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He’s fine.
He’s fine.
He’s fine.
The words are on repeat in his mind like a broken record. A record that used to be his favorite, but now can’t stand to hear the lyrics. But it doesn’t matter because it’s broken. He’s broken. Yet he keeps saying the same words. I’m fine. Keeps playing the same song, until he couldn’t stop. He doesn’t know if he will ever be able to stop. He doesn’t know if he wants to.
“We can’t give you anymore, Mr. Buckley.” The words stop his shaking hands for just a moment. Within the next second they were once again trembling, but now he has new words to play in his head. A new record. One he never wanted to hear.
“E-excuse me?” It comes out strained. Like his mind was trying to make sense of itself.
“Mr. Buckley, are you aware that we can see all the doctors you’ve seen in the past month?”
Honestly, he wasn’t thinking about that. He probably should have. But he had other things on his mind. And they had the only thing that could make it go away. The ‘I’m fine’s’ would actually be true. The burn in his eyes, and the chill down his spine, reminded him that he will never be fine again.
“Why does that have anything to do with why I’m here today?” Buck spits out, the words coming out harsher than he means. “Look, I’m a firefighter, okay? I can’t do my job if I’m in pain, so just give me what I need and we can all go home happy okay?” Desperation drips from his voice like a leaky faucet, yet he hardly seems to notice. His skin was crawling with want. With need. The itch under his skin never seemed to go away no matter how hard he scratched it, and it was about to drive him over the edge.
“Listen, you’re not the only person to get hooked on pain meds after an accident, but you can’t-”
“Woah, woah, woah– hang on.” The words get caught in his throat for a moment, disbelief tracing over every feature across his face. “You think–? I’m not an addict. I’m just in pain, and you have the only thing that can make it better, so will you please just–”
“Mr. Buckley.” Buck freezes, and it’s scary how unaware he is. He doesn’t want to believe something was wrong with him. He didn’t want to believe it was a problem–that he had a problem, because then where does that leave him? He didn’t need another thing wrong with him. So with that, he gets up from his seat and walks out without another word. He knows he won’t be able to get what he needs anywhere else, and the thought alone drives him insane. It makes his skin itch more, the lights more blinding, his thoughts more erratic. It was only a matter of time before he breaks.
It had only gotten worse the next day. He started off his morning with his head inside his toilet bowl, and a blaring headache that only made every other part of his body ache worse. And he wasn’t a stranger to the way the bags under his eyes, sunk so far into his face, it looked like it would be permanently indented.
He knew he couldn’t risk going into work and seeing everyone. They would be able to clock him the second he walked through the doors. And he was not ready for questions. Partly because he didn’t know the answers. And for the questions he did know, he could never tell them the truth. They would think he was some druggie just like the doctor when he wasn’t. Not in his mind. Never in his mind. He just shoved it into the part of his mind he left all his unwanted thoughts. It was arguably the darkest part, not that he would admit that. That would mean another thing was wrong with him, and that wasn’t something he could face yet.
He knew by calling in sick it would raise some unwanted questions as well, but at least this way there was a door he could keep shut. He could rot away in his own house and deal with it all tomorrow.
Back at the station, the team all sat around the table, steaming coffees laid out on the table being forgotten about as heavy conversation flooded the loft. Hen and Eddie were at the end of the table, talking about the strange call they had gotten yesterday. Ravi and Harry sat across from each other, in friendly arguments about which franchise was better, Marvel or DC. Chim was standing by the kitchen island, talking to Maddie on the phone when he got the text.
Buckaroo:
Feeling really sick today, can’t make it in.
That was it. No apologies for the last minute notice. No guilt ridden rants about how he wishes he could still come in. It was unusual to say the least.
“Hey Mads?” With the shift in tone, worry immediately settles into Maddie’s bones. “Did Buck tell you he was sick?”
“No. Why?” Maddie asks, suddenly on the edge of the couch. Buck hardly ever got sick. It was something she was always secretly jealous of, but when he did get sick it was bad.
“He just texted me saying he can’t come into work today because he wasn’t feeling well.”
This gets the attention of the others. They move in sync, turning their heads to listen in on the conversation.
“What? Buck never calls in sick.” She states.
“I know. He’s only ever called in sick twice in the decade he’s been here, and they each came with apology rants, and promises he’d make it up next shift.”
“What’s going on?” Eddie’s voice filters through the air. It’s unsteady. Unsure. Almost like he knew something was wrong since the second he stepped foot into the station and Buck wasn’t there waiting for him.
“Buck is taking a sick day, apparently.”
Hen leans forward in her seat, brows drawn in disbelief.
“Buck? Like our Buck? That doesn’t sound like him. He would still come to work if he had two missing limbs.”
“Exactly. So whatever he has, it must be really bad.” Chimney says quietly, almost like he was saying it to himself.
Maddie’s voice rings through the phone, Chimney almost forgetting she was still on call.
“I would go over there to check on him but I have the kids. But if he’s sick, I don’t want to expose them to whatever he has.”
“I can check in on him after work.” Eddie cuts in, all eyes going to him. “If I say it’s a wellness check I can take a med bag with me when I go.”
The others agree easily, deciding Eddie should be the one to go. If Buck was going to let anyone inside it was going to be him.
Buck paces around his living room, pulling at his hair with one hand while the other finds itself beneath his teeth, chewing off whatever nails were left.
The thoughts wouldn’t go away. It felt like he was on a mary-go-round at the fair, only he couldn’t get off. The same stupid song playing over and over, while his thoughts go round and round, repeating themselves like a wishful prayer. People say you don’t go crazy overnight, and maybe they’re right. Maybe this was a long time coming, but it sure felt like it happened overnight. A few days ago he was fine. Well, as fine as someone could be while high on opioids, but it was better than what he was feeling now. All he wanted was to take a hammer to every inch of surface he could find, just so that he could worry about the damages instead of how he was going to make it to the end of the day.
He felt like he was dying. And maybe he was. Maybe he’s reached his end. Maybe the universe decided to finally give him a permanent break from the ongoing pain and suffering he’s endured since he took his first steps into his sister's arms. He just hoped it would be fast. That whoever was in control wouldn’t drag out his death for too long. That when the light finally came, the pain would go away, and he wouldn’t feel guilty about going where he wouldn’t hurt anymore.
But he wasn’t dying. Even though he doesn’t feel like it, he is alive. And he’s breathing. And tomorrow, he’s going to wake up and still be in pain. The thoughts will still be there. The itch, the tears, and the lies would suffocate him like a weighted blanket. He can’t remember a time where they weren’t there, in the back of his mind, waiting for him to break. They seemed to have found a permanent home, and Buck can’t seem to remember when they moved in. Was it in New Mexico? Where he had to be a replacement for a dead son for the second time in his life. Or was it before then? In the lab that was imprinted on every inch of his aching skull. Was it because of the disease that took away the only real father he had? Or was it even earlier than that? The coma dream? The tsunami? The bombing? Or maybe they decided he was an easy target from the first moment he realized no matter how many times he hurt himself, his parents would never love him the way he wanted. The way he needed.
Maybe it was like a tumor. It started off small, only one or two things invading the darkest parts of his mind, not enough to even notice, but then one by one, they started scratching and crawling their way in.
Buck continues to pace around his living room, then the kitchen, then the bedroom. Next he found himself in the bathroom, head inside the toilet bowl for the third time that day.
Still, the same words replayed in his mind.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fi–
For the first time in days, his mind freezes like a deer in headlights. The words get caught on his tongue. And as his eyes trace every inch of himself back in the mirror, he can see the realization in the eyes staring back. In the eyebrows furrowed downward. In the frown that seemed to be permanently plastered there.
Because the person staring back at him in the mirror isn’t him. It couldn’t be, right? Because Buck was always the happy one. The first person to smile in every room. The person who laughs at every bad joke. He tries to picture the guy in the mirror smiling back at him, but his brain can’t come up with anything. Almost like the guy in the mirror has never smiled a day in his life.
The mirror reflects the face he wears, but he can’t remember when it became someone he couldn’t recognize. He stares back at it, holding a hand up to draw the stranger's face, like he’s waiting for his reflection to feel familiar again. It never does. Only when the image becomes blurry does he look away. He can’t handle looking at the person he destroyed for a few minutes of pleasure. Now he starts to wonder how he let it get this bad. How could he not notice?
Just like that, the broken record comes to an end. The lyrics morph into something darker. Something more real. Now a new song starts playing. One he’s never heard. Or maybe he just didn’t let himself listen to the words.
He needs help.
The thoughts send him spiraling, and he almost doesn’t hear the ringing throughout the house. For a moment he thought it was just in my head– another mind trick, then came the knocking, and the sound of his best friend's voice seeping through the walls.
Buck slowly exits the bathroom, being careful not to make eye contact with the stranger in the mirror. The voice draws him in, closer to the light. Not the light that will kill you, but the light that might end up saving your life.
He’s a few steps away from the door when he can finally make out the words.
“Buck? I’m starting to get worried,” Buck can feel words through the door, and he realizes how much he’s missed Eddie. Sure they’ve hung out a bunch, but he never let himself feel present, another thing he hates himself for.
“Look, if you don’t answer the door, I’m going to have no choice but to knock it down.” He pauses. “Or, you know, actually use the spare key you gave me.”
Buck lets his feet move until he’s right in front of the door. He’s so close he can hear Eddie’s breathing on the other side, and only then does he let out a breath of his own.
His hand falls to the lock, lingering for just a moment before finally turning it.
He doesn’t open the door.
He doesn’t invite Eddie in with words.
He just steps back, and hopes he can read his mind.
“Buck?” The softness of his voice almost makes him cry, and decides that a whole day is way too long to not see Eddie’s face.
“I’m coming in, okay?” Buck doesn’t move, and for a moment neither does Eddie. He thinks Eddie is waiting for him to speak. He stays silent, though. Not having the strength to speak up. Honestly, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to face Eddie yet, but he doesn’t have time to change his mind once he hears the creak of the door. Subconsciously, holding his breath, waiting for Eddie to walk through the door. And only when their eyes meet, does Buck let it out again.
He watches Eddie’s eyes widen. Watches Eddie’s eyes trail over his rigid, pale body. The way he takes in his shaking hands, and bleeding fingertips. He watches Eddie’s mouth open and close multiple times in shock, not that he can blame him.
Finally, Eddie lets out a breath, dropping the med bag that Buck was just noticing, and takes heavy strides up to Buck.
“Jesus– now I understand why you didn’t come into work.” The words are heavily laced with concern, but for some reason Buck can’t get a single word out.
“Are you okay? You look like death.” Buck couldn’t think of a better way to describe how he was feeling, but still the words get caught in his throat.
“Here,” Eddie leans down to grab the med bag from the ground, before turning back around and resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I’ll do a check up, and make sure everything’s okay. Can’t have you dying on me just yet.” The joke falls short, and Buck doesn’t know if it was the words or the soft, lingering touch on his shoulder, but something in him finally breaks. Because everything wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay, and he didn’t know how to tell Eddie that without absolutely falling apart. So for once, he didn’t stop it. He let the tears come freely, he let his cries come out raggedy and short. He stopped trying to be okay, and let himself fall apart.
“I-I’m so sorry Eddie.” Eddie almost jumps back, startled by the outburst. After he realizes what was happening, he quickly steps in front of him placing his other hand between the curve of his shoulder and neck.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind. And if this is about skipping work, no one is mad at you-”
Buck cuts him off, shaking his head in slow motions, the crying starting to catch up with him.
“It’s not that I just-” Buck pauses, looking Eddie in the eyes, and he knows that as soon as the truth came out that it would change the way he looked at him forever. “I did something bad, Eddie.”
The words make Eddie halt. Looking over every inch of Buck’s face like he could find the answer stitched into his skin. He didn’t of course, but that didn’t stop him from trying to find the answers somewhere inside.
“What do you mean?” The words are soft. Delicate. Like he was afraid the old version of them would shatter if he spoke any louder. “What did you do, Buck?”
Buck sucks in a breath, trying to find the air to get the words out. Eddie’s hands don’t fall from his shoulders, if anything they tighten more.
“I… I’m sorry,” Another sharp breath. “I know I should’ve come to you earlier, or anyone really, but I- I just didn’t want to believe something was wrong. And I know I shouldn’t have kept taking them, but everything hurt so bad and I just wanted it to go away–”
Buck can see when Eddie’s eyes widen, his posture go rigid, the color flow out of his face, and part of him wants to take it back. Tell Eddie he was just joking around. That it was just food poisoning. But he knows what’s done is done. The words are out, and no amount of wishing will take them back.
“Wait–” Eddie breathes out. “What do you mean you shouldn’t have kept taking them?” The silence was enough proof for Eddie, his eyes drifting to every nook and cranny within eyesight.
“Buck, what did you take?” Only then does Eddie take his hands off, hardly noticing when Buck tries to lean into it more. Now, Eddie roams the house, trying to find any source of drug that Buck had taken. Not because he was mad, or because he didn’t trust Buck, but because he was beyond worried.
“Eddie–”
“How many did you take? Are they here?” He’s now throwing cushions off the couch, looking underneath, looking in drawers and cabinets, desperate to find the pills.
“Eddie, I didn’t take any.” His voice is rough–broken, enough so that it makes Eddie stop what he’s doing. Looking Buck in the eyes with that look. The look of pity. A pool full of sadness, and guilt at the fact that he didn’t notice sooner.
“Buck, I’m not mad, okay?” He takes a slow step forward, lowering his voice like he was scared Buck would be frightened if he spoke any louder. “I just need to know what you took and how much, because if you took too much then–”
Buck cuts him off before he can even say it.
“I told you I didn’t take anything.” A pause. “N-not today. I-i swear” It doesn’t calm Eddie fully, but it’s enough for him to walk back over to Buck, once again resting a firm hand on shoulder.
“Okay. Okay, I believe you.” He says calmly. “But you did take something, right?”
Another tear falls as he nods his head, and it takes Eddie everything in him not to wipe it away.
“What did you take?” There’s no judgement. He didn’t Buck feel like he was crazy. It was just laced with a lot of concern and worry.
“Opioids.” Buck breathes out. Eddie nods his head, gently rubbing his thumb up and down the crease of his neck, almost subconsciously, still Buck seemed to notice, his breathing calming down just slightly.
“Okay. How long have you been taking them?” Eddie felt like he already knew the answer. But a part of him wishes Buck would say just recently. Just within the last week. Because then he wouldn’t feel so guilty for not noticing something was wrong sooner.
Eddie knew the truth the second he hesitated to answer.
Before answering, Buck walks over to the couch, almost like he couldn’t bear to look Eddie in the eyes. Because a part of him does wonder. How did he not notice something was wrong? In the beginning sure, but had he really gotten that good at lying?
Despite Buck’s attempt at getting away, Eddie follows him to the couch, taking a seat only about an inch away.
For a moment it’s silent.
Then–
“Since the crash, in New Mexico.” Eddie looks away for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking back.
Buck doesn’t meet his eyes.
“And you promise you’re not on anything right now?”
“Uh, no. No, that's the problem.” Eddie stays silent, letting him continue. “I went to the doctors yesterday to get more, but they wouldn’t prescribe me it again, because my name came up into the system too many times.”
Buck lets out a shaky laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. It cracks halfway through, like his body doesn’t even believe the sound.
“I tried to stop.”
Eddie doesn’t interrupt.
“I did, I–” Buck drags a hand through his hair, pacing now instead of sitting, like the energy under his skin won’t let him stay still. “I didn’t even know I needed it, until I couldn’t have it anymore. I thought I could stop when I wanted, but then my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and I couldn’t sleep and it felt like–” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “Like I was crawling out of my own skin.”
As if on cue, his hands found his reddening arms, new marks appearing with each drag.
Eddie’s chest tightens, wanting to go comfort Buck, but understanding his need to be moving.
“So I told myself it was temporary.” Buck keeps going, faster now, the words starting to trip over each other/ “Just until things felt normal again. Till I could function, but I–”
His breath stutters.
“It’s been weeks, Eddie. Over a month.”
There it is. The sickening guilt.
Buck presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can shove it all back inside, but it’s too late now. It’s all spilling out. All the pain, and emotions he tried to cover up with pills now on overdrive.
“I didn’t even realize how bad it got until–” Another shuddering breath. “When I looked in the mirror–and, Eddie I didn’t even recognize myself. I never wanted that to be me.”
Eddie couldn’t bear to sit back while Buck spiraled on like this. Not anymore. He feels like he’s done that enough the past few weeks. So Eddie gets up from the couch and takes quick strides over to him. Placing a strong hand on his shoulder. He lets his thumb run over Buck’s collarbone gently, trying to bring any source of comfort he could.
“I know Buck. And this isn’t you. This is just something that you have to go through, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now.”
The words settle in the air, and Buck clings onto them with a death grip. Like if he could hold onto them tighter it would mean more. Like he’d start to believe it.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” He admits, voice small, uneven. “I don’t even know where to start.” Something in Eddie breaks once Buck finally looks him in the eye. When he realizes, something in his eyes died. And it’s been dead for a long time.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Remember what Bobby taught us? None of us have to do anything alone. That includes you.”
Something in Buck breaks even more.
“I don’t even want to imagine what he would think of me now.” Buck takes a step back, planning on walking away all together, when arms suddenly wrap around him. It startles him for a moment. It had been so long since he let himself be hugged. He almost forgot what it felt like. But when Eddie held him like nothing else in the world mattered, he remembers why his hugs were always his favourite.
“Don’t do that.” They’re so close, Buck can feel the words brushing against his ear. “Don’t go there. He would be proud that you told someone. Even if it took a while.”
Buck lets out a shaky breath, shaking his head.
“No, he trusted me. He worked so hard for me to be who I am now, and I ruined it.” His voice lowers, “I always ruin everything.” Eddie’s expression shifts, something firmer underneath the softness now.
“Look, I know I haven’t been there as much as you needed me, and I probably should have noticed sooner,” He pauses. “But I will not let you believe that you always ruin things. You know how many people’s lives are better because you’re in it?”
The words stick with Buck. Almost in disbelief. Like he couldn’t believe anyone’s lives would be better because of him. And it’s almost like Eddie can sense it, because Buck can feel him squeeze just a little tighter, before letting go and stepping back.
“I know you don’t believe that. And I know you don’t believe you can be fixed, and you’re right. You can’t be fixed.” The pause he takes has Buck holding his breath. “But you can heal. I’m going to help you, okay? We all are.”
Buck looks down to his stuttering fingers, the tears starting to burn his eyes. After a moment he looks back up.
“How?”
Eddie smiles sympathetically.
“Well, we’ll start off by telling everyone else. Then we’ll take the rest from there.”
Buck nods his head slightly, scared to tell everyone else, but relieved Eddie will be there too. Because maybe, he doesn’t have to be this way forever.
“You’re not going to send me away to some rehab facility for other people to deal with right? Because I don’t think….” He trails off, voice uncertain.
To his relief, Eddie shakes his head.
“I said we were gonna help you. And with a former nurse, two paramedics, and a firefighter captain, you pretty much got the VIP treatment.”
Buck is surprised when he lets a laugh escape from his throat. He’s not okay. But he will be.
Buck takes a step forward, hesitating for just a moment before finally reaching out and wrapping his arms around Eddie. He instantly melts into his arms when he feels Eddie hug him back without any hesitation. Buck lets himself feel the warmth of his best friend, and for the first time in a while, he actually feels like he could be okay again.