Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A match needs two chemical compounds to self-ignite. A strike-anywhere match contains both compounds in the match head -- it needs only friction to create the spark.

Patrick Brewer would always remember the first words ever spoken to him by the man who he would eventually marry, because they were “What the fuck are you doing? Are you an idiot?”

He straightened up, blinking dust and grime out of his eyes, a futile attempt given that he was standing in the middle of a destroyed store with a car through the front of it, holding a pneumatic cutter. The man who’d just called him an idiot was lurking on the sidewalk, peering in through the jagged hole in the storefront, dressed in expensive-looking shoes and massive white-framed sunglasses, his impressive eyebrows halfway to his hairline. “I’m baking a cake,” Patrick said, dryly, and went back to what he was doing.

“That car is basically holding up this part of the ceiling right now,” Eyebrow Guy said, gingerly stepping into the store, trying to avoid the debris. “If you cut there, the weight could shift and bring down the wall on top of it.”

Patrick looked up. The wall was definitely bowed in from the car’s impact. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a person trapped in here and this is the quickest way to get her out.”

“Quickest way to get her killed, and maybe you, too.”

“What?” The woman in the car was looking around with wide, shocked eyes. “I don’t wanna get crushed under a wall! Get me out of here!”

Eyebrow Guy bent over and gave her a quick once-over. “Shush. You’re fine.”

“She’s trapped in a car!” Patrick snapped.

“She’s not bleeding and you haven’t called for a stretcher, she’s fine.”

“I mean, he isn’t wrong,” said Ray, putting away his stethoscope. “She’s okay, except for a few scrapes. God bless airbags and German car design, am I right?” he said, chuckling.

“She’s not okay if she’s trapped in a crushed vehicle!” Patrick yelled.

“Oh my God, you’re so hostile!” Eyebrow Guy said. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Who the hell are you, anyway? This is an active rescue scene, who let you in here?”

“David Rose, city engineer. You need to cut her out from the top to keep that side of the car intact so the wall doesn’t cave in.”

Patrick looked, grinding his teeth as he realized that David Rose, whoever he was, might have a point. “Get out of the way,” he said, dragging the pneumatic cutters to the passenger side and going to work on the roof joints.

Rose sniffed, gave him a curt nod, and left the way he’d come, through the jagged gash in the front of the shop.

Once the woman in the car had been extracted and whisked off to the hospital, Patrick left the scene to the police, the tow trucks and the insurance adjusters and toted his equipment back out to the fire truck parked outside. He stowed the pneumatic cutters, spotting David Rose standing with Ronnie by her truck. Pique rising in his chest, he stalked over to them. “Okay, somebody wanna explain to me who this guy is and why he gets to barge into my rescue?”

Rose turned to face him, tipping his sunglasses up on top of his head. “Who are you, sturdy wee man? An intern, or something? Does the fire service have interns?”

“I’m Captain Brewer of the 315,” Patrick said, flatly. “I’m in charge here.”

“I believe District Chief Lee is in charge here,” Rose said, nodding at Ronnie. She put her hands up in a this is between y’all gesture. “And I’m here per the Mayor’s orders.”

Patrick blinked. “The Mayor’s orders.”

“Yes,” Rose said, his chin high. “He’s piloting a program where city engineers are present at accident and fire situations to see if our presence mitigates property damage and increases staff and public safety.”

“Uh huh. Something tells me that the order you listed those priorities isn’t an accident.” He looked at Ronnie. “Chief, we don’t need some engineer breathing down our necks when we’re trying to help an injured person or put out a fire.”

“I can see the use of it in some situations,” Ronnie said. “He wasn’t wrong about that wall in there.”

“Gosh, just the other night I was lying in bed thinking to myself, you know, what I really need is yet another person hovering over me and telling me how to do my job. I guess wishes really do come true.”

Rose recoiled. “My God. You are an unpleasant, sarcastic little man, aren’t you?”

Patrick sighed. “I won’t allow this...guy...to interfere with medical priorities.”

“No one’s saying he’s going to.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Rose said, irritably.

“You might be here for your mitigation or whatever but I don’t have to like it, and I’ll give your recommendations...due consideration,” he said, trying to drip his words with as much scorn as possible.

“I’m just trying to do my job. And I’m assigned to South Command, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” Rose slid his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Get used to it.” He turned and stalked off. Patrick wondered if he had another ambulatory mode besides “petulant stomping.”

Patrick looked at Ronnie. “Just, fuck my life and everything in it.”

She shrugged. “Take it up with the Mayor.” She got into her truck and drove off, leaving Patrick to corral his crew.

He returned to his truck, tossing his helmet into the back with more force than was probably recommended by its manufacturer. Shit, he thought. This is going to suck, a lot. Having someone hovering over everything he did, second-guessing every decision he made, would be bad enough. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was that he’d be suffering the unwanted interference of possibly the hottest guy he’d ever seen, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to make that not true.

David had been told that Fire Station 315 was a historic building, but he hadn’t been expecting a clock tower, almost comically outsized on the diminutive building beneath. The large doors on the more modern annex where the trucks lived were standing open with gleaming fire engines sitting in the drive being polished by several firefighters in uniform. None of them were the one he was looking for, though.

“Take a firefighter along,” his department head had suggested/ordered. “They can help you identify problem spots. You know who you should take? Captain Brewer from the 315. He’s smart. Youngest captain in the service, you know.”

Brewer. Goddammit. The wee sturdy angry man from that car-through-the-storefront incident, which had been the highlight of his first day on this job he somehow found himself doing, quite against his preordained path through the universe.

He walked between the engines into the firehouse. Several firefighters were setting up a table with drinks and what looked like a grocery-store sheet cake. “Ew,” David said. “What’s all this for?”

A woman with “Sands” on her name badge beamed at him. “It’s for Patrick’s birthday!”

“It’s his birthday?”

“Well, it’s tomorrow, but he’s not on shift tomorrow, so we got him a cake today.”

“Pretty sad birthday, a substandard cake and some soda in plastic cups.”

“Oh, this is just the service-approved part of the party,” said the other firefighter. He was beardy and butch, and his name badge said “Schitt,” which couldn’t possibly be a real person’s name. “We’re taking him out to Expanse tonight.”

“Expanse? That’s a gay club.”

Schitt blinked. “And?”

“And it’s also a firetrap, but these guys don’t seem to give a shit about that part despite being emergency services professionals,” came a new, disgruntled voice. David turned to see Patrick coming down the hallway, in a uniform that was doing him all kinds of favors.

Fuck. Stop it. Just because you noticed his big eyes and boyish curls and...forearm situation is no reason to come over all wobbly. Get a hold of yourself.

“Maybe your birthday gift is getting to throw your fireman weight around and issue citations, or whatever it is you do.”

“Not that, I’m not a fire inspector,” Patrick said, giving David a withering stare. “Look, Chief Lee told me to go with you on this...drive around, or whatever it is we’re doing, but do you mind waiting until after this cake thing happens? I mean, I’m sure cake and chips are beneath your refined palate.”

“Please. No cake is beneath my palate.”

So that was how David ended up lurking awkwardly in the background while Patrick’s coworkers sang a truly ear-splitting Happy Birthday to him. It was clear that the firefighters and EMTs in this station loved Patrick and respected him. It was also clear from David’s vantage point that Patrick had an ass that could stop traffic.

He looked away, happy for the distraction of a piece of cake handed to him by the eternally-smiling EMT Sands. “I hear you’re going to be working with us!” she said. “That’s so exciting!”

“Is it,” he said, around a mouthful of cake. “I got the impression my presence was less than thrilling to some.”

“Oh, don’t mind the Captain, he just likes his routines.”

“And I’m disrupting his little routines.”

“Among other things,” she said, cryptically, and headed back to the cake table, her ponytail bouncing.

Patrick walked up, hands in his pockets and a look of grim resignation on his face. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

They got into one of the station’s Fire Department pickups and headed out. David had his folio open on his lap. The purpose here was to identify problem areas in the street grid for fire truck access. Corners that were hard to manage, hydrant placements that were inaccessible, things like that. David had his area of responsibility marked out in marker on his map of the city. This job might be his exile, but he’d be damned if he’d do a half-assed job of it.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. It’s none of your fucking business. It’s inappropriate to ask.

He asked.

“So, your friends are taking you to Expanse for your birthday?”

“Yep.”

Oh, he wasn’t going to make it easy. A hint of a smug little smirk was lurking around Brewer’s mouth.

“And that’s...a place...that you would normally...go.”

“If you wanna know if I’m gay or not, Rose, you can just ask.”

“That would be wildly unprofessional.”

“So is that sweater.”

David’s mouth dropped open. “This is Givenchy!” he exclaimed, with a sweeping gesture down himself.

“And this,” Brewer said, mimicking the gesture on his own body, “is a gay firefighter. Did you not know there are gay firefighters? Outside of porn, I mean.”

“Why would I know anything about gay firefighter porn?”

“No reason.” Brewer whipped the wheel around, guiding them to a stretch of road near a park. “Okay, this hydrant is a problem. I don’t know what idiot installed it, but the pumper port is facing the wrong way.”

“And it should be facing…?”

Brewer looked at him. “The street. Which is a thing I shouldn’t be having to tell you. Aren’t you an FPE?”

“A what, now?”

“You’re not, are you.” It wasn’t really a question. Brewer’s glower had intensified.

“What am I not?”

“A Fire Protection Engineer. When you said you were a city engineer working with the TFS I assumed you were an FPE.”

“My job isn’t about fire protection engineering, it’s about buildings and municipal structures.”

“So what kind of engineer are you?”

“Architectural. I also have a degree in civil engineering. Or is that not good enough, Mr. Bachelor’s Degree in Fire Science?”

“I also have a Master’s degree in emergency management.”

“I also have an MFA.”

“Which I’m sure is super useful for those music-related engineering problems.”

“My concentration was in visual arts.”

“Sorry. Next time we get a call to the AGO I’ll notify you ASAP.”

“The AGO isn’t in your district!”

“Yes, it is! Do you even know this city at all?”

“No, I’m from New York!”

They both fell silent, abruptly realizing they were sitting on a residential street, shouting at each other over nothing in a fire department pickup truck.

David sighed. “Let’s move on.”

Brewer pulled away from the curb and drove back towards Spadina. “You looked up my resume?” he said.

“What?”

“You know my educational background.”

“I was curious.”

“Or you didn’t believe I know what I’m doing and had to look up my qualifications.”

“That’s an uncharitable way to describe it!”

“The first time you met me, you called me an idiot!”

“You were doing something idiotic!” He huffed. “And I didn’t say you were an idiot. I asked if you were an idiot.”

Brewer was silent for a moment, then abruptly busted out laughing. “Oh, well, then. That’s an entirely different thing.”

David crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t appreciate situationally-inappropriate displays of mirth.”

“Then stop inspiring them.”

“Hmph.” David turned his gaze out the passenger window so he wouldn’t have to look at Brewer’s stupid cute smug face, counting the minutes until this truck ride from hell was over.

Expanse was exactly right tonight. Not too busy, as it was a Tuesday, but not dead enough that they felt conspicuous. Mutt had commandeered a circular booth in the corner and Patrick was in the middle, having drinks brought to him and enjoying the wind-down from the Day he’d had.

He and David Rose had spent three hours driving around, getting in and out of Patrick’s truck and bickering about turning radii and corner clearances while David measured things with his laser scope and made notes in his little folio. It was a good thing David was so unrelentingly abrasive and condescending, though. It kept Patrick’s mind off things like his large, elegant hands, his broad shoulders, and his long, long legs. He’d finally returned to the station feeling like he’d been licked for hours by a large, predatory cat with a sandpapery tongue. Not wounded, but flayed raw. David hadn’t even thanked him for his time, he’d just popped out of the truck and stomped (petulantly) to his car, gotten in and driven off.

But that was behind him, and hopefully would not be repeated. He even had a glimmer of hope that the outing would produce some results, and fix several problems he’d been bitching about for years. David didn’t seem like the kind of guy to let stuff go. If their little ride-along today helped him do his job better, he’d forgive Ronnie for inflicting it on him.

He scrambled out from the booth and headed for the men’s room, wondering if he could maybe get laid tonight. It hadn’t really been in his plan — he rarely hooked up on weeknights — but the day had left him feeling squirrely, for lack of a better term.

It was a weird day. Your routine got all messed up. Your crew had to take a call without you while you were out driving around the district. It’s Mercury in retrograde or something. You’re just discombobulated. It is not related to having spent three hours in a truck with some guy who smelled amazing and who you are definitely not attracted to because he’s an enormous douche.

He detoured to the bar on the way back for another gin and tonic. While he waited for it to come, a man appeared at his side. “Hi,” he said.

Patrick looked up at him. He was tall and very handsome, with dark, upswept hair and strong eyebrows. Wow, he looks like Matt Bomer, Patrick thought.

Shut up. That is not who he reminds you of and you goddamned well know it.

MATT. BOMER.

“Hi,” Patrick said.

“I was hoping you’d break away from your friends so I could talk to you,” Not-Matt-Bomer said. “I think I’ve seen you here before, but it was always too busy.”

“I come on the weekends sometimes. It’s my birthday, so my coworkers brought me out.”

“Happy birthday,” Not-Matt-Bomer-and-Definitely-Not-David-Rose said, a smile curling his lips. “Did you have a cake and everything at the office?”

“Sure did.”

“I’m Travis,” the guy said, holding out his hand.

“Patrick,” he said, shaking it. The grip was firm, and lingered just a hair too long for a polite greeting handshake.

“So what do you do? You look...fit.” A very obvious sweep of his eyes up and down Patrick’s body.

He loved this part. “I’m a firefighter.”

There it was. Travis’s whole face lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “Seriously? Cause some guys say that and it’s not true.”

“Nope. I am really a firefighter. I’m the Captain at station 315 in Kensington.”

“The one with the clock tower? I love that building.”

“Yep, it’s kind of a neighborhood landmark.”

Travis leaned closer, pinning Patrick in place with his (thank God) blue eyes. “So, I know we just met, but I’d love to give you a birthday present.”

“Yeah? Does it come with a gift receipt?”

He smirked. “All sales are final.”

“Well, that’s a risk, then. Why don’t you show me, and I’ll see if it’s...my style?”

Travis was more than amenable to this plan, which was how Patrick’s gin and tonic was abandoned at the bar while he got a very excellent birthday blowjob in the back room. Travis had no sooner gotten him through the door than he pushed him against the wall and dropped to his knees in front of him. “Mmm, I think this is a present for me, as well,” he said, unzipping him and diving in.

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick groaned, his head hitting the wall and his hand tangling in Travis’s thick hair. All he could do was hang on while Travis swallowed him deep like he’d been mastering his technique for years, which for all Patrick knew, he had been. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

Travis’s hands slid up the back of Patrick’s jeans. “Your ass is insane,” Travis said, between attacks on Patrick’s dick. “You wanna come in my mouth? It’s okay.”

“Fuuuuck,” Patrick groaned, his fingers tightening in Travis’s hair. “I’m gonna...oh God…” That was all the warning he managed before he was coming down Travis’s throat. Travis shut his eyes and swallowed, smiling around Patrick as he softened in his mouth. Patrick gasped for breath while Travis gently tucked him back into his jeans, leaving one sweet little kiss on the shaft before he zipped him up. He stood up, pulling Patrick into a loose embrace.

“That was so great,” he murmured, kissing Patrick’s neck.

“But you didn’t...can I....” He moved his hand to the front of Travis’s jeans, only to have it moved gently away.

“No, thanks. I’m...I have a hangup about club hookups. I love getting guys off, but I don’t like to get off myself.”

“Um, okay. I get that.”

“So if you want to return the favor, we’ll just have to see each other again, in a more private setting.”

Patrick chuckled. “That’s a smooth way to orchestrate a second go-round.”

“I only do it with guys I want to see again. And I’d like to see you again.” He pulled back and met Patrick’s eyes. “If that’s something you’re into.”

Patrick smiled, and he absolutely, positively did not think about David Rose. “I’d like that, yeah.”

David opened his apartment door to find Stevie on the couch, drinking wine and watching “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.” He tossed his keys and folio to the table and went to the couch. She handed him the second glass of wine without a word.

“You know, you have your very own apartment like...twenty feet away. It is, in fact, identical to this one.”

“Mine doesn’t have any wine in it. Also, your couch is comfier than mine.” She peered at him. “You seem flustered.”

“Ugh, I had the worst day. I spent three hours driving around with that snotty Captain from the 315.”

“You mean Brewer? The one you won’t shut up about?”

“Complaining about! Bitching about!”

“Sure.”

“He’s a self-righteous prick and I deserve some kind of peace prize for not flinging myself across the car and throttling him to death with my bare hands.”

“I’m sure that keeping yourself from, uh, flinging was a real struggle.” She picked up David’s tablet and started Googling something. “You know when you told me about this horrible Captain Brewer, your arch-nemesis, I pictured some grizzled, crotchety old guy. You neglected to mention...this,” she said, brandishing the tablet with a flourish.

On the screen was an article from the paper with the headline “Toronto Fire Services Promotes Youngest Captain in its History,” above a very nice photo of Patrick in uniform, arms crossed, smiling and looking like a recruitment poster.

“What, exactly, did I neglect to mention? Young guys can be grizzled and crotchety.”

“You neglected to mention that Captain Brewer is a snack.”

“If he is, he’s one of those tasteless low-carb sugar-free snacks full of xylitol that’ll give you explosive diarrhea and make you wish for a quick death.”

“You also didn’t mention that he’s gay.”

“I didn’t even know that till today, how did you know?”

She grinned. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, you fucking asshole,” he said, shoving her leg with his foot. “Okay, so he’s cute. And that photo doesn’t even show his best...uh, asset.” Stevie waggled her eyebrows. “Did you miss the part where I don’t like him? We’ve never had an interaction where we weren’t at each other’s throats.”

“C’mon, David. That is the oldest trope in the book.”

“Yeah, tropes are fun for movies and TV shows where people argue and are horrible to each other and then fall into each other’s arms, but in reality that’s just...dysfunctional. In reality when you hate someone you just hate them.”

“You hate him? That’s a strong word.”

David stared at his wine glass. “Yeah, maybe. I guess I don’t hate him. He isn’t a bigot or a Proud Boy or some other horrible thing. He seems like...a decent person. We just don’t get along. And that’s how it is, but all we have to do is work together, and we managed it today, even if it did feel like being pecked to death by ducks.”

“So I shouldn’t read anything into the fact that this tablet’s search history has a bunch of firefighter porn on it, then?”

“He’s just so fucking...pretentious,” Patrick said, waving his hands around, searching for adequate words to convey how annoying David Rose was. He wasn’t sure the words existed.

“Yeah, he sounds like a dick,” Travis said, washing up in the bathroom. Patrick was lying in bed, naked and sexed-out. It was the second time Travis had come to his place since their hookup at Expanse on his birthday. The first time they’d just exchanged blowjobs, but this time Patrick had gotten fucked into the mattress and he was feeling very content about the situation.

“Such a dick. I can’t even handle it. Our fights are becoming a thing. Like, the other companies joke about it, that they know they’ll get some good entertainment if we’re both on a site. The ‘Rose-and-Brewer’ show, I overheard someone calling it.”

In the two weeks since their ride-along experience, Patrick had argued with David Rose:

1. At the scenes of a house fire, two car accidents, and a decking collapse
2. In the lounge of his own fire station
3. On the sidewalk outside the crepe restaurant on Queen Street
4. In the office of his boss, who refused to take his (obviously correct) side and insisted on remaining neutral
5. In the cab of a fire truck
6. At the coffee shop across the street from the fire station

It was mortifying, and he didn’t really understand how David was able to get under his skin so effectively. He’d worked hard to be taken seriously as a young man in his position, and having these notorious blowouts with a colleague was embarrassing. Nobody seemed to think it was anything but funny, nor was he the only person who’d argued with David (far from it), but this wasn’t the image he wanted to cultivate. The fire services wasn’t exactly a prim-and-proper working environment, but he’d always held himself to higher standards. Until now. Until David Rose.

“Hmm,” Travis said, coming out of the bathroom, fully dressed. “Seems like this guy is living rent-free in your head and I gotta wonder why that is.”

“Because he won’t leave and I have to work with him almost daily and the worst part is that this project he’s on that I was absolutely sure I’d hate is actually turning out to be a pretty good idea and having him around has been helpful more than once and that’s so fucking infuriating I might spontaneously combust.” He sighed, looking up at Travis, who perched on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, this wasn’t the conversation I meant to have as you were leaving.”

“What conversation did you mean to have?”

“Just...this is the second time you’ve come over and we ought to make sure we’re on the same page with this.”

“I’m very much on the ‘hookups are great, you’re hot and sex with you is fantastic, but I don’t want to date’ page.”

Patrick let out a breath. “Good. Same page.”

“I do have one question, though.”

“Sure.”

“Do you switch it up? Because next time, I’d love to take a ride on this,” he said, sliding one hand to the base of Patrick’s cock.

“That can be arranged.”

Travis leaned over and kissed him, somehow making it tender but also casual. “Cool. I’ll text you later. I’ll let myself out.” He stood up and went to the door, but turned back at the last minute. “Oh, and you’re not fooling me, you know. I looked up David Rose after the first time you ranted about him for ten minutes straight. I mean, I’m sure it’s totally irrelevant that he’s a dreamboat, right?” Patrick groaned, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Thought so.” Travis chuckled. “Sweet dreams, Patrick.”

Chapter Text

Patrick's fire station:

As he grew and matured, Patrick had come to terms with many facts about his life. He was gay, he was never going to be a good dancer, he was never going to catch a foul ball at a Blue Jays game, and he was never going to date Ryan Reynolds. Now he was coming to terms with the new fact that his work life was going to include regular arguments with David Rose.

All of these arguments were different, but essentially the same. David would tell Patrick, and anyone else within earshot, that he was doing something profoundly incorrect. Patrick would disagree, with prejudice, and they were off to the races.

So when he found himself standing silently next to David underneath a highway overpass, both of them staring up at a large pickup truck hanging halfway off the bridge overhead without a thing to say about it, he didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. He wasn’t sure how to interact with David if they weren’t yelling.

The driver, whose truck had been catastrophically rear-ended and pushed half off the bridge, was mostly unhurt, hanging over empty space, stuck in his smashed-up vehicle. “That guy is cool as a fucking cucumber,” David commented.

“I’ll say,” Patrick said. The guy was, indeed, surprisingly calm as he waited for Mutt to position the fire truck’s ladder so that Ray and Twyla could climb up and get him out.

“You sure you don’t want to try climbing down to him from above?” David said.

“No. There isn’t a good place to anchor up there, and I’m afraid any weight we put on the vehicle will dislodge it.”

David nodded. “I mean, my recommendation was to use the truck’s ladder exactly as they’re doing, so I expected you to argue with me just on principle.”

Patrick gritted his teeth. “I’m a professional, I’m not going to disagree with you on a correct rescue strategy just because you’re so frequently wrong.”

“I reject the premise of that statement. It is you who are frequently wrong.”

“Jesus Christ, Rose, are we seriously going to stand here and argue about agreeing with each other for once?”

David made an annoyed little growling noise. “I guess when you put it like that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing the black pants with the skirt thingie and a very soft-looking sweater with giant black-and-white houndstooth checks on it. It clung to his chest in a way Patrick had taken absolutely no notice of whatsoever. “Don’t worry, as soon as this guy’s out we can start arguing about the best way to get the truck off the bridge.”

“We’ll need to be expedient. Keeping this expressway closed for any length of time creates a lot of problems. If it’s shut more than an hour, my chief’s going to get calls from your boss and then she’ll come down on me.”

“How long has it been already?”

Patrick checked his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

“Well, we have to consider the damage to the bridge. I’d rather not make it any worse.”

“Can’t we just yank the truck back up on top with a tow truck?”

“I need to look at how it’s balanced up there. If we try and yank it back, it might dislodge parts of the bridge, or it might crumble the edge and then fall down here instead, which would be bad.”

“It’s not going to fall down. It hasn’t so far, and getting the driver out will only shift the center of gravity back towards the road.”

“‘It’s not going to fall’ is like the most famous of all the famous last words.”

Up on the fire ladder, Twyla was securing the driver with a waist harness and guiding him out of the truck — thankfully the door worked — and onto the ladder. She gave Patrick a thumbs up and they started climbing down. Once they were on the ground, Mutt began backing the fire engine away from the accident.

David walked forward. “Lemme just look,” he tossed back.

“David! Clear the scene!” Patrick yelled.

“I don’t report to you! I’m responsible for assessing damage to city structures.”

“Wait until we’ve secured that vehicle!”

David whirled around to face him. “You’re the one who said it wouldn’t fall!”

As if his words had released the sword of Damocles, the sound of squealing brakes and rubber on pavement came from up above, on the road. Patrick caught a glimpse of another car careening towards the crashed truck. His stomach dropped. “David!” he shouted.

The car up on the bridge slammed into the back of the truck and pushed it over the edge. Patrick somehow covered the distance between him and David and tackled him to the pavement just as the truck crashed to the highway surface, mere feet from where David had been standing. On instinct, he covered David with his own body, looking back over his shoulder at the now-accordioned truck. He saw the spark, and had a fraction of a second to flatten himself over David again, spreading his bunker coat over both of them, before the fireball erupted with a rough cough of glass and flame. He heard David cry out in alarm and felt him grab at the edges of Patrick’s coat.

He looked around and saw Mutt and Arnie running up with extinguishers; the truck was put out in a few seconds, leaving a smoldering heap in the middle of the highway.

Shit. That’s a messier cleanup than we were counting on.

David pushed on him and Patrick realized he was still mostly on top of him. He pulled back quickly. “David, are you all right?” he said, his eyes flicking over him. He didn’t look hurt, but his expression was blank and shocked, his eyes wide.

“Um...yeah. I’m okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, speckled now with dust and ash. “Jesus, that...what the fuck just happened?”

Patrick sat back on his knees and looked up. “Another car crashed into the back of the truck up there. What are the odds?”

“Pretty good, actually. When there’s a traffic disruption due to a previous accident, the odds of a compounding incident go up significantly,” David said. It had the sound of distracted rote, a recitation.

Patrick got up and held out his hand. David gave him a skeptical look, then grasped it and let Patrick pull him to his feet. He dusted off his designer sweater, his jaw clenching. “Well, at least now I can go up and inspect the damage to the bridge.” He picked up his folio where he’d dropped it and stomped off.

“Just like that?” Patrick said.

David whipped back around. “I have a job to do, and so do you. You don’t need my help with this. I’m fine, you’re fine.”

“That was a pretty scary near miss you just had, there!”

“Haven’t you had dozens like that?”

“Yeah, but you haven’t!”

“I’m not a delicate flower, I don’t need a fainting couch!” He resumed his stomp back to his car.

Patrick sighed. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Once they made the crashed truck safe and a flatbed arrived to haul it away, Patrick checked in with the police officer on scene and got the okay to clear his crew out. They boarded their truck and headed back to the station. “Where’s Rose?” Mutt said.

Patrick shrugged. “He has his own car. He can take care of himself.”

“Nearly got himself pancaked back there.”

“We couldn’t be so lucky.”

Mutt laughed, and to Patrick’s relief, let the matter drop. It didn’t stay dropped for long, though — when they got back to the station, David’s car was parked in the driveway. Patrick swung out of the truck, already half out of his bunker gear. He stowed it in his locker and went into the station house, assuming he’d find David there, but he was nowhere in sight. “Did Rose come in here?” he asked Hopkins, who was cooking (more like burning) something on the stove.

“No, why would he? Might mess up his fancy shoes to hobnob with us working stiffs.” David was not popular in the station house.

Just now, though, the remark grated on Patrick. “Hey. He’s here to do a job, just like us.”

Hopkins blinked, looking up at Patrick for the first time. “Right, Captain. Sorry.”

“His car’s outside, so where is he?”

“Dunno.”

Patrick walked all around the station house, but there was no sign of David. Flummoxed, he stood in the engine bay with his hands on his hips while Mutt and Twyla sorted out their gear, biting his lip — until inspiration struck.

He walked out the back door of the station house and around the side. The station was on a street corner with residential buildings next to them and a school behind, separated from them by a narrow road. Between the station and the residences was a secluded alley where people sometimes went for a smoke (the few firefighters at the station who still smoked) or just to have a moment’s quiet. He had no reason to think David would know about it, but it was the only place he hadn’t looked.

So naturally, that’s where he found him.

He was standing against the side of the station, one foot braced on the wall, half-hidden by the overhanging trees and a stack of old fire engine tires they kept meaning to have picked up by the recycling firm. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back against the bricks.

Patrick swallowed hard. God, he’s beautiful.

He shook himself and took a cautious step into the alley. “Hey,” he said.

David jerked and opened his eyes, that wall of defensiveness slamming over his face. He smirked, then lifted one hand, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “Guess you caught me,” he said, taking a drag. His hand was shaking, enough that Patrick could see it from ten feet away.

“Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t. I mean, not really. I quit years ago. Now and then, though...sometimes you just need a drag.” He dropped the half-smoked cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe.

Patrick took a few steps forward, hands in his pockets. Why the fuck are you doing this, just leave him alone. “So, uh...why’d you come back here, to the station?”

He shrugged. “Thought I left my coat.”

“You haven’t been here today. You met us at the scene.”

“All right, Columbo, is it some kind of crime for me to be here?” he snapped.

“No, there’s just no reason for you to be.” He took a deep breath and stepped closer. “Unless you, uh...were having some kind of...um...feeling about having almost been crushed by a truck.”

“Even if I were, why would I come here?”

“Because we were there with you.” Because I saved you. “I get it. Sometimes after a really intense call, none of us want to leave the station, even if our shift is over. It’s like...nobody out there, in the not-firefighting world, can really get it.”

“I’m not part of your little firefighting world.”

His patience was wearing thin. “You can belittle what we do all you want, but it’s important, and I know you know that, so what possible good is it doing you to antagonize me right now?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not about you. I’m just a dick. Being a dick is my comfort zone. So, this is me being a dick, as everyone knows that I am and expects me to be.”

“You make sure everyone knows that.”

“I’m a dick, you’re a self-righteous asshole, we’re not competing for Miss Congeniality here.”

“Goddamn it, David, this is a lot even for you. Look at you! Your hands are shaking, you’re pale, and I hate to tell you this but more than one hair is out of place.”

“I’m fine!”

“Sure, fine, no problem,” he said, stepping even closer. “God forbid you admit to having an actual human emotion, or an entirely normal reaction to a near-death experience.”

“Why’d you do it, anyway?” David suddenly exclaimed, coming off the wall to stand right in Patrick’s face.

“Do what?”

“Save my life, you fuckhead!”

“That’s my job! What was I going to do, just stand there and let the truck fall on you?”

“Great! Except now I have to, like, be nice to you.”

“I am begging you not to be nice to me, I might drop dead of a heart attack from the shock!”

David’s lip curled in a sneer. “I don’t know what kind of carnage I inflicted in a past life to deserve this. Look at you with your fireman outfit and your respectably-gay undercut and you probably have a modest tattoo somewhere under there and I could axe-murder you, I really could, you just had to be the big damn hero, throwing me to the ground like some damsel in distress, and that isn’t even the worst part!”

“What’s the worst part?”

“That a guy I can’t stand saved my pointless life and it was so goddamn hot that I don’t even know what to do with myself now!”

The words were almost a physical blow. Patrick stared at him, all the blood in his body rushing south. David’s eyes were wild, but what he’d initially taken for anger or even residual fear was...something else.

Later, there would be considerable discussion of who made the first move. Patrick’s brain was so white-out fuzzy in the moment that he couldn’t ever produce a reasonable argument that it had been him, but what mattered was that one second David had just blurted out a very workplace-inappropriate confession and the next, they were up against the brick wall, grabbing at each other and slamming their lips together in what was only an approximation of kissing; it felt more like they were punching each other with their mouths. “Fuck, David,” Patrick gasped, in between attacks. “Goddammit, you’re such an asshole…” He slid his hands down to David’s ass and grabbed it hard.

“You just had to look like this, didn’t you,” David gasped, his lips grabbing at Patrick’s, their tongues tangling together. They were both breathing like they’d just run up four flights of stairs carrying a full hose coil. “Just to torture me. I can’t fucking deal with you.” He seized Patrick’s upper arms and spun them around, pushing Patrick against the side of the station. David dropped to his knees. “Let me suck you, just let me do it once, maybe it’ll get it out of my system and I can stop fucking thinking about it,” he babbled, unfastening Patrick’s belt and pants with uncanny speed. He glanced up at Patrick, who could only nod and hang on to the wall lest he slide right off into the bushes.

Patrick spared a quick thought for the inappropriateness of getting a blowjob in the alley outside his fire station, and from a colleague no less, but it was nearly dark, nobody could see them from the street, and the likelihood of anyone coming out here was very low. Not that he had to work too hard to convince himself, given that the man who’d danced infuriatingly through his fantasies for weeks now was on his knees in front of him. His hand tangled in David’s hair. “God, David...why are you so fucking hot, Christ,” he said, the last few words half-lost in a groan as David swallowed him down. “Yeah, suck me, do it fast,” he said, the words tumbling out in a half-choked whisper.

David did. Whatever other skills he possessed, he was really freaking good at this. One hand cupped Patrick’s balls while the other squeezed his ass. He pulled off just for a second to tip his eyes up to meet Patrick’s. “Come in my mouth,” he said, and dove back in.

Patrick’s head hit the brick wall behind him, hard enough that it was almost painful, and his fingers clenched in David’s silky soft hair as he came. It felt like it was dragged out of him from his toes to the top of his head. David rested his forehead against Patrick’s hip for a second, then tucked him back in and fastened his pants with quick efficiency. Patrick pulled him upright again, grabbed his head and kissed him hard, chasing his own taste on David’s tongue. “Your turn,” he said.

“You don’t have to...”

Patrick turned David around to face the wall, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his hips. David pressed back against him in a wordless plea, his head hanging down and his chest heaving. Patrick felt a thrill run up his spine. Jesus, he wants me. He’s extremely hot for me and he’s very, very mad about it.

“You’re gonna stay still and let me do this, aren’t you?” Patrick said into his ear, putting on the closest thing he had to a sexy purr. It seemed to work; he felt David shudder. “Do you want that?” David nodded, biting his lip. Patrick slid his hands around to the front of David’s pants and had a brief moment of panic when he wasn’t sure how to get into the wrap/skirt apparatus, but then he realized the pants had a stretchy waistband. He slid one hand down and inside David’s underwear and palmed his cock. David grunted and pressed his hands to the wall to brace himself. Patrick pulled his hand out, licked the palm, and slid it back in. He worked David’s cock fast, his other hand sliding up to press at the base of his throat. David’s neck went loose and his head sagged back into Patrick’s shoulder. He mouthed at the underside of David’s jaw, feeling the groans coming from his throat. David reached back and grabbed Patrick’s ass, pulling him in tighter. Patrick was hard again already — he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened so fast — and he bent at the knees a little so David could feel his cock tucked up close against his ass.

David came abruptly, biting back a cry and grabbing Patrick’s wrist to still him. Patrick pulled his hand out, not even trying to hide that he wiped it off on the inside of David’s underwear on the way out. He stepped back to give David space.

David turned around and leaned back against the bricks again, adjusting himself. He looked at Patrick with a withering gaze. “You are the worst fucking person I know.”

Patrick grinned, lifted his hand to his mouth and licked off a stray drop of David’s come.

David banged his head against the wall again. “Fuck me, are you going for the world record in Asshole?”

“Nope, I could never beat you, the reigning record-holder.”

“Now I have to drive home with this mess all up in here,” he said, waving at his crotch.

“You’re welcome.”

David rolled his eyes, flapped an impatient hand at him, and stomped off towards the parking lot, leaving Patrick standing in the alley with his head spinning, still feeling the ghost of David’s mouth on his.

Chapter Text

“Patrick, goddammit…”

“I prefer to be called Captain Brewer when I’m executing a rescue operation,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“Fine, Captain Brewer the Self-Important, can I get your exalted attention to this small matter of your crew punching holes in load-bearing walls?”

“That’s their job.”

“If their job could involve just a skosh less property damage that would improve everyone’s day.”

Patrick whirled around. “I have never and will never prioritize property over the safety of civilians or of my crew.”

“They punched through a wall when there was a fucking door like five feet away! When there are two equivalent ways to get somewhere can we maybe please for the love of God choose the one with less property damage?”

“Making that assessment sometimes takes time, time that we don’t have! I’m super fucking sorry if it costs the insurance companies like one percent more money!”

“Not every rescue is that time sensitive and you know it. I swear to God sometimes I think your…”

“...mouth is a fucking crime against humanity, Jesus,” David moaned, flailing behind him to grab hold of the edge of the desk Patrick had him splayed out on as he knelt between his legs, his mouth full of David’s cock. They were messing up someone’s nicely-organized filing system here in the fire-alarm empty office David had dragged him into, but Patrick didn’t care. David grabbed the shoulders of Patrick’s bunker coat and hauled him up, slamming their mouths together. Patrick seized the back of his head and kissed him hard.

“You don’t wanna come?” he muttered against David’s lips.

“Yeah, like this,” David said, pulling Patrick’s hips, covered in several layers of uniform pants and bunker trousers, up against his bare cock. He rocked his hips hard into Patrick’s, hanging on to his shoulders for leverage. “Fuuuuuck,” he hissed.

“These pants are filthy, you sure you wanna…”

“It’s hot, God I love it when you put on your little suit of armor, c’mon, fireman, get me off,” he said, biting his lips and thrusting against Patrick, who could barely feel it through his gear. David’s face, slack and exposed with arousal, was enough to get him going, though.

David’s back arched and he came, spilling all over Patrick’s gear. Thank God Kevlar was easily cleanable. Patrick grabbed Kleenex from whoever’s desk this was and quickly wiped the streaks off before they dribbled everywhere. David bit at Patrick’s lips, licking at his mouth with little kittenish swipes, then he hopped off the desk, wiping himself off with more borrowed Kleenex, which he tossed in a nearby trash can before zipping up. “Nice, Captain Brewer,” he said, lacing the title with sarcasm. “Better get back before they wonder why it’s taking you so long to reset the elevators.” He smacked Patrick’s ass and sauntered off, leaving Patrick clenching his jaw, hopelessly aroused and unable to…

…see on the upper floors,” Patrick was saying. David scanned the blueprints, looking back up at the five-story building, the third floor of which was burning. The pumper trucks were on site, spraying water, but Patrick’s crew along with two others were making their way inside.

“The weak points in the floor joists will be here and here,” David said, pointing to the blueprints. Patrick leaned closer to look. “They should go down this corridor and punch through here, it’ll put them in a better spot to come at the fire.”

Patrick peered at him. “Are you giving me the best route for them, or the best route to save more of the structure?”

David’s jaw dropped open. “This will get the fire out and the crew safe the fastest,” he said, biting back what he really wanted to say. It wasn’t the time, and even he knew when to push it and when to let it go.

Patrick gave a curt nod and began talking into the radio. David watched him go and went back to the blueprints, dragging…

...Patrick into the resident’s garage at the rear of the property; it had been untouched by the fire. He pulled him through the rows of cars and pushed him against the hood of an SUV. “Did you really think I’d have tried to save the structure over helping your crew get out as quickly as possible?” he bit out, mouthing under Patrick’s jawline.

“You haven’t exactly given me a lot of reasons to think you wouldn’t,” Patrick said, his hands in David’s hair.

“That building is a write-off anyway.”

“So if it wasn’t, you might have.”

“That’s not what I meant, fuck, why are you like this?”

Patrick pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “Because I have responsibilities to my crew and the citizens who trust me to help them. It’s a pretty goddamn heavy load to carry sometimes and you’re just piling rocks on top of it.”

That hit David hard. “I...I don’t mean to be doing that.”

Patrick took off his helmet and rubbed a hand through his sweaty hair. The damp turned his curls into a tumbled mass. David was mesmerized. “I know. I know you don’t. But I’m still not used to having someone else just...telling me what to do.”

Heat pooled in David’s belly. “You wanna be told what to do?” he said, low.

Patrick’s head jerked up, a challenge in his gaze. “Fuck around and find out.”

David darted forward and grabbed his face, pulling him into a hard, frantic kiss. Patrick gave it right back just as hard, his mouth opening under David’s and his tongue pressing in. David pushed his bunker coat off him, moving his mouth down to Patrick’s gorgeous, pale throat. “Fuck, I have been wanting to suck you off in this gear,” he said, against his skin.

“Jesus,” Patrick breathed. “You are the sexiest fucking asshole, I don’t know how to…”

“Shh.” David slipped the suspenders off Patrick’s shoulders, pushed his bunker trousers down and got his uniform pants open. He knelt on the concrete, marveling that he was turned on to the point that he didn’t care about the consequences to his pants.

“Are you sure that you...I’m all sweaty and I smell like apartment fire.”

“I like it. You smell amazing,” David said, nuzzling forward into Patrick’s boxer briefs. He pulled them down just enough to free him and then at last, he had Patrick’s cock in his mouth. Patrick’s hand landed on his shoulder and kneaded, the other one bracing on the SUV. David lowered his zipper and jerked himself off while he blew Patrick and Jesus fuck did he have a great cock. David had future plans for it that he hoped Patrick would go along with.

“Uhhhh...fuck I’m gonna…” was all the warning he got (or really needed). He would have liked for Patrick to come on his face, but that would have been hard to explain, so he swallowed him, just like the first time (how many times was this now that they’d had angry sex at a call? a dozen? he was losing count). Patrick’s fingers tightened in David’s hair and pulled a little, and that sent him over the edge. He spilled all over the concrete floor of the garage. One time driving home with a crotch full of come had been enough.

He pulled off and Patrick, predictably, hauled him up and into another rough kiss. It hadn’t taken long for David to figure out that Patrick loved tasting himself on David’s tongue. “We gotta stop doing this,” Patrick gasped. “I should be with my crew.”

“When we left, they were coiling the hoses and standing around. You weren’t exactly the center of attention.”

“Still. You are a bad influence on me.”

“I’ll go you one better.” David slid his hand down to rest just above Patrick’s soft cock. “Next time we’re both on a call, I wanna get fucked with this.”

Patrick’s throat worked. “Jesus, David. Uh...that’s a little...I mean, logistically…”

“You leave it to me. That is, if that’s something that interests you,” he said, with a smirk.

“Interests me? You think I haven’t imagined bending you over and giving it to you as hard as you can take it?” he said, one hand snaking around to clench on David’s ass, his voice going low and rough in a way that David was constantly trying to elicit.

“Sure sounds like you have.”

“You have no idea…

...how long it was taking, and Patrick was getting impatient. David didn’t come out on medical calls, so naturally, after his little invitation at the apartment fire, all they got were med calls. Heart attacks, anaphylaxis, cooking injuries when someone got too enthusiastic de-pitting an avocado. It was bad enough that David annoyed the shit out of him when he was present, now he was becoming a distraction when he wasn’t. Patrick thought of Travis’s comment that David lived rent-free inside his head, and he hadn’t been wrong. But that had been before they’d started...whatever the fuck this hate-sex thing they had going on was. It was worse now.

He’d jerked off to the thought of fucking David many times, but had assumed that wasn’t in the cards. Their stolen makeouts and lightning-fast mutual handjobs didn’t exactly lend themselves to a more involved activity. But David had said he’d take care of it, so. Now they just needed the opportunity.

Which came soon enough in the form of a hotel walkway collapse.

The entire fire service mobilized for a mass casualty event, including the 315. There were dozens of injuries; it was only due to the slow time of day that many more hadn’t been hurt or even killed. The hotel’s suspended glass walkway had collapsed, people who’d been on the walkway at the time of its collapse were injured as well as people trapped underneath. Flying glass and shrapnel had injured many others.

As much as he hated to admit it, Patrick was glad David was there. He strode onto the scene wearing those skinny jeans with the busted-out knees that drove Patrick mildly crazy and a drapey black asymmetrical tunic thing on top. He looked extremely hot, but thirst was soon replaced by reluctant admiration as Patrick watched him take control of the situation. He assessed the damage and the possibility for additional collapse quickly, and began directing the fire crews how best to reach people still trapped, and where to apply force so as not to make the whole precarious mess compact down into a murderous pile of debris. Patrick took his orders gladly, as did everyone else, and within thirty minutes they had all the victims safely extracted. Miraculously, nobody had been killed.

Patrick watched, feeling a proprietary pride that he had no right to feel, as Deputy Chief Curry, an old-school codger of a fire chief, shook David’s hand and thanked him for his help. David looked over at Patrick and the eye contact was electric. He had to look away.

Ray came up to him. “The hotel says all the guests have been evacuated, they’re being moved to other hotels. We’ve got all the critically injured on buses; the rest can get to the hospital on their own power.”

“Good.”

Ray leaned in. “David was very helpful.”

“Yes, he was.”

“It’s, um...possible that we’ve been too hard on him,” Ray said, his tone gentle. Patrick smiled. Ray was sometimes a lot, but he was a fundamentally kind soul, and it was just what Patrick needed to…

...catch David’s eye across the destroyed lobby. He was standing by the hall that led back to the dining rooms. As soon as he saw he’d gotten Patrick’s attention, he turned and walked off, disappearing from sight.

Patrick followed. His crew would be busy for several hours with the wreckage, they could spare him for fifteen minutes. He turned the corner and caught a glimpse of David’s drapey top disappearing into a bathroom at the end of the deserted hallway. He followed him in; David was waiting just inside. He shut and locked the door and they fell on each other, ravenous. Patrick hadn’t touched this man in almost a week and it felt like forever. He was starving, he felt out of control in a way he never had before, not with anyone. He wanted David so much — he didn’t even like him, but he couldn’t get enough of him.

David grabbed one of Patrick’s hands and guided it around to his ass, pressing Patrick’s fingers between his cheeks. “I’m so fucking ready for this,” he said, sliding one hand down to Patrick’s crotch. He didn’t have his bunker gear on; once the situation at the hotel was stabilized he hadn’t needed it.

“Um...are you...how…”

“Snuck in here once the rescue was over and got myself ready,” David said, biting his lip.

“Fuck, how are you real,” Patrick choked out, a little light-headed with the sudden evacuation of blood from his head.

David yanked his hips tight against his own. “So bend me over and give it to me as hard as I can take it,” he said, a challenge in his eyes as he flung Patrick’s own words back at him.

Patrick couldn’t speak. He spun David around and pressed him over the marble counter. They both scrabbled at their own pants, Patrick helping yank David’s down to his thighs. David pushed a condom and a mini tube of lube into Patrick’s hand; his breath punched out of his chest at the sight of David’s bare ass. As much as they’d been at each other these past few months, they’d seen relatively little of each other’s bodies. They’d never been shirtless in each other’s company, and pants had only been unzipped, never removed. Now, seeing David’s strong thighs, fetchingly swept with wiry dark hair, Patrick just wanted to get his hands on every inch of him. Not that he had time for that now.

He slipped the condom on his painfully hard cock, then pressed close to David and grasped his hips. “Okay?” he said, working lube into him and onto himself.

“Goddammit, yes, fuck me,” David said.

Slipping into David’s body was like nothing Patrick had ever felt. He almost seemed to pull him in, a ragged cry coming from David’s throat. “Oh my God,” Patrick gasped, watching his cock slide into him. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

David’s hand flailed back and grabbed his hip, pulling him in closer. “This cock is the best thing about you,” he said, tossing a smirk over his shoulder.

Patrick met his eyes. “This ass is the best thing about you,” Patrick retorted.

“Don’t make me wait,” David said, grinding back into Patrick’s hips.

He didn’t. He’d normally have started slow and worked up to a hard, fast rhythm but David didn’t let him. He kept urging him on until Patrick had both hands on his shoulders, pulling him back into his pistoning hips. Sweat sprang to his brow and everything in the world shrank down to the feeling of being inside David. “Is this what you wanted,” he gasped.

“God, I wanted it. Harder. Give it to me.”

“You like it like that? You like it hard?” He didn’t even know what he was saying, it was just pouring out of him.

“I fucking love it, god, you’re such a dick, why does it have to be so good,” David muttered, his head down on the marble counter between the sinks.

“I can’t stop,” Patrick said, feeling himself stuttering to the edge. “I don’t want to want you but I want you all the time...fuck, David, I’m…”

“Yeah, do it, I’m gonna come…” He was jerking himself and Patrick felt him contract around him as he let out a yell. Patrick groaned and came into the condom, pushing hard into David in a few more rough thrusts. He let his forehead fall to David’s back as they just stood there still joined, breathing hard and coming back down to earth.

They said nothing for what felt like a long time. After a few moments, David pushed back on him with one hand. Patrick withdrew, making sure the condom stayed in place. David straightened up, then reached into his bag and pulled out two packs of wet wipes, handing one to Patrick. “Thanks,” he said, feeling...weird. The intensity of the encounter had left a film in the air.

“Told you I came prepared.” David cleaned off his hand and his dick, tossing the wipes in a nearby trash can and pulling his pants up. He flicked his hands like he’d just washed them and there weren’t any towels, like he was shaking off what they’d just done. Patrick disposed of the condom and zipped up, not sure what happened next. Usually they’d be making out again by now, tossing off insults in between kisses. David ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t looking at him. “I...I think I need a break,” he finally said.

“A break?”

“From this,” he said, motioning to the air between them. “I need to...not do this with you. For awhile.”

“Okay.”

David looked at him for the first time. “Just okay? That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say? You’re asking for a break, what am I gonna do, say no you can’t have a break and force myself on you? Surely you know I’d never…”

“No, of course not. You’re a dick but you’re not a fucking monster.” He shrugged, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess I thought you might have something to say about that.”

“Look, I’ve been fighting myself over this since the start. Every time we do this, I tell myself it’s not gonna happen again, and then there you are, getting under my skin, pissing me off, calling me an ingrate or whatever word-of-the-day insult you whip out and I’m constantly furious that I still want you even with all that. So if you want to not do this for a while, or ever again, you’re getting me off the hook with my conscience.” He shrugged. “And even if that weren’t true, if you want to stop, I respect your wishes.” David looked away. Patrick took a step closer. “Hey.” David met his eyes. “It’s not because I don’t want it. I always want it, whether I should or not.”

David nodded, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “Well, that’s...direct.”

“Aren’t we always direct?”

“Maybe too much so.” He straightened up. “I’ll see you at the next call.”

“Okay.”

David left, his bag in one hand, leaving Patrick feeling weirdly adrift and blank, like someone had just shaken his mental Etch-a-Sketch.

He sighed. It was for the best.

Chapter Text

In the first week after going cold turkey on sex with Patrick, David had two calls with the 315. In the second week, he had three. Patrick wasn’t there every time, but when he was, their interactions felt intensely normal, in a way that was both reassuring and frustrating. They bickered and insulted each other, argued about tactical ventilation and explosive decompression, and much as he looked for it, he saw nothing hidden in Patrick’s gaze, nor did he catch him out in...whatever it was he thought he might catch him out in. And if David let himself look at Patrick’s forearms or the way his uniform pants cupped his ass when nobody else could see, well, that was his own business.

He was trying not to interrogate his own motives for calling it off too closely. Nope. You did not ask for a break to test him. That would be very passive aggressive and needy of you and you definitely didn’t do that. You asked for a break because you needed one, not to see if he’d...well. He doesn’t, so. That’s that on that. Back to normal. Good. That’s...good.

Three weeks into the break he’d asked for, David got a call from Chief Lee. “Hey, Ronnie.”

“Got another request for you and Heather to give the Talk.”

“Yeah?” He and Captain Warner of the 322 had worked up a PowerPoint about how engineers and fire personnel could work together effectively. He liked Heather, and unlike him and Patrick, they got along like...well, like a house on fire. They’d delivered their presentation to several surrounding communities and had even flown to Ottawa once to give it.

“Yeah, out in Kitchener. Problem is that Heather can’t make it, so you’ll be doing the Talk with Brewer.”

David had to hold the phone away from his face to grimace for a second. “Can’t we just reschedule for when Heather is available?”

“No can do. I know you and Brewer hate each other but you can suck it up for a car ride and an hour long talk. He’s heard you give it like six times, he can handle it. And he’s decent at public speaking.”

“If by ‘speaking’ you mean ‘spewing nonsense,’ I guess so.”

“I don’t know how you two got off on the wrong foot, I’d have thought you’d be buddy-buddy.” She sighed. “I guess you just never know about people.”

Which was how David found himself stuck in the passenger seat of Patrick’s personal vehicle, a totally predictable Toyota Rav 4, for the drive to Kitchener. After meeting him at the 315 and an early-trip skirmish over coffee selection and road-trip music, they’d gotten underway with minimal swearing.

They didn’t get far.

Patrick had barely gotten on the Gardiner out of town when a few hundred yards in front of them, a tanker truck suddenly swerved and jackknifed across the road. David sucked in a breath; clouds of smoke and the sounds of squealing tires and crashes came from the site of what was turning into a very bad accident. He saw Patrick’s hands clench on the wheel and he braked, one arm flying out in front of David’s chest; David had a split second to feel touched that Patrick’s instinct had been to hold him back before he realized they were about to be part of this crash.

Patrick managed to get them over to the grassy open area off the shoulder of the highway. Most of the drivers around them had done the same; a wave of swerving, braking and stopping cars spread back from the accident site. Someone behind them bumped into Patrick’s car, but it was no more than a tap. Patrick looked over at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m fine! Fuck, what do we do?”

Patrick’s face had gone all crisis-management-stony, an expression David had seen on him many times. He pulled out his cell phone and called 911. “Dispatch, this is Captain Patrick Brewer of Fire Station 315, I am on site of a multi-car collision involving a tanker truck on the Gardiner westbound just past Dufferin. Probable injuries and possible fatalities.”

“Copy that, Brewer, we’re getting other calls on that crash. What’s your status?”

“I’m in my private vehicle, I’m not on duty, I just happened to be here. Send everybody, Jesus, there’s at least two dozen cars involved here. Maybe more. We need traffic shutdown, fire, EMTs, possibly hazmat, I don’t know what’s in this tanker truck that crashed. Looks like he blew a tire.”

“Be advised there’s a city police sergeant on site, try to find him and coordinate. We may call you back on this number.”

“Okay. Brewer out.” He got out of the car, David following him, not knowing what else to do. Patrick went around to the back of his car and opened it, pulling out a large first responder’s bag.

“Are you Brewer?” came a new voice. David looked up. A tall, stern-looking police sergeant was striding up to them. His name badge said Pearson. He was holding a megaphone.

“Yeah, from station 315. You get caught in this too?”

“Yeah. I was just about to go off-shift, too. Are you an EMT?”

“No, but I can handle basic field triage. I’m going to start checking for casualties.”

Pearson nodded, then walked over to the field by the side of the road and started yelling into the megaphone. “People! Remain calm! Assistance is on the way! If you are not seriously injured and are able to do so please exit your vehicle and head towards me! If you are hurt or cannot get out of your vehicle, stay where you are, help will get to you as soon as possible.”

“What do I do?” David said, hugging himself and fighting down panic. He’d be damned if he was going to stand around and do nothing while Patrick did his Hero Fireman thing.

“We need to start checking all the people in the cars. If they’re okay and they can get out, help them do that. If they’re trapped but okay, tell them to try and stay calm and sit tight. If they’re hurt, try and see how bad it is.” He met David’s eyes. “We’re gonna see some injuries, probably some severe ones. Can you handle that? This isn’t your job and I don’t expect you to do it. There’s no shame in not being up for this, you can stand back here and wait.”

“I wanna help,” David said. “I can help.”

Patrick gave him a curt nod. “Okay. Call my cell if you need to.” He clapped David on the arm and started making his way along the center divider towards the worst of the crash. David watched him go, having thoughts he’d often had about the fire service, and the people in it who were always running towards trouble while everyone else ran away.

I’m not running away. Not now.

David hurried towards the back of the crash. He heard Pearson on the megaphone telling people to clear their cars away from the area if they could. The first few layers of crashed cars weren’t so badly mangled. Some were able to back out and clear themselves of the wreck. Some cars couldn’t move, but the passengers were already getting out and moving away. Then, he got to the next layer, where people would be hurt. The first really smashed car he came to had a woman and a teenager in it. “Are you okay?” he said to them. The woman looked a little dazed. He opened the door, having to give it a hard yank to get it open. “Are you hurt?”

“I think we’re okay,” the teenager said.

The woman nodded. “I hit my head, but not very hard. We’re okay.”

“C’mon, let’s get you out.” The teenager’s side of the car was blocked, so David braced the driver’s door open and helped them climb out. “Go towards the megaphone.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, looking right into his eyes, pulling her son close to her and walking away.

David nodded. He could hear sirens approaching now, a lot of sirens. He kept moving.

The next car had just a guy in a suit. His forehead was bleeding. “Are you okay?” David said. The guy’s door was badly bashed, the window broken. David had to suck in his stomach and slide to get to the car.

“I...I think so. I can move everything,” the man said. “I cut my head, I think on the glass.”

“Can you get out?”

They both looked around. His car was blocked, badly. “I don’t know,” the man said.

“Okay, I guess...sit here, stay calm. They might have to move some of these cars to get you out.”

He nodded. “I’m good to wait here.”

“I’ll make sure they know to come get you.” David awkwardly patted the guy’s shoulder, but he looked grateful.

He looked up, scanning the wreckage for Patrick. He spotted him several cars away, and he heard someone screaming in pain. He didn’t want to think about what Patrick was having to try and deal with, so he continued on towards the crashed tanker truck, the epicenter of the accident. People who weren’t badly hurt were climbing out of cars, helping other people do the same, supporting stunned victims as they made their way out of the tangle, and it was...kinda heartwarming.

A woman waved to him, looking panicked. “There’s a car crushed between the tanker and the divider!” she said pointing. You could barely see the car she was talking about. “There’s a woman inside, she’s hurt bad!”

“Okay, I’ll go see,” David said, his heart rate speeding up. He fought his way through people and smashed cars, climbing over several, until he got to the tanker. He had to duck underneath it, and then he saw the crushed car. It was...bad. The driver’s side was crumpled; it looked like the truck had sideswiped the car and tossed it into the concrete divider in the center of the highway. The driver was a woman in her thirties. The first thing he saw was blood.

You can do this, Rose.

He went to the driver’s side; the window was totally smashed. Part of the vertical roof support had folded in and it looked like she’d been thrown against the jagged metal, leaving a gaping wound in her neck that he couldn’t look at for too long. He grit his teeth, hanging on tight to his composure. “Hello?” he said. “Can you hear me?”

She groaned. “My...baby…”

Oh fuck. David looked in the backseat. There was a car seat strapped into the back but thankfully, no baby in it and no sign the baby had even been in the car with her. “Your baby’s okay. Let’s worry about you.” He looked around frantically, then spotted the baby’s blanket sitting on the passenger seat. He reached across and grabbed it, folded it into a pad, and pressed it to her neck. She wailed in pain. “Hang on. You’re gonna be okay. Help is coming.”

Her eyes rolled in her bloody face and focused on him. “Who’re you?” she said, in a dreamy, not-quite-there voice.

“My name is David. Just try and sit still.” He used his free hand to dig out his phone and dial Patrick.

It took a second, but he picked up. “David?”

“Patrick...there’s a woman in a car, on the other side of the truck. She’s bleeding really bad from her neck.”

“Is it spurting or flowing?”

“Flowing, but there’s so much, fuck there’s so much blood…” He heard his voice rising and tried to tamp it down. The blanket pad he’d made was already soaked.

“Okay, it’s gonna be okay. I can’t get to you right now, you’re going to have to do what you can for her. I’ll get help to you as soon as I can but I’m in the middle of a thing.”

“What do I do? How do I…”

“Keep pressure on the wound. Find anything fabric you can and fold it up tight. Press hard, no matter if it hurts. Use your hands if you have nothing else. Try not to move her, try to keep her awake. Talk to her. Tip the seat back if you can, it’ll give you more leverage to seal her wound.”

“Okay. Okay. Hurry, Patrick, she’s so pale…”

“You can do this, David. You hear me? You’re gonna do just fine. You hang on, I’ll be there as fast as I can, honey.” The line went dead.

The woman was staring up at him. “Am I gonna die?” she said, her face pinching.

“You are not gonna die,” he said, forcefully, pressing harder on her neck. He didn’t even try to tip the seat back, there was no way that mechanism wasn’t smashed to hell. “We’re gonna get through this and you’re going to be okay. What’s your name?”

“Elaine. I’m scared.”

He grabbed her hand. “Me too, Elaine. Stay with me, okay? They’re coming, we just gotta hang on until they get here.” He looked in the back seat again and this time saw a coat in the rear footwell. He leaned in and snagged it, dropping her hand to fold it up and press it to her wound, as hard as he could. She didn’t react in pain this time, which seemed like a bad thing.

She clutched at his sweater. “My husband...tell him...will you tell my husband I love him so much?” she said, her voice clogged with tears. “Tell him...he’ll be such a good daddy...I’m...I’m sorry...I won’t…” She was fading.

David put one hand on her face. “C’mon, Elaine, stay with me. Think about your baby. What’s her name?”

She roused a little. “Meredith. Her name’s Meredith.”

“Meredith is counting on you, okay?”

Elaine nodded. “Will you stay with me? David?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You hang on. Help is coming.” He pressed harder on her neck and shut his eyes and waited for Patrick. Patrick would fix everything. Patrick would save her, because that’s what Patrick did.

The EMTs had finally been able to get a stretcher through the crashed vehicles and take over the victim Patrick had been working on. His leg had been nearly severed and Patrick had to rig a tourniquet high on his thigh with his own belt.

Finally free to help David, he grabbed his bag and darted towards the tanker truck, snagging another EMT crew to come with him. He could see David crouching next to a car, reaching in through the smashed window. “David!” he said, running up.

“Oh thank God,” David breathed. “She’s not talking anymore.”

Patrick peered in. The woman in the driver’s seat looked unconscious...in fact, she looked worse than that. He ran around the car; the front passenger door was pressed up to the divider but he was able to crawl in through the back door. David was holding a blood-soaked bundle of what looked like a folded-up coat to her throat, his jaw clenched and his eyes far away. His fingers were white with the strain of maintaining the pressure, just like Patrick had told him to do.

Patrick looked at the woman, dread pooling in his stomach. He knew what an unconscious person looked like and what a dead person looked like, and he already knew before he pressed his fingers to her pulse which one she was. Her skin was clammy white underneath the blood that covered her. One of the EMTs was leaning in through the smashed windshield, her stethoscope to the woman’s chest. She glanced at Patrick and shook her head, lips pressed tight. Patrick nodded, then motioned that she and her partner should go attend to other victims.

David appeared oblivious to all of this. He was tunnel-vision focused on the task Patrick had given him, to apply pressure, and he was aware of that and only that. Patrick got out of the car and came around to the driver’s side. “David,” he said, gently. “She’s gone. I’m so sorry.”

“No, I pressed hard! I did what you said! You’re here now, you can help her!”

He reached in and carefully pulled David’s hands away. David didn’t fight him. The bloody coat fell away and Patrick saw the catastrophic crush injury to the side of the woman’s neck. He doubted she’d have lived even if EMTs had been waiting to take her to the hospital the second the injury occurred. “You did so well. You did just what she needed. You were here with her, she wasn’t alone.”

David looked at him, his eyes big and raw. “I...Patrick…”

“I know. It’s hard to see it, especially the first time.”

David’s head slowly swiveled back to look at the woman’s slack face. Patrick saw him swallow hard. “Her name was Elaine,” he whispered. “She has a baby named Meredith. This isn’t...it isn’t right.”

“No, it isn’t. And it never gets easier.”

David stood up, abruptly. His hands and the sleeves of his sweater were covered in blood, which he didn’t seem aware of. He swiped at his face, staring down at Elaine. He looked at Patrick, his eyes still full of shock, then he turned and left, ducking under the tanker. Patrick watched him go, his heart heavy.

Travis opened his apartment door and welcomed Patrick inside with a hug. Travis was a really good hugger. “Shit, you’ve had a fuck of a day, haven’t you?” he said.

Patrick sighed. “Yeah. It really sucked. Thanks for letting me come over.”

“Hey, no problem, what are fuckbuddies for if not to share a Scotch after a multi-car collision?” He sat Patrick down on his sectional and brought him a drink. “The news said five people died?”

“Yeah. Twelve more injured. Twenty-nine cars involved.” He told Travis the whole story, how he and David had ended up on the site...and what David had gone through.

Travis looked stunned. “That is fucking horrible. You think that was the first time he’s seen someone die like that, in front of him?”

“I don’t know for sure but I’d bet that it is.” Patrick took a swig of his Scotch. “I tried to catch up with him later but by the time I was done, he’d gone. He caught a ride back to my station with one of the patrol officers and had gone home by the time I got back.”

“You think he’s okay?”

“Who knows what goes on inside his head?”

“Were you and him still...on a break?” Travis, who Patrick still slept with on occasion, knew all about his and David’s nemeses-who-fuck relationship.

“Yeah, we hadn’t hooked up since that hotel walkway thing. I thought it might be weird but it hasn’t been. He’s been as annoying as ever. Which is probably just what he’d say about me.”

“I don’t understand this relationship.”

“Well, first of all, there is no relationship except a professional collaboration, so jot that down.”

“But you don’t get along.”

“Nope. We fight constantly.”

“You don’t like him.”

“He’s pretentious and condescending.”

“But you make out with him.”

“He’s incredibly hot and we get each other off sometimes.”

“In between the fighting.”

“Sometimes during the fighting.”

Travis rubbed his forehead. “Patrick, you do know you’re living the oldest cliché in the romantic playbook, right? Two characters who fight constantly right up to the point they fall madly in love?”

“I’m going to wash your mouth out with a fire hose.”

Travis eyeballed him. “Oh shit, you’re already halfway there, aren’t you?”

“No! God, no! Why would...why would you say that?”

“No reason.”

Patrick flopped backwards onto the couch, covering his face with his hands.

“You wanna fuck?” Travis asked.

He sighed. “Sure, why not.”

Chapter Text

Patrick was not surprised when the address he got from the secretary in David’s office was a stylish residential tower on Bloor Street. Of course, David would live someplace like this. Someone who wore one-of-a-kind designer sweaters wasn’t going to live in anything less. He shook off the I-don’t-belong-here feeling and walked into the lobby, mildly anxious that there’d be a doorman or something who’d demand to announce him, but there wasn’t.

He’d gone back and forth all day. Should he check up on David, should he let him be, should he offer him some emotional support, should he respect his privacy, and so on and so forth until he drove himself nearly to distraction. His decision had finally been made when the secretary told him that David had taken a personal day today. He couldn’t be sure that it was connected to yesterday’s tanker truck crash, but it was a pretty good guess. So now here he was, standing in front of David’s door, holding a bottle of Whistlepig and hoping he wasn’t about to step in it, big time.

You’re just concerned about your colleague, Patrick. It’s not an indictment.

He knocked.

David opened the door, frowning. He looked cozy and vulnerable, in drop-crotch joggers and a fuzzy white cable knit sweater. His hair was fluffy and wavy, freed from the regimented updo he usually sported. “What are you doing here?” he said, without preamble.

Patrick held up the whiskey. “Thought you could use a drink.”

“I have plenty of my own drinks.” David was wound around himself, his arms crossed over his chest, his ankles crossed over each other, like he was holding himself together.

“I thought you could use a drink with company.”

David hesitated, then nodded, apparently fresh out of snarky comebacks. He motioned Patrick inside.

“Nice place,” Patrick said. It was surprisingly homey. He’d been imagining David living in a forbidding, museum-gallery home of glass and white leather, but instead there was a lot of wood and shades of warm beige and gray. It felt like a spa.

“Thanks,” David said, his voice flat. “I don’t...let people in here. Much.”

“I’m honored.” He hoped that didn’t sound too sarcastic, because he kind of was.

David held out his hand for the whiskey, blinking when he saw the label. “This is an expensive bottle of whiskey.”

“I save it for special occasions.”

“Is this a special occasion?”

Patrick cocked his head. “More like a worthy cause.”

David snorted. “Just what I’ve always wanted to be.” He crossed over to a bar cart near the kitchen door and opened the bottle, pouring two generous glasses. He handed one to Patrick. “I guess...sit down, or whatever.”

He sat down in a club chair. The couch felt risky for vague reasons. David took a seat in what looked like his usual spot on the couch - his phone charger was on the end table along with a water glass. He took a sip of the whiskey and made a funny little grimacing face that Patrick found upsettingly charming.

“Look, you don’t have to talk about it,” Patrick began.

“I know I don’t,” David said, cutting him off. “And if I wanted to, what makes you think I’d talk about it with you?”

“I don’t know, because I was there, too? Because that’s happened to me dozens of times?” He leaned forward. “David, you and I have had our differences…” David snorted again. “Okay, we’ve had a lot of differences. But...damn it, you’re gonna make me say...things.”

“What things?”

“You might bug the shit out of me, but…” He sighed. “I wouldn’t allow you on my calls if I didn’t respect you. We can fight about how best to do things, but in the end...you’re good at your job, David. And you’re a good person. An irritating, but good person.” He exhaled hard. “There, that didn’t hurt too badly,” he said with a chuckle, hoping for one in response from David.

David stared at him. Patrick expected a smirk to appear, and a sassy reply, but all he got was David’s face, nakedly undefended. “I’m not, though,” he whispered.

“Not which part?”

“Good. At any of it.” He took another drink. “She died,” he said, barely audible.

“What?”

“She died!” David said, his stridency making Patrick jump. “I told her I would help her and she died! She looked in my eyes and begged me not to let her die, and I promised her and she died anyway.” He put down his glass and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I fucked it up.”

Patrick’s guts twisted. He had been in this place. He was sometimes still in this place. He got up and sat next to David on the couch. “David, I need you to listen to me, okay?” David was shaking, Patrick could feel it through the couch cushions. “What happened to her was not your fault. You did everything you could. Sometimes our best isn’t enough. You can do everything right, and they still die. All we can do is be there with them when that happens, and you did that.”

David lowered his hands and looked at him, and Patrick almost recoiled at the raw pain he saw there. “I saw it,” David said, hoarse. “I saw it when...her life left her. She was there and the next second she wasn’t, and how is that allowed? How can that just...happen?”

Patrick hesitated, then went ahead and put his hand on David’s shoulder. “I don’t know. People a lot smarter than either of us have spent thousands of years trying to figure that out. All I know is that all our lives are fragile. Part of what we do is help protect those lives, but we can’t protect everyone. It sucks, and it’s awful, and it’s not fair. You didn’t sign up for this, I’m sorry this happened so suddenly. You weren’t prepared.”

“Are you prepared? When it happens to you?” David’s eyes were wet.

Patrick sighed. “No. Never.”

David’s lower lip was trembling. “She was just gone, Patrick,” he said. His voice sounded almost childlike; confused and horrified. “Just like that.”

“I know.”

He saw David fighting it. He left his hand where it was, on his shoulder, and waited.

David lost.

His face pinched inwards, a rough sob coughed from his chest, then it was over. He put his hands to his face and wept, rusty and broken like he hadn’t done so in a long time and his body didn’t quite remember how.. Patrick’s determination to keep their boundaries intact fled in a tactical retreat; he reached out and pulled David into his arms. He was stiff and resistant at first, but after a few moments he just melted, sagging against Patrick’s chest, his arms going around him and his hands clenching in Patrick’s sweater.

Patrick held him as he cried, remembering the first time he’d cried after a death on the job. He’d at least had his fellow firefighters, all of whom had been in the same situation, and all of whom had rallied around him in the days and weeks that followed. David had no one.

Except me. Somehow, he has me, the guy he can’t stand.

He rubbed David’s back, making those meaningless comfort noises you made when someone was crying and there just wasn’t a way to make it better except to go through it. David’s hand migrated to Patrick’s chest, gripping his sweater over his heart; he tucked his face into Patrick’s neck as he gradually got himself under control. “Breathe slow and even,” Patrick said. “With me, now.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, David following his lead. “There you go.”

David sighed and pressed a little closer, then suddenly, he froze. Patrick felt him blink several times against the skin of his neck. He sat up, pushing himself out and away from Patrick’s arms. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m...fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“That was...I mean, that must have been super awkward for you.”

“Not really. It’s not like I’ve never touched you before.” David got up and went into the kitchen. Patrick heard water running and the sound of David blowing his nose. He came back holding a glass of water and sat back down, leaving a few feet of space between them. “Better?” Patrick asked.

David took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, actually. Is that weird?”

“No. It’s the whole point of crying.”

“God, I really just did have a huge crying fit in front of you, didn’t I?” He looked at Patrick for the first time, then shut his eyes and tipped his head back. “And I got snot and tears all over your little sweater.”

“It’s washable. I prioritize convenience over fashion, unlike someone else in this room.”

David took a sip of his water, holding the glass with two hands like he didn’t quite trust them. A few beats passed in silence, then he put down the glass and stood up, like he’d just reached some internal decision. “Well...thanks for coming by,” he said.

Patrick got up. “Um, sure. I, uh...hope you know that this will stay between us.”

David blinked. “It didn’t even occur to me that it wouldn’t.”

“Okay. Good.”

They just stood there, David hugging himself and fidgeting from one foot to the other, his eyes averted.

“Well. I guess...I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” David’s eyes flicked to Patrick’s face for a moment, then away again.

Patrick nodded. “Goodnight, David.”

“Goodnight.”

He went to the door and let himself out, shutting it behind him. He stood there for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then walked off down the hall to the elevators.

Patrick busied himself tidying his kitchen, hoping it would tidy his mind, as well. He’d driven home more or less on autopilot, his mind rehashing what had just happened in David’s condo, endlessly cogitating on what it meant, if it meant anything, or how it would change things going forward. Then, his mind moved on to debating whether he wanted things to change, or didn’t want things to change. Now, as he wiped down the countertop and loaded the dishwasher with his dinner dishes, his mind insisted on showing him images of David, alone and sad in his apartment, struggling with guilt over that woman’s death and the hard truth that in his (their) line of work, death wasn’t a remote stranger who visited only in authorized times and places, but a foe they had to battle almost daily, a foe who often won.

He went into his living room to check for any stray dishes before he started the dishwasher. He’d just picked up a water glass when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, he went to open it.

David was standing on the porch, still in his cozy clothes. His posture was very straight, shoulders back and chin forward, a stubborn, almost defiant look on his face. Patrick’s brain leapt directly to “concerned.” David, are you all right? What are you doing here? Do you need company? Is something wrong?

The concern must have shown on his face. David tipped his head down a little and his eyes widened, a touch of apprehension coming into them. He shook his head minutely; Patrick shut his mouth tight, backing away from any well-meaning questions. David reset and cleared his throat, arched one eyebrow high and pursed his lips into his default dealing-with-people expression of annoyed pique. Its familiarity settled the ground beneath Patrick’s feet; the awkwardness they’d parted with dissipated.

Patrick put a hand on his hip and cocked his head. “There’s a very obvious sign outside that says ‘no soliciting,’” he said.

David rolled his eyes, but the tension left his shoulders. “You left this at my place,” he said, pulling his hand out from behind him and holding out the bottle of Whistlepig.

“So I did,” he said, taking the bottle. He’d realized that he’d forgotten it about halfway home, but figured he’d just text David the next day and arrange to get it back. “But how do you know I didn’t leave it on purpose? Maybe it was a gift.”

“What, a gift of a $100 bottle of whiskey? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Tormenting me with the infliction of unwanted gifts and forcing me to owe you something.” David was doing that thing where he was smiling underneath his irritated expression. Patrick doubted anyone but him could have spotted the difference. “Anyway, it was a quarter gone when you brought it. Even you’re not tacky enough to give someone an opened bottle of booze.”

“How tacky am I, exactly? Now that we’ve established that I’m not that tacky.”

“Please. You drink beer directly from the bottle like some kind of farmhand.”

“It tastes better that way. That’s just science.”

“Well, your nefarious plot has failed, since I’ve returned the whiskey.”

“Mm-hmm. At eleven o’clock at night, on your own initiative, without even texting me first.”

“Fine, don’t thank me! Some people would have just drank it, you know.”

“Not you, you’re a man of integrity.”

“Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“Well, thank you for this completely unnecessary late-night whiskey return service.”

David tossed his head, haughty again. “You’re not welcome at all, after that snarky thank you.”

He made no move to leave.

“Okay, then,” Patrick said, fighting to keep the grin from actually breaking out all over his face. “I’ll just take my whiskey and go inside with my lack of integrity.”

“As you were,” David said, with a hand flap in his direction. He was biting at his lower lip and a twinkle had come into his eyes.

Patrick knew that was his cue, but he waited, letting the silence spin out just for one last little dig.

“Are you coming in, or not?”

David made a great show of sighing and looking around, as if a reason for him to leave immediately might swoop down out of the sky. “I mean, if you insist,” he said.

Patrick held the door open and stepped aside to let him in. He shut and locked the door, set the whiskey down on the table, then turned and stepped directly into David’s arms. Their mouths slotted together easily; he wrapped his arms around David’s back, relishing the sheer size of him, his broad shoulders, the solidity of his chest against Patrick’s. David’s hands ran up and down his back, then lifted to cup his face as they tilted into it, lips opening to each other. “This is new,” Patrick murmured, between kisses, “not sneaking off...at a scene...or worrying...about getting caught.”

“Mmm,” David hummed against his lips. “I had started to wonder if you were a secret exhibitionist.”

“Nope. I like to take my time.” He slipped his hand under the hem of David’s sweater to the smooth, warm skin of his back, kissing down David’s stubbled throat. David held his head close, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. “And now I can finally get you naked,” he whispered. He felt David shudder.

“Not here by the front door, I hope,” he said. Patrick could feel him smiling against the side of his face.

He pulled back and looked up into David’s face. In the dimness of his front entry, his dark eyes glittered and his cheekbones caught the glow from the streetlights. He took David’s hand and pulled him through the living room, up the stairs to his bedroom. “This place is surprisingly stylish,” David commented as they passed through.

“I’ll be glad to show you around. Later.”

“Yes. Later.” David pulled him back into a deep, hard kiss at the side of the bed. Patrick grasped the hem of David’s sweater and the t-shirt underneath and pulled them up, David lifting his arms to help, and then he had David Rose shirtless in his arms, and he had to take a second. “Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his cheek over his dark chest hair. He ran his hands up to his shoulders and back down to his waist, unable to stop touching, wishing he could touch all of him at once.

“You’re overdressed,” David said, pulling on Patrick’s sweater. Patrick reached down and stripped it off along with his t-shirt, watching David’s eyes run over his chest and arms.

Patrick slid his hands around David’s hips to the swell of his ass. “Is it against our rules to tell you that you’re gorgeous?” he said, tilting up to kiss him again.

“We have rules?” David said, turning Patrick around and pushing him down onto the bed.

“You know what I mean.”

“I hope not, because then I couldn’t tell you that sometimes I get hard just watching you walk by.” He settled over Patrick, his erection pressing into him. He moved down Patrick’s chest, flicking his tongue over his nipples. “How do you want it?” he said, his lips moving against the skin of Patrick’s ribs. “Tell me.”

Patrick slid his hand into David’s hair. “I wanna ride you,” he said. “I’ve been waiting months to get your cock in me.”

“Fuck,” David gasped, surging up and over him again. They clutched each other, conversation impossible through rough, frantic kisses and hard gropes of whatever they could reach. Pants and underwear were discarded and Patrick yanked the covers down on his bed, pushing and pulling David up onto the sheets. He straddled his hips, looking down at him spread out in front of him, his olive skin stunning against the white sheets. David pulled him down into another kiss, his hands sliding down Patrick’s back to cup his ass. “This was one of the first things I noticed about you,” he said, giving it a squeeze.

“I’ve been told it’s...above average,” Patrick said, chuckling.

“I’d call it exemplary.”

“High praise.” He leaned over and got a condom and the lube out of the bedside table. He groaned as David stroked him, licking his palm to ease the way. “God, I’ve jerked off to this so many times,” he said, reaching behind to lube himself.

“I’d tell you to turn around and let me watch you do that but I’m too fucking impatient to get in you,” David said, his hand still busy on Patrick’s cock. Patrick ripped open the condom and slid back a little to slide it over David. “Jesus,” David moaned, tipping his head back.

Patrick leaned down and teased David’s tongue with his own, sliding his hips into place, holding David’s cock steady and sinking down on it in a slow, deliberate slide. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Oh god, David,” he groaned, leaning his forehead against David’s for a minute before he sat up straight, seating himself in one last plunge.

David let out a choked cry, his hands flying to grip Patrick’s hips. “Fuck, you feel good,” he said.

Patrick was past words. He braced his hands on David’s chest and worked himself fast and hard on David’s cock, bouncing and grinding his hips down. This was his favorite position, and previous partners had told him that he was good at it. His competitiveness wanted to show David just how good, to make him lose his mind, to make him scream when he came and to walk away from this bed having forgotten everyone else he’d ever fucked.

“I wanna wreck you,” David gasped. “Your pretty smooth skin and your tidy little body, I just want to take you apart and mark you up.” He dug his nails into Patrick’s thighs.

Patrick came with a shout, spurting over David’s stomach. “C’mon, David...come in me, give it to me, I wanna feel it…”

David’s eyes had gotten wide. “Fucking hell...God…” He pulled Patrick’s hips tight against his and came with a choked-off cry, shuddering and gasping. “Shit,” he said, weakly, his arms falling to the bed, limp.

Patrick held the condom in place and slipped off him. He reached into the nighttable and pulled out a packet which he tossed to David’s chest.

David lifted his head just enough to see what it was. “Baby wipes?” he said, eyebrows furrowed.

“Baby wipes are awesome. They clean up everything. I keep packets all over the place.”

“Oh, good. Was hoping there wasn’t a previously-unmentioned mini-you around somewhere.”

“Nope.” Patrick cleaned himself off, tossing the condom and the wipe, then helped David get the streaks of Patrick’s come off his stomach. He flopped to his back at David’s side. “Fuck, that was good,” he said.

“Satisfactory,” David said, but he was smirking. They just lay there recovering for a few minutes; Patrick could sense tension returning to David’s body. He shifted away a bit. “Well,” he began. “I guess...I mean I should...I don’t want to…” He was scooting to the far side of the bed, where his clothes were on the floor.

Patrick didn’t let himself second-guess the impulse, or examine it too closely. He reached out and grasped David’s wrist. “Hey.” David looked back at him. “Stay.”

David’s face was cautious, like he was waiting for the punchline. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

So he stayed.

David asked to use Patrick’s bathroom, then emerged in his soft joggers and the t-shirt he’d worn under his sweater. Patrick took his turn, putting on his flannel pants and an old, worn Fire Services t-shirt. David was lying primly on the far side, looking very uncertain what he was supposed to be doing. He watched Patrick climb into bed. “I don’t bite, you know,” Patrick said.

“I’m just...I don’t usually do this.”

Patrick got himself comfortable against the pillows, then held out his arm. “C’mere.”

David looked grateful for the clear directive. He slid over and tucked under Patrick’s arm, settling his head on his shoulder and his arm across Patrick’s stomach. Patrick let his arm rest around David’s back, something tugging at his belly at how natural this felt, how easy. They just lay like that for a few moments, acclimating. Feeling each other’s pulse, listening to each other’s breathing. Patrick stayed silent, just letting this...be.

David’s hand was resting on his chest, his fingers making small circles near his sternum. “I didn’t come here to return the whiskey,” he finally whispered.

Patrick pulled him a little closer. “I know.”

“When you came over, before. I didn’t…” He hesitated. “I’ve never felt...safe. Like that. When you...when you held me.” He sounded like the words were being dragged out of him. Patrick didn’t respond, just let him get there in his own time. “I can still see her face when I close my eyes,” he said, almost too quietly for Patrick to hear. “I’m...I don’t know what to do with that. But I knew if I was here, I’d feel safe again. You make everyone feel safe, all around you. Your crew, and the people you help, and I guess me, too.”

Patrick’s chest felt tight and he was trying not to think about it. Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to David’s hair. David lifted his head and kissed Patrick’s lips, soft and quiet. He kissed back, covering David’s hand on his chest with his own. David pulled back and looked at him, his eyebrow arching again. “You’re still a fucking dickhead, though.”

Patrick grinned. “Get some sleep, asshole.”

Chapter Text

David strode down the hallway to his condo, texting his boss that he’d get to the office when he got there. He’d set an alarm at Patrick’s house (fuck me I spent the night at Patrick’s house, God what the fuck am I even doing with my life right now) but then dozed off again after shutting it off. Patrick’s bed was just so warm and cozy, and so was Patrick, who wasn’t on duty today and was therefore able to sleep in. When David had finally dragged himself out of the bed, Patrick had made distressed noises and grabby hands at him, which felt annoyingly heartwarming. “I gotta go,” he’d murmured. “I have to work.”

“Work sucks,” Patrick had grumbled.

“I couldn’t agree more, but my bank account likes it when I show up for it.” He’d hesitated, then leaned close over Patrick’s half-asleep face. “See you later, you impossible son of a bitch.”

“Goddamned asshole,” Patrick had replied, but a tiny smile lurked at his mouth. David had dropped a quick kiss on Patrick’s temple before he could talk himself out of it and left quickly.

The worst part was that the whole drive back, his brain had insisted on revisiting the night he’d just spent with that impossible son of a bitch. They’d fallen asleep tucked up together like they were some kind of couple, then woken up in the middle of the night and had sex again. David hadn’t slept that well in years. He was choosing to attribute it to the physical demands of the sex tiring him out. Nothing else it could be.

“Walk of shame?” came a voice, just as he put his key in the door.

“Fuck!” he said, jumping. Stevie was lurking in her doorway, waggling her eyebrows at him. “Do you have me-radar or something? How do you always know when I’m coming in?”

“I planted a GPS bug in your satchel.” She chortled at his horrified face. “Kidding. You walk like a herd of elephants, it isn’t hard to hear you coming.” She followed him into his apartment, a coffee cup in her hand. “So where were you all night?”

“Out.”

“Just...out?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back in mortification. “I was at Patrick’s house having a whole bunch of filthy sex with him, all right?”

Stevie laughed, then stopped suddenly, her eyes wide. “Oh wait, are you serious?”

“I am serious.”

“This is the same Patrick, the firefighter you can’t stand, right? You didn’t pick up some other guy who also happens to be named Patrick? Because someone who looks a lot like you told me in no uncertain terms that you were gonna stop having inappropriate workplace hate-sex with that other Patrick.”

“We did stop having workplace hate-sex. This was...not that.”

She held out her hands. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

He did. Patrick showing up with whiskey, his meltdown, then going over to Patrick’s later.

“Why’d you go over there?” she said. She had her hand on his thigh; Stevie had already been privy to some of his anguish over the death he’d witnessed, and she knew how it had affected him.

He thought for a minute. “He made it okay that I wasn’t okay,” he said, quietly. “And after he left, I just...wanted to feel like that again.”

Stevie nodded. “Well...whatever fucked-up thing you guys have going on, I’m glad it helped.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

“So what are you, boyfriends now?”

David recoiled. “No! God, no.”

“Friends? Friends who fuck? I respect that.”

“I don’t think we’re friends, either.”

“Sworn enemies who fuck? I mean, that’s pretty hot, not gonna lie.”

David sighed. “I don’t know what this says about me, but I’m starting to feel like my sworn enemy is the only guy who really gets me.”

“I’m just saying, a heads-up would have been nice,” David repeated for the third time.

“This apartment building is identical to a dozen other apartment buildings around here, all of which we’ve been in or fought fires in,” Patrick said. “We know these pretty well.”

“But you don’t know how this fire will go, so this situation is different,” David said. “You’ll have to think on your feet.”

“Well, thank God Captain Ogleby called you, then, or else us dumbass firefighters might have had to have an original thought.” Patrick walked around to the far side of his engine to get his breathing apparatus.

It had been almost a month since the tanker truck crash, and Patrick found that he and David had...settled, if that was the word, into a pattern. On the surface, nothing had changed. They argued at car crashes, disagreed about strategy, fought in front of fire engines, and entertained the entire command with the ever-more-creative insults they hurled at each other. But then, every few days, there’d be a text. Come over? or Want some company? More often than not, the invitation would be accepted, and they’d spend a few hours in one of their respective beds, banging each other cross-eyed. Patrick didn’t really know what it meant, if it meant anything, he only knew that he was enjoying the hell out of it, and it seemed like David was, too. It was easy. It was...comfortable. If having regular, mind-blowing sex with a man who was usually referred to as your arch-nemesis could ever be called ‘comfortable.’

Tonight was the first time they’d met up at a significant fire, though, one that would send Patrick into the burning structure, and he didn’t think he was imagining that David was a little antsier than usual about it.

David followed him around the engine. “Are you going in?” he asked, his voice a little shrill. They were the only ones back here, everyone else was already geared up.

“That is my job, yes.”

“Not always! Sometimes you stay outside and...coordinate!”

“There are four captains here, we can’t all coordinate.” He shrugged the tank onto his back “Ronnie’s here too, she’s in charge.” He looked up at David. “Why, are you worried about me?”

“No, in fact I’m really hoping for a nice roof cave-in so I can point and laugh at you and say ‘I told you so.’”

Patrick glanced around. They were alone. “You still coming over tonight?” he said, low.

David huffed in annoyance. “Priorities, Patrick.”

“Are you suggesting sex isn’t a priority?”

“Fine. Eight o’clock, I believe, was the agreed-on time.”

“I mean, don’t bother if you’re too annoyed that I didn’t personally call you for this fire.”

“I am never not annoyed with you.”

“Whatever.” He started past him. Without looking at him, David grabbed his gloved hand and gave it a fast squeeze.

“Be careful,” he said, low and quick, like he was embarrassed and needed to get the words out fast.

Patrick squeezed back, and headed into the inferno.

“Mmmm yeah, right there...oh fuck just like that....”

Patrick braced on his elbows and watched David’s blissed-out face as Patrick fucked him, David’s long legs wrapped around him. His eyes were closed and his hands grabbed at Patrick’s body as they moved together; each time Patrick thrust into him, David made a needy little noise in his throat that traveled directly to Patrick’s cock. He settled between David’s spread thighs and buried his face in his neck, sliding his arms underneath him to hold him closer. “David,” he breathed. “God, I...fuck...wish I could get deeper…”

David slid both hands down to grab his ass and pull him in hard. “Like that?” he murmured. He tilted his hips up into Patrick’s and hitched his thighs up a little higher. “Get in me, so deep, God, Patrick, I love your cock…”

Patrick made a strangled noise and his hips jerked forward. “I’m close...David…”

“Do it, wanna feel you come, c’mon…”

He cried out as it poured over him, a wave of ecstasy from the top of his head to his toes. David stroked his back as he shuddered down from the peak; he could still feel David hard between their sweaty bellies. He pulled out of him, minding the condom, and quickly slid down the bed to take David in his mouth. David let out a yell, his hand tangling in Patrick’s hair.

“Oh Jesus fuck,” he yelled as he came down Patrick’s throat. “Your goddamn mouth you’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he said, gasping as he twitched through the aftershocks.

Patrick scooted up the bed and stretched out, propped on his elbow next to him, stroking David’s heaving chest. He was developing a bit of a fetish for his chest hair. “Need a minute?” he said, smirking.

“Oh, take your smug little stupid face and shove it,” David muttered, one corner of his mouth quirking up. He took a few deep breaths, then opened his eyes and looked up at Patrick. “Whew. Okay. And now it’s time for…”

“...baby wipes!” Patrick finished. It had become something of a private joke.

They cleaned up and got into sleep clothes. They didn’t always sleep over, but it was becoming more and more common as the weeks passed. Patrick emerged from the bathroom to find David sitting up in bed, reading something on his phone. Patrick got in and curled up on his side, his head pillowed on David’s thigh. As he’d hoped, David’s hand soon found its way into his hair, scratching through the short strands on the back of his head. It was soothing, and the lack of eye contact made it...somehow not a violation of their never-defined, nebulous “rules.”

He was just about to doze off when David spoke. “You’re thirty-five, right?”

“Um, yeah? How do you know that?”

“Same way I knew where you lived that first time I came over. I’ve read your personnel file.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So...how old is Gay Patrick?”

“Huh?”

“How old were you when you came out?”

Patrick hesitated. He always felt a tickle of involuntary shame sharing this information with other queer people, as if he’d failed the Community and would be judged for it. “I was twenty-nine.”

David’s hand in his hair paused, then resumed. “Yeah?” There was no judgment in his voice, just curiosity.

“I used to be engaged to a woman. My girl-next-door, lifelong best friend. The ladies at church used to coo at us when we were seven, you know? Oh, won’t they make beautiful babies someday, and all that.”

“They said that about seven year olds? Gross. Straight people are so weird.”

“I went to college, she went to college, we were off and on, everyone just assumed we’d get married, so it was easier to go along, even though nothing with her ever felt right.” He rested his hand on David’s leg, idly tracing the contours of his knee with two fingers. “Inertia is a hell of a thing.”

David’s fingers on his scalp were hypnotic. “When did you finally...you know.”

“We went to a big barbecue with her whole family. They all knew me, and it was like...I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“You saw the rest of your life flash before your eyes.”

“Yes, God, that is it, exactly. When we got home I had a...I guess it was a panic attack. First one I ever had.” David’s hand was steady and warm as it stroked his head. “I called it off the next day. I moved out, transferred to the 315, and then I met Ken.”

“Ken Aquino? From the 324?”

“Yep. He used to be at my station.”

“You used to date Ken?”

“We never dated. But he was interested, and he just assumed I was gay. The fact that he did was a shock. I’d never had anyone make that assumption about me. I don’t know how he knew when I didn’t know. But having someone think I was gay made me go, oh shit, I think I’m gay. I told him all of that, and he was like, holy cow, you are not ready to date. Let’s get you laid first.”

David chuckled. “So he was your fairy godfather.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And that’s only six years ago? You’re barely out of your Big Gay Slut phase. Not that you have to have one. I shouldn’t perpetuate queer stereotypes.”

“Relax, David. I definitely had that phase.” Patrick chuckled. “But what makes you think I’m out of it?”

“Touché.”

“It was pretty mild, to be honest. I’m not a very good slut. I’ve had two semi-serious boyfriends, a few not-very-serious ones, and my share of hookups. I have a guy I hook up with regularly right now, actually. I met him at Expanse on my birthday, remember that first day we went out on that tour of the district?”

“I remember. That’s quite a while ago. Long time to just hook up with somebody.”

“Are you suggesting there’s more?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Nope. Travis is great, don’t get me wrong. But he doesn’t date. He’s, um...there’s a term for it. Where you like sex but not relationships.”

“Aromantic?”

“Yeah. Anyway, he’s super fucking hot, so I’m happy to help out with the sex part. And we’re friends. It’s kind of nice to have that, actually. It’s...convenient.”

“Plus, you also have the work colleague you’re hate-fucking,” he said. Patrick could hear the smile in his voice.

He lifted his head and looked up at him. “I don’t hate you, David.”

David’s snark-face softened a little. “I don’t hate you, either. At least, not right now.”

Patrick lay his head back down and David’s hand returned to it immediately. They were silent for a few moments. “What about you, when did you come out?” The minute he said it, Patrick realized something. “Shit, it just hit me that I never even asked you if you were gay at all.”

“People don’t usually need to ask,” David said, with a low chuckle. “Most of the time, when I’m coming out to someone, I’m telling them that I’m not gay.”

“You aren’t?”

“Nope. I’m pansexual.”

“Oh.”

“Is that...weird for you?”

“No, why would it be?”

“It is for some people.”

“It’s your sexuality, it’s got nothing to do with me. You like having sex with me, that’s as far as it affects me one way or the other.”

“You’ve heard me mention my friend Stevie? She and I used to fuck sometimes.”

“Used to?”

“We became really close and it got weird. It was edging up to relationship territory which wasn’t something we were comfortable with, so we backtracked to just friends.” Patrick heard him put his phone on the nightstand, then he slid down in the bed a little so Patrick’s head ended up resting on his stomach. “Are you out to your parents? Your ex-fiancée?”

“Yes, both. Rachel - that’s my ex - it took her some time to come to terms with it, but we’re friends now.”

“I’ve had my differences with my family, but my sexuality has never been one of them.”

“I guess we’re both lucky that way.”

“Yeah,” David said, looping his arm around Patrick’s back. “I guess we are.”

“I’m mad at you,” David said, when he was finally able to buttonhole Heather away from the many handshakers and congratulators.

“What’d I do now?” she said, grinning.

“You’re abandoning me for East Command. I’m never going to see you.”

“Of course you will, we’ll still be giving The Talk together.”

“I don’t understand how a whole promotion to Deputy Chief outweighs the sheer delight of seeing me regularly.”

“It was a difficult, soul-searching decision,” she said. “I thought to myself, gosh, it’s a big pay bump, better hours, more responsibility, not to mention a great vote of confidence, but how will I deal with not having the David Rose Experience on the reg?”

“They better fucking be paying you better to compensate for being deprived of my company.”

She laughed, looking out over the crowd of firefighters and EMTs gathered in the park for Deputy Chief Curry’s retirement party. A small stage had been set up for a couple of speeches, and a few stations had brought pumper trucks for reasons David couldn’t fathom. The ambiance, maybe? Heather, who was being promoted into the position Chief Curry was vacating, would be giving a speech as well.

David’s eyes automatically sought out Patrick, as they were annoyingly more and more likely to do these days. His station had brought their pumper truck and he was standing up against it, talking to Ray, looking cool and competent in his dark sunglasses and short-sleeved uniform. Heather followed his gaze and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the bad man hurt you,” she joked.

“It’s such a betrayal. You’re my favorite Captain in the district. Now I’m stuck with Ogleby and Martinez and fucking Brewer.”

“I do not understand this friction you two have. I love Patrick, I think he’s great.”

“Everyone thinks he’s great. He’s got them all fooled with that Student Council President exterior. I alone see the monster within, apparently.”

“He’s hot, too. Are you sure all that animosity isn’t just, you know...sublimation?”

“Gross.” David looked away, hoping Heather couldn’t read on his face that less than twelve hours ago he’d given a pretty spectacular blowjob to the monster in question. “Much as I hate to say it, I actually do have to go talk to him. We’re planning some drills for next week.” He turned to her and held out his arms to hug her. “Congratulations, Deputy Chief Warner. You are a badass and you deserve this.”

“Thanks, David,” she said, warmly, hugging him back.

He let her go and made his way through the crowd, getting stopped a couple of times. The Chief was starting the speeches just as he made it to the 315’s pumper truck where Patrick was standing. “Look who the cat dragged in,” Patrick said, lifting one eyebrow. “And wearing a whole-ass sweater in the blazing hot sunshine.”

“Commitment to an aesthetic requires sacrifice,” he said. Everyone was standing up from picnic tables or blankets on the ground so they could see the Chief. “Can you see? Do you need an apple crate to stand on?”

“Oh, height jokes, always a classic. Got any original material, or are we just doing primary-school playground callbacks?”

David leaned against the truck next to Patrick as Ronnie got up to speak. She started with some gentle roasts of the outgoing East Command Deputy Chief, then transitioned into his accomplishments over his long career.

He glanced sideways at Patrick. He was listening with that infuriating straight-A-student attentive look on his face, smiling at Ronnie’s jokes, clapping when she listed another of Chief Curry’s accolades.

I just wanna fluster him, David thought. He glanced around. They were at the very back of the crowd, everyone facing front, with the truck behind them. Nobody would see if he...hmm.

He slipped one hand out from behind his back and around Patrick, wrapped his fingers around his asscheek and gave it a squeeze. Patrick’s face didn’t change, but instead of elbowing him or pushing his hand away, the motherfucker actually slid a little closer.

David pursed his lips. He saw out of his peripheral vision a smug little smirk barely there on Patrick’s lips.

Oh. Okay. So we’re playing it like that.

He moved his hand down into the crack of his ass, pressing his fingers in a little. He felt Patrick jump a bit and saw his eyes cut towards David for just a second.

“You’re asking for it, asshole,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.

“I don’t know what you mean,” David whispered back. He moved his hand back to that delectable roundness of his left asscheek and stroked it, ending with a little cupping action.

“You’re gonna fucking get it,” Patrick said, his smile not budging.

“Gosh, that sounds just terrible, and not at all like something I’d enjoy.” He withdrew his hand. “Pay attention, Chief Curry’s speaking.” He clapped along with the rest of the audience as Curry got up to speak.

“I should go stand with my crew,” Patrick said, crossing in front of David. He turned his back to David to move between him and the people standing in front of him, and just as he passed, he pressed his ass back into David’s crotch for a second. David made an involuntary little yelp, recovering quickly. Patrick tossed a sly look back at him as he made his way over to where Mutt and Twyla were standing.

David watched him go, carefully schooling his expression into the angry scowl everyone expected and not the big grin that wanted to be there, wondering — not for the first time — if he’d met his match.

“I am not having this argument with you again, David,” Patrick said, stalking through the firehouse with David close on his heels.

“I don’t understand what the problem is!”

“We don’t just have full sets of bunker gear lying around to give away. There are line items in the budget for all of this!”

“If I’m going to keep being at fires and other catastrophes, shouldn’t I have protective equipment?”

“No, you should have a better sense of a minimum safe distance and stay beyond it!”

“I can’t keep a minimum safe distance and do my job effectively! You’re just being proprietary and keeping all your toys for the cool kids!” He followed Patrick into his office and slammed the door behind him.

“Hey, don’t slam that door! This is a firehouse, not a frat house!”

“Oh pardon me, like half the firefighters here don’t swear like sailors and leave their socks everywhere. Sounds like a frat house to me.”

“I’m the captain, I should at least pretend to be professional, which you continue to make it impossible for me to do, and by the way bunker gear is not a toy, it’s important protective equipment and I can’t just hand it out to anybody.”

“I am not anybody, I am an ‘important asset to the department,’ to quote one Captain P. Brewer in a memorandum to the Mayor’s office when asked to evaluate the success of the fire and rescue engineer consult program, or did you not think I’d see that?”

“I was being polite,” Patrick said, gritting his teeth. “And why are you asking me for your own set of bunker gear, anyway? You report to Ronnie!” David made a face, fidgeting. “She said no, didn’t she? So what, you come to me? Do you know how much a full set of bunker gear costs? Five grand, minimum!”

“You just don’t want me to have it to make sure I remember that I’m not a member of your little firefighting club, here!”

“You’re not a member of the firefighting club, you’re not a qualified firefighter! This isn’t about cliquishness, David, it’s a matter of safety and procedure!”

“If it’s safety you’re worried about, doesn’t that mean I should have protective gear?”

“I don’t want you in danger!” Patrick burst out. David recoiled, his mouth shutting with a snap. Patrick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If you have gear you might think you could get right up close to whatever we’re handling, and you don’t have the training. It’s called risk compensation, and it’s a known phenomenon where people are less careful when they feel more protected, causing safety equipment to actually increase the occurrence of injuries.”

David blinked. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I give you the human brain.”

He fixed Patrick with a severe look. “It is not your job to look out for me. I don’t want you feeling responsible. I can take care of myself. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never thought you were.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “It’s not just the risk compensation. If you’re geared up on a call, victims or civilians may ask you for help you’re not qualified to give.”

“You’re not an EMT, and victims ask you for medical help all the time. You do what you can for them and then get them to the person who is qualified, which is exactly what I would do.” He crossed his arms. “Patrick...when I came on this project, I thought it was a punishment. I thought I was being exiled to some make-work whim of the Mayor’s. I resented it.”

Patrick nodded. “So did I.”

“But now, after doing this for awhile...we’ve done some good work. Me and you and all the other stations in the command. This is important. This work matters. It matters to me.” His shoulders sagged and he flopped down in one of Patrick’s office chairs. “I don’t know how much you know about my life before I moved here.”

“You don’t talk about that much.”

“I built fancy buildings for corporations and rich people, with a career that was bought and paid for by my father, something I didn’t know until recently. I dated socialites and got my picture on Page Six. And I was useless, Patrick. I was a fucking waste of space.” He looked up, and Patrick’s gut clenched at the sincerity in his expression. “Last week I designed a rig that can fit in a shoulder bag and lets a single rescuer lift a car off someone pinned. The week before that, I helped your crew get a family safely out of that duplex fire. I’m not useless here. I like not being useless. I’m...I’m invested now. I want to be better at this, I want to do more.” He shrugged, like he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I want to help. There’s more I can do to help.”

Patrick knew he was right about the risk compensation, and David’s lack of actual fire training, and about the practical cost of gear. But he was helpless. He couldn’t look at David’s face and keep saying no. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

He smiled. “Thanks.” He clapped his hands to his knees and stood up. “Now I’ve got to go over to the 324 and teach a class about distributed weight loads. Pray for me.” He went to the door.

“Hey,” Patrick said. David turned back, eyebrows raised. Patrick crossed over to him, pulled him close and kissed him. David leaned into it immediately, sliding one arm around Patrick’s shoulders. He let it get a little heated, but pulled back before it could get out of hand. “Don’t think you get any special treatment around here because of this,” he said, laying a light smack on David’s ass.

“Of course not. I’m counting on the blowjobs for that,” David said, dropping a wink as he let himself out.

Chapter Text

It was a normal Thursday night crowd at Expanse — not packed to the rafters, but busy enough that you didn’t feel conspicuous. Travis had convinced Patrick to come out for a drink with him, since he wasn’t on shift again till Saturday. “C’mon, homebody,” he’d said. “Get one of your boring gin and tonics, get a blowjob from a stranger, maybe. And if not, you know I’m good for it.”

So here they were, sitting at a high-top near the bar. Travis kept glancing past Patrick towards the dance floor. “Go dance if you want to,” Patrick said. “We’re not joined at the hip.”

“It’s rude.”

“Bullshit. I’m not into dancing. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have a good time.” He sipped his boring gin-and-tonic, casually looking around to see if anybody was looking back.

Travis was doing the same. Plenty of people were looking back at him. He was like a damned honeypot in this place. Travis’s gaze snagged on someone past Patrick’s shoulder and his eyes widened a touch. “Um...Patrick? Isn’t that David?”

Patrick looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was David on the far side of the bar, talking to a short dark-haired woman in a flannel. He wondered if this was the mythical Stevie. “Yep. That’s him.”

“Jesus, in the flesh. Can I meet him?”

“Oh God, please don’t.”

“He is even hotter in person.”

“More annoying, too.” Patrick meant to look away — really, he did — but he wasn’t fast enough. David looked up and spotted him. He smirked a little, then looked back at Maybe!Stevie, pretending he hadn’t seen him at all. Patrick turned back to Travis. “I mean, he’s allowed to be here.”

“You guys are still fucking, right?”

“Yes. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“If you say so.” Travis moved on to another topic — one of his cases, he was a civil rights attorney — and Patrick tried desperately to pay attention, but half of his brain was yammering that David was right over there.

Why do I even care. It doesn’t matter. He can pick up whatever person he feels like. I am free and unfettered and so is he.

“You look great tonight,” Travis said, smiling at him, his eyes running up and down Patrick’s body.

“I look the same way I always look,” Patrick said, nevertheless pleased at the compliment. “You look amazing, as usual.”

“I look like hot garbage. I’ve been working so many extra hours you could use the bags under my eyes as carry-on luggage.”

“Are you grading on a curve? Hot garbage for you is anyone else’s GQ cover model.”

“Sweet talker.” He looked around again. “See anyone you like?” Aside from David, Travis clearly meant but did not say.

“That guy’s cute,” Patrick said, nodding at a guy at the bar with glasses.

“Hmm. If you’re into horny-math-TA roleplay.”

“Who says I’m not?”

“Whoa, check out the Chris Evans gun show at eleven o’clock,” Travis said. Patrick followed his gaze to a tall blond guy wearing a t-shirt two sizes too small, stretched over his impressive rack of muscles.

“I dunno. He’s hot, but that’s just...too much man for me.”

“Patrick, you’re a firefighter. Were you absent the day they handed out machismo?”

“I’m a five foot nine firefighter who’s a buck sixty soaking wet. The machismo took one look at me and asked if they had anything in their size.”

“Oh...wait...the plot thickens,” Travis said.

The Chris Evans Gun Show had zeroed in on David. Maybe!Stevie had moved to the bar and was talking to a beardy folk-singer-looking dude. While Patrick looked, David’s eyes flicked to him, then refocused on Gun Show, beaming a dazzling smile and practically fluttering his eyelashes. Gun Show was helpless. David on full power was not to be trifled with.

Patrick turned back to Travis. “Guess at least David’s getting laid tonight,” he said, grimly ignoring the hot lead ball of jealousy that had taken up residence in his gut.

“You could have any guy in here you wanted but you’re just sitting here with me.”

“I didn’t necessarily come out tonight to hook up, you know. Can’t I just have a drink with my friend?”

“Yes. You may do that. I’ll allow it.” Patrick saw Travis’s eyes track something from where David had been over towards the dance floor. He grit his teeth and resisted looking. Travis’s eyebrows lifted a little. “Oh my. Gun Show’s not wasting any time.”

Patrick looked. What was he made of, stone? Gun Show had David in a close, hips-together clinch, one hand squarely on his ass, undulating them both to the rhythm of whatever the fuck song this was. David had his arms slung around the guy’s gargantuan shoulders, his hips languid and swaying.

“Nope,” Travis said, getting up. He grabbed Patrick’s hand and pulled him off his chair. “If he’s dancing, you’re dancing.”

Patrick let himself be led to the scattering of people on the dance floor. Travis clearly had a plan. He positioned them not too far, but not too near to where David and Gun Show were dancing. He turned his back to them and pulled Patrick into his arms so he could see them and started swaying him to the music. Patrick just hung on and let himself be moved around; Travis was much better at this than he was. “This feels kind of nice,” he said.

“Yeah? C’mere,” Travis said, pulling him into a slow, languid kiss. He kissed down Patrick’s throat and fastened his mouth on the thick muscle where his shoulder met his neck. Patrick felt heated through and loose-limbed. He looked over Travis’s shoulder and saw that David had turned around so his back was to Gun Show’s chest. He and Patrick locked eyes like it was planned.

He watched as Gun Show ran his hands up and down David’s chest. David kept his eyes fixed on Patrick’s as he tipped his head back so the guy could suck on his throat. Patrick ran one hand up into Travis’s hair and the other down to his ass, holding David’s gaze the whole time.

The rest of the dancers fell away. The music faded to a dull throb. Travis’s hands on him were a low undercurrent of sensation. David’s eyes were the whole world. He watched, heat rising up his chest, as David pulled Gun Show’s hand down to his crotch, grinding back against him, defiantly keeping his eyes locked on Patrick’s. He lifted one hand to cup the back of the guy’s head, keeping his mouth on David’s neck. Patrick hung on to Travis like a buoy bobbing in rough seas, controlling his breathing while David tortured him from across the dance floor.

He broke the staredown, turned toward Travis and kissed him, hard and deep, one hand fisting in the back of his shirt. Travis went along, and when Patrick pulled back and looked again, David was staring at him, his chin lowered and his gaze dark and intense. Patrick bit his lip and held the eye contact. He couldn’t have looked away if a fire had broken out nearby. He felt like he was out of his body, like he existed somewhere in the space between himself and David. The people between them on the dance floor were shadows, flitting in and out of his field of vision with no more substance than tissue paper. He rested his chin on Travis’s shoulder, one hand cupping the back of his neck, and returned David’s stare from under his eyelashes.

“Is this working,” Travis muttered into his ear.

“Fuck if I know,” he said, not dropping his eyes.

And then, Gun Show seized David’s shoulders and turned him back around, bending him back to kiss him. David went with it for a moment, then pulled away, said something to him, stepped back and headed for the bar area. He didn’t look back.

Patrick sucked in a breath like he’d been underwater. He relaxed in Travis’s arms, then took a step away. Travis was blinking at him. “What just happened?”

“I...I think I need a drink.”

David beelined for Stevie at the bar. He leaned in close to her ear. “I gotta go,” he said. “I’ll explain later.”

“Okay…” was all he heard before he was out the door, calling an Uber as he went. Fortune favored him tonight and there was a driver close; within two minutes he was in the backseat of a Camry being driven home.

He let his head fall back against the seat, trying to calm his jangling nerves. Behind his eyelids he saw Patrick, staring at him across that dance floor, in the arms of a guy he assumed was Travis, who was even hotter than he’d been picturing, while David got felt up by a dude who drank too many protein shakes. A guy who David would normally have taken home in a heartbeat, but whose touch he suddenly couldn’t tolerate for a single second longer.

He got to his condo, finally, and shut the door on the world. He hung up his leather jacket — there was always time for clothing care, no matter how distracted he was — and went to the bar cart to pour himself a rye and ginger, his go-to calm-down cocktail. Tonight he’d hold the ginger, though.

He didn’t realize he’d been waiting for the knock until it came.

He tossed back the rest of the rye and went to the door. He barely had it open before Patrick barreled in, his eyes blazing, and seized him in a hard clinch. David grunted and grabbed him, kicking the door shut with one foot. The kiss was feverish, haphazard and rough, Patrick’s jacket falling to the floor where David shoved it off him. “Is this what you wanted,” Patrick gasped, his fingers gripping David’s head and holding it as he dove into his mouth.

“Yes, God,” he said, stumbling backwards towards the bedroom and pulling Patrick with him.

“You didn’t bring him home,” Patrick growled, and Jesus he’d never heard him growl like that. It shot up David’s spine in a white-hot bolt of arousal. “You didn’t want him.”

“Just you. Only wanted you,” he bit out between hard, imperfectly-aimed kisses. He wrapped his hand around the back of Patrick’s head and dragged his mouth back, biting at his lips. “Show me. Show me what you want,” he said, the words sliding into the sliver of space between them.

“I don’t know how you make me want you so bad,” Patrick said, that predatory tone again, God, it was hot. They fell together onto David’s bed, clothes flying, and no more words were exchanged.

David jerked awake just before eight o’clock. He took a few deep breaths, orienting himself after a series of strange, surreal and vaguely upsetting dreams. He turned his head and his chest settled at the sight of Patrick sprawled out on his stomach at his side, his face mashed into the pillow, turned towards David.

They’d gone completely feral on each other. Patrick’s touch had been eager and possessive, and it tripped something in David’s psyche that he rarely let himself touch. He’d laid himself bare to Patrick, all his defenses shattered, and he didn’t know if he could put them back up now.

He slipped out of bed — still naked, they hadn’t even really cleaned up or put on sleep clothes before losing consciousness — and went into the bathroom to at least wipe himself down. He put on joggers and a sweater and started a pot of coffee. He watched it drip into the pot, both in anticipation of that sweet, sweet caffeine but also to free his mind to work on a plan. A vague plan, but it was a plan. He was both terrified and excited about it, and which one would win out would largely depend on how Patrick seemed when he got up. What had happened last night had been...a lot. David felt like something had shifted, but he didn’t know what, or how far, or if Patrick had felt it, too. Would he be freaked out? Would he run? Would it be awkward now?

He was stirring creamer into his coffee when he heard footsteps in the bedroom, then running water and the toilet flushing. Patrick came into the kitchen a minute later, dressed only in his jeans, his bare feet vulnerable on the wood laminate floor of David’s kitchen. His smooth chest bore more than one mark left by David’s mouth or fingers last night. He rubbed at the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. “It’s not often you’re up first,” he said, a wry smile on his lips. “Did you get a Google alert for a new Lady Gaga album drop or something?”

David relaxed. It was his regular Patrick. “I need coffee and so do you.”

“Yes, please,” he said, accepting the cup David had already poured for him. He sat down at the kitchen table. David sat down across from him, both hands cupped around the warmth of his mug. Patrick sighed, resting his cheek on a fist. “So, uh. Last night was kind of...intense.”

David nodded. “It was. Are you...feeling some way about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel bad.”

“Well, that’s a start. To be frank, I’m a little sore,” he said, smirking.

“Oh God, I pulled some muscles I didn’t know I had.” His eyes went warm. “But it was...damn. I mean it was really…” He shook his head. “I’ve never had sex like that, David. I don’t even know what to say.”

“No need for you to say anything.” He put his mug down. “I have something to say, though.”

Patrick blinked. “Um, okay? Should I be nervous?”

“You’ll have to wait to decide. So...um. This is awkward. I don’t really know how to put it.”

He sat back. “Oh. You don’t want to do this anymore. This, I mean, with me.”

“No! That’s not what I mean.” Patrick looked relieved to hear that, which was encouraging. “Listen. I know we have this...reputation. Of hating each other.”

“Well-earned, I think.”

“Except I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Hate you. I’m not even really...annoyed. Or frustrated. In fact…” He picked up his mug, just for something to do with his hands. “Iactuallykindoflikeyou,” he said, in a rush.

“Sorry, what was that?” Patrick said, a smile brightening his face, and David knew that he’d heard him perfectly well.

“Ugh! You’re the worst! Why did I even say that?”

“I’m gonna need you to say that again.” Now he was edging up to a full-on grin.

“I like you, okay? You’re...nice. In a snarky, assholish way. Nice in a way that doesn’t make me want to puke, like most nice people. You’re hot and a really excellent fuck. You’re smart and funny and you’re a fucking troll, which I respect.”

Patrick looked like he’d swallowed a jar of lightning bugs. “Wow. That was quite a statement. Are you okay? Do you need a minute? Or a cold compress or something?”

“I take it all back, you are a demon spawn and I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns.”

Patrick moved over to the chair next to David. “Hey.” David met his eyes. “I like you, too.”

The simple admission made him feel liquidy inside. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’re also smart and funny, and passionate, and you fight me, which I respect.” He grinned. “And you’re hot and also a really excellent fuck.”

David sighed. “Okay. So...that’s a thing we’ve just said.”

“I guess so.” He cocked his head. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“I mean, maybe? We can’t let that become public knowledge, though.”

“God, no. Like you said, we have a reputation to maintain.”

“I don’t anticipate any problems with being annoyed with you at work.”

“Same.”

“Good.” He turned his mug around and around on the table. Patrick was just watching him, as if he could sense that David had more to say. “So when we were waiting for the hazmat team to get to that bridge taxi thing, you told me that you like old movies.”

“I do. I like all kinds of movies.”

“So there’s this, um...there’s a Hitchcock double feature tomorrow...no wait, tonight. It’s Friday now. At the Royal, do you know it?”

“Sure, I know the Royal.”

“I thought maybe we could...go.”

“Which Hitchcocks?”

“‘Suspicion’ and ‘Notorious.’”

“Good combination. Those are thematically similar.”

“Oh God, are you going to go all film-geek on me?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“Do you want to go, or not?”

Patrick smiled, and it was refreshingly free of subtext. “I’d like that, David.”

“Okay,” David said, feeling the nervousness drain out of him.

“We could go to The Commoner beforehand and get a bite?”

David nodded, the relief that he hadn’t made an ass of himself with the suggestion making him agreeable. He’d have said yes if Patrick had suggested they butcher their own steaks before the movie. “Yeah. That works.”

“So...is this a date? Is that what’s happening now?” Patrick asked, a little curl entering his voice.

David made a face. “No! It is not a date! And by the way, fuck you!”

“Just two guys who kinda sorta like each other and also have sex going to see a movie with food beforehand, then.”

“Yes. Which is not a date. And might I say, that’s typically egotistical of you to suggest it.”

“Of course. My mistake.” The shiteating grin on his face ran counter to his words, though.

David tilted his head back, grimacing. “Oh my God, I regret even suggesting it. Now you’re going to be smug forever. Every argument we have it’ll be, ‘But David, remember you wanted to go to a movie with me that one time? We can’t forget about that.’”

“I promise I will not be smug about our movie...uh, appointment, which is definitely not a date.” David rolled his eyes, puffing his cheeks out. Patrick leaned forward, his eyes flicking down to David’s lips. David leaned in and met him halfway in a soft kiss. Then another one. “So,” Patrick said, between kisses, “I don’t have a shift today.”

“I have to work, unfortunately. So if you’re suggesting a quick fuck…”

“I was, yes.”

“I must decline. I’m going to be late as it is.” He stood up. “But, uh...I’ll meet you at The Commoner?”

“Okay. What time’s the double feature start?”

“Seven thirty.”

“Six, then?” David nodded. “Lemme grab my clothes, I’ll get out of your way.” David wandered into the living room while Patrick tugged his shirt and sweater on and collected his jacket from its forlorn pile on the carpet. “I’ll see you later,” he said, putting on the jacket.

“Later,” David said.

Patrick opened the door, then hesitated and turned back. “I’m looking forward to it, David,” he said.

David sighed. “Me, too. I guess.”

Patrick winked at him, and he was gone. David went into the bedroom and flopped straight back onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned over and burrowed into the sheets. They still smelled like Patrick.

Chapter Text

The Royal, and The Commoner next door:

Patrick was early, as usual. It was a thing with him. As his mother said, he was the kind of person who had to be early to be early.

He glanced at his watch — 5:48. He was feeling absurdly nervous. He was meeting David here, David who he knew well, David who he’d seen naked, David who he’d had sex with many times. Was it stupid to feel anxious about what was, really, their first real date (despite David’s insistence that it was no such thing)? Stupid or not, there it was.

He’d even struggled with what to wear. He’d puttered around his house during his off day, distracted and jittery with anticipation. He’d finally called Travis as a last resort, keeping his reasons for asking vague. “Wear that cobalt blue V-neck cashmere sweater,” he’d said. “That color is amazing on you. Oh, and Patrick? Don’t wear a t-shirt underneath it.”

Well, that just seemed wrong, but he had to admit that having that V of his bare chest and a hint of his clavicles on display in the sweater might be a good effect.

He’d ordered a North Coast IPA and had already polished off a quarter of it. Take it easy, he admonished himself. Keep your wits about you.

When David walked into the restaurant at 5:59, Patrick’s eyes zeroed in on him immediately. He glanced around and spotted Patrick in the rear corner booth right away. Patrick had to take a breath, because he looked gorgeous. “Hi,” David said, approaching with a tentative smile that made Patrick wonder if he were as nervous about this as Patrick was.

“Hi,” he said. “Right on time.”

“I had this freakish impulse to make a good impression,” David said, taking a seat and shaking his head at his own folly. “As if that ship hadn’t sailed months and months ago.” Patrick didn’t miss the way David’s eyes flicked over the neckline of his sweater, and mentally thanked Travis.

Their waiter popped over. “Get you a drink?” he said.

“Um...a Manhattan, please. Up, with rye.” He nodded and vanished. “What’s this?” he said, nodding at Patrick’s beer. “One of your undrinkable, hoppy monstrosities?”

His snark made the tension lift from Patrick’s shoulders like a fog dissipating in the sunlight. “I like monstrosities. Might explain why I like you.”

“Smooth, Brewer. Very smooth.” They made small talk about the restaurant and the traffic until David’s drink arrived and they’d put in their food orders. Patrick ordered a kale caesar salad with chicken, David the fish and chips. “Salad? I’d have pegged you for a burger kind of guy,” David said.

“I don’t like eating sandwiches in restaurants. It’s just a thing of mine.”

“Huh. I never knew that.”

“No reason you should. We’ve never eaten in a restaurant together.”

David cocked his head. “I guess not.” He looked out over the half-full restaurant, fidgeting, then turned back to Patrick. “This is weird. Is this weird? Is it just me?”

Patrick laughed. “It’s weird. It’s not just you. Before you came in I was thinking how stupid it was to feel nervous.”

“Oh, thank God, me too,” David said, sagging theatrically, his eyes widening and casting up towards the ceiling. “Like we’re strangers who were set up by a friend or something and are meeting up for the first time.”

“I mean, it is kind of new. I don’t feel like I have to hide the fact that I, uh...that I like you.”

“I know the feeling. And I wasn’t just hiding it from everyone else, I was hiding it from you, too. I couldn’t let you know that I liked you.”

“That would have given me the upper hand.”

“Yes! Exactly! But I didn’t know that I had the upper hand, too!”

Patrick chuckled. “We’re...kind of stupid.”

David pursed his lips. “I can’t confirm or deny that theory,” he said, but his eyes were twinkling.

Their food came, and the next few minutes were spent quietly eating, David with relish, Patrick with caution so as not to drop salad bits on his cashmere sweater. “Can I ask you something?” Patrick finally said.

“Sure.”

“When we were fighting about the bunker gear…”

“Which I still do not have, just putting that out there.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “You said something about your career having been bought and paid for?”

David swallowed, then sipped his drink. “Yeah.”

“I’m curious what you meant by that. You don’t have to tell me,” he hastened to add.

David looked at him for a moment, thoughtful. “You know, I think I’d like to. Do you know anything about my parents?”

“Isn’t your mom some kind of a soap opera actress?”

“Among other things, yeah. My dad made a fortune in the video rental business.”

Patrick suddenly felt like an idiot. “Rose Video? You’re from that Rose family?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“David...I worked at a Rose Video in high school!”

David stared at him for a second, then laughed, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Oh my God. Of course you did.” He shook his head. “Yeah, that’s us. Anyway, he parlayed the video store fortune into the more boring stuff. Real estate, venture capital, stock market things that I don’t understand. I started out in art school and got my MFA and tried to open a gallery in New York, which failed miserably. I had made some connections in the architecture world and went back to school, kind of on a whim. Nobody was more surprised than I was to discover that I was pretty good at engineering; I finished both my degrees in three years with transfer credits. I worked at a private firm for a few years, then decided to strike out on my own. I enjoyed wild success, solely because my father had decided that he ought to ensure that success by paying people to hire me.”

Patrick blinked. “That’s...awful.”

“And then the accountant that he hired for me, because of course I’m too stupid with numbers to be trusted to choose someone myself, committed tax fraud and stole all my assets, and I lost my business. Or my fake business, I should say.”

“Your dad sounds like a bastard.”

David bobbed his head from side to side. “Actually, he isn’t, which almost makes it worse. My dad means well. He wants the best for me. He just goes about it in misguided ways. And he blames himself, which I mean, he probably should. I’m not really mad at him anymore. But I disconnected financially from my family after that. It wasn’t fun, but I just...felt like I had to.”

He didn’t know what to say. “That is a really horrific run of bad luck.”

“That’s a funny way to say ‘sabotage,’” David said, shaking his head. “If you’ve Googled me, you probably know about Sebastien.”

“I haven’t. Googled you, that is.” He was probably going to now, though.

David looked stunned. “Really? I’d have thought you would, especially early on. To get...you know. Ammo.”

“You gave me plenty of ammo without having to mine the internets for dirt. Who’s this Sebastien?”

“Photographer. Much less talented than he thinks he is. We dated for a few months. I, uh…” He sighed. “I went through a period when substances were a major part of my life.”

“Okay.”

“My time with him, especially. He, uh...took photos of me in a situation I thought was private. He showed them to people we both knew. This was around the same time my business was imploding. I dumped him, and he wasn’t happy about it. He gave the photos to a magazine.”

The back of Patrick’s neck felt hot. “David. That is inexcusable. It’s abusive and predatory.”

“It’s old news by now. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but thankfully I’d been out of the public eye for a year or so by that time.”

“That isn’t the point!”

David looked at him, his eyes soft. “I’m past it. But...thank you. For being this mad about it.” He rubbed his chin with both hands, shifting in his chair. “I haven’t talked about all this in a long time. I probably shouldn’t have unloaded all this on you.”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“No one would blame you if you ran out of here screaming.” His tone was joking, but there was a touch of apprehension behind his eyes, like some part of him expected Patrick to do exactly that.

Patrick reached over and pulled one of David’s hands away from his face, interlacing their fingers. “I’m staying right here,” he said.

The crowd of moviegoers spilled out of The Royal at the end of the double feature. Patrick was buzzing with tension after such a long time in David’s company. They’d watched the first film just sitting next to each other, munching on a shared bucket of popcorn, but during the between-movie break, David had wordlessly flipped up the armrest between them and tucked himself closer to Patrick’s side; Patrick had picked up the obvious cue and slung his arm around David’s shoulders, where it had stayed for the duration of “Notorious.”

“If I could be any woman on earth, it would be Ingrid Bergman,” David gushed, as they left the theater.

“She’s dead.”

David rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. She’s just so...glamorous and European. Didn’t she win an Oscar for that movie?”

“No,” Patrick said. “She wasn’t even nominated. Her first Oscar was for ‘Gaslight’ and she didn’t win another one until the fifties. Joan Fontaine won one for ‘Suspicion,’ though.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like as important of a role.”

“It isn’t. That Oscar was really for ‘Rebecca,’ which was the year before. She was nominated, but lost to Ginger Rogers, which was a travesty. It’s widely believed that the Academy felt so bad for it that they awarded her the Oscar for ‘Suspicion’ as kind of a make-up thing.”

David looked impressed. “Look at you go, Mr. Film Buff!”

He shrugged. “It’s an interest of mine. I admit that I mostly got interested in Hitchcock because of Cary Grant.”

“Oh, that’s your type, is it?”

“Cary Grant is everyone’s type.”

“Wasn’t he gay, too?”

“He was at least bi. He definitely had relationships with men.”

“Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested watching two of his films in a row if I wanted to keep your attention,” David said, smirking.

“You never don’t have my attention, David.”

David shuffled and blushed a little at that, looking away. “You know, every guy I’ve ever met who called himself a film buff was obsessed with, like…’Fight Club’ and Tarantino. Not Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant’s jawline.”

“I like ‘Fight Club’ and Tarantino, too. I’m well-rounded.”

David glanced down at Patrick’s ass, making a very obvious show of it. “I’ll say.”

He shook his head. “I walked right into that one.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “So, where did you park?”

“I took an Uber here.”

“Oh! Well, I’ll drive you home, then.”

“You don’t have to do that,” David said, looking down at the sidewalk. “It’s out of your way.”

“No, I’d like to. C’mon, I’m parked just down the street.”

“Okay. Thanks.” They started down the sidewalk, and it felt as natural as breathing to link hands, so they did. Patrick felt his ears flush, and he could see David’s little half-smile out of the corner of his eye.

The drive was no more than ten minutes, and they passed it tossing movie trivia back and forth, trying to stump each other and crowing over who had the most arcane facts to hand. Patrick pulled up in front of David’s building and put the car in park. “Well, I had fun tonight,” David said.

“Me, too.”

“And I think...I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“This was a date.”

Patrick grinned. “It was definitely a date.” David didn’t say anything, just sat there with that sly little half-smile on his face. “Sooo...should I assume that there will be more dates?”

David put on his sarcastic haughty look. “That is very presumptuous of you, Captain Brewer, to assume such a thing. But I mean, if the opportunity for more dates presents itself, I could be...persuaded. Life is unpredictable.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

David’s eyes flicked to Patrick’s lips quickly, then he lifted one hand, slid it behind Patrick’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. It was a sweet, first-date kiss, a soft press of lips, just long enough to contain the promise for more. Patrick didn’t know how, they hadn’t discussed it, but they’d somehow silently agreed that they wouldn’t be having sex tonight.

He pulled back, his gaze lingering on David’s face. “I think I’d like to be dating you, David Rose.”

David shut his eyes quickly, then sighed. “I think...I’d like that, too.” He gave him a little nod, then climbed out of the car. He leaned in the open window. “Goodnight, Patrick.”

“Goodnight, David.” He watched until David was inside the building, looking back at Patrick once just before he entered, then he pulled away from the curb and drove home.

Patrick floated through the next two weeks, hoping that his general euphoria didn’t show on his face while he was trying to do his job. His crew had a nose for pushable buttons, and walking around looking like a teenager with a crush would definitely attract their attention.

The very next day after their first date, he and David had a shouty argument in the engine bay about height limits on ladder rescues, which had only ended when his station got a call in for a car crash. They’d been on their way back when he got a text from David: It’s hot when you use multiple acronyms in one sentence while you’re yelling at me. Hot. He bit his lip to keep from grinning.

He’d met Travis for a drink that night. “You and David figured your shit out, didn’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Patrick, I saw you two nights ago. There was weird sexual energy on the dance floor. You called me for clothing advice but wouldn’t tell me why or who you were going out with, not that it was hard to guess. You ask to meet for a drink looking like Chris Hemsworth just slid into your DMs. It’s not a huge leap.”

“Okay, fine. We are...dating, I guess.”

“Finally asked him out?”

“No, actually, he asked me. Thursday night, after that...stuff happened at Expanse, I went to his place and we kind of…”

“Fucked each other into next week? Because for a hot second I thought you were gonna do that right on the dance floor.”

“Yeah, we did. And in the morning, he asked me on an actual date. We went out to a movie last night. And yes, I wore the V-neck without a t-shirt.”

“Wow.” Travis had lifted his glass. “Well, here’s to it. And pour one out for poor lonely Travis, who will be denied happy fun times with your sweet ass.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be absolutely dying on the vine for want of company.” His phone buzzed. Travis grinned like the Cheshire cat as Patrick took it out of his pocket.

Does a guy have to call 911 to get some hot firefighter action up in here

“Are you being summoned?” Travis said.

“In a way. But I am otherwise occupied just now. I’m out with my good friend. I won’t be one of those guys who drops the rest of his life for his dating life.”

“You gonna text him back?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Who am I, Emily Post? Text him back.”

Patrick thought for a moment, then texted David back. After our very chaste and proper goodbye last night I thought maybe we’d reverted to jane austen dating rules. In a month I might be permitted to touch your ungloved hand.

Hot. Firefighter. Action.

Rent “Backdraft.” I'm actually out with Travis right now.

Oh. Sorry. Don’t let me interrupt. Patrick frowned. He knew David well enough to be able to tell just from his word choice that he thought Patrick was out hooking up, on the day after their date.

I’m not going to sleep with him. I just started seeing this really hot guy, as it turns out, so from now on Travis is just my non-sex-having buddy.

Oh! Well then. I'll just be here with my firefighter porn instead of the real thing, tragically. Thank Travis for your sweater last night.

How did you know?

Please. You’ve never worn a sweater without a t-shirt underneath in your life. Which is its own kind of tragedy.

I'll text you when I get home.

I may give you a reason to look forward to that.

Patrick put his phone away. “David says thanks for my sweater last night.”

“I mean, it didn’t get you laid, did it? I need to up my game.”

He’d gone home that night, exchanged a few late-night sexts with David, and gone to sleep happy.

In fact, it had been several days before he’d seen David again in private. The next night, David had been out on a call with the 320, and the night after that, Patrick was on shift. Finally, the Tuesday after their Friday night date, David had shown up toting an overnight bag and they’d gone into the bedroom and hadn’t come out except for water and snacks.

They’d gone on another date, this time out to the Toronto Islands on the ferry, after Patrick found out that David had never been there. “Outdoor activities, Patrick? It’s like we’re strangers.” He’d accepted the plan on the condition that no strenuous hiking or anything else smacking of sports would be included, and Patrick had gotten to fulfill his not-so-secret romantic fantasy of kissing his...person he was dating...at the end of the Centre Island Pier at sunset.

And there had been sex. A lot of sex.

His good mood seemed to rub off on the station’s fortunes. They hadn’t lost any civilians in weeks. Their calls had good outcomes, no major fires occurred, and even the car crashes were of the bumps-and-bruises variety. But nothing in the first-responder world was ever calm for long.

Three weeks after his and David’s first date, Patrick got a call from Ronnie. “You remember that tanker truck crash on the Gardiner?” she asked.

“Nope, no recollection, please remind me about the massive multi-car accident I was myself part of.”

“You’re such a smartass.”

“What about it?”

She hesitated. “I got a call from a man named Mark Percy.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“His wife was Elaine Percy. The woman who died with the crush injury to her neck?”

Patrick went still. “I remember.”

“Mark is asking if he could speak to the first responder who was with his wife when she died. I told him I’d get in touch and ask. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Patrick shut his eyes. David.

Chapter Text

Patrick had been to David’s downtown office in Metro Hall for meetings, but never on his own and never just to see David. “Captain Brewer!” said Angela, the cheerful assistant that was shared by the four city engineers assigned to the four commands of the fire service.

“Hi, Angela. I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment. Is David in?”

“Yes, he’s in his office. Go on in. Try not to throw anything!” she joked.

David’s office door was open; he was sitting at his drafting table, drawing something. He looked up when Patrick knocked on the doorframe, irritated at being interrupted, but his expression quickly smoothed out into ‘pleased’ when he saw who it was. “Hi!” he said. “This is unexpected.”

Patrick came in and shut the door behind him. David got up from his table and the closed door let them exchange a quick kiss hello. “I, uh...need to talk to you.”

“Uh oh. That sounds serious.” He sat back down at his drafting table. Patrick leaned against its edge, facing him.

“Well, it is. Ronnie called me this morning. She, um...she got a call from a man named Mark Percy.” David looked at him blankly. “His wife was Elaine Percy. The woman who died in the tanker truck crash.”

David shrank a little. “Oh,” he said, sounding small.

“He’s asked if it would be possible for him to speak to the first responder who was with his wife when she died. Ronnie thought that it had been me. I didn’t tell her that it was actually you, and I don’t have to. I wanted to talk to you first.”

David fiddled with his drafting pencil. “I wrote down what she said, her last words. I gave them to the police. Did he...not get them?”

“I don’t know. Possibly not. A big wreck like that, sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. Or, it could be that he did get them, but he wanted that in-person connection.” Patrick leaned in and waited for David to look at him. “You do not have to do this. I want to be very clear about that. You are not obligated to talk to this man. If you choose not to, we can either tell him that the person who was with his wife is not available, or, we’ll just let them keep thinking it was me, and I’ll talk to him.”

“No,” David said, quickly. “That’s not fair to you. It’d be dishonest.” He took a deep breath, then looked up at Patrick. “I want to do it. I think I should.”

“Are you absolutely sure? David, I’ve done this, talked to the next of kin, and it is hard. It makes it real in a way that we’re sometimes able to avoid otherwise.”

“I’m sure.” David gave a decisive nod.

Patrick’s heart swelled a little, and for a second he wished more people could know the real David Rose, who he was still just getting to know himself. “Would you like me to be there with you?”

David exhaled and turned his face up to Patrick’s. “You’d do that?” The hopeful, cautious look on his face made Patrick feel like there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for this man.

“Of course. We can use my office for the meeting, if that would help?”

“Yes. That’s good. That’ll be good.” He was nodding, a bit manically. “But...Patrick, what if he’s...angry, or something? What if he wants to sue the department, or me, or you, or…”

Patrick held up a hand. “If that were the case, he wouldn’t be talking to us himself. He’d be going through a lawyer. I can’t predict how he’s going to be feeling, but I know it’s nothing legal. Sometimes families need this, a connection with whoever saw their loved one last. Most of the time, that’s all they want. But again, I want to reiterate that you do not owe him that.”

David shrugged. “Feels like I do, a little. When does this need to happen?”

“Well, we’ll have to set it up. Do you want a few days to prepare, or…”

“No. Sooner rather than later. This man’s waited long enough. As soon as you and Ronnie can set it up, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Patrick put his hand on David’s arm. “I don’t know if I can say this without sounding patronizing, but...I’m really proud of you. A lot of people would decline.”

“Thanks,” David said, but his voice was quiet. “I know what you’ll say to this but I still...feel like I failed her.”

“David…”

“I know, I know. I know all that. But I don’t think I can just shut it off, even if I know, rationally, that it wasn’t my fault. But this, I can do this. And if it helps him, she’d want me to.” He forced a smile. “And you’ll be there. That’ll help.” He leaned over and rested his head against Patrick’s chest. Patrick cupped the back of his neck and kissed his forehead, his eyes falling closed as he felt himself careening wildly into feelings he dared not yet name — feelings it was way too soon to even be contemplating.

David walked into Station 315 (which was rapidly starting to feel like “his” fire station), his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched, hoping not to make eye contact with anyone. He could see the crew looking at him as he passed.

As it turned out, “sooner rather than later” was the very next day. Mark Percy was eager to speak to him, and David was eager to have it over with. It wasn’t Patrick’s shift day, but he’d insisted on coming in on his day off so he could be at the meeting.

David didn’t quite know what to do with this person who was willing, one might even say enthusiastic, to offer emotional support and even to inconvenience himself to be there for David. This wasn’t a concept he was familiar with in his interpersonal relationships, even though he knew that other people expected it as a matter of course. Was this what a “healthy” relationship felt like? If so, he could get used to it. It was also making him think about ways that he could support Patrick in return, which was definitely not a concept he was familiar with.

He’d arrived early specifically in the hopes of beating Ronnie and Mark Percy to the station. To his relief, Patrick was alone in his office. David closed the door behind him, hoping this wouldn’t arouse the suspicions of Patrick’s crew, none of whom had any idea (so far) that they were dating. Patrick got up and came over to hug him; David let himself relax into it and feel the strength of Patrick’s arms holding him up, holding him close. “Thanks for doing this,” he said.

“Of course,” Patrick said, his hands rubbing David’s back. “I’ll hang back while you guys talk, but if you need me to step in, just give me a signal.”

“I think I’ll be okay. Just don’t forget yourself and rub my shoulders or something. Ronnie will get suspicious.”

“I can keep my hands to myself. As hard as you make that,” Patrick said, leaning in to kiss him.

David met his eyes. “When I talk to him, should I...try to make it easier to hear?”

Patrick shook his head. “Tell the truth. If he’s gone to all this trouble, he wants the truth. You can choose your words gently, though.”

“Okay.” David sat down at the small conference table in the office; Patrick went behind his desk. They’d barely gotten settled before Ronnie knocked at the door and entered, accompanied by a handsome thirtysomething man...with a baby.

David’s stomach plummeted at the sight of the small blonde-haired girl (Meredith, her name is Meredith, his brain supplied) tucked into a baby seat in the man’s hand. Ronnie looked at David, her eyes full of something like empathy — seemed like everyone was experiencing new and interesting emotional states today.

David and Patrick both stood up. Ronnie motioned Mark Percy into the office. “Mr. Percy, this is Captain Brewer, and this is David Rose.” Mark nodded to Patrick, but his attention was focused on David.

He stepped forward. “Mr. Percy. It’s nice to meet you. I wish the circumstances were different.” He held out a hand, and Mark shook it right away. His eyes were big and searching, as if he were hoping he’d see some imprint of his wife’s last moments on David’s face.

“Call me Mark,” he said. “And this is Meredith.” He placed her carrier on the table. She was sleepy and content and David couldn’t stand to look at her for more than a second at a time.

“Sit down, please,” David said, taking his seat.

Mark sat, lacing his hands together on the tabletop. He swallowed hard. “So...Chief Lee tells me you’re not a first responder?”

“No. I’m a city engineer. I work with the fire and rescue services, though, so I’m at a lot of scenes alongside first responders. Captain Brewer and I were on our way to Kitchener that day. We were caught in the accident.”

“And you tried to help?”

“I did what I could, until the responders arrived.” David had the sudden horrifying thought that Mark might be blaming him for not doing more, or blaming Patrick for helping another victim and not his wife.

“Can you just...tell me?” Mark said. “Tell me what you saw? What Elaine said.”

David took a deep breath. “It was hard to get to her. Her car was between the tanker truck and the concrete divider. She was...trapped. The first thing she said was ‘My baby.’ I saw that she was bleeding. I picked up a blanket that was in the car and tried to apply pressure. I called Captain Brewer, and he told me to keep the pressure up. I used whatever I could find to try and stop her from bleeding.”

Mark nodded. “The medical examiner told me that…” He sniffed and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. “There was nothing anyone could have done. The injury was too severe.”

“She said, ‘Tell my husband I love him so much,’” David said. Mark’s chin trembled. “She said to tell you that you’d be a good daddy.” Tears spilled over the man’s lids and he clutched at his daughter’s carrier. The child slept on, oblivious. David wondered if she looked like her mother.

“We met in dental school,” Mark said. “She was a pediatric orthodontist. We were friends for a long time, although I was always a little bit in love with her.” He smiled. “One day we were out for drinks and she just turned to me and said, ‘Wanna make out?’” David laughed, quietly. “We got married a year later. She was...I know I’m supposed to say she was sweet and kind, but she wasn’t. She was actually kind of abrasive. But she was good. You know?” David nodded. “Did she know?” Mark asked, his voice shaking. “Did she know she was dying?”

The impulse was too strong to ignore. David reached across and grasped Mark’s hand. Mark clutched it back immediately. “Yes,” David said. “She knew. She told me she didn’t want to die. I told her that I wouldn’t let her. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep that promise,” he said, hearing a tremor in his own voice.

Mark met his eyes. “I’m just glad she wasn’t alone. That someone tried to help her, and was there to hear her last words. Thank you.”

David didn’t know what to say. Should he thank him back, for not blaming him? Should he tell him that the incident had changed something in David, too? That not a day went by when he didn’t see Elaine’s face, or remember what it had felt like to watch the life leave her eyes? In the end, there was nothing to say, so he stayed silent.

Mark got up. “Thank you for your time,” he said, sounding a little flat. He picked up his daughter’s carrier and turned to leave. Ronnie shot David and Patrick a glance, then followed him out, closing the door behind her.

David exhaled. Patrick was around the desk in a flash and had his arms around him. “You did great,” he said.

“That was really hard,” David said, his fingers tangled in Patrick’s uniform shirt. “But I think I’m glad.”

“You wanna come home with me?” Patrick murmured.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. You head there now. I’m going to take care of a few things while I’m here. You know the lock code on the door?” David nodded. “I’ll be there soon.” David stepped away, swiped at his damp eyes, and squared his shoulders. “I’ll walk you out.”

They went down the hall into the engine bay. Patrick’s crew were lurking around, watching him. “What’s going on?” he muttered.

“They know what you just did,” Patrick said, following along behind him.

Twyla was standing near the bay doors and she suddenly launched herself at him in a hug. David stiffened in surprise. “That was a good thing to do,” she said into his shoulder. A few murmurs of agreement from the rest of the crew. Twyla stepped back, smiling at him.

“Um...okay, thanks? I didn’t expect all this because of it.”

“We got you something,” Mutt said, coming up with a large box in his hands.

“If that’s a cake, you’re my new favorite firefighter,” David said.

Mutt set the box down on the gear table. “Open it.”

He lifted the box top — inside was a full set of bunker gear. Trousers, boots, coat, suspenders, and a helmet. It had “Rose” printed on the nameplate. David blinked, stunned. “You guys,” he said.

“We know you’ve been wanting your own set,” Twyla said.

“Everyone in a three block radius knows that,” Mutt said, under his breath. “You’re there with us at our calls, Rose. You’re in the middle of it. You’ve gotten bloody.” He shrugged. “You’re one of us.”

“We wrote a letter to Chief Lee. We all signed it. And crews from the other stations in South Command. She agreed to get you a set.”

David picked up the helmet. “I...I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless.”

“Someone call the CBC,” Patrick said, “David Rose is speechless.”

“Shut up, Fireboy,” David snapped. Everyone laughed. “I’m really touched,” he said, to the crew. “I’ve never…” He cut himself off. I’ve never been one of anything. I’ve never belonged, not like I do here. “I’ve never owned Kevlar clothing before. What an adventure.” He held up the coat. “Looks so new, though. I’m going to look like a dilettante.”

“Well, I don’t know what that means, but don’t worry, it’ll get dirty fast,” Mutt said. “Or you could roll around in it next time we’re at a fire. Get it nice and sooty.”

“Thank you,” David said. “All of you.” Everyone shuffled and looked a little awkward. “All right, you can all go back to finding me annoying now,” he said. They all laughed, but went back to their tasks, the awkwardness gone. He put the gear back in the box. “And this’ll live in my trunk, for the next call,” he said.

“I still have my doubts,” Patrick grumbled. “But they’re right. You’ve earned it.”

Patrick looked down at David’s closed eyes and slack face as he rolled his hips, his lube-slick hand circling both their cocks. He was straddling David’s lap on Patrick’s couch, naked from the waist down with David’s hands all over his chest up underneath his uniform, which he had not taken off when he got home, per request. Still raw from the talk with Mark Percy, David had greeted him at the door with a deep kiss and needy, questing hands; they hadn’t made it past the couch. David was still fully clothed, his pants unzipped enough to get the contact they both craved.

He braced one hand on the back of the couch by David’s head and tipped in harder. David’s hands flew to his bare ass and pulled him closer, biting his lip and exhaling little quiet grunts with each thrust. The long line of his neck was exposed and Patrick was helpless not to get his lips all over it. “David,” he breathed. “Let me take care of you.”

“I love it when you take care of me,” David said, his voice papery and seductive.

“Tell me what you need,” Patrick murmured, mouthing at David’s throat. “You wanna come like this? You want me to suck you?”

“Hnnngh, like this. I like this. I like you all over me.” David clawed at Patrick’s shirt; Patrick pulled back and whipped it off over his head, leaving him totally naked. It was unexpectedly hot to be draped naked all over a fully-clothed David. He felt like a prize, or a plaything David was using for his pleasure. David’s hands were all over him, sliding up his back to his shoulder blades to hold him tight and close. “My pretty little fireman,” David whispered against his chest. It could have sounded silly, but the way David’s mouth wrapped around the words made it sound deliciously erotic. “In my lap, holding me down,” he went on, his mouth fastening on one of Patrick’s nipples briefly.

“Oh God, do that again,” Patrick gasped, his hand speeding between them, his hips pressing them together. “You close?”

“Mmm-hmmm. Just like that. Ohh...shit, Patrick!” He felt David come over his hand and followed quickly after. He sagged against David’s chest, breathing hard and nuzzling against his stubbled cheek. David’s hands were stroking his back and chest, over and over, like he was trying to memorize Patrick’s shape.

“That was hot,” Patrick said, kissing the hollow of David’s throat.

“Mmm. I think I got come on my Rick Owens jeans, though.”

“Baby wipe time.” He started to get up, but David held him in place.

“Hang on,” he said, and to Patrick’s utter shock, he slid his hands under Patrick’s thighs and stood up from the couch with him, hooking Patrick’s legs around his hips. He held him up and kissed him. “Let’s relocate.” He began to walk upstairs into the bedroom, carrying Patrick.

“Jesus Christ, David, have you been doing deadlifts in your spare time?”

“It’s just a thing about me. I am freakishly strong for someone who hasn’t been to the gym in ten years.”

“I’ll say. You just basically came up from a squat with a 160 pound weight.”

“I was highly motivated.” He set Patrick down on the edge of the bed and retrieved the baby wipes, but Patrick tossed them aside.

“Why don’t we just take a shower? You brought a bag, right?” They’d never done that before. David had spent the night, but they’d never showered together.

“I did, although a good half of that is my skin-care regime, which I have not allowed you to witness yet.”

“Can’t wait.”

After a quick shower that involved only minor groping, Patrick got into his pajamas and left David to his regime, which involved more bottles than Patrick had ever imagined one person could need. He just kept pulling more and more of them out of his bag like it was some kind of clown car of moisturizers.

He got into bed and stretched out, feeling pleasantly sated. Sex with David was always great, but tonight had felt more than a little emotional after the day they’d had. He didn’t mean to doze off, but David was just taking so damn long.

He snapped awake when David crawled into bed with him, spooning up behind him with a happy purr. “Mmm. You smell so nice,” he said, feeling David nuzzle into his hair.

“Eucalyptus and elderflower. Among other things.” David kissed the side of his neck. “You’re all warm and dozy.” They lay there and breathed together for a few moments. “You know it’s not actually late at all. We could watch a movie or something.”

“Sure. Snuggles first?”

“If you insist.” David slid one arm around his waist to rest low on his belly. Patrick felt him lift his head. “Um...Patrick? What is that?”

He turned his head and followed David’s gaze across the room. “What, my guitar?”

“You play the guitar?”

“I play the piano, too. Is that so weird?”

“I mean...I guess not? You’ve never mentioned it.”

“It just never came up. I usually keep it in its case in the closet, but I was practicing earlier. Fire service has an open mic night a couple of times a year, I always play something. Got one coming up in a month, in fact.”

“So...you stand up in front of your colleagues, some of whom report to you, and...play the guitar and sing. And that is a thing that you...do.”

Patrick smiled. “It is a thing that I do, yes.”

“Well, thank God nobody knows we’re dating, because then I can absolutely not attend this event and nobody will feel bad for you that I’m not there.”

The remark reminded Patrick of something he’d been meaning to bring up. He flipped to his other side so they were facing each other. “We haven’t talked about that, have we? The fact that nobody knows we’re dating.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“Well, we never sat down and decided to keep it a secret. It seems like we both independently decided we should keep it a secret and then telepathically agreed with each other about it. There’s no actual reason we need to, you know.”

David’s lips pursed. “This is going to sound insulting, please know in advance that I don’t mean it that way. At first it was like…”

“You were embarrassed.”

His eyes widened. “Yes! You get that?”

“We spent almost a year fighting tooth and nail and built up this perception that we just loathed each other so we felt kind of stupid turning around and saying oh yeah, we’re dating now.”

“It’s just such a cliché!”

“Right?” Patrick said, chuckling. “I do not want to be the Sam and Diane of the Fire Services.”

“If they knew, everyone would go all smirky-jokey around us, can you imagine? The fighty thing is comfortable. Everyone’s used to it.”

“Including us.” Patrick sighed, reaching out to cup David’s cheek. “Can we keep it up, is the question, and do we even want to try?”

David went thoughtful. “There are reasons, actual reasons. It might raise some eyebrows at the Mayor’s office, or the Chief’s. Neither of us has any authority over the other but it’s…”

“A professional relationship. Yeah.” He hesitated. “Also...and this is gonna sound dumb, but…”

“It’s fun,” David said, a slow smile creeping over his face.

Patrick nodded. “Yeah. It’s fun. To be at work and have you call me a self-righteous heathen, and know that I get to have my way with you later. Is that a terrible reason to keep a relationship a secret?”

“It’s our relationship, Patrick. We can handle it however we like. We’re not obligated to tell anyone at all. It’s only a problem if one of us stops being okay with it. Anyway, we might as well go for Bingo with the romantic tropes. We’ve already got enemies-to-lovers and hurt/comfort, might as well add Secret Boyfriends to that.” He shut his mouth with a snap.

Patrick grinned. “What did you just say?”

“I um...nothing. I don’t remember.”

“Did you just say, Secret Boyfriends?”

“Ugh, you’re the worst, I don’t know why I like you.” He shimmied closer to kiss him. “Fine, whatever, I have a cute boyfriend and his name is Patrick, I’ll be doodling it all over my sketchpad tomorrow, are you happy now?”

“Intensely,” Patrick said, kissing him back.

Chapter Text

After the fourth time Patrick orbited David at the stove, he snapped. “Oh my god, go sit in the living room, you are driving me nuts. What’s with you?”

Patrick leaned against the counter, wearing his lil pouty face, which David often dragged him for but secretly found adorable. “I’m just...jittery.”

“Too much of Mutt’s coffee? That sludge could raise the dead.”

“I think I’m nervous.”

David looked up, surprised. “Nervous? Why? It’s just Stevie.”

“it’s not just Stevie, David. She’s your best friend.”

“And you’re my boyfriend.”

“Can you honestly say that if she meets me, despises me and tells you that she thinks I’m terrible for you, it wouldn’t have an effect on you?”

“First of all, she’s not going to say that, because I can think of many things about you she could criticize but you being terrible for me is not one of them, because you aren’t. Second of all, I’m the one dating you, not her. If you’ll recall I didn’t like you much either, when we met. You won me over.”

“With superior blowjob technique. Something tells me that won’t work on her.”

“That was just one part of it,” David said, chuckling. “And if you ate her out to a screaming orgasm, I guarantee it’d be a point in your favor.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

David put down his spoon and came over to loop his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, prompting Patrick’s hands to automatically assume their complementary position on his waist. “She’s not going to despise you. Relax. Just be your snarky, dickish self and she’ll love you.”

He heard the front door open. “I hope there’s a wine bottle open in here,” came Stevie’s gravelly voice.

“When is there not?” David called back.

Stevie walked into the kitchen but stopped in the doorway. “Okay,” she said. “The infamous Captain Brewer.” She put her hands on her hips and lifted her eyebrows at him, as if to say whatcha got, pal?

Patrick’s expression didn’t change. “Call me Patrick. He only calls me Captain Brewer in bed.”

David choked on a sip of wine. Stevie’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, I like you.” She looked at David. “I like him.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Patrick said.

“None of it is true.”

“Not even the story about the corkscrew and the waiter’s suede loafers?”

She smacked David’s arm. “You told him that?”

“Ow! You told it on your podcast!”

Patrick perked up. “You have a podcast?”

“That’s her ‘job,’” David said, making finger quotes. “Her real job is passive earning through exploitation of the capitalist real estate hell that is this city.”

Stevie gave him an annoyed look, then turned back to Patrick. “I own four condos in this building, including this one. My aunt left them to me when she died. I live in one and rent out the other three. It’s enough that I can pretty much do what I want.”

“Enough? It’s a small fortune.”

“What’s your podcast about?” Patrick asked.

She looked slightly hesitant. “It’s a true crime podcast.”

David rolled his eyes. “Something new, something different,” he said, deadpan.

Patrick straightened up. “Oh my god, I listen to like twenty true crime podcasts. What do you like to talk about?”

Her whole face perked up. “My last episode was about the Eriksson twins.”

“No shit! That case is so freaking weird. So do you have theories or experts, or is it just a storytelling thing? I like both kinds…”

And then they were sitting at the kitchen table, Patrick pouring Stevie a glass of wine, and chattering a mile a minute about folie à deux and mysterious Scandinavian twins. David turned back to the stove, shaking his head. And Patrick had been worried she wouldn’t like him. David wondered if he should be worried that she’d like Patrick better.

They ate stir fry and veggie gyoza (frozen, David wasn’t up to homemade dumplings) at the table, laughing and trolling each other, and it felt like they’d all been friends for years. David felt the niggling sense of tension leave him, and the sight of Patrick’s relaxed face made him wonder why it had taken them months to do this. At one point Stevie got up to go to the bathroom. She’d passed behind Patrick, paused and caught David’s gaze, then pointed to Patrick’s back and made a thumbs-up, her face weirdly emotional. David sighed, and looked down to where his and Patrick’s fingers were intertwined on the tabletop.

Thumbs up.

Patrick left at ten; he was on shift the next day. David saw him to the door and kissed him goodbye. “She’s awesome,” Patrick whispered.

“She’s tolerable.”

He shut the door and rejoined Stevie on the couch, reclaiming his wine glass from the coffee table. She tossed her legs over his lap and stretched out. “So,” she said.

“So.”

“That is the boyfriend.”

“Yes, that is the boyfriend.” He sighed. “That is my boyfriend,” he said, in a quieter voice. He still couldn’t quite believe it was real, that he had any claim to a man like Patrick, or that such a man would think of David as a person of significance in his life.

“He’s a lot cuter than in that photo I found, remember that article?”

“I do. And I agree.”

She was watching him with a freakishly soft look. “I like this for you.”

“I hate to admit it, but I like it for me, too.”

“Why do you hate to admit it?”

“Because historically, this kind of situation implodes and leads to disappointment and a downward spiral.”

“You haven’t had this kind of situation before,” she said, sitting up. “You’ve had an endless series of assholes. Hangers-on and moochers and users and people who wanted you for sex but nothing else. That guy is gone on you, David. He wants a relationship.”

“I don’t even know if I know what that means.” He took a drink of wine. “You know, when I talked to that woman’s widower?” She nodded. “Patrick was...it was like he just put himself there, and stood still. He became this thing I could lean on, this solid presence that I could feel, even when he wasn’t around. I knew I could tell him things that were scary, and I could…” He suddenly found himself choking up, and he looked away for a second. Stevie laid her hand on his forearm. “I could let him see. See that I had feelings. See that I needed him.”

She nodded. “That’s good, right? That’s what boyfriends do? Serious ones, anyway.”

“Yeah. It’s good. I’m just afraid that I don’t know how to do that for him, when he needs it. Because he does, and he will.”

“David. Are you serious?”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

She sighed. “When you were in the bathroom, Patrick told me that he was surprised, when you guys got together, at how...affectionate you were. How open. I was like, the thing about David, is he’s like an exotic jungle cat.”

“Oh, how long did it take you to come up with that analogy?”

“You are, though! You’re all sleek and pretty and intimidating, and you hiss at people and have your claws out, but the minute someone reaches in and scratches your head, you roll right over and show your belly and just want rubs and cuddles.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended that you and my boyfriend were dissecting me behind my back, or flattered that you compared me to an exotic cat.”

“My point is that you think you’re high-maintenance but you’re not. I thought you were demanding and difficult when we met, but the minute I showed you the slightest bit of attention, you melted into a big puddle of designer goo and assigned yourself the role of Stevie’s Friend and Protector.” She took his hand. “You want nothing more than to look after the people you care about, and you’ve gotten fucked over because of it, but those people didn’t deserve it, or care enough to return it. He does. He will. And I’m a little jealous that he gets to have you as a boyfriend.”

There it was, that lump in his throat again. “Well, you had your shot.”

“Alas.” She leaned back and drained her glass. “You know what else he told me about? This open mic night he’ll be at next week.”

“Oh my Lord, do not remind me. He plays the guitar.”

“And that’s bad because…?”

“Because I don’t know if I'm up to pretending to appreciate amateur song stylings. And I can’t bear to watch. The secondhand embarrassment might literally give me a brain aneurysm.”

“How do you know you’d be embarrassed?”

“It’s an open mic night, Stevie, not MTV Unplugged. Nobody there, including Patrick, will be a professional musician. As high an opinion as I have of him generally, I’m not ready to roll the dice on his musical competence.”

“I think you should go. He was a rock for you? Be one for him.”

“He hasn’t acted like he even cares if I’m there or not.”

“Trust me, he wants you there.”

“We can’t even be boyfriends there. Nobody knows we’re dating.”

“Yeah, and why is that, exactly?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I don’t think it is. I think you’re both massive trolls and are enjoying pranking everyone.”

David cocked his head. “I mean, you’re not wrong.” She looked at him expectantly. He tilted his head back. “All right, fine, I’ll go to the stupid open mic night. I’ll make Heather come with me. But if anyone starts doing improv, I’m out of there.”

David was stewing at his drafting table, ostensibly working on the diagrams for a memo he was writing about tactical ventilation best practices. What he was really doing was trying to figure out how to ask Heather Warner to come with him to the open mic night without letting it slip that he was only going to support his boyfriend, the one she didn’t know he had. He’d put this off for too long and now it was the day of the fucking thing and he still didn’t have his shit together.

“Hey,” came a voice, interrupting his hyperfixation.

He looked up to see...Heather, standing in the doorway to his office. He had a brief, wild thought that he had somehow telepathically summoned her. “Um, hi?” he said. “What are you doing down here?”

“I had a meeting with Gretchen, so I just thought I’d...you know. Stop by. Say hello.”

David was suspicious. “Well, that’s thoughtful of you.” She stepped into the office and shut the door behind her. “Come on in,” he said, sarcastically.

She just gave him a look, and sat down in one of his office chairs. “So I was over at headquarters earlier and they were getting everything set up for the open mic night.”

“I’d hope so, seeing as it’s tonight.”

“Are you going to go?”

Now she was straight-up scaring him. “Um...I hadn’t really thought about it? Why, should I go?”

Heather sighed, giving him a look like he was working her last nerve. “David.”

“What?”

She examined her fingernails. “So a few months ago I was meeting my friend Jill for a drink out in Little Italy. At a bar called The Commoner, do you know it?”

David’s whole body went cold. “Um...I might have...driven by? It’s near the 315, right?”

“Yes, it is,” she said, with a you fucking know it is expression on her face. “Anyway, she and I are sitting at the window having Cosmos and spicy pork rinds and who do I see walking by outside? You’ll never guess.”

He crossed his arms and pursed his lips at her. “I think you’re about to tell me.”

“It was Captain Brewer. You know Patrick right?” He nodded, shutting his eyes and resigning himself to his fate. “Nice guy. Cute, too. Of course you and Patrick can’t stand each other. Everyone knows this. It’s a point of much hilarity around your district.” Heather’s twinkly eyes and “aren’t I mischievous” smirk were going to kill him. “Your arguments are legendary. I mean, it’s kind of amazing you’re even able to even tolerate being in the same room as...”

“Oh my God, stop,” David said, putting his hands over his face. “I give up. I surrender.”

“So imagine my surprise when I saw Patrick walking by The Commoner holding hands with a guy who I could have sworn was you, although of course that’s impossible, given how very much you and Patrick hate each other.”

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Heather chuckled. “I’m sorry, David, I don’t mean to torment you. And I want to respect your privacy.”

“Really? Because it kinda seems like you want to violate the shit out of it.”

“You and Patrick don’t owe anyone, including me, any disclosures. It’s just hard to resist having a little fun at your expense, seeing as you and Patrick seem to have been having some fun at the expense of the rest of us for awhile now.”

He dropped his hands and met her eyes. “It’s not...we don’t mean anything by it.”

“I get it.” She smiled, a warm and empathetic one this time. “How long has this been going on? Not that it’s any of my business. You can tell me to butt out if you want.”

“No, it’s...it might be nice to have one person who knows.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve been dating for a few months. That night? Was actually our first official date.”

“Official?” she said, with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah, um...before we started dating, we had been...kind of hooking up for almost a year,” he said, in a rush.

Her eyes widened a little. “Holy shit, really?”

“Yeah. Um...do you remember that car accident, there was a pickup truck hanging off the bridge and then another car hit it from behind and it fell down on the highway?”

“Vaguely.”

“That truck almost fell on me. Patrick pushed me out of the way. He’s such a fucking annoying little Boy Scout.”

“And you had a reaction to a brush with death and, what? Had an angry makeout?” David looked at her blankly. Heather whooped. “Oh boy, that is some quality drama right there, David. I tip my hat. You sure know how to make a statement.”

“For awhile it was just, like...physical. In an angry way.”

“But you caught feelings.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No. Not at all. Patrick is great. And so are you, and don’t roll your eyes at me, Rose.” She sighed. “Look, there’s a reason I didn’t tell you, or anyone else, that I caught you out. This is your business. But I came here today because I worried that you weren’t going to go to the open mic for fear of someone figuring it out.”

“That’s not why. I’m just sort of...allergic to amateurish performances. And if I had to witness one from my boyfriend, the mortification might literally kill me.”

“Huh. Okay. Well…”

David held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. Before you showed up like I inadvertently wished you here, I’d been obsessing over how I was going to ask-or-convince you to come to the fucking thing with me without telling you why I wanted to go, which you’ve conveniently spared me doing, so.”

“Great! It’s a date. Meet me at headquarters at 7, we’ll sit together in the back row like the bad kids who wear JNCOs and smoke on the baseball field.”

“I used to wear JNCOs.”

“Wow, this is my shocked face.”

“Get out of here, asshole,” he said with a grin, swiveling back to his drafting table. She headed for the door. “Heather?” She stopped and looked back. “Thanks. For not telling anyone.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, David. I’m...I’m really glad. You’ve seemed happier the last few months.”

He nodded, feeling that curl of warmth that had started to sneak into his belly whenever he thought of Patrick. “I am.”

The Toronto Fire Service headquarters had a large atrium lobby where the open mic nights were held; rows of chairs had been set up in the wide open floor space and a cash bar at the rear, near the doors. David had learned that this was the fifth such evening, and that Patrick had been the one to start the event. He slunk into the building, hoping to pass unnoticed, and crept around the edge of the audience until he spotted Heather, in the back row as promised, sitting in the second seat from the outside with her coat thrown over the end seat. “Hi,” he muttered, slumping into the chair as she picked up her coat.

“Figured the end seat would facilitate a quick escape, should it become necessary,” she whispered.

“Let’s hope not.” He scanned the room, his gaze automatically seeking out Patrick. He spotted him at the front near the stage, talking to a group of four older firefighters in dress uniforms. Patrick himself was not in uniform; he was wearing jeans and a light blue henley that clung in very appealing ways. David pulled out his phone and texted him.

you look sexy in that shirt.

He watched Patrick pull out his phone and read the message. He hadn’t told him that he would be coming; he couldn’t bear the build-up and the days of smirking. Patrick hadn’t given him the slightest sign that he was sad David wasn’t coming, or that he even cared at all, but the second David saw his face when he realized that David was here, it was obvious that he cared a lot. His ears flushed pink and he grinned, then started looking around, trying not to be too obvious about it.

He found David pretty quickly and just as quickly glanced away, a suppressed grin hiding at the corners of his mouth. David pulled his lips behind his teeth, but he knew he couldn’t entirely hide his own smile. Patrick looked back for a second and dropped David a quick wink. He looked down at his phone and texted something.

David’s phone buzzed. sorry in advance.

for what?

I’m on last.

“Ungghhghh,” David groaned.

“What?” Heather said.

“Patrick says he’s on last.”

“He’s always on last.”

David cocked his head. “Why always?”

She didn’t get a chance to answer before everyone started cheering; Patrick had stepped up to the mic that was set on the temporary stage. “Hey, TFS, welcome!” he said, spreading his arms and beaming like a goober. “I’m your host, Captain Brewer of the 315…”

“HEY PATRICK!” someone yelled from the other side of the room. Everyone laughed.

“Yes, okay, I’m Patrick, and welcome to our fifth Fire Services open mic night! We’ve got some new acts tonight and some of your favorites too. So we’ll pass the hat like always, tonight’s charity is the Canadian Women’s Foundation, supporting survivors of domestic violence, and thanks to Chief Lee for that suggestion. Okay, let’s get started!”

“Ugh, how many painful ordeals do I have to sit through before I hear my boyfriend do whatever he’s gonna do?” David muttered.

Heather gave him a knowing smile. “Give the rest of them a chance. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Wild horses could not have dragged this admission out of him, but he actually was pleasantly surprised. Twyla from the 315 sang a decent duet of “Shallow” with some guy David didn’t recognize, who also played the guitar. “That’s Stuart, he’s at the 112,” Heather whispered into his ear. A woman who looked vaguely familiar played the cello well enough to be enjoyable. Two young firefighters did some passably competent B-boy dancing, to wild whoops and cheers from the audience.

The four uniformed firefighters Patrick had been talking to turned out to be a barbershop quartet, and they were actually very good. They sang a barbershop arrangement of “Go the Distance” that brought the crowd to their feet. David clapped politely. “Oh come on, the Flash Points are a hit every time,” Heather chided him. “That was great, admit it.”

“They’re good singers, but barbershop? It makes me think about people who have nostalgic feelings for the soda-shop good old days when men like me were arrested and beaten to death, and you couldn’t have gotten a credit card in your own name.”

“Killjoy.” He shot her a look. “I mean, you’re not wrong. But it was a good song.”

His favorite act of the night was Mutt’s mother, Jocelyn, who was a 911 dispatcher. He’d been surprised to see her take the stage, and had assumed she was going to sing or something, but instead she’d started up a recording of “The Real Slim Shady” and proceeded to perform the song in sign language, with all the stank-face and sick moves you might see when the song came on in the club. David sat forward, grinning and delighted, as Jocelyn’s hands flew, her signing faster than anything he’d ever seen. The audience went bananas.

There were duds, though. A painfully off-key rendering of “Let It Go” that had everyone fidgeting. An inexplicable xylophone performance of “The Way I Are,” which David would not have thought was possible (and indeed, it turned out not to be). The nadir of cringe was definitely some painfully earnest beat poetry from a firefighter David had thankfully never seen before and hoped never to see again.

Everyone was shifting and murmuring; the program informed him that Patrick was next and last to perform. David sensed some anticipation from the audience. He was getting a weird feeling.

The audience exploded in cheers and applause when Patrick took the stage, carrying his guitar. He smiled out at everyone, taking his place at the mic and adjusting the guitar across his chest. David sat up straighter, wanting to fold into himself but also wanting to see everything. “Thanks to everyone for coming out tonight,” Patrick began. “We raised almost three grand for the women’s center, so that’s fantastic,” he said, as everyone clapped. “We had some great performances tonight, I’m a little anxious to have to follow all that.” Chuckling and muttering. He strummed a casual chord. “This one’s for everyone who’s feeling a little...addicted.”

He started to play. The chords were moody and dark. David’s heart was thundering in his chest.

Then he started to sing.

David sat frozen, but within a few phrases, his spine was liquefying. Patrick’s voice was smooth and heartfelt, and utterly captivating. He flailed out and clutched Heather’s forearm. She smiled and patted his hand...and then he realized what song Patrick was singing. The acoustic cover was a very effective fake-out.

Fuck, I love him.

David was brought up short by the thought. Something he’d never voiced, or let himself say inside his mind, or even feel. He pushed it away, hard. That was for...not now, when he was listening to his boyfriend sing like fucking Damien Rice. David glanced out over the audience, watching as one by one, people realized what song Patrick was covering, grins appearing on their faces, delighted bouncing and whispering, and then Patrick rolled into the chorus with a few hard chord hits and removed all doubt.

With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride

You’re toxic, I’m slipping under

With a taste of your poison, paradise

I’m addicted to you, don’t you know that you’re toxic?

The performance was almost drowned out by the cheers of the audience at the delicious dissonance of a buttoned-up fire captain performing a classic by Her Britneyness like he was at a hipster coffee shop. It was a feat of musical trolling that David couldn’t help but admire.

Patrick wasn’t singing to him, precisely, but on one of the repetitions of “I’m addicted to you” he sought out David in the audience and gave him a near-imperceptible wink.

He wrapped up the song to rapturous applause and a rowdy standing ovation. “This is why he goes last,” Heather said, yanking David to his feet along with everyone else. “Would you wanna follow that?”

“He pulls this shit every time?”

“He always covers something unexpected. One time it was ‘Good As Hell’ and I thought there was going to be a riot.”

“You’re dead to me, you know.”

“Why? What’d I do?”

“I’d have had a lot less angst about this whole situation if I’d known he was good at the singing and the guitar playing.”

“You and Patrick can’t expect to have all the trolling to yourselves, you know.” She winked and elbowed him.

Patrick practically ran up the walk to his door, knowing that David was waiting for him inside and was probably in some kind of a keyed-up mood after the open mic night.

They’d exchanged a few quick texts after the show was over.

I’m sorry, it always takes me like an hour to get out of here and deal with the donations.

I figured. I was just going to head back to your place.

Okay, great. So?

So, what?

Oh, you fucker. What did you think of the show?

I’ll let you wonder about that while you’re meeting and greeting your adoring fans. Just remember your number one fan will be waiting for you in your bedroom.

And then a goddamned eggplant emoji. The post-show gladhanding and chit chat had never seemed so endless.

He tore off his jacket and tossed it haphazardly at the coat rack, not much caring if it made it or not. He went right up to the bedroom, hoping for some kind of sexy boudoir scene, perhaps with David stretched out, looking like dessert in nothing but his tight boxer briefs...but what he got was David sitting cross-legged on the bed, buried in sweats and a hoodie, sketching something in his folio with headphones on.

He took a moment with the disappointment, then moved right on to the general warmth he felt every time he came home to find David here, a feeling that insisted on moving him along the emotional trajectory they seemed to be on far faster than he thought David would tolerate, let alone himself. He came up to the side of the bed; when he blocked the light David looked up and jumped, letting out an undignified yelp and clawing his headphones off. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Dammit, you’re home earlier than I thought!”

Patrick looked at his watch. “It’s been like...an hour and a half.”

David blinked. “Shit, has it? I lost track of time. I really meant to just do one or two things and then get all sexy in my underwear and lay myself out for you. Which you were probably expecting after that text I sent.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Fuck, I screwed this up good.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hand on David’s knee. “Honey, the underwear thing sounds great, but there’s just about nothing I love more than coming home and seeing you cozy and comfortable in my house.” A slow smile was coming over David’s face. “What?”

“You called me ‘honey.’”

Patrick fidgeted. “Yeah, sorry. That just kind of...slipped out.”

“No, I like it. But it wasn’t the first time.”

“It...it wasn’t?” He frowned, struggling to remember another time.

“The tanker truck crash,” David said, going quiet. “When I called you for help. The last thing you said was ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can, honey.’ It was...it made me feel cared for.”

“You were. You are.” He leaned in and kissed him, pulling him closer. David scootched in and slid his sweatshirt-paw hands around Patrick’s shoulders.

He pulled back abruptly, leaving Patrick straining forward, trying to follow his lips. “Okay,” he said, sounding like he was about to execute a Plan. “I can salvage this. I’m going to take a quick shower and then give you the welcome home I planned.”

“I wanna shower too, though.”

David made a face. “Okay, you go first, then. You take like twenty-second showers. I’ll finish this sketch. Then you come out here and get comfy and I’ll go...get myself ready.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“Do not jerk off in there.”

“What if I need to?”

“We’re on a timetable here, Captain.”

“Fine!” Patrick exclaimed, chuckling. “As His Majesty commands me!” He got up and started undressing on his way into the bathroom.

“Finally, you’ve learned how I am properly addressed!” he heard David saying as he shut the door.

David managed to get out of the bathroom in under half an hour, which was a real speed record for him, but even if it had taken two hours, it would have been worth it. David enjoyed putting on a jokey-sexy manner with him — they both did — but he was more than capable of summoning real, 100% deadly serious sexiness when he wanted to, as apparently he did tonight. He opened the bathroom door in just his boxer briefs and walked to the bed, a subtle slinkiness in his hips, his eyes dark and his hair wavy and tousled. Patrick, who had just been lounging here in his pajama bottoms, got up and let David slink his way over to him, sliding his hands up Patrick’s chest and then around his neck. “God, David,” Patrick said, burying his face in his neck. “You’re like every sex fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.”

“Mmm,” David said, sliding his fingers up into Patrick’s hair. “And now you’ve got me for real,” he purred, tipping Patrick’s head back and kissing him, sweeping into his mouth. He felt the vibration of a low chuckle in David’s chest. “What?”

“So you think I'm toxic?” he whispered, sliding his hands down to Patrick’s ass. “Am I...bad for you? I could be very, very bad for you,” he said, kissing down his neck.

“Hmm,” Patrick said. “You thought I was singing about you? Interesting.”

David went still, then he gave Patrick’s ass a hard pinch. Patrick laughed, pulling his hips closer. “You fucking dick,” David said, but Patrick could feel him smiling against his throat.

“Toxic or not, I do love what you do,” he said. David lifted his head and met his eyes. It was...close. To the thing they weren’t yet saying but that he was pretty sure they’d each thought.

Chapter Text

Patrick Brewer, Captain of Toronto Fire Services Station 315, was having a bad fucking day.

He’d arrived at work to learn that Jacob, his third-watch fire engine ladder operator, was leaving the fire service to pursue a new career, some kind of cooking thing — he actually hadn’t been paying that close attention because his brain was already racing through all the paperwork he’d have to do to not only sever Jacob from the department but to request a new engine and ladder driver. Then Twyla had called in sick with food poisoning, which he wouldn’t wish on anyone, but it left him down an EMT until he convinced Roger from the other crew to come in and cover. Also his leftover lasagna had somehow exploded in the microwave, leaving him not only with a mess to clean up but no lasagna.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. He was unsettled from an argument he’d had with David that morning. Not one of their workplace arguments (which were real in that they were actually disagreeing but also performative in that they weren’t actually mad at each other), but an actual personal argument. This was pretty uncommon. They tended to use their workplace fights as a pressure release valve, so when they came up against a problem in their relationship, they were usually able to handle it with a discussion. Not today, though.

David had been spending more and more nights at Patrick’s place, and Patrick had joked that he was half moved in already. He’d meant it as a casual comment on the increased density of sweaters in his closet, but David had taken it poorly. It had almost felt like he’d been waiting for the topic of moving in together to come up so he could shut it down, hard. He’d gone off on a rant that he’d never dream of imposing himself or moving in this soon, they had to maintain their separate residences, they’d only been dating-dating for six months, and so on. Patrick had tried to walk it back, but it had devolved into some probably-unwarranted jabs at one or the other’s commitment to the relationship and they hadn’t had time to really work it out before Patrick had to leave for his shift.

He wasn’t worried they were going to break up. They were well past the point where an argument felt like a real threat. But he hated fighting with (the man he loved) his boyfriend.

On top of that, just when Patrick had gotten himself a nice cup of tea and settled in his office to start the Jacob paperwork, some goddamned house had caught on fire and he had to go deal with it.

So he wasn’t in a great mood when the engine pulled up to a two-story house, not in the best of condition, and definitely on fire. Smoke was billowing out of the first-floor windows. He hopped off the engine, his crew efficiently going about their firefighting tasks. He didn’t see anyone who might live here, but the neighbor was peering over the fence. “I’m the one who called!” she yelled.

Patrick went over to her. “Are the residents at home?”

“No, they both work. I called them.”

That was good news, at least. No people inside. Mutt and Arnie were busting in the door, and Patrick heard one of them yell. “Cap! Hey, Cap! C’mere!”

Patrick jogged up the stairs and joined them at the door. “Oh...oh, shit.”

The house was hoarded up from floor to ceiling. Smoke was everywhere, but Patrick couldn’t tell where the fire was. “Nope, nope, nope,” he said. “Get out of here.”

Mutt and Arnie backed out to the front porch. “Probably in the kitchen, that’s where most of these hoarder fires start,” Arnie said.

“I’m not sending you guys in there with the house in that condition. Those piles of stuff could fall on you and crush you to death.”

“So what, we just watch it burn?”

“I know it seems awful, but department policy when the home is too hazardous for fire personnel to enter is exterior fire suppression only.”

“Cap,” Mutt said, pointing. Patrick looked, and his heart sank. The owners had one of those “in case of fire please save my cat” stickers on the door.

“How the fuck are we gonna find a cat…”

“Two cats,” Arnie corrected, looking at the writing on the sticker.

“Two cats in all this chaos?”

“Okay, we’re gonna at least make the effort. I’ll take the upstairs. You two make a pass through the downstairs.”

“Two in, two out, Cap.”

“I know, I’ll wait for Nunesy,” Patrick said, motioning to firefighter Nunes. It was against protocol for any firefighter to enter a building alone. Nunesy came jogging up, and Patrick headed for the stairs.

He was halfway up when he felt the crack, heard the avalanche, and suddenly there was empty space beneath his feet and a solid mass descending on him. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that David was going to be so pissed at him.

When Heather’s name popped up on David’s phone screen, it didn’t give him a moment’s pause. Since the open mic night, they’d gotten closer. He’d been afraid Patrick would be upset that she knew about them, but he hadn’t been. In the end, they both found that it was nice having someone else in the fire services who knew. They’d even gone on a couple of double dates with her and her husband, which was a new and fascinating experience. He thumbed the speaker on. “Hey,” he said. He could stand to hear a friendly voice after the fight he'd had with Patrick that morning.

“David, I need you to get somewhere private.” She was using her “emergency services professional” voice, that measured, calm tone they all had for when they were handling something that might make people panic.

He sat up, his stomach dropping. “I’m at home. What’s going on?”

“Patrick’s been hurt at a fire. He's being taken to Toronto General.”

David was on his feet without being aware of having gotten up. “What happened? Is he okay?” The potential answers to those questions terrified him in ways he had never experienced or even thought himself capable.

“I don’t know exactly what happened. Something collapsed either on top of him, or he fell through something, I’m not clear on the details. I heard it on the scanner and I didn’t know if you...well, nobody would…”

“Yeah, I get it. Thanks, Heather. I’ll call you later.” He hung up and tossed the phone aside, panic rising in his throat and choking him. He could only think of one thing to do.

He pounded on Stevie’s door until she opened up. Her face was creased into weary annoyance until she saw him, then it flipped to worried in a second. “David, what’s going on?”

“Patrick’s hurt. They took him to the hospital.” he said, unable to do much more than parrot what Heather had said.

“Okay,” Stevie said, smoothly transitioning to crisis-management-mode. She turned him around and marched him back to his apartment and into his bedroom. She opened his bureau and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater. “Put these on. I will drive you there. Toronto General?” It was a logical guess; General was the closest major hospital to Patrick’s fire district. He nodded and accepted the clothes, stripping off his joggers and pulling on the jeans. Stevie had seen him naked plenty of times, he wasn’t about to waste precious seconds on modesty.

Within a few minutes they were in Stevie’s car. She had held his hand all the way down to the garage but now he was huddled against the passenger door, trying to pull himself together. “What if he’s badly hurt?” he said.

“Then you’ll deal with it. We’ll all deal with it.”

He nodded. The shock was wearing off, and his mind was moving on to defense strategies. Unfortunately, those strategies historically consisted of closing off, defending through distancing, and inappropriate sarcasm. That wouldn’t fly here. I can do this. I can be here for Patrick. I want to be here for him.

Please, let him be okay.

He and Stevie raced into the emergency department. He suddenly worried that they wouldn’t tell him anything or let him see Patrick, since he wasn’t a relative, but it was too late for that. “I’m looking for Patrick Brewer?” he said to the intake nurse.

“Oh, the fire captain? They just brought him in.” She peered at him. “Are you a relative?”

“No, I’m...um, I’m David Rose, I'm his...um…”

“David Rose? I was just about to call you.”

He blinked, surprised. “You were?”

“He has you listed as his in-case-of-emergency contact person in his medical file.”

David spared a second to feel touched by this, but there were more important matters at hand. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t really have any more information. He’s being evaluated.” She was clocking his expression and general emotional state. “I can tell you that he isn’t being prepped for surgery or anything like that.”

That seemed like a good sign. “Should I just...wait, then?

“Sure. We’ll let you know when you can see him.”

“Thanks.” He and Stevie adjourned to the waiting room and David let his head fall into his hands. “Fuck. At least he isn’t dead or impaled on something.” Stevie was rubbing his shoulder. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I’ll stay until you know how he is and you know what you want to do.”

He met her eyes. “Thanks.”

It was a torturous half an hour before a nurse emerged. “David Rose?”

He leapt to his feet. “I’m David. How is he? Can I see him?”

“He told us you’re his partner, is that correct?”

They’d never used that term for each other; hearing it gave David another warm shiver. “Yes. He’s talking?”

“He’s on some pain meds, but he’s lucid.” She motioned him to follow her. “Captain Brewer was lucky. He dislocated his shoulder and cracked a couple of ribs, and he’s pretty bruised up, but it really could have been much worse.”

“Oh, thank God,” David said, feeling a little woozy with relief.

She motioned him into an exam room. “The doctor will come talk to you soon.”

“Thank you,” David said, unable to see anything but Patrick. He was sitting up in the bed, wearing a hospital gown. His left arm was in a sling and he had scrapes and bruises on his face, but he looked intact. When he saw David, his brows lifted and he smiled.

“David,” he said.

“Oh my God,” David said, coming to his bedside. He took his hand, its warmth reassuring. “Look at you!”

“I’ve looked better,” Patrick said with a wry smile.

“You’re not dead or grievously injured, I’ve never seen anything look better in my life!” He leaned in, then hesitated. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” Patrick said, lifting his free hand to David’s neck and returning the kiss.

David pulled back and just looked at him for a moment, his heart tight in his chest. He pulled a nearby chair up to the bedside and sat down, hanging on to Patrick’s hand in both of his own. “Are you really okay?”

“I mean, I guess? I’ve been banged up on the job before. My shoulder hurts and my ribs really hurt. But I think I’m mostly okay. I’m gonna be one giant bruise by tomorrow. They gave me some nice drugs, too. I’m a bit floaty right now.” He smiled. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Did they call you?”

“They didn’t get the chance. Heather called me first. She heard it on the scanner.”

“And you...rushed right here?” Patrick said, his eyebrows creasing a little.

David rolled his eyes. “Of course I did. My partner was hurt, maybe badly. Where else would I be? What else would I do but get to you as fast as I could?”

Patrick let out a shaky breath, and his eyes were full of feelings that David didn’t deserve to see. “Thank you, David.”

They held each other's gaze for a few beats, then David harrumphed and twined his fingers through Patrick’s. “I gotta tell you, I’ve never been anyone’s emergency contact before. I was a little surprised.”

“Oh, yeah. Well...you remember last month when George fell off that roof? They called his emergency contact number and it was still his ex-wife, who moved to Ottawa. That got everyone thinking about updating their medical files.” He was picking at the edge of his sling with his thumbnail. “I, uh...I’ve had my parents listed for ages, since I came out and ended things with Rachel. But I was sitting there with the form, and I thought...if I were hurt, if I were scared and in pain, maybe dying, who would I want with me? There was only one answer. I’d want you there.” His expression looked raw; the defenses had been scraped away by his injury, leaving only unvarnished feeling.

David swallowed hard. “Patrick...I’m…”

“I love you,” Patrick said, a bit rushed, as if he’d been determined to get this out and wouldn’t be stopped. “I am in love with you. I know that’s a scary thing for you to hear, but I can’t keep feeling it and not saying it. I want you to know how I feel. I’m not asking you for anything. But this, you and me, it isn’t casual for me, not anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. I’m all in with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.” He exhaled and sagged a little, as if he’d just set down a very heavy load.

For a long moment, David didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He was overwhelmed. He looked down at their joined hands. “You’re such a dick,” he finally said, through his clogged throat.

Patrick chuckled. “Okay?”

“I spent the whole drive over here planning this big speech I was going to give if you were awake, telling you the same thing, and now it’s just...ruined. You stole my moment, which is so typical.”

Patrick smiled, that upside-down smile he had when he was emotional. “Sorry about that.” He squeezed David’s hand. “Can I still hear the speech?” he said, with hopeful eyebrows.

“I don’t know, it’s all flown out of my head now.” He thought for a moment, then got up and sat on the edge of the bed. “But the only part that really mattered was that...that I love you,” he said. Any hesitation he’d felt about saying this aloud was immediately obliterated by the way Patrick seemed to glow from within when he heard it. “And you’re right, that’s not been easy for me to say, or to hear, but falling in love with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. In fact, it was too easy, so I had to fight it and make it hard, so I could feel like I’d earned it — like I deserved you. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, Patrick. So...I’m all in, too.”

Patrick held his gaze for a moment, then tugged David down into a deep, slow kiss, full of new meaning and promise. David’s heart felt light, like it had been freed from a cage that constricted its expansion. “Say it again,” Patrick whispered against his lips.

“I love you.” David kissed him again. “So much.”

“I love you, David.”

They sat there, foreheads together, breathing into the new space they’d just created between them. Finally, David settled back in the bedside chair, still not letting go of Patrick’s hand.

“I’m almost glad I fell through that staircase,” Patrick said, smiling. “Maybe we needed the push, huh?”

David’s mouth dropped open. “You fell through a staircase?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess no one’s told you. So we were at this hoarder house looking for a cat. I started up the stairs, but the structure had been so damaged and warped by the weight of years of hoarding that the treads gave way and dumped me through to the basement stairs, and a bunch of the stuff fell down on top of me. Luckily the basement stairs were all stuffed too, so I didn’t fall as far as I would have otherwise. It knocked me out briefly, which is really the only reason they even put me on a bus. Also the shoulder, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ. For a cat? You might have died for a cat?”

“That’s my job.”

“I know it is, all too well, and I’m working on being okay with that, but it’s not super easy right now with your poor arm in a sling and your ribs all crunchy, knowing I probably won’t get to have sex with you for awhile.”

Patrick harrumphed and sat up straighter; the doctor had come in right at the tail end of that. “Doctor,” he said.

The man grinned. “Captain Brewer? I think we’ve met.”

“Probably. I’ve met most of the trauma staff here.”

“I’m Dr. Castellero.”

“This is my partner, David.”

Castellero nodded at David, then continued. “You were very lucky. I’m told there was a great deal of...well, junk, beneath you when you fell, consisting mostly of books and newspapers? It broke your fall. Bruised you up pretty good. You’ve got some significant bruising on your back; your kidneys may have taken a blow. You may see some blood in your urine, don’t be alarmed. It should clear up in a day or two, kidneys heal quickly. The ribs will take longer. All we can do for that is keep you calm and still as much as possible.”

“I’ve had cracked ribs before, I know the drill. What about this?” he said, nodding at his shoulder.

“It’s just strained from the dislocation, which wasn’t severe. It popped right back in. It’ll just be sore for awhile. You can use it, just exercise caution, and maybe keep it in the sling as much as you can to keep weight off it. OTC pain meds should do for you pretty well but I wrote you a scrip for Vicodin if you need it for the ribs.”

“I have a pretty high pain tolerance. But it’s nice to have the option.”

“I couldn’t help overhearing the concern about sexual activity,” he said, glancing at David, who wished he could just melt right through the floor.

“I don’t think I’ll be feeling very sexy for awhile,” Patrick said, with a resigned sigh.

“You really aren’t prohibited from doing anything specifically, just stop if it hurts, which probably excludes...quite a bit. Oral and manual are probably the way to go for at least a few weeks.”

“This is so fascinating. I’m fascinated,” David said, deadpan, blinking in mortification.

Castellero shrugged. “Hey, closeness with loved ones is important for emotional well-being, which is important for healing. I’m all for it.”

“How very sex-positive of you,” David said.

“When can I go home?” Patrick asked.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can go home now. There’s nothing here that concerns me, your vitals all look good, and there’s nothing we can do for you here that can’t be done at home. Will you be alone there?”

“Absolutely not,” David said. He caught Patrick’s surprised, happy little private smile when he heard that. “I’ll take him home, thanks. We can stop at the pharmacy on the way and fill your prescription.”

“Okay,” Patrick said. “I, uh...don’t have any clothes.”

“We’ll give you some scrubs. Do you have any questions?”

“What about work?”

“You can’t go out on calls until your ribs are fully healed, but there’s no reason you can’t go to work before then, as long as your pain is managed and you’re taking it easy.”

Patrick nodded. “I am surrounded by EMTs when I’m at work. They’ll tie me down if I try to do more than lift a cup of tea.”

“Good. Well, unless you have questions, I’ll have the nurse bring you some scrubs and we’ll get you discharged.”

“Thanks, Doctor.” Castellero smiled and left.

“Are you sure?” David said. “There’s no rush.”

“There kind of is. Before too long, my company will be getting the apparatus and themselves back to the station and everything stowed and cleaned, and that’s when they’re all going to come here looking for me, and find you here. I’d just as soon get out of here before they start showing up.”

“Oh, good point. Can I do anything?”

He smiled and squeezed David’s hand. “You’re doing it. You’re here with me.”

The nurse came in with a big garbage bag and a set of scrubs. “Okay, Captain Brewer. Your bunker gear is in this bag. We cut off your uniform shirt but I think your pants are okay. I’m guessing you don’t want to just wear your pants.”

“Not really. Scrubs are fine.”

“And here’s your phone. Didn’t even crack the screen. We didn’t find your wallet or keys?”

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t take those out on calls, they’re at the station. Thanks, though, for thinking about that.”

She patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you get dressed.” She left, at that same breakneck pace all nurses seemed to maintain.

Patrick swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned on David’s shoulder to stand up, carefully. David picked up the scrub pants and unfolded them. “Here, let me. I’m guessing that bending over isn’t going to feel so great.” He leaned over and held the scrub pants open so Patrick could step into them, pulled them up his legs and tied the drawstring. “Let’s get this sling off,” he said, easing it off the injured shoulder while Patrick watched him with an almost comically fond expression. “What?”

“You. This is a new side of you. This...caretaker side.”

“I’m here, you need caretaking, you’re my partner and I love you, so I’m going to take care of you.”

“It’s just...sweet.”

“Ew,” David said. “Don’t make it weird.”

Once Patrick was in his scrubs, David went out to the lobby to find Stevie while Patrick called Ronnie to update her on his condition (and to ensure she didn’t show up at the hospital). “Is he okay?” Stevie asked, jumping up.

“He’s good,” David said, unable to keep the giddiness out of his expression.

Stevie cocked an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just that my impossible fire captain boyfriend just told me he loves me and I am trying to hold it together, so if you could not give me shit about it, that’d be great.”

“You better have told him that you’re wildly in love with him, too.”

“I...may have done that, yes. But now he’s being discharged, so can you bring your car around? I’m going to take him home.”

Stevie thought for a moment. “Okay we’re going to have to do some car-juggling here. Let’s do this. I’ll drive you guys to his place, where I assume you’ll be staying for awhile?” He nodded. “We’ll get him settled and then I’ll take you home, you can pack a bag and drive yourself back.”

David sighed, glad someone was thinking about logistics. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be a sad lonely man living in a substandard condo.” She looked past him and smiled. “Here he is,” she said.

He turned and saw Patrick coming into the waiting room, his fire boots on over the scrubs, his sling back in place. He was carrying the bag with his gear in it in his free hand. David darted forward and took it from him. “I was going to come back and help you!” he scolded. “You are damaged!”

“I can handle one bag, David.”

He glanced down at the boots. “Well, as the great Tim Gunn would say, this is a lot of look.”

Patrick chuckled. “My station boots are back at the firehouse, so it was these or walk out of here in my socked feet.”

“Socked feet in public are incorrect, although given a choice between that and these boots I’m not sure which side I’d come down on.”

Stevie stepped forward and gave him an awkward, careful one-armed hug. “I’m so glad you're okay,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said, patting her back. “Thank you for being here.”

“I’ll go get the car. You guys hang tight.” She walked out.

“Did you talk to Ronnie?” David asked.

“Yeah. She said she’d let the station know I’m fine and am going home. I’ll text Ray and have him bring my car and the rest of my stuff from the office tomorrow.” He swayed a little; David put one arm around him, juggling the bag in his other. “Whoa, I’m...a little woozy.”

“You’ve had a rough day. And you got knocked out, and you’re on some drugs.”

“Yeah.” He smiled up at David. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Not as glad as I am that you’re here, standing, and not in a full-body cast or worse.”

“I love you.”

David wasn’t over getting a shimmery thrill up his back when he heard those words, apparently. “You’ve said that a couple of times now.”

“Well, I have a big backlog to get through. Expect more.”

Chapter Text

Patrick really, really tried not to take a Vicodin. He had no real reason to avoid taking it besides being stubborn. “Take the goddamned pill!” David had said. “Your heroics are impressing exactly nobody! You think you’re some kind of stoic Spartan warmonger?”

That had just made him laugh. “Warmonger?” He clutched at his ribs. “Owwww, that hurts.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I said that, it was the first word that came to mind. The point stands, though, so you should take the damn pill.”

“Just leave them here on the nightstand. I’ll take one if I really need to.”

David had thrown up his hands in dramatic defeat. “Fine, whatever. I’ll put in a call to Pointlessly Tough Guy Magazine that you’re denying yourself prescribed pain medication for your broken ribs.” But he’d brought the pill bottle, along with a bottle of water, and he’d kissed Patrick’s forehead before leaving with Stevie to pack a bag and get his own car. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, much more gently. “Text me if you need something.”

He’d tried, he really had. But his ribs were throbbing and he couldn’t focus on anything else, he couldn’t even sleep, which he knew he needed to do, so after half an hour he’d caved and taken the damn Vicodin.

Once it kicked in, he couldn’t believe he’d denied himself pain management. David was right, it was stupid. He was even able to doze off, and then to have the pleasant experience of waking up when he felt the edge of the bed sink down a little, opening his eyes and seeing David sitting there, looking down at him. “Tell me you took a pill,” he said.

“Mmm hmmm. Had a nice nap.” He smiled, not caring if he looked dopey. “You’re so pretty, David.” He was, too. Patrick would tell him several times a day if he didn’t think it would eventually become creepy.

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m here till you’re better. I can’t believe I’m about to ask this of a romantic partner, but did you pee, and was there blood in it?” He made a face.

“No, and I don’t know yet. Stay tuned.” He picked up the water bottle and took a drink. “Can you check my phone to see if anyone called while I was asleep? The code is 8781.”

David’s eyes widened a little. “You’re giving me phone-code privileges?”

“Why not?”

“That’s a big step.”

“Is it?”

David was looking at Patrick’s phone. “Nobody called. You have a text from Travis, though.”

“Oh my God, I should probably tell him that I fell through a staircase today.” He sagged back against the cushions, exhausted. “I’m too tired. You call him.”

“You want me to call your friend with benefits.”

“He hasn’t been that for awhile. You’re the only one who gets my benefits. Travis is just a friend.”

David shook his head, looking amazed at all these new developments in their interpersonal intimacy. He dialed Travis. “Yeah, Travis? Sorry, this is David. Yeah. Well...Patrick was in an accident at work. He’s okay, but he’s got some cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. Yeah. You’re telling me. We’re here at his house...yes. I’ll be staying till he’s healed up.” He listened for a second, then tilted the phone away and looked at him. “He wants to know if he can come over tonight?” Patrick nodded. “Yes, he says that’s fine. Oh, seriously? You’re my new favorite person. Thanks so much. See you later.” He hung up. “Well. Travis is coming over after he’s done at work and he’s bringing takeout.”

“Told you you’d like him.”

Patrick couldn’t face company without a shower. David was shockingly matter-of-fact about helping him; he just got undressed and got in with him, washed him in a practical (and decidedly unsexy) way, helped him into comfortable clothes and installed him on the couch, well supported by pillows. David kept surprising him with his adept caretaking. He was walking that line between supportive and smothering, making sure Patrick had what he needed without endlessly hovering and making Patrick feel like a helpless infant.

Something about David opening the door when Travis knocked pleased him; it made him happy to see David moving in this house like it was also his. “David!” Patrick heard Travis say.

“Come on in,” David said, stepping aside. Travis was carrying a sack of takeout, which he put down on the entry table. “It’s good to officially meet you.” He held out a hand.

“Nope,” Travis said, and enveloped David in a hug. “We hug in the Club of Guys Who’ve Fucked Patrick.”

Patrick snorted. David laughed and returned the hug. “We do, huh? Does this mean I have to hug Marcus, the one who dumped him for a horticulture student? If we ever meet, that is.”

He watched them joke with each other, glad he had taken that Vicodin. If he were totally sober he might be having a minor freak-out at seeing the two men he was most attracted to in the world hugging and smiling at each other, looking like a pair of bookends. They were the exact same height and had almost the same coloring and hairstyle. As it was, he just sort of floated along on a pleasant cloud. Ah, that’s nice. So many beautiful men in my house.

Travis came over to him. “Jesus Christ, Patrick, look at you!” he said, a frown of concern warring with the good-humored smile on his face. He leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You look like you went ten rounds with a gorilla. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Thanks for coming over.”

Travis took a seat in the nearby wing chair. David picked up the bag of takeout and went into the kitchen with it. “Ribs, huh? I cracked a couple in high school playing football.”

“You played football?” Patrick said. “I’m having trouble picturing that.”

“So did I, which is why I used those cracked ribs as an excuse to quit and join the debate team instead.” David returned with plates and utensils and the multiple cartons of Chinese.

“See, honey, Travis got takeout from Sky Dragon, like a person with taste.”

“Oh, god, does he make you eat that slop from Lucky Phoenix?” Travis exclaimed. “I tried to train him out of it, but he’s so stubborn.”

“I know,” David said, rolling his eyes with much drama. “God forbid he orders something besides a gin and tonic at a cocktail bar.”

“I suggested he get a Manhattan or something one time and you’d think I’d slapped him in the face.”

Patrick sat and happily ate his cashew chicken, basking in the sound of David and Travis roasting him relentlessly, laughing and telling each other stories about how impossible he was, adoring both of them.

David put down his plate and sat back, his hand resting casually on Patrick’s leg. Patrick twined their fingers together and shifted slightly. “Is it time for your next pill?” David said, checking his watch. “Nope, another hour. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Getting a little sore, but I’m good,” he said, gazing at David with what he was sure was a dopily besotted expression. David smiled back at him, looking mildly besotted himself.

“Oh God,” Travis said, grinning. “You two are stupid in love, aren’t you?”

David sighed. “Yeah, kinda.”

“I told Patrick ages ago that he was a walking romantic cliché, having big showy fights with a man he was obviously crushing on. Did he lean into it with a hospital bedside love confession?”

“Guilty,” Patrick said.

“We’re both guilty of that one,” David said, shaking his head. “Nothing like thinking that your boyfriend is dead or maimed to give you a wild shove into heartfelt declarations.”

Travis sobered. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make light of it. That must have been terrifying.”

David looked down at their joined hands and blinked a few times. “Yes. It was.” Patrick squeezed his fingers, then carefully leaned over and kissed his temple. “Wait,” David said, looking up at Travis. “He was obviously crushing on me?”

“Oh my God, so obviously,” Travis said, throwing his hands up. “On and on and on. ‘Oh, I just hate that David Rose, he’s so annoying and dreamy and obnoxious and handsome, stomping all over my precious emergency scenes with his sexy long legs and his sexy sexiness, and I just hate arguing with him and getting all close up in his face so I can stare dreamily, I mean angrily, into his deep, dark eyes, my life is just a torment!’”

“I never said anything remotely like that!” Patrick said, while David cracked up.

“The subtext, Patrick! It was all in the lusty gay subtext!”

“And what is that ridiculous Patrick-voice you were doing just then, I do not sound like that!”

“Artistic license, babe.”

“I’d have denied it at the time, but I was definitely crushing,” Patrick said.

“And was it mutual?” Travis said, smirking at David.

“Oh, it was. But I’d have also denied it. I have a competence kink a mile wide, so as irritating as I found him the first time we met, he was just so...capable,” he said, doing a little shimmy with his shoulders. “Hauling those cutters and ordering his crew around, ordering me around,” he said, nudging Patrick.

“Okay, let’s not go there,” Travis said.

“Yes, let’s move on from the topic of just how much David and I were hot for each other, shall we?” Patrick said.

“Travis, Patrick tells me you’re a lawyer?” David asked. “What kind?”

Patrick let himself sag back into the couch, his fingers still twined with David’s, and listened as their conversation flowed easily. He had been slightly nervous about David meeting Travis. David wasn’t a possessive person, but he and Travis both had strong personalities, and you could never predict how people like that would mesh. They could clash and grate, or they could click. To his delight, they seemed to be clicking.

After a little while, his discomfort grew a little more distracting, and the fatigue of the day’s events got heavier. He was just about to say something when David beat him to it. “I think Patrick needs to rest,” he said.

Travis nodded, getting up and collecting some of the dishes. “Let me help you clean up, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Patrick stayed in his comfy couch nest, listening and smiling as David and Travis tidied up their dinner, joking with each other and exchanging numbers so they could text.

Travis kissed Patrick’s cheek as he left. “Let David take care of you. Don’t be a hero,” he said.

“God, it's like some kind of compulsion with him,” David groaned. He and Travis hugged goodbye, murmuring a few things to each other that Patrick was pretty sure were more covert comments about himself. David came back to the couch after Travis was gone and sat down at Patrick’s side. “I like him.”

“He seemed to like you, too.”

“Everyone likes me. I am charming and amiable.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

David patted his leg. “Okay, we should get you into bed, fireboy.”

He helped Patrick into his pajamas and into bed before heading to the bathroom to do his skincare. Patrick took his next Vicodin and had mostly dozed off by the time David climbed into bed, staying rigidly on his side.

They both lay there in silence for a few strained moments. “David?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re allowed to touch me.”

He heard David sigh. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. C’mere.” He lifted his arm — thankfully it was his uninjured shoulder that was on David’s side — and David scooted close. “You can like...yeah. Just no pressure on my chest.” They adjusted and shifted until David was on his side, tucked close to Patrick, his head down on his shoulder, one arm lying across his hips. Patrick settled his own arm around David’s shoulders, sighing at the familiar scent of his hair. He leaned his cheek against its silky softness and let his eyes shut. David’s hand was making tiny stroking motions against his abdomen, like he was petting him. It was soothing. “That’s better,” he said.

“As long as this isn’t uncomfortable.”

“I’m very comfortable. Or as much as a person can be with cracked ribs.”

He felt the tension start to leave David’s body. He rubbed his cheek against Patrick’s shoulder and let out a long breath. “I was so scared,” he finally said, barely louder than a whisper. “When Heather told me you were hurt. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared.”

“I’m okay. And it...it could happen again. This wasn’t the first time.”

“I know. I just…” He turned his head and pressed his lips to Patrick’s neck. “I feel like I just found you. I’m not ready to lose you.”

“I’ll never be ready to lose you.”

David propped his head up on his elbow and looked down at him. “I guess...we should talk, huh?”

“Yeah, we should. Doesn’t have to be now. We’re going to have lots of time together in the next few weeks.”

“I’d rather get it over with. Unless you’re too tired, or drugged up.”

“No. I feel okay. Pretty relaxed now, actually.”

David was trailing his fingers lightly over Patrick’s chest. “I’m sorry about this morning. I’ve been dwelling on it all day.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not! What if you’d...God, I can’t even say it. And the last things we said to each other were a stupid fight?”

“It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was.”

“David, you had feelings about something, your feelings aren’t stupid, therefore the fight wasn’t stupid.”

“These feelings were stupid.” He sighed. “It’s just that...in the past, when people would make jokes about things getting serious, or me moving in, or stuff like that, they were...well, they were using the jokes to tell me that those things would never happen, and I was ridiculous for thinking they would, and whatever I thought we had was just a silly diversion to them. And I know that’s not what you meant, or how you feel, but I just had to immediately make sure you knew I wasn’t pushing for it, or wanting something more from you. That way, you wouldn’t have to distance yourself with sarcasm.” He shook his head. “Basically you stepped into a big messy pile of my insecurity without knowing it was there.”

“You’re telling me it’s there now. And I’d never joke about things that I want, too. I meant what I said at the hospital.”

“So…this is like...a serious relationship?” He sounded unsure about this, but Patrick knew that it wasn’t David who was unsure; he’d been trained by others to think of himself as someone who didn’t deserve that.

“Yes. It’s serious for me. I hope it is for you.”

“I’ve just never...no one’s ever wanted that with me. I’m not a serious person. Or someone people would look at and think, yes, that’s someone I want a serious relationship with.”

“David, look at me.” He did. “I want a serious relationship with you.”

He nodded. “Okay. Good. I’m...that’s good. I want that, too. With you.” He smiled, and the innocent delight in it made Patrick want to cry. “So that’s something I have now. A serious...partner.”

“Yes, you do.” He ran his hand up and down David’s back. “But we should talk about telling people at work, if that’s something we want.”

David nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

Patrick thought for a moment, hoping to phrase this effectively. “If I tell you that I...don’t want to tell people, can you believe me when I say it’s not because I’m ashamed?”

“Oh my God, yes. I don’t want to, either. Fuck, that’s a relief,” he said, lying back down with his head tucked against Patrick’s neck.

“There’s no reason for us to keep it a secret. I just...I can’t...I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I don’t want to jinx it. Does that sound idiotic?”

“No. I get it. I’m comfortable, like this. I like having you, having us, all to myself. It’s like having a secret life, without hurting anyone.”

“Are we? Hurting anyone? We should think about that.”

“I don’t think so? Who would we be hurting?”

“Our families, maybe? My sister’s already going to have my skin for a handbag when she finds out I’ve had a boyfriend for months and haven’t told her.”

“Then let’s tell her. Them. Our families, I mean. None of them are local. They can keep a secret.”

“My parents definitely cannot keep a secret. But they’re four thousand miles away, so.” He lifted his head again, a smile tugging into the side of his face, making his dimples pop. “You want to tell your parents about me?”

“Of course. I never didn’t want to, I was just respecting our arrangement.” He sighed, already dreading the FaceTime he’d have to have tomorrow. “I need to tell them I got hurt, too. That’s part of our family rules. You can get on the call with me, and that way they can see I’m not alone, that someone’s looking after me.” David didn’t respond right away. “If you’re okay with that?”

“What? Yeah, of course. I’m just...not used to being presented to parents as a reassuring presence. More like a ‘fuck you, I’m gonna date THIS guy’ sort of situation.”

Patrick shook his head. “Sometimes I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and beat the shit out of everyone who ever made you feel like you didn’t deserve everything good in the world.”

“You’d have to beat the shit out of me too, then, because some of that is self-inflicted. I’m working on it.” He stroked Patrick’s stomach. “So what we’re really talking about isn’t keeping our relationship a secret. It’s keeping it a secret at work. And is that really so unusual? Especially since we work together?”

Patrick blinked; he hadn’t thought of it like that. His work was so intertwined in his life that it was sometimes hard to remember that they were, in fact, two separate things. “I guess it isn’t.”

“I think I’d like to be open about it someday. Just...not yet.”

“We’ll revisit it periodically, deal? Talk about how we’re feeling about it?”

“Deal.” David chuckled. “Is this what people in healthy relationships do? Talk about things? Listen to each other?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s weird.” He sighed and leaned up to kiss Patrick’s lips, a slow and lingering kiss that made Patrick feel warm all over. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Oh my. It’s a whole new world of endearments.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Absolutely not, I just didn’t expect it.”

“I can be surprisingly sappy when properly motivated.”

“I’ll just have to…” He paused to yawn. “...keep you motivated.”

“Right now, you should sleep.” He cuddled down next to Patrick again and pulled the covers up to his chin.

Patrick settled his head against David’s. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

It took a lot to motivate David to get up before eight, but the prospect of a video call with Patrick’s parents (his mind touched on and then skittered madly away from the term “in-laws” like it was lava) did the trick. He wanted to look put together, in control, and definitely someone you’d want taking responsibility for your injured son’s well-being, not to mention his happiness and relationship satisfaction.

“Between 9 and 10 a.m. is the best time to catch them,” Patrick said. “They’re both retired, but I swear they’re busier now than when they were working. My mom is in like twelve charities and my dad volunteers anywhere they’ll let him mow or dig things. They like to have a relaxed breakfast and then they’re off on their various quests all day. I told them I’d call at 9:30.”

“Should I wait in the other room, until you’re ready for me?”

“Why? Just sit here off-camera until I tell them.”

“But then they’ll realize that I’d been hearing your conversation, without their consent, and it’s…”

“David, you’re overthinking this.”

“This is all new to me, I don’t know what the appropriate amount of thinking is!”

“Adjudicating the protocols of conversation like we’re at the U.N. is a little over the top. I’m going to tell them as soon as I’ve gotten them past the whole ‘fell through a stairway’ thing.”

“I’m sure that’ll be quick and not at all emotional,” David said, rolling his eyes, but he took a seat on the couch a few feet away from Patrick, who was carefully sitting with pillows around him to support his torso. He watched, feeling intensely out of place, as Patrick placed the call.

The laptop screen was immediately filled with two smiling faces, and David was stunned at the degree to which he could see a random combinatorial distribution of their various features in their son. “Patrick!” his mother said. “It’s an odd…” She inhaled sharply as she saw his face. His father frowned. “Oh my God, what happened? Your poor face!”

“I’m okay,” Patrick said, speaking calmly. “Really. Before I tell you what happened, I’m telling you that I am okay, understand?”

They looked at each other, matching expressions of concern on their faces. “Okay, tell us,” his mother said. David dredged up their names from the recesses of his memory: Marcy and Clint.

“There was an accident, and I took a fall. I didn’t fall far. I dislocated my shoulder and I have a few cracked ribs. But that’s it.” David noted that he didn’t mention his brief period of unconsciousness. “I’m sore, and my ribs will be healing for awhile, but I’m really fine. They sent me home after only an hour or so, once they determined I hadn’t broken anything badly.”

March had her hand to her chest. “I just worry so much, Patrick, I know you love your job but it can be so dangerous.”

“I do love my job. I’m as careful as I can be, you know this. But this was just one of those things.”

“Should we come down? You shouldn’t be alone, you’ll need help doing things with cracked ribs.”

Patrick smiled. His mother couldn’t have given him a better opening if they’d scripted it. “Well, that brings me to my other piece of news,” he said. “So, I’ve been seeing someone for about six months now.” David smirked a little — that time period covered their dating relationship but left out the year before when they’d been hate-fucking.

“Oh!” Marcy said, looking torn at being happy to hear this news while still being horrified that Patrick had been injured. “You haven’t mentioned him!”

“I know, we’ve kept it pretty private. But getting hurt like this has gotten us to realize that we’re really serious about each other, so. I thought it was time for you to meet him. And he’s going to stay with me while I recover, so I won’t be alone, Mom.”

“Is he there now?” Clint asked, speaking for the first time.

“Yes, he’s right here, waiting to meet you.” He pulled on David’s hand; David took a deep breath and moved to his side and into camera view. “Mom, Dad...this is David Rose. David, these are my parents, Marcy and Clint Brewer.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer,” David said, trying to sound as boyfriend-material-y as he could.

“Oh, David,” Marcy said, sounding like she’d been waiting to meet him her whole life — but then her face changed and her expression went thoughtful. “Wait a minute...David Rose?”

Clint was nodding. “Yes. Patrick, I seem to remember you mentioning a man by that name that you worked with, who...lemme see if I have this right...you said was the ‘most obnoxious douchebag’ you’d ever met.” He arched one eyebrow, barely-restrained mirth in his eyes.

Patrick harrumphed while David covered his grin with one hand. “Um...I may have...said that, yes.”

“Could this be the same person?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“It isn’t just him, Mr. Brewer,” David said. “I once called him a self-righteous jackass to his face.”

“In front of my entire crew,” Patrick added, nodding.

“I guess you got over those arguments at work, huh?” Marcy said, grinning.

“Oh no, we still fight at work. We don’t tell our co-workers that we’re together. But once I got to know him a little better, I found I liked him, and then I fell in love with him,” Patrick said, his hand on David’s knee, smiling at him. David covered the hand with his own and smiled back.

“Oh, it’s like a romantic comedy,” Marcy gushed. “How charming.”

“Okay, Mom, feel free to never say that again,” Patrick said. “I can’t stay on the phone too long, but I know we agreed that I’d be honest about anything that happened to me at work.”

“We appreciate that, son,” Clint said.

“And I wanted you to meet David. You can meet him in person next time you’re down.”

“Oh, we would like to come down soon,” Marcy said. “Maybe...next week? Give you a little time to recover first?”

Patrick nodded, smiling. “That would be good.”

“And David, it was nice to meet you. Take good care of my boy.”

“I will,” David said.

They said their goodbyes and then both let out identical sighs of relief.

“So,” David said.

“So.”

“You bitched about me to your parents, huh?”

Patrick spent his first few days home more or less half-stoned on Vicodin. David had told him that he was overestimating his ability to tolerate cracked-rib pain and he had been one hundred percent correct. He got up and walked every hour, at David’s insistence, and blew into the lung-capacity doohickey they’d sent him home with. “Time for your blowjob!” David would crow, very pleased with his little joke, which was funny the first three or four times but then just started being a reminder of all the real blowjobs he wasn’t giving or receiving. Other than that, he sat in his recliner and watched TV or listened to podcasts — he was rapidly catching up on Stevie’s podcast, “Crime by the Case,” which was her clever wine-related punny title — and watched David bustle around, fixing food and cleaning things.

“I never knew you were such a neat freak,” he said.

“You’ve been in my place. Have you ever seen a speck of dust in it?”

“You’re making me feel like a slob.”

“You’re not. But when was the last time you dusted these baseboards behind the bookshelf? Ew, honey.”

Twyla (recovered from food poisoning) and Ray showed up the day after the accident while David made himself scarce with errands. She drove Patrick’s car home (Ray following in his own car) and brought the things he’d left at the office. Ray insisted on checking Patrick’s breath sounds with his stethoscope. “Breathe in deeply,” he’d instructed. Patrick had done so, wincing sharply with the pain. “That’s to be expected. Your lungs sound clear. That’s important to monitor. Pneumonia is a common side effect of cracked ribs. Or for anything that limits your movements, really.”

“I have one of those things you breathe into…”

“A spirometer, yes. Make sure you use it once an hour. Try to breathe deeply whenever you’re upright.”

Twyla was watching him with big, sincere eyes and leaned in for a very careful shoulder-hug as they were leaving. “We miss you. We’ll tell all the guys that you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Twyla. I really appreciate this.”

“You call us if you need anything. You really shouldn’t be here by yourself, you know.”

“Oh, I’m not. My friend Travis is here,” he said, concocting a quick white lie. “He went out to the grocery store. And my parents are coming down soon.” Which was technically true.

“Oh, good, I’m glad to hear that. Don’t you rush into coming back, although I know you will.”

“We’re all a little afraid David will pick one of us to start fighting with if you’re not there,” Ray joked, elbowing him carefully.

David had returned just minutes after they’d left. “God, I thought they’d never leave,” he said, coming in with grocery bags. “I had to circle the block until Ray’s car was gone.”

“They were just concerned. They’re my friends,” Patrick said, a little irritated.

David stopped and took a moment. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about how much I wanted to get back here. Brought you something,” he said, winking and handing him a tube-shaped package, bright red and blue.

Patrick perked up. “Digestive biscuits? I love these! How did you know?”

“Your mom. She said they were your favorite sick-day snack.”

“You’ve been talking to my mom?” He didn’t know whether to be delighted or horrified.

“We’ve been texting. I asked her what foods you might like during your recuperation. She had lots of ideas. Oh, you look all alarmed, but this is what happens when you give your boyfriend phone-code privileges — he can look up your mom’s number and text her.”

Patrick opened the digestives and ate one. That same sweet, graham-crackery crumbly texture sent him back to age ten, being home sick with ginger ale and daytime TV. “My grandmother was from Manchester. She always had these in her house. That, and those hard candies shaped like ribbons. And Werther’s Originals.”

David walked into the living room and tossed onto his lap...a bag of Werther’s Originals. “All grandmas have Werther’s Originals,” he said, dropping a wink, and Patrick had never been more in love with any person in his entire life. He didn’t think he’d realized that such love was possible.

A few days after Patrick’s accident, Stevie brought over Greek takeout for dinner, a feast of falafel, kebab meat, rice, roasted vegetables and hummus. Patrick wished he had more of an appetite. The drugs and the low throb of pain, not to mention the constipation from the Vicodin, made him pick at his food. David looked at him sympathetically but didn’t comment, to Patrick’s relief.

“Unfortunately, I do have to go back to work tomorrow,” David said, popping a stuffed grape leaf into his mouth. “Gretchen and Saul have been covering for me, they think I had my wisdom teeth out. I’ll have to go back on call, too.”

“That’s ok. I can manage.”

“You will do no such thing.” David nodded at Stevie. “Stevie, Travis, Heather and I have worked out a schedule for the workdays. One of us will be with you at all times, and if I get a call in the evening or on a weekend, one of them will come over. Heather sets her own office hours, Travis can work remotely any time he wants, and Stevie doesn’t work, so.”

“Hey, I have to field a bunch of bullshit calls from my ungrateful tenants,” she said, slapping at his arm.

“You want me to try and fix it myself when the water heater goes out, then?”

Patrick watched them bicker, a lump rising in his throat. Damnit, fucking Vicodin, he thought, as his emotions spilled over and tears ran down his cheeks.

David glanced over at him and did a double take. He leaned over and took his hand. “Hey, hey,” he said, gently. “Patrick, what is it? Are you okay? Breakthrough pain?”

“No, I’m okay, I’m just…” A rough sob escaped his chest, and it hurt. “Nobody’s ever...you guys are...you’re like a little posse, to take care of me. I’ve never…” He dissolved into helpless sobs. He covered his face; he didn’t know where this was coming from.

David got up and knelt next to his chair so he could take Patrick in his arms without him having to bend or stretch. “Shh, shh,” David said, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Go ahead and cry. Of course we’re going to take care of you, we love you.”

“Well, I like you okay, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Stevie said. She seemed utterly unaffected by this sudden outburst, and Patrick wanted to kiss her for it.

Patrick hung on to David’s shoulders and cried into his hoodie, hoping it wasn’t one of the really expensive ones. He got control of himself and sniffed; Stevie handed him some tissues and he started to blow his nose. “Wait,” David said, and leaned over to grab the pillow Patrick had to carry around everywhere, in case of sneezes. “Hug the pillow.”

“Right,” Patrick said, pulling it to his chest to support it. Blowing his nose still hurt like fuck. “Oh, shitbuckets.”

David grimaced. “That’s a new one.” He pulled his chair close and sat down but kept rubbing Patrick’s back. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m not usually that weepy, I don’t know what brought that on.”

“I do,” David said. “Heavy painkillers mess with your emotional control, especially on top of trauma. Don’t ask me how I know,” he said, making a face.

“Can I have some water?” Patrick said.

Stevie picked up his empty water glass, filled it and handed it back to him. “It’s fucked up, man,” she said. “If I’d fallen through a staircase and been buried alive in like twenty years’ worth of National Geographics, I’d be out of my head.”

“It was...yeah, it was bad. I think I’ll be dealing with that once this situation is resolved,” he said, motioning to his chest. He patted David’s knee. “Thanks, David.” He met his eyes. “Not too late to back out,” he said, with a rueful smile. “This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“I signed up for you. Some guys come with a stalker ex or an overbearing mother or a crippling fear of moths and businesswomen in sneakers. You come with burning buildings and tanker truck crashes. It’s the price of admission.” He smoothed Patrick’s hair back. “Most guys aren’t worth it, but you’re a bargain at any price.” He kissed Patrick’s forehead and moved his chair back.

Stevie was watching David, a puzzled look on her face. “Businesswomen in sneakers?” she said.

David sighed, flapping his hands. “Okay, I may have been just talking about myself, there.”

Patrick smiled at him. “You’re more than worth the price of admission, honey.”

Chapter Text

When Patrick agreed to David’s prerequisite for when he could go back to the station — that he be able to tie his own shoes (“From a standing position, Patrick!”) — he really hadn’t expected that it would take three whole weeks to reach that point. He’d had cracked ribs before and he could have sworn it hadn’t taken this long to feel better. Then again, he’d been twenty-five at the time, and he might have to come to grips with the possibility that he couldn’t heal like he had ten years ago. At least he’d only had to use the Vicodin for the first week. It really had made him feel mildly out of control.

His recovery time had been a strange dichotomy. He’d been intensely bored and frustrated by the discomfort and restrictions, he’d missed his job and his crew, and he was getting cabin fever. But at the same time, this time with David had been a revelation.

He’d said so in bed the night before his first day back. They were cuddled up, as was their habit now — they’d enjoyed some pretty good makeouts but hadn’t had actual sex since his accident; he’d made overtures but David was a strict recovery taskmaster — and talking quietly about nothing in particular. “I love having you here,” he’d said.

“Yeah?” David said, smiling up at him with that I’m not sure I believe you but I really want to look on his face. “I had this nagging fear that this much quality time would just make you question all your life choices.”

“Just the opposite. I love learning private little things about you, those things you don’t learn about someone until you cohabitate.”

“Oh God, I’m afraid to ask.”

“You make this funny little humming noise when you brush your teeth.”

“I do not!”

“Trust me, you do. And you squeak just a little bit when you sneeze.”

“I’m getting out of this bed right now.”

“You want to hear about the average time of your morning poop?”

David’s shriek at that had sent Patrick into hysterics, which made his chest hurt, which made David panic, which made Patrick laugh harder, and it had taken them a good ten minutes to reconstitute themselves.

Odd personal quirks aside, just his presence had been a comfort. Spending evenings on the couch with him, Patrick propped up by pillows with David’s head in his lap, watching old movies. Talking with him while they cooked dinner, sitting in silence together, each with their own books (he hadn’t known David was such a reader), arguing over Downton Abbey plotlines, discovering that they both had a weirdly specific hobby of using Google Maps street view to “drive” around fantasy vacation spots and using it to plan trips together.

Just having David there, in his house, in his life — it felt like heaven. It felt like he’d finally caught up to himself. Far from scaring him off, as David feared, his presence had only served to make Patrick more in love with him than ever, and the freedom to say those words to him and hear them returned would never get old.

It had taken David almost a week after the accident to organize a video call so Patrick could meet his parents and sister. It had been...an adventure. He’d sat by David’s side, smiling and answering a barrage of questions from the earnest Johnny (who looked like an older, grayer version of David), the perplexing Moira, and the wily and probing Alexis while David had turned into a full-body cringe. The whole thing ended up being a lot of overlapping conversations, nonsensical proclamations, sibling bickering and Moira wailing about her TV character’s storyline (or something, Patrick had lost the plot a little bit). David’s voice jacked up at least half an octave through the course of the conversation. Patrick found the whole thing chaotic, incomprehensible, and utterly charming. It was clear that this was just how the Roses communicated, and it was just as clear that they loved each other.

“Sweet Pat, we are distressed to hear about your osteological contrapulations,” Moira said.

“We are not doing ‘Pat,’” David snapped.

“It is unlike David to tolerate such demands upon his caretaking,” she went on.

“He’s taking great care of me,” Patrick said. “Couldn’t ask for a better nurse.” David made a pleased little growl that only Patrick could hear; Travis had made enough “sexy nurse” jokes by this point for him to have a bit of a Pavlovian response to the word.

“I hope we’ll see you soon, son,” Johnny had said. “And look forward to meeting you, Patrick.”

After the Rose parents had dropped off the call, Alexis had one last comment. “David,” she’d said, “This is such a new and exciting deal for you! A real boyfriend, who has, like, a real job and a house! You’re like, becoming an actual grownup or something!”

“If you could not disparage me in front of him, that’d be great.”

“It’s such a good look for you, seriously,” she said, tipping her head down to give him serious eyes. “I mean it. You look happy.”

David sighed. “Yeah. I am.” He twined his fingers through Patrick’s.

“And Patrick, you seem like a sweet little button-face, so don’t let my bridge troll of a brother drag you down into his bog pit, okay?”

Patrick smiled. “I like it down there.”

She flicked at the screen with one finger in some gesture he didn’t quite parse, then signed off. David had groaned and let his head fall into his hands, Patrick rubbing his shoulder. “Well, that...was a thing that I just put you through. I’ll see myself out.”

“I like them. I can’t wait to have the in-person experience.”

“Oh my God, you can’t be real.” He looked over at him. “Well, if the full Rose family experience didn’t put you off, you must really love me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

His own parents had made good on their promise to visit during his second week of convalescence. His mother had barely hugged him before barreling past and making a beeline for David, arms outstretched to fold him into an enthusiastic embrace, as if he were her long-lost child. “Oh, David! Finally! Now, show me the bread, I think I know what happened.”

“Well, the crumb is just not right....” And they were off into the kitchen, leaving him and his father to stand in the doorway.

“So. That’s David,” Patrick said.

His father had chuckled. “I swear she’s been more excited to see him than you. Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, I don’t. I would be, too.”

They’d kept their visit short, just one overnight (at a hotel nearby), but long enough for both of them to fall in love with David. Patrick’s heart broke a little to watch how much he blossomed with this deluge of parental love and attention, and he found himself wanting David to have that all the time. If he didn’t have it regularly from his real parents, perhaps he could from his...his...

His mind whispered the word (in-laws) but he didn’t let it stick around to make itself comfortable. It’s too soon. Don’t think about it, not yet. He couldn’t help it. Seeing his partner and his parents together — he felt something click into place in his gut, like when you find the right key for the lock and it slides in with that satisfying snick of parts machined to work well as a pair. “Well, they can visit any old time,” David had said, after bidding them goodbye.

“We can go to them, too. I haven’t been to my hometown in awhile, I’d love to take you.”

David got that soft look he always got when Patrick said anything that carried long-term relationship subtext. “I’d love to see it,” he’d said, and hugged him.

But now it was Monday, and Patrick was going to the station, finally. His ribs still hurt quite a bit, but he could do desk work and catch up on the eight thousand emails he probably had. It felt good, it felt normal, to get up at his regular time, shower and shave, and put on his uniform. David was awake but still languishing in bed when he came out of the bathroom, buttoning up his uniform shirt. “Mmmmm, I’ve missed that,” he purred. “My handsome fireman in his little fireman costume.”

“It’s a uniform, as you very well know. And look!” He slipped his foot into his shoe and bent over, albeit carefully, and not without a slight wince, to tie it. “Am I paroled, Warden?”

David sat up, looking serious. “I know this has been hard, but I just...I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t hurt yourself,” he said.

“I know,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “And I appreciate it. It feels good to have someone worrying about me.”

“At least I won’t have to worry about you running into a fire. Yet,” he added, half under his breath. “I think Stevie’s disappointed not to have a reason to hang out here all day. She loves your place, and you have better wine.”

“She can come over anytime, you know.” He’d been touched by Stevie, Travis and Heather’s willingness to spend whole days at his house, making sure he didn’t re-injure himself. While his time with David had really moved them to the next level of their relationship, he felt like he had three new best friends, too.

“You don’t want her knowing that kind of thing. We’ll never get rid of her.” David leaned in. “Have a good first day back, honey,” he said.

“I’ll try. It’ll be weird, but it’ll be nice to be back.” He kissed him, then pressed their foreheads together for a moment, his hand on the back of David’s neck. “I love you, David.”

“I love you.”

The pickup truck had smashed full-speed right into the supporting wall underneath the train tracks. The driver had been killed instantly. David inched up to the wreck, bracing himself. “They got the body out a few minutes ago,” said one of the firefighters from the 344, the unit that had responded to the crash.

“Oh, good.” David walked with a bit more confidence over to the wreck site and got out his Maglite. He was wearing his bunker coat, but not the pants, as had become his habit; he rarely needed the protection, but the coat served to identify him as city personnel. He had to inspect the damage and determine if bracing was needed before repairs.

He had to consciously focus on the task, and not let himself get distracted by thoughts of Patrick in his office, his poor ribs still very sore, although his last X-ray showed appropriate healing. This had been easier when he’d known Patrick was safely cocooned in his house with a minder there ready to hand him things or pick up things. He couldn’t stop seeing images of Patrick unthinkingly bending or reaching in some inadvisable way and setting himself back.

Two firefighters were just standing around near the wreck. They were waiting for the tow truck, but for now they were just watching David go about his job. “You hear Brewer started back at work today?” one of them said to the other. David’s ears perked up.

“Yeah. Broken ribs are a bitch, man. I bet his crew enjoyed the peace while he was gone.” They laughed together. David’s lip curled at this. Patrick’s crew adored him, not that these two knew anything about that.

“Hey, Rose,” one of them said, a little louder. “Bet you’ve enjoyed having a break from Brewer, huh?”

David looked at them. “He’s not the only captain who disagrees with me sometimes, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yeah, but you guys really get into it. I don’t blame you, he’s like King Tightass.”

“I’d say that was inappropriate for the workplace, if I hadn’t said as much myself once or twice.”

“I’d hate to work in his company. I bet he’s all boring with the drills and the regimental rules.”

David flicked off his Maglite. He had all the information he needed; the wall was solid. No need for bracing. The damage was mostly cosmetic. He walked over to the 346 firefighters. “Captain Brewer is a professional, and his crew respect and like him. I’ve never seen a better-run fire station, and I’ve been in all of them, including yours.”

The firefighter’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, surprised to hear you defending him. I thought you guys hated each other.”

David grit his teeth. “Regardless of my personal feelings, I consider Captain Brewer the best captain in this command. He and I disagree — frequently. But I respect the job that he does. And don’t worry about having to work in his station. He only takes the highest quality candidates.” He stalked off, leaving the firefighters silent.

Patrick got home at six, feeling good. His chest was only mildly sore; he hadn’t even taken ibuprofen today.

When he’d gotten to the station, the crew had put up a charmingly amateurish banner that said “Welcome Back, Captain” and Twyla had brought cookies. It was a pretty standard gesture, but it still touched him. As predicted, he had thousands of emails. He’d gone over the incident reports from his absence, followed up on a few things he saw in them that concerned him, and smiled each time he’d heard David’s voice on the scanner. David in person was distinctive-sounding, if that was a way to put it, but on the radio he sounded like any other responder.

Engineer requested to Queen and Dufferin, single-car crash with train overpass involvement.

And then David’s radio-ready response: Rose, South Command responding. I’m at 332, ETA ten minutes. Station 332 was also South Command headquarters; David often went there between calls, he had a field desk there.

If he were being honest with himself, David’s Radio Voice got him kind of hot, which had been occasionally inconvenient.

The house smelled good when he came in through the side door into the kitchen. David was at the counter chopping things for a salad, there was a risotto on the stove. David was a decent cook but had a limited repertoire — risotto was one of his standbys that they both liked so he made it often. He looked up and smiled warmly at Patrick, who could only pause in the doorway and relish this, the first time he’d ever come home to David. “Hi!” David said. “How was the first day?”

“It was good. Not as good as coming home to you, though,” he said, moving to David’s side. He leaned in to kiss him. David was clearly expecting a quick hello-kiss, but that wasn’t Patrick’s plan. He pressed in closer, turning David toward him so he could pull him in. David made a surprised little hum, put down his knife and slid his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, still being careful not to put pressure on his chest. He licked at the seam of David’s mouth and it opened to him right away; he tasted the wine David was drinking while he cooked. David’s breath was quickening; when Patrick left his lips to kiss his way down David’s neck he let out a little gasp.

“Oh my,” he said, his hand cupping the back of Patrick’s head. “This is quite a greeting.”

Patrick straightened and looked him right in the eye. “David, I’ve been thinking about you all day. It’s been weeks, can we please have sex?”

“You were hurt, we couldn’t…”

“I’m okay. I’m better. I’m not up for everything but...God, you drive me crazy. Weeks of watching you walk around here, dressed and undressed, in your pajamas, in your underwear, wet from the shower…” He seized David’s mouth with his own again, sliding his hands down to his ass. “I love how careful you’ve been but please, I need you.”

David drew back and looked in his eyes for a second, then cupped Patrick’s face and kissed him, messy and deep and frantic. “You know what it’s been like sleeping next to you,” he said, sneaking the words between hard kisses. “Living here with you, just wanting to fuck you all the time and knowing I can’t? You’re not the only one who’s been missing it,” he said, as he kissed down Patrick’s neck.

Patrick sighed. “Oh, thank god.”

David pulled back, frowning. “Why thank God?”

He looked away. “I, um…you’ve been so adamant that we not have sex that I kind of...started to be afraid that you might be...glad for the break?” He glanced up at David’s concerned face. “Like, maybe I’m too much of a horndog, and this was a good excuse to stop.”

David looked incredulous. “Patrick. The one thing you never, ever have to worry about is that I won’t want to have sex with you. I have not been glad for the break, believe me.” He pulled Patrick close again. “Looks like I’m not the only one with hidden piles of insecurity.”

“Looks like,” Patrick said, already distracted by David’s mouth. He kissed him again. “C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom,” he said.

“The risotto..”

Patrick put the lid on the pan and stuck it in the oven. “It’ll keep. I won’t, though,” he said, and grabbed David’s hand and pressed it to his crotch.

David bit his lip and squeezed a little. “Mmm, that’s nice. Is that for me?”

“Everything’s for you.” He pulled him upstairs and all pretense at seduction was dropped; they undressed each other quickly and haphazardly, pausing to exchange feral kisses and grope each other. David sat him on the edge of the bed, knelt between his knees and swallowed him down. Patrick tossed his head back and moaned at the ceiling. “God, your mouth,” he said. “I’ve missed your mouth.”

“I’ve missed this cock,” David breathed, going back to work on it.

After a few moments, Patrick needed to touch him again. “Come up here,” he said, pulling at David’s shoulders. He knelt up between Patrick’s thighs and leaned in to kiss him.

“How do you want it?” David asked, in that sexy undertone Patrick couldn’t get enough of. “What’s going to feel best?”

“Hmm. I’m not up for anything involving — thrusting.”

“I didn’t think so. I could ride you,” he said, kissing Patrick’s chest, his tongue flicking over his nipples. “Or just keep sucking you. You could come on my face.”

“I think I should ride you. If you’re on top I might try to, like...thrust up? That’ll hurt. If I’m on top I can control it better.”

“Mmmm, I like that idea.” David’s mouth was soft and wet against his. Patrick wound his arms around his broader chest, settling into the familiar feeling of his skin.

“David,” he breathed. “Just touching you again is…” He blinked back sudden tears, shaking his head in confusion.

David swiped his thumb under his eye. “You didn’t take a Vicodin, did you?”

“No, not even Tylenol today.” He met David’s warm gaze. “This is coming from me.” He slid his hand along David’s jaw and pulled him close again. “God, I love you. I don’t know how I lived thirty-five years without you.”

“Fuck, Patrick,” David sighed. “I don’t deserve you.” More deep, slow kisses, the kind that made Patrick’s skin feel too tight for his body. “I love you.”

They moved onto the bed, David stretching out on his back while Patrick retrieved the lube. He leaned over David and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “I want you to come inside me,” he whispered. He felt David shudder.

“We need to be safe, honey.”

“We are. I got tests at my last week’s checkup. And I know you have recent ones, too.” David nodded. “It’s up to you.”

David looked up at him and swallowed. “I’d like that.”

Patrick smiled and kissed him again, running his hands through David’s dark chest hair. David’s hands were all over him while he prepped himself, and when he finally sank down on him, all the breath rushed out of him. “Oh fuck yeah,” he muttered, grinding his hips down into David’s pelvis.

“Jesus,” David said, his neck arched. His hands gripped Patrick’s hips. “You feel so good. I’ve missed you so much.” His brow furrowed a little, as he watched Patrick work himself on David’s cock. “Are you okay?”

Patrick nodded, biting his lip. “Never better.” It was true. No pain in his chest, no pain anywhere. “God, it’s so good,” he groaned, tipping forward to brace his hands on David’s chest. He leaned in to kiss him; David raised his knees behind him so he could work upwards into Patrick. “Yes, God, like that, do me like that.”

“Is this okay?” David murmured, holding Patrick’s hips.

“It’s so good,” he almost sobbed. “There, yeah...oh, harder…David…” He grunted and came between their bellies. David moaned and Patrick felt him come inside him. He pressed back into David’s hips and sat up again, moving gently through the aftershocks, covering David’s hands with his own.

David was panting. “Fuck, oh my God,” he said. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, lifting up so David slid out of him. He slipped to the side and collapsed next to David, one arm and one leg still across him. He shifted a little when his ribs gave a slight twinge. “Yeah, it was.”

They got in the shower together and cleaned up, exchanging tender kisses and touches, got into lounging clothes and went back into the kitchen to salvage dinner. “Hmm, this risotto probably got a little...congealy,” David said.

“Let’s just turn the oven on and see what that does.”

“Deal. If it’s ruined, there’s leftover chili. Always an option.”

Patrick put the salad in bowls and got out the soft, buttery rolls his mother had made and sent down. David dished up the admittedly rough-looking risotto and they sat down, eyeing it with skepticism. “Well, here goes nothing,” Patrick said, and took a bite. David did the same. Their eyes met. “Okay, I may be crazy but I kind of like the oven risotto.”

“Me, too. Huh. I really like it, actually. A happy accident.”

“It’s not accidental to abandon the dinner to go fuck,” Patrick said, winking.

David chuckled, and they ate in silence for a few moments. “So...something did happen at work today.”

“What’s that?”

“I was at this car crash…”

“Under the train tracks on Dufferin, yeah. I heard you on the scanner.”

“The 346 had responded and these two firefighters there were kind of...dragging you.”

“Yeah? Lemme guess, they called me a tightass and said my station must be a nightmare, blah blah blah.”

“Yes! And they assumed I’d jump right in and agree about how awful you are because they’ve only seen us fight!”

“Don’t worry about it. I have a reputation in some quarters. I can’t say it’s not earned, but it doesn’t concern me.”

“But...what if I’ve contributed to that reputation? By arguing with you so much.”

“You don’t randomly argue with me for no reason. We argue when we disagree on things like tactical ventilation strategy,” he said, with a significant look.

“I’m not discussing it here in our peaceful kitchen. I just don’t want to be making things harder for you.”

“You’re not. Those guys have nothing to do with me. Wait, was it Fisher and Spanks?”

“I think so.”

Patrick guffawed. “I caught them...let’s just say in a procedural violation and told their captain, so now I’m some kind of ogre because I value safety at an accident site.”

David sagged, looking relieved. “Oh. That makes me feel better. They just hate you because they’re jerks.”

“Basically. Do my crew hate me?”

“No, they love you.”

“That’s the best reflection of a captain.”

David leaned in a little, a twinkle in his eye. “I love you, too. What does that reflect?”

“That you have excellent taste in men.”

Patrick was cleared for full duty after six weeks. He was still advised to cease any activity that caused pain, which could linger for months, but that his normal duties were okay.

He took the rest of the afternoon off after the doctor’s appointment and went home. It was just past three, so David was still at work. He stood in his living room and looked around.

David’s book on the side table. His shoes by the door. More and more of his clothes migrating across town into the closet. His products in the bathroom. His glasses on the table on his side of the bed. He HAS a side of the bed.

He didn’t want this to end. Ever.

He got undressed and showered, considered jerking off and decided not to. Since he’d returned to the office, his and David’s sex life had more or less returned to normal, with a few selections still out of bounds, so there was a decent chance he’d get laid later anyway.

He got out the ingredients to make pasta carbonara, one of David’s favorites. He opened a bottle of pinot noir. He got the mail and went through it. He tried not to obsess about the conversation he hoped he’d be having tonight. He watched an episode of his favorite YouTube car detailing channel while polishing his work shoes, putting down the Yucky Towel to protect the rug.

He waited.

David got home around 5:30, his eyebrows already raised in anticipation. “Well?” he said, without even saying hello first. “What did the doctor say?”

“I’m all clear. I can go back to full duty.”

“Oh, that’s so great, honey,” David said, hugging him. He pulled back and rubbed his shoulders, blinking a little too fast, cutting his eyes away. “Oooh, you’re making carbonara? My lucky night.”

“David…”

“I asked Stevie if she’d come over tomorrow and help me with the clothes,” he said, with an awkward laugh. “I didn’t really realize how much stuff I’d accumulated over here until I was looking at it last night.”

“Can you just…”

“If it’s okay with you I’ll stay tonight, and then after tomorrow I’ll be out of your hair, I’m sure you’re anxious to have your house back, and…”

“David!” Patrick exclaimed. David shut his mouth, surprised. “Can I talk for a second?”

“Um, okay? I just thought we should cover the logistics of me going home.”

“I don’t want you to go home!” he said, grasping his upper arms. “I want this to be your home!”

David blinked. “Wait, what are you saying?”

“Stay. Don’t go. Please, don’t go.”

He took a deep breath, looked around like he was checking for a hidden camera, and let it out again. “So you...want me to, uh…”

“Move in. I want you to move in with me. I know we’ve talked about this before...we’ve fought about this before...but don’t you think things are different now? With us?”

David’s eyes softened. “Yes,” he said, in a very small voice.

“Having you here since my accident — I’ve never been happier, or felt more at home in my own house. I love coming home to you. I love you coming home to me. I love tag-teaming the chores. I love going grocery shopping with you and arguing about mustard. I love your products in my bathroom and your clothes in my closet and most of all I love you in my bed and in my life. Please stay.”

David’s lower lip was trembling. “What about work?”

“We’ll figure it out. They don’t have to know, we can handle it. And if we can’t, fuck it, we’ll tell everyone. I don’t care. Keep your place and keep using that address, that’s fine. I just want you here with me. If that’s what you want, too, then everything else we can work out.”

“If that’s what I want?” David repeated, in a tiny voice.

“Yes. If that’s what you want. I told you what I want. Can you tell me?”

He lowered his eyes and shook his head, cupping his own elbows, arms wrapped around his midsection. “My whole life, this was the thing I dreamed about,” he said, not meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Not this, specifically, but of...of someone wanting me in their life, enough to make a space there, and invite me in. I never even came close, and now you’re telling me I can just have it, you’re offering it to me like I’m a person who gets asked to move in with people. I just...need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need. But, David…” He stepped closer. “I’m not making a space for you here, or in my life. That space was always there, and it was shaped like you. It was waiting for you to find it.” He paused. “I was waiting.”

David swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, near whispering.

Patrick’s heart leapt. “Okay?”

David looked up, at last. He nodded. “Okay.”

They just stared at each other for a long moment, then Patrick grinned, pulling an answering grin onto David’s face. He laughed and pulled David into an embrace, feeling David hug him back hard. He stood in his kitchen and held the love of his life in his arms and he began to know, really know in his heart what was next, and how badly he wanted it.

Chapter Text

four months later

“You sure you have enough blankets, there?” Patrick teased, as a hand shot out from the vaguely-human shaped heap of knit and fleece in the corner of the couch and took one of the bowls of ice cream he was carrying.

“Satisfactory, thank you,” David said, unwrapping his face enough to get his spoon to his mouth. “Why is it always so freezing in here? Is it the windows? The heater? Do we need to have a conversation about R factors?”

“It’s an old house, David. Old houses are drafty. And it’s not freezing, it’s sixty-eight degrees in here. I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“You are a freak who wears shorts in January. Those of us with human metabolisms require warmth.”

Patrick waited until they’d both finished their ice cream before starting the conversation he’d been rehearsing in his head most of the afternoon. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, God, that is not an approved way to open a conversation.”

He paused the episode of “Dr. Oakley, Yukon Vet” they were watching. “Sorry. I need to get your buy-in on something and you can absolutely veto it, understood?”

“Okay?” David had his whole head out of the blanket pile now. His hair was adorably tousled and Patrick wanted to run his fingers through it, but he couldn’t get distracted.

“I got a text from Rachel today. She’s going to be in town on the weekend and she’d like to see me. And meet you.”

“Rachel, your ex-fiancée Rachel?”

“Only one I know.”

“Um...why do I have veto power over this?”

“Because you’re my partner and I understand that you might have feelings about me seeing her, or about her being here.”

David looked at the TV for a moment. Dr. Oakley was frozen in the midst of castrating a musk ox. “I think that’d be nice.”

Patrick’s shoulders lifted a bit. “Yeah?”

“I’d like to meet her. She was a big part of your life. And I totally want the credit for being not at all jealous and possessive. It’s not often I get to be the Bigger Person, it sounds fun.”

“Noted.”

“Not that I’d need to worry she’d steal you away or something, given that you are super freaking gay.”

“Also true.”

“Has she ever visited you here before?”

“No, she’s never been here. I mean, to my house. She’s been to Toronto lots of times. She’s going to be in town for a college friend’s wedding.”

“A wedding in Canada in November. Charming. When is this?”

“The wedding is this Saturday. She’s got Friday free, as a lot of her other friends who are in town will be at the rehearsal, but she won’t.”

“Tell her we require a bottle of wine as an entrance fee.”

David had seen plenty of pictures of Rachel, but he wasn’t quite prepared for her smallness. Patrick wasn’t a particularly large man, in fact David often felt like some kind of behemoth next to him, but he dwarfed Rachel. She had long, red hair and it was comically fitting that she’d been the literal girl next door because that was exactly what she looked like.

They’d both flitted around the house all afternoon, getting dinner ready, tidying things up, fussing and puttering and acting weirdly nervous. David knew why he was nervous — he didn’t want Rachel to think Patrick had gotten ensnared by some weirdo — but he did wonder about Patrick. Was he eager to prove to her that his life was Just Great Now? Was this a twisted competitive thing? Was he just hoping she’d take good reports of him back to their hometown?

Either way, they’d leapt to their feet when the doorbell rang like they’d both been jabbed by a cattle prod. David hovered in place while Patrick answered the door and Rachel, beaming a wide smile, flung herself into his embrace. He seemed to relax a little at the effusiveness of her greeting, and David wondered if part of his nervousness had been borne of suspicion that this visit was merely an obligation. “Rach, oh my God!” he said. “You look great!”

“So do you!” she said, rubbing his back. “What a great place, and a great neighborhood!”

“Thanks,” he said, as they stepped out of the hug. Rachel’s eyes had lighted on David and her eyebrows lifted a little. “Rachel, this is my partner, David.”

She came forward with no shyness and stuck out her hand. “David, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, and it seemed like she meant it.

“You too,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m sure. I’ll retaliate immediately by sharing some of my immense and varied stockpile of embarrassing stories about Patrick,” she said, winking at him.

David grinned. “Let’s get you some wine, new best friend.”

After the requisite house tour — David saw Rachel touch the framed photo of himself and Patrick that was on the mantel — they settled around the dining room table, which was being used for the first time since David’s residence here and probably a while before that. Patrick had made roast chicken, one of his go-to meals. “Not to pry,” Rachel began.

“Oh, please pry,” David said.

“Patrick, how on earth can you afford this place? A single-family house in The Annex? Did you win the lottery?”

“My grandfather left me the house. My great-uncle lived here until he went into care, so I moved in. I’d never be able to live here otherwise.”

“The Fire Services is an honorable profession, but not exactly the road to vast wealth,” David said.

“Are you...what do you do?” she said. “Patrick said you met at work.”

“We did. I’m not a firefighter, though.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine? No. I’m an engineer with the city. The Mayor piloted a program where engineers would go to major accident and fire scenes and help organize rescues, evaluate accidents and see if we could minimize structural damage.”

“And the city’s liability,” Patrick added.

“That, too.”

“At first, I thought it was a stupid idea, just a way to introduce more people trying to tell me how to do my job. Most of us felt that way. But it turns out it was a pretty good idea. David and the other engineers have been helpful in a lot of ways. The pilot program is over; now we just call them in when we need a consultation.” He tipped his wine glass at David. “We met on an accident scene when he called me an idiot.”

“For the tenth time, I didn’t call you an idiot, I asked you if you were an idiot.”

“Then he mistook me for an intern.”

Rachel laughed. “I mean, you do still look fourteen.”

“Right?” David said. “Look at that skin! He doesn’t even moisturize!”

“So instead of a meet-cute, you had a meet-mad.”

“Something like that. We became kind of notorious for having loud arguments on calls. Still are, actually.”

She looked from one to the other. “You guys still have arguments on calls?”

David met Patrick’s eyes and gave him a silent go-ahead signal. Patrick sighed and shifted in his chair. “Well...nobody we work with knows we’re together. They all still think we hate each other.”

Rachel looked gobsmacked. “Seriously? Why?”

“It’s...complicated. We were so infamous for the fighting that when we started seeing each other it was almost embarrassing, so we kept it on the down-low. Which became a habit. And the longer it went on, the weirder it seemed to just come out with it, so we decided we’d just stay private at work. Nobody needs to know.”

“And nobody’s figured it out? Or found out somehow?”

“Not yet. They will eventually, we know that. But honestly — we don’t work in the same place, we don’t even work for the same city division. David still has his condo, he has his mail forwarded. We often go several days or even a week without being on the same call. I’ve never been in the habit of having work friends over to my house. It’s really been surprisingly easy.”

“How long have you lived together?”

“Four months,” David said, at the same moment Patrick said “Five months.” Rachel did the tennis-game looks from one to the other again.

“He’s counting the six weeks he spent here while I was recovering from an injury. I asked him to move in after I was cleared to go back to work.”

“I still say that time doesn’t count.”

“You were living here.”

“But we had not discussed living together, and you had not asked me to move in. It was a temporary situation, and just because it’s contiguous with our cohabitation doesn’t mean it’s part of it!”

Rachel raised a finger at David, looking at Patrick with her mouth open. “Did he just say...contiguous with our cohabitation?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “You’d understand if you’d met his mother.”

Long-ago, newly-out Patrick would never in his most hopeful imaginings have thought that he could ever be in his own home, watching his live-in partner laughing and telling stories with his one-time fiancée. He was barely participating, he was enjoying the sight so much. Rachel looked comfortable and at-ease, her socked feet tucked up under her on the couch and a glass of wine in her hand, watching David as he regaled her with some tale or another, his expressive hands moving in space around him. Patrick had lit a fire in the fireplace after dinner and they’d come into the living room with the trés leches cake David had brought home for dessert; it was hours later and here they still were. He’d spent most of the evening being roasted ruthlessly by the two people in the world who knew him best, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t smiled so much in years.

David’s phone chimed and he jumped a little. “Holy hell, it’s eleven o’clock. I hate to abandon you, but I really have to turn in. I have to get up at asshole o’clock for a work thing.”

“You’re not abandoning me,” Patrick said.

“I was talking to Rachel.” David got up and Rachel did, too. “I’m so glad you visited,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said, and opened her arms. David hugged her easily. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

“We’ll make that happen,” he said, giving her shoulders a little squeeze as he let go. He turned to Patrick. “G’night, honey,” he said, soft and casual, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Night, David.” He watched him head up the stairs, then heard the bedroom door open and close. He looked back at Rachel; she was watching him with a tender, knowing smile.

She pulled him down to sit next to her on the couch. “He’s great,” she said.

“He’s a lot of things.”

“And you love every single one of them,” she said, quietly.

He took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “Yeah.” She was all but bursting. “Please, don’t now tell me that I glow or radiate contentment or something like that.”

“That’s not remotely what I was going to say,” she said, slapping at his arm. “Just...you don’t see your own face when you’re not remembering to hold it a certain way.” She shrugged. “You look at him like he’s everything. And I could be saying the exact same thing to him right now.”

The simplicity of her assessment hit hard, for some reason. He reached out for her hand; she gripped it back. “I want to marry him,” he said, low and hesitant. It was the first time he’d said those words, or had even let them live in his head for more than a fleeting pass.

“Yeah?”

He looked at her again, then nodded. “I thought it was fake, Rachel. What other people talked about, what poets and songwriters wrote about. What I convinced myself I felt…” He trailed off, not wishing to be cruel.

“Felt for me,” she finished for him.

“Yeah. I thought everyone was overselling it. Love couldn’t be like that, at least I’d never felt anything like that. So I had to believe that it was fake, or face the possibility that I was broken.”

“You weren’t broken. You aren’t broken,” she said, sounding a little emotional herself.

“Coming out didn’t help, either. I was finally dating people I was attracted to, but I still never felt what I hoped I’d feel. At least the sex was better, and I felt so much more comfortable in my own skin.” He sighed. “Then I met David. And it was...you know that part in Wizard of Oz where she comes out of the house and it turns from black and white to color? That’s what it felt like.”

“You weren’t in Kansas anymore.”

He laughed a little. “No, I sure wasn’t. It was so confusing at first, because when we first met I was really attracted to him, but I didn’t like him. He’s told me it was the same for him. We fought all the time but even the fighting kind of...got me hot, you know?”

“Oh God, Patrick. Tell me you two didn’t start kissing in the middle of an argument like in ‘Moonlighting.’”

“Umm…”

She laughed. “You are such a cliché.”

“Believe me, I know. For awhile it was just angry hate-sex, but gradually — things changed. Turns out you can get to know someone pretty well by antagonizing each other constantly. And the first time we kissed when we weren’t angry, when we both knew we wanted to be kissing each other, well. That was it.” He met her eyes. “I love him like...I can’t even tell you. I do look at him like he’s everything, because to me, he is.”

“Then don’t wait. Don’t be afraid. Be brave, like I know you can be. Get your guy, Patrick. Put a ring on it.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

Patrick waited for a day that he was off shift so he could FaceTime Alexis while David was at work. He was a little nervous, not just for the question he was going to ask her (and for what he was about to trust her to keep secret) but because while he’d been in on half a dozen Rose family conference calls by now, he’d never talked to Alexis one-on-one.

She didn’t seem to think it was unusual when she picked up, though. “Patrick! How’s my favorite fireman?” she said, giving him that squinty-eyed smile.

“Hey, Alexis. Is this a bad time?”

“Nope! I have a meeting in half an hour that’s going to be, like, so boring, one of those where I just have to be on the call but I don’t have to do anything, so I’m lining up my manicure supplies so I can turn off my camera and do my nails. You’ve never called me before! It’s like we’re little phone buddies!”

“I have a question I need to ask you, about David.”

She puffed out her cheeks and executed some kind of triple eye roll that was seriously impressive. “Oh God, what’s he done, now?”

“Nothing, he’s fine. I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but after David and I started dating, I may have, um...started Googling him a little. Or maybe more than a little.”

Alexis blinked. “Why would that be weird? If you haven’t retro-stalked your boyfriend on the internet, are you even dating?”

Patrick tried not to think about the implication for what David might have Googled about him. “In just about every picture I’ve seen, he’s wearing these rings. They’re wide and silver and there are four of them, I think? He wears them a lot of different ways. I’ve never seen him wear those. Do you know why?”

“Oh, yeah,” Alexis said, shifting to serious mode — or as serious as her modes went. “David had a set of Maison Margiela rings. It was the first thing he ever bought with his own money, and he wore them every day.” She looked a little sad. “He was proud of those rings. When his business folded, they were seized as assets. It kinda broke his poor lil heart.” She cocked her head. “Why are you asking about the rings?”

He steeled himself. “Alexis, I need to know if you can keep a secret if it’s really important.”

Her mouth did a funny quirky thing for a second. “Yeah, I can. Especially if it’s what I think it is.”

“I’m going to ask David to marry me.”

She smiled broadly, and it was the most sincere, unaffected expression he’d ever seen on her. “That’s soooo great, Patrick. I was really hoping.”

“You were?”

“Tshyeah! David is, like, stupid in love with you. You make him so happy. Seriously, I didn’t know he was like, chemically able to be happy.”

Patrick felt warm all over. “He makes me really happy, too. But I asked about the rings because if they were important to him, and it sounds like they were, I’d like to have gold ones made just like them. To use when I propose.”

Alexis didn’t say anything for a moment; in fact he was about to check if she was frozen when she turned her head to the side and blinked a few times, hard. She turned back and there was wetness at the corners of her eyes. “I think that’d be amazing.” She flailed her hands a little. “Ooh, Patrick! You’re gonna be my for-real brother! And I haven’t even hugged you yet!” She made a little pouty face.

“Soon to be remedied,” he said. Alexis was coming to stay with them for Christmas.

“I can’t wait! When are you going to ask him?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to see how long it takes to get these rings made.”

“Maybe I can help. I know someone over at Maison Margiela, I’ll hit them up for the specifications on those rings for whatever jeweler you can find.”

“That would be great. I don’t know his ring sizes, though…”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re adjustable. They have a gap in the back, like? So you can wear them on a variety of fingers. He used to wear them in all kinds of combinations.”

Patrick smiled. “I didn’t know if this was a good idea, or if it was an idea at all, but you’re making me think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Patrick Brewer was a man who made plans. For this, the so-far most important moment of his life, naturally he had a plan. Or...part of a plan. A vague shape of a plan. He’d pull some Fire Services strings to get access to one of the towers at Casa Loma, concoct some lie to get David there, climb up to the top with the stunning view of the city, David would gush about the architecture, then turn around and there he’d be, on one knee, ready to ask…

Or he’d take him on a rehash of their first date, to the Royal. Or their second date, out to the islands. Or he’d take him somewhere totally new and different, and romantic. Or he’d just ask him to come on a walk. It was the holidays, there were plenty of picturesque lit-up avenues they could stroll down…

Nothing he thought of seemed like enough. None of his ideas were worthy of the crazy rollercoaster he’d been on with this man for almost two years now. How did you just propose to a man you’d once banged in a burned-out building? How did you give a set of gold rings to a man who you’d talked through witnessing a woman’s death?

In the end, it was almost a relief when there was no plan.

Patrick got home that night three hours past the end of his shift. He felt bone-tired, and weary in his heart. It had been a long time since he’d cried at an accident scene, but he hadn’t been the only one. Ronnie had been there and damned if he hadn’t seen her wipe at her eyes, too. Twyla had been inconsolable, despite Ray’s (correct) insistence that there was nothing she could have done.

He’d expected to come home to a dark, quiet house, but he drew up short when he came into the kitchen to find the lights on and David sitting at the table reading his phone. He looked up at Patrick as he came in. “Hi,” he said, his face gentle.

“David, what...it’s almost one o’clock. What are you doing up?”

“Heather texted me. Said you had a really rough one tonight.”

He nodded, letting his shift bag slide to the mudroom floor. He kicked off his shoes. He had showered at the station — he’d been covered in soot and sweat and a little bit of blood — so he was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Yeah. A man was killed in a car crash in front of his wife and daughter. They were on their way to Grandma’s house for Christmas.” He felt the tears start again. When had he become so damned emotional?

David was up and across the kitchen in a flash; he pulled Patrick into a comforting, cozy-sweater hug, and the warmth and safety that flowed into him was too much. He let himself cry in David’s arms. David rubbed his back, humming and whispering nonsensical comfort syllables.

“It’s okay,” David murmured as Patrick calmed himself. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

Patrick sniffed, taking a towel David handed him to blow his nose and wipe his face off. “We’re supposed to be able to compartmentalize.”

“You do, most of the time. But you feel things, you have empathy. That’s okay. I love that about you.” He kissed Patrick, sweetly on the mouth. “Let me make you some tea.” He steered Patrick to the kitchen table and sat him down. “Are you hungry? There’s leftover goulash.”

“No. I couldn’t eat now. Tea sounds great, though. Thank you.” He watched David, soft and homey in his favorite joggers and a giant pillowy sweater, thick-rimmed glasses on his face and hair in gentle curls, filling the kettle and getting out Patrick’s favorite mug and a teabag, and he loved him so much that suddenly, nothing else mattered.

“David?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you marry me?”

David froze for a second, then turned around, a cautious look on his face, as if he weren’t sure if Patrick was having him on. “Sorry, what?”

“One second.” He went into the mudroom and reached into his shift bag, where he kept the case with the rings in it. He came back to where David was standing at the counter, holding the box of tea. He got down on one knee in front of him. “I had a whole plan,” he said. “I was going to do this right, with drama and romance and just the right setting. But I came home tonight expecting to deal with all this on my own, like I always have, and…” He swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat. “Here you were, waiting for me and giving up your own rest just so you could take care of me and I just want us to take care of each other forever. I couldn’t wait one more minute to ask you to marry me.”

David’s eyes had gotten bigger and bigger, and his chin-tremble more and more pronounced as Patrick spoke. His breathing was quick and shaky now. “Are you...are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, David. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He opened the ring box.

David saw the rings — this was the part of the plan that had given Patrick the most anxiety — and he burst into tears, his hands going to his face. “Patrick,” he said. “How did you...my rings, I’ve never…” He waved a hand in front of his face, like he was shooing those questions off until later. “Yes. Of course yes, I love you,” he said in a rush, pulling Patrick off the floor and yanking him close, kissing him and laugh-crying into his neck.

Patrick held him, feeling so light he could have floated away. “I’m sorry, I really did have a better plan than this,” he said into David’s shoulder.

“What, better than here in the kitchen with dishes in the sink and me in these joggers with the wine stain on the ankle? How is that possible?” he said, giggling and hugging him again. “It was perfect,” he murmured into Patrick’s ear. “I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect proposal. Whew, oh my God, I’m...I’m shaking.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “And now I think we both need tea, and I need a minute to pull myself together. Wait for me in the living room?”

Patrick nodded and kissed him again. He could use a minute to collect himself, too. He took the ring box and sat in the large squashy easy chair in the corner. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes, feeling the tension leave his body on each exhale.

David came in bearing two mugs, set them on the side table and tucked himself into the chair with him, his legs across Patrick’s lap. They leaned in for another slow, lingering kiss. David handed him the tea and they both spent a few quiet moments sipping, free hands touching each other wherever they could reach.

Patrick put his mug aside and picked up the ring box. “I thought you might have questions about these,” he said, opening it to reveal the four thick gold bands.

David touched one of them, almost reverently. “How did you know? I can’t believe you did this. I had four rings like this, silver ones. I used to wear them every day.”

Patrick took out one of the rings, picked up David’s left hand, and slid it onto his index finger. He felt David shiver a little bit. “Remember at our first date, you asked me if I’d Googled you? I hadn’t at the time, but after that, I did do, uh...some Googling.”

“Some?”

“Okay, a lot. The point is that I saw a lot of photos of you, some paparazzi stuff, others from when you had your firm. And in every photo you were wearing these four silver rings.” He slid the second ring onto David’s next finger. “You have such beautiful hands, David. Those rings looked perfect on you, but I’d never seen you wear them. So I called Alexis. She told me they were designer, and the first thing you ever bought with your own money.”

David nodded. “Maison Margiela. I saved for them. I’d never saved for anything in my life.”

He slid the third ring onto David’s ring finger. “She said you’d lost them when you lost your business. I wanted to give them back to you, in a new way. So I had these made.”

David shook his head, his eyes wet again. “I can’t believe you did all that for me.”

“David, look at me.” He did. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He slid the final ring into place. David held up his hand, the rings gleaming on his long fingers, and sighed.

“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. I don’t...I’m not used to this. To people putting in time and effort, and thought, into me.”

“Well, get used to it,” Patrick said, smiling.

David buried himself in Patrick’s arms again, wrapping himself around him like a koala. He tucked his knees up and Patrick found that he could almost encircle his whole body like this, so he did, resting his cheek against David’s temple. They just sat there breathing together for a long time, David’s newly-ringed hand resting on Patrick’s chest.

“I guess now the fun part starts, right?” Patrick finally said. “We’ll have to set a date, and I bet you have all kinds of plans and ideas for your ideal wedding. I may or may not have started a Pinterest on the subject, but I’m under no illusions that I’m in charge here.”

David was quiet for long enough that Patrick started to wonder if he’d said something wrong. At length, he lifted his head and looked in Patrick’s eyes. “I’d like to get married as soon as possible, if that’s okay with you. First thing in the morning, if we can manage it.”

Patrick was so stunned he couldn’t speak for a few seconds. “David, you...really? I thought sure you’d want a grand spectacle.”

“Maybe in another life, I would want that. But here, in this life, I don’t want to live one more day without being your husband.”

Now he was the one getting teary-eyed. “That sounds perfect, David.”

Chapter Text

David’s alarm went off at 7:00 a.m. For a second he just stared at it. Why on earth would he have set an alarm to wake up so early?

Then he remembered. I’m getting married today. He flipped over and found Patrick awake, too, looking at him across their pillows. A slow smile spread over his face; he slid his hand over David’s jaw, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. “Morning, fiancé,” he said.

“Not for long.”

“Then I better say it as many times as possible, fiancé.” They both giggled and kissed each other, morning breath be damned.

David’s eyes widened as his brain was suddenly bombarded with all the questions he hadn’t bothered to ask last night. “Oh shit, we need witnesses. And we don’t have rings! And what about your parents, do you want them there? I know I said first thing in the morning but we don’t have to…”

“Shh,” Patrick said, pinching his lips shut with two fingers. “We’ll call Stevie and Travis. I just gave you four rings, maybe you can lend me one until we get real wedding bands?” David nodded. “I would love to have my parents there, but I’ll live. They’ll be here in a few days for Christmas, we’ll tell them then. It’s fine. They’ll understand.”

“Okay,” David said, exhaling. He shouldn’t have doubted that his amazing husband-to-be would have thought of all of this. “I have a suit I can wear, do you?”

“Believe it or not, I have several suits. Unless you want me to wear my dress uniform.”

“Um...will you be insulted if I say no?”

“No, I’ll be relieved. Suit it is.”

“Ugh, Stevie’s going to hate me for calling her this early. You shower first, I’ll call her.” Patrick kissed him again and leapt out of bed. David spared a moment to watch his ass in his clingy pajama pants as he speed-walked into the bathroom, then sat up and dialed Stevie.

It took her six rings to pick up. “God, David, what the fuck? It’s the middle of the night.”

“It is not, it’s after seven.”

“It’s still dark!”

“It’s December and we live in Canada, it’s always dark. Stevie, listen!”

“What?”

He took a deep breath. “Patrick asked me to marry him last night. I said yes, and we’re going to City Hall this morning so we need witnesses can you come?”

A moment of silence. “Are you serious? David are you fucking kidding me?”

“No! Why would I joke about that? That’d be a terrible joke!”

“Oh my God!” she squealed. “David! I’m so happy for you!” She sniffled a bit. “Oh my God, I’m so happy that I don’t even care that you’re waking me up before sunrise!”

David couldn’t stop grinning. “Thank you. I’m pretty happy, too.”

“Of course I’ll come. What’s the plan?”

“Well, Patrick has to call Travis, and then I guess...meet at City Hall at nine? Breakfast is on us afterwards.”

“I’ll even wear nice clothes, just for you.”

“I might swoon at the sight.”

“Okay. Now I have to get up too, in the cold darkness, thanks so much.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” David said, hoping she could hear his sincerity.

She sniffed again. “I love you, David.”

“I love you, too.” They hung up. David took a breath, composed himself for a moment, then flung off the covers, got up and went to the closet to hunt up his suits. He hadn’t worn a suit in ages, not since he’d had to go to some weird foundation gala at the Mayor’s request when he’d first been hired. He stopped, catching sight of his bare left hand on the hangar, then dashed back to the nightstand to put his engagement rings on. No matter he’d be taking them off again in a few minutes to shower, he didn’t want to be without them.

Patrick came in, wet-haired and clean-shaven. “Did you talk to Stevie?” he asked, kissing David’s cheek.

“My God, how do you shower and shave so quickly? Yes, I talked to her, she’s thrilled. I told her to meet us at City Hall at nine.”

“Perfect. That’s what I’ll tell Travis. I need coffee, I’m going to make a pot. But I keep getting distracted by how much I just want to keep kissing you,” he said, doing so again.

David hummed in pleasure, returning the kiss. “If you’re trying to get me into bed, it won’t work. I’m a good boy, I don’t put out until I’m married.”

“Really? That’s a new development. Good thing I won’t have to wait too long for this,” he said, slapping David’s ass and heading downstairs.

After executing his morning ablutions with a little more care than usual, David put two of his rings on his right index and ring fingers, slipping the other two into his jacket pocket for later use, a thrill running up his spine at the thought. He straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and went downstairs.

His groom (oh my God) was standing by the fireplace like he’d posed himself, which he probably had, he’d have heard David’s footsteps coming downstairs. David stopped at the bottom. “Wow,” he said. Patrick was wearing a warm gray suit, cut to emphasize his strong shoulders, with a white shirt and a deep coral tie. “You look gorgeous.”

“So do you,” Patrick said, looking David up and down. He’d chosen his favorite suit, navy blue slim-cut with a wide light gray windowpane check, a white shirt and pearl-gray tie.

David joined him and slid his hands up his chest to his shoulders. “You look like a movie star.” He leaned in to kiss him.

Patrick put his hand over David’s where it rested on Patrick’s chest, looking up at him with so much emotion that David felt the blood rush to his face. “We’re getting married today,” he murmured.

“Yes. I can’t wait.”

“No cold feet, then?”

“No.” David glanced at his watch. “It’s eight thirty, we’d better get going. Finding parking downtown isn’t my favorite thing.”

Patrick smiled. “No need.” He motioned out the front window. David looked, and sitting outside was a shiny black Rolls Royce Phantom limousine, a driver sitting inside.

“Holy...is that for us?”

“Yep. You spared us the expense of a full-out wedding, I thought I could spring for some fancy transportation today. We have the car and driver all day.”

“How did you arrange this at the last minute?”

“When you’re a firefighter you meet a lot of people. I know a guy who runs a luxury chauffeur service. We saved one of his drivers from a crash last year. He gave me one of those ‘if you ever need anything’ cards. I called him this morning and he was thrilled to hook us up.”

“I’m...I’m speechless!” He turned around and Patrick was holding out his topcoat. David shook his head and slipped his arms in, then took Patrick’s coat from him and did the same. They just stared at each other for a second.

Patrick stuck out his elbow. “Let’s go,” he said, his eyes warm and fond. David slipped his hand through the offered elbow, and they headed out.

The driver popped out as they approached and came around to open the door for them. “Captain Brewer, Mr. Rose, good morning,” he said. “My name is Fletcher, I’ll be your driver today. Please make yourselves comfortable.”

David slid into the car, its butter-soft leather cradling him. “Oh, this was a mistake, honey. I’m going to get used to traveling in style and I’ll be impossible from now on.” Patrick got in next to him, and Fletcher shut the door for them. He twined his fingers with Patrick’s as the limo pulled away, feeling like a smooth land yacht.

“You’re only wearing two rings,” Patrick said, looking down at David’s hands.

“The other two have an important job to do later,” David said, patting his jacket pocket. “Speaking of...you went to such trouble with these rings. How about I take charge of our wedding bands? Are you okay with that?”

“I’d love that.” Patrick cocked his head. “You look like you have an idea.”

“Maybe,” he said, teasingly. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

Patrick had been prepared for a wide variety of roadblocks to appear in their path. He’d mentally rehearsed ledge talkdowns if David needed one, he’d managed his own expectations so he’d be able to remain calm, and he’d reassured himself that even if things went pear-shaped today, they’d be able to get married very soon, tomorrow, or perhaps the day after.

None of which meant he was any less relieved when everything fell into place to an almost absurd degree.

He and David had emerged from their swanky ride in front of City Hall to find Travis and Stevie already waiting for them, excited and ready with hugs and exclamations of surprise. He’d taken his and David’s passports and gone to the clerk’s office, where there had been no line and a clerk ready to print up their license. He’d been informed that the in-house officiant had an opening in fifteen minutes, and if they could just take a seat, she’d call them when it was their turn.

From the time they stepped out of the limo, it was less than half an hour before he and David were standing in a charming little chamber the city kept for this purpose, Stevie and Travis flanking them, a smiling woman in a floral wrap dress asking them if they were ready.

“Are we?” he said, looking over at David.

He was glowing. “Damn right we are.”

After a few procedural words and a boilerplate intro, she asked them if they had their own vows. Patrick panicked slightly; in all the excitement he’d sort of forgotten that part. “Umm…”

“Yes, we do,” David said. He took a breath and turned to face him, taking both of his hands. Patrick swallowed hard. Pay attention. He’s about to say some stuff you’re gonna want to remember. Don’t think about what you’re going to say. It’ll come. “Patrick,” David began, and oh Lord, Patrick was not going to make it through this without crying. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever known. The bravest, the kindest, and just...the best. Everyone who knows you is better for it. Me most of all. The day I met you was the luckiest day of my life, even if I didn’t appreciate it at the time.” He sniffed, a smirk tucking into his cheek. “I love you, you arrogant dickhead.”

Patrick beamed, hearing Travis snort behind him. Stevie was just openly weeping into a handful of Kleenex. The officiant blinked a bit, but didn’t seem fazed. “Patrick?” she said.

He shook his head. “The world was in black and white before I met you, David. Now I see everything in vibrant colors. Music sounds sweeter, food tastes better, and the world is more beautiful when you’re with me. You bring me so much joy, you make me so happy every day. I don’t know how I got so lucky as to have you stomp into my life and ask me if I was an idiot. I love you, you obnoxious asshole.” David grinned.

The officiant took them through the better/worse, richer/poorer section of the vows, then asked if they had rings. Stevie and Travis handed them each one of David’s engagement rings. Patrick watched David slide one onto his left ring finger as she asked him if he took David to be his husband. “I do,” he said. He heard David sigh as Patrick put the fourth ring on his ring finger.

“I do,” he heard David say.

“By the authority vested in me by the province of Ontario, I now pronounce you married,” the officiant said, smiling gently. “Please celebrate it however feels right to you.”

He spared a fraction of a second to think what nice phrasing that was, then he was in David’s arms, kissing and being thoroughly kissed by his husband.

My husband. He’s my husband now. I’ve got him forever.

I can’t wait for forever.

Fletcher pulled up to the house just before noon. After the ceremony, they’d taken Stevie and Travis out to breakfast at The Senator, their favorite diner, where they were cooed over and showered with attention by Sheila, the longtime owner, who just about lost her mind when they told her that they’d just gotten married. “Can you come collect us at six?” Patrick said as they got out of the limo.

“Of course, sir. I’ll be here.”

“What happens at six?” David asked, as they walked up to the front door.

“We’re having drinks with Stevie, Travis, Heather and Rich, and then you and I are having a private romantic wedding dinner at Alo.”

“Oh my God, how’d you swing a table there? No, let me guess...a firefighter knows people.”

“He does, yes.” Patrick shut the door behind them and took David in his arms, nuzzling into his cheek. “I just want to show off my gorgeous husband.”

“What if I want to show off mine?” David murmured, kissing him.

“Since we’re not having a reception, I thought we’d have our own little celebration,” Patrick said, in between kisses.

“Perfect. But I think I want a private celebration in our bedroom first,” David said, grasping Patrick’s tie and pulling him towards the stairs.

They unwrapped each other slowly, stopping frequently to kiss and whisper endearments to each other, things they normally wouldn’t say but which seemed not only permissible but required in this moment. Patrick got David naked first and laid him out on the bed, kneeling over his hips and slowly unbuttoning his shirt while David’s eyes burned over him and his hands ran over Patrick’s thighs. He slid down the bed and took David’s cock in his mouth, wringing cries and gasps from him, but pulling away before he came. “Fuck, are you gonna torture me,” David said. Patrick surged up over him and kissed him deep.

“I want you inside me,” Patrick whispered. “I need you.”

“You sure?” David said, winding his arms around Patrick’s body. “We can’t get an annulment if we consummate.”

Patrick chuckled. “You’ve uncovered my devious plan to entrap you.”

David looked in his eyes. “You don’t need a plan. I was yours a long time ago.” He rolled them over and knelt up, grasping Patrick’s boxer briefs and pulling them down his legs. Patrick passed him the lube; he lay shuddering and gasping as David prepped him, his eyes dark and intense, scorching Patrick’s body wherever they landed on him. He spread his thighs and relished in the weight of David’s body over him as he slid inside with a groan. “Oh god, Patrick,” he hissed against Patrick’s neck.

“Yes, David...so good, you’re so good for me…”

David hitched Patrick’s legs over his hips and thrust in hard, pinning Patrick in place with his eyes. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, low and intense. Patrick gasped, his arousal spiking at David’s possessive tone. “Mine forever,” he said, bending to kiss him, hard and messy.

“Make me yours,” Patrick said, against David’s lips. “David...I need to be yours…”

David’s head dropped into the hollow of Patrick’s shoulder and his thrusts quickened, his breath hot and fast against Patrick’s skin. Patrick twined around him, fingertips digging into his back, his neck going boneless and his body surrendering to David’s. He felt...claimed, cherished, and wanted in a way that only David had ever made him feel. This man was his, and he was David’s. They’d claimed each other long ago, maybe before either of them really knew it.

David pressed in harder; Patrick tipped his hips up and clenched around him, wrenching a sobbing cry from David’s throat as he came into Patrick’s body. He sagged against his chest, breathing hard, then he sat up between Patrick’s legs, still inside him, and pulled Patrick’s hips tight against his. He took Patrick’s cock in his hand and stroked it, smiling down at him. “Come for me, baby,” he purred. It only took a few strokes before Patrick came over his hand with a cry.

He just lay there riding it out as David ran his hands up and down his torso in long, sensual strokes. He slipped out of Patrick and leaned over for the baby wipes to clean them off enough to make cuddling comfortable. He pulled the afghan at the foot of the bed up over them and snuggled into Patrick’s chest. Patrick was barely able to assist him with any of this, as he was still coming back online, but he managed to wrap his arms around David.

“Now that we’re married, does this mean our sex life has to become boring and routine?” David said.

Patrick laughed. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t know if that was in the fine print of the license we just got.”

“I can’t imagine that having sex with you will ever feel boring,” he said.

“Well, let’s check back in ten years and see how we’re doing,” David said, turning his head to kiss Patrick’s chest. “Forever is a long time.”

Patrick sighed. “Yeah. Forever.” He pulled David closer and kissed his temple. “I love you so much, David.”

“I love you, too.”

They just lay there for a few quiet minutes, exchanging gentle touches and soft kisses.

“We have to talk about how to tell our families,” Patrick finally said.

He felt David sigh. “Do we have to tell them? Let’s just never tell them.”

“That’s...not gonna work.”

“I know, but let me fantasize about it for a minute.”

“We could just tell them we’re engaged, then go through with the whole wedding business anyway. They don’t have to know we’re already married.”

David laughed. “That sounds like a terrible idea. Planning a wedding to my husband would be exhausting.”

“Thank God. I was hoping you wouldn’t go for that.”

“Then why did you even suggest it?”

“Because if planning a wedding was something that you wanted, I’d have been happy to go along with it.”

“Aww. That’s sweet.” David sighed again. “Should we call our families now? This afternoon? Or...I don’t know, I can’t think.”

“Let’s not. Your sister and my parents will be here in a few days for Christmas, we can get your parents on a video call and tell them all then.” Patrick ran his fingers through David’s hair.

“That’s going to be a fun call.”

“They’ll be surprised, but they’ll come around.”

David lifted his head. “Do we want to keep up our secret-relationship-at-work thing?”

“Well, it’s worked out so far.”

“I want to, but...we won’t be able to keep it up forever.”

“I know. They’re all going to find out eventually. One of us will slip up, or someone will spot us somewhere.”

“Then let’s just let that happen whenever it happens”

“I wonder how long it’ll take.”

“Less than a year. That’s my prediction.”

“I think we can make it a full year.”

“Are we betting on this, now? What’s the prize?”

“If I win, we have sex. If you win, we have sex.”

“Hmm, I like those odds.” David leaned up to kiss him again. “You know, once everyone knows, including everyone at work, maybe we could have a big party. Invite the people we would have invited to a wedding.”

Patrick nodded. “I like that idea.” He slid down a little and pulled David into a deep kiss. “But for a few days at least, I’m going to enjoy having my husband all to myself.”

David found Patrick in the living room, sitting on the cushioned bay window seat, his knees tucked up and his arms wrapped around them like a little kid. The tree was glowing by the fireplace, bathing the whole scene in gentle multicolored light. David paused in the doorway, his breath catching at this impossibly warm image; it looked like something out of a Martha Stewart “Home for the Holidays” photoshoot. It was Christmas Eve, their house was full of family members and friends, snug and tucked into their beds, and not a creature was stirring, like the poem said. Their news had been shared now, and regardless of how chaotic the evening had been, David was glad that his family — both of them — could now share in his joy at being married to this man, looking oh so precious in his little Christmas pajamas, perched on the window seat watching the snow fall outside.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Patrick looked up at him, the lights on the tree reflecting in his eyes and on his skin, and his face creased into a tender smile that made David’s heart ache. He still wasn’t used to being someone who inspired expressions like that on someone else’s face. “Hi.”

“I came out of the bathroom and you’d gone missing.”

“Sorry, I saw the snow starting up and it was just…”

“Couldn’t resist the aesthetic, huh?” David said, sitting on the edge of the cushion by his feet.

“Yeah.” He reached out and took David’s hand. “Quiet at last.”

“My ears are still ringing a bit from my mother’s shrieking.”

“Imagine if she’d been here in person.”

“None of us would have survived.” David chuckled. “But it only took her five minutes to work her way from ‘How could you deny me the pleasure of attending your fabulous nuptials, Daaaaavid’ to ‘When can I come and embrace my sweet new son.’”

“Exactly as you predicted.”

“Alexis was more irritated that she didn’t get to help plan a big event.”

“She hasn’t given up. She cornered me twice to ask if we wouldn’t like to have, like, a cute party maybe at a ballroom or a swank restaurant,” Patrick said, somehow nailing Alexis’s speech pattern without changing his tone. “I didn’t want to tell her that we’d talked about that, we’d never hear the end of it.”

David nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you how it went with your parents. They seemed fine by the time we had dinner?”

“We had a good talk. My mom was a little hurt. It never feels good to be excluded, even if that wasn’t how we meant it.”

“I told you to make me the bad guy.”

“I framed it just the way you did. When you said yes, you just couldn’t wait another day to marry me.” He smiled, turning David’s hand over in his own. “Mothers respond to other people finding their sons irresistible. That helped.”

“Oh, good.”

“Anyway, my mom adores you. You’d have to do a lot worse to lose that. It was more that…” He sighed. “They still have guilt sometimes that it took me so long to come out. Like it was their fault, that they hadn’t been welcoming enough, or had failed to teach me that I could tell them anything. So this felt like something else I left them out of. I told them this was about us, you and me, and that we always want them in our lives. Then my dad made a joke about being spared having to wear a tux and spending my wedding fund on a new truck, so. It was fine.”

David perked up. “There’s a wedding fund?”

“A topic we will discuss at a later time.”

“Okay.” He turned and looked out at the peaceful snow. “This is ridiculously picturesque.”

Patrick nodded, then met David’s eyes again. “I’m so happy, David,” he murmured.

David leaned in and touched their foreheads together. “Me too, sweetheart.”

“And it’s after midnight. It’s my first Christmas with my beautiful husband.”

“Which means,” David said, getting up from the window seat. He went to the tree and dug out a small box. “I might as well give you this.”

“No, presents are for the morning!”

“This one’s just for us.”

Patrick’s head came up. “David, is it…”

“Open it.”

He opened the package and drew out the small jewelry box. David saw him swallow hard, then open it to reveal the two brushed titanium wedding rings. “Oh, David,” he breathed. “They’re perfect.” He picked one up and peered closer. “There’s something inscribed.”

“Yes. It’s on both of them.”

“It’s...a number? It’s…” He looked up at David. “It looks like an incident report number.”

“It is.” David pressed his smile between his lips, waiting for him to get it.

“That car through the storefront?”

“The day we met.”

Patrick’s lower lip trembled as he looked at the rings. “You’re amazing.” He seized the back of David’s neck and pulled him in for a deep, hard kiss. He pulled away and looked at both rings. “Here, this one’s mine,” he said, handing it to David. “Gimme your hand.”

David hitched his knee up on the seat so they were facing each other. He held out his left hand and Patrick took it. “I do, again. And always,” he whispered, as Patrick slid the ring onto his finger, then pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Here, my turn,” he said, taking Patrick’s left hand.

“I do, too. Again, and forever,” Patrick said, as David slid the ring into its place. They just looked at each other, soaking up the moment. “Come over here,” Patrick said, scooting back. David slid over between Patrick’s legs and cuddled close, pulling his legs up. Patrick picked up the afghan that lived on this seat and wrapped it around them, his arms around David. “Merry Christmas, David,” he said, pressing a kiss to David’s temple.

“Merry Christmas, Patrick.”

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he said, holding up his left hand to look at the ring again.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course you know, David, that...I don’t want a lot for Christmas.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God.”

“There’s just one thing that I need.”

“Why are you like this?”

“All I want…”

“No.”

“...for Christmas…”

“Don’t.”

“...is you.”

“Are the divorce courts open on Christmas?”

Patrick giggled a bit, squeezing David tighter and kissing his temple. David laughed with him, snuggled into his husband’s arms, and let himself take a moment to marvel that this was really his life now.

New Year’s Eve was always a bad night for firefighters. Crowded parties, fireworks and sparklers, drunk people, fire code violations left and right. Patrick didn’t expect to spend much time sitting around tonight, and he was not wrong.

Two minor house fires, a car accident, and a pedestrian-vs-streetcar incident, and it was only eleven p.m. He’d heard David’s voice on the radio at two different scenes so far. Now the 315 was one of four companies called to the site of a fire at a church, which was actually empty, thankfully. It was a working fire when they arrived. He caught sight of David’s city car pulling up just as he swung down from the cab of the truck. “Hoo boy, here comes Rose,” he heard someone say. “Hey Brewer, batten your hatches!”

Patrick put on a scowl while he grinned internally. It had to be indicative of some deep personality flaw how much fun it was, hearing people tease him for having to tolerate the despised presence of the man he shared a bed with. “My hatches are always battened,” he snapped as he walked by. “Old Batten-Hatch, that’s what they used to call me in fire school.”

“What does ‘batten’ even mean?” Mutt said, stretching the line from the truck.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” David yelled, hurrying right past them to the axe crews that were heading into the building. Patrick followed and joined the other three captains already on site, wondering how this would go. This was the first time he and David had met up on a call since their marriage. “This is a registered building. Can we have a conversation about axes?”

“Tactical ventilation, Rose,” said Captain Ogleby of the 346.

“Excuse me?” David said, his eyes wide, sounding incredulous.

“Yeah, you know, that thing we do to restore the atmosphere and influence fire progress,” Patrick said, flatly. “Or have you not been paying attention at the fifty or whatever fires you’ve been at?”

“Yes, Captain Brewer, I’m aware that heat rises.”

“Oh really? Then you’re wrong. Heat does not rise, heat can only radiate from its source. Hot air rises, such as smoke and fumes from a fire, or was physics not a required course for your fancy engineering degrees?”

David arched an eyebrow and glowered at him — only Patrick would be able to detect the hidden glimmer of mirth behind that glower. “Well, excuse the fuck out of me, Professor Fire Captain, but if you’re so smart you might put your giant enormous brain to work on the question of why these guys are proposing hacking holes in the roof of a building that has two bell towers and therefore built-in ventilation routes?” He pointed up to the roofline, where there was, indeed, smoke coming out of both bell towers.

Patrick looked at Ogleby. “Is the building clear?”

“Yep. Nobody inside.”

“Our priority is fire suppression, not preservation of historic structures,” Patrick said.

“I’m aware of that, but when both are possible, can we maybe do both?”

“What do you think, Brewer?” Ogleby said.

He sighed. “I think I’d rather not start the new year destroying a church. Let’s see if we can minimize property damage. Minimize!” he said, pointing at David. “If it’s down to one of those stained glass windows against even the tiniest increase in safety for my crews, the windows are toast, got it?”

“You’re all barbarians,” David said. “Just can’t wait to swing your little axes at something whether you need to or not! One could wonder if you’re...compensating for something,” he said, shooting Patrick a challenging look with a smirk hiding inside it.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Patrick snapped.

“All right, all right, back to your corners, you two assholes,” Ogleby yelled. “Patrick, your guys take the side entrance. We’re going around the back.”

“Hey, Happy New Year!” Mutt yelled. Patrick checked his watch...12:01 a.m. A few shouts and whoops went up from the crews. This would be a relatively low-stress situation now. Nobody was inside the church, the fire looked to be getting under control, there were no other buildings close enough to be in danger.

Patrick looked back as he got ready to enter the structure. David was standing with a man wearing a Roman collar. The man was staring up at the building, looking stricken, tears on his face. David had a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him; the man nodded, looking reassured. Patrick regretted his flippancy. He was trained to think of buildings as just that — structures, to be analyzed and worked in a certain way to save lives. But some buildings were more, and he was glad David had been there to remind them.

The fire was one of the cooperative ones, thankfully. They were able to contain and extinguish it without too much difficulty. Patrick’s crew was able to keep the fire from spreading, and he was pretty sure they’d be able to repair the church, good as new. The crews began to clear out and stow their gear. Patrick was making a circuit of the grounds, checking for dropped gear, when a hand grabbed him and yanked him behind a shed next to the church. He tipped his helmet back and kissed David, hard and fast. David’s hand gripped the back of his neck, his other fisted in the front of Patrick’s bunker coat. Their coat toggle closures clinked together as they pulled each other close. “Happy New Year, babe,” he said.

“I love this,” David hissed. “I love nobody knowing. I love them watching us work and fight and drag each other and not know that you’re my fucking husband. I love it.”

“Me too,” he said, cupping David’s face and kissing him harder. “You’re gonna pay for that overcompensating comment later, though.”

“Good. That was the idea.” He pressed one last kiss to Patrick’s lips, then stepped back, winked at him and was gone again.

Patrick took a second to catch his breath, then went back to work.

Chapter Text

~~~ ten months later ~~~

Patrick made a face. “Do I have to go to the hospital?”

“Yes. And don’t give me any crap about it,” the EMT said.

“Can I go with him?” David said.

“Unless you have some kind of legal standing I’m not aware of, no.”

Patrick and David looked at each other for a moment. David raised his eyebrows at him in a silent question; Patrick sighed. “Go ahead,” he said, sounding resigned.

“I’m his husband,” David said.

Everyone stopped and stared.

Brewer looked around at their shocked faces. “Yeah, so David and I are married, and now you all know that.”

“For how long?” Ronnie said, her head spinning.

“Almost a year.” He winced as the EMT cleaned his wound.

“Hospital. Now,” she said.

“I’ll drive him,” David said. “Keep this bus free for the critical cases.”

She nodded, handing Patrick a bottle of water. “Drink that first.”

He opened it and took a swig, his eyes on David’s face. “That ceiling fell on me,” he said, quietly, “and mostly I was scared I’d never see you again.”

David touched his forehead to Patrick’s, avoiding his wound, then pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Patrick exhaled into the embrace and his body went slack.

Ronnie stepped up next to David. “We’re gonna have to talk about this, but not now,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Ronnie. We kept it a secret because…”

“I don’t need to know why, it’s not my business. But what if you’d been hurt worse, or died, and he didn’t happen to be here? Would we have known to notify him?” She put her hands up. “I’m not gonna ride your ass about it now.” She shook her head. “Damn, guys. Keeping up that ‘we don’t get along’ act on the job for a year?”

“It’s not an act,” Patrick said, half-muffled in David’s chest. “He annoys the shit out of me at work.”

“Apparently, annoying the shit out of him is an effective seduction technique,” David said, smirking.

Patrick pulled back. “Oh, babe, I’m getting blood all over your Neil Barrett,” he said, plucking at David’s sweater with a frown.

“You think I care about that right now?” David cupped his face and kissed him again. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

—”Burn Out the Night”

 

David pulled up to Toronto General and went around to help Patrick out of the car. “C’mon, there we go,” he said.

“I’m fine, David.”

“Shut up, your head is bleeding.”

“I am...whoa...still a little woozy.” He leaned against David’s side as they walked into the ER. There were half a dozen other firefighters and paramedics milling around; Patrick wasn’t the first firefighter from the warehouse fire to have been brought here.

A couple of them from the 332 came hurrying up. “Captain Brewer, you okay?”

“Got hit in the head,” he said.

“We’ll take it from here, Rose,” said another, making as if to pull Patrick away from him, which was yeah, not happening. David tightened his arm around Patrick’s shoulders.

“Surprised you brought him in, I’d have thought you’d rather let him bleed out,” the first one joked.

David didn’t let go of Patrick. “I’ve got it, thanks.” He pushed past them into the ER, where a nurse came up with a wheelchair. They were clearly in mass-casualty mode, she whisked Patrick away before David could do much more than wave. David watched him go, worry making his belly clench even though he knew Patrick was mostly likely fine. He’d had worse in the time he’d known him. Much worse.

He wandered back out to where the firefighters were waiting for word of injured comrades. “Jesus, Rose, you look like shit,” said one of them. His nametag said Jensen.

“Gee, thanks. Shouldn’t you guys be going back to that fire?”

“Chief Lee told us not to. It’s fully involved now. They’re just containing at this point.” Jensen cocked his head. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Just...worried about Captain Brewer.”

All the firefighters and paramedics were glancing at each other. “Yeah? Is this some kind of weird respect-between-enemies thing? I get that.”

David sighed. The cat was out of the bag now, anyway, after the scene they’d made at the fire. The fire services were worse than a sorority house when it came to gossip, it would make its way around to this bunch whether he said anything or not. “No. I’m worried about him because he’s my husband and I don’t want to pay his share of the property taxes on our house, okay? Are you happy now?”

“Wait, what?” said one of the paramedics.

Jensen laughed. “That’s a good one, Rose. Everyone knows you two hate each other.”

“Of course.” David thumbed his phone open and pulled up their wedding photo, taken by Travis at City Hall. He showed Jensen the screen. “Tell me, what else does everyone know?”

“No shit,” Jensen said, low. He shook his head. “You and Brewer are seriously, like for-real married?”

“We are seriously, for-real married.”

“It’s not like a...residency thing or something?”

“What? No! I married him because I love him and he’s getting his head stitched up right now so maybe save the third degree for another time, huh?”

A nearby paramedic whose name plate said Inglewood punched Jensen in the arm. “Jesus, Jimmy, give the guy a break! He just watched a building collapse on Patrick’s head!” She looked at David. “Sorry about him. He’s a moron.”

“Color me shocked to hear that.”

She stepped a little closer and spoke low. “You are really married to Patrick?” He nodded, already weary of the whole topic. “Damn. I have to hand it to you guys. Keeping a secret from this bunch of chatterboxes is kind of an amazing feat.”

“We were seeing how long we could make it. I said a year, Patrick said we could make it for longer.”

“How long has it been?”

“Not quite a year. We got married just before last Christmas.”

“Family of Patrick Brewer?” said a nurse.

He hurried over, not bothering to take his leave of the nosy firefighters. “I’m his husband. Is Patrick okay?”

“Captain Brewer’s fine. He’s just getting a few stitches.” She motioned for David to follow her. A sense of deja vu came along, reminding David of Patrick with broken ribs, and the first time he’d heard the words “I love you” from his lips. He’d heard them innumerable times since, but it still meant as much as it had that first time.

Patrick was sitting on an exam bed, his uniform shirt off, red blood droplets all over his t-shirt. A resident was stitching his forehead.

“Careful with those stitches,” David said. “His face is too pretty for a giant scar.”

The resident nodded. “No worries. I have the steadiest hands in the ER.”

“He’s right,” the nurse said. “He’s the best stitcher here.”

David took Patrick’s outstretched hand, lifting the other to smooth over his hair, dirty and damp with sweat. “I’m okay,” Patrick said.

“I think I’ll let the doctor tell me that.”

“He’s okay,” the resident said. “He’s not showing any concussion symptoms. You know what to watch for, right, Captain?”

“I do. So I can go home?”

“Soon as I’m done, we’d appreciate it if you did. Got more casualties coming in from that fire.”

“Well,” David said, “our secret is well and truly out. I just had to confess to a group of firefighters in the lobby, all of whom are probably texting everyone they know.”

“Shit, I really kissed you in front of the whole company at that fire, didn’t I?” Patrick said, wincing, whether at the memory or the bite of the stitches, David wasn’t sure.

“You sure as fuck did, honey. I didn’t exactly stop you, though.” He squeezed Patrick’s hand.

“There you go,” the resident said, snipping off the thread. “They’ll dissolve on their own. You can take Tylenol if you get a headache. If you have any concussion symptoms, go to the ER immediately.”

“I know the drill. Thanks.” Patrick got up off the bed and put his uniform shirt back on. “I texted Ronnie, she said to go on home.”

“Was that even a question? Surely you wouldn’t entertain the idea of going back to that fire.”

“She also said that I should let my HUSBAND take care of me, and yes, she used all capital letters. I think I’m going to be hearing about this for awhile.”

They emerged into the lobby. Feeling defiant, David slung one arm around Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick didn’t even hesitate before sliding his around David’s waist. “Hey guys,” Patrick said, casually, to the group of firefighters, all of them staring. “Get a good look,” he said, teasingly. “Take a big, steamy gawk.”

David snorted. “You’re such a troll,” he muttered, as they left the ER.

[Toronto Fire Services South Command group text]

Anders334: holy fucking shit you guys there is HOT GOSS

Wharton311: what, jesus christ? calm down

Anders334: I will not and you won’t when you hear this

Johnson322: I think i heard it too. Is it the Brewer thing?

Wharton311: Captain Brewer at the 315?

Juarez333: that guy’s a tightass

Horner341: hey shut up Patrick’s ok

Anders334: you’re not the only one who thinks so lolololol

Horner341: everyone likes him. well except Rose.

Anders334: OH JUST WAIT

Juarez333: jesus christ brandon what the fuck

Bollinger313: i love it when they’re both on a call the fights are epic

Anders334: yeah so epic

Anders334: get a load of this

Anders334: Brewer and Rose are MARRIED

Wharton311: wait what

Bollinger313: no fucking way

Juarez333: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT

Wharton311: I don’t buy it, someone’s jerking your chain

Johnson322: yeah that’s what I heard but I thought I heard wrong

Horner341: is there nobody from the 315 on right now?

Anders334: they’re all at that warehouse fire

Anders334: which is where brewer and rose fucking kissed in front of everyone after brewer almost got pancaked by floor joists

Anders334: and when everyone went hey wtf, rose was like yeah oh by the way he’s my husband ain’t that just a kick in the pants

Johnson322: it’s a prank or something. they can’t stand each other.

Juarez333: maybe their marriage is a nightmare or they’re just sticking it out for the mortgage

Anders334: no, my intel says they’re super in love and they just fight at work.

Jensen332: ok you guys i have corroboration I am at t.gen right now and rose just brought brewer in to get his head stitched up and they are married can confirm. dude straight up showed me a wedding photo on his phone when i didn’t believe it, either

Bollinger313: secret husbands, wow. DRAMA.

Hopkins315: sooooo

Anders334: FINALLY Hoppy tell us you knew about this

Hopkins315: no fucking clue

Anders334: that’s your house my dude

Hopkins315: I'm aware. i’m not on shift tonight so i’m not at that big fire. ray texted me tho.

Juarez333: why did they think they had to keep it secret

Hopkins315: i dunno maybe because all of us treated their fights like a goddamned spectator sport so it made them feel weird about it

Anders334: like...okay, that’s a point

Jensen332: gotta say. rose looked wrecked.

Hopkins315: apparently part of the floor fell in on some of the crews including patrick. they legit thought he was dead for a few minutes. probably looked wrecked because he thought he lost his husband, you think?

Bollinger313: okay now I feel bad

Anders334: yeah. same.

Juarez333: does this mean you guys aren’t gonna drag him for this?

Hopkins315: fuck no. cap’s getting roasted like a melange of seasonal root vegetables. a secret husband? that kind of material doesn't come along every day.

David could smell himself, fire and antiseptic and awful toxic combustion fumes. He let Patrick into the bathroom first to shower, since he still had dried blood on his neck and chest.

His phone rang. “Hey, Heather.”

“Just thought you ought to know word is getting around fast. I’ve gotten four texts in the last hour asking if I knew.”

“You can say you did, it’s fine. Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, I have been. I’m not lying for your troll ass. You know they’re all on group texts. This is the best piece of fire service gossip since that one firefighter ran off with his Captain’s wife in North Command.”

“Excuse me, can you not compare my perfectly respectable marriage to tawdry adulterous escapades?”

“Well, brace yourself. And tell Patrick. It’ll be worse for him. He’s got a home base and a group of people who feel somewhat entitled to know things about him. He’s going to get dragged like a bad water skier. Affectionately. I hope.” She sighed. “Can I say I’m glad?”

“I mean...I am, too. Although nobody will ever be able to take us seriously when we argue on a call ever again. Eww, what if they think it’s some weird kind of foreplay? That’s not appropriate.”

“Relax. It’ll work itself out.”

“Heather...do you think I should look for another job? Outside the fire service. Maybe it isn’t advisable for me to work with him.”

“Maybe. That’s something to consider.”

“But I like working with him. I like getting to see him.”

“You could always swap commands with Gretchen. Be my engineer again, and she can be Ronnie’s.”

“I don’t know. I guess I should talk to my husband about this, huh?”

“Good idea.” She chuckled. “You two are going to have an interesting few days.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Goodnight, David.”

“Thanks for calling. Goodnight.” He hung up, just as Patrick came out of the bathroom. “Heather.”

“How bad is it?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s gotten around to half the fire service by now. By morning they’ll all know.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Shit. My crews are going to give me holy hell. But it’s not like I know every single thing about their lives. They’re not entitled to the details of my private life.”

“No, but whether or not you’re married is a pretty big, basic piece of information.”

“I guess. Can we not think about it anymore? I’m tired.” He tipped sideways and landed on David’s shoulder.

David put an arm around him and rubbed his upper arm. “Let me grab a shower. We’ll get in bed and cuddle and try not to think about the sheer stratospheric levels of glee currently being experienced by the entire fire service at the prospect of how much shit they’re going to give us.”

Patrick had two days off after the fire before his next shift day as part of his normal rotation. He was both glad about that, as it gave him time to recover from the headache and bruises he’d acquired in the warehouse fire, and scared about that, as it gave his crew plenty of time to cook up ways to torment him.

The night of the fire, David had turned off his phone for him. He’d turned it back on the next morning to approximately eight thousand text messages.

YOU’RE MARRIED WTF BREWER

You and Rose are married? Is this a joke? Someone’s having me on, right?

There is the weirdest rumor going around about you, you better clear it up before it gets out of hand.

There must be another man named David Rose in the greater Toronto area because surely you are not married to the same David Rose I saw you screaming at two weeks ago at that deck collapse thing.

Okay remember when I said there was a weird rumor, well turns out it’s true and now I have to go lie down and acclimate to the fact that you are apparently married to David Rose.

I don’t know why everyone’s so shocked. I like David and always thought it was weird that you didn’t. Apparently it wasn’t weird at all and you super DO like him.

You’re married to Rose? Nice. Dude’s a fucking snack. Get some, Cap.

Why didn’t you tell us, Patrick?

That last one, which he’d gotten from several people in several iterations, stung a little. There wasn’t really a good reason, at least not one that felt like a good reason now. And the people closest to him on the service had a right to feel a little hurt about it. He knew that nobody ever had the obligation to share, but if he’d found out that one of his crew hadn’t told anyone in the house about their significant other, he would have had feelings about it.

It was Saturday, so David wasn’t working. Patrick got dressed and leaned over the bed to kiss him. “Gotta go,” he said.

“Mmmph,” David said, turning over. “I hope it isn’t too awful.” David had been on the job the past few days, and for once his aloof persona worked in his favor — he reported getting a few comments and quite a lot of knowing looks, but nobody had really given him shit about it.

“Me, too. But it’s fine. It’s not like I don’t deserve what I get. And I knew this would happen eventually.”

David rolled over and looked up at him with sleepy eyes, his hair soft. He looked almost unbearably sexy, and for a second Patrick hated his job for keeping him from just crawling back into bed with him. David reached up and touched Patrick’s healing head gash. “My handsome fireman,” he murmured. Suddenly his eyes snapped fully open. “Oh, wait! I have something for you!” He got out of bed with more vigor than was usual. He went to his dresser and dug in the top drawer. “Now that the cat is out of the bag…”

Patrick took the small box David handed him and opened it. Inside was a ring that looked a lot like his wedding ring. “Um...you already gave me one of these? It was kind of a big deal.”

David rolled his eyes. “Take it out.”

Patrick plucked the ring out of its slot and realized that it was silicone. “David,” he said, sighing.

“I know it isn’t safe for firefighters to wear wedding rings. But now that you can wear yours at work, I wanted to get you one that would be safe.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said, a little choked up. He slid his regular ring off and replaced it with the silicone version. You could barely tell the difference. He leaned in and kissed him again. “I love you, babe.”

“Love you too,” David said, looking pleased. He took Patrick’s regular ring and slid it onto his own right ring finger. “I’ll just hang on to this for you.”

Patrick held up his hand. It looked so...right. “Well...I’m off, then.”

“Good luck,” David said, wryly.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need it.”

Patrick drove to the station on autopilot, wondering what horrors would befall him upon his arrival. He parked in his usual spot and headed in through the engine bay. Mutt and Ray were washing one of the trucks. “Hey Cap,” they both said, smiling but otherwise normal.

“Uh, hey,” he said, continuing in. Twyla waved to him, Hopkins gave him a nod. It was all so...normal.

Now he’d left “nervous” behind and was barreling forward into “suspicious.”

He paused before heading to his office and looked back. Everyone was busy with their daily tasks. Nobody was looking at him, or seemed to be paying him any undue attention.

Okay, what the fuck is going on.

Skeptical, he opened the door to his office.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, just...taking it all in.

His office had been practically wallpapered with pictures of David. Old magazine article photos, a few from the newspapers, some from the old paparazzi days, basically anything you could turn up on a Google image search and print out. They were on the walls, on his chairs, on the map of the district, taped to his computer screen. It was a full-on visual assault. He shut his eyes and sighed. There it is.

He shut the door again and stomped out to the engine bay. “Okay, you assholes,” was as far as he got, before the whole crew erupted in laughter, cheers and catcalls. He stood there and took it, because he knew that was his job, and because these people cared about him and he’d hidden something very important to him from them, and they deserved to get a little of their own back.

The crew half-carried him to the lounge, where they’d gotten him a cake, somewhat hastily inscribed. “Contratulations On Wedding 1 Year Late” was written on it, misspelled and half-smushed into the side where the decorator had run out of room. “Sorry, it kinda sucks,” Hopkins said. “I had to get a blank one and write on it myself.”

“It’s great,” Patrick said.

They sat around and had coffee and cake for breakfast — and donuts, which were Mutt’s contribution — and Patrick got grilled. “So when did this all start?” Ray asked. “Was it terribly romantic? Did you lock eyes across a crowded room?” Ray practically had his chin in his hands like a teenager at a slumber party talking about their dream date.

“No, definitely not.I mean you were all there, David and I didn’t get along from the second we met.”

“Which I always thought was weird, because you get along with just about everyone,” Twyla said. “Was it all the tension?”

“I don’t think so. We just...didn’t get along. But as time passed we got to know each other better. It was the tanker truck crash that kind of changed things. I was really…” He sat back and cleared his throat. “He surprised me that day. He wanted to help, he didn’t turn away when he could have. He stayed with that woman, the one who died, right to the end. He’d never been through anything like that before. I went to see him the next night, to make sure he was okay. I know how hard it is, we all know.” Nods and sympathetic faces.

“Did you smooch and stuff?” Twyla asked, grinning.

Patrick blushed. “Kinda, yeah. And then he asked me out on a date not long afterwards, and...there you go. He stayed with me after I fell through the stairs at that hoarder house and I asked him to move in. We got married just before Christmas last year.”

“So did anyone in TFS know?” Ray asked.

“Heather Warner knew. Only because she just happened to spot us holding hands on the sidewalk after a date, out in Little Italy. But it ended up being a good thing, for at least one person to know. And now I guess everyfuckingbody knows.” He took a breath and looked around at them. “Look, I should apologize. We’re a crew here, we’ve always shared everything. I don’t know if I can…”

Twyla held up a hand. “It’s ok. We get it. I mean, we don’t get it, but...if you and David wanted to keep it a secret, then you had your reasons. It’s not for us to judge it. Doesn’t mean we’re not glad to know now, but we just want you to be happy, right guys?” Nods all around.

“Thanks,” Patrick said. “I am happy.”

Of all the things Patrick had expected on a random Tuesday, a sinkhole that swallowed a bus was among the last. The hole was at least thirty feet wide and about forty feet long. It was a miracle that only the bus had gotten caught in the collapse. Its rear end was down in the hole but its front wheels were still on the street, which made for an awkward rescue. Three fire crews were rigging lines from the trucks, both to secure the bus so it wouldn’t slide backwards, and so they could descend into the bus’s interior and pull the people out. So far, nobody seemed badly hurt. Ray and Twyla had already gone down inside to check everyone. The worst of it seemed to be a man with a possibly broken wrist.

“You know this is usually the first scene of a horror movie, right, Cap?” Hopkins said, manning the winch. “Now any minute there’ll be black sentient ooze or some kind of tentacle beast emerging from the depths.”

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Patrick said. “Anyway, the flamethrower is in the pumper truck. That ought to handle the tentacles.”

Jensen from the 334 came strolling up like he had nothing better to do. “Wow, this is a lot of damage to city property, huh?” he said. “Guess this means we’ll be getting a visit from your hubby, eh, Brewer?”

There it was. This was the first time they’d need to call David to a scene since word had gotten out, and Patrick had been wondering if and how it would be different. Smartass comments had been more or less expected. “Are you referring to city engineer Rose, Jensen?” Patrick said, giving him a look.

Jensen seemed to grok that he’d just stepped over the line. “Uh, yeah. Is he on the way? We actually kinda do need advice here.”

“I was just about to call him.” He lifted his radio. “Brewer 315, request engineer consult on Eglinton near Black Creek.”

A brief pause. “Rose, South Command, responding. ETA five minutes.”

“Approach with caution from the west.”

Another pause. “Okay?”

“You’ll understand when you get here. Brewer out.” Patrick spotted Ronnie’s truck pulling upon the far side of the street and walked over to meet her. “We’ve got the bus secured. Police have diverted traffic. No major injuries among the passengers, Mutt and Hoppy are securing lines to extract them.”

“Good. What are the odds this hole’s going to get bigger at any given moment?”

“I don’t know. But we can’t just not do anything because of the risk.”

“Agreed. Rose on the way?”

“He is.”

“Good, because evaluating this kind of thing is above your pay grade. Mine, too.”

“Might be above his. He isn’t a geologist.”

“He can make that call.” She walked off to talk to Ogleby. Patrick went back to supervising the passenger extraction, which was starting with the ones strong enough to use the ropes to walk themselves up the 45-degree sloping floor of the bus and then be lifted out the front window, which the crew had removed.

He saw David’s car pull up, then David get out, pull on his bunker boots, and walk over. He stood at the edge of the sinkhole. “Yikes,” was his only comment. He grimaced.

He walked over to the crews. “So…”

Patrick put his hands on his hips. “Do you need me to direct your attention to the giant hole in the street?”

“I noticed it, yes. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Tell us how to get the bus out?”

“My advice would be to not attempt to get the bus out.”

“Ever? So it just becomes, what, a quirky art piece?”

“The pressure from rescue vehicles could further collapse the hole.”

“The pressure of the bus already in the hole could further collapse the hole.”

“Brewer, the bus can’t get any heavier than it already is, in fact it’ll get lighter as you extract the passengers. All the force it can exert on the substrate has already been exerted. If it held through the impact force, then it’ll hold through the static weight of the bus. The area of concern is the torque on the edges.” He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “This is really above my pay grade.”

“See?” Patrick crowed, pointing at Ronnie. “I told you!”

“Told her what, that I’m useless and incompetent?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I told her, dummy. I told her you’re not a geologist.”

“Duh.”

“Wow, that was such a snappy comeback, I’m in awe.”

“I’m out of snappy comebacks because I need so many of them when I talk to you!”

Hopkins laughed. “How did we miss it for almost a year when you two dicks argue like an old married couple at every scene?”

“Well, there’s no point in arguing when I don’t have much to go on here. Sinkholes aren’t really in my wheelhouse.”

“Does the city have a geologist?” Patrick said, with a frown, trying to remember.

“It does. Several kinds, in fact. Let me text the surveyor’s office and get some people down here who know what they’re doing.” He started texting quickly. “And for once, that wasn’t a dig against you all. This rescue seems to be...competently executed.”

“Oh! I’m gonna faint from this gushing praise!” Patrick said, endeavoring to look pissed off while enjoying himself immensely.

Ronnie looked up from her phone. “Geologists are already on their way. The Big Chief called them.”

“Good,” David said. “I should get out of your way, then, since there’s not much I can do to help.” He pointed at the crew. “If my husband is swallowed up by this hole at any point during this operation I’m going to blame all of you, got it?”

“Got it, David,” Mutt said, grinning.

“As long as we all understand each other.” He reached out, low and unobtrusive, and grasped Patrick’s hand for a quick squeeze, then stomped off without a word. Patrick watched him go with a fond smile. That hadn’t been too painful. If this was his new normal, he could get used to it.

Toronto Fire Services headquarters was once again swarming with excitement for Open Mic Night. Patrick had been happily planning it for a month — it was the first since the one David had attended with Heather. More than that, this would be the first event they’d attended together since everyone had found out about their marriage. Twyla, who had somehow become David’s biggest fan, had told him that the fire service group texts were all abuzz with speculation about what Patrick might sing, now that he had someone he could publicly sing to. “Oh Lord,” David had said, covering his face. “I’m going to die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” Twyla said. “You’ve heard Patrick sing, he’s really good!”

“It wouldn’t matter if he was Adam Lambert, when you’re in the audience and your life partner is singing and everyone knows it and you’re there, too, there’s just...an inherent cringe factor.”

“Do you know what he’s singing?”

“No, he won’t tell me, and he’s been practicing when I’m not home. When I am home, he tortures me with acoustic arrangements of ‘Chop Suey’ and ‘Down With the Sickness’ because he is a twisted individual.”

So David was more than a little nervous when he pulled into the parking lot. Stevie and Travis had invited themselves along, so he couldn’t even freak out in private. “A firefighter talent show,” Travis said, as they walked in. “This is like...gay fantasy heaven.”

“Don’t get too excited, it’s not like it’s only the guys who do the Hot Firefighter calendar photoshoot who perform. Most firefighters aren’t pinups, you know.”

“Hey, Patrick’s never done the Hot Firefighter calendar photoshoot! He totally could!”

“Yes, let’s make that suggestion to him never.”

They walked into the atrium. Several people waved to David, a few came up to say hello. “Everyone’s being a lot friendlier than usual,” he muttered to Stevie, as they moved through the crowd to find seats.

“It’s the transitive property,” she said. “Everybody likes Patrick, now they know that he likes you, so they figure you can’t be too awful if he married you, so they like you more now.”

“Huh. Is that like how you pull more numbers when you go to the park with a dog?”

“I am definitely telling your husband that you compared him to a Labrador.”

They found three seats near the front. Patrick was off to the side of the stage with a clipboard, corralling everyone and assigning spots, or so it seemed. David got up to hug Heather Warner, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Patrick spot him and head over. He was keenly aware of many pairs of eyes in the room swiveling over to watch.

Patrick seemed not to notice or care who was or wasn’t watching them. He grinned and hugged David close, then kissed him quickly. “Hi!” he said.

“Hey,” David said, crossing his arms. “So now the rest of the fire service has seen us kiss.”

“Won’t be the last time. This isn’t an emergency call, it’s a social event. No reason I can’t kiss my husband if I want to.” He looked down at David’s clothes. “I’ve seen that in the closet and wondered if you were ever going to wear it.”

David looked down at his black sweater, covered in a bright orange flame pattern. “It seemed on-theme,” he said, smirking.

“Well, if I say you look hot, will you murder me for the pun?”

“I’ll let it go this once.” He felt himself relaxing. Patrick’s ease at being...them, being this, in public was contagious. He unfolded his arms and slid one around Patrick’s shoulders. “Still not going to tell me what you’re singing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“If it’s ‘Gangnam Style’ I’m leaving you.”

Patrick laughed. “It’s not. But what an intriguing notion.” He glanced at his watch. “I better go, we’re about to start.”

“Break a leg, honey.”

“See you after.” He leaned up and kissed him again, his hand trailing across David’s waist as he stepped away.

David sat down with a sigh. “Well, I tried. We’ll just have to remain in suspense.”

The show featured some of the same acts from the last time. The B-boy dancing firefighters (Travis was very into that one), the cello woman, Jocelyn’s amazing ASL signing (this time to “Super Bass”). The Flash Points, the barbershop quartet, absolutely brought the house down with an arrangement of “Music of the Night” that had the entire audience spellbound, including David. “I don’t think I’ve ever not hated Andrew Lloyd Weber this much,” he said to Stevie, as everyone applauded.

They were the second-to-last act, which meant it was Patrick’s turn next. David fidgeted in his seat; Stevie reached over and took his hand, which was appreciated.

Patrick took the stage to wild cheers and applause. “Thanks,” he said. “I put them on second to last because I didn’t want anyone else to have to follow them, I’m willing to fall on that sword. Wasn’t that amazing?” he said, clapping and motioning to the Flash Points. “They weren’t going to tell you this, but the Flash Points will be competing in their first barbershop competition next month. We’ll all be wishing you the best of luck, guys.” The audience cheered and whooped some more. Patrick plucked a few chords, settling his guitar on his shoulder as everyone quieted down.

“Oh Lord,” David muttered. “Everyone is looking at me, aren’t they,” he whispered to Stevie.

“If I say no, will you calm the fuck down? They’re watching him. Get over yourself.”

Patrick smiled out at the audience like he didn’t have a care in the world. David hated him just a little. “Thanks everyone for coming out tonight. We raised almost four grand for the food bank, so well done, that’s a new record. And we have a new record for attendance tonight!”

“Gee, I wonder why that is,” David heard Travis mutter.

Patrick strummed a chord. “Tonight, I’d like to dedicate this song to my husband, now that you all know that I have one,” he said, with a cheeky grin. The whole place exploded in laughter and cheers. Someone patted David’s shoulder from behind him. Patrick waited, saying nothing for a moment. “I could say something about...that, but I won’t. I’ll just say that I’m glad to be able to share the most important part of my life with the most important job I’ll ever do, and the people who do it with me. With us. So this song is for the most important person in my life — David Rose.” He stepped back a little and began to play.

David was holding his breath, gripping Stevie’s hand tightly.

I call you when I need you, my heart’s on fire

You come to me, wild and wired…

Stevie sucked in a breath. “David,” she whispered.

He couldn’t speak. He could only watch, and listen, as the love of his life sang his favorite song to him, reimagined in a new way that made it totally his, totally theirs. His sweet voice turned the words from a power ballad to a quiet confession, a proclamation, a vow.

You’re simply the best, better than all the rest

Better than anyone, anyone I’ve ever met.

Oh, you’re the best.

David gulped in a breath and leapt to his feet with the rest of the audience, cheering and clapping. He knew there were tears on his face, but it didn’t matter. Patrick was taking a bow and thanking everyone for coming, and then leaving the stage. People were still clapping, milling around, gathering their coats and things, but David was watching Patrick. He set down his guitar, accepted a few accolades from the other performers, shook a few hands, but it was clear that he was trying to get out to the audience, to David.

When he was finally able to break free, everyone parted like the Red Sea to let him through. He strode down the aisle and David swept him into a hug, prompting another round of cheers and applause from people nearby. “Honey,” was all he could say.

Patrick drew back. “I hope I did Tina justice.”

“Are you kidding? You’ve ruined me for that song. All I’ll want now is your version.” He cupped Patrick’s face and kissed him, then pulled him back into his arms. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

“That was amazing, man,” Travis said, as they separated, keeping their hands linked. “You told me you played the guitar but I did not expect that.”

“Thanks,” Patrick said, his ears red.

“We should go out! Get a few drinks, celebrate!” Travis said.

“Can we come?” said Twyla, stepping close with Mutt, Ray and Hopkins and a few other guys from Patrick’s crew.

David checked Patrick’s face, but he looked delighted. It wasn’t surprising. Patrick would always want his crew to be part of his life, and now they really could be. “Everyone’s coming,” David said.

It ended up being a caravan of twenty-odd people who wound their way over to Expanse. The bartender looked confused at the sudden influx of people at 9 pm on a Wednesday, but happily started dishing up Cosmos and craft beers. Mutt pushed a few tables together and everyone crowded around, laughing and rehashing the night. Jocelyn did an impromptu ASL performance when “Rapture” came on, and everyone was stunned at Ray’s moves on the dance floor.

David stared, bemused. “I would not have thought Ray had that kind of game,” he said, watching as one club boy after another sidled up to Ray and was gently rebuffed. He and Patrick sat at one end of their misshapen oblong of a Frankentable, happily draped over each other. He could sense the looseness in Patrick’s body, relaxed and free around his friends and his crew, his wedding ring gleaming on his finger. David turned his head to nuzzle against Patrick’s cheek. “Being secret husbands was fun while it lasted, but this is better,” he said.

Patrick looked at him. “Yeah. It’s better.” He grinned and kissed David thoroughly. “Maybe we can scandalize old Hopkins down there.”

“We still have to work with all of them, honey. Let’s not show them anything they can’t un-see.”

“Boo. You’re no fun.” Patrick’s hand was creeping up David’s thigh.

“Maybe I’ll be more fun after another Cosmo,” he said, getting up. “Be right back.”

Patrick kept a hold of his hand for a second. “Don’t be gone long,” he said, shining those puppy dog eyes up at him. “I miss you when you’re gone.”

David shook his head and patted Patrick’s shoulder. “You’ll survive.” He went to the bar, set down his used glass, and signaled the bartender for another.

He was waiting for it to arrive when a very hot, jacked-up dude sidled up next to him. “Hey, sexy,” he said, in a low, seductive purr.

David looked him up and down. There was a time when he’d have thrown over anyone he was with to get with a guy like this, but now he wasn’t even tempted. Nobody compared to Patrick. “Hi,” he said, as noncommittally as possible.

“You are gorgeous,” Jacked Dude said. “I’d love to get to know you.”

David held up his left hand and waggled his wedding ring with one finger. “I’m here with my husband.”

“That’s okay, he can come, too. Is he as hot as you?”

“Well, I think so.”

Jacked Dude leaned closer. “I’m a personal trainer. What’s your husband do?” he asked, a “top that” challenge in his tone.

David glanced back at Patrick, laughing at their table with Travis and Stevie. He turned back to the dude and looked him right in the eyes.

“My husband is a firefighter.”