Work Text:
The dust from the collapsed scaffolding still clung to Buck’s turnout gear, a fine, gritty reminder of the afternoon’s chaos. It had been a messy call—three construction workers pinned under a spiderweb of twisted steel and splintered planks in downtown LA. Buck had done what he always did: he saw a gap, calculated the structural integrity in a split second, and shimmied into the danger zone before Bobby could even finish calling out the assignments.
He’d gotten the last worker out right before a secondary collapse pancaked the level they’d just vacated. It was a good save. A great one, even. But as Buck sat on the bench in the locker room, unlacing his boots, the adrenaline crash felt heavier than usual. He felt a lingering chill that had nothing to do with the drafty firehouse air.
"Buckley. My office."
Buck looked up. Bobby was standing in the doorway. His captain’s face wasn’t carrying the usual post-rescue relief. It was drawn, his jaw set in a tight line that usually meant bad news from the brass.
"Everything okay, Cap?" Buck asked, his heart doing a familiar, anxious stutter.
"Just come up," Bobby said quietly, turning on his heel.
Buck swapped his boots for sneakers and followed Bobby up the stairs. The loft was empty; Hen and Chimney were restocking the ambulance, and Eddie was somewhere in the apparatus bay washing down the engine. The silence in the captain's office felt oppressive.
Bobby didn’t sit behind his desk. He leaned against the front of it, crossing his arms, looking at Buck with a mixture of exhaustion and profound regret. He gestured to a manila folder sitting next to his keyboard.
"Risk Management was monitoring the feed from the command vehicle today," Bobby started, his voice low. "They also pulled the bodycam footage from the trench rescue last week, and the high-angle save on Tuesday."
Buck stiffened. "I followed protocol, Bobby. Well, mostly. Today was a judgment call. If I waited for the struts to be placed, that guy would have been crushed."
"I know that, Buck. You made the right call on the ground," Bobby said, holding up a hand to stall the defense. "But the brass upstairs, the legal department… they don't see the ground. They see a liability." Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "A new auditor in HR has been reviewing personnel files. Yours got flagged."
"Flagged?" Buck’s throat felt dry. "For what? I've been a model firefighter since—"
"Since the lawsuit," Bobby finished for him, the word hanging heavy in the room between them.
Buck flinched. The lawsuit. The darkest, most painful chapter of his life, a time when he’d let grief, fear, and manipulation tear him away from his family. They had moved past it. They had bled and cried and forgiven each other. But the Los Angeles Fire Department was a bureaucracy, and the bureaucracy had an exceptionally long memory.
"They’re saying there's a pattern of reckless, insubordinate behavior that exposes the city to excessive risk," Bobby explained, his tone laced with a bitter frustration. "Because of your history—because you sued the department and the city—they're treating you as a high-risk employee. They sent this down an hour ago."
Bobby handed him the folder. Buck opened it, his eyes skimming the dense, legalistic text at the top of the page.
***Behavioral Modification and Risk Mitigation Agreement***
"A behavioral contract?" Buck whispered, his stomach dropping into his shoes. "Bobby, I'm a grown man. I'm a seasoned firefighter."
"It’s a CYA move by the city, Buck. Cover Your Ass. They're terrified that if you get hurt doing something off-book, you'll sue them again. Or if someone else gets hurt while you're off-book, they'll be sued because they kept a 'known liability' on the roster." Bobby looked away, shame flashing in his eyes. "I fought them on the phone for forty minutes. But the Deputy Chief made it clear. You sign it, or you're benched pending a full disciplinary review. Which could take months."
Buck stared at the paper. The words began to blur. He felt the phantom pain in his leg, the ghost of the tsunami, the suffocating isolation of being on the outside looking in. He couldn't go back to a clipboard. He couldn't lose his family again.
"I'll sign it," Buck said, his voice hollow.
"Take it. Read it first," Bobby ordered gently. "Take the rest of the shift. Sleep on it. We'll talk tomorrow."
---
An hour later, Buck was curled on his side in the bunk room, the curtains drawn. The single reading light illuminated the pages of the contract spread out on the mattress before him.
The deeper he read, the more suffocating the air in the room became. It wasn't just a promise to follow protocol. The standards were impossible, punitive, and deeply humiliating.
*Item 4: Employee Evan Buckley must verbally request and receive explicit confirmation from the Incident Commander before deviating from standard LAFD operational guidelines by any margin. Failure to do so will result in immediate suspension without pay.*
*Item 7: Employee agrees to mandatory, bi-weekly psychological evaluations with an LAFD-appointed psychiatrist to assess impulse control and behavioral stability, at the employee's own expense.*
*Item 12: Employee waives the right to a union representative during preliminary disciplinary hearings related to safety violations.*
It was a leash. Worse, it was a trap. Firefighting was a dynamic, unpredictable beast. You couldn't ask for a permission slip when the ceiling was collapsing. They wanted him to fail. They were giving him the rope to hang his own career so they could fire him cleanly, without fear of a wrongful termination suit.
Buck dragged a hand down his face, feeling the sting of tears threatening the corners of his eyes. He felt dirty, like all the work he’d done to prove his loyalty, to grow up, meant absolutely nothing to the people who signed his checks. He was just the lawsuit kid. The liability.
He reached for a pen on the nightstand, his hand shaking. If this was the price of staying with the 118, of staying with Bobby, Hen, Chimney, and Eddie… he had to pay it.
"Don't even think about putting ink on that."
Buck jumped, dropping the pen. Eddie was standing in the narrow gap between the bunks, his arms crossed, his dark eyes locked onto the papers. He was in his LAFD t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp from a shower.
"Eddie. I didn't hear you come in," Buck mumbled, scrambling to gather the papers into a pile.
"Obviously," Eddie said, stepping closer. He reached out, his hand steady and expectant. "Give it here."
"It's just some HR paperwork. Administrative crap," Buck lied, forcing a strained smile. "Nothing to worry about."
"Evan."
Buck froze. Eddie rarely used his first name. When he did, it stripped away all of Buck’s defenses, leaving him raw and exposed. Eddie didn’t wait for Buck to hand them over; he reached down and plucked the pages from Buck’s loose grip.
Eddie sat on the edge of the bunk, the springs creaking softly in the quiet room. He started to read. Buck watched him, his anxiety spiking as he saw the muscles in Eddie's jaw jump. Eddie’s eyes darted back and forth across the pages, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to deep, simmering outrage.
"Bi-weekly psych evals at your own expense?" Eddie read aloud, his voice dangerously quiet. He flipped the page. "Waiving union representation? Zero-tolerance protocol adherence? Buck, who the hell gave this to you?"
"Bobby," Buck said miserably. "But it's not from him. It's from Risk Management. The brass."
Eddie looked up, his eyes dark with anger. Not at Buck, but *for* him. "Because of today? You saved a man’s life today."
"Because of today. Because of last week. Because of…" Buck swallowed hard. "Because of the lawsuit, Eddie. They never forgot. They think I'm a loose cannon waiting to blow up in their faces. They want to mitigate the risk."
"This isn't mitigation, Buck. This is a setup," Eddie snapped, tapping the paper with the back of his hand. "They know you can't follow Item 4. No good firefighter can. You wait for verbal confirmation from command when a floor gives out, people die. You die. They’re putting you in a position where you have to choose between letting someone burn, or getting fired."
"I don't have a choice!" Buck’s voice cracked, rising in volume before he forcefully hushed it, remembering where they were. "If I don't sign it, they bench me. They'll launch an inquiry. I'll be back to doing inventory while you guys are out there. I can't do that again, Eddie. I won't survive it."
Eddie’s expression softened. He shifted closer, his knee bumping against Buck’s leg. The physical contact was grounding, a silent tether pulling Buck back from the edge of his panic.
"You're not signing this," Eddie said firmly. "I'm not going to let you sign away your rights and your dignity because some suit downtown got spooked by a bodycam."
"Eddie, you can't stop—"
"I'm not going to let you," Eddie repeated, his gaze unwavering. "You are not a liability. You are the best damn firefighter I know. You have my back, you have Bobby's back, you have this whole team's back. Now it's our turn to have yours."
Eddie stood up, folding the contract in half. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?"
"To find someone who actually reads the fine print for a living."
Eddie marched out of the bunk room, Buck trailing behind him like a lost puppy. They found Hen at the kitchen island, a mug of tea in one hand, studying for her latest medical recertification exams. She looked up over her reading glasses as Eddie slammed the folded papers down onto the counter in front of her.
"I need you to look at this," Eddie said, his voice clipped. "And tell me I'm not crazy for wanting to drive down to headquarters and punch someone in the throat."
Hen raised an eyebrow, setting her pen down. "Well, that’s a hell of an opening line. What is it?"
"Risk Management gave it to Buck. A behavioral contract," Eddie spat the words like they were poison.
Hen’s demeanor instantly shifted from casual to sharply professional. She picked up the contract, unfolding it. Buck stood awkwardly by the fridge, his arms wrapped around his torso, feeling completely exposed.
For three agonizing minutes, the only sound in the loft was the hum of the refrigerator and the rustle of paper as Hen flipped the pages. Her frown deepened with every paragraph. She read the final page, placed it gently back onto the counter, and took off her glasses.
She looked at Buck, her eyes filled with a fierce, protective maternal warmth.
"Oh, honey," she sighed. "They really went for the jugular, didn't they?"
"It's that bad?" Buck asked weakly.
"It's worse," Hen said, her tone hardening. She tapped the third page. "Clause 12. Waiving your right to a union rep during disciplinary hearings? That is highly illegal. It violates the core tenets of the collective bargaining agreement. They can’t ask you to sign away your Weingarten rights."
"That's what I thought," Eddie said, crossing his arms.
"They’re trying to bully you, Buck," Hen continued, leaning forward. "They’re banking on the fact that you feel guilty about the past, and that you're too scared of losing your spot here to fight back. They packaged union busting and targeted harassment under the guise of 'risk mitigation.'"
"But Bobby said—"
"Bobby is a captain, Buck. He’s management," Hen interrupted gently. "He loves you, and he fought for you, I guarantee it. But when the Deputy Chief gives him an ultimatum, his hands are tied by the chain of command. Ours aren't."
Hen reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "You are not signing a damn thing. First thing tomorrow morning, we are calling the local union rep. I know Jimmy over at Station 44, he’s a bulldog on the grievance committee. We file a formal complaint against HR for attempting to bypass the union contract."
"Hen, if we make a stink, they might just fire me outright," Buck panicked, his breath hitching. "I'm an at-will employee in their eyes. The lawsuit—"
"The lawsuit was settled," Hen said firmly. "It is a closed matter. Legally, they cannot use it as a pretext for retaliation years later. If they try to fire you for refusing to sign an illegal contract, they won't just be facing you. They'll be facing the entire Los Angeles Fire Department labor union. They do not want that smoke."
Buck looked between Hen and Eddie. He was so used to carrying his burdens alone, to punishing himself for his mistakes, that the sheer force of their defense left him speechless. Eddie was looking at him with a steady, reassuring strength, while Hen was already tapping out a text message to her union contact.
"We're a team, Buck," Eddie said quietly, stepping up beside him and clapping a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder. "In the field, and in here. Not gonna let you fight em alone."
---
The fluorescent lights of the grocery store hummed a low, sterile tune, entirely at odds with the storm raging inside Buck’s head. It was Tuesday morning, their day off before a grueling 48-hour shift, and Buck had somehow been roped into doing a grocery run with Chimney and Jee-Yun.
Usually, Buck loved this. He loved making Jee laugh by juggling apples, loved bickering with Chimney over which brand of coffee to buy. But today, he felt hollowed out. The unsigned behavioral contract was sitting on his kitchen counter back at the loft, a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate his career.
"Alright, Uncle Buck, you're on cereal duty," Chimney called out, pushing the cart down the main aisle while Jee-Yun babbled happily, clutching a plastic set of measuring spoons. "I'm going to find the organic baby food that Maddie swears by, or she'll have my head. Meet me at the dairy in five."
"You got it," Buck muttered, barely looking up as he peeled off toward aisle six.
He stared blankly at the wall of colorful cardboard boxes. 'Bi-weekly psych evals. Immediate suspension. Waiving union representation.' The words looped in his brain. He reached for a box of oatmeal, his hand feeling heavy and uncoordinated.
"Deciding your breakfast, Buckley? Or deciding your future?"
Buck froze. The voice was smooth, corporate, and sickeningly familiar from the endless depositions he’d sat through years ago.
He turned. Standing near the end of the aisle, wearing a sharply tailored gray suit that looked ridiculous next to the discount baked beans, was David Garrison. He was a senior risk management adjuster for the city, one of the primary architects of the department's legal defense during Buck’s lawsuit.
"Garrison," Buck said, his mouth going dry. "What are you doing here?"
"I live in the neighborhood. Was just doing my shopping" Garrison said, taking a slow step closer. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Imagine my surprise seeing you. I was actually just reviewing your file over my morning coffee. Your captain told the Deputy Chief you needed time to 'read the fine print' of your new agreement."
Buck took a step back, his shoulders tensing. "I have a right to read what I'm signing."
"You have a right to a lot of things, Evan. But right now, you have a very narrow window of goodwill from the city," Garrison said, his voice dropping to a low, conversational volume that felt incredibly threatening. "We don't want to deal with what happens if you dont sign. It's messy. The media love you. The man who survived the lightening. But let's be absolutely clear: the city is done indulging your hero complex. You are a walking, talking, multi-million-dollar liability. If that signed contract isn't on my desk by tomorrow morning, you will be suspended pending a review board. And I will personally make sure you never put on a turnout coat in this state again."
Buck’s chest tightened, a familiar panic clawing up his throat. He was trapped. The aisle suddenly felt suffocatingly narrow. He opened his mouth to reply, to defend himself, but the words wouldn't come.
"Excuse me."
The voice cut through the tension like a siren. Chimney stepped into the aisle, his usual easygoing grin completely absent. He parked the cart sideways, effectively blocking Garrison's path toward Buck, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Can I help you, pal?" Chimney asked, his tone deceptively mild but lined with steel.
Garrison frowned, adjusting his tie. "This is a private conversation. Was just chatting to Mr Buckley over here."
"Funny, this looks like a grocery store to me," Chimney fired back, not yielding an inch. "And last I checked, HR doesn't conduct official department business next to the Frosted Flakes. Especially not by ambushing my brother on his day off."
"I was merely reminding Mr. Buckley of his obligations—"
"You were harassing him," Chimney interrupted, stepping just a fraction closer to Garrison. Jee-Yun babbled in the cart, oblivious to the sudden hostility in the air. "Now, I suggest you turn around, go buy your kale or whatever it is you weirdos eat, and leave him alone. Unless you want me to call LAPD and file a report for stalking and intimidation. Because I will. And I'll make sure the union gets a copy of the police report."
Garrison’s jaw tightened. He looked from Chimney's hardened expression to Buck, who was staring at his brother-in-law in shock.
"Tomorrow morning, Buckley," Garrison sneered, adjusting his jacket. He turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing around the end cap.
As soon as he was out of sight, Chimney let out a long, shaky breath and turned to Buck. The fierce protector vanished, replaced instantly by the caring brother.
"Hey," Chimney said softly, stepping up and grabbing Buck by the shoulder. "Look at me. Are you okay?"
Buck exhaled shakily, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, Chim. You didn't have to do that."
"The hell I didn't," Chimney scoffed gently. "Buck, what was that? Is this about the contract Eddie was fuming about in the group chat?"
Buck nodded miserably. "They're squeezing me, Chim. They want me gone. I thought... I thought I proved myself. I thought I put the lawsuit behind us. But to them, I'm just a ticking time bomb. I just don't get why I can't be good enough"
Chimney squeezed Buck's shoulder hard, forcing Buck to meet his eyes. "Listen to me, Buckaroo. You made a mistake years ago because you were in pain and you were scared of losing the only family you ever really had. We made a mistake too then. But you bled for this city before that, and you've bled for it a hundred times since. You are not a liability. You are a lifesaver. And you are enough"
"Tell that to the city lawyers," Buck whispered.
"Screw the lawyers," Chimney said fiercely. "You have the 118. We don't leave our own behind in a fire, and we sure as hell don't leave them behind to get eaten alive by HR. We're going to fight this. All of us."
Chimney nudged Buck’s arm toward the cart. "Come on. Grab the oatmeal. We've got high gea with princess jee in an hour, and we need to fuel up".
---
The alarm blared at 2:00 PM the next day, slicing through the thick, unresolved tension in the firehouse.
“Structure fire, commercial warehouse. Multiple calls reporting explosions. 400 block of Industrial Way.”
Buck practically threw himself into his turnout gear, grateful for the distraction. For the last six hours, Bobby had been locked in his office, on the phone with Hen's union representative and making furious calls to headquarters. Buck hadn't signed the contract, holding onto Eddie and Hen’s fierce insistence, but the deadline was looming, and the knot in his stomach was unbearable.
They arrived on the scene to pure chaos. A chemical manufacturing warehouse was engulfed, thick black smoke billowing into the Los Angeles sky. The heat was immense, warping the air around the engine.
"Alright, we have workers trapped in the basement level!" Bobby shouted over the roar of the flames, pointing to the schematics spread on the hood of the SUV. "Eddie, Buck, you're on search and rescue. Sector C stairwell. Hen, Chim, set up triage. Let's move!"
Buck and Eddie masked up, grabbed their halligans, and breached the side entrance. The visibility inside was zero, the air thick with toxic smoke and the crackle of burning insulation. They moved with practiced synchronicity, clearing rooms, calling out.
"LAFD! Call out!" Eddie yelled.
A faint banging echoed from beneath them. "Eddie, here!" Buck pointed to a reinforced steel door leading to the sub-level. It was warped from the heat, the frame buckling.
They pried it open and descended into the stifling heat of the basement. They found two workers, huddled under a concrete overhang, coughing violently.
"We got you," Buck said, hauling the heavier of the two men over his shoulder. "Eddie, take the other one. Let's go!"
They made it to the bottom of the stairwell when a massive groan echoed through the building. The radio crackled to life.
“Buck, Eddie, evacuate immediately! The ground floor is collapsing, the C stairwell is compromised! Get out now!” Bobby’s voice was frantic.
Buck looked up. The stairs above them were entirely blocked by burning debris and twisted metal grating. They were trapped.
"Cap, our primary egress is blocked," Eddie reported, coughing as smoke seeped past his regulator. "We're trapped in the basement with two victims."
“Hold your position, we’re coming from Sector D—”
"No time," Buck yelled, eyeing the wall to his left. He remembered the blueprints Bobby had shown them. "Cap! The east wall borders a storm drain tunnel. If I use the exothermic torch to cut through the concrete, we can slip out underneath the fire line."
There was a pause on the radio. It wasn't standard protocol. It was a massive structural risk to blow a hole in a foundation wall during a fire. It was exactly the kind of rogue, split-second decision the contract forbade him from making without express, drawn-out permission.
Buck froze. The words of the contract flashed in his mind. 'Waive right to union rep. Immediate suspension. A walking liability.' If he blew this wall and it caused a secondary collapse, his career was over. They would crucify him.
"Cap," Buck's voice shook slightly. "I... I need explicit verbal authorization to deviate from protocol and breach the foundation."
Eddie glared hearing those words. He assessed the situation and knew Buck was correct in how they needed to get out of here. But he realised they could spare maybe 30 seconds- this time at least. Hearing Buck have to say that pissed him off. Another time those seconds would be the choice of life and death. Eddie would override and say he made the call if Bobby rejected Buck right now. But he needed Bobby to tell Buck he believed in him. He knew Buck needed to hear that. So he waited the ten seconds.
In the command vehicle outside, Bobby froze, his blood running cold. He heard the hesitation, the sheer terror in Buck's voice. It wasn't the fear of the fire. It was the fear of the department. The behavioral contract had already gotten inside Buck's head, making him second-guess his life-saving instincts. In an environment where seconds meant the difference between life and death, the city had placed a target on Buck’s back that was paralyzing him.
A wave of profound anger and guilt washed over Bobby. 'Never again,' he thought.
Bobby grabbed his radio, his voice echoing with absolute, unwavering authority.
"Buckley, listen to me," Bobby commanded. "I am the Incident Commander. But *you* are the man on the ground. You have eyes on. You know what to do. I trust you, Buck. Do you hear me? I trust you. Blow the damn wall and bring your team home."
The hesitation vanished. Buck’s eyes met Eddie’s through their visors. Eddie gave him a firm nod.
"Copy that, Cap. Breaching now," Buck said.
Sparks showered the basement as Buck fired up the torch, slicing through the concrete and rebar with precision. Two minutes later, a heavy chunk of the wall fell away, revealing the cool, damp darkness of the storm drain.
"Go, go, go!" Buck ushered Eddie and the victims through the hole just as the ceiling above them gave a final, terrifying groan and pancaked onto the floor they had just vacated.
They emerged from the storm drain two blocks away, coughing, exhausted, but alive.
---
Two hours later, Buck sat on the sofa in the loft, a towel around his neck, smelling of ash and sweat. He was staring at the floor, waiting for the axe to fall. The save was successful, but Garrison’s threat still loomed over him.
"Buck. In here."
Buck stood up slowly and walked into the captain’s office. Bobby was sitting behind his desk. He looked exhausted, but the tension that had been gripping his jaw for the last two days was gone.
On the desk, sitting between them, was the behavioral contract.
"Shut the door,," Bobby said softly.
Buck closed it and stood at attention, his heart pounding. "Cap, about the wall—"
"You made the right call," Bobby interrupted gently. "You saved four lives today. Yours, Eddie's, and those two workers. And you did it because you are a brilliant, instinctual firefighter."
Bobby picked up the contract.
"When the Deputy Chief handed me this the other day, I was intimidated," Bobby confessed, his voice heavy with regret. "I let my fear of losing you blind me to what they were actually doing. I treated you like a subordinate who needed managing, instead of a God damn good firefighter who needed protecting. I am so sorry, Buck."
Buck’s breath hitched. "Bobby..."
"Hen's union rep, Jimmy, is a force of nature," Bobby continued, a small, proud smile touching his lips. "I went down to headquarters yesterday. I sat in the Chief's office with Jimmy, and I laid out your service record for the last three years. Every save. Every commendation."
Bobby stood up, holding the papers.
"I told them that the LAFD collective bargaining agreement prohibits targeted harassment based on closed legal matters. I told them that if they tried to force you to sign a contract waiving your Weingarten rights, the 118 would walk out. And I would personally go to the LA Times with a story about how the city is paralyzing its first responders with illegal, retaliatory red tape."
Buck stared at Bobby, completely stunned. "You... you threatened the Chief?"
"I advocated for my firefighter," Bobby corrected smoothly. "Garrison from Risk Management is being reassigned. The Deputy Chief suddenly agreed that your recent actions were, in fact, 'commendable displays of initiative under pressure.'"
Bobby took the behavioral contract in both hands. With a sharp, decisive motion, he ripped it in half. Then in quarters. He tossed the pieces into the trash can under his desk.
"It's gone, Buck," Bobby said, looking him dead in the eye. "It’s over. You have no special restrictions. You have no mandatory psych evals. You are exactly where you belong, doing exactly what you are meant to do."
A single tear spilled over Buck's eyelashes, cutting a clean track through the soot still clinging to his cheek. The suffocating weight he had been carrying since the lawsuit—the endless need to prove he wasn't broken, that he wasn't a traitor—finally, truly, lifted.
He wasn't a liability. He was a piece of this family.
Buck stepped forward, and Bobby met him halfway, pulling him into a tight, grounding embrace. Buck buried his face in Bobby's shoulder, letting out a shaky breath, feeling the solid, unyielding support of his captain, his father figure.
"Thank you," Buck choked out.
"Always, kid," Bobby murmured, patting his back. "Always."
When they walked out of the office and up the stairs to the loft, the smell of garlic and roasting chicken hit them. Eddie was setting the table, Chimney was pouring drinks, and Hen was pulling a massive pan out of the oven.
Eddie looked up as Buck came into the kitchen. His eyes darted to Bobby, then back to Buck, assessing the lack of tension in Buck's shoulders. Eddie offered a small, knowing smile.
"Dinner's ready," Hen said, Eddie pulling out a chair next to his own and tapping the back of it. "Sit down, Buck. You look like you've had a long day."
Buck looked at the table, at the faces of the people who had fought for him, stood in front of him, and pulled him out of the darkness. He walked over, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he slid into his seat.
"Yeah," Buck smiled, feeling lighter than he had in years. "But I'm exactly where I need to be."