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2015: Mancora, Peru, The Infamous Bar

It's not unheard of that people come in to a bar and choose not to drink anything. But it was more common when Evan worked in the States. Nobody ever comes on vacation in Mancora to have a good time and order a club soda.

But Evan's had enough alcoholics on the other side of the bar back home to know better than to pry.

"We don't have club soda, sorry," Evan says. "But you're looking for something without alcohol, maybe you'll like the Inca Kola. It's a type of sweet soda. Or, if you're looking for something more traditional to this region, you might like a Chicha morada."

The man leans on his elbows on the bar and offers a small smile. "I do like sweet things," he says. His eyes crinkle around the edges and those eyes make Evan feel safe in a way that is hard to place, even as his stomach does an unfamiliar flip.

Maybe he shouldn't have had that beer on his last lunch without something to eat. Maybe it's making him sick to his stomach - or something.

"But on the other hand, I hate to be the standard asshole American and shy away from the traditional. Give me one of both," the man says.

"Where in the States are you from?" Evan asks as he starts to prepare the Chicha morada. The man did say he liked sweet things, so Evan is generous in his serving of sugar. "And what brings you to Mancora?"

"I was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. I still call it home, in between my international missions," the man says. "And I'm actually only here for a couple of nights. I'm in Peru working with Doctors Without Borders right now."

"I thought they only worked with disasters. Is there an earthquake or something around here I don't know about?"

"No. We also focus on areas affected by lack of healthcare. In this instance our focus is on providing rural healthcare." The man looks over at the corner booth, where the group he'd come in with are sitting drinking their very alcoholic drinks. "Some of my colleagues are feeling a little burnt out, and needed a break, so we're taking a weekend off so they can ... decompress." The eyeroll can be heard in his voice, and Evan thinks that maybe the man won't think too kindly of the group of people that Evan is going to move to LA with, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

On one hand, doctors make him think of Doug, but on the other hand, there's no way Doug would be helping with rural healthcare.

"My sister is an ER nurse," Evan says. "Her husband is also a doctor, but I won't hold that against you."

The man laughs, the kind of genuine laugh where his shoulders shake and his eyes sparkle, and Evan's hands almost shake as he finishes making his drink.

"Trust me - anyone who goes through medical school has met their fair share of asshole doctors. I'm sorry your brother-in-law is one," he says kindly. "But I'm an ER doctor, if that helps. Same field as your sister."

"Maddie did tell me once that ER docs are less dickish than surgeons," Evan says. "But then she married a surgeon, so I'm not sure her judgement should be entirely trusted."

Evan sets the drinks in front of the other man and watches the easy way he laughs. That was never Doug. Doug was all tight lines, judgmental words, and possessive holds. This man would hate Doug, Evan decides, after knowing this man for all of about ten minutes.

How impulsive, Evan, Doug's voice taunts in the back of his mind, and Evan tells him to fuck off.

"Surgeons are the fucking worst. What kind of surgeon is he?" the man asks.

"Heart surgeon."

"The bottom of the barrel worst," the man agrees. "So, you're the expert. Which one of these should I try first?"

Nobody in Peru's ever called him an expert, and something warm slithers its way up and down Evan's spine. He wants to spend the rest of the night hearing this man tell him exactly all the things Evan is good at - and where did that come from?

Well, it's not new. It's not like he is unaware that he's needy. He's heard that before. The prosecution could call both of his parents to the stand if it was really necessary. So maybe he's just trying to lap up the praises of this random stranger in a bar in Peru.

Pretty pathetic, really.

"It depends," Evan says. "Are you the kind of guy who likes to take your time first... or save the best for last?"

"Hmm. Depends on my mood. There's something to be said for both, don't you think?"

The man sits so still, like he's waiting for an answer, like whatever Evan has to say actually does matter, and Evan doesn't know what to think about that.

He wonders when it got so warm in here, and why the ocean breeze that usually permeates the bar is nowhere to be found.

"W-well. Well." Evan clears his throat, which actually seems very dry all of the sudden - must be the sudden lack of a breeze - and says, "You know...I like to save the best for last, myself. Give myself time to really ... savor everything."

He's pretty sure he sounds like an idiot. He's also pretty sure that the man's eyes get even darker brown, which has to be a sign Evan is having a heat stroke or something. Ha, well, good thing there's at least one sober doctor in here by the way.

"A good strategy, mysterious bartender whose name I still don't know," the man says. "I'm John Carter, by the way."

"Oh." Which is all Evan says for a good five minutes while John Carter opens up the Inca Kola and takes a sip. "Oh! I'm Evan. Evan Buckley. And that's the Inca Kola. It was crated in 1935 in Peru, but it was actually invited by a British immigrant. Chicha morada predates it by centuries. Literally before Columbus and was invented in the Andes mountains. Um. It's made from corn, pineapple peels, cinnamon, cloves, and sugar. Other things are added sometimes, too, depending on the recipe."

He realizes then that he is rambling. God. Why is he rambling?

But John Carter just grins at him. "It's nice to meet you, Evan. Where are you from?"

For a minute, Evan forgets. God, maybe he's coming down with something, because he feels pretty stupid right now. "Pennsylvania," he says. "But I'm actually getting ready to head to LA next week."

"Oh?" John Carter says. "That's too bad. Not a whole lot of time left to ... savor anything, is there?"

"I - No? But I mean, I still have this weekend off. If you needed a tour guide. Or ... anything."

Anything sounds seedy. Why does anything sound so seedy? It must be the cold.

"I'd like that, actually - " John Carter frowns when his cell phone rings, and he answers it. "Oh, are you sure? Yeah. Oh, no. I understand. Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can. Probably a couple of hours."

He hangs up and gives Evan an apologetic look. "Sorry. There's been an emergency back at the clinic site. Both of the doctors there have come down with something and they need reinforcements. And unfortunately, I may be the only sober doctor here."

"Oh, that's - that's terrible." And it is. It's hey, there are earthquakes in Peru, did you know that? kind of terrible.

John Carter puts the money on the bar and offers him a small smile. "Guess I won't be able to stick around and savor anything after all. That's a pity. I was really looking forward to it," he says. "Good luck in LA, Evan."

"Thanks," Evan calls out, but as John Carter leaves, Evan has the distinct impression that he lost something important before he even had the opportunity to have it.

September 18, 2019: Los Angeles, California, Buck's Loft

"I quit."

He meant it, at the time.

He spends two glorious days lying in bed, feeling sorry for himself. And to be clear - he has every right. He has had an entire fire truck fall on his leg. He's survived multiple surgeries. He's vomited up blood. He's had multiple blood clots. He's had a pulmonary embolism.

He got dumped - again.

Buck thinks he's entitled to a little wallowing.

But he can't even fucking wallow in peace. Maddie keeps calling, wanting to know why he isn't leaving the apartment.

"Didn't you just tell me to take it easy?" he says, and maybe he says it a little too angrily, but he doesn't throw anything else in her face - and he could. He could. But none of this is her fault, so he doesn't, no matter how annoyed he is with her for deciding that he is a nuisance.

Bobby keeps calling.

Buck ignores those calls.

This isn't a family, right?

And hey, how right that turned out to be.

On the third day, Buck turns on the tv while he's deleting messages from Maddie off his phone. A news story about a fire and rescue team in Chicago rescuing a both a toddler and a black bear cub from an illegal circus being operated out of some guy's one bedroom apartment, and Buck is hit with an overwhelming sense of grief.

He remembers, briefly, that night, four years ago, when he'd sat in a bar and had a pretty fun conversation with a guy from Chicago. Maybe if he'd fucked off to Chicago instead of LA back then, it would have saved him the kind of grief he is feeling now.

But maybe it's not too late.

After all, Bobby had worked in Minnesota before he came to LA. If you can go from the Midwest to California, why couldn't you go from California to the Midwest?

It is an impulsive decision, but there's nothing left for Buck in California. Not anymore.

He spends rest of the day packing the things he absolutely needs to pack, and on day four, he gets in his Jeep and heads east.

He thinks about calling Maddie, but as she had once done for him - he leaves a note.

September 20, 2019: Grand Junction, Colorado, Super 8 Hotel Room

He's making good time. It's been five days since he told Bobby he quit, and it's been 11 hours since he left LA.

Buck finds a cheap Super 8 motel for 80 dollars a night and orders an equally cheap pizza. There's no telling how long it will take to get his certs up to date in Chicago, after all, and money might be tight for a while.

Though he supposes he could always bartend for a while.

Thinking of bartending makes him think of John Carter again, and he wonders how hard it will be to find a Dr. John Carter in Chicago. He opens his laptop and types in Dr. John Carter, Peru, Chicago, Doctors Without Borders into Google to see what he comes up with, and as it turns out, there aren't a lot of Dr. John Carters who are volunteering for international medical trips.

The man has a very sparse social media profile, and it looks like he hates social media as much as Buck loves it. There's a few shots of the man reading books that look frankly very dull, some medical advocacy, and several links to the professional profile for The Joshua Carter Center. When Buck clicks on that, he discovers it is a center devoted to treating "the underserved in Chicago," and Buck wonders how Joshua Carter is related to that friendly brown-eyed man who had sat across from him, four years ago.

Buck friends him on Instagram and sends him a message, though he doesn't expect he'll get much of a reply, considering how sparse the Instagram is - or, for that matter, if a doctor is going to remember a random bartender from four years ago.

justbuckactually: hey don't know if you remember me, but we met in mancora 4 years ago. i was a bartender then. i'm a firefighter now and on my way to chicago.

He lets that be his introduction, because sending more than three sentences to a guy you only talked to for twenty minutes four years ago makes a guy sound crazy, and Buck's mental health may not be in the best shape right now, but he doesn't want to sound like a stalker.

He checks his messages on his phone.

Four missed calls from Bobby.
Ten missed calls from Maddie.
Two missed calls from Eddie.
One missed call from Hen.

He checks his text messages.

Eddie: Are you pouting so much now that you aren't even answering Maddie's calls? This is ridiculous. Answer the phone.
Chimney: C'mon, man. It's really not cool to ignore Maddie. Stop being such a selfish jackass.
Chimney: I don't know what you did, but she's really upset now. I hope you're happy.
Hen: Is everything okay, Buck? Let me know if you need anything. I know you need time to deal with what's happened. I'm just worried and here if you need anything.

Maddie: Please answer the phone. I'm worried.
Maddie: I'm trying to give you privacy and time to deal, but if you don't answer soon, I'm going to use the key you gave me when you moved in to check on you.
Maddie: Buck, how could you leave without saying goodbye?
Maddie: I'm so worried. We're both too old to think that running is the answer.
Maddie: You didn't even tell me where you were going.

He runs his fingers over Maddie's contact information and thinks about calling her. But he's not even half-way to Chicago yet, and he can't risk talking to her when he's close enough to LA to still be convinced to turn around.

Instead, he sends her a text.

Buck: i love you, maddie and i always will. but i can't be a firefighter in LA and i need a change. you have a new family now - that's what you and chimney are and i suppose you'll have kids before long too - but i don't have anyone else there. so running is the answer, at least for now. i'll call you when i get to where i'm going. pinkie promise.

He pauses and also sends one to Hen, because dammit, she'd been nice, too.

Buck: time to hit the road, mother hen. thanks for everything. i'll miss you. tell the new probies good things about me.

He thinks about texting Eddie, too, but he looks at the text that Eddie sent and scowls. "Answer the phone?" Like Buck is a child who needs to be lectured. And pouting. Did Buck accuse him of pouting when Shannon died and Eddie was upset? No. No, now is not the time to contact Eddie. Maybe he needs more time before he can stop being annoyed at Eddie.

Eleven hours of driving has made him less angry, and he knows he'll call Maddie once he gets to Chicago. But not before then.

He is in the middle of finishing up his cheap pizza when he gets a notification from Instagram.

johntrumancarterx3: Hey! Of course I remember you! I'm still in Chicago, believe it or not. A firefighter, huh? Well, you still owe me a drink. :) Let me know when you get here. Our charge nurse is married to the captain at one of the stations here, and he can probably help you with the certification process.

justbuckactually: that sounds great. i'm in Colorado rn so i'm a few days away still. ;)

Buck reads Carter's message a few more times, and goes to bed with the feeling that Chicago is absolutely going to be the right choice.

September 22, 2019: Lincoln, Nebraska, America's Best Value Inn Hotel Room

Maddie: You were my family first, and I love you. Please never forget that.
Maddie: I'll hold you to that pinkie promise.
Maddie: And a post card.
Buck: deal.

The hotel he lands in Lincoln is $50 dollars a night. He spends two nights in that one, because he's been driving non-stop. He ignores all of the messages on his phone except for Maddie, and the message on his Instagram account.

(He doesn't delete them. Maybe he'll read them later. But not now. Not when he's so close to his getting his life's purpose back.)

johntrumancarterx3: Sam's (our charge nurse) husband apparently knows a guy out in LA. A Sal Deluca. He says he used to work at the same station that you worked at and still keeps tabs. Apparently you're something of a legend, and Patrick would be fool not to hire you as soon as you get your certs taken care of.
justbuckactually: a "legend"? really?

Buck has no idea who Sal Deluca is. He also can't imagine "keeping tabs" on the 118 now that he's left. Maybe Deluca left the station under less agonizing terms.

But "something of a legend?" He's something of a legend in California, but LA won't give him his job back? That doesn't even make any sense. If the LAFD thinks he's supposed to be stuck on light duty for the rest of his life - if they think he should be stuck at a desk- then why is anyone speaking of him in such glowing terms?

He's still frowning at the Instagram message box when Carter answers him.

johntrumancarterx3: Apparently so! Apparently you crushed records in your recertifications. And I quote 'are a damn a good firefighter according to anyone.'

Buck frowns at the screen. That doesn't make any sense. But he is a damn good firefighter.

Bobby told me the department didn't want me back, and Bobby wouldn't lie to me, so someone somewhere is confused. Buck isn't going to push the matter, because if it helps him get a job in Chicago, then he'll let them believe whatever they want.

September 23, 2019: Lincoln, Nebraska, America's Best Value Inn Hotel Room

Buck wakes up to news of a tsunami hitting Santa Monica Pier.

A tsunami.

There's not a small part of him that feels guilty and wants to turn around and head back to LA - to do whatever he can. But then he remembers that he can't do anything to help anyone in LA. All he can do is sit in his apartment and be useless.

Maddie: I know I told you I'd support you, but I hope you are headed east and far away from the water.
Buck: i'm fine, Maddie. nowhere near the ocean. either one. ;) pinkie promise. stay safe.
Maddie: Thank god.

Eddie: You sure picked a selfish fucking time to leave. I needed someone to watch Christopher today so we could handle tsunami clean-up. And where were you? Nobody knows, because Maddie won't tell us, but apparently you've gone on a trip to find yourself. What a selfish time to make this all about you.

What the hell has become Eddie's problem, anyway? Sure, Christopher is a great kid, but Christopher is not Buck's responsibility. Buck introduced Eddie to Carla for a reason.

He scowls at Eddie's message for a moment before he types a response that he may regret later.

Buck: it is about me! it is about my crushed leg. my blood clots. my recertifications! my being stuck at the desk. my life! quit bothering my sister.

Hen: I hope you're okay, wherever you are, and far away from the tsunami.
Buck: nowhere near an ocean. stay safe, hen.

Chimney: Please call your sister. Please call Bobby.

There are 15 missed calls from Bobby. Bobby, who didn't seem to disagree with the LAPD at all in the idea that Buck should be benched. Bobby who didn't say anything when Buck had quit. Bobby who didn't -

Buck deletes Bobby's messages without reading them. He can't do that now. Maybe he'll do that once he gets to Chicago.

September 26, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, Louie's Pub

Four years has been good to John Carter, Buck thinks as he meets him in a bar that is almost as cheesy as the one than the one they last spent time in. The crow's feet are a bit more pronounced around Carter's eyes, and the beard is a bit more neatly trimmed.

The suit is also tailored in a way that hugs Carter's lean form much better than the baggy attire he'd worn in Peru ever had. And - are those suspenders? It's such a weird combination, of a man that is clearly loaded but who is also clearly a nerd.

"The California sun has certainly been good to you," Carter says, and warmth blossoms in Buck's chest in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. "Deluca indicated that you go by Buck now. Is that right?"

"What? Oh. Y-yeah. There were too many Evans in my class," he explains. "Shortened my last name, and it felt right."

"Well, hardly anyone calls me anything other than 'Carter,' so I definitely get it," Carter says. "Did you get settled in?"

"Got a decent hotel, yeah. I already have a couple of apartments to look at, though. Apartments in Chicago are not nearly as ridiculous as the ones in LA, that's for sure."

Carter laughs softly and takes a drink of his club soda. There's a couple doing karaoke three feet away from where Buck sits across from Carter, and they are singing for all the world that "shade never made anyone less gay" in a key that is far too terrible to merely be called "off."

"That's nice," he says, absently. "I thought Chicago was more conservative than that."

Carter's face makes an expression that he doesn't quite understand. For reasons that Buck also doesn't understand, he thinks of Abby and the way it feels when you're at the very top of the truck's ladder in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"I wouldn't say Chicago is conservative," Carter says finally. "Maybe compared to LA, though. Of course, this is a Taylor Swift song, not sure it's much of a political message anyway."

Carter makes the kind of face that lets Buck know that Carter is not a fan of Taylor Swift, but has practiced not saying so, and Buck wonders if Doctor Carter is surrounded by enough gen z nurses and med students who have lectured him the fact that Taylor Swift is pretty great, actually.

Or maybe he has kids. Buck didn't notice any on the man's Instagram, but maybe he just is one of the few good parents that actually cares about their kids' privacy. For reasons that Buck doesn't quite understand, the thought of Carter having kids makes his chest feel tight. Wondering who the other parent of Carter's kids might be makes knots spontaneously form in Buck's stomach.

Then he realizes that Carter is looking at him expectantly, so he covers up his awkward train of thought with a fun fact.

"Oh, no. She made a big political message during the election. A very 'please don't vote for Donald Trump' message," Buck says, and Carter tilts his head. Maybe he's trying to figure out why I keep making a big deal about liberal politics. Oh, god. Does he think I'm conservative? "I posted it on Instagram! It and the pride flag I post every year are the only political things I really post. But I'm not a conservative. Really."

"Pride flag, huh?"

"Yeah! I'm an ally."

"An ally?"

"Yeah! Absolutely." It feels like the right thing to say, but as the Taylor Swift song stops being sung off-key three feet away, Carter's face shifts again, and Buck feels the same sense of loss that he couldn't place in Peru.

"Well," Carter says slowly. "So have you been keeping track of the news since you left? A tsunami in Santa Monica? That's unexpected."

It's such a sudden change of topic and body language that Buck thinks this must be what it feels like to be pulled under an incoming tsunami, but he doesn't know why.

It isn't as though Carter is being unkind or unpleasant or cruel. He's still ... friendly. Just ... differently.

But why?

September 30, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, County General's Ambulance Bay

It's the first time that Buck's seen Carter in scrubs, and for a moment, he wishes he was sick. Why didn't anyone who looked that good in scrubs greet him when he woke up from any of the surgeries he'd had in the past year?

It's just that his ass looks really good in those scrubs. Maybe he should wear scrubs 24 hours a day.

"I wasn't sure what type of postcard she would like," Carter says as he hands the gift bag to Buck. "So I bought you one of every kind they had."

"See, I'd be flattered, if I didn't know that you were both independently loaded and a doctor," Buck says. "But thank you. I still don't know why your hospital gift shop sells postcards."

"Some people want souvenirs of their time here, and they want cheap ones," Carter answers. "County's patients especially need something affordable."

"That makes sense." Buck looks in the bag and there has to be at least 25 different postcards in there, most of them with pictures of trains and the Chicago skyline. But there's one that he's pretty sure is supposed to represent the Chicago Fire, which is a very wild thing to have in a hospital.

He wants to send that to Bobby. He wants to send it to Eddie. He forgets, momentarily, that he's angry at both of them.

Maybe he'll send it to Hen.

"In June, they sell special ones with the Pride flag," Carter says, lightly. "You know, you could buy one and show it off on Instagram."

"I might," Buck says. "Maybe I'll send one to my friends Hen and Karen. They're lesbians."

"It's good that you're an ally then," Carter says lightly, but it still makes something in Buck's chest feel tight. He doesn't have time to examine it before Carter asks if he's eaten dinner yet.

"No," he says. "I've been running around looking at apartments and scheduling meetings with the fire chief to talk about certification."

"Sounds like a busy day," Carter says. "Want to grab a bite to eat? My treat, since you're still technically unemployed. And I am 'loaded and a doctor.'"

He rolls his eyes at the latter, and Buck's stomach doesn't know the difference between that action and being on a roller coaster. Buck's stomach is either really stupid or really hungry.

"I am starving," he says honestly. "And I will happily let you be my sugar daddy - you know, without the actual ... uh sugar part."

Oh, god, he sounds like a moron. Buck will blame the fact that he hasn't eaten since lunch. Hunger can make a man say crazy things. But it seems like every time he says anything around Carter these days, he sounds so stupid and Carter sounds so much cooler and smarter.

Carter runs his hands over his beard. "No, that would go a bit beyond being an ally," he says dryly. "Pizza okay?"

"Pizza is great," Buck says enthusiastically.

October 13, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, Freehand Chicago Hotel Room

Buck waits a couple of weeks to call Maddie, because he figures that it has to be hectic at both the dispatch center and at ... Chimney's place of employment.

"Buck," she says warmly. "I'm so glad you called. Are you settled?"

"Almost," he says. "I did get an apartment. Signed a lease and everything. I move in next week. It's so much easier to get an apartment in Chicago than it is in LA."

"You moved to Chicago?" she says in surprise. "Aren't you going to miss the ocean?"

"I don't know. Based on what I've been seeing on the news, I think I want to stay the hell away from the ocean for a while," Buck answers.

Maddie laughs, and he pretends that it is as carefree as her laugh used to be. He pretends that he doesn't think that it might be his fault that it isn't anymore. I had to go, just like you did, he wants to say. Please understand that.

"So how is the job hunt going?" Maddie asks, and she asks it gently, like she is afraid that he is made of glass and might break if the answer is not what he wants it to be.

"It's actually pretty good! I have an offer of employment and I start on Monday," he says. "I had to pass the written and practical exams, but I passed written last week and practical yesterday."

"Gosh, they move quick in Chicago," Maddie says.

They don't make you sit on your ass at the desk when you can help people, Buck thinks, bitterly. But she doesn't deserve that, so he says instead, "Well. I guess I had a head start, because I contacted a guy I knew in Peru who works here as a doctor, and his charge nurse is married to a guy who knows someone who used to work at the 118. Someone I've never heard of, but still put in a good word for me. Which I guess is only because he no longer works there, but I'll take it."

He hears Maddie sigh. "Buck, that's not true - "

"Yeah. Hen probably would have said good things," he agrees.

"They are all miss and worry about you," Maddie insists. "Especially Bobby."

Buck ignores that. He isn't ready to deal with that right now.

October 14, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, Freehand Chicago Hotel Room

Buck: do you know who sal deluca is?
Hen: A real dick. Used to work for the 118. Got "fired" by Bobby but really transferred to a different station.
Buck: That's hilarious.
Hen: Why? What's going on?
Buck: he's the reason i have a job.
Hen: WHAT? Is he your captain? I thought you couldn't work for the LAFD? I thought you left California? What is going on?
Hen: EVAN BUCKLEY. If you don't tell me what's going on, at least promise me you'll send me video when you get tired of his ass and punch him. He deserves it, and I deserve that footage.
Buck: idk. he got me my job. i think that maybe i owe him thanks, undying loyalty, sexual favors, etc.
Hen: Buck. Sal Deluca is not the man you want to have a queer awakening with.
Buck: i'm straight, hen. just an ally. but hey, i know this great guy, carter? who says that his hospital has pride flag postcards every june. i'll definitely send you and karen some. ;)
Hen: Right. Well, I'm always here if you want to talk.

November 1, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, Station 80

Buck's been in Chicago for a little over a month now, and a firefighter for a little less than that. His team is good - not quite the family that the 118 had been (at least, that Buck had thought it had been), but it was still good. They take turns telling each other horror stories, and instead of being horrified that he came back to work after having his leg crushed and surviving a pulmonary embolism, most of his team seems impressed.

"Gotta work it off," Cap Pat says eating take-out after a call one night. "Sitting around all day is not good for those blood clots, anyway."

"Yeah. Had an uncle who died of clots because he refused to get off his ass and do anything but watch tv. Wouldn't even help Aunt Rita wash dishes, and you know what? She didn't shed any tears when he kicked the bucket, that's for sure," Carl agrees. Despite being a name that Buck only associates with old men, Carl is actually younger than Buck by two years, and is apparently named after his great-uncle. Carl is also Italian and makes fun of Bobby's lasagna for having too much cheese, despite having never seen or tasted it.

It feels both disloyal and gratifying to let Carl do so. But Carl is his new partner, and well... it feels nice to have conversations with a partner that don't revolve around what Buck can do for him.

That feels disloyal, too - not to Eddie, who hasn't texted him since September, but to Christopher, who doesn't deserve to be a casualty in the fall-out of it all, but probably will be anyway.

"So what you're saying, Carl, is that everyone in your family is a bit of an ass?" Sofia demands. Sofia is a paramedic and every time she saves someone, Buck wishes he could turn around an introduce her to Hen. He thinks they would get along really well.

"It's in my DNA," Carl retorts. "What about you, Buckley?"

"It's in my DNA to be an asshole, too," he says sweetly. "You should see my parents."

"Mommy or Daddy issues?" Sofia asks.

"Do I have to choose?" Buck retorts, and she laughs.

But he thinks of Bobby, and he thinks of the fact that he hasn't cooked a single meal since he arrived in Chicago, and he knows that there is a single answer to that question.

November 14, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, Firetruck & County General

"Do you suppose these flu calls are actually getting worse, or is it just my lack of patience?" Carl asks Buck on the way to County General.

"I don't know. This is my first winter in Chicago," Buck reminds him. "But we've never had anything this rough before in LA. I thought maybe it was just the shitty weather out here."

"No, it's unusual," Sofia agrees. "And if it's this bad in November, I hate to see how shitty it's going to be come January or February - it's always worse then."

They reach County General, and the nursing staff is waiting for them. It used to be Sam who greeted them always, but with the uptick in patients that the ED is receiving these days, it's not always possible. Buck doesn't recognize these nurses, but he's only been here about a month and a half.

Sofia does, though. "Hi, Chuny!"

"Sofia! Carl!" Chuny pauses to look at Buck for a minute. "Oh, I know you. You're Buck. You're the one who went on a date with Dr. Carter and then told him you were straight."

What? "No. That's not what happened."

Chuny gives him a look that very much says she knows better - which is crazy, because Buck was there - before thanking them and taking one of the patients, along with one of the other nurses. The other two nurses take the patient from Carl and Cap Pat.

"Damn, Buckley, that's cold-blooded," Carl says, patting him on the back as they get back into the truck.

"That - that never happened," Buck protests. "I mean, yeah, we went out to dinner, but it wasn't a date."

"Don't you two go out to dinner like all the time?" Carl asks.

"Well. Yes. But platonically. I eat dinner with guys all the time."

"You know nobody cares, right?" Sofia says. "This might not be super liberal oh my god California, but it's not Ohio, either."

"Oh, hell no," Cap Pat says from the front seat. "A lot is fucked up about Chicago, but it will never be that bad."

"I'm glad nobody cares, but I'm straight," Buck insists. "I'm an ally. That's all. The kind that puts pride flags on Instagram, but that's what an ally does, right?"

Sofia and Carl look at each other and then at him, and maybe they would have answered him, but another call comes in, this time with a two and three year old in respiratory distress from a virus, and the conversation gets dropped.

November 28, 2019: Chicago, Illinois, Station 80

Unknown number: Happy Thanksgiving, my Buck! miss you. Hope you visit soon. thanks for the postcard. The Chicago fire was very funny.
Buck: miss you too, buddy. glad you didn't drown in the tsunami or anything crazy. ;) i see you got a new phone? that's awesome. you can text me anytime.
Christopher: I will! I have so many new fun facts? Hope you can come visit us soon.
Buck: it'll probably be a while. send me a picture of your thanksgiving feast, okay? i'll be working a 48 hour shift and can't have turkey until the 30th.

Buck sighs at the phone at least five times.

"Tell me to do the right thing," he says to Carl. "Even though the other person has been an asshole."

"Hell no. Tell the other person to get fucked," Carl says. "Is this one of the people in the LAFD? The reason you had to move from fucking beach Utopia to the place where it snows all the time? Definitely tell them to get fucked."

"You love Chicago," Buck answers in confusion, but that's nothing new, because lately, he feels confused all the damn time.

"Who the fuck loves Chicago? It still snows all the time," Carl retorts. "Anyway, I gotta go care about restocks."

"Advice is what you ask for when you already know the answer, Buckley," Sofia tells them. "It's also your turn to pick take-out this time."

"Chinese," he says absently, and ignores the twinge in his stomach that says he could maybe make something from scratch.

Buck: thanks for letting christopher text me.
Eddie: He misses you.

November 30, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Carter's Dining Room

People really shouldn't fry turkeys, and whatever this fucking flu is should go away.

By the time that his day off comes, part of Buck really wants to crawl in his bed and not wake up until it's time to go back to work. But he's already made plans, and it would be rude to not see them through, wouldn't it?

Besides, the conversation that he'd had with Chuny a few weeks ago is one that he still wants to talk over with Carter, and he hasn't had the time to do so. What better way to have it than over turkey?

"It's catered," Carter says, apologetically when Buck shows up at his massive penthouse.

"We've both worked overtime the week," Buck says with a shrug. "Time for a carb and turkey coma, right? As long as it tastes good, right? Isn't anyone else coming?"

He knows that Carter is well-liked. He's well-liked at the fire station. He's well-liked by the nurses and med students who greet them in the ambulance bay. He's sure there are people who hate Carter, but Buck doesn't talk to those people. The point is, Carter could be spending his day with almost anyone, and instead, he's choosing to spend his time with Buck.

Carter smiles softly at him. "Thanksgiving celebrations have never been big deals for my family," he says. "I'll probably go see Peter tomorrow afternoon for some leftover pie, but usually, I order catering - or Chinese. Usually end up spending the day being lazy on the couch and watching a movie while I eat, after a full week of crazy shifts."

"Exploding turkeys and MVAs and respiratory distress and knife wounds, oh my," Buck says agreeably.

The crinkles around Carter's eyes are more pronounced in the soft light of dining room, and there's a thought that Buck can't quite reach. He knows it's important, but it's like he's standing on the top of the truck's ladder and his arms won't stretch long enough to reach the hand that he is sure is stretched out to reach his.

"So, what movie are we watching?" Buck asks, pushing the thought aside.

"Oh, we don't have to," Carter says, gesturing to a very formal, very sad looking dining table.

"That doesn't look comfy," Buck teases, and Carter's eyebrows both raise, but he smiles eventually.

"Fair enough. You can pick the movie, if you want. I don't much care, as long as it doesn't require brain power and isn't a medical drama."

"Mmm. How do you feel about firefighter dramas?"

November 30, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Carter's Living Room Couch

And that is how they end up watching Backdraft.

"This doesn't bother you?" Carter asks, from his spot on the couch. "Watching work-related movies on your day off?"

Buck wonders why he is sitting so far away. Is it because Chuny was right and Buck really did make him feel uncomfortable on something that he had never registered as a date? Did I break your heart and now you're sitting so far apart that an entire body could lay between us?

Maybe not an entire body - maybe a toddler's body.

"No way," Buck says. "I love watching this shit and critiquing how bad it is. I mean, it tries so hard, too, but it's awful."

"Yeah, medical dramas are the same way," Carter says with his soft chuckle, the one that makes Buck's chest feel light and makes it hard to keep chewing his turkey. "That's why I hate them."

"No Grey's Anatomy for you?"

"Oh, God no. General surgeons doing brain surgery? Surgeons running the ED? The complete lack of nurses doing actual nursing? Oh, no," Carter shakes his head, and Buck can see him pull back the rant that is brewing. He can see the flushed cheeks and the way Carter lets out a shaky breath, before taking a sip of his water and swallowing. Buck watches his Adam's apple, and it is suddenly the most fascinating thing Buck's ever seen - far more fascinating than even Kurt Russell, a man who is pretty fascinating all in his own right.

"Sorry, I got a little carried away. Are you okay, Buck?" Carter asks.

"Uh. Yes. I was just thinking about how hot Kurt Russell is in this film," Buck says.

Carter tilts his head and places his plate on the little glass coffee table in front of the couch. "Hot?" he repeats. "Is that the ally in you speaking?" Carter's tone is light, but he also sounds confused.

"Sure. I mean, straight men can notice when other men are hot. That's normal. Right?"

"It ... can be," Carter agrees.

"And look. Chuny mentioned that maybe I gave you the wrong impression about dinner the first night I was here. Did you think that was a date? Because if so, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break your heart or - "

"Is that why you're here?" Carter asks quietly. "To talk about misunderstanding from two months ago?"

"No! I mean. Yes. I mean, a l-little?" Buck lets out a breath and also sets his plate down. "I like spending time with you. You're funny and confident and you don't mind when I go on a research spiral about things that I know you wouldn't otherwise care about and you make time out of your otherwise very busy day just to do things that matter to me, like buy all of the postcards in the giftshop for my sister just because I mentioned it over hot dogs once. And I m-miss you when we don't spend time together and I hate that you are so far away on this couch, and - "

Buck takes a deep breath. "I did want to spend Thanksgiving with you," he says finally. "I've looked forward to it all week."

Carter swallows a few times, and Buck has never been so entranced by an Adam's apple his whole life. But then he forgets about the Adam's apple entirely when Carter stands up and closes the gap between them on the couch, letting his knee rest against Buck's.

Something in Buck completely short-circuits. He can't concentrate on Kurt Russell. He can't concentrate on the other, less attractive guy who argues with Kurt Russell through the whole film. He can't even concentrate on the bad firefighting techniques. And the food? It might as well be made of sawdust, because he can't taste any of it.

All he can concentrate on is Carter's knee, on his.

November 30, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Carter's Bathroom

He excuses himself with a pathetic excuse that he has to use the bathroom.

He does not, in fact have to use the bathroom.

He does, in fact, have to call Hen.

"Hey, Buck. Happy belated Thanksgiving. Is everything - "

"Do you think Kurt Russell is hot?"

"What?"

"Do you think Kurt Russell is hot?"

"Well. No. I'm a lesbian, Buck. So I do not think Kurt Russell is hot. Did you really just call me up to ask - "

"So, lesbians don't find Kurt Russell hot because they aren't attracted to men. So straight men shouldn't find Kurt Russell hot, because they also aren't attracted to men, right?"

There is the longest pause of his life on the phone, and he worries that Carter is going to send in a search and rescue mission. Maybe he'll call 911. Maybe that's ridiculous. Do doctors call 911? Probably not, but currently no part of Buck's brain is working.

"Buck," Hen says at last, and she is using her paramedic voice, the one she uses when a person is particularly panicked. So that should definitely let him know how bad of shape he is in, Buck supposes. "It's okay if you find Kurt Russell hot."

"I - I know. But i-it's just." Buck takes a deep breath. It has to be his one hundredth deep breath of the night. "Kurt Russell is hot. Sometimes men are hot. I never thought that meant anything. I know straight women can find other women hot, so why can't I find other men hot? And if I think that a hot guy has a nice ass, that's normal too, right?"

"Oh, Buck. Never mind Sal Deluca. I should have introduced you to Tommy when you were here."

"Who is Tommy? What does Sal Deluca have to do with Kurt Russell?"

"I hope nothing at all," Hen says. "Buck... it is normal. But it's not exactly heterosexual behavior."

"Kurt Russell is hot." Buck lets out his one hundred and first deep breath. "He's really nice. And funny. And he never treats me like I'm a dumb kid, even though the age difference would definitely make Maddie cry. And he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with me, you know? Even though he's worked so hard this week. And I look at his Adam's apple and it's like staring at the best pair of tits - sorry, boobs - sorry, that I've ever seen. And his knee touched mine and I forgot how to think. I think maybe my brain still isn't online, actually."

"Yeah, it sounds like it," Hen says, sympathetically. "But the good news is that is normal, too."

"But it's not ...It's not ally behavior," Buck guesses.

Hen chuckles. "Well, no, not exactly. A different reason to put that pride flag on your Instagram, maybe."

Buck chews on his lip for a minute. "So what am I supposed to do now?"

"Evan Buckley needs my advice on how to pursue someone?" Hen says. "Since when?"

That's a good point, actually.

And while Buck's brain maybe is still offline, his confidence suddenly returns to him.

November 30, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Carter's Living Room Couch

"Hey!" Buck says as he sits down on the couch. He makes sure that their knees are touching, and oh, his brain threatens to take flight again, but he wills it to come back, because they need to talk for at least a couple of minutes before action takes over.

"Hey," Carter says, with the same friendly smile that has apparently upended almost thirty years of assumed heterosexuality. "Are you feeling okay? You were in there a while. Please tell me you aren't coming down with the flu, too."

"No, I'm not," Buck answers. "I was thinking you should kiss me actually."

Carter looks at him, and Buck wonders how long he has to wait between the kiss and licking that Adam's apple. Because he does want to, so very much, and oh, god that isn't ally behavior, now is it?

"You sure about that?" Carter asks.

In reply, Buck taps Carter's knee with his own. "I'd kiss you, but I've never kissed a guy before."

"It's not that different than kissing a girl," Carter says lightly.

"In that case..." Buck takes note that Carter's plate is still on the glass table and his lap is empty. He takes advantage of that by scooting over, grasping the back of the couch for leverage, and straddling Carter's lap. With their groins pressed against one another, Buck can feel the familiar heat starting to pool in all the right regions, and oh my god I am not an ally, he thinks as he leans in and presses his lips to Carter's.

It's always been soft lips against his, and he's never felt the scruff of a beard against his face. For a moment it feels strange, and unfamiliar, but only for a moment.

And then, he simply wants more. His hands reach up to touch the sides of Carter's face, to feel the scruff that feels so right as it grazes across his lips.

It doesn't change how good the soft, silky bras have felt sliding off of equally smooth skin over the years in Buck's memory. It simply adds ... another pleasant memory - and makes Buck want to add more to his memories.

He pushes more greedily into the kiss - with his mouth, with his hands, with his groin. And oh, the heat pooling there is starting to turn into a familiar hardness, too.

And the age difference that lies between Buck and Carter isn't stopping Carter from having the same issue. Nor is it stopping Carter from letting out a little moan when Buck rocks back gently and releases Carter's lips - reluctantly.

Buck smirks at him. "Well, a moan already. I guess it really isn't that different from kissing a girl."

Carter lets out a breath that is almost a laugh. Buck likes it. He thinks it would like to hear a million more of them. Maybe without clothes. Maybe with - right now, the specifics are very hazy, and Buck is willing to consider all of them.

"I think you are exactly as wild as I thought you might be when I was trying to pick you up four years ago in that bar in Peru," Carter says.

"You were?" Buck says. "You know - I think maybe I wanted you to, but I didn't know it yet. I felt so ... strange, like I did tonight, except, I was too dumb to figure it out then."

"Not dumb," Carter corrects gently. "Just not ready. You know I had to sword fight a man and go to the Congo before I figured out I was bi. Some people figure it out late in life. That's okay."

"Might need a little more help figuring it out," Buck says, and he leans in, with his best leer. Does his best leer work on men as well as it works on women? Does it work on Carter as well as it works on women? "Unless... you want to finish your meal."

"Maybe I have a different meal in mind," Carter says, and Buck's pulse takes him back to the day that he was running into the first actual house on fire. "As long as you don't mind giving up Kurt Russell."

"Kurt Russell is hot," Buck admits. "But ... so are you."

"What a weird thing for an ally to say," Carter teases him, and Buck kisses him again, in retaliation.

Somewhere between that kiss and the next one, they move from the couch to the bedroom.

December 1, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Station 80

"You look happy, Buckley," Carl says. "Ridiculously so."

"I am happy. I had a great couple of days off," Buck says. "How was your belated holiday?"

"Unlike half the fucking morons in this city, I didn't blow my face off trying to deep fry a turkey, so I'm doing fine," Carl says. "But on the other hand, I did burn my turkey. So there is that. Ended up ordering take-out. Thank god for pizza."

"We had catering," Buck says. "But I think... I think I'm going to try to maybe cook for Christmas. If I can squeeze in some cooking lessons over the phone between now and then. Maybe you can come over."

Sofia looks over at them. "Yeah? You can cook?"

Buck shrugs. "A little bit. I could be better. Not sure how the turkey will turn out. But we'll get there eventually. Might just take a while before we figure it out." He grins as he rolls he hose up and says, "Some of the best things take a while to figure out, though, you know?"

Sofia laughs. "You going to invite me for this potential food poisoning, too?"

"Sure," he says. "My... boyfriend's dining room has room for all of you."

Sofia and Carl look at each other and smirk.

"So it was that kind of weekend," Carl says. "Damn, no wonder you're in such a good mood."

"Is this Carter?" Sofia asks. "Because if so, damn, I'm jealous. That beard..."

Buck just grins.

"So much for being an ally," Carl says. "But congrats for being out. Can you cook macarons? Maybe rainbow ones? Had some of those once and they were delicious. You can make some of those to celebrate your coming out of the closet and getting laid, or whatever."

"You're going to get us into a sensitivity training seminar, asshole," Sofia says.

"Macarons are too complex for me, probably," Buck says. "How do you feel about rainbow cupcakes?"

"I love cupcakes," Carl says. "Especially chocolate ones."

"Vanilla," Sofia argues.

"I can make both," Buck says. "I've recently discovered that I am a big fan of a variety of cupcakes, actually."

"Do you think we can have a variety of macaroons for Christmas?" Carl asks, and Buck thinks that this isn't LA, but it might be okay.

His career might be okay. His life might be okay.

"Depends on if I can squeeze those cooking lessons in," Buck says.

December 3, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Carter's Bedroom

"Hey, so, question. I did something last shift that was maybe a little impulsive."

They are lying in Carter's ridiculously large bed that is approximately the same size as Buck's entire old loft, and Buck is curled up on his side, with his head resting on Carter's chest. As it turns out, Buck likes being the little spoon, and he does like having another man's fingers thread through his hair.

It's a lot of revelations to have in a short time, but ... it seems to be the season for that.

"I've been accused of being impulsive myself," Carter murmurs, and his voice vibrates at the top of Buck's head; Buck doesn't want to move. Not now, and possibly not ever.

"I maybe invited a couple of friends over for whenever we have time to celebrate Christmas. And possibly implied you were my boyfriend." He tilts his head up to look at Carter's face, only to find a look of amusement and fondness - the same that has been almost constantly on the man's face since Buck met him in Peru four years ago. "I know that presumes a lot, but - "

"Well," Carter says. "It does probably mean we'll have to save what we did during dessert for when our guests leave."

"Yeah, I don't think Carl or Sofia would appreciate it," Buck agrees. "You're okay with it? ..I know it was a bit impulsive and I should have ran it by you first, but I just got caught up on being well... happy."

"Buck, the Joshua Carter Center is named after my dead son, whose mother I only knew for 6 weeks before she told me she was pregnant, and whom I met after I impulsively flew to Africa to find the presumably dead body of my girlfriend's ex - who was also part of my bisexual awakening - and with whom I had a sword fight with two years prior," Carter says. "So... you see... I can't throw stones about anyone being impulsive. And that's leaving out the time I was arrested, the time I almost got kicked out of my surgical program, the time I decided to quit surgery, or the epic affair I had with a very hot surgical attending as an intern."

"Wow," Buck says. "You and Buck 1.0 would have gotten along so well."

"I don't know what that means," Carter says. "But I know that I would like to find out - and I'm pretty sure it will take us well past Christmas. I'll also have to squeeze in the time I ran all over the city with a med student to try to find an absent father, fucked off to Oklahoma to help a woman I was desperate to date even though she was dating the guy I thought I hated - but surprise! actually was vaguely in love with, the time the same friend and I got almost arrested breaking into his apartment to replace the fish tank she broke, the time I ran to help a contaminated patient during a biohazard against the orders of firefighters..."

The man was intensely kind of nuts, Buck thinks. It's not something you would immediately suspect upon meeting him in a bar in Peru or in an ambulance bay in Chicago. It makes him hotter, actually.

"Not sure that's something you should tell a firefighter," Buck says solemnly. He leaves out the fact that he used to steal a firetruck to meet people for sex. That seems like something you tell someone ... after Christmas. Maybe.

"Maybe I'm reformed in my impulsivity," Carter says. "Maybe not. Maybe we'll find out."

I want to. "How do you feel about rainbow macarons?" Buck asks.

"I love macarons. Do you want me to order them?"

"Actually... I was thinking I might cook... if I can squeeze in some cooking lessons."

December 3, 2019: Chicago, Illinois: Carter's Living Room Couch

Buck: don't know which one I should send to you so I will send to both
Buck: [RAINBOW FLAG IMAGE] and [BISEXUAL FLAG IMAGE]

Hen: You should use whichever one you like. :) [LESBIAN FLAG IMAGE] and [RAINBOW FLAG IMAGE]
Hen: I'm happy you found your full self, Buckaroo, even if you had to travel 2000 miles away to do it.

Karen: For the record, Goldie Hawn is hotter than Kurt Russell. The next time you have time off, you should fly out here and we'll take you to all the fun queer places you missed before you realized who you were.

May: There weren't any attractive men in LA? You had to go to Chicago to discover that you were bisexual?
May: Men here have to be hotter, right? We have the sun. What does Chicago have? Bad pizza.

Maddie: I love you. And I'm proud of you. What's his name?
Buck: don't freak out. he's a doctor.
Maddie: :(
Buck: he's an emergency medicine doctor, though! also he's hot. two things doug never was. ;)
Maddie: Okay, fair.

Chimney: Congrats, Buck. But Hen says I should tell you that Sal Deluca is an asshole. He is! Don't be seduced to the darkside, buddy. No matter how hot you might think he is. Or whatever.
Buck: pretty sure sal deluca is still in la
Chimney: Then I'm so fucking confused.
Buck: not as confused as I was, probably.

Eddie: Christopher says to tell you congratulations.

Christopher: I still miss you. Come visit us soon. Bring your boyfriend?
Buck: who said i have one?
Christopher: If you don't you should get one!

Athena: We have both of those flags in LA, young man.

Bobby: Proud of you, Buck. Always.
Buck: thanks. it's not so bad out here. starting to settle in.
Bobby: It looks that way. We miss you. I miss you. I regret the way we left things, and there's a lot I probably need to tell you.
Buck: it's okay, bobby. i needed a fresh start. if i hadn't left, who knows if i ever would have figured out who i really was? maybe never. and that would have been terrible. there is something i need to ask you though.
Bobby: Anything, Buck.
Buck: you think you'll have some time for some cooking lessons over the phone between now and christmas?
Bobby: I'll make time.

"Hey, you okay?" Carter asks, which is a fair question to ask someone who is wiping his eyes while sending texts.

Buck turns his phone off and leans on his boyfriend's shoulder. "I'm going to be," he says.

December 28, 2019, Chicago, Illinois, Buck's Instagram.

There's two permanent pride flags on Buck's Instagram these days, and it doesn't even have to wait until June. But on Christmas - or at least the very belated day that they celebrate it - a new Pride "flag" in the form of Carl's beloved macarons is posted.

And a batch of rainbow cupcakes for Sofia, some chocolate and some vanilla.

And a separate batch of pink, blue, and purple iced cookies.

notachickenbutahen: Gearing up for Pride Month already?
justbuckactually: well i have a lot of time to make up for.
johntrumancarterx3: They all taste delicious.
justbuckactually: taste even better off of your beard.
johntrumancarterx3: Well, that's something we can discuss when our guests leave.

And they do. Extensively.