Chapter Text
It had been two months since Buck returned to work at the 118, and six months since the start of the chaos that had consumed his life. He felt alone since being released from the hospital after the bombing; with everyone busy, he spent most days alone, maintaining minimal contact with anyone. When he got recertified and the firefam threw him a party, he was overjoyed finally, he thought, everything would be okay, and life would return to normal. But he was wrong.
The truth was, Buck was struggling with depression and PTSD. He didn’t cope well with being alone, and that’s how he felt. After the pulmonary embolism that pushed him back again, followed by the tsunami, and then discovering that the father figure in his life had blocked him, he panicked. Hurt and feeling betrayed, he wasn’t sure what to do. Mentally, he needed to be back at work, surrounded by people he loved in a job he loved doing. So he filed a lawsuit. But realizing it was the wrong way to go about getting back to work, he dropped it, only to return and continue feeling isolated. In some ways, this new type of loneliness felt even worse. He felt like the housemaid, invisible, everyone treated him as if he didn’t exist. They weren’t harsh or verbally abusive; they just assigned him chores and didn’t talk to him unless it was about work.
Every shift for the past two months, Buck would walk into the 118, head to the fridge, and grab the paper that read "Buck your Man Behind" along with a list of tasks for the shift. He ate with the team, but instead of sitting next to Eddie, he took a seat at the other end of the table. He wasn’t included in conversations, and when he entered a room, there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. He honestly believed it would be better to endure verbal abuse; this level of loneliness was unbearable.
A month after the firetruck bombing, his doctor prescribed him antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. Initially, he was reluctant to take them but eventually decided it was for the better, after being unable to sleep due to nightmares and racing thoughts. They helped. They calmed his mind just enough to get by. He still experienced nightmares, but the medication allowed him to pause some nights.
Two months after the bombing, Buck pulled out his guitar and began to write music and sing again. He hadn’t done this since his traveling days. He used to sit in bars and even made a bit of cash as a regular performer at a few local bars.
Three months post bombing, Buck found himself singing at an open mic, and he was offered a regular gig for Thursday night entertainment. He found it therapeutic and relaxing, allowing him to express his emotions and enjoy human interaction.
So, even though he returned to the 118 in month four feeling alone, unloved, and disconnected from the firefam, he looked forward to heading home to write a new song. Thursday nights became a cherished escape, where he could shed the weight of "Buck" and embrace "James the singer." The name coming from his middle name. He clung to his music, jotting down lyrics, phrases, or words that inspired him whenever the moment struck. While it seemed small, it kept him going and brought him joy.
By month five, word had spread about the bar with the incredible Thursday night singer. The crowds grew, and eventually, the bar manager had to start taking bookings and closing doors 20 minutes before “James” was set to perform because of the full house. The manager asked Buck to sing an additional night, but he declined, stating that firefighting remained his priority. He hoped to get back to calls soon. Rescheduling shifts to keep Thursdays free was simple, but altering multiple shifts for a consistent day off would raise questions he wanted to avoid, especially since most of his songs centered on the traumatic events of the bombing and everything that followed and about Eddie. Eddie they had kissed and decided to see where things go, but then Shannon came back, the next day, and Eddie had ended it, saying he had to work out what was happening with Shannon, as he was still technically married and because of Chris he had to give it a chance. Buck was heartbroken, but he understood. So they tried to stay friends, but the distance was already there.
By month six, he continued singing, using his escape to keep him afloat, he was still being left out of calls, still treated like the firehouse maid, and still isolated. Even his sister, Athena, and Karen, had not reached out. The only person who regularly texted him was May. She came over a few times for dinners and movies, and he helped her with schoolwork and college applications. He even picked her up from a house party when her friends left her there, making sure she got home safe. He would have told Athena if she was drunk, but she wasn’t and she said her mom knew she went to the party, just couldn’t get home and Athena and Bobby are on shift. Buck was just happy to rang and was being safe.
One day, while doing his chores, a line of lyrics struck him unexpectedly. He became so engrossed in writing a new song that he tuned out the conversations around him. Not that he would be included anyway; he often zoned out now. What was the point of hearing about gatherings or life events when he was never invited? He cared about them, but prioritizing his mental health meant that zoning out of the conversations made it hurt less.