#like yeah gerrard still got hurt

[coderooster]

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a moment sum up Buck more than him getting progressively angrier to the point where you think he’s genuinely about to throw hands, only for him to save (kind of) the guy berating him. That man could never hurt anyone intentionally, no matter how horrible they are to him.

[alchemistc]

chisme 1/1

read on ao3

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.” “But...you could find out.” “Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.” Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.” “Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.” ___ The LAFD likes to gossip. They all take advantage of the fact that Tommy knows their favorite subject to gossip about.

“You see that kid on the news?”

Jones shoots him a raised brow, and Tommy shrugs. “Captain Nash will sort him out.”

“Or he’ll wash out in a month,” Jones singsongs, and Tommy bites back on the defensiveness he feels bubbling up.

They’d been growing towards something, when he left. Even he knows that whatever Bobby Nash was doing was rare. He... misses it, some days.

He’s still getting used to this new crew. They’re... there’s nothing wrong with them, it’s just that Tommy’d been at the 118 for years, and even though he doesn’t look back fondly on most of it, or the person he’d been, that had been home for a long fucking time. He’d made a decision, the moment Bobby slid the LAFD pilot certification paperwork across the desk to him, his last review, that he wasn’t gonna hide himself anymore.

It’s fucking work, being genuine. Honest. Open.

“You got any plans for the night?”

Tommy takes a deep breath through his nose, stretches his shoulders back. Tilts his head a little, tips his chin down so he doesn’t look so fucking tense. “Does trawling the horrific depths of LA Grindr until I fall asleep count?”

Jones goes still. There’s a terrible, horrible moment where every shitty thing Gerrard, his father, his CO’s, his high school buddies ever said washes over him. And then Jones’ face does something strange. Pursed lips, raised brows, scrunched nose, like the surprise is washing over him uncontrollably, and then — “Well shit, Kinard, that’s just depressing. Let me and my man take you out tonight.”

Tommy blows the breath back out, feels the corner of his mouth tilting uncontrollably up, has to roll his tongue over his teeth to keep it from going too wide. That — he hadn’t known that. Everyone here uses ‘partner’ to describe their significant others, he figured it was just some initiative they’d all taken to be inclusive. “As long as you’re not looking for a third. No offense, Jones, you’re not my type.”

Jones smirks. “Who says you’re mine?”

Tommy slaps a hand over his heart, really plays up the hurt expression. “I’m everyone’s type.”

Jones’ eyeroll is a thing of beauty. “You’re too pretty for me, Kinard. And I’m too mean for you. You need a nice boy with a heart of gold to keep you humble.”

Tommy thinks, fleetingly, of the lost little look in that kids blue, blue eyes, camera shoved in his face and the flashing lights of a tilt-a-whirl behind him.

“I’d eat him alive,” Tommy says, and Jones’ laugh follows them both out of the lockers.

---

“What a fucking day,” Gatlin says, laid out across the length of the bench, one arm over his face,

It’s been a series of days, actually, but Tommy doesn’t feel like being pedantic about it.

Tommy just hums, and does his best not to be annoyed about having to juggle his duffle in one hand while he shifts the sad, unused basketball out of his locker to stuff it in the open neck of his bag. They’ve all been through the ringer, Tommy’s gonna give the new guy a moment to regroup.

“Hey, did the 136 ever find their captain? In all the chaos I don’t remember anyone radioing it in.”

Tommy nods an affirmative. He’s so fucking tired from calling out locations of trapped survivors that he’s sure his voice sounds like sandpaper. “Swept up in it like all the rest. Someone on patrol found him pinned under debris. An officer had to saw off his arm, poor bastard.”

Gatlin sits up like he’s rising from the dead. “You’re making shit up. This is a hazing ritual.”

Tommy slides him the most serious face he can manage around the yawn threatening to escape. His phone is blowing up — texts from dozens of people who’d been working the same shit as him, and it’s the first time in a while he’s regretted deleting Facebook. The marked safe function would have saved him about sixty texts so far.

“Heard from Waters that one of the 118’s kids was on the pier when the wave hit,” Gatlin tells him, finally groaning and rising to gather his own shit.

Tommy’s gut drops even as he’s opening up Hen’s contact in his phone, gratefully dumping the duffle onto the bench, now that Gatlin’s legs aren’t taking up the entire thing.

“Kid has CB or something, some lady found him and carried him around for like half a fuckin’ day until she found the old VA popup.”

“Mr. Rogers would have been proud,” Tommy says, and stares at the unsent text he’d typed out with shaky hands. Is Denny okay?

“Huh?”

Jesus, he’s young. “Look for the helpers?” Gatlin blinks at him. “Never mind. Change your clothes. Drink some water. Go the fuck home and get some shut eye, Gatlin.”

“You too, Kinard.”

He deletes the text the moment he’s in his truck, but scrolls back to her contact about twenty times, lying in bed that night, trying to get some sleep.

When he wakes up there’s a text from Hen.

Tommy scrolls up to find a keyboard smash he’d somehow managed to send at 2 in the morning.

Hen 3:27 AM: ???

Hen 3:28 AM: You good?

Hen 3:31 AM: We’re fine. If you were wondering. I assume you fell asleep talking yourself in circles about whether or not to reach out.

Hen 3:42 AM: One of our guys was at the pier with the probies kid. They’re both fine. Tell your crew to stop gossiping so much.

Hen 5:53 AM: Call me if you need anything

Tommy ignores the ache behind his ribcage.

Tommy 7:33 AM: Glad you’re okay. Tell Karen I said hi.

Hen 8:24 AM: Karen and Denny send their love.

---

Tommy’s elbow deep in wiring when Thomas sidles up to the cockpit. He’s got a look on his face that Tommy would normally like to entertain, but there’d been something fiddly with the altimeter his last flight out and he wants to check this before they get called out again — better to ground her until someone can take a real look, if he finds anything, than wave it off ‘til the end of the day.

Thomas shifts closer, tips his head in so he can duck under the open door.

“So, you still know a couple of the guys over at the 118, right?”

Tommy grimaces.

The fact of the matter is, Tommy knows a few guys from all over the city. He’s been around a while, has made many an appearance at the bars first responders like to flock to, has seen enough people come and go from stations to know a guy here and there everywhere. He’s thinking of setting up a pick-up game for whichever LAFD members want to show, maybe seeing if he can wrangle enough people for at least a bi-weekly trivia night.

The breakup with Jason sucked and he’s definitely trying to avoid going home to his empty apartment. Maybe he should get a dog.

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.”

“But...you could find out.”

“Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.”

Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.”

And now he’s thinking about Jason, again. Christ. Don’t date anyone you meet on calls, Sal had told him, five years in, when everyone still thought his flirting with every hot chick they ran into meant anything other than him desperately trying to cover for the way his eyes were always drawing to the wide stretch of shirts across broad shoulders and the tight fit of a pair of classic 501s.

How he’d managed to convince himself Jason would be the exception is beyond him.

And the guy pinned under the engine had only made things worse, so he’s not particularly in the mood to gossip about him when Jason had used the whole ordeal as an excuse to start a massive fucking fight about the risks of the job for the fifth time in as many months.

“Yeah, I get it, oh wise one. Are you wise enough to figure out why the fuck the guy is suing the department?’

Tommy’s interest is piqued.

God damnit.

It hasn’t even been that long since Chim called him last, Tommy rationalizes as he tips the flashlight in his mouth with his bottom teeth.

“Give me ten minutes to figure out if there’s a short and I’ll make a call.”

---

Tommy’s got one eye on the television and another on the pool table. Brody’s got a pool cue tipped under her chin, and he can already see the chalk shifting onto her skin.

“So, we all agree they’re fucking cursed, right?”

Tommy takes a sip of his beer while a few of the guys make noises of agreement.

“Like, I’m thinking of starting a pool to decide what disaster they’re gonna have a starring role in next. But I don’t want repeats, and at this point I’m not sure how to list them all.”

“Rebar through the brainpan,” Trent says, shaking his head. Tommy feels a flash of guilt for never calling Chim after the initial text he’d sent.

“Plane crash,” lists Jones, eyes still on the reporter being drenched in the downpour as she recites the same tired story about the boy down the well.

“Bath salt werewolves.”

“Earthquake high rise rescue,” Tommy tosses out. He’s still a little annoyed he’d missed that one.

“Unwitting bank heist,” Brody says, phone out and typing furiously. “Oh, do we count ‘targets of teenage Unabomber’ and ‘pinned under a fire engine’ as two separate events?”

“This is getting a little morbid,” Trent says. Still no updates about the guy who’s been buried alive with the kid down the well.

“Armed chicken,” Tommy contributes, hoping to lighten the mood, and grins when they all turn to him with incredulous looks. “Maurice. Knives for feet. He introduced Nash and Grant, technically.”

Brody rolls her eyes. He never should have let her in on his secret love of love stories, she’s such a cynic, she hates when they all gossip about each others love lives.

“This is life or death situations, not dangerous fowl turned rom-com moments. C’mon, what else have we got? I’m including tsunami. Wasn’t your buddy’s girlfriend at dispatch when it got taken hostage? I’m counting it.”

Christ, he really needs to do a better job of keeping in touch.

Tommy’s eyes flit back to the screen. He can see the NASH dashed across the back of one set of turnouts, the end of a name, just ‘LEY” on the set next to his. He’s suddenly not feeling great.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” he tells them, and Jones raises a brow at his half-full beer.

Tommy chugs it and tries to ignore Brody continuing to list things off.

---

Tommy’s getting a little tired of the argument about his job. There’s always a fucking argument, and he’s always somehow the bad guy for being the one saving lives day in and day out.

At least Peter hadn’t lasted long enough for Tommy to really get all that invested.

The house is too quiet, though.

And the dating scene is hell. He’d never —

The whole landscape of dating had been a shit show from the moment he’d decided he was done fucking around with hookups and lies, and it’s only gotten worse. He feels old, and he hates that he’d never let himself try when everything wasn’t app based and fraught with weird expectations.

He shoots off a message to Chim before he heads in to work. He needs a break, maybe. He’s got half an empty drawer and one less toothbrush in his bathroom and there’s an ache, in his bones, for the easy way he’d always been able to let loose with Chim and Hen.

(He’s not sure they even know he came out, and the superficial relationships in his life just keep smacking him right in the face.)

The pileup on the freeway provides a nice distraction, for most of the day, and he tries not to feel too disappointed when the message he sent to Chim goes unanswered.

It’s three days later before he gets a slightly blurry picture back. It’s — it’s a baby, and Tommy is unprepared for the wave of longing that threatens to crush him.

Howie 4:35 AM: I’m a dad!

Howie 4:35 AM: I made that!

Howie 4:36 AM: Sorry, man, I’ll be tied to this pooping, crying creature for the foreseeable future. But we should grab a beer sometime

Tommy 4:45 AM: Congratulations. She’s beautiful. You get out in, what, 18-20?

Brody pokes her head over his shoulder when he pulls up the picture again. “Cute baby.”

“Chim’s,” he tells her, and her expression shifts.

“Wasn’t his brother in the pileup last week?”

Tommy keeps his eye on the picture, wets his tongue against the top of his mouth before he speaks. “He didn’t say.”

---

They’ve all been on edge for days, now. Technically most of them aren’t in much danger, eyes in the skies that they are, but there’s not a single one of them who doesn’t have a friend or two outside of Harbor that wears the uniform.

They’re already two men down. And they’re all going a bit crazy.

So of course, when Tommy lands the bird and steps into the hangar, it’s to find everyone huddled around the TV set up in their little rec area, murmuring to themselves. Tommy runs a hand through his hair and makes his way across to them.

“Is he —?”

The guy’s insane. He’s got a vest and a helmet and no cover at all beyond the metal bars encasing the ladders of the crane tower. He’s surrounded on three sides by high rises, with wide windows and balconies just ripe for someone to set up an easy fucking shot.

The news crew pans to the witnesses on the ground, and there’s 118’s engine.

“Didn’t his partner just get shot? What is the 118 even doing out there?”

Someone hums. There’s a line of tension in every single set of shoulders huddled around the TV, watching, waiting. If Tommy was a praying man, he’d send something up to the big guy. Too bad they don’t believe in each other.

He’s still climbing. Three points of contact always, Tommy thinks, watching, holding his fucking breath the higher he climbs.

The camera cuts away once he’s out on the arm.

“Did anyone see who it was?” Remy asks, and they all shake their heads, but Tommy’s got a mental list from his sparse contact with Chim. Diaz is in the hospital. Bobby’s on the ground. This is Buckley, the kid he’d missed meeting by the skin of his teeth, when Bobby fast tracked his transfer.

In another life, under a different set of circumstances, the idiot making himself a target for a psycho would have been Tommy.

Tommy watches with bated breath until they switch back to the desk, both anchors looking a little wide-eyed as they report that the guy on the crane has been successfully freed from the cable that had had his arm pinned, and both him and the firefighter are fine. On the ground. Out of danger.

For now.

---

“Pay up, dickheads. Prison riot officially made it on the list.”

Tommy shakes his head, amused more than anything else. He pulls a five from his wallet, and Brody stares at it.

“It was twenty. A piece.”

“This is a gesture of goodwill, Youngs. You never paid me for the mudslide.”

“We worked the mudslide, it doesn’t count.”

“Oh now you’re creating arbitrary rules after the fact? Give me my five back.”

---

Brent smiles with his whole body, and kisses Tommy like he’s proving a point, and he doesn’t care that Tommy’s job is dangerous. The problem is that Tommy would like him a little more if he wasn’t so obsessed with the job.

“He worked out of your old house, didn’t he?” Brent asks, legs up on Tommy’s coffee table and a gleam in his eyes as Taylor Kelly reports on some Angel of Death wannabe who’s been shuffled from station to station, city to city, state to state for years with no real oversight, and Tommy — Tommy is tired of talking about work.

He hums, and takes a drink. Brent’s a Heineken man, and for some reason takes real offense to Tommy’s inability to drink them without making faces. Tommy stopped drinking them a month ago.

He’s not sure what he’s doing, anymore.

“Isn’t Taylor Kelly dating one of the guys from the 118?”

Tommy hums again.

“Feels like a quick turnaround on that news story. You think she’s getting an inside scoop?”

“I think we should break up,” Tommy says, and Brent blinks once, twice.

“Yeah. Probably for the best.”

Brent sees himself out. Tommy throws out the lone bottle of Heineken left in his fridge.

---

Donato is a breath of fresh air. She’s brash, and kind of an asshole, and dead set on proving herself a better pool player than he is.

She’s also a newer source of information for the gossip mongers of Harbor station.

“No, that’s the same guy,” she’s saying, biting her lip as she tries to beat Jones’ high score in Asteroids. She’s got a choking grip on the joystick and Tommy can already tell she’s gonna miss it by a mile.

“I — sorry, the guy who got pinned is the same guy who climbed the tower before the sniper was in custody?”

“Same guy. Also the same guy who hopped into that Speed style runaway truck with me. He’s kind of a badass. I mean, they sort of treat him like the station dalmation, over there, but that’s because if you rub behind his ears he wags his tail.”

“He’s not the same one Bosko accidentally got into Fight Club, is he?”

Lucy laughs. “Uh, no, Buck is absolutely a lover, not a fighter.”

“So which one —?”

“Probably the one I was filling in for.”

“The one who got shot, you mean.”

Lucy hums.

None of them have brought up Greenway, which Lucy seems to be marginally grateful for, but Tommy knows she’d worked with him. He hasn’t worked out why she’d worked with him — he’s pretty sure she’d been on the same rotation as Chim and Hen.

Tommy doesn’t feel like touching that with a ten foot pole, if he’s being honest. “So how are Chim and Hen?”

Lucy looks a little cagey. She curses up a storm when she collides with a pixelated flying saucer. “They’re — chugging along.”

“Oh, there’s a story there,” says Lemming, and Lucy shoots Tommy a look between her lashes, something fierce and vulnerable that tells him she’d throw down to protect the open wounds of the 118, same as him. He tips his chin, raises his bottle.

“Boring story,” Lucy says, eyes gleaming. “I bet you’ve got plenty of more interesting stories, Lemming. Weren’t you the one who had to rescue the UFO guy?”

Lemming is easily distracted, and happy to toot his own horn.

Tommy thinks of text sitting unsent on the blank conversation history with Chim.

---

“That wasn’t on the list,” Tommy says, trying for levity and failing miserably. His throat feels tight, and there’s an ache somewhere in his torso that feels like it’s spreading.

“Man, any time you think things are gonna stop happening to that house, they gotta go do something to prove you wrong.”

Tommy’s phone buzzes against his hip. It’s Lucy.

Donato 6:30 AM: Hen says he was down for three minutes.

Tommy 6:31 AM: He good?

Donato 6:33 AM: Inconclusive. He’s got a pulse, but he’s not breathing on his own.

Tommy 6:37 AM: You good?

Donato 6:55 AM: I worked with them for five minutes, Kinard

Donato 6:57 AM: Buck’s a good guy, though. I know you’re not a praying man, but maybe we could all send some good vibes the 118’s way

Tommy 7:01 AM: Jones’ is doing his mindfulness shit in a few. We’ll all be thinking of them.

Tommy hasn’t prayed since he was seventeen, but when Young ducks his head a few minutes later, eyes closed like he does every time they get news of one of their own going down, Tommy lets his own mind drift to his old house, and the people there who’d made him brave enough to live an actual life. Jones’ little meditation practice turns the hanger quiet, and Tommy listens to them all breathe, and breathe, and breathe.

He tries not to think too hard on it when they get the news, days later, that Buckley’s expected to make a full recovery.

---

Tommy’s been eyeing the guy at the bar through his lashes for the past fifteen minutes, and he knows Donato has clocked it. But there’s something — there’s something that keeps drawing his attention.

He’s — objectively attractive. Tall, broad shouldered, jeans that fit nice. Full pink lips and a flirty smile aimed at the woman he’s with.

Tommy’s always refused to bring dates to a ladder bar, even when his crew gives him shit for it. Mostly it’s because the conversation always eventually turns to all the crazy shit they’ve all pulled, all the risky maneuvers, all the scars. It’s always a pissing contest, and Tommy’s been burned a few too many times by guys who like the look of him, and not the reality of his career.

Tommy loses sight of Lucy for half a second only to find her approaching the couple as they move from the foosball table to the bartop.

He shakes his head. She’s spent weeks trying to squirrel information out of him about his love life, which is distinctly lacking at the moment. He doesn’t expect that to change any time soon.

Maybe he’ll hit up Brian once he’s had a few more beers. See if he’s seeing anyone. See if he’s still as flexible as Tommy remembers.

She doesn’t linger when Thomas calls her back for her turn, but by the smirk on her face she’s managed to put her foot in it exactly how she meant to. The couple are closing out, the guys head tilted to stare at his tab, color high on his cheeks. Tommy takes a deep pull off his drink and rolls his jaw when Lucy sinks three in a row, and then the eight ball too.

He gets a full thirty second reprieve before she’s sidling in to the seat beside him, a knowing look on her face.

“Look, I get it,” she starts, and Tommy takes another drink as Young starts a to rerack. “When the bar light hits just right on those broad ass shoulders, you really can’t help but wanna see if his lips taste as sweet as they look.”

Tommy knows his expression is long suffering.

“They are, just in case you were wondering.”

“Donato,” he warns, and she grins, playing with the pool cue with her free hand.

“Got it, Kinard. Backing off. But you know, I’ve got a cousin...”

“Not interested,” he tells her, already swinging out of his seat to break for his round.

He barely even notices he couple leaving. He breaks clean, a few stripes finding their way into pockets, and doesn’t pay a lick of attention to the way the guys flustered laugh sounds as he guides his date out the door.

---

Donato still looks a little shell-shocked.

“They — uh — they’re all good?”

“They’re all pretty banged up. But yeah, from what I heard, they all made it out.”

“Cap — Captain Nash. They found him?”

“Pinned at the bottom of the rubble, but he got lucky. No serious injuries.”

Lucy slumps. She looks exhausted, minutes out from crashing. Tommy’s flown away from enough disasters moments before they get worse to know exactly how she’s feeling.

“Go change, Donato. I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” she argues, and Tommy’s gaze catches hers. Holds.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’m gonna cry all over your nice leather seats, though.”

He doesn’t point out that they’ve seen his tears plenty, but from the look in her eyes he figures she kind of knows, anyway.

She’s quiet, for most of the drive. It’s a longer one than he’s used to, and the detour caused by the bridge collapse makes it longer.

“I don’t know what it is about them that makes me feel like I’m losing a limb every time one of those stupid assholes gets hurt. They’re a magnet for disaster, you think I’d be used to it. I didn’t even work with them that long.”

They’re still ten minutes out. Tommy had thought she’d passed out with her face plastered to the passenger window.

“You miss it?”

“Do you?” she asks, defensiveness creeping in to her voice.

Tommy flips his indicator as the light goes red in the turn lane. “I missed the bulk of the Bobby Nash Experience. Mostly I’m just bitterly resentful that I never got to experience the turnaround of my old house.”

He can feel her eyes sliding to him, the curious stare. “Is this what it takes for Tommy Kinard Honesty Hour? I witness something traumatic and you finally open up a little?”

Tommy shrugs, thumb tapping along to the sound of his blinker. “I’m old school, Donato. Usually you gotta save my life for a glimpse up here.” He taps to fingers to his temple.

She takes that in in silence. There’s always been a kinship there, between them, some part of Tommy that sees a lot of himself in the way Lucy conducts herself, the brash way she pushes past the rough days, the spark in her eyes when she’s seconds away from doing something ill-advised.

“Chim’s getting married,” she says into the silence, and Tommy hums. “I’m pretending not to be upset I didn’t get an invite.”

She’s the only one who gets being jealous of that tight-knit little group of psychos.

“So yours got lost in the mail too, huh?”

“Been a long time since I’ve been close to anyone there. I didn’t expect one.”

Lucy tips her head back against the headrest. Sighs. “Yeah. I guess eventually I’ll get there too.”

---

Jones levels him with an incredulous look.

“They should fire your ass.”

Tommy raises both hands in supplication, but he can’t quite keep the grin off his face as Diaz and Buckley both round the side of the chopper, both of them looking like they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It’d been an uphill battle, trying to figure out the logistics of who was going where, after the fact. Chim and Hen had gotten stuck in the back of buses to the hospital.

Diaz and Buckley had ro-sham-bo’ed for shotgun to get back to Diaz’ truck, and Tommy had spent the short flight back from the rescue ship trying not to notice the pouty tilt of Evan’s lip from the back, or pay attention to the back and forth over the headset as Diaz reminded him he’d already had his chance.

There’s a thrum, under Tommy’s skin — the thrill of being reckless is fading, a little, but beneath that there’s a possibility opening wide — Eddie Diaz in the seat beside him pumping him for information on his army days, Evan Buckley shifting restlessly at his side as he comes to stand beside him, arms crossed and staring at Jones like he’s about to go guard dog mode.

All this time he’s been getting second-hand gossip about these people, listening to the wild and sometimes exaggerated rumors that follow them around the LAFD. This time he got to play a part, and neither one of these virtual strangers seems keen to let the moment pass.

Evan’s shoulder glances off of Tommy’s, and he fights the urge to dart his gaze to the side, to check out his profile, to see how ridiculous he looks when those puppy-dog eyes get defensive.

Eddie claps a hand to his shoulder on the other side. “They should give you medal,” he says, pointedly aiming the comment in Jones’ direction, and Jones huffs, eyes rolling.

“Get the hell out of my hangar before I find a reason to be anything other than jealous.”

Tommy laughs, cheeks aching as he waves his passengers out through the open bay door to guide them back to the spot he’d had them hide their truck.

---

Tommy rolls up to the court and watches as some ten-odd firefighters clam up completely.

Well, shit.

This is the first time he’s ever been on the other side of this.

Price is the first one to break. “You’re not bringing anyone from the 118 this time, are you? Seriously, Kinard, one was already pushing it, you’re tempting fate. I don’t want to catch the curse.”

Tommy rolls his eyes good naturedly, doesn’t mention that if the curse were contagious he’d be neck deep in it by now.

“Tommy’s the one we need to be worried about, Price. He’s lucky he wasn’t collateral damage in that lovers quarrel, last time.”

It’s been two weeks.

Tommy has to remind himself. It’s been two weeks. Since he’d gone to make it clear he had no intention of stepping into whatever shit was between Eddie and Evan, to make it clear that he planned to keep spending time with Eddie but he’d never meant to get between them. Two weeks since he’d taken a leap, hedged his bets, kissed a beautiful boy in the orange light of his kitchen.

Less than a week since he’d taken a sip of a terrible coffee concoction and leapt right back into the chaos.

“Are we playing, or do you all want to crack open a bottle of red back at my place and play at being Dan Humphrey?”

Tommy dribbles the ball, raises an eyebrow, watches them all shift guilty looks between themselves as they grumble and move to stand.

---

Lucy spins the metal chair across from him, settles with a leg over each side, arms crossed over the back of it, shit eating grin on her face.

“So. I heard a rumor.”

Tommy’s not sure what his face does. He’s hoping for disinterested, but more likely than not his lips are twitching bashfully.

“The nurses at PIH are incredibly easy to pump for intel,” she continues, and Tommy can feel his ears burning. Donato’s grin goes wide. “I can’t believe you didn’t get me a last minuet invite, too.”

Tommy recovers in time to avoid the full-body blush. “Well, the next time you No Homo me in front of a mutual friend and make up for it with a grand gesture, I’ll think about it.”

Lucy tilts her head. Her grin goes soft, eyes taking him in. “Shit, Kinard, you like him. Damn it. I can’t tease you about that.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

The expression goes mischievous again. “He really didn’t even wipe the soot off his face before he hard launched you?”

Tommy ducks his head, failing miserably at hiding the grin on his face.

[pikapitou]

buckeddie 🕸️!!!

yayyyyyyy I love when characters are TRAPPED together !!!

They're probably not going to die. 70/30. Maybe 60/40 if they get unlucky and the debris pile shifts, but there's nothing they can do about that. Neither of them got hurt, Eddie says oxygen shouldn't be a problem, and two floors above them is a whole crowd of first responders looking at the blinking lights of their transponders on a screen right now. Their chances are really, really good. 

Buck's not gonna be the one to say that, though. 

He shifts closer so he can brace himself over Eddie on his elbows. It's cramped in their little safe pocket, but there's enough room to roll off him if he wanted to. He doesn't. Eddie doesn't say anything; his big hands are still at Buck's waist, under the turn-out coat, where they fell to steady him when the structure groaned and Buck knocked them both to the ground. It’s hard to see each other; their headlamps cast strange shadows from where they're discarded next to their busted radios—when they radioed for help nothing happened but their voices echoing back to them, like he and Eddie are the last two people in the world.

"Eddie," Buck starts, voice low and raspy so the words only fall between the two of them, "This is... bad, right? What—what if we don't..." 

He can feel the give of Eddie's exhale underneath him, the hot rush of it against his face. They're both breathing way too fast for all the concrete dust in the air, but Buck thinks the danger is probably halved if they're sharing it.

"Buck, listen. We're not there yet, alright?" Eddie says steadily, or trying to be. There's a breathless quality to his voice that Buck wants to bottle up like a firefly. 

"Yeah, but," Buck trails off, then deliberately drops more of his weight onto Eddie so he can feel the way he doesn't even flinch until their foreheads brush. "We... we have to be realistic, right?" 

He counts the seconds as Eddie stays silent underneath him. Precious seconds, Buck knows in the back of his mind, and doesn't think harder about why.

Then Eddie's hands at his waist squeeze, once, then slowly, like they're barely even moving, splay out over Buck’s ribs, big and warm and solid. Buck takes an inhale and holds it, so he can feel his chest expand under Eddie’s touch. "Yeah," Eddie says, practically voiceless, into the space between their mouths. "We—should be. Realistic." 

The radio crackles—out of range, not busted—with Gerrard's stupid fucking voice, "Firefighter Diaz. Buckley. Do you copy?" 

Eddie doesn't do anything like spring apart, but he does let go as he reaches for the radio and responds, the loss of contact like pressure taken off a wound. Buck has to sit up and grit his teeth against the blinding urge to—what? Smash the fucking radio? Find a piece of rebar to start bleeding out on? He doesn't get to do any of that, because they're starting excavation efforts now, and Gerrard is signing off with a condescending don't do anything stupid down there, and then it's just them again, staring at each other with the real world right there with them. Buck is still panting, can't get enough air, but underneath him Eddie's breathing is slow, even, and steady. 

"Looks like we're gonna be okay," Eddie says. Smiles. And doesn't touch him again. 

[sugdenlovesdingle]

bucktommy prompt

hurt Tommy and buck comforting him 😊

(going for emotional hurt with this one)

---

"Tommy please stop pacing, you're going to wear a hole in the floor." Buck tried to reason with his boyfriend.

"At least then I'll have something to do instead of waiting for the phone to ring!" Tommy snapped. He felt bad about lashing out at Evan but he was too stressed to control himself.

He'd applied for a different job in the department. One training up new recruits that still allowed him to have the hands on experience he craved, but less crazy hours.

"They'll call. They will."

"Yeah. To tell me thanks but no thanks. If they were going to offer me the job, they would have called by now. I would have been their first call."

"You don't know that. Didn't you say there were about 20 other people there trying out for the job?"

"Twenty people who didn't steal a helicopter, twenty people who didn't tell an LAFD captain to fuck off and get out of the way and got caught on camera doing so."

"You got a medal for stealing that helicopter. And Gerrard had it coming." Buck shrugged. "You were just trying to help me. And I will tell anyone who says otherwise that you're the bravest, kindest, sweetest, funniest, smartest, most patient person I know. They'd be lucky to have you."

Tommy gave him a small smile and let himself be wrapped up in Evan's arms.

"You forgot handsome. And sexy. And good in bed." he joked and they both laughed.

"I didn't forget, I just don't think those are relevant for the job. Unless you're training me."

"You? As a pilot? You had one lesson and then begged me never to make you do it again."

"I can change my mind, can't I? If the teacher is hot I could be persuaded to take more lessons. Maybe I'll even take your place. Again."

Tommy laughed and happily accepted the kiss Evan pressed to his lips.

"You do realise you would have to put in a lot of flight hours before they'd even consider letting you go up in a chopper, right?"

"Spending a lot of time with my hot boyfriend on the clock? Such hardship."

Before Tommy had the chance to reply and explain he would have to put in the hours off the clock, his phone started vibrating on the kitchen table.

"Shit... I can't do it. I don't know what I'll do if they turn me down."

"Then there will be other opportunities." Buck insisted and handed him his phone. "Answer it. Put it on speaker if you like so you don't have to repeat everything they say."

Tommy nodded and took a deep breath before swiping at the screen.

"Hello? This is Thomas Kinard..."

------

Send me prompts and I'll write you a ficlet!

[salty-autistic-writer]

For @bucktommypositivityweek round 2 Day 1: make your own season 8 opening disaster.

Summary: After the bee-nado, Buck waits for Tommy to wake up (Link to AO3)

“Have you seen the Bee Movie?” Buck asks, chuckling quietly and fidgeting with the bandage wrapped around his hand.

“I, uh, watched it with Chris once. We were laughing so much. It was a cute and funny movie. A bee fell in love with a human. And, uh, there was a plane. The pilots were knocked out mid-flight and so the bees helped land it. We really have to watch that movie together sometimes.”

He takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his still sweaty face. “Man. I wish those bees we had to put up with these last two days were as much fun as that movie …”

He shudders, remembering all those red swollen faces. Swollen hands. Swollen legs. Swollen arms. Everything and everyone swollen. No fun at all. Especially because the stings of those bees hurt like hell. Buck received one as well. Underneath the bandage, the whole side of his left hand is red and hot. He got some cream and a cooling pack for it.

Now, Los Angeles is slowly recovering from the insane incident that was called the “bee-nado”, the bees who were still crawling around alive being collected and settled somewhere else. The hospitals are filled to the brim with bee-related emergencies.

Buck is in the hospital too. Waiting for his boyfriend to finally wake up after he had to crash land his helicopter in a field and ended up unconscious, with a probably severe concussion and several bruises as well as lacerations. It could have been worse. Way worse. But still …

“You can’t keep doing that, you know?” He says, looking up from his hands at Tommy’s too still face. “You can’t always play the hero and let me sitting here, wondering if you will ever open your eyes again. And yes. I know that was what I was doing to people who cared about me way too often. But still. I can’t get used to how much this hurts. I miss you so, so much.”

And he could really use a hug right now. After everything that happened at work with Gerrard … 

Buck shudders as he remembers. Gerrard screaming at him for every little thing. Gerrard taunting him because he noticed Buck texting Tommy with a smile on his face. Gerrard telling him to stay behind and clean the trucks while the rest of the team went to deal with the bees. Gerrard still scowling at him even when Buck was the one who rushed to help him.

“Gerrard is allergic to bees, did you know that?” Buck tells Tommy. “He almost died. He didn’t even tell anyone. But I gave him the epinephrine that kept him alive until he could be taken to the hospital.” Buck scoffs. “Wasn’t grateful at all … I wish we could get rid of him somehow. I was thinking about something. But so far, I have no idea.”

He leans back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, squinting into too-bright neon lights, his thoughts floating away, to better, easier times. To Bobby. Oh he’s still pissed at Bobby. How could he resign?! Without telling anyone … Buck shakes his head, trying to think about something else. He’s not ready yet to face those emotions …

Time passes.

Buck almost dozes off. But then, a groan and a cough make him perk up. Tommy moves, brows furrowing and lids fluttering. He finally opens his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion. 

“Tommy!” Buck feels like a heavy weight is taken from his heart. Finally. Finally, he gets to see his boyfriend’s eyes again. He takes Tommy’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

Tommy looks at him, eyes widening a bit. “Ev … Please. Tell me. Bees are gone,” he croaks.

Buck chuckles, leaning over to give Tommy a kiss on his cheek. “Yeah. They’re gone.”

Tommy sighs, eyes closing again. “Good. Everyone … safe?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, swallowing. His stomach clenches. “Everyone is safe. But Tommy … You have to be more careful in the future. I was so worried …”

Tommy hums. “Sorry. Didn’t … didn’t tell the bees to fly into engine.”

Buck huffs. “Yeah, I know . Still. It was risky to fly in these conditions.”

“Helped. Save the day. With the water,” Tommy points out.

“Yeah. You did. Again,” Buck says softly, holding onto Tommy’s hand firmly. “My big brave hero.”

Tommy smiles. “Hmmm. Another medal?”

Buck laughs. “I don’t know. Do you think chief Simmons has to do some damage control for his career again? If not, I don’t think so. Listen, I’m going to go and get your doctor, okay? She said they have to run some tests when you’re awake. Just to make sure it’s not more than a concussion.”

“Okay,” Tommy says, one eye opening and searching for Buck. “Please. Come back.”

“Of course,” Buck says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Always.”

He hasn’t gotten used to being this worried. But what he and Tommy have … It is worth all the pain.

[tommykinard217]

Don't Turn And Run

A bucktommy fix it fic

Read it here on AO3

Tommy knew he was a coward at heart. Sure, he was in the army and he can fly planes and helicopters in some of the most stressful situations imaginable, but that didn't matter. 

When he worked under Gerrard, he was a coward. He let his own fear of being seen turn him into someone he could barely look at in the mirror. 

He's said shit he didn't mean for brownie points from a man hellbent on making everyone feel miserable and small. 

But he liked to think he was getting better. That he confronted that toxic shit inside himself and purged it bit by bit. 

Yet there he was, staring at the elevator in Evan’s building, his warped reflection in the metal surface of the closed doors taunting him. 

Here he was. Being a coward once again. All he knew how to do was turn and run, at the core of himself. 

Stare at the edge of something good and run away from it. 

From Evan. 

But he knew from experience that he didn't get the happy ever after. It's why he liked romcoms so much. Living vicariously through the men and women on his screen. Crazy, dramatic acts of love. Kisses in the rain and hanging from a ferris wheel and tender declarations of love. That wasn't for him, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

He wasn't the one people ended up with.

He had been at peace with that. Until he met Evan. And God. He could never have predicted just how deeply he would have fallen in love with that sweet, eager, ridiculous man. 

But he did. And that's why he had to leave, even if it just confirmed the truth. That he was a coward and he wasn't the guy who got a happy ever after. 

The elevator doors had finally opened, and he once again stared at his warped reflection from inside the elevator. 

The look on Evan’s face was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, he knew it. But the pain wouldn't last forever for Evan. Not like it would for Tommy. Already the pain in his chest felt like it was going to swallow him whole. 

He couldn't imagine how much more it would have hurt if this happened after he moved in with Evan. After he let himself get complacent and think “yes, maybe this is it.” 

He couldn't survive that. He was already in too deep when it came to Evan. Every step away, every floor down, made it harder and harder to breathe. 

Thankfully the doors opened before he really started to hyperventilate though he still had to take a moment and try to steady himself.

This is what was best. For the both of them.

Buck can find someone better, more worthy of his love and admiration. And Tommy won't have to be the one in too deep yet still not enough. 

After a moment, thankful no one else was there to witness Tommy's heart breaking in real time because of his own cowardice, he steeled himself and walked out of the building. 

To his surprise, it was raining. Downpouring, actually. He couldn't even remember if there had been clouds when he arrived. He guessed Mother Nature wanted to give him a physical reminder of his misery, as if the hollowed feeling in his chest wasn't enough. 

As he walked towards his truck, the too good parking spot practically mocking him, he heard something.

The opening of doors.

“Tommy!” 

Evan. 

He couldn't help but stop. Couldn't help but turn, looking at Evan suddenly running towards him, his breath hitching and the rain blurring his vision. 

As Evan caught up to him, he stumbled to a stop. Tommy was already drenched, Evan was getting there, the rain slowly soaking into his curls and his clothes. 

“Look, Ev-Buck, I-” He tried to make out before Evan glared at him and opened his own mouth to speak.

“Yeah, no. You already said enough. I deserve to speak. You owe me that much.” Tommy watched as Evan crossed his arms, standing his ground, and he could only concede. 

“Okay, you're right, go ahead. I'm listening.” 

“First of all, you're kinda being a dick about this. I'm in my thirties! I pay taxes! I know what I want, and you don't get to decide otherwise.” Evan stated, and God, even angry and soaked to the bone he was gorgeous. Tommy couldn't stop looking at him, drinking him in, memorizing this moment down to it's finest details. 

“You're right, Buck-” and suddenly he was being interrupted again. 

“Don’t. Stop calling me that.” Evan seemed to get closer somehow, pointing his finger so that it was just inches from poking Tommy in the chest. 

“Besides, I'm not done. I don't, I don't know why you're so certain I'm going to break your heart, why you think I'd leave you after we moved in together but that's not fair. You're the one breaking my heart, right now, all because you think I might break yours later on. That's not fair, Tommy.” Evan's voice had turned into a plea at the end, cracking on the word fair and that nearly shattered Tommy's own heart.

It's not like Evan was wrong. By protecting his own heart, he was clearly breaking Evan’s. But Evan would move on. Tommy doesn't think he could.

“I'm not someone's forever, Evan.” And even just saying his name felt like a mercy he didn't deserve. “I'm not your forever.” 

And that seemed to spark a rage in Evan that Tommy had never seen. 

“No! No, you don't get to say that, you don't get to decide that. I'm not a kid, Tommy. I-I know what being in love feels like. And I know that even when I was in love, I-I could never really see a future with them. We move in together and that's-that's where it would end for me. But you, Tommy, I saw. No, I see a future with you. I see buying furniture and-and setting it up, and getting a dog, and-” he trails off, out of breath and shivering from the rain.

Fuck, what were they thinking, hashing this out in the rain? He didn't even think he had a jacket in his truck that he could offer Evan. 

“Evan, let's get you back inside, you're going to get sick like this.” He reached out to touch him, and Evan grabbed his hand, holding onto it tightly. 

“No. I'm not done. Not until you listen.” 

Tommy sighed, worry and frustration leaking into the sound. “I'm listening, I promise. But I'd really rather you not catch a cold.” 

Evan's grip onto his hand seemed to tighten, and his stance seemed to hold even more firmly. “You'll just have to take care of me then. Because I'm not letting you go. You love me. I know you do, this is that whole ‘if you love something, let it go’ thing and I'm not letting you let me go.” Suddenly Evan is so close he can practically feel his breath. “Don't turn and run away from me, Tommy. Please.” 

Tommy took in the sight of Evan. Soaked through, angry, and so beautiful. He had two choices, he knew. Turn and run, or leap off the edge with Evan regardless of where it would leave them. What Evan said, about building furniture together and getting a dog. God, he wanted nothing more than that. 

Tommy was a coward at heart, and this somehow seemed more terrifying than any flight. 

He thought of his reflection in those elevator doors. Warped and heartbroken from his own choices. 

He thought of Evan, still holding onto his hand, more pleas about to fall from his lips. 

“Okay.”

Evan blinked. “What?”

“Okay. We'll do this. I won't give up on us. I'm done being a coward.” 

Suddenly all the strength seemed to fall away from Evan as he slumped against Tommy, sighing in what sounded like relief. “Good. Good.” 

“Evan.” Tommy said, slowly tilting his head up with his fingers, so reminiscent to their first kiss. “I'm sorry I was a coward. I love you. So much it scares me. I couldn't stand losing you.”

He seemed to laugh a little at that, a wry strangled sound. “Yeah, and you almost did. Good thing I'm stubborn.” And then Evan's mouth is on his, cold and wet but so perfect. He leans into the kiss, letting Evan take what he wants from it and giving it back in equal measure. 

The kiss was slow. Gentle. More like an ‘I'm here, I'm staying’ from both of them than anything else. After a few moments, Tommy pulled away just slightly, though he kept Evan’s body close to him. “Okay, can I get you inside now before you die of consumption?” 

Evan rolled his eyes, smiling wide regardless. “Yeah, there's better ways to be wet, I think. Like in a hot shower.” 

Tommy let out a laugh, nudging Evan gently as they start to walk towards the building’s doors. “Yeah, and after that nice, hot shower, we're going to be talking more about what this means for us.”

“Oh, so now you want to communicate.” Evan teased. 

“Yeah, I probably should have heard you out before running like a bat out of hell, I unfortunately still have the tendency of acting like the same scared asshole I was way back when.” They were in the building now, the temperate temperature a stark contrast to their rain soaked bodies. 

“Please don't run next time, Tommy. I know I came on too strong with the-with the whole moving in thing, but I didn't deserve that.” Evan’s voice was quiet as he pressed the button to call the elevator. 

Tommy sighed, his heart aching at what he had just put the love of his life through. Because that's what Evan was, even though he just did a really shit job of showing it. “I won't, sweetheart. I promise.” 

As they walked into the elevator, Tommy watched as the doors closed, revealing his and Evan’s reflection. Evan's arm wrapped around Tommy's waist, like he was afraid Tommy would somehow turn and run again even stuck in an elevator. 

But he was done being a coward, he was done running. 

Whatever future they were leading to, he was going to seize with both hands. 

The elevator doors opened, and they walked into the hallway. Into Evan’s apartment. Into whatever the future was. Whatever forever might lead them.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ another ficlet about the 118 coping with gerrard's captaincy. this one highlights chim & bobby, hurt/comfort, be warned it does reference several ('off screen') racist & anti asian micro aggressions.

also on ao3

the trenches

Ah, mop mildew. A familiar smell. Really takes him back, to feeling young and small and awful. And Koreans are supposed to be good at this sort of thing, so he can't really be annoyed, because isn't that a compliment?

Well at least he has his sarcasm to keep him company.

Chimney pulls a face and empties the bucket into the laundry sink.

“Chim?” Bobby sticks his head around the corner. It's still strange to see him in the wrong blues, but at least he's on the team. “What are you still doing here? Go home.”

“I'm on orders, Cap.” He starts filling the bucket again.

“No you're not. B shift will be in any minute; if Gerrard needs the floors done that badly one of them can do it. Anyway, didn't Eddie just do them yesterday?”

“Not well enough, apparently.”

“Mm.”

“Yeah.”

Chim sighs a heavy sigh as he lifts the bucket back to the ground, and it does little to dislodge the feeling of unpleasantness squeezing at his rib cage. Watching Eddie try and bite his tongue is even worse than having to do it himself. At least he's got age, practice, something on his side. He can take it. That's better, right? That's supposed to be better?

Bobby sighs too, and he steps into the room proper and drops his bag of gear to the ground.

“Let me do that,” he offers.

“Bobby. It's fine.”

“Howard. Please.” He insists, holding out his hand for the mop.

When Chimney still hesitates, Bobby glances behind them both and kicks the door so it almost closes.

“Look,” he says, and keeps his voice a little hushed. “I may not be well-versed in all this, but I do have eyes. I've read the file and I've worked the floor and I know there's things that man will say and do to certain members of this house that he'd never do to me. I've got no idea what do to with that, personally, and I don't want to make anything worse for you by picking a fight, but for what it's worth... I know you and Hen battled through a lot together back in the day - from him and everybody else who let him happen to you - but we don't operate like that here, not anymore. You are not alone. So if you need to call on me, lean on me, please do it. Buck too. We want to help.”

It's a lot. It's a lot to Howie who slugged literal thousands of buckets all over this floor during Gerrard's first time here; who was scratched from the kitchen not for being above it as a man but because the guys wouldn't shut up about what was really in his food. He's still haunted a little by pulled eyelids and broken accents dissolving into laughter, but never more than he is by stony silence and the smell of mildew.

Chim hands over the mop, and takes a deep breath.

“Okay. But before I go, allow me to bestow upon you the ancient knowledge of my ancestors. Behold.”

He flicks open the cabinet under the sink, and hauls out a large bottle with a white and purple label which reads: SHINE BRIGHT SOLUTIONS – HEAVY DUTY SURFACE CLEANER + DISINFECTANT. DILUTE 1:1000. It's almost definitely the same one that resides under every laundry sink in every fire house in all of LA.

Bobby stifles a smirk. “I will treasure it always.”

Chimney smirks back. With what they've been through these last few days, he could almost tackle the man. He settles for a nod.

“It's good to have you back, Cap.”

[blueberrytwoberry]

Am I back to obsessing about the basketball scene? Yeah, but specifically because of the still the show released with Buck standing between Eddie and Gerrard because, tbh, that’s the most squared up and bristly i’ve ever seen Buck and it’s making me think thoughts, because, okay. 

This show consistently makes the most wild narrative choices and I mean, that’s clearly part of what I enjoy or I wouldn’t have stuck around for seven seasons, but i still think some of the wildest are related to The Basketball Game, but more because they had chances to be much wilder with it and didn’t even take them! 

Like, listen, we have Buck, who has basically been a hard no on any aggressive behavior for six seasons before this, never called himself a pacifist, but he and Hen are the only members of the main cast who never lean that way, hurting his bestie out of jealousy/frustration/anger (exact emotional motivation subject to interpretation by the viewer). 

That’s the kind of wild choice I expect this show to make! 

And it makes sense in a very messy way, because we know that Buck used to hurt himself for attention all the time. And I’ve got a research paper in me I think about what this says about Buck blurring the lines between BuckandEddie in his own head, if it’s okay {“okay”) to hurt Eddie because they’re BuckandEddie so it’s close enough to hurting himself that he didn’t even think about what he was doing, and how I’d have loved to dig into who was the end-goal recipient of attention for him. 

If they’re BuckandEddie and hurting Eddie means (to Buck) hurting himself, was he hoping for attention from Eddie, then, after the game? (This is, I think, the most likely option because the whole rest of the episode (barring the swerve at the end) is Buck trying to get Eddie to pay attention to him). Or does hurting Eddie mean it’s expected (and okay) for him to give Eddie attention after the game? 

Did everyone else reacting in a normal way to him fully taking Eddie out snap him out of that weird headspace? 

Doesn’t look like we’ll ever know because the show did surprise me there by completely swerving on Maddie’s reaction to Buck’s admission of what he did. Fully expected her to react more strongly because that’s basically… Maddie’s hot button issue (maybe unpopular take but I don’t think hurting someone becomes okay just because they aren’t your romantic partner). (Sigh the fic I never wrote about Maddie running into Eddie and seeing his ankle all bandaged up and all the feelings that’d bring up in her and the long-term fallout on her relationship with Buck because give me the obvious comparison to Doug.) 

In any case, i fully expected them to then drop the physical aggression right back out of Buck’s character after the end of 7.4. But hmmm that still makes me think maybe not and now i’m back to desperately wanting to talk about it again. Ah, well. 

[littlerosetrove]

Two days later I finally got to watch the episode, so here’s my initial Spoiler Thoughts for 8x2. 

Huh, I wonder if part of the reason Athena has remained a police officer is because of her sense of duty and general honor towards her (first) fiance. I mean, I know some of us fans/watchers wish Athena should quit already, because her cop stuff is always messy. Plus I think she’d have a bit more free rein, so to speak, if she was a PI or something. 

HA! 118 dance party. Everyone is dancing and Buck is the only one freaking out. I do wonder if they’ll come back to that? Not in a ���poor baby Buck” way, but in the sense that Buck did seem troubled on whether or not he actually meant to hurt Gerrard or save him. 

I think the young actress who plays Athena did a good job, especially capturing the cadence in how Athena talks. 

Brad is a weird one, but he’s entertaining haha. 

Okay this is one of my favorite things in this show and it’s when civilians come together to help one another. That’s the good shit, and I love it every time. Like I always get teary eyed when I rewatch uhhh 2x18 I think, when the fire truck explodes and the civilians rush to help lift the truck off of Buck. 

That was a weird line “that’s a prison shiv!” It seems the show wanted to add a little tension of the other passengers being weary of a former (as far as they know) prisoner being amongst them. Still, a weird line. 

Damn I wish I could remember who said this, I know I reblogged a post about it, but someone else pointed out that it would be cool if the show does a narrative tie-in or comparison of Bobby and the prisoner guy; sorry blanking on the character name. Like I think the guy who shot Athena’s fiance was high when it happened? So it was in part if not fully an accident. The comparison is Bobby accidentally killed over 100 people, but Athena doesn’t see Bobby as a bad guy. So will Athena ever see the prisoner guy as not Super Bad Guy? I’m explaining this poorly, but trust me there is an interesting comparison in there. I wonder if the show will go that route. 

What’s the kids name, Jim? We’ll go with Jim. What a smart and brave kid!!

Omg Bobby immediately suspecting and then knowing Athena is not only on the crashing flight, but she’d be the one to fly it. He knows his wife so well haha. 

No but seriously, Athena just can’t go anywhere huh? 

Athena is such a badass!!!

Dad and son stealing a fire truck together! =D Along with Brad gvhjbkjljb. 

Really enjoyed this episode. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. It had a great ebb and flow of “time to panic!” and “things might be okay??” The focus was clearly on Athena this episode, but I was happy how they were able to include, yeah, I think every one of the main cast. =))

My hope for 8x3?? If this show is still going with the movie reference, then I do hope they use their established pilot, Tommy, to help land the plane if need be. <3

[deelovesbooks]

911 s7 finale liveblog!

the amount of anxiety im feeling cannot be healthy rn

omg omg omg ok ow i just stimmed too hard and hurt my hand

oh man chris :(((((((

oh shit oh shit okay yeah chris called the grandparents

mara :(((((

lmao i called that the shocked diaz parents was seeing kim

ohhhh Athena

ooooooooooooooooh Athena maam thats a bad idea thena put the gun away

i dont like this lady im suspicious fr

Maddie Han 😍

yeah in danger from you

oh is that the Prayer book eddies holding?

ok its very tense but im loving the teamwork connecting the dots. also love how up in eachothers buisness the 118+ fam is. Sketchy call from athena? better call chim

oh buck and eddie sitting in bobbys room :(

lmao that 911 nba commercial startled me i was so confused

Athena miss maam leave this man alone

i still cannot believe that we get Angela fuckin basset on our weewoo show

Aw Amir

if thats not bobby fucking waking up and fighting the intubation im gonna lose it

the fact that buck is in the same shirt for the bucktommy date as he is in the hospital rn is the only thing holding me together bc if bobby died they wouldnt have the date right?

[also jesus christ why are there so many fuckin medication commercials? america are u ok?]

lmao Athena bout to start her own fire

lmao amir and athena about even now? sorry i threatened u here let me save ur life pls dont press charges lol

BOBBY!!!

OH THANK GOD ok i can untense now lol

"god i hope so" THOMAS

[ok was that just my stream or was there a weird cut edit during their conversation?]

ok yeah hes 13 he should have some choice but also hes 13. have him stay with like hen and karen or even buck for little bit if he needs space not in another state!!

Awwwwwww grant-nash family :')

please excuse me while i go cry :(((

I CALLED IT!!!! MADEY THE COUPLE YOU ARE!!

amir :')

yes bobby accept ur a hero

oh thank god we were wrong its bobby n

NO FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

IN THE MIDDLE OF MY SENTENCE SAYING IT WASNT HIM

FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT GOT DAMN

i legit threw my glasses off my face onto my desk the viceral reaction i had to that motherfuckers face

i- fuck. thats the only thing i got. fuck.

there was only a minute left i assumed the angst and bittersweet part would be chris leaving and ya know he grant-nashs not having a house but then

we knew. we all as a fandom knew that it wasnt just a coincidence that gerrard was at the medal ceremony. i had hoped that it would be one of those instances where fandom read to much into it and thought about it way harder than the actual writers like what usually happens but no.

fuck

[waitingtobelit]

Title: All I Need Darling Characters/Pairings: Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Rating: Teen for language and making out. Gerrard is mentioned briefly. Genre: Speculative post season 7, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort. Summary: “So,” Tommy says as he approaches, “I thought we might have our own little picnic in the bed of my truck.” He briefly gestures to the bed of his truck, where Buck catches a brief glimpse of a red plaid blanket spread out along with a couple of blue pillows. He smiles so wide at the sight, his face aches. --- Buck meets Tommy for ice cream after a long shift. Ice cream and feelings are spilled.

Notes:

This was meant to be a drabble but my feelings got away from me, oops! Title comes from Mitski's "Strawberry Blond," which inspired the fic as a whole as it turns out. It's been years since I've wanted to write fic and I'm feeling inspired.

This is mostly shameless fluff but there is mention of Gerrard and some angst. This fic is unbetaed, so any and all mistakes are my own. Feedback is welcome, including constructive criticism!

Today’s shift, like every shift since Gerrard took over as captain, stretches on like the worst kind of LA traffic; unending and relentless. Every call, even the ones with the happy endings, leaves a rancid aftertaste in the back of Buck’s mouth, compounded by Gerrard’s attitude and snide remarks even before they leave each scene.

By the time his shift ends, Buck bolts out of Station 118 like his own ass is on fire, all but jumping head first into his Jeep. Part of him is tempted to just jump right into the Pacific, street clothes and all, until the salt water washes away the utter crappiness of this day and he can lose himself in swimming away all the worst moments of this particular shift. He grits his teeth and bangs his head against his overly hot steering wheel instead, feeling unmoored and ready to crawl out of his own skin. He leans back in his seat, rubbing his hands across his face. Each pointed remark Gerrard threw his way this shift lingers as thick as the sweat dripping down his back.

No, he thinks, sitting up straighter. Fuck this, actually. He is not going to let Gerrard invade his actual free time. He pulls out his phone, unlocking it, and makes his way to his text messages, planning on inviting Tommy out to grab a much-needed beer. Tommy beats him to the punch, as it turns out, having sent him a text asking him if he wants to grab ice cream before heading over to Tommy’s place tonight. He must have been too distracted to have noticed the text notification earlier, he thinks. Just the sight of that text has Buck smiling like he’s won the lottery. Which, well, in a way? He totally has. Tommy Kinard is his million dollar ticket.

Great minds, he texts. I was just about to ask you out myself.

Tommy replies back almost instantaneously.

What can I say? My Evan senses were tingling. ;)  

Buck feels his heart leap into his throat just reading the phrase ‘Evan senses.’ (And yeah, okay, maybe he’s still thinking about their last movie night where Tommy introduced him to the Raimi Spider-Man movies and how hot it would be if they could recreate that famous upside down in the rain kiss for themselves. Sue him. He’s only human. Also Tommy would look amazing in spandex.)

He sways in his seat, feeling the way his flush lights up his cheeks pink.

Your Evan senses were right! God I can’t wait to see you. See you soon!

  Drive safe!

  You too!

 LA traffic is LA traffic, but Buck manages to avoid tempting fate by not speeding. Much. He pulls into the parking lot of the ice cream place, brightening even further when he catches sight of Tommy’s truck and the empty space next to it. He pulls in and puts his car in park, all but jumping out of the vehicle at the same time as Tommy starts walking over to him.

“So,” Tommy says as he approaches, “I thought we might have our own little picnic in the bed of my truck.” He briefly gestures to the bed of his truck, where Buck catches a brief glimpse of a red plaid blanket spread out along with a couple of blue pillows. He smiles so wide at the sight, his face aches.

Tommy pulls Buck in close as Buck moves in closer, their lips meeting for a brief yet fierce kiss that steals some of the weight cloistered tightly in Buck’s thoughts. Already, today is starting to feel like not a total waste, just within a few moments of being in Tommy’s presence.

“That sounds amazing,” Buck says, leaning his forehead against Tommy’s. “And exactly what I need right now.” Ice cream and hanging out with Tommy in the back of his truck? He can’t think of anything better right now.

Tommy pulls back a little, eyeing Buck for a moment. “That bad huh?”

Buck huffs out a laugh. “I guess it’s written all over my face but uh. Yeah. Yeah, exactly that bad.”

“You want to talk about it?” Tommy asks, blue eyes as warm as the summer sun and full of understanding. He won’t make Buck talk about it if he doesn’t want to but he is there as a shoulder to lean on if he needs it. God, Buck is so far gone on this man.

“Maybe later,” he admits, and he leans in to steal another kiss just because he can. “After our ice cream picnic? I think I just need to…picnic and chill.” And maybe he winks as he makes that terrible pun, just because he can.

Tommy groans good naturedly but the twitching corners of his lips gives him away, as does the way his nose and entire face scrunches as he watches Buck fondly. Buck beams, always proud to be the one to make Tommy’s face scrunch. He counts that as an essential life skill, one he’s happy to keep perfecting.

“You think you’re so cute,” he says, squeezing his arms around Buck’s waist. Buck drapes his arms around Tommy’s shoulders and hugs him right back.

“I know I’m so cute,” Buck replies, and this time, he leans in to kiss Tommy’s nose.

Tommy kisses him again, this time on the mouth, sweet but lingering. Buck sighs, feeling himself unwind in Tommy’s arms. He could live here, right here, in this space between Tommy’s arms, for eternity.

“Well I can’t argue with someone who is, in fact, that cute,” Tommy says, smiling softly. “And I can’t not treat someone so cute to ice cream. So how about you go get settled in the bed of the truck and I’ll grab the ice cream?”

Buck wants to insist on paying for half; he doesn’t want to burden Tommy. But he’s also learning to accept when Tommy wants to treat him, and he tries to reciprocate where and when he can in his turn. So Buck nods without making a fuss. He’s too drained for any kind of attempt to argue otherwise anyway.

“I think that sounds like a solid plan,” he says. He tilts his head as he tries to figure out what he wants for ice cream. He internally debates with himself for a few moments before he decides on a flavor. Tommy waits patiently, thumbs rubbing circles in the small of Buck’s back all the while.

“Black raspberry with whipped cream and like, extra cherries on top,” Buck says. “Also chocolate sauce, and chocolate sprinkles, in a sugar cone. That’s at least five different food groups right there, for balance.” His face is starting to hurt from how long he’s been smiling but Buck doesn’t care.

Tommy laughs. “For balance, he says,” he shakes his head before leaning into steal another kiss. “God, you’re adorable Evan.”

Tommy’s words warm him like the August sun; he basks in the comfort he finds in the fondness with which Tommy speaks them.

“Well I assume I have to make up for whatever healthy option you’re getting,” Buck teases, sticking his tongue out slightly.

“If by healthy you mean french vanilla, then yeah, you’re not wrong,” Tommy says, chuckling. He leans in to kiss Buck again, and Buck kisses him back a little more teasingly this time.

“I feel like it’s my duty to try and lure you to the dark side of enjoying different flavors of ice cream,” Buck says.

“And how do you suppose you’re going to lure me?” Tommy asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out,” Buck promises, waggling his eyebrows. He kisses Tommy, slow and deep, before pulling back. The sight of Tommy with kiss swollen lips and his bright blue eyes shimmering with promise makes him shiver; Tommy feeds that shiver further by squeezing his hips, beautiful lips curving into a slight smirk.

“I look forward to finding out,” Tommy says, leaning in to steal another kiss. This time, he’s the one who deepens the kiss even further, leaving Buck breathless when they part. He smirks as his gaze lingers on Buck’s lips, which feel as kiss swollen as Tommy’s look. He squeezes Buck’s hips again quickly before backing up and turning to make his way over to get the ice cream. Buck trips over his own feet as he makes his way towards the truck.

Buck climbs into the back of Tommy’s truck and realizes, upon settling down and getting comfortable against the pillows and blanket, that the blanket is the same one from their last movie night together; Buck grew cold and Tommy wrapped both of them up in this same plaid blanket like a burrito. His fingers graze across the softness of the blanket as the memory washes over him like a bubble bath. I love him. Realization catches in his throat.

Buck blinks, startled by the appearance of those words in his thoughts for a moment before the solid truth of them anchors him. I love Tommy.

He brings the hand drifting across the blanket up to his face, pressing it against his own mouth as he huffs out a breath and laughter both. He loves Tommy; that knowledge unfurls in his chest like sunflowers opening themselves up for the sun.

He’s lost deep enough in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear Tommy approach until Tommy is settling in right next to him, their shoulders brushing against one another and sending more warmth through Buck like campfire embers. He turns his head to find Tommy watching him curiously, two ice cream cones in hand.

“Everything okay?” Tommy asks, checking in because he always checks in with Buck, ever since they first met. Buck can’t keep from staring at him like he hung the damn moon because, as far as Buck’s concerned, Tommy is absolutely the one who slotted the moon perfectly into place.

“I love you,” Buck blurts out before he has the chance to second guess himself. He feels himself almost boil from the heat of what he just said out loud; his eyes feel as though they’ve gone as wide as a deer’s.

And Tommy? Well, Tommy stares at Buck with such wonder and awe; the fondness in his gaze makes Buck feel as bright as starlight. Tommy’s entire face could power its own solar system with how he glows as he meets Buck’s gaze.

“Evan,” he breathes out more than speaks, like Buck’s name is a beloved verse of poetry. Buck will never tire of the way Tommy says his name; the way his name comes alive on Tommy’s tongue. He loves this man so damn much.

Tommy leans in and kisses him, slow and deep; hungry, like he doesn’t have ice cream cones in his hand and requires Buck’s lips to live. Buck sighs, reaching out to grasp at the edges of Tommy’s shirt as Tommy pulls back, those blue eyes shining like the Pacific ocean in June. “I love you too.”

Buck laughs as tears lurk in the corners of his eyes. His heart pounds against his chest so loud, he’s certain everyone in the parking lot can hear it. He doesn’t care. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, those two words sounding more like a different pair of words. Buck sways forward into Tommy’s orbit again, leaning in for another kiss.

A sudden, wet coldness lands on his neck as he moves in, and he yelps, like a startled Great Dane. “Oh,” he says, blushing and glancing at the side of his neck where some of the ice cream Tommy still holds has melted into his skin. “Guess I forgot about the ice cream.”

“You and me both,” Tommy admits with a sheepish grin, which turns teasing a moment later. Tommy leans in and licks the drop of ice cream off of Buck’s skin. Buck shivers and laughs.

“You know,” he says, “I could get used to this method of eating ice cream.” He waggles his eyebrows for effect, delighted when Tommy throws his head back and laughs, exposing his beautiful neck that Buck has especially come to appreciate. Tommy looks especially handsome like this, head thrown back in laughter sitting right next to Buck in the back of his truck, enjoying what is turning out to be one of the best summer days Buck’s ever experienced, in spite of the crappy start. As far as Buck’s concerned, today didn’t actually start until just now, when he pulled into the parking lot to meet Tommy for ice cream.

“It would probably help if I gave you your cone,” Tommy says, handing Buck his cone with black raspberry ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, chocolate sprinkles, and extra cherries. Buck happily accepts his ice cream, starting to eat it before it fully melts. It’s only after his first few bites that he really notices Tommy’s ice cream cone which is not, in fact, french vanilla.

“Look at you, branching out!” Buck says around a mouthful of ice cream. “Is that mint chocolate chip?”

“Mint chocolate chip, whipped cream, and extra cherries on top, thank you very much,” Tommy says. He shrugs. “Maybe a certain someone is starting to rub off on me.”

Buck preens. “I’m so proud!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy waves him off, the corners of his mouth twitching. He breaks out into a full smile a second later, unable to help himself.

Buck leans into Tommy, bumping their shoulders together. “We should have a toast,” he murmurs as Tommy leans in to nuzzle against the side of his head. “An ice cream toast!”

“What are we toasting?” Tommy asks, moving to hold out his ice cream cone towards Buck.

Buck scrunches his own face as he considers what exactly he wants to toast. “To being in love and the road ahead,” he decides after a few moments, turning to smile right at Tommy while holding out his cone in turn.

“To being in love and the road ahead,” Tommy repeats with a smile, bumping their cones together. “May the road ahead be long and winding.”

Of course, Buck has to lean in and kiss Tommy for that. So he does.

[momowoah]

Got to liveblog 911 for the first time today so!!! thoughts under read more

They cut the Buck Chris scene :(((( glad we got the stills

Gerrard needs to fucking die omg

BOBBY'S WHAT????????

No retirement pls ;(((((

Oohhhh we got the date already

Liarrrrrrrr

What Kim said to Eddie was so spot on.... 💔💔💔💔

I really like Amir

I can't do this right after Boden the firehouse scenes are killing me STOP STOP

Literally sobbing here I don't think he's really leaving but stopppppp

Buck's face as he waited for Bobby to taste his dish. Son waiting for his father's approval. Tim Minear WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME

IT WASN'T AN EDDIE SCENE THIS IS SO MUCH WORSE I SHOULD'VE BEEN MORE SCARED I KNOW IT'S NOT REALLY A GOODBYE BUT I DON'T WANT THEM TO SAY GOOODBYE

OH WE'RE GETTING KIM NOW????

Idk how to read Buck's reaction. Is he shocked bc she looks like Shannon or bc it's a woman looking for Eddie???? I feel like he only stopped smiling when she said she was there for Eddie but idk ahhhhhhh (DOES SHE LOOK LIKE SHANNON OR NO 911 PLEASE ANSWER)

Oooh confrontationnnnnn

Oooh she does look like Shannon interesting

Not an affair yeah just an emotional one huh

"I'm worried about me too" honestly never thought we'd get that Eddie really has come so far huh 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I loved the whole exchange, it was just perfect for them. Buck worried about him and about what he was doing but not judgmental despite everything 🩷

Ahhhhhh Wilson siblings that was so cute

Yeah Ortiz did it :////// please don't ruin this all of them really deserve this family

Honestly I would've reacted worse. Props to Kim

This is being surprisingly... Not that unhealthy? Eddie opened up, had a real conversation, acknowledged everything. This is going too smoothly why is it going smoothly what's gonna happen this can't be good

ep title drop yessss (past title but still)

I love deep voices Amir should have a permanent role on this show it's just so soothing

I feel bad for him. He was clearly willing to try to help Bobby but seeing all the evidence of the life he never got to find again must hurt.

Mom and dad are fighting :(

Yeah I got the feeling too

Heartbreak was the right word

Yes Hen fight for your family you shouldn't have to but go

Fuck fuck fuck don't hurt Hen GET AWAY she even brought up the musician noooooo

I'm gonna cry again Mara doesn't deserve this

We can't have ONE SECOND of happiness and peace in this fucking show huh

Uhhhhh what??????

What the fuck what the fuck what the actual HELL IS THIS

Girlie wtf I get the intention but what that's fucked up

This is too weird wth

At least he gets a second chance ig?????

Cry counter: 3

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FUCK FUCK THEY JUST WALKED RIGHT IN

Uh Bobby what?

I don't like this episode anymore STOP STOP STOP

Everything is going so fucking wrong fuuuuuuuck

Tim Minear what if I kill myself in front of you. Then what

Fire's real. Fuck

I know it was probably Amir but fuck I didn't want him to do that

At least I don't have to worry abt ppl dying in this show

Well that was certainly an episode. Fuck.

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 6!

Chapter 1.    Chapter 2.    Chapter 3.   Chapter 4.  Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  

Summary: There is a race against the clock.

“I’m getting three– no, four separate explosions across the city,” Oracle said, watching red blips appear across her screen as chatter from her police scanner filled the room.

She listened for a second as more info rolled in from law enforcement. “It’s Firefly.”

“Perfect timing,” Spoiler grumbled.

“Not our priority,” Oracle decided. “Only stop if you see someone in immediate danger. Otherwise, we need everyone in the historical district looking for–”

“N-no,” Dick rasped. “You gotta… help them.”

“That’s what fire departments are for,” Robin countered.

“Oracle.” Dick sounded firm, or at least as firm as he was capable of sounding at the moment.

Oracle ground her teeth, staring at the many blips on the screen, all in fairly densely populated areas. It would take over half an hour for the fire department to respond to all of them, closer to an hour for reinforcements from other precincts to come help. And this was all assuming that Firefly didn’t have anything else planned for the night.

Dick was right. He usually was.

“Red, you assist at The Terrace. Batman, you take the quarry. Spoiler and Robin: the senior center at Fourth and Gerrard. Black Bat, Old Lansing Hotel.”

The group protested until Batman silenced them with a, “Go.”

And Oracle watched and listened as the team scattered across the city. She kept the group line going through the speakers as she opened an individual channel with just her and Dick.

“You there?” she asked.

“Mm…”

“Where are you hurt? Head, punctures?” She already guessed by his general lethargy that he was concussed, but she needed to keep him talking, and the specifics would be helpful in figuring out what to expect when they finally got to him.

“Uh… I– yeah… Yeah.”

“Tell me more. Just tell me what hurts.” She kept her eyes glued to the map of the city and the scrolling transcription from the police scanner. Another blip appeared further from center city; the corresponding transcript was calling it a fire in an abandoned building.

“I…” Dick’s voice slurred and faded.

“Dick?”

No response.

“Dick, come on. Talk to me.”

Nothing.

“Dammit,” she muttered switching back to the group line. “Dick stopped responding. I need–”

“On it.”

It took Oracle a moment to recognize the voice. “Hood?”

_______________

The explosions started barely thirty minutes after Red Robin left, rattling Jason’s entire building. He sprinted from the living room back into his bedroom to get his comm just as Oracle was pinning the blasts on Firefly, and he was on his motorcycle rocketing towards The Terrace when she said Dick was unresponsive.

“Hood?” she asked.

“Just tell me where to go.”

He almost expected her to refuse – it would make sense if they genuinely considered him a person of interest in all of this – but instead she responded with, “Historical district. Is anyone else able to help Hood do a sweep? It’s a lot of ground to cover alone.”

Batman’s voice came through over the sound of something massive and metallic clattering near him. “I’m almost done here.”

“Won’t be for a while,” Red Robin called over the roar of a fire. “There’s a ton of people in here.”

“Same. The blast got like six houses. It’s a mess,” Spoiler panted.

“Soon,” Black Bat said.

“Understood. Hood, I’m gonna try to get you some more information. Stand by.”

“Roger.”

________________

Oracle again switched to just the line with Dick, hoping to minimize any possible interference.

“Dick?” she said. “Dick?”

“M’yeah…?”

She exhaled, pushing stray hairs out of her face. “Stay awake, okay? You gotta stay awake.”

“I’m… I’m awake.”

“Good. Hood’s almost there,” she said, eyes flicking back to the monitor at the single dot speeding away from the heart of the city. “ETA five minutes.”

She wasn’t sure if this was true since once Jason got to there, he would still have the task of figuring out where exactly Dick was, but she figured it was an acceptable lie in the moment.

“Caref– ” He gagged and hacked; the sound made her chest ache.

“Dick?”

“Fire… Bombs…”

Fire?

Oracle’s eyes snapped to the red blip – the one at the abandoned building she’d ignored barely five minutes ago. It was smack in the middle of the historical district.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, blood draining from her face as she pulled up the location. It was at the McConnel House, a long-forgotten colonial home that had once been a tourist trap for history buffs. It looked like first responders had knocked it to the bottom of their priority list just like she had, because not a single fire engine was headed in that direction.

Then Oracle’s brain caught up to the second part of what he’d said. “There are bombs in there with you?” she echoed. “Why didn’t you–”

Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Why’d you tell us to wait?

“How many?” she finished.

There was a brief pause. “Six… crates… No. Eight.”

Oracle cursed. “All right, I’ll let the others know. Just hang in there all right? It’s gonna be okay.”

“’Kay…”

She switched back to the group channel. “The McConnel House. He’s at the McConnel House. It’s on fire and he said–”

Her voice hitched. She cleared her throat. “He said there are bombs in there with him.”

There was a chorus of horrified reactions and Oracle used the quick moment to mute herself and stifle a sob behind her hand.

When she came back on, all she said was, “Hood?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry.”

_________________

Bombs. There were bombs.

Red Hood’s blood ran cold, his breaths shallowed as a voice in the back of his mind begged, Not again.

He had no idea if the bombs were on a timer or if the plan was for the flames to set them off naturally. But even pushing his bike as hard as it could go, it would take him at least a few more minutes to get there. And he knew from personal experience that a few minutes was centuries in these situations. A few minutes meant life or death.

He might not get there in time.

He had to get there in time.

Jason put a finger to the side of his helmet. “You there, Dick?”

“Uh-huh…”

Jesus. He sounded terrible. But hearing his voice at all right now felt like a small miracle.

“Good,” Hood said, forcing some semblance of levity into his voice. “Just making sure you’re not taking a beauty nap in there. You better be ready when I get there to spring you.”

“You… kidding? I’m packed and… everything.”

Hood laughed, buoyed somewhat by Dick’s ability to make jokes, even now. Part of him wondered if Dick was doing this for Hood’s sake the same way Hood was trying to keep things light for him.

It would be a very Golden Boy thing to do.

“This isn’t it,” Hood said, as much to Dick as to himself. “You know that, right? I’m getting you out of there.”

“Right… ‘cause of the…” – Dick coughed and groaned – “…nieces and nephews, right?”

At that, Hood found himself smiling in earnest. It was something they’d talked about months ago – a casual exchange in the Batcave after a run-in with Mr. Freeze left them both shivering beneath heated blankets as they waited for their core temperatures to get back within a safe range. The conversation had begun with whether or not Jason would ever adopt a puppy and somehow transformed into a broader discussion of the future.

“I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of stuff,” Jason said through chattering teeth.

“I don’t talk about it much.”

“So kids, wife, the whole thing?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Even half-frozen, a faint blush came over Dick’s face, coloring his ears as he fought a small smile.

“Hm.” Jason felt himself grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just– ‘Jason Jr.’ Kinda like the sound of that.”

“That’s not how names work.”

“Damn right,” Hood agreed now, bringing himself back to the present. “You and O owe me some kids to corrupt. Who else is gonna teach Jason Jr. how to shoot a gun?”

Dick choked out a low laugh. “That’s not how… names work,” he said, echoing the earlier conversation.

“All right then. Just Jason.”

There was a short pause, and Hood felt a twinge of panic until finally Dick said, “Hood…”

And something about the tone in his voice, at once resigned and defeated, made Hood decide instantly that he did not want to hear the rest of that sentence. Not now or ever.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he broke in. “Two minutes.”

Sunlight was spilling over the rooftops and onto the streets now. Shop owners were sweeping their stoops, flipping their signs from “Closed” to “Open.” The quiet tedium of it all clashed almost hilariously with the current situation.

Another painful silence stretched out between them, so long that Hood was almost certain that Dick has passed out, before the older boy finally said, “I trust you.”

[chasestephan-blog1]

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[tiny-maus-boots]

Wild West AU pt 20

A/N: This one was a little bit longer of a ride. But alas we’ve come to the end of this fic. Thanks dear readers for taking the time to like, kudo, and comment. You’re appreciated.

A/N 2: the biggest of huggest of thanks to my bestie and beta @chloes-yellow-cup because she puts up with a lot of bullshittery from me. And she does the thing with ao3 because I’m lame and refuse to. ilyan

Chloe

“Tell me again why we’re letting her do this?”

Beca huffed and kicked at a loose stone, one hand wrapped tightly around the reins of her horse. Chloe shifted in her saddle and shook her head. They both looked at Stacie who was leaning against a tree watching as Aubrey made her way on to her family’s property. Stacie hadn’t let Aubrey out of her sight since they’d all come back from Penitence. Aubrey was still weak and healing, it was too soon for her to make a trip to back to her family estate but the blonde had been adamant about bringing her brother’s body home for burial. She and Beca had expected Stacie to argue but the tall brunette had simply sighed and nodded her acquiescence.

So they had made the journey together, taking ways less common to get there. It hadn’t been the worst thing for them since most of the people looking expected them to be heading south not east from Texas. It gave them a chance to move a little slower so Aubrey could rest as much as possible which was a bonus she supposed but the whole idea hadn’t set right with Chloe.  Gerrard Posen would not take kindly to Aubrey riding up, much less with her brother’s body in tow.

Stacie turned her head slowly toward them, eyes filled with something dark and heavy. “She’s gotta do this. Bree’s gotta close the book on this part of her life because we ain’t never coming back here again.” Stacie turned back just in time to see Aubrey slide slowly from her saddle but glanced away again as if it hurt to watch. “Least let her say goodbye to her momma.”

Beca snorted at that and threw her hands up in the air. “Eunice can rot in Hell right alongside her devil son.”

Chloe had to clear her throat so she wouldn’t laugh because it wasn’t really funny. Aubrey’s mother had sat by idly while Gerrard had beaten and tortured the blonde on a daily basis. She’d said nothing when Avery had done unspeakable things to his sister, and agreed when Gerrard placed the blame squarely on Aubrey’s shoulders. Truth be told she would have liked to put a bullet in both their heads but she knew agreeing with Beca now would only make her mate ride off after their friend and that wasn’t how it should all play out. “Easy there, Cowgirl. She can handle herself ya know.”

Beca gave her a look and jerked her chin at Chloe’s horse. “Yeah? Then why are you still sitting on that damn Army nag ready to charge down the hill after her?”

It was a point she hadn’t wanted to concede but knew it was the truth. She was just as anxiously waiting for some sign or signal that Aubrey needed them. Chloe opened her mouth to say something but closed it with a click and shrugged. “Because.”

“Because where one goes, we all go. That’s the rule.” Beca turned at Stacie’s rough and strained voice but the taller woman wasn’t looking at either of them. She had her eyes trained to the door of the big plantation manor waiting for the first sight of Aubrey. “And the last time we split it all went to shit and we almost lost…” She stopped and took a deep breath. “It was almost real bad. No one’s sayin’ we can’t have strong opinions on this, we just gotta respect her enough to let her do what she’s gotta do.”

Beca gave a deep sigh but nodded and Chloe dismounted to come around behind her. She slid her arms around Beca’s middle and pulled her back against her chest, chin resting on the brunette’s shoulder. The smaller woman instantly relaxed into her with another sigh, this one much quieter and more resigned to letting things happen.

“I know Bec, I hate her being there with them too.”

Beca nodded, her hands trailing over Chloe’s arms around her. “Think we’d know if something happened?”

The words were hardly out of Beca’s mouth when two shots rang out and echoed up to them. Stacie’s shoulders went stiff for a bare second before she was leaping to Rowdy’s back and pulling him around to the road. Chloe gave Beca a small squeeze before they broke apart, each scrambling to get mounted as quickly as they could. They were halfway to the property line when a familiar figure stepped out onto the verandah. Chloe pulled back the reins and slowed when Aubrey dipped her head and settled her Stetson on top. They were too far to see the expression on her face but Aubrey had come out of the house alone and was slowly climbing back into the saddle with only a glance back at the wagon that held Avery’s coffin.

 Aubrey

“You sure you don’t want us to go with you?”

Aubrey gave a tight lipped smile as she buckled the leather traces on her horse leading the wagon. She did want them to go with her but that was precisely why they could not. All it would take would be for one person to see them all there together and the law would be after them all over again. She patted the big gray on the neck before turning to face her family. Her real family. Not the empty, cold people that had raised her.

“I have to go alone Beca.”

“Do you?”

They had been arguing it for three days now but she understood why her friend couldn’t let it go. Aubrey took a settling breath and limped slowly to the side of the wagon to look at the coffin. Avery was already starting to smell and flies were zinging around the crude wooden box that held his body. Of all of them Beca was the most vocal about her displeasure but Aubrey was not at all fooled by Chloe and Stacie choosing to remain quiet. She knew they would rather be with her than not.

“I do. I don’t expect you to understand, I’m not sure I rightly do myself, but I need to take him home. I need to answer for his end.”

Stacie looked up and then away and she knew that the brunette was thinking Aubrey had nothing to answer for because she hadn’t been the one to murder Avery. But Aubrey would have. If she could have held a gun in her hands she would have shot her only brother dead in the dirt. Had even told Stacie to kill him outright, a thing she only partially regretted.

Avery’s life and death were increasingly heavy weights upon her back and she was ready to leave it all to her father. Let him bear the burden of all those years of pain and suffering, let him struggle with the knowledge that his legacy was no more.

“I get that you think you have something to say but…you can’t say it from the end of your rifle? From way out here?” The plea in Beca’s voice was heartbreaking but she couldn’t let it keep her from what needed to be done. The shorter woman must have realized that it was no use because she rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Okay. Fine. I understand that you have to finish this. Just…don’t let it finish you. Okay?”

Aubrey chuckled and gave a slight nod, surprised when Beca leaned into the undamaged side of her body for a brief hug. She was released quickly and Beca moved off with a sniff that was more telling than any argument she could have made. Honestly she had expected more of a fight from Chloe but her best friend remained quiet, choosing instead to hold Roan steady while Stacie helped her get mounted. It was difficult with her leg gone stiff from her injury and her arm in a sling but she made it up alright.

Stacie let her hand linger on Aubrey’s calf, its warm weight reassuring and comforting. There were a lot of things she wanted to say to Stacie but none she had the words for. It didn’t much matter, the gentle squeeze of assurance and playful wink let her know that Stacie knew exactly why she was doing what she was doing.

“We’ll be waiting on ya, darlin’.”

It was so little, just a single sentence really, but it meant so much. Aubrey touched the brim of her hat and gave a short nod of her head. Stacie chuckled softly and stepped back to let her go. She tapped her heels into Roan’s flanks and he surged forward, pulling the trail pup cart behind him.

Taking the long dirt track up to the main house gave her a strange feeling. It was like putting on a familiar coat and finding it two sizes too small. The closer she got the more tightly constricted she felt until her breathing came in short and shallow pants. Aubrey hesitated for a moment as she passed under the wide arch and continued up the path to the manor.

It was mildly startling when she realized that she hated this place. Hated everything about it from the large white house to everything it represented. She hated the proudly hung confederate flags. She hated her brother and the feeling of dread that came along with his presence, dead or alive. And most importantly she hated her father. A man who sowed cruelty, fear and hate while pretending to be a pious man of principle.

Roan snorted and tossed his head as he slowed and finally stopped, drawing her out of the turmoil of her thoughts. The shadow of the house seemed to grow, reaching further out to cover her almost as if it wanted to claim her. She hooked the knotted reins on the horn of her saddle and carefully swung her leg over, using her good arm to balance as she gripped the horn tightly and eased herself down.

“Miss Aubrey? Lord….wait. Let me help you.”

Strong hands steadied and guided her gently to the ground and she turned to see a familiar smiling face. “Thank you Josiah.” She smiled as she took a step back to take him all in. “You sure have grown tall like your daddy. Last time I was here…”

“I was knee high to a pony.” His deep rumble of a laugh was infectious and she chuckled too. “It sure has been a long time Miss Aubrey. None of us thought we’d ever see you here again. You traded in your pretty Sunday dresses for cold steel instead I see.”

Her smile faded and she gave a slow nod. “I have found that I am more likely to be heard if people think I might be willing to shoot them.”

Josiah gave her a deep laugh and nodded. It was a nice sound and he looked so much like his father Big John. Josiah’s family had labored hard under her father’s ownership and when the Confederacy fell they chose to stay on as sharecroppers and hired help. Despite the way she felt about being back there, she was glad to see the young boy she had known, grown into a man.

“Yes ma’am I do believe that does make one memorable conversation starter. Can I stable your horse?”

She thought about it and shook her head. “No, thank you. Just unhitch him for me. I reckon I won’t be long. I’m just here to bring my brother home.”

He blinked at her then turned surprised eyes to the cart, finally taking in the coffin laying in the bed of it. Josiah let out a breath and turned back to her, his face a careful emotionless mask. “Is that Mister Avery?”

Aubrey gave a curt nod and hooked her thumb in gun belt as she glanced at the box. “It is. I’m sure Father will want to see him buried with the family.” She took a breath and started to walk up to the front steps. Josiah’s low voice rumbled out and she looked over her shoulder at him.

“I’m sorry for your loss Miss Aubrey.”

She gave him a slow nod of acknowledgement and sighed. “Thank you, Josiah.” Aubrey turned back to the large heavy door steeled herself to reach out and open it but the knob twisted and the door swung in before she could do it herself. Aubrey brought her head up and met her mother’s honey brown eyes. “Hello Mother.”

There was a moment when she was sure her mother would slam the door in her face. In the back of her mind she had hoped that she would. It would make leaving all the easier, her duty was done, she’d brought Avery home and now she could leave. But her mother stepped out onto the verandah and flung herself against Aubrey’s body, squeezing her tightly. She groaned softly as her shoulder protested the pressure but she didn’t dare let go. “Oh Aubrey….oh my Lord. You’re alive.”

Tears welled up but she cleared her throat and stepped back. How she wished that her mother had shown even one half of that much affection for her growing up. Of course she knew her mother could never stand up to her father, she was weak and dependent on him and Aubrey could not fault her for that. But it didn’t mean she hadn’t longed for the comfort and love of a mother when she had been hurt so badly. Her mother’s fingers traced over the scar on her face and Aubrey jerked her head away roughly.

“You!” The door swung open wider and her father’s broad shoulder’s filled the space. His green eyes, the same shade as her own, burned with hate at the very sight of her. It was expected and yet it was like taking a kick to the gut. “What are you doing here? You ungrateful…”

“Avery’s dead.” It had stopped his rant before it even began and he searched for the lie in her eyes. There was none and she met his gaze evenly, waiting for him to accept the truth of it. Her father backed into the house, shock making his jaw go slack and his steps seem brittle and unsteady. Her mother balled fists in Aubrey’s shirt and gave her a shake as if that would make it any less true. “I’m sorry mother. I’ve brought his body home.”

Her mother turned to look at the cart sitting not ten feet away and gasped out a sob. She turned and fled into the house to cling to Aubrey’s father for comfort of which he had little to spare. But he held her and rocked her soothingly as silent sobs shook his own body. It was not the loss of her brother than brought Aubrey pain. It was the knowledge that on her passing there would be no such show of grief or tenderness of her memory.

Aubrey settled her shoulders and limped into the house, shutting the door behind her. She swept her hat off her head, letting her golden locks fall to her shoulders. The blonde placed her hat on the round table in the foyer and looked around, taking in every detail and noting that nothing had changed in the slightest.

“How….how did it happen?”

She turned her head toward her father and raised a brow. “He picked a fight with the wrong outlaw and her wife took exception.” It fell heavy as a stone between them, her sobbing mother oblivious to her words or their meaning. But her father was not. His sharp gaze cut to her and she nodded once in confirmation of what he was silently asking. Yes. He had been coming after Aubrey herself.

“You killed my boy? You murdered your own blood?” Rage filled his eyes and he shoved her mother away roughly, the bit of warm compassion evaporating under the burning heat of hate. “I should have killed you when you were a child. Drowned you in the river…” He advanced on her in two steps but her gun was in her hand and cocked before the third step fell.

“I did not kill him, though I would have. Your boy? Your boy was nothing more than a bully and tormentor.” She hadn’t wanted it to come to this but she had known she might need to defend herself, had mentally prepared for it because the house was not the only thing that remained unchanged. He had never loved her, or even liked her before, and now that she was the cause of Avery’s death he loathed her.

“And you are nothing more than a thief and a whore.” Her mother gave a sharp sob but she didn’t argue it and she didn’t get up from her place on the floor where she had been cast off. She wanted to be angry but she couldn’t muster it. She was just too tired of the oppressive weight to living in Gerrard Posen’s mighty shadow. “You may walk out of this house, girl, but I will have the law after you. And the Devil will take you to his bosom when they hang you from your neck. You are a curse and a blight upon the name of Posen.”

Aubrey’s chuckle was soft and he glared at her audacity in mocking him. “He may very well do that, I’ll send your son my regards when I get there.”

It was too much for him and he roared, intending to rush her and take her to the ground. She had no doubt he would choke the life from her if he managed to get his meaty hands around her throat. He’d done it once before only stopping when a fire had sparked in the fields. A fire she suspected was started by Josiah’s father, Big John. Aubrey didn’t wait to find out if she was right or not, she pulled the trigger and shot into the ground at his feet as a warning.

Her mother screamed and covered her ears with her hands. Her father paused only a moment before he continued to lunge. It felt like she had all the time in the world to bring her gun up and aim at his chest. She was already thumbing back the hammer but the soft click was no more a deterrent than the warning shot she had just fired. She thought she would be sad or broken about pulling the trigger a second time. She thought that she would feel….something from taking his life, but she felt nothing at all. Her mother gave another scream and finally lifted from her place on the floor to run to her husband’s side.

“What have you done Aubrey?! What have you done??”

The barrel of her still smoking gun dipped and she wearily holstered it with a shake of her head. “I showed a mercy that was never shown to me.” She opened the door and snagged her hat off the table, sparing one last glance at the house she once called home and the woman she once called mother. “I didn’t come here to kill him, but I’m not sad he’s dead.”

Aubrey stepped out on to the porch and settled her hat on her head. Josiah was staring at her, one hand on Roan’s neck idly stroking. The flutter of red caught her attention and Aubrey’s lip curled in disgust. Anger finally broke through her apathy and she reached up to tear down the confederate flag, balling it and tossing it in the dirt as she made her way down the steps.

“Are you alright Miss Aubrey?”

She didn’t rightly know. But she wasn’t going to sit around there figuring it out. Aubrey strode purposefully to her horse and Josiah cautiously helped her climb up into the saddle. “I will be but Gerrard will not. Best call the doctor up here…and Josiah? Burn that garbage and any other rebel banner you find.”

He gave a slow nod and looked toward the door to the house. “I saw you go north.”

She gave the reins a tug to turn Roan around and raised a brow in question. “What?”

“When they come for you….I saw you leave north.”

He reached up a hand and Aubrey clasped it in hers, understanding fully what he meant. “You’re a good man Josiah, may God bless you.”

Hooves thundered down the path and she smiled as her family rode up to meet her. Josiah ducked his head and smiled up at her. “Where will you really go?”

“Where ever they go, I go.” Aubrey clicked her tongue and Roan trotted forward leaving the weight of her past behind her with every step.  

[letsjamesbrigdenthings-blog]

Session 3

Session 3.

This was postponed initial due to Jason’s other work commitments. During the interviewing I discovered two major things one was peoples did not yet trust me and so their disclosures where samey and often dull. Two some of the interviews where too contravortial. Both these led to huge moral panic and questioning. Then I had the idea of The Procrastinarium a series of small interactive sideshows which open up an audiences creativity. I talked the idea through with Bella who had expressed a desire to work with me but not on Queen’s in Search of a Country.

Initially we thought big. After our Month travelling to Croatia, Norwich, Newcastle and Hull we met several artists and took part in various workshops. Two experiences that changed the way I understood my ideas where:

The Baltic exhibition of the artist Roddy Graham. http://www.balticmill.com/whats-on/rodney-graham I believe this interest came in the curation rather than the content. The Spaces in which his work occupied moved between invasive picture spaces to chilled out record listening areas. This and the breathed of his work excited me. There was also something in the way he showcased the everyday in big fascinating cinematic ways.

The other experience that changed things up was the workshop led by Stephen Mottram on The Logic of Movement.

I have been a fan of Mottram's work since he attended the Beveley Puppet Festival in 2008 with The Seed Carriers. His latest show The Parachute is my least favourite  of his work but its simplicity and beauty appealed to me greatly when we witnessed it at The Moving Parts Festival. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f-i8ReV5EU8 

The shift of audience perspective is what we need to procrastinate effectively.

The initial ideas which needed scaling down and working on were:

The Procrastinarium!

Picture blowing up!

Using phones, trace image. Place traced image under tracing projector. Re-trace enlarged image.

Shadow puppetry!

Using paper cut techniques, using floaty materials, using gels.

Mask!

Trans mask and Full mask using the work of Steve Gerrard, Mark Pitman and Le Coq. Masks have simple expressions. Play against the mask. Game of guess the mask by endowments.

Bunraku puppets!

Simple rag puppets/torch puppets. explore the techniques used by Stephen Mottram in Logic of Movement. Weight, tempo, breath, transference.

Black out poetry!

Use junk mail letters creatively. Use old text creatively.

Marionettes!

Weight/tempo.

Primitive portraits!

By Bella to entice.

Scrap instruments.

A sound sculpture using pipes tuned to complimentary keys. Using gamelan techniques.

We told Jason and Ellie about this project they where very excited. Then we told the module leader and we were told it was not possible. Perhaps the ideas where too big. Perhaps the ideas where not heard fully. Regardless we where told by the module leader to work in a black box space. So we decided to do a play. Again it focussed on our over arching theme of home. Dislocation and home.

Here is the script:

Anne to camera.

It was cold. I was lost. I was cheery. My mother put me in a bluey green dress.

It was plain not patterned It brought light into my eyes. She said I must wait. I didn’t know what for.

Perhaps until it was good again.

She said I was beautiful and that I danced across her dreams every night. She said it was wrong. She said she should keep me safe in sleep not the other way round.

I was scared of the dark but it crept in. She tried to keep me away from it the best she could. Her feet where tangled. She stopped being. She was not near. I stopped being before the music started.

George: There’s a load of crap in these bags. Where do... What even is this? Ann: It’s a hat pin George. George: A hat pin? Ann: Yes. A pin for a hat.

George: Well do we sell Hat pins?

Ann: Yes. George: It’s pretty I suppose. Ann: Put it with the earrings. George: How much shall I put it out for? Fifty p? Ann: No. It’s beautiful. You can’t put it out for fifty p. Do it for one fifty. George: One forty nine. It is a charity shop after all. Not a vintage boutique. Ann: You’re funny.

George: What do you mean? Ann: When it comes to pricing. You always knock a penny off. George: Its psychology. You’re more likely to buy... I dunno its some bollocks I read once. Ann: Lalalalaala George: What? Ann: LaALALALA

George: Cut it out. Ann: I won’t listen if you keep swearing. George: Bollocks int swearing Ann: Lalalalala George: Fuck on the other hand. Ann: Laalalalalalaal George: Alright I won’t. Why don’t you like swearing anyway? Ann: Elsie Never swore. Told me it was bad. George: Oh. Yeah my Gran was the same. Still I bet she swore when you weren’t listening. Ann: No. Never. I was always there you see. George: Always? Ann: Yes. George: Even on the loo?

Ann: No... Not often. George: I bet she spoke like an Irishman’s .... when you weren’t there. Ann: No. George: I bet she did. Ann: She wouldn’t. Her dad was a sailor. George: There you go. Or was he whiter than white too? Ann: No. She didn’t like her dad.

George: Same. Look at all this tat. Hey there’s some records here. The Picture of Dorian Gray read by Hurd Hatfield. Bobby and Betty go to the Moon. Olivia Newton John Physical workout shred........ David Whitfield...

Ann: Caramia. George: Yeah. Hell you’ve got good eyesight. Read that right through me. Ann: It was Elsie’s favourite. Put it on. George: No.

Ann: Put it on.

George: We’ve not got a record player.

Ann: On your phone then.

George: I’ve not got any data.

Ann: Use the Cafe s wifi next door. That’s what you use when you go to look at those dirty videos in the loo.

George: I don’t. Ann: You do.

George: I don’t... I am signed in though because I had to send an email to...You’ve not told Mrs Foziard about that have you?

Ann: Don’t be daft. To her I’m a puppet. Remember. She’d have a triple bypass if I started telling her what you get up to in the loos.

George: How do you know?

Ann: Because you always have a wet patch on your shirt where you’ve been trying to clean your... excrement off. Don’t worry its perfectly natural.

George: Well I can’t do it at the hostel. Ann: You’re avoiding the subject George. George: I’m just surprised at your sleuth. Ann: Put Caramia on by David Whitfield. George: Alright. How do you spell Caramia? Is it with a c or a k? Ann: It’s on the record. C.

George: Oh yeah. Here it is.

Caramia Ann: That’s it. I’m back there. George: Where? Ann: With Elsie. I was so happy. George: It’s not th... Ann: Shush. I’m listening. That’s the Manitoni orchestra.

George: I thought that was a soup. Ann: Manitoni. Not Minestrone. George: It was a joke. Ann: Shush. I love that choir. George: Sounds like Disney.

Ann: That’s the point. I was Elsie’s fairytale. Hey what’s happened? Why’s it stopped? George: Buffering. And. And.And we’re back. Eh cheer up. It’s back on. Ann: I miss her so much. George I never wanted her to go. I wanted to go with her. George: Did she make you?

Ann: Yes.

George: Did she make any other puppets? Ann: No. I don’t like that word. Elsie made me because she had to. She... got pregnant.

unmarried to a polish man. He was left over from the war. Her father went mad. Her mother understood. She met him whilst working at the YMCA. She never told me his name. Wouldn’t speak it. He left. Went back to Poland the day after she told him she was having his child. He didn’t believe her accused her of all... he wasn’t very nice. Perhaps he was scared. It didn’t matter Elsie was alone. Her mother persuaded her father to let her stay in the house as long as she gave up the child when it was born.

George: What did she do? Ann: Exactly that. She called the child Clive. George: Why aren’t you a boy?

Ann: She wanted to make me like him but it was too painful. When she was pregnant she thought she was having a girl. She thought if she had a girl then her father would find it harder to send it away.

George: Did she find him? Ann: No. Never looked. I was all she needed. She always said... George: So he’s still out there?

Ann: I don’t know. He never got in touch. She gave him away after a week. I think that was what hurt the most. Her mother was doing her best trying to persuade her dad to let her

keep him but he wasn’t having any of it. She stalled him for a week but that week was a limbo. Like waiting to be sold.

George: Don’t be daft you’ll be bought by a nice kid. You’ll go to a good home.

Ann: I’ll get discarded after a year or two. Elsie never treated me like a toy. I was her child. So a week after his birth a couple from Shropshire, friends of Elsie’s dad came and got him. Never spoke of again until after the father died. When Elsie gave Clive up her and her mum and dad moved up here. Practically straight away.

George: hmmm Ann: Get away from... Anyway about a month after Elsie made me. George: Did She have any other Boyfriends? Ann: No. George: What never? She wasn’t a lesbian was she? Ann: No. just didn’t want the trouble. George: She must have had urges. Ann: No.

George: How do you know?

Ann: She was with me all the time. She would have told me. She lived with her parents her dad died. Her mum carried on for a while after then it was just me and her. until about a year ago when her cousin Karen heard she was ill and then she started hovering round. She never liked Elsie much. I tried to tell her but she wouldn’t have any of it.

George: After her money?

Ann: Why else would she bother appearing. Still her sons moved Elsie’s bed downstairs for her. But Karen kept putting me back upstairs when Elsie wasn’t looking. My house was upstairs but Elsie wanted me to be with her.

George: What happened at the end?

Ann: Nothing really just age. She was ninety two. George: Crikey. Ann: Things just went down hill for her. She was fiercely independent. She was a teacher. George: I hate teachers. Self righteous little....

Ann: Not Elsie. You would have loved Elsie. She taught in a special needs school. She was always their favourite. She used to take me in with her but I was too shy to talk. But in her last year she stopped driving when her car failed it’s MOT and she stopped going out. She

had a couple of falls. It was all very civilised. There was no grand deathbed scene. The doctors told her not to go up stairs anymore and the house wasn’t suitable for a stairlift but she’d sneak up to talk to me every night. Then of course the neighbours who knew of Elise’s problems saw the lights on upstairs and called Karen to come over. Elsie of course denied going up the stairs but.... She could be tricky like that when she wanted to be.

George: I’ve got to....

Ann: Get off?

George: No. I would never wank after you told me that stuff. I mean I will eventually but not straight away. I’ll leave it an hour at least. I might try one in the bus station toilets or on the back seat..... Oh god I see what you mean. Yes I’ve got to get off home now. Well not home but the hostel yes I...

Ann: Can you kiss me? George: What?

Ann: Will you kiss me? George:......................... Where? Ann: Here. George: bue...eee.....errrr. I it might be a bit.... Ann: Fine. George:(Kisses on forehead and bolts out the door) Must... Ann: Get off now? George: Miss me bus....

Ann to camera.

Train rides to the seaside where always fun. Me and Mum in Kiss me Quick hats. Dipping our toes in the freezing cold Irish Sea. The donkey rides.

Sleeping on the way home. Ice cream dripping on me.

Ann: So your mum’s been married four times? Is that right?

George: Yeah. Every one of them a total... Ann: Have any of them died?

George: Not that I know of. They didn’t when they were with her. I thought the stress might have got Barry. He was hubby number two. He was with her when I was six. Right little terror I was. He was sweet really... Posh car. He had a big house an all. On Vicky Dock. He used to drive us round all over. Peugeot something... I’ve never been one for cars me. He had a good job too. Worked for council. Something big in housing. He sorted us a nice flat. We jumped the waiting list. He had a dog too.

Ann: What kind? George: Chow. Ann: Auf Wiedersen. George: No a Chow. Ann: I know, I’m only messing. George: How do you know about dog breeds? Ann: I live in a charity shop. There’s always books on looking after dogs. Never ones on

looking after people but always ones on dogs.

George: Dogs come first see. That’s part of the reason why my mum gave him the elbow. That and... well he wasn’t very bothered about the other.

Ann: What other? George: You know S.E.X.. Ann: Oh.

George: He lived with his mother til he was thirty five. I hope I don’t end up like that. No I’d have killed her by then. I’d make it look like it was an accident. She tripped on a butty and slipped out of the window. When his mother died he thought a dog would make him feel better then he got me mother and lumbered with me. My mother is a very loud and

very active shagger. Barry was well a bit limp and a bit of a lump. A limp lump. She was wasted on him he wanted a domestic godess and he got a nymphomaniac who just wanted a bigger council flat. She couldn’t even make toast on a grill.

Ann: What about your dad?

George: Dunno. I’ve never met him. I’ve heard so many things about him... He was in a band. He shot an old lady for a fiver to get a bag of chips. He was in the circus as a freak act and escaped met my mum in Taveners married her the next day and got captured back into the circus. He worked on pylons. He’s from Cleethorpes.

Ann: Don’t you want to find him?

George: Not if any of that stuff is true. Husband number three was called Cliff! He was a kid really. Started seeing my mum when he was 16. His mam was my mum’s, cousin’s best friend’s sister so it was sort of incest. He used to have his hair spiked up like... he hated me. I was only about seven years younger than him. He used to sit outside the flat for hours in his car. It was bright yellow. He played Agadoo on repeat really loud. I think he must have been on something. Perhaps he was remembering happier times... I felt sorry for him but he was a weirdo.

Ann: What happened to him? George: Well he was up a ladder on a church roof. And he fell. Ann: ouch.

George: He knackered his back. Tried to get compensation but the church accused him of trying to nick their lead. Apparently he didn’t have permission to be up there. He said he was putting it back after he found it dumped by the roadside.

Ann: Did your mum believe him? George: No. None of us did.

Ann: Good. Stealing is bad. I’m glad your mum left him over dishonesty.

George: Oh no she wasn’t bothered about that. His back meant he couldn’t give her the other...

Ann: S.E.X.?

George: Exactly. For four months so she started getting it off Derek. He’s her latest squeeze. He is the most boring bastard I have ever met. He’s an ugly...

Ann: George! Be mice and don’t swear.

George: He’s an ugly git as well. He wears the same vest everyday and sits around in his boxers picking out... I don’t know what, from in between his toes, whiskers and bum crack. He puts a little pile of dead skin and fluff on the arm of his chair.

Ann: Disgusting. George: I know. Apparently he’s magic at the other. Ann: S.E.X.?

George: Yes. I could hear them every night. He gets disability for his sciatica. If the DWP could hear what he does to my mother with his problem I bet they’d deem him fit for work. He kicked me out.

Ann: Why?

George: He says he’s spiritual. Supposed to be a shaman or something, calls himself Four Ferrets. He retrieves people’s souls. He’s got my mum well hooked into it. He believes I’m full of bad spirits. Possessed...

Ann: By what?

George: An owl. Apparently an owl’s energy is not compatible with a ferret’s. So I was kicked out.

Ann: Didn’t your mum stop him? George: No. Men come first. Ann: That’s awful. George: No it’s not. I went to live with my Gran. She was sick. Ann: Oh.

George: Sick cool. Not sick dying. I mean she ended up sick dying. But when I first moved in she was just sick cool.

Ann: Is that why you’re in the hostel?

George: Yeah. She died and all the family wanted to get through all her stuff and sell it and... I mean it was a rented place too so they had to do it quick like. I got a box of it. But she was sweet. Used to smoke in bed. It was like a jungle her bedroom. She thought by having plants all around her bed it would swap the air for oxygen so the smoking wouldn’t be bad for her. It didn’t work.

Ann: I’m sorry.

George: Me too. She was lovely. She always gave me toffees in golden wrappers as a child and I’d suck on them for hours. And she used to put sugar in my lemonade to make it fizz up over the surface. She was the best friend I ever had. I wish I’d moved in sooner. It was awful at the end. She was in a hospice. The relatives had already started sorting out her stuff so I was the only one with her when it happened. Within seconds she was cold and stiff and I was crying. They’re used to it in the hospice. They were very kind. They took me away and gave me a chocolate hob knob or was it a ginger nut? I can’t remember funny what stays

and what doesn’t. I thought I’d remember that biscuit forever. I do remember it had fluff on it though. Come out of the jar. The jar was sticky.

George: Ann? Ann: Yes George. George: I’ve got you something. Ann: Really?

George: A present. Ann: You hid it from me all day? George: Yeah. I couldn’t give you it in front of the customers. Or Mrs Foziard. Ann: You haven't stolen it have you? George: No. It was in a box of my Gran’s things. Do you want it? Ann: Yeah. George: I wrapped it up and everything. The wrapping paper I nicked though. Ann: George.

George: Just kidding. It’s recycled. It was this kids birthday in the hostel and he had some presents. Anyway I got the paper out of the bin. There’s a bit of a stain on it. I think it’s pizza grease. At first I thought it was that stuff they put on condoms... Spermicide. But I’m pretty sure they don’t make tomato flavoured johnnies yet.

Ann: Thanks. I can’t open it...Felt hands you see. George: Oh yeah... Didn’t think of that...crap...er what shall we do then?

Ann: You could open it? George: Oh yeah. Good idea..... See... Ann: It’s beautiful. George: Its a mandolin. An Ann sized mandolin. Ann: An Anndolin. George: It’s a music box too. Listen. I just wind it up. Like I wind you up and.... See. Ann: Its amazing George... You’re sure it’s not stolen? George: Yes. What do you...

Ann: I know. It’s just you...

George: I know. But I’ve changed. It was my gran’s. She used to have it on her sideboard. On a doily. Brought it back from Spain or somewhere. Her first holiday after my Grandad died. She met a waiter called Og. He had jet black hair and a carpet on his chest. I think he gave it to her on their last night. HA I still don’t know how she got the mandolin. Get it? Eh?

Ann: It’s not funny. George: Okay. Anyway I used to dance around for hours with it. I used to love the tune.

Hmm Hmmm hmmm hmm mmmm. Ann: Do you play any instruments? George: Not reall... Well guitar... a bit. Ann: There’s one over there. Play it. George: No.

Ann: Go on. George: I don’t. Ann: You just said you did. George: Well I did. But I don’t play in front of people. Ann: Do puppets count? George:..... I thought you didn’t like that term? Ann: When it suits. Just play it George. George: I just used to play at my gran’s when no one was in. She was practically deaf

anyway. Oh go on then. WHOLE WIDE WORLD Ann: Did you write it yourself? George: I wish... It’s simple enough. Ann: It’s beautifully simple. George: Ha... It’s Wreckless Eric. Ann: Who?

George: Just this singer from the... Seventies? It’s my mum’s favourite. She had it at all four of her weddings. First dance and everything. I thought If I played it to her she’d stop going off with wankers.

Ann: George George: Fooking piss. Ann: George! George: What?

Ann: Don’t swear.... Mustn’t... Shouldn’t swear theres no need. George: Sorry. It’s just... I like it. Ann: Like what? George: Swearing. Course.

Ann: It’s stupid.

George: It makes me feel... Try it.

Ann: No. I don’....

George: Go on. Just F. just once.

Ann: No.

George: You'll like it.

Ann: Well I don’t like it. If you swear again I won’t speak to you. In fact I’ll die... And stay dead.

George: You’re not alive anyway. You're just a puppet...

Ann: George. George: Or a doll. I forget wh.... Ann: George, I am.... I have never been so insulted in.... George: You want to get out more. Ann: Take it back George. You're really horrid when you want to be.

George: Look Ann I can just walk away. Anytime I like. Just cash up and walk out of this dump and never see you again. You couldn’t follow me.

Ann: I could.

George: How?

Ann: I wouldn’t want to after what you said to me. But I could if I wanted.

George: How? How could you follow me? You’ve got no legs. You're a flipping puppet.

Ann: George!... If I wanted to follow you I would persuade your mum to buy me and then I’d come home with you and you’d be stuck with me.

George: Persuade my mum to buy you? She wouldn’t buy you in a million Sundays. What

would she want with a grubby old doll? Ann: Fuck off... Go on... Fuck off. George: Ann! Ann: There we are you pushed me... I swore... Twice I swore. Fuck you George. George: Thrice. Feel good?

Ann: What? George: Feel good to swear? Ann: George I’m not talking to you. You hurtful bastard. George: Haha so that’s a yes then? Ann: I thought you weren't interested in a grubby old doll. George: No. I said my mum wouldn’t be. Not at thirty quid. Ann: Just... Go and... Go and... George: Go on do it.

Ann: Go and.... George: You really want to... Ann: Just go and shit on your mum’s face you twat, fuck, arse, willy. George: Twat, fuck, arse willy! That’s ace. Ann: What? George: I was just winding you up. Trying to get you to swear.

Ann: It worked you poo brain. George: Shithead. You enjoyed it though... Ann: Bastard. George: I love you Ann Ann: I love you too George. George: I wish...

Ann: What?

George: I wish I could buy you... I don’t ha

Ann: I know.

George: Mrs Foziard says that you'll have to be sold soon or they'll throw out your house and put you on the shelf with the bears. You'll be reduced to £7.99.

Ann: But why?

George: Don’t have the space. Capitalist tw...

Ann: George!

George: Twits.

Ann: But its a charity shop.

George: I know. I hoped you'd never get sold. Then we could carry on like this. Until, I could get enough money to buy you.

Ann: I want that too. I think Elise would want me to... Even if you do swear. George: I know. I’m saving up. Being proactive.

Ann: Are you?

George: Yeah. There’s a wishing fountain in town. And I know its unethical but I’ve been taking coins out. Problem is I got caught by this old bloke. He made me put it all back. At the moment I’ve got on pound ninety eight and a soggy sleeve.

Ann: Oh George. George: I could steal you. Ann: From a charity? George: I suppose... It wouldn’t be easy anyway. Stealing oranges is easy. But I’d look

funny charging down New Court Road with your house on my shoulders. Anyway there would be no space in the hostel.

Ann: You’ll be back with your mum soon.

George: Yeah. I don’t think Desmond would approve. Their flats on the sixteenth floor. The lift is broke. It’s always broke but this time its because kids have been shitting in it and its seeped through the gaps and got the cogs clogged up or something.

Ann: It wasn’t you was it? George: No. No I reckon it was Rasher.

Ann: Rasher?

George: Yeah. He was a proper disgusting kid at my school. We used to nick vodka together. Go Swig it by the river. His real name is Kieran Bailey... But everyone calls him rasher. Once when we were thirteen we’d gone to the river... my gran had run out of vodka cause we’d drank it the week before, his mam had drank all their booze so I’d nicked my gran’s Pernod. Trust me its fowl. Anyway when we where pleasantly sloshed Kieran who was as sexually frustrated as the next thirteen year old got an erection and decided to relieve it in the mud. It was low tide. So he’s like this. He’s going like this. Within about fifteen seconds he’s completely submerged. There’s all sorts in that mud. Leeches, prams, bodies...

Ann: Bodies?

George: Yeah Kristine Denby was trying to lose her virginity on the stoney bit near the edge when she saw this bone poking out the water and it turned out to be celtic or something and there was a chariot and stuff next to it. It was in all the papers. Anyway Kieran Bailey was covered and we couldn’t find anywhere to hose him down. We got worried he might catch something...

Ann: A fish?

George: No like hepaticas or syphilis. It was probably the Pernod talking. So we broke into this cemetery and using them things you put flowers in and the tap I got him cleaned. He

was caked in it though. I’m glad no one saw us they’d have thought there was an apocalypse.

Ann: But why was he called Rasher?

George: Oh yeah. Well when I got all the river gunk off him he had this rash that was in the shape of a baby dolphin. the next day at school it was all pussy and green. Like the algae had clung to his face.

Ann: Poor Rasher. George: Yeah. He’s tee-total now. I’d better...

Ann: Don’t go. Cup of tea? George: Ann. Firstly you know I don..

Ann: Drink tea or coffee or anything hot. I know. Just stay a little while longer. It’s cold and dark when you’re gone.

George: It’s nearly six o clock. If I don... Ann: I know you get locked out. ...Why don’t you stay? George: Here?

Ann: Yeah. I do. Every night. What’s wrong with it?

George: But... It’s a shop. I can’t just bed down behind the counter.

Ann: We could stay up and talk all night.

George: Aren’t you fed up of talking to me?

Ann: No... Not at all.

George: Ugeh I don’t know. It would be weird.

Ann: Why?

George: Look I have to stay at the hostel or they’ll get rid of my stuff give my room to someone else.

Ann: So. There’s stuff here. You hate that place.

George: Yeah but I can’t just live in a shop. It won’t always be like this. We will have somewhere of...

Ann: Our own one day. Yeah I know. But I’m so lonely here. I spent my whole life with Elsie everyday every night. We stayed up for hours and hours. These last eight weeks I’ve

had to... I don’t know how to be on my own.

George: That’s the problem. Ann: What? George: Being on my own is all I know how to do. Ann: But you’re lonely. George: Yes. I’m lonely. It could be worse. I’ve learnt how to be lonely. Ann: It couldn’t be worse. I can’t stand it. I’m going mad.

George: Why? Everyone says being lonely is bad but what is so bad about it? Is it the thought of loneliness? What is it?

Ann: Yes it’s the thought. Its more than that It’s a fear that I won’t see you or be able to talk again. You said you loved me.

George: I do. Ann: Well people who love each other shouldn’t be lonely. George: Maybe. But they often are.

Ann: Wh...

George: Circumstance. Look if I don’t go now...

Ann: Fine... I can’t lock you in.

George: Promise I’ll be back first thing.

Ann: Don’t you dare break that promise. George? Promise me things won’t always be like this. Promise it. Promise that we can...

George: I promise I will take you away from here. Ann: When? George: Soon. Ann: What date though?

George: I dunno. Soon. Ann: If you promise a date then you can’t break it. George: Fine... I’ll take you tomorrow.

Ann: How? you’ll never get the money for tomorrow. George: Then I’ll speak to Mrs Foziard. I’ll pay in instalments. Ann: Take me now. George: I thought I wasn’t to steal from charities. Ann: I know but I can’t bare it. Take me. George: I’d never get the house through the door. Plus there’s CCTV. Ann: They never check it.

George: No but they would if you disappeared. Look I promise I’ll speak to Mrs Foziard tomorrow. I love you good night Ann.

Ann: Good Night George.

Ann to Camera Falling is a funny feeling. A feeling that is unavoidable. I avoided falling for so long. Perhaps I’m due a fall again.

George: Ann! Annie? I’ve got it Ann. I sorted the money. I... Ann? Sarah: Hullo. George: Who are you? Sarah: Sarah. I’m new here. Isn’t it terrible?

George: What? Why’s that shelf all messed up I sorted it yesterday?

Sarah: We got robbed. Broken in.

George: Your kidding?

Sarah: They didn’t take much. Amateurs really couldn’t get the till open. Not that cash is kept on these premises. Just took a couple of books and toys. They smashed....

George: Did they take Ann?

Sarah: Ann? Who’s Ann? Do you mean Mrs Foziard? No she wasn't in. She's gone out the back having a flush, before the police arrive. What a day for my induction. I’m only doing it for my Duke of Edinburgh award. Is that why you work here?

George: Ann? Annie? She’s not here.

Sarah: Who?

George: Ann. She’s a frie.... a puppet.

Sarah: You where going to say friend. Weren't you? Ha. I never thought I’d meet someone who was friends with a puppet. That’s hilarious.

George: Look have you seen her? She lived in this house. Sarah: I can see working here will be a hoot.

George: Have you seen her? We where going away together today. Sarah: You're cracked. George: Ann. Sarah: Oh that?

George: Not that. Ann. it’s alright I’m here Where’s your mandolin? Ann speak to me. Sarah: She was squashed under the till. Mrs Foziard had to move her to open it. Mrs

Foziard said not to touch anything. Not until the police got here. You're tampering with evidence.

George: Ann whisper in my ear. Please let me know you're okay.

Sarah: No one locked the door last night. There was no glass. They left the keys in the door. They just opened it up. Where you the last in?

George: Oh god. I had to run for my bus. I must have forgot and now they’ve caved Annes head in I will never forgive myself.

Sarah: It’s just a puppet.

George: You will never understand... Anne I’ve.. I got the money. I learnt a song last night. Please, please speak to me. I’ll never swear again I promise. I’ll always love you. Listen. (Picks up guitar plays Cara mia)

Sarah: You're tampering with more evidence.You’ve lost it. If getting my Duke of Edinburgh wasn't vastly going to improve my life choices no way would I work with you. I’m going to get Mrs Foziard.

This was written after reading The Secret Life of Plays by Steve Waters and was heavily influenced by conversations Mariette and I had and chance meetings with people in ordinary places.  The twee elements are developed out of the frustration of not having a location. The endless frustration I felt living in rented accommodation.

We read the play with Jason.

It seemed to be an enormous task.

With Jason’s help we worked out what we wanted to achieve.

Art work about Home. Home is such an important construct.

Both Bella and I have a shared and not shared home history.

Creating our Home was an extremely important task.

It took planning and mistakes.

We are still not satisfied.      

Many people have less than us.

We are in a relatively lucky position.

During this meeting I came up with the idea of getting an audience to answer questions on home. I decided that wings attached to the booth would be the best way of executing this. I bashed out its form and structure. I decided chalk and black board would be the best way of creating this. I set Bella the task of making this come to life whilst I came up with questions.