Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Buck had never actually donated blood before. Moving around as he had since leaving Hershey wasn’t exactly conducive to it and there was that bullshit rule about men who’ve had sex with men in the last however-many months not being eligible. But that was besides the point right now. He was in LA, in a stable job, in a stable relationship, with a stable housing situation (sort of) and able to donate. Though calling his housing situation stable might be overly generous. 

He didn’t regret following Connor and his friends to LA from Peru, not when it had brought him here, to the 118 and the closest thing to a real family he’d ever had (despite what Bobby had said about it not being a family). Bobby had been angry when he’d said that - and rightfully so, Buck could admit that now - but he didn’t think the man had really meant it. Or if he had, he hadn’t been able to stick to it, not since he’d started opening up more after Hen and Buck had found him after the plane crash. Frankly, Bobby had shown more concern and care in the last few months than Phillip had in 19 years. And Hen, well, she was sort of like a big sister. Maybe a bit begrudging at first, but certainly more sisterly than Maddie had been in the last three years - since she’d started screening his calls. 

He’d been alone and, though he hated to admit it, pretty lonely, so moving in with a bunch of guys he’d hung out with for a couple of weeks sounded great. It was like built-in friends. Only it turned out living in a glorified frat-house wasn’t exactly compatible with the erratic hours of a firefighter’s shift pattern. It wasn’t like he could reasonably ask them to keep it down during the daytime even if he had just come off a non-stop 24-hour shift, it was their house too. And whilst Buck wasn’t exactly tidy, he wasn’t around often enough to contribute to the biohazard that was the kitchen - or even eat his leftovers before they mysteriously disappeared from his clearly labelled tupperwares. But whatever, he’d been spending a lot more time at Abby’s when he was off-shift. It was fine. 

So despite the incompatibility of his current living situation with his new life, he couldn’t help but be grateful. It had brought him here, to LA, and ultimately to firefighting and the 118. He was doing something good , something he was actually good at , something useful . And, horrific as it may have been, Chimney’s accident had broken down that final wall - got them all to go past those glass doors and admit they cared. Giving blood was the least they could do in return for the miracle that was Chimney’s survival. 

The station was bustling with volunteers and donors filling out their registration forms or reclining in the chairs that had been specially set up for the occasion as their blood was drawn. 

“So I want to thank everybody for donating today. I don't know if you know this or not, but 90% of all the blood given to patients in the Los Angeles area comes from volunteers. I know that we all put our asses on the line in the field every day to save people, but today, you're saving people, and all it's taking is a tiny prick of a needle.” 

“So simple, even Mr. Buckley can't mess that up.” Buck flicked a salute at Chimney as he passed, squeezing a stressball with the hand of the arm he was donating from. This thing was pretty cool actually, he wondered if Chim would  notice if he kept it. Or maybe he could get one of his own, it was weirdly satisfying. 

“You still at it, huh? How'd you do?” Bobby was still in his civvies as he approached. 

Chim flicked through the pages on his clipboard looking extremely pleased with himself, “Incredible.Everyone donated. Some people even came in on their day off.” 

“That's great. All right, well, let's wrap it up. We got to start our shift.” The nurse unhooked Buck and Hen from the needles and they swung their legs down as Bobby attempted to make his escape, striding purposefully deeper into the station.

“Uh, hold up. Looks here like I am two pints shy of my goal for the day,” Chim spun to follow their Captain’s retreating form.

“Well, that'll give you something to work towards next time,” Bobby stopped, turning to face Chim. Buck’s eyes bounced from one to the other, Hen doing the same beside him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You're the captain of this house, and you're the only one who didn't participate.” It was unlike Bobby not to get involved, he was a lead-by-example sort of a guy. Normally he’d be all about something like this, the dude even cooked them ‘family dinners’, he was all about everyone getting involved. 

“I don't like needles, end of story,” Bobby turned to leave once more.

“Oh, come on. Captain, come on,” Hen cajoled as they joined Chimney, all three of them arrayed facing their strangely recalcitrant Captain. “You got to donate.” 

Buck tilted his head, considering Bobby’s uncharacteristic behaviour. There was something off about his body language, as if he was bracing himself somehow. 

“I don't give blood. All right? I never give blood. When I was a kid, they tried to take my blood, and I bit the doctor.” 

Neither Hen nor Buck could help their snickers this time. Buck couldn’t help but imagine it, a tiny feral Bobby sinking his teeth into a shocked looking doctor. He tried to school his face as Bobby continued. 

“It's not funny. And the one time someone tried to take my blood as an adult… didn't go well.” Well, that was vague. Did he punch them? Bite them again? Throw up? Pass out? Bobby turned and strode away again, Chim hurrying in his wake. Buck and Hen held back for a second, letting Chimney make his case to Bobby himself. It had been some sort of miracle Chimney had survived at all, let alone without major long-lasting brain damage. It was definitely the wildest thing Buck had ever seen. No wonder he felt a need to balance the scales a bit, give something back to the universe to show how grateful he was for this second chance. 

“Now, you and everybody else here,” Chim gestured at the packed firehouse, “asked me how they could help with my recovery. Well, this is how.” Buck and Hen stepped forward  to back him up but they could see Bobby was wavering. He stubbornly kept his arms folded even as he looked from Buck to Chim to Hen. 

“I hate all of you.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Chim was far too smug about this but Buck supposed they could let him have this one, it was for a good cause after all.

“You love us,” Hen grinned. 

“Here, you're gonna need this,” Buck tossed Bobby the stressball. It bounced off his still-folded arms. “Just squeeze it.” 

Bobby did not seem to appreciate the generosity Buck was displaying by donating his newly-acquired stressball to the cause, but he could forgive that. Given his fear of needles, Bobby probably didn’t want an audience, so Buck wheeled away, a bounce in his step as he headed for the stairs. 

He could tell it was gonna be a good day, they’d already helped a ton of people and all it had taken was coming into work like 45 minutes early and sitting round for a bit as they took his blood. And Chim had met his target, so he was gonna be obnoxiously happy for at least the next few hours. 

“All right, let's stick him!” There was possibly too much glee in Chim’s tone at the prospect, Buck hurried away before the power could go to the other man’s head.

Chapter Text

Buck had pretty much put the whole blood donation thing out of his mind. It was cool that they’d met Chim’s target, it felt good to be giving back and they’d all enjoyed teasing Bobby about his fear of needles, but ultimately all it had required on his part was coming in half an hour early and sitting still for a bit. Now, Buck would admit that sitting still was not his strong point but come on, even he could manage like 10, 15 minutes. So, while the whole thing had sparked a bit of a research rabbit hole into blood donation as a whole, he had put his own donation pretty much out of mind.

It was the next shift after the blood drive and they were in the truck on the way to a call. Buck’s leg was bouncing a little with restless energy as he watched the streets race by. He felt Hen’s shoulder press against his in reassurance and let out a long exhale, calming his unsettled energy. He didn’t know why but he was wound up for some reason.

“So come on then, tell me what rabbit hole you fell down earlier when you wouldn’t take your nose out of your phone?” Hen was trying to distract him, to cheer him up, and whilst he knew exactly what she was doing, that didn’t stop it being effective.

“At the blood drive the other day, Chim said that 90% of the blood in the LA area comes from volunteers but then where does that other 10% come if not from volunteers. Do they pay for it? Are there rules about selling your blood? And did you know, the US is the biggest exporter of blood products in the world. We export like 70% of the plasma used in making medicine worldwide.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Chimney rolling his eyes, “No, Buck, I didn’t know that. Why would I know that? Why would anyone know that?” 

Hen jostled Chim affectionately, “I’ll have you know that I, in fact, did know that. Not the exact numbers but I did know the US was the biggest exporter.” 

That was right, Hen had said something about working for a pharmaceutical company before she became a paramedic, hadn’t she. 

“It’s not our fault you’re uninformed,” Hen turned back to Buck, “Now go on, what else?”

He could see the faint curl at the edge of Bobby’s mouth as he faced forward in the captain’s chair, amused but staying out of their nonsense.

“Well, there are a bunch of rules about paying for blood and who can donate and what it can be used for. Turns out a bunch of prisons were getting blood from their inmates and not being too fussy about who or how they got it from them. There was a massive scandal because in like the 70s and 80s a bunch of people with hemophilia got HIV or hepatitis from infected blood donations. The FDA had brought in a bunch of rules about not using blood from prisoners in the US but they were still exporting it and a bunch of it was tainted.”

“Who knew the prison industrial complex was run by a bunch of literal vampires,” Chim shuddered. 

The truck pulled into the parking lot of a fitness studio and their smiles dropped as they focused. A clearly distressed woman - Carrie, an ex- employee, it turned out - led them through the rows of machines and past the lockers to a small room with the sun bed. 

They could smell it before they saw it. Buck didn’t even know human skin could sizzle like that. The guy was a deep pink and covered from head to toe with painful looking blisters, barely an inch of un-blistered skin on him. They could hear the buzzing of electricity and smoke was coming from the machine. Nothing happened when Bobby jiggled the switch, it was locked into place, but a swift glance around the room was all it took before Bobby was tearing the plug from the wall. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that!” Carrie wailed, but frankly Buck didn’t blame her for panicking, it was a grim sight. He shot a concerned look at Hen, attempting to gauge her read of the situation. It didn’t look good to him but he was only a firefighter, not a paramedic, and a probie still on top of that. 

“What do you think Chim, is he dead?” Bobby took charge of the situation.

Chim pulled his gloved hands from the man’s pulse point, “Worse, I think he’s alive.”

“Why the hell didn’t he just get out?” Buck couldn’t imagine why the dude had lain there for hours, cooking, when clearly the machine could open still, even if it was stuck open. 

“He might have had a stroke,” Chim hypothesized, focusing on the task at hand with an impressive, calm efficiency. 

Buck stayed out of the way, watching how Hen and Chim worked, as Bobby gently pressed the woman to figure out whether their victim had been on anything. Steroids. That made sense. For a gym owner anyway, he guessed. And for a potential stroke at only 32.

Suddenly the man began to convulse and Hen jumped into action from her spot at Chimney’s side where she had been assisting him.

“Starting compressions.”

But when she raised her hands after the first set, chunks of melted skin and flesh peeled off and stuck to her gloves as she lifted them. They all stared in horror for a second before Chim called it, “He’s gone.”

“Oh my god,” Carrie stepped back, her voice unsteady as she backed away, almost crashing into Buck.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy,” he held a reassuring hand out towards her.

“It’s too freaky. I mean, after what happened with Mindy. I told him. I said, 'Barry, what goes around comes around'," she was wide-eyed and distressed, gaze jumping from face to face as if she expected them to understand what she was talking about. And at Hen’s perplexed "Who’s Mindy?", the whole sorry story came tumbling from Carrie’s mouth, as though she couldn’t help herself. Karma, it seemed, really was a bitch. 

Hen and Chim were standing to one side as the body was wheeled into the transport to the coroners. Bobby strode ahead, pulling his phone from his pocket and answering it almost at the first ring. Buck trailed behind them all, he couldn’t see Bobby’s expression where he was facing away but his ears pricked up at the change in the tone of the captain’s voice. 

“This is Bobby. I-I don't understand why you can't just tell…” Bobby had stowed his clipboard and turned to face the three of them, who were watching in concern. “Okay, thanks,” he ended the call.

“What's up, Cap?” Chim asked before Buck could muster the right words.

“That was Cedars.”

“Is someone sick?” Buck didn’t know who it could be but he could see the tension that had appeared in Bobby’s shoulders over the short call and hadn’t yet left. 

“The blood I donated... They sent it to a lab and had it tested, so…”

“Well, it's the first time you donated, they have to do that before they release it to the blood supply,” Chim attempted to reassure him.

“They found something in it,” there was a dreadful certainty in Bobby’s answer.

“What do you mean, ‘found something’?” The concern was evident in Hen’s voice as she spoke up from beside Buck, furrowed brows imploring.

“They wouldn't tell me over the phone. They said they'd rather do it in person.” Bobby’s eyes searched each of their faces in turn, eyes flicking from one to the other before settling back on Chim. They all stood there for a few long seconds, frozen, as if immobilised by the bomb that had just been dropped on them all by one short phone call

That didn’t sound good.

Chapter Text

The inside of the truck was silent. It sat, heavy and suffocating over them all as the engine started up and turned back towards the 118. Bobby is shut down, his old reserve that had all but faded over the last few months is back, but this time the walls are higher than ever. 

Chim was clearly freaking out, probably blaming himself for the whole thing. Though there was no way him organising the blood drive was responsible for whatever was wrong with Bobby, or rather Bobby’s blood. If Chim hadn’t done the blood drive, the doctors might not have found whatever it is. Bobby could’ve gotten really sick. Maybe even died. 

Bobby could still get sick.

He could still die. 

Buck could feel his fingers twitch towards his phone. He didn’t know what could show up in a test like that but he could look it up. In his peripheral vision, Hen’s head tilted towards him, questioningly. He shook his own head minutely and went back to staring stubbornly ahead. 

Still, nobody said anything.

Buck bit his tongue to keep from blurting something out. It would probably be something dumb. Something that would make it worse, somehow, if that was even possible.

The sudden buzz of Buck’s phone in his pocket was deafening in the silence. Three pairs of eyes swivelled immediately towards him as he fished it out with fumbling fingers. He didn’t recognise the number. He swiped it away clumsily, hurrying to slip the phone into his pocket. 

“Sorry.”

Now was really not the time for a random call from an unknown number. It seemed rude, somehow, to answer what was probably a nuisance call or his landlord ranting about something, after the news that Bobby had just received in his phone call. Chim let out a soft huff and all three pairs of eyes swivelled back towards the front. Buck let out an internal sigh of relief. 

His phone buzzed again. 

Even Williams, who was driving the engine and hadn’t even been there for Bobby’s revelation, met Buck’s eyes through the rear view mirror as everyone turned to him once more. 

He swiped the call away more aggressively this time. 

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t know-” he swiped down and clicked on airplane mode. “My bad, I’ll just-” Buck gestured awkwardly at his pocket. 

The rest of the ride back was just as awkward and the rest of the shift wasn’t much better. Bobby was almost monosyllabic and Chimney seemed to be almost trying to make up for it but his chatter had a slightly frantic edge to it. There’d been a couple more minor calls, including one medical call where Chim and Hen had taken the lead, alongside Athena who didn’t seem willing to let the casualty get away with their porch piracy. 

Buck was trying not to google diseases or illnesses that could be detected in a blood sample. What did they even test for? Had anybody ever mentioned that? What if Bobby had cancer? Or HIV? Or there were a bunch of different types of Hepatitis that they tested for, weren't there? It probably wasn’t West Nile Virus as Bobby, to the best of Buck’s knowledge at least, hadn’t been anywhere near the Nile anytime recently (or possibly ever). No, wait. He scrolled further. Turned out the West Nile Virus didn’t even have anything to do with the River Nile and it was found in the USA (and a whole bunch of other places that had mosquitoes). 

Fuck. 

Okay, that was back on the list of possibilities. 

Bobby couldn’t die. He couldn’t get sick. It wasn’t right. He was the heart of the whole firehouse, his meals, his gentle presence, drawing them all in. Bobby was what made the 118 feel more like home than anywhere in all his travels. More like home than his actual home had felt since Maddie had left. 

Speaking of Bobby, he had retreated into his office on their return and hadn’t emerged since. After a while, Chim seemed to psych himself up to follow Bobby. He paused outside the office door for a second to gather himself before knocking, but Bobby responded immediately. Chim threw one final glance over his shoulder at Hen and Buck. Hen and Chim did something with their faces but Buck couldn’t decipher the whole worlds of meanings that they seemed to convey with just a single glance. Sometimes, he wished there was someone on the team for him to develop a freaky Hen and Chim-style telepathic bond with. 

Hen craned over to catch a glimpse of what Buck was reading on his phone that had him so engrossed and a little concerned furrow forming between his brows.

She sighed deeply, “This isn’t helping you or Bobby. The doctor will tell him what they found at his appointment but, until then, there’s nothing you can do and you’re only working yourself up more.” Hen plucked the phone from his fingers and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Now come on, play a round with me. You were talking big game about Princess Peach earlier, I wanna show you the error of your ways.”

Despite his initial reluctance, Buck and Hen were fully engrossed in a neck-and-neck battle for first place by the time the door to the office opened again.

“Bobby’s got an appointment right after our shift ends. I’m gonna go with him,” Chim flopped onto the sofa in between Hen and Buck. 

“See, Buckaroo, no good worrying. Chim’ll go with him. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” her reassuring shove to the shoulder required leaning directly across Chimney and resulted in Waluigi careering off the side of the track and into the void. Buck was at least 50% certain that was deliberate, Hen was ruthless when it came to Rainbow Road. 

“Hey!” The yelp, and there really was no other word for it but yelp, was less than dignified but Buck couldn’t help but settle more comfortably at their words, shoulders releasing tension that he hadn’t even been aware of, though he didn’t relax completely.

Something could still be wrong, but at least Bobby wouldn’t be alone. 

Chapter Text

Chim’s text after the shift had ended and he’d gone to the appointment had been short and less detailed than Buck would have preferred:

Cap’s okay. Not ill. They want him to join a rare donor program. 

It had been enough to assuage the worst case scenarios that Buck had barely been able to keep himself from panicking about since the phone call. He’d had to bite his tongue to keep from asking to go along too - Chim was the one who’d organised the blood drive and Buck supposed he had known Bobby longer. Despite the new openness the captain had been shown since the plane crash and his subsequent relapse, he might not want to show the same level of vulnerability in front of a probie. 

He’d wanted to know more, of course, but it was up to Bobby to share that with them if he wanted to. He’d been so relieved that he’d completely forgotten about his own missed calls. It wasn’t until hours later, crashed out on his bed and staring at the ceiling as he tried to come down from the fear and tension that had been thrumming through him since Bobby had received the call, that he remembered. 

He unplugged his phone from its charger and pulled up the missed calls. 

“Hi, this is Evan Buckley, I had a missed call from this number.”

“Ah, let me transfer you through Mr Buckley.”

“Wait, who-” but he was cut off by a dial tone as the call was transferred over. 

“Mr Buckley, this is Dr Irving at Cedars Sinai, thank you for finding time to return my call,” the doctor’s voice was disconcertingly cheerful.

“Cedars? What does-”

“You recently donated blood as part of a blood drive organised by the LAFD, is that correct?” they blithely continued talking over Buck’s stuttering. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I did, my colleague organised the drive. But what does…?”

“As I’m sure you are aware, donations are tested before they are added to the pool. I’d like for you to come in to speak to us about the results of that testing.” 

Buck’s stomach dropped, “Can’t you just tell me now?” 

“I’m afraid not, Mr Buckley, I really would prefer to talk to you about this in person.”

Did that mean it was bad? Was this how Bobby had felt? Was he ill? Was it bad? The thing his parents had been so concerned about they’d ordered all that testing? Or… He’d had himself tested after the …incident with the therapist. Before Abby. Could it be cancer? HIV? All those things that he’d been panicking about since Bobby got the call came rushing back.

“Dr Irving, can’t you-”

“I’m sorry Mr Buckley, I have to go, I have a patient waiting. I’ll transfer you back. Make an appointment at your earliest convenience.”

And the irritating chirping of the hold music filled his ears again.

What the fuck? Weren’t doctors supposed to be good with patients? A bedside manner? That guy had just dropped a bomb in Buck’s lap and fucked off with not a care in the world. He took a shaky breath and somehow stumbled through making an appointment for later that afternoon with whoever had first been on the line. 

He hadn’t asked anyone to go with him. It hadn’t felt right. This wasn’t like Bobby. This was Buck and whatever it was was probably the result of Buck 1.0’s ways. He didn’t think he could handle listening to any ‘jokes’ about his sex life while he waited to hear what was up. He pressed his fists down on his knees in an attempt to stop their anxious jostling up and down.

“Mr Buckley, in here.” 

Buck followed him in, perching on the edge of the seat, hands clenched.

The doctor settled himself into the seat opposite, “Thank you for coming in so quickly. As I said on the phone, there are some findings in your blood work that are time sensitive.” 

He nodded jerkily, unable to force words out from behind his clenched teeth.

“Have you ever heard of rhesus disease?”

“Uh, no.” At least Chim wouldn’t be able to get on his case about that, whatever it was. “Is it bad?”

“You know, that’s exactly what the other guy said,” the doctor lets out a self-satisfied little chuckle. “Rhesus disease is terrible, fatal in most cases. However, you don’t have it - it only affects pregnant women and their fetuses. There are some 4,000 cases of rhesus in newborns each year.”

Buck’s shoulders unclenched, dropping from where they’d crept up towards his shoulders, “Okay? So what does that have to do with me?”

“There are babies at this very moment who need you.You are almost an identical match to an Australian man named James Harrison whose donated blood saved the lives of more than two million children. They call him the man with the golden arm.”

Buck let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t ill. There wasn’t anything wrong.

He could save more people, more babies, then he ever could have imagined. More than he ever could even as a firefighter. 

His brain stuck for a second on the doctor’s phrasing: ‘an almost identical match.’ How identical did that mean? Like, related identical? No. That was dumb. The guy was Australian and Buck’s parents had gone to a clinic in Minnesota. He pushed the thought away. He’d told himself years ago he’d stop obsessing over that, ever since his unsuccessful visit to Minnesota after leaving Hershey. 

“We would love to get you into our rare donor's program as soon as possible,” Dr Irving pushed a packet of papers into Buck’s shaking hands. “If you fill this out, we could set up regular donations.”

“Of course,” he slumped back in the chair. “Of course. Yes. Yeah. I’ll - right away.” He accepted the proffered pen and began to fill the forms in. “How- how often can I donate?”