My Ex Rescued Me From a Collapsed Building, So I Kissed Him While My Best Friend Watched

The shriek of tortured metal and the thick, acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air. The scene on the 105 was pure chaos—a dozen cars crumpled together like discarded cans, smoke pluming into the hazy LA sky. Buck worked in tandem with Eddie, their movements economical and practiced as they used the Jaws of Life to peel back the door of a crushed minivan.

“Almost there,” Eddie grunted, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.

“Cap, we’re going to need an aerial view to see how far this chain reaction goes,” Buck called into his radio, his voice strained with effort. “And check for anyone ejected over the barrier.”

Bobby’s voice crackled back a moment later. “Copy that, Buckley. Air Ops is en route.”

Buck’s focus remained on the mangled steel in front of him, but a part of his mind went on alert. Air Ops. He tried to keep the thought from taking root, but it was useless. A few minutes later, the familiar thumping of rotor blades grew louder, and a new voice cut through the radio chatter.

“Captain Nash, this is Air-7. I’m overhead. What do you need?”

The voice was calm, steady, and so deeply familiar it made Buck’s shoulders tighten. Tommy. Of course, it was Tommy. Beside him, Eddie shot him a quick, questioning look. Buck ignored it, keeping his eyes fixed on the hinge he was working to sever.

“Kinard,” Bobby responded. “Give us the scope. We’re blind past the jackknifed semi.”

“Copy. Looks like another five vehicles involved, but no fire past your position,” Tommy’s voice was clipped, all business. “I’ve got eyes on one individual down the embankment, west side. Looks responsive.”

“118 to Air-7, can you guide a team in?” Hen’s voice joined the exchange.

“Affirmative. Tell them to head for the green sedan. I’ll keep a light on them.”

The rescue continued, a brutal symphony of commands and machinery. Buck forced himself to compartmentalize, to treat Tommy’s voice as just another part of the operational landscape. But every syllable was a reminder of their last conversation, of the awkward space that now existed between them. He felt Eddie’s presence at his back, a solid, grounding weight that was both a comfort and a complication.

Once the last victim was extricated and the scene was transitioning to clean-up, the LAFD helicopter set down in a cleared section of the freeway. Buck was helping secure a backboard when he saw Tommy walking toward their command post, his helmet tucked under his arm. His flight suit was unzipped to his sternum, revealing the dark gray shirt beneath, and his stride was as confident as ever.

He gave his report to Bobby, his gaze sweeping over the team before it landed, inevitably, on Buck. The professional mask was perfect, but Buck saw the flicker of something else in his eyes. History.

As Bobby turned to confer with a police sergeant, Tommy closed the small distance between them. “Buckley,” he said, his tone even. “Good work down here.”

The use of his last name was a deliberate wall. “You too, Kinard,” Buck replied, his own voice sounding stiff to his ears. “Good eyes from up there.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, thick with everything left unsaid. Buck could feel the memory of Tommy’s hands on him, the easy intimacy they had shared, now replaced by this sterile formality. Tommy’s mouth tightened for a second, a barely perceptible motion.

“Stay safe,” Tommy said finally, giving him a short, decisive nod before turning and walking back to the waiting helicopter.

Buck watched him go, the thumping of the blades drowning out the noise of the freeway as Air-7 lifted back into the sky. A hollow feeling settled in his gut, a disquiet that had nothing to do with the chaos of the call and everything to do with the man disappearing into the smog.

The air in the station locker room was thick with the lingering scent of smoke and sweat. Buck peeled off his uniform shirt, the fabric sticking to his skin. He moved on autopilot, his thoughts still caught in the loop of Tommy’s voice over the radio and the brief, sterile exchange on the freeway. The easy camaraderie of the team as they wound down from the call felt distant, like he was watching it from behind a pane of glass.

He was reaching for his clean t-shirt when Eddie’s voice cut through his internal haze. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or just pretend I can't see it?"

Buck didn't turn around. He kept his back to Eddie, focusing on the metal locker door in front of him. "Nothing's going on. Long call."

"Bullshit," Eddie said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The sound of his own locker closing was sharp and definitive. Buck felt him move closer, felt the shift in the air as Eddie came to stand just behind his shoulder. "That was you on 'Tense and Brooding Firefighter' mode from the moment you heard his voice. Don't think I didn't notice."

Buck finally turned, leaning back against the cool metal of the lockers. Eddie’s expression was serious, his brown eyes searching Buck’s face with an intensity that made him want to look away. "It was weird, okay? Hearing him on the call. Seeing him."

"Weird how?" Eddie pressed, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't going to let this go.

Buck sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. He couldn't lie to Eddie, not really. But he couldn't tell him the whole truth, either—because he didn't fully understand it himself. "It's not just about Tommy," he said, the words feeling only partially true. "It's... this is all still new to me, Eddie. The bisexuality thing. It's one thing to know it, to say it. It's another thing to... live in it. Seeing him, it just brings it all up again. What it means. Who I am now. I'm still trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together."

He was intentionally avoiding the core of it: the specific ache he felt when he saw Tommy, and the confusing warmth that spread through his chest from Eddie’s unwavering presence right now. He was building a wall not of lies, but of carefully selected truths.

Eddie’s expression softened with understanding, but a flicker of something else—frustration, maybe even hurt—remained in his eyes. He knew he wasn't getting the full story. "Okay," he said slowly, uncrossing his arms. He took a half-step forward, closing the distance between them until their shoulders were almost touching. The familiar, solid scent of him—soap and clean laundry—was a stark contrast to the chaos of the day. "I get it. It's a lot to process." His hand came up, resting on Buck's shoulder, his thumb pressing gently into the tense muscle there. "But you're not doing it alone, you know that, right? Whatever you're figuring out, I'm here."

The touch was meant to be reassuring, the same way it had been a thousand times before. But now, it felt different. Charged. Buck’s skin tingled where Eddie’s hand rested, and he had to fight the urge to lean into it, to close the final few inches between them. Instead, he gave a tight, shallow nod, his throat suddenly dry. "Yeah," he managed to say. "I know."

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the large oak in Bobby and Athena’s backyard. The air smelled of charcoal and freshly cut grass, a familiar comfort. Buck was laughing at something Chimney said, a beer bottle cool in his hand, and for the first time all week, the knot in his stomach had loosened. Christopher was chasing May around the yard with a water gun, his delighted shrieks mixing with the low hum of adult conversation. Eddie was manning the grill with Bobby, a relaxed smile on his face as he expertly flipped burgers. It felt normal. It felt right.

Then the side gate opened, and the fragile peace shattered.

Tommy Kinard walked in, following a firefighter from the 133. He was in casual clothes—a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his chest and well-worn jeans. He looked good. Too good. His eyes scanned the yard, and when they found Buck’s, they held for just a second too long. A quiet ripple went through the group; a few people glanced from Tommy to Buck, their curiosity barely veiled. Buck felt the muscles in his jaw tighten, and he took a long swallow of his beer, the liquid doing nothing to cool the sudden heat under his skin.

He tried to lose himself in conversations, moving from Hen to Karen, then over to the food table, but he was acutely aware of Tommy’s presence. He could feel him like a change in atmospheric pressure. Eventually, inevitably, they ended up alone by the drink cooler.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Buck said, his voice lower than he intended.

“Miller from the 133 invited me. I didn’t know it was a 118 thing,” Tommy replied, his gaze direct. He wasn’t apologizing, just stating a fact. He reached past Buck for a bottle of water, their arms brushing. The contact was brief, accidental, but it sent a jolt straight through Buck’s system.

“It’s fine,” Buck said, looking away, toward where Eddie was now helping Christopher build a precarious tower of blocks on the patio.

“Is it?” Tommy asked, his voice soft but insistent. Buck looked back at him. The casual confidence was gone from Tommy’s expression, replaced by something more vulnerable, something Buck recognized from late nights in his apartment. “Because I miss this, Buck. I miss… us.”

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. It landed squarely in Buck’s chest, a dull, familiar ache. He didn’t know what to say. A part of him, a part he’d been trying to suppress, missed it too. He missed the ease, the quiet understanding, the feel of Tommy’s body next to his. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—but a warm, solid hand landed on the small of his back.

“Hey. Chris needs an expert opinion on his fortress defenses,” Eddie’s voice was easy, but his touch was firm, proprietary. He didn’t look at Tommy, his focus entirely on Buck. “You’re the only one he trusts.”

Eddie’s hand guided him, pulling him away from the cooler, away from Tommy. Buck glanced back over his shoulder. Tommy was still standing there, watching them, his expression unreadable. Eddie didn’t seem to notice, leading him over to where Christopher was waiting, his face bright with excitement. Buck knelt, forcing a smile for the boy, but his mind was fractured. He was here, with Eddie and Chris—his family, his anchor—but the pull of Tommy’s confession, of the life he’d briefly had, was a current trying to drag him back out to sea.