Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Later, Buck will think the first clue to the dogshit day he was about to have was the weather. It was a clear, summer day without a single cloud in the sky. Which, in truth, wasn’t so bad. His only issue was that without the clouds, there was nothing to offer even the briefest respite from the sun boring down from overhead. Which is where Buck currently found himself: sweating his balls off in sweltering summer heat for two and a half hours with no end in sight.

“Bank robbery...” Eddie trailed, absentmindedly handing over a discarded pamphlet so Buck could take a turn fanning himself, “people still do those?”

The droves of cops, paramedics, and news crews currently on standby more than answered that question. “They definitely try,” Buck replied, passing the pamphlet back after he’d had his fill. Leaning against the ambulance, he watched from a distance as the negotiator and Athena engaged with the robbers over the phone, listening to their demands. Demands that had so far included: one pizza, three burgers, and two bottles of ‘tropical mango’ Vitaminwater...

Everyone was feeling a little restless, to say the least.

Wiping his sweat drenched brow for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes, Buck exhaled a deep sigh, “Any bets on how long you think this is gonna end up taking?”

“Hm...” Eddie hummed, giving the question some real consideration before answering, “four hours. Tops.”

And Buck couldn’t help but laugh, “Optimistic—I like it! I’m going seven.”

“Put me down for nine,” Chim said, announcing both his presence and wager with an expression that bordered on smug, “and you might as well start forking over your cash now, gentlemen.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie said as he cocked a curious brow, “You know something we don’t?”

“Lots of things. Things pertaining to our little hostage situation, however...” Chim chuckled, hands held out to placate as the two men bristled. Then, expression hardening, “Pretty sure we’re in amateur hour right now. Turns out—the three dudes who stormed the bank entrance with nothing but two pistols and a couple of duffle bags? Complete doofuses.”

“No...” Eddie sardonically drawled, “really?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, frowning as he nodded over to the group huddled in intense conversation, “and Athena’s pissed.”

Casting a glance at the woman in question, all Buck could do was silently confirm the claim. She hadn’t moved since last he saw her, still intently listening in on the negotiator’s attempt at brokering peace. Occasionally, Athena’s brow would pinch in disdain as whoever on the other end of the line presumably reached a new caliber of stupidity with their demands. But despite that, nothing about the woman screamed ‘angry.’ Not visibly, at least. ‘Exasperated’ was probably a better word for it.

The sound of someone sighing broke Buck clean from his thoughts, and he was greeted by none other than Hen. And he couldn’t help but shudder in relief at the small burst of air against his face when the woman turned her handheld fan on him, the quiet ‘brr’ of the foam blades filling the silence. With a frown that rivaled the police sergeant’s, she spoke, “She’s just worried that the lives of twenty people are in the hands of a couple of idiots. We all are. I don’t think they planned for the hostages.”

Brow furrowing, Buck asked, “The cops?”

“The robbers,” Hen corrected, “they weren’t prepared for someone tripping the silent alarm.”

And the admission only seemed to make a frustrating situation that much more annoying... Buck was finally starting to understand the scowl that’d been embedded in the sergeant’s face upon arrival. Bobby’s too.

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and he wasn’t sure if the heat simmering just beneath his skin was more from the anger or the midday sun, “if you’re robbing a bank, you should expect for someone to trip the silent alarm. That’s like ‘Bank Robbing 101.’”

Three heads turned to face him at once, all with varying degrees of amusement. And whatever had been on each of their minds in that moment, Eddie was the one to actually voice it: “And what would you know about bank robbing?”

And Buck didn’t appreciate his tone. “Nothing,” he grumbled, “it’s just common sense.”

“Mhm. And what would you know about that?”

Sputtering in indignation, Buck did his best to formulate a worthwhile response. Something snarky but not scathing. Sharp, but not cutting. But as he turned to the other man and was met with nothing but those expectant, brown eyes, he was forced to eventually settle on a weak, “... shut up.” All it earned him was three of his coworkers laughing at his expense. That, and a consoling pat on the back from Eddie that felt a little patronizing. But before Buck got a chance to tell them exactly how they felt about that with a very colorful choice of words...

“Heads up,” Hen interrupted, nodding in the direction of an oncoming presence, “Cap’s coming over.”

And sure enough, Bobby was walking their way, footsteps decisive and face like thunder. It made all of them stand a little bit straighter. “Negotiator thinks she’s made some headway,” he announced upon his approach, “it sounds like they might be ready to conduct an exchange soon—be ready.” Though, the man didn’t appear all that relieved by the development. He just looked worried.

It had Buck and Eddie sharing a look. Curious but mostly concerned, the former of which asked, “Anything specific we should be ready for?”

Bobby’s reply was quick but decisive, “We won’t know for sure until we get to take a good look at whoever’s released. Just be prepared for anything.”

“Wait,” Eddie was the next to speak, just as confused now as he was before, “we don’t know? They’ve been talking to them for hours. They really haven’t said anything about the state of the hostages?”

“No, they did,” came Bobby’s immediate reassurance, “and it sounds like besides a few bumps and bruises, no one’s been seriously injured. Hopefully it stays that way. I’m optimistic but these things can go sideways fast, and I’d prefer that we aren’t caught off-guard. Especially when we’re dealing with criminals that aren’t particularly...”

Hen offered, “Bright?”

“Prepared,” their captain sighed, “I was going to say prepared.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” she chuckled, “these guys sound like they’re dumb as rocks.”

“Unfortunately,” Bobby trailed, eyes landing on the police crowding around a call box, listening in and recording the exchange. And based on their expressions... “you might have a point.” At that, Hen and Bobby exchanged a look Buck didn’t quite understand.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he found himself asking before he could think better of it. And with all eyes on him, he was already rushing into his explanation, “The dumb ones are gonna be a hell of a lot easier to outsmart than the smart ones.”

“No. The dumb ones are unpredictable,” Bobby corrected, expression grim, “and they get people killed. So, like I said: be ready.” With those as his parting words, the man turned on his heel and made his way back to Athena and the negotiator.

But before he could get too far, Buck was already calling after him, “And the smart ones?”

Glancing over his shoulder without ever breaking stride, he smiled as he called back “They’re not robbing banks in the first place.”

Fair enough.

As Bobby retreated into the crowd, Buck vaguely noted the sounds of Hen and Chimney shuffling around to get the ambulance prepped and ready. And as he eyed the snipers lining the roofs of neighboring buildings, he felt something akin to dread settle deep in his stomach. It must’ve shown on his face, for soon enough, someone was nudging him on his shoulder and out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” Eddie hesitantly ventured, “you ok?”

‘Are you?’ Buck wanted to ask but stopped himself just in time. Because as he peered up at the LAPD snipers peering through their scopes as they aimed their rifles... it was hard not to make some unfortunate associations. Associations that would’ve felt far too unfair to burden the other with so soon after his recovery. “Yeah. Yeah... I’ve just got,” he paused, exhaling a frustrated breath as he collected his thoughts, “the worst feeling.”

Expression twinged with worry, Eddie opened his mouth to say something back, but he never got the chance. A sudden hush settled over the crowd as a couple officers signaled for silence—Buck and Eddie included. And as everyone in the near vicinity waited on bated breath for whatever they were picking up on the other end of the line, Buck never felt that dread leave him. Then, for everyone to hear, someone finally announced:

“They want takeout. Chinese.”

A wave of exhausted groans rippled through the crowd as everyone resumed what they’d been working on. Unfortunately for most of them, it was just waiting for something to happen. Head thunk-ing against the side of the ambulance, Buck was dismayed to find himself amongst those numbers.

“Do you think someone’s food being used in a hostage exchange is good or bad for business?” Eddie mused, resting his head against the vehicle alongside the other.

But Buck didn’t have the mental fortitude to put any real thought into it. Instead, he muttered something quick and vague about how he was pretty sure ‘all publicity is good publicity’ and left it at that.

All it seemed to do was garner even more of Eddie’s attention, “Heat getting to you?”

“The waiting,” Buck clarified.

“Waiting’s good,” Eddie said, gesturing to the locked doors of the bank, “it means nothing in there is bad enough that it requires us. And I’ll take waiting over that any day.”

Shaking his head, Buck let out a rough sigh, “Yeah, I know, but maybe I’d have an easier time with all this waiting if I had a better idea on what we’re waiting for—”

A loud BANG accompanied by muffled screams of terror echoed from inside the bank, and every cop’s hand instinctively flew for their side arm. And as another stilted silence overtook the crowd, the only sounds to be heard were the subsiding panic within the building and the negotiator’s steady voice as she continued to ask her questions: What happened? Is anyone hurt? Who did you shoot? Alright... I understand. Keep applying pressure, but if we don’t get her treated soon, she’ll die, and I can’t help you if that happens.

Eventually—when the shock passed—everyone returned to their previous duties while accommodating any new ones. And for Buck personally, that just meant more waiting...

Or so he thought.

As the negotiator continued her conversation over the phone, her expression hardened. Turning to Athena, the two women engaged in brief but serious conversation, and soon enough, they were quickly gesturing someone else over: Bobby. And whatever the women were talking about, it seemed to not only involve the man but his team as well—assuming the frequent, frantic looks they’ve been receiving meant anything. That theory was only further confirmed as they watched their captain give his wife an affirming nod before rushing back to his crew.

Bobby hadn’t even brought himself to a complete stop before he was already shouting orders, “Shots fired with one wounded. Victim is female with a bullet wound to the abdomen. Suspects have agreed to let a small team inside to stabilize and extract her—that means us. Chimney, Hen, and Buck—you’re with me. Eddie, you’re on standby.”

There was the briefest pinch in Eddie’s brow that made it seem like he’d object, but it was gone as soon as it’d arrived. Giving a careful nod, his voice was level as he spoke, “Understood.”

The rush of relief Buck felt was undeniable, so much so that he didn’t really think about where that left him in this situation. It wasn’t until he was being fitted for a Kevlar vest that the reality set in: Eddie might be out of the line of fire, but Buck wasn’t. And yet... he couldn’t bring himself to care that much. Because every time he tried, all he could think about was Eddie on the pavement with a bullet in him. The panic, and the fear, and the blood—so much blood. Eddie’s blood. Exploding from his shoulder, pooling beneath him, matting his hair... Buck remembered it all, and he always would.

With his vest secured and the rest of the team ready to move, Buck pushed those feelings deep down inside and buried them under a heaping layer of topsoil. But before he could depart with the rest, the hand clasping him on the shoulder gave him pause.

“You ready for this?” Eddie asked, face serious; he almost sounded concerned.

“Yeah,” was his immediate, instinctual reply. He didn’t give it any thought. He didn’t have to. “Are you?”

Something flashed in the other’s expression, but it was quickly replaced with an easy smile and a firm nod. “Yeah, just...” he began, smile wavering for the briefest moment, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Glancing down at where Eddie still had his hand on his shoulder, Buck suddenly felt a little too big for his skin. Returning the gesture, he wasn’t sure why his smile felt so forced, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Releasing their holds on each other, neither man lingered. They just didn’t have the time.

Buck got maybe five steps toward the bank and away from Eddie before Bobby caught his attention. Brow raised, the man shot him a look that begged the question: ‘You sure you got this?’ And it gave him the distinct feeling that if the answer had been ‘no’... it’d have been ok. There wouldn’t be any judgment, or frustration, or even the faintest hint of disappointment. No. Not from Bobby. Buck on the other hand...

He wasn’t the one that got shot. He didn’t get to be the one that hesitated.

“I’m good,” Buck muttered as he passed, only loud enough for the other man to hear.

Bobby didn’t look all that convinced, but regardless, he didn’t press it. Turning his undivided attention back to the task at hand, he continued his debriefing as they walked, “Remember: in and out. Assuming we’re able to stabilize her, we load her up onto the gurney and we leave. No sudden movements, and absolutely no heroics.”

Buck didn’t miss the pointed glance the man gave him, nor did he miss the ones he got from both Hen and Chimney. And although his first instinct was to prickle at the unspoken—though, extremely warranted—accusation, he forced himself to let go of that knee-jerk defensiveness. Instead, giving a serious nod, he solemnly held his pinky out to swear on it.

Eyeing the finger, Bobby exhaled a weary sigh and ignored him as they approached the edge of the perimeter. With the barricades parted and the police nearby, the group waited for the ‘ok’ to move.

In the end, it came from Athena. With the negotiator informing the bank’s inhabitants of the team on standby, the sergeant gave them the rundown, “You’re being allowed inside because the suspects have been reassured that you’re going in for an extraction and only an extraction. Just the one.”

Again... Buck was receiving a look that was not at all subtle. It made him wonder if he should go in for the pinky swear again, though—for some reason—he didn’t see that going over well.

Huffing an amused chuckle, Bobby gave his wife a reassuring nod, “We’ve already talked about it.”

“Good,” she said, giving them all a final once-over before directing them through the barricades, “and good luck.”

Even with his vest secured, Buck never felt his dread leave him. If anything, it only grew. Because as it would turn out: there was just something about walking into a hostage situation with an unspecified amount of sniper rifles pointed at you that really made one consider their own mortality.

The gathered crowd fell mostly silent as Bobby gave the bank’s door a firm knock. “LAFD,” he announced, “open up.”

There was a long pause where nothing happened, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing would. Then came the muffled shuffling behind the closed door; it was hesitant—nervous almost—and it was the only indication they got before the door slowly creaked open, a woman with tear streaked cheeks standing just behind it. She looked terrified, and flustered, and not at all like someone currently in the process of robbing a bank.

“They said they were sending paramedics,” a man stammered from behind her, using the woman as a shield as he pressed the barrel of his gun to her spine, “why do you look like cops?” He sounded more scared than anything else.

“It’s just our uniforms,” Bobby reassured, calm and careful as he turned to show the man the patch on his sleeve, “see?”

Taking a moment to assess its legitimacy, the man looked more or less appeased despite his blatant fear. Ushering them inside, they entered one by one, getting a frantic pat down by the woman as she was held at gunpoint.

Trauma bag in hand as he flanked the gurney, Buck’s did his best to appear inconspicuous as he took stock of their surroundings. Not for any aforementioned heroics—honest—he was simply curious by nature. Every blind of every window had been pulled tightly shut, a couple of side doors had been haphazardly barricaded, and there’d been no sign of the hostages... yet.

Eventually, they were guided into a room in one of the more central parts of the banks—away from any windows and potential exits. Upon entry, the first thing that caught his attention was the group of people crowded in the far corner. There were around twenty of them and all their hands were zip tied, looking just as terrified as the woman they’d met at the door. Another man lingered nearby, expression stoic and unreadable as his eyes drifted from the hostages to the new arrivals before finally settling on the woman bleeding out from the bullet in her stomach. He didn’t have a gun like the others, but his hands were stained red with blood.

Their team didn’t waste any time.

“Ma’am, can you hear me? I’m Captain Nash of the 118, and we’re going to do everything we can to help you,” he said as he kneeled down next to her, taking her hand as he leaned into her line of vision, “can you tell me your name?”

“J-J-” the woman stammered, efforts tapering off in a wet, bloody cough as she resigned herself to letting Buck cut the binding from her wrists. Throat bobbing as she swallowed her bile, she eventually gritted out, “Jocelyn.”

There was a discarded jacket bunched up at her stomach.  Soaked through with blood, it looked like someone had attempted to slow the bleeding.

“BP is 90 over 60—looks like she’s experiencing some hypotension,” Hen announced as she fitted the woman for an IV as Chimney held the bag of saline, “running a line.”

Grabbing some dressings from the trauma bag, Buck waited for the ok to start applying pressure. Once he got it from Hen, he didn’t hesitate. Laying them over the soaked fabric of the jacket, he pressed down.

The woman grimaced beneath his touch, sucking in a sharp breath before choking out, “Back... hurts.”

Handing the IV bag off to Hen, Chimney immediately knelt down while beckoning Bobby over. Giving the woman a moment to brace herself, they briefly maneuvered her onto her side to get a good look beneath her.

“Exit wound. Bullet passed clean through,” Chimney observed, already in the process of dressing both wounds, “it doesn’t look like it came anywhere close to the spine. You, ma’am, are one very lucky lady.”

“D-don’t feel lucky,” she huffed, and it might’ve been a laugh under drastically different circumstances, “feels l-like I was shot... b-by a jackass.”

Four pairs of eyes drifted to the two men presiding over the bank robbery in silent accusation.

Jocelyn just shook her head, the movement looking painful before she gritted out, “Other jackass.”

A voice came from one of the adjoining rooms. It was angry, and muffled by the walls, and very much sounded like it was yelling at someone, “... I don’t give a shit! You’re already getting one because this fucking brat...”

No one acknowledged it other than a few sideways glances and the occasional roll of the eyes. But to be perfectly fair: they all currently had more pressing issues than a two-bit bank robber throwing a temper tantrum one room over. Well... assuming he was done shooting people, that is.

“Buck,” Bobby commanded, beckoning him close, “help me get her on the gurney.”

With their combined efforts, it didn’t take much to get Jocelyn situated and somewhat comfortable. But as soon as Buck finished strapping her in, he felt a bloodied hand encircle his wrist like a vice.

“Where’s...” she wheezed, a trembling in her voice and a terror in her eyes, “w-where’s Sarah?”

Keeping a gentle but firm hand on her to keep her from suddenly sitting up, Buck curiously ventured, “Sarah?”

The woman’s mouth fell open, ready to respond, but she never got the chance.

A pained yelp came from the other room, and in a burst of movement, the door was flung open and something small and fast came barreling through, screaming, “Mommy!”

Oh... no.

Mousy brown hair streaming behind her as she ran, she couldn’t have been older than nine. Eyes frantically darting around the room in search of her mom, she didn’t seem to ever find her. Not before one of the bank robbers made a move to apprehend her, and not with the 118 blocking her view. So, in the end, she settled for the next best thing:

Buck grunted from the impact of the girl colliding with his stomach. And as tiny hands grappled for anything she could use for purchase, he felt his own instinctually wrap around her. Shielding her. Protecting her.

And not without reason.

Someone else came stumbling through the open door, far larger and angrier than the last. “Where is she?” he practically roared, pistol in one hand as he cradled a very sensitive area with the other, “Where the fuck is she?” And as his eyes finally landed on the ‘she’ in question, they narrowed. Roughly jerking his head, he gestured for his associates to handle it; based on the way the two rushed to oblige, it looked like he was the one heading their little operation.

Sarah released a blood curdling scream as the man from the front door attempted to extract her hands from the fabric of Buck’s uniform, kicking her feet out behind her to fend off her attacker. And honestly? She was doing a damn good job, even if she did clip Buck’s shins once or twice with her light-up sneakers.

Frustrated as his patience wore thin, the apparent ring-leader decided to take matters into his own hands. Raising his pistol, he aimed it directly at the little body clinging to Buck’s front.

The room erupted in shouts and screams.

“H-hey—hey,” Buck yelled, positioning himself in front of her, “she’s just a kid, man!”

“Everyone just calm down,” Bobby tried, hands held out to placate as he put himself between Buck, Sarah, and the gun, “we don’t need anyone else getting shot today.”

But the man didn’t relent. Still aiming his gun—at Bobby’s head instead of the literal nine year old—he sneered, “Tell that to her.”

But before Bobby could put the best of his de-escalation tactics to use, a weak cough cut him off mid effort. Jocelyn wheezed, wincing from her wound as she weakly croaked out a desperate and confused, “... Sarah?”

Just hearing her mother’s voice sent a jolt through her. Unlatching herself from Buck, she grabbed onto the rails of the gurney and attempted to scramble onto it. The only reason she didn’t succeed is because Hen intercepted her, whispering soothing words as the girl wailed and thrashed, shedding a couple tears of her own.

Buck stepped in, taking the girl from Hen so the woman could turn her attention back to her ailing mother.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Chimney spoke, tone urgent, “we need to get her to the hospital.”

“Please! Please, I wanna go with you—let me go with you!” the girl shrieked in anguish, still grabbing for her mother as Buck held her back; it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

And he wasn’t the only one. “Just,” Bobby began, staring down the barrel of the pistol as he addressed the man on the other end, “let us take the girl with her mother—”

“Fuck no, that wasn’t the deal,” he sneered, wildly gesturing to the woman on the gurney with his pistol, finger still on the trigger, “take the bitch, but her brat stays.” The lack of gun safety coupled with the calculated cruelty had everyone that much more on edge.

Expression pained but resolute... Bobby had exhausted all his options. “We have to move her,” he said to his team, face solemn as the conditions to that extraction remained unspoken but clear.

The injured woman gasped, eyes welling up in tears as the realization hit her, “No—”

“You won’t be able to do anything for your daughter if you bleed out,” taking her hand in his, Bobby gave it a comforting squeeze as he choked out, “I’m sorry.”

Buck was forced to his knees as Sarah thrashed and sobbed, trying his best not to drop her. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t steady the trembling in his hands or the shuddering of each breath. Because it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fucking fair.

Chimney remained completely silent as he worked on her mother to keep her from bleeding out, shoulders tense and expression forcibly impassive to hide his anguish. Did it make him think of Jee? Of Maddie? A part of Buck thinks it’d be impossible not to.

“Hey, sweetie? We have to take your mom outside so we can help her feel better,” Hen gently reassured the girl, kneeling down to her level, “I know it’s scary, but you have to try and be brave for her. Do you think you can do that?”

Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she shook her head, snot bubbling from her nose. Another ragged cry tore its way from her throat as she turned away from the woman, burying her head in Buck’s shoulder and wiping her nose on the fabric of his shirt.

And the man couldn’t exactly bring himself to mind, because with every muffled sniffle and choked sob, he felt himself drifting somewhere miles away. Somewhere bright and sterile, smelling of antiseptic and soap. Buck remembered the weak beeping of the heart monitor and the fear that gripped his chest at the idea that he’d be in the room if it flatlined. Or worse—that he wouldn’t. He remembered what it’d felt like to be the one to break the news to Christopher, that his dad wasn’t coming home that night or maybe ever. He remembered crying with a soothing hand against his back, and a small voice telling him that everything would be ok. Because even though Chris hadn’t had his father, he had him. He had Buck.

Who did Sarah have?

“Go,” Buck murmured, wrapping his arms around the kid as he pulled her close, “I got her.”

Stricken by the demand, Hen’s hesitation was palpable as the realization dawned on her, “Buck...”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, interrupting any argument before it could be made. Then, looking up at Bobby with a lopsided grin, “bet you’re regretting not taking me up on that pinky promise, huh?”

The look that flashed across the man’s face was indecipherable, and Buck thinks he preferred it that way. At the very least, it was better than anger. Or worse: tired resignation. Expression hardening as he weighed his options, Bobby quickly came to realize that this was it. This was all they had. So, with a stiff upper lip that was betrayed by the agony in his eyes, “We’ll talk about this later.”

Oh, Buck didn’t doubt that. Though, the amount of talking that actually got done remained to be seen. Sure, there was a really good chance that the conversation went the same way as all the rest: words spoken in that ‘not angry, just disappointed’ tone of his, eventually punctuated by a long pause that really forced the other to sit with what he’d done. Or maybe he’d just passive-aggressively chop vegetables in Buck’s general direction as the young man lingered awkwardly outside the kitchen... again.

For a moment, it looked like Hen and Chimney might argue, but as Jocelyn let out another wet cough, they knew they no longer had the time.

“Don’t do anything dumb,” Hen sighed, already wheeling the woman away under the supervision of one of the robbers, “or just... nothing dumber than usual. Please?”

“And for the record,” Chimney announced, helping steer the gurney, “I will not be the one telling your sister about this!” There was an inflection in his voice that betrayed the panic he tried to hide.

Dumbfounded by the development the group hadn’t even bothered to consult him on, the gunman’s face turned red as he stammered, “Hey, we never agreed to—”

“Think of it as balancing the scales. We get the nice lady you shot, and you get one of our own,” Bobby said, gesturing over to Buck, “and you better take good care of him.”

There was a threat latent in those words, and it only seemed to amuse the other man. Snorting, he couldn’t stop himself from goading, “Or what?”

Bobby stared for a moment, studying the man with careful calculation. Then, words taking an edge, “Or my wife will kill you.”

The man seemed to falter at that, sensing the truth in those words.

Announcing his impending exit through the radio strapped to his vest, Bobby turned to leave, but not without giving Buck one final nod before being escorted out. And there was so much it could’ve meant. ‘You got this,’ or maybe, ‘See you soon.’ Or—perhaps a bit morbidly—'Don’t die.’ But whatever the meaning, Buck intended to honor it.

With Sarah’s sobs turning into nothing more than quiet whimpers, the ‘leader’ of the operation grumbled something under his breath as stomped back into the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him. And as the tiny body in his arm startled at the sudden noise, all Buck could do was glare at the remaining criminal as he stalked closer, zip ties in hand...

The man had enough shame to look a little apologetic.

Huffing a quiet sigh, Buck gave the girl a comforting pat on the back before presenting his wrists.

“Where the hell is Buck?”

Those had been the first words out of Eddie’s mouth as he watched the group wheel out the loaded gurney with a noticeable absence. And immediately, he was already in denial, thinking that this was surely some sort of joke. Surely Buck was just taking his time for some reason, and he’d be out in a second. But as seconds turned into minutes as their team wheeled the injured woman past the police barricade and into the ambulance... he realized that this was it. Buck wasn’t coming, and he had a job to do in spite of that.

Hen and Chim couldn’t bring themselves to look at him, expressions grim as they loaded the woman into the back of the vehicle. If they had something to say, Eddie didn’t wait around to hear it. No. Because as soon as he peered across the pavement, spotting Bobby engaged in fervent discussion with Athena, his feet were already moving on their own accord; his demands for answers ready to spring from his tongue.

Sirens blared as gravel crunched beneath tires, the ambulance peeling out into the street behind him. But Eddie paid it no mind. Because as soon as he neared, Bobby’s words slowly coming into earshot, nothing else mattered:

“Buck’s a hostage now.”

And it was like a punch to the gut. Hell—Eddie thinks he would’ve preferred an actual punch to the gut. At least then, he’d have an excuse for when his legs finally decided to give out from under him, collapsing beneath the weight of it all. Thankfully, it never came to that, the hand gently but firmly taking him by the shoulder steadying him.

Face flooded with concern, Athena said something that he couldn’t hear past the blood rushing in his ears. Eyes drifting past the woman to her husband, every question and inquiry Eddie might’ve had died on his tongue. Because as Bobby stared back with a pained expression that somehow managed to tell him everything and nothing all at once... Eddie could do little else than stare back at him with a look that demanded what happened? What the fuck happened?

“Eddie,” Athena said, words finally cutting through the suffocating haze choking out any rational thought, “breath.”

Despite the panic gripping his chest, he willed himself to comply. Sucking in a sharp breath, it wasn’t until his lungs had fully expanded and deflated a couple times over that he could finally ask, “What happened?”

And Bobby didn’t keep him waiting: “There was a kid. They didn’t let us take her with her mom, so Buck stayed behind to keep an eye on her.”

The way he said it made it sound so simple. And maybe it was—this was Buck they were talking about, after all. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating. No less terrifying either. All it really seemed to accomplish was reaffirming a familiar fear that’d been festering beneath his skin for months. Because looking back on that day in the hospital... Eddie had been selfish. Because while he’d made that alteration to his will for Christopher’s sake, his motivations for telling the other man had been for his own. Because he thought it’d make him more careful. He thought it’d make him take less risks. Because unlike what many had assumed, Buck didn’t think he was invincible.

He thought he was expendable.

Eddie didn’t consider himself a particularly violent person, but he’d gladly wring the neck of whoever first planted that rotten seed. The one in Buck’s mind telling him that he was someone who was always meant to be alone. Meant to be discarded, left behind, and ultimately forgotten.

Phillip and Margaret Buckley. That’s who Eddie chose to cast the first stone at. Because those two had managed to create one of the kindest, most caring individuals he’d ever met in his life, and it had had nothing to do with either of them. If anything, it’d been in spite of them and the years of emotional neglect they’d subjected their child to. And Buck had forgiven them for it. For all of it. Because of course he had. Just like he’d forgiven all the friends who hadn’t stuck around and the girlfriends who weren’t in it the way he’d been, leaving the relationship to fizzle out from either distance, or time, or... whatever reason it hadn’t worked out between Taylor and him.

And maybe Eddie was to blame too; he’d never exactly been the emotional type. He wasn’t Bobby or Athena or Maddie. He wasn’t the kind of person you came to for advice or to simply talk about what was really eating away at you. But he was trying to be. God—he was trying. But clearly he hadn’t been trying hard enough because his best friend still saw himself as something expendable. Because this was a hurt that ran deeper than fresh ink on a legal document could reach...

And Eddie hadn’t even come close.

“Everyone’s doing everything they can to resolve this quickly and peacefully,” Bobby said, startling Eddie from his downward spiral. Face softening as his voice took a soothing tone, “We’ll get him back.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, Eddie forced himself to believe that. Because Bobby wasn’t a liar, and he’d like to think the man wouldn’t taint that by lying about something as important as this. Something as important as Buck. “Let me know if there’s anything you need from me,” he muttered, feeling distinctly useless in that moment, “I’m gonna wait over there until Hen and Chim get back.” Because at that point, there was nothing left to be done.

Both Bobby and Athena eyed him carefully, mentally debating with themselves if Eddie should be alone right now. But ultimately, their practicality won, letting the man retreat to lick some old wounds that’d been unexpectedly retorn.

It was pathetic. Eddie felt pathetic.

But what was even more pathetic was the droves of news vans littering the street, like vultures circling overhead before the corpse even had time to cool. Seriously—there might’ve been more of them than actual first responders, and there were certainly more here now than there’d been ten minutes prior. Brow pinched in disdain, he made a pointed effort to not acknowledge any of the news crews as he walked by, even when one attempted to wave him over for comment. He never broke his stride as he approached a curb far enough away to not be bothered but still close enough to listen in on any new developments.

Unfortunately, his dedication to looking through people rather than at them had the added drawback of not spotting a familiar face. Not until it was too late. In the end... he heard her before he saw her:

“Eddie,” a woman called, and the shock of red hair in his periphery was the last warning he got. Shoes clicking against pavement, Taylor Kelly made a move for him at a speed that was—quite frankly—terrifying considering the height she got from those heels.

And Eddie made a very valid assumption about what she was after. So as she opened her mouth to speak, he was already cutting her off as he attempted to shrug past, “No comment.”

He didn’t get very far.

“I’m just here to talk, ok? Off the record,” Taylor said, stepping into his direct path to block his escape. There was a desperation there that he wasn’t used to. Not from her.

It was enough to give Eddie pause. Enough to make him hesitate. So, with an irritated huff, “About what?”

Based on her expression, the woman clearly didn’t appreciate the attitude. And in all honesty? Eddie would probably regret it later. Because Taylor was fine. Yes, she had occasionally rubbed him the wrong way (and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual), but that didn’t justify the shitty tone he’d taken. Even if she was one of the last people he felt like being ambushed by at that moment. Even if she’d broken up with Buck, inadvertently ruining the weekend he was supposed to spend with him and Christopher three weeks back. So, with a tired sigh, he did his best to appear apologetic.

At the very least, Taylor seemed satisfied by the attempt. “I heard about the situation here a couple hours back. Wasn’t originally planning on driving out this way—there’s more than enough people reporting on it already, and it’s not like it’s the only thing going on today. But then we got word on which firehouses were responding to the scene, and then there was talk about a firefighter that went in and hadn’t come back out...” she trailed, looking uncharacteristically nervous by what was left unspoken. Like she genuinely, earnestly cared, and that simple fact alone was enough to terrify her.

Eddie couldn’t blame her. Buck tended to have that effect on people. Tended to just burrow into your chest and make his home there.

“It’s him,” she sighed, searching the other’s face for the faintest hint of confirmation, “isn’t it?”

Scoffing, Eddie tried his best to sound unantagonizing—he really did: “Do you even need to ask?”

Unwavering, Taylor barely even blinked, “Well, seeing as everyone here’s been weirdly vague with the details... yeah. I do, actually. No one reporting seems to have gotten their name either.”

And... huh. Eddie hadn’t actually been aware of that. And although he felt the need to apologize again, he knew the woman would probably appreciate a straight answer opposed to any version of ‘sorry’ he could offer. “Yeah,” he finally said, not even meaning for it to sound so defeated, “it’s him.” Because of course it was.

The woman was quiet for a long while, expression unreadable as everything she’d feared had been confirmed. Eyes closed as she sucked in a deep, calming breath, she muttered to herself, “Goddammit, Buck...”

Goddammit indeed. Though, Eddie still couldn’t deny his doubts regarding the woman’s intentions. Because she’d broken up with him. She’d had him moping around his loft on his last couple of days-off because he’d liked her more than she’d ever liked him. And a part of Eddie thinks that’s why he’d been so compelled to break things off with Ana around that same time: he’d seen firsthand the kind of damage that could do to a person, and she of all people didn’t deserve that from someone who knew better. Not when she’d been nothing but thoughtful and caring. Not when she’d been so kind...

Maybe that was it. Like Eddie, Taylor felt guilty for leading someone on. For breaking someone’s heart. For not being the kind of person they needed, and having to be the one to let them down easy for both their sakes. “If you’re here because you feel guilty about the break up—”

Expression souring, the woman was already cutting him off, “Why would I have anything to feel guilty about?”

And at that, any amount of goodwill Eddie had been able to fake until that point had immediately vanished. Pulling a face that matched the heat and intensity of Taylor’s own, he sneered, “Because he really seemed to think you were in it for the right reasons this time—and honestly— for a second there? So did I. So, sorry if I’m not exactly grateful it only took a month for you to be honest with him, because it still came a month too late.”

Stunned into silence, Taylor could do little else but stare as she mentally pieced something together. And as the cogs turned and the connections were made... she didn’t even look angry. She just looked tired. “I didn’t break up with him. He broke up with me.”

And it was like the world had stopped spinning on its axis. “Oh. That’s...” not what Eddie had been expecting. At all. Awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “He didn’t tell me.”

“Huh. Weird.”

Eyes narrowing, the man felt his hackles begin to raise, “Why’s that weird?”

“Because you’re one of three things he ever talks about? The other two are his job and your son,” she said like it was obvious. Maybe it should’ve been. “I guess I just assumed you’d have talked about this sort of thing by now.”

They had. But Eddie was starting to see that Buck had left out some critical information. Why? He had no fucking clue. “He didn’t give me all the details,” he admitted, doing his best not to shift under the woman’s withering glare. Because, now that he thought about it... Buck hadn’t technically told him Taylor had been the one to break up with him. He’d come to that conclusion all on his own.

“So,” she drawled, and it really shouldn’t have sounded as damning as it did, “you decided to make assumptions.”

Which was fair. Very fair. So fair, in fact, he didn’t even prickle at the judgmental tone. Honest. “Yeah. I guess I did,” he muttered, feeling sufficiently chastised, “sorry.”

Even then, his apology did very little to smooth the harsh lines etching themselves into her forehead. “You know,” she began, dissecting him with her eyes, “even if I had broken up with him, it still wouldn’t give you the right to be a dick about it.”

Not to her face, maybe. But was this 1984? Was Eddie no longer permitted to think to himself in passing, ‘wow—you fumbled, and you should feel so bad about yourself’ about any and all of Buck’s exes? Was George Orwell about to descend from the heavens and inform him ‘thought-crimes’ were a thing now too? “Right,” he eventually conceded after a long pause.

It was not convincing.

Taylor scoffed at the weak attempt to placate, because what kind of idiot did he take her for? “We wanted different things. He just figured it out a little sooner than I did.”

And Eddie was surprised to find just how unaffected she looked by the admission. There was none of that tired, withdrawn kind of dejection you’d expect from someone who’d just experienced a break up that hadn’t been on their terms...

So why had he seen it in Buck?

Swallowing hard around the lump building in his throat, Eddie willed himself to not think about it. Not now, at least. Not when Taylor was staring at him, expecting to have gotten some sort of reply by now. Was he supposed to offer his condolences? His support? He didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to give it to her if he did. So, with a sigh, “Listen. I know that we don’t like each other—”

“I wasn’t aware I thought about you enough to dislike you.”

Ignoring the jab, he pressed on, “But you clearly care about him in that weird way of yours. So, if I learn anything new and I have the time, I’ll let you know.”

And whatever the woman was anticipating, it wasn’t that. Regarding him with something akin to suspicion, Eddie got the distinct feeling he was being studied. Eyes narrowed in silent judgment, he could see it in her face the exact moment she came to whatever conclusion would gratify her the most. And knowing Taylor, she’d assume her conjecture was truth; a theory only confirmed by the self-satisfied smirk currently etching its way into her face, “Hm.”

Eddie didn’t particularly appreciate it, “Hm?”

“Hm...” still dissecting him, it was almost impressive how much she’d managed to make him squirm. “In another life, I think you and I could’ve been really good friends.”

There was a long pause where Eddie could physically feel himself losing his goddamn mind. Then, “Not this one though.”

“Not this one,” she confirmed, almost sounding amused. Almost. But as her eyes sharpened and her lips flattened, it was clear she wasn’t quite done saying her piece, “And I’ll be holding you to it. The updates, I mean.”

And in record timing, Eddie was already consumed with regret and dismay, “If I have the time—”

“You will,” she said, leaving no room for argument, “I’m persistent.”

Yeah. She was. Like a particularly evil goose... pecking him.

Shooting him an unbearably smug grin, Taylor did little else to announce her departure. No pitying look, or a lame pat on the back, or even some hollow words of encouragement. She simply turned on her heel and left without so much as another glance...

Eddie sort of respected it. But any relief he might’ve felt with his newly acquired solitude was immediately overshadowed by the crushing loneliness and all-consuming dread that followed. Because as he was forced to standby, able to do nothing but watch as the hostage situation progressed without him... he realized that Buck had been right.

Waiting was the worst part.

Before Buck had been restrained, he’d been stripped of his Kevlar vest, having to watch as it was walked into the adjoining room and handed off to the man inside. With his hands fastened as he sat separated from the rest of hostages, he could do little else than observe as the man placed the vest on himself before the door closed. And it was hard not to be a little irked by that. Like... you make a half-assed attempt at robbing a bank, endangering both the people inside as well as any first responders that were called to the scene, and you think you deserve that kind of protection? If nothing else, at least the man was consistent. Consistently horrible maybe, but consistent, nonetheless.

Legs stretched out across the office space’s gray, carpeted flooring, Buck leaned back against the wall with Sarah pressed into his side. One of the men had attempted to move her with the other hostages, but the girl had let out another deafening screech as she latched onto Buck, thwarting those efforts once more. And even though she’d stopped crying, he knew it had more to do with exhausting herself than reaching actual catharsis; the snot stain on his shoulder and dried blood caking his hands served as a grim reminder.

It'd taken maybe all of ten minutes for the other hostages to unionize and levy their first complaint. Because—apparently—none of the takeout the trio had ordered had been divvied up between the hungry mouths they’d been keeping captive. That’s when Buck added ‘low blood sugar’ to his mental list of oversights, right there along with ‘bathroom breaks’ and ‘pins and needles.’ But just before the prisoners could reach a level of rowdiness that seemingly no amount of verbal threats of violence could solve, one of the robbers had finally caved. Stalking off rather dejectedly, he returned with a box of chip bags and some bottled water that’d been in the employee break room.

“Is my mom gonna die?” a voice asked, small and frightened.

Feeling the source of the question curl further into his side, Buck’s expression softened. “She’s being taken care of by some of the smartest, most capable people I know,” he replied, words gentle and soothing, “she’s in really good hands.”

“But she got shot,” she whispered back, voice trembling as her lip quivered, “I thought people died when they got shot.”

“Not always,” he said in immediate reassurance. Then, before he could think better of it, “You know, I actually have a friend who got shot.”

Eyes widening, Sarah gasped, “Were you scared?”

“Oh, yeah. Probably the most I’d ever been in my life,” he answered, earnest and honest, “but the people in the hospital took really good care of him, and he got better. And your mom will too.”

She considered this carefully, quietly coming to her own conclusions. And whatever they ended up being, they seemed to satisfy. Looking up at Buck, she held out her pinky in wordless covenant.

And maybe he shouldn’t be making those types of promises to a nine year old, but he just couldn’t help it. With a small smile, he took her pinky in his, silently swearing on it. With their movements limited by the zip ties on their wrists, it made the gesture a little awkward. Which, in turn, let his mind wander to some other things he’d been wondering about... “You didn’t have anything on your wrists when we first got here. Are you ok telling me what that was about?”

Frowning as her face scrunched in child-like disdain, she muttered as she pointed to a nearby table, “I sawed it off on the corner. The plastic hurt.”

Humming his acknowledgement as he confirmed that yes, those metal tables certainly had some sharp looking edges, he asked, “Does it still hurt?”

“No. Not as tight,” she trailed, face looking miles aways as she seemed to recall a memory. “I ran. I shouldn’t have ran. Mom got hurt because I ran.”

And how could Buck’s heart not twist at that admission? “You didn’t do anything wrong, ok? Nobody should’ve made you feel like you needed to run in the first place,” he said, and he’d say it as many times as he needed for her to believe him. “Nobody should’ve made you feel unsafe.”

But just as it seemed like she was finally coming around to accepting that fact, one of the robbers strolled over with a bag of chips and two bottled waters, and any walls of hers he’d managed to dismantle were back up in an instant. Turning her back to the rest of the room, Sarah hugged her knees close to her chest as she pointedly ignored the new arrival, practically burrowing into Buck’s side.

“You’re pretty good with her,” the man said, and if he noticed the obvious snub at the hands of a child, he didn’t comment on it. “You got a kid at home?” He was jittery, and just as nervous as he’d been when he greeted them at the entrance. And giving the sheer amount of police and S.W.A.T. waiting for him outside... Buck could understand why.

Not wanting to get on his jailor’s bad side, however, Buck immediately replied, “Uh, no,” then, he thought about it a little more, “well... sort of? It’s complicated.” Unfortunately, that only seemed to pique his interest. However, Buck realized his mistake a little too late, the man staring back with expectant eyes as he waited for him to elaborate; he must’ve wanted something else to focus on than his impending prison sentence (or bullet to the head) as soon as he stepped outdoors. So, with little choice left: “My friend has this thing in his will...”

Taking the bag of chips presented to him, Buck immediately opened them, passing them off to Sarah as he regaled the tale of the undefined yet undeniable co-parenting situation he’d found himself in. He told him about the custody arrangement with Chris, purposefully keeping the circumstances that made it necessary as vague as possible. He didn’t need him to know specifics, and he didn’t need to risk the chance of him identifying Eddie later.

Buck didn’t miss how the other bank robber lingered nearby, not at all subtle with his eavesdropping.

There was a long stretch of silence only filled by the occasional crunch as Sarah quietly nibbled on her chips, the criminal in front of him appearing pensive as he absorbed the story and came to his own conclusion...

“He baby-trapped you,” the man said with a misplaced confidence that was almost impressive, “that’s fucked up, man.”

Buck blinked. Then blinked again. Then, “Uh... no. No, that’s not—”

“Shut it, Benji, that’s not what happened,” the other robber scowled, no longer trying to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. “They’re both dudes. A dude can’t baby-trap another dude.”

“Of course they can. Equal rights and shit! That’s what the parades are for.”

And Buck could do nothing but stare as they squabbled back and forth, filled with nothing but the dawning horror of a man who realized that he was now the smartest person in the room. “We’re just friends,” he said, feeling lightheaded, “and coworkers.” That last part felt relevant somehow.

Both men turned to look at him with varying looks of disbelief.

“Wow,” Benji snorted, far too amused for Buck’s tastes, “baby-trapped, and he still couldn’t bag you? That’s sad.”

And Buck wasn’t even sure what he was more offended by on his friend’s behalf: the idea that Eddie had ‘baby-trapped’ him, or that he’d attempted to and failed. “He didn’t baby-trap me,” he reiterated, bristling under their curious stares, “and even if he did—which he didn’t—it’s not really a trap if you were planning on sticking around anyways.”

There was another long pause as the other men sat with his words. Absorbing them. Processing them. Then, “Is he ugly?” Benji’s partner suddenly asked, throwing Buck for another loop.

“What?” he startled, even more offended than before, “No!”

“Oh. So you just aren’t into dudes?”

Buck opened his mouth to respond only to immediately close it. Because no. That wasn’t it either... huh. Then why wasn’t he into Eddie? Or—more importantly—was that actually the case? It had him sitting up a little straighter to seriously consider it.

But he didn’t get to think about it for long. A voice called from the adjoining room, urgent and loud, “Oscar, get the fuck in here!”

And whatever air of tentative camaraderie the men had formed was gone, replaced by something anxious and tense. The man—‘Oscar’ presumably—muttered something scathing under his breath, calling back a quick acknowledgement before slinking over at the other’s beck and call.

Benji left to go watch the other hostages, moving with the determination of a man who very much didn’t want to get caught doing something he shouldn’t. In this case: talking to Buck.

Twisting the knob, Oscar disappeared through the door in an instant. But before it could fully close behind him, Buck caught a glimpse inside: their supposed leader was slumped over a table, phone in hand as he barked something at the negotiator on the other end. He radiated a desperation Buck could feel from across the room... he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad yet.

Whatever progress the negotiator had made had taken a hard reset after the shooting, and based on the restless energy practically vibrating off the walls... everyone had noticed. Doing his best to relax, ignoring the aching building in his bad leg, Buck resigned himself to the monotony of waiting for there was little else to be done...

Or was there?

Unconfiscated phone weighing heavy in his back pocket, Buck hatched an idea: “Hey, Sarah? Do you think you can grab something for me...”

Eddie had been under the assumption he’d feel some sort of respite from his waking terror when Hen and Chim had returned...

He’d been wrong.

And Eddie really had no one to blame but himself. Because it’d started off innocuous enough—the ambulance had made its return from the hospital, its occupants quickly filing out, ready to assist when the need arose. They’d exchanged some brief words on the status of their patient, mainly: ‘stable when we left her—it’s in the hands of the medical staff now—could go either way.’ No one addressed the massive elephant in the room; no one really wanted to. Instead, they talked at length about plans for the weekend, the calamitous heat, and other things that didn’t matter while they were out here and Buck was in there.

Things took an unfortunate turn when Hen asked if Chris would be staying with Ana if they ran overtime on shift, and Eddie had hesitated for a little too long. And although he’d attempted to sputter out something quick and vague to appease her without revealing anything, nothing convincing enough came to mind. So, in a moment of panic, he did the one thing he’d wanted to do the least:

He told the truth.

“You’re broken up?” Hen asked, eyebrows shooting past the thick frame of her glasses, “Since when?”

Sometimes, Eddie longed for the days he wasn’t close enough with the team for them to ask questions like that. Nonetheless, “A little over a week ago.”

“Wow. Recent.”

“Not that recent...” Chimney huffed, sounding slighted, “hey, why is it that we’re always the last to find out about these kinds of things?”

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to mind that much. Not like there was any actual heat behind it. “What things?” he asked, mildly amused.

“Personal things. You’re like an enigma with none of the allure but all of the secrets.”

But Eddie wasn’t trying to keep secrets. He’d just been too busy sorting out his own feelings on the matter to confide in someone—in anyone. “I think you might be the first to find out this time, actually.”

There’s a brief stretch of stunned silence where Hen and Chim can only stare at him. Then, at each other. Then, back at him. Then, in unison, “Before Buck?”

It was hard not to feel a little judged by that, especially from their tone. “He’s had his own stuff to worry about,” he muttered, casting an unsubtle glance where a certain redhead was currently preoccupied with a news segment regarding ‘a recent development involving a first responder.’

Face knowing as she hummed a quiet acknowledgement, “Him breaking up with Taylor.”

And it very nearly sent Eddie spiraling again. “He told you?” Because what fucking gives?

Hen didn’t reply, she just gave him a look. One that told him to fix his tone.

Eddie sensed his mistake: “Sorry, I just... sorry.” Sometimes he forgot the woman had technically known Buck for longer.

“See? Doesn’t feel so great to be the last one in the loop about these sorts of things,” Chim said, offering his input despite the fact Eddie didn’t recall it being needed or asked for. “Remember this feeling. Internalize it.”

Audibly scoffing, Eddie vowed to do no such thing. He hadn’t told Buck about Ana, so he wasn’t allowed to get in his feelings about Taylor. No matter how much he really, really wanted to.

Thankfully, Hen came to his rescue, “I thought you and Ana were good. What happened?”

And Eddie had been so thankful for the change in topics, he hadn’t even remembered to hesitate, “I think I was waiting to feel something I should’ve felt before we started dating. But there was no spark. And I’d wasted enough of her time.”

The admission had both his coworkers regarding him oddly, as if he’d made the most obvious conclusion in the world, but were proud of him, nonetheless.

“So...” Chim began, brow furrowed, “why date her if you didn’t feel that ‘spark’? It’s sort of the whole point.”

“Attractive, kind, smart, settled in her career, good with Chris...” he replied, reciting the mental list he’d gone over time and time again. He’d used it to convince himself that it’d all be worth it in the end if he could just make himself fall in love with her. “She checked a lot of boxes.”

Expression grim, Hen spoke, “But not the most important one.” There was not an ounce of judgment in those words.

Eddie thought there should’ve been: “Yeah. And that wasn’t fair to her.” Because while he’d been so caught up in everything Ana did for him, he’d neglected the one thing he should’ve been able to do for her. He’d only wished he’d figured it out sooner for both their sakes.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Chim sighed, giving Eddie a reaffirming pat on the back. “You figured it out eventually. As long as you learn from it.”

And although it was probably a lesson he should’ve learned prior to his thirties, Eddie knew it was a lesson better learnt late than never. Because he’d married the first person he’d ever slept with, and despite loving her, it’d been a union born of circumstance and obligation rather than that love he’d felt. And it had destroyed them. So he couldn’t do that again—couldn’t do that to another woman. Because he’d married Shannon because Christopher had deserved a father, and he’d considered marrying Ana because he thought he could give him another mother. And that wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to Ana, and certainly not to Chris.

With the silence stretching on for a little longer than was comfortable, Hen and Chim exchanged a look they thought he wouldn’t catch.

He did.

“So, you really don’t think you’ve met someone that checks all those boxes?” Hen drawled, raising an inquisitive brow, “Like... anyone? At all?”

“If I did,” Eddie sighed, already wary of their conspiring looks, “I think I’d know.”

“Really?” Chim asked, exchanging another pointed glance with Hen, “Not even—let’s say—a mutual friend of ours?”

Now that’s an interesting thought. Chuckling, Eddie just shook his head, “If you’re planning on setting me up with someone: don’t. I’ll be getting enough of that from my abuela soon enough. I’d like at least a little room to breathe before she starts again.”

Even without looking, he could feel the way Hen’s eyes bore into him. “Huh...”

And he couldn’t help but bristle from her tone, “What?”

But she was already waving him off, dismissing it immediately, “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Which had the complete opposite effect, perhaps not helped by the umpteenth knowing glance her and Chimney shared in the last five minutes.

“Could you two stop it with that?” Eddie exclaimed before he could think better of it.

“With what?” Chim asked with a false innocence.

“The meaningful looks! I don’t know what you want from me—I can’t read minds.”

“If you could,” Hen muttered at a volume not meant for him, “this would’ve been resolved ages ago.”

And before he could ask just what the hell she meant by that, there was an incessant buzzing in his back pocket that had him blanking on any previously perceived grievance. Mind finally catching up, he dug it out of his work pants as his coworkers watched with curious eyes. It was a facetime call, and if not for years of fatherhood instilling the habit of checking the caller ID first for Christopher... he would’ve rejected it. Thank God he hadn’t.

Buck. It was Buck.

Cursing, Eddie nearly dropped his phone out of shock. Faintly noting Hen and Chim’s concerned inquiries as he braced himself, he didn’t waste another moment before hitting ‘answer.’

His camera took a second to buffer, but when it did... half the screen was obstructed by a reflective surface smeared with an orange grease while the other half showed a blurred live-feed of the bank’s interior.

“What...” Hen trailed, brow knitted in confusion, “is happening right now?”

The small box in the corner of the screen showed them their own bewildered expressions as they pieced together what they were looking at.

“We are in a bag of chips,” Chim concluded, “barbecue by the looks of it.”

“Buck,” Eddie said, keeping his voice level and volume down, “Buck are you there?”

But as the phone camera finally came into focus confirming that, yes, they were in fact inside a bag of chips... there was still no response.

“He probably turned the volume off,” Hen offered calmly, sensing his surging panic. Then, after a beat of stilted silence, “... Buck, please tell me you turned the volume off.”

Any camera movement on Buck’s end immediately stilled. Then, a frustrated sigh crackled through the speaker punctuated by several distinct clicks against the side of his phone.

“Slightly unrelated,” Chim remarked, “but on a scale of one to ten, how important is ‘smart’ on that checklist of yours?”

... oh. Suddenly, those ‘meaningful looks’ were making a lot more sense, and Eddie was surprised to find just how unoffended he was, or... well. Maybe ‘surprised’ wasn’t the best word for it; it’s not like it was an assumption he hadn’t dealt with before. Quite the opposite.  He was used to the probing stares whenever him or Buck would drape an arm over the other in public. The raised brows when they’d clasp each other on the back, lingering longer than they probably should. The morbid curiosity when they walked a little too close to one another on a scene, the tips of their fingers occasionally brushing. But that’s just how the two of them were. And if other people saw issue with that, that had more to do with them than it’d ever have to do with him and Buck.

So, no. Eddie wasn’t offended by it. In fact, the only thing worth getting offended by was the implication that Buck was somehow dumb. Because he wasn’t. A little dense at times, sure, but not dumb.

Hen seemed to have similar thoughts, reaching around Eddie to cuff her partner on the shoulder. Whether it had more to do with defending Buck’s intellect or the secrecy of their prodding... that remained unclear. But before Chim could sputter out some kind of incredulous defense for himself, Eddie’s phone chimed with several text notifications:

Buck | 2:13 PM: athena

Buck | 2:13 PM: called. no answer. give phone

Buck | 2:14 PM: pls

The crinkling of a chip bag crackled faintly through the speaker, Buck readjusting his grip to give a better view of the bank’s interior. They saw a group of twenty or so huddled in a corner across the room, some of which were engaged in hushed conversation with one another; a man lingered nearby with a gun in his belt, either uncaring or oblivious. And just as Buck began to pan over to the other side of the room, a nearby door flung open. Immediately, the phone was dropped back into the chip bag, obstructing the camera from anyone unaware of its existence. And as two unfamiliar voices got louder and louder—engrossed in a heated argument—Eddie was grateful for Buck’s foresight.

Eddie stared blankly down at his phone screen, not sure whether it was hope or panic seizing his chest. “Athena,” he breathed, its weight feeling oddly heavy in his hand, “I should get this to Athena.” He didn’t wait for their input or permission before taking off, sprinting and shouldering his way through the crowd. He didn’t slow until he reached the barricade, calling out to the two figures bordering its perimeter.

Bobby and Athena’s heads snapped over to meet him, expressions sharp and searching.

Extending his hand, Eddie presented the phone. “It’s Buck,” he panted—adrenaline, not exertion.

That was all anyone needed to hear.

Athena took the screen from him, immediately getting down to business, “Is it safe to assume you turned off the volume?”

There was no response on the other end of the line, so Eddie took it upon himself to fill everyone in, “He did. You’ll have to text once he’s in the clear.”

“In the clear?” Bobby repeated back, perhaps wondering if the reflective, greasy surface they were currently staring at had anything to do with that.

“They walked in,” Eddie supplied, “and he stuck us in a chip bag.”

Giving an amused shake of her head, Athena chuckled, “Of course he did.”

Eddie | 2:19 PM: Buck, it’s Athena.

Eddie | 2:19 PM: Respond when it’s safe.

Like expected, the response wasn’t instantaneous; Buck hadn’t even removed the phone from its hiding place. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t hear what was happening.

“Goddamnit, Jo! Did you really have to fucking shoot the poor woman? Robbing a bank is one thing, but this? You’re out of your mind.”

“You were there. The bitch took a running start at me!”

“You pointed a gun at her kid—of course she did! And now when the police kick down our door, we’re not just going away for this. We’re going away for that too, you trigger-happy motherf—”

“You worry too much. Once we get them to send us that car and clear the roads to the...”

The voices got quieter as they got further and further away, eventually becoming muffled as they presumably disappeared into another room. A theory reaffirmed as the phone camera was tentatively inched out of the chip bag.

Buck | 2:25 PM: safe

Eddie | 2:25 PM: The hostages?

The camera pans, showing the people in the corner.

Eddie | 2:26 PM: Is there anyone else in the room with you?

It shifts, showing the man that’d been previously guarding the group. He wasn’t looking at Buck or the hostages. Instead, he was collecting empty food wrappers off the ground, expression pensive and noticeably distressed.

The camera moves again, zeroing in on a closed door before Eddie’s phone buzzed with two new notifications.

Buck | 2:27 PM: other two inside

Buck | 2:27 PM: saw window in room

Bobby and Athena share a look, the former of which asking, “Can we use that?”

“We can try.” She was already typing back her response.

Eddie | 2:27 PM: You entered through the north doors.

Eddie | 2:27 PM: Can you use that to tell me which side of the bank the window’s on?

There was a brief pause where Buck considered this. Then:

Buck | 2:28 PM: south

Eddie | 2:28 PM: Anyone else in that room with them?

Buck | 2:29 PM: idk

Exhaling a rough breath, Athena’s frustration was palpable, “It’s not enough that these idiots woke up today and suddenly decided to rob a damn bank. Now, we have to worry about Tweedle Dum, Tweedle Dee, and Tweedle Stupid getting twenty or so people shot because they feel like delaying the inevitable.”

“I’m guessing the window’s a no-go,” Bobby said, giving his wife a knowing look.

“Not unless we want to risk civilian casualty.” Eying a sniper on a nearby roof, it wasn’t exactly hard to guess what her previous plan might’ve entailed.

It made Eddie’s shoulder itch.

Eddie | 2:29 PM: Don’t worry about the window.

Eddie | 2:29 PM: Keep the phone hidden. We can listen in.

But in the current position, no one could hear much of anything. Not at this distance at least.  Everything was muffled into incomprehension by the door.

Buck | 2:30 PM: want me closer?

Eddie | 2:30 PM: No. Negotiator is trying another call soon.

Eddie | 2:30 PM: You won’t pick up anything we won’t hear anyways.

It was enough to convince Buck. With the phone safely tucked away in its chip bag, they resigned themselves to the monotony of waiting, vaguely noting the negotiator successfully contacting those inside from nearby, listening to their new slew of demands.

Then, a voice they didn’t recognize filtered through the phone speaker: “Hey, let me get that wrapper for you.” It was close. Too close.

And the voice that responded wedged a pit deep inside Eddie’s gut. “Oh, uh,” Buck trailed, searching for an excuse, “I’m actually not done yet.”

“Really? You’ve been working on it for a while, and those things are like 60% air.” The doubt in his tone had everyone holding their breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, they are...” grappling for another excuse, he eventually settled on, “barbecue’s just not really a favorite of mine.”

“Oh, yeah? I can swap them out for something else if you’d like me to take those—”

“No,” and you could practically hear him stamping down his surging panic, because damn. This guy was relentless. “Really. Don’t worry about it. I’m good, I promise.”

The other man chuckled, and Eddie didn’t particularly like how familiar his tone was, “Damn, dude, if you’re this stubborn, I’m starting to see why your boytoy felt like he had to baby—”

... ‘boytoy?’ Something nasty curled at the base of Eddie’s stomach. He didn’t know what. He didn’t even know why.

“Alright! Ok!” Buck interrupted, audibly flustered, “Thank you, Benji, I got it.”

Now they’re on a first name basis? Eddie had to look around to see if anyone else found that a little odd. No one other than him seemed to acknowledge it.

“Oh. Hey, man... I didn’t mean any offense by it. I’m just saying that maybe if you picked your battles a little better, Ed—”

“Yeah, good point—hey, do you have any more bottled water?” Buck asked, subtle and restrained and not at all suspicious.

“Uh... yeah,” the man said, taken aback. And whether he’d just been naïve or fully succumbed to Buck’s charm, the result was the same, “I think we do. I’ll be right back.”

But before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief at the stranger’s retreat, the sound of a door flinging open hard enough to collide with its door jam. “Benji, what’d I tell you—stop talking to that jackass! I’m on the phone, and I can’t think with all this goddamn noise.” He sounded disconcerted. Desperate. Like a man at the end of his rope and about to start hanging someone with it.

The negotiator winced at the spike in volume, shooting Athena a worried glance.

“And leave the fucking trash! I don’t even know why you bothered feeding them in the first place—we’re not here to work hospitality.” The voice got louder as its source got closer and closer to Buck.

“They were hungry...” He sounded unsure of himself.

“Lay off him, Jo,” a third chimed in, matching the other’s frustration. He sounded like the one that’d been arguing with him in the other room. “It’s not his fault you said you had everything handled and then didn’t.”

Grimacing, the negotiator did her best to redirect the man on the line, asking questions and calmly making suggestions in an attempt to diffuse the situation. And although those efforts were ultimately ignored, Eddie still noted the fact the man had put her on speaker for the room based on the fact he could hear her voice echoing through his own phone.

“Shut up—shut up,” ‘Jo’ yelled in a tone that would’ve earned Eddie a smack in the mouth growing up. “Did you hear that?”

       ‘... did you hear that?’

“Hear what?”

       ‘...hear what?’

“That.”

       ‘... that’

And it was like time froze. Both Bobby and Athena turned to the negotiator with mirroring looks of dawning terror as the woman met them with one of her own. By the time Eddie realized what was wrong, it was too late. Because there was an echo. The phones were too close, and there was an echo, giving them away.

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, spoken with enough heat to melt rebar, “You.”

“Shit,” a voice hissed, and to all their horrors, it’d been Buck. It was the only warning anyone got for what followed:

A loud, pained grunt punctuated the sound of blunt contact as someone was struck, the chip bag and its contents spilling onto the floor with the camera laid face up. A flurry of limbs popped in and out of frame as two bodies struggled, cursing and yelling; the heartbreaking cries of a small child begging for it all to stop in the background.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three gunshots were followed by a chorus of screams as the interior of the bank erupted into chaos. Whether it was from fear or opportunity, some of the hostages stampeded. To flee through the door? To bum-rush their captors? It was impossible to tell seeing as it failed.

BANG. BANG.

Two more gunshots. “Everyone get back or the next one’s going in someone’s head!” And the room fell silent—no more footsteps, no more screaming. Nothing but the sound of labored breaths and someone groaning in pain...

Buck?

Eddie didn’t get to think about it for long. With shuffling feet, someone crept over to the phone, head peeking into frame. It was a man. Short, scrawny looking, blood leaking from his nose. With a sneer, he aimed the barrel of his pistol at the screen.

BANG.

With one final gunshot, the call disconnected. And as Athena’s grip tightened around the phone, she turned to her husband and placed her other on his shoulder. To steady. To console.

It was appreciated, and the gesture was returned. Jaw clenched as a tightness settled around his eyes, Bobby placed a careful hand over Athena’s, giving it a light squeeze. Eyes drifting over to Eddie, they begged a question he didn’t think he was ready to answer. ‘You ok?’ And Eddie...

Eddie felt like he’d been shot. He was back in the middle of that street, and he’d been shot. He heard the thunderous boom of the bullet, felt the sharp pain as it tore through his shoulder, and saw the way Buck stared at him in the aftermath. Blood splattered across his face, expression numbingly blank as Eddie finally fell. And now as Eddie was forced into the role of helpless observer, he thought maybe he understood Buck proceeding the event a little better. Because as he stared at his black phone screen, feeling just as numb, he knew he’d give almost anything to take the other’s place.

Chapter Text

Buck thought he might be cursed. Just a little bit. Because it would seem that any time he was a little too happy for a little too long, some invisible force came along to remind him how cruel and bleak life had the potential to be. Truck bombing, pulmonary embolism, tsunami, a goddamn piece of bread...

Buck thought maybe that should’ve clued him in on things ending with Taylor sooner rather than later. Though, he didn’t think his most recent ordeal really held a candle to the rest. It’d been entirely of his own volition, and he hadn’t regretted it for a second. Because when he and Taylor had found themselves at a crossroads—when his confession of wanting more was met with a resounding, ‘I don’t’... there hadn’t been much to say after that.

And Buck didn’t blame her. If anything, he’d admired the honesty and much preferred it to the alternative. Because if a little discomfort now saved him from actual heartbreak later, he’d take what he could get. But that didn’t mean he’d walked out of it completely unscathed. Didn’t mean it hadn’t jostled a familiar pit in his stomach that’d been wedged there the day he realized Abby wasn’t coming back.

Never the first to leave but always the first to be left.

Well. Buck had left first this time, and instead of some profound moment of understanding, it’d just left him vulnerable and confused. Because he had broken up with Taylor, and there’d been more questions than answers. Because if leaving had been so hard, why had it always been so easy to leave him?

So, yeah. Buck was cursed. Someone doomed to an eternity of white-knuckling everything intent on leaving him behind, never with anything to show for it. And that terrified him. The idea that one day—without any warning—people could just up and leave, and that would be it. They’d be gone, and he’d have nothing left but a hole punched into his heart in the shape of their image.

Therapy helped. It wasn’t a fix-all solution, but Dr. Copeland had done a pretty solid job. Redirecting him, asking questions, interrupting potentially dangerous lines of thinking... she’d helped. A lot. So much so, he’d barely even flinched the first time Eddie had canceled plans with him for Ana. Because he couldn’t be mad—not about that. Because Ana was the girlfriend, and Buck was... whatever he was. So, naturally, he’d be expected to take a step back once that role of Eddie’s life partner was filled.

Buck knew that—prepared for that—and even had Taylor to distract himself from that. But then one day: he didn’t. And all those thoughts about the inevitability of loss began to creep in again, and suddenly, he felt like he was staring down the familiar barrel of being left behind. And Buck thinks maybe that was the worst part: being forced to sit alone with those thoughts. Though...

That pistol he took to the jaw was a really close second.

“You.”

“Shit,” Buck had hissed, barely even registering the pistol leveled at his head before jumping into action. Getting his feet beneath him, he used the momentum to surge forward, hands coming beneath the gun and forcing the barrel to the ceiling.

One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Each blast jerking their arms from the kick back—every bullet colliding with the ceiling tiles above. Gritting his teeth and digging his heels, Buck attempted to wrench the weapon free with nothing but willpower and zip-tied hands. And he’d nearly succeeded too. But just as he was gaining purchase, the warm metal of the gun inching into his grasp, someone drove their boot into his knee, sending a spike of agony through his bad leg.

Pain exploded against his jaw as the man ripped the gun free, using it to pistol-whip him. Already off balance, it was enough to knock Buck back onto the floor, groaning as the room around him erupted into chaos.

Two more gunshots aimed at the ceiling, with purpose this time. “Everyone get back or the next one’s going in someone’s head!” the man—Jo, he thinks—yelled, bringing the chaos in the room to an abrupt halt.

The screams and stampeding feet of the hostages tapered off into fearful silence as Buck vaguely noted the little hands trembling as they brushed through his hair. Like they were attempting to mimic a gesture used to soothe them in the past; trying to calm him despite their own terror. Craning his neck back, he saw Sarah with tear stained cheeks, and his heart felt tight in his chest.

One final gunshot and the little hands flinched, and Buck could do little else than watch as his phone exploded upon the bullet’s impact.

God... dammit!

“If you keep firing that thing,” Buck yelled, unbelievably pissed off by that particular inconvenience, “they’ll send in a S.W.A.T. team.”

Jo’s face contorted in anger as his partners kept a safe distance, attempting to corral their prisoners back into their corner, “Not when we have hostages!”

“They will if they think you’re just shooting people,” he argued back despite his better judgment, “haven’t you ever done this before?”

There was a long pause that addressed the question better than words ever could.

Buck sighed, “... right.”

Jo didn’t like that. At all. “Fuck you, what the hell would you have done?”

And whatever frail strand of composure Buck still clung too had finally frayed enough to snap: “I don’t know—I don’t have to know! I’m not the one who woke up this morning and decided to rob a bank!”

“Shut up, just—shut up!” He pointed the gun at Buck again, though, something in his eyes told the other he didn’t have much of a plan to use it. Perhaps those threats of a S.W.A.T. team kicking in their front door rattled the man more than he let on.

Despite that, Buck still used his bulk to shield Sarah from his line of fire. Because if he was wrong, he wasn’t going to let her be the one to pay for it.

“Jo, enough,” Oscar was the next to yell, surprising everyone with the outburst. And what he said next surprised them even more, “He’s right. We’re fucked.”

Head snapping over to his partner, scowl plastered across his face, the man looked ready to tell everyone exactly how he felt about that. But he never got the chance.

“There’s someone new on the line,” Benji said, phone in hand as he visibly paled. Eyes drifting over to Buck, “She wants to talk to him.”

“Like hell she will...” Jo muttered, snatching the device from him before sneering directly into its microphone, “who the fuck is this—” He froze, sputtering indignantly for words that never came. Mouth snapping shut and jaw clenched, he fixed Buck with a withering glare before shuffling forward, shoving the phone into his bound hands.

Stunned, it took a moment for Buck to fully comprehend what the hell had just happened. But when he did, he didn’t hesitate to hold the device up to his ear, “... hello?”

Multiple sighs of relief sounded from the other end of the line before someone finally spoke, “You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, Buckaroo.”

“Athena,” he breathed, certain the feeling was mutual, “didn’t think I’d be hearing from you.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” she said, sounding very pleased with herself, “I’m running this show now.”

And Buck didn’t think the woman would ever truly understand just how comforting that was. A small chuckle escaped him, tapering off into a cough at the robber’s harsh glare. In a low tone as he attempted to avoid any unnecessary eye contact, he asked, “So... what’d you threaten him with?”

Now, that made her laugh. But only for a moment. Clearing her throat, she took a noticeably more somber tone, “How’re you holding up in there? When we heard those gunshots... we feared the worst.”

It’d be hard not to, and Buck felt the inexplicable urge to apologize. But he didn’t. Instead, “No one got shot. We lucked out.” Eyes scanning the room as he worked the lingering soreness from his jaw, he sought confirmation on what he already presumed, more or less getting it as he noted the lack of visible injuries. The other hostages remained corralled in the corner, huddled in on each other as they did their best to avoid their captors. And outside of a couple minor bumps and bruises, everyone seemed to be doing alright.

That was, until, he saw what they were huddled around.

An older woman—mid to late sixties, maybe—stood in the center of their semi-circle, wincing as she clutched at her arm with bloodied fingers. What should’ve been a slow trickle oozing out of the mid-sized gash in the appendage was instead a steady outpour of red that showed no signs of stopping. Eyes darting around the room, Buck quickly deduced the culprit: the jagged edge of one of the metal tables coated with blood. So much blood, in fact, it sparked a theory...

“Ma’am,” he called out to her, mouth suddenly feeling dry, “are you on blood thinners?”

With a single grim nod, she confirmed the worst of his fears.

Heart plummeting into his stomach, Buck faintly registered Athena’s startled attempts to question him before he was launching into his explanation, “Someone got hurt in the stampede—must’ve gotten pushed into a table and slashed herself on one of the corners. Says she’s on blood thinners... Athena, she’s bleeding a lot.” The scene felt a little too familiar for his tastes. A little too real. He half expected to look down and see the scar on his forearm torn anew, gushing blood like it had almost two years ago, courtesy of that broken windshield.

Athena muttered a curse beneath her breath, and when she spoke, it was quick and decisive. She knew that every second counted, “Can you locate the building’s first aid?”

No, he could not. But he wasn’t ready to let that stop him. “Hey,” he called out to the group gathered in the corner. Based on their attire, he assumed at least one of them had to work here. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

After a moment of trepidation, nervously glancing between Buck and the armed robbers, someone eventually supplied a response. “Employee break room,” a man stammered, never quite able to make eye contact as he pointed out the room, “third cabinet on the left when you walk in.”

On his feet, Buck was already making his move, with or without anyone’s approval. Unfortunately for him, the success of his endeavor ultimately hinged on said approcal.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jo—the bastard—yelled, already reaching for his sidearm.

But Buck remained undeterred: “You need to get me that kit, and you need to let me help her.”

“The hell I do!” the man glowered, subverting absolutely zero expectations, “You’ve been nothing but a goddamn menace the minute you showed up, and I have a half a mind to shoot you right now. So why don’t you just sit your ass back down, and shut the fuck up—”

“Athena, he won’t let me administer first aid,” Buck tattled directly into the phone, ignoring the man’s incredulous squawking at the sheer audacity. Pressing a finger against the button on the touchscreen, “You’re on speaker.”

Growing up, Buck never had the luxury of having parents who were willing to fight for him. Parents who would be in his corner no matter what. Parents who were willing to defend him at a moment’s notice from anyone or anything, whether it be school administrators, disgruntled peers, or that one English teacher sophomore year that’d been a real jackass. So growing up, he never asked for help. He could never count on it actually arriving. Best case scenario, they’d tell him to handle it himself. Worst case? They’d take the other’s side. Therefore, he’d never known what it’d feel like to have someone—other than his sister—step in on his behalf.

He imagined it would’ve felt something like this.

“You mean to tell me,” Athena began, and with the rage simmering in each word, she was not addressing Buck, “that someone in that room has the means to save that woman—that you have directly endangered with your own stupidity—and you’re not letting him? Did I hear that right?”

Jaw clenched, Jo attempted to disregard the woman’s words entirely, “Listen, bitch—”

Athena wouldn’t let him: “No, you listen to me, dumbass. The only thing standing between you and a round of 50 caliber ammunition is a thin layer of glass and some paper blinds. You think you’re in control here? You’re not. So I suggest you let firefighter Buckley do his job—if not for that poor woman’s sake, then for your own. Because I don’t think you need me to tell you how her death might complicate things for you, to put it mildly.”

And as Athena finished, plunging the room into tense silence... Buck did his best to not twitch in anticipation. Phone still clutched in the zip-tied hands, it felt like wasting time they didn’t have, waiting for something that wouldn’t come.

With a frustrated sigh, Oscar stepped forward as he fished a switchblade out of his pocket. Flicking open the knife, he hooked it on the plastic cuffs, cutting Buck free with a quick pull. “Benji,” he called, ignoring Jo’s venomous stare, “go get him that first aid.”

The man in question faltered, glancing nervously between his two co conspirators as they engaged in a silent stand-off. In the end, whatever war he’d been waging in his mind was ultimately decided by whatever moral backbone he had left. Turning on his heel, he hurried to the breakroom.

“You’re not the one who’s in charge here,” Jo sneered, turning a fraction of the heat and ire he had reserved for Buck on one of his partners in crime.

“Neither are you, dipshit. You’re just the one who’s been answering the phone,” Oscar coldly replied, removing the phone from Buck’s hands and holding it up to his mouth. And when he spoke to Athena, he did so with far more deference than his associate, “We’ll get her out to you as soon as we can. Give us a couple minutes.” Ending the call and handing the phone back to Jo, he met the man’s withering glare with one of his own.

Whatever power dynamic the trio had previously fallen into was fracturing, and for everyone’s sake, Buck just hoped no one was around when it finally shattered. Turning to Sarah, he spoke softly, “I need to help someone, but I’ll be back. I promise. You’ll be able to see me the whole time. Can you wait for me right here?”

Cheeks still splotchy and damp, the girl managed a stiff nod as she tried to be brave. It made Buck want to throttle those that put her in this position to begin with. But that wasn’t what he was here to do. Not at that moment. Because as Benji finally returned with the first aid, Buck’s priorities were forced to shift.

“So sorry about the wait, ma’am,” Buck said to the woman, sitting her down in a nearby desk chair as he cracked open the box of supplies. Fishing out the trauma pads and gauze, he quickly examined the wound. It was deeper than he would’ve liked, and she’d already lost a lot of blood. She wouldn’t be able to take losing much more. Without wasting any more time, he lay a pad over the gushing wound, “This is gonna hurt a little.” Looping the gauze a couple times over, he pulled it taut and tight before knotting it in place, doing his best to not let the woman’s pained grimace distract him.

He didn’t even notice the figure on his left approaching until the man was wetting a piece of wound dressing, using it to clean the blood coating her arm.

Oscar.

The woman shot Buck a questioning look. One that he didn’t quite know how to answer.

Brow pinched in concentration, Oscar pursed his lips as the blood soaked through the bandages. Unpacking another pad from the kit, he laid it over the last. When he spoke, it was measured and calm, “She’s bleeding too much. We’ll have to tourniquet.”

Buck regarded the man oddly because that’d been exactly what he’d been thinking. Pushing those suspicions aside, however: “Do you have something to loop around her arm? Something like a—"

The man unclasped his belt, yanking it through its loops before wordlessly presenting it to the other.

Despite his apprehension, Buck didn’t hesitate to take it. “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, “that works.” Looping it above the wound, he gave her another quick warning before pulling it tight enough to quell the bleeding.

“Alright,” Oscar said, giving Buck’s work a once over before offering his hand to the woman, “let’s move.”

Eyeing the hand, she didn’t take it. Brow pinched and eyes narrow, she stood on her own, naturally lingering closer to the firefighter as opposed to the bank robber.

If the man was affronted by the cold reception, he didn’t let it faze him as he began their departure. Taking the gun from Benji and using it to gesture the two forward, it felt more for show than anything else. He wasn’t even aiming at them.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jo sneered from the corner he was skulking in. Like a child that’d been reprimanded and was still butthurt about it.

Oscar didn’t even spare him a glance on his way to the door, muttering, “More than you.” It didn’t sound like he meant for anyone to hear.

But Buck did. And as he guided the injured woman along, offering his arm as support, he couldn’t help but wonder what this dude’s deal was. But any contemplation regarding the man was pinned for later as a small voice fearfully asked, “Buck?”

And as Sarah stared back at him, young eyes filled with terror, Buck did the best he could to assuage those concerns with what little time he had. “I’m coming back,” he said, meaning it, “I promise.”

Bottom lip quivering, the little girl silently held up a pinky.

Mimicking the gesture, Buck mimed it back at her. With the new condition added to their previous covenant, he didn’t waste any more time.

The entrance to the bank looked the same as it had before. Tall ceilings. Linoleum floors. Cheap, paper blinds. The only difference was that it all felt a little less foreboding now than it had before. Because now, he’d stared down exactly what he was walking into, and he’d been left unimpressed. And as he crossed the atrium, trapped in his own thoughts, he nearly missed the way his jailor had holstered the gun.

“Alright,” Oscar said, stopping them at the door and ushering them to the side. They’d be out of the direct line of fire as soon as he opened it. Addressing the woman, he seemed genuinely concerned as he asked, “Can you walk on your own?”

Grasping Buck’s bicep like a lifeline, she managed a careful nod. But with the way her grip continued to weaken, he could tell she was fading fast.

“Ok,” the man exhaled, eyeing the door with trepidation. It was the first Buck had seen him nervous. “I hate to have to ask...”

It took a second, but Buck caught the meaning. “Yeah,” he sighed, unlocking the door and resting his hand against its handle in preparation, “I got it.” He couldn’t help the spark of anxiety flaring in his gut as he recalled the snipers that were waiting for someone to open the door. Waiting for someone to shoot.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” the woman hissed, making Buck flinch. He only relaxed upon the realization that none of that heat had been directed at him.

Face neutral and voice impassive, Oscar spoke, “I know. Now, let’s get you some help.” Shooting Buck a pointed look, it really could only mean one thing.

Swallowing the nervous bile in his throat, Buck forced his hands to steady as he cracked open the door enough to give those outside pause, still lingering ‘safely’ behind it. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot... “This is firefighter Buckley,” he yelled once an anticipating hush fell over the crowd, “we’re coming out—do not shoot us.”

Met with silence, he decided to give those outside a moment to adjust as they heeded his words. The worst part was trying to figure out how long was long enough. Thankfully, he wasn’t left wondering.

The sound of a bullhorn screeching to life filled the still air, and when the person on the other end finally spoke, the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders dissipated in an instant. “Alright, Buck,” Bobby said, voice crackling through the speaker, “we’re ready for you.”

Steeling himself with a breath, Buck opened the door the rest of the way—slow and steady. Popping his head out, he took it as a good sign when it didn’t immediately explode into a wet pulp from a high caliber round. Peering into the parking lot, he was met with police encircling the perimeter, guns drawn but not yet aimed. And amidst it all, he saw Bobby. Steadfast and unwavering, the man met the apprehension in Buck’s stare with the resolve in his own. It said, ‘I’m here, and I will get you out of this.’

Buck believed him.

“Ok, ma’am,” he said, gently taking her by her good arm as he carefully guided her outside, “if you’re sure you’re good to walk, we got some people on standby ready to help you.”

And sure enough, the barricades parted with a team of paramedics on the other side. It wasn’t the 118, and Buck had to stamp down the surge of disappointment clawing at his chest. Call him codependent if you’d like, but he’d really been hoping to see the rest of them again—no matter how brief.

Helping the woman out the door, he supported her weight until he was absolutely certain she could make it on her own. That’s when he felt a fist curl into the back of his shirt, making sure he didn’t stray too far from the entrance. Because even if Oscar hadn’t wanted to hurt him, that didn’t mean he trusted him.

Crossing the threshold, the woman spared Buck a final grateful nod before shuffling across the pavement, paramedics meeting her a quarter of the way from the barricade. With her safely loaded onto a gurney being wheeled back to an ambulance, Buck saw no reason to linger.

“Hold on,” Oscar commanded, pushing his fist into his lower back, preventing his retreat. “Not yet.”

And Buck’s blood ran cold. “You understand we have at least a dozen trained snipers aiming at us, right? They’re trying to kill you.”

“Yeah, but you’re tall and broad,” Oscar replied, patting Buck’s shoulder like a car salesman would the hood of a car, “I couldn’t ask for a better shield.”

And would it be weird if Buck said he felt a little flattered? Like sure, he was mostly offended. But that didn’t stop the praise from flushing his cheeks, making him feel distinctly bashful.

Dr. Copeland was going to have a field-day with this one.

Those spectating watched with varying looks of confusion, like they didn’t quite understand what Buck was still doing there. And to be perfectly fair... that was a really good question. But before he could ask it himself, the words caught in his throat. Oh. There you are. Because as he scanned the perimeter, his eyes locked onto a group he would’ve missed if he hadn’t been looking:

The rest of the 118.

Should he wave? Buck felt like he should wave. But as he took in each of their pained expressions, he immediately thought better of it. Chim looked scared for him, Hen looked generally baffled, and Eddie looked seconds away from hopping the barricade to throttle whoever he got his hands on first. Who exactly? Jury was still out.

“So,” he heard the man drawl from behind him, “which one’s Eddie?”

And Buck could feel his brain blue-screen: “... what?”

“You said you two worked together,” Oscar shrugged, doing him the courtesy of keeping his voice down, “I figured this was probably my best chance.”

The blue-screen was now making dial-up sounds. “For what?”

“To see if you were lying about your boyfriend being hot.”

And now Buck was short-circuiting. God—he prayed his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Because as he stood in the bank’s doorway, the fist pressed against his spine refusing him escape as everyone stared... he was mortified. And he couldn’t help it if his first instinct was to seek out the source of it all.

Eddie stared back, face like thunder. It made Buck wonder what kind of expression he must’ve pulled to garner such a response. The other usually kept his emotions on a tight leash. But not today.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Buck sighed, the perfect façade of calm, “and I never said—”

“Is he over there?” Oscar interrupted, nudging the man in that general direction, “You keep looking over there.”

“No,” Buck lied, head whipping in the opposite direction so fast you’d think he broke his neck. If he hadn’t been arousing suspicions before, he certainly was now. And the worst part was: there were only three uniformed firefighters over that ways. It really wouldn’t take much to figure out who he’d been looking at.

In the end, it hadn’t. “Wait, is he the...” Oscar trailed, and Buck couldn’t help but internally groan. Then, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Buck muttered, idly hoping that one of the snipers would just take the shot and put him out of his misery, “he gets that a lot—”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What the fuck?”

“I know.”

“That’s a beautiful man.”

“I know,” Buck finally snapped, and he hadn’t meant for it to sound so despairing. “Can I come inside now?” Because Eddie was staring at him, and he didn’t look angry anymore. He just looked confused. Apprehensive. Like someone who didn’t know why a bank robber was whispering into his best friend’s ear, very obviously talking about him (if the eye contact was anything to go by). And he wasn’t the only one looking a little uncertain.

With a crease in his brow, Bobby held his bullhorn like he was ready to use it, even if only to ask what the hell was going on.

“That’s not why I’m not letting you back in,” Oscar finally admitted, voice subdued. There was something in his tone that Buck didn’t like. It was too grim. Too resigned.

“What are you talking about?”

With a weary breath, “I’m not keeping you outside because I wanted to sneak a glimpse at your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boy—”

“The ‘friend’ you’re co-parenting a child with,” Oscar self-corrected. Irritated. As if he was personally inconvenienced by Buck’s incessant denial. “I mean, I was curious, sure. But that’s not why I’m kicking you out.”

Kicking me out? Christ—not even the bank robbers taking him hostage wanted to keep him around. Buck made sure to mentally file that under ‘Things I Will Talk About in Therapy Later.’ Shaking his head, “You’re not making any sense.”

There was a long pause. Then, “You should get home to your kid.”

...

...

...

Oh.

Buck felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. “I will,” he said once he’d collected himself enough to speak, “after you release the rest of the hostages.”

Again. Another pause. This one was longer than the last, and Buck could practically hear the man shaking his head, “I wish that were up to me.”

“Why can’t it be?” Buck asked, desperation bleeding through.

Snorting, Oscar sounded more amused than anything else, “You’ve seen what I have to work with. Not a whole lot of room for compromise with that one.” Referring to Jo, no doubt.

Scowling at even the vaguest mention of the man, Buck opened his mouth to argue back. But before the words could leave his mouth, he was cut off with another screech of the bullhorn.

“Everything alright, Buck?” Bobby asked, face hard as he refused to falter. The worried waver in his voice betrayed it for the mask it was.

Oh. Yeah. They’d been standing in the doorway amidst an armed robbery for an awkward period of time. Buck had nearly forgotten. Giving a quick, noncommittal wave that likely raised more questions than answers... “I’m not leaving,” he hissed, resolve firm like stone, “I pinky swore.”

“Those aren’t legally binding.”

“To you.”

“To anyone over the age of five, actually.”

“I don’t care,” Buck bristled, ready to force his way back inside if the need arose, “you’re stuck with me.”

“Fuck, you’re stubborn,” the man groaned, despairing at the culmination of poor life choices that forced him to have to deal with the likes of Evan Buckley.

That’s when Buck felt the hand on his back leave him only to be replaced with the sole of a shoe. Like someone was preparing to drive it into his spine, sending him sprawling onto the pavement outside.

Hands flinging out to brace against the doorframe, “I’ve got five inches and more than fifty pounds on you,” Buck seethed, craning his head back with a wild look in his eyes, “you do not want this getting physical.”

Oscar faltered, not expecting that kind of intensity from someone who’d been perfectly amicable in most of the moments preceding it. “Jesus, dude...” he sighed, mentally weighing the pros and cons of simply kicking the other in the ass as hard as he could. In the end, the cons must’ve won because Buck’s ass remained unbruised as the man ruefully muttered, “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t try.” Removing his foot and stepping to the side, he finally permitted Buck’s reentry.

And it’d been the closest thing Buck had felt to relief in the last hour and a half. Exhaling a shuddering breath, he released his hold on the doorframe and backed himself into the building. But before he could fully turn his back on the outside world, rejecting his only means of escape... he froze.

Eddie and the rest of the 118 stared back at him with wide-eyed and horrified expressions, piecing together what they could from what little they’d been given. Because if there was one thing Buck excelled at above all else, it was stressing them out. And he hoped that one day, they could bring themselves to understand. Hoped they could bring themselves to not hate him for it either. Eddie especially. He knows why he put him in his will. He knows the ulterior motive behind it. But this was something Buck had to do—a risk he had to take. Because he promised that little girl that he'd come back for her, and he refused to be made a liar.

With a small smile, Buck gave them an encouraging thumbs up, hoping that somehow that’d be enough to soothe their worries.

An emotion flashed across Eddie’s face, and it was one Buck couldn’t decipher. He thinks maybe that’s for the best; no need making things harder than they already were. Sparing one final glance, he closed the door, making sure to lock it behind him. And as he stared blankly ahead, blinds pulled tightly over the glass pane, he desperately hoped that hadn’t been a grave mistake.

“So,” Buck eventually sighed, ignoring the ache building in his chest, “what’s your deal?”

Oscar—already on his way back to the office—looked absolutely bewildered. “You just threw away your one chance of guaranteed escape,” he said slowly, as if making sure he was hearing himself correctly, “and you’re asking what my deal is?”

And sure, maybe he had a point. But Buck wasn’t willing to hear it. “You knew how to treat that woman’s wound, and you knew we needed a tourniquet. And Jocelyn—Sarah’s mom—had someone try to stop her bleeding with their jacket,” glancing down, he gave the man’s hands a pointed nod where the woman’s blood had dried into flakes, “so, let me ask again: what’s your deal? Because it’s sure as hell not bank robbing.”

The man simply stared, face devoid of any and all emotion. Studying him. Dissecting him. “Well, aren’t you a perceptive one,” he said with a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sometimes,” Buck shrugged. He was unrelenting as he continued, “Are you gonna answer my question?”

For a minute, it didn’t seem like he would. After all, he had no reason to. “EMT up until a couple months ago,” Oscar said, startling Buck with the sudden retort. It looked like it’d physically pained the man to admit it. Though... that pain seemed to stem more from its impermanence rather than the job itself. “The pay was shit and I had some other stuff going on that didn’t agree with the demands of the work schedule. I had to go back into finance.”

With an acknowledging nod, Buck couldn’t help but gesture to the empty interior of the bank, “Was the pay shit there too?”

It managed to startle a laugh out of the other. Giving a shake of his head that felt more than a little self-deprecating, Oscar sighed, “Something like that.”

And when it was clear the man was going to make no effort to continue, Buck decided to probe a little more, “Do you plan on elaborating?”

“Maybe,” he replied, tone light with a glint in his eyes. And that really should’ve been what tipped Buck off. Jutting his thumb at the door as his brow wrinkled in disbelief, “Are you really not fucking that guy?”

Buck felt like he was spiraling into insanity. “We’re not,” he stressed, “dating.”

“No. You absolutely are,” Oscar deadpanned, conducting himself as if he were performing some suffering act of civil service, “you two just aren’t fucking so neither of you know it yet.”

Tearing a frustrated hand through his hair, Buck scowled, “Ok. Well. ‘Fucking’ isn’t the defining trait of romance. There are plenty of people in loving romantic relationships with no desire to ever—”

“Yeah. I know that. You’re still in love with him.”

Mouth clicking shut, Buck wondered just where the hell this dude gets off. “When did this turn into twenty questions?” he croaked, the constricting of his throat nearly choking the words back.

“I don’t know,” Oscar replied, tone dismissive though not unkind, “but you started it.”

Did he? Shit. Maybe he had. But if that’s the case, Buck intended to get his money’s worth, “Ok. Then it’s my turn: you clearly don’t want to be robbing this bank. Why are you?”

If Oscar was at all fazed by the question, he hid it well. There was no shock, or trepidation, or even the mildest hint of irritation. No. He just looked sad. “I made a promise,” he muttered, not even bothering to look him in the eyes.

And if that was supposed to be enlightening, Buck questioned why he’d still been left in the dark. “Who made you promise to rob a bank?”

“It’s not your turn,” Oscar said, eyes snapping back to him with an intensity that was almost frightening. And Buck couldn’t help but wonder that if things had been a little different, that the two of them could’ve had a real shot at being friends. “Has no one ever told you what you look like when you talk about that guy? It’s like he hung the moon and stars, and you were only talking about how he baby-trapped you.”

Seeing as every denial thus far had fallen on deaf ears, Buck made the executive decision to let that slide. Because it didn’t matter what assumptions people made about Eddie and him—it never had. Because he knew the truth. And the truth was:

Eddie hadn’t baby-trapped Buck. Buck had baby-trapped himself.

He’d met Christopher and saw the kind of father Eddie was, and decided that this was it for him. This was all he’d ever need. ‘You have a kid? I love kids!’ And as he wedged himself into all the spaces he would fit, he knew that every winding path he’d ever ventured in life had been worth it in the end if it meant putting him on this one. The one where he got to meet them. Because he knew that if Eddie had ever turned to him and asked him to stay—now and forever—he would and he wouldn’t even hesitate.

“Eddie is...” everything, “my best friend.” He didn’t know why the words felt so tight in his throat.

Oscar looked like he had a theory. “He must mean something really special to you then,” he said. It wasn’t patronizing or belittling, rather... understanding. Sympathetic. And Buck didn’t know what to do with sympathetic.

“Yeah. He really is,” he murmured, barely audible. Eyes sharpening, he then spoke at a volume that was actually meant to be heard, “You never told me who made you promise to rob a bank.”

Wincing, the man shifted beneath the other’s piercing stare, “I’d kind of been hoping you forgot.”

“I don’t forget things,” was Buck’s immediate response. “Except when I do.”

Huffing a breath that might’ve been a laugh, Oscar just shook his head. “I didn’t promise to rob a bank,” he eventually admitted, nodding toward the office door, “I promised to keep an eye on an asshole. To keep him safe. Kinda comes with the added benefit of keeping others safe from him.”

“Wait... are you talking about Jo?” Buck carefully ventured, because who else? Based on the man’s expression, he’d hit the nail directly on its head. Lips flattening into a rigid line, “I don’t know if you’ve been ‘keeping people safe’ exactly. The woman that got shot might beg to differ.” In fact, he worried what the other was like when he didn’t have Oscar around to reign him in.

The man didn’t offer anything to his defense. He simply stood there and took whatever judgment Buck decided to impose.

“No offense,” Buck began, not bothering to hide his disdain, “but I have a hard time imagining someone caring enough about that guy to ask that of you.” Because he’d pointed a gun at a nine year old. Twice.

If the other was inclined to defend the man, he didn’t. Instead, voice subdued and expression pained, “It was our mom. Right before she died.”

For a moment, all Buck did was stare. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he eventually ventured, “So you too are...”

“Brothers,” Oscar confirmed with a lack of emotion that was sort of impressive.

And Buck was struck with the overwhelming urge to offer his condolences. “Benji too?” he asked instead. It seemed the most logical follow up besides, ‘Have you heard about the Cain instinct?’ and, ‘Would that be something you’re interested in pursuing?’

“No. Benji’s just an old friend,” he explained, looking miles away. Whatever he was thinking about, it wasn’t a happy memory. “He really looks up to Jo. Always has. I couldn’t let him walk into trouble because of that idiot. Not without me.”

The rules of twenty questions long forgotten, Buck asked, “Is that what you meant when you said you tagged along to keep others safe?”

The silence that stretched between them was answer enough. Then, so quiet he’d almost missed it, “You’re not the only one with a best friend.”

Best friend. That was starting to feel like code for something else. Smiling, Buck hoped it didn’t look as brittle as it felt, “Guess not.”

Glancing back at the office door, Oscar sighed as he changed the subject, “Better head back. If we take too long, he might try and shoot you again.” The joke fell a little flat.

Buck attempted a polite laugh anyway, “Lead the way.” And as he marched himself back into captivity, he couldn’t help the crushing weight of loss that followed; mourning someone he never even got the chance to know. Because that man was willing to pick up a gun to save someone who wouldn’t lay down their own to save him back. And Buck couldn’t do a thing to change it.

Not a goddamn thing.

Buck was alive, but that wasn’t enough. Because for two minutes, Eddie thought he wasn’t, and he didn’t think he was ready to forgive that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Once Athena had seized control of the scene, watching her verbally trample the criminals on the other end of the phone line had been nothing short of impressive. Turns out: most people really didn’t want to get tear gassed, and if you threatened it with enough authority (and a little creativity), they typically caved to most of your demands.

  “... hello?”

The relief felt in the immediate vicinity was palpable, the three gathered around the phone nearly collapsing from the weight of it.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice, Buckaroo,” Athena had sighed, hand held over her heart as if to make sure it hadn’t given out.

Feeling a hand clasp him on the back, Eddie relaxed into it upon the realization it’d been Bobby. He idly wondered if that act alone was meant to be of equal comfort to the man. And for a moment, he honestly let himself believe that everything would be alright.

So, of course, the situation devolved in record timing.

The first hiccup came with the injury at the hands of those three dumbasses. Not fatal—not yet—but serious enough to require immediate extraction. Blood thinners. That had been what explained the urgency, and Eddie hadn’t missed Bobby’s subtle flinch upon its reveal.

“We’ll get her out to you as soon as we can. Give us a couple minutes,” another voice chimed over the phone, one Eddie recognized as one of the bank robbers. At the very least, this one seemed a little more reasonable than his associates. Though, given the stock of his company... that wasn’t exactly saying much.

It had maybe taken all of ten minutes for the door of the bank to creak open, Buck announcing himself and his intentions. Specifically: ‘we’re coming out,’ and ‘don’t shoot.’

The itching in Eddie’s shoulder had progressed to a dull ache at that point.

He’d been standing with Hen and Chim on the far end of the barricade as Bobby gave those inside the all-clear. And when the door finally creaked the rest of the way open—cautious and slow—Buck was the one on the other side. Scaaning the crowd, eyes searching, they never seemed to find the rest of the 118.

Until they did.

It was after the injured woman had shambled across the pavement into the care of the paramedics from the 143. Job done, Buck had made a move to retreat back into the ‘safety’ of the bank. But then, he froze. And any hopes he might’ve had of Buck getting himself out of the line of fire had been crushed. Then trampled on. Then set on fire.

That’s when Buck made wide-eyed contact from across the parking lot, and Eddie had made the mistake of relaxing a little too soon. Because any comfort he might’ve found in those blue eyes was immediately overshadowed by the terror that replaced it as the bank robber said something to him.

And for a moment, Eddie burned with anger. It only got worse as Buck’s visible discomfort grew, face burning hotter and hotter to match the fury churning in Eddie’s gut. It wasn’t until the man behind his friend stood on his tiptoes, whispering something in his ear—looking far too pleased with himself—that Eddie worried he might actually hop the barricade and do something he’d regret.

It went on that way for some time, the two engaged in hushed conversation as clueless onlookers tried and failed to deduce just what the hell was going on. It wasn’t until the most recent development in the two’s fervent debate that Eddie got an inkling of suspicion on what they were talking about:

“Holy shit.”

It was the only thing anyone had heard thus far, and Eddie had startled upon the realization the man had been looking at him when it’d been spoken. And Buck? He looked even more mortified than before; a feat previously thought impossible.

Eventually Bobby had had enough, using the bullhorn to try and get to the bottom of the hold up. Because Buck had done his job. He should’ve been back inside by now. Hell—he looked desperate for it at this point. Eddie was willing to bet the hand pressed against his lower back had something to do with these circumstances.

Something nasty curled in his stomach at the sight. Again. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t want to dig down deep enough to find it out. He didn’t know if was ready for the answer. 

That’s when the man replaced his hand with his shoe, and it was like Buck had flipped a switch. Widening his stance and bracing his hands against the doorframe, he craned his neck back to spit something harsh and scathing.

Whatever was said gave the man behind him pause, as if Buck had turned around and slapped him across the face. Rolling his eyes, the man relented as he removed his foot, finally stepping off to the side to allow the other in. But before he could depart—before Buck could retreat back to the relative safety of the indoors—he met Eddie’s piercing stare one last time, and he gave a thumbs up. The bastard had given him a fucking thumbs up, and then he was gone again.

Eddie felt like he might puke. Because Buck was there and then he wasn’t, and Eddie was getting a little tired of having to compartmentalize his thoughts and feelings on the matter.

With Buck back inside and the injured woman well on her way to the nearest hospital, the crowd dispersed back to their previous duties. It was so seamless, it was almost as if the last fifteen minutes hadn’t even happened. Because most of the people here didn’t know Evan Buckley. They didn’t know enough to worry.

The 118 didn’t have that luxury.

Bobby had immediately disappeared into the crowd, likely in search of his wife who’d been on the phone amidst the entire exchange. She’d taken over the role as negotiator and had been engaged in heated argument with one of the criminals last he saw. That had just left Hen, Chim, and Eddie in their spot along the perimeter, watching numbly as everyone busied themselves with their jobs while they remained. Silence stretched between the three, and no one tried to break it. No one knew how.

Eddie kept his head down in case Taylor Kelly forced him to be true to his word. Though, he wasn’t sure what information he could offer besides, ‘Buck was outside, and now he’s inside. Again.’ Perhaps the woman knew that for he never heard the telltale sound her heels clacking against the pavement, gaining on him at an alarming speed.

Deciding enough was enough, Hen was eventually the first to say, “That was... weird.”

An understatement. But sure.

“Right,” Chim drawled, eyebrows knotting together in suspicion, “they were looking right at us...”

Eyes flickering over to Eddie, “I don’t think it was us they were looking at,” Hen solemnly noted.

And she wasn’t even wrong. Perhaps initially they’d all been included in Buck and his little friend’s once over, but that had pretty quickly honed in on one person and one person only: Eddie. And he just couldn’t figure out why. Because when Buck looked at him, there had been meaning there (there had always been meaning there), and he wasn’t even close to figuring out what it was.

But Eddie wasn’t afforded the opportunity of finding out, for soon enough, Athena came walking over with Bobby at her side. And based on their expressions...

It wasn’t good.

“They’ve agreed to free the hostages,” the woman said, her tone not quite matching her words.

Hen seemed to clock that too, “But?”

“But they requested a getaway car and clear roads from here to the airport,” and given Athena’s scowl, she didn’t like that. Not one bit.

And since Eddie wasn’t the arbiter or morals, he didn’t care nearly as much if the men inside got away. Not as much as Athena. Not if it meant getting Buck back to him safe. Alive. “Alright,” he said, trying not to sound too excited, “where’s the car?”

Athena and the 118 regarded him strangely. You’d have thought he’d cheered or something—he was 83% sure he hadn’t.

Then came the distinct sound of gravel crunching beneath tires, the crowd parting as a new vehicle entered the lot. And as the police moved the barricades, allowing the car to pass, Eddie realized that it actually wasn’t a ‘car’ at all.

“That is a van,” Chim announced. “A sketchy, white van.”

“A 2020 Chevrolet Express 2500 Work Van,” Bobby clarified, impressively keen on the details of something so impressively unimportant.

Athena watched in disdain as it parked a couple yards from the front door, “They were very particular about it.”

The explanation more or less satisfied the rest. All except for Hen. “Why would they need a work van if they’re just driving themselves and maybe a couple duffels of cash to an airport?” she asked, raising an extremely valid point.

Eddie almost wished she hadn’t. He’d kinda liked living in that blissfully ignorant reality of his. The one where he gets Buck back—unscathed—and nothing bad happens to either of them ever again. But life could never be so kind.

“Could be nothing,” Athena offered, though the tightness in her expression told a different story. One she helpfully supplied, “Could be that they’re hoping to get away with a couple hostages to make sure the police keep their end of the deal.”

And yeah. One of those options was certainly a little more preferable to the other. Huffing a frustrated breath, Eddie asked, “What are the chances of that?”

“Almost guaranteed,” came the woman’s immediate reply; she took no pleasure in it. “They haven’t made anything easy so far. Don’t see why they’d start now.”

That sent a wave of nervous energy crackling through the group, and none of them said a word. They just sat with it. Ruminating.

Chim was the first to break: “And we can assume there’s a hidden tracking device of some kind in case you’re right and they try to take off with someone? Or someones—plural?”

Athena turned her entire body to look at him, as if she needed him to know exactly how ridiculous he sounded with body language alone, “Do you even need to ask?”

The man shrugged, “I’m curious by nature.”

The woman audibly scoffed. It was an answer in and of itself.

At this point, Bobby took over for his wife: “We’ve been informed by S.W.A.T. that the van is being tracked. They’re hoping it’s just a precaution, but these things don’t always pan out the way they’re expected to. If all goes well, they won’t even make it out of the parking lot.”

And with what he said and how he said it, Bobby made a convincing case. It was just too bad Eddie had never considered himself an optimist.

“And if everything turns into a heaping, burning pile of shit?” Eddie asked, not meaning for the words to come out so intense. So heated. Not at Bobby of all people. “What then?”

“Well,” Bobby began, completely unfazed, “I’m willing to bet that’s what the tracker’s for.” Because Eddie had once confessed to driving a piece of cartilage into another man’s brain via foot. That outburst hadn’t even been a blip on his radar.

“Did the police also promise not to shoot them on sight when they walk through those doors?” Hen ventured, ever the pragmatist. “I know these guys aren’t exactly playing with a full deck of cards, but that’d be stupid even for them.”

Yeah. It would. Which is why what happened next wasn’t at all surprising:

With the recent development, S.W.A.T. had pretty exclusively taken over the scene. So when one of them announced, “Everyone’s about to leave the bank—get ready,” even Athena looked a little surprised. And as a familiar hush overtook the crowd as the front door creaked open... Eddie couldn’t help but hold his breath.

“Please don’t shoot—we’re coming out,” someone inside yelled, obstructed by the door. It was a voice he didn’t recognize. One of the hostages?

“Go ahead. We’re ready for you.” One of the S.W.A.T. police must’ve relieved Bobby of his bullhorn.

Deeming the reassurance as ‘good enough,’ the door opened the rest of the way. A group of twenty or so people shuffled out, faces conveying varying degrees of terror. But that wasn’t the noteworthy part. No. That would have to be the fact they were arranged in a tightknit circle, forced to shield the three within with their bodies, hands still zip tied. And while Eddie couldn’t see much of them, it was safe to assume they had their guns trained on their human shields, keeping them in line.

It wasn’t hard to pick Buck out from the group. The man stood at least a head taller than the rest; it’d be harder not to. He lingered closer to the center, a position he didn’t look particularly pleased by. One of the robbers had crouched behind him, wearing the Kevlar Buck had been stripped of as he curled a hand into the back of his uniform, using it to steer him toward the van.

The sight made Eddie’s stomach churn. And with the snipers lining the roofs...

“Anyone else feel like we should be strapping into our vests again?” Chim asked, snatching the words right from the tip of his tongue.

Bobby shook his head, “We’re not the ones in the line of fire.” The bleakness in his tone had everyone on edge.

Shocked, Chim cautiously ventured, “So, when you say ‘line of fire’... Bobby, don’t tell me you think they might actually start taking potshots at these guys. With the hostages? With Buck?”

Athena was the next to offer her input, “I’ve been thoroughly reassured that the top priority as of right now is getting the hostages out unharmed. But...”

“But anything can happen,” Hen finished, wearing a matching somber expression.

“And if anything does happen... we’ll be ready,” Bobby said, steadfast and confident as ever as he rallied his team. “Until then, we’re on standby.”

‘Standby,’ Eddie’s brain uselessly echoed that word back to him. Taunting him. And he was getting a little sick of it. The 118’s conversation had long faded into background noise as he watched the scene transpire, unable to do anything else but track Buck’s stilted, limited movements across the parking lot.

The distance traveled couldn’t have been more than a couple yards, but it felt like miles until the group reached the van. Once there, the hostages fanned out to give the robber’s a clear path to the double doors at the back of the vehicle. Even still, they remained effective shields, standing shoulder to shoulder as one of their captors opened the doors and crawled inside. Another made a move to get in as well, placing one foot inside the van as he lifted himself in. And just when it seemed like the third would follow—the one wearing the Kevlar...

Buck stilled, entire body going rigid as he whipped his head back to face the man. Saying something to the other no one from this distance could hear, there was something distinctly wild in his eyes. Like a cornered animal ready to start biting.

Eddie could just barely make out the top of the robber’s head amidst the group. He got the feeling that even if he were standing to his full height, he’d still only come up to Buck’s collarbones. Which only reaffirmed what Eddie already suspected to be true: take the zip-ties and guns out of the equation... and Buck was kicking that guy’s ass.

Maybe the man knew that, because in the blink of an eye, he’s aiming the pistol at Buck’s head before anyone’s had time to react. Not pulling the trigger. Not yet.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t, however. Hen gasped, Chim physically startled, Bobby braced himself against the barricade as Athena placed a hand on his shoulder—either to steady or restrain—and Eddie...

Eddie saw red.

The two men stood in the middle of the parking lot, surrounded by human shields, seething at one another. Because even with a gun to his head, Buck had no desire to stand down. It made Eddie want to hop the barricade, grab him by the shoulders, and physically shake some survival instincts into him. But that thought immediately dissipated once he realized what they were fighting about:

“What’s he doing?” He heard Hen ask.

Eddie gave a rueful sigh: “He’s being Buck.”

Barely visible through the legs of the hostages was a small body, tiny arms held by opposing forces: one by Buck and the other by the bank robber. And although Eddie couldn’t hear much, he could hear the fearful sobs from across the distance, making his fury grow tenfold. Struggling against the other hold in a distressed attempt to stay with Buck, the little body—the child—got desperate. In a tearful fit of desperation, she went limp in their grasps, her wailing only getting louder and louder.

And she wasn’t the only one getting a little desperate. Leaning out the edge of the van, one of the other robbers—the one that’d first answered the door—yelled, “Jo, just leave her!” It startled the other enough to shift the gun away from Buck, its barrel closer to his ear rather than his forehead. But in an effort to warn his companion, the man inside the vehicle forgot one crucial detail:

Stay behind your human shield.

There was a clap of thunder as the man’s shoulder exploded into a red pulp, painting the door of the van crimson before he crumpled forward and out, hitting the pavement. After that, time moved in slow motion.

Eddie’s heart stopped, hand flying to the bullet wound only a couple months healed over. But it was fine. He was fine. He was safely behind the barricade, nowhere near the line of fire.

But Buck wasn’t.

The second gun went off. The one near his head. And although Eddie didn’t see where the bullet ended up, he saw what came after: Buck fell back, hitting the ground. Hard. And it seemed like with that act alone, whatever imaginary string that’d been holding the situation together had finally snapped.

With terrified screams and a desperation to live, the hostages scattered. And as each of them shot off into every direction, it was impossible to keep track of who was who.

“Hold your fire! I said hold your fucking fire!” Someone—S.W.A.T. most likely—yelled in an attempt to keep the police from firing into the chaos.

And as Buck laid in a puddle of blood Eddie couldn’t be sure was coming from him or the man lying next to him, only one thought crossed his mind:

This is it. This is where I finally lose him forever.

This time, Eddie didn’t hesitate to jump the barricade.

When Buck had reentered the office with Oscar, he immediately noticed the shift in energy. It was anxious. Tense. Almost oppressive.

That’s when he spotted Jo from across the room, phone in hand as he stared Buck down with a wolfish grin. He looked satisfied in a way that spelled trouble for everyone else. “Never fucking doubt me again,” he said. This time, he was looking at Oscar.

Face impassive, the man just waited for his brother to explain. It’s not like he had much better to do.

Turns out, while Buck and Oscar had been loitering in the lobby—shooting the shit—Jo had been scheming. And without his brother to talk him down, he’d managed to negotiate an exchange with the police. On select conditions.

That’s how Buck ended up outside again, mere minutes after his previous stint, somehow feeling even more ridiculous than the last. But before everyone could be herded toward the door, Jo had taken the time to zip-tie him again, notably tighter than the last. Wrists sore and already sweating as he crossed that threshold once more, you could say Buck was in a particularly shitty mood. Couple that with the snipers lining the adjoining buildings and the pistol pressed against his spine...

Buck didn’t miss how Oscar went out of his way to avoid the intensity of his stare. The one asking how he could be complacent in this. The one asking him to do something. All of it went ignored, however; the man staring straight ahead with a duffle bag of cash thrown over his shoulder.

Everyone not in the process of robbing a bank stood shoulder to shoulder, pressed too close together for comfort as they approached the police-sanctioned van; their captors remaining crouched in the middle, avoiding the snipers. Buck made sure Sarah remained tucked safely under his arm, as close to the center as he could get away with.

Even when they’d reached the vehicle, Buck refused to let his guard down. Because even though this was supposed to be it—supposed to be the end of things—he couldn’t bring himself to be so optimistic. Not with the day he’s had. Not with the way the police held their guns, itching to use them.

Benji wrenched open the doors, wasting no time clamoring inside with two duffels of stolen money. Oscar was soon to follow, still not quite able to meet Buck’s gaze as he pulled himself into the vehicle, noticeably more cautious than the last. And just when he thought Jo would follow... the man subverted his expectations. He subverted them in the worst way possible.

Buck felt Sarah pulling away from him and he instinctually tensed. Because as soon as he heard a small, fearful noise, he knew it wasn’t of her own volition. Head snapping to the source at a velocity that bordered frightening, what he saw made him homicidal:

Jo had taken Sarah by the arm, attempting to drag her with him into the van. Fingers digging into her shoulder, he wasn’t being gentle about it.

“No,” the command shot from his diaphragm, low and guttural as if it were beaten out of him. Tightening his grasp on Sarah, it was more to keep her in place than to rip her free from the other. After all, he didn’t want to hurt her. If he gave into that kneejerk reaction telling him to get her away from the man no matter the cost, he might. And that just wasn’t an acceptable trade-off.

“Gotta guarantee police stay good on their word somehow,” Jo said with the unbearable smugness of someone who knew they held the winning hand, “you know how it is.”

No. Buck didn’t ‘know how it is,’ actually. He couldn’t imagine being the kind of person who’d endanger anyone like that, let alone a child. And he thanked whatever higher power was responsible for that. Mainly Maddie. “Leave her,” he said, never wavering, “I’ll go.”

The man blinked back at him, and you could practically see the cogs turning as he processed the demand. Scowling, Jo scoffed, “No. You’re too big.” He pulled on the girl’s arm again, attempting to yank her free. The action was rougher; a desperation that hadn’t been there before seeping in because Buck didn’t budge. Not even a little.

“You’re not taking her,” he said, words sharpening to a jagged edge. Because this was nothing—Jo was nothing. Because the man stood at a fraction of his height, and there was no doubt in Buck’s mind that if it’d been a fair fight, he’d be handing the other his teeth. Because if Buck had really, really wanted to... he could.

Buck had barely blinked before there was a pistol being leveled directly at his head. “I’m not asking,” Jo sneered, not quite able to keep the shaking from his hands.

All Buck could do was stand there, staring the man down past the end of the barrel. Something within himself untethering at the sight. Something vital. And if he leaned into the barrel by just a fraction... he’d deny it, “Neither am I.”

The air felt charged as the two engaged in their silent standoff. It wasn’t until Sarah went limp in his hold, sobs turning into screams, that the two even considered breaking it.

“Jo, just leave her,” Benji leaned out of the van to yell. Although his words didn’t necessarily achieve their goal, they got him to remove the gun aimed at Buck’s head. If the man fired now, the bullet would probably only take out his ear. But Benji wasn’t finished. Pushing off his knees, he stood up in the back of the vehicle as if attempting to exert some kind of authority over the other, albeit anxiously.

Everyone watched the exchange with wide eyes and bated breaths. Oscar especially looked a little awestruck.

Bolstered by the response, Benji seemed to gain more and more confidence in his resolve, much to Jo’s seething fury. And as he opened his mouth to levy his next scathing indictment, he held his head high. Too high...

Buck didn’t even get the chance to warn him.

With a thunderous shot fired from a distance, Buck felt the specks of blood against his face before he even registered where they came from. Vaguely noting Benji’s body as it collapsed to the pavement, all he could do was stand there and stare blankly ahead, suddenly miles away from his body.

That’s when the second shot fired, inches from his head. It was a misfire—it must’ve been—because he was still alive. Jo wouldn’t have fired unless he’d meant to kill him. But that didn’t stop the kickback from smashing against his temple, temporarily whiting his vision. It didn’t stop the deafening BANG from bursting his eardrum either. Dazed, he barely even fought it when the people around him began pushing and shoving to make their escape. Barely even registered the fact that he was on his back, blinking up at the sky, wondering why the sun was so damn bright.

Sarah was there... he thinks? Crouched down next to him with little hands shoving at his shoulder, she attempted to rouse him. And Buck wanted to say something to her—he knew he should say something to her—but he couldn’t. His tongue felt as if it were made of lead, and he couldn’t hear a thing past the ringing in his ears. But then he blinked, and she was gone; snatched away from his line of vision, heading in the opposite direction of the van. And he had the distant thought that he should probably be doing something about that...

Rolling onto his stomach, Buck attempted to get his knees beneath him. If he accomplished that much, he might actually stand a chance at getting upright again. He’d gotten maybe half of the way there until he finally noticed the blood pooling beneath his fingers. Blinking, he quickly itemized every part of his body experiencing the most pain, trying to figure out where exactly he’d been shot. It wasn’t until his eyes drifted forward that he realized (remembered?) that the blood wasn’t his.

A body lay crumpled on the pavement, blood pouring from their shoulder. And suddenly... Buck wasn’t at the bank anymore. He was outside Charlie and Sheila’s apartment, both being carted away in different ambulances for different reasons. Eddie was there too. He’d been the first to realize what the woman had been doing to her son, and hadn’t hesitated to respond to the scene when Charlie had called, telling him he’d returned the favor. One minute, the two men were standing there as they watched the ambulances depart, a wave of content washing over them. The next...

Eddie was in front of him and then he was on the ground, and as Buck stared at the body before him—same position, same exit wound, same everything—he was starting to believe he never got back up.

Someone grabbed him by the shirt collar, attempting to yank him to his feet. And Buck maybe got half of the way up before it became too much, kilting over from a bout of dazed nausea.

“You son of a bitch,” they sneered. Choking him with his own shirt as they forced him to stand on wobbly feet, they shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling forward.

Grunting as he hit the ledge of the van, Buck barely even realized he was upright before that same someone was shoving him from the back, trying to force him inside. Affronted by the gesture—and the prolonged contact with his lower back—he swung his leg, blindly kicking backwards until his boot connected with something.

Jo screamed in pain, staggering back as he held his nose with the hand not holding the pistol. Under drastically different circumstances, Buck might’ve laughed. Under these however... favoring his right, he used his elbow to push himself to a sitting position. Once achieved, it gave him a clear view out of the van. Snipers be damned, Buck was ready to make a run for it.

That’s when he locked eyes with Eddie. No longer on the other side of the barricade. Sprinting for him.

That revelation brought nothing but terror in its wake. Because as Jo finally recovered, acutely aware of the rapidly approaching footsteps from behind, he didn’t hesitate to swing himself around, aiming the gun directly down his new line of sight. He didn’t care who it was. He didn’t care who he hurt.

Eddie faltered, as if weighing the pros and cons of getting shot again. It was brief, and fleeting, and whatever reservations he might’ve had weren’t nearly enough because he kept running. For the van. For the gun. For Buck.

Lips curled into a sneer as his fingers tightened around the trigger, Jo spoke, “Should’ve stayed behind the police tape you dumb, motherfu—ACK!”

Buck latched onto the man’s neck, using the full weight of his body to yank him backwards into the van. Because even though his hands were tied, that just meant they were in prime headlock positioning. But despite his best efforts, the gun still fired.

Fortunately for Eddie, Buck wasn’t the only one looking out for him.

Bobby shot onto the scene in a flash of navy blue, tackling him out of the bullet’s trajectory. Once they hit the ground, he didn’t waste another moment before clamoring on top of the other to shield him from any more gunfire.

Buck grappled with Jo in the back of the vehicle, waiting for the man to either go limp in his hold or for his head to ‘accidentally’ pop out of its spinal column. The only awareness he had of the world outside was Eddie’s enraged yelling for Bobby to ‘get off,’ occasionally punctuated by the desperate call for Buck by name.

But as he remained preoccupied with strangling his captor, escaping the van, and getting back to Eddie... Buck had neglected one key detail:

Oscar. The brother of the man he was currently throttling.

But as the two flopped around in the back of the van—like a gator locked in a brutal death roll—Oscar never paid them any mind. No. He was far more preoccupied with something outside the. Or, rather, someone. “Fuck—leave him alone and help me with this!” he seethed, attempting to drag Benji’s limp body inside.

And Buck wasn’t even sure who he was talking to at that point. He knew even less of the reason why he considered pausing his ongoing strangulation attempt to try and actually help.

Jo took advantage of his hesitation, driving his elbow into the other man’s stomach, prying himself from his grip.

Wheezing in pain, Buck clasped at his middle while simultaneously searching for the gun. It had skittered out of the man’s grasp amidst their struggle. If he could locate it before the other, he might be able to—

A distinct click sounded inches away from the ear he could still hear out of, dashing those hopes immediately.

“Give me one reason why I don’t smear the walls with you,” Jo sneered, kneeling over him as he pressed the barrel into his temple.

And... shit, Buck didn’t have a good excuse prepared. Cheek pressed against the flooring, he squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to prepare for what came next. But somewhere amidst the chaos, the police must’ve gotten the ‘ok’ to open fire. Because the next time he heard a gun go off, it wasn’t the one being shoved into the side of his head.

Oscar cursed, dropping Benji’s bleeding form as he narrowly avoided the same fate. But before he could reach back out, making another attempt at pulling his friend to safety...

“Leave him, he’s dead anyways!” His brother yelled. Yanking Oscar back by his shirt collar, he slammed the door shut just in time for another bullet to ricochet off the exterior. Shoving the other toward the steering wheel, Jo kicked a duffle bag of cash out his way and hissed, “Remember why we’re here.”

Eyes wide and expression haunted, it looked like Oscar remembered all too well. Torn between the promise to protect his brother and the instinct to save his friend, it wouldn’t take long before it finally tore him in two.

But whatever decision Oscar was about to make, the impasse was ultimately decided by his brother; practically being thrown into the front seat, Jo screamed at him to, “Fucking—drive!”

The demand kickstarted something in his brain, because without a moment further of hesitation, the man was stomping down on the gas and crashing into the police barricade. Buck could hear the screams and gunfire from outside, muffled by the walls of the van and his apparent hearing loss.

With Oscar preoccupied at the helm—blowing through crosswalks and redlights alike—it gave Jo the perfect opening to antagonize their remaining hostage. “At first, I was just gonna shoot you and be done with it. But we’ve got some time before we get to the airport,” he said with a threatening grin that inspired nothing but exasperation at this point, “and I’m thinking I’d really like to take my fucking time with you. You really should’ve tried harder to stay on my good side.”

Now... look. Jo was a lot of things, but ‘criminally insane’ simply wasn’t one of them. He was a little dude with an even littler gun—probably overcompensating for his ‘little gun’—completely out of his depth. Which was to say: it was like getting threatened by a fourteen year old who just learned how to curse. Unfortunately, the fourteen year old also had a gun and would shoot you, but that was likely the extent of your worries. That being said...

“I don’t think being on your ‘good side’ comes with all the perks you seem to think it does,” Buck replied, surprising himself with his own flagrant disregard for self-preservation. “What about Benji? Every step of the way, he was trying to help you, and you still left him to—”

Jo smacked him across the face, expression darkened with fury. “It was his own fucking fault!” he yelled, and Buck didn’t miss the way their driver flinched at his words. “If the dumbass had just kept his head down and mouth shut, none of this would’ve fucking happened—”   

His words cut off as Oscar made a particularly harsh turn onto the highway, slamming his brother against the wall and sending their prisoner skidding across the floor. And as Jo cursed, screaming obscenities directed at no one in particular, Buck took solace in the fact that Sarah had been able to get away. Whatever happened to him, that would make it all worth it in the end.

“You know what? I think I’m actually gonna hold onto you for a while,” Jo said, still attempting to sound threatening, “at least until we’re airborne and on our way to Europe. After that, maybe we’ll dump you somewhere over the Atlantic. Hope you know how to swim.”

“Pacific,” Buck corrected. Because fuck this guy. “Atlantic is east coast. This is the west coast, dumbass—"

Another loud SMACK rang through the van’s interior, and Buck was getting a little tired of being slapped in the face.

“Stop,” he finally sat up, hissing inches away from the other’s face, “hitting me.”

Briefly stricken by the unexpected intensity, Jo quickly recovered, sneering back, “What exactly do you plan on doing about it?”

“Untie me and find out.” It wasn’t a threat so much as it was a promise.

But before either could make good on their ideations of violence, a voice called from the front of the van. “He’s right, Jo,” Oscar said, staring blankly at his brother. His eyes were vacant, and empty, and not even bothering to look ahead as he sped down the highway. Then, with a sickening smile, “It’d be the Pacific.”

Oscar veered off the road, smashing through the guardrail as the van plummeted, tearing through the dense foliage of the woods.

Neither bolted down by a seatbelt, Buck and Jo took a tumble. Into the walls, the floors, each other... they felt every impact the van made on its way down the steep hill, and they’d be feeling it for weeks to come. And when it finally stopped, it did so with a swaying lurch, almost like they’d hit water.

Groaning, Buck peeled himself off the floor to get a better grasp of his surroundings. Blinking past the spots whiting his vision, he saw Oscar hinged over and unconscious at the steering wheel. That's when he felt the water at his fingertips, rapidly pouring in through the gaps of the doors and filling the interior.

With the water rising past his knees, he knew he had to act fast. Forcing himself to stand, he stumbled over to the man in the driver’s side to try free from his seatbelt. But with his hands tied and the airbags fully deployed, he couldn’t reach past him to disengage the buckle. “Hey,” he called to the man’s brother, “I can’t reach, I need your help!”

Jo didn’t respond despite Buck picking out his conscious movements out of the corner of his eye. He was awake. He was upright. And yet, he made no move to help the other save his own flesh and blood brother. Instead, when Buck craned his head back to demand help once more, the sight that greeted him was nothing like he’d been anticipating:

With a wet duffle of cash slung over his shoulder, Jo stood primed and ready at the back doors. With neither shame or trepidation, he hooked his hands into the door handles and began to push.  

Mind blanking, it took a couple seconds for Buck to fully comprehend what he was seeing. “No! Don’t—”

The doors opened and the water rushed in, slamming Buck into the back of the seats. Gasping for air as he struggled against the current, he did his best to fight his way back to the driver’s side, still trying to unclasp Oscar. But as the van tilted forward, completely submerging the front... he knew he had to cut his losses. No matter how much it hurt. Taking one final breath, Buck ducked into the murky depths, propelling himself out of the sinking metal deathtrap as he kicked his feet as hard he could, trying to breach the surface.

What couldn’t have been more than seconds felt like hours until he’d reached air again. Doing his best to stay afloat with tied hands, he managed to get onto his back. Keeping his head above water, he kicked until he reached the shore. Back eventually colliding with something firm enough to constitute land, his relief was instantaneous and all-consuming. Clawing his way out of the retention pond, Buck plopped into the mud with a wet SPLAT. Staring up at the sky, chest heaving, he watched numbly as the van finally sank beneath the water, fully submerged.

Closing his eyes, Buck took a couple shuddering breaths that tapered into a wet cough as he hacked up the water in his lungs. When he opened them again, a figure loomed over him, white as a sheet and angry as a hornet.

Jo stood before him, soaking wet and without his bag of stolen cash. He must’ve lost it on route to the surface. And it wasn’t the only thing. Scowling, the man reached for something he expected to find in his belt only to come back with nothing.

Buck realized—suddenly and all at once—that the man had lost his gun. It must’ve gone down with the van...

Along with Oscar.

“Fuck—fuck,” the failed bank robber yelled, clutching at the sides of his head in abject horror. At what he’d done? At what he’d lost? Maybe it was too much to hope that he mourned his brother more than the money, but Buck did so anyway. Eyes snapping to the man in the mud, Jo sounded more desperate than angry as he demanded, “How are you not dead yet?”

And that... was a really good question, actually. “The indomitable human spirit,” Buck wheezed, pond water still rattling in his lungs, “and my general zest for life.”

Whatever Jo had wanted to hear, it evidently was not that. Eyes darkening as he succumbed to his rage, he took a menacing step forward as he glowered, “I’ll fucking kill you...”

It was the only warning Buck got. One moment, the man was standing a few feet away. The next, he was on top of him, hands around his throat as he attempted to choke the life out of him. And after a fleeting moment of panic as the other cut off his airway, Buck retaliated.

Ramming the palms of his hands against the underside of the man’s jaw, Buck used his own momentum and the other’s shock to push his attacker away, rolling out from under him. Because even with his hands tied, dealing with a minor concussion... Buck was still sort of winning. But as he attempted to stand, his legs were pulled out from beneath him, sending him faceplanting into the wet muck below. He’d barely gotten himself on his back before a weight pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Spitting up blood and bile from biting through his own tongue, Jo clamored on top of him. This time, a large rock clutched between two hands. Straddling Buck’s chest, blotting out the sun as he raised the stone with murderous intent, he screamed, “Just fucking die already!”

Buck felt the blood against his face before he registered the gunshot. Flinching as the rock landed harmlessly above his shoulder, he lay deathly still as Jo collapsed on top of him—leaking blood and brain matter through the hole in his head. Dead. And even then, it still hadn’t finished setting in.

When it did, it did so all at once.

Shoving the corpse off of him as he rolled onto his front, Buck retched violently into the mud. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming as he wiped the gunk from his face, praying for a distant reality where he’d feel clean, and new, and normal again.

Eyes watering from each attempt to purge the contents of his already empty stomach, Buck forced himself to stop. Instead, curling his fists into the mud, he just concentrated on breathing. In, then out, then in again. Blood rushing in the ear he could still hear out of, it wasn’t until he got his labored breathing back under his control that he turned toward his rescuer.

Oscar stood before him, gun still in hand as he stared across the pond. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, words choked by grief, “didn’t mean to involve you in a family matter.”

Blinking up at the other, Buck made no move to stand. “Pretty sure I involved myself,” he said, aiming for lighthearted. But with the corpse lying face down in the mud next to him, it was undeniably strained.

Still staring straight ahead, face unchanged, “I didn’t exactly try and stop you.” Because he’d shot and killed his brother for someone he met three hours ago, and there wasn’t anything anyone could say to make that right.

Regardless, Buck still tried, “I’m sorry.” It was weak, and tired, but it was all he had.

“Yeah,” Oscar gave a stiff, jerky nod, appreciating the effort anyways, “I know.”

Silence stretched between the two, sirens blaring in the distance. It wouldn’t be long until police arrived, and both men knew it.

“Hey... Buck?”

“Yeah?”

He hadn’t known it was conceivable for someone to look so lost. But as Oscar stared off into the middle distance—looking younger than he was—it was impossible to see him as anything other than someone with nothing left to lose. And instead of making him dangerous, it just made him miserable.

Voice cracking, Oscar finally asked, “What am I supposed to do now?”

And Buck felt distinctly unequipped to answer that question. Because he was nearly thirty years old, and so far, his life had been one crisis after the other. Also: he’d been secretly in love with his best friend for years and was probably the last to realize it. He was pretty sure that disqualified him from dishing out most forms of life advice. But in spite of that:

“Live anyways.”

Brow furrowed, Oscar finally turned to face the other. It was the first he’d looked at him thus far.

With the man’s rapt attention, Buck continued, “I’m not gonna say I know exactly what you’re going through, because I don’t. But I know what it’s like to lose someone.”

Oscar’s demeanor was unchanged. Whether he was actually receptive to the words remained unclear.

Buck persisted nonetheless: “You can’t save everyone. Even if you really want to, even if everyone expects you to... even if you promised to.”

There it was. The first crack in the mask. And as Oscar considered his words, it looked like it physically pained him to do so. Eventually, voice barely above a whisper, “I was standing there when it happened. He tried to do the right thing, got shot, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing to stop it.” They weren’t talking about Jo anymore, and the hand holding the gun was shaking.

For a horrible moment, Buck thought the man might turn it on himself. “Some people just don’t want to be saved, and some do but you just can’t,” he said, hoping the other could find it in himself to hear the truth in it, “and I’m telling you to live anyways. Because of them, or in spite of them—it doesn’t matter. Just live.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you’d have thought Buck had asked the impossible. Oscar considered the gun in his hand with a blank stare and a pregnant pause. Sighing, he ejected the magazine, drawing his hand back before launching it halfway across the pond. And as he watched it disappear beneath the water’s surface, he let the pistol thunk against the earth at his feet.

Stepping over his brother’s corpse, Oscar took a seat next to Buck, gesturing for his wrists. Once presented, he fished his pocket knife out of his pants, finally cutting the other loose.

Rubbing the soreness from his hands, Buck didn’t immediately make a move to leave. Because even without the gun, there was something in the man’s eyes that worried him. It was wounded, and bleeding, and it didn’t deserve to be alone right now. “If there’s anything you need from me...”

Blinking rapidly, the man gave a shaky, stilted nod, “Can you sit with me? Just for a little while.”

“Yeah, Oscar,” Buck murmured, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, “I’ll sit with you.”

Placing his hand over the other’s, Oscar gripped it like a lifeline as the first ragged sob tore its way through him. And true to his word, Buck sat with him as the sound of sirens grew louder and louder.

Eddie worried because it was physically impossible not to, especially in matters concerning Buck. Which—at times—felt a little ridiculous. Because Buck was not some willowy waif with glass bones and paper skin. He was a 6 ’2, 200 lb man that had to avoid flexing too hard lest he tear a seam in his shirt.

But still, Eddie worried.

He had a good reason this time though. Mainly: he’d quite literally watched the other get shoved into the back of white van along with armed bank robbers as the police began to open fire. Because Eddie had let them get away. He’d been too slow, and he’d let them get away.

Bobby tackling him hadn’t exactly helped. Once he finally managed to shake the man loose—yelling some choice words he already regretted—the van was peeling away, smashing through police barricades and nearly mowing down a couple pedestrians in its wake.

Other firehouse’s paramedics rushed onto the scene, helping anyone who’d been injured in the chaos. That included the bank robber that’d been shot by one of the snipers, his condition already seeming to have devolved past a critical point.

Eddie didn’t stick around to find out his status, for Athena was there in seconds, helping her husband off the pavement as she yelled after the other man, “Now, I know you don’t think you’re chasing them down on foot!”

It had Eddie’s feet skittering to an abrupt halt, feeling sufficiently reprimanded—but mostly pissed off because what else was he supposed to do?

“S.W.A.T. says they have a visual with one of their helicopters, and we already know what airport they’re heading to,” the woman explained, gesturing Eddie over, “come one. You’ll ride with me in the squad car.”

“The rest of us will follow in the ambulance,” Bobby said, already waving Hen and Chim over on route to the vehicle. “Alright! Let’s get our guy back.”

Sirens blaring, the ride to the scene was otherwise silent save for Athena giving him the quick rundown on how she expected things to go. Specifically, ‘stay behind me’ and ‘you don’t have a weapon—do not rush ahead.’ But as they turned onto the highway, passing every car and truck in their path, Eddie still wasn’t quite sure what would be waiting for them. It wasn’t until he spotted some nearby vehicles pulled over with their hazards on and a van-sized hole in the guardrail that he felt clued into the reality of the situation.

Eddie and Athena were the first to arrive, a few others pulling up in quick succession—the 118 being one of them. And as the two stepped out of the cruiser, peering down the steep hill into the ruined foliage below, the woman shot the man a look. One that said, ‘stay put,’ as she carefully made the descent into the woods, gun drawn as she followed the van’s path of destruction. The other officers on scene followed soon thereafter.

Eddie stood at the top of the hill, wanting to follow but knowing he couldn’t. Not yet. And no matter how much it pained him to stay behind, he did. He trusted Athena enough to handle it. Also: Bobby was there and currently holding his shoulder in an iron grip, like he expected him to dart. Which was warranted. Because he absolutely would’ve.

Minutes felt like hours as the 118 waited for the ‘ok’ to move in, triage bags in hand. Just in case. And it was impossible for Eddie not to let his mind wander. What was taking so long? Why haven’t they heard anything back yet? What injuries would have to be sustained by anyone in that vehicle when it went down? And no matter how hard he tried to remain objective amidst his spiraling, he never quite managed.

Eventually, an officer came back into view at the bottom of the hill, calling out to those at the top, “All clear! You can come on down now.”

And that was all Eddie needed to hear. Sliding down the hill with no regards to the back of his uniform, he made it to the bottom in record timing. Feet hitting the ground in a dead sprint, he didn’t slow until he reached the clearing in which the police gathered. Tire tracks leading directly into a nearby body of water with no sign of either the van or Buck... Eddie feared the worst.

That’s when he saw him.

Knelt before the soaking wet young man, Athena dabbed at the blood coating his face with a disposable wipe, murmuring words of comfort he never acknowledged. Eyes vacant, there was something distinctly untethered in Buck’s stare. Spectating rather than feeling.

It wasn’t until Eddie touched him, giving a tentative, ‘... Buck?’ that the man came back to himself. Blinking, it was almost like he’d been awoken from a dream. And he must’ve noticed their worried stares and the blood coating Athena’s hands, because the first words out of his mouth were, “It’s not mine.”

Scoffing, Athena pressed the wet-wipe back to his face in an attempt to quell the bleeding. “You have a cut on your head in the shape of a seat buckle. Try again.”

“Oh... some of it might be mine?”

And if Eddie hadn’t been so relieved to have him back—battered, bruised, but alive—he’d have groaned. Instead:

Buck startled as the man wrapped his arms around him, but any hesitation he might’ve felt lasted for only a moment. Relaxing, he undeniably leaned into the touch as Eddie instinctually tightened his hold.

If Athena had an opinion about that, she kept it to herself. The same, however, could not be said about their new arrivals...

“Alright, you two,” Chim announced from across the clearing, “don’t make us break out the Jaws of Life.” Despite the witticism, the relief in his voice was tangible.

And Eddie supposed he should be grateful. Another minute, and the two might’ve actually found a way to burrow into each other’s skin. Because you’re ok—you’re ok—you’re ok—

“Yeah... I’m ok,” Buck suddenly said, startling Eddie from his thoughts, “are you ok?”

It took a moment for Eddie to realize he’d been talking to him. It took another to realize he’d said all that out loud. Awkwardly clearing his throat, “I’m fine.” Forcing himself to let go, he didn’t miss the knowing looks he got from both Hen and Chim. And although Eddie still couldn’t read minds, he now knew with crushing certainty what it meant.

And that they weren’t even wrong.

Bobby was the first to approach, helping Buck to his feet as gave him a not-at-all subtle once over for injuries. Lips pursing, he didn’t seem to like what he found. “Ok,” Bobby eventually breathed, ushering Buck along, “we’re taking you to the hospital. That cut looks like it’s gonna need stitches, and I’d be surprised if you made it out of this without a concussion.” The way he held the other’s arm, it was almost as if it were to reassure himself that this was real. That Buck was ok, and this was real.

And when Buck didn’t even try to make a show out of resisting... yeah. They needed to get him some help. Soon.  

Hen concurred, simultaneously running through her checklist of symptoms as she gently chastised the man, “I thought I told you not to do anything dumb.”

“You said, ‘nothing dumber than usual,’” he corrected with a decisive nod as he swayed on his feet, “and I did not feel particularly extraordinary today.”

Considering the corpse being loaded into a body bag a couple paces away... Eddie had his doubts. That, and the man currently being handcuffed, watching the 118 as the police read him his rights. And that wasn’t even the weirdest part. No. That would have to be the subtle yet pointed head nod he gave, and the fact that Buck returned the gesture. Grim but knowing.

No one seemed to notice other than Eddie, and he decided to keep it that way. Ignoring the feeling festering in his stomach, he helped the rest of the team get Buck back to the ambulance; never leaving his side until he was loaded onto a gurney with Chimney in the back and Hen in the driver’s seat.

That’s when Buck began to ask, “Did Sarah...”

“Yeah,” Chim said, smiling softly, “she made it out alright.”

And as the doors of the ambulance finally closed, sirens blaring as they sped away down the highway, Eddie was left standing there with no one but Bobby for company. Neither said a word. Neither had to. Their expressions said enough:

‘Are you ok?’ Bobby’s asked.

‘I’m getting there,’ Eddie’s replied.

Athena eventually approached, offering to give them a ride to pick up the fire engine. And the ride back was comparable to the rest of the shift that proceeded it: dull and uneventful. Which given their line of work, was a blessing in disguise. Even if that meant doing it without Buck.

Once Hen and Chim got back to the station, things more or less returned to some semblance of normalcy. As much as they could anyways. And despite Chim periodically getting updates from Maddie at the hospital— ‘He’s doing fine. He’ll be discharged by tonight. Please tell Eddie to stop calling me’—Eddie could never quite bring himself to relax, shoulders sore from the tension he’d been carrying. But regardless, he did his job, and he did it well. When Bobby had finally pulled him aside, telling him to head home an hour early... it felt like a mercy kill.

Which brought him to the present: waiting outside Buck’s loft with a six-pack of beer and a metaphorical thumb up his ass. And with Buck’s phone shattered in an evidence locker miles away at the police precinct, Eddie was showing up completely unannounced. Which wasn’t unusual. At all. But somehow—tonight—it was.

With deep a breath as he gathered his resolve, Eddie knocked.

The sound of muffled movement shifted from the other side of the door, and it wasn’t long until the was being unlatched and swung open, revealing Buck on the other end. He didn’t look surprised to see him. Just confused. “Why didn’t you just use your key?” he asked, jaw welted and red in what would no doubt be a spectacular bruise in the morning.

And Eddie didn’t know how to explain to him that there existed a thin line between friendship and ‘something else,’ and the one between the two of them had been blurred for months. He especially didn’t know how to explain how he knew that, and the fact he didn’t even mind. So he didn’t. Instead: “Thought I should give you some sort of heads up before just barging in. And I couldn’t exactly call.”

“Actually,” Buck began, fishing something out of his pocket before presenting it to the other. It was an old-looking flip phone. Noticing the other’s bewildered expression, he explained, “It was my temporary after the tsunami; I kept a hold of it just in case—Albert helped me get in touch with my cell provider before leaving for his date. Also: Maddie said you called a couple times before she left with Jee. Kinda expected you to swing by.”

“Oh. Yeah...” Eddie acknowledged, feeling more and more awkward the longer he lingered in the doorway, “can I come in?”

Buck looked surprised he even felt the need to ask. Wordlessly stepping to the side, he gestured Eddie in. “Chris with Carla?” he asked, watching the other set the beers down on the kitchen counter.

“Pepa. I told her what happened. And with you being on concussion watch... she was happy to keep him for the night.”

Humming a quiet acknowledgment, Buck shut the door and followed him into the kitchen. Brow furrowing, appearing pensive, he asked, “Does Chris know?”

“He knows something happened on a call. But I made sure he knew you were alright and that I planned on keeping an eye on you. That’s not gonna stop him from wanting to see you this weekend; we’re thinking about going to the zoo. So... good luck getting out of that.”

And Buck didn’t even look the slightest bit taken aback. “Eddie,” he said, huffing a quiet laugh, “I wouldn’t dream of trying to get out of that.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, “I know.” And he really did. Because ever since those early months of first meeting, Buck had made Christopher a priority. Because, ‘No one will ever fight for my son as hard as you.’ God—how did he not see it then? With a tightness settling deep in his chest, Eddie busied himself in his search for a bottle opener.

It was a search that was immediately cut short upon noticing the other’s pointed stare.

“You’re on painkillers,” Eddie deduced, tossing the tool back where he found it. It felt wrong to be the only one drinking, somehow.

“And antibiotics for the pond water,” Buck concluded with a nod.

“Well. They will be nice and cold for us the next time I’m over,” opening the fridge, Eddie shoved the sixpack wherever it would fit as he began his search for a non-alcoholic alternative. Scowling, all he could find was a couple cans of store-brand sparkling water. Taking one out and presenting it to the other, “You actually drink this crap?”

Buck took it from him, popping open the lid on route to the couch. Flopping himself down, he replied, “I like how the carbonation burns my throat.”

Settling for some water out of the tap, Eddie shook his head in subtle amusement. Plopping down beside him, he muttered, “Masochist.”

“You’re gonna have to say that into my good ear,” Buck said, tapping his finger against the one opposite to Eddie. “Doctor says it should be fine in the next few days, but everything’s still a little muffled from the pistol.”

He said it so casually, you would’ve thought he was talking about the weather. But he wasn’t. He was talking about a loaded firearm accidentally discharging inches from his head during a botched hostage exchange. Sighing, Eddie got up, switching seats to the opposite end of the sofa. Then, into Buck’s ‘good’ ear, “I said you were a masochist.”

And Buck just stared, something indescribable flashing across his face before muttering into the top of his drink, “Noted.”

A long, awkward silence stretched between the two, and it all felt a little dumbfounding. Because that didn’t happen with them. Because they were Buck and Eddie. Funny how both nothing and everything could change in the span of a few hours.

“So,” Eddie eventually tried, tracing the rip of his glass with his index finger, “what was up with you and that one guy?”

Whatever Buck had been expecting, it hadn’t been that: “... what?”

“You know,” Eddie replied and then didn’t clarify.

Again. Another stretch of silence. “Oh. Oscar.”

Yeah. Oscar. And Eddie suddenly became very interested in his glass of water.

“We sorta got to talking while everything was happening, and he ended up being a pretty ok guy. A guy that makes bad decisions, sure, but...” words tapering off into nothing, Buck got a weird look in his eyes. The same one he had at the bottom of that hill, staring off into the water. And when he finally spoke, it was quiet enough that Eddie almost missed it, “He killed his brother for me.”

And Eddie’s immediate thought was something along the lines of, ‘Of course he would. You’re you.’ His second, however... choking on his drink, he sputtered out, “He what?”

Buck didn’t respond. Only gave a weak shrug.

So, Eddie sat there in silence. Reeling. Because while he knew why he might shoot someone for Buck, he had a hard time seriously rationalizing the motivations of a practical stranger. And the guy’s own brother? Shit... “Are you ok?”

Buck looked like someone who couldn’t even fathom being asked such a question. “I’m not the one that got shot,” he said like it was obvious.

“You came pretty close,” Eddie reasoned.

“Yeah, well,” expression souring, there was something distinctly bitter in the words that followed, “nothing new there.” It didn’t feel like they were talking about the bank anymore.

Eddie watched as Buck placed his drink on the coffee table, using a little more force than necessary. Lips tightening, he didn’t comment on it. Only observed. And while he wished he could say he was surprised with what he found, knew that’d be a lie. Because ever since the shooting all those months back, there’d been a bone-deep exhaustion weighing Buck down. And although it may have lessened with time, and distance, and perhaps even Taylor’s company... it had never quite left.

“I don’t know if it helps, but just in case it does,” Eddie began, calm and careful, “Athena swung by the station after they got your statement at the hospital. Wanted to fill the rest of us in on what was going on. And turns out: yours isn’t the only statement they took.”

Buck shot him a look. One laced with confusion.

Eddie continued, “I know things got a little dicey at the end, but anyone that ended up in the ICU is gonna be fine. The lady on blood thinners, that little girl’s mom... they’ll be ok. Even that guy who got shot out front is expected to make a full recovery. In prison, probably. But he’ll live. Alright? No one died.” A beat of silence passed as he considered his own words. Wincing, he quickly tacked on, “Except for that one guy.”

“Yeah,” Buck huffed, and it had almost been a laugh, “but fuck that guy.”

Eddie concurred. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, raising his water before taking a swig. It was disgustingly lukewarm. Face scrunching into a grimace, “... needs ice.”

This time, Buck actually did laugh. It was throaty, and genuine, and it filled Eddie’s stomach with a warm, fuzzy feeling; a feeling he wasn’t expecting to feel quite so familiar. He took another sip of his water to distract himself. It still needed ice.

But as Buck’s laughter died down, his contented expression was replaced with something pensive and distant. And when he spoke, the words were brittle and subdued, “Is it awful that I feel bad for them?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

And Buck was already rushing to try and clarify, “I mean, they endangered all those people—hurt and probably traumatized a couple—and I still feel bad for them. Isn’t that awful?”

And in all honesty... no. Eddie didn’t think it was ‘awful’ at all. A little strange, maybe. But awful? Shaking his head, he made a noncommittal noise in lieu of an actual answer before asking, “What, are you worried you might have Stockholm Syndrome or something?”

“You know... it’s actually debated whether or not that’s a real thing,” Buck said as if it were the most normal conversational topic in the world. “It isn’t officially recognized by the American Psychological Association, and it’s theorized that its creation only came about from a desire to explain why someone might sympathize more with their captors than police.”

Baffled, Eddie could do little else than stare.

Sighing, it seemed like that’d been the response Buck had been anticipating: “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands, and you’re not asking anything I haven’t already asked myself. And I really don’t think that’s what it is. Ever have someone try to kill you with a rock?”

“Buck...”

“I have.”

“Buck.”

“And let me tell you something: you don’t end up feeling particularly bad when they die in the attempt. Or at least... you shouldn’t, right? Like, it’d be really weird if you—”

“Buck.”

Mouth snapping shut, Buck looked at him with eyes filled with desperation, begging for him to fill the silence where he could not.

“You watched two people get shot today, one of them literally dying in front of you,” Eddie said, placing a hand on the other’s knee. Gentle but firm, “You’re allowed to feel however you want about it.”

Fists clenched in his lap, Buck gave a rueful shake of his head. “That’s the problem,” he muttered, “I always feel it. I’m so sick of feeling it.” He made it sound like he was incapable of the alternative. As if it’d be like fighting against the urge to breathe.

“What’s this really about?” Eddie asked. His hand hadn’t moved from where it rested on the other’s knee.

Staring straight ahead, Buck couldn’t even bring himself to look at him. Leaning back against the sofa, shifting against the cushions as he tried and failed to make himself comfortable... “When that sniper took the first shot. For a second, I thought it was you. I thought I would look over, and there you’d be again: sprawled out against the pavement in a pool of your own blood. And I don’t... I don’t think I can forgive that.”

And Eddie supposed he could understand that. After all, he’d been there when it’d happened—both times, in fact. And when that first rifle fired from the rooftops today, there’d been a second where he fully expected to look down and find himself bleeding from a bullet wound once more.

The silence must’ve lingered for a little too long, because soon enough, Buck took a deep breath. And when he finally exhaled, the admission came out along with it:

“They made me think I lost you again.”

The LAPD? The bank robbers? It was hard to tell who exactly shouldered the blame; even harder to tell who Buck personally pointed the finger at. But none of that mattered. Not now. Because as Eddie stared at his best friend—the other still refusing to meet his eyes—something as simple as blame seemed pretty insignificant.

Frowning, Eddie shook his head as he murmured, “You didn’t lose me.”

And when Buck could finally bring himself to look at him again, it was full of meaning. For years, everything had always been so full of meaning.

There was meaning he’d been given a ride to Chris’ school after the earthquake. When he’d been introduced to Carla. When he’d realized Buck had spent hours tracking down his son amidst a tsunami. When he’d gotten shot, watching his blood splatter against the other’s face, thinking to himself, ‘Oh. It’s you. It’s always been you... and I’ve wasted so much time.’

Eddie didn’t want to waste another second. Leveraging the hand on Buck’s knee, he used it to surge forward, pressing his lips against the other’s.

Making a small, surprised sound in the back of his throat, Buck’s hand instinctually flew to Eddie’s waist while the other braced against the back of the couch. After a moment of wide-eyed shock, he eventually closed them and kissed him back.

When they parted, hot puffs of air against each other’s faces as they remained inches away, Buck cautiously asked, “Did you mean to do that?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, suddenly feeling very nervous... “did you want me to?”

Giving a quick, jerky nod, “Uh-huh.” And he’d maybe gotten half of the way back to kissing Eddie again that he was suddenly struck with a thought. Jumping back like he’d been burned, he looked horrified as he exclaimed, “Ana—”

“We broke up a week ago,” Eddie reassured, really starting to regret the decision to withhold that particular bit of information...

Any horror Buck might’ve felt immediately turned to relief. Then to mild irritation because Eddie had broken up with his girlfriend and hadn’t told him.

And Eddie did his best to placate, “You had your own stuff going on, and I didn’t want to make it about me.”

Sighing, Buck took the glass of water from the other’s hand, placing it on the coffee table. “If I’m being honest,” he said, leaning back against the arm of the couch, giving the other an inviting look, “I wish you’d make things about yourself a little more often.”

Eddie quirked a brow.

Buck quirked one back.

Well. Alright then. And it was like being relieved of a burden he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying. Leaning forward, Eddie slotted himself between Buck’s legs like he’d been made for it. Bracing his hands against the other’s chest, he didn’t waste any time before leaning down, pressing him into the couch as he planted another bruising kiss.

But amidst the gasping breaths, exploring touches, and gentle caresses... Eddie couldn’t quite drown the incessant demand in the back of his mind telling him that the two needed to talk. Because there existed a thin line between friendship and ‘something else,’ and the two of them had just stumbled clean over it whilst kissing and groping one another.

That’s when Buck did something with his tongue, briefly making Eddie seeing stars...

Yeah. They’d talk about it in the morning.

Buck and Eddie had decided to take a month. A month to cultivate this thing blossoming between them, away from curious outsiders and probing—although well-meaning—friends. A month to figure out how they fit together in this new and exciting way, and in... other ways.

That’s not to say there hadn’t been exceptions to this, of course. Christopher, for one, was told one week in. He’d noticed the shift between the two at the zoo, and had finally decided to ask his dad about it. The next day, Buck had gotten a phone call from Eddie, asking him to meet him at his house to finally have The Talk. It’d lasted maybe all of five minutes, Chris sighing in relief at the reveal—but mostly exasperation because they pulled him away from his video game for this.

“I thought one of you was dying,” Chris had groaned, dumbfounding the two men as he hugged them both, only to immediately return to his game after. No further questions.

Maddie found out not long after. And although Buck was sure his sister had had her suspicions prior, she’d respectfully kept them to herself. That was, until, the two had gone over to her apartment for dinner one night. Chim was on shift, and Buck had come over with the promise to cook, bringing Eddie to keep an eye on Jee so the woman could relax. Everything had been fine until after dinner, Maddie stepping out to put the infant down for the night.

Buck had been in the kitchen cleaning up when Eddie had followed him in, sneaking up behind him to grab his ass. So of course, that’s when Maddie walked in, making direct eye contact with the man clutching her brother’s left ass cheek. And when, ‘Actually, Maddie, this is just how we shake hands now,’ hadn’t worked... they were left with no other options than to come clean. Like Chris, she’d hugged them both. Unlike Chris, she’d asked that they do nothing in her kitchen that would require her to disinfect the counters later.

Bobby knew too. They got maybe all of two weeks in before realizing it’d be really, really bad if HR found out about them before they’d filled out all the required paperwork. So, they’d asked their captain to a meeting in his office during one of their slower shifts. And as they sat across from the man in those uncomfortable office chairs of his, saying their piece... Bobby had just smiled, sliding them each a copy of the necessary paperwork. It had already been mostly filled out.

And Buck was happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time.

One month in, and it’d been business as usual at the fire station; Bobby was still the only member of the 118 (besides themselves) who’d been clued in on the pair. They hadn’t gotten around to telling Hen just yet, and Buck had specifically asked Maddie to not breathe a word to Chim. Not because they didn’t trust the man, but because the time just hadn’t felt right. Not yet. Also... they just couldn’t quite bring themselves to give up moments like this:

Sitting on the couch, Buck lazily carded his fingers through Eddie’s hair with one hand as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone with the other. Eyes closed and drifting off, the other man leaned into the touch. They were fifteen hours into a twenty-four hour shift; he was content with letting Buck do as he pleased.

Not everyone shared that opinion, however.

Snorting in amusement, Buck ignored the eyes boring into the back of his skull from the kitchen counter. He also ignored the “Unbelievable—are you seeing this?” that followed.

“Let it go, Chim,” Hen warned half-heartedly. She’d been dealing with the same thing for the same amount of time. But unlike the other, she’d simply reached the point of not caring. Chimney on the other hand...

Marching over, he plopped himself down in the chair directly adjacent to the two men, “Ok, so, hypothetically. You have two friends who work really well together. Like, really well. So well, in fact, everyone else can see it but them, making it less of on ‘if’ this will happen and more of a ‘when.’”

Eddie sighed, extracting Buck’s fingers from his hair as he pushed himself off the couch. “I’m gonna go try and lie down for a bit,” he said, squeezing the other’s thigh just before leaving.

Chim went bug-eyed for a moment, wildly gesturing at Eddie’s retreating form as if to say, ‘See! See what I’m talking about!’

Buck gave no visible reaction.

Huffing in frustration, Chim ran a hand through his hair as if to tear it out, “And let’s say—hypothetically—there was money riding on this. A lot of money. Enough money to buy someone’s favorite niece a new dollhouse she’s been wanting, perhaps? And the deadline for this ends tomorrow... what would you have to say to that?”

Giving a quiet hum to acknowledge the man’s words, Buck just leaned further back against the couch cushions. “I would say that I’m a little offended someone expects me to disclose something so personal for their own gain,” he replied, comfortable and aloof. “And that I know what dollhouse you’re talking about, and I was already planning on getting Jee that for her birthday.”

Blinking back in shock, Chim could only stare. “One day soon,” he said, low and foreboding, “there will be a reckoning.” And with those as his parting words, he stood up and left, disappearing down the stairs.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Buck finally let himself laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Hen said, taking a seat next to him, “because he’s been insufferable for the last week and a half.”

Innocently batting his eyes, Buck replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Hen smiled, giving a good-natured shake of her head. Expression turning serious, she asked, “You two are happy though... right?”

And it would seem as though he wouldn’t have to find a way to tell Hen after all. Knowing her, she’d probably known since their first shift back. “Yeah,” Buck eventually said, and it was the truth, “we are.”

Hen looked genuinely happy to hear that, reaching over to give him reaffirming a pat on the back.

“So,” Buck then said, deciding to get down to business, “how much money is riding on this exactly?”

Hen respected his no-nonsense approach, immediately answering, “Enough for me and Karen to treat ourselves to a pretty high-end restaurant downtown. Assuming you two go official one week from today.”

Giving a careful, calculated nod, “50-50, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“70-30,” she countered.

Higher than I expected. Buck extended a hand, and the two shook on it. And as the two sat in amicable silence, he started planning on what he’d do with his cut.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie called from all the way downstairs, voice echoing through the mostly empty fire station, “you’ve got visitors.”

Buck looked to Hen to see if she had a clue as to what the other was talking about. Met with nothing but a shrug and a matching look of confusion, he decided to just go check. Bounding down the stairs, he was already looking around for Eddie long before his feet hit the ground floor.

That’s when he heard it.

“Buck!” a small voice called, light-up sneakers pattering against the floor as they ran.

The corners of his mouth already pulling into a wide grin, Buck kneeled down to scoop the rapidly approaching figure into his arms, “Sarah!”

The little girl giggled, burying her face in his shoulder; considerably less snot-nosed than before. And even if she hadn’t been, Buck didn’t think he’d find it in himself to mind.

Jocelyn stood at the doors of the station with Eddie, quietly engaged in their own conversation.

“I wish I could do more than cupcakes considering what you all did for me...” Buck heard the woman say upon his approach, still carrying her daughter in his arms. She held a plastic container of baked goods, and her face brightened as the man neared.

“Hey!” Buck said, smiling at the woman, “It’s good to see you again. You look...”

“Like I’m not bleeding from a hole in my stomach?” Jocelyn supplied.

“Yes. That.”

“That’s actually part of the reason why I’m here,” she said, expression turning serious, “if it weren’t for everyone in this station... I’d have died. So, I thought the least I could do was stop by and thank you properly. Also: Sarah couldn’t stop talking about you, and all the news articles I read to her about ‘Hero Firefighter Survives Hostage Situation’ weren’t really cutting it anymore.”

“The headlines tend to exaggerate,” Buck said, bashfully ducking his head,

Jocelyn and Eddie shared a look. One that made the man feel like he was about to be ganged up on.

“Sometimes,” Eddie acknowledged with a pensive look and a slight nod, “but not about this.”

“Not even close,” the woman concurred. “You didn’t have to stay behind to protect her. But you did. And I’m always going to be grateful for that.”

The praise felt unfamiliar and overwhelming. Shifting under their watchful stares, Buck felt distinctly pinned in that moment.

There was a light tap on his shoulder. Glancing down, Sarah looked at him with big, brown eyes before stage whispering, “Who’s that?” She was pointing directly at Eddie.

Jocelyn and Eddie watched in silence, smiling softly at the exchange.

Chuckling, Buck whispered back, “Well, that would be my friend Eddie.”

Nose scrunching and eyes narrowing, Sarah looked at the man in question. Then back at Buck. Then, “Why are you friends with him if he baby-trapped you?”

And you could’ve heard a pin drop.

Mouth agape, Jocelyn simply stood there. Bewildered. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something only to immediately close it again.

Eddie didn’t fare much better, he only recovered sooner. Crossing his arms over his chest, he looked to Buck with questions that demanded answers.

Bobby had chosen that exact moment to walk out of his office. But as soon as he picked up on the sheer amount of tension wrought by a fucking nine year old, he froze. Glancing between them all, he slowly began walking backwards, closing and locking the door behind him.

Chim was also there for some inexplicable reason, looking absolutely elated. Smiling, he silently mouthed, ‘the reckoning,’ over and over and over again as he ran up the stairs, no doubt in search of Hen.

And as Buck stood there, every pair of eyes in the station boring into him... he prayed for the alarm to ring, saving him from this conversation.

It never did.