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Buck didn't know much about himself, but he always knew he was pretty. He had seen the way people's eyes tended to linger, heard intakes of breath when he let his muscles flex, felt hands linger when his shirts were too tight. No, he knew how to demand attention better than anyone, whether by throwing himself out of a tree or flashing a coy smile.
It was no replacement for love, never had been, but that ache in his chest always seemed to dull when he drew someone's eye. He may not have found himself lovable, but at least he could pretend.
It made his journey across the Americas just a little bit easier. He knew how to widen his eyes just right, look so earnest that he could convince someone to let him stay for the night, or buy him dinner, or drive him to the next town over. If he looked just on the right side of sheepish, he could get a job interview with anyone. Keeping a job was never an issue; he knew he drew customers in (giggling, flirtatious customers, but money's money), and no employer wanted to give that up. And when he decided he was done, decided the job he was working wasn't really what he wanted, he could hunch his shoulders in just the right way that his former boss would never hate him for leaving.
It was all a little different when he got to Los Angeles. He couldn't flirt his way through training; he found that out the hard way, when flashing a wink at one of the trainers had gotten him sat down in HR instead of in someone's bed, in addition to getting him stuck with the nickname "pretty boy". But that was fine, because Buck was sure he could figure out how to be good in another way, how to be useful. It had been a long time since anyone had thought him to be capable of much besides a roll in the sheets, and the accountability was somewhat refreshing, if not nerve-wracking.
Taking the probie position at the 118 had been no different. It was overwhelming for him to get there and realize that not a single person in his core crew was attracted to men, that he couldn't just be pretty to make friends.
They were a family, those three, and Buck didn't know how to handle a family. He could deal with friends, with coworkers, with lovers, but never with a family. Every call with them, his anxiety rumbled at having to be useful, to be liked, having to provide something. It was new, refreshing, daunting.
But outside of his new coworkers, everything was still the same. Women, men, everyone else still looked at him with the same type of interest, the same look of "your value is in your pants". It didn't matter if he was on a call, or in a bar, or getting groceries. He embraced it outright (better to embrace it than to worry that he was inherently worth just a little less than love). Whatever he could get, whenever he could get it.
He supposed, looking back on it all, that he might've set himself up for failure. But lord knows he didn't know how to do any of it differently.
_____
The alarm blaring through the firehouse still sparked Buck's anxiety, even though it had been well over a month since he had started at the 118. He wasn't afraid of the calls themselves as much as he feared potentially failing everyone who was in the firetruck with him. But Bobby just patted him on the back, with a quick "let's go, kid", and the anxiety morphed into adrenaline.
In the truck, they were all business. "It's a fire at an amusement park," Bobby explained. "Some kid was smoking near a wooden coaster, and he managed to set the whole thing on fire. Dispatch says there's a full train car stuck on one of the valleys, but still too high for anyone to jump off of. They're our priority here. Hen and Chim, be ready to treat burns. Buck, you'll be on the ladder with me."
It would be a daring call. Buck knew this was the type of call he thrived at; that little, impulsive boy from Hershey was still living in him, still willing to throw himself into the hospital to get as close to love as he could. The structure of it all was a bit different now, but the sentiment was the same.
Pulling into the amusement park tested Buck's resolve a little more. He had expected to hear screams, whether of joy or terror, and instead there was a quiet murmur, broken only by the occasion plea for help. The fire was enormous, covering most of what looked to be an incredibly old coaster. In fact, the groans of the structure, of the bits of metal amongst the inferno, was louder than any person in the park. Once out of the truck, the crew stood in silence, just taking it in for longer than they should have.
Bobby broke the quiet. "Hen, Chim, get the medical supplies ready. Be prepared for third degree burns, and try to get some additional units on site. I'm going to align the ladder; Buck, I want you ready to go retrieve the riders and get them down the ladder. Full turnout, no exception. Let's go."
The climb up the ladder, towards the ride, was nothing to Buck besides the sound of his pulse in his ears and the firmness of the metal beneath his hands. He didn't want to think too much about what he was walking into; he needed to separate himself from noticing everyone else's pain in order to do his job.
The flames were already licking the car when he got there. His attention was first diverted to the people in the first few rows, the furthest from the fire. It was easy to grab ahold of them, with just minor burns and smoke exposure, and encourage them to climb down the ladder themselves. They gripped at his forearms, his shoulders, practically clinging onto him for safety.
The next row wasn't quite the same.
A boy sat alone, his eyes squeezed shut, but clearly awake and aware. Buck could see the way his fingers gripped the safety bar until the knuckles were white. He grabbed him by the shoulder. "Hey, kid, we gotta go!"
The boy shook his head weakly. "I can't do it," he sobbed. "My friend tried to get out, and I think he's dead. Get everyone else out."
Buck wasn't happy about it, but he knew he had to do just that. He could come back to this obstinate kid after he handled everyone else. He couldn't risk everyone else's safety yet.
Bobby was going up and down the ladder now, taking each rider that Buck got off the ride down on a board to the rest of the crew. It was gruesome, some of the burns. But what got to Buck most was the smell. He had smelled burning meat before, burning chemicals, burning just-about-everything. But he had never smelled burning flesh quite like this, and what stuck with him most was the wrongness of it. It smelled like the worst mistake anyone had ever made, like a representation of every crime ever committed just lingering in his nose.
So, once everyone else was off the ride, Buck turned back to the frightened kid while breathing through his mouth. "Come on, it's just you and me now. You've got to get off."
"I can't," he cried, shifting further from Buck's reach. "I just can't do it."
Buck scoffed, frustration having reached its peak, and unclipped himself from the ladder before jumping onto the ride. He could vague hear Bobby yelling behind him, but he blocked it out. "Come on, I've got you," he muttered, unclipping the kid's seat belt. "We've got to go now, got to get off the ride before it's too late."
And then, it was too late. Buck barely comprehended the cracks of the structure finally giving up, the feeling of weightlessness in his body. He didn't have time to realize he was falling before he had already fallen, didn't have time to realize the screams he heard were coming from himself. And then he couldn't realize anything else, because he had hit the ground, and the time to be aware was over.
______
The thing about third degree burns is they don't hurt. First and second degree, you can practically still feel the fire in your flesh long after the flames are put out. But once you hit third, your nerves are destroyed, and that's it. You can't even tell you're hurting anymore, and there's nothing worse than not being able to feel the pain you're owed.
Buck woke up in the hospital only a couple days after the fire. Or, he more came to awareness. He knew he was awake, but everything stayed dark. He felt himself start to panic, tried to reach his hands up to his eyes, but found he could barely move them. Now the fear really set in, and he could barely acknowledge the fast-paced beeping of his heart monitor before he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.
"Buck!" He could tell it was Bobby, a mixture of fear and relief in his voice. "Buck, breathe. I'm going to get a nurse to come help you, but I need you to breathe for me, kid."
Buck tried, he really did, but breathing felt wrong and painful, like the air didn't know how to move in his throat. He let out a sob, tried again to get his hands to his eyes, but felt the pressure of someone pushing them down.
"Buck, I know you're scared," Bobby whispered carefully, like he was some wild animal. "You've got bandages over your face, and they've got to stay there. You aren't going to be able to see for a while. I know it's scary, but you've got to calm down."
Soon after that, someone who called herself "Dr. Stenton" was talking to Buck, saying words he could barely hear, saying things about "burns on over 50% of his body" and "miracle he's alive" and "reconstructive surgery". And that was too many words for Buck, so he just mumbled assent whenever she needed his approval and maybe signed his life away for Bobby to decide what it was worth. He wasn't really sure.
Once the room was quiet again, once the doctor was gone, Bobby spoke again. "I know this is all going to be scary, but I need you to know we're all going to be here for you. Me, Hen, and Chim are going to make sure you don't go through any of this alone. And if you still want your job after all this, it'll still be there for you. The surgeons think you'll still maintain full muscle function, and that any damage done will be limited to scarring. Otherwise, you've got some broken bones from the fall, but those will heal."
Scarring.
Buck thought he would have rather lost all his limbs or had them just put him out of his misery instead of saving him. Because he knew how to be pretty, and he didn't know how to be much else. If half his body now was just scars, just a vague approximation of flesh, then what was he worth now?
_____
After all the surgeries were done with, after he was pieced back together as best as those doctors were able to, his three coworkers decided to help him move into Bobby's place for the rest of his recovery. "I don't want you to have to deal with stairs," Bobby had insisted. "Besides, you'll be off work for a while, and I'm sure you don't want to deal with rent and those roommates. It'll be nice to have someone to cook for, anyways."
Hen and Chim seemed to be on edge near him, like they weren't sure if there even were right words to say. They had been beyond apologetic, the first time they saw him after the fire. "I wish we could've gotten to you faster," Hen had said bitterly, hand holding Buck's through all the wrappings, "but the ride was surrounded by wire fencing, and we had to get through that before we could get to you."
Buck hadn't blamed any of them for a second. He assumed if he had been part of their family, maybe they would have figured out how to get to him sooner, but he couldn't fault any of them for taking their time (not loving him enough). It was kind of them to help him move; really, it was more than he could have ever expected.
Bobby taking him in was the biggest surprise out of all of it. Honestly, Buck didn't really think the man liked him at all. But Bobby had a spare bedroom and probably a bit of a savior complex, so Buck was quickly set up there to stay for the rest of his recovery.
Recovery. Buck wasn't really sure it was the right word, since he knew he would never recover. He had seen his body since the fire, obviously, but it was mostly against his will, and he never looked into a mirror. Considering the way his body's flesh buckled, hardened and morphed by the burns, and considering the types of facial surgeries he had been subjected to, he knew that ignorance would be the closest thing to bliss he could feel.
For now, though, he could lay in bed, stare up at the ceiling. Maybe the answer to who he could be now was between puffs of the popcorn above him. He couldn't be sure, but he could keep looking.
_____
("Did he live?" Buck asked Chimney one night, while both of them waited for Bobby to finish cooking dinner. Some sort of stew, Buck thought.
"Did who live?"
"The boy, the one I was trying to get off the coaster."
Chim's silence said enough, and if Buck cried until he threw up later that night, that was his own business.)
_____
Another month later saw Hen dragging Buck out of bed while she was off shift. "Come on, Buck," she insisted gently, a hand pulling softly at the blanket currently pulled over his head. "It'll be good for you to get some fresh air. We could go to a park, or go out to eat, or go to a store or something. Either way, you gotta get out of this apartment."
Buck groaned. "I don't have to do anything. I'm fine right here."
Hen pulled the blanket back roughly now, exposing his upper body. "Yeah, this looks like fine. You can choose between the park or a restaurant, but you're choosing either way. I'll be waiting for you in the kitchen."
Buck knew Hen could be stubborn, had seen the way she could convince patients to accept care, and knew staying in bed was a losing battle. So he got himself up, pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, both a bit too big and a bit too baggy, and made his way to the kitchen. Hen waited there, fingers tapping against the counter. "Well?"
"The park," Buck said softly. "Can we maybe feed the ducks?"
Hen was all too glad to let him feed the ducks. She ushered him into the car, stopped along the way for a bag of mixed nuts, and took Buck to a local park, a pond surrounded by a walking path with some children's playgrounds near the entrance.
When Hen parked, Buck's stomach jumped to his throat. He could feel the sweat on what was left of his unscarred skin, and he was sure if the rest of him could sweat he would have been drenched. "I can't do this, Hen," he choked out. "I can't be seen like this."
"You don't really have many options," Hen said, more upfront and honest than anyone had been with him yet. "This is what you look like now, and you've got to live your life. So get used to it. I'll be with you the whole time."
And she was. She got out of the car and circled to open Buck's door for him, even letting out a polite laugh when he joked about her being a chivalrous date. He grabbed her arm, and she was kind enough to not comment on how he must have been cutting off her circulation. She pulled him to a bench right near the water and handed him the bag of nuts for the ducks.
Buck tried not to look up, tried to focus on the birds in front of him. They were eager to be fed, and Buck spewed off a few facts about their specific breed to Hen while he sprinkled the nuts near them. It was a tentative peace, one that was so easily broken by a kid's voice.
"Mommy, why does that man look like a monster?"
Cold washed over Buck instantly, any bit of happiness he felt instantly extinguished. He stood up abruptly, letting the rest of the nuts fall to the ground. "Come on, Hen," he sighed. "It's time to go."
_____
Buck's first day back felt both monumental and unimportant. He rode with Bobby, fingers tapping lightly against his own thigh the entire ride there. He kept his eyes looking out the window, still ever so careful to not look at his own reflection. It had been a few months since he had last seen his face at this point, but Bobby didn't push, and Hen and Chim had only looked slightly annoyed with him over it.
But he didn't need to know what he looked like to go back to the station. The 118 felt like a breath of fresh air to him, like maybe he could be a real person again. He got a few pats on the back on his way to the locker room, a few "good to see you again"s, but it was mostly business as usual. A normalcy Buck could sink his teeth into and run away with.
The first call came quickly, a simple case of a lightbulb in an unsavory location. It was lighthearted and easy, and Buck felt himself slip back into the firefighter role easily, the dynamic between him and his coworkers feeling more natural than ever.
They were barely back in the station again when the next call came, and Buck was ready to go in the truck when Bobby stopped him with a gentle hand. "It's your decision whether you're man behind," he said, not unkindly, "but it's a fire this time. Will you be okay?"
"Cap, I'm a firefighter," Buck insisted, the words sounding easier than they felt. "Fighting fires is kind of my thing."
So Bobby let him climb into the firetruck with the rest of them, let him joke around on the ride and pretend that he was more comfortable than they felt. But when they got to the blaze, when Buck fell silent and shook out of his skin with memories of screams and pure heat, Bobby assigned him to help medical and pulled someone else to go inside.
It felt like a failure, sitting there and waiting for people instead of getting to go out and save them himself. Chimney gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and a look that was a little too understanding before directing him to be ready with oxygen. And in the end, no one was too badly injured, just some smoke inhalation and superficial injuries, but Buck couldn't help but feel useless. If he couldn't be pretty and he couldn't fight fires, what was he even there for? What could he even do?
Buck must not have been doing a good enough job at hiding his emotions, because once they got back to the station, Bobby called him into his office. "Look, Buck. You're talented, and you're capable, and none of that is the problem. You've just been through a really traumatic and painful experience." He slipped him a business card. "Call this number and get yourself into therapy. There's no shame in it. I've gone, and I'm sure every person in this station will end up there at some point. I want you to feel better about yourself more than anything else, and this will help."
And even though Buck didn't think it would help him, he called and made an appointment with Dr. Welles, since it was what Bobby wanted and Buck didn't have the heart to let him down again.
_____
("You haven't looked at me once all session," Buck pointed out. "I keep trying to make eye contact and you won't even look at my face."
"I'm sorry," Dr. Welles said, at least sounding guilty about it. "I want to be professional, but it's not easy for me to look at your face."
"I can't help that this is my face now," Buck responded, a little cold and entirely empty. "This isn't what I wanted, but it's what I'm stuck with. It's not easy for you to look at, but don't you think it's worse for me to live with?")
_____
Buck never made it past the first therapy session. He knew he should've probably reported Dr. Welles for her lack of professionalism, but it felt like admitting that he looked like... whatever he looked like. It was easier to just shrug it off, to tell Bobby that therapy just wasn't a good fit for him.
He did, however, allow himself to lean a little more on his friends. He went out more, always surrounded on all sides by Bobby, Hen, and Chimney, like they were protecting him from something.
It wasn't like going out before. People still stared at him, sure, but it was anything but lovestruck now. When he was lucky, he'd see someone looking as though he were some sort of circus attraction, like there was a sign above his head reading, "Hey! Check out this mutant freak!" When he was less lucky, he could see them recoil, easily read the disgust on their face.
It sort of forced him to artificially settle in life. He wasn't pretty anymore, so people didn't want to use him anymore. He didn't do hookups, since the only time anyone seemed interested in him was less about getting off and more about grotesque interest in whether or not his dick worked anymore. There was no more mindless flirting, no more getting what he wanted just by widening his eyes the right way (it's not like his eyelid reconstruction surgery let him do that anymore, anyways).
But through it all, his friends stuck by him, never once looking away. Huh, friends. People who seemed to care about him, independent of whatever his face looked like now. That was new. He thought he liked it.
_____
"Now that is a handsome man."
It made his blood run cold where he stood, made him nauseous, made him want to run and hide. He knew his initial reaction was childish, but he couldn't help it. Buck used to be the handsome man in any room that he walked into, used to be the one who looked so good that people would comment on it. And sure, looking through the glass of the locker rooms, Buck could agree the man actively changing was gorgeous, but the wave of intense jealousy was too much.
Bobby pulled Buck into his office. "I know I didn't talk to you about it in advance, but I was afraid you'd say no."
"No to what?" Buck asked, offended. "No to some sort of Greek god of a probie? Looks shouldn't matter."
Bobby gave him a look that was a little too seeing. "About bringing someone on specifically for you. Someone to be your partner in the field who has his own set of traumas and might be able to balance you well."
"Am I not good enough on my own?" He was tentative, vulnerable. "Am I a liability?"
"No, kid, no." Bobby was around the desk in seconds, hands on Buck's shoulders, forcing him to keep eye contact. "Everyone who works with me has a partner. I just delayed in getting you one. I wanted to make sure whoever I picked was right, and based off this man's file, I really think he will be. And Buck--" Bobby squeezed his shoulders, "--if anyone is ever mean to you based on injuries you received while saving lives on duty, they're not welcome in this station. Okay?"
Buck nodded, embarrassed about the way tears were welling in his eyes. "Just give me a second, and I'll be out."
On his own, Buck let himself sniff a few times and brushed at his nose. It was natural, he supposed, to be protective of what he built. He's barely managed to allow himself to accept the help from others in the station, and he's terrified of losing that to some new guy. In his heart, he knows that they care about him. In his head, his mind tells him that this man is prettier than him, worth more than him.
Buck shook it off and went out to the loft, where everyone stood with the new guy. The man was laughing at something before catching Buck's eye, and walked up to him. "Hey, man," he said, cheerful. "I'm Eddie. I hear we're going to be working together."
Now, Buck didn't mean to be mean, but he was still feeling tender, and he just couldn't bring himself to take the man's hand. It definitely set the tone for the rest of the week, where the two couldn't find equal footing for even a moment. Buck could definitely tell, more and more with each call, that Hen and Chimney were reaching the end of their ropes, and Bobby looked like he was regretting ever become captain of the 118.
("I feel like a babysitter," Bobby said sternly to Buck and Eddie, who were maintaining as much distance as they could between their chairs in Bobby's office. "I didn't realize that two grown men could throw temper tantrums this bad.")
It was a good thing, then, that a man had gotten himself into peril with a live grenade, because apparently the only thing that could make Buck feel like his heart was still beating was when it was at risk of stopping, and the only thing that could make Eddie act like a human being was knowing that he wasn't the only tough guy in the room. It was as if seeing each other in danger had finally broken the wall between them, and they could suddenly function together.
"Thank god," Chimney said once they were at the station, clapping Eddie on the back. "I thought that was going to go on forever. And no offense, Eddie, but you would've definitely gone first before we would've let Buck go."
And if that made Buck feel a little warmer on the inside, he would keep that to himself.
_____
Buck was in the kitchen after a shift, reading some news article on his phone, when someone knocked on the apartment door. Bobby was out getting groceries and never forgot his keys, so Buck was mostly just confused, until he opened the door and saw his older sister standing there.
"I'm sorry, does Evan live here?" Maddie asked, looking both so young and so much older all at once.
Buck felt the tears coming already. "Maddie?" He asked, as if there were ever a question.
The recognition hit in her eyes, followed by the briefest mourning before settling onto something in between. "Evan?"
They fell into each other at once, neither one able to get close enough into the other's arms, a symphony of "what happened to you?" and "where have you been?" and "I missed you so much." When they finally pulled away from each other, Buck could see Maddie's eyes flicking over each scar, cataloging every burn. "What happened to you?"
And so he told her what happened to him, and she told him what happened to her, and she promised to stay this time, promised to keep him safe from everything, and Buck's world got just a little more love in it.
_____
"I don't know where to take my son." Eddie was sounding frantic. "He was with my Abuela, and she broke her hip, and I don't have anyone to watch him."
"Relax, Eddie," Buck reassured him through the phone. "I'll talk to Bobby. Just bring him here. There's plenty of us that can help you, even if the alarm goes off."
Eddie sighed in relief. "Thank you, Buck. I really owe you."
And Bobby didn't have any problems with it, simply nodded when Buck asked Bobby if it was okay. But now Buck was anxious, because he loved kids, but he didn't have the best track record with them, at least not with this face. At this point he trusted Eddie at least a little, assumed he wouldn't have taught his kid to comment on how people looked, but that didn't mean he would know to restrain himself. It had been over a year at this point since Buck had gotten burned, and he may not have looked at himself since, but he knew it was bad enough that it would have taken an incredibly in control kid to hold back.
When Christopher came in, crutches clicking against the concrete, Buck found himself begrudgingly liking Eddie just a little bit more, because it had to take an incredibly good person to make a kid that cute. Chris took to Buck immediately, never once making a comment on his burns. Instead, he leaned onto him and asked him about his favorite animal, and it was all too easy to devolve into a heated debate about the merits of each animal Chris had seen the last time he had gone to the zoo.
Buck almost forgot that Eddie was even there, that anyone else was even in the station. Talking with Chris lifted a weight that Buck hadn't even known he was still carrying with him, and when the shift was over, he didn't really want to leave him, but Chris was falling asleep on Buck's shoulder while B shift was getting ready for their own shift.
Eddie picked up his kid, let his head loll against his shoulder. "Thank you, Buck," he said, earnest. He kissed Chris's head before smiling at Buck. "Maybe you want to take him to the zoo sometime? Really settle whether an elephant having a long nose is cooler than a giraffe having a long neck."
Buck snorted. "Really, anytime. I love kids. Well," and in the interest of being a little more honest than he used to be, "I usually love kids. It's been harder lately. They tend to not be able to hold back about what I look like."
Eddie frowned. "Yeah, kids tend to be a little too honest." He laughed. "Honestly, I was surprised he didn't call you Prince Zuko and ask you to play with fire. Kid's been obsessed with Avatar, lately. I keep seeing him try to bend water in the bathtub."
That startled a laugh out of Buck. "Honestly I wouldn't have minded that. Much better than when kids ask their parents if I'm a monster."
It didn't really land as a joke, a bit too awkward and tense to be anything but honest. They stood in silence for a moment, Eddie obviously trying to find the right words to say. Finally, he landed. "Yeah, you look different. I don't think that's a surprise. But anyone who spends more than a second with you would know you're the furthest thing from a monster."
"I don't know about that," Buck said. "You saw me when you first got here."
"I saw a man who felt threatened by me," Eddie responded, calm. "Nothing more, nothing less. Never a monster. Just someone who has maybe encountered too many of those for one lifetime."
He nodded at Buck. "I'll see you next shift, then. Unless Chris here begs me to see you."
Buck smiled softly. "Could never disappoint him like that."
It felt better than a truce and closer to a friendship, closer to a something.
_____
(Eddie called him less than a day later. "Christopher wanted to talk to you about dinosaurs," Eddie said, sounding tired and exasperated. "I tried telling him you might be busy, but he wouldn't hear it."
"Well, obviously, Eddie. Dinosaurs wait for no man. Give him the phone, I need to talk to the superior Diaz.")
_____
Taylor Kelly coming to the station was enough to set everyone on edge, especially Bobby and Buck. Having their station practically infiltrated, having no more privacy, was taking a toll on everyone.
It had all gone downhill once she realized that Buck was the same firefighter from the coaster rescue, one that had apparently been talked about in the news for days. When Taylor tried to ask him about it, Bobby pulled him aside to the locker room for some privacy. "I tried to protect you from it," he admitted sheepishly. "I had Athena keep the reporters away from the hospital, and I didn't let Hen take you out until they had lost interest. I didn't want you to have to deal with it all."
Buck shrugged it off. "Just put off the inevitable. I don't think she's going to be satisfied unless I give a blow by blow of the whole thing."
Once Taylor had set her eyes on Buck, it was as though the whole station was rebelling. People fell silent the second she and her cameraman came close, gave one word answers to any of her questions. And Buck appreciated the sentiment, amidst his confusion that people cared about him enough to try to protect him (he wasn't pretty anymore, so it's not like he could have charmed them into it, and why else would they be doing it?).
He did feel bad for Taylor though, noting the way she looked more and more defeated each day, until he cornered her after a shift. "Come out for drinks," he said. "Just you and me. I think we should settle this before the whole station explodes."
She looked grateful, and Buck leaned into that validation while driving to an agreed-upon bar. Drinks were poured, and they sat across from each other, a little more serious than either intended.
"It's nothing personal," Taylor told him, shrugging. "My industry is incredibly hard to get into. I need some sort of break or something to stand out, and you're a guy that tons of people tried to interview."
"I didn't even know it," Buck admitted. "The whole time, my crew kept them away. It was for the best, and it probably still is for the best."
"Are you willing to do anything? I don't mean to be callous, but it's my career. I'm trying to get my big break to finally make it off the radio, and you're right here. I mean, really anything."
Buck hesitated. "I wish I could help you, I really do. But I haven't even looked at myself in the mirror in over a year, and I don't think I could handle knowing that my face was being recorded."
"Really?" Taylor asked, leaning towards him. "Why not?"
"I used to be pretty," he admitted, bitterness lacing the words. "I used to be the kind of guy that everyone wanted, and I think I'm still coming to terms with not having that anymore."
"Well, look," she said, a little more sympathetic but no less honest. "I'm not looking for anything, but you've seemed like a good guy. If you did just want a hookup, I'd be down for it. Not in exchange for anything, I promise. I just like sex."
And maybe it was the way he felt loose under the beer, or maybe it was the way Taylor had made direct eye contact with him, unfaltering and with complete confidence, but Buck found himself nodding, then found himself in the back of Taylor's van. It was quick and dirty, and Buck couldn't help but catalog the differences, like the way he could only feel the pressure of her hands between his shoulders instead of the scratch of her nails, or the way every kiss felt like a crescent, the sensation missing in the left corner of his mouth.
It wasn't bad, certainly, and it didn't leave him feeling as hollow as he feared it would. But it didn't make him feel particularly good, and when Buck laid in his bed that night, he wondered why being wanted no longer felt like a substitute for being loved.
_____
Bobby sat him down one day while Maddie was working a shift, looking beyond grave. "We need to talk about something serious."
Buck felt his guts shifting, uncomfortable, paranoid. "Well that's a great way to start a conversation."
Bobby laughed lightly, leaned back in his chair, rubbed his face. "You know I've been seeing Athena for a while now. It's been going really well, and she and I love each other."
Buck nodded slowly. It was all things he had known, nothing that seemed so critical. But Bobby looked like he was trying to figure out how to phrase his bad news, so he kept quiet.
"Athena asked me if I would be interested in moving in with her," he finally admitted, "and I told her that I was, but that I wanted to talk to you about logistics and whether that would be something you're comfortable with."
Buck's stomach dropped out, like he was in free fall, but he tried to hide it. "Why would it matter?" he asked, shaking through a laugh. "I mean, I'm just your roommate. I'm sure you'd be happy to be rid of me anyways."
Bobby looked gutted. "Is that what you think I think?" He was quiet about it, like he couldn't quite believe that Buck had even said that. "Do you think that I just view you as some roommate?"
Buck shrugged, feeling sheepish now. "I mean, what else? Just some guy you took pity on, maybe?"
Bobby was out of his seat before Buck could even blink, kneeling in front of him, holding his hands. "Buck, it's been a long time since you've been just some guy to me," he said fiercely. "I've been - I cook your meals for you, I take care of you when you're sick. I think of you as a son, and I have for well over a year."
Buck felt numb and warm all at once, and oh, when did he start crying? Before he could figure that out, Bobby had pulled him into his arms, holding him tight. "I don't know how I didn't notice that you didn't know," Bobby sniffed into his shoulder. "I thought you knew how much we all love you? Did you not know?"
And yeah, Buck may have been losing a roommate, but he felt like he was gaining a lot more.
_____
Eddie was away, planning something for Shannon's funeral, and Buck laid with Christopher on his bed, staring up together at plastic stars. The kid had been quieter than usual, and Buck wasn't pushing it. "Why do people have to die?"
Well, that's what Buck got for not initiating conversation. "I wish I knew," he said, careful. "I think, sometimes the universe does things and hurts people because it doesn't know how to handle being so big and important."
"Like how I have CP and you have your burns?"
"Hey, I was starting to think you didn't notice them," Buck tried to joke. "This is the first time you've mentioned my scars."
Christopher rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could. "Of course I noticed them, Buck. But I don't like when people talk about my legs, so I thought you wouldn't like if I talked about your burns."
Buck shrugged. "I don't think I would mind so much if you asked. I don't like when strangers ask, but I think you're super smart and would know just what to say."
Chris looked at him, considered. "Does it hurt?"
"Not on the outside," he admitted. "I don't feel a lot where the burns are, so if you touched them really gently, I don't think I'd notice."
"Does it hurt on the inside?"
"Yeah." It wasn't so hard to acknowledge. "It hurts when someone touches me and I can't feel it, because I know what it used to feel like."
"Like a phantom limb," Chris nodded sagely. "I learned all about those. When your brain doesn't understand that your body is different now."
"Right. So it feels like something is missing, when someone touches me."
Christopher rolled himself onto his side, grabbed Buck by the arm. "My dad told me that my mom is still with us, even though she can't be here anymore, and that we just have to remind each other every time with miss her. So maybe, when you feel like something is missing, I can remind you that I'm right here with you."
Buck kept his tears where Christopher couldn't see him, instead pulling him into a tight hug and kissing his curls. "Thanks, superman," he croaked. "How did you get so smart?"
_____
Buck wasn't really sure how it happened, when things started feeling different between him and Eddie. Once Buck and Christopher had met, they had fallen into a sort of routine together, with Buck going over multiple times a week. It wasn't always an event; sure, sometimes they went to the zoo together, or saw a movie, or attended some thing happening in the city, but most of time it was strictly domestic. Buck would cook them meals, or Eddie would help Chris with homework, or they would just simply exist together.
It filled some sort of void Buck had never realized he had. Sure, he had never had the greatest home life, but he didn't realize how much he suffered for it. Maddie had been there for him, after all, and she was still trying to make up for any lost time. Still, it had never all felt this natural, this much like a healthy family unit, just being.
Buck was content with it. Yeah, he thought Eddie was beautiful, and getting to know the man had only made that grow into something cloying that he would rather not name. But Buck was nothing if not a realist, and while he may not have known what his face looked like, he could take a guess. There was nothing pretty left, and while he wasn't pretty, he would never be the object of someone's desires, the one that someone would want to start a life with. He could be something fleeting, or he could be the clingy best friend, but never anything else.
So instead he wanted, wanted, wanted. Buck felt guilty for it, but it was easier with Shannon gone. Eddie had never shown any real interest in loving her, and Christopher had still craved Buck even with his mother back in his life, but he had always waited for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to say "Well, you're not needed anymore!" But that had never come, and Buck was beginning to hope it never would; just hope, though, because anything else would constitute self-harm.
Something began to change, though, once she was gone. It was in the way Eddie just assumed Buck would be coming over after every shift, or casually asked him what dinners he would be cooking that week. It lingered between the car seat Eddie had bought specifically for Buck's Jeep and the pile of clothes that had made its way into Eddie's dresser. It was alive, swooping in his chest every time Buck looked at Eddie.
But Buck couldn't risk acknowledging or mentioning it, no matter what it meant. His position in Eddie's life was fragile, stained glass not yet soldered. He figured he could be satisfied like this, some half member of a pseudo family.
Every so often, though, Eddie would look at him in a way that just made him want to melt, let a hand linger on his shoulder, squeeze him a little tighter in a hug.
Like now, after a night out. It had been an emotional shift, and unwinding at a bar afterwards was a must. It had been a relief, to hear Chimney sing bad karaoke and watch Athena and Hen compared crazy stories from the day. Eddie had been sitting next to him, thigh pressed against Buck's, and it made Buck yearn in quite an embarrassing way. Bobby, leaned against Athena, had seemed a bit too aware of it, raising his own eyebrows at him.
But the night had drawn to a natural close, and Eddie dragged Buck back to the house. Buck was all too ready to sleep on the couch, to pull out his usual stack of sheets and blankets and just pass out, but Eddie tugged him away from it all.
"Eddie, I'm tired," Buck insisted, trying to reclaim his arm.
"Don't care," Eddie replied easily, just this side of honest after few beers. "I'm tired of you sleeping on the couch. I've got a queen, we can share."
Oh, and if that didn't make Buck's stomach dance. "You don't have to, I've been sleeping on the couch this long."
Eddie shot him a look. "You're taller than me and your feet dangling. I can't keep letting your feet dangle, it's rude of me."
"Oh, so this is in the best interest of my feet?"
Eddie nodded emphatically. "Yes. All for your feet. Now go put your pajamas on and come back to bed."
It was all too domestic, making Buck both ecstatic and heartbroken that he could have this, but nothing more. He was always weak for Eddie, though, so he took his sweats to the bathroom and got changed quickly. When he got back to the bedroom, Eddie was already under the covers, clearly leaving behind the half of the bed furthest from the door. Buck slipped in quietly, unsure if Eddie was asleep yet. His question was quickly answered though when Eddie's hand wrapped around his wrist.
He didn't respond, simply just looked at Eddie's hand, lightly clasped against him. It was funny, seeing the contrast of the tan against a particularly red stretch of skin. He felt more self conscious than he had in a while, watching Eddie's smooth fingers turn over his hand as if to look at his palm.
The fingers moved, softly tracing the scar that wrapped up to his index finger. Buck focused on it, tried to remember what such a gentle touch felt like. He could only watch it, now, but he wanted to imagine that he could feel the tenderness of it.
Phantom limb pain.
Eddie's eyes captured Buck's, stayed locked on him as his hand moved up the arm, slowly tracing a path. Every so often, he touched a patch of unscarred skin, and Buck would feel a jolt of sensation, altogether too sensitive and just a bit overwhelming. He made his way across Buck's shoulder, lightly grazed his collarbone with a stroking thumb. "Can you feel this at all?" He finally whispered, breaking the silence but not the tension.
"Some of it," Buck admitted. "I wish I could feel more. Sometimes I can feel pressure when it's firm, but it's hard to feel anything gentle."
Eddie smiled. "That's a bit too on the nose, isn't it?"
Buck let the eye contact break, put a couple more inches between them. "Goodnight, Eddie."
A sigh. "Goodnight, Buck."
_____
(When Christopher got home with Aunt Pepa, he woke up Buck and Eddie by jumping on top of them, whining loudly about not getting to be a part of the sleepover. Buck assured him that the next time they had a sleepover, he would most definitely be invited. Pepa, on the other hand, had given them both a discerning look before claiming she couldn't stay and hoped they had "a lovely family day together.")
_____
Buck supposed that everything had been going a little too right for him, that it was time for reality to remind him that he was one of destiny's least favorites. He had let himself forget that he had lost his value along with his skin, that he wasn't worth anything anymore if he wasn't bleeding.
The bombs in boxes throughout the city had been alarming at best. The 118 was on edge, ready at any moment for the situation to escalate. When a bomb had been found delivered to Bobby and Athena, Buck had nearly lost it.
(Bobby held him in his arms as they sat on the floor, leaned against the wall of his kitchen. Buck was shaking, a gross mixture of snot and tears pressed into Bobby's chest. "I can't lose you," he cried. "I don't care if you have to go and hide and I don't see you for months, but you're not allowed to die and leave me."
"I won't," Bobby promised. "I'm right here. Can you hear my heartbeat against your ear? It's not going to stop."
"You can't promise that."
"No, but I will. No one's taking me from my son.")
All things escalate, and Buck had been anticipating some sort of point of no return, but he never expected this.
It was just supposed to be a simple call, an in-and-out, no problems. Buck was in the ladder truck without a second thought, was just zoned out in his seat, wasn't expecting Hell to come back for him.
The explosion was loud enough that he couldn't hear the screams, only a shrill tinnitus followed by excruciating pain. He couldn't see anything through the pain, couldn't comprehend anything through the crushing weight of the world--
No, that wasn't the weight of the world. That was the weight of the ladder truck, cutting off more than just circulation. And beneath him, that was the pavement, which was most certainly not the smooth leather he had just been against. Everything was sideways, full of smoke and metal, and everything tasted like metal too, which was most certainly blood. He couldn't make sense of what happened, and didn't know if that was because of a concussion or if whatever happened just didn't make sense.
Buck watched, bleeding out and definitely crying, as some kid made demands he couldn't really hear and no one came to help him. He tried to see if he could see any of his friends, but everything was blurry and hurt, and he hoped they weren't coming because he wasn't worth it and not because they were dead.
But then he saw Bobby, and then he saw everyone, and Eddie was grasping him, crying, begging everyone to save him. Buck was feeling weaker and weaker, desperate to just fall asleep and let the pain end, but Eddie was pinching him, commanding him to stay awake.
Buck couldn't see a solution, didn't think there was anything to do besides either cut off his leg or let him die, and he didn't know which one he preferred. Then, the 118 was trying to lift the ladder truck off of him, and Buck felt delirious with it. Was he worth that effort, really? Was he worth the muscle strain of 10 tons of metal? He wanted to tell them to give up, that he wasn't valuable enough for the dedication.
Then it wasn't just the 118, it was other firefighters, policemen, civilians. It was everybody who could stick out a hand, all lifting with all their might while Eddie dragged him clear. Buck wasn't sure if he was still alive, because this many people cared about him? How did he not know?
He felt like he could sleep now, knowing that he was loved. It was new, and it held him tight as the world faded.
_____
The hospital was less terrifying this time around, since he woke up with his eyes uncovered and a hand grasping his own. He was sore, but he could feel the remnants of pain meds still dancing in his system, keeping him feeling light. He turned his head to the side, followed the hand in his own up to Eddie's sleeping face before lightly squeezing.
Eddie jumped, looked at Buck, threw himself at him. "Things can't keeping happening to you," he said firmly, hugging him as best as he could manage. "I'm going to file a complaint with someone. You don't deserve what keeps happening."
Buck let himself sink into the embrace. "I'm okay," he said. "After all, what are a few more scars? It's not like I could get any uglier anyways."
Eddie pulled himself back, hands still gripping Buck, incredulity written on his face. "Buck, what? No, you're beautiful."
And now Buck was fully awake. "Eddie, what are you lying for? I'm covered in burn scars, and now I'm sure when I look under that blanket I'll find even more scars. I know I'm hideous."
"You're not," Eddie insisted. "This isn't some pity thing, or some lies just to make you feel better. You're just, you're so good, Buck, that it sort of just pours out of you, and I can't even look at you without thinking you're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen. Yeah, you're covered in scars, but that's not even something I notice anymore. I just see Buck, I just see the man who got dealt the worst hand and keeps going."
"It's not the same," Buck cried. "You can't just call me beautiful, because I've been beautiful before and I know the difference between then and now."
"Clearly not. You're still the same person in there, and I don't see why you think it has to be different now."
"I'm not enough." The words were coming, the sentiment trying to catch up. It was hard to explain the feeling that had been spinning in his chest for so long now, the truth he had accepted. "I'm enough for a hookup, but not enough for love. I'm enough for a sob story, but not enough to be a main character. Hell, I'm enough to be a best friend, but never anything more. It's like my burns took away my ability to matter more than just superficially."
Eddie was grabbing now, pulling Buck into him. "I'd say I want to kill whoever made you feel like that, but I'm pretty sure you're the one who made you feel like that. Buck, you're everything. You're basically Bobby's son, Hen's brother, Chimney is actively trying to make you his legal brother, and me and Chris, we view you as our missing piece. I'd make you his other legal parent right now if you weren't in a hospital, and to me? I just don't want to take more than you're willing to offer. I just assumed you didn't want me, or maybe that you weren't ready? But I've been actively falling in love with you since the day we met and you don't get to tell me that you aren't enough for me. I get to decide that."
Buck sniffed into Eddie's shoulder. "But I'm hideous. And I still don't know how to be anything but pretty. I don't know what I'm worth."
"You're worth everything, Buck. And God, if you think that you don't have any value outside of a pretty face, then I really don't know what you think you've been doing all this time."
_____
Going home with Eddie after the hospital was the most natural thing Buck has ever done. Eddie helped him sign out, personally wheeled him to his car with a physical therapy schedule in hand. "Christopher is already an expert at PT," Eddie had told Buck, "So you better believe he's going to boss you around over this entire recovery process."
And he had been right, because once they were in the house, Chris had first climbed into Buck's lap and cried into his neck before firmly telling him they were PT partners, and there was no way Chris wasn't going to make sure he got better.
Eddie, on the other hand, was treating Buck like he was made of glass, lifting him gently into bed and trying to help him with every task he could ever do. He had to admit it was useful, albeit slightly embarrassing, for things like bathing, but Buck drew the line when Eddie tried to feed him soup. "It's my leg that broke, Eddie, not my hand," he whined, snatching the spoon for himself.
But, not so secretly, he enjoyed the attention. He felt loved amidst all the swaddling, and it bloomed in his heart like nothing else ever had.
Speaking of love.
Eddie insisted on going slow, on waiting until Buck was better to move forward with anything. Buck knew he was just being cautious, just trying to make sure Buck didn't overexert himself, but he was also pretty sure he would die of natural causes before Eddie would ever make a move.
So, when Buck was sat at the kitchen table a month after he got crushed, chair turned outward, he called Eddie over. "Can you get me another cookie?" He asked sweetly. "You know, the ones Maddie brought over?"
Eddie was completely gone for him, so of course he brought him a cookie, and once his was in range, Buck made his move. He grabbed Eddie by the belt loops and pulled him between his legs, getting him just off-balance enough that Buck could move a hand up to his neck and pull him down.
Considering the fact that Eddie was definitely not expecting it, he recovered pretty quickly. The way their lips met didn't feel like a movie, didn't feel like sparks flying and the world singing and someone releasing doves. It felt like the smell of the pavement after rain, like the first rays of sun peaking over the horizon: like something natural, something certain.
Eddie was quick to admonish him, to check his leg to make sure he hadn't been straining it, but he also flushed red and seemed a bit too pleased for someone trying to criticize him, so Buck took it as a win.
And so each step of recovery went, with each milestone in their relationship lining up with the freedoms Buck's doctors slowly granted him. It never felt rushed, nor did it feel too slow. Just gradual, like water in a funnel.
What didn't feel natural was the way Eddie insisted he was beautiful and continuously told him. It didn't matter where they were. Whether it was rolling together in the early mornings, the word gasped between breaths against clutched sheets, or shopping in the grocery store, box of cereal in hand. Eddie just kept saying it, perfectly earnest and unrelenting.
Buck asked him, once. "Why do you keep calling me beautiful? You have to say it at least fifty times a day."
Eddie just smiled back. "It's because you are beautiful, and I'll keep telling you that at least until you believe it."
"What if it takes the rest of our lives?"
"Then it's lives well spent."
_____
Two years after the coaster accident, Buck finally looked in the mirror.
It was just after a shower, water dripping down his body, and he had to swipe the condensation off the mirror with his towel.
Buck took it all in. A stretch of taut skin, leading from his eyelid to halfway back his skull. A series of red bumps covering his chin and cheeks. A large indent in his nose, dull mauve and like he lost a fight. Part of his lip looked look it was missing, just faded directly into mottled flesh. His face was a rainbow of red, clumps of hair on his head replaced with scar tissue, bits and pieces of him just gone.
Buck smiled. Not nearly as bad as he thought.