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The deck is cold beneath Tommy’s hands as he leans against the railing, his breath curling in thin, white clouds into the crisp December air. The city sprawls before him, quiet for once, the distant hum of traffic dulled by the stillness of the pre-dawn hour. Christmas lights drape the edge of the railing, casting muted colors over the wood grain, inspiring cheer that Tommy just doesn’t have within him today.
Behind him, the door slides open. Evan steps out, heaving a sigh as he does. He comes with the faint smell of coffee from the two cups he’s holding. Tommy doesn’t really want to have coffee at this hour; they’ve both just gotten off separate twelve-hour shifts, and he’s excited to go to bed… but Evan seems reluctant.
Neither of them speaks at first. Tommy accepts his cup and hears the creak of wood as Evan leans against the railing next to him, bringing a heaviness with him that Tommy can feel even though they’re an arm’s length apart. Evan cradles his own cup between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms.
The horizon begins to bloom with color, a pale streak of pink smudged across the dark. Tommy lets his eyes follow it, tracing the line where night begins to yield to day.
“You’re quiet,” Tommy says finally, his tone neutral, careful.
Evan huffs a breath that almost passes for a laugh, “You’re one to talk.”
Tommy allows a corner of his mouth to twitch upward. Fair enough. He doesn’t press though - he’s given Evan an opening, and now it’s his turn to decide when to talk.
It’s another couple of minutes before Evan finally sighs and speaks, his voice low, “It’s supposed to feel different, isn’t it?”
Tommy doesn’t ask what he means. Again, he waits.
“Christmas, I mean,” Evan doesn’t wait long to continue, gesturing vaguely with one hand, his other still clutching the mug, “It’s supposed to feel... lighter. Happier. Not like this.”
Tommy nods slowly, his gaze drifting back to the skyline. The city looks almost peaceful from this angle. He always used to pretend that the sky was holding i’s breath, that the hustle and bustle didn’t start until it released it’s breath into the wind and woke the city up.
“It’s a hard season for a lot of people,” he says after a moment.
Evan tilts his head, watching him, “Including us?”
Tommy doesn’t answer right away, staring out at the sky and breathing in deeply, savouring the last few notes of the crisp morning air. He takes a long sip from his cup, swallowing thickly before he finally nods, “Especially us.”
Evan shifts closer, the movement subtle but deliberate. Tommy glances sideways at him, catching the way Evan’s eyes stay fixed on the skyline, the tension in his jaw never wavering.
“What happened today?” Tommy asks, gentle and careful.
The silence stretches, punctuated only by the faint noise of LA in the background as the city wakes up.
“House fire,” Evan finally says, his words clipped, heavy, “Lights were reused year after year and nobody checked them for wear and tear. Christmas tree went up like kindling. We got most of the family out, but…” he pauses, his knuckles tightening around the mug, “The little boy didn’t make it. Six years old.”
Tommy doesn’t flinch. Death isn’t surprising anymore, even when they’re so young, even at Christmas. His gaze stays steady on the sky, the pink deepening to orange now, “I had a nine-year-old,” he offers, his tone devoid of anything but fact, “Car crash. Ice on the road. Air lifted her to First Presbyterian, but it wasn’t enough.”
Evan sighs again, long and tired. Tommy lets it sit, lets it breathe. They rarely both field bad calls on the same day, but it always hurts more when they do. They fall silent again, but it’s a softer silence this time, less heavy. It’s a shared sorrow, comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.
The city wakes slowly beneath them, lights flickering on in windows, cars beginning to trickle onto the streets far below. Tommy watches the sky shift from deep orange to gold, letting the warmth of the colors settle into him even as the cold air bites at his skin.
Evan stirs beside him, his fingers loosening around the mug, “You ever wonder why we still do it?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost tentative.
Tommy shifts his weight, leaning more comfortably against the railing, “All the time,” he admits finally.
Evan glances at him, surprise flickering across his face, “Yeah?”
Tommy nods, his gaze still on the horizon, “But then I remember why I started. And I make sure to look forward to the little things that aren’t associated with work; this view, the time I get to spend with you. And I convince myself that it’s not about the ones we lose, but the ones we don’t. You know that.”
Evan is quiet, but Tommy watches the way his breathing evens out just slightly.
“You saved the rest of that family,” Tommy continues, his voice steady, “They’ll wake up tomorrow because of you. And sure, they’ll grieve. But they’ll hold each other a little tighter, too. That’s not nothing.”
Evan exhales, long and slow, “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It never does,” Tommy says, shrugging, “But it is. I know you, and I know that you did everything you could on that call. That’s all anyone can ever ask.”
Evan huffs a soft laugh, though there’s no humor in it, “Wise words.”
”Yeah, well. You’re not a probie,” Tommy smiles, “You don’t need all the bells and whistles that come with that speech. Unless you want it, of course.”
Evan rolls his eyes, but the tension in his jaw softens just a fraction.
The sky is fully awake now, brilliant blue chasing away the rest of the colours as the sun rises higher, spilling warming light across the deck. Tommy straightens, stretching his back and lifting the cup to his lips. The coffee’s gone cold, but he takes a sip anyway, grimacing.
Evan watches him, a smile creeping across his lips, “You always drink it like that?”
“Only when I’m trying to look tough,” Tommy deadpans, setting the cup down again.
Evan chuckles, the sound soft but real this time. He shifts closer, nudging Tommy’s arm with his elbow, “Thanks.”
Tommy doesn’t ask what for. He just nods, his gaze drifting back across the city.
“You staying awake for breakfast?” Evan asks after a moment.
Tommy wants to sleep. He doesn’t want to stay up any longer. But Evan looks hopeful, almost pleading, “Depends,” he says, “You cooking?”
Evan grins, moving through his emotions, out on the other side of them now, “Not a chance… but I’ve got waffles in the freezer.”
“Oh, fancy.”
“Yeah, you know me. I provide for my man.”
Tommy snorts, turning to follow him inside.
Evan stops them in the doorway, one hand gentle on Tommy’s chest as he leans in for a kiss, “You make it worth it for me, too,” he says, and Tommy takes a second to connect the dots, “The time we get to spend together. The support of having someone who knows exactly what it’s like without sugarcoating it. It’s all so real, and you know it all so well. You make it easier. You make it worth it.”
Tommy tilts his head, capturing Evan’s lips in another soft kiss, if only to stop him from talking, from laying on the praise too thickly. Evan was perfectly fine before Tommy came along. His job was worth it then, too. But he’s not going to burst his bubble on their sad, quiet morning.
The kiss lingers, unhurried, grounding themselves. When they part, Evan’s forehead brushes lightly against Tommy’s, his breath warm in the chilly air.
“Alright,” Tommy says, “Let’s see about those waffles before I pass out standing up.”
Evan chuckles genuinely this time, lighting up Tommy’s chest and making him smile.
They finally make it inside, wrapped up in the warmth of the apartment. The small Christmas tree - with new, thoroughly inspected lights - twinkles faintly in the corner, its lights reflecting off the window as the sun climbs higher. Evan had turned it on when they arrived this morning, but they’ll have to turn it off before they head to sleep.
Worth is a relative term. But Tommy’s fairly certain he’s struck gold.