Help?
To say that life had been hard on Evan Buckley was about as much of an understatement as you could get.
And that was only after the fire truck explosion, blood clots, and tsunami.
For a normal person, events like that might be enough to convince them pursuing a career in anything even slightly dangerous would be foolish. But, perhaps not-so-fortunately for him, Buck was no ordinary individual. Being a firefighter may be dangerous, but it was who he was.
He was as much made of being a firefighter as he was made of molecules. Maybe even more so.
Trying to get his team, his family, to understand that, however, proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. Suing the city of LA, not to mention Bobby, certainly hadn’t helped his cause in their eyes, but Buck believed after turning down the several million dollars the city offered in favor of returning to the 118, they’d finally realize how serious he was. He wasn’t Buck 1.0 anymore; he was a man who lived and breathed his work, who only wanted to be fighting alongside his team again.
The fighting he ended up doing wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.
When he got the call from Bobby asking him to join the rest of the team at the Rage Room, his joy had been tempered by nerves and anxiety, leaving him uncertain of what to expect. He’d refused the city’s settlement and finally dropped the lawsuit a few days earlier, fully believing he’d never get his job back since they seemed so willing to pay him so much to make the problem—him—disappear.
Mackey hadn’t been too pleased with his decision, but Buck had made it clear the lawsuit was never about money.
All that in mind, he’d walked into the Rage Room fully expecting—at the very least—a severe dressing down from Bobby, only to be told he’d be getting the call about his reinstatement to the LAFD and the 118—despite almost being transferred to another house. Any anxiety-free joy he’d felt was short lived, however, when Bobby reminded him of a warning he’d given Buck 1.0: “My House, my rules. Remember?”
If only he had remembered.
In the four months following his reinstatement, it seemed like everything Buck did was never enough. He may have been back at the 118, but it felt less and less like home every minute he was there.
Oh sure, he wasn’t riding a desk or on light duty anymore, and he was allowed out on calls. The problem was every call he went on, Bobby and the other members of the squad scrutinized and critiqued every move he made—from his hand positions using the Jaws, to how he rigged up a harness, to how much water he sprayed on one part of a fire versus another. Despite having been a firefighter for the better part of four years, they all treated him like a probie. Even Eddie, who’d been a firefighter for far less time than Buck, treated him like he had no clue what he was doing.
“My House, my rules.”
The comments that often followed him around the House or on calls only made it all the worse. His 118 family had always made lighthearted allusions that he was the less intelligent of the Buckley siblings; but now, it was like his mistake with the lawsuit gave them all free reign to constantly insult his intelligence, question his responsibility or loyalties to the job, and mire down any satisfaction he may take in a successful call by pointing out all the ways he should’ve done it better.
The fact that Bobby didn’t seem even remotely keen to stand up for him or refute the “critiques” he’d been receiving only served to remind Buck that this was just how things were now…how they’d really always been.
“My House, my rules.”
“This is not a family.”
Buck had tried to take consolation in the fact that one person in the House refused to fall in line with the others in their quest to make Buck feel as small as humanly possible. Chimney had been the only one willing to tell Buck he did something right, that he’d made the right call, and that he was still a good firefighter.
At first, Buck figured it was some sort of misplaced loyalty or respect for the brother of his girlfriend, that eventually the day would come when Chim would fall in line with Hen, Eddie, and the others, and remind him all the ways he was failing at his job.
“My House, my rules.”
To Buck’s surprise, though, that day never came. Despite his warnings about having patience his first day back on the job, Chimney never let Buck feel like he was inferior the way the others grew accustomed to doing. On more than one occasion, Chim even threatened to go to bat for him, to file a complaint with the department about how Buck was being treated or, at the very least, to tell Maddie what had been going on so she could do something about it.
Buck made it clear neither was an option. Maddie had been through enough already, and Buck wasn’t about to take another family away from her. And after all that he’d put the department through, this was just the penance he had to pay.
“My House, my rules.”
Buck made Chimney promise not to do anything that would jeopardize himself, his job, or Maddie’s relationships with anyone in the 118. And, when he couldn’t convince Buck to change his mind or stop the rest of the squad from constantly tormenting him, Chimney had seemingly resigned himself to both keeping said promise and doing what he could to keep Buck’s confidence—and his head—above water. When the rest of the crew belittled, Chimney would quietly compliment. When he wasn’t invited to sit with the rest of the team at meals, Chimney would bring him a plate and sit with him. When another Friday passed that Buck wasn’t invited to a movie night with Eddie and Christopher or a family dinner at Bobby and Athena’s, Chimney would invite him to Buffriday with himself, Maddie, and Josh.
Buck had appreciated his efforts, but the more time passed, the harder it was to be part of anything. He simply didn’t think he deserved to be. After fighting so hard to get back to the job he loved, to do what he had always believed he did best, only to be constantly told all the things he’d done wrong and the ways he had failed, Buck was no longer certain of anything anymore—least of all himself.
Despite Buck’s belief that he was born to be a firefighter, that it was the only thing he ever had that he was really good at, and despite Chimney and Maddie’s concern and care, the weight of his insecurities had started eating him alive. Months of being forced to question every move in his work now had him questioning every second of his life, every choice he made, every breath he took.
It had been years since Buck had felt so uncertain about himself, so unsure about his worth as a person. Growing up, the majority of his time was spent feeling like he was taking up space he shouldn’t; the rare occasions he didn’t question whether he belonged were the exception, not the rule. It had taken him so much time to figure out who he was, to realize that he was allowed to exist without feeling like it was a mistake that he did. Finding his place in the 118, and in the family that came with it, had very quickly erased his insecurities about belonging. He’d found a real home in the 118 and its people so easily that it almost confused him why it had always seemed so hard before. At last, he was where he was supposed to be; he was who he was supposed to be.
But now?
It was like he was that guilt-ridden, exhausted, teenager on the brink again. Evan Buckley could no longer determine what was fact or fiction about himself, from whether or not he should be a firefighter to whether or not he was even worth having around at all. From the way his team behaved, he could easily imagine what the answer to those questions were. And therein lay his greatest fear: If he was no good as a firefighter, then what good was he period? Being a firefighter was all he had, this House and the people part of it, they’re all he really has.
But are they though?
Briefly, Buck allowed his thoughts to drift to the only other people in the world who still gave a damn he existed. He hadn’t seen his uncle or his cousin in months; Buck had refused to take any time off for fear of jeopardizing his standing at the 118 again, and he’d fobbed off calls and any attempts on their part to visit for fear of what they might figure out.
But as he sat on the roof of the 118 and tried to collect himself after another round of the crew’s negative comments about his efforts at the apartment fire they’d just tackled, Buck figured—at this point—he didn’t have much else to lose. He looked down at the glittering pavement well below where his feet dangled in the air and thought bitterly that he technically did still have something he could lose. The dark though made him shiver violently, and as he looked out across the rooftops of LA at the last of the setting sun, his eyes watering slightly from a combination of the bright light and his own sorrows weighing on him, he hesitated for only a second before sliding his phone from his pocket and dialing the familiar number.
Over 2,500 miles away, Owen Strand felt the familiar vibration of his phone in his pocket. While it wasn’t unusual for him to get calls later in the evening, tonight was not a night he expected to hear from his House. The crew knew where he was, and he was certain only the direst of emergencies would have them disturbing their Captain right now.
That left only one person who could be calling; Owen just wasn’t sure how he was going to tell him what happened.
Again.
Yanking his nearly dead iPhone from his pocket, Owen briefly confirmed his suspicions about the caller’s identity before answering with a soft, “Hey, Evan. Listen, I’ve gotta tell you someth-”
“Uncle Owen,” the cracked, broken sound of his name coming from his nephew’s side of the phone gave him sudden pause. It had been a long time, years in fact, since he’d last heard the kid sound so defeated, and the pain Owen heard beneath the two words sent a spike of fear through his chest that he knew he couldn’t blame on his recent medical diagnosis.
The sound of sobs croaking from somewhere deep in Evan’s chest, coupled with harsh, panicked breaths had Owen sitting up in the uncomfortable hospital chair, his eyes sweeping over the form of his peacefully sleeping son. Afraid that he’d wake TK, Owen gently rose from the chair and stepped outside into the hall, keeping an eye on his boy through the window. “Evan, what’s wrong? Talk to me, kid, are you alright?”
“Uncle Owen, I…I think I need your help.”