leashy

3. They're playing pool at a badge and ladder bar, and Sal's losing. "How'd you get so good at this?" Sal asks, smirking. "We had a pool table at the base," Tommy says. "And it's just math. Pilots are good at math." Sal hums and watches him sink another ball. Tommy misses the next shot because Sal is stretching out a kink in his shoulder and makes an obscene noise when something audibly cracks. "Fuck, never get old," Sal groans. "I'd planned on trying," Tommy says dryly, and Sal smiles. "Here's hoping I look half as good as you do in my old age." It's the closest he's come to a compliment, even if he wrapped it in a dumb joke, and he feels like he's gotten away with something when Sal laughs and slaps his back.

4. Gerrard hears Tommy say he doesn't have a girlfriend, says something homophobic, and Sal gets up from the table and goes downstairs, pulling his phone out. Tommy slinks away a moment later and follows. "I don't give a fuck about procedure, get him the fuck out of here or I'm calling the goddamn union, the press, and my shady Sicilian cousins," Sal hisses. "I filed three fucking reports in the last--look, you come down here and bug the place so you can hear the shit he's saying. He almost got the new guy killed, and--he's not going to file a report, he's a probie who keeps his head down and doesn't want to make waves. If he sends me or Tommy or anyone else into a situation like that, I want you to remember this conversation at our fucking funerals." And he hangs up and looks like he's about to throw his phone when Tommy clears his throat. Sal turns and relaxes when he sees him. "Guess my secret's out," he says with a grim smile. "I won't tell," Tommy promises. Then he looks over his shoulder to make sure no one's lurking nearby. "A-and I'll tell them. About the building." Sal's expression softens. "You don't gotta do that," Sal says. "I don't want any of this blowing back on you. I can take it if I need to, it'll just take me another decade to make captain." Tommy nods and shoves his hands in his pocket. "Thanks for looking out for me," he says. He knows Sal's probably just doing it because he's tired of Gerrard's shit, but Tommy hasn't had someone look out for him like this too many times in his life. "Don't worry about it, kid," Sal says, pressing a hand between his shoulder blades and steering him toward the changing area. "Let's see about making some real food."

5. Gerrard is gone, and Sal is made interim captain. Tommy feels like it could become permanent. It should, really. He's a good captain. But things are different between them, and Tommy can feel it. It's like Sal's treating him like a stranger. So he slips into the office when Sal's chained to the computer for paperwork. "What's up?" Sal asks. "Is everything okay?" Tommy asks, sitting in one of the chairs across from Sal. "Like, did I fuck up?" And Sal frowns and leans back in his chair. "No, why would you think you did?" he asks. "Because you've been avoiding me," Tommy points out. Sal freezes and looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment. "I'm not," he insists. "I just...y'know, I can't play favorites." And Tommy smiles and asks, "So I'm your favorite?" It borders on flirtatious, but he's been getting away with that with Sal for months. "Get out of my office, brat," Sal says, his lips twisting in a familiar smile, his eyes twinkling. He looks more like himself. Tommy hunkers down and crosses his arms over his chest until Sal flicks a paperclip at him.

6. It's a risk going to the club he's in, because he could be spotted coming out of it. But LA is a big city, so what are the odds? He's had a beer, he's working on another one, and a guy is next to him and looking at him with open interest. He's young, though, younger than Tommy. That's not what he's looking for. Sal's laugh lines and barely graying hair flashes through his mind, and he finishes the beer and goes out to the dancefloor to see who's around. It's mostly younger guys, because it's a Thursday night. It's always the college students without classes on Fridays that are out. But Tommy gets toward the edge on the other side, close to the wall, and he sees a broad back that catches his eye. Then the guy turns his head, and Tommy's nearly knocked over by a guy trying to get past him when he sees that it's Sal. His first instinct is to run, but if Sal's here, he's got just as much to lose. Unless he's here with a friend or girlfriend or whatever. Tommy could always pretend he was meeting a buddy or that a girl had stood him up for a date or something. He moves past the small group of guys between him and Sal and pressed a couple of fingers between his shoulder blades. Sal turns and his eyes get big, and Tommy leans in to say, "Fancy seeing you here." They talk a little, dancing around why they're there. Except Sal's wearing a tight shirt that's unbuttoned down to his sternum to show off his chest hair, and Tommy had dressed to draw attention, too. The plausible deniability is thin, to say the least. Sal excuses himself to use the bathroom, and Tommy ends up dancing in the crowd. There's an older guy who tucks up against him and dances with him, and Tommy would take him home if he wasn't looking around for Sal now.

7. Sal is at the bar, and Tommy ends up next to him. "You ditched me," he accuses. "No, I'm just not gonna dance with you," Sal says, tapping his fingers on the bar. "I shouldn't even be here with you." "Why not?" Tommy asks. "Because you're my subordinate now, and I can't--there's a line there now," Sal says. "But if there wasn't?" Tommy asks. Sal scrubs a hand over his cheek and scratches his stubble and laughs. "If there wasn't," he says, looking over at Tommy. "I'd have a hard time keeping my hands to myself." And Tommy steps closer, pushed by two guys trying to wedge in to get the bartender's attention. "Kid--" Tommy leans in and kisses him, and Sal lets out a shuddering breath that Tommy can feel as he pulls back a moment later. "Fuck, why'd you have to go and do that?" Sal asks, and Tommy feels a stab of anxiety and he doesn't know what else. But then Sal grabs him and kisses him, and Tommy desperately kisses back. He's hard and moving against Sal, and Sal has a hand on his ass and another up the back of his shirt, and Tommy reaches for his fly. "Not here," Sal says. "But not no?" Tommy checks, and Sal presses his nose to Tommy's cheek and huffs out a laugh. "Fucking no, not no, goddammit, even though I shouldn't be doing this. You're my subordinate, you're so fucking young--" "I just turned twenty-four," Tommy protests, and Sal gives him a pained looked as they move toward the exit.

8. Sal drives, because he never has more than one drink if he's planning on taking someone home. And they're going to his place, thankfully, not Tommy's shitty little shoebox apartment with the five minutes of hot water. He's never been to Sal's. It's a condo near the station, and they're on opposite sides of the elevator while they ride up three floors. Tommy's got his hands behind his back, squished between his body and the wall. And Sal's hands are braced on the rail, and he's looking at Tommy intently. "Shouldn't you be going home with someone your own age?" he asks. "No," Tommy says, letting his head fall back against the wall. "Just you." And Sal closes the distance and kisses him, tugging him through the doors when they open. His condo is down the hall, and he lets them in and they get their shoes off, kicking them aside before they start on their clothes. The military and their job has helped Tommy to get good at undressing fast, even when he's wearing tight jeans. "Fuck, look at this pretty boy I found," Sal teases, backing Tommy up against a wall and hooking a finger in the waistband of his underwear. And Tommy finally gets to run his hands over all the hair on Sal's chest and stomach and sees little strands of silver there, too. "Pretty sure I found you," Tommy points out, his hand covering Sal's cock through his jock. "Daddy." "I ain't even forty yet," Sal protests with a grin, but Tommy feels his cock jump against his hand. They make out against the wall of Sal's hallway until Sal drags him into the bedroom, and Tommy ends up on all fours with his fingers tugging on his own hair while he sobs and whines through Sal fucking him open. After, he falls asleep when he knows he should be getting up and leaving.

9. They try to keep it under wraps at work, but Tommy can tell Sal feels guilty about it. He doesn't. He just feels guilty about how torn Sal is over the whole thing. But then a new captain gets brought in right before Tommy's probationary year is up, and he goes through his ceremony and gets his shield pinned by Sal. He doesn't have anyone else to do it. Just a few weeks later, Howard Han starts at the station. He's wisecracking and cute and hot, and Tommy likes hanging out with him. He's a good buffer to keep Sal and Tommy from getting too close at work, and he's just a fun time. But Sal is angling for a permanent position. The new captain won't last long, Tommy can tell. He's gone in six months, off to be a captain somewhere up in the Bay Area. He debates switching shifts, but then Sal pulls him into the office and brings him around to show him an email. Harbor is looking for pilots. "I'd hate to lose you to another station," Sal says, his chin hooking over Tommy's shoulder. "But you said you wanted to fly again, baby. I will give you a fucking sparkling letter of recommendation, talk to their captains about getting you some time in a chopper to show you off. Anything you want." And Tommy's hands are shaking, imagining holding a cyclic again. Doing that nearly every day he works. "And then I can take you out for real," Sal adds. "I'm not just doing this out of the goodness of my own heart." Tommy turns and kisses him and hugs him and smiles. "Yeah, you are, you fucking meatball," Tommy says. "Thank you."

Tommy opens the other eye, then takes out one of his ear buds.

"Uh, can I help you?"

With a grin that pings as oddly familiar, the boy lifts his hand to proudly show off the massive splint that has consumed his thumb. "I broke it!"

Tommy blinks. "How'd you do that?"

The kid's grin widens until it's practically splitting his face in two. If he were vibrating any harder, Tommy's phone would surely be blaring an earthquake warning.

"I slammed it in a door! Like this: BAM!" To illustrate, the kid lifts his other hand, which is holding some kind of toy, and bashes his palm against it. Then he comically whines and shakes out his hand, hopping from foot to foot. His shoes light up.

"Okay," Tommy says peaceably. "Follow-up question: why'd you do that?"

With a shrug, the boy scratches his nose with the hand holding the toy. "I screamed really loud and-and-and there was blood."

"I bet." Judging by the size of the splint, there was probably a decent amount of wailing too. Arianna, Sal's youngest, once tripped over her own scooter and scraped her knee, and she screeched loud enough to wake the dead. The scrape hadn't even broken the skin. She's definitely got the makings of a theater kid. "Uh, where are your parents?"

"In Heaven with Cap." The boy says it absently, like it's nothing. Probably because all of his attention is on one of those small, white butterflies that seem to be everywhere. It wings by them and goes to inspect some nearby dandelions.

"That sucks. I'm sorry," Tommy murmurs, then scrunches his nose in confusion. "Wait, what's the cap?"

The kid holds up the toy in his hand suddenly. "This is a helicopter! It's mine."

He emphasizes every syllable, even where there shouldn't be any. Hel-i-cop-ter. Muh-ine.

"Your helicopter isn't just any helicopter," Tommy says, taking out his other ear bud and digging out their case from the flipbelt he got in last year's Harbor yankee swap, tucking them in. He sits up a little straighter, then gestures for the kid to hand it over, which the boy does. "That's a Kaman SH-2F Seasprite."

And a pretty accurately designed one, too. Tommy'd ask the kid where he got it, but the answer's probably Santa.

"Whazzat mean?" The kid leans forward, peering at his toy with wide, interested eyes. Seeing it anew.

"These guys were pretty fast." Tommy cuts the Seasprite through the air between them, then swoops it around the kid's head. The boy bursts into giggles and tries to track what is an admittedly insane flightpath. If Tommy were actually flying like this, ATC would think he was having a stroke. "If I remember correctly, they were used for SAR and ASW."

"Whazzat?"

Tommy stifles a laugh. "SAR is search and rescue, and ASW is uh, anti-submarine warfare. So, like, looking for lost people and.... yeah, there's no way to sugarcoat this: blowing up subs."

The kid bounces on his feet. His shoes look like a Berlin electronica festival. "What's a subs?"

"Submarine," Tommy corrects gently. He remembers being that age, learning the lingo, having his world expand a little bit more. Except he learned it all from his Uncle Terry, who fought in Vietnam, had ridiculous PTSD, and ate twelve packs of cigarettes a day. Tommy's hopefully a step or two above that. "It's like a—a submarine is a boat that moves underwater. See this?"

He tilts the helicopter and taps his thumb against one of the Mk 46's hanging off the side. The kid nods, shifting from foot to foot. Blue, red, yellow, purple, green.

"This is a torpedo. I don't think the Seasprites had missiles, but they definitely had these. Now, a torpedo is different from a missile because..."

About 45 minutes later, Tommy's in the middle of the world's worst child-friendly explanation of infrared thermography—pausing every so often so the kid can scream "DOWN SCOPE!" at a decibel only dogs can hear and run around while pretending he's looking through a periscope on a submarine—which he told Tommy wasn't a submarine, but actually some big turtle Pokemon that had guns attached to its back—when a familiar pair of eye-wateringly orange Nikes enters his field of vision. 

He looks up and, yep, there it is: the phantasm that haunts his thoughts whenever he allows himself to be alone with them.

It's been a year since Bobby's funeral, and Tommy's spent that time hoping Evan pissed off another dead cowboy and had been turned into a hideous swamp creature, but the universe seems to have gone in the opposite direction. He's a thousand times more gorgeous than Tommy remembers him being.

"Uh, hey," Tommy says intelligently.

He's definitely making this unexpected reunion more awkward by staring, but sue him. You don't shame someone for admiring a Rembrandt. 

Evan stares back, eyes wide. "W-Were you just teaching a four-year old about modern warfare?"

After doing a quick mental rewind of the last hour and then glancing at the kid in question—who does appear to be that young—Tommy grimaces. "Uh, that... seems to be the case, yeah."

If it were anyone else, they'd probably start screaming at him, maybe throw hands, before calling the cops, because for all intents and purposes, Tommy is a complete and utter stranger who could've been using that toy helicopter to lure this kid into a rickety old van.

But Evan just stares at him for a few moments, then ducks his head and laughs.

"Did it have to be, like, bombing enemy warships?" Evan puts his hands on his hips. "Couldn't you have talked to him about, I don't know, that movie with the dinosaurs on a cross-country trip?"

"You want me to traumatize this kid with The Land Before Time?" Tommy lifts a hand to clutch his invisible pearls. "It's 10:30 in the morning, Evan. Way too early for sad tree stars."

"Corrupting the youth in your off-time, huh?" Evan asks, smiling.

Tommy can't help but tease back, "Just like my father always said I would."

A look of mortified horror washes over Evan's face. "Oh god, Tommy, that's not what I—"

"I'm just messing with you, Evan," he says, although he's really not.

Good ol' Jim Kinard believes in precisely two things: 1) Knob Creek bourbon is mankind's greatest invention, and 2) gay people were created by Russia to destroy the fabric of Western society and usher in a new world order. He said the second thing usually while chin-deep in the first, which was often.

Evan still looks like he's wishing for the ground to open up and suck him into hell, which Tommy can't let stand, and he opens his mouth to redirect the conversation to something that doesn't make him want to rip his skin off, but the kid beats him to it.

"SERGEANT TOMMY! FIRE THE MISSILES! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

Both he and Evan turn. Somehow in the last two minutes, the kid's managed to cover himself in grass clippings and is holding what looks like a years-old empty bottle of Pepto Bismol.

"Oh jeez, Theo," Evan says with a fond sigh. "Remember what we do with trash that we find on the ground?"

The kid—Theo, apparently—shakes his head wildly, but he does at least drop the Pepto. "No no no no no! Sergeant Tommy! Fire!"

Evan turns pleading eyes on Tommy, silently beseeching him for help.

Which Tommy can absolutely provide. "Kid, c'mon, I told you: you fire torpedoes from a submarine, not missiles. And you say "shoot" for torpedoes. Saying "fire" might make someone think there's an actual fire on board."

The pleading melts to reveal daggers, all aimed at Tommy's head.

"SHOOT! SHOOT! SHOOT!" Theo howls, bouncing.

"Aye, aye." Tommy salutes, then swings his arm down in an excellent karate chop. "BOOM!"

Shrieking with laughter, Theo runs in the direction of the imaginary torpedo, and Evan watches him like a hawk.

"I'm gonna kill you for this," Evan says serenely.

Tommy follows Theo's path thanks only to his shoes. He's running so fast that he's basically leaving trails of light behind him, like one of the bikes in Akira. When he looks back at Evan, his heart starts pounding. "I was, uh, thinking about hitting up the sandwich shop around the corner. Their breakfast paninis are supposed to be incredible—perfect for a last meal. Maybe you and the kid might want to join me? My treat."

At that, Evan's head whips around and the hopeful lilt to his smile makes some hard thing inside Tommy crumble to sand.

"Y-Yeah?"

Tommy smiles. "Yeah. And maybe you can explain how you managed to hide the fact that you have a kid from me for six months."

"T-That's not—I didn't—it's a very long story," is what Evan settles on, shoulders dropping. His smile, however, doesn't disappear. "He's not my son, but I'm his—it's complicated."

"It always is," Tommy says, then gets to his feet. "Which is terrifying on a level I don't have words to describe, but my secret therapist says I could use some complicated in my life. We'd been kicking around ideas for exposure therapy; I'm pretty sure this qualifies, so."

The grin that splits Evan's lips is so bright that it could rival the California mid-morning sun. Tommy wants to reach out and press his thumb to it to see if it's just as warm. But not yet. Exposure therapy only works if you deliberately ramp it up over time, according to Dr. Chatterjee. And Tommy has to believe him, because otherwise he's paying this guy an exorbitant amount under the table to be lied to.

He'd happily drain his 401k dry if it meant Evan might keep looking at him like this.

"BUCK! BUCK! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!"

Spell broken, they turn in unison to see Theo about ten feet away, holding up what appears to be a baby doll with a pickle jar for a head. Inside, something dark and crimson sloshes around.

"This park has everything," Tommy marvels, before he and Evan take off after him at a run.

They end up getting tacos for lunch at Guisados because the pickle jar contains a human kidney and the cops don't let them go until well after Wichcraft stops selling breakfast for the day.

Which is fine, because he gets to eat a truly life-changing bistek roja while Evan tucks a sneaker against Tommy's and makes eyes at him across the table, and Theo makes a mess of his quesadilla trying to copy the way Tommy eats.

For the first time since he spotted Tommy at the next stall over, Buck remembers where he is: at the farmer's market in his new neighborhood, with Theo.

"Ah, yeah, that's uh- that's an interesting story, actually-"

"Buck!" Theo calls from his stroller. "Can I eat the bug?"

Buck has a slight moment of panic, redirecting his attention. He'd given Theo a container of ripe cherry tomatoes to snack on while he shopped. Sure enough, a big fly has landed on the tomato grasped in Theo's little fist.

"That's a no, bud. Thank you for asking me first. Good remembering. No, we don't eat bugs."

"Want to," Theo argues.

He's so much like Buck was as a kid that Buck still wants to cry sometimes.

"Hey, I get that, for sure. But sometimes bugs can make you sick, so we say no."

Theo pouts, still looking at the fly. "Okay," he agrees sadly.

The fly takes off before Buck has to decide whether to shoo it away. Immediately, Theo shoves the tomato into his mouth. Buck cringes. He can't win them all. He'd learned that with Chris, then with Jee-Yun, and he's learning it all over again with Theo.

"He's a cute kid," Tommy says, watching this all unfold with a genuine smile. "Are you babysitting?"

"No, I'm fostering, actually. He needed someone and I just- I couldn't walk away from him."

Tommy nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hey, that's great. You're good with kids. I always figured you wanted them. Hell, if I didn't know better, I'd think he was your kid. He looks so much like you."

Tommy says it lightly, jokingly, but Buck freezes. Tommy does too. His mouth falls open as he sucks in a surprised breath.

"Evan-"

"No," Buck says firmly. "This, uh, this is not the place for that. Too many ears. And it's a long story."

Buck looks between Theo and Tommy, hoping that Tommy will get the message. Too many ears—two too many small ears. Theo doesn't seem like he's paying attention, too wrapped up squishing tomato seeds between his fingers, but still. Buck isn't ready to tell him, and he definitely doesn't want Theo to find out from overhearing a conversation like this. They're years away from a real discussion. Buck is determined to do it right.

Tommy nods again. He looks down at Theo intently, like he's studying him. Tommy's look of surprise is slowly replaced by determination. He rocks back on his heels and tightens his arms around himself.

"I'd listen," Tommy says. It looks like it physically pains him to say it, to stay still long enough to say something so vulnerable. "If you wanted to tell me that long, interesting story, I'd listen."

Buck blinks. Tommy's beard is almost fully grey. The skin around his jaw is a little looser than it was that morning in the kitchen, that night under Buck's teeth. Tommy is noticeably older than he was a year ago. And he isn't running.

"Yeah?" Buck asks.

"Yeah."

"Even though it's been over a year? And my life has gotten, uh, more complicated?"

Tommy shrugs. He looks down and presses his lips together in a tight smile, like he's trying to clamp down a surge of happiness.

"Evan, I don't think there's a moment I've known you when your life wasn't complicated."

Buck laughs and it causes Tommy's smile to come out in full force, crinkling his eyes in that way that took Buck's breath away the first time he saw it.

"That's fair," Buck says.

"I think that's generous, actually," Tommy teases. "You know, you're the only person I've ever met who made me even come close to believing in curses."

Buck's cheeks hurt from smiling. He can't believe his luck. He can't believe Tommy still wants him. Maybe there's a reason he'd never quite been able to get over Tommy. Right now, standing in front of him again, Buck feels like no time has passed at all. The opportunity to pick back up—even if it's not quite where they left off—is within his grasp. All he has to do is reach out and take it.

"Yeah, okay. Any chance you're free on Saturday?"

"Saturday's great."

"Great." Buck grins. "I'll text you my new address. Theo goes down at eight. Well, I try to put him to bed at seven, but, you know."

"Toddlers," Tommy nods seriously.

"Toddlers," Buck agrees with a sigh. He can't stop smiling.

A moment passes where they just look at each other, take each other in. Buck would stand here in silence with Tommy for another year if that's what it took, but he knows that Theo will start to get cranky soon if they don't keep moving. Buck's life isn't about himself anymore.

"Well, listen," Buck says. "I should get him back home. I'll text you about Saturday."

"Can't wait."

Buck can't either. His life isn't about himself anymore, but he can still steal back moments here and there. He takes a step towards Tommy, and when Tommy doesn't move away, he takes another. He keeps his eyes locked on Tommy's until he's close enough to wrap his arms around him. Tommy's strong arms hold Buck close. Warm, safe, happy, Buck melts into it. Tommy clings like a desperate man.

"I've really missed you," Buck says into Tommy's shoulder. His heart aches as he hears the words come out of his mouth. He hasn't said it out loud in a long time, but he never stopped feeling it.

Tommy squeezes him tighter. "Me too. I've missed you so much, I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too." Tears sting at the corners of Buck's eyes. He pulls back and gets a hand on Theo's stroller again. "Saturday."

"Saturday." Tommy nods. His eyes are watery too.

He gives a little wave as Buck walks away reluctantly, pushing Theo's stroller. Buck waves back. Theo tells Buck that he's a dinosaur, and he roars while eating the tomatoes. Buck loves it. He loves Theo, he loves that he gets to be part of his life. He needs to tell Tommy that on Saturday. He's not sure how much time he has to date right now. Theo is his number one priority, especially while he's still only fostering. He can't do anything to jeopardize the adoption he hopes is in his future.

He thinks that Tommy will understand. Maybe it'll even make their relationship stronger. They'll have to go slower, spend more time talking instead of fucking. They'll have to lay out their longterm goals and hopes for the future. If Tommy wants to be part of Buck's life, he'll have to be part of Theo's, too. And if he wants that, he'll have to be sure he's sticking around this time. Buck won't let Theo lose another parental figure so young.

But Buck is getting ahead of himself. Right now, he needs to get his kid and his groceries home safe. He needs to make lunch and let Theo run around in the backyard to tire himself out enough for a nap. He needs to do laundry (how do kids generate so much laundry?) and get ahead of the dishes before his next shift.