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HOUR ZERO
Buck sits next to him.
This, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t a big deal. With A-shift trickling into the station, it was only a matter of time before someone occupied the generous stretch of space beside him on the couch. Besides, Chim’s excellent company, if he might say so himself: funny, when the mood takes him, which is often, and possessed of a certain charm that people frequently seek out.
Given that the person invading his personal space at the moment also happens to be his brother-in-law, he’s more than used to it. Nothing strange here.
Except for the glaring fact that Eddie Diaz is sitting directly across from them.
More importantly, there’s empty space on the couch on either side of Eddie. Space that any reasonable person, especially one with a particular attachment to the man in question, might have claimed without a second thought.
Chim looks at the empty, Buck-shaped space beside Eddie. Then looks at the very real, Buck-shaped Buck now settled next to him. Buck is fixedly swiping through his phone, clearing all his background apps, which— first, Chim’s no tech savant, but surely there’s a time and place for this? and second— Jesus, that’s a fucking lot.
Across the way, Eddie hasn’t looked up from his crossword. Chim’s gaze triangulates from Buck to Eddie, to the empty space beside Eddie, then back to Buck.
“Hi,” Chim says, very slowly, projecting a why are you, Butthead, here, when Beavis is over there? into that one word to the very best of his ability.
Buck looks up as if registering Chim’s presence for the first time this morning. The smile that follows is immediate and radiant.
“Uh, hey! Morning, Cap. How’s it goin’?”
Chim pointedly glances at Eddie, then swivels back. Buck’s eyes remain fixed on Chim, smile unwavering and looking very determined in his mission to pretend that the crossword enthusiast opposite them doesn’t exist.
“Right,” Chim states.
He pats Buck once on the shoulder, because if Buck is going to use him as a human buffer between himself and Eddie, he can at least have the courtesy to be a little guilty about it. With a single nod at Buck’s slowly furrowing brow, Chim gets to his feet and leaves, absolving himself of whatever fresh episode of Days of Our Lives is unfolding in his firehouse.
Temporarily, of course. Chim may be many things, but he is not a man who can turn his back on potential gossip and go his merry way. He’ll circle back after the morning debrief.
HOUR ONE
He’s quick with his debrief—assigns paperwork, cleaning duties, and, for good measure, enough miscellaneous tasks to keep everyone occupied for the next twenty-four hours and then some, then stands back and watches the team disperse.
Buck heads for the locker room. Eddie, meanwhile, is too engrossed in catching up with Ravi to notice him go. By the time he finally extricates himself, he’s already heading that way, walking backward for a few steps as Ravi finishes his story. Eddie laughs, turns, and comes to a stop just beyond the glass doorway.
He takes one look at the other body in the locker room. Then, with a graceful pivot and a quick glance at Chim, decides he’d rather grace the loft with his presence instead.
Buck, who almost certainly heard the approaching footsteps—and, more damningly, the tail end of Eddie’s infectious laugh—keeps his head buried in his locker.
Chim narrows his eyes. His arm darts out just as Ravi walks past, catching him mid-stride and bringing him to an abrupt halt.
“Ravi,” Chim says, gaze tracking Eddie’s progress up the stairs.
“Yeah, Cap?”
“Have you noticed—” Chim begins, then stops. He’s fully aware of his own—rightfully deserved—reputation as someone who can’t keep a single interesting thing zipped for longer than five minutes. The last thing he needs is for a half-formed suspicion to start circulating as gossip.
“Nothing,” he finishes, releasing Ravi’s arm with a casual pat-pat. “Keep up the good work.”
HOUR TWO
Chim files the odd seating preference under coincidence. The locker room situation is just as easily explained away as the reasonable movements of someone who remembered that where he wanted to go was, in fact, the loft and not his locker.
But then there are the little things.
And the thing about little things is that they have an unfortunate—well, fortunate for him; unfortunate for the parties involved, that is—habit of adding up, especially when everyone’s packed around the same table for breakfast.
Eddie reaches for a plate at precisely the same moment Buck reaches for it from the other side. Their hands are still a good ten inches apart when both of them jerk back as if electrocuted. Which, ha, one of them is intimately familiar with.
“Sorry,” Buck says.
“You’re good,” Eddie says, just as quickly, followed by the tell-tale silence of a conversation that has reached its natural, if somewhat premature, conclusion. Neither reaches for the plate again.
“Mind passing over the OJ, Eddie?” Chim asks.
“Sure thing.”
And it’s being passed—Eddie to Hen, Hen to Chim, and then Chim to—
“Here you go.”
Buck looks startled, which is funny considering not ten minutes ago he’d tried to make a grab for the same jug straight from the fridge, only for Chim to smack his hand away with a ‘Wait for breakfast, you glutton.’
“No,” Buck says, frowning, and visibly leans away from the jug as if it might be contagious.
Chim shoots him a look, then at the jug, then briefly, at Eddie.
“Suit yourself,” he finally shrugs, and pours himself a glass.
Ravi and Harry join them soon after. Harry, hands rubbing like a delighted fly and eager to get to the eating portion of breakfast, grabs a plate and starts passing them down to the people still without one—namely Buck and Eddie. Raised well, that kid.
Conversation kicks off soon enough, everyone falling into their usual catch-up on what they got up to on their forty-eight off. Chim contributes where appropriate, mostly in the form of a few well-timed jabs, but his mind is otherwise occupied.
Eight years, he’s known those two, and in all those eight years he's never once seen either of them care about bumping into one another, let alone flinch away from each other's touch.
If anything, they seem to actively enjoy it—dare he say they actively pursue it. They shoulder-check each other, knock knees under tables and in the engine, squeeze past each other in the kitchen without so much as a passing glance at the concept of personal space, apparently unconcerned with whether the other moves out of the way or not—and yet here they are, apologising over reaching for the same plate.
The Buck and Eddie he knows would’ve ended up sharing the damn thing. Probably share a chair too, while they were at it.
Then comes the next not-so-little thing: halfway through breakfast, Buck sneezes.
It’s a big, full-body sneeze, but hardly shocking among this particular collection of human beings, who have long since developed a tolerance for one another’s various bodily noises. Buck’s especially, what with his occasional hay fever bringing on sneezes so violent it turns his six-foot-two frame into a human rag doll by sending him stumbling.
This one isn’t nearly half as impressive, though. The table barely shakes. Buck sniffs, gives his nose a quick rub, and goes back for another bite of his omelette.
“Bless you,” Hen says.
“Thanks,” Buck says, then sniffs again.
Eddie, sitting two seats down and diagonally opposite Buck, barely looks up from his plate as he reaches for the box of tissues. His hand gets halfway there before he stops, and Chim watches the realisation of what he’s doing dawn in real time. He slowly retracts the hand, expression carefully neutral, as though he—and Chim, who's now taken to watching them like a hawk—didn’t just catch himself reflexively reaching for a tissue on Buck’s behalf.
“Something wrong with the tissues?” Hen asks, having witnessed Eddie’s momentary lapse, looking wholly unimpressed and a little curious.
“Uh,” Eddie says, blinking cow eyes at her.
Hen rolls her eyes, reaches past him, and hands the box across the table towards Buck.
“Thanks,” Buck says, and wipes his nose.
Chim looks at Eddie, who’s very interested in his plate, then at Buck, then back to Eddie.
Given the current seating arrangement—with Chim at the head of the table, Buck to his left, Hen to his right, and Eddie beside her—he makes a rather good impression of a weather wane on a windy day. By the third rotation, Hen leans forward, blocking his view of Eddie and forcing him to meet her gaze head-on.
She’s shooting him a look, a look that over their many years of best friend-ship, he’s been on the receiving end of. It’s her what the hell’s wrong with you? look.
Chim responds with a tiny shake of his head, lips forcibly pursed, and looks down at his plate. Only for appearance’s sake, of course; filling his stomach, at this point, is the furthest thing from his mind.
He doesn’t get long to dwell on the absurdities before Eddie provides another compelling piece of evidence.
Eddie stands to refill his coffee, circling around Chim to get to the kitchen, and follows the same route on his way back, which means he passes where Buck’s sitting.
Historically, if Buck’s eating, Eddie will wander over at some point and steal something off his plate. Not because Eddie particularly wants whatever Buck is eating, Chim suspects, but because Buck will invariably object to the theft, and Eddie seems to find entertainment in that.
Today, Eddie walks straight past Buck.
That, Chim thinks, is how you know a situation has gone ass-over-tit.
HOUR FIVE
Chim likes the balcony.
It gives him a nice bird’s-eye view of the firehouse, for one thing, and the acoustics are good enough that, if he stands in this exact spot, he can be heard from practically anywhere in the building. The discovery involved a fair amount of trial and error when he first started working here, helped along by Gerard’s apparent commitment to keeping him man behind.
From his lofty vantage point, Chim watches Buck and Ravi chatting idly between the ladder truck and engine. Hen stands a few feet away, towards the back of the ladder truck, busy with one of her checklists but still—irresistible against the pull of potential gossip—joining in every now and then.
Eddie walks over to the two men, clipboard in hand, and hands it off to Ravi instead of his clipboard-obsessed best friend standing three feet closer, who's always been an enthusiastic volunteer for anything that involves holding things, carrying things, or generally being useful.
Buck accepts the oversight without comment, simply turning his back on the pair and opening one of the engine toolboxes.
Eddie, in a move so unlike himself where Buck’s proximity is concerned that Chim feels compelled to check for signs of brain damage, doesn’t linger.
This is what finally clues Hen in.
As if pulled by some magnetic force—and perhaps sensing, from Chim’s conspicuously sealed lips at breakfast, that he’s been one step ahead of her all morning—her gaze travels up to the balcony, meeting his almost accusingly.
Chim smiles and quickly backs away from the railing. If Hen’s also caught on, then at least he knows he isn’t imagining things. And that means it’s only a matter of time before the rest of A-shift catches on to the brewing storm.
The situation has officially progressed beyond his jurisdiction as an observer and straight into his responsibility as an interfering busybody.
Put simply, he’s bored enough to interfere.
Or, well—his eyes fall upon the loft table that moonlights as his office—he suspects he will be bored once he finishes that pile of paperwork.
HOUR TEN
Five hours of hair-pulling paperwork and three calls later, Chim finds Eddie in the locker room, wiping down the glass walls.
It’s one of the many jobs that has historically required two people whenever Buck and Eddie are involved—one to spray, one to wipe, both to argue companionably about whether the streaks are really gone, then swap roles when they can't come to an agreement.
Today, however, the other half is conspicuously absent.
“Where’s Buck?”
Eddie glances over. His face gives nothing away. “Don’t know.”
“Huh.” Chim steps further in, watching the spray-wipe-spray rhythm continue unbroken. “Why isn’t he doing this with you?”
“Didn’t realise it was a two-man job,” Eddie answers dryly, not looking at Chim.
“It’s not,” Chim says. “But you guys do it anyway. It’s like watching the world’s least exciting episode of The Odd Couple.”
Eddie keeps wiping. “Y’know, as Captain, you really shouldn’t let that kind of behaviour fly.”
Chim considers this for a moment, eyes narrowed, then smacks his gum.
“Fine. You’re on latrines next. I trust those capable hands of yours can handle it solo.”
Eddie rolls his eyes—the good-natured sort, because he knows damn well he walked into that one. “Yes, Cap.”
Chim finds Buck almost immediately afterward, wiping down the front of the engine with Harry. Buck is putting more elbow into the chrome than strictly necessary, like the grille doesn’t already look like its glare could temporarily blind someone.
“Where’s Eddie?” Chim asks.
Buck has never met an Eddie-related question he didn’t feel obliged to answer, though this time his enthusiasm for contributing appears to be in short supply.
He looks up and shrugs. “Don’t know.”
Harry frowns at Buck like he’s an idiot. “What? We literally just saw him in the locker room on our way here.”
“Oh, right,” Buck says, not sounding surprised in the least. He ignores Harry’s muttered where’s your head at, man and turns back to Chim. “He’s in the locker room.”
“Yeah, I gathered,” Chim says, because—contrary to whatever Buck appears to believe—he did not actually cease to exist the moment Harry supplied the same information.
With one last, lingering look at Buck, he spins on his heel and he's taken exactly two steps when Buck’s voice floats after him.
“Why are you looking for him?”
Chim, who is perhaps not the world’s greatest keeper of secrets but is undeniably skilled at stirring the pot when the opportunity presents itself, doesn’t break stride.
“He wanted to discuss something in private,” he tosses over his shoulder, with only the briefest flicker of regret that he can’t turn around to see whatever expression has just crossed Buck’s face.
< I think Buck and Eddie got into a fight
< They haven’t looked at or talked to each other once since shift started
< Did Buck tell you anything?
The typing bubble appears almost immediately. Maddie has always been admirably prompt with her responses—a quality Chim appreciates, particularly when he’s fishing for information about her brother.
But just as quickly as they appeared, they disappear. Then appear again. Chim frowns at the screen.
He glances over the balcony. From up here, Buck is reduced to one enormous boot protruding from behind the front of the engine, the rest of him lost to the ongoing spectacle of him and Harry scrubbing the skin off the engine.
Then, right on cue, the boot retreats, and all of Buck steps into view. He fishes his phone from his pocket and answers a call.
Chim looks back at his own screen. Maddie’s typing has stopped completely.
He looks at Buck again, walking towards the bay doors, back hunched as he speaks into the phone, and arrives at the only reasonable conclusion.
“My wife is on the other end of that call, isn’t she?” Chim mutters.
“You’re up to something.”
“Christ!” Chim yelps, clutching his chest as he whirls to face Hen. “We’re getting you a bell, Wilson.”
“What do you know?” She asks, folding her arms.
“How would I know anything?” He mirrors her posture, although his is mostly a defensive measure. “I’m standing on my balcony, observing the day-to-day operations of my firehouse. This is called being a Captain.”
Then—because he’s never been able to resist a well-placed opening—adds, “Why, what do you think I know?”
“So you don’t know what’s going on with Buck and Eddie?”
“What, apart from the fact that they’re two of my best guys?”
Hen gives him a look.
Chim gives her one right back. “What? They are.”
Hen steps up to the railing beside him. They both look down at Buck, standing by the bay doors with his phone pressed to his ear, his back to them.
“They’re acting weird,” Hen says after a moment.
“Yeah, no shit. For starters, they’ve been avoiding each other all day.”
Hen side-eyes him. “So you have noticed.”
“Of course I noticed. I have eyes, Hen. I’ve been a nonconsensual witness to this hostage situation since the shift started. What took you so long?”
“Eddie gave Ravi the clipboard,” she says by way of explanation.
“He did!” Chim turns to her, vindicated. “You were there! You saw it! And Eddie loves Clipboard Buck.”
The dam has broken; there’s no stopping him now.
“And you should've seen them when shift started. Didn't say a word to each other. Didn't even sit next to each other. Half the time they don't even seem to know where the other one is, and if they do, they just don’t care.”
“What do you think happened?”
“No fucking clue,” Chim shakes his head, then straightens. “I need to show you something.”
“This is weird, right?” Chim asks, arms folded across his chest.
Hen squints. “Our parking lot? Sure, it’s seen better days but—”
“What? No, not the—wait, what’s wrong with our parking lot? This is a perfectly fine parking lot. No, I mean look at their trucks!”
He throws a hand out, first to Buck’s, then to Eddie’s, which are parked as far apart as the available spaces allow,
Hen looks between the two. “They always park next to each other, don’t they?”
“Exactly,” Chim says, pleased. He can always count on Hen; she’s always been the perfect accomplice in his investigations. “But more importantly, ever since Buck moved into his new place, they’ve been carpooling. I can count on one hand the number of times both their trucks have been here in the last month.”
“So this?” He once again gestures emphatically at the distance between the two trucks. “This is weird, right? This is weird.”
Hen takes another long look at the two lonely vehicles, then back at Chim. “So they’re fighting,” she surmises.
“Yep,” Chim says. “It’s a whole Kramer vs. Kramer situation here. Question is, what do we do about it?”
HOUR TWELVE
It takes longer than Chim would like for Buck and Eddie to end up sharing anything resembling the same space— which is a generous interpretation of the situation considering they’re sitting at the two farthest possible points of the loft. Eddie’s on the couch. Buck is all the way by the snooker table, practicing his shots with Ravi.
Chim shoots Hen a look.
She closes her book.
“Harry, you wanna help me with the ambulance inventory?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
And they’re gone.
Chim waits until they’re out of sight before making a dramatic show of walking to the fridge. He opens it. Sighs, then closes it. He opens the snack cupboard. Sighs again. Closes that, too.
Then he turns around, hands on his hips, and announces to his unsuspecting victims that someone needs to go on a grocery run, that they’re out of milk, eggs, snacks, and also whatever else Chim can invent on the spot.
“Buck, Eddie,” he says, naming them before either can volunteer Ravi. “You’re up. Take the engine. Don’t come back without the eggs, or I’ll put you both on latrines for a week.”
“Can I go with Ravi?” Buck asks, bumping his cue stick on the floor.
“I’d actually rather go with Eddie,” Ravi says.
“No can do. Ravi’s got paperwork to catch up on.”
“I do?”
“Not off to a great start there, are ya, Panikkar?”
Buck looks around the loft with a frown. “Where’s—” He stops, only then realising that Hen and Harry have jumped ship.
Chim folds his arms. “Do we have a problem?”
Buck looks at him. For a moment, it seems like he might actually come out with it and say yes. Chim waits, near-delighted for a potential confirmation of his suspicion.
“No, Cap,” Buck says after a moment.
He rests his cue against the pool table and heads for the stairs, making it as far as the first step before stopping. He looks back at Eddie, who’s been watching the entire exchange in silence.
“Well?” Buck snaps. “He said both of us. I’m not doing latrines because of you.”
Eddie shuts his crossword book with a little eye roll. “I’ll be the one cleaning up after you, anyway,” Eddie mutters under his breath, getting to his feet.
Chim only just catches it. Buck, too far away, doesn’t seem to hear—but judging by the scowl he sends Eddie, he’s apparently privy to the sentiment.
< Tell me what you know
> I don’t know anything! Buck said everything’s fine!
< Oh I assure you everything is NOT fine
< Hen’s with me on this too
> She’s your best friend, of course she’s with you on this
< She’s with me on this because I’m right!
< Fine. I’m talking to Eddie
< And I get the feeling you’re keeping something from me so I will not be sharing my findings
> You do that 😊
HOUR THIRTEEN
“Hey, Cap, you seen Buck around?”
Chim twists in his chair. He’s been sorting through today’s stack of incident reports that never seems to shrink, and Harry’s appearance is a welcome interruption—until he registers the almost too-casual tone.
Harry’s been known to fish on occasion, and based on the subject of his question, Chim has a feeling he’s doing just that.
“Maybe,” he answers, purposefully vague. “Why?”
“Nah, I just wanted to ask him somethin’,” Harry says, matching Chim’s evasiveness with his own, rocking once on his heels. “Where’d he go?”
“I sent him and Eddie for a grocery run.”
“Ahh—” Harry glances over his shoulder, down the loft balcony. “Oh. They—uh, they took the engine?”
“I told them to,” Chim clarifies quickly, before Harry starts getting ideas on what the engine should be used for.
“You… right. Okay.”
Chim narrows his eyes. “What’s that face? You’re making a face.”
“I’m not making a face. This is my face.”
“No, no, no.” Chim turns fully in his chair, pointing a finger. “You just made a face. What do you know? Spill. Spill.”
Harry takes a small step backward, hands lifting in surrender.
“This is just my face, man,” he says again, and hightails out of there before Chim can press any further.
Ninety-odd minutes after the mid-divorce couple leave for the grocery run, twenty minutes after his conversation with Harry that leaves him worrying they might have actually come to blows, and five minutes after he starts seriously considering a welfare check on Engine 118, the subjects of his concern finally return, backing into the apparatus bay.
Chim reaches the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Buck making a quick beeline for the locker room, head ducked.
“Hey, Cap.”
“What—” Chim starts, pivoting after Buck’s retreating figure. He takes one step in that direction when Eddie’s voice calls from behind him.
“Got the eggs, Cap!”
Chim sends one last look at Buck slipping into the locker room, then changes course and walks over to Eddie.
“What took you guys so long?”
“Traffic,” Eddie says shortly, flushed and a little out of breath. “Mind helping me with the bags?”
“Yeah, ‘course.” Chim takes a closer look at him. “You okay, Diaz?”
Eddie blinks, straightening. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.” He turns on his heel before Chim can take an even closer look and climbs halfway into the truck, already pulling out the bags. Chim grabs two of them as they get handed down—both stretched to their limits with an assortment of fruit and vegetables.
“Healthy,” Chim comments.
“Yeah, Bu—” Eddie clears his throat and steps down from the engine, two bags in each arm. “Figured it’s a good call if anyone wanted to make smoothies.”
Chim raises an eyebrow at the obvious slip. It’s a little funny; no matter how angry they might be with each other, neither of them can quite erase the other from their vocabulary.
Buck comes up to the loft where Chim’s helping Eddie put away the groceries.
“What’d you run off for?” Chim asks, then catches sight of the outfit change. Buck's switched out of his LAFD t-shirt and is now wearing the uniform shirt, buttoned all the way to the collar.
“Spilled milk on myself at the store,” Buck says, eyes averting briefly, and steps closer—only to stop short when Eddie rises from where he’d been ducked behind the counter, putting away the lasagna sheets.
Buck’s expression flickers. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turns and heads back down the way he came without another word.
Chim looks at Eddie, who’s already busying himself with restocking the snacks, pointedly not looking towards the stairs.
“You couldn’t just kiss and make up?”
Eddie shoots Chim a withering look, mostly stifled by him going red in the face. Jeez, someone's mad. “Isn’t that a little inappropriate, Captain?”
“Oh, now you care about what’s appropriate in the workplace. And while we’re on that, know what else is appropriate? Team camaraderie. Ever heard of that?”
“Think so,” Eddie squints thoughtfully. “Is that when you sleep with your coworker’s sister?”
“You know what?” Chim snatches a bag of Takis from Eddie’s hand. “You can put away the rest of these yourself.”
HOUR FOURTEEN
< Eddie told me everything, just so you know
< In case you wanted to tell me what you know
> I’m sure he did
And Chim is sure he will.
He’s a sponge when it comes to his coworkers’ business, and he’s had plenty of opportunity to hone the craft. Between the hours he spends with Buck and the number of times Buck’s taken up residence on Maddie’s couch while he waxes poetic about Eddie—
I’m not waxing poetic, what the fuck? I mentioned him once. Besides, this is a private conversation, Chim. Go away.
—he knows a thing or two about how to get Eddie’s attention.
Chim tips the delivery guy and heads for the loft with a spring in his step, whistling under his breath. He sets the bag on the dining table and begins unpacking, taking his sweet time. The smell of cinnamon curls sweetly through the air, and Chim knows it won’t be long before it reaches his intended target, too.
“What’s that?”
Eddie straightens from his seat on the couch, looking much like a meerkat catching movement on the horizon.
“Cinnamon rolls. Been going through a sweet-tooth phase,” Chim answers, pulling one out from the set of three.
Hook, line—
Eddie starts walking over, dubious but clearly interested. “Is that from Art’s?”
“Yeah,” Chim bites into the roll. “You know it?”
Buck’s only mentioned Eddie’s favourite order about a thousand fucking times.
“Yeah.” Eddie stops a few paces away, smart enough to sense a trap but a right sucker when it comes to a sweet treat within arm’s reach.
“S’good,” Chim says around a generous bite. It really is delicious, holy shit.
“Is it?” Eddie asks, the words emerging through what sounds suspiciously like gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t know,” he adds pointedly.
Chim’s mouth is too full for anything resembling a coherent response, so he just says, “Mhm.”
Eddie remains where he is, waiting.
Chim knows that if this were Buck—or anyone else, really—or even just any other day when Chim wasn’t quite so transparently up to something, Eddie wouldn’t hesitate. He’d have helped himself already. He’s a smart guy though; his defences are still up even against the tempting face of his favourite indulgence.
Chim chews, then moans around the next mouthful as he takes a bite of the second roll.
“Oh, fuck. Tha’s good. Holy shi’.”
—and sinker.
“Right.” Eddie’s patience snaps. “What are you playing at?”
“Wha’? Whaddya mea’?” He glances down at the box, at the last roll left, and feigns realisation. “Oh shi’. Did you wan’ some?”
Eddie narrows his eyes. He still comes over though, dropping into the chair opposite Chim. His hand makes for the box, only for Chim to get there first. He hooks an arm around it and draws it snugly against his chest.
“Quick question of the transactional variety,” Chim says.
Eddie’s hand stalls midair, eyes narrowing even further to the point Chim wonders if he can even see through his lashes.
“What’s going on with you and Buck?”
Eddie stares at him for a beat, then shakes his head, faintly impressed despite himself. “Dirty move, Han.”
“That’s Captain Han to you, Di-az.” Chim picks up the last cinnamon roll and holds it aloft. “And you forced my hand. So spill before I ravish this delicious cinnamon roll.” He gives it a thoughtful once-over. “It’s the last one, F.Y.I.”
“Nothing’s going on between me and Buck.” Eddie leans back in his chair, strangely composed. It’s Chim turn to narrow his eyes now. “We’re fine. We’re acting fine.”
Eddie’s hand shoots across the table with startling speed, and Chim barely has time to register the movement before Eddie snatches the roll and gets to his feet in one fluid motion.
“You, Captain Han,” Eddie says, already backing away with his prize, “are overthinking this. Like always.”
Chim calls after him, cinnamon-coated finger pointed threateningly. “I’ll get to the bottom of this before shift change!”
“Sure would be a shame if we got backed up with calls then,” Eddie says, and— that’s a threat. That has to be a threat, right?
Eddie glances over his shoulder, making eye contact with Chim as he bites into the roll. His expression morphs into immediate euphoria. “Ohh, tha’s the s’uff,” he says through a mouthful, and he’s gone.
Chim looks down at the now empty box and sighs. He really should’ve gone for the box of six.
HOUR TWENTY-FOUR
Nine consecutive calls later, Chim’s willing to bet his thirdborn on the fact Eddie jinxed him.
It’s nearly eight by the time they make it back to the station. A few of them peel off towards the showers with the kind of misplaced confidence that comes from believing there won’t be another call in the ten minutes before shift change—all of them clearly novices on how a jinxed shift works.
Then again, if their shift really has been q-worded by a man who couldn’t care less about superstitions and jinxes, Chim supposes there’s a chance the curse isn’t all that potent. He of little faith, and all that.
Buck and Eddie are nowhere to be found. Which, as far as Chim is concerned, is a blessing. The last thing he needs is either of them hovering around while he conducts a little post-mortem with Hen. He’s barely had a chance to exchange more than a few words with her between calls, so he waits until the bay doors have swallowed the last of the returning crew before sidling over.
“No luck on the Diaz front,” he says, leaning against the ambulance doors. “His lips are sealed tighter than Fort Knox.”
“No luck with Buck either,” she says, setting her medkit aside on the gurney. “I think he’s recruited Ravi to swoop in for extraction every time I get within ten feet of him.”
Chim glances towards the bay. A few members of B-shift are already filtering through the doors, voices carrying through the open space as they trade good-morning’s and how-are-ya’s with A-shift.
He sighs. “Shift’s almost over.”
“Wanna trade?” Hen asks, and Chim looks back at her. “You take Buck, and I’ll try to keep Ravi off your back.”
His best friend, Hen, ladies and gentlemen.
“Deal,” Chim says.
“Hey! You guys seen Buck?” Chim calls out.
Ravi and Harry both turn from where they’re headed to the showers.
“Not since we got off the engine,” Ravi says.
Chim plants his hands on his hips and does a quick calculation. Given the last twenty-four hours, he’s willing to bet Buck has strategically positioned himself wherever Eddie isn’t. Which makes this a simple process of elimination.
“Fine. Seen Eddie?”
Ravi and Harry exchange a look. “No,” they say slowly, almost in sync, like those damn twins from the Shining.
“Worth a shot.” Chim points a finger between them, wags it. “If either of you see Buck, tell him to come find me. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Cap,” Harry says, politely.
“Yeah, okay,” Ravi says, with considerably less reverence. How times have changed. Chim misses the sweet little kid who joined them as a probie five years ago.
He gets on with his end-of-shift walk, offering greetings to the incoming B-shift crew and throwing a few variations of good job today, guys; go rest up over his shoulder as A-shift files out. He gaze travels past the locker room—
—and stops.
Buck is inside, halfway out of his uniform. Eddie is there too and, unless Chim has finally lost the plot altogether, he’s looking at Buck with the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
“What the f—?”
“Hey, Cap. Got a sec?”
Chim turns. It takes an almost heroic amount of effort to wrench his attention away from the locker room, but he manages it.
“Yeah, ’course, Riley,” he says. She’s already changed into her civvies, duffel slung over her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to double-check I’m still okay for Sunday? With Paulson doing my twenty-four?”
“Oh, yeah. All good,” Chim waves a hand. “Just changed that on the schedule today. Enjoy your weekend with the in-laws.”
“Ha.” She barks out a laugh. “Good one, Cap.”
Chim raises his hands up in surrender. “Heard it as soon as I said it. Just make it out in one piece.”
“Sure thing, boss. Enjoy your weekend!” And she’s off.
Chim turns back around, not so subtly spying into the locker room. Eddie’s standing there with his arms folded, wearing an unmistakably teasing expression as he talks to Buck—a sight so at odds with the last twenty-four hours that Chim wonders if he’s swapped into an alternate dimension.
His gaze follows Eddie’s to Buck, who’s standing shirtless, broad back on full display as he gives a little flex, apparently unaware that he has an audience outside of Eddie.
Chim steps forward, a remark about the shameless performance already forming on the tip of his tongue, when he actually catches sight of Buck’s back, which is littered with—
Chim crosses the distance so quickly he nearly trips past the doorway.
“Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?!”
Buck whips around, eyes wide. In Chim’s peripheral vision, Eddie drops his arms and abruptly turns towards his locker.
“What—?”
“Your back! It’s all—” Chim gestures frantically before his eyes drop to Buck’s bare chest now on full display. “And what the hell happened to your neck?”
Buck’s shirt is bunched uselessly in his hands, doing absolutely nothing to conceal the bright red marks blooming across his skin.
“I don’t—” Buck starts, a quick reflexive dart of his eyes towards Eddie, who has his head ducked and seems laser focused on the contents of his locker.
The dots connect.
“Wait.” Chim looks between them. “Did he do that?! Did you guys actually get into a fucking fight?”
“What? No!” Buck practically yelps over Eddie’s deeply offended, “Excuse me?”
“No, this was,” Buck starts, expression sheepish. “Uh, the night before, I was—um, with someone. Not fighting. The other— other thing.”
Chim stares. The dots rearrange.
“Oh. Oh—come on,” Chim grimaces, wholly disgusted. He takes a step back, physically distancing himself from the conversation. “Spare me the details. Jesus Christ, tell ‘em to take it easy next time, will ya?”
Buck huffs out a laugh, the maniac, and makes a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to smother his smile. “Will do.”
Chim looks at Eddie, who’s also fighting back a smile as he looks at Buck.
“Sorry, man,” Chim says to him. “Got ahead of myself.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Eddie smiles, and he really does look like he means it.
“You know we could hear you yelling from the other side of the station?”
Chim turns as Ravi walks in with Harry, both of them fresh from the showers.
“Not exactly the voice I wanna be hearing when I’m naked,” Harry adds. Then, spotting Buck, “Oh, hey. Cap’s lookin’ for you. Cap,” he turns to Chim, “Buck’s here.”
“Yep, thanks, Harry.”
Ravi’s gaze travels between the three of them—mouth briefly twisting at what he sees decorating Buck’s bare torso—before he nudges Harry’s side. “He figured it out. Pay up.”
“Figured what out?” Chim asks.
“Nothing!” Buck blurts, which snaps Chim’s attention back to him. “There’s nothing to figure out.”
“Hey—wait,” Chim says, eyes narrowing onto Buck’s neck. He really doesn’t want to, this really isn’t any of his business, but fuck, he’s never been particularly gifted at leaving other people’s business alone. “Those are new.”
“No, they’re not,” Buck says quickly, palm snapping to his neck.
Chim shoots him a look. “I think I would have noticed if you were walking around with a hickey that high up your neck, Firefighter Buckley.”
“Not if I had concealer on,”
“Seriously? You sweat like a fucking pig, it would have rubbed off—”
Which—now that Chim thinks about it, Buck avoids wearing the uniform shirt as much as he can, always complaining and moaning about the suffocating fabric and the sweat it accumulates in places you don't even wanna know, Chim.
A sequence of events flash in his mind. Namely, a ninety minute absence of the engine, a certain someone speeding past Chim in what now strikes him as an effort to conceal his neck, and a uniform buttoned up all the way to the top.
The dots rearrange into a massive neon sign.
“Holy shit.” Chim looks at Eddie, then Buck. “You—” He points between them, horrified. “Did you consummate your relationship in the fucking engine?! We went on nine calls after that!”
“I cleaned it up after,” Buck frowns, which is, clearly not a no, Cap, we obviously didn’t fuck in your engine.
“Oh, you cleaned it up after,” Chim repeats hysterically, throwing his hands up.
“Besides, the consummation was…” Eddie glances at his watch, tipping his head to the side as he does the math. “Thirty-six hours ago, give or take.”
“But you—” Chim looks between them again, increasingly aggrieved. He needs to sit down; his heart isn’t what it used to be. “Why the hell were you acting all weird and avoidant, then?”
“Just around you, Cap,” Ravi offers, looking almost pained, like he’s witnessed things on this shift he didn’t want to. “When they thought you were looking.”
“Someone had the clever idea to act like normal coworkers,” Eddie says. “So that you’d see we can work together as a couple. Which, like someone else predicted, backfired.”
By the betrayed look Buck shoots Eddie, Chim can make a good guess who the someone is, and who the someone else is.
“Hey, what’s the time?” Harry asks out of nowhere.
Chim turns just to see Ravi check his watch and present that same hand to Harry, palm up. “Eight-fifteen,” Ravi says. “Pay up.”
“Aw, man.” Harry groans as he pulls out his wallet. “Cap, you couldn’t have figured all this out before shift ended?”
Chim makes a mental note: the next rule he enforces as Captain will be a complete ban on bets he’s not privy to. Immediate disciplinary action for anyone caught having fun without him; suspension for anyone caught having fun at his expense.
He sighs, then looks at Buck. “I’m guessing Maddie knew?”
“First one to know,” Buck says, looking a little guilty. “Sorry. Told her not to tell you.”
“Yeah,” Chim sighs again. Good move, given his complete lack of discretion. “Figured I’d be the last to know.”
He glances around the locker room, taking stock of the suddenly very obvious absence.
“Wait— Hen…?”
Buck responds by shaking his head before Chim can finish the question.
Holy shit.
“Right.” Chim straightens, already backing towards the door. “I gotta— I just remembered I need to do something.”
Henrietta Wilson being the last one on the gossip? She’s going to lose her fucking mind, holy shit.
And Chim, as her loyal best friend and co-conspirator, is more than happy being the messenger and subsequent witness to the aftermath.