Chapter Text
It starts with a cat.
A very fluffy, very angry cat, stranded on the diving board of a very locked private pool. It’s pacing in small, dramatic circles, tail puffed to cartoon proportions, issuing a stream of complaints that sound a lot like profanity.
Hen squints through the iron bars of the gate. “Technically,” she says, already regretting everything, “we’re not allowed to break in.”
Buck leans in next to her, squinting like a detective in a noir film. “But it’s a cat.”
“A cat,” Bobby confirms, arms crossed, looking like he aged five years just on the drive over. “In distress.”
“Whose distress,” Chimney mutters, from the other side of the fence, “may or may not warrant a misdemeanor, depending on how loud Buck gets.”
The cat lets out a long, guttural screech. It sounds vaguely like a challenge.
Buck’s face splits into a grin so wide it should be illegal. “So what you’re saying is… I should go around back and check the gate.”
“No, Buck,” Bobby says slowly. “What we’re saying is—”
But Buck is already gone, jogging off toward the side of the property with the bounce of a man who has absolutely no intention of checking just the gate.
Chim sighs. “We should probably go ahead and prep the incident report.”
“Let him get it out of his system,” Hen says. “You know he’s going to do something stupid either way. Might as well get a cat out of it.”
They find him five minutes later perched on the fence like some kind of golden retriever gargoyle, hoodie snagged on the metal spikes, one leg over, grinning down at the team like he’s accomplished a great and noble feat. His hair is windblown, there’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and he looks so pleased with himself it’s honestly infuriating.
“You know,” Eddie says, staring up at him with the flat voice of a man who’s had this conversation before, “this is breaking and entering.”
“Only if I enter,” Buck replies cheerfully. He holds that position for dramatic effect, winks, then swings the other leg over and drops down into the backyard with all the stealth of a drunk raccoon.
The cat yowls.
Buck freezes mid-step. “Respectfully, sir or madam, I am here to help,” he announces like he’s greeting royalty.
The cat growls in response and bolts across the diving board like it’s preparing for a fight.
“Did he just talk to the cat like it was a person?” Chim asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Let him work,” Hen says, arms folded, totally unbothered. “This is art.”
“This is trespassing,” Bobby mutters.
“Let him art.”
The cat hisses. Buck hisses back.
“Why is he like this?” Eddie sighs.
“Genetics,” Hen answers.
Twenty-two chaotic seconds and one wet t-shirt later, Buck emerges triumphant.
Triumphant, and also bleeding slightly from the elbow.
The cat, looking far too smug for someone who just hissed at their own rescuer, is cradled in Buck’s arms like a prize. Buck himself is soaked from the waist down, one shoe missing, and a laminated ‘Pool Rules’ sign held in his left hand like a badge of honor.
The fence is miraculously unbroken, though the lawn chair that used to sit near the pool is now folded in half and floating.
“Technically,” Buck says, panting slightly as he hands the cat to its sobbing owner through the locked gate, “I didn’t break in. I just… creatively accessed an available route.”
Bobby stares at him. Long. Hard. The kind of stare that says I will be reading you for filth in the debrief.
“You’re buying me a coffee.”
“You got it, Cap,” Buck chirps, brushing pool water out of his hair like this was all part of the plan.
The cat meows. Buck meows back.
And that’s how Buck gets unofficially promoted to “morally flexible solutions coordinator” of the 118.
He thinks it’s the best title he’s ever had. It’s definitely the one that comes with the most opportunities for shenanigans.