Chapter Text
The firehouse smelled like coffee and smoke, the way it always did after a long shift. Buck leaned against the locker bay, tugging his shirt over his head. His muscles ached in that satisfying way they always did after a full day’s work of calls and runs, rescues made, adrenaline still pumping in his blood.
Hen brushed past him, patting his shoulder on the way to the showers. “Good job on that roof today, Buck.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, and he meant it.
Chim cracked a joke as he tossed his gloves into his locker, something about Buck needing to invest in flame retardant hair gel. Buck laughed, because it was funny, and because this was how it always had been ribbing, banter, the rhythm of the job.
Bobby walked through, clapping him on the back. “Good work today. See you Tuesday.”
Buck smiled. “See you.”
And just like that, they were gone.
Hen and Chim slipped out together, already debating where to grab dinner. Bobby headed for his car, phone pressed to his ear, his voice soft in the way it always was when he spoke to Athena. Eddie slung his backpack over his shoulder, phone buzzing with what Buck assumed was Christopher’s nightly check in.
The station emptied.
No one asked if Buck wanted to come with them. No grab a bite? or movie night? like there used to be. They treated him fine on shift, everything was smooth, back to normal even. But the moment the shift ended, Buck wasn’t part of their plans.
He told himself it was fine. He’d earned this distance. He’d been impulsive, reckless. He’d betrayed them. The lawsuit had burned more than bridges, it had built walls. And even now, with his job back, he couldn’t quite climb them.
So, he sat for a moment in the quiet locker room, phone heavy in his hand, scrolling through notifications he didn’t answer. The group chat was quiet for him these days, mostly inside jokes he wasn’t really a part of anymore.
His apartment waited for him, silent and still.
And Buck hated silence.
The city at night moved with life cars honking, music spilling from open doors, people shouting laughter across sidewalks. Buck walked with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, not sure where he was going, only that he couldn’t stand going home yet.
He passed diners, restaurants, familiar bars where the 118 sometimes went after long shifts.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t risk seeing them there without him. If he did, he knew that would destroy him.
So, he kept walking until the streets blurred into ones he didn’t usually travel to, until neon signs he didn’t recognize flickered overhead.
One caught his eye.
The Griffin.
It was a simple sign, glowing amber, with a faint flicker from the bulbs. The door was open, music spilling out. It felt warm, alive, inviting.
Buck tilted his head. He could keep walking. Or... he could step inside and let the noise swallow the silence in his chest.
“Worst case, I hate it,” he muttered, and pushed the door open.
The Griffin was cozy, worn but charming. The bar glowed golden under string lights, and different conversations wrapped around him like a blanket. A jukebox in the corner warbled out some old tune, slightly off key but earnest.
Buck slid onto a barstool, feeling the edges of loneliness loosen a little just from being surrounded by life.
The bartender turned toward him, messy hair, sleeves rolled up, flannel top. He had the kind of face that said he’d argue about the Chicago Bulls being the best team with anyone who breathed near him.
“You,” the man announced, pointing at Buck with a rag still in his hand. “You look like you need a drink and possibly a hug. I can provide one of those things, and it’s not the hug.”
Buck blinked, startled. “Uh... the drink, please.”
“Good choice. Hugs are weird unless you know me, and even then, a little dicey.” The guy set down the rag and leaned against the bar. “So, what’ll it be? And don’t say light beer, or I’ll judge you forever.”
Buck huffed a laugh despite himself. “Whatever’s strongest.”
The guy grinned. “Attaboy. Battery acid special coming up.”
“Battery acid?”
“Figuratively. Mostly.”
Buck snorted, shaking his head as the glass slid his way. “Thanks.”
“Name’s Nick, by the way. I somewhat own this classy establishment.”
“Buck.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Like a deer? Or like... short for something?”
“Evan Buckley. But everyone calls me Buck.”
Nick grinned. “Cool. Strong. Memorable. Like Madonna, but more... firefightery?”
Buck startled. “How’d you...”
“Buddy, look at you.” Nick gestured broadly. “The haircut, the muscles, the posture. You scream ‘firefighter.’ Also, your hands are all calloused. You’re not exactly a mystery.” He laughed. “Or because you smell like you just spent the last 24 hours in a burning building.” Nick smirked.
Buck laughed again, loud, genuine. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d laughed like that.
Nick leaned on the bar, eyes twinkling. “What’s your deal, Buck the firefighter? You out celebrating something or running from something?”
Buck hesitated. He wasn’t about to spill his lawsuit drama to a stranger. “Just... didn’t want to go home yet.”
“Ah.” Nick nodded sagely. “The old ‘apartment silence is too loud’ move. Classic. My advice? Buy a really sad fish. You’ll always have someone to talk to, and if it dies, you can blame the tank filter, not yourself.”
Buck blinked, then burst out laughing again. “That’s terrible advice.”
“It’s my specialty.” Nick grinned.
They fell into easy conversation. Nick told stories about dropping out of law school, and Buck shared rescue tales (the funny ones, not the heavy ones). Nick called him ‘hero man’ every time he refilled his drink, Buck rolled his eyes but didn’t stop smiling.
By the time the jukebox sputtered its last song of the night, Buck realized the heaviness in his chest had eased.
Nick pointed at him across the bar. “You’re coming back.”
Buck raised an eyebrow. “What if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll assume you died tragically, write a ballad about you, and make my roommates sing it every Thursday night at your grave.”
Buck snorted a laugh. “Your roommates sing ballads?”
“They sing badly, but yeah.” Nick laughed. “Jess will be all over it! Come back tomorrow, I’ll introduce you. They’re idiots. You’ll fit right in.”
Something in Buck’s chest cracked open at the words, you’ll fit right in. He hadn’t felt that in so long.
He swallowed, then smiled. “Alright. I’ll come back.”
“Good man.” Nick lifted his glass. “To the beginning of a beautiful, but questionable, friendship.”
Buck clinked his glass against Nick’s, laughter spilling out of him, warm and easy. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel so alone.
Buck almost didn’t go back.
All day he thought about it, on his run that morning, while eating a sad bowl of cereal at his kitchen counter, while staring at the ceiling because sleep had been rare lately. He wasn’t sure why it mattered. People go to bars all the time, talk to strangers, and then move on. That was how it was supposed to work.
But then he remembered Nick’s grin, the warmth of laughter that had crept back into his chest, the way the silence in his apartment had felt less crushing when he left The Griffin.
So, Buck found himself pushing the door open again.
Nick spotted him instantly, waving a rag in the air like a victory flag. “Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone in between, the firefighter returns!”
Buck laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he slid onto a barstool. “I told you I’d come back.”
“Yeah, but people tell me lots of things and then don’t follow through,” Nick said, pouring him a beer without even asking. “Lawyers, girlfriends, my dad when he says he is proud of me. So, you showing up? Big win.”
Buck took the glass, shaking his head with a smile. “Glad I could boost your win ratio.”
Nick leaned in conspiratorially. “Tonight’s special. You’re meeting the gang.”
Before Buck could question it further, the bar door burst open and a tornado of voices blew in.
Jess entered first bright dress, bangs bouncing, arms full of craft supplies for some reason. She was mid song when she stepped in, words improvised about how glue sticks were superior to tape.
Behind her came Schmidt, immaculate in a perfectly tailored blazer no one else in the bar deserved to witness, his expression a mix of smug and overly confident.
Winston trailed them, juggling a basketball even though they weren’t on a court, nearly colliding with the jukebox.
And finally, Coach, muscled and serious, like he was prepared to yell encouragements at anyone who made eye contact.
Nick threw up his arms. “Behold! My family slash roommates slash emotional parasites.”
Jess gasped, spotting Buck. “Nick! You made a new friend and didn’t tell us?”
Nick shrugged. “Didn’t want to jinx it. He came back.”
Buck stood awkwardly, suddenly the center of attention. “Uh, hi. I’m Buck.”
Schmidt was on him in an instant, circling like a shark. “Look at this jawline. This is criminal. This is unfair to every man who’s ever had to work for it. And the arms? Don’t even get me started on the arms. I hate you already.”
Buck blinked. “Thanks?”
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Schmidt said, though his eyes glinted with approval. “What do you do? Professional athlete? Fitness model? Secret Greek demigod?”
“Firefighter.”
Schmidt slapped Nick’s arm so hard the rag flew. “Do you hear that? A firefighter. Jess, get in here, we’ve got to lock this down. He’s a ten out of ten, and he rescues people for a living.”
Jess, who had already slid onto the stool next to Buck, beamed. “That’s amazing. Thank you for your service.”
Buck ducked his head, ears hot. “I just... it’s my job.”
Winston spun his basketball, squinting. “You ever rescue a cat from a tree?”
“Uh, sometimes. But mostly people.”
“Good,” Winston said seriously. “Cats, man.”
Jess leaned closer, eyes wide and earnest. “Okay, but what’s the scariest fire you’ve ever been in?”
Buck hesitated. Normally, questions like that tightened something in his chest. But Jess’s voice wasn’t morbid, it was curious, like a kid asking how rockets work.
“There was this one apartment fire,” he said slowly, “where we had to carry three kids out before the floor collapsed. It was... well, terrifying, honestly. But worth it.”
Jess gasped like he’d just told her Santa was real. “That’s incredible. You’re like a real life superhero. I once got locked in a bathroom for two hours and nearly had a panic attack.”
Buck laughed, the tension easing. “Not the same thing.”
“Exactly the same,” she insisted, then launched into a ramble about how bathrooms are deceptively dangerous. Buck found himself nodding, caught in the whirlwind of her words. It oddly reminded him of his own rants.
Schmidt clapped his hands. “Alright, I’m making a ruling. Buck is officially part of the gang. Congratulations. You’ve been upgraded from Nick’s bar friend to our bar friend.”
Buck blinked. “That was fast.”
“We’re decisive people,” Schmidt said. “Well, I’m decisive. The rest are indecisive, which is why I run things.”
“Pretty sure Jess runs things,” Winston muttered.
“Excuse me? My leadership skills! I am in marketing!”
“Guys,” Jess interrupted, tugging on Buck’s arm. “Buck, you like trivia?”
He nodded cautiously. “Yeah.”
“Great! You’re on our team. I get very intense, but don’t worry, it’s all part of the experience.”
The night spun out from there in a blur of laughter.
Buck found himself at a sticky table covered in empty glasses and snack bowls, Jess leaning into his space as she rapid fired facts about obscure '80s sitcoms. He threw himself into trivia like it was a fire drill, answering questions about animals and geography while Jess handled pop culture.
Winston cheered every correct answer like they’d won a championship. Coach kept yelling “Hustle!” every time someone hesitated, and was timing things with a stopwatch whenever the host said you have this long to answer.
Schmidt berated the other teams for their horrible team names.
And through it all, Buck laughed until his stomach hurt.
Later, as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, Schmidt declared, “We’re going to the loft. Buck, you’re coming.”
“I don’t want to intrude,”
“Nah,” Schmidt said, clapping him on the back. “You’ll intrude.”
Jess smiled at him, soft and bright. “Come on. We are ending the night with terrible snacks and worse beer.”
Buck hesitated. A part of him whispered that this wasn’t his life, that he had the 118, that he shouldn’t be inserting himself into someone else’s circle.
But another part, louder, braver, said maybe he deserved to be invited somewhere.
“Alright,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go.”
As they walked down the street, Jess launched into a monologue about her dream to one day invent a stick that she would call the Feeling Stick. Winston argued she already had, Schmidt insisted he could market it, and Nick muttered that he hates that thing.
And Buck, caught in the middle of the chaos, felt something shift inside him.
For the first time in months, he wasn’t just a firefighter leaving work to go home to silence. He was a guy with these new friends. They were loud, weird, and ridiculous, but he liked them, and he felt he was walking into something new.
And it felt good.
The loft was a disaster, but the good kind.
Nick’s spaghetti experiment had turned into an outright crime against pasta, Schmidt had delivered a twenty minute TED Talk on sauce protocol, Winston was trying to convince Ferguson to wear a tiny cat hoodie, and Coach was yelling at the TV like the game could hear him.
Buck, somehow, fit right in.
He sat on the couch, half watching Nick and Schmidt’s domestic battle and half watching Jess, who was just casually narrating everything in song.
‘Schmidt is yelling, Nick is failing, Ferguson’s dressing, Coach is screaming, and who’s that guy? It’s Buck!’
She jazz handed right at him.
Buck clapped, grinning. “That was impressive.”
Nick squinted. “Don’t encourage her. She’ll start doing verses about your eyebrows.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Jess warned, finger wagging.
Schmidt threw up his hands. “Forget the eyebrows! Look at the bone structure. This man has cinematic cheekbones. It’s like Zeus and a Calvin Klein model had a baby. Buck, what face serums do you use?”
“Uh... soap?”
Schmidt gasped like Buck had admitted to murder. “Soap? Soap? This is why I drink. Nick, I need to get him a good face serum. A real good one.”
Nick slumped. “Nobody needs face serum, Schmidt.”
“Yes, you do! Soap is not skincare!”
Buck laughed so hard his stomach hurt.
The chaos eventually wound down. Nick sulked at the table with his ketchup spaghetti, Schmidt reorganized the spice rack alphabetically because Nick had put one back incorrectly, Winston snored on the couch with Ferguson curled on his chest, and Coach was still half watching the game but at least had lowered his volume.
Jess, though, was still buzzing. She tugged Buck into the kitchen, hopped onto the counter, and looked at him with wide, nervous eyes.
“Can I tell you something? Like... a real big secret?”
Buck leaned against the fridge. “Sure...”
Jess fiddled with the hem of her clothes. “I’ve only ever been with Spencer. My ex. He cheated. And when he left, it felt like... everything broke. I broke. And now the idea of being with someone else is so scary. What if I’m awkward? What if I sneeze? What if I make a dolphin noise?”
Buck blinked. “A dolphin noise?”
Her face went pink. “Ninth grade. First kiss. He called me Flipper.”
Buck laughed, shaking his head. “That’s... memorable.”
She groaned, burying her face. “See? This is why I need to just do it. Rip off the band aid. The guys said I need a rebound, get back out there. Have a one night stand. Not because I want a relationship, i’m not ready for that, but because I need to prove I can move forward.”
Then she peeked at him through her fingers. “Can it be with you?”
Buck straightened, caught off guard. “Me?”
“I like you,” she said quickly. “I feel safe with you. You laugh at my songs, you don’t roll your eyes when I info dump about Tupperware lids. You’re really nice, you're insanely hot, I can see us being good friends, we have so much in common. And you’ve had one night stands before, right?”
He nodded with a laugh. “Yeah. A few.”
“Exactly. You know what you’re doing. You won’t make it weird. And you’ll still be my friend after, right?”
Buck’s chest softened. “Of course.”
Before Jess could spiral further, Schmidt stormed in with a jar of paprika. “Did I just hear someone say one night stand? Yes! Do you need advice? I can give you all my tips!”
“Schmidt!” Jess grabbed Buck’s hand, directing him toward her bedroom. “Stay out!”
“I’m just saying, if this ends with a baby, I call godfather. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this role!”
Jess slammed the door on him.
Buck chuckled. “Does he ever stop?”
“Never,” Jess sighed. “He once gave me a thirty minute lecture about curtain rods.”
Buck laughed. “Honestly? I kind of love it.”
They weren’t alone for long. Nick opened the bedroom door and leaned on the doorframe from the hall, beer in hand. “Jess, don’t overthink this. One night stands are like... I dunno, ordering Chinese food. Sometimes it’s amazing, sometimes it gives you food poisoning, but either way, you survive.”
Jess frowned. “That’s the least comforting metaphor I’ve ever heard.”
Nick shrugged. “You asked for wisdom. That’s all I got.”
Coach appeared next, clapping Buck on the shoulder so hard he nearly dropped his drink. “Don’t screw this up, man. She’s a great girl, she is like a new pair of sneakers, got to treat them right.”
“Coach!” Jess squeaked. “Boundaries!”
Winston, half asleep, muttered from the couch, “Ferguson approves. He likes the firefighter.” He paused. “I do also.”
Jess clapped her hands. “Thank you, everyone, for your unsolicited advice. Now please leave us alone!”
One by one, they shuffled out, still muttering advice. Schmidt yelled something about coconut oil from behind the door.
Jess groaned. “This is my life.”
Buck chuckled. “Honestly? I think it’s kind of great. They clearly care.”
Jess just laughed. “Yeah, they do.”
Buck looked around her room, taking it in. It was warm and chaotic fairy lights, mismatched sheets, stacks of books, a sewing machine in the corner, and a craft station.
Jess paced nervously while Buck sat on the bed.
“Okay,” she said, spinning mid pace. “So, I’ve never done this before. You know that. Not the whole... you know. Obviously, I’ve done that, with Spencer. But the one night stand part. I don’t know the etiquette. Do I offer snacks after? Should I make a mixtape?”
Buck smiled softly, standing to put his hands on her arms. “Jess, it doesn’t have to be scary. And it won’t be bad. I promise.”
She stopped pacing, eyes wide. “Because I feel safe with you.”
“Yeah,” he said, a soft smile on his lips. “Because you’re safe with me. Anything you don’t want to do, say the word, I’ll stop. You want to back out, I don’t do anything. Everything that happens is your choice, okay?”
Her shoulders relaxed. She smiled, small but real, and nodded. “Okay. We are going to be really good friends, aren’t we?”
“Really good friends,” he said, certain. “I like you already.”
She grinned. “Okay then. Let’s do this. Plus, I get to say I slept with a firefighter, Cece is going to be so jealous!” Jess laughed. “Arh, but first... are you sure you’re okay doing this?”
She looked at him, searching for an answer.
“Of course. I like sex, and I like you. Plus, it is helping you move on.” Buck smiled at her, and she smiled back.
It wasn’t like his other one night stands.
Jess giggled when she bumped her head on the headboard, and Buck caught her before she tumbled. She whispered random trivia between kisses, “Did you know seahorses mate for life?” and he had to laugh against her mouth. But it was oddly great. He even told her some random facts back. “Did you know you cannot breathe and swallow at the same time?” Which led to a few minutes of trying exactly that, and then breaking out in laughter.
She fumbled nervously, apologizing too much, and he steadied her with gentle hands and words: “You’re okay. We’re okay.”
There was awkwardness, laughter, but underneath it all, trust, fun, and a sense of belonging. Jess whispering, “This isn’t as scary, with you,” and Buck replying, “I’m glad, I want you to enjoy it.”
After, tangled in sheets, Jess sighed happily. “Well, that was... surprisingly not dolphin noisy.”
Buck laughed. “I would have loved to hear that sound.”
She poked his chest. “Haha. Seriously, that was great! Thank you. Still friends right?”
“Friends. You aren’t losing me now.” Buck smiled at her.
“Good. Because I want you to be my firefighter forever.”
He groaned, hiding in the pillow as she laughed, bright and free.
And Buck thought, yeah. They were going to be really good friends.