Chapter Text
Eddie swung his bag into his locker, the metallic thud echoing too loudly in the hollow room. Normally, Buck would be there, already half-dressed, leaning his massive frame against the adjacent locker and vibrating with some new, hyper-specific piece of trivia he'd unearthed at three in the morning.
"Did you know, Eddie, that giant squids have brains shaped like donuts? And their esophagus goes right through the middle? If they eat something too big, they get actual brain damage."
Eddie closed his eyes for a second, almost expecting to see a pair of eager blue eyes and a birthmark-dappled grin waiting for him. But the locker next to his remained shut, the nameplate BUCKLEY staring back at him like a silent accusation.
Buck was at his loft. He was recovering from a heart that had stopped and started again, a victim of a lightning bolt that should have been impossible.
"Hey, Eddie." Hen's voice was soft as she walked in. "How's he doing?"
"Resting," he said. "I dropped Chris off at Abuela's an hour ago. I sent Buck a text to see if he needed me to drop off some of that organic juice he likes, but he didn't reply. He's probably out cold. The discharge papers said the fatigue would be... significant. Weeks of it."
"Significant is one way to put it," a new voice chimed in.
Chimney popped his head around the corner of the locker row, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee.
"The silence in this place is officially deafening, guys. It's unnatural. It's like The Twilight Zone, but with fewer aliens and more existential dread," Chimney sighed, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I walked past the kitchen ten minutes ago and it was... tidy. No one was reorganizing the spice cabinet by Scoville heat units. It's creepy. I feel like I should go kick a trash can over just to balance out the atmosphere."
Eddie managed a tight, polite smile. "He'll be back, Chim. Just needs time."
"I know, I know," Chimney said, waving a hand dismissively. "But until then, who am I supposed to mock for their questionable life choices? You? You're too stoic. It's like making fun of a statue. Hen? She'd just look at me with that 'disappointed mother' face and I'd end up apologizing for my own birth."
Hen rolled her eyes. "He's right, though. The 118 is a well-oiled machine, sure. But Buck... Buck is the spark plug. Without him, we're just a very expensive collection of red trucks and tired people."
Eddie nodded, pulling his shirt over his head and buttoning it with mechanical precision. He knew exactly what they meant.
Every corner of the building held a ghost of Buck. The gym where they sparred, the kitchen where they shared meals, the back of the engine where they sat shoulder-to-shoulder.
~~
They sat at the long wooden table, the empty chair at the end, Buck's chair, looming like a cavernous hole in their formation.
Bobby stood at the counter for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the extra portion he'd reflexively plated before realizing there was no one to eat it. He quietly set the dish aside, his shoulders tight.
"Eat up," he said, sliding into his own seat. "It's going to be a long night. Weather's shifting, and the humidity is high enough to make the city irritable."
The clinking of forks against ceramic was the only soundtrack for a few minutes.
"So," Chimney started. "Since the giant puppy isn't here to entertain us with 'Did You Know' facts, what's the plan for his welcome back party? I was thinking we rent a bouncy house. He's got the energy for it, and it's low impact for the heart, right?"
"I think the doctors would prefer he stays on solid ground, Chim," Hen said, though a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe just a nice dinner."
Eddie's phone buzzed against the wood of the table. The sudden vibration made him jump. He flipped it over, and his chest loosened for the first time in hours.
Buck: sorry for replying this late
Buck: I was watching a documentary
Buck: don't need anything
Eddie felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the lasagna. He ignored his food, his thumbs moving quickly over the screen.
Eddie: what was the documentary about?
He waited, watching the three little gray dots dance. The table fell quiet as the others watched him, knowing exactly who was on the other end of that blue bubble.
Buck: sharks
Eddie huffed a laugh, a short, breathy sound that made Bobby look up.
Eddie: can't wait to hear about all the new things you’ve learned.
"He's watching a shark documentary," Eddie announced to the table.
"Oh, great," Chimney groaned, though he was grinning. "By shift change tomorrow, we're all going to know the exact bite pressure of a Great White in pounds per square inch. I can't wait."
"It's a good sign," Hen noted, reaching for the salad. "If he's curious, he's healing."
Then the word turned red.
"STRUCTURAL COLLAPSE. MASSIVE FAILURE AT THE SYCAMORE WAREHOUSE RENOVATION. MULTIPLE VICTIMS TRAPPED."
The five-story brick leviathan, a century-old relic of industrial Los Angeles, had essentially folded in on itself. The center had hollowed out, dragging the upper floors down into a jagged, lethal V-shape that churned up a cloud of pulverized concrete so thick it swallowed the street. The 118 pulled up into a ghost world. The grey dust hung in the humid air like a shroud, turning the police cruisers' strobes into dull, pulsing bruises of red and blue light.
Eddie hit the pavement, his boots crunching on broken glass and grey dust. The air tasted like pennies and dry earth. He felt the familiar tightening in his chest, the pre-shift anxiety replaced by the cold, sharp clarity of a soldier on the front lines.
"Captain!" A man in a high-vis vest stumbled toward them, his face a frantic mask of sweat and grey silt. "I'm the foreman. We had three guys down there! Security and two electricians doing late-night wiring in the sub-basement. They haven't checked in since the primary shift!"
"Sub-basement?" Bobby's jaw tightened. He looked at the wreckage, thousands of tons of unstable masonry pressing down on a foundation that was already a century old. It was a deathtrap. "Is there any way in?"
"The north service ramp," the foreman pointed toward a sloping concrete maw that looked like it was being crushed by the weight of the world. "But the whole structure is groaning, sir. It's breathing. One more shift and the whole thing pancakes."
Bobby turned to Eddie and Chimney. "Search and rescue. You go in, you find them, and you get out. If you hear so much as a pebble drop, you evacuate. That is an order. Understood?"
"Copy that, Cap," Eddie said. He checked his oxygen tank, the hiss of the regulator a steady, mechanical heartbeat.
They descended into the service tunnel, and the world of sirens and shouting vanished, replaced by a terrifying, heavy silence. The air was dead. Every few seconds, the building would let out a guttural, metallic shriek, the sound of rebar snapping under the weight of five floors of luxury loft dreams.
Eddie clicked on his heavy-duty flashlight. The beam cut through the gloom, illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny ghosts.
"LAFD! Can anyone hear me?"
Clink. Clink. Clink.
A faint, rhythmic tapping echoed from the darkness.
"Left side," Chimney said. "Sounds like someone hitting a pipe."
They crawled over mountains of debris, the ceiling hovering inches above their helmets. They found the first guard tucked under a reinforced doorway, pale and shaking, but mobile.
"He's okay," Chimney grunted, helping the man to his feet. "I'll take him back to the tunnel mouth and hand him to Hen. I'll be right back for you."
"I'm moving forward," Eddie said, his light already sweeping deeper into the dark where the tapping had grown more desperate. "The others are close."
"Eddie," Chimney caught his arm, his eyes wide behind his visor. "The building is settling. Bobby said don't linger."
"Two minutes, Chim. Go."
Eddie watched them disappear, then turned back to the void. He squeezed through a gap in the masonry so tight it scraped the paint off his tank.
"LAFD! Talk to me!"
"Help..." a voice cracked. "Please..."
Eddie rounded a jagged corner and his heart slammed against his ribs. The second victim was pinned. A massive concrete support pillar had snapped like a dry twig, trapping the man's legs against the floor. The man's face was the color of the dust surrounding them.
"I've got you," Eddie breathed, dropping to his knees and grabbing the man's hand. He keyed his shoulder mic. "Cap, I've found victim number two. Sub-level two. I need a lift bag and a—"
He never finished.
A sound like a lightning strike, loud and violent, ripped through the air above him. The main support column, the only thing holding back the ocean of brick and steel above their heads, disintegrated.
"Eddie! Get out! The whole North side is going! GET OUT!" Bobby's voice screamed through the radio, distorted by the sudden interference of shifting earth.
Eddie looked up. He saw the ceiling bow. He saw the darkness expanding.
He didn't run. He couldn't leave the man beneath him to be crushed alone. With a guttural roar, Eddie threw himself over the victim, shielding the man's head and chest with his own body, bracing his arms against the floor.
Then, the mountain fell.
~~
The silence was absolute. Eddie didn't open his eyes immediately. He couldn't. His face was pressed into the grit of the concrete floor, the taste of alkaline dust thick on his tongue. Slowly, agonizingly, he tried to shift his weight.
A white-hot spike of agony shot up from his waist, stealing the little air he had left. He let out a choked, ragged scream that died in the cramped darkness.
He was pinned.
The concrete pillar had shifted during the secondary collapse, wedging him firmly against the floor. He could feel the dead weight of the building resting on his lower half. Beneath him, the man he had tried to shield was still. Eddie reached out a trembling hand, searching for a pulse, but his fingers only met cold, unmoving skin.
"I'm sorry," Eddie whispered, his voice a broken rasp. "I'm so sorry."
He fumbled for his shoulder mic, but the cord had been severed, the plastic housing shattered. He was cut off. He was at the bottom of a mountain of rubble, and the only sound in the darkness was the erratic, wet hitch of his own breathing.
The adrenaline was a liar. It had convinced Eddie, for the first few seconds of consciousness, that he could simply push the world off of him.
He groaned, a guttural, animal sound, and shoved his palms against the rough underside of the concrete pillar. He braced his shoulders, his muscles screaming as he tried to heave the ton of stone off his legs.
"Come on," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Come on!"
He pushed until his vision swam with black spots, until the vessels in his neck felt like they were going to burst. The pillar didn't even shiver. Instead, the movement caused the debris above to settle further, grinding into his hips. The pain that followed was blinding. It was a white-hot roar that traveled from his spine to his skull.
Eddie threw his head back against the grit and screamed. It was a raw, jagged sound that tore his throat and echoed uselessly into the hollow pockets of the tomb. He panted, his chest heaving, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.
He was pinned. And he was alone.
With trembling fingers, Eddie fumbled for his phone. The screen was a spiderweb of shattered glass.
No Service.
"No, no, no," Eddie whispered, waving the phone in the air, trying to find a gap in the tons of steel and brick above him. One bar flickered into existence.
He hit Bobby's name first. Connecting... then a dull, digital beep. Call failed.
He tried again. Chimney.
It rang once. Twice. A burst of static erupted from the speaker.
"Eddie? Is th- you?" Chimney's voice was uneven.
"Chim! Chim, I'm down here!" Eddie gasped, clutching the phone to his ear as if he could pull his friend through the line. "Sub-level two. I'm pinned. You have to—"
"Are you-" The signal drifted, Chimney's voice stretching into a metallic robotic whine. "- -we're co- "
"Chimney! Howard!" Eddie yelled, but the screen went black. Call Dropped.
He stared at the dead screen. The hope that had flared in his chest extinguished, leaving behind a cold, hollow dread.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Eddie lay there, his cheek pressed against the dusty floor, staring at the flickering light of his phone.
He started thinking.
He thought about the morning, how he'd complained about the coffee being too burnt. He thought about Christopher, who was probably curled up under a superhero duvet at Abuela's, dreaming of space or skateboarding, completely unaware that the world was currently crushing the life out of his father.
And he thought about Buck.
Buck, who had died for three minutes. Buck, whose heart had been jump-started by the very people now searching for Eddie.
Eddie realized then, with a terrifying clarity, that he might not get to say sorry for the burnt coffee. He might not get to see Christopher graduate. And he definitely wouldn't get to tell Buck that the "shark facts" were actually the highlight of his day.
He lifted his right arm and stared at the cracked screen of his phone, his eyes unfocused.
No Service.
No Service.
"Come on," he wheezed, his arm trembling with the effort. "Just... just one."
A miracle happened.
A single, precarious bar flickered onto the display.
He didn't call Bobby. He didn't try Chimney again. His thumb, slick with grit and blood, ghosted over the contact he had pinned to the top of his favorites. The one person who had been his North Star since the day they met.
He pressed Buck.
The phone emitted a low, electronic hum as it searched for a tower through tons of reinforced concrete. Eddie held it to his ear, his eyes squeezed shut, praying to a God he only spoke to in moments like this.
Ring.
The sound was so clear it made his heart ache. He could almost picture Buck's nightstand, the cluttered pile of books, the charging cable, the half-empty glass of water.
Ring.
"Pick up, Buck." Eddie whispered. "Pick up. Please."
Ring.
Eddie's arm began to fail, his muscles giving out. He waited for the voice, that bright, energetic "Hey, Eddie!" that always made the world feel a little less heavy.
Instead, there was a click. A silence. And then:
"Hi, you've reached Evan Buckley. I'm probably out doing something more interesting than checking my phone, but leave a message and I'll get back to you. Eventually!"
The upbeat, recorded greeting felt like a physical blow to Eddie's chest. It was so Buck. It was full of life and sunshine.
Beep.
Eddie swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. He knew he only had a few seconds before the signal dropped again.
"Hey, Evan," he whispered.
He paused, a single tear cutting a clean track through the thick layer of grey dust on his face.
"You're probably sleeping. Good. You need the rest."
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back into the dirt.