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The day goes to shit so fast his head spins.
"You have the wrong guy!" The handcuffs close tighter around his wrists the more he twists. The bruising grip on both of his arms tells him they're really not fucking around and this is not a joke.
"--say can and will be held against you--"
"There has to be some sort of misunderstanding here--" Bobby protests.
"There's no mistake, sir. He was identified by the victim herself."
Hen and Chim exchange shocked, horrified looks.
"That can't be right..."
"Buck isn't like that!"
"--understand these rights as I have read them to you?"
"Bobby, I swear it wasn't me. They have the wrong guy!" The split second of uncertainty on that face shakes him to the core and is burned into memory as officers drag him away.
Before he knows it he's in a cold interrogation room staring at a blank-faced detective. She's fairly young, maybe Maddie's age, but there's a tell-tale glint of rage in her eyes that has him shifting in his seat.
"I keep telling you, you have the wrong guy. I haven't--I didn't do what you're accusing me of! I have a girlfriend!"
The detective smiles. It's unfriendly.
"Evan Buckley, right?"
He hesitates, because her tone is off. "Right."
"26 years old? Pisces?"
He swallows, confused about the last, but nods his affirmative.
The detective hums, and then her smile drops.
"Where were you yesterday between the hours of seven and eight PM?"
He hesitates again. "I was at home."
A gleam of triumph mixed with disgust and that ever present rage.
Unease blooms into a low panic.
"Anyone at home with you, Evan?"
"No," he says tightly. "I don't understand--"
A knock on the door before it opens. A man sticks his head in and gestures to the detective.
"I'm in the middle of something," she says testily.
"Kid's lawyer is here."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. He has a lawyer?
The knowledge that Bobby believes him enough to hire a lawyer repairs something inside him that he hadn't known had cracked. Even if said lawyer is looking at him in pure disbelief.
"I did not rape anyone," he says through his teeth, struggling not to yell.
"Kid, I can't help you if you're not telling the truth."
"I am telling the truth."
"Okay, let's walk back then. Why did she accuse you?"
"I don't know!" He bursts out, frustrated beyond all belief. He goes to run a hand through his hair, but the clink of cuffs and yank of his attached wrist has him dropping it with an aggravated huff. "I'm in a relationship. I would never cheat on my girlfriend and if I was out with anyone last night it would be with her! But I wasn't, because I was at home."
The lawyer blinks, and then scowls.
"Evan--"
"My name is Buck!" He doesn't quite snarl. The lawyer is unimpressed.
"Kid, listen, your alibi is not looking real good right now. It doesn't matter to anyone whether you have a girlfriend or not. What matters are the facts, and fact is that Emily Harper was checked into the hospital last night after she was raped and beaten nearly to death. She named you, Evan Buckley, an LAFD firefighter, before she lost consciousness. She hasn't woken up since."
He stares, stunned, because that's horrible, but what the fuck?
"Who the hell is Emily Harper? I don't know anyone by that name! You're my lawyer, aren't you supposed to believe me?
The lawyer sighs and rubs his temple.
Buck scowls, but there's panic clawing in his throat again because who is this chick and why is she accusing him? He takes a deep breath.
"Look...isn't there--isn't there DNA or something that they can test, because I can promise you it won't be mine." He racks his brains. "And--and what about security footage? Are you making sure that they're getting it if there is any?"
The lawyer stares at him, expression unreadable, and then straightens.
"Okay. Okay, kid. I'm going to go and make sure they do their jobs, alright? In the mean time, you're still a suspect and they're going to hold you for the full forty-eight hours." He stands. "Don't break my heart, Buck."
Buck straightens, mouth set in a firm line. "I promise you. I did not rape that woman."
He's a jittery, sleep-deprived mess of anxiety by the time his lawyer comes back the next day accompanied by the female detective, practically vibrating where he stands when the holding cell door opens.
"Mr. Buckley, you're free to go."
Disbelief, relief and hope war in his chest.
"I...I am?"
"You are," she says evenly, but doesn't add anything else.
He frowns.
"The woman--Emily...is she okay?"
"She will be."
"Why did she--" he stops, uncertain, when the detective shoots him an impatient look. The lawyer pointedly clears his throat, looking entirely serene when the detective glares at him.
"Ms. Harper woke up approximately two hours ago. She admits that while you were supposed to meet at her home, she didn't actually see her attacker. Further access to her emails shows an address listed under a new suspect that we're in the process of apprehending."
She crosses her arms. "We're still waiting on forensics, however. Do not leave town."
The lawyer pats his shoulder. "Come on, son. There are people waiting for you."
He can't leave fast enough.