Chapter Text
It was hard.
Buck knew it would be hard.
A part of him didn't think it would hurt as much as it was.
He sat on his couch as he stared at the his phone that laid on the coffee table. He had turned off after he saw Bobby and Athena. That was back at 9 P.M. when it was late enough to avoid texts and calls from friends or family.
Buck had stayed up most of the night. He didn't mean too. He tried to sleep if off as soon as he got back to his apartment but his mind kept wondering.
It hurt dammit.
It hurt so fucking bad.
He had worked so hard....it didn't matter. None of it mattered in the end because Bobby didn't believe in him. He didn't want him back on the field because he was a liability.
Buck sat up a bit before he rested his elbows on his knees and just kept his eyes on the phone. The tv was on, he had left it on when he left before, needed the background noise to dull out his thoughts. He picked up his phone for a moment. It felt heavier in his hand today. It is still early in the morning. Six. Maybe seven. Maybe no one else has heard the news yet.
Still he couldn't bring himself to turn on his phone.
The worst part is that Buck had understood that. Not at first but eventually he did. It took some time, as disastrous the tsunami was, it had been the swift kick in the ass he needed. It was a small set back but he had it under control or at least he pretended to.
He thought so until they covered his name up. Why didn't anybody tell him that Bosko was his replacement? Was it so easy to tape of his name like that? Just a small strip of tape and he was replaced.
Buck gave a small sigh and put the phone back down on the table as he got up. He made his way to the kitchen, pulled out a pan and some eggs, might as well try to make some breakfast. He set the pan on the stove, his hand on the handle and the carton of eggs in his other hand.
It was the only thing that Bobby had taught him how to make. It took him a long time to figure out to make scrambled eggs. They had small pieces of egg shell in them but Bobby still ate it. Said he needed some practice.
Buck stared at the pan.
They were going to hate him. He knew that. Buck knew what he signed up for as soon as he agreed to take up the lawyer's offer. He knew that he wouldn't be able to talk to them. He knew that if he won the trial that there might be a large chance they would never forgive him. He knew that if he lost that he would never be able to be a firefighter again.
Buck knew that he might not ever be the receiving end of small laughs after an inside joke. That he might not be able as welcomed to eat with them at the firehouse again.
That he might not get to see Hen's future baby or Chimney's lovesick eyes at Maddie. That Maddie wouldn't talk to him or Chimney cause she wouldn't want to pick sides. That Eddie will come through at some point and give him a piece of his mind. That Bobby will always treat him with respect but there will be that constant disappointment in his eyes.
He knew that he probably won't be able to see Christopher for a long time, or most likely, ever after this.
Buck had let go of the pan before he left the eggs on the counter. He pulled away from the kitchen, climbed up the stairs and laid in his bed, still fully dressed from when he dropped off the court papers. He turned to his side and pulled his blanket over him. A little cold all of sudden.
Buck knew the risks. Hell, the damn lawyer warned him. He didn't know it would hurt this bad.
All he wanted was to be a firefighter again. Didn't they see that he didn't have a choice? There was no where else for him to go? He wasn't anything if he wasn't a firefighter.
At least he had Maddie. No matter how mad she will be, she wouldn't leave him.
Maybe Eddie too but he wouldn't blame Eddie if he did. There is only so much your best friend could take. He screwed up with the tsunami.
Buck closed his eyes. He prayed he wouldn't dream. He wanted to be able to sleep. It has been a while since he slept without the occasional nightmares that played behind his eye lids.
Some days they weren't as bad. He dreams of being pulled out from the rubble of a broken fire truck. The only memory being the occasional throb of discomfort from his leg. He hasn't been able to get a full night of sleep since before the serial bomber.
Other days. He watches Christopher falling off the fire truck. That one of the floating bodies would be a small eight your old boy that held sunshine in his smiles. He dreams of Eddie's heartbroken face as Buck tells him that he fucked up.
He had those dreams on repeat. He kept watching Chris fall again and again but Buck was always a litte out of reach. On bad nights, the dreams didn't stop until he woke up with screams in his throat and sweat on his skin.
Buck wrapped an arm around a pillow as he pulled it flushed against his body. His body had began to relax. His breaths grew slow and even as he slipped into sleep, he thought to himself, 'Please don't hate me."
His exhaustion held heavy over his person as he finally let himself go.
He was getting sick of drowning