#buckxeddie

{But you know that you're needing it,  And you know that you need it bad} {Prologue}

Buck knows he's one to get ahead of himself. So let him preface this by saying that that's not what he's trying to do this time. Now, that being said, not to jump the gun by getting too garrulous or anything, but he'd just like to be the one to speak on his own behalf and put it out there that Evan Buckley’s life is in ruins, that much is unquestionable to him. Expressing that isn't startling to him, it's not something he'd just accepted - his life is in ruins, and it has been left that way since it'd been razed that day in the biolab explosion. 

He knows that it likely sounds dramatic, sounds like Buck's just doing what he's been told he does best, which is dramatizing and overplaying things, but this isn't a case of that. He'd know if it was and even if it were, it wouldn't change much - wouldn't change much at all, Buck’s life would still be the same mess that it currently is. He'd still be catastrophizing over it because doing so is kind of his brand, so he’s rolling with it. 

Catastrophizing for him is right on brand, and for all that, Buck's life is still in ruins, anyone can see. And while that statement and how his life has gotten to such a point may be an answerable one, it'd also bring questions as to why his life is in tatters if he'd spoken it aloud. So to put it simply, If one were to ask for the crux of the matter, it'd easily be that Robert Nash is dead, Bobby is permanently deceased. Needless to say, there's nothing that can be done about that. Not anymore. And unfortunately, Buck knows that, he might not accept it, but he knows it's true. 

And that alone destroys him in unimaginable ways. 

How could it not be destroying him when Bobby's death isn't like his had been? Bobby's demise isn't like the lightning strike; Bobby's death isn't one in the same with his, it's everlasting in a way his had never been. Unlike his, there's no three minutes and seventeen seconds about it when it comes to Bobby. It's too late to start thinking of the what if’s now; too late for Buck to think of all of the decisions he could've made. The decisions that might have been what it’d take to save Bobby. 

What's done is done, it's too late for anything else. It's too late for anyone to do anything else, too late to save Bobby, and now, his mentor, his pseudo-dad is dead, leaving him behind in a world he isn't sure he has earned a place in. And sometimes there's this notion in the back of his mind, that even with herculean effort, Buck cannot push past, that speaks to him. It apprises him so maliciously, its voice in his mind malevolently whispering to him, telling him it should've been him. Him not Bobby. 

It's not something he can disagree with, in point of fact, he knows Bobby would give him the upbraiding of his life if the man had ever heard him agree with thoughts as abominable as those. Buck also just doesn't care, he could take being chastised by the elder man if it meant that Bobby would be here, with him, beside him. Not having that guidance, that comfort that is Bobby Nash though? Well, without that, Buck thinks he might've been better off where Bobby is. 

But you know beyond that, beyond the thoughts, beyond Bobby not being here, Buck’s alright, he's doing fine. Just fine. Bobby is gone and.. Buck's fine about that, really.. and Buck's not okay, but he will be fine, yeah, that sounds like what he's supposed to say in this.

Right? That's what he's supposed to say, is it not? Isn't that what his role in all of this is supposed to be? Playing the part, being sane and stable, being okay? 

He thinks so, yeah. It seems right, so it's what he does. 

He's fine in all the ways he can be fine. He'll miss and yearn for his captain constantly. He'll grieve and there's an Insurmountable chance that he'll never stop mourning. But he's.. he's fine. 

Wait, no, even that'd be incorrect, actually, given that it's a lie. He'd lied, entirely. He isn't fine, Bobby's dead and Buck isn't fine, won't be fine. 

Not ever. 

Buck's never going to be the kind of fine again where he doesn't have to fake it. He knows it to be true, even if others don't seem to agree, Buck just knows. After the ordeal of losing Bobby, Tommy had been a tad insensitive. Had ended up confused over how hard Buck was taking this, and ended up saying something along the lines of him still having a father. But Buck didn't, not anymore. Philip Buckley wasn't a father - wasn't his father, Bobby had been. He doesn't think Tommy had tried to be insensitive on that, just didn't have an understanding of him, didn't know him. 

He thinks Tommy never knew him to begin with. 

Tommy didn't know him, so why would the older man understand him now? Tommy wouldn't. But Maddie, at the least, tries and understands. His sister’s different. It's not that she's insensitive, she doesn't say anything like Tommy had. After the biolab, Maddie does her best to be there, to understand. But it's near impossible when some part of Buck won't let his sister be there. As much as he loves Maddie, Buck hasn't been responding to most of the messages she's been sending, too ashamed by the manner he'd spoken to Maddie while he'd been at the biolab, trying to save Bobby. Even now, he hasn't been able to bring himself to open up much to her. She tries, tries to understand him. But Maddie and Buck? They are at an impasse when it comes to losing Bobby; she views it as him losing a friend, a boss. Not as him losing a father. 

And Buck doesn't have the energy to explain all that he'd really lost, to anyone. No one understands the way he needs them to. 

That probably isn't entirely true either, he knows there'd be a crowd of people behind him trying to understand the way he's feeling if he'd let them. But Buck doesn't care. And the question is, what's it matter what the veracity of what Buck’s saying is? It's already an unalloyed truth that Evan Buckley hasn't been truthful to himself, hasn't been to anyone. He hasn't admitted to a lot lately. There's a horde of things that've been running in his mind lately, thoughts that're there that he should be disclosing lately that he just doesn't, not to himself or anyone. 

Partially because he hasn't been entirely truthful on how he's been doing, because not even he knows how to give an answer to that. 

He doesn't know, doesn't know whether or not he's as fine as he says he is. He's really begging to hate that word, hates how often he uses it. But then again, maybe he doesn't hate it as much as he says he does. Maybe he can't hate it considering the mundane answer has to suffice because Buck isn't capable of coming up with another one. 

He doesn't care what that insinuates about how he's really doing; that even coming up with another adjective to describe how he's holding up is even too exhausting for him. Doesn't care that it'd be easier and kinder on himself to just come clean, admit that he's not okay.

He knows that If there's one individual thing Buck will choose on admitting, it's that losing Bobby had been devastating, obviously, and that devastation is something that’s not applicable for just him to feel either. It's applicable for everyone to be undergoing. 

It's not anything astounding that everyone's bent out of shape over it, honestly. It was expected for everyone to be struggling, to be ravaged with heartache, really, he knew. Ultimately, how could it not be normal? 

Buck would never know. He could never know because to him, heartache had become the new normal; heartache and devastation had been two of the foremost emotions he'd been met with. He thinks, even in the fullness of time, that it'll be all he's feeling. 

To experience a loss such as Bobby had made everything, every little hardship he'd gone through up until this point, pale in comparison. But this wasn't just about him, it didn't matter that Bobby's passing hit more than a ladder truck that'd once had him pinned, bleeding, helpless. 

Because everyone’s hearts were bleeding from this, not just his, It was devastating, that is. It'd most definitely proved to be a ruinous event for all of them. Athena especially. Athena and the whole team, himself included, know the bereavement of losing Bobby isn't something that just goes away. They feel as such, their captain's gone and god, don't they feel it? They all incessantly feel Robert Nash’s absence all of the time. In actual fact, as far as the 118’s standpoint goes, they're never without the feeling Bobby's absence brings them. 

That absence that they left with is like a sinkhole, only getting worse each day. Bobby's passing isn't something that can be disregarded; if anything, it's something they feel when waking up in the morning and just knowing that their captain won't be there at the station. It's something they feel without Bobby's cooking, something they feel without the cookouts. 

It's all just gone now. 

And it's not about him, not about Buck. But even so, Buck doesn't know what to do with that sinkhole - that cavity that's eroding in his chest with Bobby being gone. Doesn't know what to do with that, doesn't know how to shed the feeling Bobby's death leaves him with, but also doesn't know how to stew, nor live with it. 

Because when he reflects on it, he doesn't know he will. Losing the captain wasn't yet something Buck knows how to handle. Bobby had always told them that it was a possibility, prepared them for it, it never made it easier. For him, It goes something like this - Bobby is gone, yet the world around them continues - blind to their turmoil. All and sundry goes on, like it'd never happened, like he hadn't just lost a priceless person to him. 

And maybe that's selfish, unbelievably selfish of him to expect the world to suddenly shift, to act differently for him all because Buck had lost someone dear to him. He doesn't care, for once he doesn't care what being selfish means. He only wishes being selfish would change things. 

But it won't bring Bobby back. 

Truth was, Buck had lost Bobby, they all had. And that changes everything to him. And it changes all but nothing to everyone else, to everyone outside of the 118. Gibingly the earth continues on its orbit, never kind enough to stop, to pause, no matter how much Buck wishes it would. 

And you know, it's a strange one to be perennially feeling, it is. The mere concept that someone so important to you could be gone like that in the blink of an eye, it's strange to be left mourning someone you'd never been ready to lose. That's not the strangest part though, not exactly, not when Evan Buckley has always known that when the time would come, he wouldn't be ready to give up on Bobby. That he wouldn't be ready for Bobby's life to die out and he hadn't been. 

Bobby's death didn't feel real to him, and maybe that was just chimeric thinking on his part. Maybe that was just him wanting to hold out and hope that the universe hasn't just taken a loved one from him. 

Even if it was chimeric thinking, it didn't change the fact that most days since losing Bobby, it feels like he'd been thrown into an out of body experience, one that's so similar to his coma dream. And admit it all, Buck wishes that's all this was, was another god-awful dream that was bordering the line of being too real. Buck wishes that's all this was, wishes that all he had to worry about was feeling like a fool for not being able to differentiate what's real and what's not. 

But it's not a screwed up dream he's conjured up, not this time, he knows. Even though Buck may have limited memories of it all, of losing Bobby. Too caught up in shock and disbelief at the fact that this was it, this was the point he'd been fearing all along, this was the point where Buck was going to lose Bobby to. The point where his captain would be leaving him. 

And leave Bobby did, he knows the man's gone, that it's real this time. That concept had really been sealed the second Bobby had been uttering goodbyes to him that Buck couldn't process; it'd been concreted the moment Bobby had insisted Buck evacuate the premises so that Bobby could spend those last moments with Athena. Buck had screamed his vocal cords raw until his voice has nothing left to give, he'd screamed and screamed until his sobs had crescendoed into pitiable little gasps. 

It just hasn't yet set in that there's no going back, that there's no do-overs on saving his captain. Bobby is just gone. 

He doesn't know what to make of that. Buck's latest and most startling epiphany is finding out that he doesn't feel normal anymore, doesn't feel like himself as much as he tries to. But Buck thinks, It's been awhile since he has. Frankly, that's the thing, he doesn't even remember the last time that he had felt that way or what normal is supposed to feel to him. And realistically, Buck knows that in itself isn't conventional for anyone. 

Buck knows something's wrong with him. 

He thinks something’s been wrong for a while now, and Buck himself can’t even figure out what it is that's going on with him. At first, he doesn’t even really notice that anything's off with him, not until Eddie’s series of comments on it. He tells himself, along with Eddie, that he's fine; he does it as much as Eddie needs to hear it to back off. Eddie never does and it gets less convincing to himself every single time he has to say it. 

But it's okay. He never stops the flimsy excuses, never stops saying he's fine all while internally telling himself that he has no right to be thinking of himself or even being asked about how he's doing when Bobby's in the ground. When Robert Nash isn't here to be asked about how Bobby’s doing. 

Buck’ll never get the right to ask again. And it's a startling fact that he hadn't even thought of while he'd been too mired down beneath the weight of his own messy grief. But he thinks it now, thinks of how he'll never be able to ask Bobby about how the man's day was going, of how his cooking sessions with Bobby will just cease to be, of how Bobby will just cease to be anything more than a memory that tapers in and out of people's minds. Buck doesn't want to forget, never wants to forget the pat of his captain's heavy hand on his shoulder, doesn't want to forget the elder’s voice, the man's steady guidance. 

The thought of even forgetting of anything that has to do with Bobby for even a second is staggering to Buck. 

Buck doesn't want to forget, but there also lies the question of when does holding on too tightly breach the lines of being too much? Is Buck holding on simply because he's loved and cared for Bobby throughout it all like a father? Or is part of him obsessing over Bobby’s memory because of what he had not done, because he couldn't save his captain? Buck doesn't know. 

And that's a problem. 

Avowedly Buck isn't fine, not even close. How could he be, how could anyone be, when Bobby Nash’s final, conclusive words to them had been ‘I love you, kid,’ and that, ‘They’re going to need you?’ 

No. They didn't. His team didn't need him, they needed Bobby, Bobby Nash. O’ Captain! My Captain, that's who they needed. Bobby, and nobody but Robert Nash. 

At the biolab, Bobby had poured everything that was left in the man out, so Buck could have something to stick with him. Had said that Buck was loved by the man, and that even after Bobby he'd be needed. And Buck? Buck had been a fucking asshole, rendered into a useless pile of goop from his own shock. Bobby had been literally dying as the seconds ticked by and Buck hadn't done anything to make the journey any easier. He hadn't moved, he hadn't said anything back, Buck hadn't fucking said anything back - anything would've been better than saying nothing. But he'd already screamed himself hoarse beforehand in trying to change Bobby’s mind. And then afterwards, Bobby had said what the man had to him and as a result, Buck had been tilted off his axis by how fabricated Bobby’s words had been. By how much of a lie they’d been. Buck hated to be that way, hated to mistrust anything his captain had said when Bobby had always eliminated any reason for being. It wasn't so much of him thinking Bobby had lied rather than him knowing that he'd never let himself believe in what was said, not subconsciously. 

Because Bobby had openly said he'd loved Buck, which pointed at the man caring. Caring meant the man had to be biased at least a little. Bobby had been predisposed to thinking that their team was going to need Buck, because Bobby loved him. Not because it was true, Buck was a failed savior baby. As much as he hungered at the thought of being needed, of extending his purpose and being worthwhile in the wake of the grief Bobby was about to leave behind, Buck had known he'd fail at that too. 

Buck failed things. His relationships spoke that enough on their own. But if anyone needed any more knowledge of such, then he thinks it'd started at birth, multiplying when he hadn't served his purpose in saving Daniel. Then he'd failed Maddie in forcing her into the role of being a pseudo mother as a child, then he'd failed her time and time again in not doing more to break her apart from Doug. He'd failed Bobby all the times he hasn't lived up to his potential, forcing the man to fire him. Had ruined everyone's lives in some way with the sheer rashness of the lawsuit, then after, had ruined Christopher’s life on two occasions that he could think of. Once when he'd frozen up and let Eddie get shot in front of him, he'll always acknowledge that it should've been him instead no matter what Eddie spews about him not being expendable. And the other when he'd nearly let Eddie die in a collapsed drain pipe. He'd failed. So many times. And this final time? Had cost him Bobby, it'd cost Athena her husband and her children a father. It should've been Buck that had to pay the consequences of his screw ups, not Bobby. 

Buck failed things, he failed people, especially loved ones, apparently. So as much as he tried not to be so bitter and put off by anything Bobby related when the man had died, he was. Damnit, part of him couldn't fucking help it, because Bobby had sacrificed himself. Had made that decision for him knowing Buck would have preferred it had been him. Bobby hadn't given him a choice; instead, Bobby had ejected some words about Buck being needed when, frankly, that wasn't true. 

Bobby had just told him that to give him an attenuated sense of purpose, a reason to be here that stopped him from going AWOL. It didn't, Buck had seen through it all the second Bobby had said it to him. 

Buck wasn't needed, just as Buck wasn't fine. But Bobby had been a necessity to them all, for sure. 

And out of love and respect for Bobby, for his captain's last wishes — Buck will make himself be worth someone needing. He's not fine, hasn't yet worked himself up to that tier. He's going to be though, if not for himself then for those around him who deserve the pillar of support he can provide. 

He's okay, he can be that. He has to be that because it's all he's good for. It'll all be okay. 

Sure, Captain Nash — the one and only man who had stood a chance at being like an actual dad to him — is dead. Has gone where he can't follow no matter how much he longs too. Bobby's gone, and that's something he'd had to witness. Something that'd always be in the back of his mind, direly burning into his consciousness, ingrained there — just like the fact that he'd never said ‘I love you’ back to the man is ingrained there as well and would always haunt him. 

But it's fine, it's not like he's plagued by nightmares each night. Not like he can't stomach anything, and it's not like his willpower is the one thing keeping him from deteriorating on the spot. 

He's fine. 

And sure, his best friend is going to be heading back to Texas to take a job at the El Paso Fire Department and Eddie didn’t tell him before making that decision. But despite that all, Buck’s fine. He's not at risk of falling apart at the seams or anything like those around him want to believe. He's not at risk of doing anything to himself.

Or at least that's what he tells himself.

He tells himself frequently, every morning in fact that he's got this, can handle it. This had to be just another trial, another fucked up tribulation thrown his way. And he'd navigate his way through.