Chapter Text
Buck never thought stuff through.
Or at least, that's what his mother would always say.
He never planned. Never stopped to think about the consequences until they were staring him in the face, impossible to ignore. He'd leap first, deal with the aftermath later. It had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count, but somehow it had also brought him everything he loved.
The 118.
Christopher.
Eddie.
Buck swallowed thickly, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the polished courtroom table instead of the man sitting across from him.
The man he worshipped.
Would kill for.
Would die for.
Would spend the rest of his life trying to make things right with.
Eddie sat perfectly still, jaw locked so tightly Buck thought he might crack a tooth. His arms were crossed over his chest, shoulders rigid beneath his button-up, eyes colder than Buck had ever seen them. They weren't just angry.
They were disappointed.
That hurt more.
Buck could handle yelling. Hell, he'd take Eddie screaming at him over this suffocating silence. At least screaming meant Eddie still cared enough to fight.
This...
This felt like giving up.
Buck shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rubbing sweaty palms against his slacks beneath the table. His knee bounced relentlessly, the movement impossible to stop no matter how many times he told himself to knock it off.
Don't look at him.
Just don't.
Instead he focused on the lawyer beside him. Chase Mackey. Expensive suit. Polished shoes. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Buck had thought he was good.
Confident.
Someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Now he was starting to wonder if he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.
As Mackey shuffled through a thick folder of papers, Buck recognised his own handwriting scattered across several pages.
His stomach dropped.
No...
Not those.
Those weren't supposed to leave the office.
Those were things Buck had said because Mackey told him he needed the whole truth if he was going to help. Things Buck had never said out loud before. Things he'd barely admitted to himself.
Sleepless nights.
Panic attacks.
Shannon.
Christopher.
Bobby.
The therapist.
Every ugly thought he'd locked away had ended up inside that file.
He'd trusted him.
God, he trusted him.
Buck's fingers curled into fists beneath the table as Mackey casually pulled another sheet from the folder.
Please don't.
Please.
Across the room Eddie's eyes narrowed slightly, noticing the sudden change in Buck's posture.
Buck couldn't look back.
If he did...
He wasn't sure he'd survive whatever expression was waiting for him.
"So," Mackey began smoothly, not even glancing towards Buck. "As we've established, Mr Diaz has repeatedly failed to-"
Buck barely heard him.
His pulse thudded in his ears.
Too loud.
Too fast.
Something wasn't right.
Mackey flipped another page.
Buck recognised it instantly.
His chest tightened.
No.
No, no, no.
He knows what that page is.
He wouldn't.
He can't.
"...and after the death of Shannon Diaz-"
Buck's head snapped up.
His blood ran cold.
Across the table Eddie froze.
"What?" Eddie asked sharply.
Buck felt the room tilt beneath him.
"Mackey..." he whispered.
The lawyer kept reading as though Buck hadn't spoken.
"As Mr Buckley himself admitted-"
"What the fuck are you doing?" Buck shot to his feet so fast his chair scraped violently across the floor, the sound echoing through the silent courtroom.
Every pair of eyes turned towards him.
Mackey blinked once before looking up with mild annoyance.
"What?"
"What are you doing?" Buck repeated, voice shaking now. "Those are private."
"You told me all of this."
"I told you because..." Buck's words caught in his throat. "Because I needed someone to talk to."
"And I'm using what you gave me."
Buck stared at him.
"No..."
Mackey shrugged.
"I thought that was obvious."
No.
His ears began ringing.
Loud.
Too loud.
"God just get a real therapist." Mackey scoffed.
"You know I can't." Buck semi yelled, as his voice cracked trembling.
"You got assaulted by your therapist once," Mackey muttered with another dismissive shrug. "Get over it."
Silence.
Complete.
Utter.
Buck couldn't breathe.
His heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
Someone said his name.
Maybe Eddie.
Maybe Bobby.
He couldn't tell.
Everything sounded far away.
Like he was underwater.
His vision blurred as the courtroom dissolved into little more than shapes and muffled voices.
Hands.
Not really there.
A door clicking shut.
The smell of lavender.
"Mr. Buckley?"
Static.
"Please..."
A hand on his thigh.
Fingernails digging into his skin.
"Get off..."
His stomach lurched violently.
"Buck!"
The voice was closer now.
Real.
Someone grabbed his shoulder.
Buck flinched so hard he stumbled backwards, yanking himself away before the hand could settle
He looked up.
Eddie.
Gone was the anger.
In its place was something Buck had never wanted to see directed at him.
Fear.
Concern.
"...Buck?" Eddie asked softly, holding his hands up like he was approaching a frightened animal. "Talk to me."
Buck tried.
Nothing came out.
His lungs burned.
"I..." His voice shook violently. "I have to..."
He felt as if he was back there with her- with her climbing into his lap and- his breathing was getting worse and he was fully sobbing now, replaying memories.
~~~ The therapy session with dr welles. ~~~
He tried.
He tried so hard.
He was crying even. But this session still doesn’t feel right. Buck watches intensely as Dr Welles sits on the table in front of him, brushing knees and letting a hand rest on his thigh. He tried moving away slightly but she grabbed his thigh again this time with a deeper grip, digging her nails in.
“I know this is hard Mr Buckley but you can’t run away from help” She seethed with an edge in her tone, moving closer.
“I-i don't really think this is a-appropriate." He swiped his tears away, moving away slightly.
“Well nobody has to know Mr Buckley” she grinned, moving her hand higher.
“I-i don't feel comfortable. I-i might just leave.” He trailed off, getting up and twisting his fingers around the hem of his shirt.
Welles straightened up and spoke clearly. “ You could Mr Buckley, but then again I feel your captain wouldn't be pleased to get a note of recommendation to terminate you from active duty.” Her voice sounded like the snake in Eden slivering anywhere she could.
“N-no you- you can't that's se-sexual assault.” He stood anxiously trying to open the locked door.
“Yeah you could file a complaint, but I also have never had a complaint of sexual misconduct and plus, who would believe you. A big strong man - she moved closer cornering him, and placed a hand on his abs, sending a shiver down his spine. - getting raped by little tiny me”. She mocked.
Looking over his surroundings he hesitated, "please".. He pleaded softly. In return she just nodded towards the couch , signalling for him to come over. ‘would anyone believe him? Would the 118 believe him? Would Bobby believe him?..’ Slowly he moved back to the lounge where he saw no way out of this.
“Good choice Mr Buckley.” She lurked, moving closer and climbing atop of Buck . He closed his eyes feeling a single tear slip past his cheek, swallowing a lump the size of a soft ball.
His mind felt like static, feeling the unwanted movement his body was feeling.
It felt like forever, maybe it had been Buck doesn't know. All he knows is he'll never be the same.
When she was done he got dressed almost as fast as she was to try and -
He scurried out feeling tears that started spilling getting swiped away, while practically sprinting to the jeep. Not paying a second thought to any of the people starring at his dis morphed figure.
"What is wrong with him?" He heard a muffled voice call behind. He was startled by a hand grasping his upper arms, and a older woman asking if he was okay.
He wanted to say no, I'm not I was just ra- " Y-yeah just gotta go." Without a second glance he ran to the jeep, almost ripping off the door with intensity, grasping the wheel tightly.
He finally let the tears fall, feeling the weight fall on top of him crushing every sense of safety in him. He doesn't know why it feels like his guts had just been scooped out, its not like she actually hurt him.
I mean sure he would have hickeys, nail marks and bruises but-
It was just sex.
Right?
His grip tightened, swallowing the lump his throat formed, he took a deep breath. Steadying himself he started the jeep and drove off feeling the fog invade.
He has to tell Bobby, he cant keep something like this from his pseudo father much less his Captain. He has to.
He has to.
~~~ present day
Buck lay on his couch numb picking at his nails anxiously, he could feel her hands on him. Grabbing, pulling, touchin-
He got up fast running to his bathroom wrenching in the toilet until his guts had emptied.
He leaned against the tile wall feeling the cold envelop him his breath was heavy and heart fast. He closed his eyes slowly, blonde lashes fluttering as a dam wall broke in him. He broke down in heart wrenching sobs clutching his legs close. "Get out of my head!" He screamed to a god that wasn't listening.
Tired he got up and stared at himself in the mirror, flinching at the sight of his dishevveled form. he gasped a another sob, grasping the counter tight he felt the cold tile under his fingertips.
No matter how hard he tried he would never be able to get rid of her.
Never.
A spike of rage filled him at the relentless realisation as his first collided with the mirror sending warm trickles of blood and a groundiing shoot of pain through his hand. He sighed at the relief feeling the fog clear in his mind. He looked down at his injured knuckles, feeling a small smile tinge at the edge of his mouth.
It felt nice, having something to grasp onto. Something to tell him , your safe , your not there, something dragging him back into reality. He leaned into it, digging his nails into the wounds revelling at the consolation.
It sent a shiver down his spine, rolling his shoulders back feeling cleansed. The nagging feeling was overcome by the simplist of things.
Pain .
So easy to create, yet so-
Freeing
He took a deep breath inspecting the wounds once over, he could recreate this feeling.
He had before.
Plus bobby had always taught him to keep his knives sharp, 'you might need them sharp for emergencies'. This felt like an emergency, an urgent need to rid himself from the wretched hands that grabbed at him where they never should have.
Well here it is.
The Cure to his everlasting guilt.
It was his fault. It always had been. He let it happen, he let her do those things, he let the feeling of being taken advantage of slip. It. Was. His. fault.
He got up slowly, a wave of nausea hitting him feeling as if he'll pass out. A gear titles in his head and he looked down to his hand.
"Shit! Blood thinners!" He scrambled to grab a cloth, wetting it and placing it firmly on his hand. Grasping his hand and clothe he reached under his sink where his medkit was.
He quickly moved over to the couch opening the kit and applying sutures stably all over. He's glad he has- had Hen as a friend she taught him all the ropes of medicine supplies and how to use them.
He would need it for the later stuff.
He felt exhausted. He just wanted to sleep in peace while he could, while images weren't replaying in his head constantly. He limped up the stairs of his loft, an aching lingering pain receding out with each step.
Flopping on his bed, feeling the soft ruffle and rain outside he fell asleep within seconds. Finally able to rest.