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gooondocks · 3 days ago

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and if your heart wears thin — evan buckley.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: after taking an unfortunate spill on the job, buck's fiancé decides that life is too short to wait any longer.

─── pairing: evan buckley x gn!reader.

─── warnings & notes: angsty angst and then fluffy fluff. near death experience, descriptions of drowning and rescuscitation, brief mention of needles (not graphic), incorrect medical procedure for Plot purposes. no use of y/n. title is from 'beside you' by marianas trench. this starts out with some mild peril but devolves into some of the fluffiest shit i've ever written so. enjoy. not proofread bc i'm lazy.

─── word count: 3.9k.

YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN EXPECTING IT, is the thing.

The callout comes about halfway through the shift. Intoxicated male on the boardwalk at Echo Park Lake, bleeding from a head wound, having tripped getting out of one those damn swan boats. Dispatch warns that he’s been hostile and combative to both employees and civilians on scene, and that a police unit has also been sent to assist.

So really, you should have been expecting it. Aggressive patients aren't exactly rare in your line of work, unfortunately. Hell, this wasn’t even the first confrontational call you attended this week. So you're pretty used to being on your guard on these kinds of calls.

Except.

You turned your back for only a second, just to grab something from the medkit. Buck and Eddie are doing their best to coax the patient onto the gurney, gritting their teeth as he hurls slurred curses their way. Hen quietly asks you to grab the pulse oximeter out of the bag, and so you turn, crouching down at the edge of the dock to rummage through the kit.

You’re not sure what causes it. Why the patient decided to lash out at that exact moment. But there’s a gruff roar behind you and the man flails, edging around Eddie to give you an almighty shove. Crouched like this, your center of gravity suddenly shifts. You lose your balance.

And then you're in the water.

Panic floods your body as you breach the surface. It's instinct to gasp for air, except there isn't any; you take in a lungful of the lake instead, sputtering and hacking beneath the water as you try to kick towards daylight.

It’s deeper than you thought it would be, so close to the shore. You keep kicking and kicking, but your boots never scrape the bottom, nor do you find the surface. It’s cold, too. Colder than you thought possible, in a lake in the middle of Los Angeles. But it’s winter now, you suppose. A grim, chilly February. Most of it has been spent curled up beneath a blanket with Buck, the pair of you ensconced in your cosy apartment.

The past week has been overcast and windy. And the water is never as warm as the air temperature. Buck laughs every time you run into the surf at the beach, squealing at the sudden, sharp chill of it lapping at your skin.

How cold can a human body become before it’s dangerous?

You try to remember, but cold water curls around your limbs like heavy iron shackles, dragging you down. You can’t remember. Buck would know. Buck wouldn’t even have to think about it, he’d just reel off the answer in a heartbeat, and you’d smile proudly and kiss his cheek and insist, once again, that you should do a quiz night at your wedding reception.

Your lungs are burning. God, your whole body’s just screaming for air, but you can’t find it. There isn’t any. Just endless, depthless water and the occasional wink of sunlight, mocking you from high above, then gone again. Never around long enough for you to find it. Never long enough to save you.

Instinctively, you suck in another breath. Another barrage of lakewater floods your lungs. Dark spots start speckling across your vision.

On the dock, Buck is screaming.

He’d had one hand on the patient’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle as he helped Eddie guide the guy onto the stretcher. You’d ducked out of sight for a moment, but Buck had been focused on subduing the patient. He tried not to grimace as waves of hot, rancid beer breath crashed over him.

Then, with a strength that surprised them, the man wrenched out of Buck’s grasp and staggered away from them. Buck doesn’t think he shoved you on purpose, but it didn’t matter; one moment you were suspended, wobbling dangerously close to the edge of the dock, and the next—

The next, you were gone.

The patient’s still yelling nonsensically, curses and insults blending together into one unintelligible mess, but all Buck can hear is white noise. He blinks, but you’re still missing. He sees the gurney, the patient, Chimney’s pale face, the ripples spreading over the surface of the lake.

But no you.

Terror bolts through him, and without hesitation he’s sprinting to the edge of the dock. No, no, no. Ragged breaths tear out of his lungs as he scans the surface of the water, frantically searching for any sign of you.

You’re okay, you’re okay, he repeats under his breath, over and over. Any moment now, your head will bob into view, and you’ll shoot him a waterlogged scowl, and he’ll laugh at you doing your best impression of a drowned cat, and everything will be okay.

But the seconds tick by, one excruciating breath after another. There’s no sign of you.

Buck shouts your name. A heart-wrenching cry. No, no, no.

The rest of the team leap into action. Some of them load the patient quickly into the ambulance while Bobby radios for another RA unit. Eddie scrambles to grab the life preserver as Buck tears off his jacket, kicks the heavy boots off his feet. Hen and Chimney prepare their equipment for the worst.

Please. Please. Buck doesn’t believe in God, but he spares a moment to pray before diving into the lake after you.

The current catches him off-guard, tugging harshly at his clothes. It rained a lot earlier this week, so the lakes and rivers around Los Angeles are more swollen than usual, but the strength of it sends a spark of fear zipping up his spine. Falling in here, disoriented and panicking…

He can barely make out your figure through the water’s murky gloom. Kicking hard, he swims down to you, loops strong arms around your waist. Wrapped in Buck’s unrelenting grip, he drags you back to the surface.

“Eddie!” Buck calls out as he breaks through. Eddie wastes no time in tossing the life preserver towards him, who grabs hold of it with one hand, his other arm coiled tightly around your limp body, trying to keep your head above water.

Bile rises in his throat as your clammy skin presses against his. You’re so cold. Panic wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes, hard, with every inch he gets closer to shore.

Eddie and Bobby are quick to pull you both back to the dock, using the life preserver as a tow line. Hauling you out of the water, Buck lowers you gently to the ground. Your head rolls limply sideways, your face unnaturally pale, lips tinged blue from lack of oxygen.

“They’re not breathing,” Hen murmurs worriedly. She sets the pulse ox on your finger while Chimney tries a sternal rub. You don’t flinch. “Respiratory arrest. Starting CPR.”

Buck hovers at the edge of things. His chest is tight like a vise, steadily squeezing all the air of his lungs and replacing it with cold, slippery dread. He watches Hen and Chimney work over you, counts the reps in his head alongside them.

He can’t tear his focus from your hands. They’re so still. Like a doll.

Or a corpse.

Please. You can’t leave him. You can’t. He hasn’t had enough time. You’re supposed to be getting married. Walk down the aisle together, spend a lifetime together. You were talking about getting a dog just last night. Planned a trip to the shelter for your next Saturday off. You were going to ask Chris to come with.

And between one breath and the next, all of that could just be… gone.

“Buck.” Eddie clasps a hand on Buck’s shoulder, wrapping a blanket around him to stave off the chill. Oh. He’s shivering, hands quivering at his sides, soaked clothes clinging to his skin. The blanket is tiny compared to Buck’s broad frame, but it’s something, at least. “Buck, breathe.”

On the ground, Hen keeps administering rescue breaths. Every few seconds, she'll pause to check your response, but you remain frighteningly still every time.

Buck can’t breathe until you do. He can’t.

He feels so hyper-aware of everything around, the onslaught hitting all at once. The crowd of nosy onlookers gathered at the end of the dock, held back by frazzled park employees and a few other members of the 118. The wind ghosting over his skin, chilled gusts that ruffle his damp curls and creep beneath the blanket seeking wet skin to freeze.

But most all, you. Always you. He can’t look away.

Eddie’s hand on his shoulder feels like a tether, not quite breaking him from his thoughts completely but keeping him from falling over the edge of the precipice.

“Buck, breathe.”

His whole body shudders as does, finally, sucking a ragged breath into screaming lungs. His vision blurs just slightly. He blinks to clear it.

You’ll make it. He cannot allow himself to think the worst. He won’t give up on you, won’t acknowledge the dark thoughts creeping in from the corners of his mind. You’ll make it. You have to.

"Come on, kid," Chimney whispers as Hen administers another round of rescue breaths. "Come on, kid, you've got this—"

And then between one second and the next, your whole body jolts, and you're vomiting out lungfuls of water. Hen rolls you onto your side, rubbing a soothing palm along your back as you wretch onto the ground.

"That's it, baby, get it all out," she murmurs. You're gasping and hacking and sputtering lakewater all over the place, still not quite conscious, lips still a little blue and face still startlingly pale, but at least you're breathing.

A wave of relief crashes over Buck and it almost takes him out at the knees. His heart’s still racing dangerously in his chest, trying to break past his ribs to reach you, and his hands still shake, but you’re breathing again.

You’re breathing.

He sways a little as his legs go weak. Buck feels lightheaded just witnessing you expel all that water, and sudden nausea grips his stomach in a vice. But he fights through it, unwilling to take his eyes off you for even a moment, even as his vision begins to blur again.

Tears gather along his lash line, threatening to fall. He remains silent, not trusting that he won’t dissolve into tears the moment he opens his mouth.

You’re still gagging, heaving onto the deck, but at least there’s no more water.

He’s itching to reach out, touch you, feel your pulse flutter beneath his fingers to prove he’s not hallucinating. His hand twitches just slightly, like he almost does, but he feels rooted to the ground.

Body wracked with violent tremors, you start to relax back onto the ground, limbs limp and leaden, throat and lungs burning like wildfire from the water you expelled. Your breath hitches every few seconds, still shallow and slow, so Hen fixes an oxygen mask to your face as Chimney mutters something about getting you to a hospital just as the second ambulance arrives on scene.

You don't hear any of that. Blinking once, twice, the light is bright enough to make you squint as your mind swims hazily between waking and unconsciousness. Your head is pounding. You feel like you got hit by a goddamn truck. A pained moan whines out of you as you squeeze your eyes closed again to block out the weak, grey daylight.

Buck bites his lip bloody as he watches you drift, your eyelids fluttering and your slow, stuttering breaths. His eyes are fixed on the oxygen mask. With every exhale, it turns foggy with condensation, and another knot of worry in his chest starts to loosen, but it’s not enough to put him at ease. Not yet.

He’ll calm down only once you’ve been checked over at the hospital. Preferably with a second (or third) opinion, just in case.

“Buck.” Eddie’s grip on his shoulder tightens momentarily as he nudges Buck gently forward. “They need you.”

On the ground, you're only semi-conscious, still not fully aware of your surroundings. But you feel like you're looking for someone. Like there's someone missing, and you reach out blindly with one cold, trembling hand.

Buck’s own fingers flex in response, but his legs still feel too heavy. He looks to Eddie, who nods at him, before Buck allows himself to be pushed towards you.

Eddie’s right. You need him.

Stumbling forward, he drops down to his knees, a dull thud echoing up from the wood that nearly makes him wince. He edges closer, eyes flicking all over your face, taking in your gaunt, washed out features, that cyan tint to your lips, the way you’re reaching out to him.

Slowly, so slowly, he hesitantly takes your hand in his, curling careful fingers around yours. He squeezes tightly, and then it’s like he’s afraid someone will steal you away from him, because his grip turns almost tight enough to bruise.

“I’m here, baby.”

The hand encircling yours is warm and huge and comfortingly familiar, and when his voice drifts over you, something in your mind flickers with recognition. Your eyes flutter as you search for him, ignoring the way the light feels like skewers in your brain. "Buck?" Muffled by the oxygen mask, your voice is barely more than a whisper, throat rubbed raw from expelling the water.

"Let's get her on a gurney." Hen is all business, but there's a soft, relieved smile on her face. "We'll start an IV of warm fluids in the ambulance to bring your body temp up. You weren’t down for too long, but I want to get you checked by a doctor soon in case there's any neurological issues."

She’s addressing you, but it’s Buck who’s listening, taking in what she’s saying. He squeezes your hand again, trying to be a tether to consciousness as you weakly nod. He watches as your eyes search for him again.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs softly, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

It’s more to reassure himself than anything.

They're quick to transfer you to a gurney, and soon you're being wheeled towards the ambulance. Buck's hand in yours is a comforting anchor to reality, even as your whole body aches with pain.

"Cold," you mutter once the doors have closed. Chimney's driving. Buck's in the back with you and Hen. You wouldn't have let go of his hand if they'd even tried to separate you, but they didn’t.

Buck watches over you like he’s scared you’ll stop breathing if looks away. The lines of his fave are still creased with worry, but his thumb is soft, tracing soothing, mindless circles over your skin.

When you speak his head snaps up slightly, eyes immediately locking with yours as you call out for him, murmuring in a raspy voice that you’re cold.

“I know, it’s okay. Here, let me.” Hen wordlessly passes him a heated blanket and he’s gentle as he strips you of your wet shirt. Expertly avoiding the leads and tubes attached to your body, he tucks it around you, still holding your hand all the while.

"Mm." You make a small, pleased noise as the blanket's warmth envelops you. It barely registers when Hen reaches across to take your other hand, wincing a little as she inserts a cannula to start you on an IV of warm fluids.

"ER is ten minutes out," she murmurs quietly, and settles back to monitor your vital signs, offering you and Buck a little privacy.

You're still shivering beneath the blanket, even as the warmth of it starts seeping into your bones, but that's more of an aftereffect of drowning than actual cold. You squeeze your fiancé's hand as hard as you can. "Buck?"

“Right here, baby,” he murmurs softly, squeezing right back. His free hand moves to your head, fingers gently running through your damp, tangled hair.

"Wanna marry you."

The words that spill out of you are little more than a mumble, your eyes still closed, face still hidden beneath the oxygen mask. Soaked strands of hair drip murky lake water onto the floor.

Buck is already your fiancé. You're already engaged. But there's an urgency settling in your gut, twisting up your insides in the worst way.

You want— no, need to marry him.

As soon as possible.

It takes a few seconds to understand what you said, but when the words finally register, it feels like they’ve grown talons that tear right into his chest. The urgency in your tone makes his eyes still, and his heart starts to race all over again, threatening to beat right out of his chest so it can live next to yours.

Eyes softening, he moves his hand from your hair to rest his index finger under your chin, gently tracing his thumb over your lip.

“Marry me, huh?” he mumbles softly. You’d never be able to tell that on the inside, his brain is screaming gleefully that he’d marry you right now if Hen were ordained.

He taps your nose over the oxygen mask, and if you were a little more awake (and not encumbered by the oxygen mask), you’d nip at his finger, a playful smile toying at your lips.

Instead, you make the cutest grumbling sound he’s ever heard. "Mm. Now.” Your engagement ring is tucked safely in your locker back at the station, replaced on shift by a black silicone band that won't get damaged on a call.

You squeeze his hand again, tugging insistently on it. Blinking against the harsh light of the ambulance, your gaze finds his, eyes still foggy and unfocused. “Marry me.”

If another day passes before you’re married to this man, you may actually lose your mind.

Butterflies swirl around Buck’s stomach, a far cry from nausea that rolled through him not that long ago. The small smile on your lips and the way you’re tugging on his hand make him feel all warm and gooey.

He laughs softly at you, tapping his finger against your nose again. “Right now? We’re gonna get married right now? With you in the hospital?” He’s got no hope of masking the amusement in his tone. He wants to marry you yesterday. His eyes sparkle as he looks down at you with a quirked brow.

You nod a little, trying not to wince as that sets off the pounding in your head. God, you pity those who get regular migraines. This is torture, and you only suffered a little oxygen deprivation!

But Buck is smiling.

He’s smiling and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You thought you'd never see it again. You want to see that smile every moment for the rest of your life

"Mm-hm," you mumble, leaning into his touch. "Eddie can be flower girl. Wedding night in a hospital room. Scandalise the nurses."

You're not sure how much of that was coherent, but you hear Hen snort, so you figure it was mostly audible.

Buck’s grin broadens at your suggestion, but he bites his tongue to stifle the laugh bubbling in his chest. “Scandalise the nurses, huh.” He glances at Hen out of the corner of his eye, catching her trying to smother a similar smile.

You huff at him, as if he’s being particularly difficult. As if you didn’t almost die twenty minutes ago. As if there aren’t more important things to focus on than the elopement you’ve suddenly decided you need.

Besides. They’re nurses. You’re pretty sure they’ve seen worse.

“Sucked your dick in the broom closet at work,” you mutter, your eyes falling closed again as warmth and safety wrap you up like a swaddled baby. “We’re pretty scandalous, baby.”

Hen is barely able to muffle her squawk in time, hand clapped over her mouth, and you can't help but smile at the bright sound of it. You're sleepy, and you've got no filter, but at least everyone else gets to enjoy it.

Buck, meanwhile, almost chokes on his own saliva. Eyes wide, jaw slack, a rosy flush creeps up his neck. It’s Hen’s reaction that makes him laugh, though, and he finally lets it out, quiet but affectionate as it tumbles from his lips.

He shakes his head a little as he looks back down at you. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” His thumb keeps tracing lightly over the back of your hand, and the expression on his face is impossibly soft, his heart still racing in his chest.

"Eddie in a pretty pink flower girl dress," you mumble, nonsensical images flitting through your mind of your friend drowning in tulle. You sigh. "You'd still be prettier. Just wanna marry you."

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel warmer than any blanket. You feel like you’re floating on a cloud instead of stretched out on a gurney in the back of an ambulance.

You want nothing more than to curl up in his arms right now, at home in your bed. This situation is certainly not ideal.

"Bet we could get Eddie to wear a dress." More sleepy grumbles. You try to roll over, shuffle closer to your fiancé, but annoyingly, your body feels far too heavy to cooperate. "Play the I nearly drowned card. That would work. Bobby can officiate. Hen gets the cake. Can't wait another day."

Buck snorts at the idea of Eddie in a dress, but his heart feels so full it’s like his body can barely contain it. The urge to wrap you up in his arms, to hold you close and never let go, hits him like a baseball bat to the head.

“We gotta wait until you’re able to talk without being a smartass,” he says teasingly, tapping your nose again.

You whine, frowning like a grumpy, tired child. “Then we’ll never get married.”

Truly, if you have to wait for until the day you stop being a smartass, the world might end first.

You look over at Hen through sleepy, puppy dog eyes. "Back me up here, Hen." You're so drowsy, exhaustion pulling you into its delicious embrace, but you’re pretty sure you'll remember all of this when you wake up.

Hen certainly will, at least.

A slow, sly smile creeps onto her face. Buck feels distinctly like he’s being ganged up on. For once, he really doesn’t mind.

"Well, we as a firehouse are well-known for our impromptu party planning..." Hen recalls her vow renewal, and Chimney's wedding to Maddie, and every back-to-work celebration she ever organised. They are pretty damn good at this. "As long as the doctors clear you, I don't see why we can't plan a shotgun wedding in your hospital room."

A triumphant, extremely sleepy grin spreads across your face, and you look back at Buck. "So marry me, hotshot."

He huffs a melodramatic sigh, as if this is the world’s biggest inconvenience for him, but he cannot hide the way his ears turn pink, the way his whole body lights up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

“A shotgun hospital wedding it is,” he says, bright with glee as he lifts your hand to his mouth, brushing a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

With that settled, contentment curls up beneath your ribs like a cat in a patch of sunlight, and you doze off into a dreamless sleep, feeling like the luckiest person alive.

#evan buckley x reader #evan 'buck' buckley x reader #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley imagine #evan 'buck' buckley imagine #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 imagine #9-1-1 fanfic #* ollie's work.

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