Chapter Text
Buck wasn’t okay. He wasn’t, and that’s just how it was. He was hurting — literally and physically. He was trying to be a good brother. Lord knows he needed to be one. He hadn’t been able to protect Maddie when Doug was hurting her. The fact that he hadn’t known was irrelevant. He should have known. She always seemed to know when he was hurt, but somehow, he hadn’t been as in tune with her well-being. Well, that stopped now.
She’d called him from the beach — a goodbye of sorts. He didn’t answer the phone because his hands were elbow-deep in sudsy water, but he checked the voicemail soon after. What he heard made his blood run cold. He’d booked it to the beach, found her cell phone discarded haphazardly, someone who wasn’t planning on needing it again. He dove into the water, instantly cold as he swam, searching, a nagging in the back of his mind drawing up memories of the tsunami — but it wasn’t Christopher’s name he was frantically screaming.
He found her when he caught sight of a pink shirt that stood out in the water. He gripped her too tightly, yanking, pulling her up, up, up, even as she resisted. He just gripped her bicep harder until both their faces broke the surface.
She’d screamed at him. Begged him to let her die. To let her drown in peace. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. He dragged her, kicking and screaming, back to shore, held her back when she tried to run back in, held her tighter when she gave in — sobbing and wailing into his chest. Then she quieted. Calmed. And decided.
Decided she needed help. Decided she needed out. Decided not to tell Chimney. And he let her. Not because he wanted to. He didn’t. He hated it. He wanted to roll her up inside his chest and keep her there, safe and warm. But she needed help. She needed help he couldn’t provide.
So he took her to his loft. He got her warm and dry and dressed in a pair of sweats that no longer fit him and a hoodie that dwarfed her. He drove her home when Chimney wasn’t there. He helped her pack. He hugged her tightly. He held the camera when she said goodbye. He cried with her and made her promise to text him. Then he left.
Left because there was nothing left to do.
Left because she needed space to heal — from Chimney, from Jee, from him.
Left because it was the right thing to do, even when it felt like he was being ripped apart.
Chimney found out the next day when Jee was dropped off. Buck pretended not to know. Pretended not to see how Chimney broke as he watched the video. Pretended not to know what happened, how it all started, when Chimney asked questions.
He hated watching one of his best friends fall apart. His heart ached, begged him to tell him, but he couldn’t. He was a brother first, and he’d promised Maddie. She’d been checking in with him. Had even shared her location so he always knew where she was. She was in Pennsylvania. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like how close she’d gotten to their parents, but he said nothing. He cried with Chimney — not because he needed to fake it, but because he wanted to cry too.
She’d checked herself into a women’s mental hospital, but they took her phone. She’d told Buck it was for the best. Promised him she’d be okay. And he trusted her. So he didn’t press it. Didn’t ask for the clinic’s number. Didn’t drive out to see her or protest not having her phone. He let her go, knowing she was safe, knowing she was getting the help she needed, and he tried to reassure Chimney, too.
But the man just kept digging.
When he came to the loft with the insurance statement and the note from the hospital, Buck really did try to act surprised. He was a good actor. But he faltered. Grief and guilt combined and overwhelmed him, and suddenly he was telling Chimney that he knew — about Jee falling under the water in the tub, and her depression, and her leaving. He didn’t tell him about the suicide attempt, but he’d already betrayed his friend enough.
He didn’t see the fist coming.
Chimney had always been so level-headed; Buck had always thought it would be Eddie who’d hit him first, especially during the lawsuit mess. But no. Chimney’s fist collided with his eye, sending him reeling back because he hadn’t had time to brace. He knew how to take a punch. He’d taken several in his childhood. But this was a fist he never saw coming — and Chimney was stronger than he looked.
He was gone then. He didn’t stick around to see if Buck was okay or to apologize. He just left. Stormed out the door — and Buck let him.
He went to Eddie’s house because even if Buck had always thought Eddie would be the first to hit him, he was still safe there. Safe because he knew Eddie never would. The lawsuit had proved that, too. So he went to his house. He knocked on the door, bruised eye hidden behind sunglasses.
He’d told him what happened, gotten a sympathetic hug, and been given a bag of ice and a beer. But nothing in Eddie screamed unsurprised or like Buck didn’t deserve it. So he sipped his beer, voiced his worries about Chimney never forgiving him, and iced his eye. He didn’t realize until he was falling asleep on Eddie’s couch that he’d never forgive himself for driving both Maddie and Chimney away.
Chimney came back with Maddie in tow. She looked healed. She looked better, and Buck had held her tightly when he opened the door and found her there. He’d let her take his bed for the next several days while he slept in the decidedly non–sleep-conducive armchair. He’d helped her find an apartment and move in, just the two of them. He’d stayed a few nights with her to help her feel settled.
Then he left her alone. Because she really was healed. She was smiling and happy, and none of it looked fake. He visited her every day, but he let her live her life now that she was safe, happy, and back where she belonged.
Chimney came back to work, and they didn’t speak. Chimney avoided him, still angry — until he just… wasn’t.
It happened on a random Tuesday. They were sitting in the loft of the firehouse, enjoying the calm before a call. He and Eddie were playing a game when Chimney swept by. He ruffled Buck’s hair, teased him about losing, and asked if he was free to watch Jee on Friday. Buck had never agreed faster. And just like that, they were good.
Except Buck wasn’t. Not really.
He was careful not to stand too close to anyone. Chimney might have been the one to hit him, but suddenly it felt like the door had been opened. Like Chimney had broken the ice to something they all wanted to do sometimes — and Buck deserved it. That didn’t stop him from bracing whenever someone got too close, whenever someone moved too suddenly.
It started with Bobby. He was angry and frustrated, that vein in his forehead pulsing violently as he fixed Buck with his signature angry dad face — the one that made Buck’s stomach churn. He’d gotten close. Real close. Too close, and Buck flinched.
If Bobby noticed, he didn’t waver. He poked a finger into Buck’s chest — not hard, just tapping.
“Why do we keep having to have this same conversation about you needlessly putting yourself in danger?” he snapped.
Because it was easier to put himself in danger than watch someone he loved die. Everyone else had a family. Everyone else had children. Buck had no one. The 118 would miss him for a time, would probably put his picture up on the wall for a while — but at the end of the day, no one would truly miss him. Maddie would cry. She would receive his helmet, his turnouts, and she might memorialize them for a time. But then she’d pack them away and mention “Uncle Buck” only when someone asked who the man in a few pictures was.
Eddie and Chris would cry. Eddie would get angry, and then he’d stop being angry. He’d find comfort in Hen or Chimney or — hell — even Josh, and he’d forget how close he and Buck had been. Buck would just be the one friend who died.
Bobby and Athena would miss him. They’d mourn. And then they’d stop. They’d move on because they had their own, actual children to worry about.
And Chimney… well, he might not miss Buck at all.
He didn’t realize he was spiraling. Didn’t really realize he was getting depressed until he was so far in the hole he couldn’t climb out of it on his own. And he couldn’t very well tell anyone how he was feeling, because then he’d be seen as copying Maddie, or stealing from her experience, or making everything about himself again. So he was silent. And waited. Waited for whoever the next person to hit him would be.
Hen had clapped him on the shoulder one day after a scene, and he’d nearly jumped out of his own skin. She’d given him a look of scrutiny, one brow lifted, like she was waiting for answers Buck was content not to give her.
“You good?”
“Ears are ringing,” he responded simply.
It was reasonable enough. There had been an explosion. The top floors of an apartment building had collapsed onto the first floor, and it had left a lot of them with an annoying ringing that wouldn’t go away for a few hours. Never mind that he’d been nowhere nearby when it happened.
She was called away before she could interrogate him more. Buck let it alone, because there was no real reason to think that a friendly gesture was going to cause him pain. Hen always touched him. It was a love language they shared. She’d brush past him or clap him on the back or ruffle his hair. It was her way of checking in, of nurturing him.
But that nurture suddenly felt violent.
Maddie had never been anything but gentle with him, but suddenly, even having her hands on him was terrifying. Each gentle touch felt like a slap against his skin. Why had he come to expect violence from everyone? He knew Maddie would never hurt him. Knew it. But for some reason…
She’d stroked his cheek softly when he visited, a small smile lighting up her face when he walked through the door. She was healing. She was doing better. And he waited for her to grow angry. Because he hadn’t been there to stop her from walking into the ocean. He hadn’t been able to stop Chimney from chasing her around the country. He hadn’t been there to stop the breakup he somehow felt responsible for.
Everyone felt unsafe suddenly.
But Chimney was the worst.
The man had walked by him, brushing against his back, and Buck’d flinched. Hard. So hard he nearly dropped the hose he was rolling. Eddie, who was helping him, shot him a confused, concerned look — one Buck brushed off. And Eddie let him off with that.
The next time, Chimney had reached around Buck to grab a plate out of the cabinet in the kitchen. Buck had left skid marks on the floor in his rush to get away. Eddie found him in the bathroom, locked in a stall.
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
Buck brushed him off, face pressed to his knees as he breathed. Eddie let it go once Buck calmed down and finally looked at him — but he knew it wasn’t over, and something in Eddie’s eyes made Buck wary.
The third time — and probably the worst — was at a barbecue at Bobby and Athena’s. They hadn’t had one in a while. The yard was abuzz with excitement and cheer. Beer and iced tea were floating around, along with plates of food. Buck was holding Jee on his hip, bouncing her slightly as she sipped from her sippy cup and babbled in his ear. When she squirmed to get down, he knelt to let her go.
He wasn’t paying attention. His focus had been on Eddie across the yard, watching the man talk to Bobby at the grill — bare arms flexing beneath a muscle shirt, stance light and open. His hair was tousled just a little, his shoulders set easily. He was relaxed, calm, and that made Buck happy for reasons he couldn’t explain.
He was setting Jee down too close to a table, and she bumped her head. Not hard, but enough to make her let out a small whimper. And Buck reacted — pulling her back up quickly, asking if she was okay — and then she started screaming.
The whole yard turned toward him. His cheeks flushed, though he wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or fear.
Maddie got to him first. She plucked Jee out of his arms easily, shushing her gently, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head. Buck let his shoulders relax as his niece began to quiet — and then he felt it.
A hand clapped onto his shoulder.
It wasn’t hard. Nothing more than someone trying to get his attention. But Buck still flinched, turning sharply. His stomach dropped when he came face-to-face with Chimney.
“C-Chim, I-I didn’t mean to. I’m so s-sorry,” he stammered.
“It’s okay, Buck. It happens. Sometimes you Buck things up.”
Had his system not already been kicked into fight-or-flight — not already wound so tight — he probably would have noticed the smile pulling at the edges of Chimney’s face. But he didn’t.
So when Chimney lifted his hand to touch Buck’s shoulder, to ruffle his hair, Buck flinched and braced — eyes snapping shut, not wanting to watch as he was punched again. Not wanting to see everyone’s reactions when they realized it was okay. That he could take it. That they could take their anger out on him.
“Buck?” Chimney’s voice was small. Confused. Hurt. “D-did you think…? Buck! I would never!”
Buck opened his eyes slowly, taking in the anguish on his friend’s face — hands raised in surrender, eyes wide and lost.
“But you did, Chim.”
When did Eddie get so close? Hadn’t he been across the yard just moments ago?
Eddie’s hands wrapped around Buck’s shoulders, pulling him into a strong chest that felt… protective. That didn’t seem right.
“What? When?!” Hen snapped, joining the chaos of the moment.
“I-I deserved it…” Buck stammered.
“He’s the reason Buck had a black eye for two weeks,” Eddie said — and he sounded angry. Which didn’t make sense. He hadn’t even sounded angry when Buck had first shown up with it, only commenting that Chimney had gotten him good.
“I’m sorry, what?!” Athena’s voice cut through — the only one Buck didn’t flinch at. If she’d wanted to hit him, she’d had plenty of opportunities.
“I-I…” Chimney floundered, eyes wide, like he’d completely forgotten it had ever happened.
“Howard.”
Maddie’s voice made everyone freeze. She handed Jee Yun off to Karen, who was ushering the kids into the house.
“Did you punch my brother?”
Her tone was hard. Venomous. And suddenly Buck didn’t want to make things worse. Because Maddie could take Jee away from Chimney now. She didn’t want that. Neither of them did. She could end their friendship. Their co-parenting. Any chance of rekindling things.
“I deserved it, Maddie. I wouldn’t tell him why you left or where you were going, and he was going insane with grief and worry. He had every right to—”
“No, Buckaroo. No. No one has any right to lay their hands on you. On anyone,” Athena said firmly.
She stepped closer, placing a hand on Buck’s arm. Eddie was still holding him, but Buck could feel him shaking — and he wondered where all that anger had come from.
“I told him not to,” Maddie said quietly. Buck shuffled closer to Eddie, because he knew what that tone meant. “I told him not to because I didn’t want you chasing me — like you did anyway.”
Buck felt her step closer and buried his face in Eddie’s neck. Eddie seemed to understand that all hell was about to break loose in that backyard and pulled Buck fully into his chest, shielding him.
“It’s okay,” he murmured into Buck’s hair. “It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“You punched my brother after he pulled me out of the FUCKING OCEAN!” Maddie’s voice rose steadily, the last words screamed as she moved closer.
“My brother — whom I asked not to tell anyone. Who has been fucking flinching every time anyone gets close to him!”
So she had noticed. Had others noticed too and just… not said anything?
“Chim, I think you need to leave.”
Bobby’s voice was even. Stern. Final.
“Bobby, no — you can’t—”
“Buck, respectfully, this is my house, and I think he needs to walk away for tonight.”
Chimney nodded, still wide-eyed, still red. Guilty. Broken. Buck wanted to comfort him — wanted to tell him it was okay, that he’d get over it, that it was his fault for Bucking it all up again. But his feet wouldn’t move. And even if they did, Eddie wasn’t letting go.
As Chimney’s car drove away, Eddie loosened his hold — and Buck protested immediately — until Eddie opened his arms and Maddie stepped between them, pressing her face into Buck’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around him.
“I didn’t know,” she sobbed into his shirt. “I would have said something sooner if I did!”
Buck hugged her back awkwardly, rubbing a hand up and down her back.
“What I want to know is,” Athena said once Maddie’s cries had quieted, “why didn’t you say anything? Hell, Eddie seemed to know — why didn’t he say anything?”
“I asked him not to,” Buck whispered. “I-I thought…”
“Buck,” Eddie said softly beside him — pained. “Did you think I approved of what he did?”
Buck could only shrug.
“Dios mío! Buck! Why? Why would you think I approved?!” Eddie’s voice rose, and Buck flinched again.
“Okay,” Bobby cut in. “We’re letting this rest. Why Buck didn’t say anything — and why he thought this was acceptable — can wait. Right now, we all need to go home and take a day or two to calm down.”
He looked at Buck.
“You are not going back to your loft alone. You have two options: you stay here tonight, or you go home with someone. You choose.”
“I can really go—”
“He’s coming home with me.”
“Eddie, he chooses. But Buck — going home alone is not an option. If you really want to go back to your loft, fine. But I’m staying the night.”
“I… I want to go with Eddie,” Buck said — and he felt Eddie’s hand relax against his back.
“Good. Maddie, you and Jee have the guest room. I’ll set something up for Jee to sleep.”
“What? I can—”
“Great! Hope you like chocolate chip pancakes,” Athena cut in, arms crossed, fixing them both with a look.
Maddie sighed against Buck, squeezing him one last time before letting go.
“I like having parents who care,” she whispered, wiping her eyes.
Buck chuckled weakly, nodding.
“It’s the best.”