Chapter Text
The LAFD gala was already in full swing—champagne flutes clinking, jazz band crooning, and someone in a fire marshal uniform trying way too hard to flirt with a paramedic from Station 136.
Hen and Chimney stood just outside the ballroom doors, taking a breather from the packed crowd inside and watching people trickle in.
Hen adjusted the strap on her clutch and scanned the parking lot. “You think they bailed?”
“Nah,” Chim said, sipping from his plastic cup of something allegedly fancy. “Buck lives for events with fancy lighting and free food. He probably coordinated his tie with the hors d’oeuvres.”
Hen snorted. “And Eddie?”
“Lives for Buck,” Chim said, without missing a beat. Then he squinted. “And—oh. Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”
A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, and sure enough, Buck climbed out of the passenger seat, tugging at his suit jacket like it didn’t sit right, while Eddie rounded the front of the vehicle adjusting his sleeves like it was a mission. They looked… good. Too good, if Hen was honest.
And they were walking in together. Matching strides. Laughing about something. Buck touched Eddie’s arm once—casual, easy—and it was just enough to make Hen raise an eyebrow.
As they stepped closer, Chim couldn’t help himself.
“Well, look at you two,” he said, loud enough to carry. “Everyone else showed up with their date. Glad to see you both kept the trend alive.”
Eddie blinked. “What? I didn’t bring a date.”
Buck let out a small breath of a laugh. “Neither did I.”
“Right,” Chim said, nodding solemnly. “Of course. Just… happened to drive in together. In the same truck. Wearing suspiciously coordinated outfits.”
“They’re not coordinated,” Eddie said, glancing down at himself, then at Buck. “Are they?”
Buck looked at him for a second longer than was strictly necessary. “I mean… maybe a little. Not on purpose.”
“Totally coincidental,” Chim agreed, while Hen hid her grin behind the rim of her glass.
“Totally,” Hen echoed, nudging Chim lightly. “Nothing says ‘platonic coworkers’ like arriving fashionably late together and looking like you walked out of a magazine spread called Domestic Firefighter Elegance.”
Eddie gave her a skeptical look. “We got here when Buck’s mechanic said his car wasn’t ready, so I offered to drive.”
“Which was very considerate,” Buck added.
Chim nodded seriously. “Sure, sure. Very considerate. Just two bros. Arriving. In style.”
Hen elbowed him lightly again. “Should we go ahead and get them added to the ‘Best Couple’ voting ballot?”
Eddie looked genuinely puzzled. “That’s a thing?”
Buck groaned softly under his breath. “Please don’t start.”
Hen and Chim just shared a look over their heads—matching grins, all teeth and mischief—before leading the way back inside, satisfied.
The moment they stepped into the ballroom, Buck was hit with the usual flood of sound—chatter, clinking glasses, the smooth hum of a live band covering jazzy versions of songs that definitely didn’t start jazzy.
Eddie drifted a little ahead, scanning the room, probably looking for Hen or Bobby, but Buck paused just inside the doorway, tugging at his jacket again. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or just the weird sense of formality that came with dressing up and being somewhere that didn’t smell faintly of smoke.
Then Buck saw her.
A flash of red hair and a sharp black dress moving through the crowd like she knew exactly where she was going. It took Buck half a second to process the face, but once he did, his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise.
“Taylor?” he said, just loud enough as she stepped into view.
Taylor Kelly turned at the sound of her name, eyes catching his. A small smile curled at her lips, and she made her way over without hesitation.
“Hey, Buck,” she said, smooth and casual, like they’d just bumped into each other at a coffee shop and not a semi-formal gala thrown by the department he nearly died working for.
He smiled back. “Wow. It’s been a minute.”
“A year,” she corrected. “Give or take.”
Buck glanced around instinctively. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Are you covering the event?”
“Nope. Just here as a guest,” she said, tipping her glass slightly. “Turns out I have other friends in the department who aren’t my ex-boyfriend.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. Didn’t mean to assume.”
Eddie wandered back over then, a drink in each hand. He handed one to Buck, glancing between him and Taylor with mild curiosity.
Taylor’s gaze flicked toward Eddie with a familiar ease. “Eddie.”
“Taylor,” he replied with a small nod. His tone wasn’t unfriendly—just cautious. Familiar. Like someone saying hi to a ghost who used to hang around their kitchen on Sunday mornings.
The air shifted subtly beside him.
Buck didn’t notice it at first—too distracted by Taylor’s unexpected presence, the din of conversation, and the quiet hum of the band in the background. But when Eddie went still, Buck felt it before he saw it. Like the tension that coils in a room just before a smoke alarm starts blaring.
Eddie was looking across the ballroom now, posture stiffening slightly.
Buck angled his head. “What is it?”
Eddie didn’t respond—just blinked once, jaw tight, and kept his gaze steady on something across the room.
Buck turned, following the line of sight.
Then he saw it.
Tommy.
His most recent ex. Great smile, terrible communication skills. Standing near the punch table in a navy-blue suit that was probably tailored just for tonight, laughing at something a battalion chief said.
“Oh,” Buck said under his breath. “That explains the look.”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “What look?”
Buck glanced back at her.
She caught on immediately. “Wait… what, is it someone you know?”
“Yeah,” Buck said with a breathy little laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s Tommy. He’s… my ex.”
Taylor blinked. “Ex… boyfriend?”
Buck nodded.
For a beat, she just stood there, visibly recalculating everything she thought she knew.
“You dated him?”
“I did,” Buck said simply. “For a little while.”
“You never mentioned you were—” she stopped, searching for the right word. “—gay.”
“I’m not,” Buck replied easily. “I’m bisexual.”
Taylor’s brows lifted slightly, surprised but not unkind. “Huh.”
“Huh?” Buck echoed, vaguely amused.
“I just didn’t know,” she said with a shrug. “But cool. Makes sense in retrospect, honestly.”
He snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” she said, smiling innocently. “You just had a very… curated wardrobe for a straight man.”
“Okay, rude,” Buck said, laughing now. “But also fair.”
Before Taylor could respond, she tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes between him and Eddie. “So… wait. Are you and Eddie each other’s date tonight?”
Buck let out a sound that was almost a groan.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” he asked, throwing his hands up just slightly. “We’re not each other’s dates. I needed a ride, Eddie drove. That’s it.”
Taylor held her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just asking.”
Beside him, Eddie finally looked away from Tommy and back toward the group, a trace of amusement ghosting across his face.
“What’d I miss?”
“Just clearing up a misunderstanding,” Buck muttered.
Eddie glanced at Taylor, then back at Buck. “Let me guess… she asked if we were here together.”
Buck pointed at him. “See? It’s not just me!”
Taylor’s smile widened. “To be fair, you did show up with matching vibes. Late. It’s very couple-coded.”
“Couple-coded?” Buck echoed, utterly exasperated. “Is that even a real thing?”
Eddie just took a sip of his drink, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Buck narrowed his eyes. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m just existing,” Eddie said.
Taylor, to her credit, managed not to laugh outright.
“Well,” she said, finishing off her drink, “this gala just got a lot more interesting.”
“I think this is the part where we start pretending to enjoy lukewarm chicken and inspirational speeches,” Buck muttered, watching the crowd slowly begin drifting toward their tables.
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh next to him. Taylor glanced over her shoulder at the sound of a familiar voice approaching.
“Taylor Kelly?” Hen’s voice cut in, warm but clearly surprised.
Taylor turned just as Hen arrived at their little cluster, stylish in her suit and clearly navigating between pleasantries and questions. “Hen! Wow—it’s been a long time.”
“It really has,” Hen said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Taylor smiled. “I’ve got other friends in the department, apparently.”
Hen raised a knowing brow but didn’t press it. “Well. You look good.”
“So do you,” Taylor said with a nod. “How’s Karen?”
“She’s here somewhere,” Hen said, waving a hand vaguely toward the crowd. “Last I saw, she was cornering the fire chief about expanding the trauma counseling program. So… you know. Peak Karen.”
That got a laugh from Buck, and even Eddie cracked a smile.
Hen turned to Buck and Eddie, back in mode now. “Alright, lovebirds—let’s get a move on.”
Buck groaned. “Hen.”
“What?” she said, too innocent. “I’m just trying to help you two get to the table before they run out of bread rolls.”
“We are not lovebirds,” Buck muttered, already starting to walk in the direction Hen pointed.
“You say that,” Hen replied, smirking as she followed.
Taylor held up her hands. “Not touching that one.”
Eddie walked alongside Buck, sipping from his drink with just enough restraint that Buck knew he was holding back another grin.
“Don’t say it,” Buck warned him.
Eddie blinked at him. “Say what?”
“You know what.”
Eddie smirked and said nothing. Which, somehow, was worse.
By the time the appetizers arrived, the 118 and their extended crew had claimed one of the round tables closest to the stage. Karen sat next to Hen, angled just enough to get a clear view of Buck and Eddie—who, naturally, had ended up sitting side by side again.
They weren’t doing anything particularly dramatic. Just talking. Laughing quietly. Eddie leaned in once to murmur something, and Buck leaned back with that wide, easy grin of his, like the rest of the room had faded out completely.
Karen nudged Hen with her elbow. “Hey.”
Hen leaned in. “Hm?”
Karen nodded toward the pair across the table. “Are they… a thing now?”
Hen glanced over at Buck and Eddie, then back at her wife. “Not officially. Not yet.”
“Not officially?” Karen echoed, eyes narrowing in interest. “So there’s something?”
Hen sipped from her wine glass, trying—and failing—to look nonchalant. “There’s always been something.”
Chimney, who’d been listening in from the other side of Karen, perked up immediately. “Wait. Are we talking about Buck and Eddie?”
Karen turned to him with a wry smile. “That obvious?”
“It’s been obvious for like five years,” Chimney said, grabbing a roll. “The only surprise is that they haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Right?” Hen muttered.
Chimney leaned in, lowering his voice like it was state secret-level serious. “Alright, calling it now—three weeks.”
Karen raised an eyebrow. “Three weeks until what?”
“Until they realize it. Or kiss. Or whatever comes first.” He pointed dramatically with his butter knife. “Three. Weeks.”
Hen snorted. “Please. Two weeks, tops.”
Karen smirked. “You’re both being generous. I give it five days. Tops. That’s how long it’ll take before one of them accidentally says ‘I love you’ out loud.”
From her seat on the other side of Chimney, Maddie looked up from her water with a laugh. “Oh my god. Are we seriously doing this?”
Chimney grinned. “Are you in?”
Maddie gave it a beat, looked across the table where Buck had just taken Eddie’s dessert fork without asking, and Eddie didn’t even blink.
“…Yeah,” she said. “I’m in. But I say a month. They’re emotionally stunted.”
Karen shook her head. “That’s the trauma. Doesn’t mean they’re slow.”
Hen held up her hand. “Okay. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No backtracking on bets. Winner gets—what?”
Karen leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Bragging rights, obviously. But let’s sweeten the deal.”
Maddie raised an eyebrow. “How sweet are we talking?”
Chimney was already digging in his wallet. “Ten bucks each. Winner takes the pot.”
Hen looked offended. “Only ten?”
“I’m not made of money, Hen!”
“Neither is love, but here we are,” Karen said dryly.
Maddie laughed. “Alright, make it thirty. Let’s make this interesting.”
“Thirty per person?” Hen asked.
Karen nodded. “That’s a hundred and twenty total if it’s just us. Winner gets cash, bragging rights, and—” she smirked, “—the official title of Buddie Oracle.”
Chim pointed dramatically. “I want that title engraved on something.”
Hen grinned. “Done.”
They all nodded in agreement, and Karen pulled her phone from her clutch.
“I’m making a shared note,” she said, typing quickly. “Everyone submit your guess with the number of days until Buck and Eddie admit they’re in love, kiss, or finally sleep together—whichever comes first.”
“Wow, we’re really doing this,” Maddie said, half in disbelief, half amused.
“Oh, we’re doing it,” Hen confirmed.
“Okay, but how do we verify it?” Chim asked. “It’s not like they’re gonna make an announcement.”
Karen didn’t even flinch. “Please. Buck will say something. Probably loudly. In public. With jazz hands.”
Maddie sighed fondly. “Yeah… that tracks.”
Hen clicked her tongue. “Alright, bets in before dessert. No edits. Let the slow burn begin.”
The clinking of silverware quieted as the lights dimmed slightly, the emcee stepping onto the small stage near the head table. The mayor and other city officials lined up behind him, their smiles a little too polished, their suits a little too tailored. The usual round of speeches was about to begin.
At table seven — tucked far enough from the stage to allow for snarky side comments, yet close enough to still look respectful — the 118 sat in various states of interest and boredom. Maddie had already quietly bet Chim that the mayor would mention “bravery” at least five times. Hen was pretending to listen, but her hand was resting on Karen’s knee under the table. Athena gave Bobby a sideways glance that translated easily to “you owe me dinner after this.”
“Hey,” Eddie murmured beside him, nudging Buck’s elbow.
Buck turned, and Eddie held his phone low, angled just for him. On the screen was a picture — Christopher, hair tousled and grinning, one cheek stuffed full of marshmallows, sitting in front of a mug of hot chocolate with Eddie’s sister in the background, mid-laugh.
“She just sent this,” Eddie said, lips curving with that soft, quiet kind of pride that always broke Buck a little bit. “He wanted to stay up to see the stars. She gave him sugar instead.”
Buck smiled instantly. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen all night.”
Eddie’s brow lifted. “Better than Chim almost knocking over the ice sculpture?”
“Okay, second best,” Buck allowed with a grin. He handed the phone back, lingering maybe a second too long before Eddie’s fingers brushed his.
Neither of them said anything.
Across the table, Hen narrowed her eyes at the exchange and leaned toward Karen with the kind of expression that said this is not a drill.
Karen, of course, just raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Still think it’s gonna take another week?”
“Two days, tops,” Hen muttered.
Chim was already reaching for his phone to adjust his betting note.
The emcee’s voice echoed again from the stage: “And now, a few words from our Chief of Operations, who has served this department for over twenty-five years…”
As polite applause rippled through the ballroom, Buck and Eddie straightened in their seats, but Buck’s attention drifted back to Eddie’s phone — or more accurately, to the warmth still lingering where their arms brushed.
Another round of applause interrupted them — the next speaker already stepping up to the mic.
The applause hadn’t even finished when the first shatter of glass cracked through the ballroom like a whip.
Screams followed immediately — high, piercing, animal. Shards of crystal rained from the chandelier above as people ducked under tables, chairs scraping wildly against the floor.
At the edge of the room, a man stood with a gun raised and firing — wild, erratic. The speaker onstage crumpled instantly, his body jerking as bullet after bullet tore through him. Another guest staggered backward, blood blooming like a nightmare across her chest before she hit the floor.
Panic exploded.
“Get down!” Athena’s voice rang out, clear and fierce above the chaos.
Eddie shoved Buck hard behind their overturned table just as another round of gunfire sprayed through the air. Somewhere, someone was screaming a name. The entire 118 team had dropped low — instincts clicking in — but the room was still too open, too exposed.
Buck had barely registered Eddie’s hand on his shoulder before the pain hit him like a freight train.
It wasn’t even sharp — more like a sudden pressure, a wrongness just beneath his ribs.
He looked down and saw the blood blooming rapidly across the front of his tux, hot and sticky, staining the white shirt underneath.
His breath caught. Then faltered.
He opened his mouth to say something — maybe Eddie’s name, maybe I think I got hit — but the words got stuck in his throat.
Eddie was crouched beside him, facing the others, eyes scanning the group.
“Is anyone hurt?” Eddie asked, low and urgent, focused on the others first. “Hen? Maddie? Chim, can you see Karen?”
No one answered right away — not because they weren’t okay, but because all eyes were locked in one direction.
The shooter was still up. Still yelling. Still holding a hostage now — a trembling young woman, shielded by his body, gun pressed to her temple.
Buck’s vision was starting to blur at the edges, a dark vignette creeping in like smoke. His hand fumbled for Eddie’s sleeve but didn’t quite make contact. He slumped further down, back pressing against the base of the table, trying to stay quiet. Trying not to make this worse.
His fingers came away from his chest, soaked in red.
No one had seen it yet.
And Buck couldn’t find the air to call out.