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Buck had never considered himself the kind of person to lash out.
Sure, maybe he’d occasionally yell at someone who’d been reckless and caused harm; but that was rare. And only ever on bad days where the 118 was dispatched to a highly avoidable disaster caused by someone who was stupid and had made bad choices.
Maybe it was because he saw himself in them; a reminder of him back when he first joined the 118. Buck 1.0. Maybe he felt a little ashamed of his past self every time Bobby had to listen to someone explain their situation; a situation that was different but all too familiar to Buck’s old lifestyle. Normally their explanation was rushed and left out many key details, but it was enough. It was Buck. Or the ghost of Buck’s old self; that wasn’t who he was. Not anymore.
But, in all, Buck had restraint. Normally he wouldn’t interfere in those kinds of situations. Normally he would help those that needed help, and would not get in the way of other people's choices.
But what was he supposed to do when someone was plainly harassing an innocent woman? Ignore it? Let it play out right next to him? Obviously not.
The bar was stuffy; a combination of dozens of people's breath, only made better by the occasional gust of fresh air every time someone entered or exited the bar. Erratic sounds of talking, cheering, and loud obnoxious music was muffled by the ringing in Buck’s ear; especially his left.
The ringing was familiar, just not the one-sidedness of it all. Usually when he found that his ears were ringing in a loud setting, it was equally loud in both. Tonight, his left ear rang louder; a result of someone having shouted in his ear earlier that night.
It was a frantic desperate victim of an apartment fire; their last call of the shift. The woman had shouted and shouted and shouted at him, “Please, he’s still in there!” She had repeated. Buck tried dozens of times to reassure her and move away, promising a paramedic would be with her shortly, but she kept following him around, begging him to save someone.
“Ma’am, we’re going to do everything we can, but I can’t do my job if you’re following me around. I see you have some burns on your arms; you can go sit within the yellow tarp and a paramedic will assist you. We’re going to work to get all victims out. Who’s still inside? What’s his name?”
“Oh, my,” The woman sobbed into her sleeve, further smearing snot and spit on her face. “He’s only nine, please, you have to help him! He’s on the seventh floor, his name is Carson!”
“Okay, and you’re sure he’s still in your apartment?” Buck asked, turning briefly from where he had been facing her to catch a glimpse up the building; eyes scaling up until he was met with the seventh story. Nasty flames were visible through the windows; bright orange and mean.
“Yes, he is. Apartment two-hundred forty-six! Please, he’s so little!”
“Okay, okay, we’re going to do everything we can, ma’am. But right now I need you to go take a seat in one of the chairs over on the yellow tarp and let a paramedic treat you so that me and my team can do our jobs, alright?”
“Okay, okay. Thank you. Oh, god.” The woman croaked, and then she was gone.
Now, seven hours later, Buck was half-awake leaning on the smooth counter of a bar. Which one? He couldn’t remember.
The woman's pleading had been loud, but the source of the ringing really all came from afterwards. When they weren’t able to save the boy.
She had wailed and screamed; the sight was heartbreaking and far too familiar for Buck’s own good. He’d always been so lucky that Christopher had survived the tsunami; but now he found himself wondering if he would have been in a similar state as the woman limp against his left shoulder was. Her knees had long since buckled; lost in grief, as Buck supplied her a shoulder to lean against– go pliant against, more accurately.
It was draining; always, to handle those particular calls. Child or childless, a call ending in the death of a child was never easy.
Buck knew it was different for him than it was for Hen, Bobby, or Eddie. They all had kid(s), Buck didn’t. Chimney didn’t, but Buck knew it was only a matter of time. Not the same.
But Buck did know a kid that he loved like a father. Sometimes, even after the lawsuit, Buck felt guilty for thinking of Chris as such. Felt like he was intruding on the family that Eddie and Christopher had built. Even after everyone had forgiven him, Buck never really felt like he belonged as much as he did before he made the mistake of suing.
That sickening thought earned him a long, forlorn sip of the beer he had been fiddling with for the better part of half an hour.
Midnight had long since passed and by this point, Buck was comfortable in the sound of loud voices and equally loud ringing when a woman’s voice cut through Buck’s haze of drunken thoughts.
“You drugged my drink!” A woman scowled from somewhere on Buck’s right.
“The hell? I ain’t drugged nobody’s drink, lady!” A man; late thirties, Buck suspected from a brief glance at his face when the man turned to see the entirety of the bar watching him.
The woman scoffed in disbelief and sneered out, “Yes you did! I watched you pour somethin’ in my drink when you thought I wasn’t looking!”
Buck glanced behind the counter, gaze flickering to where one of the bartenders was dialing 911 on their phone.
Even in his drunken, mildly-depressed state of mind, Buck knew how quickly these situations could escalate; had seen it first-hand many times before, in his life before joining the LAFD when he was a bartender, and after he had joined, too. Officers wouldn’t get here fast enough.
The woman was still shouting at the man; fists clenched at her sides. And the man was shouting back, agitation growing by the second as she called him nasty things and accused him of just as nasty things (though Buck held little doubt that what she accused him of he hadn’t actually done before; to some poor, unsuspecting men or women).
The crowd was growing antsy; Buck clocked the way some peoples fingers twitched in barely there restraint, or the way people's jaws ticked tighter each minute. He assumed that everyone thought that as long as the man didn’t hurt the woman, they shouldn’t interfere. Buck wasn’t that smart.
“Hey, jackass.”
The man turned cautiously to look at Buck, who was no longer haunched over the bar, half-asleep.
“You usually do this to unsuspecting, defenseless women? Drug them? Violate them?” Buck questioned, eyes sharp as they raked over the man’s form as he went semi-rigid. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Sick fuck.”
“What did you just call me?” The man growled, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Buck’s bar stool. Though Buck couldn’t say he felt all that intimidated. More like egged on.
“You heard me.” Buck said simply, getting off his bar stool.
The man was bigger than him; height and build. Buck was otherworldly screwed. But he couldn’t find it in him to care; a combination of adrenaline, alcohol, frustration, and a persistent, taunting ringing urged him to stand his ground.
“Say that again.” The man provoked, stopping when he was inches from where Buck stood, unwavering.
Buck knew what this was; he’d seen enough bar fights in real life and television to know. Know how it ended, too. He’d always been one to yell at his screen whenever two big, gruff, stupid men brawled in the middle of a public place. Usually that earned him a laugh from whoever he was watching the movie with– notably more often than not Eddie. But at this moment, he got it. He understood it. He was willing to do it.
“Sick,” Buck paused, prolonging the inevitable; just to watch the man’s balled fist tighten as crazy, wide eyes bore into Buck’s. “Fuck.”
The first fist connected with the right side of his face; the clattering of his bones as they seemed to rattle in his head a sickening noise as he was pushed back by the sheer force. The stinging pain suggested the hit had opened up a gash; the blood when Buck removed his hand from his right temple confirmed that.
In a fit of what could only be explained as sheer exhaustion, plain frustration and helplessness, Buck found himself lurching forward to reciprocate the pain. Vision coming back to him after it had briefly been blurred in white spots, Buck saw a clearer image of the man in front of him, helping him to ensure his strikes landed.
Buck’s left fist connected with the man’s jaw; a similar cacophony of clattering bones sounded as the man staggered back a few steps, grasping at his jaw.
The flush of pride Buck felt only lasted mere seconds before the man was jumping back at Buck, pushing him backwards until his head connected with the cold, hard floor.
A whimper caught in his throat as the man hit Buck, fist after fist after fist at his face; each invoking a fresh wave of searing pain and nausea as he desperately tried to block his head from the man’s hands or hit him back. Get off! Get off, get o–
At once, the weight of the man was lifted off of Buck, and he could breathe again without fists flying his way.
No call with a dead child was easy. Again, especially not for those with children. As first-responders, you grow familiar with it, but it never, ever gets easier. If it’s this hard for Buck– who is not a father or a father-figure, he can’t imagine how hard it must be for his coworkers.
Before the lawsuit, Buck went so far as to think of himself as a father-figure for Christopher.
After the lawsuit, he knew he wasn’t. Eddie had confirmed that for him that day in the grocery store.
So, maybe Buck had no right to feel like he understood what his coworkers felt after a call like that. But he couldn’t help it– because he loved Chris like a son.
The team moved with a sort of bone-tired slow as they exited the engine once it had been parked in the truck bay of the firehouse.
“Calls like that are hard.” Eddie sighed, hanging up his turnout coat lazily.
“Preach.” Hen agreed, unenthusiastically.
A not so sudden, not so mysterious ringing had dove in and set up camp in Buck’s ears. God, he would give anything for some tequila right about now. Drown it all out; the physical and– especially– the mental.
“-ck.” A voice on Buck’s left spoke, cautious agitation suggesting this wasn’t the first time the voice had tried to get his attention.
“Hm?” Buck hummed in question as he turned and was met with Eddie’s warm, entrancing eyes.
“You okay, bud?” Chimney asked, appearing at Eddie’s side.
“Oh– yeah. Uh,” Buck paused, gesturing to his ear vaguely. “Lots of screaming. My ears are just ringing a little.”
Chim nodded; seemingly satisfied by that response as Chimney flashed him a thumbs up and disappeared. Hopefully off towards the showers. Eddie didn’t look quite so convinced.
“Are you sure, Buck?” Eddie asked once Chim was out of earshot; footsteps fading into the background.
“Yeah, Eddie. It’s fine. Just a whole lot of buzz.” Buck assured, turning away from Eddie briefly to hang his turnout jacket.
“Well that’s great, Buck. But you know that’s not what I meant.” Eddie said, furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips matching his unamused tone.
Buck swallowed down the tease on his tongue at the sight. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Buck asked, turning back with an expression that border lined offended.
Eddie exhaled, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just– are you okay? Actually?”
“I’m fine, Eds. Just a little shaken up, I guess.” Buck promised, plastering on a half-real smile for Eddie’s sake.
“Okay, I believe you.” Eddie relented, dropping back onto the heels of his feet. “But you can always talk to me, alright?”
Buck smiled a little more truthfully this time. “I know. Thank you.”
Eddie nodded before holding his arms out in a gesture to the locker rooms (and showers, because truthfully, they both stank) “Lead the way. Please.” The emphasis on ‘please’ made Buck laugh a little as he complied, leading the way to the showers (though it's not really leading the way if Eddie is directly next to him as they walk).
One of the many painstaking components of being an officer is the late-night bar fights Athena is regularly dispatched to. Violence is never the answer, but it clearly is for drunk bimbos and himbos alike.
People were flooding out of the bar as she pulled up to it, which usually meant one or both of two things. A; there are illegal substances involved. Or B; whoever is fighting is crashing around the bar. Athena had seen it before; people ramming others into 8-ball tables and bar counters as they remained ignorant to the others they put at risk, entirely sunken into their own world of pure rage and desperation.
Based on the lack of loud rattling coming from inside as Athena got out of her shop and made her way to the doors of the bar as the crowd parted for her, she assumed it was A this time.
A short but strong-looking woman rushed towards Athena right before she pulled open the tinted glass doors.
“Officer!” The woman made her way to Athena, heels clicking against the concrete as she did so. “Officer,” She paused reading Athena’s name tag. “Grant.”
“Ma’am, do you know what’s going on inside?” Athena asked, tone guarded.
“Yes– well, sort of. Some guy drugged my drink and then some other guy got into the middle of it, calling him names I would love to repeat but will refrain from as I’m kind of afraid of cops– anyways, then the man punched him and then he punched him back, and then–”
Athena held out a hand, gesturing for the woman to stop– and she did. “Thank you. Are they still fighting in there?”
“Yes! Uh– the guy who drugged my drink is like, on top of the other guy. Some people tried to get him off but it was no use. He was, like, giant. And that’s a big statement, because the other guy was pretty big himself.” The woman said, gesturing frantically.
“Okay, thank you.” Athena flashed the woman a small, tight-lip smile and opened the doors of the bar– because here goes nothing. She might be sucker-punched by one or more large men, but that was a part of the job, wasn't it?
And the woman– despite her size, had not exaggerated. There were two men on the ground; the one on top objectively much larger, while the other was– oh.
Athena launched herself forward to drag the man off Buck– or the man that looked, under all of the blood and already appearing bruising and swelling of his face, Buck. A bartender assisted Athena with dragging the man off of Buck (or the Buck-like man, Athena was yet to confirm).
The man on the ground let out a half-groan half-whimper as he curled in on himself a little, hands going up to wrap around his stomach as his knees bent up into the air.
Athena made quick work of handcuffing the bigger man, all but forcing him down on a bar stool, and asking the bartender to keep an eye on him.
“Buck?” Athena asked as she dropped down on her knees next to the almost unrecognizable man; blood pooling under his head from various wounds on his face and likely other places on his head, if the amount of blood was anything to go off of.
The man tried to say something, but it only induced a raspy cough and gasp of air.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got help on the way. You’re alright, Buck.” Athena assured, placing one hand on Buck’s shoulder as she used her other to grab her radio off her hip and bring it up to her lips. “This is Sergeant Grant, requesting an RA to Spring St Bar for a 27 year old adult male involved in a bar fight; several head lacerations and a possible concussion.”
Athena holstered her radio and brought her newly free hand up to gently– and very cautiously– card her fingers through Buck’s disheveled hair.
Buck was beginning to lose consciousness; Athena quickly swallowed down the panic bubbling up her throat.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Athena used the hand on Buck’s shoulder to shake him. “Stay awake, Buck. Help is on the way. I just need you to stay awake, okay? Focus on me.”
Buck fought against the droop of his heavy eyelids, fighting to train his focus on Athena as he mumbled something entirely incoherent.
“That’s it, Buckaroo. Just like that. Just keep focusing on me.” Athena praised, smiling gently at him.
Faint sirens came into earshot, and gradually grew louder.
“Hear that?” Athena paused to let Buck hear, but he kept his gaze on Athena’s face. He made no move to turn his head toward the fast approaching sound. Is that– should she be worried? Concussion must be bad.
Athena hid her worry and her panic well; years of training and real-life experience helped a significant amount. But it also rooted from a deep desire– one that was currently burning like a house lit aflame– to protect and save those she loves. She would do anything; no matter how damaging for herself, to save the people in her life. And Buck was like a second son to her. So of course, she put on a smile and an act for him; hiding the almost paralyzing fear threatening to immobilize her from the rest of the world. From Buck.
Buck’s consciousness was fading; his fight was beginning to seep out of him.
“Buck!” Athena gasped, shaking Buck harder when he went pliant under her grasp.
A voice coming from Athena’s radio vibrated against her hip.
“Sergeant Grant, LAFD is on scene. They’re waiting for the OK.”
Athena reached down to grab her radio and keyed it on.
“Go ahead and give them the OK, dispatch. Scene is safe for paramedics.” Athena intructed, one hand still holding Buck’s shoulder; Buck who was no longer awake.
Seconds after Athena holstered her radio, paramedics rushed through the door of the bar; paramedics from the 136. Buck was here, so he wasn’t on shift; Athena had been a little too preoccupied to put two and two together that the 118 weren’t going to be the ones responding, but now that she had she was grateful. She doesn’t think she could handle watching their faces drop at the sight of Buck, bloody, battered, and unconscious.
“How long ago did he lose consciousness?” A female paramedic asked as she set down her medical bag and unzipped it.
“Two minutes ago ish. Not long, he stayed awake as long as he could.”
“Got it.” Another paramedic responded and Athena stood up to give them room to work.
“Neck Brace.” A paramedic requested.
“Neck Brace.” Another paramedic said, handing it over swiftly.
“Grab the backboard.”
“Backboard coming up.”
The four of them worked in sync, taking Buck’s vitals and providing other immediate medical attention; though Athena was a little hazy on the details.
Eventually, a stretcher was brought in and then they were loading a still, unconscious Buck into the back of an ambulance; the crowd having dispersed in between Athena entering the bar and Athena exiting the bar.
Her stomach churned as she got in the back of the ambulance next to Buck; because she would have to call them. The doctors will probably call Bobby or Eddie, but she’ll have to call everyone else.
2:13 AM
Eddie is awoken to a painfully loud ringing next to his head that he quickly registers to be his phone on his pillow, next to where he rest his head.
He’d fallen asleep researching the effects of rohypnol. Why? He couldn’t tell you, honestly. He’d just felt off all night and had decided to search it up and— found some pretty disturbing results that only drove him further deep into a spiraling rabbit hole of date rape and misuses and things like—
His phone continued to ring, forcing him to stop mid-thought and answer it. A brief glance at the ID between snagging his too bright phone and answering the call showed that it was an unknown contact, but it was too late because his thumb was already pressing the green button, and the line was connecting.
“Hello?” Eddie mumbled, voice thick with sleep as he propped himself up on one elbow.
“Hello, is this Eddie Diaz?” A stern voice asked. A tone Eddie recognized all too well and—
“Yes. Yes, who is this?” He asked, sitting up straight.
“This is Dr. Ewing, I’m a nurse at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.”
“Oh, god.” Eddie gasped, a wave of nausea racking through him; tingling sensations tickled his skin like bugs. Like bugs burrowing under his skin.
“I can’t share much over the phone; you have to come in, but I have it written here that you’re Evan Buckley’s form of contact in case of an emergency, is that correct?” The doctor asked, and Eddie hated the fact that the man’s voice carried such precision; such practice and so calm. How could he possibly be calm?
“What happened? Is he alive?”
“Yes, yes he’s alive. I can’t legally give out any more information over the phone, though.”
Eddie hung up the call with a shaky thumb and got out of bed; fingers already moving to call Carla.
His phone rang several times, cutting through the silence as he rushed to get sweatpants on; barely remembering to take his shorts off first.
“Eddie?” Carla asked; tone gentle and carrying that same warmness it always had.
“Carla, I— something’s happened to Buck. I don’t know what but the hospital just called and I need to go, I’m so— can you come stay with Chris?”
“Of course. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”
Pulling on a zip-up jacket, Eddie grabbed his phone from where it had been squeezed in between his shoulder and ear. “Thank you. I have to go. Thank you, really.”
“I’ll always be there for you and Chris. Now, go be there for Buck.” Carla assured.
The hospital was lively, even at such a late hour, as Eddie jogged through the front doors to the ER.
His first stop was going to be the nurses station until he spotted Athena, speaking to a doctor Eddie didn’t recognize.
“‘Thena!”
Athena turned at the sound of her name, visibly exhaling when her eyes landed on Eddie.
“Eddie.” She called back, walking forward (and away from the doctor she’d previously been talking to– paying him no mind) to meet where Eddie was walking towards her.
“What happened? Is he okay?”
Athena gestured for him to slow down, shaking her head gently.
“The doctor was about to inform everyone on his status; they're all in the waiting room. Come on, it’s this way.” Athena explained, holding a hand out towards two double-doors.
Eddie nodded and followed Athena’s lead through the doors to the waiting room; where Hen, Bobby, Maddie, and Chimney were sitting in the familiar uncomfortable chairs. The waiting room was empty of visitors besides for two people sitting in separate rows from each other.
Eddie and Christopher had always opened their arms for Buck; and Buck had always been quick to accept. The lines were blurred between best friend and second father by this point, and despite Eddie’s better judgment, he’d let it happen. Because it was Buck, and Christopher loved him. And maybe Eddie loved him a little too. Maybe a lot.
Calls with a dead child affected all of them, but Eddie saw how Buck stifled it; how he tried to play unaffected by the toll it took on him. But Eddie noticed, he understood it; knew why Buck felt that way. It was a reminder through the darkness that Buck cared; so much about those he loves.
Their shift was technically over, but Bobby had offered to make them all a meal before they headed home, as he usually did.
He’d made a quick meal while everyone else showered, and they slowly collected at the dining table, dead on their feet.
Chimney was last to join them— well, not last. Buck wasn’t there, yet.
“Hey, what’s taking Buck so long? I’m starving.” Chimney groaned, eyeing the bowls of food impatiently.
“We eat as a family; I’m sure he’ll be here any second.” Bobby reassured as he watched Hen slap Chimney's hand away from where it was creeping towards a bowl of bread.
Eddie watched; equally as impatient as his stomach growled greedily.
“I’m gonna go check on him, he’s usually a lot faster than this.” Eddie announced, pushing his chair backwards with the back of his knees as he stood.
“Please do.” Chimney begged, earning him a stern tut from Hen.
The firehouse was silent besides the low chatter from the dining room as Eddie descended down the stairs of the loft, low-light dimming the broad space of the station.
It wasn’t until Eddie caught a glimpse into the locker room that he saw Buck packing up his duffle bag.
“Hey,” Eddie began as he entered the room, pushing the glass door aside. “You not coming to dinner? We’ve all been waiting for you for like fifteen minutes. Chimneys getting aggressive.”
“Not really hungry; you can go put Chim out of his misery.” Buck flashed a distant smile as he looked up from where his bag was lying against the bench.
“Buck.”
Buck sighed. “I’m fine, Eddie.”
Liar.
“No, you’re not.” Eddie shook his head, leaning against the glass frame of the locker room door left slightly ajar.
“Calls like that are hard for everyone,” Buck shrugged. “Just a little worn down is all.”
Eddie didn’t believe him; if several years of working alongside the same person has taught him anything about his partner, it’s that he’s a person that feels a lot of emotion; even if he doesn’t feel like he can share it.
“If you say so.” Eddie relented; because if Buck isn’t going to talk to him, he has no right to make him.
“I do.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Buck.” Eddie sighed, standing up from where he’d been leaning.
“Night.” Buck echoed, refusing to meet Eddie’s eyes.
“How is he?” Hen was the first to ask when the doctor appeared moments after Eddie and Athena had entered the waiting room.
“He’s stable.” The doctor assured as he flipped the paper on his clipboard.
“Is he awake? Can we see him?” Maddie asked, eyes red-rimmed and hopeful.
“He’s not currently awake, no. Nurses are helping him settle into a room currently. We’d like to keep him until late tomorrow for observation.”
“How’s his condition?” Eddie questioned; a mix of fear and curiosity having long since burrowed in his chest.
“He has a moderate concussion, as well as several other injuries, all specifically to his head. That’s all we’ll know until he wakes up. We don’t anticipate that he’s had any damage to his amygdala, however.” The doctor explained, glancing regularly down at his clipboard and then back up at the five of them.
“Thank God.” Eddie heard Maddie exhale, a hand placed over her heart.
“He should be lucky that the man who did this to him missed the crucial parts of his brain or this could’ve been a lot worse.”
“You call this lucky?” Eddie laughed in disbelief.
Lucky. Lucky is having the job of your dreams. Lucky is having great people in your life. Lucky is not spending the night in a hospital bed instead of your own. Lucky is not having been in— yet another— life threatening experience.
“Eddie.” Bobby warned from where he sat somewhere off to Eddie’s left shoulder.
“No— this isn’t lucky. Nothing about this is lucky!” Eddie exclaimed, gesturing vaguely to the hospital.
“Eddie.” Bobby repeated.
Eddie turned to face Bobby who met his gaze with a serious expression.
“What?”
Bobby shook his head, exhaling heavily. “Take a walk.”
“No— Bobby, I—“
“Eddie. Take a walk.” Bobby persisted, nodding towards a set of double doors that led down a long hallway.
Eddie sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, but complied.
“Call me when he wakes up.” Eddie said, shooting the doctor an irritable glare before turning to make his way down the hallway.
Usually when Buck woke up in hospitals, the first sign was the steady beeping beside his bed.
This time when he awoke in a hospital bed, there was no beeping.
He wondered why the machine wasn’t beeping; but he couldn’t turn his head to examine his bedside, the throbbing in his head served as a forewarning.
Maybe they’d turned it off when they saw that he had a head injury; you know, the sound could hurt him. That gave very little explanation, but Buck was both too tired and too pained to ponder why.
Immobilized by the harsh throb of his head; his heartbeat making itself clear in his temples, he lay there, unmoving until a doctor eventually entered the room.
Buck could see her mouth moving, but no words came out.
The ringing in his ears was gone— so that was a good thing. Right?
He tried to grab the woman’s arm, tried to speak to her— to ask what was going on. He felt his lips moving, his throat bobbing as he spoke, but no words came out of his mouth either.
Something was wrong.
Something was seriously wrong.
Was he dead?
His mind was hazy, but from what bits and pieces he remembered, there was very little possibility he was dead.
He knew there was someone else involved; that this was not inflicted upon by himself or God, so it had to be some kind of attack then, right?
Before he could take longer to question or to think; try to fill in the blanks that his mind left, he was already slipping back under. Darkness was threatening to engulf him, and he allowed it to do so.
“He’s awake.” A doctor— not the same one as before— told them.
“Can we see him?” Chimney asked, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“I’ll call Eddie.” Maddie said, pulling her phone out of her purse.
“Yes. But there’s one thing I need to warn you all about.” The doctor began, placing her clipboard under her armpit.
“What?” Hen asked, an eyebrow raised.
“There appears to be something wrong with his hearing. Now, more tests are scheduled to figure out if it’s permanent or not, but it seems that he can’t hear.” The doctor informed them, lips pressed together as her eyebrows furrowed.
That made Maddie stop dead in her tracks.
Can’t hear? Like, at all?
How is that even possible? He’d been hit and— apparently— hit hard, but that hard? That he couldn’t hear?
“At all?” Bobby asked, tone guarded but still fearful-sounding.
“We’re not sure yet,” the doctor responded honestly. “But for now that’s what we’re thinking. He’s not responding to any sort of noise or auditory stimuli.”
“Oh, god.” Maddie muttered breathlessly, shaking her head as she fumbled to unlock her phone.
Her phone rang twice once she’d managed to call Eddie, standing up and walking out of the room as the rest of them continued to ask the doctor questions.
Once Maddie was outside of earshot from the rest of them, the call connected and Eddie’s voice filtered through.
“He awake?” Eddie asked, semi-indignantly
Maddie tried to hold herself together; tried not to cry, but it was no use. What was she expected to do? Her baby brother was laying in a hospital bed, hurt and confused, unable to hear the world around him.
“No.” Eddie gasped, “No, he can’t—“
“He’s awake.” Maddie interrupted after she realized what sort of scene that’d painted in Eddie’s mind.
“Jesus Christ.” Eddie muttered. “Way to bury the lead!”
“I’m sorry.” Maddie laughed a little, breathlessly. “I’m sorry— it’s because— uhm, he,”
“What is it?”
Maddie swallowed hard, collecting herself before inevitably telling her brother's best friend the second worst news she’d heard all night. “He can’t— uh, hear.”
Eddie’s breath caught. “What?”
“The doctors don’t know if it’s permanent, but he can’t hear anything. That’s what they’re telling us.”
“Holy— are they sure? Maybe he’s just not fully come to yet.” Eddie asked, voice hopeful in a way that pained Maddie to listen to.
“They don’t know, Eddie.” Maddie shrugged; stopping when she realized Eddie couldn’t see her.
“Okay, uh, so what now?” Eddie questioned.
“First off, I think you should get back from wherever you’ve been for the last half hour. But anyways, they say they’re going to run more tests. Say they aren’t sure of anything yet.”
“I’m on my way.” Eddie said, the line going silent shortly after.
The silence was deafening as Buck lay in the sterile hospital room, a doctor periodically entering.
By this point they’d stopped trying to talk to him, simply checked his vitals, flashed him a quick smile, and left.
He’d grown fearful that he couldn’t seem to hear anything; but the lack of panic from the doctors around him told him it probably wasn’t a big deal.
The most annoying part (besides having no idea his condition, what’s wrong, or really what happened) is that his thoughts seemed to be on full blast; no outer noise to distract him.
He had been in and out of consciousness often, but by this point he was more alert. As alert as you can be without being able to hear anything.
Buck tried to piece together the events that led him here, tried to answer why he couldn’t hear, but his memory had more blank spots than it did memories. It’s your brain's way of protecting you from it all; but Buck didn’t feel all that protected. He felt more like prey being stripped bare; exposed to the world in a gruesome, unnerving way.
It took his brain longer to catch up with his surroundings with the lack of a crucial sense, not to mention he likely had some sort of brain injury, but he quickly registered another doctor entering his room.
This one wasn’t like the others— the others were probably nurses— but this doctor wore a white coat with his name etched on the front.
Dr. Porter.
The man stopped next to Buck’s hospital bed, looking down to write on his clipboard.
Dr. Porter held the clipboard out for Buck to read, continuing to hold it as Buck’s eyes scanned the paper sluggishly.
Mr. Buckley, glad to see you’re awake. Now, I’m going to explain to you what happened and your current condition. Afterwards I’m going to ask you questions, and then you can ask me yours. Do you think you can write?
Buck nodded, and the doctor nodded back, flipping the clipboard back to himself to write again.
Flipping it back towards Buck, he read once more.
You were in a fight with another man. He caused damage to your head, including several wounds, a moderate concussion, and possible hearing loss. We won’t know if it’s permanent or temporary until we run more tests. How does that sound? If you aren’t up for it, we may be able to do them tomorrow, but in case there is something more intensive wrong with you, we’d like to schedule them as soon as possible.
Buck nodded in response, and the doctor handed him the clipboard and a ballpoint pen.
Writing was more of a struggle than he’d thought it’d be, but Buck eventually managed to write out a shaky question.
Where is my sister?
The doctor nodded solemnly, taking the clipboard and pen back.
She’s in the waiting room with your coworkers. Would you like me to go get her for you?
Buck nodded; a sudden flush of hope and sadness curling deep in his stomach.
The doctor smiled, wrote “be right back.” on the clipboard, and exited Buck’s room.
A doctor appeared in the waiting room not long after Eddie had joined them again.
“How is he?” Maddie asked, standing up from where she’d previously been sitting half-asleep.
“He’s coherent, which is a good sign.” The doctor relayed, smiling softly at Buck’s sister.
“Can we see him?” Bobby asked from where he sat across from Eddie; somewhere over Maddie’s shoulder.
The doctor shook his head. “Not all of you, but he did specifically request Ms. Buckley.”
“Really?” Maddie asked, biting back a smile that threatened to engulf her entire face; the kind of smile that Buck always admired (if he admitted so or not), pointing out the way it made her eyes crease and her smile lines look more prominent.
The memory was so distant it almost hurt to recall.
“Yes. Would you like to see him?”
Maddie let out a wet sob. “Yes.”
The doctor nodded, turning and gesturing to a set of double doors with a sign overhead that read Restricted: Authorized Personnel Only.
Maddie turned and nodded in acknowledgment to the rest of Buck’s team before following the doctor eagerly.
She was scared— no, terrified. She was terrified for her brother. Terrified because he was absent from the world around him, alone, hurt.
“Is— so he has his memory?” Maddie asks, following the doctor down a long hallway.
“It seems so. He was injured, but we don’t suspect he injured any part of his head that would have led to short or long-term memory loss.” The doctor explained.
“Okay.” Maddie exhaled, wiping her eyes of the hot tears she felt threatening to spill over.
“Right up here.” The doctor said eventually, gesturing to a door on Maddie’s left as they approached it.
“Thank you.” Maddie smiled politely to match the doctors. He nodded, a pager hidden beneath his jacket beginning to buzz.
The man moved his white coat out of the way, peering down at the small pager screen.
The doctor sighed. “Oh, geez. I’m so sorry, I’ve got a patient I need to see. Have the nurses call me if you need anything, okay?”
“No worries, doc.”
The man nodded tersely at Maddie and then was jogging down the hallway, leaving her deserted in the middle of a dark hall.
Maddie knocked on the door with a curled finger; cringing when she remembered.
She resorted to simply entering the room.
Buck flinched a little when she entered, but his frightened state resolved into one that Maddie could only describe as pure relief and happiness when he realized it was her.
She was by his bedside in the blink of an eye, pulling him into the best hug-adjacent hold she could manage.
Buck’s sobs were muffled in the fabric of her shirt; likely staining her shirt with a dark spot of tears. Maddie couldn’t muster it within herself to care.
Because Buck was in her grasp; a tangible, alive man before her.
He was injured; a bandage wrapped across his forehead, parts of his face bruising, deep and ugly, scrapes across his cheeks and forehead, left eye swelling shut. But he was here.
Nights are hard. Especially if you have a schedule and job as stressful as Eddie’s.
He’d had trouble sleeping in the past, sure. But it’d never been as bad as tonight was.
Maddie had emerged from Buck’s hospital bed only twenty minutes after she’d disappeared into it, informing them he’d fallen asleep and the doctors had told her to let him sleep; let him recover.
The team had nodded and decidedly went home to sleep as much as they would be able to. In Eddie’s case, no sleep.
When Eddie had gotten home from the hospital, exhausted and guilt ridden (could you blame him? His best friend gets hurt, he tends to blame himself to some extent), Carla had been sprawled out on the couch. Eddie woke her up gently, told her she could stay the night if she wanted or she was free to go home. She’d thanked him for waking her up and headed home.
Cut to now, Eddie lay in his bed, staring up into the darkness where his ceiling usually was. He was so tired. So tired but he couldn’t sleep a wink.
Buck was fine. But he wasn’t, was he?
Safe, yes. In a hospital, …yes. Injured, yes (as far as Eddie’d heard; none of them besides Maddie and Athena having had seen him since before the incident). But he couldn’t hear. He might not ever be able to hear.
The thought sent waves of nausea through Eddie like a ship caught up in a massive storm. Helpless and defenseless. Useless.
God, what Eddie would give to go back to this evening; when Buck was upset and closed off. When Eddie would have actually helped; could’ve licked his wounds clean.
But now he couldn’t do anything; what if? What if he’d stopped Buck, talked to him. Prevented him from going to that bar and getting into a fight with another person?
Deep down Eddie knew it wasn’t something he could’ve predicted or stopped. But he should’ve tried; kept fighting until his knuckles were bloody and he was back in that ring— fence, fighting and fighting and fighting (in a metaphoric sense this time, of course).
Eddie remembers at some point when a doctor was informing them all on Buck’s condition, they’d told them that with Buck’s head injuries, they wanted to keep him off technology for a while.
So, of course Eddie fought the urge to text Buck.
Normally he’d just call him… but he couldn’t really do that right now. Maybe not ever.
Eddie yearned so deeply to be able to talk to Buck; the hungry Buck shaped hole in his stomach aches in his absence.
Eddie drifts off at some point; likely whilst crying silently, burrowing in his mattress. Praying it would let him dig deep down and hide away from the rest of the world until ever. Until Buck is okay, maybe.
Buck was half expecting to wake up to silence, but it didn’t register to him when he didn’t; when he woke up with a steady beep, beep, beep, next to him.
When he does realize, he wakes up a lot faster. Groggy state forgotten as he reaches up a— notably, sluggish hand to the nurse call remote next to his bed.
Buck’s not sure how late— or early— it is, but a nurse comes (more like rushes) into his room.
She doesn’t speak; it makes sense, she assumes Buck wouldn’t be able to hear it anyhow. “Don’t waste your breath.” Or whatever.
“I—“ Buck croaks, frustrated when his voice is hoarse and it’s hard to speak. He tries to speak again, another fail; his voice cuts off into a painful sounding dry cough.
The nurse walks over, grabbing a cup and pitcher of water. She pours some silently into the cup, holding out for Buck.
Buck accepts it silently, drinking the water from the straw until it makes a sound (a sound! A sound Buck heard!) signaling its emptiness.
The nurse sets it back down on one of Buck’s bedside tables.
“I can— can hear.” Buck says again, successful this time.
He watched through sleep-bleary eyes as the words visibly registered in the nurse's head, her face lighting up.
“Oh, my!” The nurse smiles. “Let me go get your doctor, okay?”
Buck nods; stopping when it erupts a throbbing pain through his head.
Does the pain make him regret getting destroyed by an equally drunk man at a bar late at night? Maybe a little. Better him than that poor woman, though. A flush of pride lights up in his chest at that thought, slumping back down into his mattress, rewarding himself with a little rest as he awaits his doctor's return. (Oh, which one? He has like three, if he's counted correctly.)
His door opens and closes with a distinct click not long later. Peeling his crusted eyelids open, his gaze falls upon a male doctor. The same one from before! Dr. Porter.
“Mr. Buckley.” The man greets warmly. “Glad to hear you can hear again.”
Buck can’t help the smile that upturns his lips. “Me too.”
“I’ve already had a doctor contact your emergency contact, he’s on his way.”
Eddie.
“Eddie?” Buck asks.
“Yes, Mr. Diaz. Now, mind if I ask you a few questions?” Dr. Porter positions his clipboard so that it’s resting against his stomach, allowing him to write on it.
“‘Course.”
When Eddie is awoken for the second time in the past 24 hours to an insufferable ringing next to him, he groans softly. What is that? Oh. His phone.
Once it registers, he’s moving quickly to answer it; stomach lurching as he sees “Unknown” where he had hoped “Buck” would be.
Unknown? Who could tha— fuuck.
“Hello?” He answers frantically, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, bracing himself to stand on his unstable, wobbly legs.
“Am I speaking with Mr. Diaz?”
“Yes. Yes, this is Eddi— Edmundo Diaz. What’s happened? Is he okay?” Eddie asks, resting his phone in between his shoulder and ear as he slips his shoes on.
“No— yes, I mean. Yes, Mr. Buckley is just fine. He awoke to the findings that his hearing had returned. You’re listed here as his emergency contact so we had to—“
The exhale that Eddie releases is almost painful, but it’s a good kind of pain. A pain that makes itself known but not feared.
“Thank god.”
Eddie takes a moment to check the time; it’s near 7 in the morning. Eddie shoots Carla a quick text explaining why he has to leave again (followed closely by a “I am so, so sorry.”).
“Do you need me to come in? Can I come in?” Eddie asks.
“Yes, that would be great, sir.” The doctor responds, voice lighter as he does so.
“On my way.”
The drive to the hospital is grueling, but it’ll be worth it. So worth it.
Eddie has lived his entire life feeling empty, in a sense. Shannon erased that, but it proved to be temporary. Christopher was more than enough, but Eddie felt he’d always yearned for more; a soulmate, if you will. After Shannon, maybe Eddie kind of assumed it’d be over, that that was his one chance at a soulmate and he’d blown it. Maybe you can have more than one soulmate, Eddie’s heard people say that before. He’s also heard people say a soulmate can be a best friend. Buck can be his soulmate, then.
But he wants Buck to be his soulmate in a romantic sense, not a platonic sense. He’d always been too scared; scared to pull on the thread that forever connected the two of them just for Buck to pull back. Retreat, because he never thought of Eddie like that. Maybe that would never happen, but it’s scary. Fear ruins dreams; people say that all the time, too.
Maybe Buck wouldn’t respond negatively. But what if he did? The two of them would never be the same ever again; Buck would try so hard, Eddie would too. But deep down it would never be the same. That thought looks over Eddie’s head like a small cloud of rain hanging over a cartoon character's head.
When Eddie arrives at the hospital, it’s respectively empty; though he is entering from a different part of the hospital, so who knows what the ER is like? Thank god it isn’t the ER he’s entering again.
Eddie heads towards a very sleep deprived looking receptionist, clacking mindlessly at her computer, one eye drooping ever so slightly.
“Uhm, hi,” Eddie begins, placing a hand on the reception desk, awaiting the attention of a barely awake woman. “I’m here for a patient. Evan Buckley.”
The woman doesn’t look up, but her keyboard keys make a much more intentional-sounding noise.
“Got it, room 414.” The woman says, glancing up with a polite smile.
“Right. Thank you.”
When Eddie gets to the end of a long hallway, he’s met with room 414. Why is he abruptly shy? Nervous? He hates the way his hand shakes as he reaches out for the handle. Twisting and pushing the door open, Eddie’s met with a sight he both had and hadn’t realized he’d needed to see so badly.
Buck is sitting up, white bandage around his forehead; the sight bringing Eddie’s gaze down to his face, harsh bruises that vary in shades of purples and yellows spread across his face like a blooming flower. Beautiful in a gut-wrenching way.
Eddie’s halfway through registering all that’s wrong with Buck when a voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts.
“Eds.”
Buck’s voice is hoarse-adjacent, but it’s warm, like gooey, sweet honey.
“Buck.” The name is foreign in his mouth, in the best way.
“You came.” Buck’s statement sounded more like a question, like he was in disbelief that this was real— that Eddie was real.
“Always.” It was now that Eddie realized he was still at the door, halfway across the room from Buck.
“You know,” Buck began, “I don’t bite.”
“Oh, shut up.” Eddie didn’t try to fight against the smile upturning his lips; the kind that made his cheeks ache, as he made his way across the room.
The impending ache in Eddie’s chest is soothed at the sight of Buck, but it’s still there, holding his heart in a death grip.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Eddie says simply, internally screaming at himself for the way his voice quivers.
“I’m okay.” Buck echoes, reaching out a hand to squeeze Eddie’s forearm.
Eddie squeezes back, gently grabbing Buck’s wrist with his arm that isn’t currently being held. “I know. I know, you are.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hm.”
“So why’re you crying, then?”
Eddie releases his hand from Buck’s wrist to wipe at his eyes that are, surprisingly (not so), wet with tears.
“I am not.” Eddie protests, allowing the sniffle he emits to make it obvious he’s not serious.
“Yeah, you are.” Buck teases, but his voice is soft.
Eddie rubs his hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Buck says, “Hey, no need to apologize. I understand.”
I understand. No need to apologize. This is Eddie’s problem, selfishness. Why does he have to make everything about himself? Stupid, stupid, stu—
Eddie laughs; a wet, objectively gross, laugh, as he thinks over the irony of his situation. “Look at me, I mean, you’re in a hospital bed and I’m making this all about me.”
“No, you aren’t.” Buck reassures, hand still gripping Eddie’s forearm’ thumb rubbing gentle circles against his skin. “You’re just worried, and probably sort of relieved. I get it, Eddie.”
“I was so scared.” Eddie admits, forcing himself to meet Buck’s eyes.
Buck sighs. “I know. I know, and it’s okay. Okay? I’m okay.”
“I know. I’m— stay with me.”
“What?”
“You have a concussion, don’t you?” Eddie asks, eyes likely annoyingly hopeful. “You can’t stay by yourself while you recover. Stay with me and Chris.”
Buck pauses, causing a pang of guilt to spread through Eddie’s chest; why? Eddie was far too tired to decipher why. But he knew.
“I—“ Buck began, finally, finally. “Okay. I don’t want to impose. I can stay with Maddie, or—“
“No,” Eddie interrupted, eyes searching Buck’s (not desperately, thank you very much) “stay with me. Stay with us.”
“Really?”
“Chris misses his second father, y’know.” Eddie smiles at the way Buck’s face lights up.
“He…” Buck trials off, chin trembling a little. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Yeah, he really does, Buck.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Bucks smile is probably painful; pulling at the stitches on a particularly nasty gash on his temple. “Well, almost all.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”