Chapter Text
When Buck was a kid, when he was still Evan, he felt like a ghost. Something that haunted the pristine halls of his parents’ house, a shadow on the wall, a fleeting impression. Intangible. His parents stared through him, never at him, even in their angriest moments, like he was nothing more than a mirage. ( Did they see everything that Daniel could have been? This rag-tag replacement, their failed savior baby, a child they found lacking when measured against their beloved dead son. A defective boy who will inevitably grow into a defective man?)
Maddie saw him. She always did. His big sister who took care of him. Bandaged his cuts, kissed his bruises, laughed at his jokes, and wiped his tears. She was his anchor, a grounding force that kept him steady instead of floating away into quiet nothingness, because he was real when he was with her. He felt alive when she ran her hand through his hair, wrapped him in a tight hug, or pressed a kiss onto his forehead.
So, when she told him that she was going to Boston for school ( for Doug, he thought in his lowest moments, when his loneliness howled in his chest ) he didn’t take the news well. “You’re leaving me?” he asked, distraught and teary eyed, sitting in the passenger seat of her car parked in front of some house ( Daniel’s home, a fitting place to admit the truth of a lost sibling, if Maddie had gone through with it.) Tears burned in his eyes and he roughly wiped a hand across his face, hating how easily he cried.
Maddie turns in her seat to face him and cups his face with soft and gentle hands. “Evan,” she says, sweeping her thumbs back and forth across his cheekbones, gathering his tears,” I’m not leaving you, I promise. Just because I’m going to Boston doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about you here. No matter what, it's always going to be you and me.”
Evan sniffles and presses his cheek into her palm, seeking the familiar comfort she always gave him. “But what about Mom and Dad? You know how they are.” At twelve, it would still be years before he found out about his lost brother, but Evan was more than aware of the distance between them and their parents.
Maddie sighs and drops her hands from his face. “Think about it this way: in a couple of years, you’ll be old enough to leave too. Right? And when that happens, we’re going to have so much fun together.”
“Promise?” Evan asks, sticking his pinky out.
Maddie smiles and hooks her pinky with his. “I promise.”
(If they had only known what the future held for them both.)
By the time Evan graduates high school, the memory of their pinky promise has soured into a painful reminder. He knows something is wrong, that Maddie’s escape to Doug has only become another prison, but she just won’t talk to him about it ( He would have killed Doug if she had told him. So she didn’t, because protecting Evan was always her priority, no matter what.)
Mom and Dad insisted that he go to college, leaving him no other option that they would support, so he went. And it was – okay. He wasn’t bad at it, but he didn’t care for it either. It was just something he did. Just like how he went to parties, bought booze for his friends ( or at least what he thought to be friends. But really, they were only shallow imitations. Surrounded by people and he always felt alone), flirted with pretty girls and handsome boys that could provide some company for the night, or the various adrenaline-filled stunts he pulled. Anything that filled the emptiness in his life, however brief.
Maybe that’s why it was so easy to leave Pennsylvania when Maddie gives him the Jeep ( after he stews in his anger that she won’t go with him. That she’s broken her promise again. That she still doesn’t choose him). Why it is so easy to roam from one place to the next, never staying long enough to let himself get attached to anyone, or to plant his roots, or to find something worth staying for. One adventure to the next and the years go by.
But, in that weak, sensitive spot in him – where the little boy who longed for a home, to belong with others and have others belong with him, who cried and loved and wanted, hid – the temptation of finding a home eventually caught up to him. And he found himself in Los Angeles, of all places.
He wasn’t expecting it. Not really.
His time in the Academy was interesting. It was where Evan became Buck, where his ambition and drive were commended ( even if the instructors worried a bit about this rather wild young man), where the itch for adrenaline was finally sated under the promises of rope-rescues, five-alarm fires, and earthquakes. It also gave him purpose. Underneath the excuses of being an adrenaline junkie, the embodiment of the folly of youth in the flesh, Buck knew he could be useful and that he could help. ( He wonders if his parents willed this into his making. Desperate for a solution for their dying child. If they somehow etched it into the very grit of his bones, the core of his being. This desire to serve and save. This wilful self-destruction.)
When the time came to begin his probationary period, Buck skipped out on the station recruitment event. He didn’t care where he ended up as long as he ended up somewhere. He was at the top of his class, broke certification records, and got along with others easily enough. He’d have a place at a firehouse by the end of the week.
By that Friday, he had received his assignment for station 118 under the relatively new captain Robert Nash.
The 118 quickly became the closest thing he ever had to family, at least since Maddie left. ( The fact she has never answered any of his postcards makes him worry. Do they even reach her? Does she even care?)
Hen takes him under her wing whenever she doesn’t feel like strangling him. Tries to help him get on the straight and narrow when it comes to Bobby. Chimney – who still won’t tell him how he got his nickname – is funny and sarcastic and helps keep things light when it feels like the whole world is about to come crashing down on his shoulders. ( He still dreams of Devon. His first loss. He remembers every detail of his frightened face. The way Buck pleaded with him to hold on. The moment that seemed to last forever when Devon’s fingers slipped from the bar, sending him plummeting towards the pavement below. He’s joined by so many others now.)
And then there’s Captain Nash. ( Between “Call me Bobby” and “Pops” maybe it was unavoidable how things ended up. They completely bulldozed over any semblance of professional boundaries, let go of things that would have ended careers. Buck can’t forget his “Firehose” days nor the cold press of metal against his back and Bobby’s hand fisted in shirt.) A good man. A better captain. A man Buck is willing to follow.
All in all, they were an okay bunch.
Maybe it should have been a red-flag how quickly the 118 became so important to him. That he wanted their approval, their acceptance, and their friendship. He viewed Hen like another sister, Chimney like a brother, and Bobby as the father he never had. Then, after Athena and him smoothed things over, Athena completed the family image in his head.
He never should have let it get that far.
Shouldn’t have let his personal life to mix so intimately with work – shouldn’t know the laughter of their spouses, the fears and dreams of their children, or the comforting details of their homes. Never should have allowed himself to feed into the delusion of something more, of a family. ( It wasn’t a delusion. They loved him as much as he loved them. He was their brother. Their son. That’s why it hurts so much. Because it was real.)
The final nail in the coffin came with the 118’s newest recruit. Eddie Diaz.
God Buck hated him – well, wanted to hate him – when Bobby announced their new member. The way he walked through the firehouse like he belonged there ( how long did he feel like an outsider?), the easy respect between him and Bobby ( when will he stop being measured against his mistakes?), and his cool demeanor ( why does Buck become a stuttering mess when he’s around?) made him bristle, hackles up, which also made him a complete ass to the person who was supposed to be his new partner.
But one live grenade and you can have my back any day later, that animosity disappeared and was replaced with a growing fondness for the other man.
And then there was Christopher.
Buck isn’t sure he’s ever loved anything or anyone like he loves Christopher – and now Jee-Yun as well. He’s always been fond of children – especially the children of the 118 – but that night after the earthquake when he saw Eddie swing a little boy onto his back and the loud, happy laughter spilling from them both, something in him settled with a warm glow.
For the first time in a very long time, Evan felt whole.
How quickly that has changed.