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There is absolutely nothing special about this Tuesday.
Buck wakes up first. He’s warm, he’s comfortable, he’s basically pinned against the mattress, courtesy of the snoring boyfriend draped over his chest and the drooling pitbull laying across his legs. Their blankets have long since been kicked off, warmed well enough by one another through the night.
Buck wakes up, admires Tommy, and debates reaching for his phone, enamored by the way the early morning light dances across Tommy’s cheek where it’s smushed against Buck’s chest. It’s a dangerous move, though, because Buck knows that if Diana wakes up before Tommy does (and Buck will never let Tommy live that down, seriously, who names eighty pounds of one-eyed pit bull after the Princess of Wales) there’s like an 80% chance of an overly enthusiastic paw driving into his crotch.
Six additional photos of Tommy find their way into Buck’s phone. It is completely worth the risk.
It’s still just a Tuesday. Eventually, Tommy wakes up, They make out. They take Diana for a run while it’s still early, before the sun is too high and the air is too thick and hot to even consider being outside. Tommy pretends he isn’t leering at Buck’s butt in his running shorts, Buck pretends he doesn’t find it endearing. They come home, they shower together, they have sex, they go for coffee.
They still hold hands when they walk. Diana still leads the charge, her stubby little tail wagging frantically at every person they pass, and as they wait for the light to change Buck is struck (as he often is) by such a feeling of contentment that his knees wobble with the normalcy of it all.
It’s not even a new normal, not anymore, because regardless of how they spend their time, they still circle the familiar sense of togetherness they’ve built with one another. Sure, they may not always have the same morning off, may not always wake up before noon, may not always go for coffee; but when they do, Tommy corrals him into a too-small booth and sits on the same side, Buck hooks their ankles together and acts like he doesn’t love being crowded up against his boyfriend, and Tommy launches into whatever is on his mind, becoming more and more animated as the caffeine starts to kick in.
Well, at least, half of him is animated. He’ll let a free hand gesture wildly as he complains about a new pilot, or goes over the details of a particularly ridiculous call he had to fly, or tries to pry into the 118’s latest gossip. Whichever side of him is pressed up against Buck, though, is always still, a solid line of warmth and muscle that Buck props himself up against. Usually, he can busy himself by stealing sips from Tommy’s coffee once his own is long gone, or picking at whatever baked good was on special that morning, or nodding along and agreeing with whatever Tommy’s complaints are in the way that boyfriends do when they have absolutely zero skin in the game.
Today, though, Tommy is halfway through some incredibly technical explanation of one of the last rescues he got to fly - something Buck would normally latch onto with his usual insatiable need to know, to learn - but Buck is utterly distracted, holding Tommy’s left hand. It’s big, Buck knows this. Strong, too. Short, clean nails. Calloused, but not rough, from years of hard work. There’s a scar on his pinky that took Buck ages to get the full story behind, because Tommy starts to laugh whenever he tells it, and when he laughs Buck gets all dopey and distracted. It’s a hand he’s held a thousand times before, but today, as he slides their fingers together, something else just slides into place.
So, no. There was absolutely nothing special about this Tuesday, and then… there is.
“I wanna marry you.”
Buck is proud of the way his voice doesn’t betray him by doing that weird, pitchy thing that happens when he’s nervous, or excited, or otherwise trying to hide something. He lifts Tommy’s left hand, still laced with his own, partially to press a small kiss to the knuckles, partially to hide his smile as he watches Tommy - it’s like watching him mentally reboot, and Buck can see the moment when Tommy catches up to what he said.
It’s right as the corners of Tommy’s mouth curl up into a barely-there smile, expression settling somewhere at the intersection of shock and adoration and fondness and exasperation, all looks that Buck is too familiar being on the receiving end of.
“Ev?”
It’s a tiny endearment, but one that makes his heart stutter whenever Tommy uses it, even after three years together. Normally, he would be leaning over right about now to press a kiss to Tommy’s lips automatically - his eyes flick down to his mouth on their own accord anyway - but now he’s busy, pulling a tiny velvet pouch out of his pocket.
He places it on the table and turns it so the drawstring is facing away from them. The fabric glides across the wood. Tommy stares at it like the tiny pouch holds the secret to the universe.
“Tommy, you’re it for me. Felt it when you kissed me that first time, and I’ve been gone on you since... though I didn’t really realize it until that time Chim tried to mash up our names like we were a celebrity couple, which–”
“–oh, Jesus, Evan–”
“–which was hilarious, baby, come on–”
“–don’t you ‘baby’ me, really? That was when it hit you? He had the entire 118 calling us Buck-Nard for weeks.”
“Yeah, he did,” Buck said, a small laugh escaping his lips as Tommy finally looked back up at him, his heart doing another little flip flop at the incredibly soft look on Tommy’s face. “He did, and you hated it, but you let them do it anyway because you knew it made me happy, because… shit, because as lucky as I am to love you, I’m even luckier that you love me back.”
Buck has to duck his head to hide his grin as Tommy’s eyes widen, absurdly pleased in the way he could still render his boyfriend speechless. It takes Tommy a moment to form a coherent thought, shaking his head when Buck can finally meet his gaze.
“Sweetheart, I… Jesus, do you know how much I love you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
And that right there, that was fucking progress, if Buck did say so himself. Somewhere between his sexuality crisis and his planning for forever (with the help of a therapist that was basically bullshit-proof), Buck found himself with not just the emotional intelligence to understand that yeah, he was in love, big love, huge love, but he also had the trust in his partner to believe when he said he loved Buck back.
Buck wasn't proud of it, but he had spent the better part of their first year together waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had always been… wrong, for lack of a better term, when it came to romance - he wasn’t enough for Abby, was too much for Taylor, never really fit with Ali and Jesse and Natalia no matter how badly he tried to force himself into what he thought they wanted, what he thought he needed. That little ball of fear had buried itself deep in his chest from the moment Tommy kissed him, but as each major milestone passed (when Buck was able to say the L word first, when they flew across the country to meet Tommy’s entire family, when they finally gave up commuting back and forth every fucking day and just found a place together) that feeling was chipped away until all that was left was a deep, bone-warming sense of satisfaction, of love.
Healthy relationships were wild, man. Buck highly recommended them.
“Originally I didn't even want to think about a summer wedding. Too hot, too gross, plus we’d probably have to cut any honeymoon short during fire season.” Buck has to pull his hand from Tommy’s as he pinches the tiny drawstring on the pouch, keeping his voice even and his movements slow as Tommy’s hand drops to rest on his thigh under the table. “But, the more I thought about it, and I thought about it a lot, I realized that it really didn’t matter, ‘cause…” he says, punctuating himself with the solid click the ring makes when it taps against the table for a moment before Buck picks it up.
“Because for once in my life I know what matters and it’s you. I love you and I wanna marry you, Tommy. If we wanna go big, we can do the whole fancy script invitations and grand ballroom dancing and I bet I could bribe Bobby to walk me down the aisle. If we wanna go small, we could fly your brother out and snag Maddie as a witness and head to the courthouse like next week. Doesn’t matter to me as long as I have you on my side, forever. You’re my dibs for life.”
Tommy is still silent, but his eyes are still huge, intently focused on the silver hoop as Buck places it on top of the velvet pouch. Buck doesn’t blame him. Saying that you wanted to marry someone was a much broader topic than actually having the ring laid out in front of you, shining for the world to see. His hand is still warm on Buck’s thigh, though, and Buck isn’t worried - Tommy may be the type to fly headfirst into a storm, no questions asked, but he’s also the kind of guy who takes immense pride in planning out the ‘perfect’ date every time - and this is a marginally larger decision than ‘do we see a movie or go to the beach’.
Besides, Buck has been waiting for weeks for the moment to feel right. He can wait a little bit for Tommy to catch up now that the moment has arrived.
“You bought me a ring.”
When Tommy finally does speak, his voice is… awed might not be the right word, but it’s close, that kind of quiet shock that comes along with someone offering the rest of their life to you. Buck absolutely loves it, loves that he gets to see the usual cool-and-collected fire pilot flustered, the way his lips stay ever so slightly parted and his neck turns a ruddy reddish color when he’s excited.
“Last month, yeah. I’ve, uh, kind of been holding on to it since then,” Buck says, acting completely unaffected when Tommy’s eagle-eyes are on him in an instant. They drill into him with a sort of intensity that might have made him uncomfortable before, but now, the way that Tommy sees him - sees through him, it feels like - is almost reassuring. “Hen helped me with the sizing, which was the result of a lot of awkward hand holding on an overnight shift and like sixteen layers of latex gloves, cause your hands are huge, man, and I bought one for each of us, even though apparently, the propose-r doesn’t get a ring of their own? Did you know that? I didn’t, but that sounds stupid and patriarchal and uh… It, uh, matches. Mine does, I mean. My ring. I made sure it matches the one I picked out for you.”
God, but this is getting real. Really, really fucking real, and for all the confidence Buck has in the moment he still feels like he’s about a second away from throwing up or passing out or some horrible combination of both. Was the coffee shop okay, should he have asked properly? Gotten down on a knee? Maybe he should have waited until they were at the beach, or at home, or maybe Buck could have surprised him at work. He could have trained Diana to bring Tommy the ring box or Buck could have hired a skywriter. It was easier to imagine all the ways that the question could be popped while the ring was still hidden away, in its little pouch, in his pocket - but the ring is out now, and Tommy is still staring at it - no, at him, looking at him like he’s something precious.
“You… picked out engagement rings for us, and made sure they matched, and kept mine in your pocket for weeks, because you were waiting to ask me to marry you. Because you want to marry me.”
Any concerns that Buck had about this not being enough were quashed with the barely there lilt to Tommy’s voice, an almost-question, like he can’t believe Buck would be asking him something like that. Like he can’t believe Buck would be asking him something like that, like he still can’t believe Buck would rather be here with him instead of anyone else in the entire world. Buck gives him a gentle nudge as shakes his head, a small, teasing smile on his lips.
“I meant what I said, baby. Dibs for life. For someone so smart, it’s taking you a while to get with the program.”
It’s the exact right thing to say - just like that, the tension of the moment vanishes like a string is cut. Tommy’s shoulders lose that rigidity as his entire body relaxes, letting out a surprised bark of laughter, shaking his head fondly as he looks back at Buck.
Buck feels like he’s standing in the sun.
“You are not allowed to tease me right now, because my boyfriend who I love is proposing to me, because he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, and…” Tommy lets out a huff of air as his hand twitches toward the ring. “And, hell, you haven’t technically asked me yet,” he continues, bringing his hand to his mouth like there was any chance of hiding his smile. “I can’t say yes if you don’t ask, Evan.”
Buck has another fleeting moment where he considers getting down on one knee, but the odds of Tommy moving to let him out of the booth right now were slim to none - besides, the moment is already perfect, he doesn’t need to try for anything else. He manages to turn in the cramped booth so they’re facing one another, careful not to kick Diana under the table, using the feeling of cracked vinyl digging into his flesh through his shorts to ground him into the moment.
The metal is warm in his hand as he holds it up, the smooth finish of the ring glinting in the overhead lighting.
“Thomas Kinard,” Buck starts, intentionally slowing his speech because being in love doesn’t make him any less of a little shit. “Love of my life, sun in my sky, will you marruhmphh–”
For all his complaining, Tommy doesn’t even give Buck the chance to finish his question before he has a hand fisted in Buck’s tank top, bringing them together to a searing kiss. His left hand moves easily while his tongue does something indescribable against Buck’s lips, his fourth finger finding its way into the ring, and the tiny moan that Buck had to choke off turns into a giddy sort of a giggle as both of their hands lace together with the extra weight of silver between them.
It takes a beat before they break apart and Buck chases his lips, adding two, three small kisses before they get a chance to breathe. They were probably well over the level of appropriate PDA in a coffee shop if the glare the barista was leveling at them was any indication, but Buck could not give less of a shit - not when Tommy’s eyes are glittering like they are, looking from Buck to the ring to Buck again as he squeezes their still-linked hands.
“That, uh. That was a yes, by the way.”
“Yes? To what? Technically, you didn’t let me finish my question.”
“Ass.”
(It’s still just a Tuesday.
They abandon their coffee. Diana leads them home. Tommy demands to see Buck’s ring so he can ‘propose back’. They pretend that neither of them are red-eyed when they FaceTime Tommy’s parents, his brother, Maddie, Athena (both under strict instruction to not tell their spouses).
When Tommy drops him off for his shift, Buck doesn’t have to say a thing - he can feel every eye in the 118 laser-focus in on the flash of silver around their fingers. Eddie gives a whooping ‘Buck-Nard forever!’, Hen makes some comment about the ring ‘fitting like a glove’, Buck and Tommy both laugh and groan in turn.
Tommy waves goodbye to the 118 with his ring hand. The siren blares. They get to work. They come back. They eat. They tease Buck in a way that Buck will deny loving until his dying day.
It’s just a Tuesday.
It’s a pretty special Tuesday.)