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Buck sighed, watching as his friends dug through his cabinets and combed over all of his belongings. It felt violating, despite knowing he had nothing to hide from them. But he knew it had to be done.
It was like Christopher had said— Buck wouldn’t trust himself either if he were in their position.
“I win!” Christopher announced from across the patio table as he slammed the cards in his hand down, earning something akin to a smile from Buck. It was the best he could muster, given his state.
Physically, he felt like shit. His body temperature kept fluctuating between burning hot and freezing cold, his head was pounding, his stomach was flipping, and every muscle in his body ached. Yet somehow, his emotional state might have been even worse. Buck effectively lied to everyone he loved, and they may never trust him again. The thought of never being allowed to be a firefighter again, never being allowed to babysit his niece and nephew again… it made him sick.
And even if they could trust him again someday, would they always keep treating him like he was fragile?
Maybe they should. Maybe he was.
He certainly felt fragile. That was why he asked for help, after all— wasn’t it? Because he couldn’t help himself? He was desperate, he was hurting himself, and he was too weak to take care of himself.
And knowing he had done something wrong— that sinking anchor in his gut, the static energy in his fingertips— was torture in itself. It reminded him of how often he'd been scolded as a child, countless hours spent on the receiving end of lectures and exasperated sighs.
Of course, no one here actually scolded him; rather, speaking to him with an uncertain gentleness and awkward concern, cycling between staring too long or avoiding eye contact altogether, but he knew he had disappointed them. All of them.
Eddie, Maddie, the 118—
From inside the house, Buck heard the echo of a knock at his front door.
—Bobby.
Buck was no stranger to being seen as a disappointment, but this was different. Before, it was his parents, or even Bobby and Athena, back when he’d first joined the 118 as a hotheaded probie, but things changed. For the first time, Buck actually had a… a father. A father who believed in him, and Buck disappointed him.
He remembered every time Bobby had talked about his own struggle with addiction— his back injury, the pain killers, the dependency, the alcohol. Buck remembered seeing it firsthand so many years ago when Bobby had relapsed and asked Buck and Hen for help. The pleading look in his eyes, the way he broke down crying. He remembered the pain in his voice, he remembered learning all the things— the most important things— that Bobby’s addiction had taken from him.
And what did Buck do?
He went and got addicted to pain pills.
The guilt gnawed at him, feeling like he’d spit in the face of Bobby's trauma and pain. He was sure that he must be the lowest type of person for what he had done. Buck had been lucky to have built the kind of relationship he had with Bobby, and he just took a match to it. Buck wouldn’t blame Bobby if he disowned him after this.
Maybe I should just die.
The thought, so sudden, so blunt, almost made him chuckle, in a morbid sort of way. It was far from the first time that thought had popped into his head in the past two days, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Now, with his secret out in the open, the desire to kill himself subsided in urgency, just lingering in the back of his mind and creeping up to make itself known sporadically through the day.
But that first night in withdrawal?
That first night felt worse than death. His body was shaking so hard, muscles cramping and clenching so tightly, it felt like his bones were going to shatter inside his body. He had curled into the fetal position, sweating through his clothes, throwing up off the side of the bed and clear onto the floor because he was in too much pain to move.
That night, killing himself felt like a need, like his brain couldn’t process the amount of pain he was in, screaming at himself in an instinctual, animal desperation to just make it stop.
He probably would have done it, had he had the strength to crawl off the bed and into the bathroom.
“You feeling alright?”
Buck was torn from his thoughts by the sound of Eddie’s voice, his eyes locking onto the glass of ice water that Eddie had just set on the table in front of him. He nodded, picking up the glass and gulping down the entirety of the water in an instant. It was only then that he realized how hot he’d become again, his throat dry and scratchy. One of Eddie’s large hands came to rest gently on Buck’s shoulder. Buck turned to look up at him, simultaneously detesting and appreciating the worry in his warm brown eyes.
“Bobby and Athena just got here,” he said kindly, his light drawl cushioning the anxiety-inducing message he was delivering. “He brought some groceries, insisted on making dinner.” The knot in Buck’s stomach tightened at his words, though whether that was from the guilt or his body’s sudden intolerance to food remained unknown.
As if Eddie could read his mind, he continued. “It’s just soup and bread, and he brought some meal replacement drinks if you can’t keep the soup down.” Buck chewed on his lip and nodded again, wondering briefly if that was what Bobby would eat during his own withdrawal. The thought had tears stinging his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away, trying not to think of the fact that he had undoubtedly reminded Bobby of the worst times in his own life, maybe even triggering his addiction.
Like a horror movie, the image of Bobby relapsing because of Buck played behind his eyes, and Buck had to fight the urge to beat it out of his own head with whatever he could get his hands on the fastest.
Christopher suddenly chimed in from across the table, reminding Buck of his presence. “Nice! I love soup.” Buck couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips, deeply grateful for the positivity he managed to bring to every situation, no matter how bad it was.
He was briefly reminded of a different conversation with Christopher, years ago. During the tsunami at the pier, he’d asked how Chris managed to stay so positive, even when everything was going wrong.
Just keep swimming, he’d explained. Like Dory.
“Yeah, me too, buddy,” Buck replied softly.
He stood slowly from the table, still shaky on his feet, seeing Eddie watch him closely from the corner of his eye.
It was time to face the music, to see Bobby, now that he knew what Buck had been doing.
He had foolishly thought himself lucky earlier, that Chimney had been acting as Interim Captain on the day Buck had finally come out about what he was dealing with, though he soon remembered that wasn’t going to stop Bobby from finding out.
And now he knew everything, and Buck didn’t want to know how Bobby saw him or what he thought of him. It was too scary, too painful.
Just keep swimming.
—
Buck wouldn’t say he had nothing to worry about, considering the reckoning was surely coming, but re-entering the house wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be. Though that was because Bobby remained busy in the kitchen, and Buck had managed to keep a solid distance, using the rest of his concerned friends and family as a makeshift shield on his way inside and over to the couch.
In a way, the whole thing was nice— most of his loved ones were in the same place at the same time, but everyone was acting too strange to fully enjoy it. They were fawning all over him, jumping to help him with every little thing and watching him like a hawk, but he couldn't really complain— not when he was in such bad shape. He really did need their help.
Every glass of water, every gentle smile, every time someone took his temperature or rubbed his back while he threw up into a wastebin— Buck wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so taken care of in his life, and somehow he was both grateful and frustrated.
Buck used to only be paid any mind by his parents when he was sick or injured, to the point that he had started hurting himself just to get them to pay attention to him. But he had a different life now, a different family. They all loved him and paid attention to him and showed him that they cared, even when there was nothing wrong. So being on the receiving end of all this love and care reminded him of how lucky he was to have them, of course, but it made him feel so guilty. He made them worry; he hurt them.
He wasn’t worth all of their love, their time, their effort.
Maybe it was how well they knew him, or maybe it was just the kind of thing you say in a situation like this, to someone like him, but they kept taking turns to tell him, spoken quietly when everyone else was distracted, that they love him, that they weren’t going anywhere, that he shouldn’t blame himself.
Buck couldn’t lie; he needed to hear it. He soaked in their words, tucking them away deep in his chest— each comforting line like a drop of soothing balm to an endless, raw wound.
Just as Hen finished taking Buck’s vitals for what felt like the millionth time that evening, with Buck rolling his eyes and trembling as another cold wave swept through him, Athena emerged from the kitchen.
“Dinner is ready, come on.” She came around to the front of the couch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Buck, I already set yours up at the table.” Athena smiled gently at him, which he returned gratefully.
As his family shuffled into the kitchen, she spoke quietly. “Would you like help walking to the table?” Her tone was nothing but sure and patient, yet Buck couldn’t help feeling like a burden hearing it.
“N-No, thank you,” he stuttered, standing slowly to head to the table.
Upon sitting down, Buck could immediately smell the soup, and God, it smelled good, but his stomach swiftly warned him not to attempt it. He swallowed hard, his shoulders dropping slightly. Too bad.
He didn’t deserve Bobby’s cooking, anyway.
One by one, everyone returned from the kitchen holding bowls of warm soup and crammed themselves around Buck’s dining table to eat. The table wasn’t really meant to seat this many people at once, but he wasn’t about to complain. Their company was appreciated, despite his many conflicting feelings and the throbbing in his head.
Bobby was the last to step into the room, setting a bottle of a meal replacement drink in front of Buck gently on his way in.
“If you can’t stomach the soup, make sure to at least sip on that.”
Buck kept his head turned down at the bottle to hide the tears that began forming in his eyes at the sound of Bobby’s kind voice. He didn’t deserve kindness from him.
Clenching his jaw in an effort to control his emotions, he sucked in a breath, feeling yet another cold shock sending goosebumps down his skin.
Under the table, Eddie linked his ankle around Buck’s, wordlessly. Buck glanced at Eddie in the seat beside him, and Eddie shot him a quick grin, easing some of the discomfort he had been feeling.
Buck cracked open the top of his drink and took a small sip, grateful for the sweet vanilla flavor, and allowed himself to quietly listen to his friends and family’s voices as they talked about one meaningless thing after the next. Dumb jokes and soft laughs were shared, stories that everyone had already heard being recounted as if for the first time. He allowed himself to get lost in that sound, trying his best to ignore how his body felt.
He hadn’t even realized he had closed his eyes until he heard someone calling his name from the other end of the table.
“Buck?” He looked without thinking, making direct eye contact with Bobby for the first time since his confession as the room grew quiet. He quickly averted his gaze. “You doing okay?” Buck nodded and turned to Maddie, who was sitting on the other side of him, opposite Eddie.
“Who’s watching the kids tonight?”
Buck already knew the answer, and Maddie knew that Buck already knew the answer, but like the dutiful big sister she was, she smiled tiredly and replied, “Karen is watching all the kids tonight.” She looked at Christopher, sitting beside Eddie. “Except Chris, of course.”
Christopher grinned widely at Maddie, who mirrored it with her own. The sight warmed Buck’s aching heart.
“R-Right, yeah. That makes sense,” Buck nodded, sighing in relief when he heard the conversation start back up again amongst everyone at the table.
He knew Bobby was going to want to talk to him about this at some point, and Buck just couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t handle Bobby asking why he did it, if he learned nothing from hearing Bobby’s own story. Couldn’t handle hearing the disappointment in his voice.
So, while he knew he couldn’t avoid Bobby forever, he could surely try.
When dinner was finally over, with only a dent made in his meal replacement drink and his family sleepily slouched in their chairs, Bobby spoke up again. “Hey, Buck—”
“Hey, Hen. Didn’t you want to check my vitals after dinner?” Buck quickly interrupted. She nodded, standing quickly and waiting for Buck to follow. While she led him cautiously into the living room, Buck kept his eyes moving, refusing to look in Bobby’s direction for even a moment.
Though in his peripheral vision, he thought he had seen Bobby and Athena exchange a small glance.
And later, when Bobby ambled into the living room and headed Buck’s direction, just having finished washing dishes with Chimney, Buck angled himself toward May in a panic. “Hey, May,” he started, just as Bobby had almost reached his side. “You think you can help me into the kitchen for a glass of water?”
“Oh, I can just go get it for you.” She smiled sweetly, patting Buck on the shoulder as she stood, her ponytail swinging behind her.
“No, no, no,” Buck rushed out. “I really– I’d like to stretch my legs, if that’s okay.”
May looked over his shoulder, at Bobby, no doubt, before nodding with an apologetic expression. “Yeah, sure,” she agreed kindly, reaching out a hand to help Buck to his feet. He saw Eddie looking at him with concern, lips ever so slightly pursed, but Buck just shook his head. He was fine.
When they returned to the living room, Bobby was sitting quietly beside Athena, with one arm slung over her shoulder, combing his fingers through her hair.
Buck waited with bated breath to see if Bobby was going to try to talk to him again, but he seemed to have given up— for the moment.
Luckily, Bobby’s next attempt was interrupted by coincidence. Maybe the universe had finally decided to have some mercy on Buck.
Actually, Buck probably shouldn’t call it “mercy” that he had to jump to his feet and hurry into the bathroom to throw up the little bit of the meal replacement drink that he’d had at dinner.
Maddie rushed in behind him, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back as his stomach cramped. He heaved violently enough to feel like his ribs might break, and by the time his stomach had finally settled, Buck was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his body exhausted.
But that didn’t stop him from continuing his evasion of Bobby.
It was hard, though.
Not the avoiding itself— no, that was actually pretty easy. Between asking for small favors, being fussed over, and his several sick incidents, Buck had managed to do a pretty good job of it.
No, the hard part was not getting to talk to Bobby.
Buck had always leaned on him for support in his hardest moments, gratefully receiving every bit of love and care that he would offer. Of course, there were other people in his life who offered him those things. Eddie, Maddie, the 118, and the whole extended 118 family.
But it wasn’t the same.
Buck may have a big family now, but he still only had one dad, and he may have ruined their relationship forever. He didn’t know how he was supposed to handle that, didn’t know how he was supposed to go on if he lost Bobby.
Later in the night, most everyone headed out to their cars to grab blankets and pillows they had brought, preparing to sleep on Buck’s couch and his living room floor. Of course, Athena and Bobby had been offered the guest bedroom, to which Athena quickly accepted with a grateful wink sent his way.
Buck, Eddie, and Christopher remained waiting in the living room for everyone else to return, and Buck appreciated the quiet moment alone with his two favorite boys.
Or, at least, until Buck realized they weren’t actually alone.
While quietly reassuring Eddie for the hundredth time that night that he was feeling alright (a lie, they both knew), Buck heard Bobby’s voice come from behind him.
“Buck? Can we talk for a minute? Alone.” Buck’s eyes widened, swallowing roughly. He sent Eddie a look to let him know that he wasn’t ready to talk to Bobby, and being able to read Buck better than anyone, Eddie got the message. Unfortunately, he just didn’t comply.
“Buck,” Eddie started softly under his breath, his gaze gentle. “I really think you should talk to him.”
“I’m not ready,” Buck whispered almost inaudibly, feeling his eyes sting as tears began to form. “Please.”
Eddie’s expression turned apologetic, and he reached a hand out to cup Buck’s shoulder, his thumb pressing firmly to the pulse point in his neck. Buck pulled in a deep breath, trying to ground himself in the familiar gesture. “I’ll be right here when you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Buck nodded his head jerkily, trying to muster up some bravery, doing his best to put up a protective barrier around his heart ahead of his conversation with Bobby.
He didn’t think Bobby would be cruel, by any means. There was just no way Bobby’s disappointment wasn’t going to crush Buck’s heart; he could feel it beginning already. And what if Bobby felt like he couldn’t be around Buck for a while, to protect his own sobriety? What if they could never be as close as they were before? What if Bobby was mad at him?
Buck wouldn’t blame him, but he couldn’t lose Bobby. He just couldn’t.
Eddie would be right here. Right out in the living room.
He turned around, facing Bobby but refusing to make eye contact. “Okay,” he mumbled, stepping toward him nervously and slumping his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller.
“C’mon.” Bobby angled his head down the hall towards Buck’s bedroom door and began slowly walking that way, waiting for Buck to follow.
Buck drew in a shaky breath as he entered the dimly lit room, hearing Bobby shut the door. He sat anxiously on the bed and waited for Bobby to sit beside him.
For a moment, no one said anything. The weight of the silence was compressing Buck’s lungs, and still, he hoped it wouldn’t end. Anything to avoid the certain pain he was going to feel when he heard how much he’d hurt Bobby, how much he’d let him down.
“Buck,” Bobby finally started with a sigh. “Can you look at me?” he asked softly.
Tearing his gaze away from his knees, Buck forced himself to lock eyes with Bobby— and he broke.
“Bobby, I-I’m sorry.” The desperation in his voice was clear, tears forming rapidly in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Apologies spilled out of him like pleas for forgiveness, words blurring together. He gasped for breath.
“Buck, no—” Bobby looked confused for a split second before the expression was replaced with something else. Pity, maybe?
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Bobby—” Buck continued babbling as he cried.
“Buck. Stop.” Bobby interjected firmly, but not unkindly, holding a hand up. “Stop apologizing, you don’t—” he sighed. “You don’t have to apologize, Buck.”
And God, his voice sounded so sad.
Buck whimpered, feeling more hot tears spill down his cheeks, his bottom lip quivering pathetically.
“But I do.” Buck struggled to speak around the lump in his throat, his voice thick with tears and whining sadly. “I-I hurt you, and I—” His voice broke off into a whimper. He tried to bite back a sob, instead letting out a couple of broken-off whines before giving up. “I disappointed you,” Buck forced out quickly through his crying, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto his hands. He couldn’t get a solid breath.
“No.” Bobby looked and sounded almost offended at Buck’s words. “No, no, no,” he insisted, shaking his head. Buck coughed and sniffled, still struggling to breathe through his tears. “Buck,” Bobby started softly, sounding broken. He reached a hand out and gingerly cupped Buck’s cheek.
Despite being bigger than him, the gesture made Buck feel so small. Suddenly, he was a child again— he was afraid, and hurt, and panicked. But Bobby was there, solid and comforting. Buck closed his eyes, letting himself feel, for just a moment, that someone else would take care of everything, that Bobby could make everything okay again.
Finally, Buck was able to pull in a decent breath. Then another. And another.
“I’m not disappointed in you,” Bobby stressed, his voice soft. “I could never be disappointed in you. You’re my kid, and I love you. I will always love you.” Another soft sob escaped Buck, but he wouldn’t dare move, not even to open his eyes. “Asking for help is the hardest thing, but you did it. You asked for help. I’m not disappointed in you, Buck. I am so proud of you.”
At those words, Buck couldn’t contain himself anymore. A sob burst roughly out of him, followed by a stuttered gasp as he threw himself fully at Bobby, wrapping his arms tightly around the man. Buck sobbed into his shoulder as he felt Bobby’s arms come up to wrap around him comfortingly. He began to rock them slowly from side to side — probably a reflex from his days of raising small babies— seeming not to mind Buck’s loud sobs. Buck allowed himself to be soothed, feeling Bobby press his cheek against the top of his head.
“It’s going to be okay, Buck. Some days will be harder than others, but I’ll be there every step of the way, okay? Every step,” Bobby murmured as he continued to rock Buck, letting him cry himself out.
Eventually, his sobs quieted, and he felt himself slumping further against Bobby.
“You seem tired. You should sleep while you can,” Bobby said gently, still holding Buck. “The insomnia will be pretty bad for a couple of weeks.” Buck nodded against him, suddenly feeling too tired to even sit up.
“C’mere.” Bobby did his best to maneuver Buck further onto the bed, with little help from Buck. Still, Bobby remained next to him, one arm tucked behind Buck’s head, with Buck’s head resting on his chest as they lay side by side.
It was a foreign feeling. He’d never really done this before, though he’d seen it in shows and movies — kids tucked against their parents’ side as they fall asleep. Buck had imagined it would feel similar to when he would tuck himself against Maddie that way. Comforting, peaceful, safe. And it was, it was a type of comfort he hadn’t felt since before Maddie left to college. He felt like a small child again— a young boy curled against his dad’s side, hearing his heart beat through his chest like the world’s best white noise machine.
Did his body still ache? Yes. Was his stomach still turning, head still pounding, skin still clammy? Yes, of course. But all of that suddenly seemed a little more distant. Buck sniffled lazily, feeling his tears beginning to dry on his cheeks.
In the quiet of the room, Bobby began to softly hum— some lullaby that was somewhat familiar, but to which Buck couldn’t remember the words.
Just before sleep had managed to take him, Buck realized he had never responded.
“Lo’ you, too, ‘obby,” Buck slurred, already half-asleep, and drifted off.