On Call in Los Angeles, Late Night Shift
Pairing: Evan Buckley / Eddie Diaz (Buddie)
Fandom: 9-1-1 on FOX
Rating: Teen+
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Fire Rescue AU
Length: One-shot (short fic)
Summary;
When a call goes sideways and Buck finds Eddie trapped inside a burning building, everything changes.
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βEvery rescue was just duty. But saving Eddieβ¦ felt like everything.β
β A late-night shift, smoke in the air, and feelings they canβt ignore anymore.
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The night air hangs heavy with smoke and rain, the kind of LA storm that never really feels real until itβs on your skin. Buck stands under the harsh glare of the ambulance lights, helmet off, hands still trembling slightly from the rescue heβd just pulled off four stories up. Dust clings to the back of his neck. His jacket smells like melted plastic and panic.
But none of thatβs what makes his heart hammer against his ribs like itβs trying to escape.
Itβs the radio crackle.
The tone of Henβs voice when she says, βUnit 118, additional callβresidential structure fire, Echo and 3rd. Possible firefighter down. Name came throughβ¦ Diaz.β
Time stops.
The rest of the team is still unloading gear, but Buckβs already moving. He doesnβt speakβjust tosses his gloves into the front seat and climbs into the driverβs side. Chim calls something after him, maybe βwait for backup,β but itβs already too late.
His foot hits the gas. Sirens scream.
The building is a three-story walk-up, older, warped from years of heat and neglect. The sky above pulses red and white with emergency lights. Buck doesnβt register the noise. Doesnβt notice the water hitting his face. All he sees is smoke blooming from the windows like bruises on brick.
Inside, itβs worse. The air is thick and wet. His mask slips on as muscle memory takes over, and then heβs in. Breathing smoke. Hearing crackles. Feeling the weight of something unsaid dragging behind every step.
He rounds the cornerβand stops.
Eddieβs there.
Collapsed halfway down the hall, bracing himself with one arm, gasping against the sleeve of his turnout coat. Soot smears his face. His helmetβs gone. His mouth is open like heβs trying to speak, but nothing comes out except a rough cough.
βEddie.β Buckβs voice breaksβlow and hoarse and full of everything he hasnβt said in months.
Their eyes lock, just for a moment.
Three seconds.
Thatβs all.
Three seconds where neither of them moves, and yet it feels like the whole hallway has shifted around them.
Then Buck drops to his knees.
βIβve got you,β he says, and this time itβs a promise. Not just for now, but for always.
Eddie tries to protest, fingers clutching at Buckβs jacket weakly. βGoβget outββ he wheezes.
βNo chance in hell.β
Buck gets an arm around his back and lifts. Eddieβs heavier than he remembersβnot in weight, but in what he means. In what this moment means. Every other rescue has felt like a job, like adrenaline and protocol. This feels like life or death, and not because of the fire.
Because itβs Eddie.
They move fast. The walls groan as Buck sprints down the corridor, Eddie held close to his chest. He doesnβt think. He doesnβt breathe. Flames lick the ceiling, close enough to taste. The heat is a wall, the smoke a blur.
But he doesnβt stop.
Not until they burst through the exit into the pouring rain.
The air hits him hardβwet and cold and real. He lowers Eddie onto a stretcher as a paramedic rushes in. Buckβs vision swims for a second. The adrenaline crashes down on him like a second wave.
βSir? Are you okay?β someone asks.
He doesnβt answer. He canβt. His hands are still shaking.
And thenβ
A hand grabs his wrist.
Itβs Eddie.
Eyes still rimmed with soot. Breathing rough. But awake. Present.
βYou okay?β he asks, voice like gravel.
Buck doesnβt answer right away. He looks at Eddieβs hand still wrapped around his, and for the first time tonightβmaybe the first time in weeksβhe lets himself feel something.
Relief.
Terror.
Something sharp and warm at the same time.
βI am now,β he says softly.
The rain keeps falling. Around them, chaos churnsβhoses, radio chatter, flickering lights. But in this small space between them, everything is quiet.
They donβt move. Donβt speak.
They just look at each other.
And in that silence, something shiftsβsomething old and fragile and real.
Something that has nothing to do with fires or duty or uniforms.
Maybe itβs been building for years.
Maybe it starts right here.
But Buck knows one thing with painful clarity:
This night didnβt just save Eddie.
It saved them.
