Chapter Text
Buck closed Steve's laptop with a solemn air. He'd just sent off the last email that would start the process of reinstating him as an active duty navy SEAL. There had been a bit of back and forth about what exactly they were offering him and if officer candidate school was still on the table.
It was.
Nothing had been signed yet, but that was simply a formality. He would return to team 5 under the same commander, which was a relief. He would not lead what was left of his old platoon, and maybe that was for the best. Returning to your old command after being commissioned could be tricky. It's not that he didn't trust those men; he didn't want to change their friendship.
Buck sat back on the couch with a sigh and stroked the laptop lid absentmindedly. He'd never thought he'd take this step again, but people at the LAFD -and especially captain Nash- had made firefighting a difficult proposition right now. After his commission, the work field would be wide open for him, though, even if anyone held grudges. A SEAL officer who helped lead a search and rescue unit for five years, who broke records twice at one of the best fire academies in the country, and who already had experience with firefighting previously would be a coveted employee.
Buck smiled grimly when he imagined the utter disbelief of the 118 if they ever found out he was a special warfare operator.
After their initial reaction when they learned of his training, he had let them infer that he'd been too emotional to become a SEAL. That he couldn't flip that switch and compartmentalise.
It was a lie.
Well, technically, he hadn't lied. He'd simply kept his mouth shut. But still.
True, Buck was an emotional man, and it had made his instructors dismissive about him, too, at the time. However, Buck had grown up in a neglectful and abusive home. He had learned to move through the house like a ghost and switch off his feelings whenever his mother was on a tear about him. Because God forbid he showed any negative sentiments at getting verbally eviscerated.
He'd learned the only safe place to cry was alone in his bedroom when no one else was home or awake.
It had prepared him oddly well for his training. He could endure -without support- for a long time.
Yes, theoretically, he could have gone to his sister for help as a child. She would have listened and comforted him.
And then she would have done her absolute best to persuade him that their parents truly loved him; they were just bad at showing it.
It was a complete mindfuck, and -eventually- the gaslighting vastly outweighed the benefits of her comfort. Not that he could articulate it at the time. To this day, he doubted his own feelings and was a little too ready to believe his reality wasn't as bad as he thought.
It left him wide open for abuse.
Fortunately, his former SEAL team -and his CO in particular- had been vigilant, and with their support, he began to heal and recognise the red flags.
Unfortunately, somehow, he never made the connection that friends and colleagues might be abusive, too.
What a clusterfuck.
Buck wanted to call himself an idiot, but Steve was super vigilant about that as well and managed to pierce Buck with a stern look whenever his self-talk turned too negative. He set the laptop on the coffee table and glanced discreetly around the living room.
And then he remembered that Steve and Danny were at work.
With a flush, Buck retreated to the kitchen to prepare some more iced tea. Danny loved his green tea variant.
---
Steve and Buck were walking back from the ocean, each with a surfboard under their arm and a bounce in their step. They'd just spent hours playing in the ocean and enjoying the sun.
Coming to Hawaii had helped dissolve the last of Buck's fears caused by the tsunami. He'd only panicked two times -once right outside the water and once in it- and both of those had involved Danny's daughter, Grace. In hindsight, that trigger was to be expected. Each time he'd gotten himself together before Steve even had to interfere and, weirdly enough, losing his shit was what finally gave him his confidence back.
What happened would happen. He was alert, he was trained, and he was in peak condition. That's all he had control over. Disaster would come when it decided to come, and the only thing he could do was face it to the best of his abilities.
He'd learned from his mistake, and he would never repeat it.
Ever so slowly, Buck's lazy prowl had returned. He'd boxed that part of himself up when he settled back into civilian life, but he wouldn't make such a foolish mistake again. Shaping yourself to suit other's expectations never worked, and that message had finally sunk in.
"Come on, come on. Tell me more!" Buck bounced on the beach and shoved Steve lightly. The other man happily obliged, always eager to talk about Danny. He'd even managed to imitate the man's expansive arm gestures and accent perfectly.
Looking up and seeing Danny watching them from the lanai with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a foot tapping impatiently was hilarious. Buck slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter while Steve coughed into his fist and tried to look innocent.
"Busted!" Buck crowed.
That -obviously- needed to be punished with a noogie and a face full of sand.
---
They were both grinning and panting spreadeagled on the beach when Danny stomped over with cool bottles of water and a -short- rant about proper hydration and 'heathens not even managing to surf without devolving into displays of barbaric behaviour'.
Buck glanced at Steve and snickered at his starry-eyed look. God, his old CO had it bad.
They'd made it through their water -and Danny stomping back inside the house 'so he could wait for the takeout delivery somewhere he wouldn't melt away and evaporate into the ether'- before Steve turned his face towards Buck. The man caught Buck's gaze and waited until a hush fell over them.
"You ready for active duty?"
Buck should have known that question was coming. He sighed and looked away, fingers nervously playing with the bottle cap. "I'm afraid my moral objections when it comes to killing will fuck things up," he said.
Steve was silent for a long moment. "You're trained, and you maintained that training. It won't fail you," he assured Buck. "I always thought your dislike of killing made you a better killer," he added after a time.
Buck sucked in a harsh breath and swallowed heavily at that proclamation. "Jesus," he grimaced.
"You don't take pleasure in taking a life; you don't even get a sense of victory. It's a terrible duty to you, and you only do it to protect people. It makes you work quick and clean without the risk of losing yourself," Steve continued. He grabbed Buck's hand and gave it a squeeze.
"I've seen all sorts. I've seen the ones who enjoy it, and that's dangerous. In the field and back stateside. I've also seen the ones who don't care, where the opponent is simply an obstacle. A piece of meat. The emptiness in their eyes is just as chilling."
Steve let out a long, slow breath, and Buck matched him. "You mourn them still, don't you?" His former CO asked quietly.
Buck looked up at the sky and nodded. "Yeah. The last day of the year, I burn a candle and hold a vigil." His mouth trembled, and he blinked away a few tears. "I mourn the potential lost and grieve for the loved ones they left behind. And I wish them well in whatever comes next," he admitted roughly.
Steve lifted an arm in invitation. "Come here, son," he murmured. Buck crawled over and melted into the hug Steve gave him. He lost the battle with his tears, but he knew Steve wouldn't mind. This man had seen Buck at his best and his worst from a far too young age. He'd protected him, he'd supported him, and he'd raised Buck to be the best person he could be.
He was the father of his heart.
Steve gazed at the few white clouds drifting by. "You're a better man than I'll ever be, pup," he said eventually. "I don't think about them at all anymore. Not after the first few times. They're dead, and we're not, and that's all I care about." He shrugged a shoulder, and Buck knew this was how most career military dealt with it. "I like the hunt, though. I love winning. I always have to keep myself in check, and if I ever cross that line, I know I can never touch a weapon again," Steve confessed.
Buck stared up at Steve's face and processed the other man's words. "I won't let you cross it, dad. I'll pull you back by the short and curlies if I have to," he said solemnly.
Then Buck made a face because that imagery was just awful. "Ok, that came out wrong. I don't want to touch your dick."
Steve snickered like a preteen schoolboy hearing a dirty joke. "I wasn't going to mention it, but I don't want you to touch my dick either." He glanced over and burst out laughing at Buck's constipated look of disgust, and before long, Buck followed.
Left unspoken between them was the knowledge that, most of all, Buck feared success. That he would compartmentalise, and do his duty, and leave a trail of death in his wake. And one day, simply stop caring.
Steve pulled Buck closer and pressed a kiss to his head. "You'll always mourn them, pup. You haven't stopped after all these years, and you never will. It's what sets you apart. It's a hard road to walk, son, though I know you won't choose differently."
Buck felt something settle at that. Because it was a choice: to kill and to grieve. He didn't begrudge others how they dealt with their jobs, but this was his way.
---
"Food's here! If your asses aren't parked at the dining table in two minutes, I'm going to eat all the dumplings!" Danny shouted from the lanai.
Both men startled out of their comfortable sprawls. They looked at each other with narrowed eyes, calculating whether they could faceplant the other into the sand to gain a headstart -within the time limit.
"One minute! I've already eaten a dumpling!" Danny's volume was rising.
Hell no.
Steve and Buck both sprung up at that and sprinted towards the house with only minimal jostling.
Danny would keep his promise.