Chapter Text
The firehouse wasn’t the same anymore.
It should have been familiar, but it isn’t. Buck had dreamed of this place during his time off, ached for it when the walls of his loft felt too small and too quiet. He’d counted down the days until he could walk back through the bay doors, wearing his turnout gear, ready to prove himself all over again.
But the dream didn’t match the reality.
The reality was silence.
Not literal silence, there were always sirens, calls, and the constant bustle of life in Los Angeles. But inside the station, silence pressed in on him. It wrapped itself around every word unspoken, every conversation that ended when he entered the room. His coworkers, the people he used to call family, only spoke to him when work required it. They gave him orders, passed him equipment, asked him for reports. Nothing more.
Bobby didn’t meet his eyes anymore. Hen offered clipped replies, efficient and cold. Chim avoided him entirely when he could. And Eddie looked right through him, like Buck didn’t even exist.
Buck didn’t know which was worse, being treated like a stranger, or being treated like a ghost.
That morning started like all the others since he’d returned. He arrived early, because arriving late would only give them more ammunition. He slipped into the locker room, changed into his uniform, and plastered on the fake smile that had become routine.
When he walked into the kitchen, Chim was laughing at something Hen had said. Eddie was pouring coffee. Bobby sat at the head of the table, flipping through shift reports. The second Buck crossed the threshold, the room fell quiet.
The smile faltered, but he forced it back. “Morning,” he said brightly, like he didn’t notice.
“Coffee’s low,” Eddie said without looking at him.
That was all.
Buck grabbed a mug anyway, filled it with what was left in the pot, and leaned against the counter. The bitter liquid scalded his tongue, but he barely tasted it. His stomach twisted, appetite nonexistent.
“Buck,” Bobby said finally, still not looking up. “I want the gear inventory checked before we head out. Make sure everything’s logged properly. Some of the paperwork from last shift was incomplete.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Bobby didn’t thank him. Didn’t respond.
Buck set his mug down, heart sinking, and went to do the chores. He told himself it didn’t matter, that chores were part of the job. But it was the way Bobby gave them out, like Buck was just an extra pair of hands, not a firefighter, not someone who once run into fires, when everyone else thought it was impossible.
Inventory was supposed to be rotated between everyone. Lately, it had always landed on him.
By noon, after two routine calls and another stack of chores, Buck’s chest ached with the effort of pretending. He caught glimpses of what used to be Hen and Chim bantering, Eddie laughing at something Bobby muttered but none of it included him.
So he drifted. He drifted the way he used to when he was ‘Buck 1.0,’ the reckless kid who’d thought casual hookups would fill the void. Back then, he hadn’t known what family could feel like. Now, knowing what he’d lost, the emptiness was unbearable.
So he chased distraction. Nights off shift blurred together: bars, clubs, apps. Faces he barely remembered the next morning. Names he didn’t know. Bodies that left his sheets colder than before. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop. At least with strangers, he didn’t feel invisible. He was somebody for a while.
But every shift, he came back. And every shift, he was reminded that being invisible was his reality, everything look pointed his way was with quiet disappointment.
What Buck didn’t notice was the man watching.
Chase Mackay sat casually in his black sedan parked across from the station, sunglasses hiding sharp eyes. On paper, he was Buck’s lawyer, the man who’d fought for him in the lawsuit against the city. In truth, he was a monster, he was patient but hungry.
He’d poured weeks into that case, painting Buck as the wronged hero, twisting the city’s failures into millions of dollars of settlement money. But Buck had thrown it all away, the settlement, the payout, everything. Just for the chance to crawl back here, to this firehouse full of people who clearly didn’t want him.
Chase couldn’t forgive that. He just couldn’t.
He told himself it wasn’t about the money, though the thought of the millions lost, rubbed him in the wrong way. It was about loyalty, about respect. Buck had humiliated him to his colleagues, made him look like a fool. He became the guy who couldn’t keep a million dollar case. His boss reassigned a few major clients, to lawyers that could finalise the case properly, and not have it pulled from the firm.
Chase didn’t tolerate disrespect.
So he watched.
He knew Buck’s schedule now, knew the places he went when loneliness came onto him too deep. He knew the loft’s lock had a weak catch. He needed the access code to the building. He knew Buck never noticed when things went missing, small things, replaceable things. A hoodie here, a keychain there. Things that could matter later.
And man, they would matter.
The first time Chase followed Buck at night, it was almost too easy. Buck stumbled out of a downtown bar, arm draped around a woman with long dark hair and a short red dress. They hailed a cab, laughing, and disappeared into the night. Chase followed, far enough back not to be seen. He watched them go into Buck’s loft. He waited hours, until the lights finally went out.
When Buck eventually walked her out the building the next morning, smiling weakly, Chase’s plan solidified.
This was how he’d do it. This was how he’d take everything from Buck. This is how he would ruin Buck, like Buck had ruined him.
He would use Buck’s own weaknesses against him.
Back at the firehouse, Buck carried a clipboard through the apparatus bay, checking off equipment one by one. The air smelled like grease and steel. He kept his head down, focused on the task, because focusing meant he didn’t have to think.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from a number he didn’t save.
Last night was fun. Drinks again sometime?
Buck swallowed hard. He couldn’t even remember her name.
“Buck.”
He startled, looking up to see Eddie standing a few feet away. For a split second, hope flickered, maybe Eddie was going to talk to him, really talk.
But Eddie’s expression was neutral. “We’re heading out for groceries. You coming?”
It was the first time in weeks anyone had asked him to join. His chest tightened. He opened his mouth to say yes,
“Actually,” Eddie said quickly, glancing away. “Never mind.”
He turned and walked off before Buck could respond.
The clipboard felt heavy in Buck’s hands.
“Yeah,” Buck whispered to himself. “Of course not.”
That night, after shift, Buck sat on his loft’s couch with the television flickering soundlessly. He tried not to think about how quiet it was. He tried not to think about how even his hookups left him emptier than before.
He didn’t know that across the street, parked in the shadows, Chase was watching again.
And planning.
Planning the first step in tearing Evan Buckley’s world apart.