#911crackweek2020

It’s a simple life, standing proudly in the forecourt of the gas station on the corner of East 19th and Newport, but one that’s largely uninterrupted for a while. That is, until two young men, with matching grins and another man trailing behind them with a resigned expression on his face, get out of their car and approach him.

The knives that are attached to his arms aren’t particularly heavy, but they throw off his balance and he finds his movements somewhat restrained. He can tell from the glint of the metal, and the way the third man shouts out that this is definitely the stupidest thing they’ve come up with to date, that he’ll have to be careful.

And so, he puts a little more effort into keeping the blades away from his body, arms flung out wide.

Not even an hour later, an ambulance and a different type of truck pull up into the gas station. Four men and one woman jump out, and immediately stop in their tracks before pressing themselves against the side of the vehicles.

He tries to keep his head still, to gauge the severity of the situation from their expressions. The eldest of them, who everyone eventually turns to look at, cycles through anger and annoyance, before he yells out a couple of commands to his team and storms off towards the shop.

The two men that were standing with him look at each other, the taller of them cocking his head to the side, eyebrows crinkled in confusion, whilst the other’s eyes widening almost comically before he rolls them.

The man from the ambulance folds his arms and gives him a once-over, and the woman quirks up an eyebrow before muttering something under her breath. The two of them make quick work of capturing the culprits, and they’re swiftly bundled into a police car, driven by a woman who manages to promptly shut up the protests of the three men. In the meanwhile, the other two have set up a cordon, leaving him free to swing his arms without worrying about any stray passers-by falling into range.

It looks like they’re waiting for something, but the tallest of the men keeps looking over at him, each glance revealing a growing determination.

The last glance is followed immediately by him running full-pelt towards him, followed by an anguished cry of “Buck!”

Buck ducks and weaves as he nears. He’s not entirely sure what Buck’s intending to do, particularly since his own movements are growing less and less predictable, even to him.

Try as he might, he can’t avoid him. As he sees red drip onto the concrete, he wonders once again just what colour his own blood would be.

There’s a grunt and his question is answered. He feels the air leaking from his side and the life leave his arms and he slowly furls downwards. If this is dying, it’s the reverse of being born.

By the time he’s pressed against the ground, face sideaways and half deflated, he realises he’s not dead, just temporarily defeated. He’ll just need patching up.

On that note, Buck’s lying on the floor, still gasping from exertion, and his partner is crouching down next to him, trying to cover up Buck's wounds.

“You're an idiot.” The words don’t hold too much heat though, not when combined with how concerned the man looks as he swipes a clear liquid over the gash on Buck's cheek, and smooths on a band-aid.

“Uh-huh - ow – you think I'm not gonna - OW - fight you on that – geez, Eddie!”

“I thought you were a badass?” Eddie gives a particularly sharp yank to the bandage he's wrapping around Buck's exposed forearm. It sounds like a conversation they’ve had before.

“I am!” The last word comes out on a pained whine and Eddie is treated to a glare.

“I didn't see anyone else stepping forwards.” Right – seems like this Buck is the reckless type, acting before he thinks, leaping before he looks. Edddie does not seem pleased by that, at all.

“That's because I know better than to put myself in front of flailing knives.” Eddie rolls his eyes at Buck’s affronted sigh.

“Hen, can you talk some sense into Eddie – somebody had to do something...”

Hen looks down, and mutters, “you certainly did something alright.”

Eddie sits back onto the ground. “Okay, I think that's everything – any more cuts?” Eddie’s eyes take a while to scan over Buck, his lips pressed together as though there’s more he wants to say, but he’s holding back.

Buck props himself up on his uninjured arm and heaves out a reedy breath, looking over himself before shaking his head.

"I still saved the day." Buck’s already puffing out his chest. The man from the ambulance takes a step forwards, moving to say something. Eddie blurts out, "we were just gonna switch it off from the mains."

"…Oh…"

Buck deflates in a way that's too reminiscent of his own flattened self, almost as red faced too.

Hen roars with laughter behind Eddie and the man smacks his hand against the side of the ambulance in an attempt to stay upright whilst in silent hysterics.

“Hey now, the damage isn't that bad. Chim, tell him!” Chim, the man with tears of laughter in his eyes, just waves a hand at Buck instead.

Eddie gives Buck two raised eyebrows in response, pointedly looking at Buck’s cheeks and his left forearm, before clearly deciding that Buck isn’t going to change his ways, no matter how much his face screams of worry.

Buck grunts as he lets himself be pulled to his feet, and the captain returns, just in time for there to be a flurry of movement.

It takes both of them a little time to realise what's happened, between the distracting ouch and another peal of laughter.

There’s Hen with her forehead pressed against the side of the ambulance, Chim lying on the floor clutching his stomach, and Eddie looking shell-shocked. None of them are looking at Buck.

Buck, standing in the middle - arms outstretched, short sleeves in tatters, his hair dragged to ridiculous heights, and the right leg of his uniform in a bunched heap around his ankle.

Buck looks up with such a mournful expression that he almost feels sorry for him.