Golden Threads
Disclaimer: I don't own 9-1-1. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Two:
Evan was 18 years old when Amelia Dawson smashed her way into his life. He was partway through his second year at MIT, thoroughly uninterested in anything beyond a casual hook-up as far as women were concerned, and her older brother was his roommate. She was a freshman at Boston University, she'd stopped by her brother's room to remind him of their brunch plans, and she'd found Evan instead, hungover, alone, and regretting all of the life choices that had lead him there.
It hadn't been love at first sight, but she'd hung out for a while, and over coffee, bagels, and casual conversation, they'd developed a decent enough rapport to exchange their social media and contact information, and that was that. A steady friendship ensued, and despite Evan's every intention to remain commitment-free for the duration of his time at MIT, they were dating a few months later.
In the years since then, they've married, moved cities, lost friends, found family. They've started (or changed) careers, and somehow muddled their way through the bewildering experience that was (and remains) being an adult. Adulting. Living life. Getting by.
Mostly, it's a work in progress, but they're doing what they can.
There's a cafe near their apartment building that they frequent often, with excellent pastries and even better coffee, and it's where they've planned to meet after their respective shifts. Amelia's already there, a cup of hot chocolate at her elbow, engrossed in a novel, her brown hair unbound from the braided bun she usually wears to work.
Upon sight of her, Evan's smile is immediate. He's still tired, still starving, but eight years of Amelia in his life - of big fights, and small fights, of deployments, of good times, bad times, and all of the times in between - hasn't dimmed the comfort he finds in her presence, the love in his heart, the knowledge that wherever she is, he is home.
"Mia," he drops into the empty seat across from her, and their legs tangle beneath the table.
"Hey, you," Mia greets him with a smile of her own. She dog-ears a page and closes her book - 'Hunger' by Roxane Gay - and Evan sighs, long-suffering. She rolls her eyes, and they both opt not to pursue the issue - it's an old argument - and instead, she asks, "How are you? How did it go? Did you love it?"
"I loved it," he confirms, and he couldn't suppress his grin if he tried, but that's okay, because it's an expression mirrored on Amelia's face.
"Tell me everything."
Without ado, he does. He babbles, before they order breakfast, after they order breakfast, between mouthfuls of a breakfast sandwich (with a side of sliced fruits) that he demolishes with enthusiasm. He describes his new coworkers, the calls they'd responded to throughout their shift, the time he'd spent at the station, and all the while, Mia listens attentively, asks questions, reacts in all the right ways, in all the right places.
Amelia is happy for him. She's terrified for his wellbeing, of course, but she's also supportive of his dreams, and Evan is grateful for it. He's not sure what he (or they, as a couple) would do if she didn't approve of his choice for a post-military career, but he definitely knows he doesn't want to find out.
"You look happy.".
He shrugs, sheepish. "It's nice to feel like I'm doing something useful. I guess I've been restless."
"You have been, but I'm glad it went well," she winks playfully, "Purpose looks good on you."
Never particularly adept at receiving compliments, Evan diverts Amelia with questions about her own shift. She's an ER nurse at Cedars-Sinai, fond of her work, and fond of her colleagues, as well. Better yet, she's a delightful storyteller, and as she regales him with some of the more comical anecdotes of her recent shifts over their refills of hot chocolate and orange juice, respectively, Evan is entertained, enthralled, engrossed in the telling.
Unfortunately, the feeling doesn't last. He seems to hit a wall around the same time Amelia does, suddenly swamped with a sense of fatigue he can't shake for the life of him. He could continue on, regardless - Hell Week is no joke - but he won't feel any less tired for doing so.
The thing is, Evan doesn't have to. There's an entire day of no plans ahead of him, and all the time in the world to catch up on the sleep he's lost.
Amelia yawns into her hand, contemplates her watch - a dainty, silver thing - and queries, "Should we go? Pretty sure I'm going to crash soon."
"Sure," Evan acquiesces.
They pay for their meal, leave a tip, and shuffle out of the cafe side by side.
"Where'd you park?"
"At home," Evan replies, dons his sunglasses, and turns himself towards their apartment building, "Same as you."
The walk to their building is short and uneventful, spent mostly in companionable silence. The weather's beautiful, the sky a crystal clear blue, the crisp, autumnal chill in the air a pleasant counterpoint to the California sunshine.
It really is regrettable that they'll spend half the day unconscious.
"We'll have to go shopping later," Mia recalls in the elevator. She yawns into her hand, and blinks away the reflexive tears. "Sleep first, though."
Evan hums his acknowledgement. "We need to do some laundry, as well."
In their apartment, Evan throws a load of washing into the washing machine (but doesn't start it) as Amelia heads straight for the shower. He sorts through their mail, unpacks the dishwasher, and empties out the trash, and when he returns, the shower's free, Amelia's getting dressed, and Evan's ready for some sleep.
He races through a shower of his own, brushes his teeth and all the rest of it, and when he's done, he starts the washing from earlier, throws on a pair of boxers, and joins Amelia in bed. SHe's already half asleep.
"Night," she murmurs sleepily, rolls onto her side, and passes out almost immediately.
"Night," Evan echoes, amused, closes his eyes, and soon follows suit. Tired, and thrumming with a sense of accomplishment after a productive day, Evan's sleep - for the first time in a long while - is restful, and entirely dreamless.
-!- -#-
Author's Note: Tried to cross post on AO3, but it didn't work out. Too bad though - The 9-1-1 fandom over there is thriving. Very much all about the #buddie, but there's only so much #idiotsinlove I can handle.
Also, I have issues with Eddie's behaviour post lawsuit (the quote "You're exhausting" comes to mind, and not in a good way), so, yeah, maybe I'll make Buck bisexual in this, but if I do, it won't have much bearing on the plot, or on his relationship/s.
No idea what I'll do for Chapter 3. The next scene I've written out relates to the 'Let Go' episode, but chronologically speaking, there's actually a few months between when Buck starts at the 118 and 'Let Go'. I have some ideas, but am also open to recommendations. Remember, this is a character-driven, slice of life, Drabble kind of series (like, what even is a plot?) so yeah, hit me up. I make no promises about following through, but if you can help kickstart the muse…
Anyway, hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t-.