Work Text:
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” Josh picks up as always, mentally prepared for anything.
Still, it’s never a good day when a young voice comes through the phone, saying: “My daddy, he- he fell down and he’s not waking up.”
Shit, that is not good. Josh puts on his gentlest professionalism as he starts typing, meanwhile asking the kid: “Can you tell me your name?”
“Christopher,” the kid replies. “I’m Christopher.”
“Hi, Christopher, I’m Josh. We’re going to get your daddy help, okay? Can you tell me where are?”
“Home,” Christopher says, before in a rare twist of luck rattling off the address. Most kids don’t know where they live, but Josh can’t know that Buck made sure Chris would, just in case something like this would ever happen.
While Josh continues to make sure Chris and whoever his dad is are okay and optimally taken care of so that when help arrives he’s still there, the alarm at the 118 rings.
As the 118 gets into the rig and drives off, Bobby tells them what they’re walking into: “Unconscious male, 25, fell down and isn’t waking up. He has a pulse and is breathing, but appears to have a high temperature. Call was made by his son, so let’s hurry, people.”
All of them tense at that last tidbit of information. Even though the kid is not in danger, it is never good when a child has to call in an emergency for their parent, because that is fucking terrifying for a kid to go through. But it also must be a very young kid going off the age of the parent.
Buck fidgets nervously. He hasn’t been with the 118 for long and is still trying to find his own footing, both in the team and in the work. A medical call hasn’t been his area, but it’ll be good training, he supposes.
Maybe he can help with calming the kid, Chris has made him good at that… Not that anyone here knows that though. They’ve all been nice so far, but Buck doesn’t know if he wants to share. His life at home is fading more and more as Eddie recovers and soon he won’t have it anymore. Does he want to face the humiliation of sharing it when it’s not even his to keep and it’ll be gone soon? Won’t it be easier to keep this a little closer to his chest, to ignore his reality for a little longer?
He tries to shake the thoughts off. They’re answering to an emergency, he needs to get his head in the game. He can have a crisis about his life later.
When he forces himself back into the present, he blinks to find familiar streets outside the window. An apprehension fills his chest as he remembers the details from the call. Right now he curses that he still struggles with listening to the call alongside the alarm, because a horrid thought takes root in his brain and he can’t shake it.
“Uh, what was- what was the address again?” he asks, voice cracking without his permission. A part of him doesn’t want to know, but he has to.
Everyone gives him a weird look and Bobby repeats the address. Buck’s address.
The air gets sucked out of his lungs and a pit forms in his stomach, pulling in all his life force as he feels momentarily weakened. Before his eyes flashes a thousand horrible possibilities that they’re about to walk into, making him feel like he is going to pass out.
“You good, man? You know the place or something?” Johnson asks, brow furrowed in concern as he does.
Buck faintly nods, barely managing: “It’s my house. I live there,” before they pull up to his porch, Eddie’s truck still in the driveway. He doesn’t stick around to see the shocked expressions, instead flying out of the rig like a bat out of hell.
Hen and Chimney are unloading the stretcher from the ambulance, having missed the exchange in the rig, when Buck comes running by. The two of them share a confused look, before hurrying after Buck into the house. Neither of them want to be responsible for the probie making things worse and both wonder if they missed new information over the radio that would cause Buck to react like that.
When they get into the house, they’re not prepared for finding Buck on one knee next to their patient, checking his vitals.
Meanwhile the kid they’d been informed would be there, has his arms around Buck’s neck, sitting on his propped up knee as he buries his head into Buck’s shoulder. Buck hugs him close, rubbing his back with his free hand.
It’s a bit too close than standard, but they didn’t see him come in and Buck is new. However, they have to share a look when they hear Buck mutter: “Come on, you son of a bitch, open your eyes.”
Hen puts the medical bag down while Chimney ushers Buck to the side. She half expected him to put up a fight or something with how eager he seemed to be here and the words he’d just spoken. If this is what he is going to be like on medical calls, they might have to reconsider if he can complete his probie year. Period.
She is surprised to find that she would be saddened by that fact. Despite how new Buck is, he has been a pleasant addition and she knows those can be rare to come by in this field, so if it turns out he can’t be professional on medical calls and they might have to let him go, that would suck. It’s not his usual behavior either, so she hopes it might be a one off and they can keep him.
The thought has barely entered her brain when Buck’s unusual behavior explains itself. Because as they check their patient over, Buck says: “He has a shoulder injury that he’s still recovering from, but there is still shrapnel in there. He was fine this morning, just tired, but that could be cause of his meds.” Then he lists of the medications the man unconscious on the floor is taking.
With his words, they realize that Buck knows this person. That he knows him well enough to be able to list his medical history, current ailments, his medication, fucking hell, he knows how he was feeling this morning.
“He’s burning up, I think he has an infection,” Chimney says, having checked their patient while Hen got out the equipment to get some fluids back into him, a neck brace just in case. He fell, but they don’t know how he landed.
They quickly work to get the brace on, while Bobby and Johnson pop their heads in too. Hen notices them looking around while her and Chimney work. She can’t blame them, this is very much not where she thought Buck would live. Because this is, in fact, where Buck lives.
She spares a glance around too as they lift up the gurney and start moving to the ambulance as they work. She notes the quaint living room with bookcases and a comfy couch, as well as pictures on the wall showing the man on their gurney along with the kid and Buck.
While Chimney pushes the gurney, she performs a sternum rub on their patient and he thankfully startles awake. As he blinks he mutters: “Wha happened? Where’s Chris?”
“You passed out, because you’re a dumbass who didn’t tell me he was feeling sick,” Buck tells him, coming to walk alongside the gurney with who she gathers is Chris on his hip, since he leans a little so the patient can see him. “Chris is fine. Called 9-1-1 for you when you didn’t wake up.”
“Daddy,” Chris exclaims, clearly very relieved to see his dad awake again after what must have been a terrifyingly long wait.
“Oh…” the man blinks guiltily. “’m sorry. I thought I was fine.”
Immediately the concerned sternness melts away as Buck’s expression softens. “No need to be sorry, Eddie. You just scared me. And Chris.”
“It was really scary,,” Chris nods in agreement.
“I am so sorry, mijo. Promise I’m okay,” Eddie says as they load him in the ambulance and Chimney drives off with the sirens on.
“Maybe let the doctors decide that,” Buck interjects, before carding a hand through Chris’s hair and assuring him. “But I’m sure they’ll agree. Daddy is a bit of a dumb dumb, but he’s strong, like you, so he’s going to be just fine.”
At that Chris smiles broadly, the worried little frown he’d had earlier disappearing entirely.
Hen gives the kid a fond look. He seems like a sweet kid and it’s clear both of his parents care a lot about him. It is a bit of a shock to classify Buck as a parent, since he seems pretty young to have a kid Denny’s age, but he has picked up the responsibility well despite his age.
However, now is not the time to contemplate this, so she turns to Eddie and says: “I’m going to check your shoulder now. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
Eddie is feeling a little cold and achy despite his temperature and his shoulder definitely looks red and puffy, irritated. Fuck, that is an infection indeed. Hopefully it won’t turn into full sepsis, because if it goes wrong, Eddie could be loosing that arm.
“Chimney, drive fast. Could become sepsis,” Hen says, glancing over at Buck when she shares the news because she knows Buck will know what that means.
Indeed Buck’s face is a little pale, as he tries to keep Chris entertained and distracted. He doesn’t let his worry show beyond the blood that leaves his cheeks and the way he reaches out to grip Eddie’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as Eddie gives a similar expression back.
The quiet in the ambulance, which is made more poignant by the loud sirens right outside it, is interrupted by Chris going: “What is this for, papi?” as he points defibrillator.
Buck explains what it is to Chris, who looks at it curiously, expression mimicking one she has seen on Buck in the past. The atmosphere is a little weird as they watch Buck desperately try to be normal while also clearly wanting to freak out and worry about Eddie, while Eddie half falls asleep, getting woken by Hen sporadically.
She can’t imagine how Buck must be feeling right now and she gains a new respect for him with how level headed he manages to be despite the circumstance. She has no clue how she would have reacted if they pulled up to an emergency and she found out it was Karen, with Denny right there on the scene with her.
Maybe more crying. Though, Denny would always be a priority, she knows that. For Denny’s sake, she’s sure she could keep the freak out at bay.
All of them are relieved when they get to the hospital and even though they normally don’t follow patients through the glass door, this time they do.
Hen holds out her arms for Chris, letting a grateful Buck deposit the kid in her arm s with a quick kiss to his head and a promise he’ll be right back. Then he runs after the nurses and doctors, telling them all he knows and probably getting sign in papers. Eddie is moved up the line, which is never a good thing in an ER and she hopes he’ll be okay.
Chimney softly tells her he’s going to call Bobby, figure out what to orders to pass along to Buck when he comes back out. She nods at him to go, guessing that Bobby will let Buck go for the day, so it’s more a question if either of them can stay behind to keep him company while they wait on the news.
However, she doesn’t need to worry Chris with any of that, so instead she smiles at him saying: “Hi, I’m Hen. You were really brave, calling for help for you r dad.”
“Thank you,” Chris says in a tiny voice, before he asks: “Is he- Is he going to be okay? He didn’t look so good.”
They’re not allowed to make promises, but she doesn’t have to be negative either. “Your dad made it here really fast and the doctors are going to make sure he’s well taken care of, yeah? He’s in the best hands there are.”
That seems to cheer him up, which is good. Though now his attention is elsewhere, asking: “Where did papi go?”
His curiosity makes Hen smile. He certainly gets that from Buck, she thinks, before she answers: “He has to tell the doctors about what happened so they can take care of him well. It’s important that they know everything, so they don’t give him something that he can’t have.”
“Like when I had to take an allergy test because my meds made me itchy and then I didn’t have to take them anymore?” Chris ask.
“Uh, yeah, like that,” Hen replies, a little taken aback by how candidly Chris talks about that. Though, on second thought, maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s clear he asks a lot of questions and with what she has seen, his dads aren’t the types to not answer them.
“That makes sense,” Chris informs her.
“I’m glad it does,” Hen says with a smile.
At that point, Chimney joins him, holding out his hand as he says: “Hi, squirt, I’m Chimney. Good to meet you, kid.”
“Chimney is a silly name,” Chris giggles, while Chimney squawks in mock offense.
It’s nice to see him being able to laugh after what was surely a scary experience. And when Hen is the first to spot Buck coming out of the ER doors again – looking a little like he’s been run over – it is clear he agrees. His whole expression changes into a relieved exhaustion, tears welling up in his eyes.
She watches as he swallows the tears down and plasters on a grin, taking Chris back in his arms with a happy: “Hey, if it isn’t my Superman. Come here. God, I’m so proud of you.” He nuzzles his nose in Chris’s hair, taking a deep breath.
“Papi,” Chris half-laughs, half-complains. “That tickles.”
“Oh? Does it tickle?” Buck smirks, nosing Chris’s hair more, while the boy giggles.
“Ahh, papi!”
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” Buck smiles, dropping a kiss on Chris’s cheek and holding him close for a moment, before he relaxes his stance. “We forgot your crutches, little man, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, papi,” Chris assures him, patting his back in a way that is a clear imitation of an action that has been done to him in the past. It makes Buck smile, though that smile dims somewhat when Chris asks: “Where is daddy?”
Both Chimney and Hen hold their breath, having watched the previous interaction with fondness, but now also curious for news. It’s not often they get to know how their patients end up.
Buck maneuvers Chris so he can look him in the eye as he says: “Daddy is with the doctors. Remember when you had to go to the doctor and they made you feel better? They’re doing the same for him. We just have to wait. You know why?”
“Because people waiting for you is good luck,” Chris says, as if reciting something. It hits Hen that with Chris’s CP he’s probably been in hospitals before and that’s something they told him to make him feel better, making the moment more touching.
“That’s right,” Buck nods with a smile. “So we’re going to find a spot in the waiting room and call tía Pepa so she can bring us some stuff, like your crutches and art supplies, while we wait for daddy to get better, yeah?”
“Okay,” Chris nods.
Buck looks over to Chimney and Hen for the first time, his expression caught between apologetic and uncertain as he says: “Uhm, I- I know I still have half our shift left, but could you maybe-”
“Kid,” Chimney interrupts him. “I already called Bobby. You’re off today and tomorrow. Go wait for your husband. Text us updates on how he’s doing and take care of yourself, okay?”
“Thank you, thank you so much,” Buck tells them gratefully, surprising both of them with a hug, before telling Chris to say goodbye and thank you.
With that behind them, the two of them make their way back to the ambulance. Hen is a little saddened that they can’t stay, but she gets it too. Their house is already slightly understaffed, they can’t really miss one person, let alone two. Still, she hopes Buck and his family will be okay.
Back at the firehouse, everyone surrounds them, asking if everything is okay and how Buck was doing, which they try to answer the best they can.
None of them had seen this reveal coming with the way Buck presents himself here, but Hen gets it. He hasn’t been here for long enough to fully gauge everyone and the LAFD is a space where there is also a lot of toxic masculinity.
She knows she’s a green flag for their house, but if Buck didn’t want to say, she isn’t going to judge him for it. It’s totally fine to want to be closeted, even if it’s an accepting environment. Maybe he likes to keep work and home separate, despite his oversharing tendencies.
But the cat is out of the bag now. There is no coming back from everyone standing in your living room as you comfort you son and swear at your husband to wake up. All Hen can do is press home not to ask questions unless Buck shares first. Just ask how Eddie and Chris are doing, don’t prod.
After hours of all of them continuously checking their phones when not on calls, their group chat chimes with a notification.
The message from Buck reads: Eddie is okay. More shrapnel removed and on antibiotics. Thank you all, also from Eddie and Chris.
He goes radio silent again after, but they don’t mind. He’s had an emotionally exhaustive day and they’re just glad to hear everyone is alive and well. It must have been scary for Buck too. So, they just reply with their relief and more well wishes, letting him be for now.
When Buck’s next shift rolls around two days later, all perk up as he enters the building. His eyes are tired, but he seems okay as he joins them at the table for their family meal.
“Hi, everyone,” he greets them. He pulls out a few drawings handing Chimney and Hen one and putting a third one on the table. “These are from Chris. As a thank you.” Then to Bobby he adds: “Uhm, I also want to thank you for giving me yesterday off.”
“Of course, kid. You needed to be with family,” Bobby says.
Buck blushes a little and nods gratefully, but stays quiet beyond that. There is something about his demeanor that Hen can’t really place, but like she told the others, she isn’t going to pry. If Buck wants to keep details about his family to himself, then that’s his right.
Before anyone else’s curiosity can win out, the alarm starts ringing again. As they all jump into action, Hen hopes it’ll be a more impersonal call. They’ve had enough family emergencies to last her a good time.