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On the tenth day of Whumpmas, my whumper gave to me...
Ten awful nightmares,
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 climbs to the apex of the roller coaster track, securing his harness and safety line as he approaches the terrified car occupants. Only one is dangling by his own grip, Devon, while the others are—for now—safely secured by their lap bars. Devon's friend has already been thrown to his demise, and Buck is anxious to make sure Devon doesn't share his friend's fate.
"Help us! Please!"
"Everybody, try to stay calm. We'll get you down, I promise, alright?"
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Buck," a voice whispers in his ear. Buck shivers but shakes off the voice.
"I need you to relax, I need you to breathe, and I need you to keep as still as possible," Buck says to the other car occupants. "You move less, you stay safe. We get everyone off this ride safe."
"Not everyone," the voice says. "You weren't good enough to save everyone."
Buck shakes his head violently, trying to rid himself of the self doubt.
"Hey, what's your name, man?"
"Devon." Wait, how did I already know that?
"Devon. Alright, Devon. Well, hang on, brother."
As Buck reaches the car, conversing with the occupants and Bobby along the way, Buck can't help but feel like someone is there with him. There's a hand on his shoulder, dipping down to feel at his pec, and Buck whips around to look, but there's no one there.
Buck tries to talk to Devon, to calm him down and get him to cooperate so Buck can save him, but Devon is too scared and Buck is running out of things to say to convince him.
"He's going to let go anyway," the voice says, and as another hand wraps around his waist to stroke his abs, Buck finally recognizes the voice as Dr. Welles's. "Don't let yourself worry about it so much, he's going to die no matter what."
Buck trembles, both at the words, at her touch, at the ever increasing dread that he won't be able to save Devon. He's a firefighter, he has to save Devon, he's supposed to save people, that's his job, that's his purpose—
"Devon, I need you to trust me," Buck says, reaching, stretching, willing his arm to reach those precious few inches that Devon needs.
"Trust me, you'll feel better," Dr. Welles whispers, squeezing at the muscles of his chest, pressing her body against Buck's back even as he strains to reach Devon.
"Give me your hand," Buck says, voice cracking, knowing how this will play out—does he?—yet praying it will have a different outcome—nothing's happened yet, he can save Devon— "I will not let you go."
"I can't."
"Devon. Devon, please," Buck begs. Dr. Welles's body rolls against his, grinding against him, touching him wherever she can reach, and Buck feels like he's going to lose his mind.
"He's not worth it, just focus on me," Dr. Welles says, licking his earlobe and sucking it gently. "I'll help you forget him, you don't have to think about him anymore. You don't need to think about your failures, just focus on me."
I haven't failed him, he's right there! He's right there, he just has to reach up and—and—
Devon falls and Buck can only reach out a hand into the emptiness.
Dr. Welles coos in his ear even as her hands drift lower. "Maybe a better firefighter would have saved him. You should focus on what you're good at," she says, palming his crotch even as Buck reaches for a hand that is no longer there.
"Do you feel better now, Buck?" Dr. Welles asks, sticking a hand down his pants and boxer briefs—when had his pants become unzipped?—stroking him into hardness hard and fast. Buck cries as she continues to touch him, staring at Devon's crumpled and battered body on the ground below him.
He couldn't save him. He tried so hard, but he couldn't save him.
"You failed him," Devon's sister says, her voice a sharp ring in his ear as Dr. Welles continues to stroke him.
"You'll feel better," Dr. Welles says, thumbing the head of his cock.
"You lied to me," Devon's voice says, echoing in a deafening cacophony around him. "You said you'd save me."
"You're doing so well."
"Why didn't you save me?"
"It's your fault."
"Come for me, Buck."
"STOP. I'M SORRY, STOP!"
Buck woke up with a scream trapped in the base of his throat, choking him as he tried desperately to inhale properly. He ripped the blankets off of him, feeling suffocated by their normally comforting warmth, and fled from the bunk room. His hands trembled on the door knob as he tried to open and close the door quietly, and he held them clasped tight together afterwards to try and lessen the shivering.
Buck was exhausted. He thought he was supposed to be getting better, he was supposed to be healing from his first loss, no matter how hard people told him it was for everyone. Bobby sent him to a department therapist, she was...she was supposed to be helping.
"Yeah, and I feel better."
Buck didn't feel better. Therapy was supposed to help, but he walked out the doors and as the days passed on he felt further gutted for no inexplicable reason. He'd had sex plenty of times before, he couldn't figure out why this time felt different. He'd consented, he'd wanted it, it felt good...
But he didn't feel good now.
Despite Devon's sister's words, despite the two of them coming to an understanding, despite her absolving Buck from fault, Buck couldn't help but wonder...was he at fault? If he'd figured out how to do something differently, would Devon still be here?
Buck's head hurt, both from the emotional turmoil and the exhaustion from lack of sleep. Tonight marked ten days since Devon's death. Ten days of suffering through what if's and doubts of his own capabilities as a firefighter. Ten nights of torture as his mind replayed events over and over and over again, sometimes to the letter, other times the entire car of passengers would fall, and sometimes...
Sometimes Dr. Welles would be there.
Tonight had been the worst. Previously, Buck could only hear her voice, but tonight, he had felt—
Perhaps it was because his next appointment with Dr. Welles was tomorrow—today?
He hadn't said anything to anyone, but he was dreading it, and he couldn't pinpoint why. Everyone told him that therapy would help, that talking about it would help him move on and process his trauma, but Buck didn't understand it. Buck didn't feel any closer to getting over Devon's death after leaving Dr. Welles's office, and ever since that appointment he'd felt this inescapable itch under his skin that wouldn't go away. He felt unsettled. He felt broken somehow.
He didn't want to feel worse after his next appointment. Not again.
The scent of coffee suddenly filled Buck's nose, and he looked up from his spot on the loft couch to see Hen standing in front of him, two steaming cups of coffee in hand and one of them extended to Buck.
"Thanks," Buck muttered, accepting the coffee gratefully and taking an immediate sip. It was hot—oops—but it was just the way Buck liked it: two creams and one sugar. "Thank you," he repeated, giving her a weak smile.
Hen nodded then looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze for a moment then sat on the couch next to him, one leg folded under her so she could sit sideways to face Buck. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked eventually, after giving Buck time to sip more at his coffee.
"Talking about it just seems to make it worse," Buck muttered, unable to look away from the steam wafting up from his cup. "I know...I know everyone says therapy is supposed to help, but—"
"It's not gonna fix things overnight," Hen said gently. "Oftentimes it gets worse before it gets better. You're ripping open scabbed wounds so you can clear out the infection to let it heal. That takes time."
"I don't think I can handle it getting worse," Buck admitted quietly. He took another sip to avoid the look he could feel Hen giving him, and Buck had to wonder if projecting looks so that he couldn't avoid them even by looking away was a big sister specialty. Maddie had always been good at it.
"Maybe you're not jiving with your therapist?" Hen suggested. "Sometimes it takes a while to find someone you click with. You could ask at your next appointment if you could try talking to someone else, it happens all the time—"
"I think my problem is that we clicked a little too well," Buck said, chuckling humorlessly.
Hen tensed next to him and Buck tried his best to ignore it. He didn't know what was going through her head, but it couldn't be as bad of a situation as she thought it was. Buck was just being his normal broken self, that wasn't anyone else's fault.
"Buck, you don't have to tell me, you can tell me you don't want to talk about it, but please be honest with me if you answer," Hen said, and if that wasn't a loaded request, Buck didn't know what was. "Did anything happen with your therapist?"
"I, uh..." Buck paused, biting his lip. He couldn't pretend that it wasn't bothering him, what he did with Dr. Welles, but he was terrified that Hen's concern would switch to rolled eyes in a breath when she found out Buck consented. She—she clearly thought Dr. Welles forced herself on Buck, but that's not what happened...
Buck was afraid of being told that the itch he was feeling was unwarranted.
But Hen had never given Buck the impression that she'd invalidate how he felt. Maybe it would be safe to tell her.
"I slept with her," Buck said in a rush.
"When?" Hen asked, voice impossibly quiet.
"During my appointment," Buck said. "I—I mean—I consented, she didn't force—I wanted it, but—I don't know why I'm so nervous about today's appointment. I mean, it's not like I'm a blushing virgin, right? I—"
"Buck," Hen interrupted gently. Buck stopped talking, eyes snapping to Hen's when she didn't sound dismissive. Hen's eyes softened as she watched him. "Buck, what she did to you is wrong."
"No, I—I wanted it—"
"It's illegal for a therapist to sleep with their patient," Hen said, keeping eye contact with Buck. "They can't even sleep with their patient for two years following their last appointment. It doesn't matter if you said yes, she shouldn't have done that to you."
"She was just—she was helping me—she was—she was supposed to be helping me, I thought it worked," Buck said, stumbling over his words but desperate to make sense of what he was feeling.
"Do you feel better now than before you went there?" Hen asked.
No. "I—you said it would get worse before—"
"Oh, Buckaroo, no, not about this," Hen said, sounding deeply upset now. "What she did didn't help you process your trauma, she added to it. She took advantage of you and your emotional state.”
"I don't understand," Buck admitted finally. He watched Hen's face for a moment and was relieved to see a lack of judgment in her eyes. "I don't understand how I can want it in the moment, enjoy it in the moment, and then...and then feel like this after."
"That's why it's against the law for her to do this," Hen explained. "You weren't in an emotional state to consent. It's like how if you're drunk or under the influence, it's still rape even if you said yes—"
"She didn't rape me!" Buck said, scared of the accusation. He didn't...he didn't want to trivialize people who'd had it so much worse than him, people who understood that they didn't want it and made that known or weren't able to voice it. It wasn't....it wasn't Dr. Welles's fault that he hadn't told her to stop— "She didn't force me—"
"Buck, listen to me," Hen said gently. "I know it's a harsh word, but what she did to you was rape. It doesn't matter that you didn't say no. It doesn't matter that you wanted it in the moment. You were emotionally vulnerable, and it is her responsibility as your doctor to recognize that and not take advantage of it. If you truly enjoyed yourself and wanted it, would you be so upset about it now?"
Buck's eyes burned as he let himself really think about the question. He thought about how he'd felt in the past after random hookups and tried to compare that with what he felt now. When he slept with Tinder dates, he definitely enjoyed himself in the moment, and then afterwards...the sex was still good, but he found himself craving more afterwards. He wanted a relationship, not just a warm body to appease the urge for physical comfort and contact. He wanted intimacy.
With Dr. Welles...the sex had been good, but he found himself...unsettled afterwards. He didn't want more with her, he didn't want intimacy, he...he felt gutted. He wanted reassurance about losing Devon, about how what he was feeling was normal, that he'd done everything he could and sometimes that was all he could do and it still wouldn't be enough. Instead, Dr. Welles had given him confirmation that at least he was still good at sex, but she'd done nothing to address why he was there in the first place.
She'd reaffirmed that he was good at sex, but her lack of acknowledgement of his job and Devon's death left him feeling as though he wasn't good at being a firefighter. She made him feel like sex was the only thing he'd ever be good at. She made him feel like sex was the only thing people would bother to spend time on him for, when it was her job to listen to him and help him process his emotions.
By having sex with him, Dr. Welles told him that 'Even though it's my job to listen to your problems and help you deal with them, that's too much work so I'd rather just fuck you and get you out of my office.'
"I don't want to go to my appointment today," Buck whispered as the tears finally fell. "I don't want to feel like this again, I don't want to feel worse—"
"Hey, that's okay," Hen said. "When the office opens, we can call and cancel. And if you still feel like you want to talk to someone, we can find another department therapist and see if they offer video sessions."
"That's possible?" Buck asked, trying not to get his hopes up. He wanted to give therapy another chance, but he didn't want to feel constantly on edge that he'd fall back on old habits and accept any advances— Realistically, Buck knew it wasn't likely another therapist would initiate sex during an appointment again, but he didn't think he could handle risking it.
Hen nodded. "I know of someone on B shift who does video appointments because he wanted to keep a doctor from his previous station outside of LA. It's definitely possible."
Buck nodded, grateful for the option.
"And Buck...you don't have to press charges if you don't want to, but I think you should report this to Bobby," Hen said, voice slow and quiet like she didn't want to spook Buck.
It was a fair comparison, because the suggestion immediately put Buck on edge and he didn't quite know why. Reporting Dr. Welles would get her in trouble, and she...even if Buck was starting to believe Hen and understand that what happened was wrong, he couldn't help but think he'd had a part in things. Sex was a two person (or more) activity, and even if Dr. Welles's initiation of it was wrong, Buck still willingly participated—
"There's no guarantee that she won't do this again to someone else," Hen said, and that put things into painful perspective. Regardless of how conflicted he felt, he wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone else. He wouldn't want—he wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone else being taken advantage of when he had the opportunity to stop it.
Suddenly, putting it in the context of others' experiences made it so much easier to admit that he'd been taken advantage of.
Buck's coffee had gone cold in his hands but he forced himself to drink it anyway. He'd need the energy for the day, and he wasn't convinced he'd be able to fall asleep after all of this talk and the anticipation of everything that needed to be done in the morning.
"Will you come talk to Bobby with me?" Buck asked after finally finishing off his coffee. Hen had waited patiently in silence next to him the whole time. "When he wakes up, I mean?"
"Of course. I'll be there for you through this as long as you want me there, Buckaroo," she said. "Can I hug you?"
Buck nodded and dipped to his side before Hen could fully raise her arms. She was almost comically shorter than him, but with them both seated it somehow made the position easy. Maybe it was how often Buck had curled up next to Maddie for a big sister hug that made Hen's hug feel so natural. Surely that was why it felt so comforting.
"Thanks, Hen," Buck muttered into her shoulder.
"Anytime, Buckaroo."
The next day, after Buck had canceled his appointment with Dr. Welles, reported what happened to Bobby, and set up a video appointment with another department therapist with Hen's help, Buck felt exhausted but lighter. And when he settled in for bed that night, he was finally able to enjoy a full night's rest for the first time in ten days. He felt like he was finally starting to heal.