The ambulance bay doors swing open as the gurney rolls into the ED, the smell of smoke following close behind the paramedics pushing it. Jack is already moving before they fully clear the entrance. “What’ve we got?” he calls, falling easily into step beside them while his eyes scan quickly over the patient—soot streaked across turnout gear, oxygen cannula in place more precautionary than urgent, one wrist wrapped loosely in gauze.
“Thirty-two-year-old male,” the medic reports. “Minor smoke inhalation, took a hit from falling debris during a warehouse fire. Nearly passed out when he tried to keep working on scene.”
Jack huffs quietly. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Then the patient turns his head enough for recognition to hit. Everything in Jack’s expression shifts for half a second.
“Buck?” The name slips out before he can stop it, concern flashing briefly across his face before the doctor in him immediately takes back over. He keeps pace beside the gurney as they steer into an open treatment room, one hand catching briefly against the side rail. “Alright,” Jack says, voice steadier now as nurses move around them preparing the room. “Let’s get him on monitors and respiratory down here to check him out.” His eyes flick back toward Buck again, tension still sitting underneath the calm professionalism now that he recognizes exactly who’s on the gurney.
If anyone had asked Theo if he liked kids the answer would be an immediate yes, and if anyone had ever asked if he wanted to start a family it'd be another yes; yet slightly more hesitant. So when Henrietta Wilson from station 119 had called him saying she needed a favor to help a child she knew avoid foster care he'd happily accepted. Maybe he should've asked more questions first. But here he is a month later with a wedding ring on his finger and standing in the doorway of Buck's home while waiting for the other's son to arrive with the social worker.
"Wait! We forgot to agree upon who proposed, oh crap. Do you think they'll ask us that? Or what if they ask us like really personal questions?" Theo starts to pace around the hallway as his nerves grow. "And what about his school schedule? Who should do pick up and drop offs? And, and names? What's he gonna call us?" Ok maybe he was very nervous.
@walkedthroughfires asked:
"Hey Doc."
Buck smiled from the bed,cradling his left arm protectively. It would be pretty obvious his collar bone was broken, possibly that wrist also, and he had his firefighting uniform on.
"Closed fracture. Fell through a dryrotted floor onto concrete. No current meds but I'm allergic to naproxen and addicted to opioids."
Dennis quickly ran over. The uniform told him most of what he needed to know; firefighters tended to get quick service when it came to the ED. Almost everyone had a story painting firefighters in angel light, so no one minded rushing over. "Let me see."
He felt for a pulse in the injured arm, already cataloguing what he needed to know. "Alright. I'm Dr. Whitaker, I'll be getting you sorted. Can you tell me your name? Did you hit your head when you fell?"
2,527 words // t // love confessions // gift for @walkedthroughfires for @911fanworksfestival
Eddie doesn’t want to die, but if he has to, at least the last thing he’ll hear is the love of his life’s happy, beautiful voice lulling him off to sleep.
Eddie thinks he’s going to die. He doesn’t, but if he pulls a stunt like that again Buck may just finish the job.
If Eddie had to guess how he was going to die, he would have thought it would be in a blazing fire or a rope rescue or maybe drowning during a big save, if not from old age. He would have thought he had more time, if he’s being totally honest. More time to spend with Christopher, with his family, with his friends, with Buck.
God, and that’s a whole other thing, isn’t it? The Buck of it all. He and Tommy had broken up a couple of months ago, and since then he’d been spending more and more time with Chris and Eddie. It’s been wonderful, of course, Eddie would never complain about seeing Buck more often. He just thought he’d have more time, is all. More time to tell him what he finally figured out in therapy a few weeks ago. To tell him that he loves him.
In any case, he never would have thought he would die at 31-years-old in the cab of his truck with a shard of glass in his abdomen during a rare Los Angeles thunderstorm.
It happens like this.
He’s driving home from dropping Christopher off at Griffith Observatory for a lock-in when the sprinkling of rain turns into an all-out downpour. He never saw much rain in El Paso, but it did snow sometimes, and he often drove with his Abuelo to Dallas for work where it rained a lot, so he’s much better off than a lot of other people on the road. Still, what should have been a thirty minute drive home is promising to take at least an hour or more in the stop-and-go traffic on the 5. While he’s probably a little more versed than others at driving in this weather, he still isn’t exactly completely over all of his water-related trauma. He never will be, he reminds himself often; trauma doesn’t just go away. You just get better and better at handling it when it comes up. So as he rides his brake for a solid ten minutes, he contemplates just pulling over and popping in some headphones to wait out the storm.
Unfortunately, before he can make up his mind, the car in front of him suddenly stops, forcing him to slam on his own brakes. His heart hammers in his chest and he holds his breath as he braces for potential impact behind him. When nothing comes, he closes his eyes and lets out a measured sigh before looking up and seeing an exit for Stadium Way directly to his right, and he makes up his mind.
That’s what he’ll do. Get off the highway, take Stadium all the way to Sunset and head to Buck’s instead of his own house. The traffic will still be bad but at least it won’t be stop-and-go at freeway speeds. So he pulls the wheel to the right and presses the gas, slipping out from behind the little Honda he almost totaled and coasting down the offramp toward the intersection at the other end. There’s almost no one down here, the only vehicle being a semi-truck who apparently had the same idea as Eddie did to pull over and wait out the rain, only this person followed through with it. The hazards flash in the dim light of the late evening sky, casting a red glow across Eddie’s face as he turns and passes it and heads toward a wide right curve. The rain pounds against his windshield and he flicks the wipers on to the strongest setting, the blades wicking the water off as fast as they can but still not fast enough. Visibility is near zero, and just as he’s about to give in and pull over, a mini van whips around the corner much too quickly with no headlights on. It rounds the curve, swerving into Eddie’s lane more and more until they’re directly in front of him.
He doesn’t think, merely reacts, throwing the wheel to the left and jerking into the on-coming lane. He knows, right away, that he’s turned too far to correct on these wet roads. If he tries to turn back to his lane now, he’ll probably start flipping, and if he tries to brake, he’ll start hydroplaning. All he can do is watch as the edge of the road comes up to meet him and then for a split second, there’s nothing. No road, no ground, nothing under his tires as he free-falls the few seconds down the hill and directly into a cluster of shrubs and trees. Then it’s an explosion of glass and screeching metal and a bang of the airbags as they deploy around him. He feels his seatbelt pull taut against his chest and when he gasps he feels the powder from the airbags invade his throat, but the rest comes in pieces.
The sight of the windshield, shattered with only a few stray pieces clinging to the frame, the deluge of rain hitting the roof, the splatters of blood on the console in front of him. Everything is hazy and out of focus and it takes him a long moment of simply staring at a single drop of blood on the now-deflated airbag and willing himself to come back to his body for him to actually realize what’s happened. He’s just crashed off the side of an empty road, at night, during the rain, and down an embankment into a shroud of foliage.
Not ideal.
Thankfully, his phone had been in the front pocket of his jacket and hadn’t been dislodged in the collision, so he’s able to reach a shaking hand to retrieve it, using voice commands instead of attempting to navigate the screen.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
The voice isn’t familiar, and Eddie isn’t sure if he’s thankful or disappointed.
“This is off-duty firefighter Eddie Diaz, I’ve been in a car accident off of North Stadium Way.” The words force their way past his lips and he can’t help but notice the way they shake. “About a quarter mile off the 5 exit. I’ve gone off the side of the road into an embankment of trees.”
“Okay, Eddie, I’m Sam, what kind of car are you in?” Sam asks him, and Eddie can just barely hear the typing as they work.
“Black GMC Sierra.”
“Alright, good,” tap, tap, tap, “are you injured?”
“N-No, I…” Eddie trails off, only just now becoming aware of his body and the aches and pains that ripple through him. His head hurts but it doesn’t feel like it’s anything major, probably just a bump. He tries to wiggle his toes and finds they all seem to move just fine. He allows his awareness to move down his body and he gasps when he notices a sharp pain at his abdomen. He looks down for the first time, and past the blood and glass covering his arms he sees a large portion of the windshield embedded in his stomach.
That’s not ideal.
“Uh, yeah I have a shard of glass in my abdomen,” he stammers, “a-approximately eight by three inches is visible, I’m not sure how deep it is.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to not remove the glass,” Sam states, and Eddie huffs a dry laugh.
“No, it’s definitely staying where it is.”
Now that he’s aware of the injury, the pain comes to him in waves. He watches the jagged edge of the glass rise and fall with his labored breathing and for the first time in a while he wonders if this is the end. He can tell he’s losing blood quickly by the way his vision begins to blur and his head feels heavy. He’s not sure how much longer he has before he won’t be able to recoup the lost blood volume.
“How long until the bus gets here?” He already sounds weaker to his own ears. “I-I’m not sure how long I’ve got, I’m losing a lot of blood.”
“The storm has flooded the road just north of you,” Sam informs him, his tone still professional and even, “and there’s a wreck on the 5 backing up traffic behind you. I’m trying to figure something out, hang tight.”
“Not going anywhere,” he mumbles, resting his head against the seat with a measured breath. He listens for a few moments to the background noise of Sam working, noting the few times they click off to another line before coming back.
The rain is making its way into the car through the windowless truck, and the half-crumpled roof provides no real protection. This paired with the quickly-worsening blood loss has him shivering violently, his right arm shaking where he has the phone held close to his ear. He’s about to ask Sam for an update when he hears a beep over the line. He turns his head, vision hazy as he looks at the screen that’s marred with blood, and sees Buck’s smiling face looking back at him. Despite the cold, a warmth blooms in his chest. This is, of course, quickly followed by a pang of grief that he has to press through to end the call with 9-1-1 and answer Buck.
“Hello?” He thinks he sounds normal. He hopes he does.
“Eddie!” Buck’s bright voice is an immediate balm and he closes his eyes in the first semblance of comfort he’s felt since the first raindrops hit his windshield earlier that evening. “You busy?”
“Nope.”
“I have some chores to do, figured I’d call and tell you about this documentary I just watched.” Eddie can hear him walking about, the odd clink of a dish here or there punctuating his movements. “Y’know, that whole body doubling thing I told you about?”
“Mmhm,” Eddie hums, relaxing even further, “I remember.”
The phone comes to a rest on his chest, his arm stiff against his body. He listens to Buck, not quite hearing every word but the familiar timber and lilt of his voice is enough to capture his full attention. He’s saying something about the ‘deep dark history’ of medical research and autopsies, talks about grave robberies and racism in the medical community; Eddie hums when his half-conscious brain tells him he should and smiles as Buck gets more and more excited the longer he talks.
Eddie doesn’t want to die, but if he has to, at least the last thing he’ll hear is the love of his life’s happy, beautiful voice lulling him off to sleep.
-
“You motherfucker.”
Eddie groans, attempting to open his eyes against the way-too-bright light. He hears a sigh followed by a few soft footsteps and then he can see the lights dim behind his eyelids. He tries again and this time he’s able to make out a figure standing over him. He’s not totally sure what’s going on, all he can really process is a dull ache throughout his whole body. The last thing he remembers is dropping Christopher off for his lock-in and then hopping on the highway just as the rain started getting heavy.
Then he remembers.
The van in his lane, the crunch of his truck as he crashed into the embankment, the shattered glass raining over him, the pain. Buck’s voice.
“Buck.” He finally focuses on the person at his bedside and finds his perturbed best friend with crossed arms and a furrowed brow. Even in his dazed state, though, Eddie can see the worry underneath the frustration in the way his lips make a straight line and he’s taking deep, measured breaths.
“I call you,” Buck says softly, fingers on his left hand gripping his right arm as he speaks, “and talk to you about a-a Hulu documentary, and you don’t tell me you’re actively bleeding out?”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie rasps as he shifts in the bed. The slight movement sends a sharp, shooting pang through his abdomen and he freezes as he gasps in pain. Buck’s frustration immediately falls from his face and his hands cradle Eddie’s frame as he helps him to lay back gently against the pillows, a quiet hushing slipping past his lips as he does.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again once he’s settled, “I didn’t think I was going to make it, and I-”
He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. He could be honest, and probably reveal too much, or he could hedge his words a bit and play things off.
But he almost died. Again. And he’s so tired of not being honest.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Buck sighs, a watery smile on his face as if he knew what Eddie was going to say. Hell, he probably did. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand in his own, drawing it up and placing a kiss to his fingers.
“You do anything like that again,” he tries to sound demanding but he just sounds fond, “I’ll kill you.”
“Got it.” Eddie smiles back, rubbing his thumb across Buck’s fingers, which is just about the only movement that doesn’t hurt him in some way, while Buck settles into the seat beside the bed.
Eddie knows he should probably ask some more questions - like what day is it, did he have surgery, where’s Chris? - but he figures if there’s anything he needs to know he can find out later. Right now he’s content to bask in Buck’s presence and his morphine drip that he hopes is wide open. After a few minutes, he lets his head loll sideways to face Buck and finds him watching him.
Maybe it’s the morphine, or maybe he’s still feeling honest, but as he looks into Buck’s beautiful face he finds himself saying the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.
“You know I’m in love with you, right?”
Buck’s smile somehow gets softer, and a blush works its way up his cheeks that Eddie frankly just wants to kiss.
“Yeah,” Buck’s voice cracks as he speaks, “yeah I had my suspicions.”
He stands up from the chair and leans over the bed, his face impossibly close to Eddie’s and hand cradling his cheek.
“You know I’m in love with you, too, right?”
Eddie smiles, turning his face into Buck’s palm.
“Yeah.” His heart swells in his chest and he wouldn’t be surprised if it shows on the monitor. “I think I did know.”
Buck’s probably not very comfortable with how he has to hold himself up from putting any pressure on Eddie’s injuries, but he pauses and just looks at him. His beautiful, beautiful eyes roam over his face and Eddie finds himself mesmerized by his quiet concentration.
“The last time I was this close to you, you were dying in the back of a truck.”
He wasn’t sure what Buck was going to say, but that wouldn’t have been a guess. But it fits, somehow. On a street in Los Angeles, half a decade ago, he almost died in front of his best friend. Now, he gets to live beside the man he loves for the rest of his life. What else can he say but,
The little wavyheaded toddler standing on the porch was practically vibrating with excitement as he held up a piece of rounded, blue-green glass for her inspection.
"I founded a seal glass on the beach and Buck said I can give it to you!"
Sure enough, said firefighter stood on the walk smiling at the boy with indulgent fondness.
"Sea glass, buddy, not seal.And careful not to drop it, remember how we talked about fragile things?"
Beth is pulling out a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of her oven just as Theo's voice rings through the bright, airy space just beyond her screen door. She puts it down on a set of hot pads to cool before she will remove them to a wire rack and pads her way over. The glass-and-wood door had been left open to allow the fresh salt air in, and so she opens the screen before instinctively crouching to come closer to the boy's height.
Green-gold eyes sweep across Buck then downward to the treasure clutched in tiny fingers. The piece is actually quite lovely but not more beautiful than Theo's generous nature and the knowledge that Buck knows she keeps a collection of such things from the sea. Not many people do.
"It's quite pretty," she says and enunciates the words carefully. Theo had not grown up speaking pidgin and Beth does not want to adversely shape his language so early on. She meets the boy's eyes with seriousness shining through her smile. "That's very kind of you. And I will treasure it if that is what you want to do with it."
She presses one delicate finger tip to his nose. "Can you ask Buck if it's okay for you to come inside and have a glass of milk and a cookie?"
Another flicker up toward the firefighter that made her heart flutter, this one warm and welcoming and offering a different kind of sweetness.
@walkedthroughfires asked [ sigh ] " what did you do ? "
he froze at the other's voice and blinked a few times before he turned on his heel slowly to face him. he inhaled deeply and shook his head. ❝ what are you talking about? i didn't do anything. ❞ he didn't do anything this time. or yet. either or. ❝ i swear to everything, i did nothing. i'm not at fault for.... whatever you're about to blame me for. ❞
