Caleb
Caleb likes his job. He likes helping people and saving lives; he likes the thrill of jumping into action and the allure of danger creeping up his bones every time he enters a building covered up in flames. Most of all he likes change, though. To see the people, the things he's interacting with, scorched by fire but still rising against the odds to be reshaped and renewed, and stronger than ever.
He's seen it happen countless of times. He made it happen a few.
It's not unusual for the people they've helped to come by the station some time later and bring little trinkets of gratitude. Sometimes it's a bag of nice coffee, sometimes a picture of a child, alive and happy, and sometimes it's just a kind word: a wish of good fortune; a prayer. So Caleb's not in the least surprised when he sees a man come strolling in, a wrapped up tray of something in one hand, looking vaguely out of place.
He's seen people like that before, too; lost but determined to fulfill whatever quest their misfortune compelled them to resolve here.
The man looks around like he's never seen the inside of a fire station before, and maybe he hasn't. He doesn't come off as thrown aback or particularly dumbstruck, though, and as soon as he spots Caleb leaning against one of the poles, he makes a beeline straight for him.
"You Caleb?" he asks in a tone that Caleb cannot identify as neither annoyed nor curious.
"Why?"
The man rubs his upper lip with his free thumb and doesn't look him in the eye when he asks his next question.
"Listen, um. You know Ian Gallagher?"
Of course he does. But Caleb hasn't thought about Ian in years.
He heard the guy got involved in some religious gay revolution and took a fall for it — his face flashed in the news a few times, after all — but that was that. No longing, no hard feelings, no nothing. So why is this man even here, Caleb cannot comprehend. Gallagher is a closed chapter in his life and while he can admit he is a man of many vices, dwelling on the past is definitely not one of them. So why scratch it out now?
"I used to, yeah. Why are you asking?"
"I, um" — there's a pause when the man starts to fidget as if standing still would suddenly physically hurt him and Caleb's not sure if he should get suspicious or maybe worried. It doesn't last long enough for him to think that no response will eventually follow, but looking at a twitching man before him Caleb starts to feel a little tetchy himself — "I wanted to thank you."
Okay, that's unexpected. It's not like he and Ian parted on good terms, exactly, and Caleb thinks this has a potential to quickly turn into one of the weirdest conversations he's had in a while.
"What for? I haven't seen the guy in years. And what's it to you, anyway?" he asks, because the silence would feel even more surreal.
"I'm his husband."
Even though Caleb can clearly hear a defensive note in his voice, the man doesn't look much fazed by what he's just revealed. And he's actually looking at Caleb this time, too, with a magnitude that surely would've been impressive if Caleb weren't at least a foot taller than him.
But that's. Wow. That huge. That's news if he's ever heard one, and certainly not the kind you'd expect to hear randomly on a lazy morning shift. And it also can't be anything new, per se, judging by the easy confidence the man is holding himself with and Caleb can't help but feel a little sting somewhere deep inside.
Ian's husband quirks his brow at him quizzically, and well. Isn't that a weird thought? There was a time, a short time when they were good and happy — before everything promptly went to hell — when Caleb thought that maybe one day this label would be his.
"Okay?"
The man before him must be growing impatient with his uncooperative questions because he huffs, scratching his forehead and rolls his eyes. Caleb's pretty sure that whatever he came here for isn't gonna end in pleasantries.
"Listen, I've been running into all his fuckin' exes for the last few months like a parade of fuckin' Ghosts of Christmas Past so I figured I'd just bite the bullet and come see you myself."
"And why would you do that, man. I don't even care."
"Yeah, well." The man makes a small abortive gesture before extending a tray filled with what looks like homemade sugar cookies to him. "These for you," he says noncommittally.
Caleb looks at him in disbelief.
"I don't get it." And he really doesn't. "You show up here out of nowhere, God knows how did you even track me down, you give me cookies and want to thank me? What for? Fucking your husband before you guys even met?"
And maybe it's a little harsh of him to attack the man like that, but Caleb didn't ask for any of this. He was about to have a pleasant morning with his workout routine, help someone on the run and then maybe finally finish his last sculpture after he got home. Not this. Digging into the past like it's no big deal; like he wasn't also affected by their fallout and has no scars to be itching anew. Because sure, he might've been the one to fuck up that time, but it doesn't mean he didn't care. A lot. Yet here he is, hot as ever but still as single, while Ian's fucking husband comes bragging into his life with a tray of goddamn cookies.
Maybe his father is wrong after all and there is no mercy for the righteous, because this gotta be some cruel cosmic joke.
"Nah, we go way back," the man says with a small smile, completely unaware of the turmoil he's causing in Caleb's mind. Good for him. "Thanks, uh. For taking care of him. When I wasn't around."
It's clear as day that he's not comfortable being this vulnerable with a stranger at all, and the painful knot that swelled in Caleb's chest at his last words eases up a little. Unfair as it may be, at least he's talking to somebody brave enough to wear his softer side out proud. It's not something Caleb sees often enough, even among his usual crowd.
And who knows, maybe when he's calmed down later, he will be a little happy for Ian to have found this. Even if with somebody else. Or maybe especially because of that.
"Well, that's messed up," he jokes because really, what else is he supposed to do?
"Alright, calm down," the man snarks back without missing a beat, all dry amusement and exasperation now and something in Caleb rears back for a second. They go way back. As in before Caleb? And maybe it's none of his business — hell, it probably, pointedly, very much isn't — but before Caleb means that one relationship Ian was always talking about in the strangest of contexts; always refusing to call it abuse but at the same time so clearly reeking of trauma it made Caleb wince a lot, in the beginning. And that's his husband now?
It boils Caleb's blood a little.
He remembers that time when he told Ian he strives to seek in things what they could be instead of what they are, to look for a new life in them; he remembers laughing at the concept of their relationship being exactly that but wasn't it, in the end?
He met Ian shattered; full of hard edges and barely holding on. He met him lost and angry — at the world, but mostly himself — wading aimless through the muds of his presumably ruined life. And he looked past all of that. Past the rage and the hurt and the disappointment. Past all the doubt, past helplessness, surrender and defeat. He looked past his slummy roots and quick fists and saw someone beautiful. And not only on the outside. He saw someone strong and resilient, a man who could and would achieve something great if he were only able to look past his own shortcomings.
And Caleb knew Ian couldn't do that himself. Not then, when he felt so powerless in the face of all the odds stacking up against him. So Caleb did it for him. He pushed and pushed, never giving in to the self-pity and endless excuses. And he did a real damn good fucking job.
And now the guy who left the man that Caleb used to love in so many pieces — pieces that Caleb picked up — is here, thanking him for all that heavy lifting? And he is so obviously happy? Caleb isn't a vindictive person. He never was. As someone so deeply in love with life itself he finds it infinitely easier to just… let go of the ugly parts. But Ian's husband came looking for him himself, and Caleb's not gonna just let that slide.
After all, there is nothing worse than the injured pride of an artist. And what he made of Ian was a work of art.
"Wait," he says, trying to mentally gauge the reaction his next words are going to score him. "Aren't you that shitty ex he was always bringing up?"
"Not a fuckin' ex anymore, am I."
The change in atmosphere is instantaneous.
The man seemingly curls into himself like a viper ready to strike, but Caleb never learned not to poke dangerous animals.
"That's you, though, is it? The one that used to bash him and then got married to a whore?"
"Whatever. What do you care, bitch? Just take the damn things so I can go home." The man is now all but shoving the tray into his chest, looking angry and uncomfortable, his brows tightly furrowed and lips clashed in a thin line. Caleb isn't done, though.
"How come you're even out? Weren't you supposed to be doing like fifteen years for attempted murder or something?"
"Shut the fuck up."
"Nah, I don't think so. You wanted to talk. So let's talk."
Caleb can almost see the man vibrating with the urge to punch him, but starting a fight in a room full of ripped firemen is a spectacularly bad idea and probably something even he knows he can't afford. Caleb smirks and grabs the cookie tray from him.
"What's your problem, Human Torch?" the man snaps in an ugly snarl, jabbing his finger into Caleb's chest. It's an odd angle, but Caleb can see the reflection of his wedding bands on a tattooed knuckle. He can also see the moment the man pulls himself together, turning away from Caleb and blinking for a second too long, as if seeking comfort in the darkness of his own mind. And then he looks straight into Caleb's eye again, but this time the fire burning behind his blue gaze is enough to freeze Caleb into a pause.
"You want me to talk? Fine, I'll talk." His tone is light and what he says is calm, but Caleb has no doubts it's that type of deadly calm you feel before the worst of storms.
"I wanted to be nice, you know," he starts, with every word leaning a little bit closer into Caleb's space. "You might be a cheating piece of shit, but you were fuckin' there to put Ian together when I couldn't. You gave him a fuckin' purpose to fight for and I appreciate that 'cause fuck knows he must've been a fuckin' mess after everything went down" — he takes a breath and Caleb thinks that maybe he's done, but that couldn't possibly be it — "but fuck you!" — ah, there it is — "You don't get to judge me or what me and Ian have based on a half-ass story you heard from a fucked up kid once upon a time. This ain't fairy tale, bitch, and you ain't the fuckin' knight!"
By the time he's finished, the man is panting from anger like he'd just run up a mile and Caleb's not sure what he's supposed to say now. He didn't expect this man, this thug, really, to be self-aware enough to recognize the damage he's done but also to actively acknowledge Caleb's part in the healing process.
He's at the loss, pondering how far he can stretch not answering before he gets punched in the face, consequences be damned, but he is saved by the sudden, loud wailing noise of the siren going off and Caleb doesn't think anymore when he jumps into action. He puts the unfortunate cookies on the counter aside, already moving to grab his gear. But before he even has a chance to so much as shift towards the lockers, there's a hand on his shoulder swiftly turning him around. A mocked 'hey, Caleb' rings in his ears through the commotion and a stinging pain blooms across his cheek.
He doesn't really have time to process the thought that the man just bitch-slapped him like a teenage girl in a drama movie, but he does see a middle finger raised in salute and a 'have a nice life, asshole' shouted after the truck.
Later, much, much later when Caleb will look back to this day, free of the emotions it brought in the moment of heat, he will think that maybe, maybe he deserved both the cookies and the slap.
A/N: 'Tis my favorite :3 I'd say I take no criticism but actually no. Y'all are more than welcome to come shout at me!
Tumblr at takenene if you wanna chat!