#truck dispatching course

[truxsolutionsinc]

TruxSolutions Dispatcher Course in Brampton: Master Trucking Logistics"

TruxSolutions Dispatcher Course Brampton provides essential training for those ready to excel in the trucking industry. This comprehensive course covers key areas such as fleet coordination, load planning, route optimization, and regulatory compliance, taught by seasoned dispatch professionals. Gain hands-on skills to handle real-world logistics challenges, streamline operations, and communicate effectively with drivers and clients. Ideal for individuals aiming to advance in transportation logistics, this course prepares you for a successful and impactful dispatcher career.

[truxsolutions]

Safety compliance is paramount in the trucking industry, ensuring the well-being of drivers, cargo, and the general public. At Trux Solutions, we understand the importance of maintaining high safety and compliance standards. We provide a comprehensive guide to safety compliance and audits for trucking companies, offering valuable insights and strategies to help you navigate the complex regulatory landscape effectively.

[avaaltechnologysolutions]

Becoming a successful truck dispatcher is a promising career path in the trucking and logistics industry. Truck dispatcher courses equip you with the skills and knowledge needed to navigate this dynamic field. If you're in California and seeking a "truck dispatcher course", you've come to the right place. This comprehensive guide will walk you through the importance of truck dispatch training and how to find the best truck dispatcher training online.

What is a Truck Dispatcher Course?

A Truck Dispatcher Course is a specialized training program that equips students with the knowledge and skills necessary to coordinate and manage the transportation of goods. It covers essential aspects of the trucking business, including load planning, route management, negotiation tactics, and the use of dispatch software.

Who Should Take a Truck Dispatcher Course?

1. Aspiring dispatchers: If you're interested in starting a career in the trucking industry, a truck dispatcher course can provide you with the necessary skills and knowledge to succeed.

2. Owner-operators: For those who own their trucking business, a dispatcher course can equip you with the skills to manage your operations more efficiently.

3. Existing dispatchers: If you're already a dispatcher and looking to enhance your skills or stay updated with the latest industry trends, a dispatcher course can be beneficial.

Key Skills Learned in a Truck Dispatcher Course

Load Acquisition & Matching

One of the primary responsibilities of a truck dispatcher is to find suitable loads for carriers and ensure that no truck travels a long distance without a load. A good dispatcher course will teach you how to effectively use online load matching systems and software to achieve this.

Specialized Freight Handling

Dispatchers should know how to handle specialized freight that requires specific equipment or permits. A comprehensive dispatcher course will provide you with the information and techniques necessary to manage such loads effectively.

Route Management

Efficient route planning is a critical aspect of the dispatcher's job. It involves choosing the most cost-effective routes that ensure timely delivery of loads. An excellent dispatcher course will cover this aspect in detail.

Understanding Trucking Market

A good dispatcher should understand the dynamics of the trucking market, including market analysis, identifying opportunities, and making informed decisions.

Excellent Customer Service

Dispatchers are the point of contact between drivers, brokers, and shippers. Therefore, they must have excellent communication skills and provide top-notch customer service.

Knowledge on Paperwork’s

A truck dispatcher should also be well-versed in the various paperwork involved in dispatching, such as broker-carrier setup, Bill of Lading (BOL), and rate confirmation.

Providing High RPM Loads

The earnings of a truck driver are directly proportional to the Rate Per Mile (RPM) of the loads they haul. A truck dispatcher should be skilled in negotiating with brokers to secure high RPM loads for their drivers.

Truck Dispatcher Training at Avaal Technology

Avaal Technology offers one of the best truck dispatcher courses in California. Their program is designed to provide practical and effective training, informed by the insights of the industry's top dispatchers. Whether you're just starting or looking to take your career to the next level, Avaal's expert-led truck dispatcher course can help you succeed.

Features of Avaal's Dispatcher Course

1. Practical Training: Avaal provides hands-on training with real loads. This approach enables you to gain practical experience in communicating with brokers and drivers.

2. Expert Instruction: Avaal's instructors are industry experts with years of experience in logistics and transportation. They provide personalized guidance and mentorship to each student.

3. Learning Resources: Avaal provides a wealth of learning resources, including on-demand video lessons, downloadable materials, and access to top logistics software.

4. Job Placement Assistance: Upon completion of the course, Avaal assists its students in finding suitable job opportunities in the trucking industry.

How to Enroll in a Truck Dispatcher Course

Enrolling in a truck dispatcher course is a straightforward process. You can visit the training provider's website, explore their course offerings, and choose the one that suits your needs. Most providers offer online enrollment options, making it easy and convenient for students to sign up.

Conclusion

If you're in California and looking for a "truck dispatcher course ", Avaal Technology is a great option to consider. Their comprehensive truck dispatch training will equip you with the skills and knowledge necessary to succeed in this dynamic field. With the right training, you can become a proficient truck dispatcher, ready to take on the challenges of the trucking industry.

Remember, the best truck dispatcher training should offer practical training, expert instruction, abundant learning resources, and job placement assistance. So, take the time to research and choose a course that best fits your career goals and learning style.

Ready to kick-start your career as a truck dispatcher? Enroll in a truck dispatcher course today and take the first step towards a rewarding career in the trucking industry!

Checkout Our Courses: -

Trucking Safety & Compliance Training -https://avaal.com/education-safety-compliance.php

Transportation of Dangerous Goods Training -https://avaal.com/education-dangerous-goods.php

Hours of Service Training (HOS) -https://avaal.com/education-hos-logbook.php

Freight Forwarding Specialist Fast Track -https://avaal.com/freight-forwarding.php

Checkout Our Software:

AVAAL Freight Management Suite (Cloud based TMS)- https://avaal.com/avaal-freight-management.php

AVAAL Express Dispatch (Desktop based TMS) -https://avaal.com/emanifest.php

ACE/ACI eManifest - https://avaal.com/avaal-express.php

Checkout Our Consulting Services-

Corporate Branding -https://avaal.com/corporate-branding.php

Trucking Authorities & Permits -https://avaal.com/authorities.php

Become A Certified Cross-Border Carrier - https://avaal.com/certifications.php

Become a Bonded Carrier -https://avaal.com/customs-bond.php

truck dispatcher course

truck dispatch training

truck dispatcher training

[ryewwww]

⚠️: age gap, virgin!reader, Simon got some perverted thots about you.

Part 2

Back from the dead but I can’t stop thinking about truck driver!Simon Riley hitting on the cute, young and eager dispatcher!reader.

The company you work for doesn’t have a strict dress code, so you’re always wearing cutesy outfits and fuck, it’s drives Simon mad.

Of course, the outfits are appropriate, not too showy, but your rainbow-sunshine, mixed with a little shyness makes Simon wanna corrupt the fuck out of you.

Especially during the summertime when you show up to work in your cute summer dresses. He comes inside to drop off some paperwork, and you’re sitting at the receptionist desk, eagerly getting up and greeting him so so happily.

Can’t get over your beautiful smile, eyes, soft hair and your tits that sat so perfectly in the corset portion of your dress.

It didn’t help that you clearly liked him back. He noticed how you’d perk up when you heard his voice in the morning. In fact, a few of your co-workers teased you about your little crush on Simon, and you never denied it. You’d become flustered and look away.

Simon Riley was everything you craved for. A man who could protect, love, cherish and take care of you. Every morning, when he showed up in his rough, dirty jeans, his thick, black sweater that reeked of his musk and grease, and the gloves. Lord have mercy, the sight of his hands, his fingers, had you drooling.

So when the opportunity came, you were right there to snatch it.

Your company threw BBQs every summer. In the morning, everyone worked, but as soon as noon hit, the grill was fired up and everyone was outside, eating and socializing.

Simon had finished his load in the morning and stopped by in the afternoon. He was sat next to Price, beer in hand while they talked about the best kind of cigars or whatever.

He kept his eyes on you throughout the evening. Soon the sunset, and people were leaving. You were in charge of cleaning up, so you were one of the last ones to leave. Simon sat around with Price, their conversation seemingly never ending.

It wasn’t until Simon overheard your co-worker asking if you need a ride home. And you responded with, “I’ll just call an Uber.”

No no no no no no no.

Simon spoke before he could even think.

“Birdie, you need a ride home?” His asked, voice gruff.

“It’s okay, Simon. I’ll Uber home.”

“It’s alright. You’re on my way, birdie.”

With Simon’s insistence and for fuck sakes, it was Simon, you agreed.

He helped you into his lifted truck (you absolutely despised these kinds of trucks), but for a big man like Simon, it was fitting.

The ride home wasn’t awkward, he lets you yap away about some workplace drama that he’s missed out on. When you arrive to your apartment complex, you’re compelled to invite him in for some tea.

Tea, that ends up with you sprawled out on your bed while Simon kisses every inch of your body. You’re already naked, meanwhile, Simon hasn’t taken anything off beside his stupid gloves.

When he fingers you, your tightness catches him off guard. Of course, it turns him the fuck on, but the way tears well in your eyes tell him that there’s something more.

You’re gripping his tatted forearms, eyes wide, looking into his, “it’s my first time.” And Jesus Christ, Simon’s dick damn near explodes in his pants.

Just an unedited blurb. Lemme know if you want more:)

[lyjen]

In The Right Place Part 2 | Evan “Buck” Buckley

Summary: Buck’s recklessness frustrates (Y/n), but later he saves her during a call. Afterward, they open up about their pasts, growing closer than ever before.

Trope: Enemies to lovers

Feel free to send in a request in my “Ask me a question 👀” section! 🫶🏽

9-1-1 Masterlist | <<< Previous Chapter

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The 118 arrived at the location the 9-1-1 caller had passed through. They were at the edge of a deep, rocky ravine where the hiker had slipped and fallen. The dispatcher told the team the man was injured, but clinging to a narrow ledge half way down. 

It was a miracle the hiker could call for help, the reception wasn’t that good in the middle of nowhere, and most of the people that fall half way down a ravine, don’t survive. 

The doors of the firetruck opened as the team got out of the vehicle. The dust was flowing around the scene, from the sandy road beneath the tires of the truck. 

Bobby took one look at the scene they were working with, and turned to the team. “We’re going with a rope rescue.” Captain Nash said the second he scanned the situation. “Buck, you’re our climber. (Y/n), you and Eddie handle the lines. Chim and Hen, prep medical gear.” He continued, certain of his choices. 

It has been exactly two weeks since (Y/n) had joined the team, and she could say with certainty that the 118 was slowly starting to feel like home, like it felt back in Long Beach. She was starting to get to know the rest of the team everyday a little bit more, and the other way around. 

(Y/n) nodded as her Captain was done giving everyone their tasks and moved to secure the rope system as Buck fished the harness from the truck and slipped into it with practiced ease. 

“You good to go?” Eddie asked as he finished tightening Buck’s gear. A grin appeared on Buck’s face. “I was born ready” he said with way too much confidence, making (Y/n) roll her eyes at his typical reaction. “Of course you were.” she muttered under her breath, continuing preparing the ropes.

The words left her mouth a little too loud. Buck looked up at her, catching the words and the tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, raising a brow at her words. 

“It means..” she started as she lowered the ropes in her hands and glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid” she snapped as she glared at him from her spot at the ropes. 

Buck’s grin vanished from his face and he sighed. “Relax, (Y/n). I’ve done this a million times.” he said, trying to reassure her that everything was okay. 

“That’s what worries me.” She shot back as she tightened her hands on the rope. She hoped those words came out of her mouth as a mumble, but it came a little louder than she had hoped. She knew he heard her words. 

Ever since she had that conversation on the first day with Buck, things had changed just a little bit. They were still trying to find out a way to work together, but it was difficult working with someone who didn’t think for at least one second. 

Moments later, Buck was carefully being lowered over the edge of the ravine, as the rope creaked softly because of the weight that was hanging on it. From her spot on the ground, (Y/n) watched him descend down to the victim. Her eyes were flicking between Buck and the rope system as Eddie monitored the lines beside her. 

“Slow and steady, Buck.” Eddie said into the radio as Buck was out of sight, rippling down to get the wounded hiker. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it.” Buck’s voice sounded as confident as always. Making (Y/n) roll her eyes at the amount of confidence he had in his voice. “Just focus for once.” She mumbled under her breath as the rope gently moved through her gloved hands.

Buck could feel the jitters in his abdomen, even though he had done this a hundred times, if not more. When his feet touched the small space where the hiker landed after his fall, he didn’t want to put too much weight onto the ground to avoid the ground falling from beneath them.  

“What’s your name sir?” Buck asked as he grabbed the second harness that was sent down. “I- Uh- Luther” the hiker stumbled as he was unsure what was happening. “Luther, I’m Buck. I’m going to get you out of here okay?” he explained. Luther nodded in agreement, but Buck could tell he was scared. “Okay, now.. I need you to stand up slow and steady and let me put this around you.” 

Luther nodded as he slowly stood up, his legs were looking like they were made of jell-o. Every step the hiker made, how slowly and steady he did it, it made the ledge crumble beneath him. Rocks were breaking loose with every single short move he made and tumbling down into the ravine. If something did go wrong this moment, there would be no turning back. But luckily Luther stepped into the harness, as Buck secured him and stabilized him. 

“Got him!” Buck called out, but just to be sure he grabbed his radio. “We’re ready to come up! Green!” his voice came through. A soft sigh left (Y/n)’s mouth as she heard the confirmation, she took a breath she didn’t know she needed. 

For once he didn’t do anything stupid. But it wasn’t over yet.

“Okay, let’s pull them up slow” Eddie instructed, signaling to (Y/n) the sign to pull the rope, to get them on solid ground again. (Y/n) held her breath again as they began raising Buck and the hiker. 

She could hear the ropes creaking under the weight that was hanging onto the other side, but the system held firm. “Almost there,” Eddie muttered as he had his hands steady on the lines, pulling it. 

The creaking of the lines became louder within every pull, making the thing (Y/n) scared of reality as a horrific snap echoed through the ravine. 

One of the anchor points failed. 

(Y/n)’s eyes widened at the sound of the snap as her heart was leaping into her throat right now. “No, no, no.” (Y/n) mumbled under her breath. The rope jerked violently, sending Buck swinging hard into the rocks. A grunt fell off Buck’s lips as his body slammed into the side of the ravine. He placed one of his hands on the rocks to bring the swinging rope to a halt. 

“Hold it! Hold it!” Bobby’s voice roared over the scene as Eddie and (Y/n) tried to get the rope back under control. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Eddie grunted as he used all his strength to pull the two people back in. 

(Y/n) threw her weight onto the line, placing her heels into the ground as they tried to steady Buck. “Buck talk to us” Bobby sounded over the radio. Panic was creeping into her chest as it took Buck seconds to answer. “Buck, what’s your status?” Bobby asked. 

(Y/n) had her eyes closed as she held onto the rope for dear life. The radio made room for some statics, “We’re fine cap, just.. get us up!” his voice sounded over the radio, mixed with a cough. 

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, looking at (Y/n) “You good?” Eddie asked as they made eye contact. She nodded, “Let’s get it over with.” she said as she let her eyes wander back to her gloved hands and they both pulled the ropes.

The climb was slower this time, the rope continued to creak as Eddie and (Y/n) worked together to lift Buck and the injured hiker back up. Her hands were hurting from the weight she needed to pull, but it didn’t bother her. They needed to get the both of them back on the ground. And she didn’t care if she needed to break her own skin to do it. 

It looked like there wasn't an end to the rope she had in her hands. But when Buck’s helmet finally came into sight, and his boots hit solid ground, (Y/n) let out a shaky breath and placed her hands onto her thighs. 

She was exhausted, not only from pulling the ropes, but also the stress she was experiencing the last five to ten minutes. 

Buck unhooked his harness as Hen and Chimney immediately checked the hiker. (Y/n)’s eyes were locked on Buck as she took off the gloves and yanked them to the ground. Before she could let her brain catch up with her movements, she stormed over towards Buck. 

Buck unlocked the clip of his helmet, as he heard footsteps coming closer. He looked up, and he found (Y/n) stroming over at him. Fire was burning in her eyes as she shoved him hard in the chest. 

“What the hell was that?!” she shouted, Buck’s back falling against the firetruck as confusion took over his face. “Whoa- what’s your problem?” He stumbled as he looked at her. 

“God you’re such a fucking idiot, Buck” (Y/n) continued to yell, giving him a shove again. “Do you even think before you act?” she added, before Buck could even explain or say something back at all. 

“(Y/n), it wasn’t my fault-” he said as he held up his hands. He didn’t even do anything but his job? Why was she so upset with him?

“You act like you’re invincible, like nothing can touch you, but you’re not! That rope could’ve snapped completely, and then what? What if I couldn’t pull you back up? What if—” she stopped talking as she noticed how loud she was talking, she needed to calm down.

She looked down to the floor and turned her back towards him as she placed her hands on her hips. She took a breath as she blinked the tears away which were welling up in her eyes. 

Buck’s face softened as he took a cautious step towards her. “Hey.. i’m okay. I’m right here.” He said. She was breathing hard as she wiped her face angrily. “You don’t get it, Buck..” she paused, her voice sounded broken and it was barely above a whisper. “For seconds… I thought we lost you.” 

At first, Buck didn’t know what to say. His confused expression was replaced by genuine regret, even though he didn’t do anything. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized with a soft voice. 

(Y/n) squeezed her eyes closed, “I thought we had talked this through? That we had a deal-” she paused, and she turned around, facing Buck now. 

Her eyes were slowly turning red, “Whatever you’re doing, you don’t get to do that to us. To me-“ her lip was starting to tremble as she said those words. 

Buck was caught off guard by her words. “To.. you?” he asked her slowly. And that’s where she realized what she’d just admitted, she cared about him. (Y/n) shook her head as she turned away. “Forget it.” she added, as she made a move to walk away from the conversation.

But he reached out, gently wrapping his hand around her upper arm. “(Y/n), wait-” he said. She glanced over her shoulder, their eyes connected. 

She was clearly upset with what happened, but why was she mad at him? He didn’t sabotage the anchor point? Why would she even think that Buck would’ve liked the idea of bringing himself and the victim into a dangerous situation like this? It’s not like he particularly wanted to fall to death. 

The sound of Bobby’s voice cut through the small moment they were having, pulling the both of them back to reality. “Buck! (Y/n)! Wrap it up, we’re heading out!” His voice sounded. 

“On it cap!” Buck quickly switched, and with that, (Y/n) pulled her arm free with a hard pull. She gave Buck one last look. “Next time, think before you act.” and with those words she turned and walked away, leaving Buck standing there. 

But this argument wasn’t really like the ones they had before, there was something new, as if something had shifted. 

______

“Buck, (Y/n) you’re on the west side.” Bobby said, as he quickly broke the team into pairs. The warehouse they were searching was a blazing inferno, the fire was clawing itself through the structure with a fury that threatened to consume everything. They had to be fast. 

“You got it, Cap.” Buck replied as he tightened his grip on the halligan between his hands as (Y/n) gave their captain a nod as she stood next to Buck. When she heard their names being paired together, she rolled her eyes for a quick second. 

Bobby finished his explanation as he and Eddie went to their assigned location and tasks. 

“Why do I always get the feeling we always pull the short straw together?” (Y/n) mumbled as they made their way through the huge space of the warehouse. Buck shot a glance over his shoulder, a grin was visible on his face “Maybe the universe thinks we make a good team.” he replied. 

She let out a soft sigh, “Or maybe you’re bad luck.” she shot back, she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted that to say out loud or whisper it to herself. They both moved quickly, (Y/n) breath was labored as she followed Buck through the chaos and her flashlight was slicing through the thick grey smoke. 

A voice cut through the air, calling out for help through the gasps for air. “Over here!” Buck shouted as loud as possible to get above the roar of the flames. She spotted Buck crouched near a pile of collapsed debris, when she hurried to his side she felt her pulse thundering in her ears.

“Someone’s trapped” Buck said while urgency was audible in his voice. He pointed towards a narrow gap beneath a fallen beam, the faint sound of coughing came from within, and continued with a call for help. 

“We need to get him out.” (Y/n) said determined, as she already started tugging at the debris that was blocking their way. The heat was killing. But every second counted. Sweat was already dripping down (Y/n)’s face, she couldn’t imagine what it must feel like for the person that was trapped. The air was thick, and dark, almost if there wasn’t any oxygen left. 

Buck threw his weight against the largest beam, grunting as he lifted it just enough for (Y/n) to crawl closer. “Carefull!” he called, not sure if he could hold the weight of the beam with only his body. 

“I’m fine! Just don't try to kill me.” she shot back as she kneeled down and wriggled her body through the tight space to reach the trapped person. 

When (Y/n) made her way through the tight space Buck had created, she reached the victim. Buck meanwhile managed to move the beam, still giving her the same amount of space to crawl through. 

��“Sir, can you hear me?” (Y/n) asked, her gloved hand brushing against his arm to try and get any kind of reaction from the man. The man nodded weakly, making (Y/n) let out a breath of relief. “Buck, I’ve got him!” (Y/n) called. “Get ready to pull him out!” she added as she wriggled her way back through the tight space. 

She was half way when a deafening crack echoed through the building. The floor beneath them shuddered violently, and (Y/n)’s head shot up as she realized the ceiling above them was starting to give way.

“(Y/n) move, now!” Buck shouted, panic was creeping up his chest as he watched his partner struggling to get back through the tight space. (Y/n) barely had time to register the danger before Buck lunged toward her. His hand grabbed a handful of the back of her turnout coat, yanking her backward with such force that her body slammed into his, making them hit the ground hard. 

The crash of debris behind them was deafening, all kinds of materials were scattering in every direction. 

For a small moment neither of them moved, their bodies were pressed together as the crash of debris closed in around them. His arms were wrapped around her and his chest was rising and falling against her back. 

“Are you okay?” his voice asked, as the adrenaline was rushing through his veins. (Y/n) tried to catch her breath, squeezing her eyes closed for a moment as a sharp pain appeared in her left side. “I- I think so” she stumbled, mixed with a tremble in her voice. 

His grip loosened on her body as he helped her sit up, Buck stood up from behind her as he held out a hand towards her. 

In pain, she hissed and pressed her eyes closed again. “You’re hurt.” he concluded as he scanned her facial expressions. She shook her head, “It’s nothing.” she said but the pain in her side told her otherwise. 

“Can you stand?” he asked her. She nodded, though her movements were slow and hesitant. She accepted his hand and let him carefully lift her to her feet. “We still need to get him out,” she said, motioning toward the man who was coughing weakly beneath the debris.

“I’ve got him.” Buck said, “Just stay behind me.” he added. (Y/n) allowed Buck to take the lead this time. 

He worked quickly but smoothly, pulling the man free. Buck put the male in the right position, crouched down as he held the man’s wrist in one hand and in the other hand his thigh. Her eyes were set on Buck as she watched him perform the right steps. 

It was kinda.. attractive? 

God no. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the awful thoughts she just had. Two weeks ago they were enemies and now she actually started to like him? No. Hell no. 

 “Let’s go!” Buck commanded as he walked back towards (Y/n) with the man on his shoulders. He kept a close eye on (Y/n) when they made their way through the flames again. 

The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, but they kept on going. But finally, the cool rush of night air hit them as they burst through the exit. 

The team was already waiting outside, as paramedics rushed forwards to take the injured man from Buck. Buck crouched down again to place the man onto his feet again. “Here, he’s all yours. He inhaled a lot of smoke but he’s conscious.” he quickly briefed the paramedics. 

As soon as the man was placed onto the gurney the paramedics hurried away. (Y/n) pulled her helmet from her head and blew the strands away that were in front of her face. 

His eyes were locked on (Y/n) as he watched her take off her gloves and her entire facial expression changed when she made one wrong move. 

“(Y/n)” Buck said in a serious tone. “Sit down. Let the paramedics check you out.” he told her. She looked back at him, as she let out a “I’m fine.” as she pressed her hand against her side and tried to catch her breath. 

But Buck wouldn’t take no for an answer. He made eye contact with Hen who was giving the both of them a questioning look. So Buck waved her over. Hen rushed over towards the two, “Hey, you okay?” she asked as she watched (Y/n) press her hand onto her side. 

“She’s hurt” Buck said quickly before (Y/n) could answer. “No, I’m fine.” she muttered through her voice with a lack of conviction. But he turned towards (Y/n) again. “No you’re not” he said, his tone soft but insistent. 

She tried to pull away, get away from the conversation but Buck placed his hand firmly on her shoulder before she could try and run, guiding her towards Hen. “Come on, i’ll take a look” Hen said, not leaving any room for an argument. 

(Y/n) sighed as Hen guided her to sit on the bumper of the ambulance. She took off her turnout coat as Hen unzipped her medic bag and began her examination. Hen gave her a small, knowing look. “You just had to follow Buck into the inferno, did you?” 

(Y/n) let out a weak chuckle, “You know how it is.. The guy moves and you just, go.” she said. “Yeah well, next time.. maybe let him handle the death-defying stunts.” Hen replied as she pressed gently against (Y/n)’s ribs. 

She winced, biting on her lower lip to not let out a curse word. 

“Ribs are bruised but not broken,” Hen confirmed. “You’re lucky. Could’ve been worse.” she concluded. “Lucky isn’t how it feels,” (Y/n) muttered, leaning her head back against the ambulance.

Hen smirked. “Trust me, Buck’s had worse. You’ve officially joined the ‘pulled-from-the-fire-by-Evan-Buckley’ club. Membership comes with bruises and a lecture.”

(Y/n) chuckled as she caught herself glancing toward where Buck stood talking to Bobby. His shoulders were squared, his hands moving as he told what had happened.

Hen followed her gaze, her tone softening. “He’s got a habit of throwing himself into danger for the people he cares about. You did good in there, but you’ve got to let yourself heal.”

(Y/n) nodded, her stubbornness fading as exhaustion took over. “Thanks, Hen.”

“Anytime,” Hen replied with a warm smile, packing up her kit.

As Hen moved on to help another teammember, (Y/n) sat quietly, watching the embers from the fire flicker into the night sky. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, leaving her with a dull ache in her ribs.

______

The station was quiet after the chaos of the fire. Every member of the 118 had spread themselves over the firehouse, some were going to hit the shower, some were going to take a nap. But (Y/n) found herself alone in the locker room. 

She wanted to change into something more comfy to move in than a button up. She stood in front of the mirror as she lifted her shirt just enough to inspect the already dark bruises blooming along her ribs. 

“Great.” she mumbled under her breath as she gently poked the tender skin, making her hiss at the touch. 

“Those look bad.”

The sudden voice that had entered the locker room startled her, making her drop her shirt quickly. She spinned around to find Buck standing just a few feet away, he was leaning against the doorway. His usual cocky grin wasn’t there now, he seemed softer. His eyes were wandering back to where he had just been checking her side. 

“Ever heard of knocking?” (Y/n) said as she turned back to her locker, trying to get rid of whatever moment this was. 

He smirked faintly, “It’s a locker room. I didn’t think I had to.” he replied. She shot him a look through the mirror that was in her locker, but the annoyance didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a small mirror after all. “What do you want, Buck?” she asked. 

For a second, Buck hesitated. But eventually stepped into the room, making the door behind him call into its frame. “I just.. wanted to check on you. After earlier.” he replied to her question. 

(Y/n) scoffed softly, as she wriggled the button up shirt off her arms and placed it into her locker. “I’m fine.” she said, just like she told him outside earlier.

Buck reached the line of lockers she was standing in front of. “You don’t look fine to me.” he answered as he crossed his arms and leaned his left shoulder against the lockers. “You took a hit in there.” he continued but it didn’t make (Y/n) turn around or glance over her shoulder at all. 

She pulled the elastic from her hair, her small bun wasn’t as tight as it used to be a few hours ago. “It’s a bruise Buck.” she said unconcerned as she grabbed the hair on her head in one hand and had the elastic ready on her other hand. But the ache she felt in her ribs told her otherwise. “I’ll live.”

(Y/) finished making her bun as she used some bobby pins to keep it into its place. The hum of the overhead lights filled the silence that was now taking over the room. Buck tilted his head slightly, as he watched her finishing her hair. 

“You know…” he started slowly, “you’ve been snapping at me a lot lately.” he continued as he kept his distance. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked him as she checked her hair. 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Buck told her, sounding more serious now. “Every time I open my mouth, you’re on me like it’s your job. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you hate me.”

(Y/n) sighed and turned on her heels to face him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t hate you, Buck.” she told him. “Then what is it?” Buck pushed himself off the lockers he was leaning on with his shoulder and stepped closer, searching her face. “Because it’s not just me being reckless, is it?” 

And just when he asked that question, she looked away while pressing her lips into a thin line. “It doesn’t matter.” she said. 

There was clearly something that she was hiding from him. Something sensitive that she pushed away. “It does to me,” Buck replied softly. She turns away from him facing her locker again. But Buck didn’t intend to leave before he knew the story behind her behavior. “Come on, talk to me.” he said, his eyes desperate for an explanation. He tried to search eye contact through the mirror she was standing in front of. 

She brushed her fingers over her t-shirt where her bruises were, and let out a shaky breath. “You really want to know?” she asked, as she found him looking at her through the mirror.

Buck nodded. 

She stared at her own reflection as she spoke. She didn’t have the courage to look him directly in the eyes as she told her story. She had the courage to do lots of things: running into burning buildings, collapsing buildings, helping strangers. But telling this story, she just couldn’t. “I lost a colleague on the job once. ” she started.

“Well.. not just my colleague. He was my best friend.” she continued. 

Buck’s expression shifted as his arms fell to his sides. “What happened?” he asked her. 

(Y/n) swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze in the mirror as her eyes fell down to her hands. “It was a structure fire, kind of like our first call together. He was just as reckless as you, always throwing himself into the fire first. It went well most of the time. Only that time… he didn’t make it out.” Her voice was on the edge of breaking down. But she needed to finish the story. 

(Y/n)’s voice was quieter now, more fragile than he’d ever heard it. It was like he was suddenly listening to a little girl. 

“He was the person who always had my back,” she continued, still staring at her fingers as she picked her skin. “But I couldn’t save him. I had to hold the line while the fire got worse. I had to stand there, knowing he wasn’t coming out. And then I had to look his family in the eye and tell them…” Her voice broke, and she quickly wiped a hand over her face, trying to collect herself. “It doesn’t matter how many times people tell you it wasn’t your fault. You still carry it with you.”

Buck stepped closer, his voice soft but steady. “(Y/n)… I’m so sorry.” He placed his hand onto her shoulder, carefully, not wanting to spook her. 

For a moment, there was another silence. It was there but it wasn’t awkward at all. It was a vulnerable moment. 

Finally, Buck let out a soft breath as he disconnected his hand from her shoulder  and sank down onto the bench nearby. “You’re not the only one carrying ghosts, you know,” he admitted.

(Y/n) glanced to her side, looking at Buck who was sitting on the bench. 

Buck’s gaze dropped to his feet. “A few years ago, there was this guy, Devon. He was on a rollercoaster when the lap bar just opened up and his best friend got ejected.” He paused, as he remembered the moment like it was yesterday. “The rollercoaster was hanging in the middle of the loop, upside down when we arrived. Devon was hanging onto it with his life. I got to him in time, but he refused to grab my hand..” Buck swallowed hard, his voice rougher now. “I told him I got him,but  he just let go before even trying.”

(Y/n)’s expression softened and she folded her arms over each other as Buck continued his story. 

“If he just reached out to my hand, I could’ve saved him.” Buck said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And for the longest time, I kept thinking—if I’d just been faster, if I’d gotten there a minute sooner, maybe he’d have grabbed my hand.” He looked up at (Y/n), his eyes searching hers. “He was the first person I had lost on the job. That kind of guilt? It doesn’t go away.”

(Y/n) sat down on the bench beside him, her voice quiet. “No, it doesn’t.” 

Buck gave a faint nod, his lips twitching into a small, sad smile. “So when you yell at me for being reckless, I get it. I know what it’s like to lose someone. I’ve been there, too.”

She stared at him for a moment, the wall she’d built between them beginning to crack. “So that’s why you jump first without thinking… Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Buck shrugged his shoulders as a faint laugh fell from his lips. “Didn’t think it mattered. I’m usually the one driving everyone crazy, not the other way around.”

(Y/n) let out a soft huff of laughter despite herself, shaking her head. “You are insane, you know that?” Buck grinned, the first real smile she’d seen from him all day. “Yeah it’s not like you told me about twenty times earlier, but you keep me on my toes.” he admitted.

She rolled her eyes at his words, but there was no bite to it this time. They sat there for a moment. Buck’s gaze flicked to her ribs again. “Let me see.” he told her. 

A confused expression appeared on her face, “What?” she asked. “The bruises” he said as he motioned his head to her side. “Can I take a look?” he then asked, more politely instead of a command.

(Y/n) hesitated for a second, but with a sigh, she lifted her shirt slightly. Buck winced as he saw the deep bruising. “Damn, (Y/n), that’s bad.” he concluded as he finally saw the wound from up close now. 

“I’m pretty sure I'll live” she muttered. “You’re tougher than you look,” Buck said softly, when his eyes wandered from her wound back to her face. “Don’t you forget it,” she replied, her voice quieter now.

There was another silence, but it wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t filled with annoyance, awkwardness, or anger. Something shifted. 

Her eyes were lingering on his face for a second, but before she could say more, Buck’s lips crashed into hers. His lips brushed first a bit roughly against hers, but became softer as his lips landed on hers. The kiss was gentle, a bit hesitant, but most of all: it caught her completely off guard. 

(Y/n) froze for a second, making her hand press against his shoulder. But eventually she leaned into him as she let herself feel the moment. His hand moved up to her cheek as he brushed his thumb lightly over the skin as her hand that was on his shoulder moved to grab the short strands of hair on the back of his head. 

They both pulled back, Buck searched her face nervously. Did he get the signs correct? “You okay?” he asked, a bit out of breath. 

The confused and surprised look that had washed over (Y/n)’s face remained as he asked the question. But quickly merged into a faint smirk as she shook her head. “You’re lucky I didn’t hit you.” she said, laughing. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Buck teased her, his voice soft as he brushed his thumb over her cheek one more time. 

“You’re such an idiot.” she said, as she moved her hand from his neck down to his shirt again. She grabbed a fist full of his button up shirt, and pulled him closer again. 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

9-1-1 Masterlist | <<< Previous Chapter

[tropes-and-tales]

Thief in the Night

(Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader)

CW:  Heavy angst. Talk of death, dark thoughts, and booster shots.

Word Count:  2255

AN:  This was requested by a lovely anonymous person for the April Showers event!

AN2: Late and un-beta'ed - the Tropes Way (tm)

It’s a terrible night at the Pitt.

It started out fine.  It was quiet, though Dr. Jack Abbot never dares to think the word, let alone speak it aloud.  Tuesday night in the middle of spring doesn’t usually translate to a terrible night in the emergency department; it’s not like the lunacy of full moon nights or the expected violence and trauma that spikes around the holidays, for example.

Then the storm breaks over Pittsburgh.  It had been expected—rain in the forecast—but the intensity is surprising.

Over the course of the night, they treat all manner of injuries.  Many are small, manageable.  Slips and falls in the rain.  Sprained ankles, broken wrists, abrasions from falling on asphalt.  Mild concussions.  It’s steady but controllable.  They go through ice packs, splints, ibuprofen at a constant rate, and Abbot gets halfway through the night and thinks this isn’t so bad.

It's like he breaks a spell the moment he thinks it.

Dispatch gives the heads up:

Truck jackknifed outside of the Squirrel Hill tunnel.  Multiple vehicle pile-up.  Emergency services on scene.  Expect multiple casualties in all stages of severity.

They handle it because that is what they do.  They triage the casualties as they come in:  from the concussed and bruised to the DOA.  Abbot directs it all like the world’s most brutal orchestra, but he rocks that shit.  It’s what he was trained to do, and ostensibly what he was born to do. 

He falls into the zone.  People, individuals fall away and become simple facts, their entire existence narrowed down to what Abbot needs to fix. 

It’s not a middle-aged man with a family and likes and dislikes on the gurney—it’s an ulna broken in three places that Abbot immobilizes until surgery can get to him.

It’s not a seven-year-old crying in front of him, clutching a stuffed animal, snot bubbling from her nose—it’s a gash in the forehead that Abbot passes off to an intern to clean and stitch up.

It’s not the driver of the truck who police will determine, in the days to come, was both driving too fast and distracted by his phone.  It’s a crushed pelvis and internal bleeding that cannot be staunched, and it’s confirming the death upon arrival.

The next arrival comes through via ECIC, and Abbot scans the details (female, early thirties, head trauma, trauma to extremities, BP low and dropping) to prepare for the next wave.  He notes the source (Medic 10), knows that this nameless female in her early thirties is in the best possible hands before she gets to the Pitt—namely, your hands.

Moments later, you and your partner burst onto the scene for the patient handoff.  Abbot sees you—the dark navy cargo pants, the bright yellow reflective jacket slick with rain—but then his focus is on his patient on the gurney between you.

It’s not a young woman who recently got engaged and had her whole life in front of her—it’s a skull fracture, a pelvis fracture, a million other injuries sustained from being crushed in her car by a jackknifed truck, and Abbot fights for her life for hours. 

He fails.  The best he can do is keep her alive for the short term.  Scans confirm that she is brain dead, that she’ll never draw a breath on her own again.  The ventilator keeps her alive long enough for her family and her fiancé to come to say their goodbyes.

-----

It’s a terrible night at the Pitt.

It started out fine, but it ends with Dr. Jack Abbot on the roof.  His hiding spot and his singing siren both; the place that promises a break from the chaos of the ED, and the place that promises a darkness so pure that he could finally sleep without nightmares, if he only took those few steps to embrace it. 

Right now, he stays on the safe side of the railing.  The storm has passed, but the roof is slick, and he’s not as steady on his legs after such a brutal night.  It’s still dark out anyway.  Dawn hasn’t broken quite yet, but the sky is starting to lighten in the east.

“Knew I’d find you up here.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to know your voice.  Medic 10 patrols closest to the Pitt.  Other ambulances might go to the hospitals closest to their base—Shadyside or Presby, maybe—but you and your partner nearly always turn up at the Pitt. 

And since you nearly always take the night shift, Abbot has known you now for a while.

“Tough night,” you continue.  He doesn’t turn when you join him at the railing, but he shifts his arm just a bit when yours brushes his.  You’re still in your ridiculous high-vis jacket, and it’s still wet from the storm. 

“Lost the one you brought me,” he finally says.  His voice is rough, cracked.  He feels every death keenly, but this one leaves him desiccated.  He’s wrung out.

He sees you shake your head out of the corner of his eye. 

“Not lost yet.  Dana brought me up to speed.”

“Not a save,” he snorts bitterly.  “She’s as good as dead.  Her body will follow as soon as her people pull the plug.”

“Her people will have time to say goodbye.”

He snorts again, a humorless sort of laugh and says nothing.  What sort of good does that do, he wants to say.  To have the last memory be of her like that, crushed and full of tubes and wires?

You seem to read his mind.  You always seem to do that.  You always seem to understand his dark thoughts, his cynicism, the hopeless futility he feels on days like this. 

“It means something,” you tell him, and your voice is soft beside him.  “I’ve lost people slow and I’ve lost people fast, and I tell you—getting to say goodbye is always better.  Even if it’s ugly.  Even if it’s hard.  It might not feel like it to them downstairs right now saying their goodbyes…but it will mean something, someday.  That they were able to hold her hand and tell her they love her.  That they can hope that some part of her felt and heard it before she went.”

He says nothing to that either.  He’s afraid that if he does, he might break.  He can hear the way your words wobble a little, so he keeps his eyes fixed on the lightening sky.  For a long moment, you both just stand there, hands on the safety railing but not touching.  Each of you in your own thoughts, meditating on the rough night you each survived.

Abbot clears his throat and finally asks, “you really think that?”  He turns his head and looks at your profile, sees your earnest nod in answer to his question.

“You know what we are?”  You turn your head to face him too, and he’s struck—as he always is—at the sight of you.  At your eyes gazing into his, open and searching.  “You and me?”

“Medical professionals?” he guesses.

“No.”  A beat.  “Well, yes, but beyond that.”

“Penguin fans?”

That draws a ghost of a smile, but you shake your head.  “Beyond that.”

“Masochistic assholes with suicidal tendencies who enjoy being hurt and depressed?”

You wrinkle your nose at that.  “I’m not suicidal, and if you really are—”

“What are we then?” he cuts in gently. 

You turn to face the sky again.  Dawn is just beginning to break, the sun breaking the line of the horizon and painting the lingering ribbons of storm clouds in a glorious wash of pink and orange.

“We’re thieves,” you tell him.  “We aren’t saving lives.  Not really.  Death always wins in the end.  All we’re doing is stealing time like thieves in the night.”

Abbot turns to look at the sky too.  “Cheerful.  Glad I’m not really suicidal.”

That earns him a light elbow to his side that makes him smile. 

“I mean it,” you continue.  “The universe looked at that woman downstairs and said, ‘you’re out of time.’  But I got to her as the rescue team cut her from her car, and I stole time.  Just a little.  Just enough to get her to you.  And you stole a little more time for her.  Not very much, but enough to give her people the gift of goodbye.  Sometimes we steal a lot of time, and sometimes it’s just a little, but it all means something.”

“Does it?”  He doesn’t say it meanly, but if it comes out harsh, you don’t react.  You know him well enough by now to know the difference between his delivery and his intent.

“I have to believe it does.”  Then you take a deep breath, enough to pull his gaze back to you.  He watches as you close your eyes against the sunrise, watches as you breathe deep, like you’re trying to draw the riot of colors into you to overlay the darkness you just lived through during the night.  He watches your exhausted, beautiful face as the rising sun casts its rosy glow over you, and he feels the black hole in him—the endless void that seems to grow after nights like this—shrink just a little.

“Why are you still here?” he asks, but he keeps his voice low, not wanting to spoil the quiet magic of the moment.  “You should have gone home hours ago.”

You reach your right hand into your pocket and pull out a specimen cup.  You hold it up and show him the diamond ring inside before you slip it back in your pocket.

“It’s hers.”  Your voice is just as low, just above a whisper.  “I think it fell off in the ambulance.  I cleaned it up and brought it back.  For her family.”

Any other medic, any other case, he might joke about it.  Make a bad joke about medics’ low pay and what a pilfered diamond might bring at a pawn shop.  But he’d never voice it with you even if he had that sort of dark humor:  most of the medics in the city care, but you care more than most.  You care enough to clean up a ring and bring it back the same day rather than sending it through slower channels. 

You care enough to guess how he was feeling, and you care enough to seek him out on the roof.

You care so much, sometimes he wonders how you can even breathe with how much space your heart must take up in your chest. 

He shifts his eyes from your face—your eyes still closed against the sun—and the smear of red on the bright yellow of your jacket’s left arm pulls his gaze.  He looks closer, sees the gash in the fabric….

“You’re hurt,” he says, and he switches from maudlin to action in a split second.  He takes your wrist in his and pushes up your sleeve, takes in the rigged bandage that you probably did on yourself in the middle of your shift.

“Cut it on the frame of her car.”  You try to pull away from him, but he holds you fast.  He picks at the edge of tape—you hiss as it pulls at the hair on your arm—and pulls away the swatch of gauze to reveal the jagged cut still seeping blood.

“It’s fine.”  You tug against him, but he doesn’t let you go.  “C’mon, it’s not a big deal—”

“Bullshit.”  He moves his grip from your wrist to your bicep and turns you towards the roof access door.  “Downstairs, now.”

“Jack—”

“It needs cleaned, stitched.  When was your last tetanus booster?”

“I can clean it myself, and it doesn’t need stitches.  A Band-Aid—”

“Last tetanus shot was when?”  He hustles you through the door and down the stairs.

“Before Y2K, probably.”  You try one last time to extricate yourself from his grip, and when you fail, you sigh.  “It’s day shift.  You really gonna leave my fate in the hands of one of Robby’s little goslings?”

“Never.”  He gets you downstairs, steers you into an open bay, and makes you plop down in a chair while he pulls up a kit.  “I need a win to finish out the shift.”

“A baby cut and a booster shot is hardly a win,” you point out.

“Maybe.”  He helps you shrug out of your jacket, and he sits down in a stool that he rolls up to you.  “But I think helping you avoid tetanus is stealing, what?  Years of time on your behalf?  Feels like a helluva win to me.”

Then he bends his head to the task at hand, and you say little as he works.  He cleans out the cut on your left arm, stitches it shut with neat precision.  Covers it with a fresh bit of gauze that he tapes down.  He even administers the shot (“might as well give it in the left arm too,” you tell him).

He does it all while pointedly ignoring your own engagement ring on your left hand, as he ignores it any time he’s alone with you.  Another man put it there, claimed you as his, but Jack needs these moments of pretend more than he wants to admit. 

He relies on these stolen moments—the paltry seconds and minutes he gets with you—to survive the tough times. 

Maybe he’s a thief of time after all.

[babbushka]

Death At The Dive Bar

Flip Zimmerman X F!Reader

Inspired by this request, some weird twilight-zone occult occurrences happen to happen to our favorite detective. 3.4k, NSFW

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s always the same -- a scream, a crash, broken glass bloodied on the floor. A gunshot maybe, or maybe not. In the dead of night, acts of violence hiding beneath a cloak of darkness. 

It’s always the same -- a 911 call, frantic panicked voices demanding someone come down from the station, someone please help, before it’s too late, even though the very act of them picking up the phone means it’s already done. 

It’s always the same -- until it isn't. And on a dark and stormy summer night in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, a tiny dive bar calls the nearest police dispatcher, and calmly requests to speak to one Detective Flip Zimmerman of Colorado Springs. 

Flip had been in the area when he got the call over the radio, wandering around, scoping out the woods. He knew at once where it was, had heard stories of the place of course, way back in the day when he still wore the weight of the war like a thick leather jacket around his shoulders. When he pulls up in his Chevy it looks exactly the same as it always had been described: run down, small, with a buzzing neon sign proudly proclaiming The Mile High Tavern as the best place to grab a Coors within 50 miles. Nevermind that it was the only place. 

He sits in his truck and glares at the bar. Popular with passers-through along winding scenic roads and most frequented by motorcyclists seeking shelter from the rain, he wonders (not for the first time this week) what the hell he’s getting himself into. The note from the dispatcher had been vague -- a lady was askin’ for him specifically, and he was supposed to find out why. Things like this didn’t bode well for him, usually. 

Especially not lately, not with the way his last relationship flopped. He had tried to explain to the nice woman that his job took up a lot of his time -- had hoped that her big city job had given her a different perspective, but she didn’t seem to think his work hours applied to her. That had been three months ago that she left him, and he was still sore from it. 

No, a woman asking for him directly was the last thing Flip wanted to get himself tangled up in, regardless of the reason. 

Despite the rain, there isn’t the usual line of motorcycles out front. In fact, there was only one car to be seen, an oldie -- something chrome plated and pink, but he can’t really tell in the rainy darkness. The Mile High Tavern appeared for all intents and purposes to be empty, and so Flip takes one last drag of his cigarette, makes sure his gun is loaded and in its holster, and with a sigh of resignation steps into the downpour. 

“Let me get you something nice and warm,” A friendly voice calls over to him from the counter when Flip steps over the threshold, your back turned to him. All at once, Flip’s heart begins to pound. Something about this place felt odd to him, an uneasy feeling that shifted his stomach around. He took another step closer and you continued, “I’m afraid the only hot thing we’ve got tonight is coffee.” 

“Coffee’d be just fine, thank you.” Flip nods with gratitude, before sitting at the bar. Looking around, he notes how quaint the little place is. It’s neat and clean and warm, and he confirms that you are the only person in here. He wonders if you’ve been alone long, and frowns. “I’m sorry - I’m Detective Zimmerman, someone here rang for me?” 

“I’d be that someone, yes.” You slide him a cup of black coffee down the counter that you lean against with a smile. It is dazzling, bright in the dark light of the dive bar. “Thank you for coming out here, I appreciate how quick you were.” 

Well shit, Flip grimaces into his mug, now he feels like an asshole for sitting in the truck debating when, or if, he should brave the rain to head inside. 

You smile at him like you knew he was out there biding his time, a teasing smile that lets him know you’re not mad, even though you could be. It wasn’t professional for a law officer to keep someone waiting like that. 

“What seems to be the trouble?” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they’re alone. 

It was dangerous these days, with all the murders in the woods lately. Women being slaughtered left and right by what Flip is certain is a serial killer, but no one will take him seriously enough about it to do anything. Not without more evidence. 

“Do you..” You pause, as if you’re trying to find the words. No, that’s not it, as if you’re having a hard time spitting them out, like something is preventing you. “May I sit next to you?” 

You look at him with expectation and hope, and he stares into your eyes, searching for what the hell brought him all the way out here on his night shift. The clock strikes three in the morning. 

He doesn’t notice himself nodding with allowance, until you’re walking around the counter and getting close to him. Even though it’s warm in the bar, your hands are cold. 

“Thank you,” You breathe, getting close to him. Not so close that you’re touching, but close enough that he could brush against your shoulder with his own. “I don’t usually work alone, but tonight the other server is sick, and with the storm we aren’t expecting too many people, so here I am. There was something out there.” 

You stare directly into his eyes, and he’s almost taken aback by the seriousness and bluntness of your voice. Your voice is hypnotic almost, the edges of your words fuzzy and sharp at the same time, an impossible combination that has his palms sweating. He wonders for a brief moment if you slipped something into his coffee, but the thought leaves him as soon as it arrives.

“What sort of something?” He finds himself asking quietly, not wanting whatever it is to overhear. He thinks back to the past few weeks, the broken in-houses, the tape on the floor, the screams of agony. Flip sets his jaw and leans in close, looks deep into your wide open eyes, pupils huge in the dark. 

“A figure, on the other side of the window. I saw it in the lightning, I saw its eyes. I think it’s a man. I’m scared.” You whisper, lowering your voice to match his pitch. 

“I can escort you home -- ” He goes to get up, a rush of protective energy flowing through him, scraping the bar stool against the wooden floor, the sound so so so loud in the quiet of the bar, but your hand is gripping his arm the second he gets up.

“No!” Your voice is too sharp again, dark around the edges, and Flip looks down and sees panic in your eyes. He softens immediately, and even though he’s not supposed to, even though it’s unprofessional, even though you’re a stranger, he pulls you into a hug for some comfort. You throw your arms around him in return, and he’s not certain who is comforting whom. “No -- I -- I don’t want it to know where I live, if it follows us. I was hoping you could keep me company.” 

Your face is pressed into his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he feels complete, he feels like he’s never ever going to let go. He feels like you were made to fit into his arms, against his chest. He grows hot, his throat clearing as he immediately steps back to give you some space. 

You’re a stranger. 

He doesn’t even know your name. 

The rain pounds outside and lightning flashes, and Flip snaps back to reality. 

“I don’t think I can stay all night, I would have brought backup.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, offering, “I can do a search of the premises, if that would make you feel better.” 

“You shouldn’t go outside.” You shake your head, and Flip lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad that you have relieved him from what would have been one bitch of a job. Especially when you look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip and say, “I would prefer it if you stayed in here. With me.” 

“Alright.” He smiles, throwing all caution to the wind because what the hell else is he going to do on a Monday night? “If you’d feel safer with me staying here with you, I’ll stay. But in the morning, I’ll escort you either home or to another safe location, or hell even to the station and you can give a statement, and we’ll have someone out here searching the woods.” 

“That sounds like a plan, thank you.” Your hand rests on the bar counter close to his, so close, he nudges his pinky against yours. There’s no rings on your finger, he notices. 

“In the meantime, what should we do?” He licks his lips, knowing that it’s wrong, it’s an abuse of power -- but who has power over whom? He’s getting lost in your eyes, in the pretty smile you give him as you reach over the bar counter and grab a small rectangular pack of -- 

“I have a deck of cards.” You brandish them at him, looking over your shoulder with a grin. The way you’re bent over the bartop has Flip’s mind doing awful things, things like picturing you without any of those clothes on. “You any good at poker?” 

Flip was not good at poker. 

He’s lost the past two games and you’re already shuffling for a third. The energy in the bar has relaxed significantly, and Flip is starting to forget why he’s there. 

“Let’s up the ante.” You say, in an attempt to discourage or motivate him, he isn’t sure, as you shuffle and shuffle and shuffle the cards. “Each hand someone loses, they take something off.” 

“I don’t see how this ends any other way than me naked.” Flip grunts, not entirely displeased by the prospect. 

“You could win, and then I’d be the naked one.” You point out, and he laughs, a snort through his nose that exhales blue wispy smoke from his cigarette. 

On the first hand, Flip loses -- but that’s all it takes. He unbuttons his shirt and you’re hot on him, pinching his cigarette out and flicking it into the ashtray for him, your lips searing onto his. No one can ever find out about this, can ever know he’s about to fuck this stranger on the job, fuck you silly over the bar counter while on a call, and you don’t seem like the type to tell. Not with the way you’re pulling your blouse up over your head.

He hadn’t really paid any attention to what you’re wearing until it’s off, in a heap on the floor around him. The undergarments you wear are old fashioned, a bullet bra and girdle that hold up a pair of stockings. The clothes on the floor are old fashioned too, almost like the same exact uniform that a waitress might have worn at the Tavern twenty years ago. 

But they look new, and maybe the tavern never updated their uniforms,Flip doesn’t care, not with the way your hands are on his belt, pulling his hard dick out of his pants and spitting down onto it, spreading the spit around, his tip leaking and joining the mix. 

With ragged breath, he pushes you down face first onto the bartop again, pops the straps of your bra, your garter, pushes down your stockings. They rip under his rough treatment, and he feels bad for a moment, just a moment, until his cock is rubbing at the soft wet folds of you and you let out a moan that fills the tavern with warmth. 

“I don’t have a -- ” He starts, pulling away, trying to remember that he’s almost forty for fuck’s sake, he needs to be responsible, he needs to -- 

“It’s alright.”  You reach behind him and grab at his hand, leading him to drape his body over yours, giving him permission to fuck you anyway. 

With a sharp breath he pushes in all the way, bottoms out so that his cock is completely enveloped inside of you, his hips pressed against the smooth skin of your ass, and he almost can’t move he’s so blinded by the feeling. You’re so tight, and so wet, the bar smells like musk and sweat and rain, the sweet salty combination making his mind go dizzy. 

He’s never talked much during sex, and this is no different, but in the back of his mind he wishes he had something good enough to say to you, something impressive. Instead, he thrusts in a steady harsh rhythm that has your knees buckling, your hands gripping the far edge of the bar counter, your cheek pressed against the polished wood, mouth dropped open and eyes shut tight in pleasure. 

Flip’s hands on your waist are tight enough that he could dig them into you if he wasn’t careful, he could leave marks. He almost wants to, wants you to remember him when this is over and he’ll have to go back to the station, have to write a report about all of this. Not this, not you, not the way your sweet cunt clenches around him as you take his force, take his length, hot and pulsing inside of you. 

He needs to see you, all of a sudden, he needs to. Grabbing your arms, he pulls out only long enough for you to whine in protest for a few short seconds, and then he’s taking you to a booth, taking you somewhere padded that he can lie you down and brace himself on top of you. 

You lick your lips as your head rolls back, legs spreading for him to nestle between them as he bends over you, those same legs hooking around his waist. You’re completely naked, your perky breasts begging to be sucked on, and so he does. He wonders if the rasp of his clothes on your skin feels nice, if you like it. If you like him. 

It’s too hot in here, Flip thinks, his eyes shut as he pants against your body. Too hot and bright, bright behind his eyelids as he groans and moans. He’s sweating, and it’s loud, the sound of rain too loud, its wooshing a roar that deafens his ears. He almost can’t think about anything else, can’t think about the way you feel under him, why is it so bright why is it so hot -- 

It hits you first, and you’re squirming, panting and moaning as you come. Flip can feel it squelching between your thighs, his cock pulling out shiny and glistening with your orgasm. It makes him go over the edge, his come filling you up, the hot white spread of it. He tries not to worry about fucking you raw, but it’s been a long time since he hasn’t used a rubber. 

You give him a big grin, stretching out beneath him, your legs falling to the sides where they can. It’s still raining. 

Wordlessly, he gathers you up from underneath him and settles you down on the floor, kissing all over your face, your neck, your breasts. Your stomach chuckles underneath him as you hold him close, breathing in the smell of him. He doesn’t want you to ever let go. 

“Then don’t.” You sigh into his hair there on the floor, and Flip closes his eyes, tired from the events of the day. 

He doesn’t realize that you’ve responded to his thoughts, until he’s in a deep sleep. 

In the morning, he’s alone. 

In the morning, the dive bar isn’t just old, it’s run down. The windows are smashed like kids had been playing pranks here, tossing bottles and rocks through the glass. The shelves are all empty, no liquor, nothing. 

Flip feels like he is frozen as he looks around him. Where were you? Where were the cards that had scattered all over the floor? He is fully dressed, asleep in a booth that is covered in dust and cobwebs -- it wasn’t that dirty yesterday, was it? 

He’s sick, his stomach lurching as he sits up. He doesn’t even know your name to shout it out into the bar. In the light of morning, the rain has stopped, and Flip gathers himself up on uncertain legs. He looks around, trying to find any trace of you, but there isn’t one. There’s only one set of boot prints in the dust on the floor, his own.

Confusion continues to wash over him, which slowly morphs into panic. These windows weren’t broken last night, the floor wasn’t dusty, where the fuck were you? He stumbles to his truck, his mind working double time trying to piece together what happened. Surely he hadn’t dreamt this, what was he doing last night? He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stoned he -- 

“Come in, Flip, come in!” A panicked voice crackles from his car, and making sure his gun is still in the holster, Flip runs right to his truck, hopping in and turning the engine over. 

“Ron?” Flip grasps the radio tightly in his hand, tuning the frequency to hear better. “Ron is that you? What’s going in?” 

“Flip! Where are you?” Ron asks, direct to the point. 

“I’m up by the fork in the mountain pass, just off the scenic highway.” 

“What?! Are you safe?” 

“Of course I’m safe, why wouldn’t I be? Ron what the fuck is happening?” Flip’s eyes are hard on the tavern, and even from the outside, something is wrong. This place was not open last night, it couldn’t have been. The walls are blackened with soot, the doors are boarded shut. How did he get in -- how did he get out?

“There was flash flooding, down the scenic road. It brought rocks down with it from all the rain. Search and rescue found a couple cars down the cliffside.” Ron rushes to explain, and Flip feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“They’re dead?” He pinches the bridge of his nose -- people were getting caught up in a flash flood while he was getting laid last night. 

“Yeah. You need to get back here, where did you say you were at again?” Ron asks, and Flip can hear that he’s pulling out a pen and paper from his desk. 

“Mile High Tavern. I spent the night here” Flip responds, and then there’s silence. “Ron? Did you hear me? I said I’m at -- ”

“I heard you, but that’s not possible.” Ron’s voice is shaken, “That bar burned down back in ‘57.” 

All at once, everything stops. 

He blinks, and he’s in the roar of the inferno as he comes into your body.

He blinks again, and the bar is gone entirely. 

Nothing remaining but a patch of scorched earth in its place. 

No neon sign. 

No motorcycles

No single car out front. 

Ron is saying something on the radio, but Flip can’t hear. He is reversing out of there so quickly that he almost misses the flash of something behind him -- almost. Flip looks back in his rearview mirror at the bar and sees something, a shape, a young woman in old fashioned clothing far away, through the trees. 

A hand waves, and Flip knows that whatever you were, you saved him, protected him from the flash flood that killed. You saved him, and he fucked you, and he’s sick to his stomach about that, not sure what was real and what isn’t, not sure of anything anymore except that he wants to find you and do it all over again. 

But he blinks, and you’re gone. 

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemicrofic November challenge.

There's Just One Who Could Make Me Stay

November Prompt: Guard | Word Count: 532 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Future Fic, Eddie Munson Lives, Returning Home, Reconnecting, Pre-Steddie

Steve stands along the baseline. The kids on the court look way younger than he remembers being at their age. Of course, he was fighting monsters, and that ages a man.

He's part of the old guard. 

Problem is, he still feels young. Forty-eight isn't old, but thirty years is a long time to be out of high school.

Tommy greeted him with excitement earlier. The jagged edges of their friendship smoothed over after years. King Steve resurrected, for one night only. Steve played along. He was happy to see him, but Steve definitely hasn't forgotten.

Lucas, Steve actually was happy to see. That championship will always be tainted, the last one Hawkins ever won. But Lucas deserved to be the master of ceremonies, the cutter of ribbons.

The new gym is dedicated, and it's weird to stand where the demolished old one stood, now long gone. Like so many things in Hawkins. It's not the town he grew up in, that's for damn sure. 

None of them stayed, they fled, one-by-one.

Outside, Steve sees his rental car tire is flat. The spare? Mostly flat. 

Goddamnit.

He digs in his wallet and finds his AAA card, and expects to be told that it'll be an hour or two. But there's surprisingly a local shop that covers AAA calls now, and they've dispatched them out.

Awesome. Steve hops up on the trunk of the car and watches the last of the crowd disperse. 

He hears the tow truck before he sees it. 

Sees the dark head of long hair fly upwards when the guy jumps out, both boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. 

"Flat tire?" the guy hollers as he's pulling open the toolbox along the bed.

Steve stills.

"Eddie?"

And the head whips towards him, familiar, even if it's been nearly thirty years.

"Steve Harrington can't change a tire?" voice teasing, but delighted.

Steve laughs, crossing the distance.

"Spare is flat, too. How the hell are you? I didn't know you were back in town," Steve says, barreling forward, pulling Eddie off his feet.

It's been a long fucking time. 

"Yeah, enough of the old assholes have croaked that most of the townsfolk don't even remember my whole satanic murder spree," Eddie says dryly, hugging him back. "Wayne retired, and I moved home to keep him retired."

"You should have called. I'd have come to see you."

Helping pack Eddie up, only half-healed from his wounds, had been Steve's biggest what if in life. Eddie, the first to go.

Now, here he is.

Eddie smiles, face close, "I figured you had a whole life going."

"Divorced. Three times," Steve says, and Eddie laughs. There are wrinkles around his eyes, but he looks good. Really happy.

"Jesus Christ, Harrington. Don't you know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over-and-over, expecting different results?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve jaws back. And it's nice, the banter. He's missed it. 

They get down on the ground at the tire together. AAA might be paying Eddie to change it, but Steve can fucking help.

Tire changed, hands dirty, Steve looks at Eddie, "You wanna grab a beer? I'll buy."

"Hell yeah you will, Harrington."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[quintessenceofdust88]

Life is changin' Tides, ch. 2 🌊

[Ch. 1 here]

[Also available on AO3]

Tommy drives through LA’s streets with complete disregard for speed limits or traffic laws, his mind set on getting closer to the shore. His eyes widen as he takes in everything that’s happening with the city that’s been his home for so many years. It’s completely different seeing the chaos from above as he was doing from the chopper, and being in the middle of it as he is now. Everywhere he looks, desperation clings to people like a second skin—exhaustion in every step, despair in every glance. There are many parents clutching their children close, and the vision makes Tommy’s heart squeeze in his chest when he realizes his own child is lost and scared in the middle of it. And then, an even more unbearable thought crosses his mind: what if she’s not? 

That’s too much for him. Tommy parks his truck in the middle of an unfamiliar street, eerily empty, and steps outside, his breath quickening in what he recognizes as a panic attack, the same kind he used to have back in Afghanistan, only worse. So much worse, because Tommy never feared for his life as much as he’s fearing for Vivie’s. He knows with a fierce certainty he can’t go on without her. Tommy clutches his steering wheel until his knuckles are white, and single sob wrecks through his chest. He tries - fails - to push the worst scenarios off his mind. Vivie has to be alive. Anything else is just unthinkable. 

And he has to find her. He has to find his daughter, and protect her, and make sure she’s safe. Tommy takes a deep breath, inhaling for seven seconds and exhaling for five, and he swallows his panic as best as he can, pressing his nails against his palm until his hands stop trembling. He can panic later, when Vivie is safe in his arms. 

Before starting his car, Tommy decides he needs a better plan of action than frantically going around the city and hoping he'll run into Genevieve. He doesn't have gas, and Vivie doesn't have time. Every second counts.

Tommy raises his phone to his ear with a trembling hand, having dialed numbers that he's used to being on the other side of.

“ 911, what's your emergency?” A sweet female voice answers.

“H-hi, this is firefighter pilot Kinard. I… I’m not on duty, but I have something important to ask.” He says, his voice trembling slightly, but he takes another deep breath to try and calm down.

“Firefighter Kinard, I'm dispatcher Maddie Buckley” The woman says, her tone professional and urgent. “You say you're not on duty, but are you safe? What can I help you with?”

“I am safe, it's… it's my daughter who's not” Tommy tells her, and he has to fight the tears that are already threatening rolling down his face as he says it out loud. “Please, if you have reports of a girl named Genevieve found amongst the survivors, can you make sure it's reported to Harbor station? She's… she's five years old”

Maddie audibly gasps on the phone, and Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, trying to tamper down his guilt and despair. They won't help him now.

“Yes, Mr. Kinard, of course. I… I imagine it won't do much good if I tell you not to go looking for her on your own?”

“It won't” He answers truthfully; there's nothing on Earth that can make him stop looking for his daughter while he has a breath left on his body.

“Then please be safe while doing so” She wishes, and Tommy feels a surge of affection for this dispatcher he doesn't know, this Maddie girl. “Is there anything else I can do to assist you?”

“Yes, actually” Tommy tells her, an idea coming to him as if whispered by some good angel. “Do you happen to know where they assembled the field hospital for the victims?”

--------

Buck is pretty sure that, if he didn’t have to put up a good front for Genevivie, he’d have crumbled in despair by now. They’ve been walking for at least an hour and he hasn’t found neither Genevieve’s uncle nor Christopher, not even a sign of them. He’s been asking around and only getting blank stares in return, or worse, pitiful ones that tell him exactly what most people think might have happened to the two of them. Christopher’s glasses are hanging from Buck’s neck, a stark reminder of just how much Buck failed the kid, and they feel like they weigh a ton. But Genevieve’s hand in his is warm, and light, and she looks up at Buck as if she’s completely sure he’ll keep her safe and take her back to her uncle. 

And Buck has to honor that trust. He knows her uncle Sal is waiting for her (presuming the man is alive, which Buck fiercely hopes for), and so is her father; she didn’t mention a mother, and Buck didn’t ask. 

“Mr. Evan?” She asks while they’re going through an empty street, on their way to the next group of survivors they can find, hoping against hope their people are among them. 

“Yeah, Vivie?” Buck asks, his voice more strained than he’d like it to be, and he remembers that the last time he drank water was before the wave hit. His throat is sore and starting to throb just as much as his leg. 

“Were you scared? When the big wave came?” She asks, her eyes wide in a mix of curiosity and lingering fear as she looks up at him. Buck shivers, remembering the dread he felt when he realized what exactly was happening to the Santa Monica pier, the blind fear he felt for Christopher. Vivie, however, continues before he can answer. “I was scared, but Uncle Sal wasn’t. He just took me and ran really fast"

“I did the same to Christopher” Buck tells her, and Vivie’s eyes widen in wonder.

“You did? So you’re brave like Uncle Sal!” Genevieve concludes, and Buck can’t help but be endeared by her logic, flawed as it was. 

“I… I tried to be, but… I don’t think I was very good at it, Vivie” Buck confesses to her, and she frowns at him, her little nose turning up. 

“Why not?” She asks, her innocence clear, and Buck’s heart aches in his chest.

“Because… Because I ended up losing Chris. I was supposed to keep him safe, and I lost him” Buck says, his voice breaking. He swallows hard, holding back the tears that are threatening to spill.

“Oh” Vivie says, and then looks deep in thought, before looking up at him. “But you didn’t mean to, right?”

“Of course not! I… I meant to protect him, but…” He trails off, but Vivie continues for him. 

“The big wave, right? It wasn’t your fault, mr. Evan. Uncle Sal didn’t mean to lose me either, it was an accident. Like when I spilled milk all over Daddy’s puzzle. He wasn’t mad at me, because I didn’t mean to, and he said accidents happen to everyone. And that we just need to do what we can to fix it”

“So… so you don’t think Christopher’s mad at me?” Buck asks. He knows it’s a bit desperate to be asking that question to a five-year-old he just met, but he really needs some sort of reassurance right now.

“Of course he’s not!” she says, her voice rising with certainty. “I’m not mad at Uncle Sal. I still think he’s really brave. And so are you, Mr. Evan. You saved me, and you’re trying super hard to find Christopher. You’re a hero.”

It makes Buck’s chest tighten, but not in a bad way. He would never call himself a hero, not after today, and he still doesn’t think he is, but. The faith of this little child in him is like a small bubble of hope in the middle of the wreckage, and Buck will hold on to that for as long as he can. 

“T… Thanks, Vivie” He tries to say without his voice breaking, and he doesn’t quite manage, but Genevieve doesn’t seem to realize the weight of what she said. “You're being pretty brave yourself, you know?”

“I know, Daddy always says so.” She says matter-of-factly, and Buck’s amazed that a five-year-old can have that sort of confidence that he doesn’t have at 28. “I’m not afraid of spiders and he is, so he always says I’m braver than him. But I don't think I'm braver than him, because I'm scared of sleeping in the dark, and he isn't. His bedroom doesn't have a nightlight like mine.”

Buck laughs for the first time in hours at that, and in different circumstances, he’d definitely want to meet Vivie’s father. There’s something fascinating about this man who builds up his daughter’s self-esteem, doesn’t get mad at her for accidents, teaches her disaster management and is also afraid of spiders (but not of the dark). 

However, Buck doesn’t have time to build the puzzle that is Genevivie’s dad anymore, because they’re reaching some police officers that are patrolling the area. Buck doesn’t know them, but they might be able to help. He squeezes Vivie’s hand so she keeps up with him and jostles to them as fast as his leg allows. 

“Excuse me,” He calls, and one of them turns to him. Buck can see his own exhaustion and despair reflected in the man’s eyes, and he understands what people mean by disaster solidarity now. “I… I am looking for two people. Have you passed by anyone named Sal or- or Christopher? They’re a man and a little boy…”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think so” The officer tells him, his voice filled with the sympathy Buck found in the voices of pretty much everyone they’ve crossed so far. “You… you might wanna try the triage center near the shore? They’ve built it out of a VA hospital. I heard a lot of victims are being taken there, so maybe your people are there?””

It’s the first Buck’s hearing of it, and that little bubble of hope, the one Vivie blew in his chest, grows a little. A triage center would write down names, make sure people are taken care of. It’s not much, but it’s their best chance. 

“How do I get there?”

-----

Eddie is astonished. Even though he’s been to war and worked the earthquake the year before, this is still the most despairing situation he’s seen. People are coming by heaps to the triage center, in different degrees of dehydration, sheer exhaustion or worse injuries, and it’s a bit overwhelming, if he’s honest with himself. There are helicopters frantically crossing the air, and Eddie sends a silent prayer for those guys who are probably having an even harder time at work than he is.

The only upside of this, when compared to the earthquake, is that this time he doesn’t have to worry about Christopher. He knows his kid is having the time of his life and probably stuffing his face with junk food that Buck always allows him to have and making Buck stop moping around. And he’s safe. So Eddie gets to do his job with a focused mind, which is important, because it’s a pretty demanding job at the moment. 

He’s just seen Bosko take off with her captain and is about to go back to patching up the wound. There is a lot of yelling around, people crying in pain, people screaming for loved ones, but one particular commotion around calls his attention.

“No, you don’t understand!” An angry sharp voice is saying. “I have to go! She’s alone out there!”

Eddie turns towards the noise to find a man with a gaze wrapped around his head fighting against two nurses. He’s a strong man, tanned skin, probably in his forties, and his eyes are widened in despair. 

“Sir, you can’t just leave, you need to let us help you!” One of the nurses is saying, but the man won’t stop struggling. The bandage around his head is stained red, and he’s gripping the sheets as if he’s having a hard time to even sit up.. “You’re injured and-”

“I don’t give a damn if I’m hurt, don’t you see?! I need to find my niece, she’s five, and she’s lost in this damn mess and it’s my fault!”

Eddie’s stomach drops, and he rushes over before he can stop himself. The idea of a little girl missing tugs right at his heartstrings, making him instantly think of Christopher. As he comes closer, Eddie sizes up the situation, and he sees despair and determination in the man’s gaze, but they can’t, in good conscience, let him go. His hands are trembling and his breathing is quick and shallow, and it’s clear that he can’t go anywhere that is more than two steps away. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy” Eddie says, his voice as steady and calm as he can make it, and both the man and the nurses turn to him. “Sir, my name is Eddie, I’m a firefighter, maybe I-

“Yeah, guess what, buddy? I’m a firefighter too, and I don’t care about what you have to say. I’m leaving here, and I’m finding my niece.” The man says hoarsely, and gets up from bed, his face paling as soon as his feet hit the floor.

Eddie sees it coming before it happens, and is already prepared to catch the guy when his knees buckle up from under him. He sits him back on the bed, and the man lets out a frustrated groan, shaking his head. 

“I… You don’t get it, man. I have to find her.” He says, his voice breaking, and Eddie feels for him, he truly does. He sits by the man’s side, and he eyes Eddie suspiciously; Eddie’s sure he knows exactly the kind of tactics that are used to calm down those who are about to have a breakdown, but he’ll try to apply them anyway. 

“What’s your name, man?” He asks, and the guy’s glare confirms to him that yes, he’s on to Eddie. 

“Look, don’t give me this ‘calm down’ crap, ok? I’m not a patient” He grumbles, and Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, you are, whether you like it or not. You hit your head pretty hard out there, dude. You won’t be any help to your niece if you pass out in the street while looking for her” Eddie reasons, and the man crosses his arms, but doesn’t argue, because he probably knows Eddie’s right. “Now, if you give me your name and your station, we can try and get some of your guys to look for her”

“It’s Deluca. I’m with the 122” He grumbles begrudgingly. “And what’s your station?”

Eddie is about to answer that he’s with the 118 when Deluca widens his eyes as if he’s seen a ghost, the little color that he’s gotten back leaving his cheeks. Eddie follows his gaze to find a man frantically looking around, dressed in a plaid shirt and with eyes as desperate as Deluca’s. 

“Oh my God, why is he here?!” Deluca exclaims, and his tone is urgent. 

Eddie is on alert instantly, getting up from the bed, but he doesn’t have time to react anymore. The other guy has spotted them and is coming in their direction with quick and desperate steps. 

“Sal!” He exclaims, holding Deluca’s shoulders with a tight grip, looking at him intensely, his expression an uncanny mix of relief and despair. “Are you alright?! What happened?!”

“Tommy”, Deluca says desperately, his hand reaching out to grab the other man’s arm, his eyes filled with tears. “Tommy, listen to me, I am so sorry. We… S-she asked me to come to the pier, s-she said she couldn’t wait until Saturday... I s-said yes, man, you know I can never say no to that little girl… And then…”

Deluca is not able to continue, burying his face in his hands, a sob wrecking through his body. Eddie looks from him to the other man (Tommy, apparently), and sees that his face has turned pale. Tommy takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again, apparently swallowing back tears before speaking.

“Sal” Tommy says, and his tone is obviously trying to be reassuring, even though it contrasts with the trembling of his voice and the way he’s still gripping his friend’s shoulders, his knuckles turning white. “It’s not your fault, man, how could you have known a tsunami would hit?”

“How is it not my fault, Tommy?! I lost her! I was supposed to care for her, you trusted me to do it, and I lost her!” He says, and it’s clear he’s working himself to a state. Eddie, as an acting paramedic, wants to intervene before he makes himself sick, but he knows there’s no assuaging the man’s guilt until this conversation is over. He crosses his arms, watching

“Stop it, Sal, you’re not helping anyone with that. It… It was an accident” Tommy says, and then he looks at Sal with pleading eyes. “Just… Just tell me what happened, please. Did Vivie d-dro… Did she?...”

This time Tommy is the one who can’t go on, not even able to finish the sentence, his voice breaking. He lets go of Deluca’s arm and turns his gaze away, trying to fight tears by desperately shaking his head, and Eddie’s heart aches in his chest. He knows all about fearing for your kid’s life, and it’s clear this man is living through that. Deluca (Sal) apparently reaches the same conclusion, because he widens his eyes and shakes his head. 

“Tommy, n-no! No! She didn’t…” Sal sighs, apparently the thought too much for him as well. Then he looks at Tommy as if he’s afraid to be punched. “When the first wave hit, I picked her up and ran as far as I could. I-I knew there’d probably be a second wave, so I made sure she was in a high spot. And I was about to join her, but then the second wave hit and I…”

Eddie can piece together what happened from that; probably Sal got caught in the second wave, his head was hit by something the water was carrying, and he lost consciousness. He’d seen the same story with dozens of people today, and Sal is very lucky to have even gotten here alive.

Tommy apparently pieced it together too, because he nods tensely, and then looks between the surrounding chaos and Sal’s exhausted expression. Then, he takes his friend’s hand in his, gripping it life a lifeline. 

“You have to tell me, Sal. Was she… Was Vivie…” His voice breaks, and he needs to take a deep sigh, but he marches on. “Was Vivie alive when you separated? Was she okay ?”

“She was safe last time I saw her, Tommy, I promise.” Sal says resolutely, his eyes boring into Tommy’s. Tommy’s shoulders sag in relief for all of two seconds before he’s tense again.

“T-that’s good, but that has to have been hours ago, doesn’t it?” He asks, and they both turn to Eddie, who’s surprised they even remember he was here. 

“I… I am sorry, I didn’t see when mr. Deluca was brought in.” Eddie tells them, hating himself for not being able to be more useful, but he doesn’t even know how the field hospital is operating, he’s just a helping hand. “You… you could look for the people in charge of the hospital, they… They might know if your child was brought in by someone else?...”

“I’ll go with you” Sal states, and he’s stubbornly trying to get up again. Eddie is about to tell him to stop being an idiot, but Tommy beats him to it. 

“No, you won’t” Tommy says, pushing him to sit back down. “You’re hurt, and you probably have a concussion, and I cannot be worrying about you and Vivie at the same time.”

He says it very matter-of-factly, and Eddie can see there’s no resentment, only practicality. But it’s enough to make Sal’s face twist in guilt again, and he nods resignedly.

“You’re right. You’re right, I shouldn’t get in your way.” He says, his voice more subdued than Eddie’s heard so far. “I’ve caused enough problems as it is, Tommy. I… I know I said it before, but I can’t say I’m sorry enough.”

Tommy seems to realize his words were taken in the wrong way, because now his face is the one that bears guilt. But instead of saying something, he wraps his arms around Sal’s frame gently, giving him a tight hug. 

“Hey, stop. This was a natural disaster, Sal. And Vivie is out there, and it sucks, and I’m beside myself with worry. But it’s not your fault, I’ll say it every time you say you’re sorry.” He declares, patting Sal’s back. “I’ll go and find her, and she’ll be fine. She has to be fine. And then I’ll bring her straight here to see her favorite uncle.”

Sal nods, patting Tommy’s back before letting go of him, looking at his friend with his eyes filled with tears. Eddie can see their bond is special, something similar to what he has with Buck, and that they would do anything for each other. 

“Good luck out there, Tommy. Find our girl” Sal pleads, and Tommy nods resolutely, then he turns to Eddie. 

“Do you know where I can find the person in charge?” He asks, and Eddie looks around trying to find the woman with the board. When he finds her, he points in her direction.

“Oh, yeah, she’s right th-” Eddie cuts himself short, and barely registers Tommy running to where he pointed. His stomach drops to his knees, his heart beats fast in his chest, and his thoughts screech to a halt. 

Because, in the opposite direction to where he directed Tommy, he spots Buck. Buck who’s dirty, and covered in blood, and with Christopher’s glasses around his neck . And he has a child in his arms, a little child who’s definitely not Christopher. And Christopher? Eddie’s beautiful eight-year-old son? Nowhere to be seen. 

And all of a sudden Eddie understands exactly how Tommy feels. 

------

Tag list:

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21

@dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld @buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

@agentpeggycartering @chaoticdisasterbi

@deelovesbooks @teabroomsandbooks @hummelinski

[free-resources]

[sigh-tofm]

currently watching a reality/docu show about game wardens and i despise putting these men in us based scenarios but imagine…

… working in a 24/7 diner and regularly getting all sorts of law enforcement throughout the night, looking for a pick-me-up before they head back out again. your favourite is the big captain with a silver star and everything, who doesn’t really go on a patrols or calls anymore but still stops by your diner as often as he can. he’s ridiculously handsome in the rugged, brutish way, with a smiling lines around his eyes and impressive facial hair. always gets coffee and a slice of pie, always asks for a refill so he can watch your broad ass as you walk away when you retrieve the coffee pot. you kinda know what he’s about when he does that, but you don’t mind in the least letting him have his fun and wiggle your hips a little extra - he’s otherwise polite and a good tipper too. you don’t know it yet, but one of these days he’ll be waiting by your car for you to finish your shift and convince you to take him home with you.

… spending a summer day out on the lake, tanning in the back of bowrider you borrowed from your friend when you hear another boat coming up, motor idly working as the driver lets the waves bring him closer to you. you prepare to be annoyed at yet another guy who finds it hilarious to make fun of a fat girl in a bikini, but when you sit up you see it’s a game warden boat and aboard is the single most handsome man you have ever seen in your life, even though his face is shaded by his cap. he asks you all the important questions about boating licenses and life jackets, and you answer them all with a wavering voice, made a little nervous by this god of a man. he mistakes (on purpose) your hesitation as being under the influence and makes you do a breathalyser test. looks you straight in the eyes while you lock your lips around the tube to blow and taps your nose with his finger when the machine beeps and proclaims your innocence.

… being out hunting on the first day of the season and being stopped for a control by a game warden. you’re a good girl, you have everything in order, you tell him as he checks your gun, sticking his finger into the tube magazine to make sure that you don’t carry too many shotgun shells. he gives you a wry smile and asks for your hunting license and you pull out your wallet, only to find that you forgot it at home. he returns to his truck to check with dispatch to see if your story is true, if you really do have a hunting license in your name. proceeds to tell you your license is from last year and that you’re breaking multiple laws here. no license (even though you know you have one), lying to an officer (even though you’re speaking the truth) and hunting on private property (even though you’ve sure you didn’t see any signs about that coming in here). but you can’t prove any of that of course, not out here. seems you’re got yourself in quite the pickle, little lady. luckily warden mactavish is willing to let you make it right without giving you any fines.

… calling in about an owl that has gotten inside your house in the middle of the night. waiting in trepidation at the door so as not to agitate the animal further, only wearing your short dressing gown when there’s suddenly knocking. you open to find the biggest man you’ve ever seen standing on the porch, and you’re about to slam the door on him when he puts his foot in the door and announces he’s here about a bird. you nervously open the door again and he steps inside, having to turn sideways to fit his massive shoulders through the entryway. you point him to the living room where the owl is perched on your curtain rod. in less than three minutes he’s located it, caught it with his skeleton-gloved hands (not minding the talons at all) and taken it outside to release it. you’re ready to thank him and bid him adieu, but he shoulders his way back inside to straighten up the curtains again and sweep up the feathers, a service you didn’t know they provided. at last he stands up to his full height and looks you up and down, from your messy hair to your thick thighs. ‘now, about that bird…’

[trukademy-canada]

Trukademy Truck Dispatcher Course Mississauga

Join Trukademy Truck Dispatcher Course Mississauga and master the skills needed for a successful career in dispatching. Our comprehensive program covers logistics, communication, regulatory compliance, and advanced dispatching techniques. Learn from industry experts and gain hands-on experience to efficiently manage fleet operations. Enroll today to enhance your career prospects in the trucking industry!

[truxsolutions]

Looking for Expert in Trucking Compliance Services in Mississauga?

Embark on your journey to launching a successful trucking company in Canada with confidence, supported by our Expert in trucking compliance services in Mississauga. Our comprehensive guide and expert consultants will steer you through the complexities of permits, licenses, and safety protocols, ensuring a smooth and compliant start to your venture.

For more details visit us: https://www.truxsolutions.com/how-to-start-a-trucking-company-in-canada.php

[avaaltechnologysolutions]

How to Become a Truck Dispatcher

Understanding the Role: A truck dispatcher manages freight for a carrier. They locate freight that needs to be shipped, negotiate with brokers, dispatch drivers, and set up routes. They also handle back-end work like reviewing drivers’ logs and tracking their hours.

Difference from a Freight Broker: Unlike a freight broker who serves as a middleman between the shipper and the carrier, a truck dispatcher is directly affiliated with a carrier and works on their behalf.

Legal Requirements: Freight dispatchers are not legally allowed to represent shippers or manufacturers. A freight brokerage business requires freight broker authority through the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration (FMCSA) and a freight broker bond1.

Becoming a Truck Dispatcher for Another Company: If you want to become a truck dispatcher for another company, you can look for open positions on job boards or approach individual carriers and express your interest in becoming a freight dispatcher.

Becoming an Independent Truck Dispatcher: If you want to become an independent truck dispatcher, you need to understand truck dispatching and how you want to operate your business.

Responsibilities of a Truck Dispatcher: Responsibilities include negotiating prices based on current market data, coordinating pickups and deliveries, planning efficient routes for the driver, tracking shipments via a transportation management system (TMS), communicating with carriers regarding changes in route or delivery times, maintaining detailed records, addressing customer concerns, and assisting carriers with additional needs.

Steps to Become a Truck Dispatcher: The steps include having the necessary education, registering your business, and having access to the right tools.

Unlock the potential of the trucking industry with Avaal Technology's Truck Dispatcher Course! Develop valuable skills in account management, order management, and business growth to excel in your career and drive your business forward. #trucking #dispatching #businessgrowth"

We wish you luck with a high-paying career in transportation.

Checkout Our Courses:

Truck Dispatcher Training

Trucking Safety & Compliance Training -

Transportation of Dangerous Goods Training

Hours of Service Training (HOS)

Freight Forwarding Specialist Fast Track

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

@bucktommypositivityweek Day 1, season 8 opening disaster. 2,610 words, read on AO3

🐝“We're doomed.”🐝

“Millions of bees?” Chimney asked unbelieving, still clutching the radio. Dispatch had just reported it; in fact, it had been his own wife, and she was definitely not joking on the job. “Killer bees,” Buck corrected, squinting up at the cloudless sky as if they were already pouncing down on the 118. “African honeybees, actually. Nasty, aggressive critters. The whole hive attacks when threatened, and they chase their victims. Saw it on a documentary once.” “Nobody wants to know, Buckley.” Gerrard was just leaving the fire engine and putting on his helmet. ”There's a huge traffic jam ahead of us, and a few miles at the end of it is the truck that caused it. Whether there were millions of bees in it or not, which I personally think is nonsense and an exaggeration, we’re the ones picking up the pieces, so let's get to work.” Buck shouldered his axe, though a noise overhead distracted him. A small plane, a nimble propeller-driven aircraft, was flying pretty low above them. Was he imagining it, or did the pilot briefly wobble its wings? “That's one of ours,” said Eddie, who was now walking beside him, toward the next crashed car. “There are at least two people trapped inside.” "Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I looked through the windshield, Buck,“ Eddie replied with a bemused look. ”No,” Buck shot back, looking up again, ”that it’s one of our machines?”

“Pry open the door here… yeah, that's it. Get a grip, Buck. I know this because Tommy explained how to recognize the machines. I'm surprised you haven't started spouting off trivia about airplanes and helicopters yet." Hen came running up, tossing Eddie an IV bag which he deftly caught. “We're doing a proper triage," she said. “Oh wait…" She bent over past Eddie, who was busy calming the occupants of the car, two women, appearing frightened, confused and clearly injured. ”Ma'am? We got you. Eddie, hand me a skin clamp, please.” Buck, standing behind her, was already looking for the next car from which someone needed to be freed. He recognized from her tone of voice that she had discovered something bad in that car, but that the person concerned should not notice under any circumstances. Eddie rummaged in the emergency bag, and Hen asked in a conversational tone, “What do you think they need a plane for? It's not exactly a forest fire.” “It's a crop-dusting plane, I think,“ Eddie replied. ‘It's probably supposed to spray chemicals against the bees.’ ”Against millions of bees?” “Well, how else are they going to get rid of them? Buck, I think I heard Gerrard call you!" Buck turned around and saw the captain pointing at two cars wedged into each other, a scowl on his face that furrowed his forehead. I better hurry, he thought, and he was right about that.

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

Of all the things Tommy had ever done with an airplane, this was probably the craziest.

The mission had been anything but normal from the start. Millions of bees had escaped from the truck in an accident on the highway, dispatch reported. Killer bees, goaded and stressed, now following an instinct. Whatever bees do, maybe they want to pollinate something. Tommy took a look at the controls – everything was fine – and thought of Evan.

Of course, it was the worst possible time to think about the man who’d turned his head, but then again, it wasn't. Evan would probably have a lot of exciting prattle about bees. Tommy briefly pondered what he knew about them… well, wasn’t much. Right now, what mattered was his job; the only idea Animal Control had come up with, He was supposed to fly as close as possible to the swarm and spray biocides. First, the smoke would irritate the insects and disorient them, then kill them in no time. He already felt sorry for those who would have to sweep millions of dead bees off the streets at the end of the day.

Tommy kept to the west of the highway; according to his information, the bees had set off directly towards the city. He steered the machine low, the bees didn't reach that high of an altitude. A few red spots below him told Tommy that the emergency services had already reached the scene, and Evan would be among them, no doubt. The people down there were safe. However, that didn't apply to a large part of L.A., if those bees were to cause trouble there. With such a large number of aggressive animals, you didn't even have to be allergic to die from their stings.

“FLX-126, this is Air Control,” croaked his radio. “Kinard, the population has been warned to close windows and doors, you have clearance. Catch the beasts before they reach the city.“

”Copy that. I’ll take up the chase against the bees.“

Evan would find that funny.

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

”Hurry up, Buckley, there's an oil slick up ahead that needs to be secured. You want half the pileup to blow up? One spark is all it takes!”

“I'm nearly there, Captain,” Buck shouted, helping a shivering elderly gentleman out of the car. He had almost torn the door off its hinges trying to free him, but after a quick check, it seemed that the man was all right, except for an ugly gash on his forehead. Not the first miracle today. ”The ambulances are over there, please go to them, they will take care of you.”

“Buckley!"

Buck liked to imagine Gerrard as a nagging little man who would tear himself apart in the forest in a rage, but reality was no fairy tale. Reality was an operation on a chaotic road smeared with oil and blood, where a hazardous materials truck full of bees had left a trail of devastation. A mission with dozens of trapped people who had to be freed using heavy equipment and muscle power, and Buck was already dripping with sweat. But there was no time to catch a breath, not when Gerrard was in this mood.

“Get the binder!” Gerrard snapped, while simultaneously impelling Chimney, ‘There are still people trapped up ahead, so get your ass in gear!’

Gerrard's arms were gesturing in both directions. Now Buck knew a better comparison than a vicious fairy-tale creature — Gerrard reminded him of General Grievous, who could lash out with four arms at once. He jogged over to the captain, giving the oil slick a skeptical glance. It was big, yes, but a simple barrier should suffice to start with; there were more important things to do right now.

“The binder is in the truck, and it's almost half a mile down the highway,“ he said.

”So?“ Gerrard's Adam's apple jumped up and down angrily. Buck stared at it, fascinated.

”I should help Chimney, there seems to be a problem up ahead.”

Buck pointed to his brother-in-law, who was trying with great effort to break open a wedged car door.

“The 126 is further ahead, they’ll be fine. The oil slick is here.” Gerrard said with narrowed eyes. The guy needs glasses, Buck thought.

Now he knew why Gerrard wanted to keep him here. He was probably afraid that Tommy was on duty up ahead and they would meet. Moreover, the captain of the 126 was not very fond of Gerrard, and Gerrard would have to stop his annoying harassment for a while. At least Buck would then have been able to work in peace as he saw fit... the way Bobby had taught him, not that stupid old geezer with his old-fashioned rules. However, he was convinced that Tommy was on the plane that had just made a loop above them and then turned west. For a second, he pondered whether it was worth rebelling against Gerrard, but then he thought of all the people who were still trapped and hurt, looking for help. Buck took a deep breath.

“All right,” he growled and jogged across the highway to the fire engine.

At least Tommy is having an exciting time.

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

When Tommy spotted the swarm of bees, his mouth went dry.

He didn't know what he had actually expected, but the sight was... sobering. Not to mention scary, even from up here. Millions of bees formed a dense cluster that only frayed a little at the edges. It was an enormous cloud of insects that almost looked like a single animal; a huge, billowing monster moving towards the city.

Evan would have a better comparison for it, he thought briefly. But even his brave, extremely adorable boyfriend would probably freak out if he could see this. Tommy, in any case, sensed that only an adrenaline rush was keeping him from simply turning the plane around and leaving as quickly as possible. That, and his sense of duty. Damn it.

The swarm was now already close to one of the city's outskirts, a peaceful suburbia with neat terraced houses and cute gardens. Gardens that would soon be invaded by so many bees that every living being down there would be buried beneath them. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Tommy gripped the stick more firmly, lowering the machine a couple of feet.

These critters were already much too close to L.A. There had been warnings through the usual apps, but people were people. He knew there would be enough who hadn't noticed or were just too ignorant. Some of them would be hit by the chemicals, no doubt. And Tommy knew that theoretically that shouldn't bother him; he had a job to do. But only people like Gerrard would consider the consequences to be collateral damage. If Tommy released the biocide now, it would not only destroy the bees, but also cause a lot of damage in the pretty little gardens below him – and in the groundwater. A crazy idea formed in his head. There wasn't much time to make up his mind.

He pushed the controls down, added a little thrust and flew straight into the swarm.

It was a strange feeling, a bit like floating through cotton wool. The bees were briefly startled, but kept their pace. It wouldn't be enough to make them change course, and Tommy had to hurry – the longer he flew through the middle of the swarm, the more likely it was that they would sit on his windshields until he couldn't see anything. Or that too many of them would fly into the propellers until they clogged them and he would lose control. Tommy gritted his teeth. All or nothing, he thought, and waggled the wings to stir them up. Then he yanked the plane sharply to the left, flew a small loop, and glanced behind. The bees followed him; the cloud of insects, which had only briefly scattered, had reformed into a dense, angry mass, and they were on his tail.

Next target: Kinard, he thought. Off to the desert with you.

<+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+><+>

That evening, as Buck unlocked the door to the loft, dirty and tired, he was greeted by an extremely pleasant scent. It smelled like... lasagna? He had barely closed the door when his stomach growled.

“Interesting greeting, Evan,” Tommy called to him from the kitchen counter.

Tommy, to whom he had given a copy of the keys to his apartment only two weeks ago. Buck's heart gave a happy little jump. He was also a little jealous, though, because Tommy was obviously freshly showered, and he felt like he had just come out of the garbage disposal. However... the sight of his boyfriend, with his hair still damp and slightly wavy at the ends, and apparently wearing one of Buck's T-shirts that stretched in all the right places... His throat tightened and he cleared it.

“My stomach's as happy to see you as the rest of me,“ he replied, and with two quick steps he was at Tommy, kissing him fondly while he glanced at the stove. Lasagna, definitely.

”Mmm,” Tommy purred appreciatively, ”ten more minutes. Maybe you want to change quickly? You kinda reek of oil.”

Buck groaned. “Gerrard had me do all the dirty work,” he complained, as he dropped onto a chair at the kitchen table. “That truck with the killer bees? It skidded because the driver – who, by the way, was very lucky to survive – was frightened by a spider in the cab. Can you imagine? The guy had millions of bees on board, and he freaked out because of a spider that had come right down on his nose.“

”You call me if you find a spider in the shower,” Tommy remarked as he stirred salad in a bowl.

“Because I find touching them gross. And because it's not right to just flush them down the drain. Did you know that spiders are very important to the ecosystem?“

”Hm. But I guess you would have been scared, too.”

“Maybe,“ Buck admitted. ‘Anyway, the guy swerved so hard that he caused a huge accident on the highway. Dozens were injured, it's a miracle that no one died. The trail of devastation stretched for a few miles across the roadway.’

”Including an oil slick, it seems to me,” Tommy teased him.

Buck raised an arm and smelled his armpits.

“Yuck. Yeah. Gerrard had me mopping up oil, securing the roadway, extinguishing tiny fires on the shoulder... I was lucky I could free four or five people from their cars before he sent me off to do some useless crap again.”

"The guy really has it in for you.”

“It's the medal,” Buck said, while he pushed a few of the carrot pieces, that Tommy had already cut but not yet added to the salad, into his mouth, ”He can't stand that I was decorated and he's been stumbling on the career ladder for forty years.”

“Hmmm,” Tommy went and quickly threw the rest of the vegetables into the bowl before Buck could contaminate them even more. ”That, or it's just because he's got a stick up his ass.”

Buck laughed briefly, then sighed. “It was a crazy operation, and I could have helped a lot more people. Tommy, I saw your plane for a second today. I bet you had a much more exciting day. A huge swarm of bees right under your plane, and you destroyed them all before they could wreak havoc on the city!”

The look he shot Tommy was admiring, and Tommy grinned. He thought about how he had almost peed his pants flying his plane in front of a giant swarm of aggressive bees, and that flying right into them had been a pretty crazy move. About the maneuver he had flown over the desert, that had almost cost him an engine because he had to try to get above the swarm again to release the biocide. He thought of the moment when a few of the killer bees had broken away from the collective and actually, as he had feared, settled on his cockpit windshield to narrow his view. And he thought about how the flap had jammed when he was directly over the swarm, how the sweat had run down his back and he could hardly breathe. How he had thought of the thousands of people who would be in danger if he didn't finish this; among them Evan.

“It wasn't that exciting,” he said modestly. ‘To be honest, dropping a few chemicals is a simple job, nothing to write home about. You should really take a shower, babe. After that, you can tell me more about Gerrard's exploits, okay?’

He leaned over to breathe a kiss just above Evan’s birthmark, and his smile was worth the little lie.