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Buck slumped down on his couch and chucked his keys on the coffee table. So now he finally knew the truth about why the department was blocking his return to work. It was all under Bobby’s recommendation. Without him signing off on it, Buck would never return to the 118.It was a breathtaking betrayal, and one he still couldn’t really process. It had hurt when Maddie left – when she stopped contact with him, some years later – but even then, he had recognised that she had wanted her freedom from their parents. And also that Doug, and Buck’s dislike of him, was a wedge between them. It had hurt. Especially when he discovered what she’d suffered alone rather than run to Buck for sanctuary from him, years before it ever got so bad, but this was different kind of pain.This must be how people felt when they learned their spouse was cheating. Or that they were adopted. This blindside of a gut punch, coming out of nowhere to sweep away everything you thought you knew about the people who loved you.Buck had allowed himself to believe he’d found a home. He’d made the 118 his family, felt welcomed as such. They weren’t just colleagues and friends – Bobby and Eddie especially – they were truly bonded, with mutual respect and admiration and affection. At least, that was what he had believed.He thought about calling the union. Or that ambulance chaser lawyer. Let himself imagine it for a while, fighting and proving his case – the doctors had signed off on it, and he had recertified, after all – but then he let the idea go. He was a firefighter. It wasn’t just a job to Buck, not anymore, it was truly his calling, it was who he was. But he couldn’t be a firefighter with the 118.However he continued his career, it wouldn’t be with them.Buck allowed himself to bury his face in his hands, and let the sobs come out.After wallowing in depression a while, he decided that drinking or getting laid was not the way he was going to deal with this. Those were the kind of roads that led him to choices he distanced himself from so much, that he referred to his past self as Buck 1.0, as if he were some kind of robot.Buck needed new and better solutions. He chose to watch a long-ass film as a distraction instead, with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s for company. Buck had first watched the Lord of the Rings with Chris, which Eddie had deemed suitable, despite the trilogy being a little old for him. They’d not watched the extended versions, but now Buck decided to for the first time. As he had when watching the films with Chris, Buck found himself in awe of the landscapes the characters moved through.He was under no obligation to stay in LA, after all. He could go on holiday if he wanted. Where was it filmed? Maybe he could go hiking there. Absorb some of that majesty into himself.Buck googled his question and felt his heart sink. New Zealand?! Well, if he wasn’t just constantly shit out of luck these days.It was a ridiculous idea. Tickets to the other side of the world would destroy his entire savings. He wasn’t getting disability pay anymore. If Bobby had told him, flat out, not to bother recertifying because he wouldn’t have a job waiting for him afterwards, Buck might have delayed the process a little longer, while he worked out what the fuck to do. He didn’t have the luxury of time now. He still had rent, and bills…But the thought kept circling back to him, over the next few days. What was stopping him from travelling again? South America had been incredible. He didn’t regret one moment. What was keeping him here, really?Chris was having nightmares. But he didn’t need Buck the way he needed Eddie. He could still call, write. Send gifts, maybe.When was the last time Buck had done something for himself, just him? Didn’t he deserve to go “looking for” himself the same way Abby had? He wasn’t letting anyone down. No one would be pining at home after him. What the hell did he have to lose?He didn’t go on a whim. After all, he hated when people just upped and ran away from him. And Buck was many things, but he wasn’t a hypocrite.“I’m leaving LA,” he told Eddie first, “For a while.”Eddie’s head snapped toward him sharply, his face full of concern.“Where are you going?”Buck shrugged, “Travelling seemed to work for Abby. I thought I’d give it a try. The world’s a big place, and I’ve only seen a few pieces.”Eddie hummed, picking at the label on his beer bottle. They were silent for a long time, just soaking in the quiet atmosphere of being together. Buck loved that it could be so simple with someone else. Maddie would be protesting, hopping mad. The rest of team might be trying to talk him out of it or make recommendations, depending on their mood. But Eddie just accepted it, calmly, and didn’t try to act like he knew better than Buck what Buck himself needed to do, in order to move on.“You’re coming back.”It wasn’t a question.“Yeah,” said Buck, “And I’ll call, you and Chris. I’m not really leaving. I’m not abandoning anyone.”“You better not,” said Eddie sternly, but then he smiled, and Buck knew they would be fine.No one else took it so calmly. Buck sent out a group message, announcing his goodbye party, hosted at Eddie’s place. He’d already broken his lease, put his things in storage or sold them. He was leaving his car and its keys with Eddie. Maddie was furious, of course.“I drove over to your place,” she hissed, “There’s a ‘To Let’ sign outside!”“Well yeah,” said Buck, “I can’t afford to lease a place I’m not currently living in.”“You’re running away,” she snapped.He didn’t have to explain his choices to anyone. That was what he had decided, and he stuck to it now.“No I’m not,” he said simply, “I’m just going to enjoy my life for a while. I could have died, Maddie. I think I deserve to go on an adventure somewhere new.”She didn’t seem to agree, but it was only a couple of days till the party. Buck spent them sleeping on Eddie’s couch, and then he and Chris dropped him at the airport, Chris bawling and Buck promising to read him bedtime stories and find him cool presents. And then it was time to go. -|-|-|- He didn’t go straight to New Zealand. It was kind of a cliché, but Buck decided that some things stayed classics for a reason, because they were good. So he went to India, to try out the spiritual thing. He’d enjoyed yoga classes, and why not? So he wasn’t really well versed in all those alternative ways of living and looking at the world, but he lived in LA. He knew enough.The yoga ashram was incredible. Serene like nowhere else Buck had experienced. Surrounded by lush rainforest, quiet, with no alcohol, meat, sugar, internet or television. No talking, at certain times of day. He thought he’d find that tremendously hard, but it was surprisingly easy, folded as it was into the routine of waking with the sun, breathing exercises, yoga, chanting, eating, more yoga, sound therapy and then there it was, silent contemplation before dinner. It was actually kind of lovely.There was a part of him that never wanted to leave. -|-|-|- It was years since Buck had gone hiking for more than a couple days at a time. He’d elected to buy all his gear in New Zealand – what was the point in lugging a tent and supplies halfway across the world? He got kitted out not long after he landed, and then it was just him and his map, following the rugged terrain, watching in awe as millions of stars filled the sky above the mountains. He dipped into towns when he could, having no particular route in mind, but being sure to tell Eddie every time he mapped out the next leg of his journey, drawing in thick biro across his old-school paper maps. If he didn’t arrive in certain places and make contact to confirm in a set timeframe, then Eddie would send for help. Buck wasn’t selfish enough not to follow that safety protocol. He knew Eddie would never forgive himself for letting Buck go without protest, if something happened to him.He talked to Chris whenever he could, regaling him with whatever amazing scenery or wildlife he had witnessed that day, listening in turn to the boy’s adventures and achievements at school. It wasn’t the same as gathering him close while they watched a movie, or helping him skateboard, or reading to him while snuggled up, but it was something. Something good, that he was managing to maintain with Eddie. He promised he wouldn’t abandon them, and he hadn’t. Unlike Abby, he didn’t make a half-assed attempt to stay in touch. He might not had physically been there, but he was still there for them, and he knew that they knew it too.He called Maddie as well, of course, though not nearly as frequently. She wasn't as interested in his daily awe at his experiences. Unlike Eddie, she always made a point of asking when he was coming home. It made their conversations grating, in a way his interactions with Eddie and Chris never were. He started outright ignoring the question, and just regaling her with another anecdote about the natural world he was immersed in.Buck skirted the edges of forest mostly, sometimes just dipping a short way in, not wanting to risk getting lost in dense foliage. He made his way up and down high elevated prairie-like meadowland, over rugged moorland with large exposed boulders, followed rivers almost to shore before veering away again, glacially making his way south. There was nothing quite like the freedom of waking up and walking, with no one’s agenda but his own. To be alone with the sun shining down, and the wind whipping and howling, occasional rain beating down, nothing but Buck and his thoughts and the elements, the raw, sprawling beauty of nature. This was how humanity had all lived, at one time; nomadic and free. Explorers, trailing through the bountiful world, leaving only footprints. Maybe it would have been better if they had stayed that way. -|-|-|- Eventually, the great hike came to an end. Buck ended up in a small city and decided he wanted to shake things up. He got a job in construction, picked up curb-side with the other off-the-books workers, daily cash for manual labour. It was honest work, and easy enough. He bought a used car that seemed sturdy enough, and his journey became a road trip. It went much the same way, only now he ate up the miles and lingered in towns a little longer, picking up work here and there if he felt like it. Visiting the odd art gallery or praised restaurant.His luck ran out eventually, of course.He was cruising along an empty stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, alone except for the cows he’d seen a few miles back, when the engine spluttered, and thick black smoke belched from under the hood. He got out to try and assess the damage, and what he could do about it.Despite feeling like he was in the middle of nowhere, with picturesque rolling grassland hills and a thick forest starting along the horizon off to his left, Buck could spy signs of civilisation in the powerlines and what looked like a very, very distant farm nestled in one of the hills. He knew enough to get by in LA, where roadside assistance was never more than a half-hour out. But he wasn’t a mechanic or engineer, and looking at the smoking machinery under his hood had him quickly baffled. His phone’s lack of service quickly clued him into the situation.He was going to be hiking again, though the scenery wasn’t quite as breathtaking as the mountains and rainforest. There was nothing to be done about it, so he didn’t waste time groaning to himself. He just set about packing his bag, hoping civilisation wasn’t too far down this road. He’d filled up at a gas station miles and miles ago, and it was an unmanned automated one. He didn’t recall it having a phone booth, though there must have been one. But that was no guarantee that it was working. He needed to keep going. He’d just locked up, backpack slung over his shoulders, when he heard the sound of a car. It wasn’t anywhere on the road that he could see, until he looked the way he came and witnessed it rumbling out of a dirt-track that intersected the main road.Buck was instantly optimistic, quickly flagging down the simple sedan. A man in a suit pulled over and stepped out. His hair was violently ginger, the way that only the Weasley family from Harry Potter were, and he had a smattering of freckles to match. A gentle, open smile enhanced his naturally pleasant looks, though he was too soft and round in the middle to be considered especially attractive. But he was by no means ugly, and Buck felt shallow for even assessing all of that.But Buck was used to men like Eddie, and the other guys of the LAFD; ripped due to their necessity to carry heavy weight, but still proud to show off, in the city of cosmetic surgery and Hollywood starlets. Since Buck had been travelling, he’d gotten used to the wider variety of body types and fashion styles that didn’t always compliment the person’s looks, but rather fitted their personality. He’d grown up in Pennsylvania, but after years of living in LA, he kind of forgot that not everyone was striving to look conventionally attractive.“Need help?” asked the other man, who seemed to be around Buck’s age.“I got no clue how to fix it, no service, and no idea where the nearest tow place is,” Buck admitted, and then cringed. It seemed a little like the opening to a horror film, to be so exposed in the wilderness of a foreign country without any way of securing outside intervention, and he’d just told this man that.The ginger tipped his head, his eyes lighting up in pleasure; “You’re American.”“Born and raised,” Buck confirmed, “Name’s Buck.”“Jesus, really?” the guy blurted, before scrambling to backtrack, “Sorry-!”Buck laughed out loud at the look of embarrassment on the man’s face.“It’s a nickname, my surname’s Buckley.”“Oh, thank god,” said the stranger, “I’m sorry, but, like, we get American TV here, you know? You guys are pretty wild.”Buck kept chuckling at the dry distaste in the man’s voice. He couldn’t even argue against the point – Buck’s reputation for recklessness was the entire reason he was here, effectively kicked out of the 118 because Bobby didn’t trust Buck to be cautious enough of his recovery. He blamed the embolism on Buck’s relentless drive to recertify, despite the doctors confirming nothing he had done caused the clot. His attitude and reputation for wild behaviour was enough for Bobby to block Buck from returning to the one place he felt like he truly belonged.“I’m Sam,” said the Kiwi, “Also a nickname, and not for Samuel. Don’t even ask. My parents are total hippies, I’m lucky they didn’t call me Moonbeam.”Buck nearly doubled over in delighted laughter. Sam’s wry voice and neat look – he was wearing a full suit and tie in this weather – said he had about as much in common with his parents, as Buck did with his. Still, something about the gleam in Sam’s eye, and the lack of true bitterness led Buck to guess;“You love them to bits anyway.”“Sure do,” Sam admitted, with a smile and a shrug. Then he hitched his thumb into the air, indicating his own vehicle, “Want a ride into Brokenwood? Pretty sure it’ll be too late to get a tow truck out here by the time we arrive, but you can schedule one for the morning.”“That would be amazing, thanks.”Buck stowed his bag on the backseat, and climbed in the front next to Sam. The car was clean, but with plenty of bits and pieces stowed in the storage. The radio came on, some gentle indie song by a woman with a smoky voice. Buck poked at the glove compartment curiously. It popped open, to reveal a half-eaten bag of unfamiliar wrapped candies, some paperwork and a handgun. Buck felt himself stiffen, sucking in a breath.“Help yourself,” said Sam, waving a lazy hand toward the open compartment. “My girlfriend is on at me lately to stick to the eating plan, but sometimes a man needs snacks!”“Um- thanks,” Buck stammered, “I’m good.”He shut the compartment, and gave Sam another glance. He didn’t look like a psycho killer, but he’d pretty affectively used a charm offensive to set Buck at ease before he got in the car. The car he was driving, with no mention of how far away Brokenwood was, or anything else. And he knew Buck was foreign, and alone, with no cell phone service...“So, um-” Buck mumbled, but Sam – if that was really his name – started speaking at the same time.“Brokenwood’s pretty small but we do have a couple of guesthouses. There’s the Lodge, the motel, and the Snake and Tiger has rooms too, but I absolutely do not recommend you stay there. It’s a gorgeous location sure, great food too, but the manager just got early release outta prison, and she was not there for a minor crime, if you catch my drift.”Buck blinked. Those sounded like concerned citizen words, spoken with authority, not like something a man who regularly killed hitchhikers and buried them in the woods would say.“I’ll steer clear,” Buck confirmed.Sam flashed him a sunny smile. “The BnB is better value for money than the Lodge. People in the motel tend to be a bit... unlucky sometimes. But if not, I know Mrs Marlowe rents out her spare room from time to time. She’s about eighty, and she makes the best cheese rolls.”“Oh yeah?” said Buck, beginning to settle down.“Mhmm,” Sam continued, “Those rolls are the only reason anyone comes to our matches, man. We suck. Been improving since we got a new coach though. We’re only hovering around the bottom ten in the league, instead of coming in last every season.”Despite his lingering unease, Buck barked out another laugh at that.“What sport?”Sam shot him a look of incredulity.“This is New Zealand,” he said, voice dripping with sass, “Whatdya think?”Back mentally scrolled through his facts about the breathtaking country so far from his own. Canada had hockey, India had cricket and New Zealand had…“Rugby?”“No prizes for a quiz that easy, Buckley.”Buck grinned to himself, and decided he wasn’t going to get murdered today, or any time, by a cheerful soul like Sam. The fact he carried around a handgun in his glove box was probably in case of bears, or something. -|-|-|- Brokenwood was a charming little town that looked nothing like small towns in America. They pulled into a small pub – bars were only a city thing in foreign counties, Buck was starting to realise – where Sam had assured him that the local mechanic would be drinking by this time.It was a slightly shabby but cheerful enough place, called the Frog and Cheetah. The woman behind the bar glared at Sam when he walked in.“I’m just here getting emergency stock,” she said, “We’ve got a joint hen and stag party staying at the Snake and Tiger, steadily drinking us out of everything fizzy.”Sam lifted both hands.“I come in peace,” he said, “I’m just here to see Petey. But you know I’ve gotta check in with Mike about it.”“Damn it, Breen,” snapped the woman, “I’m just doing my job!”“So am I,” said Sam firmly.Buck watched in surprise as the gentle, affable demeanour he’d gotten to observe in their long car-ride together dropped away to reveal a tougher interior. Something about it sent a shiver down his spine, and bizarrely, Sam suddenly reminded him of Athena.The hard-faced woman at the bar didn’t give an inch, or flicker her eyes in Buck’s direction.A man behind the bar sidled up to them.“Petey’s over there,” he said, nodding to the far corner.“Thanks,” Sam said through clenched teeth, and he stomped away.Buck hurried after him, desperate to know what that was all about, but without a moment to ask. Sam stalked through the crowd that parted for him like it was the red sea and he was Moses, with Buck just managing to squeeze through in his wake.Petey was a Māori man, and he and Sam exchanged rapid greetings and even faster negotiations over Buck’s cheap car. He felt like he blinked and was handing over his keys.“I feel like I just got hypnotised,” he said.Sam hummed, his eyes still on Petey who was lumbering off, presumably to stow Buck’s keys somewhere or get another drink.“So, what was that all about, at the bar?”Sam sighed, turning to face Buck again.“That was Trudy Nielson,” he said, “The manager I warned you about. She isn’t allowed to work anywhere else that sells alcohol.”Buck finally put it together just in time to say; “You’re a cop,” as another man ambled over to the table and said; “Evening, Detective!”“What gave it away?” Sam said dryly, but he was smiling that soft smile of his.“Why did Uncle rush outta here in a hurry?” asked the new man, “He’s not in trouble, eh?”“No Jared, he’s fine,” said Sam, his hand twitching in an invitation to sit, which the newcomer gladly did.He was another Māori man, far younger, and the type of handsome that Buck associated with LA. He was wearing layered shirts and a hoodie, cut-off jeans and work boots, clearly having come straight from the job.“Mrs Marlowe never said anything about a new case,” Jared mused, “And Mike didn’t seem stressed when he got back to the ranch.”“There’s nothing going on, Jared,” said Sam, sipping at the half-finished beer Petey had left behind. “And Mrs Marlowe doesn’t know everything about every crime in this town. In fact, her gossip is generally highly inaccurate, which you bloody know. This is Buck, a stray American. He needs a tow. You want a beer?”This last part was directed at Buck as he got up, half out of his seat.“That would be great,” Buck grinned, blinking at Sam’s rapid speech, but ready to wash away the day’s frustrations with a cold one.“Buck this is Jared, handyman, wine expert, and a surprisingly good Hamlet,” said Sam by way of introduction, before he melted into the crowd.“Hamlet?” asked Buck, taking the opening for what it was.“Aw, he’s just trying to make me blush,” said Jared, “I never wanted to be part of the amateur dramatics society in the first place. Then one of the other actors died on stage and it was just…”“A dumpster fire?” Buck supplied helpfully.“Exactly,” he agreed.“Man, I could tell you some stories…”A gleam of interest flickered in the other man’s eyes. By the time Sam got back with their beers, Buck was deep into the story about the time they had to cut a woman’s head out of a tailpipe, and he followed it up with the story of when the crew, himself included, had been dosed with LSD brownies, and their crazy reactions to the children’s beauty pageant.Sam had a few crazy stories of his own. Including one about a couple who had been murdered while dressed as Mr and Mrs Claus, in matching Santa outfits. And how the murderer had dressed in the man’s Santa suit and sat on the sleigh in a parade, to create a false time of death.“And you’ll never guess where we found Mrs Claus,” baited Sam.“Go on,” Buck encouraged him, eager for more, despite the grim subject matter. Just like firefighters, cops had a ‘got to laugh so you don’t cry’ sense of humour.“Upside down, sticking out of the chimney,” crowed Sam, “Like a bloody decoration. Just, hiding in plain sight. We’d been walking in and out of the house, right under her.”“No!” yelped Buck, “Bullshit, no way!”“It’s true,” confirmed Jared, “What a nasty way to go. Not as horrible as the time I found Old Des the Devil’s hand on the beach in a cray pot, though.”“You found what, where?!”The drinks didn’t flow heavily – this wasn’t that kind of night – but Buck did get pleasantly buzzed, and enjoyed the warm glow of pleasant company and good conversation, allowing it to distract him from thoughts of the people who he would usually be sharing nights like these with. -|-|-|- The Brokenwood Bed and Breakfast was run by the Huckle family, who had a bee keeping business on the side, as well as brewing their own cider from the apples their bees pollinated in their small orchard. It was only enough for a micro-brewery, but the sweet elderly couple gushed about it proudly over serving Buck breakfast the next morning. He was their only guest, so they were really eager. He learnt all about their bees, in between them extolling the virtues of their grand-daughter, their only living family, who was attending University at a conservatoire in Australia. She had achieved a scholarship playing the cello. Pride in her beamed out of their every pore, and Buck was happy for them, charmed by their clear, uncomplicated and obvious love for their grandchild.But a little part of him would always shrink back, wistful and wanting so badly to have even a fraction of that level of love from his own parents. Buck had already decided to buy some of their fancy apple blossom honey, to ship back as part of his souvenir packages for everyone. Supporting small local businesses, and good people, was something he was always keen to do.He didn’t see Sam Breen that next day, but did learn from Petey about his new ride’s fate. The repairs were going to be too much for him to cover, without compromising his funds for a plane ticket home. Buck bought himself a simple selection of food to eat in his room from the grocery store, and wallowed in misery for a little while at his fate. He wasn’t ready to go home, but it was looking more and more inevitable that he would have to.Petey expected an answer tomorrow, on what to do. He couldn’t let Buck’s car take up space indefinitely, but Buck could tell he was sympathetic and wouldn’t push.Buck decided to do a little exploring, since he was stuck in the little town anyway. There was clearly enough countryside going spare, for a good hike. Taking just his phone, room key, water and a snack, Buck set off on his next mini adventure.The day was overcast, but still bright, with the sun poking through the clouds regularly, casting dappled shade through the woods as Buck walked. He wove up and down hills, following the marked trail that eventually led him to the coastline, dune grasses waving in the wind, as sea mist foamed through the air and crashed on the damp beach. It was so unlike the California coastline – empty of tourists and bathers, just the odd paddleboarder and surfer dipping in and out of view – that Buck didn’t even get that swoop of unease that always came with facing the sea, now. He was afraid, after surviving the tsunami, that he would never be able to go back. Never plant his butt on the sand, build a bonfire for marshmallows or sandcastles with Chris, never surf, never swim. But Chris had faced his fears with such determination, even if he’d had a death grip on Buck’s hand the entire time.“I’ll be fine, Daddy,” he’d told Eddie with such confidence, “Buck will look out for us.”Buck had choked up, almost bursting into tears. That more than anything, even Eddie’s amazing, steady words of reassurance, had convinced Buck that he had saved Chris that day, even though they’d been separated later. Chris had been lost for a while, but Buck hadn’t lost him. And that was the important distinction.The sea was so beautiful, so calming despite being rugged and wild here, that Buck felt more at peace even than at the ashram. He stood breathing consciously, focusing on the movement as his mind learned to be quiet. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate it the same way, if he hadn’t gone to India first, to learn how to be still, and absorb the wonder of the world.Naturally, that was when Buck saw the fire.It was a boathouse barn of some kind, and the blaze was full by the time Buck got there. He dialled 911 on instinct, but the emergency line re-routed him to the New Zealand dispatch automatically. He didn’t know where he was, of course, but ‘the beach near Brokenwood’ seemed to be enough, plus whatever location tracking they could get from his phone call. The operator told him to stay on the line of course, which Buck had fully intended to do. But he was a firefighter – he couldn’t resist the urge to get closer to the blaze. He heard the screams, and knew someone was inside.He didn’t hesitate.
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He didn’t have an axe, or the luxury of time. Buck used his good leg, the one that hadn’t been crushed underneath the 118’s ladder truck, to kick at the padlocked barn door. Three solid kicks wasn’t quite enough. But it creaked ominously, so Buck rammed it with his shoulder, and the hinges splintered off. The door slammed into the ground with an almighty crash, and Buck was scrambling over the debris of the heavy wooden remains, before it had stopped reverberating from the impact. A hungry wall of fire surged above him, eager to consume the fresh oxygen Buck had introduced into the space. He had to battle against his body’s natural instinct, to shrink away from the wall of heat that slammed into him. Without his turnout gear, the heat alone was a danger to him, and his skin knew it. He ran forward at speed, anyway. The flames had consumed the interior of the boathouse to the level that Buck had to duck underneath them, in order to move inside. Through the raging inferno he could make out very little. There was a speedboat, life jackets, several canoes and the oars to accompany them inside. His route was impeded by helmets, waterpoof clothing, ropes, vague shapes he had no name for - and all of it licked at by flames, obscured by thick black smoke. Buck kept low, his thin hoodie pulled up over his mouth, to keep the smoke at bay as best he could. “Where are you?” he called out, resisting the urge to yell ‘LAFD’ which the person wouldn’t understand, “Call out!” “Here!” came a voice, “Over here!” It was weak, but enough to follow. “Keep calling out!” he cried, as he picked his way across the barn, squinting through the dark interior. He followed her voice through the flame, and saw a woman lying on her back, her legs trapped by a large, solid wooden beam, keeping her pinned. Buck wasted valuable time trying to lift it with his bare hands, but quickly surmised that he needed leverage. He grabbed an oar, shoving the carbon fibre implement under the beam just enough to wedge it. “One, two-” on three, he pushed his entire weight down, managing to lift it a little. The woman, wide-eyed with terror, used her elbows to scrabble back, before Buck roared in defeat, forced to release pressure on the oar. The weight was too much for him alone to bear. If Eddie was here, if he was working with his team- Thoughts like that were useless; Buck flicked them away as soon as they came. You deal with the situation in front of you, not what you wanted it to be. Being a firefighter taught him that much, at least. The beam slammed back down, and the woman shrieked in pain, a sound he knew would haunt his dreams... if they got out of here in time to still have dreams. “Again!” Buck yelled, throwing himself down, the beam rising, wobbling- She wailed as she dragged herself backwards. Smears of blood trailed in her wake, but this time Buck managed to hold on long enough. She was out from under the beam. Her legs bloodied, at least fractured, she was glassy-eyed with pain. In seconds, Buck crouched down - grabbed her - he flung her over his shoulder - he stumbled for the door - weaving past towers of flaming wood - he ducked as a row of flaming equipment tumbled down beside them... Then Buck launched himself toward the door. Flames licking at his arms, singeing hair right off. He ran, panting, into the savoury fresh air, inhaling huge gulps of unsoiled air, her weight dragging down on him. They slipped out onto the grassy sand dunes, sliding down toward the distant foaming sea. Then Buck was stumbling to his knees, unable to keep holding on. Buck lifted the injured woman off his shoulders as gently as possible, trying to assess the damage. “Was there anyone in there with you?” he asked, but she was going into shock, her eyes losing focus as her body began to shut down. “No, stay with me!” Buck yelled, shaking her by the shoulders, “Is anyone still inside?” She let out a pained moan, then her eyes rolled back into her head, and she was unconscious. Buck pulled her by the arms, dragging her a safer distance away from the blaze, then started back toward it. But the flames were pouring out of the doorway now, roaring up the outside of the barn. Before Buck had a chance to seize a gap in the wall of fire to get back inside, it gave a tremendous creak and lurched to his left. On instinct, Buck leapt back. And then the building gave up, collapsing in on itself with a roar of noise, smoke and flame. Sand leapt up in showers everywhere, temporarily blinding Buck, as he threw up his hands to protect his eyes just a moment too late. He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking away the grit, stumbling back to his patient. She was sprawled out on the sand, her long-legged wetsuit preventing him from seeing the state of her injuries. “Hey!” called a voice, “Are you alright?” Buck looked round wildly for the source of another voice, someone to assist him with this horrible situation, which was so different from his usual occupation as a first responder. Then he had a team of experts, his kit, the ability to actually help. “I’m fine,” Buck immediately insisted, “There’s a woman here- crush injuries to the lower extremities, she needs help-” His head continued to swivel wildly, still unable to see where the voice was coming from, until he saw Jared scrambling up the dunes with two other guys, three surfboards abandoned on the beach just a couple feet below. “I’ll go call for help!” said one of the men Buck didn’t know, already turning to run to a track Buck hadn’t noticed. Presumably the route to the parking, and a phone left in a car. Then Jared was there, a steady hand on Buck’s shoulder, helping take his weight as he folded to his knees on the sand. “I didn’t see anyone else,” Buck said, “I don’t know-” “Hey, you did great, man,” Jared said soothingly, as his friend checked over the injured woman, “You saved her.” Buck let out an unsatisfied little him, and then he was leaning over to retch in the sand. The land ambulance would take too long to arrive, he was informed, and instead the coastguard was sending a rescue helicopter to airlift the unconscious woman away. They waited on the sand dunes, the smouldering heap of the former boathouse a blazing beacon belching thick black smoke into the otherwise clear blue sky. Buck sat with his hands clasped around his knees, overwhelmed by the sudden change in track. He’d gone weeks without acting as a first responder – almost six months, in fact, and the sudden need to perform the essential actions of his former job was giving him emotional whiplash. The surge of adrenaline was making his hands shake. His eyes were still stinging from the smoke and sand. It seemed to take forever for the chopper to arrive. Buck felt helpless, useless without his kit. Cutting the woman’s wetsuit away to assess the damage would do more harm than good anyway. At least this way her injuries were being constricted by the tight-fitting material, keeping pressure on the wounds. When help finally arrived, Buck experienced being bundled into the helicopter as a blur. A blanket was being thrown over his shoulders and an oxygen mask pressed into his face before he registered that he was inside the belly of the helicopter. Buck didn’t even really notice the flashing lights and sirens of the cars further down the shore, racing toward the scene that was becoming a speck on the sand, as they airlifted away. Somehow, he still had the wherewithal to wonder if Sam was down there somewhere, racing toward the destruction. If he would be investigating whatever happened here. An isolated fire out on the sleepy sand dunes seemed unlikely to have a natural cause. The blaze was so strong, so hungry... something must have gone so wrong for a fire like that in such a small shack. Was is possible it was just a terrible accident? Or was there a more sinister reason behind the blaze? -|-|-|- Buck first stirred into consciousness at the murmur of distant voices. He couldn’t recognise them, nor drag himself from his bizarre dream about a seagull, dancing on the beach. It was using its wing to throw up plumes of sand. Buck felt queasy just watching, and that seemed strange. Why would something so innocuous, make him feel nauseous? He tried to open his eyes, but they were glued shut with sleep, his limbs dead weight. He ached all over. Buck slipped back into the oblivion of deep sleep without ever opening his eyes or truly waking up. If he had, he might have seen the slim, hooded figure, taking a brief interest in him through the window of his door. When he woke again, Buck was able to sit up immediately, and recognise a hospital room. There was a nurse standing at the foot of his bed, checking his chart. She gave him a polite smile and greeting, before leaving to get the doctor. He arrived with another man in tow, a plain-clothed cop if ever Buck had seen one, which was not a surprise. Of course, they would have questions about the fire. He suddenly remembered the woman he had dragged out of the burning building, and fiercely hoped she’d made it. He shuffled about until he could sit up properly, cushioned on his pillows. Buck wasn’t prepared to be questioned from a weaker position than he needed to. At the very least he could sit up with some dignity. That probably said something about him, psychologically, but now wasn’t the time to analyse it. After informing him of his mostly shallow cuts and bruises, the doctor mildly scolded Buck for being so heroically noble. Buck’s worst injuries were second-degree burns on his arms and legs, blisters and angry red patches that he would have to keep clean. The doctor warned him he would be in hospital for a while longer, until they’d determined how much damage the smoke inhalation had done. He somehow knew Buck was a firefighter, so cautioned him against ignoring the medical advice he was given about his burns, because he knew better than most the effects of fire. “The woman I pulled out-” was all Buck wanted to know, rasping out. “She’ll live. She’s in an induced coma while we treat her injuries, but her very grateful family would like to visit you, when you’re feeling up to it.” Buck nodded, satisfied. “I’m going to let the police in now, Mr Buckley,” said the doctor, “But if it gets too much, we can order him to leave.” The officer was an older man in a slighty crinkled suit, just under average height, heavy-set, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a steely gaze that brooked no nonsense. Buck felt mildly intimidated, just being scrutinised by him. “Evan Buckley?” he said, “I’m DSS Mike Shepherd, I have some questions for you.” Buck figured that must be something like a lieutenant. “Sure,” he rasped out, before reaching for his glass of water. Shepherd waited until he’d taken a long sip from the straw until he asked, “How did you discover the blaze?” Buck detailed his hike, and how he was only in Brokenwood because his car broke down. Shepherd scribbled down a few notes, but whether he believed Buck was truly just a helpful bystander, remained unclear. There was nothing more convincing Buck could offer. He knew he wasn’t the first person to go on an unplotted vacation, just wandering to wherever the wind blew him, but he also knew how shady that might look, to a law enforcement officer. “And what made you decide to go inside the barn?” “I could hear her screaming- I couldn’t just leave her,” Buck said sensibly. “First responders on the scene said you’d lifted something heavy off her, then carried her out?” Buck explained how the barn had been padlocked from the outside but he'd forced entry, he’d levered the solid wooden beam up, dragged her out, and thrown her over his shoulder, in the standard fireman’s lift. All of which he knew how to do, because he was a firefighter. “Los Angeles Fire Department, Station 118,” he said proudly. He tried not to let his insecurities that it would never be the full truth again, show on his face. Buck answered a few more questions about the blaze, how he hadn’t seen anyone else inside or what might have caused the fire to burn so hot, and spread so fast. Shepherd seemed to be fighting to keep his face neutral, but eventually his lips twitched into a smile. He tucked away his notebook carefully, seemingly tucking away his professional persona alongside it. He offered Buck a much more open, affable countenance, once his hands were hanging free at his sides. “Well, alright,” said Shepherd, “Thank you very much for your time, and for what you did. I know Cynthia Thompson’s family are very grateful.” “I was just doing what anybody would have,” said Buck. Shepherd shook his head, as if denying false modesty. “Highly doubtful,” countered Shepherd, “Get some rest. Where are you staying, in case we have any follow up questions?” Buck told him the details of his stay at the Bed and Breakfast, and that was it. After the policeman was gone, Buck investigated what he could reach in his room. He managed to find his phone in the drawer next to his bed, along with the other scant things he’d had with him on his short, ill-fated hike to the beach. He turned his phone on, and found there was a message from Maddie. He opened it up, and was surprised to see the WhatsApp message was framed like a letter. Evan, I wanted to let you know I’m so sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. There’s some things I’ve been struggling with lately – nothing you need to worry about, and I’ve been using you as my crutch or punching bag or something, and you don’t deserve it. Of course you should be enjoying yourself, and taking time to heal. You went through something traumatic, and I don’t blame you for needing time and space to work out your next steps. I’ve been selfish in not recognising that. I think my attitude is a holdover from taking care of you when you were little. I’ve been learning about this form of abuse called ‘parentification’. I think it’s what our parents did to me. I’m trying to process how I feel about that, but it’s not an excuse for how I’ve been treating you. I love you, and I miss you. I worry about you when I’m not there right by you, to see if you’re ok. Before, I convinced myself that keeping Doug away from you, meant I had to keep you away from me. When really, I was just pretending to be saving you because I was too afraid to save myself. But I did save myself, and you saved me too. You never cut me off, you always reached out to let me know where you were. So when the time came, I knew I had somewhere to run to. That probably saved my life. Thank you for always looking out for me the way you do. I won’t keep asking when you’re coming home. It doesn’t matter. Even if you never come back to LA, I’ll come visit you wherever you are. And you always have a place with me wherever I am, to run to, should you ever need it. I love you. Maddie By the time he had finished reading, there were tears dripping down Buck’s face, but he didn’t realise until he was wiping them away, and hitting the call button. “Buck?” Maddie sounded sleepy. Buck realised he’d forgotten about the time difference, but he was too exhausted to work it out now, and besides, he’d already made the call. Whoops. “Hey Maddie,” he said, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew something was wrong by the sandpaper sound of his voice. “What’s going on, what’s happened?” “Don’t get mad...” Buck started, and heard her sigh heavily in response, at the other end of the line. Maddie let him know that starting a conversation with those words was always going to lead to some kind of freak out. But also, that didn’t mean she didn’t want to always know, whatever Buck needed to tell her. So, he told her all about the latest incident that landed him in hospital, and the former nurse in her demanded detailed information on his injuries. Then they talked about her letter, and how much they wanted to move forward with a healthier relationship with one another. And it was good. Their connection was already strong – they were the only family they each had, after all – but they agreed it could be better. Maddie even suggested family counselling, which was a big step, but one that Buck was open to. They were clearly the kind of people who needed it. When Buck hit the wall of exhaustion, Maddie gently suggested they talk again tomorrow. She let him drift off back to the healing halls of sleep, only cutting the connection when the sound of his gentle snores came down the line.
-|-|-|-
When Buck woke again, it was to the shuffling sound of someone beside him, and it was very dark. Buck immediately froze, trying to pretend he was asleep. He evened his breathing out, straining to listen to every minute sound in the quiet room. Something told him to be wary of this town, now. Shepherd had been cagey when Buck asked if they had any idea what started the fire. He thought maybe it was because Buck was a civilian here, and not entitled to know or investigate himself. And that now had him paranoid. Gradually, Buck opened his eyes a tiny crack, trying to see who was there. Only a dim light shone in the corridor outside the room. With the little glowing lights on Buck’s monitoring machines the only other source. Squinting in the gloom, Buck located the cause of his disturbance, who smiled at him sheepishly. “Oh crap,” said Sam, “I didn’t mean to wake you, sorry. I just wanted to sit with you a bit.” “That’s okay,” Buck replied, opening his eyes fully, “What’re you doing here?” Sam gave him a funny look, as Buck shifted about, getting more comfortable. As though his reasoning for visiting at night should be obvious. “I’m checking up on you, to see if you’re alright,” Sam said. “But, we just met,” Buck pointed out, perfectly reasonably, in his opinion. “Buck, we bonded over a carshare and drinks, and then you pulled a woman out of a burning building,” he said, “You think I’m gonna let you wallow alone in the hospital, without any visits? What kind of an arse do you take me for?” Sam had one arched eyebrow judging him. His ginger hair, that was usually swept back from his forehead in a gentle wave that wasn’t quite a quiff, was instead hanging down in front, soft and loose, a testament to the long day he’d had. He was still in his rumpled work suit. He had probably come straight from a long day investigating the fire at his precinct, to be with Buck. Buck was kind of in awe, if he was honest. He’d always been quick to make friends at work, or with people he interacted with regularly, like Carla or the regulars at the bar in Peru. But to have met someone once, and have them be so invested in his wellbeing? That was a thing unheard of. He couldn’t imagine any of his one-night women turning up to see him in hospital if something had happened to him on the way home, for instance. Back when he used to do casual hook-ups, that is. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and in some ways, it was. “Sorry,” said Buck, with an embarrassed smile. Sam shrugged, “So, how are you feeling?” “Pretty terrible, to be honest,” he said, “Aching all over and I’m breathing through this annoying tube.” He indicated the cannula taped across his face, giving him extra oxygen through his nose. Sam hummed in sympathy, leaning a little closer. He rested one elbow on the bed, using that same hand to cradle his weary head. Sam looked bone tired suddenly, as if the relief of seeing that Buck really was doing well, had allowed him to relax out of his alert working mode. “Well, the good news is that we found the photo you posted on instagram, that showed you were at Tahuna Point, at the time we think the blaze started. Unless you had an ATV hidden in the bushes somewhere, there’s no way you could have set the fire.” Buck blinked in disbelief. “What?” he spluttered, “Was that ever a consideration?” He tried not to imagine the reactions of his friends back home, if they ever heard he had been under suspicion of setting a fire, instead of putting one out. But he couldn't help but wonder if they would be incredulous, outraged on his behalf. Or just shrug it off as a reasonable assumption for the Kiwi cops to make. Would anyone fight for him? Or would they all just recommend he get a lawyer and not make a fuss about it. Somehow, that seemed most likely. No one wanted Buck to make a fuss about returning to the 118 either.“We’ve gotta look at all the angles,” said Sam with an indifferent shrug, “A mysterious new man, who just so happens to be a firefighter, and a looney American at that, rolls into town the day before someone sets fire to the boathouse? It’s a weird coincidence.” “Huh,” said Buck, sitting back into his pillows, and running the scenario over in his mind. It was actually pretty suspicious, he conceded, “So someone deliberately set the barn alight?” Sam nodded grimly. “We think so. I knew you couldn’t have done it,” Sam assured him, “No one who’s that afraid of the gun in my car, is wild enough to start a fire... Just so they can pretend to be a hero by dragging someone out of it.” Buck gaped at him, horrified that Sam had encountered people who were bad enough, to have him believe anyone was capable of something like that. Then again, Buck had once helped rescue a baby whose own mother had flushed them down the toilet. Some people were fucked up. Then he realised what Sam had said. “Oh, uh, you noticed that, huh?” Sam flashed him that brilliant smile. “It’s not loaded,” he said, “And I don’t leave it in my car overnight. We don’t have service weapons here, like your crazy American cops. We check them out when necessary, like civilized people. But we do keep a backup with us, just in case.” “An unloaded backup,” Buck pointed out. “The bullets are in the car!” said Sam with a flap of his hand, before wincing at this volume, and continuing more quietly, “Our national gun crime levels are at an all time low, and wouldn’t reach anywhere near a single one of your 50-something States' issues with gun crime. Your stats are foul, and literally off our charts.” “Fair enough,” said Buck, acknowledging that gun crime in the USA was disgustingly high. They chatted a short time, Sam continuing to tease him and Buck trying to match him, though his energy levels were difficult to sustain. Eventually, Buck conceded that the ‘two or three’ incidents where Sam required a gun per year, meant they probably had a better system going on, culturally. “I should probably let you get back to sleep before you realise what you just admitted, and start chanting ‘USA, USA!’ to make up for it. And I need to get going, before my girlfriend sends out a search party,” Sam demurred, giving Buck’s leg a friendly pat, “Besides, the nurses will ban me from coming again, if they find out I’ve been here after visiting hours. Get some rest, you genuine, non-arsonist, hero.” Buck flushed, but snuggled down further to do as he was told. Banter with Sam was easy; their friendship was so simple. He was shocked that they were able to converse so easily. Everyone he met in New Zealand was warm and friendly, and made him feel welcome as a tourist. But Sam was the first person who regarded him as a real friend, treating him with the same consideration that you might afford a new neighbour in your tiny town, that you were hoping could become a friend. Buck didn’t know what it was about him that had Sam reaching out the olive branch to him in such a way, but he liked it. It was nice to be noticed; to feel seen. Both acknowledged and wanted. Before the other man could successfully sneak out, Buck called after him; “Hey Sam?” “Yeah?” He offered his new friend a cheeky smile. “Is it short for Samwise?” Even in the gloom, Buck could see as Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I was already a kid when those films came out,” he said, “And if anyone tries to tell you they were filmed round here, they’re lying! That giant spider in Brokenwood Forest is just for fleecing Japanese tourists.” Shelving that interesting titbit about the local economy and attractions, Buck soldiered on with purpose. “Okay, but, the books were around for a lot longer-” “Bye, Buck!” Sam whispered in a sing-song tone, as he sneaked out with a cheery wave. .