Chapter Text
Evan Buckley didn’t mind being known as the 118’s golden retriever. He didn’t even mind that most of the time his co-workers thought that he was the twenty-something version of the energizer bunny. Sure, at times, it made him seem a bit shallow -- but that was a small price to pay for being able to make people happy. And Buck liked making people happy. He paid more attention than his team thought he did; at this point, he knew exactly how to draw each member of his chosen family out of a bad mood, or at least distract them from it.
A question about cooking could get Bobby talking before the captain even realized it. Chim was a sucker for random dares -- the weirder the better -- because he loved the opportunity to prove Buck wrong. Hen and Maddie responded best to silly jokes and silent support; the jokes pulled them out of their heads, and the support let them know they were loved. Christopher was perhaps the easiest to please: the natural sense of curiosity he and Buck shared had turned many 'did you know's into full-blown obsessions. And Eddie? Well. Buck didn’t have an exact formula for his best friend; he’d discovered that usually Eddie just needed someone to be there, so Buck could just talk about whatever random thoughts passed through his brain until Eddie came back to earth.
All this to say, Buck had long ago appointed himself the unofficial team morale-booster, and he had promised himself that he would do anything to give his family what they needed.
He’d never considered that one day they might need him to leave.
He’d certainly never considered that one day he might want to.
But that was before.
Before Buck had turned himself into a one-man wrecking ball and destroyed the very thing he had been trying to keep safe. It had been four months since the lawsuit, but he wasn’t any closer to having his fire family back. He hadn’t had a real conversation with any of them in ages. While he had been reinstated to active duty, he was rarely allowed on calls, and it was rarer still for anyone in the firehouse to even give him the time of day.
During his first month back, he had taken every possible opportunity to apologize profusely anytime his teammates were within earshot. They’d all just ignored him or glared at him and then walked away. Then, when Buck couldn’t take it anymore, he’d decided to give them all some space, in the hopes that they just needed some time to see that he could be trusted again. Buck wasn’t blind; he was fully aware that the very act of him entering a room made everyone already in it uncomfortable. He also wasn’t oblivious to the disdainful looks or pointed comments that the team, and everyone on A shift, made behind his back (and occasionally in front of it). But he didn’t say anything, because saying he was sorry wasn’t enough; instead, he gritted his teeth and worked harder in the hopes that showing he was sorry would make a difference.
During his shifts, Buck tried to make himself as helpful as possible without actually interacting with anyone. He put his full efforts into his chores, and with all the time he spent at the station while the others responded to calls, honestly the place had probably never been cleaner. When he inevitably ran out of things to clean or tidy, he turned to the gym. Working out gave him something to focus on, and after his leg injury and the embolism, he wasn’t going to allow himself any physical weakness--there would be no reason to doubt him. He stayed out of everyone else’s way to the best of his ability; he avoided the common areas as much as possible, he got to work early and stayed late so that he could get in and out of the locker room before others arrived or after they’d already left. He’d even stopped eating with the team; after a few horribly charged, silent meals around the table, he’d decided to start packing his own food, and he ate alone downstairs or sometimes up on the roof, depending on his mood.
But now he’s three months into this routine of self isolation, and Buck can’t exactly say his plan is going well, though it is certainly still going: he’s still giving the team space, and they’re still giving him the silent treatment. Buck is slowly coming to the conclusion that he might just be punishing himself at this point. It’s a thought that has been nagging him for a few weeks now, though at first he had written it off. After all, this mess was his fault, and he deserved to face the consequences of his own stupidity. But the flicker of doubt has only gotten stronger, and it’s not something he can ignore anymore. While he’s glad the A shift has stopped actively antagonizing him, they now act like they’ve forgotten he even exists, and Buck thinks that might be worse. He’s sure they’re probably still angry on some level, but his “absence” from their lives doesn’t even seem to register with any of them. They’re all going about their lives as normal, and clearly Evan Buckley no longer warrants a place in them.
Buck could almost convince himself that it doesn’t matter, that as long as his friends were happy, that was all that counted. But his own misery is becoming impossible to ignore. Without his teammates, his life is lonely both in and outside of the station. He’d known how integral his team and his job were to his life when he’d decided to file the lawsuit, that was why he’d done it, but he’d never considered the outcome might give him his job but cost him his team.
Now, Buck’s routine is simple. He wakes up alone, he works alone, he goes home alone. Rinse and repeat. Outside of orders barked at him in the field, no one has said a word to him in months. Even Maddie has been fairly incommunicado recently; she’s been busy with work and with Chim, and while she still checks in with her little brother, their conversations have been limited to single line texts or five minute phone calls that don’t go much beyond the surface.
He misses spending time with his team. He misses after work drinks and family barbecues and, more than anything, he misses movie nights with Eddie and Chris. He’s fully aware that he really fucked that one up, and both of the Diaz boys deserve better than Buck will ever be able to give them. And he would move heaven and earth to make it up to them, has vowed to himself that he’ll be there for them in whatever way he’s allowed to be, even if that has to be silently for now. Buck wasn’t surprised that Eddie was angry, but he hadn’t expected the level of hostility to continue for so long. Between the blow-up at the supermarket, and Eddie telling him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want to see or hear from him anymore when Buck had tried to apologize after coming back to work, it is crystal clear that his best friend no longer wants anything to do with him.
He can’t even ask how Christopher is doing; just the act of saying the kid’s name in Eddie’s presence has the papa bear snarling. Buck’s pretty sure that Eddie has forbidden Carla and the others from giving updates about Chris as well, since none of them will talk about the boy to him anymore. It makes Buck feel like someone has thrown his heart on the floor, shattered it into a million pieces, and then stomped on it some more for good measure.
But it isn’t just the Diaz-shaped hole in Buck’s life that has him second guessing his place in the world. The loneliness is seeping in from all sides, and while Buck knows he’s to blame for part of the problem, the longer it goes on the less confident he is that it can ever be fixed. He’s trying to build a bridge to somewhere that doesn’t want one, and he is starting to wonder what the point of it all is. He’s losing himself. The tension, the anger, the constant need to make himself smaller so that his existence won’t set anyone else off…it’s all taking a toll, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending it’s okay. That he is okay. He looks in the mirror, and he doesn’t recognize the face staring back at him. He can’t go on like this, like a ghost moving through the motions of his own life. The others all have each other and their families to lean on, but who does Buck have?
He’d never had a backup plan, no safety net to catch him. Just the 118, and he knows now that he depends on them more than they ever did on him. He’s no one’s first choice, and they’re all fine without him. So, if he isn’t needed, if he is only doing more damage -- to himself and the others -- by trying to fix what he’d already broken, what is left for him? The others deserve to be happy. They don’t need him for that. But does he deserve happiness too?
He doesn’t want to give up on his family; giving up meant that all hope was gone, and Buck can’t make himself go that far. The 118 will always be his first real family. But being family isn’t always enough; Buck knows that all too well. Maybe he doesn’t have to give up. Maybe…maybe he just needs to give in. Give in and accept the reality in front of him: he no longer has a place at the 118. Buck still isn’t sure if he deserves happiness, but if he does, he’s not going to find it here. Not anymore.