Work Text:
The heat in San Angelo isn’t just a temperature; it’s a physical weight. As the rugged Jeep bounces over the scorched topography of West Texas, the sky above is a bruised purple, choked by the towering plumes of a wildfire that has turned thousands of acres of cedar and brush into a charcoal graveyard. As the three 118 firefighters finally arrive on the scene, stepping out into the haze, Buck immediately doubles over with a harsh, barking cough. He wipes soot from his forehead with the back of a gloved hand, his eyes watering instantly.
"Ohh, what’s up with the air?" Buck wheezes, his voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. He pulls at the collar of his turnouts, feeling the sweat already pooling in the small of his back.
Hen jumps down from the passenger side, her expression focused and professional despite the grueling travel. "It’s a wildfire, remember? That’s why we were here. Or did you think we flew halfway across the country for the barbecue?"
Buck shakes his head, squinting against the orange glow on the horizon. "I mean, the way it feels like I’ve been slapped with a wet towel. It's worse than Peru." He thinks back to his time in the Navy, the humid nights on the deck of a carrier, the heavy air of South America. This is different; it’s thick, angry, and smells of dying earth.
Eddie hops off the back of the Jeep, landing with the practiced ease of a man who spent years navigating terrain just like this in the Army. He looks at Buck with a half-smirk, though his eyes are soft with affection. "It’s called humidity. Welcome to Texas, Buck. I told you it wasn't just cowboys and tumbleweeds."
Buck playfully smacks the side of Eddie's head, a grin breaking through the soot on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Remind me why you left again?"
"The heat," Eddie quips, though his gaze lingers on Buck for a second longer than necessary, checking his breathing.
The air feels thick and claustrophobic, reminiscent of the heavy canvas coverings used to shield battlegrounds and war zones from the sun—a sensation both Buck and Eddie know too well from their previous lives in uniform. They move toward the command post, the roar of the fire in the distance sounding like a freight train that never ends. In their designated Work Zone, the teams begin to split up to coordinate with the local units. From a distance, Buck pauses, his eyes widening as he spots a woman with a shock of dark hair and a fierce, tactical grace. It’s Marjan Marwani. Buck feels a sudden, uncharacteristic jolt of being starstruck. He’s followed her on TikTok for months—FireFox, the legend who makes firefighting look like a high-octane action movie. He watches her for a beat too long before Eddie nudges him back to reality.
As the lines of command blur into collaborative chaos, Buck finds himself joined by T.K. Strand and Mateo Chavez. They are clearing a firebreak, the physical labor rhythmic and grueling. To pass the time and keep the adrenaline from curdling into exhaustion, the conversation turns to the only thing as heated as the fire: pop culture.
"I’m just saying," T.K. grunts, swinging a McLeod tool into the dry earth, "Captain America is a symbol, sure, but Iron Man has the tech. In a real-world scenario, Stark wins every time."
Buck wipes sweat from his eyes. "No way, man. Cap is a soldier. He’s got the tactical mind. He’s Navy SEAL-level discipline. Stark is just a billionaire in a tin suit."
Mateo interrupts, leaning on his shovel with a wide grin. "The important thing is that when they're together, no one can beat them... except maybe Thanos. And right now? This fire is Thanos. We’re the Avengers."
They all laugh, the sound a brief reprieve from the crackle of burning timber. The camaraderie is instant, born of shared trauma and the peculiar brand of madness required to do this job. They begin to trade "war stories," trying to one-up each other with the sheer absurdity of their careers.
"I had to climb a moving roller coaster once," Buck says, his chest puffing out slightly. "Had to reach a guy who was hanging on by his fingernails. And then, the guy just... let go. Total freefall. I nearly went over with him."
T.K. whistles, impressed. "Not bad. But last year? I had a woman trapped in a city bus that was literally sinking. She nearly drowned on me while I was trying to kick the glass out. Underwater firefighting—not in the handbook."
Buck counters immediately, a competitive glint in his blue eyes. "We had a bus rescue, too. Except ours wasn't in the water. It was hanging out of the fifth floor of an office building. I was dangling by a line, trying to keep the thing from tilting while we got the passengers out."
T.K. smirks, wiping a smudge of ash off his nose. "Okay, okay. But did you have an active volcano in the middle of your city last week? Because we did. Lava in the streets, Buck. Actual lava."
Buck opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, nodding in defeat. "Okay, you win the 'Natural Disaster Bingo' for today."
Meanwhile, a few hundred yards away, Eddie is working alongside Judd Ryder and Paul Strickland. The vibe is different—more grounded, filled with the low-frequency hum of seasoned veterans.
"Wait, you said you’re from El Paso originally?" Judd asks, his thick Texan drawl sounding like home to Eddie.
"Born and raised," Eddie confirms.
As they talk, they realize they grew up in the same circles and eventually discover they attended rival high schools. The ribbing is immediate.
"Oh, man," Judd laughs, shaking his head. "I remember your team. You guys played dirty. We used to call y'all the 'Sandstorms' because we couldn't see through the dust you kicked up while losing."
"Losing?" Eddie scoffs, though he's grinning. "Check the records, Ryder. We took the trophy in '08."
After what feels like an eternity of heat and labor, the two groups converge near the water station. The sun is beginning to dip, casting long, eerie shadows across the scorched earth. Judd and the 126 veterans approach Buck and T.K., who look like they’re already planning their next unsanctioned stunt.
Judd crosses his arms over his broad chest. "Hey, dumb ass, and dumb asser. Did you two stop and consider the consequences of what you’re about to do at all? I see you lookin' at that ridge. Don't even think about driving the brush truck up there."
Eddie walks up, wiping his face with a damp rag. "You obviously don’t know Buck, Judd. Telling him 'don't' is basically a formal invitation."
Marjan joins them, her eyebrows arched in that 'unimpressed' look she’s famous for. "You two didn’t seriously think that you would just take off and drive into the heart of a wildfire on your own, did you?"
T.K. looks at Buck, then back at Marjan, his expression remarkably innocent. "Yes?"
Paul steps forward, shaking his head. "Well, that ain’t going to happen."
Buck bristles, his competitive nature flaring. "Think you’re going to stop us?"
Mateo steps up beside T.K., a determined look on his face. "Stop you? We’re going with you."
The tension breaks into a moment of mutual understanding. If anyone understands what T.K. feels like—the constant drive to prove himself, the tendency to do reckless things and end up disappointing a father figure—it’s Buck. Buck had managed to disappoint both his biological parents and his various "adoptive" fathers along the way, but Bobby Nash had been the first one to truly see him. Buck gazes into the flickering orange of the distance, reminiscing quietly.
"I stole a fire truck once," he admits softly to T.K. "My first week. I thought I knew better than everyone else. I just wanted to save the world, and I almost lost the only home I’d ever found."
T.K. nods, his gaze darkening with memory. "I get it. My dad... Owen... he's always been there. Even when I've done a lot worse than stealing a truck." He doesn't have to say the word 'overdose'; the weight of the silence tells the story. They share a look—a brotherhood of the 'difficult' sons—that transcends state lines.
Later, as the fire is finally contained and the 118 prepares to head back toward their transport, Eddie approaches Marjan. He feels a bit like a teenager, but he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if he doesn't.
"Hey, Marjan? Can I get a picture?"
Marjan stops, pulling off her gloves. "A picture? Really? I thought you were the 'tough Army medic' type."
"You're THE FireFox," Eddie says, holding up his phone. "I need a picture of the two of us for Instagram."
Marjan looks at him, her expression deadpan, though there's a playful glimmer in her eyes. "If you want my phone number, Diaz, you could just ask. You don't need the 'son' excuse. I know I’m hard to resist in these turnouts."
Eddie laughs, genuine and warm, but completely misses the flirtatious bait. "No offense, you're amazing, but I really do want a picture to prove to my son that I actually met you. Christopher is your biggest fan."
Marjan’s face softens instantly. The "tough girl" persona melts away. "Oh? Your son watches the clips?"
"Yeah. My son and my husband are always watching you on TikTok. It’s a whole event at our house."
Marjan actually freezes. Her eyes dart from Eddie's face down to his left hand—where a ring is clearly visible through the grime. She blinks, the 'cool girl' mask slipping for a split second as she realizes she’s been flirting with a very married man who didn't even notice.
"Your... husband?" she repeats, her voice jumping an octave before she smoothly recovers. "Right. Your husband. Of course. Well, in that case, make sure he knows I do my own stunts."
Nearby, Buck is leaning against the Jeep when T.K. walks over. The adrenaline of the day is fading into a comfortable exhaustion. “Hey, Buck. You really put yourself out there today. Can’t thank you enough for the assist,” T.K. says, extending a hand.
Buck’s smile is genuine, and he shakes his head, dismissing the thanks. “It’s what we do, right? Neighborly help and all that. Ooh, hey, if you ever find yourself in LA, we should get together. Drinks on me.”
T.K.’s expression shifts slightly. He smiles a little too brightly, and a hint of a blush creeps up his neck, visible even under the soot. He misreads the "LA hospitality" for something else. “Sure. I gotta mention, though, I already have a boyfriend and it’s pretty serious, so… but it was really nice meeting you, man.”
Buck blinks, completely oblivious to the subtext of T.K.'s non-sequitor. He just lets out a boisterous laugh. “Well, bring him along! I already have a husband and a kid, so it’s pretty serious on my end, too. We can do a double date.”
T.K.’s eyes widen, and the pieces click into place. He lets out a small, relieved laugh, the tension draining from his shoulders. He looks at Buck, a sheepish, amused expression on his face. “…oh. Yeah. Wow. Okay. I’ll definitely talk to him.”
As if on cue, T.K.'s phone lights up in his pocket. Buck catches a glimpse of the screen: the name 'Carlos' glows above a photo of a handsome man in a uniform.
Wait... Carlos? Buck thinks to himself. Chimney was talking about a 'Carlos' from the Austin PD back in LA. He said the guy was a legend for some standoff last year. Aloud, he asks, "The boyfriend?"
"Yeah," T.K. nods, his voice softening with affection. "That's him. I should probably take this."
"He's a lucky guy," Buck says. "Take care, T.K."
T.K. steps away, pressing the phone to his ear. "Hey, babe," he says into the receiver, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone reserved for one person. "Yeah, we're all good. Just wrapping up. I missed you, too."
He’s already smiling softly, his eyes fixed on the distant sunset, lost in his conversation with Carlos. As T.K. is walking further away, still whispering into the phone, Eddie approaches Buck. The air is still hot, but the "work mode" has finally switched off. Eddie doesn't say anything. He just reaches out, taking Buck's face into his soot-stained hands. They haven't had a single moment of privacy all day—no time to be Evan and Edmundo, only Buck and Eddie. Eddie pulls him in, and Buck groans into the kiss, his fingers tangling in the dark, sweaty curls of Eddie's hair. For Buck, Eddie’s kisses aren't just a gesture; they are oxygen after a day of breathing smoke.
Across the dirt lot, T.K. happens to glance back. He’s mid-sentence—"Yeah, Carlos, I think I'm gonna be home for dinner..."—when he sees the two L.A. firefighters locked in a deep, desperate embrace. His eyes go wide. The phone nearly slips from his sweat-slicked hand, and he fumbles to catch it against his shoulder. "Uh... Carlos? Hang on a second." T.K. stares, his jaw hanging open as the connection finally makes sense. Buck's husband. Eddie is the husband.
The rest of the 126 are watching too. Judd’s jaw dropped slightly, and Marjan was smirking at T.K.’s shell-shocked expression. When the pair finally pulls apart, breathless and grinning, the oblivious idiots don't even notice the audience. They are locked in each other's orbit. Buck waves a final, energetic goodbye toward T.K.’s general direction, and Eddie tips an imaginary hat to Marjan as they climb into the Jeep, leaving the 126 to process the revelation as they head home to Los Angeles.