Work Text:
The house was dark and quiet when Buck arrived home. Buck stood still in the entryway for a moment and let the peacefulness of the night fill up his soul and wash away the jitters this Halloween had left in his body. He blew out a breath and concentrated on his nighttime routine. His fingers deftly untied his shoelaces and removed his shoes. His feet carried him silently through the hall and the living room until he could lay his keys in the designated bowl. His hand gripped the handle of his duffel bag until he set it down in the laundry room and emptied it of all the clothes he needed to wash.
On and on he moved and breathed and focused only on the task at hand. Until finally he could sink into the couch, documentary playing at low volume in the background and a mug of chamomile tea in his hands. Buck let his mind drift over the events of the day.
Aside from it being Halloween, the shift had been par for the course for him. He was of course the man behind and most of his teammates were still busy 'teaching him a lesson' after the lawsuit. He doubted the message that had eventually sunk in, was exactly what his team had had in mind, but he didn't care. He also doubted they would notice, so what did it matter anyway?
The shift was what it was, he could deal. It was what happened afterwards that had him feeling off kilter. Not the guy stuck in the windshield, stranger things had happened. No, it was the reaction of captain Nash to the cut on his arm that had unsettled him. He had expected yet another lecture detailing 'everything he was doing wrong' and instead Nash had been concerned and basically told him he would be out in the field again from now on. As a result, the rest of the team had thawed towards him as well.
It wasn't unexpected, after all that was the point of teaching him a lesson, wasn't it? When he showed his colleagues that he had learned it to their satisfaction, things would eventually return to normal. Whenever he had imagined this point in time though, he had expected to feel happy. Or at the very least, hopeful. But he didn't. He felt a lot of things, however not one of them was positive.
That was what had him feeling wrong-footed. He felt a listless sort of anger at his mistreatment, and guilt for... Something. And sadness, maybe? Mostly, he felt confused.
Whatever. It was late, he needed sleep and there was a bed with a warm body in it calling his name. He had much better things to do than worrying over this. Everything would become clear in time. And if it didn't, would it really matter?
---
Buck barely registered the goodbye kiss his boyfriend gave him before leaving for work. He vaguely regretted not being able to open his eyes so he could enjoy the view, because damn... That man was sexy. Ah well, he would make up for it tonight. Satisfied with that resolution, he rolled onto his other side and promptly fell asleep again. He didn't feel the fingertips carding through his curls or hear the bedroom door click shut. The bed was warm and he was safe. He could sleep.
---
His day was quiet when he rose. He exercised, he did the laundry, he contemplated all the foodstuffs in the house so he could plan what to make for dinner. He needed to go to the grocery store to buy perishables anyway, since Tony had returned very late at night from his assignment and Buck himself had been ordered to go to the ER by Nash.
God, that had been a waste of time. He'd protested lightly to test the waters, but Nash had not taken that well and Buck had swiftly given in. It was a lost cause anyway. His captain supposedly held him back as man behind 'because of the blood thinners' even when he knew Buck had been off them for months now. Hell, he'd had to give Buck time off to recover from the removal of all the hardware in his leg. And the blond had made sure to not only email Nash the necessary medical information every step of the way, he'd also personally given him the hard copies too. At this point, his captain's ignorance was entirely willful.
However, Buck hadn't dared to give more push back and so he'd sat in the ER waiting room for hours since his gash wasn't a medical emergency at all and the staff had been swamped already. He'd basically just needed a clean bill of health and that could definitely wait. Tony had offered to sit with him as soon as he'd arrived back in LA, but Buck had declined. The man had been chasing a serial killer for eight days straight with his team and right when they were expecting to fly home, the plane ended up having engine problems or something. He'd deserved some rest and he wouldn't have gotten that in those torture devices waiting room seats.
Besides, there was something beautiful about crawling into a warm bed and curling up around your sleeping lover. He'd never had that before. Someone waiting for him. Being welcome in their home even when they were so very vulnerable. That type of trust from a man like Tony was a precious gift and he cherished it.
---
Throughout the day, however, he kept stumbling over that confusing mix of emotions Nash's declaration had brought up. His colleagues had thawed towards him, things would be going back to normal soon enough, and yet he was not happy or hopeful about it at all.
It felt like running your tongue over a loose tooth over and over. It always tastes a bit coppery and it's at least a little painful. Uncomfortable. And still, you can't stop.
He kept prodding at that knot of feelings taking up space beneath his breastbone. He understood most of it. Especially his anger. That had finally roared to life after his first few weeks back after the lawsuit. Initially, he had tried to reach out, tried to explain, tell his teammates his side. Make them see.
It hadn't worked. No one was interested.
So he'd started apologising. No more trying to get his co-workers to see things from his point of view. Just apologies. Again and again. He'd needed a connection. He'd needed to know he hadn't lost his family. He'd bothered them and kept on bothering them and he shouldn't have, he knew. But he couldn't help himself. That fear of loss drove him to fling himself against the wall of rejection his team, his family, had built around themselves. Over and over, with no result.
He hadn't been welcome. And after those first few weeks? He gave up.
He finally kept his head down. He arrived on shift, listened to his orders and did his chores in silence while avoiding his teammates. Of course, that was the moment his colleagues sought him out. Couldn't have him ignore them in turn, could they?
It wasn't anything big. In all, the bullying was kept light. He was used to caustic jokes anyway and the nasty nickname was hurtful, but easily shrugged off as well. The cruel comments were harder to deal with, since they targeted his weak spots, however they were few and far in between. It wasn't too bad, generally speaking. But to him, having people he loved say things with the intention to hurt him, that's what broke his heart. They knew exactly where to hit and they used that knowledge. Everything he'd confided, all the vulnerabilities he'd laid bare. It was used against him.
And yet, it was the silent treatment that hurt the worst. Being excluded, being ignored. Having people exclaim how much better it was now that he wasn't rambling on constantly. It was such a throwback to his childhood. He spent literally years trying and failing to get a reaction, any reaction, from his parents. He'd rarely managed and then only for very short periods of time. He couldn't describe how deeply hurtful that was and yet it had nothing on his reaction to Maddie's cold shoulders whenever he'd truly misstepped as a child. It had been excruciating. Even now, as an adult, being ignored drove him absolutely crazy. It was crushing on a soul deep level. He simply couldn't, couldn't, abide it.
And they knew. He'd told them.
And they used it.
The rage that realisation had ignited was so vast, he'd wanted to use physical violence. Him. And with his SEAL training that was exceedingly dangerous. On the other hand, that training helped him compartmentalise his feelings and reframe these people. They weren't family. They weren't friends. They were simply awful, hateful co-workers he needed to endure until he could transfer.
Like Nash had promised, he'd really come to regret returning to the 118. God, he'd been so naive. He'd believed in them. Even when Tony had delicately tried to point out that, if worst came to worst, he would be painting himself into a corner by going back to the 118, he had dismissed that. He'd known they would lash out. He had been expecting it and had been willing to endure it. He just hadn't thought they would hit below the belt and especially not for this long. Because, despite having observed some toxic tendencies in his friends, he'd had faith.
What an idiot he'd been.
Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. He knew better.
---
By now, though, his anger had turned into a listless thing. He had worked through it as best he could. He wouldn't ever be free of it, however, until he got out of the damn situation to begin with. He had no hope he would achieve that healing with the A shift. His teammates wouldn't ever apologise, he knew, because in their eyes they did nothing wrong. He did. And that justified, no, required their behaviour. After all, Buck was young and dumb and he needed to learn better.
Maybe, maybe, he was being overly pessimistic. He didn't think so, though. Five months of deliberately hurting a supposed loved one did not scream self-reflection. Sorry. And thanks to therapy and a lot of conversations with Tony and others who'd been in similar situations, he knew there wouldn't be anything he could do to make his team see his side of the story. There were no magic words he could speak that would make everything better.
His anger was a useless, helpless sort of thing, since it required connection. Real contact with the real him. And his co-workers were not interested in either.
---
Buck dusted flour over the marble countertop with a practiced hand before slapping the next ball of dough onto the surface. Kneading was his favourite part of baking bread. The physicality of the act satisfied him on a deep level, no other part of cooking could give him that. And best of all? He discovered the joy of making bread all on his own after the truck explosion. It was a safe haven he carved out all for himself. No throwbacks to earlier memories, good or bad. Just him in his loft experimenting and failing and eventually succeeding.
He had barely finished cleaning up the kitchen, when Tony arrived home. The man immediately made a beeline for Buck and gave him a long, toe-curling kiss. "I'm glad to be back." Tony said. Green eyes shone with soft affection and warm hands framed Buck's face. "And the food smells wonderful." Buck melted into those hands. "Missed you." He murmured. He slipped his arms around the other man's waist, nestled his nose in the crook of Tony's neck and breathed in his lover for a moment.
Eventually, Buck stepped back and looked around the kitchen. "I'm feeling like a proud housewife. It feels good." He preened a little. He grabbed a clean towel to wrap the warm bread in, so he could cut it without burning his hands. He might be showing off the tiniest bit, make his movements a little flashier. Tony gave him an indulgent smile. "I'm glad you clean as you go too or we might have ended up murdering each other while sharing the kitchen." He shuddered dramatically. Buck shook his head. "You were imagining a cluttered and messy kitchen, weren't you?" He grinned back. "The horror!" Tony exclaimed. He pressed the back of his wrist against his forehead and pretended to have to grasp the doorjamb to keep upright. Buck laughed and flicked the towel in his direction. "Get out of here and make yourself comfortable." Buck filled two bowls with the stew he had been making all afternoon and took them, along with a plate of sliced bread, to the dining table. He felt giddy being able to spend the night with his lover after the man had been away for a case and set everything down with some flourish.
Tony returned from the bedroom. He had removed his shoes, suit jacket and tie and Buck pouted a bit. The man had looked fine. Then again, his rolled up shirt sleeves showed off nicely muscled forearms and Buck was instantly reminded that it had been eight whole days since he had seen those forearms flex. He licked his lips. Tony's low chuckle shivered down his spine. "Fuel first, don't you think, tesoro?"
Oh yes, fuel would be needed.
---
Buck and Tony were lazing on the couch after their delicious dinner and even better... dessert. Buck was finally relaxed, laying bonelessly on Tony's chest, listening to his heartbeat. The other man played with Buck's curls, gliding his fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp. It was mesmerising. "So..." Tony let silence reign after that one word. This was the problem with investigators. They noticed things and then they used that information to get you to talk! Tony must have felt him tense up since he rubbed Buck's back and reassured him that he didn't need to say anything. Buck groaned softly. "I know, but I've been trying to figure out what's been bothering me all day and I'm getting nowhere... It's all so muddled! I just..." He flailed a hand. Tony grasped it and absently kissed his knuckles. Buck squirmed a little in pleasure at the sweet gesture. The older man frowned into the middle distance. Eventually, he hummed an inquisitive note. "What do you want from your teammates?"
Buck gasped and slowly sat up. It felt like the last puzzle piece slotting into place and suddenly the picture became clear. Not just what he wanted from his co-workers, but also why he felt so conflicted about it. "Nothing. I want nothing from them and I want nothing to do with them." He said quietly. He was gripping the couch cushion and Tony's leg as if they might disappear and his heart was racing as if he had run up five flights of stairs in full gear. He looked back at his lover with a conflicted look on his face, because this was it, wasn't it?
Tony sat up as well, keeping a hand on the blond's back, stroking his thumb back and forth soothingly. His eyes were filled with understanding. "And is that a bad thing?"
Buck curled in on himself and scooted deeper into the cushions. He dislodged Tony's hand, but the man simply moved it to Buck's knee and resumed his stroking. The blond thought it over, tried to find the shape of what was bothering him. Where to begin?
'At the beginning.' A voice whispered in his head. It was good advice. He took a deep breath and spoke tentatively. "I've always just... wanted to be loved and yet I've always been abandoned by the people who should have cared about me." Tony's hand tightened on his knee for a moment and Buck knew he understood this pain intimately. "As a result, abandoning a loved one is anathema to me. When you're in, you're in."
He turned to Tony who nodded somberly. "Till the end of the line." The man murmured. Buck sucked in a breath. "Yes. That. Though more Tony/Rhodey than Steve/Bucky. I don't want anyone killing innocents to save me, thank you." Buck shook his head at his own tangent. "And I had it, I still have it with my former SEAL team. I know it down to the marrow of my bones. They're my ride or die. And I am theirs."
That knowledge was etched into him. It was the foundation of who he was today. He didn't know who he would be without his SEAL team. Their love and trust and support had shaped him. But he went from seeing these men -his family- every day, sometimes under the most brutal circumstances, to only speaking occasionally. His former teammates were either retired and spread out over the US, or they were still on active duty based in San Diego. (Or dead. Some of them were dead.) If everything went well, he spoke to them weekly. But life gets in the way and that creates distance.
Buck glanced at Tony and shrugged. "I missed my team and so I tried to recreate it. I ignored signs and red flags, though mostly I just didn't know what made me feel uncomfortable about the 118 and so I pushed it away." He sighed. "And now here I am and I don't feel anything for my co-workers. That's not the kind of person I want to be. I know that. I refuse to be like that. And yet, when I think of my colleagues, I feel empty and at most a distant hurt. My mind and heart are in conflict, but not the conflict I expected." He huffed a laugh. "How do you reconcile that?"
Tony tilted his head in thought. "Morals and principals are valuable, but they also need limitations. Loyalty is great, but what if the other doesn't deserve it? Like what happened with me?" Tony's gaze sharpened and he paused for effect. "Like what happened with Maddie?"
Buck hissed and looked away. Damn it, this was below the belt. He agreed, yes, however he couldn't help feeling guilty. "I understand setting boundaries. I understand saying to a loved one: this is a hard limit and if you cross it knowingly, there will be consequences. But I never really did that with my... Team." Buck grimaced slightly when saying that last word. These people were his co-workers. They were not a team. Calling them that felt wrong.
Tony stared incredulously at him. "Are your telling me that your colleagues are people who need it to be explicitly spelled out to them that bullying someone you care about, or hell even someone you can't stand, for five months straight is deeply unacceptable behaviour. Really?? Because if so, why the fuck would you want to be friends with them?" The other man's eyebrows were trying to claw their way past his hairline and Buck fidgeted a little. "Well, when you put it like that." He mumbled.
He felt a bit like he had been socked between the eyes with a wooden mallet. Because Tony was right. This was schoolyard etiquette 101, wasn't it? Even children knew this. Your victims might be polite, might placate you, but they wouldn't ever genuinely consider you a friend. His co-workers basically killed their friendships with him barehanded and yet, they also truly expected him to forgive and forget and come back for more.
In reality, though, he mostly felt nothing towards them. And what feelings he did have, were negative. Their bonds were broken beyond repair and he had no desire to change that. None. He'd tried and tried and tried during that first month and after that he gave up. He was only now realising he hadn't just given up on trying to apologise and rebuild. He'd given up on his friendships entirely. All these months of mourning what he lost and learning that he could have boundaries and deserved to have them respected, resulted into this.
He had grieved and moved on. He'd expected to have to fight his heart when trying to keep his distance until he could transfer and yet the reverse happened. His heart already knew what his mind struggled to reconcile. He deserved better. Anyone would. But his colleagues didn't care.
That wasn't love. That was poison.
And he was allowed to say no to that.