Chapter Text
DAY 1
First days were always the best and worst days for Blake. He’s always been a social guy; making friends was one of his favorite things to do and it made him quite a popular guy at the Fire Academy, if he did say so himself. And by the time he graduated, at the top of his class too, Blake liked to think he was a bit of a commodity.
The only weird thing about leaving the academy was when he got his assignment; Station 118, was what his email had read. It sounded familiar, but Blake didn’t think anything of it, until his class was all sharing where they were each going. When Thompson and Cruz had turned to ask him about his, Blake had proudly announced: “I got 118, ladies and gentlemen!”
Instead of the loud cheers some of the other people got, Blake got a few winces and some ducked heads. There were even a few people snickering.
What the hell?
He looks at his friends and Thompson just gaps at him like he’s an idiot.
“What?” Blake asks, pouting and so close to stomping his feet like a six year old.
“Dude, seriously?”
“What? The 118’s cool right?” He tries to laugh, but it comes out more nervous sounding. “I think I remember hearing about them on the news.”
“Good-fucking-luck, Miller.” Someone else—Giordano—calls out from the other side of the room, guffawing with Jamison next to him.
“Your days are numbered, Blakey-Blake.”
“Hope you got magic powers, man.”
“Blake, it was nice knowing you. For real.”
One by one the class starts to practically read him his obituary and Blake can feel himself get increasing paler as the seconds tick past. How bad is this station house that everyone seems to know about it…that it even has that big of a reputation in the first place.
“The 118 is cool, man.” Logan approaches him after he’s slid back down in his seat. “Had an instructor who transferred back there. Said A-shift was a bit nuts, but B and C-shifts were chill. So you know what shift you got?” Those words were comforting until Blake remembered that he was meant to report in for A-shift.
The only thing he got after he told them that was a, “sorry man,” from Cruz and a sympathetic look filled with petty from Logan.
And now here he was, LAFD-issued duffle slung over his shoulder as he stood outside of Station 118. He stares up at the red number hanging on the side of the building beside the giant, open bay doors and can’t help but feel his nerves start to set in. His shift is meant to start in about fifteen minutes but he can’t seem to get his feet to cooperate. So he just stands there until a shadow falls across him.
Blake startles, turning to find a man with fluffy brown hair and a crinkled smile looking back at him. He wonders if the man is lost or needs something, otherwise why would he be at a fire station at 8 in the morning. Although he certainly looks like he takes care of himself, probably works out, but he’s not in uniform and isn’t carrying a duffle like Blake, so probably not a fellow colleague.
He gets ready to ask if the guy needed any help when the other beats him to the punch.
“I’d ask if you were lost…but…” The man gestures to the bag Blake is carrying and for a second he’s forgotten that said item had the LAFD logo emblazoned atop it.
It feels embarrassing, for some reason, to be caught like some idiot outside of his own place of work. Blake resists the urge to duck his head, instead puffing his chest out and nods, “yeah, I work here.”
“Hmm.” The man hums, still smiling, so Blake doesn’t feel too judged. He seems friendly. “Must be the new probie Evan mentioned.”
“Oh! Uh, yeah…” Who’s Evan? He thinks to himself, but doesn’t get a chance to ask when the guy—who still hasn’t introduced himself yet—claps him on the shoulder and all but guides him inside.
And…wow. The station is huge. People are milling about but no one really pays much attention to Blake or the man beside him. But he’s much too distracted by the facilities of the 118. It looks fancy, too, from what he can see, all tall vaulted ceilings with exposed beams and neutral colored walls with red and chrome fixtures. There’s even a wall made of glass that is…weirdly…displaying the locker room. Blake can’t help but stare at the oddity for a few long moments, because why would anybody want to give a locker room a wall that is completely see-through?
He also doesn’t get much chance to ask about that before friendly-stranger-guy is leading him to a set of stairs that leads up to a loft style space. There are clearly people up there and Blake can vaguely hear the conversation they’re having.
There’s a voice—a guy—that sounds unhappy as he says to someone else: “I just don’t like new people.”
Oh, they were talking about Blake. He doesn’t know how to feel about that.
More voices join the fray.
“You liked Eddie.” Another man, more distinguished sounding, responds easily.
“I wanted to stab him with the air pump, Bobby.”
Blake’s eyes widen at the violent implications.
“You like Ravi.” This time it was a woman.
“I—”
Whatever the man was going to say was cut off by someone else, whose voice sounded the youngest out of all the current ones—maybe someone Blake’s age, and doesn’t that give him hope that he might actually make an easy friend here.
“He chased me around with a chainsaw.”
Jesus Christ, what the fuck?! Blake is sure his jaw is practically on the ground if he were more weak willed, though his knees suddenly feel a little more jello-ish as he climbs the rest of the steps unsteadily. He’s suddenly glad to have the friendly-stranger-guy’s hand on his shoulder, just in case.
“Heeeey.” It was the first guy, dragging out the one word in a whiny drawl. “I apologized for that.” If Blake were a betting man—and he sometimes is amongst friends when things are low stakes—he’d bet that the guy must be pouting epically right now.
“…yeah, you certainly have.” Youngest guy sounds a little breathless…wistful and…that’s a little weird. It might just be Blake’s nerves affecting him more.
“Ew. Ewewew.”
That’s the last thing he hears before the friendly-stranger-guy calls out:
“Probie delivery! Come and get ‘em!”
An Asian man pops his head out over the balcony and Blake’s first thought was: is that was Evan? But then he’s stepping onto the top landing and there’s at least 5 pairs of eyes staring at him from various corners of the casual lounge and dining space.
“Um…hi?” Blake wants to smack himself, he sounds like an idiot.
“What? You got a new job you forgot to tell us about, Tommy?” The Asian guy from earlier was the first to speak.
“Growing family; mouths to feed. You know how it is, Howie.” Stranger-guy quips back.
So the guy who had brought Blake up to the loft is Tommy and he clearly is familiar with the firehouse, though that still doesn’t explain who he is. Maybe he was a firefighter at the 118. But then Blake is distracted by this whole giraffe of a man—legs for miles, his head supplies—stepping up to him. For a moment, all he could see was the man’s legs stretched out before him in standard LAFD uniform pants. Then he sees the muscles, biceps nearly bulging out of his short shirt sleeves as he crosses his arm over his chest.
The man stares at him with narrowed blue eyes, a head full of curls tilted to one side as he looks Blake up and down. It feels like an inspection and it makes him want to squirm under the intense gaze.
“Uh…” He opens his mouth to say something. What, he doesn’t know.
Giraffe-guy squints harder, then says, “you’re like a baby.”
Ouch, Blake thinks, suddenly a little self conscious about his age. But he was above legal drinking age at 23, even if on occasions he’d been told that he looked like a fresh 18.
“Buck!” An older guy standing behind the stove in the kitchen calls out and suddenly giraffe-guy—Buck, apparently—mumbles a soft apology, though Blake doesn’t think he looks too sorry given blue eyes are still staring at him like Blake had done something wrong. Which he hasn’t…he’s only just arrived for God’s sake.
“Buckaroo, pretty sure Ravi is only a few years older.” A dark skinned woman, the same one he had heard earlier Blake is sure, speaks up. She’s looking at the youngest (himself aside) guy in the group where he’s perched atop a stool, barely even looking like he’s paying attention.
Blake really should say something, but once again, he’s not given much of a chance when Buck lets out a loud gasp as he stares at Ravi (supposedly) and then at Tommy (still standing next to Blake).
“Am I—are we—” Buck gasps again and stumbles back half a step.
“Great.” Howie—the Asian man—sighs overly dramatically. “Think you broke him, Hen. And shift hasn’t even started yet.”
“Are we—robbing th—”
One second Ravi was still on the stool and the next he’s got a hand fisted in the back of Buck’s uniform collar, all but dragging the taller man away. Buck whines—the same one Blake had heard earlier—but doesn’t try to fight the manhandling; he actually looks…happy?
Blake doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought because the older man in the kitchen is coming over with one hand held in front of him, “Bobby Nash, Captain of the 118. You must be Blake Miller.”
“Y-yes. It’s nice to meet you, Captain Nash.” Blake blinks rapidly as he quickly steps forward to catch the other man’s hand. He makes sure his grip is firm, something his grandpa had always taught him as a kid, and tries to smile as naturally as possible. It’s only meeting new people, and Blake is a people-person. But first day jitters still exist.
“Bobby, please.” The Captain insists and his welcoming smile helps calm Blake’s nerves a little.
“Or Cap when the occasion calls for it.” Howie steps forward to shake his hand once Bobby steps back. “I’m Chimney.”
“Not…Howie?” He glances from How—Chimney—to Tommy, who just gives him a tiny shrug and another crinkled smile.
“Chimney, only. Don’t listen to that loser over there.” A finger is pointed behind Blake at Tommy.
Blake nods, “so…why are you called Chimney?”
“You’re too young to hear about it. Maybe when you’re an adultier adult.”
With that Chimney moves off and back to where he had been sprawled on one of the couches; the dark skinned woman introduces herself.
“Hen.” Short and succinct, but it wasn’t rude. She had smiled and her brown eyes sparkling warmly.
A few other stragglers come and greet Blake, every single person exuded friendliness and his nervousness gets a lot better. Though he still can’t help but to look over towards the direction Buck and Ravi had disappeared off to. There’s a part of him that wants to ask.
And as if reading his mind, Bobby says, “that was Buck and Ravi.”
“R-right.” Blake can’t say he doesn’t find whatever had happened earlier a little weird but he chalks it up to meeting new people; there's always bound to be some weird and confusing things, right?
“You get used to them.” Hen reassures him.
Blake nods.
Chimney scoffs, loudly, “no you don’t. You just learn to live with it.” He joins Hen at the table, sitting down in the seat next to her.
Bobby (with the help of Tommy) is starting to bring out dishes after dishes of delicious breakfast foods that have Blake’s mouth watering.
“Awwww, com’on Howie. You’ll hurt their feelings.” Tommy sets down a giant plate of bacon.
“Why are you here again, Kinard? You don’t work here anymore.”
And then Chimney is reaching over for a piece of bacon just as Tommy lifts the plate away again, setting it down on the spot furthest away from the Asian man. There’s a bit of a tousle and some cursing before Bobby calls everyone to eat.
Blinking, Blake looks from the feast to Bobby, who is smiling widely as he turns.
“Here at the 118, we eat our meals together. Always.” Bobby claps him once on the back before moving to grab his own food.
Someone—he thinks Tommy—hands him a plate also.
And okay…
So the 118 is definitely a little weird. But it was hardly as strange of a place as some of his cohort had made it out to be. Blake had thought getting assigned here was some sort of death sentence. Everything seemed perfectly normal—for the most part. He does realize halfway through his meal that Tommy was no longer at the table and he had no idea when the man had even left.
But he does return not too long later with Buck and Ravi in tow, all three looking a little flushed. Maybe they’d gotten into a little tiff over Buck’s odd standoff-ish attitude for new people.
When they sit down though, Buck flashes him a smile so bright Blake has to blink away the light spots forming in his retinas. Maybe things will be fine after all. Plus, the food alone might be worth it.