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hello my loves! she/her (also okay with they/them.)
Kindle, 20s, MDNI | fandom shit (mostly 9-1-1 and buddie, heated rivalry, sometimes bones, living single, or teen wolf or whatever i'm interested in at the moment)
racists, transphobes, homophobes, and any and all alt-right pieces of shit can stay the fuck away <3
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hen tilts her head at him, putting down the child-sized slide in his backyard. "a bit late for that, buckaroo," she says. "you can't return a kid the same way you can return backyard toys."
buck looks at her with a kind of wild look in his eyes, a sort of how the hell did i get myself into this that makes hen's heart twinge, just a little.
"no, i--" he hesitates, looking around. the backyard, with the weights taken off to the side, replaced with an inflatable pool and a swing set and all manner of children's toys. "i mean, i just-- it feels unfair, that it's me."
hen leans her hip on the fence, watching him. there's a sort of frantic energy to him that has clung to the edges of his eyes ever since the hospital, the elevator, his pants soaked in eddie's blood as he held his hand. or maybe before that, when hen had shaken her head at eddie over a set of crumpled bodies and then followed his gaze to buck's hands wrapped around a small figure, holding him like he doesn't know what else to do.
"it's unfair that it's not them," hen acknowledges. "but they mentioned you in their will, didn't they? they trusted you."
buck snorts. "yeah," he says, then, in a lower voice-- "if i had a nickel for every time..." hen, wisely, decides not to pursue that. "but they weren't actually gonna let me-- if it weren't for the fact that there was nobody else--"
"but there was nobody else," hen interrupts him, because she can see the spiral beginning in his throat. "so it's you."
"how did you and karen know?" buck asks her. "that you could-- that you were ready?"
hen thinks about her baby, her babies, both the ones that are with her now and the ones that aren't. the long nights, the research, the talks that ended in tears or furious whispers or distances that felt too far to breach, sometimes. sometimes she looks at denny and thinks about what a miracle it is that he's here. sometimes she looks at mara and wonders at her own selfishness, for being so glad to have her, even though it meant so much suffering had to happen.
she looks at buck, and says: "we didn't. we decided that we wanted to build this life, that's all. the ready part comes afterwards."
buck absorbs that, and she can see the little furrow of his brows that means that he's carving her words onto his heart. he comes over next to her, leaning on the fence close, shoes knocking together. he leans his curls on her shoulder, shuffling down to fit. she lets him, because he was once this lanky kid who watched her put an iv in like she was pure magic, and the awe has never quite left his eyes when he looks at her.
"i feel like-- i was ready to let go, you know?" he murmurs, voice soft between them. "like you said: donor, not dad."
hen nods, cheek brushing against his curls. she remembers that conversation, the satisfaction of being able to focus on his problems, to provide a solution that she didn't have in her life, back then. she should've known that life would turn out far stranger and more complicated than her pithy phrase.
"and now you might be both," she finishes his thought.
a long exhale. "and now i might be both."
when harry had called buck theo's dad, hen had been the only one to correct him-- his biological father. she had remembered that conversation, then. how hesitant buck had been. her own reservations.
"do you want to be both?" she asks, because that part is important, too.
"yes-- no--" buck shakes his head. "i don't know."
hen thinks about buck bringing theo down from the electrical tower. he'd been charmed by theo, but only in the same way all of them were, only in the easy way buck connected to any kid on a call. it wasn't an instant connection or a biological imperative, just buck being buck, empathizing with a kid a little too hard, loving a little too easily.
love, for hen, has always been series of choices. sometimes easy, sometimes difficult. it's the nature of existing the way she does, in the world that she has to navigate. she's had years to come to terms with it. buck doesn't quite have that kind of time.
"that's okay," she says, still. "you don't have to know right now. this isn't-- it doesn't have to be permanent."
"i don't want to make the wrong choice," buck says, quietly. "i don't want him to ever-- feel like i did. unchosen."
hen nudges him with her elbow, making him wiggle a little. "you won't," she says, confident. "you know why?"
buck raises his head a little to look at her, all little-kid curiosity. she smiles.
"because there's only one thing you have to do to not mess this up," she says. "and you're there already."
buck blinks at her. "doing all the paperwork properly?"
hen laughs. shoves him a little, looks over all the things that buck has prepared for a little boy he'd been ready to let go of, if that's what he needed.
imagining chris also being a hangry lil guy and eddie one day looking at him sulking and him and buck trying to coax him into eating something and afterwards going 'man that was like pulling teeth, i don't know where he gets that' with zero irony and buck just stares at him incredulously for like a full minute.
people will describe their incredibly nebulous sexuality to you that theyāve never been able to define and the whole time youāre thinking that sounds like bisexuality brother
I saw this tiktok and now I'm hyperfocused on a season 3 rewrite after the fire truck bombing where instead of miraculously healing, Buck goes through a series of failed surgeries resulting in a below-the-knee amputation of his crushed leg.
And then we actually spend some time with that.
Buck struggling through rehab. Buck being furious and scared and stubborn and pretending heās fine (he's completely fine you guys) in ways that are deeply, obviously not fine. The 118 trying to carry on without him. Someone like Bosko coming in as a temporary replacement, and Buck being totally normal and chill about that. Obviously.
And then Buck gets a super cool firefighting prosthetic and we get a whole storyline (let's be real, one episode) about him training to recertify, learning what his body can do now, meeting other amputees and firefighters and athletes with prostheses, and fighting his way back to the 118.
Itās triumphant. Itās emotional. Iām crying. Youāre crying. Bobby's in the background looking proud.
And all the while Buck's been living with Eddie and Chris because of course he has. He can't be in the Loft by himself with that kind of injury and Eddie knows how to be a caregiver to someone with mobility issues and beside, he's a paramedic. And he's Eddie.
And Buck bonds with Christopher over disability and mobility and frustration and adaptation, but coming at it from different angles ā being born with disability vs. coming to it at a later age. Both of them understanding something about each other that nobody else quite does.
Meanwhile Eddie's fully slipping into husband mode without noticing. Heās managing meds. Heās driving Buck to appointments. Heās making Christopher do his homework at the kitchen table while Buck does PT exercises in the living room. Heās saying things like āour houseā and āwe need more spaceā and somehow not hearing himself at all.
And by the end of the season Eddie's fully house hunting for a 3 bedroom accessible house because they need more space and the 118 is side-eying them all so hard they're getting migraines.
And then Buck and Eddie kiss about it in the finale.
So Iāve been thinking. About you ā us. About the beginning. How everything could have gone so many different ways, and it didnāt. It all went the way it did, and I got to know you.Ā
I got to marry you.
His hand moves to his chest pocket ā taps it twice, over the name etched there.
I'm following blogs that haven't posted in like eight years but I don't care I shall never unfollow them because I am a true and loyal knight #loyalknight
