Chapter Text
Steve hadn’t come back home for lunch like he had said he would. Instead, Steve had sent him a quick text saying he was sorry but couldn't leave for lunch due to the case. He had promised to try to get lunch off the next day so they could go back to Kamekona's for lunch, but that had not happened either. In reality, he had rarely seen Steve at all; he was always gone before he got up, and he always arrived so late that he couldn't talk to him long before going to bed.
When he was alone in his brother's house, he couldn't help but feel like an intruder. He knew Steve would be upset that he was feeling this way, especially because he couldn't be there to help him deal with it. This case was major, and the people of Hawaii expected Steve to solve it. He realised that the sense of taking advantage of his brother by staying in his home was nothing more than his anxiousness telling him that he was getting in the way of everything. He knew that the thoughts were not his own, and he should not believe them. But it was hard. The thoughts never seemed to cease altogether, but that didn't mean he wouldn't keep trying.
Instead of sinking deeper into his worry, he chose to move on with his life, and the only way he knew how to do so was via painting. When he painted, he could lose himself in his own realm, free of the worries and pains of everyday life. By the fourth day, he had completed his fifteenth painting. He was already talking with Mr Sanderford about putting up a gallery to present his most recent work, but he hadn't determined when or where the show would take place yet. On the third day, he had a two-hour talk with Mr Sanderford. They largely talked about his new collection and when it would be ready.
Because his work was highly valuable and the items were original, security had to be top-notch. He didn't mind that it usually came at a high cost. Not if it meant his work was safe. The other risk of using a regular mail service was that things would get lost or forgotten, resulting in one of his pieces ending up anywhere in the United States. So Mr Sanderford discovered a company that suited all their requirements; it was run by a former US Army General who took retirement hard and founded a company that transported important parcels and documents discreetly and securely. The firm would collect his art from wherever he was and personally transport it to Mr. Sanderford's house in Washington, where an exact copy of each item could be prepared.
Buck had met with the General before hiring them as part of a contract. The General wanted to meet in person to guarantee that nothing illegal was taking place. It was during that meeting that he discovered why the company was founded. The General described how he was upset when he learnt that a lost serviceman's ashes had been sent to their family by mail. The individual had been killed in Germany during World War II, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve a dignified send-off. The family could neither afford a burial nor the cost of having the body shipped over, so the man's ashes were simply shipped to them in a cardboard box. Following that encounter, he instructed Mr Sanderford not to use any other company. That was the company they were going to use, and as of that moment, he was their longest-standing client.
The personnel of the company wore clothes similar to those of other delivery businesses, but they also wore bulletproof vests designed to be hidden beneath their shirts, and they were all armed. He'd met a couple of the guys who collected his paintings and assisted in transporting the copies to galleries. He also ensured that they received a special tip because many of them were former brothers and sisters in arms or former policemen. Many of them had quit because they could no longer bear their job or couldn't afford to live in their cities. Not that he blamed them; both jobs were difficult and could break even the toughest people.
However, that was the only other contact he had with the company; Mr Sanderford was often in charge of organising the collection and delivering his paintings. Making certain that everything was in order, and nothing was left to chance. Mr Sanderford always said his attention to detail was due to him being a good Englishman. The only thing he needed to do was call him to arrange the pick-up and location, and Mr Sanderford would handle the rest. Normally, they were at his door within two days, ready to collect at the time he specified. It was a well-oiled machine, neither earlier nor later.
When he told Mr Sanderford that he was starting a new collection, he could hear the enthusiasm in his voice at the prospect of a new collection of his work. Buck was aware that Mr Sanderford received invitations to exhibit his work from large galleries and upscale showrooms, and that he had even been offered billions of dollars to do so. Buck had always declined them. His work was not intended to be seen solely by the wealthy and famous, which is what those galleries were offering. He always believed that art was meant to be free. It was why he always allowed his work to be shown in smaller, local galleries that were either self-supporting or benefiting a local charity. It gave his job greater purpose.
Mr Sanderford understood his reasoning and entirely respected them; but, during his contact with Mr Sanderford, he discovered that his work had grown in popularity over the previous five years. Specifically, due to online rumours about a new collection or the mystery surrounding his identity. Which he found humorous because he hadn't intended to take up another brush for a while.
However, as much as he enjoyed painting and immersing himself in another universe, he couldn't help but worry about Steve. As the days passed, he continued to keep an eye on Steve whenever possible. He could tell that his brother was not sleeping well, if at all. He looked exhausted and frustrated. He could only assume that the case was not going well.
Steve always arrived home at night with his arms full of case files. He'd sit somewhere, either in his office, on the couch, or on the deck, and go over them again and again as if he was checking to see if he had missed anything. Buck knew that he hadn't. Steve was overly methodical for that. Sure, Steve experienced tunnel vision at times, but it was only because he was so passionate about his work. He knew Steve well enough to recognise that his brother was feeling like he was letting everyone down. He felt that he should be the one to solve this, and not doing so made him a failure, and the thought of failure simply added to Steve's stress, which must be sky-high right now.
Unfortunately, it didn't look like he was going to get a break anytime soon. Since Steve began working on the case, he had learnt of two additional robberies. The governor was not happy about it. He had heard from Kono that Steve had been locked in his office with the governor for more than an hour, and the heated shouts they had all heard indicated that things were not going well. However, the stress of having the governor and most likely HPD breathing down his neck would make Steve even more motivated to find the bastards doing it. At the same time, that was what worried him. Steve was known for his wild plans that appeared impossible yet were carried out; however, in order to devise those plans, he frequently lost himself in them.
That was why he was worried; he did not want to lose his brother to the darkness again. So he started checking on him whenever he could. He would text him in the morning when he awoke, telling him he had taken his meds and what his plans were for the day. He reasoned that if he could alleviate Steve's worries for him. In addition, when he returned home, I asked him if he needed anything and made him something to eat before going to bed.
But he knew that Steve continued to worry for him. He would frequently message back, letting him know when he would be home (which never happened) and how proud he was of him for following to their plan. Steve had also booked food delivery from his office, which terrified him when he unexpectedly received a knock on the door. The food was all fresh from the local market, according to the bags, and it took him about twenty minutes to bring in all of the bags and put them away.
He had texted Steve a photo of the shopping trip with the phrase 'thanks for the heads up', to which Steve responded with a laughing emoji. Steve plainly found it amusing, and in some ways, he did as well. But then the guilt hit him; he didn't want Steve to waste his money on food for him when he could afford it.
Steve knew he had money and knew that he would help him out if he asked. Paying for food was nothing to him, and he like the idea of being able to cook Steve dinner as a thank-you for allowing him to stay. Though Buck knew his brother better than that. Steve only wanted the best for him; he also recognised the symptoms that he had been touch-deprived for so long that he was afraid he might do something dumb. So buying him food, having him stay in his house, and being present with him were all things he knew would show him that he meant something to him, that he mattered, and that he loved Steve for doing so for him.
But he still felt awful about letting Steve pay for everything.
It was why; after completing his first canvas, he'd bought them himself. Not allowing Steve to purchase any additional supplies and utilising his artist's bank card. Mr Sanderford had set up the account so that he could order supplies and equipment as needed, and it allowed him to send all receipts to his accountants without having to figure out which payments from his other accounts were work-related.
He wasn't scared to use that card to make purchases because Athena wouldn't be able to trace him because she had no knowledge of the account. He hoped that Athena would not use her police connections to track him down because he had done nothing wrong. However, he couldn't rule it out totally. He was also aware that the equipment he used was not the cheapest available; from the brushes to the canvases, he only used the best and what felt right for him. He phoned Mr Sanderford after seeing Steve's presence on the deck because he didn't want Steve to spend so much money on him.
Fortunately, Steve hadn't paid for all of the equipment, simply the sketchbook and pencils, as well as the easel and glass painting palette, which must have cost a small sum given the brands that he had gotten him. But he knew better than to argue with Steve about paying him back for them; it was a hopeless struggle which he didn't feel like fighting. Mr Sanderford explained to him during that phone call that he had shipped him all his other supplies which were his. They were what he had left behind when he relocated to LA. After discovering this, he felt a strong obligation to repay Steve for everything he had done.
But that also meant he had to worry about him because his brother never took care of himself when he was too preoccupied with something else. And as his brother worked on this case, Buck became increasingly concerned about him. But tonight, he had reached his limit and needed to speak with Steve about it. He needed to encourage his brother to express his emotions in a healthy way rather than bottle them up.
Steve had arrived at around 10 p.m. with three new files and dragged himself to the deck without speaking to him. Steve seemed to be caught in his own world as he dragged himself through his front door. He had before seen Steve grow obsessed with something so greatly, and it always scared him as to what could have nearly happened if he hadn't stepped in.
The last time Steve became obsessed with something, he forgot how to look after himself. He would forget to eat, wash, and generally care for himself. He had to watch his brother progressively destroy himself, and no matter how many times he asked him to stop, he refused. In the end, he called Joe for help; three hours later, Joe forcibly threw Steve into the shower, virtually forced-fed him, and placed him in bed with an IV line to sleep. And then he and Joe stayed with Steve to help him restore his strength. He never wanted to see his brother like that again, and he told Joe he'd phone him if it happened again.
He would make sure Steve ate, drank, and took care of himself, and he would not let him slip back into the abyss. When Steve returned home that night and situated himself on the deck, he had already given him a drink to ensure that he was hydrated, and he had checked on him several times to ensure that his brother was drinking it, which he was despite having to remind him to.
He found himself standing in the kitchen, watching Steve make his meal through the window. It was what he had to have for dinner, but he had saved some of the ingredients in the fridge so he could make Steve's fresh. After finishing their dinner, he grabbed another electrolyte drink from the fridge and went out to chat with Steve for a while. He knew that if he didn't sit down with him, Steve would forget to eat and continue working, and he needed a break right now.
"Here looks like you need this," Buck said, setting Steve's plate down and placing the drink next to the empty bottle before removing it so Steve didn't pick it up instead of the full one before sitting opposite from him.
Steve, on the other hand, did not look up from where he had been reading and rereading for the past half hour. "Thanks," he responded, not noticing the plate next to him, before adding, "but I'm still on the clock." He added as if that was an excuse.
Buck shook his head at the comment; unless 5-0s worked around the clock, that was a lie. He knew Steve wanted to solve this case, but he refused to let it consume him. "It's 11 p.m., Steve; the clock stopped a while ago," Buck replied, rolling his eyes at his brother.
"Not on this," Steve responded, turning the page to read the following section of the file.
"Steve, you need to take a break," Buck said, taking the file from Steve's hand shutting it and placing it back on Steve's stack. Right now, he knew that if he didn't physically remove the file from his brother, Steve would continue to work on it without eating.
"I can't," Steve groaned, running his palm over his exhausted face.
Buck could see Steve was about to fall asleep in his seat and struggled to keep his eyes up. "Yes, you can." Buck shot back. Steve always accepted full responsibility as team leader and began to blame himself when things went wrong. But not this time; he would not allow it. Steve needed to take a break from this case, even if it was only for a few hours, to clear his mind and return with a new perspective.
"You need to eat…" Buck pushed the plate of food in front of Steve, refusing to take no for an answer. "…the case is still going to be here when you finish." He then crossed his arms and looked straight at his brother.
He saw Steve glance at him as if he was trying to figure out how to get back on the case. But after a few minutes, Steve gave up and moved the dish closer to him. "Yer, you're right." He muttered quietly before closing his eyes with another sigh. Buck noticed his brother was struggling with sleep again and decided that if he could, he would try to get Steve to go to bed after eating.
"I know I am," Buck remarked cheekily, and his brother smiled in response.
"Shut up," Steve replied, laughing slightly as he picked up the burrito he had made for him.
Buck watched carefully as Steve began to inhale his food, but with just a glance, he was able to persuade his brother to calm down or he was going to make himself sick. Fortunately, Steve caught the lesson and began to eat more slowly.
They fell silent for a few minutes before Steve broke it. "I saw you've been painting again," he replied, pointing inside to the canvases, which were carefully wrapped to prevent them from harm until pickup.
Buck smiled, knowing that Steve had most certainly been checking over his work before leaving the house each morning. Buck nodded and added, "Mr Sanderford said he owes you a bottle of scotch for getting me back at it." He then added.
His conversations with Mr Sanderford became more frequent after his agent had their initial talk. He had spent an hour each day on the phone with him, discussing the topic of his new collections as well as what he intended to do with the money raised from the sales of the pieces. It would only take less than a month to complete copies of all the pieces and place his hidden mark on them, as he had done with the other pieces. He had already sketched up the drawings in the sketchbook Steve had given him and sent Mr Sanderford images of them. Mostly for his personal records.
"Working on a new collection?" Steve enquired.
Buck grinned slightly at the inquiry. He knew Steve was happy about the idea of a new collection as it meant that he was working on something that helped him deal with his emotions. A new collection also meant that he was moving on with his life.
Planning everything that went with it also helped with that, maybe not as well as painting the pieces but it did help. Even though he did not work directly with the galleries, he had a significant impact on how his work was displayed, as well as any messages he wanted to include in his collection. He was also in charge of composing the small caption that would be shown alongside the piece, which contained its name and what the painting meant to him.
He had begun to compose a couple of them following his meeting because, after chatting with Mr Sanderford, he recognised that all of his work had one thing in common: it involved water. He knew what he wanted to do with them at that point, but he didn't want to express it aloud in case he changed his mind. He was also concerned that revealing his idea to Steve would cause him undue anxiety.
"Near enough," Buck remarked, shrugging his shoulders.
"You going to show them?" Buck knew that if he didn't get Steve off the topic of his collection, he'd wind up blurting everything out, and his brother already had enough to worry about. He was supposed to be resting, not worried about himself.
"Not sure yet" Buck answered, before giving Steve a look that urged him to leave it because this was something he didn't want to discuss.
"Okay, keep your secrets," Steve responded, popping the remains of his burrito into his mouth with a smile. This statement indicated to Buck that Steve had received his message to drop this topic, and he respected him enough to know when to pursue a topic and when to leave it alone. And this was a topic he preferred to avoid for the time being.
"Thank you," Buck replied, giving Steve a warm smile.
Steve nodded before picking up his second burrito, and after another mouthful, he paused and stared down at his food with a puzzled expression. Buck couldn't help but laugh; Steve hadn't even asked what he was eating, and it appeared that he had only noticed it wasn't a regular burrito.
"What am I eating?" Steve finally enquired.
Buck couldn't help but laugh; he should have timed how long it took Steve to realise there was no red meat in the burrito. "A crispy tilapia fish burrito," Buck replied, shrugging.
After his conversation with Mr Sanderford, he wanted to cook something fresh, so he went online and looked up what food Steve had. "I saw the recipe online and wanted to try it," he continued. It reminded him of the tacos he ate with Sam before boarding the plane. He couldn't find the precise recipe, but he looked around for something close enough, and when he came across a burrito recipe, he couldn't help but want to try it.
"It's really good," Steve stated as he proceeded to eat.
Buck grinned and felt the warm fuzzy feeling that comes from receiving a compliment, which he hadn't had in a long time. He enjoyed cooking for others and missed it. He missed cooking for his family, but following the lawsuits, no one wanted to eat anything he prepared. He once made something at the firehouse that Chimney enjoyed until he discovered who made it, at which point he spat it out and shouted at him for trying to make him sick before discarding the food. He hadn't even made it for him, but he no longer had any say in the matter. It was why he never bothered to cook at the station anymore, even when they were out on a call. He couldn’t risk it.
"Thanks," Buck replied.
They returned to silence while Steve finished his dinner. After finishing the final bite, Steve opened the drink Buck had brought him and downed it all in one go. Buck noticed that Steve looked a little better, but there were still dark bags under both of his eyes, and he didn't appear as dehydrated.
"Are you ok Steve?" Buck inquired timidly, expecting that now that Steve was fed and watered, he would at least receive an honest response. He didn't want to be intrusive, but perhaps Steve needed to express what was going on inside his mind. They had done it before, both during operations and afterwards. They would meet and discuss everything that had happened. This frequently occurred after the after-action reports and away from their command, allowing them to process all their emotions and ensure that they were okay while also identifying areas for improvement.
Buck just hoped Steve would still trust him enough to do it for the case he was working on. Perhaps addressing his worries and problems could help him even a bit.
"It's just this case…" Steve sighed. Buck could tell Steve knew what he was doing, and he was grateful that Steve still trusted him. "…we just keep chasing our tails on this, we aren't getting any leads on the stolen good," Steve complained.
Buck understood the frustration; Steve and everyone at 5-0 were working themselves to the ground on this case and weren't getting the results they wanted. He understood that everyone on the island regarded the 5-0 task force as the people to call when their issues appeared insurmountable. And he knew Steve felt like he was failing everyone because of it.
"No luck chasing the black-market connection?" Buck asked.
He had heard Steve urge Danny to keep checking any CIs to see if any of the stolen goods were being sold on the black market. Buck reasoned that selling something identified as stolen would be difficult and doing it on an island would be nearly impossible because gossip seemed to be ripe. He had been talking to Kono, Chin, and Danny frequently, checking in on Steve when he did not respond after a while, and the relationship he had begun to build with them had only grown strong now. He knew Steve trusted them to have his back, and he did too.
He just hoped they were taking care of themselves better than Steve was right now.
"No…" Steve groaned as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "There are no reports of them trying to sell the items on the island, and we have made it impossible for them to smuggle them out in as many ways as we can think of. And digging into the fires hasn't helped much; we have no information on them, so we're stuck." Steve complained.
Buck leaned back in his chair for a bit, thinking about what Steve had just said. And then an idea occurred to him; perhaps Steve had already considered it, but it wouldn't hurt if he simply said it. "Maybe they have a shopping list," he added, shrugging. The idea that the burglars knew what they were taking because someone had brought it before it was stolen was plausible. However, this didn't mean that it was the correct idea.
Steve abruptly rose up in his seat, staring at him as if he had three heads. Buck was concerned for a few moments, wondering whether he had made a mistake; after all, it was only an idea. When they were planning their missions, Steve frequently sought feedback on how to plan them. It was what made them such a good team since they had collaborated to plan how they would fulfil their task, using all of their skills and leaving nothing to chance. He only hoped he hadn't overstepped when Steve offered his viewpoint.
Back at the 118, he was sneered at for expressing his opinions and informed that he had no idea what he was talking about, yet if someone else did the same, they were acclaimed a genius. In the end, he stopped expressing his views because no one wanted them. However, if someone's life was in danger, he would make certain that he was voicing his concerns in front of other fire stations since their captains would usually jump in and stand with him. When they returned, he would not hear the end of it, but at least he had saved someone's life.
"You mean that they aren't selling the stuff they steal because they have already sold it?" Steve enquired, and from his vantage point, Buck could practically see the wheels turning within Steve's head.
"Maybe it explains why you haven't heard of anyone attempting to sell the stolen items. The sales have already happened; all they need to do is to steal the items and send them out to their buyers, or personally deliver them if they are on the island." Buck stated, shrugging his shoulders, that it was just an idea. He could be wrong, but there was also a chance that he was correct.
"I might be completely wrong still." Buck quickly added. He knew his suggestion had validity and was something Steve should check into, but he could be wrong. He understood it was possible that they hadn't discovered a suitable black-market location for the thieves, and if that was the case, Steve would be wasting valuable time investigating his concept. He would hate himself even more if he put Steve under additional stress by sending him down the wrong path and causing him more problems with the governor and the HPD.
"No, but you have a point," Steve remarked, and Buck could tell he was trying to piece together the discussion in his head. "If they knew what they were stealing, it makes sense why not a lot was taken. Most of what was taken were items that were easy to get rid of or could be broken down and sold. It's a good cover, keeping us from focussing on their true aim. We would go in thinking they picked up things that were easy to carry and only grabbed a few large items since they were in a hurry to leave."
Buck agreed with Steve's line of thought. He remembered Steve telling him about all of the stolen jewellery, including some precious items. Jewellery was simple to dismantle; jewels could be added to new pieces or sold separately, and gold and silver could be melted and recycled. So Steve had a point: by stealing other valuable but easy-to-dispose items, the criminals were able to conceal their intentions and make the heist appear random. They were simply picking up items that appeared to be pricey.
"And by using the fires it gave them the time to raid the place when everyone else is busy but also gives them a good warning when the fire department turns up to leave," Buck stated the sirens of the fire engines served as a good warning to the robbers to leave, and because the fire was typically close to the property, everyone inside had to escape, leaving the robbers alone to grab what they wanted. Or steal from their shopping list.
Steve nodded, and Buck could see that Steve agreed with him. "Fires are always a good distraction technique, we've used it on a fair number of ops, haven't we?" Steve enquired, looking up at him.
Buck nodded in response; they'd used fire as a distraction a few times before, and it was usually up to him to make it happen. He specialised in fires and explosives, and he enjoyed devising new ways to make things go bang to complete tasks. He was one of the best demo guys in the unit, and probably the entire Navy, if they counted how many times, he was called upon to assist the other bomb technicians when he was available.
He had become a specialist at making concoctions that could be used as diversion explosions, and he had even improved the flash bangs that they used so that they lasted longer, giving them more time to make entry and lowering their chances of being hit once inside a structure. Some of the Seals had begun to refer to him as Doctor Bomber since he was so well-known. The most fulfilling thing he had ever done while in the Navy was to enhance the bomb disposal robots so that his other brothers and sisters in bomb disposal would be safer than ever before. Or as safe as possible in bomb disposal.
His expertise and experience also helped him complete all of his degree assignments and tests quickly. Hell, he had almost finished the course within the first three weeks, but for some reason that he didn't understand, he wasn't permitted to. Instead, he was required to attend every lecture as part of his attendance requirement. But he didn't want to bother the other students, so he mainly sat in the back of the classroom, pretending to be invisible. However, he did not waste his time; instead, he sat down and worked on another design for the Navy or a proposal describing new procedures he had developed for dealing with more volatile chemicals and new technologies that could be used to help detect them. The plan, if accepted, has the potential to save many lives. He only needed to convince the Navy to accept it and spend the money on it.
He also helped his classmates by correcting their professor anytime he made a mistake. Some of it was ordinary blunders or outdated material, but the one that really irritated him was when he tried to tell them he knew more than any textbook. He ended up correcting him every time he said something wrong after that, and he had to prove to the university that he was accurate every time he corrected him when he protested to the school and tried to get him expelled. Fortunately, with a few contacts, the lecturer was ordered to step away from teaching for a bit when other students complained about his attitude. The last he heard; he had left the institution to pursue another career. However, he remembered how arrogant the man was; he had most certainly offended the wrong person and was asked to leave.
"Yer, you had me mixing Molotov cocktails like they were going out of fashion at times," Buck said it as a joke. According to claims, he could create a mean Molotov cocktail. He had frequently told them that it was just chemistry, and that he just needed to discover the correct combination of potassium, sulphur, and sugar. It took a while, but he made it; he understood his concoction was still utilised by the Navy when necessary. It was unlikely that he would be constructing Molotov cocktails while working as a firefighter but that didn't mean he had forgotten his skills.
They both laughed at Buck's remark. If their diversion plans required Buck's specific abilities, Steve would usually ask him to devise and execute it without needing his approval. This often entailed blowing something up or setting it on fire. But then they both fell silent; Buck knew Steve was going over all they had talked about and attempting to figure out the case while Buck sat there concerned. He simply hoped Steve didn't rely too heavily on his advice and would keep his mind open to all possibilities.
Steve then broke the silence and asked, "Do you mind having a look at the fire reports that we got from the arson investigator to see if they missed anything?"
Buck seemed surprised for a moment at Steve's question. He was confident that the HFD's arson investigator would be excellent and would not have overlooked anything significant. So, why did Steve ask him to look again? Wouldn't that simply waste more time?
"Steve, I am not an arson investigator or a cop. I'm not sure how much help I'll be. Buck responded honestly.
As much as he didn't want to think about it, he couldn't help but wonder if Steve was simply asking him to keep him occupied so that he wouldn't be locked away inside the house alone. He realised that to provide a complete assessment, he would need to get out and potentially visit some of the crime scenes as well as work in the 5-0 offices, where Steve could keep a watch on him. He understood his brother's point of view, but he was also annoyed that his brother did not trust him. He hadn't experienced any more panic attacks because he had demonstrated his ability to care for himself in recent days.
"Maybe not, but you are a firefighter and a Seal who is better trained to make and cause explosions and fires than anyone I've ever met," Steve said, and Buck knew that he was right. He wasn't completely trained in arson investigation, but as a fire marshal, he understood enough to figure out tiny details like where the fire started and how long it would burn. Even though he wasn't an investigator, he found himself researching any arson incidents he had attended as a firefighter or had heard about in the press. He could access the reports online and would frequently study them to learn as much as he could about how to deal with similar fires if lives were at stake. And, thanks to his seal training, he was familiar with how chemicals interacted. However, this in no way qualified him to investigate them.
Buck murmured, "Not anymore," in response to the firefighter's comment. And he was speaking the truth. He was no longer a firefighter, therefore calling himself one would be disrespectful. Bobby saw to it. If he was honest with himself, he had come to regard himself as nothing more than a cleaner to them. Not a firefighter.
"You still are," Steve remarked softly. "… and you are also the guy I would call when I needed something to go boom or burst into flames just when we needed it too." He finished with a mischievous grin on his face.
"I plead the fifth," Buck humorously replied. However, Steve's comment that he was the one he would contact made him feel a bit warm inside. When he worked at the 118, they only called him when they needed someone to babysit or cover a shift. Never because they desired him. It was pleasant to hear.
Steve began to laugh at the comment; as a cop, he had heard 'I want a lawyer' enough times and hearing it from his own brother was amusing enough. "You're the best in the business, brother," Steve replied, shaking his head. "Even wrote some fancy papers that caught a lot of attention from the right circles." Steve also pointed his finger at Buck.
Buck smiled and shook his head as his brother laughed slightly. "It was only three papers, and they weren't that good," Buck explained. But he knew he was lying; he was proud of the papers. He wouldn't acknowledge it to Steve. As much as he loved his brother, he tended to exaggerate things. They were just study articles; nothing groundbreaking about them.
"Well the CIA loved your one on how you could use drones with specially built sensors that could detect bombs due to the chemical make-up of the explosives used," Steve said with a grin.
Buck felt himself pause; he remembered authoring that paper when he was researching ways to improve bomb disposal robots and finding it unusual that drones weren't being utilised in the same way to clear highways for IEDs instead of simply risking it since employing small robots would take too long. He'd been reading about the new technology and how the sensors could detect the chemicals in explosives as well as the chemical compounds in the battery that powered the device. Those drones might be able to clear roadways of IEDs, making movement in war-torn areas much easier, as well as prevent ambush attacks before they occur. He had been involved in and lost some close friends in such attacks; this technology had the potential to put an end to that.
However, what astonished him the most was that both the CIA and Steve were aware of the article. Because of its sensitivity, the paper was classified. Meaning it was an eyes-only paper; he could surmise that the CIA had obtained it. His solution was to employ small drones like those available in stores or online but with sensors incorporated in so that they did not stick out. Nothing to do with spying or anything like that.
"I didn't know the CIA was interested in that," Buck responded honestly, hoping that Steve might explain how he knew about the paper, as the Admiral he spoke with about it claimed that no one would have access to it unless they had permission.
"Me and Joe put a stop to them talking to you, we had a feeling they were going to ask you about stuff that we knew you wouldn't be comfortable with, so we ran interference," Steve explained.
Buck now knew where Steve was coming from, and Joe's involvement gave him enough information to avoid asking too many questions. He was also eternally grateful that Joe was in both Steve's and his life. He'd never wanted to work for the CIA; he'd worked with a few agents in the past, but he knew he wasn't cut out for spying. Steve was, perhaps, but not him. Being a typical Seal was sufficient for him. Or at least it was.
"Thanks for that," he mumbled. The thought of what the CIA may have tried to force him into was terrifying; he loved helping others. Sure, as a Seal, he had to take lives, but he never did so in anger or for personal gain. He also understood he couldn't lie to others to gain intel. He'd seen it time and time again: the CIA would burn its contacts and leave them out in the cold for so long that when they did send someone after them, it was too late.
He enjoyed assisting others because that was what he was good at. But he also understood that if Joe hadn't stepped in, there was a good chance he would have been ordered to assist them. And that worried him even more. Being pushed to do something he knew was wrong. But at least he didn't have to worry about all of that anymore.
"No problem…" Steve nodded, then leaned over and retrieved three folders from the pile, grinning at him. "…so you will have a look for me?" He enquired, trying to give Buck the best puppy eyes he could.
Buck was unable to help but laugh at Steve's attempt. He was the one in the team known for having puppy eyes. Hell, he had gotten them two extra days off training by using them on Joe, who had a difficult time saying no. Steve had even joked that Joe plainly preferred him over him on those occasions, and he had threatened to let him handle Joe if they did something wrong in the hopes of getting them off the hook. However, when Joe found out about it, he informed Steve in front of him that it wouldn't help them and that if he just stopped doing foolish crap, he would be fine. Buck laughed so hard that he was certain he had broken a rib or something.
"Fine," Buck responded, sighing loudly but cheerfully. He then reached over the table and took the files from him, opening one to examine it. At first glance, the report appeared to be complete.
"Thank you, you're the best," Steve said with a grin, leaning back in his chair and looking at him.
Buck could feel Steve staring at him as he read the file. He quickly figured out that the flames had been started with a Molotov cocktail and a delayed timer to go off when they wanted. It was straightforward yet clear.
"But I got to ask…" Steve spoke with an evil smirk on his face.
Buck looked up and gave Steve a bewildered and wondering look; he didn't know what Steve would want to ask him since he had already convinced him to help him with the case. But if his brother needs additional assistance, then so be it. He would assist him no matter what. That was what brothers did; they helped one another.
"Where were you on the…" Steve began to say something, but Buck responded by laughing.
Buck knew what Steve was about to ask him, and he understood. If Steve had made a list of people who knew how to start these fires as well as they did, he knew he was on it. If not, he would genuinely advise Steve to quit attempting to protect him because he did not need to. He was big enough to care for himself.
"Very funny," Buck replied, laughing.
"Just don't leave the island, we are watching you," Steve said jokingly, and they both started laughing. Buck understood it was preposterous to suppose Steve would believe he was involved in these crimes, and that asking him just demonstrated his entire faith in him to work on this case with him. But had to ask for the case's sake.
"Just not in the shower," Buck responded. It felt good to help his brother. Even if all he did was figure out how the fires started, he enjoyed working with Steve again. He only prayed he hadn't let him down.