He'd been back with the 118 for a couple days and things were already a steaming hot pile of shit. Seriously, the cold shoulder, the shitty chores, the being man-behind more often than not he'd expected. He'd expected all of it, he knew he'd fucked up with the lawsuit. Sure, it'd worked sort of, but at the cost of his family's ire and distrust.
Which was fair, he hadn't meant for Chase Mackey to do what he did during the arbitration, but he still shouldn't have given their secrets away so easily. They might've been able to get past the whole lawsuit thing a lot quicker if not for that.
He had one saving grace though, Henrietta Wilson. She still sort of held him at arms length, which was fair due to the aforementioned huge breach of trust, but she still treated him kindly, fondly even. Like he was still her favourite golden retriever. Maybe just in the doghouse for the time being.
He'd literally been man behind almost the whole time for his first three shifts until fate forced Bobby's hand. One of the guys on their team, Ronaldo, had gotten sick with some sort of bug during their 24-hour. Which meant that he had to be man-behind until a replacement could come in to cover for him. Ergo, Buck was back on duty for at least an hour.
During that hour, they got a call, which Buck had not been hoping for, because that would be shitty, but he hadn't exactly not not been hoping for maybe just an easy call, where no one was hurt. Just to get out of the firehouse for just a little bit. Ultimately, his hopes were between him and God.
God apparently didn't like his hopes very much, because he sent them to a fucking preschool on fire.
It was awful, easily one of if not the worst call he'd ever worked. 4 people died. 3 kids and one teacher that'd ran back in for them after breaking through the damn barricade right before the whole building collapsed.
Not to mention all the screaming kids with serious burns and other injuries, or the two firefighters from the 134 who were still in the hospital days later.
Buck didn't think he'd ever sleep again, or keep food down for that matter.
And all he could think of when he saw the parents searching desperately for their children, was Christopher and the burn of salt water and screaming and searching.
And he couldn't see Christopher. He couldn't see or talk to the kid at all because of the stupid fucking lawsuit.
It made him want to scream, to cry, to throw up, to throw a giant fucking temper tantrum like a toddler. He'd already done enough damage with his last temper tantrum that'd led to a lawsuit though, so he simply told himself to suck it up and take what was coming to him, like a man.
And if his inner voice sounded a bit like Eddie, then that was neither here nor there.
Two days later, he showed up for their next shift and as soon as everyone was there Bobby called them all up to the loft. He sat them down at the table, Bobby at the head, Hen was sat to his left, Buck beside her, and Chim and Eddie across from them.
Bobby had a couple papers sat in front of him in a file and he cleared his throat before he began. "As you're all aware, the incident from a few days ago wasn't...." He trailed off as if looking for a word, "ideal." He decided with a grimace.
Buck held back a derisive snort at the ridiculous word choice.
"Because of the emotional and psychological trauma that a scenario like that is likely to cause." Bobby continues stiffly, and Buck had a pit in his stomach at the idea of where this is going, "The chief has mandated that we all attend a minimum of five therapy sessions."
Eddie groans and Chim slaps his arm playfully, "C'mon Cap, really?"
"Yes really, Eddie. There's no shame in seeing a therapist." Bobby replies easily, ever the captain.
"Especially not if you're being forced to by your boss." Chim mutters and Eddie snorts. Buck sees Hen roll her eyes good-naturedly.
"These are everyone's assignments," Bobby continued, handing out the sheets to everyone, "We were all assigned the same therapist, and there's also a suggested calendar for your visits, but feel free to call and change any that you can't make it to. Failure to attend these meetings without rescheduling will result in suspension."
There were more groans from everyone at that, "Hey, chief's orders, not mine. Although, therapy is very important and I suggest you utilise your time well and feel free to schedule further appointments if you feel that it's necessary."
There were even more groans at that, "Not the therapy spiel again." Eddie moaned and Chim chuckled while Bobby sent the two a fake glare. Hen was smiling fondly at the three of them.
And Buck, well, Buck was doing his best not the throw up, because the therapist on his sheet was Dr. Wells. He set the paper down and slid his hands under the table to hide their shaking.
"Umm, Captain Nash?" He swallowed quickly to hide his nerves when everyone turned to stare at him, "Can I request that I not go to therapy with her, Sir?"
"You have to go to therapy Buck. It's literally required by the chief." Bobby said, a bit unkindly, but tone still professional.
"No, I understand that." Buck nodded, "I was just asking to maybe see a different therapist and not the department one. I can find one and set it up myself if need be."
"Are you too good to see the same therapist as the rest of us?" One of the other guys, Jenkins, asks, tone derisive.
Buck wasn't even sure why he was at the table with them. He hadn't been on the call and was therefore not mandated to go to the therapy.
"No, that isn't it either." Buck said, trying to figure out a good way to word this.
"Then what is the problem firefighter Buckley?" Bobby asks.
"She just," he paused trying to think of an explanation other than the truth, they didn't need to know about anything else that he'd fucked up right now, "isn't a good therapist." He finished weakly, and in a fit of bravery added, "I wouldn't recommend that any of you see her, actually."
"What does that mean?" Eddie asked harshly, and Buck tried to hide his discomfort.
Eddie had been a ball of barely suppressed anger lately. Not exclusively aimed at Buck, it seemed like a fairly constant state that he was trying to battle down.
"Just that she isn't any good, and I don't trust her." He muttered, bravery gone.
"That isn't actually a reason, Buckley." Jenkins pointed out, "Care to elaborate?"
"There isn't really much else to say." He replied trying to keep his voice even.
"Still isn't an answer." Jenkins shrugged, and god was he getting on Buck's nerves, although to be fair the guy had always sort of been a dick.
"I was just hoping for a different therapist. Preferably not a woman." He said, turning to Bobby.
He wasn't exactly sure why that would help, he was bi after all, but still it had been a woman last time and maybe it'd be easier to trust a male therapist after that.
"Do you not think a woman is capable of being trusted with that position." Bobby's voice was low and dangerous, making it clear that he wouldn't tolerate any sexism in his firehouse.
And he shouldn't tolerate it. Buck didn't dare look at Hen, he couldn't stand the possibility of her thinking he was sexist. That hadn't been what he'd meant though.
"No! No." Buck shook his head a bit desperately, "That wasn't what I meant, just- never mind."
"Good. Im not letting you skip out on real therapy by finding some crackshot on the internet who thinks petting puppies is a good substitute for actually talking to a professional." Bobby said, before turning to the table as a whole, "Alright then, now that that's settled, everyone get started on chores and I'll get started on breakfast."
Everyone got up, and Buck quickly made his way towards the stairs to go get started on some of the chores, anything to keep his mind off the therapy situation and his humiliation during the conversation. He just barely heard Hen before he propelled himself down the stairs.
"Can I speak to you in your office, Captain Nash." She demanded, voice hard and unwavering.
He didn't wait around to see what happened with that whole situation though, instead bolting down the stairs and to the supply closet where the cleaning supplies was. He decided that the mindless task of scrubbing the, admittedly already clean, vehicles would be enough to ground him and stop his panic.
So he wiped down the truck, and he got his panic under control. It's not like anything that terrible had happened anyways, no matter what his anxiety told him. He sucked it up, and he started figuring everything out. He honestly didn't ever want to see that woman again, but it seemed unavoidable. However, he also didn't want any of the others to see her, to potentially be put in the same position he'd been put in years ago.
He didn't know how to stop it from happening though, he couldn't very well go above Bobby's head to the chief and make the request for all of them. Not without being honest about what happened, which just wasn't an option, he was still in hot water after all. Boiling hot, honestly.
But he still needed to keep them safe, they were his family dammit. Even if they didn't want to be at the moment, he wasn't going to stop caring or protecting them.
Which left one option, other than killing Dr. Wells or something crazy. Which, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't considered at least burning down her office or something. Not with her or anyone inside it, obviously. He'd been a fire Marshall, he knew he could probably get away with it.
But this whole thing had started with a fire, and it certainly wasn't going to be fixed with one.
So, really only one reasonable option, well only one semi-reasonable option. Blackmail.
Which is how he found himself in the waiting room of her office building as soon as his 24 hour finished.
"Excuse me," he said to the receptionist, praying to god that this all worked out according to plan, "I'm here to see Dr. Wells."
"Of course sweetie, name please?" the lady said, and normally the term of affection wouldn't have bothered him, but right now everything was making his skin itch and the phrase was definitely rubbing him the wrong way.
He took a deep breath and plastered on a charming smile though and replied. "Evan Buckley."
She typed away at her computer for a second and then peered up at him through her glasses, "I'm sorry, but you don't seem to be on the schedule. Are you sure your appointment was today?"
"No ma'am," he explained, "I don't have an appointment, I'm just an old friend is all. Just go ahead and tell her my name and she'll want to see me."
The lady nodded and went back into the hallway behind her. Buck held his breath and crossed his fingers, hoping she remembered him. If not, he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do.
A minute later the receptionist returned though, with a polite smile, "Go ahead, dear, right down the hallway, third door on the right."
He thanked her and opened the patient's door between the waiting room and the hallway and followed it to the right door. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.
She was sitting behind her desk, looking almost entirely unchanged from the last time he'd seen her three years ago. She was staring back at him, expression scrutinizing.
"Mr. Buckley," she said, breaking the silence, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
He cringed internally at the wording but powered on, he couldn't show any weakness right now or else this wouldn't work.
"My team and I have been assigned to a few sessions each from you." He informed her, "and I have some concerns about your previous behavior during sessions."
Her calculating gaze hardened, knowing exactly what he was implying, "Well, I'll be happy to transfer you to another therapist if you're concerned about any personal issues interfering with your counseling."
"As much as I'd like that, no." He replied, her eyebrows shooting up, "My captain has made it clear that I am supposed to see you."
"Then what exactly brings you here?" She asks cooly, "Last I checked our appointment isn't scheduled for today."
"We are here to work out an arrangement." He tells her, "To put my mind at ease for how these sessions are going to be handled, for me as well as my team."
"And what arrangement would you suggest, exactly?" She leans back in her desk-chair, gaze assessing.
"You will share my team's therapy schedules with me, and for each of their sessions you will do your job from that chair over there or your desk." He says pointing, "You will not make any physical contact with any of them and you will keep your blinds open. I will be standing in the hall watching to make sure this all happens. Same deal for my sessions except there will be no talking, you can do your work at your desk or whatever and I'll stay on the couch and do my own."
She scoffed, "You realize that breaks several regulations, right?"
"Breaking regulations wouldn't be a first for you." He replied easily, with a scoff of his own.
"And why would I agree to this?" She asked, leaning forward so her elbows rested on the desk.
"Because if you don't, I'll tell everyone about what happened the last time we were in this office." He explained, "and that'd get you in quite a lot of trouble, wouldn't it? You know, sleeping with a client is actually considered statutory in the state of California, plus you'd definitely lose your license, and think of all the investigations. Who knows what else they'd turn up!"
"You really expect anyone you tell to believe you?" She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"That's just the beauty of it." Buck grinned ferociously, "They're required by law to investigate any formal complaints made. Plus, it's not as if I'm without evidence."
"What evidence could you possibly have?" She demanded, and Buck thought she looked just a little bit nervous.
"Hmmm, well not quite enough to decisively prove anything, just the session records, only one that lasted thirty minutes instead of an hour before I was cleared. Despite being set up for multiple, hour long sessions." True. "Plus the clothes I was wearing that day with your dna all over them." False, he'd washed them and thrown them away years ago. "Oh! And the Facebook request, dated." Sort of true, he was pretty sure he could find record of it, if necessary.
"What!" Her voice was strained.
"It's not quite enough to definitively prove anything on its own." He continued, "It'd most likely come down to a 'he said she said' scenario for any charges ultimately. Though I can promise it's enough for some serious investigations and to drag your name through the mud. Reputations are a hard thing to shake after all. Especially considering I know I wasn't the only one and I know a few others who might be willing to testify."
"What?" Dr. Wells asked, voice vacant and eyes shocked.
"First responders are terrible gossips." He said with a shrug, "Especially drunk, I know the names of plenty of the notches in your bedpost."
That wasn't exactly true, he only knew about one other. Judging by the look on her face though, Buck knew he'd been right on the money.
"And what about the consequences for you?" She replied, seemingly unwilling to give up just yet, "You think your team would ever look at you the same? I'd imagine no one would, crying wolf about the woman who hurt you? Oh, Please! As if you aren't some big strong fireman. You could've stopped me if you wanted to."
That stung. Quite a bit actually, but he wasn't going to let her see that.
He shrugged nonchalantly, "My team already hates me. I have nothing left to lose. Nice try though."
She stared at him for a minute, trying to puzzle him out, "Then why include them in the deal?"
"That's of no matter to you." He responded, "Do we have a deal or no?"
She considered for another minute, then nodded.
"Good, this is my phone number," he said putting a piece of paper with it written on it on her desk, "I expect the schedule by midnight, and I expect you to update me as soon as there are any changes."
After receiving a hesitant nod of affirmation, he turned on his heel and walked out the door. He makes his way down the hallway, waving goodbye to the secretary, and then to his jeep. He drives home in silence, barely making it up the stairs and into his apartment before he's beelining for his bathroom and hunching over the toilet to empty his stomach.
This was going to be an awful couple of weeks, but at least he was in control. He'd be able to protect his family.