Chapter Text
Ask anyone, Buck had been through a lot.
None of it came close to the visceral panic he felt when he lost Christopher.
He could only watch as colossal waves dwarfed him.
As a first responder, feeling this helpless was unnatural.
From the moment the sea receded, Buck was out of his depth.
The only reason he was still moving was the unnatural amount of adrenaline flooding in his system.
On anticoagulants, he was in serious danger. Every second in the water risked a life-threatening injury.
He had walked past bodies.
Still. Floating. Eyes empty.
He told himself it was the right thing to do.
He waded through the water, searching for any glimpse of yellow in the murky water.
His voice was raw from screaming his best friend’s son’s name.
It was becoming alarmingly clear that Christopher was not going to be found any time soon.
Buck knew the odds.
Christopher couldn’t even swim.
He was likely dead, or at least badly injured.
But no matter what, Buck wasn’t going to give up until he found him.
Alive.
He caught sight of something bright yellow.
Buck made a guttural noise, sloshing frantically through the now ankle-deep water.
He flinched as he took in the sight.
It was a dead woman.
Her skull was caved in- smashed, grotesque, Blood matted in her hair.
He had ignored all the others, but this time, he leaned down and helplessly checked her pulse as an eerie silence fell across the scene.
Her cold, clay-like skin told him enough.
She was indeed dead.
Buck sobbed weakly, the sudden stillness letting everything catch up.
He couldn't keep ignoring the horror around him.
How many people from his city were dead? Were his family all right?
A small hand clawed onto his arm.
Buck yelped, jerking backwards from the body, only to hear a high pitched cry in return.
Buck breathed heavily, his brain taking longer than usual to catch up.
His breathing slowed, and the scene came into focus.
There was a toddler curled under the woman.
The wails got louder, and Buck picked himself up and kneeled in front of the terrified infant.
“Sh, shh, it’s okay! Hey, hey…”
He spoke as softly and as comfortingly as his voice would allow. The girl couldn’t be older than four, maybe even three, and Buck could feel his heart hurting in response to her distressed cries.
Buck picked her up gently. She calmed slightly, tucking into his side with muffled sniffles against his waterlogged shirt.
He still had to find Christopher, but he couldn’t just leave the child to die in the cold and wet alone. Her mother was clearly dead, and there was no one else around to find her.
“It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you.”
“The water got me,” she mumbled unhappily into his chest. Buck couldn’t help the distressed noise his throat made in response, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, looking down at her, checking for any severe injuries.
“Dahlia.”
She seemed slightly less upset being held by Buck, though she had a permanent crease in her brow and a faraway stare.
Buck needed to keep moving.
If he stopped, he wasn't sure he’d ever start again.
“Christopher!”
He kept shouting, trying to ignore how she flinched in his arms.
She didn’t say anything else, just watched as Buck restarted his search.
“Are you looking for your dad?” Her coarse voice cut through the distant screams, alarms and sloshing water. Her innocent question had Buck’s eyes water slightly.
“No, I’m looking for my- my friend. His name’s Christopher. I… I really need to find him,” Buck explained, his voice cracking. Dahlia nodded, looking upset for him.
There was a silence for a few moments, and Buck was beginning to slow, each step dragging more than the rest.
He was so tired.
“Christopher?!” her small voice called, rough from crying.
Buck faltered for a moment, before resuming his earlier pace, her support giving him some needed motivation.
She shouted his name alongside Buck, her voice quieter compared to his.
And somehow, Buck felt less alone in his efforts.
Even as she was clearly exhausting herself, her voice growing raw, she continued.
The hospital came into view, and Buck knew it would be the best chance at finding Christopher yet.
"There's the hospital," Buck said, confirming it as much for himself as for Dahlia. There was another chance, Christopher had a real chance of being here.
For the first time, Buck felt a flicker of relief.
The thought of not searching blindly anymore was something he clung to.
Buck had seen operations like this before, just never on this scale.
So many people injured, separated, scared.
He walked through rows and rows of injured people with no sign of Christopher.
Dahlia remained quiet in his arms. He found himself rocking her absentmindedly as frustration bubbled and grew in his chest.
The repetitive action was probably as comforting for Buck as it was for Dahlia.
He walked up to a nurse, who had a permanent stress line on her face, probably mirroring himself, and anxiously approached her.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for a kid. Brown hair. Chris- Christopher?” Buck tried to ignore how frail his voice sounded as he watched the nurse barely glance up at him while she flipped through her clipboard.
Beside the nurse, Buck reached over and took a thin blanket from a short pile, suddenly very aware of how wet and cold the child in his arms must be.
“What age?” she asked in an emotionless tone, one that Buck often saw on fellow first responders when a situation got too overwhelming to the point it was easier to just shut down.
He didn’t blame her, but it wasn’t making him feel any better.
“Eight. Last name is Diaz,” he rushed to reply, trying to see her clipboard for any sign of Christopher’s name. Dahlia clutched his t-shirt as he leaned, afraid of being dropped.
“Christopher Diaz,” she said, flipping through pages upon pages of people before looking up at him with a slight frown. “Nope, not here. You might wanna check over there.”
“Isn’t that the…” Buck muttered, following her motion toward a black tent with large black bags lined up outside.
“The morgue. Excuse me,” the nurse muttered back before slipping past Buck as he stared at the sheer number of dead bodies on every side.
Buck swallowed hard, fighting back the acrid bile rising in his throat.