#boone

Prequel to:

Bruises - Bare assed on your bed isn’t how Boone imagined he be spending the evening.

Nathan Boone does not believe in love at first sight.

He leaves that for the romantics that huddle around that booth in the diner, hosting their weekly book club, taking about spice, alphas and knots. Theoretically he understands the words, but he doesn’t know what they all mean jumbled up together, and from the sound of their cackling he doesn’t want to.

He focuses on his menu instead, eyes sweeping down the laminated plastic despite the fact he already knows what he’s going to have, despite the fact it’s always the same thing.

“Order Up for 42.” Doris’s voice erupts from right next to him, almost bursting his ear drum. He sets down the menu to glare at her and that’s when he sees you.

A wet dream clad in the standard CALFIRE uniform. You’re rooting through the brown bags, checking them against the phone in your hand.

Too old to be a probie, he thinks. Too done with this shit, to be anything less than a seasoned firefighter or paramedic.

“You’re new.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. You tilt your head towards him, ponytail swishing as your gaze flickered over his uniform.

“That’s very astute of you.” You congratulate him before closing up the bags again, and he feels like a fucking idiot because a girl like you, in a uniform like that… you must get hit on all the damn time.

“It wasn’t a line.” He blurts out as you’re about to turn away. “I just mean, I work closely with Stationhouse 42, I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I just transferred in from Crescent City.” You tell him, wavering for a second as if trying to decide to stay or go.

“I went there once.” He tells you, sipping from the coffee Doris slides in front of him. “Gotta love that rugged coastline.” The edges of your mouth curl up for just a second and he gets the feeling he’s starting to break the ice. “The jetties were absolutely crazy, apparently people get swept off them all the time.”

“It’s a tourist thing.” You tell him, slipping into the stool next to him. “They want to take pictures for the ‘gram despite the caution signs and the swell warnings. I truly question the sanity of some people-”

Your phone chirps cutting you off, you sigh as you look at the screen. “I need to get going, Crawford’s being a little extra today.” You roll your eyes and Boone huffs out a chuckle as you rise to your feet.

“Maybe next time we run into each other I can buy you a slice of pie.” Boone tilts his head towards the glass case resting on the counter.

“Now that’s definitely a line.” You bat back but you’re smiling and that smile… Boone feels absolutely thunderstruck.

“Maybe.” He hedges, shrugging his shoulders. “Just a little one.”

You laugh as you gather up the takeaway bags and the sound sends a zing of electricity pulsing right through his body. “Until next time…” Your gaze slips down to the name patch of his uniform. “Boone.”

“Until next time.” He toasts you with his coffee cup, his eyes locked on your back as he watches you leave.

“Smooth, real smooth.” Doris mutters as she wipes down the counter in front of him, the door closing behind you. “You didn’t even get her name.”

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𝖲𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾-𝖭𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖡𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁, 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍.

𝖫𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆-𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝖽. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖧𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋.

𝖧𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖧𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌-𝖡𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗅𝗒, 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖾𝗏𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗒.

𝖧𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀-𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖡𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝖿 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 "𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾". 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗁𝗎𝗀. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽, 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾. 𝖲𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄.

𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖫𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀-𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗒. 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋. 𝖠𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖬𝗈𝗃𝖺𝗏𝖾, 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾. 𝖡𝗈𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖺𝗆𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍, 𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖲𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋 𝖡𝗈𝗆𝖻𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋.

You remembered the roar.

 That classic, low-frequency sound that lingered somewhere between a freight train and a jet engine.

You remembered your window being broken, shattered by the downpour of the golf ball sized hail pelting the truck.

You remembered the adrenaline, which was the only thing keeping you from hissing in pain due to the tiny cuts on your arms and legs from the glass.

You remembered the excited hollers of Boone and Tyler from the front seat, mingling in the air with your own.

Then it all went dark.

——

The first thing you noticed was the distinct scent of disinfecting spray and Clorox wipes. This wasn’t your motel room. It was too dark. Too quiet. The kind of quiet where you notice the noises you usually tune out, like the steady hum of the AC, or your own breathing.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out where exactly you were.

The question was, why?

Just as your eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark room, the dull pain in your head that you hadn’t noticed before intensified suddenly into a splitting headache. You groaned and clamped your eyes shut, your whole body stiffening with discomfort.

Then a hand tightened around your own and you heard a voice whispering your name. You peered to your left and through squinty eyes saw a shadowy figure sitting at your bedside. You couldn’t make out their face exactly, but you could recognize that cologne anywhere. Cedar-wood and leather with just a hint of citrus.

“Boone?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Y’alright darlin’?” He asked, his Arkansas drawl prominent despite his volume.

“Mmh… my head hurts real-“ Your brow furrowed. “Why’re we inna hospital?”

“Took a nasty blow to the head, ‘member? Huge piece of wood flew right through your window and knocked you out cold. Doctor said it’s a concussion.”

“Oh…”

That explained the headache. You didn’t remember, not really, but then again you also didn’t remember it being so dark outside. You must’ve been here for hours already. 

You sat in silence for a minute or two, Boone’s thumb stroking circles on your wrist. Suddenly, a thought popped into your head.

“Are you okay? Tyler?”

“We’re both fine. You ‘jst got real unlucky.”

You hummed in response, digging into your brain to find any recollection of what had happened. You came up empty handed.

“That was a monster twister,” you managed quietly. Boone huffed a small laugh.

“Sure was. CC was going crazy. So photogenic, too. And did you see the rotation on that thing? Must’ve been goin a hundred at least.” You smiled

“Yeah… hey, no one got hurt right? I mean it didn’t hit any houses?”

“Ty and the others went to check out the damage after they left here a couple hours ago. Said it hit a small town, but thankfully no one got hurt. Everyone’s fine, promise.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good.”

——

Boone loved that about you. You were always so selfless. Instead of worrying about your own condition, you were worried about the lives and safety of strangers. 

He remembered when you first joined the Wranglers. Fresh out of college with a degree in meteorology and a smile on your face Boone could only describe as “sunny”.

He remembered her first chase. How afterwards they had driven into the town hit to help out. You could hardly recognize it as a town anymore. Houses were picked up off of their foundations. Cars were thrown miles away. Stop signs and traffic lights laid haphazardly across the streets.

It was enough to dampen anyone’s mood.

He remembered how you offered a warm hug to anyone you thought needed it. Boone would look on in awe as complete strangers broke down sobbing into your shoulder for various reasons. A lost keepsake. A lost pet. A lost family member.

But most of all he remembered your smile throughout the whole ordeal.

Not happy, of course, but soft. Sympathetic. Comforting. Hardly there, but still enough to communicate to anyone you encountered that it would all be okay.

Now, as he looked at you lying in your hospital bed, your eyes fighting to stay open, he couldn’t be more confident that everything would be okay. You made things okay.

“We’re okay,” he whispered, bringing a gentle hand to your forehead and brushing back your hair.

“Huh?” You mumbled, already half asleep. Boone smiled.

“Nothin’. Go to sleep, darlin’. M’not going anywhere.”

That seemed to satisfy you, as your eyes finally closed and your hand went slack in his. He was cradling the back of your head now, his thumb brushing your temple with the utmost reverence. He stood up, carful not to make any noise, and pressed a soft kiss to your hair.