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The first time Buck remembers seeing snow he was four years old.
It was a grey Saturday morning in mid-November, where Buck blinked his eyes open just as the early morning sun started peeking through his window. He was always the first one awake in the house on Saturday mornings. It’s the only time the house hummed with a quiet that didn't feel suffocating or overwhelming. From his nest of blankets he could see the scatter of something soft and white falling in the distance. He flung the covers back, eyes wide as saucers as he pressed his face against the glass to see the ground covered in what looked like a dusting of powder sugar. He was banging down Maddie’s door with excitement only moments later.
“This is snow,” Maddie said as she scooped up a heaping size of the white stuff in her hand, packing it down until it formed a lumpy shape.
“Snow.” Buck said as he reached out with bare fingers, shivering, teeth clacking together as he grinned up at his sister. “I like it.”
Maddie smiled, a small thing that even then Buck could see how it didn’t fully reach her eyes. Like there was something sad or heavy lingering.
“It’s a Buckley sibling thing,” Maddie said after sometime, shaking one of the pine branches gently so a cascade of flakes floated down over their wool hats.
“You like the snow too?” Buck asked.
“It’s my favorite part about the winter.” Maddie answered, brushing the snow from his curls poking out over his forehead.
“Mine too.”
Snow days were Buck’s favorite as a kid. Bundling up in layers and running around building snowmen and forts, throwing snowballs and creating snow angels in the front yard. They’d end the day curled up in Maddie’s bed with mugs of hot chocolate watching Christmas movies on the television sitting on her dresser. Despite always running hot, Buck would bundle up in hoodies and socks, keeping his body heat from escaping into the cold and bitter parts of their house, even when he became uncomfortable and overheated. Winter, Buck found, provided the easiest way he could accidentally get hurt. Icy sidewalks for slipping. Snowboarding down the dangerous parts of the hill as dares from his friends. There was one time, when he was sixteen, when one of the guys from the football team was driving him home late at night. The car skidded on black ice and Buck ended up with twenty stitches.
When he first got to Los Angeles he missed the snow. Winter was the only kind of quiet that Buck ever learned to love. The same quiet that woke him up on Saturday mornings before everyone else.
And then his leg got crushed beneath a ladder truck and Buck quickly learned that even winter can scream.
That it can be painful and suffocating.
Nearly four years later and Buck can just tell when the last ebbs of the Los Angeles summer begin to fade into an almost fall, heading into the cooler months of winter. He’s lucky, really, that California doesn’t often drop below a certain temperature range, but there are some days that are colder than others, especially when it rains. On those days his leg just aches and aches and aches. It doesn’t happen all the time. Sometimes there’s just a dull throb or no pain at all and other days it hurts so bad he draws blood from biting the inside of his cheek to contain the frustrated sob trapped in his chest.
And sometimes he fears that it’s all in his head. That he’s convinced himself that the shooting pains or the knotted muscles are real when they’re not. Because he can go weeks without a single twitch. He can go on long runs or climb mountains or scale buildings without his ankle faltering or his knee twisting. So when it does bother him, when it does hurt maybe it’s just his stupid, fucked up brain looking for a little bit of attention when he’s perfectly fine.
He still hasn’t quite figured it out yet. Real or make believe. But it hasn’t stopped the pain and Buck is tired of fighting it.
They’re on a tail end of a forty-eight and they’ve had an unprecedent amount of rain, cold and biting, all fucking day. Buck’s already reached the limit for pain medication he can take and the stretches he’s perfected from physical therapy have only just helped take the edge off. He’s thought about hitting the gym, but they’ve been busier than usual with the weather and the idea of running on a treadmill or anything remotely related to putting too much pressure on his bad leg makes him a little dizzy. Hen kindly sets him up with a heating pad before she heads towards the bunks to try and get some sleep. Buck wishes he could sink in the quiet darkness the bunk room offers, but on a bad day they make him a little claustrophobic and today is a really, really fucking awful one.
So he opts for the loft couch, his leg spread out on the coffee table, the lights low as he watches Antiques Roadshow on PBS. Chimney manages to snag him the warmest blanket in the station and Eddie is fast asleep, snoring softly, his head in Buck’s lap. Buck tried to insist (several times he might add) that Eddie could turn in like everyone else and that he’d be fine by himself, but Eddie — stubborn as ever — plopped himself down next to Buck and promptly fell asleep not even ten minutes later. Buck doesn’t mind, though. Eddie is a pleasant line of heat that eases some of the ache. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, pleased with the soft sounds Eddie hums in his sleep, and nearly dozes off himself when the alarm sounds off.
It’s colder now than it was earlier, the rain still pounding the city of Los Angeles like icy tendrils that nip at your skin unpleasantly. Buck shivers in his turnouts, which seems ridiculous, but his exhaustion doesn’t help and he really just wants to get through this emergency and go home with Eddie where they can crash in Eddie’s bed, under his new duvet cover that Buck helped him pick out last week, because they’re not quite dating yet, but something between them has shifted. Buck keeps it close to his chest, too terrified to say it out loud, because this feels like something he and Eddie have been hurtling towards for a long time. Two meteors on a collision course that could either create something beautiful or just end in pain. Losing Eddie isn’t an option. So Buck let’s all his words, all his feelings hide right behind his teeth, lay beneath his tongue, and coil around his ribcage until he can’t hold it back anymore.
(Until they collide)
Any relief from the heating pad is now gone and the sharp, shooting pain reaches his knee, making him feel absolutely miserable. The grim faces of his teammates tell him they’re not doing that much better. Their expressions only worsen when they’re told that a family got swept away in a small mudslide, trapped on top of their car with a rushing river rising around them. When they pull off near the river the rain peters off into a drizzle, but the wind is cold and the temperature is now somewhere near the low thirties, an uncommon occurrence for Los Angeles even near the tail end of November. Buck tries to forget about his leg, which he’s almost able to do as he slips into the routine of preparing for a rescue, the adrenaline a welcomed drug, sharpening his focus as he and Eddie get into harnesses. They each take the time to check over each other, Eddie’s fingers somehow warm against the blistering cold and when Buck shivers, again, Eddie rubs his hands over Buck’s arms with a soft smile.
It’s a family of four, two parents and two small children, ten and seven if Buck had to guess just by seeing them huddled on top of the car together. The car is nicely wedged between two large, fallen tree trunks, but they can all clearly hear the groan of metal as the river pounds into the car relentlessly and unforgivingly. They know they don’t have a lot of time and the trees won’t hold forever, but the trunks are wide enough, if they move slowly, they can walk across and get the family to dry land. Buck goes first, Eddie following closely behind with Chimney bringing up the rear. Buck and Eddie each take a kid, Chimney holding out his hand to guide both the mother and father back across the log. The wood is slick and Buck grits his teeth when his bad leg slides a little more than he wants it to, but Eddie is over halfway across now and Buck isn’t too far behind. The ten year old, Hannah, clings to him with impressive strength, the tips of her nails digging into his collarbone when the tree shifts beneath the water. Buck throws a hand out to steady himself as Eddie stumbles off the end of the log back onto the shore.
“You good, Buck?” He calls over the wind.
The line tethering him to the shore helps right him and he quickly nods his head, re-adjusting Hannah in his grip. Her breath is warm, a small whimper escaping her parted lips as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.
“I’ve got you,” He says comfortingly, holding her tighter, “and we’re almost there.”
It happens too fast.
Bobby and Chimney barely get the warning out before a large pile of debris rushing down the river crashes into the tree. In the midst of the panic, Buck somehow instinctively unclips himself from the line as they tumble into the water, knowing they would most certainly drown if he didn’t. He holds onto Hannah, nearly crushing her against his chest as they plunge beneath the ice cold surface. Eddie’s terrified Buck! is the last thing he hears before he’s pulled downstream by the dangerous current. It’s still too early in the morning for sunlight, the water dark and murky as Buck tries to fight his way to the surface without letting Hannah go. He tries to shield her from the tangle of rocks they brush past and after a few, horrendous moments where his lungs feel like they’re going to burst, his foot finds something solid and he pushes up.
Buck inhales sharply, the cold, night air just as painful as not breathing at all, but his reprieve only lasts a few seconds as he’s pulled under again. He kicks out, breaking the surface, and works to keep his and Hannah’s heads above water. By some fucking miracle or grace of the universe and his own powerful urge to survive he manages to grab a low hanging, thick branch jetting out from the bank. He instructs Hannah to loop her arms around him, her interlocked hands pressing painfully against his neck as he pulls them towards the shore. Once they’re completely out of the water Buck takes one, shaky step and promptly collapses to the ground.
“It’s okay,” he tells Hannah, her tears dripping onto his freezing skin, “we’re okay.”
He rolls on his back, Hannah plastered to his chest, his hands rubbing up and down her small frame to keep her warm. In the back of his mind he knows he needs to start moving, the risk of hypothermia increasing the longer he lays there, but he can’t get up. Not yet. Breathing is difficult and his leg feels like it’s on fucking fire even though the rest of him is so cold, it’s almost numb. He’s still shivering, which is a good sign, but it makes him feel a little sick. He blinks bleary eyes up at the star speckled sky, squinting as tiny drifts of flakes land quietly in their soaked hair.
“It’s snowing,” he murmurs, brushing them from his lashes.
“I’ve never seen snow,” Hannah says, lifting her head from Buck’s chest to look up, trembling fingers reaching out to catch a snowflake.
“Snow is my favorite thing about winter,” Buck slurs — the alarm bells are screaming in his head. “Or, it was.”
“I’m c — cold.” Hannah shivers as she buries herself back into Buck’s chest.
“Yeah,” Buck blinks, syrup slow and heavy, “me too.”
His bad leg jerks a little, a searing pain in his ankle startling him awake. He presses his lips together as he forces himself to stand. It’s painful and slow, especially with Hannah's extra weight in his already exhausted arms, but he grits through it and swallows down an agonizing scream. He feels a bit unsteady, but he puts one foot in front of the other, following along the bank of the river heading back upstream. The snow is still falling, lazy and quiet, barely dusting the ground before it melts into the grass. The ache in his leg is almost grounding. A reminder that he’s still alive. That he’s still fighting. Buck bites down on his lip to stop the gutted noise from barrelling through, the taste of blood sharp.
“Hannah,” he manages, stumbling forward, his bad leg nearly giving out, “did you know the record snowfall for Los Angeles is just two inches?” He watches his breath, like a thin layer of fog fan out over her dark hair. “All the way back in 1932.”
“That’s not a lot, is it?” Hannah’s voice is muffled into his neck and she clings tighter, shivering against him.
“No,” Buck puffs out a laugh that hurts, “it’s not.”
The ground is starting to slope upwards, the incline becoming increasingly sharper. Buck lets some of his weight fall against a tree, his shoulder thudding against the bark. He’s not sure how far down the river they were carried and the team is probably sweeping the banks carefully to make sure they’re not missed. He lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, his head beginning to pound as the ache radiates from his calf all the way to the top of his knee. He knows that if he has to, he'll crawl his way back to the 118, but he’s just so tired, maybe with a little rest…
“B — Buck!” Hannah calls, slipping from his laxed grasp.
Buck startles awake, catching Hannah in time. “Sorry,” he mumbles — slurs again — “sorry, let’s keep going.”
But he doesn’t move forward. His legs are shaking just not from the cold. He knows that’s definitely not good and he tries to take a few, deep breaths to steady himself, but each inhale is sharp and the cold air almost makes it hard to breathe. Against everything he takes a step, and then another, and then another. He knows his leg is going to give out before his foot hits the ground and he braces himself as he slips, his knee taking most of the impact. He can’t stop the grunt of pain practically punched out of him. He squeezes his eyes tight, fighting the flood of tears.
“Buck!”
He nearly sobs in relief.
“Here.” He says, his voice quiet and rough. The sound of his name is growing louder, lights from flashlights spilling over the ground right in front of them. “I’m here!” He says, louder, throat a little rub raw by the shout.
“Buck.”
It’s his name, whispered soft and concerned, that finally cuts the rest of the strings. He starts to collapse forward, but there are several pairs of hands there to catch him. He lets them take Hannah and he sighs heavily, almost contently when he feels something warm wrap around his shoulders. He doesn’t have to look to know the turnout draped over him says Diaz on the back. There are hands cupping his face, calloused and blistering hot compared to how cold he feels. Buck smiles just a little as he peeks an eye open.
“There you are,” Eddie breathes, but there’s still something tight and twisted, like fear or something worse in the lines of his face as he tries to smile, “keep those eyes open, okay?”
“Okay,” Buck mumbles as he melts into Eddie’s touch.
“Not the best night to go for a swim, eh Buckaroo?” Chimney teases, voice wavering just enough to show his concern.
“It’s snowing.” Buck says, leaning all his weight into Eddie as Chimney quickly examines him.
“For all of four seconds,” Chimney laughs as he squeezes Buck’s shoulder.
Buck faintly hears Chimney muttering something about hypothermia to Hen, the latter leaning back from where she’s looking over Hannah.
“R—record snowfall was in 1932,” he hears Hannah say through chattering teeth. “Two whole inches.”
“That,” Bobby says fondly, looking up from Hannah over to where Buck is being bundled up by Eddie, “sounds like something Buck would know.”
Hannah just nods her head and she manages a small smile that makes something warm flutter in his chest. It’d be so easy, Buck thinks, to fall asleep right now. The pain in his leg feels so far away, like the rest of the ache in his body, and his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool. He’s vaguely aware that Eddie and Chimney are trying to help him stand, but he’s pretty sure that he couldn’t support his own weight even if he tried right now.
“Come on Buck,” Eddie says, close to his ear, “no sleeping yet.”
“Mmnot sleeping,” he murmurs.
When he blinks his eyes stay closed for too long and he feels Eddie’s hand against his cheek again, thumb brushing gently just beneath his eye, “No doing that.”
“Eds,” Buck huffs, forcing himself to look at his best friend, “I’m tired.”
“I know,” Eddie says, his voice a little strangled as he pulls his turnout tighter around Buck, “got anymore snow facts?”
Buck’s lips curve up in the corner, the flashing red and white lights of the ambulance casting Eddie’s face in a beautiful, bright glow. He doesn’t remember them putting him on a gurney, but it is much warmer now and Eddie doesn’t look nearly as terrified as he did earlier, which soothes some of Buck’s frayed nerves.
“In 1987,” Buck says and he takes it as a victory when he catches Eddie fighting off a grin, “El Paso had a record of thirty-seven point two inches of cumulative snowfall.”
“Why do you know that?” Chimney asks as he tucks another blanket around Buck.
“I like the snow,” Buck hums, “it’s mine and Maddie’s favorite part about winter.” His eyes feel so, so heavy and he feels consciousness slowly slipping from him even as Eddie slides his hand beneath all the layers, rubbing at Buck’s chest to keep him awake. “Daniel’s too,” he says before can stop himself.
“I’m going to roast under there tonight, aren’t I?” Eddie asks with an amused grin, hands on his hips as he looks down at the mass amount of blankets sprawled over the bed.
“Who says I’m going to share?” Buck yawns, looking up at Eddie with bleary eyes.
After a few hours in the hospital, a shower, a heating pad, hoodie, sweatpants, socks, and some hot coffee he managed to convince Hen to get him from that place they all like across from the hospital, Buck finally can feel some of the chill ebbing away. Now he's exhausted and his bad leg aches terribly, but Eddie’s bed is comfortable. Eddie just raises a challenging eyebrow and Buck rolls his eyes, throwing open the covers as an invitation. They have a few hours before Christopher is home so the house is dark and quiet, the curtains pulled shut after their long shift. Eddie smiles softly, carefully climbing in next to Buck. They both roll so they’re facing each other and Buck scrunches his nose, ignoring the shot of sharp pain in his calf.
“You okay?” Eddie murmurs, his hand settling on Buck’s hip.
“Cold and crush injuries don’t really go well together.” Buck jokes, his skin searing where the pad of Eddie’s thumb has slipped beneath the hem of his hoodie.
“Buck,” Eddie’s voice quivers and Buck reaches out, his hand cupping Eddie’s cheek, reminding the man that he’s still here — warm, safe, and alive. “When you fell into that water I thought—”
“I know,” Buck nods his head, “I’m sorry.”
Eddie’s eyes sweep over him for a moment, like he’s trying to commit Buck to memory before he leans forward, gently pressing their lips together. Buck smiles into the kiss. Eddie tastes like black coffee and the cinnamon sugar donuts they ate on the way home. Before Buck can deepen the kiss Eddie pulls back, his gaze a little stern that causes Buck to blush a little sheepishly.
“Don’t do it again.” Eddie nearly growls and the heat Buck feels at this moment pools in his gut pleasantly.
“No promises,” Buck grins, as he leans back in, capturing Eddie’s lips in a deep, sweet kiss.
Kissing Eddie, Buck thinks, tastes a little bit like the first snow of winter.