I don't normally write coda's because I can't write shorts to save my life (and this is no different - I've already got plans for where it's going to go). Still, this week's episode made me a little angry, and I'd been contemplating some form of "Buck finally crashes out" fic, so here it is.
How it Starts
It starts as a tactic Dr. Copeland gave him, back when he was trying to navigate a new relationship with his parents. After being ignored and told he was too much his whole life, they suddenly want to be involved, and it was fine. It was better than nothing. It was nice that they wanted to make an effort. But it didn’t go well. For every reaction he has, and every emotion he showed, his mom would break into tears and act like he was personally attacking her.
"Have you heard of the 'Grey Rock Response?'" Dr. Copeland had asked him during one of his solo sessions. When he'd shaken his head, she'd explained a little more. "It's not a long-term solution in a relationship, but it is a tool you can use in specific situations."
Buck feels like his life right now might be one of those situations.
It had felt like looking at a funhouse mirror, hearing Hen say all of the things he’s been feeling for months. It twists something inside his guts, hearing her say that she’d kept everything secrete because no one had asked, as though he had tried to check in with her regularly in the aftermath of Bobby’s death. As though he hadn’t stopped by to drop off home cooked meals and baked goods after the space capsule had returned to earth.
He’s constantly reached out, with questionnaires, care packages of baked goods, and offers to hang out only to be brushed off, or gently turned down by Karen on Hen’s behalf.
It has him second-guessing himself, if maybe he hadn’t made himself as available as he could have in the seven months between Eddie taking over his home again and settling into his own place. He’d thought about inviting everyone over for a house warming, but between Deryl living in his attic and… everything else, he’d just never planned it.
He almost apologizes, especially seeing the contrite expressions on everyone in the room, but then Hen says “He was our captain, but he was my friend,” like Bobby hadn’t died so Chimney could live, like Bobby somehow meant more to her than he did to anyone else in the room for being her friend. Like Buck hadn’t lost one of the most important people in his life.
Evan is seething, thinking of all the times he’s tried to be there for her, for everyone, only to told he’s making everything all about himself. He balls his hands into fists in his lap, white knuckled, blunt nails digging into his palms, and says nothing.
When Hen collapses, for a brief, bitter moment, he’s angry that she’s taken the wind out of his sails, and he’s disgusted with himself for it.
No tag list for this yet - Let me know if you want to be added for future updates.
your salbucktommy pieces have bewitched me, body and soul
I know that this is not a prompt or a request, it is you being kind (and I love you for it) but:
Ma used to warn him that he needed to rein in his emotions and his intentions when he cooked anything, whether it was a potion or a sauce. So Sal treats cooking like a form of meditation, letting his mind stay clear and focused without drifting. It's hard, but he has the practice by the time he's grown and moved out and moved across the country.
Sometimes he slips up, though.
Sometimes Vincent fuckin' Gerrard says something he shouldn't and Sal can't stop thinking about it while he makes coffee, and then he's trying to keep the man from grabbing a cup.
"What, you don't want me to find out you make a weak brew for sissies?" Gerrard snarks, flapping his wrist to the side in a gesture that makes Sal regret not putting more into the coffee. It's a stupid fucking joke, would be even if Sal had his shit view of the world, but Sal wants to snap his fucking wrist so he can't do that anymore. It pisses him off, it makes Tommy shrink in on himself.
"Nah," he says coolly. "Didn't want you to burn yourself, Cap. It's fresh."
Gerrard grunts and walks away, sipping from the mug. He drinks it black and plain as a mark of manhood rather than preference, and Sal can tell because he does this little grimace whenever he takes a drink.
"Do not drink that," he snaps when Chimney's fingers close around the carafe handle.
"Did you spit in it?" Chimney jokes, and Sal grabs it, pouring it down the drain. "Oh shit. Well, good for you, man."
When Gerrard ends up with a massive blister on the back of his hand by the end of the shift, Chimney says it looks like an extreme case of poison oak and he must've caught it when they were on the side of the highway for that car crash.
"You should get that checked out, sir," he says, tossing his gloves in the trash. "That's a problem for a doctor. Don't go poking around it."
Except it itches like hell, and he does. When it opens, his shout can be heard from across the station.
"Dumbass should've listened," Sal says, not looking up from the article he's reading.
"Maybe he'll miss a shift," Tommy says from where he's doing bicep curls.
"We should be so lucky," Sal says dryly, flicking to the next page. He hadn't made it that strong.
--
When Sal invites Tommy over one night, Tommy agrees but with the condition that Sal make this eggplant parm Sal's raved about. He'd planned on ordering in, but he can cook. He just has to be real careful.
The problem is that Tommy's early, so Sal has to finish up with Tommy leaning on the counter and smiling at him and talking work and sports and old video games. He almost burns it on purpose, but he takes a risk and serves up a plate.
"God, I don't think I've ever had that much food and felt better after," Tommy says, stretching from his chair at Sal's table.
Sal keeps an eye on him until he leaves, but the problem is that the spell sort of has a slow release sometimes. Sometimes it's not a spell, just a feeling. Or he really just made Tommy feel better. For all he knows, he just cured a muscle strain or something.
Except the next day, Tommy comes into work all jittery and admits that he proposed to Abby. Sal's shocked, Chimney's shocked, Hen's shocked, they're all shocked. The relationship with Abby's been dangling by a thread for weeks, if not months.
"I don't know what came over me, I just had this feeling like I'd found the person I was meant to be with forever," he says, shrugging.
"Do you still feel like that?" Hen asks carefully, and Tommy's expression shutters.
The alarm goes off, and they're heading out. The whole time, Sal's heart is pounding. It's got nothing to do with the grease fire.
--
He's on a line in the woods with Tommy, even though they're not at the same house anymore. They got sent up the mountain a couple hours apart, because there's a brushfire. Tommy's been in the air all morning, now he's shoulder to shoulder with Sal on the ground. Sal always feels better with Tommy there, but there's no way he's not fucking exhausted.
But Tommy soldiers on, just like with anything else. He cuts lines and listens for drops and even coordinates some from the ground, advising pilots on conditions from where he's at. He's looking up at the sky, and Sal's looking at him. The wind shift catches them both off guard, and there's suddenly a wall of flame to their right, their only clear path back.
"Get out!" Sal shouts, even though he knows they're fucked. They're in a circle of flames. He looks at Tommy, sees his blue eyes through the shield, and he can't watch him burn, not his Tommy.
So Sal tears a glove off and his respirator. He can't block out the elements if he needs to use them.
He's not a spellwork guy, that's his sister's thing, but he can try. For Tommy, he'll try anything. Sal kneels in the charred earth and digs for the living soil underneath, burying his fingers in it. He calls earth, air, water, and fire, begs for their favor, begs that they bend to his will long enough to get them safe passage.
The thrum of power lights through his veins, and he feels every connection of the great cycle of life and death at work around him. It hurts, it burns like the fire's inside his body instead of surrounding him, and then he pushes through it until there's a break in the wall.
Sal stumbles through, dragging a stunned Tommy behind him, and he barely gets to the other side before he collapses.
--
Sal comes to in a medical tent. Tommy's sitting on a folding stool next to his cot, his fingers laced together in front of his mouth as if he might be praying.
"Hey," Sal croaks.
"Hey," Tommy says, blinking back tears. "Fuck, Sal."
"Yeah," Sal agrees, struggling to sit up.
"Smoke inhalation," Tommy warns, pushing him down.
Sal lets out a harsh laugh and shakes his head, but he goes back down. "Nah. It ain't that."
Tommy wipes his nose with the sleeve of his turnouts. "What'd you do?"
"I'll tell you later," Sal says, glancing at the tent's other occupants.
In their own tent, Sal sits with a paper cup of weak tea and tells Tommy about Ma's family, about himself and what he can do.
And Tommy, perceptive and brilliant Tommy, asks him about the eggplant parm the year before.
"Yeah, well, my mind wandered," Sal admits with a wry smile, sipping his tea. "There's a reason I normally kick people out of the kitchen."
Tommy nods and presses his lips together. For a long moment, Sal's worried he might leave or hit him. Instead, he reaches across the scant space between their cots, curls a hand around Sal's neck, and kisses him.
--
Years later, Tommy flies off into a fucking hurricane. He's got a charm in his pocket from Ma, but Sal still paces until Tommy calls him from a phone on the rescue ship.
"You can't act like you're fucking invincible, baby," he says. "You should've called or something, I could've gotten there."
"We barely got here in time as it was. And I'm fine. I'll be fine, I promise. No more flying into hurricanes after this," Tommy says, and Sal can hear the smile in his voice. "You should meet the new 118, it's a trip. I think you'd like them."
Days later, he does meet them. He and Tommy are playing basketball with Tommy's new buddy when Chimney shows up with this long-legged, eager puppy of a guy in tow. He's all big smiles and flushed cheeks when he greets Tommy, and it's a bit adorable. Sal, though, isn't as big an idiot as his wonderful partner.
When he introduces himself, though, he wonders if the kid's just like that, because he reacts the same when he shakes Sal's hand.
Eddie, though, ends up on the ground with his ankle in his hands. Sal and Chimney check him out, and Sal says it's probably a light sprain.
"Light?!" Eddie says incredulously.
"Yes, princess, light," Sal snarks. "Go to urgent care, you'll be alright."
"I'll take him," Tommy offers.
"I'll catch a ride with Chimney," Sal says.
"You will?" Chimney asks.
"Or whatever. Don't worry about it, babe." He gives Tommy a quick, automatic kiss and sends him on his way.
Evan looks like he's about to be sick over the whole thing. Sal claps him on the back and invites him to come grab a cup of coffee or a smoothie or whatever.
"I should probably go home," Evan says, chewing on his lip and looking in the direction Tommy and Eddie went in.
--
Sal and Tommy show up at the loft together, though Sal offers to wait outside.
"Why?" Tommy asks, puzzled.
"Baby, I love you so much, but you're dense as fuck sometimes." He grabs the covered dish and follows Tommy upstairs.
It's about when Evan's looking between them nervously as he explains what his sister had said about Sal doesn't even know what, because Tommy and Sal are exchanging a look. Sal nods, and Tommy leans in and kisses Evan.
When Evan looks at Sal with something approaching panic and hope, Sal curls a hand around his jaw and kisses him, too.
"Eat the cookies," he says before they leave. "You'll feel better."
He'd baked them with lightness, grace, forgiveness, comfort, and acceptance in mind. And a little something extra, because Tommy had snuck a kiss to his neck while Sal was mixing in the chocolate chunks. There's only a few from that batch, the rest are normal, but he put those ones at the top.
--
At Micelli's, Evan admits he'd been nervous that morning.
"I gotta know what your secret is to those cookies, though, I ate one and it just helps," he says, grinning and shaking his head. "I don't know, I feel like I was just doing all this worrying for nothing. Going on a first date is pretty scary in general, but I also have a bad track record with them. Going on a date with two guys is just...going on a date with two guys."
"That's all Sal," Tommy says, nodding toward him. "He's a wizard in the kitchen."
Sal makes a face, because a Tommy knows how he feels about that term. "Not a wizard. But thank you. It's all old family recipe."
When Eddie accidentally crashes their date, Sal can feel Tommy bracing himself next to him.
"You guys are hanging out, that's great!" Eddie says.
Before Sal can stop him, Evan says, "Yeah, we're actually on a date."
Eddie and his date's eyebrows shoot up, and Sal pinches his nose.
Acceptance. Goddammit. This one's going to hit Evan like a ton of bricks when the intention fades.
"Oh, uh, good for you, man!" Eddie says, grinning. "Sorry, we'll get out of your way, then. Have fun!"
Tommy signs for the check, and Evan looks at his beer.
"You okay?" Sal asks softly.
"Yeah," Evan says, smiling. "I think he actually meant it? That went a lot better than I thought it would."
Outside, they wait for an Uber. Evan blinks at them and then back over his shoulder at the restaurant. He looks a little bewildered.
"I just told Eddie I was on a date with two guys," he says slowly.
"You did," Sal confirms.
"And he was kind of okay with it."
"Seemed to be," Tommy agrees.
Evan smiles and his cheeks get flushed. "Okay. I--yeah, okay. I didn't think I'd be able to do that yet."
"Do you think you're ready to do that yet? You can go back and talk to him," Sal offers.
"No! No, I don't need to. I, uh, I don't know." His smile widens, his hands going into his pockets. "I don't mind if he knows. Or anyone else. Why hide it, right? If this works, they'll have to find out sooner or later."
"That's a big step." Tommy rubs between Evan's shoulder blades and smiles at him. "For you, I mean. No rush, okay?"
"O-okay," he says, swallowing and leaning against Tommy's hand a little.
The Uber pulls up, and they pile into the back of the minivan.
--
Tommy calls Sal. "Evan's cursed."
Sal drops the shirt he'd been folding. "On my way."
He gets to the loft, and Evan's covered in boils and looking miserable.
"Oh, baby," Sal says with a sympathetic wince.
"He's having a reaction," Eddie says, tossing his gloves in the trash. "And he needs a doctor."
Sal presses his thumb to his boyfriend's chin and feels something working under his skin. "Yeah, don't worry. I got a guy."
"Then I leave him in your capable hands," Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder.
When Eddie's left, Sal presses a hand to Buck's clearer cheek and closes his eyes.
"Maybe you shouldn't--"
Sal gently shushes Evan and keeps feeling for the thing burrowing into his skin that's doing this. He feels it wrapped around his shoulder, probably the one he'd dislocated.
"Alright, I need a shitload of chamomile flowers," he decides. "And some lavender, sage, marjoram, maybe even some fucking garlic. Christ alive, kid, what happened? Whatever's cursed you is old and pissed."
Evan blinks at him with wide eyes, and he looks between Sal and Tommy. "Wait, you believe me?"
Tommy throws up his hands and sighs. "I said I did!"
Sal kisses the clearest spot on Evan's forehead. "I'm gonna send Tommy out for some things, and we'll talk."
An hour later, Tommy's back from a plant nursery and the grocery store, and Evan's laying on the couch trying to process while Sal makes tea.
"Yep," Tommy says, crouching next to Evan. "I wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't bent the elements around us to save us from a fire."
"He mentioned that," Evan says faintly. "So you can fix this?"
"I can make it leave you, but it'll find someone else eventually. Whatever's got a hold of you is having a hell of a time settling their business." Sal starts pulling springs of herbs and flowers and peeling garlic. "But that's something we worry about after."
He sits in the middle of Evan's living room with Evan across from him inside a circle of patchouli leaves.
"Smells nice," Evan comments, and Sal smiles as he mashes everything else together in a bowl, pouring in all the healing and protection he can.
He puts a fistful of the muddled herbs in a mug and lets them steep in the hot water and honey. The garlic gets mashed as well with the remnants in the bowl, and Sal touches the sticky paste to Evan's shoulder.
Evan inhales sharply, and Sal clamps his hand to him, holding the paste in place and pulling out the dark things trying to work their way through Evan. When he drops the clump of paste into the bowl and hands Evan the tea, Evan drinks it slowly.
"That doesn't taste good," Evan says with a wince as he sets it down again.
"I know," Sal says fondly, reaching across with his clean hand to touch his cheek with a smile. "But they're going down."
Thirty minutes later, Evan is free of boils and his shoulder barely aches.
"You're really a witch," he says, awed.
"Yep," Sal says, curling up on the couch with a groan.
"A-are you--"
"Healing's hard work, pushing out a curse is harder," he explains, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. "But it's worth it. I just need a nap. Few days with my feet in the dirt will do me some good, too."
"There's a reason our garden is so nice," Tommy adds.
Evan bites his lip and squeezes Sal's fingers. "You didn't have to, though."
"Why not? I'd do it for Tommy."
"Yeah, but you--" He cuts himself off and looks between them. "You love Tommy."
"Yeah, and I love you. Both of you." Sal tugs Evan onto the cushion next to him, and Tommy sits on Evan's other side. "But don't say it back just because you think you have to, okay?"
Evan nods, and Tommy kisses his recently healed shoulder, burying his face in Evan's neck.
"You smell like garlic," Tommy mumbles, and Evan laughs.
--
They're at Micelli's. Tommy's handed over the basketball tickets, Sal's given Evan a charm like the one Tommy has.
"No more curses for you, okay?" he teases.
Evan curls his fingers around it, and he rubs his thumbs over the carefully twined stems and beads. It's a bit like a small wreath.
"Thank you," he says softly.
"You cannot use magic to beat my gifts, that's totally cheating," Tommy complains.
"It didn't beat anything, thank you! I also got him something else that's in the mail."
Evan smiles at them and bumps their feet with his. "I love them."
--
When they go to pick him up for the movie, Evan's nervous. And Sal would be worried if he wasn't sneaking smiles at them.
"I, uh, talked to Josh and Maddie today," Evan admits. "Because I was just thinking about some stuff, and I didn't want to just throw all of it at you two and make you figure it out. Not that I don't know, but it was a little more theoretical before. You know?"
"Sure," Tommy says, like he's got any clue at all.
"I, uh, love you," he says, licking his lips and looking between them. "Both of you."
Sal kisses his cheek and then the corner of his smiling mouth, squeezing him close. "You already know I love you, sweetheart."
"And I have a much harder time with stuff like this," Tommy adds, lacing his fingers with Evan's. "But so do I."
Evan exhales shakily and grins. "Can we, uh, skip the movie?"
"Thought you'd never ask," Sal teases, crushing their lips together. When he lets him go, Evan turns to Tommy and draws him into a kiss, too, as Tommy backs up toward the stairs to the bedroom.
--
"It's about intention," Sal explains, stirring. "And having enough salt. Really important."
"Okay," Evan says, nestled up against Sal's back. "So if you're thinking good thoughts, then when this gets eaten, I'll have good thoughts?"
"Or you might feel better or something good might happen. That's why potions are easier, the ingredients help dictate the end result." He holds the spoon up for Evan so he can taste. "That's why I usually don't let you two bug me in here."
Tommy puts the pasta in the boiling water before slipping an arm around each of them. "Or why I usually cook instead."
Wrapped up in his boys, Sal lets himself drift on the love and contentment as he finishes up the sauce. When Evan nuzzles his neck and makes heat coil in his gut, Sal lets out a soft snort as he turns the heat on low and puts the lid on the sauce.
"That's gonna be a special batch for us that we only eat at home," he decides. "Unless you two wanna act like lovesick idiots at work."
"Already do," Evan teases, nipping at his neck. "Is it gonna be like the Viagra birthday cake?"
The birthday cake for Tommy had been baked by Sal and filled with enough love and arousal that he'd had to order one from a bakery that their friends could eat. In his defense, Evan and Tommy had walked through the kitchen after working out wearing sweaty clothes and pushing at each other, grabbing and groping on their way from the garage to the shower. The resulting cake could've made a pharmaceutical company a mint, because a sliver of it turned all three of them into horny, panting beasts who couldn't stop declaring their love for each other while they fucked like animals.
"Less horny," Sal decides. "But maybe we push breakfast back to brunch with your sister."
"On it!" He jogs off to grab his phone.
Tommy pulls him into a kiss and then another, and they make out until the opening strains of "I Put a Spell on You" plays from the next room.
"Not funny!" Sal calls.
"A little funny," Tommy adds.
"He learned it from you, brat." He pecks his boyfriend on the nose and pushes him away to check the pasta.
Yes, this is the sugar-dynamic fic with smut and feelings you think it is.
But it is also written by me.. Em… so
Yeah. Things get very real, very fast.
Expect heat, tenderness, and domestic softness and serious medical stakes with long-term consequences.
Take care of yourselves while reading. 💕
Part 1 - Part 2
The message sits in his inbox until the next afternoon before Buck replies.
He types and deletes half a dozen responses. Who's "we"? Too aggressive. What's the catch? Too defensive. Are you both real? Too pathetic and hopeful.
In the end, he settles on. Firehose: Dinner sounds good. Italian?
He shakes his head and rubs his hands over his face.
Firehose: I don't know how to do this. The app part. Just so you know.
He hits send before he can panic, he shoves his phone into his pocket. The stairs are unforgiving. Buck takes them slower than he used to. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth.
By the sixth landing his thigh is burning, the kind of pain that feels threaded through bone instead of muscle. He pauses like he’s checking something on his clipboard, like he’s reviewing something on the page. He shifts his weight to his good leg.
No one notices.
The building manager is still talking, voice echoing up the stairwell. “Elevator’s been down since Tuesday. Parts are on backorder. We’ve got a temporary inspection scheduled next month but…”
“Sprinkler heads on this floor were replaced last year?” Buck asks, jotting a note. Clipboard resting long against his forearm. Pen poised. He’s good at this part. He checks the dates. The pressure gauges. The tags. He makes neat notes.
But by the time they reach the roof access door, his molars rub together.
The manager fumbles with the key ring. “You used to run into this stuff, right?” he says casually. “Fires. Must’ve been something.”
Buck’s pen stills as he puts on an easy smile. “Different life,” he forces a chuckle. “I just make sure the paperwork’s clean now.”
The roof is bright and wind-swept. The city stretches out, sirens wail off in the distance. He doesn’t look toward them.
He finishes his inspection and hands over a copy with a smile, the kind of grin that doesn’t require anything of him. By the time he makes it back down to street level, the burn in his leg has settled into a dull throb.
He tells himself it’s manageable. But, in his company truck, he sits through a few songs without pulling away from the curb.
Tommy's at Harbor when he notices he has a few notifications. Sal forwards them with a single question mark. Tommy reads it mid-shift, standing in the equipment bay with one hand braced on a helo skid. His thumb traces over I don't know how to do this and something in his chest pulls taut.
He checks over Sal and his schedule. T: Italian, he agrees and adds. Thursday? Then he pockets the phone and tries not to think about blue eyes and steam-slicked shoulders.
Buck agrees to Thursday, he unlocks the screen at another ding. T: Worst late-night food decision you’ve ever made. Go.
He exhales through his nose, something close to a laugh catching in his chest. That’s not what he expected. He leans his head back against the seat and types. Firehose: Gas station sushi. 2 a.m. Never again.
The reply comes faster than it should.
T: Bold. Reckless. I respect it.
A second notification.
S: That’s not reckless. That’s a cry for help.
Buck stares at the screen. The throb in his leg is still there. The paperwork is still on the passenger seat. The follow-up appointment reminder he hasn’t opened is buried somewhere in his email.
But for a second, just a few, everything feels easier. He types back before he can overthink it.
Firehose: You offering intervention? Or just better sushi?
He watches the typing dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. He shouldn’t like that. But he does.
The light turns green and someone honks. Buck tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and pulls forward, heart beating a little faster than it has any right to.
Right before the next red light it buzzes again. He doesn’t look. He manages to make it home before he caves.
T: We can definitely offer better sushi.
S: And supervision. Clearly you need it.
Buck huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.
Supervision.
He’s twenty-six years old and budgeting for a possible amputation and somehow this is the thing that makes his chest loosen.
If anyone checks in, he tells himself, I’ll cancel.
If Maddie calls and asks how he’s really doing.
If Eddie calls about the lawsuit.
If Bobby…
He doesn’t finish that thought. Everyone should know by now that he dropped the lawsuit. It’s public record. It’s union chatter. It’s the kind of thing that spreads fast in a department built on rumor and pride.
Someone should have noticed. Someone should’ve already asked why by now?
He tries not to think too much about the 118 and how his sister seemed to have picked her boyfriend over him. He tries his best not to think too much about the two men who somehow make him feel seen through a few sentences and a photograph of hands.
He doesn't even know what they look like.
The restaurant is small. Red-checkered tablecloths, wine bottles lining the walls, the smell of garlic and basil thick enough to taste. Buck arrives fifteen minutes early because that's what you do when you're trying not to look desperate.
He's in dark jeans and a green sweater he found in the back of his closet. He takes a corner booth and watches the door.
They walk in together.
That's the first thing Buck registers. Not separately, not one trailing the other. Together. Shoulders close, hands brushing at the threshold before the taller one reaches to hold the door.
Tommy is broad like his body was built for lifting and carrying and holding. Dark hair silvering at the temples, cleft, jaw sharp enough to cut. He scans the room with the kind of awareness Buck recognizes from men who've spent years reading environments for threats. Cop?
Sal is leaner. A hair shorter, wearing a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled. He moves like someone accustomed to being listened to. His gaze finds Buck before Tommy's does, and holds eye contact for three seconds. Then Sal's mouth curves slightly.
Tommy leans into Sal, Buck can see him murmur something under his breath. Sal doesn’t look away from Buck when he answers, but his hand comes up smoothing the front of Tommy’s collar
They cross the room.
Buck's heart is doing something inconvenient in his throat.
"Firehose?" Tommy says, and his voice is exactly what Buck imagined.
"I…" Buck's voice cracks on the single syllable. He clears his throat. "Evan. I go by Evan."
Sal slides into the booth across from him. Tommy settles beside Sal, close enough that their shoulders touch.
"Evan," Sal repeats, like he's tasting it. "I'm Sal. This is Tommy."
Evan.
It lands strange in his own ears. He hasn't been Evan in years—not since he showed up at the 118 with too much attitude and not enough sense, not since Bobby handed him turnout gear and a nameplate and said welcome aboard, Buck.
Buck was the guy who ran into burning buildings. Buck was the guy who dated Abby and Ali and Taylor, who cracked jokes in the engine bay and pissed off his captain and saved lives.
Because Buck died on that asphalt. And no one noticed.
"Hi," Buck manages, his smile widening as he shoves the thought away.
"Hi," Tommy says back, his voice is deep and it does shit to Buck's stomach.
Buck's palms are sweating against his jeans. "I don't actually know what I'm doing here."
"Neither do we," Tommy says easily. "First time for everything."
The wine helps.
So does the food. So does the way they don't stare at him like he's a meal, don't push, don't fill every silence with pressure disguised as conversation.
Tommy asks about his work. Buck hesitates. He knows they're wondering why the hell he ended up on that site.
Buck's leg throbs under the table. "It's fine," he says. "It pays… most of the bills."
Tommy nods like he understands something. "There's dignity in keeping things from burning down before they start."
Buck nods. He wants to ask what they do, but he knows the rules. You don't ask. Whatever they did, they made enough to be on that app. The watch on Sal's wrist is not cheap. But Buck doesn't ask.
Tommy distracts him. "When you suggested Italian, Sal sent me this place inside of ninety seconds."
Sal doesn't deny it. "They serve carbonara. The only authentic version west of the Hudson."
"You've tested this hypothesis," Tommy says.
"I've been thorough."
Buck watches them, the way they finish each other's sentences, the way Sal's shoulder stays pressed against Tommy's the whole meal.
He wonders what it would feel like to be that known. "I should probably explain," Buck says, when the pasta is mostly gone and the wine bottle is nearly empty. "The profile. The… all of it."
"You don't owe us an explanation," Tommy reassures.
"I know. I just…" Buck runs his hand through his hair. "The bio. That wasn't a bit. I really don't know what I'm doing. And I'm not…"
He trails off.
Just say it. You're already here.
“I know I’m not what you expect to find on there,” he says finally. “I’m not doing this for drugs. Or tuition. Or some fantasy about being flown to Paris.” His mouth twists. “I like sex. And I need money.”
The words sit between them. Ugly. True.
He cringes. "Shit that... came out wrong."
Sal's hand finds Tommy's on the table. He expects them to flinch. To exchange one of those looks couples do, the ones that say we should leave, this is getting weird. Instead, Tommy just tilts his head. "Did it?"
Buck blinks. "What?"
"Came out wrong." Tommy presses. "You said you like sex. You need money. Those are just facts."
Buck stares at him. He doesn't know what to do with that.
"We're looking for someone," Sal explains, "to have dinner with. To talk to. To…" He pauses as he searches for the right word. "To take care of."
Buck's breath catches. Sal doesn't look away from him.
"It's something Tommy and I have always had to navigate," he continues. "I'm built a certain way. I show up. I provide. I don't… always know how to soften."
Tommy's thumb brushes once over Sal's knuckles.
Sal exhales slowly. "There are parts of him that need someone softer, someone to care for. I would rather make space for that than pretend it doesn't exist. So I'd rather invite someone in," Sal finishes, "than risk losing him because he's missing something I can't give."
Tommy nods. “And this isn’t all just for me. Sal needs somewhere to put it too.” He glances at his husband soft and amused. “He won’t admit it, but he’s got more care in him than he knows what to do with. It just… gets stuck. He holds it tight. And when I need space, he doesn’t always know where to put it.”
Sal doesn’t deny it. His eyes soften as he looks at Tommy, a small smile curving at the edge of his mouth.
Buck looks between them. He came here expecting transaction. Dinner for company, money for sex, clear lines and cleaner exits. He didn't come here for this… two men who love each other, who are trying to love each other better, and somehow think he might be part of that equation after a week of texting.
“You want to…” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “You want me to be what? A project?”
Tommy’s mouth quirks and his eyes crinkle. “God, no.”
“A plant?” Buck presses, because it’s easier to joke than to admit he’s shaken. “Something to water?”
Tommy huffs a soft laugh and scoops up a spoonful of spumoni. He holds it out. “Open,” he says lightly.
Buck hesitates for half a second. Then he leans forward, wraps his mouth around the spoon, and pulls back.
The ice cream is cold and sweet.
Sal watches the entire exchange, heat flickers in his gut. Buck looks up with a faint smear of cream at the corner of his mouth. Tommy reaches out without thinking and wipes it away with his thumb.
Sal's gaze catches Tommy's, and Tommy sees it, the spark Sal hadn’t planned on.
Tommy lifts one eyebrow. Just to say. Oh.
Sal exhales slowly. “You wouldn’t be a project,” he says evenly.
Buck watches as Tommy scoops up another bite. “Then what would I be?”
Sal meets his eyes, and his grin grows. “Someone we choose.”
Buck holds his gaze. “And what does that cost?” he asks.
Sal doesn’t bristle. "You’d be compensated,” he says evenly. “That part doesn’t go away.”
Tommy nods. “We’re not pretending this isn’t an arrangement.”
Buck’s shoulders ease a fraction. “How much?” he asks.
Tommy and Sal look at each other. The phone passes between them. Tommy types, Sal reads, Sal types, Tommy reads. A quiet negotiation conducted in thumb-swipes and shared glances.
Then Sal slides the phone across the table toward Evan.
Buck does the math in his head before he can stop himself. Rent. Medical bills. The credit card he’s been pretending doesn’t exist.
“That’s generous,” he says quietly.
“It’s fair,” Sal corrects.
“And expectations?” Buck asks.
Sal’s voice stays steady. “Dinner. Time. Honesty. Sex. Nothing you don’t want.” Tommy’s gaze stays soft on him. “And if you change your mind, you say so.”
Buck stares at them, his heartbeat roars in his ear.
Sex is easy. Sex he understands. Sex is something he enjoys.
Dinner. Time. Honesty.
Those are the things he fucks up.
His leg aches under the table. His bank account is a slow bleed. The number on the screen is enough to buy him breathing room. Enough to quiet the panic that wakes him at three in the morning.
He drags his thumb along the condensation on his wine glass. But right now, sitting across from two men who look at him like he's worth those numbers, he feels something he hasn't felt in months.
Seen.
"I'd like that," he says. "I think."
Tommy smiles. Sal inclines his head.
The check comes.
Tommy reaches for it but Sal is already sliding a card into the folder. Buck's hand is still halfway to his own wallet, frozen mid-reach like his body hasn't caught up to the fact that he's not the one paying tonight.
"We said we'd cover it," Sal reminds him with a firmness that makes Buck’s stomach swoop.
He pulls his hand back slowly. Tucks it under the table.
Outside, the air is cool and the streetlights are flickering on. They stand in a loose triangle on the sidewalk, none of them quite ready to leave. Tommy checks his phone.
"How about Sunday?" Tommy suggests. "We'll cook."
Buck blinks. "You cook?"
Tommy's mouth curves. "Sal cooks. I have opinions."
Sal inclines his head, acknowledging the truth of this. "He's useful for tasting. Less useful for anything else."
"Hey…"
"You boiled the wine before you added the rice."
"Tory the recipe said…"
"The recipe did not say that, Thomas."
Buck watches them, the easy back-and-forth, the way they've seemed to have had this argument a hundred times and will have it a hundred more.
"Our place," Sal murmurs, redirecting. "Sunday. Seven o'clock."
Buck's nods, his chest squeezing a little. "You want to do this again?"
Sal looks at him. "I do. Do you, Evan?"
Buck thinks about his empty apartment. The unopened envelope on his table. The way his phone hasn't buzzed with a message from anyone who actually sees him in weeks.
He thinks about how Evan felt in Sal's mouth.
"Yeah," he says. "I do."
Tommy's hand finds the small of Sal's back as they watch Evan's Uber pull away.
"He doesn't know," Sal stated quietly.
"Know what?"
"How to be taken care of."
Tommy watches the taillights disappear around the corner. "Guess we'll have to teach him," he murmurs. "He wants it though."
Evan doesn't sleep that night.
Not because of his leg. Not because of the case files spread across his coffee table, the reports he should have filed yesterday.
He doesn't sleep because he keeps replaying the evening.
Sal's hand around his wine glass, his accent. Tommy's laugh, his cleft. The way they looked at each other, looked at him, like he was someone worth looking at.
His phone glows on the nightstand.
Firehose: I had a good time tonight. Thank you.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
T: We did too.
S: Sunday. Don't be late.
Evan stares at the messages, despite everything, the ache in his leg, the weight in his chest, the quiet of his empty apartment, he smiles.
“Evan?” Tommy was staring, mouth hanging open. Buck shrunk back into the couch. Sal looked between them, understanding dawning on his face.
“Well, this is awkward,” He muttered, moving off of Buck to fix his belt. “What the fuck are you even doing here?”
“The Lakers’ game,” Tommy said, eyes shifting to glare at Sal. “We made plans to watch it here.”
“Fuck, I forgot about that.” Tommy laughed, bitterly.
“Obviously.” Buck felt anger flare up in his stomach.
“Oh, you so do not get to be pissed off right now,” He said, getting off the couch. “You dumped me.”
“I didn't think you'd fuck my best friend about it.”
The words hit Buck like a smack in the face. No, Tommy had expected Buck to fuck his best friend about it.
Sal tried to step in.
“Tom–”
“How was I supposed to know?” Buck interrupted, stepping forward. “It's not like you ever introduced me.”
They stared at each other, anger nearly palpable between them. Tommy shook his head.
“This is unbelievable.”
Buck isn't really sure what made him say it. He never could control his mouth when he got angry, and he was still incredibly turned on from the make out session Tommy had rudely interrupted. Maybe all that therapy wasn't helping as much as he thought.
“I'm gonna let him fuck my brains out, so you need to leave unless you plan to stay and watch.”
Several expressions flashed over Tommy's face. Surprise, desire, anger, all culminating into a glare of challenge. Tommy moved closer, until he and Buck were nearly chest to chest.
“You think he can fuck you better than I can?” He asked, voice dangerous. Buck shivered, feeling Sal press up behind him, hands gripping his waist, lips against his neck.
“Oh, he knows I can.” Tommy glared at him again over Buck's shoulder. He reached out, knocking one of Sal's hands away to grab Buck's hip.
“Prove it.”
They manhandled Buck down the hall, both of them brushing their hands over his body, fighting for ownership. Tommy knew all the right places to press and prod, but Sal's touch was new and exciting. Buck felt like a pinball, pinging back and forth between them. Sal gained the upper hand in the bedroom, pushing him onto the mattress and crowding between his legs, big hands holding his thighs open.
“Can't believe you're the ‘Evan’ he was going on about for months. He made you sound so young and sweet.” He leaned over Buck, nipping at his ear lobe. Buck watched over his shoulder as Tommy tossed his button down aside and yanked his henley over his head, his gaze still hard and angry as he watched them together. “Should we tell him all the dirty things you said to me on the phone? Show him the messages where you listed out everything you wanted me to do to you in detail?”
“You're not–” Buck moaned as Sal's hand slid up to palm the bulge of his jeans before flicking the button open. “You're not playing fair.”
“I never said I would.” Sal kissed him again, tugging his pants and underwear off in one fluid motion.
AU: Sal and Tommy are 35, married, and have been at the 118 (with Hen and Chim) for eight years. Buck is 26 in Peru. Sal and Tommy are on vacation to celebrate each of them transferring (122, lieutentant position with intent to become Captain very soon and 217, pilot). Whirlwind romance that ends up with Buck following them back to LA and being married right before Buck's probie year.
mooorrrre under the cut :)) again just straight up stream of conciousness hope ya like it :)
Buck is constantly talking about his partner but never mentions being married and never mentions there being two of them.
Bobby is out for some reason, nothing major but their temporary Captain is a complete idiot, making every wrong call and unfortunately Buck gets the short end of the stick.
He's being wheeled on a gurney with a pipe sticking out of his leg. Hen and Chimney are on either side of him trying to get him into the ambulance when their Captain comes over and starts berating Buck for "not paying attention," "doing this to himself," and "making the Captain look bad." It's all bullshit and everyone knows it, but Buck had started to be in a weird headspace right before the call, only intensifying as the call went on.
He was generally very good at keeping a hold on his emotions, but the pain, anxiety, and headspace is a godawful combination and he can feel his breath getting faster and tears filling his eyes.
There's an onlooker recording the Captain yelling at a clearly injured and emotionally distressed firefighter. They post it to Twitter and tag it LAFire118, a tag Sal has saved (as well as LAAir217 & LAFire217).
He sees the video and sees red. Him and Tommy call Hen and ask what hospital. She's confused, because as far as she knows, they have no idea who Buck is. She tells them anyway, past and present 118 support she guesses.
Buck is already heading back to surgery when Sal and Tommy storm in.
"Where the hell is that rat bastard?"
"Woah, Deluca, calm the hell down."
"Don't tell me to calm down, Hen. Where's the Stronzo who berated my fucking husband while he's bleeding out through a goddamn rusted pipe?"
"Wait-"
"Hen."
"He's back at the scene or headed back to the station. The fire was almost out when we left."
Sal turned to Tommy. "Stay here." Sal gave him a quick pat to the cheek and a squeeze on his bicep.
Sal was gonna make that sad excuse for a Captain pay. He quickly sent a text to his friend in the Union before speeding off to the 118.
I was tagged by @trombonechurchill, @inawickedlittletown, and @corporatebanana. Happy to be back in the writing groove again, so here is a little of the Buck Leaves the 118 fic I've been working with. Thank you to @beanarie and this post for inspiring me today.
Turns out there's no tribunal; no formal meeting with the brass where they stare him down across a table and decide his fate.
It's a few forms, submitted to the occupational health and safety side of HR, with the help of a union rep and the doctor supervising his detox.
He self-reported his opioid dependency, didn’t steal or use on the job, and sought treatment right away. In the end, it's a gradual return to work plan, prepared by the occupational health nurse, and signed off on by his doctor.
Light duty to start, not to be left alone with access to the medications on the ambulance, regular drug testing - every two weeks to start - as he reintegrates.
He sits at the table in the LAFD meeting room, feeling like a deflated balloon. He's been so hyped up on adrenaline and cortisol - so stressed that he's never going to recover, or never be able to come back to work. To have it all get sorted so neatly just has him feeling flat.
Just sign the dotted line and we can have you back to your regularly scheduled programming without more than inconvenience than a biweekly needle prick.
His union rep must sense the exhaustion in his bones, because she comes and rests a hand on his shoulder. "You need me to call anyone for you?"
Buck shakes his head, swallows the groan of frustration. The only person he wants go call is someone he hasn't spoken to in almost a year.
"And you're sure you want to go back to the 118?" she asks, assessing.
"I think I've had enough change to last a lifetime," Buck replies, offering her a wry smile.
She smiles back, head tilted to one side. "My aunt always used go say 'a change is as good as a rest.' You ever change your mind you have my card."
Buck holds up up the small rectangle.of card stock that's been paper-clipped to the folder in front of him.
"You know, when I hear someone talking about their workplace being like a family," Maria starts to point out, as she heads for the door. "It doesn't give me the warm fuzzies. It gives me red flags. Place like that is probably toxic AF."
She leaves before Buck's has the chance to wrap his mind around the thought.
No pressure tagging @chemistry66, @emakataken, @thecarrott, @chimneyschewinggum, @paperyowl, @whizzzerbrown, @fuselsstuff, @jamieroyjamieroy, @sad-girl-hours23 and @kinardnatural
pretty please neighbour gift war with Salbucktommy, where Saltommy court Buck by being very nice neighbours helping him out or giving gift because Buck helped them out a couple times, so naturally Buck wants to pay them back by baking or something like that (you know the story)
thank you so much !
*cups ur perfect face in my unworthy hands* bless you and your patience and understanding. Also this is an AU where Buck is renting a house after leaving Abby's place and having a much briefer stint on Maddie's couch. And he didn't get with Ali. But the truck bombing still happens. Look, does the timeline matter? Only as much as it does in the show. So...✨no.✨ :) also, it's 5400 words. And no porn. So...sorry.
It's a lucky break that Buck gets into a conversation with the older man at the store by Maddie's place just as the guy thinks he might be having a heart attack. It's thankfully not that, but Buck is there to assess him, call 911, and keep him calm until paramedics arrive to check him over. After, there's a batch of cookies set in front of him at the station with a note thanking him for his help, and he runs down the stairs to see Alan on his way out.
They get to talking again, and he finds out Alan's about to move to Oahu with his partner. And Alan isn't going to be selling his house, he's renting it out.
So Buck moves off the couch, since Maddie is doing better and ready to get rid of him (lovingly), and into a nice little house that's about a thirty minute drive from the station, which could be worse. It's more of a distance commute than a traffic one, which is a rare and beautiful thing in Los Angeles. The neighborhood is cute and has families and a couple of markets within walking distance, there's a park and a gym close by. The rent is cheaper than it really should be, because Alan had been a studio carpenter his whole life and paid his house off around when Buck was born. He even tells him he can do whatever he wants to the house--within reason--and to just send him the bill for repairs that might come up.
He doesn't have a lot, because he'd been traveling and then at a house with a bunch of dudes and no space and then Abby's and then his sister's. There's a little bit in a closet sized storage unit of stuff he'd been able to fit in his Jeep over the years, but he has to buy a whole new bed and dresser and couch and table and dishes. Buying plates is weird. What plates will guests be eating off of? Do they care? Does he?
He gets gift cards for IKEA and Home Depot and Target and Walmart as housewarming gifts, along with plants he's scared to kill and kitchen gadgets he doesn't know how to use yet.
So he's about to put together a bookshelf and realizes it doesn't come with pre-drilled holes on one side, which is annoying but wouldn't be a problem if he had a drill.
He pokes his head out of his front door and looks around to see if anyone else is home on a random Tuesday. Across the street is pretty empty, he's on the corner lot so there's no one to his left, but there's a truck next door to his right.
Buck slips his feet into some slides and walks over, knocking on the front door. There's a pause and then the sound of someone walking across hardwood. A guy answers the door, and Buck has a moment where his brain does something really weird and sort of goes blank for a second. It happens sometimes, but he's not prepared for it to happen now.
"Can I help you?" the guy asks, visibly amused.
Buck flushes and laughs at himself for being so dumb. "I--sorry. Yeah, I just moved in next door. I, uh, I don't think Alan left his tools? So I'm kind of in need of a drill. Do you have one I could borrow for a bit? I just need to put this shelf together."
The guy's eyes sweep over him, and Buck gets the feeling he's being assessed. Or checked out. "Yeah, I'm sure we've got something. C'mon in."
He follows the guy inside and toward the back. "I'm, uh, Evan. Buck. Evan Buckley."
The guy looks over his shoulder and grins, which makes him look like a movie star instead of a mob enforcer. "Sal Deluca."
They get to the backyard, and there's another man there. He's got a shovel in the ground and is leaning on it while he taps on his phone screen with a frown.
"Babe, I don't think we need to dig that deep for a tree this small," he says, glancing up and then doing a double-take. Buck almost does one himself. The guy is big, maybe only his height but big. "Who's this?"
"Evan Buck Evan Buckley," Sal says, and Buck flushes, waving at the other man.
"Tommy," the man says, checking his hand before sticking it out to shake. "Sorry, I've been doing yard work all morning. You're the new neighbor, right?"
"Y-yeah," Buck says. "I just moved in a few days ago."
"Yeah, I saw. I was coming off a shift, though, so excuse my bad manners. This one's been working four days straight," Tommy says, nodding toward Sal as the man walks into a shed. Except it's a bit bigger and nicer than a normal garden shed. "So he's a ball of sunshine right now."
"Always am," Sal says, walking out of the shed with a big canvas bag. "Drill, extra battery, charger, and extra bits. You know how to use one?"
Buck's cheeks apparently can't stop flushing, and he wonders if he should get his blood pressure checked. "Yeah. I, uh, worked construction for a while."
"Mm, that must've been nice," Sal says, and Tommy snorts.
"Shut up. Borrow it as long as you need," Tommy says. "Let us know if you need help. We're renovation experts by now. And furniture builders, I do cars, whatever you need."
"Thanks," Buck says, smiling. "I'll bring it back today."
"No rush," Sal says, nodding toward the side of the house. "You can bring it back through there if we're not home."
The open trust surprises Buck, but he's pretty sure two guys their size don't have a lot to be afraid of. He's trying to bulk up a little and is tempted to ask for tips. Maybe next time.
Sal walks him out, tells him not to be a stranger, and Buck feels like he's just run around the block a few times by the time he gets back inside his house.
-
Buck calls Bobby, because he's not sure how to be a good neighbor. Bobby's from the Midwest, which basically invented being neighborly.
"What do I do when my neighbors let me borrow stuff?" he asks when Bobby picks up.
"Return it promptly and in the same condition."
Buck chews on his lip and looks out his side window like he might catch a glimpse of the guys next door, but his side window just looks at the side of a truck. "Okay, but what else?"
"You can drop off something as a thank you, like cookies or a pie or something. Do you have any fruit?"
He looks around in a panic, suddenly unsure if he's ever seen fruit. "Uh, some Fuji apples, a bunch of smoothie bananas, and some grapes. I haven't really done a lot of shopping."
"You'll be fine. I'll text you my banana bread recipe."
Buck presses his forehead to the cool metal of his fridge. "Thanks, Bobby."
"No problem, kid. This for the cute mom across the street?"
The question makes him smile, and he considers threatening to tattle to Athena. But she won't care, and then he might not get the recipe for a few hours. "Nah, just the guys next door. They're nice, I want to make a good impression."
"You don't usually have a problem doing that. Call me if you need help."
-
The banana bread is easy, and he's already got everything for it thanks to Bobby's "kitchen necessities" grocery list. He bakes it, lets it cool, and it's just before dinnertime when he knocks on Sal and Tommy's door again.
This time, Tommy answers. He's not wearing his yardwork clothes anymore, he's in sweats and socks and a tank top, and he's got insane muscle definition and a really nice smile.
"Thanks," Buck says, holding out the bag with the drill and all of its parts. He checked twice. And then he holds out the foil wrapped banana bread. "And, uh, thanks."
Tommy sets the bag down and peels back the foil, which lets loose a strong wave of banana smell. "Jesus, I better hide half of this from Sal. You didn't have to, Evan."
Buck shrugs and grins. "Just wanted to say thanks."
"Mm, well, if this is how you say thanks, you can borrow our tools anytime," Tommy says, breaking off a corner of bread and popping it in his mouth. He moans softly, and Buck's toes curl in his socks. "This is amazing."
"Th-thanks," Buck says, smiling and feeling shy all of a sudden. He's not used to making stuff yet for more than an audience of his shift and his sister. "I should let you get back to, you know, your night. Thanks again."
He waves too many times on his way down the path, but Tommy is slow to close the door. When he gets back inside, he feels weirdly giddy. Being an actual neighbor is great, apparently.
-
He gets a welcome to the neighborhood cake from Sal and Tommy. It's left on his porch just after he gets home from his shift, and he picks up the note on top with a smile.
It's some kind of cake he's never had before, rich and complex and citrusy. When he brings the container back, Sal and Tommy aren't home, and Buck has the insane idea to run back to his place and see if he has ingredients to make cookies. Or a pie. Something.
He's doing an inventory of what he has and realizes he's low on flour, brown sugar, and eggs. He needs to start keeping chocolate chips in the house just in case.
-
Buck is trying to hang his new TV and needs an extra set of hands. Eddie's with his family, Chimney isn't picking up, Bobby's taking Athena to Newport for a date, and Hen and Karen are with Denny at some party for a classmate. So he sighs and walks next door.
"Hey, what's up?" Tommy asks from the open garage door, and Buck stops in his tracks.
Tommy's clearly busy. He's wearing old jeans and a tank top, and he's got grease on his arms and hands and chin and--
"Evan?"
Buck jolts himself out of whatever daze he's in and smiles. "Sorry. I, uh, I don't suppose I could get some help with my TV? I'm trying to mount it on the wall, and I need an extra hand. Or two."
Tommy grabs a rag from his back pocket and starts wiping off his hands as he walks toward Buck, and Buck has the insane urge to back up against the picket fence behind him.
"Well, I'm currently at war with the transmission from Hell," Tommy says, nodding behind him. "But Sal's just sitting around pretending to study."
"Fuck off," Sal says from inside the garage. He walks out with a laptop on his forearm and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. "I'm not pretending to do anything, flyboy."
"He'll be happy to help you," Tommy says, flicking the rag toward his--boyfriend? Husband? Buck has the crazy thought that they could just be roommates right up until Sal presses a kiss to Tommy's cheek and closes the laptop.
"Go pretend to work on that heap," Sal says over his shoulder as he walks toward Buck. He tucks his glasses in the pocket of his shirt. "C'mon, kid."
Buck follows him to his own house, which should feel weird, but his feet feel funny and his tongue feels thick. It's like he's not getting enough oxygen. He takes a few deep breaths before he shows Sal into his living room.
"Alright, let's see what's going on here," he says, flicking through the barebones instructions that came with the TV mount. "You want me to hold it or you want to?"
"I can," Buck offers. "Then it's my fault if it drops."
Sal smiles and shrugs. "Fair enough. I mean, I carry way heavier things than a TV, but if it makes you feel better."
Buck hefts the TV up easily with a smile. "So do I."
"Yeah, I bet," Sal says, reaching back to thread a bolt through one of the holes. "You know, I never asked you what you do."
"I'm a firefighter." Buck still gets a thrill when he gets to say that.
Sal snorts softly and looks around the TV at him. "No shit? What house?"
"The 118."
And that earns him a choked laugh, and Sal has to lean a hand against the wall and shake his head. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me. No shit? When'd you start?"
Buck shifts the TV in his hands and thinks for a moment. "Almost two years ago."
"Tommy's gonna have kittens. I'm pretty sure you're my replacement. Or his." He grins and goes back to tightening the nut onto the end of the first bolt. "Interim Captain Sal Deluca, soon to be full captain once I pass my test--and I will--from the 122. And our Tommy is Firefighter Pilot Tommy Kinard out of the 217. Both formerly of the 118."
He nearly drops the TV out of surprise and some kind of thrill that kicks up in his chest. "S-so you know--well, I guess everyone. Except me and Eddie. From before, I mean."
"That I do," Sal confirms, catching his tongue between his teeth as he wiggles another bolt into place. "Explains why you're here when we are. We're all A-shift."
They make quick work of the TV while they exchange stories about everyone at the 118 and frequent fliers in their call area. Buck learns that Arthur the Arrhythmia Guy has been calling for every little flutter since at least 2009. He also learns that Sal laughs easily, and he'll curl his hand over Buck's shoulder to support himself when he really gets going.
By the time they're done, Sal's also helped him get his PlayStation and cable box set up, did some feng shui to all the cables in the back, and measured the exposed ones hanging down from the back of the TV.
"Tommy made this cover thing for ours, he's all proud of it," Sal explains, typing some stuff into his phone. "Need help with anything else?"
Buck's entire brain goes blank. "I don't think so?"
"Well, you let me know if that changes. Anything to get a study break," he says, winking.
When he leaves, the house feels too quiet, so Buck turns the TV on and watches the Food Network for a while. Then he looks up how to make royal icing and falls down a rabbit hole of cookie decorating videos.
-
When Tommy knocks on his door and has a weird long thing made of wood, he explains that it's the cover for Buck's TV cables.
"You can take the front off so you can change things if you need to," he explains as Buck lets him in. "Sal tried buying this cheap plastic one off Amazon, and I hated it pretty much on sight. So I made this. It's got a couple hinges and magnets to keep it together, and you can paint it if you want."
Buck is dumbfounded. He's also in the middle of figuring out to make stew.
"Smells good," Tommy comments, then stops and turns to look at Buck with a flush high on his cheeks. "Am I interrupting you or--"
"No!" Buck says quickly, wiping his sweaty hands on his apron. "No, you--you didn't have to do this, though. Thank you."
Tommy shrugs and smiles. "Just trying to be a good neighbor."
-
It starts to feel like a war. Buck sends Tommy home with stew after he installs the cable cover. A week later, he finds a note in his mailbox that his side gate was open because the latch was loose, so one of them fixed it. He bakes brownies and helps Tommy sink a new fence post in the front after the old one started rotting. Tommy checks over the Jeep and it suddenly runs better than it has in years. Buck decorates sugar cookies with little fire engines and helicopters. Sal presents him with an entire plate of fresh cannoli. Tommy gives him a couple bottles from a new six pack of fancy beer he's found. Buck helps them grout the new backsplash in their kitchen.
"You're in an old-fashioned one-upsmanship contest with two of the most stubborn people I've ever met in my life," Bobby informs him when he comes over to help Buck set up his new barbecue. "If you're not careful, you're going to end up being the godfather to their future kids. If they want kids. You're sure it's the same Sal and Tommy?"
"Yeah, I saw pictures," Buck says, checking to make sure the barbecue doesn't wobble. "Why?"
"Didn't know they swung that way. Or with each other. Well, I figured Tommy might, but I didn't know Sal long." He claps Buck on the shoulder. "Time to test it."
They make ribs, and Buck ends up going next door while Bobby's making potato salad. He's about to knock when he sees movement in the gap in the curtain. He pokes his head over, and it takes him a moment to register what he's seeing.
Tommy's sitting in Sal's lap, and he's naked. Sal might be, too, but all Buck sees is a broad back and a firm ass that he's definitely checked out a couple times. It's hard not to. One of Sal's hands spreads across one of Tommy's ass cheeks, and Tommy tips his head back.
Buck realizes he's peeping like a creep and carefully backs away.
He can come back later.
-
When he brings the ribs over, Tommy is freshly showered and wearing basketball shorts. He looks sleepy and happy, like he just woke up from a nap.
"Is that what that smell was?" he teases, taking the foiled wrapped plate from Buck. "Wait, don't leave."
He ducks inside, and Buck sees Sal lounging on the couch with a lazy grin on his face.
"Hey, kid," he says, waving.
"H-hey," Buck replies, waving back.
Tommy reappears with Buck's Pyrex container that he'd dropped the cookies off in. It's got different cookies inside. "They're pignoli cookies."
"Thanks," Buck says softly, hugging the container to his chest. "You didn't have to."
Tommy holds up the ribs with a smile. "Neither did you."
-
The moment with the window becomes an intrusive thought. Buck will space out and see it in his head, but it's not a bad intrusive thought. He's seen them kiss before, even walked into the garage once when they were making out against a workbench, but seeing them like that feels different.
He's in the middle of helping Bobby make dinner and almost shreds the lettuce to nothing while he thinks about it.
"You okay?" Bobby asks.
"Yeah, sorry. Just didn't get enough sleep," he lies.
"Go take a nap. I don't want you passing out on us later."
He curls up in the bunk room and tries not to think about it, but he closes his eyes and sees the flex of Tommy's back and the possessive way Sal grabbed his ass.
And when he rolls over to shake it off, he realizes he's getting hard. He remembers the way Tommy's head tilted back and feels his cock twitch against his thigh.
His eyes pop open, and he sits up so fast he almost smacks his head on the top bunk.
"Oh," he realizes.
-
There's some Googling. There's some porn watching that makes him feel like he's about to get caught, even though he's in his own house. There's some hypothetical checking out of guys. There's some reevaluations of past friendships and interactions and feelings.
So Buck might be a little bisexual. Which is fine, he's fine with that. He's an ally. Can bisexual people be allies? Is he completely bisexual? Can he even know that without kissing a guy? He knew he was into girls before he kissed one, so he can probably safely say the same for guys. If he was still into hooking up as much as he used to be, he'd be testing out the new world of apps. But the idea of his first kiss with a guy being some hookup is a little sad. He still wants something real.
He's on a run one night to try to clear his head and sees Tommy and Sal dancing in their living room with the curtains open. They look happy. He almost trips over his own feet as he decides to do another lap around the block.
-
Buck's mowing his front lawn when he sees Sal pull into the driveway next door, get out, and shout for Tommy. He turns off the lawn mower just in case it's an emergency, but Sal turns to wave to him, grinning.
When Tommy comes out of the garage, Sal holds up his phone.
"Captain Deluca," he says, laughing. "Just got the email."
Tommy whoops and grabs Sal, and Sal's legs go around his waist as Tommy spins him around.
"Evan!" Tommy calls, jostling Sal.
Buck feels the same kind of elation he got when he got his own shield, and he jogs over, leaning on the fence as Tommy carries Sal over. "I heard. Congratulations!"
Sal leans over the fence and lays a smacking kiss on Buck's sweaty forehead, his big hands curled around Buck's jaw and neck. "Couldn't have done it without ya."
"What'd I do?" Buck asks, laughing.
"Your stuff was his study reward," Tommy says, carefully setting Sal on his feet and wrapping his arms around his shoulders to pull him into a hug. He kisses Sal's temple and grins. "So he was motivated."
"Which means you're coming to the shield ceremony," Sal says, pointing to Buck. "And the after party. Which is probably just gonna be the two of us at a bar, because I ain't drinking with Simpson, and I shouldn't drink with my subordinates. I got subordinates."
"We'll tell you when it is," Tommy says before bending and picking Sal up over his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go congratulate someone."
Sal smacks Tommy's ass and lifts his chin to grin at Buck, who thinks for a wild moment that he's about be invited to join them. "I'll tell Nash to give you the afternoon off that day, I promise."
Buck smiles and nods. "Okay."
He waves bye to Sal and then to Tommy when he turns around, and he watches them disappear inside the garage. The door gets lowered a moment later, but he can hear them laughing and then a low moan just before it shuts.
"Fuck," he whispers, turning to the lawn mower again.
-
Sal's ceremony is fun, even though Buck only knows Tommy. He gets to see Sal and Tommy in their dress uniforms, and they make a big deal about seeing him in his.
"What, no cookies?" Sal teases before engulfing him in a hug.
"They're in the car," Buck admits. "I didn't make enough for everyone."
Sal pulls back with a laugh, patting Buck's cheek. "You're a fuckin' wonder, you know that?"
They sneak out for a bit like kids ditching class, and they crowd next to Buck's Jeep while he pops open the lid on a container of chocolate chip cookies. He feels a flushed kind of satisfaction when Sal and Tommy lean against each other and make borderline obscene noises as they eat them.
"See, I don't even need the raise, just these," Sal says, reaching for another one.
"No, we need the raise, too," Tommy says, taking another bite. "We need a new roof."
Buck leans back against the pillar of his Jeep and grins. "I can help with the roof."
Tommy flushes and gets nudged by Sal. "We can't. So we need to hire people. But...thank you."
Buck shrugs and holds out the container. "Just trying to be neighborly."
-
They're at a bar and down to just their dress shirts, because it's too hot for the full uniform. Buck's fighting his tie, but he's had too many drinks to win.
"Boy can do roofing, can't do ties," Sal says, and Buck pouts a little. "Aw, c'mere with those sad eyes."
He leans across the small table as Sal carefully loosens his tie. He even lifts it over Buck's head and hands it to him.
"Thanks," Buck says, smiling. "You're so nice."
Sal gives him a look that Buck can't decipher. "Not that nice, sweetheart."
Buck likes when Sal calls him that. He's only done it a couple times, but Buck likes it. He tries to undo the button at his collar, and his fingers keep slipping.
"Poor thing," Tommy coos, tipping Buck's chin up and easily slipping the button through its hole. "Better?"
"Better," Buck confirms with a lazy smile. "Now I gotta do something for you."
"Like what?" Tommy asks, smiling back at him.
Buck has a million suggestions on the tip of his tongue, but none of them are appropriate. "Uh, buy you another drink?"
He slips off his stool and ambles up to the bar. While he waits for another round of beers, a girl with long blonde hair and a killer smile and one of the nicest sets of tits he's seen in a while leans on the bar next to him and asks him what his name is.
"Buck," he replies, grinning at her. "What about you?"
"Kayla," she says. "My friends and I were wondering if you guys wanted to join us."
Buck looks over his shoulder at Sal and Tommy, who are crowded close together and look like they're talking about something. He smiles and watches for a second. "Sorry, we're kind of doing our own thing. And they're together anyway. But I can buy your next round."
She looks disappointed but not upset, especially when he sends her back to her table with a round of shots for her and her three equally hot friends. When he gets back to the table, he sets down the bottles.
"She was cute," Sal comments.
"Yeah," Buck agrees, taking a sip of the beer. It's good, it's something Tommy picked from the list on the chalkboard.
"You're not gonna join her?"
Buck smiles and shakes his head. "Nah. Why? You want me out of your hair?"
He worries that he's third-wheeling too much with them sometimes, even though they don't really hang out a ton. It's always conversations in the yard or them helping each other with projects or dropping off plates or food or containers.
Actually, he probably spends more time with them than anyone else outside work.
"No," Tommy says. "We just don't want to, y'know, hold you back. Don't let us keep you from having fun."
Buck tips his beer toward Tommy's and taps them together. "Who says I'm not having fun?"
"You know what I mean," Tommy says, laughing. "The kind of fun straight boys like to have."
"Mm, still a no," Buck says, then hesitates before adding, "And I'm not a straight boy."
That gets two sets of wide blue eyes looking at him.
"As I've recently figured out," he admits. "Like, a few weeks ago. But still. Not straight."
Sal's hand squeezes the back of his neck, and Buck wonders if he can feel how hot the skin gets. "Good for you."
"Welcome to the club," Tommy says, grinning and tipping his bottle toward Buck's.
Buck taps it and then Sal's. "Thanks, guys."
When they pour themselves into an Uber, Buck takes the front while Sal and Tommy sit in the back and try not to make out too much. The driver is better at pretending it's not happening than Buck is, but the driver is also probably a straight guy.
They pull up to their houses, and Buck expects to split off with a wave, but he gets a hug and a clumsy kiss on each cheek from Sal.
"Thanks for being there," Sal says, patting his cheek with a smile. "Means a lot."
Buck wants to sway forward and kiss him, and Tommy being there isn't really a deterrent. Because he also wants to kiss Tommy.
The deterrent is that they're neighbors and maybe even friends and he's never seen them bring anyone else home. So he just hugs them both and staggers to his front door.
In the morning, Tommy is outside with a coffee and an offer to drive him to his Jeep at the 122.
On the way, Buck looks up muffin recipes.
-
Buck is looking up how to make something called frangipane that Tommy apparently likes when his entire world blows up.
-
When Buck is screaming, begging, crying for help, he can't see or think straight. He feels like an animal, helpless and trapped. The only grounding things are his team and their voices and hands.
"Kid, hey," a soft voice says, and Buck sees Sal crouch next to him. His eyes are huge and wild. "Hey, I brought help. You're gonna be okay, okay?"
Buck sniffles and feels the increasingly familiar weight of Sal's hand on his neck. He can't even speak anymore. But he can't close his eyes. He can't escape it. He can't--
Sal's holding his phone up to his face. "No, no, you can't get a chopper in here. We checked. We're--yeah, he's awake. He's--Tommy, we're gonna get him out of here."
And Buck squeezes the hand that closes around his, and when the truck shifts, he screams.
Feet rush in, and then he's being pulled, all of him, and it hurts. It's worse than any break, any fall, any crash, anything. He screams and he screams, and he squeezes until he passes out.
-
When he wakes up, Carla is there. And then Maddie is there, and behind her with coffee are Sal and Tommy.
"Hey, kid," Sal says.
Buck smiles, and it's a little shaky, but it's real. He feels it deep in his chest. "Hey."
Tommy's lips press together, and he looks at Buck with wet eyes and doesn't say anything. Sal rubs his back, and Tommy shakes his head, looking down.
"So I met your neighbors while you were in surgery," Maddie says, smiling and reaching out to brush Buck's hair back with her fingers. "They're good guys. Actually, I've met them before. Just vocally, you know, through work. It's nice to put faces to names."
She and Carla leave after a while, and Buck looks at Sal and Tommy wedged in the hospital chairs.
"What do you make someone when they help lift a truck off you?" he asks finally.
Tommy starts crying, and Sal reaches out and presses his forehead to Buck's before kissing it.
"Jesus, kid," Sal whispers, hugging him.
When he sits back down, Buck pushes himself up as much as he can, which isn't much. But he hugs Tommy, too.
"Is this a bad time to talk to you guys about some stuff?" he asks when they're both sitting again.
"Got nowhere else to be," Tommy says, his voice more of a rasp than anything else.
"What do you need?" Sal asks.
Buck inhales sharply as pain lances through his hip, and he settles back into the position he was in before. "Uh, not to do that again. Fuck. Is it--I'm not imagining it, right? About us?"
He doesn't totally know what he's asking or how to ask it, but two hands fold over one of his.
"No," Sal says, squeezing tight. "You're not."
"Not at all," Tommy agrees.
"Okay," Buck says, settling back against the uncomfortable hospital pillows. "Okay."
-
The only thing more terrifying to medical staff than a former nurse and a determined home health aide hovering around is two giant, stubborn firefighters. Buck gets answers, he gets warm blankets, he gets an amount of pain medication that doesn't make him feel too high but still helps the pain. He thinks he might even get better food.
When he gets released, he's carefully bundled into Sal's truck and brought home.
They built a ramp to his front door.
Buck wonders how hard it is to make a cheesecake.
-
The first time he kisses them, it's after Sal and Tommy walk into his house and start making dinner for him two nights after he gets home. They've got pillows on every flat surface for Buck to put his leg on, they're bickering over the best way to make salmon, and he gets his crutches under his arms and swings into the kitchen to pull each one of them into a kiss.
"Thanks," he says, smiling and spreading his fingers over the front of Tommy's shirt.
"For what?" Sal asks.
Buck shrugs. "Everything."
Tommy chuckles and wraps his arm around Buck's waist. "Is this what we get instead of food?"
"Can we get both?" Sal asks hopefully.
Buck rolls his eyes and tries not to smile when Sal presses kisses to his cheek and tries to say he was joking, even though he knows he's not.
"I made brownies," he says.
"You're on crutches." Tommy sounds dismayed. "Evan, I don't even know what the exchange rate is for that."
Buck blinks at him. "You built me a ramp. You're making me dinner. Sal helped get a ladder truck off my leg. You guys--I owe you so many brownies. And other stuff when I'm not--" He cuts himself off with a gesture at his leg. "Wait, exchange rate?"
"Don't act like you didn't know this was a war," Sal says, helping him to his kitchen table. "And that you've been winning the whole time. Now, sit down and look pretty while we make you food."
While they work, Buck furiously texts Bobby a list of recipes he's going to need stat.
