Chapter Text
The ER smelled exactly like every other hospital Tommy had ever been forced to sit in: floor wax, industrial disinfectant, and the faint, unmistakable undertone of sick people.
He was currently perched on the edge of a patient bed, stripped out of his turnouts and put in a hospital gown that left him completely exposed to the aggressive blast of the building's air conditioning. The cool air bit at the shallow, stinging burns on his biceps.
Across from him, Lucy was sitting cross-legged on her own bed, looking thoroughly offended. They had pulled the privacy curtain between their beds all the way back, opening up the small cubicle.
"I was wearing my mask," she grumbled for the fourth time, crossing her arms. "I had it off for, what, three seconds? To give you a breath so you didn't collapse like a house of cards on the pavement. Why am I being punished?"
Tommy let out a light cough, his throat still protesting a bit. "Because Ruiz knows that if he gives you an inch, you'll bypass medical entirely and go straight home."
"It's called not being a wimp, Kinard."
"It's called a violation of Standard Operating Guidelines. And you know Ruiz wants a clear from the doctors before we go back to work."
The privacy curtain to the hallway slid back with a loud, metallic rattle, revealing Dr. Stevens, a woman who was entirely no-nonsense but incredibly good at what she did. Tommy had crossed paths with her several times over the years during various ER drop-offs. She ran her department like a tightly wound battleship.
She didn't look at either of them; her eyes were glued to the tablet in her hands, her finger scrolling efficiently through their digital charts.
"Tommy Kinard, so we meet again," Dr. Stevens said, finally looking up over the rim of her glasses. "Smoke inhalation, minor first-degree burns on the upper extremities. Your blood tests and chest X-rays came back, and considering what you breathed in, your lungs actually look remarkably clean. No sign of acute respiratory distress or thermal injury to the airway."
"I feel fine, Doc," Tommy rasped, trying for his most charming, reassuring smile.
Dr. Stevens looked at him flatly, stepping closer to press a cold stethoscope against his chest. "Take a deep breath. No, a real one, don't try to cheat."
Tommy inhaled deeply. There was a tiny, faint tightness at the very bottom of his lungs and a brief sting in his throat, but that was it. No wheezing, no coughing fit. He really was fine.
"Mrmph," Dr. Stevens muttered, moving the stethoscope to his back. Even though she was tough, Tommy knew she had a massive soft spot for first responders; she just hid it behind a wall of strict professionalism because her ER was always a madhouse.
"I swear, the LAFD must have a mandatory seminar during the academy on how you are all immortal as soon as you get the uniform. You people are not superheroes; you are organic matter subject to chemical and thermal injury. Taking off an SCBA mask inside an active structure fire? Did you leave your brain at the station today?"
"Hey, easy on the big guy," Lucy chimed in from her bed, leaning forward with a sharp grin. "He actually is a hero today. He extracted a missing four-year-old from the top tier of a melting plastic playground maze. Handed his own mask over to the kid."
Dr. Stevens paused, her hand still resting on Tommy's back. Her expression softened by a fraction of a millimeter, a brief flash of genuine warmth showing in her eyes before she hardened right back up. "Then he's a lucky idiot."
She stepped forward, carefully inspecting the shallow, pink burns on Tommy's biceps that the nurse had already thoroughly cleaned and treated earlier. Satisfied that they were just minor superficial injuries, she moved over to Lucy's bed, pressing the stethoscope against her back to check her lungs as well.
"Alright," Dr. Stevens said, tapping her tablet with a final, definitive click. "Your lungs are clear enough that I'm not going to admit either of you for observation, mostly because I need the bed space for people who don't actively court natural selection. You're both discharged. Tommy, the nurse will be in to put a fresh bandage on that burn, and you will take the albuterol inhaler I'm prescribing. If you start wheezing or cough up anything that looks like coal, you come right back here. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, Doc. Thank you," Tommy said, already shifting his weight to slide off the examination table.
Ten minutes later, Tommy was back in his uniform, standing at the nurse's station to sign his release forms. The hospital pen was tethered to the counter by a plastic chain that was far too short, forcing him to hunch his frame over the clipboard like a gargoyle.
Lucy was standing right next to him, text-messaging her girlfriend with lightning speed. "Alright, she's five minutes away. You want-"
Before Tommy could answer, the phone in his pocket let out a loud, buzzing vibration.
He pulled it out and looked at the screen. The contact name hadn't changed in a year, sitting there like a quiet ghost in his digital history.
Evan <3
Tommy's thumb hovered over the screen. His heart gave a sudden, violent thud against his ribs.
"Oh," Lucy murmured, peeking over his elbow with a sharp smirk. "Look at that. Loverboy is right on time."
"Shut up, Lucy," Tommy muttered, but there was no bite to it. He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear, stepping away from the desk.
"Hey, Evan."
"Did you teach my kid to say shit?"
Evan's voice didn't sound angry so much as exhausted, vibrating with shell-shocked disbelief that only a new parent trying to police a four-year-old's vocabulary could muster.
Tommy winced, the sudden movement catching the tight skin around his burnt biceps. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, leaning his shoulder against the cool drywall of the hospital corridor.
"Uh... define teach?"
"Tommy!"
The whine in Evan's voice was so incredibly familiar that Tommy's chest did a stupid, nostalgic little flip. He could practically see the man through the phone, the way his brow would be furrowed, his free hand wildly gesturing at the empty air, his curls probably sticking out in three different directions.
Tommy couldn't help it; a raspy chuckle escaped his throat.
"Look, in my defense, the building was on fire. And technically, it's not even that bad of a word. There are actual peer-reviewed studies out there that show expressing negative emotions through mild profanity can be healthy. It lowers stress levels and pain."
Silence stretched over the line. For a solid three seconds, it was absolute crickets.
"...So," Evan said slowly, his tone dripping with deadpan irony. "What you're telling me is that it is scientifically proven that my four-year-old kid needs to learn how to swear?"
"I'm just saying, it's all about context," Tommy joked, a genuine grin breaking through on his face. "He's a smart kid. He just needs to learn the hierarchy of the system. He should learn which swear words are acceptable, which ones aren't, and which specific time points are appropriate versus highly inappropriate. And I would honestly argue that shit is barely a tier-one swear. It's like... nothing. It's practically a punctuation mark."
On the other end of the line, Evan let out a sudden, breathless chuckle that bled right into a laugh.
"I get it, I get it. Thank you for the lecture, Professor Kinard. Honestly, I'm not actually mad. It's just... I'm learning how incredibly hard it is to rewire my own brain. I have a brutal time trying to remember not to say f-"
Evan cut himself off. Tommy could hear the rustle over the receiver, followed by Evan's voice dropping into a desperate, hurried pitch away from the microphone.
"Uh, no! No, Theo, I wasn't going to say something bad. I wasn't! I was going to say... uh... fudge! Yeah. I really want some chocolate fudge. Do you want fudge? No, we can't have fudge for dinner just as dessert, and please put the sticker on the paper instead-"
Tommy pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he listened to the cute chaos playing out through the phone.
After another moment of muffled rustling and what sounded like a juice box being squeezed a little too aggressively, Evan's voice returned to the speaker.
"Okay. I think the crisis is averted. He's currently trying to see if a dinosaur sticker will stick to his own forehead. Anyway... sorry about that. I actually called because I wanted to check in. How are you doing? Did the doctors give you a hard time?"
"They scolded me thoroughly," Tommy said. "The ER doctor accused me of having a death wish or trying to prove my immortality, which I'm pretty sure is a mandatory requirement for the job anyway. But they cleared me. I'm just signing the final discharge papers now. I'm good to go."
"Oh. Good. That's... I'm really glad, Tommy," Evan murmured. There was a brief, hesitant pause, packed tight with everything they hadn't said over the last months.
Evan cleared his throat. "Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can give you a lift home like I wanted to. The doctors here want to keep Theo overnight. Just to stay on the safe side, because of the smoke exposure and his age. They're being super cautious."
"Hey, Evan, don't worry about it at all," Tommy said quickly. "It's completely okay. Lucy's girlfriend is actually on her way right now to pick her up. I'm sure she can drive both of us home. Focus on your kid."
"Right. Yeah. Okay," Evan said, and Tommy could practically hear the immense relief washing over him. "That's good. I just... I wanted to make sure you were taken care of."
"I am. I promise."
"Okay," Evan whispered. "Um... I should probably go before he figures out how to operate the motorized hospital bed. But I'll text you? About Saturday?"
"I'd like that," Tommy said, a genuine warmth spreading through his chest, completely overriding the lingering ache in his lungs. "Take care of him, Evan. And buy him some fudge."
Evan laughed, a bright, clear sound that made Tommy smile against the receiver. "Will do. Bye, Tommy."
"Bye, Evan."
The call clicked shut. Tommy stood there for a second, staring down at the dark screen of his phone, feeling a strange, fluttery sensation in his stomach that he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was a terrifyingly hopeful feeling.
"Oh, sweet merciful heavens," a voice drawled from his left.
Tommy jumped slightly, completely forgetting he wasn't alone. Lucy was leaning against the nurse's counter, her arms crossed over her chest, watching him with an expression of pure amusement.
"You look like a teenager who just got asked out by the quarterback," she teased, tapping her fingers against her forearm.
Tommy shoved his phone into his pocket, walked back up to the nurse station, and grabbed the hospital pen again, quickly scribbling his signature on the final line of the release form. "We were just talking about his kid's vocabulary, Lucy. It was a completely innocent conversation."
"Uh-huh. Sure. And I'm the Queen of England," Lucy scoffed as she walked with him toward the sliding glass doors of the ER exit.
Outside, the L.A. sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of bruised purple and brilliant orange. Lucy stopped just before the doors, looking up at him. The teasing completely faded from her eyes, replaced by the protective loyalty that made her his favorite person to work with.
"In all seriousness, Tommy," she said softly. "I'm really glad he called. You spent over a year acting like a ghost after everything went down. You deserve to be happy, and anyone with eyes can see you two aren't done. I really hope you both work it out this time."
Tommy swallowed past the raw edge of his throat.
"Yeah," Tommy murmured, a quiet, steady resolve settling over him. "Me too, Lucy. Me too."
The next few days passed in a blur of restless anticipation.
Tommy's burns healed quickly, leaving behind faint, pink patches on his arms, and a few puffs of the prescribed inhaler completely cleared the residual tightness in his lungs. After a mandatory forty-eight-hour break, he was already cleared and back in the air. The moment he slid into the cockpit at Harbor, feeling the familiar rumble of the engine beneath him and looking out over the open sky, he felt completely healed.
The only real lingering "symptom" of the whole ordeal was that his phone had become a permanent extension of his hand. It was a habit Lucy teased him about relentlessly at the station, considering he usually threw his device into his locker and forgot it existed for entire shifts.
He and Evan had been texting back and forth, short bursts of messages that carefully danced around the massive, elephant-sized history between them. It was mostly domestic updates: Evan sent pictures of Theo (one of him triumphantly wearing a cardboard box as armor, another of a chaotic finger-painting session, one of the little boy dead asleep on the couch and drooling) and Tommy replied with his usual dry sarcasm.
Eventually, through the digital back-and-forth, they had carved out a plan: coffee on Saturday afternoon at a cafe near Evan's new house.
Tommy kept telling himself to keep his expectations low.
He knew this didn't mean they were getting back together. He knew it didn't mean Evan wanted him back in his life for good. More than a year of silence didn't just evaporate because of one dramatic rescue.
But god, Tommy had missed him. He missed the warmth Evan brought into a room, missed the sound of his laugh, and more than anything, he just wanted to talk to him. If all they could ever be again was friends, Tommy would swallow his pride and take it.
Plus, if he was being completely honest, he was dying of curiosity to know the actual story behind Theo.
When Saturday finally arrived, Tommy spent an embarrassing amount of time changing his shirt three times before settling on a simple dark gray Henley. He was just reaching for his truck keys when his phone lit up, buzzing with Evan's personal ringtone ("Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, which he'd chosen back when they first started dating and couldn't bring himself to change after).
Tommy picked up, a small smile already forming. "Hey, Evan. I'm just about to head out-"
"Tommy, I am so, so sorry," Evan's voice burst through the speaker, a mile-a-minute. He didn't even pause to say hello.
"You have no idea how much I wanted today to happen, but everything is completely falling apart on my end. Maddie was supposed to watch Theo. But then Nash woke up with this fever and a hacking cough, and I absolutely do not want Theo getting sick, and I definitely don't want my sister dealing with a sick kid, plus Jee, plus mine on top of it. It would be a total disaster zone."
Tommy blinked, his keys dangling from his finger. "Evan, it's fine-"
"And I thought about calling Eddie," Evan rammed forward, his voice climbing an octave, "but honestly, Eddie will absolutely not watch him after what happened last time. It took three days to paint over all the color splashes in his house. And honestly, he is not that great with Theo, so it's a hard no. Then I tried Hen and Karen, but they're actually at Disney with their kids this weekend, and they didn't want to take Theo with them. Which, just for the record, I would not want either, because the first time Theo goes to Disney, I am the one taking him, thank you very much. And Ravi and May are on some weekend trip, and I suppose I could ask Harry, but honestly, he's just not ready for that level of management, and I would not feel good giving Theo to him at all, so I'm just-"
"Evan," Tommy cut in, his voice dropping into that low, steady rumble he usually reserved for people spiraling. "Evan, stop rambling. Breathe, honey."
On the other end of the line, the frantic intake of air was sharp and immediate. A heavy, profound sigh followed it, the kind of deflated sound that made Tommy's chest tighten. His own heart raced a mile a minute at the accidental slip of endearment, but Evan was probably too overwhelmed to even notice.
"Sorry," Evan muttered, sounding incredibly small. "I just... I wanted to meet you so bad, Tommy. Truly. But I have absolutely no babysitter."
"Well... I could always come over to your place?"
Silence stretched over the line. One second. Two seconds.
Tommy frowned, shifting his weight. "Or... not?"
"No! No, it's not-" Evan said quickly, though his voice had turned hesitant. "You could. I mean, I really want to show you my new place; it's great, but... I don't know, Tommy."
"But what, Evan?"
Evan swallowed hard over the line, the sound clear through the receiver. When he spoke, the raw vulnerability in his voice hit Tommy straight in the solar plexus.
"I guess... I guess I'm just a little terrified that if you come over here, you're going to end up walking out on me in another kitchen."
Tommy winced, a sharp, physical pang flaring behind his ribs, the memory of both times looming over him.
"Sorry," Evan whispered instantly, clearly regretting the honesty. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No," Tommy said softly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "No, Evan, you're right. You have every right to say that."
He cleared his throat, glancing back toward his living room. "Hey, what if we do this instead? Why don't you both just come over here?"
Evan paused. "Are you... are you sure about that?"
"Yeah, absolutely," Tommy said, a genuine smile returning to his face. "I'm sure."
"Okay," Evan said, though the nervous edge didn't quite disappear. "But I have to warn you, Tommy. Theo is a bit wild sometimes. Like, an extreme level of wild."
Tommy let out a rough laugh. "Yeah, Evan, I noticed. I did extract him from a burning plastic jungle gym, remember? I think I can handle it."
"No, I don't think you understand," Evan murmured, and Tommy could practically hear him rubbing his hand over the back of his neck in that familiar gesture. "I just mean... he could break something of yours. He has a lot of energy and zero spatial awareness. You definitely won't be saying it's okay when he puts your house on fire as he nearly did mine when I first met him."
Tommy froze, his eyebrows shooting straight toward his hairline. "Wait. What?"
"Uh! Nothing!" Evan squawked, his voice suddenly spiking into a frantic, high-pitched octave. "Nothing, totally forget what I just said, it was just a joke! A hilarious, totally fabricated joke, haha! So... uh... Theo and I will come to your place? Around three?"
Tommy stared at his kitchen, his brain trying and failing to process the mental image of a four-year-old committing arson in Evan's house.
"Yeah. Three is perfect," Tommy said slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his confusion. "And hey, do me a favor. Bring some stuff for him to play with. I have a few random toys and board games stored away for Sal's kids. But I don't know if Theo will like them, and I really don't want him to get bored."
"I will pack an entire duffel bag of distractions, I promise," Evan said, the relief in his voice so palpable it practically radiated through the phone. "Thank you, Tommy. Really. I'm looking forward to it."
Tommy looked down at the screen as the call ended, his heart doing that familiar, stupidly hopeful flutter again.
"Yeah," Tommy murmured to the empty room, a soft, genuine smile breaking across his face. "Me too, Evan."
Tommy spent the remaining hour aggressively child-proofing his living room.
Usually, his house was clean enough, but a four-year-old with a track record of high-altitude stunts and accidental arson required a tactical shift.
He started by pushing his coffee table completely against the far wall, creating a massive, uninterrupted stretch of open carpet in the center of the room. Next, he uncoiled a set of plastic cable protectors he'd scavenged from his garage, snapping them over the lamp cords and taping down any loose wires.
He even hunted down a pack of plastic outlet safety plugs he still had from when Sal's kids were much smaller, methodically walking the perimeter of the room to cap off every exposed power outlet near the floor. It felt a little absurd, but after Evan's brief panic on the phone, Tommy wasn't taking any chances.
Finally, he unearthed a plastic storage bin from the top of his hall closet. It was filled with toys Sal's kids used when they visited. Tommy sorted through them carefully, bypassing the tiny Lego bricks that were a total choking hazard, and instead took out a collection of toy cars. He set out a large box of building blocks, a stack of coloring books with thick crayons, and a few dolls and plushies he knew carried zero sentimental value to Sal's kids, and, crucially, would not be missed if a chaotic mishap happened.
By two-fifty-five, the kitchen smelled like fresh espresso and vanilla, a tray of sliced apples, cheddar cheese blocks, and chocolate chip cookies sitting neatly on the island.
Tommy stood by the counter, adjusting the arms of his Henley for the fourth time. His heart was doing a steady, erratic thudding against his ribs.
He kept telling himself to keep his head straight. This was just coffee. It was a conversation. It was a chance to see Evan, to hear his voice, and to finally understand the whirlwind that had brought a miniature photocopy of the man into his life.
He missed Evan with a fierce, quiet ache that a year hadn't managed to dull, but he couldn't let his own longing crowd the room. Evan had a son now. The stakes were different.
Right at three o'clock, the doorbell rang.
Tommy took a slow, grounding breath, walked to the front door, and pulled it open.