until-i-set-him-free

[until-i-set-him-free]

wasn't half bad

[until-i-set-him-free]

[until-i-set-him-free]

Posted by estudios_official on Instagram April 26, 2021 || Photography by Erik Anthony Johnson

[until-i-set-him-free]

— beartown, fredrik backman

for @littlespooneven ♡

[until-i-set-him-free]

I’ve never tagged anyone under my writing before, but there are some lovely people whose comments about previous chapters made me want to keep on writing (in general) – so here goes, in case you’d like to see how this story ends (and begins). ❤️

@rdng1230 ❤️ @racerchix21 ❤️ @cliophilyra ❤️ @paperyowl❤️

After the death in the station 122, Tommy offers Sal to come over and stay at his place. Which initially is just about helping his best friend as he deals with losing not only a colleague but one of his men as a fire captain; but some realizations occur on the way – and it turns out to be about something more than that.

[Read on AO3]

[until-i-set-him-free]

After the death in the station 122, Tommy offers Sal to come over and stay at his place. Which initially is just about helping his best friend as he deals with losing not only a colleague but one of his men as a fire captain; but some realizations occur on the way – and it turns out to be about something more than that.

[Read on AO3]

[until-i-set-him-free]

Can I offer you a Lou in these trying times?

[until-i-set-him-free]

went out the back, seemed safer

[until-i-set-him-free]

if you ain't the yankees, you're just not playing baseball

[until-i-set-him-free]

you're just the latest jackhole in a long line of jackholes

[until-i-set-him-free]

😚💕🥰

[until-i-set-him-free]

Saw this and couldn't resist. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[until-i-set-him-free]

I've got the strangest feeling This isn't our first time around

//saltommy scenes//

[until-i-set-him-free]

happy birthday @bucksaiga ♡

[until-i-set-him-free]

Saltommy, Stop all the clocks, T-rated (on ao3)

Sal is alive. He's alive and well, and Tommy will have to stop repeating that in his head some time soon, but it's not right now. Certainly not while he is still caught up on the fact that this had been one of those five-second later or earlier things, one of the excessively good timing things, one of the-

"Oh my fucking god, Tory," Tommy whispers, hoarse like he hadn't used his voice in a week, while Sal is exhaling all the air in his lungs, agreeing weakly through gritted teeth: "I know."

They're both cursing like the sharpness of the words can take away the sting of the could-have-been. It doesn't. But they kind of have to try because the only other emotions are tears, and Tommy is trying to be a bit steadier than that right now. For Sal.

Their fingers are interlaced and have been ever since Tommy sat down next to Sal on the gurney. Sal's the one who won't let go, and Tommy is happy to hold that point of contact, to let the warmth of Sal's fingers bleed into him like a physical reassurance of safe, safe, safe.   

They're waiting together for the paperwork. Sal's mostly ready to be discharged. He looks barely worse for the wear. A few scrapes, a handful of bruises. There's dirt all over him. But he's mercifully whole, and Tommy can't think about any other possibility for too long.

He'd been lucky, the doctor had said, when she'd checked him over earlier. At being questioned, Sal had told her he wasn't in any pain and didn't get hit by a single brick of that entire house coming down. His tone had been factual, his voice so very neutral. Tommy wasn't sure Sal even realized that he still sounded half in shock.

The doctor had glanced at Tommy, and she hadn't even had to ask before Tommy told her firmly that he would take care of Sal. There had been no protest from his partner. Tommy is grateful for that and everything else.

He keeps watching Sal now. If Tommy hadn't been aware of just how close the whole thing had been, Sal's lack of protest would have tipped him off. Or, if that hadn't done it, it was a bit of a giveaway how nearly all of Sal's 122 had lingered in the waiting room when Tommy had arrived.

They are, in fact, still there when the Sal is finally given the ahead to go home. Nearly all of the A-shift moves towards Sal to grab a hug or a brief touch, as if they need to make sure Sal is alright by physical reassurance. Tommy can understand. He's working hard not to reclaim Sal's hand in his own.

Sal takes it all in a stride. He is all comfort and gentle reassurance, eventually growing a tad sterner, almost ordering them all to go home. Tommy can see that it's at least partially a mask; he can tell. He wonders if the rest of them can - but he won't give Sal away either way. Not here. Still, Tommy appreciates them all, appreciates them having their Captain's back when Tommy can't. And it seemed this appreciation had two sides. There is more than one grateful look towards Tommy as they say their goodbyes.

The drive home is mostly silent. It's to be expected, and Tommy doesn't plan to make Sal talk if he doesn't want to. He wouldn't force it. But he can't help but reach over and place a hand on Sal's thigh. A solid connection. He doesn't expect much of a reaction, so the shuddering sigh that leaves Sal has him look over at him sharply.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Sal says quickly, quietly but firmly and then scolds without heat. "Eyes on the road."

Tommy isn't convinced, but this isn't the moment to argue the point. So he doesn't; he just keeps driving with a warm hand resting steadily on Sal's thigh, and eventually, Sal's hand grips his, fingers curling around the meat of his palm. Holding hands again. You're safe, I have you. - I know.

They make it home fast with the midnight traffic or lack thereof, and Sal seems steady enough all the way to the door and the hallway. He is going through the motions of getting out of his clothes - unbuttoning pieces of his uniform that he never wore home, and that made it so clear that this wasn't a normal end-of-shift.

Tommy grits his teeth against the wrongness of it, the worry churning low in his gut. But he mirrors Sal and follows his lead all the way to the hallway. For a beat, they both just stand and breathe. Sal's only half-dressed, still covered in dirty streaks.

"I'm going to take a shower," Sal announces, more to the room at large than to Tommy directly. He's gone towards the bathroom before Tommy can phrase any sort of reply to that. The only thing to do is stare after him and try to think of what Sal needs now.

It's hard not to follow him, harder to just sit on the couch and wait, but Tommy does just that. There is the beginning of a meditation exercise in his head, but he gives that up after only a few breaths and instead imagines curling up with Sal in bed later, feeling him whole and safe. He doesn't allow any other thoughts in his mind.

He sits and waits right until Sal emerges in softer clothes and with bare feet, stopping a few feet from the couch. Tommy looks up at him and doesn't comment on the damp hair or the tension that seems to linger in every line of Sal's body. He looks exhausted.

"Tory-"

"That's an overuse of that nickname, don't you think?"

It sounds like a tease but too sharp. All barbs pointed outward, ready to cut Tommy if he gets too close. Like Sal is screaming at him to stay away without ever saying the words. Tommy changes track.

"Are you hungry?"

Sal shrugs. "I should probably eat."

Before Tommy can offer to make something, Sal is off in the direction of the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the cabinets. Tommy moves after him carefully, like approaching a skittish animal. It feels a little like that's the case, too.

When Tommy settles on one of the bar stools, Sal glanced at him. He makes a soft noise. Like he'd forgotten Tommy was right there.

"Have you eaten?"

Tommy shakes his head, choosing the honest reply. But it really wouldn't matter if Sal cooked for him, too; he didn't feel like he could stomach anything anyway. His own hunger seemed so low on his list of priorities. Much lower than Sal's needs, Sal's comfort.

He watches Sal chop onions with practised ease, then go for tomatoes. He picks them out one by one as if gauging their ripeness. Then Sal tosses them just once, just a little - you don't play with food, but you can always add a bit of flair - and cuts into them.

There is a comfort in the repetitiveness, Tommy guesses, something soothing about doing something you love. But it doesn't last. The rhythm breaks sooner than Tommy thought it would. Sal puts the knife down and braces both palms flat on the counter.

Tommy is around the counter almost before Sal speaks, but his heart aches when Sal says: "You know I love you, right?"

He does. Tommy absolutely does - but that's hardly the point of the question at all, so he turns Sal towards him with a hand on his shoulder before dragging him in, tucking him close to his chest. He hooks his chin over Sal's head, which only works because Sal bows into him, fingers tight where he finds hold in Tommy's sweater.

"Love you too," Tommy tells him, feeling Sal tremble all over. "Love you so much, so grateful you're safe. I have you."

He doesn't stop talking. All the sweet words that he has tumble out of him, and none of them are sweet nothings, they're all true. Tommy's saying in many more words than necessary what Sal must already know: A part of me would have died with you, and I don't know that the rest would survive. I can't lose you. Not now.

They abandon the tomatoes when Tommy manages to talk Sal into lying down with him - they don't even bother with undressing, perhaps because they both know there will be no sleeping that night. They just burrow close, latching onto each other like anchors in the storm.

When dawn breaks and the sunlight starts filtering in through the curtains that were never drawn shut, Tommy still watches Sal fight to keep his eyes open and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"It's alright, Tory," he whispers. "I'm here, I have you."

It takes another few minutes, but then Sal's body finally relaxes next to him, and Tommy settles in to watch over him.