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Buck loved his job. He loved the people he worked with. He loved being at work. Sometimes the hours were long and the calls were dangerous, but he didn’t really mind as long as he got to keep being a firefighter. He was at a stage where he could admit his job was a catalyst for earning validation from his friends and family.
His therapist may have mentioned his deep-seated need to feel useful. Apparently, he’d been operating from a place that reinforced usefulness as to whether he deserved love.
He almost dropped his tablet when she explained that nothing he did or didn’t do dictated his worth to the people he loved. It would have been less painful if she just hit him with a bus.
Regardless of how hard it was to hear, Buck knew there was truth to the words. Why else would it feel like he constantly let everyone down by having basic needs and asking for help?
He was working on it, but in the meantime, he still jumped to do anything he could when he was asked. Did that include filling in for a B-shift coworker caring for his sick mother? Yes, it did. Had he just worked a 24-hour shift that made him feel like his bones were made of jelly? Yes, he had. Would he tell the B-shift Captain he was too tired to fill the vacancy? No, he wouldn’t.
The hard part was actually making it seem like he was going home so Bobby, Hen, and Chim didn’t notice him staying on for another 12-hour shift.
He’d been filling in a lot since Christmas. He didn’t have much going on, and since Eddie took the liaison position at Dispatch, his days were filled with distractions. He knew Eddie wasn’t gone, like out of his life, but not seeing him every shift did something painful to Buck’s chest. They were supposed to watch each other’s backs. How could Buck do that if Eddie wasn’t even there?
His extra shift was tame with the occasional thunderstorm rolling into the area. The majority of the calls they handled were power outages and medical.
Buck was tired, but it wasn’t like he’d never lost sleep before. At some point, his stomach began bothering him and a light headache migrated around his forehead. He chalked it up to the number of hours he worked, and the fact he’d only had a few granola bars since his last shift.
Nothing against B-shift, but their food couldn’t compare to a home-cooked meal from Bobby Nash. Buck felt bad for being snobbish, but Captain Carson wasn’t Bobby. Carson was a career firefighter. He’d just been handed the reins to command of B-shift a few months ago. He didn’t have the easy camaraderie that Bobby cultivated with his team, yet.
Buck didn’t know if it was the lack of food, the hours, or the cramps seizing his gut, but he was more than ready to get out of there and go home. He would go to Eddie’s despite the difference in their work hours, but Eddie and Christopher weren’t even in California.
Eddie’s parents were going on a month-long cruise and wanted to see their grandson before they set off. Eddie and his dad were still trying to fix their relationship, so a quick trip to Texas made sense.
He was glad Eddie was figuring things out. Buck knew something about family trauma and drama and wouldn't wish it on anyone.
He had an hour left of his shift when Captain Carson caught him stumbling out of the bunk room. They hadn’t gotten a call in over three hours, and the lights were hurting his eyes. He tried to get some sleep, but just couldn't relax.
“Buckley, you alright?” The Captain asked, gripping Buck’s shoulder like he feared the younger man would fall over. It wasn’t completely out of the question considering how terrible Buck felt.
“Y-yes, Sir, I’m all good,” Buck blinked hard to get his eyes to focus on the Captain’s face. He was younger than Bobby by a few years. His curly, black hair was short and faded in a tight afro. He was the same height as Buck, maybe even a little taller, but he probably had 30 pounds on the blonde.
“You don’t look alright, son, you look a little green,” Carson said leaning away. Buck should be offended the Captain thought he would throw up on him, but with the way his stomach groaned, he didn’t blame him.
“Oh, I think I just ate something weird, I’ll be fine,” Buck smiled weakly, the lie casually slipping out. He, unfortunately, had a lot of practice saying he was fine when he really wasn’t.
Captain Carson’s face morphed into something he recognized from the Bobby Nash catalog of ‘I’m not buying your shit.’ All Captains must have a subscription or something.
“I haven’t seen you put anything in your mouth all day, Buckley. You want to try that again?”
“N-not really,” Buck said, a flush washing over his face. Buck had never worked with Captain Carson before, but he could see it wouldn’t be easy to pull one over on him.
“Mm-hmm,” The Captain looked at the clock on the wall. “Well, you can get something to eat on the way home because your shift is over.”
Buck glanced at the clock too, he might have been dog-tired but he could still tell time. “Sir-”
“I said what I said, Buckley, go home, eat something, and get some sleep,” Carson’s hand was warm on his shoulder, and Buck wanted to believe that he wouldn’t gravitate toward every older man and think of them as a father figure, but who was he kidding?
“Thank you, Sir, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer,” he said despite himself.
Captain Carson pursed his lips, rolling his eyes skyward, “Nash said you were something else, Buckley. I can see what he meant.” A small, amused smile replaced the exasperated look.
“Thank you?” Buck cocked his head to the side but regretted it when his temples throbbed louder.
The Captain patted him on the shoulder, thanked him for staying to fill in, and sent him on his way. Buck watched the older man head up to the loft thinking B-Shift was probably in good hands if that was who was leading them into the fray.
The exhausted man gathered his things, hurrying to his jeep. It was one thing to stay at work on principle, but he kind of refused to be outright sick where people could see him.
Buck did end up stopping at a convenience store to get pain relievers, Gatorade, and soup. With any luck he just needed to sleep it off. He didn’t have another shift for two days, which was more than enough time to shake the illness.
He spent a painful twenty minutes squinting against the sun on his drive home. He’d already taken something for his headache, but he knew this wouldn’t be solved by medicine alone. He needed sleep and absolute silence.
Fatigue weighed him down as he shuffled into his loft like a zombie. He forgot to take his uniform off before leaving the station, which should have alerted him to how bad he truly felt. His clothes were stiff and uncomfortable. Usually, it didn’t bother him, but the overstimulation of the day wore heavily on his nerves; he could feel every stitch and seam scraping against his skin.
He stripped, hopping in the shower to wash his shift off. The temperature he normally liked felt like shards of glass pelting his body. Every drop made him want to scream. He loathed not soaking his tired muscles in the heat and steam, but if he stayed in any longer he feared he would start crying.
Fifteen minutes later he was dressed in a hoodie and boxers, wrapped in a blanket, and shivering under his covers. His bed at least had the decency to be comfortable. He wouldn’t make it If his body suddenly rejected the concept of rest.
Buck sighed under his mountain of blankets, snuffling softly into his pillow. All he needed was a good 10 to 12 hours of sleep and he would be absolutely fine.
—
A blast of cold air dragged him out of a restless sleep. He groggily sat up clutching his head; everything hurt. He searched his bedroom looking for the reason he was so violently woken up, but the only thing out of place were his covers on the floor.
He breathed heavily in the silence of his apartment. It was dark outside, so he must have been asleep for quite some time. He regretted checking his phone as soon as the light pierced his eyes. He was shivering, but he wasn’t cold. He knew that probably meant he had a fever, but his thermometer was in his downstairs bathroom. He didn’t feel like he was being dramatic when he thought getting out of bed might actually kill him.
He didn’t want to be in his bathroom anyway, he wanted to be asleep. He lowered the brightness on his phone, rechecking the time. He slept for over six hours, time fluctuating erraticly without his knowledge making it feel like he’d only been out for a few minutes.
Text messages piled up in his inbox, but a pathetic whine escaped his mouth at the thought of answering them. He would message them back when he didn’t feel like on-fire garbage.
He clawed for the covers that were half hanging off his bed. He needed to take more medicine, but that involved a lot more energy than he had. At least, he had the presence of mind to put his Gatorade on the bedside table, so he counted that as a win.
The drink was lukewarm but still refreshing. He knew if he went downstairs he could make some soup, get the thermometer, and down some Nyquil, but at what cost? He shivered miserably, delirious thoughts of penguins and polar bears dancing around the loft filling his head.
That wasn’t right, he thought sinking back into the nice cocoon of blankets that littered his bed, penguins and polar bears don’t live in the same climate.
He burrowed deeper, wondering why he knew that, and promising no one he would get up soon to take care of himself. He was only allowed a few moments of peace before a grumbling in his stomach violently changed his mind.
He couldn’t remember ever moving that fast in his life. His legs got tangled in a blanket, but it hardly slowed him down. He slid into his bathroom, crashing to his knees in front of the toilet.
The amount of bile spewed into the bowl was concerning for only having a few granola bars, three cups of coffee, and half a Gatorade. He gasped and groaned, his arms folded around the toilet tank. It went on long enough for his legs to go from prickling in pain to numb.
When his stomach settled, he rested his throbbing head on his forearm. Strings of spittle and mucus fell from his lips, but he barely noticed. Every time he thought he was done another wave of nausea rolled over him.
Buck lost track of time on his bathroom floor. He shook like a leaf, his weak muscles protesting any movement. If he got too far away from the bowl he was afraid he’d make a mess he didn’t have the energy to clean up.
A soft knock resonated from the bathroom door. The dazed man thought he imagined it, unable to lift his head to check anyway. Another roll of nausea squeezed his stomach in an iron grip. It was like he was on the world's worst rollercoaster.
He groaned when the lights flicked on, sobbing quietly into his arm. His skin was clammy but also abnormally hot. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to climb onto an iceberg or into a volcano.
He heard a gasp as someone turned the lights back off. If he could thank them, he would, but he settled for clamping his lips tightly so another wave of bile didn’t spill out.
“... in here… you were… Oh, sweetheart…” A familiar voice got closer, and Buck knew he should know that voice, but nothing made any sense to him.
“Get the… I’ll help him… He might have…” Another voice cut in and out. The second voice made Buck feel warm, which he desperately craved.
He moaned as a cold hand slipped under his forehead, sighing at how nice it felt. The shivers that wracked his body tingled up and down his arms, but the cool, dry palm drove them away.
“Okay, kid, we gotta get you cleaned up.” Was the first sentence Buck understood.
“B’bby?” Buck muttered as the person helped him sit back. They flushed the toilet and brought a warm washcloth to Buck’s face.
“Yeah, kid, Athena and I are here.” Bobby’s soothing voice balmed something sharp and pulsing in his head.
Buck couldn’t really see him, just a fuzzy blob towering over the sick man. He had a hard time believing his Captain was in his bathroom. It was just the sort of thing his illness-riddled mind would come up with.
Another figure stepped into the door frame, and Buck could tell they were shorter and slighter than the person standing by him.
“Hey, Buckaroo, you don’t look too good, baby,” The achingly familiar voice and the nickname proved that Buck wasn’t imagining them. The relief that swept through his body almost knocked him out cold.
He leaned back to rest on the tub, sighing, “I d’n’t feel too good.”
“Yeah, Carson said you looked sick, but I don’t think he knew how bad it was,” Bobby said, gently cleaning the blonde’s face of sweat and grime.
“Here’s the thermometer, hon,” Athena said, leaning on the door with her arms crossed after handing something to Bobby. Buck could imagine the look on her face. One part disappointed, one part exasperated, and two parts worried. He was fluent in ‘parent’ body language despite not having a lot of practice with it.
The cold plastic of his thermometer ran over his forehead. He flinched back, but a hand behind his head stopped him from getting a concussion. The device beeped and Bobby sighed.
“102.3, kiddo. It’ll probably take a cold bath to avoid the hospital,” he said worriedly before feeling Buck’s forehead for himself. Bobby trusted the thermometer’s reading, but double-checking couldn’t hurt. Buck was definitely burning up, and even if he didn’t want to go to the hospital, the Captain wasn’t really asking.
Buck clenched his eyes tightly, trying to breathe through the pain. “Bath,” he croaked.
Athena excused herself to make something for him to eat and change the sheets. Buck wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to do that because he felt like a bad host, but then he remembered they found him covered in vomit, soaked with sweat, and barely conscious.
Bobby ran a cold bath, helping Buck undress to his boxers. It was painful slipping into the freezing water, but between that and them bundling him up for a trip to the hospital, he would take an ice bath.
Buck knew that Bobby cared about him. He knew it when Bobby gently lowered him into the water. He knew it when Bobby ran a cloth over him to soothe his burning skin. He knew it when Bobby helped him change after his temp came down.
Buck knew that Athena cared about him. He knew it when she helped him into bed. He knew it when she helped him eat the soup he’d been too tired to make. He knew it when she ran a gentle hand through his damp, curly hair as his eyes slid closed.
There weren’t any words exchanged where they expressly said, ‘You matter to me,’ but Buck knew from their actions that Bobby and Athena cared about him more than most people did.
Buck would wake up in the next few hours and Bobby and Athena would still be there. They would help him until he felt better, lecture him because he needed it, and love him because they did.
Buck drifted to sleep with Athena’s hand sweeping through his hair and Bobby checking his temperature for the third time since he got out of the bath. He spent a lot of his life showing people he loved why they should love him back. But, thankfully, the family he had now always proved he didn’t need to do anything to earn their love; he already had it.
-fin-