Chapter Text
The locker room at Station 118 smelled like soap and sweat and the particular brand of exhaustion that came after a twelve-hour shift. Buck sat on the bench, his gear bag open beside him, staring at the small white pill in his palm like it held the weight of his entire carefully constructed world.
Which, in a way, it did.
"You coming to drinks, Buckaroo?" Chimney's voice echoed off the metal lockers, cheerful and oblivious. "Eddie found this new place with craft beer and terrible karaoke. Right up your alley."
Buck's fingers closed around the suppressant, muscle memory from fifteen years of this same ritual. Pop the pill. Swallow it dry. Pretend it was vitamins or allergy medication or anything other than the chemical leash that kept his omega biology locked away.
"Yeah, maybe." The lie came easily. Buck had gotten good at lies. "Just need to finish up here."
Hen appeared around the corner, towel-drying her hair, her beta scent neutral and comforting. She studied Buck with sharp eyes that saw too much. "You sure you're okay? You seemed off today."
Buck's chest tightened. Off was putting it mildly. The suppressants had been fighting him for weeks now—headaches that split his skull, nausea that had nothing to do with the questionable firehouse coffee, and underneath it all, a restless ache that made his skin feel too small.
His body was starting to remember what it had been designed for. What he'd been denying it since he was seventeen and desperate to be anything other than what biology had decided for him.
"I'm fine. Just tired."
Hen's expression said she didn't believe him, but she didn't push. That was the thing about working with people who ran toward danger for a living—they understood boundaries, even when they worried about what those boundaries might be hiding.
"Alright. But Buck?" She paused in the doorway. "You know you can talk to us, right? Whatever it is."
The kindness in her voice made Buck's throat tight. If only it were that simple. If only he could just say the words— I'm an omega, I've been lying to all of you for years, and I'm pretty sure my suppressants are failing —and trust that nothing would change.
But things always changed. People looked at you differently when they knew. They either got protective and condescending, or predatory and possessive, or they just... left. Buck had learned that lesson the hard way.
"I know. Thanks, Hen."
She smiled, that warm expression that had made Buck feel like he belonged here from his first day. "See you tomorrow, kid."
The locker room emptied out gradually—Bobby's measured footsteps, Eddie's quick stride, the sound of engines starting in the parking lot. Buck waited until the station fell quiet around him before he finally moved, his legs unsteady as he made his way to the bathroom.
The pill went down hard, scraping against his throat like an accusation. Buck gripped the sink, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. Same face he'd always had, but lately there were shadows under his eyes that makeup couldn't hide, a thinness to his features that spoke of a body under siege.
How much longer could he keep this up? The suppressants were getting stronger, but so was his biology. Eventually, something was going to give.
His phone buzzed against the counter. Text message from an unknown number, which usually meant work—a callback, overtime, someone looking to trade shifts. Buck almost ignored it, but something made him pick it up.
Hey, this is Tommy. We met at the scene yesterday—harbor rescue. Wondered if you might want to grab dinner sometime?
Buck's breath caught. Tommy. The helicopter pilot with steady hands and kind eyes, who'd worked alongside Buck to pull three people from a capsized boat. The alpha whose scent had made Buck's carefully suppressed instincts sit up and take notice for the first time in... ever.
Buck had been avoiding alphas since he presented. They were too complicated, too intense, too likely to figure out what he was hiding. He dated betas mostly—safe, uncomplicated people who didn't trigger the biology he worked so hard to suppress. The few omegas he'd been with had been disasters, both of them too wound up in their own suppressant cycles to make anything work.
But Tommy...
Tommy had smelled like cedar and rain and something Buck couldn't quite name. Something that made his omega hindbrain purr with interest despite the chemical dampening. And when their eyes had met across the rescue boat, Buck had felt something shift in his chest that had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with the quiet competence in Tommy's voice, the way he'd treated Buck like an equal instead of something to be protected or claimed.
Buck's fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. He should delete the message, block the number, pretend Tommy Kinard didn't exist.
Instead, he typed: I'd like that.
The response came back almost immediately: Great. I know a place. Tomorrow at seven?
Buck's heart hammered against his ribs. One dinner. What could it hurt?
It's a date.
The words sent a thrill through him that the suppressants couldn't quite muffle. Buck pocketed his phone and finished packing his gear, trying to ignore the way his hands shook unsure if its with anticipation or anxiety.
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Buck's apartment had never felt so small. He paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again, his skin buzzing with an energy that had nothing to do with the two beers he'd nursed over dinner and everything to do with the way Tommy had looked at him across the candlelit table.
Like Buck was fascinating. Like he was worth listening to. Like the stories Buck told—about the firehouse, about his sister, about the conspiracy theories that kept him up at night researching—actually mattered.
No alpha had ever looked at Buck like that. Hell, most people didn't look at Buck like that.
His phone sat on the counter where he'd dropped it, Tommy's last text still glowing on the screen: Had a great time tonight. Sleep well, Evan.
Evan. Not Buck, not Buckley, but the name Tommy had used all evening in that low, careful voice that made Buck's suppressant-dampened instincts purr with something dangerously close to contentment.
The restaurant had been perfect—small, intimate, the kind of place where you could actually talk without shouting over music or crowd noise. Tommy had chosen well. He'd chosen everything well, from the beer that they shared to the way he'd walked Buck to his truck afterward, close enough that Buck could smell cedar and rain and something uniquely alpha that made his knees weak.
"I should probably mention," Tommy had said, leaning against Buck's driver's side door with a smile that was equal parts confident and nervous, "I'd really like to see you again."
Buck's heart had done something acrobatic in his chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. If you're interested."
Interested. Buck was so interested it scared him. Interested enough to forget all his carefully constructed rules about alphas and safety and keeping his biology locked away where it couldn't complicate things.
"I'm interested," Buck had heard himself say, and the smile that spread across Tommy's face had been worth every risk Buck was taking just by being there.
Tommy had leaned in then—slow, careful, giving Buck every opportunity to pull away. Instead, Buck had met him halfway, their lips touching in a kiss that was soft and questioning and absolutely perfect. No grabbing, no possessive claiming, just... connection. Sweet and tentative and tasting like the beer they'd shared.
When they'd broken apart, Tommy's scent had shifted slightly—warmer, more complex, threaded with something that might have been affection. But no territorial marking, no alpha dominance. Just a man who'd enjoyed kissing Buck and wasn't afraid to show it.
"Dinner Friday?" Tommy had asked, his thumb brushing against Buck's chin.
"It's a date."
Now Buck stood in his empty apartment, that kiss replaying in his mind on endless loop, and tried to figure out what the hell he was doing. This was exactly the kind of situation he'd spent fifteen years avoiding. Alphas were complicated. They got possessive, they got jealous, they tried to control everything around them including the people they claimed to care about.
But Tommy...
Tommy had held doors without making it feel condescending. He'd asked questions about Buck's work, his interests, his opinions, and actually listened to the answers. When the server had accidentally brought Buck the wrong entrée, Tommy had simply caught their attention and politely asked for the correction—no alpha posturing, no aggressive displays, just quiet competence that had made Buck's omega hindbrain sit up and take notice.
His phone buzzed. Another text from Tommy: Hope I didn't keep you out too late. Looking forward to Friday.
Buck stared at the message, his chest tight with something that felt dangerously like hope. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Not too late. Me too.
The response was immediate: Sweet dreams, Evan.
Buck set the phone down with hands that weren't quite steady. Sweet dreams. Like Tommy actually cared whether Buck slept well, whether he was comfortable, whether he was happy.
When was the last time anyone had cared about Buck's dreams?
He made his way to the bathroom, going through the motions of his nightly routine—teeth brushed, face washed, the day's tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders. But when he reached for the pill organizer on his bathroom counter, he hesitated.
The suppressants stared back at him, innocent white tablets that had been his lifeline for fifteen years. His insurance policy against biology, against vulnerability, against the kind of complications that came with letting people see what he really was.
But tonight, for the first time in longer than he could remember, Buck found himself wondering what it would feel like to let his guard down. Just a little. Just enough to see what happened when he stopped fighting his own instincts quite so hard.
Frowning at himself in the mirror for getting his hopes up again Buck picked up the pill and dry-swallowed it, the familiar ritual grounding him back in reality. But even as the suppressant settled in his stomach, he could feel something shifting underneath the chemical dampening
Buck turned off the bathroom light and padded to his bedroom, Tommy's scent still clinging faintly to his shirt from when they'd stood close by his truck. He should probably shower, wash away the evidence of the evening, reset his boundaries for tomorrow.
Instead, he fell into bed still wearing the clothes Tommy had complimented, breathing in cedar and rain and the lingering memory of hands that had touched him like he was something precious, hope gently unfurling in that space behind his ribs. But even as Buck drifted toward sleep, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered warnings. Alphas were dangerous. They got possessive. They changed everything they touched, and not always for the better.
But Buck was tired of second guessing himself, tired of always being just on the edge of trust but never all the way there. He pressed his nose into his shirt collar and breathed in Tommy's scent, forcing the muscles tensing in his shoulders to relax, closed his eyes and let himself just feel, suppressants and common sense be damned.
Some risks were worth taking.
Some people were worth the fall and Buck is starting to think Tommy might just be one of those people.
---------------------------------------------------
It took three months. Three months of dinner dates and stolen kisses and long conversations that stretched until dawn. Three months of Tommy's careful courtship, his patient navigation of Buck's defensive reactions and sudden retreats, the way he went all in and then pulled away. Three months of falling deeper into something that felt suspiciously like love.
Buck stood in his apartment leaning against his island with a fond smile and a feeling like he was about to puke, watching Tommy move around the kitchen with easy familiarity, making coffee like he belonged there. The scent of Tommy's aftershave mixing with his natural scent usually settled Buck's nerves. Tonight, it made his stomach twist into impossible knots.
He'd been rehearsing words that felt like glass in his throat, waiting for the right moment that never seemed to come. The suppressants were failing more frequently now, leaving him nauseated and shaky, his control slipping at the worst possible times. Soon, Tommy would notice. Soon, Tommy would figure out what Buck had been hiding.
Better to tell him first. Better to have some control over how this conversation went.
Tommy turned and slid him a mug of coffee and a plate of eggs across the island, looking so goddamn perfect and approachable Buck just wanted to curl up in his arms and forget what he had to do. Tommy, with his hair still damp from his shower, that soft gray t-shirt clinging to his shoulders had Buck gritting his teeth and forcing himself not to fold in, not to make himself smaller. Tommy’s scent shifted slightly, concern threading through the familiar warmth as he frowned slightly getting that little furrow between his eyebrows that Buck adored.
"What is it?"
Buck's breath caught. Tommy's voice was gentle, but there was alertness underneath, the way he sounded when dispatch called with something serious. Buck's omega instincts wanted to retreat, to soothe, to lie again. Instead, he forced himself to stay rooted in place.
"It's about me. About who I am. And I-I know this might change things between us, but I can't keep lying anymore."
Tommy stepped closer, and Buck caught the full weight of his scent—alpha musk barely restrained by expensive blockers, protective and questioning at once. "Evan, whatever it is—"
"I'm an omega."
The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Buck's heart hammered against his ribs so hard he was sure Tommy could hear it. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of months of deception, of suppressants and careful scheduling and constant, exhausting vigilance.
Tommy's face went through several expressions in quick succession—surprise, consideration, something that might have been relief and then finally “Okay."
Buck blinked. His omega senses, freed from the constant chemical dampening, picked up every nuance of Tommy's reaction. No anger. No predatory satisfaction. Just... acceptance?
"Okay? That's... that's it? Just...okay?"
Tommy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying Buck with those impossibly steady eyes. "What did you expect me to say?"
Buck's laugh came out hysterical around the edges. "I don't know. I-I thought you might be angry that I didn't tell you sooner. Or maybe you'd want to... I don't know, claim me or something. Isn't that what alphas do?"
Something dangerous flickered in Tommy's expression—not anger, but something deeper. Sadder. "Sure.Some do.” He nods before continuing “I'm not some."
Buck's knees felt weak. The relief was almost worse than the anxiety had been, leaving him hollow and shaking. "But you're an alpha. I can smell it on you, even through your blockers."
"And you're an omega who's been hiding it so well I didn't know until you told me. What does that tell you?" Tommy shot back his tone picking up that little hint of mocking bitchiness that normally delights Buck but right then threw him off balance.
Buck swallowed hard. His throat felt raw, like he'd been screaming. "That I'm good at lying?" He hates how small and weak that comes out.
Tommy pushed off from the doorframe, crossing the space between them in three measured steps. His scent wrapped around Buck like a blanket—warm, reassuring, tinged with something Buck was afraid to name.
"Hmmm, Or that you're more than your designation. Same as me."
The words hit Buck like a physical blow, but in the best possible way. For the first time in what felt like forever could breathe freely. Tommy knew, and Tommy was still here, still looking at Buck like he was something worth staying for.
"I love you," Buck whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I know it's too soon to say that, but I do. I love you, and I was so afraid that when you found out what I was, you'd—"
Tommy's mouth covered his, cutting off the spiral of panic with lips that tasted like promises. The kiss was different from all the others. It was deeper, more certain, carrying the weight of truth finally spoken.
When they broke apart, Tommy's forehead rested against Buck's, his scent warm with affection and something fiercer, more claiming.
"I love you too, Evan. All of you."