this is my "oops I had another idea but what if I tried to keep this one short?" wip that I started on last night when The Ooze was keeping me up. the very much unedited beginning for u:
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one.
There is a cat sitting Tommy's porch when he gets home, makes him pause on his way up the driveway, paint cans balanced in his arms. It's a big cat, too - ginger with white splotches, or is it the other way around? Either way, it has the effect of looking like a ginger cat got dipped in milk paws-first, with some errant splashes above one of its eyes. Blue eyes that blink open lazily at him, unimpressed, as though the cat has been waiting for him to come home and is unhappy with the hour.
you should all go wish @peapodbond and @nonuniqueindie a very happy birthday! don’t know them? here’s why you should be onboard:
they’re Canadian, which means they have superpowers (withstanding subzero temperatures, talking to moose, etc)
they’re some of the best cosplayers around; in fact, they’re cosplaying YOU right now. are you really you? you don’t know anymore, do you? THEY’RE THAT GOOD
they once bought army pants and flip-flops, so I bought army pants and flip-flops
🦋🦋 (i love this fic the way my cat loves his bouncy straws. carries them around in his mouth and shows them off to everyone)
ha, I love that description very much. for you!
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🦋 - pothos | pathos -> [follows this]
Despite the wind and the surprise encounter with Tommy, Buck manages to pull off The Maneuver without a further hitch. He feels a little bad for the woman when his boots collide with her chest - always does - but it’s the job, and maybe a kick in the chest is what was necessary to get the help she needs, the help she deserves. She wouldn’t be the first, and he’s sure she won’t be the last.
Still, it’s not exactly a routine procedure, though he’s had plenty of practice, and his limbs itch with adrenaline by the time they have her checked out and on her way down with the elevator with the 217’s paramedics. Tommy’s not with them, must still be down on whatever floor he managed to grab Buck from, or maybe he’s on his way down already, or already out the building.
Buck shifts from foot to foot as he and the rest of them wait for the next elevator to get to their floor. It’s taking forever and he’s fairly sure the numbers on the dial above the doors are taking way longer than they should in their slow, slow count up. A quick headcount tells him they’re not all gonna fit into that single elevator, and the second elevator is still unloading at the ground floor, and this is going to take ages, and what if Tommy’s already out the door and loaded into the 217’s engine?
Not that that’s any of his business, of course. Not that he cares, really. It’s just, well, he still has Jee’s bracelet to give him. That’s all.
“I’ll take the stairs,” he announces to little reaction from the gathering of firefighters in front of him. Only Bobby raises his eyebrows at him, gives a little nod, and Eddie does that thing where he purses his lips a little and raises a singular eyebrow and honestly that expression could mean anything and it’s not like Buck cares, anyway. He’s not-- he’s not doing anything weird. He’s just working off adrenaline.
Sure, maybe he’d underestimated how many flights of stairs he’d be facing, but it’s fine. And if his calves cramp two thirds of the way down, that’s no one’s business but his. He’ll just stretch later. And if his heart is beating a little fast then that’s just physical exertion and leftover adrenaline, which is exactly why he’s taking the stairs, thank you very much, and it has nothing to do with the thought of missing this opportunity to talk to Tommy again.
Tommy, who Buck nearly crashes into when he bursts out of the stairwell on the ground floor, just barely hitting the breaks in time to not barrel straight into that familiar back, those wide, wide shoulders. Wow, Tommy really is big.
Tommy turns at the sound of Buck nearly tripping over himself. Those familiar eyes look Buck up and down, and Buck feels his face heat up.
It’s probably all the running down the stairs. That’s what it is.
“H-hey, Tommy. Hey. Uh- thanks for, uh, thanks for the hand up there,” he says, eloquently.
Tommy’s head tilts a little, a smile spreading slowly on his handsome features. “Hello Evan. Not a problem.” He places a large hand on Buck’s arm, gives it a squeeze, lets it linger for a moment. “Good to see you on your feet again.”
“Yeah, you too,” Buck replies, feeling a little faint. He can’t believe how easy this is, how easy it is to see that smile again, to talk to Tommy again. It settles something in him, puts that wild restlessness at ease. All of a sudden, even breathing is easier.
Then the elevator dings, and the rest of their crews pile out, and they're whisked away to their separate engines and stations. It's not until hours later, when Buck's in his bunk and replaying their meeting over and over and over in his head, that Buck realizes he'd never given Tommy that bracelet.
☎️☎️🐧🐧💔💔 (listen i love me a good abby and tommy backstory)
some abbytommy backstory (but without abby rn) for you!
☎️ - tommy meets abby
"So there's something I've been dyin' to ask all shift," Sal says after he checks surreptitiously over his shoulder and then turns fully towards Tommy.
Tommy glances up from where he's lacing up his shoes. "What's that?"
"The chick who dropped you off this morning. Who's she?"
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🐧 - antarct-fic
"Oh." Something uncomfortable twists in his gut and he sputters, "I'm uh, not really-- I'm not--"
She leans back, pale eyebrows inching up towards the edge of her bandana. "Well I'm sorry, kid. I coulda sworn last night you spent all of three beers waxing poetic about your helo guy."
Buck feels his face flush. "He's not really mine--"
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💔 - the ex / victor
“So how do you two know each other?” Tommy asks.
Immediately, Emmerson's eyes shoot to Victor with the kind of laser-focused intensity that could slice clean through diamonds. There's definitely a story there, one that he clearly doesn't want to tell.
Vic, however, seems wholly immune to Emmerson's attempts to burn him to a crisp or beam thoughts into his mind. He just grins that easy grin of his and says, “Oh come on, you trust Tommy, right?”
The look he then directs at Tommy is a different kind of intense, like he's studying him like a bug under a magnifying glass. It makes the back of his neck prickle. Vic tilts his head a little before saying, “He looks like a guy who can keep a secret.”
alas, no 'promise' in my wips, but I do have 'oath'! from knight au
Evan’s breath comes out in a sweet huff of laughter. “Is that such a surprise?” he asks, eyes twinkling in the sunlight. It is a dangerous sight, Tommy thinks to himself. It is the kind of look that could inspire even the most devout to break their oaths.
-> Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in
⌛️⌛️ (yo, i have like eight ideas and i’m sure none of them are right and i love being totally confused)
please feel free to share what your ideas are. confusion is partially the goal so uhhhh have some confusing time-fucky fic! this has a little bit of overlap with this and this
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⌛️- 8:39 PM
Sam kisses him back. Sam kisses him, but not this Sam. Sam kisses him but she's not a boy in the dark in the planetarium, she's the runner-up for homecoming queen and in three months she will move to Germany and he will never see her again but now, in this moment, Sam kisses him. Sam kisses him back, and for one moment, everything makes sense. A boy’s lips on his, Sam’s eyes on his, the stars blinking down from above. Everything makes sense in the dark. Everything makes sense.
Everything makes sense in the dark.
He can’t stay in the dark.
Eventually, the light always finds him, lights up his insides for all to see, for men with blank expressions and white coats to calmly point out his faults. Notice this break, here? Notice this fracture? This is where the weakness is, this is where the fault lies. This is where it’s wrong, and here, and here, and here, and here.
Help, he thinks, and he’s standing in the doorway, and the officer says goodnight. Help, he thinks. Don’t just stand there, help. But the officer stands in the dark, and the porch light has been busted for years, and it makes sense.
Help, he thinks anyway. Mulish, stubborn, never knows when to just stay away.
Help, he blinks. The stars blink back.
He needs help. He needs help. He can’t stay here. He’s-- he’s probably injured. Maybe. It’s-- hard to tell. His head feels heavy, tired, wrong. The rest of him feels light, too light. A lead balloon.
Where’s the cyclic?
His fingers twitch again, and then he remembers there isn’t one. There isn’t a cyclic, because--
He knows. He knows why not. The answer is right there. Just-- just out of reach.
Tears of frustration well up, searing and sudden. He squeezes his eyes shut.
No, no. Eyes open. He blinks, and there’s the stars again. They’re swimming, now, like starfish. Starfish in the sky. Starfish in the tide pools on a rocky beach, driftwood bleached pale by salt and sun, twisted shapes like strange creatures reaching towards the sky. Pebbles under his shoes, hermit crabs skittering, scurrying, retracting at his touch.
Tommy blinks, and he’s still looking at the dark night sky. He inches the fingers of his left hand down, slowly, carefully feeling for the phone in his pocket, tendons complaining all the way up to his shoulder until he feels the outline of it in his jeans. The denim under his fingertips is wet.
thank you for your patience! here's some dead probie saga. set after this and this
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⚙️ - tommy begins
It’s seventeen days since it happened, eleven days since the funeral, eight days since he’s returned to work, when Tommy’s phone buzzes. It makes him pause, makes him glance around the half-darkened fire station’s loft as though the phone on the table could be anyone but his own.
He puts down the Classic Cars magazine he’d been attempting to seek distraction in. Hesitates.
The clock on the wall tells him it’s nearly 2 AM. There’s no way Abby’s texting him. For one, she’d call if she needed anything, and besides, she isn’t on shift, and she knows he is, so she should be sound asleep by now.
The phone buzzes again. Tommy still doesn’t move. He’s not sure why. Another buzz.
From the kitchen, Nowak turns to glance at him.
He grabs his phone.
Three new messages. From: Vic ;)
For a moment he’s at the funeral again and there is Victor, dark eyes, blotchy skin, strong, slender hands tugging at just-too-short suit sleeves. A glance so full of raw grief that Tommy wants to look away but can’t. Wants to hold him tight but can’t. Wants to run back into that burning building but can’t.
He opens the text thread.
Vic ;) [01:48]: I almost texted him so many times
Vic ;) [01:48]: keep thinking he’ll walk through the door
Vic ;) [01:49]: sorry ur probably asleep
Tommy swallows hard. Presses his lips together. Turns in his seat so that Nowak can’t see his face and glances up at the ceiling for a long moment until his eyes stop burning. Types out a response before he can think about it.
Me [01:50]: I’m not. I’m on shift
Victor doesn’t send anything else and Tommy could leave it, put his phone away again, but his thumbs hover over the buttons anyway.
Me [01:54]: I keep expecting him to walk into the station or be behind me on a ladder
It feels like pressing on a bruise. It feels like letting out the blood beneath a nail.
