miabauer
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Summary
Captain Buckley, who is steady, who has his shit together, who definitely does not recognize his new probie because he spent a night eight years ago with his hands in that man's hair whispering things against his skin that would get him fired on the spot if anyone in this building ever found out.
"You must be Eddie Diaz." His hand goes out. Not shaking, by some miracle that deserves its own cathedral, its own patron saint, the patron saint of men who are dying inside and shaking hands about it. "Welcome to the 118. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Captain Buckley."
Eddie takes his hand. A firm grip, calloused in places Buck doesn't remember, but Buck's skin recognizes him anyway, every nerve, all at once.
"Captain." Eddie's voice is level, pleasant, perfectly neutral, and Buck would buy it completely if he couldn't see the tension bolted into Eddie's shoulders. "Thanks for having me." A beat. "You got a first name, Captain Buckley?"
"Evan. But most people just call me Buck."
"Buck," Eddie repeats, tasting it, dragging it out, and Buck's stomach drops through the floor. "Suits you."
Or,
Captain Buckley WILL NOT fuck his new probie, okay? At least, not again.