just a bunch of honkus ponkus

A few weeks later, he's looking for a birthday present for Ravi and so he pulls up Ravi's contact to look at his notes (Buck has notes for most of his contacts to remind him of their likes and dislikes and whatever other trivia he finds fascinating about them) and he'd noted that Ravi is into Dungeons & Dragons.

He goes back to the game store, on a mission this time, and peruses the aisles until Tommy is done with his current customer.

Tommy looks up when Buck approaches the counter. "Hi."

Buck gets distracted by the way Tommy's eye crinkle when he smiles that he nearly forgets to say it back. He clears his throat. "Uh, hi."

Tommy's smile softens then, which only accentuates the smile lines around his mouth. "Something I can help you find?"

"Uh yeah—yes. I'm looking, for a friend—"

Tommy's eyebrows shoot up.

Buck shakes his head and laughs. "I have a friend—I need to get them a birthday gift. He likes DnD?" He swears he knows how to have a conversation, but something about Tommy has thrown him off-kilter. Tommy at least doesn't seem put off by Buck's social ineptitude, or if he is he doesn't show it.

Tommy slowly nods. "Well, dice is always a safe bet." He gestures at the glass case that sits under the counter, full of dice of all shapes and sizes and colors. 

Buck steps closer to look and wow—Tommy's eyes are really blue this close up. He quickly looks away, before he's caught or does something insane like tell Tommy his eyes are pretty or ask if there are any dice in his shade of blue. "Oh, wow. I don't even know where to start."

Tommy patiently explains the different dice to Buck. "We do custom orders as well, with enough notice, if that's something you're interested in." He shows Buck an album with pictures of some of the custom orders they've done.

"So, you made these?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, obviously proud of his work which he should be. 

"No way, that's so cool. I wouldn't even know what to get—hey, do you have any with flames?"

"Yeah, we've got a few." 

He looks back up at Tommy and apparently loses any ability he ever had to be cool when he says, "do you have sex dice?"

Tommy's eyebrows raise and his lips part.

"Not for my friend, for me—" Buck says, like that's somehow better.

Tommy blinks. "Sex dice?"

"Yeah, you know, the ones that say stuff like suck—"

Tommy snorts. "I know what they are—”

Buck flushes. "Oh."

"And no, we don't." Tommy's smile is amused. "It's not that kind of game shop."

He ducks his head and laughs. "Right. Well"—he points to a fire engine red set with flames—"I'll just take those then."

Tommy rings him up and tells Buck he'll see him next time and Buck leaves with Ravi's present secured and at least some of his dignity intact.

Over the next couple months, Buck finds more excuses to visit Tommy's store: more birthdays, buying games for the firehouse, his jeep needs work again.

In between helping other customers, Tommy entertains Buck's questions and info dumps. Buck talks about firefighting and Tommy talks about his love of games.

Buck makes Tommy laugh and it feels even better than he imagined. 

One day in June, Buck goes to see Tommy without any pretense at all. It's quiet in the store—though he knows better than to say so—it's just him and Tommy, from the looks of it.

He walks to the counter and greets Tommy, who pushes a blank piece of paper and a pen towards him. 

"So, about those dice you asked for. If you tell me what you want, I can make them for you."

Buck's brow furrows as he tries to remember when he'd—oh. He'd forgotten and he wishes Tommy had too, though he supposes it was probably a pretty memorable experience. There's nothing teasing about Tommy's tone, only sincerity, and even if Buck never ends up using them, he doesn't want to turn down Tommy's offer. He taps the pen against the blank paper, suddenly forgetting any sex he's ever had or wanted to have. "I don't know—what do you think?"

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "You want me to tell you what should be on your sex dice?"

"I've never had them before, I don't know. Here"—he pulls his phone from his pocket and sets it on the counter—"I'll just look it up." Only, when he types sex into the search engine, his last search pops up. "Oh, um—"

"You know," Tommy says, voice low and deceptively casual, "if you want to know about sex with another man, I'm a lot more reliable than Google."

Buck's whole body flushes and he wishes for the earth to open up and swallow him, but he's not that lucky. "Oh, you…you're—"

Tommy chuckles. "Yes, Evan, I'm gay."

Buck nods. "That's good—uh, good to know."

Tommy hums. "Tell you what"—he grabs a business card from the holder atop the counter—"when you know what you want, send me the list." He hands Buck the card, a number scribbled on it in black ink.

"This is your personal number?"

"Yeah, in case I'm not the one here when you call. I don't think Lucy would appreciate it." Tommy's gaze sweeps over Buck, appraising him. "I mean, you're definitely her type, but I think she'd at least want you to buy her dinner first."

Buck tilts his head. "And what about you—"

The bell above the shop's door jingles as two customers walk in. 

A small smile curves one corner of Tommy's lips. "Let me know when you figure it out." 

"O-okay."

"I'll see you around, Evan." He raps his knuckles on the counter, then walks around it to greet the other customers.

Buck doesn't figure it out that day or the next.

The rest of June passes without another visit to the store; without calling or texting Tommy.

Buck stops in the store the first week of July. Tommy's at the counter ringing up a customer, but he looks up when Buck walks through the door. They exchange polite smiles and waves.

It's only been a month since Buck's seen him, so of course he hasn't changed.

But Buck has.

At least, he feels like he has.

He walks up to the counter. Tries to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Tommy eyes him, almost wearily if Buck's not reading into things. "I never heard from you."

Buck rubs the back of his neck. "Ah, yeah"—he'd rehearsed this moment, but he still stutters when he says"—I, uh, found this kit online to make dice? It took a few tries, but I think I actually did a pretty good job." He pulls the dice from his hoodie pocket and sets them on the counter.

Tommy doesn't bother looking. His lips flatten into a straight line. "Ah. I guess you're all set then—you've got everything you need?" 

Buck can't make his tongue work, can't shape his mouth around the right words—isn't even sure what the right words are now, this isn't at all what he'd rehearsed. 

Tommy walks away from the counter, towards the back room before Buck can even ask what just happened. 

A minute later, a blonde woman walks out of the back room. "Anything you need help with?"

Buck's brow furrows. "I guess not. You must be Lucy?"

"Guilty. And you must be Evan."

"Oh, uh yeah—most people call me Buck."

Lucy raises an eyebrow. "Most people, huh?" She cuts a glance at the back room. When Buck picks the dice up, she notices. "What ya got there?"

"Oh, uh, just some dice I made—"

"No kidding."

"For Tommy."

Lucy gives him a pitying look. "Do you want me to give them to him?"

Buck sighs. "Might as well. I don't have any use for them." He sets them back down and without overthinking it, grabs a business card, writes his phone number on the back of it, and slides it under the dice. "Thanks, Lucy. It was nice meeting you."

"You too, Buck."

When the bell over the door stops jingling, Lucy yells, "you can come out now, you big coward."

Tommy slinks out of the back room. "I can fire you, you know."

Lucy sticks her tongue out. "Your life would suck without me, Kinard."

He purses his lips. "What did you and Evan talk about?"

"Evan? Oh, you mean your lover boy?" She grins. "He left you a present."

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he accepts the proffered dice anyway. It's not what he expected. "Oh." He turns one of the six-sided die over and over, one word etched into each side. "Am I crazy or does this say will you go out with me?"

Lucy snatches the die and looks it over. "Oh, Tommy. It's obviously go out with me you will." 

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose. "I hate you."

"Oh, c'mon, that was a great impression."

"That—I don't even know what that was."

Lucy laughs. "Oh, he also left this." She hands Tommy the business card. "So…"

"So, what?"

"Will you go out with him?"

It's been a while since Buck's been on a first date. It's been even longer since he'd felt as nervous as he had about a date. He'd been worried he wouldn't know how to be on a date with a man, but he really hadn't needed to worry, this was Tommy after all.

Talking to Tommy is still easy, comfortable; they still make each other laugh. 

Only now, they let their gazes and touches linger. Now, Buck understands what he wanted from the moment he saw Tommy.

After they've finished their dinner, and Buck's looking at the dessert menu, Tommy tells him that he has something for him.

Buck blushes. "Oh, I didn't get you anything—"

Tommy smiles, lips pursed together like he's trying not to laugh. "I didn't expect you to, Evan." Then he sets a small, wooden box on the table between them. 

Buck picks it up and opens it. Inside the velvet lined box are several light blue dice. "Did you make these for me?"

"I did."

Each side has a word or phrase and Buck turns them over to take a look. "Oh." He looks up and meets Tommy's eye. "I think maybe we should skip dessert."

Tommy smirks. "You're adorable, but I've been dreaming of this chocolate cake for a week."

"Hmm. Well, I"—Buck takes two dice out of the box and sets them on the table—"have been dreaming of that for months."

Tommy looks at the dice, throat bobbing as he swallows. "I suppose we could get it to go."

Buck grins. 

Tommy shakes his head. "I knew you'd be trouble."

"Good trouble, I hope?"

Buck opened said big fat mouth but Sal beat him to the punch. "I planned this little social visit all on my lonesome."

Chim was too tired to even begin to detangle the Raso-Deluca-Kinard-Buckley codependency web to figure out if Buck had gone crying to his union daddy about whatever had his panties in a bunch now. With Buck, it could be anything.

"If this is union business then get in line." He held out for an entire ten seconds before giving in and snatching up the cup. "I already got the deputy chief after my head about the late evaluations. You know how long it takes to write up an entire station's evals when half your shift is spent putting out literal fires?"

"I'm familiar," Sal said dryly.

Chim downed half the coffee, which was a mistake; his pulse rabbited. "What the hell is in this?"

"Four shots of espresso, a fuck ton of syrup, and I think she poured in a packet of instant coffee."

He stared in horror at the cup. "Why?"

"She fears neither god nor death." Sal stood and slid his phone into his shirt pocket. Chim would bet good money if those cell phone belt clips were still around, Sal would be a proud owner. He was such a dad. "Let's take this to your office."

His vagus nerve went wild and his pulse kicked up another notch that had nothing to do with the espresso. "You've already made yourself comfortable. We can do it here."

Sal made a point of looking around the open concept loft at where all of Chim's firefighters were doing a great job at pretending not to listen in on their conversation. He was particularly impressed by Eddie's intense pantomime of searching the fridge for the quart of milk two inches from his face.

"This is a conversation better suited to an office that has a door, Captain Han," Sal said.

Ravi, who was heading towards the coffee machine, turned on his heel and beelined straight for the stairs. Coward.

Chim forced a smile. "If you would follow me, Steward Deluca."

"I know the way, asshole," Sal said, and didn't even wait for Chim to take the lead.

"Now who's the asshole?" he muttered and hurried to catch up with Sal. He was surrounded by assholes with long legs. This was why Hen was his favorite.

They made it all the way to the office before Sal paused, hand on the doorknob. Like the bay doors, Bobby had liked to keep his office open. "It sends the wrong message if it's closed," Bobby had said once. "We're here to help. People need to know they're welcome."

Before Sal could get off a quip or, even worse, be understanding, Chim pushed past and inside. At some point between the lab and all of them returning to work, someone had packed up all of Bobby's personal effects and cleaned the place out. The pictures and the #2 Dad mug that May and Harry had gotten Bobby as a gag gift on Father's Day went to Athena. The little figurine of an old fire wagon was in the Buckley-Kinard household. He'd caught a glimpse of it when they went over for dinner, which was a whole ordeal as they had to pack up the kids and both Jee and Nash hated being in their car seats. He had been irritated when he saw it, not because he wanted the figurine—that would have been one more thing for the kids to break—but because it hadn't even been a choice. Of course it went to Buck, just like Bobby's recipe cards, written by various Nash generations, had gone to Buck. Just like Bobby's final orders had gone to Buck.

The only attempt Chim had made at personalizing the office was to put up the obligatory framed photos of the wife and kids. He hadn't seen the point of anything else given how little time he was in there since the LAFD was all in on going paperless, which meant his laptop's new home was on the kitchen table. The air was stale. A tin layer of dust covered everything. Sal sneezed.

"So," Chim said, absolutely not hesitating as he took a seat behind the desk and laced his fingers over his stomach, "why are you here, Sal?"

Sal sat across him, mimicking his posture with his own hands folded over his stomach. "I'm just curious about why Firefighter Buckley has not taken the full family leave he's entitled to as a new parent."

The effort it took not to roll his eyes hurt. "Christ, I can't believe he went whining to you about this. Actually, you know what? I can believe he went whining to you. Isn't this a conflict of interest?"

"Buckley is only married to my best friend," Sal said, deeply unimpressed. "It's not like he's my brother-in-law and I'm his direct supervisor. Now that would be a lawsuit waiting to happen."

Chim took a deep, calming breath. "Buck took a couple of weeks when Theo moved in. I can't force him to take every minute available to him." That was polite and professional and more of an explanation than Sal was owed, and yet something about Sal's face, the set of his mouth or the fact he apparently stole Tommy's bitchy eyebrows, goaded him into adding, "It's just a foster placement. It's not like he's got a new baby. Besides, Buck is the donor, not the dad."

Sal went very still and very quiet and very dangerous. "Then I guess you think Hen shouldn't have taken her family leave when she and Karen took in Mara."

Through the horrific churning of his stomach, Chim said, "That's different. Hen and Karen were adopting Mara. And Hen didn't take the full leave either. Hell, I only took a couple of weeks when my son was born. Buck isn't being singled out."

"Yeah, let's talk about PTO." Sal deliberately unlaced his fingers. If this were a nature program, this would be the point where Buck would explain to Jee and Nash what a threat display was. "I've been doing some digging. Unofficially, of course."

"Of course," Chim agreed, annoyed.

"The 118 has a lot of unused PTO sitting on the books, which I find concerning."

"Oh, do you?" The annoyance was reaching the flashover point. "Tell me more about how to do my job."

Sal's expression didn't change; he used to be easier to rile. "It's not a good sign when your people aren't using the time they're due and that they've earned. Now I don't know if it's because they're all workaholics, in which case you got yourself a culture problem, Captain Han, or because they don't think they're allowed to take it. And if they don't think they're allowed then that's where I come in."

The flashover ignited. "You know, Sal," Chim said with forced geniality, "it's a shame that you never made captain. I remember you keeping us going through all those shitty captains after Gerrard. You were good at it."

"I sense a 'but' coming," Sal said, clearly amused, which only made the Chim's anger burn hotter by sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

"But you are not a captain and you are definitely not the captain of the 118." He jabbed a finger into the desk. "You do not get to come into my house and lecture me about my job and tell me how to look after my people. And if Firefighter Buckley has an issue with the way I'm running this place then he can put on his big boy pants and come talk to me instead of running to the nearest dad shaped figure to fight his battles for him. We all miss Bobby but some of us have to be the actual grown up in the room!"

Now Sal's expression changed, but instead of the self-righteous fury he remembered Sal being so good at it, Sal just seemed sad. "Howie, do you even want to be captain?"

That shocked him out of his fury. "What kind of question is that?"

"An overdue one, I'm guessing." Sal looked around the office, taking in the blank walls and the few framed photos and, more irritatingly, the ill fitting way Chim sat behind the desk. "I was surprised when I heard Hen declined the captaincy. I had her marked down for climbing the ranks ever since that night she found the car we all missed. You remember that?"

He snorted. Did he remember the night he and Hen became partners? Like he could forget how Hen metaphorically kicked their asses into being brave enough to dump Gerrard.

"I faintly recall it," he said at his most snide.

That got Sal to smile. "That's when I knew that someday I'd be calling her chief." The smile dropped away. "But then I hear she turned Simpson down. She didn't want it anymore."

"Bobby was mentoring her. She stepped up as interim captain when he was away. She was the one making the hard decisions. That's how she got on Ortiz's shit list." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "She doesn't want it like this."

"Nobody wants it like this." Sal heaved an old man sigh. "Do you know why I became a union steward?"

"Well, Sal, if I had to guess, I'm going with the fact you got an anti-authority streak a mile wide and love to fight with the brass."

"Well, you're not wrong," Sal said, a flash of wry humor. "But I was here for Gerrard. I saw what he did to Tommy. It was worse for you and Hen, I know," Sal added before Chim could rightfully protest. "He ground us down and turned us into the worse version of ourselves."

"Us?"

"Me." Sal leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. "I hate who I was under Gerrard. I hate how I treated you. I hate that my own best friend didn't feel safe to come out to me for years. I hate that it took me so long to do the right thing. I won't let another firefighter go through what we did. I will not let the brass protect more Gerrards."

"Is this your superhero origin story?" Chim said, knowing he'd crossed the line from good natured shit talking to mean bastard, but he couldn't stop. "It doesn't have the same flair as Spider-Man's origin, but, hey, at least you get the power without the responsibility."

Sal leaned back and donned a wide smile. "I'm going to do you a favor, Howie, since you're an old friend and we were in the trenches together."

"Lucky me," he said dryly. "That favor better be getting Buck to cool it on the snickerdoodle front. If I have to so much as see another cookie I'm transferring him to Alaska. I don't care how much Theo likes him."

"I'll do you one better. I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Bobby back when Firefighter Diaz almost killed a guy." Sal's smile became that of a great white shark. "I shut down the 138. I made sure there was an investigation into the culture the captain fostered and the harassment he encouraged. Every single firefighter who participated in the systematic sexual harassment was fired and denied all benefits. I oversaw the transfer of those affected firefighters to good houses with good captains. I dug and documented and uncovered every terrible, horrific thing they did, and I burned it all down and put heads on pikes and I salted the fucking earth. There will never be another Gerrard. I will not allow it, not even if it's the 118 and not even if it's your head."

"You self-righteous asshole," Chim said quietly, so furious he couldn't take a full breath. "You think you scare me? I've been dealing with people like you my entire life. I survived Gerrard. So if you want my head, Deluca, you're gonna have to fight for it."

"Howie," Sal said, not gentle because the only people Sal were gentle with was his daughter and Tommy, but kind, "do you want to be captain?"

Chim threw up his hands because the only other option was throwing a punch. "What fucking difference does it make? Hen doesn't want it. Eddie and Buck aren't anywhere near being ready to take command."

"You're not the only senior firefighter here," Sal said.

"But I am the only who fucking cares."

That was, Chim realized too late to do any good, a horrifying thing to say about the 118. It was the same thing Gerrard said every shift, the little phrase that allowed him to turn people into things: Gerrard was the only who cared about the job.

"I didn't mean that," Chim said into the asphyxiating silence.

"How did you mean it?" Sal said with what certainly sounded like genuine curiosity.

He forced himself to take a breath and then another. He brought his shoulders down a notch. "If I didn't take the badge," he said slowly, carefully feeling his way through the sentence, "then we would be stuck with whoever Simpson assigned here. We wouldn't get another Gerrard. I know you won't let that happen." He wasn't even annoyed with the way Sal tipped his head in faux modesty. "But we had a lot of captains between Gerrard and Bobby. You remember what they were like, right? They weren't bad captains but they—”

"Didn't give a shit," Sal said. "I remember."

The exhaustion ate away the last of the anger. "I don't want to get some guy who doesn't care about this place or about family dinner or about us." God, he was so tired. "We're Bobby's legacy and that matters."

Sal nodded thoughtfully and said, "I gotta ask one more time. Howie, do you want to be captain?"

"You're killing me, Smalls," Chim groaned. "Why do you keep asking that? Are you actually gunning for my job?"

"I'm asking because what it sounds like to me is that you took this job because no one else would and you were afraid the station would get saddled with a--"

"Mook?" he suggested.

Sal flashed a smile. "Yeah, with another fucking mook." The smile faded. "But you didn’t want this job, not like how Hen did and how Buckley does. And I think you resent the hell out of everyone for not stepping up and forcing you to do it, and I think that’s eating away at you.”

"I don't," he protested. "I'm not saying I would have chosen this if it weren't for everything, but I don't resent them for it. I'm doing this for them and for Bobby. We're a family."

Sal looked at him like Chim was an unstable building and Sal was trying to figure out the safest way to evacuate everyone inside. And then, with devastating precision, he asked, "And when was the last time you had family dinner?"

"Last shift," he said automatically, and then: "Wait, we had that call and Buck didn't get a chance to cook when we got back. So the shift before that. Or on Sunday. One of those days."

“You don’t seem sure about that.”

Chim opened his mouth to tell Sal to stop harassing him in his own station, but Sal had the audacity to be right: he wasn’t sure the last time they all sat down to dinner together. Buck had taken over cooking duties, but dinner was served buffet style with everything laid out so the rest of them could come and eat when they wanted to. It wasn’t like they were all retreating to their separate corners—people tended to cluster around the tv, on the couch, at the table, or leaning against counters because they were all raised in a barn—but they weren’t eating together, not like they before. Chim closed his mouth.

“Yeah,” Sal said, almost sympathetic. “This is your house now and you’re not handling it well.”

“So,” Chim said cheerfully, “this is the part where I tell you to get the hell out of my house.”

“This is what I’ve observed in the time I’ve been here,” Sal said, terrifyingly serious. “You have accused Firefighter Buckley of going behind your back by bringing me in, stated that he is not entitled to his full family leave per California law because he is only fostering Theo and implied that Firefighter Buckley is a child. You admitted to setting the precedence for not using PTO that the people under your command are entitled to and are resentful that Firefighter Buckley any family leave at all. You then proceeded to make several unprofessional and disparaging remarks about a firefighter under your command to another member of the LAFD. Is this you handling it well, Captain Han?”

“Let me tell you what I’ve observed,” Chim shot back, forcing his hands to lay flat against the desk. “Everything you just said exclusively pertains to how I’m treating Buck, which isn’t helping your case that he doesn’t immediately go running to you when another kid is being mean to him on the playground. My actual four year old daughter doesn’t complain as much.”

“That is a hell of a thing to say about your brother-in-law,” Sal said, “and an actionable offense as his captain.”

“Jesus Christ.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I know he’s your brother-husband, but this is still Buck we’re talking about. I’ve known him longer than you. Hell, I’m the reason you two even met.”

“You thought he was being unfairly treated and brought in an union rep to help him,” Sal said, tone heavy with meaning.

“Worst mistake of my life. Now I’m stuck dealing with both of you until one of us dies.” That was, Chim once again realized too late, too mean and too honest. “Bad joke.”

“That wasn’t a joke,” Sal said.

He gritted his teeth, and said, “I admit that was out of line. My son wouldn’t go down last night. I’m operating on about an hour of sleep.”

“The thing is, Howie, I don’t fucking care.” And there was the Sal that he knew and barely tolerated. “And those people out there, your people, don’t care either. You’re the captain. You don’t get to be tired or cranky or a goddamn asshole just because you missed some sleep. You don’t get to take out your frustration and resentment on Buckley because he’s your brother-in-law and you think that makes him a safe target. As you so aptly put it, Captain Han, you have to be the grown up in the room but all I’m seeing is a child throwing a tantrum. And my actual child knows how to behave better.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Sal,” he said, too exhausted to work up more anger. A tension headache throbbed behind his right eye. All he wanted was five goddamn minutes of quiet where someone wasn’t crying or grieving or expecting him to fix the unfixable. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could remember how to be a person again. “I’m serious. Dig deep. Lay it on me.”

“No one wakes up and makes the decision to be a hateful asshole, not even Gerrard.” Sal sounded as tired as Chim felt. “We give ourself little permissions every day. Your kid kept you up last night so that gives you permission to disparage Buckley in front of his coworkers. You didn’t take your full family leave so no one else should either. You care more about this job than anyone else, which means you can treat them however you want.”

Chim winced. “I get it, okay? I’m being a real asshole.”

“You don’t actually get it,” Sal said, and Chim had never seen him look so sad, not when Tommy was in the hospital and not even when he got himself fired. “I told you I’m here as a courtesy since we’re old friends. What’s happening here, all these little permissions and excuses you give yourself, this is how you get a Vincent Gerrard.”

“And you won’t let that happen again,” Chim said through a mouth gone sick and sour with shame.

“I never liked Nash, but I liked what he did for his place and what he did for you. I don’t want to have to salt the 118’s earth, but I will if I have to.” Sal stood. He wasn’t the biggest guy Chim knew—that honor went to his brothers-in-law—but had a talent for for filling the room, and right now there was no space left for him. “You saved Tommy’s life, and I am forever grateful for that, but I won’t protect you if you keep going down this road. The next time I com here, it will be in an official capacity.”

“Good talk, Sal,” Chim said, unable to summon up even the thinnest sarcasm. “My favorite part was the explicit threat at the end.”

Sal flashed that shark smile. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ll know when I’m threatening you.” The smile softened into something approaching genuine affection. “If you going to do this, Howie, you gotta do it right. And you don’t have to do it at all if you don’t want to. You can step down.”

“That will be all, Firefighter Deluca,” Chim said.

“Good to see you, Captain Han.” Sal nodded at him and then finally got the hell out of Chim’s house.

Chim got a full four minutes of quiet before the bell went off and then another minute before Hen shouted, “We gotta go, Cap!”