Work Text:
Buck was infinitely grateful to Bobby for giving him a second chance, but returning felt awkward. He kept replaying the incident that had gotten him fired over and over in his head, shame coiling hot in his stomach and crawling up the back of his throat. He was such an idiot, so immature. He’d heard those words a thousand times, from both others and himself. Everyone was always exasperated with him and he couldn’t blame him. Buck was always screwing up, his body one step ahead of his mind. Most people thought he just didn’t care, or didn’t try hard enough, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It didn’t matter because at the end of the day, he was the one always running late to work. He was the one who had gone through countless water bottles, because he was always leaving them behind at the scene. Buck was the one who always spoke too loud, and laughed at the wrong time, and he never seemed to say the right thing. He was the one who always forgot to pee until it was truly urgent, like a damn preschooler, and he was the one always putting off getting gas until the needle was almost down to nothing. His clothes were always wrinkled because he’d leave them in the dryer for days and he was always tripping over his laces he’d never realized had come undone and he always felt so foolish, like a stupid child. He was constantly being told to grow up, he just wished he knew how.
Bobby had mostly acted like nothing had happened, and the rest of the team had been perfectly nice to him, but Buck had withdrawn into himself a bit. He didn’t want to give anyone else a reason to further dislike him, and he felt too afraid to interact with them for fear of something stupid slipping out and ruining things. He felt unable to trust himself to simply be normal. It got worse after the rollercoaster case. Again, everyone had been so kind about it, assuring him that he had done the best he could, but even after learning that the victim had already been suicidal, a small part of Buck still thought that if he’d been better with his words, the outcome would have been different. Buck felt like he was terrible at talking to people, awful at comforting them and always saying the absolute worst possible thing. He felt completely incapable of not sticking his foot in his mouth, and useless as a first responder. After that, he tried not to say as much to the victims unless necessary, and tried to have Hen do all of the pep talks.
Being called to a carnival a little over a week after felt like a cruel joke. Buck didn't want to look like a weak child, so he put on a brave face and distracted himself by rambling about the differences between a fair and a carnival. He can tell nobody is listening, that nobody really cares about the random facts he likes to share, but it's not like he knows how else to talk to people. Thankfully, this time the case was a minor one. No malfunctioning equipment, no crowds of people standing with cell phones to film the daring rescue. This time it was just a woman who’d fainted in the heat. She was a bit dehydrated, and a lot embarrassed, and by the time they’d arrived on the scene she was seated upright, sipping lemonade and insisting she was fine. Still, Hen and Chimney gave her a once-over and even though they hadn’t really done anything, the carnival owner seemed rather shaken by the whole thing and was very grateful to the 118. They were all offered various concessions as a thank-you, and while everyone else declined, Buck took a bit of everything, even the questionable looking corn dog that was somehow both dry and greasy. Buck wasn’t often one to eat his feelings, but he eagerly latched on to the fried, sugary treats as a welcome distraction. He could feel the others’ eyes boring into him as he wiped his hands clean of the powdered sugar from the funnel cake, and he pushed down the sick feeling it gave him. Of course this made him look immature, pigging out on junk like this in the middle of a shift. It was bad enough that he was the youngest on the team, having the appetite and palate of the teenager boy wasn’t doing him any favors. It seemed that no matter what he did, what he said, he was always finding a way to show just how unlovable he was. He stifled his tears with a sip of lemonade, the sourness acrid in his mouth.
They were on the way to another call, a preschooler having a seizure at recess, when Buck realized just how big of a mistake the carnival snacks were. He was no stranger to anxiety-induced nausea, but he was also well aware of the difference between that and actual nausea, and this was definitely the latter. It was a good thing turnouts weren’t needed for this sort of call, but Buck was still sweating, but also kind of cold. Being sick on the job, in front of the others, is kind of up there in terms of his worst nightmares, so Buck put his best poker face on and focused on breathing in through his nose and taking tiny sips from his water bottle. It had already gone warm in the California heat and it tasted hot and bitter, doing his stomach no favors.
“Doing alright back there?” Bobby’s voice came from the driver's seat, and he eyed him suspiciously in the rearview mirror. Buck rapidly circled through a list of excuses. Nobody would believe that he was hungry, not after eating his weight in cotton candy and nachos, and not when saying so in his current state would be an eerie reenactment of that one scene from Bridesmaids.
“I’m fine, Cap, I just, uh, I just really have to pee.” Somehow his lie ended up being more embarrassing than the truth, but at least it was believable. Despite his height, Buck has the bladder of a kitten and a tendency to put off bathroom breaks until it's almost too late. Just another part of him that never grew up.
Bobby looked slightly irritated, but not surprised. “You can go when we get there, I’ll get started on crowd control and you can ask a teacher to point you in the right direction. But Buck, you need to get in the habit of taking regular breaks at the station and in between calls. This isn’t the kind of job where you can take potty breaks whenever the need strikes you. Now is fine, but if this were a fire we were headed to, you couldn’t just stop and pee first. And if it were a pile-up on the interstate, there wouldn’t even be a place for you to go and I can’t have one of my firefighters just whip it out on the side of the road.”
Buck’s face was on fire, and he was silent with shame for the remainder of the drive. His stomach started to cramp shortly before they arrived, and him needing a bathroom was no longer a lie. It was a zoo when they arrived, teachers fighting to corral hordes of frightened children. A young boy was crumpled next to the slide, letting out a terrible cry as he shook. This is far from the first seizure Buck has witnessed, but they always upset him a bit, especially when it's a child. He has a soft spot for kids and seeing the boy’s lips turn dusky as Chimney slipped an oxygen mask on his face had his stomach churning. Forcing himself to look away, he scanned the crowd until he found someone who towered over the students and was wearing a lanyard. The man was about Buck’s age, maybe a bit younger, and his eyes glisten with emotion.
“Excuse me, sir, is there a restroom inside I could use?” Buck focused on a point past him, of a swing still going back and forth even after the child hopped off it.
The teacher sniffled. “Of course, sir, go in that door and it's a few feet to the left, should say ‘staff bathroom.’ Unless you are fine with squatting on one of the little kiddie-sized potties we have for the students, although those are absolutely not made for adults, much less big strong firefighters.”
Buck thanked him and took off in the direction he’d pointed, going at a steady pace and trying not to make things look as urgent as they were. It was bad enough that he couldn’t just use one of the stalls meant for students, at least there’d be plausible deniability. As he double checked the lock on the door, all he could think about is the teachers in the breakroom, laughing about the firefighter who blew up their bathroom. The more rational side of him told him that he’ll probably never see these people again, that the chances of them being dispatched to this very school again are slim, but the other part of him was convinced they’ll run into each other at Walmart and he cursed himself for having such a distinctive birthmark.
Buck did his best to make it quick, but his stomach was really upset and he didn’t want to have to go again on the drive home, Bobby would be even more pissed. He was scared to look at his watch when he returned to the playground, but he knew by the sight of the ambulance driving away and the dissipating crowd that it had been too long. His aching stomach filled with dread when he joined Bobby in the engine.
“I’m sorry Cap, my stomach’s just kinda bothering me. All that fried food, I guess.” He tried his best to focus on his seatbelt and not the man next to him. Looking at Bobby right now felt like trying to stare directly into the sun.
Bobby just reached under the seat for their own first aid kit, pulled out a bottle of Imodium and handed Buck his metal water bottle that he had of course left in the truck. “It's alright kid, happens to all of us on shift from time to time. We’ve always got stuff for it in the ambulance and the engine and even a stash at the station. We also have Tylenol, Advil, Tums, the works. Whatever you might need. Remind me later to show you where that’s at when we get back, once you’re feeling up to it. And let me know if you need me to pull over.”
Bobby was being so, so nice about it and Buck can’t take it. Because he didn’t deserve it, and because he knew it wasn't going to last, and because part of him was just wishing he’d just get straight to the yelling part already. Buck was tired of waiting for the other shoe to fall, he’d rather Bobby just hit him and get it over with. The waiting is the worst part anyway.
He was instructed to lie down for a bit when they returned to the station and Buck didn’t argue, knew better than that. Besides, he'd started to feel kind of exhausted and shaky in a way that made him think he might have somewhat of a fever, but he didn't dare grab the thermometer from the ambulance when Hen and Chim return. He didn’t want to draw more attention to himself, he just needed to sleep it off as much as he could before their next call and power through this shift, but sleep didn't come for him. He was trembling in a bunk, hugging the covers tightly, but every time he tried to close his eyes the floor swam beneath him and it was like when he’d lived in Peru and he’d first tried to find a job on a cruise ship. He’d lasted approximately four hours on the water before deciding he could only tend bar on land. Buck eventually managed to somewhat drift, but he was acutely aware of when the nausea reached danger levels. Unfortunately, in his current state of being exhausted and somewhat dehydrated, he was too slow and weak to move fast enough. It was disgusting, greasy and smelled overly sweet. Panic surged up with the contents of his stomach, but Buck was helpless. By the time he caught his breath, he already had a half-baked plan to grab some used towels from the locker room to clean it up. He already knew where the cleaning supplies were, as he hated making any sort of mess and always took the time to wipe up all of his sooty footprints.
He didn’t even make it out of the bunkroom before he was stopped by the rest of the team. Yes, all of them, as if today couldn’t get any worse. Chimney went to clean his mess with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s scrubbed puke from the ambulance countless times, but before he got to work, he appeared to be inspecting it for some reason.
“I only see two little pill fragments, Cap. I think most of the medicine got in him.” Great, so now they were talking about him when he wasn’t around. Buck had figured as much, but this confirmed it. Prior to the firing incident, this would have had him yelling, but all his fire was gone.
“Let’s get you over to the couch so you don’t have to look at it.” He allowed Bobby to maneuver him away from the bunkroom and towards the lounge area. Someone had placed a trash can by the couch and Buck hugged it to his chest, still a bit uncertain about his stomach.
Once Chimney returned from cleaning up after him, after his childish accident, Buck began to apologize.
“I am so sorry, guys. This is so gross, and embarrassing, and I promise I’ll give the floors a good scrubbing once I'm up to it but right now I think trying to do that would result in more puke, which would kinda defeat the purpose of cleaning.”
“Buck, that’s nonsense. You are far from the first person to get sick in this station, it has happened to all of us at one point or another.” Chim gives him what Buck thinks was supposed to be a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but he knows deep down it doesn’t mean anything. They hate him.
Hen’s smile was warm. “And you don’t ever need to feel embarrassed around us. We’ve all had stuff happen to us on shift, but when you spend 24 hours with the same people, you get comfortable with each other. Hell, do you know how many times I’ve gotten period blood on my turnouts? Let me tell you, it’s rough being the lady firefighter. And I’ve accidentally texted Bobby instead of my wife so many times.”
“And I’ve definitely farted during at least half of the rope rescues I’ve done. What can I say, the harness just squeezes it out of me.” Chim laughed, but Buck felt unable to join. “Even Cap took a leak without turning his comm off once.”
By Bobby’s expression, Buck figured he hadn’t intended to volunteer that information, but there was still a hint of a smile in his voice. “Yeah, that did happen. Point is, you have nothing to be ashamed of, Buck.”
“But it’s my fault!” At the sea of raised eyebrows, he elaborated. “I shouldn’t have eaten that food at the carnival. None of you did, I’m guessing you knew better.”
“You learn early on not to eat anything a civilian offers you,” Hen explained. “I’m sorry Buck, it's often a tough lesson.”
“It’s not just that,” Buck continued. “I’m an idiot. I’m always a few minutes late, I’m always spilling food on my shirt. I never say the right thing and I’m a crappy driver. I nearly piss myself at least once a shift because I forget to take breaks like a little kid and I’m always dropping stuff and I missed the majority of a call because I was too busy absolutely wrecking that school’s restroom, all because I couldn’t resist greasy carnival food that wasn’t even that good. I don’t know how you guys have put up with me this long, I’m such a stupid pain in the ass that can’t do anything right!”
“Buck, that is not true. None of that is true and I am so sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise. You make mistakes sometimes, but you are a brilliant firefighter and you try so hard and I’m proud of how far you’ve come since you were rehired.” Bobby leans in as if to hug him, but pulls back. “Okay, maybe that’s not the best idea. Rain check for when being squeezed around the middle isn’t so risky?”
Buck nods, grinning a bit despite the tears, and they settle on an awkward side hug instead.
“You aren’t stupid, Buck,” Hen reassures him, “No more than the rest of us. Maybe this is a bit personal, but have you ever been tested for ADHD?”
Buck shakes his head. His parents would have never entertained an idea like that.
“I think most firefighters have a touch of it, makes you suited for the job,” Hen explained. “I had no idea about it until my son, Denny, was diagnosed, but getting my own diagnosis made so much sense and it led to Chimney getting tested too. I’ve got inattentive type while he’s combined type like Denny. And maybe you.”
Buck supposed that made sense. He could definitely see it in Chimney, but Hen surprised him a bit.
“It sometimes comes with something called rejection sensitive dysphoria, have you heard of that before?”
Buck hadn’t, but he had an idea of what it was based on the name, and yeah, that did sound like him. After all this time, that little voice in his head as a name and with that came the realization that that voice may not have been telling the truth.
“I know this is a lot to take in, Buck, especially when you’re feeling sick. I’m sorry if now wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but we’ve all noticed how off you’ve been ever since you returned, especially after the rollercoaster. We want our Buck back.”
Buck didn’t think he’d ever heard someone say something like that. The voice in his head had always said that he’s unlovable, obnoxious, that nobody could possibly enjoy being around him, but right now his coworkers were (gently) clapping him on the back, all in agreement of how much they want their Buck back, and this time, their voices were louder.