Archive of Our Own

When Buck met Abby he thought he had found the one.

Now, don't get him wrong, at 26 years old he was under no illusions that fairy tales actually exist, but he thought Abby came pretty close. She found him at a time in his life when he was on the outside of everything he could ever want. He was in a new state with no family, very few people he could actually call friends, and no real relationships outside of the fragile bonds he had only just started to forge with the 118. And, perhaps most importantly, he was desperate to make a connection with someone, anyone.

He admittedly went about it in the wrong way at first, which included but was not limited to sneaking off during his work hours and borrowing the ladder truck to impress someone who only saw him as a warm body.

In his defense, he was lonely, and he was aching to meet someone who would finally see him and not look away after they got what they wanted out of him. Just when he thought he would never meet someone who would last, Abby came into his life.

Or maybe it's more accurate to say he came into her life, since she was a first responder much longer than he was– whatever, the point was that he wasn't alone anymore. He had Abby. And Abby was wonderful.

She was kind, and beautiful, and a lot smarter than him, and she even had her own apartment. She was a real adult. She was reliable, steady, and dependable, and just what Buck needed.

She didn't even mind that he was so much younger than her, and she didn't find him as annoying as other people so often had. To her, Buck was just the good natured, well meaning, very good looking firefighter who was ready to commit to being with her. 

Buck didn't mind being that for her.

If Abby needed someone who was fun, young, and wholly committed to her happiness, then Buck could be that for her. If it meant that Abby would stick around for the morning after giving his body to her. If it meant that Abby would look at him and see that he was worth something. If it meant that Abby would treasure him and hold him close and tell him that he matters, then Buck could be whatever Abby needed him to be.

Buck would have been whatever Abby asked him to be if it meant she would keep him forever.

Buck didn't know that when he chose to support her decision to travel and find herself, that he had also inadvertently supported her decision to leave him behind and not think twice about it.

Buck didn't know that he wouldn't see her again for almost two years after that.

Buck didn't know that when she traveled to “find herself”, that she would also find Sam and his two daughters, and then decide that she belonged more to that family than she ever had to Buck.

When Buck agreed to meet up with her after the train derailment that so abruptly pulled him back into her life, he mostly did so for closure. He wanted to know why, but more than that, he also wanted to know how.

How did she go from telling Buck that he was so amazing, and extraordinary, and everything she needed him to be– to then completely ghosting him and cutting him out of her life like he was never going to be a permanent marker in the first place.

How did he mean so little to her, when she was everything to him?

At the end of it all, he wasn't satisfied with her answer, and the hurt of the aftermath will always leave a bruise that he can never fully ignore.

But he supposes that it helps, a little, that while she was off in Europe finding herself a family, well.

Buck had found a family of his own in the warm embrace of the Diaz boys.

He wasn't alone for long after Abby. He had a few fun hookups, none that truly lasted past the well-meaning, but never honest obligatory “I'll call you”.

He wasn't necessarily looking for anyone when he met Ali the day of the earthquake, but he was actively seeking connection– again, when he asked her on a date almost a month later.

Ali was exactly what Buck needed. She met him at his level, didn't ask too much from him, and she didn't look at him to have all the answers but she was happy to figure it out with him along the way. They were fun together. They didn't take each other too seriously, and after dating for a solid three months they both agreed that the responsible choice would be to move in together. 

Buck was fine with that, more than fine with that. Moving in together meant commitment. It meant that Ali was planning to stay, that she wasn't going to just cut and run at the first sign of trouble. They found an apartment together, a nice loft large enough to fit all of their things and the location wasn't too far from either of the jobs. It was perfect. They were perfect.

Ali didn't ask much from him, she just wanted someone who was easy going, nice to talk to, and romantic enough to know how to plan a date or two. Buck could do that. He loved going with the flow, he always knew how to carry a conversation, and he was a huge fan of romance.

Being with Ali was easy. She was funny, and pretty, and she had such a cool personality. The least Buck could do was be exactly what she wanted. She was so out of his league, he was desperate to show her that he was worth keeping.

Ali saw him for exactly who he was and didn't ask him to be more. That had to count for something, right? That had to mean she thought he was worth something, right? That had to mean she was just as committed as he was, right?

Of course it did. Ali was great. She wasn't like Abby, she was going to stick around, they had gotten an apartment together, clearly she was in it for the long run. Buck couldn't be happier.

He is not prepared for a kid with a bomb to enact some convoluted revenge scheme against his captain.

He is not prepared to be put in the middle of said revenge scheme that had nothing to do with him by simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He is not prepared to be inside the ladder truck when it gets blown up.

He is not prepared for the ladder truck to crush his leg and for it to be so very, very painful.

He is not prepared to come home after being put in a cast and being told in no uncertain terms that his job, his future, his life, all pretty much hinges on his ability to recover from an injury he didn't ask for.

He most certainly is not prepared for Ali– kind, pretty, easy going, Ali, to look at his cast and the fear on his face for whatever is going to happen next, and immediately choose to back out.

Ali tells him that she never signed up for this.

Ali tells him that she wants reliability, and someone she knows she'll come home to everyday.

Ali tells him that he is not what she needs right now.

Which is strange to him, because, wasn't he?

Didn't he do it right this time? Wasn't he perfect for her? Was she not as committed as he was from the start? Did he not prove that he was worth staying for? Worth holding on to? Worth keeping?

Apparently not. Apparently he fooled himself into thinking that Ali would see him, and stay, and maybe hold his hand after he receives the worst injury he's ever had in his life.

But it's okay that she's leaving.

It's okay that she's choosing not to stick around after all, and moving all of her stuff out of the apartment in less than 24 hours.

It's okay because while he was screaming his throat raw while he was crushed on the pavement under a ladder truck, someone else had held his hand. Someone else had told him it was going to be okay, and that he wasn't alone. Someone else showed up at the hospital to ask if he needed anything, and then showed up at his apartment with a kid with a mega watt smile. Someone else showed up, got him out of his head and told him that he had his back no matter what.

Someone else, who was willing to stick around much longer than Ali, showed up, and then kept showing up, and reminded Buck that yes, he does matter.

Buck had a brother.

His name was Daniel Buckley, and apparently Buck failed to save his life because his bone marrow didn't turn out to be the magical cure his parents had birthed him for.

Buck had a brother.

Daniel Buckley was the perfect son apparently. He was bright, smart, and kind, and his parents loved Daniel more than anything else in the world. And he was sick for the last few years of his life.

Buck had a brother.

Daniel Buckley was not to be talked about, apparently. Maddie kept the promise their parents forced her to make when she was a child herself, when she was still grieving, when she was sad and lonely, but still somehow strong enough to protect Buck from the weight of their parents' disappointment. She didn't tell Buck about Daniel. But a picture can always speak a thousand words.

Buck was spiraling, but it was okay. He agreed to support Maddie through a dinner with their parents. He had not spoken to his parents in years, and they never seemed too keen on reaching out to him either. That was fine. They never had a great relationship, and they didn't seem to want to improve it, ever. 

That was fine. 

Buck is spiraling.

They get through the first dinner just fine. Albert and Chim are excellent conversation diverters, and Buck has Maddie's back through the whole ordeal. His eye only twitches every time they call him Evan and not Buck, but it's fine, because at least he doesn't lose composure. He can handle being called Evan for a few days, it's fine.

The second dinner goes to shit immediately. Albert isn't there because he bailed, Chim is being weird, but that's fine because he's been weird the whole time that their parents have been here so Buck assumes its nerves.

His parents brought a baby box. Specifically, they brought Maddie's baby box. It's cute, and full of memories, and Buck wonders when he'll get his because he didn't know his parents did this kind of thing. His parents have never been the sentimental type, but if they made them baby boxes then maybe Buck was wrong, maybe he matters more to them than he thought.

But he's not wrong. He's right. His parents are not sentimental. His parents would never make him a baby box, because that kind of thing would simply never occur to them.

Maddie gets one, because Maddie is beloved, and he can't blame them. He loves Maddie too, but Maddie is not their only child, even if they might prefer to see it that way.

He shouldn't get angry. He shouldn't be disappointed. This is nothing new, this is normal for them. But, also, what the fuck?

What the fuck.

He gets angry. The dinner goes to shit, mostly because his parents tell him that, essentially, he is difficult to love. As if he was responsible for being born. He didn't ask to be here. He didn't ask to be brought into this life, they made a choice to keep him, to bring him into this world.

It's not supposed to be a choice, whether or not you love your child. It's not supposed to be a hard decision. It's not supposed to be a decision at all. You love them anyway.

Buck is spiraling.

He sends an apology text to Maddie for ruining dinner, she tells him not to worry about it since she kicked their parents out immediately after that. She wants him to come over so they can debrief how awful their parents are and it will maybe include lots of snacks. Buck is on board with that.

What he doesn't expect, while they go through Maddie's box, is to find a picture of him tucked inside. He doesn't remember when the photo was taken though, and the date on the back is too early for him to exist, and Maddie has a strange look on her face, like she might be sick or she might cry.

Maddie tells him about Daniel.

Daniel, who was Buck's older brother, apparently. Daniel, who Buck doesn't seem to remember. Daniel, who has never been mentioned at all before. Daniel, who died when he was a child.

Buck does the math. It doesn't add up. It doesn't make sense for Buck to have been born in the middle of his parents going through one of the worst times of their life.

Unless it was on purpose. Unless it was planned.

Daniel had juvenile leukemia. The treatments weren't working. Their parents were desperate. Desperate enough to try anything. Including using Buck for Daniel's treatments.

Not that it worked.

He's been a constant disappointment to his parents since before he could even walk and he has no fucking clue. He's been trying to prove his worth to them for decades but clearly they would never have cared, because is not, and could never be Daniel. 

Buck is spiraling.

He tells his team the news, or at least the people on his team who don't already know. Bobby suggests he talk to them about it. But what the hell would he say? Hey, sorry you're still mourning the brother I never knew existed, but why didn't you ever give me a chance?

Hen tells him that he's also their son, and that he does matter to them. He knows she means well, but she doesn't know them. Daniel mattered to them. Maddie matters to them. Buck just happens to be a consequence they never planned on dealing with.

Eddie gives him this look, the kind that says he sees right through him, right through his anger, and straight to his hurt. He tells Buck that he has every right to be angry. He tells him that he is entitled to his hurt, but he has to put it somewhere. He tells him he can hit the punching bag all day but it won't give him any closure.

It's good advice, and if Buck were less angry then maybe he might listen.

But Buck is angry. He is angry, and he is lost, and he is spiraling.

He is spiraling while he ignores Maddie's calls.

He is spiraling while he ignores Chim's attempts to act as mediator.

He is still spiraling when they respond to a factory fire with several large canisters of active flammable chemicals.

He goes off on his own. He remembers his parents getting angry at him for riding a bike, one that was not his to use. He hears someone calling for help. He remembers his parents arguing about someone he doesn't know. He reaches a man struggling to breath and looking for escape. He remembers climbing trees, riding skateboards, jumping off fences and looking for excuses to get hurt if it meant his parents would pay him a crumb of attention. They make it maybe ten steps before the fire increases and cuts off two of their escape routes. 

He remembers Maddie telling him that she got accepted to a nursing program, which would've been great news if it didn't also mean that she was leaving him. He suggests they go over the fire on a metal bridge, and of course it collapses. He remembers being reckless on a motorcycle, his frustration bubbling up in his chest, and ending up in the ER as Maddie's problem to deal with.

He wakes up on the floor to another problem in the form of a steel tank that has now landed atop his new friend Saleh. He remembers his parents yelling at him for being reckless, Maddie picking him up, handing him the keys to the jeep and agreeing to leave with him. Buck gives his mask to Saleh, he figures he'll make better use of it. He remembers Maddie leaving him a note, a rushed explanation on a half a sheet of paper about why she can't go with him.

He finds a fire extinguisher and uses it to keep at least some of the fire at bay, and the sprinklers help at least a little. He remembers sending postcards that he never got a response to, hoping that somewhere out there his sister would know he was okay. He tries one last ditch effort, putting all of his waning strength into an attempt at leveraging the tank away from Saleh.

He remembers his first day at the 118. He remembers finding family when he had no one. He remembers being welcome with open arms, a plate full of food, and feeling for the first time that he might actually belong somewhere.

He's not sure he belongs anywhere now.

His parents never wanted him, not really. His sister kept this secret from him for so long, so in some way she must also think Daniel was the better brother. His team would be okay without him, it's not like he's essential in any of their lives.

It would be easy. Simple. He could just slip away. He could just press his head to the floor, and give in to the weight of the fire. He could give up the fight. What the hell is he fighting for anyway?

A hand yanks on the rope that Buck holds, a familiar weight pressing in from behind him and pulling with a strong tug.

Buck looks up, his eyes meeting a pair of eyes he could never forget. Icy blue locks on warm amber and he knows. This is not where he ends. This factory does not get to claim him. He has something to fight for. He has a whole team worth fighting for, and they don't plan on giving up on him.

So he shouldn't give up either.

Eddie gets shot.

Buck is there when it happens. He witnesses the whole thing. It happens in slow motion.

They go to a call that's not really a call. It's more so Eddie operating on a hunch. Which, to be fair, is a very reliable hunch, and he ends up not being wrong, so it's good that they got there when they did.

They send off the kid to the hospital, Buck asks Eddie if he's going to head to the hospital as well, and he hears it before it happens.

His body reacts before he does. His ears pierce with the sound, his skin ripples, hairs standing on end as the air itself splits in two, his heart stops.

His eyes are on Eddie's and he sees the exact moment his warm eyes go cold with realization, and then he is falling, falling, falling.

There is a wetness on Buck's face and he can't figure out where it's from. He doesn't know if it's tears or if its– blood. There's so much of it. And it's all coming from Eddie. Eddie, who is now on the ground, his eyes locking on Buck's for what could be only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

His hand stretches out, the blood pools, his eyes fluttering shut, and Buck puts everything out of his mind.

He has to get to Eddie, he has to get him to safety, he has to keep him alive.

He crawls under a firetruck and he does his best not to think about being crushed under it. He grips Eddie's arm tight and holds back the bile in his throat from seeing how it hurts him to pull him to safety. He stands up, lifting Eddie over his shoulders and handing him off to someone from the 133.

They drive off, narrowly missing more shots that are fired off after them. Buck's hands are everywhere as he assesses the damage. There is so much blood. Eddie's blood. He's shaking and he can't tell if it's from adrenaline or fear.

Eddie has a hazy look on his face, and he looks a second away from passing out. He asks Buck if he's hurt, because of course even when he's actively bleeding out his focus is on other people. Buck tells him to hold on, to stay with him, that everything is alright.

Eddie passes out before they reach the hospital. Buck tries his best to stop the bleeding with his hands because the gauze doesn't seem to be working. He tells them to step on it and he's not sure how many traffic laws they break but they reach the hospital eventually.

Eddie is wheeled away.

Buck is covered in blood.

Captain Mehta asks him a question that he doesn't hear.

Eddie's blood is on Buck's face, and on his hand, and in his mouth.

There are reporters scrambling to get a good scoop at the door.

Buck doesn't know if his heart is still beating, he's pretty sure it's taking a break until he knows–

Until he knows Eddie's is beating too.

Taylor Kelly says something to him, asks him a question that he can't find an answer to. All he knows is that he has to tell Chris.

He's not ready to say the words outloud, but Christopher deserves to know, and Buck is going to do all that he can to be there for him.

So he does. 

He tells Chris what happened, that there's a bad guy out there who wanted to hurt someone just because he could. He tells Chris that his dad is a fighter because he is. Eddie is the strongest person he knows. He's not strong enough to tell Chris that his dad is going to be okay. Because he doesn't know that he will be. And he doesn't want to lie.

Luckily he doesn't have to. Bobby texts him to let him know that Eddie made it out of surgery, and that it went well.

Eddie is alive.

Eddie survived.

Eddie is going to come home.

Buck's heart starts beating again and for the first time all day, he lets himself cry. Christopher hugs him, because he's a great kid and the best friend Buck could ever ask for, and Buck lets himself fall apart, at least a little.

Buck maybe breaks a few speeding laws on his way to the hospital when he's told that Eddie is awake. It's only after he sees him, awake, alive, and breathing, that Buck allows himself to exhale.

Ana is there too. Ana is nice. Buck also doesn't care enough to be polite right now because his best friend is finally awake after being shot, so his focus is on making sure he feels okay.

Buck gives Eddie the rundown of what happened, and lets him know that he's been taking care of Chris while he's here because he wants to take care of at least one of his Diaz boys since he didn't manage to protect Eddie, even though he was standing right there. He tells Eddie the truth that's been rattling in his head for days, that it would've been better for Chris if it was Buck who had gotten shot instead. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about his dad.

Buck finds out a few days later that Eddie disagrees wholeheartedly with that statement. He disagrees with it so much that he tells Buck that he has been added to Eddie's will. A year ago, apparently. In the worst case scenario of Eddie's passing, Buck is the designated sole guardian for Christopher.

Not his aunt Pepa.

Not his abuela.

Not his parents.

Not his sisters.

Buck is the one he chose to watch over Chris, to keep him safe, and act within his best interests. To fight for him, no matter what. 

Eddie, in one fell swoop, takes a look at Buck's doubts, his fears, his insecurity and uncertainty, and erases it all with one sharp look.

Eddie tells Buck that he sees him, that he sees the way he acts like he's expendable. He tells him he's wrong. He tells him he matters.

Buck doesn't know if he believes him quite yet. But he wants to.

Buck had been more than a little bit curious about Taylor Kelly when he met her.

Taylor was smart, witty, and quick with a comeback. She seemed like someone who could never be thrown off her game, like she was always thinking six steps ahead of everyone else. She was intriguing, and she was pretty, and she was interested in Buck.

Well, not at first.

At first, they really only saw each other as an occasional fun hook up. A way to distract themselves for a while when they needed someone familiar to touch. But then every time they pulled away from each other, they kept coming right back. It was like there was something magnetic between them, something they eventually couldn't ignore any longer. They wanted each other, and for more than just sex.

Taylor was exactly what Buck needed. She was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was ambitious, spirited, brutally honest even when he didn't ask for it. She was always upfront with him about what she wanted from him and he respected that.

It's not easy though, and he doesn't expect it to be, with Taylor.

With Taylor, they take two steps forward and then immediately get pushed five steps back because they can never seem to be on the same page at the same time. They argue, a lot, much more than Buck has ever argued with anyone else, and it is never just– easy. But Buck thinks that maybe that's the point. Maybe the point is that, sure, they argue, and they scream, and they glare at each other from different rooms, but they're still there. 

They still stay.

They don't run away from the anger, they embrace it, loudly, and directly in each other's faces, but at least they care enough to get angry. They care enough to yell. They care enough to scream at each other and still come back later to talk about why they were so upset and that is something Buck has never had with anyone else.

Nothing is simple with Taylor, but he thinks that's okay. He thinks that maybe it's not supposed to be. Maybe the point of loving someone is that it's hard, and messy, and far too often completely out of your own control but the point is that you let yourself be in it.

Buck is okay with that.

Buck can be this for her. If Taylor needs someone to get angry with, someone to argue with, someone who will stay anyway even after she's done all her best tricks at pushing someone away, then Buck can be that for her.

If this is what love is, then Buck doesn't mind it. Buck can live with that. He can grow comfortable with that.

And he does. Things are good with Taylor for a while, until they're not.

He ignores the fact that his friends don't really like her, because he knows she has some sharp edges to get used to, but he knows she'll grow on them.

He ignores the fact that he's always exhausted and drained after they argue, and he's the first to apologize.

He ignores the fact that it becomes easier for him to breathe when he's no longer around her.

He ignores the fact that they only ever seem to talk about how they really feel after they've had sex.

He ignores the fact that getting Taylor to open up about literally anything that really matters is like pulling teeth.

Buck knows, perhaps before he even fully acknowledges it, that he should end things.

What he does instead is kiss Lucy Donato, because she is pretty, and she is bold, and she is asking nothing from Buck at all other than a fun night at a pool table and a few drinks.

It's a mistake. He knows that immediately after it happens. It twists his gut into a swirl of guilt and shame that builds up inside him until he can no longer ignore it.

He has to tell Taylor. He has to come clean, and own up to the mistake he made and apologize, and if that ends things between them then maybe they were never meant to be. He has to live with that decision either way.

What he does instead is ask Taylor to move in with him.

And look, he knows, he knows it's wrong and a little (okay, very) messed up that he doesn't tell her the truth, but he just– he needs this. He needs to be selfish, just for a little while.

He needs this because everything else in his life is messed up and weird.

His sister is gone, so he can't talk to her like he normally would, and Eddie is pulling away.

Chimney is gone and it's mostly Buck's fault so he's been actively ignoring him, and Eddie is shutting him out.

Eddie is being weird and he won't talk to Buck about it and he wants to help but he just doesn't know how, and anytime he asks, Eddie just shuts down completely. So his hands are tied.

He's pretty sure the rest of the team blames him for running Chim off to god knows where to find his sister, even if they won't say it outloud.

Eddie leaves the 118 and Buck has never felt more unsteady in his life.

But Taylor is here. She's being honest, and up front with him, and telling him that she loves him and isn't that what Buck has always wanted? Can't he be selfish just this once? Is it so awful of him to hold onto something solid when everything else is falling apart?

So Taylor moves in, and they argue about couches because they argue about everything, and they make up for arguing by having their usual “I'm mad at you, but I'm less mad when we're touching” sex.

It's fine.

Buck is fine with this. This is what a relationship is, a real relationship. Just because he's not happy all the time doesn't make it less real, less worth keeping. He and Taylor built this relationship brick by brick, and it's solid. As long as he ignores the unstable foundation.

Maddie comes back, and so therefore Chim does as well. Buck is happy they came back, but also deeply confused on why they're insisting they're not together. Buck tries to talk to Maddie about it. She explains her reasoning, all the things she went through internally and how she's still working on herself. Buck understands this, he respects her for knowing what she needs and making an effort to get better.

She also calls him an idiot for asking Taylor to move in with him. Which is fair, and he knew this already, but hearing it from his big sister is much different. She tells him to come clean, own up to his mistake, and he knows she's telling him this because she cares but doesn't she know that if he does that then everything will be ruined? His relationship will crumble and then what will he have? He'll be alone again, and he's not ready for that. He doesn't want that.

He promises that he will come clean to Taylor, and he means it, he will. Just maybe not immediately.

He ignores this promise until he can't anymore.

An unfortunate series of events, that really could only ever happen to his team, occur back to back.

While Chim and Eddie were gone they had a few floaters being tested out on the team to work with them. Within this rotation were none other than Lucy Donato, and some guy named Jonah Greenway.

So Buck has to work with Lucy for a while, with the knowledge that they kissed once in a poorly lit bar and never spoke about it again. Lucy is cool about the whole thing, she tells him she doesn't hold it against him and they can be friends. Buck is happy they don't have any bad blood between them but he still has that nervous gut feeling he can't really place.

They get a call to dispatch, from Eddie, because dispatch is on fire, because of course it is. May is trapped in the building with one of her coworkers and Buck is trying his best not to freak out about his pseudo step sister potentially dying. 

He's also indescribably happy to be working side by side with his best friend again, falling into step with an easy teamwork that's been built up over years of knowing each other and having each other's backs. He has missed having someone next to him who he knows like the back of his hand. He's missed the feeling of not having to really say anything for someone to understand what he needs in that exact moment.

He missed the feeling of a firm hand on his shoulder, the press of a thumb curling into the edges of his collarbone, a sharp smile and warm eyes that never look away. He missed Eddie. He's glad he's back, even if he kinda isn't officially back, he knows he will be.

They all work together and manage to get May out after a close call of thinking they lost May and Bobby, but they all walk out of the rubble together. Buck has never been so happy to be a part of this team.

They go to the hospital to check over May and Bobby and, strangely, they are told that Claudette died en route to the hospital. Which is weird because they had her stable before they left. Jonah makes a comment that has Hen look at him a little suspiciously and Buck tells himself to ask her about it later, his focus is elsewhere.

His focus is pulled to the fact that Taylor, who was doing her job and covering the dispatch fire on the news, is now in the same room with Lucy, who he has not told Taylor about.

This is fine, he is not freaking out about this at all.

He has to come clean, he knows this.

His honesty is postponed, however, because Jonah Greenway apparently lost his mind and thought it would be a good idea to kidnap Chim and Hen and put them through some insane saw trap via a stolen defibrillator. He gets a solid right hook from Bobby for his trouble and Buck just wishes he had been there to help.

Buck goes to the hospital because he is worried about his friends, naturally, because they just went through something deeply fucking traumatic and he wants to support them in any way he can. Taylor, for some reason, thinks this is a good time to run a fucking story, after Buck explicitly asked her not to.

He very specifically told her that this was off limits, especially since she wouldn't have even heard about all this if it weren't for Buck's friends being in literal danger. It's too personal, and some things don't need to be broadcast to the world for the sake of sensationalism.

They can't seem to agree, so naturally, they argue.

Buck figures this is as good a time as any to come clean, so he does. He tells Taylor he kissed someone. He was stupid, and he was drunk, and he regretted it immediately. Taylor asks him when this happened. The truth of that goes over about as well as a grenade. Taylor is upset, which is fair, and Buck is pretty sure their relationship is over.

Except, it's not.

Taylor comes back. She apologizes, and tells him that they've both made mistakes, they've both messed up, but she still wants to be with him.

This doesn't make complete sense to Buck.

It doesn't make sense because yes they both messed up, but it doesn't feel like they're both sorry.

Buck is sorry. He feels awful for kissing Lucy behind Taylor's back (even if it was admittedly a good kiss), and he knows he would never do that to her again. He's not sure Taylor feels the same way.

He's not sure Taylor feels bad for running her story.

He's not sure Taylor even knows why it was wrong to do it in the first place.

He's not sure Taylor won't do something like this again if given the opportunity.

If Buck comes home one day, exhausted and tired, and therefore loose lipped and he tells her about something crazy that happened to him or his team, what is to stop her from opening up her laptop, digging a little deeper, and deciding that it would make a great story on the 5 o'clock news.

He talks to Taylor about it. He asks her if she knows why it was wrong to go through with her story. She insists it was right, because the public had a right to know, and Buck sees it. He sees the exact moment where she inadvertently admits that if given the choice, she will never choose Buck over her job. Not even if it's the right thing to do. It's just who she is, and Buck can't change it, and he can't learn to be okay with it. 

Fundamentally, their morals do not, and perhaps never will, align.

Taylor wants to try again. She loves him.

Buck is done trying, and he doesn't want love if it looks like this.

She leaves, and then she moves out, and then Buck is left without a couch because when she moved in he had to get rid of his.

Buck goes to Eddie's and decides his couch is good enough to sleep on. Eddie doesn't mind, he just tells him to get comfortable. He tells him that anytime he needs to, he can always come here. He tells him that his home is just as much as Buck's as it is for either of the Diaz's.

This means more to Buck than he can put into words. He has never had a real home to go to. His parents' house was never warm enough to feel like a home. The frat house he lived in when he first moved to LA was always temporary. His loft was never his own space, it was always a place that had a revolving series of guests who needed to test out the waters before deciding to stay or go.

But Eddie is telling Buck that here, in this home, he belongs. Here, in this home, he can just… be. He can always run here. He can stay as long as he wants. Eddie is telling him that he is not a bother for taking up space somewhere and he is looking at him like he matters and Buck has no idea what to do with that because–

Because Buck has never mattered to anyone that much before.

The feeling is dizzying.

It takes root, making a home in his heart, and Buck knows, right then, that it will never leave.

Buck's parents are here for dinner, and they promised to behave, according to Maddie and Chim, so Buck promises to do much of the same, to the best of his ability. It's hard to tell, most of the time, how much of his best behavior he should be when he's around his parents. It takes very little to set them off, especially when it comes to Buck.

He does his best, for Maddie's sake if nothing else. He shows up on time, he smiles at the right times, he doesn't correct them when they call him Evan instead of Buck. He plays his part.

Then Chim's father shows up with Albert and all hell breaks loose.

Chim's dad is likely the worst father Buck has ever met and he doesn't say that lightly, given his own experiences. The conversation starts out light, almost clinical with discussion topics being focused on the weather, or how Jee is doing in school, or how the travel was to get to Maddie's house. His parents are kind enough to not take much interest in him and he's grateful for that small amount of reprieve, if nothing else than to avoid an argument.

Instead, that ball gets tossed into Chim's corner with his dad.

Buck isn't sure he's ever seen his brother in law be such a quick trigger before but his father definitely brings it out of him. Albert does his best to play mediator and it goes over poorly. Buck wants to help but he's admittedly not sure how to without making it worse so he mostly just diverts conversation when it starts to get too intense. It works for a while until, inevitably, Buck opens his mouth and makes it worse.

He was simply excited for his friends who are finally going to be parents, and he wanted to share the excitement with someone. Albert happened to be close by, but he forgot he didn't explain the whole surrogacy-sperm-donor situation, which led to a misunderstanding between Albert and him, and then Maddie and their parents, and then Buck and their parents, which he cleared up just in time for Chim's dad to add his two cents into the pile.

Chim's dad decides to be judgemental, calling Buck's decision to help his friends have a child ‘unnatural’, since it means he won't be raising the kid. And sure, while Buck has his own mixed bag of feelings about the situation, he was still happy for them, because ultimately he just wanted them to be happy. He doesn't exactly need Chim's dad's opinion on the matter. But he also doesn't know what to do when his parents give him such a relieved look after he tells them he won't be the father.

It's such a palpable look of genuine relief that it throws Buck off for a second. They look at him as if it makes sense, as if to say 'of course you wouldn't be the father, that would be crazy'. As if it's not something Buck could be capable of. As if it's not something he has already been doing with Christopher.

And he knows, he knows it's different. Christopher is not his son, technically, but he also absolutely is. Christopher is his in the same Buck is Christopher's. They may not be related in any way but they take care of each other. There is nothing Buck would not do for that kid, and he's been around him for a pretty good majority of his life. Buck doesn't know what his life would look like without Christopher, he's not sure he ever wants to know. Isn't that what being a parent is? To love your child, no matter what. To do what's best for them, every time, because you are always trying to do right by them. To be there for them when they need you, and sometimes even when they don't admit they do.

He may not be the father of Cameron and Connor's kid but he has been a dad for a long time now.

It's not something that's ever been said out loud, not really, but maybe it should be. Maybe it deserves to be talked about. Maybe Buck has been avoiding that conversation with Eddie like he's been avoiding a lot of things.

He's been avoiding the odd feeling he gets in his chest when Eddie looks at him.

He's been avoiding the way his skin tingles, like a live wire sparking to life when Eddie touches the space between his shoulder and collarbone, carved out specifically for the shape of his hand.

He's been avoiding the way his face heats up when he gets caught looking at Eddie and their eyes meet and neither of them looks away.

He's been avoiding putting a name to the feeling that's been sitting in the space where his heart rests. It's all too familiar, and it's been knocking on the door of his awareness, trying to make its presence known. But if he acknowledges that then doesn't that mean everything will change? Doesn't that mean he can't go back? He's not sure. He has no clue what it means, and he doesn't know if he wants to acknowledge it.

But then he's looking at soft brown eyes and eyelashes that drip from the pouring rain, and he's being told some snarky quip because he wanted to climb the ladder, and he knows then and there that he never wants to look away from those eyes ever again. He wants to wake up to those eyes forever. He wants to keep those eyes on him, always, and he knows the feeling that lights up in his stomach like a well worn match like the back of his hand.

Buck knows what love feels like. He just doesn't know what it feels like when it stays. He knows it burns bright at the start, and it likes to keep you warm with how big the flame is, but over time he stops being able to nurture it, and then it fades to a cold smoking hiss. He's been burned by love's flame before, trying his best to keep the fire going. What makes it different this time?

It's Eddie.

His Eddie.

Eddie, who tells Buck that his home is also Buck's and that he's never been a guest.

Eddie, who trusts Buck over anything, with everything.

Eddie, who calls Buck out on his shit and then helps him do better.

Eddie, who looks at Buck like he matters and doesn't ask him to be anything other than what Buck has always been.

Eddie, who is easily the most beautiful person Buck had ever seen. The only person who makes it hard for him to breathe when he walks in a room. The person he can't keep his eyes away from.

It will be different, because it's Eddie. Because he's never had to shape himself into something he's not to get Eddie to smile at him. Because Eddie has always looked at Buck, saw him for who he is, and chose to not look away.

He has to tell him.

He comes to terms with this decision, a sure smile on his face, at the same time that his pulse pauses, the air itself crackles to life, and his hair stands on all ends.

One moment, Buck is standing on a ladder.

The next, he's waking up in a hospital to a man who says his name is Daniel.

Daniel Buckley.

That doesn't make sense. He's not sure why, but that sounds… incorrect.

But Maddie is also here, and she works as a nurse at the same hospital that Daniel does and she calls him their older brother. Maddie would never lie to him, he knows that is true, right? So he trusts that this all makes sense.

But then his parents are happy to see him and that throws him for another loop. He has never known Margaret or Philip Buckley to be happy seeing Buck– ever. Except, he's not Buck here, he's Evan.

Why is he Evan? Why is he not Buck? Buck sounds much better, easier.

But Evan is a teacher apparently, and he has kids who miss him, and his apartment is full of get-well-soon cards, and flowers, and balloons, and his mom is looking at him like she was worried, and his dad is turning on the game for him to watch with Daniel and they are looking at Evan like its expected that he joins them on the couch.

It's all very… nice.

Weird, but very nice.

But then he's looking at a model ferris wheel, and he gets a strange coughing sensation in his lungs, like he's trying to push out buckets of water. It stops as soon as it starts and when he looks at the ferris wheel again all he can think is a name.

Christopher.

Why does he know that name? Maybe it's one of the kids in Evans' class. He sort of misses him? Evan isn't sure if he has favorites at his school but Christopher is probably his favorite student. That makes sense.

His mom is starting to fret over him again so he attempts to be normal. He sits down with his brother(?), and his dad and tunes into the game.

He doesn't get to pay attention to the game though, because suddenly he's at dinner at Maddie's place. He doesn't know how he got to dinner but he's hungry so it doesn't matter.

Dinner is weird. Maddie's daughter is not who he thought Maddie's daughter would be, and her husband is… Doug.

Evan does not like Doug, he knows this down to his bones. Daniel tells him to leave it alone. Maddie tries to ease his worry and only serves to make it worse. He might hate Doug.

Maddie definitely deserves better. 

Evan finds Howard Han at his apartment. He knows him, he thinks. He's one of his closest friends. Howard tries to have him committed to a mental hospital. Evan convinces him not to do that when he calls him Chimney and explains why he knows that name. Impossibly, he believes Evan, and calls his friend Hen over to help them crack the case.

Evan knows Hen too, but he doesn't have time to prove it before his body starts seizing. It stops as soon as it starts but he has a gut feeling that he needs to connect the pieces to this puzzle a little faster. 

Hen tells him things that he's not quite sure how to believe.

Christopher Diaz, who Evan is now sure is not a kid in his class, currently lives with his grandparents in Texas, and Eddie Diaz was fired from the 118.

Evan never became Buck. Buck never met Eddie, and eventually Christopher. Eddie was never introduced to Carla. Eddie never became Buck's best friend and eventually his… more. Christopher never became Buck's friend and eventually his kid.

All of this is wrong.

He tells them as much, and that he needs to find Bobby, because he knows he can fix this.

But he can't, because apparently Bobby is dead. Bobby can't be– no.

No, all of this is wrong, and Evan– Buck needs to leave. He has to leave, and get back to the place where everything makes sense, and he has his people, and no one is missing, or dead, or gone from his life. He has to fix this.

He ends up at the hospital with Hen and Chim. They try to help him piece some things together and he gets the feeling that someone is telling him in a comforting but stern voice to hurry the hell up and figure it out. He's doing his best but it's hard to wrap his head around. The fact that Maddie is married to Doug of all people, and his parents are not being awful, and he doesn't have Christopher, and he doesn't have Eddie, and Bobby is–

Not dead.

Bobby is not dead, but he is an asshole. This Bobby, strange-dream-version of the man, is wide eyed and sweaty and making the mess of a storage closet so he can find his next fix. He feels distinctly like Alice in Wonderland with the way none of this makes any fucking sense and Bobby might as well be the Mad Hatter with the crazed look he has in his eyes.

Buck knows none of this is real, but that doesn't make it any easier to see Bobby actively throw his life away by consuming every unlabeled bottle of pills he can grab within sight. He needs to fix this. He needs Bobby to fix this. But he can't fix Bobby here– because he already has.

He fixed Bobby by joining the 118. He fixed Bobby by causing him so much worry that Bobby couldn't help but care. He fixed Bobby by showing up every day and making his presence mean something in Bobby's life. He fixed Bobby– by being Buck.

And he can't do that here.

Here, he is Evan, and his life is perfect by every means of the word.

Except, it isn't, because he doesn't have his team.

He fights like hell to get back to them.

One moment he was standing on a ladder.

The next, he woke up in an unfamiliar world.

Now, he's running back to the only real family he's ever known.

Buck wakes up to his hands being held tight on both sides. On his left is Bobby, clutching his hand close in between a long beaded rosary and his firm grasp. On his right is Maddie, smiling at him with wet tears streaming down her face.

So, naturally, the first word out of his mouth upon waking up is–

“Eddie?”

Maddie laughs, a startled and amused bubble coming up from her lungs. Bobby shakes his head with a warm, knowing smile, and gestures to the end of his bed.

Buck looks down towards his feet, and sitting in a chair, looking uncomfortable and restless is his best friend. His eyes are shut tight, a frown forming on his face like he's fighting the very notion of sleep itself. He's slumped over Buck's left leg, his hand clutching his calf.

“Eddie.” Buck sighs, and it comes out far fonder than he expected it to, but he really can't help himself. He can't help the palpable relief that blooms throughout him at finding the man in the same room as he is. Maddie is here, and that's wonderful, and Bobby is here, and that's truly great, but they were also present in his dream.

Eddie wasn't.

But he is here. And that makes Buck happier than he can put into words.

Eddie startles awake, his whole body tensing up like a cat as he jolts upward. His head swivels as he tries to get his bearings when he looks around the room. He meets Maddie's eyes, glances at Buck, looks at Bobby, and then sharply turns back to Buck, his eyes widening like he can't believe what he's seeing.

“Buck?” Eddie gasps.

“Hey.” Buck smiles.

“You're awake?” Eddie blinks, slowly, like he's trying to determine if this is a dream.

“I sure hope so.” Buck smiles tiredly.

“Huh?” Maddie looks at him, very confused.

“I had a dream. It was really weird. You were there,” Buck looks between Bobby and his sister, “and you were sort of there.”

“Sort of?” Bobby snorts.

Buck looks at Eddie straight on, his eyes unwavering, “But you weren't. So I really hope I'm awake, because I never want to be in a world if you aren't there too.” 

Eddie swallows, his red rimmed eyes locking on Buck's gaze, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buck says, his voice coming out slightly scratchy.

Maddie looks between the two of them, a knowing smile on her face. She cradles Buck's face for a moment, leaving a kiss on his birthmark, “I'll give you two a minute. The others should know you're awake, and the doctors too probably.”

Bobby nods, standing up with her but not before he leans in and gives Buck an awkward hug. He pulls away with tears at the rim of his eyes, “I'm glad you're back, kid.”

“Me too.” Buck agrees.

They both exit the room, leaving Buck and Eddie to simply stare at each other for however long they feel they need to.

Buck looks at Eddie, taking in the exhausted pull at his shoulders, the slouch of his spine, the bags under his eyes, and the wrinkles in his usually ironed clothes. He looks like he's been awake for a very long time. 

He stands so close, at the foot of Buck's bed, but also so far, with Buck's hands being unable to touch him, to hold him close and tell him that everything is okay now, and that he's not going anywhere. He hopes that's a promise he can keep. He hopes he's not going anywhere.

“Can I–” Buck's voice scratches too hard for him to continue, a harsh cough shoving his words away.

Eddie brings a straw up to his lips, an encouraging nod for him to drink and Buck gratefully obliges, his throat being coated by the cool liquid and easing the dryness on his tongue.

Buck sits back, briefly closing his eyes before continuing, “Can I ask how long I was out?”

Eddie sits next to him, taking Bobby's seat and placing the cup on the table next to them. He leans forward, his hand hovering just slightly above Buck's, almost like he's afraid to touch him. Like he's unsure if he's allowed.

“Too long.” Eddie answers after an unclear amount of time.

Buck nods, lifting his hand and turning it palm up, an open request being made in hopes that Eddie will meet him halfway, “I'm sorry.”

Eddie stares at his hand, his breath coming out ragged and uneven as he exhales slowly and allows his hand to softly land atop Buck's, “Only you would apologize for being struck by lightning.”, he tries to joke.

Buck hums, “So that's what it was? Lightning?”

Eddie glances at him, his eyes searching Buck's face carefully, “You don't remember?”

Buck shakes his head slowly, turning his head so he can look at Eddie better, “The only thing I remember is climbing up the ladder, reaching the top, and then–”

And then realizing that I'm in love with you.

“–and then I woke up in my dream.” He finishes instead. 

“Oh.” Eddie breathes.

Buck usually takes signs from the universe at face value. If you pick up a penny, you have good luck for the day. Standing under a ladder is a sure way to bring you bad luck. Saying the q-word in the fire station is forbidden. Things of that nature.

So Buck knows that him being struck by literal lightning from the sky, immediately after he realizes and accepts that he is in love with his best friend, is probably a massive sign.

He could do nothing with this information. He could take the sign for what it is, a clear message to keep this to himself and never speak of it again, to never even think about it. To let his heart snuff out the flame that's been growing in his chest since the first moment he met Eddie Diaz.

He could try to move on. He could meet someone else, explore his connection with someone who doesn't have soft brown hair, warm amber eyes, and the softest smile Buck has ever seen.

Who knows, Buck could meet another guy who smiles at him nicely, but it would feel wrong. He could meet another guy with nice eyes, but they wouldn't be the right shade. He could meet another guy who kisses him on purpose and it could change Buck's entire world, but he would be kissing the wrong guy.

Buck doesn't want someone else to fill a Eddie shaped hole in his heart, he just wants Eddie. 

His Eddie.

His Eddie who is currently– crying?

“Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay.” Buck does his best to adjust on his bed scooting as close as he can so his other hand can wipe away the tears on his best friend's face.

Eddie shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tight and holding both of Buck's hands close, “I'm sorry– I'm sorry, I just, fuck, you were gone. You left me here and I couldn't– I couldn't do a damn thing about it.”

“I'm sorry. I'm here now.” Buck whispers, his hand caressing Eddie's cheek.

Eddie shakes his head again, his tears ricocheting down his face, “But you weren't. For three minutes and seventeen fucking seconds you weren't with me and I have never felt more lost in my life.”

“Eddie.” Buck's voice in his name and his heart breaks along with it.

“Do not ever do that to me again. Do you hear me?” Eddie sniffles, opening his eyes and leaning in close until their foreheads touch, “Don't leave me like that again. Don't go where I can't follow you.”

“Well that works out for me just fine, since I don't want to be anywhere you're not.” Buck whispers.

“Promise me.” Eddie whispers, leaning in close, their noses bumping together.

“I promise.” Buck doesn't hesitate to respond.

Buck's heart beats like a bird ready to fly straight out of his chest as he looks in Eddie's eyes. They're so close that he almost can't tell if either of them is really breathing. Buck can read Eddie like a book on his best day, and this is far from his best but he thinks he knows what the look on his eyes is saying.

They are rarely ever not on the same page.

“You know… I realized something just before the lightning hit.” Buck rasps, his voice coming out as a quiver.

“Yeah?” Eddie nods, his eyes darting between Buck's.

“I'm pretty sure I've been in love with you for a very long time.” Buck laughs in between a broken off sob.

Eddie laughs and it comes out wet and nasally, “Good, because I'm pretty sure I'm about to do something very stupid.”

Buck barely has enough time to process this before Eddie closes the distance between them and presses their lips together.

It's not how Buck imagined their first kiss would go, with Buck being barely awake in a hospital bed, his lips chapped and dry, tears flowing down Eddie's face, and their faces tilted at an awkward angle so they can reach each other.

It's also the best first kiss Buck has ever had.

They part from each other when breathing starts to become too essential, but they don't go far with Eddie pressing his forehead against Buck's, their chests rising and falling at the same time, pulses beating in sync.

“By the way,” Eddie laughs, “I'm pretty sure I've also been in love with you too.”

“Yeah?” Buck chuckles.

“Yeah.” Eddie nods, leaning down and pressing their lips together again, and again, and again.

They get caught by the doctors just like that, faces pressed impossibly close together, laughing despite the situation, and being fully unable to look away from each other for more than a minute.

Buck knows they probably have a lot to talk about, and several forms to sign with Bobby, but for now, he's letting himself sit in the knowledge that for the first time in his life, loving someone, and being loved by them, isn't hard.

In fact, it's the easiest thing in the world.