Work Text:
“Well, that’s…” Eddie said the moment the team had arrived and climbed out of the engine.
“Unfortunate,” Hen finished, her eyes fixed on the roof of the house they’d just pulled up to. Buck couldn’t exactly blame her. Up there, surrounded by absurd amounts of fake snow (and some of the most garish Christmas decorations Buck had ever seen), was a rather burly man in a Santa costume, his lower half stuck in a chimney, screaming and shouting out curse after curse. (Some seemingly not even in English, Buck noted. They sounded vaguely German to him, and for a moment he wondered if that made him racist.)
“That’s gotta be a new one,” Chim muttered, squinting up at the struggling Santa. “I mean, we’ve seen plenty of Santas in sticky situations, but this? This takes the fruitcake.”
How did things like these even happen? How did someone look at a chimney and say ‘Oh, yes, I’ll slide down there, no biggie!’ It was absolutely asinine, so completely unhinged and idiotic that Buck’s brain hardly was able to comprehend the thought process it must’ve taken this guy to end up where he did.
Then again, Buck probably really shouldn’t judge people for making harebrained decisions.
“Do you think he realizes that he probably would’ve busted his ankles if he’d actually slid down there?” Eddie asked, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. The team’s radios crackled with a faint background hum, the absurdity of the scene almost enough to make them forget they were here on an actual call.
Buck tilted his head, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed. The more he looked at the scene, the more unreal it seemed. He decided to reconsider his earlier thought. He was allowed to judge, cause even he wasn’t lacking foresight this hard. “Is it just me, or does that chimney look way too small for him to have even considered crawling through it in the first place?”
“It’s not just you,” Bobby, who now rounded the engine to join the team, said, reaching for his radio. “Dispatch, Engine 118 is on scene. We have one victim, male, age seems to be mid to late forties. Victim appears to be stuck. And dressed as Santa.”
There was a pause before Dispatch answered, the crackle of static barely covering what Buck could’ve sworn was a snort of laughter. “Copy that, 118,” came Josh’s slightly strained response. Buck noticed Bobby side-eyeing his radio, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame Josh. He’d be laughing too if he wasn’t on this call professionally. “Please confirm: is the scene secure, and do you need additional resources?”
“I don’t know, maybe a team of reindeer to pull him out?” Chim called up toward the house, earning him a glare from Hen, who was probably already assessing what kind of injuries this guy could’ve suffered from…well, this.
“Scene’s secure,” Bobby said, ignoring Chim’s antics, and exchanging another couple of words with Josh. Then, he turned to the crew. “Buck, Eddie, grab the ladder and all the lube we have. Hen, Chim, get ready to check this guy out as soon as they get him down here.”
Buck shook his head as he jogged over to the rig to get the lube, their victim’s voice calling out every swear under the sun. “You know, for a guy playing Santa, he’s not exactly spreading holiday cheer up there.”
From the roof, Santa’s voice rang out, muffled but clearly annoyed. “I can hear you, you know!”
“Good!” Chim called back, a slightly catty edge to his voice. “Then you’ll be delighted to know we’re here to rescue your jolly behind!”
Eddie followed Buck to grab the ladder while Hen remained firmly planted, hands on her hips, staring up at Santa like he was her children’s math homework she was trying to help them with. “How did you not realize this is a terrible idea before you got halfway in?”
“I bet you he lost a dare,” Chim said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “There’s no way this guy just looked at that chimney and thought, ‘Yeah, I can make it.’”
Raising an eyebrow, Hen turned toward Chim and let out a small huff, “I’m sorry, but should you of all people make fun of that? Should I remind you of why we call you ‘Chimney?’”
Chim’s grin faltered for just a second, and Hen’s smirk grew triumphant. “Low blow, Hen,” he retorted, though his tone was light. “But, for the record, I didn’t willingly wedge myself in anything. I was an innocent victim of faulty construction.”
“Sure, Chim,” Hen said, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe him. She turned her attention back to the roof, where Santa continued to struggle, his efforts achieving nothing but a faint creaking noise from the chimney that made everyone on the ground cringe.
“Why am I not surprised?” Buck muttered, setting up the ladder and turning to Eddie. “Come on. Let’s get Santa out of there before he Tim Allens himself.”
Eddie planted his hands on the ladder to keep it steady as Buck began to climb. “Think he’ll go on the naughty list for this?”
“Not if we save him before Hen smacks some sense into him,” Buck called down, his voice lighthearted as he worked his way up toward the roof.
From below, Hen sighed and shook her head, her exasperation at Santa finally getting to her. “One of these days, I’m going to get through a shift without an incident that makes me question humanity.”
“Today is not that day,” Eddie replied, barely stifling his grin.
“Yeah, well,” Hen said, watching Buck hoist himself onto the roof, “let’s just hope Santa’s dignity is the only thing that got bruised tonight.”
As Buck reached the chimney, he peered down at the man’s awkwardly wedged body. This was worse than he had expected. Like he’d thought, the man’s stomach was plugging up the chimney entirely, but he hadn’t predicted the small cracks that were forming all around the top of the shaft, some of which already ran up to halfway down the sides. “Okay, big guy, hang tight. We’re gonna get you out of here, but try not to move too much.”
“Believe me,” Santa grumbled, a deadpan expression on his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, that much is obvious,” Buck said under his breath, before reaching for his radio. “Uh, Cap? Send Eddie up here with the tools. This is a two-man job at least and the lube’s not gonna cut it.”
Chim’s voice chimed in immediately. “Santa’s had one too many cookies, huh?”
“Not helping, Chim,” Buck shot back, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the task at hand.
This was going to be a long shift.
🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄
“So this is not what we usually get called in for.”
Tommy raised an eyebrow at the, frankly, ridiculous scene in front of him. Somehow, a guy on skis had managed to not only crash into the giant Christmas tree that had been set up right by the main lodge, the guy had somehow managed to get himself completely tangled up in the lights, which still blinked in all colors of the rainbow.
In all his life as a soldier, a firefighter and now a rescue pilot, Tommy had never seen something this idiotic before.
“How did this even happen?” he asked the manager of the resort, a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties, who wore a sharp, dark grey pantsuit. To her credit, she seemed just as exasperated as he felt.
“I wish I knew,” the manager replied, pressing two fingers to her temple as if she were fighting off a migraine. “All I got was a frantic call from one of the lodge staff saying there was ’a skier emergency’ and that I should ‘bring someone who knows how to untangle knots.’” She gestured toward the blinking, flailing mess of a man. “I didn’t expect this.”
Tommy let out a long sigh and turned back to the scene. The skier, who was now groaning softly, looked like a particularly unfortunate ornament hung by an overzealous child. The man’s goggles were askew, his skis were pointing in entirely different directions, and his jacket, a garish neon green, made him look like an elf who’d lost a fight with Santa’s workshop.
“Is he…conscious?” Tommy asked, squinting.
“Yep, sure is,” García, one of the paramedics of the 217 he’d flown up here said. She straightened up and pulled her gloves on tighter. “Hey, Kinard, can you get me a backboard? I feel like we’re gonna need to tie this guy down even if he somehow managed not to break his spine.”
“On it,” Tommy replied with a sigh, and headed back to his chopper. He still wasn’t sure just how this could’ve possibly happened. He had a sinking suspicion that alcohol had played a part, but he kept that to himself, instead silently grabbing the backboard from the back of the helicopter.
He trudged back through the snow, (If the way the artificial stuff felt under his boots was anything to go on, he would absolutely despise real snow.) a soft hum under his breath. The resort’s cheery Christmas music (now an unfortunate backdrop to this circus) had invaded his brain and wouldn’t leave it for probably the rest of his shift (or a week later. Or a month. Or a goddamn year).
As Tommy handed the backboard over to García, he crouched down to get a better look at the skier. “Alright, buddy, you with us?” he asked, his voice sharp but not unkind.
The man groaned again and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “The tree came out of nowhere.”
Tommy blinked. “The tree came out of nowhere?” He exchanged a look with García, who rolled her eyes and smirked, biting her lip.
“I swear it did,” the skier slurred, his head lolling slightly to the side. “One minute, skiing. Next minute, tree.”
Tommy sighed, a sound that felt like it came straight from his soul. “Yeah, I’m sure the tree leapt right out to grab you. Happens all the time.” He shot a glance at the manager, who snorted softly but quickly disguised it as a cough. She was clearly trying to keep her professional veneer intact, but her expression betrayed her amusement.
García got to work, carefully cutting away a few strands of the blinking lights that had wound tightly around the man’s torso. “This guy’s tangled worse than my Abuela’s Christmas lights,” she muttered.
“Don’t disrespect your Abuela,” Tommy quipped. “At least she didn’t knock over the tree.”
The skier let out a low groan. “I’m never drinking eggnog again…”
Ah, there it was. Tommy resisted the urge to say, called it, and focused on the task at hand. “Look, pal, we’re gonna get you out of here, but I need you to stay still. Can you do that?”
The skier didn’t respond directly, but he gave a lazy thumbs-up that didn’t inspire much confidence.
“Great,” García muttered. “Kinard, help me stabilize him before we move him.”
Tommy stepped in to assist, holding the backboard steady as García and the other paramedic carefully maneuvered the man’s limbs. The lights resisted, clinging stubbornly to the skier as if they were part of some cosmic punishment for his sins against Christmas decor. It took some creative maneuvering and a few choice curses from García before the last of the lights finally snapped free.
Once the skier was secured to the backboard, Tommy stood up and dusted the snow off his pants. “Alright, let’s load him up. We’ll fly him down to the hospital for a once-over.”
The manager stepped closer, looking at the still-blinking lights strewn across the snow like abandoned tinsel. “What about…all this?” She gestured vaguely at the scene of destruction.
Tommy shrugged. “I’d say leave it. It’ll make for a great story. ‘The Tree Incident of 2024.’ You could make it an annual thing, build some buzz.”
The manager shot him a flat look. “I think we’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” He turned back toward the helicopter, falling in line behind the paramedics carrying the backboard. “Let’s get Bode Miller here some help before he decides to start singing carols.”
As they walked, the skier managed to lift his head just enough to croak out one final, utterly sincere question: “But…did I win?”
Tommy couldn’t stop himself. He grinned. “Oh, buddy. You definitely won.”
🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄
“Dispatch, this is engine 118,” Bobby spoke into his radio, snapping the rest of the crew into Business Mode. “We’re pulling up on scene.”
The truck came to a halt outside a large community center, which seemed almost normal and boring. Except for the plumes of smoke coming out of one of the windows. Buck groaned and rolled his eyes. He hoped this wasn’t an actual fire, or at least that the window had already been opened by the time it started, because he didn’t know how he’d react if he found out someone in there had opened a window on a fire.
“Copy that, 118,” the dispatcher’s voice (Maddie this time) came through their radios as they all rushed to grab their gear. “Community Christmas Baking Event, one of the ovens caught fire. The 217 is on scene, Captain Chen is IC, he’ll give you more details.”
Buck’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the 217, but he quickly shrugged it off. Sure, running into his boyfriend on the job would be nice, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Besides, Tommy was on helicopter duty today anyway. He was way up in the sky, riding his bird through the clouds and saving lives by bringing victims to the hospital far faster than an ambo ever could.
It brought a sigh to Buck’s lips as he jogged after Eddie and into the building at Captain Chen’s command, the same love struck one he always seemed to sigh when he thought about Tommy and his effortless coolness, and big heart, and dashing good looks. (And especially the cleft. God, did he love that cleft!) Less than a year ago, he hadn’t even known he was into men, and now here he was, happily, knowingly in love with the very same one who had blasted his closet door open with all the force of the hurricane they’d flown into when they had met.
The smell of burnt sugar and smoke hit Buck like a fist to the face as soon as he and Eddie entered the community center, every thought of Tommy instantly pushed to the back of his mind as he went into rescue mode. Eddie was already barking orders to one of the event organizers, a frazzled woman in a holiday sweater that had seen better days, while Buck took in the scene.
The lobby was a chaos of flour-dusted people, from crying children to panicked adults to people from the 217 trying to evacuate everyone, and a steady stream of smoke curling out of the kitchen at the far end of the hall. Buck followed Eddie through the hall, their boots clomping against the polished floor as they approached the kitchen door, quickly checking every frazzled bystander for injuries before urging them to leave the building already.
“Cap, this is Diaz, we’ve got thick smoke but no visible flames yet,” Eddie reported over his shoulder. “Kitchen is at the end of the main hallway. Looks like the sprinkler system hasn’t gone off.”
“At least the fire’s contained, then,” Bobby’s voice crackled through the radio. “Chen said two of his men are already in the kitchen, Hayes and Kinard. Assist them however they need.”
Buck’s brain came to a screeching halt. Kinard? Did Bobby just say Kinard?! His heart thudded in his chest, and he nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself just before Eddie noticed his sudden shift in demeanor. Kinard. Bobby had said Kinard. Tommy’s here. The realization brought a wide grin to Buck’s face at the thought of seeing his boyfriend in action, all big, and tough, and competent. He didn’t have time to process it, though, as he and Eddie reached the kitchen door, where the thick haze of smoke was quickly becoming stifling.
Eddie pushed it open, and they were greeted by chaos. Two firefighters from the 217 were already inside, one, Hayes according to his turnout jacket, directing a fire extinguisher toward an oven that was the apparent source of the problem, while the other worked to move large trays of baked goods away from the immediate area. The oven in question was blackened, with flames licking at its edges, a few stray flames dotted around the floor.
“Buckley! Diaz!” Hayes called out, practically bombarding the oven with foam. “We could use another set of hands on this.”
“On it,” Eddie shouted briskly, moving toward him. Buck’s eyes, however, had already met the other firefighters, and for a moment, it was as if everything around them didn’t even exist.
There he was, helmet on, jacket slightly singed, cleft chin invisible under the oxygen mask, but just knowing it was there and waiting for him to come kiss it made Buck weak in the knees. Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Evan,” he called, and Buck couldn’t put his finger on why, but his voice sounded…hot. Hotter. Or something. He wasn’t sure what it was, just that he really wanted to tear the turnouts off of Tommy, fire and smoke be damned. “What are the odds?”
Buck managed a lopsided grin (that he knew Tommy would’ve loved if he only could have seen it!), his heart pounding a mile a minute. Tommy, all professional, and sooty and goddammit, Buck could almost smell the musk radiating off of him from over here. “Right?” he somehow brought out with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “It seems so unlikely!”
Tommy gave a quick shake of his head, exasperation evident in the way his eyes crinkled even under the helmet, but there was an unmistakable fondness too. “Focus up, Buckley,” he said, and if Buck wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the edges of his voice. “There’s still an oven fire to handle, and I’m pretty sure Captain Nash won’t appreciate me distracting his star firefighter.”
“Oh, I’m the star now?” Buck shot back, already moving to sort out the flames on the ground while Eddie and Hayes double-timed the burning oven. He could feel the warmth of Tommy’s presence nearby, but there was a job to do here, so he couldn’t even bask in it.
“Always have been,” Tommy replied, the words so casual Buck nearly choked on the laugh that bubbled out of him, all while Tommy had already turned his attention back to the task at hand with all the casualness the situation allowed. It was like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Buck’s overactive heart, and that only made him more feral inside.
“Hey!” Eddie barked, snapping Buck back into focus. “Quit flirting and help us!”
Right. Fire. Job. Professionalism.
Finished with the smaller fires, Buck moved to assist Hayes and Eddie with the oven, which turned out to be a much bigger problem than they had anticipated. Together, they aimed for the stubborn flames that were trying to escape the oven, working in tandem to snuff them out. The smoke was thick and cloying, stinging Buck’s eyes even through his mask, but the blaze was already starting to die down. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tommy check the rest of the appliances for damage and ensure no other hotspots could reignite, causing another swell of pure affection and, frankly, borderline horniness to rush through Buck’s body.
The team worked efficiently, their movements seamless and practiced. Within minutes, the immediate danger was contained, the oven reduced to a smoldering mess. Eddie called it in to Bobby while Hayes and Tommy began assessing the kitchen’s ventilation system to clear the remaining smoke.
Buck busied himself by checking out (and mourning) the remaining trays of half-burnt cookies and pies, but his mind kept wandering to Tommy. It was surreal seeing him here, grounded instead of flying high above the chaos. Buck had always admired the cool confidence Tommy exuded in the air, but now he was seeing it up close, in action on the ground.
Once the kitchen was declared safe, the teams began packing up their gear. The smoke was thinning, though the acrid smell of burnt sugar lingered in the air. Buck caught Tommy leaning against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm, looking as composed as ever despite the soot smudged across his cheek.
“So,” Buck said, sidling up to him, “what’s it like working with your feet on the ground for a change?”
Tommy raised an eyebrow, that smirk reappearing. “Not bad. Less turbulence, more smoke. And I get to run into you.”
Buck chuckled, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks despite himself. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“Yeah, I had to fill in for Callahan. Broke his arm on a call this morning,” Tommy said casually. “Guess I was meant to be here.” He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “You okay? You look a little... out of it.”
“I’m fine,” Buck said quickly, though his heart still hadn’t entirely settled. “It’s just that you don’t meet an absolutely irresistible beast while out on a call.”
Tommy’s smirk grew. “Ah, so I made you look like a lovesick puppy. Figures. I have that effect on people.”
Eddie’s voice cut through their moment. “Buck! We’re wrapping up. Let’s go.”
Buck flinched at the sudden intrusion of his and Tommy’s bubble, and he quickly shot his partner a venomous look, (not that Eddie seemed to care much, judging by the exasperated expression) before turning back to Tommy.
“Duty calls,” he said with a shrug, but he hesitated before stepping away. “I’ll see you later?”
Tommy gave him a small, private smile, the kind that made Buck’s heart flutter in a way that still felt new and thrilling. And then, without a warning, he placed his fingers under Buck’s jaw, his thumb brushing over his chin, before pulling him in.
Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, one that sent a shockwave of warmth through Buck’s body. Almost instinctively, Buck grabbed Tommy’s hips to pull him closer, any space being between them making him feel like he was suffocating. He craved the heat of Tommy’s body, the firmness of his chest, even the smell of smoke and burned gingerbread in his hair.
Despite Buck’s excruciating hunger, he didn’t try to deepen the kiss beyond the chaste, soft peck it was. He wanted to, of course, the craving to rip Tommy’s turnouts off never having gone away, but he knew none of that was something they could do right now. Even just this was highly unprofessional and probably shouldn’t ever have happened, though Buck couldn’t possibly care less about it. His hot boyfriend was hot, and he had initiated smooch time, and Buck was only a man.
Tommy pulled back after a moment, his smirk softening into something tender, and Buck’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes found Tommy’s watching him with that familiar sparkle of pure, unadulterated love.
“Uh, what was that?” Buck chuckled. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help the smile that started to creep onto his face. “That wasn’t very…I don’t think Captain Chen and Captain Nash would approve of…”
“I think they would,” Tommy cut him off with a shrug. “You know, just this once. We were legally obligated to, after all.”
At Buck’s quizzical look, he simply pointed upward. Buck followed the gesture, tilting his head back to look up. And his heart nearly stopped. Hanging above them, just barely visible amidst the smoke and the still-swirling chaos of the kitchen, was a small sprig of mistletoe. It was a little toasty, but most of it, including the shiny, bright red bow tied around it, had miraculously survived.
He blinked at it, then back at Tommy, who was now grinning fully, his teeth flashing white despite the soot smudged on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Buck muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up even more. “Mistletoe? In the middle of a kitchen?”
Tommy shrugged, his expression infuriatingly nonchalant. “Rules are rules, babe.”
Buck let out a half-laugh, half-scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.” Tommy repliplied, wiggling his eyebrow. And really, Buck couldn’t argue with that logic, but before he could respond, Eddie’s voice echoed sharply through the kitchen doorway.
“Buck! Seriously, let’s go!”
Buck groaned, giving Tommy one last lingering look. “Duty calls. Again. I’ll see you later?”
“Of course,” Tommy said, his voice warm, his smirk softening into something gentler. “Go save the world, babe.”
Buck pulled Tommy into one more short hug and planted a quick peck to his lips before turning around and jogging over to the door, always aware of the fond expression Tommy watched him with. As he followed Eddie back out the building and to the truck, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face, even as Eddie shot him a knowing look.
“Don’t,” Buck said preemptively, waving his hand around. “Not. A. Word.”
Eddie smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”
But he didn’t need to. Buck knew what his own face looked like right now, the power Tommy had over him no secret to him. It wasn’t like he cared much, either. He’d been the happiest he had ever been this past year, and if this continued, well.
He wasn’t going to complain.