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Buck only got up because something felt wrong. He couldn’t sleep anyway. The air was wrong. The silence was wrong. The house was too still in that way that means something is ending. He pads down the hall, bare feet on the wood floor, hand dragging along the wall like he needs the contact to stay upright.
Eddie is in the living room, and he’s fully dressed. Jacket on, keys in one hand. There’s a neatly folded note in the other, like a white flag that’s not really a white flag. And the blankets… The blankets on the couch are already folded, stacked in a pile in the far corner of the couch, closest to the door.
Buck stops in the doorway. He doesn’t breathe.
When Eddie looks up and sees him there, his shoulders tense and his jaw sets, holding his breath like he’s waiting for impact.
“You’re leaving,” Buck says, soft and hollow.
Eddie’s lips part. “I was just going to… Buck, it’s not—”
Buck laughs, a broken, sharp sound that billows out from the depths of his shattering soul.
“Don’t.”
He steps forward and snatches the note from Eddie’s hand. He isn’t sure why. He knows what it’s going to say. But still, the message hurts.
“You’re going to the airport.” He huffs, something building in his chest, his whole body constricting.
“No… well, yes, but—” Eddie tries again, tripping over half-formed phrases and unsaid things.
“Don’t say it,” Buck argues, voice icy. He sees Eddie’s mouth thin and his brows furrow. Eddie tries again.
“Buck, if you would just let me—” Eddie breathes out exhausted. Exhausting.
“I said don’t.” Buck snaps, voice sharp and pointed, frayed to the end. “Don’t lie to me to make it easier. You’re leaving. I know what this is. I know how this goes. I know how it feels when someone decides they’re done with me.”
Eddie’s shoulders sag and he sighs a frustrated breath. “Buck, that’s not what—”
“You were gonna leave a note,” Buck says, voice cracking, holding it up like it’s the answer to the universe, when really it’s just proof of his worst fears. “You weren’t even gonna wake me up. You were just gonna go. Again.” His voice rises; Eddie flinches. “I mean it makes sense. Of course it does. Because why would anyone tell me anything?”
“Buck…” Eddie tries. Buck ignores him.
He swallows hard. “Because I’m— I’m always too much to stay for and never enough to stay with.”
Eddie steps forward, palm out. “Buck, it’s not—”
Buck steps back. “Don’t.”
“My god, Buck, listen—”
“No! I’m done listening!” Buck rages quietly, like the eye of a storm or a tree falling in a forest no one sees, breaking in silence.
“You want to leave, Eddie? Then get the fuck out.”
Eddie stares like he’s been struck. Like this wasn’t the script he expected.
Buck steps closer—not threatening, just falling apart under the weight of the world.
“No, really.” His voice quivers. “Get out and don’t come back. I am so fucking tired of being something people get tired of.”
“Buck—” Eddie reaches for him. But Buck is already gone in the way that matters. Like the ground dropped out beneath him.
“I am so tired,” Buck whispers. “Do you get that? I am so fucking tired of trying and trying and trying and never being enough for anyone to stay. This is just—this is just the same thing again. It’s always the same thing.”
Eddie steps forward—slow, careful—like Buck is standing on a ledge.
“Buck, listen to me, okay—”
“NO!” Buck snaps as he steps back again, hands in his hair like he needs something to anchor him. “I tried so hard not to make this about me. I tried to be quiet and small and useful. I tried to grieve the right way this time. I tried to be what Bobby needed. What the team needed. What you needed. And I still got it wrong!”
Buck’s breathing turns uneven.
“You think I wanted to make this about me?” His voice cracks. “You think I don’t know how exhausting I am? I already know I make everything worse. I know I made this whole thing harder. I know I’m exhausting and loud and dramatic and broken and that you can’t keep doing this. I get it.”
Eddie’s eyes shine. “Buck, that’s not—”
“I’ve been trying not to be. I’ve been trying so goddamn hard to be small and quiet and fine and not take up space because everything I touch is too much. I’ve been trying to not be one more thing you have to fix. I tried so fucking hard not to break. But I’m broken, Eddie. I am broken, and it is so loud, and I can’t make it stop.”
His hands shake. He doesn’t notice.
“Buck, you’re not broken,” Eddie breathes. “You’re grieving, and you’re—”
“I was literally made to fix people,” Buck gasps, voice unraveling. “And I can’t even do that right. I mess everything up. I make everything about me even when I’m trying not to. I can’t— I can’t do anything right.”
His breath shudders.
“Bobby told me you’d need me. That you’d all need me,” Buck whispers. “He said I’d be okay and that you’d need me. So I tried. I tried to be steady and useful. To be whatever I’m supposed to be now that he’s gone. But you don’t need me. Neither does Chimney or Hen or Maddie or Athena. I was just trying to make sure everyone was okay and instead I made it worse. They don’t need me. You don’t need me. And Bobby said I would be alright but I’m not.”
Eddie is breaking, too. Tears spill silently.
“Buck—please—”
“It should’ve been me,” Buck whispers. “It should’ve been me that died that day instead of Bobby.”
“What? Evan, please…stop—” Eddie’s voice cracks like something tearing.
“No one needs me,” Buck says, calm in the worst possible way. “But God, I need him. I need my dad. I need him. And it would’ve been better. It all would’ve been better if he made it out and I didn’t.”
Eddie’s face breaks open. “Don’t say that—”
“I know you would’ve preferred it, Eddie.” No anger. Just truth, as he understands it. “I’m no one. Just defective parts. But Bobby? Bobby matters. He’s the heart of everyone. And I know you would’ve rather had him.”
Buck looks down, unable to look Eddie in the eye.
His chest rises like breathing costs something.
“So go to Texas, Eddie. You have everything there. Your kid. Your family. Your home. Your whole life. All the things you lost and got back. You won. You get to be happy. You get to be a firefighter again and there’s nothing tying you here anymore. I won’t say anything or chase after you. I just… I’m really happy for you. I always wanted you to be happy. If I’m allowed to say that. God, I don’t even know what I’m allowed to feel anymore.”
“Allowed?” Eddie whispers. “God, Buck, I’m—”
“It’s okay.” Buck smiles, small and exhausted. “Just go to Texas. Live the life you chose. I won’t run after you or make a scene. I won’t make this about me. I won’t… I won’t be the reason you stay unhappy.”
Eddie can’t breathe.
“It’s okay,” Buck says. “Tell Chris I love him. And that I’m sorry.”
He turns before Eddie can saying anything. He doesn’t rush. There’s no slamming, no dramatic stomp, no final glance over his shoulder.
He walks to the door like his body is finally figuring out how to leave first instead of staying for ghosts…remnants of a past life.
The door opens.
The door closes.
Quiet. Final. Like the end of a prayer.
The house doesn’t move for a moment.
It just goes still again. That awful, unnatural still.