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Over the course of his time at the 118, Buck had told a good handful of stories about his travels around the United States after leaving Pennsylvania. Thanks to Maddie accidentally leaving out the postcards and letters he’d sent to her during said travels, the rest of the 118 was quickly in the know of what he’d been up to. (His complaints that he really didn’t want to talk about it were, as per usual, swept under the rug.)
Because of those stories and the ones he’d shared, a few people had come up with a rough timeline of his whereabouts during those years. He didn’t exactly know why people cared enough to figure out how long he was in Montana or how many weeks he was in training for the SEALs (conveniently ignoring his year in the Navy before being discharged from active duty into the reserves, where he still was today). He did however enjoy listening to everyone get stuck at a certain six month period when he stopped writing to Maddie, after leaving the Navy but before Peru. He’d never given her an explanation for good reason. Listening to his coworkers wildly speculate was fun.
He just wasn’t going to confirm anything.
Buck finally told Eddie one night, the same night the man was cleared to drink again after being released from his painkillers. They were both on the other side of tipsy, not dangerously so, but clearly enjoying the night, especially since Christopher was at a sleepover at the Grant-Nash household with Harry and Denny.
Neither one knew who turned the conversation to their military service. It just went that way, even though they normally just acknowledge that they served (Eddie more publicly than Buck) and went about their days. But somehow the subject went that way.
“You know, I never did tell you why I got discharged from the Navy,” Buck said, hand holding his beer bottle like it was his only lifeline.
Eddie gave him a glance over the rim of his own bottle, silently telling him to continue. When he didn’t, he just sighed and took the bait. “And why did you get discharged? The whole SEALs attempt?”
“That was a part of it, but it was because of what came before that. Hard to be a SEAL when you still have nightmares about being held hostage.” Buck leaned back against Eddie’s couch, looking at the ceiling.
The painted white plaster looked so different from the cave he spent four weeks trapped in. He’d been on leave for a few days, taking some time to decide if he had truly wanted to push for the SEALs or just serve out his commitment and then head to college on the GI Bill. He’d been jumped and dragged out into the desert of some place he still didn’t know where. For a month, he sat alone in a cell, listening to his captors talk about him in a myriad of languages that he didn’t recognize beyond the fact that there were several, waiting for either an opportunity to escape or rescue.
He ended up being rescued exactly four weeks later, after his captors banded together to take out an American helicopter and he was left behind. He was left with mental scars and malnutrition and a drive to make sure that it didn’t happen to anyone else again.
Eddie gave him an incredulous look. “There is no way-”
“One of the men that your team killed was carrying a picture of Maddie and I. They retraced their movements and found me. Thanks to you, I’m alive, Eds.”
Buck barely set down his beer bottle in time to not wear it when he was practically tackled into a grueling hug from Eddie, before the man let go, clenching his shoulder and wincing in pain.
“Next time, leave the hugging to me, idiot. At least until you’re cleared.”
“Shut up, Evan.”