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Upstairs of firehouse 118, gathered around the heavy wooden dining table, the morning sun poured through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the crew. It was a rare, slow morning, the tones blessedly silent.
Chimney leaned back in his chair, a half eaten bagel in hand, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. "I’m telling you, it’s extortion," he said, waving his free hand. "Jee asked to do ballet. Which, of course, Maddie and I are letting her do, because how do you say no to a tiny human in a pink tutu? You don't. But the price? It’s crazy. I’m pretty sure they’re funding a small nation with what they charge for toddler pliés."
Hen chuckled from across the table, taking a sip of her tea. "Wait until she needs the specialized shoes, Chim. You haven't seen anything yet."
Eddie, sitting beside Hen, laughed, the sound warm and easy. "Try robotics," he chimed in, leaning his forearms on the table. "Christopher has decided to take the advanced course this semester, and let me tell you, it’s pricey. I think I'm paying for them to build actual terminators in that classroom."
A chorus of lighthearted laughter drifted through the loft. It was the easy, familiar banter of a family that had fought fires and cheated death together.
But the laughter died in Eddie’s throat as the heavy sound of boots trudging up the stairs caught their attention.
Buck reached the top of the stairs, and the immediate shift in the room’s atmosphere was palpable. He didn't have his usual bounding energy. He looked like a ghost. His skin was a pale, sickly grayish white, pulled taut over his cheekbones. Dark, bruised circles carved deep valleys under his bloodshot eyes. He was sweating, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening on his forehead despite the cool air conditioning, and as he gripped the back of an empty chair, his knuckles were white. His hands were shaking. A violent, visible tremor he couldn't hide.
He slumped into the chair at the end of the table, his eyes fixed firmly on the wood grain in front of him. He looked utterly broken.
The silence at the table stretched, thick and sudden. Eddie exchanged a quick, worried glance with Hen, then leaned forward, trying to keep his voice light to mask the spike of anxiety in his chest.
"Hey, man," Eddie said gently. "Chris said he feels fine, no food poisoning symptoms. I have none either. We haven’t gotten food poisoning from that sushi we ate ... but hopefully we don't, because you look horrible."
Hen frowned, her medical instincts immediately kicking in as she took in Buck's rapid, shallow breathing. "Eddie's right, Buck. You don't look good at all. Maybe you should go home, get some rest. Sleep it off."
"Yeah," Chimney agreed, his previous joviality vanishing entirely. "I will sign you off early. You look like you're about to pass out."
Clear concern was etched on all their faces. They were a unit, when one hurt, they all felt the shift.
Buck swallowed hard. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. When he opened them, the raw terror in his blue eyes made Eddie’s heart drop into his stomach.
"I can't be alone right now," Buck whispered. His voice was hoarse, shy, and terribly nervous. It was a voice Buck hadn't used since his earliest, most insecure days growing up in Hershey.
Everyone looked at him, confused.
"Buck, what's going on?" Chimney started to ask, leaning in. "If it's food poisoning. Maddie can..."
"I can't be alone right now," Buck interrupted, his voice breaking, "because it's not food poisoning."
Hen tilted her head. "Then what is it? Are you hurt?"
Buck just shook his head, a jerky, desperate movement. He squeezed his hands into fists, trying to stop the tremors, but it was useless. His whole body was vibrating with a sickening tension. He looked up, his eyes darting frantically between Hen, Chimney, and finally landing on Eddie.
"I almost stole fentanyl from the rig," Buck choked out.
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a split second, nobody breathed. Nobody moved. The confusion on their faces morphed into stunned, horrifying realization.
Hen’s mouth parted slightly. Chimney froze. Eddie felt as though the floor had just dropped out from beneath him. Fentanyl.
"Buck..." Hen started, her voice barely a breath. "Are you trying to tell us..."
"In New Mexico," Buck cut her off, the words spilling out of him in a desperate, panicked rush. He couldn't stop them now, the dam had broken. "When I was out there... After everything. I got prescribed OxyContin for the pain. And when I came back to LA, I... I went to a doctor. Got more. And then I went again, and again." A tear slipped free, cutting a clean track down his sweaty cheek. "They flagged my name in the system. But I needed it. I need it. And if I am alone right now... I'll find a way to get it."
The silence that followed was deafening, save for Buck's ragged, hitching breaths. They looked at him, really looked at him, the shaking, the sweating, the absolute terror in his eyes and they didn't see a reckless firefighter. They saw their Buck, drowning, screaming for a lifeline.
Chimney was the first to speak, his voice remarkably steady despite the fear in his eyes. "Buck. I’m sorry to ask this, but... I need to know. Did you take anything from the rig today?"
Buck shook his head frantically, fresh tears spilling over. "No. No, I swear. I had it in my hands, but... but the tones went off. I put it back. But Chim..." Buck sobbed, a wretched, broken sound, "I don't trust myself not to try again."
The sound of his sob broke the spell holding the room. Hen was out of her chair in a flash. She rounded the table and pulled Buck into a fierce, tight embrace. She didn't care about the sweat, she pressed his trembling head to her chest, resting her chin on his hair.
"Oh, Buck," she murmured, her own voice thick with emotion. "I am so proud of you. I am so incredibly proud of you for asking for help."
Eddie watched them, his heart shattering against his ribs. He felt a sickening wave of guilt wash over him. He had known Buck was off. He had seen the slight signs, the distractions, the isolating himself, the way Buck had been dodging his calls lately. He had brushed it off as stress, or exhaustion. He hadn't looked close enough.
"Buck," Eddie said, his voice cracking. He stood up, moving closer. "I'm so sorry. I knew something was wrong. I should have pushed more. I should have seen more."
Buck pulled back slightly from Hen, looking at Eddie with red, watery eyes. "No, Eddie. Don't do that. You couldn't have known. I was hiding it. I was lying to you. To all of you." He dragged a shaking hand through his damp curls. "I wanted to keep taking them without you all knowing. I didn't want to stop."
Chimney stepped closer, the captain in him, coming through. "How long have you been in withdrawal, Buck? A day?"
Buck nodded miserably. "Yeah. Roughly."
"When was the last time you took something?" Hen asked softly, keeping her hand securely on his shoulder.
Buck closed his eyes. "Yesterday morning. I took my last two."
They all looked at him, and there was no judgment. There was no anger. There was only a profound, overwhelming wave of love and fierce protection. This was their Buck.
"I need help," Buck whimpered, looking utterly defeated.
"Okay," Chimney said, taking immediate charge. "Here’s what we do. I’m going to call the Chief. I’ll get coverage for the rest of our shift, and tell him what is going on. Eddie, you take Buck home. He is not going to be alone for a single second. Hen and I will be over as soon as we sort things here. I'll call Maddie."
"No!" Buck panicked, trying to stand up, but his legs wobbled violently. Eddie stepped forward instantly, gripping Buck's bicep to steady him.
"Don't tell her, Chim," Buck pleaded.
Chimney sighed, his eyes sympathetic but firm. "Buck, I can't keep this from her. She's my wife, and she's your sister."
"I know," Buck gasped, gripping Eddie's arm like a lifeline. "I know. But I need to tell her. It has to come from me. Please."
Chimney softened. "Okay. Okay. I'll just tell her there's an emergency and she needs to go to your place."
Hen pulled her phone from her pocket. "Karen is off work today with the kids. I'll call her, ask her to watch Jee, and Nash, and I’ll have her swing by and get Chris after school, too."
Eddie looked at Hen, profound gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Hen."
The drive to Buck's loft was agonizing. Buck shivered violently in the passenger seat of Eddie’s truck, the air conditioning turned completely off despite the LA heat. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his torso, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.
Eddie drove with one hand on the wheel, his other hand rested firmly on the back of Buck's neck, a grounding, warm weight. He rubbed soothing circles with his thumb against Buck's skin. He didn't say much, there were no words that could magically fix this, but he made sure Buck felt his presence.
When they finally made it inside the house, Buck practically collapsed onto the sofa. He curled in on himself, a miserable, shaking ball.
Eddie immediately went into action. He grabbed a heavy throw blanket from the armchair and draped it over Buck, tucking the edges in around his shoulders. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and brought it back, setting it on the coffee table.
Eddie knelt on the floor directly in front of the couch, bringing himself to eye level with Buck. He reached out, gently brushing a damp curl away from Buck's sweaty forehead. The intimacy of the gesture was entirely natural between them, a culmination of years of saved lives, shared traumas, and a bond that went beyond friendship. It was a strong devotion, an unspoken promise that where Buck went, Eddie would follow, even into the darkest depths.
"You're doing great, Buck," Eddie murmured, his voice soft, a low rumble designed to soothe. "You're safe here. I've got you."
Buck opened his bloodshot eyes, looking at Eddie with such raw vulnerability it made Eddie ache. "It hurts, Eddie," he whispered.
Eddie shifted closer, resting his forearms on the edge of the couch, boxing Buck in with warmth and safety. He took one of Buck’s trembling hands in both of his own, holding it tightly against his chest.
"I know it hurts," Eddie said fiercely, his eyes locked onto Buck's. "I know. I am not leaving this spot. You hear me? I am right here."
Buck let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his forehead forward until it rested against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie immediately shifted, wrapping his arms around Buck’s trembling form, holding him together when Buck felt like he was falling apart.
It was beautifully heartbreaking, the strongest man Eddie knew, reduced to a shivering shell, but brave enough to bare himself and ask for help.
The heavy silence was shattered by the sound of the front door flying open.
"Buck?!" Maddie's voice echoed through the house, shrill with panic.
Eddie gently pulled back, giving Buck's shoulder a final, reassuring squeeze before standing up as Maddie rounded the corner into the living room.
She stopped dead in her tracks. Her purse slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
"Oh my god, Buck," Maddie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
She rushed forward, falling to her knees right where Eddie had just been. "Are you okay? You look... you look horrible. Should you be in a hospital? What happened?"
Eddie looked at Buck, giving him a slow, encouraging nod. "I'll give you both a minute," Eddie said softly. "Buck, I'm going to go start in your bedroom, okay?"
Buck swallowed hard, tears already welling in his eyes again. Hen had texted Eddie on the drive over. Search the house. Every drawer, every pocket, every shoe. He might have stashes he forgot about, or ones he's hiding. Get rid of all of it. Buck nodded at Eddie. "Yeah. Okay."
Eddie gave him a sympathetic, deeply fond smile, then turned and walked to the bedroom, giving them privacy.
Maddie looked to Eddie, then back at her brother, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Start in your room? Buck, start what? What is going on?"
Buck let out a ragged sob, the shame hitting him like a physical blow. He hated making his sister cry. He hated being the cause of her worry.
"Maddie..." he started, his voice cracking. "I... I've been taking pills."
Maddie froze. "What?"
"OxyContin," Buck wept, hiding his face in his hands. "I got hooked after New Mexico. I can't stop, Maddie. I wanted to... but I can't. I almost stole fentanyl from the rig today. I had to tell them. I had to."
Maddie didn't gasp. She didn't recoil. The immediate shock melted away, replaced by the fierce, unyielding strength of an older sister who had survived her own hells. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, but her hands were steady as she reached out and pried Buck's trembling hands away from his face.
She pulled him forcefully into her arms, burying her face in his neck.
"I am so sorry, Evan," she cried with him, rocking him back and forth. "I am so sorry you were hurting alone. But God, I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you for admitting you need help."
Buck fell into her embrace, the last of his walls crumbling. He wept like a child, gripping his sister's shirt as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
After a long moment, Maddie pulled back, wiping her eyes, her expression shifting to one of determined resolve. She looked toward the bedroom."
"And Eddie is... what?" she asked gently.
"Starting the search," Buck sniffled, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. "Making sure I have nothing here to tempt me. Getting rid of it all."
Maddie nodded, wiping a tear from Buck's cheek. "Good. We will make this easier for you to recover."
Twenty minutes later, the quiet of the house was broken again as the cavalry arrived. The door opened, and suddenly the room was full. Chimney and Hen walked in first, followed closely by Athena. Ravi, Harry, and May trailed behind, carrying grocery bags full of Gatorade, soup, and clean towels.
The moment they walked in, the air shifted from panic to absolute solidarity.
Maddie stood up from the couch, giving Buck's hand a squeeze.
She looked at Athena, seeing the fierce, protective fire in her eyes, and stepped back. "I'll go help Eddie," Maddie said softly, leaving the living room to join the search.
Chimney, Hen, and the others scattered into the kitchen and the bathroom, quietly and methodically beginning to search.
Athena walked slowly to the couch. She didn't have her uniform on, she was in civilian clothes, but she carried the same undeniable aura of authority and deep, maternal care. She sat down next to Buck, leaving a respectful few inches between them, but turning her body entirely toward him.
Buck couldn't look at her. The shame was suffocating. Athena was hard to face. She and Bobby were the parents he had always wanted.
"I'm sorry," Buck whispered, his chin trembling.
Athena reached out, placing a warm, firm hand over his shaking ones. "No," she said, her voice a low, commanding rumble that brooked no argument. "Don't do that. You don't apologize to me, Evan Buckley. You are brave. You asked for help. That is the hardest part, and you did it."
Buck shook his head, a tear dropping onto his lap. "Bobby..." he choked out, the name ripping from his throat like broken glass. "Bobby would be so upset with me right now."
Athena's eyes shined with unshed tears at the mention of her late husband, but her grip on Buck's hands only tightened.
"No, he wouldn't," Athena said firmly, moving closer until their shoulders touched. "Listen to me, Buck. Bobby would be heartbroken that you are in pain. He would be sad that you are going through this. He wouldn't want this suffering for you." She reached up, cupping his pale cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "But he would be so incredibly proud of you for coming to us. He knew the demons of addiction better than anyone. He knew how it lies to you, how it isolates you. The fact that you fought through that and brought it into the light? He would look at you with nothing but pride, son."
Buck broke. A loud, agonizing sob tore from his chest, and he leaned into Athena. She caught him easily, wrapping her arms around him, holding him tight to her chest as she murmured soothingly, a mother holding her wounded boy.
The next forty eight hours were a waking nightmare.
The withdrawal hit Buck with the force of a freight train. The house became a makeshift infirmary. The team refused to leave. They created a schedule without ever speaking a word about it, there was always someone awake, someone at his side.
When the chills hit, violently rattling his bones, Eddie was there, layering him in heated blankets, rubbing his back, whispering steady, grounding words in Spanish when English felt too sharp.
When the fever spiked, burning him up from the inside, Hen was there with cool, damp washcloths, gently wiping his face and neck, murmuring medical reassurances while tracking his pulse.
When the nausea overtook him, leaving him heaving dryly over a bucket beside the couch, Chimney was there, holding his shoulders, cleaning him up, and forcing him to take tiny, agonizing sips of electrolytes.
Ravi, May and Harry ran errands, kept the kitchen stocked, and handled the laundry, ensuring the house felt like a sanctuary rather than a prison.
Maddie sat near him while he slept fitfully, reading a book aloud in a low, even cadence just to give him a voice to tether onto in his fever dreams.
Through the worst of it, the agonizing muscle cramps that made him scream into his pillow, the crawling sensation under his skin that made him want to tear himself apart, Eddie never left his side. Even when he was supposed to be resting, Eddie slept on the floor beside the bed, his hand reaching up to maintain physical contact with Buck.
It was grueling. It was ugly, raw, and desperate. But in the midst of the vomit, the sweat, and the tears, there was a profound, unbreakable love. They were the 118. They didn't leave their own behind.
By the evening of the third day, the fever finally broke. The tremors subsided into a manageable twitch. Buck sat on the couch, exhausted, hollowed out, but clear eyed.
The sun was setting, casting a cool twilight over the house. Someone probably Ravi had set up a safe fire pit in the yard.
One by one, they all migrated outside. Eddie helped Buck to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist to support his shaky legs, and guided him to a comfortable patio chair.
They sat in a circle around the flickering flames. The LA skyline glittered in the distance, oblivious to the war they had just fought and won in this house.
Chimney holding a mug. He looked around the circle at his wife, his found family, at Buck, who looked exhausted but alive. Chimney raised his mug, his eyes catching the firelight.
"We made it through the worst of it," Chimney said softly. He looked up at the darkening sky. "And we know he was watching over us. To Bobby."
"To Bobby," the rest of them echoed.
Buck raised a shaky hand, "To Bobby," he whispered. He looked at Eddie, sitting near him. Eddie gave him a soft, reassuring smile, and for the first time in months, Buck felt like he could finally breathe.
One Month Later
The rain was coming down in sheets, a rare, torrential LA
downpour that turned the streets slick and dangerous.
Inside his truck, the silence was deafening. Buck gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached. He stared blindly at the rhythmic swipe of the windshield wipers, his chest heaving with phantom breaths.
It had been a brutal shift. A multi vehicle pileup on the 405. They had worked for two hours in the pouring rain, using the jaws of life to rip open a crushed sedan. But it hadn't been fast enough. Buck had been the one holding the teenager's hand, a kid no older than Chris, when the boy took his last, stuttering breath.
The image of the kid's lifeless eyes was seared into the back of Buck's eyelids. The weight of the failure, the grief, the unfairness of it all, felt like a physical boulder sitting on his chest.
And for the first time in thirty days, the craving roared to life with terrifying ferocity.
It wasn't a whisper, it was a scream. His brain demanded the numbness. It demanded the warm, artificial blanket of the pills to shut off the grief, to quiet the ghosts. His skin itched with the need for it. He knew exactly where he could drive to. He knew exactly who he could ask for some.
He put the truck in drive. His heart pounded in his ears.
Just one, the addiction lied to him. Just one to get through tonight.
He drove for twenty minutes through the storm, his mind a battlefield. But when he finally slammed on the brakes and put the car in park, he wasn't parked in an alley or at the dealers house, they had responded to a call a few days back, that Buck remembers in full detail.
He was in Eddie's driveway.
It was midnight. The house was completely dark. Buck sat in the truck for five agonizing minutes, the rain drumming against the roof, fighting the urge to put the car in reverse and run.
Instead, he forced himself out of the car. He didn't bother with his umbrella. He walked through the downpour, soaking his hoodie in seconds, and walked up to the porch. He had a key. It was on his ring, a permanent fixture. But he didn't use it. He felt entirely entirely unmoored, unworthy of the boundary less access.
He raised a shaking fist and knocked.
It took a minute, but a light flicked on in the hallway. The door unlocked and swung open, revealing Eddie in old, worn out sweatpants and a rumpled t shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction.
Eddie blinked against the porch light, his face immediately shifting from groggy confusion to sharp alertness.
"Buck?" Eddie asked, his voice thick with sleep but laced with sudden alarm. "Why didn't you use your key? And why are you here so late?"
Then Eddie's eyes adjusted. He took in Buck's soaked clothes, his violently shivering frame, but more importantly, he saw the wild, scared look in Buck's eyes. It was the same look Buck had at the firehouse table a month ago.
Eddie's heart skipped a beat. He stepped back, pulling the door wider. "What's wrong?"
"After today," Buck choked out, the rain masking his tears. He stood frozen on the threshold, afraid that if he moved, he would shatter. "After the call today, Eddie... I want to use. I want it so bad. I didn't. I haven't. I want to though."
Eddie didn't gasp. He didn't scold. He didn't panic. The absolute, unshakeable calm that rolled off Eddie was like a physical shield.
"Okay," Eddie said simply, his voice soft, steady, and incredibly gentle. "Come on. Come inside."
Buck stepped over the threshold, his teeth chattering, his hands fidgeting nervously. He felt like he was crawling out of his own skin. All he wanted was the pills. The craving was a physical ache in his bones.
Eddie shut the door, locking the storm outside. He didn't ask questions. He didn't ask for details. He just placed a warm, heavy hand on the center of Buck's soaking wet back and guided him down the hall.
Eddie bypassed the living room entirely and walked straight into his own bedroom. Only a small bedside lamp was on, casting a warm, amber glow over the room.
Eddie walked over to his dresser, pulled out a dry, soft pair of his own sweatpants and a worn out t shirt, and tossed them onto the bed.
"Get out of those wet clothes," Eddie said quietly. "Put those on."
Buck looked at the clothes, confused and incredibly jittery. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely manage the zipper of his hoodie, but he stripped off the wet layers and pulled on Eddie's clothes. They smelled like Eddie coconut, laundry detergent, and something inherently safe.
"Get into bed," Eddie instructed softly, moving to turn down the comforter.
Buck hesitated, looking at Eddie with wide, fractured eyes. But the exhaustion and the desperate need for comfort won out. He climbed into the center of Eddie's bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He was still shaking, his leg bouncing restlessly under the covers, his mind racing a mile a minute.
Eddie walked around to the other side of the bed. He didn't hesitate. He climbed in right behind Buck.
Eddie shifted close, closing the gap between them until his chest was pressed flush against Buck's back. He reached around, wrapping both of his arms securely around Buck's torso, pulling him back against his chest and tangling their legs together.
Buck gasped softly at the sudden, overwhelming pressure, but Eddie just held on tighter. It wasn't a sexual embrace, it was a physical tether. It was deep pressure therapy, a heavy, living weighted blanket composed entirely of love and devotion.
Eddie buried his face in the crook of Buck's neck, his breath ghosting over Buck's skin.
"You're okay," Eddie whispered, a low, rumbling vibration against Buck's back. "I've got you. I am here. You're okay."
Buck squeezed his eyes shut. For the first few minutes, he was rigid, fighting the cravings, fighting the memory of the dead teenager. But Eddie didn't move. He held on tight, his strong arms an immovable barrier between Buck and the demons in his head.
"You're safe," Eddie whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Buck's shoulder. "I've got you, Evan. I'm right here."
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tension began to drain out of Buck's muscles. The frantic, erratic beating of his heart began to slow, matching the steady, calming rhythm of Eddie's heart beating against his back. The phantom itch under his skin started to fade, washed away by the grounding warmth of the man holding him.
The urges didn't vanish completely, but they shrank, retreating into the shadows, overpowered by the sheer weight of Eddie's presence.
Buck let out a long, shaky exhale, finally letting his full weight slump back into Eddie's embrace. He reached down, threading his fingers through Eddie's where they rested over his chest, holding onto his hands like a lifeline.
Eddie shifted slightly, pressing his lips to Buck's temple in a lingering, tender kiss.
"I am so proud of you," Eddie whispered into his hair, his voice thick with raw emotion. "You came here. You came to me, instead of using. That is everything, Evan."
He pressed another soft kiss to Buck's temple. "You are amazing, Buck. I love you. I am so proud of you. You're okay. I've got you."
Tears pricked Buck's eyes, but this time, they weren't tears of grief or craving. They were tears of profound relief. He closed his eyes, listening to the rain batter the windowpane, feeling the rise and fall of Eddie's chest against his back.
He was an addict. He knew this would be a lifelong fight. There would be more bad days, more rainstorms, more ghosts.
But as he laid there, wrapped in the arms of his best friend, his partner, his everything, Buck knew, with absolute, unshakeable certainty, that he was going to be okay.