Chapter Text
Harry Potter breathed out a long sigh and painfully shifted back to his base form. He needed a minute, just a minute to stand at the sink in his kitchen with his hands on the counter to breathe. Then he’d find the Essence of Murtlap and new bandages. He just needed to breathe for a minute. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten through the day, but he’d held it together, and no one needed to know. Everything was fine.
Harry’s metamorphmagus abilities were initially pretty limited, nothing like Teddy’s. He seemed to have only gotten a little of the innate ability from his slight relation to the Black family. He’d really only realized he even had the ability when he, Hermione, and Ron had been on the run during the war and Hermione had offered to try to cut his and Ron’s hair for them. With a laugh, Harry had just shown her what he always did and made his hair the length he wanted it. He’d never had a haircut in his life besides the awful ones his aunt had subjected him to as a child, which he’d promptly fixed with his magic even before he’d known it was magic.
Hermione and Ron both had stared at him in shock before Ron just shook his head and chuckled explaining that, no, that was absolutely not a normal ability for a wizard to have. He’d played around with the ability since then, but kept it secret from everyone except his best friends in case he ever needed to go on the run again. Yeah, he was paranoid, but hey, he’d been hunted by a psychopath for basically his entire life, so you couldn’t really blame him.
Unfortunately, now his abilities were getting more use than he’d ever intended, and an unexpected upside to that was that they were growing and developing some with use. Just another minute to block out the world is all he needed before he could deal with it all. Harry felt the cool countertop under his hands, grounding himself, and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening just behind his eyes.
A sharp intake of breath knocked Harry from his almost meditative state and had him spinning around, his wand raised, and ready to fight for his life. “Oh, Harry…what happened?” Hermione put a hand to her mouth now that she could see his black eye and split lip too.
“The hell…you looked fine an hour ago at work!” Ron stepped around Hermione and Harry winced while lowering his wand. “Did this happen on your way home? Did you get mugged or something?”
Harry had forgotten they were coming over for dinner. Actually…he’d cancelled that dinner. Why were they at his home? They were both keyed into his wards, so they could clearly enter his flat just off Diagon Alley whenever they wanted, but they weren’t supposed to be there that evening.
“Harry…” Hermione trailed off, finally catching the other thing he’d been hiding with his abilities. “Why…how long…?”
He felt liked a cornered animal. He wanted to lash out or run or curl up in a ball in a cupboard somewhere. Ron’s eyes were taking on that understanding look he always got when he’d figured out some case they came across as aurors and it was so much worse than they’d imagined.
“It’s the hallows, isn’t it?” Ron concluded correctly. They both knew him too well, he didn’t keep secrets from his best friends…well, up until recently anyway. “But not the injuries…some of those look old. Why are you using your abilities to cover them? Why not see a healer?”
“I was twenty-seven…” Harry trailed off, knowing they would remember what he was referring to. It was the main reason why he was no longer the media darling he’d been after the war. People looked at him in suspicion now, not hero worship. It was fear not admiration in everyone’s eyes.
He’d been very visibly hit with a dark curse on the job. Thankfully, it wasn’t a killing curse, but it should have killed him all the same. What no one knew was that he had actually died. He’d caught a glimpse of the empty King’s Cross Station and everything before he was gasping air back into his lungs. He hadn’t aged a day since that death. He really should be almost mid-thirties by now, and his looks wouldn’t be much different, but he’d intentionally added some lines around his eyes and some stray silver in his hair since Ron had started developing those things, and Harry figured he should use his best friend as a template for what he should be looking like at his age.
Hermione stepped forward again to study his face. “So…are you saying…are you immortal?”
Harry just shrugged. He had no bloody clue, but he was pretty sure he should have died another time or two after that curse at 27 since he hadn’t been even slightly concerned for his own life in a long time now. He hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of King’s Cross those times though. So, maybe…probably.
He had a strong suspicion that he could actually die when he really wanted to. It was the Tale of the Three Brothers and how each had met his end that led to this suspicion. Harry’s ancestor met Death as an old friend when he eventually chose to leave his life. Harry might not be too concerned about his life currently, but he wasn’t quite at choosing to meet Death and move on at the present moment at least. His mental health was slightly better than that.
“Mate,” Ron sighed and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “This is bloody shite that I have to say this, but you being immortal and looking younger than Hermione and me…well, that’s not actually what I’m concerned about in this particular moment. What in Merlin’s name happened to you? This didn’t happen on the job. We haven’t had any raids for weeks now.”
“Harry,” Hermione reached out to hold onto his arm, and Harry had to force himself not to flinch. Even so, he thought Hermione had caught the flinch regardless. “This isn’t…this isn’t him is it? Are you…safe?”
“What?! Of course not!” Harry lied through his teeth, probably overdoing it on being offended there. “Kings loves me! Why would you even think that?!”
Ron lowered his head to the table, and Hermione’s eyes just went soft. Damn, his friends could read him way too well. “When did this start?” Hermione asked, not even acknowledging his lie in the slightest. “Was it from the beginning?”
“Why are you even here?!” Harry angrily shrugged off her arm and turned to busy himself with finding the Essence of Murtlap and bandages he’d been heading to find to begin with. He wished he was better with healing spells, but his magic seemed to singularly hate healing spells for some reason…Harry was leaning towards blaming the hallows for that one as well as his non-aging. Hermione could definitely help him, but he was so very far from asking for her help in that moment that it was laughable.
“We’re here because we’re worried about you,” Ron finally lifted his head with a huff. “You’ve been cancelling things and avoiding everyone in your life for a long time now, mate. We haven’t seen you outside of work in ages. Teddy is on holiday from Hogwarts right now, have you even seen him?”
Harry stilled slightly, hating the reminder of Teddy. “Kings said…”
“Harry!” Hermione cut him off, and yeah, he heard it. It just wasn’t what they were implying though. He wasn’t some victim or something. Merlin, he was an auror for fuck’s sake!
He let go when Hermione gently took the ointment from him and steered him to one of the chairs. She opened the jar and began to apply it to his eye. “I’m surprised he left visible injuries,” she said as if it were a foregone conclusion that he was being abused by his partner and not even entertaining his protests in the slightest.
“Normal people are better with healing spells than me, my best friend is a healer, and I have a dangerous job,” Harry found himself saying. He hadn’t actually thought about it before, but any injuries he had could easily be healed by Hermione or passed off as part of his job. Even with Kingsley not knowing about his metamorphmagus abilities, being careful about bruising wasn’t an issue. Also…Harry was so far out of favor with the press currently that no one was going to ask questions about him being a little battered.
“I don’t know why he still puts up with me,” Harry found himself saying. He was only a burden at this point. Kingsley didn’t deserve the stress and drama of having Harry in his life. “Everyone loves him. The best minister we’ve ever had. Why is he with the freak? The budding dark lord? Or whatever the Prophet is calling me these days.”
Hermione winced when she lifted his shirt to see the large bruise on his stomach. “No one should have to ‘put up with you’ Harry. Whoever you’re with should feel honored to be with you,” she said sadly as if this were an argument they had frequently, but Harry didn’t think they’d ever had this particular argument before. If they had, he’d brush it off just like he was doing then. He was difficult, he was exhausting, he brought too much danger and drama to any relationship; these were all things Harry knew exceptionally well by this point.
Harry was already shaking his head. That wasn’t right at all. He was only bringing Kingsley down. He was the one who was being done a favor by not being kicked to the curb. There was an election year coming up, and associating with Harry couldn’t help with the campaign in the slightest.
Ron sighed yet again and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, Harry…when you and Shacklebolt started dating after your break-up with Ginny, we were a little concerned just because of the age difference and that it seemed a bit like a rebound, but you’re an adult and can make your own decisions. Plus, he seemed like a good bloke.”
“He is,” Harry protested.
“No, he isn’t,” Ron firmly corrected him.
“He’s literally the best minister we’ve ever had,” Harry tried again, getting twin glares from his friends.
“Yeah, he is, not that the bar was very high,” Ron continued with a roll of his eyes. “That doesn’t make him a good person, and that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s a shite boyfriend who is hurting my best friend, my brother.”
Harry winced. He wasn’t a victim. It’s just…it had started out so good. Yeah, there was an age difference, but they’d been so happy. Harry was at his height of popularity in the media, and they had gotten to talking at a fundraiser where they were both being touted as magical Britain’s most eligible bachelors. The Savior of the Magical World and the Minister of Magic who had rebuilt their society after the war. The Prophet almost cooed over them as a power couple when they finally went public with their relationship.
Things had been great. Then the media started turning on Harry like it always did. He was rising in the ranks of the aurors too fast. He was too good at his job. He was dangerous. Then he should have died. Was he using dark arts like Voldemort had to keep himself alive? Was he unduly influencing the minister? Was Kingsley under an imperius curse?
Kingsley was just stressed all the time now. It was a lot. Harry was a lot. He knew he woke Kingsley up constantly with his nightmares. It was the main reason his boyfriend hadn’t wanted them to move in together. Kingsley had found Harry this flat since he said Grimmauld was too difficult to keep up and Harry shouldn’t have to deal with that, and the flat was so much closer to Kingsley’s own and to the ministry. Kreacher was staying at Hogwarts anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal to let it go.
Then, well, they were busy. Kingsley liked to stay in when they had time together, especially now that being out in public would probably get them negative press. So, Harry had to cancel plans with his friends, but that was fine because he got to see his boyfriend. It hurt a little more to cancel time with Teddy, but Kingsley wasn’t a fan of kids. They caused him stress, and he was already too stressed. But…Teddy wasn’t even a kid anymore. He was 15 for Merlin’s sake.
“Harry,” Hermione finished with a healing spell that almost erased the bruise to his side. She put her hand on his knee. “He’s isolating you from your friends and family. He’s hurting you. Please…if it was me who was in this relationship, how would that make you feel?”
“Ron would never,” Harry scoffed.
“No, I wouldn’t,” Ron grabbed onto his hand, his eyes trying to convey something to Harry, but he just didn’t understand what. “What makes you think you deserve this when Hermione would not? What makes you think Kingsley has any right to do this to you, when I bloody well don’t and wouldn’t even think of it?!”
Harry couldn’t find the answer. But… “I’m me,” was all that came out.
And yeah, now he heard it, and it hit him like a troll’s club to the chest. He’d always been someone’s punching bag whether that was his aunt and uncle or Dudley or everyone who tried to kill him over his years at school. Had he really just been repeating a cycle? But he heard it now. If it was anyone else who’d walked into the auror office saying the exact same things he’d just been saying, he would have tried to get them help, to get them out of the situation, he’d never tell them they deserved it or to go back to their abuser. Merlin, it was happening again…how hadn’t he seen it?!
Hermione pulled him into her arms when they saw the realization finally hit him. “We’re in this together, Harry. You don’t have to stay with him.”
Then it sank in just how precarious his situation actually was. “I can’t leave,” he breathed out in realization. “He’s the Minister of Magic.”
He felt Hermione still and could see Ron’s face pale when the implications sank in for them too. “He could have stopped the press dragging me through the mud, couldn’t he?” He finally asked as everything hit him.
“You were more popular than him,” Hermione let him go and leaned back in thought. “You were the youngest head auror ever…and people were starting to whisper that you should be the next minister…”
“Did he do this on purpose? Was he behind it, or did he just not stop it?” Harry’s eyes widened as he asked them both. Was he just the worst auror ever if he hadn’t seen his own boyfriend systematically ruining his life over the past several years?!
“Hey, stop spiraling, this isn’t your fault,” Ron snapped his fingers in front of Harry’s face. “You were never going to see this. You’ve never had the chance to heal from anything. It’s just…it’s not your fault. And hey, we can get you out of this. We can tell the press that you’ve broken up, then you don’t even have to tell him. He’ll just read about it. You don’t even have to be in the same room.”
Harry felt his stomach sink as a conversation he’d had with Kingsley months ago came to mind. “I thought he was telling me he wouldn’t leave me with everything that was going on. That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said in just over a whisper. “But he was telling me I couldn’t leave him…”
“What do you mean, Harry?” Ron asked with worry in his tone.
“He was assuring me that Robards couldn’t fire me even though Kingsley isn’t technically my boss…he’s the head of the DMLE’s boss,” Harry explained. “What he said though was that Robards had to listen to him if he valued his job, that he could overrule any decision the head of the DMLE made…that he could have anyone fired that he wanted to.”
Ron and Hermione shared a scared look. Harry just chuckled dryly when everything Kingsley had been implying shifted in his brain from assurances to threats. “Merlin, he could have me arrested. With all this dark lord nonsense in the press, if I ever broke up with him, he could just say that he’d learned I was lost to the dark arts and that’s why he had to dump me or something. It’s not even the first time a minister has tried that with me.”
“You can’t stay with him, Harry,” Hermione finally said after a long moment of silence. “He’ll eventually kill you, or have you arrested anyway.”
“Immortal, remember,” Harry raised an eyebrow and pointed at his chest.
“Wait…didn’t you get rid of the wand?” Ron frowned. “How are you still Master of Death then?”
Harry shrugged because he could be a wizard for a thousand years and still not understand everything about magic. “It just showed up about a week after the battle, the stone did too,” he said, laying out his last secret for his friends. “Now, anytime I think about needing a wand, it’s just in my hand. I can leave it wherever, but it just reappears. The stone is pretty much always in my pocket whether I put it there or not.”
“Why didn’t you tell us any of this?!” Ron growled in frustration.
Harry just shrugged. “Well, everyone was grieving, then you had your wedding to focus on, then Ginny and I broke up and I was dealing with that, then there was always a case with the aurors, then Kingsley…it just…I don’t know. I didn’t deal with it; I didn’t want to.”
Hermione crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “I don’t care if you’re immortal. You can’t stay with him and just let him hurt you,” she said firmly with a glare out to wherever the minister might be right then in the world.
Harry really didn’t see a way out of this. “I mean…he’ll most likely die first…”
Clearly not the right thing to say judging by his friends’ expressions. “Look,” he tiredly rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well recently…or really, he hadn’t slept well in his entire life, but still. “I can take the occasional slap, or even losing my job, but I can’t go to Azkaban…I’ve put almost half the prisoners in there myself by this point. Nothing Kingsley does to me will be anywhere near what they will if I’m thrown in with them. At this point, I’d really rather die than face whatever they would do to me.”
“So what? You’re just going to play happy family with your abuser?” Ron glared. “Cut us out of your life completely? You know that’s his next step, right?”
Harry opened his mouth and just closed it again. He couldn’t lose Ron and Hermione. He couldn’t lose his only family, but they were right. Kingsley had already been pushing them out.
“I don’t know,” he finally gave up. He didn’t have a solution for this.
Hermione stood and began to make tea. Harry thought this was more a firewhiskey conversation, but he’d take what he could get if she was making. “Harry…I think you might need to leave Britain for a little while,” she said with her back to him as if she couldn’t meet his eyes. “The minister’s reach doesn’t extend to other countries. You could just go to France for a few months or even a year until things die down some. You’d have to give up your job, but maybe you could get a job as an auror in France or Spain or somewhere.”
“Mate, I think she’s right,” Ron looked at him sadly. “Just until there aren’t any rumors about you becoming the next dark lord, and maybe Kingsley gets a new boyfriend.”
“Who he might hurt too,” Harry sighed, not liking that thought either.
“But he wouldn’t have as much leverage over them, hopefully,” Ron just shrugged. “Look…do you, would you want us to come with you?”
Hermione finally turned around with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry, we could come with and start over together.”
Harry was already shaking his head. “No, Ron has his family, and Hermione, you’re already so respected as a healer. If I’m only gone for a year or two, you shouldn’t give up all that to follow me around. You’re right, I should leave, but I think I need to do this on my own.”
None of them were saying it, but it was clear, they didn’t really believe it would only be for a year. Harry had been called the next dark lord off and on since he was 12 and the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. This time, it seemed to be sticking unlike it had all the other times. Maybe he could figure out why this kept happening to him if he finally had some time away from it all…and maybe figure out why he’d walked right into an abusive situation yet again without even realizing it. He couldn’t keep doing this.
“The ministry monitors the floo. You need to buy a new owl to keep in touch,” Ron remarked, and Harry just frowned more deeply at the paranoia from his friend who was usually more a voice of reason to Harry’s ingrained paranoia.
“You really think Kings would go to all that trouble?” He asked, really not knowing the answer to that question.
“To get you back?” Ron asked with a raise of his eyebrow saying very clearly that, yes, he really did think the minister would do that.
Hermione just shook her head. “No, cell phones. We’ll all get cell phones to keep in touch,” she said firmly. “We’ll just have to be careful about the amount of magic we use around them, but no one in the magical world understands them, let alone knows how to monitor them.”
This was all too much. Harry needed to pack now. He needed to see Teddy. He needed to quit his job. How did he do all this without Kingsley noticing?
The answer Harry found was that there wasn’t a way for him to do all that without Kingsley noticing. Harry thought he might should have died yet again during that confrontation. He’d never been more thankful for the Elder Wand in his life until he was finally left, broken and bleeding, in a magically warded closet in Kingsley’s flat.
He shouldn’t have stopped by to get his Firebolt. He’d left it at Kingsley’s when they had flown together the week before, and he just couldn’t leave it behind since it was the only thing he had left from Sirius. Now, it was broken anyway.
Harry thought of his wand, and it appeared in his hand. He could have used it to fight back, but then another of his secrets would be known. He was willing to take the pain over Kingsley having any knowledge of the hallows or what it meant for Harry to possess them.
Honestly, he was surprised he didn’t splinch himself, but at least he knew that Kingsley’s wards were nothing against the power of the Elder Wand. He stayed in his flat for all of five minutes to pick up his small bag, and then he was gone, for good this time with absolutely no clue what he was going to do or where he was going to go.
Harry bounced around Europe for a while. He was wealthy enough that he didn’t actually need a job at the moment, so he planned to do some sightseeing while he healed and took some time for himself. He had been staying in the magical areas since he was most comfortable there now at this point in his life, that was until he got to Portugal.
He’d just walked into the magical section of Lisbon and was met with a déjà vu moment of seeing a wanted posted with his picture on it staring right back at him. At least this time it was a better picture. It seemed Ron was right though in the end. Kingsley really would do anything to get him back and punish him for leaving. Based on the poster, it seemed that this time he was wanted for sedition and suspicion of being a dark arts practitioner.
Harry turned right around and booked himself into a muggle hotel instead of magical. It seemed he needed to get farther away and maybe stay in the muggle world now. Also, he needed to look significantly different because he was much too recognizable.
Harry looked in the mirror of his small hotel room and took in his long dark hair, green eyes, and plethora of scars. Well, the hair was easy. It’d always been easy…well, changing the length, but he never could get rid of the crazy curls which must be some strong genetics from the Potter line or something. With a thought, he turned it blond and made it shorter until it was just a small mess of curls on top of his head with the sides close cropped.
The eyes were harder, not that he couldn’t do it, but that he’d always been told how much they looked like his mother’s. He had to let go though as much as it hurt. He couldn’t go to Azkaban, and that was starting to look like much more of a possibility. He closed his eyes and opened them again to see eyes that were the cool blue, almost grey, that he remembered of Sirius’s. If he couldn’t keep his mother’s eyes, maybe he could keep Sirius’s.
It was the Merlin-be-damned scar that was the biggest headache of everything. His metamorphmagus abilities had never been able to do anything about curse scars. Most of his curse scars were easily coverable though with long sleeves like the basilisk scar and the gash from Voldemort’s rebirth ritual. Even the new lightning bolt scar from the war was on his chest, so pretty much always covered. The writing on his hand was more visible, but someone would have to be really close to him to see that, and he didn’t plan on anyone getting that close to him ever again in the state of mind he was currently in.
The scar on his forehead though. That one was way too distinctive. No matter what he looked like, a lightning bolt scar on his forehead would make any magical person look at him twice. It took a hell of a lot of effort, but he was able to expand the scar some. He grunted as he used all his power to pull and try to move it. It did move slightly and kind of split until it was just a couple red splotches around his eyebrow. At that point he had to give up. It refused to do literally anything else.
Harry glared at the red marks. Well…at least they weren’t a lightning bolt scar. He supposed it actually looked like a birthmark now instead of a scar. It was still distinctive, but not something that anyone would associate with Harry Potter. Really, it didn’t look that bad.
He had to stare at himself a long time, but the new look was growing on him. His body was still his own. He still had his hard-won muscles from auror training and his gangly limbs from finally having a growth spurt in his late teens. Even his face was the same just with different features to keep any magical person he may encounter from associating him with the British Savior. Actually…maybe he should work on a new accent and backstory too…
Evan “Buck” Buckley stood in front of the 118 fire station in Los Angeles, California with a stupid grin on his face. It was his first day as a probationary firefighter with the LAFD. He’d never thought he would be a firefighter before…why would he? The magical world didn’t need firefighters with their liberal use of fire suppression wards on all their buildings because of the candles and torches and all.
Harry Potter had never considered being a firefighter or even taking a fulltime job in the muggle world. Also, he’d never even considered going to California, but here he was. His new identity was rock solid. Unfortunately, it was more than a little illegal and maybe immoral too though. Without the help of MACUSA, who didn’t even know he was in the U.S., the only way to get a solid new identity was to get one from a deceased child on the black market. Thankfully, after all his time as an auror, he knew how to find the people who could get him just that.
Evan Buckley was a child from Hershey, Pennsylvania who had died from leukemia as a baby. Harry felt really bad about taking the kid’s identity, but his wanted posters had spread much further than Europe by now. He’d even seen one during his short time in Peru, so a new identity was a must.
California was as far from Pennsylvania as he could get within the same country, so Harry decided to start over there. Unfortunately, he wasn’t actually qualified for much in the muggle world. It hadn’t taken Harry long to realize that his primary school muggle education didn’t get him super far. He was pretty much stuck with unskilled labor or doing nothing and living off his vault. He knew he’d go batty within a year without a job though. Honestly, even having been travelling for the last six months left him feeling like he needed to do something to be useful and contribute to the world.
Harry had coincidentally been getting coffee in North Hollywood when a building a block away caught fire. He watched with the rest of the crowd while the firefighters rushed in and got everyone out to safety and then put out the fire. Something in him had lit up in that moment. He was used to running into danger, and he’d never been afraid of heights or small spaces. It would be a struggle to not use his magic and to keep it secret that he was immortal, but it was something he could do to actually make a difference and help others.
The very next day, Evan Buckley stepped into the LAFD headquarters and asked for an application. And really, the fire academy was easy compared to a lot of the things he’d had to do in his life. The most difficult part of everything were the tests and memorizing new information. He didn’t have anything else going on in his life currently though, so he just put everything he had into it.
Now, with three Evans in his class, his name was officially Buck, and he was ready to start over yet again. Even Ron and Hermione were excited for him when he told them during their weekly chat. They all agreed, this was perfect. Now, he just had to survive his year as a probationary firefighter.
“Uh…hi,” he smiled at the group of firefighters all sitting together and eating lunch. Merlin, he’d missed having people to eat lunch with! Not that he planned on making friends with this lot. Co-workers and acquaintances only is what he was looking for, not any strong emotional connections in the slightest.
“I’m looking for Captain Nash?” He asked the group tentatively.
Buck was still getting used to the American accent he’d worked so hard to fake, but he thought it was solid by now. If he slipped, he’d come up with some kind of lie. Everyone seemed to buy it, except…
“Anyone here know a Captain Nash?” An older man asked the table.
“What…?” Buck floundered. Did he somehow come to the wrong station?
“Sit down, kid,” the man smiled and pushed out a chair with a chuckle.
After a breath of relief when he realized they were just messing with him, Buck sat down, grinning at everyone at the table. It may not be the aurors, it might be exceptionally muggle, but it was a new start. He swore again, he wasn’t going to get close to these people. That was the issue he’d decided. He got close to people and then they hurt him. Either they actually, literally hurt him, they died, or they turned on him. If he kept everyone at arm’s length and just did the job and tried to be useful, then maybe he’d break out of whatever this cycle was he found himself in.
He was Firefighter Buckley, not Auror Potter. He wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived or the Man-Who-Conquered. He was just a normal 34-year-old pretending to be a 26-year-old, wizard pretending to be a muggle, British man pretending to be American, immortal pretending to be mortal…yeah, what could go wrong?
“Hey, I’m Evan Buckley, but everyone calls me Buck,” he said hopefully. “I’m your new probationary firefighter.”
“Good to meet you, Buck,” an Asian man across the table smiled at him. “I’m Howard Han, but everyone calls me Chimney.”
“There has to be a story there,” Buck reached across and shook his hand.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Chimney smirked and passed a bowl of pasta to him.
Captain Nash clapped him on the shoulder just as the bell rang for them to rush to an emergency. “Welcome to the 118, Buck.”