Hello!

Sorry this took so longer. I had wanted to get this out before Christmas, but I guess this is now a late Christmas gift

All mistakes are mine. No beta.

Your reviews will be my Christmas gift.


Chapter 12:

Yesterday's Traumas


Years Prior

Evan loves traveling the country and doing the oddest job—even the dirtiest ones, but after a year or so on the road, he needs more. He needs to be part of something more. He needs… God, he just wants something more. With his postcard conversations with Maddie one-sided and no parental relationship in sight, he has pretty much been alone and drowning in the urge to belong. He did connect with his co-workers whenever possible, but each felt off, the connection just fuzzing. He doesn't know how to fix it… Okay, he has an idea: being open and honest, but he has walled off his past, his traumas, and he doesn't want to even think about them. That pain has no place in his life.

For a while, he continues his way of life and does nothing, but when he walks past a recruitment center for the U.S. Armed forces, he stops, thinking he can do something good. Though he is clueless of who he is, he knows he wants to help people, and when he hears the reverent in someone voice regarding the Navy Seals—these near superheroes who are willing to lay down for strangers – and their loyalty, he jumps without looking. This could be his family.

He should have looked—not that he would have changed his mind, but he still should have looked.

Hell Week is exactly what is sounds like. It's hell with all of the stereotypical blood, tears, and screams. It's only the third day of this shit week, and Evan feels like death. He's doubting everything as he watches the Seal Candidates drop like flies. And he means like flies. Evan just watched six tap out in a matter of minutes and one just collapsed, unable to even stand. Evan, his heart pulsing, is right there with him, every muscle in his body burns, but he can't voice the words 'I quit,' even if he wants to. The cold water feels like daggers dragging on his skin, and the only thing in his stomach is acid, which he tastes on his parched tongue. There's an exhaustion in Evan's body that he has never fault before as sleep has been nonexistence this week, even if his head had hit the pillow.

Yet, Evan does not quit.

He will not quit.

This is the first time in a year that he hasn't felt empty.

"Really to give up, Seaman?" A commander screams in Evan's ear. "Ready to crawl back to your mommy?"

With the roar of the ocean behind him, Evan barely hears the commander even if the man is inches from his ears. "N-o, Sir." He croaks.

The Commander, ignoring the icily waves that strike at them and the rest of personal on the beach, knees down next to Evan and drills into him. I can't hear you. What did you say?" He demands.

"No, Sir. I got this," Evan yells, physically resisting the urge to twitch. His entire body is screaming at him, his mind pleading for sleep. If any other words are said, Evan doesn't hear them. His eyes gloss over as he tries to place himself anywhere else but here. He can't give up. He needs to do this. He needs to keep stay here, where he's valuable. Evan hasn't told anyone that he's trying out for the Seals, just walking into a Navy recruitment center with a determined look on his face. He hid behind a cocky smile, but his insides twisted on him, every insult his parent has ever said to him echoing back to him.

You aren't good enough.

You are a nobody.

You are unlovable.

You are worthless.

No one will ever want you.

While some might see it as counterproductive, Evan uses those familiar words and bathes in them. His entire childhood has prepared him for this and given him a rock-hard armor. This's nothing compared to that household. Having watched several candidates work themselves into the ground by trying to use sheer strength, Evan places himself in himself in his old childhood with his unloving parents. It keeps the pain and the chilly water from eating at his resolve. If he can survive a childhood with them, he can do this. This is nothing.

Evan can handle this.

He will be valuable.

No matter how often he hears the familiar sounds of a brass ship's bell ringing, he will not give up.


*O*O*


In some twist of fate, Hell Week passes, and Evan is still here. The training gets more intensive, but they're allowed a few more hours of sleep a night. Not a whole lot more, but hey, that hour does wonders. Sure, there's a permanent layer of exhaustion built up on his skin, but it has his blood pumping and keeps him up right on his feet, which he needs for the next phase of training. God, it's a god-sent with what follows next.

Evan, his heart in his throat, knows it's coming, his hair standing up, but getting grabbed from behind and dragged beneath the icy water is something you'll never get used to. No matter how many times he has gone through his, he nearly chokes when the instructor pulls him under. He knows he's in a controlled environment, but panic creeps, sending him to a quick 'death' and he breathes water like air, which the instructor rails him for. Those words hang over his head like a fog from the physical discomfort, the chilly water burning his nasal cavity, but shit, all of that is forgotten when he turns the table on the instructor the next time.

A loud roar pierces his eardrums as Evan breaks the surface of the water, the cheer of his fellow candidates boasting his ego. His lungs are on fire, but he's grinning like a mad man. After weeks and weeks of this training, cracks begin to form in his armor, but this cheer re-energizes him. While not everyone is friendly—the rivalry too great in such small numbers—, a deep bond forms between the some of the guys and him, which evens out the shit they face in training day in and out. The camaraderie of his barrack is everything and more for Evan; the friendship formed under these stressful situations is the reason why many of them are still here, including Evan. It stuns him how important each of these guys are to him as they tease each other relentlessly.

"Shit, Buckley, I thought you were a goner."

Evan, cocky as ever, shit grins. "You're just jealous."

"The only thing any of us are jealous of is those baby blues eyes! How many times have you turn those bad boys on someone?" There's a round of 'yea' in the barracks, follows by some loud hushes.

"Shit, just think about all the tail he gets with those eyes."

There's no denying his blue eyes got some pants to drop, both male and female. "My eyes don't help me out there." He nods to wall, though referring to the Seal training beyond the wall.

"You know what? I can't wait until I can throw your ass out of a plane."

Evan snorts. "I can't wait until your pee yourself. Will feel bad for the guys below you."

"I don't think it works like that due to the velocity. Ever hear of peeing into the wind?"

There's a pause. "Okay, I'm not jumping behind you." Evan announces. This odd, make shift family is everything that Evan ever wants. No matter what else he is feeling- mentality or physically-, he will fight for this.


*O*O*


With the candidates dwelling down over the weeks, the more eyes Evan feels on his back and the more pit grows in his stomach. As the training gets harder, the doubts get louder in his head, and they get even rowdier when the guy that he's closest gets sent home for failing a requirement. The guy's score was only a half a second passed the permitted time and was given no allowances. Evan's confidence, his convictions, takes a massive hit when this buddy leaves. The allusions of family he creates shatters, and the desire to bolt is intense. Maybe, it's his parent's fault, their lack of love turning him into this… Whatever this is.

With his buddy gone, he's itching to follow, though the reasonable parts of him are shouting that he can't just follow people home. What the hell is wrong with him to even think that's an opinion? Evan huffs and shakes those thoughts out his head, as he tries to refocus and collect his thoughts. He, hiding behind his crushed armor, has lost count how many weeks- months he has been here, time blending together.

"You okay, Seaman Buckley?"

"Ah…" Evan's head pops up, his eyes snapping away from his unpacked duffel to the door. "Commander." He greets, going for a salute, but the man waves it off with a shake of the head, while giving Evan a warm smile.

Ever since they completed their BUD/S training and are the mid-way of their Qualification Training, Evan has been spotting more current Seal team leaders. He isn't sure if this is normal, but Evan has clocked them observing the top recruiters, hovering like hawks, likely deciding which one they want. Evan doesn't expect to garner much interest, even if he passes each test with a nice cushion. While the others taunt and puff out their chest like some peacock, he cares more about teamwork then finishing which the top scores.

However, it seems like this strategy has caught this Commander's eye. "Buckley?"

Evan takes a deep breath and returns the smile. A nervous smile that is. He's waiting for someone to notice he's an imposter, that his armor was a lie. "I…"

"You know," The Commander cuts him off. "What's your feeling is normal."

"What?" Evan expresses, just blinking in his shook.

Without an invitation, the Commander takes a seat next to Evan on the bunk, the barracks surprisingly empty. "I know in our line out business, this tends to be forgotten, but what you're feeling is normal. I would be worried if you weren't." He pauses. "Don't get me wrong. There're times where you'll need to stuff it in a box. However, we can't expect emotional robots even if that's what most are looking for. That isn't what I'm looking for."

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't need a cocky asshole holding a gun. Holding a gun is easy. Everyone here can hold a gun."

With countless successful evaluation, Evan doesn't doubt his ability to hold a gun. It's whether he can point his gun at a real person and pull the trigger. "Sir."

"I need a team player, someone who puts the team first. I need a man who's aware of his downfalls."

Evan side eyes the Commander, his brain trying to wrap itself round what he's hearing. "Who says I'm a team player?"

"I've been watching you, Buckley. Have seen you penalize yourself in order to help the guy next to you. You put your fellow Seaman before yourself. A trait any good commander would want." He shrugs his shoulders, and with a big smile, adds, "And it doesn't hurt that you're a damn good shot."

"Sir…I…" Evan doesn't know what to say, surprised to hear such praise from a man as decorated as him.

"Whatever you're thinking, remember you wouldn't be here if you couldn't hack it." The man smiles. "You just need the right leadership, Buckley."

Evan's eyes drop from the man's face to the name tag on his chest, and he suddenly filled with a new resolution, his doubts beaten back. While he has no say in whatever team he is placed on—if he makes it through training-, he's going to be placed under Commander's—Commander McGarrett- command. "Thank you, Commander McGarrett."

"No problem. Just keep your head up, Buckley." He pats Evan on the shoulder.

Evan will never tell anyone how close he has been to leaving that day, though he will thank McGarret many times over in the upcoming year. If Evan had been placed under any other commander, his Seal Career would've never gotten off the ground, washing out after their first assignment. McGarret helps him see they're more than armed killers; they are a shield. And Evan will always consider him a friend/Family, a man worthy of postcards.


*O*O*


Present

Buck's first official shift after being made a permanent member of 51 is nearly done, only an hour left, and he can't say he hasn't enjoyed it. Sure, everyone is grumpy, having just gotten back to the station barely 30 minutes ago from a call, and were robbed several hours of sleep, but Buck, on the other hand, has been jittery since they got back, hopping around the station like a rabbit on crack. Besides feeling like a rockstar from their last call, his hand still burns from where Severide's touched him, the not—definitely not—date hanging above him. This warm sensation in his gut is familiar, experiencing it a few times in his life. The one time that stands out is the first time that he switched the safely off on his gun.

Not wanting to annoy anyone with his jitters—which is bound to happen as Buck is jackhammering across the floor-, Buck keeps to himself. Catching Casey's probing stare, he keeps away from the broom and anything cleaning related items. He pretends not to see Gallo and Ritter who are arguing about something and wanting Buck as a tiebreaker. With their level of excitement, Buck is a bit scared to ask why, though he can't help but find it amusing; however, they might be a bit much for Buck right now.

"How much coffee did you have this morning, Buck?" Brett shoots from inside the ambulance.

Buck twists around and beams at Brett. He doesn't know why he feels at ease with her, but he aways does. Brett seemingly knows what he needs before he does, including distracting Severide when he gets to fluster… which happens a lot. He, his chest tingling, doesn't put too much thought into why. "Believe it or not, none." Coffee is the last thing he wants right now as he is already hopping off the walls. Plus, he wants to fucken sleep when his head touches his pillow.

Brett, looking up from her clipboard, gives him a cynical yet amused look. "Really?"

"Not one drop." He chuckles, as he steps to the back of the ambulance, checking out what's she is doing. "And whatcha doing?" With so little time left before the shift change, he expects her to be watching the clock like the rest of then.

"I'm being nice." Brett laughs. Working on limited sleep, the entire house is being cantankerous, and everyone is instinctively keeping a good distance.

Buck nods as he peeps into the back of the rig. He has been in quite a few ambulances and seen quite a few sets up, an open mirror of the paramedic in charge. Brett's set up—though not massively different—is distinct from others he has seen. "Need any help?" he asks. Yes, he's looking for busy look, but he can't deny that he has always been curious considering how many times he ended up in the hospital. Literally everyone he has ever served under has called him a danger magnet without fail… well besides Casey, but he doesn't count yet. It has only been a day. Give him time.

Brett grins. "I'll never say no." Without another word, Buck climbs in and settles down next to her, who side eyes him curiously. "I don't think firefighter has ever offered to help before." She chuckles. "Are you paramedic certified? Or just bored?"

"Not certified," he answers. "However, I have some training. Never finished, but it wasn't because of lack of interest." Buck looked into it after the first time he had a teammate blood on him and, with McGarrett's approval, took a few courses. Back at the 118, Hen had showed him some of the ropes while Bobby signed him up in the classes, though that took a backseat with the lawsuit.

"So already squad certified and now, you want to be paramedic certified?" Brett reaches for gloves, counting the unopen boxes with her fingers before she notes it on the inventory sheet. "You won't leave anything for the rest of us."

Buck gives her a huge teethy grin. "I just like to learn new things." He's a sponge when it comes to knowledge, soaking in anything anyone gives him. He blames Maddie for that, who had fostered that love in him by reading to him every night when he was a kid. "Besides, it never hurts to have another teammate in trained in case someone gets hurt." An image flashes before his eyes, his hand soaked in blood. He shakes his head to prevent that image to take hold.

Brett's head bobs up and down in agreement. "I second that." She smiles. "If you want, I can give you some pointers."

"I…" The word is rough on his tongue, Buck's fears roaring up for a moment. Panic hits. No! With a deep breath, he smashes it down. Brett's smile is too bright for his fears to withstand it. "I would like that."

"Great."

Brett—Sylvie for him now— goes over her normal routine for the remainder of shift with Buck. Quite a few jokes and random facts are exchanged between the two, which draws a few stares and head turns. Buck, his side hurting, is too engrossed to notice any of it. Casey, however, ducks in a few times to check on them. "You guys are having too much fun." He teases on the last time.

"Too much fun? Never." Sylvie grins.

Casey's eyes narrow into fine points, the ends of his lips curved up ever so slightly. "If I didn't know better, I would think you're trying to steal one of my firefighters."

Sylvie gives him a playful affronted look. "I would never!" She pauses for dramatic affect. "He will come willingly."

"Why is everyone trying to steal Buckley?" Casey spiritedly huffs and rolls his eyes.

Everyone? While his brain wants to overthink that, Buck forces it down and doesn't voice this question, contributing it to their playful flirting. He has clocked the weirdness between Sylvie and Casey the first time he has seen them sneak peeks at the other, but after the first shift under Casey, he can taste it in the air. Buck doesn't know their history, but why the hell aren't these two together?

Sylvie wiggles pass Buck and hops off the ambulance to stand across from Casey. "What? Just look at him." She waves at Buck, who gives her a cheeky grin, as if that answers everything. Casey follows her pointing but doesn't say anything, his raised eyebrow saying it all. "I'm just thinking of all the stairs in Chicago and how helpful he would be."

Casey laughs. "I can give you someone else."

"Why are you offering?" Sylvie shots back.

Buck rolls his eyes and laughs—with his entire body-, reminding the two not love birds of his presence. Were he and Eddie this bad? Because if they were, he owes the entirety of the 118 (well, if he was on speaking terms with them) a steak dinner. "I'll leave you two here to…argue." He shots out, breathily. He hops out of the ambulance, his eyes dropping to his wristwatch. He doesn't need to, however, as he can hear the next shift stepping into 51, their voices echoing off the wall.

There's a tint in Casey's cheeks as he goes, "We aren't fighting. Just making sure that everyone knows you're on truck."

"If he wants to help us paramedics…" Sylvie teases. Buck, his smile so big it hurts, simply shakes his head and heads to the locker room, allowing Sylvie and Casey to flirt—or whatever they are doing—in private.

Sweaty and dirty, he doesn't feel the urge to change into his street clothes, which seems to be the general consensus. Only a few opt to change their clothes, one being Severide. Fucken Severide

Fucken shirtless Severide

Why does this man have to be so beautiful? Does he know he's this hot? How unfair it is for everyone around him? What god did Buck piss off? Being as sneaky as he can, he, with a deep huff, ducks behind a row of lockers and zips to his, his whole being on fire. 'Don't look. Don't look.' He chants in his head. There're two reasons for this: one, -being obvious-a shirtless Severide is dangerous, and two, while he has agreed to this 'date', he isn't sure he's ready for it. His heart pounding in his chest thinking about it. Don't get him he wants to explore Chicago with him, but he isn't sure his raw emotions can take it.

Fortunately, Buck—his Seal training and all the mornings after coming—is able to sneak past Severide and makes it down the driveway before anyone notices him. Unfortunately, that's where his luck runs out as he spots Adam, arms folded across his chest, leaning against his jeep at the bottom of the driveway. The officer no doubt he thinks he looks nifty as he leans back with his large black sunglasses, a coffee in his hand. "What are you doing here?" Bucks asks when he gets within 3 feet from him.

Adam offers Buck a cheeky smile and a coffee. "Get in the jeep and I'll explain." He answers.

Buck hesitantly takes the coffee, observing Adam cynically. "My sister told me never to get into cars with strangers. You know, stranger danger."

His now free hand, Adam pushes down his sunglasses so he can nail Buck with an overdramatic, sarcastic eyeroll. "I don't think she considered officers in that."

"You'll be amazed." Adam would be surprised how many life lessons Maddie has instilled into him… Buck may not listen to them all, but they're there in the back of his head. "What about my Jeep?" he asks, getting serious. He doesn't want to get suck anywhere, especially when he is still learning Chicago.

"We'll come back for it. Come now."

Buck stands there for a moment, pondering, as Adam straightens up and rounds his jeep "Fine." He huffs as he opens door to the Jeep, throws his bag in the back and climbs in. While both Adam and he both drives jeeps, Buck prefers his, his Jeep being his safe place. Granted, the only thing he prefers right now is his own bed. Well, a shower first than bed.

"Good." Adam nods. "Just don't spill that in here."

"Then why did you give it to me if you're so worried." Buck over dramatically swirls the coffee.

Adam narrows his eyes dangerously at the coffee. "Watch it!" he yells, snatching the cup from Buck. The shotty throw away cup bends under his harsh grip, and the lid pops off, the brown, warm liquid spraying them both.

Buck is not impressed as Adam curses. "You're the one who snatched it out of my hand!"

"You had a long shift, and I was trying to be nice!" Adam hisses, as he sets—a bit too forcefully—it into the cup holder. Frantically, he scans the Jeep, looking for a napkin to wipe up the spilled coffee.

"If you were nice, you would let me go home and sleep." Buck huffs, grimacing. "And it'll be fine." It wouldn't be fine if it was Buck's Jeep, but it isn't his. Yes, it may be the lack of sleep talking, but Buck can barely spare any concern for the Jeep's interior. Using the edge of his CFD shirt as a rag, he wipes down the center console. "See, fine."

Adam grunts as his right hand goes to the ignitions and twists the key. "You're just going to make it sticky."

"It's fine!" Buck, waving him off, ignores Adam mumbles and settles back in the seat as his pocket vibrates. Rocking to his side, he fishes out his phone just as Adam starts to pull away from the curb. His heart is in his throat when a name flashes on his screen: Kelly Severide. Buck's head snaps up, his eyes flying up the driveway, and everything just stops when he notices Casey and Severide staring. Unable to take their intense gaze, Buck turns away and looks down at phone and the haunting message.

"You okay over there?"

Buck keeps his eyes down as he shakily goes, "Yup, fine." With a deep breath and against his better judgement, he unlocks his phone and opens the text message. His chest gets uncomfortably tight.

Are you okay?

Adam glances over. "Are you okay?"

Buck blinks, his mind blanking as Adam unintentionally echoes Severide's text. "Yea, yea." He utters, as he darkens the screen without replying. However, it doesn't stay dark as another text pops up, the message stretching across his screen. It's another message from Severide.

Is something wrong?

Yes, you! Again, Buck doesn't answer it and tucks his phone into his picket. "Where're we going?" he asks, biting on his bottom lip.

"To eat. My treat."


*O*O*


While Buck wants to sleep—barely able to keep his eye open-, he can't say no to food, his stomach growling like a lion. Though, he highly doubts Adam picked him up at the station for a stack of pancakes, no matter how heavenly they look. "So, what's up?" he asks when they sit down at their table. He feels out of place in his dirty uniform, though that may be in his head. If he looks around, he will see that he isn't out of place, fitting right in, as everyone looks like they just got off a night shift, exhaustion hanging off their frames.

"What?" Adam grins innocently. "Can't friends take friends out for breakfast?"

No. Just no. There may be this lively banter between them, but they aren't friends, Adam simply needing him for a cover. Yea, but he's the closest thing you have to a friend. His mind supplies, which is a kick the gut. That's what hurts the most: the losing that support system. The 118 were everything to him, filling in that empty pit in his gut. Yes, it's a good possibility that the 51 will become his family, especially with Sylvie, Casey, and Severide leading the charge. "Not with you. So, what's up?"

"Okay. Okay." Adam puts his hand up in a mock surrender. "There's more, but don't worry about it. Just eat." His eyes scan the diner, which doesn't go unnoticed.

That just makes Buck worries more, but he doesn't push, too tired to argue. Instead, he puts in his order, a large order that could feed three. Adam's eyes go large when the waitress sets the plates down in from of him. "A firefighter after a 24 shift." He answers as he jumps right in.

"Must be why there's not an ounce of fat on you."

"Don't be jealous." Buck smiles as he stuffs his mouth with a fork of pancakes.

His eyes on Buck, Adam brings his bacon to his mouth and takes a bit. "I don't know if jealous is the correct word. Scared more like it. Don't want to lose a finger." A second passes bye, and he adds, "I hear you found a home at 51."

Buck glances up through his eyelashes, his brow scrunched up in confusion. Yes, Adam picked him up in front of 51, but how does he know that? Keeping a tap on him? "Did you now?"

"Yea."

"Did you hear anything else?" Buck asks. He doesn't want to ask, but considering the man did a deep dive into his life, the man knows about the lawsuit, right? However, he isn't going to bring it up unless Adam does.

Adam gives him a probing stare, his eyes scanning the entirety of his face. "I hear lots of things, but most of them aren't any of my business so in one ear and out the other."

"Question."

"Okay, shot."

"Is there some bad blood between 51 and you?" Buck asks, replaying Casey and Severide's concern stares in his head. Severide's unanswered texts weight heavily in his pocket. There's something more in those hot stares.

A moment passes as Adam leans back, biting his bottom lips. A silence falls, him pondering his next words. Seconds pass. With a deep sigh, he leans forward and says, "Not with me. We're cool, but Captain Casey and my boss have a beef. Shit went down. There's a sort of truce between them, but there's no love or trust there."

Buck's gut says there's more to the story, but Having his own issue, he isn't in the mood for someone else's drama. "Okay. Is there something I need to know?"

Adam waves him off. "No need to worry about it, Frogman."

While it isn't the first time that Buck has heard the seal nickname, it still stuns him. He has always down played his seal days, never telling anyone he actually made it. One, he's ashamed of how fast he washed out. Okay, no one would say that since he had seen combat, but it felt like it when he left, choking on his shame. Two, he hated—hates the questions he gets once people learn he was a seal. Oh, did you kill anyone one? What's your kill count? Yes, he has saved lives doing what he did, but that's one way to make him feel like a monster. Though, he only gets questions if they believed him. Three, most people wave him off if he mentions the Seals, not believing he has what it takes. Buck didn't- still doesn't—have the energy to argue about it. If they don't believe him, it isn't on him.

Buck shakes those thoughts out of his head and meets Adam's stare. "You-" His words die in his throat when he notices his stretchy apartment neighbor and his suspicious friends. Everything suddenly clarifies; this is Adam wanting to put up a show, which leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

"Oy, Adrian, Fireman," the neighbor greets, loudly, as he treads away from his group with a sway in his step. Though hidden by his oversize jacket, Buck spot a bulge on his hip, a blank handle of a gun poking through. "Whadda you two doin'?" He eyes the dark smudge on Buck's cheek. "Ya lookin' a little dusty."

There's a chill in this diner, but every inch of Buck's skin is on fire. This man, as long as his posse, makes the hair stand up on the back of his arms. He spots similar budges on their hips as well. "Last call was a massive house fire." He answers.

Without an invitation, the man grabs a chair and spins it around to sit on it, his chest against the back. "You ever get tempt to…" he drifts off, wiggling his fingers at Buck.

The implication is clear and Buck's stomach twists. He glances at Adam, eyeing the over-the-top smile on his face and frowns, knowing what Adam from wants from him. When did he sign for this? The chill in his chest gets colder, his heart slowing. You got this. With a deep breath, he brings forth his seal days and draws from his training. Boxing up his emotions, he puffs out his cheek, noticing Adam's hard stare. He really hates this, but he clears the anger building in his chest before it can reach his face and explode. "Thought about it? No. In a fire, that's the last thing on my mind." He answers evenly, eyes the stupid grin on his face.

"Such a shame to think of all that jewelry burnin' up."

Adam shifts, snapping Buck's hypercritical gaze to him. He shots Buck a warning look before he says, "Thinkin' of branching out, Dom?"

Dom nonchalantly shrugs. "Maybe, I'm just keepin' my options open. You never know when a firefighter may come in handly." His eyes narrow at Buck, whose eyes flicker to Adam before meeting Dom's. "Adrian here tells me you two went to high school together."

A test? "Seals." Buck corrects evenly, his mouth dry. While he calmly clocks the test from his neighbor, the lie still cuts coming out. This isn't… He isn't cut out for this. He's the save cat from trees kind of guy.

"Ah, that's right." Dom nods, rubbing at his nose. A wick grin flashes across his face. "So, what's your body count?"

Buck's entire body stiffens, his blood ice cold as an intense dread floods him. While he has received this question a few times after revealing he was a Vet, this time makes him particularly ill, the ground shaking beneath him. Dom, and that nasty cheeky smile, seems like the type to get all giddy over the number, a number that Buck won't tell anyone. "It-"

Adam's eyes soften just a tad before he's all grins. "We never saw combat, both of us getting kicked out just shy of graduating. Behavioral issues." He huffs, scowling. "You believe that? They kicked us out for behavioral 'issues.' My ass."

Dom deflates slightly before he goes, "But you still got all of that trainin', right?"

"Why? What do you have in mind?" Adam asks, titling his head to the side.

No.

No. No.

No.

Suddenly, Buck's appetite is gone, not that he still has one sitting next to Dom, and he forcefully pushes away his half-eaten plate. From time to time, he does dust off the cobwebs from certain Seal skills, but most are confined away in his mind behind a lock and key. The idea of unwrapping any of those pierces of himself means dealing with trauma he would rather forget, so he leaves them boxed it up like everything else in his life. "This has been…. nice," He states, slowly as he motions to the table. "But… I just came off a 24-hour shift and I'm exhausted. So, if that's all, I'm-"

A dark look passes across Dom's face, an unvoiced threat hanging off his tongue. "Didn't you and Adrian had a thing going in the past, Frogman?"

Buck exchanges looks with Adam before he grumbles hotly under his breath. Yes, he told Adam he would help, but this isn't part of the deal. It's a massive no. No interest whatsoever. He's a firefighter, not a cop. Plus, his former Commander in his head, his words echoing in his head. 'Get out of your head and don't be stupid. Speak up, Buckley.' For the most part, when McGarrett said it, it's out of endearment, his way of looking out for Buck. He is the first to admit that he gets stuck in his head lot. "The past is the past." He says firmly, as he stands up. He's going to listen to the McGarrett echo in his head, which has popped up in the last few days and has taken the place of Bobby's voice—though once upon the time, it had happened in the other direction.

With his hair standing up, a familiar feeling settles in his bones, the abilities he locked in the box bubbling up. "Hey, A-Adrian," Buck starts, fumbling over the name. "Can you unlock your Jeep for me so I can get my bag?"

Adam slowly nods and reaches for his keys. "Sure." Going deadly silent, Dom follows Buck with his eyes as he heads to the door and to Adam's jeep to retrieve his duffle. Dom's laser focused eyes are a knife in his back, and Buck cannot get away fast enough, his legs moving before he realizes it.

His once forgotten exhaustion returns in vengeance when he's 7 blocks down the street, street names nonexistent to him. Gasping heavily, it takes a moment for him to settle back into his clammy skin, everything tingling. Over the years, this combat memories dulled, only coming up once and awhile, but listening to Dom so causally bring up his body count, everything got magnified and Buck means everything, not just his Seal memories. Everything is brighter and louder, the words bouncing around in his head. It's like someone turn the volume up.

Breathing in through his noise, Buck exhales deeply through his mouth as he counts slowly in his head. He repeats this several times before he stops shaking and can feel his legs. While he still feels off center from that encounter, his head has cleared enough to think. "Where are you, Buckley?" he mumbles to himself as he takes a wobbly look around. A light roar echoing in the background from the crowd, Buck reads the street sign, though it doesn't him little good. While he made sure to research the area around his apartment, everywhere else is a mystery to him.

Buck reaches into his side pocket for his phone to bring up his google maps, or at least, he tries to. The only thing popping up is the 'G' from the logo. "Come on," he hisses, as he repetitively taps at his phones. Buck, who will never say he's an expert in technology—just proficient-, knows tapping won't help, and yet, he can't stop rapidly tapping the screen like an idiot as he chews on his bottom lip. "Fuck." He snaps as he presses the button on the side of his phone to darken his screen. He curses his shotty internet. The perps of trying to save money.

At times, that's all it feels like he's doing, playing catch up ever since the firetruck incident. Fucken bills.

He whips around, his eyes noting every wondering eye he sees. Unlike what everyone thinks, Buck knows not everything is about him, and it's highly doubtful anyone on his street will be able to point him in a lineout in a few hours; however, it feels like everyone is staring at him, silently judging him. Buck forces his eyes down, lighting up his phone. He doesn't have any fancy car apps on his phone—not that his internet would allow him to pull it up.

Buck groans as he goes through his contacts, searching for Casey's number. Casey has given him his number in case something comes up, stressing that he can call at any time. The number adds 20 pounds to his phone, Buck never wanting to use, but at the same time, it feels like a lifeline. Being at 51, he feels lighter than he has been in months, but the fear of being a burden is still burned into him. He refuses to cling to someone, using them as an 'Emotional Support' person.

It takes a few second to find to find 'Captain Casey' in his phone, though flying past it the first time in his anxiety. Having very little contracts in his phone, Kelly Severide's name is a few names down from Casey's. Something drops inside of him, and he presses the dial button.


*O*O*


Kelly has been holdup in his office since the last call, his eyes glued to his phone, his hand squeezing the life out of it. After flying through his incident report, he, with a constipated face, has been nose-deep in his mobile, shifting through photo after photo. With the near kiss stuck in is head, he can't think of anything else, which is…. Which is…. God, it's so fucken strange. He has fantasized about hooks up before, but this is something else and he has no fucken idea what to make of it. What is it about Buck that Kelly finds so attractive?

Racking his brains for the last hour, he doesn't have the slightest idea, but whatever it is, it isn't in these pictures. Though, that may be due to the fact that he doesn't know what he should be feeling. Yes, he can admit that each man in these racy pictures is attractive, their smiles bright and vivid. His brain tries—before he shuts it down with an iron fist- to replace each smile with one of Buck's. It frustrates him how quickly his mind goes back to the former floater. Shaking his head, he swipes to another photo, this man shirtless. There's not an ounce of fat on him, muscle on muscle. It isn't at the rate of being off putting, and Kelly can see a line of women and men lining up to lick his abs, but all he can think is nope. Just nope. The man, with three inches of light shaggy hair, in the next photo is just as good looking, though his chest is hidden by half button up, white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. Again, a resounding no screams through him.

Kelly's eyes pop up, a sudden movement in the bunker draws his focus, and his heart leaps. A tad of red blossoms in his cheeks, though not enough for anyone outside to notice. No, it isn't due to the spicy pictures, but more so, it's why he is doing it. All of this just to wonder if he is gay…. Well, not gay as Kelly is still a lady man. Just to wonder if he is Bi. Though, that's not exactly correct either. All of this is to test the water to see if it's Buck or all guys. Right now, it's Buck. Bucksexual, his mind supplies.

Swiping, he moves on to the next one: a man in a speedo climbing out a pool, his backside popped out to the camera. From the water, there's a shine to his skin and a dark tin to his hair. Kelly doesn't know if it's a filter, but the man's ass is perfectly round, not Buck's level of perfect… "Shit," Kelly curses unable to stop his wondering mind. Maybe, it's just the pictures. There's nothing like the real deal, Kelly always preferring the real thing. Why stare at hot women when he can touch them? Most likely, it is the same thing with men?

Just as Kelly tosses his now darken phone to the bed, Casey steps into the doorway, a concern smile on his face. "You okay, Sev?" he asks, his eyes dropping to the phone for a moment. "You've been quiet."

Kelly's right eye twitches. Of course, he comes in now. He mumbles to himself. Though, he's lucky that Matt hasn't come in a few seconds ago when he had half naked men on his phone. "Yup." He smiles. "Just thinking."

"Oh, no. That's not good. Severide thinking?" Casey teases.

"Ha. Ha." Kelly humorously rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet, clocking the time from the corner of his eyes. "You know what? You're fired from being my best friend." He scopes up his phone and heads for the door.

Casey spins out of Kelly's way, following in step behind him. "Yea, but no one else is foolish enough for the job. Trust me. I already looked for a replacement."

"Oh really?"

"Yea, but I couldn't find a sucker to take you, so I'm stuck with you."

Kelly laughs, because let's face it, it takes a special kind of person to deal with this hot mess. "And you're some gift?"


*O*O*


"Relax," Casey says as he comes up next to him. "We know Ruzek."

There's nothing wrong with Adam Ruzek, the man a fine officer, who is always there if 51 needs assistance. This can be said about everyone in the unit, each a good ally. Seeing someone from 51 chatting up any of the intelligence unit is not abnormal, but Buck is new to Chicago. He doesn't know or have the connections that anyone else would have. Kelly eyes the coffee cup Adam passes to Buck, his stomach twisting. "But he doesn't."

"Maybe, he does." Casey replies as Buck accepts the coffee. However, judging by his tone, this is more for him than Kelly.

Shotting Casey a disbelieving, cold stare, Kelly puffs, "probably, but when is it ever simple when it comes to the intelligent unit? How many times have we done favors for them and nearly got killed?" 51 has done quite a few favors for the Intelligent Unit, and while Kelly would volunteer—especially if someone is in danger-, he refuses to let anyone in his house jump in without backup. Boden is just as protective.

Casey's eyes are in fine points as they watch Buck climb into Ruzek's Jeep. "He does have backup. He has us." He replies, slapping his hand down on Kelly's shoulder. He forces a smile to his face.

Damn right, Buck has them. No matter what is going on in Kelly's head, that's not going to change. "Yea," he says as he pulls at his phone, extremely grateful he is that he has Buck's number. His eyes only drop to his phone long enough to type out, 'Are you okay?'

Though Buck is partly blocked from view, Kelly can see the exact moment Buck gets his message, his eyes dropping to his lap and popping up a second later. His head whips around and Buck's eyes go large, when he looks up the driveway and lock eyes with Kelly. Kelly tries to put everything in his stare and communicate nonverbally, but Buck spins away too fast, his eyes forward. He mouths something, but he doesn't response to the text. Kelly waits a few seconds, his impatience showing, before he shoots off another text: Is something wrong?

"Kel," Casey calls.

Whatever left Casey's mouth, Kelly can't confirm they are words, it sounding like rumbles of Charles Brown's parents.


*O*O*


A nap was on the first thing on Kelly's mind after the last call, but he's still too hyped up to sleep. Matt, his supposed best friend, is useless and disappears behind his bedroom door to sleep. The lucky bastard, mocking him with a rude smile. The advice Matt gives him is trash, and while he knows he shouldn't blame him, Kelly can't help but be a little resentful when Matt is out seconds later.

With a deep puff of air, Kelly pulls out his phone to distract himself again—even if this test has already failed. This time, he focuses more on butts, as with Buck, his eyes kept dropping south. There's photo after photo of male butts on his phone, but he can only roll his eyes when he scrolls through them. Each one just tugs on his patience. He will need to test it in person. His first thought—barely a thought—is to observe 51 and see if his eyes go anywhere, but he dashes that thought the second it forms in his head. He is in no way, shape or form going to check out any of them. The idea makes him ill. Yes, he can admit that his coworkers are attractive, but while he can note that, his brain just goes 'nope' very loudly. They are like brothers and sisters to him.

Kelly tosses his head back and throws his forearm across his eyes. He breathes in deeply through his nose, his chest expanding like a balloon, and lets out one hot puff of his air. He repeats this a few times to clears his mind, to return to a sweet nothingness. It doesn't remain that way as Kelly's thoughts once again wander to a certain blued eye man with a beautiful smile. "God," he mutters as he leaps to his feet and picks up his car keys from the end table. He needs to get out of here.


*O*O*


45 minutes later, Kelly is still jogging the lake shoreline, only stopping when his legs scream out in protest, and he takes a seat on a nearby bench, automatically observing everyone who walks pass him with a curious glaze. His initial plan was to run out what he's feeling, but his eyes keep dropping north and following every man that cross his line of view. Each man is different from the last. Each are dress differently. Some are in suits, chatting—more like yelling—on their phones. A few are in jeans and enjoying the view of the lake. Many are in workout gear with Kelly spotting a few shirtless men.

Kelly got to admit that he feels a little icky and a bit perverted eyeing these men sexually, especially when they're just trying to go about their day. "There's a reason you're doing this," he mutters to himself, as he ogles—he hates that word— the man who bent down in front of him to tie his right running shoe. The man is giving Kelly the perfect shot of his round ass, an ass that look darn flawless in his tight black workout pants. And yet—

Nothing.

Completely nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to check out one more ass before he will shift his focus elsewhere. This time, he eyes a shirtless man, an equally nice ass… but nope. Just nope. Maybe, Kelly thinks, biting at his bottom lip. He turns his glaze on the next woman he sees. She's wearing a thin wind breaker over a sport bra and black leggings. Even with the sweat lining her forehead, she's beautiful, and while he can admit the uneasiness in his gut vanishes, she does nothing for him. It's all about Buck. What's the hell is wrong with him? You know what. His mind supplies.

He's attracted to Buck. And only Buck. What does that mean? Kelly is going to have to figure that out. He—

His phone suddenly vibrates in his left hand, startling him. Lowering his glaze, his eyes go large and his heart soars when he notices Buck's name on the screen. He bolts straight up, as he accepts the call and brings the phone to his ear. A million things are flying through his head, concern weighted him down heavily. "Hey, what's up?" he asks, breathing throw his nose.

"Hey,um,canyoupickmeup?" The words are shot off like a rocket.

Kelly just blinks, his expression laced with concern. Was that English? Were those words? "Okay, Buck, repeat that. Slowly this time." He can hear a sharp intake on the other end of the end. "Buck?"

"C-Can you pick me up?" Buck asks, his voice shakily.

Why does Buck need a ride? Where the hell is Ruzek? Kelly doesn't voice any of these questions, Buck's tone kicking him into action. "Yes, of course. Tell me where you are?" he demands, as everything just disappears.


Author Note:

1) Some requested to see more Seal Buck, so I decided to show a bit of Buck's seal training. All of my Seal knowledge comes from the internet, so I hope I am not too far off. From what I read, it all seems like a nightmare, but in my head, Buck gets his strength by everyone around him. And yes, I did sneak Steve McGarrett in. (I also kept writing Buck instead of Evan, but Buck didn't get his nickname until LAFD. So hard LOL)

Also, Buck stuffs his trauma in a box. He hates this box, but he keeps it.

2) For Kelly's ogling, I thought about adding pictures, but that would be a lot of butts, and no one needs that. LOL And even, I can't wait for Kelly to drive in for the rescue.

3) Yes, Buck is a fan of Brett and Casey.

Anyhow, let me know what you think!