Chapter Text
Set like, shortly after season three but before the pandemic. But it’s 9-1-1, where timelines are…not the priority XD
He couldn’t believe he was doing this here of all places. This… thing wasn’t new, or even particularly out of character for him, but never in a million years had he thought he’d stoop to doing it at Bobby and Athena’s, and at a dinner party nonetheless. He’d started, or rather restarted, in his own bathroom and had fully intended to keep it there. It had worked for a while, but eventually he’d ended up doing it at the station once or twice, maybe more, who knows? He didn’t keep track. This was Bobby and Athenas home though, and he felt awful for bringing his bullshit here, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He had had a great time with his family, until they reached the main course. Bobby’s potato gratin was good, way too good, filling up his stomach in that sickly familiar way that sent a chill down his spine, and he’d made his way to the guest bathroom almost on autopilot. Typical Buck, always ruining a good thing. It wasn’t a binge this time, or even close to it, but his body was screaming at him nonetheless, and he had to silence it the only way he knew how.
He felt the panic rise as he heard a knock on the door. Someone had heard him, of course they had. Stupid stupid stupid.
“Buck? You okay in there?” Eddie’s voice rang through the door.
Fuck. Of course it had to be him.
“ Yeah i’m fine” Buck called back, but there was no hiding his scratchy post-vomit voice.
“Wanna try that again buddy?” Eddie said, and Buck could hear the eyeroll in his voice.
“I heard you throw up Buck, I know you’re not fine”.
Then why ask? Buck wanted to say, but he bit his tongue.
“I must have eaten something weird earlier,” he said instead. “Felt off since breakfast but thought it was nothing.”
“You gonna let me in?” Eddie asked. “Can you get to the door?”
“Smells like barf in here,” Buck warned him.
“Think I care?”
Buck didn’t have to look at Eddie to know he was wearing that unimpressed look, the one with his head tilted slightly to the side and his arms crossed. He knew that look like the back of his hand, which was saying something, considering how much he’d tasted his own knuckles lately.
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Buck sighed and flushed the toilet before reaching over to unlock the door, hiding his right hand behind his back.
Eddie opened the door and kneeled down in front of Buck to check him over.
“You don’t have a fever, at least not yet” Eddie said, pressing the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead. “You don’t look so good though”.
“Geez, thanks man.”
“Oh c’mon, You know what I mean,” Eddie scoffed. “Do you still feel nauseous? Think you’ll throw up again?”
“A little” Buck lied. “But I think I'm fine for now.”
“I’m gonna take you home,” Eddie said, brushing Buck’s hair out of his face. “Wait here, I’ll grab your stuff and tell the others we’re leaving”.
“You don’t have to. Stay and enjoy the party, I can get home by myself.”
“Nope,” Eddie shook his head. “Not letting you do that.”
Buck toyed with the idéa of throwing up again before Eddie would come back, as he didn’t really get to finish before. He’d already been caught, and Eddie seemed to believe his story of being sick so it could be fair game, but the door was still unlocked so he ultimately decided against it. Eddie, or someone else, walking in to see him in the process would mean getting caught for real. So he just washed his hands, rinsed his mouth and sat back down on the floor.
Eddie returned not long after, and he had Bobby with him. Buck sighed as his gut filled with further guilt. He could feel Bobby’s eyes quickly search across his body for any signs of illness.
“Buck, Eddie said you weren’t feeling well,” Bobby said, leaning over to lay the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead just like Eddie did not even five minutes ago. “When did this start?”
“I’m fine, I must've just eaten something weird,” Buck repeated, his voice sounding less scratchy now. “Like, earlier, not here. Your potato gratin was amazing.”
Bobby gave him a slight smile at that but still modeled that worried frown that weighed on Buck’s conscience like a brick.
“I don’t really think vomiting counts as being fine, Buck,” Eddie chimed in, shaking his head.
“I don’t even have a fever,” Buck protested. “I’ll be just fine ”.
“You don’t have the best track record of determining that” Bobby said, his voice laced with both affection and sternness as he rested his hand on Buck’s shoulder.
The implication stung, reminding Buck way too much of the whole fiasco that was his lawsuit a few months back, but he tried to brush it off. Bobby just cared about him, and here he was, ruining things again.
“Hey, at least it’s not blood this time” He attempted to joke, but it fell flat.
Bobby and Eddie just gave him another unimpressed look.
“I’m sorry Bobby” he said instead, swallowing the guilt. “It’s a great party. I would have loved to stay”.
“Don’t apologize for getting sick Buck, it’s not your fault” Bobby said, keeping his hand on Buck’s shoulder.
Buck didn’t answer though. He didn’t trust his mouth to not go; oh well this time it was, actually.
“Do you feel good enough to go home with Eddie? Otherwise you know you’re always welcome to stay here,” Bobby continued.
“I already feel better” Buck mumbled, his throat closing on him. “And I don’t want to be in the way of the party. But thank you.”
“You’re never in the way, Buck. Please, call if you get worse okay? Athena and I can come right over.”
“I’ll take him to mine,” Eddie said, nodding at Bobby. “I’ll keep him off his feet for a bit”.
“You really don’t have to.” Buck protested. I'm not actually sick. “I’m fine at the loft”
“Nope,” Eddie said. “You’re coming home with me, or you’re staying there, or I could call Maddie?.”
“You’re overreacting”
“Nope,” Eddie repeated, sharing a look with Bobby.
“Buck, you can’t blame us for being a little weary after the last time,” Bobby said. “You almost died in the backyard. And you just got off the medication.”
Buck sighed, he’d never live that down.
“Fine”.
“How are you, really?” Eddie asked as they sat down in his car.
“I’m fine, it’s just food poisoning or something.” Buck sighed, tired of this conversation.
Eddie eyed him suspiciously.
“Or exhaustion” he said after a moment.
“What do you mean?”
“Buck, you’ve been acting weird for a while . And you look tired,” Eddie said. “You’ve never been good at taking things easy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buck mumbled. I’ve just been shoving my fingers down my throat a few times a week for a while, no big deal.
“You know you can talk to me right?” Eddie said, turning to face him directly. “I know something’s going on with you.”
Buck looked back at him, meeting his gaze. He didn’t want to tell him, he was way too ashamed. Besides, it was gonna go away soon anyway, like it did before.
“I know I can Eddie, but there’s really not much to say,” he said. “I just got a little sick, and now I feel better.”
“I don’t mean to smother you Buck, it's just…the last time you overdid things you almost blew your lung out.” Eddie sighed.
“That’s not what embolisms do, are you sure you’re a medic?” Buck said, trying to tease him into changing the subject.
“Buck, can you be serious for like, one second?” Eddie said, without any real harshness in his voice.
“I promise I'm fine, and if that stops being true I will tell you,” Buck said, trying his darnest to sound truthful and calm.
He’d never been good at keeping those kinds of promises.
The second time Buck broke his arm, he was fifteen years old. He’d been driven home from the emergency room for the third time in a month, this time sporting a green cast on his left wrist. His mom had actually hugged him before helping him into the car, and they stopped for ice cream on the way home, like they always did when he’d been hurt. The stark contrast from her usual indifference made him almost numb to the physical pain in his arm, and the green cast made her actually look at him, made him feel seen. If he had jumped from a two story window just because he knew that would happen, then that wasn’t anybody's business but his own. Six weeks later though, the cast came off and everything went back to normal, like it always did. Another parent-teacher conference passed by without either of his parents showing up, and another football match took place without them in the audience. The only person who truly cared about him was long gone with a douche-bag over in Boston, and he didn’t see her that often anymore. Not that he could blame her. Or well, sometimes he did if he was being honest, but he also knew that he’d probably done the same had he had a chance to leave home. He just wished he hadn’t been left behind.
Just two weeks post-cast he already toyed with the idea of taking his skateboard down a steep set of stairs, but he was pretty sure his couch would kick him off the team if he was unable to play again so soon, and he actually enjoyed being on the team. He liked being part of a group, and having people around him even if he weren’t particularly close with any of them. He had the chance to put effort into something, providing value for the team, and it felt good. So he stayed put, but still ached for the love and attention that he only got while bruised or bleeding.
His fathers birthday came around and Buck tried his best to bake him a cake. He wanted to do something nice for his dad. Maybe then in return he would look at him and maybe even love him, or at least like him. But neither of his parents even noticed the cake sitting on the counter as they said goodbye over their shoulders. They headed to a fancy restaurant without him, like he should’ve expected, but it still stung . He looked at the cake though. He stared at it for a long time, feeling the blue icing almost taunt him. How could he be so stupid to think that they would give a shit just because he baked a fucking cake? Nothing like that had ever worked. It didn’t matter what he did. No injury, no love. It was always like this with them, but he’d been without his sister for months now and something just felt different. He didn’t feel sad this time, just angry, and he was quickly getting angrier. So fucking angry that he could have lit the stupid candles on the cake with the heat of it, like, if that was a thing. Without thinking, he smashed it against the wall, making a mess he knew would send his mothers temper through the roof had she seen it. But she never would. He felt his stomach churn as he stared at the mess.
He’d skipped lunch to make the cake and the anger that had masked his hunger before, started to fade with the melting icing. He needed to eat something, now. His fingers made their way into the smeared cake and he stuffed his face with it just to make his stomach shut up. It worked, as expected, but it didn’t just numb the hunger. It also numbed his mind. So he continued shoving cake into his mouth, scraping it off the counter and off the wall, each bite numbing him more than the last one. The sugar rush felt good, and he just kept on eating. Soon the whole mess of the cake was gone and his stomach was full to the brim, but he didn’t stop there. He searched the cabinet for the pack of oreos he’d seen earlier and chewed his way through that one as well, later moving on to the packet of cereal beside it. He got halfway through it before everything caught up to him. What the fuck was he doing? His stomach hurt like hell, almost bursting at the seams, and he felt absolutely disgusting.
As he turned to get some water, he felt his pants dig into his stomach and he didn’t need to look down at it to know that it was visibly bigger than usual. His previous numbness was quickly replaced by rapidly increasing dread and nausea. This mess couldn’t stay inside his body, it just couldn’t. He had to get rid of it somehow. The nausea grew stronger and he made his way to the bathroom to kneel down in front of the toilet and let his body do its thing. But the vomit never came, and his panic only grew. He remembered how he always gagged if he went too far back on his tongue while brushing his teeth, and figured now was a good time to put that knowledge to use. He picked up his toothbrush and shoved it back farther than he ever would just to brush his tongue, and hoped for the best. It took a couple tries, but eventually it worked. The dread, the stomach ache, and the feeling of disgust followed the cake down the sewer system and he finally felt light and clean again. He fell back towards the bathroom floor and just laid there, still unsure about what the fuck he just did. Contrary to popular belief, Buck wasn’t stupid. He was well aware that this was incredibly unhealthy, but he was used to breaking limbs for love and affection, so this seemed small in comparison. It left no traces, and it didn’t require another person reacting. This was all him, it could be his own little thing. So he couldn’t help doing it again while feeling lonely a couple days later, and another time the week after that. His parents never noticed the missing food, or the fact that he didn’t get into any accidents anymore.
A couple months in, at sixteen, he woke up groggy and alone after passing out on his bathroom floor for god knows how long. It scared him a little, looking at his sickly pale face in the mirror, and down at his shaky hands. His legs felt like jelly, all numb and disoriented. He knew this wasn’t sustainable anymore, and he’d recently discovered that sex gave him a similar feeling of numbness and release, so maybe he could trade one for the other. The hickeys across his neck and chest had matched the marks on his knuckles for more than a few weeks, so what was a couple more? He promised himself that this would be the last time he would throw up like this, and it was, until it wasn’t.
“I’m fine on the couch Eddie,” Buck protested, seated in his usual seat in Eddie’s couch.
“You’re sick, you take the bed,” Eddie said, stubborn as always.
“But it’s your bed, you shouldn’t be on the couch.”
“Buck, please just take the bed.”
“I need to be close to the bathroom,” Buck tried. “Maybe I'll puke again.”
“I’ll get you a bucket then,” Eddie said, ushering him towards the bed.
Buck sighed, he knew he was losing this. But then he got an idea, which could be either fine or a disaster.
“We could just share, it’s big enough and I’m pretty sure I'm not contagious,” he suggested, feeling his cheeks grow hot.
“Sounds good to me,” Eddie said, after a few moments of silence. “And for the record, I wouldn’t care if it was contagious. You’re my best friend and a little germs don’t scare me.”
Buck had to bite back tears on that one. He didn’t deserve Eddie's kindness, or his concern. He’d done this to himself, like the attentionwhore he was and had always been. No one can ever find out.
As promised they ended up sharing Eddie’s bed for the night, with a bright yellow bucket at Buck’s bedside. He felt seen, and cared for, everything he’d ever wanted as a kid, but it didn’t feel good. It just felt wrong. This shouldn’t be the reason somebody cared, that wasn’t why he was doing it. Not this, never this. The potato gratin was still weighing on him, but he let it be for now. It was probably too digested to get rid of now anyway.
It was silly really, how it started back up again. Had someone told him he would go back to his unhealthy habits after Abby left him, or when his leg was crushed, after the tsunami or during his stupid lawsuit, he would’ve understood. It would have made sense, but he’d stayed clear of it for years. Then came christmas. He had a wonderful time planning the surprise party with Athena and the day felt perfect. His whole family, everyone that mattered anyway, were together and happy for the first time in what felt like forever. It almost felt too good, too safe, almost scary.
He woke up the day after, feeling drained. Athena had sent them all home with leftovers to last them for days, and he was happy not to have to cook while being so tired. But the turkey was so good, he downed the whole box without thinking, and the same thing happened with the potatoes. Before he knew it, the boxes were empty and his ears were ringing. What was going on? He was happy and life was good, better than it had ever been. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like he belonged somewhere and like he had multiple people who truly cared about him, but it didn't matter. He probably didn’t even deserve them after all, and maybe they would all leave him again once they figured that out. He got his toothbrush out without thinking, and it wouldn’t be long until he moved on to just his fingers again, still confused as to why he was even doing it in the first place.
Bobby and Eddie, and Maddie who wasn’t even at the dinner party but Chimney had fucking snitched to, all insisted he should take a couple days off work to get better. Buck wasn’t a fan of that idea, but he reluctantly agreed to keep them happy. Eddie kept insisting that it was exhaustion that had made him sick and Buck knew he had to be more careful now and act more normal again. Being alone with nothing to do wasn’t great for him at the moment however. He spent three days walking around on his loft bored out of his mind, wanting nothing more than to be back out in the field. It reminded him a little too much of his time on blood thinners and it stirred up some feelings that he really didn’t want to feel again. As he heard the sirens of a fire truck drive by his apartment, his heart tugged. He knew it wasn’t logical, as this was a completely different scenario, but he couldn’t help but feel the rising anxiety of not being out with his family. They had texted him to check how he was doing, showing that they really cared, and Bobby had asked him no less than three times if he felt like something had changed after getting off his medication. Eddie even called him from his 48 hour shift to retell some stories from the calls, but he still couldn’t shake the uneasy feelings. He finally had what he’d wanted for so long, but he also knew how it felt to lose it, and he knew he could lose it all again. After all, he was a lot to handle, and he was well aware of that, especially if they found out about this bullshit he’d been up to. Who would wanna deal with this? A 28 year old firefighter who couldn’t even keep himself from ruining his own body in one way or another, simply pathetic . Not that he’d ever say that about literally anyone else doing it, but other people probably have actual reasons for it. He was just being Buck, always up to something dumb.
He went on a long run on his third sick day, trying to ease the thoughts spiraling around in his head. His feet and his bad leg were churning as he ran and ran and ran, before he ended up at a random grocery store. The bench outside seemed inviting, and he really needed to sit down to breathe for a second. As he sat down and fished up his phone to check the time, he realised he’d been out for almost two hours. The dull ache in his bad leg made sense, but it reminded him even more of the worst months of his life and he felt his pulse go up once more. So much for running to take his mind off it. Now it only made things worse. He sighed and walked into the grocery store, feeling the neon lights hurt his eyes. He came back home with a bag full of cookies, chips and ice cream, and he shoved a packet of oreos down before even reaching his front door. So much for being more careful.
He walked back into the firehouse the day after, knowing he looked worse for wear. It had been a long night and his eyes were sporting some pretty prominent dark circles. He had to put effort in to not show that his leg still bothered him a bit, as he couldn’t handle being benched again even if only for a few more days. Also, how would he explain why it hurt today? He couldn’t just tell them he’d been running for two hours last night when he was supposed to rest, that just wouldn’t fly.
Hen greeted him outside the locker room.
“Hey Buck…are you feeling better?”
“Oh yeah, absolutely” he answered, despite knowing that she probably could see right through him. “Just a little lingering tiredness you know…I hope I didn’t get anyone else sick”.
“Don’t worry about that Buck, I'm sure everyone is fine,” Hen said, still eyeing him. “But are you sure you’re ready to be back? No one would blame you for needing some rest.”
“Oh I’ll be fine” He said with a fake smile. “I just wanna be back with you guys.”
“If you say so Buck,” she nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “But sit down if you need to”.
He smiled at her and they both made their way back up the stairs to have some of Bobby’s famous pancakes. It felt good to be back, like wearing his own skin again instead of somebody else's.
Bobby gave them both a big smile when they reached the top of the stairs.
“Hen, Buck, you’re just in time,” he said. “We already set the table”.
As Buck came closer he could feel Bobby’s eyes on him, but he just flashed him a smile and sat down at the table. Then came the next challenge; the pancakes. He couldn’t throw up today, not with everyone around. The few times he had done it at the station, he’d been the man behind or the last one to leave the locker rooms. He felt ashamed to even think about it when he knew he wasn’t about to binge, but after throwing up at a fucking dinner party he just couldn’t trust himself. So he carefully put a singular pancake on his plate and slowly cut it up. It tasted amazing, like always, but he stuck to slowly eating the small pieces. Bobby met his eyes from across the table, eyebrows raised in but somehow simultaneously frowning. Buck gave him a small nod and smile before looking back down at his pancake pieces.
“Ready for another one Buck?” Bobby asked, already pushing the pancake platter towards him.
“Um, I think I’m good actually,” Buck said, swallowing his last piece.
“Still feeling sick Buck?” Chimney asked him.
“No I’m all better, just think I should take it a little easy on the food for today.”
He knew that was the wrong answer to give when he felt Eddie’s gaze burn into his side, but at least the pancake stayed down.