Hello!
I got a new chapter for you. Not my longest, but it has some juicy parts to it.
I will pre-warn you that there is no Kelly/Buck scene this chapter, but don't worry, i will promise a scene next chapter.
Let me know what you think! I love reviews.
Chapter 9:
Aftermath
Los Angeles
Chief David Hernández is exhausted both mentally and physically, feeling like he has been running on empty since Firefighter Evan Buckley resigned. Bring up the very name earns a woeful sigh from him and a mixture of bitter emotions among the white shirts at city hall. Some are extremely glad the lawsuit menace is gone without dropping a single dime, while others don't care. Firefighters quit every day for a multitude of reasons, and there's no reason to bat an eye, even if it's Buckley. Yes, there're a few that do question his sudden departure. Though, they're more worried about another lawsuit due to a likely hostile work environment shaped from the lawsuit than Buckley's emotional turmoil caused by the said hostile work environment. Yes, as a Chief, he will do anything to avoid a lawsuit, but as a firefighter, he won't stand for any cruel treatment of someone who puts on the uniform.
After the first conversion with Captain Nash that went nowhere, he has been keeping a very close eye on the house, which he has been cleared about with Nash. If the Captain was originally upset by it, it didn't show, though it, at the time, could've been masked by the shock of learning Buckley had resigned. However, Nash's cold stiff form has not changed in Hernández's weekly visits to the 118. He isn't sure if it's because of his presence—his presence jarring after a while-, or if this house is always this tense. Hernández lends toward the later as the rumors started after the lawsuit with the latest ones being completely damning.
"Captain Nash," Chief Hernández greets when he states through the hanger doors.
The Captain, a permanent frown on his face, appears to have been waiting for him at the front of the trucks with the clip board in his hands. "Chief Hernández, is it time that time of the week already?" He asks with a smile, though his tone suggests otherwise.
Hernández's eyes leave Nash and bounce around the station, taking note of the 'problematic' members. There're quotation marks around problematic as he doesn't have proof, only rumors, but judging by the stiffness in the air, there's no denying that something happened. It's a hard contrast to what he has heard about the 118, a family house, a joyous house. The rumors coming out of his house are both unflattering and disheartening. "It is." If it was any other house, he would've responded with some playful jest, but it isn't, and he isn't in a playful mood. "Is everything okay, Captain?"
Nash twists his head slightly to the left, his eyes going to Firefighter Eddie Diaz who's currently in the gym taking out his anger on a punching bag. Sweat lines his skin and his heavy breathing rebounds off the walls. "Yea, everything is good. Just been a stressful morning."
That draws Hernández's attention, because before he stepped into this firehouse, he checked 118's call list for this morning. Unless it has changed in the last hour, the 118's sirens have not rung this morning. Why would it be a stressful morning? "Anything I can assist you with?"
There's hesitation in his voice when Nash replies with, "…Nothing we can't handle." He tries for a smile, but it's weak, barely an upturn of his lips. "Why don't we get started?" he hums, waving/pointing toward the trucks.
Hernández makes an 'after you' motion with his hand and follows him, as he continues his morning check list. While it isn't 118's work ethics that he's after, he pays close attention, noting everything. He listens to the conversation between Nash and his team. There's an underlining tone to each voice, a struggle to keep something down. There's an uneven, bordering on backtalk with the 'I got this, Cap' when Nash asks one of his firefighters the status on the saws and blades.
If Hernández thinks that's cold, it's the icily chill between Captain Nash and Firefighter/ Paramedic Howard Han that gets him every time. Months have passed and it has not dulled. There's not a disrespectful word between the two, but there's a frosty distance between the two that cannot be cross. Han, sitting in the back of the ambulance, keeps his eyes trained forward as he does inventory. "How's everything look, Chimney?" Nash asks.
Han doesn't twitch, not even when Firefighter/ Paramedic Henrietta Wilson rounds the back of the ambulance. "Good." He says, his answer short and sweet.
Wilson's eyes jump back and forward between Han and Nash before settling on her Captain. "Everything is good up front, Cap." At first, there was an icy barrier between Nash and Wilson, but it has lessened with each visit.
There's less tension in Nash's shoulder when she's around. "Good." He nods, checking it off on his list.
With that, they continue—Nash checking each task on his list while Hernández observes the fire house. Nash avoids Diaz like the plague, or rather, he expertly keeps Hernández away from Diaz, the anger rolling off him. So strong that it saturates the surrounding area, souring the air. There's a story there, but no one makes a peep about it. Everyone is extremely tight lips, which frustrates the Chief. From the rumors, he knows Diaz is at the middle of it. Like he has done for weeks, Hernández ponders this (as well as other things). Is this why Buckley left? Choking under the impenetrable wall of anger? Is this toxic anger the aftermath of Buckley leaving? Or is this a combination of both? Lawsuits will burn every bridge to the ground, this house an example of that. Why did higher ups agree to putting Buckley back in this house? They should have transfer him.
After finishing the Captain's rounds, Hernández and Nash find themselves in his office, the air less toxic. "I see things hasn't gotten better." Hernández doesn't take a seat, and neither does Nash, though he does put the desk between them. "I think it's time to change things up."
Nash keeps his eyes trained down on his paperwork. Swallowing deeply and painfully, it takes a second to answer for him to answer. "Not yet. The house just needs…" He searches for the right words. "…time."
This isn't the first time Nash has said it, though Hernández believes it less with each passing week. "And Diaz?" He has brought up Diaz many times. "Hitting that punching bag far too hard for my liking." He had pulled the file on each of firefighter in his house months back, and a few flags caught his eyes.
That gets Nash's laser eyes on him. "I'm taking care of it."
Hernández doubts he is 'on it'. "I'm recommending therapy. By recommending, I mean mandatory." He should've done this sooner. He has mentioned it before but left it up to Nash to decide.
"Understood."
"I think it's time to rotate the crew around."
Nash exhales deeply, his entire chest deflating. "I don-"
"I let this has gone on for too long. No house can function like this. You know this." They had this conversion before, but each time, it goes nowhere. Granted, this time, he has Firefighter/ Paramedic Howard Han's transfer request in his hands—or rather on his tablet. In his email, he mentions his attempts to hand it in to his Captain, but Nash has denied it every time. While he normally does not care for the love life of a firefighter, Han is—was?—dating the sister of Evan Buckley, who started all of this. It adds a layer to this.
For the first time, Nash's heartbroken exhaustion shines through his eyes. "I know. I know."
"No, you don't know." Hernández denies, coldly. His cold tones stun Nash. "You're lucky I'm giving you the option." Nash is extremely lucky indeed. Buckley left for a reason, and if he had proof of any misgivings preformed under Nash's roof, Nash would not be in this office. Right now, the chief just has his imagination to rely on as there's no formal complaint on the books. "If I had any proof of officer misconduct from you, you would've been removed from duty."
"I am aware." Nash freezes, his hand tracing the edge of his desk. "I-I only want what's best for the house," he replies, his voice cracking. Maybe, he is aware of how lucky he is, the dip in his shoulders as confirmation. "I-" He shakes his head, his words lost on his tongue. With a deep sigh, he takes his breath and continues what he's doing. "We just need to work through this."
Hernández watches Captain Nash, his footsteps heavy, move around his office, filing away paper work, for a few minutes, before he adds, "I received several transfer requests." He doesn't mention who. "As you have denied them all."
Nash stiffens, unable to mask the dejected look that flashes in his eyes. It ages him by ten years, putting bags on his face that weren't there seconds ago. "Time. We just need some time."
"This house is in trouble, Captain, and I don't think that's going to change any time soon. Time to course correct. If you cannot see that, I'm seriously doubting your ability to captain." While Hernández doesn't hold Nash (though he understands how the house can be tense after you sue your coworkers) to a high regard, he hasn't intend to be so harsh with the Captain.
Nash lets out a painful cry, "I know. But I can't…" He shakes his head. "We just need some time." He restates.
How many times is Nash going to mention time? Time cannot fix this. "I think it's time to knock it down and rebuild."
"Sir, I-" Nash doesn't get to finish, a loud, thick knock on the door interrupting their tense conversion. A heated argument has broken out between Diaz and Han, nothing physical, but it's only a matter of time judging by the raw anger in their shrieks, and they are needed on the floor immediately. Hernández follows closely behind Nash as they book it down the steps, the sight reconfirming his beliefs that it is time to shuffle these firefighters.
Wilson is between them, though closer to Han than Diaz. "Stop it! We're family here!" She yells.
"Family?" Han snarls, his voice screeching. "Buck's gone. Maddie, who's pregnant with my child, is barely acknowledging me. T-this house…" His voice creaks, his words drying on his tongue.
Diaz, his cheeks blood red, is removing the wrappings from his hands, his breathing heavy from his recent visit to the station's gym. He's attempting to keep calm, though not very successful. "You don't think anyone else is suffering or regretful? Christopher is devastated." His anger breaks for a moment, a shudder running through him. "It's Shannon all over again."
"That's your fault!" Han screams, his throat hissing in protest. No doubt he will be hoarse.
Diaz huffs through his nose and roared, "How is my fault?"
Han shots him a look of utter disbelief. "Maybe, you should look in a mirror. You were his best friend!"
Not one punch has been thrown, but Diaz staggers back like he has been. "I don't-"
While Hernández is interested in day-to-day interaction in the 118 and will learn more just by these heated words-, he does not want this to play out. He may not believe it's possible to fix the cracks in this house, but Captain Nash does, and if a fight breaks out, that hope is dead. "That's the enough," Hernández bellows, his voice echoing across the floor and bouncing off the wall. Everyone freezes, heads turning. It's one thing to get lectured by your Captain, and it's another to get a Chief irate. "What's the hell going on here?"
"A…misunderstanding," Diaz breathily chirps, as he nails Han with a sharp, pointed stare. Judging by the twitch in Han's right eye, he does not agree, but he doesn't say anything.
"A misunderstanding?" Hernández echoes. He resists letting out the irritated chuckle that has buried itself in his throat. Without Buckley's side, that's all he has been hearing lately, which gets old after a while, especially when the house is second from turning on itself. "You know what. Everyone, line up." He gives them each a heated stare. "Now."
Quickly, everyone lines up, each shooting embarrassed looks at Nash. "Chief Hernández, I can handle this." He says, just as the final person makes it to the line.
"I doubt that." Hernández repeats, as he steps to the center of the line, his eyes on Wilson. "This is a problem house, and as lives hang in the balance, we can't have that. For far too long, I've stood to the side, but I'm no longer willing to do that." His phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He ignores it, his anger coursing through his veins. "If we cannot curb this resentment, things have to change. This includes staffing for the 118." He clocks the cold stare Han shots at Diaz and Nash, something telling in their looks.
"Sir," Wilson shots out. "We just-"
"That's better not be an excuse." Hernández cuts her off. "There's no excuse for what I just saw. None at all. Personal shit needs to be kept outside." He pierces each of them with a 20 second penetrating glare, a 'I fucken dare you' stitched into them. "We have to be better than this. We must."
Nash clears his throat. "We will. This won't happen this again." He gives each one of his men a stare of his own.
Hernández doesn't believe that for one second. "I can-" For the second time, his phone vibrating in his pocket draws his attention. Now is not the best time to be taking a call, especially when he's dressing down row of firefighters, but being a chief, there're calls he cannot miss. "Excuse me. Let me take this." He states, as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. "I will only be a minute." He flicks the screen on, an unfamiliar area code stretching across the screen. Surprise graces his face as he brings the phone to his ear. "Chief Hernández." He huffs.
"Sorry, Is this a bad time?"
After taking a deep breath, Hernández shakes his head and hastily replies, "No. No. It's fine. May I ask who I have the privilege I have speaking to?"
"Chief Wallace Boden, Chicago Fire Department."
"Chicago?" Hernández recites, vaguely aware of the eyes on his back. While it isn't abnormal for fire department from other cities to call, it isn't often to get one so far away. "How can I help you, Chief Boden?"
"I have a former LAFD firefighter under my command and was told you were person to talk." Boden answers, his voice smooth with a hint of irritation. "Evan Buckley. Is now okay to talk?"
Hernández has to restrain himself from speaking Buckley's name aloud, especially when he's standing inside of the 118. He turns over his shoulder, his eyes falling on Han, Wilson, and Diaz. Now is not a good time, but he needs to get to the bottom of his Buckley business. "Yes, it's the perfect time. How can I help you?" he replies, wave at Nash to continue without him. Walking toward the entrance of the firehouse, he adds, "I know Evan Buckley well."
*O*O*
Chicago
Kelly has been distracted for the last two shifts. His mind sharpens whenever he's on a call, the sounds of siren kicking him back into gear, but the second he has a moment to spare, his brain glitches. Casey's words haunt him, his mind unable to comprehend that conversion from the locker room. He's aware that he has been… Okay. Yes, he has been over the top with Buck, but he can't help it. Those pretty blue eyes and that sheepish, nervous smile just brings it out of him. No one should look that sad, no one.
Yet…
Has he been inappropriate? Pushing far too much? Has he ignored Buck's boundaries? Has he been uncomfortable the entire time? No, that isn't right. Yes, Buck has fled from the room the multiple times, which Kelly doesn't take offense to, but Buck lets him call him Buck, Kelly being the only one given the honor. Plus, they cooked together, twice if you count the eggs. Surely, if Buck has been uncomfortable, none of that would've happened, right? Right? God, the very thought of Buck being physically uncomfortable by him makes him sick. He would never want to make anyone uncomfortable, especially Buck.
Kelly replays every interaction in his head, every single twitch, and every single conversion. He goes over every facial expression, though his mind errors on Buck's smiles. His blue eyes sparkle like a million stars when a true smile graces his face, and Kelly knows he has seen them. He knows he has! They're rare, but Kelly is already addicted to them…
Wait what?
This isn't the first time, Kelly's mind has… That he has… Okay, Kelly doesn't know how to explain. He never has an issue noting or commenting on someone's attractiveness, regardless of sex or gender. He can admit when a man is hot. Heck, he has said it to Casey a few times, but yet, his brain stutters when he comments on Buck's attractiveness. Everything just goes blank on him. He isn't sure why. Anyone who knows him knows he is a lady's man.
Unless…
Kelly's eye twitches. That can't be it, can it? Isn't he bit too old for this? He has been having sex with women for over 20 years and not once has he ever found any man sexually attractive. (Commenting on it's different.) Even now, he can't say he fancies men… Nope not at all. They don't do it for him… but then what is Buck?
Well, Buck is Buck.
Kelly's cheeks go red at the thought, his body relaxing, and he feels light. He doesn't know how to describe it, no words seem accurate. Maybe, this sexual… wait, is it sexual? God, he doesn't know… Did you forget your erection? Kelly shakes his head, his heart skipping just thinking about it. Maybe, he's just confusing his need to protect the floater with other thing. Maybe, he is-
Suddenly, there's hand waving two inches in front of his face.
Kelly blinks, his eyes focusing on the hand. "Shit?!" he exclaims, loudly, he leans back in his chair to put some space between him and the intruding hand. He, his heart in his throat, follows the arm up to his shoulders to the owner.
Stella, her hand now at her side, is looking down at him, a smile on her face. "I thought we lost you there for a moment."
"Um," Kelly sputters, his eyes scanning the apparatus floor. They aren't the only ones on the floor, but they're the only one at the squad table.
Without waiting for an invite, she takes a seat diagonally from him and drops right in, "What's going on in that ugly head of yours?"
Even if Kelly could explain it, he's not sure he would tell her. What's there to say? 'I'm not into men, but there may be something with Buck…' Kelly's eye twitches when he tries to define it. "Don't let Capp see you there. He will throw a fit. Squad members only." He throws on a cheeky smile though he isn't feeling it.
Stella playfully rolls her eyes as she gently places her hand on his, his eyes dropping to it immediately. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
Kelly, with a large puff of air, pulls his hand away, sits back in the recliner and folds his arms across his chest. He stares at her for a few minutes, struggling to find the right words. Stella knows him too well for a lie to work; plus, it doesn't feel right to lie to her. "It… isn't that I don't want to talk. I…" He sighs deeply. "I just don't know how I feel." He admits.
Her head bobbing up and down, Stella stares at him, her eyes taking him part inch by inch, as she muses over his words. "Well, when you figure it out, let me know." She pauses, her concern expression morphing into a playful but yet devious grin. "Then we can admire Buckley's ass together. Rather do it with you than Foster."
"Wait, what?" Kelly utters, his eyes large, his heart in his throat. "I—"
Footsteps interrupt Kelly's thoughts, and Capp's voice cuts through the air, "What is this?! That's the squad table, Kidd. Not cool."
With a shake of the head, Stella gets to her feet, internally laughing at Kelly's stunned face, as she rolls her eyes at Capp. Words are exchange between Capp and Stella, but Kelly's brain just freezes, barely registering Stella and Capp bicker at each other as they disappear. His mind is in a tailspin, thoughts of Buckley once again fill his head.
*O*O*
Being a floater, work isn't steady, though Buck does get called in a lot. At the very least, he gets one shift a week, which gets him by without issue as long as he budges. Buck, like a budging king, can budge the shit out of anything, challenging himself every day. However, a few days after being kicked back into the floating pool, he starts to go a stir crazy, having been stuck in his apartment. Buck 1.0 would've gone to the clubs and bars and got lost in the sins of the flesh, his head clouded in that sweet aroma that only sex can produce.
Real world problems disappear when a naked body is tightly pressed against you, their hot breath tickling your skin. When the sound of skin smacking against skin echoes in the air. When there' a layer of sweat on every inch of your warm skin. When your insides tingle and constrict in an uncontrollable heat, an explosion in your gut. Buck doesn't know if Heaven exists, but God, there're times where he believes he's there, his head rolling to the back in pure ecstasy.
Sex has an aura about it that draws Buck in, seducing and setting ablaze any caution his brain tries to conjure up. Even now, after knowing the aftermath and almost losing his dream job, it calls to him, it fucken pulsating to his core. He does everything to avoid that longing and falling back into odd habits. It's doesn't take a genius to understand why he fell into sex so easily. It also doesn't take a genius to know why falling into a stranger's bed will be a very bad idea, especially when he feels like a fraud. Granted, Buck can't lie and say that doesn't sound appealing.
Sex has always been his drug of choice. When he had an issue, sex. When he felt lonely, sex. When he felt stupid, sex. No matter the issue, the answer has always been sex. When any of his exes got mad, he would strip naked in front of them. It works good for any gender. It worked well in Peru with his violent, controlling ex-boyfriend when he had too much to drink. No, No, No. Adrian was nothing like Doug, nothing like him, and he refuses to compare them. To do so will be an insult to Maddie, who had fought every day she was with Doug. Maddie is a warrior. Buck is not. He is a coward.
"Stop it," Buck exclaims loudly as he closes his eyes and groans. He will not think of Adrian, who will only drag him down. His ex does not deserve anymore of his attention, the man throwing the fit to end all fits when Buck mentioned Los Angeles. So no, he won't waste another second on that man… Instead, you can think of a certain man with green eyes, his mind whispers. No. No. His heartbeat flickering, Buck protests that idea far too much, as a certain pepper haired man flashes before his eyes. Maybe, you should get into his bed.
Buck kicks his feet over the edge of the bed and, with his elbow on his knees, hides his face in his hands. No breathing technique can rid Buck of the feeling that eats at his stomach when he's alone for too long. This is his pattern when he is off the job for too long, his mind playing nasty tricks on him. Buck 1.0 crawls forward, whispering sweet, false promises in his ear. Buck 2.0, who has been devastated by the 118, cannot stand a chance against Buck 1.0 and is lost in the dark the pits of Buck's conscious. No. No. No. Sex is not the answer.
His heart pounding in his chest, Buck finds himself in a war with himself, the temptation far too strong, but he can't let himself go down that road. He'll be gone if he does… A familiar child's laugher fills his head, and it isn't until the goofy smile of Christopher fills his vision that everything Buck 1.0 related vanishes. Granted, the feelings that follow aren't so nice. While that boy will always bring a smile to his face, he can't prepare himself for the onslaught of emotion that hit afterward. There're a few things he regrets and leaving Christopher without a goodbye is one of them. Like with Maddie, there's a strong urge to reach out and reconnect, yet Eddie's angry, snarling face stops him in his tracks. If Buck faces Eddie now, he will fall apart.
With a wet, shaky sigh, he gets to his feet and precariously walks to the closet. Buried at the back of the closet beneath a pile of clothes is his tablet, loaded with his old email, photos, and contacts. For the most part, he ignores it, content at the knowledge that it's there, but sometimes—like today-, he pulls it out, looking through the picture of his loved ones, including the ones who broke his heart. Sliding through his album, he stops on one, and his eyes linger on Maddie's and Christopher's smile, tracing them with his fingers. "I can't be doing this," he tells himself. "Can't be living in the past." Buck isn't sure if he is ready to move forward, but he can't remain like this. He can't.
After returning the tablet to the box and reburying it beneath his clothes, Buck grabs his phone and heads to the living room. Exhaling a large breath, he falls into his sofa and hugs a pillow to his chest. Buck's sweaty hands fumbles the phone, leaving him to chase it a few times before he is able to get a handle on it. Once he has a good hold on it, he stares down at Lieutenant Grainger's number. Grainger gave Buck his number when he mentioned the opened spot at 41, and while he was going to pass, he still took the number.
Breath in. Breath out. Bre-. "Fuck it." He curses, pressing the dial icon. Knowing if he waits any longer, he will chicken out and fall back into that black pit he was in seconds ago.
A few seconds passes, the phone ringing, before the call connects. "Grainger." Comes Grainger's rough voice.
"Hey, Lieutenant. It's Buckley… Um, Evan Buckley." Buck speaks, his voice shaky. He suddenly feels like a small child asking for permission.
Grainger skips a beat before he answers, "Oh, hey, Buckley. How can I help you?"
When he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, his throat desert dry, and it takes a few wet breathes before he can muster, "I'm calling about the spot on truck 41. Just wondering if it's still available. I…um… interested." The words just pour out of him, his heart beating a million miles an hour.
One second passes.
Two second passes.
Three second passes.
Buck's heart drops, his breath disappearing. "I-is t-there an…um… issue?" He fumbles his words.
"It's no…" Grainger takes a deep breath. "No issue. We just decided to go in a different direction."
If Buck hasn't been sitting, he would've fallen face first into the coffee table, though his heart is already on the ground. Buck, lightheaded, is struck by how much he wants to be a team. No, it isn't firehouse 41 that he sees himself with, but man, being with firehouse 51 made realize how much he has been missing. He tells himself he doesn't need a family, being surrounding by them is enough.
"Are you okay, Buckley?"
Grainger's gentle voice snaps Buck's from his thoughts. "Yea, yea. I'm good. I'll let you go now. Thanks again." He ends the call before another word is said, as Buck's feeling too foolish, too stupid, to be able to handle a longer conversion. Once again, Buck 1.0 weasels itself forward, whispering sweet words into his ear in an attempt to seduce him back.
Buck's phone slips from for his hands, bouncing a several times before it tumbles off the sofa and lands under the coffee table. He makes no move to retrieve it, as he is hit by a string of intense emotions, emotions that won't stay quiet. He feels complete overwhelmed. He has no idea when he let himself hope, but man, it feels like someone has knocked the ground out from under him and he is free falling. He-
A sudden rattle at the door draws his attention, someone knocking rather forcefully. Sitting up, Buck tosses the pillow aside and narrows his eyes at the offending noise, his mind spinning. Besides the apartment kids pranking him, no one knocks on his door. After the second rattle, this time harder and faster, Buck gets up, crosses to the door, and pulls the door open mid knock.
Buck barely registers there's a person in front of him before a pair of arms wraps around him. He considers himself a big man, being over six feet, but he feels like a child in the man's arms as he easily manhandles Buck, rocking him back and forth like he is nothing. "Evan, my man." The man greets, loudly, as his large hand smacks Buck on his back, which knocks the very air from his lungs.
"Hey." Buck manages to breath out, as he wildly stares at the man. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up and recall who this is, the intelligence Officer had saved. The same one he spotted down the hallway a few days ago.
"Why of course I would like a beer." He says, more chipper than he has the right to be. The Officer doesn't give Buck the chance to say no and walks him back into the apartment. Buck can't even object as the Officer covers Buck's mouth with his own hand and kicks the apartment door behind him. His eyes met Buck with a hard stare, an undeniable warning in them. "I missed you too, Buddy!"
If Buck hasn't known this man is a cop, he wouldn't be so compliant, as he has major issue with people touching him without permission—though specific people had blanket passes. Going off the warning in his eyes, Buck waits a minute before he shoves the man off him. His hands in the air, the man goes easy and takes a large step back. "What the hell?"
The Officer puts a finger to lips and shakes his head at Buck as he crosses to the window and draws the curtain close after a quick peep outside. "Easy, Easy."
Buck shots him a dirty look. "Sorry. I don't like being manhandled in my own home." He bristles. Not unless it is a certain… No, No. No. A smiling Severide passes before his eyes, which earns an annoyed groan from Buck. He really needs to get over this crush. The crush is probably some a consequence of Buck 1.0 being so close to the surface.
"Sorry about that." The Officer takes a step back to Buck, burying his left hand in his pocket. "Just undercover."
"How does this involve me?"
The officer, with his right hand, motions to himself as if it's the most obvious thing. "I think you can agree we don't exactly fit in here, and considering they noticed you checking me out the other day, they were…" he pauses as he shrugs. "They're skeptical of me. Thinking every white guy is a cop."
"You are a cop." Buck replies, deadpan, as he is not excited about having this man in this apartment.
The Officer grins. "And you're not. See we're on the same page. Friends already."
Buck is seriously regretting saving this man. "I'm not sure I follow."
He rubs his hand together and smiles. "Oh, we're going to be spending lot of time together."
"What?" Buck just blinks.
The officer, still smiling, crosses to the couch and, without approval, falls right into it. He makes himself right at home as he settles back and rests his arms on the back of the couch. "We're going to be best friends." The smile drops from his face, rising his arm and touching his right index finger to his nose. "All kidding aside, your neighbor down the hall isn't the nice of guys."
Buck doesn't like how comfortable the officer is in his apartment. "What did he do?"
"Better you don't know." The Officer answer, which earns a very pointed glare from Buck. "These guys will shoot you for just looking at them wrong. I wouldn't be here if lives aren't on the line."
Buck's eyes go large. What the hell is this officer getting him into? But at the same time, Buck can't turn his back if lives are in danger. "There's are kids in this apartment! Why are you doing this here?" Buck huffs as he angrily points at the window.
The man gives Buck an unimpressed look. "Being new to Chicago, I'll forgive you, but we can't control where crime happens. This isn't Hershey, Pennsylvania. In certain areas of Chicago, just going outside at night will get you killed."
Buck, stiffened, tilts his head ever so slightly to the left, the name of his home town slapping him. "You looked into me." The idea scares the crap out of him. While he doesn't have a house—a family-, if knowledge of the lawsuit gets out, he will lose everything again. No one will want to work with him. That thought makes his knees weak.
"If we're going to be working together, I got to know who I'm working with."
"And we're working together why again, Officer?"
The officer smiles as he motions to his eyes. "You got to watch where you point those pretty blue eyes of yours. Those bad boys will get you in trouble." He pauses, settling once more into the cushions. "Anyhow, I had to come up with a story when they questioned me about you. So, me and you are the best of buddies, who has just gotten back in touch after a few years of not talking. This is why you were so surprised to see me."
That isn't the first time Buck has been told that his pretty blue eyes will get him in trouble, though he's sure the Officer doesn't mean it in the same way Eddie, Hen or Chimney did. "And how can I help you?" he asks, unsure of this plan.
"You're going to be the reason why I am in this apartment." He explains, pointing a finger at him. "A reason to visit. You don't need to worry about anything else… well, unless you are asked."
That isn't what Buck wants to hear, the thought giving him goosebumps, but if this saves lives, he'll do it. No one says he has a death wish for nothing. Knowing he's going to do it, he huffs. "So, do you have a name? Can't keep calling you Officer."
"That's a good man." The officer cheers. "Adam Ruzek, but you need to refer to me as Adrian Davis."
Buck folds his arms across his chest and fully taking the man in for the first time. He's sure the man looks better clean shaved, but the man, looks almost homeless with his hair and beard overgrown. "Adrian?" he hums.
"Not my first pick." Ruzek shrugs. "But not the end of world."
Buck's not a fan of the name, but at least, it's only a cover name and Ruzek look nothing like his ex. "So, I don't have beer." While some beer is cheaper than others, beer is a bonus he cannot afford right now, and he can't spend money on bonuses.
Ruzek gives him a skeptical yet amused look. "What kind of firefighter doesn't have beer?"
"One who's on a budget."
A second passes before Ruzek shrugs. "No big deal. Probably for the best. This way we can have clear minds when we come up with cover stories."
While Buck's not a cop, he knows enough to know that the best cover stories have some truth to them, which makes his stomach twist. He isn't interest in driving into his past. "So, what you want to know?"
Ruzek pats the couch next to him. "First sit and get comfortable."
Buck's eye switches as that is his apartment, but he complies and sits on the couch next to Ruzek, though keeping a healthy distance between them. He doesn't want to be doing this, but yet, after the phone conversion with Grainger and the string of rejection still in the air, a small part of him enjoys the company, even if he was manhandled by the man. However, while Buck plays Q&A with Officer Ruzek, Buck's forgotten phone lights up, the light blocked by the coffee table.
Author Note:
1) As someone who likes 118, it was painful to write 118 in a disarray, but I didn't want them to be back to 'normal'. I think the biggest issue with the lawsuit prompt is how fast writers 'flip' the gang back to normal. If you fly through the aftermath, the anger never goes away.
2) Did anyone really think I would let Buck go to Firehouse 41? LOL But anyone wants to give Buck a hug? I think Kelly needs a hug as well. Stella totally ships Kelly/Buck as well.
3) And who do you think is calling Buck?
Let me know via Reviews! I love all of the reviews you been leaving.
Side note, I am not okay with Casey leaving. It's painful to think about it.
