Work Text:
On the ninth day of Whumpmas, my whumper gave to me...
Nine former clients,
Eight drinks a-roofied,
Seven seas a-rising,
Six bombs a-ticking,
Five made to watch!
Four triggers tripped,
Three blocked doors,
Two human shields,
And a Buck tied to a pear tree.
Buck woke up to a low, muttered conversation around him and an unpleasant ache in his arms and shoulders. He tried to roll them to give himself some relief and only managed to agitate the metal cuffs around his wrists that were holding his arms aloft. Buck snapped into alertness very quickly, grunting with another attempt to free his wrists and only coming away with more pain.
"Captain America's awake," someone said, and Buck's eyes snapped towards the voice—
And promptly noted eight other people in the same situation he was in: sitting on the floor with their arms cuffed above their heads. The person who had spoken was the corner of the...cell?...they were in, perpendicular to the wall Buck was on. There were five people on the adjacent wall and four including Buck on the wall he was on. The other two walls were barred, keeping them separated from the rest of the large room they were being kept in.
The room wasn't bare by any means, but Buck couldn't make sense of what was there; there was no rhyme or reason to the items he could see. There was a computer set up at a table, a small blank canvas and oil paints next to a small portrait, a camera tripod set up with professional-looking lights behind it—
"Oi, Cap!"
Buck looked back at the person who'd spoken, guiltily realizing they'd been trying to get his attention as he took in their situation. "Sorry," Buck said, "just...trying to figure out what's going on here."
"Join the club," the woman on his right muttered.
"Captain America?" Buck repeated, amused by the nickname.
"Look at you, jacked and blond, it was an easy comparison," the man said, grinning unrepentantly at him. Buck snorted. At least the people he was being detained with had a good sense of humor.
But what were they all doing here? Buck asked just that, only to receive a variety of negative responses.
"I was the first one awake, no one's shown up since then," the man on the far end of the wall said.
As if summoned by the comment, a door opened on the side of the room that was blocked by things, and several sets of footsteps echoed in the room. Everyone was tense, waiting to see who would be joining them, likely the people responsible for their current situation...
As the people stepped into view, Buck didn't recognize any of the faces he could see—and the fact that they could see their faces had to be a bad sign. That was never a good sign in the movies, that usually meant that they wouldn't make it out of the encounter alive...
Until Buck did recognize a face.
"Chase?"
Except Buck wasn't the one who had spoken. Buck whipped his head to look at the man who'd called him Captain America, finding many others' heads looking in that direction incredulously as well.
"Mr. Mackey, what's going on?" a younger woman on the adjacent wall said. Wait, both of these people knew Chase Mackey?
"How do you know Mackey?" the woman next to him asked, and—woah, okay—
"Do we all know him?" Buck asked, and after various confirmations from everyone, Mackey chuckled meanly, interrupting them.
"You all figured that out pretty fast, although I suppose that's what we get for not gagging you," Mackey said cheerfully. "That would've been counterproductive in many cases though, so lucky you."
"What's going on? Why're you doing this?"
"I find myself...in a bit of a financial hardship situation," Mackey said, eyes landing on Buck for a moment, and Buck immediately knew why he'd been taken. If Buck stood to gain millions from his settlement, Mackey stood to gain 33% of that amount...if he'd been planning on getting that money as soon as he'd heard of it...and then made some questionable decisions...
"Who's fault is that?" Buck couldn't help but snap.
"Well, all of this could've been avoided if you'd gotten off your high horse and taken the damn settlement like a normal person," Mackey said snidely. "So really, the rest of you can blame Mr. Buckley here—"
"I never wanted the money, you said you'd help me get my job back," Buck said. "Which I got back, by the way. You only knew of the settlement offer from the city for fifteen minutes at max—"
"That's enough, Buckley," Mackey said, voice dark, but Buck wasn't done.
"—if you made stupid decisions because of it, that's on you—"
Maybe Buck was done. His words were cut off by a sharp, stabbing pain in his neck as he was bombarded by volts of electricity. Mid-word, his mouth was open, and he couldn't trap the pained scream that escaped him. After what felt like agonizing minutes but could only have been a few seconds, the pain stopped, and Buck slumped, panting heavily as he leaned against the wall. The others were quiet, shocked or scared into silence.
"As I said, that's enough," Mackey said softly, not sounding remorseful in the slightest. "The rest of you would do well to watch your tongue as well if you don't want the same treatment."
They were all wearing shock collars, Buck noted with dread, taking a glance around the room. Most people were shooting him concerned looks of varying degrees, while others had yet to take their eyes off Mackey.
"As I was saying, I find myself needing money, and quickly. I have an associate who introduced me to a dark web auction site where people are looking for a wide span of skills. I've picked all of you based on what I learned through our dealings together and determined that you had the best chances of being bid on by site patrons."
"You're auctioning us? Like we're fucking livestock or slaves?" someone said incredulously.
"I'd imagine most of you have a few more skills than common livestock, but yes," Mackey said. "Now, one by one, each of you are going to be brought out here to demonstrate the skill I've picked you for. After you've all been shown off, the bidding will begin and we'll start arranging for transportation to your buyers. From there...well, I can't claim I care about what happens to you at that point. I'll already have my money."
Well the camera certainly made sense now, as did the computer and canvas—they probably applied to someone's skills in here—but now Buck was left wondering what he was doing here. If he hadn't been picked just for the torment angle of refusing the settlement, then what was the skill he'd have to show off? He was a firefighter...he couldn't imagine the dark web or black market would be paying much for that.
Their cell opened and two of Mackey's goons stepped towards the man on the far edge of the adjacent wall. They unlatched his cuffs and hauled him out of the cell and marched him over to the computer table. The camera was aimed in his direction and the lights were turned on, making the man wince at their intensity.
"I'm aware of your skill in coding, Mr. Suitland, and if I recall correctly, you were unjustly terminated from your position due to bypassing their firewalls in an attempt to highlight poor security."
"Yes..." Suitland confirmed quietly.
"Many would be interested in applying your skills to various hacking assignments. Why don't you show them what you can do, hmm? Say, break into the IRS's databases?"
"And if I don't?" Suitland rebelled bravely.
"Then you can get a taste of what Mr. Buckley felt moments ago."
Suitland swallowed, glancing back at Buck before focusing on the computer in front of him. "Fine," he muttered quietly, and began typing away at the keyboard.
As Suitland got to work, Buck took the silence as an opportunity to think through what his chosen skill was supposed to be. From what he could see of the room, there wasn't anything jumping out at him that would apply to him. He stood by that being a firefighter on its own wasn't exactly prize-worthy...but maybe an aspect of firefighting would count? It wasn't like he could swim in this room, and he didn't see any rappelling gear or things to climb on the wall...unless he'd be taken off site? That didn't seem likely.
So outside of firefighting, what would Mackey peg him for? His previous jobs were easy enough to figure out with the right resources, but...bartending couldn't be a high value dark web skill, nor could surfing. Construction work maybe, but that didn't seem right...he knew how to ride and care for horses, but he'd be able to smell if a horse was here, never mind the fact he couldn't see or hear one.
He'd been a good football player, but that had been years ago, and again...not a high value skill in this case. Hacking made sense. Art...art forgery maybe? He could see why that would be useful.
Buck wasn't useful. Not in any way that mattered. So what was he doing here?
Maybe he really was there just for Mackey to torment him, make him pay for the settlement while also using him to keep the others in line. It made sense, he wouldn't want to damage the others if they were the ones with real skills. They would be scared into submission by watching him...that would be enough.
Suddenly, Mackey was praising Suitland's work. He must have successfully hacked into the IRS because Mackey was letting him stand from the computer and two goons escorted him back to the cell, restrained him again, and then moved on to the woman next to him. She was taken out and brought directly in front of the camera and was handed a tablet and asked to translate the passages there in various languages. Incorrect translations would result in getting shocked by the collar.
As she spoke, she was loud enough that Mackey and the other goons couldn't hear as Suitland muttered quietly to them, "I got a message out. Help should be on the way."
"Like the police?" the woman next to Buck asked hopefully.
"The police, SWAT, the FBI, whoever they want to send, I don't care. But help is coming," Suitland confirmed, eyeing Mackey quickly to check they weren't being overheard. The woman translating luckily had a naturally loud voice to drown them out. "Whatever he asks you to do, try to drag it out for as long as you can. Buy us more time for help to arrive."
"What if he catches on?" the man who'd dubbed him Captain America asked.
"I'm not asking you to put yourself in a position to get shocked," Suitland said.
"Yeah, it sucks," Buck said wryly, prompting quiet snorts from the others.
"Just...do what you can without being obvious," Suitland said, smothering a wry smirk at Buck's comment. "We need to be rescued before they start shipping us out to our buyers, so the longer we can put off the bids, the better."
"I can do that," the woman next to Buck said. The others nodded in concurrence. They had a plan now, no matter how vague it may be, but it was a good plan. Suitland seemed sure that help was coming, so if all they needed to do was wait out their rescuers...that was doable.
"Start thinking about how you can believably stall your skill show," Suitland said, and his timing was impeccable because the woman had just finished the translations and Mackey was talking her up to the camera before she was led back to the cell, and the next person was taken out.
On and on, people were taken out to showcase their skill under threat of electric shock. From Buck's inexperienced eye, it looked like people were doing their skills at a normal pace, which was good since that was what Mackey could pick up on. He was sure if these were skills that people were exceptionally good at, they could probably do them a lot faster. Like the woman who was currently painting a small art forgery, Buck would bet that she was capable of painting twice as fast, but she was still reproducing the given painting at a respectable speed that Buck couldn't even fathom trying to attempt.
He was no closer to figuring out what his skill would be, if he had one, but he was moments away from finding out as he was the only one left after the current woman. He'd have to think on the fly about how to stall if he had the chance; there was no sign of the police despite how much time had surely passed, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The outside of the building could be surrounded for all they knew and they were just waiting for an opportunity to move in. Buck had to have faith that help would come.
Soon enough, the woman had completed her painting, Mackey once again waxed poetic to the potential bidders, and the woman was returned to the cell...only for them to turn on Buck and bring him out. So they were going to use him for something, but what?
"Your turn, Buckley," Mackey said, giving him a cruel smirk. "Strip."
"Excuse me?" Buck said, incredulity flooding him. He couldn't be serious...
"You heard me. Strip. The buyers need to see what you're working with." Mackey's voice was filled with poorly contained glee, like he knew how much this was affecting Buck.
Everyone else had been asked to perform some sort of useful task, and he was being asked to strip? To show off his body? Cold dread seeped into his bones. Was this supposed to be his skill? To look in shape? To...
Buck swallowed thickly.
Was this a sex thing? Buck 1.0 had been so flashy about his sex life, had Mackey found out somehow? Found his old Firehose dating profile? Was Mackey going to sell him for someone to use him as a fuck toy?
He had to stall. He was supposed to stall, and he was the last person, he was the last person who could stall. If he was supposed to show off his body, the only thing he could really slow down was how quickly he took his clothes off. And that would only give them a few seconds. There was only one other thing he could think of to stall.
Refuse entirely.
"No."
"No?" Mackey repeated, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"No," Buck said again. "I'm not doing it."
"We'll see about that."
Buck knew what was coming, and at least this time he could prepare himself for it, but it didn't make the stabbing shocks to his neck any less painful. He screamed against gritted teeth, valiantly trying to keep the sound to himself and only marginally succeeding in smothering it. He fell to his knees with sharp cracks, hands scrabbling at his neck but unable to do anything to stop the pain. It continued on and on and on and it wouldn't stop, it would never stop—
It did stop, mercifully, finally, and Buck fell forward, barely catching himself with his palms. He breathed through his teeth in sharp gasps, preparing himself for the inevitable next shock when Mackey ordered him again and his subsequent refusal—
A hand fisted in his hair and yanked hard, forcing Buck back into a standing position unless he wanted his hair pulled out at the roots.
"Strip, Buckley." There it was.
"No."
Buck braced himself.
Screams erupted from behind him and Buck spun in horror as the other eight captives spasmed in their restraints.
"NO! STOP" Buck yelled, already kicking his shoes off. "I'LL DO IT, STOP!"
The screams stopped abruptly and the room was filled with the sound of short pants and quiet sobs. Buck teared up, hating that he'd caused the others pain. That had never been his intention, he was the only one who was supposed to get hurt.
"He's easy to control with the proper motivation," Mackey said to the camera, smirking infuriatingly as Buck fumbled with the buckle of his belt. Buck withheld a growl, not even able to argue because Mackey was right. He wouldn't risk hurting the others, not again. He'd do whatever Mackey told him to do.
"Be sure to make it a show, Buckley."
Whatever Mackey told him to do. At least it would help him stall.
Leaving his belt unbuckled, Buck's hands went to the hem of his shirt and he stripped it off of his torso in a slow smooth motion, giving the camera a severe glare as if he could hold eye contact with it. He wanted anyone who thought of bidding on him to think that he'd be a problem, that he wasn't going to go down quietly.
He discarded the shirt to his right, then moved back to his belt. He pulled it from the belt loops in a strong tug and dropped the belt, then tried not to think too hard about what he was doing as his fingers worked to undo his fly. He unzipped the pants, hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and slowly shimmied them down his legs. He kicked the pants aside, now standing in only his socks and charcoal gray boxer briefs.
Buck hesitated. He didn't want anyone to be shocked again, but...he really didn't want to get completely naked for the anonymous bidders behind the camera, and definitely not for Mackey. But...he could only imagine he'd have to show all of himself if he was really being sold for sex.
Buck's eyes flicked in Mackey's direction and Mackey stared back with a smirk, not saying anything for a moment as if to make Buck sweat, and then he chuckled.
"That's enough, Buckley," Mackey said, and Buck resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Now what would he have him do? Give a slow twirl to show off all of him? Make him—Buck swallowed back bile—would he have to do anything to Mackey or the goons? Let them do something to him?
"As you can see, Buckley's in incredible shape," Mackey said to the camera, and Buck held stiff, allowing the scrutiny as it delayed whatever was in store for him. "He broke several records completing physical aptitude certification with the Los Angeles Fire Department. Additionally, he previously trained with the United States Navy SEALs and has considerable boxing experience." How the fuck did Mackey know about that? "He'd make an incredible asset for anyone's security staff, even as a private bodyguard perhaps."
That was Mackey's angle? He was billing him as a potential bodyguard? Why the fuck had Mackey made him strip? Buck had been freaking himself out over nothing—well, not nothing, he was still being put up for auction.
"But don't take my word for it," Mackey continued, gesturing behind Buck for something. Buck followed his gaze and tensed as two of the goons stepped forward. "Buckley will show you his fighting capabilities right now. And if he fails, if he lets himself get knocked out by either of these two, then the others will pay the price. For far longer next time," Mackey added, directly for Buck's benefit as he held eye contact with him.
Buck swallowed nervously, sizing up the two men as they approached. They looked strong, capable...and probably in better fighting shape than Buck was. Sure, he sparred in a boxing gym a few times a month, but not competitively...and SEAL training? Maybe the muscle memory would kick in well enough, but he hadn't had to fight to that level of intensity since the training itself over five years ago.
Buck couldn't help but feel as though he were at a major disadvantage here, being nearly naked while the goons were fully clothed and potentially armed even if they weren't outright showing it. Maybe Buck could nick a knife off of one of them and—
And what? Stab them? Was Buck really prepared to do that? To hurt another human being that severely? He'd left the SEALs for a reason, he couldn't turn off his empathy towards others, he wanted to help people, not hurt them. Yeah, this was a self-defense scenario, but...
Well, no. It wasn't self-defense. Buck was protecting himself, sure, but it wasn't just him at risk here. The others would suffer too if he failed. They were worth more than two people who signed themselves up to inflict pain.
Buck could work with that.
Luckily, Buck had trained in how to handle multiple combatants, so hopefully those instincts that had been drilled into him would come out to play. Otherwise, he was in for a very painful wake up call.
He was doubting that the two men themselves had ever trained in coordinated fighting though, so that could only work to his advantage as one of them stepped forward while the other hung back. Maybe they weren't comfortable being in each other's spaces while one was fighting, worried about friendly fire so to speak. Whatever the reason, Buck was grateful.
Buck raised his arms in a defensive position, close to his body to retain his power and give himself more reaction opportunities. The man moved in, poised to punch, and Buck blocked it, deflecting the blow off his left forearm and following it up with an immediate palm strike to the man's nose. Buck fell back into his defensive position as the main coiled up for his own retaliation. His face was bloody—broken nose, it looked like—but otherwise the man wasn't slowed in the slightest as he charged at Buck.
Buck caught his knee to his stomach with a grunt, surprised by the attack but quickly able to absorb the blow by gripping the man by the waist and pulling him down and over, rolling him over Buck's body with a harsh throw.
Buck planted his hands on the ground and pulled his legs back underneath himself, ready to stand and take on the next attacker while the other recovered. It's what he would do if his partner had been thrown down, he'd move in while they were still down and—
Yup.
Before Buck could get to his feet, the other goon aimed a kick at him to knock him back down. Buck absorbed the blow, grabbing his foot in the process, and yanking his leg out from underneath him. The goon fell and Buck used the momentum to get back on his feet.
The timing was good because the first goon had recovered and was coming back at him for the next round. He started with another punch, on Buck's right this time, and Buck parried with his left forearm, deflecting the blow to the opposite side. In the same motion, he popped his left elbow up into the man's face—right into the broken nose—and he took the chance to glance behind him and check on the status of the other goon. Unfortunately, he was already back on his feet and ready to move in.
Buck grabbed one of the bloody guard's flailing arms and pulled it into an arm bar, spinning them both around and putting him between Buck and the other goon. Still locked in the arm bar, Buck aimed a kick at the goon's knee, and he crumpled to the ground with a scream. For all intents and purposes: one down, one to go.
Buck faced the second goon, arms up in a defensive position and ready for his attack.
This one was faster than the other and he didn't leave himself open to a counterattack when he came in with two quick punches. Buck had to raise both arms to block this time, keeping them close to his body and wary of a knee or kick that may come his way. At the next break, Buck managed to get his own punch in, but the next attempt was absorbed and the goon grabbed him in a bear hug. Luckily, Buck managed to keep an arm free, but the goon still managed to land several good hits to his ribs, and Buck was sure there was at least one crack in there. The goon tried to kick out Buck's leg, but he managed to twist and absorb the kick from a safer angle to avoid injury.
From the new stance, Buck dropped his weight and twisted, throwing a high elbow strike with his free arm that landed square in the goon's face. The goon loosened his grip on Buck, and Buck used the opportunity to spin the man around and force him into an armlock choke. Buck kicked the man's knee out, forcing him to his knees and giving Buck better leverage to put pressure on the goon's windpipe.
He could let him tap out. He could even break his neck from this hold like he'd been trained to, but he really didn't want to kill anyone. Or he could put enough pressure on his carotid artery to knock him out, and hopefully that would be enough for Mackey.
Buck chanced a look at the other man, who was still on the floor and gripping his knee in pain, then looked to Mackey even as the man in his arms continued to struggle. Mackey looked on with a satisfied smirk, and Buck got the feeling that a tap out wouldn't be an option.
Knock out it was.
Buck adjusted his hold minutely, making sure the goon wouldn't be able to break out in the process, and put renewed pressure on his neck. The man clawed at his arms, drawing blood in the process, then tried to reach up for Buck's face. Buck ducked his head into his shoulder to protect his eyes, and rode out the wave of pain that came when the man gripped his hair and pulled.
An agonizing thirty seconds later, the man's struggles ceased, and Buck let him drop to the ground. He turned and faced Mackey with a glare. "Satisfied?" Buck asked, voice rough and graveled from the exertion.
"Very," Mackey said. "And I'm sure whomever buys you will be as well. You're sure to be in demand after that little performance."
Mackey gestured for the two goons who'd been escorting people to step forward, and Buck hesitated to let them near him, eyeing his discarded clothes on the ground. "Can I put my clothes back on first?" Buck asked, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
"I wouldn't want the bidders to forget what those muscles look like," Mackey said, grinning at Buck's discomfort. Buck let himself be led back to the cell and locked back into place, shivering at the cold wall at his back but also grateful for how it soothed his sore ribs.
"Sit tight, and we'll get the bidding underway shortly," Mackey said to them all, before returning to the camera with a tablet in hand, walking the potential bidders through the process and how money would be collected from the winning bidders and how their prizes would be transported to them.
Through it all, Buck was hit with a sense of dread. He'd hoped that the police would get here before the bidding started, surely they'd all managed to stall for long enough to give law enforcement time to move in, or at least get set up. Buck was hit by an abrupt wave of guilt; he hadn't once thought about stalling through his whole fight. Surely he could've stretched out the fight if he'd tried. It may have resulted in more injuries, but if that's what it took—
"Hey, Buckley." Buck looked up at the man who'd christened him Captain America earlier.
"Yeah?"
"Don't take this the wrong way, because that was probably traumatic and stuff, but you definitely just resolved a bi panic crisis that I've been having since 2011."
Buck couldn't help it. He snorted, and then he dissolved into a bout of helpless chuckles. Of all the things that he thought would lift his mood...that had been a pleasant surprise.
"2011?" someone asked, confused.
"Captain America: The First Avenger," the man replied unabashedly.
"Uh, you're welcome," Buck said, getting himself back under control.
The cell doors clanged open, and then Mackey was entering along with someone holding the camera and another person holding a light. Mackey stepped up to Suitland, beginning the bidding process on him, and Mackey continued to upsell the man with praises for Suitland's work in the demo and otherwise. Buck wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that they couldn't hear how much people were willing to pay for them, as the bidding was happening entirely electronically on Mackey's tablet.
Buck looked around and was dismayed to note that he couldn't see any sign of a police presence trying to move into place. Either they were being extra cautious, or...or Suitland's call for help hadn't been answered and no one was there to rescue them.
Suitland was suddenly declared sold, and Mackey moved on to the next person. Suitland caught Buck's eye and nodded. At least he was still confident, and that gave Buck the shred of hope that he needed.
One by one, each person was put up for auction and sold, and soon enough Mackey was standing in front of Buck. Buck winced at the light as it blinded him temporarily, then recoiled when Mackey kicked his foot.
"Go ahead, Buckley. Flex for the camera," Mackey said, smirking down at him. Buck scowled but didn't bother. He wasn't going to make it easier for Mackey to sell him so some random low life on the internet—
Buck tensed suddenly with a keen as the shock collar buzzed to life at his neck. It was a lower intensity than it had been the last two times, but was powerful enough to lock his muscles and put strain on what was definitely a broken rib—
Buck should've just flexed when asked to.
The shock let up and Buck let out a breath as his body went slack. Mackey kicked him again until Buck looked up at him. Mackey didn't even need to say anything this time; he simply raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. Unwilling to be shocked again, or worse, subject the others to it, Buck flexed his torso and strained against the wrist restraints to tense his arms. He braced his feet against the floor and hoped the bent angle would be enough rather than having to flex his leg muscles, too. Keeping as many of his muscles engaged as possible for however long the auction lasted would grow to be exhausting very quickly.
Mackey talked him up to the bidders, but the words went in one ear and out the other as Buck strained. He told himself to treat it like a workout, just a few more seconds, then a few more, and a few more after that...just keep going until the interval ended, you got this, Buckley...
"And sold!" Mackey declared, sounding thrilled with the results. Buck was only relieved that he could finally release his muscles.
"Not bad, Buckley," Mackey said as the camera and lighting men filed out of the cage. "Looks like you got me my share of your settlement after all."
What? People were willing to pay that much money for him? To buy him illegally just based on the fighting he'd displayed?
Perhaps not. Mackey had mentioned that he'd trained with the US Navy SEALs, but hadn't specified what that entailed or for how long he'd trained with them. Buck remember learning during training that part of the SEAL legacy was that no SEAL had ever been captured before, meaning no foreign asset had ever had the chance to pick the brain of a SEAL (i.e. torture them for information).
If a foreign asset had bid on and won Buck...thinking he held secrets about the US's SEAL training program...this had suddenly become a very bad situation for Buck. Not that it wasn't already, with the threat of being shipped off to his buyer already tenuous and fear-inducing, but the idea of being bought for intelligence? Intelligence that he didn't even necessarily hold? He hadn't made it all the way through BUD/S, he'd dropped out before the San Clemente training...
Buck really needed rescue to show up, and ASAP. They all did.
Mackey crouched down next to Buck, lowering his voice as he said, "I gotta say, Buckley. I was really happy when I figured out how to work you into this whole scheme. You've really given me a roller coaster of emotions, you know that?"
"You mean a roller coaster of monetary gain," Buck muttered.
Mackey shrugged, smirking. "I can't say I'm mad at you anymore about the settlement. I'm set to make far more today than I ever would've off your work drama—"
"You're selling human beings!" Buck spat. "These people have lives, you can't just—"
"But you don't?" Mackey interrupted. "I suppose that's fair, you didn't have anyone during your lawsuit, everyone was all tied up with the damn firehouse. They didn't seem too brokenhearted to lose you then, d'you think any of them will really mourn your disappearance now?"
Buck knew that Mackey was just riling him up. He knew that. But...fuck, that hurt. Bringing up the old wounds from the lawsuit days...Mackey was right, he'd had no one during those weeks, and he'd compensated by sharing his feelings with Mackey. He told him so much of what was going through his head at that time...disparaging and demoralizing thoughts. Just like during the hearing, Mackey was an expert at using everything he'd learned to cut into the most vulnerable areas.
"The shock treatment was a nice bonus, though," Mackey said, standing with twin cracks in his knees. "I'm sure your new owner will have fun with that, too. And whatever other ways they can come up with to control you. I'm sure they'll get creative—"
Whatever else Mackey planned to taunt him with was interrupted by loud flashbangs followed by gas and loud voices as the room was suddenly swarmed with tactical officers.
"LAPD SWAT!" voices yelled in the cacophony, and Buck was marginally glad they were in the relative safety of the cell, out of the action despite the open bars and chance of ricochet if bullets started flying (and luckily they hadn't yet). Suitland had been right after all, rescue was finally here—
A knife edge was pressed into his throat as Mackey worked to free the cuffs around Buck's wrists. Buck's hands fell one by one and he massaged them after they'd been rubbed raw during his auction.
"Get up, Buckley," Mackey hissed, yanking him up by the hair while continuing to press with the knife. Mackey wasn't nearly strong enough to pull him upright with one arm, but the pain in his scalp and the threat of the knife was enough for Buck to get his legs underneath him to push himself up into a standing position.
Mackey readjusted his grip on Buck's hair so he could keep Buck in front of him, moving the knife blade so Mackey had him in a loose armchoke with the blade at his jugular.
"Move," Mackey hissed, shoving Buck forward by the hair, and Buck stepped forward gingerly, slowed by the knife in front of him. Mackey clearly wasn't skilled with the knife based on how he was holding it, but it didn't take skill to keep the sharp edge against Buck's soft, vulnerable skin. He'd have to go along with this hostage situation for now and hope that an out would present itself.
Mackey instructed Buck to open the cell door, then Buck was forced out into the open room where SWAT was currently subduing and restraining Mackey's men. It hadn't taken long, and considering the men Buck had fought hadn't had any firearms on them, Buck couldn't help but think the lack of firepower had made it easy for SWAT to move in. Buck didn't know why it'd taken them so long to move in in the first place if that was the case, but maybe it had taken them until now to confirm the lack of guns. Maybe they were nervous about the hostages being let out and one of them getting ahold of a gun, or maybe they were just cocky enough to think they wouldn't need them. Whatever the reason, Buck was grateful.
He'd have been more grateful if Mackey hadn't been armed at all, but beggars can't be choosers.
"You're my ticket out of here, Buckley," Mackey said into his ear, pulling him along the edge of the wall. One of the SWAT members saw them and raised their weapon at the pair of them, ordering Mackey to let him go. Unsurprisingly, Mackey did not. Mackey shifted, making sure Buck's considerable bulk was blocking him, and then continued to shuffle them along.
"You can't honestly expect to get away with this," Buck said, careful to move at Mackey's pace so the knife wouldn't dig further into his skin. Mackey's anxiousness had already taken a toll and Buck could feel a dribble of blood slide down his neck, but not enough to be concerning.
"They won't shoot me while I've got you," Mackey said. "If I can get you out of here with me, I can still get you to your buyer. With you I'll at least break even."
"And then what, flee the country?"
"Maybe I'll convince your buyer to take me with you out of the country," Mackey said, confirming Buck's fear that he'd been purchased by a foreign entity. "I'll tell them I can act as your handler while they work on breaking you in."
"Chase Mackey, release your hostage now!"
"Don't come any closer!" Mackey yelled, pulling the knife away from Buck's throat to wave it threateningly at the encroaching SWAT officer.
Amateur.
The moment the knife was in Buck's line of vision, he shot a hand out to grab Mackey's wrist, keeping it out and away from them both by locking his arm. He used his free hand to elbow Mackey in the gut and used the distraction to squeeze Mackey's wrist until he was forced to drop the knife from the pressure. Once Buck heard the knife clatter to the floor, Buck spun Mackey around and pressed his chest against the wall, wrist still trapped behind his back by Buck's hold.
"Just a bit of advice," Buck said as Mackey struggled, "if you're gonna bill someone as having SEAL training, maybe be smart enough to not put a weapon within reach of him. Or maybe, find someone who can actually keep him subdued to try and take him hostage."
"I got him, Buck," the SWAT officer behind him said, moving in to replace Buck's grip. Buck was relieved to recognize him, another frequent flyer at a gym Buck went to off-duty that was frequented by first responders due to their 24/7 schedule. “You good?”
"Yeah. Thanks, Street," Buck said. He looked around to observe the state of the other SWAT members and Mackey's goons. The action seemed to have halted now that everyone was subdued and accounted for. "Hey, can I grab my clothes before we start getting rounded up for statements?"
Street snorted. "Yeah, I'll call someone over. Maybe keep the shirt off though."
Buck side-eyed him. "Okay, Mr. I'm-In-A-Committed-Relationship."
Street laughed, nudging him with his elbow as he got Mackey cuffed. "I mean so the paramedics can access your injuries better. Your arms are scraped up to hell, if you hadn't noticed. Not to mention your neck."
That was fair, Buck figured. Street called one of his teammates over who escorted Buck to his discarded pile of clothing. Heeding Street's advice, Buck kept his shirt off but gratefully donned his pants and shoes again, feeling far less exposed than he had previously.
The other hostages were all freed, and Buck watched as Suitland shook hands with one of the SWAT officers. Perhaps that was the person Suitland had reached out to, or at least the person who'd eventually been passed Suitland's message. However it had worked out, Buck was grateful.
Members of the 133 entered the room now that it had been declared clear, and one of the paramedics made a beeline to Buck while the other went to check on the state of the other hostages. Buck was glad they were being checked over, as they had all been shocked because of his insolence, but clearly they'd already been warned about Buck's injuries so any attempt to have them focus their sole attention on the others was ignored.
"How're you doing, Buckley?" Captain Mehta said, making his way over as his paramedic cleaned and bandaged Buck's cuts.
"I've been better," Buck said honestly. Of all people, Mehta was one of the few it was easy to give such an honest answer to. Considering how Mehta had seen him at one of the worst moments of his life...he'd probably be able to see through Buck's bullshit in a heartbeat if he tried.
"Any injuries we can't see?" Mehta asked, giving him a quick but thorough look.
"Nah, everything's above the belt, and Officer Street suggested I keep the shirt off to help," Buck said, raising his voice slightly in jest when he saw Street walk by. Street shook his head at Buck jokingly but continued with what he was doing. "I—ah!" Buck winced as the paramedic accidentally jostled his side as he wrapped Buck's arm. "I may also have a cracked rib."
Mehta and the paramedic let out twin sighs just as another SWAT officer approached with— "Hey, 'Thena," Buck said, grinning sheepishly.
"How do you always find yourself in the thick of things, Buckaroo?" Athena asked.
"I don't go looking for it—" Buck paused when Athena raised a skeptical brow at him. "Okay, sometimes I go looking for it, but not this time!"
The SWAT officer snorted. "No wonder you and Street get along," she said. She raised a key into Buck's line of sight. "Want that collar off now?"
"Fuck yes," Buck said immediately, turning and bending slightly so she could reach the back of his neck.
Athena stuck around as all of the hostages' statements were collected, and then she bullied Buck into getting in the ambulance so he could get some x-rays for his ribs and make sure there wasn't any lasting damage from the repeated electric shocks. The other hostages had been given a list of symptoms to keep an eye on with instructions to reach out to their doctor if needed, but as they'd only had the one short shock, they decided it wasn't necessary to call enough ambulances to transport eight other people.
Mackey and the other goons had all been rounded up, and Buck had to wonder just who Mackey had been in the hole with moneywise. He wouldn't last a long time in prison if it had criminal roots. Buck couldn't find it within himself to care about that outcome if it were to come to pass.
While the ribs and x-ray itself wouldn't have been enough to be admitted, the doctor had wanted to keep him for observation for a day for the electrocutions. Despite the late hour of the night, Buck found himself surrounded by the 118 team when he got settled into a hospital room (apparently one of the perks of being a frequent flier was being on the head nurse's good side and bending the visitor limit rules).
“Sergeant Harrelson told me you were responsible for taking down Mackey,” Athena said once Buck had managed to give them a brief rundown of what had happened and why.
“Hey, it was either that or let him ship me out of the country,” Buck said defensively, not wanting to be accused of being reckless. “I still can’t believe he sold me for so much.”
“I can’t believe he thought of selling people in general,” Eddie muttered.
“How much are we talking?” Chimney asked, Hen elbowing him in response. “What? Everyone’s curious.”
“I don’t know the exact number,” Buck said, amused by their antics, “but he said it made up for what he lost in my settlement, so…” Buck trailed off, expecting that to be sufficient, but he received blank looks in response. “Wait, did you not know?”
“How much you were offered? No, with the lawsuit dropped it never came up in any official channels,” Bobby explained. The unsaid ‘and since you didn’t tell us…’ hung in the air clear as day.
“Oh,” Buck said awkwardly, scratching his neck. Eddie tsk’ed, gently knocking his hand away from the bandage there. “Uh…the city offered $2 mil, and Mackey stood to make 33%, so…”
“You turned down 2 mil?” Chimney asked incredulously.
Buck shrugged, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. This was why he hadn’t said anything earlier. “It was never about the money for me, I just wanted to work with the 118 again.”
The team shuffled awkwardly; none of them brought up the lawsuit anymore because of how strained everyone had been, and it was no less difficult to talk about now.
“Mackey wasn’t happy about losing out on the money, but apparently he was madder than I thought,” Buck said. “And apparently he made some questionable financial choices that led him to human trafficking.”
“Well, we’re glad he failed,” Eddie said, squeezing Buck’s hand. “If we’d lost you tonight…”
“But we didn’t lose you; you’re safe and with us,” Bobby said comfortingly, and the rest of the group nodded encouragingly.
Buck ducked his head to hide his tearing eyes. He thought of what Mackey had said to him, how the 118 wouldn’t have cared if he’d been shipped off overnight, and couldn’t help but smile at the easy yet loaded comments. Mackey was wrong. His team loved him and cared about him. The proof was right in front of him.