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“You did what?”
The locker room was quiet, the heavy hum of the station’s HVAC system the only barrier against the restless silence between them. Buck was vibrating with a nervous, electric energy, his large frame shifting from foot to foot as he folded a uniform shirt for the third time.
"I asked him," Buck said again, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a vulnerability that instantly put Eddie’s internal radar on high alert. "Tommy. I asked him to be my heat partner. And he... he said yes."
Eddie froze, a half-buttoned shirt gripping his fingers. He stared at Buck’s profile, waiting for the punchline, but Buck’s cornflower blue eyes were wide, shining with a fragile, desperate kind of hope.
Tommy. Of all the people in the world, Tommy Kinard had somehow managed to breach the high, skittish walls Buck kept around his designation. For years, Buck had treated his heats like a private penance, locking himself away in total isolation because the thought of being that exposed, that needy, terrified him. Eddie didn’t know the story behind it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that this was yet another effect of the Buckley parents’ shitty parenting.
And now he was handing the key over to a man who, from everything Eddie had observed, had the emotional depth of a concrete slab.
Eddie used to think Tommy was a pretty cool guy. Ex-military, sports fanatic, and car enthusiast—he was into everything Buck wasn’t.
But that was before he had seen the subtle ways Tommy brushed off Buck’s enthusiasm, the faint, dismissive smirks when Buck rambled, the casual way he sidestepped Buck’s need for reassurance. Tommy didn't look at Buck like he was something to be cherished; he looked at him like a project, or worse, an acquisition.
Eddie’s chest tightened, a fierce, protective Alpha instinct roaring to life beneath his ribs, urging him to grab Buck by the shoulders and tell him no. But he looked at the anxious tilt of Buck’s head, the way he was practically begging for Eddie’s approval, and he forced the tension down. He wouldn't ruin this for him.
Plastering on a practiced, easy smile, Eddie stepped forward and clipped Buck’s shoulder. "Hey. That’s huge, man. Congratulations. If you think he's the one, then... I'm happy for you."
Buck’s entire body sagged with relief, a bright, blinding smile taking over his face. "Thanks, Eds. That means a lot. Really."
---
Two days later, the reality of the situation set in.
Buck’s loft smelled faint and sweet, the early, pre-heat pheromones just beginning to soften the air. Eddie was already there, moving through the space with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a dozen times before. Even though Buck usually spent his heats alone, Eddie always handled the preparation with him—it was their ritual.
They’ve done this for years and it showed in the way they moved in perfect, unthinking sync. Eddie passed the heavy, scent-absorbent blankets without being asked; Buck caught them and layered them into the thick, circular nest he was constructing in the corner of the living room. Eddie filled the blackout-curtain tracks while Buck stocked the bedside table with electrolyte drinks and easy-to-digest proteins. They didn't need words. They knew each other's rhythms down to the millimetres.
Tommy stood by the doorway, looking entirely out of place in his civilian clothes, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes tracked Eddie’s movements, a sharp line forming between his brows as he watched how easily Eddie anticipated Buck’s every need, how Buck instinctively leaned into Eddie’s space to catch a draft of his grounding, familiar scent.
The seamless dynamic clearly annoyed Tommy, a prickle of sour Alpha irritation bleeding into the room. Eddie caught it, and a dark, petty satisfaction curled deep in his gut. Let him be annoyed. Tommy might have the title, but Eddie knew the map of Buck’s safety by heart.
But the victory was temporary. The clock was ticking, and the air was growing heavier, thick with the drowsy, melting warmth of an Omega dropping into the first true stages of a fever. Buck’s movements slowed, his eyes growing slightly glassy as he stood in the centre of his completed nest, looking small despite his size.
It was time to go.
Eddie stepped back, his hands empty, his throat tight. He looked at Buck, wanting to say a thousand things—make him stay, make him hold you, don't let him leave you cold—but the words choked him.
"Call me if you need anything," Eddie said softly, keeping his scent as solid and comforting as a brick wall for Buck to lean on one last time. "Anytime, Buck. I mean it."
Buck nodded vaguely, already sinking into the heavy pull of his instincts. Eddie’s gut did another flip. He looked soft and pliant. Vulnerable. "Thanks, Eds."
Tommy stepped forward, placing a heavy, possessive hand on Buck’s shoulder. The touch didn't look gentle; it looked firm, establishing a boundary. Tommy looked over his shoulder at Eddie, his jaw tight, but a smug, victorious tilt curving the corner of his mouth. He didn't say a word, but the look in his eyes was crystal clear.
"Get some rest, Diaz," Tommy said smoothly. "I've got it from here."
Eddie backed out of the house, his boots heavy on the floorboards. The heavy click of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed in the quiet hallway, cutting Eddie off from the apartment, and leaving Buck in hands Eddie didn't trust for a second.
---
Days passed. The concrete floor of the station felt unusually cold under Eddie’s boots as the minutes ticked by. 0745. Then 0750.
By 0755, Eddie was pacing a tight line between the turn-out racks and the changing room. Buck was never late. Buck was the guy who showed up forty-five minutes early just to aggressively organise the pantry, brew a pot of coffee strong enough to strip paint, and hum some terrible pop song while distracting Bobby from trying feed a hoard of hungry firefighters.
When the glass doors of the changing room finally swung open at 0758, Eddie’s chest unlocked—but only for a fraction of a second.
Buck walked in with his duffel bag slung loosely over one shoulder, his posture strangely hollowed out. His usual long, bouncing stride was replaced by a slow, dragging gait, his heavy boots scuffing against the floorboards. His blond curls were damp, flat against his forehead, and his blue eyes looked unanchored, staring at the floor three feet ahead of him rather than taking in the room.
There was something wrong with him.
"Hey," Eddie said, stepping into Buck’s path before he could find his locker. Eddie’s Alpha senses immediately reached out, searching for that familiar, bright scent of orange blossom and honeyed warmth, but it was heavily muted, buried under a stale, aggressive layer of Tommy’s burnt leather scent.
Buck blinked, his eyes taking an extra beat to focus on Eddie’s face. "Oh. Hey, Eddie." His voice was flat, lacking its usual inflections.
"You're cutting it close there, bud," Eddie kept his tone light, not wanting to come off as interrogating, but his eyes were scanning Buck’s face, noting the slight tremor in his jaw and the pale, almost grey tint to his skin. "Everything okay? You look sluggish."
Buck forced his shoulders back. "Yeah, yeah. Just... overslept. Heat-brain hangover, you know? Still a little groggy." He tried to offer a smile, but it only pulled at the corners of his mouth before dropping away entirely.
"Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Chimney’s voice boomed from the stairs as he jogged down, a clipboard tucked under his arm. He grinned, somehow missing the dullness in Buck’s eyes. "Man, two minutes to spare. I was about to call Hen and start a betting pool on whether you got trapped under a mountain of laundry."
Buck swallowed, rubbing his eyes. "Ha ha, very funny, Chim. I just needed an extra alarm today."
"Hey, no judgment here," Chimney teased, nudging Buck’s arm with his elbow. His grin turned wicked. "We all know you spent the last four days locked up with Kinard. Honestly, if you're this late, Tommy must’ve been good to make you forget a shift like that. Did he tie you to the bedpost or what?"
Eddie’s stomach violently twisted, a sudden, hot flash of pure, protective anger hitting him so fast it left a bitter taste in his mouth. His scent spiked, sharp and defensive, and he had to actively force his fists to unclench at his sides. It wasn't Chimney’s fault—the Beta didn't know the map of Buck’s boundaries the way Eddie did—but hearing Tommy’s name associated with Buck’s current, fragile state made Eddie want to put a fist through a locker.
Buck let out a laugh. It was a terrible, empty sound. It ended too quickly, chopped off at the end as if he couldn't find the breath to sustain the lie. "Yeah," Buck murmured, his eyes glazing over as he stared past Chimney's shoulder. "Yeah, something like that."
"Buck—" Eddie started, stepping closer, his hand rising to grip Buck’s arm to pull him out of the bullpen, to demand to know exactly what had happened behind that locked door. But before his fingers could brush the dark fabric of Buck’s uniform shirt, the house klaxons pierced through the station.
"Station 118, multi-vehicle collision with entrapment, Interstate 10 westbound..."
The sudden blare of the alarm made Buck flinch violently, his head jerking toward the speakers as if the sound were physically painful.
"Duty calls!" Chimney yelled over the noise, turning on his heel and sprinting toward the trucks.
Buck didn't move for a long three seconds. He just stood there, staring at the floor, his breathing shallow and rapid.
"Buck, look at me," Eddie commanded quietly under the roar of the engines starting up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Buck slowly turned his head, his eyes wide, vacant, and completely unmoored. He didn't seem to fully register the emergency around them. Then, like a switch flicking on inside a broken machine, he gave a rigid, jerky nod. "Truck. Right. Got it."
He turned and shuffled toward his turnout gear, leaving Eddie standing in the locker room, a sickening sense of dread settling deep into his bones. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
---
On the highway, the scene was absolute chaos—twisted metal, shattering glass, and the deafening roar of traffic being diverted by the CHP. Normally, this was where Buck was in his element, a force of nature moving with precision and purpose. He would be the first one with the saw or jaws. The muscle following Hen or Chimney.
But today was anything but normal.
It started small. When they arrived, Buck fumbled with the door handle of the engine, his fingers slipping twice before he could open it. When Hen asked him for the trauma kit, he stood in front of the truck's compartments for a full thirty seconds, staring blankly at the neat rows of equipment as if he’d never seen them before. Hen had to gently nudge him aside to grab it herself, casting a worried look at Eddie over her shoulder.
Then came the clumsiness. Buck tripped over a standard fire hose that was lying flat on the asphalt—a basic hazard he would usually skip over without looking. He dropped a Halligan bar, the heavy iron tool clattering loudly against the concrete, drawing a sharp, reprimanding glance from Bobby.
"Buck, keep your head in the game!" Bobby shouted over the din of the rescue saws.
Buck didn't snap back with his usual energetic, 'On it, Cap!' He just stood there, his large frame swaying slightly, blinking heavily against the bright morning sun as if the light itself were crushing him.
The breaking point came less than five minutes later.
They were working on a crumpled sedan, trying to pop the driver’s side door. The vehicle was unstable, resting at an awkward angle against the guardrail. Bobby had explicitly ordered a perimeter until the stabilisation jacks were fully locked into place.
But Buck didn't seem to hear. Or rather, the words seemed to process through his brain too late. With a slow, robotic movement, Buck stepped right into the danger zone, reaching out with gloved hands to pull at a piece of jagged, loose metal hanging from the roof.
Above him, the shifting weight of the sedan caused a heavy, solid-steel roof rack to snap. It began to slide, aiming a jagged, heavy edge directly at the back of Buck's unprotected neck.
"Buck! Move!"
Buck didn't look up.
"Buck!"
Eddie didn't have the luxury to think. Driven by pure, terrified Alpha adrenaline, he lunged across the asphalt. He threw his entire weight into Buck, grabbing the thick canvas of Buck's turn-out coat and violently yanking him backward just as the steel rack crashed down, violently striking the exact spot where Buck had been standing a millisecond prior. The impact sent a shower of sparks across the road.
They hit the ground hard, Eddie taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder, keeping his arms locked fiercely around Buck’s chest.
For a second, the only sound was Eddie’s own ragged, panicked breathing.
“—Diaz, copy. What’s—”
When the sounds filtered back, so did the anger. The adrenaline in his blood was singing, a hot, angry roar. Ignoring his crackling radio, Eddie scrambled to his feet, pulling Buck up by his turn-out gear, ready to scream, ready to demand what the hell was wrong with him.
"What the hell are you doing, Buck?! You could have been killed!" Eddie roared, his voice cracking with the sheer terror of almost losing him. He gripped Buck's shoulders, shaking him slightly to force him to look at him. "Look at me! What is wrong with you?!"
But the anger died instantly in Eddie’s throat.
Buck wasn't fighting back or apologising. Instead, his head rolled back slightly, his blue eyes glassy, unfocused, and swimming with a terrifying vacancy. His lips were trembling, and as Eddie watched, a low, broken whimper escaped Buck's throat—a soft sound of absolute distress that an Omega should never make in the middle of a chaotic environment.
Shit.
"E-Eddie..." Buck mumbled, his voice dropping into a slurred, childlike register. He started twisting his hands into the fabric of Eddie's jacket, his fingers weak and uncoordinated. "Too loud. 'm sorry... didn't mean... it's too cold..."
He was completely unanchored, stumbling blindly over nonsense words, his body going terrifyingly pliant in Eddie's grip. Eddie’s heart dropped into his stomach.
His grip on Buck’s shoulders tightened, not in anger anymore, but to keep him from collapsing onto the asphalt. Buck’s entire weight was leaning into him, his large frame trembling under the heavy turnout gear.
"Chim! Chimney, get over here now!" Eddie roared over the noise of the scene, his voice thick with a rising panic.
Chimney, who had been directing the crew on the other side of the sedan, took one look at Eddie’s face and the dead weight of Buck in his arms and sprinted over. "What happened? Did he get hit by the debris?"
"No, I pulled him back, but look at him, Chim," Eddie said, his voice dropping to a frantic, quiet rasp as he guided Buck toward the side of the engine, away from the prying eyes of the highway traffic. "Look at his eyes. He’s completely blanked out."
Chimney stepped close, his brotherly concern replaced instantly by the sharp, clinical focus of a seasoned medical professional. He reached up, gently lifting Buck’s chin. Buck didn't resist; his head rolled into Chimney’s palm, a faint, continuous whimper escaping his throat. His pupils were blown wide, barely reacting to the harsh morning sun.
"Buck? Hey, big guy, look at me," Chimney murmured, checking his pulse. It was thready and fast. Eddie watched with increasing dread as Buck failed to response to any of his test. Chimney pressed a hand to Buck's neck, feeling the erratic, clammy heat radiating from his skin. When the Beta leaned in, his nose twitched, catching the stale, sharp scent of Tommy’s scent and the terrifyingly sickly sweet scent of an Omega whose internal system was completely crashing.
Chimney’s face went pale. He snapped his head up to look at Eddie. "He’s dropping. Hard."
"I knew it," Eddie breathed, a sick wave of validation and horror washing over him. "I knew something was wrong the second he walked in."
"He shouldn't even be standing right now, let alone on a highway," Chimney said, his tone tight and authoritative. He immediately clicked his radio, flagging Bobby. "Cap, this is Chimney. We’ve got a medical emergency with Buck. He’s unfit for duty. I’m pulling Diaz off the line to transport him immediately."
Bobby’s voice came through, strained but instant. Eddie felt a flicker of sympathy toward the older Alpha. Unlike Eddie, Bobby couldn’t just leave the scene to take care of Buck. "Copy that, Chimney. Take the utility truck. Get him out of here."
"You heard him, Eddie," Chimney said, helping Eddie support Buck’s weight as they stripped off his heavy turnout coat, leaving him in his uniform shirt. Buck just let them handle him, his arms hanging limp, his lips moving silently as he mumbled incoherent fragments of words. "Get him home. He needs a safe space, heavy blankets, and an Alpha scent he actually trusts to ground him before his system entirely shuts down. Go."
---
The ride back to Buck’s apartment was the longest fifteen minutes of Eddie’s life.
Eddie’s hands were gripping the steering wheel of the utility truck so tightly his knuckles were white. A dark, toxic fury was boiling in his chest, hot and suffocating. He wanted to drive straight to the 217, drag Tommy out of whatever helicopter he was piloting, and beat him into the concrete. How could he leave him? How could anyone look at Buck—fragile, trusting, open-hearted Buck—and leave him in a state where his brain was literally starving for comfort?
He felt angry. He felt so sick he could puke blood onto the floor. The truck’s cabin filled with the sharp, acrid scent of Eddie’s pure, unadulterated rage.
From the passenger seat, a small, choked sound broke the silence.
Eddie glanced over. Buck was curled into himself, pressing his large body as close to the passenger door as possible. He was shivering violently, his knees pulled up toward his chest, his tear-filled blue eyes wide and terrified as he stared at Eddie. He was recoiling.
He thinks I’m angry at him.
The realisation hit Eddie like ice water. To a dropping Omega, a raging Alpha scent in a confined space didn't mean protection—it meant danger. Buck’s primitive, instinct-driven brain couldn't process the nuance of Eddie being mad for him; all Buck knew was that his best friend, his safe harbour, was radiating a lethal, aggressive dominance.
Eddie immediately let go of the steering wheel with one hand, forcing his chest to rise and fall in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He actively fought the anger down, burying the fury at Tommy deep into his gut, forcing his own scent to soften, shifting it from a weapon into a shield. He projected everything he felt for Buck when things were good—warmth, safety, steady soil, and unyielding protection.
"Hey," Eddie said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly, soothing rumble that he hoped could cut through the panic. "Hey, look at me, Buck."
He reached across the console, palm open, offering it without demanding anything.
Buck flinched slightly at the movement, but as Eddie’s softened, heavy scent finally washed over him—replacing the sour terror in the truck with the familiar, steady smell of home and safety—Buck’s shoulders trembled. Slowly, like a plant reaching for the sun, Buck drifted across the console, letting his forehead drop heavily against Eddie’s outstretched arm.
"’m sorry," Buck whispered into Eddie’s sleeve, his voice entirely broken, a tear escaping and soaking into the dark fabric. "Don't be mad. 'm sorry... I'll do better."
Eddie’s heart broke into a thousand pieces. He turned his hand over, wrapping his fingers gently around the nape of Buck’s neck, squeezing just enough to let him feel the solid, physical reality of his presence.
"I'm not mad at you, Buck," Eddie promised softly, his eyes burning as he steered the truck down Buck’s street. "Never at you. You did nothing wrong. I’ve got you."
---
The moment Eddie unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open, the air inside the apartment hit him like a slap.
The space smelled stale, rancid with the bitter, sharp tang of a distressed Omega’s panic—and underlying it all was that heavy, oily stench of Tommy’s fading leather scent. It wasn't the warm, grounding aroma an Alpha leaves behind to comfort their mate; it was an aggressive, territorial marking that had been left to rot.
How could he leave him? How could any Alpha walk out of a house smelling like this and think their partner was okay?
Eddie’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth creaked, a toxic spike of dark, lethal Alpha fury flaring hot in his blood. His own scent turned razor-sharp, ready to tear into anything in its path.
Against his chest, Buck flinched violently. A tiny, broken whimper escaped his throat, his large frame curling even tighter into Eddie’s arms, trying to shield himself from the sudden wave of hostility.
"Shh, shh, I'm sorry. I’m sorry… I've got you, Buck, you're okay," Eddie cooed immediately, his voice dropping into a low, rhythmic rumble. He forced the anger down into a locked box in his gut, deliberately projecting soft, steady warmth to counteract the cold apartment. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Buck’s damp curls, letting his scent smooth out into something grounding and safe. "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart. You're safe. I've got you."
Eddie didn't even look toward the stairs. The bedroom upstairs was where Tommy had been, where that bastard’s scent was undoubtedly the thickest, and Eddie refused to put Buck back in the middle of that.
Instead, he carried Buck over to the living room and carefully laid him down on the sofa. But the second Eddie tried to pull his arms away, Buck let out another distressed sound, his weak fingers hooking desperately into the collar of Eddie’s uniform shirt.
"I’m just opening a window, Buck. I’ll be right back, I promise," Eddie whispered, pressing his palm flat against Buck’s cheek, letting the heavy warmth of his skin soothe the Omega. "Just right here."
Buck’s eyes fluttered, unseeing but tracking the steady vibration of Eddie's voice, and his hands slowly slipped away, falling limp against his own chest. Buck was terrifyingly pliant, his limbs heavy and loose, his blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling the second Eddie stopped holding him.
Eddie moved fast, driven by a quiet, protective efficiency. He cracked the heavy glass windows just enough to let a cool, clean breeze cut through the stifling room, then strode over to the air purifier in the corner, slapping the power button onto its highest, maximum setting. The machine whirred to life, aggressively drawing in the stale air. As he walked back to the sofa, Eddie stripped off his own heavy uniform shirt, dropping it directly into Buck’s lap. Buck’s fingers instinctively twitched, curling into the fabric and pulling it closer to his nose with a shallow, trembling breath.
Eddie pulled the heavy, soft throw blankets from the back of the couch, layering them over Buck until he was securely weighted down. Then, he sat on the edge of the cushions, lifting Buck’s head to rest in his lap, his fingers gently threading through the blond curls, massaging the base of Buck's neck where his scent glands were working overtime to process the crash.
"There we go," Eddie murmured, constantly projecting a steady, calming presence. "Just breathe, sweetheart. I’m right here. You’re doing so good."
It took a long time for the tremors in Buck's body to slow down. His eyes remained glassy, fixed on nothing, his mouth opening and closing occasionally as fragments of thoughts drifted through his mind. Eddie didn't press. He knew a dropping Omega couldn't handle a straight interrogation; he had to fish for the pieces gently, letting Buck ramble at his own pace.
"Eddie..." Buck mumbled after a while, his voice a tiny, raspy thread. "The light... it was really bright. He didn't... he didn't like the dark."
Eddie kept his hand moving rhythmically through Buck's hair, keeping his touch steady. "Tommy didn't like the blinds down?" he asked softly, keeping his tone neutral, devoid of the judgment he was actually feeling.
Buck shook his head slightly against Eddie's thigh, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. "Opened them. The sun... it hurt my eyes. But he said I was being... dramatic.”
Eddie kept his breathing metered, soothing Buck's rising distress by gently massaging the tension out of his hand. "He left the nest?"
“Mhm. Too many blankets. He didn't want to stay in it. He wanted to watch TV downstairs. I tried... I tried to come down, but it was so cold, Eddie. The floor was so cold."
Eddie’s chest squeezed, a cold ache settling over his ribs.
"Did he stay with you, Buck?" Eddie asked quietly, leaning down a little closer so Buck could feel the rumble of his voice. "Afterwards?"
"He just wanted... the physical stuff," Buck whispered, a tear slipping down into his damp hair. His voice sounded painfully small, detached from his own body. "He said that's what a heat is for. Efficient. But I wanted... I just wanted him to hold me after. I was crying because my skin hurt, and he... he clicked his tongue. Said I was childish. Said he did his part and he had a flight rotation in the morning."
A low, involuntary growl started to form in Eddie’s throat. "He left you, didn’t he?"
"The bed was so big," Buck whimpered, his eyes starting to dart around the room as if he were back in that empty loft. "The sheets were cold. I tried to fix the blankets, but they didn't smell like anything anymore. So, I called him... I think I called him, but he didn't answer. I thought... if I went to work, if I was good, it would stop feeling like I was falling."
The puzzle pieces finally clicked into place, and the picture they formed made Eddie’s stomach turn.
Buck hadn't been cherished. He hadn't been handled with the reverence and gentleness an Omega required when they bared their soul and their body in a heat. Tommy had used him for the physical release, treated Buck in the aftermath like some cheap whore, and walked out the door to protect his own sleep schedule, leaving Buck alone in a cold, empty apartment while his hormones and emotions were completely untethered. He had starved him of touch and assurance until Buck's system simply gave up and dropped.
"You're not cold anymore," Eddie said, his voice thick with an emotion he didn't try to hide, letting his hand cup Buck’s cheek, his thumb smoothing over the high cheekbone. "I’ve got the heat on. You’ve got the blankets. And I am not going anywhere."
Buck blinked heavily, his focus finally snapping to Eddie’s face for the first time since they left the station. The vacancy in his blue eyes flickered, replaced by a raw, devastating look of confusion. "Why are you doing it?" he whispered, a small whimper hitching in his chest. "You're... you're an Alpha. Aren't you tired of me? Tommy said I'm too much. He said I crave too much attention."
"Tommy is a fool who doesn't know what he had," Eddie said, the absolute conviction of the words ringing clear in the quiet room. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Buck’s, letting Buck breathe in his scent at point-blank range. "You are not too much, Buck. You never have been. You deserve to be held until you're ready to let go. You deserve to be taken care of. Let me do that for you. Just let it go."
With a broken, shuddering sob, the last of Buck’s rigid defence mechanism finally collapsed. He buried his face into Eddie’s stomach, his large body shaking as he finally let the drop take him, knowing with absolute certainty that the hands holding him this time would never let him fall.
---