Chapter Text
Later, Buck will think the first clue to the dogshit day he was about to have was the weather. It was a clear, summer day without a single cloud in the sky. Which, in truth, wasn’t so bad. His only issue was that without the clouds, there was nothing to offer even the briefest respite from the sun boring down from overhead. Which is where Buck currently found himself: sweating his balls off in sweltering summer heat for two and a half hours with no end in sight.
“Bank robbery...” Eddie trailed, absentmindedly handing over a discarded pamphlet so Buck could take a turn fanning himself, “people still do those?”
The droves of cops, paramedics, and news crews currently on standby more than answered that question. “They definitely try,” Buck replied, passing the pamphlet back after he’d had his fill. Leaning against the ambulance, he watched from a distance as the negotiator and Athena engaged with the robbers over the phone, listening to their demands. Demands that had so far included: one pizza, three burgers, and two bottles of ‘tropical mango’ Vitaminwater...
Everyone was feeling a little restless, to say the least.
Wiping his sweat drenched brow for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes, Buck exhaled a deep sigh, “Any bets on how long you think this is gonna end up taking?”
“Hm...” Eddie hummed, giving the question some real consideration before answering, “four hours. Tops.”
And Buck couldn’t help but laugh, “Optimistic—I like it! I’m going seven.”
“Put me down for nine,” Chim said, announcing both his presence and wager with an expression that bordered on smug, “and you might as well start forking over your cash now, gentlemen.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eddie said as he cocked a curious brow, “You know something we don’t?”
“Lots of things. Things pertaining to our little hostage situation, however...” Chim chuckled, hands held out to placate as the two men bristled. Then, expression hardening, “Pretty sure we’re in amateur hour right now. Turns out—the three dudes who stormed the bank entrance with nothing but two pistols and a couple of duffle bags? Complete doofuses.”
“No...” Eddie sardonically drawled, “really?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, frowning as he nodded over to the group huddled in intense conversation, “and Athena’s pissed.”
Casting a glance at the woman in question, all Buck could do was silently confirm the claim. She hadn’t moved since last he saw her, still intently listening in on the negotiator’s attempt at brokering peace. Occasionally, Athena’s brow would pinch in disdain as whoever on the other end of the line presumably reached a new caliber of stupidity with their demands. But despite that, nothing about the woman screamed ‘angry.’ Not visibly, at least. ‘Exasperated’ was probably a better word for it.
The sound of someone sighing broke Buck clean from his thoughts, and he was greeted by none other than Hen. And he couldn’t help but shudder in relief at the small burst of air against his face when the woman turned her handheld fan on him, the quiet ‘brr’ of the foam blades filling the silence. With a frown that rivaled the police sergeant’s, she spoke, “She’s just worried that the lives of twenty people are in the hands of a couple of idiots. We all are. I don’t think they planned for the hostages.”
Brow furrowing, Buck asked, “The cops?”
“The robbers,” Hen corrected, “they weren’t prepared for someone tripping the silent alarm.”
And the admission only seemed to make a frustrating situation that much more annoying... Buck was finally starting to understand the scowl that’d been embedded in the sergeant’s face upon arrival. Bobby’s too.
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and he wasn’t sure if the heat simmering just beneath his skin was more from the anger or the midday sun, “if you’re robbing a bank, you should expect for someone to trip the silent alarm. That’s like ‘Bank Robbing 101.’”
Three heads turned to face him at once, all with varying degrees of amusement. And whatever had been on each of their minds in that moment, Eddie was the one to actually voice it: “And what would you know about bank robbing?”
And Buck didn’t appreciate his tone. “Nothing,” he grumbled, “it’s just common sense.”
“Mhm. And what would you know about that?”
Sputtering in indignation, Buck did his best to formulate a worthwhile response. Something snarky but not scathing. Sharp, but not cutting. But as he turned to the other man and was met with nothing but those expectant, brown eyes, he was forced to eventually settle on a weak, “... shut up.” All it earned him was three of his coworkers laughing at his expense. That, and a consoling pat on the back from Eddie that felt a little patronizing. But before Buck got a chance to tell them exactly how they felt about that with a very colorful choice of words...
“Heads up,” Hen interrupted, nodding in the direction of an oncoming presence, “Cap’s coming over.”
And sure enough, Bobby was walking their way, footsteps decisive and face like thunder. It made all of them stand a little bit straighter. “Negotiator thinks she’s made some headway,” he announced upon his approach, “it sounds like they might be ready to conduct an exchange soon—be ready.” Though, the man didn’t appear all that relieved by the development. He just looked worried.
It had Buck and Eddie sharing a look. Curious but mostly concerned, the former of which asked, “Anything specific we should be ready for?”
Bobby’s reply was quick but decisive, “We won’t know for sure until we get to take a good look at whoever’s released. Just be prepared for anything.”
“Wait,” Eddie was the next to speak, just as confused now as he was before, “we don’t know? They’ve been talking to them for hours. They really haven’t said anything about the state of the hostages?”
“No, they did,” came Bobby’s immediate reassurance, “and it sounds like besides a few bumps and bruises, no one’s been seriously injured. Hopefully it stays that way. I’m optimistic but these things can go sideways fast, and I’d prefer that we aren’t caught off-guard. Especially when we’re dealing with criminals that aren’t particularly...”
Hen offered, “Bright?”
“Prepared,” their captain sighed, “I was going to say prepared.”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” she chuckled, “these guys sound like they’re dumb as rocks.”
“Unfortunately,” Bobby trailed, eyes landing on the police crowding around a call box, listening in and recording the exchange. And based on their expressions... “you might have a point.” At that, Hen and Bobby exchanged a look Buck didn’t quite understand.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” he found himself asking before he could think better of it. And with all eyes on him, he was already rushing into his explanation, “The dumb ones are gonna be a hell of a lot easier to outsmart than the smart ones.”
“No. The dumb ones are unpredictable,” Bobby corrected, expression grim, “and they get people killed. So, like I said: be ready.” With those as his parting words, the man turned on his heel and made his way back to Athena and the negotiator.
But before he could get too far, Buck was already calling after him, “And the smart ones?”
Glancing over his shoulder without ever breaking stride, he smiled as he called back “They’re not robbing banks in the first place.”
Fair enough.
As Bobby retreated into the crowd, Buck vaguely noted the sounds of Hen and Chimney shuffling around to get the ambulance prepped and ready. And as he eyed the snipers lining the roofs of neighboring buildings, he felt something akin to dread settle deep in his stomach. It must’ve shown on his face, for soon enough, someone was nudging him on his shoulder and out of his thoughts.
“Hey,” Eddie hesitantly ventured, “you ok?”
‘Are you?’ Buck wanted to ask but stopped himself just in time. Because as he peered up at the LAPD snipers peering through their scopes as they aimed their rifles... it was hard not to make some unfortunate associations. Associations that would’ve felt far too unfair to burden the other with so soon after his recovery. “Yeah. Yeah... I’ve just got,” he paused, exhaling a frustrated breath as he collected his thoughts, “the worst feeling.”
Expression twinged with worry, Eddie opened his mouth to say something back, but he never got the chance. A sudden hush settled over the crowd as a couple officers signaled for silence—Buck and Eddie included. And as everyone in the near vicinity waited on bated breath for whatever they were picking up on the other end of the line, Buck never felt that dread leave him. Then, for everyone to hear, someone finally announced:
“They want takeout. Chinese.”
A wave of exhausted groans rippled through the crowd as everyone resumed what they’d been working on. Unfortunately for most of them, it was just waiting for something to happen. Head thunk-ing against the side of the ambulance, Buck was dismayed to find himself amongst those numbers.
“Do you think someone’s food being used in a hostage exchange is good or bad for business?” Eddie mused, resting his head against the vehicle alongside the other.
But Buck didn’t have the mental fortitude to put any real thought into it. Instead, he muttered something quick and vague about how he was pretty sure ‘all publicity is good publicity’ and left it at that.
All it seemed to do was garner even more of Eddie’s attention, “Heat getting to you?”
“The waiting,” Buck clarified.
“Waiting’s good,” Eddie said, gesturing to the locked doors of the bank, “it means nothing in there is bad enough that it requires us. And I’ll take waiting over that any day.”
Shaking his head, Buck let out a rough sigh, “Yeah, I know, but maybe I’d have an easier time with all this waiting if I had a better idea on what we’re waiting for—”
A loud BANG accompanied by muffled screams of terror echoed from inside the bank, and every cop’s hand instinctively flew for their side arm. And as another stilted silence overtook the crowd, the only sounds to be heard were the subsiding panic within the building and the negotiator’s steady voice as she continued to ask her questions: What happened? Is anyone hurt? Who did you shoot? Alright... I understand. Keep applying pressure, but if we don’t get her treated soon, she’ll die, and I can’t help you if that happens.
Eventually—when the shock passed—everyone returned to their previous duties while accommodating any new ones. And for Buck personally, that just meant more waiting...
Or so he thought.
As the negotiator continued her conversation over the phone, her expression hardened. Turning to Athena, the two women engaged in brief but serious conversation, and soon enough, they were quickly gesturing someone else over: Bobby. And whatever the women were talking about, it seemed to not only involve the man but his team as well—assuming the frequent, frantic looks they’ve been receiving meant anything. That theory was only further confirmed as they watched their captain give his wife an affirming nod before rushing back to his crew.
Bobby hadn’t even brought himself to a complete stop before he was already shouting orders, “Shots fired with one wounded. Victim is female with a bullet wound to the abdomen. Suspects have agreed to let a small team inside to stabilize and extract her—that means us. Chimney, Hen, and Buck—you’re with me. Eddie, you’re on standby.”
There was the briefest pinch in Eddie’s brow that made it seem like he’d object, but it was gone as soon as it’d arrived. Giving a careful nod, his voice was level as he spoke, “Understood.”
The rush of relief Buck felt was undeniable, so much so that he didn’t really think about where that left him in this situation. It wasn’t until he was being fitted for a Kevlar vest that the reality set in: Eddie might be out of the line of fire, but Buck wasn’t. And yet... he couldn’t bring himself to care that much. Because every time he tried, all he could think about was Eddie on the pavement with a bullet in him. The panic, and the fear, and the blood—so much blood. Eddie’s blood. Exploding from his shoulder, pooling beneath him, matting his hair... Buck remembered it all, and he always would.
With his vest secured and the rest of the team ready to move, Buck pushed those feelings deep down inside and buried them under a heaping layer of topsoil. But before he could depart with the rest, the hand clasping him on the shoulder gave him pause.
“You ready for this?” Eddie asked, face serious; he almost sounded concerned.
“Yeah,” was his immediate, instinctual reply. He didn’t give it any thought. He didn’t have to. “Are you?”
Something flashed in the other’s expression, but it was quickly replaced with an easy smile and a firm nod. “Yeah, just...” he began, smile wavering for the briefest moment, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Glancing down at where Eddie still had his hand on his shoulder, Buck suddenly felt a little too big for his skin. Returning the gesture, he wasn’t sure why his smile felt so forced, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Releasing their holds on each other, neither man lingered. They just didn’t have the time.
Buck got maybe five steps toward the bank and away from Eddie before Bobby caught his attention. Brow raised, the man shot him a look that begged the question: ‘You sure you got this?’ And it gave him the distinct feeling that if the answer had been ‘no’... it’d have been ok. There wouldn’t be any judgment, or frustration, or even the faintest hint of disappointment. No. Not from Bobby. Buck on the other hand...
He wasn’t the one that got shot. He didn’t get to be the one that hesitated.
“I’m good,” Buck muttered as he passed, only loud enough for the other man to hear.
Bobby didn’t look all that convinced, but regardless, he didn’t press it. Turning his undivided attention back to the task at hand, he continued his debriefing as they walked, “Remember: in and out. Assuming we’re able to stabilize her, we load her up onto the gurney and we leave. No sudden movements, and absolutely no heroics.”
Buck didn’t miss the pointed glance the man gave him, nor did he miss the ones he got from both Hen and Chimney. And although his first instinct was to prickle at the unspoken—though, extremely warranted—accusation, he forced himself to let go of that knee-jerk defensiveness. Instead, giving a serious nod, he solemnly held his pinky out to swear on it.
Eyeing the finger, Bobby exhaled a weary sigh and ignored him as they approached the edge of the perimeter. With the barricades parted and the police nearby, the group waited for the ‘ok’ to move.
In the end, it came from Athena. With the negotiator informing the bank’s inhabitants of the team on standby, the sergeant gave them the rundown, “You’re being allowed inside because the suspects have been reassured that you’re going in for an extraction and only an extraction. Just the one.”
Again... Buck was receiving a look that was not at all subtle. It made him wonder if he should go in for the pinky swear again, though—for some reason—he didn’t see that going over well.
Huffing an amused chuckle, Bobby gave his wife a reassuring nod, “We’ve already talked about it.”
“Good,” she said, giving them all a final once-over before directing them through the barricades, “and good luck.”
Even with his vest secured, Buck never felt his dread leave him. If anything, it only grew. Because as it would turn out: there was just something about walking into a hostage situation with an unspecified amount of sniper rifles pointed at you that really made one consider their own mortality.
The gathered crowd fell mostly silent as Bobby gave the bank’s door a firm knock. “LAFD,” he announced, “open up.”
There was a long pause where nothing happened, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing would. Then came the muffled shuffling behind the closed door; it was hesitant—nervous almost—and it was the only indication they got before the door slowly creaked open, a woman with tear streaked cheeks standing just behind it. She looked terrified, and flustered, and not at all like someone currently in the process of robbing a bank.
“They said they were sending paramedics,” a man stammered from behind her, using the woman as a shield as he pressed the barrel of his gun to her spine, “why do you look like cops?” He sounded more scared than anything else.
“It’s just our uniforms,” Bobby reassured, calm and careful as he turned to show the man the patch on his sleeve, “see?”
Taking a moment to assess its legitimacy, the man looked more or less appeased despite his blatant fear. Ushering them inside, they entered one by one, getting a frantic pat down by the woman as she was held at gunpoint.
Trauma bag in hand as he flanked the gurney, Buck’s did his best to appear inconspicuous as he took stock of their surroundings. Not for any aforementioned heroics—honest—he was simply curious by nature. Every blind of every window had been pulled tightly shut, a couple of side doors had been haphazardly barricaded, and there’d been no sign of the hostages... yet.
Eventually, they were guided into a room in one of the more central parts of the banks—away from any windows and potential exits. Upon entry, the first thing that caught his attention was the group of people crowded in the far corner. There were around twenty of them and all their hands were zip tied, looking just as terrified as the woman they’d met at the door. Another man lingered nearby, expression stoic and unreadable as his eyes drifted from the hostages to the new arrivals before finally settling on the woman bleeding out from the bullet in her stomach. He didn’t have a gun like the others, but his hands were stained red with blood.
Their team didn’t waste any time.
“Ma’am, can you hear me? I’m Captain Nash of the 118, and we’re going to do everything we can to help you,” he said as he kneeled down next to her, taking her hand as he leaned into her line of vision, “can you tell me your name?”
“J-J-” the woman stammered, efforts tapering off in a wet, bloody cough as she resigned herself to letting Buck cut the binding from her wrists. Throat bobbing as she swallowed her bile, she eventually gritted out, “Jocelyn.”
There was a discarded jacket bunched up at her stomach. Soaked through with blood, it looked like someone had attempted to slow the bleeding.
“BP is 90 over 60—looks like she’s experiencing some hypotension,” Hen announced as she fitted the woman for an IV as Chimney held the bag of saline, “running a line.”
Grabbing some dressings from the trauma bag, Buck waited for the ok to start applying pressure. Once he got it from Hen, he didn’t hesitate. Laying them over the soaked fabric of the jacket, he pressed down.
The woman grimaced beneath his touch, sucking in a sharp breath before choking out, “Back... hurts.”
Handing the IV bag off to Hen, Chimney immediately knelt down while beckoning Bobby over. Giving the woman a moment to brace herself, they briefly maneuvered her onto her side to get a good look beneath her.
“Exit wound. Bullet passed clean through,” Chimney observed, already in the process of dressing both wounds, “it doesn’t look like it came anywhere close to the spine. You, ma’am, are one very lucky lady.”
“D-don’t feel lucky,” she huffed, and it might’ve been a laugh under drastically different circumstances, “feels l-like I was shot... b-by a jackass.”
Four pairs of eyes drifted to the two men presiding over the bank robbery in silent accusation.
Jocelyn just shook her head, the movement looking painful before she gritted out, “Other jackass.”
A voice came from one of the adjoining rooms. It was angry, and muffled by the walls, and very much sounded like it was yelling at someone, “... I don’t give a shit! You’re already getting one because this fucking brat...”
No one acknowledged it other than a few sideways glances and the occasional roll of the eyes. But to be perfectly fair: they all currently had more pressing issues than a two-bit bank robber throwing a temper tantrum one room over. Well... assuming he was done shooting people, that is.
“Buck,” Bobby commanded, beckoning him close, “help me get her on the gurney.”
With their combined efforts, it didn’t take much to get Jocelyn situated and somewhat comfortable. But as soon as Buck finished strapping her in, he felt a bloodied hand encircle his wrist like a vice.
“Where’s...” she wheezed, a trembling in her voice and a terror in her eyes, “w-where’s Sarah?”
Keeping a gentle but firm hand on her to keep her from suddenly sitting up, Buck curiously ventured, “Sarah?”
The woman’s mouth fell open, ready to respond, but she never got the chance.
A pained yelp came from the other room, and in a burst of movement, the door was flung open and something small and fast came barreling through, screaming, “Mommy!”
Oh... no.
Mousy brown hair streaming behind her as she ran, she couldn’t have been older than nine. Eyes frantically darting around the room in search of her mom, she didn’t seem to ever find her. Not before one of the bank robbers made a move to apprehend her, and not with the 118 blocking her view. So, in the end, she settled for the next best thing:
Buck grunted from the impact of the girl colliding with his stomach. And as tiny hands grappled for anything she could use for purchase, he felt his own instinctually wrap around her. Shielding her. Protecting her.
And not without reason.
Someone else came stumbling through the open door, far larger and angrier than the last. “Where is she?” he practically roared, pistol in one hand as he cradled a very sensitive area with the other, “Where the fuck is she?” And as his eyes finally landed on the ‘she’ in question, they narrowed. Roughly jerking his head, he gestured for his associates to handle it; based on the way the two rushed to oblige, it looked like he was the one heading their little operation.
Sarah released a blood curdling scream as the man from the front door attempted to extract her hands from the fabric of Buck’s uniform, kicking her feet out behind her to fend off her attacker. And honestly? She was doing a damn good job, even if she did clip Buck’s shins once or twice with her light-up sneakers.
Frustrated as his patience wore thin, the apparent ring-leader decided to take matters into his own hands. Raising his pistol, he aimed it directly at the little body clinging to Buck’s front.
The room erupted in shouts and screams.
“H-hey—hey,” Buck yelled, positioning himself in front of her, “she’s just a kid, man!”
“Everyone just calm down,” Bobby tried, hands held out to placate as he put himself between Buck, Sarah, and the gun, “we don’t need anyone else getting shot today.”
But the man didn’t relent. Still aiming his gun—at Bobby’s head instead of the literal nine year old—he sneered, “Tell that to her.”
But before Bobby could put the best of his de-escalation tactics to use, a weak cough cut him off mid effort. Jocelyn wheezed, wincing from her wound as she weakly croaked out a desperate and confused, “... Sarah?”
Just hearing her mother’s voice sent a jolt through her. Unlatching herself from Buck, she grabbed onto the rails of the gurney and attempted to scramble onto it. The only reason she didn’t succeed is because Hen intercepted her, whispering soothing words as the girl wailed and thrashed, shedding a couple tears of her own.
Buck stepped in, taking the girl from Hen so the woman could turn her attention back to her ailing mother.
“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Chimney spoke, tone urgent, “we need to get her to the hospital.”
“Please! Please, I wanna go with you—let me go with you!” the girl shrieked in anguish, still grabbing for her mother as Buck held her back; it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
And he wasn’t the only one. “Just,” Bobby began, staring down the barrel of the pistol as he addressed the man on the other end, “let us take the girl with her mother—”
“Fuck no, that wasn’t the deal,” he sneered, wildly gesturing to the woman on the gurney with his pistol, finger still on the trigger, “take the bitch, but her brat stays.” The lack of gun safety coupled with the calculated cruelty had everyone that much more on edge.
Expression pained but resolute... Bobby had exhausted all his options. “We have to move her,” he said to his team, face solemn as the conditions to that extraction remained unspoken but clear.
The injured woman gasped, eyes welling up in tears as the realization hit her, “No—”
“You won’t be able to do anything for your daughter if you bleed out,” taking her hand in his, Bobby gave it a comforting squeeze as he choked out, “I’m sorry.”
Buck was forced to his knees as Sarah thrashed and sobbed, trying his best not to drop her. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t steady the trembling in his hands or the shuddering of each breath. Because it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fucking fair.
Chimney remained completely silent as he worked on her mother to keep her from bleeding out, shoulders tense and expression forcibly impassive to hide his anguish. Did it make him think of Jee? Of Maddie? A part of Buck thinks it’d be impossible not to.
“Hey, sweetie? We have to take your mom outside so we can help her feel better,” Hen gently reassured the girl, kneeling down to her level, “I know it’s scary, but you have to try and be brave for her. Do you think you can do that?”
Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she shook her head, snot bubbling from her nose. Another ragged cry tore its way from her throat as she turned away from the woman, burying her head in Buck’s shoulder and wiping her nose on the fabric of his shirt.
And the man couldn’t exactly bring himself to mind, because with every muffled sniffle and choked sob, he felt himself drifting somewhere miles away. Somewhere bright and sterile, smelling of antiseptic and soap. Buck remembered the weak beeping of the heart monitor and the fear that gripped his chest at the idea that he’d be in the room if it flatlined. Or worse—that he wouldn’t. He remembered what it’d felt like to be the one to break the news to Christopher, that his dad wasn’t coming home that night or maybe ever. He remembered crying with a soothing hand against his back, and a small voice telling him that everything would be ok. Because even though Chris hadn’t had his father, he had him. He had Buck.
Who did Sarah have?
“Go,” Buck murmured, wrapping his arms around the kid as he pulled her close, “I got her.”
Stricken by the demand, Hen’s hesitation was palpable as the realization dawned on her, “Buck...”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, interrupting any argument before it could be made. Then, looking up at Bobby with a lopsided grin, “bet you’re regretting not taking me up on that pinky promise, huh?”
The look that flashed across the man’s face was indecipherable, and Buck thinks he preferred it that way. At the very least, it was better than anger. Or worse: tired resignation. Expression hardening as he weighed his options, Bobby quickly came to realize that this was it. This was all they had. So, with a stiff upper lip that was betrayed by the agony in his eyes, “We’ll talk about this later.”
Oh, Buck didn’t doubt that. Though, the amount of talking that actually got done remained to be seen. Sure, there was a really good chance that the conversation went the same way as all the rest: words spoken in that ‘not angry, just disappointed’ tone of his, eventually punctuated by a long pause that really forced the other to sit with what he’d done. Or maybe he’d just passive-aggressively chop vegetables in Buck’s general direction as the young man lingered awkwardly outside the kitchen... again.
For a moment, it looked like Hen and Chimney might argue, but as Jocelyn let out another wet cough, they knew they no longer had the time.
“Don’t do anything dumb,” Hen sighed, already wheeling the woman away under the supervision of one of the robbers, “or just... nothing dumber than usual. Please?”
“And for the record,” Chimney announced, helping steer the gurney, “I will not be the one telling your sister about this!” There was an inflection in his voice that betrayed the panic he tried to hide.
Dumbfounded by the development the group hadn’t even bothered to consult him on, the gunman’s face turned red as he stammered, “Hey, we never agreed to—”
“Think of it as balancing the scales. We get the nice lady you shot, and you get one of our own,” Bobby said, gesturing over to Buck, “and you better take good care of him.”
There was a threat latent in those words, and it only seemed to amuse the other man. Snorting, he couldn’t stop himself from goading, “Or what?”
Bobby stared for a moment, studying the man with careful calculation. Then, words taking an edge, “Or my wife will kill you.”
The man seemed to falter at that, sensing the truth in those words.
Announcing his impending exit through the radio strapped to his vest, Bobby turned to leave, but not without giving Buck one final nod before being escorted out. And there was so much it could’ve meant. ‘You got this,’ or maybe, ‘See you soon.’ Or—perhaps a bit morbidly—'Don’t die.’ But whatever the meaning, Buck intended to honor it.
With Sarah’s sobs turning into nothing more than quiet whimpers, the ‘leader’ of the operation grumbled something under his breath as stomped back into the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him. And as the tiny body in his arm startled at the sudden noise, all Buck could do was glare at the remaining criminal as he stalked closer, zip ties in hand...
The man had enough shame to look a little apologetic.
Huffing a quiet sigh, Buck gave the girl a comforting pat on the back before presenting his wrists.
“Where the hell is Buck?”
Those had been the first words out of Eddie’s mouth as he watched the group wheel out the loaded gurney with a noticeable absence. And immediately, he was already in denial, thinking that this was surely some sort of joke. Surely Buck was just taking his time for some reason, and he’d be out in a second. But as seconds turned into minutes as their team wheeled the injured woman past the police barricade and into the ambulance... he realized that this was it. Buck wasn’t coming, and he had a job to do in spite of that.
Hen and Chim couldn’t bring themselves to look at him, expressions grim as they loaded the woman into the back of the vehicle. If they had something to say, Eddie didn’t wait around to hear it. No. Because as soon as he peered across the pavement, spotting Bobby engaged in fervent discussion with Athena, his feet were already moving on their own accord; his demands for answers ready to spring from his tongue.
Sirens blared as gravel crunched beneath tires, the ambulance peeling out into the street behind him. But Eddie paid it no mind. Because as soon as he neared, Bobby’s words slowly coming into earshot, nothing else mattered:
“Buck’s a hostage now.”
And it was like a punch to the gut. Hell—Eddie thinks he would’ve preferred an actual punch to the gut. At least then, he’d have an excuse for when his legs finally decided to give out from under him, collapsing beneath the weight of it all. Thankfully, it never came to that, the hand gently but firmly taking him by the shoulder steadying him.
Face flooded with concern, Athena said something that he couldn’t hear past the blood rushing in his ears. Eyes drifting past the woman to her husband, every question and inquiry Eddie might’ve had died on his tongue. Because as Bobby stared back with a pained expression that somehow managed to tell him everything and nothing all at once... Eddie could do little else than stare back at him with a look that demanded what happened? What the fuck happened?
“Eddie,” Athena said, words finally cutting through the suffocating haze choking out any rational thought, “breath.”
Despite the panic gripping his chest, he willed himself to comply. Sucking in a sharp breath, it wasn’t until his lungs had fully expanded and deflated a couple times over that he could finally ask, “What happened?”
And Bobby didn’t keep him waiting: “There was a kid. They didn’t let us take her with her mom, so Buck stayed behind to keep an eye on her.”
The way he said it made it sound so simple. And maybe it was—this was Buck they were talking about, after all. But that didn’t make it any less frustrating. No less terrifying either. All it really seemed to accomplish was reaffirming a familiar fear that’d been festering beneath his skin for months. Because looking back on that day in the hospital... Eddie had been selfish. Because while he’d made that alteration to his will for Christopher’s sake, his motivations for telling the other man had been for his own. Because he thought it’d make him more careful. He thought it’d make him take less risks. Because unlike what many had assumed, Buck didn’t think he was invincible.
He thought he was expendable.
Eddie didn’t consider himself a particularly violent person, but he’d gladly wring the neck of whoever first planted that rotten seed. The one in Buck’s mind telling him that he was someone who was always meant to be alone. Meant to be discarded, left behind, and ultimately forgotten.
Phillip and Margaret Buckley. That’s who Eddie chose to cast the first stone at. Because those two had managed to create one of the kindest, most caring individuals he’d ever met in his life, and it had had nothing to do with either of them. If anything, it’d been in spite of them and the years of emotional neglect they’d subjected their child to. And Buck had forgiven them for it. For all of it. Because of course he had. Just like he’d forgiven all the friends who hadn’t stuck around and the girlfriends who weren’t in it the way he’d been, leaving the relationship to fizzle out from either distance, or time, or... whatever reason it hadn’t worked out between Taylor and him.
And maybe Eddie was to blame too; he’d never exactly been the emotional type. He wasn’t Bobby or Athena or Maddie. He wasn’t the kind of person you came to for advice or to simply talk about what was really eating away at you. But he was trying to be. God—he was trying. But clearly he hadn’t been trying hard enough because his best friend still saw himself as something expendable. Because this was a hurt that ran deeper than fresh ink on a legal document could reach...
And Eddie hadn’t even come close.
“Everyone’s doing everything they can to resolve this quickly and peacefully,” Bobby said, startling Eddie from his downward spiral. Face softening as his voice took a soothing tone, “We’ll get him back.”
Inhaling a shuddering breath, Eddie forced himself to believe that. Because Bobby wasn’t a liar, and he’d like to think the man wouldn’t taint that by lying about something as important as this. Something as important as Buck. “Let me know if there’s anything you need from me,” he muttered, feeling distinctly useless in that moment, “I’m gonna wait over there until Hen and Chim get back.” Because at that point, there was nothing left to be done.
Both Bobby and Athena eyed him carefully, mentally debating with themselves if Eddie should be alone right now. But ultimately, their practicality won, letting the man retreat to lick some old wounds that’d been unexpectedly retorn.
It was pathetic. Eddie felt pathetic.
But what was even more pathetic was the droves of news vans littering the street, like vultures circling overhead before the corpse even had time to cool. Seriously—there might’ve been more of them than actual first responders, and there were certainly more here now than there’d been ten minutes prior. Brow pinched in disdain, he made a pointed effort to not acknowledge any of the news crews as he walked by, even when one attempted to wave him over for comment. He never broke his stride as he approached a curb far enough away to not be bothered but still close enough to listen in on any new developments.
Unfortunately, his dedication to looking through people rather than at them had the added drawback of not spotting a familiar face. Not until it was too late. In the end... he heard her before he saw her:
“Eddie,” a woman called, and the shock of red hair in his periphery was the last warning he got. Shoes clicking against pavement, Taylor Kelly made a move for him at a speed that was—quite frankly—terrifying considering the height she got from those heels.
And Eddie made a very valid assumption about what she was after. So as she opened her mouth to speak, he was already cutting her off as he attempted to shrug past, “No comment.”
He didn’t get very far.
“I’m just here to talk, ok? Off the record,” Taylor said, stepping into his direct path to block his escape. There was a desperation there that he wasn’t used to. Not from her.
It was enough to give Eddie pause. Enough to make him hesitate. So, with an irritated huff, “About what?”
Based on her expression, the woman clearly didn’t appreciate the attitude. And in all honesty? Eddie would probably regret it later. Because Taylor was fine. Yes, she had occasionally rubbed him the wrong way (and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual), but that didn’t justify the shitty tone he’d taken. Even if she was one of the last people he felt like being ambushed by at that moment. Even if she’d broken up with Buck, inadvertently ruining the weekend he was supposed to spend with him and Christopher three weeks back. So, with a tired sigh, he did his best to appear apologetic.
At the very least, Taylor seemed satisfied by the attempt. “I heard about the situation here a couple hours back. Wasn’t originally planning on driving out this way—there’s more than enough people reporting on it already, and it’s not like it’s the only thing going on today. But then we got word on which firehouses were responding to the scene, and then there was talk about a firefighter that went in and hadn’t come back out...” she trailed, looking uncharacteristically nervous by what was left unspoken. Like she genuinely, earnestly cared, and that simple fact alone was enough to terrify her.
Eddie couldn’t blame her. Buck tended to have that effect on people. Tended to just burrow into your chest and make his home there.
“It’s him,” she sighed, searching the other’s face for the faintest hint of confirmation, “isn’t it?”
Scoffing, Eddie tried his best to sound unantagonizing—he really did: “Do you even need to ask?”
Unwavering, Taylor barely even blinked, “Well, seeing as everyone here’s been weirdly vague with the details... yeah. I do, actually. No one reporting seems to have gotten their name either.”
And... huh. Eddie hadn’t actually been aware of that. And although he felt the need to apologize again, he knew the woman would probably appreciate a straight answer opposed to any version of ‘sorry’ he could offer. “Yeah,” he finally said, not even meaning for it to sound so defeated, “it’s him.” Because of course it was.
The woman was quiet for a long while, expression unreadable as everything she’d feared had been confirmed. Eyes closed as she sucked in a deep, calming breath, she muttered to herself, “Goddammit, Buck...”
Goddammit indeed. Though, Eddie still couldn’t deny his doubts regarding the woman’s intentions. Because she’d broken up with him. She’d had him moping around his loft on his last couple of days-off because he’d liked her more than she’d ever liked him. And a part of Eddie thinks that’s why he’d been so compelled to break things off with Ana around that same time: he’d seen firsthand the kind of damage that could do to a person, and she of all people didn’t deserve that from someone who knew better. Not when she’d been nothing but thoughtful and caring. Not when she’d been so kind...
Maybe that was it. Like Eddie, Taylor felt guilty for leading someone on. For breaking someone’s heart. For not being the kind of person they needed, and having to be the one to let them down easy for both their sakes. “If you’re here because you feel guilty about the break up—”
Expression souring, the woman was already cutting him off, “Why would I have anything to feel guilty about?”
And at that, any amount of goodwill Eddie had been able to fake until that point had immediately vanished. Pulling a face that matched the heat and intensity of Taylor’s own, he sneered, “Because he really seemed to think you were in it for the right reasons this time—and honestly— for a second there? So did I. So, sorry if I’m not exactly grateful it only took a month for you to be honest with him, because it still came a month too late.”
Stunned into silence, Taylor could do little else but stare as she mentally pieced something together. And as the cogs turned and the connections were made... she didn’t even look angry. She just looked tired. “I didn’t break up with him. He broke up with me.”
And it was like the world had stopped spinning on its axis. “Oh. That’s...” not what Eddie had been expecting. At all. Awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “He didn’t tell me.”
“Huh. Weird.”
Eyes narrowing, the man felt his hackles begin to raise, “Why’s that weird?”
“Because you’re one of three things he ever talks about? The other two are his job and your son,” she said like it was obvious. Maybe it should’ve been. “I guess I just assumed you’d have talked about this sort of thing by now.”
They had. But Eddie was starting to see that Buck had left out some critical information. Why? He had no fucking clue. “He didn’t give me all the details,” he admitted, doing his best not to shift under the woman’s withering glare. Because, now that he thought about it... Buck hadn’t technically told him Taylor had been the one to break up with him. He’d come to that conclusion all on his own.
“So,” she drawled, and it really shouldn’t have sounded as damning as it did, “you decided to make assumptions.”
Which was fair. Very fair. So fair, in fact, he didn’t even prickle at the judgmental tone. Honest. “Yeah. I guess I did,” he muttered, feeling sufficiently chastised, “sorry.”
Even then, his apology did very little to smooth the harsh lines etching themselves into her forehead. “You know,” she began, dissecting him with her eyes, “even if I had broken up with him, it still wouldn’t give you the right to be a dick about it.”
Not to her face, maybe. But was this 1984? Was Eddie no longer permitted to think to himself in passing, ‘wow—you fumbled, and you should feel so bad about yourself’ about any and all of Buck’s exes? Was George Orwell about to descend from the heavens and inform him ‘thought-crimes’ were a thing now too? “Right,” he eventually conceded after a long pause.
It was not convincing.
Taylor scoffed at the weak attempt to placate, because what kind of idiot did he take her for? “We wanted different things. He just figured it out a little sooner than I did.”
And Eddie was surprised to find just how unaffected she looked by the admission. There was none of that tired, withdrawn kind of dejection you’d expect from someone who’d just experienced a break up that hadn’t been on their terms...
So why had he seen it in Buck?
Swallowing hard around the lump building in his throat, Eddie willed himself to not think about it. Not now, at least. Not when Taylor was staring at him, expecting to have gotten some sort of reply by now. Was he supposed to offer his condolences? His support? He didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to give it to her if he did. So, with a sigh, “Listen. I know that we don’t like each other—”
“I wasn’t aware I thought about you enough to dislike you.”
Ignoring the jab, he pressed on, “But you clearly care about him in that weird way of yours. So, if I learn anything new and I have the time, I’ll let you know.”
And whatever the woman was anticipating, it wasn’t that. Regarding him with something akin to suspicion, Eddie got the distinct feeling he was being studied. Eyes narrowed in silent judgment, he could see it in her face the exact moment she came to whatever conclusion would gratify her the most. And knowing Taylor, she’d assume her conjecture was truth; a theory only confirmed by the self-satisfied smirk currently etching its way into her face, “Hm.”
Eddie didn’t particularly appreciate it, “Hm?”
“Hm...” still dissecting him, it was almost impressive how much she’d managed to make him squirm. “In another life, I think you and I could’ve been really good friends.”
There was a long pause where Eddie could physically feel himself losing his goddamn mind. Then, “Not this one though.”
“Not this one,” she confirmed, almost sounding amused. Almost. But as her eyes sharpened and her lips flattened, it was clear she wasn’t quite done saying her piece, “And I’ll be holding you to it. The updates, I mean.”
And in record timing, Eddie was already consumed with regret and dismay, “If I have the time—”
“You will,” she said, leaving no room for argument, “I’m persistent.”
Yeah. She was. Like a particularly evil goose... pecking him.
Shooting him an unbearably smug grin, Taylor did little else to announce her departure. No pitying look, or a lame pat on the back, or even some hollow words of encouragement. She simply turned on her heel and left without so much as another glance...
Eddie sort of respected it. But any relief he might’ve felt with his newly acquired solitude was immediately overshadowed by the crushing loneliness and all-consuming dread that followed. Because as he was forced to standby, able to do nothing but watch as the hostage situation progressed without him... he realized that Buck had been right.
Waiting was the worst part.
Before Buck had been restrained, he’d been stripped of his Kevlar vest, having to watch as it was walked into the adjoining room and handed off to the man inside. With his hands fastened as he sat separated from the rest of hostages, he could do little else than observe as the man placed the vest on himself before the door closed. And it was hard not to be a little irked by that. Like... you make a half-assed attempt at robbing a bank, endangering both the people inside as well as any first responders that were called to the scene, and you think you deserve that kind of protection? If nothing else, at least the man was consistent. Consistently horrible maybe, but consistent, nonetheless.
Legs stretched out across the office space’s gray, carpeted flooring, Buck leaned back against the wall with Sarah pressed into his side. One of the men had attempted to move her with the other hostages, but the girl had let out another deafening screech as she latched onto Buck, thwarting those efforts once more. And even though she’d stopped crying, he knew it had more to do with exhausting herself than reaching actual catharsis; the snot stain on his shoulder and dried blood caking his hands served as a grim reminder.
It'd taken maybe all of ten minutes for the other hostages to unionize and levy their first complaint. Because—apparently—none of the takeout the trio had ordered had been divvied up between the hungry mouths they’d been keeping captive. That’s when Buck added ‘low blood sugar’ to his mental list of oversights, right there along with ‘bathroom breaks’ and ‘pins and needles.’ But just before the prisoners could reach a level of rowdiness that seemingly no amount of verbal threats of violence could solve, one of the robbers had finally caved. Stalking off rather dejectedly, he returned with a box of chip bags and some bottled water that’d been in the employee break room.
“Is my mom gonna die?” a voice asked, small and frightened.
Feeling the source of the question curl further into his side, Buck’s expression softened. “She’s being taken care of by some of the smartest, most capable people I know,” he replied, words gentle and soothing, “she’s in really good hands.”
“But she got shot,” she whispered back, voice trembling as her lip quivered, “I thought people died when they got shot.”
“Not always,” he said in immediate reassurance. Then, before he could think better of it, “You know, I actually have a friend who got shot.”
Eyes widening, Sarah gasped, “Were you scared?”
“Oh, yeah. Probably the most I’d ever been in my life,” he answered, earnest and honest, “but the people in the hospital took really good care of him, and he got better. And your mom will too.”
She considered this carefully, quietly coming to her own conclusions. And whatever they ended up being, they seemed to satisfy. Looking up at Buck, she held out her pinky in wordless covenant.
And maybe he shouldn’t be making those types of promises to a nine year old, but he just couldn’t help it. With a small smile, he took her pinky in his, silently swearing on it. With their movements limited by the zip ties on their wrists, it made the gesture a little awkward. Which, in turn, let his mind wander to some other things he’d been wondering about... “You didn’t have anything on your wrists when we first got here. Are you ok telling me what that was about?”
Frowning as her face scrunched in child-like disdain, she muttered as she pointed to a nearby table, “I sawed it off on the corner. The plastic hurt.”
Humming his acknowledgement as he confirmed that yes, those metal tables certainly had some sharp looking edges, he asked, “Does it still hurt?”
“No. Not as tight,” she trailed, face looking miles aways as she seemed to recall a memory. “I ran. I shouldn’t have ran. Mom got hurt because I ran.”
And how could Buck’s heart not twist at that admission? “You didn’t do anything wrong, ok? Nobody should’ve made you feel like you needed to run in the first place,” he said, and he’d say it as many times as he needed for her to believe him. “Nobody should’ve made you feel unsafe.”
But just as it seemed like she was finally coming around to accepting that fact, one of the robbers strolled over with a bag of chips and two bottled waters, and any walls of hers he’d managed to dismantle were back up in an instant. Turning her back to the rest of the room, Sarah hugged her knees close to her chest as she pointedly ignored the new arrival, practically burrowing into Buck’s side.
“You’re pretty good with her,” the man said, and if he noticed the obvious snub at the hands of a child, he didn’t comment on it. “You got a kid at home?” He was jittery, and just as nervous as he’d been when he greeted them at the entrance. And giving the sheer amount of police and S.W.A.T. waiting for him outside... Buck could understand why.
Not wanting to get on his jailor’s bad side, however, Buck immediately replied, “Uh, no,” then, he thought about it a little more, “well... sort of? It’s complicated.” Unfortunately, that only seemed to pique his interest. However, Buck realized his mistake a little too late, the man staring back with expectant eyes as he waited for him to elaborate; he must’ve wanted something else to focus on than his impending prison sentence (or bullet to the head) as soon as he stepped outdoors. So, with little choice left: “My friend has this thing in his will...”
Taking the bag of chips presented to him, Buck immediately opened them, passing them off to Sarah as he regaled the tale of the undefined yet undeniable co-parenting situation he’d found himself in. He told him about the custody arrangement with Chris, purposefully keeping the circumstances that made it necessary as vague as possible. He didn’t need him to know specifics, and he didn’t need to risk the chance of him identifying Eddie later.
Buck didn’t miss how the other bank robber lingered nearby, not at all subtle with his eavesdropping.
There was a long stretch of silence only filled by the occasional crunch as Sarah quietly nibbled on her chips, the criminal in front of him appearing pensive as he absorbed the story and came to his own conclusion...
“He baby-trapped you,” the man said with a misplaced confidence that was almost impressive, “that’s fucked up, man.”
Buck blinked. Then blinked again. Then, “Uh... no. No, that’s not—”
“Shut it, Benji, that’s not what happened,” the other robber scowled, no longer trying to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping. “They’re both dudes. A dude can’t baby-trap another dude.”
“Of course they can. Equal rights and shit! That’s what the parades are for.”
And Buck could do nothing but stare as they squabbled back and forth, filled with nothing but the dawning horror of a man who realized that he was now the smartest person in the room. “We’re just friends,” he said, feeling lightheaded, “and coworkers.” That last part felt relevant somehow.
Both men turned to look at him with varying looks of disbelief.
“Wow,” Benji snorted, far too amused for Buck’s tastes, “baby-trapped, and he still couldn’t bag you? That’s sad.”
And Buck wasn’t even sure what he was more offended by on his friend’s behalf: the idea that Eddie had ‘baby-trapped’ him, or that he’d attempted to and failed. “He didn’t baby-trap me,” he reiterated, bristling under their curious stares, “and even if he did—which he didn’t—it’s not really a trap if you were planning on sticking around anyways.”
There was another long pause as the other men sat with his words. Absorbing them. Processing them. Then, “Is he ugly?” Benji’s partner suddenly asked, throwing Buck for another loop.
“What?” he startled, even more offended than before, “No!”
“Oh. So you just aren’t into dudes?”
Buck opened his mouth to respond only to immediately close it. Because no. That wasn’t it either... huh. Then why wasn’t he into Eddie? Or—more importantly—was that actually the case? It had him sitting up a little straighter to seriously consider it.
But he didn’t get to think about it for long. A voice called from the adjoining room, urgent and loud, “Oscar, get the fuck in here!”
And whatever air of tentative camaraderie the men had formed was gone, replaced by something anxious and tense. The man—‘Oscar’ presumably—muttered something scathing under his breath, calling back a quick acknowledgement before slinking over at the other’s beck and call.
Benji left to go watch the other hostages, moving with the determination of a man who very much didn’t want to get caught doing something he shouldn’t. In this case: talking to Buck.
Twisting the knob, Oscar disappeared through the door in an instant. But before it could fully close behind him, Buck caught a glimpse inside: their supposed leader was slumped over a table, phone in hand as he barked something at the negotiator on the other end. He radiated a desperation Buck could feel from across the room... he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad yet.
Whatever progress the negotiator had made had taken a hard reset after the shooting, and based on the restless energy practically vibrating off the walls... everyone had noticed. Doing his best to relax, ignoring the aching building in his bad leg, Buck resigned himself to the monotony of waiting for there was little else to be done...
Or was there?
Unconfiscated phone weighing heavy in his back pocket, Buck hatched an idea: “Hey, Sarah? Do you think you can grab something for me...”
Eddie had been under the assumption he’d feel some sort of respite from his waking terror when Hen and Chim had returned...
He’d been wrong.
And Eddie really had no one to blame but himself. Because it’d started off innocuous enough—the ambulance had made its return from the hospital, its occupants quickly filing out, ready to assist when the need arose. They’d exchanged some brief words on the status of their patient, mainly: ‘stable when we left her—it’s in the hands of the medical staff now—could go either way.’ No one addressed the massive elephant in the room; no one really wanted to. Instead, they talked at length about plans for the weekend, the calamitous heat, and other things that didn’t matter while they were out here and Buck was in there.
Things took an unfortunate turn when Hen asked if Chris would be staying with Ana if they ran overtime on shift, and Eddie had hesitated for a little too long. And although he’d attempted to sputter out something quick and vague to appease her without revealing anything, nothing convincing enough came to mind. So, in a moment of panic, he did the one thing he’d wanted to do the least:
He told the truth.
“You’re broken up?” Hen asked, eyebrows shooting past the thick frame of her glasses, “Since when?”
Sometimes, Eddie longed for the days he wasn’t close enough with the team for them to ask questions like that. Nonetheless, “A little over a week ago.”
“Wow. Recent.”
“Not that recent...” Chimney huffed, sounding slighted, “hey, why is it that we’re always the last to find out about these kinds of things?”
Eddie couldn’t bring himself to mind that much. Not like there was any actual heat behind it. “What things?” he asked, mildly amused.
“Personal things. You’re like an enigma with none of the allure but all of the secrets.”
But Eddie wasn’t trying to keep secrets. He’d just been too busy sorting out his own feelings on the matter to confide in someone—in anyone. “I think you might be the first to find out this time, actually.”
There’s a brief stretch of stunned silence where Hen and Chim can only stare at him. Then, at each other. Then, back at him. Then, in unison, “Before Buck?”
It was hard not to feel a little judged by that, especially from their tone. “He’s had his own stuff to worry about,” he muttered, casting an unsubtle glance where a certain redhead was currently preoccupied with a news segment regarding ‘a recent development involving a first responder.’
Face knowing as she hummed a quiet acknowledgement, “Him breaking up with Taylor.”
And it very nearly sent Eddie spiraling again. “He told you?” Because what fucking gives?
Hen didn’t reply, she just gave him a look. One that told him to fix his tone.
Eddie sensed his mistake: “Sorry, I just... sorry.” Sometimes he forgot the woman had technically known Buck for longer.
“See? Doesn’t feel so great to be the last one in the loop about these sorts of things,” Chim said, offering his input despite the fact Eddie didn’t recall it being needed or asked for. “Remember this feeling. Internalize it.”
Audibly scoffing, Eddie vowed to do no such thing. He hadn’t told Buck about Ana, so he wasn’t allowed to get in his feelings about Taylor. No matter how much he really, really wanted to.
Thankfully, Hen came to his rescue, “I thought you and Ana were good. What happened?”
And Eddie had been so thankful for the change in topics, he hadn’t even remembered to hesitate, “I think I was waiting to feel something I should’ve felt before we started dating. But there was no spark. And I’d wasted enough of her time.”
The admission had both his coworkers regarding him oddly, as if he’d made the most obvious conclusion in the world, but were proud of him, nonetheless.
“So...” Chim began, brow furrowed, “why date her if you didn’t feel that ‘spark’? It’s sort of the whole point.”
“Attractive, kind, smart, settled in her career, good with Chris...” he replied, reciting the mental list he’d gone over time and time again. He’d used it to convince himself that it’d all be worth it in the end if he could just make himself fall in love with her. “She checked a lot of boxes.”
Expression grim, Hen spoke, “But not the most important one.” There was not an ounce of judgment in those words.
Eddie thought there should’ve been: “Yeah. And that wasn’t fair to her.” Because while he’d been so caught up in everything Ana did for him, he’d neglected the one thing he should’ve been able to do for her. He’d only wished he’d figured it out sooner for both their sakes.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Chim sighed, giving Eddie a reaffirming pat on the back. “You figured it out eventually. As long as you learn from it.”
And although it was probably a lesson he should’ve learned prior to his thirties, Eddie knew it was a lesson better learnt late than never. Because he’d married the first person he’d ever slept with, and despite loving her, it’d been a union born of circumstance and obligation rather than that love he’d felt. And it had destroyed them. So he couldn’t do that again—couldn’t do that to another woman. Because he’d married Shannon because Christopher had deserved a father, and he’d considered marrying Ana because he thought he could give him another mother. And that wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to Ana, and certainly not to Chris.
With the silence stretching on for a little longer than was comfortable, Hen and Chim exchanged a look they thought he wouldn’t catch.
He did.
“So, you really don’t think you’ve met someone that checks all those boxes?” Hen drawled, raising an inquisitive brow, “Like... anyone? At all?”
“If I did,” Eddie sighed, already wary of their conspiring looks, “I think I’d know.”
“Really?” Chim asked, exchanging another pointed glance with Hen, “Not even—let’s say—a mutual friend of ours?”
Now that’s an interesting thought. Chuckling, Eddie just shook his head, “If you’re planning on setting me up with someone: don’t. I’ll be getting enough of that from my abuela soon enough. I’d like at least a little room to breathe before she starts again.”
Even without looking, he could feel the way Hen’s eyes bore into him. “Huh...”
And he couldn’t help but bristle from her tone, “What?”
But she was already waving him off, dismissing it immediately, “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Which had the complete opposite effect, perhaps not helped by the umpteenth knowing glance her and Chimney shared in the last five minutes.
“Could you two stop it with that?” Eddie exclaimed before he could think better of it.
“With what?” Chim asked with a false innocence.
“The meaningful looks! I don’t know what you want from me—I can’t read minds.”
“If you could,” Hen muttered at a volume not meant for him, “this would’ve been resolved ages ago.”
And before he could ask just what the hell she meant by that, there was an incessant buzzing in his back pocket that had him blanking on any previously perceived grievance. Mind finally catching up, he dug it out of his work pants as his coworkers watched with curious eyes. It was a facetime call, and if not for years of fatherhood instilling the habit of checking the caller ID first for Christopher... he would’ve rejected it. Thank God he hadn’t.
Buck. It was Buck.
Cursing, Eddie nearly dropped his phone out of shock. Faintly noting Hen and Chim’s concerned inquiries as he braced himself, he didn’t waste another moment before hitting ‘answer.’
His camera took a second to buffer, but when it did... half the screen was obstructed by a reflective surface smeared with an orange grease while the other half showed a blurred live-feed of the bank’s interior.
“What...” Hen trailed, brow knitted in confusion, “is happening right now?”
The small box in the corner of the screen showed them their own bewildered expressions as they pieced together what they were looking at.
“We are in a bag of chips,” Chim concluded, “barbecue by the looks of it.”
“Buck,” Eddie said, keeping his voice level and volume down, “Buck are you there?”
But as the phone camera finally came into focus confirming that, yes, they were in fact inside a bag of chips... there was still no response.
“He probably turned the volume off,” Hen offered calmly, sensing his surging panic. Then, after a beat of stilted silence, “... Buck, please tell me you turned the volume off.”
Any camera movement on Buck’s end immediately stilled. Then, a frustrated sigh crackled through the speaker punctuated by several distinct clicks against the side of his phone.
“Slightly unrelated,” Chim remarked, “but on a scale of one to ten, how important is ‘smart’ on that checklist of yours?”
... oh. Suddenly, those ‘meaningful looks’ were making a lot more sense, and Eddie was surprised to find just how unoffended he was, or... well. Maybe ‘surprised’ wasn’t the best word for it; it’s not like it was an assumption he hadn’t dealt with before. Quite the opposite. He was used to the probing stares whenever him or Buck would drape an arm over the other in public. The raised brows when they’d clasp each other on the back, lingering longer than they probably should. The morbid curiosity when they walked a little too close to one another on a scene, the tips of their fingers occasionally brushing. But that’s just how the two of them were. And if other people saw issue with that, that had more to do with them than it’d ever have to do with him and Buck.
So, no. Eddie wasn’t offended by it. In fact, the only thing worth getting offended by was the implication that Buck was somehow dumb. Because he wasn’t. A little dense at times, sure, but not dumb.
Hen seemed to have similar thoughts, reaching around Eddie to cuff her partner on the shoulder. Whether it had more to do with defending Buck’s intellect or the secrecy of their prodding... that remained unclear. But before Chim could sputter out some kind of incredulous defense for himself, Eddie’s phone chimed with several text notifications:
Buck | 2:13 PM: athena
Buck | 2:13 PM: called. no answer. give phone
Buck | 2:14 PM: pls
The crinkling of a chip bag crackled faintly through the speaker, Buck readjusting his grip to give a better view of the bank’s interior. They saw a group of twenty or so huddled in a corner across the room, some of which were engaged in hushed conversation with one another; a man lingered nearby with a gun in his belt, either uncaring or oblivious. And just as Buck began to pan over to the other side of the room, a nearby door flung open. Immediately, the phone was dropped back into the chip bag, obstructing the camera from anyone unaware of its existence. And as two unfamiliar voices got louder and louder—engrossed in a heated argument—Eddie was grateful for Buck’s foresight.
Eddie stared blankly down at his phone screen, not sure whether it was hope or panic seizing his chest. “Athena,” he breathed, its weight feeling oddly heavy in his hand, “I should get this to Athena.” He didn’t wait for their input or permission before taking off, sprinting and shouldering his way through the crowd. He didn’t slow until he reached the barricade, calling out to the two figures bordering its perimeter.
Bobby and Athena’s heads snapped over to meet him, expressions sharp and searching.
Extending his hand, Eddie presented the phone. “It’s Buck,” he panted—adrenaline, not exertion.
That was all anyone needed to hear.
Athena took the screen from him, immediately getting down to business, “Is it safe to assume you turned off the volume?”
There was no response on the other end of the line, so Eddie took it upon himself to fill everyone in, “He did. You’ll have to text once he’s in the clear.”
“In the clear?” Bobby repeated back, perhaps wondering if the reflective, greasy surface they were currently staring at had anything to do with that.
“They walked in,” Eddie supplied, “and he stuck us in a chip bag.”
Giving an amused shake of her head, Athena chuckled, “Of course he did.”
Eddie | 2:19 PM: Buck, it’s Athena.
Eddie | 2:19 PM: Respond when it’s safe.
Like expected, the response wasn’t instantaneous; Buck hadn’t even removed the phone from its hiding place. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t hear what was happening.
“Goddamnit, Jo! Did you really have to fucking shoot the poor woman? Robbing a bank is one thing, but this? You’re out of your mind.”
“You were there. The bitch took a running start at me!”
“You pointed a gun at her kid—of course she did! And now when the police kick down our door, we’re not just going away for this. We’re going away for that too, you trigger-happy motherf—”
“You worry too much. Once we get them to send us that car and clear the roads to the...”
The voices got quieter as they got further and further away, eventually becoming muffled as they presumably disappeared into another room. A theory reaffirmed as the phone camera was tentatively inched out of the chip bag.
Buck | 2:25 PM: safe
Eddie | 2:25 PM: The hostages?
The camera pans, showing the people in the corner.
Eddie | 2:26 PM: Is there anyone else in the room with you?
It shifts, showing the man that’d been previously guarding the group. He wasn’t looking at Buck or the hostages. Instead, he was collecting empty food wrappers off the ground, expression pensive and noticeably distressed.
The camera moves again, zeroing in on a closed door before Eddie’s phone buzzed with two new notifications.
Buck | 2:27 PM: other two inside
Buck | 2:27 PM: saw window in room
Bobby and Athena share a look, the former of which asking, “Can we use that?”
“We can try.” She was already typing back her response.
Eddie | 2:27 PM: You entered through the north doors.
Eddie | 2:27 PM: Can you use that to tell me which side of the bank the window’s on?
There was a brief pause where Buck considered this. Then:
Buck | 2:28 PM: south
Eddie | 2:28 PM: Anyone else in that room with them?
Buck | 2:29 PM: idk
Exhaling a rough breath, Athena’s frustration was palpable, “It’s not enough that these idiots woke up today and suddenly decided to rob a damn bank. Now, we have to worry about Tweedle Dum, Tweedle Dee, and Tweedle Stupid getting twenty or so people shot because they feel like delaying the inevitable.”
“I’m guessing the window’s a no-go,” Bobby said, giving his wife a knowing look.
“Not unless we want to risk civilian casualty.” Eying a sniper on a nearby roof, it wasn’t exactly hard to guess what her previous plan might’ve entailed.
It made Eddie’s shoulder itch.
Eddie | 2:29 PM: Don’t worry about the window.
Eddie | 2:29 PM: Keep the phone hidden. We can listen in.
But in the current position, no one could hear much of anything. Not at this distance at least. Everything was muffled into incomprehension by the door.
Buck | 2:30 PM: want me closer?
Eddie | 2:30 PM: No. Negotiator is trying another call soon.
Eddie | 2:30 PM: You won’t pick up anything we won’t hear anyways.
It was enough to convince Buck. With the phone safely tucked away in its chip bag, they resigned themselves to the monotony of waiting, vaguely noting the negotiator successfully contacting those inside from nearby, listening to their new slew of demands.
Then, a voice they didn’t recognize filtered through the phone speaker: “Hey, let me get that wrapper for you.” It was close. Too close.
And the voice that responded wedged a pit deep inside Eddie’s gut. “Oh, uh,” Buck trailed, searching for an excuse, “I’m actually not done yet.”
“Really? You’ve been working on it for a while, and those things are like 60% air.” The doubt in his tone had everyone holding their breath.
“Yeah. Yeah, they are...” grappling for another excuse, he eventually settled on, “barbecue’s just not really a favorite of mine.”
“Oh, yeah? I can swap them out for something else if you’d like me to take those—”
“No,” and you could practically hear him stamping down his surging panic, because damn. This guy was relentless. “Really. Don’t worry about it. I’m good, I promise.”
The other man chuckled, and Eddie didn’t particularly like how familiar his tone was, “Damn, dude, if you’re this stubborn, I’m starting to see why your boytoy felt like he had to baby—”
... ‘boytoy?’ Something nasty curled at the base of Eddie’s stomach. He didn’t know what. He didn’t even know why.
“Alright! Ok!” Buck interrupted, audibly flustered, “Thank you, Benji, I got it.”
Now they’re on a first name basis? Eddie had to look around to see if anyone else found that a little odd. No one other than him seemed to acknowledge it.
“Oh. Hey, man... I didn’t mean any offense by it. I’m just saying that maybe if you picked your battles a little better, Ed—”
“Yeah, good point—hey, do you have any more bottled water?” Buck asked, subtle and restrained and not at all suspicious.
“Uh... yeah,” the man said, taken aback. And whether he’d just been naïve or fully succumbed to Buck’s charm, the result was the same, “I think we do. I’ll be right back.”
But before anyone could breathe a sigh of relief at the stranger’s retreat, the sound of a door flinging open hard enough to collide with its door jam. “Benji, what’d I tell you—stop talking to that jackass! I’m on the phone, and I can’t think with all this goddamn noise.” He sounded disconcerted. Desperate. Like a man at the end of his rope and about to start hanging someone with it.
The negotiator winced at the spike in volume, shooting Athena a worried glance.
“And leave the fucking trash! I don’t even know why you bothered feeding them in the first place—we’re not here to work hospitality.” The voice got louder as its source got closer and closer to Buck.
“They were hungry...” He sounded unsure of himself.
“Lay off him, Jo,” a third chimed in, matching the other’s frustration. He sounded like the one that’d been arguing with him in the other room. “It’s not his fault you said you had everything handled and then didn’t.”
Grimacing, the negotiator did her best to redirect the man on the line, asking questions and calmly making suggestions in an attempt to diffuse the situation. And although those efforts were ultimately ignored, Eddie still noted the fact the man had put her on speaker for the room based on the fact he could hear her voice echoing through his own phone.
“Shut up—shut up,” ‘Jo’ yelled in a tone that would’ve earned Eddie a smack in the mouth growing up. “Did you hear that?”
‘... did you hear that?’
“Hear what?”
‘...hear what?’
“That.”
‘... that’
And it was like time froze. Both Bobby and Athena turned to the negotiator with mirroring looks of dawning terror as the woman met them with one of her own. By the time Eddie realized what was wrong, it was too late. Because there was an echo. The phones were too close, and there was an echo, giving them away.
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, spoken with enough heat to melt rebar, “You.”
“Shit,” a voice hissed, and to all their horrors, it’d been Buck. It was the only warning anyone got for what followed:
A loud, pained grunt punctuated the sound of blunt contact as someone was struck, the chip bag and its contents spilling onto the floor with the camera laid face up. A flurry of limbs popped in and out of frame as two bodies struggled, cursing and yelling; the heartbreaking cries of a small child begging for it all to stop in the background.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three gunshots were followed by a chorus of screams as the interior of the bank erupted into chaos. Whether it was from fear or opportunity, some of the hostages stampeded. To flee through the door? To bum-rush their captors? It was impossible to tell seeing as it failed.
BANG. BANG.
Two more gunshots. “Everyone get back or the next one’s going in someone’s head!” And the room fell silent—no more footsteps, no more screaming. Nothing but the sound of labored breaths and someone groaning in pain...
Buck?
Eddie didn’t get to think about it for long. With shuffling feet, someone crept over to the phone, head peeking into frame. It was a man. Short, scrawny looking, blood leaking from his nose. With a sneer, he aimed the barrel of his pistol at the screen.
BANG.
With one final gunshot, the call disconnected. And as Athena’s grip tightened around the phone, she turned to her husband and placed her other on his shoulder. To steady. To console.
It was appreciated, and the gesture was returned. Jaw clenched as a tightness settled around his eyes, Bobby placed a careful hand over Athena’s, giving it a light squeeze. Eyes drifting over to Eddie, they begged a question he didn’t think he was ready to answer. ‘You ok?’ And Eddie...
Eddie felt like he’d been shot. He was back in the middle of that street, and he’d been shot. He heard the thunderous boom of the bullet, felt the sharp pain as it tore through his shoulder, and saw the way Buck stared at him in the aftermath. Blood splattered across his face, expression numbingly blank as Eddie finally fell. And now as Eddie was forced into the role of helpless observer, he thought maybe he understood Buck proceeding the event a little better. Because as he stared at his black phone screen, feeling just as numb, he knew he’d give almost anything to take the other’s place.