Chapter Text
“It’s… edible?”
Buck chews open-mouthed and slowly at the omelette that Eddie cooked for him, trying to give his monstrosity the benefit of the doubt.
Eddie’s smile falls. “Not good?”
“I may have lied when I said it was edible?” Buck says, voice high and guilty.
Eddie sighs. “That was the fifth one too. I almost set off the fire alarm with that fourth one. I really thought I was done for.”
“I think I might be done for after eating that.”
Eddie groans in frustration. “I don’t know what I did wrong!”
“It’s got this weird… sweetness to it? I don’t know if you did that on purpose?”
Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Oh no.” He rushes over to the large glass container of white granules and groans again. “This was sugar.”
Buck stares at him incredulously. “How did you think that was salt?”
“They look the same!”
“Why would we have a giant glass container of salt?”
“I don’t know!”
Buck laughs at Eddie, which earns him a pout in response. “Aw, don’t give me that look.”
Eddie just pouts deeper, giving an extra dramatic batted eyelash.
Buck shakes his head exasperatedly and kisses Eddie on the nose. “I love you even though you make inedible abominations for breakfast.”
Eddie glares at him to which Buck kisses him again, this time on the lips.
“One day, I’ll make you an omelette so good that it’ll ruin all other omelettes you’ll ever have,” Eddie swears.
“I’m sure you will,” Buck says.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No, no I don’t.”
Eddie scoffs. “I can’t believe this, this, this mutiny!”
Buck just laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
The two men turn to see Chris, now fully dressed, standing at the door with his head cocked curiously.
“Just talking about your dad’s cooking skills,” Buck says.
“What cooking skills?” Chris replies.
Eddie throws his hands up in defeat.
“Got anything exciting at school today?” Buck asks Chris.
“We’re gonna talk about plants!”
“Ooh, plants,” Buck says. “I don’t know much about plants, so you better tell me all about it later.”
Chris nods. “I will.”
“Well, I think that we’ve got just enough time to make some dippy eggs and toast— that is if your dad left us any eggs after his omelette conquest.”
Chris giggles and climbs onto the barstool at the island.
As always, Buck makes it a spectacle as he cooks, as if he’s a chef at a hibachi restaurant. He listens attentively as Chris explains to him the intricacies of photosynthesis.
They have to scarf down their breakfast to make it out the door on time, but they manage it to the minute.
“I’ll call you after work?” Eddie says.
“And if you don’t, I’ll call you,” Buck replies.
Eddie grins. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Buck murmurs back, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips. He turns to Chris. “And I love you!” He places a slobbery kiss to his forehead. Chris squirms away with a big laugh. “Have a good day at school.”
“I will!” Chris chirps.
Eddie kisses him one last time before guiding Chris into the car.
Buck waves to them as he skips backwards to his Jeep, a bright smile stretching his cheeks until they ache, eyes crinkling with the toothy display.
He turns around, the smile still plastered on his features, but suddenly fading into something plastic.
There’s something hollow in his chest. It gnaws at him like an acid that eats away at him from the inside layer by layer leaving behind just an empty, numb burn.
He feels the smile melt away leaving him with a stony gaze, his eyes as dull as he feels. He makes it to the first corner out of the line of their sight and he finally lets himself glance behind him. He notes the rooftops and alleys around him, profiling the people who brush past him, chattering with meaningless blather. He allows himself to put his guards up and holds himself taut, prepared for whatever may come from the shadows.
He’s silent as he’s driving to work, allowing himself to be blank. It’s exhausting sometimes, being Evan “Buck” Buckley.
As he parked at a light, watching the rooftops, his phone chimes.
Hesitantly, he answers the phone with a bright smile. He knows the caller can’t see him, but the role must be played fully.
“This is Buck.”
“Buck?”
Buck warms. “Daniel. Hey. How… how are you?”
“Same as usual.”
“So… about to bang your head against a wall because of stuffy old white men who don’t believe climate change exists?”
“That would be correct,” Daniel replies with a chuckle.
“How are things up in the Senate?” Buck asks.
“Miserable. As per usual, they are all undermining me as a politician and as a human being because I had the audacity of being born as a millennial.”
“Gasp,” Buck says over-exaggeratedly. “How dare you?”
“Yes, laugh it up.”
“No, I won’t. Because those guys are dicks and you deserve so much better. You’re gonna make a lot of change.”
“Yeah, well, that potential is only good when people actually listen to what I have to say.” Daniel sighs. “But, it must’ve been a helluva lot of potential considering… you know.”
Buck winces. “Don’t remind me.”
“Right. Sorry. Past assassination attempts are conversation faux paus.”
“Daniel,” Buck chides.
“And the jokes are ending now.” He pauses. “In all seriousness, how are you doing? I haven’t checked in in a while.”
“Things are.... they’re good.”
“Really? It’s okay if they’re not.”
Buck shakes his head. “No. They… they actually are. I think things are settling down.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for you.”
Buck smiles. “Thanks.”
“And how are things going with your boy?”
“Things are… good. They’re… going.”
“Just going? Going… down perhaps?”
“God, Daniel, do you have to be so gross?”
“It is my job as big brother to ask embarrassing and invasive questions about your sex life!”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“I love you too.”
Buck stills. “I love you, Daniel.”
“Just… take care of yourself. Alright?”
Buck takes a deep breath, the air suddenly feeling thicker. “I’ll try my best.”
And then his car is filled with silence.
Buck closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath before pushing his foot on the gas and continues his drive with a head filled with static.
.-~*~-.
It has been a long shift when Buck nearly falls out of the firetruck as they get back to the station from a six hour call for a collapsed office building.
Buck forces his sore, jelly legs to take him to the nearest couch and promptly collapses on its stiff, stained cushions.
Buck groans loudly into the pillow.
“Preach,” Chimney says, taking a seat by his feet and poking him in his instep.
Buck kicks at him weakly, not having the energy to even make his usual fuss.
Bobby snaps at the two of them. “Buck, Chim, you’re off. Go home. Recharge.”
“Thank God,” Chimney says, standing with a soft creak of his joints. “Have fun with paperwork, Cap. Chimney, out!”
“That wasn’t cool the first time you said that and it’s still not cool!” Buck says, voice still muffled by the pillow his face is smushed into.
Buck can feel Bobby’s presence looming over him. He turns his head just enough so he can see him. “Yes?”
“I need a favor.”
Buck cocks an eyebrow, turning his head more so he’s fully facing him. “What?”
“I have to stay and do paperwork and I’m not gonna make it to dinner tonight. Would you mind dropping off the leftovers in the fridge to Athena on your way home?”
Buck wants to refuse. He really does. He’s exhausted, he’s cranky, he’s hangry, and he just wants to take a scalding shower to get the plaster off of his skin.
“Do I get some of those leftovers too?” Buck asks.
Bobby sighs but nods.
Buck grins. “Done.”
.-~*~-.
The precinct really is on the way home, so it’s nothing too out of the way for Buck. With the delectable scent of gumbo filling the interior of his car, he can feel his stomach rumbling with anticipation.
It isn’t much of a challenge to will his loose limbed legs to make the trek up to her office. He’s marched on with much worse for much longer.
He knocks lightly and Athena grunts in frustration on the other side before sighing and shouting a “come in!”
“Delivery for Mrs. Grant-Nash?” Buck says with a cheeky smile.
Athena immediately relaxes at the sight of Buck. “Thanks, kid.”
“Leftover gumbo, still slightly steaming in its glass tupperware,” Buck says, handing her the covered bowl.
“You are a lifesaver,” Athena says. She glances behind her and sighs.
“Long day?” Buck asks with a raised brow.
“Long everything,” Athena says exasperatedly, falling into her chair and massaging her temples.
Buck glances up at the board she keeps sneaking glances at and stills.
Athena looks over her shoulder and nods. “Yeah. New case. It’s a bit of a doozy.”
“What are they?” He knows what they are but he’s a glutton for punishment and he needs to hear it from her.
“Can’t really talk about it,” Athena says, leaving him edged with suspense. “But… well… did you hear about that assassination this weekend?”
He did. When he recognized the flawless hit from the angle he knew He always favored, he spiraled for an unacceptable amount of time knowing that They are in his city.
Buck couldn’t help but keep tabs on their mark, even before they got to him. It was something he couldn’t help but do. The mark had too much of a chokehold on the passing of climate change laws, and the corrupt oil moguls don’t like that, and they knew exactly who to call when they want someone gone. That’s the same reason they targeted Daniel when Buck was sent to—
“Well, the assassins were caught on tape. They’re presumed to be connected to nearly hundreds of assassinations from the last forty years and we’ve finally got a lead in the investigation.”
Buck hums, not trusting his words.
Something in him is screaming in disbelief. It can’t be Them. They would never allow themselves to get caught. They were too good. They were infallible.
“They must be getting sloppy,” Athena says. “Bound to after doing it for so long.”
Sloppy. They were not sloppy. That word in conjunction with Them is almost laughable to him. They were precise and meticulous and they would never just get caught on film.
“It’s been transferred to us because we were the ones who caught this but that also means that we’re the ones who have to figure it out.” Athena sighs. “Detective Jonas is the head of the investigation but he’s tasked me to get a second pair of eyes on the different hits we’ve attributed to them and,” she waves her hand behind her with frustration.
Buck looks at the board with an icy dread.
He can see which ones are wrong. He knows they’re wrong but he doesn’t say so. And he sees the ones that he knows are right because of course he knows they’re right because he was the one who—
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Athena says. “There’s something missing and I don’t know what yet. The pair… it’s obvious they’ve got their MOs. Sniper and demolitions with a favor for knives. Guns for hire we suspect, available only in the darkest, deepest web protected by those who have used their services. But sometimes it doesn’t always line up that way.”
Buck feels his heart in his throat, pounding at rapid speeds. He was a sniper. He taught Buck everything he knows about guns: putting a too heavy gun in his little hands that dislocated his tiny shoulder from the recoil, making his hearing ring and dim with the blast of close range fire. She loved her bombs. She strapped a bomb around his tiny torso, watching and waiting for him to go boom. She made him wiggle under cars to place tiny bombs that would make big booms. They... They—
“I mean, maybe it just means that they weren’t them, but it also could have been them trying to throw us off their scent.”
Buck stares at the newspaper clippings and reports and feels the air leave his lungs.
He still remembers the way their blood splattered when he— and their pleads and sobs when he—
“Sorry,” Athena says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. Confidential information.” She runs her hand over his face and sighs. “Thanks for the dinner, Buck.”
Buck gives her a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. “Anytime.” Buck walks slowly out of the precinct even though every instinct in him tells him to run.
He drives slowly home and he walks slowly up the stairs and he closes the door slowly behind him.
And then it hits him.
They are back.
Buck, for the first time in years, goes to the hidden floorboards beneath his bed and pulls out his go bag. He flips through the five different passports and ten different fake IDs. He unloads and reloads his guns three times. He sharpens his knives, even though they could cut through paper already. He makes sure his bomb kit is separated and itches to build one just so he can assure himself that he still can.
He’s not going to run. At least, not yet. But knowing that he can? Well, it’s a necessity.
They won’t understand why when he runs, but it’s for them. It will always be for them.