Eddie Has A Silver Star

Eddie slips into the locker room, lacing up his sneakers before he wanders to the apparatus bay, shifting toward the back of the station. Working out has always been meditative for him, the quiet calm of counted reps, the pull of muscle burning with each drag through the steady climb of pushing himself more and more.

Racking the weights becomes routine, lining up steel gray against stark black and running through what he always does settles something in his chest. It’s not quiet, not quite, but the storm of something amiss is kept at bay a little longer.

When Chimney arrives and Hen not long after, Eddie smiles, offers a friendly hello, but knows the look of exhaustion that comes with being a parent. They keep to themselves a little longer, savoring the silence before the rest of the team arrives.

Buck is next, bright and eager to start the day, offering coffee to Eddie and Hen as he strolls into the locker room. He always loosens something in Eddie too, the way he so easily brings the sun with him wherever he goes.

Shadows grow smaller when Harry and Ravi linger in last, their energy boundless in conversation and stride, reminiscing about a game night with May that each claim false accusations over cheating on. Eddie grins, slotting the weights back into place before following them into the locker room himself, snagging a towel before slipping into the shower to keep the calm just a little longer.

The 118 always soothes him, settles into that feeling he’s grown so fond of over the last few years, a family earned and built in equal parts pain and joy. By the time he jogs up the stairs, breakfast is almost done, the sizzle of bacon and the savory scent of onions and garlic floating through the loft, guiding Eddie to the table without thought.

The feeling’s gaining distance now, one that barely grew legs before cowering and disappearing at the sight of something much more powerful. And when Eddie digs into the stack of pancakes Buck plunks in front of him, he barely remembers being anxious at all.

It’s not until the third call that something starts to shatter, the crack widening with each plea and press of skin, reaching out to Eddie, desperate for help.

They’ve had an apartment fire and a medical call, both before noon. A heart attack that left a woman without her husband scraping pieces of Eddie he’d rather leave buried. Shannon’s image always pulls to the front of his mind when they get calls like this, ones that leave him standing in the E.R. staring at her pale, still body as the memory shifts to something stronger.

“We’ve been married sixty-two years,” she says when they ride quietly to the hospital, monitors dark, oxygen mask tucked to the side after failing to draw breath. “I don’t know how to sleep without him next to me.”

Eddie knows he can’t say anything to make it better, can’t settle something in her that’s been sewn into her heart after all this time. Instead he reaches out and takes her hand. She latches on, tears streaming down her cheeks, tucking into wrinkles she’d grown with him at her side.

It doesn’t get any easier after that.

“Dispatch said it’s a city bus,” Chim shouts through the headset as sirens blare above them. Eddie and Hen are in the ambulance, listening to instructions through the radio as they lead the way, a line of hail mary’s at the ready, waiting.

“Any info on casualties?” Eddie asks, his voice echoing in stereo through Hen’s radio as he tries to catalogue what they might need first.

“At least 20,” Chim says. “Sounds like there’s a few head injuries, may have a broken wrist and…”

The silence is short but telling.

“The bus tipped. Said the driver of a car is pinned,” the words are clipped, stoic. When Chim loses the teasing glint that usually comes with everything he says, Eddie’s stomach sinks. “Sounds like there’s someone else on scene. Knows what he’s doing, though.”

Hen and Eddie find one another’s gaze, confusion furrowing Hen's brow.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks as they get within a couple blocks of the accident.

“Another paramedic or firefighter or something,” Chim says. “Civilians said he’s helping take care of people.”

“Let’s hope he’s actually helping,” Hen mutters only to Eddie, braking when they finally arrive.

It’s a mess of broken glass and fractured metal, a rogue tire lays off to the side, flames ebbing off the rubber. The truck pulls up behind them and Eddie doesn’t spare a glance, knows Buck and Ravi are on it. Instead, he focuses on the victims, swallowing back the feeling of dread that comes with scenes like these.

There are close to thirty people, all pooled at different points around the tipped bus. Some wander aimlessly, blood trickling from temples, hands sticky with it, asphalt and gravel grating against skin.

The 118 are the first to arrive, so Chim’s quick to call for triage as a priority, and Eddie hears the request through his radio for more units and mass casualty protocol at First Presbyterian.

Hen moves quickly toward the bus, pointing toward a group of teenagers nearby and directing Eddie to check on them first.

“Triage, Eddie – tag and stabilize, then move on,” she reminds him. He nods, the knot in his throat pressing against his spine. The couple from earlier tickles the back of his mind, the new widow’s tears slipping in where blood falls on others’ faces.

He sees Shannon again, this time on the street, face up with blood streamed across her brow, brace locked around her neck.

Her shoe was thrown off when she got hit, a pair she was so excited to buy for the summer – ones she’d bragged she got on sale only weeks before.

*

“B.O.G.O, Eddie,” she smirks, strutting down the hall of the house, hips swinging with the sway of her skirt. “I’ve been wanting summer wedges.”

“Can you show me again?” Eddie teases, tongue dragging along his bottom lip while he watches her, eyes locked on her smile, tracing the bounce of her curls. “I think I missed it.”

“Oh did you?” She smirks, twirling again before kicking the shoes off and sliding into his lap on the couch, leaning forward for a kiss.

*

“Please,” a voice echoes in front of Eddie now, “You have to help her!”

The girl can’t be more than fourteen, backpack still slung on her back, disrupted in the pattern of something so mundane.

“Okay, okay, I will,” Eddie moves with her, following her to the small group of teens that are packed together near the sidewalk. One’s slouched against her friend, arm bent at an odd angle, eyelids drooping where she’s tucked into the other’s side.

Eddie crouches in front of her, finds her gaze and tracks her pupils.

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he says clearly, shoving back painful memories to focus on the present. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Emily,” the one beside her says, voice tight. “I’m Caroline.”

“Hi Caroline, can you tell me what happened?”

“I-I don’t…we were going to the mall. Prom is coming up a-and Emily wants this dress from Anthropologie – she’s been saving for it, her mom gave her extra money because she got good grades,” Caroline rambles, words tripping over one another as she rushes to fill in the gaps.

Eddie waits, brings his fingers to Emily’s pulse, monitors the steady rhythm beneath his fingertips. Steady, but getting weaker. Her eyelids are drooping more, each blink pulling exhaustion deeper through her features.

“–came out of nowhere! Tara and I were sitting a-and the-the pole thing, I grabbed onto it bu-but Emily, she was thrown across the bus…she was standing next to us,” Caroline keeps talking, tears shimmering as Tara paces behind them. Emily’s fading but the other two are conscious, breathing, talking.

“Okay,” Eddie says firmly, reaching out and guiding Tara and Caroline to sit beside Emily. “Why don’t you both just sit here and take a deep breath, okay?”

Tara stumbles but lands heavily next to Caroline, wrapping her in a hug while Eddie works to stabilize Emily.

The sound surrounding them doesn’t falter, doesn’t waver. Each casualty brings two more in their wake, and Eddie works quickly to check critical vitals, tag, and move onto the next.

It’s surreal, accidents like these, bringing out the worst or the best in people, leaving them exposed in ways they’ve never been before.

Injuries pull more than blood from the veins of the victims.

“Eddie!” Hen’s voice pulls him from his focus, the walking wounded sorted into categories like packages on a factory conveyor belt, colors identifying whether they’ll be able to go home or be shuffled off to a hospital for a V.I.P. stay.  

He swings around and finds her, waving from beside a car near the bus. There’s something almost comical about the way it’s all aligned, crumpled bus toppled over a little Chevy sedan. The car is bright red and gleaming, fresh from a car wash while the bus leans, dusty and torn over glinting metal.

When Eddie rounds the trunk, it’s clear there’s nothing comical about the way the man trapped inside wails and screams, his pain reverberating against the very same cherry red that Eddie spotted from across the street.

There’s someone else inside with him, blood splattered across his temple, voice scratchy and loud, assertive against Hen’s direction.

He must be the off-duty medic.

“Radial pulse is weak and thready, this guy’s been unconscious for three minutes already. Heartrate is tachycardic, breath sounds are weak, stridor on the left,” Eddie knows the voice in a distant way, one that tugs his memory further back than losing Shannon.

*

“So, what, you’re too good for your old C.O. now that you’re a fancy medic?” Jack says, voice smug and teasing, as he strolls next to Eddie on a base somewhere in the middle of Afghanistan.

Eddie’s lost track of names, places, lengths of time at each. He’s too busy thinking of Shannon and Christopher, back at home, and if he focuses too much on the sand between his boot treads, he’ll get stuck in the desert and lose them for good.

“Second tour, you know. Think I was getting a little fast for you, Abbot,” Eddie teases back, scanning like he always does – for threats or something that looks like one. “Didn’t want you to embarrass yourself trying to keep up.”

“Rich coming from you and those weak ankles,” Jack says, waving at a group of soldiers near the mess tent, digging through for something edible and failing miserably if their bitching has any relation to what they find.

“You tripped me!”

“You fell.”

It’s familiar, the banter between them. Abbot always knew how to keep Eddie focused, keep his head inside the battlefield so he could make it back home. He was trying to do the same, three tours in, not planning to quit any time soon.

“Your joinin’ the next recon?” Jack asks before they finally land near a bench, one that promises warm heat from the sun and a quiet bubble tucked away from the rest of the battalion.

“Me and two others, yeah,” Eddie motions back toward the tent where a small group is preparing ammunition, packing equipment and medical supplies into bags, preparing to leave later tonight.

It’s a small reconnaissance mission, gathering information from a group of spies just beyond the city, Abbot and his team of six and Eddie with his team of three. The medics are always good for talking, trust grows fast and familiar faces earn shared secrets in the shadows of night.

It’s nothing they haven’t been through before. Easy.

*

“Well, well, well,” Abbot says when Eddie slides in beside Hen, opening his kit and reaching for a needle, preparing to start an I.V. “As I live and breathe. If it ain’t Eddie Diaz.”

Eddie smirks, falling into step with Abbot like they were together merely a week ago, but years have passed, time that buried memories in the desert stacks familiarity like bricks between them easily.

“When dispatch mentioned a civilian helping with the crash, I was hoping it would be someone with a little more experience,” Eddie says, leaning over the victim and flashing a pen light over his pupils. “Equal, sluggish.”

“Guessing our guy, Walter, here has a concussion for starters,” Jack says without missing a beat. “Crush injury down here, breathing’s not great, might be looking at internal bleeding.”

“I.V. is in,” Eddie says as he slips the needle into the vein slots the tubing in place. “Pushing saline to start.”

“Let’s get sodium bicarbonate on board and fentanyl, low dose for now,” Jack rattles through commands, the sounds as familiar as the desert to Eddie, sparking memories that already fight so hard to peek through.

Eddie shifts. Re-focuses.

His hands move quickly, muscle memory taking over where logical thought stutters. A mask is placed over Walter’s face, the hiss of fresh oxygen quiet but somehow still so loud in the cab of the sedan.

Jack’s twisting a tourniquet on Walter’s thigh where it’s pinned beneath the dashboard, blood and bone pressing through, purple bruising growing and darkening with each passing second over pale skin.

Clothing is torn, a neck brace is clipped into place, monitors beep wildly relaying everything Jack’s already said.

“I don’t like his breathing,” Jack bites out, hands already reaching for a needle, antiseptic, and gloves. “Prepare for decompression.”

Eddie shakes his head and tightens his fist, digs nails into flesh to sharpen the present moment. Hen’s behind him, watching with bated breath, unsure who Abbot is but trusting enough of Eddie to know he knows what he’s talking about.

*

The rumble of the Humvee rattles Eddie’s joints, reverberating up his ankles and into his knees.

Soldiers line the rows like sardines, shades of brown and green pooling in their uniforms and connecting them – it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends, the camouflage doing its damndest to paint them into the desert.

Everything’s going as expected, and by the time they pull into the back lot of a small building, Eddie wonders if it was even worth all nine of them going. Carting off to gather intel from a man and his buddy about a friend-of-a-friend that might know where infantrymen are hiding in wait.   

Abbot winks at Eddie when he glances up, grins and hops out before the truck even comes to a stop, and before Eddie and his men have a chance to follow, the truck rocks, an explosion slams against the canvas, loud and all-consuming.

*

“I don’t know about this,” Buck shouts from above where he’s harnessed in, strapping rope and tying knots from above while Ravi shifts cribbing beneath the vehicles from below. “As soon as we move this, this guy’s at risk for being crushed again – there are too many unknowns.”

Chim works from across the scene with the captain from the 126, adding muscle and equipment at all ends of the fractured city bus while extra hands help triage the injured.

Eddie hears the telltale rush of trapped air, fleeing from inside Walter’s chest cavity where he’s tapped between ribs with a needle. Jack’s still monitoring the leg, pressing fingers to flesh where joints are shattered more than the windows of the cars around them.  

The sounds of Harry and Ravi grunting, guiding the other team into place, adjusting and trying again without success – it echoes around Eddie and Jack, the world outside the car at odds with the world inside it.

Walter’s stilted breathing and rattling whines sing a symphony of pain – one he’s wholly unaware of – while they focus on getting him stable and getting him free.

“If we can’t move in the next two minutes, he’s as good as dead,” Abbot says, always blunt but never claiming false hope.

“It’s not gonna happen in two,” Buck shouts from above, shifting again and ordering the others to pull with everything they have. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Civilians gather at the edges of the chaos, gawking in shared pain, empathy, or something much worse, and when the bus doesn’t move an inch, a pool of dread settles deep in Eddie’s gut.

*

Eddie shakes his head, loosening the grip of pain that’s crushing his skull and threatening consciousness as dark spots shimmer in his vision.

The side of the Humvee is tattered and set aflame, orange and red curls against the brown, rapidly climbing into the back of the truck where thick smoke has settled. His comrades litter the floor, shaking themselves loose from the same grip of fallout Eddie’s doing his best to escape from.

He glances up and sees Norwhal crouched before him, lips moving but Eddie can’t make out the words. The world sits behind a shrill hum, silence ebbing on the tail end of the throbbing in his head.

Eddie makes sure he can move his arms and legs, that he’s not losing blood anywhere important, before offering a shaky thumbs up. His squad hops out of the Hummer and Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest.

An I.E.D. An explosion. Bodies littering the sand, camouflage that brought them together now offering stark and painful differences between them.

Blood pools beneath three of the soldiers, eyes fixed ahead. Still, unmoving.

Something sharp hits Eddie square in the ribs and sound starts to settle back into place. With it comes a scream so powerful and painful, Eddie’s sure he’ll never forget the sound of it.

Head on a swivel, he turns around and sees him – Abbot, arms outstretched, grappling at what remains of his leg, pieces of rubber and canvas sprawled next to splintered limb in something resembling a boot.

The cries that spill from his mouth are endless, so powerful they drown out the shouts from civilians nearby. Eddie rushes over and kneels, presses his jacket to Abbot’s leg, doing everything he can to stop the bleeding.

The worst type of training spins through his bloodstream – battle injury field medicine ingrained in him like his D.N.A. is in Christopher.

He tears his belt free and tightens it around Abbot’s thigh, shouts that everything’s going to be okay, that Jack is alright, that Eddie can help.

It’s a lie – at least, he thinks it is – his own brain working overtime to push adrenaline into something useful. Norwhal and Murphy help the others, if there are any, but Eddie’s brain can’t track exactly where or how. He’s focused, laser sharp tunnel vision on Abbot and Abbot alone.

Stop the bleeding. Monitor vitals. Remove the dead tissue – the leg.

It happens so fast, Eddie thinks a blink would make him miss it, all the while crawling through time at an impossibly slow crawl.

Torture in equal measure.

*

“We gotta cut him loose or we lose him, Diaz” Abbot says with certainty, voice sharp, jaw set. “You’re the lead and I’m just supporting cast.”

Eddie grins something weak and sickly, memories of the past colliding with the harrowing present.

“Hold on,” Chim says from behind Eddie, stepping closer. “Who is this guy? You can’t make that call.”

“I’m a physician – Jack Abbot – and Eddie Diaz, here, has experience with field injuries like this.” Abbot says, leaning over Walter to get a better view of Chim. It’d be shocking, to most, the sight of him so casually tipped over a bloody man pinned under his steering column, but it’s just another Tuesday to them.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you–”

“We can sit here and chit chat and waste time while this guy bleeds to death, or you can let your guy get him free and save his life,” Jack says. “Your call, Captain.”

They’ve been here before, is the thing. Just like this, trapped in the rushing water of a subway car. Chim’s dealt with it all the same, knows what it’s like to be stuck without the option of something better.

It’s not something any of them want to be comfortable with but it’s a call they’ve made all the same.

Chim looks at Eddie pointedly, brows raised. “You got this?”

Eddie nods once, throat sticky with relief and something else. At least if it’s him, it’ll be his fault if something goes wrong.

He’s used to failure, wears it like a  badge of honor.

“I got it, Cap.”

“Atta boy,” Jack smirks, leaning back and shifting into a better position.

Harry, Buck, and Ravi work to get supplies, Hen brings all of the pain medication they have on board and everything the 126 has remaining.

Jack works quickly to get another I.V. started, clips the E.K.G. to Walter’s chest and abdomen, raises the oxygen and calls for blood products if they can get them.

When he leans over Walter to start the effort of freeing him, sacrificing his leg in the process, Eddie has to remind himself over and over that Jack is here – that he’s okay, that he made it through.

It takes time but really takes no time at all before Walter is free, Hen and Eddie carting him to the ambulance and passing him to the 126, ready and waiting to get him to the hospital. His heart rate is stable, he’s breathing steadily, and the blood loss has stalled, but Eddie knows he’s nowhere close to fine.

Jack’s stumbling out of the car when Eddie turns around and he reaches for him as he stretches out his back. The blood across his temple has dried, bruises are slowly starting to bloom across his skin.

But he’s alive. He’s safe. He’s here.

“Come on,” Eddie says, gesturing toward the 118 ambulance. “Let me check you out.”

“Take me to dinner first, jeez,” Abbot says with a smile as he follows Eddie.

*

Eddie loses time as his body works faster than his brain, making sure Jack is breathing, stable, alive.

It doesn’t take long before they retreat, the threat of another attack looming just outside of their periphery. The Humvee still operates, carries the remaining members of the team and the bodies of those that didn’t survive back to camp, where a helicopter’s waiting to evacuate and bring them to a field hospital.

Jack looks so frail, so pale, the spark of sharp dry humor lost behind the cries of pain he lost to the desert.

When they get to the field hospital, Eddie and his team keep moving, are carted back to their own platoon where a sergeant and commanding officer shuffle them through a series of questions. Eddie’s forced to tell the details he remembers more than once, the words tumbling free with the threat of tears just beyond the memories.

After that, he locks the memory deep in the recesses of his mind, another war story for his grave, another notch on a post of nightmares that keep him awake every day of the week.

He doesn’t even know if Jack survived.

*

“I thought you were out in Pittsburgh,” Eddie says as he wraps a blood pressure cuff around Jack’s arm, counts the beats of his pulse under his fingertips. “Why are you in L.A?”

“Conference,” Jack shrugs. “I was supposed to be a keynote speaker at this thing – guess I should call and tell them I’m not gonna make it.”

Eddie laughs, sure and easy, and it feels like it did before everything went sideways.

“Dr. Abbot,” Hen says as she slides in beside Eddie. “Thank you for your help.”

“Jack, please,” he smiles.

Always a flirt, Eddie thinks as a smirk crawls up his cheeks.

“Happy to help. Plus,” Jack gestures to Eddie as he flashes the penlight across Jack’s pupils. Equal, reactive. No head injury – though Eddie doubts they would’ve made it this far without him noticing if he did. “I have first-hand experience with Diaz doing field amputations.”

He lifts his pant leg and shows Hen his prosthetic, and she hums and nods knowingly.

“Wish I didn’t,” Eddie mumbles and Jack reaches out, squeezing his shoulder.

“Saved my life,” Jack says easily, and the words settle something that’s been loose in Eddie since that day.

He’d had to evacuate so quickly after the injury, didn’t get a chance to reconnect for years, and by then neither of them wanted to talk about the tragedy that brought their time alongside one another oversees to an end.

When Eddie looks up, Jack looks at him knowingly, eyes soft and kind, pain and sorrow rooted in his gaze but laced with something gentle.

“I think I could use a drink after this whole ordeal,” Jack says, smile widening as he gives Eddie’s shoulder another squeeze and glances around to the rest of the 118. “On me.”

“We have an hour left,” Eddie says. “And you’re not drinking tonight, Jack. You were just in a bus crash.”

Jack scoffs and dismisses the words with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine, you checked me out yourself. I can have tonic water with lime. C’mon, Diaz, live a little.”

“I’m in,” Buck raises his hand from the back of the pack, smile disarmingly eager. Jack points at him and mirrors the smile, and really, after that, who is Eddie to say no? They part ways and agree to keep in touch.

Eddie tucks his gear into the back of the ambulance and wanders toward the passenger seat, the connection one he thought he’d lost and is happy to find once again.

Still, there’s a flicker of darkness deep inside him, threatening to grow. He closes his eyes and turns his face toward the sun, the warmth on his skin, the light pressing against his lids, pushing that darkness away again.

He’s tired now, and part of him wants to ditch out on the plans, go home and crawl into bed until the morning, but that’s a slippery slope and he knows it. He needs to go out, to be with people, to share some laughs with friends, eat terrible food, and feel alive.

It’s all worth it, to help a friend in need, to save someone who needed saving.

It's who he is and who he always wanted to be.

leave me kudos if you like!

4. Tommy casually brings them to a motel, pays with his card and uses his California license as ID. Eddie waits in the rental car and meets him in the room. Inside, they turn on ESPN and make it through five minutes of baseball highlights before Tommy's on top of him and kissing him. It's different than kissing Shannon, which Eddie feels a deep stab of guilt over, because Tommy's in charge and uses a lot of tongue but it's fucking hot. It makes Eddie want to grind against him, but Tommy pins him. "You ever do this before?" Tommy asks, and Eddie shakes his head. Doesn't matter what he's asking about, the answer is probably no. "I'll be careful," Tommy says. Not gentle, but careful. But he lets go of Eddie's wrists and asks him if he wants this, and Eddie nods and pulls him down for another kiss. Tommy guides him through a blowjob, and it's gotta be the worst he's ever had, but he's being nice about it and directing him and praising him, and Eddie's shaking by the time Tommy cums on his own stomach. Then Tommy rolls him onto his back and gives him the best blowjob of his life. After, they shower separately and get dressed. Eddie goes outside and across the street to the liquor store to buy some chips, Tommy rolls up outside with the car, and they go back to base. The whole time, Eddie's trying not to get hard again.

5. The night before Tommy leaves, he takes them to the motel again and rides Eddie. He's got a hand pinned to Eddie's chest, he's telling him when to move or when not to move, and Eddie breathes out a "Yes, sir" once and it's all over from there. He's under Tommy, whining and pleading and being a good soldier and following everything Tommy says even if it feels like torture. But the good kind. The kind that makes his mouth water when he thinks about it after, that gets him so hard it hurts and he has to jerk off in the bathroom with his knuckles between his teeth until they bleed. And then Eddie goes to Iraq.

6. Eddie joins the fire academy, and there's a guy barking orders on the tower drill who gives Eddie deja vu. He's built, blue eyed, and a vibe that he knows his shit and that's why he's in charge. When Eddie catches him laughing at some dumb mistake one of the other cadets makes, it's disarming. But it's not Tommy. This guy is named Sal Deluca, he's helping out at the academy as a favor or because he lost a bet, it changes with every barked complaint. By the time they're done, Eddie wants to lay down and die, but he stumbles toward Sal and thanks him. "Kid, you must be a fuckin' masochist," Sal says, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. "Maybe a little," Eddie concedes, and Sal's expression freezes for a moment and then he gives some bullshit excuse and leaves. He's in charge the rest of the week. On the last day, Eddie idles outside the instructor's office that Sal's using. "I can hear your squeaky little boots, whoever that is," Sal says loud enough that Eddie can hear him through the door. He comes in, and Sal pushes back from the desk and looks at him a long moment, his knees spread. "Well, well, well," Sal says, his voice almost soft. "What are we going to do with you, Diaz?"

7. Eddie and Sal crash through Sal's front door like they're trying to break in, and while Sal closes it, Eddie starts stripping. "Whoa, hold on," Sal says, and Eddie freezes. "I like unwrapping my presents, sweetheart." And Eddie gets undressed by Sal, he's naked and Sal is dressed, and he gets on his knees. He'd had a weird thing with popsicles after Tommy, had shaken most of his gag reflex that way. When Sal sinks into his mouth and calls him a good boy, Eddie pulls off and looks up at him and says, "Thank you, sir." He gets pulled to his feet and kissed and then hustled down a short hallway to a bedroom, and he tells Sal he took an extra long shower after training, and Sal has him ass up on the bed immediately. Eddie isn't allowed to touch himself while Sal eats him out or when he fingers him open or when he fucks into him. "You just need cock, baby, you don't need anything else," Sal coos in his ear, running surprisingly gentle hands over him. Eddie barely needs to get touched at all before he's cumming on Sal's blanket.

8. Eddie has to rush to go pick up Christopher, but he gives Sal his number. They meet up again a few days later when his son is with his cousins, and Eddie begs to fuck Sal. He has to move at Sal's direction, and Eddie remembers doing the same with Tommy, only Tommy had been on top. Sal is laying on his back with his legs pulled back and gently urging him on. After, Eddie's getting water and wanders through the front room a little on his way to the bedroom. He sees a picture of Sal in a group of firefighters, and he's got his arm around one guy's shoulder. Eddie drops the glass, and it hits the carpet with a soft thump. "Tommy?" he says.

9. Sal tells Tommy to come over, and Tommy walks in and sees Eddie and does a comical double take. "Holy shit," he says. "You're--" "Yep," Eddie says. "--alive," Tommy finishes. "Thanks to you," Eddie says, shrugging. Tommy's eyes flick to the ugly scar on his shoulder. "Bail out, get behind better cover, make sure the rotors are off even if you think it's dead." And Tommy shakes his head, and Eddie hugs him. He has to, especially after all that. "What are you doing here?" Tommy asks. "In LA? I'm here for my kid," Eddie says. "And I'm at the fire academy. Sounded like a good gig." "You're the hot cadet?" Tommy asks, looking at Sal. "How was I supposed to know this was soldier boy?" Sal asks defensively. Apparently Eddie had come up as one of Tommy's just before coming out hookup stories. And Tommy and Sal kind of have a thing, but it's not exclusive yet. "Sorry," Eddie says. "Don't be," Tommy says, looking at him thoughtfully.

10. Eddie joins the 118 off the back of Sal leaving. Everyone's nice. They ask about him, and he talks about his son mostly. Tommy pretends he doesn't know him, like he and Sal don't regularly put him between them and boss him around. He pins Eddie against the wall in the laundry room and they make out after one of Eddie's first calls, and Bobby walks in on them with a bundle of uniform shirts. They get pulled into his office, and he's pissed at both of them for not disclosing this. There's HR forms. They both ask for a second set, because Sal's going to be promoted sooner rather than later, and it's going to make shit complicated when Eddie's dating a captain. Bobby looks at all four forms with quiet astonishment. "Sorry," Eddie says. "Go clean the kitchen," Bobby says, pinching his nose. When Tommy transfers, Eddie kisses his frosting covered mouth. "Oh shit," Chimney says faintly. "Did anyone know about this?" "Nope," Hen says. They drag them out to a badge and ladder bar after, and they look surprised when Sal joins them. He sits down and kisses both Tommy and Eddie hello, and Hen promptly orders shots.

11. When Sal gets promoted, Eddie steals his new turnout coat and puts it on with a jock. "Congratulations, sir," he says, trailing his fingers over Sal's chest. He's still wearing both while he gets stuffed at both ends, Sal's fingers twisting in the hem of the coat where his name is. "Eyes up, soldier," Tommy murmurs, and Eddie looks up at him though his lashes while he sucks his cock. "What do you say when you get your holes filled?" Eddie pulls off with a wet gasp and looks up at him. "Thank you, sirs," he says. "Thank you for filling my holes." Sal pulls him up and spears him back on his cock, a hand curling around his neck while Tommy presses a hand to his sternum to keep him up. "And what do you say when you want more?" Sal asks. "Please, sirs," he whines, feeling like he's got hot static running under his skin. They flip him over on his back, his head hanging off the bed, and Tommy fucks his mouth until he's pressing his pelvis against Eddie's mouth. Sal's still fucking him, calling him good and strong for taking it so well. When Eddie cums, he's sobbing and clutching at them.

———

He woke up an hour later to his phone’s alarm, but his deep sleep brain was all in a panic about it. Like he was waking up to the tones in the firehouse.

He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Remind himself he wasn’t at work.

Day off.

And somehow, he was getting to spend it with Tommy.

Kind of made him wonder if he was still asleep.

But the ache in his body let him know that sleeping in his car hadn’t been a dream - so this all must be real.

He made some toast and coffee, like he was starting his day over. Really, it was just to get some food on his stomach so he wouldn’t make himself nauseous by popping a few ibuprofen.

He hopped in the shower and took his time letting the steamy hot water soothe his lungs as he took deep breaths and tried to tell himself that he’d earned this new shot with Tommy.

He’d done the fucking work.

Tommy had seen that.

He didn’t have to torture himself over the kinda guy he’d been nearly a decade ago.

His thoughts filled with *fresh starts* as the water ran over his body.

And he couldn’t resist allowing his fingers to trace over himself as well.

*Tommy..* he thought, as his mind raced back to the good times between them. The things that kept getting forgotten with the way that the memories of the bad times seemed to drape their entire relationship, suffocating everything precious that they’d shared.

He wrapped his hand around himself and leaned against the cool tile of the shower as he stroked himself with a slow, tight grip.

He remembered the way that Tommy had smelled. The weight of him. How patient he was with Sal, who hadn’t known jack shit about anything resembling good sex before he let Tommy show him.

It had been new, and terrifying, and.. safe.

And he’d missed him so fucking much.

—

Sal stepped out of the shower with his tear ducts and balls emptied.

He thought entirely too much about what to wear.

He wanted Tommy to be impressed. He also wanted Tommy to see the real him.

*The real you is impressive,* Sal reminded himself.

Sal sighed, and settled for a nice fitting pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He did shave. And maybe he wouldn’t normally wear any kind of fragrance to pick up a car from a dive bar parking lot, or for a casual lunch.

But he wasn’t going to kid himself that this was anything casual for him.

He looked down at his phone and exhaled slowly.

He texted Tommy: **Ready when you are**

And god, if that hadn’t been the truth for what felt like the longest time..

(to be continued..)