Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What a Man

⿻

Buck ran into work, phone raised in triumph. “I got another DXA scan, and guess who dropped another half percent.”

He could see Hen and Bobby’s confusion, which was confirmed when Hen asked, “What?”

Buck was a little shocked that she wouldn’t know what a dual X-ray absorptiometry test was, but he humored her anyway. “A DXA scan measures your body fat; you can see your percentage in every part of your body.” He tried to show the paramedic, hoping she could learn something if it was a genuine question. If not, it was just an opportunity to show off his knowledge.

“Oh, yeah?” Chimney’s somewhat muffled voice cuts through. Buck looks over to see him munching on something—carby. “They measure the fat in your head?”

Buck doesn’t bother saying that it does measure the fat in his head, and it’s a respectable number, thank you very much, because he likes to think that by now, he’s figured out when Chim’s joking. “Ah, see, that would be funny, but we’re about a week away from submissions being due for the ‘Hot Days, Smolder Nights: Men of the LAFD’ wall calendar, and I’m already at my goal weight,” Buck declares, “so it seems like my head is clearly working perfectly.”

They continue to bicker about the calendar, with Bobby and Chimney throwing their hats in the ring. Buck eyes them both and tries his best to hide his smugness. It’s not his fault he’s the fittest of them all. The calendar’s looking for men cut with low body fat percentages and large muscles. Cap and Chim were great firefighters, but calendar material, they were not.

While Bobby teased Buck for his stance (okay, so the smug side showed a little bit), Chimney suddenly declared, “okay, that…is a beautiful man.”

“Where’s the lie?” Hen gaped, staring at whoever was behind Buck. “And I like girls.”

This impossibility—of Henrietta Wilson thinking a man is attractive—made Buck turn to look for himself. And what else would greet him but a perfectly chiseled, shirtless man? With the perfect amount of scruff and the slightest hint of a V pointing down toward his…well…pointing down, this “beautiful man” lived up to Chim’s comment. Buck felt something sharp and hot, like when he once sat on his sister’s curling iron as a kid, pulse through his chest. “Who the hell is that?” He settles on, sneering to ignore how he feels inside.

“It’s Eddie Diaz—new recruit. Graduated top of his class just this week,” Bobby explained, lips quirked in the beginning of a smile.

Oh great, Buck thought, not just a hot piece of ass—a hot piece of probie ass arriving during calendar season.

Wait, hot piece of what?

Buck struggled to focus while listening to Eddie’s achievements, head buzzing as he told himself, it’s normal to use that phrase; it doesn’t mean anything. Especially if he never voices it. 

He came back to himself as Chimney joked, “better drop some more body fat there, butch.” Buck could feel the ripple of lipids as Chimney smacked his stomach.

Glowering at Eddie, Buck left his hand hovering over his stomach. Challenge accepted.

Chapter Text

Pill Popper

⿻

Feet slapping the pavement, breath huffing. Buck was beyond whatever control he had over his lungs. His toe caught on the edge of some pavement and he tripped, hand skidding across the concrete.

Hissing, Buck stood from his awkward crouch and stared at the injury. He looked over and found he was next to the park’s fountain. The water wasn’t the best, not necessarily clean, but at least it was cycled through a filter.

He limped over and sat on the edge, letting himself collapse. His legs were like jelly, and his hands throbbed. Buck dipped his hands in the water to rinse the grit from the scrape across his palm.

“Ugh,” he complained, flinging the water off his hand with a shake, “of course.” He hissed as the scrape stung, tugged the sweatband around his wrist into the fountain, and squished it thoroughly. Wrapping the elasticized band around his palm, he continued on his path.

Unfortunately, he was still half a mile from his house, so he pounded down the pitch of the streets in his neighborhood to the rhythm of his throbbing hand. Damn, this thing must have been worse than he thought.

Finally, sweat dripping from his nose and chin, Buck tripped up his steps—this time catching himself—and thudded through his front door. Connor and two of their other roommates were lying on the couch, half-naked and snoring.

Buck walked past the scene—it was familiar enough in the “frat house,” as the 118 so lovingly called it—and slipped into the bathroom. A trio of condoms in the trash confirmed the activities that had taken place while Buck was sleeping—nothing like some experimentation.

Slipping off the sweatband with a wince, Buck ran some cool, clean water over the scrape and searched the messy cabinet beside him for some ointment. While he was at it, he noticed one of his roommate’s old prescriptions for a diuretic. He stared at it. 

If there were any way to cut some weight, a diuretic would do it. Water weight, sure, but it was for the calendar. Temporary.  Lucas wouldn’t miss it; he’d stopped taking his prescriptions a month ago when he started his anti-allopathic stint.

Buck finished treating his hand, pocketed the pill bottle, and went to his room. He collapsed onto the bed. The tablets rattled in his pocket, and he reached for them to study them.

Acetazolamide, 250mg. By mouth three times a day. Prescribed by Dr. Maitri Achanta for Lucas Schneider. Buck vaguely recalled how his friend was dealing with some condition or another with his optic nerve or spinal fluid or whatever.

If Lucas wouldn’t take his medication, Buck would do it for him. He dry swallowed the first one.

Drifting off to sleep, Buck embraced a day off from work to catch up on sleep. Rolling over after a while, he sniffed a little and paused. Something wasn’t right.

His stomach rolled as he shot up and dashed to the bathroom, leaving everything behind. His trip to the toilet was unpleasant, to say the least, and lasted far longer than any he’d had since his last bout with the flu. That was diuretics for you. 

As he cleaned himself up, Buck couldn’t help but wonder how much weight that might have lost him.

That morning, he weighed in at just under 203 pounds. He shuffled into his bedroom, hands curled around his stomach, and tugged his scale from the closet. It had gone down about 0.1 pounds. 

Raising his brow, Buck snatched the bottle from his end table and studied the label again. He could do three times a day, so long as he hid that these were Lucas’s.

Chapter Text

Mealtime

⿻

“Mealtime,” Bobby announced as he set a steaming casserole dish in the center of the table. 

Buck’s stomach rumbled. Tater tot hotdish. One of Bobby’s Minnesotan specialties. Everyone else’s sudden dash for the table told a similar story. Well, everyone but Eddie.

The probie sidled up to Buck, who was lying on the couch, and asked, “is that stuff good?”

Narrowing his eyes, Buck stared at Eddie. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind a born and raised Texan asks when he sees food made by a guy from Minnesota,” Eddie chuckled, flashing teeth through that easy smile of his. He gestured to the monotone dish on the table with suspicion.

Despite the sudden drop in his stomach, Buck scowled. “Try it yourself to find out.”

Eddie refused to move. “You coming with?”

“No.”

“Captain Nash won’t let us eat unless you’re there, Buckley.” 

It annoyed Buck that Eddie was right. As much as he didn’t want the others to see him avoid the food—not because he wasn’t eating, no, he’d already eaten, that’s why—he couldn’t keep everyone else from their lunch.

Buck took one of his diuretics, regretting attempting to do so without a drink as he started to cough. He doubled over and clawed at his throat. The awful bread-choking incident with Abby flashed through his mind. The white bottle of pills dropped from his grasp, and he drew in a deep breath.

“Breathe for me,” someone commanded, “on three. One,” Buck clutched his middle, “two,” he gripped his roiling stomach, “three.”

Buck vomited, the lonely diuretic and remnants of a granola bar spilling across the floor in front of him. He looked up through his wet eyelashes to find Hen’s concerned gaze, Chimney just behind him. 

“Buckley,” another, deeper voice called from behind, “what’s this?”

Buck sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the napkin Bobby handed him. When he glanced back, his heart dropped into his now-empty stomach to see Eddie holding the plain white bottle.

“Vitamins,” Buck tried, voice rough.

All eyes turned to the bottle Eddie was holding. An air of disbelief hummed in the room, but Buck held out his hand for it coldly. His coworkers could worry all they wanted, but this was his business. He had to take a new pill either way, diuretic or not. Eddie hesitated but relented, placing the bottle in Buck’s outstretched hand. 

This time, Buck sat at the table and grabbed a Diet Coke to swish the new pill.

At some point later, Buck was locked in a bathroom stall, having a very rough time. He knew there was a risk in taking the diuretics at work, not least of all the way they made everything run right through him. The barest amount of lunch he’d managed solely at his coworkers’ insistence felt as if it had barely made a difference.

The ringing of the alarm startled Buck while he still sat on the toilet, pants around his ankles, sweat dripping from his brow. While he wasn’t surprised by the door opening for someone to check on him, he was shocked to hear Eddie rather than Chim or even Bobby. 

“You all good to come on the call, Buckley?” The probie’s rough voice called. 

Buck felt the smell in the room said enough, a fierce blush covering him from his chest to the top of his head. “Uh.” 

“I’m taking that as a no,” Eddie decided, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared.

Buck hung his head, trying to ignore the way his body convulsed around his empty stomach.

Chapter Text

A Thousand Words

⿻

Hen ends up taking Buck’s calendar pictures for him.

“Can you try my other side? The one without the birthmark,” Buck asked while peering at the pictures taken so far. 

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that, Buckaroo? That’s one of your most distinguishing features.”

Buck, for whom “distinguishing” didn’t equate to “attractive,” claimed, “I just want some variety.”

Hen seemed to accept this with a shrug. She circled Buck where he stood in the hot Los Angeles sun, continuing to snap photos with her wife’s fancy camera. “I think the first photos were better, Buck,” she declared. Hen didn’t do hesitation.

“Let me see,” Buck decided and dropped his pose and the hose slung over his shoulder, so he could glimpse the offending photo. He frowned, not seeing the problem. “These look great, Hen!”

“They do,” she reassured quickly, “but the other ones were better.” She clicked back to one particular photo where Buck was smiling, birthmark caught between the folds of his eyelid, tip of his tongue just slightly poking from between his teeth.

He remembered the moment. It was when Denny walked out and cracked a joke about the hose being like a snake, and then Hen recalled that snake girl from his probie days.

“I think this one’s the winner,” Hen told him, voice unusually soft.

Buck took the camera from her. He studied everything else. The way he’d dropped his pose, leaving his stomach too soft, his shoulder slope just the slightest bit off. He shook his head. “No, I don’t want to use it. Go back to the last set, show me those.” Wiping the thick sweat from his brow, he put a hand on his suddenly churning stomach.

Hen obliged, and soon they were flicking through the birthmark-free options. Buck stopped her only four or five in, on one where the sweat on his skin glistened as if he’d slathered body oil on instead of standing in the hot sun. 

“This one,” he told her. “I like this one. Can you email it to me?”

Hen made an odd face but agreed.

Buck, grinning, crouched to pick up his shirt and shot up to throw it on. His vision spotted, he swayed, then he doubled over vomiting.

Hen was the one who insisted he should go to the hospital, who forced him into her backseat with an old Lowe’s bucket and an ancient blanket. He shivered despite the car being at a reasonable temperature.

While Bobby got a call that one of his firefighters was on the way to the ER for potential heatstroke, Buck grasped the thermometer in his hand underneath his armpit, waiting to read it. When it beeped, he tugged the device out and read it. “102.5,” He croaked, “not hea’ stroke ‘til 103…”

“Buck,” Hen warned. Times like this, Buck thought she’d thoroughly earned the nickname “Mother Hen” around the station.

Buck slumped against the door, dozing and half-listening as Hen spoke with Bobby on speaker.

“We weren’t out there long enough for that, Cap,” Hen admitted. “And when he threw up…do you remember earlier this week, when he had that vitamin and upchucked all over the loft floor? This was just as empty. I don’t think he’s been eating, Bobby.”

Recalling the incident, Buck groaned. His stomach rebelled again, and he couldn’t stop himself from retching. He missed Hen’s concerned look back at him, too busy trying to steadily breath through his mouth.

Bobby’s answer was muffled, but Buck heard Hen respond, “Karen is dropping off Denny with Eddie—he’s got a kid—and she’ll come to the hospital with Buck’s bag. She looked in there and that same pill bottle is in there.” Hen paused to listen to her captain. “I don’t think it’s vitamins either.”

Shit, Buck thought. They’re going to take my pills away. He gagged.

Buck was too out of it upon arrival for them to do more than check him in and wait. Hen sat with his paperwork, trying to answer what she could, but they’d only been working together for so long and everything had rushed from her mind the minute she saw him collapse.

Karen’s arrival brought relief, as she had Buck’s wallet. Hen hugged and kissed her wife, then passed on the paperwork so that she could check on her co-worker.

Ever the paramedic, Hen checked Buck’s pupils, felt his dry skin, and requested a high-quality thermometer. A nurse who recognized members of the 118 bustled over with not only the instrument Hen asked for, but news that Buck’s case would be elevated.

“You don’t have to do that,” Karen tried to protest, but Hen placed a warning hand on her wife’s wrist.

“Thank you,” Hen professes. “His temp was 102.5 on the way here.”

Worry increased, the nurse turned around and waved someone over. She set up the clear hygienic cover of the thermometer and beckoned for Buck to wrap his mouth around it. He lolled his head to the other side, but took it willingly enough.

While the three women waited for the beep to signal, a short man in different-colored scrubs joined them. “Olivia, what seems to be the problem?”

“Doctor,” the nurse answered, but was interrupted by thermometer’s alert. She tugged it from Buck’s mouth and flicked off the cover into one of her many scrub pockets. “This man has a 104.3 Fahrenheit fever, and needs to be brought back immediately.”

Hen and Karen froze as the doctor and Olivia sprang into action. The thermometer nearly fell to the floor, instead landing in Hen’s lap as she extended her legs like a net; Buck was lifted into a wheelchair from his seat, revealing that his skin was no longer glistening with sweat, and he’d lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

Interlude

⿻

As he was wheeled away, Bobby arrived. After being filled in, the stressed captain quickly called in the remaining A-shift members of the 118.

It wasn’t long before the entirety of the 118 was in the waiting room, save Eddie—who would join them soon after dropping Christopher and Denny off at Pepa’s house. Bobby’s summons were serious; he wanted to get to the root of Buck’s issue.

“What did everyone see?” Bobby asked, pacing the private waiting room they were escorted to.

Hen piped up to add, “Or not see.”

Chimney frowned, staring at the ground as if it held all the answers. With a jolt, he snapped his fingers and pointed at Hen and Bobby. “That body fat test.”

Nodding along, Hen agreed, “yeah, he was going on about it, remember Cap? It was on Eddie’s first day.”

They dissected the day from beginning to end, but couldn’t find any significant moments. As they reached the end-of-shift, Eddie himself rushed through the door, an LAFD pullover haphazardly tossed on, one heavy workboot untied.

“Sorry I’m late, Captain Nash,” Eddie heaved as he leaned his hands on his knees.

Bobby swept over to wrap a warm hand around his newest firefighter’s arm. “You’re not late, Eddie. And please, call me Bobby. We’re not on the job.”

“Okay, Captain—Bobby.” Eddie put a hand on Bobby’s in confirmation and thanks. He then turned to Hen and Karen. “Chris and Denny are safe at Pepa’s. She’s ready to keep them overnight if needed; she has some clothes that may fit Denny.”

Everyone glanced at the ticking clock on the wall. 3:56 PM. There was no fooling themselves; they were expecting an overnight.

“Before you got here,” Chim interrupted, “we were talking about Buck’s behavior this week.”

Eddie nodded and crossed his arms, leaning against the door jam. “Was it unusual for him?”

“Some of it,” Hen says, then admits, “he’s always that reckless, though.”

“So the throwing up, so-called vitamins, and extended bathroom time?” Eddie prompted.

“Whoa,” Bobby stopped Eddie. “What was that about the bathroom?”

“Tuesday, you asked me to check on him when he was in the locker room when the alarm went off but he didn’t show. He was clearly having some sort of diarrhea,” Eddie informed them all with the efficiency only a medical professional possessed.

Chim considered this, then looked up from his seat. “This may not seem a big deal to you guys, but he started drinking Diet Coke. He’s never been a Diet Coke guy; Buck’s a Dr Pepper die-hard fan.”

Karen, still clutching Buck’s bag, rifled through it. She found a handful of Special K crispy bars of various flavors, and a white bottle. She shook it; the sound of rattling pills filled the silence. “This is what I found earlier.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “That’s it. That’s the bottle he dropped.”

“Let’s make sure we give this to his doctor,” Karen suggested.

Chapter Text

Caught

⿻

Buck woke up to the sting of an IV in his hand and the sound of a murmuring voice to his left. He groaned, trying to squint his eyes even further shut.

“Buck?” Hen’s voice filtered through the cotton in his ears. The harsh light lowered, allowing Buck to finally look at his friend. Her face, blocking the majority of the fluorescents above him, was creased with worry and pain.

Instead of saying anything, Buck just smiled at her and reached out a hand. Hen took it in both of hers, palms cool with a comforting texture. She ran her fingers up his arm until she was cradling his face.

“Don’t cry,” Buck croaked as he watched tears glisten at the corners of Hen’s eyes. 

She scoffed and laughed. “I’m not,” she defended, shaking her head. “Just excited to see those big blue eyes of yours.”

“No, you,” he giggled in return.

The nonsensical answer made Hen burst out laughing and bow her head over Buck where he lay in the bed. He felt like he was floating already, and seeing his friend’s levity helped with that.

Hen, however, sobered quickly and clasped Buck’s hand to her chest, the fingers on his cheek stroking beneath his eye. “Buck, do you remember what happened?”

Buck drank in his surroundings and cataloged the cold hospital room. “Your house,” he recalled, “photos…” even in the few minutes he’d been awake, he was tired.

“Yeah, yeah. You were with me to take photos for the calendar. You’re here for heat stroke, Buckaroo.”

He leaned into Hen’s cool hand, her skin somewhat rough. They all had hands like these, first responders. From washing their hands so much. “No…doesn’ make sense,” he manages. “Jus’ a couple hours.”

“A couple hours is all it can take when you’re on diuretics.”

Buck’s eyelids, previously drifting closed, snap open. His racing heart is betrayed by the monitor beside him.

Hen doesn’t even wait for him to answer. “We know they weren’t vitamins, Buckaroo. Your nurse took one look at them and knew what they were right off the bat.”

“Kick a man….while ‘e’s down?” Buck tried at humor, but failed as he quickly ran out of breath and an audience. Hen rolled her eyes and sat back well before Buck could even get the word “while” out. He was beginning to see how seriously he’d fucked up. He swallowed, mouth and throat dry. “Hen…” 

The woman was crying. She shook with silent tears, the only sign of distress other than her glistening cheeks. “Buck, why did you do this to yourself?”

Better drop some more body fat there, butch.

He shrugged.

“Was it the calendar? We love you no matter what, Buck. You don’t have to win for us to love you.”

Of course Hen figured that out, the calendar. Buck’s about to answer, he’s opening his mouth to confirm, yes actually it was about the calendar thanks for noticing, when something stops him.

It wasn’t just the calendar.

Buck felt an itch beneath his skin, an itch to keep pushing and preening and checking his weight, body fat, BMI. Every research deep dive told him he was worth more but it wasn’t true, was it? Buck could see how everyone around him was appreciated, even lusted after. Hell, Bobby was a picture perfect silver fox. No—Buck wasn’t a case of “just the way you are.”

He was a broken man who needed fixing.

So Buck turned his head away from Hen, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath; and another, then another. As he breathed, as he stayed silent, Hen did too, until she eventually gave in.

“We do love you, Buck,” she murmured with a final swipe of her thumb down his cheek. “No matter what.”

Chapter Text

Rotation

⿻

A revolving door of visitors graced Buck’s bedside as he recovered. At one point, a psych-a-something-or-other came to do an assessment, but he just answered as if he were happy and chipper like before he ended up in the hospital. The last thing he needed was to stay in the hospital for being a misdiagnosed basketcase.

Buck’s not crazy. No—he’s not empty, or sad, or any other psych ward worthy thing.

Buck’s angry. He’s angry with Hen for making him go to the hospital instead of agreeing to let him crash on her couch with a wet towel and cool glass of water. Angry with Chimney for paying enough attention to see that he switched to Diet Coke (and for bragging about that, the little shit). Angry with Karen for going through his stuff, finding his pills and turning them over to the doctors. Angry with the doctors for confiscating said pills. Angry with Eddie for…something. Being better than Buck is in every way, probably. Hell, turns out the guy’s got a kid and still looks like an Adonis cut from stone.

Buck, above all else, was angry with himself. He was an idiot right from the start. Lucas’s diuretics? Yes. Taking them a full three times a day? No. If Buck had lowered it to just once or twice, he could’ve gotten away with it.

If he’d just made sure to eat meals with the others, to maybe slip in a Dr Pepper here and there. Rely more on the gym equipment than on cutting calories.

But Buck was going in circles admonishing himself for his transgressions. Hindsight, 20/20, all that.

He decided that moving forward, he could take all this new information into consideration. Hindsight might not help with the past, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make a difference with his future.

By the time Buck came to this conclusion, every member of the 118 had come to see him, save one. Eddie Diaz, the world’s most over-accomplished probationary firefighter.

Buck sighed when the door to his room opened again. “Look, I said I don’t need anymore visits—”

“You sound better than Hen said you did earlier,” a now-familiar voice chuckled.

Fucking Eddie Diaz. Buck turned to look toward their newest firefighter, eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re the one in a hospital bed,” Eddie pointed out.

And in a way, it was refreshing, being teased instead of coddled. “I’ll put you in one next time,” Buck threatened.

“With how reckless you are on the job, you just might,” the other man returned.

The quip made Buck laugh. “Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Want to, uh, help me get outta here?”

Chapter Text

Resume

⿻

Eddie helped Buck get checked out of the hospital. Against medical advice—of course, when did Buck ever follow advice? 

The pair were packing up what little personal effects there were from Buck’s few hours in his hospital room when Eddie stopped. “Hey man, where’s your shirt?”

“Huh?” Buck glanced down at himself. He was still wearing his hospital gown. “Huh,” he repeated. “Came here in my turnout pants, that’s it.”

“Are you kidding me—” Eddie shook his head and stepped out into the hall to flag down a nurse. Within ten minutes, he was back with a rolled set of clothing.

Buck accepted them, eyeing the rich blue with some trepidation. “What’re these?”

“Scrubs,” Eddie explained simply, then went back to packing up the last of Buck’s stuff.

Buck shuffled on the scrub bottoms without bothering to take off the robe. Once he was sufficiently covered below the belt, he shrugged off the rest of the hospital gown. Shivering in the cold room, he struggled to squeeze into the scrub top. “Did they not have anything bigger?” He huffed.

“No, they don’t have Size Buck,” Eddie joked. 

Unable to hold back the laugh that escaped him, Buck compensated for his own amusement with a grumpy response. “Shouldn’t’ve been in the hospital in the first place.”

Eddie continued prepping before agreeing, “you’re right.”

Buck paused. Eddie had been the first person to agree, and it would have been great if it weren’t putting Buck on red alert.  “Wha’d’you mean?”

Studying the younger man’s face, Eddie told Buck, “you shouldn’t have put yourself in a place where you might need a hospital in the first place.” With that, Eddie pivoted on his heel and left the room. 

Contemplating those words, Buck gathered the two bags Eddie’d put together and made to leave. He turned to respond, but Eddie was gone.

Buck sighed and shuffled his feet into a pair of hospital-provided slides.

Chapter Text

Slipping

⿻

Buck knew a visit to the hospital should’ve been a sign. A sign to stop, to get better. To maybe seek a therapist, even if he hadn’t accepted the one on offer from the hospital.

Instead, Buck went to a CVS and tried to find a replacement for Lucas’s diuretics. He found some bottles and tossed them in his basket, then wandered in a circuit around the store. He hungrily scanned the candy aisle, then rounded the end cap of Hostess snack cakes to peer at the shelves of cookies and chips. Beyond that was the wall of freezers beckoning him with cartons of Blue Bell and pints of Haagan Dazs, cans of Arizona Tea and bottles of A&W root beer.

“Diet starts tomorrow,” Buck decided as he began to load up on snacks.

He tried to stave off the anxiety of checkout, browsing through the gossip rags nearby. Logically, the old guy behind the counter didn’t care about these purchases. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, all of these were for Buck alone.

For all Thorne the CVS Checkout Guy knew, Buck was bringing candy and ice cream to a kid’s birthday party. In fact, for all Thorne knew, Buck would be going home to scarf down as much of his food as humanly possible.

Thorne didn’t have to know which one was the truth.

“Cash or card?” Thorne asked, shocking Buck from his spiral.

Buck slid his phone from his pocket. “Uh, Apple Pay,” he stuttered.

With the practiced actions of someone trapped behind a counter most of the day, Thorne finished up the transaction. He pushed Buck’s bags forward, uttering a bored, “have a good one.”

Buck left behind CVS and headed for his crappy “frat house.” He parked behind a gaggle of cars and one person’s motorcycle, a sure sign his roommates were throwing a party. Sighing, Buck unloaded his stuff and circled the gaggle of vehicles so he could slip through the back door.

His attempt to avoid everyone was futile, however; when he entered, he ran into Lucas and Connor sitting on the kitchen counter. Both of them held a beer, and cheered drunkenly. 

Connor spilled beer in his own hair as he lifted his hands above his head. “Evan!” Lucas echoed him whilst slinging an arm across Connor’s shoulders.

Buck tried to ignore how his heart dropped into his stomach. “Hey, guys,” he said. “How are you?”

“Great man,” Connor grinned. “Hey wait, thought you were a firefighter, not a nurse?”

“Ah, yeah,” Buck started. “Someone threw up on me during a call.” Nailed that lie.

Lucas laughed. “Thought you changed careers on us, dude. We never see you anyway, could totally happen.”

Brent, one of their other two roommates, sauntered up. “Totally,” he crooned. “Buckley, what’s in the bags?”

“My uh, my groceries?” He phrased it like a question, not because it was, but because in this house, everything was fair game. “I’m gonna take them to my room, put ‘em away after the party’s up.”

“Nah, go for it now! No one’ll touch ‘em, promise,” Brent assured with a grin.

“Yeah, right!” Lucas chimed in with a literal yell. He hopped off the counter and shooed Buck to his room.

After chasing a stray couple out of his bed (and yanking the blanket off for good measure), Buck flopped back and sighed. He turned his head, spotting a pint of ice cream on the verge of melting.

Buck rolled over and grabbed it, shuffling through a drawer beside his bed to find his secret utensil stash. Having a secret utensil stash is an entirely normal thing, thank you very much.

Chapter Text

Sick

⿻

Groaning, Buck listened to the toilet flush yet again. The sound, too close to his pounding head, throbbed and coursed down his spine.

It was a mistake. Of course, it had been. 

He’d learned his lesson back in high school when Maddie had to save his ass during football season, in college when he’d gotten so dizzy during classes it led to him flunking out. On the ranch in Montana, where he’d pass out in the fields under the hot sun.

Buck sat up, whimpering as he left behind the cool porcelain of the toilet he was crouched beside. His raw throat tasted like an odd amalgamation of everything he’d eaten that night.

He stood and grabbed the closest container of mouthwash, veritably guzzling it to get rid of the foul taste. He gagged, and it splashed into the toilet.

A knock sounded. “Buck, you good?”

Brent’s concern was palpable. Buck cleared his throat, spitting bile. “Too much to drink,” he tried to explain, coughing between each word. His mouth tasted like vinegar.

“Connor, Lucas, and I are going to Denny’s for hangover food. Wanna come?”

Buck couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him or the spluttering that followed.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Brent decided. “Text me if you need anything.”

Listening as Brent’s footsteps waned, Buck stood on wobbly legs. He needed to call Bobby to let him know he was sick.

Except he wasn’t sick, not really—not anymore. Buck threw back more of the mouthwash, spat, brushed his teeth.

Buck tripped his way into his bedroom and surveyed the damage. Several empty cookie packages were host to empty candy wrappers, all surrounded by empty beer bottles from when he’d ventured down to the party as it died down.

He heaved a sigh and started to clean.

Chapter Text

Trouble

⿻

Buck watched as Eddie shrugged up to the punching bag. A shiver of jealousy coursed through him. Perfect Eddie, muscular, strong—he didn’t need to push hard to look good. Buck did.

Settling the bar back into its slot on the bench, Buck surreptitiously circled Eddie, using getting more weights as an excuse to spy on his form. After sliding the discs on, he pulled his phone out for good measure, taking some post-workout selfies. Just to really drive home how good he looked himself.

“You’re in the wrong light, man,” Eddie chipped in.

Oh, this was war. “Some of us don’t need lighting to look good,” Buck shot back, barely holding back the vittriole in his tone. He could see Chimney chuckling out of the corner of his eye. 

Sure enough, Chimney just had to join in. He just had to ask Eddie what he meant by “wrong light,” ask to see those fantastic pictures of Eddie taken by a goddamn twelve-year-old. 

Hen’s photos would win over a twelve-year-old’s any day. Even if the twelve-year-old passed for a pro.

Buck preened over his photos, feeling like they were his little secret. When Chimney said, “I’ve been told I photograph like an Asian Fabio,” he rolled his eyes.

He rolled them even harder when Eddie chuckled and replied to Chimney’s request for the twelve-year-old in question to take his pictures, too. “I’m sure she would, yeah.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t get his hopes up like that,” Buck couldn’t help but warn. “No offense, Chim.”

He knew he’d fucked up when Chimney responded, “No offense taken. Evan.”

Buck dropped the dumbbell he’d been curling and watched Chim walk away, discomfort clear on Eddie’s face. He watched as that discomfort transformed into some kind of begrudged understanding,

“What’s your problem, man?”

You, Buck wanted to scream. He takes a moment and thinks. Maybe it’s worth saying. “Okay, you. You’re my problem.” He’s ready to pick a fight. His stomach is roiling from his visit to the bathroom that morning, tight from a lack of food. Discomfort, plus the way this…this jackass descended on the 118 and tossed out the definition of “probie,” has Buck on edge.

Eddie just watches as Buck starts what might be the calmest rant he’s ever been on. 

“Your comfort level. You’re—you’re not supposed to just walk in here like you’ve been here for years. It’s meant—meant to be a getting-to-know-you period; you’re meant to respect your elders—”

Something in the look on Eddie’s face tells Buck he fucked up, the way Eddie’s pushing his tongue against his teeth. Chimney just had to be the peanut gallery. “You’re not his elder, Buck.”

Buck felt the flames of anger tamp down, replaced by the burn of embarrassment.

“Look,” Eddie started, and Buck could sense some kind of peace treaty coming. “I in no way meant to, uh, be too familiar or step on anybody’s toes. I know you’re going through some personal stuff right now.”

Buck felt a hot flash in his stomach. Does Eddie know he purged? Buck squared up. “What personal stuff?”

“I know your girlfriend recently broke up with you and you’re coming to terms with that,” Eddie explains, and Buck is sickened by the relief he feels.

Then he feels rage. Someone must have told Eddie this. If Buck didn’t feel like he could throw up any moment, he’d be on a manhunt, but he had to save his energy for calls.

“No, I’m not,” Buck defended. “And she didn’t break up with me.” He cast a pointed look at Chimney. “Who told you that?”

The paramedic pointedly counted his reps out more loudly.

Seeming to sense the tension, Eddie explained, “I’m just saying I hear you’re a good guy, and I’m sorry you’re going through pain, but you don’t need to take it out on me or—or be threatened by me, we’re on the same team!”

Buck thinks to how Eddie caught him in the bathroom just a few shifts ago and was the one who gave him the Heimlich before that when he couldn’t manage to swallow a damn pill. Pain, yes. From a breakup? Yeah, right.

“Why would I be threatened by you?” Buck asked with a little laugh, eyes narrowing.

Eddie smiled. “Exactly. There’s no need to be.” Eddie looked Buck in the eye. “We do the same thing. I’ve just done it while people are shooting at me, is all.”

Buck’s heart collapsed at that, at how Eddie spoke so casually of war. But he couldn’t drop his act. “We’re not broken up!”

Eddie barely looked back as he just agreed, “alright.” Chim laughed. 

Chapter Text

Exhaustion

⿻

"So let me get this straight,” Hen interrupted—you have a roommate named Brent and a roommate named Brett?"

"Yep," Buck confirmed. "Brent works at a used car lot, and Brett works in an electronics trade-in store."

"Can you even tell them apart?" Hen asked incredulously. 

Buck scoffed. "They look completely different! Brent is brown-haired with blue eyes and Brett has brown hair and green eyes.”

"Completely, " Hen agreed, but Buck clearly missed her sarcasm. Hen squinted at him as if that would make a difference. 

"Earth to Buck," she said, waving a hand before his face. "You in there? "

 Buck jumped a little at her actions and words. "Yeah, yeah," he told her distractedly.

"Doesn't seem like it," Hen was skeptical of her friend, especially since she had to take him to the hospital. He seemed okay in the day or two she had seen him.

Still, she couldn't help but worry for her friend.

Hen could tell that Buck was worse for wear.

Between his uncharacteristic silence, small portions of Bobby's delicious food, and  frequent trips to the bathroom,

Hen was starting to think something was seriously wrong with him.

When Chimney noticed Buck's behavior and even newcomer Eddie made some astute observations, Hen knew she didn't imagine things.

That's why, as she sat talking to Buck about his weird frat house, she started to really worry. Instead of being animated and using wide gestures, Buck was lying on the couch with evident exhaustion on his face.

Everyone had tried several times the last few days to check on Buck. However, no one was successful, as every time, Buck would attempt to slip into his cheerful mask.

When Hen looked at Buck, all she saw was the rise and fall of his chest.

Soft footsteps were all that alerted her to Bobby's approach. "Hey, cap," she said quietly.

"How'd you know it was me?" the man asked while passing a glass of water over to the paramedic. "

"Chimney doesn't do quiet, and Eddie doesn't know how to," Hen told Bobby with a chuckle, "and no one else cares about that idiot as much as you do."

Bobby's silent, which Hen took as agreement.

She asked, "are you as worried as I am?"

"Depends," Bobby hedged. "How worried are you?"

"Worried enough that I'm ready to load him into my ambulance any second."

The captain admits, "then 1 probably am just as worried, yes."

Chapter Text

Control

⿻

Buck was entirely in control.

He could stop at any time, thank you very much.

Buying groceries is an everyday activity, so it didn’t matter if he spent a bit more on junk food or had to go a little more often. Besides, he saves on some meals when he eats at the firehouse, and that’s when he’s more sensible.

Okay, maybe he was a little out of control.

Buck probably has two settings. Wild, like those spring break videos of girls with their shirts off; or,  completely locked down, rigid in everything he does.

He was pretty sure he was in control. He had the same breakfast everyday, a simple banana in oatmeal, that way he got some protein and potassium. His lunch—when he wasn’t at the station—was a simple salad with a light dressing. He usually didn’t have dinner, opting instead to head to the gym, regardless of whether he was on shift. If he was in the middle of counting reps, he’d discovered, Bobby wouldn’t mind if he came to the table late. And if he stayed on the machines long enough, a call usually came in. 

The only problem, then, was when he laid in bed in the evenings, listening to his gurgling stomach and picturing the junk in his pantry. When he was in the firehouse bunks, someone usually tossed a pillow at him and grumbled something about how he should go and grab a snack. At home, he’d gaze longly at his bedroom door.

Most nights, he’d give in.

The 118 only stocked ingredients and healthy snacks. On duty, he’d end up either scarfing down granola bars by the box, or pinching shredded cheese from the bag straight into his mouth. At home was a different story. Whenever Buck went shopping, he fell for every little bit of marketing. He could barely stop himself from buying stuff of the shelves no the occasional call to grocery stores and gas stations.

That particular evening, Buck had binged an entire family-sized container of Oreos, complemented by three cups of milk, a jar of peanut butter, and some ginger snaps from a box he’d opened the night before. Stomach distended, he’d laid himself down on the couch and slept fitfully.

Around three in the morning, he awoke to a riotous feeling and lurched up. Hand over his mouth, Buck careened into the bathroom and crashed against the toilet just in time.  The scene wasn’t pretty.

Buck groaned; he was meant to go into work in just three hours, but with how he felt, it wouldn’t be a great idea. He stood on wobbly feet, flushed the toilet, and wiped his mouth. Gargling some mouthwash, Buck stumbled back toward the couch to start hunting for his phone.

He eventually found it lying on a shelf in the pantry, battery at only 5%. Buck started to jog up the stairs and stopped as a sharp pain struck his abdomen. With a huff, he sat down and opened his device.

A few texts were waiting for him, mainly from his sister, a couple from his roommate group chat.

mads

Mads: As much as I like Abby’s apartment, and that you let me stay here, I need my own place. 

Mads: Next time you’re off shift, I’m dragging you house-hunting with me, got it?

Buck shoots off a quick “got it” with a goofy text in return, then opens the next set of messages.

frat chat

connor: not common home 2nite

not brett: at all?

not brent: evan’s on the cowch

not brent: conked out, probs ate his wait in chips again

not brett: ten bucks it was cookies this time

luke: @not brett i’ll take it

connor: at all @not brett but good 2 no ev is there

connor: in case i get kicked out lol

connor: but she could be the 1

not brent: sap

not brett: tf that evan mean connor isnt a tree

Buck stared at the bets. Ten bucks it was cookies this time. He pictured at the trash can, full of proof, and decided to take it out so no one would win.

nuck: @not brett @luke Sucks for you, I just took the trash out!

Buck wandered up the stairs, moving slowly with his painful stomach and throat. He crawled into bed and fell back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Calling

⿻

It wasn’t the phone ringing that woke up Buck or the violent knocking at his door. 

It was another round of nausea that had him rushing up around the same time one of his roommates could be heard near the front door, muttering something about beauty sleep and mornings.

Buck didn’t care what solicitors were at their door who’d woken Brent or Brett or whoever at nine in the morning—because that wasn’t even early, not by Buck’s standards. Buck cared about the roiling sensation in his stomach.

Crouched over the toilet, Buck swallowed bile and listened for the conversation going on at that moment.

“Look, man,” Lucas, apparently said, “I dunno where he is. Evan was sleeping on the couch when I got in from work last night, and he was gone this morning. Figured he went to his own job.”

The next voice made Buck’s blood curdle, and he quickly shoved down any nausea. “Well, as his boss, I can tell you he wasn’t at work,” Bobby answered sternly.

Buck rushed to brush his teeth and scrub his face. He darted back to his room to throw on some presentable clothes. Bobby must have heard his stomping feet because mere moments later, the man’s booming voice was heard again.

“Buckley? You in there?”

“Yes, cap!” Buck called back, voice rough with sleep and sick. The taste of bile lingered on his lips. Groaning as another wave of nausea overtook him, he doubled over and dug his head into his bedcovers.

He didn’t even realize Bobby was standing in his doorway until the fire captain asked, “are you okay, Buckley?”

Buck straightened as if he were back in SEAL training. “Yeah, cap, just stubbed my toe,” he fibbed. 

“Then let’s get going, I’ll drive.”

Buck tugged on a comfortable hoodie before grabbing his jump bag and rushing out after Bobby. He barely had time to jump into the passenger seat before Bobby threw the truck into drive and took off.

One glance was all it took to tell Buck that his captain was livid. 

Sure enough, about three minutes into their drive, Bobby looked briefly at his employee before launching into a lecture. “Three hours, Buckley.”

Buck shrank into the leather of the seat. He’d never noticed how nice the inside of the captain’s truck was—then again, he’d never really been in it. 

“I thought we were done with this kind of thing last year when you stopped being Buck 1.0 or whatever you call it,” Bobby admonished. “What was it this time? Stayed out too late? Pretty girl kept you in bed all morning?”

The young firefighter just let his captain rant. Anything was better than the truth. Buck knew he was a fuck-up, but it was one thing to lose control with your time, even with having sex. At least that felt good. But this constant roll in his gut, the way he hurt whether he ate, didn’t eat, drank, didn’t drink—he wished he were Buck 1.0 again. It felt like he was the original model, some kind of Buck 0.1.

Buck almost forgot Bobby was speaking until the other man began to nudge him for an answer. “...ley. Buck? Did you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, pops,” Buck said, clearing his throat at how scratchy his voice sounded.

Chapter Text

Hunger

⿻

Chimney and Hen pretty much ignored Buck when he arrived. Eddie didn’t, but Eddie didn’t know who Buck used to be.

He probably deserved it, was all Buck thought. He deserved to be ignored and mistreated for being so awful. It was the same thing as what happened before, when he was a kid, when he was in football. He got so sick he let down his family and friends. 

It was happening again.

Within less than a week, Buck was back where he used to be. He felt like a teen asking for, begging for, an ounce of attention. Yet he found himself thinking—he wasn’t that bad. He had it under control.

“You gonna eat that?”

Buck looked up at the question, finding Eddie standing over him. “Uh.”

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Eddie phrased the statement like a question and began backing away, as if from a wild animal. To him, that was probably what Buck was. 

“Here,” Buck sighed, pushing his lunch plate toward the probie. “Not hungry,” he explained. Like a liar.

Eddie dug in, eyebrow raised. “You look hungry. You look hungry most of the time,” he observed.

Shrugging, Buck just stared down the length of the dining table. He could see out the window of their station. There wasn’t much, just a brick wall. Hunger was probably accurate for the way Buck felt starved for attention. 

“You know,” Eddie started, swirling some spaghetti around his fork, “if you are hungry, you should eat.”

“Well, I’m not hungry.”

“Not saying you are.”

Buck narrowed his eyes.

Eddie polished off about a third of the pasta on the plate he’d taken from Buck, wiped his mouth, and stood, leaving behind their silence. “Hitting the bunks,” he offered as an explanation.

Staring at the mostly empty plate, Buck contemplated. If you are hungry, you should eat.

Taking stock, Buck noted how he did feel. Nauseous since he’d first woken up that morning, shaky. He recognized those signs from when he was in football and used to pass out on the field every other practice. Slowly, he slid the plate back toward himself.

Chapter Text

Grenade

⿻

The 9-1-1 call had been vague at best. 

Eddie had felt a chill down his spine when he’d realized this was some guy with a sick obsession with war; his own feelings about it were conflicted. On the one hand, collections like his were historic. A way to remember war. On the other, they made him feel ill. 

“It’s part of my ‘nam collection,” Charles had said. 

An entire collection within a collection dedicated to Vietnam. Combine that with Buck having a dick-measuring contest about the damn streets of LA, and Eddie was not in the mood for games.

Eddie lurched over their patient, glancing at the injury. That was when he realized. “Oh, come on! Hold on,” he grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. “I thought you said this was a practice round.”

Panic gripped his stomach as he explained the situation to both Buck and their patient. “Gold caps are live.”

He demanded they stop and call the bomb squad, mind racing as he realized he was the only first responder in their vicinity at the moment qualified to remove the round. When the bomb squad arrived, a wave of relief poured down his spine, only for him to shiver again as he realized they still had to figure out how to get this thing out of Charles’s leg. 

Jim, the captain of the bomb squad, held up a tablet with an X-ray. “Yup, there she is,” he griped. 

Incredulous, Bobby couldn’t help but state the obvious. “He’s got a live round embedded in his thigh.”

“Uh, I thought this thing already went off,” Buck stuttered. 

Eddie couldn’t help but jump in with an explanation. “The launch grenade has two components: gunpowder, which makes it travel, and an explosive charge that…makes it go boom.”

Buck’s voice belied his disdain for Eddie. “Okay, so why didn’t this one ‘go boom’?”

“It’s fitted with a proximity fuse,” Eddie informed them, staring at Buck, challenging the younger man. “It’s a little smart sensor that tells the cap it’s traveled a safe enough distance from the shooter to explode. From his hand to his leg probably wasn’t far enough.”

“Well, we can’t bring him inside a hospital full of people, not with that still stuck inside him.” Bobby declared—again, Captain Obvious, Eddie thought.

“We called the military for help,” Jim stated plainly.

“The military?” Buck laughed a bit. “Uh, can’t you do it? You’re the bomb squad.”

Eddie would never admit he agreed with Buck, even if he knew the answer.

Jim sniffed. “You can’t diffuse a grenade. We need to find someone who knows how to pull that thing out of him without setting it off. They’re sending someone up from Pendleton.” Eddie’s heart dropped. “Should be here within the hour.”

Buck said what all the firefighters knew. “He doesn’t have an hour.”

Eddie knew what he was about was what Hen or Chimney would call Bucking it up, but he had no choice. He was the only person anywhere near qualified for the job. “I can do it.”

And then, from Buck: “I’m in.”

Chapter Text

Any Day

⿻

Pulling a live grenade cap out of a war-obsessed seventh-grade teacher turned out to be a major bonding experience. 

You’re badass under pressure, brother.

Me?

Hell yeah. You can have my back any day.

Yeah. You know, or, you could…you could have mine. 

…Deal.

And watching your ambulance explode after was a surefire way to remind yourself how precious life was.

You can have my back any day.

As another shift ended with Buck sweating in the gym, vision blurring and darkening at the edges when he stood, he began to wonder if having someone’s back meant having your own first.

The adrenaline of their grenade save had carried Buck through their shift, but when it was over, Buck stood in the parking lot, staring at the lack of a Jeep. He’d almost forgotten—Bobby’d driven him to work. 

“Hey man, something wrong?” Eddie asked, walking up beside Buck.

Turning, Buck scratched the back of his head. “Cap drove me in today, so I don’t have my car.”

“I got you, come on.”

You could have mine.

Chapter Text

Shaken

⿻

Another day, another shift, and Buck was, again, exhausted. 

Instead of risking another morning of sleeping in, he’d stayed awake all night. That meant guzzling Diet Coke like it was his job. The result was that Buck was wired beyond belief.

Buck whipped his car into his favorite spot in the firehouse parking lot, shut off the engine, and just sat there for a minute. Maybe he should just work out for the first little while and work off some of this caffeine. He could feel himself vibrating with it.

Blinking, Buck looked down at his hand, which actually was shaking. Or maybe his eyes were. Or both. He’d forgotten breakfast. Forgotten dinner the night before, too.

He grabbed the half-empty Diet Coke bottle beside him and guzzled what was left before getting out of the car. Hopping out, he ignored the stars sparkling across his field of vision and instead walked into the firehouse, pretending to be ready for the day.

And the day turned out to be a doozy. They were called out to some kind of hype house in the hills where a couple of YouTubers took their friend’s life in their own hands for views. 

The situation was dire enough when their friend Jessie just had to panic his way right into the pool. It didn't take a single thought for Buck to jump in after. Or for Eddie to do the same. 

Buck didn’t want to think about how grateful he was to Eddie for his help with hauling microwave-head out of the water. Struggling for breath and working hard not to show it, Buck watched as the others got to work on saving Jessie.

“Alright, Buck,” Bobby called in a demanding tone, “once we get this frame off, you and I are going to go hammer-and-chisel on that block.”

Buck murmured, “alright,” still drawing in deep breaths as surreptitiously as possible. He stood over their patient, staring down. 

“Alright, Buck, I’m hammer, you’re chisel. Let’s go.”

Zoning in, Buck looked up to see Bobby holding out the chisel. 

Chest tight, Buck studied the man’s face and reached for the hammer. “I got this.”

He swung the hammer once. Twice. Three times. He watched the cement crack, the edges of his vision curling black. Putting the hammer down, he reached in to pull apart the pieces.

After Jessie sprang up, gasping for air, Buck looked up and realized he could hear something over the buzzing in his ears. 

“And today’s Shaynanigan is maybe our most intense yet!”

Buck stared, deadpan, into the camera—this little shit. He saw Bobby slowly turn toward this kid, Shay apparently, and all Buck could think was, this is gonna be good.

“Are you filming this?” Bobby asked, incredulous. 

Shay turned his head. “Yeah, bro! If we didn’t film it, it didn’t happen!”

Buck watched as the shaky camera captured Bobby standing up. He couldn’t help but point out himself, “you were just crying like…two minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” Shay agreed, then continued to display his idiocy. “Two minutes ago, he was gonna die. Now, he’s gonna live—and be a legend!” With a laugh, he declared, “say hello, Shay’s Army!”

Bobby was in the “I’m not angry, just disappointed” pose, phase two. “I am very angry and trying to hide it behind disappointment.” The fire captain pretended to play along. 

“Hello, Shay’s Army,” Bobby said amicably before darting out his hand to snatch the camera. Despite Shay’s protests, Bobby turned around and essentially drop-kicked the camera into the damn pool. “Goodbye, Shay Army!”

“Dude!” Shay cried, definitely sounding more distraught over the loss of his camera than the fact that he’d nearly killed his friend.

Buck couldn’t help but grin at how Bobby had taken out his anger on the camera and wished he’d thought of it first. Pushing himself upright, Buck stumbled a bit before catching himself. Looking around, he noted everyone seemed preoccupied with a patient. Or, in Bobby’s case, a privileged teen with misguided priorities.

Chapter Text

Observations

⿻

Eddie saw how Buck took an extra step or two as he stood after helping save microwave-head. He saw how Buck was blinking more, how the man’s hands were shaking, how he was clenching them in his lap on the way back to the station.

It was more than what could be explained by an unexpected dive on a sunny morning in LA. Eddie narrowed his gaze at Buck as they wound their way out of the hills. The other man kept squeezing his eyes shut, nodding off until his head touched the window before snorting awake.

“Buck,” Eddie called from across the cab, “you good?”

At his name, Buck snapped to attention, pupils shrinking and expanding with the effort of focusing on Eddie’s face. “‘M fine,” he answered, “jus’ cold.”

Eddie looked down at the damp towel in his hands. Split-second later, it hit Buck in the face. “Here.”

Aside from Buck's chattering teeth, the rest of their ride back was uneventful. Eddie had to admit he felt chilly but didn’t have the shivers like Buck.

Back at the station, Buck and Eddie stepped into the showers to clean up. Buck shook his hair out like a dog after, then tripped, holding himself against the closest wall.

Something set off an alarm in Eddie’s mind. “Are you okay?” He checked, eyeing how Buck was looking down at the ground.

Buck answered, “‘m fine.”

Eddie raised a doubtful brow but moved on, tugging a towel over his hair.

Buck was still sitting in the locker room tying his shoes when Eddie walked out to start getting dressed. The father in Eddie couldn't help but keep an eye out, couldn’t help but note when Buck was still shrugging on his short-sleeved button-up by the time Eddie was stepping out of the room.

Eddie made a beeline for Bobby, concern brimming over.

“Captain Nash,” he called out, “I need to talk to you.”

The man looked up, seeming ready to correct Eddie about calling him by his full title. However, whatever Bobby saw in Eddie’s face stopped that line of thought in its tracks.

“My office?” Bobby suggested. Eddie nodded and followed him.

The pair disappeared behind the door into one of the few private spaces in the spacious firehouse. Bobby closed the door before taking a seat behind his desk. “Okay, Diaz. What’s going on?”

Eddie leaned forward in his own chair and clasped his hands. “I’m trying to figure out what’s normal Buck behavior.”

“I’ll give you a hint: he’s reckless,” Bobby started. 

“But not like this,” Eddie interrupted. “Captain Na—cap, he’s been shaky. Losing balance. I’ve barely known him, and I’m concerned.”

Bobby pondered Eddie’s words. “You’re probably not the only one who’s noticed this, then. I’ll keep an eye out. Thank you, Eddie.”

Chapter Text

Fall to Pieces

⿻

Buck knew he was being held together with glue and staples. He’d barely made it through the rest of the shift after microwave-head without feeling like he would pass out, and his head had been filled with buzzing for the second half of the 24 hours. 

He also knew that the others had to have noticed. The members of the 118 were far too close to miss how he was beginning to fray at the edges. 

Shifts like this made Buck wish he hadn’t left Abby’s apartment to Maddie; he could use a space all to himself then. Instead, he was forced to come home to the frat house.

At that moment, he walked through the door to all his roommates gathered in the living room. They were all screaming at the television, some video game playing.

The customary chorus of his first name being called out peppered across the room before Buck excused himself and jogged to his room. 

He was flopping on his bed, dizzy and starving, when someone knocked. He looked up and frowned. “Luke?”

“Hey, man.” 

“Come in.” Buck waved, rolling over and sitting up. Or at least trying. He gave up as his vision blurred.

Lucas wandered in, glancing around. “Evan, I was looking for something of mine and I couldn’t find it. Maybe you have?”

Buck’s eyes drifted closed. “Yeah?”

“Some prescription thing,” Lucas started, “for that eye condition I have.”

“It’s not really an eye condition so much as it’s a nervous system thing,” Buck tried to explain.

Lucas stared at Buck. “Where are my pills, Buckley?”

“What?” Buck’s stomach plummeted.

“Everyone else is innocent,” Lucas explained, but Buck interrupted.

“Do you know how crazy you sound, Lucas?” Defensive, Buck raised himself to his elbows to stare at his roommate. “Give it a rest.”

“If you think I sound crazy, you should look at yourself and how you’ve been acting lately.”

“Get out.” Buck wanted to yell, but he was too exhausted. 

“You owe me, Buckley,” Lucas threatened.

Buck rolled his eyes. “You don’t take that shit anyway.”

“I’m starting them back up. My psychic was ripping me off, and the oils just made me smell good,” Lucas complained.

Feeling snarky, Buck replied, “I could’ve told you that, Luke.”

“You took almost 90 pills from me, Buckley!” Lucas yelled. “You will pay me back for them. I don’t have insurance, asshole.”

Lucas stormed off, presumably to figure out how much money Buck owed him.

Buck let himself fall back onto the bed, heaving a sigh.

Chapter Text

Mr. April

⿻

Buck was happy for Chimney. Honest.

The man deserved it; he was the longest-lived member of the 118, and he’d seen everyone arrive for their first day, even Captain Nash. Moreover, society deserved to see an Asian man in the LAFD’s hot firefighter calendar.

But at the same time, Buck was struggling. He’d thrown everything into winning a spot on the calendar; hell, he’d ended up in the hospital.

His stomach churned with anger and embarrassment throughout the shift. As much as Chimney deserved being Mr. April…Buck deserved it more.

Everyone could probably tell that Buck was in a foul mood. They didn’t even make him come to the table at lunch or dinner when the time came for each meal. Instead, he laid down in the bunk room and napped, and in between calls, he worked out.

It was Bobby who called him out in the end.

With only an hour left of their shift, Bobby demanded in an unusually brusque tone, “Buckley, my office, now.”

“Ooh, he’s in trouble,” Chim cooed. Hen slapped his arm with the back of her hand. Eddie, meanwhile, just made a grim face. Buck felt dread build up in his empty stomach.

Buck followed Bobby into the captain’s office and stood before the desk, shifting from foot to foot. He felt like a kid in the principal’s office.

“Sit down, Buck,” Bobby said and gestured to the seats Buck had to choose from. The young firefighter hesitantly chose a chair and lowered himself into it.

The pair sat in awkward silence for a moment before Bobby finally broke and asked, “do you know why you’re here?”

Yes. “No, cap.”

“Everyone here is worried about you, Buck,” Bobby told him. “You haven’t been behaving like yourself.”

“Maybe this is the most like myself I’ve ever been,” Buck suggested stubbornly, crossing his arms. 

Bobby raised his eyebrows. Properly chastised, Buck shrank and admitted, “yeah, I’m having a hard time losing the calendar contest.”

“It’s okay to be unhappy about losing,” Bobby gently reminded Buck. “But this has been going on longer than just today.”

“I’ve just been busy training for the calendar, cap.”

Bobby sat back in his chair. “Then I hope that you can ease up on yourself now that the deadline has passed.”

“Of course,” Buck agreed. Like a liar.

Chapter Text

Tight

⿻

Buck was glad that he decided to eat before the earthquake. 

He only did it to appease Bobby and convince the captain that he was okay. Now, it’s clear that fueling his body was helpful for scaling to the eleventh floor of a lopsided highrise.

That being said, he was back to starving when he dropped Eddie off at his son’s school, head pounding with dehydration as he watched the pair hug. 

He wasn’t sure where to go next, what to do next. He didn’t even want to think about going home, so that left him with one option—Abby’s apartment.

Maddie would be at work for a while longer to help with the remainder of the 7.1 calls. That meant he’d have the apartment to himself for the time being.

Driving mindlessly toward Abby’s old place, Buck listened to the buzzing in his ears. He came to as he parked on the street in front of the building. 

Buck shook off the funk of the day and slid from his seat to make his way inside. He hadn’t been back since he’d suggested Maddie get her job at dispatch when he’d moved the last of his things back to the frat house with her help.

He slid his long-disused key into the lock and turned the knob; inside, he found that Maddie was still living out of her suitcase. Other than the usual signs of everyday life, the apartment seemed the same, largely stagnant. 

Buck slumped onto the couch, arms flopped to his sides. Suddenly, his clothes felt too tight—hell, his skin felt too tight. He scratched at his shirt and ripped it off, scratched at his stomach, chest, and arms. Pacing, he rubbed at his skin.

He didn’t stop until he saw the skin turn red and raw.

Breathing heavily, Buck stared at himself in shock and awe. Shock at what he’d just done to himself; awe for how it had brought him relief.

“Shit,” he muttered, pausing and shaking out his hands. He went to the kitchen sink so he could wash them, using the scrub brush to get at his nailbeds and clean away the guilt of hurting himself.

Chapter Text

Help Me

⿻

Buck woke up with a gasp, still shirtless, skin marred with white lines from scratching the night before. 

He shrugged back on his shirt and hurried out of the apartment. He didn’t want Maddie to see him like this—to see him like he’d been when he was young. When he’d been foolish enough to hurt himself instead of turning to the people who loved him. Well, the person who loved him.

But now he had more than just Maddie. He had Bobby and Hen, Eddie and Chimney. 

Buck looked around the apartment, hoping he’d left a jacket or hoodie behind the last time he’d visited Maddie. He found one tossed onto Maddie’s—Abby’s—bed, probably one she’d stolen from Buck. He shot off a quick text that he was taking it back and left.

Back in his Jeep, Buck started to drive home but began to veer toward Hen’s house. Redirecting, he ended up calling her on the way.

“Hen,” he greeted, voice hoarse from lack of use.

She answered, “Buck! Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” he said automatically, then corrected himself. “Well. Actually, I’m on my way over to talk to you.”

“Is this a coffee talk or a beer talk?”

Buck glanced at the time and realized it was half past four in the morning. “Beer talk,” he decided, even though it was arguably early and not late.

“Got it,” Hen agreed easily and hung up, presumably to get ready for his arrival. 

The rest of the drive was as automatic as Buck’s change in trajectory had been. He zoned out on the way, grateful he knew the path to Hen’s place well.

Upon arrival, Buck got out of the car and checked his phone to see a text from Hen letting him know the door was unlocked. He eased his way in. Hen sat on the sofa, two bottles of beer on the coffee table before her.

“Hey, Buckaroo,” she greeted softly.

“Hen,” he replied similarly, then immediately collapsed beside her, tears prickling behind his eyes.

Chapter Text

Confession

⿻

Hen sat with Buck’s confession, fingers tracing the lines on his left arm with melancholic reverence. She looked into his eyes and gripped his chin with one hand. “Listen to me,” she demanded.

Buck averted his eyes, but Hen jerked his chin so he was looking at her again. The action was somehow loving despite its harshness.

“No, Buck, I need you to pay attention. You are not worth anything less because you did this to yourself. You are so precious, Buckaroo, so precious.”

Paisley, the dog Hen rescued during the earthquake, jumped up and nuzzled underneath their arms. She yipped and curled up between them. Buck laughed tearfully and reached down to pet her. 

Hen released his face and patted him on the cheek. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” he chuckled wetly, scritching behind Paisley’s ear. “I hear you.”

Hen tossed back the last of her beer. “We do need to make a plan, Buck. If you ever want to hurt yourself again, you need to tell someone. It doesn't have to be me.”

A pained expression crossed Buck’s face.

Understanding the shame he was likely experiencing, Hen laid her hand flat against the arm she was still holding.

Buck stumbled over his words as he tried to explain, “there isn’t even a reason for me to feel this way. Nothing bad has happened—not that hasn’t happened to everyone else.”

Hen gave him a Look. “Are you kidding me, Buckley? You passed out in my backyard. You were in the hospital! Besides, going through shit isn’t a prerequisite for wanting to hurt yourself.”

She could tell he didn't believe her, but there wasn’t much more she could figure out to do. “Oh, Buck,” she murmured, pulling him against her in a powerful hug.

Chapter Text

Brother’s Keeper

⿻

“I’m tellin’ you, Mads, the guy was sandwiched in there like he was roast beef on a sub,” Buck enthused as he walked beside his sister. He wildly gesticulated as he described an early morning call from his recent shift, during which a security guard had been caught between two buildings.

Maddie rolled her eyes. “You’re getting way too much joy out of this.”

“I gotta get it where I can,” he reasoned. “How’s work been, anyway?”

“Something about dealing with an earthquake during your first shift makes it a bit easier to handle,” Maddie mused. Buck opened the restaurant door for her, so she quickly led the way in, finding a table.

“Thanks, by the way,” Maddie added, “for agreeing to try this new place with me.”

Stomach dropping, Buck just nodded and stuck to following his sister. They sat and studied the menu.

He kept talking, trying to distract himself from having no choice but to order food and eat. “I think the girl stuck in a tailpipe was funnier, though.”

“Right, I took that call! They were ridiculously drunk, especially for that time of day,” Maddie chimed in.

“And they hit on me like crazy. But that was nothing compared to how much they hit on Eddie, damn.”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “Did you tell them about your supposed girlfriend?”

“No supposed about it, Maddie,” Buck defended. “And yes, I did. Eddie tried to use his kid as an anti-flirting shield and it still didn’t work. I’m telling you, those ladies were relentless.”

“Oh, speaking of Eddie’s kid, one of the other dispatchers said that a Christopher Diaz called today.”

“Yeah,” Buck confirmed, “Eddie’s abuela fell and broke her hip. Christopher’s a smart kid for calling 9-1-1 and trying to do something about it.”

“How did that all work out, anyway?” Maddie asked, but before Buck could answer, a server came by and asked for their drink orders.

Maddie requested, “could I just have a water, please?” She looked expectantly at Buck, waiting for his answer.

Buck never knew a drink order could make him sweat bullets, but there he was, panicking over what to order. His aching stomach and sister’s presence begged for his usual order, Dr Pepper. Meanwhile, he knew it would be better to stick with Diet Coke.

In the end, his sister being there triggered an automatic response. “Dr Pepper, please.” His stomach growled in protest.

The server wrote down their drink orders and walked off.

“So, Chris?” Maddie prompted.

Buck refocused, pushing the gnawing hatred of his stomach away. “He ended up spending a couple of hours at the station with us, even came on a call or two, before Tía Pepa could come and pick him up.”

“I love that Bobby could get that to happen,” Maddie sighed happily. She accepted her water and started stirring it with her straw.

Buck mimicked her, reluctant to drink the sugary pop he’d opted to order.

Maddie turned her attention to the menu and started to muse about her food choices. Buck felt as if he was turning inside out just listening to it.

“I might try the fish and chips since this is a British pub,” Maddie decided. “What are you thinking?”

“Not sure,” Buck admitted, clearing his throat. “Maybe a salad?”

“This one has candied pecans, strawberries, and goat cheese,” Maddie suggested, pointing at the menu.

Immediate no at the word candied. “Not a fan of fruit on salad,” Buck lied.

“House salad?” Maddie moved her finger up to the next item on the list.

Buck pondered that but eventually shook his head. “Maybe I’ll just do this spinach salad.” He pointed out a simple salad with hardly any toppings, just almonds and parmesan. Maddie threw a strange look his way, but didn’t say anything.

Buck knew she was probably wondering where her pig of a younger brother was, and who’d replaced him. He pursed his lips around his straw and sipped at his drink.

Their server returned to take their order, Maddie her fish and chips, and Buck his spinach salad with light balsamic dressing.

Buck and Maddie kept talking about their days until their food arrived. A sizable platter of cod landed in front of Maddie while the server placed a tiny bowl of spinach before Buck. He didn’t miss the judgment in her gaze as she spied his plate.

Maddie dug into her food, making little happy sounds as she ate. Buck felt a pang of jealousy at it. He poked at his own meal with his fork, pushing it around more than actually eating it.

“How are you feeling, Evan?” Maddie inquired between bites.

Horrible. “Okay.” I hurt myself. “I checked on Abby’s apartment after the earthquake, and your stuff was fine. A few things were out of place.”

“Aw, thanks.” Maddie took another bite. “That explains where that one hoodie went.”

“Yeah, that was me,” Buck chuckled, forcing the laughter out. “I felt chilly when I left.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell that Maddie believed him; it had been an unseasonably warm September, and Buck, as much as he ran cold, wasn’t exempt from the weather.

Their conversation lapsed again, and Buck decided actually to try a bite of his salad. He found it bland and boring, which he immediately labeled safe. The less flavor, the less calories. The less calories, the less Buck.

Chapter Text

Routine

⿻

Buck fell into a routine.

When at home: Waking up early so he can clean up the evidence of the previous night’s binge, inside and out. Run the shower while bending over the toilet and shoving a finger down his throat so he can empty his stomach. Then actually showering, taking the time to gargle some of the water pounding down on his head. 

After cleaning himself up, proceeding to do the same for his room, gathering all of the evidence of the night before to trash it all. Carrying a full bag to the can every morning, putting the bin on the curb on the right day of the week, and generally trying to keep his roommates from seeing all the food he’s been eating.

When at work: Waking up whenever needed and trying his best to resist eating. 

It’s nearly impossible, though, with Hen and Bobby and Eddie all breathing down his neck. Chimney’s probably next on the list if Buck doesn’t start eating at their firehouse meals.

In either case, Buck exercises as much as possible. He goes for jogs at home and practically lives in the gym at the 118. It’s not uncommon for him to push so hard he throws up. Eddie keeps telling him to cool his jets, but Buck can’t. 

He couldn’t possibly say why he can’t, just that it’s an impossibility. Buck knows, logically speaking, that he is a muscular guy with a low body fat percentage. All he’s doing is ruining himself. All he’s doing is ruining his stomach, esophagus, and teeth—he’d done the research. His muscles, tendons, and bones were all at risk.

The routine kept him light-headed. When he felt light-headed, he felt like he was small, even though he knew it  wasn’t true.

Getting in and out of the ladder truck and engine made him feel dizzy. Turning to look at someone calling for him did, too. It made Buck worried, but at the same time, it felt like an accomplishment—a milestone.

The day came when Buck felt grateful for calls where he just had to stand.

The day Athena called for an RA unit for a racist and homophobic man choking on his own shit, Buck just had to wait for him to finish rejecting every eligible caretaker before their work was declared done.

When Hen decided to administer care anyway, Buck sighed and got to work, taking the old man’s feet and putting as little energy as possible into rolling him over.

“Ready, Buck?” Eddie asked as if sensing that his partner was struggling. 

Buck huffed a quick “yeah” and put his back into it.

He tried to ignore how his vision started graying around the edges. Standing up slowly, he stepped back and fell in line with Maddie.

“So what’s the latest hot goss around dispatch?” He joked, trying to catch his breath.

Maddie, hand pressed to her heart, tore her eyes off the man being treated. “I met this one dispatcher today,” she mentioned. “Josh calls her the Celine Dion of dispatch. Her name’s Gloria, and I guess she accepts the most calls of anyone.”

Buck furrowed his brow. “Must take a lot of calls, then.”

“Yeah, she does.” Maddie looks Buck up and down. She frowns. “You okay, little bro?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I’m alright. Having trouble sleeping. Alarm kept going off last night.” A truth, burying the lie by omission. Buck had opted to haunt the gym instead of returning to the bunks.

Maddie hummed questioningly but didn’t say anything else. The pair just watched as the patient was loaded onto a backboard, a new ambulance from the 133 having just arrived with a white paramedic (eye roll) to load him up.

“Buckley, let’s go!” Bobby called out.

“On it, Cap!” Buck yelled back. He grasped his sister by the shoulder for a moment before carefully turning on his heel and walking back to the rest of the 118.

Chapter Text

Adrenaline

⿻

“He is so cute!”

“Yeah, he gets that a lot—you should meet his kid, though.”

“Wait! Chimney has a kid?!”

Buck lay awake in bed, contemplating his interaction with Maddie.

Shock number one: Maddie thought Chimney was cute. Shock number two: Buck essentially just admitted to thinking Eddie was cute. And damn, if that weren’t the truth.

At least with Maddie in her own apartment, Buck could get out of the frat house and away from Lucas’s cold shoulder. As much as Buck loved his roommates, he could only tolerate so many frigid looks from guys who used to be his closest friends. He’d moved into Abby’s apartment pretty much the moment Maddie vacated it.

Unfortunately, doing so just made it easier for him to spiral.

He hadn’t eaten in a few days since his last day on shift. He was pretty proud of himself, too; at least in his eyes, it was a good change from bingeing every night.

Buck knew he would need to eat something before his shift, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he shrugged on an LAFD shirt, absentmindedly scratching at his arm, and made his way down to his Jeep.

As he sat in the Jeep, he glanced down and realized his arm was turning red. Sighing, he grabbed the hoodie in the passenger seat and tossed it over his head.

When Buck arrived at the station, his friends greeted him with a chorus of “hey” and “hello.” He smiled at them and tried to ignore how his exhaustion ran bone-deep.

He’d just barely changed for the day when the alarm sounded. The loudspeaker declared a helicopter accident with one patient unresponsive. He jogged toward the engine, each step fuzzing his vision just a touch more.

Sitting in the cab, Buck heaved a breath and closed his eyes. He felt a knee nudge against his. Flicking open one lid, Buck saw Eddie staring at him, clearly concerned. Buck just smiled and nodded in an attempt to signal that he was okay. It was clear that Eddie didn’t believe him, but would be letting it go during the call.

As the engine approached its destination, it began to shake with the force of the helicopter’s blades. Buck felt himself shiver in time with the movement. He watched through the window as Sergeant Grant pulled up in her patrol vehicle, got out, and began yelling.

The firefighters streamed out of the engine and immediately plastered themselves along its length. Athena screamed, “stay down!” and they all listened, the fear of God settling in their souls.

Buck watched as Athena yelled at the bystanders to move. The random parkgoers, all filming on their phones, finally fled at the sergeant’s formidable orders.

Bobby began to issue his own instructions. “Guys, we’re gonna fan out, go behind those bleachers. Eddie, after we get the people out, think you can kill that engine?”

“Think so; I’m just worried about the dynamic rollover!” Eddie screamed back.

Buck couldn’t help but chime in. “The dynamic what?”

“We change the weight ratio by pulling people out, whole thing could tip over, rotors could snap off,” Eddie explained. 

“And then flying rocks are gonna be the least of our problems,” Buck realized with a sinking feeling. He felt a burst of energy as the dire situation pumped him full of adrenaline.

“All right, visors down, let’s go!” Bobby ordered.

Buck slipped into work mode and marched behind Eddie. He dashed through the field behind the bleachers as Bobby had initially described, then jumped up and started to scrape around the edges of the door, hunting for a latch.

Bobby screeched, “Buck, get her out of there!”

“On it, cap! Put your arms around me,” Buck asked of the redhead in the helicopter as he finally got the door open. However, a sudden rocking motion ripped her from his grasp, and he caught her by the leg.

His vision blurred for a moment. Blinking rapidly, Buck powered through the moment of weakness and tugged at her leg. He was grateful for her being conscious, as she held her own weight while Buck swapped places with Bobby.

Later, Buck was helping Hen with the exam when he realized he recognized her voice. 

Hen declared her in good enough health to lose the oxygen mask, leaving room for Athena to check in.

“How are you doing?” Athena asked kindly.

The redhead simply answered, “I’m not sure. How’s Trent? Is he okay?”

Bent down to rustle through his jump bag, Buck listened to her speak. He popped up and said, “hey, do me a favor.”

Chapter Text

Aftermath

⿻

The brownie hit Buck hard. 

Maybe not as hard as it did Bobby, who Athena was rushing to rescue, but Buck—who hadn’t been eating properly—found himself sitting in the back of a police cruiser sweating and staring around wondrously.

Chimney sent off the pageant mom with a high heel in her cheek with another RA unit, opting instead to stay with his coworkers to check on them. He shone a flashlight in Hen’s eyes, checking her pupillary response.

“I don’t want this,” Eddie told Buck, hyperventilating. “My abuela is gonna kill me!”

A lopsided grin dripped from Buck’s lips. “We’re okay, Eds. Your abuela doesn’t have to know about this.” He stared at Eddie, admiring how his hair glittered and his eyes shimmered like the ocean at sunset.

Eddie’s lip wobbled. “But I don’t wanna lie to her,” he admitted.

Buck felt sweat drip down his temple and nose, coming to rest on his cupid’s bow. He lamented his inability to wipe it from his lips, seeing as he was still handcuffed.

Chim’s voice sounded from just beyond the car. “Alright, Hen, you’re going to be fine. Yes, I love you too. Now go and tell Buck to come see me.”

Hen popped up then, eyes watering and lips upturned in a soppy smile. “Your turn, Buckaroo,” she informed him in a lovey-dovey tone. Buck stood up and let her take his place in the car. 

As he swung into motion, Buck’s gut rebelled, sending a pulse of nausea through him. He stopped and leaned into the cruiser with one shoulder, bent double. Mouth tasting sour, he swallowed once in an attempt to calm his stomach.

“You good there, Buck?” Chimney asked from where he stood by the bumper of the 118’s ambulance. “Looking a little pale.”

Buck shook his head like a dog, a move that just made him feel dizzy. He stumbled and couldn’t catch himself. Luckily, a nearby officer managed to grab him by the arm and lead him over to Chimney.

Buck grinned up at him and gushed, “thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome,” the cop laughed. “Delivery for you, Han.”

“Buckaroo, my favorite,” Chim joked, wrapping a warm hand around Buck’s arm and settling him on the bumper. Buck just kept smiling, happy to be someone’s favorite.

Another wave of nausea struck Buck, and he leaned forward, slotting his head between his knees. The action threw off his balance. He toppled forward, narrowly missing landing on his head because Chimney and the police officer threw out their arms to catch him.

“Ugh,” Buck voiced, “gonna be sick…”

“Be sick in here,” Chimney ordered, sticking a blue barf bag under Buck’s chin.

Buck, stomach roiling, coughed and dribbled until, finally, the meager amount of food he’d managed to eat that morning came back up.

Chimney soothed him. “There you go, Buckaroo. That’s it. Don’t stop on my account.”

Buck spluttered, now hacking up only saliva and bile. Cramped and aching, he finally sat up and shook his head.

“Good job,” Chim reassured, closing the barf bag and setting it aside. He picked up some gauze and wiped Buck’s chin. “There we go, all better. How you feeling now?”

Buck just whimpered.

“Makes sense. I have to do the rest of my exam, but if you need to throw up again, let me know. I have more bags where that came from.”

Chimney proceeded as expected, and in no time, Buck was lying on the stretcher in the ambulance, resting with a banana bag attached to his arm.

Hen peeked and saw him. Complaining, she cried, “why does he get to lie down!?”

“Because he needs to stay out of the sun, on fluids,  and off his feet,” Chim answered. “Eddie, your turn!”

Buck listened as Eddie received his own check-up sans barf bag.

“Alright, everyone,” Chimney announced, “we’re all in good health, just a little high. Let’s get going.”

Chapter Text

Repeat

⿻

Buck went home and watched Taylor Kelly’s segment on the 118 again. And again, and again.

He kept staring at himself whenever he was in view.

Do I really look that huge? Am I that fat? He scratched at his chest, uncomfortable at the sheer size of himself.

The video ended, and he started it again. Absentmindedly scratching, he listened to his own voice.

“To be honest, I just kind of, uh, fell into it. I was living in Peru. My buddy Connor moved to LA, and I sorta just followed him. We used to watch this one firefighter movie together all the time, so when we got here, we decided to join the academy. He didn’t stick it out, but I did.”

He still felt off from the LSD, even though he was sure he was imagining it. He felt even worse as he watched himself work on-screen. A sharp pain ricocheted down his chest, and he looked down. A strange scattering of red dots patterned his skin. “Shit,” he murmured.

Buck pressed his hand flat against his chest and drew a deep breath. He hadn’t scratched since the earthquake, at least not enough to leave marks. He experimentally bent his fingers again.

Dragging his nails across his skin, he finally released the air he’d been holding. His concerns were melting away, the anguish plaguing him leaking through the pinpricks beneath his fingertips. Sighing in relief, he repeated the action, looking down and watching in awe as red lines trailed along his chest, paling to white within a mere second before disappearing against his mottled skin.

The news website had auto-played a different segment while Buck was distracted. He powered down his laptop, seeing his reflection. Buck looked swollen, birthmark like a target above his eye. Anger pulsed through him and he snapped the device shut before tossing it to the foot of the bed.

Buck tried curling up in the covers, but that reminded him that he was a giant. Instead, he jumped up and paced his room. He gripped his hair, tugging at it, one hand returning to his chest and scratching again. 

It wasn’t just his face that looked swollen; it was his whole body. He wrapped his arms around his torso and curled in on himself. His hands drifted to his arms and scraped up and down there. His skin was going to split, straining over muscles and fat. 

Maybe that’s what needed to happen. Buck frantically focused his energy on one spot, heat gathering. Tears blurred his eyes as he dug deeper into his flesh.

A ragged sound punctured the air, and Buck realized it was sobbing. He crashed into his bed and cried himself to sleep.

Buck woke up the next morning and rolled over in bed, unwilling to get up. It was only his overfull bladder and cottony mouth that forced him to get up and go to the bathroom.

Groaning, Buck dragged his feet on his way. He paused to splash water on his face, down a glass of water and relieved himself before washing his hands.

He looked up at himself in the mirror, and his eyes drifted down to his abused chest, criss-crossed with angry red lines.

As if automatic, his hand drifted up and began to drag across them. He watched as the red turned white in little trails behind his nails. 

Chapter Text

Hush

⿻

Buck tugged his hand through his curls, fighting to tame the damp locks. He stepped out of the station shower to return to his locker, letting a cloud of steam escape alongside him, and saw Chimney walking in. Buck knotted his hand in the towel, slung low around his hips more tightly, and nodded at Chim. 

Chimney started to return the nod before his steps stuttered. “What monster chewed up your chest?” He asked.

“Shit,” Buck said. 

He and Chimney had a faceoff in the showers' entry, glancing occasionally at the angry scratches and petechiae on Buck’s chest.

“Uh,” Buck stuttered.

Someone else’s footsteps sounded. “Boys, what’s going on in here?” Hen rounded the corner.

Buck again tightened his grip on his towel. He cried out, “men’s room, Hen!”

“Hush, I don’t even play for your team,” she chastised, staring at his chest. “Get dressed and come find me.” With that, the woman left.

Sufficiently chastised, Buck scurried to his locker and hurried to pull on a shirt before more people could see the marks. 

After Buck finished getting dressed, he left the locker room in search of Hen. He finally found the paramedic sitting on the couch upstairs. Feeling small, he slid into the seat beside her and held his hands in front of him.

“Hey, honey,” Hen greeted, wrapping an arm around Buck to draw him into a warm hug.

Buck didn’t speak, just leaned into her. 

Hen rubbed up and down his arm, trying to comfort her friend, murmuring kindnesses that Buck himself didn’t believe. After the energy in the air shifted and calmed, she asked, “what happened, Buckaroo?”

He just shrugged and dragged his heels onto the sofa, working to make himself as small as possible. All the move did was emphasize the folds of his stomach. Burying his face between his knees, Buck shook with the effort of holding back tears.

She shushed him, but not in a “quiet down” way. Somehow, it sent a clear message: you can feel emotions.

The everyday of the station went on around them. The others seemed to sense that Buck needed to be left alone; at one point, Chimney shared a few murmured words with Hen, but otherwise, the pair were isolated from the rest.

Chapter Text

Man Behind

⿻

The alarm sounded, interrupting Hen and Buck’s moment of peace; Buck didn’t budge, having fallen into a fitful sleep. Hen eased herself out from his side and laid him against the pillows. The motions were awkward, seeing as he was such a large man, but she managed it.

Bobby jogged over to fetch them, having just emerged from his office. “Hen, Buck,” he started but stopped when Hen put a finger to her lips.

“He just fell asleep, Cap.”

The older man looked down at the boy who had become like a son. “He’ll be man behind, then,” Bobby decided easily.

Hen followed Bobby down the loft steps and into the engine, where they settled into their respective seats. Hen expected questions about where Buck was and was shocked when conversation carried on as normal. It seemed everyone could sense something off about their golden boy.

Eddie was the only person who seemed antsy enough to ask about Buck, so when he broke the de facto silence on the matter, Hen wasn’t surprised.

“Does anyone know what’s going on with him this time?”

Hen simply turned her head and focused on the passing pavement. Chimney, however, decided to gossip. “He had a bunch of scratches on his chest. I can’t tell what caused them—maybe a girl? Think he’s finally moved on from Abby?”

Frowning, Eddie shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know him as well as you all do, but I get the sense he’d say something if he admitted that was over.”

“He would,” Bobby confirmed. “He’d talk about being Buck 2.5 or something.”

“I have my money on Buck 2.1, myself,” Chim joked.

Hen let herself smile. “I’m all in on Buck 3.0.”

Eddie shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait, what are Buck-point-ohs and what do they have to do with breaking up with his nonexistent girlfriend?”

Chimney spent the rest of their ride trying in vain to explain the phenomenon that was Buck 1.0 in all its gory, snake ladies and stolen vehicles included. Eddie didn’t seem to believe him on much more than the “Firehose” moniker by the time they arrived.

Bobby was shaking off the last of his laughter by the time they walked up to their destination. It was a home with green exterior walls and a purple door. He stood on the porch and knocked on the door, calling out, “LAFD!”

The heavy door creaked open, revealing a young teen, who was probably bordering on ten. She had tear tracks down her face and was holding her arms close to her body. “Hi,” she answered in a quavering voice, “you didn’t need to come here. I accidentally dialed 9-1-1.”

Smiling, Bobby got down on one knee. “I understand. We’d like to still check on things. Are your parents home?”

She shook her head.

Bobby asked, “May we come in?”

The girl glanced over her shoulder before nodding and turning around to shoulder the door further open. Bobby waved Hen in with him, the pair poised to take action if needed.

They walked into a dark home, warm and cozy with its purple walls and hardwood floors. The girl stopped and curled up on a forest green sofa; deeper in the home, a second voice called out, “who’s there, Olivia?”

Hen watched as the girl winced. She yelled back, “no one, Ethan.”

The boy who’d spoken emerged from a different room and scowled. “Did you call the cops?”

Bobby stepped in. “We’re fire and rescue, young man.” He appraised the young teen. “However, if we should call the police, let me know.”

“No one should’ve been called,” Ethan asserted. “We’re fine.”

“We’re here because a 9-1-1 call was placed from this address, “ Bobby explained. “All we want to do is ensure everyone here is safe.”

Olivia sniffled and curled up impossibly tighter. 

Hen and Bobby locked eyes before making a decision. Bobby swept an arm toward the back of the house and suggested to Ethan, “let’s talk back here.”

Meanwhile, Hen knelt before Olivia. “Did you call 9-1-1?”

Immediately, words spilled out of the girl. “I did, but it was a mistake, I panicked and I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry—”

“Sweetheart, no,” Hen reassured with placating hands held between them. “I’m proud of you for following your instinct. If you called, there was a reason. What happened?”

Olivia sniffed again. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears as she slipped a hand up toward her throat. “Ethan,” she whispered, “he pinned me down and choked me.”

“Was he just playing around?” Hen checked. She snapped on gloves and slowly reached for Olivia’s throat. Anger flared in Hen’s stomach as she did so, but she worked to stay calm. The last thing a scared little girl needed was to be treated by a pissed paramedic.

Olivia blinked and nodded. A tear slid down her cheek. “Yeah, at first. Then he got mad.”

Hen palpated the girl’s neck. Finding nothing and seeing no discomfort, she sat back and offered a sad smile. “He shouldn’t have choked you. That’s never okay to do, even if you didn’t get hurt this time.”

Shouting echoed through the house just a moment later. 

“I didn’t hurt her! I made sure not to,” Ethan yelled.

Olivia started shivering. Hen wrapped a nearby blanket around her charge, ushering her up and toward the door. Spotting a pair of shoes, she whispered, “are those yours? Put them on, now.”

Nodding, Olivia shuffled her feet into the shoes and tugged the blanket tighter around herself. Hen walked her outside and toward the ambulance. 

“Do you have a phone on you?” Hen checked.

Olivia shook her head.

“Do you have your parents’ phone numbers memorized?”

She nodded that time, letting Hen lift her onto the bumper of the RA unit. “My mom’s.”

“Here, use my phone to call her.” Hen handed over her cell, unlocked and set to the phone app’s keypad before turning to Chimney. “We need to call in the police.”

What began as a simple call turned into a long and complicated situation attempting to address inter-sibling abuse. Within fifteen minutes of calling for backup, a police cruiser arrived. Another thirty minutes later, Olivia and Ethan’s parents careened into the neighborhood and threw themselves into the ambulance.

Bobby led Ethan out of the house at some point, the preteen boy tearful and apologetic. Back with his own team, Bobby explained the situation to the new point person.

The sergeant nodded along to the story, confirming in the end, “we’ll take this from here, Captain Nash.”

The 118 were somber on their way back to the station. Their usual banter was missing as they all contemplated the call they’d just left.

Back at the house, everyone went their separate ways. Bobby jogged up to his office, muttering about paperwork; Chimney and Eddie disappeared into the locker room. Hen followed Bobby up the stairs to resume her position on the couch beside Buck.

When she got there, he was gone. 

Eddie started yelling, and Hen ran to the balcony edge. Chimney, in his boxers and undershirt, dashed out of the locker room and shouted, “call 9-1-1!”

Chapter Text

Cracked

⿻

Eddie felt Buck’s ribs crack beneath his hands as he counted the beats. 

When he’d learned CPR for the first time as a teen, he’d learned it to the tune of Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger. Later, when getting recertified in the Army, his first aid specialist, in particular, enjoyed the irony of Another One Bites the Dust. Joining the LAFD introduced him to Captain Renee Anderson, who was fond of Stayin’ Alive by the Beegees.

Right now, though, all Eddie could do was think, please live to the count of proper CPR.

Ice-cold water pulsed down on them, the water pressure fucking with his numbers. “Come on, Buck!” Eddie screamed.

A pair of hands moved into his space. Bobby murmured, “I got him,” and edged Eddie out, taking over the CPR. 

Chimney came back, now wearing a pair of work pants. “This way,” he guided, and a team of paramedics from the 133 stormed in.

Eddie felt as if he were floating as he was led away from his best friend lying on the floor of the station showers.

Hen’s face appeared, and he could see her lips moving, but nothing reached his ears. Chimney showed up next, then Bobby, who pushed Chimney onto the couch. Eddie found himself seated next to his coworker.

“Eddie, Eddie! Listen to me, they got a pulse, he’s on oxygen, he’s okay.” Hen’s voice rang into existence.

Gasping for breath, Eddie doubled over and shoved his head between his knees. For the first time since the earthquake, when he was separated from Christopher for hours, he prayed.

He ignored the mutterings around him, instead focusing on his breathing, trying to keep himself from being another patient in an ambulance. 

“What happened?” Chimney asked, voice cutting through the fog. 

Hen paced the space in front of the television. “I don’t know,” she declared. “Eddie, do you know?”

Eddie drew in a ragged breath. “I walked in,” he started, then paused to breathe again. “I walked in, and he was on the floor. His lips were blue.”

Hen knelt before Eddie and rested a gentle hand on his knee. “You did good. You kept him alive until the 133 got here.”

“Blood,” Eddie whispered. “He fell and hit his head, I think. Then…”

Eddie imagined Buck lying in the cold stream of water the entire time the rest of the 118 were on their call. A ragged sob ripped from Eddie’s body. Chimney reached over and laid a tentative hand on Eddie’s back.

Bobby, hair still damp and dressed in new clothes, jogged up the stairs. “They’re taking him to the closest hospital. I just got off the phone with Chief Alonzo—our house is offline until B shift arrives. You’re all free to go.”

Hen stopped and held out a hand for Eddie. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Numb, shivering from his drenched clothes, Eddie shook his head like a dog. “I should change,” he muttered.

“Well then, hurry, we need to go see your boy.”

Eddie stumbled down the stairs, narrowly avoiding being the next person to earn a ride in an ambulance. His movements were automatic as he changed. He tossed his wet clothing into his locker and tugged on warm sweatpants, a spare LAFD tee, and a hoodie. 

Following Hen, he slid into the backseat, seeing as Chimney had already claimed shotgun. The ride to the hospital was silent. Not even the radio was on.

Hen slid into a spot and shifted into park, but no one budged.

Chapter Text

Blue

⿻

“It looks like when he was in the shower, he passed out and hit his head. That and clear malnutrition contributed to his body’s reaction to the cold water.”

Bobby listened to the doctor describe Buck’s medical situation, his own heart constricting as he heard “malnutrition.” Buck—who is like a son to him—has been starving.

The doctor took Bobby by the elbow and led him to a seat. She offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There is also evidence of self-harm, in addition to disordered eating. We’re going to have to keep him here for seventy-two hours.”

Now Bobby understood why she’d asked to speak with him in private. This was a sensitive discussion. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and cradled his face in his hands. Finally, he looked up. “Can I see him?”

“Yes, but only you for the time being. Mr. Buckley will be in control of further visitors.” 

Bobby glanced down at the doctor’s badge and noted her name, making sure to thank her. “I appreciate this, Dr Gardner.”

“It’s no problem, Mr Nash.” Gardner led him out of the small conference room she’d used to break the news. Back in the hall, Bobby looked back into the waiting room, noticing his team. He held up a hand in a silent order to wait. Instead of returning to them, he followed the doctor. 

Before long, Bobby found himself in Buck’s room, where the man in question lay in the hospital bed, wan and weak. Buck didn’t even smile when he saw Bobby, hardly reacted at all besides a slow blink.

Dr. Gardner placed the clipboard she’d had in her grasp on the footboard of Buck’s cot and excused herself from the room. 

Bobby pulled up a chair so he could sit at Buck’s bedside, hands steepled beneath his chin. He studied the form before him, somehow small despite its large frame.

“Bobby,” Buck croaked, but Bobby just shook his head, a minute movement that managed to put a stop to whatever the younger man was about to say.

“Evan Buckley,” Bobby began, “you are not allowed to scare me like that ever again. You will stay in this hospital for seventy-two hours. You will listen to Dr Gardner and any other medical professionals who work with you. And you will be a compliant, pleasant person to work with. Am I understood?”

Buck nodded weakly. “Yes, cap.”

“Now,” Bobby continued in a soothing voice, “how can I help?”

Tears streaked down Buck’s cheeks and a sob bubbled up from his throat. “I don’t know,” he blubbered, “I don’t know, Bobby.”

Chapter Text

Fake It ‘Til You Make It

⿻

Buck watched the IV drip snake into his skin, the nutritious liquid bulking back up the body he’d fought so hard to shrink. He ballooned under its ministrations, swelling with water weight.

His fingers itched to rip the needle out of his arm, but he knew that he would be in trouble if he did that.

“Are you okay with seeing more visitors?” Bobby had asked, and Buck had shaken his head. He couldn’t bear to face any of them, but after learning what they’d all gone through to get him to the hospital…

After learning that Chimney and Eddie found him, that Eddie performed bone-breaking CPR on him, Buck couldn’t face them.

“Mr. Buckley,” came a soft voice, accompanied by a knock. Buck looked up and saw Dr Gardner in the doorway. She smiled at him, something thin and tired. “I wanted to check again if you want to see your friends. Your seventy-two hours begin officially at four, which is in about fifteen minutes. It’s your last chance.” 

Buck simply shook his head, denying the opportunity. He couldn’t let them see him like this, bloated and guilt-ridden. 

“The orderlies have been sorting through your belongings, and there isn’t much you can keep back here. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and let his head loll the other way, indicating the conversation was done. Dr Gardner, however, wasn’t done.

She circled the room so that Buck could see her again. “Do you have any medications you’ll need while you’re here?”

Buck thought about the acetazolamide and considered asking for it, but he knew he couldn’t get away with it. “No,” he croaked. “Nothing.”

Gardner reached in her pocket and held up a familiar plain white bottle. “Then what are these?”

Swallowing, Buck just turned his head again and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“We had one of our pharmacists take a look,” Dr Gardner continued, “and they’re diuretics. Mr Buckley, you don’t have a prescription for this medication.”

Silent, Buck stared resolutely ahead. He thought about the money he’d been slipping under Luke’s door to make up for stealing his medicine. How the threats had stopped after the first twenty slid across the doorjamb. 

When she didn’t get any answers, Dr Gardner tossed the bottle between her hands and told Buck, “these are being confiscated. Seeing as you have no official prescriptions, you’ll only be taking some vitamins, as well as nutritional shakes to supplement your meals.”

Buck shivered at the idea of choking down the powdery shakes he remembered from high school. How his doctor back then had prescribed them, said, “if you don’t get better by the end of the year, you won’t be able to graduate.” How his collarbone had been pronounced. How he’d been so damn proud but he still had to pretend to be okay with gaining back the weight he’d fought so hard to lose.

He drew in a shivery breath, ready to fake his way through the next three days just like he’d done those few months in high school.

Chapter Text

Return

⿻

The pills were gone.

No matter how many times over Buck searched his bag, the pills were gone.

He’d predicted it, expected it, heard as much from his doctor, but it hadn’t stopped him from hoping that somehow, the bottle had ended up back inside his bag by the end of the seventy-two hours. 

Instead, he stomped his way out of the hospital and slung his belongings over his shoulder, rubbing at the ache in his chest, and waited for his ride.

Eddie’s truck rolled up just a minute later. Buck lunged for the door handle and pulled as if to rip it off, a twinge of pain ricocheting through his chest.

“Hey, man,” Eddie greeted, “what did my truck ever do to you?”

Buck just grumbled under his breath, not even sure himself what he was saying. Slamming the door shut behind himself, Buck just flopped back in his chair and gestured for Eddie to drive.

“Want to stop anywhere?” Eddie asked, reaching for the radio and tuning it to some random Chicano station. 

Buck shook his head. “No,” he muttered. 

“Okay,” Eddie agreed, “well, I’m going to stop and get myself a coffee. I didn’t have time to have one on the way here after dropping Chris off at school.”

Just shrugging, Buck looked out his window and thought about the gym at the station.

Eddie pulled into the drive-thru line at a local coffeehouse, where the smell of fresh-ground coffee and homecooked breakfast foods tickled their noses. Buck’s stomach—filled only with his final prescribed nutritional shake—rumbled.

Instead of asking again if Buck wanted food, Eddie simply fell into pace with the other cars.

When they finally reached the ordering speaker, Eddie started, “I’d like a hotcakes combo, please, with an extra side of sausage. Can you give me a large hot black coffee for the drink?”

“Certainly, sir,” the employee on the other end buzzed. “Anything else?”

Buck murmured, “can you get me a small iced black coffee?”

“Sure,” Eddie assured, and tacked that onto his order. 

The voice crackled again. “Any sugar in either of those coffees?”

“None for me, let me check with my friend,” Eddie answered. He looked to Buck waiting.

Buck frowned. He knew that sugar would just be empty calories, but at the same time, plain black coffee without any sweetener sounded gross. And artificial sweeteners brought all sorts of problems, from aftertaste to cancer risk—they weren’t worth the zero-cal promise.

“I’ll take some sugar,” Buck relented. “And—and a biscuit.” He couldn’t drink sugared coffee without something solid, after all. 

Eddie relayed the order, then pulled forward as instructed. It wasn’t long before he’d paid for their food and drinks, then parked in a random spot so they could eat and sip their coffee.

“Damn, this is good,” Eddie moaned as he rolled up another pancake around a sausage link and took a bite. 

Buck laughed. “I think you’re supposed to pour syrup on those,” he pointed out.

Eddie shook his head. “Too sticky. This is easier.” He picked up his strange burrito and shook it at Buck. “This is a smarter way of doing breakfast, my friend.”

“Sure.” Buck rolled his eyes and nibbled at his biscuit a bit more. “You’re just weird.”

They debated the best breakfasts, which turned into a discussion about the merits of replacement meats. Eventually, they started to talk about what they would do if Christopher ever decided to become a vegan.

“I’d probably have to look up a lot of vegan recipes,” Buck mused, finishing the last crumbs of his biscuit. “He’d need a lot of new protein sources.”

Eddie admitted, “I don’t know what I’d do. Probably go broke. Isn’t vegan food super expensive?”

Buck shrugged. “I tried a vegan diet once when I lived in Florida. It wasn’t that expensive, it just was a lot of cooking. Which you suck at.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested, laughing. “I have you, anyway. I didn’t know you were ever vegan, though.”

“It didn’t stick,” Buck confessed. “It didn’t do what I wanted it to.”

Something in Eddie’s face shifted. “What didn’t it do?”

Buck contemplated not telling Eddie, but in the end, it was obvious. “I didn’t lose enough weight.”

“How much is enough?”

And damn, if that wasn’t an impossible question to answer.

Chapter Text

Ghost Pumpkins

⿻

No matter how shit Buck felt otherwise, he loved Halloween shifts.

For some reason, callers around Halloween took the dramatics too far. From starting their shift with a woman who thought zombies were attacking her to facing off against a face-eating man, Buck had seen wilder stuff that night than during his favorite full moon shift the previous year. 

Buck was getting ready for another shift when the station lights went out. Pausing, he turned around and watched as the golden light of candles flickered to life around the perimeter of the engine bay. White and orange blobs came to life, adorned with ghostly faces. 

Laughing, Buck slapped his knee and walked out into the open space. “What’s all this?”

Bobby stepped out from behind a couple of pumpkins, putting a lighter in his pocket. “Just a little Halloween surprise from the Grant kids to you,” he explained. 

Buck’s heart soared at the idea that Harry and May would have thought to give him a gift like this. After such a difficult month, he needed a lift, and seeing the station full of shining ghost pumpkins brought him happiness on top of being on a Halloween shift.

“Isn’t this a fire hazard, cap?” Buck asked, actually somewhat concerned.

“Don’t worry, the only ones with real flames are on this table right here by the candy. Rafferty’s man behind, so he’ll keep an eye on those.”

Buck couldn’t help his wince at the words “man behind,” recalling his own disastrous tenure in the roll. He hadn’t been trusted as man behind since, always being brought along on non-medical and full-team calls. He loved it, he did, but it was getting exhausting.

Buck jogged up the stairs to join Eddie by another trio of ghost pumpkins. Eddie looked up and held up a cup with a familiar logo. 

“Brought you a coffee,” he told Buck, “from that place we went to a couple weeks ago.” After I picked you up from the hospital.

“Thanks, man.” Buck accepted the coffee. I’m fine.

Taking a sip, Buck hummed happily. Eddie had put in the perfect number of sugar packets to take off the bitter edge without causing a bloaty feeling.

Perfection.

“I also got you a couple of biscuits, but I might eat one later, so don’t worry if you don’t want them.” 

Buck considered the offer, considered turning it down. In the end, he decided that one biscuit couldn’t hurt. It hadn’t when he’d gotten out of the hospital. Besides, he could read between the lines of this, too.

You can choose not to eat, but I’ll know if you don’t.

So he grabbed a biscuit and sat down across from Eddie. Catching the other man’s eye, he took a huge bite and made a point of staring Eddie down while eating. 

Eddie just raised a brow and watched.

Buck ignored how Hen and Chimney watched them as if the paramedics had tuned into Wimbledon. 

Having learned his lesson about chewing his food completely, Buck was careful while eating his biscuit. He finished it just in time for the alarm to go off.

Chapter Text

A Little Piece of Buck

⿻

Buck watched Maddie and Chimney as they sang, his heart aching. 

He’d come here with the understanding that he would be checking out the dating scene, with Chimney as his wingman. Next thing Buck knew, his sister was sliding into the free chair at their booth.

I don’t wanna be that guy again.

He downed another glass of beer and went to get another one, surprised when the bartender slid him a shot of liquor.

“Uh, what’s this?” He asked, confused.

The bartender explained, “bourbon, neat. The lady said real heroes don’t drink pale ale.”

Buck bristled a bit—pale ale was perfectly fine, thank you—before setting eyes on none other than Taylor Kelly. 

A recipe for disaster. He’d loved her voice for a long time; since he’d put a face to the vocals, he’d sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss her. 

As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait much longer to learn the answer to that. Or to more intimate imaginings.

To restraint.

Buck stood in the mirror, staring at the hickeys peppered across his chest. Markers of failure; so immediate, so total. At least Taylor wasn’t a total stranger.

His self-inflicted scratches were nearly all healed thanks to staying in the hospital and managing to keep himself from doing more damage. He liked that he could see his skin clearing up. But his fingers itched, now, to make more.

A glance at his alarm clock told him it was 1 A.M. He had work in the morning, so he crawled into bed, but sleep evaded him.

Eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, Buck trudged into the bathroom and flicked on the bright overhead light. Squinting in the sudden onslaught, he rubbed at his eyes and clawed his nails down his face, throat, and chest. 

Damn, it felt good. The smarting pain brought Buck out of his shame and into the moment. He picked his hand up, away from his chest, and watched the red and white lines disappear from his skin. 

With a jolt he slammed both hands into the sink and drew in a jagged breath. Shit, he’d been doing so well.

Buck couldn’t help it as his nails scratched along his neck, his fingers tugged at his curls. He pulled away his hand and found a bundle of hairs between his knuckles. Cursing, he tossed them into the trash can and slunk down the wall, nails still at work.

Letting out a guttural scream, Buck slammed his head back, only to let out another cry at the pain. The feeling was more effective than anything he’d ever tried before, so he just kept banging his head. Tears poured down his cheeks, and he let his hands drop into his lap.

Chapter Text

Single

⿻

Buck forced himself to roll out of bed, rub a soothing cream across the latest set of scratches on his chest, and tug a hoodie over his sore head. He lamented having to change at the station, packing his jump bag and slinging it over his shoulder so he could head out for the day.

He walked out of Abby’s apartment feeling ragged and raw, as if someone had ripped him open and scooped all the best parts of him out. 

The drive to work was annoyingly long, studded with traffic and pile-ups. His morning was made worse when the first call the 118 answered that morning was a robbery at Ruth’s Gas ‘n’ Sip, and it wasn’t even in progress.

“Seriously, you’re telling me—Taylor Kelly, the reporter?” Bobby asked, incredulous, as he and Buck hopped out of the engine cab. 

“Yeah,” Buck confirmed, slightly offended that Bobby seemed to think Buck couldn’t pull.

Bobby mused, “I didn’t know you two were seeing each other.”

Buck felt his stomach twist, and he wished he was back in his bathroom, head banging against the lower cabinets. “We’re not. I ran into her in this bar. We’re hanging out, and the next thing I know, we’re having sex in the bathroom.” He resisted the urge to scratch at his chest as he recounted the events, instead turning to look at Bobby. “I…kind of feel weird about it.”

He cringed as Bobby deadpan asked, “yeah? Which part?”

“I just thought…” Buck started, “I’d stopped being that guy. I thought Abby had changed me.” Even as he said it, he sensed the lie in his words. He couldn’t expect a woman to fix him. He couldn’t expect anyone to. “I’m single for like a day and I’m right back at it?”

Of course, Bobby took issue with that last point. “Well, Buck,” he oh-so-helpfully pointed out, “you’ve been single for months.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Buck protested.

Bobby’s words circled his head even as he denied their truth. 

Chapter Text

Grown Woman

⿻

Maddie watched her brother walk into the diner; her first thought was that he looked rough. 

He had his hood up and shades over his eyes. As his head bonked into the pendant light hovering over their table, he winced. 

“Long night?” She asked, brows stitched with soft concern. 

“Something like that,” Buck answered. He laid his head on his arms on the table and muttered something, whatever he said muffled by the diner’s Formica tabletop and his thick hoodie sleeves.

Maddie smiled at him, something small and concerned. “You need to sit up so I can hear you, Evan.”

“I’m a fuckup,” he announced, too loud this time. Forks and knives stopped clattering against platters around the restaurant, eyes landing on him.

Sheepish, he slouched in his seat and wrapped both hands around the warm coffee mug Maddie pushed toward him. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Talk to me.”

Buck immediately slammed his head against the table and told Maddie, “I messed up.”

He told her about hooking up with Taylor—first at the bar and then in the news van—and how he felt he’d disrespected her. He admitted, “she did say she could handle herself, but I just…Buck 1.0 was like this, you know?”

“Have you considered that Taylor knew what she was getting herself into?” Maddie proposed. “That she wanted to hook up?”

Buck shrugged. “She did send me a drink at the bar and ask me if I’d ever, uh, done it in a news van.”

Maddie shuddered. “TMI, little brother. But…she was the one who,” and she couldn’t believe she was saying this to Evan of all people, “propositioned.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, clearly confused.

“Then she’s responsible for her own actions, just like you are for yours.”

Buck seemed to ponder this, hand rubbing against his chest. Maddie narrowed her eyes and watched as he scratched against the fabric of his hoodie.

Maddie kept pushing. “I’m willing to bet every woman you’ve been with over the years was fine with being a one-night stand.”

Buck’s eyes danced back and forth. “I guess so,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

The Edge

⿻

Eddie and Bobby stood on the roof, leaning against the ledge.

“Hard to believe you were standing up here, about to walk off, not that long ago,” Eddie mused.

Bobby nodded solemnly. “I’m glad Athena brought me back from the edge.”

“Speaking of the edge,” Eddie continued, trying to broach a difficult subject, “I’m getting even more worried about—”

“About Buck, I know,” Bobby interrupted. 

“I’ve been doing everything I can, but Cap, it’s like he wants to starve.”

Bobby seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

Eddie gestured vaguely. “He only seems to eat when we do, and even then, he barely does.”

“I’ve been paying attention,” Bobby admitted, almost as if to reassure himself, “and he always eats a full plate.”

Eddie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m no expert, but one plate of food a day does not satisfy the needs of a man his build. Besides, he barely gets through that much as is.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, radiating helplessness. 

Realization dawned. Memories of Buck played in Bobby’s mind, of empty plates and scraping forks. Buck always seemed distracted, pushing food around instead of eating. How had he missed the signs? “One plate?” The captain turned around, full body facing Eddie now. “You keeping track?”

“Best I can,” Eddie admitted. “He pretty much only eats when I make him. Look, Bobby…he told me himself not that long ago. After he got out of the hospital.”

I didn’t know you were ever vegan, though.

“He talked about dieting or something,” Eddie recalls. “Trying to go vegan. But…”

“It didn’t do what he wanted it to,” Bobby guessed.

What didn’t it do?

I didn’t lose enough weight.

Eddie nodded. “No, it did not.”

How much is enough?

Chapter Text

Balancing Act I

⿻

Maddie answered the phone, swallowing her latest sip of coffee before asking, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

She’s greeted with a cacophony of screams and a garbled explanation.

Detecting a man’s voice, she requests, “sir, I’m going to need you to speak up.”

A vaguely German-sounding voice yells into her ear, “we’re going to fall off the edge!”

Within a few minutes, several more calls rang in about a tour bus teetering over the edge of the 105. Josh skittered across the floor, hunting for a more specific location, scanning screens and flipping through reports, until he found a caller who’d driven beneath the bus on the 710.

Linda called out, “Century and Long Beach, out by Hollydale.”

Sue began to tap away at her tablet, Josh looking over her shoulder. Reports scattered across the floor spoke of more involvement, upgrading the incident. Finally, they made the call.

“110. 118. 139.” Sue decided, and it was done.

Maddie pursed her lips as she watched her screen, the little medallion representing her brother’s station beginning to move.

Bobby’s voice crackled over the radio. “Okay, dispatch. What are we in for?” The ever-present siren in the background was almost calming for the dispatchers at this point.

Josh took the lead. “Multiple cars and trucks involved, some overturned. A tour bus is teetering over the edge of the Century Freeway above the LA River with its passengers trapped inside.”

Listening to the back and forth, Maddie wrung her hands and imagined how terrified the victims must be. She returned to her own caller, checking on him, not for the first time. 

“Sir, I’m Maddie. What’s your name?” She asked.

“Ralph,” he answered.

Maddie smiled, albeit tearfully. “Where are you from, Ralph?”

“Munchen. Munich, to you.” He answered with a little chuckle.

“What brought you to Los Angeles?” Maddie wondered, glad to hear his voice was beginning to even out.

Ralph huffed. “Wife. She is American, I am not. So I moved.”

“Do you have any kids?”

The man paused for a moment, groaning in pain. “Two,” he finally told Maddie.

“Ralph, what hurts?”

“Legs.” He answered. “From wheel. Hit railing.” He was taking sharp breaths between each short sentence, frustration bleeding through.

It hit Maddie that she had the tour bus driver on the line. He wasn’t just a passenger, he was responsible for every life on that bus.

“Help is on the way,” she reassured him. “You’ll get to see your family soon.”

“My wife…” Ralph gasped and grunted with pain.

“Tell me about her,” Maddie encouraged, wincing as she heard another round of screams and groaning metal.

“Sarah,” Ralph wheezed. “So beautiful, I love her. Our babies, Lukas and Emma. Pride and joyful.”

“Pride and joy,” Maddie parroted back gently, purely on instinct. It earned a little chuckle from Ralph.

He admitted, “Sarah does the same. Corrects my English.”

Maddie let out a laugh of her own. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She realized a moment later she could make out sirens on Ralph’s end of the call.

“Maddie,” Ralph breathed, “I can hear them.” A strange rustling noise followed his words, then grunting. “My legs…”

“Don’t try to move, Ralph,” Maddie rushed to say. “You could throw off the balance of the bus.”

A distant “fire and rescue!” echoed down the line of the call.

“They’re here,” Ralph informed Maddie.

“Good,” Maddie sighed. The knot of worry in her chest, however, remained. She would wait, just like Ralph, for the final word.

Chapter Text

Balancing Act II

⿻

Buck clambered through the tour bus, struggling to balance as it rocked with his weight. “Fire and rescue,” he called out again, the same as when he’d first yanked open the emergency door. Many heads turned toward him. Relieved to see most passengers still conscious, Buck motioned toward the front of the bus.

A voice in Buck’s ear that he recognized as his sister echoed, “110, 118, 139, be advised—tour bus driver is pinned.” 

Buck clicked on his radio and responded, “Copy dispatch. Firefighter Buckley on scene.” He let the button go and made a quick plan.

“If you are in the front of the bus and can walk, I need you to evacuate, one row at a time! First row, let’s go!” He yelled.

Two seatbelts clicked, and a pair of women stumbled toward Buck. He gripped their hands, pulling them forward and turning to pass them toward Eddie, who waited by the emergency door. The bus swayed dangerously beneath them. Several screeches of fear and pain ricocheted through the bus.

The process repeated: a small family, an elderly couple, a lone man with a cheesy Hawaiian shirt, and a young girl who looked too young to be alone. As they moved, the bus continued to see-saw with the changes in weight.

When a semblance of balance was achieved, Buck inched his way forward, pitching with the movement of the bus. “Eddie, saws!” He called back, the bus driver coming into view. “Driver’s pinned by the steering wheel column.”

“Copy,” Eddie hollered and relayed the request down a line of firefighters outside. 

Eddie returned while Buck was reassuring the driver. Buck turned to Eddie and said, “Ralph here is from Germany.”

“Ah, cool. I wouldn’t mind visiting Germany,” Eddie replied calmly, handing over the saws. 

“Me either,” Ralph ground out through gritted teeth.

Eddie updated Buck, “They’re almost ready with the winch.”

“Let’s get this done so they can start pulling back,” Buck decided and leaned down to start in on the steering column.

For the next few minutes, Ralph’s screams filled the air around them. The trapped passengers at the front of the tour bus flinched; Eddie reassured them. Buck himself winced as another agonized cry echoed through the small space, but his hands were steady on the saw. They had to get him out; no time for hesitation.

“He’s free!” Buck cried out, ripping the wheel out of the way. “Make way for paramedics!”

Buck wiped the sweat from his brow, heart still pounding. He and Eddie slid aside so Hen and Chimney could get to work. Watching Ralph, Buck saw the driver’s eyes flutter closed in relief. However, Buck had to turn away. There were still more people to save.

Chapter Text

Q-word Anyone?

⿻

The 118 let out a collective sigh as they flopped onto the couches in their station. Buck’s eyes slid closed, hunger and exhaustion flooding his body as adrenaline filtered out.

The alarm rang out.

Eyes snapping open, Buck hauled himself up and tried to blink away the spots on his vision. By the time he’d reoriented himself, his friends had already jogged down the stairs. Following them, he tripped his way down the steps.

“You good, man?” Chimney asks.

Buck breathed out a quick affirmative and pulled himself into his usual seat in the cab.

What followed made him question who said the q-word.

Buck looked up into the tree, hand hovering above his eyes and eyes squinting. “Hey, buddy, how you doing?”

The kid just whimpered, hugging the branch he was on with all his limbs and digging his face into the bark. 

“Come on, Jeff, the nice firefighters are here to help you,” his mom pleaded.

“Superman,” Eddie called out, and finally, Jeff looked down at them.

Jeff gulped. “Yeah?”

“Do you know how some heroes have sidekicks?” Eddie asks, nudging Buck.

Nodding, Jeff scrabbled for a tighter hold on the branch.

Buck tagged in. “That’s because heroes sometimes have to ask for help. Their sidekicks are there for them. And sometimes,” he struggles, trying to figure out what to say next.

Eddie swooped into the rescue. “Some superheroes even team up with each other. Like you could work with Wonder Woman and Batman.”

“And the Flash?” Jeff asked with a sniff.

Bobby joined in with a smile. “Exactly right.”

“So, Superman,” Eddie asked, “what do you say you let some heroes come and help you right now?”

Jeff nodded. A “Kryptonite-proof” harness later and Buck was on his way down with the kid strapped to his chest.

With Jeff safely on the ground, the team piled back into the truck cab. As soon as the truck doors closed, however,  Linda sent them straight to a car dealership with a runaway gorilla. The call sounded serious but turned out to be an inflatable from a jungle-themed display.

“I got this,” Hen declared, taking one of the thinner hoses and fashioning it into a lasso. She tossed it toward the primate but yelled when her feet got tangled, and she tumped over. She screamed out, “get this thing off me!” as it began dragging her along the tarmac.

Chimney dashed over to help untangle Hen. She hissed in pain, sitting up to reveal a series of scrapes on her face and hands. 

“At least you caught the thing,” Chim reassured, helping her out of the hose and over to the ambulance.

Hen scowled. “This is the weirdest call I’ve ever been on.” She winced away from the cotton pad Chim was dabbing on her cheek.

Bobby peered at the gorilla, which hovered above a patch of cars, precariously wrapped with hose. “Buck,” he shouted, “ladder rescue!”

They followed the procedure as with any other ladder rescue; only when Buck reached the end of the ladder, he wrapped his arms around a floating gorilla instead of a human being.

Buck chanced a glance down at the cars beneath him, and a vision flashed before his eyes of falling to the ground and crashing into their hoods. A wave of sickness washed over him. He shook himself and instead strapped the inflatable to himself, hands trembling slightly. The effort to stay upright was greater than it should be, but Buck pushed that away, too. Making his way down awkwardly, Buck felt the bump of the gorilla’s legs against his own.

Eddie and Bobby greeted him at the end with a weight, ready to attach it to the inflatable and free Buck.

They delivered the gorilla back to the dealership with firm instructions to keep it more secure from now on.

Buck just barely swung out of the cab in the station this time when the alarm went off, sending them to a local park. 

A park where a mime was stuck in a box.

Hen reached for the hyperventilating mime, but he shook his head frantically before she could touch him. Buck studied the mime, and then an idea clicked for him, a moment of clarity in his fuzzy mind.

“Wait, I got it,” he announced.

Buck walked up to the mime and began to, well, mime that he had a tool belt. The mime watched and his panic seemed to subside.

Tracing a shape in his hand like a screwdriver, Buck “tapped” it and looked at the mime questioningly.

The mime shook his head.

Buck shook his own head and made a face as if it were obvious a screwdriver wouldn’t help, tossing the invisible tool over his shoulder. This time, he got out an imaginary saw just like the one in their truck. He mimed—ha—it whirring.

The mime made a hopeful face. 

At that, Buck pretended to open the box the mime had locked himself in.

With a huge gulp of air, the mime stood and brandished his arms. He breathed in air. Taking the chance, Hen clipped a finger monitor on him and started taking his vitals.

After a complicated exchange, the 118 managed to document the mime’s information and move on with their day.

“Good work, Buck,” Bobby complimented as they loaded back into the ladder truck cab. Buck just nodded with a smile, feeling even more fatigue, hoping they’d make it back to the station.

This time, they made it all the way up to the loft before the next alarm rang. Everyone rushed to stuff food into their mouths before heading downstairs. Buck was the only exception, opting for a quick glass of water.

His stomach sloshed with every bump in the road, and it continued throughout the entire rescue of a homeowner who’d accidentally used dish soap as bubble bath. 

Their patient hiccuped out a bubble as they loaded her into the ambulance.

Hen and Chimney diverted from the rest of the 118 to take her to the hospital. Buck joined Eddie and Bobby in the ladder but found himself feeling nauseous.

When their next call took them directly to a clown car pileup, they all agreed that the world was fucking with them. 

Buck was in the middle of taking a clown’s vitals when he started to feel the contents of his stomach come back up.  He tried to tell himself it was just the heat, or maybe it was just the long day getting to him. The familiar wave of sickness rose in his throat, and he knew he couldn’t fight it anymore.

“Uh, hey Cap, I gotta take a break,” Buck called out, stumbling away from his patient and peeling off the top layer of his uniform. He stopped at the road's edge and rested one hand against a telephone pole and the other on his abdomen. A moment later, he retched.

Chapter Text

Don’t Clown Around

⿻

Eddie looked up as he heard Buck speaking to Bobby.

“Sure thing, Buck,” Bobby answered, not looking up as he inspected an injury to a clown’s pasty white cheek.

However, Eddie was free to turn and watch Buck vomit at the side of the road. One of the less-injured clowns rushed over, large shoes flopping, to rest a hand on Buck’s back.

“Hold on,” Eddie urged the clown in his care. “Keep pressure on this, yeah?” He jogged over to Buck and called out, “Buck, you okay?”

Instead of answering aloud, Buck simply held up a shaky thumbs up.

Eddie scoffed, “bullshit,” and then jumped when a clown’s nose honked. He looked over and found a clown had vigorously nodded in agreement, red nose indicating as much. Eyes narrowing, Eddie shook his head in exasperation and returned his attention to Buck, who had gone pale.

Sighing, Eddie guided the bleeding clown in his care toward another firefighter. He made his way over to Buck and laid a hand across his back soothingly.

Buck threw up again, doubling over. All that came up was water and bile. 

“You’re not okay, Buck,” Eddie admonished, wrapping an arm beneath Buck’s shoulder and hauling him up toward the ladder truck. “Come on.”

“No, I—I can keep working,” Buck spluttered, but he dry heaved even as the protest left his lips. His words slurred and his voice cracked mid-sentence, betraying his poor state of wellbeing.

Eddie forced Buck down on the truck's fender and started to take his vitals. He checked blood pressure, pulse, and breathing and found that Buck’s skin felt dry and hot. “Buck, how much have you had to drink today?

“Water,” Buck choked out, “glass at the station.”

Eddie shook his head and reached around Buck for one of the water bottles they kept on hand for crowd work. “You can’t let yourself get like this, Buck.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Buck huffed, then stopped to guzzle water. He almost retched again, so Eddie took back the bottle, eyes narrowing with concern. Buck repeated, “couldn’t tell I was thirsty.”

That triggered an alarm in Eddie’s mind. “What do you mean you couldn’t tell you were thirsty?”

Buck shrugged and bit back another round of dry heaving. “Never can.”

Eddie, brow knit, studied Buck. He knew his own ability to tell when he was hungry or thirsty was fucked up, but he’d been to war, been shot, and had been diagnosed with PTSD. Buck had…

Buck had been starving himself. The reality clicked, coming into focus, and Eddie couldn’t help the anger rising in him. Buck wasn’t just tired, he was starving. Eddie’s chest tightened and something bubbled beneath the surface as he realized how much he’d missed, how much Buck had been hiding. How long had Buck been ignoring his body’s needs? Eddie thought he had been paying attention, but it wasn’t enough.  “Man, that’s not normal. When did you last eat, Buck?”

The man shrugged.

“I’ll tell you when,” Eddie admonished, “it was the last time I saw you eat.”

Buck just blinked owlishly at Eddie, clearly struggling to remember. 

Eddie reminded him, “yesterday; you had lunch with everyone.”

The other man shook his head as if trying to clear cobwebs. “I…didn’t remember,” he admitted, hand gripping his turnouts.

“That’s it,” Eddie decided. “You’re going to the hospital.”

Buck protested weakly, “I don’t need a hospital, Eddie,” voice hardly convincing.

Eddie firmly retorted, “you do,” leaving little room for argument.

Chapter Text

Reflect

⿻

In the end, Buck refused treatment. “You can’t make me go to the hospital,” he’d protested, climbing back into his seat in the cab.

Eddie only accepted that in exchange for watching Buck eat an entire plate of food at the station while under watch.

“This is ridiculous,” Buck mumbled around a mouthful of food, swallowing it down with a gulp of water.

“It’s really not,” Eddie disagreed.

Buck squinted at his partner. “You don’t have to sit there staring at me. I said I’d eat,” he snapped, though the words felt hollow, even to him.

And Eddie could tell it was a fib. “I actually do,” he asserted.

Continuing to eat, Buck felt as if he were filling his stomach with concrete. He felt as if he were ballooning in size. He felt as if he’d lost control, stuffing his face.

As he scraped the last bite of food up and shoved it between his lips, he swallowed it down and childishly said, “aah,” showing his tongue.

Eddie actually inspected it.

“Good job,” Eddie appraised.

Buck flopped back in his seat, drinking the last of his water and laying a hand on his stomach. He imagined it distended. “Bathroom,” he excused and stood up.

He sped down the stairs and into the locker room, shoving past Chimney and into a stall. He crashed to his knees in front of the toilet, gagging.

Stopping, Buck tried to get it under control. He couldn’t do that here. Eddie would be so disappointed. He would know, of course he would know. Someone would hear, someone would say something. He wouldn’t be able to get out of going to the hospital, then.

Buck sat back against the stall door, staring to the side at his distorted reflection in the silver divider to his left. His face twisted and warped, his stomach bowed out and back in. His reflection stared back at him.

Was this really him? Buck felt a surge of frustration, a knot tightening in his throat as he fought the urge to scream.

He laid a hand on his abdomen and took a deep breath. His shirt stretched across his midsection, taut and uncomfortable. He knew it wasn’t from muscle, but from a thick layer of pudge.

No, if Buck couldn’t purge, then he could at least work on that. He could burn off the fat.

With a surge of frustration, he stormed from the restroom, ripped open his locker, and grabbed his workout gear.

Chapter Text

Spiral

⿻

Buck got home and slammed the door behind him, still dressed in his workout clothes. He’d been crashing on Maddie’s couch for days now, and he knew she’d kick him out soon.

Stressed and anxious and angry with himself, Buck flopped onto the sofa and rubbed a hand down his face. With Maddie gone for a shift at dispatch, he was by himself.

He stood and wandered into the kitchen, wondering if he should give up on the day and just keep on eating. Eddie’d ruined it for him anyway, forcing him to eat that fattening food.

Buck started hunting through the fridge and pantry. He found leftover pizza, grabbed a slice, and started eating it cold as he perused the pantry. He grabbed a bag of chips next, unrolling the top and shoving his hand in. He brought both that and the pizza box to the couch before returning to get himself a beer. Realizing there was none, he picked up one of Maddie’s cheap bottles of wine and searched for a glass. 

It looked like all the wine glasses were dirty, so he just picked up a water cup.

And so he sat, pizza in front of him, chips to one side and wine to the other, watching Netflix while he ate.

He reached into the bag of chips and his hand came up empty.

As the credits rolled, he looked down and realized he’d finished everything but a single gulp of the wine. His stomach twisted, painfully bloated.

The memory of that day flashed through his mind and he threw back the last of the wine, standing up and walking slowly into the bathroom. Mechanically he knelt before the toilet, shoved his fingers down his throat, and gagged around them.

Retching, he felt his body heave. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see; wished he could close his ears. Each wave brought relief.

Then, disgust.

He reached up blindly to flush the toilet and fell back on the cold tile. He carded his clean fingers through his hair and let a sob escape, raw and uncontrollable.

Chapter Text

Hungover

⿻

The next morning found Buck asleep on his sister’s couch, evidence of the previous night’s binge surrounding him. Hazy and nauseous, he sat up and watched the room spin.

One dizzying glance at the wine bottle on the table reminded him why.

“Damn,” he muttered, setting the heel of one hand to his temple. 

His phone started going off, and he stared at it, at how “cap” and a series of emojis scrolled across the screen. Pausing, Buck contemplated letting it go to voicemail.

It switched over on its own. Buck sat up, shaking with effort, and watched as Bobby left him a voicemail—presumably something long-winded, as Buck watched it record for ages.

Finally, the message was finished, and Buck picked up his phone, only to see it was shift start, 6:00 AM on the dot. Which meant the next step, if memory served, was showing up and dragging Buck to work. And in doing so, Bobby would yell at Buck for being a horrible firefighter.

So Buck stood up and started to get ready, dizzy as he moved around the room and pulled out clothing from his duffel. Stumbling into the bathroom, he took a cold shower to wake himself up.

He slowly dressed before flopping back on the sofa, one foot knocking the wine bottle down off the coffee table. He considered standing to pick it up and place it in recycling, but in the end, he gave up on that idea, eyes drifting closed.

Buck could just hear the voicemail in his head. “Buck, it’s Bobby. Where are you? You’re late.” No need to listen to the real thing. “How could you be so stupid? You ate all that food, drank all that wine. Didn’t you learn from me?”

Didn’t you learn from me?

He’d gone to rescue Bobby last year, seen what happened. How they’d doused Bobby and forced him into fresh clothes. How Bobby had whimpered for help.

With a racing heart, Buck sat up and picked up his phone. He needed to call Bobby, let him know he’d fucked up. Maybe Cap could help.

Bleary-eyed and nauseous, Buck opened his phone. Several unread messages scrolled down the screen. Above them, the voicemail notification sat, unlistened to. Buck hovered a finger over the top note, before he mechanically tapped on it, and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey Buck, it’s Bobby.” Stern, but friendly. “It’s almost six and you’re still not here. We’ve all been trying to get ahold of you.” We? “Look, I’m not sure what’s up, but I need you to call or text me as soon as you get this.”

Buck couldn’t help the sob that ripped from his body, obscuring the next words. “—especially without a heads-up. But…I’m worried about you, Buck.” Bobby’s tone shifted, from stern to concerned. “We all are.” We, again. “You’ve been off, and I don’t think today is a one-time thing.”

That made Buck curl up, the phone falling from his hand. The last words were faint, but he could just barely make them out. “So, call me back. If you need me to come get you, I will. But please just talk to me.”

Buck reached down and pressed play again. His stomach tightened with each word. He’d expected a reprimand, not this, this concern. Bobby’s words echoed through the room: we’re worried about you.

Chapter Text

Intervention

⿻

Bobby loaded into the battalion truck, sighing. It was only the second time he’d chased down Buck, but once was already too many.

He’d seen Buck spiraling and let it go on too long. 

“He’s crashing on Maddie’s couch this week,” Chimney had said, “I kicked him off mine last Thursday.”

“Where’s Maddie’s place?” Bobby’d asked, quickly getting an address, his stomach tightening.

Bobby drove, worry racing through his mind. Buck could be late for everyday reasons: slept in, shower went long, still eating breakfast. Maybe even something only slightly concerning—slipped while getting dressed and bumped his head. He held onto these possibilities, but they didn’t feel right. 

But with Buck, the concern skated along a fine line. Maybe the man hadn’t slept, hadn’t showered, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t dressed. He could be sitting catatonic for all Bobby knew. With the way Buck had been behaving, Bobby could picture finding Buck still in his pajamas on the couch, staring blankly at a TV with static Poltergeist-style.

At a light, Bobby shook the image from his head and tried to erase any expectations besides finding Buck in his sister’s apartment. 

Bobby made his way up the walk to Maddie’s place, apprehensive and heavy with dread. He was hoping for Buck eating a full breakfast., maybe looking a little rough, but no worse for wear.

He wasn’t very hopeful.

Bobby stood outside Maddie’s door for a moment, taking a steadying breath before he knocked. He waited, counting the minutes until he would break it down. Before he even reached the halfway point, it opened, and Buck was there.

The young man looked rough, and that was an understatement. Buck was pale, with heavy purple eye bags and thin, colorless lips. Bobby scanned Buck’s slumped shoulders, the way he wouldn’t meet his captain’s gaze. The man looked smaller, somehow—hollow in a way Bobby had once been himself.

“Buck,” Bobby breathed, all speech ideas disappearing. Drawing a deep breath, an alarm went off in his mind. 

Wine, heavy on Buck’s breath. Too heavy to have been anything but a glass in the morning or a binge the night before.

“I’ll get ready for work, cap,” Buck mumbled, shuffling away toward the couch like a man on autopilot.

Bobby spotted the spout of a wine bottle sticking out from behind the coffee table.

Voice soft yet firm, Bobby let himself in and chastised, “you will not be going to work, Buckley.” He nodded pointedly toward the bottle. “Not while hungover.”

Buck looked down, eyes dull and face empty. “Okay,” he murmured, falling onto the couch.

Concern fluttered in Bobby’s chest. He could picture himself in years past, memories sharp and unforgiving. He settled on the coffee table in front of Buck. His voice softened, bearing an undeniable weight.  “I’m here, Buck. Talk to me.”

Chapter Text

Existence

⿻

Buck was silent.

“You’ve been off,” Bobby prompted, voice carefully modulated, held steady. “What’s going on, Buck?”

Buck shook his head, letting it hang low. Not a disagreement—an admission. “I don’t know,” he tentatively said voice wavering, his admission hanging heavy in the air, “I don’t know how…how to stop.”

Bobby’s frown deepened, his wrinkles more pronounced, and Buck’s stomach churned. His chest tightened with anticipation and dread as Bobby frowned. “Stop what?” Bobby asked, calm but earnest.

“Everything,” Buck admitted at a whisper. His hands clenched and unclenched, restless, wanting something to do. His breath caught as he opened his mouth to speak, face twisting with effort, until finally, he seemed ready. Swallowing, he felt it all flood out. “Stop myself, stop the world. Stop needing. Stop eating, growing, stop…” the next word caught in his throat.

The air grew thick between them, the silence pressing down on his shoulders like gravity. Buck thought if it were anyone else, they would’ve suggested words to fill in the blank, but not Bobby. Bobby let the awkward silence continue, let Buck gather the confidence to say what they both knew was coming. Buck dug his fingers into his palms, closed his eyes. Finally, the word fell from his lips, settling around them. Buck’s shoulders dropped from where they’d crawled up to his ears.

“Existing.”

Chapter Text

Absence

⿻

Hen swatted Chimney’s hand away from the hot muffin tray. “At least wait until it won’t burn you,” she chastised.

Chim pouted and held his hand as if grievously injured. “Hen hit me,” he tattled to Eddie.

“Good.” Eddie returned to the table and sat down. “Hen, these muffins look amazing.”

“Karen found the recipe on some kitchy blog the other day,” Hen explained, smiling as she spoke about her wife. She saw Chim reach for the muffins from the corner of her eye and hit his hand away again.

Chimney grumbled, “bet Buck would’ve snatched one already by now.”

Chimney’s comment elicited a small laugh from Hen, but Eddie only managed a slight smile. Buck’s absence weighed on him, and Bobby’s absence seemed to amplify that. He hadn’t realized how quiet the station had become.

Hen tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t miss Buck tripping over his own feet every two seconds.”

Chimney joined in. “Personally, I miss the chaos.”

Eddie frowned, not sure why the conversation bothered him so much. He couldn’t help the gnawing feeling that this was more than just a sick day. Buck hadn’t been taking care of himself for a while, and this could be a tipping point. A knot formed in his stomach at the thought.

“Wait, wait—let’s make a bet. What do we wanna bet Cap comes back and puts Buck on latrine duty?” Hen asked with a mischievous grin, looking over to Chimney.

“Nah, Buck’s the golden boy. He’d get away with anything.”

Crossing his arms, Eddie listened to the pair bicker and settle on putting dish duty on the line. Eddie figured he should be laughing along, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more serious. Something about Buck’s recent behavior, combined with his not showing up this morning—this was a bigger problem.

“I don’t think Buck’s coming in,” Eddie finally muttered, unable to hold it in any longer.

Hen glanced over at him, brow furrowed. “That your bet?”

“Sure,” Eddie shrugged, shifting his stance and trying to ignore the tightness lingering in his chest.

As if on cue, the battalion truck pulled into the station. All three firefighters turned to look, two overly invested in seeing Buck step out.

Except there was no sign of the man. Eddie grimaced; he hadn’t wanted to be right. But maybe Buck was sick—and if so, why hadn’t he called?

“Cap,” Hen called over the balcony railing, “where’s Buck?”

Bobby shook his head. “Needed a sick day.”

“Then why didn’t he call in?” Eddie worried, standing from where he was leaning against the kitchen island.

“Too sick to even pick up the phone, I bet,” Hen lamented.

Chim scoffed. “What kind of sick?”

Shooting the paramedic a look, Bobby chastised, “the kind where he can’t come into work.” He walked away, clearly irritated, and disappeared into his office.

Hen looked over at Chimney with a questioning gaze. 

The man just shrugged.  “All I’m saying is the only type of sick where I can’t call into work is when I’m hungover.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t even considered this, but the idea wiggled its way into his mind, lingering long after Chimney’s suggestion fell silent.

Chapter Text

Siblings

⿻

“Buck, I’m home,” Maddie called as she quietly closed the door behind her. She kept hearing Bobby’s voice over and over in her head.

Your brother needs you.

When she didn’t get an answer from Buck, she simply dropped her keys on her sideboard and let her purse slide to the ground. Stepping out of her shoes, she tugged her sleeves down to cover her hands—a nervous habit she’d developed and struggled to let go of. 

Crossing her arms, Maddie padded into the living room and eyed Buck, where he lay on the couch. He was on his stomach, eyes on the TV but empty of any emotion or thought. Her heart ached as she saw Buck lying motionless. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen her brother looking lost, but today felt different.

“Hey, little brother,” Maddie said.

Those shells of eyes flicked over to her.

She tilted her head. “Bobby called me. He’s worried, and so am I. He said you drank a whole bottle of wine last night.”

Buck looked back at the TV.

Maddie walked over to the armchair near Buck and collapsed into it. “Do I need to lock up the alcohol?”

That got something out of him. Buck glanced at her, hand twitching and Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His eyes watered. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Just in case.”

“I’ll get a lock for the cabinet.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment longer until Buck spoke again. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

Maddie shook her head and reached over, grabbing Buck’s calf. Giving it a shake, she assured him, “you didn’t drag me in. I’m here because I care about my little brother.” Her gaze soft, heer voice quiet, she continued, “it scares me to see you like this, Evan. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Buck’s eyes welled up further, and he took a shuddering breath. “Thank you, Mads…it’s just hard to remember sometimes,” he whispered brokenly.

Chapter Text

My Buck

⿻

Eddie sat in the Durand pick-up line, tapping his thumbs on his steering wheel. He kept picking up his phone to check it as if Buck would answer his text.

He’d asked Buck if he wanted to come over, hoping that he could entice the other man with a nice dinner and a movie night. Not to mention, Buck and Christopher were best friends; Buck could only benefit from some quality time.

Yet there had been no answer, and Eddie suspected there wouldn’t be. Suspected Chimney’s offhand comment about a hangover was true in the worst way possible.

Eddie glanced up and noticed Christopher’s class leaving the building. Eddie hopped out of his truck and rounded the back, opening the door for Chris and gearing up to meet his son.

Which definitely involved schooling his expression.

“Dad!” Cheered Christopher, running as fast as he could up to his dad. Eddie called out to him back and knelt on one knee so he could envelop him in a hug.

Eddie smiled. “Mijo,” he greeted, ruffling Chris’s hair. “Let me get your bag. How was your day?”

Christopher babbled as he slid his crutches up into the footwell and handed his backpack to his dad. Eddie picked up his son and plopped him in the backseat, checking that everything was secure before closing the door and walking back around. When he got back in, Chris still hadn’t stopped. 

“So I was thinking,” Eddie interjected during a brief pause, “we could have a movie night tonight.”

The boy sat up straighter at that. “Will Buck be there?”

Biting his lip, Eddie looked in the rearview mirror. “I don’t think so, Chris. He missed work today because he was sick.”

Chris took a moment to answer, but when he did, it struck Eddie in the gut. “He’s always sick.”

Eddie tried to be diplomatic, saying, “well, he’s not been feeling great lately.”

“I want my Buck back,” Christopher pouted.

“He’ll get better,” Eddie tried but felt bad at the pseudo-promise. “Probably,” he added, whispered under his breath. He knew it was what Christopher wanted to hear, what Eddie himself wanted. But it wasn’t that simple, based on what Eddie’d witnessed. 

How does he explain to his kid that sometimes it’s not just a cold? That you’ll need a little more than cough medicine and a nap?

“I can’t wait to see him again,” Chris cheers as if Eddie’s confirmed Buck will show up by the end of the week. 

Eddie winces. “I hope you see him soon, mijo. But remember, some people need a little extra help getting better.”

“Like when Bisabuela broke her hip?”

“Kind of like that,” Eddie agreed, at a loss. He wasn’t even sure if Buck was depressed; just suspected he was. He floundered and tried to find an answer that fit Christopher’s worldview. “Except…you remember how Dad had nightmares when he first got back home?”

Christopher nodded, erratic and excited. 

“Well, it took a long time for the nightmares to go away.”

“Is Buck having nightmares?”

Eddie swallowed. “I don’t know, buddy, but it might be kind of like that. He may need to wait for whatever it is to go away.” He doesn’t think about how he still has nightmares and how the comparison implies that Buck may never fully get better, either.

Chapter Text

Thirst

⿻

Buck stared at the kitchen entryway, pondering. He’d said to lock up the alcohol, but that wasn’t going to happen quite yet. Maddie’d gone to the hardware store to buy a padlock kit.

Still lying on his stomach, Buck listened to it gurgle, hungry for something.

Hungry for…

He looked back toward the TV, not even sure what was on anymore. He heaved himself up off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, deciding to hunt for a meal.

His eyes kept wandering to the wine cabinet. When he opened the fridge, he spotted his favorite brand of beer.

It wasn’t like Maddie was going to drink it.

His stomach rumbled, forcing him to look at the other food. He could barely process his options as the beer kept drawing his attention.

It’d be one less thing for Maddie to lock up.

Five out of six beers were left, and in all likelihood, she’d just toss it. Better to drink it now than let it go to waste.

One beer would be fine. 

He grabbed one by the neck, took the bottle opener off the fridge, and cracked it open.

If he were with Eddie, they’d sit back and talk, maybe watch a movie. Buck leaned against the counter and imagined he was with his best friend. “Cheers,” he murmured, pretending to clink his bottle against another.

The beer was gone in minutes, but the thirst wasn’t.

There were four more beers for that.

And then there were none.

Buck was buzzing; the sharpness of his thoughts softened, but it wasn’t enough.

He stared at the cabinet Maddie would be locking and knelt down to open it.

The jingling of keys in the hallway had him rocketing back up, banging his head on the island counter.

“Buck, are you okay?” Maddie yelled, walking into the kitchen. She found Buck on the floor, one door of the wine cabinet open. “Buck,” she murmured, voice soft with worry.

Chapter Text

Mirror

⿻

Bobby stared down at the coffee in front of him, watching the shadows stretch across the table. His mind roiled with the reality he had to face.

Buck was suicidal.

“What’s got you so quiet?”

Looking up, Bobby found his wife approaching, her slippered feet soft against the living room rug. She crossed the threshold into the dining room and sat down across from Bobby, shadow disrupting the slits of light from the window.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. 

Athena bit her cheek, thoughtful. “What did you find out?”

Bobby felt as if his tongue weighed a thousand pounds. “Buck…I got there, and he smelled like alcohol. There was an…an empty wine bottle on the floor.” He swallowed. “I knew something was off, but to see him like that…”

Athena’s brow furrowed, and she reached forward, cupping his hands in hers. “What did he say?”

Shaking his head, Bobby squeezed his wife’s hands gratefully. “Not much. But Thena, he’s spiraling. I can tell he’s not sleeping properly, and Eddie pointed out he hasn’t been eating right.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Athena tried to reassure, but Bobby shook his head.

“I should have seen it sooner. The signs were there—mood swings, dizzy spells. He either wouldn’t sleep at all or would sleep too much. I just didn’t push. I wanted to give him space.”

Tightening her grip, Athena reassured in her particular chastising way, “Bobby Nash, you did not do anything wrong. You are not a mind reader.”

“I know,” Bobby murmured. “I know. I just feel like I let him down. Like…like I should’ve been able to stop this before it got this bad.”

“You see yourself in him,” Athena realized.

Bobby’s breath caught at her words. It was true. Buck reminded Bobby of the man he used to be, the man who lost nearly everything because he couldn’t face his own pain. “I don’t want him to go down the same road. I know what that looks like, and if he keeps going…”

“But Buck isn’t you, Bobby. And you pulled yourself out with hardly any help. Buck has a good support system.” Athena squeezed Bobby’s hands as she spoke, shaking them lightly. 

Bobby nodded even as tears threatened to spill. “I just hope I’m not too late.”

Chapter Text

Take Me Home

⿻

Buck sat on the floor, staring at the kitchen island, the half-open cabinet. Maddie walked over, still in her street shoes, and nudged him aside to sit beside him. 

“It’s time to take care of this, Evan,” she murmured, holding up the kit in her hand. “Go get me the drill.”

Standing gingerly, Buck wobbled and caught himself on the counter. He found Maddie’s hall closet and reached in for the tool in question, then nearly dropped it on his foot. Cursing, he picked it up off the floor and inspected both for damage.

Finding none, he returned to the kitchen.

Handing off the drill, he decided to do Maddie a favor and make his presence in the apartment scarce. He swept up the five empty beers and tossed them in the recycling before wobbling to the couch.

He started packing his duffel, shoving his feet in his shoes, ready to drive away, when he remembered he was far too drunk for that. Not to mention the reason he’d been crashing on Maddie’s couch in the first place.

Buck didn’t have a home.

Flopping onto the sofa, he tugged his phone from his sweatpants pocket and lifted it, finding a flood of notifications. He realized he’d neglected it all day.

He ignored the series of well wishes from the 118, not caring for their “feel betters” over some excuse Bobby made. Eddie’s name, however, gave him pause.

Bobby says you’re sick. I hope you’re alright. If you aren’t, let me know.

Nothing special about it, really. Except there was something about the phrasing that caught Buck’s attention.

Before he could put much more thought into it, he pressed the call button by Eddie’s name.

It only rang once before Eddie picked up. “Buck, what’s going on?”

“Can you come get me?” Buck slurred, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Of course,” Eddie agreed immediately. “You at a bar?”

Buck shook his head and regretted it as the world swam. “Maddie’s place. Can’t stay…” he gulped. “Don’t trust myself.”

“Be there in twenty.”

Even though Eddie couldn't see him, Buck simply nodded. He hung up, chest tight with guilt. He wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. God, he probably hadn’t, considering Christopher—did Eddie even have someone to watch Chris? Damn, Buck was a fuck-up.

A tear squeezed between Buck’s eyelids and spilled down his cheek. He lifted his hand to his chest and tried to scratch, only to find the thick fabric of his hoodie in the way.

“Buck,” Maddie said softly, “don’t scratch.”

“Itches,” he whined.

“You used to do that as a kid,” she recalled. “Said you felt little bugs under your skin.”

He frowned at her. “I did?”

“I used to have to hold your hands just to make you stop,” she said with a nod. 

He made a grabbing motion at her, and she complied, collapsing on the couch beside him and burying her head in his chest. 

“Please be okay, Evan,” she murmured, tears dampening his sweatshirt.

Buck wished he could promise her he would, but he couldn’t. Not when the memories of his childhood made his skin crawl again.

The doorbell ringing drew their attention. Maddie looked up in confusion—and, Buck thought, maybe even fear. “Eddie,” he explained, standing up and nearly falling back down.

“I’ll get the door,” Maddie reassured. As she did so, she looked back at her little brother. “Just…why is he here?”

“Picking me up.”

Opening the door after a glance at her security cameras, Maddie greeted Eddie with a quick hug. “He’s on the sofa,” she whispered as if she might wake up Buck.

Eddie nodded grimly. “Thanks, Maddie.”

Buck looked up from where he’d fallen back on the couch. “Eds,” he murmured, reaching up. “Can I crash on your couch?”

“Dios,” Eddie muttered and hauled up Buck. “Yes, after you shower. You reek.”

Buck nodded. He leaned down to sling his duffel over his shoulder.

Eddie looked at Maddie, who shrugged with a dark expression. He asked, “how much?”

“Bottle of wine last night, five beers today,” she relayed, counting them off on her fingers.

“Dios,” Eddie said again. 

Buck wanted to crawl into himself. He started to walk out the door, ready to go home to Eddie’s place.

Eddie followed soon after, rushing to take the lead.

Chapter Text

Guilt the Lily

⿻

The five beers weighed heavy on Buck’s stomach as the reality of his actions sunk in. He slumped in the passenger’s seat of Eddie’s truck, fighting not to retch. Head pounding, chest tight, Buck rubbed his hand across his eyes.

The suffocating quiet had him questioning everything. Drinking the beer, calling Eddie—himself.

“You did the right thing,” Eddie said, soft voice managing to cut through the buzz in Buck’s head. “Calling me, I mean.”

Buck let out a dry laugh. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Eddie cracked a small smile, glancing over while shifting into reverse. “Read your mind?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie wrapped his hand around Buck’s headrest and turned to navigate the parking lot. “You’re easier to read than you think, Buckley.”

Buck huffed.

Throwing the truck into drive, Eddie focused on the road, expression unreadable. “I mean it, Buck. I’m glad you reached out.”

“I just,” Buck tried, upset with himself still, “I…I know you have Chris, and I hate that I made you leave him tonight.”

“His bisabuela came to pick him up,” Eddie reassured, reaching out and setting a gentle hand on Buck’s arm. “Don’t worry. I needed to take care of you tonight.”

This helped ease some of Buck’s worry but didn’t mitigate the guilt. “You’re his dad,” Buck protested. “You should be taking care of him.”

Eddie side-eyed Buck, causing the latter to quiet down. Instead, Buck stewed alone, the thoughts Eddie had calmed beginning to riot again.

He didn’t deserve Eddie. His friendship, understanding, kindness. He didn’t deserve his love. Buck spiraled, losing track of time until the pair pulled into Eddie’s driveway. Looking up, he stared absently at the siding, feeling himself shut down.

“Let’s go, Buck,” Eddie murmured. “We’re here.”

Buck didn’t move. He kept staring straight ahead.

“We’re here,” Eddie repeated, this time from the other side. Buck jumped, realizing Eddie had gotten out, circled the truck, and opened the door. “Buck, we need to go inside.”

Moving mechanically, Buck grabbed his duffel and jumped out of the vehicle. He stumbled, but Eddie caught and righted him, taking the bag.

“Let’s get you in a shower, yeah? You smell like a bar. A bar with bad B.O.” Eddie led Buck to the door.

They struggled through into the house. Eddie tossed Buck’s duffel on the couch, guiding Buck to the bathroom.

As they walked, Buck felt his stomach churn. He broke from Eddie’s grasp and scrambled for the toilet, crashing to his knees and grasping the porcelain with white knuckles. 

Buck was too focused on clearing his system for the first few seconds to realize that Eddie was kneeling beside him, rubbing his back. As his focus shifted, Buck sniffed and gagged. 

“All done?” Eddie asked, voice a murmur beside Buck’s ear. 

Nodding, Buck shivered. He struggled to his feet and caught himself against Eddie, who reached around him to flush the toilet.

“Now you really need that shower,” Eddie joked, his hands warm and strong as he sought to help.

Buck sagged against his friend in silent permission.

Eddie lowered the toilet seat and gently pushed Buck to sit down. He started the shower for his friend, instructing, “undress.”

Buck’s fingers twitched. He wanted to follow Eddie’s instructions, but it was like he was frozen.

When Eddie found that Buck hadn’t moved, he simply reached for Buck’s sweatshirt and started to peel it off himself.

After tugging off Buck’s shoes and pants, Eddie looked up. He asked, “boxers on or off?”

Buck just shrugged. Eddie studied his face before standing and bringing Buck up with him. “In you go,” Eddie ordered.

He stood under the hot stream, unwilling to acknowledge that it felt good. 

Eddie didn’t close the curtain, though. He reached in past Buck to grab the soap and washcloth. “Am I doing this, or are you?”

Buck watched his friend lather up the cloth. He nodded at Eddie and slumped against the tile wall, accepting his fate.

Chapter Text

Overnight

⿻

After showering, Buck was too exhausted to do much more than sleep. 

Eddie sat in the kitchen, staring at the two beers he’d gotten out of the fridge by habit. He glanced through the arch into the living room, just making out Buck’s form on the couch.

He put the drinks back in the refrigerator.

Walking into the living room, Eddie tugged the blanket over Buck and tucked him in. Something heavy settled on Eddie’s chest as he organized Buck’s duffel and tucked it under the coffee table. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his friend, from how small the man looked under the singular throw blanket.

He’d seen Buck in bad shape. Calls gone south did that to a team. But this was something else. It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t something they could fix with a few hours or days of rest.

Buck was at his most vulnerable, and that was dangerous.

Sinking into the armchair, Eddie just stared. The sun had long set, only the shadows of the lampshade left to darken the room. Eddie reached over and turned off the light, sinking the room into darkness. The ambiance matched Eddie’s thoughts.

Buck was falling apart.

It was unbidden, a sentiment that made Eddie’s chest tighten. But the expression Buck had earlier was haunting. Guilt, and pain, and helplessness. Now, Eddie couldn’t help but feel the echoes of that, as all he could do was be there for Buck, and hold him steady while a storm raged within.

Eddie carded his fingers through his hair and murmured, “Buck, you’re not alone.”

You’re badass under pressure, brother.

Me?

Hell yeah. You can have my back any day.

Yeah. You know, or, you could…you could have mine. 

…Deal.

Promise broken. Eddie rubbed a hand down his face and bit back the sob fighting to escape. He suffocated the sadness and pushed it down, refusing to break down as well.

He stood up and walked back over to Buck, the father in him bending over to brush down the other man’s hair and kiss his forehead. Tucking this private moment away with the comfort that Buck would have no memory of it, Eddie moved back into the kitchen to pack up the beer and hide it in his bedroom.

Chapter Text

Burnt Toast

⿻

When Buck woke up the next morning, it was to the smell of burning toast.

For a moment, he wondered why Maddie was back from work already. She’d been meant to stay for a double, saving up for her next month’s rent. 

Then a soft muttering in the kitchen, unmistakably Eddie’s voice, brought everything flooding back. The beers, the call, the shower. There was a whisper of a dream—of Eddie keeping watch and kissing him on the forehead—but Buck shook away the phantom image. 

Buck took stock of himself. He felt the pangs of a headache, likely from a hangover. His chest was still heavy with guilt, largely for displacing Christopher. He felt pure and tainted all at once, as his squeaky clean skin contradicted his dark reality.

He sat up, wincing somewhat as his muscles protested. Considering he’d slept on Eddie’s crappy couch, that wasn’t a surprise. He held up the throw blanket tossed over him in his hands, studying it. Well, that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep.

Eddie was in the kitchen, heralded by the scraping of a pan on the stove, followed by something landing on the counter with a thud.

Buck called out, voice rough with sleep, “please tell me that’s not breakfast.”

“No promises,” Eddie told him, head popping around the corner. “Morning, sunshine.” He disappeared back into the kitchen, resuming his muttering, clearly trying to salvage breakfast.

Buck just grunted and stood. He stretched out all of the aches in his body, then padded into the kitchen. 

Hovering over the stove, Eddie attempted to flip a fried egg, only for the yolk to split and run down the outside of the pan. “Shit,” the man muttered, hurriedly taking it off the heat.

When he reached for a cloth to wipe it, Buck chimed in. “If you let it cool down, it’ll come off more easily.”

Eddie jumped a bit, risking the egg’s life again, before turning around. “Yeah?” He breathed.

Something about the scene made Buck’s chest tighten, but it was different this time. Instead of bringing anxiety or fear, Buck felt…well, he wasn’t sure, but it was a good feeling.

Buck slid into a kitchen chair and fiddled with a fast-food napkin he found on the table. “What exactly are you trying to cook?”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie said, “thanks for the vote of confidence, Buckley. Eggs, bacon, and toast.”

“Eggs and toast, sure. But bacon? Isn’t that a little high-level for you?”

Eddie moved to the fridge and pulled out a packet. “Pre-cooked. I just microwave it, and boom, done.”

“Nice hack.” Buck stared as Eddie tugged a few slices from the bag and tossed them on a plate. “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

Glancing over his shoulder with a smirk, Eddie said, “it’s just breakfast, Buck.”

“And not even a good one,” Buck shot back, before sobering again. “No, I mean…thank you.” His voice was quieter this time, more sincere.

Eddie just nodded. “You don’t have to thank me, Buck. I just did what anyone would do.”

That was something Buck had noticed. Good people expected everyone else to be good. Because no, anyone would not do that. In fact, many others had sat by as Buck spiraled while Eddie put in effort to help.

“Bon appétit.” Eddie’s voice drew Buck from his reverie. He looked down to see a slightly blackened meal before him. 

Smiling, he dug in, then greedily drank the water Eddie placed before him. Soon, a couple of pills landed beside Buck’s plate.

“Pain relievers,” Eddie explained, nodding at Buck. “Take them, it’ll help.”

Buck complied, happy to do anything for his hangover. As he wolfed down his food, however, he began to feel nauseous; he could feel the weight of each calorie as he swallowed it. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to push out the thoughts circling.

More calories, more weight, more Buck.

“Buck?”

Coming to, Buck gulped and looked at Eddie. “Yeah?”

Eddie smiled, something sad and pitying. “Where’d you go just now?”

Pushing his plate away, Buck sat back in his chair. “Not hungry anymore.”

“Okay,” Eddie said slowly, brow furrowing. “Not what I asked, but I’ll take it. Well, sort of. Eat one more bite, then I’ll take it.”

“I’m not Christopher,” Buck retorted, stubbornness rearing its head.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “No, but you are starving.”

“I—what?” Buck froze.

“I need you to eat because you’re starving.”

His heart pounded as if he’d been caught breaking into an art museum. The fluttering in his chest made his vision blur. He stood, legs pushing back the chair so harshly it tumped over. Stumbling away, he tripped over it, prompting Eddie to reach out and catch him.

“Whoa, hey,” Eddie exclaimed, “I got you.”

Buck couldn’t stop the tears that poured down his cheeks, or the way his stomach roiled and pushed his breakfast back up. He doubled over, rushing to the trash so he could avoid upchucking on his friend or the floor.

Chapter Text

Keep Watch

⿻

It was like a repeat of the night before, but in the damning light of day.

Eddie, sitting in the armchair, watching Buck’s sleeping form.

After vomiting, the man had stumbled into the bathroom to continue retching. A few minutes later, he’d emerged and made a beeline for the couch, where he crashed.

Now, Eddie was reading a book and keeping an eye on the clock, ready to make lunch to make up for the breakfast his friend couldn’t keep down.

He watched Buck’s chest rise and fall, breathing steady, yet somehow fragile all at once. Something that hadn’t always been there. He thought back to the old Buck, the one who laughed out loud, ate too fast, bounded around with endless energy. 

That Buck felt a lifetime away now. This Buck was quieter, more cautious. Fragile in a way Eddie never thought possible—and it scared him more than he was willing to admit.

Eddie’s jaw clenched. How could he fix this? He didn’t know, but he knew he’d be there. Whatever it took.

Buck stirred. He turned over, eyes blinking as he settled his eyes on Eddie. “Hi,” he greeted softly.

“You alright?” Eddie asked, voice quiet, gently closing his book over his finger.

Letting out a groan, Buck rubbed his eyes. “Better, but I still feel crappy.”

Eddie nodded. “Want to try eating something in a bit?”

Buck hesitated, clearly pained by the thought of food. “Maybe,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Eddie, brow furrowed, fully set aside his book. “For throwing up breakfast?”

Sitting up and shrugging, Buck said, “I don’t know…everything, I guess. You’re trying to help me, and I can’t do anything right.”

“Listen,” Eddie demanded, leaning forward. His voice was steady but firm. He continued, “You haven’t done anything right or wrong, Buck. You…you’re going through something hard.”

Buck sighed and flopped back into the cushions, his hand moving to his chest. “You could say that.” He started scratching, focused entirely on Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes flicked to Buck’s hand, noticing how his fingers dug into his chest. “Hey, don’t do that,” he said, voice soft and steady. He gently reached out, hand hovering before he could touch Buck. 

Pausing, Buck stilled his hand and dropped it in his lap. His fingers twitched. “Sorry,” he apologized, wrapping them in the throw blanket. Eddie noticed one hand turn over and move again, realizing he was scratching his leg.

“Hey,” Eddie interrupted, now standing and grabbing Buck’s wrist. “Stop scratching. Why do you do that?”

A long beat passed. Then another. Finally, Buck shrugged and reached up to pull off his hoodie. “I’ll show you,” he murmured.

Slowly, he continued on to peel off his long-sleeved shirt, revealing a shocking sight.

Eddie stared at the white lines scattered across Buck’s arms and chest, some more faded than others. “Buck,” he muttered, not sure what he could possibly say.

Swallowing hard, Eddie felt the weight of the revelation settle deep in his chest. He let go of Buck’s wrist and gazed into his best friend’s eyes. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Buck’s hands trembled as he pulled his shirt back on, nodding. “It’s just…sometimes I don’t know how to handle everything.When I was in high school, scratching was like…a release, I guess. Or control. At some point it became habit.”

Eddie’s hand hovered for a moment before he let it drop to his side, not sure how to comfort Buck. He could see the pain in Buck’s eyes, years of struggle beneath a layer of silence. Eddie reminded, “you don’t have to do this alone, Buck. I’m here. Always.”

Glancing up, Buck levered Eddie with his unsure gaze. “I know, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that.”

Trying not to invade Buck’s space, but still wanting to comfort him, Eddie inched closer and sat down beside Buck. “I understand. More…more than you know.”

Buck’s eyes drilled into Eddie’s. “Yeah?” The word escaped on a breath, puffing against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie swallowed, the closeness electric with unspoken words. Everything around them disappeared, even the distance Buck had been putting between himself and everyone else. “Yeah,” Eddie said, voice steady yet quiet. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, to want to shut everyone out.” He drew in a shaking breath as his memories surfaced. “Christopher’s mom, when she left, I felt that way.” He shifted under Buck’s gaze. “What I’m trying to say is, uh…you’re not a burden. I wasn’t, Christopher isn’t.”

“Of course not!” Buck squealed at the mere idea of Chris being a burden.

“Exactly. So, how could you be one? How could you be wrong?” Eddie implored Buck, pressing their shoulders together.

Buck exhaled, something breaking in the tension between them. His hand twitched, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against Eddie’s. It was tentative, hesitant, but it was something. “I’m trying to believe that,” Buck admitted, voice a whisper. “I just don’t know how.”

Eddie closed his fingers around Buck’s. “You don’t have to do this all at once. Just let me help you.”

Chapter Text

Superman

⿻

Buck sat in the passenger’s seat beside Eddie, wringing his hands. “Are you sure he’ll be excited to see me?”

“Of course,” Eddie reassured, reaching across the center console to pat Buck on the leg. “He’s been asking about you for weeks.”

Biting his lip, Buck nodded slowly. He finally got out and walked up to Abuela’s house. Hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, familiar anxiety creeping up his chest. The thought of seeing Christopher again, after everything, left a lump in his throat.

Would he notice how off Buck was? Would he ask questions with impossible answers?

Before Buck could knock the door flew open, and he saw Christopher’s bright voice. “Buck!” The boy cried out, rushing out on his crutches, “I missed you!”

Catching the boy in a hug, Buck felt as if he’d burst with the care he felt for him. He picked up Chris and settled him on his hip, staring up at his beaming face. “I missed you too, Superman,” he replied, somewhat choked up.

Christopher laid a gentle hand on Buck’s cheek, a gesture that only made Buck even more teary. “You’re gonna be okay,” Chris assured, as if somehow sensing Buck’s turmoil.

“Correction,” Buck joked as he accepted Christopher’s bag from Isabel. “We’re going to be okay. All of us.” He carried the kid back to Eddie’s truck and loaded him and his stuff in, careful not to hit his head on the roof of the car.

Eddie smiled in the rearview mirror. “How was your stay with your bisabuela, mijo?”

“Good,” Christopher exclaimed with a smile, before immediately turning his attention back to Buck. “Can we play that new video game you promised to show me?”

Buck winced as he realized how long it must have been since that promise, seeing as he couldn’t even remember what the game was. “I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe a different time, Chris. I’ve had a rough day.”

Christopher frowned, seeming to sense the shift. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just…tired,” he answered, but his voice wavered. The question had hit harder than expected.

Frown deepening, Christopher reached out and took Buck’s hand, squeezing it. “You don’t have to be Superman all the time.”

Buck laughed, but it was wrapped in a sob. “Hey, I’m not Superman, you are,” he joked, but the moment was too somber for that. “You’re right. But hey, let’s get you home, yeah?” Christopher nodded, hand moving to wipe a stray tear from Buck’s cheek while being buckled in.

On the ride back to Eddie’s house, Christopher chattered on about school and his latest science project. Buck clung to every word, how grounding it was to just be around Chris, around the innocence of childhood. 

Maybe, Buck thought, this was a reminder he’d needed—someone who saw him as more than just a mess.

He let his shaking hand rest on the console, and didn’t even jump when Eddie rested his own over it, calming its movements.

Chapter Text

Beautiful

⿻

Eddie pulled into the grocery store parking lot, throwing the truck into park. “Here we are,” he said, smiling back at Christopher. “Ready for some grocery shopping?”

Buck glanced back as well, seeing the grin on Chris’s face. The boy nodded ferociously, making his floppy hair bounce.

“Yeah!” Chris agreed, jumping in his seat. The boy was way too happy for a simple errand. Eddie laughed, and Buck couldn’t help but join in.

Eddie bundled them all out of the truck and into the store shortly after. Christopher settled into the children’s seat of a cart, which Eddie pushed. Buck followed along, happy to fetch items as needed. 

Buck followed them, feeling ready to tackle the store, but when they entered the first aisle, he began to feel the shelves close in. He kept his head down, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the lights were too bright and the noise was too loud and his anxiety simmered just beneath the surface.

His fingers twitched, and he moved to push up his sleeve, revealing a set of white lines. He began to trace them with his nails. He stared at the shelves of fruits and vegetables, digging into his flesh, when he bumped into Eddie’s back.

A hand closed around his wrist, gentle yet firm. “Don’t,” Eddie murmured, leaning in as if to point at something beside them. “I’ve got you.”

Buck swallowed, eyes shifting to meet Eddie’s. He found no judgment in his warm brown eyes, only quiet understanding.

“Right,” Buck whispered, dropping his hand to grip the cart instead. Eddie backed away and let Buck take the reins, staying beside him and keeping one of his own on the handle as well. Buck began to walk, chastising himself for relapsing, or nearly doing so. He couldn’t help but wonder if there would come a time when this would all get easier. He was lifted from his mire of thoughts by a familiar voice.

Christopher asked, “Buck, can we get some ice cream?” He looked between the two men, eyes shining with hope.

Buck managed a soft smile, thankful for the innocent distraction. “Only if you let me pick the flavor this time, Superman.”

Grinning, Christopher cheered, clearly pleased with the answer. Chris’s happiness was like a bright spot in the clouds of Buck’s cloudy sky, so he let himself surrender to the moment.

Buck steered the cart—heavy even when it was just Christopher’s weight in it—throughout the store as they picked up their groceries. As they did so, Buck joked with Christopher, who reached out and pinned Buck’s hands with his own. Eddie became the errand runner, occasionally walking alongside Buck with his hand on Buck’s back protectively.

A gesture which should have made him uncomfortable instead did the opposite, helping Buck feel settled as the trio performed such a mundane task.

As they went through checkout, Buck couldn’t help but overhear an old woman commenting to Eddie, “you have such a beautiful family. My wife and I were never so brave as this when we were younger.”

Buck blushed at the implication, waiting for Eddie to passionately deny it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Eddie paused in packing their scanned groceries and turned to the lady. 

“Thank you,” Eddie said smoothly, seeming unfazed.

That made Buck pause, too. Eddie’d just gone along with it, even though they weren’t…well, neither of them were… But it had happened. It was the simplest of acknowledgments, a moment in which Eddie might have seen something Buck didn’t. A part of him wanted to laugh it off, but another part—the quieter one that Eddie always seemed to reach—held onto it like a lifeline.

“Dad, Bucky, are we getting pizza for dinner?” Christopher interrupted from where he stood beside the candy display.

Eddie chuckled. “Okay, mijo, but only if you do promise you did all your homework while you were at Bisabuela’s.”

“I did!” Chris cried out, hopping up and balancing on his crutches.

Buck couldn’t help his goofy smile as he watched Christopher and Eddie. He realized the woman was still there. Catching her eye, he blushed again, cheeks hotter than before. He let out a small, shaky laugh. She smiled back, something knowing and understanding, before turning to leave.

He wasn’t sure if it was the comment from the woman, how Eddie had accepted it, or how natural the entire moment was; he felt normal for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

Movie Night

⿻

Standing in the door of the bedroom, Buck watched as Eddie pulled up Christopher’s blanket and tucked him in. 

“You all set, mijo?” Asked Eddie, smiling warmly. 

Christopher nodded, looking past Eddie. “Is Buck gonna say goodnight too?”

The request felt like a punch to Buck. He hadn’t realized…how much Christopher still needed him, looked up to him. Stepping in, Buck smiled waveringly. “Goodnight, buddy.”

Reaching out a hand, Christopher silently beckoned. Buck sat beside him and took it, the small fingers warm against his. 

“You’re staying, right?” Chris asked sleepily.

“Yeah,” Buck promised, choking up. “I’ll…I’ll be here. When you wake up.” He squeezed the boy’s hand before letting go and standing. His chest felt tight and warm with an ache he hadn’t expected. Christopher’s trust in him, his need for Buck to stay, hit him like a freight train. How could he possibly let down the kid?

He turned to find Eddie watching. The two men exchanged a glance, the significance of the moment settling between them.

The pair returned to the living room, where the leftover pizza from dinner sat on the coffee table. Buck moved to start cleaning up, but Eddie laid a quiet hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “You didn’t eat enough.” The worry in Eddie’s voice made Buck’s stomach roil more than the thought of the pizza.

Buck drew in a long breath. He’d been hoping Eddie wouldn’t notice how he’d avoided eating a full slice, but he’d been foolish to think he’d get away with it.

“Let’s put another movie on and keep eating,” Eddie suggested, tone soft, with a determination that Buck couldn’t ignore. 

Nodding, Buck sighed and collapsed onto the couch. “Fine.” He almost wished the couch would swallow him up whole.

They picked some random action film, and Eddie curled up beside him. Buck picked up a slice of pizza and loaded it onto his plate, bringing it to his face.

He and the pizza had a staredown. Buck picked it up, turned it around, taking in the sight of its crumbling dry crust and greasy cheese. His stomach churned at the idea of eating the monstrosity. Setting it back down, Buck just mirrored Eddie, tucking his feet beneath himself.

“Eat,” Eddie ordered, not even looking at Buck.

“Can’t,” whined Buck.

Eddie finally glanced over and took in the sight. “What can I do?”

Buck flopped back and let the plate rest on his stomach. “I don’t know, Eds.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Eddie sat up and took the plate, setting it aside. 

“The pizza’s too…pizza-y.” Buck complained. “I just can’t eat it, it’s too shiny.”

“Okay,” Eddie allowed, and reached for a napkin. He dabbed the slice, removing some of the grease. “Fixed it.”

Buck tentatively took a bite, chewing slowly to the tune of a fight scene. He continued one small piece at a time, until the entire slice was gone. 

“Do you think you can have another?” Eddie asked, nudging Buck with a foot.

Shaking his head, Buck tossed his paper plate on the coffee table. “No, I barely managed that.”

Wiggling his toes and earning a laugh, Eddie reminded Buck, “it’s alright. I’m proud of you for having that much.”

Buck smacked Eddie’s leg away and pushed his own out, shoving his foot in the other man’s face.

“Hey!” Eddie chuckled, pushing Buck’s foot. “Keep that to yourself.”

“You did it first,” Buck protested, flinging his second foot out.

The two men outright giggled as they started to shove their feet in each others’ faces, pizza and movie utterly forgotten. 

For a few minutes, they let go of everything. The heaviness, the worry, the guilt. All that existed was their laughter and goofiness, the familiarity between them. In that small moment, Buck felt normal for the first time in a while.

Giggling subsiding, the room fell into a comfortable quiet. Only the low hum of the movie in the background kept it from complete silence. Eddie’s legs were still tangled with Buck’s, and neither of them made a move to disentangle. Instead, Eddie leaned back, eyes drifting to Buck. 

“You feeling better now?” Eddie asked softly, voice tempered with concern, no demand.

Buck sighed, letting his head fall against a cushion. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, I feel better. But…I don’t know.”

Eddie shifted closer, his warm body a subtle comfort that Buck didn’t realize he needed. “You don’t need to know,” Eddie murmured. “We’ll figure this all out. Together.”

Buck moved closer too, their legs sliding along each other until they were sitting beside one another. Buck turned his head to look into Eddie’s eyes. “Thanks,” he whispered, voice just a breath. His eyes stung, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed, let himself feel the safety of Eddie’s presence.

A brush against Buck’s wrist drew his attention, and he saw Eddie’s fingers glancing across his skin. It acted as an anchor. Eddie said quietly, “you don’t have to carry all this by yourself. I’m right here.” Eddie pushed up Buck’s sleeve and gently traced his scratches.

Buck swallowed, chest tightening with—not pain, but something else. Something that was shifting inside himself, around himself. The walls he’d built were crumbling, and it wasn’t…it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t terrifying. He felt safe.

He turned over his hand and slipped his fingers between Eddie’s, and the other man squeezed gently. Buck let out a breath, tension easing. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Eddie smiled and brushed his thumb across Buck’s knuckles. “You’ll never find out,” he swore.

Chapter Text

The Best In A Long Time

⿻

Eddie woke up with a crick in his neck and something warm pressed against his side. He slowly blinked his eyes open, squinting against the morning sun, confused. A moment later, he realized the warmth was not something, but someone. Buck.

Taking account of his body, Eddie realized their limbs were entwined, his own arm resting against Buck’s stomach, and one of Buck’s feet pressed against Eddie’s calf.

Eddie froze, heat creeping up his chest and neck, suddenly hyper-aware of their proximity. His heart pounded. He hadn’t meant for this to happen.

He moved, but as he did, Buck stirred. Eddie immediately sat up, practically scrambling to the other end of the couch. He tried to act as casual as possible.

“Were you…” Buck yawned, “sleeping on top of me?”

“Yeah, uh,” Eddie tried, then cleared his throat, “we fell asleep. On the couch.”

“I see that,” Buck murmured, sitting up and scrubbing his eyes. He let out a nervous laugh. “Guess we were just that tired, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie repeated, wincing at his ever-so-eloquent response. “Maybe a little too comfortable, too.”

Blinking, Buck furrowed his brow. “I didn’t mind, to be honest.”

Eddie tried to match Buck’s energy, backpedaling with all his might. “Uh, yeah, that was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.” He paused, surprised by his own words. It was the truth.

Buck raised an eyebrow, a smile forming on his lips. “I mean, I didn’t realize until like…just now, but yeah, it felt…nice.”

Chuckling, Eddie felt the tension between them ease. A comfortable silence settled in its place, wrapping around their mingling limbs. Eddie’s foot touched Buck’s ankle beneath the blanket covering them, their hands draped across the back of the sofa.

Buck broke the silence and admitted, “I can’t remember the last time I felt that relaxed.”

Eddie nodded his agreement. “It’s been…a long time. Even when I’m with Shannon, it isn’t like this.” And what an admission that was.

Their eyes met and lingered. The air between them was thick, something unknowable between them. Eddie’s heart thudded in his chest. The line they’d been dancing around for the past several weeks suddenly seemed closer than ever.

Buck’s hand twitched, and he cleared his throat. “Do you feel like breakfast?”

“Uh. yeah.” Eddie agreed.

“My turn to make it. No more burnt toast,” Buck teased, releasing them from the odd feeling hovering between them as he stood and stretched.

Eddie rolled his eyes and followed suit. “I’ll go check on Chris.” He walked down the hall and paused outside of Christopher’s door, listening to Buck rustling around in the kitchen. Shaking his head and smiling, Eddie peeked into his son’s room and saw the boy hiding under the covers, giggling.

“Mijo,” Eddie whispered, “good morning.”

Christopher just answered with more giggles, poking his head out from under his blanket.

Eddie entered the room, picking up what seemed to be Christopher’s pajamas from the night before. “Chris, did you wake up already?”

Tossing away his blanket, Christopher revealed he’d dressed himself—with some mistakes—and pushed himself out of bed. 

“Ah, let’s turn that shirt around and switch those shoes,” Eddie instructs softly. After helping his son finish getting ready, the pair walked to the kitchen. Eddie, matching Christopher’s pace, smiled as he watched the boy speed up at the scent of pancakes.

“Buck!” Christopher cried out, exuding excitement. “You woke up!”

“Hey, buddy!” Buck exclaimed, reaching out and pulling Chris into his side. “You ready for breakfast?”

“Yeah! Did you like cuddling?”

Buck froze at the innocent question from Christopher. Behind the pair, Eddie did much the same, several things clicking.

Chris, dressed already. The blanket tossed over him and Buck. The morning sun filtering through the window, clearly much later than he’d usually be awoken by Christopher, even on a weekend.

“We did, Superman,” Buck answered smoothly, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Eddie let out a breath as he saw how Buck handled the small situation, then chimed in. “Thanks for letting us sleep, bud.”

Chapter Text

Christmas Time is Here

⿻

“You two have an adorable son.”

Buck looked at Blair the elf and paused, considering what he could say. Deny it? Oh no, he’s my best friend’s kid.

No, that would probably leave Blair feeling embarrassed and awkward. So he should just go with it, right?

“Thanks,” Buck finally said, nodding and turning with a smile to follow Eddie.

As he caught up to Eddie and Christopher, his smile widened. Eddie had hoisted Chris up on his hip, the bright-eyed boy glowing with happiness as he was carried through the busy mall. His crutches had cleared a path between Buck and the pair.

Buck finally caught up, grabbing onto one of Chris’s hands. “Hey, Superman!”

“Buck!” Christopher called out, a wide smile gracing his face. “What did you ask Santa for?”

“Well, I’m not supposed to say, aren’t I?” Buck teased.

Chris laughed. Eddie hoisted him further up his side, making Christopher’s crutches knock together. Buck took them and carried them at his side so they’d stop sideswiping passersby.

As they wove through the crowd, Buck caught up to Eddie and walked alongside him. He watched his friend confidently carry his son as he cut his way through the mall.

“Come on, share then,” Eddie chuckled, bumping his shoulder into Buck’s. 

“Maybe if you don’t tell Chris,” Buck waffled.

Eddie smiled, looking at Christopher. “Sounds like a deal to me. I’ll hold you to that when we get home.”

Something warm and fuzzy brewed in Buck’s stomach at the word home .

They strolled out of the mall, Buck holding the crutches, Eddie carrying Christopher, a sense of belonging enveloping all three. Buck looked over at Eddie again and caught his eye, smiling. For a moment, the sounds faded and all that existed were this little family.

Buck shook himself. He wasn’t a part of Eddie’s family. But for a second, he’d let himself believe he was a part of that, a part of something so pure and simple. Maybe he could allow himself to believe it for just a moment more.

Christopher twisted and stared at Buck, a grin slowly forming. “Hey, Buck, if you can’t tell me what you asked Santa for, can you at least give me a hint?”

Leaning in, Buck tweaked Christopher’s nose. “Alright, Superman,” he whispered, “but just a hint. It’s something to do with family.”

The kid’s eyes widened with excitement.

Chapter Text

Happiness and Cheer

⿻

Buck wiped the last dish, turned, and grinned at the little family on the other side of the arch. “This house needs a dishwasher,” he murmured, lamenting its lack of one, and not for the first time. The Diaz-Buckley family dinner had been a smorgasbord of treats, but the cleaning had all fallen to Buck and Maddie. Not that they minded.

“It has a dishwasher,” Maddie corrected from where she was wiping down the island, “you.”

“Oh, ha, ha.” He pretended to mind, but in reality, he was perfectly fine where he was.

Christopher had his mom for Christmas.

Buck and Maddie watched as Chris walked from his father to his mother, falling into her arms with a huge laugh. 

Eddie had a bittersweet expression. He looked up, catching Buck’s eye. “Thank you,” Eddie mouthed.

Buck shook his head by way of answer. Turning back to the sink, Buck picked up a platter and mopped it with the dishcloth.

“You dried that already,” Maddie pointed out, one eyebrow raising slowly. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Buck said, gulping. He put down the plate and rag. “Really, I am.”

Maddie canted her weight onto one hip. “I didn’t question that.”

Shrugging, Buck picked the cloth back up and wrung it in his hands. “It’s good seeing Chris so happy. And Eddie with his—Shannon.”

Maddie let the silence rest between them, then shimmied around the island and picked up the same platter. “Where does this go?”

Buck pointed at an upper cabinet, then opened it and held out a hand. She gave him the plate for him to put away.

Slowly, they began putting away the dishes from their dinner.

“She’s not staying.”

Buck blinked. “Shannon?”

Maddie nodded. “She’s not,” she reiterated. “But you are.”

He froze, clutching a glass.

It fractured in his grip, glass tinkling to the floor in time with Christopher’s giggles just one room over.

“Buck!” Maddie yelled, backing up. “Are you okay?”

“What happened?” Eddie called out, appearing in the entry. 

“I got it,” Buck assured with a grimace, leaning down to grab the dustpan, only to find Shannon had beat him to it. 

Shannon nodded at his hand. “You take care of that cut.”

Buck looked down at the floor beneath him and saw a series of red dots. Then he peered at his finger and found a thin red line, dripping with blood, laced with anticoagulants.

Maddie cushioned his hand with paper towels. “Let’s take care of that.” She led him from the kitchen and into the living room, where Eddie was comforting Christopher.

“Bucky, are you okay?” Christopher cried out worriedly.

“Yeah, buddy, just lost a fight with a cup,” Buck laughed.

That earned a giggle, and a sense of relief washed over Buck as Maddie continued their path into the bathroom. 

Buck held onto the sound of that giggle like a lifeline.

In the bathroom, Maddie held Buck’s hand over the sink. She removed the now-soaked paper towels and inspected his finger.

“Let’s make sure there’s no glass in here.” She slipped into ER nurse mode and cradled his hand in her own. “What’s your INR looking like?”

“It’s pretty good,” Buck answered. “Can I sit down?”

Maddie shifted so he could sit on the toilet. After a while, she declared him glass-free and washed his finger, then wrapped her own around it to apply pressure.

“You don’t have to do this,” Buck told her. “The nurse thing—the sister thing.”

“I’m not doing a thing,” Maddie scoffed lightly, a little smile haunting her lips. “I’m just taking care of my little brother.”

Buck looked down at his other hand where it gripped his knee.

“You don’t get to decide,” Maddie said as she adjusted her grip, “when you’re worth fixing.”

Buck huffed. “Sounds fake.”

Maddie just kept up the pressure, searching for bandages.

“Top shelf of the linen closet,” Buck finally told her. “Out of Christopher’s reach.”

“And mine,” Maddie joked.

“Use Chris’s shower chair as a stool,” Buck suggested. He reached up to take over holding his finger while Maddie did just that.

Returning with a dinosaur band-aid, she wrapped it around the injury. “You know the drill.”

“Yeah, yeah. I live with a trained medical professional, I’ll be fine.”

“You live with someone who loves you,” Maddie tacked on.

Buck laughed. “Christopher loves everyone.”

She shook her head, eyes filled with something bittersweet. “No, Buck, I wasn’t talking about Christopher.”

“Maddie—”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Bucky?”

“Chris, hey,” Buck answered. Maddie set about cleaning up the bloody mess from Buck’s injury.

Christopher tiptoed into the crowded bathroom. “Are you all better?”

Buck brandished his finger. “All better, thanks to your amazing dino band-aids!”

Eddie and Shannon were just visible beyond the door, smiling at their son. Buck looked up and something inside him twanged. 

“The triceratops!” Chris yelled, celebrating Maddie’s bandage choice.

“Let’s move this party out of the bathroom, huh?” Maddie suggested, picking up Chris under the armpits and settling him on her hip. Buck moved to stand but stopped when he felt woozy.

Shannon said, “you’re so great with him.” She watched Maddie carry Chris into the living room. “Your sister is, too.”

“No one’s like his Bucky, though,” Eddie admitted.

Buck looked over at Eddie, shocked. “I’m just—I’m just Buck.”

“No,” Shannon said, husky voice resounding with disbelief. “You’re so much more than that.”

“Shan’s right,” Eddie added. “You’re what’s holding us together right now, Buck.”

Staring where Maddie and Chris had disappeared, Buck just swallowed.

“Mom! Dad! Buck!”

“Someone doesn’t want Christmas to end,” Shannon laughed. “Let’s not disappoint.”

Eddie nodded and helped Buck up from the toilet seat. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

Buck walked carefully to the sofa, which had been transformed from “Buck’s bed” to “Santa’s sleigh,” and settled in.

The adults watched, each grasping a drink of choice, as Christopher crafted to his heart’s content. At some point, a paper drifted to the floor.

Four stick figures, labeled. 

Chris, Mom, Dad. Buck.

Chapter Text

Stalker

⿻

Buckley was laughing with his coworkers, being all buddy-buddy with them. The man behind the wheel sneered at the sight. No one else there knew the real Evan Buckley. Not like he did. 

The plan had been to get Buckley alone, corner him. But with such a huge and protective posse—there really was no other word for it, as much as it made him scoff—the idiot would be impossible to reach. 

He needed a new plan.

Staring at the station, through those damn open doors, between gleaming red trucks, he narrowed his eyes, mind whirring. If Buckley strayed from the main group even for a minute, he could slip in under some guise, creating a false identity.

Then, as if served on a silver platter, Buckley stepped away. Sitting up, his pulse quickened, a flicker of satisfaction, eyes lit up—soon fading when another member of the house followed Evan.

The two spoke briefly until they clapped each other on the shoulders. Buckley’s companion turned around, turning out to be a Korean man with worry lines and a red scar on his forehead. The remaining firefighter wrung his hands, worry etched on his face.

That new plan began to form. An opening.

He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror and watched his lips curve into a smile.

Chapter Text

Full Circle

⿻

The plan turns out to be even better than he’d thought. Inflict a little pain, snatch up the prize. Life on the run is thrilling, all said and done.

Except that his bitch of a wife seems to have the most determined friends in the world. “Maddie Kendall,” the Amber Alert reads. Shit. He looks in the direction of the gas station.

He stares down the corpse of the man he’s shot, stares down his wife.

Flashing lights. Is the cop going to pull them over? Don’t react. Drive, like a normal person who’s done nothing wrong.

Who didn’t stab a guy he was actually starting to like. 

Who didn’t kidnap the love of his life.

Who didn’t just kill a man dead.

The police cruiser speeds past, and Maddie gives in to him.

Big Bear , Maddie suggests. Yanking the wheel, he steers into the park.

They need fire, fire to warm this cabin, but—his head rings. The bitch took an iron rod to his skull!

He can still walk, run. He follows her frantic footsteps. Follows her. 

She’s not worth it anymore. She’s going the way of her stupid boyfriend.

Bang, bang, bang—the gun fires until only soft clicks emerge. He switches to his knife and lunges.

But she escapes. Hits him again. Bites him like an animal. And then—

His skin burns with biting metal, the cold snow holding little against the knife stabbing repeatedly into his torso. 

Eyes clouding over, he watches Maddie collapse. Lets his own head fall back, and wheezes. 

Even as Doug Kendall lay dying, he could appreciate irony.

Chapter Text

Complications

⿻

First, it was Maddie being kidnapped.

Then it was being accused of orchestrating a heist. 

After that was Bobby’s suspension. 

And finally, it was Shannon. Watching Eddie hold her as she died.

Buck tossed back another whiskey, gently setting the glass back down on the bartop. It wasn’t his wife; he had no right to mourn. Yet here he was getting drunk despite his promise to Bobby and Maddie.

He accepted one final glass and, this time, sipped it. He let himself shiver at the taste as it burned down his throat, thoroughly enjoying the punishment.

“You good?” The bartender asked, brow raised. 

Buck laughed, dry like a desert. “You always ask that when someone buys whiskey?”

“Only when they have five or more refills,” she retorted. “You’re not planning on driving, are you?”

“No,” he lied.

Too fast, too smooth.

He wanted a little death in his life.

Closing his tab, he left the bar and slid behind the wheel of his Jeep. 

Death did not come.

Chapter Text

Friction

⿻

“Has anyone seen Buck this morning?” Eddie asked,  slamming the door of his locker. “He never came home last night.”

Hen turned to Chimney and mouthed, “ home ?” before answering, “I haven’t, but he could be up in the loft with Cap.”

“Maybe if he took an Uber,” Eddie murmured. “His Jeep’s not in the lot.”

Everyone jogged up to the kitchen, where they found Bobby preparing breakfast—and no Buck.

Eddie exchanged a meaningful look with the captain. “Buck’s not here yet.”

“I thought he was riding in with you.” Bobby’s brow creased with worry.

“Uh, guys, he’s just running late,” Chimney pointed out.

Nodding his head, Eddie echoed, “yeah, he’s just running late.”

“Looking for me?”

Buck appeared at the top of the stairs, too fast, too loud. His blond hair was ruffled, eyes red as if he hadn’t slept. He clutched a large coffee from a local shop in one hand and his duffel in the other. His LAFD shirt and pants were wrinkled.

“Damn, Buck,” Hen whistled. “Did you sleep in your clothes?”

“Nope. Left ‘em in my car overnight, didn’t have anything else.”

Eddie, gaze narrowed, studied his best friend. “Could’ve texted me.”

“Didn’t want to bother you.”

Bobby, with an expression much like Eddie’s, asked, “you good to work?”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Buck joked with a coffee-salute.

“Alright, good. Because we’ve got a full shift ahead.” Bobby flipped the last pancake off the griddle and handed the stacked plate to Hen, who placed it on the dining table. “We’ll debrief over breakfast.”

“Mind if I drop off my stuff in the locker room first?” Buck asked.

Bobby nodded his consent.

Jogging down the stairs after Buck, Eddie cornered the other man. “Where were you last night?”

“Mourning the near-death of two of the most important people in my life.”

The words landed just as intended, launching Eddie back into his own grief. “I’m sorry,” Eddie murmured, following Buck into the locker room.

Then, in close quarters within a small room, he caught a whiff of it. Whiskey. Faint, buried beneath the smell of soap and Old Spice. 

Heart plummeting, Eddie let his eyes drift shut. He reached for the ever-open door to the glass room and eased it shut. “Did you drink last night?”

“Yes,” Buck breathed, shoulders slumping.

Something tugged at Eddie’s mind. Then, “did you drive?”

Collapsing onto the bench, Buck leaned his elbows on his knees, caught his head in his hands. The “yes” was near-inaudible.

Eddie had to take a deep breath before speaking again.

“Why?”

“I wanted to die.”

The air between them hung heavy. Eddie plopped down beside Buck and slumped, the admission ringing in his ears. 

What was he supposed to say?

Why didn’t you call me? You matter? It’s going to be okay?

“You still want to?” The question emerged almost unbidden, rough-hewn. It hovered between them like the heavy presence of a third heartbeat.

Buck shook his head slowly. “No,” he whispered.

“Good,” Eddie acknowledged with a nod. “But next…next time, don’t get in the Jeep.”

Buck’s laugh was sharp and broken. “Next time?”

“If there is one,” Eddie amended even as he was sure there would be a next time, “call me. I don’t care when or where you are, you call. Got it?”

Wiping his face, Buck laughed again. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”

The pair sat in stillness, words settling between them, until Buck spoke again. “You gonna tell Bobby?”

“Do I have to?”

Buck made a face, the kind that made Eddie actually want to laugh. 

“I don’t want to,” Eddie admitted, “but I will if I have to.”

“You don’t have to.” Buck decided.

Eddie nodded and stood, clapping his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Better get back before all the pancakes are gone, then.”

Chapter Text

Mistakes

⿻

Eddie watched it happen, knowing the truth.

You didn’t have to be a paramedic to know the ABCs. Airway, breathing, circulation. Every first responder knew them so that they could perform basic triage in the field.

Buck skipped B.

The call was intense—a multi-vehicle pileup with a smattering of victims. Every personnel had a patient on their hands. Eddie was binding a child’s wrist when he heard Buck talking.

“Hello, can you hear me?”

He was checking in with a teenage boy, who looked to be a student driver going by the school logo emblazoned across the vehicle door. 

Eddie clocked the airway check, and then circulation as Buck’s fingers wrapped around the boy’s wrist, but that was it.

Buck skipped B.

“How are you feeling? Good?” Eddie asked the girl, patting her on the shoulder before darting away without listening for an answer. 

Hen seemed to have the same idea as she abandoned her own patient to dash over. “Buck!”

The next moment, the boy began to wheeze. The firefighters converged over him just in time for Hen to snap the pulse ox over his finger, revealing that this O2 was bottoming out.

“Tension pneumothorax,” Hen diagnosed after a lightning-fast examination. She grabbed a bag, tossed it to Eddie, and uncapped a needle. “Bag him, now.”

With shaking hands, Eddie slid the mask into place while Hen plunged the needle into the boy’s chest. With a hiss, his color began to return, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

But Eddie shivered with the reality of his choice.

Buck was in the field after a bender, and he’d almost killed a kid.

Eddie could have prevented this by telling Bobby the truth.

Hen waved off Eddie and Buck. “You two go find Bobby.”

“Copy,” Eddie answered, autopilot activated. He grabbed Buck by the elbow and dragged him between wreckage until they found their captain. 

Bobby looked up. “Don’t you two have patients?”

“Hen sent us,” Buck murmured.

“Buck skipped B,” Eddie said simultaneously.

Bobby froze. “Go on.”

Eddie dropped Buck’s arm. Buck looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t speak. 

So Eddie did. “Teenage male. Buck checked airway and circulation. But he didn’t check breathing. Hen caught a tension pneumo.”

Bobby’s jaw tightened, focusing on Buck. “Kid okay?”

“He will be,” Eddie supplied.

“Buck?”

“Eddie said—”

“No.” Bobby shook his head. “I meant, are you okay?”

“I—” Buck swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Bobby’s gaze flitted between Buck and Eddie for a long moment before settling on Buck. “We’ll talk later. At the station. For now, stick with Eddie.”

Chapter Text

Consequences

⿻

Bobby didn’t yell. He knew the power of silence too well.

Buck collapsed onto the couch, head cradled in his hands, and drew in a deep breath.

“I skipped B,” he bemoaned.

“I know.”

Buck looked up to find Hen standing on the other side of the sofa. “Bobby suspended me for a week.”

She looked down at him. “What are you gonna do about it?”

He considered his options. Starve. Drink. Binge. Purge. “I don’t know.”

“Then figure it out,” Hen said, “because the next kid might now have a second chance.” 

Buck frowned. “I thought…I thought I had it under control, but I could have killed him.”

“You didn’t,” Hen reminded gently, “because you weren’t alone.” She calmly circled the couch and sat beside him.

“I could’ve killed him, Hen,” Buck repeated. He was so not eating again.

Hen laid her hands over his, stilling them. He hadn’t even realized they were shaking. “We work as a team, Buckley. This job is about teamwork, but it’s also about holding yourself accountable.”

He bowed his head over their joined hands.

“You think you’re the only first responder who’s messed up? Get in line. You have one job after this. Decide what kind of firefighter you’re gonna be now.”

“I thought my job was to not kill anyone,” Buck laughed wetly.

“Two jobs, then,” Hen corrected with a wry smile. “And here’s a third—show up ready to work.”

Chapter Text

Relapse

⿻

If he couldn’t fix it, he could at least feel it.

That thought circled Buck’s head throughout the rest of the shift. He stayed on the couch while everyone else ate, barely touched the plate Eddie handed him.

“Goin’ home time,” Eddie called, shaking Buck from his reverie. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

“I’ll drive myself,” Buck said.

Eddie made a face but composed himself quickly. “Alright. See you at home.”

Buck shuffled out of the firehouse eventually and dragged himself into his Jeep. Instead of driving home, however, he found himself circling.

Then he was in a Taco Bell parking lot.

Ordering was mechanical—whatever their latest box was, the feeling of opening a present to find three tacos, a burrito, and nachos. Add some cinnamon twists for a dessert and a lurid Mountain Dew Baja Blast, and you had a feast fit to binge.

One bite. Another. The next.

He ate past the point of full. 

The front seat of the Jeep filled up with empty food wrappers as Buck steadily worked through his meal. Finally, he swallowed the last bite.

His stomach ached.

He drove straight home.

Eddie started to say hello, that he’d thought Buck would beat him home, but Buck just rushed to the bathroom, mumbling something about getting gas.

He opened the faucet and knelt before the toilet.

His knees grew cold.

“Buck? You’ve been in there a while.” Eddie knocked, not for the first time, but Buck hadn’t heard until that moment. “If you don’t unlock the door, I’m busting it down.”

Buck wiped spit from his chin and stood on shaky legs. “Relax,” he said, closing the toilet lid carefully—quietly. “I’m letting you in.” His voice rasped with the weight of what he’d done.

As soon as the lock clicked out of place, Eddie was inside the bathroom. He turned off the sink. Watched as Buck moved to flush the toilet, and said, “Ah, no.”

“But—” Buck stuttered, hand paused on the handle.

Eddie held out a hand, palm out to placate. “Flush it if you don’t want me to help.”

Hesitating, Buck stared at his friend, eyes flicking from one brown iris to the other.

He let his hand fall to his side and stepped back.

Eddie moved in and said, “Am I right about what’s in that toilet?”

“Yes,” Buck murmured, pursing his lips as the acidic taste reared its head.

Flushing the toilet, Eddie didn’t turn as he told Buck, “you can’t use the bathroom after meals on your own anymore.”

Shivering, Buck folded his arms across his chest and nodded. He sank down to the floor and curled up on the same tile he’d been kneeling on just minutes before.

Eddie crouched beside him.

Then Buck rasped, “I feel shitty.”

“I’d be more worried if you didn’t,” Eddie said with a snort.

Buck let out one harsh laugh before leaning over, letting his head fall against Eddie’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Shortcut

⿻

If Buck couldn’t go to the bathroom alone after meals, he may as well not eat meals.

It became like a game.

He’d claim he would get breakfast on the way to work, poke at his firehouse food until the alarm went off, or push around his food during dinner with Eddie and Christopher.

It was hard, but that added to the reward.

“Buck, you up for grabbing food on the way home?” Eddie asked, on the rare day they’d driven in together. “Chris got an A on his project, I want to surprise him.”

“Probably shouldn’t use food as a reward,” Buck answered absentmindedly.

“Shouldn’t use it as a punishment, either,” Eddie said, though he relented and stopped at Durand immediately.

“Wasn’t,” Buck murmured and crossed his arms.

Eddie opted to ignore Buck, instead pulling into the drop-off lane so he and Buck could wait for Christopher’s class to let out. 

“You know, you’re doing really well,” Eddie complimented as they stepped out of the car.

Buck felt a zing of pride. “You have no idea,” he preened.

Glancing over, Eddie opened his mouth to speak. Then an interruption came in the form of Chris bursting through the school doors clutching a crumpled paper.

“Dad! Bucky!”

“Mijo!” Eddie called in kind, bending down to lift his son. However, Christopher was making a beeline for Buck.

Quickly Buck assumed a position to catch the barreling weight of the child. As he did, he nearly fell backward off the curb from the effort.

“Superman,” he greeted warmly, “what’s this I hear about your grades?”

“I got an A!” Christopher cried out, waving his paper in the air. “Can we get milkshakes?”

Eddie looked at Buck for a moment, studying him. “Yeah, let’s get milkshakes. What about a burger and fries too?”

Chris nodded furiously while Buck just shrugged. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the idea. However, Buck played along; he wasn’t Dad in this equation, after all. After buckling Chris in, he sat down in his own seat, fingers dipping beneath the hem of his shirt and scratching at his thinning stomach.

Eddie settled behind the wheel andd adjusted the mirrors, clearing his throat as he sensed the awkward air surrounding Buck. “In-N-Out?”

“Yeah!” Cheered Christopher.

“Why not?” Shrugged Buck.

And just like that, they were on their way.

When they arrived, Buck found his stomach churning at the smell. He now had the perfect excuse not to get food.

The trio wandered in, Buck’s hand on his middle and his cheeks pale. He murmured to Eddie, “not feeling great. Think I’ll just get a Diet Coke.”

“You sure? Eating might make you feel better,” Eddie worried.

Chris didn’t even hear them. He just bounced up to the register and listed off his order.

With a minute shake of his head, Buck nudged Eddie forward to get his own food.

Chapter Text

Restriction

⿻

Eddie noticed.

Just little things. Buck’s shirts beginning to loosen, always saying he’d eaten earlier. Then there were the complaints.

That is, the lack of them.

Buck never said he was hungry anymore.

Eddie wasn’t sure when Buck stopped eating, it happened so quietly.

On Monday, Eddie took Chris to Taco Bell. Buck turned green and went to bed early.

Tuesday and Wednesday they had a 48—Buck somehow never ate the food on his plate, even when Bobby made his famous lasagna. 

Thursday came around and Buck cooked dinner for the Diazes…but not for himself.

But on Friday, as they drove into work for the weekend, Eddie decided to do something about it. He stopped by his favorite drive-thru.

He pulled into the line and glanced at Buck, who was leaning against the window, dozing. “You want anything?”

“Nah,” Buck answered, as expected. “Ate before we left.”

Eddie knew for a fact he hadn’t.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, Eddie texted Bobby a quick update.

     Eddie & Bobby

     Eddie Diaz: Going to be late. Getting breakfast for me and Buck.

     Bobby Nash: Good. He needs it.

Putting away his phone, Eddie eased the car forward and rolled the window down. 

“Welcome to Lila’s Coffee, can I take your order?” A teen girl’s voice echoed through the speaker.

“Hello, can I get two black coffees, one hotcakes meal, and four biscuits?”

“That’ll be 22.59,” she replied. “Would you like to round up for cancer research?”

Eddie nodded. “Absolutely.”

Buck cracked one eye open, brow furrowed. “That’s a lot. Didn’t you eat before we left?”

“Nope. And neither did you.” Eddie handed over his card at the next window, accepting it and his receipt a moment later.

“Yes I did,” Buck mumbled.

“Here’s your two black coffees,” the same girl said, handing them through the window. “That food is on its way.”

Buck accepted the hot drink and sipped, breathing in the fumes. However, he stilled as a new scent wafted in.

“Is that—”

“Thought you’d recognize the place,” Eddie said. “But it has been a while since I brought you here.” He accepted the bag of food from the teenager and handed it to Buck.

Reluctant as he was, Buck accepted the bag, holding it awkwardly in the air. Eddie pulled into a parking spot and took it back.

“Here we go,” he muttered, tugging out the four biscuits and placing them on the console. “Ah! Hotcakes.”

“Who are the biscuits for?” Buck asked cautiously.

“You.”

Buck lied. “I’m not hungry.”

Eddie told the truth. “You don’t have to be.”

Hesitating, Buck stalled before reaching for one and cradling it. He raised it to his nose for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. Then he unwrapped it, watched it crumble beneath his fingers. The golden flakes stuck to his fingers. 

Eddie didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Buck took a small bite, feeling how those self-same flakes melted on his tongue. His eyelids fluttered shut and he couldn’t help the gutteral moan that emerged.

He chewed, swallowed, swallowed again. “So good,” he gasped before going in for another nibble.

Eddie stayed with him, focusing on his own meal while Buck slowly ate all four biscuits.

Chapter Text

Searing

⿻

It was less of a boom and more of a screech.

It was Buck’s first coherent thought amidst the pain. How the truck skidded, how he was thrown like a ragdoll and landed….

And then the ladder truck landed, too.

His second coherent thought was one he hadn’t let himself have in a long time. 

I don’t want to die.

At first, he was riding shotgun in the truck, tense with the reality of their situation. Then they were flying, and tipping, and he crashed through glass. His cheek met asphalt. 

His leg…his leg wouldn’t move. He sat up and looked back only to see the truck itself was pinning him down.

Damn. I’m gonna die.

Part of him was happy. But most of him, the part that loves life, that loves his friends, that hugged Maddie when she was lying in that hospital bed—most of him is thinking about biscuits.

Those damn good biscuits from that drive thru Eddie took him to and keeps bringing to him before work, again and again. Flaky, buttery, melting-on-your-tongue goodness. 

He’d give anything for one right now. 

Asphalt. Blood. Screaming. His screams? Someone else’s?

Then there was a rush of blood into his leg, followed by the worst pins and needles he’d ever felt. A scream (definitely his) rent the air as someone (Eddie?) dragged him out by his arm.

“Buck!” A familiar voice called, followed by another. Cool hands gripped his body and loaded him onto an unflinching surface. Boots crunched in the debris alongside him. 

“Buck,” the first voice huffed again, followed by a warm touch. “We got you.”

It was Eddie—Buck could tell it now. “B—” he struggled to get out the word, blood bubbling between his lips. “Biscuits,” he finally gurgled.

“I’ll get you a dozen, just hold on,” Eddie said through a tight laugh. “Just hold on.” He pressed that warm, warm hand to Buck’s clammy chest. “Hell, I’ll bake them myself. Please just don’t close your eyes.” Eddie’s begging landed on Buck’s cottony ears as fuzzy gray took over the injured firefighter’s vision.

Chapter Text

Wait

⿻

Bobby Nash could still hear it. The high-pitched shriek of metal and rubber. He could still feel the shockwave. Smell the ashes. He hadn’t been there, but it didn’t matter. His imagination—traitorous, vivid—made sure. His ears, skin, nose, eyes all imprinted upon him the severity of the crash meant for him. No, he hadn’t seen the moment Buck’s leg was crushed, but he’d felt the impact deep within his own bones. Heard a scream worthy of nightmares.

If only Bobby hadn’t been suspended, then that Freddie kid’s bomb would’ve found its intended target. As much as everyone else…as much as Athena reassured him he wasn’t to blame, he couldn’t help but feel the guilt.

Not when he knew how much Buck had already been suffering.

Bobby paced the waiting room, hands clenching and unclenching. Finally, he stomped down the hall to the chapel. He’d been in hospital chapels too often.

The candelabras on either side of the lectern flickered, not fire but flame-shaped light bulbs.  The faint shadows cast by these bounced across the room, joined by colored sunbeams. 

He paused at the entrance and took a deep breath before trudging to the third pew. As he walked, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his rosary.

Crucifix in his palm, he traced it with his thumb. Bowing his head, he felt the weight of tears behind his eyes. But he didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried—not when he realized there was a bomb planted on the engine. Not when he heard the explosion over the radio. Not even when he saw Buck’s leg dangling off the backboard.

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty…” He swallowed the next words of the Creed. His mouth felt like ash mixed with the remnants of belief.

He pushed the rosary down to the first bead. 

Forgive us our trespasses… a s we forgive those who trespass against us… He would forgive. Not only Freddie, but himself. Someday; someday. Not today.

He pressed the next bead between his fingers. “Hail Mary” fell from his lips, the words too soft for a room like this, a world like this.

As he uttered the Glory Be, those same tears weighing on him began to well up.

“As it was in the beginning,” Bobby choked out halfway through, “and ever will be…and ever shall be world without end.” 

He tugged the rosary to the first mystery, pondering his sorrows. 

His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down upon the ground. Not again…never again. Not after Marcy and Brook and Robbie. Not after burying his wife, his children, pieces of himself. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong for the world to throw him into a premature Hell. He’d sworn never to love so fiercely again.

Yet here he was, praying over another. How did he let himself get so close? He’d built walls so high even Athena couldn’t see over them. And yet Buck had climbed them without even trying. But here he was, clutching a rosary for a boy he’d never asked to be let in—praying as if he’d never let go.

Bobby drew in a trembling breath, then in a shockingly steady voice, demanded, “don’t make me bury another one of my kids.”

Chapter Text

Brother Mine

⿻

Maddie had turned off Dispatcher Mode immediately after clocking out. 

Dispatcher Mode—the state of being in which a dispatcher had to remain calm and distant, able to assist with any problem. When the alert came in, a dispatcher had to do what they were trained to do. 

But now she was unraveling by the vending machine, one hand pressed to the cold metal, the other curled against her thigh. She stared blankly at the granola bars behind the glass, only to sob again at the thought of how her brother would insist they were unhealthy.

Too many carbs, Mads.

She wanted to punch the glass. Or cry. Or both. But she was already crying, so she opted for that.

After a moment, she breathed. She’d survived being kidnapped, chased, and stabbed, dammit. She could survive her brother potentially losing his leg.

Oh, but if he lost his leg, he’d lose his joy.

Bobby’s words kept circling her mind. Your brother is suicidal, Maddie.

She breathed again, exhaling even longer. Shaking her head, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffed. Another breath, a shiver. She tapped her iPhone against the payment pad of the vending machine and punched in a random code. A pack of roasted peanuts dropped. 

“He’s going to wake up, eat these damn peanuts, and walk again,” she muttered.

“Miss Buckley?”

She whirled around to find a nurse.

“He’s out of surgery.”

Chapter Text

Should Have Been Me

⿻

Eddie wanted to take Buck’s hand, but his own felt too heavy.

Buck had been out of surgery for hours—everyone else had visited. Maddie, of course; Bobby and Athena. Even Hen and Chimney had arrived ahead of him. Eddie, however, had paced the hospital waiting room struggling with the desire to see his best friend, and the guilt that he’d come out of the firetruck bombing unscathed.

He kept seeing flashes. The blast. The glass. The way Buck was thrown like a ragdoll, screams torn from his throat. Eddie had barely bled. 

It didn’t feel fair. Didn’t feel right, either, that Buck nearly lost a leg while Eddie just got treated for smoke inhalation. 

Now, he sank into the chair at Buck’s bedside, hand hovering above the bedrail. Close—not touching. 

“I should’ve been the one in that OR,” he whispered, “not you.”

Buck’s face was pale, mouth slack, IV snaking across his arm into his hand. He looked small, diminished. No longer the force Eddie was accustomed to—no longer the man who climbed ladders with reckless grace and lit up every room. 

Slowly, Eddie reached down and curled his fingers around Buck’s. His skin was warm, solid, real. And Eddie broke.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he rasped. “Not like this. Not like…” He sniffed. “I was right there. I should have pulled you back. I should’ve—God, I don’t even know. But it should’ve been me.”

The machines offered no reply.

Eddie exhaled through his nose, stared up at the ceiling to keep in his tears. “I can’t—” his voice cracked. “I don’t know how to sit here and do nothing. And you must hate this, too, just lying here. So come on, Buck.” He tightened his grip. “Wake up.”

He let his head drop, forehead resting on their joined hands. “You’ve gotta wake up, man. You can’t leave me with all the things I never said.”

The words surprised him. Maybe it was the weight, or the stillness of the room, but something cracked open.

“I need you to be okay,” he said. “I need you to fight with me about dishes, and help with Chris’s bedtime, and watch game shows on mute, and…and make us pancakes.”

He paused. “I need you.” Lifting his head slowly, he worked his jaw. “You’ve always had my back. Lat me have yours now.”

Chapter Text

Biscuits

⿻

Eddie tucked the greasy bag into his coat, trying to hide it away from the nurses and doctors surrounding him. As he walked down the hall he counted rooms.

374. 375. 376. 

Peering in, Eddie was surprised to find no one by Buck’s bedside. The room was dark, only lit by the sunlight filtering in through the slatted blinds filling the entire far wall.

He pushed the door open, a gentle movement that somehow felt as if it moved the universe. Unlike the night before, Buck was sitting up in bed, though his leg was still suspended in front of him.

Eddie watched as Buck slowly turned toward him, breathing slow, chest rising and falling steadily. “Eds,” he rasped.

“Buck,” Eddie greeted, still clutching the fast food beneath his jacket. “You’re awake.” That hadn’t been the plan. He’d been hoping to slip in, sit with Buck, drop off the biscuits, then leave.

Attempting a smile, Buck said, “didn’t think you’d come see me so soon.”

“Yeah, well, I had a promise to follow through on,” he admitted sheepishly. Pulling out the bag, he said, “when it happened, you said something about biscuits. And I said you'd get them. So…here.”

Buck, surprised, held out one unsteady hand for the bag. “How many?”

“Just a couple. I figured there wouldn’t exactly be a mini fridge in here.” Eddie handed the bag over, reluctant to let go as his fingers brushed against Buck’s. “You don’t have to eat them.”

Buck tugged the bag away from Eddie and replied, “I know, but you remembered, even when I didn’t.”

He reached in and grabbed one of the two biscuits inside. Resting the bag on his tray table, he unfolded the paper wrapping and took one slow bite, eyes drifting closed. “Mmph,” he mumbled around the food, then licked his lips clean of crumbs.

“Good?” Eddie asked, swallowing at the same time as Buck, who nodded. 

“Very good. Wherever you go for your biscuits is amazing.”

“I’ll give my compliments to the chef.”

“I didn’t remember,” Buck reiterated, eyes unfocusing. Eddie watched as his hands lowered into his lap. “But you did. I’m—I’m glad it was you.”

Chapter Text

Rehabilitation

⿻

Buck leaned against the wall, eyes idly tracing the new scars on his leg. They were jagged, pink, fresh. They made his skin crawl, but he celebrated them.

The scars were what let him keep his leg. Yet they were a constant reminder that he nearly lost it.

They pulled when he sat, itched when he moved, screamed if he stood for too long. 

He massaged his thigh again before his PT, Luke, could catch him slacking. 

When Luke’s distinctive gait approached, Buck pushed off the wall and wrapped his hands around the walker’s handles. Luke clapped his tablet against his free hand and grinned.

“Ready, Buck?” 

Buck grunted, too focused on standing with equal weight on each foot. It felt like a negotiation; he’d flex one foot, only for it to be countered by an overworked muscle tweaking with the desire to collapse. His shirt clung to his spine.

Luke didn’t comment. He never did. Just asked, “Scale?”

“Go to hell,” Buck bit out.

“Seven, then.” The PT scribbled down a few notes before backing up and turning. “Let’s head over to the balance bars.”

Buck shuffled, trying his best not to favor his injured leg. Clearly, he failed, as Luke immediately commented on it.

“Make sure you keep an even gait on the bars.” Luke’s words were accompanied by the scratch of his stylus across his tablet. “Ready, set, go.”

With every step on his right leg, Buck winced and worked through the pain. His palms were sweating, but the grippy material of the bars kept his hands in place.

“Do not fall,” he muttered, “not again. Not here. Not with everyone watching.”

He could hear whispers, the words dancing on the wind of the air conditioner, piercing him. He was a firefighter. The one who got pinned under that truck. Yeah, he’s so not gonna be one again.

Buck gritted his teeth as Luke cleared his throat. The gossip abruptly ended. “Doing great,” his PT praised.

“Just peachy,” Buck grumbled. As much as silence itched at him, generic support was worse. He wished Bobby or Eddie could be here.

He reached the end and turned. Jaw ready to spasm with how tight it was, Buck took a deep breath through his nose and consciously loosened it. 

“Now walk back,” Luke ordered.

Agonizing step after agonizing step, Buck made his way toward the therapist. His shoulders kept crawling up to his ears, only for Luke to mention the infraction and force Buck to straighten again. 

Finally, he collapsed against his walker.

“Go have a seat, grab a protein bar and some water,” Luke said instead of applauding Buck’s mediocre success.

With a nod, Buck trudged to the bench along the wall, stopping to pick up a protein bar and snatching a water bottle from the mini fridge beside the basket. 

Sitting heavily, he grimaced at a twinge in his leg before staring at the food in his hand.

The water was easier, so he cracked the lid and took a swig. But all he could do with the protein bar was study the nutritional facts.

The worst part of recovery, he’d decided, was the food. He had to eat, couldn’t drink. But he understood why, and if he was ever going to work again, he had to comply.

Sighing, he unwrapped it, splitting the word “Sugar” in half.

Chapter Text

Static

⿻

If Luke were here, he’d say, you’re pushing yourself too far.

Buck swept that thought aside, focusing on tying his shoelaces. Tracing his pink scars, he sat up and flexed. As long as he warmed up, he reasoned, he’d be fine going for a jog.

Eddie spoke up from where he leaned in the door to the kitchen. “This isn’t a good idea, Buck.”

Standing, Buck grinned. “It totally is.” He flat-out ignored the flame licking at his calf. “I’m never gonna get better if I don’t get back in the game.”

“I won’t argue that, but maybe start with a walk around the house?” 

Buck shoved his phone in a hoodie pocket and put in his AirPods. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a jog around the block.”

“Then I’m coming,” Eddie decided, turning to look for socks and shoes.

Looking over at his best friend, Buck couldn’t help a smile as he watched the man kneel and tug on his sneakers.

“Maybe I’ll slow you down,” Eddie teased as he slid his own phone into his joggers’ pocket.

The pair made their way onto the porch, where they warmed up. Eddie ran through therapy exercises with Buck, much as he did with his son, as well as upper body stretches. “Ready?” Buck asked, bouncing on his toes.

“Only if you are,” Eddie told him.

They began with a slow walk out to the sidewalk, falling into step. Upon reaching the pavement, however, Buck took off.

He jogged slower than he would have before the ladder truck. He was also a firefighter back then, to be fair, so he was still making impressive time. Eddie was keeping a good pace, matching with Buck. 

That is, until they rounded the first corner and Buck’s knee buckled. He stumbled with a grunt, catching himself against the street sign before his knee could fully give. 

“Buck!” Eddie crouched beside him, hands hovering. 

“I’m fine,” Buck hissed, “just a cramp.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie griped, positioning himself so he could sling Buck’s arm over his shoulder. “We’re going home.”

Buck didn’t protest, too busy wallowing.

Chapter Text

Reality Check

⿻

Buck collapsed onto the couch, hissing. Eddie stacked pillows on the coffee table and gently placed his friend’s leg on the pile. Then Eddie disappeared, returning a moment later with one of Buck’s therapy ice packs.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie stated, half-serious and half-fond. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop me, and you know that,” Buck wheezed through the pain.

Eddie paused. “You’re right.”

“Anyway,” Buck sighed, “thanks. For…for being there. If you hadn’t been, I would’ve probably been stuck there.” He hissed at the sensation of cool ice against his knee..

Stepping forward, Eddie knelt beside Buck’s leg. “It was the right thing to do. What’s going on, anyway?”

“Charlie horse. Why do we say that, anyway? We should just say cramp.”

Eddie tentatively removed the ice pack and watched as a muscle jumped beneath Buck’s skin. Pressing a thumb into it, he waited for a while until it settled, finally relaxed.

He kept massaging, much like he’d always done for Christopher. As he did, he watched Buck’s face morph through pain and emotion. Eddie used the expressions as a gauge to know when to ease up or add pressure.

Buck then murmured, “your hands are like magic.”

“Chris says the same thing,” Eddie laughed.

Buck echoed him, his own chuckle fading as his head fell back against the couch cushion. His eyes fluttered closed.

Eddie stayed where he was, fingers tracing muscle fibers, eyes tracing scars.

Chapter Text

Drip

⿻

“Ah!” Buck hissed, flinching and watching a drop of blood land in the sink. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching for the toilet roll so he could dab it.

Then another drop landed. And another.

The blood thinners.

He looked up and met his blue eyes in the mirror, then let his gaze flick down to where the shaving nick had led to a steady stream of blood down his face and off his chin.

Head down, he grabbed more toilet paper and pressed it to his cheek, only for it to soak through.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and looked back up. Pictured in his mind the unread pamphlet on the kitchen counter, the one with YOUR LIFE ON ANTICOAGULANTS in cheery font.

He let his eyes open. Glared into his own soul. And pulled out his phone. Hovered his finger over Bobby’s contact, then Eddie’s. Maddie’s. Taylor’s. 

Back to Eddie, then Bobby.

He exited the phone app and opened his telehealth app—the one Luke and his cardiologist agreed he should download. He joined the queue.

With every passing minute, the pile of tissues grew, and his resolve shrank.

A little boop from his phone got his attention, and not long after, a young Indian woman’s face filled his screen. “Hello, I’m Nurse Aditi Patel. Is this Evan Buckley?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding up the phone while still pressing toilet roll to his face.

“Please verify your phone number and address,” she continued, waiting for his answer.

Buck rattled off his phone number, then paused. “Are you verifying an address on file?”

“I am,” Aditi replied.

He let out a long breath. “I don’t really have a place right now, and I can’t remember if I put my sister’s or my best friend’s.”

“Just say each street, and I’ll let you know if it’s one of them.”

“Uh…Bedford, and MacIntosh.”

“Bedford rings a bell.”

“4995 S Bedford Apartment 403, then.”

Aditi smiled. “There we are. Sorry for the formalities, but it is a requirement. Now, what’s going on today? I see you’ve listed coagulation management.” She openly stared at the blood-soaked paper on his face.

Buck laughed nervously. “Oh, just a little nick while shaving.”

“Well,” Aditi considered, “if you’re on blood thinners, even something as small as a papercut or shaving nick can be cause for concern. How long has the bleeding lasted?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“That’s alright. How much blood? Enough to soak through a tissue? A towel?”

Buck looked down at the pile of tissue in the trash can at his side. “A toilet paper roll?”

“Alright,” she said again, looking down for a brief moment. “Any dizziness, shortness of breath, lightheadedness?”

He shook his head, then regretted it as the world spun. “Uh—just got lightheaded and dizzy.”

Aditi, concerned, asked, “are you sitting down?”

Buck nodded and watched her smile in relief before continuing. “What specific anticoagulant are you on? Eliquis, warfarin?”

“Warfarin,” he said after a moment.

“And are you compliant—any missed or double doses?” Aditi asked.

“My uh, roommate makes sure I take it right.” He struggled with how to describe Eddie. Best friend who also lets me crash on his couch? Roommate would suffice.

“Good. Warfarin requires careful monitoring. If your last INR level was within range, your bleeding will stop eventually, but for now, keep pressure on it.” Aditi smiled.

“It was,” Buck murmured. He remembered the blood draw like it was yesterday. INR was still a pretty meaningless term to him, other than that he needed to be in a certain range of numbers he didn’t even know.

“Good. And avoid using that side of your face.”

He exhaled. “Half-beard look it is, then.”

Aditi offered a soft look. “This is a serious medication, Mr. Buckley.”

Buck nodded. Then, quietly, he said the words he’d been avoiding.

“I was a firefighter.”

The kind nurse didn’t speak.

“Still am, I guess. But I can’t go back. Not like this.” He gestured to his face, another gush of blood escaping until he pressed the soaked tissue against it again.

She watched him for a moment before quietly asking, “do you need anything else?”

“No,” Buck laughed airily. “No, thanks.”

The pair ended the call. Screen black, Buck sat back. 

He peeled the toilet paper from his face and dropped the soaked material into the trash can before reaching for more. 

Finding an empty tube, he just let his hand fall to his side and bled.

Chapter Text

Hangout

⿻

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Buck stood in the door to the kitchen, where Eddie had just berated him for wallowing. He watched as Christopher fiddled with a game controller.

He never feels sorry for himself.

“Hey, Chris.”

Christopher looked up, “Yeah, Buck?”

“Remember when you helped me learn how to walk on crutches?” Buck asked, limping slightly as he made his way back into the living room. 

Grinning, Chris nodded. “You were so bad at it!”

Buck couldn’t help but laugh along. “Yeah, but I got better!”

“Eh, still could’ve learned more.”

Flopping onto the couch beside Chris, Buck heaved a huge sigh. “That’s not fair to someone who had to use crutches for a few months. You’ve been using them for a lifetime.”

Christopher put a well-meaning hand on Buck’s shoulder, setting aside the game controller. “You didn’t give up, Buck.”

Buck let his head drop back and stared at the ceiling. He’d thought about it, but he wasn’t going to admit that to a kid.

They sat in silence for a moment before Buck remembered why he’d walked in there in the first place.

“Your dad said we should spend today together. Anything in mind?”

“I want pancakes,” Chris decided with a conspiratorial smile. “Then I wanna see a movie!”

“Pancakes it is,” Buck agreed with a chuckle. “Go get dressed, I’ll mix up the ingredients. Or, we can go out.”

“Can we go out? I want the Griddle.” Christopher begged.

“Okay, okay,” Buck agreed, without much convincing. “You still have to get dressed, though.”

“Really? I thought I could go out in pajamas,” the kid joked. He walked back to his bedroom.

Buck watched Christopher disappear down the hall, then leaned against the counter. His smile lingered, but the ache in his leg did, too.

Today would be good. It needed to be good.

Chapter Text

Flow

⿻

Damn, he wasn’t supposed to stress his leg like this. Not so soon. Not right now.

But he had to. For Christopher.

Christopher.

Buck walked, voice hoarse from yelling, blood streaming down his arm, but he didn’t care because his priority was finding Christopher.

“Christopher!” He shouted again, leg screaming, voice breaking against fear and fury. Fear for Chris, fury at himself.

If he’d just taken Christopher to the movies as promised, or even just to an arcade, somewhere inland….

Nausea curled in his gut, wave after wave chasing the water lapping at his feet. Rust swirled around his ankles. It didn’t really compute that its source was dripping from his fingertips.

Buck’s leg spasmed beneath him and he tripped, catching himself against a nearby wall. He stared at the faint waterline on the wall. He felt the first wave wash over him all over again, gasping for air that would never reach his waterlogged lungs. 

Shaking himself from the memory, he pushed through the pain and took a step into the debris. Bracing himself, he screamed, “Christopher!” 

A distant groan echoed down the street, followed by a crash. Water surged up again, tugging at his thighs—ripping his leg from beneath him. 

He fell to the ground and landed on a pile of soaking debris. After several moments he managed to wobble to his feet, fresh blood pouring down his arm. His vision darkened as he fought to stand. Flickering Pain traced scars down his calf.

“Chris…” Buck struggled to call out the name through his heaving breaths. His lungs burned as hot as the ladder truck the day it crushed him.

Hands cradling himself, Buck pressed on. Every second without Christopher was a failure.

The water swirled, inky with debris. Buck picked up every piece of clothing he could find, afraid it would be Chris’s. His ears were met with deceptive sounds—a groan of metal like the sob of a child, drops of water misconstrued as footsteps. He drew a deep breath.

“Christopher!”

There was no answer.

Chapter Text

Support

⿻

Buck couldn’t believe his eyes.

There Eddie was, embracing Christopher after that kind woman carried him through a tsunami, looking back at Buck.

He couldn’t breathe in enough air.

“We’re great,” Buck stuttered, beginning to pitch forward, but finding himself supported by a dozen arms. 

“Whoa, hey,” a voice echoed, “you’re here, you’re safe.”

“Buck!” Christopher called, his sweet voice cutting through the fog. “Bucky!”

Then the light faded.

Buck resurfaced slowly.

First, sound—muffled, blurred. He felt as if he was underwater again. His brow furrowed and he drew in a sharp breath, snapping his eyes open.

Then, sight—fluorescent lights, blinding. As his vision adjusted, his body began to catalog a thousand feelings.

Ache. Pain. A pinch in his arm, something sticky. 

Christopher.

He shot up. “Christopher!”

“Hey, hey!” Maddie said, laying a gentle hand on Buck’s chest. “You’re safe, Evan. Chris is safe.”

“Where is he?” Buck rasped.

“Pediatric floor,” Maddie explained, hand tracing Buck’s arm down to his hand. “He just needs one night of observation.”

“Eddie?” 

“He’s with Chris. He told me the woman who found Chris thought he was Buck.” Maddie chuckled.

Buck let a small laugh emerge. “Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently he asked for you the whole time.” She brushed his hair back just like she used to when they were kids. “Kept calling you his Buck.”

Voice a whisper, cracked like porcelain, Buck insisted, “I tried to find him.”

“I know, Ev.” Maddie hummed. “He found you in the end.”

“How’m I gonna go home?” Buck slurred.

Sitting up, concern settled over Maddie’s face. “Buck?” 

His vision blurred, eyes closing and head hitting the pillow. 

“Buck?”

“Can’t g’home,” he tried, but his tongue wouldn’t listen. His chest rose and fell unevenly. He swallowed—or at the very least, made an attempt. 

Maddie was already at the call button, ready to press it. “Hey, look at me, Evan. Evan?” When Buck’s attempt to answer failed, she screamed for help.

Buck was barely aware of the monitor stuttering, footsteps pounding, palpating hands on his chest.

He sank into the darkness.

Chapter Text

Survival

⿻

“BP’s dropping.”

“Possible crush injury, get trauma in here!”

Maddie, standing in the corner of the room, pressed her hands to her mouth and simply shook.

She knew exactly what was happening. The curse of being a former nurse.

Her previous compatriots moved like clockwork, shielding Buck from her view. But she could still hear, catching phrases that made her heart plummet.

Finally, a resident paused. “Family?”

Maddie nodded, knowing if she spoke she’d break.

“They’re taking him to trauma, sixth floor.”

She nodded again and grabbed her purse, ready to follow the procession. She clung to the bag’s straps like a lifeline.

Maddie watched as they transferred Buck to a gurney, promptly left the room, and hurried toward the elevator. She rushed after them, refusing to let her brother out of her sight.

Her hopes were dashed when she realized the elevator wouldn’t account for her alongside her brother’s bed and the medical team. She let out a shaky breath as the doors closed.

Refusing to let that stop her, she pressed her finger against the up button with all her strength, willing the second elevator to open.

After a minute of copious waiting, a ding heralded its arrival. The doors opened, agonizingly slow, and Maddie slipped inside. Alone.

When the doors closed, her knees buckled.

With what little strength she had left, Maddie jabbed the button for the sixth floor and clung to the railing—hoping against hope that no one else would call upon the elevator.

Miraculously, she made it to the sixth floor without interruption.

Hand on her chest, struggling to breathe, Maddie marched down the hall, following the sound of urgency. 

Finally, she spoke. “I’m Maddie Buckley, my brother Evan was just brought up here.”

A man at the nurse’s station stood. “He just arrived, ma’am. He’s being worked on. I’ll take you to our waiting room.”

The path took them past her brother’s room. She looked in—everyone was moving in tandem. No one was panicking.

That was good.

“Don’t you dare stop fighting,” Maddie murmured, returning her gaze to her path. “Don’t you dare.”

Chapter Text

Stable

⿻

“His blood pressure bottomed out—forty over twenty.”

Buck didn’t move, just listened, eyes closed.

Someone replied, voice soft, words too quiet.

“He was hypovolemic, full systemic shock. Five more minutes and we wouldn’t be having the same conversation.”

The voice responded again. Closer, more distinct. “He’s lucky.” Maddie.

Another voice—lower, rumbling. It had to be Bobby. “I don’t think luck had anything to do with it. Thank you, Dr. Sanderson.”

Silence. Then a hand wrapped around his own. Buck couldn’t help the twitch in response.

“Buck?”

He grunted.

Maddie whispered, “oh, thank God.”

Bobby walked closer, heavy footsteps heralding his approach. “They got the bleeding under control?”

“Yes. He’s off the blood thinners until he heals, but with the risk of clots, they’re keeping him under observation.”

Swallowing, Buck readied himself to speak, but found that his jaw wouldn’t unhinge. His body felt too heavy.

“Everyone’s safe, that’s what matters,” Bobby sighed. “Eddie just texted me—Christopher’s going home in the morning.”

Everyone’s safe. The words struck him like a dagger. Everyone was, no thanks to him.

He hadn’t managed to save Christopher. All he’d done was collapse.

His hand shook.

Maddie squeezed it. “He’s with Eddie. He’s okay, Buck.”

Maybe Christopher was okay. But Buck wasn’t sure he himself was.

Chapter Text

Denial

⿻

Buck couldn’t sleep, as much as he tried.

Survived. Lucky. Safe.

All wrong.

He was alive despite his circumstance, like a disease. He’d failed every person he loved, most of all Eddie and Christopher. 

He’d been put back on the anticoagulants the day before, been told he would be “ready” for discharge the next morning.

But his thoughts couldn’t stop racing, telling him that it wasn’t worth leaving bed, even to move to his own. Not that he had a bed.

He hadn’t reached, let alone saved, Christopher. Staring into the shaft of sunlight shining in through his blinded window, Buck let his mind wander. Blood on his fingertips. Water in his lungs. The world flickering in and out as he fought through pain.

Fought for nothing. Eddie found Christopher in the end.

Hero.

No, Buck wasn’t a hero. But he wouldn’t beleaguer the point. If his sister, captain, nurses, even strangers wanted to call him one, let them. He knew what he really was.

A failure.

Buck’s musings were interrupted by a soft knock, followed by the door of his hospital room opening. He looked over—eyes dull, face drawn—to see that Eddie was peaking in.

“I brought coffee.”

The smell wafted in—bitter, warm, human.

Buck lifted his eyes to the ceiling, but did nothing to prevent Eddie’s entry.

Eddie stepped gingerly into the room. “I wasn’t sure if they’d let you have any.”

Shrugging, Buck let his gaze slide  over to the steaming cup. He lifted a hand, slow and shaky.

“You don’t have to talk, or even listen,” Eddie started as he handed over the coffee. “Christopher is excited to have you home—says he misses his Bucky. I’m excited too, honestly. He has nightmares, I think having you home will help.”

Buck took a sip of the coffee, and didn’t flinch when it scalded his tongue.

Eddie sat down, knees spread wide as if to ground himself. “He draws pictures of a woman in the water. I have to wonder what he saw. He doesn’t talk about it, though. I have to wonder,” he repeated, then paused. “...if talking to you would help.”

Closing his eyes, Buck shook with the effort of holding back tears.

Chapter Text

Enter Mundo

⿻

The roar hit first—low and guttural. Concrete walls surrounded them, echoing with cheering, stomping, and the heavy thud of fists connecting with flesh. Someone went down hard. The crowd howled.

It stank of sweat, rubber, and something metallic.

Eddie kept his head down, focused equally on his beer and the fight in the “ring.” The center of the circle of bloodthirsty idiots, really.

And Eddie was one of them.

He wasn’t here as a firefighter, or a father, or as Eddie Diaz.

He was just a bystander getting his rage out by watching some people beat each other up.

“Hey, Boss!”

Eddie looked around, trying to figure out who this boss person was. He blinked in surprise when he felt Lena stir and rise from the hatch of the truck.

“My turn, Edmundo,” she murmured, punching his shoulder gently.

“Eddie,” he groused, though he knew the correction wouldn’t stick.

Lena, already bouncing on her heels, walked through the parting crowd. She raised her arms, pumping her fists to the pleasure of the crowd.

“Tap out or knock out,” the ref called. “Fighting dirty welcome.”

Eddie didn’t cheer, didn’t move. Just sat on the hatch, and watched close. 

Because Lena only threw a punch when she meant it.

Someone hit a pipe with a wrench—the equivalent of a bell in this ring—and Lena began to circle her opponent. She ducked beneath his punches, a fist lashing out. The man grunted.

The crowd roared. 

Eddie took a swig of his beer, watching Lena dance around her opponent. He took note of every block, dodge, even every hit she absorbed.

She wasn’t just fighting. She was in therapy.

Then Lena’s enemy went down like a marionette with its strings cut. The crowd surged, cheering, “Boss!” over and over.

Lena let the ref raise her hand in victory, breathing heavy after her exertion. Catching Eddie’s eye, she grinned.

“Mundo!”

It wasn’t a nickname he was used to. He’d had a handful of friends who’d called him that in high school—with short-lived friendships. 

When he frowned, the random guy next to him looked over and said, “new?”

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, then said under his breath, “Mundo?”

“Congrats, man. You’ve got your fighting name. Now go earn it.”

“Mundo!” Someone else shouted, picking up the name even as no one knew it. 

Shaking his head, Eddie set his half-empty beer on the truck bed and stood up. Unlike Lena, he had to weave between onlookers to make his way up to the circle. 

The ref lifted his chin in greeting when Eddie arrived. “Boss, you takin’ on a newbie?”

“Don’t worry,” she said, sharklike. “I won’t go easy.”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow. Shifted his weight from heel to toe, slid one foot back. 

“Alright,” the ref relented. “Tap out or knock out, and remember, Mundo—we fight dirty.”

Eddie just nodded and raised his fists.

The pipe rang out, the crowd roared.

And Mundo entered the ring.

Chapter Text

Ghost

⿻

Buck sat on Eddie’s couch, staring down at his hands where they lay in his lap. He could vaguely hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen—probably Eddie cooking and Christopher setting the table. Looking up, Buck watched as the world came into focus.

Some random game show was playing on the TV, corner covered by the mute symbol. Buck watched as someone walked across a stage and stood beside the host, who held up a long, thin mic and smiled. The pair spoke to one another for a moment before the host turned and swept an arm toward a board of some kind.

He let his eyes blur again and looked away. The muffled sound from the kitchen  broached his consciousness, and movement passed through his peripheral. 

“Bucky?”

He turned toward Christopher as a sunflower turns to the sun. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t bring himself to utter a sound.

Christopher, sleep rumpled and grinning, told Buck, “Dad made pancakes, but they’re not as good as yours.”

“Thanks, bud,” Buck croaked. “I’ll…come get some soon.”

Turning on his heel, Chris ran back into the kitchen. 

Eyes drifting closed, Buck felt himself wilting. He curled up and tilted to the side. 

Footsteps approached, soft sock feet against rug. Buck cracked open one eye.

Eddie knelt before him. “I’m not letting you get away with not eating breakfast.”

Buck harrumphed.

“I’m also not letting you eat pancakes on the couch.”

He made the same sound.

“So that means you have to get up and come to the kitchen—it doesn’t have to be now, just sometime this morning.”

“And what if I don’t?” Buck muttered, looking back at the TV. Now the host with the skinny mic was talking to Betty White. Huh. 

Eddie smirked, visible just on the edge of Buck’s vision. “Then you eat cold pancakes for lunch.”

Buck considered that. Cold pancakes weren’t the end of the world, but hot pancakes were just categorically better. There was a reason an alternate name for them was hotcakes.

A vaguely familiar man appeared on the screen, holding up a card with some scribbles on it. Buck squinted but couldn’t make out the face or handwriting. He let his eyes unfocus as the fuzzy silhouette of Betty returned to the screen.

With a sigh, Eddie stood. He unmuted the TV as he passed.