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Buck had always been a part of the 118. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, it always felt like he was a shadow in their world. Ever since he joined the team, he was constantly compared to everyone else—always coming up short in their eyes, always "not enough."
"Why can’t you be more like Bobby? Reliable and steady."
"How come you're not as skilled as Chimney in improvising solutions?"
"Shouldn’t you have Eddie's focus? Or Hen’s intellect?"
The words always cut deep, no matter how much he tried to brush them off with a grin or a sarcastic comment. Worse still, his teammates didn’t notice how often they moved to keep distance from him when it came to emotional moments. “Buck doesn’t do feelings,” they’d joke. They didn’t realize how often he wanted to scream at them that he did, but the wounds inside him ran so deep, he didn’t know how to let those feelings out anymore.
And then there was the weight of the station’s unspoken belief: that his recklessness had cost them more than one close call. The guilt piled higher every time someone brought up how Bobby rebuilt his career, how Hen made her sacrifices for med school, how Eddie gave up so much for his son.
Meanwhile, Buck? “You’re just here to get us in trouble, aren’t you?” one of the B-shift guys once sneered. And Buck, for all his bravado, had no idea how to fight back.
He tried to keep up appearances. To be the “class clown” they expected him to be, the guy who made bad jokes at the worst times, the one they could dismiss without feeling bad about it. But when the shifts ended, when the firehouse was quiet, Buck was left alone with the noise in his head.
He began to find release in a way he hated himself for. It started small—just scratching at his arms, at first. But the relief was fleeting. Soon, his arms, his thighs, his ribs bore the evidence of his frustration and his shame. He always kept the marks hidden under long sleeves and thick fabric. No one would notice. No one ever noticed anything.
He told himself he didn’t need them, didn’t need their approval. But the truth was, he was so desperate to feel like he belonged, he would have traded anything for a real place at the table. He couldn’t bear another day of pretending he was fine, so one night, he packed a small bag and left Los Angeles. No note. No explanations. He didn’t even turn his phone off; he just left it behind entirely.
Months later, when he found himself working with another firehouse—a smaller, quieter station in Nevada—he realized how much had changed. Here, no one knew him as "Buck the Screw up" or "Buck the Adrenaline Junkie." He was just Buck, and for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he had to constantly prove his worth.
The crew here—Captain Daniels, a woman who took no nonsense from anyone, or Grady, who reminded Buck of Chimney’s goofy humor—treated him like a valued member of the team. They didn’t move their chairs away from him in the breakroom. They didn’t roll their eyes when he suggested ideas. They didn’t compare him to anyone else.
But old habits die hard. Buck still wore long sleeves, still flinched when someone praised him, still believed deep down that he didn’t deserve any of it. He was better off here, but he hadn’t healed—not yet.
Back in LA, the 118 realized something was wrong when Buck didn’t show up for his shift and couldn’t be reached. Maddie was frantic; Eddie was unusually quiet. Hen and Chimney thought back to all the times Buck had joked about “not being needed” or “just being the backup.” They hadn’t taken it seriously then. But now?
Weeks passed. Searches turned up nothing. The team began to feel the absence of Buck’s energy in ways they hadn’t anticipated. The firehouse was quieter without him. Less chaotic, sure—but emptier, too. And that emptiness gnawed at them.
but it was too late and they started to regret the way they treated him but that's on them as they never bothered to push more and see how he's really doing.
One day, Eddie found Buck. By sheer coincidence, he was visiting a friend who worked in Nevada and spotted Buck coming out of a diner, laughing at something a teammate had said. For a moment, Eddie froze. Buck looked different—healthier, stronger, but also… guarded.
When Buck left Los Angeles, he thought it would be the hardest decision of his life. Leaving the 118, the family he had tried so desperately to belong to, wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. He was drowning in their constant comparisons, their casual dismissals, their well-meaning but cutting jokes. He couldn’t keep pretending he was fine when he wasn’t.
So he packed a bag, turned off his phone, and walked away from everything he’d ever known.
The firehouse in Carson City, Nevada, was nothing like the 118. It was smaller, quieter. The calls weren’t as chaotic, but the work still mattered. And the team? They were different, too.
Captain Daniels was sharp, no-nonsense, and fiercely protective of her crew. Grady, the senior paramedic, was a sarcastic goofball who had a knack for making everyone laugh. Then there was Elena, a rookie firefighter who reminded Buck of himself when he first joined the 118—eager, a little reckless, but full of heart.
Here, Buck wasn’t the screw-up. He wasn’t “just the guy with the wild ideas” or “the backup plan.” He was part of a team that valued him for who he was.
At first, Buck was cautious. He kept his distance emotionally, unwilling to let himself get too close. The scars on his arms, his thighs, his ribs were a constant reminder of where trust had gotten him before. He wore long sleeves even in the Nevada heat, and no one questioned it. He didn’t talk about his past, and they didn’t push.
But over time, the walls he’d built around himself began to crack.
It started with Grady, who one day threw an arm around Buck’s shoulders after a tough call and said, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Buck. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Then there was Elena, who insisted on dragging him to a small-town fair one weekend, laughing as they raced each other to the top of a climbing wall. And Captain Daniels, who took him aside after a grueling rescue and said, “You did good today, Buck. Really good.”
They didn’t compare him to anyone. They didn’t make him feel like he had to prove himself. For the first time in a long time, Buck started to feel like he belonged.
And then there was Alex.
Alex was an EMT who worked shifts with the Carson City firehouse. He was kind, patient, and had a smile that lit up every room he walked into. Buck had noticed him right away, but he kept his distance. He wasn’t looking for anything—he didn’t think he was capable of it, not after everything he’d been through.
But Alex wasn’t deterred. He’d sit with Buck during lunch breaks, sharing stories about his childhood and his dog, Bear. He’d invite Buck to grab coffee after shifts, always grinning when Buck reluctantly agreed. Slowly, without even realizing it, Buck started to let him in.
One evening, after a particularly long shift, Alex leaned against the hood of Buck’s truck and said, “You know, you’re kind of amazing.”
Buck laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“I know enough,” Alex said softly. “And I think you’re worth knowing more.”
Months passed, and Buck found himself settling into his new life. He and Alex became inseparable, their relationship growing from cautious friendship to something deeper. For the first time in years, Buck felt like he could breathe.
He still didn’t talk about Los Angeles. He didn’t talk about the scars, the sleepless nights, or the weight he carried every day. Alex never pushed. He just held Buck close on the nights when the memories became too much and whispered, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
One day, Buck’s new life collided with his old one.
It happened at a diner just outside Carson City. Buck was grabbing lunch with Grady and Elena when he heard a familiar voice.
“Buck?”
He froze. Slowly, he turned to see Eddie standing a few feet away, a look of disbelief on his face.
Buck’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do if he ever ran into someone from the 118. He hadn’t planned for this.
“Eddie,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
Eddie stepped closer, his expression a mixture of relief and hurt. “We’ve been looking for you. Maddie’s been worried sick. I’ve been—” He stopped, glancing at Buck’s teammates. “What are you doing here?”
Buck glanced at Grady and Elena, who were watching the exchange with quiet curiosity. “I work here,” he said simply.
“Work here?” Eddie repeated, as if he couldn’t believe it. “Buck, you just disappeared. No one knew where you went or if you were okay.”
Buck’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” Eddie’s voice rose slightly. “You left without saying anything. Maddie—”
“I’m not going back, Eddie,” Buck interrupted, his tone firm.
Eddie blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean you’re not—”
“I mean I’m not going back to LA,” Buck said. “I have a life here now. A family.”
Eddie looked like he wanted to argue, but before he could, Alex walked up, a takeout bag in hand. He paused when he saw Eddie, then looked at Buck. “Hey, everything okay?”
Buck nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Eddie’s gaze shifted between Buck and Alex, realization dawning on his face. “Is this…?”
“This is Alex,” Buck said, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
Alex extended a hand, his smile polite but wary. “Nice to meet you.”
Eddie didn’t take it. He just looked at Buck, his expression a mix of confusion and pain. “So that’s it? You’re just… gone?”
Buck’s chest tightened, but he forced himself to stand tall. “I’m happy here, Eddie. For the first time in a long time, I’m happy.”
Eddie left that diner without saying much more, and Buck didn’t follow. He didn’t owe Eddie an explanation, not after everything.
His new team, his new family—they were enough. And so was Alex, who slipped his hand into Buck’s as they walked back to the firehouse, grounding him in the present.
For the first time in his life, Buck didn’t feel like he had to fight to be seen. He didn’t have to prove his worth or beg for acceptance. He was loved, he was valued, and he was finally home.