Chapter Text
Eddie had seen Buck break before.
He had seen the anger, the fear, the grief. He had seen him panic, rage, shut down, and spiral. But this? This was worse.
Buck was just sitting there, shoulders stiff, hands clasped together in his lap. His eyes were locked on something in the distance, nothing, really. Just the empty space in front of him, his chest barely rising and falling, like even breathing was an afterthought.
Eddie clenched his jaw, looking away for a second, trying to fight off the uselessness gnawing at his chest.
Bobby was lying unconscious behind the glass, a ventilator keeping him alive. And Buck, who had fought tooth and nail for every person he had ever loved, who had thrown himself into flames, floods, collapsing buildings just to save people, wasn't even here.
Not really.
Eddie reached out, resting a hand on Buck's knee, squeezing gently.
"Buck."
Nothing.
Eddie's stomach twisted.
"Hey," he said, softer this time, rubbing small circles against the fabric of Buck's jeans, his touch grounding. "I need you to come back to me."
Still nothing.
Eddie swallowed, glancing back toward Bobby before leaning closer. He wanted to shake him, to snap him out of it, but he knew that wouldn't work.
So instead, he reached up, cupping the side of Buck's face, his thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.
"You're safe," he murmured, the same way he had so many times before. "I've got you, okay?"
Finally, finally, Buck blinked. His gaze flickered, his shoulders rose with a sharp inhale, and for a moment, Eddie saw the confusion in his eyes, like he had just realized where he was.
Eddie exhaled, forcing a small smile.
"There you are." Buck swallowed, his throat working around words he wasn't saying, his eyes flicking between Eddie and Bobby's room. His hands trembled, but he still hadn't said a word. Eddie sighed, keeping his voice low. "I know what you're thinking."
Buck flinched. Just a little.
"You think you should've done something," Eddie continued, his tone even, steady. "You think you should've been there, that if you were, Bobby wouldn't be in that bed right now." Buck's eyes darted away, his jaw tightening. Eddie's grip on his knee firmed. "You are here. And I know-" He paused, exhaling slowly. "I know it's easier to shut down than to feel this, but you can't stay in that place."
Buck's breath hitched.
"You're not alone in this," Eddie said, voice softer now, thumb still tracing slow, steady patterns against Buck's cheek. "You don't have to go through it alone."
For a second, he thought Buck was going to pull away.
But then, finally, Buck exhaled. A shaky, uneven breath, like his whole body was catching up with him all at once. And when his eyes met Eddie's again, there was something there.
Pain. Grief. But something else, too.
Something real.
And that was enough.
For a moment, everything was fine.
Well, as fine as it could be.
They were all gathered outside Bobby's room, voices hushed but tense. Athena was out there somewhere, doing something, and Hen was debating calling her captain just in case things got out of hand.
And then-
Beep. Beep. Beepbeepbeepbeep.
The sound of Bobby's monitors spiked, sharp and frantic.
Everything stopped.
Buck turned so fast it almost made him dizzy, his stomach dropping as a team of nurses and doctors rushed into Bobby's room. The second he saw them moving toward the ventilator, Buck felt something snap inside him.
His hands clenched at his sides. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
Eddie turned just in time to see Buck go completely still.
"Buck?" His voice barely registered, the weight of the moment crushing down on him.
Buck's chest heaved, but no air seemed to reach him. His fingers twitched, his throat clenched, and in the back of his mind, all he could hear was beeping, alarms, shouting—
A hand grabbed his wrist.
Eddie.
"Hey," Eddie said, firm and steady, his grip tightening. "Look at me."
Buck couldn't. His eyes were glued to the window, to the movement inside. He needed to see, to make sure.
"Evan." Eddie's hand moved to his shoulder, gripping hard. "He's okay."
Buck's breath hitched, something breaking free in his chest, because-because was he? Was he sure?
"He's just waking up," Hen said, stepping closer, her voice calm but urgent, her hand on his other arm. "They're just trying to help him."
And Buck, he wanted to believe them. He really, really did.
But all he could hear was beeping. And all he could see was Bobby, trapped in that bed, his body still, his chest barely moving, and for a second.
For a second he wasn't here.
For a second, he was back in the past, staring down at another body, another family member who didn't make it, and-
Eddie shook him.
Not violently, not harshly, but just enough. Just enough to pull Buck back, just enough to anchor him, and finally, he blinked.
And then, in the next breath, the monitors inside calmed.
The alarms stopped.
The chaos settled.
And through the glass, Buck saw Bobby's face, the slow, strained movement as his eyes fluttered open.
And he breathed.
Eddie didn't let go of Buck's arm, his grip firm but not constricting, steady and grounding. Buck wasn't shaking, wasn't crying, wasn't doing much of anything except staring through the glass window into Bobby's hospital room, watching as Hen and Chimney talked to him. Bobby was awake. Alive. Breathing.
His whole body felt frozen, caught between the weight of the past and the present, his mind refusing to accept what his eyes were seeing.
Eddie's hand slid down his arm, fingers intertwining with Buck's. The touch startled him just enough that he inhaled, though it was shallow.
"Buck." Eddie's voice was quiet, careful. "He's not Angel." Buck's throat clenched so tight he thought he might choke. Eddie squeezed his hand, pulling him slightly, forcing Buck to look at him instead of Bobby. "Bobby's right there, talking to Chimney and Hen. He made it." His voice was steady, anchoring, the same way it had been when Buck had pulled him out of the crushed van months ago. "He's alive."
Buck exhaled shakily.
It felt too good to be true.
His mind kept whispering that he had gotten this moment before, brief, cruel hope before it was torn away. But then Eddie squeezed his hand again, grounding him back to the now, and Buck let himself actually see it. The way Bobby's fingers twitched when Hen squeezed them. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The exhaustion in his expression, but the life in his eyes.
Not Angel.
Not Ghost.
Still here.
Buck finally, finally let go of the breath he'd been holding, his grip tightening around Eddie's hand as he nodded.
"Okay." His voice was hoarse, and his eyes stung, but he was here. Present. Breathing.
Bobby was alive.
Eddie didn't let go of Buck's hand as he gently tugged him forward. It was a small movement, a nudge more than anything, but Buck stayed rooted to the floor.
"Buck," Eddie murmured, his voice steady. "Come on."
Buck swallowed hard, his grip tightening like he was anchoring himself to Eddie's touch, but his feet still wouldn't move.
Bobby was awake. Breathing. Alive.
And Buck still couldn't step forward.
He had been here before. He had walked into rooms like this before, had seen the aftermath of hope turning into loss. His mind screamed at him that this wasn't real, that if he stepped inside, Bobby would disappear, just like Angel had, just like Ghost had, just like every other piece of his past that had been ripped away from him.
But then Eddie's thumb brushed against the back of his hand, a grounding touch.
"He's right there," Eddie said, softer now, patient. "You didn't lose him."
That was the part that didn't make sense.
Buck's heart pounded against his ribs, but he forced himself to breathe through it. Eddie was right. This wasn't the past. This wasn't the same.
Bobby was alive.
And Buck needed to see him.
So he forced his feet to move, one step at a time, until the door was in front of him. Eddie stayed at his side, their hands still linked as Buck pushed it open.
Inside, the beeping of the monitors was slower now, steadier, no longer screaming alarms of something catastrophic. Bobby looked exhausted, his skin pale, his body worn, but when his gaze flicked toward the door and landed on Buck, his lips twitched into something resembling a smile.
"Hey, kid," Bobby rasped. His voice was rough, weak, but real.
And just like that, Buck's breath came easier.
"Hey," he managed, his voice cracking despite the single syllable. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do with them, so Eddie gave his hand one final squeeze before letting go, stepping back just enough to give Buck space.
Bobby's eyes softened as he watched Buck hesitantly approach, his movements cautious, like he still didn't quite believe what he was seeing.
"You gonna stand there all night?" Bobby asked, trying for humor, but Buck could hear the way his words strained at the edges, how much effort it took just to say them.
And still, he smiled. Small, shaky, but real.
"No," Buck whispered, finally stepping up to the bed. His hand hovered over the railing for a second before he let himself grip it, grounding himself in something tangible. "Just... making sure you're really here."
Bobby's smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew softer.
"I'm here," he assured him.
Buck exhaled sharply, and when he blinked, his vision blurred for a second.
"Good," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Good."
Eddie stayed by the door, watching, ready to step in if Buck needed him. But as Buck let himself finally breathe, finally see Bobby alive and awake, Eddie knew he wouldn't have to.
Buck had made it inside.
That was enough.
For now.
.
The firehouse wasn't the same without Bobby.
Sure, Hen stepped up, and she did a damn good job. No one was surprised by that. If anyone could hold the team together in the face of chaos, it was her. But she wasn't Bobby.
Two weeks without him had been brutal... Okay, maybe brutal wasn't even the right word. It was just... wrong. Like walking into a house where all the furniture had been moved two inches to the left, nothing looked out of place, but everything felt off.
So when Bobby finally walked back through the doors of the 118, everyone thought things would click back into place.
Relief crashed through the station, rolling off them like a held breath finally released. They expected Bobby to walk in, nod, maybe give one of his small, knowing smiles, and then just... get back to work.
But then, before anyone could even greet him, a new voice cut through the moment.
Vincent Gerrard arrives, telling everyone he was the new captain.
Silence.
Cold. Heavy. Suffocating.
And then, Buck turned to Bobby.
Bobby, who stood completely still. Bobby, whose face gave away nothing, except, maybe, the barest flicker of guilt in his eyes.
Buck's heart dropped.
Two weeks ago.
No.
No, no, no.
"Bobby?" Hen was the first to break the silence, stepping forward, her voice cautious, controlled, like she didn't want to believe what she had just heard.
Bobby inhaled, slowed, measured, and then, finally, spoke.
"It's true."
The words barely registered.
"I resigned two weeks ago."
The floor might as well have collapsed beneath them.