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The gun recoils back ever so slightly as Buck pulls the trigger on Daniel. He does everything in his power to steady his shaking hand, of course, he’s killed before, but something was so different this time. Buck told Daniel, said he didn't enjoy hurting him, the ache in his heart growing ever so quickly as he regained his composure. He didn't have a choice, he tells himself, as if he isn’t familiar with his own manipulation tactics. Buck puts his blazer back on, daring to look back at Daniel’s body as the metallic scent rose from it and covered the whole room.
Sick with himself, he walks out. He’ll deal with the body later, he needs some fresh air first. It should’ve been nothing, it should've been a quick, emotionless kill, on par with everything else Buck has done in the past. It wasn't, though. Buck hesitated. He held the gun firmly in his hands and yet it still shook. He wasn't a stranger to killing and then covering up his tracks, not in the slightest. After all, he and Daniel just buried a body a while ago– There he goes again, thinking about stupid Daniel, who got what he deserved.
It felt different, posed the question of who Daniel even was to him. Clearly more than a stranger, but to what extent? It never really crossed his mind before, having come so naturally until he was forced to actually confront all of it. It would be easier to not think about it and complicate things, cut off all strings of attachment the second he sent the bullet through Daniel’s head, but now that Buck has his mind fixated on it, he can’t stop. This whole thing was stupid, so incredibly stupid that it astounded him how he couldn't seem to let go.
Daniel noticed his hesitance, the way Buck’s eyes darted from the gun to the pain on his face. He was always smarter than he let on. They say that your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but for some reason, Buck saw it rather than Daniel. He saw the two of them smiling about something stupid or bonding over the little things that never really mattered, just taking pressure away from their jobs. Buck saw their laughs as Daniel would make an incredibly dumb joke, one that made Buck want to pinch the bridge of his nose in affectionate annoyance.
Does reminiscing while your gun’s in someone’s face break the borders of them being barely a friend?
The streets of Hell’s Kitchen were always so loud, this time, deafeningly so, as if they couldn't sense Buck’s internal turmoil and the way it was shattering the ground beneath him.
Daniel made the job the slightest bit more enjoyable, Buck found. The way he kept forcing himself into Buck’s life made them an unlikely pair of friends. With time, Buck probably had started liking Daniel’s presence, seeing the two of them as a pair now. Buck and Daniel, Daniel and Buck. Now, it’s just Buck, because God, Daniel’s a stupid man. As much as Buck cared about him, he did what had to be done. Daniel left him no choice.
There was a choice.
The tiniest part of him speaks up inside his head, saying that he could’ve let Daniel go before telling Fisk he killed him. Fisk never really bothered for evidence of any sort, once it was done, it was done. Buck’s every word was always taken as the truth, so why couldn't Buck do it this time? He almost could see the chains that had drawn him on to kill his one friend.
Buck kept on walking and shoved the thought to the very back of his mind, trying his hardest to ignore it as it fought for a place at the forefront of his head. It didn't work. The thoughts plagued him, every single alternate scenario, every single ‘what if’ that would end in Daniel being alive at the end of all of this.
It grew within him like a black hole, and Buck kept on walking like none of it was happening because it shouldn’t be. Buck Cashman is well acquainted with death, often acting as its messenger. It shouldn't scar him. How far did his feelings for Daniel go as to make him contemplate killing him? It’s not like Daniel had any way to get out, it could’ve been so easy, but Buck hesitated, Buck trembled with a fear he’s never felt and he swore tears were stinging his eyes in the moment because it was the first time he cared about the person staring down the barrel of his gun.
Buck saw him, in the corner of his eye. “Fuck you, Buck.” His breath ran slightly off rhythm, and he bit his inner lip out of frustration. If Daniel got what he deserved, why is Buck so hung up over it? He did it, his finger pulled the trigger, no one coaxed him into shooting, no one’s life was at stake but Daniel’s, so why, why on Earth was it such an issue to him?
He walks back, opposite direction, he thinks he won’t be able to move past it until Daniel is gone and buried. He won’t have anyone to do it with this time, shame, but it’s what must be done.
Careful, he focuses on the path back and not on the world that kept on turning like Daniel’s death didn't even leave a dent in society, because of course it didn’t. That was only the case for Buck. Buck whose heart couldn't help but ache as the one person who got through to it died to his hand.
As he entered the building again, the scent of iron filled his lungs once more and he saw the image his brain kept trying to ignore, Daniel’s body lying on the floor, a pool of blood accumulating beneath his head, staining everything around him. Buck kneels to Daniel’s level, where his lifeless eyes were robbed of their usual warmth. He feels his breath shudder as he looks at the blemishes from his fist against Daniel’s face, an unwelcome reaction, really, but he accepts it. Can’t turn back time now, can he? Buck killed his one friend, maybe even his closest, and there’s nothing he can do about it now.
“Happy belated birthday, Daniel.” Maybe in another life, we’ll meet again, and I won’t be so cruel to you. A lifetime I’ll never get to see, that is.