On Call in Los Angeles, Late Night Shift
Pairing: Evan Buckley / Eddie Diaz (Buddie)
Fandom: 9-1-1 on FOX
Rating: Teen+
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Fire Rescue AU
Length: One-shot (short fic)
Summary;
When a call goes sideways and Buck finds Eddie trapped inside a burning building, everything changes.
.
.
“Every rescue was just duty. But saving Eddie… felt like everything.”
— A late-night shift, smoke in the air, and feelings they can’t ignore anymore.
.
.
.
.
The night air hangs heavy with smoke and rain, the kind of LA storm that never really feels real until it’s on your skin. Buck stands under the harsh glare of the ambulance lights, helmet off, hands still trembling slightly from the rescue he’d just pulled off four stories up. Dust clings to the back of his neck. His jacket smells like melted plastic and panic.
But none of that’s what makes his heart hammer against his ribs like it’s trying to escape.
It’s the radio crackle.
The tone of Hen’s voice when she says, “Unit 118, additional call—residential structure fire, Echo and 3rd. Possible firefighter down. Name came through… Diaz.”
Time stops.
The rest of the team is still unloading gear, but Buck’s already moving. He doesn’t speak—just tosses his gloves into the front seat and climbs into the driver’s side. Chim calls something after him, maybe “wait for backup,” but it’s already too late.
His foot hits the gas. Sirens scream.
The building is a three-story walk-up, older, warped from years of heat and neglect. The sky above pulses red and white with emergency lights. Buck doesn’t register the noise. Doesn’t notice the water hitting his face. All he sees is smoke blooming from the windows like bruises on brick.
Inside, it’s worse. The air is thick and wet. His mask slips on as muscle memory takes over, and then he’s in. Breathing smoke. Hearing crackles. Feeling the weight of something unsaid dragging behind every step.
He rounds the corner—and stops.
Eddie’s there.
Collapsed halfway down the hall, bracing himself with one arm, gasping against the sleeve of his turnout coat. Soot smears his face. His helmet’s gone. His mouth is open like he’s trying to speak, but nothing comes out except a rough cough.
“Eddie.” Buck’s voice breaks—low and hoarse and full of everything he hasn’t said in months.
Their eyes lock, just for a moment.
Three seconds.
That’s all.
Three seconds where neither of them moves, and yet it feels like the whole hallway has shifted around them.
Then Buck drops to his knees.
“I’ve got you,” he says, and this time it’s a promise. Not just for now, but for always.
Eddie tries to protest, fingers clutching at Buck’s jacket weakly. “Go—get out—” he wheezes.
“No chance in hell.”
Buck gets an arm around his back and lifts. Eddie’s heavier than he remembers—not in weight, but in what he means. In what this moment means. Every other rescue has felt like a job, like adrenaline and protocol. This feels like life or death, and not because of the fire.
Because it’s Eddie.
They move fast. The walls groan as Buck sprints down the corridor, Eddie held close to his chest. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t breathe. Flames lick the ceiling, close enough to taste. The heat is a wall, the smoke a blur.
But he doesn’t stop.
Not until they burst through the exit into the pouring rain.
The air hits him hard—wet and cold and real. He lowers Eddie onto a stretcher as a paramedic rushes in. Buck’s vision swims for a second. The adrenaline crashes down on him like a second wave.
“Sir? Are you okay?” someone asks.
He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His hands are still shaking.
And then—
A hand grabs his wrist.
It’s Eddie.
Eyes still rimmed with soot. Breathing rough. But awake. Present.
“You okay?” he asks, voice like gravel.
Buck doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Eddie’s hand still wrapped around his, and for the first time tonight—maybe the first time in weeks—he lets himself feel something.
Relief.
Terror.
Something sharp and warm at the same time.
“I am now,” he says softly.
The rain keeps falling. Around them, chaos churns—hoses, radio chatter, flickering lights. But in this small space between them, everything is quiet.
They don’t move. Don’t speak.
They just look at each other.
And in that silence, something shifts—something old and fragile and real.
Something that has nothing to do with fires or duty or uniforms.
Maybe it’s been building for years.
Maybe it starts right here.
But Buck knows one thing with painful clarity:
This night didn’t just save Eddie.
It saved them.