Chapter Text
Buck woke up startled, unable to breathe.
This wasn’t an abnormal occurrence for him, unfortunately. He still had crippling nightmares of drowning in the tsunami, or breaking through the surface only to discover there was no air. Or he was the one trapped 40 feet below ground, mud pressing down on him, stealing his breath.
It happened at least twice a week, which he would argue was good, because for months he couldn’t sleep through the night. Progress!
But on this night, he didn’t wake from a nightmare. He woke up into one.
Hands tightened around his throat as he tried to choke out a protest. Sound came crashing back, the muttering of “damn it, this guy won’t die” reaching his ears in a terrifying fashion.
Buck’s body finally caught up with the program and started reacting. His hands snapped to those of his assaulter, clawing and pulling, trying to just get one breath of air. He twisted, getting his leg under him, and thrusting upwards, exactly how his MMA-obsessed boyfriend had taught him.
The attacker’s grip slipped as he lost his balance. The force of the push sent him sideways off the bed, cracking his head on the nightstand.
Buck lay there for a second, just one, choking on air and trying to restart his lungs. Then, noise from below caught his ears. There was someone else in his apartment.
His phone was still on the nightstand, the same one his attacker hit. But luckily, it hadn’t fallen to the floor. He carefully palmed it before risking a glance over the railing.
There was only one other person downstairs, who clearly wasn’t alert to his partner’s incapacitation yet. He was moving around, piling some of Buck’s gadgets and electronics on a table next to some bags, as well as what looked like the entire contents of his medicine cabinet. Tall, bulky, wearing a hoodie and joggers. His hood was down, and Buck got a clear look at him before moving into the closet area of his bedroom.
He quickly unlocked his phone and sent off a text to three different numbers.
Mama, Pops, Maddie ICE
9-1-1. Two men in my apartment. One unconscious. Second currently piling things onto my table. Am hurt, not critical.
Don’t call, will alert second intruder. Am hidden.
Don’t call Eddie.
Buck slid his phone into his pajama pocket, glad that he actually wore something with pockets to bed for once. Then he carefully unlaced a pair of old running shoes that he just hadn’t gotten around to throwing away yet and crept towards the unconscious intruder.
He checked the man’s pulse - still there, slow and steady - and glanced at his head wound. Minor,
would probably be bandaged up in ten minutes. And probably wouldn’t bruise as badly as Buck’s throat, which he was doing everything in his power to think not about.
Once he made sure the intruder was still alive, he carefully and silently tied his wrists and ankles with the shoelaces. No sense in risking it if he woke up.
As he finished the last knot, he finally saw flashing lights through the windows, in the distance. He could just sit back and wait for rescue.