Latest Posts by loulover911 - Page 9

i saw where someone's head gets stuck in a pumpkin on the halloween episode of 911, and I'd LOVE if you wrote that buck was pranking tommy or something and gets his head stuck in a pumpkin. If not, it's fine!

I stopped writing a very serious fic to do this instead... and it was so worth it! Thank you for the idea!

“Evan?” Tommy called as he entered his house. He'd seen Evan's Jeep when he pulled up, which was a surprise. He was supposed to be on shift for another two hours, not that he was complaining.

The house was still dark, lit only by the lamp in the hall that he'd turned on when he left for his shift last night. “Evan, you here?”

“I- I'm here,” a muffled voice replied from the living room, quickly adding, “Don't come in the room, please!”

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “Baby? Are you- What's going on? Aren't you supposed to be working?”

“Chimney convinced everyone I was cursed,” Buck yelled back, his voice still sounding like he was talking through some sort of device. “Bobby let me leave early. I- I think he might be right.”

Tommy slowly moved closer to the living room, the floor creaking with each step. “What's going on, Evan? You're freaking me out a little bit.”

“Okay, I-” Buck sighed. “Just don't laugh at me!”

“I will not laugh at you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tentatively, Buck stepped out from the spot he'd been hiding, coming face to, well, pumpkin, with Tommy.

“Oh my God!” Tommy exclaimed, jumping back in surprise. Evan stood in front of him with nothing but a pair of boxer briefs on... and a giant pumpkin on his head. “What... What the hell?!”

“It's stuck.”

“I-” Tommy took a second to catch his breath. “How did... How?”

“I put it on when I knew you were close. I was gonna surprise you, you know?”

“You definitely achieved that. Why, exactly, were you surprising me with this?”

“Like,” Buck placed a hand on his hip, “sexy Halloween.”

And that's what broke Tommy. He couldn't help the snort that escaped him, tears pouring from his eyes in laughter.

“You promised!” Buck whined.

“I'm- I'm sorry! You have a p- pumpkin on your head, Evan!”

“Tommy!” Buck cried. “Stop! I can't get it off!”

“Okay, okay.” Tommy took a few seconds to calm himself down. He took a deep breath, then moved closer to Buck. “I'm gonna try to pull it off, okay?”

“I already did that,” Buck said, tugging at the pumpkin. “It won't budge.”

“Uh, well, I... Lube?”

“Did that too. You're gonna have to cut it off.”

Tommy felt around the base of the pumpkin, which was so close to Buck's neck that he couldn't even fit a finger under it. “I don't feel comfortable doing that. I don't have the right tools here.”

“I can't live like this forever, Tommy.” Buck knocked on the pumpkin head to emphasize the point.

“Yeah, I- I know. I'm gonna. I have an idea.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Way too much silence for Buck, so he asked, “What are you doing?”

“I'm calling- Yes, is Maddie Buckley available?”

“No!” Buck gasped, holding his hands out in front of him so he didn't run into anything as he stepped toward Tommy. “No, you aren't!”

“I am. It's all we can- Hi! Hey, Maddie. It's Tommy.”

“Tommy? What happened?”

“Oh, no, nothing. Um, I mean, well,” he stared at the pumpkin. “He's totally fine, but your brother did get into a bit of trouble.”

“What'd he do?” she asked curiously.

“He, um, he has a pumpkin. Stuck on his head.”

“He... He what?”

Buck tapped on Tommy's arm over and over until he put the phone on speaker. “Yeah. He put a pumpkin on his head and now it's stuck.”

“Are you,” Maddie paused, but Buck could've sworn there was laughter in her voice. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Unfortunately, yes-”

“Maddie,” Buck interrupted, “for the love of God do not let the 118 come!”

Okay, now she was definitely laughing. “Sorry, Buck, they're the closest to you. You know how busy Halloween is.”

“Maddie!”

“The 118 will be just fine,” Tommy said, and Buck crossed his arms, definitely pouting under the giant pumpkin. “I'd try to get it off myself, but it's pretty tight around the neck and I don't wanna risk it.”

“Is he having any difficulty breathing?”

“I wish!” Buck yelled.

Tommy sighed. “He's fine. Just embarrassed.”

“Alright. The 118 should be there in under ten minutes. I'll let you go, but Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Take pictures.”

“Oh, for sure!” Tommy exclaimed. He'd already snapped a few, head only at this point. “I'm taking video too.”

“Excellent! See you guys tomorrow for dinner. Bye, Buck!”

“Ugh!”

Tommy hung up the phone with a laugh before turning fully to Buck. “I'd just like to know what the game plan was here, Evan. Sexy Halloween? Like this? This is... This is a choice.”

“It's different!” He threw his arms up. “Role play!”

“Did you really think I'd have sex with you while you had that thing on?”

“You and Chimney kept talking about the movie Pumpkinhead! I thought there was something there!”

Tommy couldn't help but give Buck a fond look, even though he couldn't see it. “Evan, did you even look up the movie before you went with this idea?!”

A beat of silence, then. “No.”

“Pumpkinhead does not have a literal pumpkin for a head, Babe. Also, never in my wildest dreams would I want to have sex with that.”

“This is the last time I try to be adventurous.”

Tommy reached out and took Buck's hands. “How about we take an adventure to the bedroom and put some clothes on you before your team arrives?”

*****

By the time Tommy had helped Buck into sweatpants and a zip up jacket, the team was arriving at Tommy's house.

Tommy helped Buck sit at the dining room table, then headed for the door.

“Guys,” he warned as soon as he saw their faces, all trying to contain laughter. “He's very sensitive about this. Let's keep the jokes to a minimum.”

He got a few thumbs up, a nod, and Hen saying, “We'll be total professionals,” before he let them in.

The second they saw Buck, they all burst into laughter.

“This is the best day of my life,” Chimney decided right then and there.

“I gotta send some pictures to Christopher, Buck. This is. This is incredible.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Hen asked. “I mean, I-” she wheezed, unable to to finish her sentence.

“Okay, guys,” Bobby stepped forward, “let's be professionals about this.”

“Thank you, Bobby!” Buck said, the pumpkin nodding back and forth.

“We'll have this pumpkin off you in no time, Kid.” He whipped out his phone, motioning to everyone around him, “But first we need a selfie. Here, Tommy, you've got the longest arms.”

As Tommy took the phone, Buck groaned, putting his hands over the front of the pumpkin. It didn't even cover half. “I hate you all!”

*****

They waved goodbye from the doorway as the team headed out of the neighborhood, then Tommy turned to Buck, the smile on his face growing. “Never in all my sexual fantasies would I have ever expected this, Evan. I truly thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Buck glared at him. “We're getting a divorce,” he said, tucking the torn pumpkin head into his side.

“We're not married.”

“We'll get married to get a divorce.”

Tommy cocked his head to the side. “Are you proposing to me, Evan Buckley?”

As much as he tried to fight it, Buck couldn't contain his smile. He rolled his eyes, biting at his bottom lip. “What if I was?”

“I'd say I think you should move in first.”

He laughed. Then he realized Tommy wasn't laughing back. “Wait.” Buck's smile turned to shock. “Wait, are you being serious?”

Tommy nodded. “What if I was?”

“I- I'd say okay. Yes, I mean. I'd say yes.”

“For real?” Tommy grinned wide, his face scrunching up in the way Evan loved so much. “You wanna move in?”

“Yes! Of course I do. I knew this pumpkin head would be good for something!” he exclaimed, lifting it up between them. “Should I put it back on?”

Tommy took it out of Buck's hand, tossing it out the door before grabbing Buck by the waist and bringing him in close, “Absolutely not,” he said, pulling Buck in for a kiss. “But I do admire your dedication.”

Buck's smiled returned. He cupped Tommy's jaw and kissed him again, deeper this time.

After a few seconds, Buck parted with a grimace. “What's that smell?” he asked.

Tommy picked a seed out of Buck's hair and tossed it over his shoulder. “It's you, Evan. You smell like gourd.”

✨ frames of the day ✨

this is love

TOMMY KINARD the COFFEE SHOP

no but buck and tommy waking up together and they have most definitely overslept and they're late late so they pull on their clothes in a rush before practically running out of the apartment so it's not until buck pulls up to the station and everyone starts to (gently) tease him that he discovers that the t-shirt he's wearing has got kinard written in big bold letters across his back and what can he do but duck his head and smile and ignore the way he likes having tommy's name on him like that

"they are still learning and figuring things out about each other and what a relationship might or could look like" means they are getting to know each other and not all relationships work the same, so they have to figure out together how theirs is going to work. plus, buck's never been in a relationship with a man before, he has to figure that out too.

if there's not a big time jump, they have been seeing each other for less than 6 months. in that time, they dealt with buck figuring it out his sexuality, chimney being missing, bobby almost dying and gerrard coming back. all that while both have 24-hour shift that don't necessarily align every week.

the begging was rushed because they had a 10 episode season, but with 18 episodes, they can take their time to develop the relationship and show us all the milestones, which i think it's way better than just telling us they are already set.

A Breakdown of BuckTommy's Storyline Going Into Season 8 - Part I (Gerrard)

For reference, here is the EW article.

I wanted to provide an analysis of what the EW article and other promotion may mean for Buck, Tommy, and their relationship going into season 8.

The first mention we get of Buck is in the title - he's "struggling." He is having a hard time getting used to Gerrard's leadership of the 118. Tim Minear says it is "harder for Buck than the rest." Eddie was in the Army, and Hen and Chimney have both served under Gerrard before. Tim mentions that Hen and Chimney both have other reasons to worry about Gerrard - their foster licenses. Hen and Karen are in the process of trying to get custody of Mara back, and Chimney and Maddie are currently fostering Mara. He says of Hen that "[s]he can't be written up at work," and presumably the same thing applies to Chimney.

We know that Ortiz and Gerrard are working together - Tim posted a still showing the two of them together and he stated in the TVLine preview that "they are connected in many ways" - a hint to how Gerrard regained captaincy at the 118, perhaps.

Regarding Eddie, Ryan Guzman has already posited that, with Gerrard's captaincy, Eddie may "be a soldier that keeps on going." He also said that he wants Eddie to punch Gerrard, and in the same article mentioned that he is interested in seeing Eddie "[h]aving that volatility [he made a previous reference to Eddie being a "very emotional individual"] and suppressing it."

We know that Eddie is preoccupied with Christopher's temporary move to Texas. He is still "mourning" and trying to contact Christopher, whom Tim Minear hints is not interested in hearing from Eddie. Eddie will "have to take a look at himself" and discover who he is once everything else he has used to define himself is stripped away.

Turning back to Buck, he is going to struggle with Gerrard's captaincy for another reason other than Gerrard's bigotry - he has never had a captain other than Bobby, and he also views Bobby as his father. It is a dual blow to him. With his friends understandably preoccupied, I think Buck will have to face against Gerrard's captaincy without the level of support he would have assumed he had. Hen, Chimney, and Eddie will not like working under Gerrard. Gerrard will discriminate against them. But they have worked in these environments before and they have reasons to not stand up in the manner that they may want to. Buck has not worked in an environment like this, and he has newly discovered that he is a minority.

Whether Gerrard is aware that Buck is bisexual - and dating Tommy, who Gerrard hates - at the beginning of season 8, I am not sure. It would lead to dramatic tension if he were to discover it during the season itself, so I believe that's what will happen.

The TVLine preview suggests that Buck will go complain to Tommy after dealing with Gerrard. Considering Tommy mentioned Gerrard, indirectly and directly, three times in Season 7, it is safe to say that he will be involved in the storyline. I think, no matter when Gerrard discovers Buck's relationship with Tommy, he will immediately recognize it as a spot that he can poke at.

It's clear that Gerrard and Tommy currently hate each other. When Gerrard first sees Tommy after a number of years, his first action is to call him a slur. Tommy has mentioned working under Gerrard was "regressive" and that it "did not make [him] a better person." He also stated Gerrard was like his father.

Where Bobby is the benevolent patriarch of the 118, Gerrard is his dictatorial mirror. The Gerrard storyline makes sense for Buck and his daddy issues, and is an interesting way to explore Buck's new relationship with Tommy at the same time. I think there will be some tension between the two of them, mostly due to Tim Minear's philosophy that if they're happy, they're off-screen - and given what he's said so far, he does not want to keep Buck and Tommy's relationship off-screen. I think they will work out whatever tension there is from Gerrard and become stronger as a couple for it.

everytime i read that buck and tommy are together and they’re boyfriends and that oliver and lou have been filming together i’m just 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

Look. At this. Clown. And all the little baby clowns that worship him.

This is embarrassing for multiple reasons...

1. As a "fan run" news account you are failing. A news account like what you "run" Trenton, should always be neutral, because when your faithful followers finally realize you've been baiting them all this time... T... it's going to hit you hard. This is why I personally recommend anyone who actually likes information that's not biased, to follow @911bts

2. Anyone... ANYONE who understands these characters and this show should also understand that there is absolutely NO WAY jealous, gay Eddie is happening. That article suggests that Eddie is nothing but the sad, lonely third wheel. And fair... the dude has driven away pretty much everyone in his life.

3. It says Eddie is in MOURNING over Christopher leaving. There is no time in Eddie's life right now to be jealous on any romantic level whatsoever.

4. "Now it's time to figure out who the hell he is." <- this does not mean his sexuality. Eddie had always been something for everyone else and I truly believe that's why he can easily fall into being a somewhat messy friend to Buck... because Buck doesn't need Eddie to be anything other than his friend.

In short. Yall are playing yourselves and I'm flabbergasted you can't see it.

bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktommy bucktomm

got these homosexuals and this song stuck in my head. bon appetit

audio from here

Have I mentioned I miss them 👬🚒🧯🚁

lips🫠

NEW LOU NEW LOU!!!!!!!!!

【9-1-1/Tevan】 California Dreamin‘ - Sia’s vision

I like how this song matches the 911’s vibe. Their love story could be epic (personal thought).

Hope you all enjoy :)

If any thoughts, pls let me know. I’m welcome all the comments ^_^

Tommy Kinard in 9-1-1 → 7x06

sharing my vision of chimney dragging tommy into a comedy b plot and rambling to him at 6 in the morning until tommy says flatly, "i left a very shirtless man in my bed for this. get to the point."

it’s been almost 2 months and i’m still laughing at ‘we’re talking about your intentions.’ ‘are they… honourable?’ and tommy was like

if you're still doing prompts: maybe eddie thinks he sees tommy cheating and confronts him only to find out just how wrong he is. thanks!

“Sorry, man, I can't. I took an extra shift.” That was what Tommy had told Eddie when Eddie asked if he wanted to go to their usual sports bar for beer and wings.

Which is why Eddie was very curious as to why Tommy was walking down the street, passing right by the bar on his way to wherever he was going.

Eddie kept watching as Tommy reached the crosswalk, stopping as he waited for traffic to clear.

Buck wasn't with him, but some other guy appeared to be. At least, he kept talking to Tommy, leaning in close and laughing at something Tommy said.

“This can't be good,” Eddie muttered. He could feel himself starting to get heated already.

The light at the crosswalk changed just as Eddie threw a twenty down for the wings he ordered but hadn't gotten yet. He hurried out of the bar and managed to make it to the crosswalk just as the hand lit up telling him not to cross.

He crossed anyway.

Eddie waved off the honks and hid behind a building until he was sure Tommy wouldn't be looking back toward the noise.

Slowly he peeked around the building and glanced around until he spotted Tommy again. He and this guy were continuing down the street, so that's what Eddie did too.

He made sure to keep enough distance between them, but honestly Tommy looked so enthralled with whatever conversation they were having that Eddie was pretty sure he wouldn't be noticed anyway.

He had half a mind to whip out his phone and start taking pictures and videos. Get proof of whatever was happening so he'd have evidence when he told Buck.

Because he had to tell Buck.

Because Buck was all in on this relationship. He was undeniably in love with Tommy. Together for a year now, living with one another for four months, and Buck often talked about their future.

He had to tell him before papers were signed; before things were made official.

It would break Buck's heart. Eddie knew that. He'd be out of it for weeks, maybe even months.

But how could Eddie let this continue while knowing that Tommy was a backstabbing, two-timing, cheating skank?

Okay, maybe he was beyond heated. It was possible he was livid.

It didn't make it any better that the two men had stopped now, and this unknown homewrecker was reaching out and putting his hand on Tommy's shoulder.

“Hey!” Eddie yelled before he could stop himself.

Tommy's head jerked toward him, wide-eyed. Like a deer in headlights. “Eddie. What... I-hi.”

“Hi? That's what you have to say to me? Hi?”

Tommy's face went from surprised to confused. “Would you prefer hello?”

“Don't play dumb with me, man! How could you do something like this?”

“You gotta help me out here, Eddie. What'd I do?”

“You lied to me, for one.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Sorry, Eddie, I just had this thing I had to do today and I didn't want anyone knowing about it.”

“That's what you call this? A thing? Right in front of him?” He motioned to the man, who seemed a bit anxious at the moment.

“Well, it's not like he doesn't know what I'm doing.”

“Of course he knows! Buck's the only one who doesn't know. Have you thought about that? Have you spared a second to think about your boyfriend in all of this?”

“He's kinda all I've been thinking about during this.”

Eddie put one hand on his hip, the other pointed at Tommy. “I'm so close to punching you right in the face, Tommy.”

“I'd rather you didn't,” Tommy deadpanned. “Eddie, would you like to meet Gordon? He's the owner of the jewelry shop we're standing in front of.”

“You're cheating on Buck with Gordon? Really, Tommy? Gordon?” Part of Eddie felt a little bad. Gordon wasn't a bad looking guy. He was shorter than both of them, short brown hair and even browner eyes. He wasn't very muscular, but the suit he wore fit him well. Tattoos peeked out from underneath his collar, and the black frame of his glasses really tied the whole look together.

Still, he wasn't Buck, and they both needed to know that!

Tommy's eyebrows rose. “I'm doing what with who now?” he asked as Gordon shook his head nervously.

“Oh, no. That, um. No.”

“And you're gonna do it in his jewelry store? Shame on you, Tommy. Shame!”

“Eddie, I'm gonna need you to take it down like ten notches. I'm not cheating on Evan.”

“Then what's with the lying?” Eddie questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. “And Gordon?”

“Like I said before, Gordon owns the jewelry shop we're standing in front of. We met a few months ago on a call. We got to talking and that's when he told me about this place. He's usually closed today, but he was kind enough to bring me here on his day off so I could pick up the ring.”

Sometimes it took Eddie a minute to connect the dots, but he always got there. “Ring?” he questioned, his tone lighter now.

“Yeah. Ring.”

“You mean like an eng-”

“Engagement ring, yes.”

“Oh... Oh!” Now Eddie was smiling brightly, holding out his hand to Gordon for a shake. “Great to meet you, man! I'm Eddie.”

“H- Hi, Eddie.” Gordon returned the shake, but he was still a little nervous, and very confused.

“Gordon,” Tommy explained, “Eddie is Evan's best friend. I was supposed to hang out with him today, but I lied and said I had to work. My mistake.”

“Mm,” Gordon nodded. “It's starting to make sense now. Would you both like to come in?”

“Yes, we would,” Eddie answered, following behind Gordon as he unlocked the door.

“I'll go get it from the back,” Gordon said, locking the door back once they were inside. “It may take me a minute, but shouldn't be too long.”

Once Gordon had left them in the front of the store, Tommy turned to Eddie. “I can't believe you thought I'd cheat on Evan. Are you crazy?”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “I couldn't believe it, that's why I was so mad! Why didn't you tell me this is what you were doing?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “I was nervous. Figured if he said no, at least no one would know I'd asked.”

“He's not gonna say no.”

“You don't know that.”

“Dude, he's not gonna say no.”

“But what if he does, Eddie? What if I screw it up somehow?” Tommy rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “I want it to be perfect. He deserves that.”

Gordon came back out then, box in hand. “Here you go, Mr. Kinard. Make sure everything is perfect before you pay.”

“You didn't have to pay for it yet?” Eddie asked as Tommy took the box.

“No,” Tommy answered, glancing up at Eddie. “Another kind thing he did was let me wait until it was engraved before I paid. Because he's a nice person.”

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned, then turned to Gordon. “Sorry for calling you a homewrecker, man. I didn't mean it.”

“I... I didn't know you called me a homewrecker.”

“That might've been in my head. Still, sorry.”

Gordon felt in a little over his head here. This Eddie person was... interesting. “That's okay.”

Tommy stared down at the ring, biting at his lip.

“Gordon,” Eddie flashed him a smile, “could you give us a couple more minutes? Then we'll pay and be out of your hair.”

“No problem.”

Once he'd retreated back to his office, Eddie moved closer to Tommy. “What's engraved on it?”

Tommy pulled the ring out of the box and handed it to Eddie. Silver with a gold band running down the center, dots and dashes on the inside. “It's um, it's morse code. It just says “ILY” for I love you, obviously, but the morse code is the special part.”

“Why's that?”

Eddie watched as Tommy smiled at whatever memory was popping into his head. “They still taught morse code when I was in the army, and when Evan found out I knew it he was determined to learn. We'd practice every time we were together.”

“I remember him doing that at work too.”

Tommy nodded. “Yup. He had it down in a month. We still use it whenever we can. He'll tap something out on my thigh, or even blink something at me from across a room.”

Eddie placed the ring back into the box. “Propose to me.”

Tommy stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Propose to me,” he repeated.

“Wh... Why, exactly?”

“You said you were worried the proposal wouldn't be perfect. That you'd screw it up. Practice on me, and I'll let you know.”

“That's insane.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Two months ago you and I parachuted out of a plane when the engine failed and got lost in the mountains for nearly two days. That was insane. This is being prepared.”

Tommy looked down at the ring, then to Eddie, then back at the ring, then back at Eddie. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Eddie clapped his hands together. “Okay, go.”

After a slow inhale, he began. “Evan.”

“Yes, Pooh Bear?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, tilting his head. “He doesn't call me that.”

“I've seen the texts, man.”

“Forget it. I'm not doing this with you.”

As he turned to walk away, Eddie grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him back in. “Okay, okay. I'll be serious. Now, come on. Propose to me.”

Tommy sighed. “Fine, but I'm not kneeling.”

“That's okay, I'll pretend.”

Tommy straightened his posture and cleared his throat before beginning again.

“Evan.”

“Tommy.”

“Growing up, I never thought I'd find love. Not real love, anyway. I thought that maybe, if I was lucky, I could fabricate it. Play pretend and be fine with settling. Then, as I got older, I realized how unfair that was to me, and to whoever I would have ended up with.”

Tommy blinked away the tears that were blurring his vision as he continued. “I went through life with people, friends and colleagues that kept me busy, but I felt alone. And then you came along, and you lit up my world. Every doubt that I had collected over time slowly washed away with each smile we shared. Getting to do life with you over this past year has been an honor. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about when I fall asleep. If you would, I'd love us to have each other for the rest of our lives. So, Evan,” Tommy opened the box, presenting the ring to Eddie. “Will you marry me?”

Eddie stood there, staring between the ring and Tommy for what felt like an eternity, his own eyes red-rimmed and doe-like. “Holy hell,” he managed to utter out.

Nervously, Tommy asked, “You think he'll say yes?”

“Well, if he doesn't, I will!” Eddie took a step forward and wrapped Tommy in a hug, earning a surprised, “Oomph,” out of him.

“Yes,” Eddie said, patting his back. “He'll say say.”

When he finally pulled away, Tommy was smiling. He let out a shaky breath. “Okay, okay. So, buy the ring, then?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, man. Buy the ring.”

7.04 "Buck Bothered And Bewildered" | 7.06 "There Goes the Groom"

WIP

Next chapter posted (4/6)!

Routine was Tommy’s anchor, and his athletic attire was no exception. Today, he wore his old PT shorts, black with the gold ARMY logo along the hem. Years of workouts, wear, and washes had softened the fabric, making them exceptionally comfortable.

Tucked in the back of his waistband, after being removed in the late morning sun as sweat clung to his chest, was a white tee he received as a gag gift from Chimney. It featured Max-D, his favorite monster truck, known for its aggressive design and flashy performances.

The bright, clear skies and idyllic views marked the start of the day, and Tommy eagerly anticipated reaching WeHo for an iced coffee, maybe even flirting with Nick, the barista, if he was around. His New Balance 990s carried him steadily along his path, the rhythmic patter of his footsteps a steady beat beneath the bright sky. He opted to forgo music today, finding solace in the quiet, peaceful streets and the vibrant hum of the city.

Adjusting to life with Captain Nash had taken time. Tommy was working on building relationships with his colleagues, grappling with vulnerability and openness. It was easier to handle the harsh expectations from his father and commanding officers by keeping his head down and sticking to the task at hand. Bobby was different; he was fostering a collaborative environment, creating a real team, and that unsettled Tommy.

Every time Bobby’s eyes fell on him in the kitchen after a tough call, he could feel the empathy and care behind them. He would ask “Doing okay, Tommy?” and Tommy would always say “Doing great, Cap.” He never meant it, not really.

Continue on Ao3

groomzilla buck for a prompt

“What is this?”

“Lilies.”

“I know what kind of flowers they are, Enrique, I'm wondering why they're in front of me.”

“For the wedding,” Enrique replied with a shrug.

Buck stared down at his clipboard, lips pursed, nodding slightly before looking back at Enrique. “We talked about ranunculus and peony in ivory and coral peach. There was nothing said about lilies.”

“I know Mr. Buckley, but these lilies are beautiful and they would cost you less-”

“No no no no,” Buck interrupted. “I don't want lilies. Lilies stink. Lilies smell like a funeral. I do not want my wedding to contain the smell of death, Enrique!”

Tommy and Eddie stood in the kitchen, watching the interaction happening in the living room from a distance.

“Should we be doing something?” Eddie asked.

“Probably,” Tommy answered.

Eddie looked over at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Oh, this one's all you, Bud. I took care of the caterer yesterday.”

“You're the one marrying the guy.”

“You're his best man.”

Eddie put his hands on his hips, puffing his chest slightly. “Coward.”

Tommy matched his posture. “Scaredy-cat.”

Eddie shot him a glare, then held his hand out in a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Tommy sighed. “Fine. But not a best of three this time. One chance.”

“Deal.”

Tommy counted to three and they held out their hands. Tommy paper, Eddie rock.

“Damn it!” Eddie exclaimed, a grin on Tommy's face.

“Shoo, shoo,” Tommy said, “Go on. I can't afford to lose a third florist.”

Reluctantly, Eddie made his way over to Buck. It seemed to be perfect timing, as Buck was starting to go into a detailed history of floral arraignments and why his choice was superior to anything Enrique thought would be a good idea.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie began, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him away from Enrique.

“What is it, Eddie? I'm busy.”

“Yeah, I can tell. I just needed to talk to you about the suits that I and the other grooms-people will be wearing.”

Buck's eyes widened. “What do you mean? Is something wrong with the suits? Are they the wrong color? Light peach with black, double breasted. Eddie, it's supposed to compliment Tommy and I's black suits,” he continued, starting to panic. “Please, tell me there is nothing wrong with the suits!”

“Oh my God, Buck! Cool it!” Eddie exclaimed. He should have known better. “There's nothing wrong with the suits.”

Buck brought a hand to his chest, breathing deeply. “Thank God.”

As Eddie continued to distract Buck, Tommy made his way over to Enrique. The poor man's hands were shaking as he fiddled with the floral arraignments.

“Enrique,” he began, his voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you for all the help you've given us over the last couple weeks. I know you've had to put all this together rather quickly.”

“Yes, Mr. Kinard, thank you. I do appreciate you.”

“And I know my fiance can be-”

“Scary.”

“-a lot to handle, but he really means well. I'll make you a deal, Enrique. You give Evan the flowers he wants, and I'll give you a tip so large you'll be able to afford that trip to Yosemite with your wife that you've been saving up for.”

Enrique's eyes lit up, a smile rising on his face. “Are you sure, Mr. Kinard?”

“I promise. Now, I am going to need you to do one more thing.”

“Yes, Sir, anything!”

“I'm gonna need you to leave before Eddie loses Evan, okay? Judging by the look on his face, you're only safe for like twenty more seconds. I will bring your flowers back to your shop later this evening.”

“Oh, um, yes!” Enrique replied, already heading for the door. “Thank you, Mr. Kinard.”

“No, thank you, Enrique.”

Buck realized Enrique was leaving just as he opened the front door and headed out. “Hey!” he yelled, starting after him. “Hey, excuse me!”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender, going back to the kitchen to eat the cake samples Buck rejected from the baker.

Tommy managed to get a hold of Buck's arm, stopping him from following Enrique out of the house.

“Tommy, I gotta-”

“It's been taken care of, Evan,” Tommy assured him.

“Wha... How?”

“I asked nicely.”

When Buck opened his mouth to argue, Tommy stopped him by pressing their lips together. Buck instantly melted into the touch, maneuvering himself until he could wrap his arms around Tommy's waist, clipboard still in his hand. Tommy brought his own hands up to cradle Buck's face, deepening the kiss.

“Y- You can't keep getting away with that,” Buck said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to speak.

“Getting away with what?” Tommy asked with a smirk.

“Calming me down with kisses.”

“Now that's a major accusation, Mr. Buckley-Kinard.”

“Ugh!” Buck whined. “You know how weak that makes me too.” He pulled Tommy close again, kissing him more passionately this time.

When he froze suddenly, Tommy opened his eyes. “What'samatter,” he mumbled against Buck's lips.

Buck disconnected himself from Tommy. “Wait a minute,” he said, quickly moving toward the kitchen. “Eddie, I swear to God you better not be eating the cake rejects! I have to write the baker a detailed explanation as to why all his options are insane!”

“Tommy!” Eddie yelled, his mouth full. “Come save me! Bring your lips!”

Lou Ferrigno Jr. by mandymossmannmakeup on IG My first magazine cover @hillsviewsandvalleys 🌟 HMUA by yours truly @mandofxmakeup on Lou Ferrigno Jr Styling by @styledbyweathersby Shot by @kellyfajackphoto Thank you so much to the magazine team for bringing me onto this amazing shoot! more x

donovan rocker in S.W.A.T. 4.09 - Next of Kin (17FEB2021)

is this anything idk but you all can have it i wrote it this morning

Buck’s head is pillowed on Tommy’s broad chest, Tommy’s fingers combing through his hair. Buck loves this part - the afterglow. For a long time, he never even got this far. It was all hookups and meaningless sex, and then sometimes even with his girlfriends it never felt like this.

It never really felt like he belonged to someone the way he does with Tommy.

“Evan, can I ask you something?” Tommy’s lips brush over Buck’s temple as he speaks.

“Anything.”

“Everyone else calls you Buck.” Tommy sounds a little unsure of himself, which isn’t very common. Tommy Kinard might be the most confident person Buck has ever met in his life.

“That’s not a question.”

“Do you want me to do that?”

Buck looks up at him, confused. He’s not sure why Tommy is asking. He’s always just been Evan with Tommy. And sure, most of the time Buck corrects people, but with Tommy he has never felt the need.

“No? Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know. I just wondered.” Tommy laughs. “Put the puppy dog eyes and pout away, Evan.”

“It’s just.” Buck sits up, pressing his hand into Tommy’s ribs. “I like when you call me Evan. Sure, I’m Buck. That’s who I am out there, and it’s been great to remove myself from all the - the bullshit. The things I grew up with and my parents. I can’t imagine being Evan out there. I think I would hate it.”

“But?”

“But in here - with you - it feels like I’m reclaiming it. Evan doesn’t feel like a disappointment or someone who was born to save a life he couldn’t save; with you Evan isn’t someone who even his parents couldn’t love.”

“Evan.”

Buck pauses, and then leans down and kisses Tommy, soft and slow. He rests a hand on the side of Tommy’s face. “Please never stop calling me Evan.”

“I promise.”

“Good. That’s good. The way you say my name makes Evan feel worthy of love.”

They haven’t said they love each other yet. Buck can feel it coming. Tommy is the best person he’s ever dated. His friends love Tommy and his family loves Tommy.

Buck’s sure it’s coming, but for now he’ll take the way Tommy smiles and says Evan softly against his lips like a promise.

✨ frames of the day ✨

On this week's episode of Things I Think About While Driving, I was having myself a grand ol' time thinking about all the different times and ways Buck could've met Tommy earlier, and the one I keep coming back to is S4xE5.

Like, right after Buck walks out of Maddie's apartment having learned about Daniel...

He drives.

He drives and drives and drives with no actual destination in mind, operating completely on autopilot, for hours. No music, no podcasts, just the rush of wind through all the open windows of the Jeep and the echoing refrain in his head of so they made one.

It would've been an allogeneic transplant. He'd look it up once when he was watching a 60 Minutes special on Myelodysplastic Syndrome. They would've taken the stem cells from his umbilical cord if the timing was right. Unless they tried it a little bit later, maybe waited a few months before they scraped Daniel's homegrown defense system right out of Buck's bones. He would've been too young to remember the pain and discomfort that came after. He wonders if he cried as a baby more than he would've if he'd been wanted for anything other than the hellfire missiles in his marrow.

And then it didn't work. Defective, right out of the gate. No wonder they've always treated him like a massive disappointment—he is one. He had one job and he couldn't even manage to do that much.

So he drives. He drives and he's furious. He drives and he's inconsolable. He drives and he's sorry. With every street he turns down at random, he moves onto another emotion, and by the time the gas gauge is nudging close to empty and the evening is giving way to night, the only thing he's capable of feeling is tired.

And hunger. He'd only had an apple before he went over to Maddie's.

So he circles back to Glendale Boulevard and decides on the place with a red lion on their sign solely because it doesn't look busy for 8:30pm on a Tuesday. There's even a free space in the little lot next to the building. Thanks, COVID.

It's pretty quiet inside, with a substantial bar set against old wood paneling on the walls, making it feel like an old tavern. He takes a seat at the far end of the bar where the lighting's kind of dim.

Turns out it's a German bar, so he orders a glass of Warsteiner, which he's never had before, and it's got a strong, malty backbone for a lager. The bartender tells him there's a Biergarten in the back if he wants to take his drink outside. 

Buck doesn't want to move from his little corner. It feels safe here, even with his mask off. At least two of the one hundred thousand knots in his back muscles have relaxed since he sat down. He quietly declines the offer, but he does order himself the sausage plate and a glass of Augustiner Maximator once he's done with the Warsteiner, which goes down so good he can't believe it's got an ABV of 7.5%. He orders a second.

He's in the middle of robotically eating a smoked bockwurst he can't taste, thinking so they made one, when the door to the biergarten opens up. A guy walks over to the bar and Buck throws him a cursory glance. Then he looks again. 

The guy is exactly who you'd find on the cover of the LAFD charity calendar: big and beefy, with the kind of high cheekbones that belong on a runway in Milan. Effortlessly handsome. Buck wants to tip his beer toward him, because, respect. He also wants to poke his biceps and ask what his regiment is, if he P90X's or something. Buck isn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but this guy looks like he could throw Buck around like a grizzly bear. 

Buck lets himself be distracted by watching the guy lightly tap his fingers against the bar to the beat of whatever 80s song is playing softly over the speakers. He's always loved people watching; it's a great way to get out of his head after tough calls. This guy is a particularly fascinating specimen. There's just something magnetic about him. Buck's known people like that: they draw the eye even if they're not doing anything to warrant attention. Without even being called, the bartender wanders over to the guy, no doubt drawn to whatever invisible light is coming off him. Buck can't hear what they're saying, but then the bartender turns and points right at Buck, who freezes, caught. 

The guy flashes Buck a thumbs up and asks just loud enough to be heard through his face mask, "How was the Warsteiner?"

Swallowing, Buck lifts the empty glass and says, "Uh, g-good. Full-bodied." 

With a thoughtful nod, the guy turns back to the bartender and says something too quiet for Buck to hear, but he figures it out when the bartender goes and comes back with a glass of what is clearly Warsteiner. The guy takes a sip, pauses, and then moves toward Buck, stopping before he gets too close. "Thanks for the recommendation. Hey, Jay, put his next one on my tab."

The bartender—Jay—gives him a thumbs up and goes to the register. Buck, mortified at the thought of being a charity case, of this guy pitying him enough to buy him a beer, opens his mouth to tell Jay he can pay for his own beers, thanks, when the guy holds up a hand to forestall the protest.

"German beer's not usually my thing. I'm more of a craft beer kind of guy, so really, I appreciate the assist. If it makes you feel better, pay it forward." His cheeks curve up, and in the bar lighting Buck can see there are long legs attached to the guy's crow's feet. He clearly has spent his life smiling. Buck would bet this man has never once curled up in the dark on his birthday knowing for a fact his parents weren't going to even text him and was still disappointed when the clock ticked past midnight and he had nothing to show for it. This guy's parents probably had a golden statue of him erected in their front yard.

Buck musters up a smile that feels like one of the little, weak waves that just sort of roll over the shoreline without any fanfare before dissolving back into the sea, and the guy tilts his head.

"Rough day?"

"Rough life," Buck says, utterly pathetic, and feels like he's betrayed all his friends for even saying it. "No, that's—that was incredibly ungrateful. My life isn't—I-I have a good life. I just learned something today about my parents that, uh, clarified a few things for me about our relationship. It... wasn't great."

The guy taps his finger against the bottle of Warsteiner in his hand, staring at Buck with deep consideration, flaying Buck from head to toe without a word. Then he gives a nod that smacks of commiseration and walks around the bar until he's only two chairs away. When the guy opens his mouth and inhales, Buck can already hear what's coming: surely it's not that bad. You should talk it out with them. You're being too hard on them. C'mon, they're your parents, they love you. 

"That sucks," the guy says, simple as anything.

Out of nowhere, heat starts prickling in Buck's nose and the corners of his eyes, and he looks at this guy and the calm, earnest expression on his face, and... yeah. Yeah. It does suck. It sucks so hard and it has for so long, and all his life he's wanted someone to tell him that, to hear him list every injustice and offer a crumb of support without any pretense or judgment. Buck gasps a laugh that sounds more like he's been stabbed, and he opens his mouth to thank the guy for telling him exactly what he needed to hear, but instead what comes out is... everything. The whole story comes out of him like an unraveling firehose, pulling longer and longer the more he talks, stretching from the day he crashed his bike—"But it wasn't my bike, it was his."—to sitting in Maddie's living room and finally learning the truth: that he hadn't been crazy, that something had been wrong his entire life and the something was him.

"They'd made a box for her—full of all these memories and little trinkets and pictures—and I bet you he had one with baseball cards and his first, like, pacifier, and Skittles, and whatever, but when I asked them where mine was, they looked at me like I had three heads, because human junkyards full of scrap metal and defective blood cells don't get baby boxes," he finishes on a shout. Panting like he just sprinted to Santa Monica and back, he finds himself deflating into his folded arms on top of the bar now that he isn't filled to the brim with 29 years worth of bottled-up grievances. This must be what bulldozed graveyards feel like: scraped clean and ready to be filled up again. Buck is surrounded by five empty glasses, a little mountain of twisted-up napkins, and a complete stranger who hasn't said a word since Buck began, and it's a good place to start again as any.

Buck closes his eyes and stews in embarrassment for about thirty seconds, then turns his head to look at his audience of one. At some point, the guy had gravitated into the chair right next to him and took his mask off, revealing a stupidly handsome face, and his wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare makes Buck want to throw up a little. It may have been the cleansing Buck'd needed, but the poor guy didn't ask to be part of any of it. Buck doesn't know why he told him in the first place. This is the kind of thing he'd hesitate to blurt out to Eddie, never mind a complete stranger, but there had been something so oddly steady and compassionate in the guy's gaze that Buck had felt like he could trust him with anything. It had been so easy to just... talk. And to his credit, the guy had listened to Buck's entire rant—stopping Buck only twice to ask a quiet, clarifying question—without making a face, snorting, rolling his eyes, or getting up and just leaving.

Face warm, Buck shifts in his seat to try and get feeling back into his left ass cheek, then he opens his mouth to apologize for dumping all that on the him instead of at his next session with his fucking therapist.

But the guy just blinks out of his stupor and flags down Jay, who wanders over sedately. He taps the bar counter twice and says, "Yeah, can you just put the rest of his bill on my tab?"

When Buck sits up with an outraged squawk, the world spins a little, and the guy places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to steady him. He doesn't take it back right away and Buck doesn't shrug it off. The weight feels good.

"N-No, that wasn't—you can't do that, man," Buck mumbles, face hot. His mouth feels a bit gummy.

"I can and I did," the guy says. "Someone should treat you to dinner for putting up with all that shit for all this time. I don't know your parents from a hole in the ground, but I would happily drop 3,000 pounds of water on their house. Jesus Christ, and I thought my issues with my parents were bad."

"I never should've—"

But the guy shakes his head and tightens his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You absolutely should've, actually. If that had built up any longer, I probably would've seen you literally explode on the 6 o'clock news."

Buck snorts a laugh, rubbing his disbelieving smile against his sleeve. "Believe me, it wouldn't be the first time you saw me on the 6 o'clock news."

The guy gives Buck a curious tilt of his head, so Buck clarifies, "Do you remember a few years back when that kid was mailing bombs to people and he rigged that fire engine to explode? And it fell on that firefighter?" At the guy's slow, wary nod, he continues, "I was the, uh, firefighter."

At that, the guy sits up and his gaze goes so sharp that Buck wants to call Jay over and have him slice up some bratwurst on it. "You're with the 118."

Buck blinks, and then the guy introduces himself... as LAFD firefighter pilot Tommy Kinard, who'd gotten his start at Buck's own damn station. Who knew both Chimney and Hen when they were probies, and who watched Bobby walk in and turn the place into a house Tommy could be proud to be part of. Who had been their air support during the Doheny Park gas leak incident.

"That was you?" Buck glances down at the bar counter to make sure it hadn't cracked when his jaw hit it. "Chimney told us afterwards he'd called in a favor from an old friend."

Tommy grins and jauntily points to himself with his glass. "Except Howie was cashing in on a favor I owed him, which means I only owe him like 973 more now."

Over a round of drinks—another Maximator for Buck and a seltzer with lime for Tommy—Buck tells Tommy about who's at the 118 now and confirms which of "the most batshit insane stories I've heard about you guys" are true. He tells Tommy about the rollercoaster ride that was his recovery from the explosion, and then follows that up with being caught in the tsunami and being struck by lightning. In return, Tommy regales him with army stories, including the time he landed a burning helicopter under enemy fire, and his favorite calls from his time with the 118—the fucking rooster has Buck practically crying laughing into his arms. He also tells Buck about Hen's fearlessness in standing up to their asshole captain who was voted the LAFD's Most Likely To Have Been At The White House On January 6th, and how Chimney saved Tommy's literal life. He tells Buck that without Bobby showing up and making them into a family of sorts, without him being in their corner even when they didn't trust him not to abandon them like all their other captains, Tommy never would've found his way back to the sky.

Then Tommy gleefully drops a pipe bomb into the scant space between them with, "And you never would've joined the 118."

Buck squeezes his eyes shut to try and make his brain stop feeling so swimmy. "W-What? What does that mean?" His tongue is too big for his mouth. His words taste a bit funny, like they're mushy. He hopes Tommy hasn't noticed.

"You said you joined in 2017. That's when I left," Tommy says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who took my spot."

Buck untucks one of his arms so he can reach up to touch the hills and valleys running down Tommy's cheeks, then realizes that probably would be rude and tries to play it off like he was going to scratch the back of his own head. All he does is knock over one of his empty glasses. It takes a few clumsy tries before he successfully stands it back up.

"We missed each other," Buck mumbles. He thinks of what it might have been like walking into the station that day, seeing Tommy sitting between Hen and Chimney, smiling wide as he dished up more spaghetti. Maybe he would've turned that warm light on Buck as he passed him the tongs. Maybe Tommy would've shown him the ropes, got him through his first shifts, and even stopped him from stealing the engine for a booty call. Maybe they'd have met up for drinks just like this after their shifts were over, or as a way to distract themselves from bad calls the way Tommy's distracted Buck all night. Maybe they'd have been a two-man unit, and then when Eddie showed up they'd be a tri...something. Buck can't remember what it's called, but it means 'three'. Maybe Tommy would've been every bit as important to Buck as Eddie, Hen, and Chim.

He's hit with the realization that if he doesn't tell Tommy this, he might die, so he garbles out, "You're important. W-Wait, no. I mean, you could've... you were important... I—y'get the gist."

And Tommy must, because Tommy's smart and quick witted and a good listener, and he's looking at Buck fondly, like he might've done if he'd stayed at the 118 and they'd come through fire together, but he's also rolling his lips inward and his cheeks are trembling.

Buck whines, aggravated, because, "Y-You're laughing at me."

Tommy ducks his head and does, in fact, start laughing.

"'s so rude. Don't laugh at me, 's not my fault I'm defective." Buck buries his face in his arms in embarrassment. The cradle of it is so warm and comfortable he just stays there.

"You're not defective, Evan." Even though it sounds like Tommy's suddenly on the other side of the room, Buck can hear the matter-of-factness in the words. He says it like he'd said that sucks. "But you are drunk."

He's not. He's just really tired and his arms make for a great pillow. He also feels heavy and tight, which isn't good for a firefighter. What if he's called onto a massive scene? What if City Hall's on fire and he can't pull the mayor out because he's slow and weirdly full? What if his career as a firefighter is over?

"That's just bloat from all the beer and sausage," Tommy says from even farther away than he'd been a second ago. "Jay, can I settle up? I'm so sorry we kept you this late. You're getting a helluva tip, I promise."

His name's not Jay. It's Buck. But he'd introduced himself as Evan and... forgot to tell Tommy he goes by something else. But he likes that Tommy doesn't know that, because when Tommy says 'Evan' it sounds like how 'Buck' feels. He wants Tommy to keep 'Evan' in the warmth of his mouth, like how some alligators carry their young. For them, it's the safest place to be.

Buck wants to tell Tommy about the alligators, because they are super cool and only exist in two places in the whole world. He blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed to something hard and cool. The bar stool feels a lot softer than it did a second ago. And it's vibrating.

There's a weight on his knee, shaking it gently.

He must've fallen asleep while watching Celebrity Death Match in the TV room again. Mom's going to kill him when she finds out. "Mads, five m're min's."

"Evan, you need to give me a building number."

"Hmmm...?"

"Your apartment building. I've been driving up and down South Spring for ten minutes. You gotta help me out here. What's your building number?"

"Mmm..." Buck rolls his forehead to chase the coolness. It feels so nice against his skin. He could just sink right into it.

"Evan, c'mon. You can do it. Tell me where you live."

"27 P'plar Road," he mumbles. He blinks his eyes open and catches sight of the rush of lights and road ahead, which blend together like they're about to jump into hyperspace. He's not in Hershey. He knows this road. Sighing, he closes his eyes again. "Oh. 's rowing. 409 at th' rowing."

He blinks awake when he suddenly trips over nothing, and he tries to stop himself from falling but there's nothing except the gaping maw of open space. But he doesn't actually go anywhere. Someone's got an arm around his waist. There's a name for that kind of rude awakening. He can't remember it.

"Two more stairs," the person with him mutters in his ear. "I'm begging you, lift up your feet before we both end up in the ER."

That's fine. He has his own bed there.

"Yeah, let's try to get you into the bed you have here first."

Strong hands lower him onto something soft, and he buries his face in sheets that are cool and smell familiar, his entire body smoothing out like the surface of a lake. Something tugs at his foot, and he rolls onto his back and tries to lift his leg to help, but he's comfy and cocooned in the dark. His sneakers get taken off anyway.

"Evan." Tommy's voice hangs in the air, soft and warm and invisible, and his name sounds like it's precious where it sits in Tommy's mouth. He read somewhere that alligators do that. "I'm going to get you some water and then head out. Do you need anything else?"

In the dark, he somehow lost his body, and he can barely see the outline of Tommy, but he can hear him step closer when Buck reaches out for him. When Buck's hand is caught, he's suddenly so aware of himself, of his blood and bones and every nerve trapped under his skin, and arches a little into the feeling with a quiet moan of relief.

Tommy knows about him. He knows Buck's cells are defective and he still bought Buck dinner and spent the night making him feel like he was made correctly from the start.

"D'nt go," he whispers. He's starting to float away, and he tugs on the hand holding his, trying to bring that steadfast presence on top of him, use it to keep him here. "Stay."

"I absolutely can't do that," Tommy murmurs. His thumb strokes over Buck's palm and it feels like he's dragging his tongue along the length of a nerve. Buck gasps. Something pulls tight and sweet between his legs, and he tilts his head back on the pillow, lips parting so he can suck in air desperately. So he's ready.

"Kiss me," he breathes.

He wants it so bad he almost gags. He wants all that weight and strength to hang over him like a bough, keeping him together, feeding his body what it's screaming for. He inhales deeply and the smell of indelible man fills his nose and the back of his throat, along with the faint hint of smoke and something sharp like snow. He wants a mouth on his. He wants strong, sure hands to run over his ribs. He wants to say I'm full of broken cells and I need you to fill me up with something better, but he's breathing too hard and the words keep blowing out of order. His legs slide open and the sound of them moving on the sheets is deafening. He's so hot, and so hungry. He thinks he's hard. He thinks he's dying.

The hand in his squeezes gently, but then it lets go.

Without it, Buck's going to dissolve. He's going to disappear. He squeezes his burning, wet eyes shut and pulls in a breath that is all wheeze, every part of him a live wire, unsteady and shivering and thwarted. So they made one.

"No. No," Buck sobs. "Y're just like them. You don't want me—no one... why. 's not fair."

The bed suddenly dips right next to Buck's thigh, right on the edge, and the hot press of a thumb against his chin stops him from howling his sorrow and disappointment. When it slides up and just barely brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth goes open and ready. Yes. Yes.

"I'll tell you what." It's whispered so closely that Buck thinks he can feel the wash of breath over his tongue. "You remember any of this tomorrow? Call me, and I'll kiss you as much as you want. I'll kiss the idea you're unwanted right out of you."

Buck exhales in utter relief and sinks into the comfort of the bed as the weight next to him lifts away. He's going to do that. He's going to call and then let Tommy kiss him until he forgets he was ever unloved. But persistence pays off, so he tries one more time, even though he's suddenly so tired he can barely get the word out. "Stay."

"Sleep well, Evan."

+

When Buck wakes up, he immediately wants to crawl into a hole and die. His mouth tastes like there's roadkill in it and there's an egg beater trying to escape his skull by way of his left eye. Whimpering, he tries to bury his face into the pillow but half of it is wet with drool, so he reaches up and throws the stupid thing on the floor. His mattress is comfy. He can just plant his face there and suffocate, no problem.

He has no idea how he got home last night, which is terrifying. Everything after the third Augustiner is a bit hazy. He was talking to some guy who made him laugh, he knows that much. His mind conjures bits and pieces of his mysterious drinking companion: a wide, white grin; large hands; a voice he can hear the cadence and depth of but can't remember a single word it said. After that, he's got nothing.

It takes a few tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and he rolls onto his side to put his back to where the sun is starting to filter through the curtains. The move puts the nightstand right in his line of sight, and when his vision focuses, he pauses.

There's a glass with water on top of it, but it's not the cup he usually chooses. It's one of the textured acrylic ones he picked out when he moved in that he absolutely hates using. Even though they're impossible to break, he feels like he's ten years old when he's forced to drink out of one. All that's missing is a sippy-cup lid.

Although he has to hand it to himself: the acrylic cup was a pretty solid idea, considering he might've knocked a real glass onto the floor sometime in the night and then cut himself when it shattered. Chimney forced Buck to watch Die Hard last year and it was a fun movie, but Buck has no desire to recreate the "shoot the glass" scene.

He slides his face a little closer to the edge of the bed so he can find his phone. It's sitting on the top of the nightstand, plugged in, which is almost as surprising as the acrylic cup. He never remembers to plug his phone in when he's sober, but there it is, charging away. His wallet and keys are also laying next to it. It's such a neat and tidy tableau that, for a second, he thinks he's still asleep and this is one of those dreams where only one or two things is out of place and he spends the entire dream wondering if he's dreaming.

If he were dreaming, though, he wouldn't feel like hard-boiled ass, so someone else had been here and got him squared away. Maybe he called Eddie for a ride home? Buck reaches for his phone and his fingers brush up against the edge of a piece of paper. A receipt? Maybe he took a taxi instead.

Buck squints at it, and he has every intention of grabbing it to look for clues, but he ends up dozing for almost two hours. By the time he wakes up, the sun has invaded every part of the loft, but he doesn't feel so much like he's about to slip this mortal coil. He'll take the wins where he can.

It only takes a minute or two of psyching himself up before he's able to roll into something resembling sitting, and after that he gives himself five minutes to drop his head into his hands and regret his life choices. Once he promises God, the Devil, Zeus, and the purple laser ghost of Prince that he will never drink to such excess again as long as he lives, he finally looks over at the nightstand where his phone is.

It's been set to Do Not Disturb, which is nice. It's not something he ever does, because he's afraid he'll miss something important, and when he turns it off the screen fills with dozens of missed calls and texts from Maddie and Chimney. He takes great pleasure in dismissing all of them. Nothing from his parents, of course. There's also one from Eddie asking if everything's okay because "Chim called me asking if I'd heard from you and he sounds like he's about to start climbing the walls using only his teeth."

It's followed by a text that reads "Bobby says to take your time coming in. What happened?"

He taps open the message to reply when he glances up and sees the receipt on the nightstand. Abandoning his phone in favor of learning just how much he spent on a DD, he learns it wasn't a taxi at all. It's a note written in an unfamiliar hand on a small piece of drafting paper.

Your car is parked at the Red Lion. Jay said it was OK to leave it there because you weren't in any shape to drive.

Underneath that is a phone number, and underneath that is a single line: Remember—as much as you want. But only if you want.

It's signed "TK".

Baffled, Buck brings a fist to his mouth, because he's not sure what else to do, and when his thumbnail presses against his bottom lip, something hot and shivery pops low in his belly. It's how he realizes he's got to pee so bad he's going to wet the bed if he waits any longer.

After he pisses for what feels like an eternity, downs four Advil, showers the sweat and shame off, he stumbles back up the stairs feeling wrung out but definitely more human. Once he's in a pair of clean boxers, he surveys the room.

There was a stranger here last night, but it doesn't look like anything's missing. He checks his wallet, but all his cards and cash are still there. His sneakers were neatly placed against the wall, out of the way where he wouldn't trip on them if he got up during the night. And there's of course his phone, fully charged for once, and the note.

He sits on the edge of his bed and reads the note four more times. Then he looks up the Red Lion's operating hours, but it doesn't open for two more hours.

Which leaves him with the number and As much as you want. But only if you want.

His mind immediately takes a swan dive into the gutter. It's probably not meant to be as sexual as it reads, but... he's not sure how else he's supposed to take it. TK's blocky penmanship reveals nothing.

Maybe after he was done talking to the guy at the bar he met some woman? Maybe she was the one to take him home, although considering how drunk he must've been, it couldn't have been an easy feat. That she didn't help herself to his money and was thoughtful enough to plug his phone in and get him a glass of water really warrants a thank you.

He looks down at the phone number.

He grabs his phone—100%, what an absolutely wild concept—and taps in the number, double checking it like four times while his finger hovers over the CALL button like an anvil.

What the hell. He's got nothing left to lose.

He taps CALL and brings the phone to his ear. It takes two rings before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

Not a woman. Buck sits up so straight they could use his spine as an I-beam level.

"Uh, h-hey," he stutters, looking around his room, trying to divine any lingering atoms this person might've left behind. "Um, I think you—I have a note with this number on it and—"

Thankfully, the mysterious "TK" stops Buck before he gets a good ramble going, his voice friendly as he breaks in with, "Evan! Hey. Glad to hear the Maximator couldn't keep you down for long. How're you feeling this morning?"

Buck's entire body goes warm as it relaxes from its ramrod-straight pose. "I, uh, a little confused. I don't remember getting home, but I guess I have you to thank for that." Buck pauses. "So, thank you."

"Well, you didn't make it easy." TK laughs, and it shivers down the line right into Buck's ear canal. "It took me a lot longer to figure out you were saying 'Rowan' and not 'rowing' than I care to admit, but we got there in the end. Your place is insane. Did you get a signing bonus when you joined the 118 or something?"

Buck blinks. An image of Bobby winning a fight against a rooster comes winging out of the back of his mind. "That—that's right. You're a firefighter. Uh, do you really fly with Harbor One or am I making that up?"

"You made me promise four times to give you lessons," TK says warmly. "I had to stop you from slicing your palm open so we could shake on it."

Ducking his head with a helpless chuckle, Buck nods, even though TK can't see him. "Yeah, that, uh, sounds like something I'd do. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'd love to take you up."

He doesn't know how he got lucky enough that the person he made a fool out of himself in front of was one of the chosen few who are able to handle The Full Buck without too much of a fuss, but he's so grateful for it. They're a rare breed.

"Anytime you want, just tell me when."

Buck's gaze immediately shoots to the piece of paper he's still clutching in his other hand, and for no reason he can think of his heart rate picks up. His cheeks start tingling with blossoming warmth.

He curls a little into himself, cupping the phone closer to his mouth. "I-Is that what you meant in your note?"

There's a little pause on the line, and then when TK's voice comes back, it's softer. "No. That's not what I meant."

Buck swallows a mouthful of saliva and asks, just as softly, "What does 'TK' stand for?"

"Tommy Kinard."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Buck's eyes fall closed. He thinks of cool sheets under him, and feeling heavy and safe in the dark. His belly clenches with something like hunger. He bites his bottom lip and then licks it.

"... Evan? You still there?"

He doesn't know why his body feels like it's being pulled in a million different directions, or why the first thing he thought of when Tommy said "Evan" was baby alligators, but he does know this: on the worst day of Buck's life, Tommy Kinard made it easier to bear. He kept Buck company, kept him distracted, and then kept him safe.

I told you not to go, he thinks out of nowhere.

"Look, Evan, it's completely fine, and I promise I won't be offended if you don't want—"

Evan Buckley was born to fix someone else. He has defective cells and has never once been enough for anyone, and that sucks. But he's still here and this life is his whether it was meant to be or not, and he does want.

Buck opens his eyes.

"Hey, so, what are you doing Saturday?"

there's literally nothing to back this up but it's canon (to me) that tommy loves turning on the radio and singing to buck, loudly and dramatically. this is not some sweet, precious, romantic thing he does. in fact, it usually makes buck laugh so hard he nearly pisses himself. nothing's off limits. songs include: baby, baby by amy grant, yeah by usher, candyman by christina aguilera, i'm gonna getcha good by shania twain (literally anything by shania twain), and most recently he did a beautiful rendition of sexyback by justin timberlake. when buck doubled over as tommy tried and failed to sexily rid himself of his shirt, tommy did in fact inform him that this was going to ruin the tour.

THEM🥺