TOTALLY TUBULAR

1. Buck is pacing with his phone and chewing on his thumbnail before he says fuck it and calls Tommy. "Hey," Tommy says, sounding like he's smiling. It makes Buck's stomach flutter. "Uh, hey," he says, flushing and smiling. "So--this might be a lot." "Sounds serious. Or intimidating," Tommy says, and Buck can tell he's definitely smiling now, but it's mischievous and twinkling like when he told Buck Eddie was on pain pills. Fuck, fuck he likes him so much. "I, uh, broke my last cock ring," he says, then winces. "Well, sort of. I tried using a rubber one for a while, and I didn't like it as much and it kind of got--it's not important. Uh, but I was thinking of buying another one. Do you...want one? I can get you whatever kind you prefer. Unless you have one." And then he presses his hand to his eyes and realizes this could've been a text. "So I don't actually know," Tommy says, sounding a little more like he's just choked on something. "I've never bought one for myself. My, uh, past...guys have had one sometimes. But I'd be willing to try." And Buck is surprised at that. Tommy's got a big dick and usually tops and seemed to enjoy edging both of them when they had sex the night before, so why wouldn't he have a cock ring? "Well, okay," he says, sitting at his laptop and adding two to the cart. "They'll be here in five to seven business days. We can, uh, see each other before then if you want." And Tommy lets out a soft laugh. "Uh, yeah, I definitely do," he says, and Buck bites his lip and curls his toes in his socks. "Mm, where do you stand on phone sex?" he asks. "I prefer to sit," Tommy teases. "Or lay down. Let me, uh, get inside. I'm on my porch feeding a stray cat."

2. After their dinner, Buck is riding Tommy and buries his fingers in his hair and whines, "Fuck, Daddy." And Tommy grabs his back and fucks into him hard, holding him tight. After, Buck looks up shibari harnesses and asks Tommy if he knows how to do it. "I can learn," Tommy says, kissing his shoulder. "I've never really done much beyond basic tying wrists or whatever." Buck knows by now that Tommy's last two serious boyfriends were pretty vanilla, that most hookups can't get into more than some basic rough stuff. He's not the first person to call Tommy 'Daddy,' but he's hoping he'll be the last. They get some rope, soft cotton that'll untie easily with the right pull, and Tommy idly practices knots while they watch movies.

3. The restraints are fun, but Buck wants more. Before he even asks, he knows Tommy's probably never used a spreader bar. Buck hasn't either, actually. He finds one that has loops for restraints, but it requires more flexibility than he has. Tommy, though, looks at it thoughtfully and attaches the ankle restraints. Then he rolls onto his back, pulls the bar up with his hands, and shifts a bit with his fingers looped where the other restraints would go. "Yeah, I could do this," he says, and Buck thinks he might pass out. "Yeah?" he breathes, and Tommy puts his feet down and sits up. "I can try," he says with a nervous little smile. "You don't have to," Buck says. "Believe it or not, I kind of like being pushed out of my comfort zone," Tommy says, removed the restraints from his ankles and collapsing the bar again before handing it to Buck. "And I'm glad you're comfortable enough to want to try other stuff, as long as we like it." Buck tosses the bar aside and pushes Tommy back onto the mattress to make out with him about it.

4. It's Tommy who's to blame. He's rubbing his fingers over Buck's hole and sucking on his neck and murmurs, "Fuck, baby, your pussy's trying to suck me in." And Buck shudders and drools on Tommy's shoulder and tries to flex and clench against Tommy's fingers until he's flipped onto his back and has his knees pushed to his shoulders. The next day, he orders lingerie for men, a thing even he had never thought too hard about before. When it arrives, he tries it on and flushes at how kind of ridiculous it looks, because he's been bulking. He almost buries it a the back of a drawer, but then he wears it under his clothes to dinner and surprises Tommy after when they're making out on Tommy's couch and he reaches under Buck's shirt and feels lace and boning. Maybe Buck should've talked to him about this first. Tommy yanks his shirt up and sees the sort of bra Buck had bought. There's no cups, it just tucks wires under his pecs. He sort of freezes, and Buck almost laughs it off until Tommy's breathing picks up and he sucks one of Buck's nipples into his mouth. He can't seem to ask a full question after that, and Buck unbuttons his jeans and shows lace there, too. Tommy pulls them down and off and kneels between his thighs, pressing his face to the silky fabric covering Buck's cock. There's an opening at the back, a keyhole circle that gives him easy access to Buck's hole. When Tommy fucks into him, he bites Buck's shoulder next to the bra strap and calls him a good girl. After, he looks dazed like he's coming out of a fugue state and asks if he bought more.

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.

2) Maddie has a big circle of friends in LA. There's Josh, yes her supervisor, but he's not like other supervisors he's a cool supervisor, who took pity on her when she first got to LA. She had been sheltered as hell, then broke away completely to travel the country, work odd jobs, even follow this cute girl named Kameron to Peru after befriending her in Seattle.

"So you just went to Peru." Maddie's talking to Karen, someone she's met at this big LAFD non-denominational winter holiday party. Karen is beautiful but there's a ring on her finger and a gorgeous woman in a circle of firefighters nearby who is keeping an eye on her, not that Maddie can blame her.

"Okay, I know what it sounds like, but Coyote Ugly came out when I was in high school and when I left home, one of my first jobs was as a bartender—"

Karen bursts out laughing and turns around, waving the woman over. "Hen! This is Maddie, she lived my dream of running away from home to be in Coyote Ugly."

"Hi Maddie. What the hell?"

"If I never hear that song again," Maddie sighs.

"Come meet everyone," Karen says, wrapping a hand around Maddie's elbow. "Hen's with the 118. They're going to want to meet one of the dispatchers who sends them on the wildest calls."

"Okay, it's not that exciting, I'm a girl who worked at a bar," Maddie says.

"You're a "straight" girl who followed a woman from Seattle to Peru to bartend with her," Karen says. "If you're not queer, you're insane. Maybe you're both! So you'll fit right in."

Everything's going so great. Karen was right and she does fit in, and everyone is a lot of fun, and maybe the bartending story was boring but she's got other ones from her time on the road to match them (no rebar through the skull, though—that's all Howie, whose eyes linger on her as much as hers do on him). Suddenly, though, eyes flick to something behind her, and someone touches her shoulder.

"Maddie?" Evan's here: in LA, at the LAFD holiday party, not in Pittsburgh, like last she'd heard. He's all grown up, with two black eyes and a split lip, and bruises peeking out from under his shirt. "Maddie, I need help."

3) Evan's in the hospital for a full day, getting scans to make sure he had no internal injuries after he "fell" down the stairs. After Mr. Williams—

("Gerry," Evan says, grimacing like even saying his name hurts him, while Maddie thinks: Fucking Gerry?? A guy named GERRY beat up my brother??? My baby brother who he MARRIED the minute he finished high school and turned 18??? GERRY?!)

—had taken out his holiday rage on Evan and left for work the next morning, Evan patched himself up and got himself to LA as quickly as possible. Maddie doesn't want to imagine what he looked like when he left, days ago, if he still looks like this now.

She's only just met the 118, but they come by the hospital to meet Maddie's not-so-little brother and check in on both of them. At one point, Howie brings by someone she hasn't met yet.

"I'm Tommy," the guy says as he leans down to shake their hands. "Howie mentioned you've got a car to get rid of? In as many untraceable parts as possible?"

"Didn't you say you were a pilot?" Maddie asks.

"Guy's gotta have hobbies."

She looks to Evan, who's staring at Tommy, curious and terrified. "Yeah, uh. It's my ex's—my ex-husband's car." Maddie's eyes look down: yep, there's that tan line, no ring. "I just—I don't want him to find me."

"I won't say no sweat because, well." Tommy motions to Evan's hospital bed. "But I'll take care of it. I know a guy."

Howie looks at her and Evan. "Everyone needs a catchphrase."

"That's not my only one," Tommy protests. "I've also got: Hey, I'm Tommy, I'm a firefighter-pilot. What's your name?"

"Little long for a catchphrase," Evan manages.

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "I'll think of a better one for next time."

Maddie hands over the keys and Tommy leaves. A beat, and then Maddie asks: "Next time?"

"Tommy…" Howie sighs. "Is a long story. Let's save it for next time."

Maddie's incredulity turns to interest. "Next time?" Howie winks at her and asks them how he and the 118 can help them out.

4) Not only is Evan hiding out from Gerry, now they're both hiding out from their parents. Or so she thinks.

"No, uh. Mom and Dad—we kinda stopped talking after I left for Pittsburgh," Evan tells her.

"Well that's ironic," Maddie says. "They wanted so badly to keep their kids close that they drove them both away. Now they've got nothing and no one."

Evan nods. Maddie holds out her glass of wine for Evan to toast. "Their fucking loss." Evan clinks his glass, but doesn't seem convinced. He does seem hopeful, though.

5) Maddie's friends adopt Evan. He's a lot younger than them, a lot more sheltered, too, having gone from their controlling family home to his controlling and abusive husband's home.

Howie and Maddie have started to see each other after way too long dancing around their chemistry and attraction.

"Well, you know, we're going to go out on dates and I don't want to like, abandon you—" Maddie covers her mouth when she hears herself. Evan stares at her, totally blank. "Evan—"

"You'll have fun," Evan says, "I know you will. You always do."

That leads to a massive, explosive fight that has them air out everything, all their trauma and grievances, gets Daniel out there on their own terms, has them sobbing in each other's arms, and has Evan deciding he has to move out.

"And I'm signing up for the fire academy," Evan says at breakfast one morning.

"Wow. You've gotta tell everyone how effective their propaganda has been."

Evan smiles a little. "Yeah. But also—this is weird, but—my body hasn't felt like mine for a long time, and I—I want to do something with it that's—something that I want to do, that's mine. 'Cause now you've told me… it wasn't really supposed to be mine to begin with, was it?"

Maddie gets it. They hug and Evan moves out and they're on better terms, trying to meet each other as friends, not siblings. The family they were given turned out pretty shitty; now they're finding the way to become the family they've chosen.

Also, Howie feels less weird staying over when there's no risk of running into Maddie's baby brother in the morning.

"Knock it off. He's not a baby anymore," Maddie says. She would know.

6) Evan is thriving at the fire academy, though the three(?) other Evans try to nickname him Buck and he puts his foot down, declares himself Alpha Evan, lol. He and Maddie still hang out regularly, but more often than not Howie's there, too.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Howie asks one night. "So, you know Tommy's at the academy right now."

Evan shifts in his seat, picks at his food suddenly. "Yeah."

"He says you're being… kind of distant. You guys know each other, so he figured—"

Evan says, all at once, "He's really hot and so nice and so helpful and I know he'd do anything for me, or anyone, but he's one of my instructors and I just got out of an abusive marriage to my 10th grade bio teacher so maybe Tommy's really nice but he can't be nice to me right now, okay?"

Maddie winces. Howie does, too.

"I get that," Howie says. "It's temporary, though, while he's on medical leave from Harbor."

Evan raises his eyes from his dinner plate. "Temporary?"

"Yeah. He's only got about two, three weeks to go before he's recertified to come back."

"…I guess I can say hi to him," Evan says slowly.

"You weren't even saying hi?"

"Maddie, I panicked! He's so hot! It's not fair!"

"It doesn't have to mean anything, it's just saying hi," Howie says, the picture of innocence.

When Tommy wraps up the unit he was teaching at the academy and goes back to Harbor—well. It starts with saying hi, and they go really, really, slow, but. It starts.

7) Instead of a Doug-style kidnapping and attempted murder, one totally ordinary day someone serves Evan with divorce papers. Social media reveals that Mr. Williams has been publicly out and about with another extremely young thing, so that's probably why he needs the divorce from Evan. He signs the papers and sends them off to be filed. Tommy's going to fly them somewhere to celebrate.

By the time that happens, Evan had finished at the academy and ended up at the 133. "It'd just be weird, you know," Evan tells Maddie. "Working somewhere with your boyfriend, or working at the same house, different shift, with my boyfriend. Maybe I want some space."

"That's a really good point. It's good to have firm boundaries and a solid commitment to work/life balance, especially for first responders who are particularly at risk of burning out without a commitment to living outside of the job," Maddie says loudly to anyone who might be listening, anyone at all.

At the ceremony for the end of his probationary year, Maddie's there and pins his badge for him.

Evan giggled, cheeks pinking beautifully. “Your bar—”

“Oh, so it’s my hypothetical bar now?”

Evan rolled his eyes. “This hypothetical bar that hypothetically belongs to both of us won’t cater to fuck boys from like twenty years ago. You can play whatever terrible music you want.”

Instead of grappling with the fact that 2013 was twenty years ago and crumbling into dust, Tommy said, “I should not be given that power. Do you know what music I would play?”

“Weird industrial metal interspersed with like monastic chanting," Evan said without missing a beat.

“I’ll have you know monastic chanting got real big in the early nineties.”

“I can't tell if you're lying or not.” Evan scratched his scalp. “The other problem besides your terrible taste in music—”

“Hey, you love my weird industrial metal playlists,” he said, smiling as Evan tugged at his hair in reprimand.

“—is there's a lot of standing involved. Might tax your hip.”

“Not if I get a bionic one. We have the technology now.” That earned him another eye roll, but a loving one. “I don't think a bar is for me.”

“We'll think of something else. “Or,” Evan added with that beautiful smile, “you can be a house husband.”

That was a tempting thought. He could spend his days tinkering and reorganizing their cupboards and refrigerator using that color coded system they kept tossing around or maybe get that irrigation system up and running for the backyard. Hell, he could even finish rebuilding Evan's old Jeep.

“I wouldn’t even last a week before I started climbing the walls,” he said, rolling his head along Evan's broad thigh. “You'll have to put me down like Old Yeller.”

Evan laughed at his dramatics. “So we'll find something else for you to do.”

2. “I think we missed the extremely obvious,” Tommy said, plating the croque monsieurs.

“If you mean we should open a restaurant, I agree.” Evan proudly showed off the bi flag he’d assembled out of various berries. “Just think of all the specials we can have for Pride.”

“Now why do I get the feeling most of those would be banana based?” he asked.

Evan waggled his eyebrows and playfully poked his tongue into his cheek. Not for the first time, Tommy was tempted to divorce him just so they could get married all over again.

“That can be the back up plan,” he said, arms held out so that Evan could slide in to steal a kiss before he stole one of the plates. Tommy followed him to the table, his hip twinging as he sat. Growing old was a motherfucker, but it also brought him this: breakfast with his husband in the home they made together. “I meant I could give helicopter tours.”

Evan paused midway through shoving half his croque monsieur into his mouth. Almost fifty and he still ate with all the grace of a feral coyote.

“Chew before you choke.” He pointed his fork at Evan. “Do not make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke. It doesn’t even make sense in this context.”

“I was going for an anilingus joke if you must know,” Evan said with a full mouth because he was disgusting. He swallowed. “You love to fly. I know this.”

“You should.” Tommy took a normal human man bite. He finally go the bechamel sauce right. “How many helicopters have I stolen for you at this point?”

“The first doesn’t count. That was for Hen.” Evan speared a couple of strawberries, leaving the flag lopsided. Tommy grabbed some blackberries to even it out. “You love to fly, but you don’t actually like people. It takes you forever to warm up to someone.”

“Well, that’s not true. I liked you right from the start.”

Evan ducked his head, cheeks pink and pleased. More than a decade together and it was still so easy to make him blush. “You liked me, but it took you a long time before you opened up with me. My fault too,” he added quickly. “Remember the break up?”

“Like I could forget.” He stole a strawberry from Evan’s plate. “But this is just flying people around for a couple of hours. And the whole point of the tour is for them to be looking at the view and not bothering the pilot.”

Evan took a smaller bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Babe, I love you, but think about the kind of people in LA that can afford a helicopter tour. You really want to stuck in the air for at least an hour?”

“All right that is a good point,” he conceded, grabbing a few blueberries before Evan could get to them. “But consider this: we move to Hawaii and I open my own helicopter business and you get to mentor a whole new station and save even more lives. And,” he added casually, “I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to grow a mustache.”

“Wait,” Evan said, torn between laughter and outrage, “are you trying to Magnum PI me?”

“Tom Selleck in those tiny shorts were a formative experience for me.” He rubbed their feet together. “You got the legs for those tiny shorts.”

“You horny monster.” Laughter won, and Evan was glowing with it. “If I promise to wear the shorts, can we stay in this expensive city where we already own real estate instead of moving to an even more expensive state where we don’t own real estate?”

Tommy heaved a giant sigh. “Those shorts better be really tiny.”

“The tiniest ones we can find.” Evan’s face softened. “If you really want to fly tours then I’ll get started on getting you whatever licenses you need.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” he said.

Evan flung a blueberry at him. “I’m worried that you’ll find it boring. It’s not flying suppressant to a wildfire.”

“It’s a lot safer.” He considered all the calls Evan had been sent on over the years. “Probably.”

“Less chance of being swallowed by a whale,” Evan said, sneaking socked toes up Tommy’s pants leg.

Tommy sat with that, and when they finished their croque monsieurs and all the fruit, he said, “Let’s file it alongside the bar idea.”

“I’ll start a list,” Evan said, and pulled out his phone.

3. "I don't see why you gotta retire at all," Sal said, halfway through the fruitiest cocktail that Marge was willing to make, which was quite fruity and the color of a tacky sunset. Sal only ordered cocktails when they were at a gay bar, probably as a form of cultural exchange. As the kids used to say, Sal was a little confused but he had the spirit. "I always said you could move up the ranks if you wanted to."

"And I don't want to," Tommy said. "I'm a pilot, Sal. I belong in the skies."

Sal heaved a beleaguered sigh. "Save the dumb quotes for Howie." He took a delicate sip. "They're always looking for more instructors at the academy if you don't want to be in the field anymore. I never got why you wanted to spend all your time up in a tin can."

"Evan and I talked about it." He took a moment to line up the words in his head. Age and parenthood had granted Sal patience. There would have been a time Sal would have hounded him for an immediate answer, but now Sal waited for him to be ready. "I've been doing this job a long time." He did some quick math. "Jesus, almost all of my adult life."

Sal laughed. "Yeah, we somehow went and got old."

They were having a nice conversation over drinks, so Tommy didn't go and ruin it by pointing out that he hadn't ever thought he'd make it past twenty-six. "I love this job," he said, not having to search for the words; he and Evan had excavated them months ago. "I wouldn't have done it so long if I hadn't."

"Wouldn't have put up with Gerrard if you didn't," Sal said, holding out his cocktail glass and then giving it a little waggle when Tommy didn't toast fast enough.

"But I'm not like Evan or Hen or even you." He considered his cocktail, which was only marginally less tacky than Sal's. Hen was on the short list for deputy chief and he'd give up his license if she didn't get it. Evan was a captain, and he loved helping people too much to go take a position that would take him out of the field. And Sal had his house and the union and his holy crusade to make LAFD live up to its PR slogans. "I love it, but I'm done. I'm ready to be done."

Sal blew out a long breath but didn't fight him on it. "You'll be missed."

Tommy snorted. "I'm retiring. I'm not dying." He kicked Sal in the ankle. Sal retaliated, and they jostled for a minute before Marge shut that down with a pointed clearing of her throat. "And I'm not retiring right now."

"But soon, right?" said Sal, who knew him too well.

"Within the next two years. Three if I can't figure out what I want to do next."

"You can always give helicopter tours." Sal made a face. "I take that back. The first annoying customer is getting dumped into the ocean. You can't give tours."

"Evan already made that argument when I suggested it. And I never really considered it."

Sal gave him a long, knowing look. "You wanted to do it because of Magnum PI, right? You love a man in tiny shorts."

"I really do," Tommy said, and pulled out his phone to text Evan.

"What about a bar?" Sal suggested. "You could open a gay badge and ladder."

"I don't want to open a bar," he said absently as he texted Evan Sal agrees with you about the helicopter tours.

Sal leaned forward. "Hey, Marge! You looking for a partner for this joint?"

Marge looked up from slicing limes. "Deluca, what makes you think I want to enter into an legal partnership with him? I won't even marry my partner and I've known her a hell of a lot longer than Kinard here. Like her a lot more, too."

Tommy sent an air kiss her way. Evan texted duh the only thing we agree on is you be there in about 30 love u!!!!! That was followed by a separate text containing nothing but a dozen heart emojis and a few eggplants thrown in for good measure because there was no emotional state Evan couldn't find an emoji for. God, Tommy loved him.

"Also," Tommy added, "and I don't know if I mentioned this, but I don't want to run a bar."

"You're such a bitch." Sal grabbed him by the back of neck and planted a smacking kiss to his forehead. "Whatever you end up doing, you know me and the girls support you."

"I know." He dug his knuckles into Sal's ribs. "Now go see them. Give Gina my regards."

Sal shook him lovingly by the back of the neck. "You and her are so weird. Hey, bring the kid around to dinner. We'll brainstorm some career options.'

"He's not a kid," Tommy said. Evan was quickly catching up to him in the gray hair department and the increasing way he was squinting at his phone suggested he needed a pair of readers. "But sure. We'll put something into the calendar."

"All right, nerd. Tell the kid I said hi." With one more shake, Sal left to go back to his family and Tommy waited for his to arrive.

4. “I was the same way,” Marge said, replacing his cocktail with a club soda. He’d never been that big of a drinker, but had cut back even further over the last few years. These semi-regular outings with Sal was the only time he indulged now. “That’s how I ended up with this place.”

Marge was a handsome butch who was constantly changing how she kept her hair—for the past few months her gray hair was spiked in a mohawk and before that it was slicked back like a 1950s greaser—and had been behind the bar as long as Tommy had been coming here.

“You didn’t want to be put down like Old Yeller?” he said.

She grinned. “Pretty much. I didn’t want to continue what I was doing but I also didn’t want to be a retiree. That’s how I ended up with this place. Mac, the guy who owned it before me, needed to get out of town and needed money, and so I cleaned out my savings and took out a loan and Susie only had a single breakdown. Worked out for all of us in the end.”

“Why a bar?” he asked, frowning at his drink. “Wait, hold that thought. Where’s my fruit, Marge? Come on, you know a fruit needs fruit.”

“You ever see The Birdcage?” she asked, unimpressed as she dumped a bunch of cherries and limes and berries into the club soda, threatening to send it spilling over the glass edge.

“It’s that kind of question that makes me think you don’t like me. Have I seen a The Birdcage? What kind of fag do you think I am?”

“The kind married to a man who has seen two and half movies in his life,” she shot back.

That was a fair point, not that he would ever admit it. “So the movie made you want to open a gay club?”

He couldn’t keep the doubtful lilt out of his voice. The bar had a monthly drag night and did a trivia night whenever he and Evan badgered her into holding one, but it wasn’t the kind of place that played whatever was the hot new song and it definitely wasn’t the kind of place you came to dance and get drunk and do recreational drugs. It was a bar where you came to drink with people like you. It was a place where you got to exist as you were.

“You remember the sock scene?” she said.

Tommy sucked air in through his teeth. Of course he remembered that scene. His parents rented the movie because they liked Robin Williams, but his dad demanded they turn it off when it because it was about a bunch of queers. He and his mom watched it later when he was at work, and little eleven year old Tommy Kinard had almost started crying as Albert came out in that suit. He changed everything about himself, how he dressed and how he walked and how he sat, and all he kept was the pink socks, which was enough to give him away. All he wanted was to try to help his partner and his partner’s snotty kid, and they hated him for it.

“I cried myself to sleep over that,” he said. “I didn’t even know why.”

“Yeah, me too.” Marge looked around her bar, the regulars at the bar, the couple in the corner, the group of young kids playing the worst game of darts he’d ever seen, all of them obvious in how they walked and talked and dressed. “That’s why I bought this place. No one can tell us what kind of socks we need to wear. This is for us.”

“Us,” he repeated, and thought of the first time he bought an capital-G Gay movie and the terror that the cashier would know about him. And then he thought about last week when he scooped up a couple of gay romance books and the cashier didn’t even blink. “We should have more places. Hey, you own the building, right? Do you use the second floor?”

“Mostly for storage. Susie thinks I should turn it into an event space, but I do not want events happening here.” She gave him a knowing look. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “I need to talk to my husband first.”

“Speak of the devil,” she said, and went to get Evan his basic beer.

“Hey, handsome,” Evan said, draping himself along Tommy’s side rather than sitting.

Tommy slipped an around around Evan’s waist. “Hey yourself. Not going to sit?”

“If I sit I might never get up again. Thanks, Marge,” he said, grabbing the beer. “What were you talking about? You looked very serious.”

“Pink socks,” Tommy said, sneaking his fingers under Evan’s shirt. “What do you think about a gay bookstore? One that also sells gay movies?”

Evan’s brow furrowed with how seriously he took the question. “I think,” Evan finally said, brow unfurrowing as he smiled, “that I’m going to start a spreadsheet for the financials.”

And there, in front of Marge and the regulars, Tommy kissed his husband. He spared a thought for little eleven year old Tommy, crying himself to sleep over some pink socks. That kid was going to be okay, and one day he was even going to be happy.

5. “This is a great a movie,” Tommy said to the kid who couldn’t be much older than sixteen.

“It looked interesting,” the kid said, swiping pink hair out of their eyes.

The store was small and, tucked as it was above the bar, got warm during the day despite the best efforts of the a/c unit shoved in the window. But Tommy loved, this little place full of books and movies and art. It was somewhere a kid with pink hair didn’t have to be scared about being clocked because it was for them. It was for all of them, him and Evan and Marge and everyone still figuring it out.

3. Buck is being supervised by Tommy during his first day in the ED. Tommy's expecting Buck to be cocky and overconfident — he's heard a lot about the guy that got struck by lightning and had his brain charged up and he’s expecting Buck to play it up, but he doesn't. Even though Tommy's quick to remind Buck that knowledge doesn't equal experience, he is impressed by what Buck knows and as their shift goes on he's even more impressed by Buck's ingenuity and dedication to learning. Buck asks a lot of questions and Tommy loves answering them, and he finds himself starting to ask Buck more questions, too, just to see the look on his face when Tommy praises him for getting something right. The fact that Buck manages to make his scrubs look like they’ve been tailored to his exact measurements is a complete bonus, but he is concerned by the flares of possessiveness he feels when a patient makes a comment about there being a new Dr. Sexy in town.

4. It's a long month supervising Buck, not because he's hard to work with, but because Tommy keeps getting distracted by how deft Buck's hands are when he's intubating or suturing. When Buck tells Tommy they should hang out after their shift, Tommy deflects and says he has to check his schedule (Dana's like ??? all you do is work out and take flying lessons????) Buck's equally flustered when Tommy's guiding his hands or talking him through a procedure or reassuring a patient that, even as an intern, Buck is entirely capable of making a medical diagnosis. (And he doesn't understand why Tommy won't have a drink with him and he's talked Perlah and Princess' ears off about it and they definitely have a running bet on who's going to break first). Robby tells Tommy to get it together because Buck's probably the reason the patient satisfaction scores have gone up and he wants Buck to come back after his rotations. And, hey, Buck's charmed Gloria which, you know, is great news for Robby. Tommy's kinda like… wait… Robby, are you telling me to sleep with my intern or not? and Robby's like, 'Who said anything about sleeping with him????’ (and then Robby's in on the bet with Perlah and Princess…)

"Wait, what's — " Buck tries to ask, but for a short guy, Chim still has all the strength of a firefighter, and he drags Buck along with him as he walks away from the bar.

Buck manages a glance back and a helpless shrug at the amused look on Tommy's face.

3) It turns out Buck took Tommy's place at the 118 and on the trivia team. Hen and Chim seem more mad that they lost their MVP ("I hate to admit it," Hen says, "But that man knows sports and movies and 20th century history to a really impressive degree." "Henrietta!" Chim snaps. "Do not speak fondly of the betrayer.") than that they lost their colleague and…maybe friend? Buck's not sure how much of the shit-talking is just for show. He's not going to be a lot of help to them for sports or movies or history, and when Hen asks what his specialty is and Buck says, "I dunno…trivia?" Chim lets his head drop to the table with a groan.

"Okay, listen to me," Chim says firmly, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then at Buck's. "He wasn't here for the last one and we weren't here for the one before that. This is our first opportunity to show him we don't need his freakish knowledge of basketball stats. Do not fuck this up for us, Buckley."

Buck's starting to think that maybe this isn't going to be quite the chilled bonding experience he was expecting.

4) There's a round on aquatic creatures that Buck absolutely knocks out of the park. Then there's a round on 90s rom-coms, followed by one on sports that has Chim howling with rage and glaring daggers over at Tommy's table where he's squished between two other burly firefighters and scribbling industriously. There's a break after that, and Buck offers to go to the bar when he sees that Tommy's heading up there too. He can feel Chim glaring at him the whole time, so he doesn't do more than offer Tommy a smile. Tommy has no such qualms, beelining over to him once he has his drinks — Buck tries not to look at the way he's holding three bottles of beer in one hand, the necks slotted in between his thick fingers.

"Hey," he says, sounding bright and breathless. "How's it going?"

"You know Chim's going to give me hell for talking to you, right?"

Tommy winks. "Why'd you think I'm here?"

"Oh," Buck says, and tries not to let himself droop, because Tommy's really cool, and Buck doesn't want him to only be talking to Buck to get a rise out of someone else.

"Well," Tommy says, and his free hand rubs at the back of his neck. "I mean. Not just that."

"Buckley!" Chim yells. "Stop fraternizing!"

Tommy laughs. "When he gets really mad, he gets his little vein, right here," he says, tapping his own temple. "See how it goes."

"Yeah," Buck says, feeling giddy.

5) The 118 don't win. Harbor — because Tommy is a pilot, Buck realizes with an inexplicable swooping in his stomach. So. Cool — don't win either. In fact, they come joint third, tied exactly. He thinks Chim's madder about that than if the Harbor team had won outright. So he's a little confused when, once the winners have taken their prize and the quizmaster has wrapped up, Chim and Hen head directly for Tommy's table for an exchange of back slaps and greetings.

"I thought we weren't allowed to fraternize," he says, because he's trailed after them.

"During quiz time," Chim says.

"Quiz time is sacred," Tommy admits.

"You can talk to each other as much as you want outside of quiz time," Hen tells them.

Buck's not sure why, but he looks at Tommy right as she says that, and feels like he's been frozen solid by the color of Tommy's eyes, the laughter lines around them as he smiles.

"Is that a promise?" he asks, his voice low, and Buck feels like they're the only two people left in the bar.

"Yeah," he says, pretending he can't feel himself blushing, can't feel the weight of the stares Hen and Chim are switching back and forth between him and Tommy like spectators at a Tennis match. "Yeah, I'd like that."

They swap phones to trade numbers and Buck feels a zap of electricity when their fingers graze as they pass them back. Tommy's put his details in as 'Tommy (quiz night)'. Buck doesn't think too much as he changes it to 'Tommy (hot pilot)'.

Tommy opens his eyes, although there’s nothing to see but the faint glow of his alarm clock. “Evan? Are you okay?” He keeps his voice low, in case Evan is asleep and simply a little cold.

But Evan goes rigid, like he’s trying to stop the tremors coursing through his body. “No?” 

The word sounds like a question, and Tommy tries to pull him a little closer despite the pain that stretches from his collarbone down to his hip. 

Evan presses his face against Tommy’s shoulder, and another full body shiver runs through him. “No, I’m not okay, Tommy. You crashed.”

“Barely,” Tommy mutters before he can think better of it. 

He witnessed a real helicopter crash during his time in the army, saw the large machine trundle while the pilot tried to keep it in the air, until it finally dropped out of the sky. His own crash was just an unpleasantly hard landing by comparison.

“I am so mad at you,” Evan tells him, enunciating the words like he’s trying to carve them into Tommy’s skin. “You crashed, and you keep pretending it was nothing. For half an hour, nobody could even tell me if you’re alive. Do you have any idea how terrifying that was?”

Tommy hopes he’ll never have to fear for Evan’s life like that, but he also can’t help but point out the obvious: “Evan, I’m right here. I didn’t even break anything.”

“Is that supposed to make it okay?” Evan hisses angrily. “Am I supposed to sleep better because you got lucky?” He trembles again, just once and very briefly. 

Tommy wants to turn on the lights so they can look at each other while they have this conversation, but for some reason he feels like letting go of Evan is the worst thing he can do right now. He knows that Evan’s anger is nothing but fear and love, bubbling over like somebody dropped a pack of Mentos in a bottle of coke, but Tommy has no idea how to stop the process.

“It wasn’t nothing.” Tommy whispers the words into Evan’s hair, hoping that honesty will help. “I got so scared when I realized I didn’t have enough time for a safe landing. And the whole way down, I kept thinking: ‘Please.’ I just wanted to make it home so I could have this.”

Evan makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hiccup, but he doesn’t shiver again.

“I made it down in one piece,” Tommy continues. “I’m here. I’m okay. Helicopters don’t crash all the time, the same way floors don’t collapse under firefighters every day. There’s always a risk, but I also know what I’m doing. You’ve got to trust in that, Evan.”

Evan is quiet for a long moment before he finally says: “I do. Trusting you isn’t the problem. But I could’ve lost you today. I’m so glad you’re okay. But I’m also angry that it happened, and I’m mad at you for being so…so cool about it. I don’t know what to do with that. Am I just supposed to be okay because it wasn’t worse?”

“I don’t know.” Tommy doesn’t feel particularly cool right now, and he’s definitely not looking forward to the nightmares he’ll probably have. But for him the truly scary part was over once he was out of that helicopter, while Evan seems to be stuck inside that moment of fear. “You don’t have to be okay. But I’m still here? And maybe the rest will be easier to process tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.” Evan puts one arm around him, tightly, like he’s afraid Tommy might disappear in the middle of the night if he doesn’t hold on to him. “I’m still mad at you.”