leashy

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."

She took a deep breath and opened the door. “I’m fine. Stay there.”

She winced as her feet hit the pavement; her ankles were swollen. Everything about the pregnancy seemed harder this time around. Maybe it was just being five years older, maybe it was already having one kid while gestating another, maybe it was listening to her husband die, maybe it was the entire fucking world.

Buck didn’t stay there, coming down the walk in his sock feet and wincing with every step. “I can grab Jee.” He peered into the back seat. “Uh, Maddie, I don’t want to alarm you, but where is your daughter?”

“The Lees took her.” She kept moving past him. Momentum was key. “They wanted to give Howie and I some time to visit. They’ll drop her off later.” They originally offered to keep Jee overnight, but with Howie in the hospital, Jee was scared and a night away from home would just result in a meltdown.

“Oh, th-that’s good she’s getting some grandparent time,” Buck said, visibly drooping before rallying. He followed her inside, shutting and locking the door and neatly putting away the shoes she kicked off. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “Thirsty. Vaguely nauseous.”

No sooner was the word out of her mouth than Buck was bustling around the kitchen. She had just gingerly lowered herself into her chair than Buck sat a cup of ginger ale in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, taking a careful sip. Her teeth were sensitive to the cold and at some point when everything had settled down, she needed to make a dentist appointment.

“No problem,” Buck said, and returned to bustling. Buck and their parents had been locked in trench warfare for all of Buck’s teenage years over him doing chores, and they’d probably have twin heart attacks at seeing Buck willingly and enthusiastically loading the dishwasher without a forty-five minute screaming match. “So I did a couple loads of laundry and did a quick wipe down of the bathroom and kitchen, and if you give me like five minutes I’ll grab the vacuum. There’s a bunch of casseroles from the meal train, but I went shopping. You got bread, milk, butter, and plenty of dino nuggets for Jee.”

The urge to put her head on the table was overwhelming. Buck was just trying to be helpful, she reminded herself as the waves of words threatened to drag her under. This was how he loved.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I’ve got an update.”

Buck went very still and very focused, like a pointer dog who spotted a duck. “Is Chim getting discharged?”

“They want to keep him for a few more days, but then he can home.”

Buck nodded, absently patting at his pocket for his phone. He’d been taking notes on everyone’s recovery: Howie, Hen, Bobby. His poor notes app must be on the verge of committing suicide. “I thought they were talking about sending him to a-a skilled nursing facility?”

“He’s doing better so they said he can come straight home.” His half of the antiviral had eradicated the virus, but the damage had already been done. Howie would live, but no one knew what recovery looked like. No one knew if he would return to duty. No one knew if he would need to be on oxygen for the rest of his life.

“Okay, that’s good.” Buck’s head was down as he typed a new note into his phone. “I’ve been thinking about that. Chim coming home, I mean.”

“The Lees are going to stay with us,” Maddie said, ripping that band-aid off. “They’ll be able to take Jee to preschool and Howie to all his appointments. They’ll be here to help when the baby comes.”

“Oh,” Buck said, looking like his heart was breaking. “Right. They’re great. The Lees, I mean.

A scream rose, and Maddie clenched her teeth against it. Her husband almost died, the doctors couldn’t tell her what his health outcome would be, her daughter almost lost both her parents within months of each other, and she still had to worry about hurting her brother’s feelings. And the worst part was that the only reason Howie was alive was because of her brother and her brother’s ex. It was so fucking unfair.

“Hey,” she said, forcing herself to be gentle as she caught Buck’s wrist and urged him to sit. “You need to take care of yourself, too. Are you taking the leave they offered?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I’m on it now.” Buck mustered up a brave smile. “You know I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“I know,” she said, and buried the unkind thought of throwing him at the Wilsons for awhile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, and squeezed her fingers.

She took her hand back and drank the ginger ale. Buck turned his phone over in his hands, the corners of his mouth tight and miserable.

“Have you talked to Tommy?” she asked at the risk of ending up with another dozen loafs in her freezer.

Buck’s head jerked up. “You want me to call him now?”

A flash of irritation that she ruthlessly smothered. “I never not wanted you to call him.” A half-lie at most. “Can you let him know I’m grateful for what he did to help us? I’d do it myself, but I don’t have his number.”

“Y-yeah, of course. I’ll do it now.” He gave his phone a sad waggle.

“Maybe not right now.” She levered herself up. “I’m going to sneak in a nap before the Lees get here.”

It took a moment, but then Buck was popping up. “I’ll let you do that. There’s so many options for dinner.” He waved his hand at the fridge. Just the thought of opening it and sorting through the casseroles made her want to lay down and die. Anne and John could handle that. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” she said, and shuffled towards the bedroom.

She waited until she head the door close and lock before she laid down and gave herself permission to rest, just for a little bit, until whatever came next arrived.

2. Hen was, depressingly enough, familiar enough with recovering from a severe injury to know that the irritation and frustration from being forced to rest were signs that her body was healing and that she was on the mend. But if she had to spend one more day in bed or on the couch, she was going to set something on fire just to have the excuse to get out of the house.

“At least wait until the kids are out of house before beginning your budding arson career,” Karen said without pity. “How do you feel about setting up camp in the backyard?”

Hen felt better about it than the couch, and so she settled on the lounge chair Denny had spent the last ten minutes making sure it got the perfect sun to shade ratio and drank the lemonade Karen brought her and listened to the kids mostly friendly bickering as they constructed cardboard cars from a kit that were supposedly powered by the Nintendo Switch remotes. It was a good day, and she had long ago learned not to take them for granted.

It was such a good day that she had nearly dozed off when the chime of Karen’s phone dragged her back to consciousness. Karen held it at arm’s length to read the text because she refused to admit she needed reading glasses. “How do you feel about having a visitor?”

“Depends on the visitor,” Hen said. Eddie was in Texas, and Chim and Bobby were still in the hospital. “Depends on if it’s Buck.”

Karen gave her a pointed and disappointed look. “Do you want to try that again, Henrietta?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hen said, two inches tall and annoyed about it. Karen was her wife, not her mother. “You know how he can be.”

The disappointed increased, but even Maddie had admitted that Buck could be exhausting. “I know he wants to help,” Maddie had confessed when she had stopped by with Jee for a playdate, “but I’m so tired.”

“He saved your life,” Karen said quietly, like Hen could ever forget. A small, shameful part of her said, We got lucky. How much worse would he be if Bobby had died?

“A short visit,” she said.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. Karen went to let him in and then ten minutes after that—long enough for them to catch up and for Karen to give him the time limit—Buck was bounding into the backyard, waving at the kids and making the appropriate noises over their little cardboard cars. His hair was brushed and his shirt tucked in, and yet Buck looked like a man in the moment right before realizing his legs had been cut out from under him.

“I’m not staying long,” he said with a bright, false cheerfulness. “I’m just dropping off your portion of the meal train. You and Karen won’t have to cook for weeks. And this is for you.” With an exhausted flourish, he produced a tupperware container.

Hen swallowed her reflexive, unhelpful impulse—aren’t you over Tommy yet?­—and warily cracked the lid. “Oh,” she said, pleasantly surprised at the blondies. “My favorite.”

“You know I can make actual brownies that taste good, right?” he said, dancing away from the swat she aimed his way. “There’s also a bunch of muffin tops for the kids and I made a batch of those peanut butter cookies with the chocolate stars in them for Karen.”

In those first six months post breakup, Buck baked indiscriminately—loaves and cookies, brownies and tarts, pies with intricate lattice work and delicate puffs of meringue, rolls with molten cheese centers and cakes with frosting so precise and exact it was like something out of a TikTok—and they didn’t have a choice on what he pushed on them until Chim declared an embargo that even Bobby had endorsed. But this wasn’t Buck baking to avoid his feelings. Buck had spent time and money making her family’s favorite pastries because Hen had almost died and he loved her. Maybe Karen had a point.

“Sit down,” she said, overwhelmed with fondness for the probie she watched grow up. “It’s been a minute since we talked.”

“Well, it’s not like I get invited to brunch,” Buck said, shockingly snide as he folded down into Karen’t abandoned chair. “Sorry,” he added to her raised eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” She went to lay a hand on his arm.

He shifted away. “I’m good. Hey, did you hear we’re getting an interim captain? Not Gerrard, thank god. I think they finally took the hint there.”

That explained the snideness. Buck loved the 118 too much to just let anyone into the captain’s chair, although he might not have a choice, given the long, slow recovery before Bobby.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Samuels. He used to captain the 93 back in the day,” Buck the infant said.

“I thought he retired.”

Buck shrugged. “Apparently not.”

“He’s a good captain, from what I hear. You’ll like him.” She broke a blondie in two and offered Buck half.

“I made those for you.” He waited until she took a bite before saying, “Are you going to take it when they offer it to you?”

The little shit timed it specifically so she couldn’t brush the question off. She had to sit with it as she chewed and swallowed and washed it all down with a sip of lemonade. He really wasn’t a probie anymore.

“If they offer it,” she said.

“Hen. Come on.”

She sighed and watched as Denny and Mara lined up their little cars for the race. This was the most time she spent with them in months. How much more of their lives would she miss if she was captain? How much more neglect could her marriage take before it collapsed, hollowed out? How much more could she bear?

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Bobby wants it for you. He’s been mentoring you.” Where she expected frustration or anger, there was only a quiet disappointment, like Buck has already worked out the answer before even asking the question.

“The last time I was acting captain,” she said with a forced calm, “I lost my daughter.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, even though he didn’t, he couldn’t.

What did Buck know about watching your child being taken away and knowing it was your fault because you let another mother’s son die? What the fuck did he know about her life?

“I’m getting tired,” she said, and perhaps for the first time in his life Buck took the hint.

“I gotta get going,” he said, standing with a wince, which meant he wasn’t stretching out his bad leg. “You’d be a good captain, Hen.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then, “Have you talked to Tommy?”

Buck startled. Yeah, turnabout was a bitch, wasn’t it?

“I texted him,” he said, not looking at her. “I haven’t heard back. Have, uh, have you talked to him?”

“I also texted and I also haven’t heard back,” she said. The disappointed droop of Buck’s shoulders made her stomach curdle with guilt. “He’s never been great about replying.”

“He was always good about getting back to me.” Buck shook himself and summoned up another terrible, cheerful smile. He waved to the kids and then slipped away.

In the yard, Denny let Mara win, and he smiled as she jumped and whooped. She loved her job but she loved her kids more.

“Everything okay?” Karen asked, slipping into the seat next to her.

“Yeah,” Hen said, snagging her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “everything is great.”

3. When he wasn’t sleeping, Bobby was working his way through the puzzle books Athena and the kids had dropped off. He missed doing the daily Connections—he couldn’t look at a screen without his brain trying to crawl out his nose—but he was becoming an expert at Sudoko. He only bothered with the very hard puzzles now.

The door opened. It wasn’t time for his medications or for the nurses routine check in, less frequent now that the doctors assured him his internal organs weren’t in danger of liquefying, Athena was out at lunch with the kids, Hen was home recovering, and Chimney had only just been discharged. That left only one person.

“Buck,” he said, filling in a seven with a great sense of accomplishment. “I just saw you yesterday. What brings you by?”

Buck sheepishly held up a couple of cooler bags. “More of the meal train. I thought Athena and the kids might like it. Well, mostly Harry.”

“His does eat like he’s got hollow legs.” Bobby set the puzzle book aside. Buck looked the same as he had for the past week: exhausted but forcing himself to be cheerful. “When is the last time you slept?”

“Where’s Athena?” Buck avoided the question by setting the bags out of the way and folding himself into the uncomfortable chair with a wince.

And Bobby was hit with a sense memory of the doing the same when it was Buck in the hospital, his back stiff and aching from being curled over for hours as he prayed the rosary. Even no he could still feel the bump of them over his knuckles.

“Bobby?” Buck said.

“Sorry, I was wool gathering.” He gave Buck a reassuring smile that didn’t reassure enough as he hoped. “Athena is out with the kids right now, but she’ll be back.” The only person more difficult than Buck to chase home to sleep was Athena. He despaired of both their backs. “How’s it going, kid?”

“It’s good,” Buck said, summoning a smile that doesn’t do much beyond twisting his mouth up. Brooke had been the same way, smiling when she felt the worst so she wouldn’t worry them. “Eddie got offered a paramedic job. He’s going to take it. Chris really likes being back in Texas.”

“That’s good for both of them,” Bobby said, watching Buck closely. “Chim is back home.”

“The Lees are helping out. Jee is getting excited about having a baby brother again.” Buck wouldn’t look at him. “I saw Hen the other day. She’s doing well. I told her about Samuels.”

Ah, there it was, the true reason for Buck’s visit, the very thing he had and Athena had talked to death. Well, no time like the present. Time to rip off the band-aid and break Buck’s heart.

“Chief Simpson asked me for some recommendations,” Bobby said, shifting with a wince. Immediately Buck was there to rearrange the pillows. “Samuels is only temporary, but he’s a good man and will take care of you all until the position can be filled permanently.”

“So you’re not coming back,” Buck said dully.

“Too much damage this time,” he said gently. “I might stay on in a more administrative role, but I can’t be in the field again. It won’t be safe, not for me or for team.”

“I don’t know if Hen still wants to be captain,” Buck said, gaze fixed on some far away point. “Not after what happened with Mara.” He paused. “I don’t want Gerrard coming back.”

“He’s not. I won’t let that happen.” Bobby hesitated. “Tommy worked with Gerrard for years.”

That got Buck looking at him, if only to frown in confusion. “Uh, yeah, I know.”

“I never asked if that caused problems between you two,” he said, choosing his words with delicate care. “You never said why you broke up.”

“It wasn’t that.” Buck frowned harder. “Or not just that. We didn’t really talk about important stuff. Or any stuff.”

Looked like he got it wrong; this kid was breaking Bobby’s heart. “You can change that. Give him a call.”

Buck’s mouth twisted into a miserable knot. “I have been calling him and texting him but he won’t—” he broke off with an even more miserable sniff. “He hasn’t even left me on read. I think I used up my last chance with this one, Bobby.”

When they wheeled him out of the lab, oxygen mask over his face and fluids and plasma on standby, Tommy had been at Buck’s side, feet planted deep and immovable. If Tommy wasn’t picking up the phone, it was because he physically wasn’t able to.

“You should go check on him,” Bobby said. “He loves you, kid.”

Buck couldn’t even manage a smile for that. “Not anymore, if he ever did.”

Bobby reached out and gripped Buck’s arm. “You’re going to be okay, Buck. We both are. Captain’s orders.”

“Copy that, Cap,” Buck said, and sat with him until Athena returned.

4. Buck didn’t know Sal well enough to guess who he expected at his door on a Tuesday afternoon, but it probably wasn’t him having a nervous breakdown.

“Have you talked to Tommy?” Buck demanded, feeling crazy around the eyes.

“Have I,” Sal said slowly, “spoken with Tommy?”

Buck dug his phone out of his pocket and waved it in Sal’s face. “He hasn’t picked up when I call or answered my texts. He hasn’t even left me on read. Something is wrong.”

“Or, and stay with me on this,” Sal said, unimpressed and obviously losing patience, “he finally smartened up and stopped letting you ruin his life.”

“But when has he ever done the smart thing?” Buck shot back, mouth firmed to keep from miserably wobbling. “And it’s just not me he’s ignoring. He hasn’t texted Chim or Bobby back. He hasn’t responded to Hen. Does that sound like Tommy to you?”

Sal stared him down for a long moment before digging out his phone and scrolling through it. “I talked to him two weeks ago. Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Buck echoed through a mouth gone sour with fear.

“Fuck!” a naked toddler exclaimed with delight right before ramming into Buck’s legs.

“She’s going through a naked phase,” Sal said, expertly scooping up the kid before she could worm past Buck and complete her jailbreak. “You better come in.”

The naked toddler was called Maria, and she wailed dramatically as Sal wrestled her into a shirt with a t-rex on it. “When did you see him last?” Sal asked, ignoring as his daughter went completely limp in a last ditch effort to avoid wearing pants.

“At the lab. He, uh, he texted me and called me after that, but then he just stopped.” The fear curdled into shame. “I, uh, didn’t notice at first. I’ve been busy looking after everyone else.” A terrible smile stretched across his face, and he turned away so he wouldn’t frighten Maria. “Turns out they didn’t need me. Joke’s on me, I guess.”

Sal sighed very quietly. “All right, gremlin, you don’t have to wear socks but the pants and shirt stay on and you have to color quietly while I talk with Buck here. Deal?”

Maria frowned as she seriously considered it, looking so much like a miniature Tommy that Buck had to lock his jaw against an animal scream. “Deal,” she finally said, holding out a tiny hand for Sal to shake.

“Gina is a lawyer,” Sal said, setting Maria up in the living room with a coloring book, an army of plastic dinosaurs, and a literal bucket of crayons. “She loves making deals.”

“Gotta do deal,” Maria agreed, and upended the crayon bucket over her head. “Rain!”

“That’s right, honey, make it rain.” Sal dropped a kiss on the top of her head and then led Buck to the kitchen.

On the fridge, tacked up with a magnet in the shape of a watermelon, was a picture of Maria and Tommy, her tiny face pressed against his, their mouths open in a fearsome growl, hands hooked into tiny claws. Buck collapsed onto a chair. There was one like that of him and Jee on Maddie’s fridge, the two of them pretending to be tigers when Jee was in her big cat phase. Tommy was so loved, even if it wasn’t by him

“Are they t-rexes?” Buck asked.

“She’s obsessed with dinosaurs. If I have to watch one ore documentary about them I am taking a sledgehammer to the fossils at the natural history museum.” Sal leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Tell me what happened at the lab. Leave nothing out.”

Buck did. Sal’s eyebrows were the bitchy twin to Tommy’s, and by the time he got to the end, they were nearly in his hairline.

“Let me get this straight,” Sal said, stare gone hard and unforgiving, “Tommy pulls a stunt that could have gotten him black bagged and sent to Guantanamo, and you didn’t think to reach out to him until your little friends were too busy to play with you anymore?”

Buck winced. “They didn’t need me. I thought Tommy might.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sal scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s a person, Buckley. You know that, right? Tommy is a person and not a doll you can take down from the shelf whenever you’re lonely.”

The shame sat like a stone in his stomach. “That’s fair,” he said quietly.

“You’re right that’s goddamn fair,” Sal snapped. “Do you have any idea what he lets you get away with? You are so careless with him.”

Buck flinched. It’d been almost ten year since he joined the LAFD, and he thought he’d grown up since then. Joke was on him again. He was still the careless twenty-six year old who couldn’t be trusted with anything important. All he did was break things.

“I know,” Buck said, forcing himself to meet Sal’s gaze. “But that doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong. I, uh, I went to bring him some of the meal train. He wasn’t home. His truck was in the driveway.”

Tommy’s truck was his baby, in that he doted on it more than some people did with their actual babies. If he absolutely had to let it sit out on his driveway, he always threw the custom made tarp over it. When the Jeep was up on the lift, Buck had watch Tommy spend ten minutes fussing with the drape over the tarp, worried about the weather, like SoCal was in danger of getting a freak hailstorm. Buck had found the whole thing charming and endearing.

“Oh hell,” Sal said and dug out his phone.

The first call rang through to Tommy’s voicemail, as did the second and then the third. Sal texted something quickly. The phone chimed. Sal’s frown changed from furious to worried.

“He’s not picking up for Gina either,” Sal said. “And he’s ignoring our 911 texts.”

The shame stone crumbled back into fear. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” Buck said.

“Yeah, kid, I think he is.” Sal blew out a long breath. “I gotta make some calls. Go make sure my kid has her clothes on and isn’t making another run for it.”

Buck stood but paused at the kitchen door. “Do you really think I ruined his life?”

Sal didn’t glance up for his phone. “Tommy is fully capable of ruining his own life, but you certainly helped.”

In the living room, Maria glanced up and said, “Wanna color?”

“I’d love to,” Buck said, and took a careful seat next to her.

Over the next hour, Sal made his calls. There were many of them, his voice rising and falling, although he only got loud exactly once.

“You left them in there to fucking die,” Sal snapped to what Buck futilely hoped wasn’t Chief Simpson. “You think the last contract negotiations were bad, wait until we put this to a fucking vote.”

It was quiet after that, and when Sal finally left the kitchen, it was with a solemnity that nearly made Buck snap a crayon in half.

“Hey, gremlin,” Sal said with a gentleness that every parent but his own had. “Can you go play in your room? I gotta talk to Buck.”

“Is Tommy okay?” she asked, shoulders hunching around her ears as she picked up on her dad’s mood.

“Tommy will be,” Sal said. “I’ll come play dinosaur graveyard with you after this. Deal?”

She stuck our her tiny hand for a shake. “Deal.” And then with a wild cackle, she sprinted towards her room. “Deal not with clothes!” Her shirt was the first to go.

“That’s on me,” Sal said. “I didn’t include clothes.”

Buck began cleaning up on reflex: coloring books neatly stacked on the coffee table, crayons back in the bucket, army of dinosaurs back into their own plastic container. It was the same thing he did after Jee was done playing. It was one less thing for Maddie to have to clean. He could do the same for Sal.

“Is Tommy okay?” he asked, digging a stray ankylosaur from under the couch.

Sal waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s just been arrested.”

Black bagged, Buck thought, Guantanamo. His chest went tight. His lungs couldn’t expand. He stopped breathing.

“None of that shit, Buckley.” A hand on the back of his neck forced him head between his knees. “Tommy is fine. And if my wife gets her way, which she always does, he’ll be out before end of business today. So stop hyperventilating. You’re not helping.”

The edges of his vision cleared. He sucked in a lungful of air and then another. Tommy was under arrest but he was going to be okay. Buck would make sure he was. “I’m good,” he croaked, and Sal gentled his grip to help him to sit up. “Why did they only arrest him?”

“Probably because the army doesn’t want it to get out that they left some of LAFD’s bravest to die of super Ebola. Tommy is the easier target, and he embarrassed them by needing three choppers to take him down.”

It took six months, but he gotten pretty good at reading Tommy, but Sal was an unknown. They had only met once and only for about an hour over drinks. Buck had liked Gina more than her husband, and he spent most of that hour talking about the struggle of rolling back old, outdated laws. He didn’t know what it meant when Sal looked at him like that.

“I don’t know what goes in your fucked up little codependent polycule,” Sal said slowly, unblinking, “but Tommy needs you for this. And he won’t ever admit it because his parents fucked up him up good, but he needs you for the rest of it, too. Are you going to be there for him?”

“Yes,” Buck said.

Sal was unimpressed. “There are no half measures here. If you’re in it then you have to be all in and not just there when the rest of your family is too busy for a play date. If you can’t do that then you walk away right now and you stay gone. Tommy doesn’t need more help in ruining his life.”

Everyone he loved had someone—Maddie and Chim, Hen and Karen, even Eddie had his son—and Buck had been scrapping by for years now., useful but not permanent. Careless. But he wasn’t twenty-six anymore; he was capable of care.

“I’m here, for however long he wants me,” Buck said firmly.

Sal nodded, once. “Be at the courthouse in forty-five minutes. You need to give testimony.”

Buck scrambled up. He was unshaven and his shirt was at least one day past needing to be washed. His work duffel was still in the Jeep. There was a clean shirt in there and spare deodorant and even some pomade. It wasn’t great, but it was all he got.

“Go get our boy,” Sal said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Buck went.

5. Tommy had been in worse places than spending a week in county lockup. There was those long weeks he spent in a medical tent in the middle of the Afghan desert, waiting to be med evaced to Germany, infection creeping into the staples holding his guts in. There were the long nights at the 118, all of them exhausted from a five alarm fire where an entire family had died, and Gerrard had called them all weeping pussies for the crime of having a single feeling about it. There had been the morning in Eddie’s kitchen where Evan had confirmed his greatest fear, that he was only good for a fuck and nothing more. So yeah, on the whole, it could have been worse. It could always be worse.

Tommy signed the forms and was given back his personal belongings: wallet, aviator sunglasses, shitty movie receipt because movie theaters no longer gave out tickets, his phone with approximately three hundred missed calls and unanswered texts. Evan’s name was at the top.

He shoved everything into his pockets and stepped out a free man to where Evan Buckley was waiting for him. His eyebrows jumped up.

“Hi,” Evan said, hand raised in an abortive waive. His hair was slicked back like it was when the first started dating, before Tommy had unashamedly begged Evan to free his curls, and he was sporting at least three days worth of stubble. His face was gaunt. He hadn’t been sleeping. He was beautiful. “Sal and Gina are here if you want to—oh!”

Tommy crossed in three strides and grabbed Evan, holding on tight. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Evan said, long arms wrapped around him, hands fisted in the back of Tommy’s shirt. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He tucked his face into Evan’s neck. He shook. “Is everyone okay? Bobby isn’t—”

Evan made a low noise. “They’re fine. Are you okay? You were in jail!”

He laughed to hide the shakes. “County jail. Doesn’t count.” Evan made that noise again. Tommy cupped the back of his head. “I’m okay. I promise. You sprung me.”

“Okay,” Evan said, sniffling even as he drew back. His eyes were wet and red rimmed. “So full disclosure, Sal and Gina did the springing. I just gave some testimony.” He touched Tommy’s cheek, his jaw, his mouth. “They’re giving us a day and then we have to over for dinner.”

“Not until tomorrow, right? We have the rest of the day?” he asked hopefully. His old sergeant said that it was the hope that killed you, but Tommy hoped anyway.

“Yeah, the whole day,” Evan said on a happy sigh. “I’m going to be so careful with you. I’m not going to let us ruin it this time. I promise.”

Tommy kissed the corner of his mouth. “Well, in that case, honey, you should take me home.”

But tensions are obviously going to be high at times because it's stressful having to put Tommy's house up for sale and packing up his things, whether to donate or sell or keep and move to Buck's. They, naturally, get into arguments about who is going to keep what and a lot of Buck's things are newer rather than sentimental and Tommy's are mostly the opposite and there are times where it feels like they are fighting about something else.

Buck has a clipboard and checklists and eventually they make it almost all the way through, room after room, relationship intact. The last room is the bedroom and it should be the easiest of all because Tommy isn't attached to any of the furniture and Buck's dresser and closet are big enough to share.

What trips them up is their sex toys, which really should be a non-issue. They hardly take up any room at all; they could both keep their respective trunks in their shared closet and it'd be no imposition at all. But Tommy's feeling more put out than he realized. Maybe he's still scared and it's manifesting in this silly, final attempt to dig his heels in even if he doesn't quite get why. Maybe that fear will never truly ever dissipate.

Because of this though, Tommy says that if they had to consolidate all the other rooms and belongings, they have to go through their sex toys too.

Buck looks at Tommy like he's grown two heads. "How are we supposed to figure out which ones to keep?"

Tommy gestures towards the clipboard in Buck's hand that he's imagined throwing in the trash at least half a dozen times. "I don't know, you figured it out for the rest of the rooms--"

Buck bites his lip so he doesn't say something he'll regret.

Tommy walks out Buck's bedroom--their bedroom--in a huff.

When Buck emerges two hours later, he presents Tommy with his solution--a spreadsheet he created listing all of their sex toys in one column and then a few more columns with the determining factors, such as cost, ease of use, pleasure of course (with 2 separate columns for both their names each, as giver and receiver if it applies), and probably some others I can't think of right now.

There isn't really a way for them not to biased at all, but to make the results the most reliable and fair, they determine that the answers in regards to level of pleasure, etc need to be new.

They have a kid-free 3-day weekend ahead of them and they go down their list, toy by toy, vigorously testing each one. [this sounds so clinical, but they really have a good time although by the end of it they definitely don't plan on having another sex marathon any time soon or maybe ever]

They think they're getting somewhere until they get to the dildos they cloned of their own dicks which Buck has counted as duplicates (because of type and also because he himself was feeling dickish] and the last Tommy wants is to get rid of Buck's because one of his greatest joys in life is sucking Buck's dick while being fucked with Buck's dildo, but the last last thing he wants is to concede. They stare at each other in a silent stand-off so long Tommy thinks they might have an actual duel with dildos.

Buck breaks first. He flops onto the bed. "This is so stupid."

"You think?"

Buck scowls. "You started it!"

Tommy gives him a look. "You started it, with your clipboard and the crockery."

"Is that what this is about?"

Tommy sits on the bed and sighs. "I don't know what this is about."

"I do."

Tommy raises his eyebrows.

"You're giving up a lot, Tommy. Your house. Your things. I don't want you to think I don't acknowledge that. I think I could have been more understanding though. I'm sorry."

Tommy shrugs. "I'm gaining a lot too." He takes Buck's hand. "I get to come home to you and to Theo. And our two cats."

Buck laughs. "We are not getting cats."

"It was worth a shot."

"Uh huh. Stop deflecting."

"I just want to come home to you. And your 200 thread count sheets."

Buck laughs and bumps their shoulders. "Shut up."

Tommy turns, grips Buck's chin, and kisses him. "So are we in agreement that we're keeping all the toys?

"Yes."

It's then that the doorbell rings.

Tommy frowns. "Are you expecting someone or something?"

"Uhh--"

Tommy gets up and goes to answer the door. The UPS driver is already pulling away. Tommy picks up the box from the porch--a box that is suspiciously discreet.

Buck walks out, smiling and blushing.

"Are you serious?"

"What? When I was looking up the costs of the toys, I found some things I thought we'd like."

"Some things? This box is big enough to hold a microwave."

Buck checks his watch and grins. "We've still 24 more hours to ourselves. Should I make another spreadsheet, baby?"

Tommy's only a little ashamed at how fast that question gets him hard.