They turn northeast and settle out at altitude, and Tommy flicks a few switches on the instrument panel. Buck observes his actions, referencing his notes from the last time they flew, and calls out the purpose of each control Tommy touches.  

The muted thwump thwump thwump of the chopper blades repeats in the background, and Tommy’s voice comes through his headphones, staticky but comforting in its familiarity. He says something about a mast moment indicator, which Buck doesn’t understand but tucks firmly away into the folder labeled “ask again later”. He can easily picture a long drawn-out dinner conversation where Tommy explains to him the inner workings of the helicopter. One where Tommy’s hands grow animated in his passion and where Buck drinks in every word. They continue on in relative quiet, Tommy speaking to quiz him or give instruction, and Buck can sink into that feeling of contentment he feels radiating off of Tommy as the mountain grows nearer. 

It’s not until he shifts, leaning over Tommy to get a better view of the ground below, that he notices the photo tucked into a corner of the dashboard. The photo is on Tommy’s right, in the perfect spot to not block his view of any of the controls or readouts, but unfortunately obstructed from Buck’s view in the passenger seat by the curve of the instrument panel. It’s an image of him, a candid moment from one of their hikes in Topanga State Park. The trail and brush stretch out behind him, and Buck’s frontlit by the setting sun, skin glowing a warm gold. Tommy caught him mid-laugh, and Buck has on what Maddie has dubbed his “Tommy smile”. He can remember them going through the photos from that date later the next day, Tommy easily proclaiming it his favorite among the many selfies and candid shots of the evening. 

Buck has a favorite photo of his own from that date, one that’s made its way to be his phone’s permanent home screen. It’s Tommy, stopped at the crest of a hill with the ocean visible in the distance behind him. He’s sweaty from the heat of a California summer, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, basking in the salty ocean breeze. Buck had taken the photo as he’d trailed after his partner, phone held sneakily out in front of him so his boyfriend didn’t notice and immediately grow shy at having a camera pointed at him. He’d snapped the photo and then promptly tripped over a rock, drawing Tommy’s attention and ruining any chance at another candid shot.

He’s drawn out of the memory by a soft “ah!”, Tommy having caught him looking at the photo. His boyfriend gives him a smile that is somehow both shy and sure, able to be simultaneously confident in his affection for Buck and nervous of the reception. “Gotta have my good luck charm with me,” he states, words said so casually that they’re easily presented as fact. Buck grins, smile so wide it hurts his face, and he’s sure that if Chim were present he’d be making fun of Buck for the obvious heart-eyes he must have. He doesn’t mind, though, because Tommy’s answering grin is just as fond.