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Buck knew exactly what he was doing when he took his fifth piece of brownie, nearly consumed it in one bite and let out an outrageous, truly orgasmic sound.
All while holding Eddie’s gaze.
There was something victorious in the way he immediately looked away, tried playing the motion off by rolling his eyes, but behind the fond amusement Buck can see he caught the other man off guard. He’s not sure why he does it—always playing it off as part of their friendship, claiming it a remnant of his player days, back when Buck had so many notches in his bedpost he was sleeping on a pile of kindling—but the way Eddie’s eyes always snap back to him, the way he tips his head just so and Buck isn’t sure if Eddie’s debating revenge or analysing Buck’s actions…
Well. It’s addicting, is what it is.
“Cut it out,” Hen reprimands, punctuating herself with a smack to the back of the head with whatever book she’s currently reading. “It’s bad enough that I have to put up with your weird friendship, but don’t subjugate the rest of LA to whatever you call not-flirting.”
Buck opens his mouth to argue—would, would open his mouth to argue but it’s still got half a brownie sitting on his tongue, so he ducks away to swallow. He’s not worried about the camera, it’s not Live, it can be edited. And besides, Taylor is currently interviewing Chimney; neither she nor her cameraman are paying the slightest bit of attention to what else is happening in the mezzanine. Buck can tease Eddie in peace.
Of course the alarm has to go and ruin that.
It’s kind of a thrill when the alarms blare, and the lights flash, but alongside the electricity racing up Buck’s spine, there’s something like a knot in his stomach when he watches Tayor’s face stiffen in shock.
Everyone falls into step down the stairs; Buck is opening the door for Bobby; Eddie’s hand is out to help haul him into the truck and they’re pulling away before the doors are fully shut. For them this is their everyday and it’s a little grounding to be reminded of that, what is expected for them is more of a step towards the imagination for everyone else. It’s not sobering for Buck, but he at least keeps the grin off of his face until the fire truck is out of the lot and on the road.
Bobby raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.
They know how he gets. They know it doesn’t mean anything beyond Buck keeping out of his own head and not leaning into the panic of all the horrors of what they might find on scene, despite the information coming in to be a routine one-alarm fire (routine being a very loose term considering how sudden the situation always seems to change when the universe is feeling particularly vindictive).
From reports and the rundown given by dispatch, the fire is in a mid-level of a small apartment building, contained to a few rooms by the hallway suppression system, but it does mean its spewing a lot of smoke to the upper levels leaving the stairwell and elevator shaft choked making upper-floor evacuation much more difficult.
Luckily, it’s midday, so there are very few people in the building when the majority are either at work, at school or likewise, simply not at home. It makes it harder to know who could possibly be in the building and who could possibly need saving. Hen and Chim are going through potential injuries, mainly smoke inhalation, probably bumps and bruises where there have been reports of panicked stampede in the initial alarm.
Buck smiles to himself. Stampede. Like a herd of horses running wild. That would be a crazy ass call.
It’s not like the horses would be able to use the stairs, or the elevator, or the ladder if they were at a reasonable height to deploy said ladders, and it’s not like they could be harnessed up and lowered out of windows, even if they could fit through the windows and—
“Earth to Buck!”
Something slams him in the chest, and Buck fumbles with the sudden weight to be met with a helmet and Chim’s hand shoving it against his chest. “Wakey-wakey Sleeping Beauty. Time to go!”
They’re at the fire. The cab is almost empty, save for him, Chim and Martinez who is clambering out of the driver’s seat and heading to assist with the ladder.
“There better not be any horses,” he mutters, following Chim out and ignoring the curious, confused look he’s being given in response. Not that Chim questions any further as Buck heads to grab his turnouts, shrugging off Eddie’s raised eyebrow. “It’s nothing. Just thinking too hard,” he says to appease him as Cap starts giving a rundown of where he wants everyone—Chim and Hen with the residents that already made it out of the building; Martinez with the building manager to get a list of residents and to try and find out where people are; Eddie and Buck to take the fire stairwell round back and make entry above the fire and start searching for anyone still stuck inside—and falls in step because so far this is a routine call.
Everything is routine.
Buck takes the stairs, two at a time, with Eddie as his shadow the entire way. They make entry on the fourth floor and it’s right on the junction of the L-shaped corridor. Eddie takes left, because he’s not superstitious, and Buck takes right, because it’s routine and they go through the floor banging on doors and calling out for residents. Soon enough, they’ve cleared the floor, which is a good thing because the visibility isn’t great and it’s getting worse with each passing second. Martinez managed to get an approximate on the residents and according to him, there are only a few elderly in the upper floors, and a mother and daughter that are painfully close to the smoke.
They’re up a floor. Buck calls out that he’ll take them, and then has to do it again because he didn’t engage his radio. Eddie is already in the stairwell, and it’s not involved but there is definitely a light source from below. It makes Buck think of lava, like those stupid floor-is-lava games. Or that one movie where there is a volcano underneath the city. That was set in Los Angeles, wasn’t it?
Shit is this building sitting on top of a magma chamber?
Fuck, is that why it’s so hot in here?
“Fire is heating up Cap.”
“Okay, I’m calling it in, we need additional units. Dispatch, this is now a two-alarm fire.”
“Copy that, Dispatching Fire 122 to your location.”
The mother and child—Haley and Christie Jackson-something—are located in apartment fourteen-B.
Buck says the number out to himself as he goes, ducking under the smoke, knocking on doors and sweeping apartments just in case. Fourteen-B. Fourteen-B.
He knocks on every door that he goes through, runs his hand through thick blackening smoke like he’s moving drapes, or weird black-ink water, or big puffy balls of black cotton wool, except cotton wool actually has some resistance to it when it’s knocked, and this…. Doesn’t.
Buck shoves his hand into the smoke. Tries to grab it.
There’s a saying about that, he thinks, chasing patches and dense clouds and—hits a wall. There’s a plant pot there. It’s too dark for the plant. Plants need sunlight, but this room is far too dark and Buck doesn’t think smoke is good for them either. He needs… needs… window? Window. He’s got a Halligan in hand, and that goes through windows easily. There is not a locked room, anywhere that, with the right tools and enough time you can’t break into.
Buck knows that, he’s broken through enough car windows and balcony gates and bedroom doors, and it takes less than thought for his Halligan to smash through the window, and suddenly the air is rushing in and the smoke is rushing out—
“Window blown on the west wall; Cap. Fire might be progressing further than we thought!” comes through the dark, and Buck spins around to see who is there. It takes him too long to remember his radio. It takes him even longer to remember apartment fourteen-B, and the fact he’s not meant to be helping plants, he’s meant to be helping people, meant to helping Haley and Christie Jackson-something, and Buck shoves himself back through a doorway he hopes leads back out into the corridor.
Checks the door. Nineteen-B. Not the door he needs.
“Diaz, how you doing?”
“Almost there Cap. Got three coming down with me now. No injuries as far as I can tell but Hen should still check them over.”
Buck needs fourteen-B.
Fourteen-B.
Fourteen-B.
“Cap! I got people in the stairwell! Mother and daughter, suffering smoke inhalation and could have a broken ankle.”
“Chim, get in there, give them a hand. Martinez give us a hand on hoses, west side.”
Fourteen-B. Fourteen-B. Fourteen-B. Fourteen-B.
It doesn’t feel like a real word anymore. Buck has said it too much, yelling out and stumbling in the smoke. God, it’s so dark in the corridor, and the mask on his face really isn’t helping. Still, he keeps going. Shouts out for Haley, for Christie, for fourteen-B.
“Buck. Report in,” Bobby says from… somewhere. Buck turns around, trying to look, but there’s just smoke and darkness and the intermittent red glow of emergency lights. He can’t even see the sunlight of the open door at the far end of the corridor, where he and Eddie made entrance using the fire escape. God, he hopes Eddie’s not also here somewhere. Buck will never be able to find him in all this smoke.
“Buckley. Report in!” Bobby orders again; Buck spinning back on his heel, but he can’t see him. “Bobby? Bobby I’m right—Bobby where are you?”
Bobby shouldn’t be inside. He should be outside. He’s the Captain. He sits in the front of the truck, in the Captain’s seat. He directs people around, like a conductor for an orchestra, although Bobby doesn’t have the wand-stick-baton thing. He’s got a Captain’s helmet. And a fire truck. And a nice little office up near the mezzanine, just before the bunk room.
Buck doesn’t like to be called into his office. It’s like getting called to the principal’s office when he was in school. It never meant anything good. Getting called into Bobby’s office is much the same and Buck always feels a little sick when it happens.
He kind of feels sick now.
And really, really hot.
It’s getting hard to breathe in here. Bobby keeps yelling for him, but Buck can’t find him. He can’t find anything in this smoke. There’s so many doors and he doesn’t know which one he should pick, and just keeps going. Keeps yelling out for Haley, and Chris, and fourteen-B.
“Captain Nash. We’ve got a problem at the firehouse.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Archer is sick. Or, high. We’ve got an ambo on-route to check her out, but we think it’s the food. Have any of your team eaten any of the cakes that were brought in this morning?”
The corridor comes to end with a wall. One door on the left that won’t open when Buck knocks and tries the handle. But the door on the right opens up to a stairwell. There’s a fire here, down below; flames licking at the walls and the pain peeling off of them. Buck puts a hand over his face so that he doesn’t inhale any smoke, and knocks—oh, knocks his mask.
Okay. He’s okay. But he’s got to get away from the fire. He might be a firefighter, and he might be in his turnout, but he hasn’t got a hose on him, and there’s no suppression system working and—
“Firefighter Buckley! Report in! What is your location‽”
“I’m right here Cap. Where are you?” Buck yells back. He’s not downstairs, near the fire—Bobby is smarter than that. They’re all smarter than that. Buck’s the one who is—well, not dumb, but he does dumb things without thinking though Eddie always says he means well and Hen says his heart is in the right place and Chim isn’t mean when he makes his jokes.
Bobby being in the building isn’t good. There’s too much smoke. It’s too hot. Buck can barely breathe and he’s got a mask on, and Bobby—Bobby is meant to be in the Captain’s seat, he sent Buck inside, he’s not meant to be in here—
“Cap! Cap! Where are you‽ Cap call out!” Buck yells forcing himself back through the smoke. The corridor is making him sweat; the weight of his turnouts is making him sweat, and the doors only go deeper into the noxious smoke and there is no lights save for his flashlight that he shines on the doors as he passes them; eighteen-B, sixteen-B, fourteen-B—
Fourteen-B.
Haley. Jackson.
Chris.
Chris.
“Christopher? Christopher, are you in here?”
God, Chris shouldn’t be in here. No one should be in here. It’s too dark, Buck can hardly see his hand in front of his face, but he shoves aside the smoke clouds and barges into the room, almost tripping over a sofa that shouldn’t be there because if Buck has just gone through the front door then he should be in the hallway, not the living room, the kitchen should be on his left not a wall, and the bedrooms on his right—
“Buck—!”
“Christopher!”
Buck shoves himself into the space but it’s all wrong. It’s hard to see, but Chris’s bed isn’t where it should be, and neither is the desk. It all looks wrong too. None of Chris’s things are in here, and Buck would be panicking more about that but Christopher isn’t in here. Maybe the kitchen. Not the living room, Buck’s already been in there and tripped over the sofa, and his crutches aren’t here which means Chris has tried to get himself out—
“Buckley!”
Something emerges out of the smoke and Buck barely has a chance to scream before a gloved hand is wrapping around his forearm and yanking him forward. It’s a firefighter, but the voice isn’t familiar. “Who—”
“The hell you doing Buckley? We’re getting out—”
“No. No Chris is still in here! I’m not leaving without Chris!”
He loves that boy, gods nearly as much as Eddie, although Buck will never say that out loud. It’s not his place, he’s not the boy’s father but Eddie has allowed him to join their little family in moments and Buck hasn’t ever been more privileged than when Eddie asks him little favours, like picking Chris up from school or doing the morning run, or babysitting while he’s working extra shifts instead of him going to Pepa’s and—
“I’m not leaving here without Christopher!” Buck yells again when the firefighter tugs on his arm. “Who is—I don’t have time for this.” He’s scrambling with his chest. There’s a radio hanging from his turnout.
“Captain Nash, this is DeLuca. I’ve got your boy. Gonna say he’s definitely feeling the effects of those brownies but he’s refusing to leave.”
“Is he injured? Why isn’t he responding on the radio?”
“Not injured and no idea. I think he’s really confused though. He’s looking for someone named Christopher.”
Bobby doesn’t say anything and neither does Eddie.
Buck kind of wants to sob. He’s scared. He’s struggling to breathe, but he’s not giving up yet and he tugs himself out of DeLuca’s grip and turns back to where the kitchen should be. “Christopher? Christopher call out!”
“Buck, Christopher isn’t here,” Bobby’s voice tells him. Buck can’t see him, but he’s not getting the chance to look when DeLuca grabs hold of him again. He’s trying to drag him deeper into the smoke. Buck fights back.
“Fuck, he’s—strong. I’m gonna need a hand up here, he won’t—”
“Buck, Christopher is outside,” Eddie says from nowhere. But it’s enough for Buck to take pause. “He’s outside?”
At least DeLuca isn’t tugging him anymore. He still has a grip on him though, but Buck doesn’t feel the need to fight against it. “Yeah, sounds like Christopher is outside,” DeLuca is telling him, leading him back towards the door. “Who got him out?” Buck breathes. It is a little easier—not by much, but at least it doesn’t feel like he’s choking on a lung anymore and more just… smoke in his lungs. Which sounds about right because he’s stood in the middle of a burning building.
Except he’s not, because DeLuca is dragging him out and so is—Eddie, Eddie is here.
“Eddie, I couldn’t find him,” Buck sobs, choking on apologies as he stumbles forward into Eddie’s grip; Eddie’s hand around his wrist as they tuck into a stairwell that is no longer engulfed in flames, Buck’s feet unsteady as he . “Eddie, I couldn’t—”
“He’s outside,” Eddie says, a little breathless and Buck isn’t sure if he imagines it or not but there is something in his voice. Eddie is lying to him. Eddie is lying to him, because Christopher isn’t outside, Christopher isn’t outside, he’s still in here somewhere, he’s still in here and Buck—
“Hen! Chim!”
Buck blinks back the sudden sunlight as they break out of the building. They’d made it down to the first floor without him really paying attention, and now it’s not just Eddie’s hand on his arm but Hen and Chim too and they’re pulling him over to the back of an empty ambulance, asking him questions, shining lights in his eyes and trying to get him out of his turnout—
“No, no, I’ve got to—Eddie, where is Chris? Where’s Bobby? I heard them inside, they were in—”
“Christopher is in school, Buck. We’re on our 24-hour shift, Carla is picking him up tonight, and Bobby is—”
“Right here kid,” Bobby is saying and he is right here, hand on Buck’s chest to keep him sat as Chim shines another light in his eye and he’s saying something about his pupils being constricted, or not constricted, or not constricting and Buck needs to tell him they are because his chest is tight and he’s trying to breathe but it doesn’t quite—
“Buck, Buck breathe. You’ve been dosed,” Bobby is saying, his hand still on Buck’s chest. “Those brownies that were delivered back in the firehouse look like they’ve been dosed with some kind of drug and what you’re experiencing—what you’re experiencing,” he says again, leaning into Buck’s line of sight because Buck can’t stop thinking about Chris and looking about just to make sure, but the fire site is busy and there aren’t just fire units here, there is police too and they only really call in police this early if it’s arson or if there have been casualties—
“Buck, I need you to breathe.”
Buck is breathing. Quite fast actually. His chest is rising-falling-rising rapidly, and the words that everyone is speaking gets all jumbled and blurred around the edges, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. They shouldn’t be here. The building is on fire. They should be putting out the fire, and Buck should be helping.
It’s his job, he’s got to help people, he’s got to—
“Woah, woah, easy Buck, easy,” Hen is saying as she grabs his hand. He tries to explain it to her, but it’s like there is smoke in his mouth. Fluffy cotton wool. Numbness on his tongue and under it, because the words don’t come out right and no matter how much Buck tries to grasp.
“Help me get him on the gurney,” Hen is saying. It’s Eddie that gets a hand under his arm. Hauls him up.
“Chris—?"
“Is safe. We’re—we’re going to go see him, yeah? So just, lay back and let Hen get a good look at you.
There’s a pinch in his hand. Painful. Hurts.
“I know, I know Buck, but it’s only a moment, yeah? The sedative is just so you don’t hurt yourself.”
Buck isn’t hurt himself. He doesn’t do that. He gets sad sometimes, but not like that.
“I know, it’s not—it’s not you. It’s the drug. You’re confused Buck. But everything will be okay.”
Eddie sounds sure about that. Like a promise.
“Yeah, Buck, I promise. C’mon. Cap will let me ride with you to the hospital. That’s it… that’s it.”
Buck tries to grapple with understanding, but it’s hard when his eyelids are so heavy. It’s like he’s back in the smoke again, and there’s no mask on his face. He can breathe though. He’s not choking. He’s too tired to choke.
He doesn’t feel it when he slips under.