Chapter Text
Sal has been accused of being an asshole, and there's some merit to that, he's sure. Gina's also sure of it, but she's retreated to a different part of the house, while Tommy is here, pouring his heart out on the couch - drowning out the game Sal would much rather be watching.
See, this conversation? Far too touchy feely even for Gina, yet Sal is here, forced to endure it. That should earn him some get out of asshole free points, somewhere. But maybe not, because maybe the scale is balanced by the fact that Sal would really, really like Tommy to either do something about Buckley or find someone else to fuck.
"You know, telling me how much you love the guy isn't going to bring him back," Sal says. "You could maybe go to his couch, and tell him. That might do the trick."
"I can't," Tommy says solemnly, taking another drink of his beer. Sal's not quite sure what number that beer is - which is a bad sign, actually. He should probably keep track. But dammit, he isn't married to Tommy. That's not his job.
"And why the fuck not?"
"I'm his first. I can't be his last, too. Evan wasn't ready and I should have - "
"For fuck's sake, Kinard, I am this close to volunteering to fuck the man myself so he can 'be ready for you' - whatever the fuck that means."
He knows what it means, of course. Sal was there for the Owen debacle. But they don't talk about that.
Tommy scowls at him. "First of all, you're married."
"Yeah, but you know it's open and all that." Sal had dropped enough hints. Tommy doesn't ever pick up on them, and hey, maybe that hurts Sal's feelings, but at a certain point, you have to just accept that you aren't someone's type and move on, because apparently Tommy's type is all sunshine and rainbow self-sacrificing golden boys over at the 118. Good for Tommy, and Sal would be happy for his friend, and not bitter at all, if Tommy would just get his shit together about it. "And really open, all healthy like, not like what you and that Clark woman probably would have ended up doing."
Tommy has the audacity to glare at him, as if he hasn't been sitting on his couch, drinking his beer, and crying over some little love interest that Tommy dumped. "You aren't gay. You aren't bi. You're very boring and very straight."
Well, that used to be true. So what if it isn't anymore. Maybe if Tommy hadn't been having a multiple year crisis with his love life, Sal could have done away with the fucking hints and just been as blunt as he was about everything else. But at this stage, Tommy is so oblivious to Sal's hints that Sal is pretty sure he could give the man a lap dance, and he wouldn't fucking get the point.
"You're a dumbass and very drunk." Sal rolls his eyes. "I would invent a new fucking level on the Kinsey scale if it would get you to get your shit together and quit crying on my couch, I swear to Christ."
"That's not how sexuality works," Tommy says, all bitchy and self-righteous, and Sal thinks about shoving his tongue down the man's throat just to win the argument. But hell, he isn't about to come in second place to some scrappy ass mook over at the 118, so he doesn't.
"Well, I'm sorry I didn't graduate from Tommy Kinard's University of How to Be Gay Correctly," Sal says. "Maybe make a pamphlet and give one to the next confused toad you kiss and turn into a gay prince."
"Bisexual prince," Tommy corrects. "And I don't want anyone else."
"Jesus fucking Christ."
Sal is an asshole, because he ignores him for the rest of the game. But he tries to balance the score by letting him sleep off the untold number of beers on the couch.
By the time that Sal wakes up for work the next morning, Tommy's already left.
"He had to go to work," Gina says. "He wanted to leave a little early, with these storms. You should leave early, too. Give yourself extra time to get to the station."
Sal glances out the window and can't find it in him to argue. Those clouds look terrible.
"Wonder how many dumbass lightning calls we are going to get today?" he ponders.
"That's a good way to jinx yourself," Gina says.
She's right, of course.
The first thing Sal thinks when he's struck by lightning is this is definitely my punishment for being such a dick to Tommy. The second thing he thinks is wasn't Buckley struck by lighting a few years back?
Which means, of course, it really is his divine punishment for being such a dick to Tommy. Fortunately, he doesn't have to feel very bad about that for very long, because getting struck by lightning tends to knock you out pretty damn fast.
When Sal wakes again, he is at the 122, being shaken awake by Alvarez.
This is ... odd for several reasons. One, Alvarez transferred out of the 122 five years ago. Two, Alvarez was too good of a paramedic than to just toss Sal onto a bench after being struck by lightning.
"Why the fuck am I not in the hospital?" Sal asks. "Not that I'm not grateful, because I'd rather not have to call Gina and let her know I got struck by lightning. Also, what the fuck are you doing here?"
Alvarez stares at him. "I work here. I have since long before Nash got sick of your face and sent you packing. What lightning? We've been here ... all morning."
All morning? Those storms had lasted all fucking day, and it had been eight hours into Sal's shift by the time that he'd been struck. "You haven't worked here in five years, Alvarez, and - "
Sal is interrupted by the voice of Captain Petrillo, who sticks his head around the corner of the lockers. "You still here, Deluca? You can't schedule PTO for a fancy lunch with Kinard and then hang around my station. That's a violation and the union will be on my ass."
Sal blinks at the man, and then back at Alvarez. Petrillo left just after Alvarez, leaving a sweet opening in the captain's spot that Sal had seized immediately. And the only time Sal had taken PTO for a "fancy lunch" with Tommy had been in 2018, after Tommy had transferred out of the 118 and gotten more comfortable with who he was.
"Well, Deluca? What are you waiting for? Get out of here. I don't want to see you back in my station until tomorrow!"
What was Sal supposed to do? Petrillo had the kind of temper that put Sal's to shame - probably why Nash had sent him to the station in the first place, to give him a bit of humble pie - and even if this is a crazy dream brought on by being struck by lightning, Sal has no desire to sit around and listen to Petrillo bitch.
"Yeah, yeah. There's a pizza calling my name," he says. "See you around, Alvarez."
Alvarez looks at him a little funny, then shrugs. "Don't get struck by lightning," he says.
"Nobody's going to miss you when you transfer, Alvarez," Sal retorts, which is a lie, but this is all probably some crazy delusional dream anyway.
Crazy delusional dream or not, it's not like Sal can just sit around the fake firehouse and chat with Alvarez and Petrillo. He didn't even like them all that much the first time around, and he doesn't know why his mind would conjure them up again, even when scrambled by lightning. So he heads out to his truck and begins to drive towards the pizza place that Tommy had picked, six years ago.
Halfway there, his phone rings. It's Gina, calling just as she did, six years ago.
"I'm just calling to remind you about my date with Lacey tonight," she says. "So you'll be on your own for dinner for the kids tonight."
Lacey doesn't end up working out; Lacey, as it turns out, ends up moving to Seattle to start up some sort of dispensary or some nonsense. Sal had patted Gina's hair and sat through an entire rewatch of the fucking Twilight Saga while she'd cried about it.
"Try not to fall too hard," he warns, which is a dumb thing to say, in a dream, but it's his dream, so he can say whatever he wants.
"I never do," she says, and even in a crazy dream, he knows better than to argue with his wife. "Say hi to Tommy for me."
"I will," he vows, even though he knows most of the conversation will be Tommy stressing out about shit he never needed to stress out about because Sal already fucking knew it, anyway.
The little restaurant is as empty as Sal remembers. There's barely any wait staff, and the gift of time makes Sal wonder if, in fact, Tommy had planned it that way - in case Sal made a scene. Now, Tommy should have known better, and god knows, Sal had dropped enough hints. But if the scene in the Deluca living room the night before is anything to go by, Tommy's ability to pick up hints is complete shit.
Tommy is waiting on him, with their beers and pizza already ordered. Half of Tommy's beer is already gone.
"Hey, I thought maybe you weren't coming," Tommy says as Sal sits down.
"Sorry, I got ambushed at the station, and then again on the phone by Gina," Sal says, and he takes a sip of his beer. "Am I that late?"
"Fifteen minutes," Tommy says, and there's a tightness around his mouth that has nothing to do with the amount of time that Sal is late, so Sal lets it go.
"Sorry," Sal says. "Wanna come back to the station and kick Alvarez's ass?"
The line around Tommy's mouth mellows out a little. "I'll pass," he says. "Look, I'm glad you made it, though. There's something important I need to talk to you about. You know Abby and I broke up about a year ago, and - "
"It's because you're gay," Sal interrupts, and takes another drink of his beer.
Tommy stares at him. "I - Well. Yes. How." They're questions, but they're also whispers.
The thing is, Sal remembers this Tommy, but he doesn't really remember this Tommy. Because this Tommy is uncertain and fiddles with his napkin, even as he has to tell Sal the news he's been planning on telling him for a month now - news that he's been sharing with everyone at his new station for much longer than that.
("It was easier to come out to strangers than people who mattered," Tommy had told him once, and Sal had told him he was an idiot.)
"Did someone at - " Tommy clears his throat. "Someone from 217 told you."
It's no longer question, it's a declaration of betrayal, of the strangers that he has trusted, and he has such a wounded puppy look that Sal can't stand it, crazy dream or not.
"No, nobody told me. Look, I suspected for a long time, and then the Abby crash and burn thing happened. Hell, think of all the hints I dropped when we still worked together. The stupid Twilight joke alone. How did you ever not figure out that I knew already?"
Tommy frowns, and it's new - something Sal's brain has to conjure up, because this isn't exactly what happened in the real world. "No," he says quietly. "I thought you were just being a homophobic dick."
Well, that's something that Tommy's never told him. Though, hell, maybe it's true. Maybe it's true and maybe that's why Tommy never quite figures out all the fucking hints that Sal keeps dropping about the fact that he, too, likes a bit of dick now and then. He hadn't known it when they'd actually met in this pizza place, six years ago - he and Gina had both just been fucking other girls at that point - so he hadn't had the opportunity to say so. Maybe it would have made a difference.
What the hell, maybe he'll just do a do-over. It's his dream. He can do what he wants.
"Well, I hate to piss on your rainbow, Tommy, but I like boys, too," Sal says with a shrug. "So your homophobia-dar is broken."
Tommy sits back in the booth, like Sal had smacked him. "Bullshit," he says.
"Oh, Jesus Christ. I had forgotten that you really are determined to never let yourself be happy," Sal grumbles. "I'm gonna go pay your dad a visit and personally punch him in the nose. I'm bisexual, you clueless jackass. Gina is also bisexual. Open marriage is a thing that you are never going to figure out, because you are sometimes insufferably still stuck in either the DADT or your old man's house."
Tommy continues to stare at him, as if he might have grown two heads. It makes Sal feel bad, even though this is all just a fucked up dream. Okay, so he maybe he fucked up his friend's coming out speech.
Maybe he's an asshole, even in his dream. Dammit. This is why he gets struck by lightning.
"I'm sorry," he says to dream-Tommy.
"Wanting monogamy doesn't make me a prude," Tommy says huffily.
"Of course not."
"I'm also not bi."
"I know. You've never looked at a woman's ass the way you look at a man's ass. To me that's like wanting pizza that only has cheese, and no sauce, but hey, whatever floats your boat."
Tommy scowls. He wasn't angry when they had this conversation, originally. Sal is really fucking up this time around. He hopes he wakes up soon. He tries pinching himself. It doesn't do anything.
"Look, I support you and all that shit. Anyone ever gives you any shit, let me know, and I will kick their ass. Isn't that what you want to hear?"
"I was in the army. I know Muay Thai. I can kick their ass."
"But it's more fun together," Sal protests. "Why don't you want me to have any fun?"
At that, Tommy smiles a little. "Anyway, speaking of monogamy, I've met someone."
Oh, no. Fucking Owen. Sal remembers Owen, and all his fuckery. Owen is in fact the root of all the reasons Tommy was sitting on his couch last night, crying about Buckley. Owen, who promised to be the best boyfriend, and who had been the first serious boyfriend. "The first and last," he'd said. Fucking Owen.
"Oh, yeah?" Sal says.
"Yeah," Tommy says. "He's ... he's really great. I keep waiting on him to have some big, crazy flaw, right? But it's been two months now, and he's just ... so great."
Fuck. And Sal wants to tell Tommy that Owen is a big fucking mistake, but he can't do that, because...even in fake dreamland, he can't stand the thought of telling Tommy that his first real boyfriend is a piece of shit.
But oh, Owen is a piece of shit.
Maybe Sal can kick his ass on the way to kicking Kinard Sr.'s ass. This dream is running a little long, maybe it will let him do that.
"I'm glad," he says, instead, and Tommy smiles at him, all goofy and ridiculous, and yup, this is definitely his punishment for being a dick last night.
Sal goes home. He lays down on the couch, wondering why the hell this fucking dream hasn't ended yet.
He plays around on his phone, which ... seems very detailed for a dream phone, actually.
He gets bored of that, and goes out to the garage to mess around. He spends hours - according to the clock on the wall - fucking around, reorganizing shit that Gina asked him to take care of two years ago. By the time that the kids come home from soccer and swim practice, he's actually starting to feel the pull in his muscles from ... well, moving shit around.
That's crazy. Who feels muscle cramps in their fucking dreams?
The question annoys him so much that he orders pizza for dinner. It's a bit much to have pizza twice in a day, but it's not like his kids have had it twice today, and anyway, this isn't real.
By the time Gina comes home, gushing about how wonderful Lacey is, the dream still hasn't ended, he's tired. Who gets tired in their dreams?
"You alright?" she asks as she brushes her hair. "You seem out of it tonight. The kids mentioned it, too. And hey, don't think I didn't appreciate the fact that you finally got around to the garage, but that's a bit weird too."
"Oh, yeah?" Sal says, because even in his dreams, it's rude to ignore your wife. And he's pretty sure that even in his dreams, his wife would kick his ass.
"Mm. Gia said it was weird that you didn't lecture them about homework. Rocco was overjoyed that you let them have pizza without an argument, but said it was weird."
"I've let them have pizza before," Sal grumbles. "How was your date?"
She smiles, in the same way that Tommy smiled about fucking Owen, which fits, because Lacey and Owen are both pieces of shit masquerading as human beings. The difference is that Gina will move on and past Lacey, and Owen will continue to be a nuisance.
"My date was wonderful," Gina says. "How was your lunch date with Tommy?"
"He finally came out. Why won't that man believe that I'm bi?" Sal says, as if he hasn't asked this exact question of Gina before, when he was actually awake.
"Maybe he's just not ready to accept the fact that he could have had you on his side all this time," Gina says with a shrug. "Maybe that's how he deals with the fact that he was stuck in the closet all by himself when he could have ... not been."
The same self-sacrificing trait that had led Tommy to crying on his couch, Sal thinks - which in turn had led to Sal's punishment of getting struck by lightning and being stuck with this crazy, never ending dream.
"Sal," Gina says. "I don't want to talk about Tommy or Lacey anymore. Do you?"
It takes him a moment to figure out what she's talking about, but then his brain catches up, and they have the most realistic sex Sal has ever had in his dreams.
Afterwards, he lies back in the bed and looks at the wall clock that hangs above the television in their room. That clock had fallen down during the pandemic - well, Rocco had been trying to help him move the television, and ended up knocking it off the wall. The cheap old thing had broken into about five different pieces.
It looks both very detailed - for a dream - and causes a weird unsettling feeling in his gut.
He wakes up the next morning in his bed, right next to Gina.
The clock that shouldn't be there is still there.
"Dad!" Gia calls from the other side of the bedroom door. "You up? We have the early morning swim practice. You said you'd drop me off on the way to the station so I didn't have to take the stinky bus!"
He feels so tired. Who the fuck feels tired in a dream?
But whatever. You follow a dream through, until it ends, and you wake up, right?
So Sal gets up, gets dressed, takes the kids to school, and goes to work.
A day of work turns into a week, and Sal starts to think that perhaps he is not in a dream.
But if that's not what's going on, then what on Earth is happening?
"You're aware this sounds crazy, right?" Gina says. "Did you inhale any smoke this week? Hit your head?"
"Jesus fucking Christ. No, Gina, I didn't. I swear to you, everything I just told you is true," Sal answers. "I'm aware that it sounds nuts."
Gina wraps her hands around her cup of coffee and shakes her head. "Time travel? Basically, a Groundhog's day, except ... in reverse? Did you steal the Enterprise too?"
"Christ, I wish I had. I could at least get back home that way," Sal mutters.
"Look, your job is stressful. Maybe you should talk to - "
"I don't need to talk to someone. Look, I'll prove it. Fuck. I am going to be an asshole for the second fucking time in two weeks, but that's hardly a record. Here it is. Lacey is going to break your heart in about six months. You're going to come home, drink half a bottle of that cheap CVS rum, and tell me that she was 'worse than Chelsea.' I don't know who the fuck Chelsea is, because that is the first and last time you ever fucking mentioned Chelsea."
He sees Gina's eyes widen a bit, then hears her mutter, "Well, what the fuck, Sal."
"What the fuck is what I have been saying all week," Sal tells her. "I think I'm being punished for being a dick to Tommy."
"For being a dick when he came out?"
"No, I wasn't a dick when he came out the first time," Sal answers. "I don't think so anyway? No, he was crying about some guy he broke up with, because he's still in love with Buckley, and you know... I was a dick."
Gina frowns. "I only believe you about 33%, you know."
"That's about 33% more than anyone should believe me, honestly."
"You think you got struck by lightning and sent back through time as punishment for not listening to Tommy about his break-up?" Gina repeats.
"I mean, maybe?" Sal says with a shrug. "Why the fuck not? You didn't see how happy Tommy was when they were together. I could have been ... nicer about it. Or you know, maybe this is just the straw that broke the camel's back and God finally got sick of my shit. It had to happen eventually. My nonna always said so."
Gina laughs. "Are you going to become a practicing Catholic now?"
"Do you think it would help? Do you think it would get me back home? Christ, I hate being under Petrillo. I might get kicked out before I ever make captain a second time. Do you think if I just go to church, the Big Guy will call it even?"
"You might get struck by lightning a second time," Gina says, with more amusement than is called for, but then she shakes her head. "Do you even remember how to pray?"
He's a little rusty at it. Fortunately, some other mook is in with the priest, so Sal is spared the drama of having to confess right now.
Sal is sitting there, in the pew, wondering if he's supposed to pray the rosary. His nonna always did. Should he confess?
What's the fucking point? Is a Hail Mary going to fix this? No!
Right, that probably isn't going to get him home. Which saint is he supposed to pray to? Fuck. He is so bad at being Catholic. Tommy used to be Catholic. Maybe Sal should call him and ask him how to do this. But no - Tommy's Catholicism is wrapped up in memories of that shitbag of a father, so that won't work.
This is a lost fucking cause - that's Jude, right? He remembers that much. His nonna did say that she would speak to Saint Jude about him. Often. Poor woman is still up in heaven, talking his ear off. If so, Saint Jude is pretty fucking useless, because he is six years out of whack.
Fuck.
Maybe he should skip Jude and appeal directly to Mary. This is a pretty big fuck up, all things considered. Maybe this is a fuck-up of Mary proportions.
Dear Mary, he thinks.I don't know how to do any of this. But I would really like to go home. Not home home, like where you are. But you know, my home. The pre-lightning strike home. I will apologize and do whatever else I need to do to Tommy Kinard. Just give me some kind of sign. Uh. Please? And thank you? Oh. Amen?
God, he sucks at this.
He looks up then, and who the fuck is walking down the aisle, but Bobby fucking Nash.
How to make a bad day worse, Sal thinks. Is this the Big Guy laughing at him? Telling him that he was such a dick his punishment never needs to fucking end? Fuck.
Nash sees him and seems startled. That's fair. Bobby is probably some sort of good little Catholic, the kind they grow in Nebraska, that grow up wanting to be priests and have settle for merely being perfect little goody two shoes captains who get cats out of trees and shit instead.
He bets Nash would never get struck by fucking lighting and thrown into a different timeline.
And because the punishment is never going to end, Bobby comes over to where Sal is sitting in the pew, and stands next to it.
"Sal," Nash says, hesitantly, as if he's not sure he should say anything at all. "It's good to see you. I wasn't aware you were Catholic."
What choice does Sal have? He has to be nice, right? He does! Otherwise, his ass will never get home. "Raised that way. Screwed up and lapsed along the way."
Nash nods. "I've had a few ... lapses of my own, over the years," he says.
That's fair. It probably gets too fucking cold to go to church in Nebraska and you just roll back over and stay under the covers instead. Sal can see it. "Well, I'm in a bit of a fu - ... pickle," he says. "Some things are going ... not great. My wife and my nonna would have told me to get to church and sort it out. So I guess that's what I'm doing. Unfortunately, I haven't been to church since I turned 18, so I'm pretty shi- terrible at it."
"Do you think confession would help? The priest is pretty great."
"Maybe. I'm kind of afraid he'll just tell me to do a Hail Mary or 12, and I think it requires a more hands-on fix."
Nash actually sits down next to him - of fucking course he does - and Sal lets him, because he's already on thin ice with the universe. So he won't get in a fight with Bobby Nash in a church.
"I'm not a priest, so I'm not qualified to tell anyone to do a Hail Mary. If you want to talk about it, I can listen," Nash offers.
Fuck. "Well. I was a dick - sorry. I was a jerk to Tommy."
"Tommy Kinard?"
Shit. "Yes. He was upset about ... a break-up. And I gave him some pretty great advice on how he could fix it, and he ignored it, so I just ignored him and ... well. I've had some bad luck since then. I think God is punishing me. To make me see the error of my ways." He looks at Bobby. "I suppose that sounds stupid."
"Some of it," Nash agrees, because he's a fucking prick. "But I understand the concept of penance."
"The department's golden boy? What could you know about penance?" Sal says, before he can stop himself. He sees Nash wince, and he sighs. "Sorry. That was a dick move. Sorry. Jesus. Jerk move."
"You were right the first time. And you're right. I don't think a Hail Mary would fix it. Maybe apologizing to Tommy would. He's a pretty forgiving guy."
"Tommy... is always forgiving. He's not - the problem is bigger than him. It has to do with his ex, a previous much worse ex, and the fact that I'm a dic- jerk," Sal answers.
Nash looks at him for a long time, and Sal figures that's probably fair. He wonders if Nash also knows that Tommy is gay, and if Nash knows that this is all some big, gay love drama. Do good little Catholics in Nebraska approve of big, gay dramas? Probably not.
Finally, Nash offers, "Then maybe your penance needs to be ... something that fixes the ... situation with his ex. Presumably the good one. Even if you can't get them back together, maybe fix their ability to communicate, so they can have some closure."
"If they could communicate, they wouldn't need closure. It's all Owen's fault anyway, for making Tommy think he couldn't be somebody's first and last, so - " Sal stops abruptly. Dammit. He just outted Tommy. He keeps fucking up. How many times has he been a terrible friend to Tommy now? He's never getting home.
But Nash looks neither confused nor disgusted. "You didn't out him, if that's what you're worried about. He already told me."
"What? When was this? Never mind. You're going to tell me he told you before me, then I'm going to be mad."
Nash laughs. "We both had ... complicated fathers." Shit fathers, in other words. "Anyway, maybe your penance can be getting Tommy to see that he's wrong."
But Sal has tried that, over and over and over again. He's told Tommy that hanging on to the damage that Owen did is some bullshit, and he should just move on and let it go, and if he wants to be with Buckley - and he clearly did - he should just do it. The only way to fix the situation would be to prevent Owen and Tommy from hooking up - which he was too late to do.
"Yeah, thanks," Sal says, because telling him his help was useless is furthering his dickishness, which won't help. "How's things at the 118?"
"Pretty good," Nash says. "Our new probie's been there about 6 months, and he's ... a lot. He's got a lot of promise, but some days... still, some people take a little bit of time to find themselves. He'll get there eventually."
"Some people take longer to find themselves than others," Sal says.
"I'm trying to have patience," Nash says with a chuckle, "Even if we would all like him to find himself a little earlier."
Wouldn't we all? Sal thinks. That would also solve all of Tommy's fucking problems, wouldn't it?
Shit.
Wouldn't it? If Buckley figured out that he was bisexual in 2018 with someone else, Tommy wouldn't be his "first and last." Tommy could just be his last. The situation would be solved, Sal's penance paid, and Sal could get home.
"That's genius," he says aloud.
Nash looks at him funny.
"You just give really good advice," he clarifies. "Thank you. Sorry I was such a dick when we worked together."
Nash gives a small smile. "Well, if there's anybody perfect, I haven't met them yet." He gives Sal a pat - an honest to god pat on the shoulder - before getting up. It's very weird, and in fact, the entire conversation is very weird.
But Sal has bigger and more important things on his mind right now - like the fact that he has to find Buckley, convince him he's bisexual, and fuck him so that Sal can get back home to the correct timeline.