Chimney flinches hard and sends his coffee mug skittering across his desk. Thankfully, he’d finished the thing at least an hour ago, and only a few drops spray across the accumulated paperwork. He glances around his office.
His empty office. That he’d come into after an early breakfast and worked in, alone, as the sounds of the firehouse waking up for the day grew louder outside his closed door.
He blinks, hard. He rubs his eyes. No sign of Tommy Kinard, despite what his sleep-deprived brain may have tried to convince him.
He doesn’t flinch this time, but he does let out several vehement curses under his breath. He’s rather proud of his restraint, seeing as how his friend has just materialized in the chair across the desk from him.
Without opening the door.
Although he’s handsome and put together as always, he’s also a bit insubstantial. Like he’s not really real.
“Son of bitch, did you die, Kinard? Oh, this is,” Chimney grimaces. “You can’t do this to Buck, buddy.”
Tommy’s lips thin into a little line. “No, I don’t think I’m dead yet.”
“What did you mean, it’s my turn?”
“You saved me in that strip mall. I got - got the lab. You’re up.”
Chim feels the first responder in him take over. Ghost or not, Tommy needs help. He asks the right questions, gets Tommy’s location (deep at the bottom of a ravine he’d slipped into while solo hiking, idiot) and status (probable concussion, possible broken cheekbone, sprained or maybe dislocated knee, idiot).
He’s nodding along with Tommy’s description until the man stops and swallows hard. His voice is choked, and Chim hopes it’s with emotion and not that his lungs are compromised when he says, “Evan shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
Chim watches as the image of Tommy across from him starts to fade, flickering like a bad Star Wars transmission. “Tommy? Why me? I’ll do everything I can, you know I will, but Buck would tear down the world to get to you if he could see you, hear this from you.”
“I tried,” Tommy admits. “I think it’s the life debt. I have no idea how I’m doing this? But I’m glad it’s you, Howie.”
His eyes flutter, and right before he fades from sight, Chim gets a glimpse of the extent of his injuries. His face is covered in blood, dirt and scratches cover his arms and legs. Chim shoves up from his desk, already grabbing for his radio to dispatch. His team was heading out.
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