A/N: Canon events are mentioned in this story, but they exist on a different timeline order-wise for this story. Certain S3 events happen after S4 events, etc. This story also assumes the 118 works a "California Swing" schedule, which is 24 hours on, 24 hours off for 5 days, then 4 days off. For this story, the 118 works an 8 a.m. to 8 a.m. the next day shift. (Just in case anyone familiar with firefighter shifts is reading!) Having said that, most all knowledge I have is from watching the show or internet research, so I am bound to make mistakes with medical situations, how things work, etc. Suspend your disbelief, please. If you cannot, this likely isn't the story for you.

MONDAY, 3:45 P.M.

"Buck, you did an excellent job with the re-certification test," Bobby said as a black, sludgy pain gave way to numbness, "but I've got almost twenty other firefighters under my watch, and they depend on me to keep them safe. The chief is nervous about the blood thinners, and I am, too. That's not to say you'll never be able to get back on active duty if you're on them, we just want to see a few more rounds of test results first to make sure you're not developing new clots and that your INR is consistently in the acceptable range. That's all."

That's all, he thought to himself, barely keeping from rolling his eyes.

Buck shook his head. "I thought you were my friend, Bobby."

"I am your friend, Buck," Bobby met his eyes. "But I'm your captain first. And again…I'm not saying never. I'm saying not yet. And when you're ready, you're not going straight to full duty. It'll be light duty for a couple weeks."

He sighed. "Then let me do that now. I mean, I'll hate staying behind and babysitting this place, logging reports, and being the chore boy like I'm some kind of probie again, but at least I'll be back to work. Sort of."

"Not yet," Bobby said, and Buck knew by his tone he was not going to consider anything else.

He sighed again as Bobby pulled to the curb at his complex. Buck looked up at the building, which might as well be a prison, complete with guard tower and barbed wire.

No place to go. Nothing to do. Feeling great, but under doctor's orders to "take it easy for another couple of weeks, do your INR finger sticks, then we'll reassess."

"Thanks for the ride, Cap," he said flatly. And the knife in my back.

"Buck," Bobby sighed, "All we're asking is that you rest, recover, and hang in there. Be patient. You may not think so, but a pulmonary embolism isn't a small thing, no matter how good you feel."

"Yep," he replied, not slamming the captain's truck door but not exactly gentle with it, either.

Inside his "prison cell", he tossed off the street clothes Maddie brought him at the hospital, pulled on some fresh boxers and a t-shirt, and crawled into bed. They wanted him to rest? Fine. He'd sleep until the follow-up with his GP if he could.