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borhapparker · 5 months

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i need buckley in my life rn 😭🥹🥰 let me just say this was amazing and im gonna need some more right now

through the smoke

Evan Buckley x Female!Reader (22.9k) It’s funny how it only takes one second to unravel an entire future.

Warnings: A curse word or two. Mentions of injury. Mentions of fire. Mentions of 4x13 and 4x14. Memory loss. angst

Author’s Note: We’re back with Buck and this is one of my favorite tropes. We’ve got a lovely dose of amnesia for all of you today, and it is just such a treat. I wrote a killer firework analogy for this one, and if we don’t all collectively adore it I won’t be mad, just disappointed. Enjoy.

The title comes from “Wrong Direction” by Hailee Steinfeld

Note: My work is not to be posted on any other platforms (aside from my ao3 account)

(Divider by @silkholland)

Masterlist

The beeping of the heart monitor should be a comforting sound. It means his heart is still beating. It means he’s still alive. But over the last few hours it’s started to feel like a sword swinging over your head. Each beep is another reminder of where you are, of the reason why you’re here. And you’re terrified that each beep might be the last.

You’ve already been scrunched up in uncomfortable hospital chairs, and living off shitty vending machine coffee, for the past three days waiting for Buck to wake up. It’s longer than he’s ever been out before, and it’s concerning to say the least. But the doctor’s swear it’s not that uncommon. That his body is just taking its time to heal.

And every member of the 118 says some variation of the same thing when they come to visit after their shifts. And Maddie, too. You take it from her most because she has the most experience with all of this.

You’re used to Buck getting himself sent to the hospital by now, but each time is still more worrisome than the last. And it’s not like you can really fault him this time. Because he got hurt saving you, and you can’t really blame him for that. If the roles were reversed you would’ve done the same thing if it meant you were getting him out of danger.

Besides you already gave his unconscious form the self sacrificing idiot speech, and you think he got the message.

You’re just about to go take a walk to get your next cup of coffee when something beats you to it.

“Knock, knock.” You look up to see Eddie standing in the doorway with two cups of coffee in hand. “Stopped by the shop down the street, figured you needed something better than the shit in this place to keep you awake.”

He walks over and hands you the cup, which you accept with more relief than you’ve felt in ages. At least it’s something. You haven’t really slept in days, maybe a few minutes of shut eye here and there. The team keeps telling you to get some rest, especially while they come to visit, but you have yet to budge. You worry that the second you really commit to getting some rest is the moment Buck will wake up, or worse.

“You’ve got great timing,” You say, “Was about to go grab myself a refill.” You brush a few empty coffee cups into the nearby trash can before settling back into your uncomfortable chair as Eddie does the same on the other side of the bed.

“The nurses give you any updates?” He asks, eyes fixated on your fiancé holed up in a cramped hospital bed.

“They said it’s only a matter of time now before he wakes up. But it could be hours, could still be a few more days. Hell, maybe even a week.”

You don’t know why they say it like that when it still really tells you nothing. All it tells you is that he’ll wake up, which is comforting but everything can change on a dime. And he could be fine one second and coding the next.

Besides, they still have no clue what state he’ll be in when he wakes up. And you can’t fault them for that. Because that’s out of their control. They’ll only know once you do, once Buck opens his eyes and greets the world again for the first time in nearly a week. And it’s torture to say the least.

You eye Eddie across the room from over the rim of your coffee cup, and you see his eyes carefully flitting back to you every few seconds.

“If you’re about to say you’re worried about me, don’t.” You’ve had enough condolences and pitiful looks this week to last you a lifetime.

“Me? Never.” He jokes, taking a sip from his own coffee. “Bobby however.”

“Well, you can tell Bobby that I’m fine. I’m just playing the waiting game.” Which is arguably the worst part of this entire ordeal. “Ask me again when he wakes up.”

If he wakes up. You’ve always been a bit of the paranoid type, it kind of comes with the territory of the job. Face value has never really been your friend, and you’re finding that your tendencies have led to an inability to put much stock in the optimism of the hospital staff.

And you’re talking to someone with the same problem. A man who relies solely on his team and his intuition. It’s a good way to live, leads to less disappointment. It also leads to a whole slew of trust issues, but that’s a problem for another day. And that seems to be your attitude towards everything these days.

“How’s the wedding going?” He asks, and you roll your eyes. The both of you know full well that you’re not the half of the couple that’s been worrying about the details of the big day.

You’ve always been a little blasé about the idea of your future wedding. Figuring that it’s less about all of the rigmarole and more about the love shared between two people and the people who love them.

But Buck wants it to be perfect. It’s sweet, damn near endearing, but it’s also kind of driving you crazy. Although you’d give anything to be flipping through the wedding binder with him at this very moment.

You’d much rather he be fussing over picking the right venue, or the flowers, or the menu. Hell, you’d rather be arguing about whether you should have a DJ or a band. Which, the correct answer is DJ. Despite what Buck may think.

He thinks there’s something so romantic about a full band playing while the two of you have your first dance as husband and wife. And there is some credence in that ideology, but it’s still the wrong answer. Sweet, but overall misguided.

“Swimmingly.” You joke, placing your empty coffee cup on the tray table beside his bed. “I’ve been fielding calls from Loretta all day. She’s a little worried since she hasn’t heard from Buck in a while.”

Three days qualifies as a while because Loretta seems to be his new best friend. The two of them are this little collective, planning what is going to be a “perfect” day, while you’re just giving your opinion here and there.

He wants it to be great, and you want him to be happy with the way it turns out. It doesn’t matter to you one way or the other, so long as you’re married by the end of it.

“Did you figure out your guest list?” He asks, and you know that Eddie really couldn’t care less about the details. You know that he’s trying to turn your brain to focusing on a brighter day, and you appreciate it. But he’s not as sly as he thinks.

“You say that like we have leagues of people to invite.” It’s going to be a small affair, well Buck prefers to refer to it as “intimate,” he thinks it makes it sound more fancy or something like that, you only really have the 118, their families, and Maddie to invite.

“A wedding doesn’t have to be big to be special.” It’s about the people, as most things are, and you it’s better to have a few really close people in your life than a slew of acquaintances lining the rows to cheer on a couple that they barely even know.

“I’ve been trying to tell Buck that.” You never expected him to be so enthralled by the spectacle of a grand wedding, but it turns out that he’s even more of a romantic than you’ve ever known him to be.

“He loves you.” Eddie says, knocking back the last of his coffee as he leans forward in his chair. “He just wants everyone to know. Including you.”

Like you could ever really doubt his love. He’s constantly finding ways to remind you, small and big ways. Like he’s worried you’ll stop believing him one of these days. Like he’s worried one of these days you’ll run away because he didn’t prove it enough.

He’s got a lot of those preconceived notions, and you know that they come from a place of his own past traumas and insecurities. You just wish he’d believe that some people aren’t going to leave. Some people intend to stay, and they’ll fight tooth and nail to be by your side. They’ll be there when you need them.

You wish that he had an easier time believing that. You wish he’d never been convinced otherwise in the first place.

“I just-” You start, but you hear the slightest noise that sounds like a groan and it has you sitting up straighter in your chair. Exchanging quick eye contact with Eddie as the both of you lean in a little closer to see if you heard it right.

Only for the sound to ring out, along with the slightly faster beeping of the heart monitor, loud enough for you and Eddie to hear. You’re both out of your seats in record time.

“Buck?”

His brows furrow at the sound of your voice, his head tilting in the opposite direction as the hand closest to you flexes slightly. Without much thought you place your hand on his wrist, the cool metal of your engagement ring making contact with his arm and he flinches slightly despite his sluggish nature.

“Buck,” Eddie tries, the both of you still waiting for him to actually open his eyes, “Buck, can you hear me?”

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice is weak, scratchy, and quieter than you’ve heard it in so long, but it’s there. It’s there.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He says, and the two of you exchange quick, hopeful smiles before turning your attention back to Buck.

And then, the greatest thing out of all of this, Buck’s eyes finally open. And you can’t help but grin as you finally get a good look at him. Even though his eyes are still solely on Eddie.

“Hey, man.” He says, voice a little stronger than before as he cracks a slight smile. And the smile is returned by Eddie.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He asks, and then Buck lets out another groan. As though he’s just now reminded that he’s in pain.

“Like I got crushed by a firetruck.” He says it with a chuckle, like it’s supposed to be funny. Like it’s supposed to be funny because it’s what happened. But it isn’t what happened, at least not this time. It has your brows furrowing as your gaze shifts to Eddie.

“That bad, huh?” He asks, a slight chuckle in place to make Buck feel more comfortable as he eases back slightly. If something’s wrong, the easiest way to figure it out is by making sure Buck isn’t too worked up.

“I’ve definitely felt better.” He says, coughing slightly as he goes to reach for the cup of water on the tray table. Only to find that his arm isn’t free, and that’s when his gaze finally shifts to you.

And you don’t know what you’re expecting from him. Maybe a smile or some flirtatious line off the top of his head. What you don’t expect is for his brows to furrow and for his eyes to roam across your face in the hopes of trying to place you.

Your hand slowly retracts from his wrist and you discretely shove it in the pocket of your hoodie as he looks at you.

“Who’s this?” He asks, the question clearly directed towards Eddie even though he hasn’t torn his eyes from you. And you can see Eddie open his mouth out of your peripheral, but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m Y/N.” You start, putting on your most professional and placating smile as you attempt to convincingly lie your ass off, “I work for the department, and I was sent to check in on you. Diaz was updating me on your condition.”

You shoot a look in Eddie’s direction, a silent plea that he just goes along with this. It’ll be easier that way, easier than trying to convince Buck of things that aren’t coming to the forefront of his brain.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Buckley.” You clear your throat, grabbing your jacket off the chair next to you as you take a few steps back. “I’ll go grab a nurse and let them know you’re awake.”

And with that you’re gone, not bothering to send one last look in their direction. Yeah, the doctors definitely didn’t prepare you for this.

— — —

“We’re gonna be late.”

Your warning seems to fall on disinterested ears as you feel yet another kiss pressed to your neck.

“Who cares?” It’s a mumble, one that comes from a voice that is still scratchy from sleep, but it makes you laugh.

“Bobby will kill us if we’re late.” You tilt your head slightly, catching a glimpse of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The party is supposed to start in an hour and a half, with the both of you supposed to arrive at least thirty minutes after the fact. And you both still need to shower.

“It’s a party, it’s not like we’re going to be late for work.”

“It’s your birthday party.”

“Which I’m not supposed to know about.” You roll your eyes. How does he have the nerve to act like you spilled the beans when you didn’t breathe a word of it to him?

“Which you know about because you’re nosy.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose.” You can’t manage to bite back the belly laugh that bubbles up in your throat at that. You don’t buy it for a second.

“You asked Chimney.”

Buck pulls away from you with a sigh, hovering over you as you stare up at him, failing to hide the grin on your face as you lock eyes with him. And he finds himself smiling back within a matter of seconds.

“What?” He asks, and you shake your head as your hands skate up his arms to then wrap around his neck. Pulling him slightly closer to you.

“I’m just,” You start, sighing slightly as you thread your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, “Really happy.”

And the way that that brightens his smile might just be the most breathtaking thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. And your smile grows in turn at the sight of him so damn happy, and it makes your heart jump slightly at the idea that you just might be the thing that makes him so damn happy.

Who’d have ever thought you could be the cause of a smile so radiant? The idea of it had never really crossed your mind in the past. And now you don’t think you’ll ever forget it. And, if you let yourself, you think you could get used to it. Get addicted to it. And that’s dangerous.

It’s dangerous because this could all go away so quickly. It could slip through your fingers and you could be out in the cold. On your own once more, living an awkward work life and having next to no personal life. Just because things are good right now doesn’t mean they’ll stay that way.

You know it’s incredibly glass half empty, but your brain is hardwired to be waiting for the next terrible thing around the bend. It’s pessimistic as hell, you’re well aware, but it’s a habit that you just can’t manage to shake. You have the feeling it’ll follow you to your grave.

“I love you.” You whisper, quieter than you need to be because it’s just the two of you. There are no prying ears to hide the words from, but they feel sacred. Like they’re something special to be held between just the two of you, no matter how many times you’ve said them at this point. You don’t ever want those three little words to feel trite, to feel like something you just say.

There’s beauty in something becoming reflexive, but you fear that it’ll lose some of its meaning if it's solely instinctive. If then it’ll just be something you say because you’re used to it. You don’t ever want it to feel that way.

“I love you too.” He leans down to press a kiss to your lips, your hands sliding down to rest on either side of his face until he pulls away.

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

— — —

“Absolutely not.”

See, you knew that you were going to be met with the stubborn brick wall when you showed up today. But there’s this small, somewhat stupid, part of you that hoped maybe you’d be met with a bit of understanding. But that’s not possible where Bobby is concerned. Not in a situation like this.

Because he seems to think it’s in your best interest to take a few days off. To give yourself some time to gather your thoughts and figure out what you want to do. Maybe take a little vacation time, fly back to the east coast and visit your family. He wouldn’t want to throw you back into high stress situations after the week you’ve had.

He doesn’t seem to understand the fact that you’d rather be anywhere than in your own head right now. You want to be able to rely on your instincts and on the things that you can do. The things you can control. You can save people. You can do something worthwhile with your time instead of just sitting on the couch letting your misery swallow you whole.

“Bobby, I need this.” You say, leaning down on the countertop as you look at him behind the stove.

“I had Eddie take a week off after Shannon, I’m giving you the same.”

“But this is not the same.” You try and argue, but Bobby is having none of it.

“It is the same.” He says, fixing you with a look that puts a finality on your perspective. “The future you had in mind was pulled out from under you. It’s the same.”

But it’s not the same. It’s not the same in the least. And, god, it makes you feel like a shitty person for even entertaining the notion, but a sick part of you feels like Eddie got off easy.

Because there’s no wondering. Once it’s done, it’s done. And she’s just gone. There was no way of getting her back. He doesn’t have to be plagued with the idea that one day she might come back to him. That any day could just be that day and things will be perfect again.

And he doesn’t have to live with the fear that that day may not ever actually show up. And you’ll just have to learn how to move on with your life again, with you being the only person to know your and Buck’s storied history. Every last detail, each and every quiet moment shared without prying eyes.

It’ll only live on behind your eyes, and you don’t know how you’re supposed to live with that. Not with the knowledge that Buck is still out there without an ounce of a memory of what you shared. Of the future you were planning. And that is a torture of its own uniquely hellish design.

And you can’t help but wonder if all of this, if the forgetting and all the pain that comes with it, is a fate worse than death. It certainly feels like it is. At least death is final.

“Bobby, I-” You start, but the sternness of his glance intensifies as he puts a lasagna in the oven.

“I’ll see you in a week, Y/L/N.” And with that he’s off. Heading down the stairs towards his office, no doubt to fill out even more paperwork about Buck’s accident and his impending return from leave.

You let out a long suffering sigh as you turn around, only to find two pairs of sympathetic eyes watching you from across the room. And they don’t even bother to pretend that they’re not eavesdropping when you catch them.

“I’m gonna assume you guys won’t put in a good word for me with Bobby.” You say, pushing away from the counter and making your way over to the couch where Hen and Chimney are sitting.

“Maybe some time off won’t be so bad.” Hen tries, hoping that it’ll provide some level of comfort in the face of this unprecedented territory. It doesn’t. “Maybe it’ll help you clear your head.”

“I can promise you, this fog isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” You say as you lean back a little bit so that you’re resting against the back cushions of the couch.

These last few days have gone by like your body and brain were running completely on autopilot. The elevator ride to the hospital lobby, the walk back to your car, the drive back to your and Buck’s apartment.

The immediate instinct to run upstairs and grab all the duffel bags you could find and start packing your things into them. Stripping the apartment of every last trace of your existence and your relationship with Buck. It just about broke your heart in two to take the photo booth photostrip, with its worn crease in the middle, off the fridge and stuff it into your wallet.

It has all started to bleed together in your brain. And you don’t have it in you to go through and try to pick it all apart. Right now you’re trying your damnedest to be focused on the immediate. Keeping your sights locked in on the right now. And it’s proving to be damn near impossible since everyone seems to think that they know better. Since everyone seems to think that time is the answer here.

There is no answer. They just don’t seem to get that.

“I called Loretta last night and told her her services would no longer be needed.” You’d called and straight up told her that the wedding has been canceled. But she was busy asking you about Buck since she saw the story on the news, and she never got a straight answer over the past few days because you'd just given her a few bullshit placating answers when she’d called.

And you told her that he was still in the hospital, and that he’d be going home in a few days. You also mentioned the turn in his condition in a slightly offhand way to make it seem like you’re not as bothered by it as you are. And she came to the lovely conclusion that the big day is just postponed. She’ll still be looking out and trying to get everything in order the way she and Buck had been discussing.

She’s so convinced that all of this will have a miraculous happy ending. That one day soon it’ll all be normal again and you’ll be walking down the aisle in no time.

Hope is a luxury that only the truly unaffected can afford. Because they don’t know any better. Because they don’t have anything to lose. You’d given up on the optimistic side of your own fate a long time ago because a half full glass has never gotten you anywhere.

And it won’t get you anywhere now. Not with what the doctor told you over the phone. An update on Buck’s condition since you tried to make your presence at the hospital scarce after his first set of waking hours. You left in the presence of his best friend who he trusted. Who he still remembered.

According to the doctor his memory was about two years behind the current times, meaning that in his mind it’s shortly after the ladder truck incident. Meaning that he’s still in that phase of his life where he’s getting over the short and sweet, and astoundingly abrupt, presence of Ali in his life. All the while he’s still trying to mend his broken heart over Abby’s little cut and run act.

And he hasn’t met you yet.

Because you didn’t come around until the middle of the hell freezing over. You stumbled upon the dose of familial chaos that is the 118 when Buck was in the middle of suing the department for wrongful termination.

The beginning of a new job is stressful enough, it was like walking on eggshells over there for a while. Not because they didn’t like you, it's just that you aren’t Buck. Which was both a good and bad thing, because as mad as they were at him they still missed him like hell. They just wished he could pull his head out of his ass and see sense.

And eventually he did. But he wasn’t thrilled to come back and find a new member of the team. Someone who hadn’t been shipped off to another house after he was granted his return. But that dissatisfaction only lasted for a little while. It didn’t take too long for the switch to flip and for the vibe to change completely. The two of you were practically inseparable after a little while.

But history isn’t going to repeat itself, and you can’t just orchestrate things to roll forth the way they had the first time around. That was a beautiful stroke of luck, an entirely unexpected thing that set your life on a different course. And it won’t happen the same way twice. If you even bother this time.

The doctor said that you can’t be too pushy with the whole idea of reappearing memories. You can’t just talk to him about his life and practically force a revelation upon him. It has to be organic, it has to be natural. The doctor has every faith that everything will come back to Mr. Buckley, he just doesn’t know how long that will take. It just sounded like a lot of bullshit to you.

The rest of the team seems a little more insistent than you do. Like they’ve all signed themselves up to try and help jog Buck’s memory. But you can’t decide if that’s something you really want.

Well, okay, obviously you want that. You want your life to go back to what it was a week ago. But you don’t know if you want to give some of those memories back to Buck. You’re the reason he landed himself in that bed in the first place. And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself for that.

So, you don’t want him to remember it. Because it’s easier to hold it against yourself, to keep the weight of it steadily secured on your shoulders, when he doesn’t have the option to forgive you. It’s easier to keep hating yourself when there’s no one there to give you permission to give yourself a break.

“You know, you can stay with Karen and me if you want.” Hen offers, that kind smile would be comforting if it weren’t for the pity that is so evident in her eyes, “It might be best if you’re not alone right now.”

“Or you can stay with me.” Chimney pipes up, “Albert’s about to get his own place.”

As tempting as the offer of Chimney’s vacant living room floor is, you have to graciously turn it down. Because they’re both being unbearably sweet, and you’d probably do the same if the roles were reversed. But you don’t really want it. You can handle this yourself, even if you really don’t want to.

“I’m good at the hotel guys, I promise.” You say, waving them off as you stand from the couch. “Besides, a unit in my old building just went up for rent and I put in an offer. I’m doing fine, I’ll be settled in a couple weeks. It’ll be fine.”

They’re about to protest once more, Hen more so than Chimney, but you’re all stopped in your tracks by the sound of a familiar voice. A voice calling out to Bobby in a far too cheery tone, the sound of someone relieved to be back in the only building they’ve ever felt at home in.

You rush over to the railing and find Eddie and Buck walking into the firehouse. Eddie had texted earlier that morning and said Buck was being discharged today. But he was supposed to take him back to the loft, he wasn’t supposed to bring him here.

But Buck was probably insistent. He probably wanted to check in with the rest of the 118 and ease any worries. Besides, it’s not like you told Eddie that you’d be here. You can hear the two of them getting off the couch behind you and approaching you with slow steps. Like you’re a skittish wild animal about to make a run for the woods.

And, honestly, that’s the way you feel right about now.

“Y/N.” Hen says. Like she’s trying to regain your attention. Like she’s already said it a few times and you just haven’t heard her. And you turn to find her rising from her chair with her brows raised as she walks towards the railing to see what’s captured your attention. Once she spots him she places her hand on your shoulder like it’ll do something to keep you there for a few more seconds.

But it’s not enough, and you’re not ready to look at his face and see not an ounce of recognition. Not again. Not this soon.

“I have to go.” You say, snatching your hoodie off the back of the nearby armchair and pulling it on as you speed down the steps. You zip it up and are reaching for the hood as you make it down to the firetruck bay, and you can see Buck hugging Bobby out of the corner of your eye. You turn your head just slightly as they’re pulling away. And Buck sees you, he catches a glimpse of you right before you have the hood fully situated on the top of your head.

It’s a split second, and you know he doesn’t know who you are. You know that he’s probably trying to place why he recognizes you, trying to connect it to when he saw you at the hospital. But the furrow in his brow gives you pause, but just for a second. Because soon enough you’re hightailing it out of the station and heading out to your car. You don’t give yourself the chance to breathe until you’ve pulled out of the parking lot and are on your way back to the hotel.

— — —

“You are the worst driver.”

“I am an excellent driver.”

You roll your eyes as you wipe some excess lip gloss off your cheek, lip gloss that had been accidentally smeared on your face when Buck swerved at the very last second to avoid what he believed to be an animal in the middle of the road. You don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t an animal.

“Tell that to all of your overdue parking tickets.” You taunt, screwing the cap back on your tube of lip gloss before sticking it in your purse.

“Parking and driving are not the same thing.”

“They’re basically the same thing.” You put the visor back up where it's supposed to be as you turn your head to look at him.

“They are not the same thing, at all.”

“You can’t just drive around forever, you have to stop at some point. Parking is the end point of driving. They go hand in hand, so they’re the same thing. It’s all one big thing.”

And he’s at a loss. He’s shaking his head, eyes on the road with the beginnings of a disbelieving smile on his face. And you know he’s at a loss because you’re right, your logic leads to the right ending. Despite the defense he may be building in his mind, you’ve won this time around.

“When we have kids you’re not teaching them how to drive.” Is what he comes up with instead, meaning to pivot this little spat away from his bad driving but it kind of stops you in your tracks.

“When we have kids?” It’s not really meant to be a question, but it comes out like one in spite of your intentions.

Sure, you’d thought about your future with Buck. You’d given yourself the bandwidth, the freedom, to dream beyond the reality in front of you. But you always thought the idea of some happily ever after was just too far-fetched to happen to little old you. And things have just been going too well, everything is too perfect. And expecting anything more feels a little greedy when you already have more than you bargained for.

You never dared to let yourself think that, maybe, Buck’s been thinking about the same things too.

“I mean, I’ve thought about it.” He starts, his nerves slipping into his voice as he purposely keeps his eyes on the road ahead. “A lot, actually. And I know we haven’t talked about it yet, and I don’t even know if you want-”

And it’s cute, kind of. It’s endearing to say the least. But you figure it’s best to put him out of his misery, to give him the reassurance that you’ve let your mind wander down the same paths. He’s been let down one too many times for him to just believe that there is a future in this. At least not without his fair share of misgivings and doubt.

So, you reach across the console to his hand resting by the gear shift and you slip your hand into his. Your fingers twining between his as you look over at him. You catch his gaze dart over to you out of the corner of his eye before returning to the road.

“I’ve thought about it too, Buck.” And it’s like he finally stops holding his breath. “I’ve thought of the future, our future, in so many ways.”

And, if you’re being really honest with yourself, kids have never really been something you felt were necessary for your happiness. Sure, you weren’t entirely against the idea but it wasn’t like you had any desperate need to be a mother or anything.

But you’ve been spending so much time around such great parents as of late, and getting to hang out with their amazing kids. In fact you’ve spent your fair share of time around the Diaz boys, and Chris has just about stolen your heart. Buck is amazing with kids, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

And every time you see him around the kids of the 118, everytime you see him around Jee-Yun, it does something to your heart. It doesn’t make it skip a beat, per se. There’s just this wave of warmth that washes through your chest as you watch them. A sweet, unintentional smile making itself known. And you can see it in the people around you, like they know what’s going through your mind.

Like they’re just counting down the days until it’s actually a reality. Because Buck would be a great dad, there’s no doubt in your mind. And the idea of family has always felt a bit like a foreign concept, but you really want to build a family with Buck.

“All those things that we’re supposed to dream about,” You start, taking a breath before you continue on, “Marriage. Kids. A family and a place of your own. I want all of that. I want to have all of that with you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, a small smile on his face as he peeks over at you.

“Yeah.” You assure, a barely hidden smile on your face as he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it.

— — —

You’re back at the 118 exactly a week later, because you are just that stubborn and you want Bobby to know exactly where he can stick his time off. You know he means well, Bobby isn’t the kind of guy to act with ill intent. Especially not in regards to his crew. But you’re just so tired of everyone’s kind gestures. They’ve been too frequent for your liking.

And it’s a few days removed from that one week cut off, and being back at work doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. Because he’s here, but he’s not. He’s here in the sense that he’s seemingly just around every corner. Right there to stop your breath in your throat when you catch sight of him. Like a living ghost, and you’re worried that he’s going to disappear each and every time.

And he’s not there in the sense that the chemistry in the field is off. That unspoken connection has gone out the window, and he no longer has the ability to anticipate your next move. But you’re always on par with him because you still know him like the back of your hand. Maybe if you didn’t it wouldn’t hurt so much.

During the times when you’re all back in the station you make the calculated choice to make yourself scarce because you don’t have it in you to have to face all of this head on. You don’t really have the self control to entertain conversation with this version of Buck.

Not that there’s anything wrong with this phase of Buck, I mean this is the Buck you fell in love with after all. Before the Buck 3.0 software update, which always felt a little laughable to be honest. As there was no need for a complete overhaul. But you know he’ll never be on the same page as you when it comes to the topic of his “self improvement.”

You just can’t bear to hear him talk about the lovers of his past. Ali was a little more like a footnote, a weatherable shock to the system. But Abby was like a hurricane. And Buck wasn’t safely planted in the eye of the storm, he was smack in the middle of the path of destruction she left in her wake. This is Buck pre-closure, and there’s a piece of your heart that aches for his state of mind.

And you’ve had to hear him ramble on to Bobby or Hen, or, really, whoever will listen, about these tales of woe. Of how he’s still trying to figure these things out. And just because he left Abby’s place it doesn’t truly mean he’s left Abby in his rearview.

And everyone is treating him with kid gloves, trying to act like they haven’t already been through these conversations a tireless amount of times. Even though they moved beyond them years ago, but it all feels so real to Buck right now. And there’s nothing any of them can do to change that.

They’ve been trying to get the two of you in the same room during each shift, but you find ways to slip out before they can manage it. Besides, it’s not like Buck really notices. As far as he’s concerned you’re just another coworker, one who likes to keep to themself. And he respects that.

And the 118 has been, to the best of their ability, respecting your space. Chimney claims that when he asks it’s because Maddie is worried about you. But you know it’s more than that. Hell, you’ve even had to field a few calls from Athena because she knows you’re not talking to Bobby. And, whether he’ll admit it or not, it’s kind of killing him.

You’ve been doing a good job of keeping it together yourself. You’ve yet to cry about it, you’ve just tried to act like it’s not really happening. Treating it somewhat like you and Buck have just broken up, and that you’re trying to get your life back on track. Since that’s basically what this is. Despite that teensy sprinkle of hope everyone keeps telling you to hold onto.

And you’re doing great with this avoidance tactic until he makes it all but impossible to act like he doesn’t exist. You’re up in the loft of the firehouse at like two in the morning, watching the news while everyone is supposed to be sleeping, shuffling a deck of cards in your hands. And then you hear footsteps coming from the steps by the kitchen. You don’t even bother to look up. You know exactly who it is.

“There’s a fresh pot of coffee on the counter if you want some.” You say, voice halfway zoned out as you watch the latest traffic prediction for the impending early morning commute. The most predictable thing about LA traffic is that it’s going to be shitty, it’s not exactly rocket science.

“Thanks.” You hear as one of the cabinets closes and a mug is placed on the counter. There’s liquid being poured into the mug, and then the sound of footsteps again that get slightly louder with each step closer to the armchair beside you.

He focuses on the TV for a few seconds, but you can feel his gaze flicking to you several times. Like he’s waiting to strike up a conversation, like something about you has been on his mind in a way that he just can’t shake, but he doesn’t know how to start.

And you’re really not doing him any favors. Your eyes are still glued to the screen while you fiddle with the deck. And he drinks his coffee, and the occasional slurping sounds do nothing to abate the awkwardness that has settled over the hallowed house.

Eventually Buck seems to give up on nonchalance and settles his mug down on the coffee table as he leans forward slightly.

“You came to visit me in the hospital.” It’s not a question, there’s such sureness in the way he says it that he’s not really looking for you to confirm anything. He has no trouble remembering that. But he probably figured he’d never see you again after that day. So, having to deal with you on a daily basis has probably thrown him for a loop.

“I did.” And it absolutely kills you that this is the way he views this whole thing. You came for a visit, just to check in on a fellow firefighter. It wasn’t a visit, it was hell. It was days of waiting to see if he was ever even going to wake up. You wish it could just be classified as a visit.

“You said you were sent to check on my condition.” And now it’s time to lie a little more. And it should be a little troubling how naturally it comes to you, how easily you’re willing to save your own skin by letting Buck believe whatever he needs to believe. You wish you were a little better at being honest. “You said you worked for the department.”

“I do.” You say, because technically that part isn’t a lie. But you can’t say the same for this next part. “I heard about your accident and figured I should come check in. I know I’d want someone there with me if I was in your position.”

A kind face, whether they’re familiar enough to be friendly or not. Sometimes just having someone can make even the worst things seem a little bit better than they could’ve been. One of the worst things in this life is being alone, and no one deserves to be subscribed to that fate. Especially not in a time quite as vulnerable as a hospital stay.

“Seems like you got dealt a shitty hand.” You mutter, flipping over the card on the top of the deck to be met with the smirking face of the Joker.

“It’s no picnic.” He says, eyes falling on the dark liquid in his mug.

And you can’t imagine what it’s like to actually be in his head these days. Sure, the outside perspective is a hellish enough experience on its own. But you can’t imagine what it’s like to be so lost inside your own mind. More so than he’s ever been before.

“Do you remember anything at all?” You ask, because you just can’t help yourself. Self control has never really been your virtue and it’s been keeping you up at night. Because the doctor said that the last few years are just gone in this weird blink of an eye. And that just doesn’t really seem possible. It doesn’t seem feasible.

“Not really. And what I do remember is basically just in flashes.” Meaning none of it is clear. Meaning he remembers these last few years of his life through a completely distorted lens.

And you don’t have a perfect memory either. There are sections of your life that are completely gone from your mind. And no matter how hard you try you wouldn’t be able to call upon them with perfect clarity.

But that’s just the effects of time on the mind, this is something of a fluke. Something that was never supposed to happen. And the doctor had rambled on about it hopefully being short term, and that hopefully it’ll all come back to him soon. But none of this feels short term. And you’re sure that Buck understands that more than anyone.

“And I’ve been trying to jog my memory but nothing’s working. And it just feels like something is missing.” He scoffs, taking another sip of his coffee. “I know that probably sounds stupid, because obviously something is missing. But it just feels like there’s a hole. Like there’s someone missing, and I don’t know who. I just know that they’re important. And everyone seems to clam up whenever I ask about them.”

And suddenly the coffee table is extremely interesting as you can’t bear to make eye contact with him.

“How important?” It’s a low blow, and it comes from the greediest, slimiest corners of your brain. Because there’s a small part of you that just wants to hear the level of importance that your presence holds in Buck’s mind even when he’s not all the way there.

You shouldn’t need to hear it, you hear it all the time. You’re wearing his ring for goodness sake! You’ve never been left wondering, and you’re grateful for that. But everything feels like a shot in the dark right now. And you’ll take everything you can get.

“Abby important.” He says, and you just about choke on your saliva. Obviously you know about Abby Clark, and you know the number she did on him. She was his first real experience with love and he got his heart stomped on in the process. And the aftermath of that train derailment was not the easiest of days. In fact, it was pretty shitty in a lot of ways.

That was the night you and Buck kissed for the first time. And it ended in you pushing him away because you just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was coming from the wrong place. He’d seen Abby again after having given up on the idea of her ever coming back. And he saved her fiancés life. He was in a bad way, and you figured that this sudden outpouring of feeling was solely because he wanted a distraction.

He wanted the opportunity to be weak and seek comfort in a familiar presence. Just to act as though it never happened. Then you’d just be coworkers again, and you’d just have to soldier on with a brave face in the wake of Buck’s broken heart and the burgeoning fissure in your own.

And, really, no one could blame you. You’d heard the stories about Buck 1.0. About stealing fire trucks to hook up with hot girls from dating apps, or girls from rescues that were a little too fanatic about snakes, to the point that it resulted in a temporary firing. How were you supposed to know that Buck actually wanted something serious with you?

But you were wrong about all that, and he made sure you knew it. It just happened to be the next morning because you’d all but fled the station after the kiss. Your shift was over anyway, and you just didn’t have it in you to face all of those jumbled feelings when you could barely keep your eyes open.

But Buck was at your apartment door bright and early the next morning with coffee from the shop down the block. And you were a little more than antsy at the prospect of the conversation. But it didn’t crash and burn like you were expecting. It wasn’t flames, it was fireworks. And it was beautiful. It has always been beautiful.

Until the vibrant colors disappear from the star filled sky and all you can see is the smoke billowing through the wind until it blends with the black of the night. That’s what this is now. The fireworks have fizzled to their end. These are the dregs. You’re the smoke and you’ve already all but disappeared. And you’re helpless to the power of the wind as it carries you off someplace beyond sight.

It might be naive, but you thought the fireworks were never going to fade. Being wrong has never felt so severe a punishment until now.

Because these days it feels like you’re in the middle of a grassy field sprawled out a checkered blanket as you watch the display. And you see him in each beautiful interruption of the natural order of the night. He’s the bang. He’s bright, and intoxicating, and he draws you in. But nothing lasts forever, and the beauty of it is buried deep within its ephemeral nature.

And, because you’re only human, you forget just how beautiful the fireworks can be until you’re in that same space again. And you get caught up in the awe of the magnificent chaos it creates. But only for a little while. Only for as long as they’re in the sky. Once the show is over you’re packing up your blanket and heading to your car. Like it never even happened.

That’s where things get a little different. Because, try as you might, you can’t forget him. You’ve been falling a little more in love with Evan Buckley since the day you met him, and you know that you’ll still be falling a little more until the last day you stand beside him, and that’s not something you can so easily forget.

Not when you’ve had the privilege of bearing witness to his heart on his sleeve and that infuriatingly charming smile of his. You don’t ever want to forget that. That heart, that smile, those eyes, his laugh.

They’re all just like fireworks.

A little skip in the beat of your heart, but their impact is so much greater than a few seconds along the atmosphere. Just as beautiful, but permanently burned into your brain so you couldn’t forget even if you wanted to.

Better than fireworks. Better than flames. Better than anything you ever could have imagined. And then the universe goes and makes you the butt of some sick joke.

“But I feel like this person might be more important than that.” He says, like it’s been rattling around in his head for a while. And he’s been waiting to give it the time and space to breathe. “But everytime I try and think about them, to try and get something back, I hit a wall.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard.” You say, reaching for your own mug from the table and taking a long sip.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you shrug in an attempt at nonchalance. You’re not sure if it succeeds or not.

“Maybe this is supposed to be one of those things that is spontaneous. It’ll all come back when it’s ready. A watched pot never boils.” You put the mug back down on the table, wiping the back of your hand against your lips. “Maybe you just have to be patient.”

And you know that it’s all a little hypocritical because patience has never been your virtue. And these days it really feels like you’re at the end of your rope. But this is solely a waiting game at this point, that’s all life has been the past few weeks.

“Maybe.” He says, and the way he says it makes it seem like the last thing he wants to do is wait. And you understand, you’re on the same wavelength, but it seems a little inevitable at this point.

The two of you lapse into comfortable silence, which feels like a freaking miracle on your part, with only the sound of the latest breaking news in the background. You stare at the TV screen, zoned out to the droning sound of the reporter’s voice and fiddling with the ring on the chain around your neck. A spot you’d chosen for safe keeping during the job. Plus, it’s a nice way of keeping Buck close to your heart.

You don’t even realize that you’re doing it, it’s just become a bit of a nervous habit at this point since you’ve been wearing the ring for nearly six months now. In fact, you don’t take notice of it until you hear him say:

“You’re engaged?” You just about freeze to your spot at the sound of his voice, your gaze very slowly drifting from the television to his face. And he doesn’t seem as surprised as you suspected. In fact, there’s an almost sweet smile on his lips when he looks at you. And the mere sight of it triggers a million memories of every other time you’ve been on the receiving end of that smile. All the smiles that aren’t even a blip on his radar.

“Uh, yeah.” You say, trying to swallow down the lump that has settled in your throat. “About six months now.”

“They treat you right?” He asks, and you nod as you slide your finger along the chain.

“Yeah. He’s pretty great.” And you smile despite yourself, because you really just can’t help it. The happiness you have been privy to these last two years is almost incomprehensible. “But, one of these days, I swear that man is going to be the death of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a heart first kind of guy.” You say, eyes meeting his for a brief second before moving back to the TV. “His solutions are often out of instinct, and he acts on them without much more thought. He figures if he can help in any way then it has to be the right move, even if it means that he’ll get hurt in the process. He doesn’t seem to realize that losing him is also a worst case scenario.”

That’s the part that you can never seem to get over. That one little annoyance with Buck that you can never seem to shake. He seems to believe that he’s a person people can just get over. That he’ll be easy to move on from.

And you know for a fact that he feels this way because it’s what he’s been led to believe his entire life. But it’s not true.

It would not be a quick healing process, and you know everyone that loves him agrees. It would never be easy, and you’d never get over it. Maddie would be mourning her brother for the rest of her life if their family attitude towards loss is any indication.

And every member of the 118 would be looking over their shoulder on every rescue just expecting him to be there only to quickly be reminded that he’s never going to be there no matter how many times they look.

He’s not tradeable. His actions would be commendable, no doubt about that. But not a single one of you would be happy it happened. You’d spend the rest of your lives feeling guilty and wondering what you could’ve done to save him. Wondering if you could’ve possibly found a way to beat him to the punch and be the one who wound up in the ground. There is no easy way out of something like this.

“Is he one of ours?” You can tell by the look on his face that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Like he’s been in those same shoes, and still lives in that headspace. You don’t know if he’ll ever actually move through that. If he’ll ever believe that he’s actually something valuable.

“Yeah. We met at work.” And what an interesting time that was to be working at the 118. It was not smooth sailing to say the least. “And he’s been obsessed with wedding planning. It’s driving me crazy”

That’s something you never thought you’d miss. The ending every night with flipping through the wedding binder or scrolling through the pictures that Loretta sent him. Endless displays of flowers and place settings and seating charts. It’s all so involved, and if you never see another cake topper again it’ll be too soon.

“You’re not into planning?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“It’s not that planning is the problem. It’s that we keep disagreeing over the same thing. Flowers are fine, the cake is fine, the food is fine. We just can’t seem to get over ourselves when it comes to music.”

“The obvious answer is band.” He says at the same time you say, “DJ.”

And the man looks at you like you’ve grown another head. Like this is quite possibly the greatest betrayal he’s even endured despite only having known you for like twenty minutes.

“It’s a wedding.” He justifies, “A band is so much more romantic.” Live music, with a perfectly curated set. It’d be heaven. That’s what he’s been telling you for months, it’s still not enough to get you on team band.

“But a DJ can play all of those stupid wedding dance songs that tell you the steps. The songs that really get the party going.” You’re joking, but only slightly.

“The Cupid Shuffle is not stupid.” He defends, incredulity laced in his voice as he looks at you. And it only takes a few seconds for the two of you to start laughing because this is truly absurd.

But the laughter dies down after a few seconds, and you’re just smiling at each other. The shy kind that you try to hide with all of its inherent sweetness.

Just as his smile slowly drops, but the warmth in his eyes has yet to disappear, your phone starts vibrating on the coffee table. And both of your eyes are drawn to the screen as Maddie’s face pops up with the caller id.

“Is that-” He starts as you reach for the phone and silence the call, only for him to catch a glimpse of the photo of you and him on your lockscreen. A real sweet one, with his arm around your shoulders and a bright small on his face as you’re caught laughing. You look stupid, real cheesy, but it’s one of your favorite photos of the two of you. And you didn’t have the heart to change the photo.

“You know what, I’m actually starting to feel a little tired.” You fake a yawn as you stand, shoving your phone in your back pocket and turning towards the staircase. “I think I’m gonna go try and get some sleep.”

You rush out of there as fast as humanly possible without even chancing a look over your shoulder. That was a little too close. Scratch that. It was way too close.

— — —

You decide you should try and get some sleep as yet another hour of mindless bridal reality shows start to play on the TV. The glow from the television screen is the only thing lighting your face at this late hour, aside from the occasional glow of your phone screen when you tap it to see if you have any new messages from Buck.

You pull yourself up from the cushion with a groan, stretching your arms over your head as you sit up with your eyes fixated on the moonlight filtering in through the windows. You grab the remote and turn off the TV, carelessly dropping the remote onto the cushion beside you as you stand and slip your phone into your back pocket.

You have the sneaking suspicion that any attempt at a good night’s sleep will be absolutely fruitless. And you know that yesterday is a day you won’t be able to shake for a good long while. You weren’t actually there, you weren’t on the street, and you weren’t caught in the crossfires of the hectic ride to the hospital when Buck literally held Eddie’s life in his hands. But you were there for the after.

You were rushing into the hospital, and being told that you really needed to wait outside by the nursing staff as the number of visitors allowed inside was still limited. Besides, it didn’t take long for you to find what you were looking for. And you were waiting right outside once Buck finally came outside with blood speckled forearms and shaking hands. And it only worsened the image that had been playing out in your mind ever since it came over the radio.

And you don’t envy him, not in the fact that he had to witness that or in the fact that he has to tell Christopher what happened. That he has to explain to a child that his father may not be coming home. You have no idea how he possibly conjured up the strength to manage that.

But he was home the next day, after an absolutely reckless shift, which you had already scolded him for. You’d had the day off and saw the news clip. He had a few voicemails left on his phone with a few uses of a choice word or two.

The two of you had ordered takeout and tried to settle in for as normal a night as possible. But it just turned into worried companionable silence as neither of you even touched your food. And then Ana called saying Eddie was awake and he took off running. Barely remembering to put his shoes on and grab his car keys before he was out the door. And you couldn’t blame him. You’d been worried out of your brain that Eddie wouldn’t wake up, and now knowing he was on the mend did wonders for your worries.

You’d be seeing Eddie soon enough. The day he’d be getting out of the hospital, you really didn’t feel like you could wait much longer to see if he was really alright. And as worried as you’ve been you know that Buck has been even more out of his mind.

And you know that everyone is still living in this lurch where no one really knows what’s going to happen next. They don’t know who’s responsible for all of this and they don’t know who else he might go after. And everything hanging in the balance is the most unsettling feeling you’ve ever had to stomach.

Attempting to push all of that out of your mind is the only way you have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting any sleep. Even though you know you probably won’t even have a chance of getting any until Buck is back. That way you know he’s safe, even if his only off duty stops are the hospital and Eddie’s house to make sure someone is there for Christopher through the night.

He’d sent a text when he got settled in the hospital, just to make sure you knew he’d gotten there without any incident. And you appreciated it, you really did. But it’s not the same as having him standing right in front of you alive and well. There’s no reassurance quite like it.

But you know it’ll be a few more days before you really get that reassurance, so you start the climb up the stairs towards your bed. Finger just about to flip the light switch to kill the lights downstairs with your foot poised on the bottom step as you hear the door open.

“Buck?” You ask, leaning back slightly to catch a glimpse of the figure coming through the doorway.

You watch him drop his keys on the kitchen counter and he turns to you. And he looks lighter than he did when he left, but only slightly. Which feels like good news.

“I thought you were staying at Eddie’s tonight.” You say, taking a step back towards the kitchen to get a better look at him.

“I am. I was on my way over there, I just really needed to see you.”

“Is everything okay?” And it sounds like the world’s stupidest question, you’re well aware. Because how could any of you really be okay right now? But there’s something a little far off about Buck at the moment, and you really want to pin down what it is, otherwise you’ll be left circling the drain until he decides he just can’t hold it in any longer.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just, um, I was reminded that life is really short. Especially in our line of work. And if we can keep waiting around for the perfect time, it’s just going to pass us by. And I’m tired of waiting, and I’m tired of letting every opportunity slip through my fingers.”

And those sound like heavy words, words that are so very weighed down by a meaning that you don’t want to notice but already have. Because this is not the time. Tonight is not the night. And this is not the headspace in which someone should be asking this kind of question. This is not the kind of decision to make after watching your best friend bleed out on the pavement.

“Buck.” You start, but he shakes his head as he walks closer to you.

“Please, I just need to get this out.” And he hasn’t asked the question yet, which means it isn’t your time to answer. And every last bit of resolve in your body is praying he doesn’t get down on one knee tonight.

He isn’t making it any easier. He’s pausing, he’s trying to figure out the exact right words to say. He’s trying to make it perfect.

That is the last thing you want.

“I love you.” He says, and then he smiles like all of the weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Like that is the biggest bomb he’s about to drop. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

And you know the feeling all too well. You know just how easy it is. It’s innate. It’s like breathing. It’s something you’ll never be able to forget how to do.

“And everything goes by so fast, you know? It’s here one second and gone the next, and I don’t want this to be like that. I want to always be right here. With you.”

It’s like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. You can practically see the question on the tip of his tongue, and you just can’t let that happen.

“Buck.” You try again, more worry creeping into your voice as you look at him. And he shakes his head, like you don’t understand. And, hell, maybe you don’t. But you don't know what else this could possibly be.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say, okay? I shouldn’t be so impulsive. And I shouldn’t make a rash decision, but it’s not a rash decision.” Something sparks in his eyes as he looks at you, and then he’s moving. “Stay right there.” He says as he runs up the stairs to the bedroom.

And you do. You stay there despite yourself. One foot poised on the very bottom step as you fight every instinct to follow him. You’re not sure what he’s doing up there, but you have the feeling it’s going to make your night a lot more difficult.

And it does. Because of course it does. Because enough earth shattering things haven’t happened this week already, God just decided he needs to throw one more thing on the pile.

Because Buck comes rushing back down the stairs with something clutched in his hand. With each step closer you get a better look at the tiny velvet box, and your heart just about stops at the sight of it.

“I bought this three months ago.” He says, fiddling with the box in his hands as he looks at you. “I’ve been trying to find the right time. And I almost asked you so many times, but I let the voice in my head talk me out of it. And I’m tired of talking myself out of it.”

And then he does it. He breaches the point of no return and he gets down on one knee with the box in his hand. Then he’s opening the box, eyes traveling to your face in some hope to gauge your reaction.

“Will you marry me?” He asks, and, god, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so hopeful. He really isn’t making this any easier.

And you don’t really know what you’re supposed to do. You’ve never been proposed to, and you don’t really know how to say no. You don’t know how to break his heart. But this is not the right time to be saying yes. This is not the right time to be getting married. And if he were in a better headspace he’d know that.

So you take it slow, you can’t bear to just rip off the band aid. This needs to be treated gently, but that feels almost impossible right now. Not when you feel like you’re on the verge of keeling over.

The silence hangs in the air between the two of you like deadweight. And he must be getting antsy because his hands start to shake. Clearly this isn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“This is the part where you say yes.” He says, his voice shaking as you take a step closer. With the beginnings of a frown etched on your face, the pinch in your brows is almost permanent as you stop right in front of him. “Or no?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. He knows.

“I can’t.” And it’s like his heart just fell to pieces in his chest. Because he truly believed that there would be a yes on the other side of this conversation. And he doesn’t know what you’re supposed to do when someone says no in a situation like this.

And maybe where you’re coming from is a little bit right because he didn’t really think this through. He’s chomping at the bit because everything is kind of going to shit right now and he’s looking for a lighthouse in the storm. A beacon. Something safe. A light to walk towards. You’ve always been that person, and he can’t help but hold on a little tighter now.

“We can’t do this right now. Not when you’re using this to run away from all the scary things that are going on right now. I can’t say yes like this.”

You can’t say yes when it’s only coming up because some asshole is out there striking fear into the hearts of every member of the LAFD. Not when you know it’s only because Buck just came so close to losing his closest friend. He can’t just hide from everything. Not like this.

The ring box starts to close in his hands and he shakes his head slightly as he starts to stand. But you stop him before he can make it to his feet. Your hands take purchase on his shoulders as you hold him in place.

“Ask me any other day and I’ll say yes. But not tonight. This is not the headspace to be in when you’re making life changing decisions.”

The sentiment of ‘any other night’ rattles around in his brain as he looks at you. The timing has been the one thing he never manages to shake, and it offers some small bit of solace this time around. Because you have every intention of saying yes so long as he’s asking under the right circumstances.

“Now, come on,” You say, reaching for the ring box in his hand as you help to pull him up off the ground. “Christopher is waiting for you.”

He’s out the door within the next few seconds, but the both of you linger in the doorway. It doesn’t feel like the right time to leave, you’re not sure it ever really will. Not after the question that is ringing in both of your ears. But life keeps moving. And, one day, that question will propel you forward instead of holding you back.

“I love you.” He says, your fingers loosely held in his.

“I know.” You say, biting back a smile at the fondness in his gaze. “I love you too.”

— — —

You almost don’t want to answer the incessant knocking at your front door, but you knew that he’d be stopping by once his shift ended. And you knew he wouldn’t stop knocking, he’d just start calling instead. So, you open the door.

“You’re leaving the 118?” He doesn’t even bother to spare you a glance as he walks inside your newly furnished apartment.

“Hey, Eddie. What a nice surprise. Why don’t you come in?” You mutter under your breath, gesturing towards the living room as you shut your door behind the man who really isn’t paying any attention to you at all. “How’d you find out?”

“Bobby pulled me aside before I left. Wanted to ask if I could try to talk some sense into you since you’re not answering his calls. He figured I already knew.” And you have somehow never felt so much like a child being scolded. He definitely has that whole, ‘i’m not mad, i’m just disappointed’ parent glare down pat.

But you don’t want to feel like you’re being scolded. You don’t want to be made to feel like you’re in the wrong for doing what seems like the only thing you can do. It’s not running away, it’s just changing plans. And plans change all the time.

“I was going to tell you…” You start, and watch as the glare seems to get sharper, “eventually.” You close the door, but don’t stray too far from it. Hoping that this visit will be short, even though you know it won’t be.

“When? When you asked for a ride to the airport?” There’s incredulity in his tone, you’re shocked a good old fashioned indignant scoff hasn’t made an appearance.

He’s pissed. He has no right to be.

“I wouldn’t do that.” You defend, arms crossing over your chest. “I would’ve called a cab.”

Your attempt at humor goes over like a lead balloon. Your walls are up about as high as they can possibly go and you have no intention of letting them down. Not for Eddie Diaz. Not for anyone.

You knew your decision was going to be met with opposition. You know that your friends would all throw their hat in the ring to convince you otherwise. But you just can’t take it.

“Look, I get that this is beyond shitty. But-”

“All due respect,” You interrupt, “You have no idea how shitty this is.”

How could he possibly understand it when the universe decided to be kind and bathe him in the sweet surrender of mercy? But there’s no real way to explain that without coming off like a complete asshole. But it seems like the plane is already going down, so why not make one more last ditch confession. Why not add another shitshow to the last few months of cascading failures?

“I know that what happened with Shannon was horrible, and it put you through hell. I know that you still haven’t entirely recovered, but at least you got to know it’s actually over.”

You’re treading on dangerous territory, you know that. You know that whatever you say next may be the straw that breaks the camel's back and effectively ruins your friendship with Eddie Diaz. It could end with slamming doors and this conversation would be put to bed.

You’re not sure honesty is worth all this.

“I just wish this was simpler. You know, like when you were a kid and you’d get passed those stupid notes that had the two little boxes. Check yes or no. But this isn’t simple, and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to deal with the fact that he’s here, but he’s really not.”

He’s like your own personal ghost. Haunting each and every waking moment, even the ones that should be peaceful. He��s there in your sleep, but it’s not him from the firehouse. It’s the version of him that loved you. The one you used to wake up next to. The version you’re never going to get back.

“When I was a kid I never understood how all the other girls were planning their weddings twenty years too early. I never understood how they could be so confident in the idea that one day someone is going to fall in love with them. That someone would want to spend the rest of their lives with them. I just never thought I’d have that.”

It’s not as sad as it sounds. It’s just realistic. At least, that’s how you always used to think about it. It was perfectly rational to believe in the impossibility of love. At least as far as you’re concerned. Sure, you saw it happening for other people. The people who fell in love for the first time when they were in high school, and you would watch them with something that wasn’t quite as ugly as jealousy. But you were so very removed from it. It wasn’t longing, for you didn’t believe that it was ever something you would possibly have. Why long for something so incredibly far out of reach?

Casting yourself in any kind of romantic light just never really made any sense to you. Until you get older and realize that’s actually a bit of a tough spot to put yourself in. To believe so wholeheartedly that you aren’t the kind of person someone could fall in love with is one big mind fuck. And you’ve only just recently started to get good at unraveling it.

“And then I did. I had that. But it was better than all of the stupid little stories those kids would spin in the cafeteria. And now I know why I never let myself imagine it. I would’ve been so much better off being alone because at least then I wouldn’t have to feel this way. I wouldn’t be in this much pain.”

You should’ve stayed cynical. You should’ve never let anything go beyond that first kiss. Hell, you should’ve jumped ship before that even happened. Sure, your life would be more hollow. But you never would’ve known any better. You wouldn’t have known any other feeling.

It would’ve been better that way.

You brace yourself with your hands against your countertop, your back to Eddie as you hang your head. He hasn’t said anything in a while and the silence is unsettling. Well, he’s a quiet guy to begin with. He’s good at waiting it out. Waiting until you finally show your hand and give everything away. Until you give him something to work with.

And it’s coming. It’s on the tip of your tongue, and you can’t hold it back any longer. But it may very well kill you to say it out loud.

“I just,” You say, “I wish they called time of death at the hospital. And I know that makes me a terrible person. And that there are probably plenty of people out there who would kill for some sort of second chance at being with the people they love. But I just, I, don't know how to do this. I don’t know how to move on, how to grieve when that stupid smile I love so much is staring me in the face everyday.”

You look over your shoulder, and Eddie’s watching you. His eyes border on sad, and you think you might see a smidge of pity working its way into his gaze. And it makes you feel sick.

“It’s been months and we’re no further than we were when he woke up. And I know that you’re all trying. Believe me, I do. I’ll never be able to tell you how much that means. But I just, I can't do this anymore.”

And Eddie seems like he’s holding his tongue. Well, he’s trying to. And you know why. Because this looks like you’re giving up. Like you’re giving up on Buck. Like you’re giving up on all of them. And, hell, maybe you are. Maybe it’s just easier that way.

That is kind of your MO, taking the easy way out. Because the hard way has only ever brought transitory happiness. It’s never meant to stay around for long, but its absence and the shadow it leaves behind never seem to leave your heart.

“The doctors say he’s doing a lot better. It could be any day now. If you just give it a little more time-”

“I’ve given it time.” You say, turning to face him with a look that could kill. “Months worth of time. Months of having to see him pretty much every day. And he still looks at me like I’m just his coworker. There’s nothing there. He’s not there. And I can’t keep putting myself through that.”

Eddie shakes his head, he’s beyond disappointed. He’s long past frustrated. And you’ve been there. It’s not like this was an easy decision to make.

“I’m not asking you to understand. I doubt you ever will. But I’m at least asking you to respect my decision because I’ve made up my mind.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just shakes his head in disbelief in tandem with a bit of a self-righteous scoff. And that’s answer enough for you. He’s drawn a line in the sand, and you know where he stands. He walks towards the door, his hand on the knob as he stops to look at you.

“He’s gonna remember. Might be next month, it might even be next week. How do you think he’s gonna feel when he hears that you left the second things got hard? That you ran for the hills just like everybody else.”

“I’m not running.” You say. And maybe, just maybe, if you say it with enough conviction, you’ll manage to convince yourself, too.

— — —

The uncanny thing about life is that it moves on. It doesn’t just stay shitty forever, even when you have no idea how it could possibly dig itself out of the hell hole it dropped you into. It’s one of those revelations that comes back around every few months. Once the cycle of shittiness has completed itself once more and you feel like you’ve been to hell and back.

And, such as the cycle has gone and come around once more, things are slowly starting to go back to normal at the 118. Eddie is back from his medical leave, and all of the pieces are starting to fall back into place. And that ripple effect is extending beyond the walls of the firehouse.

You and Buck have been ever so slowly creeping your way back into normalcy. Well, as close to normalcy as either of you can ever get. And it’s been a little weird. I mean, how are you supposed to be when a huge life changing question is lingering in the air between you months after it was even asked?

It’s just sitting there. It is the permanent elephant in the room and neither one of you dared to talk about it for the longest time. You just pretended like it didn’t happen. Which was probably worse than just confronting it, but that’s neither here nor there.

And it only went on for a few months. The tiptoeing around the question was short lived, even if it felt like it went on forever. Eventually, once all the dust settled, the subject was broached once more. A question was asked to much more willing ears, and a proposal was accepted.

The only problem about the aforementioned engagement is that it happened three weeks ago and you still haven’t told anybody. You’re honestly a little surprised you’ve been able to keep it a secret this long, what with everyone in that firehouse being so damn nosy.

But you know for a fact that it isn’t going to last, and it’ll be much more painless to just bite the bullet. Besides, the holiday season is right around the corner and you’re feeling a bit more like celebrating this year.

Even though the conversation you happen upon at the beginning of shift is one about the unforgiving nature of the passage of time, and the lack of holiday spirit the 118 is seeing among their families. Specifically the fact that the kids think they’re a little too old to go and see Santa.

Eddie seems to be taking this development harder than Hen is.

Don’t get it twisted, you absolutely understand that it is jarring to watch as the children in your lives get older. Because you just want to freeze time for a little while so that it doesn’t go by so quickly. But you never thought Santa Claus would be the cause of such a mind boggling crisis.

Everyone's upstairs in the kitchen with Hen and Eddie at the table, Bobby at the stove, and Buck leaning against the counter by the coffee maker. And you, as discreetly as humanly possible, sidle up next to him.

He hands you a mug of steaming coffee, which you gratefully accept as you gently bump your shoulder against his with the smallest of smiles playing at your lips. You’re more than ready for this shared secret to be common knowledge, but on the flip side it has been a little fun to have something just for the two of you.

You lift the mug to your lips, smirking all the while as you look at him until you’re brought out of it by Hen’s voice.

“What is going on with you two?” She asks, completely bringing the Santa conundrum to a halt. And you nearly snort into your coffee at the abruptness of it.

“What do you mean?” You say, glancing in her direction before finally taking a sip of your coffee.

“All of this. The little smiles, you’ve been making eyes at each other nonstop for weeks. It’s like you’re lovesick teenagers. I thought we’d move past this phase.” She sounds a little exhausted by it, but not in any real way. Hen is probably the most observant person in the firehouse, you knew she’d pick up on it sooner or later. You just figured you’d get a choice at when you guys were going to break this news.

It wouldn’t be like this. It would’ve been at a group gathering. When Maddie and Chimney were back in town and things were finally right in your world again. But you can’t just gloss over the moment in favor of waiting for another opportunity that may never work itself out perfectly.

You and Buck share a glance, a silent conversation and when you nod almost imperceptibly he steps the least bit forward to draw further attention to himself even though the group already has all eyes on you two.

“Actually,” He starts, “there is something we’ve been wanting to tell you guys.” He looks over his shoulder once more and catches your eye. Clearly not wanting to have to do this alone. So you step forward, rest your hand on his back and say:

“We’re engaged.”

There are a few seconds of nearly stunned silence before the room erupts into congratulations and tight hugs. It’s a hell of a way to start off a shift, and you grin with each hug. Sure, it’s missing a few people and it’s not the way either of you expected to do this. But it’s still good. It’s still full of love. And that’s something to be grateful for.

There’s something odd in Eddie’s expression after he hugs you guys. Something sad, something akin to acceptance. Like he’s made up his mind. And you want to ask him if he’s okay. You want to check in. But you don’t get the chance because the bell is ringing and you’re all rushing down to the trucks. It’ll just have to wait.

— — —

In all of your years working at the 118 you’ve gotten used to the relative quiet of the station while everyone is killing time between calls. The comforting quiet between shift changes when the new crew has gone out on their first call of the shift, and the rest of you are just trying your best to stay awake for the drive home. You’ve grown to enjoy it. You find solace in it.

Except for right now. Right now you could use a bit of noise. Even though you decided to wait until the rest of your shift went home to pack up your locker. Even though you know it’s best to be doing this alone, you still wish there was a little more life in the building. Then it wouldn’t feel like you’re deserting a ghost town. It wouldn’t seem like it’s so easy to leave.

Even though there’s such a weight to this silence, it still feels like it’s just begging you to leave. Or maybe that’s you. Maybe that’s you telling yourself to just get this over with, then you can finally move on with your life. Then you wouldn’t be sitting here staring at a locker like it holds the answers to every single question. As if it holds every last ounce of your being inside its walls.

Maybe it’d be easier to leave if it didn’t feel like every last chunk of your heart lives in this building.

It should be easy to leave, though. It should be simple. It would’ve been simple if Eddie hadn’t run his mouth and made sure everyone knew. Then the phone calls wouldn’t be constantly rolling in, like Maddie hasn’t already been calling you enough. Not that you usually answer them anymore, but that’s besides the point.

If not for Eddie then you wouldn’t be dealing with the constant attempts of your friends trying to convince you to stay. Bobby would’ve just made up some lie about you deciding you need a little more time. But Eddie just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

And, honestly, it’s all just a little unfair. Well, actually, everything is just a whole lot of unfair these days. But it’s not fair that Eddie suddenly gets to decide that the 118 needs to stay together. Even though he got to leave. He got to run away. He got to let himself collapse and crumble. He fell to pieces and learned how to put himself back together again, but somehow you’re not allowed the same chance to find a way to deal with the circumstances that life has laid at your feet.

It’s just a lot of hypocrisy. It should make it easier to go. It should have put that added spring in your step to get you out the door. But it’s just not enough, because it’s hard to walk away from the future you’ve wrapped your mind around. That’s been the problem this whole time. You’re just not capable of staring that future in the face any longer.

And dragging your feet through this goodbye isn’t doing you any good. You pull the rest of your stuff from your locker and shove it into the duffle waiting at your feet. You slam the door shut behind you as you stare down at the bag. You take the zip slowly and let the sound of it be the only noise amid the all too unnerving quiet.

You could really use someone to light a fire under your ass right now because at the rate you’re going you’re not sure you’ll ever leave. You don’t remember goodbye ever feeling this lonely before. But you might as well get used to it since lonely is all you have in store for the foreseeable future.

With a long suffering sigh you stand from the bench and sling the duffle over your shoulder. The trek out of the locker room feels like wading through quicksand. It grows more and more pointless with each attempt at a step, but you keep going. Even if it feels like trying to flee is just dragging you further below the surface.

You make your way into the empty truck bay and turn around for one last good look at the 118, and it kind of feels like you can’t breathe. Like the idea of leaving this behind is an added ton of weight to your shoulders, even if you know it’s the right move. Sometimes the right thing isn’t the easy thing, you just really wish this was one of those easy things.

You catalog every little thing about this place with each sweep of your gaze along the building. You can feel the wetness prickling up in your eyes, and you blink harshly to send it back where it came from. But it doesn’t go anywhere, in fact it only gets worse as your gaze makes its way down to the left staircase and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of Buck sitting there.

“I, uh,” You stammer as you try to swallow down the lump in your throat, “I thought you went home.”

“Yeah,” He says as he stands and walks further down into the trucky bay, “I was going to, but I didn’t want to interrupt you to get my bag.” He says, and it’s so damn considerate that it feels like yet another punch to the gut. Because he’s still him. He may not be the version of him you’re hoping for, but he’s still him. He’ll always be Buck, that much you can take solace in. Somehow that makes you feel the least bit better about walking away.

“Well, then,” You start, chuckling slightly even though it is entirely devoid of humor, “I guess I’ll get out of your hair.” You adjust the strap of your duffle on your shoulder and turn to take your leave, but you only make it a few steps before you’re turning over your shoulder and looking back at him. “It was nice working with you, Buckley.”

He looks back at you with a look you can’t quite read, even though after all this time you should be able to put a name to every expression he’s ever worn. But this one manages to pass you by. There’s a thinly veiled sadness in his eyes as he looks at you, and that much you’ve seen before. You’ve seen it often. It’s just not usually focused right on you.

“You too.” He says, fixing you with a kind smile. And you smile back at him, briefly, before you’re turning back around and heading for the door. Although you don’t make it any farther than you did before. “I talked to Eddie.”

You just about trip over your feet at the sound of it, and just about lose your balance altogether with the speed at which you turn around to look at him.

“He told me why you’re leaving.” He furthers, “I’ve been trying to talk to you about it all day. But I didn’t really know how. I didn’t want you to feel like you’re being cornered.”

“Is that not what this is?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest as you take a few steps back towards him.

“No, you can go if you want to. But I’m really hoping you’ll hear me out first.” He says, and seems almost hurt that you believe he’d force you into this conversation. But what are you really supposed to expect when your friends have started going behind your back?

You step the least bit closer and shrug your shoulders in a gesture of ‘go on’, and he seems to take that and run.

“When Eddie told me about you and me, I wasn’t that surprised. You were always different with me than they were. A little standoffish and cold, but never cruel.”

And that feels like another little crack being chiseled into your heart. It feels like he believes that you’ve just exacted your greatest act of cruelty. Like hiding yourself, and the true nature of your relationship, away is the most horrid thing you could’ve ever dreamed of doing. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you’ve been kicking yourself for that very thing these last few months. And no amount of justifications ever seemed to make it any better.

“So, I guess I’m just wondering why I had to hear it from Eddie and not you.” He says it in a tone of voice that you’ve never had the misfortune of hearing. Like there’s an anger in him that is just barely contained.

And you and Buck have been through a lot of shit. The road has not always been easy, but it has always been worth it. But you’ve never made him angry, not this angry. And you understand. It is a righteous anger, it is well deserved. But it doesn’t make it feel any better to be on the receiving end of it.

“The doctor kept telling me that I needed to let you remember on your own. That it would be less jarring for you to regain everything without any pressure from any outside sources.” And that's what you kept telling yourself every single time you found it so incredibly tempting to just get your life back. It’d be so simple, all you’d have to do is say it and then it’d be real. He’d know and you could get back to making this work.

But it wouldn’t have been fair to him. You couldn’t put him through that. Because he’d only love you because he’s being told that he already does. He’s being told something that he himself does not know, and that would not be the kind of love you’d want to live. You’d always be second guessing whether or not his love for you was real or if it stemmed from trying to live the life he had before the accident.

And second guessing the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with is no real way to live.

“Well, clearly that’s not working. So why not try a different approach.” He asks, and you shrug once again.

“I didn’t want to box you into a life that you didn’t know. I could’ve been lying, and you would’ve been none the wiser. I would never try to force you into a life that isn’t your choice.” You say.

“And if that meant that I never remembered, that we never got married, you would’ve been okay with that?” He asks.

“I would’ve spent the rest of my life wondering if you really loved me. And you would’ve spent the rest of your life wondering if any of what I had told you was true. That would not have been the marriage that either of us had signed up for. Eventually I would’ve lost you all over again.”

Not to say that he would’ve cut and run because he’s not that great at the walking out thing these days. But there’s no telling just how much of that you would’ve been able to take. And you know full well that being alone is preferable to enduring the wrong thing. At least you know how to handle being alone.

He nods a few more times than is needed as he diverts his gaze from you.

“I hate this.” He admits, and you chuckle dryly.

“You and me both. But I think it’s beyond our control at this point.” And he’s never looked more pitiful. You take a few steps forward until you’re standing right in front of him. You place your hand on his cheek to tilt his face up so his eyes meet yours.

Your thumb finds its comfort in running a consistent pattern across his cheek as you stare at him. And there are a million things to say. But none of them really come to pass. Because none of those things would make this any better. This is the end and there’s nothing beautiful or poetic about it. It’s just heavy. Heavy in a way that your heart has never really known. A heaviness that you pray your heart never knows again.

You lean up and press a kiss to his other cheek and you let your lips linger against the skin for a few extra seconds. And you think you might be hallucinating at the feeling of his hand on your wrist. When you pull away and your eyes finally open you can’t help but feel like the rest of your life just entirely slipped out of your hands.

“Goodbye, Buck.” You say, a sad smile on your lips as you finally step away. And the time it takes for your hand to slip from his cheek feels like an eternity. And it feels like maybe he doesn’t want to let go of your arm.

But he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Because this decision has been made. It is final, and there is no wiggle room. There is only one way that anything changes for the two of you. And that is so far out of your control that it may never come back around.

But, you just can’t help yourself, you really hope it does. Because if it does, if you have that chance again to grab hold of the love you’ve experienced these last few years, you know that you won’t hesitate to get it back.

— — —

You’ve heard it said that the worst day of your life starts out like every other day. And that saying had always seemed so stupid to you. Because of course it does. You wake up, you follow your routine, you do the things you do every other day. Of course your worst day would start exactly the same way every other day starts.

You never thought you’d spend so much time harping on that very fact in the aftermath of Buck’s accident.

It’s all you can bring yourself to do as you sit at his bedside and listen to the heart monitor as it beeps. Everyone else was still in the waiting room, they said only one person at a time and no one even put up a fight against the idea of you being that person. Maddie hadn’t gotten to the hospital yet, she was still stuck at the call center. But god you wish she was here. Then she would be the one in here. Then you wouldn’t be stuck inside your head in the stark quiet of a stable patient’s room.

But stable isn’t even comforting right now. Because, in his case, stable means comatose. And they don’t know how long he’ll be like this. And each passing second of silence just drives the knife further into your stomach.

Because today started just like any other day.

You woke groaning at the sound of Buck’s alarm, and tried to snuggle deeper into the covers to avoid the harsh light of day for just a few minutes more. But you eventually gave up after a few minutes because you couldn’t be late for work. You rolled over to give Buck a quick kiss good morning before you headed for the shower.

And the drive to work was as stilted as usual with LA traffic and Buck’s driving habits. And the conversation resembled the exact conversation you’ve been having for the last week on the way to work. Debating the seating arrangement for the reception. Obviously the 118 is already all figured out. Since they’re making up a good chunk of the wedding party. Maddie is the maid of honor, Eddie is the best man. Hen is a bridesmaid and Chim and Bobby are groomsmen. Did anyone really expect it to play out any other way?

So that’s all squared away, that is the furthest thing from the problem. The problem is everyone else on the guest list.

Because you know your family. You know your family well, and you know that they adore Buck. And you’ve heard more than enough about Buck’s parents to know that your family won’t be able to hold their tongue if they catch wind of half the shit you know his parents will say.

And you love them greatly for loving him so much, but the last thing either of you needs is your wedding devolving into a screaming match.

Not that you really expect his parents to come, but, if they do, you want them as far away from your family as possible.

Honestly, you’d prefer Buck’s parents as far away from the whole affair as possible. The last thing he deserves is to be made to feel like he’s a disappointment on his wedding day of all days.

So, the seating arrangement has proven itself to be tricky. To say the least.

You stared longing out the window as you passed by the endless string of coffee shops, and he reminded you that there will be coffee at work with far too much affection in his voice. And once you pulled into the lot you were out of the car within a matter of minutes. You stopped off in the locker room to put your bag in your locker before heading upstairs to pour yourself a cup of coffee.

You barely got the mug to your lips before the alarm went off and you were heading downstairs to get in the truck. And that call came and went. Then you’re back at the station and you finally got your coffee. And the alarm went off again about a half hour later. And then another hour or so after that.

It was just like any other day.

There’s a knocking on the door and your head whips around to find Maddie standing in the doorway with her eyes on Buck like she’s seen a ghost. She walks over to the foot of the bed and pulls his chart from the bed. As she reads over it she just keeps nodding in this way that feels overcompensatory. It does nothing to make your heart settle in your chest.

“I’ll uh, get out of your hair.” You say, wiping your hands on your thighs as you go to stand. But she shakes her head.

“No, please stay.” She says, waving off your words like they’re one of the silliest things she’s ever heard someone say.

“But the doctors said…”

“They always say that.” She says, and she’s so blasé about it that you don’t bother to argue. You just sink back into your chair as she walks closer to where Buck’s head is resting. She brushes back the bit of his hair that is sticking up, and she watches him with such a careful eye. An analytical eye. And that worries you more than anything. Because this feels like maybe she’s never seen him this bad before.

And that’s more than enough to give you pause. Because you’ve all seen Buck through some pretty serious shit, Maddie most of all. So if she’s watching him like she’s afraid he’ll crumble in an instant, how are you supposed to feel like you’re standing on solid ground?

“I think,” She starts again, and you just can’t tear your eyes away from the two of them. You’re hanging on every word. “That he could use a little reminding that he is loved. That way he knows he has something worth fighting to get back to.”

For the first time since she walked in her eyes leave her brother and focus up on you. And she fixes you with that look of understanding. The look that is laced with the thinnest shred of pity known to man.

Because if anyone understands what this feels like it’s Maddie. And she’s reaching out, she’s reaching forward to remind you that you’re not alone in this. You have people by your side. You just have to be willing to lean on those people. Even when that is easier said than done.

After another few seconds she settles into the empty chair on the opposite side of Buck’s bed. And the two of you sit quietly and watch the heart monitor as it crests and falls.

And each moment of silence eats at you more and more until you just can’t take it. Because this feels like false pretenses. Because you don’t deserve her compassion. You don’t deserve to have her by your side through this. You don’t deserve the support of your team.

Not this time.

“Maddie.” You start, trying to work up the courage to actually speak when her gaze moves to you. And there are a million things to say. A million ways to spin it. But the only thing you can bring yourself to say is: “I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” She asks, like she wasn’t one of the few people in your ear during the call. Like she doesn’t know exactly how this happened. Even if she knows where the blame truly lies.

“This is my fault. If I had gotten us out of there a minute earlier…”

You and Buck had been partnered up in the field for the last few months. Since Eddie left you two were usually working together.

It was an apartment building fire, and it was mostly contained. At least you all thought it was mostly contained and that the structural integrity of the building hadn’t really been compromised. You were very wrong about that.

It was like any other call. You’d done your job and were doing one last sweep of the building on your way back to the lobby. He was trying to talk his way into Bobby picking up fast food on the way back. He was laughing.

It was the same as every other day.

You’d turned back around for a brief second to tell him to focus, even if your warning lacked any seriosity. But then it all went completely to shit. The ceiling over your head started to crack and he noticed it before you did.

You were in the middle of your sentence when he pushed you out of the way as the ceiling tiles came crashing down. The air was knocked from your lungs as you landed on the floor and looked at the remains of the apartment above you.

The fire had spread more than they thought, and it was eating through the building. But that wasn’t the only problem because Buck wasn’t moving. He hadn’t stood, he hadn’t brushed himself off. He was just laying there. And it was like your heart stopped in your chest.

You were probably in shock, and you know you waited a minute too long before you landed at his side and checked for a pulse. And you found a strong one. Which was a comfort enough, but he still wasn’t moving.

You grabbed hold of your radio and opened the line to Bobby. And your own voice is still ringing in your ears with the phrase:

“Firefighter Buckley is down.”

Help came barreling through a few minutes later, and you weren’t alone anymore. Even if it still felt like you were.

And you’ve been sitting here beating yourself up over it for hours. And you’re sure everyone else is holding their own little nuggets of guilt. Especially the former coworker sitting out in the waiting room.

And the worst part about it is you’re kind of mad at Eddie. And you know it’s entirely illogical because none of this is his fault, but it still kind of feels like it is. Because he and Buck were partners in the field. And Eddie might’ve noticed the ceiling before you did. Eddie might’ve gotten the both of them out of there faster.

It’s all wrapped up in the millions of scenarios you’ve spun in the last few hours. And the resentment seems to grow stronger with every “what if”, even though you try not to let it fester.

You just wish everything was like it was before. With the team being the exact way it was supposed to be. Without crazy god complex paramedics and a revolving door of firefighters trying to fill his place. You just want work to feel like the place you know again, but that becomes more and more like a distant memory every day.

And you hate all of it. You hate every last thing that has made these last few months so out of body. And you hate the fact that this is the payoff.

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the feeling of someone’s hand on yours, and nearly jump out of your skin as your gaze flicks to Buck’s face to see if he’s awake only to find that he isn’t. You look back at your hands only to let your gaze trail up the arm the hand belongs to just to find Maddie staring back at you from where she’s stood from her chair.

“This is not your fault. We both know my brother, and he made the decision he felt was right. He risks his life for the people he cares about. It’s who he is. You can’t take the blame for that.”

The blame game will eat you alive, you know it but you just can’t help yourself. Not right now, not even with Maddie’s unnervingly understanding gaze fixated on you.

“This is not your fault.” She repeats, and you nod although it’s choppy. She watches you for a second more as her thumb rubs across the back of your hand. Then she sits back in her chair and you watch over Buck together.

— — —

You’d left the 118 about two months ago, and your life started to look the way it did before Buck. You’ve been crashing with a friend and doing a temp gig at the restaurant she worked at. It looked the way your life did when you first came to LA, and it was honestly a little sickening.

Said friend was also encouraging you to fully get yourself back in the swing of things, and you obliged for no other reason than to get her off your back. So, you’ve been on a few dates. Each one with another person she swore up and down you were perfect for. Not one of them felt right.

And you’ve kept your contact with the 118, and all adjacent parties, very brief. You’ve missed calls and responded to texts with terse, sometimes one word, answers. Arms length felt like the only realistic option. Even if it’s painful.

You’ve had to mute all notifications from Eddie, even if the ones you receive are few and far between. Because blocking him felt like it was a bit too much, but you just don’t have it in you to read his texts.

And you’ve tried to keep your focus away from social media and the lives of all your friends because it makes it that much easier to move on. Even if moving on hasn’t been easy at all. Because you really aren’t trying that hard.

You’re still walking around with Buck’s ring on a chain around your neck and each person you sit down to dinner with can never manage to measure up to the bar he set when you were together. When you’ve found the right one no one else will ever quite be able to satisfy.

But when you can’t have the right one you have to try and find someone who’s at least a little close to being the next right one. Even if it doesn’t feel like that person exists. Even if it feels like you’re short changing your heart in the process.

And you’ve been pretending like this life of yours is exactly the one you want, and it is getting exhausting. It’s the end of your last shift for the week and you’ve finally made it back to the apartment when your phone rings in your hand. You’ve just gotten yourself comfortable on the couch with your head lolled back against the material, and you’re almost too exhausted to check it.

But you look down anyway.

You find Athena’s picture staring back at you. It nearly stops your heart in your chest. Athena was the only person who had yet to call. She’s not the persistent type, at least not when it comes to the personal lives of her friends. It’s usually more of a gentle nudge, or a less than subtle push in the right direction.

She’d yet to reach out, so you knew she was waiting for the right time. She was waiting to give you whatever message she’s been holding onto. And you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

But you swipe your finger across the screen to answer the call against your better judgement, and lift the phone to your ear with a slightly shaking hand.

And that’s how you find yourself barreling into the emergency room waiting area of an LA hospital twenty minutes later. The rest of your team is scattered amongst the chairs, Athena is beside Bobby with his hand clutched tightly in hers. Her head is the first to lift at your entrance, and she sends the shortest nod in your direction.

And it feels like a pat on the back. It feels like pride. But it also feels hollow at a time like this.

You spot Hen in the next row over, she’s leaned forward with her head in her hands and Chimney is sat beside her with his foot tapping rapidly against the floor.

Your eyes move to the pacing figure further back in the room. You watch Eddie make a few laps across the linoleum, and that little bit of anger flourishes in your chest. It should be the last thing on your mind, it should fall very far down your list of priorities. But you can’t help it.

Eddie is supposed to have Buck’s back. And now Buck is in the hospital, so how well was Eddie watching?

You’ve had the weight of a loved one’s life on your shoulders before, and it is a sickening stone in your stomach. But you can’t bring yourself to be overcome with sympathy. Not this time.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, not even bothering with politeness and pleasantries. There isn’t enough time. Because Athena hadn’t gone into detail over the phone. She’d given you the basics, the cut and the dry. Everything she knew, and she kept it brief. You never tell someone more than the facts in this situation. And you never make a promise you can’t keep.

But you’ve all already missed that last rule by a long shot.

Bobby’s gaze is finally ripped away from the corner of the room and moves to find you standing before him. You’re a little worse for wear, that’s for certain. Your eyes are a little wild, and your jacket is haphazardly thrown on. You were in a rush.

But no one else seems to be in the same kind of rush, they’re already stuck in this. It’s like quicksand, and it’s going to drag them down anyway so why bother to fight against it. You’re still struggling. You’re still reaching for the nearby vines to try and pull yourself out because the last thing you’re willing to do is drown. Not again.

The room seems to still around you. Chimney’s foot stops tapping, and Eddie’s pacing slows as he turns in your direction. Hen’s head lifts from her hands, but only barely as she moves to rest her forehead on clasped hands. Bobby’s hand untangles from Athena’s, but he makes no move to stand. He offers no indication that he has any explanation.

And you know that he’s been trying to find the right way to break the news to you. He’s been racking his brain this entire time, and you’ve arrived entirely too soon for him to find the right way to tell you that Buck nearly got himself killed for the second time in nine months. Or, hell, maybe he’s gearing up to tell you something worse altogether. Maybe it wasn’t just a close call this time. Maybe that would explain the grave expressions and the guilt seeping into their shoulders.

You’re not sure you can take worse news than a close call right now. Even if you thought it would’ve been easier in the first place, you know that you could not handle that grief on top of these last few months.

Bobby stands from his chair, his hands hang at his sides as he takes a small step closer to you. He opens his mouth, and just as he’s about to try and find something to soften the blow a voice pipes up from behind him that draws the attention of the entire group.

“It was an apartment fire. It got out of hand, and it was eating its way through the building.” Eddie starts, and you watch as Athena steps back to give you a clearer view of him. “Buck and I were evacuating tenants. We found an unresponsive man in the hallway, he looked like around seventy. We were taking him outside when he started coming around. We’d gotten about three flights down by that point, and he was coming back to himself. He fell, and we tried to help him back up. Buck tried to get him talking, but the guy didn’t respond. He was disoriented. He didn’t know where he was, what was happening. He didn’t know us.”

You didn’t notice it as you did it, but you’ve gotten closer to Eddie. Wanting to make sure you don’t miss a single word. You don’t like where this is going. And you already know that it’s not going to get any better. You’re just worried about how much worse it might get.

“He was agitated. Buck tried to help him calm down, but he wasn’t having any of it. He pushed Buck off of him from where he was at the top of the next flight of stairs. Buck lost his balance.”

He can’t bring himself to speak it. To fully tell that part of the story, but you don’t need him to. The blank is filled in.

“He hit his head on the way down.” He says, and your breath catches in your throat. You can add that to the laundry list of possible injuries he may have sustained on his way down.

“But,” Hen pipes up as she stands from her chair, “He was stable the entire way here. He just hasn’t woken up yet.”

It’s not that bad. She could’ve said he flatlined in the ambulance. She could’ve said they had to fight tooth and nail just to bring him back. Again. It could be worse. It could be worse. Then why don’t you feel any better?

This still feels like just as much of a death sentence as him crashing on the ride over. Because they don’t know anything. They don’t know his condition. They don’t know what his scans looked like. They don’t know a thing.

“Maddie?” You ask, and Chimney sends you a sad glance as he fiddles with his watch.

“She’s on her way. She got stuck in traffic.” And you don’t really know what you’re going to say to her when you see her. You’ve been dodging her calls for months. The last real time you saw her was in Buck’s hospital room. It just doesn’t feel right.

None of this feels right. This can’t be happening to all of you again. But life isn’t fair, you’ve learned that much by now. And there is nothing you can do except sit and wait. So that’s exactly what you do.

You sit yourself down at the chair closest to the automatic doors of ED and let the weight of the day push down heavy into your shoulders. You rest your head against your clasped hands and with your eyes shut tight you begin to pray.

You can’t remember the last time you did that. Maybe it was when you last found yourself at Buck’s beside with his unmoving hand clasped in yours. It would make sense. They say desperate people find faith, and maybe that’s why you never feel like God is listening to you. Because you only ever talk to him when you need something.

But it’s just not as easy to believe in the things you can’t see anymore. It’s not tangible, it’s not provable. It’s just an entity, it’s just air. It’s words on a page. And you don’t know how to take those things as gospel these days. You’re not sure you want to.

You’re not sure how long you’re sat there with your eyes closed, but at some point someone is gently placing their hands over your clasped ones and pulling them away from your forehead. You lift your head to find Maddie staring down at you with so much grief in her eyes, yet she still manages a kind enough smile as she looks at you.

And it feels like your heart splits open in your chest at that moment. Because you’ve gone about all of this so wrong. You left Maddie out in the cold when all of this first started. He woke up and then you were practically unreachable. You and Maddie were playing phone tag. She’d call you, you’d let it go to voicemail. Then you’d call back when you knew she wouldn’t be able to answer.

It was all very calculated. And you know she knew it. And she respected your grieving process enough that she never pushed you. She never backed you into a corner or put you in a position where you’d be forced to confront what was going on. And when it was happening you appreciated it. But now you just regret letting the relationship become so strained.

But now it has nowhere else to go. Now you both just have to sit in it as she takes the chair next to you and slides her hand into yours. And you sit there in silence with your joined hands dangling from the armrest as you wait for word from the doctors. As you hope for any kind of notion that Buck is going to recover.

You don’t know how much time has passed, you just know that several people have left the waiting room with news of their loved one’s condition. And you’ve watched several nurses leave after the end of their shift. Hen’s gotten off the phone with Karen. You’ve even heard Eddie on the phone with Carla.

Life is going on around you, but it doesn’t feel like there is any real forward movement. The clock keeps ticking and time keeps moving. And all you can do is sit with your head leaned back and stare at the ceiling tiles and listen to the beeping of nearby heart monitors.

Until you hear the beginnings of a scuffle at the other end of the room. A commotion from the nurses behind one of the curtains, and all of you have sat up a bit in your seats at the sound of it. They aren’t calling for a crash cart, they seem to be arguing with their patient. Something about asking them to calm down. For them to lay back down. To allow them to examine the person. The patient doesn’t seem to be listening.

Athena is the first one to her feet, and she’s already walking towards the curtained off bed halfway down the room. And you don’t know what it is about this that makes the rest of you get up and follow not too far behind.

And you don’t get too much closer, but you can feel Maddie’s hand tighten on your wrist with each step. And you’re just close enough that you can finally hear the nurse’s voice more clearly.

“Mr. Buckley, please lay back down.” She sounds exhausted. She sounds like she’s at the end of her rope at the end of a very long day and he isn’t making it any easier on her. “We still need to examine you.”

Bobby steps closer to the curtain before the rest of you can even take another step. But it still feels like the crowd has moved on and left you in its wake. Maddie, who was once standing behind you, is now a few feet in front of you with her hand by her side instead of wrapped around your wrist.

You’ve fallen back somehow, without even realizing it. The fact that he’s awake makes a pit settle further in your stomach. Because you shouldn’t be here. He won’t want to see you. Him seeing you would only make things worse, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Besides, it already felt more than a little wrong to be sitting in the waiting room sharing in their grief after you ran a few months ago. You don’t feel like a part of the family anymore, and that’s no one’s fault but your own.

And most of them didn’t even seem mad. Hell, Athena extended the invitation. But you just can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the right place anymore. You’re not the right person anymore. There’s just no going back this time.

You’re stepping back into the waiting room and grabbing your things from your chair as the curtain is ripped open. And you choose to keep your head down as you unravel your jacket sleeve from the strap of your purse. You choose to ignore the sound of Bobby’s voice as he talks to Buck. You ignore them until you hear your name.

“Bobby, please. I need you to call her.” Your eyes prick up despite yourself, and you freeze with your fingers wrapped around the cuff of your sleeve. “I need to see her.”

There’s a little more than that. A bit of a ramble about how he tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. Which is probably a product of the fact that your phone is sitting somewhere at the bottom of your bag. But it doesn’t seem to really matter anymore, because aside from Buck’s voice you can practically hear a pin drop due to how quiet the group has grown. You lift your head to find that the 118 have parted like the red sea with their heads turned in your direction.

Tears are shining in Maddie’s eyes as she looks at you, and you try to brush it off because you can’t take that right now. You can’t handle the possibility of hope again, you can’t stomach it.

Buck seems to be the last person to notice that everything around the two of you has stopped. At least it feels like it does once he catches sight of you just beyond Bobby, and it shuts him up then and there. Bobby seems to notice as he turns slightly and takes a few steps back to fall into place beside Athena as you stand before your chair.

You still can’t bring yourself to say anything, the idea of yet another rejection is too much to bear. But that look in his eyes doesn’t feel like rejection. It feels like awe. It feels like reverence. It feels like something you haven’t seen in eight months. It feels like coming home.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes on you feels heavier than it ever has before, and you feel like there’s nothing else you can really do except take that first step. The spell is practically broken as soon as the heel of your shoe makes contact with the next square of tile. The groups’ eyes shift slightly from you, they linger a little more on Buck and you’ve never been more grateful for the attention being taken off of you.

The distance between the two of you seems to close all too quickly, because before you know it you’re standing right in front of him. The tip of the toes of your shoes are nearly touching the toe of his boots. It’s closer than you’ve been in months, it’s the most scared you’ve ever been to be close to him.

“Hi.” You say, quiet enough that he’s the only person who can hear it. And it’s enough to bring the smallest of smiles to his face.

“Hi.” He says, and you bite back a tiny smile as your gaze travels back to your shoes. There’s too much to say that you don’t really know where to start. You don’t really even know what to do. But he seems to have an idea of where to start.

He reaches forward slightly and takes hold of your left hand, his thumb rubbing over the stone of your ring. The one that had left its place on the chain around your neck and has been nicely settled back onto your ring finger. It had been slipped into your purse on the select few dates your friend convinced you to go on. But it always felt wrong.

“You kept it?”

“I almost threw it in the river a few times, but I couldn’t really bring myself to part from it.” You say, chuckling just barely as the ghost of a smile dances on his lips.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” His eyes finally meet yours once more as you lift your head, and he looks like the absolute opposite is true. He’s more than delighted that you've held onto it this long through all of the bullshit that’s been thrown your way lately.

He’d have been shattered if you didn’t have it. Because that would’ve meant you’d be ready to let go of him, and he has to hope that timing can’t possibly be that cruel to two people in love.

With your hand still in his he pulls you the least bit closer so you’re standing between his parted legs and your right hand lands on his shoulder out of pure reflex. And it feels as right as it always has. And you’re certain that you’ve returned to a time where the world is right side up again. But it still feels a little too good to be true.

“You know, this isn’t what I was expecting when I proposed.” He says, and there’s humor written all over the statement to hide the impossibly deep sincerity packed right under the surface. Because how could either of you expect that things would have turned out like this.

“Yeah, me neither.” You say, your hand has absentmindedly moved so your fingers can fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But, I think the person you really owe an apology to is Loretta. I think she missed you more than I did.”

And then he’s laughing, and his smile is so big that it has to hurt at least a little bit. It’s the first time you’ve really felt like you can breathe in eight months. And he lets go of your hand after a few seconds, and you move it to rest on his cheek with your thumb brushing back and forth. His eyes fall closed at the familiarity of the gesture.

“I missed you.” He says, and tears finally prick your eyes at the sound of it. You don’t really know how you’ve managed to keep it together for so long without this, how you ever thought you could maybe get used to life without this once more. Not when this does your heart good and makes everything feel worthwhile in a way it hasn’t in so long.

And you really just can’t help yourself as you lean the slightest bit forward and press your lips against his. It feels like the moment slows and like the world around you has come to a stop. Your hand travels from the back of his neck and to his cheek so that you’re holding his face. You feel a hand on your waist that gently pulls you the least bit closer.

It feels right. It feels like snapping the last piece into the puzzle. It feels like a lifetime. It feels like closure. It feels like letting the door hit complicated in the ass on its way out. It’s a homecoming. And it’s so much better than all the times you’ve let your mind wander these last few months.

It’s not big or dramatic. It’s not epic. It’s quiet. And stable. It’s a comfort. It’s the future molding itself into the present in astounding fashion. It’s a million different things all at once.

You pull away from the kiss, but you don’t separate yourself from him. You just lean your forehead against his, grin into the space between you and say:

“I missed you too.”

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x female!reader #evan buckley one shot #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x you #evan buckley fic #fic recs !

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