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He kept talking even as one rescuer hooked him up to the harness.

He kept talking as the winch above started to pull him up out of the water.

He’d tried to tell them to take Chicago first, but the men didn’t seem to hear his pleas.

They didn’t even seem to meet his eyes with their own.

It was something he was trying to ignore.

Trying not to understand.

When they hauled him aboard the helicopter, he knew how bad his leg must look to the medic.

It felt like fucking hell.

Out of the salt water it should have hurt less, but even that reprieve was denied to him.

He felt like he was on fire.

Like someone shoved a red-hot poker in his leg and twisted it, pushing it deeper and deeper into his muscles.

“Ch-Chicago.”

He was moments from passing out, pain clawing through his skin.

“Where’s Chicago?”

No one answered him. The only person looking him in the eye was the medic.

“I can give you medicine to block the pain until we get you to the hospital.”

Buck shook his head, or at least he thought he did.

The medic, a reed thin man he’d seen a time or two before, asked him again. “Meds?”

“N-no. Not until Chicago’s in here with me.”

Even in the darkness and the thin interior light of the helicopter, Buck could see the dark look on the medic’s face. He turned away so he didn’t have to see it.

He didn’t want to face him.

He had to hold onto hope.

He did.

Until they pulled Chicago up and laid him down less than a foot away.

Buck knew before anyone said a word.

It wasn’t just Chicago’s vacant stare.

It was the way everyone around them turned to look at him.

The sorrow and grief that he read on their faces, aimed at him.

And those looks should have done him in.

Knocked him out since he was already on his ass.