Work Text:
It started with a phone call.
“Hey Roo… I know we haven't really talked in a while but… but I kinda need you right now… Please Bradley… I’m… I’m afraid… I can’t keep doing this… I... I can’t”
The abrupt end of the message, because that’s what it was. A message left on the voicemail of a man he hadn’t been able to talk to in over three months was the last straw.
Even “Buck” Buckley was done.
All he wanted was one shoulder to lean on. One person who would undoubtedly be on his side. One person who would choose him, not for what he, Buck could provide, but for just being Buck.
He wanted his family back.
His real family.
Not the menagerie of fake friends he had found on his travels.
Not the facade that was the 118.
Buck wanted his big brother back. He wanted his Mav Dad and his Ice Pops. He wanted to go home.
He would come to find out that home was a lot closer than he realized.
And the people who had wronged him were about to realize how wrong they had been.
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He should have known things would never be the same again —not after the lawsuit, not after defying Bobby like that. Should have known from the way the 118 felt ice cold when he wandered through the bay doors on his first day back, the way people turned away. His friends. His family again turning him away.
The words ‘My house, my rules.’ still echoed in Buck's brain on a constant loop.
It had been a few weeks since he started back, and Buck was miserable. The family he had fought so hard to get back to had moved on without him. He had been left behind. Again.
“Buckley! Theres's chores, get moving!”
He heard the low chuckle of the rest of A shift who were upstairs.
Dejected, Buck slowly made his way over to the pin up board where all the assignments for the day were listed. He wasn’t surprised to see he had been given almost all the chores for the whole station.
Buck sighed in defeat, turned and grabbed a broom. The alarm going off made his heart ache. He would probably never get back on that rig. Not if Bobby had a say in it.
The rushing feet, pounding the stairs, the mumble of voices, the shouting of orders. Buck ignored it all. It was no longer for his ears. His only job. Was to clean.
He stopped long enough to watch the Engine pull out of the station before he was alone again.
So that’s how his days went.
Wake up in the morning before his alarm – nightmares and phantom pains will do that.
Get to work early. Try to ignore the glares. Keep his head down. Stay out of the way.
Clean until the end of his shift. One fifteen-minute break for lunch. Halfhearted at best.
Go back to the loft. Stare at the ceiling until he falls asleep.
Repeat the cycle.
That’s how life went for almost two months.
Until his salvation wandered through the bay doors almost two weeks after he left the voicemail.
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He heard the voices first.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
“Yes, we're looking for Evan Kazansky. We were told he worked here.”
“I’m sorry who?”
Buck couldn't move; he was so shocked. He hadn't heard that voice in almost four months now. The icy cold that had permeated his whole body was melting the longer that voice spoke.
“Nah Roo, he doesn't go by that name here remember, said he wanted to make a name for himself.”
“Shit your right.” Indistinguishable grumbles were heard from where Buck was hiding in the back of the ambulance. ‘Restocking, he was restocking, not hiding.’ At least, that's what he told himself.
Everything seemed to have escalated within the last two weeks. Like they somehow knew he had called someone. Like they knew he was so close to falling off that edge.
Chim’s jokes had been harsh before but now they were cruel. Eddie had shoved him into the lockers and the side of the engine at least five times, and the bruises on his arms and sides were a harsh reminder that his best friend, the one who he secretly loved, hated his guts. Hen was dismissive, wouldn't even look at him anymore, no matter how often he had tried in the beginning, and Bobby. There was no trying with Bobby.
“Buckley! That’s what he was going by!”
The exclamation brought him out of his musings, and he slunk further back into the ambulance. Maybe no one would notice him.
“Why the hell would you be looking for him?” Eddie. Of course it was Eddie who asked. Eddie who didn’t even want to be near him anymore, Eddie who called him exhausting.
“He owes me something.” came the snarky reply. Not Jake. It was definitely Hangman who was talking now. The difference is the amount of ‘give a damn’ they put into their voice. Hangman is as much a mask for Jake as Buck and Rooster were for Evan and Bradley.
“Of course he does.” smirked Chim. Buck could see him, glancing towards the ambulance now. If Hangman and Rooster had actually wanted to hurt him that would have told them exactly where he was hiding.
“Buckley, get out here!” Bobby yelled, causing Buck to flinch and smack his arm on the side of the gurney. The thunk could be heard loud and clear.
Buck slowly made his way over to the group of people who had gathered at the base of the stairs, blank face in place.
“Yes Captain Nash?”
“You have company.” came the snarled response as Bobby marched back up the stairs and to the loft. Practically everyone turned to follow him without a backwards glance.
Rooster smiled, “Well, it's nice to know if we meant to kill you, it would be an easy mission.”
Buck took a shaky step forward and was immediately pulled into a hug by both men. Warm arms circling his waist and his shoulders the only thing keeping him standing. “Hey little brother.” Rooster whispered into his neck, “I’m so sorry we didn't get here sooner.”
Buck pulled back, taking another look at his brother and his friend. They both looked tired. Rooster had some scratches across his face and Jake looked like he hadn't slept in days. Both had lost weight.
“You two look like shit.”
“Yeah well, you don’t look that hot yourself Sunshine.” Hangman grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
It allowed Buck to take another look over both men. He hadn't noticed in his rush to embrace them, but they were both in their khakis. So not just a social visit then.
“What are you two actually doing here?” Buck asked, stepping back, even though his legs and hands were shaking. All he wanted was to fall back into his brother's arms and hide there till everything was okay again. Just like he used to.
“We came to make sure you were okay of course.” Bradley announced, rather loudly, but then the shuffling of feet near the loft railing clued Buck in. “And…” a sort of fond expression passed over his face then, “To offer you another path. If you want it.” He nodded at Hangman, who reached into his pocket and withdrew a letter. Official seal and everything.
Hangman handed it to him, and Buck ripped into the thing with practiced ease. Ignoring the heat of eyes on the back of his head, he quickly scanned the letter.
“Top Gun?” he asked, snapping his head up. His fingers had tightened on the letter, leaving indents in the crisp paper.
“You would be an instructor. Part of the team again.”
“Which team?”
“Ours.”
The words had hardly passed Rooster’s lips before Buck was nodding. A shaky laugh escaped him. “Yes… Yes! Yes!”
Hangman grinned, sharp, frosty before glancing up at the loft railing. The 118 didn't even try to hide that they had been eavesdropping. Eddie’s snarl would have definitely given them away.
Buck hardly spared them a glance. Turnabout is fair play after all.
“When do I start?”
“Now. Ice expects you at base in 24 hours.” Rooster grinned, “Welcome back to the United States Navy, Lieutenant Kazansky.”