Work Text:
One
The first Bobby hears about it is when the Employee Termination request comes through to his email inbox.
As Captain of a fire station, he gets a lot of email—shift changes, time off requests, reminders from HR, scheduling for seminars, even the odd outreach from another fire house that they’ve interacted with, or a grateful rescuee.
The notice almost gets buried among the other detritus first thing in the morning, after a much-needed 96-hours off.
LAFD EMPLOYEE TERMINATATION
EMPLOYEE NAME: EVAN BUCKLEY
EMPLOYEE ID: ######
DESIGNATED UNIT: ENGINE 118, STATION 118
PENSION ELIGIBILITY: NO
REASON FOR TERMINATION: VOLUNTARY / TRANSFER EXT LAFD
Bobby gently closes his laptop and takes a deep breath. He looks around the office, searching for a bottle of alcohol that he knows isn’t there but finds himself craving anyways. He takes another breath, then another, and another, and his breaths are coming too fast, he knows, but he can’t seem to slow them down, and—
“Hey Cap?” Hen sticks her head around the edge of the door, then the rest of her body follows when she catches sight of him. “You okay?”
“Buck,” he manages, trying to find the air to speak… but equally unwilling to say the words aloud, as though doing so will make it real.
Hen’s face goes through a series of rapid emotions before settling on worry. “Is he okay? Did he hurt his leg again? We kept telling him not to push himself, but—”
“He’s gone.”
Bobby says the words and wants to throw up.
Hen’s eyes go wide. “Gone? Bobby, what’s going on?”
“He quit. He’s gone.”
***
Hen tells Chimney, who texts Maddie, and soon enough the entire team is gathered around the table in the station loft, staring at Bobby while he digs his fingers into his hands and wishes for a drink, an escape, a time machine, anything that will make the email on his computer disappear.
The computer, which they’re all gathered around, as though the email from HR will magically answer their questions.
“He’s not answering his phone,” Maddie says, tapping frantically. “My texts are going through, but they’re not marked as ‘Read’.”
Eddie has a scowl on his face. It’s a near-permanent feature these days. “He’s throwing a tantrum,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “He doesn’t want to be a Fire Marshall, he’s mad that he can’t come back to work, and he’s kicking his feet about it like a toddler.”
Chimney bites his lip. “Buck is impulsive, but even he understands that a termination from the L.A.F.D. isn’t something he can reverse if he’s just sulking. He’d have to start over from scratch… back to probie, clock starts over on his pension fund, assigned to a new house probably, the whole nine yards.”
That wipes the scowl off Eddie’s face, replacing it with something more contemplative.
“He had dinner with you a couple of weeks ago, didn’t he, Bobby?”
At his name, Bobby’s head jerks up.
Maddie repeats the question. “I remember he mentioned that he was going to meet you and Athena for dinner, talk about his options for getting back to the 118. That was, what? Two, three weeks ago? Has anyone heard from him since?”
A round of ‘no’s.
Bobby collapses back in his seat. “This is my fault,” he mumbles.
“Hey, no, Cap,” Hen says. “Whatever Buck’s reasons, it’s nobody’s fault.”
“Or maybe it’s all of our faults.” Chimney scrolls down the email, past the line items about insurance and logistics and legalities, to those damning words that had Bobby craving a bottle:
REASON FOR TERMINATION: VOLUNTARY / TRANSFER EXT LAFD
There’s a collective inhale.
“What does that mean?” Maddie asks softly.
“It means he’s gone to another fire department, outside of Los Angeles,” Hen replies. “But where would he go? His leg, who on earth would take an injured fire fighter?”
“Buck wouldn’t leave L.A.,” Chimney says. “Maybe he transferred to Orange County, or one of the State bureaus? Maybe an admin job.”
Maddie looks troubled. “He wouldn’t take an admin job. He was talking about quitting the Fire Marshall job from day one. He’s—he kept insisting he was ready to be back on the engine.”
Chimney rubs her arm. “Do you think he lied to them? Told them he’s healthy when he’s not?”
Bobby’s voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. “He’s not injured.”
“What?” It’s Eddie who speaks, eyes narrowing. “Cap, we saw him. He coughed up blood, he’s been pushing himself for weeks, he—”
“He recertified months ago.” Bobby’s words hit like a sledgehammer. “He was approved to come back, even on blood thinners.”
Hen and Chimney do their best impressions of goldfish, mouths opening and closing, while Eddie looks stunned to silence.
“I don’t understand,” Maddie says. “He wasn’t ready to come back.”
“It was my call,” Bobby says. He closes his eyes and tilts his head up, like he’s praying. “I told the Brass that he wasn’t ready. But he had all the paperwork signed off. It was me stopping him.”
“Cap.”
“Bobby”
Everyone speaks at once.
It’s Maddie who silences them. “So he left, because you made him.”
“We made him.” Eddie looks haunted. “We all thought he was pushing too hard, being too much, too… exhausting. We didn’t support him.”
Now Maddie looks like she’s about to cry. “I just wanted what’s best for him,” she says.
“We all did,” Chimney reassures her.
It’s Hen who asks the question: “So where would he have gone?”
And nobody has an answer to that.
Two
Chris measures his life by the people in it.
His earliest memories are his mother, a faint and almost ethereal image. He remembers the sound and smell of her more than her appearance, the lavender hand cream she used to combat the dry El Paso summers and the way she hummed as she did tasks.
His father, weaving in and out of his childhood: a blurry image, first a tired figure in fatigues, then a tired figure in a sling and jeans that were slightly too big on him. But the memories solidify after that, a rock that anchors Chris while everything else ebbs and flows around him.
His childhood friends in Texas, there one day and gone the next. Andy and Jamie and Maria, who never cared that he walked unsteadily or used crutches, who clung to him from daycare to kindergarten to elementary school until one day Chris was waving goodbye to them from the back seat of his dad’s car.
His grandparents who are kind but maybe too kind, a cloying sweetness that lingers sourly on the back of his tongue.
His bisabuela and Pepa, who are a different type of kind—warm and caring, like a hug personified. By the time they enter his life he is old enough to understand the difference.
Carla, who isn’t his mom but is what he thinks a mom should be like, picking him up from school and making sure he does his homework, taking care of him while Chris’ dad is at work. Sometimes, secretly, Chris wishes she was his mom, instead of the blurry fading figure.
Then his mom does come back, and for a brief joyous moment the shining memory solidifies… only for her to leave him once again.
And then there’s Buck.
At first, Chris thinks Buck will be another fleeting person in his life, only… Buck sticks around. He shows up for pizza and movie night, he helps Chris with his science homework, he babysits when Chris’ dad is busy.
Buck stays, and he stays, and he stays.
He brings Carla into Chris’ life. He meets bisabuela and Pepa and is adopted into the family by them. He holds Chris after his mother leaves him again.
He saves Chris’ life in the tsunami.
He stays.
And then one day, he is gone.
Chris’ dad looks like he’s going to cry, and he can’t answer any of Chris’ questions.
“Where did Buck go?”
“Why did he leave?”
“Is he coming back?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Chris cries, and then he asks, “Does he not love me anymore?”
This one his dad can answer. “Oh, mijo. I don’t know where Buck is, but I know in my soul that he loves you more than anything.”
It’s a good answer, but it’s not enough. Chris measures his life by people, and losing Buck feels like a huge part of his life is ending.
Weeks go by, and Chris lingers over the photo on the wall of him and Buck at the aquarium, the picture he drew for Buck that his dad has left on the fridge, the science experiment they built together that won him first place in the school fair.
And then one day, almost a month later, his iPad dings.
Hey buddy, I’m so sorry for disappearing. I miss you. Love, Buck
People come and go from Chris’ life, but Buck stays.
Three
BUCK: Hey Mads.
BUCK: Can we talk?
Maddie has been staring at the texts for the last half hour. She runs her thumb over the screen, as though she can somehow feel the words through glass and metal… as though she can somehow feel her brother through whatever distance is between them.
But she hasn’t answered yet. She isn’t sure how to.
Chimney is watching her warily across the living room. “Call him,” he says.
“It’s not that easy.” Maddie reads the words for the hundredth time. “I don’t know what to say.”
She has sent texts to Buck every single day since he left. Heart emojis, ‘love you’s, sometimes just thinking of you, hope you’re well. For the first few weeks the messages sat unread, but now he reads every one of them, usually within a few minutes of her sending them.
But he never replies, never reaches out.
Until now.
“You say hello,” Chimney says. “You say you miss him, and you ask him how he is. And then… you listen.”
Maddie huffs out a laugh. “You make it sound so simple. When did you get so wise?”
“Since we lost Buck and I realized how badly we fucked up,” Chim says, and any trace of humor between them vanishes.
“Yeah.” Maddie nods, swallowing. “You’re right.”
MADDIE: Of course, Buck. Any time. Call me. I miss you and I love you.
She hits send with shaking fingers.
When her phone rings a moment later she almost drops it.
“Hello?”
“Hey Maddie.” Buck sounds… good. Relaxed. Happy. Just hearing his voice is enough to sooth months of pain from Maddie’s soul, but knowing that he’s doing okay, that he’s happy? She can feel tears burning in her eyes.
“Buck, hey.”
“You doing okay? Everything alright out in L.A.?”
“Yeah,” Maddie whispers. “As good as we can be, without you.”
Buck makes a sound like a laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. “You were good without me, Mads. Everyone made that perfectly clear.”
Maddie wants to protest, but it’s been months and months and they’ve worked through the painful realization that he’s right. They made it pretty damn clear. “We’re not good now. I’m not good now. I miss you, Evan.”
Buck is silent for a moment.
“I’m not coming back,” he finally says.
Maddie knew the words were coming, but that doesn’t make them hurt any less. “Can I come to you, then?”
“Not right now.” Buck exhales into the phone. “I—I have a good thing growing here, Maddie. I’m healing. I’m getting back to work soon. Tomorrow, actually. That’s why I called. I wanted to let you know that I’m putting you down as my emergency contact.”
“Still a fire fighter?”
“Always.” There’s the happiness in his voice again, and Maddie can’t stop the tears this time.
“I’m so proud of you. Congrats, little brother.”
The silence this time is so long that Maddie almost things he’s hung up.
“That’s all I ever wanted, you know?” Buck says. “For you and the rest of the team to be happy for me. To be proud of me. I worked so hard, I pushed myself to do my best, and it only ever felt like I was a failure in your eyes. Like I was doing the wrong thing.”
Maddie bites her lip. “What Bobby did,” she begins.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Okay.” Maddie swallows. “Okay, Buck. Tell me about the job then. Still heavy rescue? Gonna say the q-word on your first shift and cause some chaos? I want to hear all about it.”
They have a long way to go, but Buck said he’s healing, and Maddie can only hope that means this hurt between them might heal someday, too. For now though, she’s content to sit back in her chair and listen to her brother talk about his new job with pride in his voice. She doesn’t ask where he’s living, doesn’t ask if he’s talked to anyone else, doesn’t push to earn his forgiveness.
This, right here, is enough.
Four
Bobby makes the call because he’s the only one who is able to.
It rings for so long that he thinks Buck won’t answer. He wouldn’t blame him, honestly. It’s been almost two years since the last time they spoke. Two years of radio silence, of chasing tidbits from Maddie and Chris—the only two people in L.A. that Buck chose to keep in contact with.
Finally, just when Bobby thinks it will go to voicemail, the call connects.
Buck doesn’t speak first.
“Hey,” Bobby says. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “You there, Buck?”
An exhale. “Yeah, I’m here Captain Nash.” Bobby didn’t know his heart could break any more than it already had, and yet. “How can I help you?”
“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t necessary,” Bobby says, pushing on. This is important, more important than his own feelings. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Is Maddie okay?”
The question startles him, but then of course that’s where Buck’s mind would go. “That’s why I’m calling,” Bobby says. “She’s left L.A., and we don’t know where she is.”
The silence this time is longer. “I don’t understand. She and Chimney moved?”
“I don’t have all of the information… what we know is that something happened to Jee-Yun and it scared Maddie. Jee is fine, by the way,” Bobby is quick to add, “but we think Maddie has been dealing with some pretty severe PPD and whatever happened with Jee spooked her. She dropped Jee at the fire station and vanished.”
“Fuck.” Buck sounds exhausted. Now that he’s listening closer, Bobby can make out some faint sounds in the background—people talking, the sound of an intercom, machines beeping.
Is Buck in the hospital again? Bobby’s mind starts to race. It’s been two years, but the doctors had said he could have chronic issues. Not just pain, but muscle atrophy and tendon damage and more blood clots and…
In his worry he almost misses Buck’s next question.
“—where’s Chimney?”
“He left also,” Bobby says. “He has Jee-Yun with him, and he’s chasing after Maddie. Hen says he’s frantic.”
“Okay, shit. Let me—I’ll try calling her, see if Maddie will answer me. Did Chimney say where he thinks she’s headed?”
Bobby is trying to balance two equally important tasks now: communicate this important information to Buck about his sister and brother-in-law, and gauge Buck’s voice to see if he’s injured, if he’s doing alright.
“He thinks she’s headed East. She used to live out there I guess?”
In the next wave of silence from Buck, Bobby can hear the sound of a blood pressure monitor beeping. It’s distinctive. It’s terrifying.
“Yeah, she might head East,” Buck finally says. “I’ll let you or Chimney know if I hear anything from her, okay? Thanks for letting me know.”
He thinks Buck is about to hang up the phone, so Bobby quickly blurts out, “Wait, Buck. Are you—are you okay? Are you in a hospital? Your leg, is everything—”
“Goodbye, Captain Nash,” Buck says with finality, and there’s obvious disappointment coloring the words.
The line goes dead a moment later.
Bobby stares at his phone for a long, long time, wondering and hoping and praying.
(Four, continued
Buck likes to hang out in the Pitt on his days off. Sometimes he studies, sometimes he watches documentaries on his phone. Sometimes he chats with the boarders, who are clearly bored and longing for the relative comfort of a bed upstairs.
Usually he annoys Dana and the Docs until they put him to work organizing supply closets or filing paperwork.
He’s hanging out in an empty (for now) triage room a few days after Captain Nash’s startling call, when Princess sticks her head in the door.
“There’s a lady here looking for you.”
Buck has been half-expecting this. Maddie didn’t answer her phone when he called, but she knows where he is now. She’s one of the few who does. He’s a little surprised she’d come back here, when there are so many bad memories tied to this place for her, but he isn’t sure if she has anywhere else to go.
Maddie, when he sees her, looks somehow smaller and older. She’s hunched in on herself, hair a little greasy, and has dark circles under her eyes.
He hasn’t seen her in person in two years, but she’s still his beautiful older sister. He opens his arms and she falls into a hug.
Buck has been doing research, just in case Maddie shows up. There’s a clinic in Boston that specializes in Postpartum Depression, and he has their brochure printed off already.
“Welcome to my home, Maddie,” he says. “I think there are a few folks here who will be thrilled to see you again.”)
Five
The conference is three days of company-paid vacation. It’s a vacation to Kansas City, mind you, but Eddie is not going to complain. The LAFD chose three pairs to attend from three different houses, and somehow the 118 got picked.
“I want a nap, a shower, and a steak that is paid for by the LAFD’s per diem, in that order,” Eddie proclaims as they walk into the conference hotel.
Hen hums in agreement. “I am not gonna complain about that plan,” she says. “Let’s get checked in for the event as soon as we get our room keys though. The line tomorrow morning is going to be insane.”
Room keys acquired, they head over to the tables marking the North American Fire and Rescue Conference. There’s a small line at the moment, but it goes quickly and soon Eddie and Hen are at the front to get their badges and event schedules.
That’s when he hears a familiar voice from behind him. “Eddie Diaz?” A pause, and then, “Hen Wilson?”
They turn around in sync, and it’s been almost five years but Evan Buckley is still instantly recognizable. He looks older, of course, a little gray at the corner of his temples and he’s bulked out in his shoulders, but otherwise it’s like nothing has changed.
Well, except for the fact that the smile on his face doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he stares at them.
“Buck,” Hen says. “I can’t believe it!”
She hesitates, clearly about to go in for a hug, only to pull herself back at the last second.
Buck relaxes a fraction, and steps forward to initiate the hug himself.
It gives Eddie a chance to study him, this man who used to be his best friend. Buck is wearing a t-shirt that says Pittsburgh Fire Department on it, and he has a new burn on the back of one wrist where his turnouts must have ridden up during a fire. He’s standing tall and strong, and he looks healthy. He looks good.
Eddie can remember what Buck looked like before he left, and it’s obvious that Pittsburgh must have been good for him.
“Pittsburgh, huh?” Hen pulls back and asks the question that Eddie wanted to. “Isn’t that where you grew up?”
“We lived in the suburbs,” Buck says. “I’m based in the downtown area now. But yeah. It’s good to be back. Good to be close to family.”
Eddie’s mouth has always moved faster than his brain. “I thought you weren’t close to your parents,” he says.
Buck’s smile thins. “Family is what you make, not necessarily who you’re related to.”
It’s a pointed statement, and Eddie has to look away for a moment. He knows Buck used to think of him as his family… used to see the entire 118 as such.
“And you’re a Captain now?” Hen’s shocked question pulls Eddie right back to the conversation.
Sure enough, on the badge around Buck’s neck, there is a red “C” beside his name—the indication that the conference participant is a firehouse captain.
Buck looks a little bashful, but mostly proud. “It wasn’t planned,” he says. “Captain Sullivan was injured during a rescue and decided to move to admin. Our other Lieutenant, Ziggler, she didn’t want it. Said it was too much paperwork. So I stepped up.”
Hen’s smile is wide and full of clear joy. “I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job,” she says. “Congratulations!”
She glances over at Eddie, a silent prompt. “Oh, yeah. Congrats, man. That’s awesome,” Eddie manages, but he’s still stuck on trying to merge the ‘before Buck’ with the man standing before them now.
Another man calls to get Buck’s attention—“Hey, Cap!”—and he turns to wave. “Well, I need to go… a lot to do. Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Wait, Buck,” Eddie says, words tripping over one another. This new Buck, this man who is so close to the guy who was his best friend but so different, is about to leave. It’s making the hole in his heart burn, the one he’s managed to ignore for the last few years. “I don’t—can we talk? Maybe you can join us for dinner?”
Buck’s smile this time is sad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says. “But I hope you both have been well, and that you have a great conference, yeah?”
And then he’s gone, cutting across the hotel lobby and vanishing, once again, from Eddie’s life.