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Jim hovered outside of the hospital room, second-guessing his own presence there for perhaps the twentieth time since he’d stepped foot in the hospital. If he delayed and doubted his visit for much longer, he’d risk running late for his shift, so really it was now or never. And if he put off this visit for much longer beyond today, he knew he would be in for another night’s worth of nightmares that he really had no business suffering through.
Logically he knew he witnessed a traumatic event, even if the bulk of the trauma had happened to a complete stranger. 20-David squad had responded to the scene of the fire truck bombing, but there wasn’t much they were able to accomplish once on scene. With the suspect holding a dead man’s switch out in the open, with no blind spot to approach from and the suspect so singularly focused on his goal—Captain Nash of the targeted 118—there wasn’t much they could do except wait for the situation to change.
It was infuriating. It was torturous.
Despite the sheer volume of first responders and bystanders in the area, the sound of the trapped firefighter’s labored breathing, whimpers, and pained gasps for air cut through the open intersection and drove knives deep into Jim’s heart. He could only imagine how terrified he must be, trapped in agony underneath a whole-ass fire truck with certain death only a slip of the thumb away.
Jim wouldn’t be surprised if the firefighter would have welcomed an end to his suffering, even an end like that, by that point.
He wondered what thoughts were going through the firefighter’s mind in that moment. Did he wonder why no one was helping him? Was he even aware of what was going on with the amount of pain he had to be in?
And if the waiting hadn’t been bad enough, when Captain Nash managed to wrestle his own grip onto the dead man’s switch long enough for SWAT to finally move in and take Costas down, Jim then had to sit through hearing the firefighter’s guttural screams of agony as the available first responders attempted to lift the truck off his leg.
Those screams had haunted Jim’s nightmares every night so far the past week, except sometimes the screams came from the time when no one had been doing anything to help and it made the helplessness he felt at the time stab at him even deeper.
Jim wouldn’t admit it—nor would he try to hide it—but he’d shed a few tears when the bystanders broke the barricade line and piled in to help lift the truck off the firefighter’s leg. By the time he’d been loaded into an ambulance and sped away from the scene, Jim had had to refocus on his own duties as a SWAT member.
Since that night, he’d learned that the firefighter’s name was Evan Buckley, a two-year firefighter with the 118 who’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time: sitting where his captain would have normally been sitting had he not been on leave. He’d wondered on and off over the last week what would happen and had happened to the man, both in his nightmares and in his waking spare time. Ultimately, Jim wanted reassurance that the man was okay. After living through an ordeal like he had, the chances of him being okay—physically or otherwise—were definitely in question. Sure, he’d probably be able to ask along the grapevine how his recovery was going, but that...it wouldn’t really answer what was bothering him.
Jim finally got to a point where he realized if he wanted to settle his thoughts and worries, he’d need to visit the man in person and see for himself how he was doing.
And yet he knew it would probably be extremely awkward for a stranger to just appear at the hospital asking after a patient, even if he was a police officer.
...Although if he wore his LAPD polo and tactical work pants to the hospital in an effort to save time before shift and not to get the on-duty nurse to let him visit a patient he had no relation to...well, no one needed to know that.
So now the only thing stopping him from actually visiting Evan Buckley was his own anxiety and doubt, and he really needed to just knock and go in before he wasted this whole trip and had to get to work—
“You gonna come inside, or am I under guard now?”
Jim startled, then made eye contact with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
Somehow in all his musings, Jim had never really taken the time to look into who Evan Buckley was outside of the bombing. He knew Buckley was a firefighter obviously, but that was about it. He didn’t know what kind of person Buckley was, or what he liked to do for fun outside of work. He didn’t know what the man sounded like beyond his screams of agony, and the only time he’d ever seen him was when he was writhing on the street, covered in blood, sweat, grime, and tears. No one looked their best when they were on the brink of death.
Now, even while looking a bit pale in the fluorescent hospital lighting, he was clear-faced and relaxed and beautiful. His voice had a bit of gravel to it—which made sense considering it’d only been a week and he was still recovering—but it was deep and warm and Jim wanted a recording of it to soothe him after a rough shift.
Jim swallowed; while he tended to lean towards women most of the time, Jim had spent a decent amount of time exploring his attraction to men. Although the last time he’d been attracted to a man was when he was in high school, cheering on his best friend at his swim meets and appreciating the build of several of his teammates (the butterfly stroke should be illegal with that hip movement, honestly).
Buckley was looking at him curiously, but the openness in his gaze was what convinced Jim to finally shake off his nerves and step into the room.
“Sorry, you’re not under guard,” Jim said, giving him a guilty smile. “I didn’t mean to lurk, I was just...trying to work up the nerve I guess.”
“For what?” Buckley asked, tilting his head. “Is it...do you need a statement from me?”
Buckley still thought he was there in an official capacity. “No, I’m not here for work, I just—” Jim paused, giving a frustrated sigh. “Sorry. I was, uh...I was at the truck bombing, I was working the scene.”
“Oh,” Buckley said, gaze flickering a bit. The look on his face turned unreadable as he looked away from Jim, clearly not sure what to do with himself.
“I wanted to see for myself that you were okay,” Jim admitted. “It was a rough call, and I can only imagine what you went through. I’m...it was tough to watch and not be able to do anything, y’know? It’s been really hard for me to process so it had to be even worse for you and—sorry, I’m rambling—”
“It’s okay,” Buckley said, making eye contact with him again. A soft smile graced his face and Jim felt a flutter by his navel. “I’m—I mean I’m not really okay yet, but—it’s really nice that you stopped by to ask. I appreciate it.”
The pure honesty in the answer frankly took Jim by surprise. He knew how hard it could be to admit you weren’t okay, and Buckley was admitting to his vulnerability in front of a complete stranger. It was disarming.
It was really sweet.
Maybe it was the painkillers.
“My name’s Jim. Jim Street. Sorry, I really should’ve led with that.”
Buckley gave him another soft grin, “Evan Buckley, people call me Buck.”
Jim huffed a laugh. “Would you believe you’re the second person I know who goes by Buck?”
“Really?” Buck’s face lit up. “Must be a good guy.”
“One of the best,” Jim said, returning a grin.
“There were three other Evans in my class at the Academy,” Buck said, and after a brief moment of confusion Jim had to remind himself that ‘the Academy’ was Fire Academy for Buck, not Police Academy as it was for Jim. “Figured it would be a good time to re-brand.”
“I get it,” Jim said wryly. “Most people call me Street.”
“Do you want me to call you Street?”
Jim opened his mouth then closed it again. Did he want Buck to call him Street? His team called him Street, and while he loved them the name still felt impersonal at times. When people called him Street, he felt like there was an additional barrier he had to erect around his heart. People still got through that barrier, but it was extra work, and that wasn’t a hurdle he wanted to place in front of Buck.
Buck let out an awkward chuckle, “Uh, I didn’t mean for that to be a hard question.”
Jim flushed, embarrassed when he noticed how much time he’d let pass in silence without answering back. He gave Buck a sheepish grin, “Sorry, I just don’t think anyone’s ever asked before. You, uh, you can call me Jim if you want.”
Buck grinned. “I like Jim.”
I like when you say Jim.
Man, Jim really needed to get his shit together.
Once again, Buck managed to rescue the awkward silence created by Jim’s distracting thoughts. “So you were working that night?” Buck asked, nodding towards his polo. “You’re a police officer?”
“SWAT actually,” Jim said, feeling only a tiny bit self-conscious as Buck appraised him.
“Shit, yeah I can see it,” Buck said, grinning.
Jim felt his cheeks burn again, and he ducked his head to scratch at the back of his neck. He searched for anything to say that would distract him from being so flustered, but Buck once again managed to save him instead.
“I really do appreciate you coming to visit, it means a lot that someone...cares, you know?”
There was something in Buck’s tone that Jim couldn’t really place, but he could detect a bit of hollowness to the words. He frowned, taking a step closer to Buck’s bed.
“You’ve got a lot of people who care about you,” Jim assured. He looked around Buck’s room, spotting cards and slightly drooping flowers that were probably ready to be relocated to the nearest trash can within the next couple days.
“Yeah, I mean, my sister, friend, and girlfriend were all here when I woke up,” Buck said, catching onto Jim’s observations. Jim tried to ignore the pang at the word ‘girlfriend’; it really wasn’t any of his business. “They’ve all got work, though, and now that I’m out of the woods they come when they can.”
But. The unsaid word rang loud through the room and Jim grimaced. Buck was lonely, there was no other word for it. He couldn’t blame the man; after what he went through, the last thing Jim would want to do in his position was sit and stew in his own thoughts all day.
“What about your team, they—” Jim swallowed, remembering the looks of the sidelined 118 members at the scene. If Jim had felt sick at having to leave Buck out there, he couldn’t fathom what his team had felt, unable to help one of their own.
“They’ve been here, too,” Buck said, this time dropping his gaze to his lap. Jim followed the look; Buck’s knuckles were white as they gripped the sheets, but almost as soon as Jim noticed, Buck loosened his grip as though he knew Jim was looking. Jim hastened to look back up at Buck’s face, but it was still facing down. Jim watched as Buck’s jaw worked, almost chewing on words that he wasn’t sure how to share, or unsure if he wanted to share them at all.
“If you want to vent, I’m a good listener,” Jim offered quietly. He didn’t fully understand why he was offering in the first place, but he could sense that Buck really needed to talk to someone right now, and sometimes it helped to use a neutral party as a sounding board. Buck’s eyes shot to his, but he didn’t look defensive and Jim took that as a good sign.
“I just,” Buck swallowed, dropping his gaze to his leg. “Everyone’s been really supportive, like they’re all happy and relieved that I’m alive and the surgery went well and I still have my leg—I mean, thank fuck I still have my leg, you know? But—” Buck paused, biting his lip.
Jim tried to keep his gaze to the general area of Buck’s face rather than zero in on his lip.
“Everyone’s all content to leave it at that. They say I’ll walk again, but that’s...that’s not the goal for me. I keep asking when I’ll be able to work again, and everyone just—” Buck’s hands flew to his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as he tried to fight through his own frustration.
“No one will give me a straight answer!” he burst, his face creasing in anger for the first time since Jim entered the room. “I just want to know when I’ll be able to work again. I know it won’t be right away, I’m not an idiot, I just—firefighting is everything to me, and if I can’t work again, I—I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Buck slumped as the energy in his voice faded in his ending words, looking like whatever strings had been holding him up had been abruptly cut. Jim swallowed, more affected by the open display of raw defeat than he thought he’d be. He may not know Buck very well—at all—but he didn’t like the look on him.
“People think I’m being naïve or-or too optimistic,” Buck continued, voice quiet. “They don’t say it, but I can see it in their faces whenever I ask. I just—”
“Optimistic, sure, but where’s the harm in that? I don’t think anyone recovers from a severe injury without a healthy dose of optimism.”
“And what about an unhealthy dose?” Buck asked. His voice sounded like he was trying for a joking tone but it was betrayed by the slight increase in pitch in his words.
“I don’t think that applies here,” Jim said honestly. “I...I mean, I get it. I love my job. If I got injured, I’d fight tooth and nail to get back to it. And it’s only been a week,” Jim said, glancing at Buck’s leg. It was honestly a bit scary to look at, with the metal brace and rods cased around it. “I think you’d do yourself a disservice to give up hope now.”
Buck’s eyes were bright as he blinked at him. He swallowed several times, unable to break eye contact with him as he struggled to find words to say. “You don’t think I’m—I’m—”
“I don’t think you’re being naïve,” Jim interrupted softly. His eyes flicked to the open plastic chair by Buck’s bed and after a moment of hesitation he stepped towards it and sat down.
Buck tracked his movement the whole time, eyes wide as he listened to Jim speak. Buck’s eyes said everything he couldn’t voice; a sheer desperation for someone to believe in him and finally being given a carrot of hope to follow to. Jim could relate to that more than he cared to think about, and it made the depth of Buck’s emotions hit him all that much harder.
“You’re—ah...you’re kinda the first person to make me think I’m not being crazy,” Buck admitted, voice sounding breathless. “Everyone’s been handling me with kid gloves whenever I bring the topic up, like I’ll break if someone accidentally says the wrong thing. But them not saying anything is so much worse because their faces are all just... pity , and—”
Buck stopped suddenly, blinking rapidly and finding Jim’s eyes again after losing them during his rambling. “Sorry, I—I shouldn’t be unloading this all on you—”
“Hey, I offered to listen,” Jim said gently. The urge to reach out and grab Buck’s hand was overwhelming, but he worried that might be a step too far with someone he’d only met minutes before. Buck still wouldn’t break eye contact with him though, and Jim was seconds away from saying Fuck it and taking his hand anyway—
Jim’s phone chirped and he flinched in surprise, the moment broken as he hastened to check it. Jim grimaced; it was his last-chance alarm, meaning he better leave for work now or he was definitely going to be written up for being late.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta get to work,” Jim said, standing from the chair and forcing it to scrape harshly against the floor in his haste to get up.
“Uh, sure, no problem,” Buck said, eyes wide at the abrupt change in conversation tone.
The tentative confusion in Buck’s words made Jim pause. Here Buck was, opening up to him and being vulnerable and sharing his insecurities, and now Jim had to bolt out of the room. He tried not to feel too guilty about it, he knew it was purely the threat of being tardy to work that had him in a hurry to leave, but still...
“This was—I’m glad I stopped by,” Jim said, giving Buck what he hoped looked like a genuine grin rather than a fake getaway smile.
“Me too,” Buck said softly. Oh no, he already looked like he was slipping back into those lonely thoughts—
“I could come back?” Jim said, nearly wincing at how hopeful he sounded but refusing to be embarrassed by it when Buck lit up. “After my shift, I could stop by again, without a time limit this time.”
“That’d be really great. It was nice meeting you.” Buck grinned at him, and the sheer radiance of it nearly blinded Jim. He was in so much trouble.
Not as much trouble as he’d be in if he didn’t leave now.
“It was nice meeting you, too. I’ll see you later, Buck.”
“See you later, Jim.”
Even fifteen minutes later, when Jim strolled into the locker room with three minutes to spare, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
“What’s got you up in the clouds?” Chris asked, smirking as she leaned next to his locker.
“Nothing.”
Chris raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
Jim shrugged innocently. “I think I just made a new friend, that’s all.”
Chris’s eyebrow climbed even higher but she left it alone—for now—as they finished getting ready for their shift. Jim grinned, shoving his duffle bag into his locker as he thought about seeing Buck again. Hopefully next time they could chat more and get to know each other beyond the bombing that intersected their paths in the first place. Buck seemed like the kind of guy that Jim really wanted to learn more about, and frankly Jim couldn’t wait to see him again.
Yeah, Jim was really looking forward to the end of his shift.