Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was funny, Buck thought - not in a ‘funny haha’ way, but in a 'funny weird' way, how some days your life could flip completely without you even realizing it.

Shouldn't life come with a warning - like a text alert.

Danger: Fire Truck about to land on your leg

Danger: Tsunami about to hit the pier you and your best friend son is on

Danger: You're about to get hit by lightening and die for 3 minutes and 17 seconds

Danger: You're about to ask your partner to move in rather than fix the issues with your relationship and your partner is going to dump you.

One minute, he had a hot, steady boyfriend who could pilot a helicopter through a hurricane and land it on a upside down cruise ship to save the man and woman who were better parents to him than his real parents (although, they were at least trying now), and the next, he was single, standing on the sidewalk, feeling the sting of the breakup still fresh. 

So was his stubble.

He shouldn’t have panicked and asked Tommy to move in with him, he always moved too fast, too focused on trying to fix small problems with a sledge hammer.

The whole Abby connection threw him, then Josh’s well meaning speech had hit home too hard. 

And now, as if the universe wanted to throw salt into the wound, his phone was missing. Stolen, just swiped in the middle of an offbeat LA coffee shop. He just stood there, stunned for a beat longer than he should have, processing how he’d lost his boyfriend and his phone in less than the span of twenty-four hours.

Of course, that was when Eddie strolled up, casually glancing at Buck’s empty hand. His lips curled into a smirk that Buck knew all too well. “Looks like you’re having trouble holding onto things, huh?” he said, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

Very funny, Eddie. Buck shot him a look, but Eddie only shrugged, his smirk widening, clearly enjoying every second of Buck’s silent irritation.

Asshole.

Of course, said Asshole was happy to accompany Buck to track down said stolen phone when Buck remembered he had the find my phone app installed.

“You do realize that there is like this force, I think it might be called LAPD, you might have  heard of it? Athena works there-they handle things like this.” Eddie had told him as they pulled up outside of the rundown apartment block. 

Which was not entirely true, the LAPD was too busy to worry about minor crime like this, they would just fill out a form for Buck to claim on his insurance.

“Uh, well I can get my own phone back, thank you very much,” Buck retorted,  “What, are you scared now you've lost that big, tough, manly mustache??”

Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes as Buck parked the Jeep and followed Buck toward the building. “No, but someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself arrested or in hospital, again, Buckley.”

Buck led the way up four flights of stairs that smelled like stale cigarettes and spilled beer, stopping outside the apartment his app had directed them to. The plan was simple and foolproof, pretend to be doing a fire inspection of the apartment complex to bluff their way inside, and then reclaim Buck's stolen phone.Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, then called out with all the confidence he could muster, “LAFD, open up!”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the door creaked open just a fraction, and a teenage boy with an impressively skeptical expression peeked through the gap at them. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, with messy hair and a look that screamed, I don’t trust you one bit. “Uh, yeah?” he snapped.

“LAFD,” Buck said, as authoritatively as he could. “We’re here for a fire inspection, uh, Council requirements.”

The kid raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from suspicious to amused. “Fire inspection? Really? I don’t think so.”

“Yes,” Buck replied smoothly. “We’re just making sure the place is up to code.” He didn’t add that it definitely wasn’t. Eddie stood behind him, nodding, trying to look official despite barely containing his smirk.

The teenager seemed to consider it for a moment before unlocking the chain and swinging the door open, shrugging. “Good luck with that. There’s no way this place is up to code—it barely has running water.”

The apartment, as they stepped inside, wasn’t a disaster, but it was run-down and painfully bare. Faded wallpaper peeled from the corners, and a single battered couch sat in the middle of the living room, as sad and tired-looking as the rest of the place. Buck’s gaze swept over the room, narrowing as he spotted what looked suspiciously like his phone resting casually on the coffee table.

He shot a glance at the kid. “Where are your parents?”

The boy shrugged again, clearly unfazed. “Out. Not that it really falls under ‘fire inspection’ for you to ask, does it?” He shifted subtly, inching towards a baseball bat propped against the wall. “You are with the LAFD, aren’t you?” Clearly the teen had trust issues as his fingers curled around the handle of the bat.

Buck held up a hand in a hopefully peaceable gesture. “Uh, so yes we are with the LAFD, but we may not be here to be do a fire inspection.” With that Buck pushed the alert button on find my phone and his phone, sitting on the coffee table started beeping and vibrating as the teenager sighed. 

The teen rolled his eyes, sighing in resignation, however did he uncurl his hand from the baseball bat. “I'm pretty sure it’s illegal to lie your way into someone’s place,” he muttered, his tone more annoyed than apologetic, as Buck reached over and snatched up his phone off the coffee table.

“And it’s not illegal to steal someone’s phone?” Eddie countered, glancing around and opening the empty fridge, where he found only a half-empty carton of milk and a single bruised apple. Talk about the bare necessitates. 'You're just lucky it was his, and not some bad guy." 

Buck, meanwhile, took in the apartment’s sparse contents with growing curiosity and concern. “How old are you?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Old enough,” the teen replied, his expression carefully guarded. "What's with the 20 questions?" 

Buck didn’t buy it. “That’s not an answer,” he pressed, taking a closer look around despite the teen's obvious annoyance. “There’s only one bed in this tiny apartment, too.”

“Well, like you said, Mr. LAFD, if you actually are with the LAFD, it’s a tiny apartment. There’s not a lot of room.”

Buck exchanged a look with Eddie, who was now leaning against the fridge with a skeptical look. “So, you’re here alone?”

The teen shrugged again, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “Look,you got your phone back, which for the record, I don’t know how it ended up in here.” He glanced away, then muttered, “So about you leave me alone?”

“You’re a little young to be living alone aren’t you?” Buck pressed as the teen scowled at the comment, getting his back up.

“I’m practically sixteen, and I can look after myself okay? I didn’t ask you to come in here and do whatever it is you're doing okay? Just take your phone and leave me alone.” the teen repeated, voice raising. "Before I call the cops on two losers who are trespassing." 

Irony. 

Buck shared a look with Eddie, who raised an eyebrow in silent agreement. “Alright, well…” Buck gave his phone a quick glance before slipping it back into his pocket. “Just maybe try not to find other people’s stolen stuff  in your apartment in future, okay?”

The teen rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the solid advice, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Buck hesitated, his voice softening. “If you need anything… there are people who can help.”

The kid looked away, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he masked it with another shrug. “Don’t remember asking, that's you assuming.”

In the Jeep, as Buck sat there for a moment, Eddie looked over at him and said “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking about.”

Across town, over at Harbour Station, Tommy found himself on the receiving end of a full-force Lucy interrogation.

“So, let me get this straight,” Lucy said, crossing her arms with an unimpressed scowl. “You broke up with Buck because you liked him too much?”

Tommy let out a long-suffering groan. “No, Lucy. I broke up with him because he’s new to the whole bi thing. He needs space—to explore, figure things out for himself, grow. I was his first, and that's-”

Lucy’s face didn’t budge, honestly, how she was expected to work with these idiots was beyond her. “Oh, please. Buck’s done enough exploring to fill a travel blog. And you know,” she added with a sly tilt of her head, “there are ways to introduce Buck to other guys without, you know, breaking up with him.”

Tommy shot her a glare. “I am not—”

Lucy interrupted with a smirk. “Not open-minded enough to consider options? Really, Tommy?”

His deadpan expression was unwavering. “I am not about to suggest threesomes to a guy who only kissed his first guy six months ago, and I am not into, you know being...”

“Cucked, maybe not by Buck, but you did it to yourself.” Lucy replied with no chill, “'Oh no, I’m such a big tough firefighter but I’m afraid of getting my heart broken so I’ll just give up', that’s you being a little bit-”

“Hey! Watch what you're saying Donato, I am not a little bitch, I am a pilot with the LAFD.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. But don’t come crying to me when he finds some other guy who actually wants to be there, or woman, Buck's bi and he's cute, totally my type.”

Tommy’s sigh was part exasperation, part resignation. “I just want him to have a fair shot at figuring out what he really wants.”

Lucy softened just a fraction but kept her tone sharp, to the point. “Right, well, try not to be surprised when what he really wants turns out to be you, but you fucked it up.”

“That ship has sailed.” Tommy mumbled, as he re-downloaded the toxic dating apps onto his phone, Lucy rubbing his shoulder as she walked past. “Luckily someone has experience landing on ships that have sailed, and capsized huh?”

She smirked, leaving him to his thoughts. But before he could even open the first app, his phone buzzed, and the screen flashed: Eddie 118.

Tommy sighed, bracing himself, then answered with a steady, “Go for Kinard.”

“What the hell, Tommy,” came Eddie’s unmistakable exasperated voice. “I thought Buck was the idiot.”

Tommy closed his eyes with a sigh. Yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon.

Later that day, Eddie walked into Buck’s apartment, instantly hit by the warm, savory smell of lasagna filling the air.

“Buck?”

“Oh, uh, hey, man!” Buck looked up with a cheerful grin, quickly shoving a takeout container behind his back, a little too obviously. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, holding up a six-pack. “Eh, just thought I’d surprise my best friend with some beer - given he’s suffering from a broken heart, beer is the best cure.”

Buck accepted a bottle with a grin. “Well, at least you’re wearing pants this time.”

Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes. “Please, it was a good look on me.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Buck teased. “Next time we hit the town, we’ll see how many bars let you in like that.”

To be fair, Eddie was a pleasing sight in just a light pink shirt and tight whiteys, he would definitely get some attention before he got kicked out.

They both chuckled, clinking bottles before Eddie’s gaze shifted to the spread of lasagna trays lining the kitchen counter. “That’s… a lot of lasagna for one person. I mean, I know you can put it away, but with no Tomm—”

Eddie stopped mid-sentence, realizing he’d hit a nerve as Buck’s face faltered for just a second before he recovered with a shrug.

“Diaz, ever heard of meal prepping?” Buck replied, his tone overly casual as he gave a lopsided smile.

Eddie wasn’t buying it, crossing his arms with a knowing look. “Oh, I’ve heard of it. I also know you, Buck. And I saw that takeout container you tried to hide. What, you think I’m blind?”

Buck looked away, realizing he had been caught. 

“It’s the teen isn’t it.” Eddie accused lightly, rubbing his jawline. “Buck, you know you shouldn’t get involved…”

Buck sighed. “Aw, no, come on Eddie, it’s just one meal, okay? I’m hardly getting involved, I don't even know his name.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, yeah? I’ve seen you ‘hardly get involved’ before. Ring any bells? Like, say… Red the firefighter?” or finding Carla for Chris, or any other lost cause Buck happened to stumble across.

Buck winced, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Eddie, that was different.”

“Is it?” Eddie shot back, though his tone was gentle. “Look, I get it. But you can’t save everyone, Buck.”

Buck nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “Yeah, well… making sure he has one good meal isn’t going to hurt anyone, just one meal Eds. That’s all.”

Eddie softened, clapping Buck on the shoulder. “I’m not helping you when you turn your loft into a soup kitchen, okay?”

As they rode in Buck’s Jeep towards the rundown apartment buildings, Eddie threw a sucker punch into their casual banter. “So, have you talked to Tommy?”

“Uh, no? Why would I?”

“You were together six months,” Eddie said, shooting him that annoyingly perceptive look. “You ask him to move in, he gets cold feet, and you just… let him go? You put more effort into following up after your first date from hell than you have now, have you even sent him a text?.”

Buck tightened his grip on the wheel, jaw clenching. “Correct. We were together for six months, and instead of having a single real conversation, he walked out - no, wait, he walked out and told me to go sleep around, like I’m Buck 1.0 again. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“He’s fine,” Buck replied, his voice strained. “Probably already found himself a ‘boy’ to take his mind off things.”

“‘Boy’? Are we teenagers now? And no, he doesn’t have another guy. He’s probably moping in the dark with a beer.” the words 'like you' left unsaid. 

Buck looked out the window, his voice softer. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one who ended it.”

“No, you were the one who didn’t fight to save it.” At Buck’s pointed glare, Eddie raised his hands, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, don't shoot the messenger.”

Asshole.

Chapter Text

When they finally reached the teen’s apartment, the boy answered the door with the most unimpressed expression Buck had ever seen. “Oh, great,” he said, folding his arms. “What is it this time? You here as LAPD, or maybe SWAT? FBI?”

Buck ignored the mocking, and looked over at Eddie for backup, who was absolutely no help, hiding a smirk. “Look, I just thought maybe you’d want some real food.” He held up the container of lasagna as the boy eyed it skeptically.

“I’m not a stray cat,” the teen replied, his eyes narrowing. No, stray cats where cuter and didn't steal people phones while they were getting much needed coffee. 

“No, you’re fifteen and living alone in an apartment-” Buck shot back, as he looked around the gross apartment. "-A rundown apartment at that, and uh, look If you don’t want it, that’s fine. But it’s here, no strings attached. Real, honest to god food.”

“There are always strings attached,” the teen muttered, a flicker of conflict crossing his face as he debated trusting Buck. But after a pause, he reached for the container.

“Uh-uh-uh.” Buck pulled it just slightly out of reach, meeting the boy’s eyes, his unimpressed look morphing to annoyed now. “No strings attached, but I feel like I should at least, uh, you know, get a simple 'thank you'.”

The teen rolled his eyes but took the container, a mix of relief and frustration playing on his face. “Thanks. I guess.” before he paused, looking over the container. “It’s not drugged or something? I’ve seen human centipede, a ‘kind’ stranger offers something and next thing I’m being raped or chopped up…” 

That was dark, so Buck tried not to laugh. “Promise. Uh, absolutely no creepy horror movie scenarios. It’s just lasagna, plain, good old fashioned three cheese lasagna. It's, uh, my captains recipe.”

Eddie finally chimed in, unable to hold back his grin. “The only person that Buck’s cooking has injured is himself, and that’s because he hadn’t discovered hot things are hot.”

“Well, thanks again.” The teen replied, taking the container and closing the door in Buck's face. 

“Well” Eddie said to the closed door, “There was no getting attached there.” He patted Buck on the back and started walking back  down the hallway. 

Buck didn’t feel the need to tell Eddie he had written his phone number on the inside of the lid. You know, just in case.

Buck woke later that night to his phone ringing, wondering if it was the teen, he reached over for it, only to see the screen flashed: Tommy with three stupid love hearts.

Sending it to voicemail, Buck threw himself back on the bed and pulled the blankets over his head. 

Across town, in a dimly lit bar, Tommy listened to Buck's voicemail dismissively for like the hundredth time that night before slamming down his phone and ordering another whiskey. Maybe he could drown his sorrows in the amber liquid, the burn of it chasing away the ache in his chest. He'd been such an idiot with Evan, ruining a perfect relationship because what, he was nervous?

"Hey there handsome, looking for some company tonight?"

What in the cheesy eighties porno movie world was that line from. 

Now, not only was Tommy not looking for company, but rather to drown his sorrows but he was definitely not looking for company from someone so young.

In fact, this teen looked barely legal to be in a bar.

"Look, I'm not interested," Tommy said bluntly, sipping his drink, enjoying the burning sensation, “Besides how did you even get in this bar?” Tommy asked, making a point of looking the teen up and down, “Do you even have pubes?” 

The teen’s face flushed, and he bristled. “I’m twenty-one,” he lied, which only made Tommy snort.

“Sure you are,” Tommy replied, clearly amused at the teen’s irritation. “They check IDs at the door, so you must be, right?”

The young man crossed his arms defiantly. “Exactly. They wouldn’t let me in if I wasn’t.”

“Alright then,” Tommy challenged, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it.”

“What?”

“Your ID,” Tommy said, leaning back. “Prove it.”

The kid scowled and looked away. “I’m not showing you my ID, fucking creep.”

Tommy downed the rest of his drink, setting the glass on the bar with a finality that made his intentions clear. “This has been fun, kid, but I’m off to play with the adults now.”

That did the trick. The teen, clearly stung, whipped out his license and flashed it at Tommy. He barely caught a glimpse, but that didn’t matter; he’d played this game before.

“Nice try,” Tommy drawled. “But they spelled California wrong on that thing.” It was a bold face lie, but it worked, with the teen frowning, and checking the I.D again with a glare, trying to spot the non-existent spelling mistake.

"It's real," he protested. 

"Uh huh. And I'm the queen of England," Tommy commented, pinching the ID from the his fingers, much to the teens dismay. With closer inspection, there were a number of other tells - the card's cheap sheen, the flimsy laminate, the photo that looked like it had been snapped on a cell phone.

"Did you slip a twenty to the bouncer too?" Tommy asked with a smirk. The Teen's face fell. "A fifty" he admitted.

"Fifty bucks - sorry, fifty bucks? to get into this dump? On top of the door charge? You got played, son."

Tommy slipped the ID into his pocket, ignoring the kid's splutter of protest. "Hey, give that back!"

"Nah, you're not getting that back until your twenty-first birthday, kid." Tommy leaned in, crowding into the teen's space. The scent of cheap cologne and his body wash tickled Tommy's nose. "You're too young to be at a club like this. You should be at backyard parties or drinking behind your school, you know, with people your own age."

The teen jutted his chin, bristling with pride and embarrassment. "I'll be sixteen soon."

Tommy almost fainted from shock. He'd known there was no way teen was twenty-one, but he'd been thinking closer to eighteen. fifteen? Christ, he could be arrested for even talking to the kid.

"Mmm, no, you definitely should not be here," Tommy agreed, fishing a fifty-dollar bill out of his wallet. He tucked it into the kid's hand, ignoring his protest. "Go home, kid. This place isn't for you."

The music was pulsing, the strobe lights casting an eerie glow across the teen's face. His eyes were wide, bottom lip trembling as he clutched Tommy's crumpled bill. "I... I'll get you back for this," he finally spat.

"Uh huh. And I'm sure the cops will be delighted to hear all about how you tried to bribe your way into an gay bar," Tommy retorted. He stood, thighs flexing in his tight jeans as he towered over the teen. "Now beat it before I call you a cab myself."

Sliding off the barstool, the kid glared up at Tommy with a mix of fury and humiliation. For a moment, Tommy thought he might argue further, but something in Tommy's gaze must have warned him off. Turning on his heel, the kid stormed off, shoving through the crowd of dancers.

Tommy watched him go, shaking his head.

After downing another whiskey and drowning his regrets about Evan and his own mistakes, Tommy knew it was time to head home. He was ready to slink into the shadows, nurse his wounds in solitude, and endure being teased by Lucy and harassed by Eddie. 

With a wince, he pushed himself off the barstool, his body reminding him that he was no longer the reckless teenager he used to be. He stumbled over to the bathroom, needing to take care of some business before calling an Uber to take him home. Tommy was responsible enough not to cause any trouble in the Uber, whether it was peeing or puking.

As he relieved himself, he heard a commotion coming from the corner of the bathroom. He had been in enough situations like this before to know better than to get involved. But as he listened, something made him turn his head. And that's when he saw it - the teen who he had told to go home earlier, being held against the wall by two burly men. The teen was saying no, pulling away, but the men didn't seem to care.

Tommy knew he should stay out of it, but something primal took over. The nagging voice in his head told him to keep his nose out of other people's business, but he couldn't just stand there and do nothing. The teen was in over his head, and this situation was spiraling out of control.

With a determined look in his eyes, Tommy shook off the last drops of piss and zipped himself back up. He approached the two men, his fists clenched, and grabbed the first guy, pulling him off the teen and throwing him to the ground. The second guy turned to face him, but before he could even react, Tommy decked him with a swift punch to the jaw.

The bathroom fell silent for a moment, and then the teen had the audacity to glare at him. “I had it under control.”

Under control?

Tommy snapped, grabbing the teenage brat by his arm and dragging him out of the gay bar. 

“What, what are you doing?”

Tommy had had enough. He grabbed the kid firmly by the arm and marched him out of the bar, ignoring the protests and curious stares from other patrons.

“What—what are you doing?” the teen sputtered, trying to wriggle free.

“Making sure you get home before you end up in more trouble,” Tommy growled, not loosening his grip. “Do you have any idea how badly that could’ve ended for you in there?”

The teen’s defiance wavered as Tommy pulled out his phone and opened the Uber app. “What’s your address?” he asked, his tone softer but no less insistent. The night was over, for both of them. 

The teen rolled his eyes, the bravado creeping back. “No way creep, I’ve seen how this ends in horror movies, I'm not giving you my address.” he muttered, though a slight tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, exhaling sharply. “Fine. If you’re not comfortable giving me your address, just pick a nearby spot. I’ll drop you there. Either way, you’re not going back in, do I make myself clear.”

The teen narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah, you’re not my dad. I don’t have to listen to you.”

Tommy shrugged, glancing back toward the bouncer. “Sure. Or I can go tell the bouncer I know he let you in here with a fake ID and watch how quickly that goes south for you.”

The teen’s eyes widened, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine.” he huffed like Tommy was the inconvenience. 

The teen reached for Tommy’s phone with a roll of his eyes, tilting the screen just enough so Tommy couldn’t see as he typed in an address before handing it back.

Nice try, Tommy thought, glancing down to see the full address clearly displayed. Not as clever—or safe—as he thought he was. Where were this teen - no wait, kid’s parents? Did they not care where he was at one in the morning on a school night? To be fair, he snuck out a lot as a teenager too, but then again, his father probably wouldn't of cared where Tommy was. 

He didn't want to scare the teen, but he wanted to educate him; “You know I can see what you entered, right?” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re going to be reckless, at least don’t be stupid.”

The kid’s expression faltered as he realized he’d just given a stranger his address. Tommy softened, his tone gentler. “Look, it’s fine. I’ll get you home, and then we’ll both go our separate ways. Just…use your head next time, alright? You’re going to end up hurt if you don’t.”

"I don't need advice from you, creep."

"Hmm, no, you have everything under control, I know." Tommy sighed, as he watched the Uber get closer and closer. 

The Uber ride was filled with tense silence as the teen stared out the window, silently fuming at Tommy, although he couldn’t work out why, not that it matter Tommy's mind was elsewhere as well, as he couldn't stop thinking about his final conversation with Evan… when he had said goodbye to Buck. 

He knew he should know better, but he couldn't help himself. He pulled out his phone and dialed Buck's number, listening to the phone ring until it went to voicemail. This time, he left a message.

“Evaaannnnnnnn…” Tommy’s voice dragged out Buck’s name pathetically before he starting rambling down the phone. Relief and regret tangled in his chest as he hung up.

When the Uber dropped the kid off, Tommy barely noticed as the young man disappeared into the night. His mind was already spiraling with worries about Buck, something just wouldn’t let him shake the feeling. He forced himself home, hoping that some sleep might ease the unease that had taken root.

The next morning, Tommy woke up with a pounding headache, a familiar throb that made him reach reflexively for his painkillers. But his hand met nothing. He patted around his nightstand and then his pockets, but his painkillers were nowhere to be found. More troubling, neither was his wallet.

Stumbling through his house in a half-dazed state, he began checking all the usual spots. He dug through his jacket pockets, peeked under the couch, and even checked the fridge. Nothing. Frustration built into panic as he realized his wallet had truly vanished.

He quickly opened his banking app, expecting the worst. Relief washed over him when he saw there were no unauthorized charges on his cards. Still, the loss of cash stung—he’d always preferred keeping some on hand, Buck had teased him about it, calling him an old man, and he’d probably been right, but cash was king baby. But now, all that money was gone.

Rubbing his scruffy face, he tried to recall where he’d last seen his wallet. Then, it dawned on him. He remembered the kid last night, the uber ride home when Tommy’s drunk mind had been on something else, someone else. It had to be him.

He opened his Uber app and scrolled to his recent trips, quickly finding the kid’s address from last night. Without hesitation, Tommy grabbed his keys and headed out, determined to retrieve what was his.

His wallet that was, Evan was sadly long gone. 

Pulling up to the address, he found himself parked outside a modest building, a bit rundown, and in a rougher part of LA. Steeling himself, Tommy stepped out and walked up the flight of stairs, and approached the door in question, knocking with a firm, no-nonsense urgency. He didn't care if he got the kids parents, maybe he could educate them what their son had been up to. 

A few moments later, the door cracked open, and there he was, looking far more sheepish than the brazen kid from last night.

“Oh. You,” the kid muttered, avoiding Tommy’s gaze, and he went to close the door before Tommy stopped him.

“Yeah, me. And don’t pretend you’re surprised,” Tommy said, crossing his arms. “I think you might have walked off with something of mine.”

The kid sighed, scratching the back of his head before disappearing briefly inside. He returned with Tommy’s wallet in hand, holding it out with a sheepish look.

“Thanks,” Tommy said gruffly, snatching it back and flipping it open to check the contents. To his relief, the cash was still there. “Care to explain?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Look,” the teen mumbled, shuffling his feet. “It simply slipped out of your pocket, I must have picked it up by mistake, um, you were pretty wasted last night.”

Tommy took a long breath, frustration taking over. “Accidentally picked up my wallet? it just accidentally ended up in your pocket, and then in your house. I'm sure you were about to hand it in at the local police station, huh?"

No answer from the teen.

"Mmm, and where are your parents anyway?”

The teen rolled his eyes, “They’re out, anyway, are you going to call the pigs?”

Pigs - Tommy sighed, the level of disrespect for his friends in blue.

Tommy should, but he shook his head, convincing himself he couldn’t deal with the paper work and other bullshit. He was about to turn and leave when he heard a voice he recognized shout out in disbelief, “Tommy, what are you doing here?”

“Evan?”

There stood Buck, looking scruffy and unshaven in a hoodie, clearly as surprised as Tommy was. Buck raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now I’m Evan again? What happened to ‘see you around, Buck’?”

Tommy winced at the sting in Buck’s tone, but before he could respond, the kid interrupted with a theatrical sigh. “Oh, what the actual fuck, are you serious? You two know each other?”

Both adults turned to him, and the teen just shook his head as he repeated: “Just my luck....you assholes know each other? Fucking Figures.”

Tommy ignored him, looking back at Buck, his mind racing. “What are you doing here?”

Buck scratched the back of his head, glancing uncomfortably at the kid. “I, uh… I left a container here last night. Thought I’d come by and grab it.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Wait… how do you know him?”

The teen smirked, clearly enjoying the awkward tension between the two. “Old daddy here brought me home from the gay bar last night.”

Buck’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to Tommy with a mix of shock and something that looked suspiciously like disappointment. “Are you serious, Tommy?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. “It’s not what you think.”

“He’s not even—” Buck’s face turned red as he struggled for words. “How could you? He's like-”

Tommy raised his hands, trying to calm him. “Buck, it’s not like that. I was—”

But Buck cut him off. “I can’t believe this. I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

"Buck, wait..."

Tommy turned to the teen with a death glare, “Are you going to fix this, or do I have to change my mind about the cops.”

The teen sulked,kicking the ground slightly. “Fine, whatever, look, random dude number one, relax, nothing happened I was just winding you up alright? like, take a joke old man; random dude number two here simply brought me home from the gay bar after I got into a fight and because he thought I was too young…”

“You are” Both Tommy and Buck replied at the same time.

“Ah, excuse me, I’m practically an adult, I don’t need a bunch of do-gooders in my face, trying to, I don't even know what you two are trying to do right now. Get a cat if you want something to look after.”

“I’m here because you stole my wallet…” Tommy corrected pointedly, as he fidgeted with said wallet in his hands. 

“He stole my phone.” Buck added, looking at Tommy like it was some sort of bonding moment. 

Tommy looked back at the kid, his expression hardening. “Alright, that’s it. Where are your parents? I think it’s time we had a little chat with them.”

The teen gave a shrug that was almost defiant, rolling his shoulders as if unfazed. “Good luck with that.”

Tommy’s patience thinned, his tone firm. “Cut the act, kid. If your parents aren’t here, give me their number. We'll see what they have to say about your behavior”

The teen sighed dramatically, then tore a scrap of paper from a nearby notebook, scribbling down a number before handing it to Tommy.

"Whatever, they won't care."

“We'll see, and your name?” Tommy asked, his eyes steady. "And don't lie to me."

Buck had to admit, it was quite the turn on watching Tommy being so assertive, even if the situation was concerning. 

The teen hesitated, almost like he was deciding whether to give them the truth, before finally muttering, “Whatever, it's Max- Maxwell Walters, but honestly-”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Maxwell Walters,” he repeated, as if testing the name. “Alright, Max, if your parents aren’t here to straighten you out, I will. This game you’re playing? It ends now.”

Max’s eyes shifted slightly, a flicker of something that looked almost like uncertainty, but he held his ground. “Whatever, just call them and get it over with.”

Tommy dialed the number, pressing the phone to his ear as Buck looked on, arms crossed.

After a few rings, a voice answered. “Hello, this is David speaking. Who’s calling?”

“Hey there, my name’s Tommy. Sorry to bother you, but I’m calling about your son…”

There was a pause. “I don’t have a son.”

Tommy blinked, taken aback at the tone. “Wait… what? Uh, but I'm-”

“Look, I don't know what he's done now, but as I said, I don’t have a son,” the voice repeated, colder this time.

“Uh… Max Walters?” Tommy tried again, glancing at the teen.

“Not my son. Not anymore. And tell him to stop giving out my information. If he wants to live like that, then he's dead to us.” With that, the line went dead, the finality of the click echoing in Tommy’s ear.

Tommy lowered the phone, stunned, and looked over at Max, who just shrugged, his expression guarded but the tale-tell signs of sadness in his young eyes.

“My parents don’t exactly care,” Max said, a mix of defiance and resignation in his tone, his voice clearly on the edge of cracking. “So, um, I guess that’s a dead end hey, oh well, better luck next time." and with that the door shut in their faces.

Chapter Text

Tommy and Buck stood in the hallway, the door’s slam echoing around them, both processing what had just happened. Buck rubbed his jaw, glancing over at Tommy, who looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

Distant, repressed memories threatened to boil over. Maybe he hadn’t been overly honest with Buck when he claimed not to have daddy issues. 

To be fair, everyone at the 118 had daddy issues. 

“Well, that’s... something,” Buck finally said, crossing his arms. “What now?”

The obvious answer was to back off, to avoid getting involved. Hold on, Buck asked that question like it was a joint discussion, like there was a them.

Tommy shook his head slowly. “No kid should ever have to say, ‘my parents don’t care’ and mean it like that.” He exhaled a long, weary breath, frustration mingling with a reluctant sympathy he wasn’t sure he was ready to feel. “Maybe… maybe we call social services?”

He made the mistake of looking at Buck then—unshaven, leaning against the wall, eyes clouded with concern. Tommy felt his chest tighten. How had he let this man slip away?

Tommy went to say something as Buck straightened, a new resolve lighting up his face. “I’m going shopping.” Buck scanned his face, almost like he was waiting, hoping for Tommy to say something.

But.

Tommy simply watched him go, a lump forming in his throat, the words he wanted to say stuck somewhere he couldn’t reach. Buck gave him a look back, a silent invitation, almost as if he wanted Tommy to speak up. But the moment passed, and Buck disappeared into the lift alone.

“You said nothing.” Chimney managed to sound impressed and annoyed all in one. “You two are impossible…”

Tommy huffed into his beer. “It wasn’t exactly like Evan was in the mood to talk, now was it?”

“I thought you were all about the universe and signs?” Eddie stated as he helped himself to a beer from Buck’s fridge. “I mean, the kid stole your phone and Tommy’s wallet, like shouldn’t that count as a sign in your voodoo magical world?” 

Eddie stopped for a moment, beer in hand. “Wait, why exactly were you back at his place?” Eddie's face told Buck he knew exactly why Buck was at Max's apartment, challenging Buck to come up with a plausible excuse.

Buck froze, like a deer caught in the headlights, as he realized he was going to have to be honest.

“So… what now?” Chimney asked, watching Tommy run a hand over his face in frustration.

Tommy sighed, rubbing his temples. "It’s over, Chim. Nothing changes the fact that Buck hasn't really had a chance to figure himself out yet."

Chimney raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re kidding, right? This is the guy who not once, but twice stole a firetruck just to hook up. I’d say he's done more than enough exploring."

A reluctant smile crept onto Tommy’s face. "Touche. But isn’t that the issue? He’s always searching for something without even knowing what he’s looking for."

Moving on, Chimney shook his head, still half-amused. "And the kid? You’re just going to leave it at that?"

Tommy’s expression softened, his voice quieting. "He’s got a home, clothes on his back. For now, that’s enough."

Chimney watched him closely, picking up on something deeper. "Hits a little too close to home, doesn’t it?"

Indeed it did, Tommy thought to himself as he nursed his craft beer.

Cheers Dad.

“Let me get this right.” Eddie repeated with a smug grin spreading across his face as he raised his beer to Buck. “The kid snatches your phone, lifts Tommy’s wallet, too by the way, and your idea of punishment is… buying him groceries?” He shook his head with a laugh. “I think I’m finally starting to understand your version of ‘not too much discipline.’, Buckley.”

Buck huffed, trying to defend himself. “Eddie, Tommy called the kid’s dad. The man straight-up said, ‘he’s not my son anymore.’ You saw that apartment—it was empty. There was nothing in there. I wasn’t gonna just leave him like that.”

Eddie’s smile faded as Buck’s words hit home. He took a slow sip from his bottle, his gaze shifting away. Buck could see the weight of it settling over Eddie, the reminder of how far away Chris was, still in Texas. Eddie would’ve done anything to bring his son back to LA, to keep him close and safe. And yet here was this other father, an asshole who had willingly thrown his only son away without a second thought.

Eddie looked back at Buck, the flicker of sadness behind his brown eyes. “Yeah, I understand.”

Eddie might scoff at the idea of fate, but Buck was a believer . How else could he explain the call they got the a couple of days? An elderly woman, suspected heart attack, collapsed in her backyard—and leaning over her, giving her CPR, was a very familiar face.

“Isn’t that your trouble teen?” Eddie whispered, nudging Buck with his shoulder.

“Max?” Buck’s voice was filled with surprise as he rushed over.

Max rolled his eyes, barely looking up. “Oh, for the love of— are you fucking kidding me right now?” He sighed as Hen and Chimney arrived and took over, Buck guiding Max to step aside while they continued CPR on the old woman.

“What are you doing here?” Buck asked.

Max shot him a sharp look, running a hand through his hair. “Relax, alright? I wasn’t, you know, stealing anything.” His voice was defensive, but his eyes flickered with worry as he glanced over at the old woman, now being worked on by Hen and Chim. “Is she… is Margaret going to be okay?”

Buck softened, realizing the teen’s anxiety. “She’s got a much better chance because of you. So, how do you know Margaret?”

Max hesitated, looking down at his shoes, the usual bravado slipping away. “I… I just mow her lawns sometimes. Do other odd jobs for her, you know?” He shrugged, but Buck could see the flicker of attachment in his expression. “She just… she just collapsed, and I didn’t know what to do, so I rang 9-1-1. I didn’t know what else to do, had to google stupid CPR moves.”

Buck nodded, watching the kid, who looked far younger in that moment, anxiety etched into his face. “You did the right thing, Max. You probably saved her life.”

Max shook his head, brushing off the praise. “All I did was call 9-1-1,” he mumbled, looking away. Without another word, he turned to go, but Buck’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Max shot him a glare, a flash of betrayal in his eyes. “Let go, random dude one.”  The nickname caught Buck off guard until he remembered the other night with Tommy. Random dude one and two.

Tommy. He was going to have to bake more muffins when he got back to the loft.

Buck kept his grip firm but gentle. “Are you okay?”

Max’s expression softened slightly, though his guard was still up. “I’m not the one in an ambulance, so yeah, I’m fine. Now let go before I accuse you of assault…”

Buck sighed, releasing his hold. “By the way, the name’s Buck.”

Max scoffed, looking unimpressed. “Didn’t ask.” and then Max was gone. 

“Charming,” Eddie remarked, stepping up beside Buck as they watched Max disappear down the street. “Just remember, you can’t save everyone. And maybe, just maybe, you should be focusing on yourself right now.”

“I am focusing on myself, a hard reset” Buck replied.

“Yeah? By baking cookies and skipping the razor?” Eddie pressed, earning an eye roll from Buck.

“I don’t remember you complaining while you were stuffing your face with those cookies,” Buck shot back.

Eddie’s expression turned mock-serious. “First of all, I did not stuff my face, thank you very much. And secondly, freshly baked cookies are a delicacy and should be treated with respect.”

“Oink, oink,” Buck teased.

Tommy’s phone rang, and his heart skipped when he saw the name: Evan pop up.

Keep calm. 

Breathe. 

He picked up. “Hey, you’ve got Kinard.” Totally cool, totally collected.

He was not a damaged adult desperate for love and attention.

“Uh, hey, Tommy.”

Silence settled in, awkward and heavy.

“Is everything okay?” Tommy finally asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it is. I... I shouldn’t have called. This was stupid.”

“Wait.” Tommy spoke quickly, abandoning any attempt at being cool. “You called for a reason, right? What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, it’s just - I just saw Max on a call today.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold, although he wasn’t sure why. All Max was to him was some smartass teen who stole his wallet in the back of an Uber that Tommy paid for after rescuing his underage ass from a Gay Bar. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he was fine. He rang in the call, old lady had a heart attack.” Buck explained, and Tommy felt the weight lift off his shoulders. 

Buck paused, hesitating. In his mind, this call had seemed to have a clearer purpose. Like, what were the odds they’d both cross paths with Max around the same time? And then for Buck to run into Max on a call, too? It felt like a sign.

But how do you tell your skeptical ex that the universe might be nudging you back together, over the phone?

“Evan, are you still there?”

“Yeah, uh… I should go.”

“Of course. It was… it was good to hear from you.”

“You too, Tommy. Take care.”

“See you around, Evan.”

Click.

Tommy stared at his phone after the call ended, his mind racing. He shouldn’t have answered. It wasn’t like anything had changed—except that small voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that Buck had called him.

Not anyone else.

Him.

That meant something right? Or had he watched too much 'Love,Actually'

Buck was a big believer in the universe, Eddie not so much, and Tommy was on the fence. Certainly asking Billy Boils to lift curse seem to work, but Tommy was still more on the skeptical side.

The universe wasn’t a puppet master; sometimes things just happened.

Sometimes however...

A few nights later, and more than a few drinks, Tommy watched as Lucy climbed into her Uber, giving her a quick wave as the car pulled away. The warm Los Angeles night wrapped around him as he turned to make his way home. The area wasn’t exactly safe, but Tommy’s six-foot-two frame and sharp, confident stride usually kept trouble at bay.

Tonight, though, he was distracted, lost in the soft hum of blues in his earbuds, letting the music ease the weight of his thoughts, his mind drifting back to Buck - he couldn't stop thinking about the other man, even if he flirted with hot girls at the bar on their date. Eddie did warn him that Buck was naturally a friendly chatty person, and if you drive a Lamborghini you have to accept people will admire it in front of you.

It wasn’t until the sharp screech of tires pulled him out of his head that he looked up, just in time to feel someone crash into his side.

“Max?”

Max clung to him, breathless, shirtless, and bruised, his fingers trembling as they latched onto Tommy’s shirt. He could feel the younger man shaking against him, and Tommy’s mind raced, piecing together the fear in Max's wide eyes and the desperate way he clutched his arm.

“Please…” Max gasped. “Random dude two…”

Right, random dude one was Buck. It's a small world after all. 

What was the odds that they would run into each other here.

Before Tommy could fully process, well anything, a man appeared out of the shadows, looking disheveled and dangerous. His shirt was torn, blood staining his sleeve, and he seemed out of breath, as if he’d been chasing Max for a while. Which did not bode well for whatever was happening here - maybe Max had finally stolen something from the wrong person. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the man said, his voice straining with forced politeness. “My son here had a bit of a disagreement with his mother. He’s overreacting, you know how teenagers are. Max, stop causing a scene and come back with me.”

That was unexpected, if Max had stolen something, then wouldn't the man just say? Instead of lying about being Max's dad. 

Tommy tightened his grip on Max, feeling the boy press closer. The man’s eyes flickered with annoyance as he stepped forward, his gaze hardening as he took a step back, still holding Max protectively. His mind raced, recalling his recent conversation with David, Max’s actual father, who’d been cold and indifferent as he disowned Max over the phone.

There was no way this man was Max’s dad.

“So you’re… Paul?” Tommy asked casually, throwing out a random name, keeping his voice cheery to avoid raising suspicion as he felt Max tense against his body.

The man’s hesitation was almost imperceptible, but it was there, a flicker of confusion before he quickly nodded. “Yes, yes, Paul. That’s me. I’m his father, and I’m sorry if he’s troubled you. Just pass him back to me, and we’ll be on our way.”

Tommy felt Max tremble at his side, shaking his head subtly, his grip tightening as though Tommy were his last lifeline. The teen might be trouble, but Tommy wasn't going to let him sink. 

“Right,” Tommy said, holding the man’s gaze. “Funny thing, though… Max’s dad’s name isn’t Paul. Is it?”

Oh snap.

The man’s facade cracked, his expression twisting from feigned warmth to something colder and far more dangerous. Tommy’s eyes narrowed, adrenaline kicking in.

“I suggest you go.” Tommy warned, voice low as the other man sized him up. 

The man’s eyes narrowed, sizing Tommy up before spitting out, “Fucking asshole,” as he backed away, clearly aggravated. Just as Tommy relaxed, he felt Max pull back, bolting from his side and darting into the shadows.

“Max! Wait!” Tommy called, but the teen was already running down a dark, narrow alley. Tommy hesitated, taking a moment to ask himself how at the age of forty he was in this mess, before he took off after Max, his heart pounding as he scanned the dimly lit alley way. He was too old to be searching in a dark, dingy alley.

“Max, come on, kid,” he said, his voice echoing in the silence. “You asked for help, remember? I’m here to help.”

There was a pause, then the soft sound of something shifting. Max stepped out from behind a trash can, looking worn and battered, his face shadowed with bruises which ran down his chest. Tommy’s breath caught as he noticed something metallic gleaming on Max’s right wrist—handcuffs, heavy and official-looking, not the cheap kind from a novelty store. One end was cuffed to Max right wrist, while the other end dangled open.

Max fidgeted, trying to avoid Tommy’s gaze. “I… I don’t know how to get it off,” he mumbled, holding his right wrist out.

Tommy gently took Max’s hand, inspecting the handcuffs, his expression hardening.

"What happened Max?"

Max ducked his head, looking at the ground, face flushed with embarrassment and regret.

"You're not in trouble kid, but I can't help you if I don't know what happened to you." Tommy reasoned before Max explained he had been chatting to the guy online for awhile, who wanted to do some stuff in return for cash - despite the fact that Max was only fifteen. When Max arrived, the older man had made him feel uncomfortable, asking if anyone would notice if he went missing, if he had anyone who cared, before trying to handcuff him.

That was when Max had bitten his arm, using the moment of chaos to run out of the flat and escape, almost getting hit by a car crossing the road when he had bumped into Tommy.

Just as he was about to reassure him, Max’s eyes widened, staring over Tommy’s shoulder.

“Behind you!” Max whispered, panic in his voice.

Tommy whirled around just in time to raise his arm, instinctively blocking a blow aimed at him—a tire iron, wielded by “Paul.” The force sent a shock of pain through Tommy’s forearm.

Tommy couldn't remember much after that.

Later that night, Buck was finishing up what he assumed was a pity visit from Maddie and Chimney. Jee was half-asleep in Chim’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder, while Maddie stood by the door, smiling softly at her brother. Just as they were saying their goodbyes, Buck’s phone buzzed in his pocket. The screen lit up with Athena’s name.

“Good evening, Athena. Everything okay?” Buck asked, his tone light but curious.

Maddie and Chimney exchanged curious glances, their steps pausing. Maddie tilted her head slightly, clearly intrigued by the timing of the call.

“Buckaroo,” Athena greeted warmly, though there was a noticeable strain beneath her usual calm demeanor. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, just saying goodbye to Maddie, Chimney, and Jee,” Buck replied. “What’s up, Athena?”

There was a slight pause before Athena continued, her voice gentler but edged with concern. “I'm well aware that this might sound like an odd question, but do you happen to know a fifteen-year-old named Maxwell Walters?”

The mention of Max immediately shifted Buck’s mood. His posture stiffened, and his face grew serious. “Max? What’s happened—is he okay?”

Maddie’s brows lifted as she watched Buck's body language change, before she glanced over at Chimney. She mouthed, “Who’s Max?” Chimney shrugged, his expression turning to one of realization a moment later.

“Oh! That’s the kid from the call earlier this week,” Chim whispered, just loud enough for Maddie to hear. “He was talking to him about something, but huh, I'm not quite sure how he knows Buck.”

Maddie pursed her lips, her attention fully on Buck as he continued the conversation

Athena’s voice softened, but there was a weight to her words. “He will be. He’s at the hospital right now, but… so is Tommy. He’s in the ICU.”

Buck felt his stomach drop. “Tommy? What—what happened? Is he okay? Uh, ICU, that's, like, bad, right?”

Athena let out a sigh, the professionalism in her tone cracking ever so slightly. “From what we can tell, it appears that Tommy intervened in a situation involving Max. From what we’ve pieced together, the boy was being targeted by someone dangerous. Tommy stepped in to protect him, but… things got violent, he took the brunt of it. He's stable, but like I said, he's in ICU.”

Buck’s heart pounded. Flashes of Tommy’s steady, confident demeanor filled his thoughts. “How bad is it?” His voice was quiet, almost afraid of the answer.

“He took a couple of hits with a tire iron,” Athena explained. “The doctors are optimistic, but they need to keep a close eye on him overnight. The next 24 hours are critical.”

Athena hesitated before answering. “He’s shaken, but physically he’s fine. However… there’s another issue.”

Buck rubbed his stubble, feeling the strain of the conversation pressing down on his chest. “How many issues does one teenager have to face? What’s going on?”

Athena exhaled, the sound of papers shuffling faintly audible in the background. “When the officers asked for contact information for a parent or guardian, Max didn’t have any. So, they ran a background check. Turns out, the apartment he’s been staying in doesn’t actually belong to him.”

“What?” Buck asked, his brow furrowing.

“The name on the lease is for a man who passed away last month—natural causes, no foul play. The building manager wasn’t even aware Max had been living there. Apparently, it was an unofficial sublet.”

Buck closed his eyes, exhaling. “Poor kid… He’s practically on his own.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Athena continued. “Well, we made it clear that without a legal place to stay, he would have to go into the system, I’m sure you can understand we can’t just let an unsupervised minor go. He asked if the officers knew a Buck who worked as a firefighter…” her voice trailed off, as she waited for Buck to fill in the blanks. "And even without your nickname, somehow I just knew it was going to be you." 

“Uh, yeah, I’ve met him a few times now, um, mostly just in passing.” Buck sighed, looking around the loft. It was hardly set up to accommodate a second person. He did have the sofa bed at least. 

“I would understand if you don’t want to come down to the hospital, I can have social services pick him up after he discharged.” Athena offered. "Or if you're more worried about Tommy." 

"Teens who go into the system don't tend to get the help the need." Buck stated bluntly.

"No, but no one would blame you if it was too much for you to take on."

"And he asked for me, didn't he? Max needs help and he asked for me" Buck asked.

There was a pause, as if Athena was debating answering herself.

"Yes, Buck, he did. God knows where his parents are, we have L.A.P.D searching records."

Buck was silent for a moment, staring at the coffee table. Finally, he exhaled, his voice firm. “I’m coming down. I’ll figure it out, for both of them.”

Athena’s voice softened further. “All right, Buckaroo. I’ll let the hospital know you’re on your way.”

As Buck grabbed his keys and headed for the door, Maddie stepped forward, her hand catching his arm. “Buck, what’s going on? Who’s Max?”

He hesitated for a moment, the words catching in his throat. “Uh, he’s a kid I’ve met a few times,” Buck finally said. A wry smile touched his lips as he added, “Weirdly enough, I first met him after he stole my phone. But he’s in trouble, Mads, and it looks like he doesn’t have anyone else, uh, I have to go... and Tommy, he's in ICU.”

Maddie’s eyes softened, her concern written plainly on her face. “Buck,” she said simply, her tone heavy with unspoken worry.

Buck met her gaze, his voice steady but resolute. “I have to, Mads. He needs someone.”

Maddie didn't ask who Buck meant by he. 

"Oh great, Buck. First, he steals your phone, then your time, and now your heart. Are we in some kind of 'Oliver Twist meets Captain America' crossover? Should I start calling you 'Buck Rogers, Defender of Wayward Teens'?" Chim teased lightly, trying to lighten the somber mood, which failed.

Unfortunately most of the reference went over both the Buckley siblings heads.

Maddie studied him for a moment, then sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She knew her brother well enough to understand there was no point in arguing. “Just… let me know if you need anything.”

Buck nodded, giving her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Mads.”

Great - he tried not to think of Tommy lying in the ICU.

Chapter Text

"Woah woah slow down Buck, you're talking at like a hundred miles an hour."  Eddie tried to calm Buck down the phone so he could understand what was happening right now. "Recap what happened..."

Buck exhaled a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the road. “Tommy and Max are in the hospital. Tommy’s in ICU.” His voice was even, but the weight behind the words was unmistakable. "Uh, you remember Max right?"

“Eh, kinda hard to forget him” Eddie’s tone sharpened with concern. “Wait a moment,Tommy’s in ICU? Why? What happened? Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Buck admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration. His thoughts felt like a swarm of bees, loud and impossible to focus. "Uh, I think so, the doctors are looking after him."

“You don’t know?” Eddie repeated, the disbelief clear in his voice. “Why? Haven’t you gotten to the hospital yet?”

Buck hesitated. He could have taken the easy out and agreed, blaming the lack of information on distance. Instead, he gripped the wheel tighter and said, “Uh, I'm heading in now, I just needed, uh, a moment or two, so I could collect myself.”

The silence on the other end of the line was almost louder than Eddie’s initial reaction. Buck could practically feel Eddie searching for the right words, the kind that wouldn’t make him feel worse.

Finally, Eddie spoke, his tone measured but with a hint of curiosity. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Buck repeated, his voice rising slightly, defensive.

“No, not interesting,” Eddie quickly clarified, though the word still hung between them. “Just… it’s interesting you didn’t ask. I mean, I assumed you would’ve—” He cut himself off, sensing Buck’s growing tension.

“Uh,I couldn’t, okay?” Buck blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. “I couldn’t go see him, Eddie. What if it’s bad? What if—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he forced his thoughts back onto the road. “I don’t know. I just needed a moment, but, uh, I don't think it made things any easier.”

Eddie’s voice softened, understanding slipping into his tone, which Buck was both grateful and annoyed about, the stress pressed down on him. “Hey now, Buck, it’s okay. You’re doing something. You’re on your way. That's what matters here.”

Buck let out a bitter laugh. “Does it? Tommy’s in ICU because he stepped in for Max. A kid who’s barely more than a stranger to him, or me, but somehow I feel like I'm dragging Tommy back into my life.”

“Maybe he wants to be dragged back into it,” Eddie said simply.

"He dumped me, remember?"

"Ah, yeah, because he was worried he hadn't felt like about anyone before, that doesn't exactly sound like someone who wants nothing to do with you."

Buck didn’t answer, his jaw tight.

“Look,” Eddie continued, his tone steady. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just get to the hospital. Check on Tommy. Check on Max. And maybe… maybe cut yourself some slack, Buck.”

Buck’s grip on the wheel eased slightly. “Uh, yeah, yeah, okay.”

"I mean Buck, don't get stuck in your own head."

Max sat stiffly in the hospital bed, his thin frame almost swallowed by the too-big hospital gown. The handcuffs that had dug into his wrist were finally being cut off by a nurse wielding a pair of bolt cutters. The moment the metal snapped free, Max flexed his fingers, hissing slightly as the movement pulled at the bruises blossoming across his skin.

“Looks like you’ve had a rough time of it son,” the nurse commented gently, her tone kind but professional as she examined the marks on his wrist.

Max didn’t reply. He kept his eyes fixed on the far wall, his jaw tight. The guilt had been creeping in ever since he’d made that call. Dragging random dude one—otherwise known as Buck the firefighter—into his mess wasn’t fair. Buck had been nice, sure, but Max doubted he’d signed up for this level of chaos when he’d said, 'Call me if you need someone.'

Buck meant something like more groceries or more like something like 'by saying this I can feel better about myself'

Max chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the tension coiling in his chest. He hated hospitals, the sterile smell, the fluorescent lights, the constant sound of machines. More than anything, he hated feeling like he had no control, like his life was suddenly in someone else’s hands.

The nurse finished cleaning his bruises and stepped back. “I’ll get the doctor to check in with you soon,” she said, giving him a small smile before leaving the room.

Alone again, Max leaned back against the pillows, his mind racing. He really didn’t want to end up in some downtown youth shelter. He’d heard the stories—places like that were overcrowded, loud, and full of kids who had nothing left to lose. Max wasn’t like them. He’d managed on his own before. He could do it again.

And the idea of being dragged back three states to his family? Not a chance. His stomach twisted at the thought. They didn’t want him. They’d made that crystal clear when his dad said the words, “You’re not my son anymore.”

It was his own fault for not pretending to fixed by the local pastor back home, for demanding his family accept that he liked guys.

But that was in the past, this was were he was now.

He’d rather take his chances on the street.

Max glanced at the door, half-hoping, half-dreading that Buck would walk through it. Hopefully, Buck would say whatever needed to be said to get him discharged. Then Max could slip away and figure out his next move. He didn’t need a firefighter playing babysitter, no matter how kind Buck seemed.

He could land on his feet. He always had before.

Lucy Donato stirred at the shrill sound of her phone ringing on the nightstand. Squinting at the glowing screen, she saw the time: 12:40 a.m. Her groggy mind immediately jumped to irritation as she answered the call.

“Buck, do you have any idea what time it is?” she grumbled, she was going to kill Buck for disturbing her sleep, especially her hangover cure sleep..

“Uh, sorry, Lucy,” Buck began, his voice hesitant. “I just thought someone should tell you.”

Her annoyance faded instantly, replaced by unease. Midnight phone calls were never good, and Buck’s tone confirmed it. She sat up, her heart already thudding. “Tell me what, Buck?”

There was a pause on the other end, a silence that seemed to stretch forever. Then Buck finally said it, his words careful but heavy. “It’s Tommy. He’s in the ICU.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Lucy’s breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t process what she’d just heard. The phone slipped slightly in her grip, her fingers trembling as she brought it back to her ear. “ICU?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Buck said gently. “He—he stepped in to help this kid. Things got… bad.”

Lucy barely heard him. Her mind was already racing, images of Tommy flashing before her—his stupid cocky grin, the way he always managed to make her laugh even on the worst days, the way he was just there, like a constant, unshakable presence in her life. That dry, stupid humor he delivered with a deadpan expression.

The thought of him lying in a hospital bed, vulnerable and hurt, felt impossible.

“Is he…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. The words were stuck in her throat, tangled with fear.

“The doctors are optimistic,” Buck said quickly, as if sensing the question she couldn’t ask. “But they’re keeping him under close watch for the next twenty-four hours.”

Lucy let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to her forehead. She felt cold, her chest tightening with a mix of panic and helplessness. “Optimistic huh, funny that doesn't fill me with faith” she asked finally, her voice unsteady.

“Neither,” Buck admitted softly. “But he’s tough, Lucy. You know how stubborn he is.”

That brought a faint, bitter smile to her lips. Stubborn didn’t begin to cover it. If anyone could pull through, it was Tommy. But the thought of him being in a situation where his stubbornness had to matter made her stomach churn.

Only hours earlier she had been teasing him about being so pointless stubborn over his relationship with Buck.

“I should be there,” she said suddenly, swinging her legs out of bed. Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she started to search for her shoes. “Which hospital?”

“Lucy, take a second,” Buck said gently. “It’s late. You can come in the morning—”

You can come in the morning? She made a mental note to slap Buck when she saw him, before deciding that he probably had enough on his plate, and opted for forgiveness. This time

“No,” she interrupted sharply. “I’m going now.”

There was no arguing with her tone, and Buck didn’t try. “Okay,” he said softly. “It’s Cedars-Sinai.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, already pulling on her jacket. "Don't think this gets you out of visiting him by the way, you still have to go see him."

"He probably doesn't want me there." Buck said quietly and Lucy mentally added the slap back on.

Buck felt conflicted as he arrived at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. On one hand, he needed to see Tommy. To confirm with his own eyes that Tommy was alive, even if it meant seeing him surrounded by wires and machines. On the other hand, Max—the teen who had somehow landed squarely in Buck’s life—was somewhere inside, alone and likely scared.

Technically, Tommy should come first. For so many reasons. But the weight of that decision made his chest feel impossibly tight.

A sudden hand on his back startled him, and he spun around to see Eddie standing there, his expression calm but concerned.

“Breathe, Buck,” Eddie said firmly, his voice steady. “Take a breath and tell me three things you can see.”

Buck blinked, his heart still racing. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look around and focus. “Uh… nurses. Chairs. And a… ‘be kind’ poster.”

Eddie nodded, his hand still resting on Buck’s back, a grounding presence. “Good,” he said soothingly. “Lucy’s parking. She and I will go see Tommy. You check on Max and meet us after, okay?”

Buck swallowed hard and gave a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it gave him a plan, a sense of direction in the chaos.

“And Buck,” Eddie added, his voice soft but resolute.

Buck looked at him, his brow furrowed. “Yeah?”

“It’s going to be alright. I promise.” Eddie’s tone carried a certainty Buck didn’t quite feel, but the words still managed to steady him, just a little.

Buck nodded again, this time with a bit more conviction. “Okay,” he said quietly, turning toward the hospital lifts.

Max hadn’t meant to break down as soon as Buck walked into the hospital room. It felt stupid—attention-seeking, even. He hated being the center of anyone’s concern, especially some poor stranger that had been dragged out of bed to clean up his mess.. But the moment he saw Buck standing there, his face a mixture of exhaustion and worry, the tears came anyway. Hot, angry, and uncontrollable.

He turned his head away, trying to hide his face. He didn’t want Buck to see him like this. Didn’t want him to see just how broken he felt inside. But the guilt was too much, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t escape.

Max couldn’t understand why Buck was even here, let alone why he cared about him, see Max wasn't sure how Buck knew random dude two, but they clearly did and now he was in hospital ICU.

Because of Max.

And Max didn't even know random dude two name.

He should of let the other man do what he wanted without putting up a fight. It would of been better for everyone.

Random dude two wouldn't be in ICU fighting for his life, and Buck wouldn't be at hospital at 01:00am.

“Hey,” Buck’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, firm yet soft. He sat down in the chair next to the bed, leaning forward slightly. “Stop that. It’s not your fault, Max. Not even a little bit. What that guy did? That was his choice. Not yours.”

Max shook his head, his hands trembling in his lap. “You don’t get it,” he mumbled, his voice thick with tears. “I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place.”

Buck frowned, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“I thought…” Max’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. “I thought if I just went to his place, I could get paid. Enough to buy food. Maybe some new clothes. I didn’t think it’d turn into…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the words too heavy to say out loud.

Buck’s heart broke at the sight of the teen in front of him, curled into himself like he was trying to disappear. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady. “You didn’t deserve what happened. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were trying to survive, Max. That’s not something you should feel guilty for.”

Max sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hospital gown. “Yeah, but if I hadn’t gone—”

“Then someone else would’ve,” Buck interrupted gently but firmly. “That guy? He’s the problem. Not you. Don’t take responsibility for his actions. You fought back, Max. That’s what matters.”

Max didn’t respond, his head hanging low as tears continued to drip down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure he believed Buck, but the man’s words were like a small light in the overwhelming darkness.

“Tommy’s going to be okay,” Buck added softly, as if reading Max’s thoughts. “He’s tough. Stubborn, too. He’s not going anywhere.”

Max swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t even know his name.”

Buck gave him a small smile. “His name’s Tommy. And trust me, he’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

Max’s head dropped, his shoulders hunching further. “He doesn’t even know me,” he whispered, the words heavy with disbelief and shame.

Buck’s expression softened, his voice firm but kind. “He didn’t have to. That’s just who Tommy is. He saw someone who needed help, and he stepped in. No questions, no second-guessing.” Buck hesitated, then added, “Kind of like you did when you called 9-1-1 for that woman in her yard.”

Max’s eyes darted up, startled. “That’s different,” he mumbled. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not different,” Buck interrupted gently. “Good people look out for each other."

Chapter Text

Offering to take Max in, even as a temporary measure to keep him out of social services, seemed like a no brainer to Buck as he talked to hospital staff.

Physically, Buck was with Max but Buck’s thoughts weren’t with Max. Not entirely.

His gaze drifted, unfocused, to the cup of cold coffee in his hand. Tommy’s face swam into his mind, despite his best efforts not to think about his hot, manly beast of an ex. He could see it so clearly—the force, upset smile Tommy had given him the night they broke up, the forced calm in his voice as he’d explained why he couldn’t move in and instead why he was leaving. 

If I were to move in with you, you wouldn't mean to, you wouldn't plan for it... but you'd end up breaking my heart.

What about Buck’s heart? Did that not matter?

Athena approached Buck in Max’s hospital room, her steps slow and deliberate as she carried the news. She had faced countless difficult situations in her career, but some conversations carried a heavier weight. And this one, involving both the law and a vulnerable teenager, was one of them. She had insisted on delivering the news herself—Buck deserved to hear it straight from her.

There was no easy way to tell someone this. 

“Buck,” she began softly, her voice measured. “Do you have a minute?”

Buck turned to face her, his coffee cup clutched tightly in his hand. The dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders betrayed the sleepless night he’d endured, caught between worrying about Tommy, recovering in the ICU, and Max, the stray teenager he had taken under his wing.

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s up, Athena?” 

She gestured toward the corridor. “Why don't we step outside for a moment, Buckaroo.”

Buck hesitated, his gaze darting briefly to Max, who was still asleep in the hospital bed, twisting and whimpering slightly then followed her out into the quiet hallway. Athena took a deep breath, bracing herself. She had delivered plenty of bad news in her career, but this felt different. 

Not to mention,she knew Buck - the same man who broke into Chimney phone to save his sister, who stole a fake firetruck with her husband to close down an interstate to save a stricken airliner. The man who would risk his own life to save a stranger in need.

“I know you’ve offered to take Max in temporarily, and I can’t tell you how much that means,” she started, her tone carefully even. “But… there’s been a development, and I need you to hear it from me.”

Buck’s grip on his cup tightened. “A development? Is it his family?”

Athena shook her head, her expression darkening slight. “No. His family has made it crystal clear—they want nothing to do with him. They’re not remotely interested in him. I’ve got Child Services involved, but honestly, Max is probably safer with you than anywhere else right now.”

Buck exhaled sharply, anger flashing in his deep blue eyes. “That’s disgusting, like, how can they just abandon him like that? He’s just a kid - for god sake Athena, he almost died.” He paused, his jaw clenching. “So, uh, what’s the development, then?”

Athena’s gaze met his, steady and unflinching as she explained. “We caught the guy who attacked Tommy and Max, about an hour ago, a patrol picked him up trying to get medical treatment on fifth.”

Buck straightened, his entire body tensing. “Wait, what you got him already? That’s great news!, right?” Somehow he could tell it wasn't. 

“It damn well should be,” Athena said, her voice heavy with the weight of what she had to say. “This guy isn’t just some petty criminal. He’s a predator. We’ve linked him to at least four missing runaways—kids like Max, kids who had nowhere else to go. Promised them money, in return for services, before...” she let the silence convey the awful truth. 

The words hit Buck like a gut punch. He took a sharp breath, his mind racing. Images of Max’s scared but defiant expression when they’d first found him flashed in his mind. “Jesus,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Four kids?”

“Maybe more,” Athena admitted, her voice quieter now. “The evidence we’ve uncovered is horrifying. If things had gone differently that night, Max could’ve been his next victim.”

If not for Tommy, who was currently lying in an ICU bed in the same hospital.

Buck’s throat tightened, his anger simmering just below the surface. “What happens now? They put this guy away for life, right?”

Athena hesitated. This was the part she had dreaded. “Yes, of course, however the issue is…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Look, Buck, there's no easy way to tell you this, The California Attorney General’s office wants to charge Max.”

“Uh, wait, I don't understand, you mean Max, as in…”

“Maxwell Walters, yes.”

Buck’s face fell, his eyes wide with disbelief. “ You’re kidding , right? Charge him with what? Did they miss the part where he was attacked? Where Tommy was hurt so badly he had to go to the ICU? He’s still in the ICU right now, Eddie and Lucy are with him. This isn’t right”

Athena’s expression softened, but her tone remained serious. “When we went through Max’s phone, we found messages. Photos and videos. He sent them to the predator,in return for money. The AG’s office is arguing that he produced and distributed explicit material of a minor, and prostitution .”

“For fuck sake, are you listening to yourself, He’s a kid , Athena!” Buck exploded, his voice rising. “What, they want to ruin his life because he was manipulated by a grown man? That’s not justice—that’s disgusting! This, this would ruin his life”

“I know,” Athena said firmly, raising her hands slightly to calm him. “I agree with you, Buck. But the AG’s office is focused on the letter of the law. They see those messages, and to be honest, it feels like they don’t care about the context. They don’t see a victim; they see an example to be made. Some people feel that doing this will help Max understand its wrong.”

"Help Max?" Buck repeated, incredulously, "By, what, putting him in jail for being attacked? He's a kid."

"Who, they argue is old enough to know better, and they argue that there are services out there that could of helped him."

Buck shook his head, his jaw tightening as fury and frustration churned in his chest. “No. That’s not happening, Athena, I won’t let it. Max is fifteen, barely fifteen at that. Hell, even if he did willingly do it, it was because he was being used, taken advantage of by an older man while trying to survive.

“Look Buck, I’m with you,” Athena assured him. “But I need you to understand the AG isn’t going to back down easily. If you decide this is a mess you want to get involved in.” Athena didn’t need to pause or look at Buck to know the answer already. It was clear as day on his face, in his body language. “Well then, you're going to need a lawyer, a damn good one, and you’re going to have to be prepared to fight this, Buck."

She softens her stance, if Max was older, she would probably agree, but he's a kid.  Even the strict, if fair cop part of her thinks Max could of tried to get help from social services, there's also a line between consequences and undue punishment, and Max has already suffered enough.

Buck’s hand clenched into a fist, his resolve hardening. “Uh, then we fight, it's that simple.” he said, his voice steady. “What kind of soulless asshole would even think about doing this?”

Athena nodded, a faint glimmer of relief in her eyes as she watched the young man, who had grown up so much from when she first met him. “Remember when you said you weren’t sure what 'Buck being Buck 'means,well, this is it. You and your sister have hearts of gold, I’ll see what my contacts can do or recommend.” 

Buck glanced back toward Max’s room, his chest tightening. He didn’t know what the road ahead looked like, but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t letting anyone else hurt that kid.

Not the lousy scum bag predator.

Not the fucked up system that should be helping Max.

Not anyone.

Tommy felt worse than death. His body ached in ways he didn’t know were possible, and the persistent beeping of the monitors nearby only added to the pounding in his skull. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Standing over his bed, looking far too amused for his liking, were two people he’d rather not see at that moment: Eddie and Lucy. Their grins, as wide as the sun and just as unforgiving, were enough to make him wish he’d stayed unconscious.

“Do you think he managed to beat some sense into that thick skull of his?” Lucy asked, her tone dripping with mockery as she crossed her arms, her head tilted in that infuriatingly judgmental way of hers.

Tommy groaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple. His head throbbed like a freight train had run through it. “Guys, really?” His voice was hoarse, and the dryness in his throat didn’t help. “I just woke up.”

“And we’ve been waiting,” Eddie replied, stepping closer with an exaggerated frown. “You’ve been pretty boring for the last hour or so, just lying there.” He shook his head, feigning deep concern. “Tommy, what were you thinking? Charging in to save the day like you’re some kind of superhero? Newsflash: you’re not Batman.”

Lucy snorted, perching casually on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, and last I checked, Batman doesn’t go around breaking up with perfectly good partners, either.”

Tommy’s groan deepened. He wasn’t sure whether to be more annoyed at the Batman reference or the dig about Buck. Either way, he decided not to mention his extensive comic book knowledge. Giving them more ammunition wasn’t worth the effort.

Dragging a hand down his face, as if the motion could somehow erase the embarrassment, he muttered, “Hmm, and did you both miss the part where I’m lying in an ICU bed?”

“We noticed. And for the record, this is us being compassionate,”Lucy shot back, her grin widening.

"Call us Mother Theresa, we're so compassionate." Eddie added.

"Mother Theresa was a horrible person, you should read a history book." Tommy corrected, as Eddie clutched his heart playfully acting hurt.

“It’s called tough love, Tommy. Look it up.” Lucy retorted without a hint of guilt at his suffering. 

Eddie chuckled, nodding in agreement. “We’re just trying to help you see the bigger picture. Like how colossally dumb it was to let Buck go. Not that I’m judging, of course.”

“This is a judgment free zone” Lucy lied. 

Tommy shot both of them a sharp glare, or the sharpest he could imagine lying in a hospital bed, high on pain medication. “Oh, you are absolutely judging, don’t even pretend you don’t both love the drama. Look at you, both so pleased with yourself.”

Eddie shrugged, unapologetic. “Okay, fine. I am judging. But seriously, you’ve got to stop acting like you don’t deserve him. Buck’s been a wreck since you two split, he won’t stop baking Tommy, we’re going to get fat and it’s all your fault - and here you are, barely alive in a hospital bed because you played hero in an alley.”

“I’m not a hero, and I don’t want to discuss it,” Tommy muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Oh god, I hope the LAFD healthcare plan covers home visits.”

A couple of weeks of living his own mess would drive him crazy. Tommy liked everything clean, tidy and in order. 

Lucy gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I would totally come look after you, I make an amazing nurse, you remember my Halloween costume?”

Tommy and Eddie shared a knowing look, they had seen Lucy’s Halloween costume, and he was pretty sure it was not approved by the nurses association or the health board. It was Buck approved through, judging by the way Buck's eyes followed her around the room - adding to another layer of insecurity for Tommy.

“You would?” Tommy asked, suspicious, sitting up slightly in his hospital bed, trying and failing to mask the wince. If she would, then why didn't she have to? Somehow he didn't think it was thanks to their friends at the LAFD. 

“Of course!” Lucy declared, her tone overly sweet as she taunted him. “But I don’t have to.” She made an angel face as she swung her arms beside, if Tommy hadn’t been sure, this confirmed, she was up to no good. 

Tommy frowned, suddenly wary. “Why not?”

Lucy and Eddie exchanged a look, their shared smile making his stomach sink. That kind of silent communication was never a good sign. There was only so much sneaky, underhanded, secret plotting that one man could handle.

“Why not?” he asked again, his voice rising slightly with urgency.

No answer.

“ Lucy ,” Tommy demanded, narrowing his eyes. “Who are you sending to look after me?”

Her grin turned wicked. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Eddie couldn’t hold back his laughter as he clapped Tommy lightly on the shoulder, earning a pained groan. “You’ll thank us later,” he said, and suddenly Tommy got the desire to also maim Eddie on a basketball court.

“Thank you?” Tommy repeated, his voice cracking with incredulity. “For what?”

“For making sure you don’t screw things up this time,” Eddie replied simply, already turning to leave.

Before Tommy could press further, the door creaked open, and his heart sank. Standing there, holding a to-go coffee cup and looking both nervous and determined, was Buck.

Fucking meddle bastards.

Lucy gave a little wave as she slipped out of the room. “Good luck, lover boy.”

Tommy groaned, closing his eyes. “I hate you both.”

But the sound of Buck clearing his throat forced him to open them again. “Hey,” Buck said softly, his gaze lingering on Tommy with a mix of relief and worry.

Tommy swallowed hard, all the teasing forgotten as he faced the one person he both desperately wanted to see and had no idea how to talk to. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly.

Meanwhile, in the same hospital no less, Margaret lay in her hospital bed, a faint scowl creasing her face as the nurse adjusted the monitors and jotted down her vitals. The room was bright and sterile, filled with the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the low hum of activity outside the door. Her mood, however, was anything but bright.

The door opened, and her daughter, Senator Elizabeth Woods, strode in, her tailored blazer and polished demeanor contrasting sharply with the relaxed tone of her greeting.

“Mom,” Liz said warmly, stepping to her side. “How are we feeling today?”

The nurse looked up, smiling. “Senator Woods—”

“Please, call me Liz,” she interrupted, her focus shifting back to her dear old, if a little grumpy, mother, Margaret. “How’s our patient? Is she behaving.”

That earned Liz a disgusted scowl from her mother, bringing a smile to Liz's face. Her mother was a hard case, which is probably how Liz got to be such a hard case herself. 

“She’s doing much better today, aren’t you, Margs?” The nurse replied fondly, patting Margaret’s hand.

Margaret huffed, crossing her arms over the blanket indignantly. “I’m ready to get out of this hole.”

Liz sighed, perching on the edge of the chair next to her mother’s bed. “Mom, they need to make sure you’re okay. You know that, remember.”

“I am fine. I was fine three days ago,” Margaret grumbled, her voice tinged with frustration. "Let me go home."

The nurse’s expression turned firm, she had dealt with many 'Margaret's' before, and she would deal with many more in the future. “Margaret, you had a nasty heart attack. You’re lucky to be alive. You need to let us do our job.”

Liz leaned forward, her tone soft but insistent. “Listen to the nurse, Mom. She’s right.”

Margaret waved them both off with a dismissive hand, clearly unimpressed. “I’ve been through worse. I’m not about to sit here and waste away.”

The nurse chuckled lightly as she refilled Margaret’s water. “You’re one tough lady, I’ll give you that. But you’ve got someone else to thank for being here at all. Thank god that kid knew CPR.”

Liz blinked, her brow furrowing at the comment. This is the first Liz had heard of any boy, at this stage she had no idea the role Max had played in saving her mother's life. “Hold on a hot minute, what kid is this?”

“My lawn boy,” Margaret replied, shuffling in her bed. “Oh, what’s his name? It’s in my phone. He’s a good kid, should be in school though.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, grabbing her mother’s phone from the bedside table. The lock screen opened to the contact list, and she quickly found the entry: Max: Lawns.

She tapped the name, her eyes scanning the last message: Hey, I hope you’re okay. Sent yesterday morning.

Her mother had sent back three GIFs, none of which seemed to make sense. Which was normal for her mother, Liz wasn't sure if she played dumb on purpose or actually accidentally sent random GIFs as replies. 

“Mom,” Liz said slowly, her tone a mix of disbelief and curiosity, “this kid saved your life?”

Margaret shrugged, her voice casual. “Apparently. He was mowing the lawn when it happened. Lucky for me, the boy’s got some sense.”

Liz shook her head, half-amused and half-exasperated. “Mom, saving your life isn’t exactly in his job description. I think the least we can do is thank him properly.”

Margaret’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “What can I say, he’s a good kid. Besides, you’re the politician—you can make the grand gestures, I'm meant to be resting.”

Chapter Text

Forty eight hours ago, Tommy’s house had been completely empty , full of the kind of silence that pressed down on his chest late at night as he remembered every mistake he’d ever made. 

He had spent the day wallowing in a haze of self-pity and self-sabotage, nursing a glass of craft beer like it was the only thing keeping him anchored as Lucy tried to help him craft a text message to Buck while Buck stood around the 118 firehouse going crazy watching those three dots.

But now, one beating in a dark alleyway and visit to ICU later and Tommy sat in a recliner, dosed up on painkillers after Buck had collected him from the hospital. 

It was either perfect or torture, but Buck had moved into Tommy's to look after him for the next couple of days. The irony did not escape Tommy that he dumped Buck after Buck asked him to move in, and now here they were - with a bloody teenager.

The house wasn’t quiet anymore, not with Buck bustling around in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove that smelled delicious, and Max sprawled across his expensive leather couch like he owned the place. Complete with sneakers on the couch.

He was going to have to say something. 

“That’s real leather,” Tommy remarked, his tone sharp as he glared at the teenager from his spot in the recliner.

Max didn’t even flinch at at the comment or the tone, just sort of tilted his head lazily to glance over at him. “Cool,” he said, stretching out even further, as if testing Tommy’s patience. “It’s nice n' comfy, good taste.”

Tommy knew he had good taste, what he need was the sneakers off the leather couch. 

“Shoes off…” Tommy’s voice was low, warning but at least it seemed to be work.

Max blinked slowly, then glanced down at his sneakers. Without moving much else, he kicked them off, sending them tumbling to the floor with a faint thud . He grinned smugly. “Better?”

Lord have mercy. 

He was a forty something gay man who was technically tragically single (self-inflicted, but it still stung). How had he ended up inflicted with a teenager? A messy teenager? What happened to clean, tidy and order in his house? There was a hoody on the back of a chair, shoes in the middle of his lounge and two boxes of Max's stuff shoved in the corner, which would make their way to his spare room - since Buck, the masochist, had banished himself to the couch.

“Lunch will be ready in five.” Buck called out from the kitchen.

That's right - Evan- turn his life upside again.

Tommy's eyes drifted over at Buck, who didn’t even look up from whatever he was stirring on the stove. The whole scene was surreal—chaotic in a way that felt at odds with the oppressive quiet that had consumed his house just days ago. He should’ve been annoyed. He should’ve told Buck to take his lunch and his stray teenager and leave.

Although he had to admit it was good to see Max safe. His last thought in the alleyway had been what would happen to Max when he was unconscious and unable to protect him, he still felt on edge thinking of it. The kid, or more accurately, teen, had seemed so helpless, trembling shirtless, bare foot and messy in the cold, damp alleyway. 

As it turned out, Max had managed to hold his own. When Paul—not his real name—had come at Tommy lying in the alleyway , Max had hurled a trash can at him. It hadn’t been enough to stop the guy, but it had drawn attention, scaring him off before things got worse. Tommy still felt a gnawing unease when he thought about it, though.

He should never have been in that situation, his parents should have never kicked their own son out of home just for being gay. It's 2024, for Pete's sake. 

Plus, he wanted Buck near him. His heart longed for the other man, so close - yet so far...

“He seems perfect,” Max drawled, snapping Tommy out of his thoughts. The teenager’s gaze was locked on Buck, watching him move around the kitchen like he belonged there.

“He is,” Tommy admitted, his voice quieter than he intended.

Max smirked, his expression entirely too smug. “So, you two seem close…” he said, punctuating the sentence with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. "What happened there?"

Tommy hesitated, unwilling to dive into the messy truth.

How did you explain to a teenager the complexities of hiding yourself for decades? Of almost marrying an amazing woman you couldn’t fully commit to? Of spending years bouncing between shallow, meaningless relationships with flaky guys? And then meeting someone like Evan —a man who made things feel real for the first time, who made you realize how deeply you could fall, so much so that you panicked and ended things before you got in too deep. Only to break both your heart and his in the process.

Also, because the universe hated you, Evan happen to have also dated your ex. 

So, instead of diving into his own issues, he flipped the question back at Max. “How about you explain how you ended up disowned and living in Los Angeles?”

Max blinked, his smug grin faltering for a fraction of a second before he recovered, sitting up just enough to seem a little more engaged. “Touché,” he muttered, shrugging as if it didn’t bother him. “But, honestly? My story’s way cooler than yours, old man.”

Old man.

Cheeky son of a - , instead Tommy simply raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly as he settled back into his recliner. “We’ll see about that. please continue.”

Max shifted, stretching his legs out as he launched into his tale. “Okay, picture it, old man. I was young, I was cool, I was popular, captain of the basketball team. Everything was great, better than great, even.”

Tommy felt like pointing out that Max was still young.

“Sounds like it,” Tommy replied, his tone dripping with exaggerated encouragement.

Max ignored the sarcasm. “And then Bradley Thomas turned up.” the teen continued. Clearly Bradley Thomas was an important character in this story. 

Tommy grinned, unable to resist the quip bubbling up. “Shut up.”

Max froze mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes at him. “What?”

“Isn’t that what the kids say these days? ‘Shut up’? Like, no way, tell me more.” Tommy’s grin widened as he watched Max’s expression shift from confusion to full-on unimpressed. It was way to easy to wind Max up.

“Um, you are way too old to try and sound cool, old man,” Max said, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Anyway, you asked me to tell you about me, and now you’re interrupting, what gives?”

The sheer level of offense Max managed to pack into that single sentence was too much for Tommy. He burst out laughing, clutching his side as painkillers dulled the ache in his ribs.

Max stared at him, deadpan. “You good, Grandpa? Or do you need a minute?”

Tommy waved a hand, still chuckling. “Go on, go on. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting your epic saga.”

Max rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. As I was saying… Bradley Thomas turned up and…” There was something in Max’s eyes as he said the name, pausing for a moment before he chuckled darkly. “You know when you just know, he was just perfect, and we just clicked, together twenty-four seven, he was…”

Max hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Anyway one day, we were getting changed after basketball and…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the words. “It was amazing, like, for a moment I thought this is what Mom meant when she talked about meeting Dad.”

There was another awkward silence while Max fiddled with the zipper on his hoody. “Anyway, my parents found out. They weren’t exactly thrilled, as,uh, you might have guessed from the fact that I'm, like, crashed on your couch.”

Tommy stayed silent, giving Max the space to continue.

“They wanted to send me to a conversion camp,” Max said, his voice suddenly bitter. “Said they’d ‘fix’ me. But I told them no. I said I didn’t need fixing, because I don't - there is nothing wrong with me. And that’s when my dad lost it. Told me I’d betrayed the bloodline, that I was selfish, going to hell, that he…” Max faltered, swallowing hard.

Tommy’s expression softened, his earlier amusement fading. “That he what?” he asked gently.

Max took a shaky breath, then pressed on, his words faster now like he needed to get them out before he changed his mind. “That he didn’t have a son anymore. That I wasn’t welcome in his house. So I stole $500 from his stash under the bed, caught a Greyhound bus, and ended up here.”

There was a long pause. Max fidgeted with his fingers, his head bowed as if the weight of his story had left him deflated. When he finally spoke again, his voice was slow and unsteady, as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “I thought… God, what an idiot I was…” He sniffed, blinking rapidly as his watery eyes betrayed the emotions he was trying to keep in check. “I thought maybe after I left… that they’d—” He hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat. “That they’d miss me. That maybe they’d call or ask me to come back.”

Max batted away tears as he continued, "Maybe they would want me."

Tommy’s heart ached as he watched Max struggle. He stayed quiet, letting the boy finish at his own pace.

Max’s voice cracked as he added, barely above a whisper, “But I rang Mom from LA… and she said it was the best thing I’d ever done. She told me not to come back.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Tommy felt a wave of anger at Max’s parents, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on the teen sitting in front of him.

“Anyway, at first, I got lucky... well mostly, the first man - well, he was-" Max trembled at the memory, and Tommy hated the guy without knowing him, but Max puts on a brave face and continues, "Uh, anway, then I met this cool old guy, like, way older than you. Called Richard, and uh, Richard helped me out, a lot—helped me with the apartment to crash in, helped me find odd jobs, like lawn mowing and cleaning. But then he died, and it was just me.” Max shrugged, his voice hollow. “Until you two came barging in, demanding your phone and wallet back.”

Tommy’s lips twitched into a small, sad smile. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

Max didn’t reply, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“And Brad?” Tommy pressed, his voice soft.

Max sighed, running a hand through his messy hair looking down at the floor. “Brad, well, Brad told me it was disgusting and I should kill myself. Brad fixed himself, he has a girlfriend now.”

Tommy sat up straighter, his expression hardening with a mix of anger and deep sadness, that this was still an issue in 2024. “Hey,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but filled with conviction. “He’s wrong. About all of it. It’s not disgusting. And you shouldn’t ever think like that—not for a second.”

Max scoffed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated defiance. “Obviously,” he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

But Tommy could see the cracks beneath the bravado, the fleeting, vulnerable look that passed over Max’s face before he plastered his usual mask back on. It was brief, a faint flicker of something. Tommy leaned forward as much as his ribs would let him, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice softening.

“You know,” Tommy started, “I used to think there was something wrong with me too. That if I could just hide it, bury it deep enough, maybe I could be… normal. I spent years ashamed of who I was. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. And yeah, I got really good at hiding it, but it didn’t make me happy. It just made me feel alone. And you know what? People like Brad, your parents; people who say cruel things like that? They’re the ones who are wrong. Not you. Not us. It's okay, Max”

Max glanced at him, his expression flickering between skepticism and something more fragile. Then his walls came crashing back up, and his lips curled into a sneer. “What self-help book did you get that from?” he snapped, his tone sharp and defensive.

Tommy didn’t bite. He knew the words weren’t personal, just Max lashing out. But the teen wasn’t done with his mini breakdown.

“Because Brad isn’t the one crashing on some stranger’s bed,” Max continued, his voice rising with a mix of anger and pain. “Brad isn’t the one selling himself or stealing just to buy stuff. Brad is back home, on the basketball team, living his perfect little life. Brad’s parents still love him. So don’t sit there and tell me Brad is wrong and I’m right.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Buck appeared, eye’s scanning the room, Tommy gave him a look that said ‘Leave this to me’ and Buck nodded, giving a concerned glance to Max before backing away to finish getting lunch sorted. As much as Tommy understood why Buck wanted to say something reassuring, he also knew Max needed to vent, and space. 

So Tommy let the words hang in the air for a moment, watching the way Max’s chest heaved with the effort of his outburst, his fists clenched tightly in his lap.

Finally, Tommy spoke, his voice calm and even as he tried to calm the teen down. “You’re right,” he said, surprising Max enough that the teen’s glare softened into confusion. “Brad’s life might look perfect from where you’re sitting. But people like Brad? They don’t always win in the end.”

Max scoffed, crossing his arms tightly. “Yeah, right.”

“No, I mean it,” Tommy pressed. “I assume there is more to the Brad story than you’ve told me, maybe Brad was a bit more open to exploring before your parents found out…”

Max nodded slightly, still looking away, arms crossed.

Tommy nodded, “I thought so, people like Brad live in fear of the truth. Fear of being different, fear of losing what they have, fear of being exposed. You? You’ve been through hell and back, and you’re still standing. That takes strength. And strength will carry you further than Brad’s perfect little bubble ever could.”

Max stared at him, his jaw tight, but Tommy could see the cracks in his defenses widening just a little.

“And as for your parents?” Tommy continued, leaning back slightly to ease the ache in his ribs. “If they’re too stupid to see the man in front of them, then they don’t deserve you. You owe them nothing Max, but you owe yourself everything, which is why you rise above this kid, this is why you prove them wrong.”

Max shifted, his gaze flickering back to the floor. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’ve got it all figured out.”

Tommy huffed a soft, sad laugh as he watched Buck put the final bits of lunch together. “Not even close kid, not even close.”

“Lunch is ready!” Buck’s voice called out from the kitchen, breaking the heavy silence.

Max let out a shaky breath, straightened up, and plastered his usual smug grin back on. “Finally. I’m starving.” He slid off the couch and made his way toward the kitchen

“About time.” Max said casually as he entered the kitchen, earning a mock glare from Buck glared, which the teenager pointedly ignored grabbing a plate.

“That’s not very polite to the chef.” Tommy stated with a patented we are not amused look as the older man entered the kitchen, looking almost as tasty as the pasta.

“Smells good,” Tommy added, his voice closer now. Buck turned to find him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes watching Buck intently. “What’s on the menu?”

Buck shrugged, gesturing toward the stove. “Pasta. Nothing fancy.”

Tommy’s lips twitched, and Buck hated how much he wanted to see that smile reach his eyes. “You always say that, and it’s always better than anything I’d make.”

Thanks to Bobby.

Buck turned back to the pan, hiding the flush that crept up his neck. “You’re not exactly setting a high bar, Tommy. I’ve seen the frozen dinners in your freezer.”

“Hey, those are gourmet compared to Max’s usual fare, hey kid?” Tommy shot back, and Buck could hear the grin in his voice. It made his chest ache all over again.

“There is nothing wrong with cereal for dinner.” Max argued, stabbing the pasta in the pan to steal a piece of chicken as Buck slapped his hand.

“Cereal is not meant to be a regular dinner replacement.” Tommy commented, before adding “or instant noodles.”

“Good thing he’s got us, then,” Buck muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He winced, stirring the sauce more furiously.

Tommy didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Buck felt his throat tighten, but he kept his eyes on the stove, refusing to look up. They were here playing house, ignoring the elephant in the room which was them and what they  were while Buck was ignoring an completely different elephant which was how was he going to tell Max that he was in trouble for doing what it took to survive on the street after being abandoned, in a different state, by his parents.

His parents, who when the police rang and said, 'your son was attacked' said 'we don't have a son.' And carried on their lives like nothing happened.

“You two are so fucking gross,” Max piped up, cutting through the tension between Buck and Tommy with his usual irreverence. He twirled his fork in the pasta, clearly oblivious—or maybe intentionally ignoring—the charged silence. “But this pasta? Man, it’s fucking amazing.” He stabbed another piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. “If this was a dude, I’d totally make love to it right—”

Buck didn’t even let him finish.

“Max!” Buck’s voice was sharper than he intended, slicing through the air. He put the spoon he was holding down with a loud clink against the pot. “Do you really think that’s an appropriate comment? Especially for someone your age?”

The words came out harder than he meant, his tone teetering on anger and exasperation. The room seemed to freeze for a moment as Buck realised he had messed up. He hadn't intended too, oh how he hadn't intended too. 

Max recoiled, his bravado faltering as his shoulders curled in defensively. Buck glanced at Tommy for some kind of backup, but Tommy stayed quiet, his gaze sliding to Buck with a mixture of confusion and subtle disapproval. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.

Naturally, Buck felt the regret hit him almost instantly, but he didn’t know how to pull the words back. He hadn’t meant to snap, at least not like that. It wasn’t Max’s fault. Not that the California Attorney General was threatening to ruin the kid’s life in some sort of petty political bullshit - it wasn't Max or Tommy's fault that Buck hadn't found the strength to tell them about it.

It wasn't their fault Buck was drowning under the weight of knowledge by himself. 

Nor was it Max's fault that Tommy was here, lingering on the edges of Buck’s life like a ghost of what could have been. Not that Buck had spent days watching Max flirt with danger instead of doing something, hell anything, normal for a teenager, like playing high school football or worrying about prom. Even video games would do. He wished he could click his fingers and give Max a normal childhood. 

Still, it was Max who bore the brunt of it. The kid shrank back into the seat like he was used to being yelled at, the cocky mask slipping just enough to reveal something raw beneath and it broke Buck's heart. It remind him ever so slightly of his childhood, unsure of his place. 

“Max,” Buck started again, softer this time, but the damage had already been done. Damn it, he knew from experience that once the words came out, in that tone, it was hard to walk it back, no matter how much you wanted too.

Max pushed his plate away slightly, the appetite that had fueled his earlier quips seemingly evaporating. “What,” he muttered, his voice low and tight.

Tommy finally spoke, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of a quiet authority Buck had always admired. “Evan.” Just one word, but it landed with purpose. Tommy wasn’t defending Max, wasn’t siding with Buck. He was telling Buck, in no uncertain terms, to stand down.

Buck let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather himself. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, glancing at Max. “I shouldn’t have snapped.” The words came haltingly, awkwardly, as if he couldn’t quite piece together what he wanted to say. The truth was, he couldn’t fully relate. It had been so long since he’d been a lost teenager, and even then, he hadn’t been through half of what Max had endured. He felt out of his depth.

Max didn’t look at him. His shoulders stayed hunched, his fingers picking at the frayed edge of his hoodie sleeve. “It’s fine,” he muttered, the clipped tone a shield against something deeper. “I’ll just shut up, I guess.”

Tommy shifted in his chair, wincing slightly but refusing to let the pain stop him. He leaned forward, his attention fully on Max. “Hey,” he said gently, the edge of his usual sarcasm replaced with genuine care. “It’s not about you, kid. Evan’s just… dealing with some stuff. Aren’t you, Evan?”

The words weren’t a question so much as an invitation, no, a lifeline for Buck to take to try and save the situation. He nodded reluctantly, his gaze darting back to Max, gently smiling at the defensive teen. “You don’t need to shut up,kid.” he said, his voice softer now as he tried to do some damage control. “Uh, your comment just… caught me off guard, a little and, uh, I acted before I thought it through. That’s on me, not you. It's okay, you're okay.”

Max finally glanced up, his expression guarded but less defensive. “Whatever,” he said again, though the sharp edge had dulled. He hesitated, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “So I don’t have to leave?”

“What?” Buck’s head snapped up, alarmed. “No, of course not.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Because you told the police you’d look after me?”

Buck shook his head, his voice soft but firm. “Because we want to look after you. You’re not going anywhere.” Not even if Buck had to burn down the AG office himself.

For a moment, Max’s expression wavered, like he wasn’t sure if he believed Buck, or if he even wanted to. Not that Buck blamed him, trusting adults was a risky choice for Max. Then, with a small shrug, he reached for his plate and pulled it back toward him, resuming his meal without another word.

Buck's phone beeped, and it was a message from Tommy.

Tommy: what was that about?"

Buck: I'll explain later

Chapter Text

Tommy’s phone lit up with a Facebook messenger notification from Howard Han: A GIF of Batman and Robin. 

Eddie was definitely going down next time they played basketball. 

At the kitchen sink, Buck caught sight of Max hovering awkwardly behind him, shuffling his feet and looking anywhere but at Buck. Which was fair, since Buck had bitten his head off over a stupid little comment.

Clearly Max wanted to say something but seemed unsure how to start.

Before Buck could ask, Max blurted, “Uh, so... do you want help? Like, with the dishes? I could dry or whatever—although I don’t know where anything goes. Actually, forget it—” Max turned on his heel, ready to leave the room.

The thing with peace offerings is sometimes you only get one go.  

“A hand would be great,” Buck interrupted gently. “How about you take over washing?”

Max gave a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like Buck had just asked him to do something monumental, but he stepped up to the sink anyway. Buck decided not to point out that this was he volunteered to help, he had a feeling there was more on the line than helping wash dishes. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing a sponge. He started scrubbing the plate with too much force.

Buck leaned casually against the counter, keeping his tone light. “Look, Max—”

“I said it’s fine,” Max snapped, his gaze locked on the plate as he scrubbed harder. “I get it, okay? I’m… too much. I'm...” the plate sunk out of Max's hands and hit the bottom of the sink with a watery thud. 

“Ah, yup, I get that - sometimes I feel like I’m too much too, but you know, when you surround yourself with the right people, you realize that you are exactly who you should be. My friends have a saying for that, they call it 'Buck being Buck'.”

Max paused, glancing at him sideways. “Ah, doesn’t Tommy call you Evan ?” That was beside the point - it had been a funny quirk, his affectionate nickname his boyfriend used being his real his name. When Tommy left him in his loft that night, the last thing he said to him was ‘ I'll see you around, Buck .’ which is how Buck knew it was serious - that it was over.

"That's not the point." Buck countered, trying to dodge the painful memory.

"Why does he call you Evan, instead of Buck like everyone else?" Max pressed, opening a wound Buck wasn't ready to deal with yet.

“The point I was making,” Buck replied, taking control of the conversation “Is you're not too much, you're just Max, which is who you should be.”

Max huffed, clearly unimpressed. “You two are like walking self-help books, you know that? Not everything can be fixed with a stupid sentence.”

Buck didn’t flinch, his expression remaining calm. “Words matter, kiddo,” he said softly. “They have the power to build things and the power to destroy them. So believe me when I say you are exactly who you’re meant to be, Max.”

“I don’t know who Max is, not anymore. Max used to be something,or someone, now...” the teen admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His scrubbing slowed, and he stared down at the soapy water.

Buck let the words sit for a moment before responding. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay not to have it all figured out yet. But we’re gonna help you find out who Max is- starting with getting you back into school, get you back into a routine.”

Max’s head shot up, his expression a mix of alarm and defiance. “School? No way dude.”

“Max—” Buck began, keeping his voice calm.

“No,” Max cut him off, shaking his head emphatically. “I mean it, Buck. I haven’t been to school in, like, four months—wait, no, it’s been even longer. And that was in another state. I won’t fit in. I can’t. And you can’t make me go, you can't.”

Buck leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms in a posture of relaxed persistence. “Uh, okay, just relax for a second, I’m not making you do anything,” he said evenly. “But hear me out. You’ve got a chance to start fresh here, and look, you don't need to tell me that it’s scary, I already know, and yeah, it’s going to take some work, but you’re selling yourself short before you even try.”

Max scoffed, turning back to the sink with a scowl, his hands gripping the edges as though bracing himself for more arguments.

Buck decided to ease off, lowering the pressure. He’d learned the hard way that you couldn’t force someone into something they weren’t ready for. “Okay,” he said, his tone softening. “Just think on it overnight. Maybe tomorrow, you could come with me to check out a school nearby—just talk to someone, see how it feels. No pressure, okay? I promise.”

Max turned his head slightly, enough to glance at Buck but still not fully facing him. “You really care about my future?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with disbelief. “Haven’t I, like, literally only caused you problems?”

Buck’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, keeping his tone warm and steady. “Max, you’re not a problem. You’ve had a tough run, yeah, but that doesn’t make you any less important. I care because you matter, whether you see that right now or not.”

A couple of hours later, and Max had disappeared into Tommy’s spare room. Really, Tommy thought to himself, they should make Max take the couch and give Buck the spare room. 

Really, Buck should be in his bed, where he belonged.

But that bridge had long since burned to the ground, hadn’t it? Tommy had made sure of that. He had looked into those impossibly deep blue eyes, so full of trust, and told Buck he couldn’t do it anymore. That he was getting out before Buck hurt him.

The truth, though, was far messier. Tommy knew how it went with first loves. Buck had only just discovered this exciting new part of him, and Tommy was touched to have been such an important part of Buck’s life but he was simply someone that Buck would grow out of. 

And when that day came, Tommy didn’t think he could survive being the one left behind.

So he had walked away, convinced he was doing the right thing, that it was better to cut things off before they went too far. Better to let Buck find himself. Some lucky guy or gal would get an amazing, loveable, slightly bratty dork. 

Tommy remained in his recliner, the soft ache of his ribs a dull reminder of the beating he’d taken, though the painkillers did their job of blunting the worst of it.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye as Buck approached, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his expression unreadable. Tommy’s heart clenched instinctively, the weight of their history settling heavily in his chest.

“Tommy,” Buck started, his voice softer than usual. “We need to talk, it’s important and I, uh, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for a while now, just waiting for the right time I guess, been a bit hard to get a,uh, quiet moment alone with you.”

Tommy’s stomach dropped. Here it was—the conversation he’d been dreading since Buck had come to the hospital to pick him up. For all his regret about the breakup, for all the nights he’d replayed it in his mind, telling himself he’d made the right choice, Tommy couldn’t shake the truth: he still loved Buck. Deeply. And sitting here now, watching him move around his house like he still belonged there, like the void Tommy had tried to convince himself didn’t exist had finally been filled again—it was torture, beautiful, perfect torture.

“This isn’t one of those ‘ it’s not you, it’s me ’ speeches, is it?” Tommy quipped, his voice strained in a way he hoped Buck wouldn’t notice. “Because if it is, I’d like to formally remind you that I’m heavily medicated.”

Buck’s lips quirked up briefly in a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny, because I remember your speech being ‘ it's not me, it’s you ’, in my loft when you told me to go out and fuck everyone” he said, and Tommy hated the way his stomach twisted at those words. “But no, it’s about Max.”

Tommy exhaled, a mix of relief and something he didn’t want to name flooding through him. Of course, it’s not about us. Why would it be? Still, the sting lingered.

“What about Max?” Tommy asked, sitting up slightly, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs. Maybe Buck was going to explain why he snapped at the teen over lunch. 

Buck hesitated, gripping the dish towel tightly, his knuckles whitening.Tommy frowned, his concern deepening. “Evan, what is it?.”

Buck took a deep breath, his shoulders tense, and for a moment, Tommy saw the weight Buck was carrying.

“They caught the guy who attacked you two,” Buck said, his voice steady but weighted with an edge of something darker, something simmering just beneath the surface.

Tommy straightened in the recliner, his hands tightening on the armrests until his knuckles turned white. “That’s… that’s good, isn’t it?” he asked cautiously. But the look on Buck’s face, the stiffness in his shoulders, told him there was more to this. Something Buck hadn’t said yet.

Buck nodded, a faint, almost reluctant motion. “It should be,” he said, his tone hollow. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, as if meeting Tommy’s gaze might crack the fragile calm he was holding onto. “But this guy… he’s worse than we thought.”

Tommy’s chest tightened. “Worse? How?”

Buck’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “He’s not just some random criminal, Tommy. He’s a predator. Athena told me… they’ve linked him to at least four missing kids. All runaways, like Max. He found them, lured them in, and then…” Buck swallowed hard, his voice breaking slightly. “Attacked, murdered, and dumped...” 

If not for his injuries, Tommy would of pulled Buck into a hug, the poor man looked so heartbroken as he obviously played out the situation in his head. 

Tommy’s breath caught, and his fingers tightened instinctively: If Max hadn’t bitten the guy, if he hadn’t managed to escape, if he hadn’t bumped in Tommy on the side of the road. “Hey.” Tommy said firmly. “ Evan , it’s okay, he’s okay .”

“No, that's the problem, he’s not,” Buck said, his voice angry, catching Tommy off guard. “He’s not okay, he’s not safe, and I don’t know how to protect him Tommy.”

Tommy’s stomach churned. “What do you mean?”

Buck hesitated again, running a hand through his hair. “The Attorney General’s office wants to charge Max , Tommy, of all people, they want to charge Max.”

Tommy stared at him in disbelief, he must have misheard Buck. But the look on Buck’s face, his body language, tight and in attack mode, told Tommy he hadn’t and disbelief turned into anger that started flooding his system. “With what? He’s a kid, Buck.”

“They’re arguing he produced and distributed explicit material,” Buck said, the words bitter in his mouth. “They found messages and photos on his phone, things he sent to that asshole. The fact he took cash payment for things that no one, let alone a scared teenager should ever have to do, they're flat out ignoring the fact that he’s a victim.”

Buck’s face was flushed, angry and raw, like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower. The tension radiated off him in waves, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

Tommy shook his head, his own jaw tightening as the weight of Buck’s words settled over him. “He’s fifteen, Buck,” he said, his voice low but firm, laced with disbelief and anger.

Buck exhaled heavily, the sound thick with frustration and defeat. “I know, Tommy. I know . Athena knows. Hell, anyone with a shred of decency knows.” His voice rose, trembling with emotion. “But the AG’s office doesn’t care. They. Just. Don’t. Care.” Each word was punctuated with a sharp, bitter edge, but it was the wobble in his tone and the sheen in his eyes that gutted Tommy. "As far as they're concerned, he's just another law breaking prostitute... they don't even care to understand him."

Wait. Tommy’s brows furrowed as a thought struck him. He replayed the past few days in his mind. “This is why the comment he made over lunch upset you so much,” he said slowly, piecing it together.

Buck nodded, his expression pained. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, but no less strained. “It was an overreaction, I know that. But, God, Tommy, he’s being accused of something that could ruin his entire life, and then he said that . And I just-” Buck cut himself off, swallowing hard, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “-I'm sorry, in the moment, it was too much. I couldn’t handle it, how can I look him in the face and tell him he's safe here?”

Tommy’s heart sank. He could see how the weight of it all—the injustice, the helplessness, the fear—was eating Buck alive. He hesitated for a moment before asking the question that had to be asked. “Does Max know?”

Buck shook his head, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to tell him. How do you look a kid in the eye and explain that the system that’s supposed to protect the vulnerable has decided to punish him instead? That they’ve looked at his story, his pain, and said, ‘You know what this kid needs? Another kick while he’s down.’” Buck’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand over his face. “Isn’t kicking a wounded dog when it’s down supposed to be the worst thing you can do?”

Buck swallowed his anger, "Athena was explaining-" and he sighed, his throat burning, "she was saying some people think it's a good thing, it's helping them, by making it clear it's wrong - but he doesn't need a record, he doesn't need judgement, Tommy, he needs a safe place to rebuild his life. Who- who- just who would do this to a kid?"

Tommy’s throat tightened at the raw despair in Buck’s words. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze steady Tommy had seen Buck’s confident demeanor falter a couple of times - first in the loft when Buck admitted he was trying to get Tommy’s attention, and then again on their first date when Eddie and Marisol crashed, but this was different - right now, he sounded so broken that it shattered Tommy’s resolve.

Tommy exhaled heavily, leaning back into the chair as he dragged a hand down his face. Buck hadn’t been kidding when he said it was important. “God, Evan… this kid just can’t catch a break, can he?” His voice was low, full of an aching sympathy that surprised even him.

He felt like Rosa from Brooklyn nine-nine when she adopted the puppy - 'I've only had Arlo for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.' If anything happened the literal little trouble maker in the other room, Tommy would end the person responsible. 

“I understand if it’s too much for you,” Buck replied, his voice strained and hesitant,as if he was waiting for Tommy to leave. To be fair, it was probably a reasonable fear. “With everything else going on—”

Tommy cut him off with a sharp shake of his head, leaning forward now despite the dull pain in his body, his elbows resting on his knees as he fixed Buck with a firm, unwavering gaze. “No. Don’t even go there, Evan. I made that kid a promise. And I’m not the kind of guy who breaks promises. I’m not going to let some asshole use him as a pawn for political brownie points.”

Buck let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like he was holding up the weight of the world. His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, locked onto Tommy’s. “I just... you broke up with me,” he admitted quietly, his words barely more than a whisper. “And now I feel like I’m baby-trapping you with this stray teenager. Like I’m dragging you into something you didn’t sign up for.”

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, his heart twisting at the vulnerability etched into every line of Buck’s face. The sheer honesty in those words made something deep inside him ache. Finally, he leaned forward, resting a steady hand on Buck’s knee, his touch firm but reassuring.

“Evan, listen to me,” Tommy said, his voice steady and deliberate. “You didn’t baby-trap me, okay?”

Right, now was the moment to tell Buck that he had been a stupid fool, who got scared and did the only thing he knew how to do, which was run, and that he regretted it. 

Instead.

“Max will be okay, I promise Evan.”

Chapter Text

Max woke up a couple of hours later, his heart racing as though he’d been jolted from a nightmare. Blinking into the darkness, the unfamiliar shapes of the room put him on edge until he remembered—Tommy’s house. The small room wasn’t his, the bed wasn’t his, and Buck’s faint snore carrying through the hallway reminded him of exactly where he was.

Buck, Tommy’s not-partner partner , asleep on the couch in the lounge.

Max lay back down, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about the two of them—Tommy and Buck—was easier than thinking about himself. Eventually, they’d get bored of him. Everyone did. And when that happened, he’d be back on the street, where at least he’d be in control. No rules, no expectations, no one to disappoint but himself.

After Richard died, Max had convinced himself that he could make it alone - until he stole Buck’s phone and he had forced himself into Max’s life. 

Tommy and Buck both. They made him feel—what was the word? Safe. For the first time in a long time, someone cared. It felt good, and that scared the hell out of him. He felt foolish now, thinking about how much he’d unloaded on Tommy. All his baggage, dumped out like a broken suitcase. It wasn’t self-reliant or mature; it was pathetic. But Tommy hadn’t pushed him away. Neither had Buck.

He closed his eyes, trying to shake the memories of home that came creeping in uninvited. His mom’s pumpkin pie. Helping his dad under the hood of the pickup. Teasing his sister by yanking the heads off her Barbie dolls. He hadn’t realized how much he’d miss it, how much he’d give to have it all back. But that was gone now, and it was his fault. If he’d just pretended—been the son his parents wanted—maybe things would’ve been different.

His eyes fell on the corner of the room, where his two boxes of belongings sat next to his battered guitar. For a fleeting moment, he considered picking it up, letting his fingers pluck at the strings to drown out his thoughts. But it was almost 1:00 a.m., and that wasn’t exactly polite.

Instead, a different idea took root. A better one.

Buck and Tommy liked each other— obviously . Anyone with half a brain could see it. But they were both being stubborn and old, wasting what little time they had left on this earth. Somebody had to do something to fix it. And if that someone was Max? Well, so be it.

He slipped out of bed, moving silently as he crept toward the door. Breaking into Tommy’s room was an option, but far too risky. Buck in the lounge was an easier target. Decision made, Max padded down the hallway, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards.

The lounge was dimly lit by the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across Buck's sprawled-out form on the couch. His head rested awkwardly on the armrest, one arm hanging off the side, and his phone sat precariously on the coffee table within arm's reach.

Perfect.

Max crouched down beside the couch, his heart pounding in his chest as if he were in the middle of a heist. For all intents and purposes, he was. He stared at Buck's phone for a moment, biting his lip. This was definitely not something people in healthy relationships with boundaries did. But Buck and Tommy needed a push, and if he didn’t do it, who would?

Max reached for the phone, careful not to disturb Buck. His fingers brushed against the screen, and the device lit up. Of course, it was locked. He stared at the little padlock icon for a second before remembering something he'd seen in a movie once. Could this actually work?

He positioned himself closer to Buck's face, holding the phone at an angle. Face ID was supposed to be pretty accurate, right? Max hovered the phone over Buck's sleeping face, hoping the light wouldn’t wake him. The phone buzzed faintly, unlocking with a satisfying click.

Yes.

Max grinned triumphantly, though his victory was short-lived. Now came the hard part. What could he say that would sound enough like Buck to fool Tommy?

Max opened the messaging app and scrolled until he found Tommy’s name. The text conversation was surprisingly sparse for two people who were obviously so hung up on each other. Typical, Max thought with a shake of his head.

He tapped into the chat and began typing:

"Tommy, I’ve been an idiot. Can we talk tomorrow? I don’t want to screw this up anymore."

Too much. He deleted it and tried again:
"Hey, I’ve been thinking. I miss you. I miss us. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Still too wordy. Max groaned quietly, erasing and rewriting, the glow of the screen reflecting his growing anxiety. Finally, he settled on something short and simple:
"Can we talk tomorrow? I don’t want to waste any more time."

Still too much? He started to overthink it, then realized Buck’s arm twitched. He froze, his eyes darting to Buck’s face. Still asleep. Barely breathing, Max hit send. The message disappeared into the ether with a quiet whoosh.

The tiny text bubble appeared beneath the message: “Delivered.”

Great, now to remove any proof that could derail the plan. With shaking hands, he navigated back to the message and tapped on it, revealing the delete option. His thumb hovered over “Delete for Me”

Buck would never know. 

Tomorrow Tommy would talk to Buck and the two of them would sort their shit out, none the wiser for Max’s meddling. 

Now all he had to do was get the phone back onto the table without Buck waking up. Slowly, he placed the phone back where it had been, careful to leave it at the same angle. Buck let out a soft snore, and Max bolted back to his borrowed room, heart racing.

Once back in bed, he flopped down with a satisfied grin. If this worked, maybe Tommy and Buck would stop tiptoeing around each other, and maybe—just maybe—Max wouldn’t feel like such a charity case.

The glow of satisfaction faded slightly as he thought about what he'd just done. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t entirely ethical. But if it worked, it would be worth it.

The next morning would tell.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Tommy woke up with a groan , his bruised ribs and arm reminding him exactly why he wasn’t supposed to be moving around too much. The dull ache spread through his body as he shifted slightly, but before he could fully register the pain, there was a knock at the door.

Buck stepped in, holding a glass of water and a small container with painkillers—because apparently, Tommy wasn’t a grown-ass man capable of managing his own recovery. He bit back the urge to complain, knowing Buck would only ignore him anyway.

Plus, if he let himself be honest for a second, it was nice to be cared for. 

Normally, whenever Tommy was sick, he just lay in the dark by himself. 

“Morning,” Buck greeted cheerfully, already making his way over to the bed. “Time for your meds.”

Tommy rolled his eyes fondly but allowed Buck to help him sit up on the side of the bed, even though it involved far too much touching for his mental health. Buck’s hands were warm and steady on his shoulders as he adjusted the pillows behind him. Tommy tried—and failed—not to notice how close they were. He tried even harder not to notice the scent of Buck's freshly showered body, and how he wanted to touch it. 

It was morning, after all, and that was a problem. He had to will down a certain part of himself, forcing his focus onto the painkillers instead of Buck’s solid frame and ridiculously good looks. Those curls for one, and his kind, blue eyes, the pink birthmark and those arms. Oh, those arms were sculpted by god himself. 

Saying goodbye to Buck, to Evan , had been the hardest thing in the world and now the universe had thrown them back together.

Tommy had upset some cosmic force (just don’t let Eddie hear him say that), it was the one rational explanation for why Buck was here, in his room, looking after him.

“Are you sure you don’t just want breakfast in bed? No one would blame you” Buck asked, his tone light.

Tommy shook his head, trying to maintain his composure. “No, I need to keep moving. I’ll have breakfast in the kitchen with you two.”

Buck gave him an approving nod before heading out of the room. His athletic shorts clung to his body in a way that was borderline criminal, and Tommy couldn’t stop his eyes from following him as he disappeared down the hallway. That ass was a ten out of ten, even nicer than Buck's arms and that was saying something. 

I’m so screwed, Tommy thought, dragging a hand down his face.

Swallowing another wince, he reached for his phone on the nightstand and unlocked it. One notification caught his attention—a text from Buck, sent just after 1:00 a.m. That wasn’t surprising. Buck’s late-night habits were well known, and Tommy often had to remind him to get some sleep when he got hyperfocused on something.

Buck would have spent all night researching Billy Boils if not for Tommy. 

Curious, Tommy opened the message.

 Tommy stared at the text, his chest tightening—not just from the bruises as he reread the message. 

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered to himself, tossing the phone onto the bed with a sigh. “Totally screwed.”

Tommy wandered into the kitchen, where Max was already seated at the table wolfing down something like it might disappear.

He didn't get to say anything about slowing down because he was distracted when Buck turned to face him, wearing a “kiss the cook” apron because apparently the universe really did hate him. “Oh, yeah, sorry- all your other aprons must be in the wash?”

They definitely weren’t, but they also definitely weren’t hanging from the hook. Tommy racked his brain as to where they could be when Max looked at him then the apron,looking far too happy with himself “I’ll leave that up to you.” with another waggle of his eyebrows as Buck’s face went bright red and he stuttered out something. 

Little shit stirrer. 

“Very funny, Max,” Tommy replied, eyeing him suspiciously as he moved to grab a cup of coffee. He still hadn’t figured out why Max looked like the cat who ate the canary, but something about it put him on edge. As he sipped his coffee, he turned back to Buck.

“Evan,” Tommy began carefully, his voice softer now, “I got your text last night, and I—”

Two things happened at once, and Tommy was not stupid (Just don't ask Lucy), he could put two and two together.

First, Buck’s brow furrowed as he interrupted with, “Uh,what text?” genuinely confused by Tommy's statement.

And second, Max, in a move so exaggerated it could have been ripped straight from a low-budget sitcom, “accidentally” knocked the glass jug of orange juice off the table. The jug hit the floor with a spectacular crash, sending shards of glass skittering across the room and an entire litre of juice soaking into the carpet.

The kid was no Meryl Streep when it came to acting, that was for sure.

“Shit,” Max exclaimed, jumping back as the mess spread rapidly, “Sorry! My hand slipped,” Max said, the picture of fake contrition, though his darting eyes betrayed him.

Tommy gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Your hand slipped?”

“Uh, yeah,” Max replied, crouching to gather the bigger shards of glass. 

Right.

“Max, don’t pick up the glass with your bare hands!” Buck’s voice cut through, a mix of scolding and concern as he stepped forward. “You’ll cut yourself.”

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed to himself. He needed a stronger coffee or pain meds.

Tommy wasn’t typically one to corner teenagers, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He knocked on the spare bedroom door before calling out, “You decent?”

A moment later, Max appeared in the doorway. “Yeah, can I help you?”

Tommy gave him a once-over. Clearly, Max and Tommy had vastly different interpretations of the word decent. Tommy took a steadying breath. Give him strength. “So, it seems that all my aprons have mysteriously vanished. Except for a novelty one.”

One that said ‘Kiss the Cook’

Max’s face twisted into a perfect attempt at feigned innocence—perfect, at least, for someone who didn’t have much practice. “Huh. Weird.”

Tommy arched an unimpressed eyebrow. He’d seen better poker faces from toddlers caught with cookie crumbs on their shirts. “And then, this morning,” he continued, crossing his arms, “Buck—”

“I thought you called him Evan?” Max interrupted helpfully, as if offering a public service.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “ Evan ,” he repeated firmly, “sent me a text message this morning...”

A text message that when Tommy tried to mention in the kitchen, Max had ‘accidentally’ split the orange juice (and shattered his glass jug.)

Max shrugged nonchalantly, though his eyes darted briefly to the floor. “Well, that sounds like something between you and him. But, uh, if you want my advice…”

“I don’t.”

Max ignored him with the kind of breezy disregard only teenagers could master. “I wouldn’t mention the text. It might make him, you know, self-conscious. You should just have a talk.”

It was almost smooth - Tommy could almost let Max away with it, except.

“A talk,” Tommy repeated, tilting his head. “Okay… And how exactly do you know it was about a talk?”

The flicker of guilt that passed over Max’s face was as telling as a neon sign. “Lucky guess?” he offered weakly.

Before Tommy could press further, Buck’s voice rang out from the lounge. “Max, we need to have a talk.”

Max’s shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, his guilt vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “See?” he said, brushing past Tommy with a grin. “He does love talking. Just a good guess, I guess.”.

Earlier that morning, Max had been warming up—cheeky, joking, and just an all-around pain in the ass. Tommy and Buck would give anything to have that version of Max back now.

The kid sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, his usual easy smirk replaced by a hollow, distant look. Buck had taken the lead, explaining what the Attorney General was doing and why, but the moment the words potential charges and court proceedings left his mouth, Max had gone into full-blown shock.

“Am I going to jail?” Max’s voice was barely above a whisper, his hands gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Tommy knelt down in front of him, careful not to strain his injured ribs. “Listen to me, Max. No one’s throwing you in jail today. We’re going to fight this. You’re not alone, okay?”

Buck nodded. “This isn’t right, we will do whatever we have to do.”

Max didn’t seem convinced. His wide, darting eyes flicked between Tommy and Buck, his shallow breaths barely keeping pace with his anxiety. “But what if—what if it’s not enough? What if—” His voice cracked as he choked on the rest of the sentence. Finally, he mumbled, “I did take those photos of myself. I shouldn’t have, but I did, I did Buck.”

Buck shifted closer, resting a steadying hand on Max’s shoulder. “Max, listen to me. What happens next is we take this one step at a time. We can’t change the past, but we can deal with what’s in front of us. First, we’re going to head out, grab some supplies, and get you ready for your meeting at 11 a.m. with the high school. After that, we’ll get you a new suit before meeting with the Attorney General.”

That snapped Max out of it, at least momentarily. His head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “School? You have to be kidding. I could be going to jail, and you want me to do a school meeting ? No way. I’m not going.”

“The best thing to do right now is carry on getting your life back on track.” Buck nudged. 

Max stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. “What’s the point? My life’s probably over anyway. The Attorney General hates me, I’m screwed either way.”

“You’re not screwed, okay?” Buck said, standing to face him. “You’re stronger than this. You’ve gotten through worse already and survived, and you have us.”

Max stopped pacing, turning to Buck with a look of disbelief. “Worse? Like what, Buck? My life was already a mess before this. Now I’m just—”

“ Hey ” Tommy said forcefully, getting Max’s full attention.  “Stop that right now, Max. You are not going to spiral. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to go with Evan, get your morning sorted, and keep your commitments. While you’re doing that, I’ll talk to the lawyer and start figuring out our next steps.”

Max opened his mouth to argue, but Tommy held up a hand to stop him. “You have five minutes to get ready. No excuses. Move.”

There was a beat of tense silence before Max let out a frustrated groan, throwing his hands up as he stomped toward the hallway. “Whatever! But this is stupid.”

Buck watched Max disappear down the hall, shaking his head with a sigh as he ran a hand over his face. “Well, that went... great.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, wincing slightly as he shifted in his seat. “So... us ?”

“For Max,” Buck said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.

Sitting in the Jeep, Buck fidgeted with the knobs on the dashboard, pretending to adjust the air conditioning even though it was already set perfectly. He wasn’t sure why he felt so restless. Maybe it was the conversation they’d just had, or maybe it was the way Max had been unusually quiet during the drive.

Max finally broke the silence. “You know he thinks you’re perfect, right?”

Buck blinked, turning to look at him. “Who?”

Max gave him a look that was a perfect combination of disbelief and exasperation. “Who do you think, genius?”

Buck frowned, his hands dropping to his lap as he processed Max’s tone. “Tommy?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt.

“Bingo,” Max said, leaning back in his seat with a dramatic sigh.

Buck turned up the radio as Max sighed, "Real mature Evan."

“We probably should pick another Target to go to.” Max said casually as Buck parked the jeep.

Buck paused, his hand resting on the gear shift. “What’s wrong with this Target?” he asked, unclicking his seatbelt. He glanced over at Max, who was suddenly very interested in the dashboard. The teen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his usual bravado nowhere to be found.

“Max,” Buck prompted, his voice firm but calm.

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Everyone knows Target doesn’t stop you if you, you know…”

“If you what ?” Buck asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

Max hesitated, then muttered under his breath, “If you leave without paying for stuff.”

Buck’s stomach sank. He stared at Max, whose gaze was glued to his lap, avoiding eye contact. “You stole something from Target?” Buck asked, his tone carefully controlled.

“Can we just go to another store?” Max said, sidestepping the question entirely.

“Nope.” Buck popped the p for emphasis as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “What did you take?”

Max let out a frustrated huff, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a big deal! They don’t even stop you if you do it. Everyone knows that.”

Buck took a deep breath, letting the silence stretch just long enough for Max to squirm. Then, without raising his voice, he said, “Right. Come with me. We’re going to talk to the manager.”

“The manager ?” Max’s head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you’re about to learn a little something about accountability,” Buck replied as he opened the driver’s side door. “Let’s go.”

“You’re serious?” Max asked, his voice rising in pitch as Buck stepped out of the Jeep.

“As a heart attack,” Buck said, leaning back in to grab his wallet. “And you’re coming with me. Now.”

Max groaned loudly but followed Buck, his feet dragging as though he were heading for his own execution. “This is so stupid,” he muttered. “It’s not even that big of a deal. No one cares.”

Buck stopped short, turning to face Max. “You care,” he said simply. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be acting so weird about it. And I care, because I’m not about to let you think this is okay. Now, let’s go.”

“I never said I thought it was okay ,” Max grumbled.

“But you did it,” Buck countered, leveling him with a look that silenced any further backtalk.

Max scowled but didn’t argue further, trailing behind Buck as they entered the store. The fluorescent lights seemed harsher than usual, and Max hunched his shoulders as if trying to make himself invisible.

Buck approached the customer service desk, where a middle-aged woman with a name tag that read Janet greeted them with a polite smile. “Hi, how can I help you?”

Buck glanced at Max, waiting to see if he’d speak up. When Max stayed silent, staring at the counter, Buck cleared his throat. “Hey Janet, I’m, uh, Evan Buckley and this here is Maxwell Walters…”

Janet’s expression shifted ever so slightly, her tired gaze sharpening. “Oh, yes. I’m aware of Max. Nice to finally put a face to the name.” Without another word, she reached under the counter, pulled out a folder, and began flipping through it with methodical precision.

Buck felt a flicker of unease as she stopped on a section, pulled out a thick stack of reports, and placed them on the counter. “I believe there may be some items that haven’t been paid for,” Buck said, keeping his tone calm but firm.

Janet raised an eyebrow. “Some items?” she echoed dryly. “That’s one way of putting it. At the moment, Max is up to $292.17 in unpaid items, mostly small ticket items - mostly .”

Max’s head snapped up, his face pale as he stared at the stack of papers. “You keep track?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

“We sure do,” Janet replied, her voice level but firm. “We track everything. Once you hit $950, it becomes a felony. And trust me, Max, we’ve seen kids like you before. You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

“So how did it go with Max?” Tommy asked as Buck arrived back. 

“Well,” Buck began, setting his keys on the counter. “He’s no longer wanted by Target, so that’s a win.”

Tommy frowned. “Target? What’s this about Target? I was asking about the school meeting.”

“Oh, yeah, that went well too,” Buck said casually. “There are a few programs that can help get him back on track academically, so that's comforting- two down, one to go.”

“Good,” Tommy replied, though his frown deepened. “Now, back to Target. What happened?”

Before Buck could answer, the sound of Tommy’s doorbell echoed through the house. Buck turned quickly, grateful for the interruption. “Lunch is here! Can you grab Max while I get the food?”

Tommy gave him a long, assessing look, then pointed a finger. “This isn’t over, Evan.”

Buck froze, his breath catching. The words landed harder than they should have, twisting something deep inside. He swallowed against the sudden ache in his chest and forced a faint smile as he looked longingly at Tommy. “No, it’s not,” he said softly, though his meaning had shifted entirely.

Tommy raised an eyebrow at the unusual tone but didn’t press, heading down the hall to fetch Max.

As Buck opened the door to the pizza delivery guy, he found himself lingering on Tommy’s words. He wished—more than anything—they weren’t just about Max. Because if he were honest, nothing had ever truly felt over with Tommy. Not the way they fought, the way they fit, or the way they fell apart.

And it probably never would be.

Chapter Text

Tommy knocked on Max’s door before stepping inside, only to stop in his tracks. Max was hastily shoving clothes into a backpack. Tommy crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Why are you packing, kid?”

So much for lunch. Buck was going to eat all the pizza.

Max glanced up, clearly trying to appear nonchalant, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I’m leaving. You’ll be better off without me.”

Amazing logic, kid Tommy thought to himself, as he simply raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “Hmm, right. And, um, where exactly are you planning on going?”

“Anywhere,” Max muttered, zipping up the bag with a little too much force.

“Anywhere,” Tommy echoed dryly as he stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. “Glad that we have a solid plan there. Let’s hit the brakes on this train of thought for a second. Why, exactly, would we be better off without you?”

Max’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching the straps of the backpack like a lifeline as he looked down at his bed, avoiding eye contact like the plague. His tone turned sharp and defensive. “Are you stupid, old man? It’s obvious, isn't it?”

Tommy didn’t flinch, the comment bouncing off him like a rubber ball. Instead, he arched an eyebrow, his voice steady but carrying an unmistakable weight. “Careful, Maxwell. Lets try again. Why do you think we’d be better off?”

Max hesitated, his shoulders sagging slightly as he sat down on the bed, the bag clutched in his hands like a shield. “The Attorney General,” he started, his voice cracking. “Buck must’ve told you about Target. And all the hoops you two are jumping through just to get me back into school. You don’t owe me anything. None of this is your responsibility. I’m not actually your problem .”

Buck hadn’t actually told him about Target; the well-timed pizza delivery had interrupted just in time, but he wasn’t stupid - he could put two and two together. Still, it didn't matter in the least, it didn't change the fact that they had made a commitment to this teenage and they intended on keeping it, with everything that came with it. 

Tommy took a slow breath, his heart clenching at the words before he glanced over at Max’s smartphone, discarded on the bed - given every time he looked at the teenager, the phone was firmly in his hands, it was unusual it had been so casually ditched.

He walked over and sat down beside Max, leaving a comfortable space between them. “Listen to me, Maxwell . You’re right—none of this is easy. But that doesn’t mean you get to decide you’re not worth it, because you are.”

Max shook his head, his hands gripping the straps of the bag so tight, Tommy was actually worried they might cut into his hands as the teen stared at a dot on the floor. “Look, you don't have to pity me, I know I’m just a waste of space.”

“Stop ,” Tommy interrupted gently but firmly. He reached for the phone, holding it up. “Has this got anything to do with this?”

Max didn’t look up, his silence deafening.

Tommy unlocked the phone, his stomach sinking as he read the messages on the screen. The contact, titled Dad, had sent a stream of venomous texts. The words were full of blame, bitterness, and toxic accusations. Max’s father painted himself as the victim—of Child Services, of a system that “harassed” him—completely ignoring the fact that he’d abandoned his son.

The messages made Tommy’s blood boil, but he kept his composure, if only for Max. If he had a moment alone with Max's father, well then. 

Without warning, Max snatched the phone back, his eyes shining with tears. “I don’t know how we went from this…” He scrolled up to happier messages—photos, jokes, words of encouragement that felt like they belonged to a different life. “…to this. My parents… they hate me, Tommy, they fucking hate me.” Max looked so close to breaking down as he tried to keep himself together.

"They used to love me, Tommy, they used to think I was a gift-" there was a sniffle, "-Dad used to say he was-" another sniffle through the tears "-that he was proud of me."

Tommy leaned back slightly, giving Max space but staying close enough to be there. He struggled to find the right words. How did you make something like this okay?

“What your dad said—what he’s done—it’s not your fault, Max,” Tommy said quietly. “You don’t have to feel guilty or blame yourself for his mistakes.”

He took the phone from Max again, scrolling to an older picture of a smiling, younger Max holding a basketball. The kid there looked so carefree and happy, holding the bright orange ball in his hands. “You’re still this kid, Max. You haven’t changed. You’re not a waste of space.”

Max sat silently, his head bowed, his face hidden in the shadows, wet from the tears. “I’m just so tired of being alone, we were so close.”

Tommy understood—he had spent a long time in the solitude of his own world before Buck came along and filled it with light. The joy and warmth Buck brought into his life had been both exhilarating and terrifying. It had been so long since Tommy had felt truly loved that the fear of losing it overwhelmed him, leading him to end things before he could be the one left behind.

Tommy continued, his voice softer now as he leaned in. “Hey, you have us, kid.” he promised. 

Max’s eyes flicked up, uncertainty clouding his face. “You two?" he snapped suddenly, tone bitter, "Please, you don’t even have each other. How long are you gonna keep pretending this fake home works?"

Tommy tried to say something, but Max cut him off, face red and wet, "And then what, huh, what happens then, huh, when it all falls apart? You guys split, and I’m still just an unwanted loser. Some fucking fuck up.”

Tommy took a slow, measured breath, the weight of Max’s words hitting him hard, how could they not? He straightened slightly, his gaze locking onto Max’s, unwavering. His voice dropped, steady but resolute as he tried his best to sound reassuring. “Hey, listen to me, Maxwell. Me and Evan? Yeah, we’ve got our own stuff to figure out, there's no doubt about that. But you? You’re not some unwanted loser, okay. You will always have a space here, whether you want it or not, you matter to us.”

Max scoffed, his fingers still playing on the straps of his backpack. “I’m just here until you find someone else to dump me on,” he muttered bitterly. “You don’t—”

“I do,” Tommy cut in firmly, his voice quiet but carrying undeniable weight. He leaned forward, his tone softening but losing none of its conviction. “I do care, Maxwell. We do, that’s why you’re here.”

Max froze, the defiance in his expression wavering as the words sank in. “Why?” he asked finally, his voice cracking. “Why do you care? You don’t have to.”

“Because we want to,” Tommy replied simply, his gaze steady, because they both knew the damage bad parents could do - because they both saw potential in Max to arise above it all and succeed. Max deserved more than being discarded, and he deserved more than being written off. 

“You're both stupid.” Max grumbled, but there was no heat behind the words but there was another sniffle.

“Guilty as charged.” Tommy joked, as Max tried to hid his laugh.

Then Max hesitated, his brows furrowing as he processed the answer. He looked up at Tommy, his expression a mix of doubt and curiosity. “You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘us’ … so what happened? And don’t give me some bullshit answer.”

Well, they say honesty is the best policy, Tommy says to himself.

“You broke up with him because you wanted to build a future with him?” Max asked,giving Tommy an unimpressed look. “What is wrong with you? That's beyond messed up.”

A lot, it appeared. Yay for being judged by a teenager. 

Tommy groaned, rubbing his temples. His head throbbed, and his empty stomach wasn’t helping—especially since the pizza, which he hoped was still untouched, was currently sitting in the lounge. Unless, of course, Buck had eaten it already, which was not impossible. That said, Buck was a very thoughtful person, so there was probably at least a couple of slices. 

“Right,” Tommy muttered, pushing himself up. “If I’m going to deal with you and your endless judgment, I need food first.” He shot Max a look on his way out. “I hope we’re clear on where you belong?”

“I hope so.” Max replied, getting up off the bed. “Do you think any pizza is left?”

Max went to take the pizza box out to the bins, leaving Buck and Tommy alone in the kitchen. Buck scooted a little closer to Tommy, their elbows nearly brushing as they leaned against the counter. He hesitated for a beat before speaking.

“So, uh, is everything okay with him?” Buck asked, nodding toward the door Max had just disappeared through. His voice was casual, but the glance he shot Tommy was anything but. “You two took a while coming for lunch. For a second, I thought maybe I’d been ditched-” He faltered, the words tumbling out faster than he could rein them in. “-Not like ditched ditched, obviously. Not like when you broke up with me, which was… fun. Totally fine. Different situation, obviously. I—”

“Evan,” Tommy interrupted, his voice soft but firm. He turned slightly to face Buck, his expression unreadable. “You know, I’ve been—”

Before Tommy could finish, Max burst back into the room, his voice loud and excited. “Oh my god, your next-door neighbor has the most amazing dog!”

The door swung shut behind Max with a thud, and the moment evaporated. Buck pulled back immediately, creating space between himself and Tommy, the gap feeling both necessary and unbearably large.

“Right,” Buck said quickly, his voice a little too bright as he attempted to deflect from the moment. “Well, Max and I should get going. We’ve got to get that suit sorted so he looks professional.”

“Oh yeah, before they send me to jail forever,” Max added with a wry grin as he stood by the counter. It was part joke, sure, but it was also part very real fear. 

“You’re not going to jail,” Buck said firmly, fixing Max with a look that brooked no argument. “We’re going to state your case. Together.”

“There goes that ‘we’ word again,” Max teased, his gaze flicking between Buck and Tommy. He raised an eyebrow at Tommy, a knowing smirk creeping onto his face. “Funny, that.”

Buck’s laugh was strained, his chest tightening as he glanced at Tommy. Tommy’s expression gave nothing away, and that only made it worse. Buck wanted to say something, anything, to fill the silence. To push past the barrier that always seemed to spring up between them at the worst moments. But instead, he stayed quiet, swallowing his frustration.

Max turned and headed for the door, leaving Buck and Tommy alone once again, the tension between them now almost deafening, Buck both desperately wanted to talk to Tommy and also avoid talking to Tommy. It wasn't healthy, all this tip toeing around the elephant in the room, but as long as no one mentioned it, Buck could stay in Tommy's orbit - even if he wasn't truly there.

Tommy cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Buck—”

“It’s fine,” Buck cut him off quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Uh, Max and I should go, after all, he needs to look the part. Dress to impress they say, eh?”

Tommy opened his mouth as if to argue but then stopped, the words dying on his lips. He nodded, stepping back to let Buck pass.

Meanwhile, at the 118 Hen Wilson was out of the loop about almost everything:

“Ravi!” Hen called out with a warm smile as she walked into the 118 firehouse. A week away from the chaos with her wife and two, thankfully alright, children had been the break she needed. Between the Councilwoman from hell, and then Denny being pinned by a car protecting Mara while trick or treating, Hen had just needed a moment.

“This is a pleasant surprise! What brings you back to A shift?”

Ravi grinned, his youthful energy a refreshing presence in the bustling station. It was a nice change of pace—at least Ravi had a sense of maturity, which was more than she could say for the usual antics of Eddie, Chim, and Buck.

“I’m covering for Buck while he’s looking after Tommy,” Ravi explained, tucking a cleaning cloth into his pocket. As Hen finished her catch up, and made her way towards the stairs, Ravi turned around, looking as innocent as ever and simply called out. “Oh, have you heard about Max ?”

“Wait, so I have a week off work and Buck moves in with Tommy?” Hen asked. Chimney let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Not exactly.”

“Here we go,” Eddie muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Chimney. “He’s your best friend,” Chim shot back in a harsh whisper, rolling his eyes.

Hen threw her hands up, looking between them. “Will someone please explain what’s going on around here before my head explodes?”

Chimney sighed again, clearly gearing up for the task, before launching into the explanation. “Alright, here’s the deal…”

“Wait, so Buck asked Tommy to move in with him, they broke up and then got back together and Buck moved in with Tommy?” Hen clarified. Eddie sighed, “Well, no, not exactly that either.”

“Your turn Diaz.” Chim said, with a pointed look. 

“Wait, no, you’ve lost me, explain it again?” Hen groaned. Bobby sighed, “No, it’s exactly that.”

Hen blinked, staring at him. Right. So…

• Buck asked Tommy to move in.
• Tommy broke up with Buck because, apparently, being Buck’s first was a problem—okay, weird, but sure, both Tommy and Buck had commitment issues.
• A teenager named Max stole Buck’s phone and Tommy’s wallet—this definitely sounded like a Karen situation. Karen was born for chasing down criminals.
• Tommy got injured protecting Max—heroic, sure, but also incredibly stupid.
• Buck had moved into Tommy’s house to take care of him—classic Buck, always jumping in with both feet.
• Somehow, Buck and Tommy ended up agreeing to be Max’s emergency carers.
• And Bobby had given Buck a week off to sort out all the chaos that came with it.

“So let me get this straight,” Hen said, narrowing her eyes as she pieced it together. “When I left, Buck had a boyfriend. Now, Buck has no boyfriend —but he does have a teenager?”

“That about sums it up,” Chim said, shrugging helplessly.

"Except both Buck and Tommy clearly still want each other." Eddie added.

Bobby sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought we were past this stage of Buck’s life. He was settled. Happy. Now we’re back to square one.”

Hen sighed, shaking her head. “You know, I really should’ve stayed on vacation.”

Later that night, Maddie knocked on the door to Tommy's house, glancing down at Jee and Chimney, who stood beside her. They were buzzing with excitement, but the weight of their news made it feel oddly difficult to bring up. With everything going on in Buck's life, and whatever was happening with her baby brothers relationship, how do you drop the truth bomb that your pregnant? 

When the door opened, Maddie smiled warmly at the young man standing in front of her. Lanky, tall, with messy hair and bright eyes, if she was honest, he had a warmer smile than she was expecting after all the stories. He didn't look quite as jaded as she was perhaps expecting. 

“You must be Max,” she greeted, her tone cheerful yet kind as she held a hand out. Buck had basically needled her into promising she would be nice to him, worried she might judge him for stealing his phone, or Tommy's wallet, or the underage gay bar thing, the shoplifting at target, well really the list goes on but all she saw was a kid her brother was putting back on the right track. 

“Sure am, ma’am,” Max replied, before cringing slightly.

Maddie chuckled, brushing off the formality with a wave of her hand. “Just Maddie is fine.” Her eyes sparkled as she added, “And this is—”

“Howard,” Chim interrupted with a playful grin, shifting Jee onto one hip as he extended his spare hand. “But everyone calls me Chimney. Easier to remember, right?”

Max shook Chim’s hand, glancing at Jee, who was eyeing him curiously. “How do you get Chimney from Howard?,” Max asked, his lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile.

Before Chim could answer, Tommy appeared, stepping into the doorway with an easy grin. “That, my young friend, is a story for another night,” Tommy quipped, clapping Chim on the back and pulling him into a quick hug.

“Chim, how are you doing, bud? Maddie, it’s always good to see you,” Tommy added, his voice warm before his attention shifted to the little girl. “And Jee, as cute as ever.”

Jee lit up at the attention, holding out her toy proudly. “Look, Uncle Tommy, it’s a unicorn!”

Tommy crouched slightly, feigning awe at the soft toy in front of him. “Oh wow! a real unicorn? Wow, Jee, you’ve really got the coolest stuff. I'm jealous.”

“Uncle?” Max asked, giving Tommy a look as the older man blushed ever so slightly.

“It’s easier for a child to understand.”

“Sure.” Max retorted, sounding unconvinced as the Han clan made their way into the loft. 

As they made their way into the loft, Maddie glanced at Max. “So, how’s my brother been treating you?” she asked.

Max hesitated for a moment before replying as they entered the kitchen, where Buck was at the stove, cooking up a storm. “He’s going to make me go to school.”

“Oh, the injustice of it all.” Maddie replied in mock agreement. 

“So, how are you holding up? It must be weird, being around Tommy so much,” Maddie asked gently. She wanted to shake some sense into her younger brother but knew better. Beneath Buck’s tough exterior, he was all heart—a sensitive, hopeless romantic.

Buck flashed her a tight smile, but Maddie could see the hurt lurking in his eyes. “You mean being around the man I can’t stop thinking about? The one who left me because he thought he wasn’t enough for me? The same man I still want, while trying to look after a kid I don’t know if I can keep because social services might swoop in at any moment? And, oh yeah, let’s not forget the Attorney General, who seems more concerned with optics than facts. Yeah, Maddie, it’s a dream.”

Maddie tilted her head, giving him a knowing look. “So… you need a hug, then?” she offered.

Buck exhaled, his smile softening, and nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

Without another word, Maddie pulled him into a warm, firm hug. They stood on Tommy’s deck, embracing while laughter and chatter from the rest of the group floated out from inside. For a moment, it was just the two of them,the Buckley siblings leaning on each other like they always had.

As they pulled apart, Buck’s expression brightened slightly. “Congrats on the baby, though. Seriously, it’s the best news. I’m so happy for you and Chim. And Jee? She’s going to make an incredible big sister—just like her amazing mom.”

Max quietly slipped out the front door, careful not to wake Buck, who was sprawled on the couch. The cool night air hit him as he stepped onto the driveway. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he answered the call.

“Vanessa,” he greeted cautiously. “I wasn’t, uh, expecting to hear from you.”

His sister’s voice was warm, almost too cheerful. “Maxie, you’ll always be my baby brother. And I have the most amazing news! Honestly, you're gonna love love love it.”

“Amazing news?” Max echoed, warily. “What is it?”

“You can come home!”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His stomach twisted, his mind racing. “Come home? But… wait, no. Mom and Dad—they hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” Vanessa said quickly, her tone laced with practiced reassurance. “They hate your… lifestyle choices. But that’s where the good news comes in.”

Max frowned, stepping farther into the driveway, away from the light streaming through the window. “Vanessa, I can’t stop being gay - and I don't want to, either, this is me.”

“I know,” she said, exasperation creeping into her voice. “I hear all that ‘born this way’ crap on TV, jammed down our throats constantly. But that’s where the good news comes from! You remember Liz?”

“Liz? Liz Hardy?” Max asked, confused.

“Yes!” Vanessa said, excitement bubbling back into her tone. “Liz Hardy! Well, you’re not going to believe this—she’s a lesbian. Summer overheard her talking to the school counselor. Lizzie the lesbo.”

“Vanessa,” Max said sharply, his tone firm. “That’s not nice, even for you.”

“Oh, come on, Maxie, chill,” Vanessa said with a dramatic sigh. “Besides, it’s like totally true. But here’s the thing: that’s where the good news comes in. Don’t you see?”

“No,” Max said flatly, dread pooling in his stomach. Somehow he knew he was going to regret this. 

Vanessa sighed again, this time in frustration, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “Liz needs a boyfriend—to prove she’s normal. And you? You need a girlfriend to keep Mom and Dad happy. The two of you could get together, show the town how you're both not freaks.”

Max stood frozen in the driveway, Vanessa’s words reverberating in his ears. The offer, the ultimatum—everything about it felt like a trap disguised as a lifeline. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. Instead, he clenched his fists, grounding himself as best he could.

“Vanessa, you can’t be serious,” he said, his voice low but steady.

“Maxie, I’m completely serious, like, get with the program.” she replied with an air of practiced self-assurance, as if she were offering him the deal of a lifetime. “Don't you see, it’s totally perfect. Liz keeps her little secret, and you? You finally get back in Mom and Dad’s good graces. Everyone wins.”

Max felt the ache in his chest deepen, his stomach twisting into knots. “Everyone except me and Liz,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Max,” Vanessa snapped, her patience thinning. “You’re doing this for the family. Think about how much easier your life could be if you just stopped fighting them.”

Max tilted his head up to the night sky, his vision blurring with unshed tears. For a moment, he let the silence stretch between them, gathering his thoughts. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t that simple. That it had never been that simple. But instead, what came out was raw, unfiltered truth.

“Vanessa… I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking.

Her tone softened, if only slightly. “Scared? Of what, Maxie? You can tell me. We can figure this out together.”

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. But there was no hiding from it anymore. “The California Attorney General wants to charge me,” he confessed, his voice barely audible. "Like, criminal charges, and I don't know what to do."

Vanessa’s confusion was clear as day even over the phone. “Wait, hold up, what do you mean? Charge you with what exactly? What did you do, Max?”

He couldn't answer her.

"Max, what did you do."

His heart pounded in his chest, the shame weighing him down. “I sent… some pictures. Of myself. To some older guys. For money. And now they’re accusing me of… of making explicit material and, like, being a prostitute, but I'm not - well, not really, it was just because I needed money to eat. I didn't want to, it was just easy.”

There was a long pause on the line, the kind of silence that screamed louder than words. Max felt the air grow colder, his chest tightening with every passing second.

“You did what?” Vanessa’s voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade. "I don't understand how you could, Mom and Dad certainly did not raise you to pimp yourself out like some dirty fucking whore. Do you have no shame, oh I can't even, I wish you had never told me that, actually, that's sick. For money?"

“I was desperate,Vanessa” Max said quickly, his words tumbling out. “I had no money, no options—”

“Fucking hell, Max, listen to yourself” Vanessa interrupted, her tone laced with anger and disgust. “I can’t believe you’d stoop so low, do you know what this will do to Mom and Dad? To the family? You’re dragging all of us down with you.You’ve really done it this time. You absolute fucking moron. Wasn’t it bad enough kissing Bradley Thomas in the school parking lot? Bad enough being the talk of the town for that? And now this? You just don’t think about anyone else, do you?”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to respond, to explain, to beg for her understanding, but before he could say anything, the call ended with a harsh click.

Max leaned against Buck's jeep in Tommy's driveway, his breathing uneven as he tried to steady himself. The cool metal pressed against his back, grounding him as the storm of emotions swirled inside. Shame. Anger. Loneliness. They all clung to him, tightening their grip with every passing second.

He glanced back at the house, where light spilled warmly from the windows. Inside, Buck was probably snoring softly on the couch, blissfully unaware of the storm Max had just weathered.

For a moment, Max considered going back inside and waking him—telling Buck everything, letting it all spill out like the mess it was. But then Vanessa’s words echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting: You don’t think about anyone else, do you?

He closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. No. He couldn’t dump this on Buck—not when Buck had already taken on so much for him. Not when Max wasn’t sure he deserved it.

Instead, he stayed there in the driveway, staring at the stars and trying to find a piece of himself that still felt whole.

Chapter Text

Buck hadn’t expected to be woken up just after midnight by a loud, insistent knock on the door. He stumbled off the couch, still groggy, running a hand through his messy hair as he shuffled toward the door in nothing but his boxers. The pounding continued, echoing through the quiet house.

Yawning, he swung the door open, his sleep-blurred eyes widening in surprise. Standing in front of him was Max, flanked by two LAPD patrol officers. Max’s face was a mix of embarrassment and defiance, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket as he mumbled something to the cop that Buck missed.

Buck suddenly felt very under dressed standing in front of these officers on his door step, he should of at least grabbed a tee.

“Max?” he said, his voice hoarse from sleep. “What the hell is going on?”

The first officer glanced at Buck, his eyes briefly flickering to his state of undress before returning to Max. “So you know this individual, Sir?”

Buck stifled another yawn and nodded, though his confusion was clear - after all, Max was meant to be in his bed. Before he could speak again, Tommy appeared behind him. “Yeah, we know him,” Tommy said, his voice steady. “What’s this about, Officer?”

The officer gestured toward Max with his clipboard. “We were responding to a concerned call from a neighbor about a possible break-in. Found him around the side of your house trying to jimmy a window open, claimed it was his room but then didn't know the house address.”

Max rolled his eyes, but even in the dim light of the porch, Buck could see the teens cheeks go pink with embarrassment. 

“Max,” Buck said finally, his voice tinged with disbelief and concern, “why didn’t you just knock?”

Also, why were you outside?

Max shifted on his feet, his gaze glued to the ground as he scuffed the driveway with the toe of his sneaker. “I didn’t want to wake anyone,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Your windows are more sturdy than the ones I’m—”

“Thank you, Officers,” Buck interrupted sharply, his voice firm as he stepped forward, cutting Max off before he could say something incriminating. He forced a polite smile, though his heart was pounding. “Uh, but if it's okay with you, we’ll take it from here. He lives with us, and we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The officer holding the clipboard gave Buck a long, assessing look before glancing back at his partner. Finally, he nodded. “Alright. Just make sure he understands this can’t happen again. We don’t want another call about a ‘suspicious person’ in the middle of the night. Maybe get him a key, and tell him the address?”

This time Tommy replied, hand on Buck's shoulder, comforting him, "Thank you, Officer, of course, we'll get right onto that."

Buck watched the officers leave, their car pulling away down the quiet street, before turning back to Max with a mix of confusion and frustration. Now fully awake, Tommy stepped past Buck and closed the door behind them.

“Alright, Maxwell,” Tommy said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “You want to tell us what’s really going on? maybe starting with what you were doing outside of the house at this time of night, inside of being in bed, where you should be.”

Max shifted uncomfortably, his hands buried deep in his hoodie pocket. He really didn't want to discuss his sister phone call, or the pain it caused. How dirty he felt. “I just wanted some fresh air” he muttered, his tone defensive, hoping in vain that the adults would leave him the fuck alone.

“Max,” Buck said, softer but no less serious. He stepped closer, his brow furrowed. “You know you can talk to us, right? Whatever is going on, we can help.”

Max’s head shot up, and for a brief moment, his eyes were filled with something that looked almost like fear. But just as quickly, his expression hardened, a wall slamming down between him and the two men standing before him.

It might be unfair, but Max doesn't know how to explain the mix of emotions, guilt, regret, determination, that is currently burning through his bloodstream. He doesn't want to be ashamed, and he's not ashamed, but also, somehow, he is very much ashamed of himself. He would love reassurance, oh, he would love it so much right now, but also he just wants space, to be left alone. 

For no one to try and fix him right now.

So, he snaps, and its not pretty, and it's not deserved but fuck, its all he can do.

“Oh my god, can you just leave me the fuck alone, please” Max snapped, stepping back. “Why are both of you always in my face, trying to help when you can’t even sort your own shit out!”

The words stung, and Buck flinched as if he’d been slapped. Tommy, however, didn’t budge, his gaze steady and unyielding.

“Maxwell ,” Tommy said firmly, his voice taking on a parental edge. “We’re not just going to ‘leave you alone.’ Clearly something is bothering you, and shutting us out isn’t going to fix it.”

Max’s frustration boiled over, and he threw his arms in the air. “God, why can’t you just stop? I don’t need your ‘self help’ mantra bullshit, I was doing fine before you dragged me here... you know what, I hate you. Both of you. You are such fucking liars. Fucking future bullshit and everything, you two are just stupid fucking idiots.”

Before either Buck or Tommy could respond, Max turned on his heel and stormed down the hall, his feet pounding against the hardwood floor. He disappeared into his room, and a moment later, the door slammed shut so hard it rattled the walls.

Buck winced at the sound, his shoulders sagging as he ran a hand through his hair. “Well,” he said with a forced chuckle, “that went well, any clue what that was all about?”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “Kid’s got a lot on his plate,” he muttered. “Just needs a moment.”

Buck nodded, though worry was etched into every line of his face. “Uh, yeah, I noticed. Do you think maybe we pushed too hard? How do you let him know we’re here for him but also give him the space he needs?”

Tommy shrugged, pushing off the doorframe, ignoring the pain in his ribs. “Maybe. But sometimes pushing is the only way to break through. Give him space tonight, but tomorrow…” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as a determined expression settled on his face. “Tomorrow, we don’t let him avoid us.”

Buck nodded again, though his gaze drifted toward Max’s closed door. “Speaking of us ...”

Tommy clapped a hand on Buck’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Shall I put a pot of coffee on?”

With a tired nod, Buck followed him into the kitchen, "Huh, so do you think your door is okay?"

Max belly-flopped onto the bed, the springs creaking under the force of his frustration. He lay there motionless for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling as the weight of his actions settled over him like a lead blanket. He had done it this time, for sure. Tomorrow, Tommy and Buck were going to march him straight to the doorstep of Child Services, and who could blame them?

What an ungrateful piece of shit he was. 

He let out a long, shaky sigh, burying his face in the pillow. This mess was all his fault—he knew that. What had he been thinking, blowing up at them? Yelling like some bratty kid, saying things he didn’t even mean?

I hate you.

The words echoed in his mind, louder and more venomous than when he’d spat them out. It wasn’t true. He didn’t hate them. He hated himself for saying it, for taking his anger and shame and lashing out at the only adults in his life who hadn’t abandoned him or… well, died.

His stomach twisted at the thought of Richard—gone, but not by choice. Richard’s death wasn’t his fault, but it still felt like a cruel desertion. Max snorted bitterly. Even when people didn’t choose to leave him, they still left. Why would Buck and Tommy be any different?

They should leave me, he thought. I’m nothing but trouble.

Just ask his family. His former family. They knew the truth about Max, about how worthless he was - how much of a fuck up he was. One kiss ruined everything. He could of been a music star with his guitar, or maybe, even a basketball player? He could of had a 'roommate' that was actually his partner, and make bachelor jokes every Christmas. 

Instead he tried to be proud of him, stand up for the real him. 

Maybe he could beg for forgiveness tomorrow. Grovel, even. But what was the point? They’d see through it. They’d see him for what he really was: a screw-up who couldn’t stop making things worse.

“No,” he decided to himself, “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anyone.”

But the words felt hollow, even as he said them. Fine? Yeah, right. He’d be fine until he ended up in jail, thanks to the Attorney General, but at least then he would have a place, somewhere he belonged.

How had he ended up here? Sneaking around like a criminal, yelling at people who genuinely cared about him, hiding from everything instead of dealing with it?

His father had once said 'dealing with something head on was the best way - no being a coward and slinking around the problem.' but then the same man had said 'your no son of mine.' when Max had told him straight up that he liked guys. 

Max rolled over and grabbed his headphones from the nightstand, jamming them over his ears as if music could drown out the guilt clawing at his insides. His fingers fumbled for his phone, and he opened Spotify, scrolling aimlessly until a playlist of sad indie songs filled the silence.

The music didn’t help. Not really. The pit in his stomach remained, gnawing at him as he reached under the bed, pulling out the small metal tin he’d hidden there. Popping it open, he stared at the stash inside, his hands trembling slightly as he rolled a joint.

Max knew this was a bad idea. Smoking weed behind Tommy’s house was practically begging to get caught. But the thought of lying here, marinating in his self-loathing and shame, was unbearable. He had to do something, anything, to numb the storm raging in his head.

Sliding the window open, he propped it up with a book this time—a lesson learned from earlier that night. The last thing he needed was another run-in with the LAPD. Climbing out, he landed quietly on the soft grass, glancing around the dark backyard.

He crept around to the back of Tommy’s garage, the farthest point from the house where he could still pick up his Wi-Fi signal. Settling down against the cool brick wall, he lit the joint, the familiar smell of burning weed mixing with the night air.

As he exhaled, he leaned his head back against the wall and cranked up his music, letting the lyrics drown out the thoughts he couldn’t escape. For a moment, he let himself believe it was working.

Blissfully unaware, Tommy wrapped his hands around his coffee mug, staring down into the dark liquid as if it held the answers he couldn’t find. The early morning light filtered through the kitchen window, but the atmosphere between them was anything but warm.

“Look, Evan,” Tommy began, his voice steady but tinged with hesitation. “I really like you—I do. But there’s a saying: every gay man has three men in his life. The one who made him realize he was gay, the one who broke his heart, and the one who showed him that genuine love exists.”

Buck leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowing. “Okay, and if you can be two of those three, why can’t you be all three?”

Tommy’s heart clenched at the hope in Buck’s voice, but he forced himself to stay firm. “Because I can’t be everything for you, Evan,” he said softly, his gaze still fixed on his coffee. “I can’t be your endgame.”

Buck let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. “Why not? Why can’t we just—try? Why does it have to be this impossible thing in your head?”

Tommy finally looked up, his eyes meeting Buck’s, and the vulnerability there made Buck’s chest tighten. “Because I’m scared,” Tommy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of letting you in, of giving you everything I’ve got, only for you to wake up one day and realize I’m not enough for you.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Buck said, leaning forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “You think I don’t get scared, too? You think I’m not terrified of screwing this up? But, Tommy, I want to be with you. I’m standing here, telling you that.”

Tommy shook his head, his throat tightening. “Evan, you’re young. You’re charming, kind-hearted, and you’ve got the whole world ahead of you. Someday, someone is going to come along who’s everything you want, everything you need. And when that day comes, I don’t want to be the one standing in your way—or the one you leave behind.”

“Uh, hold up, that’s not fair,” Buck said, his voice trembling with frustration. “You’re making this decision for me, Tommy. You don’t get to decide who’s enough for me or who I want, that's my choice.”

Tommy’s chest ached at the raw honesty in Buck’s words, but the fear inside him refused to let go. “I’m sorry, Evan,” he said quietly, his gaze falling back to the table. “The point is the same as it was the night I ended things. I’ll always be your first, and that means something. But I can’t be your last.”

For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them. Buck’s jaw tightened as he tried to push down the emotions threatening to rise. Finally, he exhaled shakily and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Okay,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration and something deeper. “Fine then, uh,but what about Max? We’ve got this kid who needs us, Tommy. We can’t just ignore that.”

Tommy nodded, latching onto the shift in conversation even though it did nothing to lighten the tension still pressing down on them. “I’ll always be there for Maxwell,” he said firmly, meeting Buck’s eyes with unflinching resolve. “No matter what happens between us, that doesn’t change. I’m in his corner.”

Buck nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly, though the ache in his chest refused to ease. “Right,” he muttered, his tone cutting in a way that surprised even himself. “At least you know how to commit to someone, I guess. Hey, good for Max.”

Tommy’s expression hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before he spoke. “Evan—”

“Don’t call me that,” Buck snapped, his voice sharp as his gaze locked on Tommy’s. “From now on, it’s Buck. Got it, Tommy?”

Tommy’s mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to protest, but no words came. He closed it again, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Alright,” he said quietly, the softness in his tone at odds with the tension crackling between them. “I’m sorry Ev-Buck, really, you’re an amazing person.”

He didn't need to hear Tommy tell him how amazing he was, like it made up for the heart-break, so Buck pushed himself out of the chair, standing tall even as his hands trembled at his sides. “Glad we cleared that up,” he said, his voice flat. Without another word, he turned and left the room, his footsteps heavy as he retreated to the living room.

The smell of rising dough mingled with the faint hum of the oven. Buck stood at the counter, his hands dusted with flour as he kneaded the dough with rhythmic precision. The process was calming, almost meditative—something he desperately needed to drown out the ache in his chest.

Max’s voice broke the quiet. “Why are you baking bread at six in the morning?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen doorway, his expression half-curious, half-skeptical.

Buck glanced over his shoulder, his tone casual. “Uh, oh well, sometimes I get the urge to bake.”

It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Max raised an eyebrow, biting into an apple he’d grabbed from the counter, which at least was a health option. “Sooo, like, does anyone in this house emote in a normal, healthy way?”

The irony wasn’t lost on Buck, and he gave Max a pointed look. “That’s a little rich coming from you, don’t you think?”

Max smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ouch, but fair point, however I am only fifteen remember, whats your excuse.”

Buck turned his attention back to the oven, cracking it open to check on the bread. The warm, yeasty scent wafted out, and he nodded in satisfaction. “Are you feeling better this morning?” he asked, his voice softer, carefully avoiding Max's smart comment.

Max shifted uncomfortably, looking down at the floor. “Yeah… about that. Look—”

Buck closed the oven door and turned to face him fully, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “About that what?”

Max hesitated, his grip tightening on the apple as he avoided Buck’s gaze. Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and halting. “Ah, you know, for being an asshole. I overreacted, just a little bit and I shouldn’t have said those things, and I just wanna say, I didn't mean it.” Max swallowed a lump in his throat, as he struggled to maintain eye contact. 

Buck tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You mean like how you hate us?”

Max flinched slightly at the words, his shoulders hunching as he muttered, “Yeah. That. I didn’t mean it, okay? I was just mad, and… I don’t know, I wanted to hurt you because I was hurting... I wish I could take it back, you've both been so good to me.”

Buck exhaled slowly, “That’s very profound for someone of you age.”

“Hey, if I’m going to tried as an adult, I should act like one?”

“I disagree, you’re only young once Max, you should act like the teenager you are.”

“Oh, huh,I think I’ve forgotten how to do that, to be honest.” Max admitted, which didn't surprise Buck -he had been forced to grow up very quickly and by himself on the streets of LA. "That's sort of why I'm scared of school, too, like, I've forgotten how to make friends."

Buck softened, leaning forward slightly. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got people who can help you remember. Believe it or not, I was a teenager once. It might amaze you to know.”

Max arched an eyebrow, a glint of mischief creeping into his tone. “What, like a hundred odd years ago? Did they even have cellphones when you were young?”

Cellphones yes, smartphones no. Internet yes, wifi no.

Max did not need to know these things, he was already snarky enough.

Max tilted his head, the smirk growing into a full-on grin. “You and Tommy are old enough to be considering which rest home you want to be put in.”

Buck tried not to wince, but it was there—a fleeting flicker of pain at the mention of Tommy’s name. Max caught it, his grin fading into concern.

“Is everything okay?” Max asked, his tone quieter now, more serious.

Buck hesitated, debating how much to share. He didn’t want to burden Max with his own heartache, but the kid deserved honesty. Finally, he sighed, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, we had a talk last night.”

Max’s brow furrowed, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “And? You’re official ? Am I the first to know?”

Buck let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “No, uh… not quite. We’re over, Max. For good this time.”

Max blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. I—I’m sorry, Buck. That sucks ass, you two are so good together, like...” Max paused, deep in thought, "Chocolate and Peanut Butter." He clicked his fingers, impressed by his deduction. "Everyone loves Reese Cups, right?"

Buck waved a hand, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t stress about it, okay? We’re still here for you. Both of us. That doesn’t change just because Tommy and I aren’t… together.”

Max shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “But… what if things get weird? Like, what if one of you leaves?”

Buck crouched slightly to meet Max’s gaze, his voice firm but kind. “Max, listen to me. Lots of parents—biological or otherwise—aren’t together, and they still stick around. That’s not changing here. You’re stuck with us, whether we’re a couple or not.”

Max searched Buck’s face, looking for cracks in the reassurance. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained uncertain. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do,” Buck said, his tone steady. 

As Buck turned back to the oven, Max lingered for a moment, watching him. “You know,” Max said, his voice casual, “for what it’s worth, I think Tommy’s an idiot.”

Buck froze, glancing back over his shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“Because anyone who doesn’t see what they’ve got in you is blind.” Max shrugged, taking a bite of his apple before sauntering off, leaving Buck standing there, floored and a little speechless.

Sometimes, Max justified to himself, you have to show someone what they're missing out on. Like really show them.

Buck let the hot water cascade over him, trying to let the tension in his shoulders melt away. It wasn’t working. His thoughts kept circling back to Tommy, to the midnight conversation that had left more questions than answers. He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, when he heard the bathroom door creak open.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice tinged with annoyance. It could only be Max or Tommy—and for two very different reasons, neither of them made any sense.

There was no reply, just the sound of the door creaking shut again.

“Great,” Buck muttered to himself, shaking his head and deciding to ignore it. If Max was trying to pull one of his stunts, he’d deal with it later. For now, he just wanted to finish his shower in peace.

“I’m going for a run,” Max announced casually as he grabbed his sneakers from the door.

Tommy grunted in response, barely acknowledging him.

Max stopped by the front door, one hand on the knob as he turned back to look at Tommy. “A really long run,” he added, raising an eyebrow. “Like an hour or so.” Then, with a sly wink, he disappeared out the door.

Tommy barely registered the comment, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay attention. “Okay, kid,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. He closed his eyes, trying and failing to push the memory of Buck’s pained expression out of his mind.

Back in the bathroom, Buck reached out of the shower, blindly groping for the towel he’d left hanging on the rack. Nothing. His brow furrowed as he felt around the empty space.

“Where the—” Buck muttered, turning off the water and pulling back the curtain. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Everything was gone. His towel. His clothes. Even the bath mat. He stood there, completely naked, dripping wet, and utterly baffled.

“Max,” he growled under his breath, already piecing together the culprit behind this little stunt. He stepped out of the shower, careful not to slip on the cold, bare tiles, and reached for the sink where he always kept an emergency hand towel.

Gone.

“Oh, come on,” Buck groaned, running a hand down his face.

“Maxl!” Buck called out, his voice echoing through the house. “What the hell did you—”

He froze mid-sentence. Tommy was sitting up now, staring at him with wide eyes, clearly trying—and failing—not to laugh at Buck dripping wet naked body, with only a tiny face cloth for modesty.  Not that the poor face cloth offered much in the way of modesty - Buck was huge, everywhere and almost all of it was on fully display, which was making things very hard on Tommy.

“What on earth are you doing?” Tommy asked, his lips twitching as he fought back a smirk as his eyes roamed Buck's very wet, very glistening naked body standing in his hallway.

What had he done to the universe to deserve this?

Buck glared at him, his face burning. “Don’t. Even. Start. Max thought he’d be funny and stole my towel, my clothes, everything. ”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as the smirk broke into a full grin. “Well, not quite everything...”

Buck rolled his eyes, too annoyed to care about the teasing. “Where is he?”

Tommy shrugged. “Said he was going for a run. A long one, apparently.”

Buck’s frustration boiled over, but before he could launch into a tirade, something clicked in Tommy’s mind. A really long run. An hour or so. The words suddenly felt less like a casual comment and more like a deliberate setup.

“That little…” Tommy muttered, shaking his head as realisation dawned. 

A few hours later, Buck’s phone buzzed with a call from an unlisted number. He frowned, letting it go to voicemail. Probably just another spam call.

Moments later, it buzzed again. Same number. Buck sighed, tossing the phone onto the coffee table and ignoring it once more.

When it rang for a third time, his patience wore thin. “Who even answers unlisted numbers these days?” he muttered under his breath. He was about to silence the ringer when a text message popped up, making his stomach tighten.

Evan Buckley, pick up this call.

Buck stared at the screen, unease creeping in. The phone buzzed again in his hand, vibrating insistently as if daring him to ignore it.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, snatching up the phone. He answered with a sharp, “Who is this?”

The voice on the other end was calm but urgent, cloaked in anonymity. “Who I am is not important. What matters is that you listen very carefully.”

“And why’s that?” Buck shot back, his frustration and unease battling for control.

“Because at 8 p.m. tonight, the residence you’re staying in—belonging to a Mister Thomas Kinard—will be raided,” the voice said without a hint of emotion. “I’m sure you would agree that it would be ideal if they found nothing illegal or incriminating connected to one Maxwell Walters.”

Buck’s grip tightened on the phone. “Who is this?” he demanded.

The line went dead.

Across town, Senator Elizabeth Woods sat in a bustling restaurant , the hum of conversations and clinking silverware creating a pleasant din. She smiled politely as a wealthy donor across from her launched into a long-winded explanation of his latest pet project, his voice brimming with self-importance.

There were plenty of witnesses to her being there, and not on the phone to a certain person of interest in a case she had no right to be meddling in. She couldn't very well let her mother's (former) lawn boy go to jail, but also, as a Senator, she's meant to keep political distance. 

Her personal assistant approached quietly, leaning down just enough for Elizabeth to hear. “It’s done,” the assistant murmured, her tone discreet. The prepay burner phone no doubt long since dumped. Now, the firefighter known as Evan Buckley, from the infamous 118 (who had taken down a Mayor hopeful) had a heads up of what was coming. 

Elizabeth didn’t look up, her smile never faltering as she responded in a low voice, “Any ties to us?”

“None, Senator,” the assistant assured her, straightening. Turning her attention to the donor, she added brightly, “Sorry to interrupt your dinner, sir. Something urgent came up, but it’s all handled now.”

“Of course, of course,” the donor said with a dazzlingly smile. “I imagine it’s a hectic job being a senator for California.”

Elizabeth nodded graciously, raising her glass of wine. “It certainly keeps me on my toes,” she replied smoothly. “Now, where were we?”

Chapter Text

Buck knocked on the door firmly but not aggressively, the sound echoing down the quiet hallway. After a moment, the door opened just a fraction, revealing Max’s cautious gaze peeking through the crack. It almost reminded him of their first meeting, how times had changed, but also somehow had stayed the same. 

“Are you still mad about the towel thing? Because that was an accident,” Max said quickly.

Buck pressed his lips together, chewing the inside of his cheek. There was no way that whole stunt was an accident—but that wasn’t the issue at hand right now. No, there was a far more pressing issue

“No, I’m not mad about the towel,” Buck lied evenly, he almost believed the words himself. “Ahh, but I do need to come in and talk to you, a proper, no bullshit kind of talk.”

Max hesitated, his grip tightening on the edge of the door as he tried to block Buck from coming in. “And why do you need to come in? We can talk here, we're talking right now.”

Taking a deep breath, while trying to keep his tone calm but firm, Buck explained to the skittish teenager in front of him. “Look, Max, I'm not going to be around the bush okay, I got a phone call. I don’t know how serious it is, but someone said the police might be coming here tonight. So, I need to know- do you have anything in your room that would look bad if they found it, anything at all?”

He gave Max a pointed look, one he had learnt from Maddie growing up. 

Max’s eyes widened for a split second before he schooled his expression into something more neutral, the kid was getting better at lying. “What?" he scoffed, "Uh,No - nope. Why would I have anything like that?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying his nerves. "Like, honestly, what are you implying?"

“Max,” Buck said softly, stepping closer but keeping his distance to avoid pushing too hard. “Uh, look here, I’m not here to judge or get you in trouble. I just need to make sure we’re prepared okay? If you’re hiding anything, now’s the time to tell me so we can deal with it before anyone turns up, someone who might not understand you.”

"Understand me? and you think you do?" Max snapped, and Buck tried really hard not to fall for that trap.

In front of him, Max shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the floor as he lied, again. “There’s nothing, okay? Honestly, it’s kinda offensive you don’t trust me.”

Deflect, and accuse. Classic technique, Buck himself has used it before. 

So, Buck crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he studied Max’s face. “Max, I’ve been a teenager too, remember? I know that look. If there’s something, just tell me. We’re on the same team here, but you can't lie to me, okay? Lying just makes it worse.”

Max hesitated, then sighed heavily, stepping back and opening the door a little wider. “Fine, but don’t freak out.”

Buck entered cautiously, his eyes scanning the room. It was messy but not unusual for a teenager—clothes piled on the floor, an unmade bed, a half-empty bag of chips on the desk. Max hovered near the bed,  trying to look unconcerned but his body language gave away his guilt.

“Where is it?” Buck asked gently.

Max huffed and knelt down, reaching under the bed. He pulled out a small metal tin, hesitating before handing it over. “You can chill, you know, it’s just some weed, no biggie” he muttered, his tone defensive. “It’s legal in LA.”

The rambling told Buck that Max knew it was a big deal. 

As Buck opened the tin, confirming the contents with a glance, he sighed. What is he suppose to do? He closed it again with a deliberate snap, his expression stern but calm. “Uh huh, right, but it’s only legal if you’re over twenty-one,” he pointed out, holding up the tin. “You’re fifteen. That’s six years away for you.”

Max crossed his arms, his defensiveness flaring. “Well, that’s stupid,” he shot back. “Everyone does it.”

Buck raised an eyebrow, setting the tin on the desk and turning to face Max. “First of all, ‘everyone’ doesn’t make it okay. Second, do you have any idea how bad this could look if the police found it here? You’ve already got enough on your plate without adding this to the mix and lastly, your frontal lobe is still developing and this stuff is bad for it, okay.”

Max scoffed openly, as he rolled his eyes and Buck doubted much of that went into his head.

With a deep sigh, Buck rubbed his hand over his face before leaning against the desk to look at Max, really look at the teen. “Max, I get it. You’re going through a lot, and maybe you think this helps. But it doesn’t. It only makes things messier.”

Max scoffed again, like a broken record, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes darted toward the window before returning to Buck, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Messier, huh?” He paused, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Do you smoke weed, Buck?”

Taken aback by the question, despite the classic deflect and accuse technique, Buck blinked and cocked his head as he walked blindly into the teenage trap. “No, of course not,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m a firefighter.”

“Right,” Max drawled, the smirk on his face growing. “Because your life is so clean, huh? No messy drama's here...”

Buck narrowed his eyes, sensing the shift in tone but still unaware of the trap he was stumbling into. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Max folded his arms, leaning slightly against the bedpost. “You’re living in your ex’s house, looking after someone else’s kid, and you’re lecturing me about ‘messy’? Come on, Buck, or should I say Evan.”

Buck stiffened, the jab hitting closer than he cared to admit. He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. "Right, lounge, now." 

Being a parent—even to a teenager who technically isn’t yours— means knowing when to call in reinforcements. And for Buck, that meant moving the conversation to the living room and looping in Tommy.

Good cop/bad cop time. 

Tommy sat on the couch, arms crossed, his expression serious as he looked at Max. “Alright, Maxwell,” he began, his tone calm but firm. “Are there any photos on your phone that shouldn’t be there?”

With an over exaggerated frown, Max gave the question some thought, too much thought if you asked Buck before he pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his camera roll before handing it over with a shrug. “Nope.”

Tommy took the phone, skepticism evident as he started flipping through the pictures. It didn’t take long before he groaned, holding up the screen. “I thought you said ‘Nope ,’ kid.”

“I did,” Max replied defensively, leaning forward to glance at the screen. “There’s nothing inappropriate there.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, clicking on a specific selfie. He turned the phone toward Max, his expression deadpan. “So whats this?”

A post shower selfie, nothing visible, but still far more than a teen should be taking of themselves before the age of 18, and in Tommy's mind, ever. Max was a kid, and in his eyes, always be a kid. 

Max barely blinked at the selfie, unable to see the issue. Whether it was being on the streets, or life prior to that was unclear. “You can’t see anything, old man. What’s the problem? It's no different to a pool photo.”

It was a lot different, context matters. 

Tommy closed his eyes briefly, muttering something under his breath before handing the phone over to Buck, who was sitting nearby. Buck took one look at the picture—and sighed, which seemed to be his default reaction to most of Max's actions.

“Alright,” Buck said, leaning forward slightly, still fumbling between cool relatable mentor and father figure trying to raise a kid right. “How about this: why don’t you delete any photos that you wouldn’t want everyone at your new school seeing?”

Max’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Because,” Buck explained, his tone patient but firm, “if one person sees it, then everyone will. It’s how these things work. So, ask yourself: are you comfortable with everyone seeing that kind of photo of you? The nerds, the jocks, the janitor, the librarian?”

Max hesitated, clearly mulling over the idea. “I mean… it’s not like you can see anything,” he argued. “You see more at museum on a sculpture, must of always been winter in Rome huh?”

Buck ignored the winter comment. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Tommy interjected. “It’s still inappropriate, especially for someone of your age, and it puts you at risk of being influenced by people who are not very nice, who don’t care about you or your well-being. Max, you are too young for this.”

There was no reply, but Max did roll his eyes so hard Buck was worried he was going to faint. 

Buck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m going to say it again: you should be acting like a teenager right now. You know, doing stupid but relatively harmless teenage stuff.”

“But not this?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not this,” Buck confirmed. “You should be sneaking out to parties, awkwardly trying to impress people, maybe getting your first kiss—”

"My first kiss is how I ended up here, listening to this stupid speech." Max groaned.

"Anyway, that's what you should be doing."

“Wait, so I’m not allowed to smoke weed, but I can sneak out and drink?” Max interrupted, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Oh, please, make it make sense."

“No, you’re not allowed to drink,” Buck shot back quickly.

“You literally just said—”

“I said you should be doing stupid teenager stuff that me and Tommy —”

“Tommy and I,” Max corrected smugly.

“Fine,” Buck conceded, rolling his eyes. “Stupid teenager stuff that Tommy and I would ground you for, and will ground you for.”

“Right.”

“Exactly,” Tommy chimed in, crossing his arms. “It’s part of the process—making mistakes, learning from them, but not doing anything so stupid that it permanently messes up your future.”

“You’re assuming I have a future.”

“You do Max, so act like it.” Buck stated firmly. 

The clock on the wall ticked ominously toward 8 p.m. Buck sat on the couch, nervously tapping his foot while Tommy leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Max was sprawled in the recliner, pretending to be engrossed in his phone, but the tension in the room was palpable.

“Maybe it was just a prank call,” Max muttered, not looking up. He smirked slightly. “You know, old people like you guys are always falling for scams.”

Buck shot him a glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched in faint amusement. “I am not old, thank you very much.” His tone was sharper than usual, the tension creeping into his words. “But we’re not taking any chances.”

Tommy glanced at the clock, his jaw tightening. “Let’s stick to the plan. We’re calm, cooperative, and let them do what they have to do.”

Before Buck could retort, a sharp knock cut through the room. The sound was measured, deliberate, sending a jolt through the three of them.

Buck rose to his feet, his heart pounding. He glanced back at Tommy, who gave him a single nod.

“Looks like our guests have arrived,” Tommy said, his tone deadpan as he pushed off the counter.

Buck exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself as he approached the door. He opened it just enough to peer through the gap, revealing a group of officers in full uniform. The lead officer, a stern-faced man with a no-nonsense demeanor, held up a piece of paper.

“Evan Buckley?” the officer asked.

“That’s me,” Buck replied, his voice level. “I assume you have a warrant.”

The officer handed it over without a word, and Buck opened the door wider to let them in. He quickly scanned the document, his stomach sinking as he read the legal jargon confirming the raid.

“Alright,” Buck said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

The officers moved in with practiced efficiency, their presence overwhelming. One immediately began barking orders to his team, while another started unpacking equipment.

Max sat frozen in the recliner, his eyes wide but his face trying to mask his fear. “Uh, what exactly are you looking for?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

The lead officer ignored him, addressing Buck and Tommy instead. “We’re executing a warrant to search the premises for illegal or incriminating materials related to one Maxwell Walters.”

Tommy’s face remained calm, but his hands clenched at his sides. “And what exactly do you think you’ll find here?” he asked, his voice steady.

“That’s not for me to say,” the officer replied curtly. “Just stay out of the way, and this will go smoothly.”

Buck’s gaze darted to Max, who was gripping the armrest of the recliner like it was a lifeline. “Max,” Buck said quietly, stepping closer to the teenager. “Just stay calm. Don’t say or do anything.”

Max nodded, but his eyes were glued to the officers as they began rifling through drawers, pulling books off shelves, and opening every cabinet and closet in sight.

The sound of clinking glass and shifting furniture filled the air, each noise adding to the knot tightening in Buck’s stomach.

One officer emerged from Max’s room, holding up Max’s laptop. “We’re confiscating this for further investigation,” she said.

Max stood abruptly, his fear morphing into anger. “What? You can’t just take my stuff—”

“Max!” Tommy snapped, his tone sharp enough to make the boy freeze. “Not another word.”

The officers continued their relentless search, their presence oppressive as they tore through Tommy’s house. Drawers were yanked open, cabinets emptied, and belongings strewn across every surface. Max flopped onto the couch next to Tommy, munching on an apple as they watched the officers throw things around without a care.

Tommy winced as a kitchen draw was pulled out, its contents tipped over the bench-top.

“You know,” Max said casually, munching on his apple, “if you keep pushing Buck away, one day he’ll pack up all his sourdough starter and leave.”

Tommy’s gaze snapped to Max, dragging his attention away from the growing disaster zone that had once been his perfectly ordered kitchen. “What?” he asked, his voice flat but edged with irritation as he watched the last columns of order fall.

The only good thing about being a single man is that everything was exactly how you wanted it.

Then Buck turned up to look after him and started using his kitchen as a de-stress zone, and Max, well, he turned his spare room and bathroom into a disaster zone.

Now, the police were simply finishing it off. 

“Buck,” Max repeated, finally glancing up with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Did the tyre iron knock a few screws loose up there, or were you always this thick ?”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. Okay, that was rude—especially coming from the same teenager he’d nearly been beaten to death trying to protect.  He was lucky that Tommy had the patience of a saint, mostly.“Do you ever stop talking?” Tommy muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Nope,” Max shot back, popping the “p” with smug satisfaction. “This isn’t ‘The Notebook’ or ‘Love Actually’, or any other sappy rom-com, you are actually ruining everything.”

Tommy groaned, his patience hanging by a thread. “Maxwell,” he said, his voice low and warning, “if you don’t stop—”

“What?” Max interrupted, his tone mockingly innocent. “You know, my business economics teacher back home always said that great reward only comes from great risk. And you, my friend, will never be rewarded because you’re too scared to take a risk.”

Tommy shot him a withering look, but Max was on a roll, leaning back against the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“In fact,” Max continued, “you’re acting like such a baby that I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops found a stash of diapers around here.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, looming over the teen who still looked far too pleased with himself. “Maxwell,” he said slowly, his voice dangerously calm, “if you don’t find something else to do—quietly—while they finish tearing apart my house, I might just throw you in one of those drawers they’re emptying.”

“Some people are so ungrateful,” Max replied before Tommy’s glare finally silenced him. 

After what felt like an eternity, the lead officer approached them again. “ We’re done here,” he said, his tone clipped. “You’ll be contacted if we find anything.”

As the officers filed out, their boots echoing against the floor, the house was left in disarray.

Max slumped on the couch, his eyes scanning the wreckage left by the police. The overturned books, scattered papers, and upended furniture painted a picture of chaos that mirrored the storm in his head. His usual snarky bravado was nowhere to be seen—just a heavy silence that made Buck’s chest tighten.

“You okay, kid?” Buck asked gently, lowering himself to kneel in front of Max.

Max shrugged, his gaze fixed on the mess. “Guess I’m not the only one good at wrecking things,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy, leaning against the counter, crossed his arms and tilted his head thoughtfully. “You didn’t wreck anything, Max,” he said, his voice steady but kind. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Max’s eyes flicked up, red-rimmed and defiant. “Yeah? Sure feels like it’s my fault,” he shot back, though the fire in his tone was muted.

“Max…” Buck began, but Max cut him off, his words spilling out in a rush.“They raided your place because of me, didn’t they? So yeah, it is my fault. Your place is trashed because I’m here. I’m always the problem.”

Tommy exhaled slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Max, listen to me. Do you want to feel better? You stop moping, and you help fix it. Grab a broom.”

As Buck set the last piece of furniture back into place, he ran a hand through his curls hair and sighed. “Why does it keep feeling like we’re going backwards?”

Tommy glanced at him, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “How so?”

“The selfies, the comments, the way he doesn’t think before he speaks—it’s like he has no self-awareness at all.”

Tommy chuckled dryly. “Because the kid is fucked up.”

Buck froze mid-motion, his eyes narrowing at Tommy. “Tommy!” he snapped, his tone sharp with disapproval.

Tommy raised his hands, palms out, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Relax, Buck. I’m not saying it’s his fault. But let’s not kid ourselves—he’s been through hell. And it’s not going to get fixed overnight.”

Buck’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, letting Tommy continue.

“Think about it,” Tommy said, leaning against the counter. “He had a sexuality crisis with no one to support him. His school probably had zero resources—because let me guess, the school board banned half the books they didn’t agree with. Then his family didn’t just neglect him—they outright disowned him. And then he came to LA, found a group of men—”

“Predators,” Buck interjected, his voice sharp and unwavering.

Tommy nodded, his expression serious. “Sure. We know that now. But to Max? They were the first adults who didn’t make him feel like trash. They gave him attention. Made him feel seen, even if it was all manipulation.”

“They were using him,” Buck said, his voice rising slightly. “Taking advantage of him in the worst way.”

“Exactly,” Tommy agreed, his tone calm but firm. “That’s why we can’t give up on him. He needs to learn that he’s worth more. That he doesn’t have to… do those things to get love or attention. And yeah, that means he’s going to test us. Push boundaries. Rock the boat. Because he doesn’t know how to feel safe yet.”

Buck sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought by now he’d start to understand. I mean, we’ve been bending over backward for him.”

Tommy stepped closer, his voice softening. “Buck, we’re trying to undo months of damage here. Not just the last few weeks, but everything that came before. Think about us—how much our teenage years shaped who we are now. And we’re adults. Max is still right in the thick of it.”

Buck folded his arms, his eyes searching Tommy’s face. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with hurt. “Because you won’t let me in. You shut me out every time we get close to something real.”

Tommy nodded, the weight of Buck’s words hitting him squarely in the chest. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze dropping to the floor. Finally, he took a deep breath, meeting Buck’s eyes.

“What… what if I was ready to try?” he asked, his voice steady but vulnerable.

Buck’s breath hitched, his arms slowly unfolding as he processed Tommy’s words. “Ready to try what, exactly?”

“To let you in, Evan” Tommy said simply. “To stop pushing you away. To see if this—us—can work. Because if Max can learn to take a risk and trust us, maybe I can too.”

For a moment, the tension between them hung heavy in the air, but then Buck’s lips curved into a faint, hopeful smile. “You sure about that?”

Tommy returned the smile, just a hint of it tugging at his lips. “To be entirely honest with you, no,” he admitted. “But maybe that’s the point. We can’t fix Max without showing him what trust and commitment actually look like. So maybe it’s time we stop running from it ourselves.”

Chapter Text

After too long, weeks of distance and pussyfooting around, Buck’s lips finally claimed Tommy’s in a kiss that was equal parts hunger and release. The scrape of stubble against stubble sent sparks through both of them as Tommy pushed Buck back against the kitchen counter. In that moment, kissing Tommy felt more vital than air, and Buck’s hands instinctively pulled the older man closer.

Their hands roamed with an urgency born of pent-up tension, fingers mapping out familiar and missed terrain. They slid along the kitchen wall, knocking off the clock and calendar Tommy had painstakingly hung just hours before. Buck’s hands tangled in Tommy’s hair, anchoring him, refusing to let go.

“Wait, stop, Evan-” Tommy murmured between kisses, his breath warm against Buck’s lips. “Evan—”

“Oh, it sounds so good when you say my name, Tommy” Buck interrupted, his voice low and breathless as he tugged Tommy closer. “Sounds even better when you’re moaning it.”

“Ev- van ,” Tommy managed, his tone tinged with reluctant amusement. “We should… take this to my room.”

Buck froze for a split second, weighing the pros and cons.

Con 1 : Stopping kissing Tommy. He’d already gone two unbearable weeks without this, and stopping now felt criminal.
Con 2 : The kitchen counter was right there. Convenient. Sturdy. Tempting.
Pro: Max was less likely to walk in on them in Tommy’s room.

Fuck.

“Fine,” Buck whined, dragging the word out dramatically as his lips trailed down Tommy’s neck. “But don’t think you’re getting away with denying me your mouth for two weeks without paying the price, you belong to me tonight, Tommy.”

Tommy smirked, gently steering Buck toward the hallway. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Evan.”

Max stared at the bedroom ceiling, his thoughts a tangled mess . Between all the other bull shit that was happening, the raid had just added to the pile — and now his laptop was gone, leaving him without Fortnite, YouTube, or even a decent distraction.

He probably should’ve told Tommy and Buck that the laptop might have been acquired under questionable circumstances. But did it really matter? No it didn't, thank you very much. Besides, Buck had paid for it now anyway. 

Hmmm, where did he pick it (steal) from again? 

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the blue light cutting through the dark. He rolled over to glance at the name and the first line of the text before flopping back with a groan, a sick knot forming in his stomach. His sister, Vanessa, who was still mad at him ruining any chances of a perfect family reunion. 

He needed air, some space to breath.

Somewhere he wasn't a colossal and all encompassing piece of shit. 

Throwing on a pair of track pants and a T-shirt, Max slipped out of bed and padded quietly down the hallway. He moved carefully, making sure not to wake Buck, who was probably sprawled out on the couch like usual. Because he was an idiot, like Tommy, unable to see whatever was right in front of them. 

Except… there was no snoring. No blanket lump.

The couch was empty.

Buck was gone.

Gone. 

Max froze, a wave of dread washing over him. Was this my fault? He clutched the back of the couch, sinking onto it as his knees gave way. No. This couldn’t be happening. Buck wouldn’t just leave without saying something—right? Maybe he’d gone to his own place for the night. Maybe he just needed space, like Max did. Maybe dealing with Max's shit, the police raid, the Attorney General and heartbreak was too much for one man. 

Yeah, space - everyone needs space sometimes. 

Or maybe… this was Tommy’s fault.

Max’s hands tightened into fists. Tommy, with his inability to man up and tell Buck how he actually felt, had been pushing him away for weeks. All this because Tommy was too much of a coward to admit the truth. Wandering around like a man when he couldn't even claim what he wanted when it was right there, like an apple ready for a bite. 

If anyone was to blame, it was him.

Yes, and Max was tired of it. 

The late hour weighed heavy as Max stared at his phone, the screen dimming. Buck had said he could call anytime, no matter the reason. 

He might be a colossal and all encompassing piece of shit, but he was at least going to fix this problem. 

Meanwhile, biting back a moan, Buck arched his hips slightly, his hands threading through Tommy's hair as the man worked his magic. The world had narrowed to just this moment. This long awaited moment, with Tommy’s lips teasing him, the heat of his mouth causing sparks of pleasure to shoot through Buck’s body. There was no better sight than Tommy between his legs, his tongue working wonders on his sensitive cock head to make Buck’s head spin.

Then it happened.

The sharp buzz of Buck’s phone on the nightstand shattered the moment like a glass dropped on tile.

Buck groaned—not the good kind—as the incessant vibration refused to let him ignore it. Normally, he would. But the time of night gave him pause. It could be Maddie. Or Eddie. An emergency.

“Seriously?” Tommy’s voice was muffled as he pulled off Buck's cock with a 'pop' to glance up, irritation flickering in his eyes. “You’re really gonna—?”

Buck grabbed the phone, his chest heaving as he tried to clear the fog of pleasure from his mind. “One sec,” he muttered apologetically, glancing at the screen. His brows furrowed. “Why is Max calling me?”

Tommy sat back on his heels, clearly displeased with the interruption. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was asleep.”

Buck answered the call, trying to keep his voice steady, though his frustration threatening to show - breathe Buck breathe. “Max? What’s wrong, bud? Where are you?”

“Where am I?” Max shot back, his voice sharp with exasperation. “Where are you , Buck?”

Buck blinked, his confusion cutting through the remnants of desire. Buck was right here in the house, actually, currently he was in Tommy's bed, where he belonged. “Uh, what?”

“I woke up, and you’re gone!” Max’s voice was climbing now, the kind of panicked tone that always got under Buck’s skin. “And I know Tommy is stupid, okay? A big stupid dumb baby—but he loves you, and you love him, and you’re both fucking stupid—”

“Max—”

“No, shut up! Jesus, just shut up,” Max’s words were tumbling out now, each one hitting like a freight train. “You! You keep baking bread like some kind of crazy person, and Tommy keeps moping around like a sad fuck! And don’t even get me started on this ‘he was your first’ crap. Like, come on, you’re old ! There’s no way he was your first—”

“Max—” Buck tried again, this time louder.

“Nope! I’m not done! I’m sick of this! I’m going to say something to Tommy because clearly, neither of you knows how to fix your shit—”

Buck shot up in a panic, scrambling to grab his pants. “Fuck,” he hissed, throwing a pair of shorts at Tommy, who was watching the chaos unfold with an amused smirk.

“What’s going on?” Tommy asked, tugging the shorts on.

Buck pulled a shirt over his head and darted for the door. “Max’s here.”

“What? Evan, of course he's”

There was a loud, impatient knock at the door.

“Tommy!” Max’s voice rang out.

"Oh." Tommy said dumbly, staring at the door, before jumping off the bed to grab his shorts as Buck groaned, running a hand through his hair. He yanked open the bedroom door once they were both mostly decent, and Max, standing there in tee and track pants and clutching his phone, froze mid-rant.

Max’s gaze flicked from Buck to his phone screen, where the call was still active, and back to Buck. His jaw dropped. “You’re… you’re here ?” His eyes shifted to Tommy, who was now leaning casually against the door frame behind Buck, his hair mussed and his chest bare. “With Tommy…In Tommy's room...In Tommy's bed...oh my god... oh gross, man, that's gross.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. We were… talking.”

“Talking?” Max’s voice cracked, disbelief dripping from every syllable. “You were talking? What am I, ten?”

Tommy snorted, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Well, to be fair, it was a very... intimate conversation.”

Max’s face flushed red. “Oh my god. You’re both the worst ! I came all the way over here to yell at you, and you’re—you're already back together ?”

“All the way from the lounge?” Buck teased, as he tried to de-escalate the tension, leaning against the door frame with a lopsided grin, while also clearly milking the interruption. You have to have some fun in life, right? 

Max crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Buck. “It’s the principle, okay? You could’ve told me instead of leaving me to freak out about it!”

“To be fair, we did plan on telling you in the morning, which I think is fair.” Buck remarked. "You're meant to be in bed." 

“What are you doing up anyway, Maxwell?” Tommy interjected, his voice calm but with the edge of authority that made Max squirm. He looked at the teenager expectantly, his eyebrow raised in a way that demanded honesty.

Max ducked his head, shuffling his feet. “I… I just couldn’t sleep,” he stuttered out, trying to avoid Tommy’s piercing gaze.

“ Maxwell… ” Tommy’s voice softened, but it still carried a weight that Max couldn’t ignore.

“There’s just… a lot going on,” Max mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Of course there is, kid. Did you want to talk about it?”

Max hesitated, glancing between the two men. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Not really,” he muttered, before plonking down onto Tommy’s bed with an exaggerated sigh.

Buck exchanged a look with Tommy, silently agreeing to let Max set the pace. Buck perched himself on the edge of the bed while Tommy leaned against the wall, watching the teenager as he stared at the ceiling with a scowl.

Max’s hands balled into fists. “My sister has a solution.”

Buck glanced up at Tommy, concern clear on both their faces. “Solution?” Buck probed after a minute.

“My sister said I should just date a lesbian so we could pretend to be straight together…Keep everyone happy. Fix our family, after all, I’m to blame for everything falling apart.”

Tommy wasn’t sure in what world people just had spare lesbians stored away for situations like this - plus, it was 2024, not 2004, people shouldn’t have to have who they loved. 

While Buck held Max, his eyes flicked to Tommy, who had been silent until now, his jaw clenched tight, his arms crossed over his chest. But Tommy’s anger wasn’t directed at Max—it was directed at the world that had hurt him.

Tommy finally stepped forward, kneeling down in front of Max and resting a hand on his shoulder. His voice was low, firm, but brimming with emotion. “Listen to me, Maxwell. It is not your job to fix the shitty decisions your family made. It is not your responsibility to make them feel better about rejecting you. You hear me?”

Max sniffled, lifting his tear-streaked face to look at Tommy.

“They screwed up, kid. They did. Not you.” Tommy’s eyes softened, but his voice remained resolute. “You don’t owe them a damn thing—not your happiness, not your love, and certainly not your authenticity. You deserve better than that.”

Max blinked, his lip trembling as he absorbed Tommy’s words. “But… they’re my family.”

“Family doesn’t stop being family when things get hard,” Tommy said, his voice thick with conviction. “But they’ve stopped being yours in all the ways that matter. And that’s on them . Not you.”

Buck tightened his grip around Max, his voice soft but unwavering. “And you’ve got us now, okay? I promise, I’m not going anywhere, and neither is Tommy.”

Max choked out a laugh between the tears, “I’m sorry for interrupting your moment with my shit.’

Buck huffed out a small laugh, giving Max’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. In this house, you come first. Always.”

“Oh my god,” Max groaned, rolling his eyes, though there was a flicker of a smile on his lips. “Not the sappy stuff again.”

Tommy smirked, straightening up and crossing his arms. “You better get used to it, kid. This is premium-level sap you’re getting here.”

"He looks like a manly beast, I know." Buck mused, "But he watches rom-com's on repeat and cries at the end..."

"Okay, that's not true." Tommy pouted.

Max shook his head, a reluctant chuckle bubbling up. “You two are insufferable, you know that?”

“I’m wounded by your words,” Buck said, ruffling Max’s hair playfully.

Tommy pointed a finger at Max, his expression turning serious again. “And don’t forget what I said. It’s not your place to fix your family’s bad decisions, Maxwell. You don’t need to sacrifice who you are to make them feel better. They need to earn their way back into your life, not the other way around, don’t you ever apologize to them for their actions.”

“There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you since that night,” Tommy admitted, with Buck pressed against his bare chest and Max finally sound asleep in his room (there was no point calling it the spare room anymore)

“Oh, what’s that?” Buck asked, moving slightly to look up at Tommy with sleepy eyes.

“You do know I didn’t throw the first brick at Stonewall, right? And Obama’s repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had more of an impact than Glee? Hell, Golden Girls did more for gay people than Glee.”

Buck rolled his eyes and pretended to be asleep. 

Later that morning, after Tommy, who was finally cleared to drive, Had taken Max to finish his application for his new high school. A familiar black pick up truck pulled up in Tommy’s drive, Buck opening the door before Eddie had a chance to knock.

“Buck, I have amazing news!” Eddie practically burst through the front door, his excitement flooding the space. He was practically glowing, and Buck couldn’t help but grin at the sight.“He’s coming home!” Eddie exclaimed. 

“Wait, what, Chris?” Buck asked, his heart skipping a beat as he set down the mug he’d been holding.

“Yes! We had this call with Brad—”

"Hold up," Buck interrupted, leaning forward with sudden interest. "You don’t mean the british dude from the show Hotshots , do you? The same show..."

"...That you stole a firetruck from?" Eddie cut in, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

"I was going to say the same show Bobby was advising on," Buck replied, feigning innocence. "And hey, for the record, Bobby gave me permission to ‘borrow’ that truck—for an emergency."

"Sure, Buck, whatever helps you sleep at night," Eddie said, shaking his head but clearly amused. "Anyway, yeah, Brad’s been incredible. He actually talked this guy down off a bridge the other day. It was amazing. Turns out Brad is Chris’s favorite TV star. We even had a chat about missing our kids—it was... nice."

"Sounds like you and Brad have gotten pretty close," Buck teased, his tone playful but with a hint of curiosity.

Eddie shot Buck a pointed look. "Don’t go getting all jealous again. My ankle can’t take it, and you can’t go kissing every guy that talks to me."

"Hey!" Buck protested, flushing slightly. "That was one time."

"And it was enough," Eddie quipped, grinning briefly before his expression grew more serious. “Anyway, Brad is great, afterward, he called Chris for me. Got him to really open up, to talk to me. About everything. The pain, the hurt, the betrayal…” Eddie’s voice faltered, and he paused, swallowing hard. “It broke my heart, Buck.”

Buck grabbed a mug, pouring Eddie a cup of coffee. “You look awfully happy for someone who just had their heart broken by their son,” he teased gently, handing the mug over.

Eddie laughed, a real proper laugh. “Because, Buck, we needed that. We had to lay it all out on the table, you know? So we could start over. And he misses me, Buck. As much as I miss him. He just… he didn’t know how to say it.”

Buck perched himself on the edge of the counter, his gaze steady. “So, he let you apologize?”

Eddie nodded, a weight visibly lifting off his shoulders. “He did. Hardest apology of my life, but I meant every word. I had to own up to everything—the hurt I caused, how I let him down. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. Every second.”

“And?” Buck prompted, leaning forward. “What did he say?”

Eddie’s voice softened, his eyes shimmering. “He said he never hated me, Buck. He just… didn’t know how to trust me after what I did. But we talked it through, and he told me he wants to come home. He wants to, Buck. Not because I begged or pushed, but because he’s ready.”

“When?” Buck asked, his excitement bubbling over. “When is he coming back?”

“Next week,” Eddie replied, a grin spreading across his face. “He’s tying up some loose ends with my parents, and then he’s coming home. For good.”

Buck clapped Eddie on the shoulder, his own eyes glistening with pride and joy for his best friend. “That’s amazing, Eddie. I know how much this means to you.”

“It means everything,” Eddie said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I know it’s not the end of the road. There’s still work to do. I have to show him I’ve changed, that I’m here for him, no matter what. This isn’t about words—it’s about actions.”

Buck nodded, his voice steady. “And you’ve got this, man. You’ve been fighting for him every step of the way, and now he knows it. You’re not alone in this, Eddie. You’ve got me, Tommy, Bobby, the rest of the 118.” 

Eddie smiled, his gaze dropping to his coffee for a moment. “Thanks, Buck. I mean it. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“You would’ve,” Buck said, squeezing his shoulder. “But I’m glad I’ve been here for the ride and uh, not to ruin your big moment but I kinda have some big news of my own.”

“Oh yes?” 

“So, uh, I had a talk with Tommy last night, and we’re… we’re going to give it another go.” Buck said, his face threatening to split from the grin.  He instantly felt ten times lighter.

"But you're still going to make the cookies right? and the scones?"

Asshole.

Tommy pulled the car into the small parking lot beside the neighborhood basketball court, the early afternoon sun shining down on the cracked pavement and faded painted lines. Max glanced up from his phone, glancing up at Tommy.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, his tone suspicious.

Tommy killed the engine and nodded toward the court,  “Thought we could shoot some hoops. You know, before heading home.”

Max rolled his eyes, slumping back in his seat. “Seriously? We don't have a ball.”

Tommy smirked as he stepped out of the car, leaning back in through the open window. “Good thing I'm on the westside LAFD basketball team then, right? I have a spare ball in the boot. Come on, humor me.”

Max groaned but shoved his phone into his pocket and climbed out of the car. “Fine.”

Tommy chuckled, walking toward the court and picking up the ball. He gave it a few experimental bounces, the rhythmic thuds filling the air as Max reluctantly joined him, standing a few feet from the free-throw line. Tommy passed the ball to him with a casual flick of the wrist. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Max caught the ball and dribbled it lazily. “I’m pretty sure I’ll smoke you,” he said, his confidence peeking through as he lined up a shot. The ball arced through the air—and promptly bounced off the rim with an unimpressive thunk.

Tommy smirked, jogging to grab the rebound. “Smokin’ me, huh? That what that was?”

“Shut up,” Max muttered, holding out his hands for the ball. “That was just a warm-up.”

Tommy tossed the ball back, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Alright, Mr. Warm-Up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Max took a moment, adjusting his stance like he’d seen professionals do, and let the ball fly again. The result was almost identical—the ball hit the rim and ricocheted to the side.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “What was that you said about being captain of the basketball team? Remind me, was it an imaginary team?”

Max rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Pass it here, old man.”

"Old man?"

Tommy lobbed the ball to Max, who caught it effortlessly with one hand. This time, instead of shooting, he launched into an impressive dribbling routine—spinning the ball around his back, between his legs, and flipping it into the air before catching it smoothly.

Tommy crossed his arms, nodding in approval. “Well, look at that. Fancy footwork. Too bad all those tricks don’t score points kid.”

Max grinned, the first genuine smile Tommy had seen from him all day. “No one cares about points if they're bored, they want flair, they want magic, they want style...”

“Style doesn’t win games,” Tommy countered, stepping into position. “Let’s see if it can get you past me.”

“Oh, it’s on old man,” Max shot back, dribbling with purpose as he faked left and sprinted right, darting around Tommy like a blur.

Tommy managed a half-hearted block attempt, laughing despite himself as Max took the shot. The ball sailed through the hoop with a satisfying swish, and Max threw his arms up triumphantly.

“See?” Max said, his voice full of mock arrogance, pointing at the imaginary number on the back of his shirt. “Captain of the team, baby.”

Tommy shook his head, retrieving the ball. “Alright, hotshot. Let’s see if you can do it twice.”

Lucy answered her phone, a smirk forming as she spoke. “Kinard, you’re missing all the drama down here at Harbor Station...hold on a moment, Kinard...say that again? No!, really, oh about time.”

Chapter Text

Attorney General Sinclair stood at the long steel table ,before him were carefully labeled evidence bags, their contents meticulously cataloged. This was meant to be his moment, his triumph and it felt like it was slowly slipping out of his fingers. His gut feeling told him that a rat like Max would find a way to scurry clear of his crimes, act like he was all cute and innocent when he was a filthy little stain on society.  

His aide stood stiffly nearby, a tablet in hand, scrolling through the report.

“Anything useful from the raid on the Kinard property?” Sinclair asked, his voice clipped, eyes scanning the evidence. He wasn't sure if the gay firefighters who were trying to rehabilitate Max truly believed he could be redeemed or were part of the charade but he was determined to break through it anyway. He knew the truth, he had experienced the truth and he would do anything to make sure Max ended up where he belonged. 

“Sir, the only thing we could pin on Max from the raid is a stolen laptop,” the aide replied, not looking up. “We ran a deep search of its systems. It’s clean, by the way, just typical teenage bullshit. Nothing of interest, unless you like fortnite?”

Sinclair’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He's young, it'll be on his phone, what did you find on it?” he asked, turning his sharp gaze on the aide.

The aide hesitated, his thumb hovering over the tablet. “About that... we forgot to seize it during the raid.” He admitted nervously, and he was right to be nervous. It was a rookie mistake.  

Sinclair’s glare could have cut through steel. “Idiots,” he snapped, slamming his hand on the table. “Did anyone even bother to look under his bed, or is that beyond the thinking capacity of the LAPD?”

“We did, sir,” the aide said quickly, his voice faltering. “All we found was a baseball bat and an old bag of chips, nothing else.”

Sinclair’s jaw tightened as he turned back to the evidence, the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break. “What? No drugs? Nothing incriminating? Nothing at all?”

“None, sir. Just the stolen laptop, but I mean-”

“Useless,” Sinclair muttered, pacing a few steps as his polished shoes clicked sharply against the tiled floor, rubbing his face in deep frustration. “Nevermind, we have enough to prove that Maxwell Walters is a threat to his community, lets send this punk away.”

And protect his image. 

4 months ago: Max slipped back into the rundown apartment, nervously checking his reflection on his phone screen. The bruise on his neck were impossible to miss, even if you were half blind.

Dammit.

For a fleeting moment earlier, he'd been scared, pinned down by the older guy—taller, stronger. But then the freak had just laughed and let him go. The whole thing left Max shaken and angry, but at least there was cash now. Most guys were just looking for a quick release, it was only the odd one that was weird. He was definitely going to have to take some self-defense courses, those YouTube videos weren't cutting it. 

The creaky door betrayed him as he tried to sneak in unnoticed. If Richard had any idea-

“Max,” came Richard’s voice, gravelly and tired, “where have you been?”

The old man was too tired and sick to have to worry about money and Max. 

Before Max could think of an excuse, he heard the slow, labored shuffle of Richard’s steps. The old man dragged himself closer, his wrinkled, trembling hands brushing against Max’s neck. He's touch far more fathery than the other man as Richard's brow furrowed, deep concern shifting into disappointment as he took in the bruise. The older man fingers traced it, as Max tried not to wince. 

Look, he knew Richard disapproved - but could they do? It wasn't like Max had graduated before being kicked out, not many legit jobs were looking for a teenager with no qualifications and Richard, well the old man was too sick to work. 

“Max... you didn’t?” He sounded disappointed, and Max was sick of hearing that tone everywhere he went. At the end of the day, Richard was putting him up for nothing, while he couldn't afford both his medicine or food - it was the least that Max could do, and the easiest way to raise cash. It was hardly working. 

“It’s fine,” Max said quickly. “We got five hundred dollars, in cash, so that will help, no?”

Richard sighed, the sound weighed down with the kind of responsibility he shouldn’t have to carry. Hell, he wasn’t even technically responsible for Max. But there it was, etched into his every movement. Given the statistics, Max should probably be in a black rubbish bag in a dumpster somewhere - but here he was, being looked after by some damn old fool.

“You’re a kid,” Richard said, his voice quiet but firm.

This, again. 

“I’m practically sixteen” Max corrected, "That's almost old enough to do adult things, and-"

“You’re barely fifteen.” Richard put his foot down firmly, although the impact was hurt by his coughing. Poor old man, Max should not be stressing him out. 

“Yeah, well some people like that.” Max said before he could help himself. 

“That’s exactly the problem,kid, don't you see-” Richard snapped, his voice sharpening for the first time as Max flinched slightly at the tone, more out of habit than anything. “-Those are the kind of people you should stay far away from. They’re sick, Max. They’re disgusting. And they don’t care about you.”

Max turned away, his voice curt and cold. “No one cares about me.” It was an unfair comment, after all Max was literally standing in his apartment, as rundown as it was, for free. 

“That’s not true.”

Richard cupped Max’s jaw gently, tilting his head to get a better look at the bruise. He muttered under his breath, his voice breaking just slightly. “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

“Okay, William Shakespeare,” Max shot back, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

Richard sighed again, the sound heavy and drawn-out, like it cost him something to even breathe. “Listen to me, kid. You’re better than this. I know you are.” For one thing, he could quote Shakespeare, that was better than half the drunk druggies lying around here.

If Richard had more resources, he would do more - but he didn't, and he didn't have much longer on this mortal coil - and he worried deeply, it wouldn't be long before the gangs or drugs - or both - would their get their hands on Max, and then it would be a downward spiral.

He hobbled away, but not before turning back, his voice now tinged with something Max couldn’t place. “But if you are, then you have to be smarter. That means you don’t drink anything they give you. You don’t let anyone tie you up, handcuff you, use rope— nothing that stops you from getting out. Never use your real name, and no one, and I mean no one kid comes back here. This is your safe space. You keep it safe. You keep that baseball bat by the door at all times.”

It's funny, that baseball bat meant more to Max than anything his birth family had ever given him. That baseball bat was a symbol of Richard's determination to keep him safe despite his flaws, and fuck ups. 

Back in the present day, Max rang the doorbell of Margaret Woods’s house, he hadn’t been back since that day, when he had to give her CPR in her backyard, when of all people, Buck and his team arrived to help.

Things had changed so much from that day, personally at least, and too, the garden - some bushes definitely needed attention.

Max shifted nervously from one foot to the other as he waited. The faint scent of freshly cut grass lingered in the air, a reminder of the hours he had spent maintaining her garden over the past few months. 

The door creaked open, revealing Margaret’s warm but tired smile. She leaned slightly on her walker, still recovering but radiating gratitude.

“Oh, hello,Max,” she greeted warmly, her voice a little raspy. “I thought I heard someone at the door. Please, do come in, dear.”

Max bit back a comment, instead opting for a polite greeting as he stepped into the foyer. “Good morning, Mrs. Woods, I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”

Margaret waved a hand dismissively, leading him toward the cozy living room. “Oh, you’ve done more than enough for me already, young man. But I’m glad you stopped by. Sit down, sit down. It's nice to have some company which isn't related to me or after some money.” She stopped, and looked at him fondly, like he was a grandson, "You don't need any money do you?"

With a shrug, Max replied, "Ah, I don't think so?" and she laughs like it was a joke. 

Max hesitated for a moment before perching on the edge of an armchair. He glanced around the room, taking in the photos and trinkets that told a lifetime of stories.

"Did your mother never teach you how to sit properly young man." Margaret grumbled, as Max gave her a polite nod, and sat down properly in the chair. His smile hid the brief, but intense pain at the mention of his mother. 

“Would you like a drink?” Margaret offered, already heading toward the kitchen behind her walker. “I’ve got lemonade, iced tea, or something stronger if you’d prefer.”

Max hesitated for a fraction of a second. Something stronger. The idea was tempting—just one drink to take the edge off the week he’d had. His mind flicked to the weight of the past few days, the nagging frustration he couldn’t seem to shake, and the lure of that liquid relief. But then came the mental image of Buck and Tommy’s faces if they found out—disappointment. Again. 

Buck lecturing him about his frontal lobe, which had caused him to google it and it turns out that Buck was, of course, correct. It doesn't stop forming until the age of 25. 

“Lemonade would be great,” Max said finally, his voice steady despite the inner tug-of-war. He wasn’t sure if Margaret had been serious about the alcohol, but even entertaining the thought felt like skirting the edge of a dangerous cliff. Damn Buck and Tommy caring about him. 

“Oh, I can get them,” he offered quickly, a bid to distract himself, but Margaret waved him off with a sharp look.

“Contrary to popular belief around here, I’m not dead, do I look dead to you?”

Honestly? she looked a lil dead. Not Walking Dead Dead, but close. Not as close as when he had given her CPR through, so that was a plus. 

"No Ma'am, not at all" Max lied cheerfully.

She returned a moment later with two glasses of lemonade on a small tray, setting them down with the care of someone who knew her limits but still refused to ask for help. Max watched her ease into the armchair opposite him, her movements deliberate, the strain in her joints visible but met with quiet resolve.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his hazel eyes flicking to her wrist, where he knew a hospital bracelet had only recently been removed. He took a sip of the lemonade.

Margaret took a slow sip of her drink before answering. “Sick of that bloody question, to be honest, but given it’s you, I’m doing better. The doctors say if it wasn’t for your quick thinking, I’d be in a box and my family would be enjoying my life insurance money.”

Max shifted awkwardly in his seat, ducking his head. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Nonsense,” Margaret said firmly, setting her glass down with a soft clink . “I hate all this false modesty bullshit. You saved my life, and I’m grateful for it—every morning when I wake up to creaking bones, terrible eyesight, and bad coffee. Wait, I did say I was grateful, didn’t I?”

“Uh, I think you did.” Max chuckled, looking around the room.

“Well, thank you for saving my life, you’re a good man.”

Max felt a blush creeping up his neck and took a long sip of his lemonade to hide it. Margaret studied him for a moment, her expression softening.

“You know,” she began, setting her glass down, “my daughter’s been dying to meet you.”

Max’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Your daughter?”

“Yes,” Margaret said with a small, proud smile. “She wants to thank you properly, even if you delayed her inheritance again.”

Athena had agreed to meet Buck, off the record, over lunch. The diner buzzed with the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes as Buck leaned back in the booth, still riding the high from his reunion with Tommy and Eddie’s good news. Athena, sipped her coffee across from him.

“So, who’s Max’s friend in powerful places?” Athena asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp as she questioned him.

Buck frowned, caught off guard. “Uh, What do you mean?”

“Well,” Athena began, setting her cup down as the conversation got serious, “Lets see, Buckaroo, first off, someone tipped you about the raid, and it had to be someone with access to sensitive information. Not just anyone could know that, it's not something we tend to advertise.”

Buck nodded, his brow furrowing. “Oh, well,yeah, that makes sense. Any luck running that phone number?”

“Oh we ran it,” Athena said with a knowing grin as she leaned forward. “It was a prepaid phone, we suspected as much, bought at a corner mart. The person who made the purchase? A homeless man. But the real kicker? An unknown woman paid him cash to buy it for her, no questions asked.”

“They didn’t want it traced back,” Buck said, realization dawning.

“Exactly,” Athena confirmed. “They made sure not to be seen on camera, we can’t tell body shape, size or hair color. Whoever it is is clever.”

“Attorney General Sinclair, how nice of you to make it,” Senator Elizabeth Woods greeted warmly as Sinclair took the seat opposite her.

“Of course, Senator Woods. It’s my pleasure,” he replied, his voice measured.

“Please, we're all friends here, call me Liz,” she insisted, a polished smile on her face.

As Sinclair glanced over the Senator’s desk, his eyes caught on a framed photo prominently displayed. Before he could comment, Liz picked it up, her tone softening.

“This is my mother, Margaret. She’s recovering from a nasty heart attack. Went into cardiac arrest, actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Liz,” Sinclair said, his tone neutral but polite.

Liz’s expression flickered, her polished exterior hardening for just a moment before she smiled again. “Thank you for your concern. She was lucky, though. Her lawn boy happened to be there and performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. Without him, she’d be one of the 90% who don’t survive cardiac arrest outside of a hospital.”

“That’s remarkable,” Sinclair replied, though he shifted slightly in his seat.

“It is, isn’t it?” Liz continued, her voice taking on a sharper edge now. She set the photo down deliberately and leaned forward, her gaze boring into Sinclair. “A real feel-good story. I’ve been looking into the young man’s background recently, uh, he has a file already, you know.”

Sinclair froze, though he tried to keep his composure. “A file?” It couldn't be, could it?

“Yes,” Liz said, tilting her head as though studying him. “Turns out he’s a bit rough around the edges, some petty theft, and so on, for a time, he was squatting in an apartment that belonged to a deceased man ... and I thought, well where is this young man parents, well it turns out, can you believe it, they disowned him for his sexuality, can you imagine that? They're three states over in Hicksville. Sweet lord above, what about unconditional love huh?”

Sinclair stiffened.

“But now,” Liz went on, setting the photo down, “he’s in the care of two highly decorated firefighters. You might’ve heard of them, they were the one's involved in the rescue of that capsized cruise ship in the Gulf of Mexico earlier this year, political this a perfect story for California, a youth finding acceptance in our great state, finding support from our finest first responders and saving an elderly woman, a real feel good headline don’t you think? People love a redemption arc.”

Back in the diner, Buck shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, someone who knows Max and has access to confidential police info tipped me off to the raid... why?”

Athena leaned back, her expression unreadable. “Hypothetically? To make sure we didn’t find anything incriminating on Max. Funny how the raid came up empty, isn’t it?” Her eyes locked on his, sharp and knowing. “Coincidence, I’m sure.” as Buck squirmed slightly. "He's a good kid, isn't he, Buck?" 

"He is, he's not into anything, you know, illegal." 

Athena grinned to herself as she sipped her coffee, Buck was always a terrible liar - but it didn't matter to her, it wasn't her party.

Besides, none of that explained who in a position of such power would care enough to go through so much hassle to keep a runaway teen out of trouble.

In the Senator's Office, Liz’s tone turned sharp, her polished demeanor suddenly icy. “But do you know what else I found interesting in his file, Attorney General?” she said, her tone slicing through the room like a blade. “Something that doesn’t quite add up politically, especially when you consider that elections are coming up.”

Sinclair’s expression tightened. He hesitated, searching for words, but Liz didn’t wait for him to respond.

“Apparently, you know him. Maxwell Walters.”

Sinclair shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Uh, yes, Maxwell Walters. My team...” He started

“Raided the property he’s staying at last night,” Liz interrupted, her voice cutting through his like steel. “Yes, I know. I also know you found absolutely nothing of interest there.”

“That's not true, we found a laptop that was stolen from a Walmart a month ago,” Sinclair countered, trying to regain control of the conversation. 

Liz arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And do you have any proof of who stole it?”

Sinclair hesitated. “Well, no, but....”

“ Right ,” Liz said crisply, leaning forward. “And the laptop’s value, I assume it's under the state’s $950 threshold, isn’t it?”

Sinclair cleared his throat. “Well yes Senator, but that’s not the only issue, Max is responsible for creating and sharing explicit material of -”

“Oh, that’s right,” Liz said, cutting him off again, her voice now dripping with mock realization. “I almost forgot.” as she shuffled some papers on her desk,” You’re using laws designed to protect children to punish them instead, aren’t you, Attorney General?”

Sinclair stiffened. “With all due respect, Senator , this young man....”

“—is a symbol of resilience and everything this state claims to stand for,” Liz snapped, her tone sharp enough to stop him mid-sentence. “A teenager abandoned by his family, supported by the best of our public servants, and now hailed as a hero for his actions. And you want to drag his name through the mud? Over mistakes made while he was homeless and being exploited by adults, adults I'll remind you that your office has yet to apprehend if I'm reading this report correctly.”

Sinclair opened his mouth to respond, but Liz raised a hand, silencing him before he could form a word.

“ Let me be perfectly clear ,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, deadly calm. “You have a vulnerable teenager , two highly decorated firefighters vouching for him, and zero political upside. Not a single person will support your decision to make an example of him. What you do have, however, is an election on the horizon and a media landscape ready to devour this story. Tell me, Sinclair, how do you think your opponents will spin it? The Attorney General wasting taxpayer dollars prosecuting a homeless teen, no, a victim who just saved someone’s life?”

Sinclair’s face darkened. “Senator, with all due respect, the boy willing produced and sent explicit images of...”

“—himself, yes,” Liz interjected sharply. “Let’s not sugarcoat it. What he did was wrong, and I’m not here to defend that. But you really think the public will rally behind punishing a child instead of asking why he felt he had no other options? You think voters will swallow the idea that this is in the public’s best interest? Be real, Sinclair.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Liz leaned back in her chair, fixing him with a hard stare. “Drop the charges. Focus your energy on catching the adults who preyed on him. Because if this goes public, I promise, you’ll be the one answering for it,not Maxwell Walters. Am. I. Clear?”

Sinclair clenched his jaw but finally nodded, defeated.

“Good,” Liz said, her voice returning to its polished, professional tone. “I knew you’d see reason. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a press briefing to prepare for. I’ll have my PA show you out, it’s always a pleasure.”

The waitress put the bill down on the middle of the table when Buck’s phone rang. Buck hesitated, glancing at Athena apologetically.

“Go on,” she said gently, giving him a small nod. “It might be important.”

Buck picked up his phone and answered, his tone cautious. “Hello, Buck speaking?”

A calm but professional voice came through the line. “Hello, is this Evan Buckley?”

“Yes,” he replied, sitting up straighter. “Who’s calling?”

“Good afternoon Mr Buckley, my name is Sarah. I’m calling from the Attorney General’s office,” she said.

Buck’s stomach churned. His grip on the phone tightened as his mind raced through worst-case scenarios. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm, leaning over the table with a hand covering the phone as he whispered to Athena, “It’s the Attorney General office.”

“What a surprise.” Athena replied, but it didn’t sound like she was surprised. 

Sarah’s voice remained steady as she continued. “I’m just calling to inform you that, after a thorough review of the case, the Attorney General’s office has determined there is no need to proceed any further in this matter. All charges against Maxwell Walters have been officially dropped.”

Buck froze, the tension in his body suddenly releasing like a snapped rubber band. “Hold up...wait....w-what?” he stammered, disbelief coloring his voice.

Sarah repeated patiently, “The charges against Maxwell Walters have been dropped. Additionally, you’ll be able to pick up his laptop from LAPD headquarters this afternoon. It’s no longer considered evidence.”

For a moment, Buck couldn’t speak. Relief flooded through him so quickly it left him lightheaded. “Thank you,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Thank you so much.”

Sarah gave a polite reply before ending the call, but Buck barely heard it. He lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen as if it might change its message.

“Good news?” Athena asked, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

Buck looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Charges dropped. All of them. Max is in the clear.”

Athena’s smile matched his as she leaned back in her chair, nodding approvingly. “Well, we found out what our mystery caller wanted.”

Tommy pulled into his driveway, the crunch of gravel under his tires breaking the quiet. He’d just returned from Harbor, where his captain had cleared him to return to light duty next week. The thought was a relief—getting back to work, even if it meant dealing with Lucy’s endless banter.

His eyes immediately went to the vehicles in his driveway: Buck’s Jeep and a patrol car.

“What now?” Tommy muttered, suspicion flaring. Trouble had a habit of following Buck—or Max. Steeling himself, he stepped out of his car and headed inside.

There, he found Buck and Athena comfortably settled on his couch, looking far too at ease. Tommy wasn’t exactly antisocial, but it had been a while since his house had seen this much company.

Buck exchanged a glance with Athena, who gave him a subtle nod of encouragement. “So uh,” Buck began, his grin spreading, “I got a phone call during lunch today…”

Tommy raised a brow, crossing his arms. “Hello to you too, Evan... Athena.” His tone was dry, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a hint of amusement.

His gaze shifted to Buck—his boyfriend, a title that felt good, who look suitably chastised for failing to greet his partner properly as Athena chuckled to herself, "Tommy, you might want to hear what Buck has to say."

Tommy stared in disbelief as Buck explained the details of his lunch time phone call from the Attorney General office.

“Are you serious?”

Buck grinned, his excitement contagious. “100%, Tommy. It's over!” He nodded toward Athena, who held up the returned laptop with a triumphant smile.

"The charges have been dropped," she said, her voice soft but firm. "No questions asked. He’s free to just be a teenager now, Tommy. So, now the real challenge begins for you and Buck here."

Tommy let out a deep breath, shaking his head in relief. “Oh thank god, finally. I’d much rather hear complaints about homework and acne than worry about him getting shanked in jail. That is such a relief!.”

Athena raised an eyebrow at Buck, who just nodded, but before Athena could ask more, Max burst into the room, his face glowing with excitement as he dropped his news with no regard for anyone's conversation.

“Margaret’s home!”

The three adults exchanged confused looks before Buck raised a brow. “Margaret?”

Max rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “The old lady whose garden and lawns I look after. The one who I gave CPR too? Remember? Anyway, she’s over the moon that I’m going back to school, so she said to say like, good work or something to you two. Because school is SO important.”

“Oh!” Buck said, realization dawning. “That Margaret? So much has happened that I, huh, had kinda forgotten about her.”

“Yeah,” Max said casually. “And now she wants me to meet her daughter.”

Tommy raised a brow, smirking. “Her daughter, huh?”

“Not like that ,” Max said quickly, exasperated. “She knows about me, okay? And besides, her daughter’s even older than you guys, like that's even possible. But you’ll never guess what she does.”

The three adults shrugged, waiting.

Max let out a dramatic sigh, clearly unimpressed by their lack of guesses. Though, in fairness to Buck and Tommy, they were holding back, eager to tell Max the big news about the Attorney General. Still, let the kid have his moment. He was so excited. 

“Fine, whatever, she’s a Senator for California. Or, uh, one of them. You guys have two, right? Imagine being a Senator, making all the rules for the minions to follow. I bet it's the best job ever!”

Max then struck a dramatic pose, arms wide as if addressing an invisible crowd. “I hereby order all you peasants to kiss my feet!”

Tommy chuckled while Athena shook her head, “Well, Buck,” Athena said, crossing her arms. “Looks like we just solved the mystery of Max’s powerful friend.”

The three of them nodded in unison, it turns out CPR saved two lives that day.

Now, it was time for their good news. 

Buck turned back to Max, his grin stretching ear to ear, his excitement barely contained. “By the way, kid, we’ve got some great news for you.”

"I dunno, the Margaret news was pretty good, you're gonna have to do really well to beat that, Buck."

Athena stepped forward, her smile softening as she held out the laptop to Max like it was a key to his freedom as his eyes looked over it in disbelief. “You’re officially off the hook. The Attorney General had a change of heart and dropped the charges.”

Max stared at her, his jaw hanging open as the words sunk in. "Wait?"

And the adults did.

“You mean... I’m not going to jail? As in I'm not a criminal?” His voice was tinged with disbelief, his wide eyes darting between the adults.

Buck laughed, the sound bright and warm, clapping Max on the shoulder with enough enthusiasm to make the teen stagger slightly. “Nope! But you are going to school.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. “ Mhm, well ;ooks like today’s your lucky day, Max.”

Attorney General Sinclair stared at his laptop, his eyes unfocused and distant, when his personal assistant, Sarah, entered, placing a fresh folder on his desk labeled Antitrust Case 217-B . Without a glance, he waved her off.

She lingered near the door, hesitant, her gaze flickering back to him. “It was nice of you, sir.” she said, and she meant it. She had looked over Max's folder and always felt he was more a victim than criminal. Hell, he was basically a kid. Only 15, and already been through so much. 

“Huh?” he snapped, annoyed at her continued presence, which she was used to.

“I was just saying, Sir, that it was nice of you to drop the case against Maxwell Walters. Giving the kid another chance, I mean.”

Sinclair’s lips pressed into a tight line, his forced smile thin and cold as he glared up at Sarah. “Another chance,” he echoed, his tone dripping with disdain. “You know, cats have nine lives, but rats… rats have a knack for surviving traps. That doesn’t mean they deserve the cheese.”

That was a deeply troubling quote Sarah thought to herself as she left. 

Chapter Text

A week later, things had started to feel more settled. Tommy stepped into his bedroom, pausing in the doorway as he took in the sight before him. Buck was sprawled out on the bed, shirtless, with a book in his hands. The soft light of the bedside lamp cast warm tones across his skin.

As Tommy leaned against the doorframe, Buck looked up, catching his eye. He attempted to appear deep in thought, resting one hand under his chin, but the mischievous glint in his hazel eyes betrayed him.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, crossing the room with a slow, deliberate stride. “You know, you’re not fooling anyone,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

Buck closed the book with exaggerated care, holding Tommy’s gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m just engaging in some light reading,” he trying to sound serious.

Tommy smirked and reached for the edge of the blanket draped over Buck’s legs, tugging it back with one swift motion. “Light reading, huh?” he asked, glancing at the book. “What is it this time? Advanced firefighting techniques? Or a how to look irresistible while lounging guide?”

Buck laughed, tossing the book aside and sitting up slightly. “I didn’t know I needed a manual for that,” he quipped.

“Oh, you don’t,” Tommy shot back, leaning down until their faces were inches apart. “You’ve got that part down.”

Buck’s smirk softened into something warmer as he reached up to run a hand along Tommy’s arm. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he murmured, pulling Tommy onto the bed with him.

Tommy chuckled, settling beside Buck. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m not planning on going anywhere else.”

Tommy gently trails his fingertips along the sensitive skin of Buck’s inner thigh, i nching closer and closer to his throbbing erection. Buck trembles under his touch, a needy whimper escaping his lips.

"There's my boy, so responsive," Tommy purrs, pleased by the effect he's having. He lets his fingers graze the base of Buck’s shaft, teasing him with feather-light caresses but never quite giving him the direct contact he so desperately craves.

At the same time, Tommy slowly circles Buck’s tight pink entrance with a slick fingertip. "So pretty and pink, all for me..." He murmurs appreciatively. With agonizing slowness, he works the tip of his finger inside the fluttering heat of Buck’s hole, barely penetrating him at all.

Buck rocks his hips, keening with frustration and desire. "Please Tommy, I need..." He pants, too far gone to articulate his pleas. His heavy cock leaks steadily, the thick head an angry red and swollen with pent-up need.

Tommy withdraws his finger completely, chuckling darkly at Buck’s bereft moan. "Oh no, Evan not yet."

Buck shakes his head frantically, coherent speech seemingly beyond him as Tommy continued to tease his body.

As Buck bathed in the afterglow, he ran a hand across Tommy’s bare chest. “Are we the right people to look after Max? Like, we know nothing about teenagers.”

Tommy’s hands ran through Buck’s hair gently massaging his scalp. “I think it’s too late to return him.” 

Buck groaned, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m being serious,” he muttered. 

“Of course you are.” Tommy replied dryly. 

“What if we screw it up? What if we screw him up even more?”

Tommy shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Buck. “Max doesn’t need perfect , Evan. He just needs people who’ll show up, people who care. We can do that.”

Buck tilted his head to meet Tommy’s gaze, his blue eyes swimming with doubt. “What if we try too hard? Or not hard enough? You’re great at being calm and level-headed, but I...I feel like I’m going to overcompensate. You know, try to make everything fun and cruisy . You know Eddie use to say he couldn’t imagine me disciplining someone.”

Tommy smiled, brushing a thumb along Buck’s temple. “First of all, I know from the bedroom that’s not true. Second, you being you is half the reason I know we can do this. You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know. Yeah, maybe you’ll try too hard sometimes, but Max will see how much you care. That’s what matters.”

Buck huffed out a breath, letting his eyes drift shut. “And you? You’re so composed. What if Max thinks you’re too serious?”

“Then we’ll balance each other out,” Tommy said firmly. “It’ll be alright Evan.”

“Did Tommy break up with you again?”

Buck rolled his eyes at Max’s unhelpful comment and swatted at the teenager’s hand as it reached for a cooling cookie.

“No, but thank you for your concern,” he replied dryly.

“You’re baking ,” Max pointed out, folding his arms as though he’d just uncovered a scandal.

“I’m allowed to bake,” Buck shot back, exasperated.

“I never said you weren’t. In fact…” Max reached for another cookie, ignoring Buck’s glare, and took a bite. His victory was short-lived as he immediately spat it out into his hand. “Ugh... in fact, I encourage it. … That’s still hot!” He juggled the cookie like it was on fire, eliciting a snicker from Buck. “I just want to know why you’re suddenly channeling Nigella Lawson again.”

Before Buck could answer, Tommy strolled into the kitchen, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist. He placed a soft kiss on the side of Buck’s neck, his stubble brushing against Buck’s skin.

“Gross,” Max groaned, dramatically throwing his head back.

Tommy just grinned and pointed at Buck’s apron, which read Kiss the Cook . “Hey, I’m just following instructions,” he said with a shrug, placing another kiss on Buck’s jaw for good measure.

“Gross and unnecessary,” Max huffed, looking thoroughly offended by the display. He reached for another cookie, only for Buck to slap his hand—harder this time.

“They’re not for you,” Buck warned.

“Excuse me, who are they for, then?” Max asked, cradling his hand like Buck had truly injured him. If anyone could get an oscar for best dramatic actor, it would be Max.

“Chris,” Tommy said, moving to the counter to grab a glass of water.

“Who the hell is Chris?” Max demanded, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Eddie’s son,” Buck explained. “He’s flying back from Texas today. We’re meeting them at Eddie’s once their flight gets in.”

Max scowled, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “I see how it is. Cookies for Chris , but none for me. I’m wounded, truly.”

“Hey,” Tommy interjected, smirking as he leaned against the counter. “Chris is basically family.”

Buck nodded, picking up the tray of cookies. “You can meet him if you want. I’m sure you two would get along—Chris is a really cool kid.”

Max groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Ah, dammit, I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m meeting some friends from school to play basketball.”

“You can spare a quick thirty minutes.” Buck stated.

Max had known Eddie existed. He’d seen him before—the guy who’d come with Buck to retrieve Buck’s phone, the same one Max had noticed chatting in Margaret’s garden. But Max hadn’t realized that Buck and Eddie were Buck & Eddie™ .

“Buck has a partner,” Max said abruptly, the words slipping out sharper than he intended as Eddie casually rested a hand on Buck’s back for what felt like the hundredth time. It was a move so natural, so effortless, it set Max on edge.

All three adults turned to stare at him. Buck looked startled, his attention finally snapping toward Max for what felt like the first time since they’d arrived and Chris had taken center stage.

Eddie, for his part, looked utterly confused. His brow furrowed as if trying to decipher some cryptic message. “Uh, yeah,” he said after a pause, glancing at Buck, then back at Max. “That’s Tommy.”

The statement hung in the air like a heavy weight. Eddie’s confusion only deepened, probably because he was the one who’d played matchmaker, nudging Buck and Tommy together after Buck ruined the first date and cheering them on every step of the way.

Tommy, meanwhile, gave a puzzled Buck a shoulder squeeze before looking Max in the eyes. “Maxwell, come with me would you?.”

It sounded like a request, but it clearly wasn’t, and Max followed Tommy out, past Chris who he made a point of ignoring. 

Perfect fucking kid. Wasn’t everybody suppose to hate Chris?

Once they were alone, Tommy turned to Max, his arms crossed but his expression more curious than angry. “Maxwell,” he said evenly, “what was that about?”

Max scowled, folding his arms. “Aren’t you jealous? They’re close, and he’s your man.”

Tommy sighed, running a hand down his face in exasperation. He wasn’t even slightly rattled, clearly not considering Eddie a threat in the slightest.

“Maxwell,” Tommy said, his tone patient but firm, “they come as a package deal. They share a brain cell most of the time, and that’s fine by me. You know why? It’s called trust . I trust Evan. I trust Eddie. And, for the record, jealousy and anger? Dangerous emotions. They’ll ruin your life if you let them. You’ve got to get them under control now— before you do something you can’t take back.”

Max shifted uncomfortably under Tommy’s calm but piercing gaze, “Whatever, Buck said I only had to spare thirty minutes and then I could meet my mates, so can I go now?”

“Fine, but remember to say goodbye to Eddie and Chris - as individuals, no sneaky loop holes kid.”

“Whatever”

“I heard that.” Tommy called out. 

The following Monday, chaos reigned at the back of the classroom as Max’s friend lobbed a crumpled paper ball at him. Without missing a beat, Max caught it and hurled it back at Samuel, who ducked just in time.

“ Maxwell! ” the teacher’s stern voice sliced through the noise.

Max froze mid-grin. “Sorry, Miss,” he mumbled, trying to look apologetic.

“I’m sure you are,” the teacher replied dryly, straightening her glasses. She turned to address the class. “Now, settle down, everyone. We have a new student joining us today, actually he’s a returning student. His name is Christopher Diaz, and I’m confident you’ll all make him feel welcome.”

The classroom door opened, and Chris walked in, his smile bright and confident. He hobbled in, with bright red crutches and glasses. 

Sam leaned forward in his chair, nudging Max and Dean. “Great,” he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Another four-eyed freak.”

Max snorted, and Dean smirked, shaking his head. “And he has crutches too,” Dean added, his voice low enough to escape the teacher’s notice. “Like, pick one ailment, dude.”

Chris, oblivious to the snickering in the back row, introduced himself with a polite, “Hi, I’m Chris. Nice to meet you all.” His steady voice carried through the room as he glanced around, flashing another smile.

“Oh god, him again,” Max groaned, sinking low in his chair and dragging his hands down his face for dramatic effect.

Dean leaned closer. “Wait, you know the new guy?”

“He’s the son of my…” Max hesitated, his brain scrambling for the right words to explain Buck and Tommy’s role in his life without giving them too much significance.

It was deeply unfair to Buck and Tommy, but Dean and Sam had two normal parents who loved them. There is nothing worse than being the oldest kid in class living with two adults who had taken pity on him. 

“Guardians?” Dean offered innocently, earning a withering glare from Max.

“They’re not my parents or guardians or whatever,” Max snapped, his face flushing hot. “They’re just… people I live with, okay? It’s not a big deal. Anyway, he’s their best friend son.”

Who Buck loved. With a passion. His whole face had lit up. 

Max was not jealous .

Sam chewed on the end of his pen thoughtfully before smirking. “Right. But you get that saying it like that makes it so much worse, right?”

Max, desperate to redirect the attention away from himself, blurted out, “At least my legs work.”

The moment the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a truck. It was a cheap, ugly jab, and he knew it. But it worked—Sam and Dean burst into laughter, the sound cutting through the awkwardness like a lifeline.

And, to be honest, it felt good to make them laugh. 

Unfortunately, their amusement didn’t escape the teacher’s notice.Her sharp gaze zeroed in on them. “ Anything you boys in the back would like to share with the rest of the class?”

Max leaned back in his chair, his expression pure innocence. “Not at all, Miss,” he replied smoothly, his grin just shy of a smirk.

Sam and Dean snickered, though they quickly covered it up when the teacher shot them a glare.

Chris glanced back toward the trio, raising an eyebrow as he saw Max before he rolled his eyes and turned back to the front. 

He did not roll his eyes at Max.

“Oh, he’s going to be fun,” Max whispered to Dean, already plotting.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered back, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Give it a week before Max gets detention because of him.”

“Chris is so cool,” a girl gushed to her friend by the lockers as Max walked past. He should carry on, ignore them.

Should being the key word.

He stopped, pretending to tie his laces.

“I knew him before he spent that summer in Texas,” the other girl replied, sounding almost smug, as if she had some exclusive claim to his coolness.

“Texas? That’s so cool. I wonder if his dad’s a cowboy,” the first girl said dreamily, her words punctuated by a some stupid teenage girl giggle.

Max slowed his steps, his jaw tightening. “His dad is a firefighter, it’s not that cool.”

Tommy was a firefighter pilot- now that was cool. 

The girls shut their lockers in sync, giving Max a pointed look up and down, making him feeling self conscious about his clothes. “No one asked.” The blonde said before they disappeared.

Well, he had succeeded at making someone look like a dick.

It just wasn’t Chris.

Eddie couldn’t stop glancing at his phone every spare moment , his anxiety practically radiating off him. Buck, lounging comfortably on the couch, tossed a stray piece of popcorn at him.

“Relax, Eddie. Christopher will be fine.”

Eddie barely looked up. “It’s just... it’s his first day back at school.”

“We know,” Chim chimed in, rolling his eyes. “You’ve told us, like, ten times. It’s like living in Groundhog Day over here.”

Buck leaned forward, trying to soothe Eddie’s frayed nerves. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I asked Max to keep an eye on him.”

Eddie finally looked up, incredulous. “Max? The same Max who barely said two words to him the other day? And then accused me of being the other woman in your relationship? Can you believe that?”

A deafening silence followed, the kind that only the 118 crew could turn into something hilariously awkward. Eddie glanced around, as if needing confirmation that everyone else had heard how absurd that sounded. “Seriously, can you believe that ?”

“Well,” Hen started slowly, clearly trying to suppress a laugh, “you two are close. And to an outsider…”

“Wait!” Eddie interjected, looking genuinely baffled. “We’re just two best friends.”

Hen raised an eyebrow, but it was Chim who delivered the punchline. “Eddie, you literally sat in Buck’s lap during that movie night at Athena’s.”

“It was a horror movie! There were jump scares!” Eddie protested, his face flushed. Buck jumped in to back him up.

“You guys know Eddie hates horror movies. That’s on you for picking one instead of a rom-com.”

Hen smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Still... from an outside perspective…”

“I don’t know how Tommy puts up with him,” Chim teased, his grin widening.

“Maybe it’s a two-for-one kind of deal,” he added so only Hen could hear, earning an exaggerated sigh from Hen, who shook her head.

“God, I miss Ravi,” she muttered under her breath.

In the dimly lit locker room, that stunk of teenagers and deodorant , Max bundled Dean and Sam into a corner, his voice a sharp hiss as he declared, “You’ll never guess what I did!”

Dean raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Get a B in English?” he said dryly. 

“Ha ha,” Max replied, deadpan and unimpressed. “No, I mean to Chris .”

Max slouched back against the cool metal of the locker room wall, all he needed was a pair of black shades to complete the look.

Sam frowned, glancing between Max and Dean. “Wait,you did something without us”

“Jesus,” Max muttered, crossing his arms.

Dean snorted, leaning against a locker. “So what is this amazing thing you did, Max?”

Max opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, there was a loud crash from across the room and smoked filled the locker room.

“Max, what did you do?” Sam asked. 

Max thumbed absently at the crumpled Safe Sex and Me brochure in his hands, the words blurring as he stared at them. He sat slouched in the guidance counselor’s office, the pale walls closing in as the counselor’s question hung in the air.

“Why did you feel the need to hit out at Chris?”

To be fair, it hadn’t been ‘ hit out ’ so much as ‘ prank going slightly awry ”.  

The counselor’s voice had been calm, searching for some deeper reason, some hidden motivation buried in Max’s psyche. But it wasn’t complicated.

It was stupidly simple.

Stupider than the cheesy clipart of cartoon condoms smiling up at him from the brochure.

It had felt good.

Good to finally be bigger, stronger, more powerful than someone else.

He clenched the edge of the brochure tightly, the corners digging into his palms as the guilt churned in his gut. It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was wrong. He knew.

And of all the people he could’ve messed with, it had to be Chris .

Chris, who Buck practically treated like a nephew.

Chris, whose dad was best friends with Buck.

Max closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sharp exhale. His chest felt tight, his pulse thudding in his ears.

Buck who was now leaving work, with his best friend, to come to school. 

Buck and Tommy would never punch down to make themselves feel better.

Chapter Text

“What were you thinking?” Buck demanded, his voice sharp and unwavering , his eyes fixed on Max with an intensity that made the teenager squirm. He’d seen Buck upset before—when Max had stolen his phone and got caught—but this was different. This was worse.

Max shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Buck’s disappointment, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he avoided eye contact.

What had he been thinking?

That it would be funny?
That Dean and Sam had egged him on, their laughter ringing in his ears like a dare he couldn’t back down from?
That the fear of not fitting in had gnawed at him so badly that finding a clique—any clique—had felt like a lifeline?
That for one stupid second, it had been nice to feel powerful?

All those thoughts churned in his mind, a mess of justifications that felt flimsy and pathetic now.

But instead of saying any of it, Max hunched his shoulders and muttered, “Whatever.”

Buck’s jaw tightened, his expression shifting from anger to something that looked dangerously close to hurt. “Whatever?” he repeated, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Whatever ?”

Max clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he stared at the floor. “Yeah,” he said, louder this time, forcing defiance into his tone even though his chest felt like it was caving in.

Buck let out a sharp, frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair as he took a step back, his movements tense. “Max, I’m not mad because you pulled some stupid prank. I’m mad because you don’t seem to care that you hurt someone—someone I care about.”

Max’s head snapped up, his fists tightening. “So if you didn’t care about them, it’d be fine?” he shot back, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His voice was sharp, teetering on the edge of anger, but there was something raw beneath it.

Buck froze for a second, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Max. The weight of the silence that followed was suffocating.

“That’s not what I said,” Buck replied, his tone measured but firm. “I said I’m disappointed you don’t seem to care, I thought you were better than that.” 

Max’s head snapped up at that, his heart sinking further at the disappointment etched into Buck’s face. For a brief moment, he thought about explaining himself, about spilling everything that had led up to this.

But he didn’t.

Because saying it out loud would make it real.

So he stayed quiet, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Buck sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and hurt. “Fine,” he said finally, his tone clipped and sharp. “If that’s all you’ve got to say, then we’re done here. But don’t think for a second that I’m letting this go.”

He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to add, “You’re grounded for two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Max blurted out, his indignation breaking through his silence.

Buck turned back, his expression hard. “Want to make it four?”

Max clenched his jaw, biting back any further protests as Buck gave him one last look before walking out of the room, leaving Max to sit in the suffocating silence once again.

“How’s Eddie and Chris doing?” Tommy asked, placing his jacket over the back of a chair before leaning down to press a kiss to Buck’s temple.

Buck blinked up at him, startled from his thoughts—or lack thereof. He shut the laptop with a sigh, clearly more preoccupied than he’d let on. “Well, it wasn’t the first day back at school that Chris was hoping for, I think they were hoping for a little less locker room ambush.” 

Tommy chuckled softly, sinking onto the couch next to Buck and draping an arm around his shoulders. “Teens aye…”

Buck gave Tommy a pointed look. “Teens? This wasn't ‘ teens being teens’ , this was Max…” Buck’s voice trailed off as he sighed, the weight of the world on his boyfriends shoulders. "I'm really worried about what Eddie might say to Max, or do to him when he see's him next. Tommy, I don't know what to do."

Tommy sobered slightly, Eddie was laid back until someone hurt Chris - then it was battle stations, he could understand Buck's frustration - how do you agree with your friend that your defacto son had been an asshole while also making sure to temper his anger. “Speaking of Max? How’s he holding up?”

Buck sighed, his head falling back against Tommy’s arm. “Sulking. I grounded him for two weeks, and now he’s holed up in his room, probably plotting revenge. I don’t know what to do, Tommy. It’s like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall.”

Tommy gave Buck’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing up. “I’ll go talk to him. Maybe he just needs to vent to someone less... parental.”

As if Max saw Tommy as less parental. Max had already decided that Tommy was the bad cop in the relationship.

Buck raised an eyebrow. “Good luck. Brick wall.”

Tommy smirked as he made his way down the hall, rapping lightly on Max’s door. “Hey, Max, it’s Tommy. Can I come in?”

No answer.

He knocked again, a little louder. “Max? Are you decent?”

Still nothing.

"Hey Max, I'm coming in."

Tommy hesitated before cracking the door open just enough to peek inside. His eyes scanned the room—unmade bed, clothes scattered across the floor, the window slightly open—and his stomach dropped.

“Evan!” he called sharply, stepping into the empty room.

For Fuck Sake.

Dean spun a ball on his finger while Sam leaned casually against the post.

“Thought you would chickened out,” Dean teased as Max jogged onto the court.

Max smirked, bouncing his ball. “Please. I’m not the one who missed a free throw last time.”

Sam laughed, pushing off the post. “Oh, it’s like that, huh? Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The game started fast and rough, the boys shouting and trash-talking as they dribbled, passed, and shot. The ball clanged against the rim a few times before finally swooshing through the net, each success fueling their energy. 

Max had just scored a layup when a familiar voice cut through the air, sharp and unmistakable.

“Nice shot. Too bad it’s your last one for the night.”

Max froze mid-celebration, the basketball slipping from his hands and bouncing lazily across the court. He turned slowly, his stomach dropping.

Tommy stood at the edge of the court, arms crossed, his expression a mix of disappointment and disbelief. His shadow stretched long under the flickering lamp, making him look taller, more imposing.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance before muttering quick goodbyes and grabbing their bikes. “See you, Max,” Dean called over his shoulder as they sped off down the street, leaving Max to face the music alone.

Tommy waited until they were gone before stepping closer. “You want to explain why you’re out here playing basketball instead of being at home where you’re supposed to be?”

Max shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant, though the defiance in his voice came across forced. “Nope.” He popped the “p” with exaggerated indifference, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Really? What part of grounded didn’t you understand?”

Max scuffed his sneaker against the asphalt, avoiding Tommy’s gaze. “It’s just basketball. It’s not like I was robbing a bank.”

“That’s not the point,” Tommy said, his tone calm but firm, each word cutting through the quiet night. “You broke the rules, Max. You lied to us, snuck out, and disrespected both Buck and me. And let’s not forget what you did to Chris—that was completely out of line.”

Max’s posture stiffened, his voice edging toward a whine. “It was just a prank.”

“Was it?” Tommy asked, his voice steady as he took another step closer. “Because last I checked, pranks are supposed to be funny. Was Chris laughing?”

Max didn’t answer, his eyes darting anywhere but at Tommy. “Whatever. He can just run home to mommy and daddy,” he muttered, the bitterness in his voice sharp and cutting.

Tommy’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. He took a deep breath, clearly reining in his frustration. “Chris’s mom died in a car crash a couple of years ago,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with an edge of sorrow.

Max froze, his defiance faltering for a moment as Tommy’s words sunk in. He shifted uncomfortably, guilt flickering briefly across his face before he muttered, “I didn’t know.”

“That’s the problem, Max,” Tommy said, his tone softening just slightly but losing none of its gravity. “You didn’t know because you didn’t care enough to think about the person you were hurting. Chris is a good kid. He’s had to deal with more than most people his age ever should. And what did he do to deserve this from you?”

Max opened his mouth as if to argue but quickly shut it, his shoulders slumping as the weight of Tommy’s words settled over him. It felt stupid, didn't it, I got upset that Chris makes Buck smile while I make Buck's life difficult “I... I didn’t mean to—”

Tommy held up a hand, stopping him. “Intent doesn’t erase the impact. You need to start thinking before you act, Max. Not just about yourself, but about the people around you.”

His sister had said the same thing down the phone to him earlier. He never thought about anyone else.

Max looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “It’s a start,” he said. “But it’s not me you owe the apology to.”

Max nodded reluctantly, his hands still buried in his pockets. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good,” Tommy said, his tone softening further as he placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Now let’s go home. And just so we’re clear? Your two-week grounding? It’s starting over.”

Max had every intention of apologizing the next day. And the day after that. But apologizing in real life wasn’t like on TV—there were no scripted moments, plus endless Sam and Dean taunting about being a pussy. It was just him, left to face the awkwardness of owning up to being a total jerk.

After days of overthinking, Max finally mustered the courage. Slouching against the lockers next to Chris after Spanish class, he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “So, uh, I wanted to say sorry for that stunt the other day.”

Chris didn’t respond right away. Instead, he raised an unimpressed brow, rolled his eyes, and slammed his locker shut with deliberate force. “Great,” he said, his tone sharp. “You can tell Buck you said sorry now.”

Without waiting for a reply, Chris turned and hobbled away, leaving Max frozen in disbelief.

Seriously? Max thought. He was apologizing here! Sure, it wasn’t the most heartfelt or timely apology, but still.

He exhaled a string of silent curses as the realization hit him. Maybe Chris wasn’t going to make this easy—and maybe he deserved that.

Fuck.

As Chris huffed away, Max turned his attention to his friends, who were currently pinning some nerd against the wall. Channeling his inner Buck and Tommy for once, Max took a deep breath - he could be a good person.

“Oi, assholes, come on, leave the loser alone.”

Max succeeded in getting Sam and Dean to leave said loser alone - only it backfired as they turned their attention to him.

Max was going to have to leave school—no, scratch that, the state . In five minutes, the class bell would ring, and the hallway would be packed with students. The problem was, courtesy of Sam and Dean—his two ex -friends—he was tied to the trophy case in nothing but his underwear.

It was, objectively, a fantastic prank. If he weren’t the one on the receiving end, he might’ve given it a solid ten out of ten. The apple juice spilled at his feet to create the illusion he had pissed himself? A chef’s kiss of humiliation, really—it completed the tableau of utter disgrace.

It was funny, Max thought - not in a ‘funny haha ’ way, but in a 'funny weird' way, how some days your life could flip completely without you even realizing it.

He had panicked at first, thrashing against the bindings that kept him pinned to the case. But after what felt like an eternity of struggling, reality set in. This was his fate. Karma had decided he deserved this.

Then, as if things couldn’t get worse—because of course, they could—he heard the voice.

“Max?”

Chris. Of all people. Chris and one of his loser friends appeared at the far end of the corridor, hobbling closer like some grim judgment.

Max’s stomach twisted into knots. This was too much. Even for him.

“Do you need a hand?” Chris asked, his voice irritatingly calm.

Max felt his jaw clench as the weight of his predicament pressed down on him. Did he need a hand? Well, let’s see—he was tied to the school trophy case in his underwear, apple juice pooling around his feet to create the perfect illusion of an embarrassing accident. So, yes. A hand would be fantastic.

But he wasn’t about to ask Chris, of all people. Not when he could practically feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him. Max wasn’t going to give him that victory.

“I’m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth.

Chris exchanged a glance with his friend, both of them clearly unimpressed by Max’s bravado. They turned their attention to the clock above the case, its hands ticking closer to his social annihilation.

“It’s three minutes until the bell,” Chris pointed out, matter-of-factly.

Max swallowed hard, but his body betrayed him. His bottom lip quivered, and tears pricked at his eyes without his permission. Fuck. He was going to cry. Right here. Right now. In front of Chris.

And soon, the whole school would see him like this. Vulnerable. Ridiculous. Alone.

Max’s mind spiraled, each thought dragging him deeper into the pit of self-doubt. The conclusion felt inevitable, a cruel truth he couldn’t ignore: This was the moment Buck and Tommy would realize they were done with him. They had Chris back now—Chris, who was perfect, who didn’t cause trouble, who wasn’t a constant source of frustration and chaos.

Why would they need Max anymore? Worse, why would they want him?

No one wanted Max, not even his own family.

His chest tightened as the thought snowballed. They’d send him away, wouldn’t they? Back to child services, or maybe somewhere worse. He’d be out of sight, out of mind—a problem neatly solved.

Two minute until the bell. 

Chapter Text

While Chris was internally debating helping out Max with his predicament before the school bell rang, The firehouse was unusually tense as Hen spotted Buck furiously scrubbing the same spot on the firetruck over and over again. She raised an eyebrow and approached him. “Whoa, easy there, tiger. I think that truck’s clean enough to eat one of Cap’s lunches off.” her tone light but probing as she asked, “Penny for your thoughts Buckley?” 

Buck paused, letting out a deep sigh as he set the cloth aside and perched on the edge of the firetruck. His usual energy seemed dimmed, replaced by an expression of quiet turmoil. Parenting wasn’t easy, she knew that now more than ever. And being thrown into it with no time to prepare? That was another challenge entirely.

Teenagers were tough, even the good ones like Denny. 

“You want some advice?” Hen asked, leaning against the truck, her voice softer now. Buck glanced up at her, nodding. “Shoot, Hen.”

Hen crouched slightly, meeting his eyes. “I get it, I do, I know it’s tough. And Eddie’s your best friend, but Chris has Eddie. He’s got his dad in his corner Buck. But Max?” She tilted her head meaningfully. “Who does Max have?”

Buck bristled at the question, his shoulders tensing. “Uh, He has us. Me and Tommy,” he replied, almost defensively.

Hen held up a hand, motioning for him to take it down a notch. “Okay, fair. But does Max know that, Buck? Does he really feel it? Teens need a lot of reassurance.”

The question hung in the air, heavier than Buck expected.

The next morning, Tommy knocked on Max’s bedroom door. “Maxwell, you up?”

“Go away.” Came the terse reply. 

Tommy frowned and tried again, this time firmer. “Maxwell?”

A muffled groan came from inside. “Leave me alone, I’m not feeling well. I can’t go to school.”

Tommy opened the door anyway, revealing a lump under the blankets. Max had burrowed himself deep, clearly not eager to face the world. Tommy sighed and knelt by the bed. “Maxwell,” he said, lowering his voice, coaxing Max to peek his head out, just enough to see him.

Tommy pressed the back of his hand lightly against Max’s forehead. “Mhmm, so there's no fever. You don’t look sick. What’s going on?”

Max let out a dramatic cough, one so overdone that Tommy bit back a laugh, the teen wouldn't be winning an OSCAR anytime soon. “I’m sick,” Max mumbled, pouting as if the expression alone might convince him.

Tommy just nodded, standing and leaving Max to sulk under the covers. He headed to the kitchen, where Buck was pouring a bowl of muesli.

“Max isn’t sick enough to skip school,” Tommy announced, reaching for the coffee pot.

Buck slid the muesli toward him with a shrug, and Tommy accepted it with a small grin. “Uh, well I don’t know about that,” Buck replied, noncommittal.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, given he was the one who had witness the OSCAR worthy acting. “Huh, what do you mean?”

Buck leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I mean, something’s clearly bothering him, right?. He doesn’t skip school for no reason Tommy, what if maybe he needs a day to rest, figure things out you know, just one day.”

Tommy exhaled sharply, setting his mug down. “I get it, Buck. I do. But his education is important. If he falls behind now, it could hurt his chances later. He’s smart -he smarter than he thinks, and capable. We need to make sure he’s on track to seize every opportunity, we can't let him slack off.”

Buck tilted his head thoughtfully. “Sure... and what if what he really needs today isn’t math class but someone to talk to? Look, he’s great at basketball, guitar, reading—all that creative stuff he loves. But if his head isn’t in the right place, none of that’s going to matter.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, conflicted. “Mmm, so you think I’m being too tough on him?”

Buck grinned, sliding up to Tommy. “You think I’m being too soft on him?”

Huffing out a laugh, Tommy pressed a kiss to Buck’s lips. “I just want him to succeed.”

A little while later, Buck popped his head into Max’s room, his face lit with a mischievous grin. “ Tommy’s gone to work.”

Max groaned, not bothering to pull the blanket off his head, all he wanted was to be left in peace. “Shouldn’t you be at work too?”

“I called in,” Buck said, stepping into the room. “Someone’s got to stay home and take care of you, right?”

Max sighed, sinking deeper into the bed. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

Buck perched on the edge of the bed, undeterred. “Huh, well okay, then. How about we ditch the whole ‘sick day’ act and just call it what it is, a mental health day. It's fine,everyone needs one now and then, right? It's okay, I'm not mad.”

That got Max to peek out from under the blanket again, his interest piqued. “A mental health day?”

Buck grinned. “Yep kid. No pressure, no expectations. Just a day to breathe and relax, now what do you say to some video games and popcorn? I’m even willing to let you win a round or two.”

Max sat up a little, the corners of his mouth twitching in a hesitant smile. “You don’t even know how to play half the games I have.”

“I’m a faster learner,” Buck said with a wink. “So up, shower and meet me in the lounge.”

This was clearly a trap. “Wait, you’re not mad?” 

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. “Mad? Nah. Why would I be mad?”

Max squinted at him suspiciously, still partially hidden by the blanket. “Because I’m skipping school. Tommy would lose it.”

“Well, Tommy isn’t here, is he?” Buck said with a grin, leaning back slightly on his hands. “Besides, I’m not exactly a by-the-book kind of guy. Look, I get it. Sometimes school feels like a lot, and some days you just need a break. So, no, Max, I’m not mad.”

Max tilted his head, unconvinced. “But you’re still making me get up?”

“Of course,” Buck replied, his tone playful. “Mental health day doesn’t mean staying in bed all day like a vampire. It means doing stuff that makes you feel good. So, shower, comfy clothes, and let’s turn this day around.”

As Buck’s character spiraled off the edge of Rainbow Road for what felt like the hundredth time, he glanced sideways at Max. “So, what’s going on at school?”

Max smirked, his focus locked on the screen. “Maybe you should focus on your terrible driving instead of interrogating me.”

Buck grinned, steering his character back onto the track. “You’re more important than winning some game.”

Max sighed as his character crossed the finish line in second place, while Buck’s lagged behind in fourth. Losing to a computer-controlled player was a blow to Buck’s pride, but he barely noticed. His attention was squarely on Max.

Max hesitated before setting the controller down, his shoulders slumping. “I have no friends,” he admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. The embarrassment was instant, a hot flush creeping up his neck. He stared at the screen, wishing he could take it back.

Buck blinked, caught off guard. “Huh. Wait...what about Dean and Sam?”

Dean and Sam, who did not appreciate Max standing up to them when they were trying to pick on some stupid nerd.

Dean and Sam who had left him to be humiliated in front of the entire school.

If it wasn't for stupid perfect Chris and his loser friends then Max would never be able to show his face in LA again after Dean and Sam's little revenge 'prank' on him, and he now he owed Chris. Fucking great was what it was. Prefect lil Chris.

He shrugged, keeping his tone casual. “We fell out.”

Buck frowned, leaning back against the couch. “That’s rough. But, you know, it happens. Maybe you should reach out to them.”

Fuck no. The thought alone made Max’s stomach churn. Instead, he forced a tight-lipped smile and mumbled, “Yeah, maybe.” and hoped the conversation would stop.

Buck didn’t buy it for a second, but he didn’t press. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “You know, Max,” he started slowly, “sometimes it helps to talk to someone about this stuff. Like, a therapist.”

Max immediately stiffened, his defenses flaring up like a wall of fire. “Oh, great, so now you think I’m a nut job?” he shot back, his voice sharper than he intended.

Buck didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head and replied calmly, “Actually no, Max, not at all. Lets, uh, flip the switch for a sec, do you think I’m a nut job?”

Max blinked, caught off guard by Buck's comment. “What?”

Buck leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, I'm not ashamed to say that I talk to a therapist once a week. Hasn’t made me any less of me. Therapy isn’t about being messed up; it’s about being healthy. There’s nothing wrong or weird about it.”

Max narrowed his eyes, suspicion creeping into his voice. “So what? I go spill my guts, tell them all my secrets, and then they tell you how messed up I am? And then what? You leave?”

Buck’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt. He let Max’s words hang in the air for a moment before responding. “That’s not how it works, Max. Therapists don’t run around blabbing people’s secrets, they’re there to listen and help you figure out how to handle things. No judgment, no labels, no ‘telling me’ anything unless you want them to - and, I know it’s hard to believe, but me and Tommy aren’t going anywhere, okay Max, I promise.”

Tommy had been dating Buck for six months, and yet he had still knocked when he arrived at Buck’s loft. It was a small observation he made, while he stood in the doorway watching Eddie let himself in without hesitation in Tommy’s (and yes technically Buck’s) house, Christopher trailing behind him.

One of these days, Tommy thought, Eddie was going to walk in and catch him and Buck in the middle of something far less family-friendly.

The worst part of the thought wasn’t the embarrassment—it was knowing that it wouldn’t faze either Buck or Eddie in the slightest. They’d probably just carry on a casual conversation about whatever was the topic of the day and Tommy wasn’t sure if it would be worse if he was riding Buck or Buck was riding him.

Eddie, oblivious to Tommy’s internal spiral, gave a small wave as he grabbed a beer from Tommy’s fridge. “Chris wanted to check in on Max for some reason,” he explained casually.

Christopher beamed, walking over to Tommy with a big grin. “Tommy!”

Tommy forced his thoughts back to reality, smiling warmly at the now fourteen year old teenager in front of him. “Chris! How’s it going, bud?” The kid had grown since the last time Tommy saw him (not counting the tragically depressing Zoom video-call birthday party they had tried to throw for him.

As Chris launched into an enthusiastic explanation about his day, Tommy glanced over at Eddie, who was already making himself at home. 

“So,” Eddie asked, glancing over at Buck while kindly offering Tommy one of his own beers, “where’s Buck?”

Tommy took a swig before answering. “Out visiting Maddie.”

Chris’s gaze shifted to Tommy, his expression curious. “Where’s Max?”

“In his room,” Tommy replied, gesturing down the hallway.

Chris nodded and turned, heading toward Max’s room. The rhythmic sound of his crutches tapping against the floor followed him as he made his way down the hall.

Tommy watched him go before turning back to Eddie with a raised brow. “What is that about?”

“To be honest, I have no idea.”

Of all the people Max didn’t want to see standing in his doorway, Chris was near the top of the list. His stomach churned with a mix of guilt and irritation the moment their eyes met.

“What do you want?” Max grumbled, his tone low and unfriendly.

Chris tilted his head slightly, unfazed. “You weren’t at school today.”

“I was sick,” Max snapped, his voice sharp and defensive, as if daring Chris to question him further.

Chris just stood there, calm and steady, his silence only amplifying the storm inside Max’s head. Every second of the quiet made Max’s chest tighten.

“Do you want a thank you? Is that what you’re looking for?” Max spat, his tone far more biting than he intended, and he knew it was unfair. More than that, it was cruel. Chris had saved his reputation yesterday, which stung, because now he owed Chris something.

It would probably better than a thousands students seeing him tied up in his underwear, but that didn't make it any easier not to be a dick. He was pissed, and embarrassed and felt stupid, in front of Christopher Diaz. Chris probably never caused any issues.

Chris’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t yell or snap back like Max half-hoped he would. Instead, he just turned and walked away, the rhythmic sound of his crutches echoing down the hallway.

The moment Chris disappeared from view, Max sank back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Buck was sitting up in bed, the dim glow of his laptop screen casting soft shadows across the room. Despite the late hour, his fingers kept clicking away at the keyboard, the sound making it impossible for Tommy to relax.

Tommy shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. “Alright, I think it’s time for bed,” he said, his voice carrying a mixture of teasing and exhaustion.

Buck didn’t look up. “I told Max today that I think he should see a therapist.”

Tommy blinked, caught off guard. So much for winding down. “Okay,” he said slowly, settling back against the pillows. “Guess we’re not sleeping yet.”

“Sorry,”

“No, you’re probably right too, the kid has been through so much, and god knows he’s bottle so much up. How was your sick day by the way?” Tommy asked

Buck sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “I think it went okay. We talked a little, played some video games. But… he’s still scared, Tommy. He’s worried we’ll leave him. It breaks my heart.”

Tommy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. That kid’s carrying a lot. And there’s only one real solution, one we’ve been dancing around for too long. I suppose that’s partly on me.” He gave Buck a pointed look. “You might have noticed I’m not exactly the best at commitment.”

Buck snorted, giving him a knowing smirk. “Like when you dumped me on our six-month anniversary?”

“Yes, Evan,” Tommy said with a long-suffering sigh. “Thanks for bringing that up again.”

Buck laughed softly, but his expression grew serious. “So… what’s the plan?”

Tommy met his gaze, his voice steady. “It’s time we give Max the stability he needs. No more tiptoeing around it. We make it official. He deserves to know he’s not just a temporary part of this family.”

Buck nodded, the weight of the conversation settling in. “You’re right. He needs to know we’re not going anywhere.”

Needing a glass of water, Max padded quietly down the hallway , as he passed Buck and Tommy’s room, he heard the low murmur of voices through the closed door. He hesitated, curiosity getting the better of him.

He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but something about the tone of their conversation pulled him in. He leaned closer, pressing his ear against the door.

“Right, it’s decided,” Buck’s voice came through clearly. “Tomorrow we talk to the case manager at Child Services and get Max sorted once and for all.”

Max’s heart sank, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. Sorted? Like a problem that needed fixing? His throat felt dry, but not from thirst.

There was a quieter response from Tommy, too muffled for Max to make out even straining his teenage ears but then came a sentence that hit him like a blow.

“Finally,” Tommy said, his tone sounding almost relieved. “I can finally have some peace.”

Every worse bit of self doubt Max had was confirmed in one sentence, he really was a pain. Max backed away from the door, his chest tight and his mind racing as he stumbled towards the kitchen for the glass of water, mouth dry as their words played over and over in his head, feeding the gnawing doubt he couldn’t seem to shake. They don’t want me here. They’re just tired of dealing with me.

He climbed into bed, pulling the covers over his head, trying to block out the thoughts, but they refused to leave him alone, even with his headphones on full blast.

In Tommy’s room, as the two of them lay in bed, Tommy leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Buck’s cheek, too drained for anything more tonight. “Finally, some peace and quiet,” he murmured as Buck set his laptop aside.

Buck gave a small laugh but didn’t reply immediately. Tommy stretched out beside him, glancing over. “I’m glad we talked this through,” Tommy said, his tone quieter now. “We need to make sure Max knows this is his home, that we’re not going anywhere.”

“Exactly,” Buck agreed, his voice firm but gentle. He understood too well what it felt like to not be enough for the people who were supposed to love you. So did Tommy. Both of them had carried the scars of not belonging, and neither wanted Max to feel that same ache. They were determined to do better for him.

“Tomorrow,” Buck continued, a spark of resolution in his voice, “we make it official. No more emergency housing, no more temporary solutions. Max is ours, our legal responsibility. He deserves that stability.”

Tommy nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “They grow up so fast,” he said with a hint of teasing, though his eyes held a warmth Buck recognized.

Buck chuckled softly and shifted closer, curling into Tommy’s arms. 

“You’re up for school today?” Buck asked as Max shuffled into the kitchen.

Max nodded, avoiding Buck’s gaze. “Yeah. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to walk today. Listen to some music, clear my head before school.”

Buck smiled, ruffling Max’s hair as he passed. “Sure thing, bud. Hey, I was thinking after school we could do something. Maybe grab a burger, hang out?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Max mumbled, his tone dismissive.

Buck frowned slightly but didn’t push. “Alright. Have a good day.”

Max grabbed his backpack and headed out, his pulse pounding in his ears. As soon as he was a safe distance from the house, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled $200 cash he had swiped from Tommy’s wallet when it was left on the kitchen counter. The guilt gnawed at him, but he shoved it aside.

This wasn’t stealing, no it was plain old survival 101. He wasn’t sticking around for another day of feeling like an unwanted burden.

Goodbye, LA. Hello, Portland.

Later that morning, the Greyhound Coach crawled along the interstate, inching through the usual grind of LA traffic. Max stared out the window, the city blurring past as his mind raced. The weight of what he’d done, what he was doing, hung heavy in his chest, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on the road ahead. Portland was waiting. A fresh start. A chance to leave everything behind. Maybe he should of left a note for them, would they even care? Would they pretend to look for him for a couple of days and then celebrate? 

The bus veered onto an exit, and Max furrowed his brow. It seemed odd for an intercity coach to stop here, of all places. The bus slowed further and pulled over on the shoulder, the hiss of the brakes filling the uneasy silence.

Max sat up straighter, his pulse quickening. Something didn’t feel right, his gut told him so.

The door of the bus creaked open, and heavy boots thudded against the metal steps. A commanding voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Sergeant Athena Grant, LAPD.”

Max’s heart sank into his stomach. Oh, shit.

As Max sat in the back of Athena’s patrol car, he stared out the window, avoiding her gaze. The city blurred by, but his thoughts were sharper than ever.

“This is about the $200 I stole from Tommy, isn’t it?” he muttered. “I can pay that back.”

Probably . 

Athena glanced at him through the rearview mirror, her expression unreadable. “Max, Tommy makes about $180,000 a year flying helicopters for the LAFD, and Buck’s pulling close to $120,000 as a firefighter. I don’t think $200 is why they had us stop every bus and train leaving LA looking for you.”

Max shifted uncomfortably, her words making the knot in his stomach tighten. “Then why?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Athena’s eyes softened, but her tone remained firm. “Because of you, Max. They care about you.”

Max scoffed, folding his arms as he turned his head back toward the window. “They don’t want me.”

Athena didn’t respond immediately. She let the silence stretch just long enough for Max to feel its weight before she spoke again. “Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure doesn’t look that way. They were worried sick about you, Max. They didn’t stop until they knew you were safe.”

Max swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He wanted to believe her, but the doubt was still there, whispering in the back of his mind.

Despite the notorious LA traffic, Athena managed to make it across town to Buck and Tommy’s house far quicker than Max would have liked. As the patrol car pulled up, Max’s stomach twisted at the sight of them standing there, waiting for him. He swallowed hard, unsure of what was coming—anger, disappointment, or worse, indifference.

“This is your stop, bud,” Athena said gently.

Max hesitated, his hand lingering on the door handle. Bracing himself, he stepped out, expecting to be hit with a barrage of questions, shouting, or stern lectures. Instead, he was immediately pulled into a tight embrace, one arm strong and steady around his shoulders, the other carding gently through his hair.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay,” Buck murmured, his voice trembling slightly as he held Max close. “We were so worried. We’re so sorry.”

Max froze, the words catching him off guard. Why were they sorry? he thought, confusion replacing the fear that had gripped him moments before. Wasn’t he the one who should be apologizing?

Tommy joined the hug, his presence solid and reassuring. Max felt the lump in his throat grow harder to swallow, and for once, he didn’t fight the closeness.

Athena, standing back with her arms crossed and a knowing smile, watched the scene unfold. When the moment felt right, she spoke. “Tommy, Max mentioned something about $200 missing from your wallet this morning.”

Tommy snorted, the sound a mix between a laugh and a choke. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the cash, as long as he’s alright.”

Max blinked up at them, the tightness in his chest loosening slightly, though the weight of guilt still lingered.

“We’re so sorry that we made you feel like you couldn’t stay,” Buck said softly, still holding onto Max. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Max slumped as much as he could while being supported by Buck and Tommy, his shoulders heavy with embarrassment. It all felt so stupid and pathetic now. “I was jealous,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You guys are so close to Chris, and he just seems... perfect. Like he’s hassle-free compared to me.”

Buck knelt down, leveling his gaze with Max’s. His expression was gentle, his voice steady. “Hey, kid. No one’s perfect, and we don’t want you to be perfect—we just want you to be Max.”

Tommy nodded, “Besides, yes, of course we like Chris - but you’re our priority. You’re our number one.”

Max opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He’d caused so many issues for them in a month than he had caused his family in 14 years, but yet Buck and Tommy were still there - in fact they weren't just there, they had actively gone out of their way to be there.

Buck reached into his pocket and handed Max a piece of paper, official-looking with bold text across the top. “You’re not an emergency placement anymore,” Buck said with a small, proud smile. “You’re officially in our care, no take-backs.”

Now, what Buck didn't say was that it wasn’t entirely true yet; there was still a mountain of red tape to navigate, but Max didn’t need to know that. What mattered was the message: Buck and Tommy wanted him to stay.

The silence was broken by Buck’s grin as he ruffled Max’s hair. “Alright, how about burgers? We could all use a break.”

Max stared at him, incredulous. “I thought I was grounded?”

Tommy chuckled, slinging an arm around Max’s shoulders. “Consider your sentence commuted.”

Buck raised an eyebrow and feigned a frown before smirking. “You know, between this and sneaking out to the basketball court, I think you spent more time at home when you weren’t grounded.”

Max let out a laugh, small but genuine as warmth spread through his chest. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he truly belonged. Finally.

Chapter Text

“Daddy…”

Tommy glanced up from the sink, water dripping off his hands, to find Buck leaning in the doorway, his expression pure mischief with a naughty tinkle in his eyes as he walked slowly and seductively into the room. “I think I’ve been a bad, bad...”

The problem was, Buck’s suggestive tone was quickly cut short by a pillow flying through the air, hitting him squarely in the face. Basketball training had come in handy after all. 

“Oh my god, gross ! I’m still here!” Max groaned from the couch, sprawled out with his phone, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Get a room."

Oh right… Hadn’t Max announced like half an hour ago he was going to bed? and here he was, still on the couch. 

Buck, undeterred, snatched up the pillow with theatrical flair and lobbed it right back at Max, who yelped and ducked under his blanket.

Tommy sighed, turning back to the dishes. He should step in, he was the adult, after all, and this was his house. But honestly, the sight of another pillow flying through the air reminded him just how far his once meticulously organized life had fallen into playful chaos. Where once a lonely man had lived an organized and tidy, if solitary life had been replaced by a world where noise and mess reigned supreme.

He did enjoy it, if he was honest. 

“Boys,” he said finally, lumping Buck and Max into the same category without hesitation.

“He started it!” Buck complained just like a child, pointing toward Max, who looked utterly offended.

“Excuse me,” Max shot back, “You’re the one trying to get lucky while I’m watching YouTube, I am not the villain here, I am the victim.”

Tommy arched an eyebrow, glancing at Max. Personally, he couldn’t wrap his head around the appeal of watching other people play video games, but apparently, it was a whole thing, given the flood of “influencers” Max followed. Still, he supposed it was better than some of the other questionable videos he suspected Max might stumble across - or not so innocently stumble across, Max after all, was not an innocent teenager, not by a long shot. Tommy had seen the internet history.

“Hmm, well, how about you go to your room, Max, it is late and you can watch your YouTube or whatever in there.” Tommy suggested smoothly, aiming for a compromise as he shot a knowing look toward Buck.

Max groaned dramatically, gathering his phone, headphones, cords, and blanket before stomping toward the hallway. “Fine. But absolutely no gross stuff in any common areas,” he demanded, pointing a finger at both of them before slamming his door shut behind him.

Leaving another hoody dumped on his fancy IKEA chair.

Tommy shook his head, muttering, “I miss the days when everything stayed exactly where I left it.”

Buck smirked ignoring his comment, sidling closer. “Did you hear that? We’ve been officially banned from having fun on the counter.” he teased playfully, deliberately looking seductive. 

Tommy gave him a dry look before stepping closer, his hand fisting the front of Buck’s shirt. “Mmm, and do you remember how we met?”

“Stealing an LAFD truck to go on an unsanctioned mission to rescue a cruise ship?” Buck said, grinning.

“I meant,” Tommy murmured, pulling him into a kiss, “breaking the rules.”

Which is how Buck ended up on the kitchen counter less than fifteen minutes later with his legs in the air as Tommy ate him out slowly, teasing his hole with his tongue. Tommy worshipped Buck's most intimate place with his tongue, circling and prodding his tight pink hole, lapping up the musky scent of his arousal. Buck moaned and writhed beneath him, hands fisting in Tommy's hair. "Fuck, that feels good," he panted.

Tommy slipped his tongue inside Buck's tight pink entrance, plunging deep as he tongue-fucked him open. He slid two fingers in alongside his tongue, pumping them in and out of Buck's clenching hole. Buck let out a low, throaty groan, back arching off the counter. "Gonna make me cum just from that," he warned breathlessly.

Tommy chuckled as he slowly withdrew his tongue and fingers, admiring how Buck's hole was shiny and slick, puffy and stretched open. He grabbed the abandoned bottle of lube next to them, squirting some on his fingers, using it to lube his thick cock. Buck whimpered needily as he watched Tommy stroke himself, lining up the blunt head of his dick with his greedy hole.

“Are you going to be a good boy daddy, Evan?”

Buck whined, bucking his hips. 

“I asked you a question,” Tommy said firmly, his tone steady as he ignored his pushy, horny boyfriend. His piercing gaze locked onto his, unyielding. “I expect an answer.”

Buck squirmed slightly, his confidence faltering under the weight of Tommy’s gaze as he realised Tommy really would hold off fucking him until he behaved. “Yessss…” he hissed out, drawing the word out.

Tommy arched a brow, his expression unwavering. “Yes, what , Evan?” he pressed, his voice low and commanding, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Buck swallowed hard, his usual bravado crumbling. “Yes, Daddy,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A satisfied smile flickered across Tommy’s face as he leaned back, his dominance firmly established. “That’s more like it,” he said softly, his tone carrying a mixture of amusement, arousal and approval - all the important 'A' words..

With agonizing slowness, Tommy pushed inside that tight, wet heat inch by inch. Buck let out a long, shuddery moan as he was split open on Tommy's substantial girth, so big he felt impaled on it. "So fucking full," Buck mewled, hole clenching and fluttering around Tommy's cock.

Tommy bottomed out, balls nestling against Buck's ass, large hands gripping his spread thighs. He sealed his mouth over Buck's in a filthy kiss, tongue delving in to taste himself on Buck's lips. Buck sucked on it eagerly, hips rolling to take Tommy impossibly deeper.

They moved together, undulating in a sinuous rhythm as the counter creaked beneath them. The obscene slap of skin-on skin echoed through the kitchen as Tommy started to really fuck into Buck, giving it to him hard and deep just how he needed. Buck scrabbled at Tommy's back, blunt nails digging in, as he was pounded within an inch of his life.

"Harder," Buck keened, eyes rolling back. "Fucking wreck me." Tommy growled and complied, hips snapping faster, drilling into Buck's prostate with laser focus. Buck came with a ragged shout, cum spurting between their sweat-slicked bodies, untouched cock pulsing.

The rhythmic squeeze of Buck's pulsing hole milking his cock was too much for him to handle. "Fuck, gonna cum," Tommy grunted, bottoming out one last time as he emptied his load deep inside Buck with a drawn out groan, painting his insides with a sticky white fluid. He collapsed onto Buck's heaving chest, both of them gasping for air in the aftermath of their passionate love making.

Fucking Buck was privilege and Tommy loved it. 

“Right,” Tommy said as he recovered, “You have a mess to clean up, I’ll see you to the bedroom.” and with that he kissed Buck deeply, slapped his bare, cum leaking ass for good luck and headed to bed. 

Max grabbed a bowl of cereal the next morning , his movements clearly annoyed, and shot a glare at Tommy complete with a classic teenage scowl etched on his young face, who was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying his morning coffee like nothing had happened.

“What’s the matter, Max?” Tommy asked.

Max set the cereal box down with more force than necessary, his eyes narrowing. “Is anywhere in this kitchen safe to eat? Anywhere” he snapped. "Anywhere at all?

Tommy felt his face heat slightly, his composure slipping just enough to make him glance away. “Don’t worry,” he said, attempting to sound reassuring. “Evan cleaned everything up last night.”

Max didn’t look reassured. In fact, his unimpressed expression deepened as he slowly placed his bowl on the counter. “Let me be clear - You owe me new headphones,” he said flatly.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, frowning. “And what’s wrong with your current headphones?”

“They’re not noise-canceling,” Max replied, his voice dripping with deadpan annoyance.

Tommy blinked. Once. Twice. Then it hit him like a brick. 

Oh.

His face burned hotter as he glanced down at his coffee, suddenly finding it very interesting. “Right. I’ll, uh, get on that,” he mumbled.

Max gave him one last pointed look before reluctantly starting on his cereal. “Yeah, you do that,” he muttered, clearly still irritated. "And... I want the good ones, not the cheap shitty ones or else you're gonna have to dish out more cash for my therapy because." He pointed a finger at Tommy, "I never, ever wanna hear that again."

The spoon crashed into Max's bowl as he muttered under his breath, "Gross." 

“You should stay,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual , though his voice faltered ever so slightly. He didn’t look up at Buck, his heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to escape. There was so much more he wanted to say, well actually needed to say but the words stuck, tangled in his throat. Years of being everyone's second chance, their first time learning curve, had eroded his confidence, leaving him with only a brittle facade to hide behind.

Buck glanced up from the laptop where he was browsing noise-canceling headphones for Max, his brow furrowing slightly. “Huh, I am staying?” he replied, his tone laced with confusion.

Tommy’s breath hitched, his chest tightening. He nodded, a jerky motion that felt as awkward as the moment. Buck’s puzzled expression lingered for a second before he bit his bottom lip and returned his attention to the screen. Tommy watched the gesture, the moment seemingly lost.

Everything had coming crashing down when Buck first asked him to move in with him. Now, Tommy was worried he was risking a repeat by asking Buck to move in with him. 

“I meant…” Tommy blurted out, then clamped his mouth shut, willing himself to calm down. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I mean, you should stay .”

Buck’s head snapped back up, his expression now laced with genuine confusion. “I can’t,” he said slowly, his voice careful, as if he were navigating unfamiliar terrain. “I mean, I’d love to.”

Tommy’s pulse raced, bracing for the excuse, for the inevitable pullback.

“But I have a shift in a couple of hours,” Buck continued, his tone as casual as if they were talking about the weather. “And I don’t have another day off until Sunday, and you’re on shift then, too.”

Tommy’s heart sank. Buck wasn’t understanding. He didn’t get what Tommy was trying to say, So Tommy forced himself to speak again, even as the words felt like they were tearing something loose inside him. “I mean… you should see if you could, you know, break your lease. On your loft.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to still.

“And move in here, like permanently.” With me and Max. Our own little made family of rejects, Tommy added silently with his eyes.

Buck froze. His fingers stopped tapping at the keys, his posture stiffened, and his eyes locked onto Tommy, wide and blank. It was as if time had slowed, the unspoken tension between them thick and suffocating.

“Tommy…” Buck started, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Tommy’s hands clenched into fists on his lap, his stomach twisting. He hated how vulnerable he felt, how exposed. “Forget it,” he muttered quickly, trying to backpedal. “It’s stupid. Just... just forget I said anything, it's uh fine.” 

The only problem with doing this at home meant there was no place to run.

“No.” Buck’s voice was firm, cutting through the space between them like a blade. He pushed the laptop aside, leaning forward. “No, it’s not stupid. I just…” He hesitated, his expression conflicted. “Tommy, my loft... it’s not just a place, not to me. It’s—it’s me. It’s my space, and I know that sounds selfish, but it’s the one place that’s mine, where I can breathe, where I don’t feel like I’m… failing everyone.”

Tommy’s chest ached at the words. “You’re not failing anyone, Evan. Least of all me, or Max. You are exactly what we need.”

Buck’s laugh was short and bitter. “Tell that to everyone who’s had to pick up the pieces when I’ve screwed up. My family, my team…” His voice cracked. “You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to keep running back to a safety net whenever life gets hard.”

Tommy leaned forward, his voice trembling. “And what about me? What if I don’t want ‘more,’ or whatever you think 'better' is, Evan? What if I just want you? Because every time you go back to that loft, it feels like you’re pulling away like you’re saying I’m not enough, that we aren't enough.”

Buck’s face softened, but the pain in his eyes was undeniable. “That's not fair, you know that’s not what I’m saying. That’s not what I want. ” He hesitated, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “But I need it, Tommy. I need to know there’s somewhere I can go. Somewhere I can just… exist. A safe place, my place.”

Tommy nodded slowly, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “Your safe place should be here.” He argued, trying not to sound unreasonable or like an asshole. 

Buck looked away, his shoulders tense. “I should… I should probably get ready for my shift,” he said abruptly, his voice tight. “I don’t want to be late.”

Tommy frowned, his brows furrowing. “I thought it was in a couple of hours?”

Buck hesitated, his hands fidgeting. “Yeah, but… I could use the extra time. Just to… you know, clear my head.”

Tommy nodded, though the ache in his chest deepened. He could feel Buck retreating, slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts to hold on. “Right. Of course.”

Buck stood, avoiding Tommy’s gaze as he grabbed his jacket. For a moment, he lingered near the door, as if he wanted to say something more. But the words never came. Instead, he gave a tight, forced smile. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Tommy forced a smile in return, even as his heart felt like it was breaking. “Yeah. See you later.”

The door clicked shut behind Buck, and the silence that followed was deafening. 

There may, or may not have been an S.O.S text from Tommy which led to Eddie also arriving at the 118 a couple of hours before their shift. “Why are you at work two hours early, Buck?” Eddie asked as he walked into the gym at the 118, his brow furrowed in curiosity. He sat down on the bench next to Buck just as Ravi stepped in to re-rack the weights Buck had been benching.

“Oi, Ravi, did I say we were done?” Buck snapped, irritation flashing in his tone.

Ravi, unfazed, simply ignored him, glancing at Eddie instead. Eddie gave him a reassuring smile and a small wave, silently dismissing him.

Once Ravi was out of earshot, Eddie turned his attention back to Buck. “What’s going on, Buck?” he asked, his tone softer now, full of concern for his bisexual disaster of a best friend.

Buck sighed, letting the tension in his arms ease as he sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Tommy asked me to move in with him,” he admitted, his voice low.

Eddie tilted his head, his expression skeptical but curious. “Haven’t you practically done that already? You’re there all the time. That’s where Max is, doesn’t it make sense?”

Buck shook his head, his fingers gripping the edge of the bench. “No, Eddie. He asked me to break my lease on the loft.”

Eddie just stared down at him for a moment, taking in the weight of those words. “Oh,” Eddie said dumbly, "Right, well, that's big."

While Buck was having a heart to heart with Eddie, Tommy was having a similar discussion with Lucy. “You finally asked Buck to move in,” Lucy said as they walked through the hangar at Harbor Station, her tone far too delighted for Tommy’s liking. She smirked, clearly enjoying herself.

Tommy sighed heavily, leaning against one of the helicopters. “Yeah, well, it didn’t exactly go to plan.”

“Buck spiraled?” Lucy asked, her amusement fading slightly as her tone softened.

Tommy frowned at her. “How did you know?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Tommy. Buck’s not a mystery. The guy wears his heart and his issues on his sleeve. You pushed his comfort zone—of course he panicked.”

Tommy groaned, rubbing his face. “It wasn’t just panic. It was like I broke something in him. He froze, and then all he could talk about was how he’d disappoint me, how I’d regret asking him to stay.”

Lucy sighed, sitting across from him. “Tommy, Buck’s been through hell. And sure, half of it is probably his fault, don’t say that to Eddie through, but it’s left him thinking he’s not worth it. Asking him to move in? That’s huge for him—too huge when he’s still terrified of screwing it up. Doesn’t help that last time things got hard, you ended it.”

Tommy winced, guilt gnawing at him. “I know. But I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, trying to show him he’s enough while wondering if I’m enough for him. He’s scared of being left behind, but so am I.”

Lucy’s gaze softened. “You can’t fix Buck overnight—or maybe ever. But you can love him through it. The question is, can you keep doing that, even if it doesn’t get better?”

Tommy looked at her, desperation etched on his face. “What if loving him isn’t enough? What if he never believes I’m enough for him to stay?”

Lucy sighed, shaking her head. “Then decide if being here is enough for you. But, Tommy, Buck’s not going anywhere. So stop moping and figure it out.”

At school, Max slid into his chair at the back of the classroom, his movements heavy with frustration. He kept his gaze fixed on the scratched desk in front of him, resolutely ignoring Dean and Sam, who were seated beside him. They were muttering to each other, half-heartedly scribbling in the corners of their textbooks, but Max didn’t care. The sting of their earlier fallout still burned, their once-easy camaraderie replaced by a tense, awkward silence.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the teacher's droning voice at the front of the room. But the words blurred together, drowned out by his own thoughts. 

Max reached for a piece of paper, pulling it from his notebook with more force than necessary. He folded it mindlessly, his hands working on autopilot as his mind spun in circles. The edges of the paper creased sharply, his frustration manifesting in the precision of each fold. Soon, the paper had taken the shape of a plane, its pointed nose a tiny outlet for his pent-up emotions.

Without thinking too much about it, Max flicked his wrist and launched the plane across the classroom. It sailed through the air in a smooth arc before landing squarely on Chris’s desk. Chris blinked, startled, then turned to look at Max.

Max gave him a sheepish grin and shrugged.

Chapter Text

Communication is the foundation of every relationship, yet it’s astonishing how often it goes awry. Studies show that up to 20-30% of face-to-face interactions are misinterpreted, and the margin for error increases to 50% in written forms like texts or emails, where there are no social or visual cues to help people understand.

The ability to communicate clearly and effectively isn’t just a skill, no, it’s essential for avoiding unnecessary conflict, resolving tension, and ensuring that meaningful connections aren’t lost in translation.

Which clearly is a skill that Buck, Tommy and Max are still working on. 

As Lucy and Tommy strolled through the hangar, their steps slowed when they overheard a pair of fellow pilots chatting loudly. The casual banter quickly turned cutting.

“Did you hear? Kinard’s back with that walking disaster from Station 118, The one that's always in hospital or the news,” one pilot sneered.

“Yeah, what’s his name again? Something ridiculous… Buck, right?” the other added with a derisive laugh.

“My advice? Fuck Buck, then get the fuck out.”

The two of them then broke down in laughter. 

Tommy felt the heat rising in his chest, his fists clenching involuntarily. He was already ready to step in and say something to defend Buck, but the conversation took an even uglier turn.

“And don’t forget that stray he’s dragged in,” the first pilot said, as Tommy stilled, there was no way they could be talking about Max.

“Wait, wait, wait.” The other pilot said, as Tommy and Lucy listened to a rustling noise of the pilot fishing something (his wallet) out of his pocket, before pulling out a five dollar bill and waving it around in the air. “I have $5, do you think if I throw it at him, he’ll take his clothes off for me?”

Tommy was going to deck him.

“And give you change!” The other burst out laughing.

Tommy’s vision narrowed. He barely registered Lucy’s hand gripping his shoulder as he saw red.

“Tommy,” she said in a low, measured voice.

“You’re not stopping me,” he growled through clenched teeth, there was no stopping him. It was one thing, as unacceptable as that was, to bad mouth Buck - but at least Buck was an adult. To bad mouth a teenager, who practically a kid, who had suffered so much already? No. Tommy was going to show them his Muay Thai skills. 

“Stopping you?” Lucy’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “Hell no. They’re going down, Kinard, I'm gonna help you.”

“Guys.” Tommy said, voice cutting through the banter as he came around the helicopter. "How are we going this morning?"

“Kinard, ah, didn’t see you there.” The first pilot said, kicking his buddy sharply.

“No worries, just doing some last-minute engine checks. You know how it is, always something with these machines.”

“Of course,” the other pilot replied casually.

Tommy’s expression remained calm, but his voice took on an edge as he shifted the conversation.

“Hey, now what was that joke you made earlier about the teen I’m looking after? Sounded pretty funny. Care to share?”

The pilot stiffened, caught off guard at being called out. “Uh, come on, Kinard, you know I didn’t mean...”

“No, come on,” Tommy pressed, his tone deceptively light as he rocked on his heels. “I mean, you thought it was hilarious before, right? Let’s hear it again. What was it?”

The pilot squirmed, looking to his companion for backup. “Look, man, it’s just… people talk. Everyone knows he, you know…”

“So naturally, people wonder if he still would.” His companion back him up.

“For five dollars?” he added, his tone like ice as he began stalking forward, his eyes fixed on the offending pilot.  “For gods sake, He’s fifteen, Toby, do you think it’s appropriate to talk about a fifteen-year-old child like that.-” 

Toby cut in before Tommy could continue, with a eye roll and scoff “- Jesus, Kinard, stop being so damn moody - it’s not our fault that the teen you took in off the streets is a stupid slut with no morals, and yes, if you really want to know, I bet he would blow me for five dollars.”

“And we’d even send you the video,” one of the pilots said with a smug grin.

Tommy’s jaw tightened, his fists itching to throw a punch, but he held back. Instead, with a calm, calculated motion, he snapped his fingers.

From behind the helicopter, Lucy stepped out like clockwork, her phone steady in her hands as she smiled at the pilots. With a casual flourish, she tapped the stop recording button, the familiar “duh-dink” sound echoing through the hangar. "Oh boys, boys,boys." She tsked.

The two pilots froze, their smug expressions dissolving into wide-eyed panic as they looked from Tommy to Lucy, then to the phone in her hand.

If Tommy happened to punch Toby and Blair, then that was just a case of him having his cake and eating it too.

But Tommy’s fears for Max wasn’t limited to inappropriate jokes from fellow firefighters, as Max left class, Chris bumped into him.

“Why did you throw a paper plane at me during class?” Chris asked as Max leaned against a locker with an air of casual defiance, shrugging. “I was bored.” as if that was a suitable answer - and to be fair, to Dean and Sam it would of been. 

Chris crossed his arms, his expression stern. “You should’ve been paying attention to the teacher.”

Max rolled his eyes dramatically, pushing off the locker. “Yeah, because quadratic equations are soooo thrilling,” he replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Chris sighed, shaking his head as he shut his locker. Before he could respond, Max glanced down at his phone, his expression shifting. His cocky grin drained from his face, leaving him looking pale.

“Max…?” Chris asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“What?” Max snapped, his tone sharper than he intended as he quickly looked up from his phone.

Chris frowned, studying him closely. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Max replied, slinking off.

Disappearing into the toilets, Max pulled his phone out of his pocket again with trembling fingers as he opened the snapchat message.

Daddybear: Maxwell, if you don’t want all your classmates seeing those photos of you I suggest you don’t keep me waiting.

Max collapsed against the bathroom stall wall staring at the phone screen - how could he escape this mess he had caused for himself.

Later on that same day, Daddybear stood in the shadows at the mall careful to wear a hoody and cap, standing out of view of the cameras as he watched Max arrive at the food-court.

What a good boy.

It had been easy, first you lull them into a sense of friendship before you pounce, helped by the fact that Max was no where near as smart as he thought he was, with his snapchat map updating his location, helping Daddybear work out what school he went to. Teenagers were so dumb.  

He texted Max: Good boy. I’m the man in the red jumper and black cap in the corner. Come over here. Act casual.

From his spot, he watched as Max checked his phone, his expression flickering with uncertainty. A moment later, his own phone buzzed with a reply.

Max: I can’t.

Daddybear squinted at his phone, confusion clouding his face. “What the fuck, you little…” he began muttering under his breath. But his words trailed off as he noticed a tall, six-foot-two man with a pink birthmark above his eye standing ominously close.

“Waiting for someone?” the man asked, his tone calm but menacing.

Daddybear’s instincts kicked in, and he turned to run, only to find his path blocked by another man, this one standing firm with crossed arms.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” the first man, a dirty blonde, said to his partner

“Like what?” His dark hair partner said, glaring at Daddybear.

“Like this,” the blonde replied smoothly before landing a solid punch that sent Daddybear sprawling to the ground, hand shielding his face.

Before Daddybear could even think of retaliating, the wail of sirens filled the air. Moments later, LAPD officers swarmed in, slapping cuffs on him and dragging him off as the two men stood back, watching silently.

"You’ve turned off the Snap Map or whatever it’s called, right?” Buck asked, his tone gentle but firm.

Max nodded dutifully. “Yeah, it’s off.”

“Good kid,” Buck said with a warm smile, pulling Max into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you for telling us. Remember, no matter what happens or what you’re dealing with, we’re always here for you. You just have to let us know, okay?”

Max nodded against Buck’s shoulder, his voice quiet but steady. “Okay.”

Later that night, at Tommy’s place, Buck sat on the couch, clearly restless. His leg bounced nervously, and he kept fiddling with the hem of his shirt—a sight that didn’t surprise Tommy in the slightest.

“Evan, want a green tea?” Tommy offered as he leaned against the kitchen doorway.

“I’m fine,” Buck replied quickly, though his fidgeting told a different story.

Tommy walked over, sitting beside him. “Max is okay,” he said gently.

“I know,” Buck sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Thank God he felt safe enough to open up to us. Imagine if he didn’t?”

“Exactly,” Tommy agreed, his voice steady. “Just goes to show how important open communication is, and not being afraid to talk, even about difficult things.”

Buck let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “If Max could hear you right now, he’d...”

“Call me a self-help book,” Tommy interrupted, grinning.

Talking about talking:

“Maybe we should, uh… you know, find our own place,” Buck suggested softly, his voice tentative.

Tommy tilted his head, eyebrows drawing together. “I do have a place. This place. The place I asked you to move into,” he said, his tone laced with confusion. Buck’s signature pout appeared complete with puppy dog blue eyes, and Tommy felt his resolve weaken—it was so unfair when Buck did that.

“I know,” Buck said, exhaling deeply. “And maybe that’s the issue, Tommy. I don’t want to move into this house.”

Tommy blinked, taken aback. “You don’t?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, and his gaze fell to the floor as the words sank in.

“No,” Buck confirmed, gently but firmly. “This isn’t our house. It’s your house. It feels like I’m just fitting into a space that’s already yours.”

Tommy’s shoulders relaxed slightly as realization dawned. He lifted his head, his expression softening as he met Buck’s eyes. “You’re right, Evan,” he said after a moment. “We need something that’s ours. A place we build together, from scratch. A house we can really call home.”

Buck’s pout shifted into a small, hopeful smile that seemed to ease the weight on Tommy’s weary heart. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tommy replied, his grin soft and genuine. He reached over, taking Buck’s hand in his, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Let’s do it. Let’s find a place that’s just ours, only ours.”

Buck hesitated, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Actually, there’s something else I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” Tommy arched a brow, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

“Uh, well, I broke the lease on my loft today,” Buck admitted, his smile turning playful. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Tommy.”

"I'm never stuck with you, Evan, you belong here with me."

A few weeks later, amidst the chaos of house hunting and fighting fires, Buck found himself sitting in the stands of Max’s high school gym. The energy in the air was electric as the final minutes of Max’s first basketball game ticked down on the scoreboard.

Buck had never been one for sports - that was Tommy and Eddie’s area of specialty - but this was important to Max, and he had to admit, the atmosphere was amazing as the crowd chanted.

The rustle of movement beside him drew Buck’s attention, and he turned to see Tommy sliding into the seat, still clad in his firefighter gear, the faint smell of smoke clinging to him.

His man.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tommy said, slightly out of breath. “The fire refused to die.”

“Neither does our love” Buck replied, pulling him in for a much more chaste kiss than at the hospital. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Tommy leaned forward, eyes scanning the court. “What’s the score?”

“It’s a draw,” Buck replied, his voice tense with excitement as the players sprinted across the court.

It all came down to this as Max caught the ball, The score was tied, and every eye was on Max as he caught the ball at the top of the key.

With quick thinking, he faked a pass to his teammate, sending the defender stumbling in the wrong direction. The path was clear, and this was his moment.

All those hours practicing on the basketball court with Tommy flashed through his mind. The drills, the encouragement, the endless shots until his arms ached—it all came down to this.

Max took the shot. The ball arced high through the air, the crowd holding its collective breath.

For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in. Did I calculate the angle wrong?

The ball seemed to hang in slow motion as it neared the hoop, brushing the edge of the rim before dropping cleanly through the net with a satisfying swish.

Yes!

The gym erupted in cheers as the buzzer sounded, signaling victory. Max stood frozen for a second, the roar of the crowd washing over him before his teammates rushed in, lifting him off his feet in celebration.

From the stands, Buck shot to his feet, pumping his fist in the air, while Tommy let out a triumphant yell, clapping so hard his palms stung.

Max’s eyes found them in the crowd, and for a moment pictured his family before pushing the thought down, focusing on the fact that both Buck and Tommy where there, for him.

The next day, Buck sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a never-ending pile of house flyers, his frustration mounting with every page. Tommy leaned against the counter, letting out a sigh that mirrored Buck’s feelings. The task of finding the perfect house was starting to feel impossible.

Just then, Max strolled in with a confident swagger, a folded pamphlet in hand. Without ceremony, he tossed it onto the table in front of them. “This is it. This place is perfect .”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, exchanging a skeptical glance with Buck, who was idly spinning a toy car between his fingers. “And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Tommy asked.

Max clasped his hands together, his expression smug as he prepared to deliver his pitch. “Well, let me enlighten you. First off, it’s close to school and the 118. Oh, and Eddie’s nearby too, which is apparently super important to both of you for reasons I’m not going to ask about.” He paused dramatically, grinning. “Anyway, it’s got a double garage built into the house, perfect for your Muay Thai, and a separate double garage for your cars. That means a nice big driveway where I can play basketball. And the master bedroom is at the opposite end of the house from the other bedrooms, so I don’t have to hear you two doing… whatever. Plus, I can play my guitar as loud as I want. Need I go on?”

Tommy smirked, nodding. “Well, that’s certainly an impressive list.”

Max wasn’t done. “It’s got three bedrooms, so you can have guests over. The backyard is big enough for parties but not so big that I’ll spend my weekends mowing it. And the bathroom? Amazing. Like, I could actually enjoy taking a shower in there, and have you seen the mirrors?.”

Buck leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in surrender. “He’s sold me. I’m getting tired of looking at all these brochures anyway.”

Tommy shot him a pointed look, his tone laced with mock seriousness. “Now, Evan, let’s not lie to the kid. We both know you’ve secretly been enjoying this whole process.”

Max rolled his eyes, grinning. “Whatever, as long as you two agree this is the one.”

A few days later, the doorbell rang. Buck glanced at his watch; the realtor was due any minute to take photos of Tommy’s house before it went on the market. He strode to the door, expecting to see a polished, clipboard-carrying professional.

Instead, an older man stood there, his posture rigid, his expression a mix of stern disapproval and faint impatience. He looked like every stereotype of a grumpy old man rolled into one—complete with a furrowed brow and an aura that screamed, I am a sour old bastard.

Buck blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh, hi. Can I help you?”

The man’s gaze sharpened as he cleared his throat. “I’m Thomas Senior. Tommy’s father.”

Chapter Text

A couple of days later, Buck found himself in Maddie’s backyard, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass. Maddie settled into the chair opposite him, her expression carefully neutral as she folded her hands on the table.

“So,” Maddie began, breaking the silence.

“Soooooo,” Buck echoed, dragging the word out.

“Tommy’s father?” she ventured, her tone cautious but probing.

“Yep,” Buck replied curtly, leaning back in his chair. His answer was clipped, offering no room for elaboration.

Maddie sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. This was going to be a fun lunch date.

Meanwhile, in class, Max scribbled absentmindedly across his notebook as the teacher droned on in the background. His mind was elsewhere—focused on the fact that no one, for some reason, had let him meet Tommy’s father.

Tommy kept dodging the topic, brushing him off with excuses about being too busy or some other vague reasoning.

Unbeknownst to Max, the real reason was far more complicated. Tommy’s father had been cold and distant, treating his son with a level of disdain so profound it drove adult Tommy to join the Army and, eventually, flee to Los Angeles to become a firefighter.

Given Thomas Senior's less than stellar comments on the doorstep, Tommy wanted to keep Max as far away from the grumpy old bastard as possible. 

However that meant that Max was left to fill in the gaps himself, which was hardly ideal for a fifteen-year-old already struggling with self-esteem issues.

It wasn’t all bad news though, shuffling through the masses in the high school corridor, halfway to his next class  when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder.

Spinning around to see who has tapped him, he froze on the spot.

There was a slight possibility he was dead meat.

Standing before him was the Axel Hayes, the school’s most notorious bad boy. A junior with a reputation as untouchable as it was infamous, last Max heard he had been suspended for lighting a fire in the bathroom.

Dressed in a leather jacket over a graphic tee, ripped jeans, and sneakers that somehow looked worn yet expensive, Axel radiated effortless cool, the sort that said I know I’m cool without being cringe.

Fuck Was Max's outfit cool without being too cool?

Axel tilted his head, his piercing blue eyes sizing Max up with casual curiosity. “Yo,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, “you’re that Max kid, huh? The one who scored the winning goal for the basketball team, right?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “That was… me.”

Great Max - way to look cool in front of Axel.

Axel smirked, pulling a vape pen from his jacket pocket. He took a quick puff, exhaling a cloud of sweet-smelling vapor that made Max’s stomach flip—not from the smoke but from the intensity of Axel’s gaze.

Also, smoking was banned on school grounds.

Wait Max - Do not say that - whatever you do, do not tell the coolest guy at school that what he did was against the rules.

“Not bad, freshman,” Axel said, his smirk widening into a grin.

Max shifted on his feet, heat creeping up his neck. “Thanks, I guess.”

“‘Thanks, I guess,’” Axel mocked lightly, chuckling as he leaned against the locker beside Max. “Mannnnn, you’re nervous as hell, aren’t you? Relax, I don’t bite.” He paused, letting the silence hang just long enough to make Max squirm. “Unless you’re into that.”

Max’s brain short-circuited.

Axel let out another laugh, shaking his head as he reached out and ruffled Max’s hair, much to the freshman’s indignation. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

With that, Axel turned and strolled down the hallway, ignoring the bell that signaled the start of the next class. He popped his vape pen back into his mouth as he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Max standing there, wide-eyed and dazed.

Also, Max was going to have to visit the little boys room before the next class as he moved his text book lower to cover the tent in his pants.

The class looked at him as he busted through the doors a solid ten minutes late , “Mr. Walters, you are late,” the teacher, a stern-looking woman with sharp glasses and an even sharper tone, said without looking up from her attendance sheet

“Sorry Miss”

“Take a seat,” she instructed curtly, her eyes now fixed on him like a hawk.

Relieved to escape her attention, Max instinctively made his way to the back, toward the safety of obscurity. But just as he reached the coveted corner seat, her voice rang out again.

“Take a seat— there, right in the front. And try not to disrupt the class any further,” she said, pointing to the empty desk directly in front of her.

Max froze. “Miss, I usually sit at the back…” he protested weakly, his voice trailing off under her steely glare.

“Oh, you usually sit at the back?” she repeated, her tone sweet with mock indulgence, eyebrows lifting in exaggerated surprise. “Well, Mr. Walters, forgive me for not knowing. By all means, head to the back—”

It had to be a trap.

“Really?”

“No. Not really. Front and center, now. Unless you’d prefer a nice chat with the principal about why you’re late?”

It was a trap.

The class tittered quietly, and Max’s ears burned as he trudged to the front of the room, shoulders hunched. He could feel every pair of eyes following him as he slumped into the seat, sinking as low as possible in the chair.

‘Warm and inviting’ were not words Tommy would ever use to describe his father . They sat at the bar, each nursing a glass of whiskey. The air between them was heavy, the hum of the game on the TV and the chatter of patrons doing little to ease the tension.

“I hope you don’t feel too out of place, son,” his father said, the word son tacked on like an afterthought. Nothing new there, there was a reason, Tommy remembered as he sat next to his father that he felt such a pang in chest about Max’s situation. 

The feeling of never being good enough. 

“No, Sir ,” Tommy replied evenly, taking a measured sip of his drink.

“I mean,” his father continued, gesturing vaguely around the room, “I know it’s probably not your scene—what with the sports on TV and all these girls.” 

Tommy suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, the muscles in his jaw tightening instead at the clear reference to Tommy’s latest failing as a son - his sexuality. 

“What are you doing here, Sir ?” Tommy asked, his tone sharp.

“Can’t a father show an interest in his only son?” his father shot back, his tone defensive. “Do you know how it feels to go years without contact? Not even one lousy Christmas card?”

Tommy’s grip on his glass tightened.

"If you think taking in some druggie reject off the street will make you and that pathetic man fathers..."

Tommy slammed down his glass, "First off, you do not talk about Max or Buck like that, ever, do you understand me - and second..." Tommy laughed darkly "You are the last person on this earth who can speak about being a father."

If Buck had a nickel for every time he heard "fine" today, he’d have two nickels—which wasn’t a lot, but it was strange it happened twice in one afternoon.

Max had come home from school, slinging his bag onto the couch as Buck greeted him.

“How was school?” Buck asked.

“Fine,” Max replied nose in his phone, disappearing into his room before Buck could press further.

Not long after, Tommy walked through the door, the faint smell of whiskey and stale bar air trailing behind him.

“How was catching up with your Dad?” Buck asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

“Fine,” Tommy muttered, heading for the garage without so much as a glance.

Buck sighed, tossing the imaginary nickels into his mental jar of frustrations.

Fine.

Just fine.

Max picked up his guitar and strummed a few aimless chords, the sound filling the quiet room. After a few minutes, he set it down, reaching instead for his video game controller. But even the games couldn’t hold his attention.

His phone buzzed, drawing his attention. A text from Axel lit up the screen—not directly to him, but to the group chat he’d recently been added to.

Anyone up for Gladiator 2 tonight?

An R16 movie. Max knew getting into the theater wouldn’t be an issue.

Getting permission to go on a school night? That was the real challenge.

Buck gave Tommy a solid half-hour with the punching bag before deciding to approach him in the garage. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed as he silently observed his boyfriend unleashing another fierce blow. Sweat glistened on Tommy’s brow, and each strike sent a dull, rhythmic thud reverberating through the confined space.

He could watch his sweaty hunk of a man working out all day, Tommy's movements were sharp and precise, every punch loaded with frustration and simmering anger. Buck could see it—the tautness in his muscles, the tension radiating off him like a live wire. Whatever (or more to the point whoever) had him wound this tight wasn’t going to resolve itself.

“So, uh, what did the bag do to deserve this, Officer?” Buck asked gently, his voice cutting through the steady rhythm. He already had a pretty good idea—this had to do with Tommy’s father.

Tommy’s only response was another punch, harder than the last.

Buck stepped closer, concern softening his tone. “Hey now, how about you stop beating up the bag and talk to me instead?”

Tommy paused for a second, if only to remove his sweaty, black tank top before resuming pounding the punchbag, his chest glistening under the garage lights.

"That's not fair..." Buck whined, trying (and possibly failing) to not get distracted, but lord help him, he was only a man and Tommy's pecs where right there.

With a cruel smirk, Tommy paused again as Buck stood in the middle of the garage, arms loose at his sides trying to start the conversation "Tommy, come on. I’m here, okay? Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone,” Buck said, his voice gentle but firm. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “Talk to me. Please.”

Instead, Tommy thumbed his shorts and undies down to his ankles, kicking them off without a word, going back to pounding the bag as Buck felt himself drooling.

It was a sight - Tommy naked, sweaty and in fluid motion.

"Fine" Buck huffed, be like that.

He enjoyed the show for a moment, before strolling over slowly, to avoid getting hit, Tommy stopping once he got too close, before Buck grabbed his arms and spun him, pushing him against the punching bag.

The punching bag wasn't the best thing to pin someone against, luckily Tommy wasn't one to struggle too much.

Normally - Tommy topped, yes, and normally if they did some Dom/Sub play, Tommy would be the Dom - but that didn't mean that Buck couldn't step up.

"I said talk to me," Buck growled, bowling his hips forward to grind his clothed erection against Tommy's bare ass. He nipped at the juncture of neck and shoulder, teeth grazing skin. "Goddamn, Tommy. We can't keep doing this. You keep shutting me out.Ever.God.Damn.Time"

Tommy's breath hitched, body going pliant under Buck's touch even as he averted his face. "I'm fine," he mumbled unconvincingly. "Don't need you playing white knight."

The dismissive words ignited Buck's temper. He fisted a hand in Tommy's hair, wrenching his head back to bare the line of his throat. "Bullshit," Buck snarled. "I know you better than that, dumbass. Now spill it before I get pissed."

It was hard for Tommy to imagine Buck pissed, so he might of chuckled, accidentally, causing Buck to smack his ass hard.

"I.said.spill"

He punctuated the demand with a sharp thrust, dry humping into the curve of Tommy's ass. Pre-cum dampened his boxer briefs, the fabric abrading his sensitive cockhead. Tommy keened softly, pushing back despite his stubborn front.

"Fuck, Buck... You're such a bastard, Evan" he whimpered, even as his own neglected dick twitched and dribbled on the punching bag.

"Damn right I am," Buck panted harshly, hips snapping in an insistent rhythm. The leather creaked in protest as he rutted against Tommy. "Your bastard. Now quit being a little shit and talk to me."

Buck's other hand slid down Tommy's sweat-slicked stomach, fingers delving into the wiry thatch of curls at the base of his cock. He wrapped his fingers around Tommy's shaft, squeezing and stroking in time with the thrusts grinding their clothed erections together.

"Hnng, Evannnn..." Tommy's thighs trembled, hole clenching around nothing. He was so fucking hard it hurt, leaking steadily over Buck's fist. "I'm...I'm scared, okay? I don't..."

His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "I don't know how to do this. How to be...vulnerable. It's easier to push you away."

"Aww, there's my idiot," Buck crooned, nuzzling into Tommy's neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the damp skin, soothing bites. "Scared and stubborn as ever. I got you, baby. You'll never have to face anything alone, not as long as I'm around."

He tightened his grip on Tommy's hair, forcing eye contact. "I love you, you hear me? No matter what. So you're gonna let me in because I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure it out together."

Tommy's eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I love you too, asshole," he rasped. "I just...I don't wanna be a burden."

"You could never be that," Buck vowed fiercely. He sealed his mouth over Tommy's in a deep, filthy kiss, all tongue and teeth. "Now c'mere and let me make you feel good. Wanna wreck this sweet ass, fill you up so good..."

Buck stepped back, smacking Tommy's ass hard enough to leave a red handprint blooming on the tanned skin. "Bend over, hands on the bag. Gonna open you up on my fingers before I rail you raw."

Tommy shivered, slowly turning to brace his forearms against the leather. He arched his back wantonly, presenting his fluttering hole to Buck's hungry gaze. "Yes Evan," he breathed, voice dripping with need.

Buck groaned at the debauched sight, fumbling his pants open to free his throbbing cock. He collected some of the pre-cum drooling from the swollen tip, using it to slick his fingers. Line up behind Tommy, Buck reached around to smear the clear fluid over his twitching rim.

" Brace yourself, baby," he warned, a second before he breached Tommy open on two fingers. The burn made Tommy keen brokenly, but he pushed back, eager to be filled. Buck worked him open efficiently, fingering and twisting until Tommy was a sloppy mess, hole gaping and greedy for Buck's cock.

He lined up, pushing in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The breath punched out of him at the vice-like grip, pleasure spiking down his spine. "Fuck, so tight," he panted, drawing back to snap his hips forward. "Gonna ruin this beautiful pink asshole, make you sore for days."

Tommy wailed, a litany of garbled pleas and curses spilling from his lips. "Yes, fuck yes! Harder, Evan. Wanna feel you for days..."

Buck set a punishing pace, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing through the garage. He grabbed a fistful of Tommy's hair, yanking his head back at a harsh angle.

"Touch yourself," Buck demanded. "Wanna watch you come on my cock like a good little slut."

Tommy didn't hesitate, fumbling for his own dripping erection. He jerked himself in a fast, loose rhythm, fucking down on Buck's rock-hard erection. Their moans rose in tandem, the wet squelch of Tommy's abused hole obscene in the air.

"I'm close," Buck panted, feeling his release coiling hot and tight in his gut. "Gonna fill this ass up, mark you as mine. You ready for it, baby?"

"Nngh, yes! Come in me, fuck!" Tommy babbled, the coil in his abdomen snapping. He came with a ragged cry, painting the punching bag and his own stomach with pearly streaks of cum.

The rhythmic clench of Tommy's passage pushed Buck over the edge. He slammed in one last time, grinding against Tommy's prostate as he spilled deep inside. His vision went white, hips jerking erratically through the aftershocks.

They stayed like that for a long moment, sweat cooling on their skin as they panted harshly. Finally, Buck pulled out with a low groan, his softening cock slipping free.

He gathered Tommy close, soothing hands roaming over his back and arms. "I've got you," Buck murmured, pressing kisses to Tommy's shoulders. "We'll get through this together, yeah? I love you so fucking much."

Tommy turned in his arms, cupping Buck's face tenderly. "I love you too, you big sap. Even if you are a needy dipshit sometimes."

Buck snorted, smacking Tommy's ass one last time. "Careful, I'll bend you over again for that one."

Tommy just smirked, rolling his hips teasingly. "Promises, promises."

"So, wanna tell me about your dad?" Buck asked, stroking Tommy's back in circles.

"Evan, your load is literally leaking out of me" Tommy sighed, if there was a worse time to discuss this matter, Tommy hated to think what it would be.

"So not now?" Evan asked playfully, kneeling down to push his load back into Tommy, who moaned at the sensation.

"No Evan, I do not want to discuss my father right now"

"Tommy. can I please go to the movies with some friends?"

Tommy didn't look up from his paperwork, "You have homework kid, and it's a school night - try again on Friday night."

"Buck, can I go to the movies?" Max asked, employing the age-old strategy: if at first you don’t succeed, go to the good cop in the relationship.

Buck glanced up, suspicious but not unkind. "Uh, and did you ask Tommy?"

"Tommy’s busy with some... uh, stupid helicopter course," Max replied quickly. Technically true, though he conveniently left out that the course was actually insanely cool. Tommy flew helicopters and put out fires, for crying out loud.

And Buck? Buck once landed a jumbo jet on an LA freeway. These guys were, without a doubt, the coolest old people ever. Not that Max would admit it.

Oh, and one more thing—Max had asked Tommy. Technically. Tommy’s "no" was more of an implied no, you know something about it being a school night and trying again later. Which, in Max’s book, left a little wiggle room.

"Sure, Max," Buck said, reaching for his wallet. "Here’s twenty, enjoy yourself."

Max grinned, shifting gears immediately. "How about fifty?"

Buck raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Uh, huh, how about 'no'? You can have thirty, and that’s my final offer, take it or leave it, kid."

"Deal. Thanks, Buck!" Max said, snatching the cash before Buck could change his mind.

Later, Tommy glanced up from his desk and frowned. "Where’s Max?" he asked, though he already had a sinking feeling. His gaze shifted to Buck, who was clearly deep in another one of his infamous research spirals.

Buck barely looked up. "Oh, he went to the movies with some friends, left about an hour ago."

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up at the news. "On a school night, Evan?"

"It's all good, the movie finishes at ten," Buck replied casually, as if that explained everything.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "After I said no?"

Buck finally tore his eyes away from the screen, looking confused. "Uh, wait... what was that?"

Chapter Text

On a scale of one to ten , Max was definitely pushing an eleven in terms of trouble as he eased the front door open, cringing at every creak. He carefully closed it behind him, holding his breath like it might somehow lessen the noise.

Please god.

It was 1 a.m. The movie had ended at ten, but instead of coming straight home, Axel had convinced him to go for a drive around the city. Convinced was a strong word in the context of the story, it was more a case that Axel had asked him and he had jumped at the chance.

They’d ended up at a lookout point. At first, Max had been nervous—alone, in the dark with a hot (only slightly) older guy—but Axel turned out to be surprisingly chill. They spent hours lying on the hood of Axel’s car, talking about nothing and everything, passing a joint back and forth under the stars.

Now, though? Now he was late, still a little buzzed, and very aware of the storm waiting for him.

Hopefully he could save it for tomorrow, when he wasn’t so red eyed, and his clothes didn’t smell of weed and Axel’s body spray. 

Creeping through the darkened lounge, he was halfway to freedom when the lights flicked on, flooding the room. Max froze, blinking like a deer caught in headlights.

There they were: Buck and Tommy, standing side by side with their arms crossed. The look on their faces screamed one thing loud and clear—he was so dead.

After an excruciatingly awkward conversation— complete with grounding, failed bargaining, and more than a few frustrated sighs—Buck finally flopped into bed. He rolled onto his side, poking the (almost) sleeping giant beside him.

“So,” he whispered, his voice cutting through the quiet, “when are we going to talk about what your father wants?”

“Who?” Tommy mumbled, his tone groggy and entirely uninterested.

Buck let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head as though the pout on his face could somehow be felt in the darkness. “Your father,” he pressed again. “You know the man who turned up on your doorstep…”

“Our doorstep” Tommy corrected, causing Buck to grin despite his tiredness.

“Sorry, our doorstep and demanded to see you, you know, the man that you uh, had a beer…”

“Whiskey.”

“Right, uh, Whiskey with at the bar.”

Tommy groaned, shifting just enough to make his disinterest clear. “Nope. He can crawl right back under whatever rock he came out of.”

Buck was dealing with two teenagers. 

It had been a surprisingly drama-free couple of days —Buck would risk saying peaceful, even (Although he would never ever risk using the ‘Q’ word—until Buck heard a commotion coming from the bathroom. Shouting, stomping, and other assorted chaos echoed down the hallway. Buck paused mid-sip of his coffee and glanced over at Tommy, who was seated at the kitchen table with a lazy smirk.

“Your turn,” Tommy said simply, lifting his mug in a mock toast before taking a long, smug drink.

Bastard .

Buck gave in, setting his mug down.

Right.

Making his way down the hallway, he knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Max? You okay, buddy?”

“Go away!” Max shouted from the other side, his voice filled with teenage anguish.

Oh to be a teenager again, when everything was a life ending drama. Unlike say, a firetruck landing on your leg, a tsunami or getting struck by lightning, you know, real emergencies. 

Buck tried again, leaning on his years of first-responder patience. “Come on, buddy. You can tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

A pause. Then, with exaggerated reluctance, the bathroom door creaked open. Max stood there, clad in nothing but a towel, his hair slicked back with far too much gel—clearly raided from Buck’s supply (had he never heard that ‘ less was more’ —and a deep pout on his face. He pointed dramatically at his cheek.

Buck’s eyes followed Max’s frantic gesture, and then it clicked.

Ah .

“I can’t go to school looking like this!” Max wailed, his voice teetering on the edge of a full-blown teen meltdown. He spun back to the mirror, scowling at the cluster of pimples on his cheek as if sheer hatred could obliterate them. His fingers hovered near his face, twitching with the urge to pop one.

“Whoa, wait—stop,” Buck said quickly. “Whatever you do, don’t squish it. You’ll only make it worse.”

“Worse? WORSE! How could it possibly be worse ? I look like one of those nerds” Max snapped, his tone dripping with teenage despair.

Buck fought the urge to laugh. Not the time, not the time. He leaned against the doorframe, switching to damage-control mode. “Alright, listen. Pimples? Totally normal. Think of them as, uh, an annoying rite of passage. It’s like a badge of honor for growing up. I mean, sure, someone might call you ‘Pizza Face’ for, like, a week—tops. But hey, at least it’s not school picture day, right? Trust me, you don’t want this thing memorialized in a yearbook.”

Max turned to Buck with a glare so withering it could’ve melted steel. “I want Tommy.”

Buck smirked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. Look, how about we cover it up? A little concealer, and no one will even notice. Or better yet, just own it. People aren’t gonna care nearly as much as you think, I promise. You’ll survive this. I swear.”

Max groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. Buck rubbed the bridge of his nose before raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, I get it. Tommy, you’re up.”

Attorney General Sinclair plastered his most polite smile across his face as the Governor shook his hand in farewell. The bitter parting words echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving:

“It’s probably best if you don’t stand for reelection.”

After a few wise words and some well-applied concealer, Tommy begrudgingly agreed to drop Max off at school on his way to the Harbour station.

“Why can’t I meet your dad?” Max asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the car.

Tommy suppressed a sigh. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Max’s voice was quiet as he fiddled with the rearview mirror, checking his face again. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was genuine concern or the unmistakable undertone of teenage manipulation. Probably both.

Damn Buck. Bloody Buck he cursed under his breath. Bringing chaos into what used to be a peaceful, uncomplicated life. It was all Eddie’s fault too, for introducing him to the whirlwind of emotions that was Evan Buckley. 

The sort of man who willingly joined his team mates in borrowing an LAFD helicopter to fly through a storm on a hunch that his friends, no scratch that, family needed him. 

There were many scenarios Tommy had envisioned for his post-Buck existence—most of them involving moody nights nursing a broken heart and avoiding social gatherings. None of them, absolutely none, involved chauffeuring a pimply, whiny teenager to school while fielding questions about his deadbeat father.

“It has nothing to do with you, Maxwell,” Tommy replied evenly, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Then why?” Max pressed, relentless.

Tommy exhaled, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Because… he’s not a very nice person,” he admitted. “And to put it simply, I want nothing to do with him.”

The confession felt wrong, especially unloading it on a teenager, but it was the truth.

Max hummed thoughtfully, then tilted his head. “I’d give anything for my dad to reach out to me…”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. Oh, no. He was not going to be guilt-tripped by a teenager.

Later that night, Buck was finishing up in front of the bathroom mirror when Tommy walked by, stopped, and doubled back. He leaned casually against the doorframe for a moment before stepping in and pulling Buck into a kiss.

“We could skip dinner and go straight to dessert,” Tommy murmured, a playful grin on his face.

Buck ducked his head, a little flustered but smiling. “Oh, uh, is that right? And what about our movie”

“Yeah,we could always make our own movie” Tommy said, his fingers brushing under Buck’s chin to tilt his face up again. He leaned in for another kiss, but Buck gently placed a hand on Tommy’s chest, stopping him.

“We should go,” Buck said regretfully, glancing at the clock. “We’ve got a reservation at Miceli’s.”

Tommy’s smile wavered for just a second, a flicker of something crossing his face that Buck didn’t miss.

“Hey,” Buck said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy shrugged, forcing a casual tone. “Third time’s the charm, they say.” The last two times they had a date, or tried to have a date, at Miceli's had ended in disaster and Tommy being painfully reminded that for all his good intentions, Buck was still getting comfortable in his own skin.

Buck tilted his head, clearly wanting to ask more, but Tommy didn’t elaborate. Instead, they both grabbed their jackets and headed toward the lounge area.

As Tommy grabbed his keys, Max glanced up from his phone. “Looking sharp, guys. Bet all the ladies are gonna be checking you out tonight.”

It was meant to be a harmless, joking comment, but it landed with a sting that Tommy couldn’t entirely shake. Both times he’d taken Buck to Miceli’s before, Buck hadn’t been comfortable letting the world know they were on a date. It had been “just dinner” or “hanging out with a buddy.”

Tommy had learned to brush those moments off, but this was a reminder of where Buck still was in his journey—a reminder that hurt more than Tommy wanted to admit. Buck, for all his enthusiasm and good intentions, was still figuring things out. He was new to this, a baby bi trying his best, but there were stages of acceptance, and Buck wasn’t fully there yet.

First, you had to admit it to yourself. Tommy had been through that stage long ago—no confusion, no “what ifs,” no “Abbys.” Just clarity. But many people stayed stuck there, never quite moving past it. They clung to labels like “discreet” or “DL,” convincing themselves they could remain someone they weren’t.

The next stage was telling the people who mattered. Buck was there. Around family, friends, and everyone who really mattered, he was unapologetically himself. But public spaces like Miceli’s—places where Buck would have to say out loud, “This is my date”—were still a hurdle.

Tommy understood, even admired how hard Buck was trying. But sometimes, moments like these still stung.

Shaking the thoughts away, Tommy pointed at Max with as much parental authority as he could muster. “You’re still grounded. No sneaking out, no guests, and in bed by—”

“Midnight?” Max offered without looking up from his phone.

“Ten-thirty. It’s a school night,” Tommy said firmly.

Max rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, scrolling his phone as Tommy shot him a look and grabbed his keys.

“Come on, let’s enjoy our date.” Buck called out from the front door. 

Dinner was going smoothly— so much so that they might actually make it to their movie this time. But then a woman’s voice called out.

“Buck!”

Tommy looked up to see a petite, striking strawberry blonde striding confidently toward their table.

“Taylor!” Buck exclaimed, his voice tinged with surprise. “How...how have you been? It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has, Buckley. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Friend.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course.” Buck cleared his throat awkwardly. “Taylor, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is Taylor. Taylor’s a journalist…”

“Yeah,” Tommy said evenly. “I’ve seen you on TV.”

“And, uh, this is Tommy. Tommy is…” Buck hesitated, his face flushing.

“His friend,” Tommy offered, trying to keep his tone neutral. “I’m Evan’s friend.”

Taylor arched a brow, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Like a Chim and Hen kind of friend, or an Eddie kind of friend?”

Before Tommy could fully process the question, Buck blurted out at full volume, “BOYFRIEND. Tommy is my boyfriend. We sleep together. Uh, a lot. Uh, huh, that might of been too much information”

Taylor blinked twice, clearly taken aback, before a smile tugged at her lips. She bit back laughter as she said, “Good for you, Buck. You landed a stunner.”

“Uh, thanks…” Buck muttered, his cheeks still burning.

Tommy reached for Buck’s hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The words had come out clumsily, but they’d come out. And that, Tommy thought, was progress.

Back at home, Max heard a light rap against his window. Pulling back the curtains, he saw Axel’s face grinning at him from the other side. Without hesitation, Max slid the window open, and Axel climbed in with practiced ease, his movements fluid and effortless.

“Hey…” Max stammered, attempting to appear casual as he lounged on his bed. Unfortunately, the pillow beneath him shifted, and he nearly slid off the edge. Damn it.

Axel chuckled, the sound warm and teasing. “Hey to you too,” he said, shaking his head with a smile that made Max’s heart skip a beat.

Buck toyed with the wine glass in front of him, spinning the stem between his fingers. Tommy raised a brow, his expression a blend of curiosity and exasperation.

"Something on your mind, Evan?" Tommy asked, his tone pointed.

Buck chuckled softly, dipping his head as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. "I was just thinking… maybe you should talk to your father."

Tommy's jaw tightened. "Evan…"

"I mean, I could come with you, if you want," Buck added quickly. "For support."

Tommy’s lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled out his phone, unlocking an app with deliberate slowness. Without a word, he tapped the screen, and Buck suddenly gripped the edge of the tablecloth, his knuckles white.

"Tooommy," Buck groaned, the word drawn out as he shot Tommy a pleading look.

Tommy didn’t so much as blink, his finger sliding the controller higher with a smirk. "You should’ve thought about that before bringing up my father on our date."

Date night had gone off without a hitch, and Buck and Tommy were still laughing over a joke from the movie as they stumbled back into the house. Tommy headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed, but when he emerged, Buck was standing in the doorway, his face etched with alarm.

“There’s a boy in Max’s room!” Buck hissed, his voice low but urgent.

Tommy leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Does Max know you know?” he asked, his tone calm, almost amused.

Buck blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. “No, he thinks he’s hidden him.”

“Good,” Tommy replied, nodding. “Let’s get to bed, Evan.”

Buck stared at him, incredulous. “Tommy, Max is grounded, and he has a boy over!”

“I know,” Tommy said, unfazed. “I heard it the first time.”

“Aren’t we going to do something?” Buck asked, his voice rising with disbelief.

Tommy shrugged, his posture relaxed. “We could ,” he said lightly. “Or we could let Max think we’re not as switched on as we are.”

Buck stared at him, clearly torn between his impulse nature, his concern for the teen in their care and Tommy’s unruffled demeanor. “You’re just... okay with this?”

Tommy smirked, stepping past Buck and patting his shoulder. “Not okay, just strategic. Sometimes the best way to teach a lesson is to let them think they’ve gotten away with something—until they realize they haven’t.”

Between Max and Buck, Tommy had been worn down to the point that two days later, he was back at the bar, sitting opposite the old man who called himself Tommy’s father. His dying father. 

“Son, I don’t want to die alone.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have been such a class A asshole Tommy thought to himself.

Tommy had known it was a terrible idea from the start, so he had no one to blame but himself. Now, not only did he owe Buck an apology, but Max had stormed off in tears after an entirely unnecessary verbal takedown by Thomas Sr.

Technically, Tommy knew it was probably best if they let Max be, to calm down on his own, but the house felt unbearably empty without him there. The sting of his absence hung in the air, sharp and bitter.

Tommy turned to his father, his jaw clenched. “I hope you’re happy with yourself, Sir, ” he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Thomas Sr. shrugged, his expression cold and dismissive. “The kid’s a snowflake.”

Tommy’s eyes flared with anger. “Maxwell is fifteen,” he shot back, his voice rising. “He doesn’t need some sad, pathetic, hateful wreck of a man tearing him apart when all he was trying to do was be nice.”

Thomas Sr.’s expression hardened, his tone snapping with authority. “You do not talk to your father like that.”

Tommy stepped closer, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Luckily for both of us, you’re not my father. Right, Sir ?” He gestured toward the door, his finger steady as a blade. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Thomas Sr looked like he might argue when Buck pointed at the door. “The door is there.” His voice unusually cold for Buck, gone was any warmth that Tommy normally saw in Buck’s face, replaced by a quiet rage. 

Tommy didn’t even look up to watch the old man get up and leave, he was too busy trying to call Max. 

Max shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, head down, shoulders hunched as he wandered aimlessly through the alleyways of LA. The evening sky was smeared with the last hues of twilight, but the alleys were already cloaked in shadow. His phone buzzed relentlessly in his pocket, Buck’s name flashing on the screen, followed by Tommy’s. 

He didn’t answer. 

He didn’t even look.

Just stop. Leave me alone. The thought pounded in his head like a drumbeat as he trudged deeper into the maze of graffiti-streaked walls and rusted dumpsters.

He felt hot, even in the cool evening air. His skin prickled, his chest tight as the weight of everything threatened to crush him. Anger and confusion churned in his stomach, coiling tighter with each step. He kicked a crushed soda can, sending it clattering against the alley wall, and for a brief moment, the noise cut through the static in his head.

This was his own fault - Tommy had warned him - he kicked a can down the street. 

When he spotted the abandoned building, tucked away at the end of a dead-end alley, there was his target - he had been here before with Axel, a place where he could let the storm inside him spill out. The building was a decaying shell, its boarded-up windows covered in layers of peeling posters and half-finished graffiti tags.

His phone buzzed again, and really he should answer it. It wasn’ Buck or Tommy’s fault, and they would be so worried about him - but in a fucked up way, it was kind of nice to know they were worried about him. 

That was going to have to be unpacked in therapy. At least Buck was getting his money's worth. 

Max slung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped it with a sharp jerk. The spray can was cold in his hand, the metallic rattle like a call to action. He didn’t think. He didn’t plan. He just started spraying, the hiss of paint filling the silence around him. Reds, blacks, whites—it didn’t matter what colors he used or what the shapes became. He didn’t care if anyone saw it or understood it.

He stepped back, breathing hard, and stared at the chaos he’d created on the wall. For a fleeting second, the tightness in his chest eased.

But it wasn’t enough.

He spotted a loose brick on the ground near the base of the wall. His fingers curled around it, rough and solid in his grip. Without hesitation, he hurled it at the nearest window. The shatter of glass was explosive, sharp, and satisfying. Max didn’t stop. He grabbed another brick and smashed it into another window, then another. The jagged sound rang out into the night, mingling with the hammering of his pulse in his ears.

When he finally stopped, panting and gripping the last brick in his hand, he bounced it slightly in his hand. It had the power to build things, but also to destroy, Max mused to himself as he biffed it across the alleyway. 

Max felt a chill race down his spine as the black SUV slowed to a crawl beside him, its engine humming like a predator stalking its prey. He tried to ignore it, quickening his pace toward home. But the SUV surged forward slightly, cutting off the footpath in front of him.

“Hey! I’m walking here, asshole!” Max snapped, stepping to the side, trying to move past. The driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out, his movements deliberate, his eyes fixed on Max.

“Maxwell Walters?” the man asked, his voice cool and authoritative.

Max stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s asking?” he said cautiously, taking in the man’s sharp suit and the calculated confidence in his posture.

“Apologies for my lack of manners,” the man replied smoothly, pulling out a leather wallet and flipping it open to reveal a badge. “I’m Attorney General Sinclair.”

The name hit Max like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of the spray cans in his backpack, feeling as though they’d grown ten times heavier.

“I just have a few questions for you,” Sinclair continued, his tone polite but cold. “Down at the office, if you don’t mind.”

Max’s pulse quickened. “Am I in trouble?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. There was no way Sinclair knew about the tagging—or so he hoped.

Sinclair’s smile was sharp, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Have you done anything to get yourself in trouble, Maxwell?”

The way he said his full name made Max’s skin crawl. Tommy called him Maxwell sometimes, but when Tommy said it, it felt warm, almost affectionate. From Sinclair, it felt like a loaded weapon, ready to strike.

“Can you come with me, please, Maxwell?” Sinclair said, the question barely masking the command.

Max hesitated, glancing down the empty street. Running didn’t seem like an option, not with Sinclair towering over him and the ominous SUV just a step away. He nodded reluctantly.

“Good,” Sinclair said, his smile tightening. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll need your wallet, phone, and backpack.”

“Why?” Max asked, his voice wary, his grip on the straps of his backpack tightening.

“It’s standard protocol,” Sinclair lied easily, his tone as smooth as polished glass. “This is a government vehicle. For security reasons, I have to hold onto your belongings. You’ll get them back at the station, I promise.”

Max hesitated, his mind racing. Something about this felt wrong—very wrong. But Sinclair’s steady gaze and the weight of his badge made it hard to argue. Slowly, Max slipped his phone and wallet from his pocket, his stomach sinking as he handed them over.

“Your backpack too,” Sinclair said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Max’s grip tightened on the straps. His pulse thundered in his ears as he glanced at the SUV, its darkened windows staring back like hollow eyes. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed for him to run, to fight—but his feet remained rooted to the spot, trapped under Sinclair’s icy authority.

This was the Attorney General of California. Max reminded himself that arguing wasn’t an option.

“Can I call…” he began, his voice shaky.

“Thomas Kinard or Evan Buckley? Of course,” Sinclair interrupted smoothly. “You’ll be able to call them down at my office. In fact, I can text my PA right now. She’ll let them know. They’ll probably beat us to the station.”

Max felt a wave of relief at those words. If Tommy and Buck would be waiting, everything would be fine. They’d take care of him—they always did.

“ Maxwell ,” Sinclair said, his voice sharp now, with an edge that left no room for delay. “The backpack.”

Reluctantly, with trembling hands, Max handed it over. His heart sank as Sinclair took it, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Sinclair said with a patronizing tone, stepping aside and gesturing to the open SUV door. “Now, get in.”

Max hesitated, glancing back down the street one last time. He told himself it would be okay. Tommy and Buck would be at the station. The AG had promised.

Clinging to that thought, Max climbed into the SUV. The door closed behind him with a heavy, final thud.

Chapter Text

The SUV wound its way through LA , the familiar cityscape giving way to less recognizable surroundings. Max glanced nervously out the window, the knot in his stomach tightening as he felt a deep sense of discomfort in his guts.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice edged with unease. He tried to push the feeling down after all, this wasn't any stranger, this was the Attorney General of California, after all. It had to be legitimate, right?

This man was in charge of keeping California safe, or something. 

“For a drive, Maxwell,” Sinclair replied, his tone flat, which was not reassuring.

Max shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Will Tommy and Buck be there when we get… wherever this is?”

“There’s a newspaper next to you,” Sinclair said, ignoring the question. That was even less reassuring. 

“That doesn’t really answer my question-”

“Shut up and read the newspaper, Maxwell,” Sinclair barked, his voice sharp enough to make Max flinch in his seat. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Max muttered a meek “sorry” and picked up the paper with trembling hands. Relax, Max, he told himself. You were making a big deal over nothing. 

He scanned the headlines, unsure of what he was supposed to find. One article detailed California’s ban on food “sell by” dates, another lamented delays to the High-Speed Train project.

“Bottom left-hand corner,” Sinclair prompted.

Max’s eyes fell to the small article tucked in the corner: “Attorney General Sinclair Not to Seek Re-Election.”

His heart sank as he looked from the paper to the man driving him. 

"You want to spend time with your family? Max asked, not getting a reply. 

Buck paced back and forth in the lounge, his footsteps methodically eating into the carpet as the tension radiated off him in waves. He jabbed the call button on his phone again, only to be met with voicemail for the fourth, fifth and sixth time.

“Come on, Max,” he muttered under his breath, his frustration mounting. “Pick up the damn phone, I know you always have it on you.”

Across the room, Tommy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual calm exterior slightly frayed. “He’s probably fine,” Tommy said, though his tone lacked conviction. It sounded more like an attempt to reassure himself.

As the vehicle sped away from Los Angeles, Max leaned forward cautiously from the back seat. “Excuse me, Mister—”

“It's 'Attorney General' Sinclair,” the man interrupted sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “You will use my title when you address me, got it, punk?”

Max hesitated, shrinking back slightly in his seat. “Of course, sorry, sir. I was just wondering… where are we going?”

“I told you,” Sinclair replied with an air of impatience, his eyes fixed on the road. “For a wee drive, clear our heads, clean up a few past mistakes.”

Max frowned but pressed on. “Um, can I please call Buck? Just to let him know I'm okay.”

Sinclair didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into the console and pulled out a water bottle, thrusting it toward Max. “Drink this.”

Max stared at the bottle warily. “Uh, I’m not—”

“Drink it,” Sinclair repeated, his tone cold and commanding. "It's water, it's good for you."

Reluctantly, Max unscrewed the cap and took a long sip. The water was cool on his tongue, but before he could set the bottle down, a strange dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, and his head began to spin.

“Wha—what’s… happening?” Max slurred, his voice barely audible as the world around him started to fade. Sinclair glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable.

A sharp knock on Max’s bedroom window startled Buck. He slid the window open cautiously, knowing Max would use the front door if he were home.

Instead, he found Axel standing in the backyard, hands jammed into his hoodie pockets, puffing on a vape.

“Yo, Mister B,” Axel greeted, exhaling a cloud of candy-cane-scented vapor.

Buck frowned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Axel, right? What are you doing in my backyard?”

“The one and only,” Axel said with a shrug. “Came to pick up Max for a drive. He around?” He craned his neck, trying to peer past Buck into the room.

Buck pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, he’s not.” Also, Max was grounded. This was a recurring theme, every time they grounded Max something went wrong. They were going to have to find an alternative. Buck couldn’t handle the stress. 

“Man, that’s weird,” Axel muttered, frowning. “First, he didn’t show at the shops, then he ghosted me, and now he’s not here? Like, if he didn’t wanna hang, he could’ve just said so—no need to be a douchebag about it, you catch my vibe Mister B?”

“When?” Buck pressed, his tone sharpening.

“When what?” Axel asked, looking confused. "Yo, Mister B, are you tripping?"

“When did he stop replying to you?” Buck gritted out, resisting the urge to slap the teen through the window. 

Axel pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages. “Oh, uh, we were supposed to meet at the shops about an hour ago. I waited for forty-five minutes before coming here.” He squinted at the screen. “Yeah, last message was just over an hour ago.”

Athena stepped into Tommy’s house , her sharp gaze softening as she spotted Buck pacing the room. “Buckaroo, how are you holding up?”

Buck paused mid-step and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, I guess. I know it’s probably overkill, but we haven’t heard from him in a couple of hours.”

Athena offered him a reassuring smile. “Hey, I get it. Parental concern is no joke.”

Buck hesitated, his hands fidgeting. “We’re not his parents, though. We’re just his, you know, guardians.”

Athena raised an eyebrow. “No? I think you might be, whether you realize it or not. Anyway, it’s good you called. There’s nothing wrong with getting ahead of things. That whole Hollywood myth about waiting 24 hours to report someone missing? Total nonsense. The sooner you act, the better.”

Buck felt like he was going to lose his mind. The detective standing uselessly in his living room might as well have signed Max’s death warrant. He just knew this inaction would cost them everything. Not even the steadying presence of Tommy, Eddie, Athena, and Bobby could calm him.

It felt too familiar, too raw—like when Maddie was abducted. The same helplessness, the same suffocating fear.

“Mr. Buckley,” the detective said, his tone clipped and dismissive. “It’s highly unlikely that Max has been abducted. Given his history of running away, I suggest we hold off on the dramatics until they’re warranted.”

The words stung like a slap, leaving Buck trembling with frustration.

Tommy stepped in front of the detective, his voice sharp with urgency. "No one has heard from Max in hours. He hasn’t posted on SnapMe or Instastar or tic tac toe—"

"Instagram, and Tik Tok" Buck corrected gently.

"Yeah, that," Tommy snapped before turning back to the detective. "You’re not taking this seriously enough!"

The detective sighed, folding his arms. "Do you know how many kids went missing in California in 2023? Sixty-six thousand, seven hundred and five. And you want me to pour all my time and resources into just one? A kid who’s run away not once, but twice before?"

"Well, how about we start with you doing your job, and see how it goes from there?" Tommy suggested.

“You coming, Evan?” Tommy asked, grabbing his coat and keys from the table.

Buck nodded, already heading for the door. He didn't need to be asked twice, and while aimlessly driving around LA wasn’t exactly a plan, but it was better than staying here, trapped in the torment of doing nothing.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice tight with determination. “Let’s go.”

The Vehicle drove across the state till it was in the heart of Mojave Desert. Four hours later, Max stirred faintly, his body limp as he felt himself being hauled from the backseat of a car. His head lolled to one side, and a sluggish fog clung to his mind, making it hard to form coherent thoughts.

“Wait,” he mumbled groggily, barely able to move his lips. “Just five more minutes…”

The gritty scrape of coarse sand against his legs jolted him partially awake, a raw discomfort tugging at the edges of his awareness. His eyelids fluttered open, unfocused, but as his senses sharpened, dread started to creep in.

“Wait,” he said again, panic threading through his slurred words. “What… what are you doing?”

With a grunt of effort, Sinclair, the Attorney General, released his grip, letting Max fall unceremoniously to the ground. The impact was jarring, pain slicing up Max’s side and shocking him fully into the waking world.

He groaned, trying to push himself upright, but his limbs felt like lead. Blinking rapidly, he took in the dark, desolate expanse around him. The horizon stretched endlessly, barren and unwelcoming under the dim glow of a moonless night.

“Where… where are we?” Max’s voice cracked as his panic mounted, the unfamiliar surroundings pressing down on him like a vice. "My head - it's all foggy."

“The end of the road, Maxwell,” Sinclair sneered, standing tall and imposing above him. His voice was ice-cold, his gaze sharper than any blade. “Just like my career, thanks to you.”

Max’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I… I want to go home,” he stammered, his words quivering with fear. "Please."

Sinclair crouched down, his face mere inches from Max’s. The twisted contempt in his smirk sent a chill through Max’s veins. “No one’s stopping you, kid,” Sinclair said, his voice a mockery of kindness. Then, with calculated nonchalance, he rose to his full height and turned away.

Max scrambled, clawing at the loose sand to prop himself up. His pulse thundered in his ears. “Wait! You can’t just leave me here. I don’t even know where we are!”

Sinclair paused, glancing back over his shoulder, his silhouette dark against the empty backdrop. “Exactly,” he said, his tone dripping with malice. “There’s nothing for fifty miles in any direction, Maxwell. I couldn’t stomach dealing with you myself, but I have no problem letting the elements finish the job.”

It was 01:00 am in the middle of Mojave Desert. It was freezing now, especially Sinclair thought to himself, for Max in his tee and shorts - but by mid morning tomorrow it would be roasting. 

Terror clawed at Max’s chest as Sinclair walked away, his form shrinking into the distance. The oppressive silence of the barren desert seemed to grow louder with every step Sinclair took.

“Please,” Max choked, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll…” He swallowed hard, shame burning his throat. “I’ll do anything…” His voice broke as he added silently, Just don’t leave me here to die.

Max’s thoughts spiraled. I’ll listen to Tommy and Buck. I’ll do all my homework. Hell, I’ll clean the whole house. Please, just let me go home.

In a final, desperate prayer, Max turned his plea skyward. God, if you’re listening, I’ll be better. I promise.

Sinclair stopped abruptly, turning to face Max fully. His eyes bore into him, cold and calculating. “You’d do anything? Anything at all?”

Max lowered his head in shame, closing his eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. “Yes,” he whimpered. “Please, if you take me home, I’ll do whatever you ask. I won’t tell anyone.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Then Sinclair sneered, his lips curling with contempt as he stared down at Max like he was trash on the sidewalk.

“Of course, you’d do anything,” he spat. “You have no morals, no redeeming qualities. Everybody thought you deserved a second chance. Well, guess what? You don’t. This, this is doing the world a favor, kid.”

Without warning, he yanked his coat free of Max’s grip and shoved him backward. Max hit the ground hard, sand sticking to his skin as he gasped for air. As Max gasped, Sinclair turned away again, walking briskly into the night without a backward glance.

Sinclair couldn't save his career, but he could save any future messes relating to Max. How one stupid teenager could cause him so many issues was beyond him. 

Oh well, he was as good as dead now. 

Buck’s phone buzzed, Athena’s name lighting up the screen. His heart leapt into his throat as he swiped to answer.

“Athena,” he said quickly, his voice strained. “What’s new? Has there been a development? Tell me you found something.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, the kind that felt like it stretched for an eternity.

“Buck,” Athena began, her tone measured but serious, “A patrol unit found Max’s backpack, phone, and wallet. They were discarded near the Los Angeles River, close to the Metro station at Fourth and Main.”

Buck’s stomach dropped, his grip tightening on the phone. “What—what does that mean? Did they find him? Is he—”

“What we are not doing in jumping to conclusions yet, this isn’t the 2028 Olympics” Athena interjected firmly. “Buck, I know this is pointless but please, leave this up to the relevant departments, they’re going to find Max.”

Meanwhile, Sinclair’s SUV raced down a barren highway, towards the city lights of LA, Max 230 miles behind him.

It was late, or earlier, Max wasn’t sure, as he sat in the freezing sand, shivering in his thin tee and shorts as the reality of his situation crashed down on him. His breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, the vast darkness of the desert pressing in on him like a suffocating weight. He swiped at his face, wiping away tears he didn’t even realize were falling.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, trying to sound braver than he felt. “It’s fine. Totally fine. I’ll just… just figure it out.”

His gaze darted around, searching for anything—a light, a sign, even just a hint of civilization—but all he saw was the endless stretch of sand and scrub under the cold, indifferent sky.

“Stupid fucking idiot . Why didn’t I just scream for help? Or… or fight back? Or something!” The self-recrimination started to spiral. “Why didn’t I keep my phone on me? Oh, right, because you hand it to some fucking psycho!” He kicked at the sand, but it only sent a puff of grains into the air and did nothing to calm his racing mind.

His stomach twisted, both from hunger and fear. He stood abruptly, his knees wobbling. “I’ll walk,” he decided, his voice shaking. “Yeah, I’ll walk. That’s what people do in movies, right? Just pick a direction and go.”

But which direction? He spun in a slow circle, the identical terrain offering no answers. The stars above seemed mocking in their clarity. He should have paid attention to Boy Scouts. Stupid Boy Scouts, Stupid Desert, Stupid Cold.

“Fucking stupid stars,” he muttered bitterly.

Stupid fucking me.

He picked a direction at random, reasoning—or rather, not reasoning—that it felt less scary than staying put. His sneakers crunched over the sand as he stumbled forward, his hands hugging his torso for warmth. The cold bit into his skin, and every step felt like a struggle against the vast, unyielding emptiness.

After what felt like hours (but was probably only ten minutes), his resolve started to crack. “This is dumb,” he said aloud, his voice quivering. “I’m gonna freeze to death. Or get eaten by coyotes. Do they even have coyotes here? Or, like, mountain lions? Oh God. Snakes ” 

He had forgotten about snakes. 

The thought made him freeze mid-step, his eyes scanning the darkness as if some predator might leap out at any moment. He crouched low, trying to make himself smaller, though there was no one around to notice him except the stars.

For a fleeting moment, he considered trying to light a fire—he’d seen that in survival shows. But then he realized he had no idea how to do it without a lighter. He didn’t even have sticks. “Right, great plan, Bear Grylls,” he muttered, hugging himself tighter.

His brain swung back to desperation. “Buck’s gonna find me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He will. Or Tommy Someone’s gonna figure out where I am, right? They always do in the movies. They always—”

His voice broke, and he sank to the ground again, burying his head in his arms. The cold seeped into his body as the vast silence of the desert surrounded him.

The problem was that Buck and Tommy had no idea that Max had left the city of LA.

Maddie came armed with Jee and coffee, neither Buck, nor Tommy had gotten any sleep - the police focusing their efforts on the river location in metro LA. 

The police were working on two trains of thoughts, either Max had run away (again) or it was a suicide attempt. Either way, her brother was certain they were looking down the track.

Attorney General Sinclair PA,Sarah watched as her boss bounced into the office, his unusually buoyant mood setting off a quiet alarm in her mind. He wasn’t the type to smile without reason, especially not like this—relaxed, carefree, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Morning, love,” he said again, dropping his briefcase on his desk with an exaggerated flourish.

“Good morning, sir,” Sarah replied cautiously, her eyes lingering on him a beat too long. Something wasn’t right. She’d worked for him long enough to recognize the subtle shifts in his demeanor. His cheerfulness felt... off. Especially given how angry he had been at being forced to stand down from re-election.

Back at Tommy’s house,  Maddie stood in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards in search of something to make for breakfast. The clatter of pots and pans was the only sound in the room, save for Buck’s heavy footsteps pacing back and forth across the living room carpet. Neither of the boys had sleep last night, Maddie could tell, the tiredness showing through the lines of concern, regret and frustration.

Her brother was moments away from ending up in jail if she couldn't keep him away from the detective.

Tommy leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his face drawn and exhausted. He glanced at Maddie with faint concern as she pulled out a pan and reached for the carton of eggs.

“Maddie, you don’t have to—” Tommy started, but she waved him off.

“I’m pregnant, not a cripple,” Maddie snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She softened immediately, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the situation. “Besides, you boys need to eat. You’re not going to help Max on an empty stomach.”

Buck spun around, his voice strained as he approached the kitchen. “How can I eat when Max is out there? Freezing, scared—God knows where?” His hands trembled as he gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles white. “I should’ve done something sooner. I should’ve—”

“Buck,” Tommy interrupted gently, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Blaming yourself isn’t going to help. We’re all doing what we can. Athena’s working with the police, and we’ll figure this out.”

Buck shrugged Tommy’s hand off, his frustration boiling over. “It’s not enough, Tommy!” Tommy pulled Buck close against his chest as Buck slammed his fists against Tommy’s chest. “It’s not enough.”

“Sir, I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but… a teenager named Max Walters has been reported missing.”

Sinclair’s hands froze mid-motion as he reached for a folder. For the briefest moment, his expression faltered— and she felt her heart sink, it was a cold, cruel and smug smirk flash across his face before the practiced mask of indifference slid back into place.

“Max Walters?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled. “The kid that was involved in the photo scandal?”

Sarah nodded.

Sinclair shrugged, flipping open the folder as if the conversation bored him. “Oh well, what a shame,but not my problem. The police will handle it. Now, if you don’t mind, Sarah, I have a busy day ahead.”

Maddie glanced across the room, the heavy silence pressing down on all of them. Her eyes landed on Max’s laptop, sitting on the corner of the coffee table where he’d left it the last time he was over.

“Buck,” she said, breaking the quiet. Her voice was hesitant, but there was a spark of determination behind it.

Buck looked up from where he was staring blankly at the untouched plate of eggs in front of him. “What?”

Maddie nodded toward the laptop. “Max’s computer. If we can get into it, maybe we can access his iCloud. See his texts, his photos… anything that might give us a clue about where he went or who he’s been talking to.”

Buck blinked, the suggestion pulling him out of his haze. “You think he’d leave something behind? Like… breadcrumbs?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Maddie said firmly. “Teens share everything on their phones these days—pictures, messages, locations. If he synced his phone to his iCloud, we might be able to see what he was doing before he disappeared.”

Tommy leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Do you know his password?”

Buck hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe. He uses a couple of them for everything—something about basketball or guitars, I think.”

Sarah knew she shouldn’t, but she looked at the GPS for the Attorney General car. 

What was the vehicle doing out in the middle of Mojave Desert last night?

Tommy and Buck hovered over Maddie as she sat at the computer, fingers poised over the keyboard. "Try AngelShooters2024," Tommy suggested, glancing between them. "It’s the name of the school basketball team."

Maddie pursed her lips for a moment, "Wait, the school couldn't come up with a better name than Angel Shooters? Like, it sounds like slang for drugs, not a high school basketball team."

Tommy just shrugged.

Maddie typed it in and hit enter. "We’re in," she said, a flicker of relief crossing her face before it faded. "But it’s going to send a code to Max’s phone." She let out a frustrated sigh. "I can reach out to my contacts to bypass the two-factor authentication, but that’ll take time."

"No need," Tommy said with a shrug. "My number’s the backup for his account."

Buck raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Maddie. "Sometimes I get the feeling Tommy’s the favorite," he grumbled.

Chapter Text

Max shivered as the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, the morning chill clinging to his skin and biting through his thin t-shirt and shorts. His body ached, his stomach twisted in hunger, and dread pooled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake. The realization hit him again: no one might even know where to start looking for him.

It slowly sunk in that this time luck might of run out, there would be no Tommy punching off the drunk guys in the bar toilet or scaring off some creep from the net.

This time it might be the end. The actual end.

Wasn’t he too young to die? 

What if his parents were right? Was he going to hell? Would god forgive him?

He’d tried to find shelter under some scrubs during the night, but the thorny branches had scratched at his skin, and the sight of kangaroo rats darting through the underbrush had driven him off. Where there were rats, there were bound to be rattlesnakes. 

Max had found sleep had been impossible, the distant howls of coyotes had kept him wide awake, heart pounding every time the eerie sounds grew closer, haunting him.

Between being sleep deprived and on edge, he wish that he had a pen and a piece of paper, so he could write his farewell note. It wouldn’t change the ending, but at least he could get some things off his chest—things he didn’t even realize he was holding onto until now. Instead, he sat under the quickly warming sun, rubbing his arms to keep the chill at bay.

In lieu of paper, he opted to speak the words - the might not be perfect, but they were his.

“Dad, Mom, Vanessa…” he began, his voice cracking, his bottom lip trembling. “I forgive you. For everything. I’m not sorry for who I am, but I am sorry that you couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—accept me. Because you could’ve. You could’ve tried…” Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over. “But it’s okay. I forgive you. And I wish you nothing but the best. I just hope one day, you’ll look back and wish…”

He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Random dudes one and two—hell, Tommy and Buck—what was that even about? With your self-help crap, getting all up in my business when I didn’t ask. But somehow…” He trailed off, the words sticking in his throat. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your help, but thank you.”

He scratched his arm absently, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And Richard… I’m sorry I couldn’t stay alive for you after everything you gave up in your last months.”

A cold breeze stirred the stillness, sending a shiver through him.

He had no idea where to go.

He wondered if the baseball bat would of helped him. 

Two hundred and thirty odd miles away, back in LA, Maddie frowned as she scrolled through Max’s iCloud account. His messages revealed nothing of interest, and his last photos were mundane—mostly graffiti on an abandoned building, punctuated by a not-so-clever selfie of Max in front of his art work holding a can.

In a different scenario, that would earn a telling off. One where she was snooping around trying to find any clues as to where he was.

 She sighed, feeling the weight of frustration creeping in, she had to do something before her brother gets himself arrested.

Across the room, Buck was sitting on the floor beside Jee, ostensibly helping her color. In truth, he was more of an observer, holding a crayon in one hand but not doing much with it. Tommy, sitting nearby with his arms crossed, watched them both with quiet patience.

“Anything?” Tommy asked, breaking the silence.

Maddie shook her head, her frown deepening. “Nothing. The last thing uploaded is a thirty-minute video of... nothing.”

“Thirty minutes of nothing?” Buck asked, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up.

“Yeah, just a black screen,” Maddie replied. “Maybe Max didn’t know it was recording?”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Buck said, leaning forward with a sudden urgency. “Play it from the start.”

Maddie hesitated only for a moment before clicking on the video file. The screen remained black, but faint audio began to play.

Unknown Voice: “Your backpack too.”

Maddie froze, her eyes snapping to Buck and Tommy, who immediately exchanged concerned looks.

A second later, Max’s voice came through, trembling and thick with tears. “Can I call…”

Unknown Voice: “Thomas Kinard or Evan Buckley? Of course, you’ll be able to call them at my office. In fact, I can text my PA right now. She’ll let them know. They’ll probably beat us to the station.”

Maddie’s breath caught as she turned to Buck. “They know you.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened as he folded his arms. “And they’re in a position of authority.”

The unknown voice interrupted again, this time sharp and scolding. “Maxwell,” it snapped, before softening into a patronizing tone. “The backpack.”

There was a brief shuffle of movement in the background before the voice continued with an unsettling level of condescension. “Good boy. Now, get in.”

The audio cut out, leaving the room in a heavy silence. Maddie glanced between Buck and Tommy, her mind racing.

“What the hell is this?” Buck finally said, his voice low but simmering with anger.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Someone’s using their authority to manipulate him. We need to figure out who it is—and fast.”

Maddie nodded, trying to stop the tears at the confirmation that Max had been abducted. “I’ll trace the metadata on this video, see if it gives us a location. Whoever this is, they clearly underestimated Max’s ability to capture evidence." She looked over at her heartbroken brother sitting numb next to Jee, "Hey Buck, Buck listen to me..." Maddie said, as she rushed over to comfort him. "We're going to find him okay, we're going to, I promise."

“9-1-1, What’s your emergency?” Attorney General Sinclair PA, Sarah paused for a moment. If she was wrong, she would be run out of town - if she was right, a teenager could be at risk.

The detective nodded, “That could be Sinclair,” he admitted, though his tone was cautious. “But the audio is faint, and so far, we’re still in the realm of ‘what ifs.’ There’s nothing concrete yet. I can't accuse the Attorney General of kidnapping based on one video with no footage and grainy audio.”

Buck, standing nearby, muttered under his breath, “I’m going to punch him.” His tone was low but filled with barely contained fury.

Tommy, arms crossed and just as tense, nodded in agreement. “Get in line.”

Buck’s phone chimed, pulling his attention away from the conversation. He reached into his pocket and glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing in confusion at the sight of a text message from an unknown number. The message was brief: a single line of text accompanied by GPS coordinates.

Before he could process it, his phone buzzed again, this time with an incoming call. Athena’s name lit up the screen. He answered immediately.

“Athena,” he said, his voice tinged with urgency.

“Did you get the text?” she asked without preamble.

Buck’s confusion deepened. “Was it you?”

“No,” Athena replied firmly. “I can’t get directly involved. But it was sent by a concerned private citizen using her own phone. She mentioned Sinclair’s vehicle was parked at those coordinates for about fifteen minutes this morning, just after 1:00 a.m. before it made it's way back to LA, stopping just before six this morning...”

"Let me guess" Buck interrupted, "It stopped at the Los Angeles River, close to the Metro station at Fourth and Main?"

"Got it in one Buckaroo."

Buck’s grip on the phone tightened, the pieces starting to connect in his mind. “Max?” he asked. 

“Could be, I know it was my child out there, wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.”

“Are we stealing a helicopter?” Buck asked skeptically as they strode into Harbor Station.

“More like temporarily borrowing one, We're going to bring it back,” Tommy corrected without missing a beat, his tone nonchalant.

Buck raised an eyebrow. “And will the LAFD see it that way when they find one of their multi-million helicopters missing?”

Tommy smirked, adjusting his jacket.  “It’s just say it’s a good thing my mouth static is world class.”

“Your mouth static is terrible.”

Tommy pulled open the helicopter door, only to freeze when he found himself face-to-face with Lucy. She was leaning casually against the seat, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across her face.

“Come on, Kinard,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re riding shotgun today.”

“Lucy?” Tommy stammered, caught completely off guard.

She rolled her eyes, her smirk growing wider. “Please. You really think we’re that stupid? Athena rang to give us the update because everyone knew you were going to take a helicopter to cut down on the travel time.”

“We?” Tommy asked

Trailing behind, Buck opened the helicopter's back doors to find Eddie, Hen, and Chim seated, looking equally prepared and unbothered by the surprise ambush.

“You’re going to need paramedics,” Hen said matter-of-factly, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

Eddie shrugged, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And your best friend.”

Chim raised a hand with a sarcastic wave. “Besides Maddie would kill me if I let anything happen to her brother.”

Tommy let out a long, resigned sigh, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you all to risk stealing an LAFD helicopter for me, Donato.”

Lucy fired up the bird, the engine roaring to life as she smirked over her shoulder. “Lucky for you, Kinard, we already got permission for a training search and rescue mission.”

“That just happens to be in the desert,” Eddie added, his grin turning smug.

“Funny that,” Chim replied with a knowing look. “Now, what was our motto again?”

“Who cares,” Everyone except Lucy quipped, Lucy giving Tommy a look as he shrugged, "Cruise ship things, you wouldn't understand."

“It’s still a terrible motto,” Chim muttered under his breath, shaking his head as the helicopter lifted off

In the desert, a scorpion scuttled across the ground in front of Max , a real life scorpion - its tail arched high with that deadly stinger glinting ominously in the sunlight. Before today Max had only seen them on TV.

He stumbled back instinctively, his heart racing as he watched the creature vanish into the dry, cracked earth. The relentless sun beat down on him, the heat oppressive and unforgiving.

Max wiped the sweat from his brow, wincing as his sunburned skin protested every movement. He had taken off his shirt hours ago, wrapping it around his head in a desperate attempt to shield his face from the sun. It worked—barely—but now his back felt like it was on fire.

His throat desperately wanted water. How long could a person survive in the desert? 

He turned in a slow circle, squinting against the glare. There was nothing. Just endless desert stretching out in every direction, barren and merciless. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind, but he forced himself to think. He needed to do something—anything—to increase his chances of being found.

An idea struck him suddenly, a sliver of hope in the vast emptiness. He dropped to his knees and began searching for sticks, scraps of debris, or anything that could stand out against the sandy terrain. One by one, he started arranging them on the ground, spelling out the word HELP as large and clearly as he could manage.

His hands trembled as he worked, the heat sapping his energy with every passing second. But he kept going, driven by sheer determination. If anyone flew overhead, if there was even the slightest chance someone might see, this could save his life.

Once the last stick was in place, Max stepped back to assess his work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was visible. Now all he could do was wait—and hope.

“So what’s the plan?” Eddie’s voice crackled over the radio as they scanned the desert floor from the helicopter.

“Simple,” Buck replied confidently, leaning forward to peer out the window. “We find Max, marry Tommy, adopt Max and move into our big new house in the suburbs. All before Christmas. The house thing might happen before I marry Tommy only because we already found the house.”

A heavy silence settled in the helicopter, broken only by the hum of the rotors.

“Uh…” Eddie began, clearly at a loss for words.

“That is both the most and least romantic proposal I’ve ever heard, Buckley,” Lucy quipped.

“Yes,” Tommy said simply, cutting through the chatter.

"Yes?" Lucy asked, looking across at the stoic man next to her as his eyes scanned the desert floor.

"Yes, I'll marry you Evan."

The Joshua tree offered little respite from the relentless sun as Max slumped against its rough trunk, his energy completely drained. The scorching heat radiated around him, the sand beneath him hot enough to sear his skin.

His head lolled to the side, and for a moment, he thought he heard the distant thrum of a helicopter’s rotors. Hope flickered weakly in his chest, and he forced himself to look up. Squinting against the blinding light, he caught sight of a helicopter far off in the distance, its silhouette cutting across the hazy sky.

But it didn’t slow, didn’t change course. It passed by as if he didn’t exist.

Max’s vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness fading as his body gave in to exhaustion and heat. With a resigned sigh, he let his eyes close and sank deeper into the burning sand, the world around him slipping further and further away.

“Get off,” Max grumbled weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Something—someone—grabbed him, pulling him off the scorching ground. His mind was too foggy to comprehend who it was or what was happening. He swatted weakly at the hands, but his movements were feeble, almost nonexistent.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled, turning his face away. He could hear voices, muffled and distant, like they were underwater. Shapes moved in his peripheral vision, blurry and indistinct.

A cool, damp cloth pressed against his forehead, and for a brief moment, the cold shocked his senses, cutting through the haze. But even that small comfort felt like too much effort to acknowledge.

“Stop…” he muttered, his voice cracking. He just wanted to be left alone, to disappear back into the quiet stillness where he didn’t have to fight anymore. 

As the helicopter sped back toward LA, Buck sat with his jaw clenched tightly, watching as Hen and Chim worked diligently to stabilize Max. An IV line was already in place, fluids dripping steadily into Max’s system.

“Is he going to be okay?” Buck asked, his voice tense, his eyes never leaving Max’s pale, sunburned face.

Hen glanced up briefly, her expression calm but serious. “He’s had a lot of exposure, Buck. Severe dehydration and heat exhaustion. We’ve got fluids going, and we’re cooling him down, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”

Chim nodded, checking Max’s pulse again. “The key is rehydration and keeping his core temperature stable. Once we get him to the hospital, he’ll need close monitoring, but he’s lucky we found him when we did.”

Buck exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat, though the worry etched on his face didn’t ease. He looked down at Max, the teenager’s chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“Hang in there, Max,” Buck murmured softly, as the helicopter sliced through the sky

As the helicopter flew towards LA, Sarah walked into the Attorney General's office, her usual smile firmly in place as she approached his desk. Sinclair sat behind his computer, his face illuminated by the screen’s cold glow. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his posture was tense, almost distracted.

“Good news, sir,” Sarah began, holding up the file she had just received. “They found the teenager.”

Sinclair froze mid-keystroke. His head snapped up, and for a brief moment, his expression was unreadable—panic? Shock? She couldn’t quite place it, but it wasn’t relief.

“Wait, what?” he stammered, his voice faltering as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Max,uh, Maxwell Walters Sir” Sarah repeated, studying his reaction. “The LAFD found him alive in the desert. They’re bringing him back to LA now.”

Sinclair’s eyes darted away for a second, his face shifting as he pulled himself together. “Oh,” he said, his voice forced and overly casual. “And where, uh, where are they taking the poor kid?”

“LA Metro Hospital,” Sarah replied, her tone steady, though her thoughts were anything but as she watched her bosses face.

“Good, good,” Sinclair said, nodding stiffly. “Let’s hope he’s alright. Anything else I need to know?”

Sarah shook her head as Sinclair tried to compose himself. "Sarah, love, can you clear my afternoon calendar, I just remembered something urgent has popped up."

"Of course."

Sinclair cursed under his breath, his thoughts a venomous whirl. That useless, good-for-nothing teenager. Couldn't even die in the desert without causing me problems.

But no matter. He had a plan. The small needle in his pocket was his solution. His polished shoes clicked against the tiled floors as he stalked through the hospital corridors, his expression carefully neutral.

The benefits of his position were undeniable. Security checks were lax for someone of his stature, allowing him to slip the needle and drugs into his jacket pocket without a second glance. No one questioned his presence here; it was the kind of privilege he had grown used to exploiting.

The hardest part was waiting. He lingered in the hallway, feigning interest in the activity around him, biding his time as the nurse completed her routine checks. Finally, she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Sinclair slipped in, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. The dim light cast shadows across the room, highlighting the unconscious teenager on the bed. Max lay motionless, pale and hooked up to various machines—a stark contrast to the chaos he’d caused in Sinclair’s life.

As he stepped closer, his cold gaze fixed on the teenager. "Well, Maxwell," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, bitter and venomous. "If nothing else, this will be easier on you than the desert. You’ll just… never wake up."

His hand moved to his pocket, fingers brushing against the cold steel of the needle he had concealed there. For a fleeting moment, he hesitated, his eyes flicking to the machines monitoring Max’s vitals. Satisfied no alarms would sound, his resolve hardened. Slowly, he withdrew the needle, its contents glinting ominously under the faint light.

He took a step closer, preparing to end what he believed should have concluded in the desert, when a sharp, commanding voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Put your hands where I can see them, Sinclair.”

The words startled him, and he spun around, his heart pounding. From the shadows, Athena emerged, her gun steady, her eyes locked on him with an intensity that froze him in place.

“It’s Attorney General Sinclair,” he corrected coldly, his voice dripping with indignation, even as panic flickered in his eyes.

Athena didn’t flinch, her aim unwavering. “I don’t care if you’re the President. Hands. Now.”

Sinclair’s composure cracked as he raised his hands slowly, the needle slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. The predator had become the prey, and for the first time, his power and authority meant nothing.

“I—” he began, but Athena cut him off sharply.

“Save it,” she snapped, her voice steely. “You’ve already said enough. Hands. Now.”

Sinclair raised his hands slowly, his composure unravelling as Athena stepped closer. The calm, calculated predator now looked like a cornered animal. “How…how did you know?”

“A man like you, easy enough to catch - we just left the bait and knew you couldn’t resist taking it; why do you think your PA made a point of telling you which hospital they were taking Max? She sent us the GPS tracking of your vehicle the minute you left your office - from there, it was just a case of waiting until you thought you had your chance, well not today Attorney General, not today.”

A few long hours later, Max’s eyes fluttered open, the bright light above stinging as he squinted against it. The sharp smell of bleach hit his nose, and he turned his head, disoriented by the sterile, unfamiliar surroundings.

“Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?” Buck’s familiar voice cut through the haze, warm and comforting.

Max blinked a few times, his vision clearing as he focused on the man sitting beside him. “Buck? You’re here? And…”

“I’m here too, Max,” Tommy said, leaning forward and giving Max’s hand a reassuring squeeze. His presence was steady, grounding Max in a way that made the sterile room feel a little less cold.

Max managed a weak smile. “I knew you were the favorite,” Buck quipped with mock indignation, crossing his arms dramatically. 

Chapter Text

It was the perfect crime -no witnesses, no evidence - except...

"Max… did you egg the principal's car?" Buck asked, his tone carefully measured, as if he were trying to coax a confession out of a career criminal not a teenager who was currently raiding the kitchen cupboards.

"Uh, no. I don’t think so…" Max replied, shifting awkwardly on the spot.

"You don’t think you egged the principal’s car?" Buck repeated, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "That feels like the sort of thing you’d know , don’t you?"

Max shrugged, feigning innocence. "I don’t recall, and honestly, it’s kinda offensive that you’d even accuse me of doing that."

Buck crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as he fixed Max with a knowing stare. "You don’t recall? You don’t think so? That’s interesting, because the principal thinks so. And, well..." He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and turned it around. "This thinks so too."

Max’s face went pale as he stared at the video playing on the screen. Grainy CCTV footage clearly showed him, Sam, and Dean sneaking through the parking lot, cartons of eggs in hand. The moment of impact was unmistakable: yolk splattering across the principal’s shiny black car in all its vandalized glory. It was beautiful.

Huh. Cameras. They’d forgotten about those.

Max gulped. "Uh… you know, that could be anyone," he said weakly, though he already knew the excuse was flimsy at best.

Buck raised an eyebrow. "Anyone wearing your jacket? With your haircut? Standing next to Sam and Dean, who, by the way, have alibis as convincing as yours?"

Max scratched the back of his neck, glancing nervously toward the door like a cornered animal. "Okay, fine. Maybe we egged it. But no one got hurt, and… honestly, it’s kinda funny."

Buck stared at him, unimpressed. "Funny? The principal’s furious, Max. You realize cleaning egg off a car isn’t exactly easy, right?"

Max shuffled his feet, muttering under his breath. "Sounds like a him problem."

Buck sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen to me, Max. You’re lucky this didn’t turn into something worse. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to apologize, offer to clean the car, and take Sam and Dean with you to help. Got it?"

Max lifted his head, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "And if I don’t?"

Buck’s expression hardened, his voice dropping an octave. "If you don’t, you’ll find out exactly how creative I can get with punishments. Spoiler: you won’t like it."

Max stared him down, and for a second, Buck considered calling Tommy over to play bad cop. Then Max hesitated, his bravado wavering. "Fine," he mumbled. "Whatever."

Buck narrowed his eyes. “Hold up, I thought you guys had parted ways?”

The next morning, at the 118 firehouse Buck groaned into his hands, slumping over the kitchen table. "I just don’t understand why ."

Hen smiled into her coffee cup as she walked past, sharing a knowing look with Bobby.

"Is it fair that he gets all the teenage angst with none of the prep work?" she asked the captain, who shrugged with a chuckle.

"Does anyone really get any prep work for dealing with teenagers?" Bobby replied, "Welcome to the club Buck".

But it wasn't just Buck adjusting to having a teenager full time...

Tommy shivered under the freezing spray of the shower, twisted the knob off, and wrapped a towel around himself. Water dripped onto the floor as he stalked into the living room, teeth chattering. A cold shower in his own house, a house he paid for.

“Maxwell,” Tommy snapped, stepping into the living room, dripping and shivering. “Did you use all the hot water?”

Max meanwhile was sprawled on the couch, looking comfy, didn’t even bother to look up at him. “Define ‘all the hot water.’”

“My shower was ice cold,” Tommy said through clenched teeth.

Max finally glanced up, shrugging off the comment. “Uh… Buck did the dishes earlier. Blame him.”

Tommy exhaled a long, measured breath, the kind that kept murder off his list of things to do today. Be the adult, he reminded himself. Be the adult.

Running a hand through his damp hair, he stepped closer. “ Maxwell ,” he repeated, his tone dry, his patience wearing thin, “Didn’t you have a shower before me, or do you expect me to believe that Buck and the dishes drain the entire water heater?”

Max finally looked up, his face the perfect picture of teenage indifference. “I mean… technically, yeah. But it wasn’t that long. And honestly, we should really check if this place has a good water heater. Could be faulty.”

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with all the composure he could muster, he nodded. “Good idea. First, I’ll check by installing a timer on the shower. Then we’ll see if the heater works better without your thirty-minute showers.”

Max blinked, caught off guard. “What? Thirty minutes? That’s an exaggeration.”

“Sure,” Tommy said, deadpan. “You’ve always been about brevity. Like now.”

Max chewed his bottom lip, paying attention to Tommy for the first time. “Brevity? Did someone die?”

This was the exact reason keeping Max in school was so important Tommy thought.

Tommy sighed, shaking his head as he grabbed a mug and poured himself coffee. "No, Max. No one died. Except maybe my patience. Brevity means short, concise, to the point" 

Max rolled his eyes, muttering, “Geez, dramatic much?” before going back to his phone.

Tommy turned, heading for the coffee maker, muttering under his breath, “We just got him back, but that doesn’t mean I can’t sell him to a circus.”

Buck had proposed - technically - in the helicopter. The issue was Buck didn't know if Tommy said yes because he was worried that Max was dead, and Tommy didn't know if Buck had asked because he was worried that Max was dead - and both of them were to insecure to risk asking and breaking their hearts again.

Later in the week, at the bar downtown Lucy lined up her shot at the pool table, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she attempted to line up her shot. She exhaled slowly, trying to drown out the sound of Tommy’s mood killing silence behind her. She caught his reflection in the nearby mirror—not so casually leaning on his pool cue.

She straightened abruptly, spinning around to glare at him. “Kinard, this pool cue is going somewhere if you don’t stop putting me off with your god damn moping.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Moping? You mean standing here silently, minding my own business, while you miss every shot? Don’t blame me for your poor pool-playing skills.”

Lucy’s glare sharpened. “Oh, please . You’re practically radiating self-pity over there. It’s like a raincloud hanging over the pool table. I can feel it, and it’s ruining my game.”

Tommy chuckled, tapping the tip of his cue against the floor. “Ever thought maybe you’re just bad at pool.”

Lucy huffed, turning back to the table. “Watch and learn, Kinard,” she muttered, lining up her shot again. She pulled the cue back, focused intently, and struck the white ball like a pro.

The white ball ricocheted brilliantly, sinking not one, not two, but three of her balls.

Lucy straightened, smug. “Your turn, and if you miss you have to tell what’s up your ass.”

While Lucy and Tommy played pool at the bar, Buck was having a quieter night in the Diaz household, Chris was spending the night at the friends place as Buck was nursed a quiet beer with Eddie on the couch.

“So, you half-assed a proposal to Tommy in the helicopter and then…?” Eddie asked, brow furrowed. “I haven’t heard anything about my best man role, if you don’t ask me Tommy might bet you on it.” 

“Uh, yeah… about that…” Buck trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “Buck! I know you’re an idiot, but come on ! What are you waiting for? Another lost teenager?”

“One is enough.” Buck replied solemnly. 

“You’re telling me, I want to squish Chris back to being five or six again.” 

Back at the bar, Tommy aimed his shot. Right as he took it, Lucy ‘accidentally’ bumped the table. His ball veered off, missed his, and sank one of hers.

"Oops," Lucy said, all fake innocence. "Guess you owe me an explanation now."

Tommy squinted at her. "That's cheating." Not only did she not look sorry, she had the nerve to look pleased with herself. 

Lucy grinned. "It's not my fault you crumble under pressure. Now, spill."

Buck sunk into the couch, “Get me another one while you’re up will you?” he asked Eddie.

Lucy exhaled deeply (over the top if you asked Tommy) before shaking her head dramatically, “I’m going to need another round before unpacking all your messy flaming homosexual drama Mister.”

“Wait a second, first you insult me, and now you expect me to pay for your beer?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Think of it as my commission,” Lucy replied with a wide grin, clearly enjoying herself.

“Not exactly the word I’d use,” Tommy deadpanned, his tone as dry as the desert.

Eddie popped the cap on the beer before handing it over to his best friend, Buck accepting it with a quiet nod. 

“It’s just, did he just say yes because we thought Max might be dead?”

Eddie groaned as he flopped down on the couch next to him.

“Evan was worried about Max, what if he wasn’t serious?” Tommy asked as Lucy resisted the urge to smack him.

Instead, Lucy leaned against the pool table, "Speaking of Max, is he causing you less headaches now?"

The following day, in the detention room , Max looked up, genuinely surprised as Chris walked in.

“C-Dawg? What did you do?” he asked, his voice low but still carrying a note of disbelief.

The teacher supervising detention shot Max a glare, followed by a stern, “Shhh.”

Chris slid into the seat next to Max, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the desk. “It’s stupid,” he muttered under his breath, clearly unhappy. He turned to Max, who was slouched lazily in his chair. “What about you? What did you do?”

“One dick on the toilet door wall, and they act like I set the whole school on fire,” Max said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “The toilet is full of dicks on the walls, why is it a big deal?”

“Shhh !”

Max smirked and poked his tongue out at the teacher, who thankfully wasn’t looking at that moment.

Chris shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “You really don’t make things easy for yourself, do you?”

Max shrugged. “Life’s already hard enough. Might as well get something out of it.”

Chris sighed, crossing his arms.

Minutes stretched on in detention , each one feeling longer than the last. Paper turned into paper balls, and one after another, they pelted Chris. He clenched his jaw, the irritation building with every soft smack against his head. Max, sitting a few seats away, snickered, clearly enjoying himself.

Chris gripped his crutches tightly, resisting the urge to snap. Maybe his dad should have convinced Buck to leave Max in the desert after all.

No, that wasn’t fair.
Smack .
Okay, maybe it was.

Chris turned to Max, his voice deliberate but firm. “W-what’s your p-problem?”

Max shrugged, the smirk still on his face. “Who said I have a problem?”

Chris sighed, giving up. It wasn’t worth it. Not really. Except… it kind of was. Max was everywhere, taking up all of Tommy and Buck’s time and energy— all of it. 

The thought made him angrier than he wanted to admit. He picked up one of the paper balls and, with a determined flick of his wrist, biffed it back at Max.

“Nice shot,” Max muttered, surprised.

“So yeah, I’m angry,” Max grumbled , slouching in his seat as the teacher raised an uninterested eyebrow from the front of the room. “My family disowned me; the first person I met after that died of cancer in some rundown apartment because his insurance wouldn’t pay out. Then some politician tried to throw me in jail and kill me. Yeah, I’m mad.”

Chris flipped through his notepad, trying to focus on anything else. “Join the club.”

“Oh, whatever,” Max shot back. “Your dad loves you even if you did have a cry in Texas over the summer.”

Chris’s cheeks burned, his grip tightening on his crutches. “Y-you don’t even know why I went to Texas.”

“Please,” Max sneered. “Did Daddy not let you have two scoops of ice cream?” It was deliberately designed to be a hurtful comment, to wind up Chris - and it worked - a little too well.

Chris didn’t think twice, which was the problem, as he swung his crutch, whacking Max on the arm. The loud thwack echoed through the room, making the teacher glance up sharply.

Max, to Chris’s surprise, took the blame. “Sorry, teach. Knocked a chair over.”

“Maxwell, I won’t warn you again,” the teacher growled, her attention already drifting back to her book.

Chris stared at Max, confused but also slightly impressed. Before he knew it, he was spilling his entire story: his dad leaving, his mom leaving, moving to LA, being reunited with his mom only to lose her in a car crash, surviving a tsunami, his dad getting shot, and then the final blow, his dad having an affair with a woman who looked like his dead mom. 

Try walking into your home and seeing a woman who looks like your dead mom kissing your dad.

Max blinked, leaning back in his chair. “Fuuuuuck, man. All parents are messed up, huh?”

“Maxwell!” the teacher snapped. “Another detention for that disgusting language.”

Chris felt a pang of guilt. “S-sorry, Max.”

Max shrugged, smirking. “Meh. I was gonna end up back here anyway.”

Later that evening, Buck tugged at his suit jacket for the hundredth time , fussing with his tie as Max leaned against the door-frame, arms crossed, watching him like a hawk. Max circled him slowly, sizing him up before nodding with exaggerated approval.

Just what Buck wanted - approval from a pimply, foul mouth teenager who ate far too much to be so lanky.

“Looking good, Evan . Tommy’s definitely gonna say yes, again.”

Buck shot him a look, pointedly ignoring the use of his first name. “What do you know?” he asked, turning back to the mirror to fix his hair for the umpteenth time.

Max shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I know a lot about what older guys like,” he said casually. “Like, they really liked it when...” but before Max could give Buck some unsolicited advice-

“Max, no,” Buck interrupted sharply, spinning to glare at him.

Max just grinned, completely unbothered. “Suit yourself then.”

By the time Buck reached the restaurant, his nerves were a live wire. The warm lighting and gentle hum of conversation should have calmed him, but all it did was make his palms sweat. Tommy sat across from him, smiling warmly, blissfully unaware of the chaos brewing inside Buck’s head.

When the moment felt right, after the appetizers but before dessert Buck took a deep breath and slid back his chair. He got down on one knee, his heart pounding in his chest. His hand darted into his jacket pocket for the ring… and got stuck.

Buck tugged at his pocket with increasing desperation, his face flushing. Just as he freed his hand with the box, a waiter carrying a precariously balanced tray of cocktails rounded the corner.

The waiter didn’t see Buck kneeling in his path until it was too late.

The tray tipped, and in an instant, Buck was doused in an explosion of colorful drinks. The restaurant fell silent, save for the clinking of ice and glass on the floor.

Tommy stared, wide-eyed, a hand covering his mouth. Buck froze, dripping with a mixture of mojito and martini, holding the ring box in one trembling hand.

Tommy burst out laughing

It was officially the worst night ever.

“Evan, it’s not that bad, and I said yes,” Tommy tried, his voice soothing as they made their way up the steps to their house. “So we didn’t get dinner or catch a movie. At least it’s not the worst reason we’ve ever canceled a date.”

Buck groaned, dragging a hand through his still-damp hair. “I smelled like a distillery, Tommy. That cop was convinced his machine was broken.”

Tommy bit his lip, trying, and failing not to laugh. Poor Buck had been breathalysed three times by the same skeptical officer, then subjected to a field sobriety test in the parking lot. And all because a waiter had spilled half the bar on him.

The cherry on top? From Tommy’s point of view at least - Tommy had suggested to Buck after the dinner fiasco that he should drive them home, but Buck had stubbornly refused, muttering something about "Being able to drive his own jeep."

They wouldn’t have spent twenty minutes pulled over if the driver hadn't stunk of cocktails. 

“Come on,” Tommy said, gently bumping his shoulder against Buck’s as they reached the front door. “You passed every test, didn’t you? You’re a hero, Evan Buckley, poster child for responsible drinking, even if you don’t happen to uh, exactly smell like responsible driving.”

Buck shot him a half-hearted glare. “Not funny.”

Tommy chuckled, unlocking the door. “It’s a little funny.”

Buck sighed as they stepped inside. Home sweet home. At least the night couldn’t get any worse...

Except, famous last words huh.

“MAX!”

There was not a naked teenager on their couch (except there was). Completely buck naked, spread over Tommy's couch, headphones in and hand doing the devils work.

Tommy was going to need bleach for his eyes.

Max yelped and lunged for Buck’s hoodie, which had been discarded earlier and now became an impromptu cover.

“That’s my hoodie! ” Buck half-yelled, half-groaned, as Max threw it over himself like he had any right to it. To be fair, it was that or a pillow, and Tommy's poor couch had suffered enough, and it served Buck right for dumping his hoody when he got home. Somehow Buck had learnt bad habits off Max (who was meant to be the the adult here?)

“Really?” Max shot back, indignant. “You want it back right now? ” His eyes darted toward his phone, propped precariously on a stack of books he wasn’t reading (but should of been), where a tinny voice on the other end of a video call was saying, “Dude… did you get caught?! Man, that’s the shit! ”

“Maxwell.” Tommy’s tone dripped with disbelief, it was like a car crash.

“Uh, excuse me?” Max whined, clutching the hoodie tighter. “You’re supposed to be out! Way later. Why are you even here right now?”

Tommy didn’t bother responding. He just snatched the phone off the table, scowling as he glanced at the screen. Thankfully, it was Axel, so not some random creep he’d have to deck but it still felt like grounds for a very thorough grounding. For so, so so many reasons.

"Hey!" Max called out, reaching for the phone while trying to keep the hoody covering everything "Give that back."

"Oh no, no, no, no, you have lost your phone privileges, goodbye Axel."

“That’s it. I’m going to bed,” Buck declared, throwing his hands in the air like the night had personally offended him.

“Evan, wait,” Tommy called, stopping him just as he reached the doorway. “Shower first, please, you smell like a brewery.”

Buck pouted, his lips jutting out like a sulky kid, but thankfully stomped off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving Tommy alone with a red-faced Max.

“Really, Maxwell?” Tommy asked, crossing his arms.

Max’s cheeks darkened further. “What? You guys were supposed to be out until, like, after midnight.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow as Max squirmed on the couch, clearly trying to shift as discreetly as possible. Tommy appreciated the effort. “Everything go okay?” Max ventured hesitantly.

“Oh, no. No, it did not, ” Tommy said with a laugh. Max’s face fell, but before he could spiral, Tommy held up his hand, flashing the engagement ring. “But I am engaged now. To a certified klutz, no less.”

Max’s expression flickered between relief and mortification as Tommy shook his head and sighed. “How about you go get dressed?”

“Uh…” Max hesitated, glancing down at the hoodie he had clutched strategically against himself. “I’m not really sure how to, you know… manage that without…”

Tommy took a second before it clicked in his head, his mouth opening before promptly shutting again. “Mmmm Right. Okay.” He gave a brisk nod. “Here’s the deal, I’m going to my room. You figure out whatever you need to figure out here. And just so you know, I’m buying a new couch tomorrow.”

"Can I have my phone back now?"

Chapter Text

There was a sold sign on the front yard. 

It was official. 

Buck stared at it for a long time before Tommy walked up behind him, cautiously wrapping an arm around his waist. When Buck didn’t protest the very public show of affection, Tommy pulled the other man closer and rested his head on Buck’s shoulder.

“ Our house.”

A new start for them - for the three of them. 

To be fair, Chim had practically adopted Buck as a younger brother before he even meet Maddie, so ending up with Buck as a brother-in-law was hardly that most unexpected thing.

Still

As Buck practically burst through the door of Maddie and Chim’s home, a wide grin plastered across his face. Maddie, visibly pregnant and perched on the couch with a bowl of popcorn resting on her belly, glanced up in surprise. Chimney, who was sitting beside her with a hand on her stomach, raised an eyebrow.

“Do you ever knock, Buck?” Chim asked, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Buck ignored the comment, too full of energy to be sidetracked. “Maddie, Chim, you’ll never believe it!” He practically danced over to them, his hand hidden behind his back.

“What happened?” Maddie asked, leaning forward as much as her belly would allow. “Did you finally get that chili cook-off trophy?” The question had the right amount of Maddie sass, while also being ever so slightly serious - Buck had been hounding Cap for weeks for the secret to great chilli - spoil alert, it was chocolate powder. 

“Or,” Chim added, leaning back with a smirk, “Have they spotted King Kong climbing the Wilshire Grand Center .”

Buck shot him a mock glare. “What, no!, nothing to do with chilli or a King.”

Oh god, please tell Chim that Buck knew King Kong was a giant ape and not a Royal King.

“Good,” Chim said, nodding. “Because I’m not sure if you would be the giant ape or a screaming damsel.”

“Anyway, back to the point, look !” Buck grinned so wide it looked like his face might split. He dramatically pulled his hand from behind his back and held it out to reveal a simple but elegant engagement ring on his finger.

Huh , Chim thought to himself, there had certainly been enough drama and plot twists for this to rival the best rom-coms. 

Maddie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh my God! Buck, are you—did you—?”

“Yes! And he said yes!”

“ Again .” Chim added, which he thought was helpful, since these two idiots had already proposed in the helicopter. Judging by the shared glares from the Buckley duo, his comment was not as helpful as he pictured. 

“What?” Chim said, feigning innocence. “You guys are like Groundhog Day . Always resetting, but somehow, it works every time. It must be fate, we all ended up at the 118 - even Tommy.”

Buck and Maddie exchanged a baffled look.

“What does that mean?” Buck asked, looking to Maddie for guidance but she was shrugged as she took another mouthful of popcorn.

This movie references were wasted on the pop-culture illiterate Buckleys. 

“Never mind,” Chim sighed, leaning back against the couch and shaking his head. “Hen would’ve gotten it.”

“You could’ve just said congratulations,” Maddie teased.

It was a beautiful morning, one of the first in their new home. Their home. The one Buck and Tommy had chosen—together. This wasn’t just moving in; this was a real, no-going-back commitment.

Speaking of no-going-back commitments...

“Why am I up soooo early on a Sunday?” Max groaned, rubbing his eyes as he squinted at Buck, the sunlight streaming in. “Isn’t this against the Geneva Conventions?”

On one hand, Buck could have done with Max wearing more than a pair of boxer shorts as he leaned against the kitchen counter, but on the other hand, at least he was paying attention in history class. 

Thank god for small mercies. 

 “We’re making breakfast for Tommy,” Buck said, rummaging through a cabinet.

“Uh, and why is it my responsibility to feed your boyfriend?” 

Buck had not been equipped with nearly enough coffee to deal with this level of teenage sass so early in the morning. 

“Because my boyfriend puts a roof over your head and a shirt on your back. Speaking of which, where is your shirt?” Buck asked, giving Max a pointed look.

Max glanced down at himself clad in his boxer shorts and shrugged, and said nothing. Buck sighed in defeat and pressed on.

“Besides, you need to learn how to cook for yourself.”

“I can cook for myself,” Max shot back.

“Pouring milk into a bowl, boiling water for instant noodles, and reheating microwave meals do not count,” Buck replied, raising an eyebrow.

Max crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “Fine. What’s on the menu, Chef Buck? Please don’t say something fancy like French Toast.”

Buck rolled his eyes, French Toast was hardly a fancy breakfast item. “Relax, Gordon Ramsay, we’re keeping it simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Even you can handle that.”

Max sighed dramatically. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Nope. Start by cracking these eggs into the bowl.” Buck set a bowl and a carton of eggs in front of Max.

Max grabbed an egg and hesitated. “This is stupid.”

Buck paused for a second from hunting for the seasonings, leaning over, “Hey there, do you want me to show you how?”

“No, I can crack an egg.” Max snapped, and Buck bit his tongue as he watched the disaster unfold, the egg hitting the corner of the bowl too fast and on the wrong angle. 

Showing great restraint, Buck grabbed another egg, “Watch this.”

Tommy walked into what could only be described as a disaster zone —egg yolk covered  the counter, dishes were piled high, and yet the smell was undeniably mouthwatering.

“Ta-da!” Max declared proudly, holding out a plate for him, his grin wide as Tommy’s eyes scanned the chaotic kitchen.

“How about you enjoy this masterpiece outside in the sun, with a coffee and the paper?” Buck interjected smoothly, already steering Tommy away from the wreckage before he could comment further.

Having survived Breakfast, a bush fire and Lucy’s teasing, Tommy was looking forward to a relaxing game of basketball with the west-side firefighters. 

“So who's going to be your best man?” Eddie asked as they did their warm ups.

To be honest, Tommy hadn’t put any thought into it - at all. There had been the house moving, then Max wanting to learn to drive, parent teacher events, Max’s basketball training, Max’s guitar lessons. 

A lot of Max related things. What happened to working, then going out for a drink? 

“Uh, I’m still fielding applicants.” Tommy answered, using Eddie’s moment of confusion to steal the ball. 

Max wanted to learn to drive—which meant starting with the basics: changing a tire.

So, one rare free weekend afternoon, Tommy found himself in the driveway instead of playing basketball, shooting pool, or having beers with his crew. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow as Tommy knelt next to the car, the jack and spare tire ready for the demonstration.

Max stood nearby, hands shoved in his pockets, looking bored but notably not scrolling on his phone—a small victory in Tommy’s book.

“Why do I have to learn this before I’ve even learned to drive?” Max asked. Depending on who you asked, it was either a question or a whine.

“Because changing a tire is a life skill,” Tommy replied, patting the ground beside him. “You’ll thank me when you’re stranded on a highway somewhere.”

Max crouched down, glancing between Tommy and the flat tire. “Riiiiight….ever heard of Triple A ? They send trucks for this kind of thing.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure, but what if your phone’s dead? Self-reliance, Max. And it’s not as hard as it looks.”

Max didn’t look convinced as Tommy continued. “First step: safety. What do you do if your car starts wobbling while you’re driving?”

Max sighed. “Speed up…”

Tommy’s pointed look made Max groan before correcting himself. “Fine. Pull over, duh.”

“That’s right. But make sure it’s a flat, stable spot away from traffic. And don’t forget the parking brake,” Tommy added, tapping the brake pedal.

This was going to be painful.

Eventually, Max got a wrench in his hands. He gave a half-hearted tug on a lug nut, earning a scoff from Tommy.

“It’s stuck,” Max complained. “Guess it’s time to call Triple A. ”

Tommy chuckled. “Not so fast. Use your foot for leverage, but keep your balance.”

Wise advice, promptly ignored.

Max rolled his eyes and stepped on the wrench. When nothing happened, he grunted and pressed harder. Finally, the lug nut gave a satisfying creak—but Max lost his balance. Arms flailing, he landed flat on his backside with a thud.

Tommy burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny, old man,” Max grumbled, brushing dirt off his jeans. “Stupid wheel.”

“A bad tradesperson blames his tools,” Tommy said with a grin. “Now loosen the rest, but don’t take them off yet.”

After much grumbling, Max finally finished changing the tire.

Tommy clapped him on the back. “Congrats, Max. You just changed a tire. How’s it feel?”

Max wiped his hands, a small smile creeping in. “Not bad. Kind of satisfying, actually.”

“Told you it’s not hard,” Tommy said. “Now clean up and put everything back in the trunk. That part’s all yours.”

Max groaned. “Come on, man”

The problem with Max learning to drive was that Buck texted him mid-shift to let him know the back of his truck was no longer shiny, black, or free from dents.

When Tommy got home, Max was waiting at the door, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Before Tommy could even put his key in the lock, Max blurted out, “Uh, hey. How’s it going?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Maxwell.”

“Good day at work?” Max tried, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Tommy folded his arms, his gaze narrowing. “What did you do?”

Max swallowed hard, glancing at the truck parked in the driveway before looking back at Tommy. “So… funny story…”

Tommy’s expression didn’t change.

Max took a deep breath. “I… might have backed into a pole. But only a little! The truck’s fine—mostly. Just, uh, not the back of it.”

For a moment, Tommy just stared, his silence heavy. Max braced himself, genuinely worried Tommy might punch him. Sure, Buck had repeatedly reassured Max that there was would be no beating, and Tommy didn't seem the type - but there was still a small voice in the back of his head, one that reminded him of the time he accidentally scratched his dad's car with his bike and ended up a black eye that they blamed on his older sister Vanessa.

Plus, this was way worse - the back left hand side of Tommy's truck was basically totaled (not really, but in Max's eyes it was)

Instead, Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.

“You backed into a pole?” Tommy finally said, his tone calm but sharp.

Max nodded quickly. “Yeah. But I’m gonna fix it! I swear!”

Tommy sighed again, shaking his head - seeing was believing and he had to admit, his heart did break a little bit seeing the back of his truck with a smashed tail light and scratch marks. 

“You can punch me if you like?” Max offered, grimacing slightly. 

“Don’t be stupid, it was an accident.” Tommy said before hugging Max tight, feeling a sense of relief as Max went from tense to relaxed in his arms. “There is never an acceptable excuse to punch you.” as Tommy ruffled his hair. Buck was right, Tommy would never hurt him.

Even if his baby was looking very sorry in the driveway. 

“Max can pay the $250 excess out of his allowance” Tommy said, he didn’t want to punish Max for an accident - but he also had to teach him about responsibility in the real world.

Buck bit his lip, “I don’t think that’s fair…”

“He did back my truck into a pole.”

“Yeah, but I was supervising.” Buck explained, “And his foot slipped.”

Tommy sighed, “Okay, how about we go half - Max can pay $125 and we pay the other $125”

Buck pursed his lips together, which is how they ended up going a third each - well, Max $50 and Buck and Tommy $100 each.

Buck paid Tommy back in a distinctly non-cash way.

A couple of days later, Tommy sat beside his father, who lay frail in the hospital bed.

“You showed up,” his father said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I did,” Tommy replied evenly, reaching over to pick up a orange sitting on the hospital table next to the bed - not that Tommy was hungry, he just needed something to do with his hands as he sat in the awkward atmosphere.  

“I didn’t think you would.”

Tommy gave a small, bitter laugh. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t think I would either.” as he rolled the orange in his hands. 

His father shifted slightly, wincing. “There’s a lot I want to say.”

Tommy chuckled again, this time with a sharper edge, squeezing the poor orange like a stress ball in his hands. “Oh, me too, Sir. Me too.”

His father hesitated before continuing. “That kid…”

“ Maxwell ,” Tommy corrected firmly.

“Maxwell,” his father repeated. “He… he upset me. Seeing you with him, realizing you’ve been a better father in a few months than I’ve been in forty years… that hurt.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “Well, to be fair, Sir, I have you to thank for that.”

His father frowned, confused. “How’s that?”

Tommy leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “I looked at you and swore—swore black and blue—that I would never make anyone feel like the burden you made me feel.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. His father blinked, the weight of Tommy’s statement settling over him.

Tommy sat back, folding his arms, orange now tucked under his arm pit. “That’s all I’ve got to say. You wanted me here. Now I’m here.” 

For the first time, his father didn’t have a retort. He simply nodded, his eyes glassy, as the silence filled the room.

Tommy’s mind was juggling a hundred different things as he sat at the table, only half-listening to Buck. Given this was their wedding, he probably should be paying more attention. 

“We could share Eddie,” Buck said casually as he wiped the bench.

Tommy froze. What ?

“As best man,” Buck clarified, unaware of the double meaning, entirely unfazed. “He’s my best friend, and he’s your good friend. I think he could handle both of us.”

That was a mental image Tommy could’ve done without. He grimaced slightly and shook his head. “Yeah, no. Lucy’s going to be my best man,” he said firmly, leaving no room for debate.

“Did you think to ask me first, Kinard? Maybe I’m busy that day,” Lucy said, crossing her arms with a pointed glare. If he didn’t know her and her terrible sense of humour, he might have been worried - instead Tommy didn’t miss a beat, his smirk deliberately borderline infuriating. “Busy? Who, you?”  

Lucy rolled her eyes. “ Funny . I’ll have you know my calendar fills up fast. People actually like me.”

You lean out of one high rise building and catch one woman, and suddenly your ego goes through the roof Tommy thought to himself as he raised an eyebrow, his voice calm and dry. “Well Buck did suggest that Eddie might be the better choice for best man for both of us, you know since he’s so reliable...”

A calculated goading - and it worked.

“ Excuse me ?” Lucy snapped, leaning forward as if she were ready to go toe-to-toe with him right then and there. “I will make an amazing best man.”

Tommy tilted his head, his smirk widening. “ Will ? That’s an awful lot of confidence for someone who hasn’t even RSVP’d yet.”

Lucy’s grin turned sly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’m already planning your stag do, Kinard. And trust me, you’re going down. ”

Back at the 118, Ravi put down the cleaning rag long enough to look Buck dead in the eyes and said.

“So you finally found someone man enough not flee you?”

“Haha.”That was very funny, Buck thought to himself, although it was a pity Ravi was no longer a probie. 

There was something Buck had to tick off before the wedding - it was kind of a big thing.

Athena opened the door, a warm smile lighting up her face as she pulled him into a hug. “Buck, it’s good to see you. Come on in.”

“Thanks, Athena. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Of course not. Bobby’s in the kitchen. You know how he gets when he’s tinkering with dinner leftovers,” she teased, leading him inside.

The house smelled delicious. Bobby turned from the kitchen counter when they walked in, wiping his hands on a towel. His face lit up when he saw Buck.

“Hey, Buck! What brings you here?” Bobby asked, pulling Buck into one of his firm, grounding hugs.

Buck hesitated as Bobby stepped back, suddenly unsure how to bring up what he’d come for. He set the pastry box that he had brought as a bribe on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, uh… I’ve been thinking,” Buck began, his voice softer than usual. “About the wedding. And, uh… who I’d want to officiate, you know, I want it to be someone important.”

Athena arched a brow, leaning casually against the counter, her detective instincts clearly sensing where this was going. Bobby just looked at Buck with that calm, patient expression he always wore, waiting for him to find his words.

“You’ve been like a father to me, Bobby,” Buck finally said, his voice wavering slightly. “I mean, you’ve been there through… well, everything. You believed in me when I didn’t. And I can’t imagine anyone else standing up there when I marry Tommy.”

"Apart from Tommy?" Bobby said with a grin, throwing Buck off guard slightly.

"Uh,yeah, it's important he's there too I guess." Buck agreed with a chuckle, "But, uh, serious Cap"

Bobby’s eyes softened, the weight of Buck’s words settling in. Athena’s expression melted into something equally tender, her gaze flicking to Bobby with a quiet smile.

“Are you asking me to officiate your wedding?” Bobby asked, keeping his tone light but full of emotion.

Buck nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I am. I mean, if you’re okay with it. If it’s too much pressure, I—”

“Buck,” Bobby interrupted, placing a steadying hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I’d be honored. Nothing would mean more to me.”

The relief that washed over Buck was clear as day on his face, his grin breaking through as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Really?”

“Of course. You’re family, Buck. And I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Athena, stepped in with a teasing smile. “Just don’t make him cry too much during the vows. I’d like to get through the ceremony without smudging my makeup, do you know how much effort I put into looking this amazing.”

Chapter Text

Karen cornered Tommy at the the 118 BBQ with a simple message - hurt Buck again, and she would hurt him. She then smiled sweetly, offered him a piece of cake and told him how much she was looking forward to the wedding. 

It’s funny—not funny ‘haha,’ but funny ‘weird.’

Buck and Tommy’s decision to adopt Max had been meant to ground him, to give him a sense of belonging.

Meant to.

Best-laid plans, and all that.

27th November 1982: David Mitchell Walters is born.

27th November 2024: Maxwell Walters sat on his bed, his face lit by the glow of his phone as he reread  the message he had typed out:

Hey Dad, Hope you and the family are well! Happy Birthday. Miss you, Max.

His thumb hovered over the send button, but he couldn’t press it. A knot of guilt tightened in his stomach. Why did he even feel the urge to send it? His father had kicked him out, disowned him, and hadn’t cared when Max had nearly died.

Max set the phone down, running a hand through his hair. Tommy and Buck had moved mountains to help him rebuild his life, piecing him back together when his family had left him shattered. But no matter how much love they gave, there was still a hole where his family used to be.

Max missed his older sister’s relentless drama, even when it drove him crazy. Her endless parade of charming, good-looking boyfriends (Far out, his sister had the best taste in boys - looks wise anyway) had made family dinners unpredictable, often hilarious, and occasionally disastrous. He missed his mom’s cooking—the warmth of her kitchen back when home had felt like home.

Home was LA now. A house with a big bedroom (outrageously large for LA), a nice backyard, and two doting idiots who would do anything for him. Guitars hung on his wall (yes, that was a ‘s’ after guitar, as in more than one) his basketball sat on a side table, and yet... 

How dare he miss his old life when he had it so good here?

He picked the phone back up and reread the message. After a moment, he deleted it and started over.

Hey David, Have a good day. From Max

Send

A little message popped up underneath it: message undeliverable. 

Max stared at the message for a moment before hitting retry, the same message appeared again.

With shaking hands, and unsteady breathing, Max dialed the number and an automatic voice answered:

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

Max let the phone drop onto the bed, his chest tightening. His father had blocked him. He shouldn’t be surprised—shouldn’t even care. David had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with him.

But it did matter. And it did hurt.

He buried his face in his hands as the familiar storm of emotions bubbled over. Anger, sadness, rejection—they churned together into a sickening mess inside him. None of it was new, but none of it was any easier to process.

Now on top of it, he felt guilt - a sense of betrayal of Buck and Tommy. 

Tommy’s voice echoed in his mind, steady and comforting, from a conversation they’d had months ago: “Your worth isn’t defined by the people who can’t see it.”

No, its defined by his actions.

Later that night, Max sat at the dinner table with Tommy. Buck was on shift. Max poked at the pasta on his plate, moving it around but not eating much.

“Hey,” Tommy said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I know I’m not Evan, but it’s not that bad, is it?”

Max blinked and looked up. “What? Oh, no, it’s good. I just... had a big lunch.”

It wasn’t true. The pasta was good—Tommy wasn’t a MasterChef like Buck (thanks to Bobby’s mentoring), but he definitely knew his way around the kitchen. Max just wasn’t hungry.

Tommy watched him for a moment, his easygoing demeanor softening into something quieter, gentler. He didn’t push, but his eyes held a silent understanding.

Max twirled a forkful of pasta, forcing himself to take a bite. It was the least Tommy deserved.

The next day, sitting in the therapist’s office , Max fidgeted with his hands, staring at the floor to avoid eye contact. The nut doctor—sorry, therapist—sat across from him, doing that thing therapists did: judging him under the guise of listening.

This was supposed to be a “safe place.”

“So,” the therapist began, their voice calm and measured, “you feel that by wanting your family back, you’re letting down Buck and Tommy?”

Max sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Pretty much.”

His family didn’t want him, so why did he miss them? Why did it feel like such a betrayal to even think about them?

He wasn’t sure why Buck and Tommy were spending so much money on this person. He had literally just said that. Was repeating his words back to him really worth $200 an hour? If basketball or band didn’t work out, maybe he could become a therapist. Two hundred bucks an hour to parrot back what some messed-up kid said? Easy money.

“And this is because you missed your father’s birthday for the first time?” the therapist asked, scribbling in their notebook.

Max fought the urge to roll his eyes. Truly groundbreaking stuff. He crossed his arms and muttered, “Uh-huh.”

The therapist nodded, tilting their head slightly, their voice softening. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that Buck and Tommy have recently taken legal steps to adopt you, including reaching out to your parents to see if they’ll willingly terminate their parental rights?”

That hit like a punch to the gut. Max froze, his sarcastic exterior crumbling. “I don’t see why it would,” he said, his voice defensive.

Apart from the fact that it made him feel like a failure as a son.The fact that it made everything real. 

Final.

The therapist leaned forward slightly, their expression sympathetic. “How does that make you feel?”

It was a stupid question.

He should be grateful - Buck and Tommy didn’t need to give him a place, they could have left him to Child Services to deal with, or living on the street, getting abused daily. 

But when Max opened his mouth to snap back, nothing came out. He realized, to his own frustration, that he didn’t know how he felt. Betrayed? Loved? Angry? Relieved? It all tangled together in a suffocating knot he couldn’t begin to unravel.

It was all too real. He would no longer be his parents’ son—not just because they’d verbally disowned him, kicked him out, and let him move three states away without a second thought, but legally. That severance, once it happened, would be permanent.

“Max,” the therapist said gently, their voice cutting through the storm of his thoughts. “It’s okay to want your family back. That doesn’t mean you’re betraying the family you have now.”

Max fidgeted with his sleeves, his mind racing. It felt like a betrayal to the people who had fought for him, who had pieced him back together. But it also felt like a betrayal to himself to give up hope for the family he had lost.

Tommy was waiting in the reception area when Max emerged , his arms crossed as he leaned against  the wall. “Hey,” Tommy greeted gently, his tone cautious. “Everything okay, Maxwell?” The scowl on Max’s face told Tommy everything was not okay.

“Everything’s fine ,” Max snapped, not breaking stride as he pushed past Tommy, his shoulders tense.

Tommy sighed, watching Max storm off. Everything was not fine.

While Tommy was picking Max up, across LA Hen knew there was something brewing the moment she stepped into the firehouse kitchen . Eddie was at the table, staring—no, glaring—at the laptop screen.

“Everything all good, Eddie?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie looked up with an bright smile. “Morning, Hen! Just trying to organize Buck’s stag do.” His smile dropped instantly as he turned back to the laptop, his brow furrowing. “Hopefully it goes better than Chim’s.”

From the couch, Chimney’s voice rang out. “I didn’t even want one!”

Eddie didn’t look up as he clicked furiously at something on the screen. “We threw you the best stag do ever, and you didn’t even show!” he called back, his tone exasperated and Hen could understand why, Buck and Eddie were still paying off the damages to the hotel room.

To be fair, Chim had made it clear he didn’t want one - and he was suffering from life threatening brain condition, so…

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Chimney shot back, dripping with mock apology. “I was too busy dying from a brain disease. Please, forgive me!”

Hen sighed, holding up her hands as a truce as she walked over to the sink, she had come up to relax, not engage in World War Three. 

It wasn’t Tommy’s fault. Max reminded himself of that as he sat fuming in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Tommy, let alone talk to him. The silence between them was thick,  even over the radio. 

Tommy glanced at him briefly, his face calm but watchful. “Did you want to stop by the basketball court on the way home?” he offered, his tone light, hopeful. It might be a good way to blow off some steam and, if Tommy was lucky, coax out whatever had been eating away at Max for days.

Max didn’t even flinch. His eyes stayed glued to his phone, scrolling aimlessly through apps he wasn’t actually reading. “I’m meeting Axel,” he muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. “You can just drop me at the skate shop. It’s on the way home anyway.”

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was half a request, half a demand. Tommy sighed inwardly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he weighed his response. He didn’t want to push Max further, but he also knew dropping him off without saying anything might only make things worse.

“Max,” Tommy began cautiously, his tone even. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Max’s shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching as he snapped back, “Why do I always have to repeat myself? I’m fine. The only issue I have is people keep asking me.” His words were sharp, defensive, but his body language betrayed him—rigid, wound tight like a spring ready to snap.

Tommy exhaled slowly, his patience holding steady despite Max’s tone. He debated whether to press the issue or let it drop. The last thing he wanted was to push Max further into himself, but the frustration radiating off him was impossible to ignore. Something was clearly eating at him, and it wasn’t just teenage angst.

“Look,” Tommy said after a moment, softening his voice. “You should know by now you don’t have to talk to me about whatever’s going on if you’re not ready. But I’m here. Always. And so is Evan.”

Max didn’t respond, his eyes still fixed on his phone. But Tommy caught the way his grip tightened on the device, the way his shoulders hunched forward just a little more. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Tommy sighed again, glancing at the clock on the dashboard before flicking on his blinker. “Alright,” he said finally, his tone resigned but calm. “Skate shop it is.”

Max leaned against the brick wall of the skate shop, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets as he watched Tommy’s recently repaired truck disappear around the corner. The knot in his chest tightened further. He knew logically he shouldn’t be acting like this—pushing people away, picking fights over nothing. But emotionally, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

He kicked at a loose rock on the pavement, scowling as it skittered across the asphalt. Tommy and Buck should be excited about their wedding. They should be planning stag parties, laughing over flower arrangements, basking in their happiness. Instead, they were stuck dealing with him.

Why was he ruining everything? And when would they finally have enough of him?

Axel blew out a cloud of vape smoke, sitting on the edge of the skate park. “Why are you being a brat?” 

“A brat?” Max repeated, offended and confused - he hadn’t arranged to meet upn with Axel to be insulted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Axel chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “You heard me. You’re acting like a total brat .”

Max crossed his arms defensively, glaring at him. “I’m not acting like anything. You don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Don’t have to,” Axel said easily, shrugging. “You’ve had that ‘ poor me ’ vibe all night. It’s annoying.”

“I’m so sorry I’m annoying.” Max snapped. 

Axel rolled his eyes taking a deeper puff on his vape, “You really need to chill bro; life’s not a dick; you don’t have to take it so hard.”

Max’s chest tightened as Axel’s words hit too close to home. He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, staring down at the pavement. “Fuck off,” he muttered. 

Axel tilted his head, his usual smirk faltering as he studied Max with a mix of amusement and concern. “Dude, you’re such a drama queen. Talk to your dads and stop—”

“I’m not a drama queen!” Max shot to his feet, the motion so sudden it startled Axel. His voice rose, shaky and full of anger he couldn’t control. “And stop calling them my dads! They’re not—” He stopped short, his breath hitching as the words he couldn’t finish hung heavily in the air.

Fuck it.

He stormed off without another word, his shoulders rigid and his steps quick and angry. His mind raced as he put distance between himself and Axel. 

He wasn’t being a drama queen! 

Right?

Right?

At the 118, Eddie approached Buck with a gleam in his eye , clearly excited about his latest idea.

“I’m thinking Hawaii Five-0, the classic, not the remake,” Eddie began, his grin stretching ear to ear. “I’d be Steve, obviously.”

Buck gave him a look, unimpressed. “Oh, so that makes me Danny?” he muttered.

Eddie smirked, bouncing on his heels. “You bet. Book ‘em, Danno! ” he added with an exaggerated flourish, enjoying how Buck’s expression soured.

Buck ignored the dig, his thoughts shifting. “Themed parties aren’t really Tommy’s thing…” he mused aloud, his brow furrowed.

Eddie tilted his head, clearly amused. “I know. That’s why Lucy is planning Tommy’s stag do.”

“Oh. Right,” Buck said, the realization dawning as his ears turned a little pink. “It’s just… when I think about stuff now, I kinda picture Tommy being there, you know?”

Eddie immediately pulled a face, mimicking a gag.

“Real mature,” Buck deadpanned, though the corners of his mouth twitched as he tried not to smile.

“Max!” Axel’s voice called out in the distance as he got up to follow . “Max, don’t do this, man! Just stop!”

“Leave me alone, Axel!” Max barked over his shoulder, his pace quickening as he headed toward the far end of the skate park. He needed space—he needed to get away from Axel, from the tangled mess of emotions clawing at his chest, from everything.

Buck was wrong - weed would make this better. Maybe Axel had a joint. 

No, fuck Axel. 

“Max!, stop walking that way! Oi dumbass, stop!” Axel’s voice grew louder, more urgent.

Max’s eyes caught sight of orange tape flapping limply in the breeze, strung between metal stakes and a battered wooden sign. Keep off the grass, his brain supplied lazily, dismissing it without a second thought. What did he care about some patch of grass?

Screw the grass. Screw the city. Screw everything.

Except it wasn’t a ‘ Keep off the grass ’ sign.

Without slowing, he hopped over the tape, gravel crunching under his sneakers as he stomped onward as he heard Axel shouting in the background.

“Why don’t you just fuck off?” Max called back, his tone dripping with irritation.

“Stop, dumbass! You’re walking into—” Axel’s warning turned into a panicked yell as Max’s foot slipped off the edge of the path.

The world tilted violently, and Max’s stomach lurched as he stumbled forward. He barely had time to register the sudden drop before his body slammed into the bottom of a construction pit with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in his side, sharp and searing, and his breath left him in a strangled gasp.

“Max!” Axel’s voice cracked, frantic and echoing from above as he scrambled to the edge of the pit. “Shit, shit, shit! Are you okay?”

Max groaned weakly, his head swimming. He tried to move, but a fresh wave of agony tore through him, forcing him still. His gaze flicked downward, and his stomach churned at the sight of a metal rod protruding from his side. Blood pooled around it, dark and terrifying against the dirt.

Axel’s pale face appeared above him, his eyes wide with panic. “Don’t move! Just—don’t move! I’m calling 9-1-1!”

The call came through to the 118 just as Buck’s phone buzzed in his pocket, Maddie’s name flashing on the screen. Buck frowned, pulling it out and glancing at Eddie. “That’s weird,” he muttered, answering quickly. “Maddie? What’s up?”

Her voice was steady but carried a weight that immediately set him on edge. “The call you’re being dispatched to… it’s Max.”

Buck froze, the words hitting him like a gut punch. His heart dropped as the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio: “Teen victim, male, fell into a pit, impaled on a metal rod.”

He barely registered Chim’s question behind him. “Buck, what’s going on?”

“It’s Max,” Buck said hoarsely, his voice distant.

Eddie stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Buck, are you okay?”

Buck didn’t respond right away. His mind raced with images of Max—defiant, stubborn, but with that flicker of vulnerability he always tried to hide. The thought of him hurt, trapped, or worse, sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

Bobby’s firm voice cut through the haze. “Buck.”

Buck turned to him, his eyes wide with desperation. “Cap, I need to go. He’s my—” His voice cracked. “I have to be there.”

Bobby’s expression softened, but his tone remained steady. “Buck, I get it. But you’re not in the right headspace for this.”

“I can do it,” Buck said, his voice rising with urgency. “He needs me.”

Bobby held his gaze for a long moment, weighing the decision. Everyone in the room knew keeping Buck away from Max would be like trying to stop a freight train.

Finally, Bobby relented with a heavy sigh. “Fine. But you stay out of the way unless you’re asked. Let the team do their job.”

Buck nodded, relief and determination flashing across his face. “Thank you, Cap.”

As they moved out to the trucks, Eddie leaned closer to Buck, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ll get him, Buck. He’s going to be okay.”

Buck nodded again, gripping the handle of the truck like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Hey, man,” Axel said, his voice shaking as he pressed his hoodie over Max’s wound, blood already soaking through the fabric. “ Don’t—don’t die on me, okay? Seriously, dude, this isn’t funny. Stay awake or whatever. Just… stay.”

Max blinked sluggishly, the world tilting as he struggled to focus on Axel’s face. His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. “Hurts…” he mumbled, the word barely audible, slurred by the effort of speaking.

“Yeah, no shit it hurts!” Axel snapped, his voice cracking as he tried to sound tougher than he felt. His hands were slick with blood, trembling as he kept the pressure on. “You fell into a damn pit and got stabbed by, like, a pole. Of course it hurts! But you gotta hang on, bro. You hear me?”

Max shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and Axel’s eyes widened in alarm. “Dude, don’t move!” he practically yelled, his voice breaking. “What are you doing? You’re gonna, like, bleed more or something. Just stay still, okay?”

Max’s lips twitched faintly, his breath shallow. “Can you… tell them I’m sorry… for being… you know…” He coughed weakly, wincing.

Axel stared at him, his brows furrowing. “For being what? A grade A brat? A giant dick, a dumbass who falls into a pit?”

Max managed, his lips twitching into a weak smile. His laugh was barely more than a wheeze, cut short by a sharp cough that made his chest ache. “Yeah… sure… a brat.”

“Shut up,” Axel muttered, his voice shaking as he adjusted his grip on the hoodie. “You can tell them yourself when they get here.”

Max’s eyelids drooped, his head lolling slightly to the side. “Please…” he whispered, the faintest tremor in his voice. “Tell them it’s not their fault… it’s not…”

“Max,” Axel said sharply, his voice rising in panic. “You can tell them yourself. You’ll tell them, okay? You’ll tell them.”

“Axel…” Max’s lips moved, but his voice was barely there. His breathing grew more labored, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. His eyes glazed over slightly, unfocused and distant.

Axel leaned closer, pressing down harder on the wound despite Max’s flinch of pain. “Hey! Stay with me, man! You’re not checking out, you hear me? Help’s almost here, and you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna tell them yourself, okay? Just hold on.”

“Maddie? Maddie, are you still there?” Axel yelled into the phone, his voice cracking with panic.

“I’m here, Axel,” Maddie replied, her tone calm but firm.

“How far away are they?” Axel demanded, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He glanced at Max, pale and barely conscious on the ground, and felt his stomach twist.

“Help is two minutes out,” Maddie assured him, though her voice held an edge of urgency.

“We don’t have two minutes, Maddie!” Axel shouted, his voice breaking as he pressed harder on Max’s wound, feeling the blood seeping through the fabric. “He’s bleeding so much—I don’t think he can wait that long!”

“Axel, listen to me,” Maddie said, her voice steady, anchoring. “You’re doing everything right. Just keep applying pressure. Don’t let up. They’re almost there.”

Buck had never had time for Axel before, he was too old for Max, vaped, ditched school and just generally too much of a bad influence on Max - but now, as he stood helplessly watching Hen and Chim work frantically on Max, all of that seemed irrelevant.

Without thinking, Buck’s arm came around Axel’s shoulders, grounding the wayward teenager as much as himself. Axel stood stiffly for a moment before leaning into the contact, his breath hitching as he stared at Max’s pale face.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he, sir?” Axel asked quietly, his voice trembling. “I— I tried. I swear I tried. I promised him, and I— I didn’t know what else to do.”

Buck’s throat tightened at the raw guilt and fear in Axel’s words. For all his rough edges, Axel had stayed, had done everything he could for Max when it mattered most.

Tommy leaned over the kitchen sink, wiping the sick off his chin. This was his fault, he should have never let Max out of his sight. 

Hours later, sitting in the hospital waiting room , Tommy’s mind was still spinning with what-ifs . Playing out endless scenarios to avoid Max ending up in hospital again, because he hadn’t done enough.

Buck kicked Tommy’s leg lightly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Stop it,” Buck said simply.

“Stop what?” Tommy asked, his voice tired, his mind still stuck in the endless loop of guilt.

“Blaming yourself,” Buck replied, his blue eyes piercing. “It’s not your fault.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but Buck cut him off. “Max made his own choices, Tommy. And yeah, some of them weren’t great, but he’s still here because of you. Because of what you’ve done for him. Don’t take that away from yourself.”

For a moment, Tommy just stared at him, the weight of Buck’s words sinking in. Finally, he let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thanks, Evan.”

Buck smiled faintly, his gaze shifting toward the doors leading to the trauma ward. “No matter what, I love you.” 

After a lifetime of waiting, the doctor finally gave them some good news - Max may not be a cat, but he seemed to have nine lives.

Buck’s voice was soft, careful, as he stepped into the hospital room. “Max?”

Tommy followed close behind, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his emotions in check. The fluorescent lighting cast sharp shadows across the small room, making the hospital bed seem even smaller.

Max blinked sluggishly, his eyes heavy-lidded, but he turned his head toward them. A weak, almost automatic smile flickered on his lips. “Hey,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and raw.

Buck pulled up a chair beside the bed, while Tommy stayed standing for a moment, his body tense. After a beat, Tommy grabbed a chair and sat on the other side, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Hey,” Buck replied, his voice thick with emotion. “How’re you feeling, kid?”

Max snorted weakly, then winced as the slight movement sent a stab of pain through his side. “Like I got stabbed by a metal rod… oh wait.” His attempt at humor fell flat, the weight of the moment swallowing it. He sighed heavily, his gaze shifting toward the ceiling. “Is Axel okay?”

Tommy leaned forward, his dark eyes sharp with concern. “Axel is fine. You, however, scared the hell out of us, Maxwell.”

Max’s eyes darted between them, guilt flickering in his expression. He shifted slightly, staring down at his hands. “I… I didn’t mean to. Not really,” he murmured. His voice dropped, heavy with shame. “I wasn’t trying to…” He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.

“Max,” Buck said gently, leaning closer. “Talk to us. What’s going on?”

For a moment, it seemed like Max wouldn’t answer. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the hospital blanket, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then, all at once, the dam broke.

“It’s karma,” Max blurted, his voice cracking. “Karma for being such an ungrateful piece of shit after everything you’ve done for me.”

"You're not a piece of shit Max." Buck said.

"But don't you see I am, you both done nothing but been there, and I...I just..."

Buck and Tommy exchanged a glance but stayed silent, giving Max the space he needed.

Max’s words spilled out in a rush, his voice trembling. He started with his father—how his birthday had come and gone, and Max, against his better judgment, had given in to the temptation to reach out. He’d sent a simple text, hoping for something, anything. Instead, he found out his father—and the rest of his family—had blocked him on everything.

“I don’t even know why I tried,” he admitted bitterly. “I knew it’d be like this. I just—I thought maybe… maybe…” His voice cracked again, and he wiped at his face with an unsteady hand.

Buck’s throat tightened, his heart aching for the kid who’d been let down so many times before.

“And then I started thinking about you guys,” Max continued, his words coming faster now, like he was afraid if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to start again. “How much you’ve done for me, and how I keep screwing it all up. Like, I’m supposed to be better by now, right? But I’m not. I’m just this… huge, stupid mess. And you guys don’t need that. Especially not now, with the wedding and everything. I didn’t want to drag you down.”

He waved weakly at his hospital bed, his arms too heavy to make the gesture emphatic. “I mean, look at this, for fuck’s sake. Here I am again. In a hospital bed. Again. Because I can’t get my shit together.”

“Max—” Tommy started, his voice strained, but Max cut him off, his words sharp and desperate.

“I thought talking to your stupid therapist would fix it,” Max snapped. “I thought maybe it’d help. But I kept screwing even that up. And the more I thought about it, the worse it got. It’s like—I’m trying so hard not to be a burden, but it’s all I know how to do.”

The silence in the room was thick, oppressive. Max slumped back against the pillows, his face flushed with shame and exhaustion.

Buck leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and took a deep breath. “Max, listen to me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You’re not a burden. You never have been. And I get it. God, do I get it.” He glanced at Tommy, who nodded, his jaw still tight.

“You think we don’t know what it’s like to feel like we’re dragging people down?” Tommy said, his voice rough. “Evan and I both grew up with dads who made us feel like we weren’t enough. Like no matter what we did, we were always falling short. And it sticks with you. That feeling… it doesn’t just go away.”

Buck’s gaze softened as he looked at Max. “But here’s the thing, kid: It’s not your fault, you aren’t a stupid mess, you’re just growing up.”

Max’s eyes filled with tears, and he blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. “I just… I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” he whispered.

Tommy reached out, his hand resting lightly on Max’s arm. “Then let us help you,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to be perfect. We’re not perfect either, trust me.”

Max swallowed hard, his gaze shifting between them. For the first time since they’d entered the room, there was a flicker of hope in his eyes. It was small, fragile, but it was there.

“You’re not a mess, Max,” Buck added. “You’re human. And we love you for exactly who you are. No more, no less.”

Tommy and Buck sat across from Hen and Karen in the cozy living room , the tension hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. Buck fidgeted with his sleeve, the fabric twisting under his restless fingers, while Tommy sat back, arms crossed, his expression guarded and unreadable. Hen leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, a mix of concern and determination etched into her features. Beside her, Karen exuded a calm warmth, her presence steady and reassuring.

“Look,” Hen began, her voice steady but soft. “I get it. Fostering isn’t easy. It’s not just about opening your home—it’s about opening your hearts, your lives, to a kid who’s been through more than anyone should ever have to.”

Buck nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as his gaze dropped to the coffee table. “Max still blames himself for everything.”

Karen tilted her head, her voice gentle yet firm. “Unfortunately, that’s not uncommon. We have a friend—she just turned forty-two. She was abused by her uncle when she was nine, and for years, she tried to convince herself it was either a bad dream or somehow her fault. It’s heartbreaking how hard it is for victims to understand it’s not on them.”

Tommy, who had remained silent until now, exhaled deeply. “I just wish it was as simple as putting out a fire—spray some water on it, and it’s done.”

Buck glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, half-hearted smile. “To be fair, we haven’t tried spraying Max with water yet.”

Karen chuckled softly, while Hen’s sharp eyes caught the way Tommy toyed with the empty coffee cup in his hands. She hadn’t noticed it before, but both he and Tommy seemed to need something to hold onto when they were stressed—anchors in an ocean of uncertainty.

Hen leaned back slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “Think about it this way,” she said, her tone measured. “Max’s parents made the decision to abandon him. They chose to shut him out—not the other way around. He didn’t ask to be put in this position, to struggle with figuring out who he is and where he belongs. And where he should have found love and support, he hit a brick wall instead. That kind of pain doesn’t just go away.”

She paused, her voice softening. “It was hard enough for me when my mom didn’t support me the way I needed, and she didn’t even disown me. I can’t imagine what it’s like for Max—to deal with that kind of rejection, on top of everything else. But the fact that you two are stepping up for him?” Hen’s gaze shifted between Buck and Tommy, her expression firm but kind. “That means something. More than you realize.”

“More wine, anyone?” Karen offered.

Karen cornered Tommy in the kitchen, ostensibly searching for snacks. She leaned against the counter, her warm smile disarming. “They’re lucky to have you, Tommy. Both of them,” she said softly, her hand resting on his shoulder in a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Chapter Text

“Max is alive.” Buck’s voice was soft , like saying the words too loudly might shatter the fragile reality they had fought so hard to hold onto. His blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, unfocused.

Tommy stood at the edge of the bed, watching him. He felt the same—like if he let himself believe it too much, it would somehow slip away. But they’d done it - again . They’d brought Max home from the hospital, settled him in, and now, finally, they had space to breathe.

“Maxwell is alive,” Tommy repeated, his voice warmer, surer. Crawling across the mattress toward Buck, he let a small, tired smile tug at his lips. He didn’t stop until he was hovering over Buck, his palms planted on either side of Buck’s bare shoulders.

The sight of him—shirtless, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm—grounded Tommy in a way nothing else had all day.

"You saved him" Tommy murmured against his neck, the 118 had arrived in time - thanks to Maddie and Axel.

Buck shook his head, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “ We saved him, I couldn't look after him without you.”

Tommy leaned down, close enough that their foreheads touched. “You’re always so goddamn selfless.”

“Comes with the territory,” Buck murmured, his voice lighter now, teasing but still raw around the edges. His hands found Tommy’s waist, fingers pressing into the warm skin where his T-shirt had ridden up. “What about you? I saw you, Tommy—you’re a force to be reckoned with, my manly beast.”

Tommy chuckled, low and soft, as he let himself relax into the touch. “Takes one to know one, babe.”

Buck paused, his teasing confidence faltering just a bit. “Wait, uh… you think I’m manly?” His voice dropped, almost shy, as his gaze dipped. A faint flush crept over his cheeks, the kind of blush that lit him up from the inside out.

Tommy grinned, leaning closer until his lips brushed the shell of Buck’s ear. “Are you fishing for compliments, Evan?”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, but not in a way that suffocated—it was the weight of everything unspoken. Gratitude. Fear. Love.

Buck leaned in, his lips crashing urgently against Tommy's.

Tommy shifted, settling his body against Buck’s, his weight grounding both of them. He traced a light finger over the scar on Buck’s shoulder, a familiar gesture that made Buck shiver under his touch.

Buck said, his hands sliding up Tommy’s back, his touch firm, reassuring. 

Tommy’s lips twitched into a small smile, but it didn’t last long. Instead, he dipped his head, brushing his lips against Buck’s—a soft, slow kiss that carried the weight of everything they couldn’t say.

Tommy's clothed body rubbed against Buck's bare skin, as Buck responded immediately, pulling Tommy closer, deepening the kiss as if the only way to feel truly alive was through the connection between them. His hands roamed, slipping under Tommy’s shirt to press against his bare skin.

Tommy let out a low hum of approval, sliding a leg between Buck’s, his movements deliberate but unhurried. They had time now. Time to let the tension melt away, to anchor themselves in each other.

Buck’s head fell back against the pillow as Tommy’s lips moved to his jaw, his neck, leaving a trail of kisses that were equal parts reverent and hungry. “God,” Buck murmured, his voice rough, “you’re relentless.”

Tommy grinned against Buck’s skin, his breath hot against his pulse. “You love it.”

Buck’s laughter rumbled low in his chest, his hands tangling in Tommy’s hair, pulling him back up to meet his lips again. This time, the kiss wasn’t soft—it was desperate, consuming, and utterly necessary, Tommy's jean's rubbing against Buck's straining erection.

Buck's hands roamed Tommy's back, mapping the curves of muscle and bone, pulling him even closer until there was no space left between them. 

A low moan escaped Buck's throat as Tommy's mouth found his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. "Tommy," Buck pled, his voice a husky whisper, "you're going to make me crazy." He felt Buck's fingers tighten in his hair.

Tommy only chuckled, the vibrations making Buck's pulse race. He kissed a path down Buck's chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around a nipple before moving lower. Buck's hands fisted in the sheets, his hips bucking up involuntarily as Tommy's lips wrapped around his cock.

Buck's head thrashed on the pillow, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Fuck, Tommy," he gasped, "you're—"

Tommy caused Buck to loose the ability to form words as he took Buck deep, his hand working in time with his mouth to bring Buck closer and closer to the edge. Stroking Buck as his tongue tease Buck’s cock-head.

Buck's grip on the sheets tightened to the point of tearing as he teetered on the brink, his thighs clenching around Tommy's head. "Tommy, I—" he tried to warn, but it was too late.

With a hoarse cry, Buck came, his orgasm ripping through him with the force of a tsunami. Tommy swallowed every drop, his own arousal aching and throbbing against his jeans as he milked Buck dry.

As Buck's spasms subsided, Tommy slowly released him, licking his lips with a satisfied smile. He sat back on his heels, his chest heaving with exertion, and looked at Buck with eyes dark with desire.

"You okay, Evan?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

Buck's gaze was hazy, his expression dazed but content. "Mmm, more than okay," he murmured, reaching for Tommy with a trembling hand.

Tommy didn't hesitate, letting Buck pull him down into another searing kiss. This time, there was no holding back, no restraint. They kissed with a ferocity that bordered on desperation, their bodies grinding together, the thin fabric of Tommy's clothes against Buck's exposed skin.

With a heroic effort, Buck broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Remember those condoms in the nightstand?" he panted, his eyes blazing with want.

Max stared at his reflection in the mirror, fingers tracing the faint, jagged scar that cut across his lower chest—a souvenir from nearly dying. Again .

He tilted his head, squinting at it like a new accessory, like a backpack or smart watch. At least it looks cool, right? Tough. Rugged. The kind of thing people might notice and wonder about, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the questions.

Especially since it wasn't cool how he got it - more like idiotic.

Twisting slightly, Max struck a pose, eyeing his arms and imagining the future—older, twenty-five, mysterious. A tattoo sleeve winding down his arm, scars and stubble to match. He could see it: himself on a motorbike, leaning over the bar with a drink in hand, a pool cue slung casually over his shoulder. Moving from town to town, saving the day, getting the guy.

He paused, blinking at his reflection.

Okay, maybe I watch too much Reacher

Still, it would be nice to be the hero and not the damsel - to be like Buck and Tommy - tough, effortlessly cool and in control. 

A sharp bang on the bathroom door shattered the moment.

“Maxwell, let’s go! You’re gonna be late for school,” came the familiar voice, muffled but impatient.

Max dropped his hand, tugged his shirt down over the scar, and exhaled. First day back. No big deal.

Except

The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, delivering the blow with all the casual finality of someone who didn’t just ruin Max’s life.

“No basketball for the next six months.”

Six. Months.

Max blinked, the words landing like a punch to the chest—right where the metal pipe had already done its damage. From the corner of his eye, he could see Buck and Tommy hovering nearby, their expressions pinched with worry and guilt, like they were waiting for him to explode.

Six months. No court. No games. No shooting hoops in the driveway to clear his head.

“That’s—” Max started, but his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look as devastated as he felt. Instead, he dropped his head back against the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Great. Guess I’ll just rot.

Lucy clapped her hands as the ping-pong ball landed cleanly in the last cup. “Another point for me!” she crowed, victorious, before turning her attention back to Tommy, seated across the lunchroom table at Harbor Station.

“What happened to sensible Tommy Kinard?” she teased, as Henderson took a shot and missed. “You know, by-the-book, rule-following Pilot Kinard?”

“Very funny, Donato,” Tommy replied dryly, though a corner of his mouth twitched.

“I’m serious!” Lucy grinned, leaning forward with mock incredulity. “One minute you’re all respectable, responsible and boooring, then you meet one dumbass called Buck , and the next you’re stealing helicopters, flying into hurricanes, and kidnapping a teenager off the street. A teenager, mind you, who's spent more time in the hospital than most of the 118—and that’s saying something.”

Tommy leaned back with a huff, folding his arms. “For the record, I flew the 118 into a rescue before I met Buck.”

Lucy’s smirk widened as she lined up her next shot. “Oh, so it’s the 118 crew that brings out the recklessness in you.” She flicked her wrist, and the ball sailed into another cup. “Boom! Take that, Henderson.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, unimpressed but unable to argue. Lucy, annoyingly, had a point.

“The 118 does seem to spend an abnormal amount of time in hospitals,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Right?” Lucy hummed in agreement, resting her chin in her hand. “And now look at you. You’ve got the whole collection: Danger Magnet…” She paused for effect, grinning. “And Mini Danger Magnet.”

Tommy shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “Remind me why I bother talking to you again?”

“Because you secretly love it,” Lucy shot back

Max shoved his belongings into his locker, sparing a glance across the hall at Axel, who had been ignoring him all day—pointedly. It was the kind of silent treatment you could feel in your bones. 

The last time Max had seen Axel in person was when Axel was pushing his hoody against the hole in chest trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Everything okay with Axel?”

Max flinched. Chris had somehow snuck up beside him, which, technically, shouldn’t be possible given the rhythmic thud of crutches on tile. But the noise of the hallway—and the noise in Max’s head—had drowned everything else out.

“Yeah, of course,” Max replied automatically, grabbing the books he thought he needed and slinging them under his arm.

Chris didn’t look convinced, but Max was already turning away, heading for class.

He dropped into his seat just as the bell rang, flipping the book open in front of him—only to freeze.

Wrong book.

Max stared at the page in horror, heart sinking as the teacher’s voice droned on at the front of the room. He risked a glance back toward the door, wondering if he could slip out unnoticed, but there was no chance now.

Perfect. As if today wasn’t already going great.

The 118 was used to weird calls — really weird calls—but this one definitely made the highlight reel.

“Uh… Cap?” Buck squinted upward, clearly trying to process what he was seeing. “Is that man…?”

“Yes, Buck,” Bobby replied with the patience of a saint. “That man is hanging off the side of a high-rise. Naked. The wife came home early, and apparently, the husband tried to hide his… boyfriend out the window.”

“Wow,” Buck said, blinking. “Just… wow.”

Beside him, Eddie gave a low whistle. “That’s a great idea.”

Buck turned to Eddie with a sly grin. “Hey, at least you didn’t end up on national news.”

Eddie shot him a sharp glare, jaw tightening. First of all, he was supposed to be the one making smartass comments like that. Second, the “Kim incident” was still a little too fresh. And third —

“Careful, Buck,” Eddie said smoothly. “I’m the one planning your stag do. Do you really want to end up tied to a power pole in nothing but your boxers?”

Buck’s grin faltered. “Tommy wouldn’t let you do that.”

Eddie smirked. “Tommy would laugh, take a photo, and leave you there.”

“Baby, please!” the husband begged, trailing after his furious wife as the 118 wheeled the boyfriend —shaken and bandaged—toward the ambulance. “I swear, just forgive me—”

“ Forgive you? ” the wife shot back, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You want me to forgive your cheating ass ?”

“What about me, Duncan?” the boyfriend yelled from the stretcher, his voice cracking. “You almost got me killed! ”

Hen and Chimney exchanged a glance, both clearly trying not to get dragged into the mess unfolding in front of them.

“That’s your karma, ” the wife snapped, jabbing a finger at the boyfriend. “Serves you right for trying to take my man.”

The boyfriend sat up as much as the straps would allow, face flushing red. “Bitch, maybe if you put a little more effort into—”

“Hey, hey, hey! ” Bobby’s voice cut through the chaos, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Enough. All of you. Stop.”

For a moment, there was blessed silence.

Then Buck, apparently incapable of leaving well enough alone, cleared his throat and offered, “You know, uh… open relationships and throuples are a thing these days…”

Three sets of furious eyes turned on him in unison.

Buck immediately stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Or not. Totally not, you know, therapy could...”

“Buck, stop talking” Hen suggested quietly in his ear. 

Back at school, Max didn’t exactly corner Axel —it was more like he happened to follow him into the restroom and then casually leaned against the door. Totally normal. Totally not desperate.

Not stalkerish at all - despite what Chris said. What would Chris know anyway.

It was pure coincidence that they were in the same place at the same time. If Max also happened to want to talk to Axel, well, lucky him.

Someone tried the door handle, rattling it impatiently before giving up and stomping off to find another bathroom.

When Axel finally reappeared, his black permanent maker in one hand and a vape in the other, he stopped short, eyes narrowing into an immediate glare.

“You’re blocking the door.”

Max straightened up, scowling. “Really? That’s all you have to say to me?” He threw his hands up in frustration. “Axel—”

“What do you want, Max?” Axel’s voice was flat, but his eyes burned with something sharper.

Max faltered for a beat, but the words tumbled out anyway. “I don’t get it. Why are you ignoring me? What did I do?”

Axel’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, quietly, almost like it hurt to admit:

“You almost died. Right in front of me. My Twenty One Pilots hoodie is still soaked in your blood, Max. I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head hard, like he could erase the memory. “Just—forget it.”

Before Max could reply, Axel grabbed him by the arm, moved him out of the way like he weighed nothing, and stormed out the door.

Max stood frozen for a second, staring at the empty doorway.

Later, Sam slid onto the bench next to Max at lunch , dropping his tray with a clatter. “So you and Axel have broken up?”

Max froze mid-poke at his sandwich, huffing. “Why do you say that?”

Dean appeared on Max’s other side, nudging his shoulder with a smirk. “Maybe because Axel’s got his tongue down that jock’s throat.”

Max dropped his sandwich.

Fantastic.

That evening, Tommy stepped through the front door and sighed at the sight of a familiar scene —a mopey teenager sprawled dramatically across the couch, completely swaddled in the so-called couch blanket. The one that mysteriously kept migrating back to Tommy’s meticulously tidy living room.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

Max heaved an exaggerated sigh, flopping onto his side like he’d lost the will to live. “Everything is fine. ”

Yeah. Sure. Tommy mentally filed that under ‘Lies Teenagers Tell.’ Someone definitely wasn’t getting an Oscar anytime soon. Meryl Streep didn't have to worry about competition from the Buckley-Kinard household.

Tommy had a boat load of paperwork to go over, numerous messages from Lucy to reply to and wanted an early night, plus Buck was on a twenty four shift. 

“Okay,” Tommy said, settling onto the armrest and offering a truce. “How about I make some popcorn, and we watch a movie?”

Max didn’t budge for a moment, not even a blink. Then—shuffling. Blanket still wrapped tightly around him, Max peeked out with all the dramatic tension of a ghost in a haunted house.

“What kind of movie?”

Tommy paused, considering his options. He was a sucker for a good rom-com. Love, Actually was always solid, or maybe Twilight —nostalgic, cheesy, and just the right amount of ridiculous.

“I want to watch a horror movie,” Max announced suddenly, sitting up with a look of grim determination. “One where the popular kids die. One by one. In the most gruesome ways possible.”

Tommy blinked. That was… oddly specific.

“Right. Horror it is.” He stood, playing it cool, even as his brain quietly wondered what exactly he’d just signed up for. He was a grown man. A firefighter. He’d faced worse than fake blood and bad CGI.

Trying to keep his tough guy image in tact, Tommy tried to hide the wince as the popular jock just got his eyes gouged out in a way that made Tommy’s stomach lurch.

He tried—really tried—not to wince, but Max noticed. “Too much for you?”

“Nope,” Tommy lied, eyes on the screen. “Totally fine.”

“Good.”

The room settled into silence again, the flicker of the TV the only light. Then, so quietly Tommy almost didn’t catch it:

“Axel dumped me.”

Tommy’s head turned sharply, his heart sinking. “I’m sorry Maxwell…”

“It’s fine, I don’t even care.” Max replied curtly

Buck got home just after breakfast, the scent of coffee still lingering in the air. He barely had time for a quick kiss before Tommy grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

“Are you okay?” Buck asked, frowning as he took in Tommy’s face. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Ah, yeah.” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Buck’s sharp gaze. “Late night. Maxwell had his second heartbreak yesterday.”

“Axel?”

“Gone. Like the wind.”

Buck tilted his head, watching Tommy carefully. “And that kept you up?”

Tommy hesitated a beat too long, his cheeks turning a telltale shade of pink. “Mostly…”

Buck raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching. “Mostly?”

Tommy cleared his throat, reaching for the doorknob as though escaping would save him. “Okay, maybe I was up because of some… intense horror movie moments. Maybe. ”

Buck grinned, full of amusement. “ You got scared?”

“I did not get scared,” Tommy shot back defensively, already halfway out the door. “I just prefer movies with happy endings.”

“Happy endings are my favourite too.” Buck said with a wink as the door closed. Tommy sighed, but didn't complain as Buck gave him his own happy ending.

Later that night, Buck adjusted the last few details of his outfit, giving himself a once-over in the mirror before throwing a glance Tommy’s way. “You know, I could stay. Help play babysitter for Mister Doom-and-Gloom out there.”

Tommy didn’t bother looking up from his phone, his reply dry. “Don’t worry, Evan. I’ll feed it ice cream, make sure it does its homework, and tuck it in.”

Buck’s grin widened as he strolled over, dropping a soft kiss to Tommy’s forehead. “You’re such a good daddy…”

Tommy’s eyebrow lifted, his tone a warning shot. “Careful. You still planning to sit on those wooden bar stools tonight, or are you aiming to lose the privilege?”

Buck’s smirk deepened, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Oh, I’m just seeing how close to the edge I can dance…” He waved his hand under the light, letting the gold of the engagement ring catch the light and shine before giving Tommy a genuine, wide smile.

What the hell, Buck could be fifteen minutes late to his bachelor party as his teeth clashed against Tommy's.

Buck stepped into the bar and immediately spotted them —Eddie, Hen, Chim, and Ravi clustered around a high table near the back. It wasn’t hard to find them; Hen’s loud laugh carried across the room, and Chim was waving a neon-pink lei in the air like a beacon.

“Look who finally made it!” Chim called out as Buck approached, grinning from ear to ear. “The man of the hour!”

“Come take a seat.” Eddie encouraged, as Buck shook his head, the last thing he wanted to do right now was sit. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so mouthy. 

The first round of drinks arrived, then the second round, third round and fourth etc. 

“GUYS, DO YOU WANT TO SHARE AN UBER WITH ME AND KAREN?” Hen hollered over the blaring music, glitter clinging to her hair and a drink in each hand.

Buck locked eyes with her, every ounce of his remaining brainpower focused on delivering the line with complete gravitas: “The party doesn’t stop, Heeeeennrietta.”

The next morning hit like a freight train.

Buck groaned as he sat up, his skull pounding like someone had rented it out for a drumline practice. His shirt was torn, one sleeve barely hanging on, and a pair of oversized novelty sunglasses sat crooked on his face.

“Eddie?” he croaked, his voice scratchy as sandpaper.

“Don’t,” Eddie groaned from somewhere on the floor, an arm draped dramatically over his eyes. He was shirtless, still wearing the neon-pink lei from the night before, and half-pinned under a toppled chair.

Blinking blearily, Buck surveyed the room. It looked like a tornado had thrown a frat party. A single shoe spun lazily in the ceiling fan above them, while the bathroom mirror bore the artistic addition of a questionable mustache drawn in smudged lipstick.

Buck staggered toward the window, swiping at the grimy glass to clear his view. What he saw made him freeze. He blinked once. Then again. And then a third time, just to be sure.

“Uh, Eddie…” he started cautiously, his voice trailing off.

“Ugh,” Eddie replied eloquently, rolling onto his side and clamping a hand over his mouth, either to stop himself from throwing up or to muffle whatever snark was brewing.

“Eddie,” Buck repeated, turning around with a face full of confusion and mild panic. “Why can I see a cable car outside?”

Eddie groaned louder

“Tommy’s going to kill me.” 

Good morning San Francisco

Eddie stumbled up next to Buck staring at the window, "Get in line, I have a feeling Tommy's going to kill both of us."

Chapter Text

Buck felt slightly more human after a shower, though the feeling was quickly dampened by the need to put on the same dirty, torn clothes from last night. Eddie looked particularly pathetic, lounging on the single bed, hair a mess as he slowly slipped a glass of water. 

The sunlight, somewhat evilly in Buck’s opinion, shone through the holes in the motel blinds, seemingly solely to torture his eyes. 

At least the motel room wasn’t a total disaster, a small mercy, considering Chim’s hotel room debacle had taken months to pay off.

Still, they were stranded in San Francisco, burdened with two dead phones, no wallet, and no car. 

Great.

All was not completely lost through, the motel had Buck’s credit card on file - so at least as they were turfed out onto the streets of San Francisco they had something to pay for a taxi to a cafe. Thank the universe for small mercies. 

The cafe was small and charming, nestled in a quiet corner of San Francisco .The smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon should have been comforting, but between the groggy feeling in his stomach and stares from other customers, it was hard to relax.

Buck adjusted his position in the booth, glancing down at the wrinkled and torn suit he hadn’t changed out of since last night. Eddie sat across from him, looking just as disheveled. His tie hung loose, and his shirt was missing more than the odd button. 

“Why do I get the feeling we’re being judged” Buck asked, stabbing a fork into his scrambled eggs.

“Because we are,” Eddie replied flatly, sipping his black coffee. “We look like we crawled out of a crime scene.”

“Technically, we got turfed out of a cheap motel. Not much better, but still.” Buck grinned, though it faltered as a couple across the room shot them a suspicious glance.

Eddie leaned back, his messy hair catching a sliver of sunlight streaming through the window. “Let them stare. We’re not the weirdest thing this city’s seen.”

Buck chuckled, finally letting himself relax. “True… have you heard of the Folsm St Fair?” 

“Thank you for charging my phone.” Buck said with a sly grin, the barista gave a polite nod while giving Buck another once over. “No problem man, you look like you need it.”

Meanwhile, miles away, Lucy couldn’t hide her smirk as Tommy put his phone down. “I’m sorry, did you just say they’re in San Francisco?”

“They’re on their way to the airport now,” Tommy said, exasperated. “But they had to stop and buy a change of clothes first. Apparently, they looked too rough to get on the plane.”

“How in the world did they even end up in San Fran?” Lucy asked, barely stifling a laugh.

Tommy had never been so relieved to hear the fire bell ring, cutting the conversation mercifully short.

At the airport, Buck swiped his credit card at the kiosk to pay for their plane tickets.

Declined.

He glanced at Eddie, who raised an eyebrow, which was unhelpful in the situation.

“Uh,” Buck muttered, pulling out his phone. “Let me call Tommy.”

Maybe he could fly a helicopter up the coast and rescue them. 

A few rings later, Tommy’s voice came through, laced with exasperation. “You maxed out your credit card? What the hell did you do last night?”

Honestly, Tommy thought that they had at least one brain cell between the two of them. 

Buck winced. “Not important. Can you just...”

Tommy cut him off with a groan, the sound of rotor blades whirring faintly in the background. “Look, I’m a little busy right now,” he said, his tone strained. “I’ve got a helicopter hovering over a lake, about to scoop up water to stop a wildfire on the side of a mountain. I’ll buy your plane tickets when I’m done, okay?”

While Buck and Eddie were stuck at San Francisco airport while Tommy was putting out a fire on the side of a mountain, Chris and Max trudged toward Buck’s place, a stark contrast to Buck and Eddie’s chaotic morning.

“Man, I wish I could go to San Fran,” Chris grumbled, kicking at a stray pebble. 

Max shrugged, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “My dad says San Francisco’s just a big liberal wasteland of weirdos and garbage.”

Chris shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Max…your dad sounds like a blast at parties.”

Max smirked, nudging Chris with his elbow. “Please, you don’t even know the half of it.”

There was a knock at the door, and Max shared a look with Chris before getting up and answering the door to two old people.

“Uh, we’re not looking for Jesus,” Max announced flatly.

The woman’s face darkened into a look of pure annoyance, which was beautiful to him. “Excuse me, we’re looking for our son, Evan Buckley. I thought this was the address he gave us. He's staying with, mhm, his friend Tommy Kinard.”

Max blinked at the two old people looking at him, oh, oh no, these weren’t random strangers. These were Buck’s parents.

Without hesitation, he shut the door in their faces.

Sliding against the door, he pulled out his cellphone and called the Buckley sibling who managed not to end up in San Francisco. 

Thank god for Maddie. 

Maddie froze, her hand halfway to her temple as she tried to process what just happened. In lieu of Tommy or Buck being around to deal with it, she had rushed over as quickly as she could when Max called her, with Jee in tow and her patience running dangerously low.

“You shut the door on my parents?” Maddie asked, glaring at Max as she massaged her temple, trying to keep the headache at bay.

“Now, to be fair to me…” Max began, holding up his hands in mock defense.

“Yes?” Maddie prompted, her voice tight. "Please, explain this." 

“Well, okay, hear me out first right, so first Tommy’s dad showed up, and then I got abducted, right? And after that, I tried messaging my dad for his birthday, and I fell into a pit and almost died, I have the scar and everything. So, like…I didn’t want to take any chances with Buck’s dad, you know? Fair, right?”

Maddie stared at him, utterly speechless. For a brief, fleeting moment, she mourned the absence of coffee in her life. Actually, for more than a brief moment. 

Actually, wine would be really nice right now. 

Then, to hammer his point in, Max practically whined, "I'm not a cat, Madz, I don't want to die die for real this time."

Remember Maddie, you love your amazing younger brother, and your younger brother was quite attached to the stray teen currently standing somewhat awkwardly in front of you. All lanky, messy hair, pimply, teenager who ate way too much to be that slim. 

Buck was once a Max, well maybe not quite as messed up, but feeling out of place and lost. Plus, he had that sad dog look about him. 

With a deep breath, she plastered on her best fake smile and opened the door. “Mom, Dad! What a…pleasant surprise, please come in, I believe you met Max before.”

Behind her, Max muttered under his breath, “I stand by my decision.”

Coffee…Wine… Maddie missed it all. 

Margaret Buckley sat rigid on the couch minutes later, eyeing Max with the disdain of someone finding a chip in their fine china. The sort you brought out for fancy guests and then hid in the attic for the rest of the year.

“So,” she said finally, her voice clipped, “he’s not the lawn boy?”

Max knew he shouldn’t, not when poor Maddie already looked ready to collapse under the weight of keeping things civil. But leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow. “To be fair, I do a bit of gardening work on the weekends and school holidays. Less now that Buck makes me wear clothes... puts a lot of the old guys off.” 

The joke went down as well as a bucket of puke.

Maddie’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “Max…” she said weakly, clearly one second away from keeling over.

Margaret’s expression hardened. “Great,” she said, her voice icy enough to drop the room’s temperature. “So you’re telling me the amazing surprise Evan had for us isn’t his upcoming wedding but…some teenage rent boy he’s taken in?”

The words hit like a slap, the sting sharp and immediate. Max froze, his smirk fading as the room fell silent. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t set himself up for it, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Sometimes, Maddie was aware, Teenage boys were better at giving than they were at taking sarcasm, or roasting, or whatever you wished to call it. 

Maddie straightened, her exhaustion giving way to anger. “Mom,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “That is enough.”

Margaret opened her mouth to respond, but Maddie didn’t give her the chance this time. “No, Max is not a rent boy. He’s family, birth or adopt it doesn't matter. And Buck took him in because that’s what good people do, right? they help those who need it.” Her tone softened, though the firmness remained. “I’d like to think you raised us to understand that, wouldn't you?”

Margaret’s mouth snapped shut, and Phillip shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.

Max, still leaning against the wall, cleared his throat. “Uh, for the record, I don’t do that sort of stuff anymore, Buck, uh, Evan - and Tommy, they disapproved... huh, I go to school now.”

Maddie shot him a look that screamed, not now and for once Max took the hint, stopping the sentence. 

Margaret sniffed, clearly unimpressed, but didn’t press the issue further. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and glanced at Maddie. “Tea, perhaps?”

“I told you I don’t do well with parents.” Max hissed at Maddie in the open plan kitchen. 

Maddie resisted the urge to clip him around the ear. “Tea, with milk and two sugars for my Mom, coffee black for my dad and two juices for you and poor Chris, you can take Chris to your room.”

"Why do you sound like this is my fault?" Max whined, and Maddie rubbed her temple with a deep sigh. 

It had been the day from hell, the flight from hell, and all Buck wanted was to collapse into bed next to Tommy and sleep for a year. As the Uber pulled up in front of his house, he barely registered, swapping him out for Chris before the Uber headed off to drop Eddie at his place.

Buck stepped inside, already fumbling to kick off his shoes, when a surprised stopped him in his tracks.Little Jee came running over to him at a hundred miles an hour,arms up in the air. 

“Maddie, what are you doing...”

He froze, his stomach sinking. Sitting on his couch, looking as though they owned the place, were his parents.

“Evan Buckley,” his mother said, her tone sharp enough to slice through steel, “you have some explaining to do.”

Buck blinked, momentarily stunned. “Mom? Dad? What…what are you doing here?”

Glancing back over his shoulder, he watched helplessly as the Uber disappeared down the street with Chris and Eddie in tow. No cavalry. No backup. Just him.

With a resigned sigh, Buck turned back to face the music. "Great. Just great."

“You couldn’t have adopted some sweet little angel?” Margaret asked, her voice dripping with disapproval. "I'm sure there are lovely babies out there who need your love, Evan, un-corrupted ones. Sweet ones." 

Buck folded his arms, working hard to keep his composure. Maddie, thankfully, sat beside him, ready to step in if things got out of hand. Buckley siblings vs the world part 345019, or so it felt.

“Well,” Buck began, choosing his words carefully, “Uh, you see, we weren’t really looking to adopt at the time. Actually, to be honest, Tommy and I were…kind of on a break when it happened.”

Margaret turned to Phillip, incredulous. “Then how did you end up with Max?”

As if on cue, the teenager in question appeared at the door, slouching against the wall with an expression that screamed whatever . Buck turned to Maddie, who squeezed his hand, giving him a reassuring look. 

Together.

It was always him and Maddie against their parents - even now, with the much improved relationship. It wasn't that they meant any harm, they just had very strong opinions - opinions Buck would of given anything to have when he was younger, but now he was an adult, he was much more

“Uh, well I met Max on a call…” Buck started - it wasn’t an exact lie but it would go down better with his parents, however Max’s expression changed quickly from whatever to unimpressed look quickly derailed him as Max coughed into his hand.

Fine.

The truth, it was.

Buck had only been trying to preserve what was left of Max’s reputation in front of his parents. 

“Well, actually, to be honest with you both, I met Max after he stole my phone,” Buck admitted. "From my pocket, I believe, while I was waiting for my coffee."

There we go, the full truth. 

Margaret’s eyes widened in horror. “You invited a thief into your house?”

“Well I mean, technically speaking, it was Tommy’s house at first,” Buck corrected, scratching the back of his neck. He hadn’t actually taken Max to his loft before he canceled his lease - he had just sort of dumped the teenager on Tommy under the guise of taking care of Tommy. "Uh, if you wanted to count hairs."

“And does Tommy know about this?” Phillip asked, looking equally appalled. Well, it was all in now. 

Buck winced before he confirmed: “Yeah, well, considering Max also stole his wallet, I’d say, yeah, Tommy knows.”

“He stole Tommy’s wallet?” Phillip repeated, while Margaret clutched her pearls, figuratively, if not literally.

“Yeah,” Buck said with a sheepish grin. “Honestly, it kind of helped bring Tommy and me back together.”

Max smirked from the doorway. “Glad I could be of service.” Complete with a bow, for good measure.

Maddie pinched the bridge of her nose.

Thank god for Buck.

Thankfully, once his parents were suitably horrified by his life choices (as per usual) , Maddie swooped in to whisk them off to the spare room at her place.

Lucky Chim.

Left alone in the quiet aftermath, Buck busied himself tidying up the kitchen. It was therapeutic in a way, scrubbing away the tension of the evening. It was also where Buck discovered an unexpected silver lining in the night. 

He almost didn’t notice Max slipping in, moving so quietly that Buck was startled when the teenager spoke.

“You’re not embarrassed by me?” Max’s voice was low, hesitant, his gaze fixed intently on his fingers as they fidgeted against the countertop.

Buck turned, caught off guard. “Huh?” He studied Max for a moment, noticing the way the kid’s shoulders were hunched, his usual whatever expression replaced with something more vulnerable.

“You told your parents the truth,” Max continued, still avoiding Buck’s eyes. “About how, you know…this happened…” he gestured to himself. “You’re not, like…embarrassed about me?”

Buck blinked, the question catching him off guard. Setting down the dish towel, he crossed the room and leaned against the counter next to Max, who shuffled just enough to keep some space between them.

“Embarrassed?” Buck asked, his tone soft. “Max, you’re part of the family now. Why would I ever be embarrassed about that?”

Max finally looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and something else—relief, maybe. There was a moment, where Buck could see inner Max wrestling between a snarky comment before opting for the truth.

“Yeah, but…” Max’s voice faltered, his gaze dropping to the floor as he searched for the right words. “I’m not exactly some sweet, perfect kid like your mom was saying, am I? I mean, not many people would want to, you know… get involved with someone who’s got as many, uh, problems as me.”

He made a vague gesture with his hands, which Buck assumed was meant to be represent all the so-called issues.

Buck gave a small laugh, shaking his head. “Look here Max, I wanted to look after you, Tommy wanted to look after you. And if they don’t get it, that’s their problem, not mine, and uh, certainly not yours. So, uh, just chill and worry about school, okay, kid.”

Max’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re kind of weird, you know that? Like, even by adult standards, weird.”

“Yeah, well,” Buck said with a grin, ruffling Max’s hair, “you’re stuck with me, so shut up and deal with it.”

The fainest hint of a smile disappeared into a frown, causing Buck to worry before Max asked, very seriously, "Oh, hey, is there any food around? I'm starving."

Tommy slipped into the room as quietly as he could, the faint scent of bush fire smoke still lingering despite his best efforts to scrub it off. He eased into bed, careful not to disturb Buck.

The younger man stirred anyway, stretching lazily before rolling over to tuck himself against Tommy’s chest, his head nestled snugly under Tommy’s chin.

Tommy let out a quiet sigh, his tired body sinking into the mattress. Buck and his best friend had cost him over $1,000 today, just to get their ridiculous selves back from San Francisco. But as he felt Buck’s warmth against him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the frustration melted away, replaced by a quiet contentment.

Somehow, Buck always made it worth it.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Buck absentmindedly skimmed the plans for Athena and Bobby’s new house, their conversation drifting naturally toward Max.

“It’s just... I thought he wouldn’t want me talking about how we met,” Buck began, his brow furrowed. “You know, the whole stealing our stuff thing. Technically, I would’ve met him on that call anyway, right? But not only did he give me this look like I had to bring it up, he actually thanked me for it?”

Bobby leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful as he let Buck’s words settle. Finally, he gave a slow nod. “Makes sense.”

“How?” Buck asked, utterly baffled. “I figured he wouldn’t want me telling anyone about that.”

Bobby’s smile was calm, almost knowing, as he regarded Buck’s confusion. “Your problem is you’re thinking logically, Buck—not like a teenager. Max’s parents found certain parts of him... let’s say, hard to accept. They tossed him out. What he was looking for—and what you gave him—was proof that you’re not going to do the same.”

Buck blinked, the weight of Bobby’s words sinking in. Bobby continued gently, “See, Buck, Max doesn’t care much about what strangers or your parents think of him, not anymore. What matters to him is—”

“That we’re not embarrassed by who he is,” Buck interrupted, the realization dawning on him.

“There it is,” Bobby said with a proud nod.

“Go figure,” Buck muttered, half to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bobby leaned forward again, his tone suddenly lighter, as if to shift gears. “So, have you thought about catering for the wedding?”

Tommy wouldn’t admit it outright, but a wave of relief washed over him as he climbed into the helicopter with Lucy. The pilots back at Harbor had been relentless, bombarding him with unsolicited opinions, tips, and tricks for his wedding.

“Thank God it’s just you and me, Donato,” he said into the radio, his tone carrying the kind of weariness only wedding talk could evoke. He swore black and blue he had spoken more to other people about this wedding than his own husband to be (fiancé- as Todd had helpfully pointed out when Tommy had refer to Buck as such)

“I was thinking the exact same thing, Kinard,” Lucy replied, her voice crackling through the headset. There was a brief pause before she added slyly, “You know, Peonies in my humble opinion are better than roses.”

Tommy shot her a look—a mix of exasperation and disbelief—not that it mattered much, given the helmets, microphones, and the roaring blades overhead.

“For your wedding,” she clarified, far too innocently.

“Lucy,” Tommy drawled, deadpan, “since when have you ever been humble?”

While Buck & Bobby and Lucy & Tommy were having their heart to heart, at the high school Chris found himself the target of local asshole Ruben, who with extreme originality had stolen one of his crutches while he was getting a drink of water.

“Give them back Ruben.” Chris sighed, more out of annoyance. He thought he had left this sort of bullshit prank/bullying back at preschool, you know, when they were like four. 

Ruben pretended to consider it for a moment before shaking the crutch at Chris. "I think not four eyes"

Oh, the originality is on point today.

Before Chris could muster a response, there was a sharp noise, and then someone shoved Ruben aside. That someone, of course, was Max - who swooped in, yanking the crutch out of Ruben’s hands. “Wow, Ruben, you’re so cool. Now, how about you fuck right off?”

Ruben’s sneer faltered when Sam and Dean flanked Max like a pair of bouncers at a nightclub. Max leaned closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not so tough now, huh?”

With no clever comeback, Ruben huffed and stormed off.

Chris adjusted his glasses and weighed his feelings: annoyance at Max assuming he needed help versus gratitude for the prompt rescue. Sure, he’d handled jerks like Ruben on his own before, and Max probably shouldn’t be getting into trouble again, but… having someone on his side felt kind of nice.

Max handed the crutch back with a wide, stupid grin. “You’re welcome, Hopscotch.” Oh, no way - Chris had had his dose of unoriginal ideas today.

“Nope,” Chris said flatly.

“C-Dawg?”

“Definitely not .”

Max groaned, slouching dramatically against the lockers. “Aw, come on, man.” Someone give Max an A+ for pouting, Chris mused to himself before he smirked at the slightly older teenager. “Besides, shouldn’t you be avoiding trouble?”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” Max shot back with a wink, only for Sam to slap his arm and point out a hot chick they wanted to impress. Max waved them off without a second glance.

Chris watched Sam and Dean attempt to catch her attention. “So, when did you become ‘top dog’?” he asked, raising a brow.

Max narrowed his eyes. “I’ve always been top dog.” It may have been Chris’s imagination, but he was fairly sure Max had puffed out his chest a little bit. 

“Really?” Chris asked, deadpan. “Because last I checked, you were tied up in the hallway in your undies by those two until my friends and I rescued you.”

Max straightened and started to walk off, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Catch you around, Hopscotch.”

Chris shook his head, letting out a small laugh. “Still a firm nope .”

As Maddie sipped reluctantly on her green tea that had replaced her coffee addiction, Buck tried to pretend not to notice the massive pile of wedding magazines conveniently next to her on the coffee table. 

The thing about being a big fish is there is often a bigger fish around the corner, Max had barely finished his post-gym shower when he stepped out to find himself cornered.

“Damien, you know you make a better wall than a doorway,” Max joked, gripping his towel tightly to hide his nerves.

Damien, Ruben’s 17-year-old brother, loomed over him. A senior and infamous for his overprotectiveness of his obnoxious younger sibling, Damien was not someone to mess with.

Without a word, Damien pinned Max against the cold tile wall of the locker room. His voice was low, menacing. “I don’t like the way you spoke to my baby brother today, Maxwell. I think someone needs to teach you some manners.”

Max swallowed hard, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “Damien, I think there’s been a bit of a mis—” but he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“How about you shut up before I make you shut up,” Damien snarled, his hand tightening around Max’s throat.

Well, this wasn’t ideal. Sam and Dean had both disappeared like a magican’s rabbit. 

Before Max could figure out a way to talk his way out of it, a sharp voice cut through the tense silence. “Oi, motherfucker, put Max down before I make you.”

Both Max and Damien turned to see Axel standing in the doorway, arms crossed and wearing his signature scowl.

Max blinked in surprise. Axel? Seriously?

“I know you failed English, Dam,” Axel drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “But surely even you can understand the phrase, ‘Let. Him. Go.’”

Damien’s jaw tightened as he dropped Max unceremoniously to the floor. Turning to face Axel, he squared his shoulders. “You think you can take me?”

Axel scoffed, stepping closer without hesitation. “In my sleep.”

Damien swung first, his fist flying with raw aggression. Axel dodged but retaliated immediately, landing a hit of his own. The fight quickly escalated, punches and grunts echoing through the locker room. Within seconds, Damien had Axel pinned to the ground, his knee pressing into Axel’s chest.

Max winced, scrambling to his feet. With a resigned sigh, he threw himself at Damien, landing a solid punch that knocked him off balance just long enough for Axel to shove him aside and regain the upper hand.

And then the inevitable happened.

“Walters, Anderson, Hayes!” The booming voice of Coach Johnson cut through the chaos, silencing the onlookers. The three froze mid-motion, breathless and battered. “Get dressed and get to the principal’s office. Now.”

Axel glared at Damien, who spat a curse under his breath, while Max groaned, already dreading the fallout. Plus more importantly Why the hell did Axel step in?

As they trudged toward their lockers, Axel leaned toward Max with a muttered, “You owe me.”

Max glanced sideways, “Fuck off.”

Now this was a part of wedding planning both boys could fully support: cake tasting.

“Aren’t you on your keto buzz?” Tommy teased as Buck shoveled another sample into his mouth, clearly enjoying himself.

“The sacrifices I make for you, my love,” Buck replied dramatically, licking frosting off his fork. Tommy smirked, scooping up a dollop of icing and smearing it onto Buck’s nose.

Buck froze mid-reply, cross-eyed as he stared at the sugary blob. Before he could retaliate, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and groaned, his shoulders sagging. The effect was only slightly ruined by the icing still perched on his nose.

“It’s the school,” Buck muttered.

Tommy’s gaze flicked between Buck and the array of cake samples, weighing his priorities. Finally, he shrugged. “Call them back, Evan.”

“What if Max is dying?” Buck shot back, his tone part worry, part challenge.

“At school?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, casually stabbing another piece of cake with his fork. “Unlikely.”

Buck’s only response was a pointed, “Max.”

Tommy sighed, waving him off. “Fair enough. Go ahead and answer it.”

The principal issued a two day suspension, not great but not terrible. Max could walk home, listen to some music and plan how to sell it to Buck and Tommy.

Except.

"Mr Walters, Mr Buckley is on his way to pick up you up. He asked that you remain at reception." The receptionist said sounding very much like a fifty something lady with better things to be doing than babysitting suspended teenagers.

“You were involved in a fight?” Buck's voice carried a distinct tone of disappointment that hit Max harder than the principal’s endless lecture on the school’s “zero tolerance” policy. The guilt gnawed at him, making the scolding feel ten times worse.

“We were in the middle of trying different wedding cakes when the school called, Max…” Buck added, his frustration tinged with the memory of indulgent cake samples. “Do you know how many flavors we’ve gone through?”

Max saw his chance and leaned in, flashing his most innocent grin. “Oh, that’s so cool! Any flavors stand out?”

Buck paused, his irritation briefly forgotten. “The Raspberry Lemon was amazing—light and refreshing. But then there was the Double Chocolate, and, man, that was decadent. ” He shook his head as if reliving the moment. “Oh, and the cookies and cream? Seriously, it’s like dessert heaven.”

Max nodded eagerly, trying to keep him going. “Wow, that all sounds incredible. Tough choices, huh?”

“Yeah,” Buck said, his tone softening as he got momentarily lost in thought. “I’m leaning toward the Raspberry Lemon, but Tommy really loved the Double Ch—” He caught himself mid-sentence and snapped back to the present, his gaze narrowing on Max. “Nice try, kid. We’re not here to talk about cake.”

“Damn it” Max sighed to himself. 

If Max thought no school meant chilling at home, then he was sadly mistaken - It was suit shopping time, much to Max’s dismay. He trailed behind Buck, complaining about being dragged away from his video game. “I already have a suit, remember? You bought it for me at the start of the year.”

“Yes,” Buck replied, folding his arms and giving Max a pointed look. “But that was a ‘please let me go to your school’ suit, not an ‘I’m going to a wedding’ suit’ and no kid of mine is going to look tacky at my wedding.”

Max raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is there a difference?”

“Absolutely,” Buck said without hesitation. “This one will be tailored and fit the wedding’s theme.”

Max blinked, looking up from his phone, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. “The wedding has a theme?”

“Of course it does,” Buck replied, holding the door open as they entered the suit shop.

Max stopped short, taking in the sight. The place was wall-to-wall suits, every color, fabric, and cut imaginable. It was nothing like the Target where they’d picked up his grey suit earlier in year, when he thought he was going to rot in jail for the rest of his life. 

Was that less than six months ago? Damn, his whole life had been a rollercoaster the last 12 months. If only he could go back in time and not kiss Bradley Thomas. That was a lie, he would always kiss Bradley Thomas - despite knowing how things ended up. 

Those four weeks were like heaven. 

He promptly walked straight into the back of Buck, who luckily blamed it on Max’s nose being in his phone and not day dreaming about the past. Reengaging with the present, Max touched one of the suits hanging on display.

“Wait, there’s a whole shop just for suits?” Max asked, incredulous, it made sense, he supposed - there was a shop just for guitars - but guitars were cool - suits were just expensive clothing. 

Although, some business guys look really good in suits. Sadly there were none here now, that would of at least made it more interesting. 

“Yup,” Buck said, clearly unfazed.

Max’s eyes narrowed as he watched a tailor meticulously measure another customer. “Some people take suits way too seriously.”

“Welcome to the real world,” Buck said with a smirk as they walked out an hour later, armed with a receipt and a pickup date. Max couldn’t help but think the real world was unnecessarily complicated.

Give him a tee-shirt and jeans any day.

On the basketball court with the other firefighters, Tommy wiped the sweat from his brow just as Eddie came jogging over.

“Good game, man,” Eddie said, holding out a hand for a high five.

“Thanks, mate. You too, hey,” Tommy replied with a grin, pulling Eddie into a quick, sweaty bro hug.

As they stepped back, Eddie smirked. “So… this wedding…”

Speaking of way too complicated, that night, as Max lay in bed scrolling on his phone, the curtains began to sway. A second later, a figure tumbled into his room through the window.

Max froze, his breath hitching, ready to scream. But before he could, the figure leaned forward and pressed a finger against his lips. 

What the fuck…

“Axel?” Max whispered, his voice a mix of disbelief and irritation.

“Max,” Axel replied casually, like breaking into someone’s room was the most normal thing in the world. He knelt there, completely unfazed—as if he hadn’t been making out with some other asshole in the cafeteria a couple of days ago.

“What do you want?” Max hissed, trying to keep his voice low to avoid waking Buck or Tommy.

Axel smirked, his gaze locking onto Max’s. “You, dumbass,” he said before leaning in and kissing him.

See, on one hand, Max knew he should say no, stop and pull away. On the other hand, this was Axel grinding against him - so no, he wasn’t going to say no. 

Buck kissed his way down Tommy’s chest, down his happy trail to a very happy member, licking his tongue along the shaft, slowly and teasingly. 

Tommy buckled his hips, trying to speed things up as Buck tsk’ed him. “Patience is a virtue.”

“You are an -” Tommy’s snarky comeback was cut off as Buck deep throated his cock like a pro, it was hard to believe that Buck had been a newbie to this 12 months ago as his head bobbed up and down on Tommy’s cock.

Buck lay comfortably against Tommy’s chest , his breathing steady as Tommy absentmindedly played with the curls in Buck’s hair—moments like this where made to treasure. 

In fact, these were the moment’s Tommy missed the most after saying goodbye to Buck in the loft all those months ago - the quiet moments, just him and Buck at peace - not need to be the macho tough guys the world expected of them. 

Just a slice of domestic bliss.

“Are you getting any helpful wedding advice too?” Buck asked after a moment of comfortable silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

So, it seemed Tommy wasn’t the only lucky recipient of everyone’s unsolicited expertise.

Tommy chuckled softly. “Oh yeah, very helpful. ” From Eddie to Chim to Lucy to random co-workers at Harbour station, everyone had something to add.

Buck smirked, trailing a finger lazily across Tommy’s chest. “Maybe we should just elope—just you and me. How about the Swiss Alps?” he teased, his finger circling around Tommy’s nipple.

Tommy snorted. “Tempting, but we’d probably have to bring Max, and that kind of kills the vibe.”

“Well,” Buck countered with a grin, “he could always learn to ski while we enjoy some alone time by the fire…”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile at the idea. Nice and peaceful, far removed from the chaos of LA.

Speaking of chaos.

“Wait,” Tommy said suddenly, tilting his head. “Do I hear something from Max’s room?”

Buck froze, his head lifting to listen. The muffled sound of voices—or something moving—filtered faintly through the walls. His expression shifted from relaxed to parental alertness in seconds.

“You don’t think…” Buck trailed off, already sitting up. “Surely not?”

Tommy sighed, rubbing his face. “It’s always something with that kid. Come on, let’s see what this is about.”

Tommy knocked twice —just loud enough to announce his presence, but not too loud. If his suspicions were correct, he wanted to give Max a chance to get decent. Not that it would soften the blow much.

After a brief pause, he turned the knob and swung the door open.

The scene that greeted him was a tangled mess of limbs on the floor: Axel perched squarely on top of Max, the two frozen mid-motion like a snapshot of chaos. Tommy blinked. Buck blinked. Axel blinked. Max—with Axel's thumb still lodged firmly between his teeth (Tommy did not want to know what it was doing there)—made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

“Axel?” Tommy’s tone was a volatile mix of confusion, irritation, and disbelief. It wasn’t just the sight in front of him that had his brain short-circuiting. It was the context . Max had cried on his shoulder for hours after Axel dumped him— and now? Now, Axel was here, in their house, on top of Max , at eleven at night?

“Uh… Mr. K! Good evening, sir,” Axel greeted, his tone betraying a deeply misplaced attempt at nonchalance. “And, uh, Mr. B,” he added, glancing nervously at Max for support that clearly wasn’t coming.

Tommy crossed his arms. “Axel, what are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, his patience thin.

Axel flashed a grin—one of those too-bright, too-fake ones that said he was stalling for time. “Oh, well, that’s… that’s a deep question, Mr. K. What are any of us really doing here, you know? Like, when you think about it, what’s the meaning of life?”

Tommy’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “I was thinking more along the lines of, why are you in my house at eleven o’clock at night on top of my teenager? ”

Buck said nothing, instead standing, what Tommy assumed was supposedly menacingly behind, arms folded firmly across his shirt - he might of looked more menacingly if the shirt he had thrown on wasn’t a novelty shirt from Hen, covered in Kittens dancing around a rainbow. 

Axel cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, that. Well. We were just, you know…” He gestured vaguely between himself and Max. “…Talking.”

Tommy arched an eyebrow, his voice suddenly laced with a mockery so subtle it could cut steel. “Talking. Right.” He nodded, the movement slow and deliberate, like he was trying out the word for the first time. “Then perhaps you could take your thumb out of Max’s mouth?”

Axel blinked down at his hand—still very much where it shouldn’t have been—and yanked it back as though burned. Max groaned, face beet-red, and covered his eyes with one arm.

“I… uh…” Axel stammered, clearly scrambling for some way to salvage the situation.

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got five seconds to explain yourself, Axel. And if the next words out of your mouth are anything like ‘the meaning of life,’ I swear to God…”

“I came to apologize!” Axel blurted. He glanced at Max, who peeked out from under his arm, startled. “I was apologizing. For being… well, you know, for being a jerk.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced. “On the floor? At eleven at night?”

“I tripped,” Axel said weakly.

Max groaned again, this time louder, and muttered, “Please stop talking.”

Tommy stared them both down, his gaze moving between the pair like he was solving a particularly frustrating puzzle. Finally, he stepped aside and gestured toward the door. “Axel. Out.”

“But—”

“Out.”

Axel scrambled to his feet, muttering something that might’ve been “yes, sir,” and bolted for the window like his life depended on it.

“Axel!”

“What?”

“Door, like a normal person.”

“Oh, right.”

Once the door slammed shut, Tommy turned back to Max, who was still sprawled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as though it held the answers to the universe.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Tommy said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Max let out a resigned sigh. “Yeah. I figured.”

Tommy sighed deeply, mostly for dramatic purpose, as Max, still bright red, continued staring at his ceiling. Without another word, Tommy headed back to his bedroom but Buck lingered for a second longer, turning to face Max.

“So I’ll put you down as a plus one for the wedding?”

Chapter Text

As Buck slid back into bed , he couldn’t help but notice the furrowed brow and distant look on Tommy’s face. The man’s brain was clearly spinning at full tilt.

“Oh, hey, what’s grinding away in that old head of yours?” Buck asked, propping himself up on one elbow and poking Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy turned over to face him, his expression a mix of curiosity and indignation. “Why did Axel have his thumb in Max’s mouth? and next question, do I want to know?”

Buck blinked, biting back a laugh. “Oh, you don’t know?”

“No .” Tommy narrowed his eyes, clearly sensing trouble. “I don’t trust you….”

“Don’t trust me? Little old me?” Buck’s grin widened as he sat up. “Right, on your knees, big boy.”

“Max?” Tommy reminded as Buck tilted his head, “Uh, huh, yeah, I don’t think he’ll hear us over his music.”

Buck slipped his thumb into Tommy's mouth as he entered him from behind. Tommy pressed back eagerly against Buck's thick cock, his tight hole swallowing Buck's generous length. Buck rocked at a steady pace, his thumb pumping in and out of Tommy's mouth to the same rhythm.

"That's it baby, take my cock," Buck growled in Tommy's ear as he increased his pace, fucking harder. "Suck my thumb like the good boy you are."

Tommy moaned around Buck's thumb, drool dripping down his chin. Buck reached around to stroke Tommy's hard, dripping cock in time with his thrusts and the movement of his thumb. He could feel Tommy's inner walls clenching, the his body tightening as he approached climax.

"Are you gonna cum for me Tommy? Are you gonna cum on my cock like a good boy?" Buck rumbled, nibbling at Tommy's earlobe.

Tommy keened loudly, trying to answer but unable to speak around Buck's thumb gagging his mouth. His hips stuttered as Buck's skilled fingers worked his weeping erection. With a deep, filthy moan, Tommy came so hard he saw stars, his cock pulsing in Buck's grip. His hole fluttered around Buck's cock, pushing him over the edge.

Buck buried himself to the hilt in Tommy's ass, his hips jerking as he spent himself deep inside his lover. He groaned long and low, pulling out and spinning Tommy to face him. Buck claimed Tommy's mouth in a filthy kiss before both of them collapsed on the bed, his load still leaking out of Tommy. 

Later, as Buck flopped onto his back, breathing hard and grinning like a Cheshire cat, he turned his head toward Tommy, who looked equally winded but far too smug.

“Soo, huh, was that good?” Buck asked, mock innocence in his tone.

“Yeah… it’s always good when I let you take control,” Tommy replied, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Trained you well for an Ally."

Buck let out a bark of laughter, throwing an arm over his eyes. Tommy rolled onto his side, his hand trailing idly across Buck’s chest. “So, what did we learn tonight?” Buck asked

“That Axel is not allowed within 50 feet of Max,” Tommy answered, his tone suddenly serious. “Or I’ll shoot him.”

Buck burst out laughing, which was offensive. “You don’t even have a gun, Tommy.”

“I’ll get one,” Tommy deadpanned, earning another laugh from Buck. "I'll borrow Athena's, she'd understand."

“What did we learn from last night?” Tommy asked Max when he finally showed his face.

“That my door needs a lock” Max replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "And you two need to learn to knock."

Tommy vents to Buck over text on his way to work and his fiancée replies with a sympathetic: you walked into that . 

Follow by: xox

If Tommy happened to around to do an after school pick up, then that was strictly by chance and not choice as he searched out in the crowd of yapping teenagers for his target.

"Axel." Tommy said, causing the lanky teen to turn and face him with a whatever expression he had seen more than once on Max's face, prehaps this was where Max picked it up from.

"Mr K, what's popping."

"Popping?"

"Yeah, it's old slang, like you." Axel supplied, far too please with himself.

Tommy inhaled slowly, counting to three to keep his cool. "What are your intentions with Maxwell?"

"My intentions?" Axel tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "What does that even mean?"

Tommy fought the urge to groan, instead pinching the bridge of his nose. Before he could formulate a response, Axel's eyes widened with sudden realization, a grin spreading across his face. "Wait, wait—you’re doing the whole dad talk thing, aren’t you?"

Axel almost looked proud? That was a look that Tommy did not want to decode.

"Yes," Tommy replied, deadpan. "I’m doing the dad talk thing. Now answer the question."

Axel leaned back, crossing his arms with the kind of confidence only a seventeen-year-old could muster. "Don’t worry, old man," he said, his smirk bordering on insolence. "I can’t get Max pregnant." Then he winked, the fucking bastard winked at Tommy.

Tommy blinked, stunned into silence for half a second. And then, just like that, Axel turned on his heel and disappeared into the throng of teenagers, leaving Tommy standing there

Deciding to rip off the awkward bandaid in one go, Tommy and Buck approached the couch where Max sat, their arms laden with a ridiculous haul of lube, condoms, and safe-sex pamphlets. Without a word, they unceremoniously dumped everything into Max's lap.

Max stared at the pile, then up at them, daggers in his glare. "What the fuck?"

"It's important to be safe," Buck chimed in, his voice just a little too cheerful.

"We don't want to taking you to the clinic again," Tommy added firmly, crossing his arms. "until...you know, you're—uh—a more appropriate age to be—uh—getting STDs." There had to have been a better way to word the sentence Tommy mused to himself.

And it turns out, he wasn't the only one as Max blinked once, then  twice before: "There’s an appropriate age to get STDs?"

Tommy opened his mouth to clarify but was cut off by Buck, who gave him an incredulous look. So much for the united front—traitor.

"You know what I mean," Tommy said quickly. "Just—be safe."

Max sighed, folding his arms. "Well, thank you for your concern, but there’s nothing to be safe about. All we do is kiss. We don’t even do... that stuff yet, just casual hand stuff."

Tommy blinked, startled. "But... Axel said—"

Max’s head shot up, eyes narrowing like a predator scenting prey. "Axel said what to you?"

Buck immediately grabbed Tommy’s arm, steering him backward with a murmured, "Abort mission. Abort."

"Hold up, why are you talking to Axel about our...private time?" Max followed up, as Tommy and Buck made a tactical decision to regroup in their bedroom and adjust their 'birds and the bees' talk.

"What did you tell Tommy" Max demanded, causing Axel to grin like an idiot.

A couple of weeks later , during a rare morning where they all managed to sit down for breakfast, Tommy glanced up from his coffee. Across the table, Max was multitasking like a pro—shoveling cereal into his mouth while snap-chatting someone, probably Axel.

Tommy cleared his throat dramatically, drawing their attention. “So, I think something big is coming up.”

Max, without looking up, rolled his eyes. “Yeah, your wedding, duh.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the sarcasm. “Yes, that. But there’s something else, isn’t there?” causing Buck, mid-sip of his orange juice, perked up. “Oh, right! You didn’t think we’d forget, did you?”. Tommy could almost feel the excitement radiating off his golden retriever of a fiance.

Max however, finally looked up, his expression an unexpected mix of exasperation and dread. “Forget what?” He asked casually, now playing with his cereal instead of devouring it.

One day Tommy might understand Max, today was not that day.

“Sweet 16?” Buck said with a grin, leaning forward on his elbows. “Why so glum about it? You don’t want a big party or something?”

Max continued to poked at his cereal with his spoon, his already lackluster enthusiasm deflating. “It’s not a big deal. Just another day.”

Tommy and Buck exchanged a look, the unspoken "teenagers" passing between them. Tommy leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. “Look, it’s totally up to you. But if there’s anything bothering you about it, or anything you want to talk about…”

“Talk about? Like how you two are ambushing me over breakfast?” Max shot back, though there was no real venom in it. "There's no need to make a big fuss, it's not like it matters."

Tommy sighed, turning to Buck with an exaggerated what now? shrug. Buck shrugged back, wide-eyed and grinning like he was caught in the middle of a soap opera.

Max stood abruptly, grabbing his bag. “Anyway, I have to get to school. Don’t want to be late.”

Buck called after him, “Max, we weren’t—”

The door shut behind him with a decisive thud, leaving the room quiet for a moment.

“Well,” Tommy muttered, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “That went well.”

Axel, as expected, was the picture of understanding . “What’s up your ass today?”

Max glared at him, but any attempt to deflect was instantly shot down when Axel leveled him with one of his trademark looks.

“Don’t even try,” Axel said, leaning back against the wall. “Last time you were this mopey, you ruined my Twenty One Pilots hoodie, remember?”

Remember, it wasn’t something Max was going to forget anytime soon.

Max rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes - you mean the time I almost died?”

“Yeah,” Axel replied, a smirk creeping onto his face. “But you didn’t die, and my hoodie’s still ruined, so. Honestly, I’m not sure who the real victim was there.”

“Clearly, you are,” Max shot back, rolling his eyes. But the comeback didn’t have much heat behind it. He bit his lip, restless and unsure how to explain the mess of feelings swirling inside him. Running a hand through his hair, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine, I just… I don’t know. It feels weird, okay? And don’t ask me why, because I can’t even explain it.”

Axel tilted his head, studying Max for a moment before taking a slow hit from his vape. He leaned back, exhaling a thick bubblegum-scented cloud right into Max’s face.

Max immediately started coughing, fanning the air in front of him. “Seriously? Asshole!”

Axel grinned, entirely unapologetic,without breaking eye contact, the older teen reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out two joints, holding them up with a flourish.

Staring up at the night sky, Max passed the joint over to Axel, who took a deep drag without missing a beat. The faint smell of it mixed with the cool air, the world feeling both distant and strangely intimate.

“So,” Axel began, exhaling slowly, “you gonna apologize to your folks?”

“They’re not my folks,” Max muttered, tracing the stars with his eyes.

“Close enough,” Axel shot back, handing the joint back to Max. “And don’t dodge the question.”

Max sighed, fidgeting with his fingers as he tried to map out constellations, half-remembering his Boy Scouts training. He’d even done a refresher after being abducted—though, unsurprisingly, the details hadn’t stuck.

“I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to do something,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur.

Axel hummed noncommittally, his attention split between Max and the fading ember of the joint.

Max stretched out, arms folding behind his head as he leaned back into the grass. His tone turned casual, almost teasing. “I know what I’d rather be doing right now.”

Axel made a small noise of interest, rolling over onto his side to face Max. His eyebrows arched slightly, though his smirk was already forming. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Before Max could answer, Axel shifted again, this time rolling on top of him with the easy confidence that always seemed to catch Max off guard. He braced himself on his elbows, leaning down just enough to make the space between them feel almost electric.

“Something like this ?” Axel asked, his voice dangerously low, his lips hovering above Maxs.

Max’s breath hitched, but he refused to let Axel get the upper hand without a fight. “Depends,” he shot back, his lips curving into a smirk of his own. “You think you can handle it?”

Axel’s laugh was quiet but unmistakably cocky. “Oh, I know I can.”

The following morning, Max stood under the shower until Tommy knocked on the door. “You’re not solving world peace in there. Move it.”

Grumbling, Max toweled off and practically bathed in body spray before making his way to the kitchen. Without so much as a glance, he snagged a piece of toast right off Buck’s plate.

“Morning to you too,” Buck muttered, watching Max shove the toast into his mouth. “Must’ve been a late night, huh.”

“Not that late,” Max lied through a mouthful of toast, avoiding eye contact. It was just after one in the morning when he snuck in, hopefully undetected.

Tommy lowered his newspaper just enough to give Max a pointed look. “Uh-huh. Sure it wasn’t.”

Max ignored him, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed a Red Bull. “Anyway, I was thinking… laser tag for my birthday. If it’s not too late to plan.”

Hopefully, the distraction would sideline the morning interrogation.

Buck glanced down at his plate, realizing his toast had mysteriously vanished, but the grin spreading across his face was impossible to stop. “Laser tag, huh? Solid plan.”

“Sweet,” Max said, cracking open the Red Bull, that had been too easy. “See you guys later.”

“Hold it,” Tommy interjected, setting his paper aside with deliberate precision. “We still need to discuss your punishment for last night.”

Damn it Max thought to himself, freezing mid-step. “Punishment? For what?” His eyes flicked between them, wary. If Tommy wasn’t suspicious before, he definitely was now.

“I’m thinking a week without video games,” Buck suggested casually, finishing off his coffee without giving anything away. Sometimes, less was more—a mantra Buck admittedly struggled to follow.

“What? Why am I being punished?” Max demanded, spinning to face them. If looks could kill, Athena would have a double homicide on her hands.

“You know what you did,” Tommy replied evenly, his expression unreadable—or at least, he hoped it was. Poker faces weren’t exactly his strong suit.

Max frowned, gears turning as he tried to figure out how he’d been caught. “Wait—how do you even know about that?”

“Because we’re adults,” Buck said with an air of authority, nodding as if that were explanation enough. It was a bold bluff, considering he had absolutely no idea what Max had been up to.

Somehow, it worked. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Ugh, I hate you. Both of you,” Max grumbled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He stomped toward the door, muttering, “No one even got hurt,” before disappearing outside.

The door shut behind him as he left. 

The house fell silent for a beat.

Tommy turned to Buck, his expression tired but amused. “Do you think we should maybe figure out what we’re punishing him for?”

Punishment aside - there was laser tag to plan, to keep Buck and Tommy happy - and a house party that Buck and Tommy where not to know about.

Chris glanced up at Max, skepticism written all over his face. “How am I even supposed to play laser tag?”

Max grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

When the day finally arrived, Max led the red team to the towering laser tag fort, stopping dramatically in front of it. With a grand flourish, he turned to Chris.

“Ta-da!” Max declared, spreading his arms wide. “You, my friend, are going to be the flag’s ultimate last line of defense.”

With Sam’s help, Max carefully helped Chris onto the second-floor platform, where he could hide behind a panel and snipe at anyone who dared get too close.

“Red team for the win!” Max declared confidently.

It was chaos. The red team was cornered, their defenses crumbling under the relentless assault. Axel and his blue team had pushed hard, forcing Chris, Sam, and Max into a desperate last stand to defend the castle.

Max crouched just outside the fort’s walls, his breath coming in quick bursts as he scanned the treeline for the next wave of attackers. His heart pounded with adrenaline. He had one job: hold the line.

Then—

Pow.

A sharp burst of light flared on his vest, signaling a direct hit. The red indicator flashed once, then faded to black.

“What the—” Max spun around, confused. No one had been near him.

His gaze shot upward to the second-floor platform where Chris had been stationed as their last line of defense. But something was wrong. Chris’s vest, which had been glowing red just moments ago, now shone a vivid blue, glowing against the red of his crutches.

Betrayed.

“Chris?” Max stammered, disbelief plastered across his face.

From his elevated perch, Chris gave a sheepish shrug, though the sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth told a different story.

“He was a double agent,” Axel announced smugly, stepping into view like a victorious general. The blue team leader was practically glowing with triumph as he strode toward the flagpole. With deliberate flair, Axel pulled down the red team’s flag and hoisted the blue one high. It fluttered in the wind like a symbol of their crushing defeat.

Max glared at Chris, who was still perched behind the panel, his laser gun resting lazily against his shoulder. “Really?” Max demanded, his voice tinged with betrayal.

Chris grinned wider. “Sorry, Max”

“Sorry?” Max repeated, throwing his hands in the air. “You were supposed to defend us! ”

Axel sauntered over, his cocky smirk practically radiating smug satisfaction. “Oh, come on, Max. It’s just a game. No hard feelings, right?”

Max crossed his arms, his glare shifting to Axel. “You are such a cheat.”

Axel laughed, clearly unbothered by the accusation. “Cheating? No, no, my friend. It’s called strategy. And speaking of strategy…” He stepped closer, tilting his head mockingly. “Do I get to claim my prize now?”

One sucessfully sixteen birthday done and dusted Buck shifted a couch cushion, and Max’s wallet tumbled onto the seat. “Great,” he muttered, picking it up. Max was definitely going to need it for the movies with Chris. Granted, it was not the type of night Buck was having when he was sixteen, but at least he knew where Max was - and he at least trusted Chris.

Grabbing his phone, he dialed Max. No answer. Frowning, he tried Chris next. Still nothing.

“Bloody teenagers,” Buck grumbled under his breath. “No way both of them have their phones off.”

With a sigh, he called Eddie, who answered almost immediately.

“Yo, Buck. What’s up?” Eddie greeted.

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck said. “How are the kids? Max left his wallet here. Thought I could drop it off if they’re still with you.”

There was a pause, heavy with implication, before Eddie spoke again. “Why would Max be here?”

Why? Because Max was meeting Chris at your place before Eddie was going to drop them at the movies - Because Max had left thirty minutes ago with promise to keep in text contact.

Buck frowned, his gut twisting uneasily. “What do you mean? Max told me he was with Chris at your place.”

Another pause. Eddie let out a huff. “Chris left here about half an hour ago to meet Max at yours.”

Teenagers.

Buck pressed his lips into a tight line, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Seriously? Do they think we don’t talk to each other?”

Buck knocked on the front door, the bass from the backyard music thumping so loudly it practically vibrated the porch beneath his feet. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t the middle-aged blonde woman who answered with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, is the music too loud?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Uh?” Buck blinked, momentarily thrown.

“The music,” she repeated, gesturing toward the backyard. “Is it too loud?”

“Oh, no,” Buck managed, feeling awkward as Eddie stood beside him, clearly trying not to laugh."I'm not a neighbor."

The lady exhaled a sigh of relief, "I thought I hadn't seen you two around here before, so,  you're a bit old to join the party, what are you after fellas"

“I’m actually looking for Max Walter.” Buck explained.

The woman’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh! You must be Mr. Buckley,” she said warmly, then glanced at Eddie. “And you must be Mr. Kinard. I’m Catherine Hayes, Axel’s mother. I can’t believe we haven’t met sooner!”

Buck opened his mouth to correct her, but Eddie beat him to it, raising a hand with a polite smile. “Actually, I’m Eddie—Mr. Diaz. I think my son, Chris, might be here too?”

Catherine’s eyes flicked between the two of them, her expression suddenly shifting into playful appraisal. She smiled slyly, shaking her head as if lamenting some great tragedy. “Why are the good-looking ones always gay?”

Buck barely managed to stifle his laugh, while Eddie’s ears turned a shade pinker as he quickly protested, “Oh, I’m not gay.”

Catherine arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down with an amused grin. “If you say so, sweetie.”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but Buck clapped a hand on his shoulder, biting back a grin as he said, “Well, this has been fun, but about Max and Chris…”

“I hate you,” Max muttered, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“You know,” Buck replied, keeping his eyes on the road as the Jeep rolled through the quiet suburban streets of LA, “you could’ve tried the truth.”

Max shot him a sideways glare but said nothing.

“I probably would’ve let you go,” Buck continued. “There was a parent there—”

“And the drinking,” Max interjected pointedly. That was true, but still, the party wasn't out of control - even if the music was a tad loud, and there was a sober parent there. Maybe he should consult with Tommy.

“Yeah, well,” Buck shrugged, his tone light, “we were all young once.”

“So why’d you drag me out, then?” Max asked, his voice laced with frustration.

“Because you lied,” Buck said simply, glancing at Max in the rearview mirror.

Max slumped further into his seat, scowling. “I still hate you.”

A few weeks later, and all had been forgiven in the Kinard-Buckley household. 

Smashing back a microwave pizza, Max asked with a mouthful something that he obviously expected an answer too.

“Again, but without the mouthful,” Buck said, raising an eyebrow.

Max shot him a mock glare but obligingly inhaled the rest of the pizza at a pace that was borderline alarming. Swallowing, he leaned forward. “So… who’s getting kicked out of the house?”

Buck blinked, exchanging a confused glance with Tommy, who shrugged casually. “Gonna need a bit more context, matey,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair.

Max rolled his eyes, as if explaining the obvious. “You’re getting married on Saturday, right? And the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride the night before the wedding. So, like… who’s the bride? And who’s spending the night at the hotel? Also—important follow-up—what kind of hotel room are we talking here? Does it have a spa bath? Maybe one of those big ones with jets?”

Buck stared at him, “No one is staying at a hotel, that includes you.”

Lucy set a beer down in front of Tommy with a playful grin. “So, who’s the bride?”

Tommy barely spared her a glance as he took a sip. “Funny,” he said dryly.

Undeterred, Lucy leaned on the counter. “I’m just saying—you’d look amazing in white.”

Before Tommy could fire back, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting as he raised a hand to silence Lucy. “Thomas Kinard speaking,” he answered, his tone professional.

The use of his full legal name made Lucy straighten in her chair, her teasing demeanor fading to curiosity.

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he nodded along to the conversation, his frown deepening with every word. Finally, he hung up, setting the phone down with a quiet sigh.

“Well?” Lucy asked, watching him closely.

“Max’s parents agreed to sign the waiver to their parental rights,” Tommy said, his voice low. “But they want to meet me and Evan in person. They’re coming to LA.”

“So, what do we do.” Buck asked, sitting in the lounge, his knee tapping at a hundred miles an hour. “I don’t know, somehow I don’t think this is a welfare check.”

Tommy bit his bottom,agreeing “His safety certainly didn’t appear to be a concern for them.” Max had been living on the street, abducted, almost died and his parents hadn’t lost a wink of sleep. 

All they had to do was visit their lawyers office back home in hicksville and sign the documents, and it would allow Buck and Tommy to legally adopt Max, so why they had to see them in person, in LA was suspicious. 

“Do we tell Max they’re here?” Tommy continued, in lieu of any response from his partner.

Buck’s face was conflicted. Finally, he took a deep breath, his voice resolute. “My family kept my dead brother from me for years. No good comes from keeping secrets.” 

His resolve faltered, though, as Buck’s shoulders sagged. “But… we just got him settled. What if this messes everything up?”

Later that night, under the soft glow of the bedside lamp Buck lay sprawled on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Tommy sat propped against the headboard, a pillow hugged loosely in his lap, his brow furrowed in thought.

“They didn’t even ask to see him,” Buck said, breaking the heavy silence. His voice was low, a mix of anger and disbelief. “What kind of parents are they?”

Tommy sighed, shifting to face him. “Bad ones,” he replied, his tone bitter. “But if they’re willing to sign the papers, maybe it’s better if they don’t see him. Max doesn’t need that kind of instability.”

Buck sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I get that, but it still feels wrong, you know?”

Buck pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet, hesitating for a moment before the weight of his guilt pressed him to add a second, he almost added a third but Tommy’s gentle hand stopped him. He handed both bills to Max, his expression a mix of forced cheer and underlying tension.

“How about you do something fun? Call Axel, Sam, or Dean—go explore, have some fun, don't get arrested or hurt okay?” Buck suggested, his tone overly casual.

Max eyed the bills in Buck’s hand, then looked up at him with narrowed eyes, clearly suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Buck said quickly, though the crack in his voice betrayed him. “Just go enjoy yourself.”

Max’s suspicion lingered for a second longer before teenage greed won out. He snatched the hundred dollars, stuffing it into his pocket with a shrug. “Whatever you’re up to, I don’t care. Thanks, man.” Grabbing his skateboard, he headed for the door.

Tommy leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold. As the door clicked shut behind Max, he shot Buck a pointed look. “You know you can’t buy a clear conscience, Evan,” he said dryly.

Buck groaned, slumping onto the couch. “Yeah, but it sure buys me some quiet time to figure this mess out.”

Buck and Tommy’s home was spotless , their nerves driving them to clean everything in sight before the meeting. Max’s parents arrived late, their demeanor casual as if they weren’t signing away their own child.

Walking around their house, the Walters commented on how nice the house was.

“ Thanks ,” Buck said tersely, his jaw tightening as he held back the flood of anger rising in his chest. He hated Max’s parents before, but now he hated them with a vengeance. 

“Yeah,” Max’s father added, gesturing vaguely at the furniture. “A place like this doesn’t come cheap. Which brings us to why we’re here.”

Tommy exchanged a sharp glance with Buck. “We thought you were here to discuss signing the papers,” Tommy said, his tone steady but laced with warning.

Turns out Buck could hate Max’s parents more. 

Max’s mother settled into one of the chairs, crossing her legs elegantly. “Oh, we are,” she said smoothly. “But we’ve been talking, and we think it’s only fair that we’re compensated for the money we spent raising Max for fourteen odd years. After all, raising a kid isn’t cheap, and all that time and effort has gone to waste.”

Don't hit a woman Tommy told himself, as Buck’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?” he blurted, he could hardly believe it. Buck was either going to faint or snap, he wasn't sure which. The nerve.

But they were - as Max’s father laid out their terms. “We’re not unreasonable. But if you want to adopt him and give him a life like this, then you can afford to pay us back for the life we gave him.”

Tommy’s grip on the armrest tightened, his knuckles white. “The life you gave him?” he snapped. “You mean abandoning him, leaving him on the streets, and not caring whether he lived or died?”

“Now, now,” Max’s mother said, her voice dripping with false calm. “We gave him fourteen years of our lives before he spat on everything we stand for. I think it’s only fair we’re reimbursed for our wasted efforts.”

Buck stood abruptly, his hands shaking with rage, any hope that Tommy may be able to cool him down was thwarted by the fact that Tommy had the same desire to rearrange Max’s father's face. The only thing keep either man grounded was the fact they needed the papers signed, or life would always be messy.

The tension was so suffocating in the not-so-small lounge, no one noticed an uninvited visitor letting herself in.

Before Buck could respond, a calm but firm voice interrupted the flow. "Or"' said Margaret, Buck’s mother, stepping into the room, "we take you to court and let the world see exactly what kind of people you are."

Everyone turned to look at her, stunned by her sudden arrival, but she wasn’t finished, Margaret’s eyes were cold and piercing as she stared down Max’s parents. “How dare you—how very dare you—come into my son’s house and try to blackmail him into paying you for the bare minimum you did for your own child. You should be in jail, not getting a cheque.”

Max’s mother scoffed, her tone dripping with snide arrogance. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me,” Margaret replied sharply. “I’m a mother—maybe not the best one at times, but a mother nonetheless. Something you appear to know nothing about.”

Max’s mother stiffened, her smug mask slipping as anger flared in her expression. “Are you seriously passing judgment on my parenting? I’ve raised an incredible daughter. If Max hadn’t turned his back on everything we stand for, we wouldn’t be here—debasing ourselves in a conversation with two faggots about stealing our blood and bones from us.”

The slur ignited a new fury in the room. Buck bristled, fists clenched, the air around him taut with suppressed rage. Tommy took a step forward, his voice ready to cut through the venom, but Margaret raised a hand, silencing him.

“I see,” she said softly, but her voice carried an edge that silenced everyone. “Love, to you, is conditional. A tool to manipulate. Parenthood, a means to control. That’s not love—it’s cruelty. And Max? He deserves so much better than the hurt you’ve caused him. I regret my mistakes, you relish yours.”

Margaret took a step closer, her tone remaining even, though her words struck like a hammer. “You think you can intimidate us? My son walks through fire every day of his life, his partner flies through it, his sister has fought injustice, so let me assure you, Mrs's and Mister Walters, the moment you refuse to sign those papers, the truth will come out. Every single ugly detail. And when it does, you won’t walk away unscathed.”

Max’s mother opened her mouth to retort but faltered under Margaret’s fiery gaze. After a tense pause, she sighed dramatically. “Fine. Let’s just sign the damn papers and be done with this.”

“Good,” Margaret said, her voice cold. “The papers are on the table, let me get you a pen. Don't you hate it when the pen runs out of ink halfway through signing, always happens to me.”

Tommy slid the documents forward, his jaw still tight. Buck stood rigid beside him, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Max’s parents signed the forms in silence, their earlier arrogance dissolved into sullen defeat. When they handed the documents back, Tommy’s glare was sharp and unrelenting, while Buck stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest, radiating quiet fury. Meanwhile, Margaret calmly poured herself a glass of wine, her composed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension in the room.

Tommy seized the moment to deliver the final blow. “Now, get out. You’re not welcome here.”

As the Walters made their way to the door, Margaret intercepted them, her wine glass held delicately in one hand. She spoke softly but with unmistakable authority. “Before you go, I’d like to make one thing very clear,” she said, her calm tone laced with steel. “Don’t you ever refer to my son like that again. He has something you’ll never possess—morals and compassion.”

She took a deliberate sip of her wine before adding, with a pointed smile, “Maybe you’ll find those in your Bible—if you bother to look.”

The Walters froze for a moment, stunned into silence, before shuffling out the door without another word.

The room was silent for a moment before Buck let out a shaky breath, his tension finally releasing, taking a deep breath and willing his heartbeat back down.

Margaret turned to her son with a small, proud smile. “You’re a good man, Evan. Don’t ever let anyone make you doubt that.”

Buck swallowed hard, nodding. “Thanks, Mom.” He let himself fall into her embrace, bending slightly so the shorter lady could wrap her arms around him, pulling him close.

Tommy exhaled deeply, finally relaxing into his chair. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Margaret.”

Margaret smiled, “Just keep being good to my son, and we won’t have a problem Thomas.”

Wait a moment, now the dust had settle Buck was able to ask himself as he watched his Mom drink her glass of Tommy's expensive Italian wine...

“Why are you here anyway Mom?” Buck asked, as Margaret’s smile returned, “Oh yes, Maddie said I could talk to you about Jee’s flower girl dress, I was thinking the current one is cute but she would look absolutely amazing in…”

When would people understand this was their wedding?

Phillip arrived a few minutes later, and Tommy gave them space, leaving Buck and his parents alone on the outdoor patio. Phillip hesitated, taking a deep breath before speaking. “We’ve been talking a lot to Maddie about Max…”

Buck folded his arms, his voice calm but tinged with tension. “Don’t you think you should’ve been talking to me?”

Margaret stepped forward, her voice soft and pleading. “Evan, please. It was a lot for us to process—a big shock. We just… needed time.” She glanced at Phillip, who gave her a quiet nod. “But at the end of the day, we support your decision.”

"Completely" Phillip added, "Even if he is a colorful character."

“They were nasty pieces of work,” Margaret added, her tone firm but tinged with emotion. She reached out, taking Buck’s hands in hers, her eyes glistening. “And as someone very wise once said to me, when a parent doesn’t know what to do, all they really have to do is love them anyway.”

Her words hung in the air, soft but powerful as Buck realized where they came from - they had come from him, back in Maddie and Chim's first apartment, at the dinner Buck’s posture softened slightly as he nodded, holding her gaze. “Thanks, Mom.”

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

Tommy groaned softly as he rolled over, glancing at the clock. It was one minute past midnight. Technically, Buck was right—it was now Friday, and the wedding was on Saturday.

“You couldn’t have waited until morning to say that?” Tommy muttered, his voice laced with sleep.

Chapter Text

Two black limo's pulled up.

"Max!" Tommy shouted, knocking on the bathroom door in frustration, "Come on, kid, get a move on."

"It's okay, you, Lucy, Mark and Hugo go - and take Maddie and Chim, me and Eddie will follow with Max." Buck said, pressing a kiss to his husband to be cheek.

If Buck knew movie references, it would be like the Gwyneth Paltrow movie, Sliding Doors.

Tommy would have got the reference. 

A couple of weeks ago, the celebrant sat on the couch, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose as she flipped through the final paperwork. She looked up with a polite but pointed smile. “So, is it going to be Evan Kinard, Thomas Buckley, or a combination of the two?” she asked, her tone casual but with a hint of urgency. “Because, given the pending wedding, this really seems like something you should have discussed earlier.”

Buck shifted slightly on the seat, glancing at Tommy. “Uh, yeah. Good question,” he said, his tone light but laced with uncertainty. “What do you think?”

Tommy leaned back, his arms crossed as he stared at the celebrant. “Well, I have no loyalty to the Kinard name.” It was true, he had felt like a lone wolf for a long time.

Buck nodded, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands. “You know, uh, I've spent a lot of time thinking about names and the power they hold over us.”

The celebrant glanced between them, sensing a deeper conversation brewing. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said kindly, gathering her papers and stepping out of the room.

As the door closed, Tommy turned to Buck. “You’ve thought about this a lot?”

Buck shrugged, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not just about a name,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s about what it represents. Growing up, I always felt like I didn’t fit. Like I wasn’t enough for my family. Maddie… she was the one who had it all together. Or at least, that’s how it seemed to me back then.”

Tommy reached over, taking Buck’s hands in his. His touch was grounding, his voice filled with quiet understanding. “I get that. Trust me, I’ve been there. But together? We’ve found where we belong. With each other.”

Buck smiled faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah. And I think this—our name—should represent that. A new start for this new chapter.”

Tommy grinned, his brow quirking. “So, you’re thinking we combine them? Like… Kinkley?” The older man joked, causing Buck to groan, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Seriously? Kinkley? Uh, no, that sounds like a stripper name - a cheap strippers name.”

Tommy laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Exactly. I’d tip generously, and I know you know how to twerk that tight end of yours.”

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. “No. I meant something like Buckley-Kinard. Something that actually makes sense you know, bringing us together.”

Tommy leaned in, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Oh, and why do you get to come first?”

“Alphabetical order?” Buck suggested with a shrug, grinning as Tommy leaned closer.

“Nice try,” Tommy said softly, pressing a kiss to Buck’s lips. "We'll see who gets to cum tonight."

The moment lingered, warm and unspoken promises hanging in the air. When the celebrant returned a few minutes later, she found them both smiling, the decision clearly made.

On the big day, Tommy stood at the altar , his stunning black suit perfectly tailored, the rich fabric glinting faintly in the golden light of late afternoon. The air was warm, scented with lavender and honeysuckle, the soft hum of cicadas blending with the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze. Rows of wildflowers lined the aisle, leading up to the arbor draped with greenery and fairy lights that would twinkle as dusk fell.

If someone had told eighteen-year-old Tommy that he’d one day be standing here, waiting to marry the love of his life, he would have laughed in disbelief. Back then, he hadn’t dared to dream of a future like this. He would have deflected with a sharp, self-deprecating comment and buried the thought beneath layers of denial.

And if you had told eighteen-year-old Tommy that he would be openly marrying a man, he would of laughed in your face and asked if you were some sort of poof - because eighteen-year-old Tommy was definitely not gay. 

He was straight - he was normal - he was the poster child of masculinity. He was going to make his father proud.

He did not look at the male underwear models, who were always so sexy, with chisel chests and amazing hair. He did also did not have a secret folder on his computer titled 'helicopters' which were actually images of gay porn.

He certainly did not join the Army to prove to his father that he was a man.

See, 2002  was a different time- The Netherlands had only just legalised gay marriage, becoming the first country to do so. Will & Grace was on the air, but the network kept asking when Will would get together with Grace. It would be another year before Ellen got her talk show. 

But here he was in 2024. And how amazing it was, how far he’d come, and how much had changed.

The closest he’d ever gotten to marriage before this was with Abby. Abby , who had been the kindest, most genuine person he’d ever known. She had been the perfect partner in so many ways—funny, supportive, loyal—but the truth had always been there, lurking like a shadow. He could never fully give himself to her because a part of him had always been hidden.

Abby deserved someone who could love her completely, without reservations or barriers. And that hadn’t been him.

But Evan?

Evan had torn down those walls with ease. With Evan, Tommy didn’t have to hide. Evan saw all of him—the flaws, the fears, the dreams—and loved him anyway. Loved him fiercely. With Evan, there was no pretending, no half-truths. There was only honesty and an overwhelming sense of belonging.

All it had only cost him his dignity, Eddie’s ankle and a tidy home free of discarded items of clothing and food wrappers. 

Speaking of Evan…

Tommy’s eyes scanned the aisle. Rows of friends and family filled the chairs on either side, dressed in vibrant colors that stood out against the soft, earthy tones of the sprawling vineyard where the ceremony was set. The distant hills, dotted with cypress trees, rolled gently against the horizon. It was a perfect place—peaceful, far from any risk of Tsunamis.

But there was still no sign of him.

Tommy shifted slightly, his polished shoes pressing against the warm wooden platform beneath him. A murmur rippled through the guests, a quiet buzz of curiosity and anticipation. He forced himself to breathe, steadying the nervous energy building in his chest.

Lucy Donato, standing to his right, leaned in just enough to whisper, “Relax. He’s probably making sure his hair is perfect for you.”

Tommy huffed out a nervous laugh, grateful for her presence. Lucy was dressed sharply in a tailored black dress, stylish and sophisticated. Next to her, Mark and Hugo stood in their black suits. 

She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Don’t worry. He wouldn’t leave you hanging. Not today.”

Chim caught Tommy’s eye from the front row and gave him a reassuring nod, his expression calm and steady, like always. But even that wasn’t enough to settle the anxious flutter in Tommy’s stomach.

Where was Evan?

The railway carriage lay on its side, the shattered windows now forming jagged openings in what had become the floor. Max crouched beside Buck, his hands trembling as he shook him urgently.

“Buck, wake up! You have to get up!” Max’s voice cracked, panic lacing every word. Dust filled the air, stinging his throat and eyes, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting Buck to respond.

Buck groaned faintly, his head lolling to the side. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy, as Max leaned closer.

“Come on, Buck,” Max pleaded, his voice softening but no less desperate. “I need you to wake up. Eddie needs you too.”

Bobby and Athena shook their heads at Maddie, their eyes speaking volumes about their growing concerns. The only words Tommy heard was “We can’t get either of them on the phone.” 

Why can't anything involving the 118 run smoothly? 

"It must be a Buckley wedding curse." Chim attempts to joke, as Maddie whacks him, a worried frown on her face. She wasn't meant to cry today until her baby brother said 'I do.'

While everyone at the wedding was starting to get concerned, Buck shuffled himself up against the roof of the train carriage, which was now the wall, His chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through the pain stabbing at his ribs. His voice came out hoarse and tight as he looked over at Eddie, who was crumpled against the carriage windows, which was now the floor - broken glass littered the ground.

Luckily, none of them had been thrown out the window as the carriage slid. 

“Is he… is he still alive?” Buck’s voice cracked, panic tightening his throat as he forced himself to focus on Eddie’s unmoving form.

Max, crawled over the debris toward Eddie, his hands trembling as he braced himself against the uneven surface. He winced as his fingers brushed jagged edges of broken glass but kept moving, refusing to stop.

“He has a pulse,” Max said after a moment, his voice shaky. He pressed two fingers to Eddie’s neck again, just to be sure. “But I think it’s faint. I’m… I’m not sure, Buck, I don't know what I'm doing.”

Buck cursed under his breath, forcing himself to shift closer despite the protest of his battered body.

Back at the wedding venue, Maddie paced the small room as Tommy nerves went at a million miles an hour. No one could get in contact with Buck, Eddie or Max.

“They’re beyond late now.” Maddie said, “This is just like when they lost Chimney; only now have they lost themselves.”

“What do we do?” Margaret asked, “Do we call 9-1-1?”

Maddie clicked her fingers together, “Yes,”

“Linda, it’s Maddie - I need your help finding Buck” 

One Hour Earlier: The Crash

The sleek black limo carried Buck, Eddie, and Max down the winding road, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the asphalt. Inside, the three were deep in conversation, their voices filling the cabin with an easy camaraderie. The driver pushed the vehicle as fast as he dared—they were already running late for the wedding.

In the distance, a low, mournful sound broke through the hum of the engine. Buck’s brow furrowed, the noise registering faintly at first. It grew louder, more insistent, cutting through their chatter like a warning siren.

“What’s that?” Max asked, leaning toward the window, his curiosity quickly giving way to unease.

Before anyone could answer, a deafening blare shattered the calm—a train horn, long and unrelenting. The noise swelled, filling the air with a sense of impending doom. Then came the crunch. A sickening, metallic screech ripped through the air as a commuter train collided with something massive.

Outside the window, just beyond the tree line, chaos erupted. A truck loaded with concrete power poles had gotten stuck on the tracks. The train, traveling at full speed, plowed into it with devastating force. The poles were launched into the air like missiles, some crashing down on the train, others scattering across the landscape. The train itself lurched violently, screeching as it derailed, carriages twisting and slamming into one another like a horrifying chain reaction.

“Stop the car!” Buck shouted, lunging forward toward the driver.

The limo screeched to a halt on the side of the road, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel. Even before the vehicle had fully stopped, Buck and Eddie were throwing their doors open.

“Call 9-1-1!” Buck barked at the driver, his voice sharp with urgency. He turned to Max, who looked frozen in his seat. “Stay here!”

“What are you doing?” Max asked, panic creeping into his voice.

“Helping,” Eddie said firmly as he and Buck sprinted toward the wreckage.

The scene was a nightmare of twisted metal and shattered glass. One of the train carriages had been thrown clear off the tracks, now teetering precariously on the edge of an embankment. Screams filled the air, mingling with the hiss of ruptured pipes and the acrid smell of smoke and burning rubber.

Buck and Eddie reached the first carriage, where passengers were already climbing out, some helping others, some stumbling in shock. Buck scanned the scene quickly, assessing the chaos. His eyes locked on the carriage at the embankment’s edge, its tilted structure groaning ominously under the strain.

“We need to get them out of there,” Buck said, his voice steady but urgent. Eddie nodded, already moving toward the precarious carriage.

Inside, the scene was even worse. Seats had been ripped from the floor, debris scattered everywhere. A woman screamed as she clung to the edge of a broken window, the ground looming far below.

“Hang on! We’re coming!” Eddie called out, making his way to her.

Buck grabbed the emergency egress lever, gritting his teeth as he wrenched it open manually. The door groaned in protest but finally gave way, and he began helping passengers out.

“Move it, move it!” he called. “If you’re okay, head to the safe zone over there. Minor injuries to the left. Major injuries to the right. Stay calm and help each other!”

Eddie helped the trapped woman, lifting her out with care before moving deeper into the carriage. “Buck, this thing’s not going to hold much longer,” he warned, his voice grim. Buck nodded in response to Eddie as he turned to one of the trains conductors, who was attempting to help triage the passengers. “Do you have any water on the train?” Buck asked.

The woman shook her head, her uniform disheveled, a small cut above her head. “This is a commuter run from Union Station, not Amtrak. We don’t have a café on board, they're lucky to get toilets.”

“Damn it,” Buck muttered under his breath. “Okay, can you help bandage up the injured the best you can?”

She nodded, glancing toward the small, inadequate first aid kit she was carrying. “This isn’t going to cut it for what I’m seeing out there.”

“I know,” Buck said, his voice heavy with frustration. “Help’s on the way. We just need to keep things under control until they get here.”

Before Buck could respond to Eddie, another voice cut through the chaos. “Can I help?”

Buck turned to see Max standing in the there, his face pale as he eyed the injuries - it was one thing to see it on TV or in video games, but real life was more graphic, complete with smells that would haunt your dreams for years. Buck’s jaw tightened. “Max, get back to the limo!” he snapped. “It’s not safe!”

“No way,” Max said, stepping closer. “I can help.”

Buck didn’t have time to argue. He grabbed Max by the shoulders, looking him square in the eyes. “Fine. Go to the safe zone and help with the worst injuries. Keep people calm. That’s where you’ll be the most useful. Now go!”

Max looked like he might argue for a moment, but thankfully he huffed out an "alright"  and ran toward the triage area as Buck and Eddie continued their work.

Back in the present, Linda was looking at 9-1-1 phone records, “There’s been a few, none involving three guys through - oh, oh no.”

Maddie froze. “What is it, Linda?” she asked sharply, her voice trembling.

“There was a train versus truck accident reported about an hour ago. Waterloo Road. It’s bad.”

Maddie pressed a hand to her forehead, exhaling shakily. “Figures,” she muttered, trying to keep herself composed. “Of course they’d get caught up in something like this.”

“Where is it.” Tommy asked, as Maddie put her hand over the phone. “Waterloo Road level crossing, about 15 miles south of here.”

The top level of the carriage was a chaotic mess of broken seats and shattered glass, the smell of burnt metal and oil burning Buck's nostrils in the stifling air. Heat radiated from the twisted wreckage, making the enclosed space feel suffocating, and every movement kicked up choking clouds of dust that clung to sweat-soaked skin.

Buck and Eddie moved methodically through the wreckage despite the oppressive conditions. The sound of creaking metal punctuated their efforts as they worked together to lift a heavy seat off a woman pinned beneath it. Her cries of pain mingled with the low groans of the injured around them, creating an unnerving symphony of suffering.

“It’s okay,” Buck said, his voice steady as he reassured her. “We’ve got you.”

Her partner hovered nearby, his hands trembling as he reached for her. With Buck and Eddie’s help, they got her to her feet and carefully guided her toward the staircase, navigating the unstable terrain littered with broken glass and debris.

“Anyone else up here?” Buck called out, his voice echoing through the tilted space. The warped walls groaned ominously in response, the sound of plastic bending and metal twisting.

Eddie scanned the floor, his sharp eyes taking in every corner of the chaotic scene. After a moment, he gave a curt nod, the brief flicker of relief on his face tempered by the tension in his jaw. “Looks like this level’s clear.”

Just as they turned toward the staircase, a figure appeared in the stairwell, silhouetted against the dim light streaming through a jagged opening. “The first ambulance is here!” Max called, his voice carrying a mix of relief and urgency.

Buck’s chest tightened with frustration. “Max,” he said sharply, his tone cutting through the ambient noise of groaning metal and distant cries. “You’re not supposed to be here! It’s not safe—”

A loud, sickening crunch interrupted him, reverberating through the carriage like a warning shot. The sound of twisting metal followed, sharp and jarring, as the entire carriage shuddered violently.

“Buck!” Eddie shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos as he grabbed onto a handrail.

The floor shifted beneath them, gravity tilting sharply as the carriage began to tip. Buck’s heart pounded as he lunged for the nearest handhold, his fingers scraping against hot, jagged edges. Time seemed to slow as the world tilted further, a horrifying screech of metal against earth filling the air.

“Get down!” Buck shouted, his voice barely audible over the deafening noise.

The carriage finally gave way, tipping fully and sliding down the embankment. The screeching of metal tearing against rock was deafening, accompanied by the dull thuds of debris tumbling like an avalanche around them. The smell of scorched earth mixed with the metallic tang of blood in the air.

Max’s scream cut through the cacophony as he was thrown to the ground, landing hard against the twisted remnants of a seat. Buck’s stomach lurched as he clung to his handhold, the impact jolting through his entire body.

When the carriage slammed to a halt at the bottom of the embankment, the force of the impact was brutal, rattling teeth and sending another wave of debris cascading around them. Dust and smoke filled the air, making it hard to see or breathe. The groans and cries of the injured echoed in the eerie aftermath, blending with the faint hiss of steam escaping from broken pipes.

Max coughed violently, his chest burning as he struggled to his feet. His hands fumbled against a jagged rail, slick with sweat and grime, as he tried to steady himself. “Buck!” he called, his voice hoarse and panicked.

In the speeding limo, Lucy turned to Tommy "We don't know for sure they're involved in the wreck..." she said, trying to reassure him.

Tommy just looked at her.

Okay, they knew.

“I need your help,” Buck said calmly, his voice steady despite the urgency in his eyes. “We need to get Eddie onto his back, keeping his neck straight and his airway clear.”

Max’s hands trembled as he shook his head, panic creeping into his voice. “I can’t. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll walk you through it,” Buck reassured him, his tone firm but gentle.

Max backed away slightly, his breath hitching. “I can’t, Buck. I’m sorry. I—I’ll mess it up.”

Buck took a deep breath, leaning closer to Max, his gaze locking onto the younger man’s. “Max, listen to me. That’s Chris’s father lying there. Eddie needs your help, and I need your help. You can do this. Just follow what I say, step by step. Okay?”

Max’s eyes darted between Buck and Eddie, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. After a moment, he swallowed hard and nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

The limo carrying Maddie, Tommy, Lucy, Hen, and Chim screeched to a halt near the wreck site , its passengers spilling out with urgent determination. Athena and Bobby had stayed behind to keep the wedding guests calm, leaving the others to confront the unfolding disaster.

They were immediately met by the incident commander, a stern-faced woman. “Listen, the last thing I need is a bunch of off-duty do-gooders getting in the way of my team,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument, she had heard about the 118 before. “Stay here. We’ll let you know when we locate them.”

Maddie stepped forward, her voice sharp with panic. “ Locate them? What do you mean ‘locate’? Where are they?”

The commander’s expression softened slightly, though her resolve didn’t waver. “We believe they were in one of the carriages that slid down the embankment.”

Maddie’s breath hitched, her face paling as she processed the words. Tommy placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his own worry etched into his features.

Hen took a step closer. “How bad is it down there?” she asked, her voice calm but tense.

“It’s not good,” the commander admitted, glancing toward the unstable terrain. “Some carriages are accessible, others aren’t. We’re working as fast as we can to get to everyone.”

Chim exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “They’re alive,” he said, almost to himself, as if willing it to be true. “Buck, Eddie, and Max—they’re fighters. They’ll hang on.”

Maddie nodded, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Just… please, find them.” Her voice cracked, but she stood firm, her eyes fixed on the wreckage below.

The incident commander nodded curtly. “We’re doing everything we can.” 

"Look, I get that you don't want people just running around your scene, I do, but we're all trained first responders, let us help." Hen begged, knowing that standing around waiting would drive these people insane.

"Okay, you can help at the triage centre, and that's it" The incident commander relented.

“Max,” Buck said, his voice calm but strained, “I need you to take your belt off, wrap it around my upper thigh, and pull it as tight as you can.”

Max’s face went pale as he stared at the blood soaking through Buck’s pants. “Buck, you’re bleeding… a lot.”

“I know,” Buck replied, forcing a weak smile despite the pain. “That’s why we need the belt.”

Max swallowed hard, his hands trembling. “I—I think I’m going to be sick…”

“Max, buddy,” Buck said, his tone softening as he locked eyes with him, “it’s going to be okay. I promise. But I need you to help me stop the bleeding, or I’m going to pass out. You can do this. Just focus on the belt.”

Max hesitated for a moment, his breathing ragged, but then he nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”

“That’s my guy,” Buck said, his voice laced with encouragement. “Just tight as you can, alright? You’re saving my ass here.”

Max nodded, forcing his hands to steady as he looped the belt around Buck’s thigh. He pulled it as tight as his strength would allow, earning a pained hiss from Buck. “Sorry, sorry!” Max stammered.

“Don’t apologize,” Buck said through gritted teeth. “You’re doing great, Max. That’s exactly what I need.”

The belt cinched into place, the bleeding slowing enough to buy Buck some time. Buck leaned back against the twisted remains of the carriage, his breaths shallow but steady. “Good job, Max. You did it.”

Max’s gaze flicked to Eddie, still lying motionless nearby. “What about Eddie? He’s not waking up.”

“I know,” Buck said quietly, his voice heavy with worry. “But we can’t move him safely without help, we need a backboard and a neck brace. That’s where you come in.”

Max frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Buck nodded toward the emergency window. “You’re the fastest, and you’re not injured. I need you to climb out, get up that embankment, and flag down the first responders. They’re out there somewhere, but they don’t know where we are. You have to go.”

Max’s eyes widened in panic. “What about you? What about Eddie? I can’t just leave you!”

Buck reached out, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Max, look at me. I’ll be fine. Eddie and I will hold on, but we need you to get help. You’re the only one who can do it. You can save us.”

Max hesitated, tears stinging his eyes as he glanced between Buck and the broken window. “I—I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” Buck said firmly. “I believe in you. Go. Get help. Just go.”

Max swallowed hard, his lip trembling as he looked around the wrecked carriage, then back at Buck. His voice cracked as he spoke. “You were supposed to marry Tommy today…”

Buck blinked, the weight of Max’s words hitting him like a punch to the chest. He leaned back against the battered wall of the carriage, blood streaked across his temple and his body bruised but unyielding. A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. “And I still will. But first, we’ve got to survive this. Go make sure we do.”

"For Tommy." Max said, before looking over at Eddie, "And Chris."

Buck chuckled despite the pain and the situation, "Exactly, there are people counting on you to get us the help we need Max."

Max swallowed hard, nodding as determination replaced his fear. He pushed the emergency window open, the shattered glass crunching under his weight as he scrambled out into the open air. The embankment loomed above him, jagged rocks and loose gravel threatening to trip him at every step. But he climbed, his heart pounding as adrenaline propelled him forward.

At the top of the slope, Max stumbled onto the tracks, his hands scraped and bleeding from the climb. He spotted the flashing lights of first responders in the distance and waved his arms frantically. “Over here!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “They’re down here! They’re trapped!”

A firefighter spotted him and sprinted over, a medic close behind. “What’s the situation?” the firefighter asked, gripping Max’s arm to steady him.

“Two—two men,” Max panted, his chest heaving. “One’s bleeding bad. The other’s unconscious. They’re down in the carriage that slid down the embankment. Please, hurry!”

The firefighter nodded, speaking into his radio as the medic guided Max toward the edge of the slope. “We’ve got this,” the firefighter said, his voice steady. “You did good, kid.”

One of the paramedics helped Max over to an triage centre, which felt stupid - Max was fine, well apart from some cuts and scratches, but most finely. 

Max’s stomach dropped. He looked up to see Tommy running across the field, his face pale, his eyes wide with worry.

"Maxwell, Maxwell is that you, oh thank god."

Before Max could respond, Tommy reached him, crouching down to his level and gripping his shoulders tightly. “Are you okay? What happened? Where’s Buck? Where’s Eddie?”

Max’s throat tightened. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Tommy’s gaze bore into him, desperate for answers, and all Max could think about was how this was his fault.

If he hadn’t stepped into the carriage, if he hadn’t distracted Buck and Eddie, maybe they would’ve made it out before the carriage slid down the embankment. Maybe Buck wouldn’t be bleeding out, and Eddie wouldn’t be lying unconscious.

“I—” Max stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine. Just scratches.”

Tommy’s grip on his shoulders tightened. “What about them? Maxwell, where are they?”

Tears welled in Max’s eyes as he shook his head. “They’re… they’re still down there. Buck’s bleeding bad, and Eddie’s not waking up.”

Tommy’s face paled further, his jaw clenching as he processed the words. “What do you mean they’re still down there? Why didn’t you—?” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “No. It’s okay. You got help. That’s what matters.” Tommy had to push aside his deep concern for his fiance and best friend, he couldn't project his trauma on to Max, it wasn't fair.

Max shook his head furiously. “It’s not okay! If I hadn’t gone in there, they would’ve been fine. It’s my fault, Tommy. It’s all my fault.”

Tommy’s expression softened, though his own worry was evident. He crouched lower, looking Max directly in the eyes. “Maxwell, listen to me. This is not your fault. You did what you could. You climbed out of that wreck and got help, and now they’re going to get Buck and Eddie out of there. That’s because of you, okay?” It broke his heart even more than he thought possible to hear Max blame himself.

Max blinked back tears, his chest tightening. “But—”

“No buts,” Tommy said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You were brave, Maxwell. You did what needed to be done. Now we let them do their job.”

As if on cue, a group of firefighters and medics began descending the embankment, their radios crackling as they coordinated the rescue. Max’s eyes stayed fixed on them, his heart pounding with every step they took.

Tommy pulled Max into a tight hug, “They’re going to be okay,” he said quietly, as much to himself as to Max. “They have to be.”

The stretcher carried Buck towards the waiting ambulance, as Tommy walked over, grabbing his hand. “You know, if you didn’t want to marry me, you could of just said, you didn’t have to roll down an embankment in a railway carriage.”

“You think a little hospital visit is going to stop me marrying you?”

A few weeks later, and the wedding was back on - and in someways, Tommy thought to himself, this was perfect. 

Well apart from Buck being in crutches. 

The atmosphere in Karen and Hen’s backyard was warm and lively, the space transformed into a makeshift venue with far too many flowers for Buck’s liking. 

Buck, propped up on crutches with one leg bandaged, stood at the front, a mixture of nerves and excitement flickering in his eyes, both Bobby and Phillip had fussed over him before the big walk down the aisle - making sure the suit was just right, that the tie was on point. 

Buck had shooed them away, but secretly (not so secretly to be honest) loved the attention. 

And they weren’t the only ones, Tommy had insisted in traveling together this time, not taking his eyes off Buck until the man was at the Altar, before disappearing back into the Wilson household for his finishing touches. 

Eddie, still battered and bruised but determined to be there, sat in a chair next to Buck. His posture was stiff from his injuries, but his smile was genuine, and his pride for his best friend was evident in his eyes. "From now on your officially not my problem." Eddie joked, wiping a tear from his eye as Buck grinned, dipping his head. "Ah, sorry Eddie, I'm always going to be your problem."

Lucy stood off to the side, dressed sharply, glancing occasionally toward the house with an almost impatient grin as she waited for her cue.

Tommy was taking a long time to get ready - Buck leaned slightly toward Lucy, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between them. “Is this, uh, revenge for the last wedding?”

Lucy’s grin widened, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Yes, of course,” she replied sweetly. “He’s been waiting for this moment, to really drag it out.”

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. “Figures.”

The soft sound of laughter rippled through the guests as they watched Jee appear from the house, a basket of flower petals clutched in her tiny hands. She walked carefully at first, scattering petals with a serious expression, but by the time she reached halfway down the aisle, her confidence grew. She tossed the petals with enthusiastic abandon, drawing a wave of chuckles and “aww”s from the crowd.

Behind her, Tommy appeared, his expression a mix of joy and awe as he took in the sight of Buck waiting for him at the altar. His suit was fitted Buck’s beast of a man perfectly, his every step deliberate as he followed Jee’s path, his gaze never leaving Buck’s.

As Tommy reached the front, Jee scampered over to Maddie, who scooped her up with a proud smile. The guests fell silent as the ceremony began.

Buck shifted slightly, leaning more on his good leg. “You look amazing,” he whispered, his voice just loud enough for Tommy to hear.

Tommy smiled, his voice soft but steady. “And you look stubborn as hell, standing there when you should probably be sitting, you know we could of waited before having the wedding.”

Buck laughed quietly, his grin wide and genuine. “Wash your mouth out, it's bad enough you wouldn't marry me in the hospital.”

"And ruin your sister thing again, please, it's bad enough you took all the attention off them by snogging me." Tommy growled playfully as Buck couldn't stop grinning. "Yeah, well it's your fault for being such a beast of a man."

Bobby cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Welcome, everyone, to this beautiful day, where we celebrate not just love but resilience, family, and the unshakable bond between these two remarkable men, Thomas Kinard and Evan Buckley.”

The ceremony continued with heartfelt vows, Buck’s voice cracking slightly as he spoke about finding a home in Tommy, and Tommy’s steady words promising to stand by Buck through every storm (or Hurricane). By the time the rings were exchanged, there wasn’t a dry eye in the backyard.

"I love wedding's" Josh said to Maddie as he wiped his eyes.

Buck wasn’t sure if Athena, Margaret or Maddie had the most tears - then again, it could be Karen who openly sobbing tears of joys into a tissue as Hen attempted to keep Mara busy. 

“You may now kiss your husband,” Bobby declared, his voice full of pride.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, gently cupping Buck’s face as their lips met. The backyard erupted in cheers and applause, the joyous sound spilling into the warm evening air, a perfect celebration of love.

“That’s gross,” Chris muttered to Max, leaning closer to make sure only he could hear.

Max chuckled softly, glancing at Chris with a mischievous grin. “No, if you really want to know what gross is,” he whispered back, “gross is having criminally thin walls at home. Trust me, this doesn’t even compare.”

Chris made a face, both horrified and amused. “Ew. Too much information, Max.”

Max shrugged, trying to suppress a laugh. “Just saying, count your blessings.”

Thomas Buckley-Kinard and Evan Buckely-Kinard where now ready to start their next chapter together. 

“Enjoy your honeymoon,” Max said with a grin as he leaned against the doorframe, watching Tommy and Buck finish loading their bags into the car. His smile faltered when a familiar minivan pulled up in front of the house, its tires crunching on the gravel. Max’s brow furrowed as Maddie stepped out, waving cheerfully.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Max asked suspiciously, his eyes darting between the minivan and Buck.

Buck cleared his throat, an innocent expression plastered on his face. “Maddie offered to stay while we’re away, you know, to look after you. Eddie’s out of action, and someone needs to keep an eye on things.”

Max’s face twisted into a scowl. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Tommy and Buck exchanged a glance, their shared amusement evident. Then they both burst into laughter, pausing only briefly to look at Max before laughing even harder.

Max crossed his arms, glaring at them. “Excuse me, that’s rude. And offensive.”

Chapter Text

Just over six months ago —give or take—shortly after Buck and Tommy had met Max but before he’d moved in with them, Max came home to his run-down single-room apartment and flicked the light switch.

Nothing. He did, in vain, switch it a few more times in the desperate hope that it was a fault with the apartment rather than the bill. 

He sighed, the dark silence confirming what he’d suspected. Pulling out his phone, he turned on the flashlight and made his way to the microwave to double-check.

No hum, no clock display.

Yup. The power had been cut, again, to be fair. Life was expensive, especially without a proper job or support. 

Sliding down onto the couch, Max opened Richard’s power account app on his phone, squinting at the screen in the dim light. $159.50 overdue. One missed payment, again.

Switching apps, he checked his bank balance: $14.97. Well, at least it wasn't in negative for a change. Overdraft fees were a killer, like the bank said 'yo, you know how you have no money, well now you have even less.'

Even if he hadn’t blown $25 on weed last week, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He just didn’t have it, there was only so much you could make mowing lawns in L.A without a license.

The rest of that lasagna from Random Dude One—Buck—was going to have to be eaten cold, assuming the fridge hadn’t already started thawing or whatever you called it when fridges were turned of.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a notification from one of his apps.

Maybe, just maybe his luck was changing. 

Some old guy downtown wanted to pay him a couple of hundred bucks, cash in hand, to pose for some photos. Just some photos, but Max knew what sort of photos - the sort that would really upset his church going Mother. The kind he definitely wouldn't have allowed to be taken of him when he cared about his future. Now, however, with no future, all he could see was that’d be enough to get the power back on, restock his weed stash, and maybe even pick up some clothes that didn’t scream homeless and hopeless.

It wasn’t the worst thing Max had ever done for money.

Not by a long shot. Welcome to his new life.

So he made his way downtown by Metro Bus, the bright orange bus far too bright for his life as he sat with headphones in, ignoring the world. 

Except…

The guy was weird.

Like really weird, and Max had met a lot of weirdo's on the streets of L.A. - in fact, to be honest, that was the hardest part of his new life. Drug use and homelessness was swept under the rug back home. He swallowed the lump in his throat and ignored the itch under his skin, home wasn't home anymore. 

The moment Max walked into the old man’s apartment, his gut was screaming at him to leave. Something felt off—the heavy smell of incense, the odd way the man kept smiling too wide, the way his eyes lingered too long.

But Max hadn’t had enough bad experiences yet to trust his instincts fully. He wasn’t at that point in his life. Besides, the money was right there on the table, crisp bills stacked neatly. 

And the apartment had no power. 

And he had no food. 

So, he stayed.

He pulled off his T-shirt, his shoes and socks already left by the door as instructed, while the old man fiddled with his camera equipment, muttering to himself.

The questions started harmlessly enough. Small talk about music, favorite places, hobbies. But then they took a turn.

“You ever get in trouble, Max?” the man asked, too casually. “You’ve got that kind of look, you know. Like someone who’s been through it.”

Lets stick to small talk about the weather, Max thought to himself as he shifted uneasily on the dirty floor boards. “Hey man, let's just stick to the photos, alright?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, holding them up with a strange gleam in his eye.

“Uh, no way, man,” Max said, taking a step back. “This was just meant to be some photos. No weird shit, that's, uh, extra and not tonight.”

The old man’s smile widened. “Oh, come now, Max. Don’t be such a bore. It’s just for the aesthetic, what do you young kids say these days, the vine or something?”

“Ah, vibe, and look man, I said no.”

The man moved fast—faster than Max expected for someone so old. Before he could react, the man lunged, grabbing Max’s wrist and snapping one cuff around it. The cold metal clamped tight, biting into his skin.

“Hey! Get the fuck off me!” Max yelled, thrashing as the man tried to force his other arm behind his back.

The old man’s strength was unnatural, his grip unyielding. He slammed Max against the wall, pressing his weight against him. “Stop struggling,” the man hissed. “It’ll go easier for you if you behave.”

Max growled in frustration, twisting with all his might. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, he stomped on the man’s foot and drove his elbow into his ribs. The old man yelped, his grip loosening just enough for Max to wrench free.

The cuff dangled from his wrist as Max stumbled backward, gasping for air.

The stack of cash caught his eye. It was still sitting on the table, untouched. He hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to run, but the thought of leaving empty-handed after everything made his chest tighten.

It’s right there. Just grab it and go.

Max darted toward the table, swiping the bills into his hand.

“Greedy little bastard,” the old man growled behind him.

Max barely had time to turn before the man tackled him to the floor. The money scattered, fluttering around them like mocking confetti.

Pinned beneath the man’s weight, Max struggled, but the man’s grip on his free wrist was unrelenting.

“You just couldn’t leave, could you?” the man sneered, his breath hot and rancid against Max’s ear. “You thought you’d get away with my money? Pathetic. Just like the rest of you. But don’t worry, it’ll soon be over.”

Max writhed, desperate to break free, but the man pressed harder, his voice turning crueler.

“No one’s looking for you, Max. No one cares. You could disappear, and the world would keep turning. That’s why you’re here. Because you know it too. Deep down, you know you’re nothing.”

Max’s heart pounded as the words sliced through him, cold and sharp. “Buck ”

The old man looked confused for a second, “Buck?”

“Buck, he’s a firefighter - he’ll look for me.” Max lied through his back teeth, squirming. 

The old man brought his face right in front of Max’s for maximum taunting effect. “Then Buck will find the remains of your body.” 

That made Max's blood run cold. Life sucked, but he didn't want to be dead, not tonight. He just wanted warmth and food, was that too much to ask for? 

With no other options, Max tilted his head up and bit the old man arm as hard as he could before pushing with all his strength, scrambling to his feet. He opened the window, before remembering the old man apartment was on the second story. 

“You little piece of trash, you are dead.”

He was dead anyway, so Max jumped onto the footpath. 

The wind rushed past Max as he fell, his stomach lurching in a way that made him think, for one terrifying second, that he wouldn’t land on his feet. He hit the pavement hard, the impact jolting through his body and sending him sprawling onto the cold, cracked concrete. Pain flared in his knees and palms as he scraped them on the rough surface, but he scrambled to his feet, adrenaline dulling the worst of it.

Above him, the old man leaned out of the window, his face a mask of rage. “You little piece of trash! You’re dead! You hear me? Dead!”

Stumbling against the metal fence, he tried to catch his breath before searching his pockets for his phone - damn it, he had lost it. Without it he had no idea where he was, looking around for a street sign, the door of the apartment flung open. 

Fuck, had he wasted that much time.

Running was difficult, although the older man luckily still struggled to keep up as Max ran aimlessly down the road.

Then, as if there was still a guardian angel looking after him, across the street he saw Random Dude Number Two (Otherwise known as Tommy Kinard).

On one hand, Random Dude Number Two had no reason to help him, they had only met because Max stole his wallet - but he knew Random Dude Number One (Buck), and if he knew Buck then surely he must also be a good guy, right? 

Dashing across the road, and almost getting hit by a couple of cars, Max crashed into Random Dude Number Two with a thud.

“Max?”

Max clung to him, breathless, shirtless, and bruised, his fingers trembling as they latched onto Random Dude’s shirt. The guy remembered him, so that was a good start right? 

“Please…” Max gasped. “Random dude two…” His chest hurt, his legs were killing him and he was struggling to calm himself enough to breath let alone talk.

Then…

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the older man said, his voice straining with forced politeness. “My son here had a bit of a disagreement with his mother. He’s overreacting, you know how teenagers are. Max , stop causing a scene and come back with me.” 

Shit, Random Dude didn’t know this wasn’t his father - and he knew that Max had a bitter relationship with him, he was going to buy this guys story and hand him over. 

Random Dude had no reason to care about him. 

Instead, he felt Random Dude’s arm tighten around his waist, pulling him slightly behind him as if to put himself between Max and the older man. 

Stepping back, Random Dude keep a tight arm around Max, he felt safe, comforting - even if he smelt a little bit like whisky. 

“So you’re… Paul?” Random Dude asked casually, causing Max to look up - his father name was David, although maybe he had forgotten. Max tried to say something - anything, but he couldn’t, still frozen in fear, he cringed to himself - just speak up idiot.

The guy looked him straight in the eye and said, “Yes, yes, Paul. That’s me. I’m his father, and I’m sorry if he’s troubled you. Just pass him back to me, and we’ll be on our way.”

Max stiffened, every instinct screaming at him that this was about to go sideways. He gripped Random Dude arm tighter (any tighter and Max was worried he might actually rip it off), like letting go might send him spiraling into a nightmare he wouldn’t wake up from.

The Dude glanced at him, quick and subtle but something in his eyes made Max feel slightly more relaxed before turning back to "Paul." His voice was steady but sharp enough to cut. “Right. Funny thing, though… Max’s dad’s name isn’t Paul. Is it?”

Max’s breath caught. Oh shit. It had been a trick! Random Dude had played Old Creeper. Just like with his I.D back at the bar where they met.

He watched as the guy’s mask slipped, his face twisting into something dark and dangerous. The air felt heavier, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space around them.

“I suggest you go,” Random Dude said, his voice low and calm, but there was an edge to it that even Max picked up on.

The guy’s eyes flicked between them before spitting out, “Fucking asshole,” and backing away, his movements sharp and jerky.

Relief started to creep in, but Max’s brain was already screaming at him to run. Before Random Dude could say or do anything, Max yanked his arm free and bolted, his feet pounding against the pavement as he disappeared into the shadows of the alley.

The alley was dark, the air damp and thick. Max ducked behind a trash can, his breathing ragged, his chest tight. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to disappear into himself.

He had to get the handcuff off his wrist, he had to find some clothes and he had to get home.

Oh, and great - a new phone and no power. 

But he was alive.

“Max, come on, kid,” Random Dude voice echoed in the distance, closer now. “You asked for help, remember? I’m here to help.”

On one hand, Random Dude had helped him before - on the other hand, Max didn’t actually know Random Dude.

However, Max was never going to get home, or this cuff off his wrist without help - he had to trust someone.

Max swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. He peeked around the trash can, his body trembling as he stepped out, unsure of what else to do.

Random Dude was standing right there, his face illuminated by the dim light spilling into the alley. His eyes widened when he saw Max’s state—bruises streaked across his chest, his right wrist weighed down by a handcuff. The other end dangled uselessly, but the cold, heavy metal felt like it was choking him.

Max held out his wrist, not meeting the guy’s eyes. “I… I don’t know how to get it off,” he mumbled. Max felt embarrassed, ashamed and dirty.

The dude approached Max cautiously, taking his hand gently and inspecting the cuff. Max flinched at the contact, but dude’s touch stayed steady, his expression softening.

“What happened, Max?”

Max dropped his gaze, the words tangled in his throat. How do you tell a stranger that you fucked around and you almost found out.

“You’re not in trouble, kid,” his voice calm and soothing. “But I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened.”

The words broke through the wall of fear, and Max felt himself unravel, he almost felt like he could trust this adult in a world full of assholes, maybe this dude was another Richard. “I… I met him online,” he stammered. “He said he’d pay me cash if I… if I let him take pictures, just pictures I swear nothing else. I needed the money.”

The guy didn’t interrupt, just stayed still and listened.

“When I got there, he started saying weird stuff. Asking if anyone would notice if I went missing. If anyone even cared.” Max’s voice cracked. “Then he pulled out the handcuffs. I told him no, but he grabbed me. I bit him and ran. I didn’t know where else to go, I think... I think...” Shit, Max almost shut down as he realized, he was - the old man was going to kill him.

He had almost died tonight, he probably would of without Random Dude help. He didn't want to die, life might suck right now - but he wasn't ready to give up.

Max felt like he was going to be sick.

Random Dude’s jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger. But before he could say anything however, Max eyes widened in terror. “Behind you!”

Random Dude turned just in time to raise his arm and block the blow. The tire iron slammed into his forearm with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the alley.

‘Paul’ stood there, his face twisted with rage, the tire iron raised for another swing.

“Run, Max!” Random Dude barked, his voice firm but pained.

Max froze for a second, his legs feeling like lead. 

No.

He wouldn’t run, picking up a trash can, he biffed it at ‘Paul’ as hard as he could. The Old Man stumbled back a few steps before Max caught sight of some passerbyers.

“Help, he’s trying to kill a firefighter.” Max pleaded, and although he wasn’t sure at that stage if Random Dude Number Two was a firefighter, it made sense if Buck and his good-looking dark hair friend were, then Random Dude would be as well.

Surely someone would step in - someone would call 9-1-1.

Except, the passerbyers just stood there awkwardly, the older man grabbing Max by his arm and dragging him, kicking and screaming out of the alleway, away from Random Dude Number Two who was still lying on the dirty ground of the alleyway.

The small group—an older woman walking a tiny, yappy dog and a couple of younger people scrolling on their phones—froze, startled by the chaos. The old woman’s dog began barking furiously, its shrill yips echoing in the tight space.

“Let me go!” Max screamed again, his voice raw with terror. He didn't want to die.

The old woman of all people stepped forward, her dog snapping at the Old Man’s legs. "Unhand him, you brute!" she yelled, wielding her umbrella like a sword.

The Old Man growled, raising the tire iron to intimidate her, but the dog lunged, its teeth sinking into his ankle. He roared in pain, his grip on Max faltering.

Seizing the moment, Max wrenched free and scrambled to his feet. He stumbled back toward the group of onlookers, his chest heaving as he turned back toward the alley. Realizing the scene was quickly getting out of control, the Old Man took off into the night, disappearing down the street.

Random Dude Number Two was lying on the ground, his face pale, unmoving. Was he dead? He couldn't be dead? Not because of Max. 

“Is he… is he still alive?” Max gasped, clutching at the nearest passerby, his voice desperate. He didn’t even know his name. Pushing pass them, he knelt next to him, feeling relieved as he watched his chest slowly rise up and down. "Has anyone called 9-1-1 yet?" Max barked at the useless crowd surrounding them.

The ambulance finally pulled up, its red and blue lights cutting through the cold night. The paramedics moved with practiced urgency, lifting Buck onto a stretcher while one of them, a woman with a calm but commanding presence, crouched down to check Max’s bruises.

“Sweetheart,” she said gently, her voice soft against the biting wind, “is there anyone we can call for you?”

Max, still trembling, hugged his arms around himself. “Uh…" 

He shouldn't, he had no right to drag 'random dude number one' into this. When he said to call if he needed anything he didn't mean dealing with this. 

But then, what about 'random dude number two'? Buck needed to know his friend was hurt, right?

So, unable to look her in the eye, he mutters hesitantly "Um, I think his name is Buck, or something” and he looks up at her, all kind eyes and reassuring smile, like this isn't a terrible situation. 

The paramedic nodded, gently rubbing his arm. “Alright, honey, what’s Buck’s last name? Do you have his number?”

Max shakes his head, looking down again as the words stumble out. “I… I don’t know. But he’s a firefighter, he- uh, he, fights fire.” Helpful Max, he scolded himself. 

The paramedic sighed, sharing a glance with her partner. “There are a lot of firefighters in LA,” she said gently, trying not to sound discouraging. “Do you know which station he’s with?”

Max shook his head, the chill wind biting at his exposed skin. “I… I don’t, sorry," Max cringed at how stupid he sounded.

The paramedic gave him a reassuring smile before rising to her feet and picking up her radio. “This is Unit 34. I’ve got a minor on the scene asking for someone named ‘Buck.’ Says he’s a firefighter but doesn’t have any more details. Can we try dispatch for assistance?”

The radio crackled, and Josh’s familiar voice came through, professional yet warm. “This is Dispatch. Did you say Buck? As in Evan Buckley from Station 118?” The paramedic’s eyebrows shot up.

“Uh, yeah, possibly. The kid’s asking for a firefighter named Buck, unsure what station.”

“I know who that is!” Josh exclaimed, "But who is the kid asking for him?" 

Chapter Text

Thomas Buckley-Kinard. Tommy reread his marriage certificate for the hundredth time. It was real, Evan and him were married, he still couldn't believe it.

He glanced down at his wedding ring, worried that it may disappear and he may wake up alone on his couch again nursing another whiskey.

But no, this was his life. His marriage.

How did he get so lucky?

The taxi rolled to a stop outside the airport, and Tommy immediately hopped out, grabbing the suitcases from the trunk. “Do you have everything, Evan?” he called over his shoulder.

“Uh, wait a sec - oh, yes-yes, I think so,” Buck replied, fumbling with his wallet as he paid the driver. Then his eyes widened. “Wait, the plane tickets!”

Tommy turned, raising an eyebrow. “Evan, it’s 2024. Everything’s on my phone,” he said, holding up his device with a smirk.

Buck sighed in relief, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Of course. What would I do without you?”

Tommy grinned. “Luckily, you won’t have to find out, will you husband ?”

Max jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest. The room around him was unfamiliar—cold, dimly lit, and suffocatingly quiet. Shadows danced on the walls, their jagged shapes stretching and twisting unnaturally. A faint metallic smell filled the air, like rust and blood.

Oh, that’s right - he was at Maddie and Chim’s place, in their spare room that was slowly being turned into a nursery for their next child. 

As his breathing returned to normal, Max’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, and that’s when he saw it—a figure standing in the far corner of the room, cloaked in darkness.

“Who’s there?” Max croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maddie, is that you?”

The figure stepped forward, and the pale, gaunt face of the Attorney General emerged from the shadows. His hollow eyes glinted with malice, his thin lips curling into a cruel smile.

Max’s stomach dropped. “What… what are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice trembling as he pushed himself off the bed. “You can’t be here…” 

He looked around the room for Richard's old baseball bat, which of course wasn't there. 

The Attorney General didn’t answer. Instead, he began to advance, slow and deliberate, his shiny black shoes clicking ominously against the floor.

“Come here Maxwell, come here” the man hissed, his voice a low rasp that seemed to echo unnaturally in the room.

Max’s back hit the wall, his hands scrambling for something, anything to defend himself with as the man stalked towards him. “ Leave me alone!”

The Attorney General tilted his head, his expression dark and lifeless, haunting. “Maxwell…come here Maxwell… come get your just desserts.”

With each word, the room seemed to close in on Max. The walls warped, bending and twisting as if the room itself were alive, trapping him. The Attorney General’s face grew sharper, more grotesque, his features contorting into a nightmarish mask of rage.

“You can’t escape me Maxwell,” he snarled, his voice distorting, growing louder and louder until it felt like it was coming from inside Max’s own head. "You should have never made it out of the desert." 

Max darted to the side, trying to slip past him, but the Attorney General’s hand shot out, unnaturally fast, grabbing Max by the arm. His grip was ice-cold, like steel, and Max cried out as he was yanked back.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” the Attorney General hissed, his face now inches from Max’s. His breath was rancid, and his eyes glowed with an otherworldly hatred.

The room spun, and suddenly, Max was no longer in the strange room but in a courtroom. He was shackled to a chair, the Attorney General standing over him, holding a gavel that morphed into a blade. The spectators in the courtroom were faceless, their hollow eyes staring at him, mouths open in silent screams.

“No!” Max shouted, thrashing against the restraints as the Attorney General raised the blade high. Despite knowing it was useless, he found himself calling out for Tommy and Buck. 

“You can’t run,” the man sneered, bringing the blade down—

Max woke with a start, gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat. The darkness of his own room was a relief, but the shadows on the walls still seemed to leer at him, as if the nightmare had left something behind.

He clutched his chest, trying to slow his racing heart. But the Attorney General’s words echoed in his mind:

“You can’t escape me.”

Trying to be as quiet as possible, at least by teenage boy standards, Max crept through Maddie and Chim’s house, careful not to disturb anyone else. He made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge with a faint creak. A beer caught his eye, tempting him. But Chim always knew exactly how many were left, and Max didn’t need another awkward conversation about drinking underage.

Everything comes back to my age, he thought bitterly. Too young for this, too young for that.

Not too young to be kidnapped and almost killed by a crazy man through. 

Sighing, he reached for a cola instead, weighing his options. His eyes burned as he blinked, his exhaustion and paranoia mixing into an uncomfortable haze.

The kitchen light flicked on, and Max jumped, nearly dropping the soda.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Maddie’s soft voice asked.

Max turned to see her leaning against the doorway, her hand resting on her very pregnant belly.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, guilt washing over him.

Maddie chuckled, shaking her head. “No, this one wakes me up a couple of times a night,” she said, rubbing her stomach affectionately.

“Not long to go, huh?” Max said, trying to sound casual.

“Any day now,” Maddie replied with a laugh. She caught the look on Max’s face and quickly added, “Oh, but not right now. ” She laughed again, and Max let out a relieved breath as some color returned to his face.

“So,” Maddie asked, tilting her head. “Why are you up?”

Max hesitated, his cheeks flushing. He felt ridiculous. Sixteen and still having nightmares—wasn’t that something little kids did?

“No reason,” he lied, his tone unconvincing. "Just felt like it."

Maddie raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, she walked to the counter and poured herself a glass of water.

If Max lied to himself, he would say it was the weight of everything pressing down on him, but really he couldn’t stop himself, so he blurted out, rather pathetically in his mind, “I had a stupid nightmare…I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I figured…” It was either get a drink or jerk off, and it felt weird jerking off in a strangers house - not that Maddie had to know that.

She was kind of like his Aunt. Only cooler, and less fat and didn't pinch his cheeks. 

“Max.” Maddie’s voice was soft, but also full of pity. He hated pity, everyone always pitied him like he was still this big baby. Before all of this, before he abandoned and then reduce to trash, he was seen as the back up man of the house. 

“Don’t” Max replied harshly, a tad unfairly, “Just don’t okay, I know it’s pathetic and weak…I just can’t help it.”

He wished he could be as strong as Tommy and Buck, no matter how much shit he gave them. 

“I still have nightmares,” she said after a moment, her voice soft.

Max glanced at her, surprised at her admission. “You do?”

“About my ex, Doug,” she said, her gaze distant. “It’s been years, and years, and I still wake up some nights feeling like he’s right there, watching me. It doesn’t just go away, Max.”

Max swallowed hard. “What do you do? When it happens?”

“I remind myself that it’s not real,” Maddie said, her voice steady. “That I’m safe now. And if I can’t shake it, I talk to someone—Chim, Buck… someone who gets it, someone who can help and I try not to judge myself for being a survivor.”

Max looked down at the soda can in his hands, his fingers fidgeting with the tab. “I dreamed about him,” he admitted quietly. “The Attorney General. He was… he was trying to kill me… I’m just sick of reliving it”

Maddie moved closer, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “They say the mind is a strange and powerful force, just remember it’s not real, and you’re safe okay.”

Max nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah, well it just felt so real.”

“I know,” Maddie said, her voice warm and understanding. “But you’re stronger than him, Max. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve come out the other side. Don’t let him win, even in your dreams.”

For the first time that night, Max felt a small flicker of comfort. “Thanks, Maddie.”

“Anytime,” she said with a soft smile. “Now, let’s get you back to bed. And if you can’t sleep, you know where to find me.”

Max nodded, following her back toward the hall. The house was quiet again, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound as he returned to the spare room.

Lying in bed, Max stared at the ceiling, his thoughts still buzzing. He reached for his phone and opened Snapchat, hesitating for a moment before sending Axel a quick message.

Barely a minute later, his phone buzzed. Axel had sent a reply—a snap of himself, or at least a very awake and happy part of himself. 

Sighing to himself, Max looked at the picture, at the cot sitting waiting in the spare room of MADDIE AND CHIMNEY’S house and then down at the tent in his pants. 

Damn it, self-control had never been his strongest trait, especially as a second snap flashed up on his phone. 

The sun was high in the sky, its warmth stretching lazily across the sand as waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. Buck lay sprawled on a beach towel, his sunglasses tilted just enough to block the glare while still giving him a perfect view of the horizon. A soft breeze rustled through the air, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and sunscreen.

Tommy’s shadow fell over him, and Buck glanced up with a grin as Tommy handed him another cold beer, condensation glistening on the can in the sunlight.

“This is the life, huh?” Buck said, cracking the tab open and taking a long sip.

“Sure is.” Tommy dropped onto the towel beside him, letting out a contented sigh. He clinked his beer against Buck’s with a grin. “No drama, no fires, no teenagers.”

For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the sounds of the beach surrounding them. Kids laughed as they built sandcastles, seagulls cried overhead, and the distant hum of a jet ski buzzed faintly over the water.

Buck tilted his head toward Tommy. “We should do this more often. Just… unplug, you know?”

Tommy chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “You say that every time, but then we get back to work, and it’s chaos all over again.”

Buck smirked. “Well, you are a helicopter pilot for the LAFD; that’s not the easiest job you could of chosen.”

Tommy gave him a sideways glance. “Says the guy who runs into burning buildings for a living, at least I’m flying above them.”

Buck laughed, the sound blending into the crashing waves. “Touché.”

Tommy leaned back on his hands, tilting his face toward the sun. “Still, this… this is nice. No alarms, no deadlines, no drama. Just us, the beach, and a couple of beers.”

Buck nudged him playfully. “Careful, you’re starting to sound sappy.”

“Blame the view,” Tommy shot back, gesturing toward the sparkling ocean. Then, after a beat, he added, “And you, probably.”

Buck grinned, leaning back against his towel. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Buckley-Kinard.”

“Our own private beach,” Buck said in amazement, spinning in a slow circle to take in the pristine sands, the endless stretch of turquoise water, and the solitude.

Tommy, leaning casually against the deck railing of their beach-side cabin, grinned. “You know what that means…”

Moments later, Buck dashed toward the waves, shedding his clothes along the way. He plunged into the warm, crystal-clear waters, laughing as the saltwater enveloped him. He resurfaced, the droplets catching the sunlight like diamonds on his skin.

Standing waist-deep in the water, Buck turned toward the cabin and called out, “Hey! Aren’t you coming in?”

Tommy sat comfortably on the deck, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, still wearing his tee and shorts. His eyes flicked up from the mug, locking onto Buck. “I’m good right here,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Just admiring the view.”

“The view?” Buck asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Tommy took a slow sip of his coffee, his grin widening. “God, you look gorgeous. Wet, golden in the sun… like a damn statue carved by the gods, only slightly more blessed down there...”

Buck laughed, wading toward the shore. “Do I just-” he began, gesturing toward his pile of clothes.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Tommy interrupted, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t you go spoiling my view, Evan. Stay right there.”

Buck stopped, dripping and gleaming, tilting his head with a smirk. “So, what? You want me to just splash around like some sort of show pony?”

Tommy leaned back, his grin turning into a full-blown smirk. “Exactly, best in show too. So, um keep splashing about for me, like a good boy. I’m enjoying my coffee, and you’re the entertainment.”

Life was perfect. 

Shaking his head but laughing, Buck turned back toward the water, his playful splashes catching the light as Tommy enjoys his coffee.

Buck wandered out of the water, walking past his discard clothes on the beach to the cabin to get a drink when Tommy grabbed him, dropping to his knees on the beach. “Daddy needs a protein shot” Tommy said with a smirk as Buck’s cock bounced to attention.

Back home in LA, Maddie stood in the kitchen, glancing down at her phone. “Shoot,” she muttered under her breath, her free hand resting on her baby bump.

Max, sprawled on the couch with his phone in hand, glanced up. “Yo, everything okay, Maddie?”

Maddie hesitated, biting her lip before looking over at him. “Yeah… no, not really,” she admitted. “I just realized I have an appointment in an hour, and I can’t bring Jee with me. She’s a handful on a good day, and right now—” She gestured to her belly with a wry smile. “—I’m not exactly running at full capacity.”

Max blinked, sitting up a little straighter. “Wait, you want me to look after her?”

“Just for an hour or so,” Maddie said quickly, walking over to the couch. “Her lunch box is in the fridge, and she’s already had her nap, so it should be smooth sailing.”

Max hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… I mean… I don’t know, Maddie. I can barely keep myself together most days. What if I mess up? What if she, like… runs off or something?”

Maddie placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Max. She adores you, and all you have to do is keep her entertained. Put on a cartoon, give her some snacks—it’s not exactly rocket science.”

Max still looked doubtful, but Maddie didn’t give him time to argue. She grabbed her bag, gave him a quick smile, and said, “You’re a lifesaver, Max. Thank you. I’ll be back in an hour, tops!”

Okay, so when it did change from half an hour to an hour?

Before Max could respond, the front door closed behind her, leaving him alone with Jee, who was happily coloring at the small table in the corner.

Max stared at her for a moment, the weight of responsibility settling uncomfortably on his shoulders. “Uh, hey, Jee?” he ventured, standing awkwardly by the couch.

She looked up, her big, curious eyes sparkling. “Yeah?”

“You, uh… hungry or something?”

Maddie has just left, it was probably too earlier, right?

Or not, as Jee tilted her little head and looked up at him with big eyes. “Can I please have my lunchbox?”

“Oh. Ah right. Yeah, of course.” Max shuffled to the fridge, pulling out the brightly colored lunchbox Maddie had mentioned. He set it on the table in front of her, watching as she carefully opened it and began munching on her sandwich.

As she ate, Max flopped back onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. Okay, this isn’t so bad. He reached for his phone, ready to scroll through it when a thought struck him. Wait. Shouldn’t I, like, be paying attention to the kid?

With a small groan, he set the phone down, forcing himself to stay engaged.

“Max?” Jee called out a few minutes later, her sandwich gone, her juice box empty, and her energy levels seemingly unchanged.

“Yeah?”

“Can you color with me?”

Max hesitated, glancing at his phone again, the temptation to scroll nagging at him. But one look at her hopeful expression, and he sighed, setting it aside. “Sure, why not?”

He joined her at the small table, grabbing a crayon and awkwardly scribbling next to her.

Jee glanced at his work, then at her own, giggling. “You’re bad at coloring.”

Max laughed despite himself, looking down at his chaotic scribbles compared to her neatly filled-in rainbow. “Yeah, well, I didn’t realize this was an art competition.”

“You should always do your best,” Jee told him very seriously, her tiny face full of wisdom beyond her years. "My mummy says so." Well, if Maddie says so, who is Max to disagree.

Max smirked, nodding. “Cool, got it. Next time, I’ll aim for Picasso, promise.”

“Pick a castle?” Jee repeated and Max laughed.

When Jee finally finished her masterpiece, she looked up at him with an expression that immediately made him nervous.

“Uh, Max, can we please bake some cookies?” she asked sweetly, twisting her little fingers together in a way that Max knew was impossible to resist.

“Uh, mhmm…” Max stalled, scratching the back of his neck. “See, the thing is I don’t really know how to bake cookies, Jee.”

“But Uncle Buck lets me bake cookies all the time,” Jee countered, her logic impeccable and impossible to argue against.

Max groaned internally. If Buck could bake cookies, why couldn’t he? Thinking quickly, he bit his lip, trying to come up with a compromise.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his face lighting up as an idea struck him. “Okay, no problem, wow about I show you a cookie magic trick instead? It's way cooler than old Uncle Buck, it's modern and, um, modern.” Meh, he was a basketball player, not a poet and Jee was a kid, not a scholar. 

Jee’s eyes widened. “A magic trick? What’s that?”

Max grinned, sensing he was onto a winner. “I can make cookies appear-" and he clicked his fingers "-just by hitting a button on my phone, cool right?.”

“Whoa,” Jee whispered, completely captivated.

Pulling out his phone, Max opened the Uber Eats app with a flourish, scrolling through until he found a cookie delivery option. “See? Just a little bit of magic…” he said, tapping the screen dramatically.

“And then—poof! Cookies show up at the door.”

Jee clapped her hands in excitement. “That’s amazing!” She went to run to the door.

“Woah, not yet, the magic needs sometime to work.” Max shouted chasing after her. “You know, the universe is very busy today.”

Jee frowned, stomping her tiny foot on the ground. “I want my cookies now.”

Fuck- wait shit. Child, can't swear, even mentally... and he was pretty fucking mental. 

“Ahhh… well it’s because we aren’t finished, there is still one more step isn’t there…we have to tell the universe what cookie you want, so why don’t you go draw some cookies and then the magic will know, you know, what to send us.”

For a moment Jee look like she was calling him out on his bullshit but she clapped her tiny hands together and literally flew across the room to her table and started scribbling away. 

Max leaned back in his chair, relieved and a little proud of his quick thinking. “Yeah, well, don’t tell Buck, okay? He might try to steal my magic trick.”

Jee giggled, nodding solemnly. “I won’t tell. Promise.”

As they waited for the cookies to arrive, Jee went back to her very important task of drawing the cookies she wanted.

It was a great plan, except.

“These cookies don’t look my drawings at all.” 

“Must be for me then?” Max said, grabbing a cookie with a grin as Jee helped herself to one aswell. Disaster avoided.

By the time Maddie returned, Jee was happily showing Max her latest drawing, and he was actually smiling, his earlier doubts forgotten.

Maddie paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with a knowing grin. “Looks like you survived.”

Max looked up, a little sheepish. “Barely. But, uh… I guess it wasn’t so bad.”

“See?” Maddie teased as she walked over to them. “I knew you could handle it.”

Jee ran to Maddie, wrapping her arms around her. “Max was fun!”

Max chuckled, standing and stretching. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, kid.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let him fool you, Jee. He’s a natural.”

As Maddie scooped Jee up, Max felt a small flicker of pride. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this whole “being responsible” thing after all.

“How many cookies did you let her eat?” 

A couple of days later, Max groaned as he woke up, his head pounding and his mouth dry as sandpaper. T he unfamiliar ceiling above him came into focus, and he realized he was sprawled on Axel’s bedroom floor, a pile of discarded clothes and empty beer bottles surrounding him.

“Great,” he muttered, wincing as he tried to sit up. His shoulder throbbed, an unfamiliar, sharp ache cutting through the dull haze of his hangover.

Rubbing his hand over the sore spot, Max froze as his fingers brushed against raised, tender skin. His stomach dropped. Slowly, he twisted to get a better look.

A tattoo.

Oh. That's right, that's what he did last night. 

On his left shoulder, stark black ink stood out against his skin. His breath hitched as he took in the design— two basketballs with the words ‘can I play with your balls’ underneath it.

He was so dead when Tommy got back.

Lying on the double bed, enjoying the sun of the ocean crashing against the beach, Buck ran his finger over his contact list as Tommy crashed down next to him. “What are you doing?” Tommy asked, nibbling his neck.

“I was just thinking I might check in with Maddie on Max.”

“Max will be fine, just enjoy your break.” Tommy said, slowly nibbling on his ear lobe

Buck sighed contentedly as Tommy's lips trailed down his neck, the cool ocean breeze a pleasant contrast to the warmth of his lover's touch. "I suppose you're right," he murmured, setting his phone aside on the nightstand. "It has been a while since we had a proper break, just the two of us."

Tommy's nimble fingers began unbuttoning Buck's shirt. "Mmhm, and I intend to make the most of it," he purred, pressing his body flush against the taller man's side.

Buck rolled onto his back, pulling Tommy on top of him. "I like the sound of that," he grinned up at his boyfriend. "So what did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking..." Tommy started, his voice low and husky as he slowly rocked his hips against Buck's, nipping at Buck’s nipples causing the younger man to moan and tremble under him. 

Buck's eyes fluttered shut as pleasure sparked through his body, Tommy's skilled mouth and hands igniting every nerve ending. "Feels so good, babe," he panted, fingers tangling in Tommy's hair. "Don't stop..."

"Mmm, no intentions of it," Tommy growled against Buck's chest, Buck's shirt falling open to reveal his toned abdomen. He dipped his head, tongue swirling around a nipple before drawing it into his mouth to suck.

"Ahh fuck," Buck groaned, hips rocking up, seeking friction. "Tommy, need you..."

"Need you too," Tommy breathed, kissing his way down Buck's abs, fingers working open his shorts. "Gonna make you feel real good."

Buck's cock sprang free, already hard and leaking. He ached to be touched. "Please..."

"So desperate for me," Tommy purred, wrapping a hand around Buck's aching erection, giving him a slow stroke that made him whine.

"Tommy, I- ahhh!

Tommy took him into his mouth, swallowing him down to the root without preamble. The hot, wet heat engulfed Buck and he cried out, hands flying to grip Tommy's hair. "Oh god, yes!"

Tommy sucking hard as he bobbed his head, tongue teasing the sensitive underside of Buck's shaft. It was nearly too much, too good. Buck's toes curled, thighs trembling.

"Tommy, fuck, I'm gonna - " He tried to warn, but Tommy just sucked harder, pushing him over the edge embarrassingly fast. Buck came with a strangled moan, spilling down Tommy's throat.

"You taste so good," Tommy purred, swallowing it all down before kissing his way back up Buck's body. "My sexy boy."

“Must be all the pineapple on this island.” Buck teased as Tommy rested his head on Buck’s thigh. “Mmm, I think you always taste so good.” Tommy replied, trailing a finger around Buck’s navel.

"Mm, I think you wore me out already," Buck chuckled breathlessly, pulling him into a lazy kiss. But he could already feel his spent cock twitching with renewed interest.

Tommy grinned against his lips. "That was just the appetizer, babe. The main course is coming." He reached into the nightstand for the lube and Buck's eyes widened as Tommy slicked his own cock.

"Fuck, I love when you top," Buck panted, spreading his thighs in clear invitation. "C'mon Husband, need you in me."

Husband - fuck that sounded good, Tommy almost cummed right there and then. 

" Patience ," Tommy admonished, though there was a pleased glint in his eye. He teased Buck's beautiful pink hole with slicked fingers and Buck keened, trying to push back onto them.

"C'mon baby, I can take it," Buck pleaded, too far gone to care how desperate he sounded. "Wanna feel you splitting me open on that big cock."

"Fuck, you're begging," Tommy growled, working two long fingers into Buck's tight heat. "Love when you beg for my dick."

"Please..." Buck rocked onto the fingers, overly sensitive walls clenching. "I need it."

Tommy didn't make him wait any longer, lining up and pushing in with one smooth thrust. Buck threw his head back with a low moan as Tommy's thick length filled him perfectly. "Oh fuck yes..."

"Shit, you're so tight," Tommy grunted, setting a deep, rolling rhythm. "Take it so well."

They moved together like they'd been doing this for years, Tommy hitting all the right spots to have Buck seeing stars. "There, right there!" Buck babbled, trying to touch himself but Tommy batted his hand away.

"Oh no, you don't get to come until I say," he said, cupping Buck's ass and angling to nail his prostate dead on. Buck sobbed brokenly, back bowing.

Tommy picked up the pace, pistoning into Buck's willing body. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the room along with their moans. Buck was mindless, impaled on Tommy's perfect cock, utterly fucked stupid.

"Tommy, I'm close," he warned, voice wrecked. "Gonna come."

"Not yet," Tommy growled, drilling into Buck's ass. "Don't you dare, I'm almost -"

Buck's orgasm slammed into him without warning and he came with a shout, hole spasming around Tommy. Tommy followed a second later, flooding Buck’s insides with his release.

They collapsed together, sweaty and spent, exhaling harshly. "That was...wow," Buck said weakly.

Tommy huffed a laugh, nuzzling behind Buck's ear. "Told you I'd make the most of our alone time." He pressed a kiss to Buck's damp skin.

As Tommy rested, Buck snuck off to call Maddie, Finding a quiet spot near the edge of their private beach, he dialed Maddie’s number. The line rang twice before she picked up, her voice warm and cheerful.

“Hey, Buck! How’s the trip?”

“Great,” Buck said with a soft chuckle, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Tommy wasn’t stirring. “Everything’s perfect. Just wanted to check in—everything okay back home?”

“Everything’s fine,” Maddie replied blissfully unaware of the tattoo situation, her tone reassuring. “Jee’s been her usual whirlwind self, and Max has been… well, Max. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Buck let out a relieved sigh. “Good to hear. Don’t tell Tommy I called, though. He said we’re supposed to leave ‘home at home’ while we’re on holiday.” He laughed, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush.

There was a brief pause before Maddie burst out laughing.

“What?” Buck asked, his brow furrowing.

“Oh, nothing,” Maddie said, clearly trying to suppress her amusement. “It’s just funny, considering Tommy called Chim this morning to check in on Max. He didn’t mention that, huh?”

Buck blinked, then let out a loud laugh. “Of course he did. He’s out here lecturing me about unplugging, and he’s sneaking calls too!”

“Sounds like someone owes you a little less judgment,” Maddie teased.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Buck said with a grin, already plotting his playful revenge. “I’ll make sure to remind him of that.”

They chatted a little longer before saying their goodbyes, and as Buck hung up, he glanced back at Tommy, who was still dozing peacefully.

Buck crouched down on his knees in front of Tommy who was still dozing in the lounge chair, lifting his legs up to gain access to exactly where he wanted. Spreading Tommy’s legs with ease, thanks half to his husband’s sleepy state and half due to Buck’s fitness, he had easy access to Tommy’s tight pink hole.

With a grunt, Buck buried his face between those cheeks, his tongue immediately thrusting in and out of Tommy's tight rear hole. He ate him out like a starving man at a buffet, tongue delving deep as Tommy started moaning, “Fuck, Evan…yeah babe…” 

On the island, Tommy and Buck managed to clean up just enough for dinner. The warm, salty breeze followed them as they stepped into the cozy seaside restaurant. The space was intimate, with only a handful of guests scattered across candlelit tables. The low hum of conversation blended with the soft sound of waves in the background.

As they walked in, an older couple seated near the entrance glanced their way. The woman’s face lit up with a kind smile as she nudged her partner.

“Ah, you two must be Tommy and Evan,” she said warmly, her tone sweet but unmistakably amused. “So nice to finally put some faces to all the sounds.”

Buck froze mid-step, his face flushing bright red. “Oh, uh… nice to meet you too,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in embarrassment.

The woman’s smile widened, and the man beside her chuckled softly, raising his glass in a silent toast.

“Well, that was awkward,” Tommy muttered under his breath as they made their way to their table, his lips twitching in suppressed laughter.

Buck glanced at him, mortified. “We aren’t that loud, are we?” he whispered urgently as they sat down.

Before Tommy could answer, the waiter that was pouring a crisp white wine to accompany their seafood menu coughed suddenly and averting his gaze as his cheeks turned a noticeable shade of pink. “Sorry, sirs,” the waiter said quickly,  “Dry throat.”

With that, the waiter disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, leaving Tommy and Buck alone at the table.

Tommy took a slow sip of his wine, his grin breaking free. “You were saying?”

Back in LA, Tommy sat down next to Max at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. The morning sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. Max sat across from him, idly poking at his breakfast with his fork.

“You know,” Tommy began gently, breaking the comfortable silence, “you’re welcome to change your name if you want to. No pressure, but… the offer’s always there.”

Max paused, his fork still for a moment before he glanced up. “Yeah… I know,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “And I appreciate that, I really do, but…”

Tommy didn’t press, his silence encouraging Max to continue. He leaned back slightly, watching as Max collected his thoughts.

“I’m a Walters,” Max finally said, his tone firmer now. “That’s who I’ve always been. I mean, yeah, my parents sucked—big time—but… if I change my name, it’s like I’m letting them win. Like I’m letting them erase me, you know? My history, my story.”

Tommy nodded slowly, his expression understanding but tinged with a hint of disappointment. “I get it,” he said softly. “You’re holding onto the identity you grew up with. It’s part of who you are, that's okay.”

Max shrugged, setting his fork down and leaning back in his chair. “Exactly. I shouldn’t have to change myself just because they don’t like who I am. It's not my fault, I'm proud of who I am.”

Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I respect that, Max. I really do. But… you’re more than just their name. You’re part of this family now, too. And it wouldn’t be about erasing who you were—it’d be about adding to who you are, if you wanted to.”

Max met Tommy’s gaze, his jaw tightening slightly. “I know. And, look maybe one day, I’ll feel ready for that. But right now… I need to hold onto this. To prove to myself that I’m more than what they made me out to be. Is that weird? It sounds a bit weird out loud”

Tommy studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Mhmm, not at all. It’s your call, Maxwell. Just know that, whatever name you go by, you’re still family to me. Lets be honest, it's not something to take lightly, either.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Max’s mouth. “Thanks, Tommy. That means a lot, um, everything, all your support - and, of course, Buck's.”

Tommy reached over, giving Max’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Always, kid.”

A week later, Buck and Tommy sat side by side in the lounge, their expressions grim as they waited for Max to get home. The atmosphere was heavy, the air thick with unspoken tension. Even Buck’s usual easygoing demeanor had given way to exasperation.

“We could be wrong,” Buck offered, though his tone lacked confidence.

Tommy shook his head, letting out a dry laugh. “Really, Evan? You want to bet on that?” Buck shook his head, that was not a bet he was willing to take.

Before Buck could respond, the door opened, and Max stepped in, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of their expressions. “Uh, hi, guys?”

“Maxwell,” Tommy began, his voice even but stern. “Have you done something you’d like to tell us about?”

Max’s eyes narrowed further. He wasn’t falling for this trick again - no confession without hard proof. “I’ve done a lot of things. Today, I went to school, had some lunch… you know, just lived my life. What’s this about?”

Buck crossed his arms, an unmistakable warning sign. “Max.”

Max shifted uncomfortably, his confidence faltering slightly, okay maybe they knew? But what did they know? Remember your mantra Max, no confession without hard proof. “What? Just tell me what you want to know instead of playing this stupid guessing game.”

It was a bluff, and given Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knee it might have been a bad bluff.

Tommy cleared his throat before speaking, tone steady but pointed. “It’s just… we couldn’t get you to wear a shirt before. Now, ever since we’ve been back, you’re always wearing one—even when it’s boiling hot. And you’ve started getting dressed in the bathroom instead of your room.”

Oh yes, they had noticed that Max had been hiding his shoulder - not that he was ashamed of the tattoo - it had grown on him, but he knew they wouldn't like it.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Max said, leaning into deflection. “You guys hound me about my state of dress, and now that I listen, you’re upset? Make up your minds.”

When caught, deflect. 

Tommy exchanged a look with Buck, his expression calm but firm. “Where is it?”

Max’s eyes darted between them. Oh, they knew. “Where’s what?”

“The tattoo,” Tommy said flatly. “We’re not stupid, Max. Just tell us now so we can save the drama.”

Max swallowed hard, his hand unconsciously drifting to his shoulder, rubbing the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Buck groaned, leaning back on the couch. “Please tell me it’s not a tramp stamp,” he muttered, his tone half-joking but mostly resigned.

Max opened his mouth to protest, but Tommy silenced him with a sharp look. “Maxwell.”

With a sigh of defeat, Max rolled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo.

There was a moment of silence as Tommy and Buck took in the design.

“Two basketballs…” Buck began, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

“With ‘Can I play with your balls?’ underneath,” Tommy finished, rubbing his face with both hands.

The basketballs by themselves could be fine, but the tagline - etched onto Max’s skin for the rest of his life. 'Come on kid' Tommy sighed to himself internally. 

Max winced. “It seemed funny at the time.”

“Funny?” Tommy repeated, his voice rising slightly. “Maxwell, that is permanently marked on your skin now.”

Buck shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Of all the tattoos…”

Max shrugged helplessly. “Look, it’s not like I planned it. Axel dared me, and—”

Oh, shit. He shouldn't have mentioned Axel's name. 

“Axel,” Tommy interrupted sharply, his voice clipped. He took a deep breath, visibly reining himself in. “Of course Axel was involved. But you’re the one who went through with it, Max. Why?”

Max hesitated, his defensiveness faltering. “I… I liked it. I thought it was funny. And it’s part of who I am. I like basketball, and—” He swallowed, his voice quieter now. “Other… you know, balls. So why shouldn’t I be proud of who I am?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, visibly grappling with his emotions. Finally, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he said, his tone more measured. “You’re sixteen. You’re allowed to make your own choices. If you want a tattoo, that’s your choice-" Tommy took a deep, centering breath before he continued, "-Even if it's a terrible one you're going to regret."

Max blinked, clearly taken aback. “Really?”

Oh, all the internal strength it took not to say 'no, that's incredibly immature and stupid' Tommy thought to himself through gritted teeth as he looked at the tattoo now permanently inked against Max's shoulder.

“Really,” Tommy said, his jaw tight as he tempted to judge being a father with respecting an individuals boundaries. “No one was harmed, no one was hurt. It’s your life.”

Max looked unsure, glancing at Buck for confirmation.

Buck nodded reluctantly, unsure if he fully agreed. Tommy was right, no one died, and by Max's standards that was pretty good. “Uh, yeah, he’s right. It’s your decision. Just… maybe think things through next time, okay?”

Max stood there for a moment, clearly not expecting this reaction. “Right. Exactly. My life.”

The room fell into an awkward silence, tension lingering in the air as all three of them fidgeted with their fingers. 

For Buck it was weighing up whether he was being a hypocrite with his tattoos, with installing common sense in a male teenager. 

“Well,” Max finally said, clasping his hands together after a solid moment of awkward silence. “I’m gonna go to my room now. Thanks, dudes.”

Thank dudes? Sometimes Max really did test all of Tommy's patience without even trying.

As the door to Max’s room clicked shut, Tommy let out a deep breath, leaning back into the couch.

Buck glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“No,” Tommy admitted, his voice tired. “But he’s not wrong. It is his life. I just… I don’t want him to regret it later.”

Buck patted him on the shoulder. “He’s a teenager, Tommy. He’s going to regret ninety-percent of his choices; its the rules.” 

"It's just so permanent."

Chapter Text

When Max was sixteen - Buck found himself at work,  leaning against the kitchen counter at the 118 as he watched Bobby stir the pot of simmering stew.  Perhaps it was the hovering, perhaps it was the awkward fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakes, or perhaps it was the simple fact that Bobby knew Buck but he could tell his youngest firefighter was itching to ask him something. 

"Something on your mind, Buck?" Bobby asked his hovering firefighter. 

“We have just one goal for Max,” Buck declared, his tone serious despite the faint smirk on his face.

“Oh yeah, kid? What’s that?” Bobby asked, tipping the last of the chopped vegetables into the pot.

“That he stays out of prison.”

Ah, Bobby thought to himself, it's not a question, it's a story that Buck's itching to share. So Bobby paused mid-stir, raising a puzzled eyebrow as he glanced over at Buck. “Prison? What on earth brought that on, Buck?”

Buck shook his head, laughing. “Oh, Cap, you wouldn’t believe what I walked in on this morning…”

To be fair, Bobby did consider pointing about that when it came to Buck, nothing was unbelievable but he let Buck tell his story as he tended to the 118 stew. 

Earlier that day , Tommy had walked into the kitchen at home, stopping mid-stride when he saw Max hunched over his laptop at the counter. His driver’s license sat conspicuously next to the keyboard, and Max was furiously typing, his eyes darting between the screen and his phone. His tongue was hanging out the side, which is how you know it was serious. 

“What are you up to, Maxwell?” Tommy asked, trying to keep his tone light but edged with suspicion. 

Max didn’t look up from his typing, “Oh, morning, just signing up for a JP Morgan bank account,” he replied casually, as if he were discussing the weather. There was a sight issue with that answer through…

Tommy raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed as he watched Max. “Didn’t we already set you up with a Chase account? Why do you need another one? And, why didn't you ask us?”

More importantly, did Tommy want to know?

“Because TikTok has this hack,” Max explained, still focused on his screen. “You need a fresh account you can close out after you’re done with it.”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose - he could already feel the headache coming on. “Maxwell…”

Whatever this was, Tommy could just tell it was a bad idea. 

“Oh, don't be like that, it’s legit!” Max insisted, finally looking up. “No, it is, you set up the account, deposit a check for, like, twenty grand, cash it, and then shut it down before the bank catches on, instant money.”

Tommy blinked, his mind struggling to process the audacity. “And where, exactly, are you planning to get this twenty-thousand-dollar check?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

Max grinned as if the solution was obvious. “You make a fake one. Duh, that’s the hack, and that’s why you shut the account afterwards. If only I had known about this earlier, it could of really helped.”

Somehow this was worse than what he was expecting. 

Bank fraud happening under his roof? and not by accident like Chim's insurance fraud. 

Tommy stared, his jaw slack before finding his voice. “Maxwell Walters, listen to me very carefully, that’s not a ‘hack.’ That’s fraud. As in, ‘ go-to-prison ’ fraud.”

Max shrugged, his confidence faltering. “Come on, it’s not like they’d actually catch me. The video says—”

“Won’t catch you!? Won't catch you? Maxwell! - whose name is this JP Morgan account going under? Who’s license are you using to sign up for it - you think the bank is going to let you get away with stealing twenty thousand dollars?” Tommy snapped, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea how serious this is? Faking checks? Scamming banks? You could ruin your life before it even starts!”

Just then, Buck wandered into the kitchen, a mug in hand. “Everything okay in here?”

“No ,” Tommy said, glaring at Max. “Your teenager is trying to become a felon.”

"Am not!" Max countered with a serious teenage pout.

"Are too!" Tommy replied, like the mature adult he was. 

Buck arched an eyebrow and sipped his coffee. “Is it sex, drugs, or drinking this time?”

Max looked offended and Tommy looked unamused - which frankly, was rude - it was an incredibly witty response - Eddie would of laughed. It was funny. 

"Uh, sorry, please, what is your adopted son doing this morning?" Buck asked again. 

“Fraud,” Tommy deadpanned, turning back to Max, who was now glaring at him  like Tommy had betrayed him instead of keeping his dumbass out of jail. "Bank fraud,"

“Well, that’s new,” Buck replied casually, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Evan,” Tommy said, his voice warning.

“Fine, fine,” Buck relented, looking at Max. “Don’t commit fraud. It’s bad. And also, it’s way too early in the morning for that level of crime, can't you, like, tag a building or something.”

“They do it on TikTok,” Max muttered. “And—”

“Uh, oh, no, that's great, Max,” Buck interrupted, his tone breezy. “Then I’ll look forward to visiting you for twenty to thirty years in whatever federal prison you end up in, uh, but spoilers, they don't have TikTok in there.”

Then Max handed Tommy the silver bullet as Buck sipped his coffee.

"You guys need to be more cool, no one has gone to jail for this." The teen declared.

That was all Tommy needed to lean over Max's shoulder and demand he google 'bank fraud.', opening each news story up before reading the prison sentence out loud.

After the second one, Max looked under Tommy's arm, up at Buck who was still sipping his coffee and with a whine asked Buck to control his husband.

"Uh, no, I fully agree with him, please keep educating yourself."

Max scowled, muttering something under his breath as Tommy crossed his arms.

Bobby stirred the pot, chuckling to himself. “Good luck, Buck.”

“Is that all you have to offer me, no sage words of advice? No pearls of wisdom? No nuggets of information?” 

Tommy caught the basketball with ease, spinning it in his hands before passing it off to a teammate. The ball swished through the net, the final score sealing their win. As the players drifted off the court, Tommy clapped Eddie on the back.

“Good game,Diaz.” Tommy said, catching his breath.

Sitting on the corner of the court, Eddie turned to him, a knowing look in his eyes. “I’d say the same about you, but you seemed… distracted.”

Tommy let out a dry laugh, wiping sweat from his brow. “Well, yes, you noticed?"

"Huh, hate to say it, but everyone noticed." Eddie teased, "Is everything okay, Tommy?" 

With a deep, calming breath, Tommy explained "It's just, you see, sometimes I wish Maxwell was a bit more mature. I know he's only a sixteen year old boy, but still.”

“Mature? Tommy, he’s sixteen. Buck’s thirty-three, and he’s not exactly setting the bar high for maturity,” Eddie replied with a smirk.

Despite himself, Tommy laughed. “Fair point. Still, I’ve got one goal for Maxwell.”

“What’s that?” Eddie asked, curious.

“That he doesn’t end up dead,” Tommy said bluntly.

Eddie blinked. “Oh. Wow. Okay, that's serious, what happened?”

“Yeah.” Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So… something happened last night.”

The night before, Tommy was jolted awake by the insistent buzz of Buck’s phone vibrating on the nightstand. The soft blue glow of the screen illuminated the room as Buck groaned and reached for it, the motion making the mattress dip slightly.

Tommy flopped back into his pillow, already annoyed. Whoever thought it was a good idea to call at three in the morning clearly had a death wish. Didn’t they know how rare it was for his and Buck’s shifts to align perfectly?

“Max?” Buck hissed into the phone, his voice sharp but quiet. "Why aren't you in bed?" 

Tommy groaned, muffling it with the pillow as he rolled over.

“Where are you?” Buck continued, his voice lowering. “Fine, stay there. I’ll be there in twenty… No, don’t get in his car. Stay put.”

“Evan, babe, what’s going on?” Tommy asked groggily as Buck sat up, the glow from his phone casting light on his worried expression, the alarm clock read - wait, Tommy wiped his eyes and looked again, no, it was 2 am.

Buck hesitated, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Uh, well, I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Tommy groaned louder, sitting up. “Let me guess—Maxwell went to that party?”

“Bingo,” Buck replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And now he’s hammered.”

Of course. 

Buck nodded, as he pulled on a hoodie with a small, tired grunt. “He’s hammered, and a friend offered to drive them home, but…”

“Let me guess—his friend is also hammered?”

“Exactly,” Buck said, slipping on his shoes. “So Max called me.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Not me, huh? You’re the good cop.”

Buck shrugged, smiling faintly. “It’s a skill.”

Tommy exhaled, leaning back against the headboard as he slowly woke up, his brain working through the logistics. “So, what’s the play here? Do we punish him for sneaking out and getting drunk at sixteen, or do we say ‘good job’ for calling you instead of getting into a car full of drunk idiots? How is he so irresponsible, but yet responsible? ”

Buck paused by the door, his expression thoughtful. “Honestly? um, probably both. But we can figure that out after I make sure he gets home in one piece. Then you can kill him for being so stupid.”

Tommy shook his head, a wry smile creeping onto his face. “You’re a sucker for him, you know that?”

Buck smirked, grabbing his keys. “And you’re not?”

Tommy sighed, waving him off. “Just bring him home.”

Back on the basketball court Eddie nodded as Tommy finished his story, taking a sip of his powerade. “I miss the days when my biggest concern was Chris sneaking off to the park.”

Tommy stood next to Buck in their driveway , forcing a neutral expression as Max grinned ear to ear, standing proudly next to his latest purchase—a secondhand motorcycle gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

“Isn’t she a beaut?” Max asked, patting the seat like a proud parent. "That's what the guy said, she's a beaut. Everyone on insta has a motorbike, they're so cool and powerful." 

Buck tilted his head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Yeah… sure. It’s something, alright.”

Tommy crossed his arms, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Buck. His first instinct was to immediately tell Max to return the bike, but he bit his tongue. He’s sixteen. He’s going to make his own choices, Tommy reminded himself. But a motorcycle? Really?

Max ran his hand along the handlebars, completely unaware of the tension radiating from both men.

“I mean, it’s got good mileage, barely used, and I got a great deal,” Max continued, clearly trying to justify the purchase.

Buck forced a tight smile, glancing at Tommy again. He could see the worry written all over his husband’s face—it mirrored his own.

As firefighters, they’d both seen the worst-case scenarios up close. Buck’s mind immediately filled with images of wrecked bikes, twisted metal, and worse. He swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts aside. He’s a good kid. He’ll be careful. But what if someone else isn’t?

Tommy’s hands tightened around his arms as he stared at the bike. He could almost hear the sound of screeching tires, the wail of an ambulance siren, and the panic in someone’s voice as they called out for help. The risks were all too real, and Max, with his impulsive nature, didn’t seem to fully grasp what he’d gotten himself into.

“You know,” Buck began cautiously, his voice light but strained, “motorcycles are kind of… dangerous.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Come on, Buck. You’re a firefighter. Isn’t everything dangerous if you think about it?”

“That’s exactly the point, Maxwell,” Tommy said, his voice sharper than he intended. He softened it quickly, taking a breath. “We’re not saying you can’t handle it, or you would stupid. It’s just that… we’ve seen things, and we don't want those things to happen to you. These things are-”

Max tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. “You mean accidents?”

Luckily for Tommy's sanity, Buck nodded, stepping forward to answer. “Uh, yeah, accidents. You can be the safest rider in the world, but it doesn’t matter if someone else isn’t paying attention.”

Buck mind flooded back 6 odd years ago, shoot, possible seven, to when Bobby and Athena first got together after the tragic motorcycle accident that cut a father in half - it hadn’t even been his fault. There was nothing Hen or any of them could of done. T-Bone at an intersection on the way home.

Maybe he could ban Max from riding it. 

Tommy chimed in, his tone gentler now. “See, it’s not just about you on the open road, Maxwell. It’s about the people out there who won’t see you, who’ll take a turn too fast, or who’ll be distracted at the worst possible moment. Truck drivers, SUV drivers, impatient drivers. ”

Max hesitated, shifting on his feet. “Chill, I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll wear a helmet, follow the rules, everything. I just… I really want this. It’s fun, you know? And it'll look super sick on instagram.”

Tommy sighed, glancing at Buck, who looked equally torn.

“We get that,oh, well not the sick part on instagram” Buck said finally, his voice soft. “We’re not trying to take that away from you, really. But promise us you’ll think about what we’re saying. Every time you get on that bike, remember there’s nothing more important than getting home safe.  Wear hi-vis, etc”

"Buuccccccccck." Max whined, "You can't wear Hi-Vis on a bike-"

"Being safe is more important than being cool."

With a casual, teenage shrug Max went to protest before Buck held his hand up, "No, no debate. Being safe is the most important thing, got it."

Max nodded, his enthusiasm clearly not dimmed. “I promise.”

Tommy exhaled deeply, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “That’s all we’re asking, Maxwell. Just… don’t make us regret this.”

“What is there to regret?” 

Had Max been listening to nothing? It really was like in one ear and out the other.

As Max went back to admiring his bike, Buck and Tommy exchanged a glance, their unspoken concerns heavy between them.

“He’s going to ride it no matter what, isn’t he?” Buck muttered.

Tommy nodded. “Yeah. All we can do now is hope he keeps his promise.”

Buck clapped a hand on Tommy’s back, both of them silently vowing to keep an extra close eye on Max—and to never let their own fears get in the way of supporting him. Even if it scared the hell out of them.

Max had made it to seventeen despite tattoos and motorcyles- and so had Buck and Tommy - As Hen opened the door to find Buck standing on her doorstep, looking a little sheepish but smiling nonetheless. She grinned, waving the baby of the 118 inside.

“Buckaroo! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, hey, Buck,” Karen called from the living room, where she was tidying up. “What brings you here?”

Buck hesitated, shuffling his feet. “I, uh… was hoping to get some advice.”

Thirty minutes later , the three of them were gathered around the kitchen table, tequila shots flowing like water. Buck leaned forward, resting his forehead against the table, one hand still gripping the bottle as he clumsily poured another shot.

“Why do so many of my stories these days revolve around Max?” he asked, half-slurring, as Karen threw back another shot and smirked. “I do stupid stuff too.” Buck complained as Hen nodded, because - yes, Buck did do stupid things. Every day.

“Welcome to parenthood,” Karen said, her voice laced with amusement.

Buck groaned, lifting his head just enough to look at them. “I just want one thing for him, you know?”

“Oh, trust us, we get it,” Hen replied, shaking her head. “Between Denny and Mara, there’s always something. Kids, man.”

Karen leaned forward, giggling as she grabbed the bottle to refill their glasses. “So, Buck, what’s the one thing you want for Max?”

Hen rolled her eyes, but she poured herself another shot as Karen passed the bottle.

Buck sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I want him to stay in school, you know? Get himself an education, a future, something solid.”

Karen snorted, swaying slightly in her chair. “Oh, you’re shooting for the stars, huh? School. The ultimate parent dream.”

Tommy stared at the email , feeling his blood pressure increase as he reread it. Without a word, he waved Buck over. Buck’s stomach sank as he scanned the message: if Max didn’t improve his grades across all subjects, he’d lose his spot on the basketball team.

“Maxwell!” Tommy shouted, his voice echoing through the house. “Get in here now!”

Buck glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Good cop, bad cop?”

Tommy shook his head, his tone grim. “No, Evan. This is a bad cop, bad cop situation. This is serious.”

Max wandered into the lounge, looking unbothered. “Yo, where’s the fire?”

“On my computer,” Tommy replied tersely, crossing his arms. “I just got an email from your school.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Your grades are slipping,” Tommy said sharply, holding up the screen for emphasis.

Max shrugged, turning to leave. “Oh, is that all?”

“ Young man, turn around right now, ” Tommy barked, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Max stopped, rolling his eyes as he turned back around. “What’s the big deal? So my grades suck. I’ll drop out of school—this is LA. There are like, a hundred opportunities that don’t involve school.”

“Like what?” Tommy asked, his tone icy.

“I could be an actor or a musician,” Max replied, lifting his chin defiantly. “You said I’m pretty good with my guitar.”

Buck stepped in, trying to play the peacemaker. “Max, those are great dreams, and sure, you should go for them. But you need an education as a backup plan. It’s not one or the other—it’s both.”

Tommy shot Buck a pointed look that said back me up, not him. “Do you know how many people in LA think they’re going to make it big? Most of them end up waiting tables for a decade. You need something to fall back on, Maxwell.”

Max smirked, his confidence unwavering. “Whatever. If acting and music don’t work out, there’s always OnlyFans - once I’m eighteen, of course.”

The room went dead silent for a beat. Buck’s jaw dropped, and Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something unintelligible.

“OnlyFans?! ” Tommy finally exploded, throwing his hands in the air.

“Content creator,” Max repeated with a teasing lilt, clearly enjoying himself.

"Do you think that's funny?" Tommy asked. 

"Oh, come on, it's a little funny, right? And at least it's legal, unlike my last career..." 

Tommy looked at Buck and Buck groaned to himself, and stepped forward, his expression a little panicked as he raised a calming hand. “Okay, let’s take a step back here. Max, no one’s saying you can’t chase your dreams. But without school, you’re limiting yourself. You’re smart—don’t throw that away.”

Max’s grin faltered slightly, though he quickly covered it with a shrug. “I’m smart? Isn’t the issue that I’m not smart?” He tried for a casual tone, but Buck could hear the faint edge of vulnerability in his voice.

Buck softened, crouching slightly to meet Max’s gaze on a level. “Hey, that’s not what this is about. Everyone struggles with stuff—it doesn’t mean you’re not smart. It just means you need to put in the work. You’ve got this.”

Tommy, still tense, exhaled deeply and added, “We’re not questioning your potential, Max. We’re trying to help you make sure you have every opportunity to succeed, no matter what path you choose.”

Max hesitated before crossing his arms. “Okay, fine, whatever—but smart people drop out of school all the time,” he argued. “Steve Jobs, that Facebook guy who looks like a robot—”

“They dropped out of college, not high school!” Tommy reminded, running a hand through his hair as Buck stepped forward, massaging his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. “Maxwell, you have to at least graduate high school okay, not for us - for yourself.”

Max shrugged again, unfazed. “But I’m not bothered.”