Hello!

I would like to mention this will be a slow burn. Did I intend for this to slow burn when i started? No, but Kelly got to realize he isn't 100% straight, and Buck has to realize that 51 isn't like the 118.

I hope you like the chapter. Let me know what you think.


Chapter 3:

Damn Buckley


A few months ago

Not one cloud lines the sky, the sun's intense rays stretching far. Sunglasses are a must. The heat is unbearable, though not dreadful when you have your foot on the gas going 60plus miles per hour. The wind feels wonderful against the heat in Evan Buckley's cheeks, and it almost numbs the pain, almost. If this day had been any other day and not the day he left LA, it would've been perfect, but now, it's a far from perfect day. It's the day he left his home.

Buck, a restlessness deep in his bones, doesn't know where he's going or what his future plan is, and he just drives. His mind in a fog, he picks a random direction and takes off. For the first three hours, the music is on blast, the windows rattling. He can't tell you what he's listening to, can't tell you the genre or the style. He can only tell you it's deafening, loud enough to drown out his offending toxic thoughts. Without the melody, he might've listened to these dangerous thoughts and turned around. His doubts are screaming in his ears, demanding he go back and beg for forgiveness.

At hour 4 of driving nonstop, his hands wrapped tightly on the steering wheel, he stops for gas and some gas station food. Oh, the joy. With the engine—and by extension, the music- off, the earlier misgivings are back, though seemingly dimmed by the distance and smell of stale food, which tastes better than it has any right to. Topping off his tank, he chews on his odd tasting jerky and finally allows himself to contemplate his next move. He hasn't been thinking about his final destination when his tires hit the road, but it might be beneficial to have a place in mind. Several places to avoid come to mind. Top of the list is his parents. He has no interest whatsoever in visiting them in Pennsylvania. His distant, cold parents would just make it worse.

But then where?

This isn't the first time he has jumped into his Jeep and drove off without a second thought, though he hasn't expected to be doing it again. While he enjoyed and cherished every memory from his trip around the world, he doesn't want to do it again, and yet, here he is. He wants this 'phase' of his life to be over, needs it to be. Maybe, it's because he has tasted the good life: friends, family, the perfect job, etc. And everything else feels wrong.

With a violent shake of his head, he tosses away his now empty bag of jerky in the trashcan by the gas station front door, and a pamphlet in the window catches his eyes when he steps away. He freezes in his spot and turns back, his mind spinning. While he isn't a fan of pamphlets, he may be able to gain some inspiration from them. His eyes pass quickly over them, only lingering on one for a second. Buck, biting his lip, pauses on one, though he isn't sure why this specific one catches his attention, as there are four rows of pamphlets. Each shows a different outdoor scene. However, the number 66 jumps at him.

He fingers the top of the pamphlet, his eyes glued to the curvy cartoon road on the cover. Though he has not taken it from the rack, he stares down the centerfold, some of the attractions popping out to him, and in that instant, his path becomes clear. Instead of picking a single location, he decides to drive Route 66, the famous highway, to the end of the line. Or rather, to the beginning of the line since he's starting at the end. While he's working with limited funds, driving this historic road might bankrupt him, but it gives some peace of mind as it gives him something to focus on.

With his phone crack, he buys a cheap flip phone, a US State map, and additional snacks for the road and heads back to his Jeep. At the driver side door, he glances over his shoulder in the direction of Los Angeles one last time. Though the city is no longer visible, he lets out a deep dry sob, which shakes him to the core and paralyzes him for a moment. His very breath is stolen from his lungs, his chest struggling to expand. Tears threaten to fall, and it takes everything in him to suppress the shudders that tremble through him.

"Stop this," he hisses at himself. His former ex-friends/family do not deserve his sadness or his pain. "Stop this." Not allowing himself to second guess himself anymore, he jumps into the vehicle, tosses his bags onto the passenger seat, and takes off down the road, his foot pressed to the floor.


*O*O*


It's late in the day when Buck arrives at the Grand Canyon, the sun already setting. After arguing with himself he can't sleep in his car in the middle of the desert, he stays at the cheapest hotel in the area with plans to visit the Grand Canyon in the morning. Buck sighs as he stands at the front of the bed, refusing to put too much thought into the hotel beds. Eyes closed, he lets gravity take over and falls backward into the crappy bed. He could not get comfortable no matter what he does, but he doesn't get up. He squeezes his eyes shut.

As soon as the sun's rays break into the room and stretch across his face, Buck is up—not that he got a restful sleep due to nightmares— and is ready to go. There's a smile on his face, though he's happy. Just put one front in front of the other. Though the food may not be the tastiest, he loads up on the free breakfast, stuffing food into his mouth, and heads to his jeep. Without another traitorous thought, he makes his way to the Grand Canyon, the main tourist entrance.

Thanks to the early hour, Buck's one of the first people there, which he is eternally grateful for. Being alone at a hot tourist attraction draws too much attention, and he doesn't have the energy to deal with people. Ignoring the stares, he walks along one of the trails—beginner level one, he isn't stupid— for an hour before he finds a rock and sits. For the next few minutes, he, eyes burning, simply stares off into the canyon. It's peaceful, the wide-open view, and for a second, he forgets the rage and sorrow that boils inside of him, but reality comes crashing back when the wind slaps him and before he realizes what he's doing, he's screaming. Not a soft scream, but a full-blown scream at the top of his lungs. His pained scream echoes back at him like an injured, raging bull in a bullfight. No words are needed, his screams say it all. It has all of his anger, all of his frustration, all of his pain, and all of his fears. It's all there for anyone to see. While there's a chance he has an audience, he doesn't care. If there is, at least someone will notice his pain for once.

His voice hoarse by the time he stops, Buck sluggishly gets to his feet and walks back up the trail. He notices an older couple on his way up, and when he walks by, he knows they heard him when the husband gives him a pointed stare, but he merely smiles. His throat drying for a drink, he heads to the overpriced gift shop for a bottle of water, but the post cards by the registers catch his eyes, and he freezes.

Maddie pops up in his mind.

God, he misses Maddie.

While he hasn't already been super close with Maddie, they have gotten close in the last year and a half, and this—whatever this is— is killing him. But telling her wasn't—isn't an option. She doesn't understand what the 118 means- meant to him, what Eddie means- meant to him. Then there's her relationship with Chimney, and he doesn't want to ruin it for her, especially after fucken Doug. So no, he can't tell her. He can't burden her with the truth.

But God, he misses her.

Bucks, glum, remembers all of the post cards he had sent her in the past. When he couldn't talk to her, those postcards were an olive branch, a lifeline. While she never responded to him, it gave him a peace of mind when he sent them. Fuck it, he curses in his head and grabs one, though he has no idea what he's going to write on it.


*O*O*


Present

Buckley, in uniform, is on the apparatus floor by the time Kelly rolls into the Fire house and already has his hand on Truck 51's saws and tools, which are laid out in front him by size. On the smallest saw, Buckley has the blade off, performing standard maintenance, and once again, Kelly is amazed by his diligence. Also, how early did this man get here? It looks like he has been here for at least an hour. No! Kelly shakes his head, knocking that thought out of his head. The Floater is the floater and not his business.

Kelly heads to the locker room and waves passing helloes to those around him. Seeing most of second shift already in uniform, he knows he's one of the last ones to roll in, though still early. He blames the night before for being one of the last ones in, but that's a story for another day. In the locker room, Herrmann and Mouch, who are in the process of getting dressed, chat away, hands waving in the air.

"Severide," Herrmann greets when he sees him.

"Mouch, Herrmann," Kelly greets with the nod of his head on his way to his locker. The two go back to lively chatting—the topic unknown, though Kelly can figure it out if he wants to. He doesn't want to. Yet, he stares at them for a moment, observing their friendship, before his eyes drop to his pad lock. His traitorous mind wandering against his will, he fumbles over the dial, the metal cold to the touch. The conversion from a few days ago floats to the forefront of his mind. His sweaty fingers feel like sausages as he fails to enter his combination, Buckley's face in his mind's eyes. He drops the lock a few times before he lets out a heavy sigh. He might as well say what is on his mind. "So, I see Buckley is already hard at work, doing a morning check on the tools and topping off the gas in the saws." He speaks, shaking his hand for a second. What is wrong with me?

Herrmann glances up and hums. "That guy is efficient." He says it as an afterthought before he turns back to Mouch.

"Ritter, better step it up." Mouch laughs.

"I don't know how I feel about a Ritter/Buckley showoff." Herrmann hums. "You think I charge for that?"

Kelly shakes his head off as Herrmann and Mouch jokingly plan it out. After the third attempt, he is able to unlock his lock and open his locker. By the time Kelly pulls his Lieutenant polo over his head, Mouch and Herrmann are gone, leaving him to his thoughts.


*O*O*


After a light breakfast, Kelly settles in at the squad table and attempts to read today's newspaper, preferring paper under his fingers than a cold tablet. Attempts is the keyword, because his eyes keep drifting up without his permission and toward Buckley every few seconds. In his tight shirt—why is Buckley's shirt so tight? Especially around the arms?-, Kelly isn't the only one eyeing the Floater. Foster has been eyeing him as well, chatting away with Brett and Kidd. Kelly has no idea what they are chatting about, but they are laughing, peeping up at the Floater.

A few minutes later, Ritter appears, a waffle between his lips. Herrmann must've said something as Ritter joins Buckley in the trenches. Kelly isn't sure if Casey had ordered Gallo as well, but Gallo is right there next to them, chatting away as he checks Engine 81 gear. Buckley, silent as always, is not adding to the conversion, but he keeps glancing up, following them with his eyes. Even from the squad table, Kelly can see something simmering under the surface.

Stop it. Kelly shakes his head and turns his attention to the rest of squad 3. Capp and Ferraris are checking their gear, while Cruz messes around with another one of his inventions, a follow up to his Slamigan. Kelly, unable to sit still, pushes up to his feet and loudly announces, "Drills. Get up."

All three heads pop up and nod. "Yes, Lieutenant."

A sharp, playful laugh cut across the apparatus floor, drawing Kelly's attention. This house isn't known to be quiet, but it surprises him at times. He glances over his shoulder toward Buckley, Gallo and Ritter. Gallo wraps an arm Ritter, who dramatically rolls his eyes, and shakes. Buckley's face is strained, not in anger; rather, he is struggling to hold his neutral expression. It almost looks painful.

"You okay, Severide?" Capp asks, noticing his Lieutenant go stiff.

Shaking his head, Kelly replies, "Yea, now get off your butts."


*O*O*


A stopwatch in hand, Kelly runs his team fully geared through an obstacle course, time. No one's skills on Squad are lacking, but there's no denying Cruz's abilities and drive as he is currently holding the best time. In true Joe Cruz fashion, he's gloating over it with some goddy dance movies. "Keep it tight," he yells as Ferraris pulls a dummy through a 'window' which is just a wooden frame made from two by fours. "Good," he shouts when Ferraris drags the dummy across the 'finish time'. "Time."

Ferraris, his heart pounding and sweat pouring down his face, drops to his knees and rips his mask off. "Time?"

Kelly grins and holds up his top watch as if Ferraris can read it. "Sorry, Tony. Cruz still has it." Cruz does a little happy dance in the background.

Capp shots Cruz a playful dirty look and steps forward. "Let me try again."

"Won't beat me," Cruz teases, pointing a sharp finger at Capp.

"Want to bet?"

Cruz takes a side step toward Capp, his eyebrow raised. "What you got?"

With a soft sigh, Kelly rolls his eyes as Capp, Ferraris and Cruz start to egg each other off, throwing out insane bets. While he wouldn't change his team for anything, he can't help but wonder how he has gotten these goofballs. Unable to take this over-the-top playfulness, he shifts away from them, and his eyes drift toward the apparatus floor. Kelly has to do a double take. Unexpectedly, Buckley is standing in front of the hangar bay doors, watching them run the drill. The Floater goes a deep red when Kelly and he lock eyes. Kelly smiles and waves. Buckley, his entire body stiff, bashfully returns the wave before suddenly turning away. Robot-like, Buckley awkwardly disappears behind a truck, though not before bumping into the truck twice. His eyes get larger with each clumsily step, and once more, Kelly is confused by the shyness and timidness. A man who looks like that has no right to be so bashful.

"Earth to Severide."

"What?"

"Severide."

Hearing his name, Kelly snaps back to his team. "Yea?"

Cruz narrows his eyes and follows Kelly's stare before his smile returns. "I think it's your turn," he replies as he snatches the stopwatch out of Kelly's hand and backs out of reach.

Kelly nails them each with a mischievous look. "Oh? You think you can order me around?! What do I get out of this?" he asks, his smile huge.

Before any of them could respond, the bell rings. "Ambulance 61, Truck 81, Engine 51, Squad 3. Factory Fire." Everything else is pushed to the side and forgotten as everyone dashing back to the trucks.


*O*O*


If Kelly could give this fire an emotion, he would call it angry, pissed someone dared to save its hostages trapped within. The flames roar up in protest when the team cut a hole in the roof, limiting the time to rescue those stuck inside. From his years of experience, when the smoke turns dark, Kelly knows they only have a few minutes before the building goes up, cooking everyone inside regardless of gear. Casey, after a stern warning, orders Squad 3 to check the offices quickly, having been instructed by the Floor Manager, via Boden, that two office workers, an accountant and secretary, are unaccounted for in addition to the four factory workers.

"Capp, Ferraris, door," Kelly orders, pointing to a door at the end of the hall. The two nod and make their way pass Cruz and him to the far door. "Cruz, door." He points to the door in front of them.

Cruz nods, and with his Slamigan, he forces the door open. "Fire department, call out." He yells when the door falls off its hinges. Sweat is pouring down his face, the heat unbearable.

Kelly scans the room quickly, straining his eyes. The flicker of the flame drowns everything out, consuming everything it touches. "There!" he hisses, spotting movement in the far corner. They, their heart thumping, rush over, clearing the debris as they go. Cruz heaves the chairs out of his way, while Kelly shoves the desk aside. When they reach the man, they quickly take note of his injuries, ensuring he hasn't been impaled, before they clear the hot rubble from him. The fallen ceiling tile breaks apart in their hands, the wood beams snapping. "Shit," Kelly curses, spotting the heavy metal beam laying across the man and pinning him to the ground.

"Lieutenant." Cruz calls. Having put down his Slamigan, he drags over a long pole, and without another word, he puts one end under the beam and pushes down on his end, Kelly jumping in behind him. The beam laying across the man shakes as it slowly inches up.

Capp and Ferraris filter back into the room, the sounds of their returns masked by the roaring fire. "The other room is clear," Capp yells. They cut through the room quickly, their eyes on the downed man. Without needing to be ordered, the two grab the man by the armpits and nod when ready. After one big push from Kelly and Cruz, the beam jumps and creates several more inches of clearance for Capp and Ferraris to pull. The man doesn't budge at first, a hint of panic surges. With each passing second, the ash in the air grows and the flames intensify. Time running out, Kelly and Cruz put all of their weight onto the beam, and luckily, it's enough. Capp and Ferraris tug again, and this time, the man moves.

Kelly let out a sigh of relief and released his grip on the pole. "Get him out of here." Capp and Ferraris nod, as they maneuver the unconscious man between them, each grabbing an arm and wrapping it around their neck. Kelly grabs his radio and says, "We searched the offices and only found one office worker."

The radio wails for a second, the lack of response worrisome. "I think we found the missing office worker," Casey, out of breath, finally replies over the radio.

"Good, everyone out now." Boden demands.

"Understood," Severide answers, his eyes meeting Cruz, who bends down to pick up his Slamigan. Without another word, they head to the door, his eyes still scanning as they go just in case.

"Does anyone have eyes on Buckley," Herrmann's frustrated voice comes over the comms a minute later.

Kelly freezes and exchanges looks with Cruz. "No." he replies.

"No." Casey replies, followed by a round of no.

Boden huffs into the radio. "Buckley, respond." Radio, met with dead air, wails for the second time. The next 30 seconds feels like 30 minutes. "Buckley." He calls again.

Kelly pats Cruz on the shoulder and gives him a head nod. No words are needed: We are going after him. There is no way in hell they are leaving a man. "Where was the last time you saw him," he asks.

"He was right behind me on the hose." Herrmann replies.

"Buckley, answer Damnit." Boden curses. The smoke is heavy, growing thicker with each passing second, and the visibility will be gone in the next 2 minutes. When that happens, a flare up is inevitable, and they don't have time to stand around and wait for Buckley to respond.

"I'm h-here," comes Buckley's shaky voice.

Kelly lets out the breath he doesn't know he's holding, though it's short lived. Buckley's pass alarm rings over the radio. "Where are you, Buckley?"

Buckley's breathing is labor, and every word feels like a battle. "Northwest end." He coughs loudly.

"What are you doing over there, Kid?" Herrmann shots out, concern laced in his voice

Again, there is a lag between responses. "T-there is a kid. 6ish," Buckley replies. Kelly doesn't have eyes on the Floater, but he knows something is wrong.

"Are you sure, Buckley?" Boden asks. A bit of doubt in the voice. This is one of the last places they expect a young child.

Buckley violently coughs. "I'm looking at him."

"Can you get out on your own power?"

For the third time, the radio goes silent, and it takes longer for a verbal response. The only thing coming over the radio is Buckley's labored, strenuous breathing. "The floor caved."

That is all Kelly needs to hear. "Cruz and I are almost there." The radio becomes background noise to Lieutenant, his focus on Buckley. "Just hold on."


*O*O*


The heat is excruciating, but Cruz and Kelly do not turn back. A layer of sweat covers their skin by the time they make it to Buckley, which they do in record time. It is like someone has pumped pure energy into his blood, but it vanishes when he spots Buckley dangling from a hole in the ground, his helmet and SCBA gone—the air tank still on his back.

Both dash to him, but when Buckley spots Severide and Cruz, he, concern lacing his expression, shakes his head. "The Kid," he croaks, his eyes on the table two feet from him. He struggles to keep his grip, his fingers digging into the floorboards. "The B-boy."

Cruz spots the boy hiding beneath the table, Buckley's SCBA on his face, and makes a dash to him. Kelly drops to the ground and slides to a stop in front of Buckley, who is fighting a losing battle. His grip is slipping. "I got you," he yells, as he reaches down and grabs the Floater by his turnover gear, clutching fist full of his coat. Kelly, the veins popping out in his neck, holds Buckley, giving him time to readjust his grip. Their eyes meet, a silent 'are you already' hangs in the air. Buckley, relief in his eyes, nods, and pushes up when he pulls Severide pull up.

It takes two deep breaths to pull Buckley up, and at first, Kelly doesn't release his hold on the Floater, his eyes glued to the blood smears on his cheeks. It takes Buckley gaging to snap Kelly out of it. Hearing his breath labored and shadowed, Kelly rips off his own SCBA and places his mask onto Buckley, who struggles under Kelly's grip and attempts to push off his mask. Being without clean air for several minutes, he can't fight off Kelly, who holds the mask tightly to his face. Using his free hand, he presses the button on his radio. "We got Buckley and the kid." He says, the air toxic and ashy.

"Good, now get out of here." Boden orders.

Kelly isn't sure how Buckley lasted as long as he did. "On it."

After a bit of shifting, Buckley's own SCBA is back on his face and Kelly's on his own. Cruz holds the boy to his chest, burying the boy's face into his coat. Kelly hooks an arm around Buckley to keep him up and his other hand is wrapped around the Slamigan. It's semi awkward with Buckley's bulky form, but once Buckley settles down, they sync up, their steps in unison. Halfway back to the entrance, Buckley roughly pulls away from Kelly, who doesn't fight, and exits the building on his own power.

The sun is bright, blinding them when they step out of the pitch-black factory, and it takes several seconds to adjust to the intense light. In that time, Foster and Brett had taken the boy from Cruz and rushed him back to the ambulance. Buckley, his breathing heavy, rips his mask from his face and almost doubles over, each breath painful. "You okay?" Kelly asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. Buckley peeps up at his hand, his expression unreadable. Kelly quickly pulls back his hand. "Buckley."

The Floater glances up. "I-"

"My son! My son!" The Floor Manager, panicked, yells as he sprints to the boy. "Is he okay?" he asks. Brett answers him, her response muted by the sound of raging water bursting from the hoses. Both Kelly and Buckley can feel the cold pray of water on their faces when they make their way to the trucks.

"You two okay?" Casey asks when he spots them. His eyes are the blood smear on Buckley's face.

"Yea." Kelly pauses. "What's up with that?" Kelly asks, nodding to the Floor Manager, who's pulling his hair as he climbs into the Ambulance.

"He forgot his wife dropped the kid off. He panicked when he heard Buckley found the kid." Casey answers, offhandedly. Casey's full attention is on the Floater. "You okay, Buckley?"

"Yes, Captain." Buckley replies, standing straight. His breathing, though still heavy, is no longer shallow, and, yet, Kelly can't help but wonder how much of this is shown.

Seeing no physical injury and not having the same concerns as Kelly, Casey orders. "Get back to Herrmann."

"Yes, Sir." Buckley jogs over to Engine 51.

Casey, as if he has medical training, is now giving Kelly a once over. With a hand out for Kelly to grab, he says, "Let's put this fire out."

Kelly grabs it and shakes. "Let's do it."


*O*O*


Two hours go bye before they are back at the firehouse, and each is covered in a layer of ash and sweat. Cruz mutters about jumping right into the shower and staying there for an hour. Kelly would agree, but if he doesn't do the paperwork now, it will drive him crazy and be torturous later, especially when all he wants to do is sleep. Years on the job, he has learned the sooner he gets the paperwork done, the better.

"Buckley," Brett, on a mission, calls loudly. There is no dodging Sylvie Brett when she has that look in his eyes.

Said man freezes in mid action of hanging his turnover coat. Buckley, looking like a damn Puppy, meets her stare. "Yes?" he asks, hesitation in his voice. Kelly watches from across the room as Brett, in a move that is pure Shay, crosses the apparatus floor, a stride in her step, and grabs Buckley by the arm. Buckley flinches on contract, but Brett doesn't let go and pulls him toward the Ambo. "What's going on?" His voice shaky.

"Just want to check you over," Brett says firmly but sweetly, her eyes dropping to the wound on his elbow that was hidden by his coat. Buckley, with damn puppy dog eyes, looks like he wants to argue but he zips his lips when he spots Brett's hard expression.

"Smart," Cruz replies from behind Kelly. "Fighting Sylvie never ends well." He chucks as he walks away, enjoying the fact that Brett has zeroed her attention to someone else.

Kelly watches Brett fuss over Buckley for a movement before he forces his glaze away and heads to his office. Beside dealing with paperwork, he needs time to process the image of Buckley hanging in a hole and the odd sensation under his skin from seeing it.


*O*O*


Paperwork, showers, two car accidents later, everyone is tired, grumpy and hungry. By group consensus, they decide to order takeout, and by some act of God, it's there 45 minutes later. No one waits for grace and forms a line, digging in… well with the exception of Buckley who is missing. Kelly hasn't seen the man since Brett has dragged him away for a once over. Brett deemed him fine with the exception of two cuts and let him go. Knowing the Floater, he is probably cleaning as that kid can't sit down and rest. Kelly barely—if at all—knows this man, but he knows this much: if you want Buckley to sit down, you will need to tie him down.

"I want to know how a man could forget about his kid." Herrmann utters, as he takes a seat at the table with his plate of food. "Oops, Honey, I forgot our kid in a fire."

"Well, he won't be alive long to figure it out." Foster interjects.

Brett lets out a laughing huff. "I kinda felt for him. His wife is totally killing him once they're home."

"Only this much though." Foster holds up her hand, using her thumb and index finger to mimic an inch.

"And to think the kid would be dead if Buckley hadn't spotted him." Cruz states before stuffing his face with pizza.

At hearing Buckley's name, Mouch glances around the room. "Where is Buckley?"

Several look up and glance around the room, their eyes staring down hallways and through windows. "I think I saw him outside," Stella answers first.

Gallo takes a comical whiff of Ritter, who leans away. "What are you doing?" Ritters asks, his voice high pitched at the end.

"I just want to know if we smell." Gallo replies with a shrug. Ritter gives him a wild, questioning gaze as he shoves Gallo away. Gallo, face fallen, looks like Ritter has slapped him. "What?! Why else would Buckley-"

"It couldn't possibly be because you two are smelling each other?" Casey interrupts, shooting them both a concerned gaze. The room breaks out into laughter, which drowns out Ritter's rebuttals. 'I didn't smell anyone!' Casey, though he hadn't been a part of Kelly's conversion at the bar, knows enough to guess why Buckley skips out of family dinner, and unlike some, he isn't going to force Buckley to join them.

"I don't think we need to smell each other to know we, firefighters, smell." Kelly offers as he gathers up a plate, though it isn't for him. He has no idea why he has the urge to make sure Buckley eats.

"Speak for yourself," Stella exclaims, joining Brett and Foster at the table. "I don't smell." Everyone laughs once as a group before they break into smaller conversations with their neighbors.

With a full plate in hand—ignoring any pointed looks directed at him-, Kelly walks out, heading toward the driveway. It doesn't take long for the Lieutenant to notice the hunched over figure at the end driveway. Buckley's back toward the station, he watches the cars drive by one by one. Kelly just pauses for a second, his eyes on the tension in Buckley's shoulder. It's like he's holding the weight of the world on his shoulder, and for a second, he ponders what thoughts haunt Buckley's mind before he chastises himself. Whatever Buckley's issue, it isn't his business. And yet, you have a plate in your hand, his mind whispers to him. Payment for feeding me.

Food for Buckley, Kelly's brain freezes on. He lingers for a second, wondering if he should just eat the plate himself, before the image of Buckley from earlier flashes before his eyes: a coughing Buckley struggling to keep himself from falling. The concerned, scared look will stick with Kelly for a while. Regardless of whatever he is feeling, he will not leave a fellow firefighter—a brother—alone in his grief. He shakes his head and forces one foot forward until he is next to Buckley, who is lost in his own head.

"Hey," Kelly greets. Immediately, Buckley, shoulders going stiff, winces and leaps literally two inches in the air. "Sorry. I can't seem to not startle you." he adds a small chuckle. How many times does this one make? He has lost count, but he will add one tally to the heart attack column.

"Lieutenant!" Buckley's large eyes drill into him, his shoulders relaxing. "I didn't see you there."

"Foods here," he comments, ignoring the palpable nervousness in the air.

Buckley's eyes drop to the plate. "Yea, I saw the delivery driver."

"And you didn't come in?" What are you doing, Severide? The Floater doesn't answer and redirects his attention back to the road. Okay? "Here." He says, holding out the plate.

Once more, Buckley is a deer in headlights. "What?"

Kelly is struck by the magnitude of emotions on Buckley's face. He's an abused puppy who is receiving love and care for the first time. "I got you a plate."

"You didn't have to."

"You didn't have to cook me eggs." Kelly shoots back with a huge smile.

Buckley's expression goes blank as if he's trying to think of a comeback. After a few long silent seconds, he finally settles on "Okay," as he takes the plate from Kelly. He stares at the pizza and salad for a moment before he stabs the salad with his fork.

Kelly hesitates for a second, eyeing the small twitches in Buckley's face as he brings a fork to his lips and takes a bite. "You don't have to eat out here. More than welcome to join us inside."

"I'm good." His expression falls. "Thanks for this." He nods at the plate.

Silence falls as Buckley awkwardly eats in front of him. Kelly fights the urge to sit down next to him and provide him company. It feels like Buckley could use a friend. "Okay, I'm going to get myself food before my stomach revolts."

"K."

Kelly takes a deep breath. "Unless you want some company." The words roll out of his mouth before he can process them.

Buckley, a heavy redness in his cheeks, glances at Kelly from the corner of his eyes. There's a struggle in his eyes before he goes, "No."

Kelly, stunned, tries not to take that personally. Though, he can't deny that the limited responses bug the crap out of him, but he leaves it at that and turns away. "If you change your mind, feel free to join us," he replies before heading back to the kitchen for his own plate. He feels Buckley's eyes boring into his back, and though he isn't sure why, he peeps over his shoulder. Their eyes only meet for a second before Buckley's head snaps forward, his eyes fixated on the road. Kelly has never met someone he can't read, which frustrates him to no end.

With a deep breath, the Lieutenant turns back to the firehouse, his hard expression slipping from his face, as he notices Casey, arms folded across his chest, standing at the bay doors. There's a knowing but inquisitive stare on Casey's face, the kind of stare that sends a chill down Kelly's back. How could stare cut him so deeply? "Matt," he greets when he gets within a foot of him.

"I have never known Kelly Severide to bring food to someone he isn't sleeping with." Casey replies, matter-of-factly. He is too smug about it.

Kelly's chest tightens, which he doesn't know what to do with. "Just repaying the favor."

"What favor?" Casey's eyebrow rises.

There's no way to describe what Kelly is feeling. He can only call it odd. "He just…" He starts, his brain failing him. Why is he so embarrassed to admit the truth? What is the truth? They had eggs. It isn't anything to hide. "Just a late-night bite together on shift. Nothing too special."

Casey stares. "The point still stands."

Kelly puffs out his chest and narrows his eyes. "I don't know. I think I brought you food once or twice, and I know I had never slept with you." He, with a smirk across his face, playful punches Matt in the shoulder as he walks past him.

Rolling his eyes, Casey follows. "Yea, but you wanted something then."

"And what do I want from Buckley?" Kelly asks, turning and nailing his best Friend with a grilling stare.

"I don't know, which is why I am asking."

Kelly lets out a loud, vocal huff, not giving Casey a response, as he crosses back into the kitchen. The questioning stares of his fellow firefighters fall to the background as he picks up a slice of pizza and stuffs it into his mouth. If he is being honest with himself, he could admit that he is avoiding Casey's questions because he doesn't know how to answer them. Kelly Severide has never been good with emotions and would rather stuff them deep down inside of him. Being remotely honest sends a chill down his chest. So for now, he will just eat his damn pizza and ignore the Floater for the rest of the shift. Buckley will be gone in less than 12 hours, and he won't have to deal with whatever crap he is feeling.

But yet, it doesn't take long before his mind goes back to Buckley and that sad, scared expression on his face.

Damn, Evan Buckley.


Author note:

We just need to give Kelly some time to realize LOL.

And did we see a blush on young Buckley's face? I can't blame him.

let me know what you think!