#firepilot fic

LA's Link to the Sky Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck and Tommy have a full week of opposing schedules and Buck is excited because he has something special planned for Tommy, and he can't have him catching onto it until Buck is ready.

Shine Bright Like a Northern Star Explicit Version Rated: M

BuckTommy

Summary:

Buck surprises Tommy with a late night beach date and things get a little bit emotional.

For the rated G version of this story, please check out Chapter 5 in my previously published work "A Thousand Butterfly Kisses."

A Thousand Butterfly Kisses Rated: G

BuckTommy (Incomplete 5/8 Chapters, All individual one-shots. Currently abandoned.)

Summary:

A collection of short stories about various dates Buck and Tommy go on, including taking the kids to the zoo, picnics under the stars, ferris wheels and roller skating at the pier and so much more. Nothing but fluff and happiness for these two! (Except in one instance.)

Each story is completely independent of the other. At least one story will contain age related death but there will be a warning in the author's notes at the beginning if that's something you're triggered by. Any other triggers will be in the A/N each chapter as well as a short description of the story.

Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary:

Tommy keeps his promises, and even though he's late, he still shows up, tired and exhausted as he is. In thanks, Evan shows him what it means to be taken care of and prioritized.

The beginning is just like the end of 7x06 but hopefully it's only a small part of it.

Someone Like You Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck manages to keep it hidden from everyone for over a month, but one day he just breaks. When he does, the only thing he wants, more than Tommy, is his big sister to hold him and tell him everything will be alright.

Post 8.06 Canon Compliant - No "happy" ending!

Right as Rain Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: The cat distribution system hits Buck while Tommy is at work.

Walk With Me Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary: Buck and Tommy go for an early morning walk together.

Satin and Lace Rated: E

BuckTommy

Summary: Tommy likes to wear lace once in awhile, trying to be true to himself and getting out of the mindset of toxic masculinity, but he's never told Evan. One day, Evan walks into his bedroom after Tommy has gone to change after a very windy date, and to say Tommy is caught unawares is an understatement. Only Evan's reaction is totally unexpected and shenanigans Tommy has never experienced before ensue.

Oh Captain, My Captain! Rated: G

Bobby centric, includes all main couples

CW: Mentions of depression/poor mental health

Summary: Bobby has no issues being honest about his feelings. Until he does. It's been months since he left the 118, and he wakes up every morning regretting it, but he made this bed and now he's being forced to lay in it. But he doesn't want anyone to know. Can't let anyone know his weakness. Athena, the amazing woman and wife that she is, does notice however, and she makes it her mission to bring that smile back to her husbands face, and bring his family back to him, any way she can.

Groundhog Day Rated: T

BuckTommy

CW: Vehicular accidents, mentions of coma's, mentions of blood/bruising

Summary:

Tommy is being forced to take a vacation, as ordered by his superiors at Harbor, and he hates it. Sulking, he heads out to the open road with no plans in mind, planning to hole up in a crappy motel for a week when his plans are ripped from his hands. As he drives along an empty country road, a semi comes out of nowhere and meets him in a head-on crash. When he wakes, he's in an unfamiliar room, greeted by an unfamiliar child who looks just like E... Buck... and... Buck?

He can tell that something is wrong but he doesn't know what so he lives out the day, growing more and more confused. He makes love to Evan that night, falling into peaceful sleep. When he wakes he doesn't recognize where he is, but he's greeted by a kid that looks just like Evan and... Evan? Except parts of the world keeps distorting around him, the headaches get worse every time it does, and in the recesses of his mind he can hear a voice calling for him, but he doesn't know how to reach it.

Something is seriously wrong, but he doesn't know how to fix it... Or how to get back to his true reality.

I Told You I'm Sorry Rated: E

BuckTommy

TW: Some dub-con with a blowjob

Summary:

Tommy goes over to the loft to grovel but the second "I'm sorry" leaves his lips, he can't get much else out after that because one second he's speaking and the next Evan is trying to take a chunk out of his bottom lip.

Don't Rain on my Parade Rated: G (WIP 1/3 Chapters)

BuckTommy

Summary:

Buck finds a cat that he picks up but the loft doesn't allow pets, so he brings the poor thing to Tommy and begs him to take him. Reluctantly, Tommy agrees, unable to say no to the Buckley pout. This is the story of how Tommy and a little black void become best friends.

Daddy, Please Rated: E

BuckTommy

CW: Daddy kink

Summary:

What happens after Buck and Tommy have dinner after Buck found out that Bobby was going to be okay? Sex. That's what happens. Hot and steamy sex.

Morning Surprise Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary:

Tommy and Evan have a sleepover for one of the first times. They stayed up so late, and got so tired, that they maybe forgot to close a window last night. The next morning they wake up to find something soft, furry, and definitely not theirs sharing Tommy's bed.

In the Light of the Day Rated: G

BuckTommy

CW: Major character death, No HEA, Hurt No Comfort

Summary:

Everything is right in Buck's world. He has his Tommy. His home. His job. Things are perfect... Right?

Inspired by the breakfast scene.

Morning Light Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary:

Some things never change, and Buck has learned to appreciate them.

Or Buck has a throwback to the first time he and Tommy are in "Eddie's" old kitchen on year after they're married.

Don't You Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary:

Athena gives Tommy the shovel talk post funeral.

Make Me Feel Rated: E

BuckTommy

Summary:

Buck is numb after the funeral. All he wants is to feel something. Anything. And Tommy is there to help.

8x15 compliant

Heat of the Moment Rated: E

BuckTommy

Summary:

Evan is crashing out before the funeral even begins and goes into hiding, so Chimney ropes Tommy into helping find him. When he does, there's only one way he can think of to get Evan back on solid ground.

Earning Your Wings Rated: G

BuckTommy

CW: Major character NDE

Summary:

Buck wakes up to a call from Maddie. One that no one who knows a first responder wants to get; Tommy's been hurt, and it's not looking good. They haven't even had a chance to fully reconcile and Buck doesn't think he could handle losing him so soon after losing his dad.

Without wasting a single second, he rushes to the pilots side - praying like he's never prayed before.

Expanding Rated: T

BuckTommy

CW: Some mild use of homophobic language as well as some somewhat racist jokes made by a POC towards another POC.

Summary:

Evan and Tommy decide to take the plunge to adopt kids. The discuss it between them, with Evan stating that he wants a baby. Tommy goes along with it, wanting whatever will make Evan happy. During the whole process, Evan keeps it in his head that they're going to raise a child together but when it comes time to choose a child, they're drawn to seventeen year old troubled teen Branson Rodriguez. Something about him speaks to both men.

Branson is a broken child just looking for a place to settle and has a lot of trouble trusting others. He's used to being looked down on and tossed aside and he expects these two queer men to treat him just the same. Adults have never taken the time to dig deep and find the root cause of all his issues so why would Buck and Tommy?

This is a story about finding a place to belong, and the love it takes to heal a broken child's heart.

Home Rated: G

BuckTommy

Summary:

Buck settles into his new home with Tommy.

Tommy's Tummy Rated: E

BuckTommy

Summary:

The sun is already high in the sky by the time Tommy pulls into the gas station, driving up the right side to a pump so he can fill his tank. He’s been driving since before dawn, already dreading the next week. He’s struggling to understand why his captain decided that he needs a break. He’s been fine. His work-life balance is just fine.

He’s definitely not picking up as many extra shifts as he possibly can just so he doesn’t have time to think. To contemplate. To regret.

Hopping from the truck, he stretches his arms above his head, exposing just a little sliver of his tanned stomach as he moves from one side to the other. Letting out a soft groan he taps his card to the reader and pushes the nozzle into his tank. As it fills, he absently observes the environment around him. There’s a lot of desert; soft brown sand and hard packed earth as far as the eye can see. A copse of trees a few hundred meters out from him blows steadily in the arid breeze, and he tastes the dryness on his tongue. It tastes like a southern evening sitting out on the porch in the dead of summer, a beer in one hand and nothing but the chirping of cicadas as white noise. Small tumbleweeds lazily crawl across the ground, being pushed this way and that.

Almost every car that approaches pulls off; it’s the first gas station he’d seen in going on a hundred plus miles. His truck still has nearly a full tank of gas, but he was itching for some form of caffeine, and it’s not like he has a destination in mind. Tommy’s plan is to drive until he feels like he can’t, and then hole up in some roadside roach motel and hope he doesn’t get eaten alive by bedbugs. It’s not been a full day and he already feels the way the thoughts are creeping in; the urge, the desire, to pull out his phone and dial a number he knows he should have deleted months ago but can’t.

The pump finally clicks and he drags himself back to reality. Without so much as a wayward thought, he returns the nozzle to its holder and heads into the small convenience store that’s attached, praying that it has more than black sludge to slake his thirst.

While the station did in fact have coffee, it wasn’t much better than the sludge found at the bottom of an ashtray, but he was drinking it for the energy boost and not so much the taste. Ever since he ended things with E… with Buck… he’s found himself drinking his coffee black. Is it punishment for finally finding happiness and throwing it away? He doesn’t know. What he does know is that he has to force it down his throat as it constricts because the stuff is so foul.

He’s probably only another thirty-five or so miles out from civilization when he manages to choke down the rest of it, tempted to throw the empty in the passenger side footwell but deciding to not be the sulky adult he is and placing it in the front cupholder. All the windows of his four-door are rolled down, scenery whipping by as old-school country blares from the speakers. Tommy installed it a few months after they’d gotten together, dreaming of one day taking a trip just like this with him. They would hold hands across the center console, Tommy bringing those rough knuckles to his lips to kiss as the younger man regaled him with fun facts about any and everything. Tommy’s plan had been to spoil the hell out of him. He wanted to show E… Buck… just what it means to be loved for everything you are.

A sob works its way up his throat and he can’t fight it back. The tears follow soon after and it doesn’t take long for him to feel like he’s driving blind because his vision is blurring. The sun sinks beyond the horizon as well and his headlights can only pierce the darkness so far.

Tommy grips the steering wheel, hard, as thoughts he buried deep resurface. Barbed wire made of steel snakes around his heart, leaving carnage in its wake as it tears the fleshy organ to shreds. His chest aches and he can’t draw in a breath. Is he hyperventilating? His thoughts are a jumbled mess and his body is on fire.

That’s the only logical reason he doesn’t see the semi with its brights on, careening towards him around a curve, its cargo tilted on two wheels trying desperately to right itself. He doesn’t even feel the impact at first. One second he’s driving along half blind and the next he’s strapped in his seat while the ceiling of the truck is now the floor. Pieces of the windshield crunch under his hand as he groans, groping for… Anything. His head throbs and he smells gas.

“Fuck.” He swears, fingers finding the release on the seatbelt. It clicks and he drops unceremoniously to the ground, hissing as pain he doesn’t have words to describe rips across his left arm. Vision bleary, he’s definitely got a concussion, he glances down and moans. The arm lays limply next to him, the index finger barely twitching when he tries to get it to move. Broken - shattered more like - but the nerves are still intact.

His head throbs and makes his vision swim, but he has to get out of here and call for help. If his phone still works that is. He looks to the driver side window and is thankful to see that, while the frame is bent, he can still probably wiggle his way out. It wasn’t going to be comfortable, but that doesn’t matter right now. Grabbing a sweatshirt that was nearby, he wraps his hand in it, tilts his face away, and breaks out the rest of the glass, attempting to sweep it out and away from the truck so he doesn’t have to drag his already battered body over it.

Once as clear as it’s going to get, Tommy lays on his back for what could’ve been hours, trying to will away the no longer dull ache in his head. His vision is a kaleidoscope of color and seems to be getting worse. He’s fighting to keep his insides where they belong, despite wanting to desperately throw them all up. There’s a high pitched ringing in his ears that he hasn’t had since his combat days overseas. Brief flashes of his time in Afghanistan flicker behind his closed lids but he manages to bat them away. They’re trying to lure him into sleep but no. Sleep is bad. He can’t. Not yet. He’s still in danger.

Grunting, he unglues his eyelids and peels them open, chest hitching as he forces back the nausea. Giving himself just thirty more seconds, he turns onto his stomach and begins the arduous task of dragging his 6'2 frame through a window not designed to be exited from. He cries out unbidden when his broken left arm catches on something, and he has to lay there for an eternity, sucking in deep breaths through his nose as he fights through the pain. “Get it together, Kinard. You’re a soldier.” He hisses through clenched teeth. Who cares if he sounds crazy? There’s no one around to hear him.

Finally, finally, he’s on familiar black asphalt. Heaving, he gets into a sitting position and leans against the cab. His arm is no longer in pain which isn’t a great sign. Neither is the fact that he can’t feel the pain in his temples. He’s likely going into shock, his body shaking from blood loss due to the innumerable cuts all across his body. One of his ankles is swollen all to hell as well. “Fuck.” He reiterates. What a shitty end to what was going to be a shitty week. At least now he doesn’t have to find a shitty motel to bed down in. With their current location he may not ever need to worry about laying down to sleep again.

That’s when he hears it. The silence of the night makes it echo. A voice, calling for help. Swiveling his head this way and that, Tommy tilts his head ever so slightly, trying to locate the sound. “H-help. P-please. Someone please. Hel-p me.” Following the plea is a whimper that shoots straight to Tommy’s firefighter heart.

The other driver he realizes. Instincts kicking in, Tommy hauls himself to his feet. Testing his one ankle he decides he can hoof it as long as he doesn’t put too much weight down on it. If you can call it lucky, it’s thankfully also on the left side so his damaged arm won’t be forced to dangle away from his body as he limps to the semi.

The cargo container is flipped fully on its side, having skidded ten feet from the bed. The chain holding it to the cab is clearly snapped. Tommy notes the much stronger gasoline smell. Then he spots what he can immediately tell is a fuel line, or something similar. Fluid trickles from the hose, making the puddle it’s in bigger by the second.

“Hang on tight, I’m coming.” He yells, hoping the driver is still conscious to hear him. He stopped calling out, or making any noise at all, as Tommy limped his fastest. The snub nose of the cab is totaled, looking like a poorly made white accordion. The driver’s door is more distorted than Tommy’s had been, showing him exactly why the driver hasn’t gotten out. The area near the handle is shoved so far back it’s making a triangle. There’s no way one person, an injured person no less, could push it open.

Finally he’s within reach. He’s not sure what he’ll be able to do, being injured himself, but he knows he’s going to damn well do everything he can. That’s when he notices the embers. Embers growing steadily bigger as they crawl their way along the mystery liquid. Tommy’s eyes widen comically. It doesn’t matter how injured he currently is, he’s suddenly on a very strict timer. The clock has been ticking, but for how long? The steel cargo hold must have sparked as it skidded. Tommy doesn’t know just how long he was out of it before he woke up and got himself to safety.

As he starts to yank on the distorted door, fingers digging into whatever open space he can find, he yells, “Hey, can you hear me? Is anyone there?” It’s hard to focus between his useless left arm, the concussion, and using his one good limb to yank at the door. “Hey, I’m firefighter Kinard. Say something if you can hear me!” The door gives just a little and he gets excited for a split second before realizing that it refuses to budge anymore. The embers are now an actual flame, and they’re gaining ground fast. “Dammit.” It doesn’t matter if the driver is dead or alive, he’s getting him out of there. No one deserves to burn to a crisp in the cab of their vehicle, dead or alive.

Hobbling around the semi he searches the surrounding area for anything he can use as leverage to get the door open. Unfortunately he left his own jaws of life at home, he can’t just carry them around in his back pocket you know, so he has to improvise. That’s when he sees it, a fallen tree branch as thick as his forearm and as long as his femur. Hopefully it will do. It has to. He pleads to a God he doesn’t even believe in. God forsook him years ago.

Gritting his teeth, he grabs the branch and drags it behind him back to the wreckage. With more difficulty than even the most uncoordinated person, Tommy manages to wedge the branch between the door and the frame. It groans under the pressure but doesn’t break. Sweat beading along his brow and under his pits, the back of his shirt soaked with it or who knows what else, he braces one end of the branch between his bicep and his chest, wrapping his arm around it like a cobra. Planting his foot, he wrenches his make-shift lever towards the truck. He leans against the cab as his muscles screen out in agony and the metal screeches as it rubs against itself. The branch begins to crack and Tommy is on the verge of passing out.

Please. Just a little bit more. He can feel the heat of the flames at his back, licking up his calves.

The door gives and Tommy lets out a surprised laugh sob. Dropping the branch he peers into the truck and sees the driver slumped over the steering wheel. Not even bothering to check for his pulse, Chimney and Hen would absolutely murder him for not doing his ABC’s before moving a patient, Tommy cradles the man’s head as best he can against his shoulder before wrapping an arm around his middle and tugging.

Thankfully the driver is light, a very slight Asian man, probably in his very late fifties to early sixties, likely just a few years from retirement, making it that much easier to pull him to safety. And he couldn't have gotten away even a second later because the next moment the entirety of the rig went up in a fiery explosion of flames, shrapnel like bullets flying everywhere. The ringing in his ears increases tenfold and he has to cover one with his hand and the other against his shoulder.

Once he’s certain there’s no shrapnel left to injure them further, Tommy begins the search for his phone. He finds it inside his own truck but his heart sinks upon seeing the cracked screen. Fingers shaking as the adrenaline high starts to wear off, he presses the power button and nothing. On the verge of a breakdown, he bites his lip and presses and holds the power button, sending out another prayer. At first nothing happens, no response. But the screen flickers, distorted and hardly legible, but that’s fine. As long as he can dial for help.

It takes an inordinately long time for his phone to boot up, especially considering it’s one of the more recent models because Ev… Buck… was tired of his phone always taking so long to load. His lock screen flickers into view, though it flashes in and out of focus, colors bleeding across the cracks. When he attempts to enter his pin to unlock it, the screen doesn't respond. He curses yet again when he remembers that most smartphones have a feature that can dial 911 without using the screen. His brain more scrambled than eggs on a Sunday morning, he wracks it trying to remember. Eventually it comes to him. It wasn’t a feature all phones have, but it’s one a lot of first responders used because they knew calling wasn’t always feasible. Fingers unsteady, he uses his thumb to hit the power button three times in rapid succession. He whimpers in relief as it begins to ring despite there being no more than one bar of service.

Setting his phone aside, he begins his cursory checks of the other driver. Placing two fingers at his throat, he finds a pulse. While slow, it’s beating steadily. The man has a nasty cut across his forehead in a diagonal line, bleeding sluggishly. He most likely has a concussion as well. All of his limbs seem to be okay, though they were likely going to be heavily bruised for a very long time. Tommy is counting respirations when the line clicks.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My name is Tommy Kinard, firefighter pilot at Harbor station in LA. I was in a head-on collision with a semi in my personal vehicle.”

“Thank you, firefighter Kinard. Can you tell me your location?”

Tommy blinks. His vision is narrowing in, the edges turning black. His awareness is going. It takes her asking a second time for him to find his voice. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s okay, stay on the line with me while we find your location. Is anyone injured?”

“Yes. Myself and the semi driver. There was a gas spill or something so I was forced to extract him before it went up.” He breathes deeply and leans back against his totaled truck. “We’re both showing signs of concussions. He unfortunately passed out before I could get to him so I’m not sure how serious it is. My left arm is completely broken and my left ankle is swollen. Not sure of its status. He’s got a diagonal gash along his forehead that’s still bleeding and we’ve both got plenty of cuts.”

“Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. Is it still bleeding a concerning amount?”

Tommy assesses the driver before answering. “No. It’s almost stopped.”

“Okay, that’s good.” He hears her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “We’ve located you and I’ve sent emergency vehicles to your location. While you wait for them to arrive, I need you to stay awake. Do you have anything you can use to splint your left arm?”

Her words fade and his head lilts to the side. When he speaks he knows he’s slurring but he can’t stop it. “N-noo. No s’lin’t.”

“Firefighter Kinard, please keep talking. I need you to stay awake, can you do that for me? The ambulance is less than twenty minutes out. You’re in quite a rural area.”

No. No he can’t. His vision darkens until it’s just pinpricks of light. The last thing he hears before his body collapses to the side is the dispatcher frantically screaming out his name. His world goes dark and he’s dragged under, into the unknown.

A 1950’s crooner belts out on the radio that Buck has turned down to two, barely enough to register. He’s more focused on rolling out the light brown dough he had cooling in the fridge overnight until it was nice and stiff. He takes handfuls of it out and rolls it into a nice, tight, ball before slamming it down onto his floured counter. The kitchen is an absolute mess; this is probably the eighth batch of cookies he’s made in as many days.

And he knows why. He knows why he keeps pulling out the kitchen aid. He understands why he keeps his phone close at hand while his heart pitter patters every time a notification goes off, even though he knows it won’t be… Him.

Buck shakes his head, refusing to go down that road. With the wooden rolling pin that… that he had bought for him, he starts the arduous process of getting the dough thickness just right. He goes over it again and again, determined that it be perfectly round because something has to go right. Once satisfied, he turns to look at the array of cookie cutters that he has and simply stares. It’s like his mind goes blank as he zero’s in on the traditional gingerbread man.

Reaching for it, he runs his finger along the blunt edge, mind wandering. It’s hard to believe that it’s Christmas already. Just a few months ago he had been imagining what it was going to be like to have a man by his side for the biggest holiday of the year for the first time. What was he going to buy him for a gift? Would they spend time with Buck’s parents, or his pseudo family at the 118? Would he… Would he have kissed Buck under the mistletoe, or told him that was why even though Buck knows he’d kiss him any time, anywhere?

Throat burning, he yanks himself away from those thoughts and gets back to the task at hand. With precision, he cuts out as many men as he can before rolling the dough up and beginning the process all over. He takes his time, going at it methodically, until he can’t make any more. The crooner on the radio is now singing about Frosty and his exploits.

When he glances at his counter, he blanches, realizing that he’s made way more cookies than he intended. Thank God firefighters loved cookies because he’s not sure what he’d be doing with them otherwise. Shaking himself out of whatever melancholy he’s headed straight for, he gently sets each cookie on a baking tray and starts placing them in the oven.

For the next hour, Buck is given a reprieve from haunting thoughts. He loses himself in a book he’s been working on for weeks - one that isn’t something he and Tommy promised to read together - only stopping to switch out trays. He sips at a Merlot Maddie recommended, enjoying the slight tartness. The smell of ginger spice and cinnamon fill every nook and cranny of the loft and it feels like comfort.

Once the cookies are baked, and cooling, filling every free spot on his counter, Buck makes himself something small to eat. He turns off the radio and trades it for the TV, heart squeezing each time he passes by some sports event. He hears something about the Lakers and almost turns off the TV because it’s too raw. Too much, too soon.

Finally it’s time for the decorating part, and Buck hasn’t a clue what he plans to do. Decorating has always been his least favorite part of the process. It’s too many decisions; too much pressure to make each cookie unique instead of just slathering different color frostings over the whole thing and calling it good. Buck hates making those kinds of decisions. But what does it matter? It’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone anyway, so who cares if he does just that?

He splits his little cup of homemade whipped frosting into six different color bowls and adds a few drops of food coloring to each one. Once they’re whipped and mixed in, he lets himself fall back into a trance-like state as he decorates. His mind is completely empty. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t feel. He just does. And it’s incredible.

Until he wakes up from the dream and looks down. The first tray is just like he’s planned - a single color of frosting slathered across the entire cookie. The next is made with a bit more care and effort, though still minimal. By the third, his little gingerbread army has more defined, discernible features. And by tray number four? Well, by tray number four Buck is seeing an uncanny resemblance to a hot firefighter pilot.

Buck is no decorator extraordinaire but trays five through seven are most definitely the man he lost. The one that was so scared he walked away before he could get hurt and shattering Buck into a million pieces that, just like Humpty Dumpty, couldn’t be put back together again.

Dropping his piping bag, Buck slides to his knees as tears cascade down his ruddy cheeks. Thunking his head against the cupboards, his body shakes with sobs as the rug of the world feels like it’s pulled out from under him yet again. How can it still hurt this much ? Why can’t the tractor beam be fading and letting him move on? Tommy wasn’t his first.

… But God how he wishes Tommy could’ve been his last…

Broken like he’s never been before, not even when Maddie abandoned him to be with Doug, Buck curls into a fetal position on the floor and leaves the floodgates open. He doesn’t try to hold back his voice as he lets all his hurt, and pain out.

On the couch, where he’s left his phone, he doesn’t see it light up. Doesn’t see Tommy’s text bubble as it comes and goes until a single word comes through. ‘ Evan. ’

That was until he heard a familiar, yet not, kind of sound from the bushes that fenced in his boyfriend's backyard. The first time he heard it, he looked up and shrugged before returning to his book - things were just heating up - when thirty seconds later he heard it again. Being a first responder, his ears had been trained to pick up on the faintest signs of life. Frowning, he snapped his book closed and set his plate down on the patio table. Slinging his legs over the side of the chair, he stood and approached the bushes slowly, straining his ears hard.

There it was again. A pitiful, mewling sound. His heart picked up speed.

“Hello?” He called out as he began pawing through the brush, wishing he’d brought his phone so he could use the flashlight to see into the shadows. There was no response and he began to think he’d misheard when he heard it again, much clearer. A plaintive, pained, mewl of an animal. “Shit.” He breathed, eyes going wide. Frantically he began to push aside the branches, not caring about the way that they scratched up his bare arms. “Here kitty, kitty. I got you.” He tried not to sound panicked. Although he was a bit more of a dog guy, he was an animal guy at heart and he would never leave one to suffer if he could help it. And this baby sounded like he was in pain. “Where are you sweetheart?” He hissed, checking every nook and cranny but coming up empty.

Until he saw them - a gleaming pair of bright green eyes attached to a void that blended in so deeply he’d have missed it if the poor thing hadn’t had them open. His pupils were blown so big that there was only a rim of green visible. When the cat spotted Buck, he howled and scrabbled for him, reaching out a paw that was covered in muck and… Blood. That was definitely blood along its claws. Buck drew in a sharp breath as he felt his heart cracking in two.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you. Okay? Just hold on. I’ve got you.” Using his broad shoulders he pushed aside the bushes until he had a clear shot before reaching out to wrap his hands around the tiny body. Immediately he knew that the poor thing was likely malnourished, and possibly even dehydrated; Buck could practically count its ribs and every knob along its itty bitty spine. Tears pricked in his eyes but he held them back by sheer force of will. With trained precision, he extracted the creature from its possible tomb, cradling it to his chest. One of his, Buck checked, paws hung at an odd angle and he had been right about the blood. It seemed that the baby had been trying to claw his way out for who knows how long, or had possibly been running from something before getting stuck in the brambles.

Buck’s heart melted when he turned his head and stared up at him, mewing quietly as his one good front paw attempted to make biscuits on his pecs. “Oh aren’t you just the cutest little thing. What the heck happened to you?” Cooing, Buck petted the creature from the tip of its nose, all the way down its spine. “What should I do with you?” He sighed. “I guess we should at least get you cleaned up and take you to the vet. See if you have a chip or anything.” The cat slow blinked at him, and Buck felt when his little engine started to roar, vibrating his entire little body. Grinning, Buck shook his head and made his way back inside, leaving his lunch out on the patio. The local wildlife could have what was left of it.

In one of Tommy’s bathrooms, he made the cat comfortable on a pile of towels as he half filled the sink with lukewarm water and some Dawn dish soap. He kept a watchful eye on his new friend, making sure he didn’t seem to be in too much pain while he waited. The pitiful thing just kept on purring and making tiny little biscuits, occasionally chirruping when he saw Buck watching. Cursing his soft heart, but not really, Buck once more picked up the cat, grabbing gently at his scruff as he lowered him into the water. To his shock, the animal didn’t fight him in the slightest. He even seemed to breathe out his own sign of relief. Buck could only assume the heat felt good on its aching front limb.

For the next forty or so minutes, Buck scrubbed and scrubbed at the cat's fur, refilling the sink innumerable times as the dirt, grime, and blood sloughed off. When the water eventually ran clear, Buck bundled him up into the fluffiest towel he could find, which wasn’t all that fluffy, as Tommy seemed to subscribe to the idea that men used sandpaper, and not clouds, to dry off. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that as he squeezed out the excess water before gently wrapping the little one up into a purrito and setting him on the counter to dry as he made some phone calls to find a vet that would be able to get him in immediately.

Once the cat was mostly dry and had been fed half a can of fresh tuna, and drank down an ocean’s worth of water, they were off to the vet. In the front seat, still bundled in a blanket, the cat fell fast asleep as if it knew it was safe. Taken care of. At every stop sign or light, Buck would reach over and scritch behind its velvety soft ears or run his finger down the bridge of its tiny baby nose. Once at the vet, the little bundle was received as well as a pallet of gold. The techs cooed at him and consoled him over his hurt little paw, lamenting how anyone could do such a thing to such a sweet baby. He lapped it up, head bunting anyone that so much as looked his way.

Once in their room, the vet came to take a look. “Well,” he was an elderly man with graying hair and kind brown eyes - his brown skin leathery and soft with sun exposure and accent think - “this little guy is lucky you found him. On its own, it’s nothing too serious, but if he had continued to struggle for much longer, I’m afraid either the damage would’ve been irreparable or he could’ve gotten an infection from all the micro cuts on, and near, his claws.” He stroked down his back, grinning. “I don’t know why they say black cats are bad luck because I’m pretty sure you’re the luckiest kitty alive.” The cat squinted at him and purred louder. Chuckling, the vet turned and grabbed a small apparatus from the counter behind him. The screen lit up as he explained, “We’ll do a quick check to see if he’s chipped and then I’ll bring him back to get a cast to set that front paw. After that, assuming he has no owner, you’ll be set to go.”

Buck nodded but for some reason his chest squeezed tight as the doctor ran the chip detector over the cat's neck area. They’d only been together for a few hours but Buck wasn’t sure if he could let the small creature go. It was the owners fault, after all, that the cat ended up this way. Not a minute later the little screen blinked red and Buck let out a relieved breath. “So…?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up but…

“No chip. He’s all yours.” The vet gave him a knowing smile as he bundled up the black cat into his arms. “Now, I’ll be borrowing your sweet little friend,” he scratched under his chin, “for a short while so my techs and I can set his arm. Sound good?” Buck nodded and slumped back into his seat.

The rest of the appointment went by in a whirlwind. While Buck waited for the doc to come back, he started doing his due diligence by making lost and found posts on Facebook and Instagram, and all of the local lost animal pages he could think of. He didn’t want to, but considering how he felt right now at just the thought of letting him go, Buck would never do that to someone else who had a pet they loved. (Even though he still thought they were bad owners for letting their cat out in the first place without supervision.)

If no one responds by midnight tonight… He thought, hitting post on the last message board. Just then a tech came back with his new furry friend, bringing a small card reader with her.

“What a sweetheart!” She exclaimed as she readied the machine. “So for the chip exam, all of his vaccines and the cast…” She laid out the cost. Buck winced a bit at the price tag but he happily paid for it anyway knowing that the innocent thing would get better.

While the machine thought Buck asked, “Do you know how old he is?”

She smiled softly at him. “The doc's best guess is about seven or so? Not elderly but definitely not a youngling either.”

He nodded again. Once he’d gotten the receipt, and they’d said their goodbye’s, they were back in his Jeep and headed for the nearest pet store to spend even more money. And Buck spent like he knew that this baby was his for good. Oh. Did he forget to mention he still hadn’t talked to Tommy about him, and that his loft didn’t allow pets? He hadn’t necessarily been ignoring his phone but his mind had been occupied by other things the last four or so hours!

Both of them exhausted, Buck pulled into Tommy’s driveway. Grabbing only the bare necessities - litter, litter box, and a few toys - both boys dragged themselves into the house. Buck set the little guy down and watched for a minute as his natural curiosity took over and he hobbled around, sniffing at everything. Then Buck grabbed up the litter and such and went to find someone unobtrusive to set it up. To his surprise, his little shadow followed along after him, chirping and meowing all the way. Grinning happily, Buck stopped every few feet to let him catch up and to give his head a pat.

When that was all said and done, Buck went to the living room and made himself comfortable, flipping on the TV as he opened a few of the toys - a crinkle ball and a wand toy. The cat went immediately for the crinkle ball and it was hilarious watching him having to bounce to balance on his back legs while using his good paw to bat it to a fro. Settling in, Buck grabbed the throw blanket that rested on the back of the couch and prepared to veg out until his wayward other half came home.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“Evan, I’m home.” Tommy called as he dropped his keys into the dish at the door. He’d noticed Evan’s car in the driveway and had been a little surprised to find it still here. Sure, the man had been spending a lot of time at his house but he usually went home for a bit on his days off just to grab the mail and do some cursory cleaning. When there was no reply, he frowned. He could hear the TV so Evan was definitely downstairs.

On soft feet he made his way through the kitchen, past the back door where he spotted an empty plate upturned on the patio and a half full beer bottle on the table, and turned to go into the living room. He stopped cold when what he saw finally registered. His boyfriend was sprawled out on the couch, the tiny throw blanket thrown haphazardly over him, one foot dragging on the floor and the opposite arm bent against the back. But that wasn’t what took him by surprise.

No. That was the furry void curled into the tightest little black hole Tommy had ever seen, minus the neon yellow cast on the paw that stretched out in front of it. Even from where he stood Tommy could hear it as it purred, content and cool as a cucumber. “Evan.” His voice cracked. “Evan.”

“Hmm?” Evan mumbled sleepily as his eyes blinked open, confusion written on his expression before remembering where he was. “Tommy?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and craned his neck back so Tommy could see his baby blues. “Welcome home, babe.”

“Evan. Why is there a cat?” Looking just as confused as Tommy felt, Evan looked down at the fluffy terror on his chest and then back at Tommy.

“I saved him.” He said as though it should be obvious.

Sighing, Tommy approached and crouched down next to the man, running a hand through his curls. “I can see that but… Why is he still here?” Evan’s lips turned down into a frown and oh how his heart squeezed. The Buckley pout was absolutely no joke and Tommy would fold in seconds if he didn’t hold strong.

“Because he had nowhere else to go.” Ope. And there was the bottom lip, even quivering a little just to dig the nail even deeper. “I couldn’t just let him back into the wild.”

Sighing once more, Tommy’s lips turned into a soft smile as he leaned in to press their foreheads together. “Why not bring him to the loft?”

“Because they have a no animal policy.” Tommy felt Evan shift so he could pet the cats back.

“You realize we’re first responders, right? We don’t have time to take care of an animal. Especially not when it's healing and we’ll both be away most of the time. What if something happens when we’re not here?”

Evan stayed quiet for an exceedingly long time before he muttered, so quiet Tommy wasn’t sure he’d heard right, “What if I just… stay here. Then someone will almost always be around.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away, caught off guard by Evan’s whimper of protest. “You… want to live here?”

“At least temporarily? Or you know… For longer.”

Tommy didn’t say anything for a long… long… LONG… time before conceding, knowing he would never win. “Did you at least post some pet lost and found posts?”

“Of course!” He pet the cat more aggressively until it lifted its head and nipped at his fingers, overstimulated. “If no one claims him by midnight I’m keeping him.” His tone brokered no argument.

Sighing, Tommy stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve named him already… Haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Grinning wryly, he asked, “Okay, let’s hear it. What’s its… his… name?”

Finally deciding to sit up, Evan stood in a less than graceful series of movements, so he could stand face to face with his boyfriend. He looked like a kid on Christmas with how happy he was. The cat clung desperately to his sweatshirt and Tommy couldn’t help himself as he reached out to pet him. His fur was downy soft, but he was most definitely too skinny. Tommy could see lots of treats in the future and a very spoiled animal. To his silent delight the cat purred louder, bumping into his hand for more pets.

“Rain.” He proclaims proudly, puffing out his chest. “Because I found him in your geranium bushes.”

Tommy snorts and throws back his head as he laughs. Evan pouts and steps back so Rain is out of Tommy’s reach, much to his displeasure. “Hey! Don’t punish the cat just because you’re mad at me.”

“No. No more pets until you admit my naming skills are awesome. Isn’t that right, Rain?” He kisses the tiny bit of white on the cat’s head and snuggles him closer.

Rocking on his heels Tommy says, though he’s not sure he totally agrees, “Okay, okay. Rain is a great name. So does this mean we’re cat dad’s now?”

Beaming, Evan says, “As long as I don’t get any messages before midnight.” Kissing his new fur child once more he says, “We’ll be the best cat dad’s ever, isn’t that right, Rain?” The kid chirps and licks the tip of Evan’s nose which sends him into another fit of laughter.

Eventually the two of them settle back onto the couch after Tommy whips something up for dinner; Evan doesn’t want to let Rain out of his sight for long enough to be safe while cooking. Once cozy, and feeding the little black void a piece of meat here and there, they flip to one streaming service or another to watch a movie.

Not one single message pings on Evan’s phone before midnight.