Chapter Text
The first words to leave Buck’s lips when they find him are simple.
“Don’t tell Eddie.”
It comes out in little more than a whisper, his voice lost amongst the creaking of debris overhead and the chirping of nearby radios. If anyone hears him, they don’t acknowledge it. Voices echo all around him, hands brush his arms and grab at the concrete, pinning him to the floor. There’s a ringing in his ears, and pain rippling through his body, but there’s only one thing on Buck’s mind.
Eddie.
He opens his mouth to speak again, but a harsh, wet cough tears through his chest and throat before he can utter a single word. Specks of blood fly from his mouth and dampen his chin. The sharp, metallic taste floods his mouth, and Buck spits out when he can feel its warmth settle on his chin.
“Easy, Buck,” Hen says, kneeling beside him.
“Ed—” Buck coughs again, his chest burning.
“Don’t talk for a second. We’re going to get you out of here, okay? Just keep nice and still for me, I’m going to check you out.” She produces a small penlight from her pocket and shines it towards Buck’s eyes.
The second the light hits Buck’s eyes, he recoils away from it, his head pounding, the room lurching violently around him. “Stop,” he groans, trying to turn his head. Pain ripples through his neck.
“I know it sucks, but I have to check. And I thought I told you to keep still?” She raises an eyebrow. “Your pupils are a little sluggish and uneven, and judging by that reaction, you’ve got some light sensitivity.”
“Concussion,” Buck rasps.
“‘Fraid so. Do you remember what happened?”
“Aftershock. Ceiling came down.”
“Good. That’s good. We’re going to get a C-collar on you and see about getting you out from under this rubble. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“Probably better to … to ask what doesn’t hurt.”
Hen huffs out a laugh. “Sounds about right. Chim is going to grab something for the pain, and I’ll get the collar; sit tight and don’t move.”
Buck opens his mouth to speak, to tell her not to reach out to Eddie, but another cough shudders through his body. Hen’s hand finds his arm, her touch barely noticeable beneath the thick fabric of his turnout coat.
“Stay still. I’ll be back.”
She disappears from his line of sight, and Buck groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the ache humming through him.
There isn’t a single part of his body that isn’t aching or hurt in some way or another.
A headache pounds against his skull like a drumbeat. Dust swirls through the air around him, burning his eyes and invading his lungs. Buck chokes on it. Every breath feels like he’s inhaling through a thin straw. His lungs scream, desperate to draw in a full breath that’s not been corrupted by the concrete dust still trickling from the ceiling. Pressure builds against his ribcage with every shift of the concrete chunks on his chest.
Something sharp digs into his spine.
Pain ripples up and down his legs and washes across his pelvis. It moves like small waves lapping at the shore, flowing from his legs to his pelvis and back again. Every shift of the debris beneath and above him turns the slow-moving waves into a storm surge that crashes into his body, threatening to drown him completely. Buck’s pelvis burns white-hot at the smallest of movements. Black spots dance before his eyes.
Buck’s legs tingle beneath his turnout pants, and his feet are going numb inside his boots. He tries to wiggle his toes, but he has no idea if they’re moving or if he’s just imagining it.
He can’t feel them.
Not properly.
Panic grips his chest like a vice. Buck tries to shift himself against the rubble digging into his back, attempting to kick his legs across the torn-up concrete. The pain erupts through his pelvis, his muscles seizing as the waves of pain crash into every nerve ending below his waist.
His eyes snap open.
A scream rips out of his throat, the black spots darkening his vision. It’s a sharp, primal yell that cuts through the groaning debris and hushed voices like a knife, echoing through the room.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Hen says, swimming into focus. “You need to stay still.”
Her fingers fumble with the chin strap of Buck’s helmet and pull it off, discarding it amongst the piles of rubble. She slips a C-collar across his neck and secures it tightly to keep his head from moving.
It’s claustrophobic, restrictive, and Buck hates it.
“M-my legs—” Another cough tugs through his chest, more blood spraying across his lips and chin.
“They’re moving, Buck, I promise you, but you need to keep still. We think you might have fractured your pelvis, and we can’t risk it getting any worse. Chim’s going to give you something for the pain in a minute, and then we’ll stabilize your pelvis and get the rubble off you. Your job right now is to keep still, stay awake, and let us know if anything changes, or if we need to stop. Can you do that for me?”
“Y-yeah.”
Hen smiles. She slips an oximeter onto Buck’s finger, and he listens to her call out numbers to Chimney, but his mind can’t make sense of them. The words drift over and through him like he’s not really there, a thick fog clouding his thoughts. His headache continues to pound against his skull, building behind his eyes.
Buck swipes his tongue over his blood-splattered lips, the metallic taste lingering on his tongue. Something sharp pinches the back of his hand, and he waits for the familiar, almost comforting sensation of pain medication to begin to flood through his veins.
The pain begins to recede to a more welcoming ache, though it continues to ripple across his pelvis in small waves. Buck’s body slumps against the rubble as the last of the adrenaline begins to leave his body. His vision swims in and out of focus, but one constant thought manages to break through the fog.
Eddie.
He needs them to know.
Something brushes against Buck’s hand, and he reluctantly drags his mind away from Eddie, blinking against the haze of light and dust swirling around him.
“Keep your eyes open, Buck,” Hen says. She plays with the oximeter on his finger. “We’re going to get the pelvic binder on you in just a minute. How’s the pain level?”
“Better,” Buck says, his voice thick. His tongue doesn’t seem to fit in his mouth anymore, and his words slur as the pain medication begins to take hold of him.
“Great. You’re doing well. Once this binder is on, we’re going to start shifting the rubble from your legs and get you out of here.”
“F-finally.”
“Sit tight, it won’t be long.”
“W-wait—” Buck’s voice cracks.
Hen doesn’t seem to have heard him, and she shuffles away from him to have a hushed conversation with Chimney. Bobby’s voice adds the occasional piece of commentary and spreads warmth and comfort through Buck’s body.
The weight on his chest grows, his breathing coming out in choked, strangled gasps.
“O2 stats are dropping.”
“Let’s get this binder on him. We need to get him out of here soon.”
Buck barely notices the movement happening around him until the pelvic binder is placed around his hips. He grits his teeth when they pull it tight. The pain spreads through his pelvis and legs again despite the medication coursing through his veins. He bites back another scream, sinking his teeth into his lip.
Reappearing at his side, Hen pushes the sweat-soaked curls from Buck’s forehead. “They’re going to lift the rubble in a minute. You need to tell me if anything feels wrong or if you need a break, okay?”
“Okay,” Buck says through gritted teeth. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as the pain continues to ripple across his pelvis and legs.
“You’re doing really well, Buck; it’s not going to be much longer.”
“It hurts, Hen.” Hot tears trickle down his cheeks, his bottom lip trembling.
“I know it does, but we can’t give you anything else just yet. We need you to stay awake during this next bit, but it’s going to be over soon. We’ll get you out of there, get you checked out at the hospital, and we’ll call Maddie and Ed—”
“No!” Buck’s hand shoots out and grips onto the fabric of Hen’s turnout coat, his fingers twisting into the material. He ignores the pain shooting down his arm and rippling across his chest. “You can’t … can’t tell Eddie.”
She frowns, her fingers gently prying Buck’s grip from her turnout coat as his other hand continues to rake through his mess of curls. “He’ll want to know you’re hurt, Buck, you know that,”
“He … he can’t know.”
“Eddie is going to want to know what’s going on. His Buck-senses are probably already tingling, and he’s going to read about the earthquake. We can’t keep this from him.
“You have …. Too—” Buck groans, the dark spots beginning to overtake his vision completely as the rubble begins to shift from his legs and the pain swells again. He licks his blood-splattered lips, his breathing coming out in choked, strangled gasps. “He has to … to stay in Texas. For Chris.”
“Buck—”
“He needs to stay for Chris.” More droplets of blood spill from his mouth and cover his lips, the metallic taste overwhelming his senses. “They need … need to be together. Promise me, Hen. Promise me you’ll only tell him if I—” He pauses. “—if I die.”
Hen’s eyes widen, her face twisting into something Buck struggles to read through his blurred vision and the still-swirling dust. Confliction, maybe? Shock? He isn’t sure.
He knows he’s putting Hen in a difficult position, especially given the circumstances, but what else is he supposed to do? If Eddie finds out, he’ll jump on a red eye and be in L.A. before Buck can even blink. He’s not allowed to do that.
Eddie went to Texas to be with Chris, to get his son and his family back. Flying back to L.A. just because Buck got hurt would ruin everything they’ve been working towards. They’re finally beginning to figure things out, talking openly, and rebuilding everything that was broken between them.
Buck can’t come between that.
Chris comes first.
He always has, and he always will.
Buck will never forgive himself if Eddie ends up ruining everything he and Chris have been building because of him.
Especially not for him.
“Hen.” Buck’s voice cracks, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Please.”
She opens her mouth a few times, her eyes welling up in the haze of light, then she nods. “I promise. I’ll talk to the others, too, to make sure they understand. Eddie won’t know until you want him to, but Buck, he’s going to know something’s wrong. And he won’t be happy if he finds out you lied to him.”
“I know, but he … he can’t know. Not yet. Not until we know he … he doesn’t have to get … get on a flight. I won’t … won’t do that to him. Or Chris.”
“Buck—”
“Chris… comes … first.” He inhales sharply. “Always.”
“We’re ready to start shifting this rubble,” Bobby says, silencing Hen before she can try to argue any further. He appears in Buck’s line of vision, the dust surrounding him and making him almost shimmer in the darkness. “How are you doing, kid?”
“Ready to be … be out of here.”
“I’ll bet. It won’t be too much longer. How is it always you who manages to get yourself into these situations?”
“Not my … fault.”
“I know, kid. You’re just cursed when it comes to natural disasters.”
Buck chokes out a laugh that ends up being more like a harsh gasp, his lungs seizing. The pain lingers under the surface of his skin, the waves still slowly lapping through his arms and legs. His lungs contract painfully, another sharp cough ripping through his chest. He gasps for each breath, the straw feeling like it’s blocked.
“I’m going to slip this oxygen mask on you. Try to take a few deep breaths for me, Buck.”
She slips a plastic mask over his face, making sure it’s sitting tightly against his skin, though it’s just as claustrophobic as the C-collar.
Buck tries to follow her instructions, attempting to take a deep breath, but it catches in his throat, and he coughs again. Blood splatters the inside of the mask. Hen yells something over her shoulder, but Buck can’t hear a word of it. A high–pitched buzzing sound begins to creep into his ears, overtaking the muffled voices, shifting debris, and chirping radios.
The dark spots begin to cloud his vision completely, the piles of concrete and shadowed figures disappearing behind them.
The rubble around his waist and legs begins to shift, the pressure slowly being tugged away. Despite the meds trickling through his veins, the waves of pain build to a crescendo. It smashes into him, and he can’t fight the scream that erupts through his body. His throat burns, his lungs squeezing so tight he thinks they might burst.
His hand squeezes Hen’s, gripping it so tightly he knows it’s hurting her, but she doesn’t pull away.
“They’re almost done,” she says, her hand still raking through his curls. “We’re almost there.”
Tears stream down Buck’s cheeks, the pain overwhelming every one of his senses and threatening to drown him. The taste of salt mingles with the metallic taste of blood still filling his mouth, and Buck gags on it. His stomach churns.
Hen’s face swims in and out of focus, the approaching darkness beginning to swallow everything around him. He keeps squeezing her hand even though he knows it hurts her.
Buck knows she’s doing her best to keep him steady, her grip tight and her words reassuring, and he’s grateful, but he wants Eddie.
He needs Eddie.
But he can’t have him.
Because Chris needs him more.
“Hen,” he gasps, choking on his own breath.
“Don’t talk. Just save your strength for me. They’re moving the last few pieces of rubble, and then you’ll be out of here. The doctors will check you out, and you'll be good as new in no time.”
“Hen,” he says again, blood splattering the inside of the oxygen mask in small droplets. “Don’t tell Eddie.”
Buck’s grip on Hen’s hand goes slack, the darkness swallowing the entire room.
The last thing on his mind as the darkness slowly drags him into the depths is Eddie. He sees his face when he left for Texas on that rain-soaked day, his warm smile, and the way his cheeks flush red when he gets nervous.
His eyes slip closed with an image of Eddie in his mind and the hope that Hen will keep her promise.