Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Owen had dared imagine how it would start, he would’ve predicted a fight. A scuffle. An argument. Tensions boiling to a point where polite sarcasm could no longer contain them and their threatened machismo, personal space invaded by hard-breathing men with an axe to grind and no women on their minds.

If Owen had imagined it, which he surely never had, he would’ve imagined wrath. Fury. Gazes darting to the side as they avoided eye contact, hands tearing at fabric, curses traded freely back and forth, all emotions rising in tandem. Fear as they accepted that this was happening. Anger that they had given in at all. Eagerness, excitement, hunger for it to occur. Straining knuckles and cold stares. Shame. Generations of progress and inclusivity passing them by, an old hatred reborn as he kissed a man that he despised himself for wanting.

The fact that it started gentler, softer than that, said something very profound about the two of them. And, more crucially, about the type of man that Billy had become.

They were drinking beer together. Owen’s house. It made sense, that it would start there. Billy’s very presence in the clean, pale, minimal space was evidence of a weakness in Owen’s armor. A gash, a yearning, a loneliness that nobody else was filling. Owen already needed him, and while he’d not yet admitted that to himself, Billy was wiser than he pretended to be. He knew what could happen, what would happen, before he even set foot on the pristine, glistening floor of his once-enemy’s home.

Billy was leaned back against one of Owen’s couches, one arm extended across its back. In his other hand, he loosely held a beer bottle. His wrist rested easily against his inner thigh, legs spread. Everything about him was dusty, hearty, warm. His hair hung down to his shoulders, smoky gray overpowering the deep black of his youth. His eyes were framed by lines, shadowed by bags, but they enhanced his face. Emphasized the age, the wisdom, the comfort that had always been there. Sitting opposite him, Owen marveled at his presence. His relaxed posture. His easy grin. How comfortable he was in his own body. In his ratty flannel shirt, unbuttoned to just above his sternum, and jeans that were as well-loved as everything else he wore. His scuffed boots. His wavy locks. His unshaven visage, rough but somehow still soft. Thoroughly imperfect, and therefore free from imperfection.

It seemed to Owen that Billy existed in another world. A better world.

“You’re starin’, New York.”

Owen cleared his throat. He took a sip of his beer. Billy mirrored him, out of habit more than anything else. Owen realized, with a startling amount of enthusiasm, that he liked it. Knowing the way that Billy thought about him. The fact that they were two men. The insufferable dick-swinging that never truly went away. The head-butting of two Bison, roaring with Testosterone. He didn’t know when he’d started to crave it, but he absolutely did. He liked women, but men were different. And Billy was everything that he wanted. The musk of him, the unbridled authenticity of his manhood. The shabbiness that he didn't hide. When Owen looked in the mirror, he'd once been able to see his cancer growing inside him. But nobody else had. Billy never dealt with that kind of pressure at his back. He lived authentically. He let himself grow tough with exhaustion, scruffy with long hair and a beard. He wasn't ashamed.

“Sorry,” Owen eventually offered, “Just thinking.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth tilted upwards. Barely. Enough that Owen noticed.

“You do too much thinkin’, Owen.”

Owen frowned. “Is that the first time you’ve used my name?”

That earned him a bark of laughter. “Surely not.”

“I think it might be.”

“Well, I stand by it. You think too damn much.”

Owen sighed. He looked down at his lap, to where he was cradling his beer. He looked at his hands. Older, now. Showing his age. When he looked over at Billy, gaze rising meekly to the man who sat before him, he saw hands that were even more weathered. But they weren’t weighed down with indignity, weren’t burdened by embarrassment or moisturizing creams. How easily Billy draped himself against the furniture, almost aggressive in his use of the space. He would be comfortable. Damn anybody who disliked it, who took issue with his confidence.

“Go on, then. What’re you thinkin’ about.”

Owen smiled mildly. “I don’t think anyone asks questions quite like you do.”

“How’s that?”

“The downward inflection. It makes you sound confident. Like you’re already certain you’ll get your answer.”

Billy raised one single eyebrow, but his amusement was apparent. “You analyzin’ my speech now, New York? What’s got you actin’ so weird?”

Owen shrugged.

“Christ, you’re like a kid. Look at you.”

“In what way am I like a kid?”

“All shy. Lookin’ away. C’mon, just spit it out.”

Owen rolled his bottom lip beneath his teeth, bit down. Thought for a moment about the way he would phrase it. He had another drink of his beer, and when it hit his tongue, he felt good. His whole body was warm. He couldn't deny that a noticeable amount of heat was gathering between his legs. There wasn't a woman here to help him lie, to offer her glossy hair and her ample breasts as a reason for his excitement. He knew what was causing this. He knew it was Billy who excited him.

“I wish I was more like you."

Billy laughed, louder this time. “Bullshit.”

Owen held out his hands, incredulous. “I mean it!”

“The hell you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve never met a man who likes himself as much as you do. I seriously doubt that you’d aspire to be anythin’ like me.”

“Well, maybe you underestimate your own qualities.”

Billy huffed. “Okay. Tell me what those qualities are, then.”

Owen cleared his throat. He sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows against his knees. He looked down again, to where he was toying with the label on his beer bottle. He peeled the corner of it a few more inches, delaying his answer.

“You’re, uh. Confident.”

“You have confidence in spades. Too many goddamn spades.”

“That confidence comes at a price,” Owen muttered, “All of my… products, all this organic bullshit… But you, you just… You just exist. As yourself. And it’s enough.”

His words hung in the air. Apparently, they’d carried more weight than Owen had predicted. When he did look up, craning his neck to gaze across the coffee table which separated them, Billy’s expression had softened. The edges of his eyes were gently creased, his smile more affectionate than it was sarcastic.

“Always figured you had to be compensatin’ for somethin’. Glad to be proven right.”

The jab was light, and the tone of Billy’s voice was gentle enough that Owen didn’t take it to heart. He returned his stare to his beer bottle, pushing at sodden paper with the blunt edge of his thumbnail. He was feeling warmer with every passing second, and was certain that his cheeks would feel hot if anyone dared touch them. Which brought to mind Billy’s touch. Thoughts rose to Owen’s mind, unbidden, and he coughed awkwardly in an attempt to banish them. Distract himself. He imagined Billy sitting next to him. Too close to be misinterpreted. He’d lay the back of his hand against Owen’s face. Make some snide comment about Owen not taking care of his health, despite all of his pills and potions. And then he'd lean closer, and…

“I say you’re compensatin’, you don’t even deny it. What’s up with you?”

Owen laughed, a breathy edge to his mirth. “Sorry.”

“Jesus, don’t apologize. Just tryin’ to figure out what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.” Billy paused. “You really envy me, huh?”

The question didn’t sound spiteful, and Owen was already in too deep to back out, so he shrugged again and said, “Yeah.”

“And what you envy is my… confidence.”

“Your confidence. The way you look. All of it.”

“The way I look?”

“Yeah. Sorta, y’know… rugged. Hard, but… soft, too. You’ve got something about you that I… Well, I don’t think I have that. Or could ever pull it off. But it’s just you. You just are that way, Billy, and I don’t… I wouldn’t even know where to start, becoming that type of man. A more relaxed man. Relaxed in myself.”

The words poured out of him before he could stop them and, similarly to before, Billy let him stew in his nervousness before quietly, and slowly, replying.

“You sure it’s just envy, New York?”

The question was tentative, but the direction it would lead them was unmistakable. And, on some level, Owen was aware of it. That’s why he kept his eyes low, still fidgeting with his beer.

“Not fully sure, if I’m honest.”

There was an admission in those words. Not as blatant as Owen would’ve wished to make it, if he’d dared think this through in any amount of detail, but he prayed that his confused, desperate, needy desires were evident nonetheless. He heard, and saw in his peripheral vision, Billy take a long drink of his beer. He set the empty bottle down on the coffee table, glass meeting glass with a resolute tap. He rose to his feet, standing and then striding forward with the very confidence Owen had become obsessed with.

Roughened, calloused fingers met the line of Owen’s jaw, before he could flinch away or expect the brazen touch. Softly, but with a forcefulness that gave Owen no choice in the matter, Billy tilted that handsome head upwards, cupping the underside of Owen’s face. Owen stared up at him, feeling hopeless and eager in equal measure. Billy was silhouetted by the light above him, but Owen could see the steady intent in his gaze. The half-lidded, lazy appetite. When their eyes met, they both smiled. It was automatic, instinctual. Owen’s chest felt tight, his heart racing in a way that he’d not experienced since his teenage years. He supposed first times tended to do that.

“I’m not what you think, Owen,” Billy told him, every syllable laden with deliberate meaning, “You think I’m a dumb, backwards hillbilly. But I reckon I know more than you do, about this type of thing.”

Owen swallowed thickly, knew Billy felt the taut tension in his throat.

“I don’t,” he said quickly, “I don’t think you’re dumb. Or a… backwards hillbilly. And I think you… I think you do know a lot more than me. About many things. Especially... this.”

Billy hummed in consideration of that. He stroked Owen’s jaw, skin against stubble. Owen could barely breathe with all the tension in the air. He hardly dared to move. Chin being gripped by another man, and he felt like there was a gun to his head. A gun that he’d invited. A gun he wanted.

“You know how to be yourself,” Owen continued, barely even whispering now, “Be a man. A man among men. In… In all kinds of ways. In… this type of way. I've never...”

Billy’s smile grew. He had words too, words that he didn’t offer. Owen hoped he’d hear them, later. Or some other day. He didn't have time to search Billy's expression for insights, for a depth that he had only just begun to glimpse. He wanted to know more, to know about all of the men Billy had loved throughout his life, but there wasn't time for that now. Billy leaned down, tilting his head. Easy as clockwork, natural as the setting of the sun, both of their eyes slid closed. Owen parted his lips with an obedience he’d never known existed within him, and then it was happening. Billy was kissing him.

Chapter Text

As they kissed, Owen fancied that he could taste diesel. The ghost of that frozen day, when Billy had knelt beside Grace with glassy eyes and a pale face, poisoned by fuel that he had siphoned to keep her warm. The trip to the hospital had been rushed but profound, Billy floating in and out of consciousness, breathing shallow and laboured as toxic hydrocarbons corroded the softer parts of his body. His heart, his blood vessels, his nervous system. Owen had thought, back then, that Billy would die. And that had changed a great deal.

He’d been preparing to apologise, to say it genuinely, but hadn’t been able to. Not before Billy coughed and waved from the backseat.

“Hey. New York,” he’d mumbled, barely awake, spots of blood on his chin.

“Hey, Billy,” Owen had replied, peering out the windscreen at the ice-hardened roads, “Stay with me, yeah?”

“Wanted to say,” Billy had begun, before pausing to cough again, “m’sorry.”

Owen regarded him with transparent shock, looking in the rear-view mirror. Billy had fought to meet Owen’s eyes, battling the substances attacking his blood brain barrier, but had quickly fallen limp, sprawling across the backseat.

“Billy? Billy? Hey, stay awake. Billy? Billy!”

Billy hadn’t replied. Owen had cursed and put his foot down, speeding as fast as was safe.

Thinking back to that moment, Owen became certain that they had been headed for this intimacy from those very fateful seconds. He’d always loved women who were as stubborn, as headstrong, as confident as him. Perhaps he loved men in a similar way. Perhaps that was why he loved Billy. Why he needed him. It had taken one hell of a weather phenomenon to get him to a point where he could admit it, but hey. He was Owen Strand. The universe demanded he experience drama and disaster at every turn.

The couch cushion beneath Owen shifted, dented by the imprint of Billy’s knees when he straddled Owen’s thighs, lowering himself down to kneel over Owen’s lap. Billy kissed him gently, with meaning. Owen licked into his mouth, reaching down to grab at Billy through sturdy denim. That earned him a rumbling laugh, the amusement pressed against Owen’s lips.

“Always knew you were an ass man.”

“And you?” Owen’s words were breathless. “What kind of man are you?”

“I’m a man who likes all sorts.” Billy tilted his head, as steadily and slowly as he had begun all of this. Owen closed his eyes. Being kissed on the neck, that was one of the most vulnerable and sensitive things he’d ever experienced. And the rasp of a beard, of a man’s cheek, made it even better. He kept hold of Billy’s ass, and with his other hand, reached down between them.

“Mm,” Billy hummed, leaning forward enough to press Owen back against the couch. He arched into the grip of Owen’s hand, palm-up, curled to cup and grope him. “Eager, ain’t you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Sure. I ain’t nervous, though. Reckon you would benefit from slowin’ down some. You nervous, city boy?”

Owen grinned. “You asshole.”

“Alright to be nervous, y’know. Seems to me that you've never had your hand on another man's dick before, jeans or no."

"You don't know that," Owen insisted, as weak a bluff as he'd ever attempted.

Billy laughed, but not unkindly. "Slow down for me. Slow down. It's okay.”

Owen exhaled, the breath trembling more than he cared to admit. He withdrew his hand from Billy's crotch, took hold of the other man's waist instead. Billy kissed him on the mouth again, languid fingers toying with Owen’s hair, rubbing the nape of his neck. Owen’s heart might as well have burst through his ribcage, he was so overcome with emotions, but he liked this. Billy forced him to ease up, to enjoy it. And he surely did.

He could feel his arousal growing, pressing insistently against the underside of his jeans. Billy hadn’t touched him yet, and Owen sensed that he was waiting for permission. There was something tender about this, about the way Billy moved. Like he was trying to compensate for the pain they’d shared, the harsh words and the hatred, Billy’s body hitting concrete after Owen had knocked him out cold with one single blow. He saw his responsibility in everything that had happened and, even in satisfying his own desires, he wanted to make this a good experience. For both of them. For Owen.

“I wanna undo your shirt, now,” Billy told him after a while, words honeyed and drawled, “Can I?”

Owen huffed out the barest hint of a laugh. But he didn’t push back against Billy’s gentleness, didn’t insist that he was above it. He nodded, the tip of his nose brushing against Billy’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “Yeah, you can.”

Allowing that, allowing himself to be soft and cared for, was not familiar. Billy kissed him as if in reward, in thanks. He took a button between his thumb and forefinger and twisted, just enough to slip the small circle free. He dipped his head down and brought his lips to the angle of Owen’s collarbone, pushing aside fabric and undoing further buttons so that he could stroke and lick exposed skin. Owen was realizing, rapidly, that this would not be the hatred-fueled rush of adrenaline that he might have expected. Billy was possessive in his tactility. Thorough. Owen was submitting to that, and it felt good.

The only sounds were the ones that they made. The wetness of kissing, the hush of breathing. Fabric shifting, skin rubbing. Exhalations beginning to deepen, roughened by the beginnings of a moan–

The couch tipped over.

The world tilted suddenly to the side and then slammed to a standstill, accompanied by a loud bang. Their combined weight, pressed against the back of the couch, had evidently gone beyond what the manufacturer had planned for. Owen blinked up at the ceiling, confused. Billy was on top of him, equally as shocked.

There was a beat of silence.

They both started laughing at the same time.

Chapter Text

Billy managed to stand up and, with some effort, hauled Owen onto his feet as well. They were still laughing as they lifted the couch, standing it upright.

Owen was familiar with being humbled, with leaving his ego at the door so he could experience pleasures without the conceit of expectation, but this was a whole new level of vulnerability. The couch tipping over seemed an apt metaphor for the firestorm of thoughts clouding his mind. He couldn’t even pretend that he knew what he was doing. He was a middle-aged man, putting it charitably, totally unprepared for any new experiences. Multiple divorces, countless women, fatherhood, a terrorist attack, chronic and potentially fatal health conditions– all of it had matured him, hardened him, and turned him into a better person. But none of it helped him understand how this was supposed to work. How he was supposed to hold another man.

Supporting his son was one thing. Welcoming his son’s happiness, accepting it, required no effort. He had never even considered rejecting his child because that child happened to be gay. That had been a simple act. But this? Billy Tyson? These feelings, which had always been nestled deep within Owen’s soul? How could he possibly navigate that? He didn’t know what the rules were. He knew how to talk to a woman, knew how to soften her and become close with her. He knew how to talk to men, how to bond in the workplace and chat with his future son-in-law. He knew how to be a friend to men, and a lover of women. Confusing those two categories of his life, once so distinct and different, was scary.

It wasn’t a question of bigotry. It was just inexperience. Pure and simple. He felt old. Too old to be starting all over again.

He straightened the couch to where it had been positioned previously, stepping back to consider it, double-checking that his living room had been returned to its organized state.

“You really are nervous.”

The amused comment came from Billy, who was looking right at him. Weight rested back on one leg, hair somewhat mussed from the touch of Owen’s own fingers.

“No, I’m not,” he said, before he could stop himself. Again, Billy offered a kind, patient chuckle. He stepped closer and, without any of the hesitation that Owen was so burdened by, cupped Owen’s face with both hands. This kiss was slower. Gentle. When their lips finally parted, Owen sighed and admitted, “Maybe I’m a bit nervous.”

“That’s alright. I ain’t gonna pressure you.”

“I don’t feel pressured. Not by you, anyway.” Owen paused. Before he could resist the impulse, he took Billy’s waist again, pulling their bodies together. Just as he had before, Billy hummed with languid approval. Owen was starting to realize that he liked those sounds rumbling up from Billy’s throat. He wondered what other sounds he could provoke. Chest-to-chest, he slid his hand around to hold the small of Billy’s back, just above the jut of his belt. It occurred to him, as it never truly had before, that he liked it when men wore belts. He liked the trim waist of a fit man– an older man, a man his own age– framed by a closed circle of leather. He wanted to undo Billy’s belt, slide it free from denim loops. Slowly.

“Want you to tell me somethin’, New York.”

“God, the nicknames. If we’re doing this, I’m Owen.”

“Owen.”

“I enjoy it when you say my name,” Owen admitted in a murmur. The words slipped out before he could think to censor himself. Billy let out a sudden, quiet breath; the most obvious indication yet that he was actually affected by what they were doing. Owen appreciated the honesty of that single exhalation. It made him feel a little more powerful. A little more capable.

“Want you to tell me somethin’, Owen,” Billy repeated, letting Owen’s name linger on his tongue and roll from his mouth, “How long’s it been? How long’ve you been interested?”

“Since you grew your hair out.”

Billy leaned back, enough that he could meet Owen’s eyes. He was smiling, apparently unprepared for that answer.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Owen confirmed, “It suits you.”

As if to substantiate his own words, and just because he could, he brushed waves of gray away from Billy’s face, tucking the hair behind Billy’s ear. He ran his thumb from Billy's temple to his jaw, and noticed a small mark on the lobe of his ear.

“Did you have your ear pierced?”

“You noticed, huh. Yeah, long time ago now. You like guys with longer hair, then?”

“I don’t know what I like. But I’ll go out on a limb and say that I like you.”

Billy laughed, again. Owen laughed too, and decided that he was glad things were progressing this way. He felt like he was slowly being submerged in quicksand, but they were both happy. Mirth and exhilaration outweighed his anxiety. He felt safe. Clueless, but safe.

Chapter Text

Owen backed into his bedroom and fell onto his bed. He pulled Billy down with him, and found himself oddly pleased by how naturally the two of them moved. How innate it felt. Billy straddled his thighs, as easily and confidently as he had on the couch, apparently free of the worries that clouded Owen’s mind. He steadied himself with an elbow on either side of Owen’s head, using his knees as leverage to grind, slowly, downward. Owen groaned into Billy’s mouth. He pressed his heels into the mattress and arched upward, which prompted him to realize that he was still wearing his shoes. He was still wearing his shoes, his underwear, his clothes, his socks, and he was hard enough to fuck through reinforced steel. He needed more. He needed their clothes gone, Billy’s body against him. Flesh on flesh.

“Wasn’t the first time I said your name.”

“What?”

“Before. When I said Owen. Wasn’t the first time. You remember when I carried you outta that arson site?”

“Yeah. Well, no,” Owen corrected himself, “I was unconscious.”

“Yelled out your damn name. Found you lyin’ there. Tried to get you to wake up.” Billy kissed him hard, gripping Owen’s shoulder like he could hold him close enough to make up for the pain of that night. “But you wouldn’t. Stubborn bastard.”

Owen wasn’t sure he was capable of having this conversation when he could feel Billy’s erection pressing urgently against his thigh, but there was a thread of desperation in Billy’s tone that told him this needed to be said.

“Realized I cared, then,” Billy continued, “Maybe it was the cancer comin’ back, maybe it was just the right time. But I cared about you. I felt like shit. Wanted to get you out of that place, get you safe. And when I had to tell y’all that the firehouse was closed, I-”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“When I was puttin’ you on my couch. Fuck, you were so limp. Wanted to call an ambulance, but-”

“It’s okay.”

Billy’s head dropped down onto Owen’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Don’t know where this is comin’ from. Know it’s not the best time-”

“It matters. You matter. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. Words first offered by Billy, traded freely between them, exchanged with such honesty. Owen hugged him, for a moment.

“I want you,” Owen told him, lips by the shell of Billy’s ear, “Not just sex, but always. I want you around.”

“You and your fuckin’ altruism.”

“Not altruistic. Selfish.”

“Selfish, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I want you, so goddamn bad. Think I could give this up? Give you up? You’re my first man, Billy. The first man. You’ve affected me in ways that I… I couldn’t even explain. Not just… the obvious, but…”

“The obvious bein’ this?”

“Yeah,” Owen groaned, heat engulfing his body when Billy reached down to grab the front of his jeans, “Yeah, that.”

What had been interrupted by Billy’s confession resumed, and Owen would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t relieved. He wanted to lay with Billy for hours, talking about these things and soothing the wounds they’d inflicted on each other, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t think at all.

He hurried to undo his shirt, finishing what Billy had started. Eager hands tugged at his sleeves, messily freeing him from his clothes. Billy straightened up, kneeling above Owen. He ran one hand through his hair, pushing it back and off his face while Owen kicked off his shoes. Billy started to unbutton his own shirt, then thought better of it, and just pulled it off his head.

Owen was panting, and they hadn’t properly started yet. He lay back and looked at what knelt before him, just for a moment. Long enough that Billy noticed. A pulse of silence carried with it more intimacy than years of hookups with women. Owen almost couldn’t handle the weight of it.

He reached up, laying a hand on the silver buckle he’d fantasized about unfastening. Billy’s eyes were hooded, his gaze heavy with lust. In the sun-weathered contours of Billy’s torso, Owen found a truth that he’d denied for too long. He wanted this. The body before him was the body of a man. As he unbuckled a worn, handmade belt, he took it all in. The furred hair across Billy’s chest, the whip-thin musculature of Billy’s stature. Whittled down by manual labor, by a hard life, by cancer. He’d never desired a person more.

He tried to yank down Billy’s jeans, but couldn’t manage it while Billy was still kneeling. They traded laughter while clumsily undressing, Billy falling down beside him. They undressed themselves. It was quicker that way.

Owen rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one arm, the other hand immediately gravitating to his own cock. He stroked himself slowly, enough to take the edge off, but not too much. He didn’t want to jump the gun. Billy looked up at him with a smile, gray hair spilling around his head, and Owen was struck by the realization that Billy was a beautiful man. He’d never thought of any man as being beautiful before.

“Like what you see?”

There was a note of genuine curiosity in Billy’s voice. Owen let his eyes stray downward, across Billy’s body, between his legs.

“I do.”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Billy said, softly, “First time can be a bit weird. Seein’ a dick when you're used to somethin' else.”

“It’s not weird.”

Owen let himself go and, hoping his nervousness didn’t show, reached across the bed to take Billy in hand. Billy’s lashes dipped down lower, his lips parting with a quiet gasp.

“Christ,” he breathed.

“Tell me what feels good. I mean, granted, I have done this before. Different angle, though. More of a solo activity.”

Billy laughed. Owen leaned down to kiss him, stomach flipping and flopping around when Billy moaned, broken and exhilarated, into his mouth. He felt like a kid again. Inexperienced. Thrilled to see that his touch was met with enjoyment. Lost but for the reaction he provoked.

"Billy, uh..."

"What is it?"

“I want this, I do. I just,” Owen began, feeling awkward and needy, “I don’t know how we... I mean… Logistics. You know.”

“The full thing, we’ll leave for another night. I ain’t prepared for it.”

“Oh.” Owen didn’t know how to ask. “So you- Is that what you want? To be…”

“I don’t mind. Either way. Kinda assumed you’d prefer it, bein’ the one on top. Somethin’ familiar. Start you off easy.”

“Huh.”

“But it doesn’t have to go that way. Whatever you want, darlin'.”

***

Mateo unlocked the front door of his home– if he could even call it that– with a downtrodden posture and a glum expression on his face.

He'd saved up all of his annual leave, announced to the team that he'd be taking a holiday with friends. And his friends, who had landed him in Owen Strand's house in the first place, had ruined the whole adventure. Naturally. Everything had gone wrong; from Christina picking a fight with their tour guide, to Jack losing their passports. Mateo was back a week early, with nothing to show for it except a headache and the grudging acceptance that he'd made a huge mistake by forgiving his ex-roommates to begin with. The firehouse had long admonished him for his subservience, his willingness to please. He'd thought he was beyond that since conquering the one-two-nine, but apparently friends were still his weak spot.

Mateo dumped his bags in his bedroom and went straight to the kitchen, hoping his snacks hadn't become the latest victim of Owen's food snobbery. He was too tired to cook, but he needed something in his belly.

He had retrieved a box of biscuits from the cupboard– his cupboard, as agreed by all current tenants– and was about to tear into it with zeal, when a noise stopped him in his tracks.

Granted, the sounds of sex weren't unusual in this household. He wasn't nearly as shocked as other people might've been. Owen had an appetite for similarly-enthusiastic women and, though Mateo had chafed after many nights of obnoxiously loud lovemaking, he couldn't claim that it bothered him too much. This latest disaster, which had landed him in the company of the world's worst and most disorganised travel companions, had softened him to the quirks of living here.

What puzzled him was the pitch of the moaning.

He stood completely still in the kitchen, eyebrows raised with such shock that his forehead started to ache. He could hear two voices. One of them was definitely Owen, but the other was certainly not the girlish squeal of a younger woman, which he had come to expect. Paul had taught him a lot about assuming things, about tying gender to bodily characteristics, so he didn't jump to conclusions. But he knew that, statistically speaking, the person Owen was having sex with was probably another man.

Standing in the middle of his kitchen, stunned like a deer in the headlights, he wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do next. Owen hadn't expected him to arrive home for another week. This was surely a secret, a private part of his life. Mateo was burdened with an insight that he'd never asked to possess.

The groans were getting louder. Mateo grabbed two more boxes of snacks from the cupboard and hurried back to his bedroom.

Chapter Text

They were nearing the end when Owen finally noticed something. Something he’d missed, or forgotten to look for.

They were both sweaty, damp with exertion, and Owen knew they’d be cold after this. He knew the moisture would dry on their skin and he would be able to suggest that Billy follow him to the bathroom. His favorite kind of intimacy. Showering together. Surrounded by steaming water and sweet fragrances. He was looking forward to it, almost more than his own orgasm.

There were so many things he wanted to do, so many things he wanted to try. But it was enough, just to lay beside Billy and touch him. It was enough to be touched. As it went on, many of Owen’s anxieties melted away. He’d lived as a straight man for long enough that he’d internalized many of the assumptions about how two men might be intimate. It was just like being with a woman, really. Mingling breaths, whispered words, occasional exchanges, tentative touches as they tested the boundaries of what the other wanted, pace increasing as they rushed toward the edge together. He’d been worried about nothing.

Billy was laying on his side, half of his face pressed into one of Owen’s pillows. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his neck. They’d been kissing and jerking each other off for what felt like an hour, although Owen had certainly lost track of time. The glow from his bedside lamp caught Billy’s body at just the right angle, and he noticed something. As Billy’s arm moved, bicep rolling and tightening with every stroke, flecks of pale skin caught the light. As foggy as Owen’s mind had become, drugged by sex and still warm with alcohol, he recognized an odd pattern of pinkish scars. They spiraled across Billy’s arm, stretching from his elbow to his shoulder, and inched up his sweat-slick neck, disappearing somewhere beneath stubble.

He must’ve been staring, breaths slowing as his concentration drifted, because Billy noticed.

“The doctors tell me it’s rare,” he said, “For a Lichtenberg figure to stick around. Thought it’d go away, but it never did. Not completely. A reminder not to be an asshole, I guess.”

Owen blinked once as the realization hit him. The marks left after a lightning strike. Of course.

He placed one hand on Billy’s arm. He thought he could feel a gentle rise wherever the skin was mildly discolored, but it could’ve just been his imagination. Now that he was looking for it, he could recognize the telltale pattern. Almost flower-like. Blooming. A very pretty reminder for such a horrific injury.

“We were different people, then.”

“We were,” Billy agreed, “Worse people. I was, anyway.”

Owen sighed, loudly and with no small amount of irritation. He took Billy’s shoulders and rolled him onto his back, pressing him hard against the bed. He lay heavily on top of Billy and slid their lengths together, hand curled to rub them both, relishing the surprised gasp that his sudden dominance earned.

“Enough. No more negativity.” Owen thrust into his own palm and against the man below him, made sure Billy felt every single movement. “No more self-flagellating. Not with me.”

“You- You gonna tell me what to do now, Strand?”

“Maybe I have to,” Owen decided, moving faster, “Maybe you need me to.”

“Fuck.”

“You like being told what to do, Billy?”

“Not by any motherfucker ‘cept you,” Billy rasped, “And even then, you’re push- pushin' it.”

He was starting to trip over his words, losing his composure. He lifted both arms and wrapped them around Owen’s shoulders, pulling him close. It would be too organized to say that they kissed. They groaned and panted, open mouths slotting together and hovering close, foreheads touching, eyes closed.

“Think you do like me, this way. Just too proud to admit it.”

“Screw you,” Billy countered brokenly, and Owen smirked. He was starting to realize that this was Billy’s deal. This was what turned him on. The very same antagonistic tension that had reeled Owen in originally.

“You can, if you want. Someday.”

“Fuck, fuck.” Billy dug his fingers into the meat of Owen’s shoulders, held on tight. Owen liked the idea that he might leave bruises. He wanted to walk into the firehouse with a body marked by Billy Tyson’s desire. He wanted that secret beneath his clothes, wanted a twinge of sore skin when Judd slapped his back during a friendly hug. He wanted to remember this moment.

“Next time,” Owen whispered, “I’m gonna suck you off.”

Billy whined. “Jesus.”

“Never done it before. But I think I’ll be good at it.”

“You fuckin’ egotistical-”

“Think you could cum like that, huh? Cum in my mouth?”

Billy stiffened and choked like his heart was trying to escape his chest, the shock of Owen’s softly-spoken filth paving the way for his completion. He went rigid, muffling his yell against Owen’s neck. A burst of warmth spilled over Owen’s hand, prompting him to immediately lose his grip on what little control he’d had left.

Chapter Text

They were loud, huffing and crying out against each other’s mouths, and then they were quiet. Billy had begun to idly stroke Owen’s waist, and seemed content to stay right where he was. It was awkward, in a wonderful way. The awkwardness of first times and new partners. The awkwardness that came with genuinely caring.

“That’s ticklish,” Owen mumbled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Owen perched his chin on Billy’s sternum and looked up at him. “Hi.”

Billy grinned. “Hi.”

“Come take a shower with me. I’ve got some products that I think you’ll love. They’ll treat your hair right, now that you’re keeping it long.”

"I was thinkin' about cuttin' it, actually."

"What? Don't do that!"

"Wow, you really do like it long. Don't worry, that was a joke."

Owen scoffed. "Not funny."

“No wonder your hands are so soft, now that I think of it,” Billy mused, “Bet you buy top shelf, don’t ya. The best shampoos and conditioners and moisturizers on the market.”

“Only the best,” Owen confirmed.

“Mm. Well, whatever you’re doin’ for your body, it’s workin’.”

“My, is that a compliment?”

“You know damn well that it was. God help me, but I’m fond of you. And yeah, I think you’re stunnin’ to look at.”

Owen let himself bask in the happiness that Billy’s words caused. When he did reply, his voice was barely discernible. This tenderness, this quiet confession, was only for the man beneath him.

“I’m fond of you too, Billy.”

***

Owen gave Billy the spiel, held out bottles of shampoo and conditioner, rattled off all the facts that he knew about proper hair maintenance. Billy washed himself with a bar of soap and listened patiently.

“This standard fare for Owen Strand’s hookups, then?”

Owen, who had been partway through a diatribe about split ends, stopped speaking. “What?”

“You talk to women this way, too?”

“Well, yes. In all fairness though, if I’d been with a man before you, I’d have talked to him that way as well.”

“Fair.” Billy reached to rub between his legs, suds and pale bubbles sluicing down his body. His hair seemed longer, like this. Longer and darker. Owen’s cock throbbed in a valiant attempt to harden again, as he imagined fucking Billy in the shower. He was only human, so that certainly wouldn’t be happening tonight, but he wanted it. The closest he could get for now was sliding his hand onto Billy’s chest and enjoying the freedom just to touch him. When they kissed, their lips were wet and frictionless. Another way to experience Billy, to taste him. Owen could feel himself becoming addicted to this. To the joys of discovery. He wanted to touch Billy everywhere, in every way.

“I don’t want this to just be another hookup.”

Billy nodded. For one horrible, terrifying second, Owen worried that his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

“Me neither.”

“Good. Good.” Owen kissed him again, relieved. “Right, turn around. I’m going to wash your hair.”

Billy did. Owen picked up a thin bottle of shampoo, one that he reserved for special occasions– namely, a beautiful person in his home. He supposed he did have a formula for pleasing others, though nobody had pointed it out so blatantly before.

He had questions, for himself and Billy. If this wasn’t just a once-off affair, then what would they be, going forward? If he asked, would he be escalating things too quickly? One encounter hardly seemed justification enough for Owen to request exclusivity, but the thought of Billy with another man made him itch. Or a woman, he supposed. He’d never asked. He knew Michelle Blake and Billy had dated at some point, but things could change. Maybe Billy had realised that he was gay since then. The thought occurred to Owen that he didn’t even know what he was. Bisexual? He guessed that had to be an accurate label. But committing to it aloud scared him. He realized that he’d need to tell TK. Coming out to his own son was a milestone that he’d never had to consider before. He knew it was stupid to be worried, stupid to feel anxiety. His son was hardly straight. Somehow, that didn't help.

“You’ve gone quiet.”

Owen cleared his throat. Functioning on autopilot, he’d lathered up Billy’s hair, massaging his scalp with mint-scented shampoo.

“Just thinking.”

“You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah.”

Owen wasn’t sure if Billy believed him.

Chapter Text

Owen hadn’t been sure what Billy would do, but had been prepared for him to flee immediately after their shower, disappearing into the night and leaving Owen in suspense. Hoping for the best and expecting the worst wasn’t Owen’s typical mindset. But when he emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of sleep shorts, Billy was standing by his bed.

“Can’t rightly drive home with alcohol in my system. D’you mind?”

“Of course not.” Owen deliberately tamped down the happiness in his voice. “Can I get you something to wear?”

Billy glanced down at himself. He’d wrapped a towel around his waist but, aside from that, was nude.

“Good plan,” he decided, looking back up at Owen, “Thanks.”

Owen got him a shirt and another pair of shorts, then lay down while Billy dressed. He kept his eyes to himself, even though he hardly needed to. They’d well and truly crossed lines of propriety and politeness.

Billy lay down.

Owen turned off the light.

For a few minutes, they were both silent. Owen fidgeted with the blanket and wished he could sink through the floor and stop existing. The awkwardness was dreadful.

Billy sighed. “C’mere.”

Owen’s face felt hot. He rolled over onto his side, eyes adjusting to the darkness enough that he could see Billy lifting his arm. Acting on an instinct he’d not known he possessed, he folded himself up against Billy, one arm curled against his own chest, the other stretched over Billy’s body. He tucked his head into the crook of Billy’s shoulder, felt Billy’s hand settle against his back. Holding him close.

Owen closed his eyes when Billy kissed the top of his head. Quickly, pointedly. A reassurance, an acknowledgement of the awkwardness. This was new for both of them, and especially new for Owen, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Billy was here with him, in this moment.

Owen had held women like this before, but he’d never been the one being held. It felt nice. Comforting.

“Can I ask you something?” Owen hedged.

“Sure.”

“Was it scary for you? When you… realized.”

“Realized that I like guys?” Billy chuckled. “Hell yeah. This is Texas, Owen. Love it dearly, but the South… She’s a harsh landscape in places. Less so in Austin. When I was growin' up, it was harder.”

Owen toyed with Billy’s chest hair, drawing his fingers in gentle circles. “How’d you deal with it?”

“Badly, at first.”

Owen heard the pain in those words, and wished he hadn’t asked.

“Sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Billy twitched his shoulder in the laziest hint of a shrug. “Those times are long gone. Can’t hurt me now. Can’t hurt you either, ‘cause I’m not the self-hatin’ queer I was back then.” He paused. “Nowadays, well. Guess I’m just a queer.”

Owen laughed quietly. “You don’t come across that way.”

“What, ‘cause I’m not young or flamboyant?” Billy teased. “C’mon, New York. You should know better than to lean on stereotypes. Gay guys ain’t all the same.”

“Good point. Is that… what you’d call yourself?”

“What, gay?” Billy half-shrugged again. “Dunno. Probably not.”

Owen frowned. “You don’t know?”

“Nah. I’ve liked women all my life. Men, too. Been years since I looked at a woman and wanted her. Maybe that makes me gay, maybe not.” Billy smoothed his hand across Owen’s back. “I know what I want, right now. That’s enough. Don’t give enough of a shit to stress about it.”

“Did you always feel so relaxed?”

“Fuck no. Like I said, I handled it badly.”

“When did you… How did you come to terms with it? With the ambiguity?”

Billy hesitated before he replied. “It doesn’t happen immediately. Not to sound like a new age yoga instructor, but everyone’s got their own path. Took me years. Nobody’s sayin’ you’ll have the same experience.”

Owen let those words wash over him. He didn’t know what to say. Billy kissed his head again.

“Go to sleep, Owen.”

***

Owen woke up to the shrill sound of a ringtone. His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring at a sun-lightened ceiling. It was morning.

When he turned his head, he could see Billy leaning over to the bedside table and retrieving his phone.

“Hello?” He answered with a groggy, gruff voice, rubbing at his eyes. His hair was messy and he’d clearly just been woken up, like Owen. Whoever was calling him must have been friendly at the very least, because he flopped down onto the bed while listening to them speak, making no attempt to disguise the hush of fabric. He noticed that Owen was awake and leaned over to briefly kiss his cheek. The voice coming from the phone was high-pitched.

“Honey, I’m busy this mornin',” Billy grumbled, protesting whatever plans were being made on his behalf. For a moment, Owen– still bleary with sleep– panicked. Was Billy with someone? Had he unwittingly entered into an affair?

“Can’t you just call your mother?” The voice rose in volume, prompting Billy to hold the phone away from his head, wincing. “Okay, okay. Text me the address. I’ll pick you up. Might be a while.” He hung up, dropping his phone onto the mattress.

“Who was that?”

“My niece. Got wasted at a party, lost her stuff, woke up in some frat house. Doesn’t wanna call her mom to come get her.” He rubbed his face again, ran his fingers through his hair. “Can hardly blame her. My sister’s a handful.”

“Your sister,” Owen echoed.

“Yeah. S’pose I don’t talk about her much.”

“No, you don’t. Do you have other nieces? Nephews?”

“Just the one. Good kid. Bit wild. Takes after her uncle.” Billy winked at Owen, disarming and childish all at once.

“At least let me make you breakfast.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman.”

Chapter Text

Mateo stayed in his room until he heard the telltale closing of the front door, and the rumble of an engine starting up. When he did emerge into the kitchen, Owen was loading the dishwasher. He had a big, cheerful grin on his face, and was nursing a mug of coffee.

“Hey, Cap.”

Owen didn’t jump from fright, but it was a near thing. His head snapped up, eyes fixing on Mateo. His expression went from surprise to relief, as he recognized his roommate and colleague rather than an intruder, and then moved rapidly onto astonishment.

“Mateo? What’re you doing here? I thought you were gone for another week.”

“That was the plan.” Mateo rubbed at the back of his neck, sheepish. He busied himself making coffee. “The holiday went super badly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine.”

“Did you get back this morning?”

Mateo almost wanted to lie. “No, uh. Last night.”

“Oh, okay.”

The clink of plates against hard plastic, and the sounds of coffee brewing, filled the kitchen in lieu of any further conversation. When Mateo did chance a look over at Owen, he saw a clenched jaw and a tense expression. The walls in this house were not thick enough to guarantee proper privacy, and they both knew it. His Captain had unknowingly outed himself, when he clearly was not ready.

Mateo picked up his coffee and began to retreat back to his bedroom, but stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t leave things as they were.

He turned back around, not sure what he would say, but certain that he needed to say something.

“Look, Cap…”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Owen took his coffee in both hands, looked down at it. Mateo had never known him to avoid eye contact quite so blatantly.

“I just want you to know that it’s none of my business.”

“Right.”

“I mean, you’ve brought people home almost every night that I’ve lived here.”

Owen did look up now, propelled past his anxiety by a kneejerk urge to defend his reputation. “You’re exaggerating.”

"Only slightly. The point is that it’s fine. No matter who… they are.”

Owen took a sip of his coffee.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Mateo continued desperately.

“I didn’t think you would,” Owen said, quickly enough that Mateo felt oddly touched, “You’re a good man. I do trust you.”

Mateo hesitated for a moment, and then took several daring steps forward, advancing back into the kitchen. Owen watched him warily. Mateo took a seat at the counter, opposite his colleague.

“You do seem worried, though. Again, it’s none of my business, but… do you want to talk about it?”

Owen tapped the side of his mug. He was more fidgety than usual. “I’m your boss. I put you in enough uncomfortable situations already.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow. “I live with you. The lines are blurred as it is. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t care.”

Owen sighed. “It’s just… new. It’s not like I’m ashamed. I’ve always supported TK, Paul… anyone. Everyone who’s different. ‘Cause we all are. You and the team, you’ve showed me that. Everyone’s unique. But…”

Mateo smiled. “You just never thought you’d be in the ‘different’ category, huh.”

“It’s not a bad category,” Owen clarified, “That’s not it. But telling TK would be making a statement. Putting myself in a specific category. And I’m not… clear enough on everything to talk about it. Not yet.”

“Makes sense.”

“Besides, it’s…” Owen sighed again, a frustrated crease between his brows. “It’s complicated.”

“Sexuality? Sure.”

“No, no. It’s…” Owen searched for the correct phrasing, taking a gulp of his coffee before he elaborated. It seemed to Mateo that he was determined to conceal something very specific. “It’s someone that… TK knows. Someone that… the whole team knows.”

Mateo tried to hide his shock, but probably didn’t do a very good job. “Someone that I know?”

“Yeah.” Regret filled Owen’s voice. “Christ, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“My mind is racing right now.”

“C’mon. We’re firefighters, we meet everybody at some point.”

“But you wouldn’t care if he was some random rescue,” Mateo deduced proudly, before reconsidering those words. “It is ‘he’, isn’t it? A guy?”

“Yep.”

“I gotta remind myself not to assume,” Mateo mumbled, more to himself than Owen. He shook his head and returned to the discussion at hand. “I’m curious, I won’t lie. But your privacy comes first. I guarantee, I will respect your right to disclose when you feel ready.”

The stress that had tightened Owen’s face finally relented, replaced by a soft, grateful smile.

“Thanks, Mateo.”

"No problem. And if you ever want someone to confide in..."

"I'm good."

"Damn."

Chapter Text

Owen had been surprised by the intensity of his anxiety when he encountered Mateo in their kitchen. As he walked into the firehouse later that morning, he committed his own nervousness to memory. He needed to remember where his head was at, needed to second-guess his instincts, because he was dealing with new and uncertain terrain. Being a firefighter meant being under pressure, handling all kinds of stresses and dangerous situations. He was modest enough to know that he could make mistakes, especially when he was already emotional, already reeling from private turmoil. The idea of leaving your shit at the door, it only worked to an extent. He couldn’t leave this anywhere. It was coming with him. He had to slow down, take his time, and think through every decision.

The day went well. They attended a small house fire and then a car crash, cutting the driver and her two passengers free from crumpled metal. TK accompanied the other medics, moving efficiently alongside Tommy. Owen was proud of his son, and relieved to see him flourishing. He had an amount of pride for himself, too. He wasn’t dropping the ball. He wasn’t letting his identity crisis impact his fellow emergency workers. It was the least he could do but, right now, it felt like a victory.

He gravitated back to his desk towards the end of his shift. Paperwork was as dull as ever, but it felt almost cathartic today. It was regimented, ordered, clean. Facts that could be stated and accepted. He worked at it for an hour or so, then wandered out to the communal kitchen table. Paul was reading a new novel, leaned back in his chair. Marjan was sitting beside him, showing Mateo something on her phone while Judd made coffee. Owen could hear TK, Tommy, and Nancy laughing while they took stock of supplies and prepared their request sheets. Everything felt calm and familial.

“How’s everybody doing?”

“Fine.” “No stress here.” “Good.” The responses were all typical, and Owen felt reassured that he was doing his job. Checking in was necessary, when you were as distracted as he felt.

He took a seat.

“This coffee machine is more precious than any human I’ve ever met,” Judd muttered, glancing over his shoulder and pointing an accusatory finger at Owen, “You look at it wrong and it’ll throw a tantrum. Too goddamn fancy for its own good. I’m gonna bring my own in, one of these days.”

“Bring a poor-quality coffee machine into this station? I think not,” Owen replied, exaggerating for the sake of banter. Judd shook his head, smiling as he returned to the coffee-making at hand. Everything was fine, and Owen was pleased. Judd loved complaining about the coffee machine, but he never missed an opportunity to use it.

Owen's phone pinged with a notification. He pulled it out of his pocket automatically, mind occupied by his performance of normalcy. It was only when he unlocked his phone and fixed his eyes on the typed words that he realized who had texted him. Billy Tyson.

how you doing today?

Owen smiled, without even meaning to. He smiled like a schoolboy smiles when overcome by a crush; giddily and with abundant joy. He glanced around at his teammates, confirming that none of them were paying attention to him, and then he tapped out a reply. Good. One fire, one car crash.

The response was quick.

everyone okay?

Owen pursed his lips, trying to suppress his grin. His thumbs hovered over the phone screen before he wrote a reply.

You’re getting soft.

“You want a coffee, Cap? Always find it’s good to perk up before drivin’ home.”

“No thanks, Judd,” Owen replied, without looking up from his phone. In his peripheral vision, he saw Judd take a seat. A new message popped up on his screen.

you prefer me hard?

Owen swallowed down the urge to laugh. Judd continued chatting with Paul, so he assumed he’d done a good job. Before he could reply, Billy texted again.

sorry. too much?

Not at all. He didn’t know what else to say. He’d never been good at texting, which he chalked up to a generational issue. The dating apps he’d tried throughout the years had been formulaic, purposeful, driven by a mutual desire for sex. Texting Billy felt more exciting than that.

dinner tonight? my place?

Owen didn’t even check his calendar app or consider other obligations before he hurriedly responded. 7pm would be perfect.

see you then.

Owen locked his phone and looked up, right at the amused expressions of his colleagues. He felt the same gripping nervousness that had overcome him in the kitchen.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” The question came from Marjan, who was leaning on her fist and grinning.

“What?”

“Whoever you’re textin’ there, seems she’s got your attention pretty good,” Paul observed.

Owen opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even denial. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t ready to tell his team that he had feelings for a man. He wasn’t ready to tell them that he’d fallen head over heels for Billy. He wasn’t ready for any of this, and he hadn't prepared a lie. A full second passed, and then Mateo rescued him.

“C’mon guys, give him his privacy.”

“Aw, look at you.” Marjan playfully shoved Mateo’s shoulder. “Teacher’s pet.”

“We’re just messin’ with you, Cap,” Judd laughed.

“Who’s messing with my dad?” TK walked towards them, smiling. Owen rose from his seat, desperate to make an escape.

“I’ve, uh, got somewhere to be. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

He fled before he could hear any further speculation. He made a mental note to thank Mateo later.

Chapter Text

He spent far too long deciding what to wear to Billy’s house. He was hyperaware of himself, hyperaware of everything that Billy would be seeing. Pretending that he didn’t care was not an option available to him, which was a damn shame, because shallow apathy had carried him through many straight relationships with minimal causalities. Every time he’d given more than that, he’d ended up married. That, among other things, frightened the living shit out of him.

He watched himself in his own mirror, turning to the side and assessing his figure for any flaws, real or imagined. He styled his hair. He inspected his face. He tugged at his shirt. Eventually, when he was on the precipice of running late, he left.

Billy’s house loomed like a glowing fortress, warm and rustic. Wood paired with exposed brick. As he approached, striding up the driveway, Owen had to remind himself to breathe calmly. The two emergencies he’d attended today had been easier to handle than a relaxed dinner between lovers.

He supposed they were lovers, now. Or he hoped that they would be. At some stage he’d need to ask Billy for a word, a title to bestow upon their union. Or maybe he could offer one. He couldn’t say which option sounded scarier.

He stood on Billy’s doorstep, a brand-new bottle of whiskey in one hand. A rack by the entrance held rows of boots, all of them scuffed and mud-encrusted to some extent. He rang the doorbell and gazed over at a flannel blanket, draped lazily across a wooden rocking chair. He wondered if Billy spent his nights out here, drinking beer and staring up at the stars. Or maybe he came out in the mornings, to watch the sun rise with a coffee. He wondered if they could do that together, someday.

There was a metallic clack as the doorknob was turned. Owen’s throat tightened with an involuntary pulse of nervousness.

Billy opened the door. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt with blue jeans, and had his hair untied. It was a simple ensemble, but it suited him well. The jeans were well-fitted, more expensive than his usual unkempt attire.

“Hey,” Billy said, simply.

“Hey,” Owen replied.

Billy lifted one arm, braced it against the doorframe. He canted his hips to the side, tilted his head. Without shame or hesitation, he looked up and down Owen’s body, considering him from head to toe. Taking his time.

“Are you going to let me in?”

“Sure. Just appreciatin’ what I see.” He stepped aside. “C’mon, then.”

Owen wasn’t sure if his blush was visible, but he damn well felt as though it were. He handed over the bottle of whiskey when he couldn’t conjure a coherent reply. The moment he entered Billy’s house, a strong smell of meat overcame him. His mouth watered. The space was enriched by the scents of home-cooked food.

“You didn’t have to bring me a present,” Billy said, even as he accepted the bottle.

“Couldn't just arrive empty-handed." Owen hesitated for just a moment, long enough to take a sip of air before he leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Billy kissed him back without flinching. Owen envied his confidence, wished he could possess it through proximity, through touch. He remembered the man he’d become during their last night together, how Billy had trembled beneath him and submitted to what he offered. He hoped he could become that man again. He hoped he could find the strength to be bold. Just like he was with women.

Billy pulled away with a laugh, shaking his head when Owen took him by the waist. “Hold up, hold up.”

“What?”

“I cooked dinner, you rude bastard. This can wait ‘till later.”

Owen groaned with transparent impatience. Billy laughed louder. He stepped around Owen and lightly smacked his ass, before continuing down the hallway. After a moment, smiling to himself, Owen followed.

***

They ate venison and drank wine.

Owen realized very quickly that he had a lot to learn about Billy, and much of that learning would come at Billy’s own pace. Billy described the meal to him, how he’d prepared it and why the flavors came through so perfectly. Red wine, dry sherry, vinegar, and thyme in the sauce. Wild mushrooms, earthy with a touch of sweetness. Redcurrant jelly. Salt and pepper for the venison. Just enough, Billy said. Just enough and not too much. Flavors mingling and complementing one another. Owen wouldn’t have assumed that Billy loved to cook, that he took pride in it. The meal made him hungry for more, hungry for every word that left Billy’s lips. Hungry to see depths which were presently unknown to him.

When he was finished eating, Owen sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

“Really, Billy. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“I wanted to.”

“Where’d you even find such delicious meat? Which butcher do you go to?”

Billy raised an eyebrow. “What’s on my walls, Owen?”

Owen glanced over Billy’s shoulder, at the plentiful antlers which were mounted on wooden plaques.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, you wouldn’t go to a butcher, would you?”

“I mean, I do sometimes. Not for special occasions, though. No, I hunted this deer myself.”

“I don’t think I’d have the stomach for that.”

Billy had a sip of his wine. For a moment he seemed distracted, unfocussed.

“My dad taught me how, long time ago. Once I was big enough to hold a gun, I was shootin’ stuff. But I’m more humane than he was. And less wasteful.”

“Wasteful?”

“Every part of the deer can be used. If you’re takin’ an animal’s life, you oughta make it worthwhile. There’s this mindset among some hunters.” Billy gestured, placing his glass down on the table. “Honor the creature. Every inch of it. Meat, hide, butter, sausages from the intestines, glue from boilin’ down the hooves… Minimize the waste.”

Owen tried to picture each part of that process, but couldn’t quite get there. “That all sounds very… grim.”

“Enjoyed the meat, though.” Billy winked at him. “Didn’t you?”

“Well,” Owen sat forward, leaning towards Billy, “Maybe I’m just a wimp.”

“You spend most of your days fightin' fires and carryin' folk to safety, I don’t think you’re a wimp,” Billy reassured him, his tone so fond that Owen’s chest ached. “Nah. Unlike my dad, I recognize that huntin’ isn’t for everyone. Even respect vegans, now. I get it. Wastefulness, cruelty… It’s somethin’ to consider. And killin’ an animal doesn’t make you a man. It makes you the same person you were before.”

Billy reached across the table. His hand came to rest against Owen’s cheek, and Owen suddenly found it more difficult to breathe. But he persisted past his shyness, anchoring himself in this moment. Looking into Billy’s dark eyes and trying to believe that the affection there came without danger.

“We really are different, aren’t we,” Owen said, “You and I.”

Billy smiled lovingly. “Sure. Doesn’t bother me, though. Does it bother you?”

“No. I like it.”

Chapter Text

They left the dinner plates and empty glasses where they were. With a somewhat wry smile, Billy took Owen’s hand and led him to the main bedroom.

It was as simple and tidy as the rest of the house, with cream walls and wooden furniture, a large bed and a deep brown rug. Owen’s interior design preferences may have differed from Billy’s, but he appreciated how organized everything was. He didn’t do this often, allow his imagination to run wild with romantic fancy, but he could see himself living in this house. He could see his and Billy’s lives melding, the bland minimalism of his current life made richer by Billy’s very presence. He knew he could be childish, controlling and petulant, when it came to his home– but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He’d grown, since he last tried to cohabit with Gwyn. He wanted someone to disrupt the strict order he’d clung to for years, he wanted someone to erode his control. He’d played at a rustic life when he hid himself away in a cabin, sulking with sore knuckles and the deep, ashamed knowledge of his own aggression. That had been a shallow attempt at a more authentic existence. Now, he was living genuinely.

Billy walked towards his bed, but Owen stopped him, hand against his hip.

“Wait.”

Billy turned back, facing Owen now, expression open and concerned. “What is it? You okay?”

Owen grinned, Billy’s worry nestling inside him with unimaginable warmth. “I’m okay. Can you… stand there?”

Billy laughed hesitantly, unsure what Owen meant. His confusion disappeared when Owen sunk to his knees. He placed his hand against Owen’s head, drawing his fingers through waves of brown as Owen unbuckled his belt.

“That’ll hurt your knees after a while,” he murmured, “Trust me. Now, I’m not complainin’, but we’re better doin’ this on a bed.”

“I want it like this. To be on my knees for you. Been thinking about it.” Owen looked up at him, voice quiet and serious. “Been thinking about it a lot.”

Billy’s tongue darted between his lips. He blinked slowly, gaze flitting between Owen’s eyes and the fingers that slowly exposed him. The air was suddenly heavy, weighed down by purpose.

Billy stood silently, stroking Owen’s hair as his fly was unzipped. Owen had never been watched quite so closely before, even when he’d had his face buried between the legs of women. Nobody had ever watched him quite like Billy did.

Owen pulled down Billy’s jeans. Then, as surprised by his own actions as Billy surely was, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the bulge that sat insistently against thin cotton. Billy hissed quietly, fingers tightening in Owen’s hair. Owen closed his eyes and mouthed at Billy’s fabric-covered cock, inhaling through his nose as he did so, hands rising to hold Billy’s thighs. He’d always liked pussy, the smell and taste of it, so it made sense that he’d like this too.

“Christ,” Billy grunted, “You are a pretty motherfucker, ain’t you?”

Owen opened his eyes, looked coyly up at Billy. He was met with a helpless wheeze of laughter, Billy tipping his chin back and staring at the ceiling. Owen saw the arc of his throat, roughened by stubble.

“You’re gonna kill me, Strand.”

Owen curled his fingers beneath the waistband of Billy’s underwear, tugged downward. Billy’s cock sprung free, an opaque bead of desperation smudging against Owen’s palm when he slid a hand onto the other man’s length. He could feel himself getting hard too, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to ignore his own needs in favor of someone else’s. In favor of getting Billy off.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, “You’ll have to teach me.”

With that, he parted his lips and carefully, tentatively placed them on the head of Billy’s cock.

“Fuck, Owen…”

Billy breathed louder, swallowing audibly when Owen opened his mouth wider, inches of flesh disappearing as he cautiously ducked his head forward. Billy was almost lightheaded from everything that was happening; the silky warmth of a willing mouth, the ability to mess up such perfectly styled hair, and the sight of a gorgeous man at his feet.

“You don’t have to- No need to take it all in, just,” Billy tried to catch his breath, but his words wobbled, pleasure making his knees shaky. “Just slide your hand, while you- Yeah, that’s it. Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, darlin’. Take your time.”

Owen quickly got the hang of it, which Billy was hardly surprised by. He supposed that it made sense, for Owen to be as good at this as he was at everything else.

He tried to stand still, to stop his hips from swaying forward in time with the bobbing of Owen’s head. He remembered the first time he’d sucked a guy off, remembered gagging in some random bedroom during a grimy house party, head held unrelentingly still as a stranger fucked his face. He remembered how awful it had been. He didn’t want to put Owen through that, didn’t want to hurt him.

After several minutes, Owen pulled away from him. A thin string of fluid momentarily hung between his open, panting mouth and Billy’s cock, before snapping. They stared at each other. To say that Owen looked different like this would be an understatement. He looked wanton, messy, excited. Eyes bright with the thrill of doing what he’d long thought taboo, impossible, unattainable.

“You never answered my question.”

Billy brushed a strand of hair off Owen’s forehead. “What question?”

“Think you can do it? Cum in my mouth?”

“Jesus Christ. Yeah, Owen, I think I can.”

“Good.”

Chapter Text

Billy generally considered himself too polite to do such a thing, but his climax caught him off-guard; he bowed over, both hands buried in Owen’s hair, legs barely keeping him upright. There wasn’t even time to offer a courteous warning. Owen’s throat flexed without rhythm. He made muffled noises which came with a hint of surprise, but Billy- despite his affected state- didn’t miss how Owen leaned forward with transparent eagerness, nose pressing against Billy’s skin.

He pulled his softening cock from Owen’s lips and staggered down, falling to his knees in a nearly comically helpless fashion, wrung dry. Owen licked something pale from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling. Both of them kneeling in the center of Billy’s bedroom, swaying and gasping.

“God,” Billy tried to say, words coming out strained and barely discernible, “God, Owen. You really are gonna kill me.”

Owen took him by the neck, pulled him into a hard, demanding kiss. Billy felt like his brain would short circuit. He could taste himself on Owen’s tongue. Nobody had ever kissed him after sucking him off.

“Good job. Fuckin’ first time expert. Jesus.” Billy stumbled upwards, holding out a hand to help Owen up. “Bet your knees are hurtin’ now.”

“I’m focused on other things, to be honest.”

“Let’s get you outta those clothes, then.”

Billy felt about as useful as a glass hammer, loose-limbed and exhausted, but he didn’t want this to end yet. He couldn’t cum again, not for some time, but he wanted Owen to feel pleasure.

He went and lay down on his bed once he was undressed, bunching up his pillow and hugging it. He watched as Owen hurriedly shucked his clothing, the other man’s movements urgent in a way that Billy presently couldn’t match. It was a damn good thing he’d had this in mind from the beginning of the night. He wouldn’t have to do much except lay there and take whatever Owen felt able to give.

Owen climbed onto the bed eventually, his clothes abandoned in a chaotic pile. He settled on top of Billy, chest against Billy’s back, one arm sliding between Billy’s body and the mattress, embracing him from behind. Billy could hear wet noises, rapid and needy, could feel the motion of Owen’s hand as he stroked himself. More honest and vulnerable than he’d been in years, Billy spread his legs wider. He heard Owen’s breathing, already rushed, hitch in response.

“Bedside table.”

Owen’s weight briefly left his back as he leaned over to swipe the bottle of lubricant. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Ain’t my first rodeo, New York.”

“What did I say about the nicknames?”

“I dunno, I reckon it’s kinda funny,” Billy muttered, glancing back at him with a smile.

Owen popped the bottle cap, then paused. He looked at Billy with a surprised expression, as though he’d just remembered something.

“I didn’t even think. Should we… Do you have condoms?”

Billy shrugged. “I do. You can use one, if you want. I don't have any STIs.”

“I mean, me neither, but-”

“Nobody in this room’s gettin’ pregnant, Owen. But if you want, we can go to a clinic tomorrow. Get tested. It’ll be romantic.”

Owen smirked. He squirted a generous heaping in his palm, then set the bottle back on the table. He took his cock in hand, spread the shiny fluid across his length. Billy closed his eyes when Owen began kissing his neck.

“Seems to me that you want me to cum inside you.”

Billy hugged his pillow tighter. He felt the tip of Owen’s cock press briefly against sensitive whorls of skin, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake.

“Seems to me that you wanna cum inside me."

“Maybe I will,” Owen decided, “And maybe I’ll invite you to the station, sometime soon. Throw a little party. And all the while, I’ll be thinking about this.”

Billy’s forehead furrowed with a desperate, needy frown, his mouth falling open as the pressure against his hole increased. He let himself make all of the noises he knew Owen was hungry for, didn’t grit his teeth and hide behind a mask. He’d done that before, many times, with many men. Not Owen. That’s not what tonight was about.

“You feel so good,” Owen breathed. He moved several more inches inward, prompting Billy to wail and press his face into the pillow, fabric straining between his fingers.

“You okay?” Owen brushed hair off the nape of Billy's neck, stroked his temple. “Hey, look at me.”

Billy did. “I’m okay.”

“Am I hurting you?”

The answer to that was complicated. Billy reached back, urging him forward, deeper. He let out a quivering breath when Owen complied.

“I need you to talk to me, Billy. I’ve never done this before-”

“Always hurts a bit. S’fine. Like it, this way. C’mon. Do your worst.”

Owen kissed his shoulders, his jaw, his cheek. “You deserve only my best.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ sap.”

“You love it.”

Billy could hardly deny that.

“How rough do you want it, huh? Want me to be gentle?”

Billy felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the carnal mischievousness in Owen’s tone. Mere months ago he never would’ve guessed that Owen Strand, of all the supposedly heterosexual men in the world, would be so confident with his dick buried in another man’s body. The moment he’d tasted his own cum in Owen’s mouth, he’d known that he was in for a goddamn experience. He’d unlocked something primal and raw inside Owen and, right now, he was helpless to it.

“Just… use me. Whatever you wanna do.”

Owen inhaled sharply. He straightened up, cool air rushing across Billy’s bare back. He took hold of Billy’s waist and, without any of the hesitation which had been holding him back, shoved himself as deep as he could go. Billy whined, gripping the pillow so hard that his wrists ached.

Chapter Text

Right before Owen came, he leaned down, pressing himself flush against Billy’s back once more. By then his movements were losing their rhythm and he was frenzied. His hand fumbled past Billy’s hip, but he didn’t grasp Billy’s cock, didn’t try to force him into fullness. He pushed the flat of his palm against Billy’s lower belly, where he could almost feel the vigor of his own movements, the tip of him rutting against a place deep inside Billy’s body.

They hadn’t talked for quite some time. There hadn’t been any need for words.

The creaking of the bed frame ceased as Owen stilled, muffling his cry against a sweaty, faintly-scarred shoulder. Billy felt a swell of warmth inside him, although that might have just been his willful imagination. He wondered if Owen could feel it, too. Could feel the change just beside his palm, the rushing burst that signaled them connecting, finally, in defiance of the conflict that had preceded this night.

Owen finally relaxed once the aftershocks of his orgasm receded, limp and spent. Billy tucked messy waves of hair behind his ear, turned his face so that Owen could sloppily, clumsily kiss him. They were as exhausted as two men could get.

“That was amazing. Thank you.”

Billy chuckled. “For what? I didn’t do much.”

“For everything. And yes, you did.”

Billy sighed contentedly.

Neither of them moved for a while. When they finally did part, Owen moved to stand, probably seeking a shower. Billy pulled him back down.

“Just a couple minutes.”

Owen obliged. This time, he was the one to pull Billy against his chest. He drew his fingers through Billy’s hair while their breathing settled. The room was quiet, but the mood was less awkward than the last time they’d lain together.

“Everythin’ you hoped for?”

“That and more,” Owen answered, to Billy’s immense relief. “Are you… okay? I didn’t mean to get so… enthusiastic.”

“You gotta stop askin’ if I’m okay. I'll damn well tell you if I want to stop, or I'm not enjoyin' myself.”

“Alright.”

“If you’re fishin’ for compliments, though, I’ll say that I’ve not been fucked like that for years,” Billy mused, “In a good way. Been a long time since I let a guy fuck me raw, too. And the dirty talk, Owen. Who knew you were such a kinky little-”

“Alright, alright.”

“Would love to come on down for that party you mentioned. ‘Specially if you’re gonna be thinkin’ about fuckin’ me the entire time-”

“Oh, God.” Owen covered his face with one hand, laughing. “Stop.”

Billy lifted himself up, nuzzled beneath Owen’s hand and kissed him. Owen was still laughing.

Chapter Text

Owen stayed the night.

He had vivid, confusing dreams. He found himself standing in a sun-drenched backyard, yellowed grass stiff underneath his bare feet. He was young. It was a dry summer. A woman hovered before him, just out of reach. He walked toward her, but didn’t seem to move at all. The backyard was endless, but small at the same time. Contained yet infinite. The dream felt too familiar to be anything other than a collection of memories. The rows of herbs, the flowers in cracked pots. His mother’s blue dress. His father’s tobacco.

Then, he was indoors. His bedroom? No, the kitchen. Eating cereal. His mother standing by the counter, arms crossed. Angry. Owen, a man and a child at the same time, felt an icy chill creep through him, seizing his whole body. A paradoxical rush of heat and cold. A deep terror. He’d done something wrong. He’d made a mistake. Her voice rose, cutting through the picturesque kitchen. She advanced towards him.

“Hey, Owen. Hey.”

Owen’s eyes flew open. He was curled on his side, entire body stiff, every muscle tense. Billy lay in front of him, one hand against Owen’s shoulder, as if he’d been trying to shake Owen awake. His expression was alert, worried. The room was only faintly lit by the beginnings of sunrise.

Owen sat up. His heart was hammering, and he felt shaky for reasons he couldn’t voice. Billy sat up too. Without being asked, he pulled Owen against him, enveloping him in the safety of a hug. Owen closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around Billy and holding on tight.

“Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare. You were yellin’ for someone to leave you alone.”

Owen felt ashamed. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Hey, now. Don’t be sorry.” Billy rubbed Owen’s back, hand coming away moistened by sweat. He could feel Owen shivering, shirt sticking to him. Whatever he’d been dreaming about had kicked his body into fight or flight mode. “You wanna try goin’ back to sleep, or you wanna take a shower? I can get breakfast started.”

“I guess I better shower,” Owen conceded, “I’m sorry, Billy.”

“Christ’s sake,” Billy murmured, his sleep-roughened voice brimming with affection, “Don’t be sorry.”

***

An hour later, they were both sitting on Billy’s porch, eating fried eggs with toast and bacon. Billy dragged a small table and a spare chair out for Owen, who was bright-eyed and much more settled than he’d been only a short while ago. Both of them were dressed in their work uniforms, ready to head off after breakfast was done. Birds were chirping and the sky was a vibrant, pretty blue. Billy hadn’t realized how profoundly fulfilling it would be, to have Owen here in such a domestic, mundane way. No sex. Something quieter, more romantic. He usually ate breakfast alone. He usually did most things alone.  

“D’you wanna talk about it?”

Owen looked up from his plate, mouth full of food. He swallowed before replying. “About what?”

Billy took a sip of his coffee, gestured. “Your nightmare.”

Owen smiled, almost quizzically. Like he was puzzled by the question, amused that Billy cared to ask.

“I ain’t lookin’ to push you on it, Owen,” Billy held up his hands, “Just bein’ nice.”

Owen laughed quietly. He busied himself cutting a slice of bacon, spearing a lump of egg. He chewed and thought about what he’d say next. Without looking up, he asked, “Did you get along with your dad?”

“Uh…” Billy hadn’t expected that, but he assumed Owen was going somewhere with such a line of enquiry, so he answered honestly. “Kinda?”

Owen looked over at him, beseeching eyes pleading for more details. Billy sighed and drank some more coffee.

“He was very… old-fashioned. Veteran. Alcoholic. Pushed the world away ‘cause it was easier. Safer. Plus, it was all he knew. Dad was in a lot of pain. Huntin’ was a way to bond with him, be as close as I could get. Gain his approval.” Even to Billy’s own ears, his voice sounded mournful. “S’pose I never let that go. Swore I’d never be like him, but I was headed there. ‘Till you came along.”

Owen smiled.

“Well, you and the cancer. Existential dread does a lot to realign a guy’s priorities.” Billy paused. “Did you get along with your old man?”

Owen hesitated, demeanor immediately changing.

“Yes,” he began.

“But?”

Owen looked away, off to the side. “I’m starting to remember things. Not about dad. About my mom. My nightmare, it… That’s who I was dreaming about.”

Billy nodded slowly.

“I think she knew,” Owen explained, “Back when I was a kid. Caught me looking at another boy, maybe. I can’t exactly remember. But I know I did… something wrong. Something that made her angry. I remember her saying things… The kinds of people in the world. Good and bad. Perverse and… normal. She was very religious.” Owen’s voice became bitter, resentful. Angrier than Billy had ever witnessed him becoming, even at the height of their feud. “Probably why I never believed in any of it. Those words, her words… festered inside me. I didn’t even… I didn’t realize. Not until recently. Last night… brought it all back.”

Billy put down his coffee, reached across the table. Owen let go of his cutlery and allowed Billy to hold his hands. Still, he looked away, eyes wet with tears he refused to cry.

“I went through the same thing,” Billy told him, “Most of us did, ‘specially men our age. You should be proud. You broke the cycle.”

Owen shook his head, as though he didn’t deserve the compliment.

“I mean it.”

“I know. I know.” Owen sniffed, lifted one hand to wipe at his eyes, rub away the tears before they could fall. “You did it, too. You broke the cycle.”

“Ah, well. See, I never had any kids to break the cycle with.”

“Do you regret that?” Owen’s voice was careful, quiet. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“No,” Billy said, quickly, “I don’t regret it.”

Owen finally met Billy's gaze, more curious than he was upset. “Why?”

“I might be a good dad now. Not in years past, though. Better not to have a kid at all. I would’ve woken up one mornin’ and realized I’d become everythin’ my father was. And the kid would’ve suffered for that.” Billy pointed at him. “You did not do that to your kid. You gotta know that. You ain’t your mother, and TK sure as shit did not have the same experience that you did.”

Owen’s smile wobbled. He laughed at himself, rubbing his eyes again. “God, I’m… never this emotional. I’m sorry, Billy-”

“Fuck’s sake, I told you to stop apologizin’ to me. What’s breakfast without some free therapy, huh?”

Owen laughed, but this time he sounded happier. “Screw you.”

Billy rose up out of his seat, enough that he could lean across the table and plant a kiss on Owen’s mouth.

Chapter Text

Judd and Tommy were drinking coffee and chatting when Owen walked into the station's kitchen area.

Tommy was partway through a story about her daughter’s affinity for the martial arts, so they didn’t pay their Captain much attention beyond briefly greeting him. His reply was quiet and distracted, but their interest was only piqued when they heard the hollow sound of thin metal. They both looked over with amazement bordering on disbelief. Owen had reached into a top cupboard, where the large can of instant coffee had been hidden. He proceeded to morosely spoon a pile of pre-ground beans into his mug.

“Is hell freezing over?”

The question came from Tommy. Owen glanced over at them, and it was only then that his colleagues got a decent look at him. He appeared exhausted, and not in a way that was familiar; this wasn’t the exhaustion of sleep deprivation, which they were all intimately familiar with, on a near-weekly basis. This was a bone-deep. Emotional.

“What?” He poured boiling water into his mug.

“I remember you sayin’ on multiple occasions that you’d rather die than drink,” Judd made quotation marks with his fingers, “that disgustin’ swill.”

“Too tired to make a proper coffee,” Owen explained flatly. He retrieved milk from the fridge.

Tommy and Judd traded worried stares.

“Are you alright, Owen?” Tommy asked.

Owen waved vaguely in their direction, dismissing the question. “Yeah, of course.”

“Don’t seem alright to me,” Judd pressed.

“It’s been an intense morning. That’s all.”

They watched as Owen returned the milk to the fridge, the coffee to the cupboard. He took his mug and walked out of the room. “See you both in a bit.”

Judd rubbed at his chin. Both he and Tommy were veterans of human behavior, sharp and intelligent when it came to the emotional status of people around them. The smallest hints could precede the biggest conflicts, and Owen Strand deigning to drink instant caffeine wasn’t a red flag to be ignored.

“I think we should keep an eye on him,” Tommy decided.

“Took the words right outta my mouth, T.”

***

TK had a smile on his face and an orange juice in his hand. Carlos had taken to juicing fruits, lately, as part of a new health regimen. TK was ambivalent about the weightlifting lifestyle itself, as he appreciated Carlos regardless of his muscular refinement, but he loved the morning routine they’d developed. He loved that he could walk into work with a drink prepared by his boyfriend. It was the smallest things that saved him, that affirmed his happiness.

His sobriety counsellor had told him that sipping fluids throughout his day would help to reign in the monkey part of his brain, the primitive part that persisted with its screaming demands for alcohol. Give yourself a drink, they had suggested, even if it’s not the drink that you really crave. The habitual side of addiction, smokers turning to lollipops, yadda yadda. He didn’t know how much it worked. Meditation didn’t work for him, either. But he was willing to try anything to stay sober. He’d mentioned the counsellor’s theory to Carlos, offhandedly, and since then Carlos had gone to adorable lengths to put a juice or a shake in TK’s hand before he left for work.

The placebo of it helped him, more than anything else. The sweet reassurance that someone gave a fuck. He was still an addict, he would always be an addict, and no amount of juice would change that. But juice prepared by the love of his life, that carried a different weight.

He strode into his dad’s office that morning, in a good mood. Eager to kick off the day with some lighthearted teasing.

“Morning!”

“Morning,” Owen replied. TK should’ve realized that something was off when Owen didn’t look up from his paperwork, but he was in such good spirits that he flopped down onto the chair opposite Owen’s desk, uncaring.

“So, you disappeared pretty fast yesterday.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” TK said, smirking, “The team reckon there’s someone new in your life.”

His cheerful, unsubstantiated prodding didn’t provoke a laugh, or a flippant admonishment that TK should intrude into his father’s love life. The back-and-forth that TK had come to enjoy simply wasn’t there. Owen crossed out something on the requisition sheet he was filling out, made a note.

“…Dad?”

“Just leave it alone, TK.”

TK’s smile faded completely. Owen looked up now, as though he’d been surprised by the frustrated, irritated tone of his own voice. His shoulders sagged, his posture defeated, regretful.

“Sorry,” he offered, “I’m sorry.”

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Please, don’t worry.”

TK wrestled down his own anxiety, took a sip of his juice. Just to remind himself of the things that anchored him.

“You’re clearly not fine. A new girlfriend shouldn’t cause you this much stress. If you do have a new girlfriend.”

“It’s not your job to worry about me. I’m your parent.”

In moments like these, TK was cautious of overstepping. He had a very special relationship with his father, which he’d only realized once he witnessed the friendly, but distant, relationship between Carlos and Gabriel. He knew there were limits to what he could ask, what he could demand to know, so he considered his words carefully before continuing.

“You gotta understand, dad. You hid your cancer diagnosis from me. So, when it seems like you’re struggling with something… I do worry. I know I’m your son. But I do worry about you.”

Owen stood up, walked around his desk. He placed both hands on TK’s shoulders, looked at him with fraught intensity.

“This is nothing like that.”

TK nodded. Owen smiled, sadly and with a staggering amount of love in his eyes.

“I usually know what I’m doing. I usually know what to say, or I get there in the end. I’m getting there, TK. When I’m ready, you will be the first person I speak to. I promise. I've got a lot to... unpack. I can't do that with you. That's all.”

TK could tell that he meant it. That would have to be enough. He stood and hugged his dad, still holding his juice in one hand. Anxiety was an ongoing battle, but he had to trust that his dad would be okay. He would be able to talk with Carlos about this, later.

The alarm sounded. An emergency.

Owen patted his back. “Go on, then. Get to work.”

Chapter Text

TK’s worries were largely alleviated that day, as he watched his father work.

They attended yet another car crash; the fourth one this week. TK wasn’t a superstitious person, but he’d begun to associate cars with bad luck. The firefighting team was in sync under his dad’s command, moving with confidence and authority. Life was simpler, by the side of a dying stranger. Goals and needs made concrete, uncomplicated. A set order of priorities and tactics that they could employ. Blood and pain and chaos beneath the cheery sun. A midday sprawl. A seemingly endless line of cars, waiting for them to either succeed or call it in as a regretful loss. Just another day.

They got the driver out of the car, attended to him. A white tube down to the branched entrance of his lungs, hooked up to a bag that TK squeezed calmly. Epinephrine, a magical fluid, more valuable than liquid gold when flowing through an IV. A human being’s life in the balance, and TK was still managing to keep one eye on his father. He’d been worried about how he’d perform as a paramedic, but– as usual– his anxieties had proved to be for naught.

The flat line on their monitor flexed and bowed, exploding into rapid spikes as their efforts took effect. Tommy charged the paddles and placed them on the patient's chest, twelve inches apart. The shock of defibrillation was like slap to the face, a command for the body to get its shit in order. It would hopefully be enough to restore the heartbeat to a normal rhythm.

“Clear!”

The man’s body jerked and spasmed. TK watched their monitor. In his peripheral vision, his father and Paul worked to bend metal and extract the passenger, who was alert and talking. It was amazing how the horrific could become mundane, after years of working as an emergency responder.

That day, everyone survived.

***

TK took his time restocking, changing the oxygen tanks, replacing the dirty airway equipment, organizing new IVs. He poured alcohol onto the stretcher, worked it into the corners and the rails. Order beneath stingingly bright white lights. Clean and welcoming.

Tommy climbed into their ambulance, squatted on the floor. She reached to inspect their supplies, but TK knew it was just an artifice to speak quietly with him.

“Good work today,” she said, “You’ve come a long way since you started with us.”

TK smiled. “Thanks, boss.”

She clasped her hands, peering up at him. He stooped to restock the gauzes.

“Here at the station, we like to say that we’re all family. We’re probably closer than most teams. But you and Owen, you’re actually family. So, tell me if I’m crossing a line, here. But I want to ask you if your dad’s doing alright.”

TK took a seat on the ledge beside the stretcher, rested his elbows on his knees. Tommy sat next to him.

“Judd and I noticed that he was… struggling, this morning. Now, granted, it could be nothing,” she clarified, “We're just very cautious. And I’m not asking for gossip. But stress levels in an emergency team need to be managed. Do you think he’d welcome our help, if we offered it? Or should we back off?”

TK gestured cluelessly. “I can’t tell you, honestly. I’ve noticed it, too. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but he says he’s handling it.”

Tommy seemed pleased by that response. “If he’s on the case, then that’s good enough for me.”

She got out of the ambulance, left the young man to his diligent cleaning. She exited the firehouse, went to a coffee shop nearby, where she knew Judd would be collecting the team’s lunchtime supply of stimulants, along with snacks and pastries. They really did rely on coffee too much. She’d have made an effort to give it up, if double shifts and widowed motherhood didn’t necessitate every mouthful.

Judd was emerging from the café with a tray full of cardboard cups and two paper bags. He walked eagerly to meet her.

“Any updates?”

“TK says Owen’s got it handled,” Tommy told him, “We shouldn’t worry.”

Judd nodded. Tommy plucked her coffee from the tray. She could see that he was unwilling to take her words at face value. She might have felt close to the team, but she didn’t have the same connection to this firehouse as he did. When he looked at Owen, when he saw his Captain struggling in even the smallest way, he was compelled to dig for answers. He saw the ghosts of the old one-two-six, his brothers, floating behind every face that wore a fire helmet. His heart was his weakness.

“Judd,” she said, gently demanding his attention, “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, T. I heard you.”

Chapter Text

When Mateo arrived home that evening, he wandered into the kitchen and found Owen cooking, stirring a massive pot of pasta sauce.

“Mateo! I hope you don’t have other plans tonight. This is nearly done. I’ve made dessert, too. I know you like apple pie, so I hope that’s okay.”

Mateo set his bag down on the floor, looked over at the dining table. It was set, cutlery laid out on placemats. An unfamiliar sight.

“Damn. What’s the occasion?”

Owen turned away from the pot, happy and lively. Mateo was reminded of his Captain’s demeanor the morning after he arrived home, following the mystery man's departure in his truck.

“I wanted to thank you.”

Mateo frowned, sitting at the kitchen bench. “For what?”

“For speaking up for me, the other day. When the team were curious about who I was texting.” Owen took up the spoon again, resumed stirring. “It was a small thing, but it mattered. It’s not their fault, they don’t know why it's such a big deal… but you do. And it’s nice, having someone in my corner. I want you to know that you’re valued. As a colleague, and a friend.”

“Of course you’re welcome, but you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Too many people have taken your generosity for granted, Mateo,” Owen reminded him sternly, “I won’t be one of them.”

Mateo’s face grew warmer. He never really got used to acts of kindness. When Marjan had recruited the whole team to help him study, he’d come to realize that they actually gave a fuck about him. He was getting better at accepting their affection, grasping it with both hands it whenever it was extended to him. The idea that he could take up space, that his actions would make an impact deserving of praise, was novel at the very least.

“Well, I won’t refuse dinner. Definitely won’t refuse dessert. Thanks, Cap.”

“You are very welcome. Beer?”

“Sure.”

They drank together while Owen continued to cook, boiling the pasta in another pot. Mateo mulled things over.

“Cap…”

“Yep?”

“You know that… they will support you, yeah? I mean… your son…”

“He’s gay, I know.” Owen came and sat next to him, letting the pasta bubble on. He seemed meditative, preoccupied. “I’m of a different generation, Mateo. It hasn’t even been a week since I realized this part of myself. I’m still adjusting.”

“Jeez, when you put it that way…”

“Yeah,” Owen laughed, “It’s all moving very fast.”

“You’re not afraid of us though, right? The team?”

Owen drank some more beer. His expression hardened, and Mateo knew the answer before it was spoken.

“I’m terrified.”

“Of… us?”

“Of everyone. A long time ago, someone… someone I trusted, she… taught me to be afraid. A betrayal like that…” Owen’s words were slow and meandering. Lost in thought. He shook himself out of it, seemingly startled. “But- sorry. You don’t need to hear about this.”

He stood up, walked to the stovetop once more. Mateo held his beer tightly, trying to figure out what to say next.

“Oh, I forgot to ask– did everything end up okay? With the holiday? I remember, some of your luggage was missing.”

The change of subject was blatant. Mateo went along with it.

***

A short drive away, TK lay in bed. Carlos was beside him, propped up by pillows, tapping away at his laptop.

“Babe, I keep telling you…”

“No computer in bed, I know,” Carlos mumbled, distracted by what was on his screen, “Just a few more minutes and this’ll be done.”

“When your doc talked with you about sleep hygiene, I think this was on the list of habits to break.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. He shut his computer and leaned to deposit it on the bedside table, along with his glasses, before moving back towards TK with a snarky smile on his face.

“Happy?”

TK kissed him. “Very.”

Carlos leaned on his hand. “You doing okay, honey? You’ve seemed kinda stressed, tonight.”

TK cuddled up to him. “I am a bit stressed.”

“Is it about work?” Carlos pulled the blanket over them both.

“Sorta. Not really. It’s about dad.”

“Oh?”

“He’s been acting weird. At first I thought it was just job pressure, but… I dunno. He swears he’ll tell me when he’s ready, whatever’s going on. I just can’t stand waiting.”

Carlos absorbed TK’s words, gazed at the light fitting above them. They’d had similar conversations before, and every single time he was baffled and touched by TK’s closeness with Owen. Carlos and his father had come to an understanding, and there was certainly mutual respect to be found in their dynamic, but he stayed out of his dad’s private business. With their familial love came dutiful distance. There was no such separation in the Strand family.

“You asked him what was wrong, I assume?”

“Yeah. He dodged it,” TK mumbled.

“Look, TK… You can’t force him to confide in you.”

“I know that.”

“He trusts you. That’s worth everything. Maybe he just needs time.”

“I guess…”

“I can’t even imagine being that close to my dad,” Carlos said, wanting to lay out the comparison, “You and Owen, you have something special. It’ll be okay.”

TK made a petulant, whining sound, burying his face in Carlos’ side. “You always know what to say,” he complained.

“That’s because I’m awesome.”

Chapter Text

From that point, Owen’s life was split into two parts.

He knew he couldn’t live like this forever, and he didn’t want to. But, for now, he was content. Things were peaceful. He could have his cake and eat it. He could admit what he wanted and enjoy it with complete privacy. He could take his time. He could be the fireman and the father, the Owen Strand that everyone knew, and he could be someone else behind closed doors.

He was crawling on his belly beneath a collapsed roof, surrounded by fire, when he considered the immense irony of the situation he was in. The fears that woke him at night belonged to the other part of his life, the part of him that had been irreversibly harmed on a youthful summer’s day. He ought to have feared his occupation more. A sensible, sane person would be more frightened of this, than of the possibility that he’d be found out as a bisexual. More frightened to die, pinned down in some stranger’s house, chest crushed by the weight of rubble and roofing supports.

He couldn’t see anything. The world was orange. Smoke made the air gray, thick and oppressive, which was turned vibrant and hot by the light of fire itself. He couldn’t see where he was going, but he kept crawling forward, clawing at the floor and scrabbling for freedom.

It was hot.

So hot that he could barely breathe.

He could feel his own sweat burning him, turned to steam by the sheer temperature of the blaze. The visor of his helmet was warping and bubbling before his unfocussed, watering eyes. He was deafened by his own breathing and the popping, snapping, banging sounds as the fire consumed everything in his path.

He could see a vague shape ahead of him. Too rigid to be a person. A door. The door that led to freedom. He remembered where he was now, had the ability to orient himself once more.

He heaved himself forward and upward, letting out a yell. Summoning a nearly superhuman rush of energy, he thudded toward the exit as fast as his heavy uniform permitted him to. He burst from the house running, the toe of his boot connecting with a raised, charred ledge. His momentum carried him forward, headfirst into the ground. His helmet shielded him from the worst of it, but his head bounced, brain playing ping pong against the insides of his skull. His last thought before unconsciousness was that it would be awfully funny for him to survive one of the worst house fires of his career, only to be felled by tripping over.

***

He woke up in an ambulance. There was an oxygen mask over his sweaty, dirty face, and he’d been partly freed from the confines of his uniform, enough that he felt cool air against his chest.

“You scared us for a second there, Owen.”

Tommy’s face moved into view. She was smiling, and Owen smiled back at her from beneath cloudy plastic. He reached to remove the mask, but she slapped his hand away.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“You fell unconscious. Even if it's mild, you have a head injury. You need to be observed, and you need to be taken to the hospital.”

“Oh, come on, Tommy.” He struggled to sit up, but she held him down easily. “I need to check on the team-”

“They’re all fine.” Before he could ask, she added, “And so is everyone else. Everyone got out. Lay down, spare me your macho bullshit, and let me take care of you.”

He did as he was told. She asked him routine questions, pointed a light at his eyes. What was his name? What day was it? What was the last thing he remembered? He’d been through this before. They both had, together and apart. This wasn’t the first time Tommy had needed to attend to him.

“You’ve got minor burns,” she informed him, “All over you.”

“From my sweat,” Owen agreed, “I felt it burning me, while I was inside.”

“Your face is pretty red. You look like you’ve spent too many hours at the beach. It’ll be uncomfortable, but it’s first degree. Not a huge concern from what I’ve seen so far, although you’ll need to be undressed and examined at the hospital. And treated for dehydration.”

“Sexy,” Owen remarked dryly.

“I’m more worried about smoke inhalation. Your breathing is abnormal enough to make me concerned."

“I was wearing my helmet.”

Tommy lifted the very helmet he was referencing, tilted it so that he could see it properly. “You were in there for a good long while, longer than anybody else. At the very least, the visor began to melt. So let’s not assume it performed perfectly in every respect, alright? The seal probably broke.”

“Alright. Where’s TK?”

“Attending to the other patients. The kids and the parents.” Tommy put his helmet down. “He was very worried about you.”

“But you told him to let you handle it,” Owen guessed, “Handle me.”

“I did.” Tommy smiled, sweetly and with the same wisdom that Owen had come to rely on. “And he listened. He’s a good kid, Owen. Smart.”

“Listening to you isn’t smart, it’s just common sense.”

“You’re right about that, at least.”

***

The team visited him in hospital, where he was forced to stay overnight. TK was wide-eyed and fretful, and only departed when Carlos– who had picked up on Owen’s exhaustion– suggested that they should go home. Owen was glad for Carlos’ presence in his son’s life, overjoyed to know that his son was being cared for by somebody reliable. Somebody who was steady, who was devoted. TK wouldn’t be going to bed alone, with only his anxieties for company.

He ate dinner from a tray. Mashed potatoes, chunks of chicken, and boiled greens. It was fine, as far as hospital food was concerned. An orderly was departing with the tray when yet another visitor moved into view, filling the doorway. Owen, preoccupied with putting his oxygen mask back on, didn’t immediately look up.

“Damn. You look like shit.”

Owen’s heart jumped. Billy moved toward his bedside, and once he was closer, Owen could tell that he’d come here in a rush. His buttons were unevenly done up, a fleck of white shaving cream on his neck, beside a patch of bare skin. His face looked wet, as if he’d quickly splashed himself clean.

“Did you… get interrupted? While shaving?”

Billy cleared his throat. “Turned the news on while I was tidyin’ up this scruffy mess. Saw the fire, and… well, heard the reporter say that a firefighter had been injured. Wasn’t sure from the footage, but I figured it’d be you. Just your luck.”

Owen’s face flushed. He tried to play it cool, but was almost certain that it was a wasted effort.

“Long as you were only tidying. I like you scruffy.”

“Oh, I know.” Billy sat down. The hospital’s bedside chair, plastic and cheaply-made, squeaked beneath his weight. The dim lights overhead cast his face in dramatic shadow. He stared at Owen, searching his face for distress, for injury. “Seein’ you with that mask on is certainly frightenin’, Owen.”

Owen felt a yearning beneath his bruised ribs, a warm need. He began to remove the oxygen mask, but Billy grasped his wrist.

“Leave it on. You clearly need it.”

“Not for a few seconds, I don’t.” Owen licked his lips, voice soft. “Make it count.”

Billy kissed him. It was the first time Owen had dared to do such a thing in public, but the emptiness of the hospital reassured him. When he reached over to grasp the back of Billy’s neck, the other man moved away.

“Now, now. Mask back on. Doctor’s orders.”

"You're no fun." Owen secured the elastic straps behind his ears. “How’d you get in here, anyway? Visiting hours are over.”

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for a face that lovely.” Billy paused. “And the nurse at reception owes me a favor.”

“So romantic.”

“You know me, darlin'. Seriously, though-”

“I am totally fine,” Owen insisted, predicting the query that would come next. “Just tired.”

A fond, exasperated empathy showed in Billy’s eyes. They were too similar for him to believe Owen entirely. He knew that Owen was hurting more than he’d admit. He also knew that there was no point pressing the issue.

“I can head off and leave you to rest, if you like. Just wanted to stop by, make sure you weren’t, y’know. Dead.”

Owen didn’t want Billy to go, but he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, New York. Sweet dreams."

Owen mumbled out a protest about the nickname, and then he was asleep.

Chapter Text

“A whole week? You’re joking!”

The doctor who had given Owen discharge instructions raised an eyebrow, blatantly unimpressed.

“I generally refrain from making jokes when I’m giving medical advice. Yes, I recommend a week’s rest before you return to work. You have bruised ribs, a concussion, and it’ll take a couple of days for you to recover from the smoke inhalation.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You need to heal.”

“I can heal on the job.”

A flash of fury came over the doctor’s face and, at that point, Owen knew he had crossed a line.

“Sir, I am at the end of a nine hour shift, and I am not in the mood to argue with you. Do whatever you like, but my professional recommendation will not change. If you want to return to work in your condition, good luck.”

They turned to go, but Owen– suitably admonished– spoke up.

“I’m sorry, doc. I just… I love my job. A lot. I’m not good at taking time off.”

They turned back towards him, still irritated. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

“Of course. I apologize.”

The doctor, seeing genuine regret on his face, calmed down somewhat. They crossed their arms and considered him, like a frustrated parent might judge their misbehaving child.

“I see your kind in here a lot.”

“What, firefighters?”

“Thrill seekers. Adrenaline junkies. Folks who don’t know who they are if they’re not putting themselves in danger. You want my advice, Mr Strand? Schedule system maintenance, or the system will schedule it for you. Your body will break if you don’t maintain it. I’ve seen it happen before. You’ll have nobody to blame but yourself.” Before they walked out of his room, they added, “Oh, and– be nicer to medical workers. You’re not the only emergency responder in this town.”

Owen watched them depart, a lingering feeling of embarrassment in his gut. He sat with the doctor’s words for a while, then picked up his phone. He needed to get dressed and leave, but he had to do this first.

Judd picked up after two rings, his voice cheery. “Hey, Cap! How’re you feelin’ today?”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“Any idea when you’re gettin’ out? Although, don’t get me wrong, I’m lovin’ bein’ the boss.” Distantly, Owen heard Marjan and Paul yell out in greeting. “Oh, the team says hello.”

“I’m sorry for the late notice, Judd, but you’ll need to be Captain for another week. Does that work for you?”

“Jeez, alright. Yeah, that’s no problem. You gonna be okay, though?”

“Absolutely.”

“You bein’ discharged today?”

“Yep.”

“Ah, a full week at home. Bet you’re gonna love that. We’ll need to stage an intervention when you catch another serial arsonist.”

“I can promise that I won’t run around chasing criminals, not this time.”

“You’ve got plans, then?”

A smile tugged at the corners of Owen’s mouth. He had plans. But they weren’t ones he could share with Judd.

“I’ll keep myself occupied.”

“Well, good luck with that. Text us if you’re goin’ insane, we’ll come keep you company.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage. Good luck out there today, Captain.”

“And you, Owen.”

He hung up, quickly dialed another number. A number he was now very familiar with.

***

Billy pulled into the hospital parking lot, kept his truck running while he texted Owen. Within two minutes, Owen was seated beside him, a duffel bag at his feet, courtesy of his son’s forward thinking when he’d found out his dad would be staying the night. It had contained a set of fresh clothes and a toothbrush, but now contained the ash-strained uniform that Owen had been wearing in the ambulance.

“Sorry to inconvenience you,” Owen said, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘important’, I guess.” Billy rested his elbow on his door’s windowsill and gestured calmly, other hand lazily anchored on the steering wheel. He was still wearing his uniform, hair tied back in a loose bun. “I don’t reckon a two hour lecture on paperwork organization qualifies as important but, hey. That’s the trade-off when you move up the ladder.”

He drove out onto the road and continued on for a few minutes before glancing over at his passenger. Owen met his gaze with something bordering on shyness, still struck by the intimacy of being alone together, still adjusting even after a month. Billy looked back at the windscreen with a broad smile, but he took hold of the wheel with his left hand so that he could reach across the cabin. Owen threaded his fingers through Billy’s, their hands against his thigh. The radio was on at a low volume, a song’s melody barely discernible over the sound of the engine.

“Where we headed, then?”

“Depends on you.”

Billy chuckled. “What, ‘cause I wanna go back to work so badly? Nah. Depends on you. I can drop you off at yours, or you can come ‘round to mine. Either way, I’m up for whatever you wanna do. Can make you a nice lunch, if you’d like. What’re you up for?”

“There are lots of things I want to do with you.”

Billy didn’t miss the insinuation. “How about we... start with lunch. See how you go.”

“Okay.”

“How bad is it, by the way? I mean, you’re walkin’ around, so that’s good.”

“Bruised ribs, a little too much smoke in my lungs, minor burns, concussion, headache… All in a day’s work.”

Billy hummed. Owen noticed the shift in his mood.

“What?”

“Look, can you promise me somethin’ and stick to it?”

Owen shrugged. “Sure, just name it.”

“When I ask you what you’re up for, you gotta be honest with me. ‘Cause I want you just as much as I always do. I wanna take you home and fuck you, right goddamn now, and I know you’d agree to it. But I don’t wanna touch you if it’s gonna hurt you. You and me, we’re the same in a lotta ways. You can act all tough at work, I’d expect that. But not with me. Can you promise me that you’ll be honest?”

Owen held his hand tighter. He spent a few seconds absorbing that short speech, and then quietly said, “I promise, Billy.”

Chapter Text

Owen went and lay down while Billy made lunch. He was glad that Billy had insisted, because otherwise he’d have sat in a chair until the pain was dizzying.

He was avoiding saying so aloud, but a week’s rest wouldn’t be nearly enough for this to heal. The doctor had likely lowballed his recovery time in an attempt to get him on board with his own healthcare, owing to his reputation as an uncooperative, unhelpful patient. He wasn’t eager for it, but he knew he’d be on desk duty for a month or so. He would be a liability out in the field.

He counted every breath, made sure to fill his lungs with every inhalation. It didn’t matter how much his ribs hurt, he needed to avoid developing pneumonia. Shallow gasping would be a short-term fix guaranteeing long-term harm. He could feel pounding, sharp pain all across his back, his sides, and his chest. His arms and his face were tender, the skin tight and pinkish from being burned.

His mind wandered until he found himself reliving a memory.

I swear, New York, I eat more smoke hangin’ out with you than I ever did on duty as a fire Captain.

Billy, sitting in an ambulance, forearms wrapped in bandages. Looking up at him and grinning. Covered in serious burns, freshly diagnosed with cancer, gazing up at Owen as though the opportunity to fling himself into mortal danger had been a beautiful gift. Owen hadn’t thought enough about that night, and– more specifically– what had followed it. And what hadn't.

Owen forced himself up off the bed, grunting with discomfort. He hobbled slowly out into the kitchen. Billy had nearly finished making a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches.

“God, that smells good,” Owen said, “You put chorizo in those?”

“The hell you doin’ out here? Told you to rest up. I’ll bring you food. Take advantage! Full gold star treatment while you’re injured. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Just wanted to ask you something.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Yeah, I know.” Owen took a seat at the counter, wincing.

“Since you’re out here… Coffee?”

“Sure.”

Billy got two mugs out of the cupboard. “What’s up, then?”

“After you helped me rescue TK and Carlos… You were injured, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Who looked after you?”

To Owen’s surprise, Billy laughed. He positioned a paper filter at the top of his drip coffee machine, began spooning grounds into it.

“You already know the answer to that question.”

It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that Owen’s heart broke, in that moment. He looked down at the counter, angry at himself.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Billy suggested, no heat in his tone, “You had other things to worry about, that night.”

“You ran into a burning building to rescue my son and his partner, and I didn’t bother to check in afterwards.”

“I survived.”

“That's not the point. You didn’t even have protective gear, Billy. And you were going through chemotherapy-”

“I made the choice to go in there with you.” Billy closed the lid of his coffee machine, calm as ever. “You didn’t force me to do shit, so you can take this guilt trip and shove it.” He took out two plates, set one in front of Owen. “C’mon, then. Eat up if you’re gonna be sittin’ out here wringin’ your hands.”

Owen chose a grilled cheese sandwich from the pile, bit into it. Despite the tone of their conversation, he couldn’t hold back a satisfied groan at the taste of juicy, rich chorizo and melted cheese. The discussion lulled for a few minutes as they appreciated the food.

“Good, right?”

“Yeah, they’re good. When you started chemo the second time around, who was there for you?”

Billy sighed. “Fuck’s sake, Owen.”

“I just want to know.”

Billy chewed his sandwich, thought it through. “You were. Eventually. Came to see me, first thing, when you found out. That was nice.” With that contemplative comment, he began to pour them both a cup of coffee.

“That was… weeks into your treatment, at least. Surely there was someone else? Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a tough piece of work-”

“Thank you.”

“- but chemo is hard, Billy.” Owen reached forward to accept the mug that Billy passed over. “Were you doing that all by yourself?”

“You’re ruinin’ a perfectly good lunch,” Billy grumbled into the rim of his mug.

“Please, I just want- I need to know.”

Billy gazed into the middle distance for a moment, casting his mind back. Owen took another bite of his sandwich. It really was delicious.

“Told my sister when I was two weeks into treatment. She was pretty pissed about that.”

“Two weeks?”

“You waited longer than that to tell your own son, as I recall.”

Acting on instinct, Owen opened his mouth, but no retort came along to rescue his pride. Billy grinned at him, and Owen found himself smiling too.

“Guess we’re just a pair of fucked-up masochists, huh.”

“Yeah,” Owen agreed, “I guess we are.”

“Why all the questions?”

“I just realized that… You’re here for me, now that I’m injured, but I’ve never… I’ve never been there for you. The way I should’ve been. When you were injured far worse than I’m injured now.”

“Good lord.” Billy slumped dramatically where he stood, resting his forehead momentarily against the counter. “What, ‘cause I made it so easy for you? ‘Cause we were best friends back then, and I always let you in on my private business?”

“Well…”

“I was an asshole, Owen. We weren’t as close, back then. You can’t hold your past self to a new standard. It’ll just drive you insane.”

Owen swallowed the last of his sandwich, licked butter off his fingers. “If I promise to look after you, from now on... If I promise to take care of you, no matter what... How’s that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful, darlin’. Just so long as this conversation is over.”

“We’re agreed, then.”

“Damn straight.”

Owen leaned forward over the counter, kissed him. “Ow.”

“You just hurt your fuckin’ ribs, didn’t you? Christ, go back to bed.”

***

Billy went back to work for the afternoon. Owen spent most of that time resting. He woke up when Billy returned, the bedroom door opening tentatively. Billy poked his head into the room, checking in as quietly as he could.

“C’mon in, m’awake,” Owen mumbled.

Billy walked forward, took a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How you feelin’ now?”

Owen blinked sluggishly. He yawned and stretched, grimacing when his ribs protested.

“Hey, now. Don’t move too much.”

“I’ll tell you how I’m feeling.” Owen placed one hand on Billy’s leg. “I’m feeling really horny.”

“They gave you painkillers, right?”

“Yep.”

“That’ll do it.”

Owen inched his hand up Billy’s thigh. “Painkillers affect you that way, too?”

“Me, personally? No. But it’s not uncommon.” Billy leaned over him, one hand braced beside Owen’s shoulder. He took Owen’s chin in his hand, stroked parted lips with the pad of his thumb. Owen struggled to focus on him, glassy-eyed and sleepy.

“I want you to touch me, Billy.”

“I know, sweetheart. But you’re a mess. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Owen cupped the back of Billy’s neck, dragged him down into an insistent kiss. Billy was careful not to lean on him, to put his weight on Owen’s battered torso. He could feel his cock stiffening. He knew he’d have to go take a shower, deal with it himself. Owen was high as a kite and, while Billy wasn’t opposed to sex under the influence, it was best done with prior discussion. If they were going to fuck on drugs, they’d need to be on even footing. This wasn’t that.

He let Owen kiss him for a few minutes, which was an act of true self-punishment. Letting Owen moan into his mouth, lick past his lips, whisper needy requests– all the while, he knew they would not be fucking tonight.

“Alright, enough.”

“Billy…”

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we can have some fun.” Billy kissed him, one last time. “Not tonight. Go to sleep.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Billy left Owen to sleep in. He was sitting on his porch, drinking coffee to wake himself up before work, when he got a call from his niece. He considered not answering, but knew he was bound by his duty as an uncle. Even if that duty tended to mean being a taxi driver.

“Mornin’, Chuck.”

“Hey, uncle Billy.”

“Let me guess,” Billy began, “You need somethin’ from me.”

“Just a ride to school. I, um, lost track of time, and mom thinks I was at a friend’s house last night…”

“Goddamnit, kid. You’re gonna make me late for work. Again.”

“Please?”

“Text me the address. But we’re gonna have a talk about responsibility on the way.”

***

He pulled up outside a block of apartments. His niece was standing on the curb, a backpack slung over one shoulder. She wore jeans and a beer-splattered top. Her wavy hair, similar to Billy’s but deep black in color, was frizzled and wild. As she climbed into Billy’s truck, he handed her one of his t-shirts.

“You stink like a brewery.”

“Sorry.” She took off her shirt, revealing a crop top which was just as stained as her shirt had been– but Billy could hardly help her on that front. She pulled Billy’s shirt on over her head. “Thanks for pickin' me up, uncle Billy.”

He pulled out onto the road. “One of these days I’m gonna stop turnin’ a blind eye to your underage drinkin’, and then you’ll really be in trouble.”

“Do as I say, not as I do, huh?”

“The hell you mean by that?”

“Bet you were just like me, when you were my age.”

She wasn’t wrong. Billy kept his eyes on the road, though he hardly needed to. The journey to Chuck's school was uncomfortably familiar for him. He supposed there was an amount of hypocrisy in his judgement of her choices, but that went with the territory. He was the adult, now. So he got to impart his hard-earned wisdom.

“You gotta trust your mom more, kid. I shouldn’t be the guy you turn to when you need a family member.”

She tied back her hair, dug around in her bag for a pack of wipes. She flipped down the mirror and began cleaning smudged eyeliner off her face.

“Chuck.”

“You’re her brother, of course you’re gonna defend her.”

“Look, I get it. I do.” Billy adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, reminded himself to be patient. “And I’m here for you, when you’re in a jam. But I ain’t your mother. If you can avoid burnin’ that bridge, you should.”

Chuck scowled.

“Y’know, unless she’s… abusin’ you, or somethin’. I don’t know everythin’ that goes on in your household.”

“…She’s not.”

“Well, in that case, I mean… You gotta try and patch this up. She has to try harder, too. She should go easier on you.”

“Will you tell her that?”

“Yeah.”

Chuck flipped the mirror back into place, seeming less annoyed. Billy could empathize with her. He knew what it was like to be a teenager in a world of stubborn, unhelpful adults.

“So, what’s on your neck?”

Billy didn’t realize what she was asking about, for a second. Then he remembered Owen mouthing at his jawline last night, teeth scraping over sensitive skin as he pleaded for Billy to touch him. A hickey. Owen had given him a fucking hickey. One that was visible while he was wearing his uniform. Well. That would certainly earn him some unwanted attention during meetings.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered.

“In that case, you should see a doctor.”

Despite himself, he laughed.

“So, who is she?”

Billy weighed up his answer, for only a few seconds. “Actually, it’s a guy.”

If Chuck was shocked, she handled it with grace. Billy supposed that made sense. It was less of a big deal, among people her age. Newer generations were safer to explore than he had been. He was glad to know this, if a little resentful of the freedoms he’d never been allowed.

“Can I meet him?”

He hadn’t expected that question. He slowed to a stop before a red light, tapped his thumbs against the wheel.

“Uncle Billy?”

“I don’t wanna put that kind of pressure on him. All this, it’s… new. But when he’s more comfortable, sure. Don’t see why not.”

Chuck seemed delighted. She was looking directly at him, thrilled by the conversation. The least distracted he’d ever seen her.

“I was wonderin’ why you’d changed, lately.”

Billy scoffed, driving forward as the traffic lights turned green. “I haven’t changed.”

“You so have. You used to be such a grumpy motherfucker.”

“Don’t curse like that.”

“He’s good for you.”

Billy could hardly deny that. “Yeah, s’pose he is.”

“Do you love him?”

Billy's face grew warmer. He'd never asked himself that question, but his answer was immediate. "Yeah."

“Have you told him that?”

“Jesus, Chuck…”

“You should tell him.”

“Like I said, I don’t wanna put pressure on him. Sometimes, life’s… more complicated than that.”

“Uncomplicate it!”

“I can’t do that. It’s not up to me.”

Chuck fidgeted, picking at the hem of the borrowed shirt. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ for a while… Maybe I’m into girls?”

She phrased it like a question, her nervousness showing. Billy was filled with adoration, struck by his affection for his irresponsible, young, wonderful niece. Even as he tried to encourage her to confide in her mother, he was honored to be the adult that she trusted.

“Good for you, kid.”

“Will mom… be cool with that? D’you think?”

Billy didn’t want to lie to her. “I’d hope so. But the way we were raised…”

She stared at him, brown eyes full of desperation.

“Tell you what, I’ll talk to her. Been meanin’ to… give her an update on everythin’, anyway.”

“Don’t come out for my sake!”

“I’ll do it for both of us, Chuck. ‘Sides, she can’t hurt me. No more than the old man did.”

He could tell he’d said too much, because Chuck fell silent. She’d never met her grandfather, only witnessed his aftermath.

They didn’t talk until he pulled up outside Chuck's school. She unbuckled her seatbelt, thanked him, and got out of his truck. He watched her walk away, feeling all kinds of emotions.

Chapter Text

When Billy arrived home that evening, Owen was still in bed. He’d clearly showered at some point and changed into fresh shorts and a t-shirt. He now lay atop the blankets, reading a paperback. Billy liked the sight of him here, liked how he seemed to belong. In Billy’s home. In Billy’s bed.

“How was your day?”

Billy smirked as he took his jacket off, hanging it on a bedpost. It had been many years since he’d been in the type of relationship where such domestic questions were asked of him. One-night stands and messy, ongoing trysts were his standard. They hadn’t been together long, him and Owen, but they'd found a mutual comfort that ordinarily took a while to develop. It was ironic that they'd been given a head start by years of animosity and rivalry. Even when they'd supposedly hated each other, they'd occupied each other's minds. They'd gotten to know each other without even realizing it.

“Probably as borin’ as yours. You feelin’ any better?”

Owen placed a bookmark between pages of his novel, closed it. “Not really. But I think that’s to be expected.”

Billy pouted at him, mocking Owen’s dour mood. “Oh, you poor thing. Look at you.”

“Piss off.”

Billy sat on the edge of the bed, as he had last night. “You just look so sad.”

“You want to make me feel better?”

Billy slid a hand onto the soft curve between Owen's neck and his shoulder. He kissed Owen deeply enough to make his intentions, his needs, clear. He’d been thinking about this all day. The quiet of a room, interrupted only by the wet sounds of kissing. Owen’s mouth opening wider, yielding to him. Owen shifting where he lay, subconsciously responding to the need to move against Billy, even as his injuries demanded stillness.

“Speaking of which,” Owen continued, his words breathy, “Did I… beg for sex, last night?”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“It was pretty hot, actually.”

Owen, eyes closed, clumsily untied Billy’s hair. He got a handful of it, making Billy’s scalp burn in a pleasurable, encouraging way. Billy groaned against Owen’s lips. He knew what he wanted to do, but was painfully aware that this wasn’t an ordinary night. When Owen pulled his hair like this, it meant that he wanted to tussle. He wanted to be shoved against a wall, the bed, the floor, and ravaged. He wanted to push back, wanted to fight until someone surrendered. Until they both surrendered.

Billy didn’t need to ask, didn’t have to remind Owen of the promise he’d made. The importance of it. Owen took Billy's hand by the wrist, moved it downward until Billy’s palm was pressing against the front of his shorts. Directing him to what he could handle, what would bring his satisfaction.

Billy got properly onto the bed, hurriedly unbuckled his belt. There wasn’t time for anything further than that. Burns and bruises aside, they were both hungry for this.

He shoved a hand below his waistband, used the other to hurriedly pull down Owen’s shorts. Owen helped as much as he could without lifting his hips, without raising his body up off the mattress. Billy unfurled his tongue and swallowed Owen easily, relishing the sensation of Owen’s hand settling on his head.

“God, Billy…”

Owen couldn’t do much in his current state, but he gripped Billy’s hair hard, gray waves falling past his knuckles. His spirit was unaffected, even if his body had taken a beating. He looked down at Billy, who was still entirely dressed. Billy ground his hips into the warmth of his own palm, one knee bent across the mattress to gain better leverage. 

“I like you in your uniform."

When Billy laughed, the vibrations made Owen shiver.

***

It didn’t last for very long. Owen was still exhausted, a raw nerve, vulnerable to every sensation that Billy offered. He couldn’t move a great deal, couldn’t do much but lay still and take it. Drugs remained in his system, enough to make him feel warm and loose-limbed, mildly delirious. That, combined with fitful sleeping patterns, his rest frequently interrupted by the pain of his injuries, made him weak and sensitive. And Billy, for his part, was just delighted to know that he was responsible for every sound Owen made. So affected by the other man that he would jerk off in his uniform, like he was a goddamn teenager all over again.

He flopped down beside Owen when they were both finished, pulling up his unzipped pants enough to mostly cover himself. Owen rolled over onto his side, slowly and precariously.

“Careful,” Billy reminded him, “Careful. Take it slow.”

Owen lay against him. Billy lifted his arm and gingerly held him close, afraid to do more damage. Eventually, they both settled, Owen finding a comfortable position. His shorts were rucked up around his thighs, his softened cock nestled against closed legs, glistening with tacky moisture. Billy hadn’t spent much of his life appreciating the gentler moments that male bodies could offer, the supple and beautiful sight of a nude, recumbent man. The aggression that he enjoyed, the forcefulness that made sex so fulfilling, was even better when paired with tenderness. Owen offered both.

“You were wrong, by the way,” Billy murmured.

“About what?”

“What you said yesterday. You not bein’ there for me. Seems that you forgot about the time you carried me off a damn golf course. Gave me CPR and all.”

“Huh. Guess I did do that.”

“I was dyin’, Owen. Dead, if you wanna get technical about it. You were the one to stop that from happenin’, the one who brought me back. You oughta be nicer to yourself.”

Owen hummed, either in agreement or simply in recognition of Billy’s point. His hair, tousled and completely without the styling mousse he applied whenever he left home, tickled Billy’s shoulder. His eyes were framed by blueish shadows, tiredness etched into his face. Nobody else got to see him in this state. Billy thought he was gorgeous.

“Remember wakin’ up, actually,” Billy continued, “Lookin’ up at you. Didn’t really remember what’d happened, but I knew you’d saved me.”

“I gave you mouth-to-mouth when you stopped breathing,” Owen recalled, “Guess that was our first kiss.”

Billy laughed. Owen did too, and then immediately stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut as pain flared across his sides and down his back.

“Let’s go take a shower. Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”

Chapter Text

Owen spent the week largely at Billy’s home, visiting his own house to feed Buttercup and water his plants, stopping by TK’s home one afternoon to reassure his son that he was still alive. He occasionally ran into Mateo, who seemed aware that he was spending nights and days at the home of his unannounced lover, but didn’t feel the need to pry. Owen was grateful for this.

He was getting close, rapidly approaching the point where he would feel comfortable bringing the two halves of his life together. The separation was tenuous at best, and he knew he couldn’t maintain it for much longer– nor did he want to. Billy already belonged among his inner circle and, since the great frost had receded and left Austin in peace, he was closer with Judd and the team than ever before. Owen wanted to hold Billy’s hand in front of his friends and his son. He wanted to lay a hand on Billy’s thigh, holding him, just like Grace did with her husband. It was the smallest things that tempted Owen out of his secrecy. The tiniest acts of romance, of possession. He wanted the world to know that he was with Billy, and that Billy was with him. He wanted to stop being afraid.

He needed to have a conversation with Billy, needed to know where Billy stood on the issue. He didn’t even know if they were exclusive, if Billy was seeing somebody else. Another man. Owen didn’t think so, but he was wary of trusting his own assumptions.

He couldn’t out Billy to the firehouse without permission, and he didn’t want to proudly claim that they were dating if that wasn’t the case. The humiliation would be unbearable, and it would send him sprinting back into the closet. He was too old to be taking risks like that. He would never recover.

He was thinking about all of this, mind crowded by a messy internal monologue, when he pulled up outside Judd’s home.

To celebrate his week of rest ending, the team had organized a games night. It was more of an excuse to gather than anything else, and Judd likely needed to de-stress after a week of being the Captain. He’d taken the news well, that he’d need to continue on in that role for another month, but Owen knew he approached the job very seriously. He had a few weeks of leadership to go yet, and that weighed on him. Owen had brought a bottle of rum as consolation, along with the reassurance that he would be manning the desk at the firehouse, doing all of the paperwork that Judd would otherwise have to contend with.

He parked his car, got out and walked to Judd’s front door. He knocked and waited.

“Cap!” The door swung open, Judd greeting him with a massive grin. “Good to see you. How you feelin’ tonight? Can I give you a hug, or what?”

“Yes, just be careful,” Owen laughed. Judd wrapped a meaty arm around Owen’s shoulders, pressed his chin into Owen’s neck, patted his back lightly. When he pulled away, he looked relieved. He was strong and wise, only a decade and a half younger than Owen, but he still leaned on his Captain for guidance. This week had been hard on him, and Owen knew it.

“Good to see you, Judd. Here you go.”

“Aw, hell. You’re too kind.” Judd eagerly took the rum. “C’mon inside, everyone’s waitin’ to say hello.”

Owen followed him into the living room, where the team were indeed gathered, partway through an enthusiastic game of UNO. Chatting voices coalesced into a unified cheer when he emerged into the space. There were more people in the room than he’d expected. TK had brought Carlos. Paul had brought his new girlfriend, Lilah; a shy woman who was utterly besotted with him and would surely be his wife before long. Then there was Grace, of course, along with Tommy, Mateo, Marjan, Nancy, and…

Billy sat at the end of Judd’s wooden dining table. In one hand, he held a bunch of cards, and in the other, a bottle of beer. Owen locked eyes with him and felt a rush of panicked, hot anxiety. The very same shivering terror that woke him at night. The two halves of his life were suddenly clashing, here, when he hadn’t prepared for it. What if he sat too close to Billy? What if he slipped up and kissed him? What if he had to come out, tonight? He wasn’t ready.

The fear must have showed on his face, slowed his gait as he entered the living room, because Billy’s expression changed. He looked surprised, and then sad. He realized what he’d done, accidentally and without malice.

All of this transpired silently, in a matter of seconds.

Owen continued to walk towards the table. He took a seat beside Billy. The only empty chair.

“You’re looking good, dad!”

“Thanks, TK,” Owen replied, hoping his tone of voice sounded normal.

“You’ll be back at work on Monday, yeah?” The question came from Paul, who had one arm extended over Lilah’s shoulders. She leaned eagerly against him, and Owen was struck by a profound sense of frustration, of powerlessness. It would be so easy. So simple to just move closer to Billy and embrace him, the same way Paul did with Lilah. He wanted to believe he was safe in this room. He was angry that he didn’t believe it. He was angry at his mother, who had scarred him deeply enough that he would mistrust his dearest friends. He was angry that this was even an issue. He felt betrayed by his own mind, his own heart.

“…Cap?” Paul prompted him.

“Sorry,” Owen said, forcing a smile, “Sorry, yes– Back on Monday. But on paper only. Judd, he’ll still be in command. Until I’m properly healed up.”

***

Judd was worried.

Owen wasn’t acting normally. Grace dealt everyone cards for a new round of UNO, but as Judd played, he kept one eye on his Captain.

He wasn’t sure if anybody else had noticed, but he certainly had. Owen had been fine when Judd greeted him at the front door, but the moment he’d laid eyes on Billy, he’d frozen up as if he’d heard a distant gunshot. The reaction had been so brief that Judd was nearly convinced he’d imagined it, but the more time went on, the more worried he became. Owen’s smiles were flat. They didn’t reach his eyes. Billy, who had been talkative and relaxed before Owen walked in, seemed quieter too.

Judd didn’t know what was going on, but it felt too familiar for comfort. He’d jumped to conclusions in the past, had barged into Billy’s house and punched him viciously enough to kill their friendship, when Billy had actually been innocent. But he’d been right more times than he’d been wrong. And his instincts, right now, were telling him that something was going on between Billy and Owen. Something that made his Captain upset. Judd became certain that they were fighting again.

***

Partway through games night, Owen escaped to the kitchen to refill everybody’s drinks. He was at the fridge when quiet footsteps approached him from behind.

“Hey,” Billy said.

“Hey.” Owen set mixers and spirits down on the counter, focused on pouring drinks. Billy stood on the other side of the kitchen.

“Didn’t mean to catch you off-guard. Didn’t realize you’d be so uncomfortable with me bein’ here.”

“Not your fault. We’ve never discussed it.” Owen measured a shot of rum, poured it into Judd’s glass. His face, his posture, and his movements were all stiff. He was more tense than Billy had ever seen him.

“I’m gonna make an excuse, now,” Billy told him, keeping his voice low, “Say that I got a call. Say that I need to leave.”

“Don’t do that-”

“Owen. Look at me.”

Owen did. Billy smiled, letting his eyes soften with all of the affection he couldn’t physically express right now, because he knew Owen wasn’t ready. They could both hear the raucous excitement of their gathered friends, just rooms away. Too close.

“If me bein' here is gonna stress you out, I'd rather just go. I don’t mind. I care more about you than card games. Have a good night, okay. You’re safe with these people, even if it don’t feel that way.”

Owen held Judd’s glass tight enough that the tips of his fingers began to turn white. Billy wanted nothing more than to touch him, kiss him, corrode his rage and his fear. But he knew he couldn’t. Not tonight. Not here.

He walked away.

Chapter Text

Owen remained at Judd's house for as many hours as he could stand. He drank one solitary beer but it seemed sour against his tongue, poisonous. He couldn't melt into intoxication as he had on so many occasions. He was too upset, too on edge. In this state, drinking wasn't an enjoyable act. It was dangerous. It offered little more than eventual unconsciousness and the promise of a hangover.

He said his goodbyes and went out to his car. He didn’t realize that Judd had followed him until his colleague called out, jogging to catch up.

“Hey, Cap. Hold on a second.”

Owen turned back towards him, keys already in his hand, his car unlocked. “Hey, Judd.”

Judd came close enough that Owen, out in the clean night air, could smell the rum on his breath. His cheeks were ruddy from alcohol and mild dehydration. Over his shoulder, Owen could see Grace through the front windows of their home. Ever-watchful and observant.

“Wanted to, uh. Wanted to ask you somethin’ before you go.”

“Okay.” Owen made himself smile. “Ask away.”

Judd rubbed his hands together, shuffled where he stood, glancing around. He resembled an overgrown child when he was nervous, when he was searching for the right words. Owen had never known a friend like Judd. The man was as pure as they came, even when he was angry. Virtuous and humble and full of love. Earnest and sincere, even with all of his imperfections.

“Judd, what is it?”

“Right. Yeah, okay." Judd steadied himself. "What’s goin’ on with you and Billy, Cap?”

Owen’s blood ran cold. His smile disappeared in an instant. The world seemed to compress around him, the rotations of the planet slowing to a crawl, every second a brutal trial. Sweat broke out across his forehead, his heartbeat escalating to a frightened gallop. He stood still, clutching his keys. He couldn’t make himself speak.

“You could barely look at the guy. Maybe I’m… uh, misinterpretin’ it? But it was almost like you were… scared of him. Like a fight was gonna break out or somethin’ like that. And then he suddenly left, after talkin’ with you in the kitchen.”

Owen flinched as if Judd had shouted at him. He could see what had happened, now. Judd didn’t suspect that they were together, not in the slightest. He’d misinterpreted Owen’s anxiety as something else entirely.

“So, I was wonderin’ what he’s done? If he's up to his old tricks again, messin' with you or tryin' to get you demoted, I swear to God, I'll wring his neck. I’m on your side.”

Owen’s keys jutted into his palm. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Judd’s questions were motivated by friendly concern, and probably didn’t warrant anger. Even if the idea of Billy as a villain, after everything he’d been through and how much he’d grown, made Owen defensive. Judd was assuming foul play based on ancient history, but that was hardly his fault. He didn't have a window into their private lives.

“Judd, I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

Judd blinked at him, doe-eyed and drunk.

“Billy Tyson is a good man. A changed man. I am not afraid of him. He is your friend. And he’s my… He’s my friend, too.”

Owen almost said it. Almost. Judd heard his uneven speech, his indecision, and seemed even less convinced. He didn’t know why Owen would shy away from some hidden truth. All he heard was a lie.

“Then why were y’all actin’ so strangely?”

“It’s personal.”

“It’s personal? What does that mean?”

“Look, Judd– I understand that you’re concerned, but Billy hasn’t done anything,” Owen insisted, refraining from yelling, “We’re not at each other’s throats again, like we used to be. You’ve got it all wrong. Please, believe me.”

Judd crossed his arms. He chewed on his lip.

“Alright,” he relented, “I believe you when you say Billy’s not bein’ a dickhead again. Even so… somethin’ is wrong, isn’t it? I wasn’t imaginin’ that.”

“Judd…”

“Just tell me if you’re okay.” The request was imploring. Needy. Judd was usually a caring, gentle giant, and rum only accentuated his softer side. “If you can give me nothin’ else, just tell me you’re okay.”

Owen looked down at the ground, a lump rising in his throat. He felt responsible for the distress in Judd’s expression, frustrated that this misunderstanding was largely out of his hands. He felt rushed by the world, rushed by people who cared. If only he’d fallen in love with a stranger, instead of the firefighter who’d been the best man at Judd’s wedding. Billy had been a part of his world since he’d set foot in Texas, even if it’d taken him years to realize it. He’d been lucky, until tonight. Lucky to have as much time, as much privacy, as he’d enjoyed thus far.

Thankfully, Owen didn’t have to respond. He and Judd were so absorbed in each other, focused on the conversation, that they were both surprised when Grace appeared by Judd’s side.

“My love, I told you to leave this ‘till another day.” She took his hand, directed a fond smile at Owen. “He was too worried to listen. Big heart, this one.”

“I’m sorry,” Judd mumbled, his drunkenness showing as he pulled her closer, “Probably should’ve listened to you.”

“It’s fine,” Owen told them both, and he wasn’t lying. He wanted to be alone more than anything else, but he didn’t resent their kindness. He knew where it came from, regardless of the embarrassment it caused.

“Long as you know that we’re here for you. No matter what.”

“Of course. Thank you, Grace.”

Judd stepped forward and hugged Owen. He moved almost ludicrously slow, folding himself over the shorter man and carefully pulling him into an embrace. As if Owen were made of precious glass, as if Judd might crack his already-bruised ribs with the force of his devoted friendship. Judd wanted to protect him so badly, wanted to save him from the ever-present danger that loomed above everybody he cared about. He loved Owen the way he'd loved his firefighter brothers. The way he'd once loved Billy. Everything was backwards. Owen didn't want to be the reason that Judd distrusted his oldest friend. It wasn't fair that he'd landed in such a tangled, messy place. It wasn't fair that a thing to be celebrated should make him terrified beyond reason.

As Owen drove away, a few short minutes later, he found himself crying.

***

He went home. His entire soul begged to be with Billy, to seek comfort in his arms, but he was in too much pain to be touched. The kindness that Billy offered would only hurt him more. Distance was a pain he understood. A look of concern in deep brown eyes... that would cut him deeper than a night of miserable solitude.

He fed Buttercup and went to bed. When the pup pawed at his door and nudged it open with his nose, Owen didn’t get up and shoo him away, or latch the door shut. He let the dog climb up onto his bed and curl up near his feet.

***

Billy sat on his porch. He was nursing a bottle of beer, resisting the urge to move onto something stronger. The night was calm and still. A mosquito buzzed by his ear. He was burning a citronella candle but, evidently, it was fucking useless.

He heard an engine rumbling closer, tyres against his driveway. A vehicle came rapidly into view, eventually lit by the glow of his porchlights. He sat back in his chair and watched the green truck park, a familiar profile visible through the driver’s window. A chilled beer awaited Billy’s visitor, sitting on the porch table with a bowl of pretzels.

Charlotte got out of her truck. Every time they met, Billy privately remarked on their similarities. They looked similar enough that they could’ve been twins. She had a rounder nose, like him; a remnant of their father that they’d never truly be able to escape. Their mother’s sharper features were echoed by the shape of their eyes, but little else. Charlotte’s hair was gray now, like his. She kept her hair shorter than he did, ironically. Their father would be rolling in his grave if he could see what she’d become since his death.

Charlotte dressed masculinely enough that she was often mistaken for a man, to the extent that Billy had once suspected that he wasn’t the only queer in the family, but her non-conformity wasn’t an expression of an undisclosed identity. She was relentlessly and happily practical. She wasn’t the sort to bother with makeup or femininity. Billy accepted her as she was. He could hardly claim to have any strong opinions on what women should look like.

She walked up onto his porch, boots making brisk sounds against weathered wood.

“William,” she greeted him, offering his legal name with fond sarcasm.

“Charlotte,” he replied, doing the same. He rose up out of his seat and hugged her. “Thanks for comin’ out, I know it’s late.”

“I’m a mother and a farmer, I don’t have much excitement in my life. Nice to do somethin’ different for once.” She took a seat, as did he. Her hand gravitated towards the beer he’d prepared for her. “I was surprised to get your text, though. Not like you to need company, not from me. Hardly need to ask but, I assume somethin’ is wrong.”

He grinned and looked down at his own beer. He thought back to his first night with Owen, how the other man had avoided his eyes in much the same fashion. His smile immediately faded and he found himself becoming upset, expression faltering.

“Jesus, Bill. Are you gonna cry?”

He shook his head. He knew this was awkward, unfamiliar. They didn’t meet very often. Every time they did, they rediscovered something new about who they’d become. He hoped this wouldn’t be too much for her. He hoped she could be kind. He hoped that his desire for familial love wasn’t too little too late, too unexpected to be obtained.

“Came all the way out here… Least you could do is talk to me.”

“Had a tough night,” he began, surprised by the timidity of his own voice, “Didn’t see it comin’, either. Which made it harder.”

Charlotte took a sip of her beer. It was an opportunity to rack her brains for something, anything, to say to her older brother. The only thing preventing them from being strangers was their shared history.

“Can you… tell me what happened? Or… do you want me to help out, somehow? I do wanna help, but… it’s been a long time since I knew what was goin’ on in your life.”

“That’s why I wanted to see you, Lottie. Give you an update.”

“An update about… bad things?” Charlotte grew visibly more concerned. “Is it the cancer? Bill, if you’ve kept that from me again-”

“Nah, nah. Nothin’ like that.”

“Thank fuck.”

“I said I was sorry,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, you did.”

“It’s not… health-related.”

“What is it? Money?”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t got much of it right now.”

“Tonight was s’posed to be a good night. I was drinkin’ and playin’ cards with my friends, and the person I’m datin’ at the moment. But it wasn’t good.” He swallowed stiffly, drank some more beer when his throat stuck, mouth dried by his nervousness.

“What went wrong?”

He looked directly into her brown eyes. He was desperate for her to show him love, just this once. He knew she had become like their father in some respects, just like he had. He knew she could be cruel. He wasn’t a praying man, but he prayed for her compassion.

“My date got nervous. Angry. I left early.”

“…Why?”

“Because he’s not out. He was scared of our friends realizin' that we’re together.”

Charlotte stared at him, dumbfounded. “A man?”

“A man.”

“You…”

“Me.”

“…And a man?”

He nodded. She drank some more beer. Billy became aware, again, of how quiet the night was. A mosquito buzzed nearby. He wondered if it was the same pesky little bastard that he’d been trying to slap away all evening. He felt an odd sense of relief. He wasn’t holding a secret close to his chest, now. The words had left his mouth. She knew. Now anybody could know, and he truly wouldn’t care. The one human being that was a ghost of his father, in so many ways, finally knew what he was. Nothing else could hurt him.

“How long?”

“How long have we been together? ‘Bout a month.”

“No, how long… How long have you… known?”

“Since I was seven, maybe.”

Her eyes went wide, and then narrowed with anger. “What the fuck!”

“What?”

“You never told me!”

He sat back in his chair. “I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you, then?”

“’Cause I told dad first. He made damn sure I didn’t breathe a word to anybody else. D'you want me to go into detail about what he did to me, Lottie? D'you really need that?”

Charlotte’s anger collapsed into despair. They’d never discussed their father, not in such brutal terms. She looked away, out into the night. She knew she’d been spared the worst of their father’s punishments. Their grandfather had beaten his son within an inch of his life and Billy, as the next son in line, had been treated similarly. If you spare the rod, et cetera.

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

“Didn’t invite you here for apologies. Don’t wanna guilt you, neither.”

“Then why… What do you need?”

“I just wanted to know that you’re cool with it. With me. Bein’ this way.”

Charlotte recoiled from him. He could see that she was offended, that she was hurt by what he needed. She was wounded by the expectation of cruelty, but she knew where it came from.

She drained the rest of her beer. Billy watched in silence.

“Get up, you idiot.”

He complied, moving slowly. She leapt to her feet and grabbed him, yanking him against her in a determined, tight hug. He stood still, shocked. She was warm against him, welcoming. He thought of their mother. A parent who hadn’t protected him. Perhaps Charlotte would be the better woman.

“I love you,” Charlotte told him, “You absolute piece of shit, I love you.”

Billy hugged her back. He felt disconnected from his body, like a guest in his own reality. Tonight had overwhelmed him, and he’d been readying himself for rejection by embracing apathy, indifference. He knew that tomorrow, when he awoke with a memory of his sister’s affection, he would be able to properly appreciate this moment.

“Love you, too,” he said, quietly.

“Let’s go inside. You’re gonna tell me everythin’ about this guy. I wanna know it all.”

Chapter Text

To Billy's surprise, Charlotte stayed until the sky outside was lavender, the night lost to conversation and confession. He felt tired, too tired to be pulling an all-nighter that was this emotionally demanding, but he was enjoying himself too much to ask her to leave. They hadn’t properly known each other for years. The distance hadn’t been actively painful, but then, he hadn’t been aware what he was missing.

Charlotte drank coffee with him and asked about Owen. The conversation ebbed and flowed between them, returning occasionally to Charlotte’s husband, as she shared what she loved about her partner. Billy had never heard her speak this way, had assumed their marriage was one of convenience more than anything else. He’d believed that Charlotte had married Peter for his land, acres upon acres to bolster her business. She’d let him believe it. Charlotte wasn’t in the habit of allowing herself to be vulnerable, to be a woman in love, and Billy finally felt that he understood why. He’d done the same thing, but as a man. As siblings they were mirrors of each other, a case study he’d not known he was participating in. He offered her everything that he’d been hiding, everything that he’d lied about through omission. She did the same.

They ended up back on his porch, finishing off their coffees before she planned to drive home. They both had bags under their eyes.

“Do you hate dad, for what he did to you?”

Billy had expected the question. If anything, he was surprised that she’d waited this long to ask. Charlotte was calm, almost mournful, in her manner. He appreciated that. What had happened couldn’t be changed, and righteous anger wouldn’t fix anything. He was beyond it.

He thought hard about his answer. She watched him, a sad kind of curiosity in her eyes.

“No,” he decided, “No, I don’t.”

“You’re a stronger man than I would be, in your situation.”

Billy remembered a big hand, wrapped around his skinny arm. A palm landing against his cheek, so fast that he didn’t realize what had happened until his eyes were watering. His father kneeling in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him hard, yelling loud enough to make young ears ring. Billy hadn’t seen anger in his father's eyes. All he’d seen was desperation. Only now, years later, did Billy understand why.

“He did what he thought was best.”

Charlotte balked. “You’re kiddin'.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t place much stock in therapists, Bill, but maybe you oughta see someone for this.”

“Back then, bein’ queer was a choice. It could be beaten out of you. It should be. That was the thinkin’, anyhow.” Billy ran his thumb down the handle of his mug, his coffee lukewarm at most. He felt relaxed, meditative. He’d never put it in words before, but he spoke with conviction. “A good father had the responsibility of preventin’ his son from becomin’ a queer. He knew what would happen to me, if I let anyone know that I liked other boys. I’d be bashed. Denied employment. Or worse. Beatin’ me was merciful, compared to what others would do. That was his logic.” Billy smiled. “Worst part is that he probably wasn’t wrong.”

He sat with the words he’d spoken, waited for them to hurt. But the pain didn’t come. He felt exhausted, but happy. He’d been carrying this with him for too long. He looked over at his sister and saw that she didn’t share his mindset. She appeared to be on the verge of tears.

“That’s so fucked.”

He appreciated her directness. “I know.”

“I would hate him.”

“It ain’t that simple, Lottie.”

“You’ve gotta know that you didn’t deserve it, though.”

“’Course I fuckin’ know that. No kid should be treated that way. But he did what he did ‘cause he loved me. In his mind, that was the justification. How could he allow his son to live as a queer? That would mean condemnin’ his kid to a life of torment. If he didn’t teach me to hide, the world would’ve. Either way, I never had a chance.”

“Things are different now.”

Billy thought of TK Strand. How relaxed he’d been at Judd’s house, a beautiful boy by his side. Not an ounce of shame in his actions. Carlos had lived a harder life, Billy suspected, had been through conflicts that TK would never face. Things weren’t done changing. But they were getting better.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a message from Judd.

***

Hours later, Judd sat outside a café. He was queasy, hungover, and nervous. He watched people walk down the street, urgently looking for a familiar face. When he finally did see Billy, he reminded himself to be reasonable, to pause before he leapt to assumptions. Grace had suggested, rather pointedly, that he not meet with his friend today. Her worry was well-founded. Already nauseous, Judd felt worse when he remembered the sickening sound of his knuckles connecting with Billy’s jaw. He couldn’t fly off the handle again. Especially if Billy was as innocent now as he had been when Judd assaulted him.

Billy approached the café table. Judd couldn’t help but notice how tired Billy seemed, even considering his usual state of scruffiness. If he normally looked haggard, he looked downright shattered today.

“Hey, Judd.”

“Hey.” Judd gestured to a plate of bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes, and toast. “Ordered you breakfast.”

“Awfully generous of you.”

Billy took a seat and started to eat. Judd tried to find a way to initiate the conversation but, as it turned out, he didn’t need to.

“I’m gonna go ahead and assume your generosity doesn’t come without a caveat,” Billy guessed through a mouthful of bacon.

“I can’t take a friend out for breakfast?”

Billy pointed his fork at Judd. “Not with a face like that, you can’t. Get it off your chest, man.”

Judd called over a waiter and ordered another coffee. Billy didn’t comment on his blatant stalling but undoubtedly noticed it.

When the waiter departed, Judd crossed his arms and leaned on the table, like he was a detective about to interrogate a perp. Billy continued to munch away at his toast. He seemed almost bored, resigned to whatever Judd was about to assume.

“I tried to talk to Cap.”

“Oh?” Billy dipped a slice of toast in a mess of egg yolk. “’Bout what?”

“Whatever made him act so weird durin’ games night. Couldn’t get a straight answer outta him.”

Billy tried to suppress it, but– much to Judd’s immense confusion– his face broke out into an amused grin, like he was enjoying a private joke.

“The hell’s so funny about that?”

“Nothin’, don’t worry.”

Judd hung his head for a moment, letting out a loud sigh. When he looked back up at Billy, he let his frustration show.

“What’s goin’ on, Billy?”

Billy wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Not my place, Judd.”

“C’mon. I’m worried about him.”

“I know you are. And I’m tellin’ you that I respect Owen far too much to go behind his back with personal stuff.”

If Judd had expected anything, it wasn’t the calm, level-headed response that Billy offered. He didn’t call Owen ‘New York’, didn’t redirect hatred through mildly hostile endearments. He was genuine, composed, and self-assured. Which made Judd even more confused. He had no fucking clue what was going on, what he didn’t know.

Billy sat forward too, bringing his face closer to Judd’s. Like he really wanted Judd to listen to him.

“I’m worried about him, too,” Billy admitted, his voice affectionate in a way that made Judd’s head spin, “But I ain’t gonna push him like that. By talkin’ to other people about what he’s goin’ through.”

With that, he sat back and continued to enjoy his free breakfast. Judd gawked at him. The waiter re-appeared with Judd’s coffee.

“You’re different, these days,” Judd said, “’Specially when you talk about him. You used to be such a cranky son of a bitch. But now… I dunno what to make of you.”

“There’s nothin’ to be done, Judd. Let it go. This is Owen’s business, not yours.”

“But y’all ain’t at war again, correct?”

Billy nodded briskly. “Yes, sir.”

“Right.” Judd believed him, and felt a swell of relief. “I can hang my hat on that, at least.”

“This is damn good, by the way.”

It took Judd a second to realize that Billy was referring to the food. “Yeah, I like this place. Grace brought me here last month.”

“She’s got good taste. Chose you, after all.”

“Why’re you bein’ so nice to me, huh?”

“Maybe I just got tired of bein’ an asshole.”

Judd drank some of his coffee. He supposed he could believe it, even if Billy’s hostility had long ago been established as a cornerstone of his personality. He wondered who his friend had become, and how he’d managed to miss such a profound metamorphosis.

“Late one, last night?”

Billy frowned. “What?”

“You just look, uh. Kinda wrecked.”

Typically, Billy would grunt at Judd’s concern and make some excuse. But he smiled again, with the same easy affection that made Judd itch with confusion.

“Sister came ‘round, after I left your place. We talked ‘till early mornin’. Haven’t slept, truth be told. Most words we’ve exchanged since her weddin’, I reckon.”

“Sounds intense. Everythin’… okay?”

“Yeah.”

Judd didn’t buy it. “Hell, now I’m worried about you and Owen.”

“You gotta focus on yourself more, Judd.”

“Yeah, I know. Grace says that, too.”

“I appreciate it, anyway. Know Owen does, as well.”

Once again, Billy used the Captain’s name so warmly, with such familiarity. Judd supposed that, in spite of everything, he had to accept that Billy and Owen were friends. Proper friends. No matter how impossible that sounded.

“Speakin’ of bein’ worried, Billy… Noticed you’ve lost weight over the past few months. You ain’t… in treatment again, right? I remember that the nausea, the lack of appetite… it made you lose weight, last time.”

“Nah. Just cut back on my drinkin’ a bit, thought it’d be good for me.”

“Now that you’re gettin’ old?”

“Not too old to kick your ass.”

Judd laughed. He realized that, finally, he was sitting across from the man who had given a speech at his wedding. He recognized a part of Billy he'd thought long gone, buried beneath stubbornness and conflict, wounded by the explosion which had killed their friends. He could never have expected that, someday, Billy would allow himself to be something more than cynical and conniving. Judd couldn't express how relieved he was. The happiness was like a bright sun, warming him from the inside. He could trust Billy. The hatchet had been buried.

“I missed you.” Those three words were blissfully easy to say. “When things were bad. I missed my friend.”

Chapter Text

Billy drove home from the café. As sleepless and jittery as he felt, primarily running on caffeine, this was the happiest he’d been since Owen’s lips first touched his, tasting of beer and repression and need. If you didn't count resuscitation, that is. Which he didn't.

If he was a puzzle, laid out in shattered pieces, he felt that he’d finally located the missing parts that he needed to feel whole once more. His sister and his best friend; two people he’d been drifting away from, isolating himself through sheer stubbornness, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Fully aware of the consequences, of the likelihood that he’d die hollow and alone, but dooming himself anyway. Giving himself permission to live differently was a revelation. It was like he’d told Judd; he’d gotten tired of being an asshole. Tired of fighting. He was spiritually fucking enlightened.

He parked outside his house. Another car was in his driveway.

Owen sat in the chair that Charlotte had inhabited only hours before. He wore blue jeans, a dark green jacket over a black t-shirt, and a black beanie. He looked as tired as Billy felt but, even in his current state, he was handsome. Billy was overcome by the vision of walking into a gay bar on Owen’s arm. Both of them masculine men, their union distinct from the expectation he’d been raised to consider gospel. Not a girl in sight. Flannel and leather and denim. How fulfilling, how wonderful, it would be. He felt entitled to such a fantasy, invested in making it a reality. He was becoming bolder, more excited about what he and Owen could do together. He wanted so much. He wanted to take Owen to rodeos and bars and restaurants. He wanted to find out what Owen liked. The substance beneath fad diets and supposedly organic produce. The man beneath the showy myth.

Billy strode up onto the porch and towards Owen, trying to gauge his mood. Whether he was still upset, what kind of conversation they were about to have. His theorizing was halted when Owen stood.

Owen reached for him eagerly, one hand forming a fist as he clutched the lapel of Billy’s jacket. Billy kissed him with equal enthusiasm, sliding his hands beneath Owen’s shirt, skin against skin, feeling the curve of his spine. The tension of last night dissipated through their mouths, every muscle and tendon poised to bring their bodies closer together. Billy had to remind himself that Owen was still injured, that he couldn’t hurriedly unlock his front door and shove Owen inside. Ordinarily they’d crash down the hallway, pushing and grabbing, their route to Billy’s bedroom periodically stalled by a mutual frenzy. Today they just stood outside, breathing each other in. It would be a slower journey, but the intent wasn’t absent.

“Judd had a talk with me, this mornin’.”

Owen sighed against Billy’s mouth. “I told him that everything was fine.”

“In his defence, everythin’ wasn’t fine. Isn’t fine.” Billy tilted his head, felt a rasp of stubble as he nuzzled against Owen’s unshaven cheek, both of their eyes closed. Seeking to be closer, always. “You’re strugglin’.”

Owen kissed his neck, exhaled hotly. He gripped Billy’s belt, telegraphing his desire to unbuckle it, nudged a knee between Billy’s legs.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Owen whispered.

“Didn’t reckon you were.”

“I just need you to know.” Owen guided them backward, pulling Billy by his jacket. Billy reached past him to unlock the door.

“I’ve been where you are,” Billy told him, amused that this conversation was happening as they feverishly kissed. “Difference was that I didn’t have anybody who gave a shit.”

He opened the door. Owen stepped backward through it, followed immediately by Billy, who kicked it closed without looking. They went quickly to Billy’s bedroom, bypassing the hurried groping and messy undressing that usually preceded them tumbling into bed together.

“The men I was seein’ back then, they were all as closeted as I was,” Billy said as he pulled off his shirt, “They weren’t gonna fuckin’ help me. That’s not your situation. I’m here for you.”

Owen made an exasperated, wanton noise, kissing the other man hard enough to get his point across. He couldn’t talk about this now. He was thankful, he was indebted to Billy for his support, but if they discussed this he'd surely end up in tears. And he didn’t want to cry. He wanted to fuck. He needed it. Billy needed it too, needed to feel evidence of Owen’s fire. It wasn’t enough to know that Owen burned for him. He needed to know that Owen burned for the thrill of being alive. He needed to know that Owen hadn’t battled his inner demons and lost, hadn’t submitted to the siren song of bitter, safe denial.

As Billy undressed Owen, helping him to shed clothes that otherwise required bending over and aggravating his injuries, he noted the fading bruises across Owen’s ribs. The vivid contusions which had been left in the wake of blunt objects hurtling down from a collapsed roof. Heavy enough to hurt, but not so heavy that Owen had been left with a crush injury and a dire prognosis.

The marks were still prominent, if less worrying than the violent, plum-colored blotches of a week ago. Owen was healing, even if it was happening slowly. Billy thought back to that day, when he had heard a news reporter say that a fireman was trapped in a burning building, and thanked some elusive higher power for the fact that Owen had managed to escape as quickly as he had. He didn’t want to theorize about what could have happened, but his mind constructed the scenarios anyway. Necrosis from being pinned in place, wooden pillars and debris forming a mountain on top of a fragile, bending ribcage. Cracks spiraling through a collapsing spine. Lungs pierced as skin gave way. Carbon monoxide poisoning from the smoke. Cyanide poisoning from melting synthetic materials. Rubber and foam and plastic, components of any suburban normalcy, melted into a deadly weapon. The last few coughs of life, wet with blood.

Billy was kneeling on the floor, Owen’s jeans in his hands. A reverential pose. A quiet moment of worship that he’d fallen into without realizing. Owen, seated on the edge of the mattress, noticed Billy’s distracted gaze. He folded his hands around Billy’s jaw, tilted his face upwards.

“I’m alright,” Owen reminded him.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t agree to this if I was in too much pain. I made you a promise, remember?”

“I remember.” Billy dropped the jeans on the floor, hands rising to the waistband of Owen’s underwear. “I just like lookin’ at you. Seein’ you heal.”

“You find it reassuring. I understand that.” Owen’s tone was adoring. “I don’t want you to see my injuries. The reasons I’m weak. I want you to see everything else.”

“You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you’re worried about me.”

“I can do both at once.” Billy pulled down Owen’s underwear, tossed them aside. He rose to his feet and enjoyed Owen’s reaction, liked seeing desire come across the other man’s face as he straightened up to his full height. He hardly saw himself as the pinnacle of attractiveness, but he enjoyed his body. Knowing that Owen enjoyed it too was delightful.

Owen lay on his back. Billy straddled him, Owen’s hand moving to grasp his stiffening cock, the action so familiar compared to their first time, merely a month ago. Billy took the almost-empty bottle of lube off the bedside table and poured some into his palm. His untied hair hung past his shoulder as he leaned forward, bracing one hand beside Owen, reaching back to ease himself open.

“Goddamn,” Owen breathed.

“What?”

“Just… you. All of this. Goddamn.”

The idea that he had left Owen Strand at a loss for words was encouraging, to say the least. Billy’s body grew hotter as Owen confidently swayed his wrist upward and downward, flesh warmed by the heat of his excitement, veins full of passion. Owen continued to jerk him off with one hand and, with the other, rubbed just beside the hole that Billy was stretching, thick clear fluid dripping down and smoothing firm strokes against Billy’s perineum. Billy swayed his body into the sensation, warmth building between his legs. He’d never ridden Owen before, and was excited to try it. Ordinarily he found himself prone or up against a wall, Owen’s fingers clasped unforgivingly around his wrists. This would be a new angle, a new kind of vulnerability.

It didn’t take him long to decide that he was ready, despite the fact that he undoubtedly wasn’t. It hurt, when he took Owen’s length in hand and pointed it upwards, forcing himself to slide downwards. He craned his neck, face turned toward the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. The small of his back ached, a sharp burn accompanying every inward inch.

“Billy-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Billy groaned.

“I know you like pain,” Owen panted, “But be careful.”

The comment was teasing, but Billy figured that Owen’s observation was more accurate than intended.

“It’s ironic, really. You’re so worried about me being in pain, but you’re the one who-” Owen gasped as Billy settled lower. “You’re the one who gets off on it.”

Billy laughed hoarsely, resisting the natural impulse to steady himself on Owen’s discolored chest. “I know what I’m doin’, Owen.”

“Prove it.”

***

Billy rode Owen until the other man grew sore, the movements of Billy’s body too much of a strain for an injured back and pelvis. One of the things that Billy enjoyed most about sex with Owen– and there were many– was that they talked while they fucked. They changed positions, they tried whatever would work best, and there were no expectations of performance. In the end, Billy lay down beside Owen, just as they had during their first night together. He felt empty, desperate to be fucked until Owen spilled inside him, but he knew that couldn’t happen today. He was grateful for what they’d managed.

Billy came with Owen’s hand wrapped around his cock, returning the favor and helping Owen to finish only a few minutes later. They lay still for a while, facing each other, pulses slowing. The room smelled of salt, sweat, and strawberry-scented lubricant. Billy couldn't wait until they were done with the bottle and he could buy a new brand. One that stank slightly less.

“Thank you,” Owen whispered.

“For?”

“What you said earlier. Being here for me.”

Billy kissed the corner of Owen’s mouth, aim affected by his ungainly tiredness. Owen turned his face into the kiss, their lips meeting.

“When I’m better, I want us to swap,” Owen decided aloud, "I want to try it."

“Well now, that’s a change of topic.”

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

“Christ, Owen. Yeah, I wanna fuck you. When you’re better.”

Owen chuckled. He wiped his hand on the sheets. They’d need to be washed. Again.

“I came out to my sister.”

Owen, whose eyes had been closed in post-orgasm bliss, looked suddenly at Billy, his brows raised in shock. “Really?”

“Yeah. After I left Judd’s place. She stayed all night.”

“It went well?”

“It did.”

Owen grinned. He shifted across the mattress, curling against Billy, who rolled over onto his back and pulled him close. A now-familiar position that they often settled into.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Billy swallowed tightly, almost caught off-guard by how emotional those words made him. He figured that he was tired, he deserved to be a bit sentimental. And if he wanted to see Owen taking strides to come out of the closet, it made sense to lead by example. Accompany him on such a journey. Be proud of his triumphs, even if it was strange to be praised for taking this latest step. He was so used to doing things on his own. The idea that his personal victories deserved recognition was unfamiliar.

“Was it hard? Even if it went well.”

“Sayin’ the words, not so much. Hard part came later. She asked questions about when we were younger.”

“What do you mean?”

“It ain’t fun. To hear about or talk about.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it…”

“It’s the hearin’ that worries me most.”

Owen hesitated. “You think I can’t handle it?”

“I think your mom fucked you up, like my dad fucked me up. And maybe you ain’t ready to dig into that, just yet.”

Owen fell silent for a while. His pride was hurt. He felt like a burden. Knowing this, Billy continued to speak.

“I’ve been on this journey for a long time now, Owen. You’re still new to this. I said I didn’t wanna hurt you, and I meant it. Not just the physical. D’you understand?”

Owen rubbed his hand across Billy’s sternum, feeling sweat-dampened skin. He was silent for long enough that Billy knew he was choosing his words carefully, trying to figure out what he needed to say.

“I just… I’m tired of this.”

Billy lifted his head off the pillow, neck twinging in protest. “Of what?”

Owen, who clearly heard the panic in Billy’s response, laughed and shook his head. “Not of you. Not of this. Us. I’m just tired… of…”

Reassured, Billy lay his head back on the pillow and let Owen take his time. A few more minutes of silence passed.

“I’m tired of having issues with this. With what… With who I am. I don’t want you to be… worried about me. I want to hear about your dad. Your sister. I want to support you. I can’t be here for you if I’m… feeling this way. Why can’t I just be…” Owen became annoyed. “Why can’t I just be fine with this?”

Billy smiled sadly. “I felt like that for years.”

“Years?” Owen’s voice was filled with amazement and horror.

“Most of my life. So yeah, I get what you’re feelin’ right now. You’ve got a lot to work through. Last thing I’m gonna do is judge you for where you’re currently at. Okay? ‘Sides, I’ve got my sister on board now. I’m feelin’ better than I’ve ever felt before. And I’ve got you.” Billy stroked Owen’s arm. “Don’t worry about bein’ here for me. You’re here plenty, as is.”

Owen seemed to mull that over. Then, slowly and with pained groans, he started to sit up. Billy immediately sat up too, hands carefully braced against Owen's shoulders, helping him move.

"Easy, easy."

Owen waved Billy's hands away, swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. Billy moved next to him. Owen avoided his gaze for a while, thin-lipped and visibly frustrated. 

"Owen?"

"I'm sick of this."

"You said that."

"No," Owen declared, "I'm sick of this. I can't be this way anymore. I want to- I have to tell TK. I have to."

Chapter Text

Parts of Owen had begun to populate Billy’s life. His products were on Billy’s shower shelves and in his cabinets, offering decadent scents and unfamiliar labels. Billy, who had been using a 2-in-1 product to wash his hair as fast as possible, was even starting to develop a preference for the shampoos and conditioners that Owen offered. This was part of softening his habits, he supposed. His father had long decried grooming as a women’s activity. Daring to treasure his long hair, treat it properly, was a direct act of defiance. Owen told him that he was beautiful. Billy was letting himself believe it. He was growing beyond the self-punishment and misogyny of his generation.

Owen sighed with relief as steam billowed around them in damp clouds. There wasn’t much they could do for his rib pain except wait for nature to take its course, but heat seemed to help somewhat. Even if it just allowed him to relax.

Billy gently, carefully washed Owen. He poured mint-scented body wash into his palm and slowly spread it across Owen’s skin; enough pressure and friction that he could lather the wash into white bubbles, but not so much that he hurt Owen further. He was concentrating hard on the ensuing balancing act and didn’t speak for a long time. Owen closed his eyes, beads of water clinging to his lashes, and relaxed into the sensations that Billy offered.

“When d’you plan on tellin’ him?” Billy continued their earlier conversation. “TK, that is. Fine if you don’t wanna talk about it now, though.”

Billy couldn’t see Owen’s face, but he noticed fresh tension move through his back and creep up his shoulders. Feeling responsible, he ducked his face down and pressed his lips to the water-slickened nape of Owen’s neck.

“Sorry. Don’t worry about it.”

“It's okay. I have no idea, if I’m honest. I haven’t thought it through. Is there… a good way? To approach it? What do people normally do?”

“Depends on the person.” Billy gently took hold of Owen’s shoulders, eased him backward beneath the shower head. The body wash was rinsed down Owen’s body, splattering to the tiles. Billy let his eyes linger on Owen’s taut, well-shaped buttocks. They looked particularly good beneath the shine of water.

“That’s frustratingly vague.”

Billy smirked, lightly wiping down Owen’s back with his palms to make sure the body wash was worked out of Owen’s skin. “Depends on you, what you’re comfortable with. Depends on him, how he’s likely to react. How you reckon he’s gonna take the news. Well, I’d assume.”

He added the last comment as an afterthought, trying to inject some levity and reassurance into the discussion. But the tension in Owen’s posture remained.

"Your son's gay, Owen."

"I know."

"Look, I'm not sayin’ nothin’ could go wrong, but… your chances are pretty good. Compared to other situations. Maybe he’ll be surprised, but d’you really think he’ll be cruel to you? After how you’ve raised him? He's a good boy.”

Owen turned around, distressed. Billy cupped his neck and kissed him, slowly. Seeking to distract him, remind him of how far he’d come. How naturally he could kiss another man, allow himself to be kissed.

“I know you’re scared.”

“Help me not be,” Owen pleaded.

Billy hugged him. It was a careful embrace. He couldn’t wait for a day when Owen was less battered, when they could hug without worry. Owen needed to be wrapped up tight, into one of those breath-stealing bear hugs that do wonders to make a person feel safe. Billy had been told by his sister, in his younger and more physically affectionate days, that he gave fantastic hugs.

They stood there for long enough, naked bodies pressed together, that the hot water began to run out. It hardly mattered. Billy was a frugal man, as a rule. He could afford the resulting increase in bills. Owen was crying, sniffing quietly and trying to swallow down hiccupped sobs. The shower washed away his sadness, disguised it. Billy closed his eyes and held on, let Owen cry it out.

“Feel better?”

The query was murmured against the lobe of Owen’s ear, once he had finished crying. Owen nodded.

Billy didn’t know what prompted him to continue speaking, to push past a barrier that he’d been governed by until this precise moment, but the second he opened his mouth, he knew what he needed to say. He’d gone too long without telling Owen the truth of his feelings.

“I wasn’t lyin’, when I said I’m here for you. And I don’t just mean… in the short-term.”

Water continued to fall. Owen didn’t speak.

“I ain’t seein’ anyone else right now, Owen,” Billy continued in a whisper, heart beginning to thump harder, “Just so you know where I stand. I’ve been thinkin’ on it, and I… reckon I’d be happy, if you were the only person in my life. If I was… the only person you were seein’, too.”

“Indefinitely? You want to make this official?”

The question was abrupt. Billy couldn’t gauge Owen’s mood. His heart thrashed even harder. He was laying everything on the line, blowing past the risk that Owen would be intimidated by the depth of his feelings, daunted by Billy’s desire to make their relationship public.

“Yeah,” Billy replied helplessly, feeling less and less eloquent by the minute, “If… If you want? I thought, when you come out, it might be a good time to, y'know, get everythin' out in the open-”

Immediately, fast enough that Billy didn’t get to assess his lover’s expression, Owen kissed him. Billy kissed him back for a while, but quickly pulled away, his expression a pinched combination of exasperation, worry, and amusement. The lack of an answer was making him anxious. He was feeling every emotion at once, and it made his stomach unsteady.

“I, uh. I need you to actually say somethin’. Do… Do you-”

“Yes, yes,” Owen insisted, tripping over syllables in his haste to respond, “Yes, sorry- I want the same thing.”

“Oh.” Billy’s eyes creased with an ecstatic smile. He laughed as the anxiety abated, as bliss filled him. “Oh. Good. Good.”

He didn’t have anything articulate to offer, couldn’t summon the words to explain how happy he was. Thankfully, Owen seemed similarly overcome. They rested their foreheads together, both of them smiling so hard that their cheeks started to hurt.

“Does this make you my boyfriend?”

Billy laughed again, louder this time. “Christ. Feel a bit too old for that to fit.”

Owen laughed too. “Well, manfriend sounds a bit strange.”

The laughter continued. Their giggling was almost hysterical, nearly juvenile in its innocence and purity. A happiness so simple that it was life-changing. No angst or misery could find them in this moment.

“Partner,” Billy suggested, “How’s that sound?”

“Wonderful. It sounds wonderful.”

Chapter Text

A week passed.

TK and Carlos were partway through building a new bookcase when TK’s phone rang. Both of them sitting on the floor, each with a screwdriver in hand, surrounded by wooden paneling and piles of screws. There was something beautiful, TK reckoned, about the sight of Carlos thumbing through building instructions and trying to discern their next steps. His chest and arms filled out his shirt appealingly, a boast of strength that went entirely unused as he squinted at too-small print through his glasses. He was a finely tuned machine, left well-endowed after hours upon hours of pumping iron, and that strength was never more evident than when he wasn’t using it. 

“Hey, dad.” TK answered without hesitation when he saw who was calling him. “What’s up?”

“Hey. Not much, you?”

“Building a bookcase. Other than that, just chilling.”

There was a pause. Lengthy enough that TK had time to reconsider the edge in his father’s voice, and whether it signaled something more profound than a mild hint of irritation.

“You still there?”

“I’m here. Do you… Have you got any plans, tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?”

TK heard a hum in the background; the quiet murmur of a stern, low voice. Someone reminding Owen of something, prompting him to continue speaking.

“I mean– I need to see you. If you could make time, I’d appreciate it.”

TK could infer that the other person, whoever they were, had encouraged Owen to be more forthright about his reasons for inviting his son to dinner. Owen was not the type of person to invite such guidance. TK could tell that something was, at the very least, amiss.

“Is everything okay?”

Carlos looked up from the bookcase instructions, frowning. The worry in his boyfriend’s voice had diverted his attention entirely.

“I told you that I’d come to you, when I was ready to talk. That you’d be the first person I spoke to. Well, I’m… I’m ready, TK. I want to tell you… everything that’s been going on. The reason I’ve been acting so strangely.”

TK absorbed his dad’s words as much as he could. But he knew that, until he got actual answers, he wouldn’t be able to quiet the anxiety in his gut.

“Okay. Should I bring Carlos, or…?”

“Yes. Please do. He’s a part of this family. Does seven work for you boys?”

TK angled the phone away from his mouth. “You alright to come over to dad’s house at seven?”

Carlos nodded, refraining from asking for more details. The expression on TK’s face, and the context of the call so far, warned him off interrupting.

“Yeah,” TK continued, talking into the phone once more, “We’ll see you then. Do you need… Should we bring anything?”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Owen hung up. TK stared at his phone for a few seconds, before Carlos shifted closer to him in an attempt to gain his attention.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“I have no idea.” TK lowered his phone and shrugged helplessly. “But you were right.”

“About what?”

“You said dad would confide in me when he was ready. Whatever it is, he wants to tell me tonight. Tell us,” TK corrected himself, “You’re invited.”

Carlos nodded again, slower this time, processing that clarification. He’d evolved past the point that he needed to address Owen as Mr. Strand, but the idea of being present while deeply personal confessions were made by his partner’s father… that was undeniably daunting. But, more than anything else, it was an honor.

***

TK and Carlos arrived five minutes early. They were both well-dressed, in collared shirts and sensible pants. They had no idea what general mood they needed to prepare for. Owen had made a vague comment, when TK had first enquired about his dour mood, that his personal struggles had nothing to do with cancer or bad life events, but something significant was about to be revealed. The least they could do was show up in appropriately serious attire.

Owen opened the door to his son and the young man who would, someday, be his son-in-law. “Hey, TK. Carlos."

“Hey, dad.”

“Come on in.”

They did. Owen walked ahead of them, movements somewhat wooden and awkward. He discretely wiped his hands on his pants, palms sweaty with the nervousness of a man who had been privately rehearsing a very important speech. TK had witnessed his dad in all states of emotional extremes, which tended to be an occupational hazard, but nothing he was seeing could be explained by an emergency or a professional conflict.

TK became confused when they emerged into Owen's kitchen. To his surprise, there was another person present, and it was not someone he could've predicted.

Billy Tyson.

Not only was he there, in Owen's house, but he seemed comfortable. He'd evidently been here before, had developed a familiarity with the space. He was chopping vegetables by a slowly-simmering pot, movements unhurried. His uniform was nowhere to be seen, making this one of the few times that TK had witnessed him in casual clothes. He'd been appearing at Judd's house more and more, attending firehouse gatherings, but this was an entirely new level of friendliness.

"Oh," TK said, cautiously following his dad, "Hello."

"Hey." Billy smiled over his shoulder, briefly greeting them before returning to the chopping at hand.

Owen walked to the fridge, as though he was desperately looking for something to do. "Can I get you water? Juice? Soda?"

"Just water for me, I guess," TK answered, glancing between his dad and the unexpected guest.

"Me too," Carlos said, coming to stand beside TK, who was lingering awkwardly with his hands by his sides.

In an attempt to appear more comfortable, TK crossed his arms. Thinking that this might be interpreted as disapproval or aggression, he uncrossed them once more. Owen got them a glass of water each. The pot of stew continued to bubble. TK noticed Billy looking at Owen with concern in his eyes. Owen was plainly working himself up to some kind of announcement, and Billy already knew what it was. TK realized, immediately, who he’d heard on the phone.

"Dad, um...” TK began, unable to stand the silence, “Not that I’m complaining, but… What's he doing here? What’s going on?"

Owen leaned against the counter, beside Billy. He held onto the bench and took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I know. I know. And when I do say it, you’ll…” Owen sighed loudly, rubbed at his face. “You’ll think it’s stupid that I’ve been so worried. But there are things… There are reasons I’ve waited this long. Reasons that have nothing to do with you. I want you to understand that.”

The stew continued to simmer. For several seconds, it was the only sound within the tense, uncomfortable kitchen. Billy dumped a pile of vegetables in the pot, dialed down the stove’s heat, turned his back on it, and leaned against the counter next to TK’s dad. They stood close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

“D’you need me to say it?” The offer was gentle. Billy was directing it at Owen.

“Say what?” TK laughed hesitantly, confused beyond description. “Dad?”

From the corner of his eye, TK noticed Carlos stiffen, posture changing, becoming more alert. When he looked over to confirm his boyfriend’s change in mood, he saw a joyful kind of empathy. Something he didn’t comprehend. Carlos was seeing something that TK couldn’t. He was seeing a pain, a hesitation, borne of circumstances that TK had never faced– but Carlos had. He saw the way Billy angled his body towards Owen, the familiarity with which he leaned closer, bridging the distance between friendly intimacy and something more. He knew the anguish on Owen’s face because, when he was younger, he’d felt exactly the same way.

“You’re together,” Carlos said, “You’re in a relationship.”

His words were quick, and the moment he finished speaking, he looked regretful. As though he’d stolen Owen’s moment. But Owen was relieved, and Billy seemed pleasantly surprised. Both of them directed smiles at Carlos, glad of his presence. TK gawked between all three parties, feeling that he’d been left out of the loop.

“Yes,” Owen looked as though the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders, “Yes, we are. Thank you, Carlos.”

TK watched, wide-eyed, as Billy reached an arm around Owen’s shoulders. He gave Owen a quick kiss on the cheek, grinned widely. “You did it.”

“Well,” Owen gestured towards Carlos, “Technically, he did it for me.”

Owen’s voice was almost listless, as though he’d become lightheaded from the happiness of it all. He looked urgently towards his son, desperation in his eyes. TK realized that he’d not said anything, that he’d left his father to flounder in panicked uncertainty. He shook himself out of his confusion, allowed an honest, genuine grin to bloom over his face. The change that it encouraged was immediate; he saw his dad become utterly relieved, tears rising to his eyes, smile trembling.

TK lurched forward and gave Owen a tight, loving hug. Billy stepped away dutifully. He traded a knowing look with Carlos; a recognition of their shared experiences, and an acknowledgement of the crucial role that Carlos had just played in revolutionizing Owen’s life, changing its trajectory forever.

“C’mon,” he said to the younger man, “Let’s give them some space.”

Billy and Carlos went out to the backyard. Buttercup followed them, overjoyed to have another visitor. The dog found a tennis ball and dropped it in Carlos’ lap the moment he was seated in a patio chair. He threw it obediently, glad to have something to do with his hands.

***

TK and his dad stayed in the kitchen, so that Owen could periodically stir the stew. TK didn’t quite know how to act, or what to say. Being gay himself, he’d encountered people of all orientations throughout his life, and supporting others had never been hard. He’d just never imagined that he’d have to support his own father. There wasn’t a single part of him that was displeased, but he was struggling to reconcile this revelation with everything he knew about his parent.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Owen guessed, looking down into the pot.

“I do,” TK admitted, “Can you do me a favor, though?”

“Sure.”

“Stop avoiding my eyes.”

Owen peered meekly over at TK, smiling apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Have you been… struggling with this for a long time?”

“I only realized recently. When Billy and I got close, it… brought a lot of things to the surface.”

“When you and mom were together, did she know?”

“No. I’m not gay, though,” Owen clarified, “I’m… bisexual, I think you’d call it?"

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“I do love women. I mean, I'm still... attracted to women. But I also... I'm also attracted to Billy. I definitely loved your mom.”

“I know that,” TK replied, amused.

“Good,” Owen laughed, but he still seemed nervous. Like he was hanging onto TK’s every word, waiting for his son to become angry.

TK took a sip of his water, trying to work out how he’d phrase what he wanted to say. “I’ve never seen you like this. Are you… afraid of me? Is that why you didn’t say anything, before now? Did you really think I’d… hate you? Or judge you?”

Owen clenched his jaw, stirred the stew.

“Dad?”

“Can I ask you something personal, TK? It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, but… I need to ask.”

TK frowned. He gave his dad the benefit of the doubt and assumed this wasn’t a just an evasive change of topic. “…Sure.”

“Did you ever feel… Were you ever scared to come out to me?”

TK stared at Owen, dumbfounded. “What?”

“I just want to know that you felt safe.”

Owen’s voice was small. Every word seemed to get caught in his throat. TK could feel his heart breaking. The question was as ridiculous as it was upsetting. He’d heard stories from friends and partners, gruesome tales of homelessness and domestic violence, and had always been glad to have grown up in an accepting household. The idea that his father didn’t give himself credit for that, for offering his child a safe and progressive home, was horrible.

He hugged Owen again, felt droplets of moisture land on his shoulder.

“What the hell. Of course I always felt safe. Why would you ask me that?”

When he leaned away, he saw that his father’s eyes were pink-rimmed and watery. Owen sniffed and wiped at his tears, stirring the stew again. TK stared at him and waited for an answer.

“You never met your grandmother. My mom. But her ideas on life… What was good, what was bad… The worldviews I grew up with… I was afraid that…”

“Afraid that you’d been homophobic? Seriously?”

“Mom was…” Owen searched for a word, and when he found the right one, he hissed it with a fury that TK had never witnessed in the past. “...insidious. What she believed, she… snuck it into the tiniest comments. Every look, every judgement, everything she told me to do… She affected me a lot, TK.” Owen’s voice broke, anger making his words shake. “I want to be a good dad. I want to know what you went through, as my child. If I did a good enough job, unlearning what she taught me. I didn’t even… I didn’t know who I was, because of what she did to me. So I just need to know… I need to know what you went through. If I…”

TK’s eyes stung, tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks. For the third time tonight, he hugged his dad. He thought of a woman he’d never met and hated her. For what she’d done to a man who had shown such boundless patience and compassion. For what she’d done to her son, when that man was just an innocent boy. TK didn’t think of his father in his younger days, had fallen into the trap of only viewing Owen Strand as his parent. He tended to forget that Owen had lived a whole life before he had come into the world. It was a life that TK knew very little about.

“You always made me feel loved.”

“Really?”

“Really. And, dad, I’m... sorry she hurt you.”

Owen didn’t reply to that. TK moved away. He could see that the shutters had descended; his father couldn’t talk about this anymore. The barriers that had long protected him were re-emerging. They would bond more in the future, would become closer and closer now that Owen's private life was less secretive, but old wounds had been prodded enough for one night. Owen patted TK’s shoulder in a friendly, perfunctory way, giving a stoic smile and turning back to the stove.

“Can you call Billy inside, please? I think we'll make some garlic bread.”

Chapter Text

When Carlos and Billy emerged into the kitchen, Billy immediately gravitated towards Owen. As TK watched, he leaned close in a smooth, easy motion, arm winding around Owen’s waist. He murmured a question and, when he got his answer, gave Owen a peck on the forehead before moving away. It was apparent that Billy knew Owen’s boundaries, physical and emotional. They were out now, their relationship known to everyone present, but Billy didn’t kiss him on the mouth, even briefly. And he defaulted to standing apart from Owen, allowing him distance. Now that TK knew what to look for, knew the story behind his father’s private life, he had to suppress further tears. He’d never stood apart from any man, had never even considered such restraint until Carlos introduced him as a mere friend. TK was coming to accept that his experiences were fortunate and limited enough that he would never truly empathize with his father’s pain. He hoped he'd get to see his father growing in confidence, embracing Billy in front of others.

He was distracted from his thoughts when Carlos, in a similar manner to Billy, moved close.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” TK knew it was obvious that he’d been crying.

***

The four of them chatted for long enough that the awkwardness diminished and, by the time dinner was finished, Owen was far less upset. It wasn’t quite a normal evening, not nearly as relaxed as an average gathering, but it came close. When Owen hugged TK at the end of the night, they both lingered longer than usual. TK clung to him and tried to find something to say, something that would address everything he’d recently learned. He came up empty but got the sense that his dad understood, nonetheless. Tonight had been a victory.

TK was getting in his car, Carlos already sitting in the passenger seat, when Billy approached him. Owen was nowhere to be seen.

“Wanted to tell you somethin’. Can I have a second?”

TK got out of his car, closed the driver's side door. “Sure thing.”

They moved a few paces away so that they could talk with a degree of privacy. Billy rested his weight back on one leg, crossed his arms. He glanced down at the ground, cleared his throat. TK didn’t know much about Billy– or anything, for that matter– but was surprised to see him acting with such reluctance. Billy had always struck him as being confident to the point of pigheadedness, which was also a trait he associated with his own father.

“Your dad and I don’t have the best history," Billy admitted. TK didn’t deny Billy's assertion, but he nodded to show that he was prepared to listen. Billy seemed to appreciate this. “I’d understand if you ain’t exactly… fond of me. I don’t hold that against you, that bein’ the case. Just want you to know that I will do everythin’ in my power to convince you that I’m a better guy now. That I’m not lookin’ to mess with your dad. I love him, and I know he loves you. Your opinion matters to me.”

TK was touched. He hadn’t been aware of his father’s relationship with Billy long enough to develop expectations but, even with more time, he doubted he could’ve prepared himself for a confession of this magnitude. He smiled and laughed softly.

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me, Billy.”

“…Have I?”

“My dad’s not some helpless kid. I care about him, obviously, but I’m not very... territorial, when it comes to the people he dates. I got over that by his fifteenth girlfriend after my mom.”

Billy seemed momentarily stunned. TK continued speaking.

“Dad is a stubborn, egotistical guy. I love him, but he’s a handful. Every woman he’s ever dated has been his mirror image. I’ve got many good memories of him and my mom together, but they were usually arguing. Everything was a fight, even the tiny stuff. What was for dinner. The décor. Politics. Art. I don’t underestimate my dad. You two don’t have the best history, you're right... but I’d be an idiot if I thought he was innocent in all of it.”

Billy blinked twice, forehead furrowed. He was shocked and amused by TK’s calm point of view. They watched each other; TK considering him, Billy aware that he was being scrutinized. A friendly stalemate. Two men from drastically different worlds, wondering how they might proceed.

“He’s… comfortable around you,” TK decided aloud, “Calmer. I saw him and mom happy, but I never saw him… like this. Even when their marriage was solid. You’re good for him. You already have my trust.”

Billy grinned. TK could understand, now, what Owen saw in him. He had a lovely face. Soft in all the right ways, rugged and weathered. Hardly TK’s type, owing to the age difference, but he could see the appeal. He wondered what Billy had looked like in his youth.

“Glad to hear it,” Billy said.

“Well, also– I assume that I hardly need to tell you this, but," TK smiled to show he was partly kidding, "I’d make your life hell if you ever hurt him.”

Billy nodded firmly, eyes sparkling. “You're a good son. I’d expect nothin’ less.”

“I’m not calling you dad, though.”

Billy took the joke in stride, shaking his head and laughing. Which brought a pressing fact to mind;

“I don’t actually know that much about you. Are you a dad?”

“Nah. Closest I've got is a niece. Love her like she’s my own.”

“So, you’ve got siblings.”

“One. A sister.”

TK hummed, not needing to feign his interest. He was glad to have achieved a conversational dynamic with Billy, even if things were still mildly awkward.

“Well, I look forward to learning more about you. I should go though, Carlos is waiting.” They shook hands. He started to step away, then changed his mind. He had one last comment to make. “By the way, I’ve got nothing against you. You helped to pull me and my boyfriend out of a burning building. As far as I’m concerned, you helped dad save our lives.”

Chapter Text

The Strand men went their separate ways for the night, heads full of the same thoughts from opposite sides. TK thought about things he’d never been through. Owen thought about things he’d been able to save his son from. Both of them settled down to sleep next to the men that they loved.

TK had wondered for many years which of his parents he had more in common with. He’d long been of the opinion that he shared many flaws with his father, but he hadn’t thought deeply enough about it. Only years of work with a dedicated therapist, and substance abuse counsellors, allowed him to make the comparison now.

At the height of his addiction, before meeting Alex and encountering an entirely different set of problems, he’d had fleeting and intense relationships with countless men. Their names had faded from his mind. Only snatches of them remained, made blurry and indistinct by a toxic combination of alcohol and pills and sleep deprivation. They’d always been physically beautiful and exquisite to look at. Always involved in the party scene. Sometimes he'd set out with romance on his mind, but usually the goal had been more superficial. For some, such a lifestyle was both sustainable and fulfilling, but for him it hadn’t been. For him, it had been part of his addiction. He’d cared more about the fact that he was active as a gay man, doing what gay men did, than about what he actually wanted. He hadn’t known there was a difference. He hadn’t realized that sex was part of his misery. All that had mattered was what everybody else saw, the fact that he could boast about reeling in so many gorgeous men. Surely, he’d reasoned, that meant he had worth. He was wanted.

Seeing his father with Billy Tyson helped TK to understand that Owen, in his own way, had been struggling with a similar dysfunction.

TK hadn’t been the only one to notice Owen’s changing behavior over the past few years. He'd begun to sleep with more and more women. They rarely looked like TK’s mother, and they never stuck around for long. They were usually pale-haired, blonde or light brunette, and they were always younger than Owen. Excited to be with an older man, using him as consensually as he was using them. To TK it had seemed like such a cliché, a man sleeping with younger women as he settled into his middle age; something to be lovingly mocked, rather than a habit warranting concern. TK hadn’t considered that Owen’s escalating habits, the seemingly endless string of superficial and distant partners, could have signaled a compulsion that apparently ran in their blood. It went beyond gender, beyond orientation.

Billy was everything that Owen’s girlfriends hadn’t been. Most obviously, he was a man. But he was also blunt, assertive, and more concerned with practicality than being well-dressed. He had a complicated history with Owen, tangled and deep. He was the precise opposite of Owen’s indulgences, of the countless women that Owen had approached in some superficial attempt to feel less lonely. He was no flighty date. If he left Owen’s life, it wouldn’t be without a fight, or without shattering consequences. Their relationship was one that required commitment, permanence, work. Like any real relationship.

Like TK’s relationship with Carlos.

TK reached across the bed in the darkness, fumbling for the warm body beside him. His hand met Carlos’ hip, prompting him to make a quiet noise.

“Are you asleep?”

“Not now,” Carlos murmured. His voice wasn’t thickened by slumber, wasn’t rough or drowsy. He’d expected that TK wouldn’t settle and had lain awake waiting for him to say something. They hadn’t talked much since coming home from dinner. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

Carlos moved towards him. The nature of their jobs necessitated black-out curtains, so he couldn’t see TK’s face. But he could hear the stress in his voice. He tentatively reached out a hand, not sure how much TK wanted to be touched. He was glad when TK turned, rolling onto his side and laying against Carlos. They kissed, noses bumping in the dark, but it was clear that TK didn’t need sex. Not right now.

“It’s not that he’s dating a guy,” TK explained, “I don’t give a damn about that. It’s surprising, sure, but…”

“…you feel like you don’t know him.”

It was a guess. A good one, apparently, because TK took a shaky breath, obviously suppressing the urge to cry again. He pressed his face into Carlos’ shoulder. Carlos held him close.

“I feel like I missed so much. And I didn’t even realize. I was so wrapped up in my own bullshit that I… I didn’t even know who my dad was, not really. Especially the way that his mom treated him. I had no idea, about any of it.”

Carlos rubbed his back. “That’s normal.”

“What do you mean?”

Carlos gazed into the darkness. He’d never told this story before. His family, and his father particularly, cared a great deal about loyalty. He didn’t discuss his family’s private business as a rule, but he felt that he needed to make an exception tonight. And he knew TK wouldn’t turn this into gossip.

“When I was twenty-three, I found out that my mom spent most of her teenage years on the street. Her parents were… abusive. I don’t know the details, but I know that she wasn’t safe. She had five siblings, too. I’ve never met any of them. Don’t even know their names. I’ve got aunts and uncles out in the world, genetically speaking. I’ll probably go my whole life without meeting them.”

TK was silent. Carlos continued.

“Not knowing a really important part of your dad’s life, it’s normal. Parents just don’t share everything with their children. There are years and years of mom’s life that are completely off-limits to me. Learning more, it’s… a good step. It means he trusts you. He’s let you in. But you won’t know everything. I mean, if you became a dad, would you tell your kid about your history of addiction?”

TK clearly hadn’t ever thought about that. “No, I… guess not. Not right away.”

“Exactly. And when that kid did find out, they’d probably feel the same way that you’re feeling now. They’d feel like they were suddenly learning a huge part of their dad’s past. It’s just how life works. You grow up and you re-learn who your parents are. You realize what’s defined them.”

TK lay still for so long, breathing steadily, that Carlos wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“I feel like I’m always one step behind you,” TK mumbled eventually, “How come you already have this stuff figured out?”

“I don’t have everything figured out.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I need you to not put me on a pedestal, babe,” Carlos cautioned him gently, “We’re just different, you and me. You teach me plenty. Okay? I’ll be asking for your advice, before long.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Carlos answered, grinning, “I promise I’ll need you to help solve my problems.”

TK kissed him. Carlos could feel that he was smiling.

***

By the time Mateo arrived home the next morning, Billy was gone. Owen cleaned the house until it was spotless once more, aware that his anxiety manifested through compulsively and apprehensively wiping down countertops and flinging open the windows. When Mateo finally did cross the threshold, not one single hint of Billy remained. His smell was gone. His jacket, accidentally left behind, was hidden in Owen’s bedroom. Owen was mindful of the way that his shame took shape. Self-protection. Cleanliness as safety. He’d not known what he was doing until very recently, and the realization had prompted him to reconsider his whole approach to life. Mopping the floors, scrubbing the sinks, watering the plants, arranging ornaments into perfect symmetry– he did all of these things when spiraling, like external perfection could wrangle internal turmoil into controlled, manageable categories.

He was thinking about all of this, meditating on the fact that he’d come to understand his mind a little better of late, when Mateo walked through their front door. Owen looked up from where he sat, cross-legged on the floor. He’d clipped a leash to Buttercup’s collar, intending to take the dog for a walk, but had gotten distracted and started patting him instead.

“Hey, Cap!”

Owen noted that Mateo seemed well-rested, perky. “Hey, Mateo. Sorry I had to kick you out, last night.”

Mateo held up his hands in a happy surrender. “If kicking me out means you paying for a hotel with room service, I am not complaining.”

“Well, thank you for understanding.” Owen found Mateo’s cheer delightful. “But it’s not going to become the norm. This is your home.”

“Was it a good party? This place looks spotless, as usual.”

Mateo wandered into the kitchen, started making coffee. Owen rose to his feet, gripping Buttercup’s leash tightly. He steeled his nerves, determined not to back out. Billy wasn’t here to support him, Carlos wasn’t here to say the words that he couldn’t summon. He had to do this, and he had to do it on his own.

“I didn’t throw a party.”

“Oh.” Mateo got a box of snacks, started munching away. “Was it, like, a dinner or something?”

“In part.” Owen cursed himself for dancing around the truth. Buttercup whined, irritated that they’d not left for their walk yet. He patted the dog on the head, hushed him before returning his attention to Mateo. “Look, can I tell you something?”

"Sure. Do you want a coffee?"

"No thanks, I'm about to go on a walk." Owen watched as Mateo brewed his own coffee, one hand never straying far from the box of crackers. "I had TK and Carlos over, last night. I... came out to them."

"Oh, wow! Congratulations!" Mateo walked around the counter, hugged his colleague. It was a perfunctory hug, friendly but not as lengthy as TK's embrace of his father the night before. Owen patted Mateo on the back, exchanged a grin with him. Mateo returned back behind the counter, resuming his snacking. Their generational divide could not be clearer. Mateo's view of bisexuality was casual, unbothered. He continued making coffee.

"Thank you, Mateo. You've been very supportive, this whole time. And very respectful of my request for privacy."

Mateo shrugged. "It's the bare minimum, but sure, I'll take credit."

"I'd like to... tell the team. That I'm bisexual, but also... who I'm with. And I will, eventually. I'm working myself up to it. I trust you, so I'd like to... tell you, first."

Mateo raised his eyebrows.

"If you're comfortable with that," Owen clarified, "But I'd appreciate you keeping it to yourself. If keeping a secret doesn't appeal to you, I'd understand-"

"Oh, I have no issue with that," Mateo reassured his boss, very quickly, "No issue. I promise, I will not tell anyone."

Owen nodded. Mateo stared at him, barely able to contain his excitement. He'd been a good friend and coworker, kept his nose out of Owen's business, but now the opportunity to learn undisclosed secrets was being dangled in front of him. He would be true to his word, wouldn't tell one single soul the identity of Owen's partner, but he was undeniably thrilled by the prospect of knowing something that very few people knew. It made him feel special. And he was, above all else, happy to know that Owen trusted him this much.

"It's Billy," Owen said, "Billy Tyson."

Mateo absorbed that, almost tempted to ask if he'd heard correctly. After a few seconds, though, the shock faded. He thought about it and decided that he wasn't too surprised.

"That makes sense, actually," he replied.

"...What?"

"Well..." Mateo brought another cracker to his mouth, crunched on it. "You've kinda talked about him a lot, over the years. Even when you hated him, y'know? I don't know many straight guys who spend that much time obsessing about other dudes."

"Huh. Good point."

"I just chalked it up to you being an intense guy overall. I think everyone else did, too."

Owen smiled, seemingly relieved by the anticlimax of Mateo's reaction.

"I'm assuming you two are..." Mateo's words trailed off into a reluctant pause. He didn't want to ask questions that were too personal, too invasive. And he was worried about the answers he might get, the position that he'd be put in if he discovered something upsetting. "I'm assuming you two have a... healthier relationship, now? You don't hate each other anymore, right?"

"Oh. Oh God, no. No, we... I, um. I love him a lot, actually."

"Damn! Look at you, Cap! You're head over heels for him!"

Owen didn't visibly blush, but it was a near thing. "Suppose I am."

Buttercup barked, irritated that the human beings around him were idly chatting while he pined for an adventure into the outdoor world. Owen shushed him again.

"So, I was thinking," Owen continued, speaking faster now, with purpose, "Can he come over, sometimes? Now that you know? There aren't many people who know that we're together, and I want to take it slow. I want to... sit with him, and not be afraid when someone walks in the room. You don't have to actually do anything. I'd just like to... adjust. To being with him, around people."

"Of course." Mateo didn't comment on how upsetting Owen's request was, how low the bar seemed. "You're safe here."

"I don't want you to be my therapist. I want to make that clear. I just want you to treat us normally. Treat him the way you'd treat my girlfriend, if I had one."

"As in, ignore him?"

"Yeah. Now that you mention it."

"I already like him more than your one-night stands, if I'm honest. Meeting strangers in the kitchen, on random mornings, was kinda weird."

"That's fair," Owen laughed, not bothering to dodge the barely-veiled criticism.

"We've been getting to know him at game nights and stuff like that," Mateo mused, "Seems like a chill guy, now."

Owen beamed, obviously overjoyed. "He is."

Buttercup barked again.

"I think he really wants that walk. You better head out, Cap."

Chapter Text

When Owen did return to work, it was with the renewed enthusiasm of a changed man.

His coworkers stopped watching him because here no longer anything to watch for. They didn’t know what had happened, but they knew that something had righted itself, something had wound up resolved in Owen’s personal life. It was a relief to everyone involved. The job was hard enough without waiting for the other shoe to drop, without waiting for their Captain’s stress to manifest in an outburst that, while probably minor, would send shockwaves throughout the team. And personal matters were best left personal. With the exception of Judd's borderline invasive concern, now reigned in by Billy and Grace, everyone preferred to allow Owen his privacy.

Free from the paranoia that he had a dirty secret, that he was hiding something profound and important from his only child, Owen let himself focus on firefighting once more. And there were no shortage of things to occupy his concentration.

He became aware of it all with rekindled sharpness. He heard the high-pitched crinkling of charcoal underneath his boots. He saw the bleached-white ash of smoldering fields, so bright in the sunlight that the backs of his eyes itched. He watched thunderstorm clouds forming and hurling sheets of rain earthwards, before curling into themselves like a jellyfish making its way to the ocean’s surface, tendrils of water fading and withdrawing into a rapidly-disappearing haze. He smelled the aftermath, the clean tang of ozone combined with the heady smoke of the resulting blaze. Dry fuel. Trees turned to candles, fire leaping from wick to wick. The crack and snap of bursting deadwood, like bones breaking. Flames licking against million-dollar glass cubes and man-made marvels that stretched into the sky.

Fire.

It demanded his full attention, his respect, his fear. He was glad that he’d come out to TK for many reasons, and chief among them was the reality of his work. He owed his team the best of himself. One or more of them could die if he let his mind wander in the middle of a job. He needed to be thinking about wind changes, hidden threats, smoke inhalation, civilians, structural risk. The list was endless.

He'd never properly dated a fellow firefighter before. And, despite his current professional focus, that was what Billy was. He was sweet, but hard all the way through. Like rock candy. He understood things that previous partners, Gwyn included, never had.

Owen had planned something special for Billy’s first night over at his place, the first night he wouldn’t be trying to hide Billy’s presence from Mateo, but he arrived home only ten minutes in advance. He'd showered at the firehouse but hadn’t managed to scrub phantom ash out of his skin. When the doorbell did ring, he’d not known who it was and his feet had dragged as he shuffled to answer it. It was only when he opened the door, blinking with exhausted confusion at Billy’s amused expression, that he realized they'd made plans.

“Shit,” he sighed, disappointed in himself, “Billy, I forgot, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s no big thing. News came through to the office. You had a bad one today.” Billy stepped inside. Owen closed the door behind him.

“Yeah. Not bad in terms of causalities, but…”

“Tiring.”

Owen nodded. When he looked into Billy’s smoky quartz eyes, he saw empathy. Billy knew what it was like to fight a fire, especially a bad one. It was tempting to personify fires, to characterize them as demons, but the truth was far scarier. Fire was energy. Pure, uncomplicated, unfeeling. Fire consumed because it could. That’s all fire was; the drive to consume. It was liberated by perfect indifference. It could not be reasoned with. Owen had known some firefighters who prayed. He had never been one of them and Billy, much to Owen’s relief, was similarly cynical. Billy knew what it was like to find bodies, to arrive too late. He knew what it meant to fail. He knew that blaming a higher power achieved nothing, and did not change the stakes.

For all of these reasons and so many more, Owen didn’t feel any shame or fear when he pulled Billy against him. Mateo was asleep, collapsed in bed following a grueling day’s work, so he wasn’t going to see them kissing. But Owen didn’t even need the justification to reassure him. He was utterly focussed on Billy. Everything he was and everything that he offered.

***

Owen had wanted to make a nice dinner but Billy, seeing Owen’s tiredness for what it was, ordered pizza instead. They ate it in front of the television. Owen was nodding off and faintly snoring, leaning heavily against Billy’s shoulder, when Mateo wandered tiredly past the living room.

Billy grinned at him. Without moving too much, wary of jostling Owen, he carefully nodded toward the pizza boxes.

“Help yourself, if you like.”

Mateo took a moment to be embarrassed by his superhero-themed pajamas, but Billy didn’t appear to judge him in the slightest. Which was good, because Billy– romantic affiliations aside- was still the Deputy Fire Chief. Mateo had reasonable cause to fear people of a certain rank, a long history of conflict that informed his wariness, but Billy was reassuring in his manner.

The young firefighter got a plate from the kitchen, took a couple of slices of pizza. As he was departing the room, he heard Owen mumble a confused string of words. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Billy gently shaking Owen, rousing him from whatever dream had dragged him under.

"C'mon darlin'," he heard Billy drawl, warm and slow, "You're better off sleepin' in your bed."

Mateo turned away and left them to it, continuing on to his own bedroom, where he intended to snarf the pizza before passing out again. Seeing the two men this way felt deeply personal, almost like an invasion of privacy. He knew the significance that the smallest intimacies had, for Owen. He knew, now, the amount of fear that his colleague had overcome to get to this point. He felt honored to see these quiet moments, honored to be the roommate who did nothing and said nothing, who simply let Owen and Billy be. He felt like he should do more, should answer Owen's trauma with conversation, but he knew it wouldn't be his place. And besides, inaction was precisely what Owen had asked of him. Mateo's instinct was always to be helpful. And the most helpful thing was to just act normally.

Mateo was smiling as he closed his bedroom door.

It felt good to be Owen's friend.

Chapter Text

Sleep retreated from Owen’s mind slowly. He gazed across the bed.

Billy was sprawled next to him, hugging one of Owen’s pillows. It was early morning and Owen’s window was open, allowing the first touches of dawn to slip across the plane of Billy’s back and the creased skin where his arms were drawn up, the wings of his shoulder blades more prominent. The blanket had migrated down his body during the night, and now sat folded against his waist. His back was scarred in places, dotted with moles; adorned by the sun and by fire itself. Waves of hair fell across the pillowcase and about his face, draped over his neck. It had grown long enough that Tommy’s girls had taken to braiding it whenever they encountered him. He would sit on the floor, compliant and patient while little fingers tugged at his hair, proving himself more of a dad than his own father had ever been.

Owen was so busy admiring Billy, enjoying him, that it took a moment for his sleep-addled brain to realize that Billy was also awake. He blinked lethargically at Owen, grinning with lazy affection. His cheek was squashed up against the pillow, one eye mostly closed.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Owen leaned over, the blankets and sheets rustling pleasantly. Their kiss was chaste, gentle.

“I wanted last night to be special.”

Billy hummed against Owen’s mouth. “It was special.”

“Pizza in front of the TV?”

“Not to be a soppy motherfucker but, everythin' feels special when I’m doin’ it with you.”

“God, that is soppy.”

“You’re wakin’ up next to me, in your own bed,” Billy reminded him, “Mateo's in the house, but you ain’t scared. I’d say that’s pretty special. You’ve come a long way.”

Owen would’ve insisted that it was too early for such sweet comments, for his heart to be bisected by soft reassurances carried on a gruff voice, but he wasn’t going to complain. He shifted closer to Billy, kissing him deeper. Billy lifted an arm. Owen felt the slide and shift of skin as a palm moved over his shoulders, across his back.

“Do you have plans, this morning?”

“No,” Billy replied, the tone of one single syllable showing that he knew the real question Owen was asking him.

“Did you bring a toothbrush? I have a spare one you can use.”

Billy laughed. “Even when you’re horny, you still have time to be practical.”

“You’re sexy, Billy. Morning breath is not.”

“Mm. You’re so romantic.” Billy tried to kiss him again, but Owen moved away and smoothy got out of bed. Still laughing, Billy followed him to the bathroom.

***

Owen wasn’t allowing himself to think too seriously, not at this time of day, but he knew that Billy was right. He had come a long way. They both had.

He got the spare toothbrush out of a bathroom drawer, handed it over to his partner, and then stood there beside him as they both brushed their teeth. That they could do this without awkwardness, and without their desire decreasing, it meant a great deal. This was the mark of a healthy partnership, he supposed. Evolving beyond the need to rush through moments, the temptation to fill every silence with forced conversation. It made them more than lovers, more than two people carrying on a casual arrangement.

By the time he lay back down in his bed, he was pitching a tent in his sleep shorts. Billy strode towards him, untied hair hanging past his shoulders. They held each other’s stares as Billy knelt on the mattress, straddling Owen’s thighs.

The quietness of the bathroom morphed and shifted, heated by intent. Owen licked at his lips, tongue darting briefly out of his mouth. Perhaps viewing this as an invitation, Billy reached out and placed a hand on Owen’s chin. Owen opened his mouth wider without being asked and, after Billy curled a thumb between his lips, he closed it once more. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, tongue slippery against the pad of Billy’s thumb.

“God almighty,” Billy muttered, beautifully blasphemous, “I wanna fuck you, Strand.”

Owen’s mouth made a wet sound when he parted his lips again, the suction released. “I want it, too. But…”

“You’re not ready?”

“Not… practically. I don’t really know. I’ve never… prepared for it before.”

“It’s not a big deal. Doesn’t take me very long, but I’m pretty familiar with it. If you don’t wanna get into it this mornin’, that’s fine. How about…”

“What?”

Billy paused. “Do you trust me?”

“Are you serious?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I want your dick inside my body, but you think I don’t trust you?”

Billy’s eyes were brightened by a flash of amusement. He never tired of Owen using crass language, speaking in such blatant terms about what they did together. Owen gazed up at him, aware of the growing bulge in Billy’s trunks. Talking about this was arousing, for both of them. A kind of foreplay. Owen was still being led by Billy, still mapping unexplored territory, and he still possessed something approaching innocence. A wiliness to be molded, to be taught. He was older than Billy, but not by much, and not in any way that mattered when they fucked.

“I trust you,” Owen told him, “with everything.”

It was just the truth, but Billy knew what those words meant. He leaned down to kiss Owen, to thank him for the trust he’d been afforded.

“Roll over."

Chapter Text

Owen rolled over.

He only realized when laying on his belly, as Billy freed him of his sleep shorts, that he had no idea what was coming next. What Billy wanted to do to his body. His excitement was flavored with a hint of fear, a dash of anticipation. All of it delicious. Billy had asked whether Owen trusted him, and Owen hoped the answer went beyond words. His every action was motivated by a comfort that went beyond anything he'd ever been able to invest in a previous partner. He was letting himself be unsure, be a little afraid. He was letting Billy push past his sexual insecurities, his uncertainty. Take him to worlds unexplored.

Billy lay against his back. A cock briefly touched against the inside of Owen’s thigh, a pearl of fluid smeared across skin. Owen felt Billy nudge himself higher, aim unmistakable. Owen’s heart was in his mouth, his face hot.

“Billy, I thought-”

“We’re not doin’ that this mornin’. It’s okay, relax.”

Owen did as he was told, again. He liked doing what Billy said. Without question, without debate.

“Press your legs together,” Billy continued. For a moment, Owen was confused, but then he complied and the reason for Billy’s instruction was clear. His fingers dragged against the sheets, his grip tightening as Billy slid himself into the crease that Owen’s body offered, a hot length rubbing just beneath the curve of Owen’s ass, fucking the beginnings of his thighs. Owen lay there and focused on breathing while Billy moved. It was almost unbearably intimate. Billy huffed quietly, holding himself up with one arm, forehead lowered as he looked down between their bodies. He was watching to turn himself on, to get hard. Watching Owen’s flesh yield for him. Not completely, not in the way they’d someday attempt, but enough. Enough to tease, to tempt, to promise something more. Inches away from penetration, from the complete action, which was not an option just yet. Denial as an aphrodisiac.

He held the base of his cock until it was rigid, until he no longer needed to guide himself. Then he resumed laying against Owen’s back, groaning happily. Owen hadn’t touched himself, his cock trapped between his belly and the sheets, but he was almost ridiculously aroused. To be held down like this, pinned in place as Billy thrust on top of him- it required submission, stillness. He gave both willingly, and enjoyed the confidence with which Billy took what was offered.

“Wanna give you a feel for it,” Billy explained, whispering the words against Owen’s ear as he swayed his waist.

“The vulnerability?” Owen asked, voice catching.

“That how you’re feelin’ right now? Vulnerable?”

Owen nodded.

“Does it feel good?”

Owen nodded again. The bedroom remained quiet, the world still waking beyond the windows of the house. Mateo was an early riser. Had to be, due to his job. Maybe he’d stay asleep through any noise, but maybe not. Owen’s head was a mess of heat and need, fear and excitement. He was undressed and a similarly naked man was on top of him, dick nestled between his legs. A sight he wanted to keep private. An image that he didn’t want conjured into the mind of one Mateo Chavez.

“Billy-”

“Yeah? God, you feel amazin'.”

“What if Mateo hears?”

Billy’s movements were halted by Owen’s concern. “We can stop.”

“No. Don’t stop. But…”

Billy waited. Hanging onto Owen’s every word. One of his hands was beside Owen’s head and Owen took it by the wrist, turned it. Billy inhaled quietly when he realized what Owen wanted.

“Keep your hand over my mouth,” Owen told him, “Keep me quiet.”

Billy rested his palm lightly against Owen’s lips. He drew fingertips over morning stubble, the scratch that would soon be smoothed by soap-slickened blades. He seemed to be thinking, contemplating Owen’s request.

He didn’t tease Owen for the desire in his voice, the manifestation of a previously undisclosed kink. Owen was terrified of being caught, but he wanted to tiptoe on the precipice of being overheard. Wanted Billy to push him, to rock his body with thrusts, to reach beneath his body and jerk him off with punishing tenderness. He didn’t want to delay this until they had an empty house, a place all to themselves. He wanted to do this now, despite the risk. Mateo’s presence turned him on as much as it worried him. Vanilla exhibitionism.

“You wanna stop, you tap my hand, ‘kay?”

“Why would I want to stop?”

“Just bein’ safe, darlin’.”

The words burrowed down inside Owen’s soul, finding a place among everything else he loved. They would remain there, along with every other soft reassurance Billy had offered him. He nodded his agreement, that he would tap Billy’s hand if he really needed to, although they both knew that he wouldn’t reach that point.

Billy sealed his hand over Owen’s mouth. Owen breathed steadily through his nose and closed his eyes, heartbeat kicked up to a sprint. Billy’s grip wasn’t gentle. Something changed between them, in that moment. A recognition of surrender. Billy remained physically strong, despite his changed profession; he was strong enough to hold Owen down. Strong enough to take whatever he wanted, and trustworthy enough to only take what was given.

Billy shifted forward in a slow, deliberate press. Groaning once more, heavy and rumbling, he asked, “You like that?”

“Mmmh,” Owen replied wordlessly, voice muffled and small.

Billy began to move faster.

***

Not too long later, they were both spent, sprawled beside each other. Owen was wide-eyed, marveling at what had just happened. His whole body seemed to tingle, still alight with the aftershocks of an orgasm that was among the strongest he’d ever experienced.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed breathlessly, apparently needing no elaboration.

Chapter Text

Mateo got used to seeing Billy around his house.

Billy was only there when Owen was. He tended to stop by when Owen was home after a shift, took it upon himself to make dinner when both firefighters were exhausted from the day’s work. Mateo considered himself straight, if he considered himself anything at all, but he would’ve professed a great and powerful love for Billy whenever he cooked meals and did the dishes.

A friendliness was growing between them, even if Mateo’s presence in Billy’s life was incidental. He was personally linked to Billy through Owen, but beyond that, they were strangers. That was Mateo’s thinking, anyway. He didn’t realize that Billy had been watching him, listening, and waiting. He didn’t realize, had no reason to properly consider, that Billy had been a young firefighter once. Billy had seen men come and go in their profession, and he’d fought to remain a firefighter when all he wanted to do was quit. He saw what was on the horizon, and his intent was to be there when Mateo crashed.

Mateo didn’t even know the crash was coming.

***

The worst day of Mateo’s life arrived without fanfare, without warning. He woke up, ate breakfast, and went to work. He joked with his colleagues, he drank coffee at the station, he pulled on his uniform without fear.

Sure, he’d felt anticipation. Wariness. He’d steeled his nerves and prepared himself, as he did before every fire. He had been taught that things could, and often did, go wrong. Especially in their line of work. And he had been warned that today’s events could transpire, eventually. That something like this was bound to happen. Later, he would think that maybe he could’ve handled it better if he’d seen it coming, but he knew that was a lie. A thought exercise that went nowhere.

They attended a structure fire in the morning. It was a disused warehouse. Empty.

They proceeded through the charred property afterwards. Inspecting their work, looking for embers that needed to be crushed. The remains of a failed business littered the space, blackened by fire and waterlogged by their hoses. Fire was destructive, and the act of putting out a fire wasn’t much better.

Mateo was the one to find her.

He had stepped into a side room. Possibly used as an office, when the warehouse was still functional. Sheltered from wind, rain, and sight.

Safe for squatters.

His first thought was that there was too much in front of him. Too many items on the floor of the office. A pile of twisted, burned shapes that he couldn’t untangle upon first glance.

The longer he looked, the worse it got.

Thinking back on it, he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact moment he figured out what he was seeing. But he knew the moment he’d never be able to forget. It was the face that truly stopped him, utterly cut him to his core. Despite some blistering across her cheeks, the girl looked peaceful enough. Eyes closed. Forever asleep. If she’d died or fallen unconscious from smoke inhalation, she hopefully wouldn’t have felt the pain of being burned.

One arm emerged from her sleeping bag. It was black and twisted, not unlike the dead husk of a tree trunk. Drained of fluid, of life, of structure. From where he stood, he could see that she was better preserved inside the bag. It made sense. Sleeping bags were often made of flame-resistant material and, considering their efforts to extinguish the blaze, perhaps his team had acted fast enough to prevent a more thorough destruction of her corpse. Perhaps her parents would have something recognizable to bury. If she had parents. He could see denim. The hem of a yellow shirt, or what remained of it.

The thought had occurred to him, with alarming calmness, that he was assuming her death when he had no proof that she was dead. Perhaps she was still alive. Perhaps she’d spend the rest of her short, agonizing life in a hospital bed, fed with fluids while doctors nurtured skin grafts.

He had wanted to proceed into the room. Check her pulse. Do his job. Be a brave, heroic emergency responder.

But he just stood there.

It wasn’t even a conscious choice. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t budge. All he could do was think. His thoughts went around and around, spinning uselessly, saying nothing at all. Every time he came close to a decision, a conclusion, it escaped him. Minutes passed. Time was unstuck. His team moved in the background.

Nothing was real except her.

He’d gotten good at figuring out what objects had been, before fire got to them. Of the few thoughts that properly filtered through his brain, one was a budding certainty that the two objects nearest to her arm were a spoon and a syringe. And nearby, a pool of wax. Mateo’s thoughts were too erratic to properly take shape, but on some level, he knew what had happened here. She’d surrendered to the drug, fallen asleep. The candle, which she'd left alight after using it to warm her hit, had done the rest.

He had looked, and looked, and looked. Everything made sense and, at the same time, nothing did. He didn’t feel anything. Couldn’t feel anything.

Footsteps had crunched behind him.

“We all good in here, Mateo?”

Owen’s voice. Bright and bubbly. A successful outing, a fire stopped before it could spread to nearby structures. Mateo didn’t move, couldn’t look away from the sleeping girl. Her eyelashes were gone. He could see her scalp. Red and peeling.

“Mateo?”

Owen looked. He saw.

Then he became very, very quiet. He moved past Mateo, knelt down. Took her pulse, even though he knew what it would reveal. He stood, blocking Mateo’s view of the corpse. Words were spoken, soft and reassuring. Mateo couldn’t hear them. He would learn, later, that Judd had been called over. Had guided him out of the building.

Where he vomited.

***

There were support systems in place, for days like this. Mateo had been driven back to the station, where a mental health crisis team were waiting to console him. This wasn’t the first dead body he’d seen, but it had affected him worse than anything in the past. It was a common phenomenon; the straw that broke the emergency responder’s back. For Tommy, it had been two babies crushed in a road accident. For Paul, it had been an elderly man who died alone in his tiny apartment. This was Mateo’s breaking point.

A call had come in, the moment Owen crossed the threshold with his young colleague. A serious blaze, threatening residential properties. All hands required.

“Go,” Mateo had insisted.

“No,” Owen had replied, “Judd can handle it. You need me here-”

“I want you to go.”

Owen only left when Mateo convinced him that yes, he would place his wellbeing in the capable hands of the counselling team.

The first thing he did was abscond to the bathroom, where he vomited again and washed the taste away at the sink.

Then he walked out of the station.

***

He went home. He didn’t expect anyone to be waiting for him.

Billy was parked in their driveway, leaning against his truck. He wore button-down flannel, dirty jeans, and a frayed cap.

Mateo walked past him. “Owen’s not here.”

“I know.” Billy pushed off his truck, followed Mateo at a respectful distance. Mateo ignored him, his anger growing. He took out his keys, started to unlock the front door. His hands were trembling, which made him angrier. Tears blurred his vision. He didn’t want the older man to see him like this, to see him crumble. He wanted to unlock his front door and hide.

“Why are you here?”

Billy paused before he responded. He was so unhurried in his manner. Yet another thing that furthered Mateo’s fury. How dare he be so composed?

“I’m here ‘cause you’re a proud young man. Figured you’d come home, first chance you got. Escape.”

“Because I want to be alone,” Mateo snapped.

“Right. You reckon it’s what’s best for you.”

Mateo’s keys scraped against the front door. “Bet you think you know better.”

“I’ve been where you are. I know it hurts. You don’t have to hurt on your own. It won’t help to isolate yourself.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Mateo-”

“Fuck off!” Mateo spun around where he stood, both hands raised before he knew what he was doing. He pushed his palms against Billy’s chest and shoved with all his strength. Billy didn’t resist it. He stumbled backwards and regained his balance easily. His expression remained calm. “How’d you know, huh? How’d you know to come here? How'd you know what happened? Tell me!”

“I saw the news.”

Mateo remembered sunlight glinting off cameras. Remembered seeing the press gathered like vultures as his breakfast went splattering down onto the cement. That made him even angrier. He felt violated, dishonored by uninvited voyeurs, witnessed at his most vulnerable. His breakdown broadcast for everyone to see.

“Fuck you,” he snarled, “Fuck you, and fuck off!”

He took a swing. Billy leaned away from it easily.

Mateo had never tried to hit someone before.

Not like this.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t do this. He didn’t spit out vile curses and express his feelings with fists. He was a good, polite, upstanding member of society. This wasn’t what he wanted to do but, at the same time, it was all he could do. He expected Billy to run. That didn’t happen.

Billy stepped smoothly forward, against him. Arms encircled Mateo, trapping him in a tight, unshakeable hug.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“Stop.”

“Fuck off!”

“Stop.” Billy’s spoke the word firmly, offering a steadiness that Mateo desperately needed to rely on. But Billy wasn’t cruel. His voice wasn’t the heartless bark of a superior trying to intimidate a younger man.

“Get off… Get off me. Get off.” Mateo’s voice began to crack.

“Stop.”

“Get off me,” Mateo pleaded. But he leaned into Billy’s embrace as his shoulders started to shake. The dam was broken and he couldn’t stop what happened next.

Billy held him as he cried.

Mateo sobbed until he had no more tears left, until his eyes were dry and red, until his throat was raw and hoarse. When he leaned away, he could see the moist imprints of his face, pressed into Billy’s chest. He was ashamed, but Billy was still holding him. One hand anchored on his upper arm, the other on his shoulder. It was comforting. When he did look up at Billy’s brown eyes, he wasn’t met with judgement. He saw empathy.

“Let’s go inside. Get you cleaned up. What d’you reckon?”

Mateo nodded.

“Can I have your keys?”

Mateo handed them over.

Billy reached an arm around his back, guided him towards the house. With no fanfare, he unlocked the front door. Led Mateo inside. At that point, Mateo remembered how his legs worked. He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“You want a beer?”

“Nah.” Billy’s answer was immediate. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Mateo nodded again. His palm was against the cap of the bottle, preparing to twist it free.

“Don’t drink. Not right now.”

Mateo looked hopelessly at Billy, his face still puffy with sorrow. “I need it.”

“I know.” Billy walked towards him. “That’s why you shouldn’t.”

Mateo couldn’t argue with that. But fuck, he wanted to. Billy took the beer from his hand, opened the fridge. Put it away. He closed the fridge and leaned on it, the same way he’d leaned against his truck. Crossed his arms. Established himself as a sentinel, an immovable force. He was here to help. He would be strong when Mateo could not be.

“D’you wanna talk about it? Or be distracted first?” Laying out options. Introducing order into a panicked mess. When Mateo shrugged silently, Billy continued; “What makes you happy?”

“…Videogames. I guess.”

Billy sighed. “Christ, you just had to pick somethin’ I’m crap at.”

It took Mateo a second to process the idea that Billy Tyson wanted to play videogames with him. To make him feel better.

Despite himself, he smiled.

Chapter Text

Billy wasn’t kidding. He really was crap at videogames.

He took a seat beside Mateo and submitted to whichever game Mateo put him through, cursing all the while. Mateo felt awkward at first but, after several rounds of Mario Party, Billy found his footing enough to get competitive. Which meant that Mateo got competitive, too. It wasn't long before they were sitting forward on the couch, elbows against their knees, feet planted firmly on the floor as they stared at the television.

Mateo was cheering, celebrating yet another victory, when his phone chimed with a notification. When he checked, he was confronted with a long string of unanswered messages. His colleagues had somehow managed to find time to send him concerned and reassuring texts. Amid those texts were missed calls from the counselling team.

“They’re wondering where I am.”

“Who?” Billy threw his controller down onto the couch cushion, flinging it aside with an exasperated sigh. “The firehouse?”

“Just a bunch of counsellors. The Cap… Owen… he called them, after…”

He fell silent. The happy mood they’d found disappeared, like smoke carried off by a gust of wind.

Billy took the phone from his hand. He tapped on the screen and then lifted the phone to his ear. Mateo watched without complaint. The call was brief and straightforward;

“Hello. No, this isn’t Mateo Chavez. This is Deputy Chief Tyson. Yes, William Tyson. I’m with him now. Yes. He’s alright. Okay. Bye.”

He hung up. Handed the phone back to Mateo.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I thought you’d tell me to go back.”

“I’ll tell you that you should go back, eventually. To get some help. But not right now. Not if you don’t want to.”

Mateo looked down at his knees. He turned his phone over and over in his hands. “Your first name’s William?”

“Technically. Never liked it. Bit too proper.”

“You ever think of changing it?”

“Nah. Can’t be fucked. Everyone calls me Billy, anyway.”

“The counsellors didn’t, just now.”

“They were just readin' out the name that's on record. They’re not firefighters, after all. Maybe some were, in another life. But not now. They're outsiders, which is why they're so good at their job." Billy's voice took on a contemplative tone. "Folks like that, they’re important. Old school responders, especially the guys, they’d say otherwise. I would’ve said otherwise, if you’d asked me a few years ago. But toughin’ it out… That only works for so long, as a way to survive.”

Mateo pressed his thumbnail up against the seam of his phone, the hard corner of its case. He’d bought it for five bucks at a market stall. “Does it get easier?”

Billy had expected the question, but took his time responding. “Yes. And no.”

Mateo laughed bitterly.

“Truth is, you’ll always be human. You’ll always hurt. But it ain’t gotta swallow you. You shouldn’t repress it. Go back to the counsellors, if you want. But long-term, you need a therapist. A good one. The team can help with referrals, all that shit. Shouldn’t cost you much. The system’s improved since I was your age. It’s better. All the resources are there, you just gotta access ‘em.”

Mateo frowned. He continued to toy with his phone.

“Not the advice you expected?”

“No,” Mateo admitted, “I always had you down as the type of guy who would say therapy’s for… wimps.”

“I was that guy.”

“What changed?”

“Owen.”

Mateo smiled, touched by that answer. By how fast it arrived. Billy smoothed his hand over his knee, bashfully rubbing at discolored denim. Fidgeting, similar to Mateo. Like he was sheepish about his affection, but not ashamed of it. Mateo wouldn’t have ever dreamed of calling any of Billy’s mannerisms cute, especially considering his scruffy appearance, but it was the only word that seemed accurate in this moment.

“Times have changed, too. You’re younger. Men are… more supported now. It’s still not perfect, but there’s a way through this for you. A way I never had. That's why I told you not to drink that beer. 'Cause I've been down that road, kid. Takes a fuckin' long time to claw your way back to bein' healthy.”

Mateo wondered about Billy’s past. About the bodies he’d found, the unhappy endings he’d witnessed. The deaths he’d been unable to prevent. How he'd dealt with it, alone and angry and scared.

“No wonder you used to be so…”

“Yeah. Yeah, no wonder.” Billy cleared his throat. “Anyway. Another game?”

***

Owen arrived back at the firehouse, body smarting from overexertion. His entire team were spent, dragging their feet as they walked. The fire, their second of the day, had been an absolute monster to contain. Even with another team assisting them.

He and the whole crew were very worried about Mateo. The young man’s absence had been keenly felt. When greeted with an apologetic counsellor back at the firehouse, Owen’s first instinct was to worry.

“What happened? Where’s Mateo?”

“He, um. Left.” The counsellor scratched at their neck, visibly embarrassed. “We thought he was using the bathroom, but he walked out-”

“You just let him go?” Judd demanded before Owen could speak, his voice rising in anger.

“Hey, easy. They couldn’t have forced him to stay.” Owen pressed a hand briefly against Judd’s chest, easing him away from the counsellor, who Judd had taken a threatening step towards. It had been a tough, awful day, and tensions were running high. Judd backed off. Owen turned back to the counsellor. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

The counsellor shook their head. “No. But Deputy Chief Tyson contacted us, sir. Apparently, he's with your crewmate."

***

Mateo was zooming across the finishing line, winning yet another racing minigame, when Owen barged through the front door of their house.

He was flushed and visibly dehydrated, eyes wide and alert, fist tight around his keys. When he saw Mateo and Billy sitting side-by-side on the couch, controllers in hand, he stopped short with confusion. The counsellor had told him that Billy was with Mateo, but he'd not expected such a friendly, familiar scene.

Billy stood, tossing his controller at Mateo, who caught it easily. “Good timin’, I’m just about sick of gettin’ my ass beat.”

“Let me know if you want a rematch," Mateo teased him.

“Shut it, Chavez.” Billy walked over to Owen, kissed him directly on the mouth. Speaking to his partner now, he asked, “Hey, darlin'. You want somethin’ to eat?”

Owen nodded, still tense and focused on Mateo. Billy, aware that now wasn’t the best time to have a casual chat, disappeared into the kitchen. For a long moment after he left, Mateo and Owen were both silent.

“Sorry I left the firehouse, Cap," Mateo mumbled , "I… I wanted to be alone.”

“It’s alright,” Owen told him, “I was just worried about you. What you saw this morning… there’s no shame in struggling with it.”

“Billy said the same thing. He was helpful, actually,” Mateo continued, speaking quietly enough that Billy wouldn’t be able to hear him from the kitchen, “It was… good. To have him here.”

Owen took a seat where Billy had been slouched. Curious, he asked, “Did you call him over?”

"No, he was just… here. When I got back. I think he knew I’d need help.”

Owen nodded like that didn’t shock him, but it did. He was in no doubt of Billy’s emotional intelligence, but this went above and beyond the roles that Billy played. He’d stepped up when nobody would’ve expected him to.

“I tried to punch him, actually,” Mateo confessed in an embarrassed rush of words, “I was… pretty messed up. I mean, I still am, but I was… angry when I got home. He didn’t even seem surprised. I tried to apologize to him afterwards, but...”

“It's okay," Owen reassured him, "We’ve all been there.” He decided not to voice the obvious; that he had once knocked his now-partner unconscious because he’d gotten news that displeased him. It wasn’t a memory he liked revisiting. He'd not had nearly as good a reason for getting violent. The comparison wouldn't do Mateo's trauma justice.

Mateo stared into the distance. “The person I found…”

“There’s going to be an investigation.”

"Will I be able to... Will the investigators tell me the person's name?"

"I imagine so," Owen told him softly.

“Seems so… awful, to die like that." Tears rose to Mateo’s eyes. "If I have a name to remember… that’d be more… humane. And… if there are parents, a partner, maybe… They need to be told…”

Owen reached out. Mateo leaned into him without question, allowing himself to be hugged for the second time today. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have two dads.

Chapter Text

Owen only realized what had happened several days afterwards.

In his defense, he had no shortage of things to occupy him. Mateo got better slowly but came back to work almost immediately, demonstrating a pigheadedness so familiar that he could’ve truly been Owen’s son. But he wasn’t Owen’s son, so there was little Owen could do but watch him carefully and defer to the professional judgements of Mateo’s therapist. Because the young man had, despite his reckless return to a profession which had so recently scarred him, started seeing a psychologist. And the therapist reckoned Mateo was doing well. Well enough, anyway. Everyone kept an eye on him, and he knew he was loved. That helped.

Along with Mateo, Owen took his time checking in with every member of his team, seeing how they had fared following the discovery of a dead seventeen-year-old girl on their burn site. Her age, and the facts about her that emerged later, made things harder for everyone. She had been homeless, orphaned by the same drug that killed her. Utterly alone. Mateo was somewhat reassured, Owen suspected, by the fact that they couldn’t have saved her. She had overdosed in a dark, quiet corner of the world, and had already begun slipping away when the smoke did the rest. Arriving earlier wouldn't have helped. Nothing would've helped except early intervention, a functional country, and generations of better luck, all of which had been out of their hands when they arrived to fight an unrelated fire.

Her name, they were told, had been Anna.

She had no family, and no friends able to pay for a funeral. Owen, with the help of a certain Deputy Chief, used firehouse funds to get her a gravestone and a proper burial. It would help to provide closure for his crew, he reasoned in his official funding request, not mentioning that the young woman simply deserved to be interred with dignity, and a cremation seemed too grim an end for someone who had already been at the mercy of fire. He was good at sums, good at balancing the financial side of things. He pulled the money from other areas of the firehouse. The higher-ups couldn’t refuse the request without sounding like utter monsters.

Throughout all of this, he continued working. He fought more fires with his team, he helped pull people from cars, he filed reports, he maintained the firehouse, he committed himself to boosting morale.

With all that to keep him busy, it took him a while to even realize his own victory.

He was sitting at his desk when it hit him. He remembered how frightened he’d been when Billy had attended the gathering at Judd’s house, remembered the desperation with which he’d tried to keep the two halves of his life separate. The panic attacks, the nightmares, the anxiety. Then he recalled the moment when a counsellor had told him, in front of the entire firehouse, that Mateo was with Billy.

“The hell’s Mateo doin’ hangin’ out with Billy? Is he at your place that often, Cap?” Judd had sounded confused. Owen hadn’t even stopped to panic about the conclusions Judd might draw, the connections that might lead him to conceive of a secret relationship between his boss and his oldest friend. Owen had been more concerned about Mateo, determined to support him. He hadn’t given a fuck, on any level. An apathy that he’d once needed to fake had been, in that moment, as natural as breathing itself.

He’d come out to TK. He’d learned to kiss, to touch, to hold Billy in his own home.

He’d grown beyond the paranoia that had kept him hidden.

Owen sat taller in his office chair, grip loosening on his pen. He smiled, lifting a hand to his mouth. Expressing amazement at the progress he'd made. A quiet wonder that was just for him. 

***

Not too far away, in a different building, Billy sat behind his own desk. He was leaning on his fist, scrolling through a recently-submitted report. He was loathe to admit it, but he had gotten good at the administrative side of maintaining a firefighting operation. He'd even started to enjoy it.

His phone rang. He answered without checking the caller ID.

"Deputy Chief Tyson."

"Hello Deputy Chief Tyson, this is Captain Strand."

"Heya, sweetheart."

"Do you have... five minutes to talk? And an hour or so free, after that? Maybe?"

"Uh, possibly. Could do." Billy frowned, still absent-mindedly scrolling. "Why? Bit late for a long lunch, ain't it?"

"No. Well, yes, it would be late to have lunch. But no, I'm not calling because of lunch, I'm..." Owen took a deep breath. He sounded excited. "I want you to come to the firehouse. Now."

"Why d'you want me to do that?"

"I'm ready, Billy."

Billy directed a puzzled look at his phone. "Ready for what?"

There was a beat of silence.

"You ain't callin' me to talk about some sex thing, right?"

"No, no."

"You don't wanna fuck at work?" Billy closed the report he'd been reading. He was joking around, but he could sense that Owen did have something important to say. "Shame."

"I, uh, plead the fifth on that one."

"Right, well. We'll discuss that another time. Darlin', what're you callin' about? What's goin' on?"

"It's time, Billy. I'm telling everyone. I'm coming out properly."

Chapter Text

Owen left his office and went downstairs. He took up a cleaning rag and busied himself polishing the fire truck. It was an attempt to seem calm, like he wasn’t waiting for the footfalls that would precede his whole life changing forever. He knew that Billy’s rugged, easy presence would soon arrive, at his own invitation no less, and then he would have no choice but to tell everybody the truth. Every inch of him was thrumming with excitement and fear. He wanted this. It didn’t matter how much it scared him. He had made the decision to rip the band-aid off. He couldn't stand in his own way anymore.

TK wandered up to him. Owen didn’t realize his son had gotten so close until he heard a familiar voice say, “Hey, dad.”

He jumped. TK raised his eyebrows, smiling bemusedly.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Owen shook out the cleaning rag, folded it up again. “How’re you doing?”

TK glanced at Owen’s hands. He’d seen his father like this before, many times. Cleaning soothed him, kept him centered. With one look, he knew that something was going on.

“I’m all good. I was just going to ask you whether you’re free for dinner tonight. Gabriel’s cooking. Mateo’s welcome too, if he wants. I know he’s been struggling.”

“He has. But he’s getting better.” Owen, for a moment, was able to ignore the nervousness that made his palms clammy, his skin itchy. “I know you’ve been struggling, too. I’ve been meaning to ask-”

“You have asked.”

“I know, but…” Owen smiled apologetically. As he spoke, he realized that they’d had this same conversation every single day since Anna’s body had been found. TK had seen overdoses before as a paramedic, had even managed to save a few. He wasn’t as raw as he’d once been, when it came to drug use. Owen needed to believe in his son’s stability. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Why’re you so nervous?”

Owen glanced over TK’s shoulder, to the entrance of the firehouse. He could see out onto the street, and Billy’s truck hadn’t yet appeared.

“Dad?”

“Billy’s coming here soon. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes away.”

It took TK a moment to infer what his dad meant. His eyes and smile widened at the same time. “You mean…?”

Before Owen could confirm that yes, he was finally going to come out, they both heard the rumble of a familiar engine. TK looked behind him, able to see Billy through the approaching truck’s windscreen. Time seemed to suddenly be moving much faster. An urgency felt by both Strand men. One of them, recognized as being gay from a young age. The other, newly approaching his pride.

***

Judd wandered over from the break area when he heard a truck approaching the firehouse. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to nab a parking spot out front of their station, somehow missing the firehouse insignia and signage. It was honestly amazing, how indignant some drivers could get when they were politely asked to move their vehicles.

He grinned when he saw Billy getting out of the driver’s side. He was still wearing his work uniform, white shirt tucked into dark pants, gray hair tied back. His footsteps were confident and crisp.

“Billy! The hell’re you doin’ here? Shouldn’t you be pushin’ paper?”

“Like you’re pushin’ your luck?” Billy countered calmly, his sarcasm dry and familiar. They hugged briefly. Judd slapped his back. The sound of conversation had drawn the attention of firefighters and paramedics alike. It wasn’t often that Billy, newly elevated status or not, stopped by. Marjan and Paul were cleaning the truck hoses. They kept their eyes to themselves, but Judd saw the wry look that they exchanged. Despite recent peace, they still assumed Billy and Owen would come to blows if in the same room for too long. Tommy and Nancy were chatting, but stopped. Both of them expecting something unpleasant.

However, Mateo didn’t seem at all phased by the Deputy Chief’s presence. He smiled in a way that thoroughly confused Judd. His confusion only grew when he looked over at TK and Owen. TK was delighted. Owen was happy, but obviously anxious. Conflicting moods that Judd had no context for.

“C’mon then," Judd hedged, "Why’re you actually here?”

Billy opened his mouth but, before he could explain, Owen interrupted.

“I asked him to come.”

Owen twisted the cleaning rag he’d been using, put it down on a nearby bench. He began to walk towards Billy and, as if responding to a silent discussion Judd couldn’t have heard, Billy responded in kind. He walked to stand near Owen, slid his hands into his pockets after a split second of visible indecision. It wasn’t like Billy, to be unsure what to do with his hands. To hesitate.

“Uh… What for?” Judd crossed his arms, frowning.

Owen started to speak, but quiet conversation had resumed between Paul and Marjan, so he stopped. He looked to Billy for assistance.

“Hey, y’all got five minutes?” Billy asked, speaking loud enough that his voice carried. “Owen’s got somethin’ he needs to say.”

Everyone wandered closer. If Judd had to put a label on this moment, he’d call it awkwardly silent. They gathered in a small crowd before Owen, waiting for whatever he needed to get off his chest.

“Is everything okay, Owen?” Tommy glanced between Billy and the Captain, her voice guarded but relaxed. It was her default state. Ready to respond and handle any situation. A paramedic to her very bones.

"Yes." Owen nodded in confirmation. “But I do have… something I need to tell you. All of you, I mean. I’ve been wanting to say this for what feels like forever. We have.” He gestured to Billy.

“What scheme are y’all cookin’ up?” Paul asked.

“You’re not at each other’s throats again, right? That was exhausting, last time.” This comment came from Marjan, and prompted a hum of agreement from Paul.

“No,” Owen said, “No, definitely not.”

He stopped speaking. Drew breath to elaborate, but swallowed back his words, leaving them partway down his throat. Judd was reminded of a fish. Caught between a boardwalk and suffocating air, mouth opening and closing uselessly, eyes full of worry.

“It’s alright, dad,” TK told him, “Go ahead.”

Owen’s face crinkled with a worried smile. He inhaled, long and slow, and then reached down.

Judd stared. He couldn’t help it.

Their hands folded together effortlessly, with a smoothness that spoke of familiarity, of many days and nights spent learning each other’s movements. Judd had seen couples hold hands like this before. The same way he held Grace’s hand when she was hurting, when he wanted her to know that he was there, was beside her. He’d seen that look before, too; Owen was nervous, searching his crewmate’s faces for hostility, but Billy only had eyes for him. There was a softness to Billy’s expression, an adoration, that Judd couldn’t have ever imagined. Judd knew that men could be soft, were easy to love when the right person came along- but he’d never seen Billy look like this before. And they’d known each other for a very, very long time.

“Billy and I… We’re in a relationship.”

The words were there, now. Out in the world. Hovering.

TK broke the stillness. He hugged his dad tightly. Mateo was beaming. It was apparent that he’d known, possibly for a while. The congratulations came quickly. Marjan clasped her hands together in delight. Tommy gasped, surprised and overjoyed. Paul’s eyes glittered with the shrewd, learned wisdom of someone who had come out as many things over many years, and knew exactly how much this moment meant.

“Oh, Cap,” Marjan began. She leapt forward and gave him a hug, the moment TK had stepped aside. To everyone’s surprise, likely including her own, she then hugged Billy. The withdrawn, persistently grumpy man blinked a few times as he processed her closeness. Eventually though, he smiled, pleased she'd taken the risk.

Judd couldn’t figure out what to say. He watched his crewmates hug and congratulate the two men, but couldn’t make himself join in.

“Haven’t you two hated each other for, like, years?” Nancy asked, freckled cheeks rounded by her smile.

“That’s all behind us now,” Owen said quickly, “Things have been… different… for a while. I’m telling you all this because… I trust you. All of you. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“So damn happy for you, Cap!” Mateo exclaimed, punching the air victoriously. A flash of the youthful energy he was so known for, which had been dulled by his recent trauma.

Judd finally unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. His throat felt dry. He didn’t quite know why, but he was profoundly uncomfortable. Billy looked over at him, and Judd knew he had to speak up.

“Billy does, uh… Does this mean you’re comin’ out too?” It felt like a dumb question. But Judd couldn’t reconcile this moment with the Billy he’d known all these years. Or thought he’d known, anyway.

“Judd,” Billy drawled calmly, “I have been fuckin’ guys since before you and I started workin’ together.”

After a moment of shock, everybody erupted into laughter. Everybody but Judd and Billy. Judd leaned his weight back on one leg, his arms still crossed. He wasn’t disapproving, not exactly. He didn’t know what he was feeling.

“Really?” It was all he could manage.

“Gotta admit, I’m surprised too,” Tommy confessed.

“Yeah, you…” Judd gestured cluelessly, “You never said!”

Billy shrugged. “Ain’t that big of a deal, for me.”

He was lying. There was an undercurrent of pain in Billy's voice that helped Judd to realize exactly why he was struggling to hear this news. Something twisted deep in Judd’s stomach. Old memories resurfacing with frightening significance.

“Or, it wasn’t,” Billy clarified, “’till I found a man I actually wanted to be with, properly.” He squeezed Owen’s hand.

“Oh, my God,” Paul laughed, “You two are adorable.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been described that way before,” Owen mused, voice uneven with residual anxiety and overwhelmed happiness. TK hugged his father again, and it was apparent that Owen had just overcome one of the most painful ordeals of his entire life. Billy was quieter, more reserved. The others didn't notice it, but Judd did.

They needed to talk.

Soon.

Chapter Text

Judd managed to avoid everyone until their shift was over.

He drove home through streets that he knew like the back of his hand. Streets as familiar as the letters inked above his knuckles. He rested his thick forearms against the steering wheel and stared, thin-lipped, through the windscreen. His face was set in a grim mask of frustration, of barely-contained worry. The radio was turned off. Music just irritated him, crowded his head with more noise.

Before he even crossed the threshold into his own home, he’d accepted that Grace would ask him what was wrong. They were similar, in that respect; hearts on their sleeves, unable to play pretend when they were in pain. It had forced their honesty, once upon a time. They’d both resented their own weaknesses. Judd had become angry and withdrawn after losing his friends, his brothers. Grace had refused help while injured, while pregnant, until she was physically spent and full of fury. Nowadays the honesty came easier, with far less resistance. It was mutual, as all the best things were.

He closed their front door. He did so quietly, deliberately. The softness was for his own benefit, and for his wife’s, as his daughter was already asleep and wouldn’t be woken by anything short of an earthquake. He just wanted to be calm for the sake of calmness itself.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Grace rose up off the couch, where she’d been eating popcorn and watching a now-paused television show. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her work uniform, short of kicking off her shoes.

“Hey, Grace.” He kissed her, because he wanted to. Because he needed to. Because she was proof that good people could want him, could be helped by his presence in their lives.

The kiss was deep enough, long enough, that Grace pulled back to discern his expression. She was interested, he could tell. Keen for sex if he wanted it too. But the look on his face must have told her that he didn’t, because she rubbed his arms, tilting her head to consider him, loving concern spelled out in her features.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He walked over to the couch, sat down. She sat with him. He made himself look at her, meet her eyes, even if he was ashamed. Their house was so quiet, so warm. If he couldn’t feel safe here, safe to be imperfect and unsure, then he couldn’t feel safe anywhere.

“Somethin’ happened today,” he said.

She didn’t push too hard. “Somethin' bad?”

“No. Not bad. Just… shockin'.”

“Tell me.” Those two words were an offer, more than anything else. A suggestion. Tell me, she was saying, because you know you need to. Because I’ll listen. Because I love you. Because, if you don’t tell me, you know what will happen. You know what your mind will do.

He took her hands. The same way Owen had taken Billy’s hand. Again, he was thinking about them. Thinking about Billy. Thinking about the past.

“Y’know how I’ve been worried about the Cap? Thought somethin’ was goin’ on between him and Billy?”

“Sure.”

“Turns out, I wasn’t crazy.” Judd smoothed his thumb over Grace’s knuckle, traced the rise of a vein that ran beneath her skin. “I was just… way off.”

“What does that mean?”

“Owen wasn’t upset ‘cause Billy did somethin’ wrong. He was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of bein’ found out. They’re… together. The two of ‘em. Came out today, want everyone to know.”

“Together? As in, a relationship?”

“Apparently. Owen was stressed. Keepin’ it a secret weighed on him, I reckon. Billy too, seems like. Although he…” Pain interrupted Judd’s speech. “He hid it better. Played it cool. He said, uh… Said he’s always been interested in guys, matter of fact.”

“Nothin' wrong with that,” Grace said, stating the obvious in an attempt to edge closer to whatever was affecting her husband, “Even if it’s a surprise.”

“I know,” Judd insisted, clasping her hands tighter for emphasis, “I know that. I’m not… It’s not that I have anythin’ against two guys… bein’ together. I work with TK. Paul, too. Not that Paul’s into dudes, he’s just… different, and I’ve got nothin’ against that. Any of it. Anythin’ goes.”

“Judd, I hope you’re not tryin' to convince me, after all these years of marriage, that you’re not a bigoted asshole. I think I know you well enough to be sure of that on my own.”

She smiled. He did too, but the expression didn’t remain for long. She stroked the side of his face.

“Please talk to me about what’s upsettin' you.”

Judd leaned his head into her hand. He closed his eyes. “It’s Billy. It’s… our friends.”

“Your friends?”

“Old friends. The way we used to be. Things the guys used to say. Things I used to say. We didn’t… We didn’t know, Grace.”

She sighed. A sigh of recognition, of empathy, of sadness. She cupped his cheek, leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Ashamed, he lowered his face down onto her shoulder, hugging her close.

“Gay jokes, slurs, it was just… It was just what people said, back then.” He tried not to feel like he was defending himself. “It was just expected, and I… Grace, it must’ve been awful. All those years,” he whispered, “and I feel like I don’t know him. Wish I could’ve known earlier. Maybe I would’ve…”

He wanted to say that he would’ve been better, would’ve been a kinder man, would’ve punched down people who used the word faggot. He wanted to believe in his younger self, but he couldn’t lie to Grace. Couldn’t lie to himself. He’d never been so regretful. He knew he was a good man now, knew how much he’d grown. But that growth necessitated a past he wasn’t proud of.

“I just wonder how he felt about it,” Judd finished lamely.

Grace rubbed his back. “You could always ask him.”

“I guess.”

“He knows that you’ve changed, my love,” she told him, “Maybe an apology will help to heal any pain that remains.”

“I don’t know.”

“Nobody does. All you can do is try. You can’t turn back the clock.”

He hated that she was right, but there was no better way to face the truth than through her lips.

“He hid it well,” she pondered aloud, “I’ll say that.”

“Had to, I think,” Judd mumbled.

“And Owen, too.”

“Seems like he’s been hidin’ it for a shorter time, if I had to guess. That’s why it stressed him out so much. My read is that Billy’s… used to it. No wonder he’s happier now. Less hostile. Fuck, I can’t… I can’t imagine livin’ that way.”

“Nor me,” Grace agreed quietly, “It’s a terrible burden that our world places on people like him.”

He thought of Billy’s father. A man with a reputation for old-fashioned teachings. He’d never asked Billy if those teachings had been meted out among family, mainly because he’d never needed the confirmation. Grace didn’t know the half of it.

“There’s no use stressin' over the past, Judd. Go to Billy with honesty in your heart, and he will see your good intentions.”

“You always have faith.”

She kissed him again, not responding. She didn’t need to. They both knew that he didn’t share her confidence in a divine plan.

***

When he knew Grace was asleep, he crept quietly from their bedroom. He made himself warm milk with honey. An old remedy that he only ever employed for matters of the heart, nowadays.

He got a pair of headphones and sat at the dining room table. He searched the internet for videos, articles, blog posts, threads, and opinion pieces. He researched his own mistakes until his eyes were sore, until his head pounded with the need to sleep. The consensus seemed to be that his apology should be genuine, but that he couldn't expect a particular response. Humans weren't like Grace's endlessly forgiving deity. Words might not absolve him of his sins, might not undo what he'd caused. He might reopen old wounds.

He was reassured, at least, by plentiful evidence of other people fucking up as profoundly as he had. 

He closed his laptop and went back to bed.

Chapter Text

They were invited out for drinks by the team, inevitably, but Owen insisted that they had other plans. They didn’t, not in terms of their calendars, but he could hardly miss the way Billy’s hand lingered on the small of his back, at one point drifting down to squeeze his ass, prompting Owen to smirk and lean into him. They needed a night to themselves to mark the occasion, to experience the joy of bringing their relationship out of the shadows and into the light.

Owen drove to Billy’s home the moment all tasks were completed at the firehouse. Billy opened the front door before Owen even had the chance to knock, and was pulling him inside.

The hesitation that had come between them during Owen’s recovery had disappeared. Billy grabbed at his neck, crushed their mouths together. Owen gave as good as he got, grasping fistfuls of Billy’s shirt and pulling him close. Never close enough. He always wanted more. And tonight, he was determined to get it. To offer it and experience Billy’s acquiescence.

“I’m so fuckin’ glad,” Billy began, words interrupted as they traded breathless kisses, “that we’re out now.”

“Me too.” Owen bit down on Billy’s lip, just hard enough to pinch and drag, to make Billy groan loudly. He canted his hips forward when Billy grabbed at the front of his jeans, remembering the first time they’d done this, the first time Billy had touched him in such a way. How gentle he’d been in his aggressiveness. How understanding, how patient. They'd both come so far since then. It was on Owen’s mind, so he parted his lips to whisper, “I’m so proud of you.”

Billy laughed. Not cruelly, not in a way that dismissed Owen’s words. He couldn’t help but minimize his own accomplishments. Denying that he’d ever struggled made it easier to cope with the struggle itself.

“You said it wasn’t a big deal,” Owen continued, “but I know you. I know otherwise. And… the way Judd looked at you… I know you two have history. It couldn’t have been easy-”

“He’s just adjustin’, darlin’,” Billy insisted flatly, “I don’t wanna think about this right now.”

“If you do ever want to talk about it-”

“I know. I know. You ain’t gotta convince me that I can trust you. Just… not right now. Please. Just don’t.”

Owen kissed him again. An apology that Billy accepted, that he could taste. Owen figured that now was the perfect time to change gears, to say what he’d needed to say all day. To do what he’d been planning to do.

“Billy?”

“Mm?”

“I want it tonight. I want you to fuck me.”

Billy leaned away from him. His hair was askew, coming untied after a long day, and his expression was momentarily unreadable; caught between the tension of earlier, and the desire Owen offered. It only took a second for him to recalibrate. The raw, softly wounded look on his face shifted into something harder and more lively, a smile that was full of playful resolve.

“Goddamn.”

Owen cleared his throat. “Do you…?”

“Fuck yes. Yes, I want that too. Fuck.”

And then they were kissing again, without apology or complications. Owen could feel him through his pants, and the idea that Billy’s very cock would soon be buried within him- it was enough to make him lightheaded, dizzy with joy. Once, in the darkness of his repressed misery, he’d considered his desire vulgar. He was willing to admit, now, that he wanted cock just as much as he wanted pussy. There was nothing wrong with it. There was nothing wrong with having a bright-eyed, burning, salivating need to touch and suck and fuck. He felt alive. He was reborn and more sexually liberated than he’d been at any point in his early twenties. He no longer felt that he had lost years of his life, that he’d missed his chance to want a man and be wanted in return. Youth meant nothing. This was his heaven.

He was licking and biting his way down the slanted column of Billy’s neck when a ringtone, sudden and high-pitched, burst from Billy’s back pocket.

“Fuckin’ ignore it,” Billy rasped.

Owen didn’t need to be told twice.

But the phone kept ringing, even by the time Owen had sunk to his knees, intent on sucking Billy off by the front door, too impatient to wait until they reached the bedroom.

“Maybe you should…?”

“Fuck,” Billy grunted, one hand on Owen’s head while the other fumbled for his phone. His demeanor changed when he saw the caller ID.

Owen stroked his thigh. “Do you need to take this one?”

Billy, still breathing hard, bit his lip. He stroked Owen’s hair, almost absent-mindedly, as he looked at his phone.

“I was going to go take a bath anyway, get ready,” Owen added, hoping to give Billy an easy solution, “If you need a moment to yourself.”

***

Billy stepped out onto his porch. “What’re you callin’ me for?”

Charlotte answered with an irritated huff, and Billy almost felt bad for assuming the worst. But she hadn’t regularly called him on the phone for at least three years, so he figured his skepticism was warranted. Even if they were closer now. He could only assume she was calling him because of an emergency, or to reignite old arguments. But maybe he was just annoyed that he had to talk to his sister while sporting a furious erection.

“Hello to you too, rude motherfucker.”

“Sorry, Lottie. Just surprised.”

“Well, quit bein’ surprised. You wanted me in your life, I’m here. Start bein’ more social.”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, making colors spark behind closed lids. “Okay, okay.”

“You been runnin’ or somethin’ like that? Sound out of breath.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Hearing the embarrassment in his voice, she laughed. But, to Billy’s immeasurable relief, she didn’t press the issue. "You free tomorrow night?”

“Why?”

“Throwin’ a barbecue. Expect a few friends to come along. You in?”

He frowned, gazing out into the night. He didn’t know any of Charlotte’s friends. “Sure.”

“Your man. He like barbecue?”

The reason for her call became clearer. She wanted to meet Owen. The cynical side of Billy reckoned she intended to play happy families, but the more hopeful part of him wanted to see this as a step forward. A new family that they could build together. She’d taken him seriously, after all, when he told her about their father’s actions. Maybe she knew that she needed to be better than their mother had been. Maybe she saw the significance of it all. He knew that he was a dog who had been kicked; he needed to question his own pessimism. He needed to trust her intentions.

An answer sat heavily against Billy’s tongue, but he wondered about Owen. How comfortable he’d be with being introduced as Billy’s partner... to strangers. They were out now, sure, but wounds didn’t heal overnight. Hostility, bigoted words, might set Owen back months.

“He’ll be safe, Bill.”

Billy closed his eyes momentarily. “How can you guarantee that?”

“’Cause Chuck came out to me. Kid’s a lesbian, she reckons. Asked me to let folks know, so she wouldn’t have to do the comin’ out on her own. Pam was the only one who ventured a negative opinion.”

“…Will Pam be comin’ to the barbecue?”

“I broke her nose, so nah,” Charlotte mused happily, “I don’t reckon so.”

Billy grinned.

“Nobody fucks with my kid, and nobody fucks with my brother. Come along, Bill. Bring Owen.”

“Think I will.”

“Good.”

Billy paused. “Thank you, Lottie.”

“Love you,  Bill.”

She hung up.

Chapter Text

Owen got out of the bath and toweled himself dry briskly, not wanting to waste time. He dragged his gaze away from the mirror, reminding himself not to be too critical, to get distracted by worries that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t as attractive as he’d once been. Billy wanted him, had proven that on multiple occasions. All he needed to do was walk out of the bathroom.

And so, he did.

He didn’t bother dressing again. It would’ve been ridiculous, considering what their plans for the evening were. Billy was laying on his back, hands folded beneath his head, fingers locked together. He, too, was naked. He seemed distracted, lost in thought, but when he heard the click of the bathroom door opening, he sat up. He’d clearly brushed his hair because it spilled silkily down his shoulders, strands of white and dark grey turning naturally to curls past his neck. Owen didn’t miss the way his eyes moved up and down. A lustful gaze which was proof that Owen’s self-consciousness, seemingly relentless since cancer had first made him paranoid about hair loss, was unfounded.

Owen walked slowly towards him, figuring that he ought to give Billy a show. Nothing too dramatic. But he didn’t want to rush the moment.

“You’re a fuckin’ stunner, Owen. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“A few people.” Owen got onto the bed, bare thighs settling against Billy’s own legs. He placed both hands on Billy’s torso, followed the shape of his ribcage. “Matters more coming from you, though.”

“Aw. Ain’t you a softie.” Billy lay down again.

“Did your phonecall go alright?” Owen’s question was soft.

“Sure did. It was Lottie.”

“Your sister?” Owen was surprised. He'd assumed it was Judd.

“Yeah. Wants us to come ‘round for a barbecue, tomorrow night.”

“I’d love that.”

“Good.” Billy’s hand drifted down, rubbing the inside of Owen’s thigh. He looked upward with purpose now. “How you feelin’ about this?”

Owen figured he wasn’t referring to the barbecue. “You mean, am I nervous?”

“Sure.”

“A bit.” Owen closed his eyes when Billy’s touch crept lower still, massaging his way down between spread legs. “Was it good for you? The… first time.”

Billy paused, clearly deciding not to lie. With a sigh, he admitted, “No. It was fuckin’ awful. Guy didn’t know what he was doin’, he hurt me pretty bad. Not somethin’ you have to worry about.”

At that, Owen swooped down, pressing a firm kiss to Billy’s lips. Billy’s mouth slipped open easily when Owen licked at him, the tense arch of his shoulders collapsing and melting into the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Owen told him.

“It’s not a big deal.” Billy replied easily. He reached below Owen and hummed happily at what he found. “You shaved?”

Owen tried not to blush. “The internet said that it might be… a good thing to do. That it would feel… nice.”

“Does it?”

Owen had already prepared himself, was already moist with scented lubricant. A pleasant mint that shone against Billy’s fingers and made Owen feel as ready as he could possibly be. He was sensitive to every touch, exposed and tender in a way he’d not expected. He'd waxed his chest once, a while ago, and the smooth feeling was similar.

“Yes. Yes, it feels nice.”

“I’d agree.” Billy traced a finger over delicate whorls of skin, tilting his head a little. A question, unspoken, that prompted a silent nod from Owen. He eased the tip of his finger inside, curling his hand to draw the digit in a gentle circle. “Anyone ever played with you before? Down here.”

Owen shook his head.

“No chicks ever give it a go?”

Owen shot him a bemused look.

“What?” Billy smirked. “Women are into that. Some of ‘em. More open-minded ones.”

“I’ll… take your word for it.”

Billy heard the hesitation in Owen’s voice. Owen was trying to decide how it felt to be touched like this, still adjusting to new sensations, to what little penetration had already occurred. He’d obviously touched himself as he got ready, but this was so foreign. Almost ticklish. Not unpleasant, but not a pleasure he knew how to enjoy. He was holding onto Billy’s shoulders and concentrating too hard, eventually prompting an understanding laugh from beneath him.

“How about you lay down, huh? Let’s get you a bit more relaxed.”

Owen was embarrassed by his own inexperience, but he knew he needn’t be. Even if he couldn’t trust his own confidence, he could trust Billy’s kindness. He did as Billy suggested. He expected Billy’s weight to press down on him, expected the warmth of a furred chest against his back, but that didn’t happen. Billy kissed the lowermost knob of Owen’s spine, dragged his thumb over a dimple on Owen’s back.

“I wanna try somethin’. It’ll be a bit intense at first.”

Owen’s heart leapt into his chest. In a voice more squeaky than he intended, he said, “Okay.”

He knew what was coming before the damp heat of Billy’s mouth landed against him, before Billy moved both hands to spread and hold. It still made him shiver.

Billy wasn’t shy. Owen had very little experience to substantiate his theory, but he suspected that Billy was quite good at this. It wasn’t long before Owen was rocking back into the feeling. Billy closed his lips against muscle, spread his tongue against taut skin, piercing to hotter depths. Tasting mint.

It wasn’t quite what Owen had expected, but he realized now that he’d simply needed time to adjust. The feeling of vulnerability, initially overwhelming and frightening, had become less alarming. Bracing himself up on one arm, he reached back and beneath his body, grasping his cock. Finding that he’d gotten hard, before even jerking off, was a relief. Proof that he was enjoying this after all.

Billy eased a finger inside him and, before long, had curled two inside Owen’s body. Owen, cheek pressed against his forearm, gazed back at Billy with half-lidded eyes and an open, gasping mouth. Billy was kneeling behind him, lips slick with spit, hair tucked behind one ear, the shine of sweat across his chest. The movements of Owen’s hand halted abruptly, his whole body tensing, breath stuttering to a standstill as the sight of Billy dazzled him. What had he done to deserve such a devastatingly rugged, powerfully masculine lover?

“You okay?”

Owen nodded. He laughed breathlessly. “I was about to- I nearly came.”

Billy grinned. “Enjoyin’ yourself, then?”

Owen nodded, panting as he tried to calm the pulsing heat inside him. “It’s new, but…”

“But you like it?”

“I like it.”

Billy took himself in hand. Without breaking eye contact, he angled his hardened cock downward, so that Owen could feel the wet tip of him pressing against well-warmed skin. There was a question on his face. As before, their conversation was silent, intimate. Owen gripped the sheets, inhaled deeply, and nodded to communicate his permission. He spread his knees wider on the bed and leaned backward, mimicking movements Billy had offered him, signals that he knew from being the top.

Billy pressed into him slowly. Gentle thrusts to widen, to breach, to ease inward. Owen squeezed his eyes shut.

“Just focus on breathin'."

"Okay."

"Let me know if it hurts. It’ll… It’ll be a bit of a stretch, at first. But if it gets too much, just… fuck, just tell me.”

Owen opened his eyes, then, so that he could see the expression on Billy’s face, could see what he looked like as he groaned. To his delight, Billy appeared almost overcome himself. Like he’d found heaven in the grip of Owen’s body. And that, more than the act itself, made Owen tingle from head to toe.

When Billy did start to properly move, Owen could tell he was holding back, was being as gentle as he could. Considerate. The rhythm was quick and shallow, but Owen knew they’d have many more nights to go further, for Billy to fuck him harshly and deeply, as thoroughly as Owen had fucked him. They were both affected by the significance of it, of Owen’s first time bending for another man. They’d be able to ease into this more in the future.

Billy leaned suddenly against Owen’s back, hips bucking, both hands on Owen’s waist. Owen turned his head to kiss him, mouths messily meeting and then separating, gasps mingled.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to- I can’t fuckin’ hold on much longer, sweetheart-”

“Me neither,” Owen admitted brokenly, “Billy-”

Billy shuddered, forehead dropping down onto Owen’s shoulder. In the tight confines of Owen’s body, he lost himself, spilling hot and sudden enough that he let out a hoarse yell. Owen, dizzily struck by what had just happened, was not far behind.

***

They took a bath together. Owen found himself leaning back against Billy’s chest, soapy arms cradling him, fruit-scented bubbles crowding the surface of the hot, steaming water. Billy’s hair, turned ropey and wet, touched against Owen’s neck when Billy leaned down to kiss his temple.

“How’s it feel?”

Owen inclined his head to the side, nuzzled back against him. “A bit sore.”

“Not too sore?”

“No. Feels good.” Owen’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “I like knowing you were inside me.”

Billy chuckled, shaking his head. “Goddamn.”

"This is my second bath of the day. Very luxurious."

"Well, you deserve it. It's your special day, after all."

"It's our special day. And I meant it. I am proud of you."

Billy sighed happily. He didn't dismiss the comment or push back against it, just let it wash over him. They didn't need to talk about the parts of coming out that hurt. Not right now.

Chapter Text

Owen lay awake and thought about things. About the quietly-snoring man beside him, and all of the years that had preceded this point. He found himself thinking about Gwyn, which wasn’t exactly unusual. Years of closeness left a mark, even when that closeness was now dead and gone.

It was easy to form a comparison between that relationship and this one, the latter being much healthier and much less hostile. Which was awfully ironic, considering how Owen’s friendship with Billy had started out. 

When they had first met, Owen had quickly developed the belief that Billy Tyson was a bitter, irredeemable son of a bitch, these qualities giving Owen permission to be the bitter, irredeemable son of a bitch that he privately believed himself to be. Even before admitting his attraction to Billy, he’d had a uniquely male hunger for the Texan’s friendship. A need to stand beside a man of a similar age and experience and, even without discussing such things outright, feel a stoic, old-fashioned kinship. How strange that such a determinedly heterosexual bond had, at heart, come from a far more romantic place. Maybe all men felt that way to some extent. Maybe, Owen thought sleepily, love between men was inevitable.

Honesty had never been an issue between himself and Billy. Not so far. Owen looked over at the slightly younger man and wondered if it ever would be. For the first time in a long time, he had faith. He believed, deeply and truly, that he was mature enough to avoid the mistakes he had made with Gwyn. He recognized his own hand in the clusterfuck that had comprised their union. And he believed that Billy would answer his maturity in kind. Plain talk came naturally to both of them. They weren’t afraid of emotional vulnerability.

He sat up and got out of bed. Thankfully, he didn’t wake Billy.

Wrapping himself in a frayed flannel blanket, he picked up his phone and went out onto the balcony. He took a seat and dialed an unfairly familiar number.

She picked up after two rings. Only when she answered did Owen wonder what time zone she was in, as he looked out into a dark blue night.

“Hello, stranger.”

He heard the clattering of breakfast utensils in the background, the voice of a child. A boy he’d once thought of as his own.

“Hello, Gwyn.”

“Why on earth are you calling me, Owen?” Her tone was happily confrontational. The same way they’d always addressed each other. He’d never been certain if they were fighting, which meant they almost always ended up that way. He smiled wanly and decided not to play that game. Not now.

“I know it’s odd.”

“You’ve only ever called me when you want to have an argument. But you don’t sound argumentative.”

He was entertained by her revisionist history, and suspected she just wanted to provoke a rebuttal. She wouldn’t get one. He wouldn’t even address it.

“I don’t want to argue.”

“What, then?”

Owen heard the murmur of Jonah's father. They were all having breakfast together, then; the three of them as a happy family. Owen didn’t feel sad. He felt empowered by the distance between them, by the new life that Gwyn had pursued. His insides were still warmly bruised, his back wonderfully sore. He’d just had sex with a man, and he’d loved it. He wanted Gwyn to know how much he’d changed, even if she wouldn’t know everything.

“I want to tell you something.” He heard her draw breath to speak, so immediately clarified, “It’s not about the cancer.”

At that, she paused.

“You’re in a relationship,” she guessed, “A serious one. Getting married again, I assume.”

“You know me well. But not as well as you think.”

“Well, I’m curious. But I’m also running late, so please, get to the point.”

“I am with someone. It is serious.”

“And?”

“His name is Billy.”

She fell silent. He celebrated being able to shock her to that extent.

“Gwyn?”

“You’re gay?”

“No, I’m not gay.”

“What, then?”

“Bisexual.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because…”

Owen thought about it. She let him find the right words.

“I was always attracted to you. I don’t want you to doubt that. But, while we were together, I was… fighting with myself. I knew, on some level. I knew I wasn’t living a complete life. I wasn’t healthy. We never could’ve worked, Gwyn. I realize now that everything before Billy, everything I used to be… it was incomplete. I was incomplete.”

She still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t interrupted him.

“No matter how much I loved you, I wasn’t a settled person. That was the man you married. I’m happier now, and I hope… I hope that you are, too.”

“I am.”

He could hear her smile, could hear the softness in those two syllables. In that moment, he did love her. He was thankful for her.

“I was an incomplete person back then too, Owen. That’s why we never worked. But it brought us together. It brought us our son.”

“It did.”

The noise on her end of the phone quietened as she moved to a different room. An amount of privacy.

“I don’t fight with my partner, these days. Not the way you and I used to fight. Do you and this man…?”

“No. No, not like that.”

“I’m happy to hear it. I mean that.”

He grinned. He could sense that she was grinning, too. Sitting with him in this moment. They both knew that they had nothing more to say, and that was alright.

“I’ll let you go.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too. Goodbye, Gwyn.”

“Goodbye.”

She hung up.

He remained where he was. The night was quiet. He was thinking about marriage, and what his wedding with Billy might look like. The two of them wearing suits.

Husbands.

Chapter Text

Judd wanted to see Billy. Needed to, for the sake of their newly reborn friendship. He knew that he needed to humble himself, needed to answer Billy’s blatant fear with humility and apologies. He couldn’t undo what he’d said, what he’d done, the things he’d once believed. But he could show that he’d grown beyond the racist, gay-hating, narrow-minded worldview that his own dad-- albeit occasionally-- slipped back into. A few times, his father’s regression into such beliefs had coincided with Grace’s presence. Her steely-eyed reaction had further shown Judd the consequences of such comments. Judd had pulled his dad into line, and had been glad that he wasn’t responsible for Grace’s pain, that at least he had evolved as a man.

This situation with Billy was different. Judd couldn’t show the strength of his conviction by holding someone else accountable. He had to hold himself accountable.

All of this was on his mind when he walked into work. He was so focused on Billy that he forgot to consider the person who had been standing beside Billy, and watching with shrewd eyes, as Judd failed to appear cheerful in response to a profound announcement.

Owen, to his credit, walked straight up to Judd and handed him a coffee. Lingering awkwardness would not be helpful in their workplace.

“Morning. Can I have a quick word in my office?”

Judd had taken the coffee and replied, “Sure.”

“Good. See you in five.”

Owen turned to go. Judd watched him walk away and felt very stupid when he, for the first time, properly reconsidered the older man. Owen Strand wasn’t just his Captain anymore, wasn’t just his friend. Owen Strand was the man who shared a bed with Billy Tyson, who held his hand and, assumedly, kissed him the same way that Judd kissed Grace.

It was a change. Judd accepted that. But he’d failed to absorb that change until this very second. He’d been too busy fretting over the past.

Images rose, unexpectedly, into his mind. Billy in the one-two-six changing room after countless fires fought and conquered, undressing. Showering. Younger, then, with darker hair and a thinner face. Owen in the firehouse gym, damp with sweat, classically handsome and very aware of that fact. The two of them together. What they’d look like. What they’d sound like.

Judd wandered to his locker and stuffed his bag into it. He was surprised by the tone of his own thoughts, the meandering journey they were taking. Most of all, he was surprised and reassured by the lack of hate he felt. All he felt was curiosity, more objective than sexual. Curiosity for a life he’d never live.

He’d never thought about men this much. The nakedness, or near-nakedness, of men came with the kind of life that he lived, both professionally and habitually. Changing rooms, sports, swim nights, tomfoolery, messing around… It didn’t bother him. He’d never sexualized the physicality of males within his world, a physicality he regularly took part in. He’d never let himself imagine two men together. Not properly. And what was the harm in it? He was still straight.

He felt a strangely innocent happiness, a sense of freedom. It was nice to have these thoughts, he decided. It was nice to just imagine things, and not be threatened by them. A little, private thought experiment. Just for him. Nobody had to know. He’d keep it to himself. A gentleman never unearthed the random sexual thoughts that wandered through his mind, whoever those daydreams involved. This was a triumph that nobody else would see.

He went up to Owen’s office. Moving on from his own, unseen victory, he was left with a swelling of anxiety, which he crushed down.

He closed the door behind him and, returning Owen’s own directness in kind, strode immediately up to his Captain’s desk.

“Take a seat,” Owen told him. He wasn’t sipping his own coffee. His hands were unoccupied, calmly folded on his desk. No distractions apart from the conversation he was clearly determined to have. Composed, centered, prepared. Judd tried to read his expression, but couldn’t.

“I’ve brought you in here today because I’d like to break the ice,” Owen informed him calmly, “I am still your Captain, and you are still one of the most experienced people on my team. That has not changed. From my perspective, we should continue on as we were. If you feel that’s possible.”

Judd frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You tell me,” Owen said with a smile. In that expression, Judd was finally able to grasp his mood. He was guarded but hopeful, bitter but reserving judgement.

“I don’t… I don’t have a problem with you and Billy bein’ together.”

“Words are valuable, Judd. But actions mean more.”

“Yeah, I know. And I’m sure you… noticed. The way I reacted.”

“I did.”

“It wasn’t…” Judd rubbed at the back of his neck and briefly closed his eyes. He summoned Grace’s advice to his mind. “I wasn’t reactin’ that way ‘cause I’m… homophobic. I hope you know that. I mean, I’ve been around TK long enough-”

“I know,” Owen conceded carefully, “But TK isn’t one of your oldest friends. You’ve always known TK as a gay man. Billy is a very different matter.”

“He’s not,” Judd insisted, leaning forward. His voice strained, wavering in his desperation to make Owen believe him. “He’s not, okay. He’s not different to TK. It’s okay. It’s all okay. It’s new, yeah. It’s gonna take some gettin’ used to, changin’ the way I think about Billy. Just ‘cause he’s always been a certain type of guy in my mind, the type to someday get married if he could find a woman willin’ to put up with his grumpy ass. Yeah, it’s a change, that instead he’s found a guy willin’ to put up with him instead.” This prompted a small laugh from Owen. “But that wasn’t why I looked at him that way. That wasn’t why I… struggled.”

“Why, then?”

“’Cause I feel guilty, goddamnit!”

The words burst from him with surprising force. Owen blinked as if he’d been smacked in the face by Judd’s outburst.

“Times have changed,” Judd forced himself speak quieter, relaxing the grip on his coffee mug, “It’s not acceptable to make homophobic jokes in the locker room, not in a workplace like this. But it was acceptable, when he and I first met. I never stopped that garbage, back then. Why would I? I was a dumbass little shit. I didn’t take anythin’ seriously, much less jokes that everyone in the one-two-six was makin’. I wasn’t affected by those jokes, so why would I care? I joined in and thought nothin’ of it. So, when I learned… When Billy finally came out, I thought of all those times… All the comments made in front of him… I was distracted, okay? Distracted by all of that crap. When I thought Billy was straight, those memories weren’t a big deal. I’d grown up and sorted myself out, so the past was irrelevant. In one moment, it was all suddenly, like… reframed, y’know? I was focused on that.”

Owen sat back in his chair. It creaked quietly. He seemed to be thinking over Judd’s words, digesting them.

“You don’t take issue with who Billy is,” Owen concluded slowly.

“No,” Judd swore, almost in a pleading tone of voice, “No, I don’t.”

He didn’t say please, please believe me, but Owen heard him begging regardless. A smile came across his face, this time softer, more genuine.

“Alright, Judd. Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yes. We’re good. Let’s get on with work. Just like usual.”

“Okay,” Judd said, almost lightheaded with relief.

“After you go and talk to Billy.”

“What?”

“He deserves to hear this from you. And, to be honest, you look like you didn't sleep too well last night. I’d much rather you get this off your plate, and his as well. I’m saying this as Billy’s partner, yes, but I’m also saying this as your Captain. Conflict resolution, y’know.” Owen waved a hand, smirking. “However you want to phrase it. You get the morning off.”

***

When Judd arrived at Billy’s office, the door was already open. He could see Billy seated behind his desk, head bowed as he leafed through a small pile of printed pages, yellow highlighter in one hand.

His office was hardly decorated, minimal in a different way to Owen’s workplace. Beyond a desk, sparse office supplies, and a trash can, there wasn’t anything to look at. No family photos, no framed pictures, nothing to catch the eye. The way Billy had put it, if he took the time to decorate stuff and make his workplace look nice, he wouldn’t be focusing on the job. The firefighters out in the field, doing the real work, didn’t want him to be prettying up the place. They wanted him getting resources to where they were most needed, focusing on the real shit. After all his years of nearly belligerent self-endangerment, never backing down no matter how hard firefighting became for him, his ethos made sense. A picture of his old team was displayed just outside his office, in the hallway where everyone could see it, and Judd knew that was all that mattered to him.

Hovering momentarily in the doorway, Judd marveled at the comparison between Billy and Owen. They seemed so utterly different, almost too different to function as a couple. But there wasn’t time to wonder about that now.

He tapped his knuckles against the doorframe. Billy looked up at him and grinned.

“Very formal. Door’s open, Judd. C’mon. Sit your ass down.”

Judd obliged. “If you’re busy, I can come back later. Or we could… have a beer, tonight. If you’re free.”

Billy chuckled. He put the cap back on his highlighter. Judd, as he watched, felt embarrassed. Billy knew him too well, and backpedaling wouldn’t accomplish much.

“You came here to say somethin’. Might as well say it.”

Judd fidgeted. Billy watched him across the desk with dark, familiar eyes.

“I’m, uh… I’m sorry if I ever… said anythin’. That upset you.”

Billy raised his eyebrows.

“If, y’know, back in the day… If I ever…”

Billy squinted momentarily, eyes narrowed as he smiled with obvious confusion. When he tilted his head, a strand of gray hair escaped from where it had been tucked behind his ear. It grazed his shirt collar, hanging in a long curve beside his neck. Judd, nervous and fumbling for the right words, watched the movement.

“I dunno what the hell you’re talkin’ about Judd, but I thought you were comin’ in here to say you had an issue with me and your Captain fuckin’.”

Judd laughed, louder than he intended. “Nah, Billy, look- I’m cool with it, I’m fine.”

“Didn’t look fine, when we made the big ol’ announcement.”

“I was thinkin’ too much, that’s all. I was thinkin’ about…”

Billy waited for him to elaborate.

“I was thinkin’ about the way things used to be. The way I used to be. So, I’m sorry if I… ever said anythin’ bad in front of you.”

“Bad?”

“Bad, y’know.” Judd cleared his throat. “Homophobic.”

Billy’s expression shifted as the realization dawned on him. “You were actin’ all weird ‘cause of that? ‘Cause you were worried about the past? Not ‘cause you have an issue with us?”

Judd shrugged helplessly.

Billy stared back at him. When he laughed, it was an honest sound, and it went on for many long, hearty moments. When he was done laughing, he sighed deeply and tipped his face up, towards the ceiling. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

“Goddamnit, Judd.”

“What?”

“Look,” Billy began, sighing again, “I appreciate it. And, for what it’s worth… thank you. I was worried you had an issue with me and Owen, that some of your ideas hadn’t changed. That’s clearly not it.”

“Right,” Judd agreed.

“But you’re rememberin’ things a little differently to how they went down.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I said bigoted stuff back then, too. You’re forgettin’ the part where I used just as many slurs as you did. And I was the fuckin’ Captain for most of that time. I led from the top. The more men I slept with, the more determined I was to make sure nobody would suspect me.” Billy raised a hand and pointed non-threateningly at Judd. “No sense guiltin’ yourself about the old days. Don’t think you’re the only one who had some learnin’ to do. We were all younger. Stupider.”

Judd hadn’t expected any of that. He sat still, unsure what to say, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Billy Tyson, throughout all those years, had been living a double life.

“Yeah, it fuckin’ upset me,” Billy continued, softer now, “The crap I said, the crap you said, the crap that I could never escape. But it was everywhere, man. It was everyone. It was everythin’. Just the way the world worked, so I accepted it. I became the meanest, surliest piece of shit I could manage to be. I thought you were actin’ weird ‘cause you still had those beliefs somewhat, but if you don’t, then, fuck… We’ve got no issue. Save your energy, Judd.”

Judd looked down at his lap. He felt like crying, in a way that reminded him, with shocking similarity, of the day he’d recalled an explosion while Grace lingered behind him. He and Billy were evoking a long-dead time which held such profound sadness. And now, he was learning about yet another level of sadness that Billy had privately carried, all along.

“Sounds awful,” Judd admitted, “Bein’ that way.”

Billy didn’t respond. When Judd peered up at him, he saw that Billy was smiling.

“It was. But I’m not Owen,” Billy reassured him gently, “I realized too early for that. If I was gonna be devastated by this shit, I’d have become a recluse years ago.”

Judd reconsidered the sparseness of Billy’s office. The unornamented, spartan layout. The lack of family photographs, of personal connection. He didn’t say so aloud, but he realized that Billy had become a recluse, in his own way. An emotional recluse. Marooned on his own sullen, miserable island. That had been his way of surviving.

“Well. I’m not against you and the Cap. I hope y’all are happy. I mean that.”

“We’re happy as a pig in shit.”

“Good.”

“Come ‘round for a beer someday soon. Meantime, I’ve got work to do. And you’ve got fires to fight.”

Judd stood. He felt nearly buoyant with joy.

“See ya later, Billy.”

“See ya, Judd.”

Chapter Text

Charlotte Tyson had been reading a news article about Anna, the overdose victim, when her daughter called her into the bathroom.

“Mom? Can you give me a hand with a braid?”

“Sure, honey.” Charlotte had stood, closing her laptop. She usually found herself preferring newspapers, enjoying the experience of print rather than screen, but she was glad for the clinical distance of a glossy display on this particular afternoon. It was odd, what the media latched onto. Which child they chose to immortalise in sensationalist articles, inevitably little more than a platform for a politician to make grand, sweeping statements about the revamped war on drugs or the homelessness crisis. Which smiling school picture they splashed about with all the thoughtfulness of a sociopath.

Chuck was sitting in front of the mirror, on a stool which stood unevenly on chipped tiles. She was dressed in a shabby t-shirt, deliberately more scruffy than fashionable, jeans tucked into sturdy, thick-soled, practical boots that had been designed for farm work rather than social gatherings. Charlotte could see her daughter’s roughness for what it was; a show of strength, of identity. An exploration.

It made her proud.

She looked occasionally into the mirror as she clipped and prepared Chuck's curly hair, gathering and gently combing it. Such young features. So similar to Anna’s own.

Chuck peered curiously back at her in the reflection, seeing something on her mother’s face that she’d witnessed in glimpses and flashes since coming out. A raw, parental instinct, deeply pained and full of love. The bathroom was quiet so, when Charlotte took a slow breath in, they both were aware of its gravity.

“I’m really glad you told me about your new girlfriend,” came the words, which were unfairly difficult to say. Charlotte coughed them free and then cleared her throat. Emotional speeches, short or long, did not come easy to her. “I’m really glad you told me about likin’ girls.”

“Okay.” Chuck shrugged, as teenagerly in her attitude as ever, but not without wisdom. She played down the significance of this conversation for her sake as well as her mother’s.

“You can come to me anytime. I want you to know that.”

“Sure, mom. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Charlotte told her, not saying that she was thinking about Anna, about what failings had led a young woman to die in a sleeping bag.

What if she’d swallowed down her father’s words and spat them back out, declaring that her daughter was just going through a phase? What if she'd been dismissive of, and amused by, her daughter's identity? As she might've been only a few years ago? What if she hadn't answered her brother's call and sat with him until morning, forced to finally clean off the silt of bigotry that had covered all aspects of her life? Maybe Chuck would've run away. Maybe she, too, would have begun a slow downhill slide to tragedy.

They lapsed into silence, flavored by dry sounds as a mother expertly twisted and tied her daughter’s hair. Chuck's eyes stayed on their reflections, on her mother’s boyish looks. On the female face that had been mistaken for a youthful man’s for as long as Chuck could remember.

“Mom,” she began, “I’ve been meanin’ to ask…"

"Ask away."

"...Y’know how you look… different? To most women?”

“Sure.”

“Are... Are you, like…?”

It seemed ridiculous, a question that was silly to ask. But Chuck wanted to know. She couldn’t decide what she felt, disappointment or relief, when her mother laughed quietly and shook her head. Maybe she’d wanted to believe that someone else was coming on this journey with her. Even if a confirmation would've potentially meant the end of her parents' marriage.

“No, Chuckie. I’m not.”

“Then why do you look like this?” Chuck reconsidered the words the moment they reached her ears. “I mean- I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole, I’m just… curious. I can’t imagine you any other way, like… It’d be weird for you to be any other way. In a dress or somethin’ like that. In skirts, heels. And that’s not… I wouldn’t say that about most straight women. So, I sometimes wonder...”

Charlotte gathered the end of Chuck's braid into a silk scrunchie and took a seat on the edge of the bathtub, folding calloused hands between spread knees. She was aware that, even as she sat and moved, she did so in a manner that most associated with men. She knew what she was, even if she didn’t have a word for it. Didn’t need to have a word for it. 

Chuck turned in her stool to watch her mother, waiting expectantly.

“Some women are just masculine, pumpkin,” Charlotte said, “It’s just somethin’ that happens. I’ve always loved men. I love your father.”

She wondered, for only a moment, whether she ought to continue speaking. But the words fell from her too easily to stop them, so she kept going.

“For a while, when I was younger, sure… I thought I might’ve wanted to be a man.”

Chuck seemed to perk up in her seat, fascinated now. “You thought you were trans?”

“Gave it some consideration, is all. I didn't have a word like trans, not back then. It was a sheltered life.”

Charlotte chewed on her lip, bursting with questions. “I never knew.”

“There’s nothin’ to know.” Charlotte hadn’t planned to say any of this but, now that she was talking, there were so many things she needed to say. Lessons she had to impart. “There are many different kinds of women in this world. I’m a woman. No matter how I dress. You’ll meet others like me, I’m sure. ‘Specially with who you are now. Some of us take it further, some of us realize later in life that there’s more to it… But me, nah. I’m your mom. A different mom,” she conceded, “but still your mom. Still a woman. Growin' up, I always thought I was like the boys. That maybe I should've been one, it would've made more sense. But I'm happy now. Dressin' this way, lookin' the way I do, it's all I need.”

Chuck grinned, an expression more sincere and glowing than the reluctant, forced smile that Anna had given the school photographer. Charlotte was relieved to notice the difference.

“I think you’re a cool mom,” Chuck declared.

Charlotte laughed.

“You’re the coolest mom I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, Chuckie. Can I give you some advice, though?"

"Sure."

"Don’t disregard feminine women.”

“What?”

“It’s just a form of expression. Doesn’t make a woman superficial or dumb. It’s a trap we can fall into, thinkin’ that. Don’t value one kind of woman over another, ‘kay? Even if you think masculinity is cool. Like those popular girls at your school- unless they're cruel or bullies, they ain't bad just for bein' pretty. They've got their own struggles."

Chuck reached behind her neck to drape her braid over one shoulder, toy with it, twist it around a finger. She was thinking, absorbing.

"I always hated them," she admitted, "Because I couldn't be them."

"Maybe because you liked them, too?"

Chuck appeared, for a moment, bashful and surprised by the accuracy of her mom's guess. "Yeah. I guess. That as well. Couldn't date any of 'em, though... Couldn't date anyone. Not until... Not until now."

"Oh, honey. It'll all be easier now. School sucks shit for everyone, 'specially kids that are different. It's nearly done. You're nearly finished with it." Charlotte heard the distant growl of an approaching engine and added, "Sounds like our first guests are arrivin'. C'mon."

***

Billy parked his truck out front of his sister's house, the metal frame shuddering to a standstill. Beside him, Owen sat with such deliberate nonchalance that his nervousness was hilariously evident. He'd tried to hide it, but had spent half an hour trying to decide what clothes to wear, asking dozens of questions about the type of company he ought to expect. Billy sensed that he was worried about more than just making a good impression. He was trying to redefine himself, figure out how to exist in the world. He was about to enter into a social situation where he would be introducing himself, primarily, as the partner of another man. That was new. Even to the firehouse, he was mainly defined by every other part of his life; his job, his fatherhood, his performance in emergencies. That wouldn't be the case here.

"Hey."

Owen looked over when Billy spoke. "Yeah?"

"It'll be okay. Relax."

Owen scoffed. "You say that like it's so easy."

"Nothin' is gonna go wrong. Lottie's a good woman. She's made this a safe night for her kid, and for us."

"Right."

"Right. So," Billy leaned across the console and kissed him quickly, "Get out of my truck."

Owen laughed at that, and at himself, before doing as Billy suggested. They walked up to the house, its faded white paint brightened by the warm afternoon light. Without thinking, defaulting to old instincts, Owen kept his distance, a stride between them until Billy bridged that distance by taking Owen's hand.

Three people emerged from the front door, which swung with a metallic squeal. Billy's sister, niece, and his brother-in-law.

"Uncle Billy!"

"Chuck," Billy called, waving at her, "This is... Owen..."

His voice trailed off as they drew closer, and his family walked to greet them. His stare was fixed on Charlotte's face. She was smiling, happy as could be, but her right eye was swollen. The bruise was dark and blotchy, her eyelid pinkish and misshapen. He stared at his sister as Chuck hugged him tight, looking over his niece's shoulder.

"What the fuck, Lottie."

"I said I broke Pam's nose, I didn't say she went down without a fight," Charlotte explained, smirking.

Chuck pulled away from Billy and turned, excitedly, to Owen. "My mom punched an asshole who called me slurs. Isn't that awesome?"

Chapter Text

Once past the awkwardness of Charlotte’s black eye, introductions came easily and with a great deal of friendship. It was striking, seeing Billy’s features on his sister and niece’s faces. The husband seemed to be the odd one out in a few respects, not least because of his flattened, crooked nose, and the ears which stuck out from his bald head as misshapen mounds. He stood a head taller than all of them. He seemed embarrassed by his height, stooping without realizing until Charlotte gently laid a hand on his arm and introduced him to Owen, at which point the hulking farmer deliberately straightened up and fixed Owen with a beaming grin. Never before had Owen met a person who so perfectly embodied the idea of a gentle giant. He brought to mind intimidating, leather-wearing motorcyclists covered in tattoos, who volunteered at homeless shelters and cried during children’s movies, their threatening appearances as much of a lie as they were a comfortable barrier. Something to hide behind. Safety.

Owen knew, immediately, that Billy’s brother-in-law was a man with violence in his past, soft to the core and full of love. His palms were so roughened by manual labor that every crack and crevice seemed carved into his skin, rubbing harshly when Owen extended his own hand in greeting.

“Peter Tyson,” came the simple introduction, “You must be Owen Strand. Heard a lot about you.”

Owen was momentarily distracted, tempted to remark on Peter’s decision to take his wife’s surname. Deviation from an outdated tradition. Irritated that he noticed this at all, brimming with anxiety and not nearly as eloquent as he usually was, he weakly replied, “Only good things, I hope.”

Peter, if he noticed the rise and embarrassed fall of Owen’s voice as he heard himself respond in such a cliché way, charitably chose not to comment. Instead, he grinned widely, revealing the flash of a silver filling. I’ve been where you are, his smile said, You can relax. You don’t need to be nervous here.

“As far as we’re concerned, you’re a miracle,” Charlotte said, “We never thought he’d settle down. The way he talks about you, honestly. Our Bill’s usually a man of few words, but he’s so goddamn besotted-”

“Alright, alright,” Billy grumbled, waving between them, “Owen, Lottie. Lottie, Owen.”

Another handshake, Charlotte’s palm as brisk and rough as her husband’s, only smaller. Her strength felt more assertive, more forthright. She was more comfortable in her own skin than Peter was.

“Lovely to meet you, Owen.”

“You too,” Owen told her, meaning it more than he could show without making things awkward.

“And this is my niece. Charlie. The little troublemaker.”

“Hi. You can call me Chuck, everyone else does.” The girl excitedly shook Owen's hand. Though smoother and more youthful, her skin was already callous-roughened by farm work, by a job she’d been born into. Owen was glad to be a firefighter, glad to have succeeded in the kind of profession Billy’s family might respect. Even the youngest Tyson was tough.

“She’s just come out to us,” Peter said, putting an arm around Chuck's shoulders and bending down to kiss her forehead, “We’re so proud.”

Chuck, happiness radiating from her, wriggled away from him and said, “Shut up, dad.”

A movement by Owen’s feet distracted him from the truly charming display, and from the smile that was threatening to overcome Billy’s face. He looked down to see a mutt with dull red fur, mouth open wide in a happy smile.

“Oh, who’s this?” Owen squatted, reaching both hands out to pat the creature. The dog licked him enthusiastically, prompting Charlotte to reach out and playfully swat its head as a reminder not to slobber on guests.

“Rusty,” Peter answered.

“He’s a shithead,” Chuck volunteered lovingly.

“He’s gorgeous.” Owen scratched at the dog’s ears and felt the lumpiness of scar tissue, prompting him to notice areas where fur couldn’t grow. “Been in the wars, haven’t you?”

“He has,” Billy confirmed, “Where’d you find him again, Lottie?”

“Dirt road. Middle of nowhere. Seems someone had an unwanted pup. Left him at the mercy of wildlife.”

“They dumped him,” Owen sighed, “Poor thing.”

“He lives a good life now, don’t you worry about that,” Charlotte remarked dryly. The dog, as if proving her point, flopped down onto his back, elated to be the center of attention. Everyone laughed good-naturedly at the dog’s shamelessness. There was nothing better to break the ice than a well-behaved but needy pet.

“Seemed the least we could do,” she continued, “give him a good life.”

“I know what you mean,” Owen stood, dusting off his knees, “My dog, Buttercup…”

His audience, waiting for the story to continue, stared at him.

“…Shit.”

“What?” Billy asked.

“Buttercup,” Owen realized aloud, “I forgot to feed him. Mateo’s busy tonight.”

“Stay here, I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Owen wondered if his apologetic tone quite concealed the mild panic he felt at the prospect of being left with alone with strangers he was desperate to impress.

“Yeah, won’t take long. Keys.”

Owen dug into his pocket. A glance at Charlotte confirmed that she recognized both her brother’s stubbornness and Owen’s anxiety for what they were. Billy wanted to throw Owen in the deep end, at least a little, and she knew that. Her smile, much like her husband’s, offered understanding. Conversation might be awkward at first, but they would get through it. He was safe in their company. He didn’t need to force a performance. Whether he could relax or not, the invitation was there.

He handed over his keys. Billy began to step away, and then thought better of it. Demonstrating the same pointedness with which he had taken Owen’s hand, he quickly gave Owen a kiss, and then walked away.

Owen turned back to the Tyson family, blushing. They were all smiling.

***

Chuck's girlfriend arrived first, accompanied by her family, and within twenty minutes Owen was surrounded by new faces. He worked hard to retain the names of everybody he met, his usual sociability hamstrung by anxiety. It was a relief when his phone rang and he had an excuse to duck away.

“Talk about abandoning me, Billy.”

“You havin’ a good time?”

“They’re lovely people. Are you on your way back? Why’re you calling?”

“Think you’ve been spendin’ too much time at my place. Buttercup’s basically out of food.”

“Crap.” Owen rubbed his face. He remembered, now, making a mental note to buy more. Seems he'd promptly forgotten.

“Stoppin’ by the store now.”

“Dragging it out, huh.”

“You feelin’ shy?”

“Just nervous.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

Owen stood there, mouth open, three words on his tongue. He realized he’d never told Billy that he loved him. He’d said as much to Mateo, even, and had let TK know how serious his affections were. But he’d never actually said it directly. Billy hadn’t, either. Owen wanted to remedy that. He wanted to say it aloud.

“See you soon.”

The moment had passed. Billy hung up.

“Tell him later,” Owen muttered to himself.

***

Twenty more minutes passed.

Then a further thirty.

Owen was standing by the barbecue, a glass of wine in one hand, when he called Billy again. There was no answer. Charlotte, spatula in hand, noticed him frowning at his phone.

“Where’s Bill at?”

“Dog food ran out,” Owen explained, “He went to buy some, but… he should be back by now.”

They shared a brief look of worry. Charlotte shrugged.

“Probably hit traffic or somethin'. Won’t be long now.”

“Sure,” Owen said.

She continued to push meat around, flip sausages over. Owen took a drink and swilled the liquid around in his mouth, but it seemed suddenly tasteless.

There were stories about firefighter intuition that he’d heard since the earliest days of his career, sometimes believing them and sometimes dismissing such things as a combination of luck and reasoning. Then there were the tales of family members and spouses sensing the peril of treasured children and partners, even without proof of endangerment. A sinking feeling in the gut that couldn’t be properly justified or explained. A certainty beyond the physical, the logical.

Only now did Owen really know what those stories meant.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

Chapter Text

Billy walked out of the store with a can of wet dog food and a small bag of dry food. Buttercup would undoubtedly need more, but a proper shopping trip could wait until after tonight. He was rushing to return to the party.

The checkout clerk had given him a weird look, and only then had he realized that, since kissing his partner in front of the only family he had left, he’d been smiling like an absolute child. He properly understood the phrase walking on sunshine, now. Every single step he took felt light, nearly bouncy. He couldn’t believe so much happiness could be contained in one human body. He couldn’t believe he would be so lucky.

He took his keys out, unlocked his truck. Opened the passenger side door, deposited the dog food on the seat, closed it again.

When he turned around, he automatically staggered away from the person who was standing only an arm’s length from him, back hitting his truck with a metallic thud.

“Jesus,” he said, “You scared the hell out of me.”

His brain wanted to believe that the person had just been walking past, and this was a hilarious moment caused by him turning to face them at just the wrong moment. An accident of timing. But that didn’t make sense, because the parking lot was otherwise empty, and there was no good reason for anyone to be walking this close to him.

By all appearances he was staring at a young man, possibly even a boy. But it was hard to tell, because the stranger in question was so underweight. He had sunken, panicked eyes, which were fixed unwaveringly on Billy’s face, and an open mouth that revealed greying teeth. His skin had all the vitality and color of a corpse, which made the red sores on his forehead all the more apparent. He seemed to be wrapped in multiple layers of clothes, thin frame bulked up by multiple jackets and overlaid shirts, all dirtied.

What held Billy in place was the sorrow in the boy’s eyes. The frightened sadness, the resignation that he had to do something terrible.

Only at that point did he notice the knife.

The boy held it out between them, almost like a question. As though Billy knew what had to happen next and might advance the situation. They were standing close enough that Billy’s throat tightened around a ball of nausea, a rancid smell flooding his senses. The boy’s teeth had begun to rot.

“Give me your wallet,” the boy said. His voice shook, and so did the knife.

At that point, Billy did something very, very stupid.

He froze.

His wallet was not worth his life. It amounted to some paper and a few cards that he could replace. He wasn’t thinking logically, couldn’t force himself into action. His hands remained by his sides, utterly still as he stared at the young stranger.

The boy gawked at him, stunned by Billy’s inaction. His eyes seemed to plead, seemed to say, I thought this would be easier.

For several seconds, the pair just stood there. Looking at each other. Sharing a moment of complete, mutual terror.

After some time, the boy seemed to remember the blade in his grip, the significance of it; the power he held and the reason he’d come here. He needed to finance his next hit more than he needed to breathe. There would be time, later, to feel regret and shame. To feel anything else.

With jerky, sudden movements, he lurched forward and began patting Billy’s pockets. Searching him frantically, the knife wavering before Billy’s chest. They were both silent. It would’ve been awkward, if only it hadn’t been so frightening.

Billy unstuck his lips, his mouth dry. “You ever done this before?”

“Shut the fuck up,” came the quick, frustrated response. The boy was unwell, either in withdrawal or rapidly approaching it. He couldn’t find Billy’s wallet because he could hardly remain standing. He slapped his hand against Billy’s sides, grabbed at his jeans.

“You don’t need to do this.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do. Just give me- Show me where your money is. Where’s your wallet, huh?”

Billy didn’t even hear the question. His ears were filled with the roar of his own heartbeat.

“Doin’ stuff like this, it’s no way to live,” Billy whispered, “If you want to get off the drugs, I can help y-”

“Shut up!”

The boy moved abruptly closer to Billy, standing against him, head bumping Billy’s chin. Billy was confused and startled by the boy’s sudden proximity. Thinking that the stranger wanted a hug for some bizarre reason, he lifted his arms, embracing his would-be mugger.

Only when the boy pulled away, horror on his face, did Billy suspect that something else had occurred.

First, he noticed that the boy’s hands were now empty. The knife was gone. Second, he noticed the direction in which the boy was staring. Eyes low, trained on Billy’s abdomen.

Billy looked down.

The knife was sticking out of his gut.

His knees folded underneath him, sending him crashing onto the asphalt, sliding heavily down the side of his truck. He stared at the knife, trying to understand its absurd existence, the fact that half of it was concealed inside him. An uneven oval of blood framed its hilt, blooming outward across his belly.

It was all so strange.

He was confused. In shock. He looked up at the boy, as though seeking answers for the peculiar reality he found himself stranded in.

There were alien syllables, yowled as the boy turned in place, gripping his hair. Shit, shit. Shit! Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen! Fuck!

Billy watched it all from a distance. This didn’t feel real.

He looked down again, as if to confirm that blood was still pouring from him. It was. He watched as red pooled in his groin, dripping heavily down his front.

When he looked up once more, the boy had started to run away. Fleeing from the scene of a crime he’d not wanted to commit. But he stopped as a thought occurred to him; one last realization that sliced through the panic, the confusion, the cravings. Something he had to do, if he wanted to stay out of the cells he'd visited before, where his fingerprints and name had been immortalised in code.

He turned back. Sprinted with equal intensity towards Billy, knelt before him, grabbed the knife's hilt.

“No,” Billy begged, some part of his brain understanding what would come next, “No, don’t, please-”

The boy yanked the blade from Billy's abdomen. It came out with a sickening sound, a stretching and tearing of meat. At that point, Billy began to feel pain. He yelled, hands rising to clutch at his stomach. They were immediately soaked by a gush of blood, rivers of hot crimson pouring between his fingers and down past his knuckles.

The boy ran away.

Chapter Text

Grace couldn’t say how she felt about her job. Not in simple terms.

She suspected, as she did about most things, that she might’ve given up on it if she’d not had her faith. She knew she must give of herself in all aspects of life. But that had become more difficult, at times close to impossible, when motherhood entered into the equation. She was tired. When she arrived home at the end of a shift, the only thing she wanted was to be left alone. This exhaustion warred fiercely with her love for her family, and she wound up feeling needlessly guilty. She could see the same fatigue, the same strung-out adrenaline, in her husband’s every movement. They were performing a balancing act, the pair of them. Mindful that they both lived on the edge in their own ways, rubbed raw by disasters and losses that few people liked to consider, let alone be immersed in. Eventually their child would grow up into a whole person, perceptive and observant, and the dance would become a three-person act. Unless one parent, or both, retreated from the effort to push back their city's relentless tide of death and injury.

How would she feel, leaving her job? How might Judd feel, if he left his? Grace wasn’t certain he could.

What she did know, if nothing else, was that she had grown weary. And though she did adore her job and the calls which concluded happily, real life was not always so tidy. At her weakest she had felt angry, asking her Lord why more people couldn’t be saved, why her efforts felt so hopeless, why her earpiece sometimes crackled and buzzed with the screech of screams or braking tires, followed by silence. Frequent death was enough to make anyone mad.

But Grace wasn’t often weak. She had been hardened by years of this. Years of the most harrowing phone calls imaginable, interspersed with the most rewarding, miraculous experiences anybody could be a part of. She saw God in those accomplishments. Her husband saw a combination of hard work and luck. Either way, they were still holding down the fort. They remained a dispatcher and a firefighter, a wife and a husband, a mother and a father. For now, it was working. They were exhausted together. That made it bearable.

She straightened up in her work chair, cleared her throat, tilted her head from side-to-side until her neck cracked. She had nearly reached the end of her shift, and she hadn’t lost anybody today. She needed to pee badly, but didn’t have a second to spare.

Another call came through.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

A laugh floated down the line, faint and wheezing. The rattle of an injured man, pushing through fear and pain with forced levity. It was a familiar sound.

“There’s a voice I’m glad to hear.”

“Billy?” Even as she spoke the name, she hoped to be wrong. “Is that you?”

“One and the same.”

“What’s happened?” She touched the fingers of one hand against the cross which hung from her necklace chain. Callers that she knew, regardless of closeness, were always harder to handle. “I have your location. Which services do you need?”

“Stabbed with a knife. Ambulance.” Short syllables, full of pain, ground out through clenched teeth.

“Someone stabbed you?”

“Yeah,” Billy managed, breaths heavy and loud, "I was havin’ such a nice night, too.”

“The person who stabbed you, are they still with you?”

“No. Ran away. Gone now.”

“Where were you stabbed? What part of your body?”

“Gut. Low-down. Reckon it was a kitchen knife.”

“Are you applyin’ pressure?”

“Yeah. Got my flannel against it. But…” He sucked in a lungful of air. “There’s so much fuckin’ blood, Grace…”

“Help is on the way,” she reassured him, clicking and typing as she spoke, “You’re in a good location. It won’t be long.”

“Thank you,” he said, sounding suddenly very small.

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been bleedin’ for?”

“Not three minutes. Called right quick.”

She nodded. That was good. “Did you fall, when you were stabbed? Hit your head?”

“Nah.”

“Were you assaulted in any other way?”

“Nah.”

“Your only injury is the stab wound?”

“Yeah. But… he took it out, Grace. The knife… After he stabbed me, he came back… Pulled it out…”

“An ambulance will be there soon, Billy. We’ll take care of you. Do you know the person who stabbed you? Are they likely to come back?”

“No… Just some kid…”

“Tell me more. I want you to keep talkin' to me. Keep applyin’ pressure.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, love. I know.”

The pause after her words allowed her mind to catch up with her tongue and remember that Billy Tyson was the man she was speaking to. Love. It was an endearment typically limited to her family members and female friends, not people of Billy’s cantankerous ilk, but somehow it felt correct leaving her lips. He’d changed, after all. He’d softened into the type of man who would welcome such a word. And she could sense, could tell from the fear in his voice, that he needed her affection right now. He was alone, bleeding out, and needed to know that someone cared.

“I’m here,” she continued, “Not goin’ anywhere ‘till I know you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” he said again, this time in a whisper.

“Is there anybody around you? Anyone at all who can help?”

“No. Lot’s empty… Clerk’s got headphones on.” He laughed and clearly caused himself pain, gasping through it before weakly continuing, “Just my luck.”

***

By the time Owen’s phone rang, he’d escalated to an emotion that transcended worry. Charlotte and Peter shared his concerns, Billy’s phone going through to voicemail no matter who called him. The barbecue went on, the guests largely self-sufficient, even as the three stepped aside to talk and redial Billy’s number. Chuck was distracted by her girlfriend, starry-eyed and in the throes of teen romance. It was morphing into a beautiful evening that looked, smelled, and seemed like a joyous gathering to all but Billy’s closest and oldest loved ones.

The three were standing in the kitchen, debating what to do next and if one of them should go for a drive to track Billy down, when Owen’s phone screen lit up. His heart leapt, and then fell when he realized that the caller was not Billy. Worse, the caller was a dispatcher who, to his memory, was working today.

As he moved his thumb to accept the call, he slipped into a familiar state. Total, untouchable calm. The stone-faced coolness of an impartial emergency responder. In less than a second, he accepted that something had happened. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was the same state that he’d fallen back on when hearing of TK’s hospitalization, which helped him focus on the practicalities until emotion sent him crumbling to his knees. The same horrible tranquility he'd seen in Tommy after her husband’s death. Distance as a defense.

“Grace,” he said, “You’re on speaker with Billy’s sister and brother-in-law. Charlotte and Peter.”

The Tysons looked at him, surprised and confused, their conversation about Billy interrupted. They didn’t know who Grace was.

“Hello, everyone,” Grace answered, a note of anxiety in her voice. She’d only expected to reach Owen. Breaking news like this to families was not her job, and not something she did often.

“Grace is a nine-one-one dispatcher,” Owen explained calmly, directing the context at the Tysons and then returning his attention to the phone, “Are you calling about Billy? Has something happened? We’ve been unable to reach him for a while.”

“Yes, he did place a call for an ambulance.”

Charlotte put a hand over her mouth. Peter held his wife’s shoulder.

“I would’ve called earlier, but I just got off work-”

“It’s okay,” Owen insisted, every word measured and calm, “Please, just tell us what you know.”

“Firstly, he’s in hospital now. He’s bein’ taken care of. Secondly-”

“What happened to him?” Charlotte’s voice was raised.

“Someone mugged him. I don’t know all of the details, but it... escalated.”

“Escalated?”

“He was stabbed.”

Charlotte held onto the kitchen counter. She looked pale, and couldn’t seem to summon any further questions. Owen spoke for her. He heard himself asking for more details. The hospital Billy had been sent to, the condition he’d been in when he called, anything further that Grace knew. Throughout every exchange, he was on autopilot.

He wouldn't be okay until Billy was in front of him, alive and well.

Chapter Text

The trip to the hospital was almost entirely silent.

Peter drove. He was the only one who hadn’t been drinking. Owen sat in the backseat, alone and emotionally hollow. He felt the need to say something. Compensate for the distress, tension, and awkwardness that they all shared, prove himself a reliable man in times of crisis. But there wasn’t anything that he could do. Being solution-focused to the extreme, a quality that had led him through his career but ended many relationships, he struggled severely with feeling useless. Always had.

“Hey.” Charlotte turned her head, not quite looking back at Owen. “Your dog.”

Owen took a second to process that. “Sorry?”

“Bill went to get dog food, right? Who’s gonna feed your dog now?”

“Oh.” He’d completely forgotten that, such a short time ago, his only concerns had been impressing Billy’s family and getting Buttercup fed. His entire world had shifted on an axis, narrowed to one singular worry. “Thank you for reminding me, I’ll… I’ll call someone.”

He took his phone out of his pocket. Robotically, he scrolled to TK’s profile and tapped on a familiar number. When his son picked up, he could hear the din of a party in the background.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, TK. Could you do me a favor?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

Owen found himself unable to speak. Explaining the situation aloud would make it all the more real. He didn’t want this to be happening.

“Dad?”

“Can you please buy some dog food, then stop by my place and feed Buttercup? I would do it, but something’s… come up.”

“Well, that’s cryptic as hell. Are you on a surprise date or something?”

“No, Billy… He...” Panic spiked inside him, a burning wave that he crushed down so he might continue speaking. “Billy got mugged. I’m headed to the hospital now.” He let the words fall from his mouth like heavy, clumsy things. He noticed Charlotte stiffen and felt the irrational urge to apologize. Neither of them wanted this to be real.

He listened to the fuzzy sounds of partying, continuing on as TK absorbed what he’d heard. When the young paramedic finally did speak, his voice was gentle but firm.

“You’re on your way there now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll go and get food for Buttercup. Once he’s fed, I’ll join you at the hospital, if you want to text me the specifics of where you’ll be.”

“That’d be great. Thank you, TK.” Owen was so proud of his son’s level-headedness. Proud and very grateful.

“Do you need anything else, right now?”

“Not that I can think of. Sorry to interrupt your party,” he joked, forcing some levity into his voice. He was only partially successful.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s pretty boring. You’re more important. See you soon, dad.”

“See you soon.”

Owen hung up. He was relieved by TK’s response. No panic, no dramatizing, nothing to make Owen even more stressed than he already was. He couldn’t ask for more in a son, or in a friend.

***

Peter parked in the visitor’s lot. As the three of them approached the hospital together, Owen spied two familiar faces. Grace, when she noticed them, tapped on Judd’s arm and indicated in their direction.

“That’s one of Bill’s friends, right?” Charlotte asked as they continued walking.

“Yes,” Owen confirmed, not mentioning that Judd was arguably Billy’s best friend. He was surprised that Charlotte didn’t recognize him more strongly. “That’s Judd. His wife, Grace, was the dispatcher who called us.”

“Judd… Wasn’t he the guy who survived the one-two-six explosion?”

“Yes, that was him. He’s returned to firefighting, though. He’s in my team, nowadays.”

“Oh,” Charlotte responded. There was quiet heartbreak in her voice as she freshly realized how far she and Billy had drifted apart over the years. The details of his life had fragmented into a vague sketch, to the point that the single remaining member of his beloved firehouse registered as little more than a familiar stranger.

Peter touched his wife’s shoulder. A quick squeeze of reassurance.

Nobody spoke until they were standing before the Ryders, both of them with tense expressions and worry-filled eyes.

“Hey,” Owen said, making himself smile for politeness’ sake.

“Hey, Cap.” Judd knotted his fingers together, gripped and twisted his hands. The nervous fidgeting of a man who desperately wanted to give everybody a hug, but who was holding back until introductions were done. “You must be Billy’s sister,” he said to Charlotte.

With a smile as obligatory as the one Owen had forced onto his face, she replied, “Yeah, I think we met a few times over the years.”

Judd held his hand out. “Name’s Judson, but Judd works fine.”

“Charlotte.” She shook his hand briskly. “This is my husband, Peter.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you both properly. Even if the circumstances are…”

He trailed off. A nurse emerged from the hospital doors, pushing an empty wheelchair. Going to collect somebody. She was several paces away before Owen spoke up, forcing words out past the ball of nauseated fear in his throat.

“Since you got here before us-- Grace, do you know anything about Billy’s condition?”

“They’ve taken him into surgery,” Grace confirmed, voice as soft and calming as it possibly could be, “I called ahead, got an update from a nurse pal of mine.”

“Why?” Charlotte demanded, louder than she’d perhaps planned. She seemed to collect herself, clarifying in a calmer tone, “Why’re they doing surgery on him?”

“They have to figure out the extent of internal damage. They’ll fix up what they need to, and whatever they find will inform his recovery process.”

Charlotte glanced over at the hospital doors as if they contained a terrifying monster. She crossed her arms and nodded stiffly, acknowledging what Grace had explained.

“How much d’you know about his outlook? How bad could it be?”

Grace shook her head. “I don't know that much. I’m just a dispatcher. Wish I could tell you anythin’ with certainty, but you’re better off askin’ the doctors when the op is finished. All I can say is that we got him medical assistance very fast.”

“He’s in the best place he can be, right now,” Peter told his wife, hand returning to her shoulder.

Charlotte, while seemingly unconvinced, nodded again. “Okay.”

“If you want to wait inside, I can go and get you an overnight bag. Just in case you end up staying for a while.”

“Yeah. Thank you, baby, I’d like that. Owen? D’you need Peter to pick anythin’ up for you?”

“I’m happy to help, too,” Judd blurted before Owen could respond, “We both are, me and Grace. Anythin’ y'all need.”

Owen’s smile, this time, was a little more genuine than forced. “No, that’s alright. TK will be stopping by soon. My son,” he clarified to the Tysons, “Thank you, though.”

Peter nodded. “Right. I’ll be off, then.”

He gave his wife a kiss on the cheek and then stepped towards Owen. He hesitated for long enough that Owen could retreat, giving him the choice, but Owen allowed himself to be hugged. He was surprised by the gesture but, most of all, deeply touched.

“I’m headin’ inside,” Charlotte announced as her husband walked away, “See you in there when you’re ready, Owen.”

She disappeared through the hospital’s automatic doors, and Owen immediately found himself enveloped in yet another tall man’s embrace. Judd squeezed him tightly enough that his ribs protested, but Owen didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Heck of a day to meet your partner’s family,” he mumbled, face against Judd’s shoulder.

“Think that might be the understatement of the century, Cap."

Owen retreated from him, deliberately not looking up into those big, teary eyes, for fear that Judd’s soft-hearted anguish might push him over the edge. They didn't know how bad things were; until they could speak to a doctor, Owen decided that he must avoid assuming the worst. He busied himself hugging Grace.

“I’m glad it was you,” he told her, “I’m glad he had you to talk to, to get him help.”

“It’s my job,” she reminded him.

Chapter Text

TK paced around his dad's living room, checking his phone every few seconds, waiting for another message to arrive. So far, all he knew was that Billy had been stabbed once. Owen hadn't provided any further information in his text. Carlos wanted to grab TK and hold him still, help him settle. Buttercup seemed to perceive the pair's tension, and had resumed laying placidly on the floor once his dinner was finished. Full and happy.

"Sit down, babe," Carlos suggested worriedly, "You're working yourself up even more."

"Look, I can't. I just can't. I'm worried." TK checked his phone again. When he saw no new notification, he groaned with transparent irritation. "Dad will need me to be calm. And I will be. But I need to let this energy out now, so I can be calm for him."

"Okay."

"Billy seems like a nice guy now, y'know? It sucks shit that this happened to him."

"But you're more worried about Owen," Carlos guessed.

TK stopped pacing, directing a fraught look at his boyfriend. "Does that make me a selfish asshole?"

"No, of course not. You haven't known Billy for very long, not properly. You've known your dad for... well, for your whole life. So it makes sense to me."

"He's been so much better, lately. So much healthier, more stable. Drinking less, not sleeping around, not fucking miserable... He's come out because of Billy. And I'm afraid that..."

"You're afraid of what it would do to him. If this doesn't end well."

TK, who had resumed pacing, stilled again. He turned to Carlos with a wounded look, as though the truth said aloud was so much more painful than the unspoken idea. Carlos stood. He took TK's phone and placed it face-down on the coffee table, before clasping TK's hands in his own and looking him straight in the eye.

"Do you place your faith in modern medicine?"

"I'm a paramedic."

"Right. When you follow Tommy's instructions, do you trust that she knows what she's doing?"

"Yeah..."

"When you send someone to be operated on, do you believe it's the right decision? Do you trust the surgeons?"

"Yes..."

"If someone receives appropriate emergency care, are they likely to survive a single stab wound?"

"Depends on a lot of factors, but... yeah. Yeah, I'd say so. Better than a gunshot, anyway." TK leaned forward with a loud sigh, drooping in place. Carlos kissed his neck, held him close.

"Let's hold off on the catastrophizing then, okay? We don't even know what state Billy's in. Your dad isn't crashing and burning yet."

***

When Peter got back to his family’s home, all of the partygoers had departed. Once they'd been made aware of their hosts' situation, the party atmosphere had deflated like a balloon with the air let out. Offers of help and assistance had been politely refused. Their cars were gone and, indoors, he found plates and cups and glasses washed, stacked up beside the sink on a drying rack. The dishwasher was humming, its timer ticking away. He found his daughter in her bedroom. She’d busied herself cleaning up after the guests, a chore she'd have otherwise complained her way through, and then cried herself dry. Her eyes were red-rimmed and itchy, nose pink from being wiped. He’d thought she might ask her girlfriend to stay for comfort’s sake, and was sad to find her alone.

When he appeared in her doorframe, she looked up at him with a mix of hope and uncertainty on her face. They hadn’t always been close. He’d been putting in more effort lately and she knew that.

He opened his arms. She rose from her bed and went to him, enveloping herself in a hug which was eagerly given. They were feeling their way through this, father and daughter newly reacquainted.

"You didn't have to clean up everything," he told her, conscious of not taking his daughter's domestic labour for granted, "But thank you."

“Is uncle Billy gonna be okay?”

Peter wanted to promise things that he couldn’t guarantee. “I hope so,” he said instead, “The doctors, they know what they’re doing. We have to trust them.”

“Okay.”

“It sucks, I know.”

“It’s shit.”

Peter smiled. “I’m here to pick up some stuff, then I’ll head back to the hospital. Do you want to come with me?”

“I don’t know. Hospitals scare me.”

“I know they do, Chuckie. Well, it’s up to you. I have to go back to support your mom, and to know what’s going on with Bill, but… you know I’d stay here with you, right? If I could?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ll text you, call if you want. I’ll keep you updated.”

Chuck peered up at him. Her face creased with confusion and no small amount of frustration. She didn't like what she saw.

“Are you even upset, dad? Upset about what happened to Billy?”

Peter didn’t flinch, which was a mistake. It was his instinct to hide his emotions and he’d gotten too good at it. Over the next several seconds, aware that his child was scrutinizing him, he let his eyes fill with worry and hurt. Then, he smiled.

“Yes, I’m upset.”

“How come you ain’t cryin’, then? How come you never do?”

Peter sighed. He took Chuck’s elbow and guided her to the bed, where they both took a seat. He looked down at his hands and she looked directly at him, waiting for him to talk. She sensed that this was difficult for him. Until very recently, Chuck had accepted him as a silent, stoic figure; a monosyllabic mystery who inspired fascination in his only child, along with the loneliness of coexisting with an emotionally absent parent. He'd spoken more words aloud in the past few months than he had throughout several years. She didn't know what to expect from him, from this new and improved version of her dad, so she waited dutifully and let him find his voice.

“Do you remember that time you were threatened with expulsion? By your school?”

Chuck nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you remember why?”

“That’s a dumb question. I’ll never forget it. My friend was gettin’ bullied ‘cause he cried in class. They called him horrible names. Started pushin’ him around. Hurtin’ him even more.”

“So, you punched one of the bullies.”

“They deserved it,” Chuck snapped, “He didn’t do anythin’ wrong, and the way they treated him-”

“I’m not telling you off, kiddo.”

“Oh.”

“I bring that story up because… Well, what happened to him, it happens to a lot of boys. A lot of men, too.” Peter massaged his knuckles, stared at the lines on his palms. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his daughter, but that was okay. He needed to get this out however he could. “Your friend, he was lucky. He had you. If boys don’t have a strong person to stand up for us, and we can’t fight back, we learn not to show weakness. We have to. We learn not to cry, otherwise we’re punished.”

His voice was soft. Softer than Chuck had ever heard it before.

For the first time, she truly saw him. She reconsidered assumptions she’d held from the earliest days of her childhood. She’d always imagined her father to be a badass fighter, considered his scars the remnants of an outlaw’s life. Now he looked different. His cauliflower ears, crooked nose, and uneven features spoke of violence. She’d always assumed he had welcomed the violence, triumphed in it like the boxers and gangsters she saw on television. She hadn’t ever dreamed that he might’ve just been a victim. She’d never been taught that men could be victims. Suddenly his marred face didn't seem cool and intimidating, it just seemed sad.

“Just because a person, especially a man, isn’t crying… it doesn’t mean he isn’t hurting. You, Billy, your mom… you’re my only family. I have nobody else in this world. I love Bill like a brother. He is my brother. And I’m very scared about whether he’ll be okay. Even if I can’t cry right now. Even if you never see me cry. I’m feeling it all inside.”

Chuck felt her lip shake. Her dad’s eyes might have been dry, but she heard his voice quiver. She hugged him again, draping herself against his side like she had as a younger child, arms wrapped around his once-intimidating bulk. He leaned his head against hers. The pair felt closer than they had in years.

Chuck, in that moment, felt very mature. Like she’d been trusted with something sacred. It was the same pride she’d felt when her mom trusted her enough to explain her gender ambiguity.

“Can I ask you somethin’, dad?”

“Anything.”

“What changed? If you’ve been scared for so long… why d’you feel comfortable sayin’ this now?”

“Your uncle.”

“Did he talk to you?”

“No. When he came out to your mom, I realized… if he could do that, could be vulnerable, could be himself… Well, I’ve always had so much in common with him. We’re classic cases, for men of our generation. So similar, in so many ways. He gave me strength, Chuckie. That’s why… even if I can’t show it the way your mom can, I really do love him. I want to be your dad, properly. I want to show up for you. Bill showed me that I could.”

***

Owen took a seat beside Charlotte. He texted TK his location in the hospital, indicating that they were in the emergency waiting room. There wasn't anything more specific to say. Until Billy's surgery was finished and he was placed on a ward, they couldn't go deeper into the hospital's halls. It felt like a prison of sorts, sterile white paint and doors locked tight, perimeters enforced by stern-looking security guards and employee card passes. Nothing could make a person feel more redundant and helpless than a hospital. No amount of seniority, professional experience, or personal distress could get Owen through the doors that concealed his partner. There was absolutely nothing he could do to speed this up, no words he could say to the exhausted triage nurse to get more information.

The idea that Billy was somewhere in this building, warm body supine and unmoving on a flat surface, made him crazy. If only he could phase through walls. If only he could beg and plead and threaten his way into the operation room where an oxygen tube emerged from between Billy's slack lips. He felt the simple, animal instinct to hold and soothe, but it wouldn't do any good. Being human meant thinking beyond such instincts. His hands were useless. His touch wouldn't heal. Humans had built hospitals for a reason, developed surgery and medicine for a reason. He needed to remember that, needed to accept that his panic-stricken sentiments had no practical use right now.

"Where'd Judd head off to?"

"Went to drop Grace at home," Owen said, putting his phone away, "They've got a little one. Her name's Charlie too, actually."

"Huh. Didn't know that," Charlotte remarked mildly, "Good kid?"

"Bit too young for any real personality. But I'm sure she'll turn out to be a great one."

Charlotte nodded. Owen could almost see the moment when she decided to abandon the mission of making small talk. He readied himself for whatever serious topic would come next.

"As a firefighter, do you have a lot of medical knowledge?"

"A decent amount. I'm no paramedic, though. I'm also not a surgeon."

Charlotte smiled tiredly. "You know what I wanna ask, huh."

"I can guess."

"The surgery they're doin' on him, what does it... involve, exactly?"

"I don't know too much about it," Owen lied, "What I do know is that it's the best way for doctors to directly see what damage has been done, and fix it. It's what he needs."

Owen left out the grisly realization he'd had, the first time he saw pictures of a laparotomy being performed. He'd been dating a medical student back then, and had glimpsed some course material in her textbook. He'd assumed the photographs depicted some kind of evisceration injury, a person's abdomen flayed open to reveal a mess of slick red and lumpy yellow. He recalled the sight now with lightheaded horror. His then-girlfriend, once asked, had excitedly explained the surgery. The details had never really left him. It had been the first time he'd viewed surgery as something comparable to torture, a revelation that almost ended his career in its infancy. Like most emergency responders, he'd needed to overcome a sensitivity towards gore, and photographs of an in-progress laparotomy had triggered such an effort.

He would've given anything for Charlotte's obliviousness, as the idea of Billy's body being invaded in such a way made him sick. So sick, in fact, that lightheadedness washed through him and left something profoundly disquieting in its wake.

Disassociation.

His brain had done this in the past, on a handful of traumatizing occasions, giving him the ability to objectively comprehend what was happening to him. But that didn't mean he could stop it. The world slowed to a crawl. Sensations slipped away, becoming vague and unknowable. His body was alien, unfamiliar. He did not feel connected to its physical form.

Charlotte, unsatisfied with his answer and morbidly curios to know more, took her phone out of her pocket. Owen, through a fog of confusion, realized that she was about search the internet for details.

She looked down, surprised, promoting him to look down too. He saw that he'd reached out to grab her wrist. This was a complete surprise, as he couldn't feel his fingers. His arm seemed like it belonged to someone else. Yet his concern for her wellbeing, a desire to protect her, had pulled the correct lever to prompt the movement. Some part of his brain was still operational.

"Don't look it up. That'll just make you feel worse."

The voice sounded close to him, but muffled and oddly distant. As though he was underwater, straining to find consonants amid vowels. When he glanced around, though, nobody was paying them any attention. Charlotte continued to stare directly at him. He decided that he must've spoken the words.

When he returned his attention to her, he could see her lips moving. He fought to hear what was being said. His brain was sluggish, lagging in a way that should've been frightening, every step towards comprehension comparable to moving through molasses.

Are you okay?

He remembered Mateo. Standing in the charred doorway of Anna's pitiful resting place. His brain shutting down, switching off. Empty. This, surely, was how he'd felt in that moment.

"Owen, are you okay?"

The world surged back. Not completely. He could hear her again, at least. And when he spoke, he felt his face moving.

"Yes. Sorry, I..."

"You look like you're about to puke."

He felt the warmth of skin, the jumping of a pulse, against his fingers. He was still holding her wrist. He made a deliberate effort to withdraw his arm.

"Sorry."

"Don't need to apologize to me. God knows I feel just as shit as you do."

"Emergencies aren't generally... like this. For me. I'm usually..."

"When you're dealin' with emergencies, the folks involved aren't usually your partner, though." She leaned towards him. "I know you're a hero firefighter and all, but c'mon."

Owen laughed. The resulting sound wasn't unlike a sob. He tentatively touched his face to check whether he was crying. He wasn't.

Charlotte leaned away from him. They both stared ahead in silence. He couldn't guess how long for.

Chapter Text

Consciousness returned to Billy in snatches and bursts.

He was awake, and then he wasn’t. He was outdoors, and then he wasn’t. He was many different places at once, his brain interpreting bright lights as sunshine, struggling to comprehend the signals it was being sent.

Slowly, his mind accepted that he was in a hospital. It was such a universal experience that, even in his current state, he could eventually guess at the building which held him. Where else would he encounter that particular mix of clean and raw, the alchemical monstrosity of antiseptic and blood? Where else had off-white walls and beeping machinery, accompanied by the tired faces of underpaid nurses?

People, turned to strange aliens as general anesthetic left his system, spoke to him. He remembered replying but couldn’t imagine what he’d said. They persisted, these blurry extraterrestrials in matching scrubs, offering reassurance despite his mumbling incoherence. He appreciated their presence, even while he could barely understand them. He had been so terribly alone in that parking lot. It was good to have company while he struggled towards lucidity.

Over time, Billy’s body became real again. He could feel the thin hospital mattress, hear the squeak and crunch of a plastic pillow cover right next to his ears. A sheet and blanket stiffly tucked over him, his arms exposed to the cool air, an IV secured to his inner elbow. He still felt heavy, unnaturally so. But he could think again.

“Hello, William. You’re in hospital. My name’s Niall, I’m one of your nurses.”

A rehearsed sentence, but spoken gently nonetheless. Billy groggy turned his head and heard the pillow crinkle loudly in response. A young man grinned back at him. He looked like little more than a boy but, as he checked the equipment by Billy’s bed, he moved with telling confidence and thoroughness.

“I’m-” Billy managed a single syllable before coughing.

“You had to be intubated. Your throat will be sore for a day or so.”

Without being asked, the nurse raised the head of Billy’s bed and held a cup of water to his face, pointing a straw between Billy’s lips. Billy sipped once, coughed again, then drank the rest. His throat still felt like sandpaper, uvula swollen and battered like a speedball, but the moisture helped somewhat.

“We’ll get you some herbal tea, when you’re feeling up to it. The heat will help.”

He swallowed, which hurt. “Billy.”

“Sorry?”

“Name’s Billy.”

“Ah, you prefer Billy.” The nurse nodded. “No worries.”

Billy looked down the bed, staring with morbid curiosity at the sterile section of blanket which covered his abdomen. Gruesome images flooded his mind. What carnage would he find if he lifted the sheet and blanket, and peered at what lay below? Imagined scenes of vivid red contrasted with clean white, making him feel ill. When he laid a hand tentatively on his fabric-covered belly, all he could feel was tightness. No pain. The absence was almost disquieting.

“You’re okay, sir. Surgery was necessary to fix some damage, but it could’ve been much worse. A doctor will stop by soon, to tell you more.”

The blandness of the nurse’s voice, how objective and matter-of-fact he was, made Billy feel better. Even in his current state, he would’ve detected a sense of urgency in the nurse’s words, would’ve been able to tell if the young man was trying very hard to keep him calm in the face of a serious health issue. As it was, the fresh-faced Niall seemed almost distracted, his mind on other things. Patients to check on, notes to make. Billy was glad. He lowered his hand, returning it to his side. He felt sleepy, but forced himself to speak.

“I’m okay?”

“You’re okay,” the nurse confirmed again.

***

By the time a doctor ventured out into the waiting room, calling for the Tyson family, Owen had become accustomed to a rollercoaster of emotions. He swung wildly between panic and calmness. The most he could do was keep his face still, expression unchanging and blank, words carefully controlled. After his son arrived and Judd returned from dropping Grace at home, there was some half-hearted conversation. Judd, much to Owen’s relief, took charge and introduced the Tysons to TK and Carlos. But, after the initial discussion, the oppressive silence returned. It was into this tense, emotional atmosphere that the doctor emerged, straight-backed and energetic. Owen saw them stride through automatic doors and recognized them as the doctor who had reluctantly signed off on his discharge, following the house fire. They seemed more upbeat now. At the start of their shift, he could only assume. Not yet worn down by hours of stress.

“Tyson family?”

He, along with Peter and Charlotte and Judd, immediately stood. TK and Carlos rose a little slower. Owen knew his son was chiefly motivated by familial love and Carlos, undoubtedly, was chiefly motivated by concern for TK. The pair weren’t as desperately worried for Billy, didn’t have much reason to be. Owen didn’t mind. Billy hadn’t long been in their personal lives.

The doctor approached them. Owen refused to analyze their posture or gait. He didn’t want to guess what they were about to say. He focused on their nametag to remind himself what the doctor’s surname was, and because his panic-stricken brain sought a distraction. Sanchez. Yes, he remembered now.

“How is he?” Charlotte kept her voice steady. She gripped Peter’s hand so hard that her knuckles were white and his fingers were turning a deep shade of red. He didn’t seem to mind.

Doctor Sanchez answered.

Owen heard the mumble of their words. A clear response that his brain had distorted. He blinked once, fast and abrupt like the clicking of a camera. Trying to calm himself and listen.

Sanchez seemed to realize that he hadn’t heard. They met his eyes and smiled gently. He was glad the doctor didn’t hold his past stubbornness against him. He saw a familiar solidarity in their manner; the tired, fond camaraderie of emergency responders.

“He’s alright," Sanchez repeated, "Surgery went very well. The internal damage was minimal. The general anesthesia is wearing off, and he’ll be ready for visitors soon.”

For an intense, overwhelming second, nobody processed the news. The group had been waiting for so long, on edge and wrapped up in looping thoughts, that everybody struggled to accept new information. Then Charlotte sagged in place, finally relaxing her hold on Peter’s hand.

“Oh, fuck.” Charlotte sighed, shoulders trembling. “Good, good.”

“Thank God,” Judd whispered, perhaps reconsidering his cynicism of Grace's faith.

Owen felt TK’s hand on his shoulder.

“Dad, he’s alright. Billy’s gonna be okay.”

Chapter Text

TK and Carlos went home. Billy wasn’t ready for visitors yet, and Owen knew that the two boys had better things to do than wait in uncomfortable hospital chairs; namely, they both needed to get some sleep. Their lives ran on tight schedules, energy a vital resource to conserve so they could do their jobs. Owen could feel hunger gnawing at him, stomach growling, and knew that his son was likely just as famished. Better that the boy head home.

Before TK left, he looked Owen in the eye and asked him if he was alright. Owen had stared back, unsure what to say, unsure what he was feeling. He was dizzy with relief, the sensation so powerful that it bordered on nausea. He told TK that he was totally fine. They both knew it was a lie. He wouldn’t be fine until he could see Billy, talk to him, witness irrefutable evidence of Billy’s condition.

When he returned to the waiting room after walking TK out, Judd was on his feet. Charlotte and Peter remained seated, still holding hands.

Before speaking, Judd gave him another hug. Owen found himself relaxing, at least a little bit, eyes closing momentarily as he felt Judd’s warmth. The idea that everything would be okay occurred to him, but he pushed it away. It felt too tempting, too much like a trick, to lower his guard now. He remembered believing, once, that TK was about to be married and sheltered by wedded bliss, no longer threatened by the onslaught of addiction and depression. Look how that had turned out.

Judd leaned away, his smile big and wobbly. His eyes were puffy but he wasn’t crying anymore.

“I was thinkin’, I’ll stand in if you need me to. Reckon your next few days, at least, might be spoken for. If you wanna be here with Billy most of the time, that is.”

Owen frowned until he realized what Judd was talking about. “Oh, crap. Captain.” He rubbed at his face with both hands. His skin felt haggard, clammy. “I can’t ask you to do that, Judd. You’re Billy’s best friend. Hell, you’ve known him longer than me. I’ll contact another station and-”

“Owen.” Judd ducked his head down, grinning as he placed two meaty paws on Owen’s shoulders, making the shorter man meet his gaze. “I love the guy like a brother, sure, but hearin’ he’s okay is enough for me. I’ll come on by when I’m not workin’. You, though, you need to be here. I can see it in your face.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. Shit, though, maybe I’m just gettin’ a taste for bein’ Captain.”

Owen, despite how he was currently feeling, laughed. Judd knew he hated abdicating responsibility and was offering a distraction. “If you could stand in, I’d appreciate it, Judd. Thank you.”

“No worries at all.”

“It won’t be for long, though.”

“Long as you need.”

“Okay,” Owen decided, making peace with the practicality of Judd’s offer, “Okay, good. You go home, then. Get some rest.”

It wasn’t too long after Judd left, hugging everyone again one final time, that a nurse arrived to say that that Billy was ready for them. There was a limit of two people per visit. Peter, deciding to make life very easy for his wife and Owen, announced that he would step outside to call Chuck and tell her the good news.

Owen and Charlotte followed the nurse down a white hallway. Noise ebbed and flowed as they went. Bursts of conversation from rooms, groans of pain, beeping, the clack and grind of metal and plastic. Owen fixated on the back of the nurse’s head and focused on remaining upright.

“I feel like I’m about to puke,” he muttered.

“That happens,” the nurse said over her shoulder, “It’s the shock. But I’m sure you know that, you’ve probably seen it enough times. D’you need a barf bag?”

“No,” he said, distracted by the fact that she was clearly aware of who he was, wondering how she’d come to know of him. “No, I don’t need one.”

The three of them walked in silence until they reached Billy’s room. The nurse opened his door and stepped aside. She made a comment about the button on the wall, that they should push it if they needed anything. Owen and Charlotte nodded robotically, already moving past her. She turned on her heel and walked briskly away.

Billy was sitting upright, the head of his bed raised. The room might as well have been limited to the shape of his body, the boundaries of his physical form, because Owen couldn’t see beyond him. The rest of the space was insignificant, absent.

He was smiling.

Mercifully, wonderfully, he was smiling.

Owen could almost pretend that Billy was whole, that nothing was wrong. He looked tired but, beyond that, the only indication of any injury was Billy’s hand resting just above his belly. Were he another type of man, he might have been pregnant. But no, he was absentmindedly cradling the gauze-covered, numbed skin where Owen knew he’d been stitched together.

His hair was loosely tied back, smudges of blue forming shadows beneath his eyes. Owen had never seen anyone so beautiful.

Charlotte rushed to his bedside, sinking down into a plastic chair and taking his hand.

“Gave us one hell of a scare, Bill,” she chided him, voice unsteady.

“Gave myself a hell of a scare, Lottie,” he countered, his words an exhausted echo of his usual cheekiness.

Owen walked around the other side of Billy’s bed. Billy let go of his belly, hand gravitating over toward Owen. Something seemed to fall into place, then. Both of them holding Billy, sentinels at his sides. Protecting him.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Owen tried to say, words scratchy and mangled as he suppressed the urge to cry. He believed it now, could properly accept that Billy was truly alright.

“Even if you look like shit,” Charlotte added, doing her best to lighten the mood.

“Look a whole lot worse under that,” Billy drawled, nodding to the gauze.

“We’ll take care of it.” Owen smoothed his thumb over Billy’s knuckles. “You’ll heal up, you’ll be discharged, and we’ll take care of you.”

He was stating the obvious, just trying to be comforting. But he saw relief, visceral and profound, overcome Billy’s expression. He realized that Billy had been afraid. Truly, deeply afraid. Part of him still was.

“How long are you gonna be stuck in here, Bill?” Charlotte asked.

“Dunno. Four days, I think they said.”

“You’ll go mad, all cooped up.”

“Somethin’ tells me I’ll have folks around to keep me sane.”

“Oh, just try and keep us away.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Owen started to speak, but stopped. Charlotte noticed, and suddenly asked her brother, “Are you allowed to eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” She swiped at her cheek, smearing a tear away as she rose from the chair. “I’ll go get you somethin’. Any preferences?”

“Nah. Whatever they’ve got. Thanks, Lottie.”

She bent down and kissed his head. Owen watched as Billy’s lip quivered, pain and gratitude in his eyes. The intense vulnerability of reunited siblings, a rekindled love that he still didn’t know how to carry. It meant so much that it hurt. Then she was gone, walking out. He sniffed, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.

Owen kissed him. Because he could, because he needed to, because Billy needed it as well.

Then he eased back into his seat, still holding Billy’s hand, and willed himself to be brave. When he did speak, his voice was soft above the hospital’s never-ending ambience.

“I realized that I never… I was afraid to say it before, I don’t know why. Seems so stupid now, to have hesitated, and… when I heard what happened, I was worried that I’d never be able to tell you…”

“I love you?” The question was gentle, teasing. Billy lay his head back on the pillow and smiled, so languid and so happy. Waiting for Owen to catch up to what Billy already knew.

“Yeah,” Owen agreed, joy blooming in his chest, “Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too, New York.”

That old nickname sounded so ridiculous, so funny considering how far they’d come since those days. Owen laughed. He remembered standing in the shower, Billy’s body pressed against his, the thrill and happiness of hearing that Billy also craved the intimacy of exclusivity. He remembered the happiest moments they’d shared, the first time he’d ever told anybody about the nightmares which plagued him. The distance they’d travelled together.

They kissed again. The world felt right.

“I’ve been sittin’ on it, too,” Billy confessed when they parted, when the moment of celebration calmed enough to make way for conversation, “Even told your son.”

“You told TK that you love him?”

“No, that’s not what-” Billy saw that Owen was messing with him and shook his head, chuckling. “You goddamn idiot.”

“I told Mateo that I was in love with you, too,” Owen admitted, “Didn’t even mean to, it just happened.”

“But it took me gettin’ skewered for either of us to say it directly, huh.” Billy stiffened. His spare hand moved to his belly, to the beginnings of pain which snuck past numbness when he laughed. Which reminded Owen of the terrible event that had led them here.

“Who was it?” The question came out timid, frightened. As though Owen didn’t really want the answer. But he heard the anger, too; the rage which hadn’t properly started to build, distracted by panic and fear, which would grow as he witnessed the damage to Billy’s body. “Who did this to you?”

Billy’s smile disappeared. In an instant, he looked older. Wearied.

“Some kid. A boy, I think.” His gaze became distant, listless. Owen watched for fear but didn’t see it. All he saw was sadness. Billy softly continued, “Heroin user, I’d say. New to bein’ a mugger. Just as scared as I was. I don’t think he wanted to do it. He was…”

“You’re safe now,” Owen offered, because he thought that would help.

“I hope he’s okay,” Billy murmured, as if he hadn’t heard Owen at all, “I tried to talk to him. Said I could help. But he…”

Owen waited for more, but Billy couldn’t summon anything further. He closed his eyes, features racked with pain. Not physical pain, Owen realized. Sorrow.

“I wanna go home,” he whispered.

“Soon as you're well enough, I'll take you home. I promise."

Billy nodded. The sorrow remained.

“Tell me what to do,” Owen begged, “Tell me how to help you, Billy. Please.”

“Just stay. Stay here with me.”

Chapter Text

Hello everyone!

Apologies to those of you who thought this would be a new chapter, especially subscribers who were notified of an update. I appreciate all of your comments and positivity, and I wish I could keep up the pace I was maintaining at the start of this fic. I've been trying for over a month to update this story, but work is just too intense, and writing a short novel online is too much pressure with everything else that's going on. I'm putting this story on hiatus until I have the energy to continue it! I've been planning fluff, smut, romance, and friendship scenes, and I'm sure I'll get to them eventually... But, right now, that would be biting off more than I can chew. I hope you're all doing well in your respective countries, situations, and lives! I know there's a lot happening right now. I wish you all the best ❤️

Cheers,
Budgie.