tide / daniel

Buck held his hand to his side, blood seeping through the gaps of his fingers. “Clearly, I wasn’t,” he said dryly. He let out a low hiss as you grabbed his arm to pull him further down the alley.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” you said. The streets of Hell’s Kitchen were darker than usual. New York was still facing the aftermath of Fisk’s mayorship. Although martial law was no longer in effect, New York still feared for their loved ones being taken away.

You weren’t really sure how Buck ended up here. He seemed dedicated to his job, to most of what he was ordered to do by Fisk. But he didn’t have the same enthusiasm or loyalty Daniel Blake did. His dedication slowly wavered through every operation. It became just a job to him.

You still had your opinions on Buck supposedly being on your side. You, naturally, didn’t trust anyone that used to work for Fisk. Especially not those who worked that closely to the fire.

But the bullet in his side most likely proved his loyalty to the resistance. He protected you, an enemy. You helped Buck climb the stairs to your apartment. You unlocked the door, heaving Buck inside ahead of you. You kicked the door shut; Buck groaned as you moved him to the couch.

Kneeling down in front of him, you began undoing the knot of his tie. You willed your hands to stop shaking, the adrenaline still coursing through you. The redness in his shirt bloomed from his right side.

“I seriously don’t know what you were thinking,” you muttered, shaking your head as you undid the first two buttons of his shirt. Buck’s hands moved to help you with the buttons but you roughly pushed them away. You didn’t need his help, ushering him to stay still.

“Are you complaining I saved you?” He said in that low accent of his. In any other circumstance, you would’ve paused to take in the way his voice sounded. It wasn’t the time for thoughts like those. You peeled off his dress shirt along with his blazer, bunching up the clothes and setting them aside.

“Shut the fuck up.” You grabbed the first aid kit from your kitchen and rushed back onto your knees. You reached out and turned on the lamp by the couchside. The light reflected the pooling blood from his abdomen. Sighing, you used a damp cloth to clean around the wound. The fibers brushed against the innermost part of it causing Buck to hiss, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You shouldn’t move,” you reminded him.

“I did not know you had a bossy side to you,” Buck muttered, his gaze lowered to either assess your work or admire how your hands moved with such purpose. Purpose that was reserved for him in this moment. You couldn’t tell his intention. “I was just doing the right thing.”

You paused in the midst of applying the gauze, looking up at him with a sharp expression. “Yes, just like the ‘right thing’ was you helping Fisk for a little over a decade.”

Buck sat up, his face betraying his will to remain calm in spite of your words and the hand pressing the sterile gauze into his side. He leaned his elbows on his knees, looking at you down his nose. “You cannot be talking,” he said, almost intimately if it were not for how dark his eyes were. “You married a man who worked for him.”

You stared into his eyes, brow furrowed. You tried to not let your shock show. But that control quickly faded as you pressed your hand harder against his wound, making a choked out noise escape from his lips.

“Do not mention him,” you whispered. You didn’t know how many people knew about your previous marriage, that you were married to him. You didn’t know if your husband told others that he had a spouse. You wished he didn’t, you didn’t want to be known in that world.

Buck got the warning, giving a single nod. He saw the hint of that desperate urgency in your eyes. Exhaling deeply, you released your hand from his side. You moved wordlessly, cleaning up your makeshift nurses station. In the adjacent kitchen, you washed your hands. Your eyes fell onto his bare torso, the way the light casted shadows across his body, the planes of his face. You wished it wasn’t him you found attractive.

Guilt was always present whenever you found someone else attractive. It felt like you were betraying your husband, the one you had truly loved. You knew it was irrational. You were allowed to love again—to trust again. It just became harder after your life fell apart.

The droning sound of the faucet brought you out of your thoughts. You blinked a few times and shut off the tap. You couldn’t think about the guilt or him right now. You had a man who took a bullet for you sitting in your living room. In a small act of kindness, you decided to bring Buck a glass of water.

His fingers brushed against yours as he took it. You turned away and sat on the nearby armchair. You watched his throat work as he swallowed.

“You should lie down,” you said evenly. Buck met your gaze, seemingly contemplating, before slowly maneuvering himself to lie down. You watched him for a moment longer before getting up. “I’m going to bed. Bathroom is down the hall if you need it.”

You paused in the hallway, looking back at him to make sure he understood. There was a slightly vulnerable look in his eye. “Thank you.” His voice was quiet, as if he hadn’t expected the offer for the night.

You nodded automatically and went to your bedroom. You felt safer once the door closed behind you. Lying down, your thoughts replayed the action of him shielding you from the agent. You still didn’t understand why he defended you. Buck always seemed like the type to take the opportunity of offense.

In the morning, you awoke early from a restless sleep. It took your brain a moment to remember Buck was still in your apartment, injured. You quickly threw off the covers and padded down the hall. You stopped in the living room.

There was no sign of him. Buck had grabbed his bloodied clothes and left. The only thing that was amiss was the tidier version of the first aid supplies on your coffee table. You hadn’t bothered to put everything away in your stress last night. You felt a slightly hollow feeling in your stomach. Deep inside yourself, you found a feeling wishing he’d stayed. You then rationalized that thought by not wanting to deal with the awkwardness of that encounter.

The next time you saw Buck was days later. You couldn’t sleep so you fell back on your old patrolling routine. Ever since the Anti-Vigilante Task Force was put into action, you hadn’t really done any patrolling. The city felt almost helpless with the way innocent people were getting their actions misconstrued. The action of helping a neighbor being demonized. For years, you wondered if it was even worth it to keep going.

You knew you should look forward to the bright. One of your closest friends was a symbol of hope for the city, in and out of his vigilante persona. Matt’s dedication and devotion to his city really helped you get out of your slump. You didn’t want this city to go to shit, or more so than it already has.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when a hand covered your mouth from behind, pulling you into an alley. You fought against the force, ducking yourself out of their grasp and stepping away. Once you saw who it was, your initial protests were killed by confusion.

“Do you have to do something idiotic every time I’m around you?” You snapped lowly.

Buck stepped toward you, his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said quietly. His face remained in his carefully neutral expression he always wore. The most jarring thing about him now was his more casual clothing. A jacket over a black t-shirt and pants that were still too formal. “I wanted to show you something.”

“Show me what?”

“It’s an old warehouse of Fisk’s,” Buck said. “There’s still old weapons and such from a previous deal.“

“And I’m supposed to trust that?”

“Do you really think I’m still on his side after taking a bullet for you?” Buck tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, mirroring your stance. You sighed, reluctantly conceding.

Buck started walking down the alleys. He stuck to the shadows and you followed in his path. His route conveniently avoided any high traffic areas of police officers and security cameras. You did some digging on Buck’s past a couple of months ago when you were getting back into the groove of vigilante work. You knew the basics; the rest of his file was hidden. His observant nature was no doubt from his training in the SAS. He looked back at you for a brief moment and you swore his eyes could see all of you.

You arrived at the back of a building on West 44th Street. Buck snuck inside the back door, leaving it cracked for you. You followed him to a large, mostly empty room. There were a couple of crates covered by tarps. You went over to one and pried open the top.

“Yeah, there’s… definitely weapons,” you muttered, eyeing the various models of grenades packed inside. The lid dropped with an echoing thud once you stepped away. You turned back to Buck, who was quietly watching you.

“Is it a coincidence for him to own a warehouse on the same street that a building collapsed?” You asked.

Buck tucked his hands inside his jacket pockets, brow twitching slightly as he thought back. “Midland Circle..?”

“Yeah. The building that was blown up by u-.. around ten years ago,” you said, nodding. You bit the inside of your cheek of that near slip up of ‘us’. “Wouldn’t you know, since you’ve been working for him for a decade or so, soldier?”

“I suppose it’s not a coincidence,” Buck admitted, a slight smile breaking his neutral facade. He was amused by your bluntness, how freely you admitted to researching his past. “Though, he’s a well-known figure in the criminal world, as you know. He’s got his fingers in lots of places.”

“Obviously,” you muttered. You glanced around the dimly lit warehouse. “Why did you want to show me this?”

“An act of good faith,” Buck said, giving the slightest shrug. He nodded his head to the side. “Come.”

Buck led you up a stairway to an above loft with an office. He flicked on the light switch in the office and the fluorescent lights buzzed with life.

“I was thinking,” Buck began, his eyes scanning a filing cabinet. He pulled one of the drawers out and took a folder, “about our last encounter. I apologize for bringing up any bitter memories about your late husband. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

At the mention of your husband, you crossed your arms over your chest. You nodded in response, not trusting yourself to speak right now.

Buck flipped through the folder before spreading it open to a document. “This was the information on his relationship status. And… partner.”

You stepped closer, stood right next to Buck as your eyes scanned over the paper. Most of it was basic information on your husband. Then, you saw your name, your date of birth, your old address. You looked up at Buck, brow furrowed and lips parted, only to find he was already looking at you.

“Did- did he give this up?” You asked.

“He was incredibly loyal,” Buck said, quietly stating your name. “To Fisk, and to you. He only gave up your information to keep you out of harm’s way.”

You thought back to your marriage. What Buck was saying was true, you never received threats from any criminal organization or anything like that. He protected you.

“How did you know James?” You asked, voice just barely above a whisper.

Buck gave you a small smile, almost saddened by your tone. “I fit the profile they were looking for,” Buck answered. “I handled the grittier aspects of the job. I got my assignments through Wesley.”

Buck noticed your eyes avoiding him again. He gently placed a hand on your arm so as to not startle you, drawing your attention back to him. “Grief is a complicated thing,” he said your name again, in that same almost gentle tone. “It’s messy and it hurts you. It never leaves your mind, your conscience. Is he why you turned to vigilantism? You found out what his work truly was and you decided to right his wrongs. Wasn’t that it?”

If it had been anyone else saying those words to you, you would’ve had them knocked out by now. Buck was not saying it to offend you, rather to.. understand. To know your motivations. There was a bit of empathy there too, as if he could share your grief. Buck would want nothing more than to relieve you of some of the heavy shit you’ve faced.

You slowly nodded. “In.. in a way, yes,” you whispered, deciding to trust him. “I didn’t feel… right, after knowing what he did. I felt guilty, even though I never held responsibility for what he had done. I just… I felt awful.”

Buck’s thumb slowly ran up and down your forearm. “Trust me, I’m sure he felt guilty knowing you wouldn’t have approved of his work.”

“I never really did know what he did for work,” you muttered, embarrassed and angry at yourself. “I just thought he was fucking FBI or some shit. I was so naive, I didn’t think he’d be working for one of the worst people in all of New York.”

“You were in love,” Buck calmly stated. “It can blind you, as cliche as it sounds.”

Buck slowly withdrew his hand from your arm, breaking the eye contact he had kept with you. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated. He looked uncharacteristically unsure of himself. You were about to ask what was wrong when he spoke.

“I had a son,” he said, his voice barely heard above the buzzing of the lights overhead. “It’s not the same type of grief as losing a lover, I know. I share a pain only those who have lost someone who was their light can feel.”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” you whispered. You stared at Buck. You hadn’t expected this revelation tonight, especially not one as vulnerable as that. “What happened?”

Buck looked up at you through his lashes, giving a small, painful smile. “Things caught up to me. He was too young.”

You lost your lover. He lost his son. Buck was right; your grief isn’t comparable, nor better than the other. Both of you still felt the weight of someone who should be there, but they aren’t. They won’t be coming back and you don’t need each other to know that. You’ll call out in the night for no one to hear.

The memory of the last time you saw James flashed through your mind. It was an ordinary evening and he had spent most of the day with you. A rare thing for him and his busy schedule. After a shared dinner, the two of you lounged on the couch. You sat between James’ legs, back pressed against his chest with his arms around you. His fingers slowly caressed your arms as he looked down at you with one of the softest smiles you’ve seen from him.

“What?” You chuckled, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. The light caught on the lens of his glasses, obscuring those blue eyes from you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I am not looking at you like anything,” James replied dryly. “I’m just glad to be home with you is all.”

“I’m glad you’re home too,” you say, a playful grin on your face. You shifted around in his lap to face him. Your arms found their way around his neck. One of his hands traveled through your hair, smoothing down the locks.

Your thoughts drifted away from him and so did your gaze. You bit your lip, your hand absentmindedly smoothing over his shirt.

“Now it’s my turn to ask what’s up with you,” James said. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head downward to catch your eyes.

“We’ve been married for what…? Three years?” You muttered.

“And four months, twenty-nine days, I believe.”

You chuckled slightly, fixing his crooked tie. “Have you ever thought of more?”

“If you mean more lovely years of marriage, yes, I have.” He smiled once he saw your playfully offended reaction. He cupped your face with one hand. “I’m only kidding. I.. I have thought of the possibility of kids, if that’s what you’re..”

You nodded, your expression softening. “I think I’d like that,” you whispered. “One day.”

“Yeah,” James muttered back. He leaned in, kissing you softly. Your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the moment where James Wesley was all yours. He pulled back slowly, whispering against your lips, “maybe one day, my love.”

You wanted to reply with something playful about the ‘maybe’ but his phone started ringing. He let out a low sigh, giving you an apologetic look. He let the call go to voicemail.

“I have to go,” James said, kissing your forehead as you untangled yourself from him. You followed him to the front door of the penthouse. Your hand caught his sleeve and he moved to entwine your hands.

“You behave, alright? I’ll be back,” James said, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

You nodded, a soft smile on your face. “I will. Be back soon.”

“I’ll try,” James huffed out a chuckle. He gave you a quick kiss before pulling back to straighten his suit jacket.

“I love you,” you said as James opened the door. He looked back at you, a genuine smile gracing his lips. He then left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Buck sighed, closing the folder on the desk. He placed it in its rightful spot and shut the filing cabinet drawer with a metallic clang. His voice brought you back to reality. “We should go.”

You nodded wordlessly, running a hand over your face. You hadn’t expected the night to take this turn. Buck, being the gentleman he is, walked you out of the warehouse. You allowed him to accompany you back to your apartment. The walk was silent for the most part. Just your footsteps amidst the midnight cityscape. You soon reached your apartment.

“I’ve already caused you enough trouble,” Buck said, voice evenly neutral. “I should be heading out.”

Your hand paused in reaching for your keys. You didn’t know why you invited him in. Maybe he reminded you of James in some fucked up way, but you wanted him to stay.

Standing in your dimly lit apartment, you felt unsteady now. There wasn’t a task to focus on, no blood or injuries or gunshots. It was you and the man who kept barging into your life. You had half a mind to kick him out—leave him to the streets. He was a soldier, he could fend for himself.

“You’re thinking.” Buck approached you slowly, the proximity startling you from your brief zoning out. The light caught on his high cheekbones, defining the planes of his face just so.

“What was his name?” You bit the inside of your cheek at the way his eyebrows lowered. You hadn’t meant to ask that.

Buck exhaled through his nose, shifting his stance slightly. “Lance,” he said quietly.

You nodded in response. Losing his kid must’ve been one of the reasons why he started working for Fisk, you thought. Buck probably didn’t have much left after his son’s death. The mother seemed like she wasn’t in the picture, or hadn’t been since the beginning. He was alone.

Buck lifted his hand, lightly brushing his fingers against your cheek. The touch was hesitant, gentle. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring you or himself.

Whatever reservations you still held about Buck left your mind. You leaned into his hand. Evidence of his hard training and skills honed for years showed in the rough calluses. He stepped closer to you, the bridge between you crumbling.

Your eyes caught on his lips. When you looked back up at him, his eyes were cast downward. He leaned his head down toward yours, his other hand finding your waist. Buck’s lips were just a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your heart raced.

“I can’t,” you whisper, hands stilling at your sides.

Buck gently shushed you. “You’re allowed to,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on you. “We’re allowed to love despite who we are or what happened.”

Your eyes closed at his words. His forehead brushed against yours, his nose nudging yours. You reached out in front of you and slipped your hand in his open jacket, placing it on his chest. Buck took your touch as a sign to continue. He brushed his lips against your tentatively, giving you all the time in the world to push him away. You didn’t.

Buck is a man who has spent a majority of his life around bullets and blood pools. He is a man who can carry out violence and clean it up just as efficiently. His touch, the way he feels, did not represent the horrors he can cause or has experienced. His physicality, in this moment, was nothing but tender toward you. He knows what it’s like to lose and to cause that loss. Either for himself or others.

He didn’t want to cause another loss for you.

Buck kept his forehead pressed against yours as you pulled away. You caught your breath before kissing him again, pouring all of your built up loneliness into the action. His hand tightened around your waist, the other traveling into your hair. Buck kissed you back just as passionately.

He parted his lips from yours just to brush his against your jawline and down your neck. Heat gathered low in your stomach as your hands found their way to his shoulders. Buck’s lips against your skin amplified the warmth you were already feeling. You craned your neck to the side for him. His hand on your waist slipped around to your lower back, bringing you closer.

He lifted his head to kiss you again. You pushed at his jacket and he helped you get the fabric off of him. You parted to take in the sight of his arms no longer obscured. You ran your hands down them. When you met Buck’s gaze again, he had a small smile on his face.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. Buck guided you to the couch, sitting you in the same spot he was just in a few days ago. You leant back against the couch cushions, his hands roaming over the front of your shirt. Buck felt your muscles tense under his touch and he rubbed your sides. “It’s alright. You can relax. It’s just you and me.”

He spoke in that low voice that made you weaker. He slowly coaxed your shirt off, bunching it up and dragging it over your arms. His fingertips traced over your collarbone and down your ribcage. You watched him with bated breath as his hands reached between your thighs. He delicately brushed his fingers against your clothed cunt. The light pressure was enough to draw a small whimper from you.

“Is this alright?” Buck asked, his English accent giving his words a tinge of professionalism. He began to pull the zipper of your jeans down. You nodded, your eyes transfixed on him. You lifted your hips so he could take off your pants and underwear.

Buck’s breath caught at the sight of you. He ran his hands along the smooth expanse of your thighs. The way you looked at him with anticipation and the slight nervousness that lingered in your gaze was enough to get him hard. He could tell you hadn’t had this in a long time. He’d admit honestly that he hadn’t either.

Buck shifted to sit between your legs and drew one of your legs over his lap as he faced you. He locked onto the way your lips parted when one of his fingers brushed against your folds. He rubbed his middle finger against your clit and then continued to explore the smooth, wet skin. Buck smiled when he heard you mutter a plea.

He braced himself on his forearm as he leaned closer to you. Buck slowly slipped his middle finger inside you. You had tried to keep quiet thus far but the sensation of him inside you made you let out a soft moan.

“Good?” Buck whispered, kissing your cheek.

“Mhm.” You nodded. You were sure your face was flushed by now. Your eyes darted down to his forearms, the fine hair that lined his skin. You watched as the muscles tensed as he withdrew his finger before pushing it back into your hole. Buck used his free hand to turn your face back to his. He kissed you as he kept up the pace. His chest was practically flushed against yours, the proximity building heat.

He pressed his thumb against your clit as he fingered you. The feeling was a lot—you haven’t had someone touch you like this in years. You were sure the last time someone touched you with this much tenderness and reverence was James. Your lips left Buck’s with a shaky exhale, closing your eyes. You lifted your arms to wrap them around his neck. You didn’t realize Buck’s hand had stopped moving until he spoke.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, his voice so gentle with you. He noticed the imperceptible frown tugging at the corners of your lips. A tear rolled down your cheek when you opened your eyes.

“I..” you couldn’t find your voice right away. The sight of Buck hovering over you, looking at you with so much concern and care despite being a former enemy, was a lot to handle. “He was supposed to come back.”

Buck’s heart broke at the sound of your cracked voice. He knew who you were talking about. James would’ve returned home to you if it were not for his overconfidence. Buck pushed your hair away from your face.

“I know, love,” he kissed your cheek.

“I- we wanted kids,” you whispered shakily. You were tired of holding back. You wanted to cry. You couldn’t recall the last time someone held you. A choked up sob escaped you. Buck closed his eyes at your admission, the words hitting somewhere deep within him. He sat with you as you cried, one arm around you as he held you.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked softly. He made no move to pull out so he wouldn’t startle you. You shook your head, sniffling.

“I need.. I need this. I need you,” you muttered.

“You’ve got me,” Buck whispered. He kissed the top of your head. “Let me know when you want me to move.”

You allowed yourself to finally fully relax in Buck’s embrace. The tension from your muscles slowly relaxed as your tears came to a stop. Buck wiped the edges of your eyes, kissing your cheeks, nose, chin.

“I want you to move,” you whispered. Buck gave you a smile as he nodded, abiding to your request. He unhurriedly dragged his finger out before pushing back in. He gave you a few moments to get used to the feeling again before picking up his pace.

“You’ve done so well for me,” he said, that soft smile never leaving his face. “So good, love.”

You whined at his praise, lifting your hips slightly. Buck shushed you gently, telling you to just feel. His finger glided in and out with no resistance. He curled his hand, reaching that part of you that drew another noise from your lips. Buck added another finger and held your hips down with his other hand.

“Please, Buck,” you said, dragging your fingers through his hair. He let out a low groan from your actions. He used the hand that was holding down your hips to rub your clit in circles. You let out a moan, your eyes locked onto his face as he watched you.

The combined feeling of his hand rubbing against your clit and his fingers pumping in and out of you was building you up to the edge. Buck could feel you start to clench around him.

“Go on,” he said softly. “You can come.”

You pulled him forward by the back of his head to kiss him. He groaned into the kiss as he continued working you over the edge. Your legs started to shake as your orgasm washed over you. You pulled away from his lips, your mouth parted and brow furrowed. Buck’s fingers didn’t stop their pace as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Once your hand had relaxed in his hair and your body had fallen limp, Buck pulled his fingers out. A line of your slick connected him to you. Buck brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. You watched him through half-lidded eyes. Your mind felt too hazy as he maneuvered you so he could lie with you on top of him. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck. Buck’s hand rubbed calming circles into your back.

“Feel any better now?” He asked, kissing your temple as he ran his fingers through your hair.

You let out a deep sigh as you nodded. You shifted slightly on top of him to get comfortable, pressing into his side. Buck let out a grunt, his hand on your back pressing down on you to still you.

“I’m still healing,” Buck muttered, though there wasn’t any malice in his tone.

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled. You leaned your body weight onto his uninjured side.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just get some rest. We’ve had a long night.”

“Thank you, Buck,” you whispered.