love me anyway

Tonight, it's just him, his snacks, and whatever he can zone out to on TV.

After hopping around, Tommy settles on While You Were Sleeping. It's a film he's seen more than enough times, but never like this. For one thing, it's the wrong time of year — the twinkling lights on Lucy's Christmas tree are a reminder to put himself down to work the holidays again this year, rather than something that sparks anticipation and excitement for his first Christmas in his own home.

Tommy used to think it was sweet — endearing, even — how Lucy tangled herself up in such a crazy lie and, in the end, was rewarded with an unexpected love… but the laughs that used to ring out while he watched her fall deeper and deeper in lies and love have been replaced by a tightness in his chest, and the bitter memory of a lying, beautiful idiot who managed to turn to the best date Tommy had ever been on into one a stand-up comic could turn into a career defining bit.

Why depress himself with a rom-com when he can fall into a pit of despair by watching the news instead? 

Tommy flips channels quickly and is greeted with rolling new coverage of yet another explosion. With multiple crews on scene, and a firefighter down, Tommy shoots a welfare check text into the work chat and keeps his phone close by as he watches the scene develop in ultra HD.

Preoccupied with his phone, Tommy missed the part where the reporter mentioned a firefighter trapped under an engine, and he definitely missed the part where she revealed that said firefighter was one the 118's very own. Not long ago Tommy was arranging a water drop to save them. Bobby's a great captain but shit, his house seems to be taking hit after hit.

He sits forward, totally absorbed by the scene unfolding on-screen. Flashing lights and shouting fill the gaps where the reporter runs out of commentary and Tommy finds himself hypnotised and unable to look away. 

The camera shifts and zooms. 

The screen fills with a shaky close up of a firefighter clinging to consciousness, his face rubbing against the grit beneath him as shards of glass glitter on top of a life-threatening amount of lost blood. 

It's a scene Tommy's intimately familiar with; he thinks of his 1st Lieutenant who was laughing at a dirty joke minutes before he never laughed again, his body all twisted up in the wreckage of an Apache blown out of the sky.

Tommy shivers; another fallen brother writhes in front of him. His breath catches when, on a particularly ghoulish close up, the firefighter's face is revealed.

The burst of red above his eye isn't just blood, and Tommy couldn't tear his gaze from his blue eyes if he tried. If he knew the man's name, he'd call it out. If he could somehow break through the screen and into the chaos, he would.

Whatever bond they forged during the few hours they knew each other has strengthened beyond measure: how is it that this guy, who he hasn't been able to stop thinking about, who has ruined every date Tommy's been on since, should be a firefighter at the very house that Tommy left less than three years ago?

Tommy's never put much stock in fate but he's starting to think it might be time to.

The coverage rolls on, endless, continuing after a street full of people lift the fire engine off his long lost date's leg and paramedics bundle him into an ambulance. 

Tommy pulls up the message he sent to Howie months ago when he promised to find some time for them to catch up in person and types out a quick hope your boy's ok before switching channels.

He settles on a documentary about Machu Picchu, partly because he doesn't know anything about it but mostly because he'd rather think about Mark's smile and eagerness to tell Tommy all about his adventures in Peru instead of the pain-stricken grimace he's become nauseatingly familiar with.

* His name is Evan Buckley. Tommy learns that from the news.

Evan Buckley lives in an extremely nice building on Grand Street. Tommy learns that from Howie who probably should have questioned why Tommy was asking for Evan's address in the first place.

Howie calls Evan Buck. Tommy's itching to know why Evan spends his life hiding behind any name that isn't his own.

Standing outside Evan's door, mouthing the words to a script he's nowhere near close to memorising, Tommy wonders who the hell he thinks he is turning up unannounced. He knocks gently — if Evan doesn't hear it then Tommy can take it as a sign that he's making a huge mistake and run a mile.

Rocking back on his heels for long enough to feel like an intruder, Tommy seriously considers walking away. Evan's injury is probably career ending and there's a pretty high chance they'll never cross paths again. He could end it here and spend the rest of his life regretting it. 

Finally, when Tommy's thinking about high-tailing it down the hallway, there's a gentle shuffling on the other side of the door. 

'Uhh,' comes a muffled voice, 'if you've come here to kick the shit out of me you should know a fire engine already beat you to it.'

'I come in peace.' Tommy waves at the peephole awkwardly. 'Can we talk?'

The lock clicks with noticeable hesitation and then, very cautiously, the door opens. On crutches and with dark circles under his eyes, Evan looks as beautiful as he did the night Tommy met him.

Or some version of him, anyway.

Evan turns away from the door, nimble on his crutches for a guy with a lot of leg to swing, and leaves Tommy to let himself in. He propels himself forward easily and props himself up on a bar stool to rest while Tommy eases the door shut.

Tommy should ask how Evan is, even though it's obvious. Quick as Evan is, he still looks worn out from walking to and from the door. What comes out instead is, 'Should I be worried that Howie calls you Buck? You don't have like, a secret, third identity, do you?'

Evan leans his crutches against the kitchen island. 'Should I be worried that you know Chimney?'

Tommy shrugs honestly. 'I don't know, should you?'

'Probably. He's dating my sister so he's probably got a ton of dirt on me.' Evan sighs. Despite only having met once, the distance between them feels unfamiliar. Tommy has only known Evan in close-up, both in person and on-screen. Now here he is in full view, vulnerable in a way Tommy assumed you saw after years knowing a person. 'How?' Evan prompts.

'We used to work together.' Tommy keeps his approach gentle. He takes a casual step forward and stops. 'At the 118. You probably took the spot I freed up when I moved to Harbour.'

'Oh.' Evan rubs the back of his neck, probably to soothe himself, but Tommy guesses he's been sleeping like shit, too, and is probably full of aches and pains from top to bottom. 'That's really cool. Weird, but cool. T-thank you, I guess. You kinda changed my life by leaving.'

'Kinda changed my own life, too.'

'There were three other Evan's at the academy.'

Tommy narrows his eyes. 'Ok?'

'That's why I go by Buck?'

'Oh!' At least someone's paying attention; Tommy's too preoccupied with the stubble darkening Evan's jaw. 'Got it.' He closes the space between them. He pulls out the bar stool next to Evan, careful not to drag it along Evan’s very nice floor, and perches there. He forces himself to look more relaxed than he feels, because there's a brittleness to Evan that wasn't there before, and Tommy doesn't want to be another person adding to his stress.

'I'm really sorry for lying,' Evan says and Tommy doesn't just know he is — he believes it, too. 'My name isn't Mark, obviously, and I've never even met a gym teacher but everything else I said is true.'

'Even the part about it being your first date with 'a dude'?'

'Especially that part.' Evan drops his head and winces. If he's in pain it isn't coming from his busted leg, but somewhere deep inside that Tommy wants to reach and learn how to soothe.

'Did you like it?'

'O-oh yeah, I mean — it was totally unexpected but I do that sometimes just… jump in, you know?'

'I'm starting to,' Tommy says honestly because he's only recently developed a taste for impulsivity. Buying a house in dire need of love he isn't yet skilled enough to give is just the first in a long line of decisions he'll make that will change the course of his life.

The other decision is fidgeting around next to him and desperately trying to find a more comfortable way to sit.

'Let me help,' Tommy says before he can second-guess himself. He stands and motions for Evan to put his arm around his shoulders so Tommy can help him to his feet. Evan doesn't hesitate to accept — he puts his arm around Tommy and hisses when his cast bumps Tommy's leg.

As they walk towards the couch, Tommy clocks that Evan's bed is a flight of stairs away. It doesn't bother him, the thought of Evan struggling up the stairs at night, but it does pull at something inside of him that reminds him that he'll be going home to an empty house tonight.

Tommy helps Evan down onto his couch which would not look out of place in a show home, and would definitely not feature next to the word 'comfortable' in the dictionary. But he settles Evan the best he can and, to Evan's surprise, does his best to prop his leg up. 

'How's that?' Tommy asks, doing his best not to loom over the guy he barely knows but is worrying about like they've been married for 20 years.

'B-better,' Evan stammers. In the harsh, industrial lighting of his loft, Evan's eyes are so blue and soft and sincere. Tommy wants to kiss him — probably will — but he retreats to grab Evan's crutches first so he's not stranded.

Away from Evan, Tommy takes in more of his surroundings. It's a gorgeous property. A little… minimalist, if Tommy's being completely honest, but then who's he to talk? He's still sleeping on a mattress and pulling balled up Henleys out of a suitcase.

'How long have you lived here?' Tommy minds his tone so Evan knows he's genuinely curious and not passing judgement. He grabs the crutches and decides to wait until their next meeting to try them out himself.

'Um, not too long. There was a girl. Then there was a lease. And then' — Evan points to his leg as Tommy sets the crutches down in arm's reach — 'no more girl.'

'Jumped in?'

'Oh yeah,' Evan laughs, 'belly-flopped in the deep end.'

'Ouch.' Tommy laughs, too, and fuck it feels good. 'If it makes you feel better I just bought a house that's falling down. I have no furniture and no idea what I'm doing.'

'Ouch.' Evan's still laughing and wincing. He reaches down to rub the cast that's clamped around his leg as if he might be able to feel his hands rubbing his skin through the plaster. 'Where's your furniture?'

'I was leasing a furnished place. I have a TV.'

'And a two-thousand dollar coffee machine.'

'I — yes,' Tommy says dumbly, remembering how hopeful he was that Evan, or Mark, wasn't only planning to follow him home from the bar for something as innocent as a coffee. Unless that coffee was going to be sipped in bed long after the sun had come up.

'Are you, um, still serious about it? The coffee?'

'Absolutely.' Tommy eases himself down and sits on the floor so he can look Evan in the eyes when he says, 'I didn't come here for an apology. I came here because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.'

'Oh,' Evan says, his mouth forming a perfect O. 'It might just have to be coffee for a while.'

'Of course.' Tommy looks around. Evan has a nice kitchen. 'Maybe I can come over and make us dinner. Save you a car ride.'

'I'd really like that, Tommy.'

There's an accumulation of miscellanea on Evan's side table: a couple of books, a half eaten bag of Sour Patch Kids, a remote control, earphones, and a marker, which Tommy zones in on quickly. 

'Tell you what,' Tommy says, grabbing the marker and uncapping it with his teeth. 'When you're ready —' he sets the tip of the marker to Evan's cast and waits for permission. The hitch of Evan's eyebrow is all it takes for Tommy to scrawl his phone number on the inside of Evan's thigh. 'Give me a call, ok? Or text me. Whatever.'

The tips of Evan's ears are bright red. His cheeks, too. Their fingertips graze when Tommy hands the marker back and even from the slightest touch Tommy knows Evan's palms are sweating.

He's completely charmed and in real danger of testing their limits of their combined restraint.

'I should get going,' Tommy says and is that a pout on Evan's lips? 'Do you need anything before I go?'

Evan taps his chin with his index finger. Tommy can tell he's not really thinking about it — he made his decision as soon as Tommy asked the question – but if he's finding some joy in making Tommy wait well, then Tommy will wait.

'How about you kiss me better, huh?'

Not wanting to lose his track record for his excellent bedside manner, Tommy rises up on his knees, leans over and, with only the tiniest moment of hesitation — just enough to feel Evan's nose bump his own — presses their lips together gently.

They kiss and kiss until Evan's fingers tangle in Tommy's hair and Tommy's neck starts to ache from the angle he's being held at. Reluctantly, he breaks away, and there's that pout again, more vibrant now Evan's lips are cherry red and kiss-bitten. His eyes are still closed, and Tommy kisses both of Evan's cheeks, and the underside of his jaw, as an apology and a promise.

'Better?' Tommy asks, breathless and so, so happy he knocked on Evan's door before he could talk himself out of it.

'Not sure,' Evan says, 'we should probably try again just to, you know, make sure the treatment's working.'

•

Dag reaches across the middle console and puts his hand on Tommy’s leg. He squeezes, feeling the shift of muscle under his palm as he does.

“If we get stuck in traffic, can I jerk you off?”

“No,” Tommy laughs and adjusts his sunglasses, but he doesn’t make any move to push Dag’s hand away.

“Why not?” Dag asks, sliding his hand a little higher. “You’ve got tinted windows.”

“It has nothing to do with the windows, it’s the distracted driving.” Tommy says.

“C’mon. Traffic here can be completely stopped,” Dag drags his hand a little bit lower instead, until he reaches the hem of Tommy’s shorts, and then he starts trying to wiggle his fingers up the leg hole.

“If it stops completely I’ll consider it,” Tommy does swat at Dag’s hand then.

Dag retaliates by grabbing some leg hair and pulling. Tommy yelps.

“Is this more or less distracting than if I was pulling your dick?”

“That’ll depends on how good of a hand job you give me,” Tommy grabs Dag by the wrist, yanks it away, and holds it against the middle console.

“So I can jerk you off in traffic?” Dag asks sweetly, tapping his fingers against the console.

“Not right now,” Tommy says.

Dag taps his fingers some more. Tommy lets go of his wrist and then squeezes their hands together, before he has to go back to driving. Dag waits a few minutes, and then casually drops his hand back onto Tommy’s thigh.

“Behave,” Tommy says mildly, glancing at Dag in his peripheral, before looking back to the road.

“I’m an angel,” Dag says, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth across Tommy’s leg.

“Mmm, you’re definitely something.” Tommy nods.

The streets of Los Angeles are bright and sunny as they drive. Every time Dag’s here, it strikes him how much it does look like a movie. Palm trees and blue skies, shoes dangling by their laces on power lines.

“Can we go to the Hollywood sign?” Dag asks

Tommy rolls his neck to the side to frown at Dag balefully, before returning his attention to the road.

“If you want,” he says. “I’ve never been, but I know there are hikes.”

“Somewhere to take pictures,” Dag says. “I don’t need to touch it or anything.”

“I don’t know if you even can,” Tommy says, before looking thoughtful as they approach a red light. “I should say, I don’t know if you can legally. If you wanna go trespassing we can, but it’ll make touring difficult if you get arrested.”

“No,” Dag shakes his head firmly. Their first North American tour they’d been pulled over in the van in Texas, and Jan had been driving with his terrible English. It had been awful. “I don’t need to experience American police again.”

Tommy laughs.

“What else do you wanna do while you’re in town?” He ask.

“Besides jerk you off in traffic?” Dag slides his hand down and squeezes just above Tommy’s knee. “I want to go to the Cheesecake Factory.”

“You don’t even like desserts,” Tommy plops his hand on top of Dag’s while they wait at the light, smiling widely.

“We can share a slice of something,” Dag says. “Also I want to go to Olive Garden.”

“Okay, okay,” Tommy nods. “You’ve come all the way to California to eat at our chain restaurants and jerk me off in the truck, good to know.”

“I’ll jerk you off anywhere,” Dag says smugly, because Tommy’s stopped denying that the traffic hand job will happen, which is a good sign. “Also Jan says I should go to the Getty.”

Tommy looks thoughtful.

“We can do that, I haven’t been since I was a teenager. They’ve got a garden you’ll like,” Tommy says, before adding firmly. “You’re not going to jerk me off at the Getty.”

“Not even in the bathroom?”

“I would prefer it to take place on a bed in my room,” Tommy heaves a sigh, and puts his hand back on the gearshift as the light turns green. “Since we’re not on tour and don’t need to hunt around for privacy.”

“Whatever you want,” Dag says magnanimously, now paying a little more attention to how Tommy’s driving. “I’m noticing that this truck is a manual.”

Goddammit. Tommy was right about the distracted driving issue actually. It’s not like he’s just going on and off the breaks.

“It’s amazing that, for how often you stare at my hands, you’re just now noticing.” Tommy teases.

“I didn’t ask you to finger me in traffic,” Dag points out, which he thinks is very reasonable.

“We could actually manage that,” Tommy says dryly. “Since you’d come in about ten seconds—”

“Not ten!” Dag squawks.

“Maybe twenty seconds at most,” Tommy continues. “Your prostate is like a come button, it’s very convenient.”

Sal snorted, lobbing a foam football at Tommy's head. He caught it and whipped it back, wincing when Sal actually had to take a step back.

"Right," Sal said, rolling his eyes. "Normal guys can do that."

"When I retire—"

"If you really wanted to retire, Tommy, you would have done it years ago. We're not the only superheroes in the world. We're not even the only superheroes in the city," Sal pressed. "You like being a superhero, admit it. And even if you did retire, we'd still be your best friends. We have to meet him sometime. Or do you really expect, six months down the line, that it's not going anywhere?"

"We have powers, Sal. If it goes anywhere, it's just going to end up putting Evan in danger one day."

"So then cut him loose before either of you ends up deeper in this than you already are," Sal said flatly. He watched Tommy tense up and tossed the foam football back at his head. "Introduce us before he thinks you're a friendless loser or Donato stalks him at his job."

"How close is she to doing that?" Tommy rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Let's just say the kid makes fantastic brownies and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Whatcha working on?"

Buck startled at the question and threw his hands down over the sketch he was working on before he realized it was Athena standing in front of him. Well, that was way better than his boss. Or a customer. Or Tommy.

"Personal project," he told her.

"A project? What kind of project?" Athena asked, leaning across the counter and trying to get a better look at his sketch.

Buck made a face at her and shoved it into his apron pocket before she could yank it out of his hands. "Hopefully something that leads to a new job to replace that old delivery one I quit," he told her, which was as close as he could get to talking about superpowers with Athena in public.

"Sounds interesting. Why don't we get together and you can show me?" Athena offered. Her voice was intentionally light, but he could read the warning in her stance. Buck wasn't going to be allowed to run wild without her permission.

It made sense. He didn't have to like it.

"Hey, Evan's happily dating someone," Tracy interjected, sliding up to the counter and positioning herself at Buck's shoulder. If she was a cat, her fur would be standing straight up.

Buck swallowed a laugh at the thought of Tracy trying to go toe to toe with Athena Grant in a misguided thought that she was — what, harassing him?

"And I'm happily married. What's your point?" Athena asked, standing up straighter.

"I want you to stop flirting with my staff."

"Stop fl—" Athena's mouth snapped shut and she levelled a glare at Buck.

"I told you everyone thinks that," Buck protested. It wasn't his fault that everyone from his boss to the AFO thought that they were flirting. …How could he get people to stop thinking that? Because if he ever ran into one of the AFO out of costume and Athena was there, maybe they'd make the same connection and his identity would get blown out of the water, which would kind of defeat the purpose of faking his own death in the first place.

"Big Sister program." Athena stared flatly over the top of her sunglasses at Tracy.

"He's my Little Brother," Athena continued, when there was no follow up from her.

"Pretty sure you're both too old for that program."

Buck shuffled closer to Tracy, forcing her to take a step back so she and Athena weren't eye to eye anymore. As entertaining as this was, he wasn't excited to actually referee a fight between the two of them.

"I've known Buckaroo a long time."

Tracy narrowed her eyes at Athena, thrusting her latte across the counter. "Thanks for coming today, enjoy your coffee."

"Did I just get banned from your coffee shop?" Athena asked Buck, her lips pressed together.

"Tracy's having a rough week," Buck apologized. "You're fine. Have a cookie, we'll see you next week."

"My place, Thursday. After dinner."

Buck saluted her. "See you then, Sarge."

Bianca frowned at him from the drive-thru window. "Better hope your boyfriend isn't the jealous type."

"We're not doing anything!"

"Tracy thinks Athena was hitting on me at work."

Tommy nearly choked on his beer, and he looked over at Evan in shock. "Tracy — what? Is she… does she need glasses?"

"After today I'm starting to think so," Evan hummed, tapping his beer bottle against Tommy's. "You want another?"

"Oh, are you offering me one of my own beers?" Tommy teased him, sitting up a little straighter. "Sal wants to meet you."

Evan perked up. "Your mysterious best friend who I was starting to think didn't exist wants to meet me?" He asked, beaming at Tommy. "I want to meet him too."

"Gina and Lucy want to come too," Tommy warned him, pressing his lips together. He tried to smile when he realized he was frowning, but based on the expression on Evan's face he hadn't quite pulled it off. "You don't have to."

"When have you ever known me to do anything I didn't want to?" Evan asked softly, putting his beer down and swinging a leg over Tommy's, settling down in his lap. "Unless there's a reason you don't want me to meet your friends."

"Well," Tommy said, considering the question. There were lots of reasons he didn't want Sal and company to meet Evan. Evan's face fell and he sat back on his heels, hiding a frown behind his beer. Tommy startled, shaking his head and grabbing for Evan's hand. "They're assholes and I don't want them to scare you off," Tommy hurried to reassure him. "It has nothing to do with you."

Evan grinned at Tommy, his eyes sparkling like he'd just cracked the funniest joke Evan had ever heard. "Takes more than a few pointed questions to scare me off," he promised, ducking down to kiss Tommy briefly. "I'm off on Tuesday and Wednesday this week, if you four can get the time off for dinner."

"Fingers crossed," Tommy agreed. Maybe he could lean on the San Diego heroes to cover for a night, just in case someone decided to try something. Because Evan had been plenty understanding of cancelled dates so far, but having to reschedule the first 'meet the family' date probably wouldn't play as well.

"But hey, you're firefighters, I understand if something goes late and we have to cancel. Just do your best to let me know as early as you can."

"I'd hate to leave you on your own," Tommy murmured, tipping his head back and leaning up for another kiss.

"Mm, I'll keep myself entertained somehow," Evan assured him, grinning into the kiss. "I know where your spare key is and I'm really good at taking pictures."

Tommy groaned, a shudder running through him at the thought of Evan taking photos of himself in Tommy's bed and sending them to Tommy. "Can we skip the awkward dinner with my best friend and go straight to that plan?"

"No!" Evan exclaimed, laughing. "I've been waiting for this for a while, we're going out together. We can do that some other time."

"Look, I'm just saying—" Buck pushed himself up using Tommy's thigh, gesturing with his beer bottle. "Maybe the guy deserved it."

Tommy lifted the bottle out of his hands before it could spill. "Next thing you know you'll be waxing poetic about the death penalty," he said wryly.

"I just think," Buck said seriously, holding up a finger. He met Lucy's gaze, flushing a little when she grinned at him. "That the guy had already tried to kill the AFO on multiple occasions. Crosswind in particular, and if Kestrel did kill him—"

"If?" Sal asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Like the cops have never accidentally killed someone and then blamed it on someone else," Buck pronounced, glancing around. "You're a lawyer, right Gina? So, anyway, if Kestrel did it, then it was just in the interest of public safety. It's not like villains have the best interests of civilians in mind when they're out criming."

Criming, Tommy mouthed to himself.

"Do you always get philosophical when you drink?" Lucy wondered.

"Only when it's just me and my boyfriend's friends and I'm nervous about making a good impression." Buck froze. "Uh. Can we pretend I didn't say that?"

"Nope. We're gonna use that against ya for the rest of your life," Sal winked at him. "Cause that's how long Tommy wants to keep you around for."

"As long as you're teasing both of us," Buck hummed, tilting his head back to grin up at Tommy.

"If he's bothering you, let me know. I'll take him out back and rough him up," Tommy murmured in his ear, making Buck shiver.

Buck laughed, shaking his head. "I like your friends."

"This one's a keeper, Kinard," Gina chimed in.

"What are you three doing?" Tommy asked, coming to a stop when he walked in on them crowded around the whiteboard. He hadn't been able to stop them from keeping score about whether or not he was going to tell Evan about his job, but he'd really been hoping that they would get bored of it after a week.

They'd been keeping score two months.

"Trying to figure out how many points to give your boy for that speech he made last night about why Kestrel is so cool and probably didn't commit murder, not to mention just how dreamy Kestrel is," Lucy said, gnawing on the end of her marker. "Gina?"

"It probably would have created enough doubt on a jury to hang them," Gina mused, tapping a finger against her lips. "Would have saved you twenty five to life, at least for a while, so…"

"We are absolutely not giving him twenty five points," Sal interjected.

"Even if they go towards the side that says Tommy should tell him?" Lucy asked.

"It's been months. It's not like you've got any other secrets that'll take the edge off of keeping this one," Sal continued, narrowing his eyes at Tommy. "Unless you've got a secret marriage even I don't know about."

Tommy narrowed his eyes at Sal. "Why is that the first example that you came up with?"

"I dunno, Tommy, probably because if you could get away with it none of us would know anything about your life in the first place. You should work on that."

"What's this?" Athena asked, picking Buck's suit up between her fingers and squinting at him.

"It's a suit," Buck said, fighting the urge to snatch it back out of her grasp. "You can at least look like you're not holding rancid garbage."

"I thought we talked about the fact that you can't just pop up with a new name and the same powers without everyone catching on to the fact that you might be the villain that died rather dramatically a few months ago," Athena told him, her voice softening. She looked at the suit again, pulling at one of the seams. "Who made this?"

"I did. With some spare fabric I bought from Gerrard's guy. —What? I knew at some point I wouldn't have access to his supplies so I planned to have some of my own."

"Always thinking ahead, aren't you Buck?"

"With the exception of signing that contract in the first place, sure," Buck scratched at the back of his neck, shrugging. He'd always wonder what would have happened if he'd showed up in Los Angeles as a regular powered person and run into the AFO, but there were some perks to the way everything had ended up shaking out. Like Tommy.

Athena smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. "Everyone's allowed to make a few mistakes when they're in their twenties, kid. I'm sorry you can't use the suit, though."

"No, that's the best part!" Buck said enthusiastically. "My powers are heat based. Fire is the easiest thing to make, but—" he glanced around the empty house, waving Athena into the backyard. "Stay by the door, just in case," Buck said, rubbing his hands together. "Do you know what else is really hot, Athena?"

"You better not be about to create lava here, Buckley. We just landscaped two years ago." Athena glanced back into the house, hesitating on the threshold.

"Relax, it's not that hot." Buck rubbed his hands together, grinning widely at her. "Have I ever put you in danger before?"

"I seem to remember getting kidnapped more than once."

"Hey, I told you right away that it wasn't a real kidnapping!"

"You tied me up, Buck."

"Are we re-litigating our entire relationship or do you want to see what I can do?"

Athena rolled her eyes, knocking a fist against the doorframe. "Show me what you got, Matches."

Buck blew into his hands and held them out to his sides. "Let there be light," he said, snapping his fingers.

Lightning crackled between his hands and Athena jumped, her jaw dropping. "Buck! Be careful!"

"It's okay," Buck said, clapping his hands together. The lightning sparked and dissipated, vanishing against his skin. "I'm pretty good with the control."

"I'd prefer it if you said that you had perfect control," Athena drawled, taking a cautious step out into the backyard and relaxing when she didn't get shocked. "And are you gonna electrocute everyone you run into as a hero, or…?"

"Pfft. I know how to aim around people. I never hit Kestrel, did I?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Athena asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Buck grimaced, conceding the point. She'd been around for all of their early interactions, and as much as Buck had always admired Kestrel, he hadn't wanted to go easy on him for a variety of reasons. He'd never set out to hurt him, bu he'd also never pulled a punch if Kestrel had moved into his line of fire.

"Okay, well, I never hit him with intent."

"Kestrel's also indestructible and lightning is ten times hotter than fire."

"Why are you trying to shoot this down before I even get a chance to try it out?" Buck asked, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Athena, I want to do something good with this. I found out about my powers and then I met Gerrard and — I want to be more than a screwup. If people even still think about Firestarter, I'm just a bad guy who had some bad luck. I can help. You don't even have to do anything! Just let the AFO know I'm a friendly."

"I'll think about it," Athena promised, taking another step into the backyard. "You know that even if you don't go back to being a super in public, you're not a screwup. Don't you?"

"Yeah. Obviously." Buck shrugged off the look she was giving him, heading back inside and holding up the suit again. "So, you never said. Do you think this looks good on me?"

"Are you sure you don't want one of those boob windows?" Athena asked dryly, immediately making a face when Buck lit up. "No, don't do that." She tilted her head, giving the suit a more thorough look. "Well, you have a design and Firestarter was just shades of red, so that's good. And everyone has a mask, so… as long as yours covers your birthmark, we can call that a good deal. I'd prefer that it cover your hair again, but…"

"Right, we don't want anyone lusting over me when I'm taken."

She rolled her eyes, flicking a finger in his direction. "On that note. Since you flirted with Kestrel so much as Firestarter, you might not want to do that this time around."

"But no one else does. Athena, it should be a crime that Kestrel doesn't get flirted with by every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the city. You know — you know, you should really start arresting people for that," Buck said, warming up to the subject. "I mean, does anyone flirt with him in his non-mask life? Do you know?"

"I think his boyfriend takes care of that, Buck," Athena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Speaking of boyfriends, just what are you going to tell Tommy if you start running around in spandex?"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet, actually. I wanted to make sure you'd be on my side if I went out first."

Athena sighed, shaking her head once. "Put all of that away before Bobby gets home. Do you want anything to drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a sandwich, actually. Using the powers tends to make me hungry," Buck told her, shoving the suit back into his backpack and zipping it up. "I think it's because heat burns calories."

Athena paused, looking at Buck over her shoulder. "…Just how much did you eat as Firestarter?"

Buck scratched his chin, considering. "I mean, I didn't really keep track, but I guess I kept up with professional athletes? The employee discount at the coffee shop comes in pretty handy. And then when I stopped being Firestarter, I just sort of stopped eating so much."

"And Tommy never noticed you were packing away that much food?" Athena asked, amused.

"Well, we only started dating like a week before Firestarter died, and we weren't really spending a lot of our time together eating." Buck leered playfully, ducking behind the island when Athena launched an oven mitt at his head. "No, I made sure that I ate before I saw him so any meals were a normal size. Not really a safe way to explain why I ate like a linebacker, huh?"

He paused, sitting down on a stool and scratching his fingernail lightly against the counter. "Let's hope I don't go broke on a barista's salary while I'm superheroing. Does the AFO have a food budget?"

"I haven't even said that I'm going to talk to them about you."

Buck dropped his chin in his hands, beaming at Athena when she put a roast beef sandwich down in front of him. "No, you haven't," he agreed cheerfully, taking a bite. "But you're going to."

"Really? Why am I going to do that?"

"Because you like me. We're friends."

Athena froze. "Oh my god, we are."

"Could be worse," Buck consoled her, amused. "We could li—"

"Don't you say it, Buckley."

"—ve together," Buck finished as Bobby walked into the house. "Heya, Cap."

Bobby made a show of looking around the living room before kissing Athena's cheek. "Did I miss a memo about hosting?"

"Nah, I just came over to ask Athena if she could be a reference for a new job I'm hoping to get." Buck wrapped the second half of the sandwich in a paper towel and shoved the last bite of the first half into his mouth, saluting Bobby. "I'll let you get back to hanging out, because if you're off that means Tommy is too."

"Nice seeing you," Bobby offered, smiling bemusedly when Buck scooped up his backpack. "Does Tommy's boyfriend often stop by while we're on shift?" Buck heard him ask Athena.

"Hey, Buck was my barista before he was Tommy's boyfriend."

"That doesn't really answer my question, Athena."

"I can make coffee or I can take out the trash, and we had a rush!" Buck called over his shoulder, muscling the back door open as Bianca kept grumbling at him. "Oh, hey, you can't be back here," he said, catching sight of someone lighting a cigarette in the shadows of the alley. "This is private property. You can smoke around the front."

"I could, but I couldn't talk to you out there," they said, and Buck froze. They blew out a cloud of smoke and met his gaze, and their eyes shimmered as they smiled at him.

"…You know I hate it when you sneak up on me, N," Buck said faintly, taking a step back. He'd never seen this face before. "How did you find me? Does he…"

"You've been serving me coffee since you started working here," Nullity said, taking a step towards him. "He doesn't know anything. Your friends burned my contract and I haven't talked to him since."

"Right, but how did you know that—" Buck gestured at his face.

"I can change the molecules of my body at will. Things like masks don't really stop me from seeing what's underneath them," Nullity offered, drifting closer. They paused in front of Buck, their expression shifting to a face that he absolutely recognized, given that they'd worn it every time they'd met up with Firestarter.

"Heya, Nat," Buck offered cheekily, and Nullity scowled at him before blowing smoke directly in his face.

"I do not look like Black Widow," Nullity grumbled.

"Yeah, you do." Buck said, laughing. "It's a good look, though."

"I wanted to let you know that I'm leaving town," Nullity continued, ignoring Buck's comments. They flicked the butt of their cigarette, ash drifting to the ground. "I won't be around to help if you run into trouble from now on."

"I think I can handle myself," Buck said, torn between being pleased that Nullity had been worried about him and offended that they thought he couldn't take care of himself.

"You're too nice," Nullity said, leaning in. "You don't hit first, hmm? So if someone hits harder, then you might have a problem."

"I went toe to toe with Kestrel on multiple occasions," Buck hissed.

"Neither one of you was trying your hardest," Nullity snorted, taking a step back. They stubbed their cigarette out on the wall and tucked it behind their ear, their face morphing back into the same man Buck had first seen in the alley.

"Do I get a number?" Buck asked, shaking his head. "You know, since you're so worried about me."

Nullity grinned, their teeth sharpening. "No point," they hummed. "You get into trouble loudly. I'm sure I can find my way back here in time."

Buck wasn't sure if it was just getting darker out or if Nullity was doing something to the light in the alley, but by the time they'd finished speaking they had completely disappeared from view.

"Get into trouble loudly," Buck grumbled, throwing the garbage bag into the dumpster and waiting for the clang when it hit the bottom. "And what do you call what you used to do, huh?" He wondered, just in case Null was hanging around out of sight. "Geez."

"We should go out," Buck declared, stopping in the doorway to Tommy's living room.

"I could have sworn we were going out," Tommy replied dryly, looking Buck up and down so intently he felt like he was going to combust. "Or do the kids call it something different these days?"

"The kids— stop trying to pretend you're old. And stop trying to change the subject."

"Trying to change the subject? I didn't even say anything."

"You're—" Buck gestured at him. "Looking at me."

"My mother raised me to always look at the person who was talking to me," Tommy teased him, smiling lazily.

"I — okay, I want to hear about this mother later — am serious, Tommy. When was the last time we actually went out? And the introduction to Sal and Gina and Lucy doesn't count. If there are more than two people, it's not a date."

"I believe both polyamorous and people who like going on double dates would disagree with you."

Buck tried to hold on to the grumpiness he was feeling but had to laugh at that one. "Tommy, stop being so…"

"Pedantic?"

"Pedicktic, maybe," Buck joked back, flopping onto the couch besides Tommy. "Anyway. My point is that we should, you know, do something that isn't just takeout and sex on the couch."

"If you want to have sex against the wall, all you have to do is ask."

Tommy was laughing silently before Buck reached out and smacked his chest. Tommy caught his hand and kissed his knuckles, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepening.

"Okay, sorry, I couldn't resist."

"Yeah, that's our problem! You look like that and expect me to share you with the rest of the world?" Buck asked, shivering at the gentle touch.

"And you look like that and expect me to share you with the world?" Tommy volleyed back, shaking his head mock sadly. "It's just a tragedy."

"So, dinner? Drinks? Somewhere public?" Buck pressed.

"Absolutely."

"Sometime soon?" Buck continued.

"Right now?" Tommy countered, arching an eyebrow at him.

"…Maybe tomorrow," Buck decided, squeezing Tommy's hand and smirking at him. "Those are the kind of clothes I want to get you out of, not the kind I want to take you out in."

"On the couch?" Tommy asked, mock offended. "I thought you were tired of that."

"Ha, ha," Buck deadpanned, standing up. "The bedroom is fine."

"Be honest. Did you look up hot date spots in Los Angeles?" Buck asked, leaning across the table and dropping his voice. "This doesn't exactly strike me as your speed?"

Tommy glanced around, gesturing to his left. "A guy can't like a nice rooftop terrace?"

Buck looked in that direction, sighing when the table full of finance bros beside them leered at their waitress. "Well, some guys can't," he said ruefully. If he was out on his own he'd direct a little heat at their feet, get them jumping around. It'd distract them from the waitress and hopefully get them kicked out, but he was with Tommy. He didn't want to risk Tommy noticing anything, because then it might get back to Athena that he was still using his powers, and then she'd probably (rightfully) walk back the reluctant offer to talk to the AFO about him.

Tommy stared too, a furrow between his eyebrows. Buck wanted to reach out and smooth his fingers down through it until Tommy stopped frowning.

"Some people shouldn't be allowed out in public until they've taken a Miss Manners course," Tommy said dryly, hooking his ankle around Buck's under the table.

"I mean, right now I'm having an idea that would get me thrown in one of those classes," Buck offered, reaching out and catching Tommy's hand in his. "But I'm being very responsible and refraining." From the urge to drag Firestarter out of retirement and the urge to drag Tommy into the bathroom. Could Buck give himself a gold star? He deserved one.

Tommy grinned back at him, rubbing his thumb over the back of Buck's hand. "You're so hot when you're being responsible."

"I want you to know that you're tempting me right now," Buck told him. "It's actually kind of superhuman, how much I'm resisting you right now."

"I'll find you one of those domino masks," Tommy joked.

Buck laughed, ready to tease him some more, and the door to the terrace exploded in a blast of light. "Ladies and gentlemen! If everyone would kindly make their way to the far side of the roof, I'm here to liberate you from your valuables."

No way. Buck groaned, exchanging a tired stare with Tommy. "I regret saying we needed to spend more time in public," Buck whispered.

He'd never worried about getting held hostage when he was working for Gerrard; he'd known when everything was happening and he'd had the ability to sneak away. Now he was just… Evan Buckley. And Tommy was here. How was Buck supposed to protect him if he couldn't use his powers?

"Come on," Buck whispered, using the grip he already had on Tommy's hand to drag him along with the rest of the group. "I'm sure someone will show up soon. Or we'll be out a few bucks and he'll leave."

The guy looked like an evil Egon, plasma gun strapped to his back and Buck knew if he could get a little distance, he could make that sucker explode and keep him incapacitated until the cops showed up.

But he wasn't on his own and he couldn't do anything that would put Tommy in danger.

The finance bros jostled Buck, and the grip he had on Tommy's hand slipped. "Tommy—" Buck twisted, trying to find him. There! He could see the top of Tommy's head, and — oh no. That was the edge of the roof, that was the crowd panicking, that was Tommy going over— Buck pushed through the crowd, hoping that the roiling mass of people was big enough to cover him moving in the opposite direction, and he rolled over the edge of the roof, fire igniting under his feet. He let himself fall and spun around, looking frantically. Tommy couldn't have fallen all the way, yet, he still had time to grab him and then— there. A person in midair.

"Tommy?" Buck sputtered to a stop in front of Kestrel, who was halfway between the date outfit Tommy had been wearing and the uniform Kestrel always wore.

"Evan?" Tommy's jaw dropped and he glanced down, taking in the fire. "…Firestarter?"

"Oh my god. I'm gonna be so weird about this later," Buck promised, his hands itching to touch. He reached out and then shook his head, pulling away. "No, we have to deal with him first."

"I have to deal with him," Tommy said firmly. "You're dead. And a villain. And you don't have a mask."

"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." Buck snapped his fingers and the fire crackled, growing larger and changing until it was lightning dancing across his skin. He pulled a piece loose and pressed it over his eyes, throwing finger guns at Tommy. "First one up there is a rotten egg," he teased. His lightning let off a sonic boom as he took off, and it was enough to have everyone on the roof looking in his direction when he rose above it.

"Hey, Moodbuster," Buck called, lightning flashing between his fingers. "What happens to a robber who gets struck by lightning? The same thing that happens to everything else," he finished cheerfully, launching a bolt at the guy's feet.

He yelped and dodged away just in time for Tommy to come arrowing in, grabbing him off the roof.

"Party pooper!" Buck called after Tommy, waving at the crowd. "If I know anything about that guy, the cops are going to be here any second to take statements and then you can all get back to your dinner," he saluted the crowd and took off around the corner of the building, looping back to one of the empty corners and landing. He dismissed the lightning with a wave, rejoining the other diners and making his way back to his table. Tommy would be able to explain his absence much more easily if they weren't both gone.

It had been chaotic enough that they might go unnoticed, but Buck wasn't about to risk it.

He was working his way through Tommy's wine and his appetizer by the time Tommy came back, Athena hot on his heels. "I hear we had some excitement up here," she said, flipping her notebook open. "Now, I don't suppose either of you can tell me exactly when the robber came onto the terrace?"

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."

The impact knocks him out of the fugue state and, when he slams on the brake, into the steering wheel. Gasping, he looks up and finds himself staring into the familiar dead-eyed stare of something that should no longer exist. It bares its soil-caked teeth at him in a hissing growl, then pushes off the bumper and goes lumbering across the street into Plummer Park.

Every ounce of adrenaline Tommy possesses enters his bloodstream at once, which is also a familiar feeling. Undoing his seatbelt, he wrests control of his body away from his nervous system and chooses between fight or flight.

He kicks open the door and takes off after it.

Thankfully it's late enough that there's hardly anyone in the park, except for a group of screaming kids in the basketball court who try to get their phones up to film as he runs by. He picks up the pace.

His legs are screaming. They're on fire. He can practically feel the lactic acid building up in his muscles, which are splitting open in tiny tears with every step. It's been a long time since he's been forced to sprint like this. Running isn't part of his usual cardio regiment anymore. It was never fun when he wasn't with a group. His team. It's a weak-ass excuse.

In the back of his mind, he hears the memory of a voice cheering, "Go, go, Tommy!"

Sucking in air, he pushes himself impossibly harder.

After what feels like a decade and with the help of a man shouting in Russian and pointing in a specific direction, Tommy finally starts to catch up. By the time he sees it, he also sees Santa Monica Boulevard.

Somehow, he manages to find one last burst of energy and overtakes the thing before it can hit the south parking lot.

Of course, it's anticipating that, and just as he launches himself at its back, it turns on its heel and slams a stone fist right into his gut, sending him careening into the side of a car. It crumples under him and starts blaring its alarm, which is exactly the kind of soundtrack this nightmare was missing.

Grunting, he starts pushing himself to his feet and throws up an arm just in time to block another blow, then sweeps his leg out to knock it off balance. The move buys him enough time to stand, but not enough to put him on the offense. He twists to avoid a stone punch and jumps back, dodging an immediate second. He doesn't manage to avoid a third, catching it right in the eye. The bone cracks and he goes down hard.

Tommy breathes through the pain and rolls the bulk of his body to the side, onto his belly, then slams his palms into the pavement and heaves with all his might. He springs up, then jumps back to put a little distance between them.

Sliding into the old stance is like greeting a long-lost friend. He crouches down and twists his waist ever so slightly, while bringing his arms up, palms out, fingers curled into claws. Powerful, light, and quick. They used to give him such shit for it.

"Look at crouching tiger, hidden dragon over here."

"More like slouching panda, sitting duck."

As funny as the pose is, they never could argue with its results.

When it comes at him again, he's ready.

Tommy loses time when he fights. Always has. It comes so easily to him. The back and forth, the push and pull—he fucking loves it. Muay Thai is fun, but it's nothing compared to this: a no-holds barred, drag-out fight for survival. His blood is singing an aria so high it's got to be shattering windows somewhere.

He has no idea how long they've been trading blows when he finally sees an opening, striking out with one hand to slap down its attempt to hit him and using the other to punch straight through the mud and clay caking its chest. His fingers curl around a cold, solid, pulsing thing, then he jerks his hand out as hard as he can. The heart he's holding gives one last lurch before he crushes it to dust.

With a whimper, the creature collapses to the ground, crumbling into wet soil.

Panting, Tommy stands there for a moment to try and get his bearings, but his eyes start watering. He wishes it was from the pain of what is almost certainly a fractured socket, but everything's hitting him all at once.

He broke up with Evan tonight. Sitting in the loft and watching the future he'd envisioned for them crumble as Evan called him cruel for leading Abby on, it became very clear that Tommy would never be able to tell him the truth about his past. If Evan ever learned that Tommy almost ended the world, that there had been a real chance Evan would never have lived to see the fourth grade because of Tommy, "cruel" is the kindest thing Evan would call him.

Getting that stupid parking spot out front made him think that maybe the universe was trying to throw him a bone. It had been: it allowed him to make a fast getaway.

But to have run into a putty in Los Angeles on this unimaginably awful night is just hilariously shitty luck, even for him.

Tommy blinks a few times to clear the tears from his vision so he can look at the mound of wet dirt and rocks at his feet.

Sometimes it astonishes him that a group of kids managed to take these things down, considering how easy it was to create them. Earth is a terrestrial planet. There's rock and soil and stone and clay everywhere. There was an endless supply for what could've been an army of putties—if one fell, ten more could've risen up in its place. He doesn't know why they only ever fought four or five at a time. Rita never utilized them the way he would've.

Panic starts fluttering in his marrow, but he tries to ignore it. It was only one. He hasn't seen or heard anything about putty sightings until now. It could be a straggler that somehow escaped Angel Grove and managed to make its way down the coast over the course of thirty years. It could be a complete coincidence.

It could be.

He looks around the empty parking lot, searching for a cold, bright gaze and a blinding smile in the shadows. He strains to hear that awful cackle. He closes his eyes and waits to feel the press of talon-like nails into his wrist as a burning-hot hand wraps around it, pulling him into familiar darkness. But all he hears is the sound of traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Opening his eyes, Tommy sniffles a little, then presses the heel of his hand to the edge of his eye socket. He thinks about how gently Evan would touch him there. He flinches, and not just from the pain.

After a while, it's clear that Rita's not coming for him. Sucking in a shuddering breath, he turns around and limps back into the park. With any luck, his truck is still in the middle of the road where he left it.

+

•

It starts snowing again on the drive to Jan’s studio. Dag sighs. That means he’ll probably have to shovel again this afternoon or tomorrow. Tommy can shovel out the driveway, and will do it without complaint, but he always looks so fucking miserable the entire time, and Dag can’t stand it. No matter how long Tommy’s been in Sweden, he still hasn’t quite acclimated to the weather. Tommy also fucking hates driving in the snow, and Dag watches his hands flex on the steering wheel.

“Do you want to swap?” Dag asks.

“Maybe on the way back, if this keeps up,” Tommy says with a frown, before sighing dramatically. “We need to become snowbirds.”

“Hmmm, what’s that?” Dag reaches out and tugs lightly on one of Tommy’s curls.

“Old people that spend the winter in places with nice weather,” Tommy explains.

“Not old yet. We could go back to LA and drop in on your friend that’s renting,” Dag laughs. “Live in that little house in the back yard.”

“Casita,” Tommy corrects, just like he does every time.

Right now the casita is mostly filled with shit that Phorid likes to have on tour in North America, but that wasn’t worth trying to bring back: extra gear and Henrik’s tiny charcoal grill and probably some merch. It’s cheaper and more convenient than a storage unit.

“Or what about Spain?” Tommy continues, looking wistful.

“When I win the lottery I will take you wintering in Spain,” Dag promises, twisting that lock of Tommy’s hair around and around his finger. “As long as you make sure my back has enough sunblock.”