Chapter Text
If there was one thing Buck was good at, it was hiding his true feelings. Sure, he slipped up sometimes—reacted in ways he didn’t like, let too much show—but in the end, he always shoved it down. Pushed it away. He didn’t want to make everything about himself. He didn’t want to be exhausting.
So he smiled when he needed to. He cracked jokes at work. Pretended everything was fine.
When people asked how Eddie was doing, Buck lied. He’s doing great.
But the truth? He had no fucking idea.
Sure, he sublet Eddie’s house for him, but that didn’t mean Eddie had to reply to the frankly embarrassing number of texts Buck had sent.
In the past, a wall of blue texts hadn’t mattered. They’d see each other on shift. They’d talk anyway. The texts were just an extension of their friendship.
Now?
Now, that wall made him feel ignored.
Abandoned.
Alone.
But Buck told himself to push it aside because it wasn’t about him. Eddie was rekindling his relationship with his son, and Buck had no right to want his time or to expect at least one response.
So he stopped texting. Stopped checking his phone. Told himself that eventually, hopefully, Eddie would reach out.
Everything else, though?
That was harder to ignore.
The cooking lessons with Bobby stopped. The reason? You know what you’re doing now, kid.
The 118 gatherings disappeared.
Sure, Bobby and Athena were focused on building their house, but someone else could’ve hosted. Buck even offered up Eddie’s house—his house—but everyone turned him down.
Bobby wanted a quiet night in with Athena.
Hen was taking the kids to see the new Looney Tunes movie with Karen.
Chimney wanted to get home to Maddie and Jee-Yun—understandable, after the kidnapping.
All valid reasons.
But still.
It left Buck standing in the locker room alone.
Just like he had been that night at the bar, striking up a conversation with Red.
His chest tightened at the memory and everything that came after. He spent so much of that time terrified of losing his team. Of the 118 drifting apart, of their family not being a family anymore.
For a while, that fear faded into the background.
Now, it was back—stronger than ever.
Still, Buck had his job. Saving people. He put on a smile, made the rescues, took the risks, and ultimately made the choices that caused him to be suspended.
Suspended and required to see a department-appointed therapist for six sessions.
His stomach twisted the first time he walked into those halls, remembering the last time he’d been there.
Back then, he wouldn’t have objected to what happened with Dr. Wells. Would’ve assured anyone that he didn’t say no, that he wanted it.
However, maturity and time had given him clarity. If it had been anyone else in his place, he would’ve seen it for what it was.
But because it was him? He still struggled to accept the truth.
The instinct to bolt from that office was a clear enough sign.
His therapist was older than Bobby—full grey beard, steady smile. A man Buck had never met before but one who put him at ease.
Not that it helped.
The first session went badly. So did the second.
Because Buck lied. Or stayed quiet. Never addressed why he was there.
And then came session three.
“It’s not about how many sessions you complete, Evan. It’s about whether you’re fit to return. Right now? I have no reason to recommend that.”
And just like that—Buck’s world shattered.
What was the point, then?
He didn’t understand. Didn’t see why he wasn’t fit to return. He’d saved a kid. Did his job. Why was he being punished for it?
He walked out before the session even ended.
Angry.
Spiraling.
That was how he ended up here.
On the roof of a condemned high-rise, sitting on the ledge.
He knew this building. He’d worked this fire. Saved people from it.
And for what?
To lose his job a few years later?
He took a long swig from the nearly empty bottle of tequila in his hands. Warmth spread through his body, numbing the cool night air.
He stared down at the street below. Blurry. Maybe because of the tequila. Maybe because of the height.
His feet kicked idly against the side of the building.
For the first time in weeks, his thoughts weren’t racing.
They were dulled. Faint murmurs in the back of his mind.
Still there, though.
Wondering what he was doing.
Wondering if he even mattered.
He'd been created to save his brother, and he couldn’t even do that.
He spent his entire life searching for a place to belong.
And, like everything else, he wanted too much. Felt too much.
He thought the feelings had been mutual. But, again—like so much of his life—
His parents.
Maddie.
Abby.
Ali.
Taylor.
Eddie.
Tommy.
He was either too much or never enough.
Not important enough for them to stay.
Not important enough to be considered before decisions were made that affected his life too.
Buck huffed out a bitter laugh at the direction his thoughts had taken.
"There you go again—making it all about you. Bucking everything up." He slurred the words to himself and took the last swig of tequila and tossed the bottle behind him. He reached for the next one. Twisted the cap.
“Evan.”
The voice startled him. Made him freeze.
For a second, he didn’t move.
Was he so drunk that he was hallucinating Tommy’s voice?
Maybe he’d already fallen and was just reliving the moments before.
Maybe he was already dead.
Whatever it was, he ignored it.
Lifted the bottle. Took another drink.
“Evan.”
The voice was closer now. More persistent.
And this time—he couldn’t ignore it.
Buck barely sighed. Even that felt like too much effort.
He didn’t turn all the way, just enough to glance down—to see Tommy standing below him on the rooftop, slightly lower but still steady, still unshakable.
Blue flight suit. Wide eyes. Too knowing.
Buck scoffed and turned back to the nighttime Los Angeles skyline, to the way the city stretched so far beyond him, like it didn’t give a single fuck whether he was here or not. Not that he could hear the whirl of the chopper blades, he wondered how he missed it before.
"What do you want, Tommy?"
"I just want to talk."
"A little late for that, isn’t it?"
He took another long gulp, the tequila burning down his throat.
Let it work faster. Let it make everything stop.
Because in that moment, he realized—he had decided.
He didn't come up here to jump. Not at first.
But now?
Now, with his brain finally blissfully silent, he wondered if keeping it that way wouldn’t be so bad.
He wouldn’t have to ache over Tommy anymore.
Wouldn’t have to wonder if his friendship with Eddie ever actually meant anything.
Wouldn’t have to wake up gasping for air, still haunted by his coma dream and Bobby heart attack after the house-fire, still terrified of a world where Bobby no longer occupied it.
Wouldn’t have to be the perpetual third wheel in Maddie and Chimney’s life, the built-in babysitter until they finally got tired of him and moved on.
Wouldn’t have to watch the 118 fade away, piece by piece, until it wasn’t home anymore.
All of it—gone.
Just like that.
Just one shift forward.
How much of the fall would he feel? Would he have time to realize it was happening?
"Evan."
Tommy’s voice was closer now, sharper, and it pissed Buck off.
His fingers clenched around the bottle in his lap.
"Go away, Tommy."
"I can’t do that."
"Yes, you can," Buck snapped, whipping his head toward him. "Turn around and fucking leave. Like you did that night. Like everyone does."
Tommy flinched. Just barely.
But Buck didn’t stop.
His throat tightened. The tequila wasn’t numbing him fast enough.
"God, I’m so fucking sick of not being able to feel anything without being accused of making it about me. Of being exhausting."
Tommy took a step closer, slow, deliberate. Too fucking careful.
"You know what’s exhausting?" Buck’s throat was tight, his voice shaking even as he tried to keep it steady.
"Being alive."
There.
He said it.
The words hung between them, and Tommy’s face twisted in something Buck didn’t have the energy to decipher.
"Being reminded every fucking day that I don’t matter to anyone. That I give and give and give, and the second I stop being useful, I get tossed aside like I was nothing."
His voice cracked. His eyes burned. Red-rimmed, filled with tears. Maybe anger. Maybe grief. He wasn’t sure anymore.
"I’m so fucking tired of it."
Tommy inhaled sharply, like he’d been punched.
And maybe Buck should feel bad about that.
Maybe a better person wouldn’t want to hurt him back.
But Buck wasn’t sure he had anything left in him except hurt.
"You think no one cares?" Tommy’s voice was quiet. Too fucking steady. "Then look me in the eyes and tell me I don’t."
Buck didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Instead, he just laughed, dry and hollow.
"If you cared, you wouldn’t have left."
There it was—the truth that had been choking him for months.
Tommy didn’t say anything right away.
But when he did, it wasn’t a denial.
"I did leave," he admitted, voice raw. "Because I thought you’d be okay. Because I thought your life would be better without me in the way. Because I thought you had people who wouldn’t let you get to this point."
A shaky breath.
"I was wrong, Evan. I was so fucking wrong."
Buck squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body felt like it was fraying at the edges.
"I can’t do this anymore."
"Okay," Tommy said, gently—too gently. Like he knew exactly how close Buck was.
"Then let me carry it for a little while."
Buck’s breath hitched.
No.
That’s not how this worked. That’s not how it ever worked.
"That’s not—"
"Just for tonight." Tommy took another slow step forward. "Come with me. If it still feels this heavy in the morning, we’ll figure it out together."
Buck’s hands were shaking now, his whole body trembling from the cold, the alcohol, or maybe just the sheer weight of it all.
"You don’t have to do this."
"I want to."
Buck wanted to argue. Wanted to call Tommy a liar.
If it was anyone else, he could have. Easily.
Because that’s what people did. They lied. Or they brushed him off, dismissed his worries, told him he was fine even when he wasn’t.
Because that was easier than seeing him.
Tommy never did.
Tommy always checked in. Always saw behind the mask. Never lied to make Buck feel better.
And that made it so much harder to fight against the words—to pretend they weren’t unraveling him.
"I don’t want to make this about me," Buck whispered.
"Sweetheart," Tommy murmured, voice low and aching with something Buck couldn’t name. "I’m making it about myself. Because I can’t live in a world where you—sunshine incarnate—don’t exist."
The endearment hit him like a physical touch—tugged at something deep inside him, something frayed and fragile.
Maybe it even soothed him.
Just a little.
Buck’s grip tightened around the near empty bottle in his hands as he looked down at it and swallowed hard.
"I don’t know what to do next," he admitted.
"You let me get you to safety."
A beat.
"And then you’ll leave?" Buck’s voice came out too small, too uncertain—like he already knew the answer and was trying to brace himself for the blow.
Realistically, there was no reason for Tommy to stay.
He may care, but he didn’t love Buck.
Not the way Buck loved him.
Tommy exhaled, stepping even closer. His expression didn’t waver.
"Evan," he said, quiet but sure. "I am never leaving you again."
Buck’s breath hitched.
He met Tommy’s gaze, and for the first time, he saw it.
The vindication in his voice wasn’t just words.
It was real. Solid.
Unshakable.
And the way Tommy looked at him—fuck.
It wasn’t just fear. It wasn’t just desperation.
It was more.
It was everything.
Buck’s heart stumbled over itself, and before he could think, before he could stop himself—
"Okay," he found himself saying.
Tommy’s smile was small, hesitant for only a second before he reached forward and Buck reached for him.
The motion wasn’t smooth—it couldn’t be—Buck was higher than him, the ledge awkward, their balance thrown off by the sheer weight of the moment.
They collapsed together, hitting the rooftop hard.
Tommy’s arms locked around him, holding on like he was terrified to let go.
Buck landed against his chest, frozen, breath knocked from his lungs.
And then it all crashed over him.
A sob tore its way up from his throat—raw, broken, too much to contain.
His hands clenched in Tommy’s flight suit, as if he needed to feel something real, something solid, something to prove he was still here.
That this was real.
That he wasn’t on the ground below, body broken on the pavement.
That Tommy was here, holding him, keeping him tethered.
Buck sobbed into his chest, shaking apart in his arms, and Tommy didn’t let go.
Not even for a second.