Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Eddie doesn't leave his side for the rest of the night. He comes with Buck when the ambulance takes him to the hospital. He's there, a silent but needed presence, as a nurse takes his vitals to make sure there are no lasting effects from the chloroform, and he sits in the chair beside Buck while they weave careful stitches through the cut in his shoulder. Eddie asks the doctors relevant questions that Buck is too tired to express himself—about his health, about his insurance, if there's anything they need to worry about.

Buck is only half paying attention. He's grateful that he isn't being forced to talk, because even though the nurse put numbing cream around the area he's stitching up, a phantom pain resides in his shoulder. It's easy to relive how Pete had lunged forward and swung the knife without care, with only the aim to harm Buck as deeply as he could. But Eddie being here next to him helps in ways Buck can't yet put words to.

Once the nurse is done, informing Buck that he should come back if anything looks infected or if he has any more problems, Eddie stops him before he leaves.

"Are there any more tests you have to do, or are we done?"

The nurse looks at his chart, then shakes his head. "Nope, you're all set," he says. "Just let the front desk know when you leave. You guys have a good night. "

"You too," Eddie responds, but he's looking at Buck.

It's the first time they've been alone since the apartment, and Buck can feel the weight of Eddie's stare. Even now, it's a comfort.

Eddie clears his throat. "You with me?" he asks. Are you ready to talk, he doesn't say. He hasn't even asked if Buck is doing alright, because they both know the answer to that question.

Buck thinks that, had Eddie asked him anything else, he might have retreated into himself or pushed him away. But because Eddie is here, so is Buck—so he nods.

"Yeah."

"Good. How's your shoulder doing?"

Buck glances down at the gauze which covers most of the wound and tilts his head in consideration. Physically, he can barely tell it's there, especially since he can't see underneath it. But the numbness is just a temporary mask, and he knows that once the unnatural sensation dissipates, that sentiment will change.

"Right now? I can't feel a thing," he admits.

Eddie raises an eyebrow—a reaction Buck wasn't quite expecting—and says, "Really? I wonder why that is." At the blank silence, he slowly adds, "You know, numbing cream and all."

It's a pathetic attempt at a joke, all things considered. The timing is off, and it's the last thing Buck had expected for Eddie to do when they got a moment to themselves. It's probably why it's the first thing to make him smile, the first thing to center him fully—because it helps him understand where he is.

Buck is alive.

He isn't stuck in a chair. He isn't fearing for his life, or for Christopher's and Eddie's. And Pete is gone, taken by the police when they had come to the door.

It's finally, truly over, like Eddie had said.

Still, when a thought occurs to him, Buck's smile falters.

"Where am I supposed to go tonight? I don't…"

Eddie has helped him so much already, has saved his life. It seems like too much to ask if he can stay over again, not when Buck had accepted the fact that he was going to figure this out on his own. He shouldn't need to rely on those around him to stay afloat. Maybe he can book a hotel? It's Eddie's first day back to work tomorrow, and Buck has irrevocably messed up his night enough.

He doesn't want to push him away, though. In fact, Buck thinks doing this all by himself might be an impossibility—and is it really so bad, if he admits he needs help? It's not like the team isn't aware that he's drowning, and Eddie has already shown him that he'll be there to help pull him out of the waves.

"Do you…do you think it would be possible for me to stay with you?" Buck asks. He thinks the admission is going to hurt, but the moment it's out of his mouth, a wave of relief washes over him instead—and it remains there, until he realises that Eddie hasn't actually agreed. Eddie hasn't said anything. He's just staring at Buck, his expression going from strained to something he can only describe as relaxed.

"Do you know why I came to your apartment today?" Eddie says finally, but it isn't a yes, and Buck wonders if he somehow screwed this all up by assuming his place in Eddie's house still existed.

Then, the question registers, and it occurs to Buck that he doesn't know the answer. Why did Eddie come over, when it was Buck who had left earlier that afternoon? If he'd forgotten something, Eddie would have texted him about it before deciding to stop by unannounced. He wouldn't have left Christopher at home unless it was important—and what was so pertinent that it couldn't have waited another day?

A soft look falls over Eddie's face. One that fends off the worry.

"The house felt empty without you there," he reveals. "You had left, made it sound like you weren't coming back for a while, and it dawned on me that I didn't want you to stay away. I came over to your apartment, Buck, because…" Eddie takes a deep breath. "Well, because I was going to ask if you wanted to move in with me."

Oh.

Oh.

This time, when the revelation hits him, it doesn't send a sinking pit of revulsion through him like it had when he woke up to Pete's voice. Instead, Buck blinks, then he blinks again as if in confirmation of the words, because surely that can't be right?

"Now, obviously you don't have to say anything right now," Eddie says, and his speech has picked up in pace. "I'm just saying that having you over is not a burden at all. You're not a guest, and I don't want you to be. Have you seen Christopher lately? He's—he's so happy. He hasn't had a nightmare in weeks, and he gets so excited when you stay over. You treat him like he's one of your own. And I know you have your apartment, but you're on a leave of absence, and rent in Los Angeles isn't cheap. So I thought, why not ask?"

Eddie's rambles grind to a halt, and he turns to Buck almost sheepishly. "Like I said, I don't want you to even think about this right now. But you need a place to sleep in tonight, and my house is always open to you, no matter what."

It's something Eddie has said before to Buck. Maybe not as explicitly, but he remembers when he had that nightmare and had woken up to his unlocked, open front door and called Eddie.

Eddie had not turned him away. More than that, he had let him stay over longer than he probably should have, all because Buck had asked.

Now Eddie is asking something of him. And there is no other answer Buck has for him than yes.

"...Yes?"

Buck shrugs his right shoulder. Pretends as though his heart isn't trying to pound through his chest. "Yeah. I mean, I'd have to let my landlord know, but I'm pretty sure he's going to kick me out anyway now that I've turned the place into a crime scene."

"I'm going to have to buy you a proper bed," Eddie adds, frowning, and it's as though he doesn't believe him—as if Buck somehow needs any more convincing.

"As long as I can sleep on your couch for the time being, sure."

"Buck, I'm serious. You've just been—all of this just happened, I shouldn't have even brought it up."

Buck doesn't think so. While the dread still abides behind everything he does, Eddie asking him not to just stay over, but to move in with him, pushes it all to the side. It gives him something to look forward to, and the fear surrounding his apartment and what staying there entails stops holding weight when it registers that he won't be going back if he doesn't want to.

"I'm being serious, too," he tells Eddie.

Eddie gives him another look, but he must see the truth behind it, because he stands.

"Well, alright," he says, the corner of his lip turning upwards. He holds out a hand to help Buck up. "Then let's go home."

It isn't until Buck wakes up, a few hours after they had made it back to Eddie's house and he crashed on the couch with nothing more than a goodnight, that he realises the team doesn't know what happened. In fact, they don't know anything—not about the fight ring, or about Buck and Eddie's participation in it, or that they had to take another trip to the hospital. Only Athena heard the basic details Buck had managed to stutter out before she stopped him, and any other information they might have learned from the case itself is a falsehood.

As he sits up on the couch, wondering if he even wants them to know, Eddie walks into the living room.

"Hey," Buck greets, swinging his legs over the side so that he's ready to get up if he needs to. "What are you still doing here? I thought you had your first shift back today."

Eddie sends him a look, as though Buck had just said something so incomprehensible that all he can do is stare blankly. Then he says, "You were kidnapped in your own home and nearly killed last night. I told Bobby I was taking an extra day off."

Buck grimaces. "Oh. Right."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but it's good-natured, and he comes over to sit beside him. "Speaking of…how are you doing? And don't lie to me, Buck."

Buck strangles back the instinctual 'fine' that sits on the edge of his tongue. The truth is, now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't really know. It feels like too much to process all at once—when he was sitting in that chair, with Pete standing in front of him, he dealt with the betrayal by shoving it aside. The fact that his friend was the one to unlock his door and threaten his life wasn't something he really had to worry about, considering he had so much more on his plate at the time.

Now, though, he actually has a moment to sit with it. Pete wanted to kill me, he thinks. He wanted to kill Christopher and Eddie. He actually tried going through with it.

Eddie is waiting there expectantly, so Buck actually attempts to express the thoughts running through his brain. At first, it feels like a betrayal to himself—to reveal the ideas he usually keeps close to his chest, the ones he doesn't want anyone to hear about in fear of being seen. But once he gets started, he finds it hard to stop.

"Pete, the…the guy who did it—he was my friend," Buck begins slowly, bringing his hands in front of him to stare at his palms, turning them back and forth. "I first met him a few months ago, when I'd go for those walks that my physiotherapist prescribed. Pete had another friend, James, who overdosed on the street, and I helped save his life. We didn't hang out all the time—I didn't have his number, or anything—but I felt like I knew him, you know? Like, here's this guy, down on his luck, but he takes time out of his day to talk to me and ask me how I am. I tried to help him out the best I could, but he always refused my money."

Eddie shifts closer on the couch, and Buck can feel the warmth leeching off of him. It helps him to speak, getting out the emotions that, now that he's putting words to them, are cropping up one after the other like popcorn in a microwave.

"I didn't know much about him. But I thought he was just, like, secretive. Which was fair, so I never asked about what he did or what his past was because I assumed it was none of my business. And then, that night after my second shift back, he called out to me, and he asked if I…" Buck laughs sardonically. "Well, he asked if I was a cop, and I said no. Then he brought me to the warehouse, because he said he 'knew what it was like to want to punch something.' Didn't know what he meant by that, at first."

"He brought you to the fight ring," Eddie concludes, his voice quiet.

Buck closes his hands into a fist and examines his knuckles. "More than that. I think he owned the fight ring, and I was just another one of his customers."

Eddie leans back on the couch, but Buck stays sitting up, elbows on his knees.

"Do you want to know what he said to me?" Buck asks, choking out the phrase. "When he had me in my house, he said 'a life for a life.' He said, even though I'd saved James, it didn't really matter. Because I also killed Jackson, and he implied that my wrong had to be righted."

For the first time since he started speaking, Buck turns to Eddie and watches his reaction.

"He also threatened you, when he realised that killing me wouldn't send the proper kind of message."

"Buck…"

He turns back to his hands. Doesn't let Eddie finish what he was about to say, if he was going to say anything at all.

"But then you showed up. Kicked down the fucking door and everything. You saved my life, Eddie. How did you even know I needed help? I didn't make any noise, I made sure of that."

There's a moment of silence, and Eddie jolts as if he's been pulled out of a trance when he notices that Buck genuinely wants an explanation.

"Your car was in the parking lot, so I knew you were home," he says after a beat. "But you didn't answer the door, or my text—and there was that deadbolt above the lock, which was definitely new. I think that's what clued me in that something was wrong. Then…well, then I heard a voice, and it wasn't yours. So I broke down the fucking door."

Buck eventually leans back as well, the couch cushion dipping under his bodyweight. His arm is touching Eddie's, and he is suddenly aware that the little bit of contact isn't enough. That he wants to join sides with Eddie, move over and rest his head on his shoulder because, even though he just woke up, that never-ending exhaustion is back.

"You asked how I was feeling?" Buck says, and he gives in to the urge, just slightly, by letting his elbow twist so that his forearm rests overtop of Eddie's. "When you came through that door, and you began to strangle Pete, I told you to stop, and you did. I couldn't let you experience what I went through, knowing that your own two hands took the life of another—and so what I'm feeling right now, Eddie, is grateful."

Buck sighs, expelling the air in his lungs until there's nothing left, and closes his eyes.

"I'm so, so grateful."

Eddie stays at the house the next day, too. He says it's to help Buck get settled in, and Buck doesn't refuse because he's still shaky on his feet, and the thought of being alone sends a spike of anxiety down his spine. They spend the afternoon taking a trip between his apartment and Eddie's house—something he still can't wrap his head around, because is it his house now as well? Eddie tells him it is. Buck wants to believe it is, but things are moving around him too quickly for him to process it all, and he's decided to just accept things as they come. To not dwell on the needless and unimportant doubts that pervade his every movement, when there is so much good happening around him instead.

When they get to his apartment, Eddie says, "You stay here and get the trunk cleared out. I'll go upstairs and get what you need for at least the next few days. Was there anything specific you wanted me to bring down?"

Buck does a mental checklist of his apartment, shivers when his brain sends out unhelpful images of his desk chair and a backlit figure, then shakes his head. "Just my clothes, my charger, and my laptop. If you think there's some furniture we should keep, you can take that with. Maybe some of my pans? The ones we have at home kind of suck."

Home. The word just sort of slips out, and Buck bites his lip when Eddie grins at him.

"Sounds good," Eddie says, still smiling. "I won't be long."

Buck nods. Trying to avoid the subject, he adds, "Oh, and if I'm not here when you get back, it's because I'll be talking with my landlord. Should have the place out of my possession in about two weeks?"

Eddie gives him a thumbs-up in confirmation before heading into the building, and Buck goes to the trunk to clean it out, mostly with his one arm so that he doesn't aggravate the other.

This, he thinks, is one of those good things he should be dwelling on instead. Although he's standing outside of a place he never wants to enter again, he isn't being forced to take that leap. More than that, Eddie didn't ask Buck to do this alone—he was, in fact, the one to bring it up, and when Buck had hesitated, he said he'd be grabbing everything from the loft himself and that Buck was not allowed to help him, regardless of how much he protested.

It's almost strange that he feels better now, considering everything that's happened since.

Before that evening with Pete, Buck had wondered if he could ever actually move on. He was still pushing everyone away, hiding from the team and from Eddie. They'd had to show up at his apartment unannounced just to talk with him, and when he was staying at Eddie's, there was always that voice in the back of his head that said it wouldn't last.

This time, though, it's different. Buck doesn't have to fear going home—because he isn't going back to his apartment. He finally knows who had been unlocking his door, Pete using it as a fear tactic, a way to make his threats mean something. But he doesn't have to worry anymore, because Pete's gone, and if Buck has anything to say about it, he's going to keep it that way.

He wants to talk to Athena about it. Wants to tell her everything, even if it might take a burst of courage to do it.

So why not ask her now? he wonders, stepping back from Eddie's truck. It feels like a simple solution—he's waiting here, not doing much, and his phone is within easy reach. But he pauses anyway, experiencing that same cowardice which had stopped him from talking to Eddie about the fight ring when he had the opportunity to.

Instead of pulling up his messages, he closes the back door of the truck and goes to find his landlord. Is it so bad if he waits a little longer? He doesn't know how long it will take Eddie to work on clearing out his place—he'll probably be down soon with the first set of stuff—and he doesn't want to hold him up. Not when Eddie's already done so much for him.

So Buck goes, and he breaks his lease with his landlord. Then he comes back and helps Eddie pack what they can into the trunk, fitting it all with only a little room to spare.

"Finish everything you needed to?" Eddie asks once they step back, Buck shutting the trunk with a snap.

And Buck realises that, since things are different, maybe he can push through the fear this time. Reach out for help on his own accord, not because he's being forced to, but because he wants to. Which he does. He wants to talk to the team, have them over again for brunch, and this time it won't have to be an intervention—it can be an invitation.

"Not yet," Buck says, and he pulls out his phone.

He texts Athena first, asking if they can meet up sometime to talk privately. As they get into the truck and Eddie starts pulling out of the parking lot, he also opens up the team group chat.

"Is it fine if everyone comes over at some point?" he questions, suddenly unsure if this is okay. It isn't just himself he has to worry about—he's also sharing a space with Eddie now, and the last thing he needs is to mess up the easy rapport between them.

"The team? Yeah, of course. It's your house too, Buck."

Eddie's stated that multiple times over the past few days, yet the phrase still manages to make his stomach flip. He says it with such ease, and while Eddie's casualness about it does help to dissuade some of the uncertainty, it also makes Buck wonder why he can't call follow along without feeling like he's struggling to breathe.

In the end, it's all he can do to hum out an agreement in return before finally sending out a text in the group chat; it's the first unprompted message he's sent for a very long time, and it's one where he's asking for help.

His heart skips a beat when it goes through, then he turns his phone face down on his lap and can't help but smile when it buzzes in response a few minutes later with a chorus of agreements.

It isn't until the team comes over, the food resting on Eddie's counter and not on Buck's old kitchen island, that he finally thinks he'll be able to call this place his own. He's had a few days to sit with it, to sleep in the living room with the knowledge that he can reside here for as long as he wants to. While he doesn't exactly have a room yet, it's not something that bothers him. Eddie is talking about changing around the old office space he could never quite find a use for, and although it has a dusty computer and some bookshelves in it, they'll be easy to move into a storage unit, and then it's just a matter of finding a bed. The one Buck has is too big to fit, but when he tells Eddie that he doesn't mind, it's the truth.

How could he possibly complain about any of this?

He has the team backing him up, remaining by his side despite not having been back to work in full capacity for a very long time. He has Christopher, who jolted forward and hugged Buck for over thirty seconds when he and Eddie had sat him down and asked if it was okay if Buck lived with them. He has Eddie, who asked him to stay in the first place.

And now, here they all are, greeting Buck with hugs and not passive handshakes. While they don't know the details, they know something must have happened for his change in demeanour, and Buck hears Chimney ask Maddie, not so subtly, why Eddie keeps looking for Buck as though he is going to disappear at any moment.

He doesn't blame their curiosity, and he appreciates their current tact in not bombarding them with questions—but he can tell that it's there, and it makes the idea of starting a conversation with any of them a dangerous prospect. So, for now, Buck hangs back and tries to appear busy.

He fails spectacularly at it, though, because about five minutes after Hen shows up, she's walking over to him and tugging his phone out of his hands.

"Buck."

Her tone is serious, and it's something he willfully chooses to ignore.

"Hey, Hen," he greets, "Everything good with you?"

Hen sighs, shaking her head. "Nope, that's not going to work. You have to tell me what's going on with you, and I will not accept no for an answer. Are you…"

Buck knows she wants to ask how he is, but she must be able to tell that it's a fruitless endeavour because she trails off. And it's funny, because Buck might actually have been able to answer that question truthfully for once.

"I'm doing okay," he tells her, hoping she understands that it isn't a lie designed to push her away. He actually hopes it's his sincerity that will get her to back off from asking the other questions that swirl behind her eyes. "Really, Hen. I'm doing better than okay."

"Right," she drawls, gaze narrowing. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I missed out on just about everything." Then, her manner changes into something that looks both pained and excited. "I mean, you and Eddie? If I'm not mistaken, this is a welcome home party. Because you moved in together. What's that about? When did this happen?"

Buck blinks. That was not the line of questioning I was expecting.

"About a week ago," Buck says slowly, wondering if there's a hidden meaning behind his answer that Hen will be able to dissect.

"Right," she says again, but she seems to be losing steam. "And you moved in together because…?"

And that's more on par with what Buck was anticipating. The reasons for the change, when from their perspective, Buck had been on a steady downward spiral. Now that he's found a way to build himself back up, they want to know why.

But how can I tell them that it's the freedom of knowing it's all over? That it took being tied to a chair in my own apartment to realise that I couldn't do this alone?

So Buck chooses to be as honest as he can without actually revealing that in as many words, and says simply, "Because he asked me to."

Hen raises an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

Buck suddenly does not like the expression on her face. Is defensive for reasons he can't articulate, only knowing that she's questioning something integral to his words that he can't quite decipher himself.

"Yeah. Is there a problem with that?"

Hen, sensing the tone shift, backtracks. "No. No, of course not. It's just—well, we're all a little shocked." She pauses, as if gathering her thoughts. "It feels like there's something you're not telling us. But you know you can talk to me, right, Buck?"

"I know. Like I said, though, I really am doing okay."

"That's not what I meant."

Buck groans. "Well, I'm not really sure what you want me to say, Hen." He can't tell her what happened—at least, not today. Maybe not for a while.

She shrugs and admits, eyes gleaming, "I just want you to be honest with yourself. Have you thought this through? Do you know what you're doing?"

Of course not—Buck never is one to think things through with the attention they probably deserve, and Hen is aware of that. She doesn't have to highlight the suddenness of his decision when he is already familiar with his own impulsiveness.

But he wonders if maybe that's the point. This is one of those rare times where his decision doesn't feel like it's the wrong one, acted upon emotions that are bound to change at any moment. Moving in with Eddie felt like an inevitability, the only right answer, and she must sense his lack of hesitation. His utter acceptance of this new normal, when the Buck she's been seeing lately has been flighty and avoidant.

So he presses his lips together to show that he's contemplating her words, and when he thinks he can talk without raising more alarm bells in Hen's mind, he says, "I believe so. I like being here, and I wasn't exactly attached to my apartment. Also Christopher… He went through a lot after the tsunami, and Eddie says he's been a lot better lately with me here. I don't know, Hen. It just seems right."

"And there's no other reason?"

At that, Buck kind of wants to throw up his hands and walk away. It's like trying to convince a brick wall to let him pass through unimpeded, and he wonders why she won't let the topic go. He can't express his acceptance of the situation any more than he already has, and he's not even lying this time.

Before he can get anything edge-wise in, however, Hen continues with, "It's got nothing to do with Eddie, does it?"

"Well," he grumbles, annoyance creeping up behind him because, no matter how hard he tries, he can not understand what she's getting at. "Obviously Eddie is part of it. I'm living in his house, you know."

"Together," Hen says plainly.

"Yes, together. What about it?"

"Buck."

"What?"

Hen scrubs a hand over her face, and Buck glances around the living room to make sure that no one's listening in on his outburst. Thankfully, the rest of the team is hanging around in the kitchen, and they're mostly leaving them be.

After a moment, where Hen has to compose herself with visible effort, she mutters something that sounds like, "Why does this have to fall to me?" before turning to Buck. "Okay, I want you to listen to me very closely. I'm about to say something, but I don't want it to ruin anything between you guys, you got that? If I'm wrong, ignore the fact that we ever had this conversation. But, I do need to ask."

"Ask me what?" Buck reiterates, flailing his right arm about. He tries to keep his left at his side so that he doesn't give away the cut on his shoulder, considering he's in a room of very perceptive medical professionals.

Then Hen stares at him, opens her mouth, and asks:

"Are you in love with Eddie?"

And Buck's brain grinds to a screeching halt.

"I… Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Yeah, that's kind of the problem, he thinks wildly. Because Hen isn't asking if he loves Eddie like a friend—which, that answer is obvious—but rather if he's in love with Eddie. Like, romantically. As in, are you, Evan Buckley, in love with Eddie Diaz.

"Oh," Buck whispers, feeling as though a freight train just veered off its tracks and slammed into his ribs. He is suddenly hit with a wave of longing and the realisation that, somewhere inside of him, Hen might have a point.

Is he…?

The only thing he's wanted recently is to be by his best friend's side, and when Eddie had asked him to move in, it was what finally helped Buck move on.

"Oh," he repeats, as it's the only word that can make it past his throat without dying halfway through.

Hen's expression turns sympathetic, and she pats his shoulder in comfort. Buck is too shocked to even wince when it sends a spike of pain through his arm. "I know. Deep breaths, Buck."

Her words do not help.

How is that supposed to help?

She just saddled him with a revelation so world-shattering, so incomprehensible, and the worst part about it all is that the problem doesn't lie in the question itself but from how easily it slides everything into place. It's a confirmation. An explanation as to what has been bothering him for months—maybe longer—and it unveils why Eddie's avoidance at the station troubled him enough that it led him down the path he did. Why he didn't turn away when Pete asked if he was a cop, why he entered the fight ring without reservation more than once.

It gives reason to why I was able to finally sleep only when I showed up at the hospital and saw that he was okay. Why I can find a way to breathe when I'm around him.

Pieces snap into place, one after the other in quick succession, and Buck looks at Hen with wide eyes.

"What…what now?" he asks, eventually able to form a proper sentence after a couple of tries.

Hen raises her hands. "Hey, I'm just the messenger. That's up to you."

"But—"

"Look, I didn't know you were going to have a crisis about it," Hen huffs, seeming a little panicked. "I kind of thought you knew."

"Well, I didn't," Buck hisses out, now making extra sure that no one is listening in because this just became a lot more real, and he feels wildly protective of this new epiphany—one he won't be ready to express until he's been given a day, or twenty, to fully think through the implications of.

"It's going to be alright," she placates, taking a deep breath of her own. "Now you're aware, and I don't have to watch you two dance around each other with stars in your eyes for the rest of my life."

"Hen that's—that's not helping," he chokes out.

Buck needs to get away—leave the house and climb into his Jeep and drive until this conversation is just a distant thought in his mind—but in his desperate scan to find an escape, his gaze lands on Eddie.

He's in the kitchen, surrounded by Bobby and Chimney. There's a carefree grin on his face, and it lights up his entire being. He looks so happy to be here, with the team, with Buck. As though noticing that he's being watched, Eddie stops whatever he was saying to Chimney and lifts his head.

He gives Buck a smaller smile than the one that resided there before, but his eyes are crinkling at the edges, soft and content, and every atom in Buck's body melts away.

He looks away at the same time Eddie does. Beside him, Hen says, "Or maybe not."

Buck has literally no idea what she's referring to, considering his entire worldview was just rolled up into a ball and thrown out the nearest window, never to be found again.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…it's worse than I thought," Hen mutters.

Buck opens his mouth, affronted, but he realises he doesn't have much of a leg to stand on. Honestly, now that he thinks about it, he kind of wants to sit down because his knees are quivering a little, and the incoming mental image of him collapsing and the rest of the team coming over to ask if he's okay is mortifying.

Moving to the couch—the lovely, comfortable, unjudgemental couch that Buck never wants to stray from—he flops down onto it and leaves enough room for Hen to sit beside him. She pats his leg commiseratively as he throws his hands over his eyes and groans, quiet enough not to be heard from the kitchen.

"What am I going to do?" he asks, unsure if he wants a genuine solution.

"That's not something I can tell you, but I know that you'll figure it out. Hell, you live with the guy—there's your in right there."

He would tell Hen that she's being seriously unhelpful again, but he's aware it would get him nowhere. He's also pretty sure she's just making fun of him.

"You understand how bad this is, right?"

"Buck," she says, voice going firm, "you're going to be fine. Whatever happens, happens. Don't rush anything, and I promise you it will all work out in the end."

"You can't possibly know that."

Hen shuffles over, and he gets a burst of deja vu from that night in the hospital, when she'd sat down on the dirty ceramic floor and let him use her shoulder as a pillow. Hen has always been a welcome presence, and he misses being able to see her every week on shift. It's been way too long, and Buck feels like he's changed too much since that time—that he's unrecognisable. But he also wonders if being different from before has to be considered a bad thing. These past few minutes alone have been enough to prove it; that even if he doesn't view the world around him as he used to, sometimes a shift in perspective is needed to push him forward.

"Thanks, Hen," he says quietly, and she hums an affirmative in response. She lets them sit there until Maddie calls out from the kitchen, asking them if they're going to join the rest of the team in the kitchen for supper.

The funny thing is, Buck notices after a few more days have passed, is that nothing really changes between him and Eddie. Despite living with the knowledge that he's pretty sure he's in love with his best friend, he realises that it doesn't change how he acts because, well, he's already been in love with Eddie for a while. What does it matter now that he's aware of it?

As far as Buck knows, Eddie doesn't love him back—not like that, at least. Which is fine by him. Honestly. So what if they're living together? That's just…what friends do.

I don't think I can take much more of this, Buck thinks, and then he shuts that thought down before he can start to spiral.

It's what he's been doing a lot lately: pushing away any remnants of that talk he had with Hen, even though they'll crop up anytime Eddie's in the room with him—sometimes even more so when he's not. Frankly, he has so many other issues to worry about that nudging it to the side is instinctual.

He does end up talking to Athena, the day after he invited the team over for supper. He tells her everything, from the fight ring to how he found out about it, and then he goes a step further, revealing what Pete did to him in his apartment. Athena covers her mouth when he recounts it to her. He doesn't remember much about what he said, only that he'd avoided eye contact until the very end, when Athena had walked to the opposite side of her desk and knelt down in front of him. She had told him something similar to what Eddie had—that it was over now, and that Pete would never be allowed to hurt him again. She promised to make sure the case was overseen by the best detectives she knew and swore, with no sense of uncertainty, that he would be going away for as long as they could possibly swing it.

Other than Athena and Eddie, though, he hasn't told anyone else. Any time he contemplates the idea, his stomach begins to revolt against him, and he'll lose his appetite for the rest of the day.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise, and it also sends a wave of nerves through his body, when Bobby asks if he can stop by.

Did Athena tell him something?

He doesn't believe that she would, but Bobby is perceptive, and there's a chance he found out on his own accord. Whatever it is, Buck can't let it bother him—if he does, the rest of the things he's attempting to shove into the back of his brain might all come tumbling out with it.

Despite his efforts, though, his hands still shake a bit when he goes to open the door, because the not-knowing is setting his teeth on edge. He welcomes Bobby in, and they exchange a few short greetings before Buck leads them to the kitchen and they sit opposite each other at the dining table.

It's quiet, and then Bobby begins unceremoniously by saying, "I wanted to talk to you about your job," and Buck deflates.

It's the second last thing he hoped would be brought up—and although he's glad he won't have to make up some excuse as to why he didn't tell Bobby about Pete, the relief stops there.

Buck just hasn't had the mental capacity to think about work. He's found an outlet in other ways—taking care of Christopher, helping Eddie cook meals that aren't burnt monstrosities, working out at the gym—and the idea of going back to work has just sort of fallen to the wayside. Buck can't help but wonder if he blames the job and his attachment to it as part of the reason for the events that transpired. If he blames Bobby, too, just slightly.

But Bobby is here, and they've made amends better than Buck thought was even possible after the lawsuit—so he'll hear him out. Maybe, he thinks, going back to work is exactly what I need. The notion still makes him feel sick, but it's subtler than before, easier to ignore.

Bobby sighs, and the noise pulls Buck back into the present.

"I've been thinking about your leave of absence a lot recently, and I know I can't convince you to come back if you truly want to stay away, but…"

Bobby looks up. With how close they're sitting to each other, Buck is able to catch the red that lines the edges of his eyes, as if he's been staring at his ceiling in the dark for one too many nights.

"But," he says, plowing on, "I thought I'd talk to you about why you left in the first place. Athena hasn't told me everything—when I asked, she said it was none of my business, and I have no plans on breaking that trust—but Maddie did say that she was worried about you. She said that you were convinced you killed someone."

Buck flinches, shrinking into himself. He knows it's the reaction Bobby is expecting, and it probably isn't going to put a stop to this interaction, but he can't help himself. Jackson is the one variable he can't overlook, and no matter how hard Buck tries to reconcile his actions, it's an impossible feat. He's looked at it every way, from Eddie's perspective, Maddie's, Athena's—yet none of them change the fact that, in the end, Buck's fists were the last ones to make contact.

"Now, I can't presume to know exactly what you're thinking, Buck, and I won't try to. But I've been living in my own head for years, and I think I can provide a little insight. The thing is, you made a mistake. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't what you wanted, but something bad happened, and you view yourself as responsible. And maybe you are," Bobby shrugs, "I honestly don't know. I'm certainly not the person to ask. Only you can decide that—and once you do, you'll realise that it doesn't matter anyway. Because it's how you make up for the mistake that matters."

Buck stares at his hands. At the back of them, to his knuckles which healed weeks ago. He remembers hating how quickly the bruises had disappeared.

On the other side of the table, Bobby leans forward and rests his elbows in front of him, his folded hands coming to the left of Buck's.

"I tried to make up for my own mistakes by creating a list of the people I saved. That notebook you saw that day in the station was my penance, my own way of righting things. I thought, if I gave back to the world what I had taken away, then I could leave peacefully with the knowledge that I at least did something to fix it."

Bobby has to clear his throat, and Buck frowns, about to interrupt before he's stopped with a shake of a head.

"Let me finish. See, I'd made that notebook because I thought that, without it, I had no reason to be here. But now I realise I do. You know why, Buck? Because I can save people. How would it have been right for me to stop at one-hundred and forty-eight, when I have the capability to save so many more?" There's a pause, where Bobby seems to search for what to say next, and Buck uses the moment to let out the breath he'd been holding. Bobby must finally find what he's looking for, because he starts again. "Now, I'm not trying to…to guilt trip you into coming back to work, because I know how poorly it will end up if you go back for the wrong reasons. Whatever you do, it's your choice. I just want you to know that you have a skill, Buck. You're great at the job. You have the natural instinct for it, and even more than that, you care about people. Sometimes even more than yourself, if I'm being honest, but that's what makes you such a good firefighter."

Bobby finally pulls back, sitting up in his chair.

"We don't just miss you at the station—we need you. You're a part of the team, Buck. You're a part of the one-eighteen. And it's just not the same without you."

When the silence stretches on for a few long seconds after that, Buck works on trying to absorb the words thrown at him. Bobby is serious, which is what really gets him. They're not just empty words, platitudes for the sake of platitudes. This isn't out of some sort of contractual obligation, especially considering the fact that Buck is not currently working and this is a plea to make him come back.

Well, not exactly, Buck realises, playing over everything Bobby said. Throughout his speech, Bobby was simply laying out things as they were. He wasn't trying to convince Buck of any one thing, just sharing what he's learned.

It's the wisdom of a captain. One that Buck wants to work under again, because Bobby is the best damn leader he's ever had, and he'd follow him anywhere, guilt-trip or not.

"I…I have to think about it," he still says, because one conversation is not enough to change his opinions or the emotional response he gets whenever he thinks about Jackson.

Bobby sends him a quiet smile. "That's all I expect you to do."

It's an unofficial end to the topic, one Bobby seems happy to let Buck sit with as he plays over the words in his mind. Suddenly needing to distract himself so that he doesn't go hiding his head in his arms in front of Bobby, Buck grabs the coffee that's long gone cold.

"You, uh, want a cup? I'm making a new pot," he asks, standing up, and Bobby takes the subject change in stride.

"I'll never say no to coffee."

"Right," Buck huffs, "I forgot that caffeine consumption is an integral part of every captain's diet, ever."

"I'm pretty sure it's an actual section in Firefighting 101," Bobby says, tone bland, and Buck can't help but laugh out loud at that, the lingering tension in his posture bleeding out of his shoulders in one fell swoop.

He finds himself glad Bobby is here. Although he hasn't been thinking about the job, he still feels its absence like a physical weight—something in the background that makes his day-to-day tasks just a little bit heavier.

But this…this helps a little.

"So," Bobby speaks up as Buck pulls out the filter and the grounds, "I don't mean to pry, but I have to know—what's going on between you and Eddie?"

And Buck, nearly dropping everything in his hands, ends up hiding his head in his arms anyway, because Bobby somehow managed to mention the third last thing he was hoping wouldn't come up.

"Alright," Maddie says, grabbing a waffle off the plate Buck brought to the table and dousing it in syrup, "now that you showed up unannounced at my door and made me breakfast, what do you want to talk about?"

Buck stares at the food he made but doesn't make a move to join her, worrying the bottom of his lip. He's filled with nerves, even though this is Maddie he's talking to, and he doesn't think he's ever struggled to hold something like this back from her. It's why he's here—to get it all off his chest, to tell her about everything, except now that he's actually sitting at her table and contemplating opening his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat.

Maddie, mid-bite, must sense Buck's hesitation because she puts down her fork.

"Buck…" she starts, but before she can reach whatever conclusion she's come to, he interrupts her.

"I'm in love with Eddie," Buck blurts. His face then bursts aflame, and when Maddie only continues to stare, he moves all the utensils in front away and drops his head onto the table.

Needing to fill the silence that the room was just plunged into, he mumbles, "And I think that's the first time I've actually said that aloud."

It's quiet for another ten seconds. He wonders if maybe she didn't hear him and he's going to have to repeat himself when, abruptly, Maddie laughs. A full-on, heartfelt belly laugh that seems to fill the entire kitchen, and Buck shifts back and raises his head, because—

"What?" he questions when Maddie's laugh turns into a softer giggle.

"Oh nothing," she says, waving a haphazard hand, but when she sees Buck's expression, her delight tapers off. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just, well—I already knew."

"You…knew," Buck repeats.

Maddie shrugs. "I love you, Buck, but you're not exactly subtle."

"I—I'm subtle! Also what?"

Maddie takes a moment to calm down fully, and when she turns to Buck and places both of her hands on his arm, it's with complete seriousness. "It's okay that you're in love with Eddie," she says, and Buck's eye twitches at the blanket admission. Hearing it said so easily is…weird. As if Maddie had plucked out a piece of Buck's heart, placed it before him, and told him it was normal to feel this way. As if loving his best friend is just the natural conclusion, yet he's somehow the last person to see it to the end.

Maddie smiles. "I'm glad you finally realised it, though. It's been ages."

"It has so not been."

"Buck."

Buck rips his arm out from Maddie's grip to throw them in the air. "How does everyone seem to know this before I did? That can't be right, can it?" Then, Buck gasps and deflates like a balloon, falling back in his chair. "Maddie. Maddie, shit, what if—what if he knows. What if he knows?"

There's a sigh from the other end of the table, one that doesn't really calm him down in the slightest, but it at least distracts Buck from spiralling further. When he thinks he can breathe without his brain running in a thousand different unhelpful directions about what this means, Maddie takes his arm again.

"Buck, calm down. Like I said—it's okay. It's okay."

"Right," he agrees, trying not to roll his eyes. "I'm in love with my best friend, he doesn't love me back, I'm living in his house, and it's all okay. Totally, perfectly fine."

Maddie blinks. She seems to be calculating something, because her head tilts and her eyes narrow, and instead of telling Buck to calm down, she only continues to look at him as if wondering whether she should share the results she's finally found. She must come to a decision, because she pulls back and goes to place a waffle on Buck's plate.

Handing him the syrup, she says slowly, as if not to scare him, "And who says he doesn't love you back?"

Buck holds the bottle in his hands but doesn't make any move to start pouring. She must be joking, he thinks.

Upon his silence, Maddie shakes her head almost fondly. "Remind me whose house you're living in again?"

"…Eddie's."

"Right. And who brought up the offer to ask you to move in?"

Buck narrows his eyes, the words coming forth in a burst when he sees where she's going with this. "Eddie did, okay? So, yeah, we moved in together, but—but he's not even into guys like that! This was just a good financial decision for both of us, and my apartment, well…"

This is getting into territory Buck is trying to avoid. While he wants to tell Maddie about Pete, now seems like a spectacularly bad time to bring it up, and she's still looking at him like he's missing a very important piece of information that he, once again, can't quite figure out himself. And it isn't until Maddie starts pointedly eating again that Buck takes a moment to play back what he just said, joining it with Maddie's silence, and coming to his own conclusion.

"But he's not—"

Buck cuts himself off, unable to fully bring the notion forth because what if he's wrong, and he's just getting his hopes up for nothing? Eddie hasn't ever revealed anything like that to him, and although Buck hadn't realised it himself until Hen had to point it out for him, that's partially due to his own particular brand of idiocy and inability to think things through. Eddie would know if he was into men, and Buck is very good at reading his friend's body language and thoughts like they're his own—he doesn't think that's something he would just miss.

But Maddie is still eating, so Buck puts the syrup down because, if he's learned anything recently, it's that he's usually the last one to know these kinds of things.

"Are you saying he is?" he asks, leaning forward.

"I'm not saying anything," Maddie shrugs.

"But you're not not saying that. Did he—"

"Look," she says, giving Buck her full attention again. "Eddie's business is Eddie's business. I'm not telling you that he's anything, one way or another, but I can see that you're freaking out about this, and I'm just wondering…have you talked to him about it? You might be surprised."

"I'm not telling my best friend I'm in love with him," Buck says, aghast.

"Okay, fine. But maybe you could consider trying?"

Sometimes, Buck hates how insistent his sister can get about things. It reminds him sharply about Jackson, and how she wouldn't let the topic go even when it was clear that Buck wasn't changing his mind. Even though she was right—he did need to talk to someone about it, and having the conversation with Bobby helped in ways he's still feeling the effects of—she refuses to let things go. Now, she's inadvertently expressing that he should risk ruining things between him and Eddie based on a chance.

"What if you're wrong?" Buck says quietly. When Maddie gets like this, it's best to entertain her; and maybe, just maybe, a part of Buck wants an answer.

Maddie's eyes gleam, and she nudges the syrup towards Buck again. "When have I ever been wrong, Buck?"

Fewer times than I've been, he thinks with a jolt.

While he may not like it, Maddie's persistence has never failed him. He knows that, had he told her about his apartment and his fear of being alone in a room that could never quite contain him, she would have found a way to fix it. It's what she does—fix things, make them better, make people feel safe.

Buck never should have hid from her.

So, finally taking the syrup and admitting defeat, he begins to pour it over the waffle. He had made these in a daze this morning, as an excuse to delay going to Maddie's house and also as an excuse to show up. He also did it to remind himself of that morning, when Maddie had cooked him breakfast and had shown him that, no matter what, she would stand by him.

And when he takes a bite, he finds that they're the best damn waffles he's ever had.

Buck is underneath the firetruck again.

It seems to start off similarly to the last time—to the last twenty-something times—that he's dreamt this scene. The team, pushing down on the truck, choking him. Chimney waving goodbye as they all pile into the ambulance and leave without him. Occasionally, the nightmare will shift, changing into whatever was bothering Buck that day.

Tonight, there's only Eddie. No crowd is surrounding him, cheering for his demise, and the rest of the one-eighteen is nowhere to be found. The world around Buck seems to shrink, collapsing in on itself until it's just him, the pain in his leg, and Eddie, who is kneeling down to where Buck is reaching with his elbows to pull himself out from beneath the crushing weight. Even crouching, Eddie seems like a giant; a benevolent being that could take one singular hand to the bottom of the firetruck and throw it away like it's nothing—but he doesn't.

Instead, Eddie reaches out a hand and tilts Buck's chin so that they're eye to eye.

"Do you really think I'm here to help you, Buck?" he asks softly. "Throughout these past few weeks, you've just been a bother—and I've put up with you because I feel bad. You have nowhere else to go, and now you're utterly dependent on everyone else. I mean, why else am I here? Someone has to pull you out from the truck."

For once, for probably the first time in his life, Buck wants Eddie to go. So he desperately pleads, please leave.

He doesn't want him here, to see him like this. He can barely even focus on the words being said to him, because Buck's primary goal is to keep on struggling, keep on reaching for concrete and breaking his nails in the process while he scrabbles for purchase that doesn't exist. Buck simply doesn't have the strength it takes to move it himself, and Eddie is doing nothing to aid him.

At least, Buck thinks, he isn't pushing it further down.

Still, he gasps for breath at each failed attempt. Clawing and crying for something to give.

"Why do you keep on trying?" Eddie asks. "It's not going to work. You're too weak, Buck. You always have been."

No, no that's not true, he rasps. He can't let Eddie's words hinder him from doing everything in his power to fix this. He can…he can get out of here—if Eddie just stretched out a hand, placed it underneath the truck, and lifted, it would all be alright again.

Since he isn't, though, Buck has to do it himself; it won't be perfect, and if experience has taught him anything, he knows it won't work out as well as he wants it to. But doing things alone is a familiar feeling, one he's well practiced at. His parents taught him well.

So Buck keeps on trying even though Eddie tells him, repeatedly, to stop.

I won't, says Buck, anytime the noise becomes too loud.

He tugs on gravel and uses his other leg to push forward, and he doesn't know when it happens, but he's starting to sob. Desperation wells in the back of his throat, and, somehow, he finds a way to push it out, words crackling forth like music out of a dusty record player.

"Let me out," Buck begs. "I can't—I can't move my legs. I can't move anything. Help me." He fights for every sentence, doing all that he can to escape, but each plea he manages to free lands on empty ears.

And then, out of the reverie, comes an answer.

"Buck," Eddie says, the words coming from a place outside of the world he's currently in. "Buck, wake up."

Something grips his shoulder, and then there's Eddie, finally reaching out. Concern spreads across his face, so different from the apathy which had resided there before.

"You're dreaming. You have to wake up—it's not real. Come on, Buck."

Buck stares at the hand that's outstretched towards him, wondering if this is another twisted trick. If he takes it, will he be transported to another nightmare—to the fight ring or the chair?

As he deliberates between staying beneath the truck or listening to Eddie's command, he realises that the answer is obvious. Eddie could lead him into an inferno, and Buck would follow along without ever looking back, if it meant they would be doing it together.

So, pursuing the direction of the voice, Buck reaches out and grasps Eddie's hand. And he lets himself be pulled away.

Buck blinks open his eyes to Eddie's living room. It's dark, and he can barely see a thing—but there's a firm grip on his arm, movement to his left, and he knows Eddie is close by.

"Are you awake?" a voice questions, sounding unsure.

Buck sits up, giving confirmation that he is, and finds that his breathing is unsteady and shaking. Sweat is trickling down his back.

The dream is still stark in his mind, dripping with clarity, and he finds that he doesn't want it to fade away quite yet. He flips between the fear of being stuck in the middle of that street for the rest of eternity and the comfort of knowing Eddie is here now, just as he was in the nightmare.

"Fuck, okay. That's good—you were dreaming, Buck," Eddie relays, dropping his hand from his shoulder. "But whatever you saw, it wasn't real, you understand? …Will you be alright if I go turn on the light?"

Buck nods his head. It isn't until Eddie's moving away that he realises the action was likely missed, considering the darkness, but Eddie had understood him anyway. Using the moment to take stock of everything, Buck sits up fully and works on getting in a proper breath. Seconds later, he's being bathed in white, and he shuts his eyes with a responsive hiss.

"Sorry," Eddie says, coming over again.

Realising he should probably talk so that Eddie doesn't start dialling a hospital, he huffs. "No, it's fine. Just—a nice wake-up call, is all."

"Do you…want to talk about it?"

This time, when Buck shakes his head, Eddie's able to perceive it.

"Okay. I can go back to bed, if you want. Or I could make you some tea? I know that usually helps when Christopher's had a nightmare."

Buck clears his throat, and he wonders why his heart rate is steadily increasing the longer Eddie sits here beside him, when he should really be calming down. "That actually sounds nice, yeah."

"One tea coming up," Eddie agrees and goes to stand. Buck imitates the action with a precision that scares him—as though there are invisible strings joining their limbs together, and any move that Eddie makes, so does Buck.

When they make it to the kitchen, Eddie flicking on another light and revealing the clock which tells Buck it's way too early for either of them to be awake, he finds it within him to formulate words and says, "Thanks, by the way. For waking me up."

"Yeah, of course." Walking to the cupboard, Eddie grabs the kettle and fills it with water. As he gets two mugs out, setting them on the counter and putting in a tea bag for each of them, Buck leans against the counter and thinks, unbidden, I love you.

Utterly oblivious, Eddie asks, "Do you have nightmares like that often? Or just tonight?"

Buck still feels off-kilter, a little worn around the edges, but his mind is clearing with every minute he spends away from the dreamscape. He's able to take the question in stride, and, as usual, he finds it surprisingly easy to be honest.

"I've been getting them for a while, ever since the fight ring. But they're usually not like that. I don't even know what set this one off—I haven't had one like that for a while." Not since I've been sleeping on your couch, and I've been here for weeks.

"Hm. It sounded bad," Eddie says, moving over to where Buck is standing while the water comes to a boil. "You were mumbling things, Buck. Thrashing around. I heard you from my room."

"Sorry," Buck repeats.

Eddie shrugs, and although there's a lingering fear behind his expression, there isn't judgement. "I'd say you don't have to apologise, but I think we've gone through this conversation already."

Buck can't help but smile in reminiscence at that, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Eddie shifts closer. He's inches away from Buck now, near enough that if Buck moved his elbow to the right, he'd hit Eddie's arm.

"You know," Eddie starts slowly. "I get nightmares too, sometimes. About the war and the things I saw in Afghanistan." He kicks out his foot then rests it against the counter with his knee up. "I even dream about the fight ring some nights, seeing you there."

Buck glances at him.

Do you think of me the way I think of you? he wonders, but he doesn't dare say that out loud. There is a certain sort of peace here, in Eddie's kitchen. He refuses to ruin it by asking such an inane question—a question Buck thinks he knows the answer to.

But then Eddie moves even closer, and all coherent thought flies away.

"They stop showing up eventually, though," Eddie says quietly. Buck is finding it hard to pay attention. "Never gone, but I know that coming to Los Angeles and working with the one-eighteen helped with mine. Hell, even Christopher rarely has nightmares anymore, and I attribute that mostly to you."

Buck coughs out a shocked laugh. "I kind of think it's the other way around. Staying here is nice, and to be honest, I don't even want the new bedroom to be finished, because I am getting highly attached to your couch."

"Still can't believe you sleep on that thing every night," Eddie says, tone somehow fond.

Eddie is nearly at his side. He doesn't know when it happened, or how, but they've migrated towards each other, and when Buck turns his head to examine Eddie's side profile, he gets the sudden, wild urge to close the gap.

Then, the kettle clicks off, and Eddie stirs into motion, going back to the counter and filling the mugs.

His back is turned, so Buck takes the moment to stare at him unburdened. He realises that he's never desired anything more in his life—to be here, standing at this counter, knowing that he isn't required to leave. Everything feels insignificant in comparison to this.

…But what if his desire for Eddie spoils it all, this comfortable and easy thing between them? You're too weak, Buck, his mind supplies, replaying the words Eddie said to him in his dream. You always have been. Like he was in the arena, standing still while Eddie fell apart in front of him. Like he was when the paramedics pulled him away from Eddie's bleeding body, and all he could do was watch as they gave him the help Buck couldn't.

Eddie's grabbed the cups and is bringing them over to him. He's offering one to Buck, eyebrow raised in question when Buck hesitates for just a little too long because he's too preoccupied with tracing the slope of Eddie's nose and the curve of his lips.

"Buck?"

Eddie sounds breathless. Buck can agree with the sentiment.

He doesn't know what makes him do it—what part of him gives him the courage to raise a hand and push the mug away so that Eddie can set it on the counter, ensuring that there are no obstacles between them.

I'm not weak, he responds to the voice inside his head. And I'm going to keep on trying, no matter what.

Buck's eyes flick from Eddie's mouth to Eddie's eyes, and there's a tentative question there, one he can't voice aloud.

Eddie seems to understand it anyway.

He's the one to move forward first, in the end. It's as though Eddie was waiting for some sign of confirmation, and Buck just gave him all the answer he needed. Like before, they move in tandem with each other, meeting somewhere in the middle.

There's a brief second, where their faces are so close to each other that Buck can see the tiny flecks of dark brown in Eddie's pupils. Then they both push forward at the same time.

The kiss is soft, almost unexpectedly so. Buck has no idea what he's doing, what he's supposed to do, but Eddie shuts up any lingering doubt by moving in closer and wrapping a hand around his bicep.

It lasts for an eternity, and it lasts for an instant. When they both pull back to gather their breath, Buck falls forward and presses his forehead to Eddie's, wondering if his legs are going to give out from underneath him.

Air puffs against his cheeks as Eddie laughs quietly, sounding about as shocked as Buck feels.

"That…" he starts, and doesn't continue. The grip on Buck's arm tightens—which is all the invitation Buck needs to lean forward once more.

This time, the kiss is less of a surprise and more of a response. A realisation to the fact that Eddie is kissing Buck, and Buck is kissing Eddie, and neither of them have retreated or drawn away yet. It lasts longer than the other one did, and it's more certain in itself, more resolved.

This is what I was looking for, Buck understands with vivid clarity. To be here, not just knowing that he doesn't have to leave, but knowing that he's wanted.

It takes even longer for the kiss to break the second time around, and Buck finds he's more willing to let it go. Not because he wants to stop, but because he needs to sit with this for a more acceptable amount of time so that his brain can start functioning again.

The two of them stand there, just looking. Then Eddie breaks into a grin, and Buck's chest swells with an emotion so deliriously happy he wonders if Eddie can hear his heartbeat even from there.

"I'm not still dreaming, right?" Buck can't help but ask, the words just slipping forth now that he has no convictions to hold them back.

Eddie tilts his head, actually seeming to think on it. "I certainly hope not," he says after a moment.

"Right. Okay. Uh, cool."

The nerves are hitting him now, fears popping up and questions bubbling to the surface because what if that's not what Eddie wanted, what if that was just an accident—

"Can I kiss you again?" Eddie asks.

And his doubts fly away like a whisper in the wind because, as always, the answer is on the tip of Buck's tongue, as easy to release as breathing. With Eddie, he doesn't have to question his decisions, constantly wondering if they're the correct ones.

All he wants to say is yes.

Two months later

When Buck wakes up in the morning, stretching his arms above his head and pulling off the comforter so that he can get a head start on the morning, he realises that he doesn't dread the day ahead of him. In fact, he is looking forward to it with such ferocity that Eddie asks him later if he needs a moment to decompress before they get to the station.

"I'll be fine," Buck rolls his eyes. And he will be—he is.

Even though it's been over three months since he was last on the job, and despite everything that's happened between then and now, the only emotion he's filled with when he thinks about going back to work is elation.

"Do you think Bobby's going to treat me like a probie again?" he wonders aloud, bounding around the kitchen while he turns on the coffee pot and finds a pan to put the eggs in, all while going through a mental checklist of everything he needs to bring today. Eddie watches from the sidelines, an amused expression on his face. "I mean," Buck continues, "I haven't been to work in a while, and maybe it's a good idea to get my cleaning skills back up to par, you know? Also, I need a reminder on how to use the winch, so maybe Chimney can show me that when we get there."

"And I'll make sure you are actually forced to use a mop for once," Eddie adds pointedly.

Buck groans and places a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Eddie. On my first day back?"

"Sorry, but you're not getting out of this one."

"Why do I even live with you," Buck says, shaking his head with mock exaggeration. "I make supper, drive Christopher to school, and this is the thanks I get?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

Buck glances over at Eddie, then shifts focus to the stove because, if he doesn't, then he might just stalk over there and kiss him—and then they'll definitely get nowhere. Which is a problem, because their shift starts in almost thirty minutes.

They do make it on time, thankfully, but it's much closer than Buck wanted it to be. Showing up late for his first day back sounds like a terrible impression to make, and he is not about to start off on the wrong foot with anyone.

The station is just as he remembered it. When Buck walks through the open garage, Eddie beside him, he has to halt about halfway through because so many things coming rushing back at once—how, at the end of their shift, the team will come together and eat supper; the burst of adrenaline when a call comes through, and they all suit up at once; riding in the firetruck and talking about nothing and everything, his worries a lightyear away.

"You good?" Eddie whispers, sliding a hand into his.

Buck looks around the bustling building, taking it all in. "Yeah," he says once his legs start working again. "Yeah, I am."

So they move on, walking to the locker rooms to put their stuff away, and when Buck passes by one of the part-time workers that he used to talk to on occasion, they catch his gaze and nod, once, in welcome.

And later on, when Buck and Eddie come back home after the best shift he's had in ages, his muscles sore and his mind clear, he flops down on his bed and sighs in contentment. It's the end to a perfect day, and now he wants nothing more than to fall asleep and await the next one.

We never did clear out that old room, he thinks, running a hand over the comforter. Eddie walks in through the door a few minutes after Buck has already settled down, and he tells Buck to shove over because, apparently, he's 'taking up all of the space.'

Which, rude—this is his house, too.

So he doesn't move, lifting his head to send Eddie a grin while he's forced to stand there, looking severely unimpressed.

"Fine, be that way," Eddie grouches, attempting to find a spot beside him. And Buck doesn't mind that there isn't enough room, because Eddie doesn't seem to care that much, either.

Anyway, he thinks as Eddie shuts off the lamp beside the bed and tugs the cover over both of them, this is so much better than the couch.