Chapter Text
“Someone needs to put that kid over their knee and teach him some manners,” Severide grumbles into his beer, not quite glaring at the group laughing by the bar. When he turns back to Casey a moment later his friend is giving him one of those looks he gets when he’s not sure if Severide is talking about sex or not. It makes him look a little constipated.
Kelly didn't mean it to be sexual, not really, but now that Casey pinched expression has put it into his head...there’s no denying that Buckley is attractive. It’s been awhile since Kelly picked up a guy - two years, if he’s honest, because going to a gay bar without Shay is still too painful, and it’s easier to pick up the occasional woman at Molly’s or a club - but he can still recognize that. Buckley is a little tall for his taste, but broad shouldered and strong, that smudge of a birthmark over his eye to give his pretty boy face character, and a smile that has charmed him into the good graces of most of 51 despite his habit of filling any silence by oversharing about his life or chattering about random trivia. Now that Kelly is thinking about it he can’t stop thinking about it. Great.
At least Matt is saved from answering by Boden’s sudden appearance at the end of their table, though both of them nearly jump out of their skin. Maybe they’re drunker than Kelly thought if neither of them noticed the Chief approaching. Boden sets his glass of whiskey down and pulls up a stool, settling onto it with an exhausted sigh. They might have gotten off shift over twelve hours ago but it was a damn long and chaotic one.
“That kid has good instincts, if he could just get out of his own way,” Boden says, eying the younger members of truck and squad over his shoulder for a moment. He’s not wrong, is the thing. Buckley has potential - he’s strong and fearless and endlessly eager to make himself useful, and he thinks quickly on his feet. Sometimes too quickly, getting out ahead of everyone else, taking risks before backup can get to him like he did today. And it worked, yesterday. But another day it could have gotten him killed. Someday it will, and Kelly is fucking sick of watching people die. “Find a way to teach him that without getting fired for sexual harassment.”
Kelly chokes on his beer, hears Casey splutter and start coughing on the other side of the table. Christ. Boden had heard that? “Will do, Chief,” he forces out past his raw-feeling throat, hiding his flush behind another sip of beer. He’s endlessly grateful when Boden leaves again with nothing more than a chuckle and a pat on Kelly’s back. Casey, however, is still laughing at him, because his best friend is an asshole. Narrowing his eyes, he kicks Case under the table. “We are never speaking of this again.”
“Speaking of what?” Casey asks, all blue-eyed innocence, at least until a smirk twists his mouth and he fails to suppress a chuckle.
“Shut up,” Kelly groans, throwing peanuts at Casey until one bounces off of his forehead and they both break down laughing.
-----
For three whole shifts, Probationary Firefighter Evan Buckley doesn’t do anything stupid or dangerous. Possibly because he spends an entire shift cleaning the apparatus floor and inventorying gear as penance for his daredevil antics, and another under orders to never be more than ten feet from Casey in the field. Which is not to say the shifts go smoothly , because like Boden said, the kid just can’t get out of his own way. He’s got daddy issues a country mile wide - Kelly should know, he’s fought through enough of his own over the years - and he chafes under Casey’s tight command. Makes snarky comments when he should keep quiet, flirts with bystanders while he’s meant to be doing crowd control, the works. Like a puppy who craves the attention that comes with being thwacked with a rolled up newspaper.
It’s exhausting. But he makes a mean lasagna for dinner on the third day, and already has pancakes and bacon going when everyone stumbles in for the fourth shift after his last stunt, and when he lights up at Kelly’s offhand grunt of “thanks, these are great” and starts chattering about his older sister teaching him the recipe Kelly realizes that he just might be trainable, with the right balance of praise and punishment. He’s still glad that striking that balance is Casey’s problem.
So of course not ten hours later Severide jogs out of a burning building and finds Casey shouting Buckley’s name into the radio. “Buckley, get your ass out here!”
The building is going up, the order to clear out given at least two minutes ago. Severide had been pretty sure he and Cruz were the last two inside, clearing the first three floors of apartments while the blaze ate through the levels above them. Fortunately everyone they found had been able to stumble on their own two feet with a little bit of guidance. He should have known better. “Where is he?”
“Fourth floor. Not sure where, Hermann said he turned around and Buckley just wasn’t there anymore,” Casey replies tersely, before keying his radio again. “Buckley, clear the building.”
“Negative, Lieutenant,” Buckley’s voice crackles through the radio, barely audible over the background roar of the fire. “I’ve got a victim in the Northwest corner unit. If I can just get through this kitchen--” He cuts off with a crackle.
“Dammit, Buckley, it’s not safe. Get out of there now!” Casey’s increasingly frantic calls go unanswered, until he gives up and flags down Otis. “Move the ladder to the Northwest corner unit, fourth floor.”
“I’ll go up,” Severide offers.
Boden cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head. “Go up halfway so you’re ready if he needs help with the victim, but nobody else is going into that building. It’s one wrong breath away from collapsing. We’ll just have to hope today isn’t the day that Buckley’s luck runs out.”
Casey is still muttering something about Buckley’s luck with him running out while Severide climbs onto the truck. As soon as the ladder is locked into place he scrambles up it, only distantly aware of Casey calling out to Buckley once more over the radio, instructing him on where to go - if he can. Everything else recedes as he climbs toward the burning building, toward the firefighter trapped inside. Oily black smoke pours out of the second and third floor windows, flames licking up the side of the building, and Severide is so tired of watching firefighters and medics run into buildings they don’t walk back out of that he almost goes for the fourth floor window. Almost.
Instead he sits on his heels ten feet from the end of the ladder, coiled and ready to spring, as Casey shouts through the radio demanding an update. For a long minute none comes. Severide stares at the window and waits, and waits, for seconds that feel like minutes, and he’s not a patient man - wouldn’t have made a career out of running headfirst into danger if he was - but finally the radio clicks. Static pours out, followed by a strained voice, every other word too garbled to understand.
“Coming...get...the way…”
Severide surges forward, reaching the top of the ladder just as the glass shatters. A wave of painfully hot air hits his unmasked face as he takes the last few steps and helps Buckley clear broken glass from the window sill. He takes the weight of the unconscious woman Buckley shoves out the window easily, passes her off to Cruz behind him and turns back to make sure Buck can get clear, only to find that the candidate has ducked back out of sight. A wall of fire is the only thing Severide can see, his adrenaline spiking as the roar of flames gets louder - and a dark shape appears against the flames, barrelling toward the window with something under its arm.
Flattening himself against the ladder to get out of the way as Buckley leaps, Kelly can’t see whether he makes it. The ladder shakes and a wave of heat passes overhead, the last of the window glass raining down on him, and Kelly shields his eyes and looks up before it stops. Shards of glass sting his cheeks as he grabs for Buckley with both hands and - is Buckley grinning at him while hanging off of the ladder by one hand?
“Wait, wait, take him,” Buckley says hoarsely, passing a bundle of towels up to Severide. As soon as his hand is free he clambers easily up onto the ladder in front of Severide, still grinning like an idiot. His teeth are shockingly white against his sweaty and soot smudged face. It’s a surprisingly good look on him - now that he’s noticed that Buckley’s hot he can’t stop noticing, unfortunately.
“Is this - you went back for a dog?” Severide demands, staring down at the tiny, shivering, pathetic excuse for an animal in his arms. “And where the hell is your mask?”
“Gave it to the girl,” Buck explains with a shrug, like he didn’t just disobey orders to stay behind in a fire and give away his safety equipment while doing so. “And she wouldn’t go without the dog. So I saved Bruiser.”
And the thing is, Kelly knows he would have done the same. Given the choice between saving his own ass and saving a civilian, it’s the civilian every time. That’s the job. Buckley could probably get away with this one without even a slap on the wrist, if only he didn’t look so damn smug about it.
“That was a good save,” Severide admits. Buck’s eyes widen, lit with something other than the flickering fire. Before Buck can open his mouth Severide starts backing down the ladder with the ugly little dog tucked under his arm. “Now wipe the smile off your face before Casey sees it.”
On the ground, Casey grabs Buck by the shoulder and tows him to the side. “Someday you’re gonna run out of luck, kid,” he sighs, while Severide tries to find someone to bum the dog off on. “But I can’t punish you for doing the same thing I would have. You did a good job today Buckley. Now go let the medics check you out.”
There’s a bounce in Buckley’s step as he heads towards the gathered ambulances, where he’ll doubtless be fawned over. Brett has an inexplicable fondness for the overgrown puppy. Nearly everyone who isn’t in charge of him does, actually.
“Watch out,” Kelly says, knocking his shoulder into Casey’s. The little dog snarls up at both of them. “All that praise might go to his head.”
“He saved a woman’s life. What am I supposed to do, whoop him for it?”
“I thought we weren’t gonna talk about that, man.”
“Talk about what?”
Severide shoves the barking dog into Casey’s arms and walks away with a disgusted shake of his head.
------
“He can’t keep taking risks like this,” Casey snaps, pacing the hospital waiting room like a caged animal. Shift ended over an hour ago but he, like half of 51, is still in full gear, waiting for their youngest member to be released.
“It’s just a burn, Casey,” Boden says, though his broad shoulders are tense. “We’ve all had them. He’s a touch kid, he’ll be fine.”
“It wasn’t Buckley’s fault.” The words leave Severide’s mouth before he can think better of it. The thing is, there are plenty of justified reasons to give Buckley shit - he showed up late to shift with lipstick on his collar, for one. They don’t need to go looking for more. Severide’s just not sure why he’s the one pointing it out. “That beam could have come down on anyone. From where I was standing it nearly took you out too, Casey.”
Casey grumbles, but Boden and Severide are right. Two hours later an orderly pushes Buckley out in a wheelchair, his right arm wrapped from elbow to wrist in bandages, his hand turned into a mitten by gauze. Most of 51 is still waiting for him even though the injury is minor compared to some of what’s brought them all to the hospital waiting room before - it’s still his first on the job. The poor guy looks stunned to see them all there, blinking stupidly and rubbing at his eyes for a moment like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing.
“You - you all stayed?” he finally asks, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation where the beam had knocked his mask off.
“Of course we stayed,” Dawson replies, Brett trailing her to Buckley’s side. “51 is a family. We don’t just abandon our own in the hospital. C’mon, what’s the damage?”
“Just a little burn,” Buckley replies, with that big dopey grin of his that’s endeared him to half the house in spite of his antics. His eyes skip past the paramedics, finding Casey and Severide and Boden in the corner. There’s something pinched about his expression until he looks away and goes back to grinning up at the medics.
“And a concussion,” the orderly says as he drops a bag of medications into Buckley’s lap. “Don’t let him drive himself home.”
With that he’s left in their hands. The members of 51 circle past, giving well wishes and promising to check in on him before trickling out the door in twos and threes, until it’s just the medics and the officers hovering around Buckley’s wheelchair. He’s smiling up at Brett with those puppy dog eyes, insisting, “It’s really not a big deal. I’ve had worse. I’ll call an uber so nobody has to go out of their way.”
“No, no, we’re not having that.” Boden reaches for his keys, but Severide waves him off.
“I’ve got it, Chief. He’s on my side of town.”
“You’re sure?” Boden asks, eyebrows raised. Which, fair, it’s not like he’s been Buckley’s biggest fan since he arrived at the firehouse a few months ago, and the kid isn’t on Squad, isn’t really his problem. But they do live on the same side of town.
“No sense in anyone going out of their way.” Severide shrugs and beckons Buckley toward the door. “Come on, Buckley, or have you forgotten how to walk?”
“No, I’ve, uh, I’ve got it.” Buck levers himself out of the chair with the help of his good arm, holding the bandaged one carefully across his chest. The gauze is stark white against the soot streaked and sweat stained uniform he’s still wearing. “Oh, crap, my stuff…”
“I’ll have someone bring your things from the station by tonight,” Boden assures him, and then they’re off.
They split from Boden and the rest at the parking lot, and from the way Buckley is moving, slow to try to hide the fact that every step clearly pains him, Severide wishes he’d made Buck wait and brought the car around. But knowing Buckley he would have called an uber and tried to make his own way home as soon as he was alone. Doesn’t know when to ask for help, not that Kelly is exactly good at that either. Maybe he’s going out of his way because he sees so damn much of his younger self in Buck.
“You good?” he asks, once Buck has fumbled through buckling himself into the car one handed.
“I’m good. Thanks, Lieutenant. You, uh, you really didn’t have to do all this.”
“Yeah, I do,” Kelly replies, putting the car into gear and glancing at Buck on his way to looking over his shoulder. He’s bouncing his leg hard enough to shake the car and his eyes are squinted against the late morning light, the bruises on his face stark and ugly. “It’s what we do for each other. You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”
“Still, thanks…”
They lapse into a silence that is less awkward than exhausted as Kelly navigates the maze of the hospital parking structure. Only once they’re out on the street, headed toward the address Buck had rattled off around a yawn, does he speak again. “Hey, you got anyone to check up on you at home? You shouldn’t be alone after a head injury.”
“Nope,” Buck pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously, rolling his head against the seat. “Just me. ‘S not a big deal, I really have had worse.”
“I believe you,” Kelly chuckles. “Guess you’re coming home with me though. Ah--” he holds one hand up, uses the other to turn them towards his loft. “Don’t even start. I’m doing myself a favor as much as I’m doing you one. Chief’ll never let me live it down if I drop you off and you pass out and hit your head or something.”
“When you put it that way…” Buckley trails off, looking out the window. Just when Kelly is convinced they’re going to spend the rest of the drive in silence he opens his damn mouth again. “Guess this means you don’t wanna spank me anymore.”
To his credit, Kelly doesn’t choke on his own spit or flush bright red. He does hit the brakes a little too hard, which draws a hiss of pain from Buckley that he would apologize for, except… “You heard that?” How the hell had he heard that from halfway across a crowded bar?
“I...did not mean to say that out loud,” Buck says, and he is flushed bright red when Kelly glances over before pulling away from the stop sign. “Can we just blame it on the concussion and forget I ever said that?”
“Sure,” Kelly agrees easily, because that’s what he wants too - at least he’s pretty sure that’s what he wants. He also really doesn’t want to get written up for sexually harassing Casey’s candidate. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. It won’t happen again.”
“‘S only inappropriate if I didn’t like it,” Buckley replies, rolling his head against the back of the seat to pin Severide with that blue, blue gaze. That is almost definitely the concussion and the pain meds talking.
And Kelly, who has never been known for his self restraint, makes the mistake of meeting Buck’s eyes after pulling smoothly into a parking spot in front of his building. “Did you like it?”
The flush on Buckley’s cheeks deepens, making his bruises look even worse where they wrap around the right side of his face, and he bites at his raw looking bottom lip. “What if I did?”
Kelly tips his head, considers it. What he should do is shut Buckley down, watch him for the day so he doesn’t drown in his own vomit or die of a brain bleed while nobody is looking, and go back to mostly ignoring Buckley when he’s not in trouble. But a lot like Buckley, he’s not always great at doing what he should. So instead he licks his bottom lip, smirks, and says, “Tell me that when you don’t have a concussion. We’ll...talk. Now come on, I’m starving.”