Chapter Text
Even though he was back on shift at the 118, everyone still seemed angry with him over the lawsuit. He could feel it in every shift, every glance that didn’t quite meet his eyes, every conversation that stopped when he walked into the room. He was angry at Bobby for not letting him return to the job he loved in the first place, and he was angry at the 118 for moving on without him like he had never mattered there at all.
So yes, he had filed the lawsuit. But it was never about the money. It was about getting his family back. About getting back to the firehouse that had been his home. When Chase told him that wasn’t going to happen—not the way he wanted, not on his terms—he dropped it. He let it go because pushing it further wasn’t going to fix anything.
So when Bobby finally told him he could come back, under Bobby’s rules, he was excited. Grateful, even. He thought maybe things could go back to normal.
But normal never came.
Back at the 118, it felt like he was always the one left out. The one doing chores no one else wanted. The one people walked past instead of toward. Bobby barely spoke to him unless it was to give an order.
“Buck, hoses. Then inventory,” Bobby said one morning without looking up from the clipboard.
“Got it,” Buck answered quickly, hesitating a beat before adding, “Hey, Cap—”
“Not now,” Bobby cut in, still not meeting his eyes.
The words weren’t loud, but they landed heavy anyway.
Chimney would talk to him sometimes, but even that felt strained—like it only really happened because Chimney was trying to keep the peace at home with Maddie.
“You eating lunch?” Chimney asked one afternoon, lingering near the lockers.
“I was gonna,” Buck said, forcing a small shrug.
“Cool. I’ll… I’ll grab a table,” Chimney replied, then glanced away like he wasn’t sure if he’d said the right thing.
Hen was the only one who really tried. She talked to him, checked on him, made an effort to be there for him in a way that felt genuine. He appreciated it more than he ever said out loud.
“You good?” she asked quietly while they restocked the rig.
“Yeah,” Buck said automatically.
Hen raised an eyebrow. “That was a very ‘no I am not good’ ‘yeah.’”
That made him huff a small laugh despite himself. “It’s just… weird. Being back but not really being back.”
Hen leaned against the truck for a second. “You don’t think any of us are adjusting to this? Because we are. Just… not all of us are doing it well.”
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Buck admitted.
“I know,” Hen said, softer now. “But wanting it doesn’t fix it overnight.”
But Eddie… Eddie acted like he wasn’t even there.
No eye contact. No conversation. Nothing. Just silence where there used to be trust.
Buck caught him in the kitchen one afternoon, shoulder brushing past as Eddie reached for the coffee pot.
“Hey,” Buck tried, careful.
Eddie didn’t look at him. “Hey.”
That was it. One word. Flat. Controlled.
Buck lingered anyway. “So… I, uh—I might be back on truck next shift, depending what my doctor says.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, pouring his coffee.
A pause stretched too long.
“Cool,” Buck added quietly, like he was filling silence instead of a conversation.
Eddie finally glanced up—but only for half a second, and not quite at Buck. “Yeah.”
Then he walked out.
Buck stopped sitting with them during meals too. It just didn’t feel right anymore—like he wasn’t part of the team, like he was taking up space where he didn’t belong. And every shift ended with the same quiet reminder in his chest: he was back at the 118… but he didn’t really feel like he was back at all.
And then there was Christopher.
Buck hadn’t even realized how much he missed hearing Eddie talk about him—until he didn’t hear it anymore.
He had been off for three days—forty-eight hours of forced rest plus a doctor’s appointment the next morning. During his usual two days off, nobody really texted or called him, and the silence had been louder than he expected.
That morning, he woke up early and went straight to his appointment.
The doctor checked everything carefully and finally gave him the news: no clots. The blood thinners were working.
Even better, they were going to take him off them.
But there would still be a follow-up to make sure nothing formed again once he was off the medication.
Relief hit him so hard he almost didn’t know what to do with it.
Maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe he could be back on calls, back with his team. And best of all—he’d get to see Christopher again.
But then the thought crept in, sharp and unwelcome.
Maybe they didn’t want him back on calls.
Maybe they’d always see him as a liability now.
And Eddie… Eddie might never let him see Christopher again.
He shouldn’t have said anything personal to the lawyers. He shouldn’t have said so much.
“Stop,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the clinic. “Just… clear your head.”
He got into his Jeep and drove without a real destination, letting the road decide for him. Eventually, he ended up at a park—sunlight spilling through the trees, kids laughing in the distance, everything feeling too normal for how tangled his thoughts were.
He parked, got out, and started running.
Just a half mile, he told himself. Just enough to breathe.
But halfway through, he slowed when he heard a familiar voice cut through the air.
“Buck!”
His head snapped up.
Christopher.
And next to him—Tía Pepa.
Eddie wasn’t there. Probably still on shift.
Buck stopped completely, chest rising and falling a little too fast—not just from the run.
“Hey!” he called, forcing a smile as he jogged closer.
Christopher broke into a grin immediately. “I didn’t know you were here!”
“Neither did I,” Buck admitted, a little breathless as he crouched down to Christopher’s level. “I was just trying to clear my head.”
Tía Pepa gave him a long look—the kind that always felt like she could see more than he said out loud. “And did it work, mijo?”
Buck huffed a quiet laugh. “Not exactly.”
Christopher tilted his head. “Are you okay? Dad said you needed space. That’s why I couldn’t see you. Is Dad mad at you… or are you mad at me?”
Buck’s face softened immediately. “Hey—no. I would never be mad at you, Chris.”
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I made a mistake. A big one. I hurt a lot of people—your dad included. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Right now I’m just giving him space so he can figure things out, and when he’s ready, we’ll talk.”
Christopher looked at him for a moment, processing it. “So… you’re not leaving?”
Buck shook his head quickly. “No. I’m not leaving.”
A small smile returned to Christopher’s face. “Okay.”
Tía Pepa stepped closer, folding her arms. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” Buck said, a little too fast, then corrected himself with a softer sigh. “I got taken off my medication today. No clots. Everything looks good. Just follow-ups now… to make sure it stays that way. So maybe things can go back to normal.”
Pepa studied him for a second but didn’t push, though her eyes said she didn’t fully buy the “good.”
Christopher tugged at Buck’s sleeve. “We were just coming here. Tía Pepa said I could play for a little while.”
“That sounds fun,” Buck said with a small smile.
They walked together toward the playground.
Pepa leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough for only Buck to hear. “You look like you’ve got too much in your head.”
Buck gave a small, tired shrug. “That obvious?”
“To me?” she said simply. “Yes.”
He looked away toward the trees, jaw tightening. “I just… don’t know what happens next.”
Before she could respond, Christopher tugged his sleeve again. “Are you gonna come play with me later?”
Buck’s expression softened. “Maybe I’ll stay a little while. Watch you beat everyone at the playground, how about that?”
Christopher grinned. “I always win.”
“Confidence,” Buck said, smiling. “I like it.”
Christopher ran off toward the playground, leaving them standing there.
For a moment, it was just Buck and Tía Pepa.
She watched him quietly. “Eddie trusts you, you know.”
Buck’s expression flickered. “Does he?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “And Christopher does too.”
That landed heavier than Buck expected.
He nodded slowly, swallowing the doubt still trying to creep in. “I’m trying to believe that.”
Pepa gave him a small, knowing look. “Then start by staying where you are right now. Not in your head.”
Buck let out a slow breath, watching Christopher climb onto the play structure.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can try that.”
It was nearly noon, and Pepa was gently telling Christopher it was time for them to start heading back home. Buck nodded, falling into step beside them as they began walking out of the park.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then it shattered.
A scream cut through the air.
A loud bang followed—sharp, unmistakable.
Buck’s head snapped up immediately.
People started running in every direction. Another crack echoed, and panic spread like wildfire through the park. Someone went down. Then another.
Instinct took over before thought could catch up.
“Get down!” Buck shouted.
He dropped instantly, pulling Christopher toward him and shielding him with his body. Pepa was right there too, and Buck shifted without hesitation, using himself as a barrier between them and the chaos unfolding nearby.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered, voice tight but steady.
Another shot rang out.
Buck flinched, scanning fast—too fast—trying to locate where it was coming from. His firefighter training kicked in hard, cutting through the fear, the noise, the confusion.
“Pepa, stay low!” he said urgently. “Christopher—don’t look up, okay? Don’t look.”
Christopher clung to him, shaking.
“It’s okay,” Buck said quickly, forcing calm he didn’t fully feel. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He kept them pressed low behind a structure, shielding them as best he could while chaos erupted across the park—screams, footsteps, and the terrifying rhythm of gunfire echoing in the distance.
“We need to find cover,” Buck said, voice low and urgent. “The bathroom—there’s one up ahead. We can hold out there and call 9-1-1.”
Pepa nodded tightly, keeping close. “Okay. Okay.”
“Stay right with me,” Buck ordered.
They moved quickly, Buck still shielding Christopher as they ran crouched between trees and benches. Another burst of gunfire made them all freeze for half a second, then Buck pushed them forward again.
“Keep moving!” he said.
The shooting stopped for a moment—just long enough for hope to flicker.
“Go, go, go,” Buck urged, suddenly picking Christopher up into his arms.
Christopher buried his face into Buck’s shoulder, shaking.
They sprinted the last stretch to the bathroom building. Buck kicked the door open and shoved them inside.
“Inside—now!” he said.
Pepa and Christopher rushed in.
Buck glanced back once, scanning the park.
Quiet again.
Too quiet.
“Stay here,” he said firmly. “Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone except police and me”
“I’m going to help the others get inside,” he added, already turning.
Before Pepa could argue, another burst of gunfire cracked through the air.
Buck jolted.
A searing pain ripped through his side.
He stumbled—but didn’t go down.
His hand pressed instinctively to his abdomen as he realized what had happened.
Shot.
But he forced himself upright anyway.
Not now. Not yet.
He swallowed it down, hiding it, forcing his breathing steady as he turned back toward them like nothing was wrong.
“I’m fine,” he lied quickly. “Stay here. Don’t come out.”
Then he ran.
He helped pull in a few more panicked people from nearby, guiding them toward the bathroom. Together, they shoved anything they could find—trash bins, benches, anything heavy—against the door, turning it into a makeshift barricade.
Buck stayed at the edge of it all, jaw tight, one hand still pressed subtly to his side, refusing to let anyone see what was really happening.