Pretty Boy - Ch 18 (Buddie x Reader)
Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.
Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17
(Gif by me) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: *are spoilers*, listed at the end
Adrenaline replaces your blood. An unpleasant sensation washes over you. The same three words keep bouncing between your ears.
Buck is dead.
Buck is dead.
Buck is…
“V-tach!” Someone shouts. “Everyone clear!”
Buck’s chest jolts upwards as the shock is administered.
“We got a pulse!”
You heave out a breath. You feel helpless as they wheel him away.
“H-he has a history of blood clots,” you eventually call out. “He’s not on any medications, but he’s allergic to naproxen.”
“Got it,” A doctor calls in response, “we’ll do our best.”
“Do more!” Eddie shouts as they turn the corner.
You turn to Eddie, limbs numb from shock. “What the hell happened?”
“It was so quick,” Eddie whispers, still staring straight ahead. “One second, he was up on the ladder, and the next, he was just… dangling. He was dead.”
You set a careful hand on Eddie’s shoulder, which prompts him to pull you into a hug.
“He’s gonna be okay,” you whisper.
You don’t know what you’ll do if he isn’t.
Buck awakens slowly, blinking a few times before fully opening his eyes.
“It’s about time,” you say softly.
Buck figures out quickly that he’s in a hospital; the air is stale, his usual pajamas are replaced by a gown, and the sheets beneath him are stiff instead of soft. The only problem is, he doesn’t know why he’s in the hospital. If anything, he should be there for you, since your due date is quickly approaching.
“What happened?” Buck asks, rubbing his forehead as he slowly comes to.
“You fell off a ladder, hit your head. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything too serious. Daniel will be back with your discharge papers.”
“...Daniel? My brother?”
You were there for Buck when he learned about his older brother. He has no clue why you’re talking about him now.
“...yeah?” you say with a confused smile. “I’m going to start packing stuff up.”
You stand up, and Buck’s eyes widen.
“You’re not pregnant,” he whispers.
“Thank god for that,” you laugh out, putting a few things into your purse.
“W-what happened?” Buck chokes out. “D-did you… oh, god…”
“What? Whoa, hey!” You spin around, quickly moving to Buck when you see how panicked he is. “Baby, I was pregnant. Two years ago.”
Buck lets out a sigh of relief. “Katie.”
You smile, setting your hands on his cheeks. “Yes, Katie, our daughter. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Buck has a daughter. He’s never been more okay in his life. He relaxes, running his hands up and down your arms.
“What about Eddie?”
Your smile turns into one of confusion. “What about Eddie?”
“How… How is he?” Buck asks dumbly.
You shrug, your hands falling to your sides. “No clue. I haven’t talked to him since be moved back to Texas.”
Buck’s head feels like it’s spinning. “...huh?”
“His parents got full custody of his kid, and he moved to Texas to be closer to them,” you explain casually. “You don’t remember that?”
How can you sound so calm about it? Eddie is a huge part of both of your lives. Hell, he’s one of Katie’s parents … isn’t he?
“We… we’re not… he didn’t…”
Buck cuts himself off with a few gasps. He tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs feel constricted. He’s panicking, and he has no idea how to stop it.
“We need a nurse!” Eddie shouts before you can.
You’re supposed to be one in a few months, but you’ve never felt so out of your depth. You had a single lecture about ventilators in nursing school, most of which you didn’t retain. All you see is that the top bar — the volume of air delivered — is alarming. You see Buck’s chest rapidly rising and falling.
“Buck, if you can hear me, you need to breathe, okay?” you whisper in his ear as you run a hand over his face. “Just breathe, baby.”
A few nurses rush in, and you step back before they have to push you out of the way.
“His sats are dropping,” one nurse notes while the other puts a stethoscope to Buck’s chest. “We need to take him off and a bag him.”
You keep backing up until you hit something. A pair of strong arms wrap around you, one resting across your chest while the other cradles your stomach. Eddie.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Eddie whispers in your ear.
All you can do is grip his arm like a lifeline.
“Buck, can you hear me? …Buck!”
Buck looks around, his eyes landing on you.
“Where’d you go, babe?” you chuckle.
“Sorry, I was… I don’t know. Sorry.”
The details come back to him slowly: his parents and Daniel came over for family dinner, along with Maddie, her daughter, and her husband. Her daughter and husband, Genevieve and Doug. A bitter taste fills Buck’s mouth.
“I can’t believe she stayed with him,” he says quietly. “He’s gonna kill her.”
You sigh sadly as you gather some plates. “I think I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told her that. I mean, hell, we work in an ER together, for god’s sake. She’s seen what men are capable of. I know leaving is easier said than done, but…”
Buck’s memories are hazy, only occasionally coming into focus. As you turn on the sink, he studies you.
“You’re a nurse,” he says.
“Sure am,” you return. “It’s not like that’s how we met, or anything.”
Oh, yeah. Buck stopped by after school let out to check up on a student he had to call EMS for. The poor girl had a seizure, scared the crap out of her classmates. She had already transferred to the pediatric floor for monitoring by the time he got there, but in the ER, he ran into you. He asked Maddie for your number, and the rest was history.
A student… Buck’s a teacher. 5th…? No, 6th grade. On his first date with you, he explained that 6th grade is the best because you get to see children growing into their personalities before the awkward teenage years. God, he loves his job. He knows you love yours, too, and though they aren’t in the same profession, it’s something you both quickly bonded over.
“Just testing you,” Buck jokes.
You face him with a hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. His brows knit closer together ever so slightly. You pick up on it.
“What’s wrong?” you ask softly.
“Something feels… off,” Buck replies, unsure of how else to phrase it. “It’s like all the pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, but one is missing.”
“Poetic,” you remark.
“I’m serious,” Buck insists. “...Why did he move away?”
You sigh as you move your hands down to Buck’s shoulders. “We’re not seriously talking about Eddie again, are we?”
“It just… feels like it never really ended, right? Like he’s a loose end.”
“Oh, he’s something alright,” you scoff as you turn back towards the sink and start washing dishes.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
You set down a plate with a clatter. “You remember what he did, Evan: he almost destroyed us.”
A little while after Eddie’s shooting, the three of you sat down and wrote your Advanced Directives and assigned each other as Power of Attorneys in case of… well, something exactly like this. So when Dr. Becker asks to speak to you and Eddie privately, you know it’s to discuss further treatment options.
Turns out, there aren’t very many. They already have him on a paralytic drip to keep him compliant with the ventilator, but his lungs still aren’t pulling good tidal volumes. She says that proning— or laying him on his stomach — could maybe improve things, but considering the cause of his respiratory failure, it’s unlikely.
“...which leaves us with Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation as our best option.”
“ECMO?” you ask.
ECMO is another topic you had a singular lecture on, but you know enough to know it’s not good. You also know it’s not good because you, Eddie, Dr. Becker, and Buck’s nurse are all sitting in a secluded conference room. You don’t get good news in a hospital conference room.
Dr. Becker nods. “It would be Veno-Venous, meaning it bypasses the lungs instead of the lungs and the heart.”
Eddie nods a little. “Well, that’s… good, right? I mean, bypassing one organ sounds better than bypassing two.”
You keep staring at Dr. Becker. “There’s something you’re not saying.”
Eddie frowns, glancing between the two of you. “What? What aren’t you saying?”
Dr. Becker sighs. “ECMO is known as a ‘Hail Mary’ in the world of medicine.”
That’s how you remember your instructor phrasing it — ECMO is an absolute last-ditch effort. It’s only considered when every other option has been explored.
“It’s not a cure: it’s a bridge,” you say, trying (and failing) to keep your voice level.
“It can give him the time his lungs need to heal,” Dr. Becker explains.
“And if it doesn’t, he’d need a transplant,” you continue. “And if he can’t get a transplant…”
“...he would stay on ECMO indefinitely.”
“...Or he would…” you start but cut yourself off with a sob. You clasp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to take a breath. “...or he would die.”
The words don’t sit right on your tongue. Your lips twist as they make their way out, like you ate something sour.
Dr. Becker’s face stays even, but you catch a glimpse of something in her eyes: pity. “Yes.”
You scoot back in your chair, making a break for the door. The protests of Dr. Becker and Eddie make it to your ears but not your brain. All you can focus on is the bile that’s climbing to the back of your throat.
You slam open the door of a single-stall bathroom, barely able to lock it before you collapse to your knees in front of the toilet. You gag several times, only spit and stomach acid eventually making their way up. Now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you ate something.
You eventually sit on the floor, resting your head against the tile wall. You take a few breaths, rubbing your palm over your chest. Then, you feel a sudden gush between your legs. Against your better judgment, you stay seated, eyes wide and heart pounding.
No. No, no, no. Not now. Not with everything going on.
Not without him.
Eddie said he was in love with you, and you said you were dating Buck. Buck’s pretty sure that’s part of why he moved to Texas: to get away from you. Something about it doesn’t sit right in his stomach.
“That’s not how it was supposed to happen,” Buck murmurs, setting his hands on the counter and leaning into it.
“How exactly was it supposed to happen?” you counter, placing your left hand close to his.
Buck sees a ring. It’s a diamond, probably not a real one, but it looks convincing enough. His eyes move to his own left hand, and sure enough, a gold band is wrapped around his fourth finger.
“We’re married,” he says, almost inaudibly.
“You proposed after a year,” you recall fondly. “I thought you were crazy, but… it’s our five-year anniversary next week.”
Buck should be happy. He should be overjoyed, really — he has everything he’s ever wanted. He has a beautiful wife, an amazing daughter, and a fulfilling career. Still, his gut twists and turns.
“He was in love with you,” Buck eventually says.
“And I’m in love with you,” you state, “so nothing else matters.”
“But it does,” Buck argues, pushing against the counter until he’s standing up straight. “It does matter.”
“Why?” you frown. “Eddie is long gone, Buck. That chapter of our lives has been closed for a while.”
“It’s not supposed to happen like this!” Buck shouts.
You go still, swallowing. “What does that mean?”
“It’s… it’s supposed to be the five of us!” Buck says as he starts to pace. “It’s supposed to be me, you, and him, raising Katie and Chris.”
You look at him like he’s speaking French. “What the hell are you talking about, Buck?”
Buck halts his pacing and turns to you. “Are you in love with him?”
You snort. “What?”
“Are you in love with him?” He repeats.
“Buck, I love you,” you counter.
“I know you do, and you know I love you,” Buck says, a sense of deja vu washing over him, “but I’m asking if you love him.”
You and Eddie ultimately consent to the ECMO cannulation. Buck’s struggled his whole life, and he’s always taken it in stride. He deserves the chance to walk away from this.
That being said, he drew some strong lines in the sand in his Advanced Directives, and you and Eddie have no intentions of erasing them. Buck specifically refused the placement of a tracheostomy and gave a general timeline of two weeks for his status to improve before medical efforts should be ceased. He also said that if at any point it’s suspected he won’t make a meaningful recovery, care should be withdrawn. You’re not at that point yet, but with each hour, you can feel it getting closer.
You went home after agreeing to the cannulation, too emotionally and physically exhausted to stick around. Besides, Chris should have at least one of his parents send him off to school that morning. You briefly explained Buck’s condition and that children aren’t allowed to visit in the ICU before kissing his cheek and seeing him off for the day.
When you finally get a chance to change, you notice the gush you felt earlier; it’s the ‘bloody show’ your OB warned you about. It’s a mix of the mucus plug and some frank blood, normally passed anywhere from days to hours before active labor. You still have time.
Then, as if the universe is playing a trick on you, you feel a contraction.
You lean against the dresser, inhaling slowly. Braxton Hicks are noticeable, but they’re short, normally lasting only a few seconds. By the time you’re done exhaling, it’s over. Or… it should be over. This one continues.
“Come on, Katie,” you mumble, rubbing up and down your tight belly, “not now.”
You count to twenty before the contraction ceases. The paramedic part of your brain screams, but the overly tired part takes over. You don’t panic. You don’t call Eddie. You don’t call anyone.
You go to sleep.
“It… it doesn’t matter,” you repeat, tripping over the words.
“It doesn’t?” Buck challenges. “Because I love him.”
“Why are you doing this?” you whisper.
The look on your face hurts Buck’s heart. Still, he persists.
“This isn’t how this is supposed to happen,” Buck says softly. “This… it isn’t real.”
“Buck, I love you,” you cry. “We have a family.”
“This isn’t real,” Buck repeats, mostly to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his hands in his hair.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t —
When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing. Quite literally, nothing. All Buck can see is black. He takes a step forward, almost expecting the ground to ripple beneath him. It doesn’t.
He starts running. He doesn’t know if he’s running away from something or towards something, but either way, he’s running. Normally, he’d run until he was out of breath. That doesn’t seem to happen, though, so he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other.
“You figured it out,” a voice cuts into his head.
Buck spins around. There’s no one there.
“You were always too smart for your own good.”
The voice is familiar, and not in a comforting way, like the softness of an overworn hoodie. It’s more like being haunted by a ghost.
“You could’ve been happy.”
“It wasn’t real!” Buck shouts into the void.
“It could’ve been,” the voice counters. “If only you’d let it.”
You get back to the hospital later that evening. You plan on switching out with Eddie. What you don’t plan on is seeing Christopher in the waiting room.
“Buddy, what are you doing here?” You ask.
Hen shoots you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but he insisted on coming.”
“I need to see Buck,” Chris replies. “I have to talk to him.”
“They don’t let kids in the ICU, Chris,” you say softly.
“I don’t care!”
You sigh, running a hand down your face.
“...Maybe we can find a workaround,” Hen offers.
By some miracle, Hen distracts the nurse long enough for you to sneak Christopher into Buck’s room. Eddie’s eyes widen as he stands up, approaching you both.
“I couldn’t say no,” you say weakly with a shrug.
You both watch as Christopher takes a few steps forward, looking at all the devices.
“Is he sleeping?” He asks.
“Something like that,” Eddie responds, voice thick.
“He’s resting, so the machines can do all the work to make him feel better,” you explain.
Chris nods. “Can he hear me?”
You look over at Eddie, who’s wiping away a few tears.
“I bet he can,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay level.
“Hey, Buck. It’s Christopher. I know you’re sick, but it’s only temporary. You’re going to be okay,” Chris says, reaching out to touch Buck’s arm. “Wherever you are, you have to come back.”
Wherever you are right now, you have to come back.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” Buck says. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to the voice or to himself.
“You can’t go back,” the voice says. “It’s too late.”
“I’m running out of time,” Buck says quietly.
He catches something in the corner of his eye. He turns around to face a mirror. It has to be a mirror — he’s staring at himself.
“You’re dying,” the voice says. Only, it isn’t a voice; it’s his reflection. “Turns out, your parents were right: you aren’t invincible. Weren’t, I guess.”
“This isn’t how it ends,” Buck argues weakly. “I have a family out there.”
“What, your parents?” His reflection scoffs. “The people so caught up in grieving their son that they forgot they still had one left? Or your sister, who’s so busy with her own kid that she won’t even notice you’re gone?”
Buck doesn’t like this version of himself. It’s probably who he’d become had he never joined the 118. It isn’t even Buck… it’s Evan.
“My family,” Buck argues. “My partners. My son. My daughter.”
“It’s sad she’ll never get to meet you,” Evan says, tilting his head. “It’s probably easier that way, though. The other three… that one’s gonna hurt.”
In a mere twelve hours, Buck turns a corner. The ECMO is already titrated down to a level that could warrant decannulation. They discontinued the paralytic and are currently running a spontaneous breathing trial, which involves Buck doing all the work of breathing. He’s an hour in and doing great.
You sit in an armchair beside his bed, picking at a sandwich Eddie got you from the cafeteria. You feel Eddie set his hands on your shoulders.
“You have to eat something, mi amor,” He murmurs as he kneads your neck muscles.
You let out a sigh, setting the sandwich aside and leaning into his touch. Then, you hiss out a breath and grab your stomach involuntarily.
Eddie’s hands stall. “Is that a contraction?”
You close your eyes as you focus on your breathing. You feel Eddie brush past your arm, and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you.
“Don’t worry, they’re still 15 minutes apart.”
“...You’ve been having them regularly?!”
“15 minutes means I’m still in latent labor, not active.”
“You’re in labor, ” Eddie parrots, standing back up.
“Yeah, and I’m not having her until we know Buck is okay,” you say definitively.
Eddie runs his hands down his face. “How long have you been in labor?”
“...15 hours, I think.”
Eddie’s eyes widen.
“People can be in latent labor for days , Eddie,” you argue. “Besides, I checked myself earlier, and I’m only like, three centimeters dilated.”
“You…” Eddie cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.
“This is not a big deal!”
“How is this not a big deal?!”
“Because I’m not having her until Buck is okay,” you repeat.
It doesn’t make sense. The rational part of your brain knows that. However, the rational part of your brain is taking a hiatus. In its place is an irrational, scared shitless pregnant woman running rampant with hormones. You simply cannot fathom Buck not being there for his daughter’s birth. And so, you don’t.
“Babe…” Eddie says, exasperated.
“What?” you say, standing up. “We probably have days before we need to worry about this. Lets focus on Buck for now.”
Eddie’s eyes trail from your face down to your legs. “Babe.”
“What?” you huff.
“Your water just broke.”
You look down. Your pants are stained with an obvious wet spot, and you can feel something cold trickling down your leg.
“...Fuck.”
Warnings: mild depictions of early child labor/childbirth
