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It’s the day Chimney comes back from recovering from his near death experience that Buck learns about the secret habit that the entirety of A-shift at the 118 seem to share. It’s been around a month since they responded to his accident, and still Buck sees flashes of the rebar impaling his friend's skull in his sleep. It leaves a small fear, the reminder that time is not promised - that life is much too fragile.
They celebrate his return with a cake and a large spread of food, decorations and music, and a few hugs that last a second too long. They spend time revelling in the medical miracle that is Chimney’s recovery, before being sent off on call after call. They were on shift, after all.
It’s at the end of the long 24 hours, and Chim, Hen and Buck are the last to leave the locker room. Chimney then says something that sticks in Buck’s mind for a long time after.
“Oh thank god, I was worried you guys would have given this to Tatiana.” he says, waving around a white envelope. “I guess I need to write a new one now that we’re broken up.”
Hen doesn’t even need to turn around from where she’s tying her shoes to know what he’s on about. “Chim, you know we only give them out if it’s an accident on the job. That’s why we write them.”
Buck looks around, confused. To him, it’s just a plain envelope with Chimney’s ex-girlfriend’s name on it. He doesn’t understand the significance, nor the tension that has built in the room over the past few seconds. He sees Chimney throw it in the trash, and walk out the station side by side with his best friend.
It isn’t until the next shift that he asks Bobby about it. “Hey Cap, what’s with the envelopes for after an accident on the job? Chim threw one out last shift but it seemed important.”
Bobby just continues cutting the vegetables, hesitating only a split second when Buck speaks. He hums along, formulating his answer. Buck finds out later that probies don’t get introduced to the tradition until after their probationary period ends. Buck finds out too early, and it instilled a fear into his captain that would soon come true.
“It’s a letter for loved ones, Buck.” Bobby says. “It’s something I did with my department in Minnesota and I brought with me here. We write letters, in the case of something going wrong at a scene, in the case that we are the ones not returning home.”
Bobby explains that it is something that his father’s firefighters had done, a tradition passed down to him, passed down to his teams. The letters were meant to give families peace, an understanding, a way of helping accept the grief. While accidents on the job were rare, they carried so much risk and needed to be prepared for.
“You should write one, Buck.” Bobby says after a moment. “Keep it in your locker, have the recipient's name on the envelope. We all have one. Some write to their friends, others to partners or parents. It’s supposed to be for you, as well as them.”
It takes two weeks before a letter is placed in Buck’s locker, tucked to the side with the photo of him and Maddie from before she left with Doug. That’s all that is in there. He hasn’t collected enough to keep yet.
The letter is labelled ‘Captain Bobby Nash’, and Hen looks confused when she sees him place it in its spot. She doesn’t ask though, as she knows its purpose. She herself has one on her locker - labelled for her wife.
It took Buck hours to figure out what to put, after spending weeks on deciding who to leave it for. He can’t send it to Maddie - she’s never told him where she ended up. He refuses to send it to his parents - they don’t even know about his job. He will not send it to Abby - she’s new and exciting and he can’t scare her like this. He hopes that it never sees the light of day, but he feels calmer knowing that someone will get to hear what he had to say.
Dear Bobby,
I know what you’re going to say. That this letter is meant for a loved one, or someone important. I know that writing this letter for your captain is unusual, and simply unnerving. I have no one else to write this to, so you were my choice.
I know that we’ve had a rough few months, and for that I am sorry. I understand why you wanted to fire me that day. I’m grateful for my second chance. I hope that I can prove to you that I deserve to be here, after I finish my probationary period.
Anyway, on to the point of the letter. This is here in the case that I’m dead (or as good as) because of something on a call. I need you to know that it isn’t your fault. I probably did something reckless, ignored the rules, pushed when I shouldn’t have. I did it for the right reasons though, I promise you.
I didn’t intend to leave the world like this. My plans never looked like this. I love my job, I love the team, I love this place. It feels like home, for the first time since I left Pennsylvania. I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to.
I will need someone to find Maddie, Maddie Kendall. She’s my sister, and she needs to know that I was happy and safe and missed her more than anything. She deserves to know how I died, even if it’s bad. She needs to know that I would have only done it if it meant saving someone else. I promise Maddie, I didn’t want to die.
This is the most amazing opportunity of my life, and I owe it all to you Pops.
From,
Evan Buckley.
Buck honestly forgets about the letter. He graduates into being a real firefighter, Abby leaves for Europe, Eddie Diaz joins the team, Maddie comes to Los Angeles, he moves out of Abby’s apartment, Maddie gets kidnapped, Chimney gets stabbed, everything eventually goes back to normal. Life goes on, each day passes, and he survives.
He doesn’t think about the letter. He doesn’t need to.
Not until a kid blows up the fire truck and it ends up crushing his leg. He’s the only one pinned, the only one hurt in a way that could change his life forever. He nearly blacks out, but the pain is too real and torturous and he stays awake. Everything feels like it’s on fire, it probably is all on fire, and it’s too much. He claws his way from the cold darkness that threatens to take him under. He screams as if it is the only thing he can do. It is the only thing he can do.
He screams as Eddie pulls him out from underneath, never once noticing the fact that he’s already put a line in to pump him with morphine. He cries, sobs really, when he is finally away from the broken truck. He sobs harder when the sight of people registers, and he realises that these people all worked to save him.
Everything is so much, too much, painful and overwhelming and god, he’s so scared. He’s responded to enough accidents to know that what follows after getting taken out from under the truck is not good. Surgery, with risks of infection. He has crush injuries, he’s risking compartment syndrome, his blood pressure is through the roof, and he definitely has a concussion.
That’s when he thinks about the letter again. When he’s in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital, realising how messed up it is. The letter is to Bobby, he wrote it while he was still a new firefighter, it’s empty and depressing and outdated. He knows then, that this letter cannot be the one someone sees. His friends deserve more. His family deserves more. He deserves more.
He asks Bobby to get it for him, while he’s stuck in the hospital bed recovering from the surgery that put his leg back together. “Bobby, you know that letter? The one we all have stashed in our lockers? Can you- could you grab mine? It’s time to write a new one, don’t you think?” He asks for some paper, a new envelope, and a pen, as well.
Bobby has been crying, that much is obvious when he comes back. The seal of the envelope isn’t broken, so Buck surmises that it was just Bobby being overwhelmed. When he asks about it, later at the barbecue when he’s recovered, Bobby admits that seeing his name made him panic. It made him panic at the thought of losing someone else in his life that was important to him. Buck stays grateful that the letter that felt so impersonal never saw Bobby’s eyes. He would never forgive himself if the older man had read that.
“I’m proud of you, Buck.” Bobby says when he hands over the letter. “I’m so proud of you.”
The replacement letter is longer, and easier to write. It’s done within minutes, and Bobby takes it back and replaces it when he leaves for the night. They don’t talk about it, they don’t talk about how close Buck had come to needing that letter, they don’t talk about the fact that Buck will never need the letter if he can’t return to active duty, they don’t talk about how Buck cried, failing at hiding the tears that streamed down his face, when he finished writing.
The new letter, much like Buck 2.0, is a fresh start. It means something new, it means change, it means something more than meaningless life and getting through each day as if the end could never happen. The new letter was heavier, important, raw and honest. It was meant to be the last. One that would outlive him, one that could be kept in his memory.
Dear Maddie,
I’m not sure if you know the significance of this letter. Well, maybe you didn’t until now. I wonder if Chimney will write his own to you one day. We don’t discuss who they go to. We try not to discuss these letters at all, honestly.
They’re a reminder that our lives are not permanent. They’re a reminder that every day on the job means we are risking everything we have ever worked for. For me, this letter will have been a reminder of what I would lose if I were to die.
I’m writing this on the day after the truck bombing. I know you must have been terrified. I was terrified. This is the second letter I have written now, but this is the first that means something. Not that the first one wasn’t important. No, that letter to Bobby was good. He was good, Mads. The best captain, a good friend, someone to trust. You can trust him.
I’m sorry that this letter has to exist. I’m not sorry for doing my job. I love my job. It means everything to me. The team are a family. My family. They gave me something I didn’t have after you left. Now I have you again, and I have them. You will have them too.
I will have tried everything to go back to you, Maddie. I promise. I would never leave you, not like this, by choice. If I could make it so, we would be inseparable. A united front. You’re the best big sister anyone could ask for.
I need you to know that everything is yours. The loft, the jeep, my pension, everything. It’s all yours. I also need you to promise to talk to everyone. Tell Eddie he was the best partner - he had my back, I trust him. Tell Bobby how much I appreciate him. Tell Hen that I love her, that she was so important to me. Tell Chim that he better take care of you. Tell mom and dad that I died doing something important, something useful, something bigger than myself.
I love you Mads, so much. Be strong, as you always have been.
Love,
Evan
The pulmonary embolism puts a lot into perspective. He’s cleared for active duty, and suddenly he’s coughing up blood while the darkness takes over his vision, while he’s in Athena’s back garden as they have a celebration. Everything changes on that day.
Buck realises that life is so much more fragile. That nothing can ever be expected. Something will always be waiting around the corner. It makes him want to go back to work even more. He wants to help, he wants to save people, he wants to be the person that can prevent anything like that happening to someone else.
He’s told that he’s no longer cleared for duty and everything shifts. Buck cannot do a desk job. He knows this, has known this for years. Firefighting was the first thing that made sense to him. Not ranching, not surfing, not travelling, not bartending. Firefighting. Being a first responder.
He wants to get out there, he needs to go back to his job, he needs the stability of that part of his life back. The depression he falls into is rough, to say the least. He’s had issues since his childhood, with mood and attachment and other things he should probably discuss in therapy. Instead, Buck lives his life in the loft. He wallows, cooks for himself, lies in bed waiting to figure out what’s next.
Eddie, like the sun through grey clouds, shines bright. He brings forward Christopher - someone Buck has loved since the beginning. It’s just babysitting, a day of looking after him while Eddie works. They’ve done it before.
In the back of his mind, Buck knows it is for his own benefit too. He smiles to himself, appreciative of being seen when everything else seemed to be on top of him. He feels lighter that day. Chris is pure happiness, his smile and laughter contagious. They spend the day at the beach, after a morning breakfast of pancakes that are far too sweet.
“This is the best day ever, Buck!” Chris exclaims, and Buck can’t help but agree. If he takes his fear of not returning to work out of the equation, he can admit that this is the happiest he has felt in a long time.
Then it happens. A tsunami. Out of nowhere, Buck is once again forced to face his fears of his own mortality. This time, he’s also forced to face his fears of someone else’s. Christopher’s.
A lot of the day is lost in his memories, gone and purposely blacked out. He doesn’t remember getting on top of a firetruck, he doesn’t remember rescuing other people, he doesn’t remember anything anyone said to him. He does remember Chris screaming for him. He does remember the blinding panic when Chris fell back into the water after the second wave. He does remember the sheer terror he felt for hours as he stalked the streets of LA looking for the boy with unruly curls.
Buck doesn’t remember getting to the VA hospital, but he does remember not finding Chris anywhere else. He doesn’t remember the way people asked him if he was okay, but he does remember how he begged everyone and anyone to help him find Chris. He doesn’t remember passing out, but he does remember it happens after he sees Eddie hold his son like he’s about to slip through his fingers.
The cut on his arm is fine, all cleaned and wrapped by the time he comes to. Chris is on the bed next to him, Eddie in the chair next to them. Buck’s sobs wake them both up, but he contains them as soon as he can. For their benefit. He lost Chris. He’s not allowed to feel anything. Not when he did the worst thing he could have done. He’s supposed to only be grateful that he’s even allowed to see the boy again.
There will come a time where Eddie will at the fact that Buck ever felt like that. Many years down the line, on an anniversary of the tsunami, Buck will apologise and send himself into a panic attack so bad that he blacks out. That day in the future, Eddie will hold him and console him and tell him he did everything just right.
Buck wants to go back to work. He still feels guilty about Chris, albeit it less - once Eddie tells him the next day that he trusts no one more with his son than him, but he also feels ready. He proved to himself that he can go back to work. He’s cleared once again. He’s ready to go back into the world he loves.
Bobby is the one that stands in the way, and for a second, life tilts on its axis. Work is his life still. Everything Buck does is for his job. His family are connected to his life as a firefighter. Eddie is connected to his life as a firefighter. Maddie is now connected to his life as a firefighter. Not going back to the LAFD is not an option. Blood thinners and liability claims be damned.
He’s replaced by Lena Bosko, who is a fine firefighter. But she shouldn’t be there. Not when he should be. It’s unfair and it hurts and it overwhelms him. He did everything he could, and yet it wasn’t enough. Bobby had promised that he still had a spot with them, but then became the reason he didn’t. It felt like a betrayal.
The time spent around the lawsuit is some that Buck wants to forget. He was wrong, it was done in anger, it was unfair on the others, he was the reason his family pulled away. Bobby reacted appropriately, even though it felt unfair. Eddie was rightly mad at him, Christopher should never have been put in the middle. Hen and Chimney and Maddie all deserved better. Buck knows that. He just didn’t think about it at the time.
His life before the 118 had been solitary. He lived in a home full of ghosts, haunted by what used to be. When he left after dropping out of college, he was surrounded by his own nightmares and intrusive thoughts. He travelled, alone, and never found somewhere to put roots.
He hadn’t been in Los Angeles long, yet he had found something he could call home. He had forgotten that he wasn’t alone. He should have talked to someone. He should have gone back to Bobby and Athena’s. He should have told Eddie, begged his best friend to rationalise it with him. He should have gotten his job back in a way that didn’t hurt anyone else.
“I’m sorry.” isn’t enough. It will never be enough. So he works on it. He reconciles with everyone. He works to regain trust, he tries to get back to where he belongs.
Fixing things with Eddie is a cornerstone. It means that he’s almost there. He’s almost part of the family again. It takes time, but they fix it. Buck learns that life is more than his job, he learns that his uniform isn’t a costume, he learns that he is important to the people around him too. It helps.
Time passes, shifts go on, life continues, and he’s happy. He’s safe, he’s happy, he’s making a foundation. Maddie is pregnant, Eddie is his best friend, Chris is safe, Bobby is happy, Buck is content.
Of course, life changes in an instant. And he is once again forcefully reminded that life can be taken in mere seconds. Life is not endless. Life is unforgiving.
They’re on a heavy rescue mission. A little boy trapped in a well, with a thunderstorm rolling in. Buck says that they should give Eddie more time. A while has passed, but he inherently trusts his partner. He subconsciously knows that Eddie needs more time.
Bobby disagrees. They pull his line, try to pull him up back to solid earth. And in a singular move, Eddie rewrites Buck’s future. Eddie cuts his line. Eddie cuts his only link back to the surface. The anger that rushes through Buck is immeasurable. He’s frustrated, but in the back of his mind he knows that he would have done the same thing if it meant saving a child.
Chimney is sent down next, and miraculously comes back up with the missing boy. The mother is sobbing in relief, and everyone is smiling at the reunion. This is the part of the job that means the most. They’re doing some good, doing a job that many others couldn’t.
But before they can go back and get Eddie, lightning strikes the crane, and Eddie is buried alive. Buck’s reaction is near inhuman, as he screams and races to the mud. He claws at the dirt, hoping that with the adrenaline in his heart and power of his motions, he can bring Eddie home.
Bobby pulls him away, and he cries. He would be embarrassed, but he’s just too scared. Scared that he hadn’t been able to say a real goodbye, scared that another person has just left him, scared that something is going to happen to Christopher if his father is really gone. He cries as he realises once again that life can too easily be cut short.
Noone but Buck truly believes Eddie could still be alive. They’re discussing ways to find him, ways to get him out from under the heavy earth, and Buck knows that everyone else is preparing to find a body. Buck powers on, speaks about finding him, silently promises to have his back even when they are separated like this.
Eddie comes back, and the tension holding Buck together is cut like a string. The second Eddie is in the back of an ambulance and getting checked out, Buck ragdolls. Bobby catches him, and he takes in a deep, shaky breath.
“You were right, kid.” Bobby says quietly, “You always are when it comes to him.”
Eddie returns to work, healthy and happy, and things go back to normal. But Buck’s letter taunts him from its resting spot. It has been a while since it was written, over a year now. It doesn’t feel wrong, but it doesn’t necessarily feel right either. He doesn’t know what to make of it.
Jee Yun is born and simply put, it is one of the best days of Buck’s life. He’s an uncle now, he has a niece, his sister has everything she wants. Life is so good. He’s happy, everything is worth the pain and anguish he’s been through.
Then Eddie gets shot. In front of him. By a sniper. On a call where Eddie just helped an abused kid.
Eddie gets shot. By a sniper. In front of him.
He watches Eddie fall to the ground, and he’s tackled by Captain Mehta while a shot aimed for him narrowly misses. He has to take a deep breath before he rolls under the truck so he can pull Eddie to safety.
There’s so much blood, too much blood, and the look on Eddie’s face haunts him. His words are worse.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, as if he wasn’t the one Buck was throwing around to try and get him somewhere safe.
No, he’s not hurt. He’s worried. Worried that he almost lost everything in the blink of an eye. Worried that it hasn’t even been a year since Eddie nearly died on him last. Worried that this was almost it for them, when he knew that one day something more would be uncovered.
Buck doesn’t register how badly he’s shaking as he watches Eddie get wheeled away from him and into surgery. He barely realises that he’s covered in Eddie’s blood, the taste of it in his mouth too overwhelming to register any other senses. It isn’t until he’s changed and cornered by Taylor that it registers.
Then, they find out that someone is purposely targeting firefighters. That isn’t something that’s heard of. Buck has to bite back the sheer anxiety he feels knowing that now there was another threat to everyone he loved.
It’s why he acts like he does while Eddie’s recuperating. When the 118 have to help a man in an open zone, he doesn’t hesitate before climbing the crane. Everyone else has someone to go back to, a family, something more than him. So he climbs. He tries to protect everyone else, even at risk of sacrificing himself. He realises, during the climb, that he wishes he could have updated his letter.
Bobby is mad, but worried and upset too. Buck feels bad, unsure of how to explain his decision. He needs everyone to understand that he has long since accepted that he isn’t worth as much. Everyone else means more. He doesn’t say it out loud though.
Eddie is pissed when he finds out. It’s worse when he says he wishes he was the one that had been shot. Eddie goes on a rant, talks for a long time, telling him that he isn’t expendable. That he matters. Buck hopes that one day he can believe it.
Then, Eddie tells him. “It’s in my will, if I die, you become Christopher’s legal guardian.” Buck just gapes at his friend, trying to understand what exactly is happening. Eddie explains his decision, and it makes sense. But it’s terrifying. It solidifies that Buck needs to be careful, more watchful.
He writes his next letter on his next shift. Eddie is at home, with Chris, recovering. Ana and Carla are there to help. Bobby gives him a new envelope, not even acting surprised at the request. It’s as if he had known something had changed. Maybe he had. Maybe he had seen it the day they all met him in the waiting room when Eddie was shot.
Maddie,
I love you. You’re the best big sister I could have asked for. You’re the best mom Jee could ever need. You’re so incredible and I owe you the world. Thank you, for being the best.
You probably know what this letter is. If you didn’t before, then you do now. Did you know that this isn’t just a thing that firefighters do. I know some cops do it too. And some of my old contacts from when I tried out for the SEALs say that they have written them too.
I hate that it’s something I have to write. I hate that this is something you might have to read. You don’t deserve the pain this will bring. You deserve a lifetime of happiness and prosperity and good health. I hope that you get that, even after I’m gone.
I want you to know that I love you. Not even death will change that. I love you and Jee and Chim and Chris and Eddie and the 118. Can you tell them for me, please?
I’m worried that someone else will be the one to die before me. I write this in the hopes that I leave this world saving them. Protecting their families from unimaginable pain. I don’t want to put you through it, but I can’t stand idly and watch as someone else is in this place when it could be me instead.
I want to always come back, Mads. I do. Recently, I’ve accepted that life isn’t forever. Anything can happen. Anything could take me away from this existence. I think I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t want to leave, but I will if I have to.
Tell Jee and Chris that I’m proud of them. They’re the brightest beings in the entire world and they light up my life. They mean so much to me, so so much. I need them to know that even in my last moments, I will have been thinking of them.
Look out for everyone Mads. But let them also look out for you too. Eddie’s gonna need someone. But he’s also gonna want to help. Let him. You’ll be helping him too. Tell Chim and Hen that I loved them. Thank Bobby for me. Tell him he was the best. Tell Athena that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause anyone any pain.
Tell Eddie that I didn’t mean to treat myself as expendable. I know I’m not. I just can’t not do anything. He knows that. He’s the same. Look after him, Maddie.
My job was my whole world. But you, Jee, Chris, Eddie, the entire team, you’re my universe. I’m going to miss you so much.
I love you,
Buck
There’s a calm, for a while. Eddie leaves the 118 and goes off to dispatch. It sends Buck into a spiral, he’s reckless, he forgets who he is supposed to wait for. He’s supposed to be safe. He knows, but without Eddie anchoring him, he can’t find the will to care.
Everything is strange while Eddie is away. They argue more, movie nights are less frequent, Chris notices. He asks if this means Buck will leave. His heart cracks in two, until the boy promises that he understands that nothing could ever come in between Buck and his relationship.
Buck gets a call in the middle of the night, Chris is crying and his words are jumbled. He doesn’t even hesitate before heading over to the house on S Bedford Street. He tucks Chris into bed, telling him that he’d be back. He finds Eddie on the floor by his bed, bat in hand, room destroyed.
Eddie’s team are all dead. Everyone he saved is gone. And for a moment, it’s like Eddie is too. He’s angry and upset and just devastated. It takes Buck hours to regulate him, to get him into bed. It’s with promises of being there when he wakes up, of holding him, of not leaving. He looks after Chris, tucks him into bed, and then slides in with Eddie right after.
Dispatch burns down and the panic that runs through everyone at the firehouse is palpable. Eddie is there. May is there. Maddie is there. They almost lose May. They almost lose Captain Nash. The stress hurts.
Eddie comes back to the 118, and everything is good. They’re Buck and Eddie again, partners with the same mind. Buck stops thinking about how every day could be his last. He lets himself live, without worrying. The change is obvious. He’s smiling more, he gets out more, he enjoys the simpler things more.
Sure, there are moments where it’s hard. They lose people on calls, Eddie snaps at him during a tense period with Christopher, Maddie disappears and leaves Jee and Chimney behind, Chimney takes Jee Yun across the country in search of her mother. It’s a lot.
But when everything is good again, it’s great. Buck enjoys living his life. If anyone even five years ago had told him that he would be this happy, he wouldn’t have believed them.
Then he dies. He actually dies.
Three minutes and seventeen seconds.
Evan Buckley is dead for three minutes. And seventeen seconds.
The coma that comes after being struck by lightning is one of the worst experiences of his life. It’s only Bobby that he ever speaks to about it. Bobby is the only one that ever learns about what happened in the dream.
Eddie only visits if he has Christopher with him. Maddie cries every time she’s in the room. Bobby and Athena act like he wishes his parents would. They are the ones to look after him, they are the ones that hold him together, they are the ones that nurse him back to health.
He doesn’t speak to his parents when he leaves the hospital. He doesn’t talk to them when they leave. He does only what Maddie needs. No one fights him on it. They understand that the Buckley’s have always been worth nothing to Buck.
It’s Eddie that makes Buck think about his life. Really think about it. It’s Eddie that makes everything that much clearer. It’s Eddie that breaks through the haze, helps him with his PTSD, shows him how loved he is.
“You died, Evan.” Eddie says. “You died, and my world died with you.”
Buck’s response is quiet, genuine. “You saved me, Eddie. You made sure I could come home.”
“I needed you to come home to me.”
Buck changes his letter for the last time when he goes back to work. He knows that this will be the last time he can think about the chance of dying on the job. He’s accepted that he might die in a fire, or an accident, or a freak incident. He’s accepted that he cannot outrun the clock that ticks for an unknown length of time.
His letter is placed in Eddie’s locker, right beside the other man’s own. He knows that they are one and the same now. Where one goes, the other will follow. They’re together now, in every sense of the word.
Dying had made everything clear. He opened his eyes to see what he hadn’t accepted. Dying had made sense of everything. Buck had finally understood what the letter was for. Bobby reads it, before it is sealed in the envelope. He hugs Buck tight, says how proud he is of him, tells him that it takes everyone a while to learn their place in the world.
Eddie,
Thank you.
Thank you for being there as I lived this life.
Thank you for being my home.
You will always be the person I think of in the final moments, in the dark of the night, in the bleak midwinter.
You were always the one who had my back. I’ll forever have yours.
You know how much I love you. And I know how much you love me. Thank you for always loving me.
Thank you for giving me Chris, and a home, and a way to love living. I love every moment we had together.
You, Eddie, are so loved.
I love you,
Buck