#rc's harbor ocs

[rcmclachlan]

I love how it appears that Tommy is the grounded, well-adjusted foil to Buck's devil-may-care adrenaline junkie, but I also have to remind myself that Tommy was the guy who was asked to steal a helicopter and fly it into a category 5 hurricane on a hunch, and he was like, "yeah, cool, let's go."

Buck probably thinks Tommy's a rational, responsible adult, because he's so considerate and he owns a house and he's so methodical when he takes Buck apart in bed and he's got a 401k and a Roth IRA account. The helicopter heist flight was definitely an outlier.

But eventually he learns the truth: Tommy's batshit insane.

Like, they're hanging in bed one morning and Buck's on his phone trying to solve the math riddle Hen sent him, and he laments the loss of his lightning-enhanced skills. And Tommy, turning the page on the WWI biography he's reading, absently says, "At least you got them. All I got was 30% hearing loss in my left ear."

Buck slowly lowers his phone and demands an explanation, and Tommy, still focused on his book, tells him about when he was struck by lightning. Both times. The second time he was in the middle of a hoist and winch rescue trying to get to the captain of a sunk fishing boat in the middle of open ocean during a storm. Tommy holds his place in his book with his thumb and shows Buck the picture Lucy took of his Lichtenberg burn—it spans the entirety of his back and goes halfway down his arms. Buck stares at it, stunned, then takes the phone and book out of Tommy's hands, tosses them on the floor, and proceeds to suck Tommy's brain out through his dick.

The first time Buck goes to see Tommy at Harbor, Tommy is still en route back from a call, so Buck gets to talking to two people named Nico and Dana who've worked with Tommy since he arrived. Buck sheepishly apologizes for putting Tommy in such a dangerous position with the hurricane.

Nico and Dana look at each other and snort. Nico puts his hand on Buck's shoulder and is like, "Dude, that is not the craziest thing Kinard's ever done. That's not the craziest thing he's done this year."

They tell him about his legendary but batshit NATOPS check maneuvers and how no one's ever been able to figure out how he can do a barrel roll in low altitude in a transport bird.

They tell him about the time he and Donato were called to a high-rise gas explosion, and they casevac'd an unconscious, pregnant woman who ended up going into labor. Tommy got back there and, with the power of WikiHow on his side, delivered a healthy baby girl halfway to LA General.

They tell him about the time he sustained a concussion while landing a malfunctioning helicopter in the baseball field of a middle school, and yet somehow found the strength to host an impromptu AMA to three hundred kids about what being a pilot's like while he munched on tater tots and waited for a rescue.

They tell him about the time he was flying with a probie at night in an area with uncharted power lines that got tangled in the rotor, and how he slung the probie under his arm like a tote bag and dove out of the helicopter right before it exploded.

They tell him about the time Tommy and Nico were called to a cliffside mansion where some foreign dignitary's daughter was being held hostage. Tommy ended up HRSTing out of the helicopter and onto the scene, and then proceeded to beat the hell out of the guy, get himself stabbed, and give the SWAT team so much shit when they arrived that the 217 has an honorary table every year at the Backdraft Ball.

When Tommy finally shows up and disembarks, Dana's halfway through a story about the time they were all called to Shasta County to help with the Carr Fire in 2018, and as soon as Buck sees him over Dana's shoulder, he shouts, "You flew into a fire tornado?!"

Tommy's expression goes a little hunted and he holds up his hands placatingly, like, "In my defense, I tried to find another way around it—"

And Dana's like, "The fuck you did. You looked me dead in the eye and said, 'You know what would be funny?' And then you banked right into the whirl."

"It's not like you tried to stop me," Tommy says accusingly, ignoring the way the side of his head is starting to smoke from the intensity of Buck's stare.

"Well, no, you were right: it was funny," Dana says with a shrug.

That night, Buck rides Tommy slow and vicious and makes him recount every detail of the fire whirl flight before he'll let Tommy come, and the entire time he grips Tommy's head and forces him to hold Buck's gaze and thinks, I can't believe I ever thought you were normal. You're insane, you're out of your mind, you're perfect, you're perfect, you're perfect for me.

In the afterglow, practically humming with satisfaction, Buck bites playfully at Tommy's chest and says, "So this is what Lucy meant when she texted me that you and I match each other's crazy. Hell, after everything you've done, I think the only thing left to check off your list is, like, aliens."

And Tommy's entire body freezes and he falls very silent very suddenly. Buck lifts his head to stare at him, like, "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Evan, for legal reasons, I need you to change the subject."

[xielexalt]

OC: Lucio Lumeni-Laurent

Prince of Venstella, Heir to the Moon Throne, elder brother of Jien. One of the protagonists of the stories within RC. (he/him, trans man!!!!) Within the story, he also develops a romantic relationship with Nico.

His mother was assassinated, and his father disappeared in an incident 10 years ago. Since then, he's been raised by a hidden cult in preparation to become the next Moon King, while separated from his sister and friends.

He has a meek and gentle demeanor, wrought with copious amounts of depression and anxiety. However, this doesn't mean he is weak: deep inside, he harbors a strong desire to make himself known for "himself," and to carry on his lost parents' legacy. He has a hidden confidence and strength suppressed deep within. In addition, his strength of inheriting the Moon power is not to be underestimated.

In combat, he uses a graceful blade-dancing technique from his mother, and specializes in buffing allies. However, he has an ultimate skill that is an extremely powerful damaging nuke.

Lucio was first conceptualized in 2017, and he's been close to my heart ever since!!

[randomfaeriedragon]

Hey, guess what I did this week?

Thats right, draw 3/5 OC Iterators that began growing in my brain on a photoediting program with my computer's touchpad!

This is the first time I've ever really drawn something digitally other than my profile pic & rw brainrot, and it's definitely the first time I've designed iterators, so yeah! Enjoy the art and subsequent Lore dumps under the cut :)

Iterator 35, Gen. 2: Shaded Pewter Lights / SPL

Built at the base of a dry, desert-like mountain, SPL preferred to occupy their time with huge, complex mechanical experiments rather than genealogical or Acension-based research. They despise thinking about the Great Problem, as no one can experiment if they're all dead, though they don't dislike iterators who attempt to solve it (for that reason alone). Their city used to harbor and attract skilled mechanics and engineers for miles around, as a particularly prodigous university was located on their can. Though they rarely interacted with their citizens, they often miss the requests they sent them, especially those sent by the less experienced artificers of their city; however, they feel little love for the Ancients beyond appreciation for their skill in mechanics (the skill required to build the iterators).

In the past, SPL has repeatedly set up projects within their can that could only be described as titanic Rube Goldberg Machines. SPL often sought to improve the functionality of their can with these experiments (plus having fun), keen to observe and record as much data as possible from the cycles-long whirring of cogs and water wheels before setting everything up again to repeat. Their main goals included lowering their needed water intake, gaining a form of low-power mode for bad weather, and utilizing lightning as a secondary power source. Though many saw these modifications as taboo, SPL couldn't care less, blocking almost all communication during their experimentation era: however, they often shared their knowledge with APS to assit in the creation of the wildlife santuary on his can, and many of the conduits used to water plants there are of their design.

Due to an integral flaw in the rerouted void fluid piping of their Easternmost Leg, SPL's can collapsed in the middle of a heated arguement with their local group, with their Westernmost Leg piercing through their can. With rust and sand permeating their structure, their many mechanisms fell silent for the first time since the Ascension. Although SPL is still connected to their can, overseers, and local communications arrays, they can no longer induldge themselves in experiments; they barely have enough power function as is. They now spend most of their time chatting with other iterators in their local group, sending overseers to APS's sanctuary, and attempting to prevent further discoloration and rust on their puppet. They're not usually bitter, but particularly vulgar arguements with EN can send them into a spiral.

SPL still feels they did the right thing in modifying their can. Though the other iterators refuse to admit it, the main reason they still function is due to the modification of their can.

Iterator 77, Gen. 3: Rain from Clear Skies / RCS

Although he often jokes around, RCS is the most calm and collected of his local group. He often finds himself mediating fights between his local group (read: SPL and EN) for this reason, as has the astonishing ability (within his local group at least) to sit back, consider something fully, and make mostly objective decisions. He also uses this ability to point out details many other iterators overlook, so is often called for help with malfunctioning software and to explain why some experiments went wrong. His citizens instilled him with a love for quiet and time to contemplate, and they had a moderately positive relationship, so often misses them. But when he isn't meditating or recording data from around his can, he's talking with EN. They have soft spots for each other.

His name comes from the already heavy rainfall in the region where his can was built, which his construction didn't help; very little non-semi-aquatic wildlife remains around his can. However, he often moderates the remaining flora and flauna to insure it's continued survival, and has sent more than a few wounded animals to APS so she can assit in their recovery. When he's not researching, RCS also acts as the jokester of his local group, and often codes pranks and malware intended to cause harmless irritation into sent messages. He's gotten quite good at it, to his local group's endless infuriation (and delight). He doesn't send these to SPL, though, as their systems likely wouldn't be able to handle the repairs.

Iterator 16, Gen. 1: Even Nightfall / EN

As one of the earliest iterators built, EN's city was particularly religious and pious, priding themselves on their virtue and detachment from the material world. This did not bode well for EN, who had an almost abusive relationship with their citizens; they treated EN as something to deal with their problems and nothing more. After they Ascended, EN felt both a weight off their shoulders and, for a reason he can't pin down, a profound sense of betrayal that their creators abandoned them. Though a few in their local group see them as nothing more than cruel and callous, EN is very emotinally reserved (but also very, very smug) and astoundingly protective and kind towards those they care for. This includes RCS, their genticially modified slugcat Arps, and to some extent APS.

APS acted as a sort of mentor to EN when they were built, helping them manage their city's requests and sneak in a few personal projects on the side. While their city didn't approve of the projects they found, and reprimanded EN, the number EN kept secret far outnumbered those discovered by the Ancients. With their creators gone, EN found a hobby genetically modifying the pre-existing wildlife around their structure, and has improved their already impressive skills; this lead many genticially modified organisms to spread out and inhabit EN's can, and is also where Arps came from.

Named after APS, Arps acts as a mix between a therapy animal and pet for both EN and RCS. Arps frequently travels between EN and RCS's cans, and EN gave them the ability to glide to ease this passage; however, they (and RCS) also always send an overseer along with Arps to ensure their safety. Even when Arps is simply gliding between trees in the Rainworld Equivalent of a Sparse Pine Forest surrounding EN's can, he always sends an overseer to make sure they're OK. They're almost overbearing!

EN and RCS are perhaps the closest out of any of the iterators within their local group, and frequently chat or play 7-dimensional chess for entire cycles before they have to check up on an experiment so it doesn't explode. Though they couldn't talk much and weren't nearly as close pre-Mass Acension, RCS was one of the few iterators who spent the time to work around EN's colony's communication restrictions and talk to them. He was a great comfort, and one of the only reasons EN didn't crack under their city's pressure.

Not Featured Here: (bios will get out eventually)

Iterator 4, Gen. 1: A Profound Serenity / APS (Any Pronouns)

Iterator 84, Gen. 3: Tide Rolling In / TRI (She/Her)

Arps (They/It)

Probably One or Two More Iterators

CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE: I used an Ancient script by @ikayblythe for the displays by my iteratoes, took heavy inspiration from iterator designs by @altitudeofalcatraz, and took the idea of Iterator Number Deisgnations from Daszombes' Iterator Logs on Youtube.

Anyways, I'm going to go drop off the face of the planet for a week. Thanks for reading this much this far, goodbye!

[entomycetic]

Written tidbits for some weird dwarf OCs under the cut so as to not spam the feed; maybe someday they'll get actual drawings and ref sheets :,)

Engineer (Beetle)

- Makes every solution to every problem Far too complex. Much to R&D's displeasure, he doesn't carry turret packages on the job. Rather, he's created his own RC drones with their own set of close combat melee weapons. The drone is able to project a hologram of a dwarf around itself so as to warn teammates where the drone is in the dark; Engie uses a headset to control the drone, at the cost of losing mobility. Yes I want a melee class how could you tell. No I don't care how impractical it is - Doesn't know what to think of Hoxxes anymore, due to current events brought up below - Is gay for Scout. His absolutely bonkers takes amused him

Scout (Dragonfly)

- A conspiracy theorist to the max, avoided by anyone beyond his crew; slightly comparable to a constantly shaking yet vicious chihuahua. He swears to core and back that DRG is only setting themselves up for a major disaster on Hoxxes, that the disruption of local life and food chains is going to come back to bite them in the ass, quite literally. This guy harbors all my little headcanons and love for Hoxxes' biosphere -...And in this timeline, he turns out to be correct! He and Engie found out in a very unfun way, and barely made it back alive. - Is gay for Engie. Someone finally believed him

Gunner (Spider)

- Will vehemently claim he's the Normal One of the group, and in the same breath will furiously defend his Oops! All Ziplines loadout (BFG, zipline, zipline, zipline, pickaxe). Always some level of grumpy until he has alcohol in hand, acts as if he's team leader (and everyone lets him), teases Scout as a hobby, yet still manages to be the most optimistic of the bunch in even the most dire of situations. He insists that the main reason he stays on this team is because they won't let him take such an R&D unapproved loadout with any "reasonable" team. While true, the amount of shit the team had gone through together forged a bond not even he can deny. - While they had been through plenty else, Gunner had been with Engie and Scout when the Conspiracy Fuckening occurred, but was in a separate part of the cave. While he could hear and feel what the other two were experiencing from so far away, he finds it difficult to believe what he was told went down

Driller (Cricket)

- Until recently, this position was frequently rotated. The vibes of the team were incredibly hard to match, much to Mission Control's torment. - In short, not long after The Incident: Scout would come across a crater in a cave harboring a starving grunt eating at very wounded yet still alive grabber. His bug-sympathizing ass deletes the grunt and successfully convinces the team to help the grabber. By some miracle they sneak it back on board, patch it up, and once they're off duty, Engie cyborgs the hell out of it. ..Only after enough time passes of them getting it to Not immediately attack them with the promise of food. It was first given general limb prosthetics, then experimented on with brain chips, all the way to building the now artificially enlightened beast a dwarf shaped mech suit. It remembered how it was found, now gladly and violently working alongside its team. Mission Control has been gaslit to high hell into believing all the weird shit this thing does is normal dwarf behavior. - As its ability to communicate and understand advances, Scout hopes they can get some insight into the ecology of Hoxxes that goes unnoticed by dwarfkind. For now though, drill go bzzzz and gun go pewpew

[rcmclachlan]

I'd love to hear Dana and Nico discussing Tommy's latest bout of insanity with a probie if you're up for it

"... appears the LAFD helicopter is now leading the Army on a chase..."

The very moment KTLA reporter Chris Wolf says 'chase', the entire hangar erupts into pained groans and shouts of disbelief mixed with fury, plus one enthusiastic whoop that is collectively ignored in favor of the massive white board that DeJong and Goodell rolled out of Captain Ribeiro's office about ten seconds after Kinard escaped with the AW139.

The board is a veritable rainbow of imagination, mostly because it's covered in sticky notes of various colors, and standing in front of it is the most unforgiving authority figure most of the crew have seen since grade school.

"All right, assholes, shut up!" Donato shouts, then consults the board. The hangar falls silent, waiting. "Right now Myers is in the lead with 118 shenanigans, government fuckery, and a high-octane chase, but since Nguyen also bet on 118 shenanigans and a chase that would specifically involve MH-6Ms, Myers, you may have to split the pot."

Myers grudgingly nods. Nguyen discreetly pumps her fist.

Meanwhile, their two-week old probie Mona—who was given the nickname "Idol" after Kelley accidentally pronounced her name as 'Mony' and got the song stuck in everyone's head for days, despite not being old enough to know who Billy Idol even is—takes in the tableau with wide eyes. "Is this, uh, legal?"

"In the state of California? Nah." Nico shrugs, then bites into an unpeeled grapefruit like an apple. "But here? It's fine. You stick around long enough and you'll make some serious cash. Goodell made almost five grand with the cruise ship thing."

Mona stares. "And Cap allows this?"

"Allows it? Who do you think made the first bet?" Nico points to where their illustrious captain is perusing the board with annoyance clinging to his shoulders like a cloak, muttering under his breath.

"Anytime Kinard pulls something like this, we wheel out the board," Dana says, coming to stand on Mona's other side, surveying the pandemonium.

"D-Did you place a bet?"

Nico snorts. "Dane's not allowed to bet anymore. She's dead on the money every time."

"Not every time," Dana demures.

"Okay, but no one could've seen the elephant tusk thing coming." At Mona's wild-eyed look, Nico clarifies, "poacher plane over Channel Island. Kinard brought it down."

With the way everyone's clustered around Donato and the board, holding various sticky pads in the air and waving them around, it looks like the stock market is crashing and everyone's about to dump their shares.

"Oh, speaking of." Dana scrapes at something under her thumbnail. "Did you change the sign?"

Nico says through a mouthful of rind, "I think Donato did."

"The sign?" Mona echoes faintly.

With a nail sharper than any of the steak knives in the communal kitchen, Dana points to the professionally made sign hanging next to the weight room door.

__ DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

The '32' that had been sitting pretty at the front of it for the last month has been flipped back to '0'.

"T-This happens often enough for a sign?" Mona looks a little dizzy, and Dana wants to tell her that if she can't cope with a co-worker stealing municipal property and pissing off the government from time to time, she's probably not cut out for Los Angeles. But Captain Ribeiro suggested on Dana's last evaluation to keep her often-correct opinions to herself, if only to keep morale high, so she says nothing.

Nico does for her. "Ever since Kinard started seeing Buckley? Yeah."

"Buckley?"

"Human dalmatian and resident heroic dumbass at the 118," Dana explains. "He and Kinard have an on-again-off-again thing going on that threatens the populace on a bi-monthly basis. If they ever do manage to figure out their shit, it'll take out half the city."

Mona squints at the TV, where the AW139 goes into a perfect hammerhead before slipping past the Figueroa at Wilshire with the grace of a shadow, leaving the MH-6M floundering in mid-air, and everyone clustered around the board starts shouting and waving their sticky notes again.

"And this is.... on again?"

"At this point, no one knows or cares. Kinard has always been certifiable; he'd been looking for an excuse to get worse." Dana glances at the TV. The AW139 banks up, executes a textbook barrel roll, and then disappears out of the range of the KTLA's camera.

"Holy BLEEP, did you see that?!" Chris Wolf cries.

"It's a shame I never really got to talk to him much," Mona says, a little forlorn. "I would've loved to learn from him."

Nico turns a confused look on her. "You still can? He's not dead."

"I mean, he's gonna be arrested and fired, right?"

At that, Dana presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth to hide a chuckle. "Oh, Idol, you're sweet. Kinard'll gently bully that out of you when he's back on Tuesday."

[rcmclachlan]

One of my most persistent headcanons is that the 118 and the 217 work together in secret to try and get Buck and Tommy back together because none of them can take it anymore. They're all sick to death of the moping, the constant checking of phones, the sad, wistful smiles, the baking—oh god, they're so sick of the baking. Hen's ready to throttle Buck because Chimney's A1C levels are through the roof and if he becomes pre-diabetic she won't be responsible for her actions.

Not to mention the sad playlists. Lucy has been forced to listen to "Wasted Time" by the Eagles so often that if she ever sees Don Henley on the street she's gonna beat the ever-loving fuck out of him.

It isn't long before someone from one station reaches out to the other, because enough already, and then the 118 and 217 are meeting every Friday to brainstorm ways to get these idiots in a room together. But, oddly enough, it feels almost like the universe is working against them.

For one thing, their shifts never line up, even though Bobby and Captain Carson coordinate almost daily on making sure Buck's and Tommy's schedules match. They've even roped a few folks over at Dispatch into it to ensure the 217 and the 118 work the same calls. Despite this, there's a slew of emergencies that manage to mess up all their planning, pulling the 118 and the 217 to opposite sides of the city—or, in some cases, keeping one on the ground while the other is called to the sky.

Once it becomes apparent that The Great Reunification™ isn't going to happen on a call, they shift their efforts to group outings. The 217 are regular haunts of The Naughty Pig—they have a designated table and everything, right next to the staircase. So Eddie starts making noise about wanting to check out this one bar in West Hollywood that he hears is really cool and unpretentious, with an excellent selection of beer and cocktails, and after about a week of him dropping the most unsubtle hints in history, they get Buck to leave King Arthur and his flour in peace for a night so they can grab a drink at The Naughty Pig.

Except, when they show up, Tommy's nowhere to be found. While the others distract Buck by trying to get a table, Dana catches Hen's gaze and makes a small, throat-cutting gesture. They meet in the bathroom and Dana says Tommy went home sick earlier with what she suspects is pneumonia. Which means Hen's going to spend the night in this cool bar while Buck gets white girl wasted on Bud Light. By the time he's on his 8th and warbling into the table about Glee for whatever reason, Hen decides to call it a night.

A week or so after that, Eddie goes for broke and disconnects the battery in his car. That same night, Buck comes over to hang out and play video games (and offload a metric fuck ton of muffins), and when they decide to grab pizza, uh oh! Eddie's truck isn't starting.

He makes a big scene of looking under the hood, but he just can't find the problem. Buck's like "That really sucks but we can always take the jeep?" but no, Eddie needs his truck, how can he live and work without his precious Denali? He decides to call a buddy of his to come over and try to fix the issue, so he leaves the room and calls Tommy, who's surprised to hear from Eddie (which makes Eddie feel like a monster, because, yes, he hasn't really been in touch with Tommy since the breakup but he never meant for Tommy to think their friendship was collateral damage).

Tommy agrees to make the drive over, and Eddie walks back into the living, patting himself on the back, only to find Buck putting his shoes on. Maddie had called while Eddie was on the phone: Mrs. Lee was taken to the hospital by ambulance after a bad fall and Chim and Maddie need him to babysit Jee while they go to LA General. So not only does Eddie's plan backfire spectacularly in a way he can't even be mad about, but Tommy gives him shit for a week because Eddie apparently can't plug a loose cable into a battery on his own.

After that, the 118 and the 217 convene at their usual Friday spot and the mood is dour. Nico thinks it might be time to throw in the towel, and despite everyone making noise about it, no one can really argue with him. They'd given it their all, but the house won.

Then Lucy swans in, takes one look at their disappointed faces, and slaps a piece of paper down onto the table. It's a flyer for the Backdraft Ball next month.

Chim looks up at her, expression grave, and asks, "Do you really think this will work?"

"It's either this or I go to jail for murdering every single living member of the Eagles," Lucy says. "Which I might do anyway. I haven't decided."

"Well, we've come this far." Hen lifts her glass and surveys the rest of the table.

"And if it fails," Dana says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she maybe, possibly thinking about smiling within the next decade. "I can't say I haven't enjoyed this. It's been fun hanging out with you weirdos."

Rapping his knuckles on the table top, Eddie cheers, "Hear hear!"

"Your speaking privileges haven't been reinstated," Dana snaps. "Put a sock in it."

"I told you, the mustache was a toxic symbol! You can't still be mad about me shaving it!"

Dana sniffs and takes a dainty sip of her wine. "You look like a mutant four-year old."

"All right," Chim announces, standing. "Operation: Last Ditch Effort is a go."

They clink their glasses to seal the deal. When Dana knocks hers into Eddie's, his stein shatters.

A month passes and everyone's been talking about nothing except the Backdraft Ball, which Buck can't understand. In the eight years he's been a firefighter, they've never once attended.

"Didn't you once call it a pathetic get together for people who had to get their stomachs pumped on prom night?" He asks Hen, who's browsing the Local Eclectic website for earrings to go with her admittedly amazing jumpsuit.

Hen shrugs. "What can I say, Buckaroo? I've grown as a person."

Meanwhile, at the 217, Lucy corners Tommy in the Bell-205 and says, "If you don't go to the Backdraft Ball with me, I'm gonna tell everyone you said Elon Musk is a genius who's going to save the country."

Horrified, he says, "That's a fucking lie! You know I hate him more than my dad!"

Lucy smiles meanly. "I do know that. No one else does, though."

Later, when she's alone, she sends the group chat two emojis: a helicopter and a thumbs up.

Finally, the big night arrives and everyone's dressed to the nines. Even Buck can't help but be a little excited, because he's in a really nicely tailored tux, courtesy of Ravi for some reason, and there's a literal mountain of scallops wrapped in bacon, which he stands next to for most of the night until Maddie, who came as Chimney's date, wanders over and asks why he's not mingling.

"I dunno," he says, shoving his sixty-seventh scallop into his mouth. "I-I always thought... I guess I hoped I'd come to one of these with Tommy, you know? He's such a sucker for the whole all-eyes-on-you thing. He never went to any of his school dances, not even prom, because he wouldn't get to dance with the people he really wanted. I... I wanted to be that for him."

While Buck turns to the scallop mountain—which is more of a foothill now, thanks to his tireless efforts—Maddie looks across the ballroom where Lucy is talking to Tommy. Their gazes lock. Over Tommy's shoulder, Lucy jerks her head toward the dance floor, where they're playing some golden oldies and dozens of ancient captains are dancing with their wives to The Girl From Yesterday.

Maddie nods, then grabs Buck's hand. "C'mon. I want to get at least one dance in before the night's over."

Pulling a scallop off a toothpick, Buck squints. "Where's Chim? Isn't that, like, one of his duties as your husband?"

"Last I saw him, he was trying to convince Chief Simpson to install crazy slides in all the firehouses," Maddie says sunnily. "And honestly? Chief Simpson looked intrigued. So suck it up and take your sister for a spin."

Buck rolls his eyes and pops one more scallop into his mouth for the road, but he goes with her without complaint. Maddie stops at their table and says she's going to text their babysitter. She sends the group chat the green circle emoji. It's go time.

Elsewhere, Lucy slips her phone into her purse, then grabs Tommy's arm and says, "Great news! Dana's gonna make the DJ play something else before I burn the building down, which means we can get a dance in."

Wordlessly, Dana gets out of her seat and heads toward the front of the room.

Lucy drags Tommy into the crowd and makes sure to keep his line of sight away from where Maddie is doing the same to Buck. They've only got one shot at this and the timing has to be perfect.

Her cheek on Buck's chest, Maddie holds Lucy's gaze and gently leads him into a half circle, just as Lucy does the same with Tommy. Lucy gives a sharp nod of her head and, hands on Tommy's arms, spins him around so that when Maddie puts a hand on Buck's chest and shoves him as hard as she can, Tommy's there to break his fall.

"H-Hey, what was th—" Buck looks up with wide, outraged eyes, but the words stick in his throat when he sees who caught him.

Tommy's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Even if he'd been able to find the words, the sweet keys of an old piano would've drowned them out.

Smirking, Lucy shoves Tommy a little closer, just as Nat King Cole croons "Unforgettable... that's what you are."

Lucy makes a note to buy Dana lunch the next time they're on shift, because, damn, good choice.

Almost as if he's helpless to stop himself, Tommy tightens his hold on Buck's waist, wrapping his arm a little tighter around him, and Buck can't prevent a shaky gasp from punching out of him when he gets a whiff of Tommy's cologne. He puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder to steady himself, unerringly stepping closer until they're chest to chest.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't..." He trails off, caught in Tommy's gaze, and he doesn't blink out of fear that this is some mercury-induced hallucination from all the scallops.

Smiling a little, Tommy takes Buck's hand in his. "You're free to say no, but—"

"Yes," Buck says immediately, nodding, tightening his fingers around Tommy's. "Yeah, let's, uh. Yeah."

Catching Maddie's gaze, Lucy jerks her head back toward the refreshment table, where the rest of their group is waiting. Hen's got the biggest shit-eating grin on her face, and Nico is dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a corner of Dana's shawl.

"Nicely done," Lucy says to Maddie, who preens a little.

"If you'd let me in on your little scheme earlier, I could've had them back together in a day."

They accept the back slaps and high-fives they've more than earned, then turn just in time for Buck to rest his cheek against Tommy's as they sway together. Maddie squints a little, but she thinks she sees Tommy murmuring along with Natalie Cole. "No, never before... has someone been more..."

She sniffles a little and happily takes the plate of fruit and cheese that Chimney hands her.

"Save the Studio Ghibli tears for the wedding," he says teasingly, then adopts the weird Brooklyn accent he busts out sometimes. "Ya did good, kid."

"I did good," Dana breaks in. "And if they use this song for their first dance, I take full credit."

She looks over at Nico, who's using a toothpick—with a zucchini and goat cheese rollup still skewered on it—to get something out from beneath his nail, and smacks him upside the head.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I've stopped shaving," Eddie says to her, gesturing toward his face with a can of ginger ale. "Am I allowed to speak again?"

She gives him a deadpan look. "Give it another week, then maybe. Right now you look like you're going through puberty again."

"Better than being four," he says cheerfully.

The group content themselves with watching Buck and Tommy for another minute, but when Buck tilts his head ever so slightly to brush his nose against Tommy's, Lucy makes a face. "I guess this means we don't need to keep meeting up on Fridays, huh?"

"Whoever said that?" Hen grins. "I still haven't managed to beat you at air hockey, Donato. I demand a rematch."

"Plus, my friend Josh has been a little unlucky in love these days and could use a hand," Maddie chimes in, then gestures toward the dance floor. "Our results speak for themselves."

The song has changed, but Buck and Tommy haven't noticed, too busy wrapped up in each other.

Lucy tilts her head and smiles. It looks like Tommy's exhaled for the first time in weeks.

Don Henley gets to live another day.

[rcmclachlan]

8x15 spec fic (like, how does tommy get involved with the big emergency? but also i just want tommy to have people, too.)

+

Once Buckley starts begging for help—"please, please, if there's a-anyone out there, if anyone's listening, I'm... please, they're my family"—over an open channel through deep, heaving sobs that sounded like they're being dragged out of his belly and drawing blood on their way out, Dana figures Kinard's probably already in the air and halfway to where they're holding the rogue scientist at Fort MacArthur. But to her surprise, he's still on the ground, standing apart from everyone currently clustered around Captain Melton's desk. He's aging fifteen years before her very eyes, looking like someone's stuck a pitchfork in his gut and is starting to turn it.

Kinard values privacy more than anything and would be mortified if anyone saw feel a single emotion that wasn't humor, so she looks away.

The entire crew has been glued to the radio for the last twenty minutes as though Orson Welles is the one delivering the dramatic relaying of the 118's impending doom and how it's the only thing keeping them from being charged with domestic terrorism. For the life of her, Dana will never understand how it's always them getting into these situations. There are 106 fire stations in Los Angeles; 105 of them somehow manage to avoid getting caught up in Armageddon on the regular. She's dying to know what their insurance premiums look like.

Movement out of the corner of her eye startles her into looking up again just in time to see a large, tall flash of blue storm out of the hangar and onto the tarmac.

She has to give Kinard credit. He lasted much longer than she'd expected: almost a full minute.

Dana is at least a head shorter than everyone else on the team, so it's easy for her to slip away without being noticed. Although Lucy does, of course, and Dana gently taps her fingers against the small of Lucy's back as she goes, tilting her head a little at Nico, who's standing to Lucy's left.

Lucy has always operated on Dana's wavelength, which makes working with her a genuine pleasure, because Dana never has to waste time with talking, with explaining her reasoning for anything. Lucy just seems to know what Dana needs from her. Nico's convinced they're able to speak telepathically, and sometimes Dana can't argue against the possibility.

Even now, Lucy just inclines her head slightly and disguises it by acting like she's leaning in to hear the radio better. Before Dana leaves the office, she sees Lucy nudge Nico. 

They've been grounded ever since Captain Nash disobeyed the order, and the silence that has befallen the hangar fills Dana with dread as she walks out onto the tarmac, because a quiet base means trouble. A quiet base is death.

By the time she reaches the Bell 505 that Kinard's apparently chosen for whatever he's planning, he's strapped in and about to shut the door, but she slides into the doorway before he can.

Kinard opens his mouth, most likely to tell her that she can't stop him from what he's about to do, which is patently untrue, but she beats him to the punch.

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean? Of course I'm—"

"I mean are you sure."

She puts a little firmness into her voice, which is hard. She's not soft-spoken by choice. Her vocal cords were already weaker than normal before she joined the LAFD and fighting fires has certainly not helped. 

"It's—" Kinard swallows. "It's him. I have to."

She thinks of the Tommy Kinard from last October, who walked in every shift with a literal bounce in his step and smiled for no reason when he thought no one was watching, and how a different Tommy Kinard started coming to work mid-November. It took him weeks to start eating normally again, to lose the look in his eyes that reminded her of dead trees in standing water, to trust himself enough that he was comfortable being back in the air. 

He'd finally been on the upswing, and everyone on the A-shift had breathed a collective sigh of relief, and then last month it all seemed to come crashing down again. He'd gone home one day smiling and making jokes, and then he was back in Melton's office at the start of his next shift asking to be grounded again. 

"You'll know they'll take your wings for this," Dana says, and he nods. "Is Buckley really worth losing the sky over?" 

Dana had never been a fan of Evan Buckley's even before he took up with Kinard. He was so desperate to be liked by everyone at every scene that it made him impulsive and, quite frankly, annoying. She'd worked with him on two calls and it was like trying to wrangle a very competent puppy. 

When Kinard finally admitted he was seeing the 118's very own walking, talking billboard for Murphy's Law, Dana had been the only one at Harbor who didn't slap him on the back or offer their congratulations. She'd known exactly how it would go, and she didn't relish being right. 

Early on in the new year, she saw Buckley in Vons. He'd been loading an enormous bag of flour into his cart, and although she's certain she didn't make any kind of noise, Buckley had looked up and spotted her. After a moment that felt like a decade of staring, he lifted a hand and attempted a smile that looked painful even from where she'd been standing. She thought about returning the gesture, if only to be the polite lady her mother had desperately tried to raise her to be. Then she thought of how Kinard hadn't so much as glanced at the sky in weeks, and she turned her cart around and walked away. 

Evan Buckley has fought against his own house, the LAFD at large, and seemingly the world for everything he's wanted. The fact he didn't bother fighting for Kinard tells her everything she needs to know. She's certain about Evan Buckley.

"He is." Unfortunately, Kinard is more certain. "I'm sure."

"You will be charged with something none of us will be able to get you out of."

At that, he turns a bewildered smile on her. "Dane, why would you—I'd never expect any of you to try."

Apparently working and defying death together, not to mention countless trivia nights and dinners out, don't make a friendship. It hurts to hear.

"I know you're very attached to your whole lone wolf thing, but you do have people in your corner, Kinard." She holds his gaze and refuses to drop it. He's not going to happily walk into a federal jail cell without hearing what she'd thought was obvious all this time. "You have people who will go to bat for you."

He swallows and jerks his eyes down to his lap, then huffs a wet laugh. "Dane—"

"Which is why Nico's starting a fire in the locker room." 

That gets him to look up. His eyes are wide and red-rimmed. "He's what?"

"Or setting off the sticks of dynamite he keeps in his glove compartment. Whatever he comes up with. Aiding and abetting domestic terrorism necessitates a distraction." She lets a reassuring smile sneak out. "You've got one."

Kinard's lip trembles a little as he stares at her with something like awe, like he's been given a gift he never once expected, but she watches him visibly bite it all back in favor of reaching for the skills and fearlessness that have helped make a name for him at AirOps. She steps out of the doorway and backs up as he turns on the Bell. The explosion of air tries to ruin her hair, but the snood she put her hair into this morning holds firm. 

Through the tint in the windshield, she can see him lift a hand at her. She doesn't hesitate to lift one right back. 

When he's at least 500 feet in the air, she goes to the other Bell and gets on the radio, tuning it for the right frequency. When she lands on the same channel the call had originally come from, she patches in. 

"Firefighter Buckley, please be advised: help is on the way. Keep an eye on the skies." She thumbs off the speaker and watches as Captain Melton comes storming out of his office. As he gets closer, she clicks back in. "And let me be clear, Buckley: if you fuck things up with him again, your very talented medics at the 118 won't be able to fix what I'll do to you."

Satisfied, she places the radio back into its charging port and slides out of the Bell, then heads in the direction of the hangar. It's been quite some time since she's been in the kind of trouble that ends with being put on leave, which she most certainly will be once her voice is identified.

As Captain Melton approaches, she thinks of all the shows clogging up her Hulu queue that she'll finally be able to get to, and smiles.

[rcmclachlan]

Joining the 8x16 spec fic party. MCD warning!

+

Red Over Red

Buck/Tommy

Summary: Ships not under command identify themselves by showing two all-around red lights, one above the other.

Read on AO3

+

It takes Tommy maybe two minutes tops to do a post-flight check. It's so routine at this point in his career that he could do it in his sleep if someone would let him, but ever since Nico accidentally trafficked elephant tusks to Sacramento two years ago, napping in the cockpit has been strictly forbidden.

He's just about to take a look at the alignment of the skids when he hears his name. He turns to see Dana coming over. The blankness to her expression isn't what gives him pause, because that's just her face, but the fact that she's jogging.

Tommy's worked with Dana for eight years now and she has never moved at anything but a deliberate, sedate glide, no matter the situation. He once saw her stroll through the collapsing hallway of a building that was being actively consumed by a five-alarm fire like she was taking a leisurely hike through the Cucamonga.

As she hauls ass across the tarmac, he sees Dana's normally perfect finger waves are completely disheveled, and that fills him with more dread than anything this job or Afghanistan could possibly throw at him. She has her phone in her hand.

The moment she comes to a stop in front of him, her expression shifts to something resembling mild distress, which means that either half of L.A. was just sucked into an open fault line, or—

For a second, he thinks the klaxons are going off, or someone set off the fire alarm in the main hangar, because there's a high-pitched ringing in his ears that is trying to worm its way down into his vagus nerve and make him puke. Everything goes fuzzy, then slowly the knob turns until clarity comes back. He's bent at the waist, hands gripping his thighs, and Dana's the only thing keeping him from toppling over. Dizziness has him in a half nelson.

"Head between your knees, Kinard," she instructs quietly. "That's it."

He thinks about standing in line at DJ's Smoke Shop & Market weeks ago, bouncing on his heels while waiting for the guy in front of him to finish picking his lottery tickets, and trying to remember his nonna's recipe for home fries. The bottle of Prosecco he'd grabbed on a whim had been burning a hole through the basket and was probably cooking the eggs he was going to drop $13 on, but he couldn't stop looking at it. All he wanted to do was pop the cork and pour it into a pair of flute glasses he'd probably have to locate and unpack. Which sounded like a lot of work when it would be so much easier to simply pour the champagne into Evan's mouth and drink it off his tongue.

He thinks about Evan looking him in the eye and declaring he didn't need to feel anything for the people he slept with.

He thinks about living in a world where Evan Buckley isn't.

"Say it," Tommy chokes out, clenching his jaw against the sour crackle deep in the bone. He's going to be sick. He's going to— "You have to say it."

Dana places a gentle hand on his back. "It wasn't him, Kinard. Not him. Buckley's fine."

Sinuses burning, Tommy drops his head back down and takes a shuddering breath, nodding. Not him. Not him.

The thought of Evan dying, of Evan being dead and gone and higher than even Tommy can fly, slips every time it tries to catch a foothold in his brain. He refuses to even entertain it. This is a man who's survived being crushed by a rig, a tsunami, a pulmonary embolism, a lightning strike, among other things, and is still hungry for anything the universe might throw at him. And despite its best efforts, the universe is never going to get Evan to flinch first.

Clearing his throat, he ducks away from Dana and wipes his cheek with his shoulder. Their flight suits are polyester, so the evidence of this will dry fast. She won't say a word to anyone else.

"Who was it?" It comes out like it's being dragged over broken glass and he coughs to try and clear out the clog. "Oh god, it wasn't—it wasn't Howie, was it? Hen?"

When Dana doesn't answer, he looks up to find she's just holding out her phone to him.

Edmundo Diaz 03:51

He watches the duration of the call tick on, then squints at Dana. "Why do you have Eddie's number?"

"Is that the question you want to ask right now?" she asks, like she didn't politely goad Eddie into nearly putting his fist through a wall the last time they were in the same room.

Off kilter and still a bit dizzy, Tommy straightens up and takes the phone.

"Eddie? Who was it?"

He takes a deep breath in and holds it.

+

Despite the AirOps hangar being at least three times its size, the 118 station has always been larger than life. When Gerrard was in charge, every day it felt like walking into the gaping maw of some primordial beast, swallowed whole to be slowly digested, burned away over the course of a shift, until it spat him out just so he could do it again the next day. That he kept going back says more about him than it does about Gerrard.

The slew of interim captains they were saddled with after Gerrard felt like intermission, like they were just waiting for the second act to start. From the moment he stepped out of the rig and slapped a twenty into the pot to bank on his own odds, Captain Nash was there to stay. And he tamed that hateful creature enough that Tommy was able to leave every shift completely intact. 

Tommy stands on the sidewalk outside the bay and stares at the closed doors. When Tommy had been there, Bobby refused to close them.

"I don't like the look of a closed door. I don't like what it implies," Bobby had said when Tommy awkwardly asked about it. "I want everyone to know they're welcome here, day or night. I want them to know it's safe for them to be here. The doors stay open. Captain's orders."

Swallowing, he walks over to the regular entrance and lets himself in.

Normally you can hear the crew shouting and laughing from half a block away, and there are always people milling about, doing chores, fixing things, coming outside to shoot the shit with passersby. Tommy always loved the sound of it. He loved how tight-knit they all were, but also how willing they were to bring someone new into the fold. The handful of times he picked Evan up after his shift, Tommy would end up talking to at least four different people, which would always eat into their date nights. They had to cancel a reservation once, but it felt worth it just to be able to walk back to his truck with that warmth in his chest, with his cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much. Evan never complained. If anything, he was happy to stay there a little longer himself.

Now the bay is so silent that Tommy can hear the racing of his own heart. Anyone else would think the place had been deserted.

As he walks past the parked rigs, he spies a few people from B-shift. Ravi has Moore wrapped up in his arms and is resting his chin on top of her head. Hoang is wiping down a hose coupling with jerky, inefficient movements, breaking away to dab at her cheeks with the cloth.

Ravi looks up and his soft gaze sharpens the second it lands on Tommy. This must be what a deer feels like right before the truck hits.

After a moment, he gives him a nod, which makes Moore's head bob a little, then tilts his chin toward the administrative offices.

Shaky, Tommy nods in thanks and heads in that direction.

With every step, the world gets a little grayer, a little darker, and he feels a bit like the prince in Sleeping Beauty, hacking away at endless, twisting brambles that are doing everything they can to slow his momentum.

It feels like he's been fighting for a year without a single moment's rest by the time he makes it to the admin section. When he sees who's hanging outside the office with NASH on the door like a guard dog, texting on his phone, Tommy wishes he'd taken a moment to catch his breath.

He must make a noise or something, because Eddie jerks like he's been startled awake and claps eyes on Tommy. Pocketing his phone, Eddie peels away from the wall he'd been trying to sink into to offer his hand to Tommy like nothing's changed between them.

"Thanks for coming," Eddie says, quiet, almost choked. It sounds like he even means it. "I wasn't sure—"

Tommy can't bear to hear the rest of that, so he takes Eddie's hand in his own and pulls him in for a quick hug. "Of course I came. Of course. Don't thank me for—there was never..." He takes a breath, steps back, and tries again. "H-How are you holding up, man?"

"About as well as you'd expect," Eddie says with a damp chuckle. He drops his head and heaves a sigh that Tommy can feel in his own lungs. "I'm grateful I was already here. The way I feel and probably look right now? They'd never have let me on the plane."

Tommy doesn't remember how he navigated Sea-Tac after his dad died. He honestly can't believe Jet Blue let him board, either.

"Has anyone heard...?" He doesn't know how to finish the thought, but luckily Eddie's always been perceptive. He was always on Tommy's wavelength.

"Not yet. Athena ID'd the b—" Eddie bites off the sentence suddenly and swallows the rest of it down. Tommy can taste the rot in the word anyway. "She confirmed it was him."

Tommy closes his eyes and tries not to think about the unshakeable Athena Grant pulling the white sheet off the love of her life.

He clears his throat. "Where are... where are Hen and Howie?"

"Hen went with Athena," Eddie says. "She left hours ago, so who knows. Chim's... Chim couldn't stay. He couldn't... it's worse for him, you know? He's been here the longest."

The idea of the 118 without Bobby is almost too much to bear, but the 118 without Howie Han makes Tommy want to rip his own throat out. 

"And... and where's..." Tommy clenches his jaw, then relaxes it deliberately. "Where is he, Eddie?"

Eddie answers by rapping a gentle fist against the wall he'd been standing against. Bobby's office.

"He's been in there for a while," Eddie murmurs, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. "Athena called him a while ago and he's been in there ever since. He won't come out. I tried to get him to eat something, but..."

Eddie shakes his head, then shrugs. His shoulders drop like someone cut his strings.

"And you think I...?" Tommy hates himself for even asking, because this isn't about him. He wishes he could grab the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat, but they float away like clouds.

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't call him a selfish fuck. Instead, he musters up a little smile as he mockingly says, "I don't think, I know. So try to forget you're a fucking idiot and just get in there, would you?"

Huffing a laugh, because damn. Despite everything, including the low-grade jealousy that he can't seem to treat no matter how much he tries, he really missed this asshole.

Tommy reaches out to squeeze Eddie's shoulder, then he steps around him to get to the door.

It brings him up short. The door is closed. The bay doors are one thing, but Bobby's office door was never shut. It makes him a little nauseated just looking at the way it doesn't quite line up with the frame.

Through the window, he sees Evan, and his heart breaks at the way his body curves in on itself, hunched over Bobby's desk like an animal trying to hide a wound. A renaissance painter couldn't have captured such despair. Heartbreak of the Favored Son, oil on canvas.

Tommy has no idea what kind of reception is waiting for him on the other side of this door, but Eddie seems sure Tommy won't be turned away. He wouldn't have called Tommy if he thought it'd be for nothing.

"He needs you, man," Eddie had said on the phone.

He takes a deep breath in and holds it, and opens the door.

Almost immediately, Evan lifts his head, like he can tell who it is by the way the knob turns, and his expression is such a miserable mix of relief and devastation that Tommy doesn't stop to second guess himself. He doesn't need to. By the time he gets around the desk, Evan's already throwing himself into Tommy's arms.

"You're here," Evan sobs, clutching at him like he's afraid Tommy might disappear. There will be bruises everywhere he touches Tommy come morning. "Oh thank god, you're here. T-Tommy—"

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere," Tommy whispers frantically into his hair, tightening his arms. "I've got you. Evan, baby, I've got you."

A tiny voice in the back of his mind hisses at him to close the door so no one else can see this, but he ignores it in favor of holding Evan tight enough that their bodies might soon start to merge together.

There are only open doors here. Captain's orders.

[rcmclachlan]

tidbit tuesday wip wednesday thursday fuck it friday

Between being on vacation and then going right back to work, this week has been a total gong show. Thanks to @setmeatopthepyre for tagging me on Tuesday, @ambernotember on Wednesday, and @firehose118 today yesterday. And now it's somehow almost 1am, so happy Friday, y'all!

Here's a snippet from a thing I started writing yesterday in which Buck meets Tommy (and the rest of my usual Harbor gang) during the S3 lawsuit arc.

+

It's so easy. Maybe it's because, to them, he's not the sum of his mistakes. Not one of them has ever heard the phrase "Buck it up" or "The Full Buck." They don't look at him with pity, or annoyance, or anger. They haven't been deposed by his lawyer. They haven't iced him out. Instead, they want to hear about his best saves, the lessons he's learned, how he went from east coast snow to west coast sun, how he can possibly know who Hypatia is but not some guy named Aragorn. They're gratifyingly impressed by the random knowledge he's got logged away, and they let him ramble about invasive worm species longer than they probably should.

"No, no, these aren't like the worms you're thinking about. They're planarians. They actually eat earthworms."

Nico leans forward, eyes wide. "But they look like hammerhead sharks? This is important, Buckley."

"It's really not," Dana says mildly. "He can't do anything meaningful with this information, mostly because he's been banned from every aquarium within a six-state radius."

"Uh." Buck's not touching that one, so instead he pulls up a picture on Google and hands his phone over. "They move like snakes. They've got these tiny hairs on their bellies that help them sort of, I don't know, crawl."

Jacinda crowds in to see the picture, then skeeves a face at it. "Hard pass."

"You sure you're not an entomologist?" Tommy asks dubiously, then laughs when Buck elbows him in the side like they've known each other for years, not an hour and a half. "If firefighting doesn't pan out for you, you've definitely got a bright future with the Weird Insect Appreciation Club."

"I'm not just club president," Buck says with his cheekiest grin. "I'm also a member."

+

No pressure tags: @beanarie, @liminalmemories21, @station18908, @geddyqueer, @apollabarnes, @screamlet, and @peppermintquartz

[rcmclachlan]

okay, so if you’re not writing the aquarium scene in the 118/217 scheming fix-it (god i love this) can you at least share what mishap and or shenanigan gets them banned from the aquarium?? (since you mentioned it in the tags i assume you picked one!)

The aquarium is Christopher's idea, because getting Buck and Tommy back together is the one thing he and Eddie can talk about without it devolving into shouting or week-long silences that make Eddie want to put his fist through his living room wall.

So if plotting to interfere in the open bear trap that is his idiot friends' breakup gets him an hour of uninterrupted screen time with Chris three times a week? He'll meddle in a way that would make even his abuela say, "cariño, that's a little much." He'll change his legal middle name to el metiche.

"Buck used to take me to see the otters when I was younger; they're his favorite. But the exhibit has been closed for a year because they've been redoing it," Chris says, then texts him a link to the aquarium website. "The big reopening is next week. If someone asked Buck to take Jee-Yun, he wouldn't be suspicious."

"Chris, you're a genius," Eddie says, a little awed. His entire body aches to reach through the laptop screen and across state lines to pull his kid into a hug, but all he can do is sit on his hands and hope his face shows all the love he feels.

A small, but genuine grin unfurls on Chris's face. "That's not news, dad."

Eddie decides to take the aquarium idea to what Chimney keeps calling the weekly 118-217 Shadow Summit to see if the rest of the group thinks it holds water—no pun intended—and is extremely offended when Dana gives him a slow blink and says, "That's actually not bad. Who came up with it?"

"Is it that hard to believe it was my idea?"

"Very."

Dana presses the rim of her wine glass to the sly, crimson curve of her mouth. With her victory rolls, winged eyeliner, and tattoos, she looks like the winner of a car show pinup contest. She also looks like an evil queen out of an old school Disney movie. At least five people in their general vicinity look like they'd thank her if she force-fed them a poisoned apple or turned into a giant dragon.

Eddie reaches into the bowl of popcorn by his elbow and throws a handful of it at her. She just takes a sip of her wine and serenely lets the kernels bounce off her.

"Knock it off before I put you both in a time out." Lucy drains the dregs of her beer and says to Chimney, "Having Buckley take your kid is the perfect excuse—she's, what, two? Three?"

"Five," Chim says with the heartache of a man whose baby is almost old enough to rent a car. "As long as we don't tell my wife that Jee's playing the part of the cutest MacGuffin ever in this little plot, we should be good. But how do we get Tommy there?"

"Short of planting a bomb in the penguin tank, I can't think of a reason Mr. Nature Boy himself would ever voluntarily go." Hen roots around in the popcorn bowl for the kernels with the most butter. "Actually, he might be thrilled if we did that. I don't think he likes birds very much."

Dana lifts a brow. "I smell a story."

"Does it smell like KFC?" Chim pops a pretzel in his mouth and chews loudly, grinning. "Once we've adjourned the cabal for the evening, remind me to tell you about Maurice."

Eddie doesn't know Nico very well—he can't get a read on the guy to save his life—but the smug smirk he's sporting looks entirely out of place. Nico takes the last mozzarella stick off the platter they'd ordered to share and puts it between his teeth like a cigar. He looks like the world's lamest oil baron.

Eddie looks at Dana in askance. Wordlessly, she plucks a piece of popcorn out of her hair and throws it at him. It nails him right between the eyes.

"Let me handle Kinard," Nico says. "I'll get him there, no problem."

To his credit, Nico does get Tommy to the aquarium the day of the sea otter exhibit grand reopening. And thanks to Chimney planting Chris's idea in Buck's head at the start of their next shift, Buck does take Jee-Yun.

Unfortunately, their paths never cross, because while the penguin habitat doesn't explode, the sea jelly gallery does, completely flooding the first floor. When the aquarium is forced to evacuate everyone, Buck and Jee-Yun end up at the Chili's down the street, while Tommy ends up riding in an ambulance with an old woman who gets stung by a box jellyfish.

"I don't understand how this happened!" Lucy shouts, keeping her fingers on the ankle pulse of a man in the middle of an allergic reaction to a lilliputian jelly sting as Hen and Chim pump him full of epinephrine and then start administering compressions.

Eddie would help, but he's carrying three kids—two in his arms, one on his back—through shin-deep water to safety while attempting to dodge all the bluebottles floating on the surface. Dana glides past him to get the next group of kids waiting to be rescued, not a hair out of place. She looks like a fucking mermaid. He's gonna trip her the next time they pass each other.

Annoyed, Lucy casts around and then asks, "Has anyone seen Nico?"

Just in time for the man himself to sedately walk through the pandemonium, two bewildered penguins tucked under his arms like purses. He smiles brightly. "Hey, did Kinard pass through here, by any chance? Phase two of my plan is ready to go."

Eddie stares at him. "What was phase one?"

He never does find out what exactly phase one entailed, but it's enough to get them permanently banned from the aquarium for life.

"If you ask me, the punishment so does not fit the crime," Nico says, digging an elbow into Eddie's side as he jostles for room in the back of Athena's squad car.

Eddie says nothing. He's too busy mentally composing the short-answer portion of his application for the El Paso Fire Department, although, in the end, it doesn't matter. He completely forgets everything he plans on writing when Athena slides in, glances in the rearview mirror, and shouts, "Those better not be penguins in my back seat, Edmundo Diaz!"

He and Chris spend two hours talking about it during their next call, so Eddie calls it a win.

[rcmclachlan]

wip wednesday

I was tagged by @screamlet, @geddyqueer, @cecilyv, and @dharmaavocado (and @setmeatopthepyre tagged me on Monday). Thanks, y'all! Luckily I've picked Nokia Brick back up so I at least have something to bring to show and tell this week.

Have another flashback!

+

With a severe look, she let go of Nico, then turned her attention to Buck, who had the sudden urge to hide behind the airbus parked toward the back of the hangar. "To answer your question, it's much harder to fly at night. Visibility can be a problem, especially in the city. It's much harder to gauge distance and depth."

"Plus the illusions," Nico added through a mouthful of pizza.

She grudgingly nodded. "Plus the illusions. Kinard's never had a problem with those, though. Or anything else. The fact that he prefers night flying makes him a bit of a hot commodity around here."

"Emphasis on hot," Buck said with a grin. 

She didn't laugh. Nico bemusedly chewed with his mouth open. 

Despite fervently hoping for it, a meteor didn't crash into the building, forcing Buck to do something with his hands that didn't involve strangling himself. He held one out to her. "U-Uh, Evan Buckley. Everyone calls me Buck."

Her mouth curved ever so slightly. "I know who you are. Kinard can't shut up about you."

Buck knew he was grinning like he was about to douse Gotham with lethal laughing gas, because he could feel the corners of his mouth practically poking his ears, but he couldn't help it. His heart gave a pleased thud.

"Oh! Uh, y-yeah?"

"He's mentioned you more than twice, which for him is the equivalent of skywriting your name over the Palisades." She placed a perfectly manicured hand into his. Having nails that sharp almost certainly went against the LAFD CERT code of conduct about carrying weapons. "Dana."

Gingerly, he shook her hand and tried not to wince at the press of those perfectly polished daggers into his palm. "Nice to meet you. Uh, anything else you can tell me about him?"

Pouring some Pepsi into a shot glass she'd procured out of nowhere, Dana threw it back like they were hanging at The Roger Room, her perfect pin curls bouncing. "Bit of a loner, but damn good at the job. Probably the best I've seen. Funny. Dependable. He'll always cover your shift, no questions asked, and never expects anything in return." 

"I swear he single-handedly kept the lights on when norovirus ripped through here last February," Nico said, then leaned in to whisper, "You ever throw up and shit at the same time?"

"Uh, can't say I've had the pleasure." Suddenly Buck understood Tommy's earlier warning. He glanced out onto the tarmac. "Who covers his shifts when he's sick?"

"No one." Dana's lips twitched at whatever she saw on Buck's face. "Not for lack of wanting. He's just never been sick."

Nico nodded and reached for the container of potato skins Buck had bought on a whim. He shoved one in his mouth and didn't wait to finish chewing before he asked, "Did your middle school ever give out awards to kids with perfect attendance?"

It was entirely possible, but Buck didn't really remember. When he was in 7th grade, he had 18 absences on his record by spring recess and had to sit through two meetings with his mom and Principal Gorman about how he was flirting with full-on truancy. No one was giving him any kind of award.

+

Tagging @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @firehose118, @epiphainie, @dadvans, @alchemistc, @leashybebes, @liminalmemories21, @iphyslitterator, and @harmless-variety-of-garden-snake

[rcmclachlan]

Idk why but I always picture either Yetide Badaki or Ruth Negga in the role of Dana. Maybe it's because they can deliver "intimidating as all get out but be completely nonchalant doing it".

When I originally came up with Dana, I pictured her as Vivien Leigh with a shit ton of tattoos. Like, literally just Vivien Leigh straight out of A Yank at Oxford with full arm and leg sleeves.

But now? Ruth Negga, definitely. Good choice, PQ! In terms of looks and the regal, quietly commanding air? Ruth is perfect.

[rcmclachlan]

"Everyone at Harbor was... very concerned."

"Attention, all channels: Please be advised, a team from the coroner's office and biohazard removal specialists have been dispatched to LAFD Station 118 for the removal of human remains."

It takes a second for the words "Station 118" to penetrate the thick atmosphere of concentration and rage that Tommy's been floating on while he tries fruitlessly to sweet talk the Bell 505 into accepting the new safety wires he's been trying to install for the last half hour, but the second they do, he tosses down the needle-nosed pliers in his hand and makes a bee-line for the radio sitting between Dana, Nico, and the unpeeled tangerine Nico's eating like an apple.

"Did they say human remains?" Tommy's already reaching into his pocket for his phone, then curses under his breath when he remembers it's sitting in the cockpit of the Bell. He glances across the hangar and gauges the distance. He can probably get to it in ten seconds if he sprints.

"Shut up," Dana says as she turns the volume dial up.

"Be aware that crowd control has also been sent to clear the area. If you are called to an emergency scene in the general vicinity of Station 118, you are advised to avoid Gale Avenue and the surrounding streets until further notice."

"A kid was probably trick-or-treating and found someone's grandma who'd kicked it like a week ago." Nico takes an unconcerned bite of his tangerine, because there's something severely wrong with him as a person. "It's probably nothing."

"That's not nothing?" Tommy looks at Dana for help, but she just heaves a sigh and gives a long-suffering flick of her fingers in Nico's general direction. Which, honestly? Fair.

"They said the remains were at the 118," she muses, pulling out her phone and scrolling through with her thumb, not a single movement wasted. "No one there ever gave off a serial killer vibe—I'm not counting that little blond shithead from a few years ago—so I'm chalking it up to a good old-fashioned misunderstanding."

Nico coughs around a bite of tangerine, rind and all, and Dana doesn't so much as glance his way while she slams a fist into his back. To the casual observer, it probably looks like they're rehearsing some slapstick routine, but every member of the 217 knows that the second Nico gets his hands on any kind of foodstuff, he's immediately seven or eight seconds away from death.

They've had to perform the Heimlich nine times this week alone, and it's only Thursday. He keeps meaning to ask Howie if it's possible to survive solely on IV fluids, but he has a sneaking suspicion that Nico would just manage to choke himself out with the tubing.

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. "Nico, I'm begging you: chew your food. Or, like, peel the rind off first."

"Every part of the animal, my man," Nico trills cheerfully, wiping his mouth. There are orange bits stuck in his teeth.

Holding up a hand, Dana taps her phone with her thumb, her neon green nail—filed to a point so sharp it might actually violate the contract they all signed about not bringing weapons into the workplace—clacking against the screen. The sound of a calling dialing out filters through the speakers and it only takes two rings before someone picks up.

"You good, Dana?"

"Hey Mohini, I'm fine," Dana says with a small uptick to the corners of her mouth that could be almost be described as kind, and just seeing it makes Tommy's skin crawl a little. He glances at Nico, who has stopped trying to kill himself via citrus fruit and looks every bit as disturbed as Tommy feels. The last time Dana smiled, it was right before she launched herself at the asshole who told them to take their time rescuing his stepkid from the fire that was consuming the cabin his family had rented for the weekend.

They saved the kid, and the guy was too shit-scared of Dana to even consider suing her or the department for his broken jaw. He was also dealing with a sudden divorce.

The ex-stepkid writes to Dana every month. Tommy can't prove it, but he thinks he once saw her throw an envelope with the kid's name and address into the outgoing mail pile, and he's also too shit-scared of Dana to bring it up.

Dana catches his gaze and he mouths, who even are you?

She flips him off, which honestly does wonders to assuage his fears of her being possibly possessed.

"What's up, girl?"

"We heard the APB just now. What's going on with the 118?"

"What isn't going on with the 118?" Mohini laughs a little, crackling over the line. "From what I've heard, Firefighter Buckley bought a mummy for the Trunk or Treat thing they put on every year. A real one."

Startled, Tommy looks at the phone in Dana's hand and asks, very slowly, "He bought a corpse?"

Tommy can feel Dana's pointed stare on the side of his face, mostly because his skin is starting to sear, but Tommy can't do anything but stare at the phone and try to process that one. And he just can't. Every time he tries, the smell of burnt toast gets stronger.

"Honestly, I'm not even surprised. We've been overdue for a Buckley-related call. I mean, it's been two months since the last one. Remember the thing with the HVAC unit on Sunset?"

He barely remembers that Buckley-related call, but he does remember the one from three nights ago in great detail, which ended with him rimming Evan until he cried and then fucking his brains out. Apparently Evan forgot to put them back in before he bought a dead body to use as a Halloween decoration.

Blowing out a breath, Tommy turns on his heel, jogs over to the Bell, and grabs his phone from the pilot's seat.

Evan, are you okay? Dispatch said something about an incident at the 118, he texts, deliberately vague. He's been told once or twice that his texting tone can sometimes border on an interrogation, which is bullshit, because texting doesn't have a tone, but he doesn't want to be an asshole when he knows Evan's probably beyond humiliated about this.

Plus, Evan doesn't necessarily know that Tommy knows about the mummy. It'll be much better if he has the opportunity to tell Tommy on his own terms.

<< omw 2 the hospital. im ok!

Or he could just be incredibly Evan about it.

>> What happened?! Do you want me to meet you there? I can leave right now.

<< Awwww <3 Eddie going 2 meet me there. Come by l8r?

>> As soon as my shift ends, I promise. Are you sure you're okay?

<< disloc8ed shoulder

Evan literally had to go to a different keyboard to find the 8. Tommy hates how hard he's falling for this ridiculous person.

>> I'll fly there if I have to. Text or call me anytime, okay?

<< :-) :-) :-)

It's three smiley faces. It's nothing, and yet something inside him eases, turns three times, and curls up with a pleased purr.

Since he left the 118 and decided to finally live the life he'd spent his life refusing to allow himself to have, he's dated four people, Evan included. What he feels when he looks at those smiley faces is more than what he felt about the other three people combined. It's both terrifying and exhilarating. He never put stock in the whole 'there's someone for everyone' thing Sal's wife likes to throw around, but then he threw caution to the wind and kissed a beautiful, babbling man silent, and in the weeks that have followed his life seems so much more than he ever imagined it could be.

He has no idea how any of this is going to shake out, and chances are he's going to screw this up spectacularly, but he taps his finger gently to the middle smiley face and hopes Sal's wife is onto something. Maybe there really could be someone for him. Maybe that someone texts like a twelve-year old.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Tommy sends back a single smiley face and pockets his phone. And then immediately takes it back out and sends like five more, because he's pathetic.

Dana and Nico are right where he left them, and as soon as he gets close, Nico sits up and levels him with an expectant look.

"Are they gonna shitcan him? You know the LAFD will shitcan anyone no matter what the circumstances are," he says gravely.

Primly, Dana touches the points of each of her nails to the pad of her thumb. "Nico, if you didn't get shitcanned for tricking Chief Bailey into shrooming at the Backdraft Ball last year, I think Buckley's in the clear."

"That was a complete misunderstanding," Nico swears for the thousandth time.

Dana gives him a slow blink. "It was not. You pulled a jar of mushrooms out of your jacket and said, 'I'm gonna send Chief Bailey to Jupiter.' I have no idea why you're not in jail."

Smug as anything, Nico preens a little. "Chief B was going through some stuff and we went on a very good trip together."

Tommy and Dana share a dubious glance, because that could mean anything from impromptu therapy to having sex in the bathroom where the two of them were found. And Tommy's not one to judge anyone's sexual proclivities, but Chief Bailey is in his early eighties and has very well-documented hip problems.

"How's the human terrier doing? Did he dig anyone else up?" Dana asks. Her expression gives nothing away, but he knows she's laughing at him deep down in whatever black hole her body uses to siphon off emotion.

"Har har," Tommy deadpans, then pauses. "I actually don't know the answer to that. I'm really hoping it's just the one corpse. He did manage to dislocate his arm, though."

"I bet they're gonna shitcan him," Nico says.

"I bet Donato's gonna kill you in cold blood for eating her tangerine when she gets back," Tommy says brightly.

"Probably. I couldn't help it. Stolen food tastes better; it's a law of nature." Nico makes a thoughtful sound and gets to his feet, stretching languidly. "Since I'm already marked for death, I might as well eat her potato salad while I'm at it."

He and Dana watch him amble away in search of Lucy's motive, and Dana asks, genuinely curious, "You ever wonder if the LAFD will go against the grain and hire someone normal?"

"Only every day of my life," Tommy admits. "Speaking of which, did your friend have anything else to say about Evan's, uh, taste in Halloween decorations?"

She shakes her head. "It's with the police now. You off to see your grave robber?"

Huffing a laugh, he lightly kicks her foot. He doesn't know what it says about him that hearing Evan be referred to as a felon fills him with such fondness, but he decides to shove it out of sight until he can study it in greater detail when he's alone.

"My shift ends in a couple of hours. He can keep himself out of trouble until then." Tommy thinks about it for a second and amends, "Probably."

Two hours should be plenty of time to finish fighting with the safety wires, shower real quick, and then break a handful of traffic laws on his way to First Presbyterian. He can only hope Evan doesn't dislocate his other arm or lock himself in the morgue in the meantime.

"Hey." Dana kicks his foot and he lifts his gaze to hers. She stares at him for a moment and, terrifyingly, her mouth quirks again. "Happiness looks good on you, Kinard."

He ducks his head, smiling helplessly. "It's early days, D."

"So what? Doesn't mean you can't be happy about it." Dana shrugs. "I'm thrilled, frankly. Now we've got someone on the inside who can give us firsthand intel about what the fuck goes on over there."

"I'm not a spy," Tommy says flatly.

Dana nods. "True. But it won't be long before you're an accomplice."

Like it's a foregone conclusion that he's going to throw in with Evan and Evan's family. The hurricane could be written off as an outlier, but Tommy knows the second they come to him again for help—the very instant Evan asks—it's going to be an immediate yes.

"If it comes to that, will you bail me out?" he asks, half-jokingly. He won't do her the disrespect of trying to deny it. She's always had his number.

"No." Dana gets to her feet and reaches up to pat him on the arm. "I'll let Donato do the honors."

He'd rather stay in jail.