Chapter Text
There’s something particularly depressing about the rain, Kent thinks to himself as he looks out at the front of the station. It doesn’t happen often, here in Vegas it’s more sunny than not, but that just makes it even more depressing when it does. He wrinkles his nose as a fat water droplet falls from the metal overhang of the roof and splats on the ground and him in the process.
It’s going to be a rough one. It always is. Nobody actually knows how to drive in the rain in this city, due to the aforementioned fact that it never actually rains so they never get any practice. Plus the whole thing where tourists also don’t know how to drive in the city to begin with. It’s, well, it’s never boring. That’s for sure.
He scuffs where the edge of the dirt and the concrete meet. If he was in more of a wistful mood he might be more willing to acknowledge the fact that the weather is all but a reflection of his current mood. Dark, dreary, fucking depressing.
“Parse,” someone calls from behind.
He snaps his head up and turns around, trying to plaster on a grin. He doesn’t need the firehouse to worry about him. They’ve all but motherhenning him since Jack took a leave of sabbatical. He got injured once and instead of coming back after physical therapy wanted to find himself or something. He turns to give whoever it is their needed reassurance that he’s not going to end up as one of their next calls as soon as he heads off shift. He has a roommate, okay? With a kid. He’s got this handled. (Even if everything feels a little dull and the edges of the world aren’t quite as sharp as they used to be and there’s a hollow ache that gnaws at the edge of his soul). He’s fine.
Someone comes up behind him and slaps his back as he walks further into the bay. He nearly chokes on his spit. Yup, Scraps. He tries not to outwardly wince. If he does then Scraps’ll make it a whole thing and he’ll have to remind them that once upon a time he’d been the top of his class. Maybe he should’ve let Jack be first, maybe then Jack wouldn’t have left, a particularly unhelpful voice rises from the depths of his mind.
He shakes his head. “Yo, what’s up?”
“New recruit!” the probie Kyle pipes up pointing to where the captain is.
Kent feels all the air get sucked out of his lungs. They’re not replacing Jack are they?
Scraps ribs him from the side. “New partner, eh?”
Kent feels himself nod dumbly. He doesn’t need a new partner though. He has one.
Jeff doesn’t feel particularly attached to the firehouse as he’s walked through it by the captain. Robert Zimmermann, call me Bob, is perfectly fine. But he can’t help but feel like there’s something…off about the house. He probably should’ve gone with one closer to home but his wife had died and his parents had been trying to commandeer his son out from underneath him all while still somehow smothering him.
So he’d taken John up on the offer to join the LVFRD.
The ceilings feel intimidating in their height and there’s a heavy air that’s all but sunk into the structure of the building itself. The fire engines gleam bright yet somehow harsh. He tries not to jump when something claps from behind. PTSD is a bitch but he’s still trying and his therapist says that’s something to be proud of. Progress isn’t linear.
He turns and finds himself face to face with a pretty blond man who looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Jeff has the sinking realization that he’s the ghost. Every ticking second feels like a countdown to an explosion. Bob grips his arm from behind and Jeff swallows.
John strolls in between the two parties and the tension in the air dissipates but doesn’t disappear. He claps Jeff on the shoulder. “Kent, this is Jeff, Jeff this is Kent. Although we normally just call him Parse.”
He notices the moment Kent becomes resigned to his fate. How his back straightens, how his eyes narrow, how his mouth turns up into a smirk.
“No nickname for the new guy? Everyone has a nickname here.” He rattles the list off, ending on Scraps and how you shouldn’t ask why because he won’t tell. Both the captain and John stiffen.
Jeff rolls his eyes. “If it matters, you can call me Swoops. It’s what the guys called me in the army.”
John laughs, “I thought you hated that name.”
Jeff just smiles, “Well, if I need a nickname I guess it’ll do.” He winks at Kent before turning back to Bob. “So if I just put my stuff in the locker?”
Bob perks up, “Yeah, right this way.”
They turn away from Kent and Scraps but a wounded noise has them both turning back to him.
“But Jack,” Kent manages to get out.
“Will come back when he’s ready,” Bob replies.
“But,” Kent warbles out, “you have to have some inkling of when that’ll happen. I mean you’re his-”
“He’ll come back when he’s ready,” Bob cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. Kent appears appropriately chastened but something tugs at Jeff even as he turns. Something’s off. He’s just not sure what.
Kent seethes. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. Bob can’t give him preferential treatment just because he used to date his son. Not that anyone at the firehouse really knew, but still. The hoops they had to go through to even be allowed to all work together and the amount of paperwork that had been filled out is enough of a reminder. What he got was special, he just has to be patient and he can have it again.
It’s just that he doesn’t like Jeff, Swoops, whatever his name is. He wishes he could claim that he’s smug or that he doesn’t gel with the rest of the crew but it’s been just over an hour and everyone on the shift seems to think he’s the next best thing since sliced bread.
Scraps has already teased him about languages and come out with the knowledge that he speaks Spanish. It took him a week to get it out of Kent that he kind of understood French from his time in low level hockey. Kyle’s already enamored with his career in the military and of course John actually already knew Jeff. Even Bob looks on at him with a soft smile he usually reserved for Jack and sometimes Kent if he was lucky.
And maybe if he were a little more honest with himself he’s annoyed because he knows Jack and Jeff would get on like a house on fire. Ironic as they’re firefighters, but still.
It’s the annoyance that sends him after Jeff who’s working out at the punching bag to square up like he’s ready to take him on. He’s not, he’s well aware of that. Jeff’s got multiple inches on him in height and width. He’s thick as a barrel and probably just as boring. He blows his hair out of his eyes as he walks up.
Jeff pulls back from the punching bag, putting his hands down against his hips, “Can I help you?”
A lot of things sit on the edge of Kent’s tongue. He wants to say Yes, you can leave. Or what the fuck’s your problem? Which makes no sense but would make him feel better. Or maybe even have my babies which that one he probably shouldn’t utter out loud even under duress because where the fuck did that come from?
He just glares at him instead.
Jeff raises his eyebrow, “Okay, dude, I’m gonna level with you, what’s your problem?”
“You!” Kent blurts out before he can stop himself. Which, god that’s dramatic but he can’t take back already rung bells.
Jeff snorts and rolls his eyes, before shucking off his boxing gloves and handing them to him. “Alright, I don’t know what I did,” Kent hates his fucking stupid drawl, “but I don’t want to have any problems with you.”
Kent grips the gloves close to himself. “I don’t,” he insists.
Jeff nods, “Cool, then I’ll just be on my way since we don’t have any problems.”
“Good,” Kent bites out as he watches him walk away.
He absolutely does not think about a situation in which he might lick the sweat off of his body. He has Jack to think about after all. He glances off to the side and sees Scraps staring at him from the weight bench. He doesn’t drop the gloves like he desperately wants to and instead moves to place them gently on the ground next to the punching bag. He does walk off with a huff to show his annoyance though.
Not that he gets very far because the alarm rings overhead before he’s even halfway back to the kitchen. He lets out a long suffering sigh, of course, how could he forget? The fucking rain.