Work Text:
Buck was driving to work, listening to an oldies station on the radio. It was like any other morning in Los Angeles. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. There were a few sparse clouds in the sky but not enough to worry about any sort of wet weather during the 118s 12 hour shift. Buck was thankful for that. He was looking forward to a nice, normal day.
It wasn't like he ever hoped for an abnormal day at work. The last truly crazy day at work had to have been the day Ravi had jinxed them coming off his own shift. That was certainly a day to remember.
The familiar sounds of an acoustic guitar drifted quietly from the speakers. Buck, unable to immediately place why he recognised the tune, turned it up. As soon as the baritone voice of the singer began, Buck knew where he had heard it before. Bruce Springsteen. The concert he and Bobby had attended all those years ago when Buck was still a probie.
Buck was still blanking on the name of the song, but he smiled as memories from that trip floated through his mind. Surprising Bobby with the tickets after hearing his captain was a fan. The genuine smile that Bobby tried and failed to hide.
The almost week long road trip they had taken together because as it turns out, booking plane tickets between two of the largest cities in the United States meant that the planes were already fully booked. Even the ones that left or arrived ridiculously early in the morning.
---
"I mean seriously, it's LA to New York! I was so sure there would have been an available flight." Buck lamented over dinner at the fire house a little over a week before the concert.
Bobby looked on, exasperated. "When you said you had the travel situation sorted, I thought you meant you had already booked the flights."
---
They had talked more and Buck somehow managed to convince Bobby that a road trip to New York City was the best option. Buck had called it a "perfect bonding chance, Bobby. Captain imparting wisdom and life lessons on a probie. You won't regret it."
They took turns driving for a few hours while the other slept or talked from the passenger seat. It was Buck doing most of the talking but that was to be expected. Captain Nash was not known for being an open book about his personal life. Buck, however, had plenty of topics to fill the long hours driving.
When neither of them had felt like talking, they listened to the radio. In one of the long stretches of silence where they weren't in range of any radio towers, Buck connected his phone with Bluetooth. Bobby was initially hesitant but came around to the idea after Buck put on a playlist called "Midwestern dad music" and he was tapping the steering wheel along to the tunes.
Buck had ended up doing more of the driving but it was a pretty fair split. Bobby insisted they take breaks for "Actual food, Buck, not just crap from gas stations." which earned him a reluctant but light hearted grumble of "Yes, pops." from Buck.
That was the first time Buck had used the nickname, but it certainly wasn't the last.
---
Brief memories from the night of the concert flashed through Buck's mind. He and Bobby had gone to dinner at a two-hatted restaurant beforehand. And if both men got a bit teary eyed during a couple songs or while The Boss talked, both knew better than to mention it. It had been a good night.
As the third verse started, Buck was able to put a name on the song. It was one that Springsteen had played that night. 'My Father's House'.
---
He thought back to all the appointments after the ladder truck incident. All the times doctors and physiotherapists mistook Bobby as Buck's dad. It wasn't like it was an unexpected assumption. Two similar enough looking white guys, one significantly older than the other. The constant presence of "you got this, kid" and encouraging hands on Buck's shoulder.
The first few times someone made the mistake, Buck would correct them for Bobby's sake. One day while he was in an exam room and Bobby waited outside, he had overheard a nurse that must have checked them in a few times and recognised Bobby ask how his son's recovery was going and he hadn't batted an eye before telling the nurse about how well Buck seemed to be going and how glad he was. That had settled in Buck's chest. He felt…
How did he feel? Was it a good feeling? A complicated feeling. It wouldn't be too bad if people assumed that Bobby was his dad, would it? Bobby clearly didn’t seem to mind. He stopped correcting people.
And if over the 5 months Buck spent working-fighting-to get back to work, Buck had come to view the older man in that role, it couldn't hurt anyone if he kept those thoughts private.
He wasn't sure when picturing his dad's home had changed from a sterile two-storey house in Hershey to a warm and welcoming home in South Pasadena. But he was sure the lunches, dinners and family gatherings at the Grant-Nash residence had something to do with it.
One such occasion was listening to vinyl records with May and Bobby one memorable afternoon. After she saw photos of his hair from his Bowie inspired days, May had gotten Bobby a few records, including a "Best of Bruce Springsteen" LP for father's day. Buck had been the one to buy it but had chickened out and given it to May.
Unbeknownst to him, May had told Bobby that night it was Buck's present. A fact Bobby held tight to his chest alongside the macaroni necklaces and glittery handmade cards he had gotten from Robbie and Brooke.
---
I broke through the trees and there in the night
My father's house stood, shining hard and bright
The branches and brambles tore my clothes and scratched my arms
But I ran 'til I fell shaking in his arms
And that verse had unintentionally hit the nail on the head. Bobby's house was always there. A sanctuary he could retreat into to find peace (and a worried papa bear in the shape of a fire captain) when he was recovering from surgeries and ever since. No matter the hardships Buck was facing, Bobby was always there offering a sturdy hand when helping Buck stand after he fell, a shoulder to cry on when recovery and progress felt impossible. Bobby was always there for him.
Well, not always.
---
There was the entire month of October during what Buck had dubbed The Worst Year.
An entire month where Buck was alone. A month where Buck had no one. A month where Buck couldn't talk to any of his family friends from work. Or his sister. Or his best friend. Or the man that in the two years of knowing him had been more of a father to him than Phillip Buckley had managed in 20 years.
Despite vomiting up blood in the backyard of his not-dad's house and being put on blood thinners Buck still felt ready to get back to work. He just needed to fight the brass. And who better to help him do that than his captain! The man who was there for so many appointments and check-ups and saw the progress Buck had made in the 5 months since his leg was crushed.
But The Worst Year simply got worse.
It wasn't enough to hold his friend who had been stabbed while he bled out, or for his sister to be kidnapped, or to be in a ladder truck that had exploded and landed on his leg, the months of gruelling recovery, or a pulmonary embolism, or to almost be the reason his best friend's son died during a tsunami they were caught up in.
No. On top of all of that, the person who had been there by his side, had been the reason he couldn't get back to doing the job he loved. The only job he could make a difference and be useful. Being kept away from his family-the only place he mattered-after being given a clean bill of health by someone who was supposed to care about him? That had hurt.
The only time Buck had felt loved was when Hen gave him a cupcake on his first shift back after he dropped the lawsuit. Not that it was much of a shift. No welcome back party like he had come to expect from the 118 when one of their own came back from an injury. He usually helped plan everything. No, today was just cleaning, standing behind a table handing out candy to kids and not being able to talk to anyone.
When Bobby had sent Buck home early that morning, he felt hollow. Like nothing he could do now would ever be good enough to earn his place back with the 118. But after a brief misunderstanding when Bobby had gotten a call that Buck had cut himself and had rushed over to the hospital even though Buck was sure he hated him, things got better. The two of them went out for breakfast on that brisk November morning and talked for hours.
That had become a sort of ritual. Buck and Bobby going to a café near Bobby's house sometimes after a long shift. Sometimes for a birthday or while one of them was recovering from an injury. If Buck insisted they go there on a Sunday in late June when a lot of the patrons seemed to be men and their kids then that just happened to be when they were free.
---
I awoke and I imagined the hard things that pulled us apart
Will never again, sir, tear us from each other's hearts
Buck knew now of course, Bobby hadn't been holding him back because he didn't think Buck was ready, but because he wasn't ready to see another person he cared about get hurt or worse because of him. Certainly not someone who he viewed as a son. Even if he wouldn't admit that out loud to anyone for a few more years.
A tear rolled down Buck's cheek.
---
It had been weeks since the lightning strike, Buck had been cleared to return to work from a medical perspective. He just wasn't sure he was ready from a mental perspective.
Every single time Buck woke up, he ran through a checklist of sorts. First, time of day. He was usually less freaked out if he saw the dark sky out the windows. The bright light that almost seemed to suffocate him when he was in his coma dream. Blinding him. Second, text Bobby. After losing him in the coma, even if some part of his brain knew that the loss wasn't real, it had felt so real. So debilitating. Like there was no world without Bobby in it.
That was how Buck had woken up from his nap. With his sense of reality turned upside down and inside out. Panicked gasps escaped his lips while he fumbled with his phone which was easy enough to see in the room well-lit from the sun shining through the large windows of his loft. He hastily typed a message to Bobby.
Buck: good mornign how are you
Buck: hwo was your shift
Buck tried his best to steady his breathing while he waited for Bobby's response. Even though technology wasn't Bobby's forte, he always responded to Buck's check ins within a few minutes.
A few minutes soon turned into almost ten minutes. It never took that long. Buck's heart pounded in his chest as he started shoving his feet into his shoes not really caring if they were on properly.
Buck: jsut wanted to see if tou were home
Buck called. Voicemail. He called again. Voicemail.
Buck called a third time while he had his keys in his hand, halfway to his Jeep in the parking lot when Bobby answered.
"Buck? What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen? Are you okay?" Buck let the frantic questions wash over him. Just glad to hear Bobby's voice. He let out a sob. "Kid? You're scaring me. Are you alright?"
"I'm okay," Buck croaked out. "I just needed to know you were okay."
"I'm here, kid. I'll always be here. I'm at home."
Buck choked out part of an explanation saying he needed to hear Bobby talk. So talk he did. He told Buck about how when he had messaged his hands had been covered in bread dough that left him unable to use the touch screen. They stayed on the phone call the entire time while Buck drove to Bobby's, only ending the call when they were stood face to face in the entry way of the home.
As soon as Buck laid eyes on Bobby he all but collapsed into his arms, sobs that had subsided over the duration of the drive had restarted with renewed vigour. Bobby just held him in a tight hug, rubbing gentle circles on his back.
After a few minutes, Buck pulled back, wiping at his eyes. "Sorry. God- sorry, Bobby. I can go, I'll just-just go." he said quietly. Bobby didn't let him get far.
"Kid, please don't go. What happened? Talk to me."
And that’s how Buck had found himself sitting on the kitchen counter, softly kicking his feet against the lower cabinets, occasionally stealing some of the vegetables Bobby was chopping for lunch while the loaf of bread he had started earlier baked. They talked about what Buck had really seen during his coma dream which explained the check in texts Bobby had started getting recently.
Bobby assured the younger man that as long as he had a say in it, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon but that Buck was welcome to message or call any time he needed to and he promised to always answer.
As the months passed, the check ins became less of a panicked need to know that his dad friend was okay and more a casual ritual. Every time Buck or Bobby woke up if they weren't on shift together, they'd shoot off a "Good morning" text.
Or a "good afternoon" text as it often ended up being when shifts left them with less than normal sleep schedules.
Then Bobby and Athena's home was burnt down and Bobby's heart had stopped for 14 minutes.
14 minutes where Bobby was dead. 14 minutes where the closest thing to a father Buck ever had was dead. 14 minutes and Buck only found out after the fact. 14 minutes where the world had ended and he had just being going about his day like normal.
That seemed to have made Bucks nightmares come back. Before that, it had been months since he'd dreamed of that reality where he could fix everything but the one thing that mattered the most, over a year since it had been so bad he couldn't calm down until he saw Bobby in person.
But time moved on. Bobby made a full recovery. He was okay. That's not to say the nightmares stopped but they became less frequent again.
---
Buck made a left turn, almost at the fire house but not paying attention to his driving. He had made the journey from Eddie's house-his house now-enough times over the years that the route was second nature. The sombre voice of Springsteen filled the car as the next verse started. It hadn't been all that long since his most recent visit to Bobby and Athena's house. It hadn't been long since it was rebuilt after the fire. Only a few weeks.
Buck's heart stuttered at the thought.
---
Buck pounded on the front door of a house that was once familiar. Buck paid it no mind, the fire hadn't left much of the original furnishings to rebuild with. What he was focussed on was the several unanswered calls to Bobby. Bobby had never taken this long to reply or answer the door.
Just as Buck had started to think about how upset Bobby and Athena would be if he broke into their brand new home, the lock clicked.
"Bobby." Buck breathed, relieved as he stumbled forward, ready to hug the tall man who had opened the door when a firm hand pushed him back.
"What do you want? Why are you bothering my family?" a harsh voice asked. Much harsher than Bobby's had ever been talking to Buck even when he was a reckless probie.
"I'm looking for Bobby?" Buck said though it came out more like a question. He tried to peak around the partially opened door. The man closed the door further, blocking Buck's view.
"Sorry, man. The woman we bought this place from said her husband had passed away."
And oh.
That's right.
Bobby was dead.
Buck had watched helplessly as Bobby took off his mask.
Blood dripped from his nose as he told Buck he loved him.
Bobby loved him.
And Buck hadn't said anything back. He hadn't ever told Bobby what he meant to him. Now he would never get the chance.
Bobby was dead.
Buck wasn't sure what happened after that or how he'd ended up at the café near Bobby's house. The café near nothing. It wasn't Bobby's house anymore. Bobby didn't have a house. He was gone. He was gone and Buck would never see him again.
He sat in his truck, hands numb on the steering wheel, staring at the place that he and Bobby had spent so many hours. So many hours but had Buck ever said anything that mattered in all that time? How could he have had all those years with Bobby and never gotten the courage to tell him how he saw the man?
Bobby was dead.
Bobby was dead.
Buck's dad was dead.
---
I walked up the steps and stood on the porch
A woman I didn't recognise came and spoke to me through a chained door
I told her my story and who I'd come for
She said, "I'm sorry, son, but no one by that name lives here anymore"
Buck sat in his truck out front of the 118 fire house. He didn't know when he got there. The soft sounds of a harmonica falling on deaf ears as he held back his tears.
All he knew was he had to be there for the rest of the team. It's what Bobby had wanted. He wanted Buck to be strong for the rest of their family.He couldn't cry. He couldn't breakdown. He couldn't spiral.
He had to be useful. He had to matter.
It's what Bobby wanted.