as it was, again it will be

Ravi fiddles with it a little more, brow furrowed, before shaking his head. “Guess not – we can take a closer look at the station.”

“You guys ready?” Chim rounds the truck, looking up at them. They nod. Buck settles the ladder, jumps down, and files away a quick mental note to look at it again once they’re back at the 118.

He never gets the chance.

A call comes through from dispatch – structure fire, two stations already on scene, requesting a third.

The 126 and the 217. already hauling casualties out of smoke, triaging, coordinating water flow. Buck’s stomach twists as slick, anxious energy threads up his spine over the possibility of seeing Tommy.

He probably won’t. Tommy’s likely already in the sky, circling overhead, waiting for the worst of the worst. Buck might see him, sure, but only from a distance. He can be civil. Mature, even.

Keep his damn dick in his pants, for once.

It’s easier once he confirms Tommy’s in the sky, piloting the circling helicopter, blades a blur against the thickening smoke. Distance is doable – manageable.  

His focus shifts back to the ground – Chim calling out orders, splitting teams with different crew whose names are distantly familiar. Buck and Ravi get the ladder, aimed for the fifth floor where the fire burns brightest, clawing hard at fractured windows.

They harness up and assess, Buck calling feet off the ground, guiding Ravi and Dillon from the 126 to train water at the glass. A woman on the ground, hysterical, had begged Chim to save her girlfriend. Stumbling toward him when she spilled out of the building, she reached out and cried desperately for help.

“Rav – unit 516, we’re pointed right at it,” Buck shouts.

Radio static crackles through the air before Ravi’s voice comes in clean. “Copy that. Dillon and Panikkar pushing fire back, preparing to enter.”

The flames dull, just barely, orange and red dancing beyond the broken fractured window frames. Dark smoke curls into the air, circling into the clouds into the path of Fire One. Tommy’s helicopter.

Buck doesn’t look up again. Can’t. Not with a woman sobbing behind him, calling out for the love of her life. More glass explodes as Ravi calls for another few feet, and Buck extends the ladder. He holds his breath, waiting for confirmation, and it doesn’t take long.

“Dillon’s coming out,” Ravi shouts over the radio. “We got her. Panikkar right behind.”

They move quickly, getting the woman – Callie, Buck heard between broken cries – out of the window and guiding her gently down the ladder. Boots hit the ground and he radios in to the I.C., checking for more victims.

“Building’s empty,” the call comes back. “Take this fire down fast and hard, everyone.”

That’s all he needs. He sprints up the ladder, grabs the nozzle, joins the other companies flooding flame with force. The fire retreats, heat loosening. Rolling flames sink to something less violent, the air around Buck pulling back its sweltering heat.

Another glance to the sky – instinctive – catches Tommy’s gaze. Just a flicker, a moment of cool blue washing over him like water. It almost knocks Buck sideways anyways.

So distracted by ash, so consumed by the eyes above him, Buck doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t register the rattle, the sharp clang of metal. Not before its too late.

The shift is subtle, then catastrophic. The ladder jerks, starts to fall with a scream, and Buck’s stomach plummets with it. He pivots, grabs on and runs, hoping like hell his legs are long enough to reach the truck in time.

They aren’t.

The ladder groans again, a wail that shrieks through the scene and pierces the roar of the fire – and he falls. His last thought before he hits the ground is that he wishes he would’ve checked the damn ladder.

*

Evan’s falling.

Tommy’s been circling above, eyes sweeping the scene, searching for blood, listening for calls to land nearby and carry the most wounded to the hospital. He spotted Evan on the ground, harnessed up to a ladder truck, broad shoulders stretched under bright turnouts, hose aimed steady toward flame.

Solid. Safe. Alive.

Then suddenly, he’s falling.

Tommy’s throat closes and his stomach rolls, grip seizing the controls. The chopper jolts.

“Woah – Kinard,” Teddy – his aero medic – says over the comms. “You good?”

A jolt catches Evan mid-fall and he stops, briefly, ladder half-collapsed, top crashing down toward the truck. Evan looks panicked, twists, legs scrambling for footing that isn’t there.

“Come on,” Tommy whispers, a demand wrapped in prayer, tight and strained in his throat.  

Eve’s gasp crackles through the radio as a shock of her platinum blonde hair catches his periphery, “Oh my god.”

A shrill sound, a scream of twisting steel and bending metal cuts her off.

Time stops.

Evan falls.

Tommy’s moving before the next breath, eyes searching for the landing zone, dropping altitude. His brain is already calculating flight time, blood loss, spinal precautions, internal bleeding, compromised airways.

Fire One is taking Evan to Presbyterian if it kills him. He cannot trust anyone else to navigate this sky.

“Tommy,” Teddy snaps, pointing. “There – triage tent.”

“Fire One, preparing to land,” Tommy says over the radio, not waiting for permission. He doesn’t hesitate to hover, drop the blades lower and land on the ground fast.

Teddy and Eve jump out before the blades settle, firing questions through the radio and asking for details. What’s his status? Is he breathing? Conscious? Talking or moving? Tommy listens closely, waiting for familiar voices echoing back through the static.

“We have a pulse,” Eddie says, voice tight. Tommy exhales, grateful for the 118. They’re the best for a reason, and right now Evan can’t afford anything less.

Tommy forces himself to prep for takeoff, compartmentalizing as best he can. He checks gauges, fuel, rotor speed, all while Chim radios Hen to alert the hospital, prepare for massive transfusion protocol.

Blood loss.

Tommy’s chest hurts, his heart hammering wildly against his sternum as he waits for more information. Mind racing, thoughts spiraling, panic brutal in its rhythm. Tommy shakes his head and drags himself back into focus.  

Get him to the hospital. As fast as possible.

Keep him alive.

Please stay alive, Evan.

Everything becomes a blur, Teddy and Eve guide the crew to the helicopter, gurney rolling between them with Evan strapped in. Chim meets his eyes through the glass and nods. It’s a handoff, it’s trust – lives saved over decades, a promise to keep his brother-in-law with the living.

“Let’s go,” Eve shouts as the door slams. Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He lifts. Fast. Hard. The world drops away under them.

“O2’s dropping,” Eve calls. Teddy’s already attaching leads, wrapping the blood pressure cuff, adjusting the mask.

Tommy’s neck aches from keeping his eyes pointed forward, stomach twisting, fingers twitching with the urge to climb back and hold Evan’s hand. Watch his chest rise and fall with each breath, beg for him to open his eyes.

“Blood pressure too,” Teddy says. “Push one of epi, let’s get a mask on him.”

Oxygen hisses through the cabin. Tommy counts – seconds, minutes, too much time between the fall and the hospital. Evan doesn’t have any to spare. He fell forty-five feet, maybe more. Too far. Too fast.

It’s too quiet, Teddy and Eve work with familiar competence, weaving between each other like it’s any other call. Tommy wants to scream.

This isn’t any other call. This is Evan.

The hospital roof appears. Big white H, blue scrubs clustered at the ready, a gurney gleaming under harsh sun.

Tommy holds his breath as he lands, grip so tight on the controls, his knuckles turn white. When they finally connect with concrete and the blades slow, he moves through his landing checklist so fast he barely feels his own body. He hits the ground running.

When his eyes finally land on Evan, he sways on his feet.

Skin, so pale it’s almost translucent, streaked with blood and blooming bruises, sits under torn apart turnouts, a uniform sliced open for access. His hair is wild, matted with sweat and dirt. His eyes are closed, mouth wrapped around a tube that’s helping him breathe. Tommy didn’t even hear Teddy intubate him.

The thought makes him sick.

“–stabilized in flight, but he’s lost a lot of blood,” Teddy is telling the trauma team. “Bruising on his abdomen suggests internal bleeding but he’s reactive to pain, toes withdrew on stimulus. Doesn’t seem to be spinal.”

Teddy looks up and meets Tommy’s eyes as he says that. Nods once – steady, sure, gentle. Hot tears threaten to fall as Tommy follows them inside, trailing Eve and Teddy as they give the rest of the clinical.

They wheel Evan through glass doors and a nurse steps in Tommy’s path, palm to his chest. “We’ll update you when we can.” Her smile is soft, but final. She disappears after the gurney.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Eve says quietly, her hand warm on his arm as she leads him to the waiting room. Vending machines buzz. Old coffee burns somewhere nearby. The air feels too thick to swallow.

Teddy presses a water bottle into his palm and he takes it but makes no move to open it, can’t bear the thought of drinking it with the weight of everything in his gut.

It’s not long before the 118 arrives, sweat dripping over dust and grime, eyes searching Tommy’s for news he doesn’t have.

“Nothing, yet,” he tells them, pushing himself upright.

Time stretches, crawls, spans miles in quiet with heads heavy, shoulders tight. No one talks because there’s nothing to say.

News rushes in in the form of bright scrubs, eyes sharp with determination. “We need to operate, repair the liver, check for other internal bleeding,” the words are heavy as they settle, slowly suffocating the waiting room.

Tommy’s hands tremble at his sides.

Hours pass. He hasn’t moved. His neck aches, his back is knotted tight, head pounding as he breathes shallowly, air trapped somewhere in his chest. Day melts into night before they hear anything.

Evan’s made it through surgery. Three transfusions. A repaired liver, stitched up and sedated, stable for now in the ICU.

The 118 moves first, as they should, filing quietly into the room after Chim tosses Tommy a look, an unspoken come with us. Tommy can’t. Not yet. He shakes his head, needs a moment to prepare.

The moment he shuts his eyes the image of Evan, bloody and broken on a backboard, fills his mind. Tears spill down his cheeks before he can stop them.

By the time his breath settles and he feels solid enough to stand, it’s nearly 3 a.m. and he’s sore, tired deep into his bones, jaw tight with the effort of holding himself together. He walks back to Evan’s room, slow steps carrying him closer to his own personal hell.

Evan’s there, delicate skin bruised purple and storm-cloud blue, wrapped in a hospital gown and too many wires. But his color’s better, his breathing steadier – even. Tommy moves without thought, sinking into the chair beside the bed, eyes fixed on Evan’s chest, counting every inhale.

He spends another unknowable stretch of time there, just watching, before his body finally gives into exhaustion and he slumps over in his seat, hand next to Evan’s on the bed, palm up. Waiting.

He’s wakes to calloused hands brushing his wrist, IV tube tickling his skin. It takes a second to orient, to remember where he is and then he bolts upright, memory slamming back as his eyes fall on Evan.

Awake.

Morning sunlight drips into the room and lands on Evan’s cheeks – rosy and alive – and his lips curve into the smallest, sleepiest smile.

“Evan,” Tommy breathes, relief pummeling his chest.  

“Tommy.” Evan’s voice is rough, pain tucked between the sounds. Confusion scrunches his brow as he looks around. “Why’re you here?”

It’s not cruel, not accusing, just honest, and Tommy tightens the grip that Evan’s put on his hand.

“I saw,” Tommy starts, voice cracking. He swallows hard, forces the words out. “Watched you fall. We brought you here.”

“Oh,” Evan says, grimacing as he shifts. “Th-thanks. For saving my life I, uh, I guess.”

Tommy huffs a breath that’s half laugh, half sob as he leans closer. “Evan, I was scared to death. If anything had happened to you, I–”

“I’m okay,” Evan cuts in gently, thumb brushing over Tommy’s knuckles. Their hands stay tangled, held so tightly it borders desperate. “I’ll be okay.”

“I can’t lose you,” Tommy says plainly, heart racing. “Not again. Not for good.”

Evan’s smile grows, soft and steady, even in the shadow of pain. “You won’t.”

Tommy bends toward him, pressing a kiss to Evan’s temple before brushing their lips together, thumb careful against the constellation of bruises scattered across his face.

"How's your breathing?" Bobby asks.

"Still okay," Buck says. "I'm, uh...Not noticing any signs of hypoxia."

Not yet, anyway, but he knows it's only a matter of time.

"Good. Buck, we have an idea to get you out of there. But it's risky. If it doesn't work, it could bring down more of the remaining structure."

Buck closes his eyes, takes a deep shuddering breath. He doesn't want to be buried alive. He also doesn't want to suffocate.

"What if it does work?"

"Then we'll have you out of there in just a few minutes."

"Being out of here does sound really good," Buck says, leaning his head back against the cool wall. "How long if you don't go for it?"

There's no answer, and terror rips through Buck at the idea that his communication with the outside world has been cut off.

"Cap?"

"If this doesn't work, then we're looking at an hour at least. Probably closer to two."

Buck's chest tightens. Two hours is too long. Two hours, in all likelihood, takes this from a rescue to a recovery.

"Well...then you have to try."

"It's a long shot, Buck. Could be dangerous. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Buck says.

"Copy that. Stay away from the north end of the cellar."

"Copy."

He lets out a long sigh. Of course they need him to move. He puts a hand on the wall and hauls himself upward, grimacing as pain immediately lances through his left thigh. He'd done his best to tie the sleeves of his turnout coat around the jagged piece of wood sticking out of his leg to keep it in place, but it still jostles a bit and he has to bite back a scream. Sweat breaks across his forehead as he hobbles his way toward the other end of the cellar, doing his best to keep weight off of the injured limb. He practically collapses onto the ground once he gets there, heart hammering and leg throbbing.

"I'm – I'm at the south end," he pants into his radio.

"Good. Alright, hang on kid."

The world around him starts to shake, dust and debris falling from the ceiling, and Buck turns onto his hands and knees, throwing his hands over his head. The pain in his leg jacks up as the wood shifts, and he can feel fresh blood pouring down his thigh. Something heavy hits his back, knocking him to one side, and then something hits his head and everything goes black.

--

"-uck! Buckley, come in! Can you hear me? Buck!"

Buck coughs and immediately groans as the movement sends pain rippling through his back and chest. His whole body hurts, though his leg is worst by far. The air is filled with dust, and though he can't see, he can tell that the space around him has grown more confined. His heart sinks. Whatever Bobby's plan had been, it didn't work.

Fuck.

He takes a shuddering breath, coughing again as his body tries to expel the dust he'd just pulled into his lungs. Tears sting at his eyes and he blinks them away as he gropes frantically for his radio, his hand finally finding the familiar plastic.

"Here," he says roughly. He swallows. "'m here, Cap."

"Buck! It's good to hear your voice. Are you okay, are you hurt?"

Buck doesn't answer right away, still trying to catch his breath as he takes stock of his body.

"Uh...I've probably got a concussion now, and...m' leg's bleeding more. Besides that...nothing new. But Bobby, things..." He closes his eyes, fighting back the panic that keeps trying to rise. "Things have gotten really tight in here."

Which means he has less air than he did before.

"I know. We're working on another way, okay? We're doing everything we can. You just need to hang on, we're going to figure out a way to get you out of there."

He can hear the distress in Bobby's voice, and he knows what his captain must be feeling: worry, helplessness, guilt. The last of those is going to be the worst, he knows it is. The whole 118 is going to hold themselves responsible. He takes slow breaths, willing his mind and emotions to calm. He needs to keep it together when he says this. He needs them to believe him.

"It's okay, Cap," he says. "You, uh. You guys did your best. Whatever happens now..."

"Buck, don't talk like that. We're gonna find another way."

Tears slip down Buck's cheeks, the moisture stinging his dry eyes. He swallows thickly, letting them flow because trying to hold them back at this point will make it harder to talk. "Yeah, I know. But if you don't, it's okay. It's...it's not your fault. I love you guys."

He's getting a bit dizzy and his head hurts, but he's not sure if it's because he'd hit his head or if he's running out of oxygen. His heart is hammering. And suddenly, he can't hold it in anymore, and a sob rips from his chest.

"Kid. Buck! You're gonna be okay, but you have to hang on."

Buck doesn't answer. He can't. He doesn't want the last thing Bobby and the others hear of him to be him crying. I love you seems like a far better place to end things.

He closes his eyes and he lets the tears flow.

"You could ask Chim," Eddie says.

"Ask me what?"

Buck and Eddie look up as Chimney walks in.

"Buck's got a headache," Eddie says.

"It's really not that bad," Buck says, shooting a glance Eddie's way.

"Do you have ibuprofen?" Eddie asks Chimney, pretending he didn't hear.

"Uh, don't think so," Chim says, opening his locker. He digs around for a minute before pulling out a bottle. He looks over at Buck, giving it a little shake. "But I have Aleve. Would that work?"

"Yes, please." Buck holds his hands up, catching the bottle of pills as Chimney tosses it to him. He shakes one of the pills into his palm and pops it into his mouth, washing it down with a swig from his water bottle. He throws the bottle back to Chim. "Thanks."

"No problem, hope it helps."

Buck grins at him. "I can feel it working already."

-

The first call, barely two minutes after the start of shift, is a house fire. It's a small one, thankfully, and the homeowner had called 911 quickly so the 118 is on scene before too much damage is done. It doesn't even take ten minutes to put the flames out and secure the scene. It's an easy call.

So Buck isn't sure why he feels like this: short of breath, nauseous, a little dizzy, and shaken. This is one of the milder calls they've gotten in his time at the 118. So why does he feel like the world is ending?

"Yo, Buck," Eddie says, walking up to where Buck is leaning against the engine. "Are you gonna help pack up or what?"

"Yeah," Buck says, straightening up. "Yeah, sorry. Uh. Did you-are you feeling okay?" Maybe there was something in the house, some chemical in the smoke that's affecting him badly.

Eddie frowns, moving closer to him. "I'm fine. Are you feeling okay? Is it that headache?"

Buck shakes his head, closing his eyes when the movement makes the dizziness worse. He feels Eddie's hand tighten on his arm.

"Whoa, hey, why don't you sit down? You're really pale."

Eddie keeps his grip on Buck, lowering him to the ground. Buck sits heavily, putting his head between his knees in the hopes of helping the dizzy spell to pass.

"Talk to me, Buck," Eddie says, and Buck opens his eyes to see Eddie crouched in front of him, staring at him worriedly. "What's goin' on?"

Buck swallows thickly, and it takes more effort than it should. "I'm not exactly sure," he says, voice shaky. "I just don't feel good."

"Don't feel good how?" Eddie presses, pushing up the sleeve of Buck's turnout coat to press two fingers to the inside of Buck's wrist. "Anything hurt?"

"No, the headache's gone," Buck says. "I'm kinda...dizzy. Nauseated. 'n my chest is kind of tight. I thought maybe there was something weird in the smoke but everyone else seems fine...What?"

Eddie's brow is furrowed and he's chewing on the inside of one cheek.

"Your heart is racing," he says, sounding almost distracted. He looks over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna...Hey, Hen? Chim? Can one of you come over here?"

"Everything okay?" Chimney says, jogging over from where he and Hen had been checking over the homeowner. Bobby is right behind him.

"I was going to ask the same question," Bobby says.

Buck wants to insist that he's okay, but the tight feeling in his chest is getting worse.

"He's tachy," Eddie says. "Said he's dizzy and nauseous, and he's short of breath."

Chimney kneels next to Eddie in front of Buck, setting his bag on the ground next to him. "Okay, Buckaroo, I'm gonna need to take your blood pressure. Can you get that coat off for me?"

It takes Eddie and Bobby both helping him for Buck to get out of his turnout coat. Buck would be mortified if he weren't feeling so awful. There's an ominous darkness starting to creep in on the edges of his vision, and the noise around him is growing muffled. The only clear sound is the quiet wheezing of his own breathing as he struggles to pull air into his lungs.

"Whoa. Cap, his BP is really low," Chim says, his voice sounding far away. Buck barely hears him over his own growing panic.

"I-" he gasps, eyes wide. He's not getting enough air. His mind flashes back to his date with Abby, what feels like a million years ago now. This is like that, but there's nothing stuck in his throat. Oh, god. "Can't – breathe--"

"Eddie, I need you to go in the rig and get the EpiPen," Chim says. "Hurry. Buck, this is looking a lot like an allergic reaction. We're gonna get some epinephrine into you to help open up those airways, okay? Buck?"

Buck's chest aches, his lungs desperate for oxygen, and he's so dizzy. His head feels heavy and he leans back, his head hitting the side of the rig with a soft thunk. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't--

There's a sudden sharp pain on the outside of his thigh. And then, just like that, he can breathe again. He gasps, pulling in a long breath, and then another.

"That's it," Bobby says. He's crouched on one knee next to Buck, though Buck doesn't remember him getting there. "That's it, kid. Breathe."

"Don't...don't need to tell me twice," Buck says between breaths, and Bobby smiles. Eddie, standing behind him, chuckles. "I don't understand, though. I'm not allergic to anything."

"Have you ever taken naproxen before?" It's Chim that asks. There's a guilty look on his face.

"Uh..." Buck thinks about it for a second, hand rubbing absently across his chest. "I don't think I have, no. My heart is beating really fast."

"That's the adrenaline," says Eddie. "Totally normal."

Chim is on his feet now, an anguished look on his face as clasps his hands behind his head, elbows pushed toward his ears. "Oh my god, I almost killed you."

Buck turns to him with a frown. "What?"

"The Aleve I gave you before shift." Chim groans. "Oh, god, your sister is going to kill me."

"I'm fine," Buck says. He decides not to mention the fact that he's still a little freaked out and that he kind of feels like he's going to puke. Chimney feels bad enough already. "Really."

"We'll let a doctor decide that," Hen says. "Cap, he's gonna need to be checked out at the hospital."

"Guys, really," Buck says.

"She's right, kid," Bobby says, a soft fondness in his voice. "An EpiPen isn't a substitute for medical care. You know that."

Buck sighs. "Fine."

"I'll drive," Chimney says, already headed toward the ambulance. Buck watches him walk away, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

"He's gonna be weird about this for ages," he says. Hen reaches down to squeeze his shoulder.

"Just give him a little time. You scared him, that's all."

"You scared all of us," Bobby says.

"Not for the first time," Eddie adds.

Buck looks up at all of them with a sheepish smile. "And probably not for the last."