TOTALLY TUBULAR

they are beloved, tommy and tommy's husband. they're in the same department but pretty distinct fields (think art history, but tommy does renaissance and his husband does expressionism) so lots of people make a point of taking both of their classes while they're students to make sure they get the full kinard-lastname experience. who's their favorite? you can't pick a favorite! they're both so wonderful.

most importantly in academia: neither of them have Allegations. there's not even whispers of them being inappropriate with students. in fact, there's a rumor they called someone out at a faculty meeting about it, and well, that's just them all around, right? they're so good. they're everything you could possibly want. tommy is at peak silver fox withglasses, and always opens his tiny 12-person seminars with, "that's some weather we're having today, huh?" and everyone eagerly agrees, yeah, the weather be weathering.

first day of tommy's freshman intro to renaissance art seminar (a special class for first-year students that's taught by a professor who also becomes a student's advisor, so these are kids he's going to get to know well)- there he is. the kid from the Welcome First Years cheese and crackers thing a few days ago that his husband had dragged him to. he introduced himself as evan, then on this first day of class he says, "i'm evan but, uh, there's three other guys named evan in the hall of my dorm so you can call me buck now!"

tommy's like, "you're buck now! i can say i knew you when."

and evan's like, "no, uh. haha. uh. you can call me evan. it's, uh. less. um. less......................................................................... confusing."

moving on.

first years meet with their advisors every week to talk about projects, how class is going, how college and life is going as they adjust, but usually after a month or so they only meet every other week.

"is it okay if we keep meeting every week?" evan asks in october, as all their 30-minute meetings have run a full hour and made tommy late for so much other shit, made him skip lunch. my god. even lunch. "i just..... i'm trying to fit in but i still feel so out of place and i don't really get to talk to people, like. really talk." big, huge blue eyes. "i don't know why we clicked right away but... with other people..."

there is an alarm, a foghorn, an entire chorus screaming YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE FALLING FOR IT!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'VE ALWAYS SAID!!!!!!!! IF THIS HAPPENED TO YOU!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'D STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and tommy stops it. says very gently, "i understand, but it's time to open yourself up, okay? everyone feels this way at the beginning, but i'm sure you have people who are ready to listen, okay? trust them. we'll meet every other week."

evan looks heartbroken, quietly furious, but then back to heartbroken. he nods and they end their meeting on time, for once, and tommy sighs in relief. he did it. it's over. his ship was about to crash into the rocks and he steered it away.

JUST KIDDING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he still has to see evan in class twice a week, early tuesday and thursday mornings, and he may not be doing anything but good god damn, he is feeling things. he focuses on the notes and books in front of him and looks up only for a moment when evan comes into the small, suddenly-always-stuffy seminar room, and sits across from tommy. he used to sit like, two seats away, but now he's put as much distance as possible between them- and that means he's always in tommy's line of vision. he doesn't know how deliberate that was- whether evan thinks the physical distance is what matters, not the lingering eye contact, the way tommy has to clear his throat constantly, focus on the discussion.

everyone who's taken tommy and his husband's seminars have raved about the special day when they visit each other: tommy goes to his husband's class like a guest star and they lead a talk on whatever, and his husband comes to tommy's for the same thing. like seeing two comets the same night.

after that special class when tommy's husband visited, evan tries to linger but after one long look he hustles out of the room even faster. when it's just tommy and his husband, his husband gives him such a knowing look. "he likes you. remember him from that thing-"

"-before the first day of class, yeah. he's a good kid. really smart, definitely wasn't challenged enough in school so he's just like, soaking it all in."

"okay yeah great but he likes you," his husband teases. "and you like him. you haven't had a favorite in years."

"yeah, because i have a favorite," tommy says, and dips in for a quick kiss. when he pulls away, he sees a flash: for a moment, his husband's dark brown eyes were a glowing, startling blue, wide in amazement.

"oh that's nice," his husband says, hand on tommy's chest since the room is empty except for them, "i can still get your heart racing like that."

"yeah," tommy says. "it's always been you."

skip skip skip skip, evan settles in more, seems more at home in his skin, and that means he just feels more comfortable talking to tommy again, and tommy's so happy to see him settled that he feels more comfortable listening to him, spending time with him again. it was so brief and evan was just looking for someone to latch on to before he found his people. now it's spring, he's gotten through his first year, and he's passed all his classes (especially tommy's).

evan comes by tommy's office on moving out day before he goes home for the summer, just to say bye and catch up briefly, see you next fall. as soon as the door shuts behind evan, he's pulling tommy in for a kiss, sloppy and hectic, but then he pulls away. "sorry, sorry i just- i had to see just- just once and i-"

and then evan's being pinned to the door and the very worst decisions are getting made. tommy wasn't even supposed to stay in the office today- he just came by to get a few things, he didn't even open the blinds to let some light in. none of the kids moving out, the upperclassmen helping them bring boxes to their parents' cars, can see evan bent over tommy's desk, mouth pressed to his forearm as he breathes and tries not to cry and moan as picture frames and pen cups tip over and fall on, even off, tommy's shaking desk.

the worst part is the way they help each other clean up: evan tugging tommy's fly closed again, buttoning the button, tommy settling evan's shorts on his hips again before they kiss slow and gentle, and way too long.

anyway!!!!!!!!!!!!! it's a full blown fucking affair. tommy and his husband own a house in the suburbs very close to [college] AND own an apartment 40 minutes away downtown for when they want to hit up museums and shows but don't want to go all the way back home after a long day. tommy is fully aware he's a monster and a hypocrite as he meets evan there; his husband is writing another book this summer so it's for the best that tommy get out of his hair while school's out.

"have you ever done this before?" evan asks one afternoon, tangled in the sheets, looking out the window at the city. "with a student?"

"no," tommy says. "i'm supposed to be better than all those cliche professors with midlife crises who fuck their students to feel young again." evan laughs and curls closer, and tommy says, "what's the math here? a serial harasser who fucks a dozen students, younger and younger every year, or the guy who blows up his life for one?" then he looks at evan meaningfully. "just one."

evan looks nervous. "i'm not that dumb, tommy."

"i know," tommy says. "neither am i."

oh no............... why is it so quiet...................

evan starts his second year. tommy's still his advisor. they have their student/advisor in public this year: get coffee on campus and keep it cool, and save the affair for evan's new off-campus apartment that his parents are paying for- a total steal compared to dorm room and board. a perfect place for tommy to spend his "research time."

even worse? sometimes he actually does research there. sometimes evan sits next to him at the modest dining room table with his own work and they talk about what they're doing. sometimes tommy stays there while evan is out with his friends, and when evan comes home (shit shit shit back to his apartment), something feels- too right.

tommy can't hide it anymore. first day of spring break: he tells his husband. totally blindsides him. husband had been so preoccupied with his book... "is that it? i wasn't paying enough attention to you? we've written like five books apiece, you asshole, and now is when you decide you're so needy you need to fuck a kid???"

"i'm in love with him," tommy says.

"oh i fucking bet. and he said it first, right?"

"we haven't said it. i think... that's what makes it terrifying. to feel it, and know it, and we don't have to say it."

there it is, the most romantic thing tommy's husband has heard come out of his mouth, and it's about fucking a fucking CHILD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"alright," his husband says. "this is over. completely. some fresh hot dick has turned you into every man you swore you would never become and i can't be here with you, ever again."

"i know," tommy says, and that's it.

for the rest of the year: fuck. shockwaves through the campus. the vibes are toxic. no more fun doctors kinard-lastname. his husband casually drops snippy bitch comments in class, tommy firmly never speaks about his husband's specialty ever again, refers any students who want to do a project in his specialty to anyone fucking else. no more cute sightings. dead to each other.

his husband is awarded a professorship in another state. pens a lovely letter to the community that welcomed him (just him) for all these years. he'll miss them dearly.

tommy's office door is updated from "thomas kinard-lastname, phd" to "thomas kinard, phd." with the departure of his husband, ALL those eyes are on tommy now, so it's no time at all before people start connecting the dots (following his and evan's cars to their respective buildings).

"might as well," tommy says as movers bring evan's stuff into tommy's house at the start of evan's third year.

"is this ever going to be our home?" evan wonders.

"we'll find out," tommy says, but he knows it's not.

tommy stays at the college until evan graduates. his reputation is never the same. he never gets another teaching award. people whisper about him and the student who lives with him now, the guy he sneaks around with. the guy he took to an elegant downtown restaurant for his twenty-first birthday, and they've been together for three years. evan can't decide on a major and a final capstone project because no one wants to advise him- not because they think tommy will do something stupid like get jealous, but because he's poison. he's the kid who blew up the marriage of the most happily married man in academia. even if it's been years and they're still living together, it's still so volatile. tommy finally begs a favor from someone in [whatever] department to supervise evan's undergrad thesis and get him graduated.

and then they do it: evan gets into a grad program far, far away from [college], tommy gets another job at the same university. (they're a package deal, it happens) it's a bigger, less intimate university, where he teaches too many classes and too many students, and barely has time for his research, the books he loves writing. he and his ex split the money from selling the house and the downtown apartment.

then it's back to the present day where evan and tommy are watching the movers pack the last of their stuff for this interstate move. tommy does a last walk around the perimeter of the big beautiful house that he and his husband bought, literally, the year evan was born.

"i'll miss this place, all of it," tommy says as evan puts an arm around his waist. "but i don't regret it, not for a minute."

Kim's polished off her caipirinha and is chewing on the ice by the time he gives her the Reader's Digest rundown on his life after Angel Grove, and when he asks her what she's been doing for the last thirty years, she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. Estefania sets down another caipirinha when she turns it so he can see a picture of a tall, dark and handsome man rocking an insanely attractive mustache and beard combo. Two kids have plastered themselves to his sides, but only one has Kim's eyes.

"Ajeet and I have been married since 2011," she says. "And that's Seva and Baani."

"Holy shit, you're a mom," Tommy murmurs, pinching his fingers open to zoom in.

"And stepmom," she says proudly. "Seva's from Ajeet's first marriage, and I love that kid down to my bones."

He looks at the picture of her family and has to swallow down a terrible ache.

Kim tells him about the garden center she started in Astoria that exploded during the pandemic and hasn't slowed down since, and how she teaches gymnastics at the Loupakis Athletic Center in her town. Twelve of her students have gone on to compete nationally, and three went to the 2008 Olympics. She also volunteers with a few of the local environment non-profits whenever she has a free moment. In addition to the husband and the kids, she's got a German shepherd called Killer and a cockatiel called Bone Saw, because Baani is a bloodthirsty little hellion who should never be allowed to name anything.

It seems almost impossible to have such a full life after everything, but Kim always was the best of them.

Then she tells him about the others: Jason in Arizona, married with four kids, and running a successful sheet metal fabrication company; Zach, with two gold Olympic medals under his belt and coaching future champions alongside his longtime girlfriend; Billy and his husband both working on particle acceleration physics at CERN.

They've all somehow managed to shed their pasts like molts and move forward, finding ways to make the most of their time on the planet they nearly gave their lives to save. They're living.

And then, of course, there's Tommy: drinking alone on a Tuesday night.

"Explain to me again why you aren't trying to make things work with this Evan? Use small words. Actually, just draw a diagram on this." She hands him a napkin. "I'm a visual learner."

Tommy takes it, balls it up, and tosses it so it lightly bounces off her forehead. "You're not doing a very good job of living up to your last name."

"The only heart in this room is the one spinning above your head like you're a Looney Tunes character whenever you say his name," Kim snarks with a smile, which falls away with the suddenness of a winter sun. "C'mon, Tommy. It's obvious this guy is it."

Sighing, he turns back to watch Estefania slide over a glass of water with a pointed look. He takes it and tips it her way in a toast, then drains it in one go. "You know what he said when he found out that I'm from Angel Grove? That it must've been so cool to be there that day."

The way it makes Kim pause is a small victory that she snatches out of his hands by shrugging and saying, "To an outsider? It probably was cool. He basically watched toy action figures come to life and save the world."

"Jesus," he murmurs, then drops his head into his hands with a laugh. The beer in his belly makes his brain slosh around in his skull. "How are you so well-adjusted about it?"

Kim snorts, then licks the rim of her glass. "'Well-adjusted'? Tommy, I was fucked up for years after the battle."

"B-but you got out. You went to college," he points out, a little desperately. "Y-You got married, had kids. You've made a life for yourself. You found your way."

"I got kicked out of college my first week. Some stuck-up asshole made a crack about the Angel Grove clean-up crew and I…" With a sigh, Kim pauses to take a sip of her caipirinha, then stares into the glass like it holds something that might assuage the guilt in her voice. "Turns out colleges don't like it when you K.O. other students for no apparent reason. I-I was lost for a long time. That first year, I think I slept through the night a grand total of five times because I'd wake up screaming every time I closed my eyes. I couldn't eat—every time I tried, all I could see was Trini's jaw being blasted off her face. The others left. You left. I had no one who… who knew the truth. I didn't talk to anyone for months on end, not even my parents. And I didn't want to talk to anyone, because I felt like poison, like I'd infect and kill anyone who got close to me."

It's such a familiar scenario that his jaw crackles with nausea and the phantom pain of what Trini must have felt in her final moments. If he pukes all over the bar, they're never going to let him back in. Or he'll make the Wall of Shame. He inhales slowly until it passes.

More than that, it fills him with so much guilt that he thinks he might collapse into himself like a dying star. Kimberly never should have gone through any of that alone. He wants to wring Jason's neck for abandoning her, but there's only one person to blame and it's the person who left them all first.

Apologizing won't do anything to change reality and she'd probably beat the shit out of him if he tried. "You're not. You're not poison, Kim, god. Me, on the other hand—"

"Tommy, how long are you going to keep throwing yourself into the Dark Dimension for things that weren't your fault?" Kim asks, the genuine curiosity in her voice at war with her annoyed expression. "You know, the only one who thinks you should be punished is you."

"I—what I did—what I almost did—" He can't get the words out, but she knows. She was there for most of it. He's sure Jason filled her in on the rest. "I'm the one who's poison."

Her gaze flattens. "You once told me it was like you were chained to a chair and forced to watch everything that happened on a big movie screen. She was piloting you like you were her very own Megazord."

It's such an unexpectedly hilarious way to look at it that he bursts out laughing. He manages to collect himself after a few moments, knuckling away tears that have nothing to do with humor. "So, how do you do it, Kim? What changed that let you… move on?"

"What changed? Nothing," she says simply. "I'm still traumatized, Tommy. We all are. We were child soldiers that stopped an alien invasion. But… time marches on, and I missed being part of something. People are better than no people, you know? I started talking to my parents again. I started getting out more and more; I started helping with the clean-up, made friends. One of them recommended me for a job with CREST in Astoria. That's where I met Ajeet."

Tommy thinks of the picture of the handsome man with the incredible beard and the contentment in his gaze. He lifts his glass to drain the rest of his beer. "Does he…"

"Know?" Kim finishes for him, then smiles. "He's my husband, Tommy. He's the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. He's the father of my kids. Of course he knows."

He chokes on a mouthful of Craftsman. "What the f—Kim."

"I still wake up screaming sometimes," she says quietly, wrinkling her nose at the beer dripping down his chin. She hands him a napkin. "I can't bring myself to stock daisies at the garden center because all I see is you putting Trini down on that hill. Sometimes Seva watches TikToks where people claim what happened in Angel Grove was a government conspiracy and it's all I can do to not find out where these people live and hunt them down like dogs. But I'm not alone in it. When it all gets too heavy for me to carry, Ajeet takes some of the weight. He makes it bearable."

Tommy stares at the little puddles of his beer on the bar. The memory of Evan all but shouting that the only thing Tommy was good for was sex is eaten by another memory: Evan, dappled with sunlight and covered in boils, looking at Tommy and declaring that people make life worth living.

People are better than no people.

His eyes grow hot. He clears his throat. "Why are you in LA, Kim?"

The sigh she heaves in response is so, so heavy. "There've been putty sightings here. Twelve in the last couple of months, four in the last week. The police are keeping it quiet, keeping it out of the papers, because monsters that grow out of the ground sound insane no matter who's describing them, but… it's escalating. Alpha's on it now."

It's like a weight that was just starting to lift off his shoulders drops back down with a few extra tons. Sucking in a shuddering gasp, Tommy folds his arms on the bar and lets his head fall into the dark cave they create.

"Oh god," he whimpers. "Oh god, she's back, isn't she?"

Kim doesn't say anything. He hears the clinking of the ice in her drink.

"So it was all for nothing. We gave everything—we sacrificed those years, w-we suffered things that I still don't have words to describe, we did everything Zordon told us to do, and I…"

A small, but strong hand is laid gently between his shoulder blades. "You suffered more than anyone."

"And it was all for nothing," he says again, lifting his head. His vision swims with tears. "She survived."

"We haven't… been able to confirm that, but I came to scope the city out," Kim says. "And I wanted to know what you knew."

He hangs his head, then turns to take in her grim expression. "I fought one a few months ago. I-I thought it was just… I thought it was just the one. Something that managed to escape that day. But if Alpha's sending you here… does that mean…?"

The last time Tommy saw Zordon, it was the day he left for the Army. He'd stormed into the Command Center as well as he could on a still-healing broken ankle, shoving a shrieking Alpha out of the way, and vowed to bomb the place into oblivion if Zordon so much as ever sent him a postcard. Trini's blood was still caked under his nails.

The contrition on that enormous, hovering face made Tommy want to tear the link that tethered Zordon to the chamber in two with his bare hands. He'd done it before.

Thank you for all you have done, Tommy, Zordon had said quietly.

Oh, no, Zordon, thank you for making us fight in your fucking war. God, you and Rita really are two sides of the same coin: I'm nothing but a puppet to you. Guess what? I'm cutting the strings for good, Tommy spat, and then walked out.

"Yeah. Zordon was the one who told me I'd find you here, actually," Kim admits. "He sends his regards."

Tommy snorts. "Yeah, I bet he does."

"And… we both thought you should have this."

She reaches into her purse and then places something on the bartop between them with a click. Her hand lifts and his heart stops beating.

The familiar glow of the green power coin is the brightest thing in the building.

His little lights, as Sal called them, were more yellow than green and shone so softly that they were almost drowned out by the sun, a state that had more to do with his physical labor than whatever emotional bullshit Sal thought was going on.

"He needs help," Tommy said.  "Speaking of, giving me a hand with this."

They pried another board loose.  Sal tossed it towards its brethren.  "Yeah, he always needs something.  Can't be bothered to answer your texts, can't be bothered to check to see if you still got a job, can't be bothered to apologize for being a dick, but the moment he needs a huge fucking favor he miraculously remembers how phones work."

"He did apologize for being a dick."  The glow brightened.  He should have kept his over shirt on.  Sure, maybe he would pass out from heatstroke, but at least it'd give him the illusion of possessing a modicum of dignity.

"Because that was my point."  Sal wrestled with a rusted nail before giving the plank a few good kicks to loosen it.

"His kid is like me," Tommy said quietly.  His bioluminescent cells shifted from yellow to orange.

"And you're the only person in all of Los Angeles that can lend a hand?  No other support group or organization that Buckley can reach out to?  He's got no choice but to call up his ex."

The orange darkened.  There was the telltale itch of his spines trying to grow and lift.  "I owe you an apology, Sal.  I've been falling down on my godfather duties if I've missed your daughters being bullied and kicked out of school because they got a little extra rung in their DNA.  You gotta give me the names of all these people just itching to help out the fucking monsters."

It wasn't until Sal winced that Tommy realized that his voice had dropped and deepened, his lungs expanding to push sound through water.  He took a step back and forced himself to unclench: fists, spines, lungs.  Sal wasn't a threat.  His color shifted from red to orange to yellow.  His lungs took in air.  He made himself as human as possible.

"You're right," Sal said.  "I'm being an asshole.  I'm sorry."

"You have no idea how lonely it is to grow up like this," Tommy said, and used ripping up another plank as an excuse to not look at him.  "If I can make it a bit easier for the kid, even if it's just letting him know there's someone else like him, then that's what I'll do.  It doesn't have anything to do with Evan."

Sal sighed but didn't call him on that last sentence.  "No one knows better than me how lucky that kid is to have you in his corner.  Well," he added after a moment of consideration, "no one besides my wife.  You gave up a day off just because our girls hinted at wanting a pizza oven.  That kid has no idea the lottery he just won."

"But?" Tommy prompted when Sal uncharacteristically hesitated.

"But I don't like how Buckley jerks you around."  Sal kicked at the last plank of rotting wood.  "He calls you up, you go haring off no questions asked, and then you're left holding the bag.  Look what happened last time."

What happened was the brass stuck him on unpaid leave and his license got suspended for six months.

"Bobby died."  The yellow bled out until all that remained was bleached white.  He grabbed his shirt.  Fuck the heat.  Anything was better than his own cells betraying him.

"Yeah, he did," Sal said with a sigh.  "That doesn't excuse the shit Buckley pulled."

Tommy shrugged and kindly didn't point out that Sal and Gina had been on and off for years, breaking up violently and then reconciling just as violently, unable to stop hurting each other in small, terrible ways.  And then Gina's brother had died, and Sal hadn't hesitated before taking leave and going back east with her for the funeral.  It would be another year before the two of them worked their shit out and Sal walked into the 118 after a forty-eight off with a wedding ring on his finger.

"I know where I stand now," Tommy said.  "It'll be different this time."

"You're such a fucking liar," Sal said, and lovingly grappled him into a loose headlock.  "Let's finish this last bit off and then we'll take a break.  I even got you some of that pretentious beer you like.  And take that shirt off.  I'm getting heatstroke from just looking at you."

Tommy took the shirt off; he was back to his baseline blue.  "I better be invited over for that first pizza."

"Oh, I'm making you the official taste tester.  The girls saw some video about a pear gorgonzola honey monstrosity and now that's all they want to make."  Sal was the picture of an exasperated dad.  "What's wrong with a classic pepperoni pie?  I don't know what the fuck kids these days are thinking."

In the worst New York accent he could manage, which was proudly atrocious, Tommy said, "Eh, what's the world coming to that kids these days don't even appreciate a good pepperoni pie.  Back in my day we had a slice after playing stickball in the street."

"I know you ain't calling me old," Sal said.

He shrugged with the most obnoxious grin he could manage.  "If the walking uphill both ways in the snow shoe fits."

"Get the fuck outta here," Sal said, and tried to get him into much tighter headlock.

They scuffled like they were back to being twenty-year old kids, kicking up the dirt from the beds that had gone dry and fallow from disuse.  His radial network of bioluminescent cells shifted from blue to the green of new shoots.  He never got to roughhouse like this when he was a kid, not with the way he glowed and the ever present threat of his spines emerging. Tommy, with a sudden ferocity that nearly let Sal get him in a half nelson, wanted Theo to have everything he never got: friends who weren't afraid of him, a parent who loved him, a body he could trust.

"All right, you old mook," Sal said, shimmying out of Tommy's loose hold, "let's finish this up.  I promised you some pretentious beer."

"okay, okay, i can do that. wow, way to put me on the spot, haha. yeah i can talk. um. so right now, i'm at home- i moved, by the way, over the summer, i've got my own house now! i'm still renting but it's mine, like a lot more mine than- honestly? probably more mine than anywhere i've lived as like, an adult. or ever. like i didn't- you remember i kinda didn't decorate the loft much until- well until you were like, what's a guy gotta do to a get a decorative throw around here, it's COLD, and i run hot, we were also on the fourth floor so heat RISES, but you were cold? and then i got that throw, and i got pillows, and- right, and then i moved into eddie's place and i wasn't there long enough to decorate much. i did unpack, though! i- yeah. you weren't- yeah, i should tell you i did end up unpacking. and then i repacked like, two months later when he and chris moved back to town. they weren't just visiting for the funeral, they moved back. so i packed up, eddie let me stay in the guest bedroom with my stuff in one of those pods outside until i found a new place, and now i'm in a new place and it's great! it's got a big yard and- tommy? you're still there, right? did i actually talk your ear off?"

"i'm listening. you found a new place with a big yard. have you had anyone over?"

"okay. um, yeah, a couple of times! ravi and harry come over, and i babysit jee and the baby- jeez, tommy, do not ask about the baby's name, it's. like i shouldn't because he's my nephew but just- just don't ask."

"i heard. uh. it got posted on one of the LAFD facebook groups. i saw it over someone's shoulder. that's- that's a real fuckin' name."

"yeah. yeah, it's a real fuckin' name. hey, where are you? can i ask about you? what's been up with you?"

"me? what's up with me? um. that's a good question. a great question. such a good question. i... don't know how to answer that."

"okay. did you have a shift today?"

"i did. yeah, i did."

".... did it go okay?"

"it, um. it didn't. it really didn't."

"what happened?"

"well. um. you know how. they're always saying there's like. one more straw? before everything breaks? and today was kinda my- well, it was like. i kept thinking, this is fine, i'm resilient, i'm good, 10 more hours, 5 more hours, 3 more hours, i'm gonna make it- and things kept happening? things- evan, i could not get a fucking win today. and the body count isn't even that high! you'd think i had crashed my helicopter into a stadium full of people or something, but no, it's just........... i couldn't get a win today. not fucking one."

"i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. those days are the worst. the really fucking worst. ...... where are you? can we talk? in person?"

"oh, no, i don't- that's the last thing i want."

"okay. okay maybe, but is it something you need?"

"ha ha. cute. …… i don't know what i need."

"...... where are you, tommy?"

"oh. you can't hear it. yeah, i'm at the beach. fucking hate sand but that's the cost of the ocean, i guess. gotta get through all of this sand just to touch the ocean."

"yeah. yeah, sand sucks. did you go to the beach much as a kid?"

"evan, i didn't do a single fun thing when i was a kid. not one. every day of my kid-life sucked, really fucking sucked."

"hey, mine too!"

"no it didn't."

"no it really did! like the maddie parts were good but they were the only good thing, like the only good thing. my parents were so- like they couldn't decide whether they were terrified of me or hated me, so it was for the best if i wasn't at home a lot. it's why i've never seen any movies or tv! they're teachers, right, so they didn't want me rotting my brain anyway, and if i was inside they'd- i don't know."

"god. what the fuck. why?"

"um. long story. that's an in-person story. a not-today story, for sure, but also an in-person story. what's a thing people eat in soap operas?"

"..... in soap operas?"

"yeah. it's the kind of story you tell with a big glass of wine in your hand and then you're eating something with a fork you can drop dramatically. it's a fork-dropping kind of story. i know exactly the face you'd make. it can't be pizza. a little classier than nachos. something with fries, i think. what were we talking about?"

".... the beach?"

"yeah. you're at the beach? does... does the beach help you feel better? maybe you didn't go as a kid, but maybe you're good with it now? you like it?"

"i don't. not really. but i- sometimes you just want to sit somewhere and feel really small, you know? and then everything feels less big."

"that's. yeah, i get that. i do. ….. can i come see you? hang out at the beach with you?"

"i don't know. um. why- talk to me some more. distract me."

"okay. aren't there a lot of distractions on the beach? well, i guess it's late. it's not super late but i guess people are packing up, going home?"

"yeah, but it wasn't very crowded anyway. i found a quiet spot."

"oh."

"so talk to me."

"yeah. yeah, let me-"

"not a lot going on with you?"

"with me? no, uh. not really. it's been pretty quiet with me. i keep- i think i should get a hobby. or hobbies. you have hobbies. what's something i would like?"

"i don't know. cooking? you liked cooking."

"oh. yeah, i did."

"could try baking."

"… did someone tell you?"

"tell me what? hah. evan. no one from the 118 has talked to me since we broke up. like. no one. like i said, i only knew about howie's kid- your nephew, i guess- from someone else's facebook app. no, no one's told me anything. thanks for saying hi at the funeral, by the way. you were the only one. once i saw no one was going to talk to me i just- bolted. no reason to stay."

"god. tommy, i'm sorry. i- fuck, we should have done things differently. me, everyone. we should have done everything differently."

"yeah. then we wouldn't be here, would we?"

"yeah. but- but listen, maybe we can meet up? you and me? now? it doesn't- it doesn't have to be this way. like we can- we can change anytime we want. that's what i realized, tommy. like. fuck everything. we can do anything we want, anytime we want. who or what is anyone ever waiting for, you know? …………. tommy?"

"… that's. um. that's a really good… good thing to hear. i knew calling you was a good idea. please don't tell me i should have called more."

"i won't. look at me not-saying it. i'm not saying it. i'm not even thinking it."

"alright, don't push it. ……. was the offer serious? about, um. meeting up. you're not… busy?"

"i'm not busy. i'd throw out my calendar for you if it wasn't empty tonight."

"could you pick me up? i took a car here. i didn't come with much."

"yeah. yeah, i'll come get you. stay on the phone, okay?"

"you shouldn't talk and drive, you've seen the PSAs."

"this one time, okay? just this one time. and i'll be careful. talk to me about something boring so i don't get too distracted."

"is that even possible with you?"

"probably not, but. whatever. okay, i'm going. you're not far from my new place, actually."

"oh. that's nice."

"you go to this beach a lot? this quiet beach with no people?"

"not really. i just needed to be outside. and like i said, it's nice to- to sit here and feel like everything can go away. like anything can happen."

"yeah."

"related to your whole we can do anything we want thing."

"yeah. we're not as stuck as we think we are."

"evan, i'm… i'm really glad i finally called you. i knew you were the right person to call."

"yeah?"

"yeah. you've- you've got this thing where- you want so much. but in a good way. do you know how good that is? to want things?"

"is it? i always felt like… like i want too much."

"yeah, people probably say that because they don't remember what it felt like. and who do you think you are, you know? wanting things when you should be happy with what you have. it's- it's so fucking good of you. please don't change that. please."

"… but it feels like… like i don't have enough. like i don't…"

"yeah… yeah i guess."

"but thanks for saying that. i'll remember that. it's- it feels true. ………… do you… want things?"

"… hah. evan. i wanted one very, very specific thing when i called you and now: not so much. it's gone away. now i- i'm really glad i get to see you."

"like 10 more minutes. i told you, super close. for LA, i'm pretty much teleporting."

"twenty minutes. everywhere in LA takes twenty minutes."

"i've seen that movie!!!!!! tommy!!!!! one of my exes LOVED that movie and it's SO GOOD!!!! what's that thing he said, about the rat pack?"

"what's with you, kid? you think the death of sammy davis left an opening in the rat pack?"

"YES!!! who's sammy davis?"

"god, don't even worry about it."

"it's still funny. okay i'm getting there, are you coming to me or am i getting sand in my sneakers?"

"i'll come to you, but. shit, i didn't think about that. i've been sitting in the sand for a while."

"that's fine. i've got a vacuum, car washes exist, whatever. i just didn't want sand on me. okay, i see you. do you see me?"

"yeah. yeah i do. hey heads up i'm going to need…….……… a really big hug. like. biggest you've got. please."

"okay, i'm out of the car, putting my phone down- i'm stretching, see? i got you. i'm ready."

The smiles are awkward, but it doesn't make them less gorgeous, and Tommy keeps thinking their children would never stop smiling. They would come out smiling and well adjusted, and Tommy is for some reason imagining Evan as some sort of house husband, even though Evan wouldn't like that at all, and their jobs don't exactly allow for the picture in Tommy's head, where Evan has dinner ready, when his hot wife comes home from the office, but whatever. This is the future he has imagined for Evan. He doesn't have to deal with the gay stuff, he gets to live a normal life, that maybe veers a little bit too hard into the kind of world those assholes on TV keep trying to force everyone to do, but it's easy, right? If you do what society tells you, you get rewarded, and if anyone deserves to be rewarded, it's Evan.

The two of them never sat down and discussed their exes at length, but Tommy has heard about Taylor a few times – and never the bad stuff, so surely, they could get back together. Evan introduced her as his ex, but it didn't sound like it meant anything. Evan introduced him as just Tommy, so maybe they're skipping the whole ex thing.

But Evan gets nervous and doesn't stop talking, and suddenly Evan outs himself to his ex, who doesn't look surprised at all. (I don't think you can have adventorous sex with someone and not notice certain things.) Suddenly Taylor is interested in him and sweat starts pouring down his back.

Taylor asks why they broke up and Evan explains it to her, but he explains it wrong, and Tommy is going to die here anyway, so he might as well set the record straight. Evan and Taylor are going to survive this, they're way too pretty to die. But then Evan gets upset, because he thinks Tommy is in the wrong, and OK, they're good at bickering. Fighting? Less so. The elevator is too small to contain their emotions, which, at this point, Tommy would like for the cables to break and plummet them to their deaths. It would be a novel way to go for a firefighter. Nothing is even on fire.

But then he looks at the number above the door and they're only on the fourth floor and there's no basement, so they probably wouldn't die.

Suddenly Taylor Kelly's hand is on his arm and Taylor Kelly's face tells him to breathe. Which is probably a good idea. Seems like he stopped doing that. She's a very pretty woman, no wonder Evan is into her. Not all that dissimilar to Abby, actually. With the hair and the eyes.

And Tommy isn't that. Tommy isn't a beautiful, redheaded woman with small hands and a good attitude.

When Tommy's vision clears up and the walls stop closing in, he sees Evan sitting in the opposite corner, looking upset.

”Are you OK?” Evan asks him and Tommy can't exactly be honest, can he? Tommy has aged approximately twenty years, since he walked away. Everything hurts, he doesn't remember what happiness feels like. Evan has aged in reverse, looking more beautiful than ever. He's bigger than before, which looks like a healthy mix of fat and muscle.

The kind of body kids would love. Soft for cuddles and strong enough to throw them around – nevermind the fact that Evan told him he has no desire to become a parent. Tommy had helped babysit Jee-Yun one time – only the once – and Evan had leaned into him and told him how exciting it was to hold her for the first time, and how ecstatic he was that he wasn't taking her home; that she wasn't his.

But that doesn't fit the narrative in Tommy's head, and he's managed to convince himself that half the memories of their relationship are fake anyway, and it wasn't actually as good as he remembers.

Part of him wants to be honest, since he doesn't expect to see Evan after this (whether he dies or not), but he can't tell his ex and his ex's ex that he's regretted the breakup since the moment the door to Evan's loft closed behind him. Or maybe the moment the words left his mouth. Even as he said them, he knew he didn't mean it.

”I'm fine,” Tommy says.

”Right,” Evan nods. ”Because you look fine.”

And OK, Tommy has a type, and a lot neuroses, and Evan being catty always gets him going, even now, apparently. ”I get claustrophobic.”

”No, you don't.”

”It's hot in here.”

”You're a firefighter.”

Tommy is not a patient man. He shoves down all the nicknames that would probably hurt a lot and puts on a grimace, that could maybe pass as a smile, and says, ”I'm uncomfortable. I'd like to get out of here.”

Evan calls dispatch again, but the situation hasn't changed. There are several big emergencies going on at the moment, and they're safe, so they're not currently a priority.

They sit in agonising silence for a while. Taylor is by far handling it better than the two of them. Evan is still pouty and upset, but seems to be behaving, beacuse of Taylor. As much as he's telling himself he wouldn't, the way Evan is looking at him tells him that Evan would be so far up his ass right now, if they were alone.

And maybe he longs for that, a little bit. Maybe it would be nice if Evan lost it a little bit and got demanding. But Taylor seems nice and maybe she never found out she was dating a crazy person.

Tommy misses dating a crazy person. He misses Evan like a limb. His life is so fucking boring and empty. They're too far from Harbor, but Tommy knows at least two people currently on shift, who'd go rogue if he called. It was his first thought, when no one answered the emergency button, and 911 said they were on hold, but Tommy is also a crazy person, who wouldn't mind figuring out what would happen, if he got locked in a room with Evan. Too bad his nervous system is a little bitch, who can't handle the heat.

It's so hot in the elevator, Tommy can feel his eyeballs sweating.

”It was me, OK?” Tommy blurts, when Evan won't stop pouting. ”I broke it off, because I thought you weren't fully in it.”

”I asked you to move in!” Evan explodes.

”We don't know each other! But I wanted to. I wanted to know you, Evan. I wanted to keep getting to know you.”

Evan's lip wobbles for a second, before he bites down on it. He glances at Taylor, and tucks himself more tightly into the corner. ”I wanted that, too.”

Taylor is sitting in the third corner, trying to do the math and figure out what the hell happened, because so far, it sounds pretty stupid. She asks how they met and Evan tells her about the hurricane. Tommy clocks the professional interest immediately, but she probably can't sell the story so long after the fact.

Taylor is kind to Evan, tells him she's not surprised he would like someone like Tommy. Which is a crazy thing for your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend to say, even if Evan doesn't seem to think so.

Nothing gets solved in the elevator. They talk in fits and starts, all three of them, but nothing gets off the ground. When it's finally their turn to get rescued, they're like three cats in a pillowcase.

As they get checked for heat stroke, Evan has reached peak pout. Tommy is worse off than the other two, and spends a long few minutes sitting in the ambulance, until Evan comes over and tells him, ”She dumped me, so stop looking at her like that.”

”Like what?”

”Like I'm about to get on the back of her motorcycle.”

It takes Tommy entirely too long to understand that the motorcycle isn't literal.

”I dumped you, too.”

”Yeah, but you didn't mean it,” Evan huffs. ”She did.”

Tommy's whole body is drenched in sweat and he's pretty sure he's going to pass out, if he attempts to stand up. ”I didn't mean it?” Evan is standing in the worst spot, with the sun right behind his head, and Tommy thinks he might throw up.

”No,” Evan says firmly. ”You're dumb. And mentally ill. And … And I should've called you.”

The medic passes Tommy a bottle of water, which he gulps down. He reaches out for Evan's hip and pushes him to the side, so he blocks the sun better, and Evan grabs the chance to hold his hand. His clammy, disgusting hand that has been touching the floor of an elevator for the better part of a day.

The medic hands him a second bottle, cap already off. Tommy sips this one. Maybe the hospital would be a good idea, but he's really not in the mood for it.

”Did you drive here?” Evan asks.

”I did.”

”Let me take you home? I'll make sure you don't die.”

Tommy turns to the medic and tells her, ”I'm not as old as I look.” She doesn't care.

”Come on, old man. You can complain all the way home, if you want. Or pass out. Whatever you're in the mood for.”

”And then what?”