if he might be being trolled. He doesn't think a captain would do that, but maybe he's wrong. He can't find a Kinard anywhere. There are a couple of people out by the helicopters, one woman pacing up and down and talking on the phone, a woman and a man talking quietly and drinking coffee while they soak up the sun, and one guy elbow-deep in the guts of an older model chopper. But they all have their names on their backs, whether on t-shirts or sweatshirts, and none of them say Kinard.
Sam knows he could ask one of them, but he wants to show initiative. He wants to be independent and proactive and he doesn't want to admit on his first day that he's incapable of finding a single guy in a building where everyone has their names on their backs. He does a sweep through the hangar, then through the rec room, the kitchen, the locker room. Still no sign.
When he gets back outside, the guy who'd been doing something to the engine of one of the helicopters is heading back towards the building, wiping his hands on a yellow rag. Screw it, Sam thinks. He's going to ask.
He takes a deep breath and says, "Uh. Excuse me. Um. Firefighter Buckley?"
He doesn't respond, and Sam feels like he might just die on the spot. Then he spots the Bluetooth earbud in one of the guy's ears and raises his voice a little louder.
"Excuse me! Mr Buckley? Sir?"
The guy jolts his head up and looks around, but his eyes pass straight over Sam like he's looking for someone else. Sam offers him a little wave and he frowns, apparently confused as he pulls out his earbud.
"Can I help you, cadet?"
It's said in a friendly tone, but the guy has a look of authority, and he's older than Sam's mom, so Sam finds himself standing straighter as he says, "I'm looking for Firefighter Kinard, I don't know if you've seen him? I can't find him anywhere, and Captain Melton told me to go talk to him ages ago, and — "
"Whoa, slow down, kid. You found me."
"But…" Sam says. "I thought — your sweatshirt — "
Kinard frowns, twists around to look over his own shoulder and says, "Goddamnit. Donato's never going to let me live this down. No, this is my boyfriend's. We must have grabbed the wrong ones."
"Oh. Your boyfriend's a firefighter too? Does he work here?"
"God, no. I think we'd kill each other. He's at the 118. So, why did Melton send you looking for me?"
"Oh. Um. Iwanttobeapilot."
"Yeah? Come on, let me go change and we'll talk."
Sam trails after Kinard, trying not to listen as he slips his earbud back in and pulls out his phone to record a voice note.
"So, I'm guessing you have my shirt," he says, sounding dryly fond. "Apologies in advance for the mockery I'm sure you're receiving. I only found out because the new cadet called me Buckley and I thought you might have swung by. Which I guess means Lucy and the rest of the peanut gallery have been having a high old time all shift. Anyway. Love you. See you later."
In the locker room, Kinard rummages through his locker and pulls out a sweatshirt with his own name on it. He sniffs it once, twice, shrugs and swaps it out for the one he was wearing.
"Okay," he says with a clap of his hands, then gives Sam a look, eyebrows raised. "Are you old enough to drink coffee?"
"I'm eighteen, sir."
Kinard shudders. "Okay. For the love of god, please call me Tommy. C'mon, let's get a cup. We have until the next call to talk flying."
Sam has to work really hard not to bounce on the balls of his feet. In the little kitchen, he watches wide-eyed as Kinard — Tommy — opens the fridge, takes out a sandwich which has post-its all over it that say things like Property of LD, DO NOT TOUCH and I WILL CUT YOUR HANDS OFF MOTHERFUCKER along with one note that's just a doodle of a bloody dagger. Tommy unwraps the sandwich, takes a single huge bite, then rewraps it and adds a single sticky note on which he draws a lopsided smiley face.
"Okay! So. Why piloting?"
Sam takes a breath. Part of it is — well, it's just cool, right? But he doesn't think that'll go over too well, and besides, that's not all of it. So he tries his best to explain the way the idea of being first on the scene, the way of helping in ways other people don't, can't help settled into his chest the first time he read about wildfire suppression. He fumbles his words a few times because he's talking to a real life pilot (!!!), to someone who does exactly what Sam wants to do.
"Gotcha," Tommy says, when Sam has run out of words. "And you're a little bit crazy."
"Uh—"
"That's a good thing," Tommy assures him. "All pilots are. Counts double for helicopters."
"My uncle says I should join the army," Sam says. "He says it'll be easier to get a pilot's license that way than trying to do it privately."
Tommy's face does something complicated. "Well," he says. "Let's not rush into anything."
"How did you get your license?" Sam asks.
"Uh. Well," Tommy says. "I did join the army. But one of the benefits of being old is that I get to pull the 'do as I say, not as I did' card. Trust me, okay. There are better ways to get your license."
His eyes flick up over Sam's shoulder and he half-rises from his seat and says quickly, "If we're not on call twenty minutes before end of shift, come find me and we'll take a bird up for ten minutes, okay? Gotta run, bye!"
Sam's confused until he turns to see one of the firefighters he was introduced to earlier pulling the sticky-noted sandwich out of the fridge.
"Kinard!" she yells, but Tommy's already a blur. "You fucking dick, get back here, it's not my fault you and Buckley are sickening! Hey! I'm gonna — "
She seems to catch sight of Sam for the first time. He gives her an awkward wave.
"I'm gonna have a frank and professional discussion about personal property in the workplace," she says, and Sam can hear the course correction in her voice. She flashes him a peace sign and says, "Embodying the values of the LAFD, baby!" before she chases after Tommy.
After that, the rest of Sam's first day is a lot less eventful. Sure, he gets to go on a couple of ridealongs, and he gets to climb the ladder onto the roof while the rest of the team waits up top with whoops of encouragement, but the day crystallizes around him when, with twenty minutes to go, Tommy taps him on the shoulder and offers him a headset and a helmet.
Sam's an ambitious guy, and he had a lot of high hopes for the cadet program, but not in his wildest dreams did it include a helicopter flight with Harbor's lead pilot on his first day.
Tommy makes it look so easy, all practiced movements that have the look of muscle memory as he takes them up. Over the headset, he talks Sam through the controls, the instruments, and Sam doesn't think he takes in a single word of it. He's too busy watching the ground fall away, thinking: this, this, this. This is what I want.
Tommy takes them out over the water and Sam watches the light glint off the waves and for an embarrassing second thinks he might cry a little. It feels so right, up in the air, the noise overwhelming even through the headset, every tilt magnified by the fact that he's practically vibrating out of his skin.
"Okay, kid. We better get back or they'll think I'm stealing her again."
"Okay," Sam says reluctantly. "Wait, again?"
"Long story for another time," Tommy says. "Actually, now I think of it, probably for when you're not a cadet anymore."
When they land, the rotors coming to a stop, Tommy pulls off his helmet and headset and looks over at him.
"Whaddya think?"
Sam's determination to be taken seriously as a budding professional deserts him entirely and says, "That was the coolest fucking experience of my life. Thank you."
"You're welcome, kid. C'mon, shift's over, let's get outta here."
When they climb out of the helicopter, they're greeted by a piercing wolf whistle which makes Tommy's head whip around, a smile spreading across his face as he jogs over to where a guy in a LAFD sweatshirt is leaning against a Jeep. As he does, the guy turns his back, using his thumbs to point at where KINARD is printed on his back.
"You're still wearing it?" Tommy asks with a laugh.
"You gotta lean into it, babe. Only way to shut them up."
"You're early."
"Structure fire. We only got back a half hour before shift change so Chim took us offline. Nice flight?"
"Just showing the cadet around."
"Aw, babe. You have a duckling?"
"Don't be a dick," Tommy says fondly. "Okay. Give me ten minutes? Don't talk to Lucy. C'mon, Sam."
Back inside, Sam grabs his stuff from his locker, then reports back to Melton and they debrief quickly about his first day. He manages to keep his shit together better than he had during and after the flight, but he knows there's no way he can hide how much he absolutely loves it here.
He's a little surprised when he comes out of Melton's office and Tommy's waiting for him. He's back in his boyfriend's sweatshirt and it's so sweet and dorky that it takes a little bit of the shine off, makes him seem less like a superhero.
"Hey, kid. Good first day. Next time you're in, we'll find some time to go through some training routes for you, okay? It's not easy, but if you've got what it takes, we'll all do what we can to help out. Just, jesus, do me a favor and steer clear of recruiting offices, okay?"
"You got it. Thank you. For the flight. For everything."
Tommy shoots him some spectacularly dorky finger guns, hoists a duffel bag onto his shoulder and jerks his head towards the doors where the late afternoon light is spilling in. Sam follows him outside and Tommy claps him on the shoulder, jogging over to where his boyfriend is waiting.
Sam watches them walk away, BUCKLEY and KINARD stamped across the wrong backs and he thinks, I'm gonna be just like that one day. I'm gonna be a badass helicopter pilot and I'm gonna have a partner who teases me but thinks I'm really cool and I'm gonna save lives and crack jokes and be funny and smart.
He's dragged out of his thoughts when he hears the embarrassingly familiar sound of a car horn followed by his mom's voice saying, "Sweetie! Over here!"
"Mom, oh my god, stop," Sam groans and hurries over to the car, hoping against hope that no one else saw or heard that.
After all, this is gonna be his workplace one day.
@bucktommyfluffebruary, let's goooooo! i don't know how many fills i'll manage and how many of them will be connected, so i'll be uploading to ao3 once the month is out. everything i'm doing for the event this year is going to be outsider pov.
950 words, g, pov: the receptionist at tommy's dentist.
Laine looks up from her screen when the door opens and puts on her best customer facing professional smile for the benefit of the man who's stepped into the reception area. He's tall and broad, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and he fills the space immediately, even before he turns a big, bright smile her way.
"Hi there, I'm Buck. Evan Buckley. I'm here for Tommy Kinard. He was having some wisdom teeth removed."
"Hi, Mr Buckley." Laine checks the schedule. "He should be done in around 20 minutes."
"Awesome," the guy says, tapping his fingers on the desk.
"Can I get you a coffee? Water?"
"Oh god, really? Can I have a coffee? That would be amazing. I'm just off shift, I thought I was gonna have to have my sister collect him. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I made it, but I'm running on fumes here."
Laine smiles at him. "So not decaf?"
"God, no. Anything but that. Am I allowed to ask for sugar?"
"As long as you don't tell the boss," Laine says as she loads a pod into the machine behind her desk.
"Am I allowed to ask for three sugars?"
"That's pushing it, Mr Buckley."
He laughs. "Call me Buck."
Buck is chatty — in the time it takes Laine to hand him a coffee she's learned that he's a firefighter, that Tommy is a firefighter-pilot, that they've been together for two years ('this time', whatever that means), that Tommy was nervous about the appointment even if he wouldn't admit it, that Buck likes to bake and that Tommy likes to work on cars. She thinks she might have gotten even more of their life stories if the phone didn't ring as Buck accepted the coffee with a grateful smile and took it over to the little waiting area.
When she's done with the call Laine glances over at where Buck is flicking through a magazine on interior design. He looks genuinely absorbed, so she leaves him to it and keeps making her way through the upcoming appointments spreadsheet. She's halfway into next week when her favorite dental tech, Ella, ducks out of the surgery room and over to the desk.
"Hi Laine," she says quietly. "Is someone here for Mr Kinard?"
"Yeah, he's over there," Laine says, nodding towards where Buck is still absorbed in his magazine. "Is everything okay?"
"He's fine. Little loopy," Ella says.
"Understood."
Ella winks and heads back to the surgery room and Laine calls over to Buck.
"Mr Kinard's on his way."
"Great!" Buck stacks the magazine neatly onto the pile and bounds up, apparently full of energy. Laine's exhausted just looking at him. And this is what he's like coming off a twenty four hour shift.
"Fair warning, my colleague says he's, and I quote, 'a little loopy'."
Buck laughs. "Ah, man. I guess it's like a doctor's office, right? No filming."
"Afraid not," Laine says. "Save it for the car. I think the days of post-sedation virality are behind us, though."
"Yeah," Buck says. "That peaked a while back. Nah, this is just for me and the groupchat."
He bounces a little on the balls of his feet, clearly excited to see his man. It's very cute, Laine thinks, as is the grin that bursts over his face when the door opens and Ella leads Mr. Kinard — Tommy — into the waiting area.
He's walking under his own steam, but slowly, and he's looking around with a familiar, wide-eyed expression that stutters when he sees Buck.
"Oh my god," he says, and tears threaten. "You're here."
"I'm not a kite. 'm a — hell — hella — copper. Thing."
"Helicopter?"
"Yes!" Tommy says, and makes a gesture that suggests he thinks he's just snapped his fingers. "Kisses, please. You're so handsome."
"I don't know, babe. You're — "
"Kisses," Tommy demands and pushes his lips into a pout that makes him wince immediately, and turns his whole, handsome face into a picture of misery. "Ow," he says.
"Yeah," Buck says, and picks up Tommy's hand from where it's still hovering between them. He lifts it to his mouth, kisses the tip of Tommy's outstretched pointer finger.
Laine can only see Tommy's face in profile but even so, the smile that spreads over his face can only be described as goofy.
"More?"
"Okay," Buck says with a laugh, carefully unfolding Tommy's hand and pressing a kiss to his palm.
Tommy sighs, gusty and verging on theatrical. "You're my com-rom. Mom-tom. Bom-com?"
"Rom-com, babe."
"That's what I said."
"Okay," Buck says easily. "You're right, my mistake."
"Baby. Evan. Baby. Marry me?"
Laine's pretty good at keeping a straight face in response to patients high on painkillers and the tail-end of sedation, but that's a little much even for her, and she turns a strangled noise into a cough, making intense and immediate eye-contact with Ella who also looks caught off guard.
"Sure, babe. Don't worry, I said yes the first time too," he adds, turning that winning smile back towards Laine. "C'mon," he says, putting an arm around Tommy's waist. "Let's get you home and I'll feed you smoothies and make some soup."
"You'll make me soup?" Tommy asks, looking like he's on the verge of tears again.
"We'd recommend avoiding extreme temperatures for the rest of the day," Laine reminds them.
Buck salutes her with his free hand and says, "Gazpacho."
Tommy gasps, looking worried for Buck. "Bless you!"
Laine swallows her laugh. Buck doesn't bother.
"C'mon, Stoney McGee. Let's get you outta here. Good to meet you, Laine."
Ash has been volunteering at the shelter for six months now, and it's their favorite part of the week every time. Sure there are some heartbreaking moments when dogs come in from the street or from a bad environment but on the whole, Ash gets to see them nursed back to health. They get to spend a big chunk of their Saturdays playing with the dogs, feeding them, socialising them, sometimes even reading to them. The best part though, is when potential adopters come in to meet the dogs, and hopefully find a new little furbaby to make their families complete.
That's today, so Ash is waiting at the front desk, flicking through their reading for Monday's Econ class while Patches drools at their feet. The two guys are right on time, stepping in through the door, the younger looking one beelining straight for the wall of photos.
In all honesty, they're…they're exactly the kinds of dude Ash would normally avoid. They're both big guys, both dressed like Ash's uncle, lots of denim and flannel, very…manly. Ash wonders briefly if they should head out back and see if anyone else is available, but no. A big part of the reason Ash took this job was to get more confident, and the only way they're going to do that is if they push through.
"Hi," they say, and the guy not currently cooing over the wall of photos gives Ash a smile.
"Hi, there. We have an appointment to look for a dog. Tommy Kinard and Evan Buckley."
"Good to meet you," Ash says, and takes them through the sign-in process, during which Evan — you can call me Buck — catches sight of Patches and drops to his knees with speed and force that makes Tommy and Ash both wince.
Patches is the biggest cuddle-slut in the world, which is why she's such a great ambassador for the shelter. Tommy has to tap Buck's shoulder to get him to stand long enough to sign the paperwork.
As he's filling in his details, Buck glances at Ash and says, "I like your pins."
Ash has the non-binary flag, a they/them badge, the progressive pride and pan flags, along with some more generic cute or political ones spaced along their lanyard, and the comment makes them relax. It's such a millennial way of telling them he's a safe person, but Ash appreciates it anyway.
"Thanks," they say. "I'm Ash. C'mon, lazy." They touch their foot gently to Patches's side and she perks up, following the three of them through to the kennels.
Immediately, Buck is clearly in heaven.
"Oh my god, Tommy, I know we said two maximum but I think we have to take all these little guys home," he says in a rush.
Ash smiles at the two of them. "What are you looking for?"
"Well," Tommy says. "We're both firefighters, so we do work shifts. Our neighbour's kid has volunteered to walk and feed them when we're at work, and we can get someone in if that doesn't work out, but I guess we're looking for someone a little lazy who doesn't mind some time alone. Maybe two someones who can keep each other company."
Someone, Ash notes approvingly.
"Any size preferences?"
Tommy shrugs. "Maybe not too small. My friend has a chihuahua and I swear she's evil."
"Hey!" Buck protests. "You just haven't put the work in with Princess to get on her good side."
"I think it might just be a chihuahua thing," Ash tells Tommy in a low voice.
"Oh my god. Babe. Babe, come here immediately."
"Duty calls," Tommy says, with a little salute to Ash before he hurries on to where Buck is crouched down in front of — Ash cranes their neck to see — Bounce's kennel.
Bounce is a two year old mutt, some spaniel, some terrier and, Ash suspects, some German Shepherd.
"This is Bounce," Ash tells them. "I'm not completely sure he'd suit you, unfortunately. He's very active."
"Aw, man," Buck says, his shoulders slumping. "But he's so cute."
"Baby, they're all cute," Tommy points out, and Ash has to agree.
They meet a Boxer, a bonded pair of Corgi crosses, and a Saint Bernard who Ash adores. None of them seem like an immediate fit, and when Buck is in the kennel with a pair of Pekingese, Tommy clears his throat and looks at Ash.
"Which one has been here longest?" he asks, and Ash's heart soars. They've been waiting for someone to ask.
"This way," they tell him, and Tommy follows them along the row to the fourth kennel from the front. It's probably a non-starter because although she's lazy and friendly, Sadie shows a lot of fearful behavior, especially around men, but Ash opens the door anyway and steps back to let Tommy go inside.
They hear his little gasp when Sadie, tentative and a little wobbly due to her missing front leg, takes a few steps out from the back where she spends most of her alone-time. Tommy crouches down, holding out one open hand, palm up. He looks like he's barely breathing as he waits and Sadie edges closer.
"Her name's Sadie," Ash says quietly, not wanting to break the spell.
Sadie creeps close enough to give Tommy's outstretched hand a tentative lick. Ash would swear they can see Tommy's heart melt in real-time.
"Hey," he says in a soft voice. "Hey, sweet girl. Oh, aren't you lovely?"
Very carefully, he lowers himself from his crouch until he's sitting on the floor. Ash can hardly believe their eyes when Sadie — nervous, shy Sadie who doesn't like men, and definitely doesn't like big men — trots closer, sniffs him once or twice, then flops down with a sigh, and drops her head onto his thigh.
Tommy looks up at Ash with wide eyes as he carefully pets Sadie's head, gently scratching behind her brown ear. "Could you get Evan for me?"
"You got it," Ash says.
When they get back with Buck in tow, Tommy is murmuring to Sadie, one hand stroking up and down her flank while the other cups her jaw. He looks up at the two of them with big eyes and Ash watches Buck's face go soft.
"Hey," he says, keeping his voice low without having to be told to do so.
"This is Sadie," Tommy says and Ash can hear it in his voice: he's in love.
"What is she?" Buck asks.
"Oh, Sadie's a one hundred percent purebred mutt," Ash says cheerfully. "She's probably got some labrador in her, but we think something skinny too, maybe a little bit of whippet or something? Honestly, she's just a sweetheart."
"Do you think she'd suit us?" Tommy asks, sounding like he might actually cry if Ash says no.
"Honestly, I think she might struggle to settle into your shift pattern. But if she manages it, yeah, she's pretty lazy. Really affectionate if you can get her to come out of her shell, which." Ash shrugs. "Tommy seems to be doing a pretty good job of that. Nice job, by the way. She's normally really scared of guys in particular."
"I have leave built up," Tommy says. "I could take some time to get her settled in."
"How is she with other dogs?" Buck asks. "Kids?"
Ash waggles their hand back and forth. "Not aggressive or anything. Just shy. She came in as a stray in a pretty rough state, and we think she's had some bad experiences. She just needs time and space to get used to people and open up."
"Ha," Buck says quietly. "Babe, she's you."
"Shut up," Tommy says fondly, his eyes back on where Sadie is staring up at him, her tail swishing gently back and forth.
"What would we need to do?" Buck asks.
Tommy looks at him. "Are you sure? I know you like Bounce."
"Yeah, but you heard Ash. He'd need more activity than we can give him."
"Okay, but Ash also said how nervous Sadie is. That she doesn't really like guys. I don't want this to just be my dog, you know? I don't want you to feel left out."
Buck crouches down and edges his way into the kennel. Sadie goes still, but doesn't immediately bolt, just presses herself a little closer to Tommy.
"We'll get there, won't we, pretty girl?" Buck says. "Besides," he adds, sitting down next to Tommy, letting Sadie keep her distance on the other side of Tommy's body. "I won you over, didn't I?"
Ash smiles and heads off to grab to adoption pack. They have a good feeling about these three.
one of the @bucktommyfluffebruary fics i actually got done ahead of time! g, 692 words, pov: lucy. i'm sure it doesn't say anything that my faves i've done so far are the ones where tommy gets to have a low-key mean friend.
Lucy's doing her very best not to clock-watch, half wondering if someone has replaced the station clock with one that's just ever-so-slightly slow. She loves her job, really does. Wouldn't do anything else. It just feels like she's been doing this particular shift since somewhere around the dawn of time.
Her phone lights up, vibrating across the table and she frowns when she sees the screen says TK (work).
"Hello?" she says hesitantly, because she'd seen Tommy like five minutes ago. Not that she's ruling out him having gotten himself into some kind of misadventure since then. There's a reason she got out of the 118 when she did — their shenanigans-prone bullshit is very probably catching.
"Hey," Tommy says, sounding calm and relaxed and generally like a man who hasn't stolen a third helicopter, or brought the contents of the store cupboard down on himself. "Can you bring me a coffee?"
"Wow. Do your legs not work?" she asks, and then shudders, because that was 100% pure-grade her mom.
"I'm comfy," he protests.
"Okay, okay. Where are you?"
"Up top," he says.
"Alright, give me five minutes."
She fills a couple of the travel cups with the sludge that remains in the coffee pot, adulterates his with the typically excessive amount of sugar and flavored creamer — she's honestly not sure he even likes actual coffee — and heads up.
She finds him just where she'd expected, sprawled in one of the lawn chairs they'd dragged up onto the roof years back, waiting for the sunrise.
"Hey, you lazy asshole."
"Hey, bestie."
If she had a hand free she'd smack the back of his head for that. As it is, she just hands over his coffee and flops into the chair next to his.
"Is it just me or has this shift been eight years long?"
Tommy taps their cups together in a toast of agreement. "We're getting old."
"Speak for yourself, asshole."
He smiles, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sky is starting to brighten, taking on that pre-sunrise yellow hue.
"Can I tell you something?"
"I don't know, can you? Like, of your own free will, without being pinned down and bullied into it?"
"Har har."
"Yeah, come on, lay it on me."
He shifts in his chair, digs in the pocket of his jacket and tosses something her way. She catches it on reflex and feels her eyes go wide as she registers it's — yeah. Very definitely a ring box.
"Wow," she says. "Tommy, this is so sudden."
"Shut up. What do you think?"
"Of what?"
"Of the ring."
So she opens the box. It's…nice. Pretty. A thick band that looks silver but is probably considerably more expensive, polished to a flawless sheen, with a thinner band of something that looks like stone around the center.
"Nice. I like it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's pretty. For a symbol of an outdated patriarchal institution, I like it a lot."
He flips her the bird and she snaps the box shut to toss it back to him.
"So…" she says.
"Mm-hm."
She braces herself for what if we're not on the same page, what if he says no, what if he hates it, what if he laughs and pushes me into traffic or any of the other forty eight neuroses in a trenchcoat that make up the entirety of Tommy Kinard.
"I'm really excited," he says instead.
"Yeah? When are you doing it?"
"Just tonight," Tommy says. "At home."
"Yeah? No…no skywriting? No flash mob? No…whatever the fuck flashcards or whatever from that godawful — "
"Hey. We agreed to disagree on that," he says sharply. "And no. That stuff…he doesn't need that. We don't need that."
God. She doesn't think she's ever heard him sound actually certain about anything that isn't flying or being a fatalistic asshole lobbing grenades at his own life.
"Wow, dude. So no, uh. No crisis of faith? No is this a good idea?"
"It's a great idea," he says with a shrug, as the sun blazes into the sky, painting his face orange and gold in its light. "I just wanted to tell someone."
heyyy, look who managed another @bucktommyfluffebruary fic!! this time with bonus mayravi
g, 583 words, pov: may
May Grant, for her sins, is both her mother's and her father's and her step-father's daughter. While that means she's level-headed and good in a crisis and a creative thinker, it also means she is always, always early. Normally that's okay. She tends to bring a book or something to do, and she fills the time just fine. But neither the book she's currently reading nor the tangle of wool she's half-heartedly calling a crochet project fit in the dainty, date-night purse she's carrying tonight, which leaves her idly scrolling her phone, sipping on her negroni and thinking way too much.
She likes Ravi. She likes him a lot. He's cute — very cute — and funny, and ambitious, and he treats his family well. He's all the things she likes in a guy. But it's…it's probably a terrible idea, for all sorts of reasons. She already worries about her mom, and about Harry and about —
"May?"
May mutters a curse into her cocktail glass before she sets it down, turns on her bar stool and says, "Buck! Hi! What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm, uh — " Buck is dressed nicely, walking the fine line between smart and sexy in a way that makes an obvious lie of the way he says, "I'm meeting a friend."
"Oh," May says. "Yeah. Me too."
There's something of a stand-off then, because if Buck looks like he might be dressed for a date, then May definitely does.
May smiles at him. "Do you want a drink while you wait?"
"Oh. Uh. N-no. I think I'm gonna wait for — for my friend. I don't know how long we'll be staying."
Normally May would make a joke about moving fast, but Buck has that look he gets sometimes, like a puppy anticipating a kick so she bites her tongue and lets the vague suspicion brew a little.
"So," she says, when the awkwardness is just too much to bear. "New friend? Old friend?"
His eyes widen and he looks flustered when he says, "Uh. Old. Old friend. Kinda."
Gotcha, she thinks.
When he takes his phone out to check it, she takes the opportunity to do the same and sees a new message:
Sorry, ran into Tommy in the parking lot (????). He's being weirder than usual. Be with you ASAP.
While Buck's still looking at his phone, May sneaks a photo of him. It's off-center and at a weird angle, but still clearly him, and she sends it to Ravi without comment.
ffs. Can we please go somewhere else, I cannot deal with these two again.
May responds with a heart and finishes the last of her drink.
"Hey, my friend got held up, I'm going to head out," she says.
"Oh, okay," Buck says, clearly trying not to look relieved. "Do you need a ride anywhere?"
"I'm good," she promises. "Hey. Have fun tonight, okay?"
Buck nods and pockets his phone, giving her a quick hug goodbye. May grabs her bag and picks her way through the growing crowd to the door. And of course, of course, as she gets there, Tommy's coming through. There's no avoiding him, and she has to bite back a laugh at the way his eyes go wide for a second before they narrow and he looks back over his shoulder.
"Are you meeting — "
She cuts him off. "Are you?"
They blink at each other a couple of times and he says, "Okay. Have a good night, May."
this time, an au where they overlap at the 118 for @bucktommyfluffebruary. 699 words, g, pov: hen
"Heyyyy, Hen."
Hen looks up from her book at where Buck is fidgeting in front of the couch.
"What do you want, probie?"
He tries very hard to look offended. "Who says I want anything?"
"The number of syllables you worked into hey, for one thing."
"Okay," he says. "Fine." He flops down onto the couch next to her and lowers his voice. "Who'd you get for Secret Santa?"
"I mean…the clue's in the title, Buckaroo. It's supposed to be secret."
"Okay, but I think I know who you got, and I wanna swap."
She raises her eyebrows at him. "How do you think you know who I got?"
"Painstaking detective work," he says promptly. As though she'd asked, he launches onward. "So first I asked Chim if he knew what he was going to buy and he said no, so I could rule out a couple people, then I told Hansen that I could get him a deal on booze if he wanted to get a bottle for his gift and he said no, so I could rule out Bobby. Then I asked — "
"God, fine, just please stop talking," she begs and hands him her folded slip of paper, taking his in return. He unfolds it, grins, and punches the air.
She doesn't know why he's so eager to get something for Tommy, that dude is impossible to buy for.
🎁🎁🎁
They do the gift exchange on Christmas Eve, as they're off shift on the day itself. Hen gets a pretty cool glasses case and a bottle of wine. Tommy's up next and he turns the box over in his hands a couple times, looking around at the assembled group. He's mostly over that…tension that used to characterise him so completely, but sometimes he still looks like he's expecting a dig.
When he tears into the gift wrap enough to see the contents he goes very still for a second and then he looks up, directly at Buck, who's squirming in his seat like there's way more at stake than a workplace gift exchange.
"Um." Tommy clears his throat and drags his gaze away from Buck. "Thank you…whoever."
"What is it?" Chim asks and Tommy blinks, like he's just now realizing the gift wrap is still half on the box. He pushes it away and holds it up so they can see…huh. A remote control helicopter. Hen was honestly expecting something a little more…well, she's not sure, to be honest. But from the way Buck and Tommy have both been acting, she'd thought it would be…well. Just more. More than a kid's toy.
🎁🎁🎁
It takes them a couple attempts to get through all the gifts in between calls, and although they work together just fine on the scene, she can't help feeling like the vibe between Buck and Tommy is off for the rest of the shift. Not bad, but…weird. Tense. Maybe not even tense but…unfinished.
So when she finishes restocking the ambulance after the last call and exits to find the two of them tucked into the shade of the ladder truck and talking quietly, she eavesdrops pretty shamelessly.
"I didn't think you'd remember," Tommy says. "We were pretty drunk."
"Not that drunk," Buck says quickly. "Anyway, I listen when you talk, Tommy."
"I know," Tommy says. "It scares the shit out of me."
"Oh," Buck says, sounding like the most kicked of puppies. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I need a kick in the ass every now and then."
"So you'll talk to Bobby? About transferring?"
"It's not that straightforward, Evan. I need to get recertified and even then, spots don't come up at Harbor that often."
"You'll make it happen. I have faith. And when it does, you're gonna let me buy you dinner, right?"
"That…could be a while."
"I can wait," Buck says, sounding very sure of himself. "It'll be worth it."
Tommy mutters something Hen can't quite make out and Buck laughs, loud and obnoxious.
"Oh, I guarantee it. You want a preview?"
There's a pause, and a distinct note of reluctance in Tommy's voice when he says, "Not here."
