Chapter Text
Funnily enough, it’s a question from Christopher that triggers the series of events.
He sits at the dining table while Buck rummages around the kitchen, drying the dishes they’d used for dinner. Chris dutifully works on his homework, and Buck casts occasional glances from his spot, lips quirking into a quiet, fond smile.
It’s a routine they’ve perfected over time—they cook dinner, eat while discussing about whatever suits their interest, do their respective tasks, then play video games as a reward. The respective tasks vary from time to time, with Buck either doing the dishes or cleaning the loft, and Chris doing math worksheets or mandatory reading assignments. Buck quips in from here and there, offering his (sometimes) helpful insights until Chris shoos him away.
Buck loves moments like these. The quaint but content silence that embraces the room like a cocoon, perfectly domestic and making Buck’s heart so full that it threatens to explode.
Eddie had seemed apologetic, even reluctant, to drop Chris off at Buck’s for the third time this week. He’d been busy the last couple of days, what with taking care of an injured Abuela (“It’s just my back, I’m not dying!” Buck heard the woman wail once), getting appointed to cover an extra shift at the firehouse, and tonight—tonight, a blind date Tia Pepa set him up on.
He wore such a look of resignation when bidding Chris goodbye that Buck had laughed at him. He clapped him on the back in reassurance, inhaling the musky scent of Eddie’s cologne. The one he complimented on once. “Cheer up, Eddie. It’s a date, not an execution.”
Eddie had sighed. “I’m only going to get Tia Pepa off my back.”
“You’re awfully wrong if you think this is the last date she’s going to trap you in. Watch her line up fifty women for you to go out with by the end of this week.”
“Shut up,” Eddie had groaned, but a hint of a smile twitched on his lips. “Beer and a shitty reality show if it goes south?”
“Always,” Buck had told him, and he’d meant it. Around Eddie, he will never not mean the words coming from his lips.
So, here he is, wiping the counter while soaking in the peace from the privilege of getting to experience this time and time again.
Only when Chris speaks for the first time since sticking his head in a book does Buck even stop his cleaning. “Hey, Buck?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Would you start a war for someone you love?”
Buck almost drops the towel he’s holding. Whipping his head up, he feels his brows furrow in confusion as he stares back at Christopher’s face of innocent curiosity. “I’m sorry?”
“Would you start a war for someone you love?” Chris repeats, and Buck tries not to look too puzzled.
He’d expected some trivia or an oddly philosophical question like, what’s the point of homework if learning should be out of curiosity? He wouldn’t put abstract wonders past Chris, and he’s expected as much, but—war?
Count on Christopher Diaz to keep surprising him. Takes a skill, really.
“Uh—“ Buck purses his lips. “Where’s this coming from?”
Chris lifts his book from the table. “We’re doing a Greek mythology unit in English. I’m reading about the Trojan War.”
Buck tilts his head. “The Trojan War? Like, the Trojan Horse?”
Chris nods enthusiastically. It’s the most elated Buck has seen him over homework. “It’s actually really cool. There was a big war between the Greeks and the Trojans, and the Gods were involved. The Greeks won by using the Trojan Horse and sneaking their soldiers into Troy's territory.”
A flicker of distant memory lights in Buck’s mind. His high school English class, a brief time period where The Odyssey was their class material. He can almost hear Ms. Annie’s heavy British accent, reprimanding him for failing to understand the assigned passage from the book. Forget that The Odyssey is quite literally two thousand years old; Ms Annie had been adamant about comprehending Homer.
Because it was prior to his awakening for literature—along with the fact that he was a bitchy teenager—he refused to read any further out of spite. How he didn’t fail that class, Buck has no idea.
But Greek mythology. Not a completely uncharted territory for him, but never fully explored.
“I didn’t know middle school did Greek mythology,” Buck comments. “Isn’t it complicated?”
“Some names are hard to read,” Chris admits. “But the plot makes up for it. Did you know that the Trojan War lasted for ten years?”
“I did not,” Buck answers, a smile crawling its way onto his lips. He loves seeing Chris so enthusiastic, the way his eyes sparkle with fascination. “I’m guessing this is the reason why you asked if I would start a war?”
“For someone you love.”
“For someone I love, right.”
Chris’s fingers tap against the open page of his book in rhythm. “The Trojan War started because this guy, Paris, kidnapped Helen. Helen was the wife to Menelaus, and Menelaus got really mad.”
“So Menelaus started a war to get her back?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re asking me if I would do the same thing?”
Chris nods again, peering at Buck with open expectation beyond his glasses.
“This is in a romantic context, right?”
A sigh. “Just answer the question, Buck.”
And Buck—well, Buck doesn’t know. In all honesty. He may be reading too much into a question posed by a child, but with Chris’s genuineness and his inability to do things halfway, he finds himself seeking an honest answer out of the mapless territory that is his brain.
Buck has loved, and that’s without a question. Half the person he is today, he can attribute to the people he’s loved throughout his life. Whether platonic or romantic, Buck has been full of love, even as a child, first given to his parents and only reciprocated by Maddie. Then, there was Abby, who redefined everything for him, showed him the sides of love that made him understand the cheesy romance movies, who showed him the sides of love that made him ache, ache, and ache. There was Taylor a little after that, and though it was nowhere as burning as Abby’s, he’d loved her in his own way.
Then, most recently, Tommy. He’d never specifically said the L word, and he thought he loved him, but now—now, he’s not sure what it’d been.
Buck has loved. He has, he really has, but…would he have started a war for any of them?
For Abby, maybe. But she wouldn’t have wanted him to, and in turn, he wouldn’t have wanted to do anything she didn’t want. Taylor would probably prefer to stay captive than him starting a fucking war for her—or maybe she’d like it for the news coverage. And Tommy? Tommy is already causing a whirlwind of emotions and confusion, so he’s the one who started the war in their case.
To love is one thing, Buck thinks, but a war is another thing entirely. To wield loyalty as a weapon, to accept the possible death and swallow the tar that rises from spilling one’s blood in the name of love. Could love prove a victor over the guilt, the pain?
“I don’t know,” Buck mutters.
Chris blinks. “You don’t know?”
“No, yeah, I—” Buck shakes his head. “I have no idea. I’m sorry, I know that’s not the answer you probably wanted.”
Chris squints at him for a stretched moment, his gaze oddly perceptive, like he can see past Buck’s skin, recognizing a part that Buck can’t even see for himself. Buck is starting to get squirmish and is about to ask what’s wrong— then, Chris abruptly shrugs and says, “okay”, and goes back to reading.
They don’t talk about it any further, not even as Chris finishes reading and they move onto Mario Kart. They don’t talk about it when Eddie comes knocking on the door and picks him up. Instead, Buck cleans up, brushes his teeth, and proceeds to lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while his head swirls with something he can’t quite define. When he realizes he’s far too in his head to achieve any restful sleep tonight, he finds himself on the Wikipedia page for the Trojan War.
It’s not until a day later, during dinner at the firehouse, that he even tries to bring it up.
“Would you guys start a war for someone you love?”
Everyone pauses mid-conversation about something Buck was listening halfheartedly to (he’s pretty sure it was about the best chip flavor), and they turn to look at him with varying expressions. Chimney and Hen, with twin puzzlement on their faces. Ravi, unsurprised, but with a flicker of amusement. Bobby, fork halfway to his mouth, brows scrunched in question. And Eddie, whose eyes widen slightly as he processes Buck’s words.
“What?” Chimney asks after gulping down his mouthful of dinner (beef stew tonight, courtesy of Bobby).
“I mean—” Buck lets out a breath. “Would you guys start a war if, let’s say, someone you really love gets taken?”
Buck realizes his mistake, however, as he watches a wince collectively make its way across the table. It’s then that he is acutely reminded of the fact that Chimney has had his love taken from him at one point, not to mention he got almost fatally wounded over it. God, he can imagine the look Maddie would give him if she were here.
Buck leans forward in a panic, a clumsy apology already on the tip of his tongue, but Chimney huffs. “Yeah, well, been there once or twice and all that.”
“Chim,” Hen says, softly reprimanding, but there’s no heat behind it.
Chimney snorts. “For your information, Buck, I would. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Maddie.”
“I would start a war for Athena,” Bobby says confidently. “Although I hope I wouldn’t have to. Wars are nothing to glamorize.”
“Amen to that,” Eddie mumbles into his glass of water. There’s weight when he says it, and Buck once again reevaluates the crease around his eyes, the maturity transcending beyond his current age. A veteran turned firefighter.
“I would start a war for Karen,” Hen says, stabbing the salad broccoli with her fork. “Or any of my family for that matter. Wait, is this just a romantic partner thing?”
“A romantic partner thing,” Buck answers.
“Oh. My answer is still the same.”
Ravi finally speaks up. “What prompted this question in the first place?”
“Chris.” Buck and Eddie reply simultaneously. They turn to look at each other. Buck’s brows climb high.
“It’s kind of creepy when they do that,” Chim comments. Hen hums in agreement. Bobby silently chews on his food.
“He asked you too?” Buck asks Eddie, whose gaze shifts down to the plate before him, poking at the contents of the stew with his fork.
“Yeah. He’s going through a phase, I think.” Eddie mutters.
“And what phase is this exactly?” Bobby asks.
“The Trojan War,” Buck shrugs. “He’s reading Homer in his English class now, and he’s fascinated by the plot.”
“All kids go through phases,” Hen points out. “Mara’s in her bird phase right now. She’s fallen in love with the tropical parrots and stuff.”
Chimney hums. “Hen’s right, every kid has some kind of phase growing up.”
“I know one of you had a severe emo phase,” Ravi says. “I’m betting Buck.”
“The former Firehose, emo and broody?” Hen cackles. “I would pay to see that.”
Maybe Buck is just surrounded by haters. Maybe his family has it out for him. “For your information, no, I did not have an emo phase.” He purses his lips and adds, “Although I did have a fratboy phase.”
Chimney quirks a brow. “Is that not your Firehose phase?”
“Oh, you should’ve seen me in Peru. Firehose has nothing on Bartender Buck.”
Everyone groans.
“What’s emo?” Bobby mumbles belatedly. Chimney smiles fondly at the man and pats him on the arm. No one answers, collectively choosing to leave May in the role of updating Bobby on modern lingo. Buck feels slightly bad, but he remembers the hellish time when the team had to explain the phrase ‘hitting that’ to Bobby, and he’d rather keep his sanity intact.
“Okay, but I have an alternative question,” Ravi says after a beat. “Instead of starting a war, would you follow someone to war?”
“Like, as in they’re going to war and you’re following them?” Eddie asks.
“Yeah, like Achilles and Patroclus,” Ravi answers. His eyes widen comically when he’s met with blank expressions. “Homer’s Iliad? The Trojan War? Achilles and Patroclus? One of the most famous gay stories ever?”
Buck lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. He breaks out into a wide grin as he straightens in his chair. “I read about them last night!”
“Buck’s cultured.” Ravi nods proudly. Buck flashes a smug smile and fist-bumps him.
“Achilles, like the guy who died from getting stabbed in the heel? Achilles’ heel?” Hen inquires.
“Exactly. Achilles’ heel.” Ravi clears his throat. “So, basically, it goes like this. Patroclus and Achilles grew up together, and Achilles, being half-God, had a prophecy that he would be the best warrior ever. So he went to the Trojan War, Patroclus followed him, and they fought for the Greeks the entire time.”
“Wait, I think I remember Karen talking about this a while ago.” Hen says at the same time that Chimney chimes, “How is someone half-God?”
Eddie looks at him dubiously. “Have you never read Percy Jackson?”
“Nah, I didn’t read as a kid.”
“You were that one guy who always faked the reading logs in elementary school, weren’t you?”
“Continue, Ravi.” Bobby graciously interrupts, earning a smile from Ravi.
“Thank you, Cap. Anyway, there was another prophecy for Achilles that said he was bound to die if this guy called Hector died. So, long story short, Patroclus goes to battle one day pretending to be Achilles, and Hector kills him.”
Hen frowns. “So Patroclus went to war for Achilles, and died for him?”
“Yeah. But after that, Achilles went crazy with grief and killed Hector to avenge Patroclus.” Ravi sighs. “And historians call them friends.”
As if the universe were waiting for him to finish, the bell rings just then.
Swallowing their individual sighs and stuffing the last of dinner, they quickly shuffle down to the first floor and shrug on their gear.
Once they board the truck, however, Buck gets to thinking—particularly bout Ravi’s question that went unanswered from the rest of them, that is.
Would you follow someone to a war?
It’s no question why Patroclus had gone to Troy. He did it out of love—for the fallen soldiers, for the honor of his people, for Achilles. He had stepped into that chariot with every fiber of his being one of determination. Buck imagines him ramming headfirst into battle, listening to the footsteps of his looming fate.
What did Patroclus think as he headed towards Troy, aware of the awaiting danger? As he stood in the driven chariot, clad in armor, could he feel Achilles’ presence around him? Had he been fearful as he clutched his spear? Or was fury racing through his veins instead?
What was the thought that crossed his mind as he lay on the ground, painting the dirt with his blood? As he knocked on death’s door, what could he have possibly thought about?
Buck is no stranger to death. With all that he experienced, it’s honestly shocking how he’s managed to come out of it with all his limbs intact (except for that one close call with the firetruck). Yet, he’s never once been close to death for someone.
The times he almost died on the job don’t count—that’s basically all there is in the job description: to save people. Aside from that, he’s had his fair share of encounters with the Grim Reaper, but it’s never been over someone he loved.
The thing is, he would have. That’s the worst part of it all. He would’ve been willing to go to war for Abby, just like he was willing to wait for months without contact from her. He would’ve joined a war if Taylor, or Tommy had been hurt. And if it’s the entire spectrum of love—romance aside—he would have ripped himself apart, fighting tooth and nail for an ounce of recognition from his parents.
His bones are made of painful loyalty, and he knows none of those people would have done the same for him. He is a dog who trots after every hand that feeds him, because it’s not often that someone deems him worthy of feeding in the first place.
His love is a tsunami, the whole Atlantic Ocean, and those he sought love from cared just enough to share a fraction of his offerings.
They wouldn’t have followed him into a war, let alone start one. He knows. He knows, and yet, he feels like a fool for it.
He’s so consumed in his thoughts that when Eddie nudges him, the truck has come to a halt. Eddie, with worried creases between his brows, asks him a silent question through the squint of his eyes. Buck smiles tightly and nods.
They arrive at a burning house, located in an otherwise perfectly suburban neighborhood. Flames roar from the two-story building, and the neighbors around them watch in horror as it rises high in the air.
Bobby immediately sets into action. “Buck, Eddie, you take the SCBA and head inside. As for the others, you stay here and contain the fire. Chimney and Hen, get ready for any potential medical emergencies. Dispatch said there’s only one resident living here, female.”
The response is scattered as the 118 move in their tasks, and it’s not long before Buck finds himself walking into the untamed flames.
It’s not too often that he actually walks through fire, but every time he does, the sheer heat that travels through even the thick gear is astounding. He feels sweat gather on his skin and trail down his neck, his chest heaving as he breathes through the oxygen tank.
Eddie is ahead of him, navigating through the burning interiors, the yellow Diaz standing out and becoming a beacon for Buck to follow.
“Buck, over there,” Eddie says, voice muffled through the mask. He points in the direction of the kitchen.
Buck squints past the smoke clouding his vision, and ah—there she is. A woman sitting on the floor, powerlessly slumped against the kitchen counter. She weakly turns to Eddie and Buck, and croaks out a raspy plea for help.
It’s pretty straightforward from there. They hoist the woman onto her feet and guide her through the charred debris, practically lifting her by the time they break out of the fire. Hen gets to her immediately, putting an oxygen mask over her mouth while Chimney checks her for physical damage. The woman is almost limp, her gaze heavy and lidded as she blinks at the light that Chimney shines into her eyes.
“Severe smoke inhalation,” Hen mutters. “She should get checked for lung damage at the ER. She must’ve been in there pretty long to be in this state.”
“Yeah, the smoke—woah woah woah,” Chimney grasps the woman’s hand that brought the oxygen mask down. “Ma’am, you need to keep this on.”
The woman, however, shakes her head. “My—“ her voice cracks. “My nephew. Did he get out safely?”
Buck’s blood goes cold.
“Nephew?” Eddie repeats. “There’s a boy in there?”
“Samuel,” the woman rasps.
That’s enough for Eddie to bolt. Buck yells after him—so does everyone else—but Eddie, heart of gold and rigid justice, runs back into the collapsing structure. Buck watches, throat constricting as Eddie’s back disappears into the flames. The fire, despite the team’s best efforts, has yet to be contained.
Two seconds after Eddie runs in, the right side of the house collapses in on itself with an ear-splitting groan.
Buck can’t breathe. Buck can’t breathe, he can’t look away, he can’t—
Would you follow someone to war?
It’s Bobby’s yell that snaps him back into reality, and he realizes he’s running.
The mix of horrified yells is behind him as Buck shoves himself through the flames. Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he registers how fucked he is once he comes out. Bobby is not going to be happy, but compromises are compromises, no matter how much the thought of disappointing the man churns his stomach.
The heat is sharper, hotter than it was a few minutes ago, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care, not when he’s screaming out Eddie’s name, the rushing blood in his ears burying the cracking of the structure into the background.
“Eddie,” He calls out. “Eddie!”
“Buck!” Yells back Eddie, slightly far away.
Buck nearly melts in relief. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice is closer now, and after following a series of hurried footsteps, he heroically emerges through the smoke. A little boy is curled against his chest, hands clutched around Eddie’s jacket. It reminds Buck of tiny Chris, and his chest fills with pitiless fondness. Eddie adjusts the boy in his arms.“I’m okay, but we need to get him to the hospital. Now.”
They hurry back out, but the house is significantly damaged within the mere minutes between their last rescue and the present. Like before, Eddie goes ahead, but this time, Buck sees a small head lying against the crook of his neck.
It’s when they get to the exit, and Eddie is a step away from safety, that Buck hears it:
The sound of wood splitting.
Would you follow someone to war?
Buck doesn’t think; his body moves on its own, pure instinct, and he shoves Eddie out with all his strength.
Would you follow someone to war?
Eddie whirls around, one hand cupped on the back of the boy‘s head, eyes wide. His gaze catches Buck’s. Warm brown against bright blue.
Would you follow someone to war?
Buck takes in every detail on Eddie’s face—the slope of his nose, the shade of his skin. The afternoon sun shines just right, soaking the light into Eddie’s rumpled hair. His eyes are impossibly brown. Melted brown. A distinct shade found in the most exotic crystals.
Would you follow someone to war?
Buck makes three observations then:
One, he followed Eddie into the fire without a second thought.
Two, Bobby is going to be so pissed.
Would you follow someone to war?
The ceiling comes crashing down, and with it, a realization—his third observation.
Would you follow someone to war?
Yes, Buck wants to say. Yes.
As the debris rains all around him, Buck thinks to himself, I would start a war for him. I would tear through a war for him. I would end a war for him.
A heavy wooden column squares him in the head just then, and as he fades to unconsciousness, his last thought is not about how he possibly will not make it out of this one. Instead, it’s an acknowledgement, sinking deep into his bones and making home in his skin.
I’m in love with Eddie.