Right Now

The Talk

Time doesn't stop for accidents.

That's what his dad used to say. Sometimes they were words grumbled irritably, or sighed, or shouted. It didn't make much sense to Buck at the time. It was just one of those things parents say, like "raining cats and dogs" or "it's five o'clock somewhere."

Time doesn't stop for accidents.

"It means that the world doesn't stop turning just because you made a mistake," Maddie had patiently explained to him once. "Accidents happen, but life goes on. It means you have to just keep going."

Time had certainly felt frozen within the confines of the hospital, but as soon as they step outside, the bright light of day hits Buck and he realizes that while he had been inside with Eddie, the world had been spinning without them.

And still now, it turns around him.

The ride of the firehouse passes in silence, but inside Buck's head there is anything but quiet. He wonders what the hell he's going to say to Christopher.

He needs to be honest, as honest as possible, but reassuring. Though his own thoughts and fears are screaming a thousand what ifs, Buck knows he has to push those down and remain optimistic. More than just for Chris, but for himself. He doesn't want to imagine the dark places his mind will go if he allows it.

When Athena pulls the cruiser to a stop next to Buck's jeep outside the station, she turns the car off but neither of them moves to get out.

"Thanks for the ride," he says.

Athena nods. "You need me to wait?" she asks. "I can take you to Eddie's."

The word yes is on the tip of his tongue. There's a part of Buck that wants to scream it. He wants to push all of this off onto someone else, make it someone else's responsibility, someone else's problem.

Eventually he says no, because he knows that if he accepts the ride, she'll offer to come inside with him. She'll offer to break the news to Chris. She'll offer anything he needs.

And he's afraid he just might take it.

A slim hand reaches across the small space to rest on his arm; it's smaller than his, but it feels so much stronger.

"You call me if you need anything," she tells him.

He nods.

"Buck," she says, and waits until he looks up at her. Then she repeats, "Anything. I'm serious."

He swallows down the emotions clawing at his throat again. "Thanks, Athena."

And then he flees the car before she can offer anything else. Already, it feels like she's given so much.

One of the trucks is out, for which Buck is thankful because it means half the crew is gone. He can see the rest upstairs in the kitchen, can hear the crack of balls knocking together on the pool table, and someone distantly laughs at an unheard joke.

He wonders if anyone told them about Eddie, but realizes that it doesn't matter. He knows their names and faces, has worked beside them on occasion, but the people here aren't his family, not like his own team is. Hen and Chimney are probably already back at home, recuperating from a long shift, maybe making plans to visit Eddie again in a day or two. Buck knows already that he'll be making the trip again tonight.

The showers are empty; another small blessing Buck is ready to take for granted. He turns the water as hot as he can stand and lets it pour over him, staining his skin a furious red.

He wishes he could stop time, rewind it, save Eddie from ever putting him in this position, because as scared as he is right now, he's also pissed. At Eddie, at himself. He feels like a bomb and when he explodes, it'll endanger anyone standing too close.