Chapter Text
Buck clenched his jaw tight, eyes flicking over to the clock on his bedside table, finding the display unchanged from the last time he checked.
6:43
Another flash of pain shot up his leg, and he groaned in exasperation, rolling over in bed with a huff.
All night, he had tossed and turned, pain radiating through his leg unrelentingly and preventing him from falling asleep. In the brief moments his exhaustion overcame his discomfort, he was able to steal minutes of sleep at a time, his mind overtaken with images of dark asphalt and flashing lights, the sound of a panicked crowd, and his own screams filling his ears, feeling the phantom weight of an entire ladder truck crushing his leg.
Sitting up in bed, curls sticking in every direction, mouth dry and stale, Buck blinked sleepily at the sight of his dawn-lit apartment. He dragged himself out of bed and into his shower, limping the entire way and wincing with each movement.
He had days like this sometimes, where merely existing felt entirely overwhelming. When it happened on one of his days off from work, he was able to lie in bed, take painkillers, cover his leg with a heating pad, and do his best to stretch or sleep through the pain. On days he had to work, though, all he could do was breathe deeply and try not to cry in front of his coworkers as he made his way through his shift.
Each step of his morning routine took at least twice as long as usual, struggling through the pain flaring up in his leg to get himself ready for work. By the time he was dressed and filling a travel mug full of coffee, he was sure his teeth had been ground down to nubs in his mouth from how tightly he had been clenching his jaw. Stepping towards the front door of his loft, his shoe caught on the leg of his entryway table, tripping and spilling his freshly poured coffee all over himself.
Frustrated tears stung at his eyes as pain shot up his bad leg and soaked through his skin along with the steaming coffee. He squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths, pulling the wet shirt away from his skin, trying to fight off a breakdown.
He changed into a fresh shirt as quickly as he could, sighing when he checked the time and saw he was running a couple of minutes late.
The drive to work proved to be just as disastrous as the rest of his morning, the engine of his Jeep beginning to smoke just a few minutes away from the station. He pulled off to the side of the road and threw it into park, doing the calming breathing exercise Dr. Copeland taught him. After several long moments, he used his phone to call for a tow truck and texted Eddie to let Bobby know he was running late.
The tow truck cost him a painful lump of money, as did his Uber to the station, and he was dreading the amount he would be billed for the repairs to his jeep. By the time he arrived at the station, he was clinging to his last remaining shred of composure, trying his best to hold himself together despite the trainwreck his day had started as.
And it didn’t stop there.
One hour into his 24-hour shift, an angry driver punched Buck in the face at the scene of a car accident. He stepped away with a grimace, rolling his jaw while Eddie and Bobby pushed the driver back towards his car with clear threats to have him arrested for assault if he refused to sit back down. They tried to check on him afterward, but he just waved them away, wanting to move past the incident rather than dwell on it. He thought sardonically that at least the pain in his jaw provided a momentary distraction from the ache in his leg.
Eddie shot him worried looks the entire drive back to the station, pressing his knee firmly to Buck’s in the back of the truck, though Buck just stared out the window until they arrived. Still, he pressed back with his own knee, wanting Eddie to know he was grateful for his silent concern.
Three hours into his 24-hour shift, his phone fell into a bucket of water as he scrubbed the side of the ladder truck, and, despite his best efforts, it was a goner. Buck was unable to get it to do anything other than reflect his own image back at him through the unlit screen. He stared unblinkingly down at the device in his hands for a moment before excusing himself to the bunk room, where he took a long, deep breath in an attempt to remain calm.
He was only somewhat successful, anger flashing through him and sending his arm snapping forward, throwing the phone hard against the brick wall in front of him with a frustrated grunt before turning and retreating calmly back to the truck to continue his cleaning. The crew watched him with concerned eyes afterward but refrained from commenting, knowing he needed some space.
All of them, except for Eddie, that is. Eddie quickly made his way to Buck’s side, knocking their shoulders together before joining Buck in his effort to clean the truck. It didn’t fix the way Buck was feeling, but it did help, comfort lying over him like a heavy blanket, holding him together.
Seven hours into his 24-hour shift, Buck sliced open one of his fingers while helping Bobby prep for lunch. He hissed in both pain and surprise, dropping the knife and sticking his finger into his mouth to suck at the wound. Bobby ushered him over to the sink to rinse the finger under cool water, bringing out a first aid kit from under the sink. He began pulling out an antiseptic wipe to clean Buck’s bleeding finger, but Buck quickly dismissed him, preferring to bandage his own wound as a means to avoid conversation. It wasn’t personal— Buck just didn’t feel like talking to anyone.
As he sat, hunched over at the loft table and disinfecting the slice in his finger, Eddie approached, dropping silently down into the chair beside him. He reached out, resting his hands on Buck’s, halting his movement. Eddie’s gaze burned into his forehead, and Buck knew he wanted him to meet his gaze, but he couldn’t. He allowed Eddie to gently pull his hand closer, inspecting it and bandaging it with slow movements that had Buck squeezing his eyes closed and breathing deeply.
He finished with a soft brush of his fingers over the bandage, standing and walking away without a word. Buck wasn’t complaining. When the world got to be too much, Buck tended to withdraw into himself, so far into his mind that the line of connection with the world around him seemed to be severed, unable to speak at all. Eddie knew that. He supposed all of the 118 had figured it out to some extent, giving him space whenever he got quiet and stared off into space, fidgeting restlessly, but none of them understood like Eddie.
Eddie always knew exactly what Buck needed.
The silent, gentle treatment from his best friend helped soothe Buck just enough to keep him from falling apart at the seams there in the loft, though the frustration of the day lingered, roiling low in his chest and flaring up with each sharp pang in his leg.
Please, he pleaded to the universe, please let this day end quickly.
Eleven hours into his 24-hour shift, the 118 were called to a fire at a nearby office building where two people were trapped inside. Bobby sent Eddie and Buck in for extraction while Chimney and Hen tended to the couple of workers who had managed to make their way out themselves. Their instructions were clear, and Buck did his best to ignore the screaming in his leg as they began escorting the two workers out among dark plumes of smoke and loud, crackling flames. He was doing a pretty good job of it until—
“Buck!”
Eddie’s panicked voice called over the sound of the ceiling crumbling, but it was too late.
Buck looked up to see a large piece of the burnt ceiling falling directly above him, having just enough time to forcefully shove the worker he was leading away before it landed on him.
It took Buck several moments to process what had just happened as he glanced around himself. He was lying flat on his stomach with his legs pinned under the charred chunk of ceiling that fell on him. It wasn’t heavy enough to cause any serious injuries, though he had no doubts that he would be severely bruised and sore the next day.
The real problem was the fact that his leg already hurt so badly, had been hurting since the night before, the hours he was meant to be resting spent reliving his time crushed beneath a ladder truck, and now, here he lay, pinned down again by a heavy weight across his legs, and he just—
He couldn’t take it.
Buck felt himself mentally checking out, the events of the day pulling him apart and beating him down all at once. His mind felt shattered, the pieces too sharp and small to attempt collecting. His brain shut down all unnecessary functions, withdrawing fully into himself, much too calm for someone in the situation he currently found himself in. The disconnect between the outside world and where his consciousness slunk away deep in his mind provided a defense he desperately needed.
His mind stayed blank as Eddie and Chimney lifted the large slab of burnt ceiling from his legs and led him out of the office building. His mind stayed blank as Chimney and Hen checked him over for injuries (all minor, no need for the hospital). His mind stayed blank as they returned to the firehouse, Bobby dismissing him from work early, along with Eddie, given strict instructions to rest. His mind stayed blank as Eddie ushered him into the passenger seat of his truck, driving the two of them to his house.
Some unknown amount of time later, Buck came back to himself just enough to realize he was sitting on Eddie’s couch. The man in question was sitting beside him, watching him worriedly despite the sitcom playing on the TV across from them, sipping slowly from a bottle of beer. There was another bottle on the coffee table in front of them, condensation beading up and dripping down the side of the glass. Buck watched a drop sliding down in a daze before he leaned over and picked the bottle up, taking a small sip and setting it back down.
“You with me?” Eddie’s voice was gentle, and Buck could feel his brain coming back online, one thought process, one sense at a time. He gave a small nod, breath hitching in his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asked softly.
No, actually. Buck really did not want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about how badly his leg hurt, or how tired he was, or how irrationally scared he had been. He didn’t want to talk about how completely overwhelming today was or how broken he felt. He didn’t want to talk about how everything felt too big, too much. He didn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it.
He wanted it to go away.
He shook his head at Eddie’s question but felt a sob heave out of his chest through clenched teeth.
“Oh, Buck,” Eddie murmured, barely more than a whisper. Buck could feel his breathing quicken as it became harder to take a full breath, lungs malfunctioning in his chest.
Great, a panic attack.
Eddie leaned forward, placing his beer bottle on the coffee table and cupping Buck’s face gently with one hand. He turned Buck to face him, using his other hand to grasp one of his, pressing it firmly into the middle of his chest.
“Breathe with me, alright?” Eddie took several slow, deep breaths and waited for the rise and fall of Buck’s chest to match his own. “There you go,” Eddie encouraged softly, moving to cup Buck’s face gently in both hands and using his thumbs to swipe at the tears sliding down his cheeks.
It was all just too much. He’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep in the last 48 hours, his whole body hurt, and he was just so overwhelmed that he couldn’t think straight.
“Good boy.”
A thumb brushed softly across his bottom lip, and Buck just—
He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and sucked Eddie’s thumb gently into his mouth.
Somewhere distantly, he registered Eddie’s breath hitching and hands freezing, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered to Buck in this moment was the careful way Eddie was holding his face and the pleasant distraction of sucking softly on Eddie’s thumb.
He could feel Eddie’s other hand sliding around the back of his head, fingers burying themselves into his hair as he pulled the thumb out of Buck’s mouth. A quiet whine began to slide out of him when Eddie pulled gently on his hair to angle his head up, and his thumb was replaced with his index and middle fingers.
Buck let out a deep breath through his nose, eyes still closed tight. He could feel his body starting to relax, two days' worth of tension melting out of him, his breathing finally coming back to normal as he slowly sucked and bobbed around Eddie’s fingers. In any other circumstance, this would probably be humiliating, but he didn’t have the energy to care. The repetitive motion and gentle sensation were soothing, and there was no one in this world Buck trusted more than Eddie. In this moment, Buck let himself have this. He needed it.
“Good boy,” Eddie’s voice was soft and encouraging. “Just breathe.”
Buck wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. All he knew was that at some point, the sleep deprivation caught up to him and the adrenaline wore off, and he was so tired. He wasn’t sucking on Eddie’s fingers anymore, just sitting there with the weight of his fingers on his tongue when Eddie pulled them from his mouth.
He blearily opened his eyes in time to see Eddie putting out the pillow Buck used whenever he slept on the couch and guiding his shoulders down until he was lying flat on his back. Eddie pulled the soft throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it across Buck gently, the familiar smell of Eddie’s fabric softener surrounding him in a way that felt almost protective.
Buck was asleep before Eddie even turned out the light.
—
What is that smell?
Buck registered the pain radiating through his body and groaned. He pulled his eyes open slowly and glanced around, the events of the night before not yet settling in.
Is something burning?
He remembered the office fire at the same moment he spotted a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers sitting on the coffee table beside him. Reaching for them with a grateful sigh, memories of the rest of the night suddenly struck him. Horror and dread filled his body as he tried fruitlessly to convince himself that it was all a dream.
Resigning himself to pop the painkillers and escape before he could run into Eddie, the smell of smoke finally registered in his mind.
Oh my god, is Eddie’s house on fire?
Buck jumped up from the couch despite his body’s protests and hurried into the kitchen, the source of the smell, where he found—
“Buck! Hey! I, uh– I tried to make breakfast, but, well,” Eddie chuckled nervously, “Please help.”
The kitchen was covered in flour, as was the front of Eddie’s shirt. Charred, black pancakes were stacked on a plate next to the stove, and the air was lightly foggy with smoke. Eddie’s eyes were wide, a nervous smile playing on his lips.
“What– Why– Eddie, you should’ve just waited for me to wake up,” Buck stepped further into the room and slowly grabbed the spatula out of Eddie’s hand as if disarming a dangerous criminal. He looked at Eddie with equal parts concern and warmth before telling him in no uncertain terms, “Go. Sit.”
Eddie shot him a small grin, pointy canine teeth sticking out, before hurrying to lean against the counter out of Buck’s way, watching as he quickly got to fixing the catastrophe that was Eddie’s breakfast “attempt”.
Buck made quick work of throwing out the burnt pancakes, dumping out the very questionable-looking pancake batter, and wiping most of the flour off the countertop. Eddie kept him distracted with questions about his cooking as he worked, taking advantage of his tendency to ramble about his interests as a means to fill the space between them with conversation. It didn’t take much time at all before Buck was placing a mountain of fluffy, golden pancakes and a plate of crispy bacon on the dining room table, both men sitting to eat.
“Alright, alright, I get it! We can’t all be Master Chefs,” Eddie huffed without any real annoyance, stacking food on his plate.
“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Buck teased with a grin.
“Thank God for that,” Eddie spoke around a mouthful of pancakes. Buck should probably find it disgusting, but he could only bring himself to feel endeared.
As they ate, two things occurred to Buck.
The first was that Eddie wasn’t treating him any differently after what happened the night before, and Buck had no problem with that. If Eddie wanted to pretend it never happened, Buck would gladly follow his lead.
The second was that Eddie might only be acting like everything was fine long enough to get Buck out of his house, aiming to avoid an awkward discussion. Buck was less okay with that possibility, anxiety beginning to crawl beneath his skin, hands twitching with the need to scratch or pick. Kinetic energy coursed through his body, and he struggled to sit still, shifting in his seat restlessly and jumping up quickly to clean as soon as they were done eating.
Putting away the final dish, Buck stammered something about needing to buy a new phone and asked Eddie for a ride to the store. He happily obliged, though Buck was quick to dismiss his offer to come inside to shop with him. The last thing he wanted was to make things worse by accepting politeness that Eddie felt he had to offer.
Buck found himself almost grateful for how sore his body was, the pain distracting him from spiraling thoughts of what happened on Eddie’s couch. He forced himself to focus on each pang and ache as he bought a new phone, Ubered to the mechanic to pick up his car, and drove home.
By the time he got back to the loft, exhaustion had set in again, and Buck fell into a dreamless sleep. Having bought a new phone provided him an excellent excuse to not talk to Eddie, pretending he didn’t have the man’s number memorized and having to wait until he saw him at work to get it from him.
Unfortunately, Buck’s days off passed by in the blink of an eye, and he was heading back to the firehouse for his next shift all too soon.
His stomach churned with anxiety throughout the morning, getting worse with each passing minute. What if Eddie really was just trying to be polite that morning over breakfast? What if Buck had just been too exhausted to notice Eddie was actually uncomfortable or weirded out? What if Buck ruined the single most important relationship of his life because he—
He swallowed heavily as he turned into the parking lot, seeing Eddie’s truck already parked in his usual space.
Sucking in a deep breath, he made his way inside with all the false confidence he could muster.
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie’s voice sounded from beside him as he walked through the open bay door. Buck jumped, whirling around to face him with wide eyes.
“H-Hey, what’s up?” He mentally face-palmed at his lack of composure.
“Just got here. There’s a fresh pot of coffee upstairs.” Eddie seemed fine. Eddie was smiling. Eddie was acting normal.
Buck was afraid to hope it would last, but with each passing hour, it seemed there was really nothing to be afraid of. The shift was passing by impossibly smoothly, no injuries or tragedies or awkwardness to be seen.
In fact, if Buck didn’t have the vivid memory of Eddie’s fingers heavy on his tongue, he could probably convince himself he had dreamt the whole encounter.
The crew responded to a couple of low-stakes calls (two minor car accidents, a cat in a tree, and one high school football game ending with a broken ankle), played Mario Kart (today’s reigning champion was Hen, though Chimney insisted she was cheating), and had two delicious meals prepared by Bobby and Buck. Buck laughed with Chimney about baby names he’d been jokingly pitching to Maddie, talked with Hen about the restaurant she and Karen had tried the night before, pressed his knee to Eddie’s in the back of the ladder truck, and allowed himself to push The Incident out of his mind.
Everything felt normal with Eddie, and when Eddie invited Buck over for a beer after work, that felt normal, too. It was truly like The Incident had never happened at all, like the whole thing was some fever dream. The sticky, sour shame he felt had begun to subside, and Buck was able to brush the whole thing off as a fluke— a one-off freak accident that would never happen again.
For 10 whole days, Buck was able to pretend The Incident had never happened.
—
On the 11th day, everything fell apart.
The crew had been called out to a seven-car pile-up on the freeway. The driver of the front car was drunk and suddenly slammed on his brakes for reasons he was too wasted to explain– if he’d even had a reason in the first place. He was fine, barely suffering some bumps and bruises.
Not everyone was so lucky.
They worked diligently to triage the scene, determining the priority order of everyone needing care. No matter how quickly they worked, it was impossible to save everyone. There were too many people in critical condition and not enough first responders to tend to them all in time.
Buck was working to free an unconscious woman from the driver’s seat of her car when he caught sight of a young girl slumped over in the back seat, a blanket strewn across her lap. She looked young, younger than Christopher. He guessed she was... nine? Ten? His heart stopped for the moment it took to observe the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
He exhaled in relief. She’s alive.
Jumping into action, Buck abandoned his efforts to free the woman driving in favor of freeing the young girl, prioritizing the child’s life over what he assumed was the mother’s. He wanted to call for any of his teammates to help him, but they were all busy trying to save other people involved in the accident.
It took only a minute or two to get the jaws of life and pop the back door open, but it was too late.
By the time Buck got to her, she was gone.
His eyes widened in horror, tears blurring his vision and throat burning. He turned his attention back to the woman in the driver’s seat, doing his best to compartmentalize and save who he could.
This was the worst part of his job, by far. As much as Buck loved what he did, as much as he felt this job was a part of who he was as a person, he couldn't deny there were some days he wanted to forget he ever got into this line of work. Despite his years of experience, Buck still had a hard time accepting that he couldn't save everyone. But it was worth the pain, he knew, if he was able to save someone.
After the scene had been cleared, everyone drifted back to the firehouse in a daze, silently collecting their things and getting ready for shift change.
There was a certain quiet numbness that came immediately after seeing so much trauma. It was the shock. It was after the shock wore off that people in their position had to be careful, to lean on their support system— when it was time to process, to move on.
Buck was sitting on the bench in the locker room, staring blankly ahead at the lockers in front of him and chewing on his bottom lip until it bled. He had withdrawn into himself again, brain shutting down in that way he was so familiar with. The drive back to the firehouse, the shower he’d taken upon their arrival, the text he had sent to Christopher reminding him how loved he was— he had no recollection of any of it.
“You’re coming over, right?”
It was Eddie. Buck didn’t know how long he’d been sitting next to him.
He nodded.
“Come on.” Eddie stood to leave, but Buck didn’t move.
“Buck?”
“She was alive,” Buck’s voice came out flat, monotone. “That little girl was alive when we got there. Then she wasn’t.” He was hanging somewhere between numbness and despair, frozen to the spot where he was sitting. “I could’ve saved her,” he breathed, voice cracking, eyes stinging with tears.
A hand landed gently on the back of his neck, and his eyes focused just enough to see Eddie leaning in closer, speaking to him more directly. “Let’s go home, Buck.” His voice was both gentle and firm.
Buck nodded and stood to follow Eddie.
The drive home was silent. Neither of them spoke as they walked into the house and sat down on the couch. A couple of minutes passed, both men staring silently into space, before Eddie picked up the TV remote and put on some comedy sitcom re-run that neither of them paid any attention to. Buck was certain he couldn’t pay attention even if he wanted to; his brain function was still limited to only what was necessary for survival, completely withdrawn into his own mind.
Buck was grateful the room wasn’t silent anymore.
He slowly leaned over and lay down, his head in Eddie’s lap, still staring blankly ahead in the direction of the television, eyes unseeing. Eddie began softly stroking his hair with one hand, holding gently to his shoulder with the other. A laugh track played from the TV speaker. A little girl said something to her mom. Another laugh track.
Buck didn’t realize he was crying until he heard Eddie’s soft voice telling him, “It’s okay. I know, I know. It’s okay.” Over and over and over. He wasn't thinking, just feeling. His chest hurt. His head hurt. He wanted to shut it all off, wanted it to stop.
He reached up and grabbed weakly at the hand on his shoulder, pulling Eddie’s first two fingers into his mouth, sobs slightly muffled around them.
“I know," Eddie's voice soothed from above him, stroking fingers through his hair and rubbing at his scalp, "It’s okay.”
Buck cried until he exhausted himself, sleep sinking its claws into him as he melted across Eddie’s lap. The fingers were still in his mouth, both of his arms wrapped tightly around Eddie's forearm, hugging it to his chest like he was afraid of letting go.
He was distantly aware of Eddie untangling himself from his grasp and sliding off the couch from beneath him, maneuvering him into a more comfortable sleeping position. A blanket was draped across his long body, the soft material so relieving from the day’s horrors that he would’ve begun weeping again had he any remaining energy.
A hand brushed through his curls, followed by a thumb tracing lightly over the pink birthmark on his browbone.
The last thing he registered before sinking into the depths of sleep was Eddie’s velvety voice, drawling low and warm into the otherwise silent room.
“Goodnight, Buck.”