Chapter Text
Buck had known it wouldn’t be easy, coming back to the 118 after the lawsuit, but he hadn’t expected the sheer level of negativity he would encounter. He didn’t know what was the worst - the calculated indifference from the majority of the crew, the false welcome giving way to careful distance from Hen, the cutting observations from Chim, the stark disappointment and distrust from Bobby, or the vitriol from Eddie.
It was probably a toss up between the last two.
From Bobby, it was expected. Buck had come up against his disappointment before, and the cold displeasure emanating from him whenever he spoke to Buck was at least familiar, even if he hadn’t encountered it for a while. What was hurtful was how hard Bobby seemed to be clinging to that disappointment this time, avoiding any attempt Buck made at burying the hatchet or proving himself trustworthy. He was clearly determined to hang onto his feelings, and there wasn’t much Buck could do about it.
Eddie though - he’d seen a glimpse of it in the grocery store, but Buck could never have expected Eddie to maintain that level of anger. But not only was he maintaining it, it seemed to be increasing with every shift. Buck had tried the first few days to begin conversations with him, but the bristling body language and pointed barbs had had him backing off quickly. He’d told himself Eddie just needed to cool down, but it had been two weeks, and he seemed to be getting worse. The mere sight of Buck seemed to set Eddie on edge, and honestly Buck was starting to worry about him. He kept his distance - from everyone, not just Eddie - but he saw enough to notice that Eddie was a little short with everyone these days.
There had to be something wrong, and Buck ached to get to the bottom of it and help his best friend, but the sad truth was he didn’t think that title applied to him anymore.
So no, it wasn’t easy, it was in fact much harder than he’d ever expected, but he told himself that the only way was through. He kept showing up, he kept himself ready to go even though he hadn’t been allowed on a call once since being back. He did the chores he was given without complaint (well, without much complaint anyway), and he stayed away from Bobby and Eddie.
It was just past lunchtime. Buck had grabbed one of the sandwiches Bobby had made and brought it downstairs, eating it while he finished inventory in the stock room. Once that was done he grabbed a buffer rag and started inspecting the trucks for any small blemishes picked up that morning - it was a rolling chore of his to keep the trucks clean, but of course you couldn’t give them a full wash down every time they were in the bay. It was a thankless, endless task, one that usually had three or four crew members assigned to it every shift, but it had been Buck’s sole responsibility for most of the shifts he’d been back for.
What Buck remembered later was that it all happened so quickly. Too quickly for him to change anything.
One moment he was standing between the two trucks, buffing a new mark on the red paint of the water truck, the next the cab door opened next to him and Eddie was there, having jumped down without looking. Buck jumped too, startled by his sudden appearance, and he clearly wasn’t the only one who was surprised, because Eddie stumbled slightly, before practically growling at Buck.
“Back off Buckley!” He snarled, venom dripping from every syllable. Buck flinched at the sheer hatred in his tone, and he didn’t know if it was the flinch or if it was just his general proximity, but something seemed to snap in Eddie - he reached up both hands and shoved Buck in the chest, hard. Buck was already slightly off-centre from the physical and emotional whiplash of Eddie’s arrival, and the shove sent him flying straight back into the side of the ladder truck. His shoulders hit first, but then his head snapped back and smacked against the vehicle wall with a loud thunk.
Buck was sure that it did hurt, but he didn’t really feel anything in that moment - nothing but shock. That Eddie had shoved him, that Eddie had so much anger inside him towards Buck that he would actually lay hands on him. At work.
Eddie seemed shocked too - his eyes were wide, and he was staring straight at Buck in a way he hadn’t done for weeks. His lips parted as though he was about to say something, but at that moment the tones sounded.
Eddie stood staring for half a second more, and then ran away, between the trucks, to get suited up. Heavy footsteps and calling voices told Buck that the rest of the station was on the move too.
Tears were blurring Buck’s vision, and when he blinked to clear them he realised that it wasn’t entirely just from emotion. He took a step forward and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea, and had to put out a hand against the side of the truck to steady himself. He could feel the pain then - a sharp throbbing on the back of his skull, a fierce headache radiating through his head and spiking behind his eyes. He reached up and touched the back of his head, and felt blood.
“Fuck,” he said softly.
Footsteps and voices were close now. Get out of the way Buckley, he told himself. He took a breath and started to walk between the trucks, one hand clamped to his head and the other brushing against the side of the truck to help him keep balance. His vision kept blurring and he was swallowing against waves of nausea.
He reached the back of the trucks as the first of the team reached them, brushing past him to get to the cabs. He swayed slightly, the pain spiking. Fuck fuck fuck. He was going to have to say something.
Bobby was marching towards the truck, helmet in hand. Buck stepped slightly into his way, gasping softly as his head throbbed viciously at the movement.
“B- um, Captain, I think I need -” he started, but Bobby cut him off with barely a glance.
“I don’t have time for complaints, Buckley,” he said, not even slowing down. “Out of the way.”
“But -”
“I’m not telling you again.”
Buck stepped back again to clear Bobby’s path, and the captain didn’t even look at him, making a beeline for the front cab. Laurens and Peters were right behind him, brushing past Buck with little more than a glance.
Buck stumbled forward a couple of steps, clearing the back of the trucks as the last of the team finished gearing up. Buck saw Chim jumping into the driver’s seat of the ambulance, and a moment later noticed Hen running over as well, on a path that would take her past Buck.
“Hen, could you -”
She didn’t slow down. “Sorry Buck, gotta go,” she said, focusing on her helmet instead of on him. “I’ll find you when we get back!” And then she was gone.
The trucks roared to life in tandem, and Buck felt a wave of dizziness again: he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and managed to keep his feet. When he opened his eyes again, it was to catch a glimpse of Eddie jumping up into the ladder truck and slamming the door behind him, as it swept out of the bay. The other truck and ambo were right behind, and then Buck was alone.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
He stood still, in the middle of the bay, swaying slightly. He could feel hot, wet beads rolling down the back of his neck. His eyes dropped down and he saw blood on the floor. Bobby was going to kill him if he didn’t clean it up.
“Fuck,” he repeated.
Okay, okay. Step one: stop the bleeding. He could have Hen and Chim look at it properly when they got back, but he needed to stop getting blood all over the floor. The more there was on the floor, the more he would have to clean up. Bobby wouldn’t want blood all over the floor.
Buck swayed on the spot and had to take a step to steady himself. His eyes snapped open - he hadn’t realised they’d closed. What was he meant to be doing? The blood. Stop the blood.
He made his way over to the uniform cubbies, where there was a first aid kit on the wall. It took him longer than he thought it would, and he ended up by Chim’s empty uniform hook, where he had to stop and lean for a moment before inching along the wall to where the kit was. He had to let go of the back of his head to get the box open, and he felt the increase of moisture on his neck and back as he did so.
For the first time, Buck’s mind cleared enough for him to feel a stab of real worry. He was on blood thinners. He was dizzy. He was alone. This wasn’t good.
He needed help, and he couldn’t wait for the team to get back, not when he didn’t even know how long they’d be. Okay, fine. He’d call for help. But he still needed to stop the bleeding before anything else.
His hands shook as he fumbled through the first aid kit, pulling out a wound pad and pressing it back to his head. The wound was in a weird place, high up on the back of his head, and it was hard to put significant pressure on it. Buck gritted his teeth and pressed as hard as he could, but it wasn’t long before he felt the wound pad slipping under his fingers. He pulled the pad away and looked: it was saturated with blood.
“Fuck,” Buck said yet again. He reached into the box again, grabbing a handful of gauze and wound pads, and stumbled over to where a radio was mounted on the wall. He grabbed it, and then slid down the wall onto the floor. Buck clumsily folded the gauze and pads he held into a clump and pressed it back into his wound before leaning back, pushing against the wall. He shifted, tipping his head awkwardly to try and maximise the pressure.
He cried out in pain, gritting his teeth against the accompanying swirl of dizziness. He took a couple of deep breaths, and once it had passed he raised the radio. His hand was shaking. And covered in blood.
Buck pressed the button and heard it crackle to life. “Dispatch this is station 118, Firefighter Buckley speaking, do you copy?”
A moment of static, and then a crisp reply. “Copy 118.”
Buck took a moment to be grateful that he didn’t recognise the voice on the other end. It would have been just his luck to get his sister on the line. “I need an RA unit to station 118,” he said, slowly and carefully. He stopped to take a deep breath after every statement. “Adult male with laceration to the back of the head. Possible concussion. Blood thinners, there’s - there’s a lot of blood.”
“Copy that, Firefighter Buckley. RA unit inbound. Are you alone with the patient?”
“I… yeah, it’s just me here.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes.”
“What measures are you taking to stop the bleeding?”
Buck closed his eyes. “I- I’m trying to apply pressure but it’s right at the back of my head so it’s hard to, you know - I’m using the wall…”
There was a beat before the dispatcher responded. “Firefighter Buckley… is it you that’s injured?”
Buck started to nod, before realising that it hurt. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t realise - let me patch in your captain -”
“No!” Buck’s eyes flew open, and he sat forward slightly, jostling the dressing. He hissed and pressed his head back again. “No, he’s busy, they’re on a call, it’s fine, don’t bother him…”
“Firefighter…” She sounded doubtful.
“I’m okay. I just can’t reach it myself.”
“Alright, well the 133 are two minutes out.”
The 133. That was fine. They were a good team, efficient. “Okay,” he said. He closed his eyes again.
“How did you injure yourself, Firefighter Buckley?”
“You can call me Buck.”
“Hi Buck. I’m Esther.”
“Hi.” She was nice. Wait, she had asked him something. Buck frowned, trying to remember. “I hit my head.”
“On what?”
“The truck.”
“The… ladder truck?” Esther sounded confused.
“Yeah.”
“Oh. I see.”
“It was an accident,” Buck said insistently.
“I’m sure.”
Was Buck? Yes, it was… Eddie had pushed him, but he hadn’t meant to hurt him. He can’t have. “It was just an accident…”
“Buck I’m going to - I’m just passing you over to my colleague Neil, say hi to him.”
“Hi Neil…” Buck sighed, slumping a little more against the wall. The wall was slippery.
“Hi Buck - we need to keep you awake, how long have you been at the 118?”
“Since… I’ve always been here.”
“Since you were a probie?”
“Yeah.”
“That must be nice.”
“It was.”
***
Being called out to another firehouse was rare, to say the least. Jeshan had only experienced one such call in his career, and it had been almost twenty years earlier. Given the report, he’d elected to keep the engines back, but he and Robinson followed the ambulance in the Captain’s car. Since it was a rare occurrence, it felt important that he was there in person.
They were close by when his radio crackled to life.
“Captain 133 this is dispatch, come in.”
Jeshan pressed the button to respond. “Captain 133 here.”
“Captain, please be advised that the patient is Firefighter Buckley himself. He sounds a little out of it - I would guess either from blood loss or concussion. Maybe both.”
Jeshan nodded. “Roger that, we’re thirty seconds out.”
“Good. And, Captain…” the dispatcher seemed to hesitate for a moment, “he said he hit his head on the ladder truck.”
“Okay.” The dispatcher sounded strange, and Jeshan wasn’t sure what they were trying to get at.
“But… that would mean that he was already injured before his crew left on their call.”
Jeshan exchanged a glance with Robinson, who frowned at him before looking back at the road.
“Well that can’t be right, surely they would have noticed,” Jeshan said. The car started to swing into the lot outside of Station 118, and Jeshan squared his shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find out - we’re arriving now, thank you dispatch.”
“Thank you Captain.”
The ambulance stopped just inside the bay, and Robinson pulled the car up alongside it a moment later.
“Jesus,” she said softly.
The station was deserted, the bay empty of vehicles. But at the far side of the bay, right in front of them, was a scene like something out of a slasher movie. Bloody bandages were strewn on the floor next to what looked like an upturned med kit, and there was more blood on both the floor and the wall. The blood on the wall was an upsetting streak which seemed to highlight and point out the person slumped beneath it: Buckley, sickly pale, with blood covering his hands, neck and face, and seemingly unconscious.
Jeshan and his crew silently took in the scene for a split second before springing into action
The ambulance doors slammed open. “Get the gurney - we’re gonna need some O-neg!”
Robinson hauled herself out of the car as fast as she could to go and help, and Jeshan jumped out the other side and hurried straight over to Buck - he noted blood drops on the floor as he ran over. He also noticed the station radio hanging loose in Buck’s limp hand.
To his immense relief, Buck seemed to stir slightly at the sound of their footsteps.
Jeshan reached him first and crouched down on his far side. “Buckley, it’s Captain Mehta of the 133,” he said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “Open your eyes for me.”
Buckley frowned, then winced as he turned towards Jeshan’s voice. Jeshan noticed bandages wadded up behind his head, pinned to the wall. They were covered in blood.
Hernandez knelt down on Buckley’s other side. “Hey Buckley, it’s Rita,” she said, grasping his arm, “let’s see what we’ve got here.”
Jeshan helped Hernandez pull Buckley forward away from the wall, and then braced himself to take his weight against his shoulder. Buckley groaned and slumped into Jeshan as Hernandez peeled away the saturated bandages.
“Decent laceration, not too deep, but bleeding badly,” she said, glancing up at Rogers, who was now standing over them with Robinson. They had the backboard with them.
“He’s on blood thinners,” Jeshan told Hernandez.
“That would explain it,” she said. “We’ll get him some blood in the ambulance.”
Rogers had crouched down and was pulling at Buckley’s eyelids, shining a penlight in his eyes. “Pupils sluggish - I’d say definite concussion,” he said.
“He didn’t mean it,” Buckley slurred.
“Who didn’t?” Jeshan asked, shifting to get Buckley more sat up. His eyes were half-open, but it still took him supporting his shoulders and Rogers supporting his head to help him stay upright. Hernandez busied herself pulling a compression bandage from her bag and winding it around Buckley’s head.
“What happened, Buckley? Who didn’t mean it?” Jeshan asked him.
Buck shook his head, and then groaned. “He didn’t mean it.”
Jeshan took Buckley’s weight again as Hernandez and Rogers got the backboard situated, and then helped them get Buckley onto it. He stood up and frowned down at the young firefighter, puzzling over his words and remembering what dispatch had said.
He’d told dispatch he’d hit his head on the ladder truck, but now seemed to imply that it had been a person involved… either way, it would mean he’d been injured before the 118 rolled out, so how had they not noticed that Buck was injured?
Hernandez and Rogers were getting the gurney, Robinson packing up their supplies. Jeshan stepped back and looked around the room, taking in the scene. The med kit on the floor seemed to have been pulled down from the wall, where he could see an empty hook for it. There was blood smeared on the wall beside it, and then again a couple of feet next to it. It looked like Buckley had been using the wall to steady himself. There were also droplets of blood on the floor, showing his path to where they’d found him.
Jeshan stepped around Buckley and Robinson, and walked next to that path, following the blood drops like a twisted scavenger hunt. A few meters along the wall, by Han’s cubby, the path turned sharply into the middle of the bay. The droplets were less frequent, but still noticeable. They turned again in the middle for a few meters, before stopping abruptly.
Jeshan was standing in the middle of the bay. There was nothing around him but air, nothing to hit your head on. But, he was also standing exactly where the trucks would be parked - in fact, Jeshan could see now that Buckley’s path had been to walk between the trucks to the back of them, and then straight to the wall, then along the wall to where the med kit and radio were.
Dispatch had it right - he had to have hit his head on a truck, which was why the blood drops started here. But how had no one noticed? And what the hell did he mean by he didn’t mean it?
Hernandez and Rogers had Buckley on the gurney, and were wheeling him to the ambulance. Jeshan walked over to Robinson.
“You go with them in the rig,” he told her. “I’ll stay here with the car, keep an eye on the station until the 118 get back.”
“You sure sir? I can stay instead,” she said.
Jeshan shook his head. “No… I think I need to speak to Nash.”
Robinson frowned. “Something wrong?”
“Maybe.”
Robinson looked like she wanted to question him further, but Rogers called over from the ambulance. “We’re ready to move out Captain.”
“Robbie’s going with you,” he called back, nodding to Robinson who headed over to the ambulance as fast as she could, which was about two thirds her usual speed at this point. She waved off Roger’s help into the passenger seat of the ambulance and soon Jeshan found himself alone in the 118.
He looked over at the blood on the wall, the scattered contents of the med kit, the bloody bandages, and wondered if he should start cleaning it up, but decided that the visual impact would probably be important for the conversation he needed to have.
He reached for his radio. “Dispatch this is Captain 133.”
“Go ahead.” It was the same voice as earlier.
“Buckley is on his way to Cedars-Sinai. Bad blood loss, probable concussion. I’m going to stay here to man the station until the 118 return.”
“Understood Captain - they are finishing up at their scene, should be back in about fifteen minutes.”
“Roger that. Mehta out.”