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10. Stranded
The last thing Buck remembers, when he surfaces, is jumping into the water after Christopher. He felt the water pulling him, washing him away, separating him from his kid… Eddie’s kid.
He surfaces, grabs a piece of driftwood that might’ve once been part of the boardwalk, and tries to take in his surroundings. Only he can’t, because Buck isn’t in the partially drowned streets of Los Angeles, or the wreckage of the pier. Buck is on a piece of driftwood with nothing but water surrounding him.
Fuck.
~*~
Eddie’s dead on his feet. Today’s been bad, end of the world natural disaster bad. He’s been pulling bodies (both living and dead) out of the water and rubble for hours now. His phone is fucked, he dropped it into the water and it’s fried now. He’d usually be worried, begging to use someone’s phone to call whoever is watching Chris, but he isn’t. Buck is with Chris, and Eddie knows in his bones that Buck would die for his kid. Luckily, he doesn’t have to. Luckily, Evan Buckley is far away from the pier, not in danger of getting a small cut that would kill him on his blood thinners. Luckily-
“Dad!”
Eddie’s blood runs cold. He’s been working at the VA hospital triage for hours, he must be hallucinating, there’s no way that Chris is here. Only he is, soaked through and shaking, held in the arms of a kind looking woman. Eddie doesn’t register the murmurs from his coworkers behind him, he just runs to his kid. He’s missing his crutches (and that scares Eddie more than almost anything. Chris’ crutches are his legs, they’re how he moves through the world) and his glasses.
The woman passes Chris to Eddie and smiles, looking worn ragged but joyful for this moment. “You must be Buck.”
The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows exponentially. “No, no I’m Eddie. I’m his father.”
She frowns slightly, brushing back Chris’ curls. Buck did the same thing this morning when Eddie dropped his son off. “Oh, he was looking for Buck.”
Somewhere behind him Eddie hears a sharp gasp from Hen, Bobby’s worried voice whispering into the radio, Chim collapsing to the ground. He ignores them, focusing solely on Christopher. “Chris, what happened? Where’s Buck?”
Chris’ little face crumples, tears streaming down his cheeks. “He took me to the pier. A big wave came, and he ran, and ran, and ran. He helped me swim, then we found a fire truck. He saved me, Daddy! And then he saved a bunch of other people. Then there was another wave, and I got knocked off the truck. I grabbed a light post, but Buck jumped after me and hit his head. I saw him float away. You have to find him! He saved me Daddy, now it’s our turn to save him!”
Nothing makes sense. Eddie’s world is topsy turvy, spinning too fast. He thinks he might be hyperventilating; he knows he’s shaking. Chris is crying, the sweet woman is trying to calm them both. Nothing makes sense until a firm hand settles on his shoulder.
Bobby stands stoically behind him, face set in a grim line. “Not here, Eddie. Let’s get Chris triaged first.”
Eddie nods, numb to the world. They get Chris triaged, he’s seen relatively quickly, but it’s determined he’s perfectly okay apart from a mild sunburn on his nose. “Bucky put lots of sunscreen on me when we were on the truck. He had it in his pocket!”
After an hour, Carla’s car rolls up to the VA. She looks almost haunted, picking Chris up for a cuddle almost immediately. She turns to Eddie, looking more terrified than he knows what to do with. “I can take him for as long as you need, Eddie. Just. Just try to figure out what happened to our Buck, okay honey?”
Nausea seeps into Eddie’s every atom. He swallows it back and nods. “I’ll do what I can.”
Next is Maddie, her panicked voice coming over the radio. “I made a friend; she’s been using her dad’s drone to help me look for survivors all day. She’s going to get down closer to the pier so she can search the ocean. I’m already looking at weather patterns to see if we can… oh god, he could be anywhere in the ocean. Oh my god, Evan.”
Eddie squeezes his hands into fists so hard that his blunt nails puncture the skin. The blood is soothing, familiar. Shannon had been covered in blood, when she died. Buck had spat it out less than a month ago, all over the Grant-Nash floors. Eddie knew blood, and he knew anger.
His wife had left him, four years ago. His wife had left him again, six months and 19 days go. Then again, permanently, six months and 20 days ago. Eddie was pissed at a dead woman, angry in his soul, but he could manage it. He could manage it because Buck was always there, always knowing what he needs before he needs it, always pouring water over the little fires that pop-up all-over Eddie’s life. Always giving Eddie the tools to put the fires out himself.
Somehow, Buck had made himself integral to Eddie’s very being. And now he’s gone, taken by the waves, both dead and alive until they find him. Schrödinger’s heartbreak.
“Eddie,” Bobby places his hand back on Eddie’s shoulder. He looks him in the eye, and Eddie shudders a little at how much he and Buck look alike. “Athena was able to help me commandeer a boat.We’re off shift, but I’m going to look. You don’t need to come with me but…”
“I’m going.” It’s not even a question, there’s no other answer to that. “We’re finding him. We need to.”
~*~
The sun has set, which Buck supposes is a good thing. He doesn’t have anything on him right now, other than his light over shirt, and an empty bottle of SPF 60 he’d shoved in his pocket to keep Chris from getting burnt. That was back when this was meant to be a good, fun day. Before.
He can’t think about Chris. All he can think about is Chris. Chris might be fine. Chris might be-
He can’t think about Chris.
He lays on top of the driftwood. It’s just big enough to hold him up above the water. He’s ripped apart his over shirt with his teeth already, using the little strips to keep the cuts on his arms and legs from bleeding too heavily. Now that that’s sorted, he just lays as still as he can.
Buck thinks he’ll probably die like this.
None of the cuts are clotting, they’re just sluggishly bleeding him dry. He doesn’t have any fresh water, no food, and no matter how strong the SPF, sunscreen won’t keep Buck safe from the elements.
He closes his eyes, and wonders absently if his parents would even go to his funeral. He thinks it would probably just be Maddie, maybe some members of the 118. Then again, maybe not. He’s not part of the team anymore. They’ve made that clear enough. He hasn’t heard from almost any of them since the embolism.
Except for Eddie, who no doubt hates him now. Eddie, who trusted Buck with the son who his whole world rotates around. Eddie, who sat in Buck’s bathroom on a stool and asked Buck to buzz his hair off, just so Buck felt useful.
The worst part, probably, is that Buck is okay with dying if it meant dying for Christopher. God, he hopes Christopher isn’t dead.
The buzzing in his head changes shape, becomes closer to actual buzzing. Buck peels open his eyes to see a little black flying robot in the sky. He tries to lift his hand, to wave or scream or cry, but he has no energy left. He feels drained, more tired than he’s ever felt.
He closes his eyes.
~*~
They’ve been on the boat for two hours, and so far, all Eddie’s found is dead bodies. Dozens of them. The part of him that survived from Afghanistan wants to pile them all on the boat, he wants to take them home, let them rest. Bobby shakes his head. “There will be recovery teams tomorrow, tonight we’re only looking for Buck.”
He doesn’t specify whether or not he thinks they’ll find Buck alive. Eddie doesn’t need him to. Eddie’s never been an optimist, that’s always been Buck’s job. Even depressed and out of a job, Buck sees the world as a brighter place than Eddie ever has. He’s not entirely sure how it’s possible. Eddie’s heard enough about Buck’s childhood to piece together that it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows.
The point is: Eddie’s a realist at best, a pessimist at worst. Today, when his son is traumatized after a natural disaster and his best friend is on blood thinners, today is Eddie at his worst.
He’s looking at another sallow face, praying to God he doesn’t see a birthmark, when the ship’s radio crackles to life. “Nash, this is dispatch. Do you copy?”
Bobby had asked them not to call him captain when he was off shift, Maddie (the dispatcher on the other end of the radio) insisted she needed to keep it impersonal until she knew one way or the other. “Dispatch this is Nash, we copy.”
Eddie holds his breath. The body in the water isn’t Buck. “Nash, we have a visual on Buckley. His coordinates are 33.696361, -118.975965. Our drone operator tells us he had his eyes open, but they’ve since been closed. She’s… Bobby she’s not sure if he’s breathing.”
The boat is already speeding as quickly as Bobby dares drive with the amount of debris and bodies in the water, presumably towards the coordinates. Eddie sits in the back, doing his best not to pass out. She’s not sure if he’s breathing.
The closer to the coordinates they get, the clearer the path becomes. Buck was dragged out into the ocean, farther away than anyone. It takes them a while, longer than Eddie’s comfortable with. He counts the minutes, tries not to think about how vital every single one is.
In the distance, he sees a sole piece of driftwood, and the body laid on top of it. They get close enough, and Eddie doesn’t even really remember jumping into the water. He just knows he’s swimming towards Buck, grabbing the side of the wood and paddling back to the boat. Bobby’s waiting, and together they heave Buck on board.
There’s nothing, nothing but the two of them waiting. Buck takes a shuttering breath, and there’s everything.
Bobby starts barking into the radio, starting the boat’s engine and flooring it. Eddie’s on Buck, all over him. He takes his vitals, checks his pupillary response, stabilizes his neck. Buck doesn’t wake up immediately. He’s sunburnt, badly enough that Eddie can’t tell if he’s pale underneath it. He knows Buck must’ve lost a significant amount of blood, Buck’s still fucking bleeding. There’s blood-soaked cloth that used to be one of his favourite shirts, the one Eddie thought complimented his birthmark.
Eddie is part of the way through checking pain responses in Buck’s toes, when he looks up to see blue eyes on his. Buck’s eyes are glazed over, like he’s not entirely awake, and the only thing he says is Christopher.
“He’s okay.” Eddie settles right next to Buck’s face, making sure he can see how honest Eddie’s being. “He’s okay, he says you saved his life.”
Buck’s lip wobbles. “I thought. When he fell over I thought that was it. I thought dying alone in the ocean was my punishment.”
When the first drop hits Buck’s face, Eddie thinks it must be raining. When the second hits, and Buck puts a hand on his cheek, Eddie realizes he’s crying. “You saved him. Buck, God, he’s my whole life and you saved him. You saved us. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d died.”
Buck hums, his eyes falling shut. “I’m so glad he’s okay. You have no idea, Eds. Fuck.”
Then a shudder wracks through Buck’s body, almost violent in its intensity. “I should probably tell you that I’m really cold. And on a lot of blood thinners.”
Eddie’s heart stills as he puts pressure on the worst of Buck’s wounds. “I know, I know. We’re almost there, you just hang on a little longer. Can you do that for me, Evan?”
He doesn’t know why he says it, Buck’s first name. It gets a small smile out of Buck though, so he decides it’s worth it. “I like it when you call me that. Makes me feel special.”
The boat jerks to a stop and Bobby jumps out, into the water to start transferring Buck onto dry land. Eddie follows, goes through the motions. Hen and Chim are already waiting for them, whisking Buck into an ambulance and driving off before Eddie can even think of getting in next to him.
Bobby pats his shoulder. “I’m going to go meet them at the hospital. You should go tell Christopher that we found him.”
And then it’s just Eddie, partially soaked in seawater and reeling with a sudden realization.
Oh, fuck. He thinks. I’m in love with him.