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The first time Buck gets into the ladder truck after the bombing, he almost throws up.
He races into the rig alongside Eddie, settling into their usual seats like the lawsuit never happened. Their thighs rest against each other, and Eddie nudges Buck’s boot with his own, a crooked grin stretched on his face. Buck shakes his head, smiling when he pulls the headset over his ears. It helps to smother the sound of the sirens screaming through the air.
Everything about it is normal in a way Buck wouldn’t have expected a week before.
Except there’s something hidden within the normality.
Something lurking below the surface.
Fear.
Buck’s hands tremble in his lap, his palms slick with sweat, and his stomach twists and clenches with every unexpected jolt of the truck. His left leg bounces, but it’s not from the usual restless energy he has before a call. Buck’s breath catches in his throat, and his lungs squeeze with each breath. A dull, aching throb settles in his left leg.
He spends the entire ride to the scene on edge.
Every bump in the road causes his muscles to seize up. The slight rattling of his seat has him frantically clinging to the leather. At one point, he’s sure he can smell something burning.
The screaming sirens carry a warning — DANGER!
Buck’s the first one out of the rig when they get to the scene. Relief floods through his body, the tension melting out of his muscles. The asphalt beneath his boots helps to quell the trembling in his legs. He breaths in the clean air like his life depends on it, helping to settle the churning in his stomach until he’s sure he can open his mouth without puking. The soft breeze cools his burning skin.
Swallowing down the bile, Buck throws himself into the job, determined to act as normal.
His hands still tremble, his stomach still swirls, but he works. He works methodically alongside Eddie, glad to be working with him again. They move without having to speak, relying on the teamwork they’ve perfected to guide them. It’s as if nothing has changed.
Yet the moment Buck crawls back into the rig and they begin the drive back to the firehouse, he remembers that everything has changed.
He’s met with the same nauseating fear as before, and he spends the entire ride back waiting for the moment it all goes wrong.
Buck expects the loud bang, the bright flash of light, and the searing pain coursing through his body.
The dull ache in his leg grows, the pain burying itself into the very bones themselves. It weaves itself through the fibres of his muscles. He can almost feel the pressure of the rig crushing down on him. Pain flickers through him like a lightning bolt.
He grits his teeth, digging his nails into his thighs in a feeble attempt to combat the pain coursing through his leg. His eyes focus on a small mark on the inside of the rig, pressing his nails deeper into his skin to keep his breathing steady. Buck breathes through the nausea and swallows past the fear and the pain.
He has to.
Bobby has only just let him back out on calls after several weeks of being the 118’s personal janitor. The rest of the time have finally forgiven him for the lawsuit and everything surrounding it. They’ve finally trusted him enough to be back out in the field, back out where he belongs, and he needs to keep that trust.
Buck missed working with the team. He missed being with Eddie, working with the team, and doing whatever they could to make someone’s day just that little bit easier to bear. Those few months without his job, without his team, were some of the worst months of his life.
He can’t lose it all again.
He won’t.
Buck refuses to undo all of the work he put into rebuilding their trust because his brain is too loud or because the memories of that night still haunt his every waking moment.
If Bobby benches him again, he’s not sure he’ll survive it.
So Buck pushes through.
He swallows down the fear and the nausea, does his best to ignore the pain, and does his job without complaint.
Every time Buck climbs into the rig and settles into his usual seat beside Eddie, he hopes it’ll get easier.
It doesn’t.
It only gets worse.
The pain in his leg grows with each drive through the streets of the city. His stomach churns so violently, the bile burning his throat, that he keeps the window partially open to draw in fresh air. It doesn’t help. His fingers shake so violently that he can barely put his headset on and spends most of the drive with his fingers tangled in the fabric of his pants.
Fear grabs his chest like a vice the second the doors slam shut behind him.
Each slam of the door is like an execution chamber door closing for the final time.
Like the echoing of a coffin lid being shut.
It’s a warning that he might never make it out of the rig alive.
Buck knows it’s stupid.
He knows the chances of the rig blowing up again are slim. They’re almost non-existent, but tha sliver of fear in his chest destroys any rationale. It eats at him until the fear becomes overwhelming, all-consuming. Sometimes, he feels like he’s drowning in it, choking on the memories that refuse to let him go.
Every time he sits in the rig, he remembers the heat of the flames.
He remembers the smell of torn-up asphalt, the stench of burning rubber, and the choking, acrid smoke. Buck remembers the pressure on his leg and the all-consuming pain he was certain would kill him. He remembers feeling alone, trapped on the precipice of death with no escape.
It’s a nightmare he can never truly wake up from.
A nightmare that haunts him even though his eyes are open, and sleep is nothing but a concept he’s failed to understand fully.
Buck catches Eddie watching him sometimes.
Eddie will glance out the corner of his eye and stare at Buck’s trembling hands. He’ll watch the way his hands dig into his thighs, or the way his leg bounces. His knee knocks against Buck’s, and Buck glances at him. He chews on his bottom lip even though it’s already torn to shreds, small beads of blood darkening the usually light pink skin.
“You okay?” he mouths, his eyebrows drawn inwards and a frown settling into his face.
Buck nods once.
He doesn’t open his mouth out of fear he’ll puke.
Eddie doesn’t look like he believes him. Not one bit. His eyes remain glued on Buck’s shaking hands, on the way he tilts himself forward until he’s sitting on the very edge of the leather. It’s the sign of a man desperate to escape.
Buck shrinks under his gaze.
He knows.
Of course he does.
There are very few things about Buck that Eddie doesn’t know, no matter how hard he tries to keep them a secret. Sometimes, he thinks Eddie knows his mind better than he does, and maybe he does. Maybe Eddie knows him better than he knows himself. Despite that, he still won’t tell Eddie the truth. He can’t.
Some things are better left unsaid.
It all comes to a head during Buck’s third shift back on the rig.
They’re on their way back to the station, the sirens switched off, and the rig is moving slowly through the bustling streets of the city. The call had been minor. A teenager, desperate to show off to his friends, managed to get himself stuck in a playground swing and had to be cut out. They didn’t impress their friends, but they might get their five minutes of internet fame from the video.
Buck spends the ride back perched on the edge of the leather seat. His fingers are twisted tight enough in the fabric of his pants for it to hurt. Every breath is dragged out of his lungs by force. He stares out the window, keeping his head turned away from Eddie, but he can still feel his eyes on his back, almost like he’s willing Buck to look at him.
He won’t.
The rig turns a corner and begins to pull onto a familiar street.
Buck’s mouth goes dry.
His breath hitches.
His vision blurs.
It’s the street the truck blew up on. The street that tried to take everything he worked so hard for away from him — his job, his family, his life.
For months, Buck has managed to avoid it. He takes longer routes so he never has to face the familiar buildings. Buck goes around the street even though he knows it’s easier to just drive through.
There’s no sign of the explosion having happened.
Why should there be? It’s been months.
The road has been fixed, the torn and churned-up asphalt gone, and the scattered pieces of plastic and rubber were removed months ago. It’s like it never happened, and to everyone else, that’s probably true.
But for Buck, it’s like he’s back there.
He remembers the familiar vibrations of the truck when it moved through the street. His body recognises every pot hole, every slight indent, like the very asphalt has been burned into his memory. Buck remembers Bobby’s voice in his ear.
Then the explosion.
A bright, burning light that momentarily blinded him.
The sound roaring through the air.
A rush of wind.
A flash of heat.
Thick, suffocating smoke.
The smell of burning rubber, asphalt, and plastic.
And the pain.
It erupts through Buck’s leg, flickering through his skin like a firework. It bursts through his muscles, tears through the bone, and sets every nerve ending alight. Pain burns through it. Buck’s body jerks against the leather of his seat. He sinks his teeth into his lip to keep from crying out, the taste of iron flooding his mouth.
Just like the day of the explosion.
Buck’s breathing escapes in small, strangled gasps. His fingers twist into the fabric of his pant leg until it hurts, trying to let the pain rival that of the pain still burning through his leg. A low buzzing, like a swarm of bees, floods his ears.
Something touches his arm, but the movement doesn’t register with him fully. His mind feels like it’s made of cotton. Buck’s vision goes soft around the edges, hazy and unfocused. He doesn’t see the streets moving through the glass, the shift in color, or the moment the rig rolls to a stop.
All he can see is the flash of light and the heat rushing over his skin.
Someone grabs his hand, lightly tugging his fingers from the fabric of his pants and holding onto them tightly. A light, almost feather-like touch ghosts his knuckles.
There’s something else touching his cheek, steering his unfocused, clouded eyes away from the window. Warmth cocoons his cheek.
“Buck?”
The voice is distant, like it’s floating through the air on a breeze or trickling over the waves at a beach.
“It’s Eddie,” it says. “I need you to listen to my voice.”
The movement on his hand continues, repetitive and soothing, helping to break through some of the fog filling his mind.
“We’re back at the station. Everything is fine. You’re not there, Freddie Costas isn’t here. It’s just you and me, here, together. We’re safe. Everyone is safe.” A soft exhale. “I need you to come back to me.”
Buck doesn’t know what it means.
He can’t move.
His leg burns.
The smell of burning rubble surrounds him.
“Please, Evan.” The voice cracks. “Come back to me.”
Buck’s breathing stutters in his chest, a choked gasp falling from his cracked and bleeding lips. The pressure on his hand remains, and the warmth rests against his cheek. They’re grounding, tugging him out of the depths of his nightmare.
His vision begins to clear. The cloudy edges fade, the rig swimming back into focus.
Eddie stares at him, his eyebrows drawn inwards, and worry etched into every line on his face.
Tear stains mark his cheeks.
“Eds—” Buck begins, but the word sticks in his throat, thick and heavy like molasses.
“Hey,” Eddie says, his eyebrows relaxing a little. “You’re okay, I promise.” His thumb gently brushes over Buck’s cheekbone. “Do you know where we are?”
Through the firehouse window behind Eddie’s head, he sees the familiar gray walls staring back at him. “F-firehouse.”
“Good. That’s good. Do you remember what happened?”
“We … we were driving back from a scene. My leg, it … it—”
Panic grips Buck’s chest, and he glances down, expecting to see his leg pinned between the seats. It still burns, the muscles and bone throbbing beneath his skin. Small fireworks continue to ignite, rippling through every fibre and every cell.
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Eddie draws Buck’s gaze back to him. “Your leg is fine. It’s not trapped, it’s not pinned, it’s fine. Trust me.”
“But it … it hurts. Like it’s on fire. Like—” Buck chokes on the rest of the sentence. Hot tears stream down his cheeks.
“We think you had a flashback when we drove down the street where it happened.” Eddie’s voice is calm, controlled. “I’ve been trying to bring you back for twenty minutes. We’ve been back at the firehouse for nearly ten. You’re completely safe, Buck. I sweat it.”
A sob escapes Buck’s lips.
“It … it felt so feal. I remembered all of it. The smell, the pain, the fire. Everything.”
“I know it felt real, but it wasn’t. You’re with me. We’re in the rig, and we’re safe. Okay?”
Buck exhales shakily. “Okay.”
He swipes his tongue across his lips, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. His chest still heaves, but his breathing is easier to deal with. The pain in his leg remains, though it’s starting to settle down now, returning to a dull ache rather than a burning pain. He shifts his foot against the floor of the rig, glad he can move it freely.
It’s not trapped.
He’s not trapped.
“How long has this been going on, Buck?” Eddie asks. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”
Buck shakes his head. “Every … every time I get on the rig, I remember it. I keep waiting for the moment it happens again.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want Bobby to bench me again. He just let me back, you all finally forgave me, and I can’t lose that again. I won’t.”
“Oh, Evan.”
Eddie wraps his arms around Buck and pulls him into a tight hug. Buck buries his face into Eddie’s neck, tears streaming down his cheeks and soft sobs escaping his shredded lips. The hug is warm, comforting. Eddie keeps his grip tight, unwavering, and rests his chin on Buck’s head, rocking him slightly.
“You’re not going to lose us,” he mutters, bringing one hand up to tangle into Buck’s curls. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could trust us with this. This isn’t all on your shoulders.”
“I can’t … I can’t do my job if I can’t get in the rig.”
“We’ll help you. I’ll help you. You’re not alone in this, Buck. I give you my word.” Eddie kisses Buck’s birthmark, his lips lingering against his skin. “Come on, let’s go to the bunkroom. You need to sleep, and we can talk this through with Bobby and work out a plan later on.”
Buck sniffs. “Will you stay with me?” His voice is muffled against Eddie’s skin.
“I’ll stay with you forever, Evan.”