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The cabin looked perfect in the photos - quaint and magical, like something plucked straight from a winter fairy tale. A cobblestone path curved gracefully through pristine snow, bracketed by bright solar lights that lead to a rustic wooden door, a garland placed perfectly in the middle. The description had practically promised serenity: Warm fires, peaceful nights, and a breathtaking view of the mountains from every angle.
In person? Well, it's... less so.
The cobblestone path is barely visible under all the snow, uneven and treacherous enough to trip Buck twice already on his way in. The rustic wooden door? Swollen from years of neglect: it had taken a solid shove with his shoulder to get it open after he’d cleared all the random debris from around the bottom. Inside, the promised 'breathtaking view' is obscured by frost-streaked windows that rattle ominously with every huff of the wind.
Buck stands in the doorway, breath puffing out in visible clouds, surveying the scene with mounting disbelief. The fireplace is worn and barren, the logs in the grate half-rotted and dusted with cobwebs. All the ancient furniture inside is covered by white drop cloths, and on top of everything is a thick layer of dust.
The radiator, his last hope, gives one wheezy puff of warmth before it sputters out completely with a final, pitiful clang.
“Well, this is great,” he mutters to himself, voice echoing in the empty space, “Real postcard material...Maddie’s gonna be thrilled…”
Outside, the snow falls in thick, picturesque flakes, just as it had in the photos - but somehow even the idyllic snowfall feels like a mockery now. He’d left LA for this? He’d dreamed of peaceful evenings by the fire, sipping hot chocolate and forgetting about the noise and chaos of city life.
Instead, it looks like he’d be freezing his ass off for the foreseeable future.
Shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets, Buck glances around, wondering where to start. Firewood, maybe? At least then he’d feel warm enough to think about the next step. Did this place have an axe? Did he just go out and choose any tree?
And that's when he hears it: the crunch of tires on snow, followed by the low rumble of a truck engine pulling up the drive. He frowns, peering out the window. The house he’d purchased - impulsively, might he add - was down the end of a street off Main. He could barely see his nearest neighbour’s fence - why would anyone come down here?
He tries not to think of murderers and robbers and small town mysteries as he pushes open the front door, trying to give off a little more confidence than he felt.
A battered but well-maintained truck idles at the edge of the drive, its headlights cutting through the snowy gloom. The driver’s door creaks open and a man steps out, bundled against the cold in a thick jacket and sturdy boots. Buck barely has time to register the sharp cheekbones and dark, assessing eyes before the man calls out to him.
“You the guy who bought the old Miller place?”
Buck nods slowly, opening up his arms in a ‘duh’ motion, “Yeah, that’s me. Evan Buckley,” he steps out onto the rickety porch, leaning on the railing and hoping it’ll take his weight, “Who’s asking?”
The man grins faintly, a pretty smile lighting up his serious face, “Tommy Kinard. Mayor Jensen mentioned you were moving in today,” he says, “Figured you might need some help getting settled.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the cabin, “What gave it away?”
Tommy’s grin widens, “Miller left this place to rot years ago. You’re the first person who’s bothered taking any kind of interest in it.”
“And I finally see why,” Buck sighs, “No wonder the realtor jumped at the chance for a site-unseen purchase.”
Tommy snorts, “You didn’t expect to be renovating the day you moved in?”
“Not exactly. I had planned to sit by the fire drinking hot chocolate.”
“You can still do that,” Tommy says with a little smile, “As long as you don’t mind dust up your nose. I mean, if you’re lucky, the roof won’t collapse on you until at least Spring.”
“Comforting,” Buck says dryly, chuckling as he turns around, peering at the roof like he’d know what he was looking for. His days as a construction worker were limited to following specific blueprints and saying yes to the foreman, not identifying the potential lack of structural integrity on a fifty year old log cabin.
Tommy steps up beside him, taking in the cabin with an appraising look, “You got firewood?”
“Does half-rotted wood in the fireplace count?” Buck checks.
“That’d be a no,” Tommy gestures to his truck, “C’mon, I’ve got some in the back. You’re gonna need it, unless you want to turn into a popsicle tonight.”
Buck hesitates, unsure how to handle the unexpected generosity. He isn’t used to people offering help without strings. “You don’t have to do that,” he says cautiously, “I can figure it out, as long as there are no protected trees around here that I shouldn’t be chopping?”
Tommy shrugs, already moving toward the truck, “It’s no trouble. Town’s small; we look out for each other. Just make sure you repay the favour every once in a while,” he says with a grin, “Besides, it’s freezing, and you look like you’re two minutes from regretting every decision that brought you here.”
Buck can’t help but laugh, following him down to his truck, “You’re not wrong.”
”Is there a story there?”
Buck raises an eyebrow, pulling a stack of logs into his arms as he follows Tommy back to the cabin, “What?”
“You’re not the kind of person that would come out to a town, population 137 on the weekends, and settle down out here.”
”And…what kind of person does that?” Buck asks, watching as Tommy stacks the logs to the side of the fireplace before practically crawling inside the chimney.
“Mm, retirees, for one. The rich, for another. Not sure you’re either of those things,” he says, holding the board he’s retrieved as he glances up and down and Buck in a way that makes him blush. Buck’s thankful for the chill; at least it won’t be too obvious.
“You don’t think I’m rich?” Buck asks, wondering if he should be offended.
“Not when you’re turning up to live in your dilapidated cabin in a 2018 Jeep,” Tommy says, setting the board that was blocking the chimney to the side and removing the old rotten wood, scraping away the existing ash and coal.
Buck shrugs, “Fair enough.”
“So the next on the list are families. Usually ones that want to home-school and not take advantage of the ‘state of the art’ facility at the only school in town, two teachers servicing pre-k to high school graduation.”
“Hey, I could have family coming tomorrow!” Buck protests, “Wife and two kids, one on the way. And the dog.”
“Dog would’ve come with you,” Tommy winks, but he shakes his head, “But no. You don’t strike me as the white-picke-fence type. No offence.”
Buck chuckles, shaking his head as he leaned against the kitchen counter, “None taken. You’re right - I’m not exactly out here to build my dream family estate. It’s just me. No wife, no kids, no dog. And definitely no picket fence.”
Tommy finishes stacking the new firewood and lights a match, carefully coaxing the flames to life with the help of a firestarter. The warm glow begins to spread through the cabin, banishing some of the chill. He stands, brushing off his hands, and turns to face Buck.
“So. Not your age, not your wealth, and not your martial status. Single guy, out in the woods. You’re either a murderer on the run, or you’ve come to find yourself. Which one is it?”
Buck finds himself hesitating. The guy has been nothing but helpful, but did he really want to spill his guts to a stranger? He almost doesn’t, but there’s something about Tommy that makes him want to say something. He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Yeah,” he murmurs, “To- to ‘find myself’ I guess. Life in the city got too loud, too messy. I wanted somewhere quiet to think.”
“Yeah. Sometimes quiet is exactly what you need. But, uh...” he gestures around the cabin, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You might’ve gone a little too far in the other direction.”
Buck laughs, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. The photos online sold me a dream. This place looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. Now I’m wondering if I bought the Halloween special instead,” he rolls his eyes, “And hey, thanks for all this. Really. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” Tommy grabs his coat and gloves from where he’d tossed them by the door, seemingly working through his own mental checklist, “Fire’s going, and you’ve got enough wood to last the night. You’ll survive - probably,” he winks, “I’ll check back in tomorrow, make sure you’re still in one piece and help you with the essentials.”
Buck blinks, surprised, “You don’t have to do that.”
Tommy shrugs, pulling his gloves on, “Small town, remember? We look out for each other. Besides,” he adds, opening the door and letting a rush of icy air into the room, “I like helping out cute guys.”
Buck’s eyebrows hit his hairline, but before he can say anything in return, Tommy is gone.
Heart pounding, Buck rushes forward, wrenching the door open.
“Hey, Tommy!” he calls, “Which one are you?”
“What?” he asks, turning slightly to face Buck again.
”You’re too young to retire, so what? Rich? Got a partner here? Murderer?”
Tommy leans against the truck, arms folded against the cold as he grins up at Buck.
“A little rich,” he admits, shrugging humbly, “I lived a lifetime in LA before I found myself, and then decided the city didn’t quite fit right. World’s a little kinder here.”
There’s a mystery there, but Buck’s distracted by the location instead, unable to hide his surprise, “You came from LA too?”
Tommy tilts his head curiously, eyes sparkling, “Small world, huh?”
“No kidding,” Buck breathes, “How long have you been here?”
“Ahh, maybe ten years, give or take.”
“It hasn’t gotten boring? I mean, coming from somewhere like LA?”
Tommy shrugs, “It has. It does. But the community keeps it interesting. You didn’t think about the boredom before you bought this place? In the middle of nowhere, Oregon?”
Buck shrugs back, “I guess I hoped it would help.”
Tommy eyes him critically before he shrugs, “Maybe it will,” he says, before he climbs into his truck. The engine growls to life, headlights cutting through the swirling snow. Tommy leans out the window, his grin still in place, and adds, “Try not to freeze tonight.”
“Thanks for the concern,” Buck shoots back.
With a wave, Tommy drives off, his truck’s taillights disappearing into the snowy afternoon. Buck closes the door, leaning back against it with a long exhale.
“Cute guys,” Buck considers under his breath, his heart still racing. The confidence, the casual flirtation - it’s caught him completely off guard and he’s not sure what to make of it.
At least he’s warm now, and he sets to work unpacking what little he brought with him. His duffel bag lands on the couch with a heavy thud, and he rummages through it for his thickest sweater and a tin of spaghetti he’d brought with him.
The morning comes quietly, no blaring alarms or honking cars to pull Buck from sleep. Instead, he wakes to soft light filtering through the frost-streaked windows and the muffled stillness of the snow-covered forest.
Shivering, he fumbles his way out of the too-thin blanket he’d packed and glances at his phone. No bars, no messages, and a very judgy ‘7:14 AM’ blinks at him like it’s mocking his very existence. Even here, he can’t seem to sleep in.
The fire had died down overnight, but despite the cracks and how much Tommy had belittled the place, it seems to keep in the warmth just enough that he doesn’t feel completely like an ice block as he rubs his face and sits up. After finding another hoodie from his duffle, he walks over the frigid floorboards in his socks to the fireplace to rekindle it.
The logs Tommy had brought stack easily, but getting the flames going is another story entirely. After a frustrating fifteen minutes of trial and error - and a slight panic when smoke briefly fills the room - he manages to coax the embers to life. Getting fire-starters from the store is a must.
“That’s a win,” he mutters to himself, dusting soot from his hands as he glances around the cabin. It looks a little better in the daylight, though it’s certainly still rough around the edges.
His stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t bothered to stop in at the store when he passed through the town yesterday, and his singular tin of spaghetti really hadn’t been enough.
Grabbing his coat, Buck steps outside, squinting against the dazzling brightness of the snow. The fresh air is bracing, a sharp contrast to LA’s smoggy mornings. For a moment he stands there, taking it all in - the crisp air, the snow-capped trees, the faint hum of the town waking up somewhere down the road. It’s beautiful. It’s exactly what he wanted when he bought this place.
With a determined breath, he starts off toward the Main street, the only semblance of a hub in the tiny town. He isn’t sure where to start looking for food, but surely there can’t be that many options.
As he rounds the corner, he spots a small, rustic building with a hand-painted sign reading General Store, with a diner seemingly attached. A handful of trucks are parked out front, their drivers huddled near the entrance, chatting over steaming cups of coffee.
The group by the door give him curious looks as he walks in, murmurs passing between them. He nods a polite greeting, which they return with cautious smiles. Tommy knew he had arrived yesterday, so no doubt the rest of the town probably knew as well.
The bell over the door to the diner jingles merrily as he steps inside, and he’s instantly hit with a blast of warmth and the delicious scent of fresh-baked bread and coffee.
“Morning!” calls a cheerful voice from behind the counter. It’s a woman in her forties with flaming red hair, a bright smile and an apron dusted with flour. Buck instantly feels at home.
“Morning,” he replies, stepping toward the counter, “I- uh, I just moved into the cabin down the road, the, uh- Miller place? Figured I’d stop in for some supplies.”
Her smile widens, “Ah, the new boy. I’m June. Welcome to the town!”
“Thanks,” Buck says, “I’m Buck. Uh, Evan Buckley, but. People call me Buck.”
“Well, Buck, you’ve come to the right place. What’re you looking for?”
“Honestly? Breakfast, to start with,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “I’m not exactly stocked up.”
June chuckled, already moving to the coffee pot, “We’ll get you sorted. First cup’s on the house. You like sweet rolls? Just pulled a batch out of the oven.”
“That sounds amazing.”
As she fills a to-go cup and wraps up a warm roll, the door jingles again. Wondering who else might be up and about in the town, Buck glances over his shoulder and freezes.
There stands Tommy, somehow even more handsome than he was yesterday, brushing snow from his coat, his cheeks red from the cold. Their eyes meet, and Tommy’s grin spreads slow and easy across his face, like he’s actually pleased to see Buck there. It makes his heart race in a way he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager.
“Well, well,” he drawls, sauntering over and accepting the cup of coffee that June hands him, “Didn’t think I’d run into you this early.”
Buck rolls his eyes with a little smile, “I used to be a firefighter; this has actually been a nice sleep in for me. Early mornings are nothing.”
Tommy freezes mid-sip of his coffee, eyes widening slightly. Buck blinks at his reaction, his smile faltering, but before he can question it, June cuts in.
“Oh, how lovely! Tommy here’s one of our volunteer firefighters. He helps keep this little town safe."
Buck glances back at Tommy, who looks equal parts surprised and curious, "You’re a firefighter too?"
"Was," Tommy corrects, setting his coffee down. "Spent almost ten years with the 217 out in LA before I moved up here. Now I help out where I can."
Buck’s eyebrows shoot up, "217? No way. I was with the 118."
Tommy lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the counter, "No kidding? I knew a couple of guys who transferred from there. What a coincidence…"
”I was there about two years, so. Not as impressive as your tenure.”
”Still impressive, though it’s not for everyone,” Tommy offers, tilting his head and studying Buck curiously.
“No- no, it wasn’t the job,” Buck replies quickly, almost apologetic, “It was just… other stuff.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow, but his voice is light. “And so you ended up here. Alright, what’re your second day impressions so far?”
Buck huffs a laugh, gesturing with the coffee and sweet roll in his hands, “Well, the food’s good. And the company’s not bad either.”
June laughs from behind the counter, clearly entertained by their back-and-forth, “You two’ll have plenty to talk about, that’s for sure. Firehouse stories, big city life… I’d say Buck came to the right place.”
Tommy’s grin softens, a little more genuine now as he gazes over at Buck with a look that makes him warm all over, “Yeah, seems like it. Hey, I’ve got a volunteer shift at the firehouse tomorrow. We could always use a spare pair of hands, if you’re interested?”
Buck blinks, surprised by the offer but also intrigued, "You sure?"
"You said it wasn’t the job that pushed you away from LA. So…why not, right?" Tommy says, and it sounds like he actually wants Buck to join him, "The challenges are different out here. Could be fun."
Buck smiles, a flicker of excitement stirring in his chest. "Yeah. Could be… that sounds great, actually," he says, glancing at June, then back at Tommy, a spark of mischief in his eyes, “Hey, let me cover his coffee. It’s the least I can do.”
Tommy starts to protest, holding up a hand, “You don’t have to-”
But Buck’s already pulling out some cash and sliding it across the counter, grinning at June, “Too late. Consider it a thank-you.”
Tommy shakes his head, half amused, half exasperated, “You’re impossible.”
Buck just shrugs, his grin widening, “That’s what they tell me.”
The next day is colder than the one before, the wind sharper and less forgiving as Buck trudges up the hill toward the small firehouse. It’s little more than a garage with a single engine parked inside, its faded red paint is a far cry from the pristine rigs at the 118. Nobody stands and polishes the chrome, desperate to look busy. The building feels quaint and almost too quiet, but it’s buzzing with a steady hum of conversation and movement as Buck steps inside.
Tommy is at the center of it all, naturally. He’s leaning against the truck, arms crossed, talking with a couple of firefighters who look more like lumberjacks and truck drivers than first responders. His laugh carries across the room, warm and easy, and Buck feels a flicker of something in his chest he can’t quite name.
"Evan!" Tommy greets when he notices Buck, waving him over, "Ready to see how we do things in the middle of nowhere?"
Buck grins, tugging off his gloves and exchanging them for the heavy duty ones Tommy hands to him, "More than ready. I kinda can’t wait, actually."
”We’ll see how you feel after the shift. You’re either bored stiff or you’re worked to the bone - there’s no in-between!” another of the volunteers pipes up, earning a laugh from the others.
The banter lasts through most of the afternoon, but it doesn’t prepare Buck for the call that comes in just after two. There’s no 911 dispatch center - the call comes in on a landline, straight to the station. It’s a hiker and her wife, stranded somewhere on a trail, injured and unable to make it back down before nightfall.
It’s Tommy who takes charge, pulling out maps and gear with practiced ease. He points out a couple of guys and waves them closer, briefing them on the situation and assigning them sections of the trail to search, before turning to Buck, “Ready?”
"Of course," Buck says, grabbing the extra pack Tommy tosses at him. He’s a firefighter, after all. He’s done rescues before. How hard can this be?
The answer becomes apparent twenty minutes into the hike. The trail is steep and slick with ice, the snow deeper than it looks from the road. Every step feels like a battle, the wind biting through his coat and turning his breath to fog.
Tommy, on the other hand, moves like he’s part of the landscape, his boots crunching confidently through the snow. He glances back occasionally, and Buck tries to pretend he’s okay, that he’s actually a competent firefighter.
"You good back there?" he asks at one point, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as he watches Buck.
"Yeah. All good," Buck huffs, though his legs are already burning, and his fingers are starting to go numb. The other firefighters are fanned out across the mountain trail, and Buck is glad he doesn’t have to deal with their judgement. Tommy’s is bad enough.
They reach the hikers just as the light begins to fade. A young woman is sitting on the ground, her ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, her face tight with pain and pale from the cold. Beside her, another woman crouches protectively, her gloved hands resting on her wife’s shoulders. Her expression is a mix of worry and determination, her own coat dusted with snow from where she’s been trying to keep her wife war
“Bianca, Mack,” Tommy calls out as he approaches, his tone warm but professional, “What happened this time?”
Mack - the uninjured one - looks up, relief flashing across her face at the sight of him, “She slipped,” she says quickly, gesturing to the icy slope just beyond them, “It’s her ankle - she can’t put any weight on it.”
Bianca lets out a soft, pained laugh, shaking her head, “Figures you’d be the one to find us, Tommy. Guess I’ll be hearing about this at the next town hall.”
“You know it,” Tommy replies, already kneeling beside her to assess the injury. His voice softens as he examines her leg, careful and precise, “Let’s take a look. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
Buck hangs back for a moment before approaching Mack, offering a reassuring smile, “Hey, I’m Buck. You doing okay?”
Mack nods quickly, though her eyes never leave Bianca, “I’m fine. Just… worried. She’s got weak ankles on a good day.”
“We’ve got her,” Buck promises gently, glancing at Tommy, who’s already pulling an emergency blanket from his pack. “Mack, right?”
She blinks, startled that he knows her name, but quickly nods.
“Tommy mentioned you,” Buck adds with a small grin, “says you make the best cranberry pie in town.”
Mack snorts despite her worry, “That’s because he’s got no taste buds. But I’ll take the compliment. How you doing, baby?”
Bianca practically hisses at her as Tommy wraps the blanket around her shoulders, “I told you we shouldn’t have taken this trail,” she glowers through chattering teeth.
Mack approaches, crouching beside her again and rubbing her arms briskly, trying to warm her, “At least we got out of the house, right?” she offers weakly.
“Only to be stuck inside again until this damn thing heals,” Bianca laments with a withering sigh.
Tommy grins as he finishes stabilizing her ankle, “Hey, at least you’re keeping it interesting. Tamara’s gonna have a field day when she gets to treat a real injury.”
The quip puts a grin back on Bianca’s face, and Buck watches with fond curiosity. Recognising someone on a call in LA would be a one in a thousand chance - maybe more, if Buck really thinks about it. But here, Tommy knows everyone. Everyone knows everyone. It’s the beauty of living in a small town… but would that make it harder if the calls had more risk? How could you go out to a fatality call knowing it was someone you’d known for ten years?
He wants to ask Tommy, but it’s clearly not the time. Instead he keeps himself busy, making sure Tommy’s bag is repacked now that he’s not rifling through it anymore.
When the other firefighters arrive with the stretcher, they work together to load Bianca up, making sure she’s secured and insulated against the biting wind. Mack stays close, holding Bianca’s hand tightly even as the team prepares to move.
The trek back down is slow and grueling, somehow harder than the trip up despite the fact that they’re heading downhill. The temperature has dropped even further, and the icy trail is even more treacherous in the dark. Buck struggles to keep his footing, the extra pack feeling heavier with every step. His breath comes in sharp, visible puffs, and his legs burn with the effort of keeping up. Ahead of him, Tommy moves steadily, the stretcher team following his lead. Every now and then, he glances back, his eyes sharp as he makes sure everyone is holding their ground. Buck grits his teeth, pushing forward, determined not to fall behind.
They take a quick break halfway down, and of course, that’s when it happens, as Buck is approaching Tommy to catch his breath.
"Careful here, it’s-" Tommy warns, but it’s too late. Buck’s foot slides out from under him, and he goes down hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Nothing even hurts, which makes it worse.
"Dammit," Tommy mutters, crouching beside him, one hand on his shoulder, "You okay?"
Buck nods. Nobody else would be able to see the way his cheeks heat up, but he can feel it, and he ducks his head away angrily, "Yeah. Just lost my balance. I’m fine."
Tommy doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives Buck says enough. When he helps Buck to his feet, his grip is firm and just a little too tight. The rest of the descent is tense. Tommy stays close, his movements precise and purposeful, while Buck does his best not to fall again.
By the time they make it back to the firehouse, even the other volunteers seem relieved that everyone made it down in one piece. Bianca is taken down to the town doctor - Tamara - to determine whether they need to take the trip into the city for the hospital, and the rest of the crew drifts away, their work done for now. Buck lingers by the truck, feeling like shit. His fingers ache from the cold, and every muscle in his body feels overworked, even though it was one rescue that didn’t even take that long.
He doesn’t need anyone to tell him how badly he screwed up. The slip, the pace he couldn’t keep - it’s all on replay in his head. He doesn’t even look up when Tommy approaches. He’s going to tell him not to come back - fire him from volunteering, if that was even something he could do. It’s probably better this way, anyway. He came here for a fresh start, not to play the same game in a different town. It was stupid.
"Hey," Tommy says, and it sounds warmer than it should, given the dressing down he should be gearing up to give.
Buck shakes his head, unable to meet his eyes, and beats him to the punch, "I’m sorry. I messed up."
Tommy stops in front of him, shifting and crossing his arms, "What makes you say that?"
Buck lets out a bitter laugh, "I slowed us down. I slipped. I could’ve made things worse - for you, for Bianca and Mack. I’m not cut out for this. Not here."
Tommy studies him for a long moment, then steps closer, his voice soft but steady, "Snow’s a different beast," he says, "Unforgiving, unpredictable. It doesn’t care how strong you are or how much experience you’ve got. It’ll humble anyone, Evan. Me included."
Buck looks up, surprised. "You? Come on."
Tommy smiles faintly, his tone lighter. "What, you think I just strolled into town and became a pro? First rescue I did in these conditions, I thought I’d freeze to death before I even got to the victim. Took me two years before I stopped falling on my ass every time I stepped on a patch of ice."
Despite himself, Buck smiles a little at the image. Maybe he’s the idiot for thinking that Tommy would berate him for something so normal after he’d invited him out. Tommy’s a good guy - he’s not known him for that long, but he should know that, of all things.
“So you’re saying I’ve got at least two years to get my act together?”
Tommy grins back, "Maybe less, if you’re lucky. Point is, you’re not the problem. The snow is. You’ll get used to it. But that’s why we go out in groups, it’s why we carry the gear that we carry - to make sure we don’t become the ones that need rescuing out there."
Buck hesitates. He still feels a little guilty, but in the grand scheme of screw-ups, it’s not his worst. Finally he nods, "Thanks.”
Tommy squeezes his shoulder gently, "Come on. Let’s get you warmed up. There’s leftover chili in the kitchen, and I’m not above using food to bribe you into sticking around."
Buck laughs, a little more genuinely this time, as he follows Tommy inside.
The rest of his first month passes in a blur of snow-dusted hot coffee mornings, breathtakingly beautiful days full of work on the house, and quiet hot chocolate evenings by the fire. Some days are different - he takes volunteer shifts at the firehouse, and while nothing is ever as exciting as that first day, it gives him an opportunity to meet the townspeople as he helps look for misplaced keys, too-tight rings stuck on fingers, and delivering firewood around town.
The cabin, while still far from perfect, starts to feel less like a disappointment and more like a challenge he’s slowly rising to meet. The broken pipes have been patched, the radiator keeps him warm when the fireplace just won’t cut it, the biggest holes have been patched, and he’s even managed to carve a little path out to the main road.
Of course, none of it would’ve been possible without Tommy.
Every day, without fail, Tommy shows up - sometimes with tools slung over his shoulder, sometimes with coffee in hand, but always with that easy grin. Buck’s tried paying him for his time, but Tommy waves it off every time, saying something about “neighborly duties” and how Buck’s company is more than enough payment.
It’s infuriatingly endearing.
And that’s the problem.
Buck doesn’t remember the exact moment he realised he was falling for Tommy, but now it feels unavoidable. It’s the way Tommy talks, his low voice steady and warm; the way he moves, confident but unhurried; the way his laugh cuts through the cold like sunshine. It’s the selfless way he connects with everyone in the community, offering a hand wherever he can. In the way he can’t stay still, always finding a new project where there wasn’t one before. He reminds Buck of himself, sometimes. It makes him wonder if Tommy is still looking for something too, even if he settled here nearly ten years ago.
If anything, Buck wants to help him find it. Wants to give Tommy a reason to keep coming back around even after the novelty of him being the new guy in town wears off.
So, when June mentions at the general store that the town’s annual Christmas decoration day is coming up, Buck jumps at the chance, knowing Tommy will be part of it too.
“We could always use an extra set of hands,” she says with a smile. “It’s a big job. Every building on Main Street gets a little festive touch. We might not get any visitors passing through, but it really brings on the Christmas cheer.”
“I’m in,” Buck replies immediately. For such a small town, they have no excuse not to go all out. Luckily Buck is excellent at decorating.
The morning of the decoration day, he shows up at Main Street bundled in layers, ready to help, and eager not to make a fool of himself like he had at the firehouse, proving to everyone that after a month, he might actually belong here. The town square is already buzzing with activity, laughter and the occasional sound of a hammer echoing through the frosty air. The decorations are charming in their simplicity - greenery, twinkling lights, and handmade ornaments that look like they’ve been passed down for generations.
Buck is handed a ladder and a long spool of lights, his task to wrap the towering fir tree at the center of the square. As he sets the ladder in place, he hears the crunch of boots behind him, and a familiar voice warms the air. It sets his heart racing in such a foolish way, but he can’t seem to calm it down.
"You picked the hardest job, huh?"
Buck turns, finding Tommy standing a few feet away. He looks like he’s already been out and about, a coffee in his hand and a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.
“I figured I’d go big,” Buck replies with a shrug, trying not to fumble with the spool in his hands, “And, well, I didn’t exactly choose it,” he admits, “Guess nobody else wanted to get up the ladder.”
Tommy nods, his gaze shifting to the fir tree, “The fir is the heart of the square. After the lights, everyone will pitch in and wrap the tinsel and the baubles. But if the lights aren’t right, it’ll throw the whole look off.”
Buck feels the weight of that statement, but instead of nerves, it sparks determination. He climbs the ladder with careful movements, taking his time to ensure the lights are even and taut, looping them in a steady rhythm around each branch. He pauses occasionally to step back and check his progress, glancing at Tommy for an unspoken second opinion.
When he’s done, Buck steps down, brushing snow off his gloves and letting out a long breath. He looks up at the tree, its soft golden glow casting warmth across the square, then glances at Tommy, waiting for his reaction.
”Well?”
Tommy steps closer, inspecting the tree with a practiced eye. He nods, a smile spreading across his face, "Not bad. I might even let you help with the firehouse decorations next."
“High praise,” Buck jokes, though the warmth in his chest is real.
Tommy grins, squeezing his shoulder and urging him to follow, “Come on, there’s hot cider at the café for volunteers. You’ve earned it.”
The firehouse looks like something out of a holiday postcard. Wreaths hang in every window, and garlands wrap the porch railing, dusted lightly with the morning’s fresh snowfall. Buck’s assigned to hang the oversized red-and-white banner proclaiming Happy Holidays from Fire and Rescue over the bay doors.
Tommy works beside him, steady and methodical as he climbs the ladder to secure one end.
“I swear, this thing’s older than the town itself,” Tommy grumbles as he carefully untangles the strings holding the banner. “Every year, we swear we’re replacing it. Every year, here we are.”
Buck chuckles as he holds the other end taut, “Hey, it’s got character.”
Tommy looks down at him, his grin easy, “Yeah? Like everything else in this town, I think.”
Buck laughs and nods, completely at ease as they work together. The air smells faintly of pine from the tree in the corner of the bay, and the hum of Christmas music drifts from the radio near the desk.
As Tommy shifts his weight on the ladder, adjusting the garland they’re stringing along the rafters, Buck lets his gaze linger. For a moment, his thoughts drift - not to the garland, not to the faintly lopsided star on the tree - but to LA.
He misses Maddie. Misses the way her laugh could fill any space, softening even the hardest edges of his days. Hen’s wit comes to mind too, sharp but kind, her steady voice always there when Buck needed it most. Chim’s endless humor, his ability to turn even the worst shift into something bearable. Bobby, with his quiet wisdom and the way he always made them feel safe, no matter what they were facing.
And Eddie. They’d barely known each other a year before Buck left, but Eddie had felt like a cornerstone in Buck’s life. Strong, unwavering, someone who just got him without needing a lot of words. It had been easy to lean on Eddie in a way Buck hadn’t realized he needed until it was gone.
The 118 had been chaotic, messy, loud, and far from perfect. But it had also been home. His family. For someone who’d spent most of his life running, chasing something he couldn’t name, it had been the first place where Buck felt like he belonged.
He’s never missed a place he’s left before. Not really. The thrill of the new always drowned out whatever he’d left behind. But LA lingers in his chest, a dull ache that hasn’t faded, even with the fresh start he’s found here. He knows leaving was the right choice. He needed space, needed time to figure out who he was outside the noise and chaos.
But moments like this bring that ache closer. It’s not just about missing what he had. It’s about realizing that, for once, he wants to build something again. Something real.
He glances at Tommy, his steady presence so at ease it almost makes Buck want to stay in this moment forever. Tommy is warmth and quiet strength, like a flickering fire on a cold night. And Buck doesn’t want to lose that either. It reminds him of Eddie in the best ways, but it’s different too, softer around the edges. The creeping in of a feeling Buck’s pretty sure he recognises all too well.
The thought pushes him, makes him want to close the distance that still lingers between them.
As Tommy climbs down the ladder and steps beside him to admire their work, Buck clears his throat.
“This must take a lot of work every year,” Buck says, gesturing toward the tree and then outside, to the bustling square. His voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of nervous energy he can’t quite hide. “You must have your hands full organising it all.”
Tommy shrugs, his gaze sweeping the square, “It’s a team effort. Everyone pitches in. Keeps the place feeling like home.”
Buck hesitates, then presses forward, “Yeah, but you seem to be the one everyone turns to. I mean, you’ve been at my cabin almost every day, on top of everything else. Doesn’t it get to be…a lot?”
Tommy glances at him, his smile easy but a little guarded, maybe curious as to where Buck’s even going with this, “It’s what I do… I like to help out.”
“Yeah,” Buck shifts his weight, “Yeah, I just- I think you’re incredible, Tommy. Kind, funny, handy as hell. The way you take care of this town, the way you’ve been looking out for me - I mean, I haven’t been there that long, and I already see why the town loves you. I just-”
“Evan.”
Buck stops short, his heart sinking. He knows that tone. Tommy’s read him like a book.
“I appreciate it,” Tommy says, his voice steady and kind, “I do. But I’m not looking for- for anything, right now.”
“Oh,” Buck says, swallowing thickly as he nods too quicky, “Right. Of course. I mean, yeah, sure,” he laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to make it weird. I just thought- I don’t know, maybe I read-”
“You didn’t make it weird,” Tommy says firmly. He steps closer, tilting his head slightly, “And you didn’t read anything wrong. I like you, Buck. You’re a great guy. One of the best I’ve met, actually. But I-”
“You don’t have to explain,” Buck interrupts, waving a hand, wishing the earth would open up to swallow him whole, “Really. I get it.”
Tommy watches him for a moment, then nods, “Alright. But just so we’re clear, there’s no hard feelings. I still want to be there for you - help you get settled, and keep you company when the cabin gets too quiet.”
Buck’s relief is tinged with embarrassment, much like his cheeks, but he manages a smile, “I’d like that. Thanks, Tommy.”
Tommy nods, searching his face. Buck can’t look at him, but he accepts the gentle squeeze to his arm as Tommy smiles and steps over to the pile of decorations still sitting in the corner.
“Now, can you help me get these reindeer up?” he says, his tone easy, “They’re a favourite as well, except every year one of the kids will try and steal Rudolph’s nose and hide it somewhere in town.”
Buck laughs, the tension easing from his shoulders as they get back to work. He still feels a little flustered, but Tommy’s warmth makes it impossible to linger on his embarrassment.
Maybe he’d gotten ahead of himself - but he hasn’t lost anything. And that feels like a win.
Days pass, and despite how awkward Buck wants to feel about confessing his feelings, Tommy makes it impossible to be weird about it. He comes over just as often, and takes Buck out just as much. Truthfully, it feels like a wasted opportunity. Buck should’ve let him continue; asked him why he didn’t want to- to try things out between them. Now the curiosity burns in him every time Tommy fixes him with one of those sweet smiles that suggests there could be something more between them.
Today feels especially cruel. The snow had started mid-morning, soft and slow, a gentle dusting that barely stuck to the ground. By noon, it was a steady fall, heavier flakes clinging to the windows and piling up along the edges of the guttering. Tommy, perched on a ladder in Buck’s cabin with a wrench in one hand and a flashlight in the other, seemed utterly unbothered.
“You think that’s gonna stop anytime soon?” Buck asks, taking a break from where he’s patching one of the walls to peer out the window at the weather.
Tommy glances down at him briefly before resuming his work, “Doubt it. Looks like we’re in for a blizzard.”
Buck’s stomach tightens, glancing sharply at Tommy, “A blizzard? Should you even be here right now? Don’t you need to, I don’t know, batten down the hatches or something?”
Tommy chuckles, “I live for this kind of weather, Evan. My place is set up for storms like this. You, on the other hand…” he trails off, his eyes flicking meaningfully to the drafty windows and the still-sagging ceiling. “You’re lucky I’m here.”
Buck frowns, his arms crossing over his chest, “That’s not funny. What if you get stuck? Or something happens on your way back?”
Tommy descends the ladder with an easy grace, wrench still in hand, “I’ve been through worse storms than this. The roads’ll hold for a few more hours. Stop worrying.”
Buck doesn’t stop worrying. As the afternoon wears on, Buck finds it harder to heed Tommy’s advice. The wind picks up, whistling through the cracks in the cabin, and the snow comes down in thick, relentless sheets. It’s almost mesmerizing, the way the world outside seems to vanish in the whiteout, but it also sends a shiver of unease down Buck’s spine.
By the time Tommy finishes sealing the last leak in the ceiling, the storm is a full-blown blizzard. The windows rattle against the wind, and the snowdrifts outside are high enough to half-bury the base of Tommy’s truck. He doesn’t seem fazed as he packs up his tools, his expression as calm and steady as ever.
“Alright,” Tommy says, tugging on his coat, “I’ll check on you in the morning, make sure nothing’s blown loose and that everything’s held.”
Buck blinks at him, mouth dropping open, “The morning? Tommy, you’re not seriously planning to drive in this?”
Tommy shrugs, glancing out the window as if it were a mild inconvenience rather than a weather event that could probably bury a house, “I’ll be fine. It’s not my first snowstorm.”
“Tommy, come on!” Buck’s voice edges on exasperation, “Look outside! You’re not going anywhere in that.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, “You worried about me, Evan?”
“Yes!” Buck threw his hands up, “What if your truck gets stuck? Or worse? Just… stay here. It’s one night - please?”
For the first time since Buck’s been fretting, Tommy hesitates. His gaze lingers on the window, then shifts back to Buck, considering. The grin that follows is small but warm, “Alright,” he concedes, hanging his coat back up. “You win.”
Relief sweeps through Buck, though he tries hard to play it cool, “Good. Now, is there- uh, I don’t know, like, blizzard protocols I should know about? Is it the same as blackout ones? Water, candles, spare batteries? That kind of thing?”
Tommy’s grin widens, his expression bordering on condescending as he leans casually against the kitchen counter, “You bought a whole survival kit from the general store, didn’t you?”
Buck glances toward a nearby drawer, already reaching for it defensively, “I like to be prepared!”
Tommy snorts, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watches Buck rummage through a pile of mismatched supplies. “Relax, Evan. We’re fine. It’s not a big storm, and it’ll be over by tomorrow. Power’s still on, you’ve got heat, and you’ve got me if anything happens.”
Buck huffs for a moment, then rolls his eyes and sets the survival kit within easy reach. He has a number of water bottles in the fridge, and enough canned food to last them a week if they need it. He doesn’t care what Tommy thinks: he’s going to be prepared.
Finally, he turns his attention to where Tommy will be sleeping. For a moment he almost offers his bed, but Tommy had turned him down so politely and kindly the first time. He’s not sure he could handle another rejection.
“Are you alright sleeping on that thing?” he asks, gesturing to the old couch that was here when he moved in, “It’s probably as old as this cabin.”
Tommy chuckles, following Buck to the cupboard where his spare linen ended up, getting a sheet, a pillow and a few extra blankets, “It’ll be fine for one night. I’ve slept on worse.”
They settle in together easily. Buck heats up the leftover shepherd’s pie he’d made the day before, and Tommy finds an old deck of cards in a drawer, teaching Buck a game he swears is universal but which Buck is certain Tommy’s making up as he goes. They eat in the glow of the crackling fireplace, swapping stories and teasing each other as the snow continues to swirl outside.
It isn’t until later, when the fire has burned down to glowing embers and their voices have softened to match the quiet of the cabin, that Buck decides to broach the question that’s been sitting heavy in his chest.
“You mentioned before,” Buck begins, keeping his gaze on the flames, “that you’re not looking for- you know. For a relationship.”
Tommy, seated on the couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders, tilts his head but doesn’t interrupt.
Buck hesitates, then forges ahead, “I guess I’m wondering… is that because of me? Or is it something else?”
Tommy’s sigh is soft, but it fills the space between them, “It’s not you, Evan,” he says, his voice low. “And that’s not a cliche meant to placate you. It’s me. It’s this place. This life.”
“What do you mean?”
Tommy shifts, the firelight casting shadows across his face, “People come to towns like this for a reason. Some are running from something. Some are looking for a fresh start. But a lot of them, they get bored. The quiet loses its charm and the spotty internet connection is almost too much to bear, and they leave. Sometimes they try to take you with them when you don’t want to go. And sometimes… they don’t even try that.”
Buck frowns, “You think I’ll leave?”
“I think you might,” Tommy says honestly, and there’s no judgement in his voice then there absolutely could’ve been, “And that’s not a dig at you, Evan. It’s just… I’ve seen it happen. Over and over. People get restless. They remember what they left behind. And I don’t blame them, but-” he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never wanted to go with them.”
”Why?” Buck asks, “You said you lived in LA for what, like ten years? What happened that was so terrible it drove you away?”
Tommy hesitates, his jaw working as he stares at the fire, like he’s weighing whether to share the words stuck in his throat. Finally, he sighs, his voice quieter than before.
“It wasn’t terrible, not exactly,” he begins, “But it wasn’t… good, either. I was in the closet for most of it, and I didn’t even realize how deep I was buried. I thought I was happy - or at least, I told myself I was. I had a career, friends, a life that looked good from the outside. But inside…” he trails off, shaking his head.
“I didn’t like the person I was,” Tommy admits, “I was angry a lot of the time. Frustrated. Watching people around me be themselves, live freely, and I just… couldn’t. Didn’t know how. And when I finally came out, when I finally stopped lying to myself, it was like I didn’t recognize the guy I’d been pretending to be.”
He shifts, glancing at Buck, guarded and careful. It makes Buck’s chest twist tightly with a longing to ease whatever he’s carrying, “I left because I was afraid. Afraid that the people who knew the old me - the closeted, buttoned-up, rigid version - would only ever see the old me and not this new person I was trying to become. Afraid they’d remind me of everything I’d done and said when I hated everything about myself. I needed distance. I needed a fresh start somewhere small, somewhere I could have control over my life.”
Tommy draws in a slow, shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the flickering fire, “And then there’s…” he hesitates, his voice faltering before he steels himself and continues, “There’s the fact that being out there, in bigger places, cities, with more people... it’s not all freedom and acceptance. I’d like to say I don’t care what people think about me, but that’s not true. Not completely. I know what it’s like to hear the whispers, see the looks, feel like a target every time you step into the wrong room. And part of that is because I used to be that guy, whispering, creating uncomfortable spaces for no reason other than my own fear.”
He shifts in his seat, running a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into his movements, “This town, for all its quirks, for all the ways it sometimes drives me up the wall, it’s safe. Or safer, anyway. The people here know me. They respect me for what I’ve done, for who I am. Most of them don’t care who I love, but if they do… they keep it to themselves. Out there?”
Tommy glances at Buck, his expression hardening, but Buck can see the wild fear behind his eyes. “Out there, it’s different. It’s loud and messy, and people aren’t shy about making their opinions known. I don’t know if I could handle that. I’ve worked so hard to build a life where I don’t have to fight to exist, and the thought of losing that - of stepping back into a world where who I am is something I have to defend every day - it terrifies me.”
The weight of Tommy’s speech settles heavy in Buck’s chest. He doesn’t speak right away, doesn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound hollow or naive. Tommy’s fear sits between them heavily, coiled tight like a spring that’s never been allowed to unwind. Buck knows that feeling - too well. The way fear roots itself deep inside you, holding you back, whispering that it’s safer not to try. Safer not to dream too big.
Looking at Tommy now, Buck sees a man who’s built his life around that fear. Roots, yes, but ones so tightly bound they’ve left no room for growth. Tommy’s carved out his place in this town, a life that’s quiet, predictable, and safe. But it’s also small, and Buck can’t help but wonder if Tommy feels it too - that aching restlessness, the sense that maybe, just maybe, he’s holding himself back.
Buck knows it, because it’s the same thing that’s been holding him back his entire life. He’s never been able to settle, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s afraid - of failing, of not being enough, of being too much, or of finding out that what he’s searching for doesn’t exist. It’s a different kind of fear, maybe, but it comes from the same place. The same hollow ache that keeps you running or keeps you still.
And yet, Buck can’t shake the thought that Tommy doesn’t belong here - not really. Not forever. Tommy’s sharp edges, his quick wit, the fire in his eyes when he’s challenged - all of it feels bigger than this town, bigger than this life he’s resigned himself to. Buck doesn’t know what that life would look like, doesn’t know if it’s even fair to think about, but he knows this: Tommy would be happier away from here.
And Buck? Buck would be happier with Tommy.
The realization hits him harder than he expects, a truth he can’t quite ignore even if it scares him. Maybe that’s the answer he’s been looking for all along - not a place, but a person.
The silence stretches between them, the fire’s crackling filling the gaps. Buck shifts, his eyes still on Tommy, his voice quiet but sure when he finally speaks.
“That sounds… hard,” he says, not for the sake of saying something, but because he means it, “I can’t imagine how much strength it must’ve taken to do all that, especially… when you’d been there so long. And it’s not fair, you know? That you had to feel that way at all. No one should.”
Tommy’s gaze softens slightly, and Buck feels a flicker of hope that he hasn’t misstepped.
“I get why you’re scared,” Buck continues, his words careful, “I mean, you’ve built this life that feels steady, where people know and respect you for who you are. I can see why you’d want to protect that. And you deserve that safety, Tommy. You really do,” he hesitates, swallowing hard, “But I think you deserve more, too. I mean… I know how it feels to be scared of change. To think staying still is safer than taking a risk. But sometimes staying safe means missing out on something better.”
Tommy’s expression shifts, that same guarded look returning to his face, like he’s gearing up to defend himself. He doesn’t, though, and Buck takes a breath. He rubs the back of his neck for a moment, contemplating. Tommy had bared his soul for Buck… the least he could do was bare his own in return.
“I guess… I get it,” Buck admits, “because I’ve felt that way too. Like I needed to run away to figure out who I was, but then I kept running because stopping felt… impossible.”
Tommy doesn’t respond, doesn’t press him to explain further, but he watches with rapt attention, quiet and serious.
“I came here because-” Buck starts, then pauses, searching for the right words, “My sister… Maddie, she went through something terrible. Her ex-husband, Doug, he… he hurt her. A lot. For a long time,” his voice cracks, but he pushes through it, “And I knew, but she- she wouldn’t let me help her. So I had to leave her because I couldn’t… couldn’t just watch it happen and not do anything about it. And then she finally got away from him, and we were in LA together and everything was fine. But… he followed her. He tried to take her back… and he- he won’t hurt her ever again now, but…”
“I thought I’d found my place with the 118,” Buck continues, “A family. Somewhere to belong. And I thought I was strong enough to protect the people I care about, you know? But when everything with Maddie happened, all this old stuff I’d buried came back up. Memories from when we were kids, when my parents…” he stops, shaking his head, “I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be there anymore, in that city, in that life. It was like I couldn’t breathe.”
Tommy nods slowly, his voice quiet when he finally speaks, “So you had to leave again.”
“Yeah,” Buck admits, his laugh hollow, “I ran. I thought maybe if I went far enough, found someplace quiet, I could figure out what the hell I’m doing. But now I’m here, and-” he gestures vaguely, unsure how to put it into words, “Well. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know if I’m the kind of person who can stay anywhere, Tommy. Not because I don’t want to. I just… I don’t know if I’m built that way.”
The room is quiet except for the howling wind outside, the fire crackling softly in the grate. He feels defeated, like he’s sealed his fate in one fell swoop. Tommy leans back in his chair, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, considering Buck’s words.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Tommy says finally. “More than most people have to. Not to mention everything you’ve seen as a first responder. And maybe you aren’t built to stay,” Tommy shrugs, but there’s a sadness in it that makes Buck’s heart clench, “Maybe this place isn’t the answer for you. Maybe it’s just another stop on the way to wherever you’re supposed to be. An expensive one,” Tommy says with a wince as he glances around the work they’ve already put into the cabin, “But a stop all the same. But even if it’s just a- a- stepping stone, you don’t have to make that decision today, or tomorrow, or next week. Right now, you get to live in your house, and process the things that have happened to you. Get to know yourself when everything else has been stripped back, and maybe that will reveal where you’re supposed to be.”
Buck watches Tommy almost sadly, a rising panic in his chest at the reality of it all. He can’t really stay, can he? When he thinks about his life in ten years from now, he doesn’t know what it looks like… but it’s certainly not here.
Still, the idea that he doesn’t have to know yet, that he doesn’t have to figure out where he belongs right this second, feels like relief. He tries not to think of the pressure it brings on the other side - like he’s holding his breath, waiting for something to click, for the answers to appear out of thin air.
Buck leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer, “What if it doesn’t?” he murmurs, “What if whatever I’m looking for never… finds me?” Buck’s voice is quiet, almost lost under the wind rattling the windows. “What if I’m just… always running? Always searching?”
“Are you happy to be here?”
Buck blinks, caught off-guard by the question. He nods without hesitation, “Yeah,” he insists, “Yeah, of course I am. It’s- I mean, of anywhere I could’ve run to, this is- I’m pretty sure I lucked out.”
Tommy chuckles, “Then don’t think about searching and just enjoy it,” he muses, “Sometimes the best way to find something is to stop looking for it.”
It doesn’t help. Buck makes a face and sighs, leaning back against the couch cushions, “I wish it were that easy. It’s not exactly my style though.”
Tommy’s lips twitch in a faint smile. “No, I figured as much. But sometimes, fighting the current just tires you out. Maybe letting it carry you for a while isn’t such a bad thing.”
The words linger in the air, as soft and steady as the crackling fire. Buck glances at Tommy, catching the quiet conviction in his expression, and his heart aches to be closer, to know him so thoroughly that he’s familiar with every hardship he’s ever faced.
“Guess I’ll have to work on that,” Buck says finally, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
Tommy nods, satisfied, and leans back in his chair. “You’ll figure it out,” he says simply, like it’s a fact, not a possibility.
Buck hesitates, then pushes himself off the couch with a sigh, “I should head to bed,” he says, stretching his arms over his head, “You sure you’ll be okay out here?”
Tommy raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “What, you offering to share?”
“What? No!” Buck’s face flushes, and he waves his hands hastily, “I just meant- shut up. Don’t tempt me if you’re not gonna- shut up,” he’s too defensive, too flustered, and he tries hard to get his composure back, “Do you need anything else?”
Tommy chuckles, fond, and even though Buck knows he’s laughing at him, it doesn’t feel malicious. “I’ll be fine, Evan. Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay,” Buck huffs, though he lingers for a moment longer, as if to make sure Tommy really means it. Finally, he nods and steps toward the hallway.
“Goodnight, Tommy.”
“Night, Evan.”
The months roll by in a blur of snowy mornings and quiet evenings, Christmas coming and going in a flurry of cheer that Buck tries his best to embrace. He sends out cards for the first time in years - one to Maddie and Chim, another to Eddie and Christopher. Maddie’s card arrives first, full of updates about their lives, and Eddie’s follows close behind, a simple photo of him and Christopher standing in front of their tree. Buck keeps them both on the mantle above the fireplace, tucked between a few sprigs of evergreen and the candles he never remembers to light.
He gets a few cards back from locals too - Mrs. Levinson’s has a hand-painted crooked snowman on the front, and the kids from the school send one with messy crayon drawings and shaky handwriting wishing him a Merry Christmas.
Tommy’s advice sticks with him, looping in the back of his mind like a song he can’t quite shake: Stop searching for the next thing. Just enjoy where you are.
The weather gets colder, the snow piling up in soft drifts that sparkle under the streetlights, but Buck finds himself acclimating in ways he hadn’t expected. He doesn’t rush to fill his days with plans or look for excuses to keep busy. Instead, he lets himself settle into the rhythm of the town - the quiet hum of life here, steady and unhurried.
He starts taking walks just to see where the winding trails around the lake will lead him. He stops by the diner to chat with June, letting her insist on bringing him “Buck-sized” portions even if he knows he won’t finish. He spends afternoons at the fire station helping Tommy with drills or planning safety classes for the school and the home-schoolers, and he organizes a town movie night at the community center, projecting an old holiday classic onto a whitewashed wall.
People greet him warmly wherever he goes now. The kids from the school wave excitedly when they see him on the street, and Buck grins back, his chest warming at their enthusiasm. Tommy jokes that Buck’s becoming more of a local than he is, but Buck only shrugs, deflecting with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
For all the warmth and welcome, for all that he’s tried to stop searching, it still doesn’t feel like home.
One evening, as twilight fades over the snow-draped hills, Buck sits on the edge of his porch, bundled in a heavy sweater. His gaze drifts toward the edge of town, where Tommy’s truck would be parked outside his small house if he weren’t out on another late-night call.
He’s been by Tommy’s side for almost everything - repairs, firehouse shifts, casual beers after a long day - but something still feels unresolved between them. It’s not romantic, no matter how much Buck wishes it was. Tommy made his boundaries clear, but Buck finds himself confused when they flirt back and forth. He feels it in the way Tommy looks at him sometimes, the way his eyes soften, or how he always finds an excuse to stop by the cabin, even if it’s just to check on Buck’s new DIY attempt.
And yet, it’s not just about Tommy.
Buck feels it in himself too - the restlessness he thought he’d left behind in LA still stirring under the surface. It’s the question that gnaws at him every quiet moment: if this isn’t home, if this quiet little town with Tommy in it doesn’t give him the peace he’s been chasing, then what does that say about him?
He’s scared. Scared that staying means facing that restlessness head-on, that it might never settle. Scared that leaving might hurt Tommy in ways Buck doesn’t want to imagine. And most of all, scared that the peace he’s searching for doesn’t exist—not here, not anywhere.
He sits with these thoughts for days, turning them over like stones in his hand, feeling their weight. He doesn’t want to leave, not really. But the fear of staying gnaws at him just as much, and the words start to build in his chest, aching to be let out.
When Tommy’s truck finally pulls into view one night, its headlights cutting through the gathering twilight, Buck feels the ache cresting, the words rising to meet the surface.
Tommy hops out, waving as he makes his way toward the porch. “Cold out here,” he calls, his breath visible in the crisp air.
Buck forces a smile, standing to meet him. “Isn’t it always?” He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like sitting inside.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. Instead, he hands Buck a thermos, the scent of spiced cider wafting up as Buck unscrews the lid.
“Figured you could use this,” Tommy says, leaning against the porch railing. “Thoughtful, right?”
Buck huffs a laugh, grateful for the distraction. “Thoughtful and modest. What a combo.”
They lapse into silence, the quiet hum of the forest filling the space between them. Buck sips the cider, the warmth spreading through him as he steals a glance at Tommy, his jaw tight with words he’s not sure how to say.
Finally, he exhales slowly, his breath clouding in the air. “Tommy,” he begins, his voice low but steady. “I’ve been thinking… I.. I think it’s time I left.”
The words hang between them, stark and cold against the warmth of the cider in Buck’s hands. He can’t look at Tommy, staring instead at the dark treeline, his chest tightening with every second of silence that follows. He wants to take it back, but it’s never felt more true.
Finally, Tommy speaks, his voice as soft as the falling snow, “I know.”
Buck glances over, startled by how calm Tommy sounds, “You know?”
Tommy meets his eyes then, something heavy and unspoken in his gaze. “I didn’t think it was a secret,” he admits, “It’s always been a when, not an if.”
“I don’t want to,” Buck whispers, his throat tight, “Tommy, I don’t want to go.”
Tommy smiles faintly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And yet, you know you have to.”
Buck sets the thermos down and turns fully to Tommy, urgency spilling from him, “Come with me.”
Tommy’s head jerks up, his expression flickering between surprise and something more vulnerable, almost betrayal, “Evan…”
“I mean it,” Buck insists, leaning closer, “You’re not meant for a place like this either, Tommy. You’re amazing - smart, talented, hardworking - you’d have people falling over themselves to hire you. Hell, you could do anything. We could… we could do it together.”
Tommy lets out a shaky breath, his eyes dropping to the snow-dusted boards of the porch. For a moment, it looks like he might consider it. His fingers twitch against the railing, and when he looks back up at Buck, his expression is conflicted.
“You’re making it sound so simple,” Tommy says, his voice tinged with frustration, “Like I can just pack up my whole life and follow you.”
“Why can’t you?” Buck asks, desperation creeping into his tone, “Why does it have to be so complicated?”
Tommy’s jaw tightens, and he shakes his head. “Because this is my home, Evan. It’s not perfect, and yeah, it’s quiet, and sometimes it’s lonely, but it’s mine. I built something here. Come on, we’ve talked about this.”
“Months ago. Before- before we really knew about us. What about us?” Buck asks, his voice cracking, “What if I’ve found what I’ve been looking for, it just- wasn’t in the right place?”
Tommy looks at him sharply, his composure cracking at last, “You think this doesn’t hurt me too?” he snaps, his voice low but fierce, “You think I don’t feel like an idiot for keeping things simple between us, for telling myself it was safer not to let it get complicated? And now you’re leaving, and it still hurts just as much as it would’ve if we’d-” he cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair as he takes a step back, shaking his head.
Buck feels like the air’s been knocked out of him, “Tommy…”
Tommy shakes his head, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looks away, out into the snow. “I thought keeping my distance would make it easier if it came to this. But now? I don’t know. Maybe I was just fooling myself.”
“You weren’t,” Buck says quietly, stepping closer, “You weren’t fooling yourself, and- and I know it can be hard to leave somewhere you’ve called home for so long. You’ve built something good here, Tommy. I get it. It’s- it’s worth hanging onto. I get it, I understand… I just…I don’t want to leave you… but I don’t know how to stay.”
The words strike like a harsh blow. Buck watches Tommy work through it, and wonders how many people have said the same thing to him. He wonders who was the first who broke his heart like this.
He watches Tommy’s jaw clench, his eyes growing distant and hard and it breaks every inch of Buck’s heart, “S’alright. You’re not the first,” he says with a tense smile, “I told you, Evan. I told you when you first asked. I told you I wouldn’t come with you if you left.”
Buck doesn’t know what to say to that. He wants to fight, to convince Tommy to reconsider, but he can see Tommy’s resolve, even though it’s clearly hurting them both. Tommy’s rooted here, and Buck can’t seem to break ground. Is he selfish for wishing Tommy to move for his sake? Maybe. But he’s sure they could be better together, somewhere else.
Tommy takes the thermos back, offering him a tense smile, “I’ve got some jobs to do. I’ll- see you around.”
He leaves quickly, like he can’t wait to get away.
Buck doesn’t blame him.
It takes a week of preparation before Buck’s ready to go. The cabin feels empty now, stripped of Buck’s life and personality. The cozy clutter he’d accumulated in the last few months - books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, mismatched mugs lining the kitchen counter, a jacket slung carelessly over the back of the couch - is all gone, packed neatly into his Jeep. The furniture all has drop-sheets on them again, the chimney blocked again to keep out the wildlife and the weather. The place looks exactly as it had when he first arrived, and despite the repairs made, it somehow feels smaller, lonelier.
Tommy hadn’t joined him for most of the week; always out on a different errand. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either. Mostly, Buck was just sad, trying not to look like an abandoned puppy every time they made eye-contact.
The morning he leaves, the townspeople gather at the diner to send him off, their warmth and well-wishes making his chest ache. Goodbyes have always been hard, but this one seems to hurt all the way down. June bakes him a stack of pancakes taller than any human should consume, and she presents him with a container of snacks and meals for the road.
It’s bittersweet, their kindness only highlighting the hole Buck feels growing inside him. But it’s Tommy’s absence that cuts the deepest.
He does show up briefly, slipping into the diner early to grab coffee and mumble his goodbyes, but he’s quieter than usual, his easy humor dimmed. After exchanging a few words with Buck - more polite than heartfelt - he makes his excuses and leaves.
“He’s taking it hard,” June whispers as she slides another plate of food in front of Buck.
Buck forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “Yeah, well… so am I.”
By the time he returns to the cabin to grab his bags, the light snowfall has thickened, blanketing the ground in white. If nothing else, he’s going to be glad to see the sunny LA beaches again. He pauses in surprise when he spots Tommy’s truck parked outside, and Buck finds him inside, standing in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips.
“Hey,” Buck says softly, leaning against the doorframe.
Tommy turns, his face carefully neutral, “Hey. Thought I’d give it one last check before you go. Make sure it’s sufficient to survive when you’re not here.”
Buck nods, stepping inside and glancing around. “You did a great job. I, uh. I learned a lot, too. Thank you, for everything.”
“Sure,” he says, his voice flat, “I’ll keep an eye on it for you, until you’re ready to sell.”
The weight of Tommy’s sadness feels like an anchor, pulling at Buck’s resolve. He takes a step closer, hesitating, “Tommy, I-”
“You don’t have to explain,” Tommy interrupts, shaking his head, “I get it. You’ve gotta go. This was always temporary, right?”
“Yeah,” Buck says, though the word tastes bitter, “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
Tommy lets out a short, humorless laugh, “No, it’s not,” he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, looking down at the floor, “You know, I thought maybe… maybe I’d gotten used to this. People leaving. Guess I haven’t.”
Buck’s heart twists painfully. He wants to reach out, to say something that could make this better, but nothing feels like enough. Instead, he steps closer, his voice quiet, “You’ll be okay. You’ve got this whole town behind you.”
Tommy finally looks up, his eyes meeting Buck’s. He’s almost unreadable, but Buck recognises the resignation there. “Yeah. And you’ve got the whole world ahead of you.”
Neither of them speaks for a long moment. Buck wonders if there’s anything he can say; anything that won’t make it hurt more.
Eventually, Tommy clears his throat, stepping back, “You’d better get going before the weather gets worse.”
Buck nods, swallowing thickly. He picks up his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and heads for the door. Just before he steps out, he pauses, turning back to look at Tommy one last time.
“Take care of yourself, Tommy.”
“You too,” Tommy replies, his voice softer now, “Good luck out there, Evan. Send me a postcard.”
Buck forces a smile, but as he steps out into the snow, it feels like he’s leaving a piece of himself behind.
The snow crunches under Buck’s boots as he walks to his Jeep, the cabin and Tommy shrinking behind him with every step. He opens the driver’s side door, tossing his bag onto the seat, but his hands falter as he grips the frame. The ache in his chest, the hollow sense of wrongness, is too much to ignore.
Fuck it.
He turns back toward the cabin, eyes locking on Tommy still standing in the doorway, arms crossed against the cold, watching him leave. The sight twists something deep inside Buck, and before he can talk himself out of it, he slams the car door shut and starts striding back toward him.
“Buck-” Tommy begins, but the words are lost as Buck reaches him, his frustration spilling out in a low grumble.
“This is stupid,” Buck mutters, more to himself than to Tommy, “I’m stupid for leaving. You’re stupid for letting me, for not coming with me.”
And then, before Tommy can say a word, Buck grabs his face and kisses him.
It’s not soft or careful - it’s desperate and raw, like Buck is pouring all the words he can’t say into this one moment. Tommy stiffens in surprise for half a heartbeat before he leans into it, his hands finding Buck’s jacket and gripping tightly as if he’s afraid Buck will vanish if he lets go.
When they finally break apart, Buck is breathing hard, his forehead resting against Tommy’s, “Come with me,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please, Tommy. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I don’t want to do it without you.”
Tommy closes his eyes, his brow furrowing as he exhales shakily, “Evan…”
“I know what you’re gonna say,” Buck cuts in, his hands dropping to grip Tommy’s arms, “But we’ll figure it out - I’ll figure me out. Just… don’t let me leave without you.”
The silence stretches, the snowfall muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. Tommy looks away, his jaw tight, as if he’s waging a war with himself. Buck waits, his heart pounding, terrified that he’s pushed too far, that Tommy will say no and he’ll lose him for good.
Finally, Tommy speaks, his voice rough but steady. “I don’t know if I can do the city again, Buck. I don’t know if I can leave this place.”
“Then don’t,” Buck says quickly, “Not for good. Just… come with me. Please. For just a little while. LA is different now. It’s- it’s safe, so much safer than the place you left behind, and-“ and it’s home. The two years he’d spent there were the ones that had made the most sense. He belonged there. But he belonged there with Tommy, “We’ll figure it out together. I’ll protect you.”
Tommy’s eyes meet Buck’s, and something in them softens, “Together?” he repeats quietly, like he’s testing the word, feeling its weight.
Buck nods, his grip tightening, “Together.”
There’s another long pause, and then Tommy lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging, “Okay,” he says finally, the word almost a whisper. “Okay. We’ll- okay,” he huffs, “I’ll come, but- just for a little while, okay? Just a- a vacation.”
A laugh escapes Buck, shaky and full of relief, and he pulls Tommy into another kiss, this one softer, sweeter. When they part, Buck grins at him, feeling more settled now than he ever had in six months.
“Come on, let’s get you packed.”