And this, at last, is the gift of Chernobyl. Where I once would fear the cost of truth, now I only ask: What is the cost of lies? x

The headline of the first article reads BELOVED FIRE CAPTAIN HONORED AFTER TRAGIC LOSS. LAFD captain Robert Nash was not a Los Angeles local, the text starts, but in his near-decade working for the city he made a huge impact. Having worked through every major disaster of the last few years, words of thanks and praise have poured out from citizens he worked tirelessly to save and fellow firefighters who were with him in the field. Not only

The newspaper is folded here. Eddie remembers the big picture they had right in the middle of it, Bobby in uniform from the LAFD website. He looked all stiff, had that strange swollen smile he alway had in photos he had to pose for. The top of it shows over the crease. Eddie doesn’t turn it over.

MIRACLE ON FOURTH STREET the second article declares. Bobby had made a face at the joke when Chimney had shown it to him in the hospital, and they’d all cracked up. LAFD fire captain Robert Nash, thought dead after last week’s gas explosion downtown, was found alive after four days buried under rubble from the blast. Rushed to Cedars Sinai in critical condition, this firefighter with nine lives is now

A fold in the paper. The photo had been of the 118 this time. Bobby’s smile was much more genuine, standing there with them all. Buck was standing next to him and even in the grainy newspaper reproduction his face was a little blurry because the camera had gone off as he was turning to look at him. You can still tell he was smiling, though.

Eddie doesn’t turn this one over, either. He stacks it carefully back under the first, and hides them where he found them in Buck’s drawer. Living out of a duffle bag tucked into the corner of what used to be- is- used to be his living room hasn’t proved particularly difficult, but he has lost track of all but one sock apart from the desperation pair with the holes in the toes. He figured Buck wouldn’t mind him borrowing a less threadbare option. Eddie closes the drawer empty handed and goes out to the living room, grabs the old pair. Follows the noises of metal whisk against metal bowl into the kitchen. Holds them up.

“I gotta do laundry, man.”

Buck looks over at them, a smile tugging his face around at the sight of the socks. “I’ll put in a load later,” he says, no particular inflection to his voice. Why would there be one? They’re just talking about laundry.

“Okay,” Eddie says.

“Cool,” Buck says. He turns back to his work.

Champagne is the last thing Buck is craving when he drags himself up the stairs of his apartment after a night spent watching the citizens of LA suffer the consequences of some of the worst decisions he’s ever seen. New Year’s Eve is always like that–some people can’t help but treat the end of the year like the end of the world–but the car accidents and overdoses and exploded fingers are hanging heavier on Buck’s shoulders than they have before. Even the familiar post-shift ache in his body feels less like the accomplishment and reassurance of his own strength that it usually is and more like another repetition of a cycle that will never end. The year will always end like this. People will always die. Buck will always hurt.

That cynicism sits in his stomach like a questionable convenience store sandwich. It doesn’t belong and his system is already starting to revolt. Eventually Buck will purge it–if it hasn’t poisoned him too badly in the meantime.

What if he did let his wolf take over fully? What if Eddie shifted into a wolf and stayed that way? It would please his parents, because he wouldn’t be fighting to get a chance to talk to his son. Chris would probably be happy too; the man who had failed him gone forever. Buck wouldn’t have to take pity on him and spend time with Eddie instead of going on dates to find his next big love. The team would also probably appreciate it because they wouldn’t have to carry his dead weight. The thought grows and grows in his mind. The wolf prowls restlessly inside, growing desperate to come out. To stay out.

A nervous excitement floods through Tommy as they wait for the Uber outside of the bar. It’s Evan: Evan is here, with him, one hand tucked neatly into Tommy’s back pocket and the other holding his phone as he watches the little car on his screen get closer and closer. It’s Evan, out of nowhere, at this out-of-the-way bar that Tommy has never been to before tonight, like a miracle or fate or something else that Tommy doesn’t believe in.  Maybe he’ll have to re-evaluate his stance on higher powers, though, because a strong breeze blows down the street and Evan tucks himself against Tommy’s side. Tommy wraps an arm around Evan, pulling him closer, and he lets out a happy little sound, burrowing further. He’s always cold, Tommy remembers, could never forget—could never forget a single thing about this man he’s been desperate to call for months. It had taken him about two days after the breakup to lick his wounds and lower his shoulders enough to realize he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. He just didn’t think he’d get the opportunity to walk it back.  Now, though, Evan is here, shivering against him and nosing along his neck. Evan drops an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of Tommy’s jaw, then licks over it. Now Tommy is shivering too.  “You cold?” Tommy asks.  “Yeah.” The word is hot and humid against Tommy’s neck. Another kiss, another lick: Evan digging his tongue into Tommy’s skin.  Tommy tilts his head to the side to give Evan better access, heart pounding. This is happening. He wraps his other arm around Evan’s back, pulls him in tighter, more securely, more snugly. He never wants to let go again.  “How’s that?” he whispers into Evan’s ear.  Their hips fit together and Evan moans softly. He clings onto Tommy with both hands: the one still in Tommy’s back pocket, squeezing his ass, and the other now snaking up to cradle Tommy’s face. Tommy could almost let himself think that Evan missed him too.  “Tommy,” Evan whispers. He pulls away from Tommy’s neck, looks at him—into his eyes for a moment, roves over his cheeks, then Evan drops his gaze to Tommy’s mouth. There’s an almost smile on his lips, more like a smirk, a brief flash of something wondrous, and then he’s diving in.