like that?

Buck made an effort to keep his phone in his pocket. He fucked around on his smartwatch for a minute, before he realised that was basically the same thing.

Once he got in the right headspace he actually had a good time. People watching was fun, and his server checked on him periodically. The guy at the next table was definitely alone, too. If he'd been stood up, he wouldn't have looked as content as he did. Maybe he went out to eat alone all the time. He definitely looked confident doing it.

Buck was perusing the dessert menu, when his phone rang. It was early evening; a little early for dinner, but Buck thought he could find a bar or a club afterwards.

His shoulders slumped when he saw the screen. He tapped to accept the FaceTime call.

”Hi, mom, listen, I'm out right now–”

His mom craned her neck, as if that would give her a better view of his surroundings. ”It's so quiet. Are you alone?”

”I'm fine, mom. I'm actually having–”

”I spoke to Maddie. She says you don't date anymore. That's no way to live your life, Evan, you need someone. Surely you can find someone?”

Buck bit back what he actually wanted to say. He glanced at the guy beside him – who was looking right back, sympathetic look on his face. ”I'm not alone, actually, mom. I'm here with my boyfriend.” He turned the phone just enough to get the guy in frame. With the angle and the bench seat, it looked like they were sitting at the same table.

”Boyfriend?” came his mom's tinny voice. ”Evan, you never said–”

The guy scooted over, putting his arm along the back of the bench seat. ”Hi,” he smiled.

Buck nearly dropped the phone. ”H-hi.”

The guy winked at Buck, then smiled at the camera. ”It's nice to meet you. Seems like there's been some miscommunication. I didn't want to tell me parents yet, but I told Evan it was OK.” He smiled at Buck. ”Why haven't you told them?”

”It's, uh,” Buck ducked his head.

”Philip! Philip, come here! Evan has a boyfriend! Come meet him.”

”Jesus,” Buck muttered. He watched the camera shake, until his dad was on screen, too. The guy's arm slid down from the back rest, to lie across Buck's shoulders. His arm was so heavy.

The guy winked again, then turned his attention to the screen. ”Hi, I'm Tommy. It's nice to meet you.”

”Hello, Tommy. How long have you been seeing our son?”

”Oh, I don't know,” Tommy said easily. ”Been such a whirlwind, I haven't thought to count the days. We've been too busy having fun, haven't we?”

”Y-yeah, it's been – it's been really special,” Buck said. His ears were burning.

Tommy continued to exchange pleasantries with Buck's parents, until Buck cut in, ”Mom, can I call you back? We're out to eat, I don't want to disturb the others.”

”Oh! Of course! Have fun! It was nice to meet you, Tommy. Call soon!”

As soon as the call ended, Tommy removed his arm, but didn't scoot back to his own table.

Buck swallowed. This had got to be the most attractive man he'd seen in his life. ”You haven't told your parents about me?” Buck joked.

”Haven't spoken to my parents in fifteen years,” Tommy smiled. ”As handsome as you are, it's not worth breaking the no contact.”

”God,” Buck sighed dreamily, ”fifteen years of silence? No, no, you need to savour that. Don't break that on my account.” Tommy's whole face scrunched up when he smiled. It was really nice to look at. It was a little late for it, but Buck held out his hand. ”I'm Evan.”

”Hi, Evan,” Tommy shook his hand. ”I'm Tommy.”

God, his hands were big.

”Sorry about that, I didn't mean to ruin your dinner.”

”I'd call it an improvement,” Tommy smiled.

”Right, because you think I'm hand-handsome,” Buck gulped a little.

Tommy's eyes lowered, then came back up. He pointed over his shoulder. ”I can go back to my own table?”

”Of course you can, don't let me keep you.”

”I was asking if you wanted me to,” Tommy said. ”Or I could stay here.”

”O-oh.” Buck swallowed. ”I– Yeah, if-if you want. I was about to order dessert.” He glanced at Tommy's table. His dinner plate was empty, too.

Tommy grabbed his glass, and moved to the chair at Buck's table. Buck's server came back, with a very pleased smile on her face, first directed at Buck, then Tommy, then back to Buck. She held her order pad aloft and asked, ”Gentlemen, what are we having?”

When they were alone again, Buck asked, ”Do you do this a lot? Dine alone, I mean?”

”Pretty often, yeah.”

”Does it get easier?”

”Practice makes everything easier.” Tommy raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. ”Depends on whether you like it, though. If you don't like it, it probably won't.”

It gave Buck pause. He hadn't considered that not liking it was an option. He didn't have to like it.

”Tonight was nice. The last couple of times I went out, it didn't go so well.”

”Ouch.”

”It's OK, it's just the apps, you know? Sometimes texting is easy, but then you meet face to face and they feel like a completely different person.”

”Couldn't tell you,” Tommy shook his head. ”I don't do apps.”

”Then how do you meet people?”

”I don't.”

Well, that was baffling. ”You don't date?” Buck sat back in his seat. Tommy was gorgeous. And funny.

Tommy chuckled. ”If someone asks, sure, but I don't seek it out. Usually.”

Buck was about to squirm out of his seat. Was this what it felt like to flirt with men? Thank fuck their server came back with their desserts. Buck rubbed his thighs and stealthily took a deep breath.

Tommy looked like he was having a great time. Before digging in, he tapped Buck's shoe with his own. Buck nearly jumped out of his skin. ”It's still early. Do yo have plans after this, or are you having an early night?”

”Was gonna try out a bar or something. After.” Buck stuck his spoon into his dessert, but he was afraid to put it in his mouth, in case it went down the wrong pipe. It felt like the kind of night that would happen. He touched his throat, where the scar from his date with Abby still lingered.

”Which one?” Tommy asked, and licked his spoon. ”Fuck me,” he muttered. ”God, that's good.”

Buck put his spoon down. Whatever Tommy was doing to that chocolate cake, he couldn't look directly at it. ”Oh, uh. Uh. Let me check, I forgot,” Buck said and got out his phone. He found the pin on the map, but he couldn't fucking read. ”This place,” he held out his phone, so Tommy could read it himself.

”Good choice,” Tommy said. ”I've been there once or twice. Great music.”

”Wanna come with me?”

”I'd love to,” Tommy smiled.

Buck got through his dessert without choking or dying. He almost swallowed his spoon, when Tommy scraped the last of the drizzle off his plate and licked his spoon clean, but he managed to keep a tight hold of his own utensil.

Buck almost fought to cover both of their meals, but they weren't actually on a date. If they were, Tommy probably would've paid. He looked like the kind of guy who'd get a little aggressive about paying, if he'd decided he was the one to do it.

”Ready?”

”Ready,” Buck smiled, not ready at all.

Tommy gets his license and he and Buck go on long car rides, just an excuse for both of them to get out of their respective homes.  They talk about Tommy's favorite places he's ever lived, about the places Buck wants to go when he leaves Hershey, all the dumb and impractical plans teenagers make when they're desperate to escape.  It's the best summer of their lives.

Then it's back to school and Tommy is a senior.  He gets a girlfriend who he takes to homecoming, and Buck is insane with jealousy, but Tommy is like she's just a girl who happens to be my friend, which is even worse because Beth is smart and funny and she can quote whole movies with Tommy so what does Tommy need him for?  But Buck hangs out with them and he (begrudgingly) likes Beth, who gets all of Tommy's shithead friends off his back about how he doesn't date.

(Tommy is driving them home one day when he says, shoulders up to his ears, "What if I don't like girls?"  And Buck is suddenly aware that he's just a shithead teenager who has laughed at gay jokes, has made gay jokes, but this is Tommy and he can't afford to fuck this up by saying a shithead teenager thing.  "That would be cool," he says, and Tommy's shoulders inch down.)

Tommy graduates.  He does a semester of community college, but things at home are Bad (he is now taller and bigger than his father, which should have made things better but oh god it's so much worse), and so he enlists in the army.  The last time Buck was this mad was when Maddie left for Boston and they fight about it (they made plans! If Tommy waits a year then they can enlist together!) but at the end Tommy leaves and Buck promises to write him a letter every day ("This isn't 1942, Evan," Tommy says, dry but so fond.  "We have technology.").  Buck is the one to see him off and they hug so tight and for so long and Buck says quietly, like he almost doesn't want Tommy to hear, "I'm going to miss you so much."  Tommy hopes that's true; no one's ever missed him before.

This is the epistolary section where it's just the emails they send back and forth.  Buck leaves Hershey sooner in this (Maddie moves back just as Tommy leaves--it's funny how the two most important people in his life don't meet), and he sends Maddie postcards and sends long rambling emails to Tommy.  He's more honest with Tommy about the hardships he's facing, and at some point Tommy is like I am sending you some money so you can buy food and also make rent so you don't sleep in the car it's not like I'm using it anyway.  Tommy emails back as often as he can--he's in basic and then he goes to pilot training and then, of course, he does a tour in Afghanistan.

("My boyfriend is also in the army," his fellow bartender Kelsey says.

"Oh, he's just my best friend," Buck says, and Kelsey is like sure Jan because Buck talks about Tommy like he's a war bride.)

Somewhere between Virginia Beach and Peru, Buck figures out he's bi.  He's out dancing at a gay friendly club and there's a guy with dark hair and a cleft chin who absolutely does not look like Tommy not even a little bit and Buck goes home with him and it's fun and very informative and he leaves before morning, alight with a new understanding of himself.  The problem is that he doesn't know how to tell Tommy.  Or, well, how to tell Tommy that doesn't get him in trouble as this is the waning days of Don't Ask Don't.  He can't just say he's also into dudes.  So instead Buck sends a very confusing email about how's open to all options now life is a buffet and he's loading up a plate and Tommy is like okay he's back in his stoned surfer phase.

And then, of course, the helicopter crashes/gets shot down, Tommy is injured, and is looking at a medical discharge and a long recovery.  (Buck is beneficiary of course because Tommy is going to take care of him even if all he can do is leave him a little bit of money.)  He's in the hospital in Germany when he gets to talk to Buck, who has so many questions about his injury and what medical care he needs and what kind of follow up care and also he's gone on reddit and he knows dealing with the VA can be a nightmare but he's been talking to a bunch of vets and he's putting together a cheat sheet to make it easier and does Tommy know when he'll be flying back?  It takes Tommy almost an hour to work up the courage to ask where Buck is and if maybe Tommy can stay with him, just for a bit, just until he figures out what he wants to do.

"I'm sharing a house with like six other dudes," Buck says, "but I've already starting looking for an apartment for us.  Don't worry, I know it's gotta be on the first floor or have an elevator.  I am not making you climb stairs."

"You're looking for an apartment in Peru?"

"Oh, I'm in LA now," Buck says.  "California was your favorite place you've lived, right?"

It was and it is, and when Tommy finally makes it through arrivals at LAX, Buck is there, grabbing and holding him so tightly before he seems to remember that Tommy had nearly died, then he was jerking back mumbling sorry-sorry-sorry.  "You're fine, you're fine, get back here," Tommy says and hugs him so tight and so long.

The last time Tommy saw him was when Buck was twenty-one and Buck had taken a detour to visit him when he was stationed at a base down south.  Tommy had gotten a weekend pass and they went out to celebrate Buck's birthday, two months late but hey what could you do, drinking and hanging off each other and laughing more that night than Tommy had in years, since he'd been in Hershey, and the next morning Tommy had hugged Buck goodbye and didn't want to let him go.

Buck is a few years older, still with a bit of babyface, but Tommy can see the man he'll grow into.

(Tommy looks so different than when they were shithead teenagers, sharp where he isn't haggard, holding himself so still and careful, but he still hugs with his whole body and he still holds Buck so tight and god Buck loves him, loves him, loves him.)

The apartment is the kind of place you get when you're young and broke: small, cramped, but clean enough and blessedly free of bugs.  When Buck said he would handle getting the apartment set up, he meant it; there were beds with sheets and comforters, bathmat in the bathroom and towels in the closet, dishes clearly picked up at some thrift store in the cupboard, a couch that probably spent most of its life in some frat house but at least it was comfortable and didn't smell.  All Tommy could contribute was rent money and a couple of paintings for the bare walls.

They figure out how to live together, but pressure starts to build.  Buck is doing temp office work and bartending for money and Tommy has savings he call fall back on as he figures out what he wants to do (Buck offering to hook him up with his temp service is not helpful), but Tommy is having trouble sleeping and feels he's mooching off Buck.  It doesn't help when he finds Buck's collection of pamphlets about vet support groups and PTSD and programs designed to help vets get jobs, all these little signs that Buck gives cares so much while Tommy is bringing nothing to this.

It builds and builds until it finally breaks one day and then he and Buck are screaming at each other over the frat couch about the pamphlets and Buck's extra shifts to make sure they have a cushion for rent and that this isn't any different than when Tommy would send him money every month or pass along leads for job because his army buddies knew a guy who was looking to hire a ranch hand so why is this different?

"I was trying to take care of you," Tommy shouts.

"And I'm trying to take care of you," Buck lobs right back.

Tommy throws up his hands.  "Why would you want to?"

"Because I love you, asshole!" Buck screams right into his face.

"Well, I love you!" Tommy screams back.

And then they stare silently at each other before hysterically laughing at the absurdity.  They end up collapsed together on the frat couch and Tommy says, "So I guess we're making this work."  And Buck is like yes obviously you idiot and takes Tommy's hand in his own.

(Three days later, while pretending to watch a movie, Tommy says, "So when you said you loved me did you mean like--" and he made a truly incomprehensible hand gesture meant to convey the distilled concept of no homo and also bros sitting five feet apart in a hot tub because they're not gay.

"Oh my god," Buck says and just clambers into his lap.  "Remember when I tried to do a kickflip and ate shit and bled all over you?  I've been in love with you since then."

"It was later for me," Tommy says.  "When I left and you said you were going to miss me.  No one ever missed me before."

"I missed you so much," Buck says.  "Can we please have sex now?"

Tommy laughs and kisses him and, well, it's very enlightening.

Later, after they cleaned up and eat something, Tommy says, "I miss flying.  I think I want to do that again, but to help people now instead of, you know."

"I have an idea."  Buck clambered over his lap to root through the side table drawer where all the pamphlets lived.  "Little help."

Tommy hauls him back, feeling a bit like the claw in a claw machine, and Buck emerges with a pamphlet clasped in a triumphant fist.

"So I've been thinking about joining the LAFD," Buck says shyly.  "There's an Air Ops division that does suppressant, high rise response, search and rescue.  They need pilots.  So, uh, what do you say?  Want to join the LAFD with me?"

Tommy takes the pamphlet and smooths it out.  There's a lot of smiling men and women on there and, yes, a helicopter or two.  He can fly and he can help people.  "Okay," he says.

Buck doesn't smile so much as beam.  "Okay?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, laughing.  "Let's do it."

A year later the 118's newest probie arrives wearing a bright smile and a wedding ring.

”Ravi will know,” Eddie said, still laughing. Ravi definitely knew who Boyfriend was, but calling Ravi also came with a spiel about responsible alcohol consumption.

Buck did not call Ravi. He took a deep breath and called Boyfriend.

”Go for Kinard.”

Oh, shit. That was more professional sounding than he expected. Christ. Hopefully he hadn't met a tradesperson in the line to the bathroom again.

”Hi! So, this is gonna sound crazy, but did you give your number to me last night?”

”… Evan?”

”That is my name, yes. What's yours? Other than Kinard. I'm assuming Kinard is your last name. It sounds like a last name.”

”I put it in your phone.”

Fuck. OK. ”Right. I mean, that makes sense, but I must have changed it. Because it doesn't say that.”

”Uh-huh,” Boyfriend said. ”What's it say, then?”

Buck cringed. ”It-it says boyfriend. Just boyfriend.”

”Oh, so you deleted all of it.”

”I guess, yeah. What's your name?”

Boyfriend snickered. ”You know what, I think this is more fun.”

”What? No.”

”For me, it is.”

”Are you seriously gonna leave me hanging like that?”

”Oh, absolutely.”

His hangover wasn't too happy about it, but he heard himself asking, ”Can I buy you a drink? A coffee drink. Coffee. Can I buy you a coffee?”

”Yes, you can.”

*

Buck looked around the patio. He had no idea what he was looking for. Eddie said tall, but everyone was sitting. A guy came up and stood at his shoulder, but he also seemed to be looking for someone, so he didn't ask. The guy found who he was looking for and went to sit down. As Buck tracked him with his eyes, he saw someone straighten in their seat.

He walked over and asked, ”Boyfriend?”

”Hi, baby.”

Buck felt himself physically cringe. And maybe squirm a little. ”Please tell me I didn't call you that.”

”I mean,” Boyfriend tilted his head. ”I did ask you to. Sort of.”

Buck pulled out a chair and sat down, so he could hunch his shoulders more effectively. ”Whatever I did last night, I'm – I'm so sorry.”

”You think you did something bad?” he smiled.

”It wouldn't be out of character.”

Boyfriend took mercy on him. He crossed his arms on the table and leaned in, voice lowered, ”You helped me out of a tight spot. Nothing nefarious, I assure you.”

”And w-what spot was that?”

”Had a very … tenacious suitor.” Buck looked at him blankly. ”You pretended to be my boyfriend, to get him to leave me alone. Which I asked you to do, to be clear.”

Buck deflated into the table top and exhaled deeply. ”OK, I can live with that.”

Boyfriend smiled. ”You bought me a drink and introduced me to your friends. You were the perfect gentleman.”

”Why did I ask for your number? Did I say?”

”I believe you wanted to hang out? Couldn't get a read on the implications there. You smile a lot.”

Oh, no. Oh, no. Boyfriend. Boyfriend was gay – or at the very least into men. ”I am so sorry. I mean, thank you! That's nice of you to say, but I am so sorry.”

”About what?”

”Just – the whole thing.”

”Apology accepted?”

There was a cup on the table, so Boyfriend already got one for himself. ”Can I get you anything? Pastry? Another coffee?”

”If you want to, sure.”

Buck got up from the table. ”I'll get you a pastry. Be right back. Don't leave.”

Boyfriend had a great smile, holy shit. Buck could feel the back of his neck getting warm. While waiting in line, he tried to calm down. Buck was flustered, but he couldn't tell why. He didn't do anything wrong, as far as Boyfriend said, and he was being polite.

He got a coffee for himself, and the most expensive pastry in the case. He couldn't stomach anything solid for himself.

He really did look like a boyfriend. He lit up at the sight of the pastry. ”Thank you.”

Buck wondered what he'd been wearing last night. Boyfriend was in casual clothes now, which he was wearing the hell out of, but if he'd been dressed up, he must have looked incredible.

”Did you have a good time? With us?”

”I had a great time,” Boyfriend said. ”Clubs aren't really my thing, but your friends are fun, so it was better than it usually is.”

”Did you go home with anyone?” Buck didn't know why he asked, but he waited with bated breath for the answer.

He had a curious look on his face. ”I didn't.”

Buck sipped his too hot coffee, to give himself time to come up with a fix. ”It's just, we usually wingman for each other. M-maybe we did that for you?”

”It didn't come up.” Boyfriend brushed a crumb from the corner of his mouth and leaned over the table. ”You were too busy talking to me, I think,” he said and tilted his head.

Buck had to drag his eyes away from Boyfriend's mouth, but it only led him to staring at his hair instead. He had an extremely soft looking curl, just above his hairline. Boyfriend was movie star handsome. Old school movie star. Buck only knew their faces, not their names, but that was the kind of handsome Boyfriend was.

”What did we talk about?”

”Heroics. You're a very busy guy.” Boyfriend's eyes sparkled. He was clearly enjoying that Buck didn't remember a thing.

If he'd talked about work, he had a pretty good idea of what stories he'd been telling. Luckily he was sober at work, so at least he remembered that.

He looked at the breadth of Boyfriend's shoulders, the size of his arms. ”You look pretty heroic yourself.”

Boyfriend's whole face crinkled when he smiled. ”Oh, I am.”

Buck sighed. ”You told me last night, didn't you?”

”I did.”

”Alright,” Buck grabbed the sides of the table and leaned in a little closer, ”what do I have to do for you to tell me?”

”Oh, we're negotiating?” Boyfriend beamed. ”Let me think.”

Buck found himself squirming. Boyfriend's smile was intense.

”We could go for dinner? This weekend? There's this place I've been dying to go to, but I don't want to go alone.”

”I'm free this weekend.”

”Yeah?”

”Yeah,” Buck nodded. ”Dinner sounds good.”

”It's a date.”

Buck swallowed. Dates didn't have to be romantic. He went out to dinner with Eddie sometimes, and that probably counted as a date. Neither one of them called it that, but they could. If they wanted.

”Can I have your name now?”

”No, not long,” Boyfriend said and looked over his shoulder. ”This is… Sorry, I forgot your name?”

The other guy looked between them, held up his hands and turned on his heel.

Boyfriend breathed a sigh of relief and grimaced. ”Sorry about that.”

”Don't be,” Buck said easily. ”Not everyday you get a boyfriend.”

Boyfriend looked him up and down. ”You probably could, if you wanted.”

Buck felt his ears burn. ”Thanks.” He glanced around. ”Are you here by yourself?”

”I am. Bad move, it seems. Are you?”

”Oh, I'm with,” he pointed in the general direction of their table. ”Friends. Was gonna buy a round. If I get you one, will you help me carry them to the table?”

”Sure,” Boyfriend smiled.

Boyfriend orderd a fancy beer with a fancy pronounciation that Buck didn't quite catch. Together, they got the drinks safely to the table, where Buck made the introductions. ”This is Ravi and Eddie,” he pointed. ”And this is…”

”Tommy,” Boyfriend smiled.

”Tommy,” Buck said. Boyfriend fit him better. He looked at the drink in his hand. Maybe he should cut himself off. If he didn't, he was definitely going to forget the guy's name.

*

”Boyfriend!”

Boyfriend turned around, amusement clear on his face. ”What's up?”

”Give me your number! We should hang out sometime.”

Boyfriend shook his head, laughing, but closed the short distance between them. He held out his massive hand, silently asking for his phone. Buck patted his pocket and fished it out, handing it over. Suddenly, there was bright light in his face. He squinted. Then the light disappeared. Spots were dancing infront of his eyes, but he could still see Boyfriend. Oh. Face ID.

”Feel free to delete this when you're sober,” Boyfriend smiled and handed the phone back.

”I won't, but thanks,” Buck grinned. He closed one eye to see the screen better. He sent off a string of emojis, so Boyfriend had his number, too. ”It was really nice to meet you.” He stumbled forward and hugged Boyfriend goodbye.

”You, too,” he chuckled.

”Let me just,” Ravi said, appearing under his arm. ”I've got it. Nice to meet you, Tommy.”

Tommy.

Buck let Ravi and Eddie carry him home.

”Something you wanna tell us, Buck?” Eddie asked.

”What do you mean?”

Ravi rolled his eyes, loudly.

*

Bleary eyed, Buck checked for damages. Besides two made it home safe texts from Eddie and Ravi, there were no messages on any of his apps, from exes or worse.

Except a new thread with Boyfriend. Who the hell was Boyfriend? There was only one message, one from him to Boyfriend. A string of his most recently used emojis. Two of them were kissy faces.

2. They wait until they've been transferred to Germany and weaned off the good drugs before holding another Council. Once he's been cleared by the doctors for travel, he'll be back on a plane to the US where his discharge will be processed and he'll be back to being plain old Tommy Kinard, civilian.

"This is why I said not to enlist," the Tommy with pierced ears says. Instead of spending the last few years dodging every bullet but the last one, this Tommy had apparently been stretching out his ears with increasingly lager earrings and getting tattoos and experimenting with different hair colors. Tommy is as jealous as he is furious. "What are you going to do now?"

He looks at his fellow soldiers, the ones who made it. There are fewer attendees to this Council of Tommys—for every Tommy who had survived, there was one who didn’t—and there was no sign of Pennsylvania Tommy since he packed his car and took off. He wasn't dead. They knew what it felt like when one of them died, like when a tiny Tommy Kinard was knocking into the corner of the coffee table and never got up again. These had gone to Pennsylvania and never bothered to return.

"I know how to fly," Tommy says, shifting in vain along with the other Tommys in other hospital beds as they tried to find a position that didn't hurt. "I can get a job doing that."

"What, running tours?" says one Tommy, who had been dishonorably discharged under DADT because he'd been dumb enough not to turn away when Jax looked in their direction.

"There's medevac," Tommy says because he had spent the long hours stuck in a hospital bed thinking about this. "Search and Rescue. Some fire departments have an air ops division."

"Bet you wish you had more experience in conducting rescue ops," says the Tommy who eschewed the army in favor of the coast guard and hasn't stopped being smug about it since.

"I'm just saying we have options," Tommy says.

Three beds over, one of the quiet Tommys says, "Simpson invited me home. He's got an uncle and some cousins that own a ranch in Montana. He said we could stay with them while we get back on our feet."

There wasn't a Tommy Kinard who didn't have a bit of an asshole streak to him, and so it wasn't a surprise when several made the cymbal rimshot noise. Simpson had gotten it worse and his leg was amputated just below the knee.

"What are you going to do in Montana?" long haired Tommy asks, curious rather than judgmental. "Ride horses?"

Quiet Tommy shrugs, a small gesture. All of their fathers were angry men, but some were worse than others. "Why not? We learned how to fly, didn't we?"

"But Montana," says another one.

"A lotta sky there," Coast Guard Tommy says.

They all nod. There is a lot of sky out there.

"What about you?" a different version of himself asks him. "You want to go play cowboy?"

"I think," he says slowly, carefully stretching out his legs, teeth gritted against the pain, "I want to go to California."

They all nod again. There is a lot of sky in California, too.

They don't take a census—they never have; it's never needed—and the Council ends. Each of them go and live their singular life.

3. “I’m going to ask Abby to marry me,” a Tommy says when the Council meets again. There were less and less of them every time. Their shadows remained, those little flickers of choices not made, but they stopped showing up, too different for even the Council.

Tommy sucks air between his teeth. He met Abby through a holiday party for first responders, and he liked how hard won her smile was, how bright her laughter, the careful way she held herself, and, for just a moment, he thought maybe in the same way way he thought about the Tommys who went to Pride and wore nail polish and had been brave enough to kiss Jax, and he had slipped away before she could ask for his number.

This Tommy had stayed. This Tommy gave Abby his number. This Tommy desperately wants what he is supposed to want: a marriage to a beautiful woman, a house, kids maybe.

“It’s not going to work,” says a Tommy with bright green nails.

“Why not?” that Tommy asks. “Why can’t we be normal?”

“Because,” Tommy says, the only thing he’s said at all, “I’m a fag. You know that.”

They do know that, and they weep, some out of terror, some out of pride, and some just for the joy making it out and being alive.

4. There is no time for a Council. Evan calls; he needs a pilot. Every Tommy Kinard who exists, every shadow and recursive fractal spread out through every universe, answers. There is no world in which he doesn’t.

He picks up Evan and Moira BLake. He flies them away from SoCal Biomed. He evades the army. He does not crash. Bobby Nash dies.

When it’s over, those few who remain interrogate themselves at the Council. Was it a mistake to engage instead of withdrawing? Should they have tried to climb instead of hiding among the buildings? This wasn’t Afghanistan; the tricks that kept them alive are useless here. No, they would have been forced down sooner. Did they see Evan? Did they see how he looked at them?

None of it matters. Bobby dies and dies and dies. Evan screams his throat bloody. Tommy is alone with himself.

5. The final Council is held on a Thursday. It is only him and the Tommy with pierced ears and full tattoo sleeves. The ones who went to Pennsylvania and Montana and Peru, who kept their mouths shut in Eddie’s kitchen, who touched Evan’s elbow after the funeral, are long gone. Those Tommys don’t need each other anymore.

“You know why it’s just us,” says the other Tommy.

“I know,” Tommy says.

The other Tommy fiddles with the heavy silver ring on his index finger. “I never met him. I don’t even know if I can. Maybe I’m too different from you.”

Before, when the others were around, Tommy could feel the weight of a wedding ring on his finger. He always assumed it belonged to the Tommy who married Abby. But maybe he got it all wrong. He usually does.

“I’ve always wanted to get my ears pierced,” Tommy says. “And I wanted tattoos and to grow out my hair and paint my nails. I never did. I was too afraid.”

Tommy shakes his head. “Dad would have killed us. He nearly got me, but I was faster.”

There is a phantom scar on his arm and a phantom nick on his neck from a flung plate aimed at his head. They survived their father; they can survive this.

“I keep hoping,” this Tommy says, wistful. “It happened for you. You found Evan. Maybe it will happen for me.”

He feels that weight again. “Try Pennsylvania again. He might be a teacher. That’s what Evan thinks he might have done if Daniel lived.”

“Do you think so?” Tommy asks, overflowing with hope.

“Worth a shot.”

“And what about you?” The silver ring spins and spins and spins. “Are you going to try?”

“Worth a shot,” he says, again.

And that is how the last Council of Tommy Kinard ends, with hope.

6. Tommy is ten minutes early but Evan still beats him to the coffee shop. He’d claimed the good table, the one that did wobble and was in the shade.

“I, uh, got you coffee,” Evan says, wiping his hands nervously on his pants. He’s lost some weight, but he’s still so beautiful. “I know how you take it now.”

“I hope so.” He sits without being asked. There’s only him; he’s so nervous. “You’ve made it for me often enough.”

Evan ducks his head, cheeks pink and blushing. Of course the other Tommys stayed gone. Why come back when they could be with Evan?

“I’m really happy you called,” Evan says, glancing up through his lashes. “I kept meaning to, but it’s been so long. It feels like we maybe missed our window.”

There are no other Tommy Kinards. There is only him. What a responsibility. What a gift.

“I don’t think there is a window. We get to decide.” He holds out his hand. “Are you ready for something?”

In an attempt to look less pathetic, Buck pulls out his phone and mindlessly crushes some a few levels on a game Hen only had a passing interest in when she suggested he download it. He's on level 251 now and completely unstoppable.

If the signal in this place had any chance of penetrating whatever they built it from back in the day, he'd be swiping through Tinder to find someone with a place for him to go.

His screen explodes with confetti and a YOU DID IT! and Buck congratulates himself with a gulp of his zesty cocktail. He sucks the salt off his lips and gets back to the business of annihilating more sparkling rows of gems.

Four levels later, and considering his puzzling life choices, Buck hears an out of breath hi! and looks up from his screen and… he'd be lying if he said he'd never found a dude attractive, and he'd be double-lying if he said he never actively checked one out but holy shit, this guy. He's tall and chiselled and oh my god… is that a cleft?

Buck's not sure if he wants to be him or be with him — even the thought of being seen with him is intimidating.

'H-hi,' Buck squeaks out, and the guy grins, his big chest still heaving as he catches his breath.

One of the guy's shirt buttons looks like it's about to ping in Buck's direction, and Buck's getting ready to dodge it. The guy's face turns serious comically quickly as Buck stares up at him. 'Wait… you are Mark, right?'

Buck hitches his eyebrow and lays on the flirtation thicker than this guy's biceps. 'I could be,' he teases, and winks.

The guy's eyebrows nearly kiss his hairline when they shoot up in surprise and, shit, Buck's surprised, too, because he isn't Mark. He doesn't even know anyone called Mark. Why Buck says, 'Uh, yeah, that's me,' is a mystery he loses interest in solving as soon as the guy shifts his big body into the booth across from Buck.

'Thank god,' he says. He smiles in relief and oh he's not just hot, he's beautiful, too. 'I thought you woulda left by now. Tommy. Hi. I'm really sorry I'm late. Traffic was a bitch.'

'H-hey, no worries. You're here now.'

'I sent like, three messages.'

Buck holds up his phone and shakes it. 'No signal down here. Don't worry about it, seriously.'

'Looks like you got started without me.'

'Oh, yeah, um —' Buck can feel his cheeks getting redder as he grapples for an excuse. No way is he going to make this cover model for Men's Health think he's a loser without any friends to spend his birthday with. 'Tough shift. Not that I like, turn to booze often or anything, I don't have a drinking problem, uh… just, saving lives can be a lot sometimes.'

'Aren't you a gym teacher?'

'What?'

'You. My cousin told me she was setting me up with a gym teacher.'

Oh. Buck assumed this guy — Tommy — was meeting a date. No one turns up looking like that and smelling like that for a job interview — but the confirmation that he's been stood up by a dude makes Buck's head spin. Buck doesn't date dudes — well, he's never dated a dude. What's a date, anyway? Just hanging out, right?

Buck can do that.

Dig deep Buck, now's the time to mine your infinite resource of bullshit. 'I-I am. Oh, ha — I said, shaping lives. Young lives, you know. It's a lot of responsibility, holding their future in my hands.' Buck twists his grimace into a smile. 'Sorry, I'm kinda nervous.'

'Oh.' Tommy's face softens. 'Can I tell you a secret?' Buck nods, a little too enthusiastically, he realises, when he starts feeling lightheaded. 'Me, too.'

'You?' Buck blurts out. 'That seems pretty unlikely but thanks for trying to make me feel better.'

'It's true.' Tommy shrugs and waves a server over. Tommy's polite when he orders two of whatever he's drinking. After the server walks away, Tommy admits, very quietly, like he's divulging a state secret — 'I'm kinda new to the dating thing. With guys. I haven't been… out for very long.'

'Oh! Well' — Buck fidgets around and rubs the back of his neck — 'I've never actually been on a date with a dude —'

'Shit, I'm sorry. Andy didn't mention that.'

Andy? Andy must be the cousin. Buck gives himself a mental high five for his listening skills. Girls love guys who listen… it's probably the same for guys, too, right?

'I never mentioned it to Andy. Seriously, it's cool.' Buck reaches out and touches Tommy's hand and what the hell is he doing?! 'You're making me feel really comfortable.'

Tommy takes a deep breath. 'You sure it's not the tequila?' Buck's eyes flit down to the light dusting of chest hair peeking out of the top of his shirt, and Tommy grins knowingly. Distracted by the thought of what Tommy might look like without the shirt, he'd kinda forgotten that his hand was resting on top of Tommy's. That is until Tommy turns his own hand over and rubs his thumb over Buck's skin. 'I've never held a guy's hand in public before.'

Buck gulps; Tommy's hand is bigger than his own and Buck's fits in the cradle of his palm perfectly. 'Me either.'

Tommy has a few scrapes and scratches on his arms and hands, and long fingers that are blunt and tough at the end. He probably works with his hands — wait, does Mark know what Tommy does for work?

Where is Mark, anyway? How could he have just not turned up?

'Umm, so —' Buck starts, searching for a way to kickstart his fact finding mission. The server saves the day by bringing their drinks and giving him a minute to collect his thoughts. Tommy's hand pulls away slowly, and he waves Buck off when Buck reaches for his wallet. After Tommy pays, Buck waits for him to take a sip before delivering an earth-shattering — 'So, how was your day?'

'I didn't work today. Yesterday, though…' Tommy shakes his head as his eyes widen. Buck knows that look of horror, the one that says I couldn't even begin to explain the fuckery of the day.

'That bad, huh?'

'You hear about the guy that got wedged in the canyon?

'Y-yeah! The one they had to airlift during the dust storm?'

'Yep.' Tommy raises his glass. 'That was me.'

'You're the canyon guy?'

'What? No! I was the pilot.'

'You're a pilot?'

'Oh my god, did Andy tell you I was a firefighter?' Tommy sighs. 'Sorry to disappoint you. I used to be a firefighter; I fly helicopters for the LAFD now.'

Buck should really end it here. Fake a migraine and say he feels sick. Get out before he somehow reveals his place in the 118 to the hot pilot from the 217. Only, the thought of Tommy in a flight suit is doing anything but make Buck feel sick. And the thought of him in a pair of dirty turn outs… well, let's just say Buck's thankful for the ice in his drink.

'Nice save,' Buck says, and they clink their glasses together. Buck's heard enough stories about the 217 to start a podcast series but he plays dumb and pushes Tommy for more so can have the upper hand in separating fact from fiction.

When the lights in the bar dim further, and the music turns their conversation into a shouting match, Buck realises he and Tommy have been talking for almost an hour.

It's one of the best dates Buck's ever been on, and when the music turns up and Tommy scooches up closer so he can hear Buck talk about his time in Peru, Buck thinks that being a gym teacher called Mark is really working for him.

Being so close to Tommy is really working for him, too: he's never kissed a guy (spin the bottle doesn't count!) but he's sure he's going to be kissing this guy by the end of the night. Probably going to be kissing him next Saturday, too, after the Muay Thai lesson Tommy's offered to give him.

Somewhere between now and then he'll have to work out how to transition from Mark to Buck. There's no way Buck wants to be tied to the dude who stood a guy like Tommy up. Basing a relationship on lies probably isn't a great start, either.

Their conversation lulls as the bar fills up. The voices of strangers fill the comfortable silence that has settled between them. Four people hover around their booth, circling like sharks.

When the music kicks up another notch, and the new arrivals become impatient enough to lean against their table, Tommy leans in and says, 'Hey, do you wanna get out of here?'

'Yes!' Buck yells loudly enough to turn a few heads.

'We could get a coffee or something. I don't usually —'

'I do! I mean' — Buck leans in, his lips grazing the shell of Tommy's ear as he continues — 'I'd love to get out of here with you, yes.'

After an awkward shuffle out of the booth while new people take their place, they head up the stairs to street level. It's just as alive with people as the bar below. Tommy keeps a little more distance out in the open but his eyes track Buck as they move through the crowd together.

Together under a flicking neon sign of an old movie theatre, they stand. Not quite toe to toe but close enough that anyone passing by could guess they're together. Tommy's putting out all the vibes of wanting to kiss but he's not making any of the moves.

Buck's great at first moves, it's just everything after that usually turns into a mess. Tommy's face is gorgeous in the evening light: all high cheekbones and a strong, smooth jaw begging to be touched. With their eyes locked, Buck reaches out to draw Tommy closer to give him what they both want.

It's weird to see a big guy like Tommy flinch. Confusing, too. They apologise to each other at the same time. 'It's not that I don't want you to,' Tommy says reassuringly, 'it's just… too much. Outside. Too open.'

Buck nods. He gets, and he doesn't, because his comfort level's been pretty much the same since Tommy sat down. But inside is good, too, if it makes Tommy feel more at ease. 'Were you serious about that coffee?'

'Sure.' Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets. 'I have my own Gaggia machine at home, so…'

'I don't know what that is.' Buck shoves his hands in his pockets, too, He's getting pretty good at gentling people on scene and those skills are coming in handy now as he mirrors Tommy perfectly. He takes the smallest step closer so Tommy can see how sincere his smile is. 'I don't know what that is but… I want to find out.'

No one has ever stared at Buck's mouth as much as Tommy has in the past couple of hours. Not even Buck's childhood orthodontist. He wants to tell Tommy so, and a few other things, too. Like how he never consciously thought about going home with a guy, especially not one who looks like he could put Buck in a firefighter's carry without breaking a sweat, but now it's all he can think about.

Tommy's phone is sealed in one of those military grade cases designed to survive a blast — or a crash, Buck's mind supplies unpleasantly — and Tommy has to fight to free it from his back pocket so he can order the Uber he promised while Buck cycles through all the possibilities of what could happen when they get through Tommy's front door.

Because as much as he wants a homemade espresso from Tommy's fancy machine, he doesn't want it right now. He wants it to help him wake up in the morning after a night of doing anything but sleeping. Is giving another dude a hand job the same as jerking off? Hopefully that's where this is going — the look on Tommy's face kinda says otherwise, but Buck knows he makes the same one when surge pricing makes walking an hour down the side of the free-way seem like a more appealing option.

'We can split the fare,' Buck says breezily.

'Yeah?' Tommy's face is stony when he looks up from his phone. Jeez, how far does this guy live?

'My place is pretty close by if you —'

'I've been trying to order a car but I've had like, a dozen messages from you telling me you got caught up in an accident and that you weren't going to make it. Oh, and one from my cousin asking why I blew Mark off.'

'Oh,' Buck tries to play it off with a nervous laugh and a smile but Tommy remains unmoved. His well-tuned body, something Buck has spent the night both coveting and lusting over, suddenly looks more intimidating than inviting. Buck takes a step back and raises his hands carefully. Gently. 'I can explain.'

The arms Buck hoped would be holding him cross defensively instead. Despite being the same height, it feels a lot like Tommy's looking down on him as he waits for Buck to come clean.

'It's my birthday, ok? I didn't have anyone to celebrate with —' Tommy stands eerily still as Buck falls over himself to explain. 'I-I just didn't want you to leave. You're really interesting. And cool. I couldn't believe someone would stand you up —'

'They didn't.'

'Ok, that's true. But I thought they had —'

'So you lied out of pity?'

'No!' This is going so much worse than Buck thought it would. 'No, Tommy —I just wanted to get to know you. Look, I know it doesn't look great but it's really not a big deal. I'm not like, a scammer. I've been through that and it sucks.' Tommy's stupidly handsome face twists in disbelief before hardening again. 'Long story; doesn't matter. I do stupid shit sometimes, ok? I'm trying not to but I'm still working on it.'

Tommy checks his phone one last time before undertaking the Herculean task of shoving it back in his pocket. Buck's used to running head on into danger but it still takes everything within him not to take a step back when Tommy gets in his face. 'Work harder,' is all Tommy says, face so close to Buck's that he can feel his breath on his skin.

And what does it say about Tommy, Buck wonders, that he's comfortable being so close in public when it looks like they're about to fight instead of kiss?

An Uber rolls up behind Buck, and Tommy's eyes flit away for just a second so he can give the driver the nod. 'If even half of what you said was true then you're a great guy. But I don't think you're ready. And I'm definitely not ready to deal with whatever' — Tommy waves his hands around — 'this is.'

'Tommy —'

'I have to go.' He weaves around Buck quickly. Buck, still caught in Tommy's orbit, moves with him, until there's nothing there to move with anymore. Tommy's fingers linger on the door handle of his waiting Uber. 'You know what the worst thing is?' Tommy asks and Buck doesn't even know where to begin because there are so many worst things. 'You haven't even said you're sorry.'

And shit, Buck hasn't, even though apologising is something he's becoming an expert in. If Tommy would just step back and wait Buck could apologise for both being himself and not being himself and for a hundred other things he hasn't thought of yet.

'Happy birthday,' Tommy says without a hint of sincerity, wrenching the door open before sliding into the backseat. He closes the door softly, which is somehow worse than if he'd slammed it to drive his disappointment home.