Chapter Text
There were exactly three things keeping Buck from decking Eddie Diaz square in the jaw this morning.
One: He loved being on A shift. Loved it like people loved their dogs or motorcycles or, hell, even their grandmas. Bobby was the best captain Buck had ever worked under. Hen and Chimney were family. The station felt like home, a real one, not the patchwork apartment Buck stumbled back to after rough calls.
Two: Buck had been at Station 118 a hell of a lot longer than Eddie, and if someone was going to transfer shifts, or, better yet, stations, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Buck.
And three: Christopher.
Sweet, stubborn, superhero-obsessed Christopher, who grinned at Buck like he hung the damn moon every time they found each other at the 118 get togethers. If Buck punched his dad in the face, well…pretty sure that would land him in the running for “World’s Worst Human Being” right under people who kicked puppies.
So yeah.
He didn’t punch Eddie.
Yet.
Instead, Buck gritted his teeth so hard he was probably two seconds from cracking a molar and shoved another plate into the drying rack with a little more force than necessary.
“You could at least admit when you’re wrong,” Eddie muttered from where he was wiping down the coffee station, voice low but definitely meant to be heard.
Buck froze, water dripping off his hands. Slowly, he turned to face him. “I’m sorry, was that a request for an apology?” he asked, voice sugary sweet. “Because if it was, you might want to check the call logs. Again.”
“You misread the damn hydrant map, Buck,” Eddie said, not looking up. Like it wasn’t even worth his full attention. Like Buck was just some background noise, an irritating buzzing fly.
“I misread the –“ Buck’s voice jumped an octave, and he had to reel it back in. He could feel Bobby’s gaze flick over from where he was reviewing reports at the table. Watching. Professional, Buck reminded himself. Stay professional.
“We still got water on the fire, didn’t we?” he said, dropping the dish towel onto the counter. “Nobody got hurt. House is still standing. You’re welcome.”
Eddie finally looked at him then, dark eyes flashing. “Barely.”
Before Buck could snap back - because, really, what was he supposed to do? Stand there and take it? - Hen cut in, voice casual but firm.
“Hey. Play nice, boys. Kitchen’s a no-homicide zone. House rules.”
Chimney snickered into his coffee, not even trying to hide it.
Buck and Eddie both stiffened, because, yeah, they’d heard it before. Plenty of times. Still, it stung. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
When Eddie first arrived at the 118, Buck had wanted to like him. Wanted to believe all the good things Bobby said about him: solid, sharp, reliable. Buck loved when the team worked like a team, clean and seamless and right. And Eddie was good, no denying that. Maybe too good. Perfect execution, perfect tactics, stupid perfect face, perfect…everything.
Except for his attitude.
From day one, Eddie treated Buck like he was reckless. Like he was dangerous. Like he was the bane of his existence. Never Hen. Never Chimney. Certainly, never Bobby. Just him.
And stupid, stubborn, petty Buck couldn’t help but rise to it. Every. Single. Damn. Time.
They were a slow-burn disaster in the making, a constant tug-of-war that only ended when the tones went off and instinct shoved them into a wordless, perfect rhythm. That was the cruellest part of it: on a call, as much as he called him impulsive, Eddie trusted him. Buck could feel it. Like muscle memory, like breathing.
But the second the sirens cut off and the turnout gear came off, it was back to the cold looks, the biting comments, the way Eddie seemed to assume Buck was always one wrong move away from screwing everything up.
Buck had complained to Bobby about him within a week of Eddie joining. Bobby had said it was an adjustment period, that he’d handpicked Eddie to be his partner because he knew they’d work well together…
It had been six months.
Buck dried his hands on his pants and stalked toward the bay. He needed air. Needed space. Needed not to launch himself into another screaming match that would make Bobby sigh and Hen shake her head.
Behind him, he heard Chimney say quietly, “Seriously, when are those two just gonna make out and get it over with?”
Buck stumbled, caught himself, and kept walking without looking back.
Because that?
That was never going to happen.
Not in a million years.
Not even if Eddie somehow pulled that stick out of his ass and apologised for being the most insufferable man alive.
He stepped into the sunlight, dragged in a deep breath of smoggy Los Angeles air, and tried to shake off the lingering heat under his skin – the one that always seemed to spark hotter after every fight.
God, he hated Eddie Diaz.
The tones blared overhead, loud enough to rattle Buck’s bones.
He barely registered Bobby’s callout before he was moving, feet pounding across the bay. He was halfway to the engine when a hand darted in front of him – grabbing his turnout coat off the hook with an infuriating, smug little grin.
Buck’s eyes narrowed at Eddie as he yanked his own coat off the hook with a little more force than necessary and shoved past Eddie without a word, the two of them climbing into the engine.
As always, Buck slid into the far-left seat in the back, slamming the door behind him. Eddie reopened the door and climbed in opposite him, not even glancing over. Hen and Chimney dropped between them, filling in the middle like an invisible referee line. Bobby was already settled into the passenger seat, headset on, while Sanchez handled the wheel.
Buck pulled on his headset just as Bobby’s voice cracked to life.
“Small fire reported at a local shop. Owner said there’s been a partial structure collapse in the back room and she’s trapped.”
Buck adjusted the cuffs of his turnout sleeves, tugging them neatly into place as Chimney whistled low under his breath.
“Should be simple enough,” Chimney said.
Bobby nodded, tapping at the tablet secured to the dash. “Address is 2823 Oakridge. Shop name is Whisperlight Curiosities.”
A small shiver of excitement ran up Buck’s spine. Whisperlight Curiosities. The name itself sounded like something out of a storybook, all shimmering candles and secrets hidden between cracked leather books.
The truck fell silent.
“Isn’t that…” Hen started, trailing off.
Chimney sat up straighter, his eyes wide. “Wait – the magic shop?”
“That’s the one.” Bobby glanced back at them, face serious. “I hope you all remember your training.”
Buck straightened automatically, heart hammering faster in his chest. Magic shops weren’t exactly common in LA, and most of the time, so-called ‘lesser magic’ was harmless. A few sparks here, a little illusion weaving there. But in a fire? Lesser magic could turn into a major complication real fast.
Eddie scoffed loudly enough that Buck snapped his head around to glare at him.
“There’s no such thing as magic,” Eddie muttered, looking out the window like this whole conversation was beneath him.
Buck opened his mouth, already loading a retort about the two calls they’d had last year where a “non-existent” curse had knocked out half the crew for a week, but Chimney cut in before he could unleash it.
“You can’t seriously still think that,” he said, exasperated.
Hen shook her head with a small laugh. “You’re the only person I know who’s still sceptical, Diaz. Even after all the stuff we’ve seen.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, chin propped on his fist against the window, doing his best impersonation of someone who wasn’t trapped in a truck full of people who he thought were morons.
“Either way,” Bobby called, raising his voice slightly, “we need to be prepared. See something reacting, you shout out and get the hell away, understood?”
A chorus of, “Yes, Cap,” echoed through the truck.
Bobby nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
Buck shifted, resting his elbow on his knee, more energised than ever. Calls like this didn’t come around every day. Sure, there were risks – wild, unpredictable ones – but that was half the point, wasn’t it?
Hen leaned closer toward Chimney. “Remember that one time we responded to that florist shop, and the vines tried to strangle you?” she said, grinning wide.
“Oh my god, yes.” Buck burst into laughter. “You were screaming about ‘evil daffodils’ like you were being attacked by a horror movie villain.”
“I wasn’t screaming,” Chimney protested, half-heartedly. “It was a dignified yell.”
“Sure.” Hen snorted. “You dignifiedly yelled all the way down the street while Buck had to cut you free with the jaws.”
“You ever been strangled by a sentient Ficus, Hen?” Chimney threw up his hands. “Didn’t think so.”
Bobby hid a smile behind his hand, pointedly fixing his gaze on the road.
“And don’t even get me started on that cursed espresso machine,” Buck added, grinning. “My dreams were haunted by baristas chanting ‘the sacred bean’ for weeks.”
“I still can’t drink lattes without flinching,” Hen muttered.
Chimney chuckled, the sound bubbling warm and easy through the cab.
Out of the corner of his eye, Buck caught Eddie rolling his eyes at them, his forehead pressed lightly against the window.
Typical.
He bit down the urge to rise to it, and turned back toward Hen and Chimney, refusing to let Eddie’s scepticism drag him down. Not today.
The engine rumbled steadily under them, carrying them closer to Whisperlight Curiosities, and whatever waited for them inside. When they slowed in front of a squat brick building wedged between a bakery and a pawn shop, Buck’s eyes immediately fell on the battered wooden sign that swung overhead, painted in gold, edges worn soft. Smoke curled lazily from the cracked windows, more light grey than black.
He bounced out of the engine before it came to a full stop, tugging his turnout coat tighter and grabbing his mask. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke, but there was something else too, sharper, greener, like burned herbs.
His pulse thudded in his ears as he took in the shop: narrow, cluttered windows stacked with strange little figurines, crystals catching the dim morning light and throwing rainbows across the crystalised glass.
This is awesome, Buck thought, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He strapped his mask over his face as Bobby’s voice rang out.
“Remember – no water! We don’t know what’s inside!”
Another chorus of, “Yes, Cap!” answered as everyone piled out. Buck grabbed one of the specialised extinguishers from the side compartment specially designed for magical fires. He had no idea how they worked, exactly, just that the foam they sprayed somehow neutralised magical reactions instead of making it worse.
And from what he’d heard about magical fires? You definitely didn’t want to make them worse. Hallucinations, random species shifts, chemical explosions, reality-warping…Buck was hoping for none of it.
Well, maybe just a little.
They advanced toward the door, Chimney tugging it open. Inside, the shop was pure chaos: shelves tipped sideways, glass jars cracked open, powders and dried herbs scattered across the floor in wild patterns. Colourful crystals glittered in the dim light. A cracked mirror hung by one hinge on the back wall, reflecting a skewed version of the wreckage.
And despite the mess, despite the slight sag in the ceiling, Buck’s chest swelled with excitement. It was like stepping into another world.
They moved fast, Chimney and Hen fanning out to the left and right, snuffing out a few tiny embers and dousing suspicious bubbling jars and vibrating trinkets. Buck and Eddie stuck together, sweeping toward the rear where the fire had apparently started.
The flames were little more than a few stubborn licks, barely holding to the last scraps of debris. Buck squeezed the trigger on his extinguisher, white foam hissing out in a neat arc. The fire died with a sad little sizzle, and Hen moved in behind them, popping more windows to ventilate.
Easy. Too easy, maybe. A little disappointing, honestly.
Buck took a second to admire the shop, wide-eyed behind his mask. Shelves lined every wall, crowded with jars filled with brightly coloured herbs, dried flowers, strange bones, tarot cards, polished stones that seemed to hum faintly.
He could spend hours exploring here.
“Buck, Eddie,” Bobby called, voice sharp. “Clear the back room for extraction.”
They exchanged a look, well, more of a grimace, and moved fast, pushing through the narrow doorway that hung half off its hinges. The ceiling had partially collapsed, leaving a lattice of cracked beams and sheetrock across the floor. Near the centre, an older woman was pinned, one arm trapped beneath a heavy wooden support.
She was slight, maybe mid-sixties, with frizzy silver hair tied back in a messy bun and a colourful patchwork skirt that was now smudged with dirt. Dozens of tiny charms and beads dangled from bracelets on her wrists, chiming faintly as she shifted.
Buck dropped to his knees beside her. “LAFD, we’ve got you,” he said quickly, giving her a reassuring smile she could see through the clear face shield as he moved away the pieces covering her.
“I’m not worried about me, dear.” Her bright green eyes locked onto his, fierce despite the pain. “Mind the wards.”
He blinked once, unsure if he heard her right – but Eddie was already moving to the largest piece of debris, wedging his shoulder under one end.
“Buckley,” he called. “Help me lift.”
He scrambled up, bracing against the beam with him. Together they heaved it up, muscles straining, and shuffled carefully backward into the main shop, hauling the heavy ceiling piece out of Hen and Chimney’s way.
They staggered into the front room, and dropped it against the back wall, the wood thudding against the floor hard enough to rattle the crystals still precariously balanced on a nearby shelf.
Buck blew out a breath, tugging his gloves tighter as he straightened. Eddie rolled his shoulders, shooting Buck a look that somehow managed to be both a glare and a challenge at the same time.
He rolled his eyes and turned away, focusing back on removing the debris as the magic shop buzzed around him like it was alive.
God, he loved this shift. He was definitely coming back here when it was up and running again.
He dropped the last piece of debris against the wall with a thud, Eddie setting his down beside it. “Clear, Chim, Hen!”
They were already moving, threading past them and into the back room where the owner waited. Buck, adrenaline still humming pleasantly under his skin, tugged off his mask, letting it hang down his chest.
“What are you doing?” Eddie snapped, his voice sharp through the mask.
“Relax. There’s barely any smoke.” He waved him off, grinning. “I want a closer look.”
Eddie grunted but didn’t stop him. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned, the edge in his voice making Buck’s grin widen.
Buck turned his head slowly, raising a single eyebrow in deliberate challenge. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out one finger and poked a small singing bowl perched on a shelf.
Through the shield of Eddie’s mask, Buck could see his eyebrows draw together in a scowl. He snorted and shifted his attention to the next display where rows of glinting, colourful crystals lined up in neat little pyramids. He plucked one up, weighing it in his palm, and flashed a teasing smile at Eddie.
“It’s not going to bite you, y’know,” Buck said, holding it toward him. “You scared of a crystal?”
“It’s a rock,” Eddie said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Buck shook his head with mock disappointment. “Crystals, Diaz,” he corrected, turning the one in his hand so the light hit it. “They help with all sorts of things. Even cleansing your aura. Removing bad energy. You could definitely use some of that. I might be able to find you one.”
In his peripheral vision, he caught Eddie pulling off his mask, clearly fed up. He grinned wider, spotting a chunk of black tourmaline tucked near the bottom of the shelf. He grabbed it and thrust it toward Eddie.
“Here,” he said brightly. “Perfect for you.”
Eddie scowled and swatted his hand away. “Stop messing around.”
He laughed and kept waving the crystal in his face. Eddie’s jaw twitched – always a tell – and the next second, he lunged for it. Buck yelped and danced back, but his foot caught on a half-buried box jutting out from under a cabinet.
He stumbled hard, his hand flying out, grabbing onto a wall shelf that snapped clean off under his weight. He landed squarely on his back with a grunt, and Eddie, mid-lunge, tripped over his sprawled legs.
At the same time, a dusty box from the broken shelf toppled, smacking the two of them before bursting open, coating their hair, faces, and shoulders in a heavy cloud of fine blue powder.
Buck sneezed explosively; the sound muffled by the floating dust. Eddie grumbled under his breath, steadying himself on a nearby counter and swiping furiously at his face, grimacing as the powder smeared instead of coming off.
“Look what you did,” Eddie muttered, shaking out his arms like he could shake it off.
He narrowed his eyes from his seat on the ground. “You’re the one who was attacking me.”
“Attacking you?” Eddie snapped, whirling on him. “I-”
“Boys, you coming or not?” Chimney’s voice cut through.
Buck twisted around as the owner hobbled out from the back room, cradling her injured arm carefully against her chest. Hen was beside her, steadying her.
Hen’s eyes narrowed the second she caught sight of them. “What are you doing on the floor?”
Buck scrambled up onto one elbow, looking sheepish. “I’m really sorry,” he said quickly, glancing at the owner. “We can pay for that.”
The owner frowned, opening her mouth like she was about to say something –
But Eddie, still grumbling as he wiped powder from his jacket, cut in, “You can pay for it. You’re the one that bounded in here like a goddamn golden retriever let out of its cage for the first time in months.”
Buck scowled, pushing himself upright, brushing more dust from his cheeks. “Says the bull in a China shop who tripped me up.”
“You tripped over your own feet!” Eddie snapped. “Don’t blame me for your inability to coordinate your stupid long legs.”
The owner glanced at the broken shelf, then the mess of powder, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Well,” she muttered, almost to herself, “that’s going to be interesting.”
Hen’s eyebrows shot up, and Chimney gave the owner a curious look, but she waved them off and smiled at Buck.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she said lightly. “I’m sure it fell during the collapse.”
Buck opened his mouth to apologise again, but Hen clapped her hands sharply. “Right. Let’s get you transported to the hospital.”
The owner nodded, moving carefully toward the door with Chimney at her side. As soon as they were out of earshot, Hen rounded on Buck and Eddie, fixing them both with a look that could have cracked stone.
“Argue all you want back at the station,” she said, voice cool, “but not in front of a victim.”
“I’m sorry.” Buck flushed, rising to his feet. “Please don’t tell Bobby.”
Hen shook her head. “I won’t tell him this time. But don’t let it happen again.”
“It won’t,” he and Eddie grunted in tandem, casting their eyes to the floor.
Hen turned on her heel and followed Chimney out. The second she was gone, Eddie turned to him, still glaring. Buck glared right back, the powder making Eddie look even more annoyed than usual, like a weird cosplay gone wrong. He wanted nothing more than to laugh but thought better of it.
Without another word, they stomped out after the others, Buck brushing crystal dust from his hair as he went.
They filed out of the trucks, feet heavy on the station floor. Buck slung his helmet into his hand and said, “I’m just saying, if you hadn’t gone for me, I wouldn’t have fallen.”
Eddie shot him a glare over his shoulder. “It wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t dive headfirst into everything like a toddler hopped up on candy.”
“Wow, okay.” He let out a bitter laugh, ripping off his turnout coat and throwing it on the hook. “You’ve been dying to say that, haven’t you?”
Hen, Chimney, and Bobby returned their gear and headed for the stairs in silence, not looking at them.
Eddie grunted as he hung his coat, dragging in a tight breath. God, does he ever shut up?
“Please,” Buck scoffed. “Like you don’t love the sound of your own voice.”
Eddie paused and frowned. “What?”
“You heard me,” Buck said, waving his hand in the air and turning to stomp toward the supply rack.
Eddie huffed, yanking a hose loose. I wonder if Bobby would be open to gagging him.
Buck spun on his heel, voice rising. “Fucking asshole.”
“Oh, real mature,” Eddie snapped back, pivoting to face him, eyes flashing. “You know, I can think of worse things to call you.”
“Whatever.” He jerked his hand toward the engine. “Just go check the damn hoses.”
“Yeah, maybe I will. Before you somehow trip over one and end up covered in glitter again,” Eddie muttered, already stalking away.
Buck immediately yelled after him, “It was powder! And it wasn’t my fault!”
Eddie threw his hand up without turning. “Sure. Not your fault. Just like nothing ever is.” Prick.
Buck felt the heat rise up his neck. “Getting brave now, are you?”
“Like you don’t literally say half the stupid shit you think either,” Eddie called back, his voice echoing in the empty bay.
There was a beat of silence, heavy and tense.
“You’re such a dick,” Buck finally barked.
Eddie, not missing a beat, replied, “You’re such a drama queen.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and bitter, and then they split, Buck veering off toward the bathroom while Eddie stomped toward the truck to check the hoses.
As Buck walked, he caught sight of Hen and Chimney leaning against the railing upstairs, mugs of coffee in hand, watching him with barley concealed amusement.
He huffed out a breath and shoved into the bathroom. He twisted the tap on full blast, the water gushing against the sink. His face was still streaked with a weird blue-grey tinge from the powder, the remnants clinging stubbornly to his cheeks.
He scrubbed at his face harder than necessary, watching the powder disappear into his skin and the water run clear down the drain, trying, and mostly failing, to steady his breathing.
“Guess this means we can rule out love potion?” Chimney asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “Animal shifting, maybe?”
Hen hummed, eyes following Eddie as he threw the hoses down and muttered to himself. She turned to him with a smirk twisting her lips. “Wanna bet on it?”
He grinned. “Of course.”
Buck shut the door behind him with a solid thud, tossing his keys onto the kitchen island where they landed with a dull clatter. He made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup of coffee. It was scolding and bitter, but he didn’t care. He needed something in his system.
He leaned against the counter, blowing out a breath. The last two calls before the end of their shift had been nothing; simple rescues from a locked storage room and a false alarm prank called in by a group of teenagers looking for a laugh. No excitement. No mystery. No…magic.
He frowned into his mug, disappointed. He’d been hoping, just a little, that he’d have a weird story to tell about the magic fire. Maybe something dramatic: hallucinations of aliens invading Earth, reality shifts, communicating with the dead, anything. But in the end, it had just been a few old herbs catching fire. Nothing wild, nothing dangerous. Just smoke, a lot of blue powder, and a broken arm.
Not that he wanted anyone to be in danger, obviously. But he’d been looking forward to seeing magic in action: real magic, the kind you only heard about in the stranger corners of their world. Magic wasn’t exactly rare, but it wasn’t ingrained into every aspect of living either. Although, it was common enough to have laws regulating safe practices, guidelines about what could and couldn’t be used in public spaces, and rules about using it responsibly in workplaces like the firehouse.
Not that they’d had much experience with magic at the 118. The closest they’d come had been a couple of minor curses – bad luck mostly. One time, somebody had muttered the word “quiet” during a shift and all hell broke loose for twelve straight hours. Now it was an unspoken rule: Never say ‘quiet’. Never tempt fate. And whatever hex had been attached to that particular word, they still hadn’t figured out how to break it. Even when Bobby had called in a specialist.
He dragged a hand down his face and pushed away from the counter, heading for the sofa. He flipped open his laptop and typed Whisperlight Curiosities into the search bar. A simple website popped up, complete with a soft gold and deep navy colour scheme. The overview was basic – an assortment of charms, herbs, magical artifacts, and consultation services.
The owner’s name was listed in neat cursive across the homepage beside her picture: Delilah Vance. Apparently, she’d been practicing for over thirty years, and her family had been in the magic business for over a century. Old magic. Family magic. The kind you didn’t just stumble into.
He clicked around for a few minutes but found nothing about the strange blue powder they’d been doused with. A quick, frustrated Google search only made things worse, bringing up a thousand possibilities: catalysts for spells, protection wards, spell stabilisers, even powders meant to keep enchanted herbs fresher for longer.
He groaned, letting his head fall back against the cushions.
It was probably nothing. Definitely nothing. Just a random powder that hadn’t reacted with anything dangerous. No hexes. No illusions. No reality-breaking experiences. Which, logically, was a good thing. He knew it was a good thing.
Still…he couldn’t help but feel a little cheated.
Especially after today. Especially after losing his cool with Eddie on a call, snapping at him in front of Delilah and the team. They were good at being professional, normally. Good at keeping the personal stuff shoved down where it belonged. But today had ripped all of that to shreds.
He sighed into his mug. He needed to get his head on straight. Even if it was Eddie’s fault. One more slip like that, and Bobby would have something to say about it. And Buck wasn’t sure he had the energy right now for that particular lecture, nor did he want to leave A shift.
He sighed, the tension leaking from his shoulders as he closed his laptop and set it aside. The disappointment still clung to him, but he was too tired to care anymore. He pushed himself up from the sofa, bones aching with exhaustion, and shuffled toward his bedroom. The sheets were cool when he slipped between them, and the moment his head hit the pillow, a strange lightness took over like his mind was slipping free of its tether to reality.
Sleep claimed him fast, pulling him under in a heavy, breathless way.
At first, the dream was simple, warm. Christopher was laughing beside him, his small hand wrapped securely in Buck’s as they walked into a brightly lit clinic. The colourful murals on the walls blurred as they moved past, a faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Buck crouched to tighten the laces on Christopher’s shoes, and Chris beamed at him, a ball of sunlight in the sterile room.
But then the colours bled away.
The air shifted, thickened. The high whine of helicopter blades sliced through the sky above him, so loud it vibrated his teeth. Sand and grit whipped around his boots. Shadows of men moved in rapid bursts across an endless wasteland of broken concrete and dust. Orders barked out, sharp, panicked, but he couldn’t make out the words, the meaning slipping through his fingers like smoke.
A gun was in his hand. Heavy. Too real.
The metal bit into his palm, cold and foreign. He didn’t remember picking it up. Didn’t know where he was aiming it. Still, shots cracked through the air around him, staccato and merciless. Smoke coiled up from the ground, grey, black, and suffocating, and, somewhere in the haze, a scream resounded. He turned toward the sound, heart hammering, but there was nothing. Only more dust, more smoke, more emptiness.
His hand clenched a letter, crumpled and damp with sweat. His breath caught as he hurled it into the dirt behind him, the paper disappearing into the cracked earth. The helicopter blades whirred louder, screeching in his ears as he gazed out at the barren wasteland below, strapped in tight. A mechanical roar tore through the smoke and rattled his bones. The metal jolted, shuddered, and twisted, shrieking as it tore through the air, and he felt the helpless pull of gravity as the ground rushed up to meet him.
He woke with a violent jerk, his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.
For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His heart slammed against his ribs, a painful, erratic beat. The dark room around him felt too still and quiet. He forced himself to sit up, scrubbing his hands over his face, grounding himself in the reality of his bedroom: the rough texture of his sheets, the soft creak of the building settling, the faint hum of the city outside.
Jesus, he thought, blowing out a slow breath. Where the hell did that come from?
He shook his head, trying to push the images away. He hadn’t even made it through SEALs training. Dropped out before they sent him anywhere real. He never set foot in a war zone. Never held a gun like that outside of training exercises. So why the hell was his brain feeding him nightmares out of someone else’s memories?
He wiped a hand down his face again and reached for his phone. The screen glared back at him, the time blinking 5:38 PM. One unread message from Maddie lit up at the top:
Dinner tonight? I’m making lasagna :)
A shaky smile tugged at his mouth as he swung his legs out of bed and fired off a quick reply: Be there in half an hour.
He pushed himself to his feet, padding into the bathroom. The water roared to life, hot and heavy, and he stepped under the spray, letting it sluice the last remnants of the nightmare from his skin. By the time he dressed in jeans and a soft, worn hoodie, the tightness in his chest had eased.
He wasn’t going to let a dream rattle him.
It was just a dream. Nothing more.
Eddie leaned against the doorway of the living room, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched Christopher sprawled out on the sofa, completely engrossed in cartoons. Carla sat at the other end, laughing at something on the screen, her hand occasionally reaching out to smooth down Christopher’s messy hair.
Eddie let himself breathe for a moment, the kind of deep, steady breath he sometimes forgot he needed to take. His fingers drifted absently to the scar hidden beneath his t-shirt, brushing over the rough, familiar skin. It still twinged sometimes in a phantom echo of a life he’d left behind, but he ignored it, like always.
Pushing off the doorway, he headed into the kitchen, filling a glass with water from the tap. The coolness of it didn’t quite chase away the lingering haze of his dream, but he forced it down anyway, swallowing hard. He hated that they still came, creeping up on him when he least expected it. But that was part of it, wasn’t it? Part of the package deal that came with surviving a war and getting tossed back into civilian life without the proper time, or the proper tools, to mourn what he’d lost.
He shook his head, banishing the thoughts as he set the glass down on the counter. He busied himself with the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds and trying to pretend everything inside him wasn’t still buzzing uncomfortably.
“Dad!” Christopher barrelled into the kitchen with all the energy Eddie wished he could bottle. Carla followed, a warm smile tugging at her mouth.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, turning just in time to catch Christopher’s grin.
“The zoo’s getting new animals!” Chris announced, practically bouncing where he stood. “They saved some lynxes and they’re making a whole new place for them! Can we go?”
“Of course we can, mijo.” He chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Chris’ hair. “I’ll check what shifts I’ve got, yeah?”
Christopher beamed, glowing with excitement. “Can Buck come too? He loves animals! And he knows, like, a billion fun facts!”
Eddie froze, his mug halfway to his lips.
Buck.
Goddamn Buck.
He fought the urge to scowl, gripping the mug tighter.
Buck was a stubborn pain in the ass, reckless as hell, impulsive to the point of being dangerous, and managed to get under Eddie’s skin like no one else ever had. From the moment Eddie joined the 118, it had been like oil and water. Buck eyed him like he was an intruder, bristling at every step Eddie took toward fitting into the team. Practically pissed circles around them like a dog marking its territory.
Eddie had tried. Tried to meet him halfway, tried to be amicable, maybe even friends. They just…didn’t, couldn’t get along.
But Christopher adored him. From the first day they met, Buck had charmed him with those stupid too-bright blue eyes and endless streams of facts about dinosaurs, outer space, and animals. Chris lit up around him like Buck carried a little piece of the sun in his back pocket.
And Eddie would never, could never, do anything to dim that light for his son.
The problem wasn’t Buck. It was just…Buck and Eddie together. Like two magnets flipped the wrong way around, repelling each other without ever figuring out how to flip back.
He caught Carla’s grin as he turned toward the counter, her knowing amusement loud even without a word being spoken, having heard plenty of Eddie’s late-night rants after he and Buck had butted heads at the station.
He sighed through his nose and forced a smile, smoothing a hand down Christopher’s hair again. “Maybe, bud. We’ll see, okay?”
Chris nodded eagerly, accepting that answer with a trust that made his chest ache a little.
“Oh, oh, and can we have pizza for tea?” he added, bouncing on his toes. “Carla’s never had mushrooms on one before!”
Eddie finally managed a real laugh, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Sure thing, mijo. Let me get my phone.”
He grabbed his phone and started scrolling for pizza places, shaking his head at himself.
Maybe he’d have to survive a zoo trip with Buck tagging along. For Christopher, he thought. Always for Chris.
Buck slouched on the sofa at the firehouse loft, the muted clinks of mugs and the low hum of chatter scratching against his already frayed nerves. Every noise seemed magnified – the scrape of a spoon in a cereal bowl made him wince, the shuffle of playing cards sounded like sandpaper on skin. He rubbed at his face with one hand, trying to scrub away the last dregs of sleep – or rather, the lack of it.
He had another nightmare last night. Another goddamn tour through a battlefield his mind refused to leave behind. Hours of staring at the ceiling hadn’t done a damn thing to shake it loose. Now everything grated, everyone grated, and it wasn’t helping that Eddie fucking Diaz was making the most noise of them all.
His gaze flicked over to the kitchen counter where Eddie was attacking his coffee thermos like it had personally wronged him. He’d been scrubbing at it for the past twenty minutes straight, after already cleaning the trucks three times over like a man possessed.
Buck squeezed the stress ball in his hand, throwing it at the wall with sharp thwacks that timed perfectly with the rhythmic clink of Eddie’s thermos tapping the counter.
Hen and Chimney sat at the table, paying cards, mercifully quiet, but Buck felt their eyes dart toward him every now and then, probably waiting for him to snap.
After another lull, Eddie’s scrubbing picked up again, louder this time. Buck tightened his grip on the ball, his jaw ticking. With a growl under his breath, he hurled the ball harder, catching it as he said flatly, “You know, if you clean that thing any harder, it’s gonna file for a restraining order.”
The ball bounced again off the wall as Eddie rasped back, “I’ll file for one against you in a minute.”
Buck grunted, sending the ball smacking against the window with a louder thump. He caught it again, his fingers curling tight until it flattened in his palm.
Eddie’s clinking grew even louder.
“Seriously, man,” he finally snapped, digging his nails into the foam, “you trying to scrape the metal off?”
“If I ignore you long enough,” Eddie muttered, his voice rough and low, “will you shut up on your own or do I need to find duct tape?”
Buck shot upright on the couch, twisting to face him fully. Eddie was staring down at his thermos like it held the meaning of life, his hands moving his mechanical furious precision. He looked like hell. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, a deeper-than-usual glare set on his face.
“Wow, so much aggression,” Buck bit, rolling his eyes hard enough it hurt. “Did you miss leg day or something?”
Eddie scowled at the thermos, scrubbing harder. He was like a runaway train with no brakes, constantly building speed and anger with nowhere to go.
You’re a rollercoaster with no fucking off switch.
“I don’t even like amusement parks, man,” Buck muttered, tossing the stress ball up and catching it again.
Eddie glanced at him then, expression twisted with confusion. “Okay? Random?”
He scoffed. “You’re the one who brought it up.”
Eddie finally paused his furious cleaning, frowning hard. “No, I didn’t.”
“Sure, Eddie,” Buck said, throwing himself back onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. “Keep gaslighting me. That’s all you’re good for, right?”
“I’m not gaslighting you,” Eddie snapped, his voice rising.
He rolled his eyes again, sinking deeper into the cushions. Like I haven’t heard that before, he thought bitterly.
“You would make everything about your trauma,” Eddie deadpanned.
“What the hell?” He jolted upright again, the words hitting like a slap. “That’s a low fucking blow, man.”
At the table, Hen and Chimney were slowly lowering their cards to the table, their heads swivelling between them like spectators at a tennis match.
“You said it first!” Eddie snapped back, glaring at him.
“No, I didn’t!” Buck sputtered, his mind short-circuiting. What the fuck is this guy on?
I really can’t be bothered with this today. Eddie shoved his thermos back into the cupboard, banging it against the shelf.
They glared at each other, breathing hard in the heavy silence. Then Buck pushed himself to his feet with a huff.
“I swear,” he muttered, “talking to you is like playing chess with a very bitter cactus.”
Without missing a beat, Eddie called after him, “At least I don’t trip over my own ego on the way to the fridge.”
Buck bit back a curse, stomping toward the stairs.
Prick, he thought venomously.
He barely hit the second step when he heard it, clear as day behind him:
Dick.
His hands clenched at his sides, but he didn’t stop. If he did, he might actually punch Eddie Diaz right in his stupid, pretty face, and he really didn’t need that added to his list of regrets today.
“You don’t think it made them hate each other more, do you?” Chimney asked as he watched Eddie storm down the stairs as well.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Hen muttered, tapping her cards against the table. “Maybe just…heightened their anger?”
“They did snap at each other a lot easier.”
Hen shook her head, placing down the jack of spades and nodding for him to make his move. “I didn’t even hear half of what they were arguing over. They just glared and snapped.”
“Buck seemed fine at dinner last night.” Chimney took the jack and replaced it with the two of hearts, adjusting his cards. “Maybe it’s only triggered when they’re near each other?”
“Maybe,” Hen hummed, taking her final card and placing them face up on the table with a grin. “Rummy!”
“Rematch! You cheated.”
She rolled her eyes playfully and moved to shuffle the deck. “Sure.”
The rest of the week didn’t get better. If anything, it got worse.
Buck and Eddie kept it professional when it counted: on calls, in front of the public, but the second they were back at the station, it was like something raw and ugly peeled up between them, waiting for any excuse to tear itself out. Even then, Buck swore he heard Eddie toss a curse or two here and there. At least Buck had the decency to keep it to himself, locked away safe in his mind where no one could hear.
Of course, Eddie denied it whenever he confronted him about it. Then had the audacity to accuse Buck of doing it. It took for Hen and Chimney to tell them that neither of them was making comments for them to both shut up about it.
The worst part wasn’t even the arguing. He could handle arguing. Hell, half the time he lived for it. He enjoyed it, looked forward to it sometimes (not that he’d ever admit that), which was why he hadn’t brought it up with Bobby. Though, Eddie hadn’t reported him either, so it was fair game.
No, what he couldn’t handle was Eddie being faster, sharper, meaner.
The remarks had gotten nastier. Not loud; no, Eddie was too calculated for that. He just kept letting these little, poisoned darts slip out, like he didn’t even need to think about it anymore.
Buck would open his mouth to snap back, and Eddie would beat him to it. Every. Damn. Time. Like he could see into Buck’s head, sift through the half-formed retorts, find the one thing that would piss him off the most, then say it first, just to twist the knife.
Sometimes Eddie didn’t even wait for him to say anything at all.
Buck would just be sitting there, stewing, hating him, thinking about how much he hated him, and Eddie would spin around from whatever he was doing, eyes flashing, and mutter, “Yeah, I bet you think you’re real clever,” or “Don’t strain yourself trying to come up with something smart.”
Buck would sit there, mouth hanging open like an idiot, wondering how the hell Eddie could tell.
And Hen and Chimney never heard any of it. Said none of them had been talking before they both flew off the handle and asked if they were okay. Buck felt like he was going crazy. Because he was hearing it, no matter what Eddie or the others said.
Last shift, Buck pushed open the door to the locker room, the hinges squeaking just enough to make his teeth clench. He wasn’t in the mood. Hadn’t been in the mood for days and today was no different.
He rounded the row of lockers and stopped dead in his tracks. Eddie was at his own locker, back turned, rummaging through his stuff. Buck opened his mouth to say something, a grunt, a greeting, hell, even just a noise to announce he was there, but then he caught Eddie’s voice, low and muttering.
Something about Chris blagging him about the damn zoo again, and Buck’s name dropped in there somewhere. In a not-so-nice tone.
He froze. His blood froze.
Eddie’s jaw didn’t even move. His back didn’t tense. Nothing in his body language said he knew Buck was there.
But he heard it clear as day.
And something inside him just snapped.
He stomped over and slammed his own locker door open so hard the sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. Eddie jumped, sparing him a glance before returning to what he was doing.
Why can’t he keep his fucking mouth shut, Buck thought, changing his shirt.
Eddie whipped around instantly, frowning hard. “What’s your problem?”
He kept his back turned, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. His heart was hammering against his ribs, breathing sharp in his chest. He thought, viciously, you, you’re my fucking problem.
Eddie’s boots shifted on the tile, scuffing slightly before he snapped, “I don’t know why you’ve got a problem with me, man. I’ve tried to meet you in the middle-”
Buck snorted, sharp and bitter. Yeah, right.
Tried to meet him in the middle, his ass. If by “meet” Eddie meant “tear him down faster than he could think,” then sure. Mission accomplished.
The room went heavy after that, a weight Buck could feel pricking along his skin.
And then, quieter, rawer, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get through to him.
Buck’s jaw tightened until it hurt. He grabbed his bag off the bench with one hand and slammed his locker closed again with the other, metal rattling. He turned on Eddie, seeing him flinch slightly, eyes widening for just a second.
“You’re the one who makes this harder than it has to be,” Buck bit out, voice low and shaking, “with all your stupid muttered insults.”
Eddie’s face tightened. He rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face like Buck was the exhausting one. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not saying anything.”
Buck laughed, short, sharp, ugly. “I just heard you!” His voice cracked slightly with the force of it. “Sometimes things are better thought than said, man.”
Eddie’s brows drew together, confusion flashing over his face, mouth parting slightly like he was about to say something.
But Buck shook his head before he could even get it out. “I’m going home.”
And he didn’t wait for a response. He slung the bag over his shoulder, shoved past Eddie, and stalked out of the station without looking back.
Eddie had stood there, still, watching Buck’s retreating figure with a permanent frown etched into his face. The slam of the locker echoed back at him, but he didn’t move. His fists curled uselessly at his sides.
Things with Buck had definitely gotten worse.
It was like they could barely keep it together whenever they were in the same room. Like every second around each other was a second closer to throwing professionalism out the window and just yelling until something broke. Or until one of them took the first swing.
And Buck was acting like Eddie was the only one to blame for it.
Which was bullshit.
Buck wasn’t exactly innocent in all this, not with the way he muttered comments under his breath, just loud enough for Eddie to hear but quiet enough that no one else caught it. Not with the way he’d roll his eyes and mutter, “Here we go again,” every time Eddie so much as suggested something logical on a call or said something Buck didn’t agree with. Especially when Eddie brought up the magic stuff, trying to keep things grounded, realistic.
Every little thing Buck said felt like a deliberate jab. Like he wanted Eddie to bite back. And Eddie, stupidly, always did.
He couldn’t help it. It was like a compulsion at this point. Buck would poke and prod until Eddie had to react, until the irritation boiled over and the words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back.
Because fighting with Buck was easier than whatever the hell Bobby was pushing for with his “share your feelings” crap. It was easier to stay angry than to sit down and try to fix the ugly, broken thing between them. Because Eddie knew – he knew – there wasn’t really a fixing it. Not when they didn’t know what was broken in the first place.
So, he kept his mouth shut as much as he could. Bit back his comments. Tried to swallow it down and hold the line. But somehow Buck always knew.
Even when he didn’t say anything, Buck seemed to pick up on it, picking fights without Eddie having to open his mouth. It was like Buck could hear the damn words in Eddie’s head before they made it out of his mouth.
And that made him feel…exposed. Raw. Like Buck had figured out how to read him in a way no one else had. And he hated it. Hated it because sometimes, Buck was right.
Like when Eddie had been fretting earlier in the week after they heard about the 144 being called to a crash in front of Chris’ school. He knew, rationally, he would’ve been called if Chris had been involved, but the thought still gripped him hard, made it hard to breathe.
He hadn’t said a word about it. Hadn’t even looked at anyone. But Buck, damn Buck, had glanced over at him, and without missing a beat, had said, “Crash happened while they were in class, Chris is fine.”
Eddie had stared at him, confused, because how the hell did he know what Eddie was thinking?
Buck had just rolled his eyes and thrown over his shoulder, “Chris is okay, man. Take the reassurance for once,” before walking off like it was nothing.
And Eddie had stood there, more rattled by that than anything else that had happened that shift.
He didn’t know what was happening between them anymore, didn’t know how they’d gotten here, or how the hell to pull themselves out of it. All he knew was it wasn’t sustainable.
And it wouldn’t be long before they both blew up completely.
Unless they figured it out.
Somehow.
The warehouse loomed ahead of them, flames crawling up its sides, black smoke billowing into the sky like a living thing. The roar of the fire was deafening, swallowing the night. Dozens of stations had responded; engines lined the street, lights flashing, organised chaos taking over as the Incident Commander barked orders over the radio.
Buck tugged on his turnout coat, helmet clutched tight in one hand as he turned to Hen and Chimney. “What about the east side?” he asked, voice sharp with urgency. “I can go in alone.”
Eddie frowned, fastening the last strap on his own gear. “You always dive in headfirst without thinking,” he said. “And it never ends well. You’re not going in alone.”
Buck gritted his teeth, the anger flashing in his eyes as he snapped back, “I don’t need you to hold my hand. I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”
Eddie held himself steady, even though the words hit harder than they should. That’s not what I was getting at.
“Last time you went in alone, the whole building almost collapsed,” Eddie said, trying to keep his voice even. “We can’t-”
“I don’t need your lecture!” Buck cut him off, voice rising above the din of the fire and the distant shouting. “You think I don’t know how to do my job?”
Eddie pressed his lips into a thin line and turned slightly toward Chimney. Every time. Same thing, over and over.
Hen cast a worried look between them as Buck squared his shoulders and whipped back toward Eddie, the movement sharp enough to startle. “I heard that,” he said, voice low and dangerous.
Eddie blinked, frowning. “What?”
He gripped his helmet tighter, the veins in the back of his hands standing out, and threw his arm out in frustration. “You think I can’t hear you right now? Stop acting like I’m not standing right in front of you!” he barked. “If you’re gonna say something, then say it to my face!”
Eddie kept his jaw locked, deliberately not meeting Buck’s furious gaze, trying to keep himself steady against the rising tension. I wish he’d just listen for once, he thought, feeling the sharp burn of frustration behind his ribs.
Buck, not backing down, took another step closer. “I am right here,” he said, louder now, “you don’t have to whisper, I can hear every damn thing you’re saying!”
“Buck,” Hen said firmly, stepping between them, “he didn’t say anything.”
He whipped to her like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? Yes, he did! Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that!”
Eddie finally spoke, voice even, “Buck, I swear, I didn’t say anything.”
He looked like he was ready to argue, mouth opening to spit something out, but Chimney stepped in quickly.
“Buck, man,” Chimney said, gentler, “on Maddie’s life, he didn’t.”
Buck opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, frustration radiating off him in waves. He turned sharply like he couldn’t stand still, breathing fast.
Before he could explode, Bobby strode over, eyes narrowing as he observed them all. “Alright,” he said crisply, “Buck, you’re with Chim. Eddie, you’re with Hen. We’re on fire containment on the south side.”
Buck bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, forcing himself to nod. He couldn’t even look at Eddie. “What about east side?”
“144 are going in now,” Bobby answered, nodding toward the crews already filing through the shattered doors.
Buck turned sharply, his chest easing just a little as he caught sight of the teams disappearing into the smoke, working fast on evacuation.
Without another word, Buck shoved his mask into place and grabbed the hose, his shoulders stiff and locked tight as they moved out.
“That hallucination bet is looking real good right about now,” Chimney whispered to Hen with a sly grin.
She shook her head. “It would be happening all the time, right? You said he's been fine with you and Maddie.”
“I have no idea.” He shrugged. “It’s magic. Anything’s possible.”
“Yeah, and I’m not liking whatever this is,” she muttered. “Have you managed to find Delilah yet?”
“Nope,” he replied before they split up. “Shop’s still closed.”
“Great.”
The heat hit Buck like a wall the moment they crossed into the warehouse, the thick smoke swallowing the world into a blur of grey and orange. He moved quickly alongside Chimney, sticking close as they advanced, scanning the chaotic mess of burning crates and steel support beams.
Thank God Bobby stopped him, Eddie’s voice floated into Buck’s mind, sudden and vivid. Maybe we’ll all make it home. Hopefully in time to tuck Chris in.
Buck frowned and glanced sideways, heart skipping. Eddie was moving just ahead with Hen, helmets low, talking, but not about Chris. Their voices carried faintly over the crackle of fire, clipped and professional, debating which side to split to, how to divide the hose lines. Nothing personal. Nothing about going home.
Buck shook his head hard, forcing the words out of his mind. Focus. Chimney was calling something, motioning forward, and Buck moved with him. The two of them fell into an easy rhythm, spraying water in broad, sweeping arcs to push back the flames. The roar of the fire dulled under the pressure, smoke curling and lifting off the soaked ground.
They pushed deeper into the belly of the building, their boots splashing through puddles of water and ash. Buck had just started to think they were gaining control when Eddie’s voice came sharp in his ear:
Shit, this one’s big.
Buck flinched, glancing around, searching instinctively. Eddie and Hen were across the warehouse, almost a ghostly outline through the haze. There was no way Buck could hear him, not without the radio, and he definitely hadn’t heard the radio click on.
“You’re imagining it,” he muttered to himself under his breath, turning back to the fire.
But as he stepped forward, spraying along the cracked concrete floor, he heard Eddie again.
Need to keep an eye on that beam. Could be trouble later.
Buck’s shoulders stiffened. His hands tightened on the hose, the heat prickling along the back of his neck. He tried to tune it out, reminding himself that his partner was Chimney, who was moving just a few feet ahead, carving a path through the blaze.
Chimney must have noticed his hesitation, though. “You good?” he shouted over the roar, glancing back.
He forced a tight nod. “I’m fine!” he called back, pushing forward.
But unease crawled under his skin, making him hyperaware, jumpy. His heart hammered too fast. He took another step when Eddie’s voice practically shouted in his ear:
Shit! Watch your –
Before Buck could react, the flames exploded upward with a roar, swallowing the ceiling in a burst of molten gold. Instinct screamed at him, and he ducked low, yanking Chimney down with him as flaming debris rained down.
The fire cracked and sputtered, then just as quickly, it died back down. The sudden silence was deafening. Buck blinked against the thick smoke smothering his visor, pulling himself up to his knees.
“You good?” he rasped, grabbing Chimney’s jacket and giving him a rough shake.
Chimney sat up, groaning, then nodded. “I’m good. You?” Before Buck could answer, he keyed his radio, voice rough. “Eddie, Hen, you copy?”
Static. No answer.
Buck froze. The warehouse was a tomb now, choked with smoke so thick he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
And then – Eddie’s voice again, but not over the radio. Inside Buck’s head, too close, too raw: Shit, that hurt – Hen – where’s Hen?
Panic stabbed into Buck’s gut. He spun around wildly, eyes burning, searching the swirling fog for any sign of them. Nothing. Only the endless, suffocating grey and vicious flames.
He reached out blindly, grabbing Chimney’s arm. “We need to get to Eddie and Hen,” he rushed out.
Chimney leaned closer, shouting over the fire, “What?”
“Trust me!” he snapped, dragging him toward the opposite side of the room.
Chimney didn’t argue. Together, they wrestled the hose forward, forcing their way through the ruined remains of collapsed shelving and burning crates, carving a wet, steaming tunnel through the chaos.
Buck didn’t know how he knew where to go. He just knew he had to find them. He barely had time to catch his breath before Eddie’s voice cut through again.
“Hen? Hen, call out!”
But this time Chimney’s hand clamped around his arm, grip firm as he pointed through the haze. “Over there!”
He and Chimney pushed through the dense smoke, the heat pressing down on them, blistering even through their gear. Relief flooded Buck’s veins when he caught the faint, frantic sound of Hen’s voice:
“Eddie! Eddie, where are you?”
The fire recoiled under the force of their hose, the flames retreating just enough to split a path through. Buck and Chimney broke through into a clearer pocket of the warehouse, and found Hen and Eddie, only a few feet away from each other, crouched low, disoriented but blessedly uninjured.
“We’ve got you!” Buck called out.
Chimney immediately went to Hen, helping steady her. Buck made a beeline for Eddie.
How the hell did he know? buzzed in his mind.
Buck dropped to a crouch in front of him, grabbing Eddie’s gloved hand. “You good?” he asked.
Eddie nodded quickly. “Yeah, fine. Just lost the hose.”
Buck helped pull him to his feet. Eddie wiped at his visor with his sleeve, clearing a smeared patch of soot. For a moment, in the dim glow of their helmets, Buck saw Eddie’s eyes widen, a slight furrow between his brows.
Fuck, that hurt my ankle.
His gaze snapped downward instinctively. “How bad does it hurt?”
Eddie blinked at him, confused. “How -?”
“All units, evacuate immediately,” the Incident Commander’s voice cracked harshly over the radio. “Repeat – evacuate.”
Buck and Eddie exchanged a quick glance, the same decision flashing between them. Chimney clapped Hen’s shoulder and shouted, “Alright, you heard him! Let’s go before that beam falls!”
They moved together, fast but careful, Buck staying close to Eddie. As they made their way back through the ruined warehouse, Buck heard it again:
Don’t think it’s broken.
He turned his head toward Eddie. “Sprained?”
Eddie twisted his head, giving Buck an incredulous look. “Buck, how -?”
He cut him off with a low, urgent, “You need help?”
“No, it’s good.” Eddie shook his head. “Think I just jolted it.”
He nodded and kept moving, tension winding tighter in his chest. The fire roared behind them, the sound monstrous, echoing through the wreckage. Hen managed to snag the hose they had lost, bending to pick it up, and they all pressed back toward the exit.
But just as Buck glanced ahead, he heard Eddie’s voice, almost exasperated: He’s doing it again.
He frowned hard, watching as Eddie carefully rolled his ankle while gathering the hose slack. His own thoughts snapped sharp and annoyed: Acting all tough, like always. He never accepts damn help.
Almost instantly, Eddie paused, just for a second, before moving again, a slight wince in his step.
Seriously, he’s doing that now? Ow, Fucking ankle.
Buck’s chest tightened while his heart stuttered. He jogged a few steps forward to catch up with Eddie, reaching out and taking the heavy hose from his arms without asking.
“I’ll take that,” he said firmly.
Eddie gave a half-hearted grunt in protest but let him.
What the fuck – I swear he can read my mind.
Buck kept moving, but his brain stopped.
“I swear he can read my mind.”
The words echoed in a loop, burning through him. He’d thought the same about Eddie. More than once. When Eddie would look at him a second before Buck was about to speak, already biting back a response to what he was thinking.
The others hadn’t heard Eddie’s comments – the ones that Buck had distinctly, definitely heard.
But this? Mind reading? That was insane.
It wasn’t like he was hearing Hen or Chimney’s thoughts.
He frowned deeply as they finally stumbled out of the burning warehouse into the blessed, smoke-thick, open air. The engine lights flared across the asphalt, and Bobby rushed toward them, pulling them each into quick, fierce hugs.
“Glad you’re all alright,” Bobby said, clapping Buck’s back hard.
He nodded numbly, pulling off his mask. The air was heavy and sharp in his lungs, but he barely noticed. His hands moved automatically, rolling up the hoses.
From the corner of his eye, he watched as Eddie walked toward the ambulance with Hen, limping slightly. Hen crouched to check his ankle, talking to him low and serious.
Buck turned back to the hoses, stilling for a second. There was no way he could read Eddie’s mind. That kind of thing was forbidden magic. Dangerous. And it had only ever been successful twice in all of history.
And yet…
He swallowed hard, the weight of it settling heavy in his chest as he watched Eddie laugh off Hen’s concern, still rolling his ankle experimentally.
And yet…
The ride back to the station was quiet.
The kind of heavy, exhausted quiet that only came after hours of battling a stubborn fire, lungs full of smoke and muscles running on fumes. Buck sat slouched against the bench seat of the truck, his turnout jacket unzipped and hanging off one shoulder, fingers absently drumming against his thigh.
He told himself, firmly, repeatedly, that he was imagining things. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
Maybe Eddie was just talking low under his breath and Buck caught it. Maybe Hen and Chimney were in on it, screwing with him to mess with his head. Hell, maybe he inhaled too much smoke and his brain was glitching. Stranger things had happened.
Buck dragged his gaze sideways. Eddie sat across from him, nearest the window, head leaning heavily against the glass. His chin rested in the cradle of his hand, his eyelids low. He looked half-asleep, worn down and comfortably slouched, the sharp lines of his face softening in the muted light.
He was about to look away when he heard it again.
Wish I knew why he keeps looking at me like that.
He winced, a subtle flinch he tried to hide by shifting in his seat. Eddie hadn’t moved. His mouth hadn’t twitched. Not even a flicker.
His eyes darted briefly to the others. Hen was leaned back, head against the side wall, eyes shut. Chimney was dusting soot his pant leg, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw. Bobby was up front, murmuring something to Sanchez.
No one else reacted. No one seemed to hear it.
The truck rumbled along in thick, vibrating silence.
Buck swallowed hard, pulse hammering at his temples. His fingers twitched against his leg. Okay. Fine. If this was real – even a little bit real – then test it.
He didn’t know how any of it worked. He didn’t even know if he could do anything on purpose. But he figured if Eddie’s thoughts were loud enough for Buck to hear, maybe there was a way to…reach back? And…Eddie had accused him of making comments that Buck had only thought…right?
He steadied his breathing, slow and deep through his nose, and deliberately shifted his eyes away from Eddie, turning his attention to the middle of the truck, pretending he was just zooming out like the rest of them. But he kept Eddie in his peripheral vision, his whole body taut with anticipation.
In his mind, carefully, cautiously, he thought, Eddie.
Eddie’s shoulders jerked up, a slightly, almost involuntary twitch. Buck’s heart stammered painfully against his ribs. No way. No. Fucking. Way. He dared to try again, this time a little louder, a little more intentional: Eddie.
Eddie’s head turned faintly to the side, brow crinkling slightly as if he was searching for something, listening for something.
Buck kept his gaze pinned forward, forcing his face into a neutral mask, even as his brain screamed inside his skull. He kept his thoughts pulled in tight, desperate to stay quiet, to not let anything else slip out.
This wasn’t happening.
It couldn’t be happening.
There was no way this was real.
Maybe it was just coincidence, he told himself, white-knuckling it. Maybe Eddie just looked over at the same time. People shift around. People move. It didn’t mean anything.
But even thinking it felt hollow.
He needed something more. A real test. Something that couldn’t be brushed off as an accident.
He flexed his fingers against the fabric of his pants, heart hammering. He needed to think of something that would prove it one way or another – something Eddie couldn’t react to by chance.
Think, Buck. Think.
Eddie eyed him with a strange look, too sharp, too assessing, and Buck deliberately kept his face blank, shoving down the panic that was trying to climb up his throat.
Shit. Did he hear that?
The truck rumbled to a stop inside the station bay, the brakes squealing just a little as Sanchez shifted it into park. Around him, the others stirred: Hen stretched her arms overhead with a groan, Chimney cracking his neck side to side.
Buck needed to figure this out. Was it random? Was it controllable? Could he turn it off? Because if he was accidentally broadcasting his thoughts every time his brain glitched toward Eddie, he was going to lose it.
It couldn’t be subconscious; if it was, he’d be hearing Eddie’s voice in his head all the time and thank God he wasn’t. No, the ones he caught were…louder. Sharper. More grounded. Like they were aimed, somehow, even if they were floating out of Eddie’s mind at random.
He needed to be sure. Really sure.
As the others climbed out of the truck and started toward the gear wash tin, Buck saw Eddie pushing open the side door, throwing another wary glance over his shoulder. His frown was deep, and he kept glancing at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even want to touch.
Buck’s chest tightened. Here goes nothing.
Sliding easily into the scowl he always seemed to wear around Eddie, he swung himself out of the truck and snapped, “Do you ever just think before you speak?”
Eddie froze, then turned slowly, meeting his glare with an instant, fiery one of his own. “Oh, you’re seriously still on this whole I’m saying stuff thing again?”
Hen, Chim, even Bobby, started slowing around them, turning to watch. Good. Buck needed witnesses. He needed to make sure this wasn’t just him losing his mind.
He stepped closer, forcing his voice sharp. “Just tell me what you’re thinking to my face, man. I’m sick of it.”
Eddie clenched his fists, jaw tightening, his whole body vibrating with the effort of not lunging at him. “Alright,” he snapped. “I’m thinking about how you always overreact to everything. You’re so predictable.”
Perfect. Right where he wanted him.
Testing it, Buck said aloud, “I know you’re doing it on purpose,” but in his mind, he thought, just once, admit I’m right. I know I’m right.
Eddie snorted, sharp and snarky. “You couldn’t be right if you tried, Buck. You’re wrong 99% of the time.”
His heart kicked up, rattling against his ribs. No way. That could have been a lucky guess, it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
The others were gathering now, Hen and Chim both frowning between them, Bobby standing a little stiff, cautious, like he was ready to step in if this got ugly.
“Really?” Buck pushed again. I’m wrong? Is that your expert opinion?
Eddie laughed, short and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s my expert opinion,” he said, throwing air quotes around it. “You always make everything harder than it needs to be.” Why am I having this argument again?
Buck reeled internally.
This was happening.
This was really happening.
He was hearing… pulling? Eddie’s thoughts straight out of his head somehow – and Eddie was responding to his.
Did Eddie know? Had he not clicked on either?
Buck, fingers tapping against his leg, swallowed and muttered, “Says the guy who’s been an asshole since he joined.”
Eddie hissed a breath in through his teeth, shutting his eyes tight and pressing his fingers hard into the bridge of his nose, leaving smudges of soot behind.
I’d love to punch you in the face right now, Eddie thought, the words crystal clear and seething inside Buck’s skull.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Buck said, heart hammering. Bobby’s standing right there.
Eddie’s eyes flew open, locking onto Buck’s, horror flashing across his face in a split second.
They stared at each other, Buck feeling the full weight of this cannot be happening settle like a stone in his gut.
“What are you doing?” Eddie demanded, voice low, barely restrained.
“I’m not doing anything,” Buck said, hands up, innocent.
“You are,” Eddie insisted, stepping forward, voice rising. Bobby stepped forward too but kept his distance. “You’re doing-”
Buck thought, fast, almost gleefully – hey macarena, dog on a surfboard, pizza roof.
“Pizza? What – why are - what?” Eddie flinched, confusion tightening his brow. “What are you doing?”
“Boys,” Bobby started but Buck held his hand up.
“It’s okay, Bobby,” he said, keeping his gaze on Eddie. “We’re not gonna fight.”
Bobby stilled halfway through his step and then shook his head, turning and heading up to the loft.
“I told you,” Buck murmured low enough for only Eddie to hear, “I’m literally not saying anything. Watch my mouth.”
Hen and Chimney were still watching, whispering uneasily to each other.
Buck gritted his teeth, fuck it, and thought again:
Shit, dick, prick.
“Don’t insult me!” Eddie staggered a half-step closer, face twisting into outrage. “Just – just fucking talk to me like a normal person!”
He sent another rapid-fire volley. Shit, shit, shit, Siamese cat, mango smoothie, does Chris want to go to the zoo?
Eddie’s expression twisted further, like he was fighting a headache and losing. He shook his head, blinking hard. “How do you – Buck-”
Buck kept going, pressing his lips firmly together, his thoughts tumbling wild and chaotic now: shit shit shit shit shit shit
Eddie’s voice exploded, not just in Buck’s mind but out loud, ricocheting through the engine bay. “STOP DOING THAT!”
The station fell silent. Hen and Chimney froze. Buck and Eddie stood locked in place, the weight of what just happened crashing down on them like a tidal wave.
Eddie took a shaky step back, mouth open, breathing fast. “Did you…?”
Buck couldn’t answer. His emotions were running haywire, electric under his skin, his heart slamming so hard he could barely breathe.
He did it.
It’s real.
It’s fucking real.
This magic, the gift they shouldn’t even have, was real. Forbidden. Born from the fire, from that blue powder. A damn insane gift. And it was restricted to one person.
And of all people it could have been, it had to be Eddie Diaz.
Hen cleared her throat and said, “Okay, so…what was that?”
Chimney, added, “Uh, yeah, what the hell is going on with you two?”
Buck and Eddie slowly turned to look at them, eyes wide and completely bewildered. Neither of them had the words. For a second, it was just them standing there, breathing too hard, both a little soot-streaked and shell-shocked.
Eddie whispered, almost too quietly to hear, “Just an argument.”
Buck shook his head, anger burning up his throat. You know that’s not true.
“No.” Eddie shook his head more violently, taking another step, like Buck’s thoughts were something physical he could dodge. “No.”
He clenched his fists, teeth grinding, and thought, loudly and deliberately, You can hear me.
Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but all that came out was a harsh exhale. His fingers twitched, restless and uncertain, before he shook his head again, more frantic this time. “No. Stop it. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
Eddie looked around, like maybe Hen or Chimney would laugh and tell him it was a prank, some twisted joke he hadn’t been let in on. But there was no laughter, only Hen’s narrowed eyes and Chimney’s slack-jawed confusion.
Buck grimaced as Eddie turned sharply on his heel, bringing a hand to his face, digging it into his forehead, and muttered, “I’m going for a shower.”
They all watched him retreat across the bay, boots scuffing the concrete. Buck unintentionally thought to himself – shit – and Eddie stiffened, just for a second, like a wire pulled taut. Then he walked faster, practically fleeing.
Buck swallowed thickly, dread settling into his chest. No fucking way. Why Eddie, of all people? Why not Hen? Or Chimney?
Speaking of, Hen and Chimney exchanged glances, the kind that said they had no idea whether to be worried or entertained. Hen recovered first, her voice sharper now, cutting through the thick silence. “Buck. What happened?”
He shook his head stubbornly. “Nothing. Just another argument.”
Chimney scoffed. “That wasn’t an argument. That was Eddie yelling at you like he’d lost his shit.”
He shrugged, trying for nonchalant but missing by a mile. “When has it ever been different?” he muttered, grabbing the top of his turnouts and shrugging them off, shoving them into the bin to be washed with jerky, angry movements.
Without waiting for a reply, Buck turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction Eddie had gone, deciding to bide his time until Eddie was out of the showers.
He got his confirmation. But at what cost?
Buck felt it gnawing at him already: the way Eddie had looked at him, like he was crazy, like he’d broken everything. And worse, Eddie had heard it. Had felt it. And he still didn’t believe it.
They needed to figure this out – and Buck would make damn sure Eddie couldn’t keep ignoring it.
It hadn’t exactly started on the right foot.
For the rest of that shift, Eddie had been doing everything short of physically running from Buck whenever he tried to talk to him, especially through their telepathic connection. He knew Eddie could hear him but was choosing to block him out. He’d thrown on headphones the second he came out of the shower, pretending to be lost in music. He’d faked being asleep in the bunkroom, even when Buck could hear the stubborn little mutters from his mind slipping through – not real, not real, not real – like that was enough to wish it away.
Buck wasn’t giving up that easily.
Bobby had noticed the new shift immediately. He’d pulled Buck aside and asked, voice kind but firm, if they needed time apart. Buck, flashing his best fake smile, had insisted they were fine. More than fine. They hadn’t even argued.
Which…honestly might’ve been worse.
But today? Today Buck wasn’t letting Eddie hide.
He stood at the kitchen counter in the loft, brewing a fresh pot of coffee, letting the slow drip and the sharp, rich smell centre him. He heard Eddie coming before he saw him: heavy boots on the stairs, a soft sigh under his breath. Buck didn’t look. He waited.
Eddie walked into the kitchen, clearly lost in thought. He looked…refreshed, somehow. Like he thought sleeping off the last shift for a full day had erased whatever had happened between them.
Buck kept himself tightly reined in when Eddie’s thoughts brushed up against his mind when he first arrived. They were casual, easy things like I swear I put my shirt here and oh, that coffee smells good. Buck fought it. It wasn’t time.
Now, however, it was.
Eddie opened the fridge, bracing his hand against the door, leaning his head almost flush with it, rifling through. Banana pancakes sound really good today. I should ask Bobby if he can make those.
Buck pushed off the counter, shuffled closer, and said out loud, bright and obnoxious, “Ew. Banana pancakes? Why would you want those?”
Eddie jolted hard, slamming the fridge closed and spinning around like he’d been caught stealing. Immediate, wide-eyed panic flashed across his face.
“Bananas are gross, man.” He grinned wider. “Why ruin a perfectly good stack with that mushy mess?”
Eddie’s shoulders stiffened like he was about to bolt again. He turned sharply, leaving the kitchen without a word and heading toward the table where Hen and Chimney were already sitting, chatting and laughing about something he didn’t catch.
Buck followed. Of course he did. He dropped into the chair directly across from Eddie, watching him like a hawk. Eddie kept his eyes firmly on the table, studiously ignoring him.
Still, Buck heard it – this isn’t real, there’s no way this is real.
He leaned back, sipping his coffee, and thought, Oh, it’s real.
Eddie’s jaw tightened. He grabbed the pitcher of water in the middle of the table, pouring himself a glass, but Buck could see the tremor in his fingers.
Hen noticed too, frowning a little. “You alright?”
“Yeah. Fine,” Eddie clipped, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Buck’s whole body buzzed with energy. Careful you don’t break that glass there, Diaz.
Eddie’s fingers immediately loosened, dropping the glass onto the table like it burned him. Water sloshed up the sides but didn’t spill.
Good boy. He raised an eyebrow, smirking over the rim of his mug.
Eddie’s eyes darted to him for half a second, glaring, and under his breath Eddie hissed, “Stop it.”
Buck shrugged, all innocence. “I’m not doing anything,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.
Hen groaned, dropping her forehead briefly against the table. “Can we please go ten minutes into a shift without the two of you starting?”
Yeah, Eddie, don’t start anything.
Eddie’s glare sharpened, burning a hole right through him.
Buck couldn’t help but laugh. Hen sighed heavily and launched into a story about Denny, trying to distract them, while Chimney snickered into his coffee like he was watching his favourite sitcom play out in real-time.
Buck only half-listened. His gaze stayed glued to Eddie’s profile – jaw tight, flushed cheeks, that stubborn crease between his brows. Buck was practically vibrating with satisfaction. He had him. He had the upper hand. Even though Eddie could read him back, it didn’t matter. Eddie was terrible at pretending this wasn’t happening.
Just ignore him, he’ll go away, Eddie thought desperately.
Almost giddy now, he shot back, Hasn’t worked so far, has it?
That was the last straw.
Eddie shoved his chair back with a screech, storming around the table. Hen yelped, sitting forward sharply to avoid getting run over. Eddie gripped Buck’s arm hard, yanking him up from his chair.
He barely managed to set his coffee down on the table before he was dragged bodily toward the stairs, grinning like a lunatic the whole way. Coffee sloshed over the rim, some spilling onto the table, but he didn’t care.
Hen groaned again, pulling out her phone. “God help us,” she muttered, as Eddie hauled Buck out of sight.
Eddie yanked him into the locker room, the door slamming shut behind them with a heavy, echoing thud. Buck stumbled back a step as Eddie shoved him further into the room, but he caught himself easily, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You finally gonna give up ignoring this?” he teased, voice light and sharp at the same time.
Eddie pointed a finger at him, eyes dark and furious. “I don’t know what you’re doing, or how you’re doing it, but this stops now. This isn’t funny, Buck.”
He hummed, biting back a laugh. No, it’s not. It’s hilarious.
Eddie clutched his head, like he could physically block Buck’s voice from his mind. “Stop it! Stop it!” he hissed.
His grin slipped away. He let out a slow breath and said, quieter, “It’s not like I asked for this either. Of all the people to have telepathic communication with, you’d be the last one I’d choose.”
Eddie balked at that, his hand dropping away from his head. “Telepathic communication?” he snapped. “Are you insane?”
Buck gave him a flat, unimpressed look. “How else would you describe it?”
Eddie opened his mouth, stuttered for a second, then said, “I don’t know. But…that isn’t what… this is. This is some…some awful trick you’re playing on me.”
Buck watched as he started pacing, his boots scuffing dully against the floor. He wasn’t sure Eddie even realised he was doing it.
“I didn’t hear anything all day yesterday,” Eddie said, sounding desperate for a reason, for a way to dismiss this.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I think it only works when we’re within a certain distance.”
Eddie turned toward the wall of lockers, bracing his hands against the metal, head bowed like he was trying to will the whole thing away. Buck shifted uneasily, eyes darting around the room.
Then he asked, quietly, “Do you have nightmares about Afghanistan?”
Eddie froze. The question hung in the air between them, heavy and raw.
“What?” Eddie rasped without looking at him.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve been having dreams. Of a helicopter crashing. Being stuck in the desert. That’s what you got your Silver Star for, right? Saving them?”
Eddie didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a moment. Buck hated how the way the air between them felt fragile now, brittle like if he pressed to hard it would all just crack wide open. But it was the only way Eddie would believe him.
What the fuck? Eddie thought, voice frantic and wild in Buck’s mind; out loud, Eddie muttered, “That doesn’t mean anything.”
Buck exhaled heavily and sat down on the bench with his elbows braced on his knees. “There’s a letter,” he said slowly. “I crush it in my palm. I throw it behind me, and it gets swallowed up by the sand before I’m back in the helicopter and it’s crashing.”
Eddie whipped around so fast Buck heard his neck crack. His face was pale, mouth parted slightly in shock. “How do you know that?” he demanded, voice breaking at the edges.
“I dreamt it.” Buck shrugged helplessly. “I never know what the letter says, though.”
Eddie let out a shaky breath and lifted his hand to his mouth, thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw in a nervous, familiar motion. Buck noticed it, and realised he must have seen Eddie do it a hundred times before without it ever clicking until now.
“This is insane,” Eddie said, shaking his head over and over like he could knock the truth loose from his skull.
“I know.” Buck nodded grimly. “I didn’t think it was real either. I didn’t click until last shift.”
“No,” Eddie said, voice getting stronger, angrier. “This is a trick. People can’t read minds, Buck.”
He let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair again. “Well, it sure looks like we can.”
Eddie rolled his lips into his mouth, like he was trying to stop himself from saying something he’d regret. Then he walked over to the bench and sat down, keeping a clear stretch of space between them. His legs were planted wide on either side, body facing Buck.
“Prove it,” he said, voice low and steady, but Buck could hear the tremor underneath.
He shifted, turning sideways, laying one knee up on the bench for a more comfortable position. He quirked a brow. “Wasn’t up there enough?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the loft through the glass windows.
Eddie shook his head, firm. “Prove it.”
He huffed out a breath. “Alright,” he said, dragging the word out. “We’ll both think of stuff. The other has to say out loud what it was.”
Eddie sucked in a sharp breath, like the suggestion physically hurt him. Then he nodded tightly. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“You’re literally the one who suggested it.”
Eddie scowled. “Shut up, or I’m going out there and reporting you to Bobby and getting you put on a psych hold.”
Buck lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You know you’d end up there too, right?”
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Just think of something.”
“Alright,” he repeated. He cleared his throat dramatically, then focused his mind, thinking as loud as he could: You’re an asshole and a prick.
Eddie immediately rolled his eyes. “Your face calls me that all the time. Come on, be original.”
He pursed his lips, fighting back an exasperated groan. “But you know what I said?”
Eddie didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked between Buck’s, and Buck was pretty sure this is the longest they’d ever been able to stay in a room not raising their voices, let alone staring at each other.
Huh, cow eyes, he thought.
Eddie scowled and then his brow furrowed so deep the lines looked carved into his skin. His knuckles had gone white where he gripped the bench.
“Think of something I wouldn’t be able to guess,” he said hoarsely.
Just ignoring his comment, then. Buck rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to stay patient. He remembered how hard it had been for him too, how badly he’d needed to be sure when this whole thing first clicked into place.
Fine. He could play along.
He racked his brain for the most useless fact he could pull up and then thought, Ants don’t have lungs. They breathe though spiracles – nine or ten tiny openings, depending on the species.
Eddie’s face scrunched into confusion. “Why do you even know that? You research ants in your spare time?”
Buck didn’t say anything. He just sat there, waiting.
It took a few seconds. He could see it happening – the realisation sinking its claws into Eddie’s brain, dragging logic and reason down with it.
Eddie groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my God. This is insane.”
“Told you.” Buck leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his palms.
Eddie blinked a couple of times while Buck stayed perfectly still, not daring to even flinch and send him running.
“Okay... I can hear you..." He cleared his throat. "You can hear me?”
Buck nodded, lifting his hand and gesturing with his palm. Go ahead.
He shifted nervously on the bench, but he held Buck’s gaze, steady and unflinching. I don’t know what to do, Eddie thought, the words stilted and awkward.
Buck smiled wryly. “You just need to think about something I wouldn’t know or think you’d say.”
Okay, something he wouldn’t know I’d say. Eddie gnawed at his bottom lip. Something about Chris maybe? No, Chris tells him everything. Something else.
Buck had to stifle his laughter.
My favourite animal as a kid was a penguin.
“Fun Fact! A group of penguins in the water is called a raft,” he replied, ignoring the shock that spread across Eddie’s face like they hadn’t already proven this was real. “But on land they’re called a waddle.”
“That’s…I didn’t know that.” Eddie took a breath. So we can just…talk like this?
Buck answered in kind. Yeah, I think we can. Don’t even have to move to insult you anymore.
Eddie scowled immediately. You’re such an asshole.
Thought you said you wanted original, Diaz. Buck grinned, broad and easy. Insults aren’t new.
Eddie looked away then, his jaw tight, and Buck let himself breathe for the first time in what felt like forever. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs.
“This is insane, right?” he asked, needing the words to fill the charged silence. “I’m not going crazy?”
“Maybe it’s a mass hallucination,” Eddie muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.
Buck deadpanned, “Between two people?”
Eddie scoffed. “Shared delusions is a thing, you know.”
Buck felt the familiar heat rising in his chest, the stubborn, reckless energy that always sparked when they went at it. He sat up straighter, scowling. We literally got dusted with magic powder and now we can read each other’s minds.
Eddie tilted his head back, exhaling sharply. “There’s no such thing as magic."
Fucking dumbass, Buck thought automatically.
Eddie snapped his gaze to him, scowling even harder. Fucking bitch.
Buck rolled his eyes. We literally had magic response training for the job, and we are communicating telepathically right now.
“Yeah, but that –“ Eddie started struggling for words.
“Magic,” he offered flatly.
Eddie scrunched his nose like the word personally offended him. “It’s not…possible.”
Buck threw his hands up. “We literally have curses, and plants tried to eat Chimney.”
Eddie curled in on himself slightly, rubbing his hand over his face. “But stuff like reading minds, reality-shifting, and love potions, and that – that isn’t real.”
“Actually, love potions are a hundred percent real,” Buck said, tilting his head casually. “But they were made illegal back in the seventeen hundreds because too many people were going around using them, and everyone was debating whether or not it was consensual. Final straw was two feuding leaders trying to spike each other in the tea during a political meeting that backfired, but I’m pretty sure they still sell them on the black market.”
Eddie stared at him, incredulous. Of course you’d know that.
He shrugged, unbothered. “I kind of went on a spiral after the shop.”
Eddie went still, quiet, and Buck could see him thinking, his mind flashing back to the call – the powder, the shop owner, the strange shimmering cloud that had burst over them before they even knew what was happening.
Buck sat back against the lockers, watching Eddie piece it all together, feeling something shift between them, something heavier and sharper than all the jokes and stubborn denial.
And still, underneath it all, the link between them stayed wide open.
“It has to be the powder, man,” Buck said, voice low and rough with exhaustion.
Eddie hummed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That would explain why you’ve been starting arguments for no reason more often.”
“Excuse me?" He jerked back like he’d been slapped. "You were the one starting it!”
Eddie arched an eyebrow. “You were the one reading my thoughts and going off on one in front of the whole team.”
He grunted in frustration, dragging his hands down his face. “You did exactly the same thing, and now you can’t deny it!”
They glared at each other, the kind of silent, simmering standoff that only ever happened with them, tension coiling so thick between them it was almost tangible.
Finally, Eddie broke eye contact. “After shift, we’ll go back. Get her to reverse it.”
“Thank fuck something useful actually came out of your mouth." Buck slumped back against the bench with a loud exhale. "I’m impressed.”
Eddie stood abruptly, the scrape of the bench legs against the floor loud in the tight space. He headed for the door without looking back. “Until then, stay out of my head.”
Childishly, he snapped back, “You stay out of mine.”
“Whatever,” Eddie muttered, flinging the door open and stepping out into the hallway.
Buck, still riding the wave of childish annoyance, shouted after him down their telepathic link: DICK!
Eddie whirled back immediately, fixing him with that gorgeous scowl, the one that always meant trouble, the one Buck secretly loved seeing more than he should. Buck just grinned brightly, wiggling his fingers in a little mocking wave, laughing when Eddie flipped him off and stalked down the hall toward the bunk rooms.
The door swung shut with a dull thud.
Alone now, Buck exhaled slowly, the adrenaline bleeding out of him. He leaned his head back against the lockers, closing his eyes, trying to will the world into slowing down just a little bit.
They’d find Delilah and she’d reverse it. And then they could shove all of it into a box somewhere really deep and repress the absolute shit out of it.
Because Buck didn’t want access to any part of Eddie’s mind. Didn’t want Eddie having any access to his.
The less interaction they had – real, honest, unfiltered interaction – the better. For the team, for the station, for the public…hell, even for their own goddamn mental health.
Buck just needed to get through this shift.
And then he’d be done with it all.
“That went better than expected right?” Chimney asked, shoving another kernel of popcorn in his mouth, balancing the bowl on the railing, watching Buck slam his head into the lockers. “I’m kind of disappointed. Really thought they were gonna punch each other or make out against the lockers and defile everyone’s belongings.”
Hen snorted, stealing a handful of popcorn. “Maybe they’ll be a little more civil now?”
“If they start fucking in the bathrooms, I’m reporting them to Bobby.”
“Do you ever think about anything other than them having sex?” she asked, raising a brow. “It’s a bit weird, you know.”
He scoffed, throwing another piece in the air and catching it in his mouth. “You can’t say anything, you were the first to accuse them of fucking when they stayed in the truck after the first shift to verbally assault each other.”
She grinned, stealing the bowl from him and heading to the sofa.
“Hey!” he protested, following her.
“Show’s over, Chim,” she said, sitting down and grabbing the TV remote. “We’ll get act ten by the end of the day.”
Eddie had thought he could handle it.
He’d handled worse. He lived through war zones, public disasters, his parents. He could handle one more inconvenience.
He was wrong.
Because it wasn’t just that he could hear Buck’s thoughts – it was that Buck never stopped thinking. Ever. His brain was a nonstop freeway of chaos, random facts, spiralling questions, half-finished arguments with himself, the occasional stubborn insistence that “moths are just dusty butterflies, why does no one talk about this?”
It was like now he was aware of this…thing between them, he was aware of it.
Eddie gritted his teeth harder and wiped down the side of the engine, trying to ignore the way Buck’s mind kept running a loud commentary three feet away.
Gotta remember to check the hydraulic fluid. Wonder if I could survive a jump from a third-story window onto a trampoline. Probably depends on the angle. Better Google it later.
Eddie flexed his fingers around the rag until it almost tore.
He barely believed in magic, but he lived in a world where you could walk into a public library and pick up nonfiction books about hexes and spirit warding. Where grocery stores sold bulk sage and “minor protection spell starter kits” next to the produce. Where Bobby was once nonchalantly recommended an herb packet to get rid of a lingering kitchen spirit.
And now – now apparently Eddie lived in a world where he could read Evan fucking Buckley’s mind.
Evan Buckley.
Of all the people.
He hated it.
He hated the violation, hated the way it gnawed at the edges of his brain. Thoughts were his last safe space, his last real privacy. But they weren’t safe anymore. They weren’t his anymore. Not if Buck could just stumble into them, and worse, not if Eddie could fall face-first into the swirling mess that was Buck’s brain without even trying.
He glanced up sharply when another thought broke through:
Wonder if that pigeon I saw yesterday ever found its way home. Do pigeons have homes? Are they just…homeless? Like tiny feathered nomads? No, they have nests. Nests are homes.
Eddie closed his eyes and counted to ten.
He lasted until six before Buck’s voice floated up again.
The jaws of life are really just fancy hydraulic scissors. Why don’t we just call them scissors? Is it a branding thing? I should look it up.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered under his breath.
Across the bay, Buck’s head snapped up from where he was reorganising the equipment. He arched an eyebrow, and Eddie felt that infuriating tickle of thought aimed at him.
You okay there, Diaz? Need a nap?
Eddie scowled at him and pointedly turned away.
It wasn’t even directed at him most of the time. That was the worst part. Buck just existed like that – loud and chaotic and absolutely incapable of quiet even inside his own skull. Eddie was stuck drowning in it, like being caught in a riptide made of dumb trivia and existential crises.
He almost felt sorry for Buck. Almost.
Bobby called for dinner prep and Eddie stomped into the kitchen, focusing very hard on not thinking anything Buck could hear.
Which, naturally, meant his brain instantly started shouting the one thing he didn’t want to think:
BUCK IS IN MY HEAD BUCK IS IN MY HEAD BUCK IS IN MY HEAD –
“Shut up,” Eddie hissed, slamming a cabinet a little too hard.
Buck, lounging against the counter peeling an orange, blinked slowly at him before walking away, a badly concealed smirk playing on his lips. Eddie watched, mortified, as Buck’s thoughts floated lazily across the air between them:
God, he’s a menace when he’s losing it. Kinda hot though. Where’d I put my phone?
Eddie choked on air, pretending very hard to inspect a crack in the tile, just to avoid looking at him. There was no way Buck had consciously thought that knowing Eddie could hear every damn thing. That one must have slipped through.
He tried to stay quiet. Really tried. He kept his thoughts locked down like Fort Knox, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but it was impossible when Buck was around – which was always.
When he couldn’t find the biscuits he was craving, Eddie automatically thought, Where the hell are they?
Buck, without looking up from stirring something on the stove answered, “Top cabinet, left side.”
Eddie whipped around and glared at him.
Buck didn’t even blink, just kept stirring, the picture of smug innocence. You’re welcome.
Eddie wanted to throw something at his head. He settled for slamming the cupboard door instead and stalking off to the bunkrooms. A new favourite past time of his, clearly.
He hated this. Hated the invasion. Hated that Buck – Buck, who was already under his skin, in his house, mentioned every goddamn day by his kid – was now in his fucking head too.
There was no escape. No breathing room. No shutting the door between them anymore.
Buck was in everything.
And Eddie was trapped in everything Buck.
Gotta remember to fix the lightbulb in my bathroom. Chris’ birthday’s coming up, maybe a new telescope? Wait, is he still into space? Should ask Eddie. Don’t ask now, though, he’ll bite your head off. Or just set you on fire with his mind. Can he do that now? Should check.
Eddie growled low in his throat. I‘ve been trying for the past four hours. I’m not that lucky.
Buck smirked across the kitchen, casually tossing him the bag of sugar he had been looking for without even being asked aloud.
Eddie caught it, scowling fiercely, and thought, very, very loudly, I hate you.
Buck grinned wider and thought right back, You love me.
Eddie slammed the sugar down on the counter so hard a puff of white dust exploded into the air, and Buck laughed, full-bodied, happy, warm, like the asshole he was.
Eddie rubbed at his temples, wondering for the millionth time how this had become his life.
They needed Delilah. Fast.
Because if Eddie had to listen to one more thought about the secret lives of pigeons, he was going to commit a felony.
And knowing his luck?
Buck would think about it first.
And Eddie would have to live with that too.
The alarms blared through the station, a sharp wail cutting through his skull.
Finally, Eddie thought, shoving away from the counter so fast he almost knocked Buck’s pan off as he set it to the side and switched the stove off. A call was a perfect distraction.
He managed to tune out Buck’s internal ramblings about plankton (“they’re just tiny ocean bugs, like little sea gnats, what if they have tiny plankton cities? They’d be able to steal the krabby patty formula with thousands of them. Bikini Bottom’s Plankton clearly wouldn’t be the king, though.”) as they scrambled into their gear and piled into the truck.
Eddie focused on his gear. The hoses. The call details Bobby relayed: two-car collision, possible extraction needed. Standard stuff. Normal chaos. The kind of thing that could anchor him, pull him away from the insanity that was sharing brain-space with Evan Buckley.
The ride was blessedly silent – at least externally. Buck was still running a mental commentary about plankton possibly having a monarchy system, but Eddie forced it to the background, staring at the flashing city outside the windows until it all blurred into nothingness.
Four hours. Four hours then he’d be done with it all.
When they arrived, it was bad but not catastrophic. One car smashed against a light pole, the other flipped onto its side. Traffic was snarled around them, civilians pointing and shouting, the smell of leaking gas thick in the air.
“Hen, Chim, check the flipped car!” Bobby ordered. “Buck, Eddie, on the sedan!”
They split off. Buck followed on his heels, and for once Eddie almost relaxed into it. It was familiar, comfortable, easy.
They reached the first car, and Eddie crouched low, peering through the shattered driver’s side window. The driver was slumped over the wheel, unconscious but alive, blood dripping from a gash at his hairline. Eddie’s instincts kicked in as he checked responsiveness, cleared the airway, and stabilised the spine.
“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he coaxed, glancing up when Buck knelt beside him, the backboard already in hand like he’d read Eddie’s mind – which, well. Maybe he had.
They worked in tandem, calm and efficient, and Eddie felt it, that old familiar rhythm between them. The same one that had gotten them through fires, floods, collapses, hell and back again. Buck’s hands were steady, never faltering as he worked on prying the car door open, reassuring the victim in the calmest, most Buck-way, with bright smiles, when he regained consciousness, so he didn’t panic.
And for half a second, half a heart-beat, the thought slipped loose before Eddie could catch it: He’s a damn good firefighter. No wonder Bobby sung his praises.
Buck froze, hands stilling on the backboard he was securing the victim to, breathing stuttering just slightly. Eddie caught it instantly, his stomach flipping hard. Buck’s eyes snapped to him, wide and unreadable.
The sirens, shouting, and traffic noise blurred for a second, and then slammed back into focus. He jerked his gaze away, locking it into the injured driver like his life depended on it.
“Ready to extract,” he said, voice sharp enough to cut steel.
Buck hesitated, just a fraction of a second longer, then moved again, smooth and professional, like nothing had happened. But Eddie felt the burning tension strung tight between them like a tripwire.
As they worked, Eddie shoved his thoughts into the tightest, thickest vault he could manage.
Focus. Check airway. Check bleeding. Prep for transport.
Every time Buck came near him, handing over equipment, bracing the patient, Eddie mentally shouted what he was doing like a goddamn mantra.
Cervical collar, oxygen mask, lift on three, transport on the board.
Buck’s eyebrow twitched higher every time Eddie internally narrated his own job like an idiot. Finally, Buck leaned in, the lightest touch brushing Eddie’s shoulder, and sent a thought humming down the strange, thin thread between them.
You worried you’re gonna forget how to do your job, Diaz?
Eddie licked his teeth, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, he repeated louder in his mind: stabilise head, strap down legs, monitor for signs of shock.
Buck’s laugh was warm and infuriatingly amused, and Eddie ignored the way his skin prickled under it, the way it lodged itself somewhere deep under his ribs.
They got the driver secured and ready for transport, working clean and fast, despite the insane undercurrent between them. By the time the patient was loaded into the ambulance and the scene was cleared, Eddie’s jaw ached from how tightly he’d been clenching it.
As they stripped off gloves and packed equipment back into the truck, Buck kept stealing glances at him, half-smiling, half-puzzled, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.
Eddie pretended not to notice. He kept his mind on lockdown, replaying the checklist for the truck, the checklist for the station, the checklist for breathing, because if he let his mind wander for even a second, he knew exactly what would slip out.
And he couldn’t afford that.
Not when he couldn’t trust himself not to think the things he wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
The locker room buzzed faintly with the usual end-of-shift chaos. Duffels slamming, the clank of lockers shutting, Hen and Chimney’s easy laughter bouncing off the glass walls.
Eddie sat on the bench, rummaging through his bag with exaggerated slowness. His fingers sifted through spare shirts and socks he didn’t actually need, pulling one out, folding it neatly, shoving it back in.
He could feel Buck doing the same thing a few lockers down, the stupid, heavy tension filling the space between them like wet cement. It made Eddie’s skin itch. It made his patience fray by the second.
It felt like they had this big secret, and hell, they did. But it wasn’t like they could just announce, “Hey, we’re loitering because we’re psychically linked and waiting to sneak off to break it.”
No, that would bring up too many questions from Hen and Chimney. They were stuck in this weird silent standoff, both of them pretending to still need another minute. And another. And another.
Eddie shoved a towel deeper into his bag, gritting his teeth. He just wanted to get this over with and never have to think about the insane crap that sprinted laps around Buck’s brain again.
It was exhausting. Infuriating.
Like knowing now that Buck preferred the right side of the couch because it gave him a better view of the front door, as if someone was going to attack during his movie nights.
Or that he, quietly, desperately, thought of Bobby as his dad.
That one had sucker-punched Eddie a little harder than he liked to admit. He knew Buck’s relationship with his biological parents was bad, but they’d never really talked about it. They didn’t talk much about personal stuff at all, outside of the basics.
Like Eddie knew Maddie was his sister, and Buck knew about Christopher. Knew Eddie had been in the Army. Knew about the damn nightmares too, apparently. Because, apparently, distance didn’t matter when you were unconscious. And who knows what else Buck had picked up from Eddie without him even realising it.
The thought sent an icy shiver racing down his spine.
Hen and Chimney slung their bags over their shoulders, laughing about dinner plans, and Eddie forced a smile onto his face.
“Later,” he called after them, lifting his hand in a lazy wave.
They waved back, heading for the door, their footsteps echoing down the hall. The second they were out of earshot, he dropped the fake-casual act and started mentally listing the contents of his bag in a loop. Spare boots, water bottle, hoodie, backup socks, towel, phone charger.
Over and over and over again.
Behind him, Buck made a soft noise: half a snort, half an incredulous sigh. “Any reason you’ve been reciting the inventory of everything on Earth?”
“Keeping you out of my head,” he muttered.
Buck blew out a breath through his nose, closing his locker softly. He slung his bag over one shoulder and said dryly, “It’s not a nice place for me to be. I try to stay out of it as much as I can.”
Like yours is any better. He rolled his eyes so hard he gave himself a headache. “Let’s just go find Delilah and get this over with.”
“Gladly,” Buck replied, already heading for the door.
Eddie grabbed his bag and jogged to his truck. Thank God Buck had driven today. Sometimes that lunatic decided that walking two hours to work was “good for his mindset”, and if Eddie had been trapped with him in the same car right now, with Buck’s thoughts leaking everywhere like a cracked faucet, he probably would’ve swerved off the road out of pure desperation.
He jammed the keys into the ignition and forced a short breath through his nose, trying not to think about how this was the first time he and Buck were going anywhere on their own outside of the 118. He pulled up the address in the satnav and set off without looking back.
He tried not to look for Buck in the mirrors, but every time he checked them, the glint of Buck’s jeep flashed somewhere in the corner of his eye. It was agony. Slow, unrelenting agony.
Finally, finally, they pulled up outside Whisperlight Curiosities, and Eddie could practically taste the relief.
But then he frowned, leaning forward in his seat. The shop had been cleaned up, but it was still closed. The front windows dark. A handwritten sign taped crookedly to the door: “Closed until further notice.”
He groaned and slumped forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. Perfect.
Buck’s voice popped into his head, tired and frustrated, She’s not answering her phone.
Great. This is just great. He thudded his forehead lightly against the wheel again.
Gonna check if she’s in.
Eddie didn’t move. Didn’t lift his head. Didn’t even open his eyes. Because if they couldn’t fix this, if they were stuck with this stupid, constant open line, then Eddie was going to have to seriously consider moving back to Texas. Maybe find a ranch out in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere Buck couldn’t accidentally think into his skull about couch preferences and father figures ever again.
Eddie squeezed his eyes tighter shut, gripping the steering wheel like it could anchor him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What if we can’t find her?
You know I can hear you panicking, right?
He clenched his jaw as Buck’s voice rang clear and casual in his mind, too damn smug for someone who freaked out about everything.
I don’t panic, he grunted back, forcing the words forward like shoving a rock uphill.
He swore he heard Buck snort in his mind. Not a word, not even a full thought. Just the sound. Sure, buddy. And I’m the king of France.
He groaned, tilting his head back to rest against the headrest. He exhaled slowly, prying his hands off the wheel one finger at a time, palms peeling away with soft pops. His whole chest felt tight, restricting his breathing. The inside of the truck was sweltering, pressure curling around him like a storm about to break.
Outside, Buck was leaning into the shop window, hands pressed against the glass, peering in like a raccoon, expecting Delilah to magically appear if he squinted hard enough.
Don’t be stupid, Eddie chastised as Buck’s fingers dug into the frames, inspecting the cracks and grooves.
Buck whipped his head around, pulling his hands away from the window like a kid caught red-handed. We’ve gotta find her somehow.
Not by breaking into the damn place, he snapped, sitting up straighter. Jesus, Buck – were you dropped on your head as a kid?
Buck went still, almost frozen. His shoulders pulled tight, his spine going ramrod straight. Then, Buck’s voice slammed into his skull, sharper than a tungsten nano needle.
Did those bullets make you into an asshole, or were you born that way?
Eddie flinched, huffing through his nose, face screwing up as he stared down at the gearshift. I might have bullet holes, but I’ve still got less damage than whatever the hell’s going on in your head. What’s your excuse?
Nice, Buck responded bitterly. Real nice.
Fuck. Eddie cracked the window, letting the late afternoon air wash in. It didn’t help. The heat still stuck to him like plastic wrap, pressure curling around his ribs. Buck turned away from the shop, walking stiffly back to his Jeep. The driver’s side door opened and slammed shut loud enough to make Eddie flinch again.
And then silence. They sat in their separate vehicles, ten feet apart and galaxies away.
Eddie stared straight ahead, jaw set, chest tight, unsure how the hell they were supposed to do this. How they were supposed to function with their minds tangled together like this, and everything else between them already complicated enough before the physic hotline got installed.
A few minutes passed before Buck’s voice came, quiet and careful. I’ll keep trying to contact her.
Eddie didn’t answer, not thinking he could without it coming out twisted. He dragged both hands down his face, rubbing hard enough to sting, then reached for the keys. They clicked in the ignition with a sharp mechanical sound, engine rumbling to life beneath him.
He didn’t look at Buck’s Jeep again.
Just pulled out onto the road and headed home, dreading whatever fresh hell was coming next.