Evan Buckley wasn't okay.

He knew it.

Had known it for hours, maybe even days. The pounding in his skull had started sometime yesterday—a dull ache behind his eyes that he'd shrugged off as nothing. A bad night's sleep. Too much time in front of a screen. The usual excuses.

But by the time their shift started this morning, the pain had sharpened into something worse. Something relentless.

A migraine.

He'd had them before, but not like this. Not this bad. This one felt like his skull was caught in a vice, every heartbeat slamming against his temples. His stomach churned with nausea, and each time the station alarm blared, the sound sent a spike of pain through his skull like a gunshot.

But there was no time for headaches at the 118.

So, Buck pushed through.

He ignored the pain. He ignored the way the lights were too bright, the way every sound grated against his nerves. He ignored the exhaustion that made his limbs feel heavy and the waves of dizziness that threatened to pull him under.

Then came the call.

An apartment fire—top floor, two people trapped. Smoke already thick, heat searing through the walls. A standard rescue. The kind Buck could do in his sleep.

He and Eddie had gone in together, moving fast through the smoke-filled hallway. The weight of his gear felt heavier than usual, his legs sluggish, but he forced himself forward.

They found the victims—a mother and her young son—huddled in a corner, coughing violently. Eddie took the boy, cradling him protectively against his chest. Buck took the mother, guiding her toward the exit as flames licked the walls around them.

That's when the dizziness hit.

It wasn't subtle this time. It crashed into him like a wave, tilting the floor beneath his feet. His vision blurred, black spots creeping at the edges.

"Buck!"

Eddie's voice cut through the haze, sharp with alarm.

Buck barely registered that he'd stumbled, that his knees had nearly buckled under him. He caught himself against the wall, one hand gripping the mother's arm tightly. He couldn't go down. Not here.

"I'm good," he forced out, voice tight.

Eddie didn't look convinced, but the fire was closing in. There was no time to argue.

Buck clenched his jaw and kept moving.

Somehow, they made it out.

As soon as they hit fresh air, the woman was pulled from his grasp, whisked away by waiting paramedics. Buck staggered slightly, blinking hard against the sunlight. The world swayed around him, his stomach twisting violently.

"Hey."

A hand landed on his shoulder—Eddie, eyes narrowed with concern. "You okay?"

Buck forced himself to nod, even though the words not even a little were on the tip of his tongue. "Yeah. Just—just a little dizzy."

Eddie's frown deepened. "You sure?"

Before Buck could answer, Bobby was at his side, scanning him with a captain's sharp eyes. "Buck?"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. Too quickly.

Bobby didn't look convinced, but before he could press, Chimney called out from the rig. "We're heading back to the station."

That was his out.

Buck turned away before Bobby could stop him, heading straight for the firetruck. He just needed a minute. Some water. Some food. Maybe if he sat down for a second, the world would stop spinning.

But by the time they got back to the station, the migraine had only gotten worse.

The lights in the locker room were too much. The sound of voices echoing through the bay made his head throb. Even the scent of whatever Bobby was cooking sent nausea rolling through his gut.

He just needed to sit. Just for a second.

He barely made it to the lockers before the dizziness surged again. His vision tilted, the floor rushing up to meet him—

Then, nothing.

The sharp thud of a body hitting the ground cut through the usual sounds of the firehouse like a gunshot.

Bobby turned just in time to see Buck collapse.

For a second, no one moved. Then—

"Buck!"

Eddie was already there, dropping to his knees beside his friend, shaking his shoulder roughly. "Hey! Buck, come on, wake up!"

Bobby's stomach lurched as he rushed forward, his heart pounding in his ears.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I don't know!" Eddie's voice was tight with panic. "He was dizzy on the call, but I thought—I thought he was okay."

He wasn't okay.

Buck's face was ashen, sweat beading along his hairline. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Hen was already checking his pulse. "It's weak," she murmured. "And he's burning up."

Chimney sprinted in with the med bag, already pulling out supplies.

Buck let out a weak, pained whimper.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, God."

Bobby knelt beside him, pressing a hand to Buck's cheek. "Buck, can you hear me?"

A low groan. Buck's head twitched, but his eyes barely fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"The lights," Chimney realized. "He's light-sensitive."

Eddie moved instantly, blocking the overhead fluorescents with his body. "I got you, man."

Hen frowned, pressing a hand to Buck's clammy forehead. "I think this is a migraine."

Bobby clenched his jaw. The signs had been there all day. The wincing. The exhaustion. The way Buck had rubbed at his temples between calls.

He should have seen it.

Instead, Buck had collapsed right in front of him.

"Hurts," Buck mumbled weakly, barely more than a breath. His fingers twitched against the floor, curling slightly.

Eddie gripped his wrist. "I know, Buck. Just hang on."

Hen quickly set up an IV, pushing fluids. "He's dehydrated. Probably been fighting this for hours."

Buck let out another soft whimper as Hen adjusted the IV.

Eddie swallowed hard, his jaw tight. "We should've noticed."

Bobby exhaled sharply and grabbed the radio. "Dispatch, this is Captain Nash at Firehouse 118. We have a firefighter down, requesting immediate transport."

As the ambulance doors shut behind Buck, the firehouse felt too quiet.

Bobby clenched his fists.

Next time, he would notice sooner.

Because Buck wasn't just one of his firefighters.

He was family.

And family took care of each other.