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The 126 has an honest-to-god chore wheel. Each week, the crew try their luck at spinning the arrow in the center - keeping their fingers crossed it doesn't land on a task they hate - and Owen fills out the whiteboard denoting who is in charge of what over the next seven days. It's a system - a stupid system each of them has mumbled at some point - that keeps things somewhat organized, and prevents the fire house from "falling into chaos," as Owen had once put it.
This week, T.K. has been assigned Laundry (just bedding!), which means stripping down the beds, washing and drying the bedding, and remaking the beds. It's his least-favorite chore because it can't be completed in one-go, requiring pauses as the washer and dryer go through the cycles. So, he's been putting it off. And now it's 2pm on a Saturday and he's running out of time.
"You should just go do it," Judd says, leaning back in his chair. "You've been going on about it for twenty minutes."
"It hasn't been twenty minutes," he protests.
Judd glances at his watch. "Seventeen, then. The longer you put it off, the worse it's going to seem."
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, T.K. groans. "I don't think that's possible. It already seems about as bad as it can."
"Is complaining about it helping?" Judd asks.
T.K. doesn't answer him, just lets out a heavy sigh before rolling up off the couch. "Fiiine. I'll get started on it."
As T.K. heads for the sleeping quarters, Judd says, "Good boy."
It's an innocent comment, and Judd would've thought nothing of it if he didn't catch the hitch in T.K.'s step and the brief tightening in his shoulders. It's only a couple seconds, and then T.K.'s shoulders are relaxing and he's continuing to the sleeping quarters. It's only a couple seconds, but Judd still thinks, 'Huh,' and files it away for later.
-----
Judd pulls it back out when he and T.K. are doing the grocery shopping two weeks later. They're standing in front of the dairy cases at the back of the store, perusing the selection of flavored creamers and taking longer than is probably necessary to pick one.
"I say we go with French Vanilla," T.K. says finally, throwing up his hands. He cannot take another moment of debating if Salted Caramel and Caramel Macchiato are different enough to be considered separate contenders. He misses the Judd who only liked half-and-half in his coffee, and didn't care about flavors. His dad just had to introduce Judd to maple-bacon coffee and create a monster. "It's a classic," he continues. "Everyone likes it."
Judd humms noncommittally, arms crossed over his chest. "I still think a limited edition flavor is the way to go. Spice things up."
"Judd, no one is going to want to use S'mores-flavored creamer. That's three flavors in one - what a mess."
"Fine. We'll get more than one flavor; we'll get French Vanilla and S'mores. Hand them to me and I'll put them in the cart."
T.K.'s glad this portion of their shopping trip is complete. He grabs one of each, letting the door to the cold case slam shut as he hands them over.
Judd chooses that moment to murmur, "Good boy." and watch the faint blush bloom across T.K.'s cheeks.
T.K. clears his throat, says, "No problem." And heads toward the eggs without another word.
Interesting.
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Judd wouldn't necessarily call it an experiment. An experiment is something clinical. What he's doing is simply dropping casual compliments and praise into conversation with T.K., and observing how he reacts. He learns a lot over the next few weeks.
He learns T.K. will duck his head and smile at being called "sugar," but will wrinkle his nose at being called "sweetheart."
He learns T.K. takes quiet pride in his cooking, but couldn't care less about how nicely he's cleaned up the dining area after a meal.
He learns T.K. stands a little straighter when it's pointed out how crisp the lines are in the uniform pants he painstakingly ironed, but rolls his eyes when it's pointed out how his dress boots shine from a fresh layer of polish.
He learns T.K. will wash the dishes even when it's not his assigned task after a few kind words, but no amount of flattery can persuade him to take out the trash when it isn't on his list for the week.
He learns T.K. will pull him close and mutter, "I know what you've been doing" before kissing him, but won't pull away even when the rest of the crew fills the air with wolf whistles.