some days you need to write

i.

tommy's taking the car out for one last test drive when it happens. he's rebuilt the entire engine, hovered and nitpicked and watched as the entire frame was repainted (and oh boy, does that paint shop hate him now), and spent three weeks tracking down a modern radio that fits into the dashboard without ruining the classic look of it.

he's never understood why people love convertibles. the roofs are too soft to be any protection during a crash, and they generally don't have fantastic air bags, but. they are really freaking gorgeous. and after he's spent months learning every nut and bolt on the frame, he loves this car. it's a bit of a shame that he's selling it, but tommy's never going to drive it. better to let it go to someone who will take care of it.

he doesn't examine why it feels so similar to letting evan go.

he's had the car for seven months. that's longer than he had evan. of course—

it's los angeles. especially in the summer, it's hot, and after what was supposed to be a half hour drive and turned into over an hour, tommy pulls into a grocery store parking lot and parks before loping across the parking lot to the coffee shop.

iced lattes are delicious. vanilla caramel lattes even more so. the coffee shop is crowded, so tommy takes his cup and figures that he might as well take advantage of the convertible and enjoy it there. all the perks of a patio, all the perks of his own private space.

he's two rows away from the car when he sees a shopping cart trundling down the aisle without a person attached to it. tommy laughs a little; any second someone's going to come running after it, and that's basically his own entertainment for the day.

then he tracks the trajectory of the cart and swears. it's going to crash straight into the car he's supposed to hand off at the end of the week, and if he has to go back for a paint repair they are not going to be happy about it.

tommy speeds up and nearly has a hand on the cart when the owner appears, grabbing it and yanking it to the middle of the aisle before it can collide with the convertible.

"fuck," the other person says, and oh shit. tommy knows that voice. "that was cl—"

if tommy doesn't look up, maybe someone else will be standing there.

"tommy?"

"evan," tommy says, like a reflex. like he's never stopped. like he's not supposed to be calling him buck now.

"this is your car?" evan sounds baffled, and tommy sneaks a glance up at him. god. he looks incredible. he'd looked incredible every single day they'd spent together, and tommy had seen him after evan spent the day helping his neighbour clear all the weeds out of her garden. (tommy had been repairing mr. frank's lawn mower, and he'd found out that grease covered hands did it for evan.)

"i restored it. dropping it off with its new owner this weekend. final test drive," tommy says. if he gets the sentences out quickly, they can both go their own separate ways and then — well, then tommy can be alone again. "are you shopping for a bakery?" he asks, startled when he looks at evan's cart. there's got to be thirty pounds of flour in there.

"when did you get it?"

"uh, just after thanksgiving i guess." tommy shoves his hands into his pockets. he bought it nine days and eight hours after the breakup, after spending eight days and twenty three hours looking for a car that was going to be an impossible restoration. the delay between the two events was so that the former owner could get some sleep before tommy came by to pick it up.

"big restoration," evan says, his voice carefully neutral.

"needed to keep my hands busy."

evan barks a laugh, gesturing at his cart. "yeah. that's why i—"

oh. oh. tommy jerks his head around to look at evan.

"i know where to get a great lemon cranberry loaf to go with that iced latte."

tommy feels flushed. "i was going to buy a cinnamon roll, but they were out."

"i know where to get some of those, too." evan smiles hesitantly at him. "meet back at your place?"

"not yours?"

"you have safe for classic car parking."

tommy glances around and doesn't see the jeep. "you… want a ride?"

"i— yeah. yep. that would be great. you're sure the flour won't be a problem?"

"i have a shopvac."

ii.

the great thing about los angeles is that it's warm enough to have kids' soccer clubs in the winter. tommy repeats this to himself as he wakes up at six am on a saturday in early february and rolls out of bed, grabbing a thermos full of coffee and hopping in the car. sal's house is halfway between his and the field, and stella and sal are waiting in the driveway by the time tommy pulls up.

"you're late," sal says, shoving an egg sandwich in through the window.

"i am twenty minutes early," tommy argues, taking a big bite and chewing it directly in sal's face.

"yeah, whatever." sal grins at him. "don't die. don't let any of the girls die. we'll see you for lunch."

"…lunch?" tommy looks over at stella, his eyebrows flying up.

"it's a tournament day! we play at seven, then nine, then eleven. if we advance."

jesus christ, no wonder sal hadn't argued when tommy had offered to take this week. "isn't this your second week?"

"the first four weeks are round robin, uncle tommy. then it's one at a time until playoffs."

aaaaaaand he's been played by the entire deluca family, as usual. "do we need to get any snacks on the way?"

"nah, one of alison's neighbours brings snacks. says he needs to do something with all of them."

"a strange man brings snacks to an under sixteen girls soccer league?"

stella rolls her eyes at him. "uncle tommy, relax. alison knows him. and all the moms could take him. besides, dad saw him a few times in the fall and he doesn't seem worried."

"you're thirteen, what do you know?" tommy teases, tugging at one of her curls at the next stop light.

"ah! don't, i just got them to behave. they hate the winter."

"sorry, sorry, i'll get you waffles."

"you were going to get me waffles anyway, you just didn't know it yet."

"ah, i see we're learning from mom."

stella grins at him and settles back in her seat. "you're supposed to be driving, uncle tommy."

"hey, it's our favourite part time coach!" alison calls, waving them down as soon as they show up. "coach k, we missed seeing you around. hope you had fun jetsetting around the world and you're ready to win some games."

"al, i know you know i only fly for the city."

"sure, but the kids don't." alison reaches up and stands on her toes to ruffle his hair. "no one told you this was a tournament day, did they?"

"nope."

"sucker. there's more coffee if you run out."

"hey, al, about your neighbour—"

"he'll be here with snacks in time for the end of the second game. all right girls, circle up! here's what we need to do."

all he's able to get out of alison between plays is that the neighbour is a few years younger than her, seems to do shift work, and bakes enough to open his own bakery. and that he won't take payment for any of the snacks he brings to practice. the first few times alison had tried to at least pay for ingredients, he'd said something about just being glad to have somewhere it was appreciated.

"—the loaves he brings taste like buttery angel tears, so if he's being unappreciated somewhere i just have to wonder where that is!"

a cheer goes up from the girls and someone laughs and tommy has to grab all the longing in his body and squeeze it tight. it's just a laugh. it's not the laugh that he's been missing for months; he's been burnt by that before. there's been too many times he's heard a voice and hoped and turned around and been disappointed. whoever is behind him isn't—

"coach k, come meet the snack magician. we've been talking you up all morning."

"alison, they're just snacks. not all that special."

except this time, maybe it is. tommy lets himself hope just a little bit as he turns around and evan nearly fumbles the tupperware full of cookies. "tommy."

"hi, evan."

"oh, you know each other!" alison says, delighted.

"a little," tommy says. he's aiming for dry, humorous, but his voice is thick. a little doesn't really cover it.

"pretty well," evan says at the same time, and alison looks between them thoughtfully, taking the cookies out of evan's hands.

"great! i'll get the girls started with these and you can get caught up."

tommy catches stella texting out of the corner of his eye. if he doesn't crash and burn, he'll probably be off the hook for driving her to lunch. sal must have recognized evan the first time he dropped off at a game, and he — how long has he been planning this? when was the first time he'd jokingly complained about his old bones not appreciating the six am wakeup call?

"how, uh. how have you been?" tommy asks, because evan's still staring at him like he's never seen him before.

"fine." evan pauses. "no. pretty terrible, actually. you?"

"well." tommy pauses. "i barely slept last night and four times last week i thought i saw you, so now i'm wondering if i'm dreaming that you're here."

evan's face collapses, distraught, and he takes tommy's hand. "i'll have you back before the next game," he promises, taking a step backwards and then freezing. "i— you do want to talk, don't you?"

"yeah. yeah," tommy breathes, tension leaking out of his shoulders. he wants to collapse into evan's arms. he wants to hold evan and let him collapse. he does neither, stepping away from the field and towards his truck. "come on. i can give us some privacy."

iii.

it's only after he and evan break up that tommy realizes how much of the last six months have been spent with him. he checks the calendar on his fridge and crosses out everything that he and evan were planning on doing and… he doesn't have any plans until the big deluca christmas party on the second weekend of december. shit.

it's the first week of november.

he's puttering around in his garage the next day when he hears mr. and mrs. frank coming back and he sticks his head out to wave hello.

"we can ask tommy," mrs. frank announces, and tommy quirks an eyebrow at them.

"you know neither one of us drives much these days," mrs. frank continues, gesturing towards the taxi trundling down the street. "mr. frank needs to go to some weekly appointments. is there any chance that you would be able to take him? at least sometimes, we know your schedule is busy."

"you know what?" tommy says, suddenly feeling bold. "i'll rearrange any days necessary so i can take you whenever you need."

mrs. frank pats his hand. "you're such a nice boy, tommy."

mr. frank has cancer. they've caught it early, because mr. frank has always made sure that he has yearly appointments on his calendar, but it means a few rounds of chemo and weekly trips to the hospital and being added to the frank family group chat.

he's a tough old guy, and by the time he's done the first round of chemo his oncologist is pretty sure they've got it licked and tommy gets dragged to the frank family celebration dinner. they try very hard to set him up with dylan, the owner of the restaurant they go to, but tommy's still a little (lot) hung up on evan.

mr. frank made a friend at chemo — natalie — who's been relying on taxis and ride shares to get back and forth from the hospital. she's got most of a round to go and they hate to impose on his time, but does tommy have enough of it to take her now?

somehow tommy ends up driving five chemo patients back and forth from the hospital every week. he ends up keeping hank's suv at his place, because hank doesn't drive any more but the truck isn't big enough for all of them. some of them leave, and some of them stay longer; some are happy endings, some aren't.

it's depressing and uplifting in equal parts, because they're always cheery and singing in the car on the way there and on the way home it can… vary.

sal and lucy shake their heads when they ask what he's up to and he tells them. "sounds right up your alley," sal says, then refuses to elaborate and rinses out his beer bottle.

in the spring they start coming back to the waiting room decked out in new knitted scarves and hats and mitts, and jill promises to get him one of his own when they find one in his colour.

she plops a forest green hat on his head two weeks later with a grin.

tommy is scrolling through his phone and waiting for his cadre of chemo buddies when there's a crash behind him and tommy whips around, the first responder instincts on high alert.

"tommy!" evan's staring at him like he's seen a ghost, and tommy scoops up the box he's carrying. well, the box he's dropped. there are scarves and hats everywhere and tommy repacks it haphazardly. "these are great," tommy offers lamely, pointing at his own hat. "really comfortable." the chemo crew have said that tommy's not allowed to hang out with him if he's not wearing his own hat, so it's become a staple of his wardrobe on appointment days. "where do you get them?"

"we uh. we make them." evan reaches out, almost touching tommy's hat before yanking his hand back. "that colour reminded me of—"

"you made this?" tommy wonders.

"why didn't you tell me you were here?" evan asks, his voice catching. "i would have. i would have—"

"tommy!" jill calls, coming back into the waiting room. natalie's leaning on her arm and tommy hurries over, slipping an arm around her waist. natalie is always a little woozy right after. "it is so nice having a chauffeur," natalie hums, patting his arm. "oh, you met the knitting leprechaun."

"i sure did," tommy says, aiming a rueful smile at evan.

"you're the carriage driver," evan says, and something in his eyes clears. "door to door service and—"

"gus and jack-jack on the dash," tommy sighs. that had been an impulse buy that everyone had insisted stick around, and now it was haunting him.

"and that's the only reason why you're here," evan finishes, and hank laughs as he walks in. "tommy's healthy as a horse, but he's got seven oncologists if he ever needs one. he's pretty popular around here."

"i bet." evan hesitates. "i know where to find a scarf that matches that hat."

"say yes," catherine whispers. loudly. "i think he thinks you're cute. he's single, you know," she finishes at a normal volume, which is only a few decibels louder than her whisper.

tommy's about to sink into the floor when she says that, but evan brightens up even more. "cath, that is so funny," he says, smiling conspiratorially at tommy. "because i'm single too."

"you two can flirt in ninety minutes, after tommy's driven everyone home," jill decides. "tommy, give the nice boy your address so he can meet you there."

"jill!" tommy protests.

"what? we've all realized there's only so much time in the world," jill says innocently.

"text me when you're done," evan says, laughing at tommy. it's nice, though. tommy's missed the sound.

evan's waiting on the porch with the matching scarf when tommy finally gets home, two cups of coffee in his cupholders.

iv.

"if i was thirty years younger, and you were straight…" shelly calls out, leaning against the half fence in Tommy's front yard.

"please don't sneak up on me while i'm holding power tools," tommy says, carefully turning the sander off and putting it down on top of the chair he was working on. hopefully shelly hadn't seen just how much tommy had jumped when she'd spoken.

shelly scoffs, waving it away. "if i didn't sneak up on you, i wouldn't get to see you working out here. you're too polite, you put everything down to say hello."

"shelly, i'm feeling objectified."

she grins brightly. "good, then it's working. i notice there's been a sad lack of objectification at your house this spring."

he arches an eyebrow at her.

"this time last year, if you'd been working with your sander, that hunk of a young man would be checking on you every thirty minutes with fresh pressed lemonade."

"i'm sorry my breakup means that you can't objectify two firefighters at the same time." tommy came over to the fence, taking the glass of water shelly offered him.

"that's not why i'm upset about it and you know it," shelly tells him, poking tommy's shoulder.

"some people just break up, shelly."

"and some people thought crocs were a valid footwear option, but we smacked sense into them too."

tommy glances down at shelly's feet and she scowls at him. "these are for cleaning."

"mm-hmm," tommy agrees mildly. "what can i do for you today, shelly?"

"do you know how to use those power tools on anything other than those fancy deck chairs, or are you a one trick pony?"

he laughs. "what do you need done, shelly?"

"not me, my friend from the community centre. archie. he's got a porch in his backyard and the stairs have started rotting away. he needs some new boards, but he's my age so we've all said he's not allowed to do it himself."

"i think i can handle that."

"great!" shelly slaps a piece of paper against his chest. "that's his address. he's expecting you in two days. and you should wear something tight — poor guy doesn't get many thrills these days."

tommy blinks.

"i forgot to mention he plays for your team, didn't i?" shelly winks. "maybe he'll be able to set you up with someone, because you haven't liked our choices."

"our— shelly!" tommy exclaims. that explains the sudden proliferation of nephews at the last barbecue they convinced him to come to. "i'm perfectly capable of getting a date myself."

shelly cackles. "oh, that's a good one." she patted tommy's arm, taking the water glass back. "i'll let archie know you're coming."

"i don't know what you expected," sal says later, when tommy tells him about the conversation. "the old bird is right. and your life is the kind that even a senior citizen can make fun of. she had a date last week."

"how do you know that?"

"tommy watch group chat." which is how tommy finds out his neighbours and his best friend talk about him behind his back. "i thought phil had a chance with you. lost twenty bucks to frank."

he debates the merits of strangling sal to death and apologizing to gina later. she'd probably think it was justified. unless she's part of the group chat too.

if tommy wears a tank top over to archie's it's only because loose clothing around tools is a bad idea. archie shows him through the gate to the backyard, gesturing to a tray with a glass of water and a bowl of fruit on it. "you're welcome to come through to the kitchen for any reason. i've got a knitting group coming over in about an hour, but the noise shouldn't bother them. half the ladies are hard of hearing anyway."

"thanks, archie."

"and let me know how much i owe you. shell is going to try and not pass the bill along if you tell her."

"will do," tommy promises, grinning back at him.

he's measuring the second step when he hears a commotion inside the house, and a couple of voices overlapping. "—said i would help, archie."

"and that's very sweet of you, young man, but a friend knows handyman and he was free, so rather than you giving up what little free time you have, i thought i would take advantage."

"take advantage," a woman giggles. "you would never, archie. you're such a gentleman."

"okay, well, i'm just going to take a look and make sure he's not messing it up," the first voice continues, coming closer, and the screen door must be distorting the voices, because that sounds like —

tommy looks up in time to see evan push the door open, a ball of yarn and knitting needles in one hand.

he's glad he's not using the saw, or there's a chance they'd have to call an ambulance for him.

"imagine our surprise," archie says, sticking his head out behind evan. "when shelly and i are playing poker and she talks about her lonely neighbour tommy and i talk about my new friend buck."

they both whip around to look at him, and tommy has a split second to think 'oh my god, i've been parent trapped by senior citizens' before archie is locking the door behind evan. "you two should talk," he says, winking at tommy, and then the inner door closes, the sounds of the knitting group disappearing.

"he didn't lock the gate," tommy offers, pointing to the other side of the backyard. "if you wanted to make a break for it."

evan gives him a truly withering glare and puts his knitting down, hopping over the railing. well. that answers that question. tommy watches evan stalk across the grass, but instead of opening the gate evan drags the hose reel in front of it.

he's still staring when evan comes back, putting one hand on the railing and vaulting over it so he doesn't disturb tommy's repairs. it takes tommy's brain a second to catch up, replaying the flex of muscles as evan moved, and he lets out an undignified yelp when a grape hits him in the face.

"oh. well, you can be distracted by that," evan says, smirking a little when their eyes meet. he claims one of archie's patio chairs and picks up his knitting.

tommy flushes, hefting the wood over his shoulder and turning to the table saw.

evan whistles. "we need to have a conversation when you're not using power tools," he says. "but i'm not about to make archie wait to be able to come out here. so i'll do my own thing, you'll do yours, and then."

tommy prays he gets stuck in a time loop right now, so they don't have to have that conversation.

"it's not bad," evan adds. he can probably read the tension in tommy's shoulders. "though i am going to call you an idiot about a dozen times."

v.

"all right, that's enough." lucy slaps her hands down on the table in front of her, staring at tommy. "i've lived through three months of this constant misery. now, i can't make you be unmiserable, but you do owe me for not shoving you out of the helicopter while we're in the air."

"okay," tommy says slowly, offering her one of his twizzlers. "what do you want to cash that in for?"

"flying lessons," lucy says promptly.

"if the only reason you don't throw me out of the helicopter is the fact that you can't fly yourself home, why should i teach you?" he tilts his head, watching her intently.

"because i'm a paying student. and it gives you the excuse to go flying more. which is basically the only time you're not miserable. because if you weren't focused, we'd crash. and you are offended by the thought that gravity could ever make you do anything." lucy rips the top off the twizzler and chews aggressively. "and so when they finally stop talking about how we need another pilot and do something about it, they can promote me instead of hiring some top gun wannabe."

"those were fighter jets," tommy corrects her, and is rewarded with lucy giving him the finger. god. he kind of loves her. "i have a flight booked on sunday. are you free? i can get it switched over to a teaching slot."

"not at six in the morning, i hope."

"three in the afternoon."

"perfect. i'll meet you at your place. i'll even bring doughnuts."

lucy is one of the best students tommy has ever taught, although that could also have something to do with the fact that she isn't learning in the middle of a firefight. lucy says it's because she's just as crazy as he is. tommy disagrees. lucy is the crazy one — tommy is totally normal. lucy laughs so hard she chokes on her water when he says that out loud, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "whatever you say, sherlock. as your watson, i'm telling you you're missing a few clues."

they're on one of their last flights before lucy can graduate to her solo time requirements when they're flying near the dam and see a group of people clustered around the edge of the cliff. "that's not good," lucy says, even as tommy gets on the radio to dispatch. "dispatch, we see what looks like a cyclist who's gone off the trail near the dam. have you received any calls about that?"

"roger," josh says. "what are you doing on a civilian channel, weho?"

"flight lessons. and i told you not to call me that."

"the 122's about twenty minutes out," josh tells him, laughing.

"are they in heavy rescue? because—"

"i know you of all people are not judging the preparedness of another firehouse." josh cautions him.

"tommy, i don't like the looks of that ledge they're on," lucy calls, peering out the side window.

tommy glances towards the back as lucy gets out of the co-pilot's seat. he's had a basket and winch in his bird since he started flying again, and everyone thinks it's silly to take that up every time but… "what are the rules about off-duty firefighters helping?" tommy asks josh.

"i'll alert the captain," josh heaves a sigh. "we take no responsibility for anything that might happen from this point forward."

"yep," tommy agrees, leaving the line open. lucy's already got the safety gear on and she's perched by the door, waiting for tommy to descend. it's more than muscle memory at this point, and tommy drops low over the group. the door slams open and wind howls through the bird, only barely louder than lucy's whoop as she pushes the basket out of the helicopter and jumps after it.

"we've got a broken leg, a — oh, nice one, sprained wrist, and a few bumps and bruises. i think we're good to hoist this guy to the road and let the other firefighters take it from here," lucy tells tommy through their headsets.

"guide me up," tommy says, and she does. it's trickier than it normally is to offload the basket, but only because they don't have a full crew and a stretcher to stabilise it.

"you should land," lucy says, and tommy hates whatever it is that's making her grin. "got someone here who wants to talk to you."

tommy glances down at the 122 truck. "tell sal he can bl—"

"thank you so much for the assist, off duty firefighter kinard," josh cuts in, just before tommy says something truly foul on a recorded line. "the paperwork for this little adventure will be at your station for your next shift. have a nice day now."

"seriously. we need to reload the basket, dummy." lucy says impatiently.

she's got a point. tommy radios back to the air field and tells them he'll be a little late as he descends, and by the time he's powering down the rotors he can almost appreciate the chance to see sal before their pickup game. "all right luce," tommy says, sticking his head out the back door. "let's get this loaded and—"

evan buckley is holding the basket and lucy is on the other side of the clearing with sal. "not lucy," tommy says lamely, and winces. not what he meant his opening words to be to evan the next time they saw each other.

"evan," evan agrees, and winces. tommy had asked him once why he wouldn't use his first name himself but wouldn't let tommy use his nickname, either. evan had hemmed and hawed until he had an opening to change the subject, and then he and tommy had ended up making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers.

"kept up with the cycling," tommy continues, and for gods sake. can't he say anything other than inanities?

"sure did," evan says, not making a move to load up the basket. "still flying."

"you know me."

"eternally offended gravity tries to make you do things," evan nods. he's not smiling, except for the way that the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he's trying not to smile. "thanks for literally dropping in to help mitchie."

"had to live up to the new mugs," tommy jokes.

now evan really is smiling. "hey, do you think i can get another tour?"

"gonna let me down at the end and say you're not looking for a change?" tommy smiles faintly. when evan had called the first time tommy had let himself think about what it would be like to work with a guy so utterly fearless. what he got was better. what he got was worse. what he got was tommy blowing it.

evan waggles a hand back and forth before holding out the basket and helping tommy slide it into the helicopter. "depends," he says finally, as tommy straps it down.

"on what?"

"on how the other conversation we have goes. i'm morally opposed to working at the same station as my boyfriend."

tommy jerks around so fast he bangs his elbow on the back of the pilot chair.

"shit, are you—"

"yeah, fine," tommy reassures him. his elbow is pleasantly numb for now, between the adrenaline and the shock. he's done it before; at most it's a nasty bruise. "what?"

"your buddy offered me a job when he showed up," evan says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at sal. "i told him i needed to think about it."

"how's tomorrow?" tommy asks. "for the tour. two o'clock?"

"eleven, at your place, with coffee, for the other talk. then the tour," evan bargains.

"turns out i'm pretty bad at talking," tommy offers, remembering that last night together.

"i'll give you a few do-overs," evan promises. "and you can give me a few."

"…okay. better make it ten," tommy says. that's at least six hours with evan, assuming tommy doesn't fuck it up again. he can survive six hours.

"sounds perfect."

looking back on it, whatever it is that's guiding tommy has the decency to only aim him at things he can handle at that age.

he has no idea why he's standing at the army recruitment centre, only that the compulsion stopped as soon as he walked in the door. there's no one there that needs help, and he's about to turn on his heel and walk away when a recruiter sees him and asks if he's there to sign up. the bruise on tommy's eye pulls as he shakes his head, but when he takes a step towards the door, the compulsion tugs at him again. it's the first time it's seen tommy as the one that needs help.

tommy heard gerrard call the evac, but the compulsion pulls at him until he has no choice but to walk further into the mall. he learned in the desert that the migraines were something he wanted to avoid if he could, and his air is good. he has time.

tommy wakes up in the hospital and blinks up at the ceiling. that's new.

he's going to thank howie and then keep ignoring him, but he takes a step away and the compulsion is stronger than ever. he's not sure why being friendly with howie is important, but he's got no reason not to trust the urge.

tommy's already starting up the water plane when his phone rings and howie's asking for help. he radios back to the hangar and lets them know, and his lieutenant stops reaming him out for taking something out on a joy ride. tommy figures this is what the compulsion was about, after the mall, and puts it out of his head. he's done what's needed to be done, and now he can move on.

lucy's brother comes to town on short notice and she begs him to take a few shifts. tommy has a pair of tickets to the lakers and he hasn't seen sal in a month and he's going to say no, and then — saying no isn't an option. tommy watches the rain come down over la and wonders what was just so goddamn important that he had to give up a laker ticket for it.

then howie calls.

tommy doesn't need the radar to fly that night. he's drawn across the ocean in an unerring line, although he risks a migraine to go a little off course every once in a while so no one can say that it was lucky or magical later. (he was in the army, the fear of being poked and prodded is completely valid.)

the weirdest part of that night is evan. tommy can feel the weight of his stare the entire flight out, and then when they're able to start evacuating people evan stays with him the entire time. tommy's not about to turn down the eyecandy, but.

howie and eddie keep calling him afterwards. he winds up moving up his pick up game so he can go with eddie, and howie and tommy watch the best and the worst movies of the last decade.

evan comes by for a tour. evan comes to the basketball game. tommy knows when he's not wanted, and he's going to leave eddie at the hospital and head home, but he drives a different way and ends up in front of an apartment building he doesn't recognize. he searches the address in his contacts and winces when evan's name comes up. well. guess he's doing that instead.

the kiss is not a compulsion. after dinner, leaving early is all tommy's idea. he's not about to rush the guy —coming out that first time, that has to be on evan's terms. otherwise it's going to eat at him for years. but tommy isn't sure he wants to go back in the closet. evan calls him again. there's a wedding at a hospital, the first night at evan's, the first time he gets to watch evan fall apart.

after that first visit to evan's, there is no compulsion driving tommy there. but he's there as often as he can be, and evan doesn't seem inclined to ask him to stop. if tommy's the one with a long or an early shift, evan comes over to his place.

the night evan tells him about abby, the compulsion shows up so quickly and strongly that tommy's fighting off a migraine between one breath and the next. he's got to get out of there.

breaking up with evan is... well, it's a mistake. tommy doesn't know how to take it back. even getting home in time to see his neighbour's shed go up in flames and wake them up before it gets to their house doesn't seem worth it.

tommy drifts through the next few months, handing over the reins to whatever it is that's been guiding him all these years. it already fucked up the best thing that has ever happened to him. going to a bar on the other side of town is weird, but tommy's never understood anything.

he thinks running into evan is the universe trying to apologize. the fight the next morning is — not a mistake, exactly. they haven't talked about any of this before. the leaving is the mistake. but tommy's always been a coward if there's not something making him show up.

he's wandering the city a few weeks later. if he was in a less metropolitan place, it would probably be called a ramble. he bumps into a woman coming out of an office building and because tommy's built like a brick shithouse (thanks, sal), she goes sprawling and her bags spill out on the pavement. he's helping her gather everything up when another woman comes rushing out the door with a security guard.

"dr. blake, we're going to have to check your bags before you can leave," the security guard says, and dr. blake tries to make a break for it. tommy grabs her by the arm and hands her off to the guard. he leaves as dr. blake is screaming about her right to her personal property not being searched, and tommy goes home to get some sleep.