Chapter Text
Buck barely remembered the drive back to the loft. One moment he was standing in the grocery store parking lot, Eddie's words still ringing in his ears, ”Because you’re exhausting,” and the next he was slamming his door behind him, chest heaving.
The loft felt too big. Too empty. Too quiet.
His skin felt wrong. Like it was stretched too tight over his bones, itching from the inside out. Heat crawled up his spine, made his vision blur at the edges, and then, cold. So cold his teeth chattered. Hot again. Cold again. His hands were shaking.
Exhausting. You're exhausting, Buck.
Don’t you get tired of talking, Evan?
You’re a nice guy, Ev, but… You’re a lot.
Something broke inside him.
Buck didn't remember crossing to the closet. Didn't remember grabbing the baseball bat. But suddenly it was in his hands and he was moving, and the first thing to shatter was the mirror by the door.
Glass exploded outward in a spray of glittering shards.
He swung again. The lamp Eddie had helped him pick out, gone. The bookshelf Maddie organized, splinters. The coffee table where the team gathered for movie nights, kindling. Picture frames cracked and scattered. Books flew. His weights toppled with thunderous crashes that shook the floor.
"I'm NOT- " Swing. Crash. "EXHAUSTING!"
The bat connected with his kitchen counter, and pain radiated up his arms but he couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. Everything that made this place his, everything that said Buck lives here, Buck belongs here, he wanted it gone.
By the time the bat slipped from his numb fingers, the loft looked like a crime scene.
Buck stood in the center of the destruction, breathing in ragged gasps. Sweat poured down his face, his back. His t-shirt clung to him, soaked through. But he was freezing. Shaking so hard he could barely stand.
The fire under his skin burned hotter. Something was wrong. Something was happening inside him, twisting and churning and demanding-
Need. Safe. Need safe. Not safe. Need-
Buck's vision tunneled. His body moved without permission, autopilot taking over where conscious thought had fled. Up the stairs. Stumbling, nearly falling. His hands grabbed his comforter, sheets still tangled from this morning, a lifetime ago, and yanked them off the bed.
Down the stairs. Each step a monumental effort. His legs barely worked.
The blankets hit the floor in the only clear space left, near the couch. Not enough. Not enough.
Pillows. The couch cushions. That throw blanket Maddie brought over last month. Buck gathered them with trembling hands, arranging them in a rough circle. His whole body screamed at him, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, but he couldn't stop.
A flash of gray fabric caught his eye. Bobby's LAFD hoodie, the one Buck had "borrowed" months ago after a particularly cold shift. Buck snatched it up, pressed it to his face, and-
Nothing.
The scent was almost gone. Laundry detergent and time had erased it.
A sound ripped from Buck's throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a scream. Somewhere between animal and human, raw and wounded.
He dropped the hoodie into his pathetic nest and kept searching.
Chris's toy fire truck, left behind after their last hangout. Buck clutched it so hard the plastic edges bit into his palm. Into the nest.
Maddie's denim jacket, draped over his breakfast bar for two weeks. He brought it to his nose, barely there, just the ghost of her lavender shampoo. Into the nest.
His hands moved mechanically, building something his conscious mind didn't understand. The nest was sparse, pathetic, made by someone who had no idea what they were doing. But instinct drove him down into the center of it anyway, curling on his side.
The world tilted. Blurred. Buck shook so violently his bones felt like they might break apart.
And from somewhere deep inside him, something ancient and primal opened like a cascade.
.
/Dispatch: ”911, what’s your emergency?”/
/Caller: “I-I need someone to come to the Harbor Lofts on Flower Street. Something’s-something’s wrong.”/
/Dispatch: “Is someone injured? Are you in danger?”/
/Caller: “I-I don’t know. But someone is. I-I am a beta and I can feel them. Y-You have to send someone.”/
.
/Dispatch: ”911, what’s your emergency?”/
/Caller: "The omega- oh god, there's an omega in distress. Harbor Lofts, fourth floor. I can't- I can't breathe. The pheromones are- " -sobs- "Something terrible happened. They're dying. They feel like they're dying. Please help them. Please."/
/Dispatch: "Ma'am, I need you to calm down- "/
/Caller: "I CAN'T! Don't you understand? Can't you smell it? They're scared and alone and—" (sobs) "My omega won't let me move. I'm stuck by their door. I can't leave them. Please send help!"/
(crash and pounding and screams and shouts)
/Caller: (muffled) “STOP! You’re scaring them!”/
/Dispatch: "Ma'am? Ma’am what’s happening? "/
/Caller: “They’re trying to break the door down but they’re scared! An omega is DYING!”
.
Athena pulled up to Harbor Lofts with her lights off, siren silent. She'd taken the call herself when dispatch mentioned the address, Buck's address.
The scene in the hallway stopped her cold.
At least fifteen people crowded outside apartment 4B. Three alphas, two men and one woman, were actively trying to break down the door, shoulders slamming against it in synchronized hits. An omega woman sat curled against the opposite wall, rocking and keening. Two beta men stood nearby, looking confused and distressed, unable to leave but not knowing why.
The smell hit Athena like a physical wall.
She'd been a cop for over two decades. She'd responded to omega distress calls before. But this…
Sweet and terrified and drowning. Pheromones so thick in the air they coated her tongue. Every instinct in her alpha hindbrain screamed at her to protect, to find the source, to help.
"LAPD! Step away from the door!" Athena's voice cracked like a whip.
None of them moved. The alphas kept pounding.
Athena pushed forward, shoving her way through the crowd. She let her own pheromones rise, controlled, authoritative, the scent of an alpha who would tolerate no challenge. Alpha-mother, protector of the vulnerable, the scent that had calmed May and Harry through countless nightmares.
The crowd faltered. Swayed. The alphas stopped mid-swing.
"I said step back." Athena put every ounce of command into her voice. "All of you. Now."
They obeyed, stumbling away from the door like puppets with cut strings. The omega woman whimpered but stopped keening.
Athena pressed her ear to Buck's door. Silence.
Something. Breathing? Shaking?
"Buck!" She pounded once. "Buck, it's Athena! Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
The pheromones were stronger here, seeping through the crack under the door. Her alpha rose up, protective and fierce. That was her kid in there. Not by blood, but by choice. By family.
Athena stepped back and kicked.
The door flew open on the second hit.
"Oh, baby."
The loft was destroyed. Absolutely devastated, like a tornado had torn through it. Broken furniture, shattered glass, books and debris scattered everywhere.
And in the middle of it all, in a pitiful circle of blankets, Buck.
He lay curled in a tight ball, shaking so violently it looked like a seizure. His skin was deathly pale except for the fevered red splotches on his cheeks. Sweat soaked through his clothes, plastered his hair to his skull. But he was trembling like he'd been left in a snowbank.
"Buck!" Athena crossed to him in three strides, dropped to her knees. "Buck, can you hear me?"
No response. His eyes were open but unseeing, fixed on some middle distance. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked black.
Athena pressed her hand to his forehead and jerked it back. He was burning.
"Dispatch, this is Sergeant Grant. I need RA unit to Harbor Lofts, 4B, immediately. Unresponsive male, mid-twenties, fever of at least 104. Possible omega in distress. I need that bus now."
Buck's whole body convulsed with another violent shake. A thin, broken sound escaped his throat, not quite a whimper, not quite a word.
Athena's hands hovered over him, every instinct screaming to pull him close, to comfort, to protect. But she'd been a cop long enough, had dealt with enough omega cases, to know better than to disturb a nest. Even one this poorly constructed. Especially one this poorly constructed.
A distressed omega's nest was sacred ground. Violating it could make everything worse.
She looked down at her uniform jacket. Quickly, efficiently, she unclipped her radio and set it aside. Her badge came next, then her belt with all its equipment, gun, cuffs, baton. Each piece placed carefully on the floor outside the nest's perimeter until she was left in just her uniform shirt and pants.
The jacket still held her scent. Strong. Alpha-protective.
Safe.
Athena leaned forward slowly, telegraphing every movement even though Buck's unfocused eyes tracked nothing. She placed the jacket near his outstretched hand, close enough to reach, not close enough to intrude. Not touching the nest itself, not disturbing the careful-chaotic arrangement of blankets and stolen comfort items.
Buck didn't reach for it.
But his head turned. Just slightly. Just enough that his nose pointed toward the jacket, toward her scent.
The trembling didn't stop. The fever didn't break. But something in the rigid line of his shoulders eased, just a fraction.
"That's right, baby," Athena murmured, settling back on her heels. "I'm here. You're not alone."
The sirens grew louder, then cut off abruptly. Doors slammed. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, too many footsteps, too fast, too heavy.
Athena's head snapped toward the destroyed doorway.
"No no no- "
They hit the apartment like a wave.
Eddie came through first, and the smell of him, alpha rage and protective fury and something wild, flooded the space. His eyes locked on Buck immediately, on the trembling form in the nest, and a sound tore from his chest that was barely human.
"Buck."
"Eddie, wait- " That was Chimney, grabbing for Eddie's arm.
Eddie shook him off like he weighed nothing. He took two steps toward the nest before Chimney bodily threw himself in the way.
"Move!" Eddie's voice came out as a growl, his alpha bleeding through every syllable. His eyes had taken on that dangerous gleam, instinct overriding reason.
"Not a chance, man." Chimney planted his feet, hands up. As a beta, the pheromones in the room affected him less, left his head clearer. "You can't- "
"That's Buck! He's- " Eddie's hands fisted in Chimney's jacket. "Something's wrong. Can't you smell- "
"I know! But you can't go near him like this!"
Bobby came through next, Hen right behind him. Bobby's alpha presence hit the room like thunder, controlled but powerful, the kind of authority that made other alphas stop and take notice.
His eyes swept the destruction, landed on Buck, and something cracked in his expression.
"Dear God."
"Cap- " Eddie twisted toward him, desperate. "We have to help him. He needs- "
"What he needs is for you to stand down, Eddie." Bobby's voice carried that tone, the Captain voice, backed by alpha command. "Right now you're making it worse."
"I'm not- " But Eddie's protest died when he looked at Buck again.
Buck had curled tighter, his shaking intensifying. The pheromones pouring off him shifted from terrified-alone to terrified-threatened.
"Oh, Eddie." Athena stood slowly, putting herself between the alphas and Buck's nest. "You need to step outside. Now."
"I can't leave him." But Eddie's voice cracked. His alpha knew, some deep, primal part of him recognized that he was making things worse. The scent of aggressive alphas, too many alphas, alphas who weren't pack, weren't safe, weren't-
"Chimney, get him out of here." Athena's tone left no room for argument.
"Come on, buddy." Chimney tugged at Eddie's arm, more gently this time. "Let Hen and Cap work."
"No. No, I need to- " Eddie pulled against Chimney's grip, muscles tensing to break free.
Chimney locked his arms around Eddie's chest from behind, using his full body weight.
"I know. I know. But you're too wound up and Buck needs professionals right now, not- "
"Not what?" Eddie snarled.
"Not an alpha who's about to lose his shit!" Chimney grunted as Eddie nearly broke his hold. "You think I can't smell you? You're seconds away from a full alpha rage and if you go near Buck like that- "
Understanding flashed across Eddie's face. Horror. He stopped fighting.
"Chimney's right, Eddie." Bobby moved to help, his own alpha helping to counterbalance Eddie's. His presence was firm but not aggressive. Captain, not combatant. "You know he's right. Come on. Let's give them room to work."
Together, they managed to maneuver Eddie toward the door. He went, but his eyes stayed locked on Buck until the hallway cut off his line of sight. Even then, everyone could hear him, pacing, his breathing harsh, fist hitting the wall in frustration.
Bobby turned back to the nest. Took one step forward.
Every muscle in his body locked down. The alpha in him howled to protect, to comfort, to gather Buck up and take him somewhere safe. His hands shook with the effort of staying still.
"Bobby." Athena's hand on his arm, steadying. Her alpha feeding into his, pack-bond helping him maintain control. "I've got you."
He nodded stiffly. Forced himself to breathe. Captain. He was Buck's Captain. He could do this.
Hen had already dropped her medical bag, was pulling on gloves with practiced efficiency. As an alpha paramedic, she'd done specialized training for exactly this kind of situation. She knew how to lock down her instincts, how to function when every part of her biology screamed to react instead of think.
But even she paused at the edge of the nest.
"Okay," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. "Okay. Let me see him."
She knelt slowly, hands visible, movements careful.
"Buck? Buck, honey, it’s Hen. I'm going to help you, okay?"
No response. Buck's eyes stayed fixed on nothing.
Hen reached for his wrist, checking his pulse. Her face went tight.
"Chimney!" she called. "I need you in here. Now."
Chimney appeared in the doorway, one hand still gripping Eddie's jacket to keep him in the hallway.
"Yeah?"
"Heart rate's 160 and thready. Respirations are rapid and shallow. Temp feels like it's at least 105, maybe higher." Hen looked up, and there was fear in her eyes. "This isn't a normal heat presentation."
"What?" Bobby moved closer, careful to keep his alpha presence muted. "But he's- the pheromones-"
"I know what it looks like. But ill-heats don’t do this." Hen gestured to Buck's violently shaking form, his blown pupils, the way he'd completely dissociated from reality. "The fever's too high, the dissociation too complete. Something else is happening."
Chimney slipped into the room, Eddie's protest following him. He dropped beside Hen, pulling out equipment. Stethoscope, thermometer, penlight.
"Talk to me," he said.
Hen checked Buck's pupils, both blown so wide there was barely any blue left.
"No response to light. No response to verbal stimuli. Pulse ox is low, 89%. Chimney, this is bad."
Chimney pressed the thermometer to Buck's temple. It beeped.
"106.2." His voice was tight. "That's approaching dangerous levels."
They worked in synchronized silence, years of partnership making words unnecessary. Blood pressure, dangerously low. Heart rate, still racing. Breathing, too fast, too shallow, not getting enough oxygen.
Hen pulled out her stethoscope, pressed it to Buck's chest. Listened. Frowned.
"His heartbeat..." She moved the stethoscope, listened again. "It's irregular. Arrhythmic."
She froze.
"Oh no," she breathed. "Oh, Buck, no."
"What?" Bobby demanded. "Hen, what is it?"
Hen looked up, and her expression was stricken.
"I think- Chimney, listen to this. Tell me I'm wrong."
Chimney took the stethoscope, pressed it to Buck's chest. His eyes went wide.
"That's not possible," he said. "That's- that condition is so rare- "
"What condition?" Athena's voice cracked like a whip.
Hen sat back on her heels.
"Omega broken-heart syndrome. Type-O Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. It presents with-... " She gestured helplessly at Buck. "With all of this. The extreme physical response, the dissociation, the fever, the arrhythmia. It happens when an omega experiences severe emotional trauma. Abandonment, abuse, loss of pack-"
The words landed like physical blows.
Bobby went white.
"We didn't- "
"The lawsuit," Athena said quietly. "The isolation. Being cut off from his pack."
"But we weren't abusing him," Bobby said, and there was desperation in his voice. "We were trying to protect- we couldn't- "
"Doesn't matter." Chimney's voice was hollow. "His omega didn't know that. All it knew was that his pack abandoned him. Rejected him."
"Eddie calling him exhausting," Hen added softly. "That might have been the final trigger. The thing that made his biology think he'd been completely cut off from- "
A broken sound from the doorway. Eddie, having heard everything, looked like he might be sick.
"I didn't know," he choked out. "I didn't- Buck's a beta. He's always been a beta. How could I- "
"That's the thing." Hen looked down at Buck, something clicking into place. "He shouldn't be presenting like this. Broken-heart syndrome happens to omegas who've been severely abused, usually over years. Omegas who've been mistreated by packs, by alphas, who've learned that they're disposable. But Buck's never… he's always been treated as…"
She stopped. Stared.
"Unless," she said slowly, "he's been an omega all along. And someone made him think he wasn't."
Silence.
"Medical suppression," Chimney said, following her logic. "If someone gave him suppressants from a young age, before his designation presented naturally- "
"It would be malpractice," Hen finished. "Dangerous. Illegal in most states. But it would work. Until it didn't. Until the suppressants failed and everything hit at once. Suppressed Omegas tend to have heart problems."
Athena's hand tightened on Bobby's arm.
"His parents."
Bobby's jaw clenched so hard it looked painful. But he pushed it aside, the rage, the guilt, the horror, because Buck needed him to be Captain right now, not another alpha losing control.
"What does he need?" Bobby asked, voice steady despite everything. "What do we do?"
"We get him to a hospital. Now." Hen was already pulling out the gurney. "His heart can't sustain this. If we don't get him stabilized soon-... "
She didn't finish. Didn't have to.
"The nest- " Athena started.
"I know." Hen's voice was pained. "I know. But if we don't move him, he'll die. I'm sorry, Buck. I'm so sorry."
She reached into the nest, gently, so gently, and gathered Buck into her arms. He didn't fight. Didn't even seem to notice. His body was dead weight, shaking, burning.
Athena snatched up her jacket.
"He was responding to this. Let him keep it."
Hen tucked the jacket around Buck's shoulders. His head turned into it, just slightly, instinct seeking comfort even when consciousness had fled.
They loaded him onto the gurney. Chimney and Hen worked in perfect synchronization, IV line in, oxygen mask secured, monitors attached. Every readout was wrong. Every number was dangerous.
"Bobby, you're driving," Hen said. "Chimney, with me in the back. Athena- "
"I'll follow in my car." Athena's eyes were hard. "And then I'm making some phone calls. Buck's parents and I are going to have a conversation."
"Eddie- " Bobby started.
"With me." Athena grabbed Eddie's arm as they wheeled Buck past. "You're in no state to drive, and Buck needs his captain right now, not- "
"Not me." Eddie's voice broke. "I did this. I did this to him."
"You're coming with me. We'll talk in the car." She softened, just slightly. "This isn't your fault, Eddie. You didn't know."
"I should have." Eddie followed her like a ghost. "I should have known."
They carried Buck out of his destroyed loft, away from his pitiful nest, into the harsh lights of the ambulance. The neighbors still lingered in the hallway, drawn by the pheromones, by the instinct to help.
They watched in silence as Buck, unconscious, burning up, heart failing, was loaded into the ambulance.
The doors slammed shut.
The sirens wailed into the night.
And in his loft, Buck's ruined nest sat empty, blankets still holding his desperate scent, toys and clothes scattered like prayers no one had answered.
Not a nest built by an omega who knew what they were doing.
A nest built by someone who'd never been allowed to learn.
The ER waiting room at 2 AM was a special kind of purgatory.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow-white glow. The chairs were industrial-grade plastic that had long since molded to the shape of a thousand anxious bodies. A TV mounted in the corner played muted infomercials that no one watched. The air conditioning rattled and wheezed, fighting a losing battle against the Los Angeles heat that seeped through the walls.
Bobby sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He'd been in this position for, he checked his watch, forty-seven minutes. Before that, he'd paced for thirty-two minutes. Before that, he'd stood at the nurses' station asking for updates until they'd politely but firmly told him to sit down.
Across from him, Hen had her head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. But Bobby could see the tension in her jaw, the way her hands kept flexing against her thighs. Not sleeping. Not even close.
Chimney sat beside her, one leg bouncing rapidly enough to shake the entire row of connected chairs. He'd stopped apologizing for it after the first twenty minutes.
Eddie hadn't sat down once.
He prowled the perimeter of the waiting room like a caged animal, six steps to the door, turn, six steps to the vending machines, turn, six steps to the water fountain, turn. Over and over. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. His jaw was set so hard Bobby worried he'd crack a tooth.
Athena had claimed the seat closest to the corridor that led to the ER proper, as if proximity alone would get them information faster. Her phone sat in her lap, screen dark now. She'd made three calls in the first ten minutes, Maddie, who was on her way from her night shift; dispatch, requesting emergency leave for the 118; and one call that had lasted seven minutes, consisted mostly of Athena saying variations of "I don't care" and "you'll tell me or I'll find out myself," and had ended with her putting the phone down very carefully, as if restraining herself from throwing it against the wall.
The Buckley parents, Bobby assumed. He didn't ask.
"He's been back there for forty-eight minutes," Eddie said, to no one in particular. It was at least the fifth time he'd announced the time.
"We know, Eddie." Chimney's voice was gentle.
"They said they'd update us."
"They will."
"It's been forty-eight minutes."
Hen opened her eyes.
"Eddie. Sit down."
"I can't."
"You need to. You're going to pass out if you don't stop moving."
"Good. Maybe then I'll stop- " Eddie cut himself off, jaw working. His hands flexed again. "I can't just sit here."
"Yes, you can." That was Bobby, quiet but firm. "Because that's what Buck needs us to do right now. Wait. Let the doctors work."
Eddie's laugh was bitter, broken.
"What Buck needed was for us not to abandon him in the first place."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
"Eddie- " Bobby started.
"Don't." Eddie stopped pacing, turned to face them all. His eyes were red-rimmed, raw. "Don't tell me it's not my fault. I called him exhausting. I told him- I told my best friend that he was-" His voice cracked. "What kind of alpha does that? What kind of friend?"
"One who didn't know," Athena said firmly. "One who was dealing with his own trauma and couldn't- "
"That's not an excuse!"
"No," Athena agreed. "It's not. It's an explanation. There's a difference."
Eddie turned away, facing the wall. His shoulders shook once, then went rigid.
Chimney cleared his throat.
"For what it's worth, I don't think- Buck wouldn't want you to- " He sighed. "This isn't productive, man. You beating yourself up doesn't help him."
"Nothing helps him. He's in there because of- "
The double doors to the ER swung open.
Everyone was on their feet instantly. Even Hen, who'd been deliberately projecting calm, stood so fast her chair scraped against the linoleum.
But it was just a nurse, young, alpha, not the one they needed.
She took one look at them, five people radiating anxiety and alpha pheromones, and took a step back.
"Sorry," she said. "Just-... bathroom break."
She hurried past.
They all slowly sank back into their seats. Except Eddie, who resumed pacing.
Fifteen more minutes crawled by.
A man came in with his hand wrapped in a bloody towel. A woman supporting a limping teenager. A drunk who immediately fell asleep in the corner, snoring loud enough to echo.
None of them were Buck.
"This is ridiculous," Eddie muttered. He headed for the nurses' station.
Bobby caught his arm.
"Eddie. Don't."
"They have to know something."
"And they'll tell us when they can. Harassing them won't- "
"I'm not harassing- "
"You're an alpha who's barely holding it together, and they've got a whole ER full of people who can smell that. You go up there wound this tight, they'll call security."
Eddie pulled his arm free, but he didn't move toward the desk. His hands curled into fists instead.
"I should've noticed," he said quietly. "We've been friends for so long. I should have seen- "
"How?" Hen asked. Not unkindly, but with the bluntness of someone who dealt in medical facts. "If Buck was being medically suppressed, there wouldn't have been signs. That's the point. The suppressants would've masked everything, scent, behavior, biological markers. Unless you'd run specific bloodwork, you'd have no way to know."
"But the lawsuit," Eddie pressed. "The way he reacted to being cut off- that should've been a sign."
"That any person would react badly to being isolated from their family," Chimney countered. "Beta, alpha, omega, doesn't matter.”
Bobby scrubbed his hands over his face. He felt every one of his fifty-odd years sitting on his shoulders like stones.
He kept seeing Buck's face, not from tonight, but from a night ago. The grocery store. The way Buck had looked at Eddie, that desperate hope dying in real-time when Eddie said:
You're exhausting.
Bobby had been there. He'd heard it. And he'd let Buck walk away.
The TV shifted to a commercial for car insurance. The drunk in the corner snorted and shifted. The air conditioning rattled on.
Another twenty minutes passed.
Bobby caught himself counting ceiling tiles. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
Chimney got up, bought a coffee from the vending machine, took one sip, and threw it away.
"Tastes like burnt rubber," he muttered.
Hen called Karen, voice low and gentle, reassuring her that yes, they were fine, no, they didn't know anything yet. The conversation lasted four minutes. When she hung up, her expression had softened just slightly.
Athena's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then stood.
"Maddie's here."
She met Maddie at the entrance. Bobby watched as Athena said something, he couldn't hear what, and Maddie's face crumpled. Athena caught her, one arm around her shoulders, and guided her back to the waiting area.
Maddie looked exactly how Bobby felt, wrecked. Her scrubs were rumpled, her hair escaping from its ponytail, mascara smudged under her eyes. She clutched her purse like a lifeline.
"Where is he?" she asked. Her voice trembled. "Is he- "
"Stable, last we heard," Bobby said, standing to offer her his seat. "They took him back about an hour ago. We're waiting for an update."
"An hour?" Maddie's voice pitched higher. "And no one's told you anything?"
"They said they'd update us when they could," Chimney said gently. "I know it's hard, but- "
"Hard? My brother is in there- my baby brother is- " She pressed a hand to her mouth. "I should have known. I should have seen this."
She broke down. Just folded into the chair and sobbed, harsh and wrenching.
Chimney moved to her side immediately, hand on her back.
"Hey. Hey, it's okay. Buck's strong. He's going to be okay."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah," Chimney said softly. "I do. Because it's Buck. And Buck fights. Always has."
Maddie cried harder.
The waiting room fell into heavy silence, broken only by Maddie's muffled sobs and the ambient sounds of the hospital. Pages over the intercom. Distant monitors beeping. Footsteps echoing down corridors.
Bobby found himself praying, something he hadn't done with real intention since Bobby Jr. and Brook. But he prayed now. To a God he wasn't sure listened anymore.
Please. Not Buck. Don't take him too.
More time crawled past. Ten minutes. Fifteen.
Maddie's sobs quieted to hiccups, then to shaky breathing. Chimney stayed at her side, a steady presence.
The doors burst open.
This time it was her, Dr. Thorne, the ER attending they'd been told was overseeing Buck's case. She was in her fifties, omega, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a bun and sharp, intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
Everyone stood. Even Maddie, wiping frantically at her face.
"Family of Evan Buckley?" Dr. Thorne asked, though her eyes had already found them.
"Yes," Bobby said, stepping forward. "I'm his captain. This is his sister, Maddie. The rest are his team. How is he?"
Dr. Thorne’s expression was carefully neutral, the face of someone trained to deliver news both good and terrible.
"Mr. Buckley is stable," she said, and the collective exhale was audible. "But I need to be very clear, the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are critical."
"What happened?" Hen asked, slipping into paramedic mode. "We suspected omega broken-heart syndrome, but- "
"Your suspicion was correct. Type-O Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, triggered by extreme emotional distress. When he came in, his heart was in acute distress, the left ventricle was effectively paralyzed." Dr. Thorne pulled out a tablet, showed them an image that meant nothing to Bobby but made Hen suck in a sharp breath. "We've managed to stabilize him with medication and we've placed him in the omega ward under observation."
"The omega ward?" Maddie's voice was small. "But Buck's not- he's a beta."
Dr. Thorne’s expression shifted, something almost sympathetic.
"Ms. Buckley, your brother is very much an omega. Has been his entire life."
Silence.
"But- " Maddie shook her head. "No. That's not- he's always been a beta. We all thought- "
Dr. Thorne’s expression softened with something that looked like pity.
"Ms. Buckley, your brother is very much an omega. Has been his entire life. We ran comprehensive bloodwork, the results are definitive."
"That's impossible." Maddie's voice shook. "I would have known. I'm his sister. I would have-"
"You wouldn't have," Dr. Thorne said gently but firmly. "Not if he was being properly suppressed. Which brings me to something..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I've been an ER doctor for twenty-six years. I've specialized in omega medicine for fifteen of those. And I have never, in my entire career, seen a case quite like your brother's."
Bobby's stomach dropped.
"What do you mean?"
Dr. Thorne gestured for them to sit. When no one moved, she sighed and continued standing.
"The bloodwork shows massive amounts of synthetic hormones in Mr. Buckley's system, suppression drugs, but not the kind you'd typically see. These are pharmaceutical-grade, extremely potent, and very, very old. The kind that haven't been manufactured legally in the United States since the early 1990s." She pulled up something on her tablet. "More importantly, his body shows signs of long-term adaptation to these drugs. Not years. Decades."
"Decades?" Hen's voice was sharp. "Buck's only twenty-eight."
"Exactly." Dr. Thorne looked at each of them in turn. "Based on the bone density scans we ran, the hormonal markers, and the way his body is reacting to the sudden cessation of suppressants, I believe Evan has been on these drugs since infancy. Possibly as young as a few weeks old."
The words didn't make sense. Bobby heard them, but they wouldn't arrange themselves into coherent meaning.
"That's not possible," Chimney said. "You can't- babies don't present. Designation doesn't happen until puberty."
"Under normal circumstances, you're correct. But there are tests, genetic markers that can predict designation with reasonable accuracy. They're expensive, rarely used, and ethically questionable, but they exist." Dr. Thorne’s mouth pressed into a thin line. "If someone wanted to know their infant's eventual designation badly enough to pay for testing, and if they were willing to commit medical malpractice on a massive scale, they could start suppression before the child ever presented naturally."
"Who would do that to a baby?" Maddie's voice broke on the last word.
Dr. Thorne didn't answer. Didn't need to.
"His parents," Athena said flatly. "They tested him as an infant, found out he'd be an omega, and decided that was unacceptable."
"That's my working theory, yes. Though I'll leave the investigation to law enforcement." Dr. Thorne looked at Athena. "I've already filed a mandatory report with Child Protective Services and the Medical Board. What was done to Evan constitutes severe medical abuse, even if he's now an adult."
Bobby felt something hot and furious building in his chest. Buck. Baby Buck. Just weeks old, helpless, and someone had decided-
"How is that even possible?" Hen was asking, her paramedic brain trying to make sense of it. "Starting suppressants that young, the developmental damage alone- "
"Should have been catastrophic," Dr. Thorne agreed. "Which is why I've only read about one other case like this, and that was in a medical journal from the late '80s. The child in that case experienced severe developmental delays, compromised immune system, failure to thrive. But Evan… " She shook her head, something almost like wonder in her expression. "Evan is six-foot-two, muscular, athletic. No signs of the typical complications. His body somehow adapted."
"His size," Bobby said slowly. "Omegas don't usually- "
"Get that big? No. The average omega male is five-seven, five-eight. Smaller bone structure, less muscle mass, it's biology. But if you flood a developing infant with synthetic hormones designed to suppress omega characteristics and mimic beta or alpha development? You could potentially alter growth patterns." Dr. Thorne pulled up another image on her tablet, Buck's chart, full of numbers that meant nothing to Bobby. "His body was forced to develop differently. The suppressants didn't just hide his designation. They physically changed how he grew."
Maddie made a sound like a wounded animal.
"So Buck's entire body," Chimney said slowly, "his height, his build, everything he is physically- "
"Is the result of twenty-eight years of forced hormonal manipulation," Dr. Thorne finished. "Yes."
Silence fell like a hammer.
Eddie had gone absolutely still. His face was white, his hands trembling at his sides.
"But he seemed fine," Hen said, and there was desperation in her voice now. "All this time, he was fine. Active, healthy, no medical issues- "
"Because the suppressants were working. They were doing exactly what they were designed to do, completely override his natural biology." Dr. Thorne’s expression was grim. "But no drug works forever. The human body is remarkably resilient, but it's also remarkably determined to be what it's supposed to be. For twenty-eight years, Evan's omega biology has been trying to express itself. And for twenty-eight years, it's been chemically beaten back into submission."
"Until today," Bobby said quietly.
"Until today," Dr. Thorne confirmed. "I don't know what finally caused the suppressants to fail, they could have been losing effectiveness gradually, or there could have been a sudden cascade failure. But based on what the responding officer told me, " She glanced at Athena. "About the isolation from his support system, the legal troubles, the verbal rejection from pack members,"
Eddie flinched.
", I believe the emotional trauma triggered what we call omega broken-heart syndrome. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. It's a stress-induced cardiac event that mimics a heart attack, but it's caused by a massive surge of stress hormones. In omegas, it typically only happens in cases of severe, prolonged abuse. The kind of abuse that teaches an omega they're worthless, disposable, that their pack doesn't want them."
"We didn't abuse him," Bobby said, and he hated how defensive he sounded.
"I know." Dr. Thorne’s voice was kind. "I can feel how distressed you all are. How protective. The pheromones in this waiting room, from all of you, they're pack-distress. You're his family, clearly. Which makes this case even more unusual."
"How?" Hen asked.
"If his omega has been compromised from the start. An omega who's never been allowed to bond properly with their pack because the drugs suppressed those instincts too. An omega who's spent their entire life cut off from the very biological drives that would tell them they're safe and wanted and loved." She paused. "An omega who, after twenty-eight years of chemical suppression, suddenly experienced a perfect storm of emotional triggers on the same day their suppressants failed."
"One bad day," Maddie whispered. "That's all it took. One bad day."
"After a lifetime of having his biology suppressed, yes." Dr. Thorne closed her tablet. "His omega never learned how to process pack bonds, how to regulate emotions through his designation, how to be an omega. And then suddenly, all at once, everything he'd been suppressed from feeling hit him like a freight train. The isolation. The rejection. The fear. His body didn't know how to handle it."
"So it tried to die instead," Eddie said. His voice was barely audible.
"In a sense. Broken-heart syndrome is the body's extreme response to unbearable emotional pain. The heart essentially gives up." Dr. Thorne looked at Eddie directly. "But I want to be very clear, this is not your fault. This is not any of your faults. What happened to Evan was set in motion the moment someone decided to suppress a helpless infant. Everything since then has just been dominoes falling."
"That doesn't make it better," Eddie said.
"No," Dr. Thorne agreed. "I don't suppose it does."
Athena had her phone out, typing rapidly.
"I need names. The doctors who prescribed this. The pharmacy that filled it. Every person who touched this case."
"I've already compiled everything for the medical board and CPS," Dr. Thorne said. "I'll make sure you get copies of the report."
"How do we fix this?" Bobby asked. Because that was what mattered now. Not blame, not guilt, fixing it. "What does Buck need?"
Dr. Thorne took a breath.
"First, physically, we need to stabilize his heart, which we're doing. The pheromone blockers will wear off in six to eight hours, at which point we'll assess his hormonal levels and determine what, if any, medication he needs going forward. Some omegas who've been suppressed long-term need help reintegrating their biology. Others adapt naturally once the suppressants are stopped."
"And mentally?" Hen pressed.
"That's the harder part." Dr. Thorne’s expression was grave. "Evan is going to wake up in an omega ward with no memory of being anything other than a beta. His entire identity, his entire understanding of himself, is about to be destroyed. And he's going to do it while recovering from what his body will remember as his pack abandoning him."
"We didn't- " Eddie started.
"I know. You know. But his omega? His omega woke up for the first time in twenty-eight years, looked around for its pack, and found rejection instead of comfort. That's going to leave scars. Deep ones."
Maddie pressed her hands to her mouth. Tears streaked down her face.
"What do we do?" Bobby asked again. "Tell us what he needs and we'll do it."
Dr. Thorne studied them, this exhausted, devastated group of first responders who'd probably saved dozens of lives today before watching one of their own nearly die.
"Time," she said finally. "Patience. Consistency. Evan's going to need to relearn everything about himself. Who he is, what he is, how to be what he is. And he's going to need his pack to prove, over and over, that they're not going anywhere. That he's safe. That he's wanted." She looked at Eddie again. "Especially from his alphas. I don't know your relationship with Evan, but I can smell the bond between you. It's strong. Which means when he wakes up, you're either going to be his greatest comfort or his greatest fear."
Eddie's jaw clenched.
"I'll be whatever he needs me to be."
"Good." Dr. Thorne checked her watch. "He's stable for now. Sedated. We've got him in a private room in the omega wing with round-the-clock monitoring. I'll have a nurse come get you once he's awake and ready for visitors, but, " She held up a hand. "I can't stress this enough. When you see him, you need to be calm. Gentle. No loud voices, no sudden movements, no overwhelming him with questions. His omega is going to be raw and defensive and terrified, it will be an infant omega in an adult body and the confusion will already hurt him. You approach him wrong, you could set his recovery back weeks."
"We understand," Bobby said. The others nodded.
"Also, " Dr. Thorne hesitated. "I need to prepare you. When the pheromone blockers wear off, Evan's scent is going to change. Dramatically. You've all been around him for long thinking he was a beta. His omega scent is going to be... different. Stronger. You need to be ready for that."
"We will be," Athena said firmly.
"Bring clothes. Items with your scents on them." Dr. Thorne’s expression was serious. "When Evan wakes up, his omega instincts are going to be in overdrive. If he goes into distress, which is likely given everything his body has been through, he may try to nest. He won't understand why. He probably won't even know what he's doing. But the instinct will be there."
"Nest," Maddie repeated, wiping at her eyes.
"Like omegas do when they need to feel safe. It's one of the most fundamental omega behaviors, creating a physical space filled with the scents of pack, of safety, of home." Dr. Thorne pulled out a small notepad, started writing. "I want you to bring clothing items. Worn, recently worn ideally. Shirts, hoodies, anything that carries your scent strongly. We'll put them in different containers and if, when, Evan needs them, we can offer them to him. Let him choose what feels safe."
"He can choose?" Hen asked.
"Absolutely. Nesting is deeply personal. Some items will feel right to his omega, others won't. We don't force anything. We just make options available and let his instincts guide him." Dr. Thorne looked at each of them. "The more variety you can provide, the better. Different pack members, different scent profiles. His omega will know what it needs."
Bobby's mind was already racing.
"I can bring some of my old LAFD sweatshirts. I have one at home that I wear all the time."
"Perfect." Dr. Thorne made a note. "The more worn, the better. Fresh-washed clothes won't have enough scent."
"I have a cardigan," Hen offered. "I've been wearing it off shift for months."
"I can grab one of my hoodies," Chimney added. "The one I keep in my locker."
Athena was already pulling out her phone.
"May and Harry, I'll have them bring clothes too. Buck's pack isn't just us. It's my kids too."
Dr. Thorne’s expression softened.
"That's good. The more pack-scent he has access to, the more secure he'll feel. Family is family, blood or not."
Eddie had gone very still.
"Christopher," he said quietly. "Chris- Buck and Chris are- " His voice cracked. "I need to bring something of Chris's."
"Your son?" Dr. Thorne asked gently.
Eddie nodded.
"Buck's good with him. Great with him. They're- Chris loves him. Buck's pack. To both of us."
"Then yes. Definitely bring something of your son's." Dr. Thorne made another note. "Children's scents are often particularly comforting to distressed omegas. Something about the innocence, the unconditional affection. If your son and Evan are close, that could be very helpful."
"I'll get his favorite hoodie," Eddie said. "The blue one. Buck got it for him and Chris wears it constantly."
"Perfect." Dr. Thorne glanced at Maddie. "What about you, Ms. Buckley? You're his sister, your scent will be particularly important to him."
Maddie nodded, swallowing hard.
"I have- I have a sweater at my apartment. The gray one I always wear when we watch movies together.”
Athena put a hand on Maddie's shoulder.
"How much should we bring?" Bobby asked. "How many items?"
"As many as you can manage," Dr. Thorne said. "If he goes into full nesting behavior, he could want anywhere from a dozen items to several dozen. Every omega is different. Some build small, contained nests. Others need larger spaces, more scent, more security. Since Evan's never done this before, since his instincts have been suppressed his entire life, we have no way of knowing what his omega will need."
"We'll bring everything we can," Hen said firmly. She was already texting someone, Karen, probably. "Whatever he needs, he'll have it."
Dr. Thorne smiled slightly.
"He's lucky. To have a pack like you."
The words hung in the air.
Lucky, Bobby thought bitterly. Buck, who'd been chemically mutilated as an infant. Who'd spent twenty-eight years not knowing who he really was. Who'd nearly died because his body thought his pack had abandoned him.
Some luck.
But Dr. Thorne was right about one thing, Buck had them now. Had a pack that would move heaven and earth for him.
Even if they'd failed him before, they wouldn't fail him again.
.
They reconvened in the waiting room like soldiers returning from deployment, each carrying bags of clothes that smelled like family.
Bobby had two grocery bags full, his oldest LAFD hoodies, a flannel shirt he wore every weekend, a sweatshirt that still had paint stains from when he and Buck had redone Buck's kitchen. Athena added her contributions, her favorite cardigan, her police academy t-shirt, a scarf she wore constantly.
May and Harry had sent things too, delivered by Athena. May's favorite oversized sweater that she'd worn through finals week. Harry's basketball jersey that he wore to every game.
Hen arrived with a duffel bag.
"Karen sends her love and about half her wardrobe," she said, pulling out sweaters, t-shirts, even a soft robe. "And this- " She held up a small blanket. "This is Denny's. His comfort blanket from when he was little. Karen saved it. She thought- if Buck needs something soft, something that smells like pack-kid- "
Her voice caught.
Chimney had his own contributions plus Maddie's, her gray sweater, a cardigan, a shirt she'd stolen from Buck years ago that probably smelled like both of them.
Eddie set down his bag carefully. Christopher's blue hoodie on top. Mr. Bitey the dinosaur tucked beside it.
They stood in a circle, surrounded by bags of clothes, looking at each other with exhausted, determined expressions.
"This is enough, right?" Chimney asked. "I mean, how much does one nest need?"
"Dr. Thorne said as much as possible," Hen reminded him. "Every omega is different."
"Buck's going to have options," Bobby said firmly. "He's going to have everything he needs to feel safe."
A nurse appeared, different from before, younger, beta. She looked at the assembled bags with wide eyes.
"You must be Mr. Buckley's pack," she said. "Dr. Thorne told me to expect you. She's in surgery right now, but she wanted me to collect… " She gestured to the bags. "All of this?"
"All of it," Athena confirmed. "Where do you need us to bring it?"
"I can take it. We've set up a storage system in Mr. Buckley's room. Different containers, organized by pack member. When he wakes up, if he needs them, we'll let him choose." The nurse started gathering bags. "This is- this is really wonderful. Most omegas in distress don't have this much support."
"Buck has a whole firehouse," Chimney said. "This is just the beginning."
The nurse smiled.
"He's lucky."
There was that word again.
They helped her carry everything through the secured doors of the omega wing, down a quiet corridor that smelled of antiseptic and something else, something floral and calming that Bobby couldn't identify.
Buck's room was at the end. Private, door closed. A window beside it.
Bobby's breath caught.
Buck lay in the hospital bed, small somehow despite his size. IV lines in his arms, monitors attached to his chest, oxygen cannula under his nose. His face was pale, peaceful in sedation. His hair curled against the pillow.
He looked young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the strong, capable firefighter who'd walked into Bobby's firehouse almost three years ago.
"You can't go in yet," the nurse said gently. "But you can look. Let him know you're here."
Eddie pressed a hand to the window. His expression was devastated.
"We brought everything you asked for," Bobby told the nurse. "Where should we-"
She guided them to a corner of the waiting-room where clear plastic containers were stacked, already labeled. Bobby. Athena. Hen. Chimney. Eddie. May. Harry. Christopher. Karen. Denny. Maddie.
They sorted the clothes carefully, methodically. Each item folded and placed in its designated container. Pack-scent, organized and accessible.
When they finished, other nurses brought them into the room.
"When he wakes up," Bobby said, voice rough, "he's going to know. He's going to see all this and know he's not alone."
"Assuming his omega trusts us enough to accept it," Eddie said quietly.
"It will," Athena said firmly. "Because we're going to prove we're worth trusting. However long it takes."
The nurse finished arranging everything.
"All right. This is- this is more than enough. When Mr. Buckley wakes, if he shows any nesting behavior, we'll start offering items. Let his instincts guide him."
"Thank you," Bobby said. "For taking care of him."
"It's my job. But… " The nurse glanced back at Buck's sleeping form. "Between you and me? I hope he wakes up soon. An omega without a nest this long after a distress episode, it's not good. They need that security, that sense of safe space. The longer he goes without it, the harder recovery will be."
"Then we pray he wakes up soon," Bobby said.
They filed out, back to the waiting room.
The sky outside was lightening, dawn creeping over Los Angeles. The night shift was ending. The city was waking up.
And Buck slept on.
Surrounded by pack-scent.
Surrounded by love.
Even if he didn't know it yet.