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There's something weird going on.
If it were just the times Tommy disappears into the bathroom to talk in hushed voices on the phone, or the three or four times he's gone dark for a few days in a row, or the weird scar on his ribs that he swears was shrapnel from a fire that not even Chim can remember happening, or the scratches that keep showing up on his arms–well, Buck wouldn't care quite so much. But add them all together?
Yeah. Weird.
He doesn't have time to really put a hypothesis together, though, because tonight's a full moon shift, it's barely past midnight, and he's already delivered twins, rescued a guy from a car crash that somehow ended up on a roof, and gotten pond water in his socks.
"Great big dog scaring people in Silver Lake," Bobby reports from the front seat as the engine pulls a U-turn and starts heading back the way they came. Buck really wishes he had a change of socks in here.
"And why can't animal control take care of this?" Eddie asks.
"Because it's–" Bobby checks his watch. "12:32 on Sunday morning, technically, and we're the ones on shift."
"It'll be fine," Buck says to Eddie. "Dogs love me."
Ten minutes later Buck's feeling smug as hell. The dog had walked right up to him, sniffed his hand, and followed him up into the truck. Eddie and the probie were now stuffed into the ambulance, and Bobby is directing the engine to the nearest 24-hour CVS.
"I'll be three minutes," Bobby says.
In the side mirror Buck can see Chim making faces at him through the ambulance's windshield.
The dog's got to be some sort of mix, Buck thinks, scrubbing a hand through his soft fur. Mastiff-Malinois-Malamute, maybe, if he's remembering his breeds right. Maybe the unscrupulous breeder had a wolf hybrid running around, too. He's well behaved, super polite, sitting quietly at Buck's feet, one paw resting on Buck's boot. And his eyes shine almost blue in the reflection of the dashboard lights.
"Where'd you come from, huh, buddy?" Buck asks as he pets the dog's ears, and the dog pushes his head back into the pressure. "Yeah, you like that, don't you."
"Alright," Bobby says, climbing back into the truck. "One extra-extra-large dog collar and a retractable leash. He's all yours until the shelters open."
Buck snaps the tag off the collar, picking up the stray bits of plastic where they landed on his lap and stuffing them into his pocket. Treated with silver to inhibit bacteria growth!, the tag advertises. "This looks fancy, Bobby," Buck says as he reaches down to wrap the collar around the dog's neck.
The dog whines, looking back up at him with sad eyes.
"I know, buddy, but it's just until we can find you a place to stay, okay?"
"Only the best for the 118," Bobby says. "You can be man behind for the rest of the shift. I don't want to risk him peeing on the floor."
Buck snorts with confidence. "He wouldn't pee on the floor. Would you, bud?"
If he didn't know better Buck would think the dog was shaking his head.
He feeds the dog a plate of leftover boneless chicken wings and mashed potatoes as the rest of the 118 peels out of the station to deal with a woman stuck in the fish tank at a hotel downtown. Then he channel surfs for an hour, the dog crawling up onto the couch and dropping his head into Buck's lap; then he mops both the locker rooms; then he fishes his phone out of his pocket and tries to call Tommy, but it goes straight to voicemail, which is weird because Tommy usually leaves his phone on when he's not on shift.
He googles Los Angeles County animal shelters, feels a wave of sadness wash over him, and closes the tab.
hey he types in his text thread with Tommy.
listen hopefully u turn ur phone on before i get home in the morning but we rescued a dog in silver lake and its kinda imprinting on me and i dont want to bring it to the shelter yet so i thought maybe id bring it back to urs if thats ok?
ill take it to the vet monday & see if its chipped
if thats ok with u
no dogs allowed at the loft
The messages don't change from Delivered to Read.
"Alright, pup," Buck says, and the dog's ears perk up. "Hopefully he's not mad."
The dog whines and ever so sweetly taps its paw against Buck's knee.
The engine comes back half an hour later, and Chim practically falls out of the ambulance door. "Listen, we all talked and we think you should name the dog–"
The bell rings.
"Never mind!" Chim calls, hauling himself back up into the ambulance. "Bye, Buck!"
There's nothing else to do, so Buck crawls into bed in the bunk room. After a minute the dog hops up next to him.
"Hey, bud," Buck says.
The dog blinks.
Buck lifts his phone, snaps a picture, sends it to Tommy–earlier messages still unread–and then sends it to Maddie.
OMG who is that
Buck grins. the big scary dog in silver lake, he types. shelters all closed so he's spending the night
His phone buzzes. It's a text from Josh: I'm literally shaking buy him brown contacts pls
don't be mean to my boy, Buck responds, and then he turns the screen off and stretches out in the bed.
The dog crawls right on top of him.
"Okay," Buck says, scratching him under the chin. "You're a little heavy for that."
The dog licks him, right on the mouth.
Buck pushes his finger against the dog's nose, trying to hold him just far enough away that his tongue stops making contact. "Please don't."
The dog whines, but he lets Buck push him off his ribcage so they can spoon.
"Like this," Buck explains, and he clicks off the bunk room light.
He's dreaming about wolves in the Alaskan tundra when something rhythmic and heavy wakes him, and he blearily blinks awake to find–
"Oh, no, no! Stop that," he yells, shoving the dog off of his legs. "Were you humping me?"
The dog whines pathetically. Buck clicks the light back on: the dog is staring up at him with sad, wet eyes.
"I'm flattered," Buck tells him, "but actually I'm not, because that's really weird and kinda gross, and you're a dog, and I–I have a boyfriend. Not that it matters. Because you're a dog. Okay?"
The dog drops his head onto his paws.
"Go sleep on the other bunk," Buck says.
The dog sighs, but he gets to his feet and hops off the bed and curls up on the floor.
"Yeah, whatever," Buck says. "I know you're not sorry."
He clicks the light back off.
When the sun comes up and the engine backs into the station everyone breathes a sigh of relief.
"Your dog looks kind of sick," Hen tells him as she sloughs off her turnouts.
Buck looks down. He does look a little unwell, to tell the truth. His fur is less glossy than it was earlier in the night, and some of it around his haunches is tufting like it wants to fall out. His eyes are still blue but now they're a little dull. He lifts his back leg and scratches pathetically at the collar, whimpering quietly.
"Well, shift's over," Buck says. "And, uh, animal control should be opening up soon, so I'll just–"
"Yeah, whatever," Hen says, waving him off.
Buck picks up his duffel, leashes the dog, and heads out to his Jeep.
The dog stumbles a couple of times as they walk in the sunshine, and Buck pledges to himself that the first thing he'll do Monday morning is call the nearest vet.
"Alright, buddy," he says, hopping into the front seat after loading the dog into the back. He shuts the door and turns around in the seat. "If I take that collar off, will you behave until we get to the house?"
The dog whines.
"I'll take that as a yes," Buck says, and he reaches over to unclip it.
The dog ripples and shimmers and–
"Oh," Buck says.
"Heeyyy," Tommy says, lifting one hand in an awkward wave.
He's naked and clearly embarrassed, what with the hot flush spreading down his whole body, and he's scrunched awkwardly into the backseat, and there's an angry red line around his neck where the collar had been sitting, and he's naked, and ten seconds ago he was a dog.
Buck processes all of that at lightning speed. "What?"
"So we should probably talk," Tommy says.
Buck reaches out and pokes him a few times, making sure he's really real. "I knew there was something–something hinky going on!"
"I can expla–wait, what?"
"You keep going dark on the full moons. You're always covered in scratches. The whispering. And everyone knows that fire you're always talking about didn't actually happen," he says, emphasizing each point with another poke to Tommy's chest.
"It did actually happen, I was just in wolf form when it–you know what, never mind. What are you talking about, the whispering?"
Buck frowns. "You got up in the middle of our Jeopardy marathon the other night to have a clandestine conversation in the bathroom."
"On Thursday? I was giving Jackie my ESPN login," Tommy says, but he looks a little shifty.
"One: I already know your ESPN login, if that were true you wouldn't have to hide in the bathroom. And two: none of your passwords are secure enough that they need twenty minutes!"
"Okay, fine!" Tommy yelps. "There's a guy over by the Silver Lake dog park who runs a space for werewolves during the full moon."
"Oh," Buck says, "like a doggy daycare?"
Tommy levels him with a glare.
"Or not."
"Anyway, it's a month to month thing and I was reserving my spot."
"Do you always go to werewolf daycare on the full moons?"
"It's not daycare," Tommy says. "But, uh, no, this is just so I don't, you know, wolf out when you could let yourself in at any time."
"Tommy," Buck says, a touch of sadness leaking into his voice. "You could've told me."
Tommy blinks. "Hi, Evan," he says, as deadpan as ever. "Just so you know, I turn into a wolf on the full moon."
"Yeah, you're right," Buck says. "But I know now, though. So you can wolf out at home, now, if you want."
"That's a conversation we can have later. When I'm not naked, in the back of your Jeep, maybe?"
"Right, right, you're right," Buck says. "Is your neck okay?"
Tommy rubs a hand against his throat. "Yeah, it's fine," he says. "The silver in that collar–"
"Oh, shit! Werewolves are allergic, aren't they?"
"How'd you know that?" Tommy asks, raising an eyebrow.
"That's werewolf lore 101," Buck says, his mind already bouncing to the next related topic. Because he's just remembered something from one of his late night scrolling binges, and it's got its claws in his frontal lobe and isn't letting go. "Hey, so do you… um, nevermind."
Tommy frowns. "Do I what?"
Buck can feel his face turning what must be a very vibrant shade of red. "It's nothing."
"Evan," Tommy says.
"Promise me you'll still like me," Buck begs him.
"Evan," Tommy says again.
Buck takes a deep breath. "Doyouhavethedogdick," he mumbles.
"What?"
"Sorry, it's just–it's all over tiktok, with the–the shifter romances and stuff–sorry."
"The what romances?"
Buck sighs. "Shifters? It's a whole thing, you know what? It's not important."
"Evan, I have no idea what you're–"
"Okay! Tommy!" Buck says. "I'm trying to ask if your dick does the dog knot thing where it gets all huge and then stuck in there–"
"Oh!" Tommy says, face clearing. "Yeah."
Buck's mouth drops open.
"Is that a problem?" Tommy asks. "It only happens on the days around the full moon, we can do something else tonight if you're in the mood–"
Buck lunges forward to cut him off. "I don't need any prep," he says, overwhelmed with how desperate he suddenly feels. "You can ram it in right here, okay?"
"Oh," Tommy says, eyes wide. "Well, can you wait, like, twenty minutes, so we can go do it on my king sized bed and not in the backseat of your Jeep in the 118's parking lot?"
"Come on, Tommy," Buck whines. "I need it."
Tommy shakes his head. "We're gonna be stuck together for half an hour and I don't want our first time doing that to be in the back of your car, no offense."
"Fine!" Buck yells, and he flips around in his seat and starts the Jeep. He's got it in reverse and halfway out of his parking spot before he even remembers his seatbelt.
"Oh, fuck," Tommy says, sliding across the backseat. "I'm still naked."
"There's a gym bag on the floor," Buck says, and in the rearview mirror he watches Tommy lean down and rifle through it, coming up with a pair of shorts that–
"Oh, that's–fine," Tommy says, reeling from the smell a little bit, but he slides them on anyway and buckles up.
"I want it, like, romantic missionary style," Buck tells him as he pulls out of the lot.
"It's not going to feel so romantic when your legs start to cramp up," Tommy says. "There's a reason they call it doggy style."
Buck catches his eye in the mirror. "Are you serious?"
"I'll hold you after, if you want," Tommy offers.
Buck stomps on the gas.