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“You wanna do a rope rescue? Of course you do.”
“Well he’s not doin’ it alone, he’s gonna need you on the pulley, go go go.”
“Cap, the roof is gone.”
“Alright, I got it… I’ll see you down there.”
It’s all playing on a loop in his head as he hurries away from the flames licking across the roof, heating up behind his back. Across the way and back to the other building next door, but that’s as far as Eddie makes it before he’s turning around, looking for Buck.
They do everything together — He’s gonna need you — be it on the field or off and it tears Eddie up inside, having to leave Buck there, lowering himself and that woman — Gladys — to the ground.
I’ll see you down there.
Eddie should get a move on, start hurrying down the stairs so he can meet Buck down on the ground, but he can’t seem to get himself to move because… because now Buck’s line is on fire and there’s nothing below to catch him, not yet.
“Cap, his line,” Eddie says into the radio, his heart beginning to pound in his chest, nothing to do with the adrenaline of the job. No, it’s everything to do with having to watch, helpless, as Buck realizes what’s going on.
He gets no answer from Bobby, but he knows there’s movement on the ground, can just barely see it, but that’s… god, he can’t look anywhere but at Buck, as his line withers away, until it snaps and Eddie… fuck, he can’t breathe.
“Buck!” he shouts, dropping down to his hands and knees, leaning over the side of the building to watch, helpless, as Buck and Gladys hurtle through the air, too fast, way too fast, towards the ground.
Even after they land, Eddie doesn’t feel any better. If anything, he feels worse, up here on top of this damn building while Buck’s all the way down there — is he hurt? Is he okay?
The rational part of Eddie knows he can just use the radio, call down and check in, but everything’s so busy down there and his body… no, it’s not enough to hear it.
He has to see it.
He has to feel it.
And it’s just… everything’s been a lot, ever since he went down in that damn hole, but he’s dealing with it, he is. He’s back to seeing Frank again, he’s talking through it, he’s handling it… but, that doesn’t make the nights any better.
That doesn’t make not having Buck there any better.
And he knows he has no right to want it, but he does. He aches for it, always has, but even more so now after the mess of thoughts that’d gone through his head in that water, when he’d nearly…
Point is, he’s not told Buck, but he knows everything. Knows what Buck did when the tunnel collapsed, how he’d reacted, and Eddie gets it now, he does.
At least, for him, he can make it down all these damn stairs and see Buck, he doesn’t have to wait, to wonder, to ache.
Even so, it feels like ages before he’s out of the front of the building, eyes wild as he scans the place for Buck, chest heaving as he hurries across the pavement because there he is. He’s up, he’s standing; but is he okay?
“Did you see that?” Buck’s asking once he catches sight of Eddie, glancing up towards the building that’s still very much on fire, a harsh reminder of where Eddie’d just been. “Man, that was a close one… I’m just glad Gladys is okay, that coulda been real bad for her.”
And of course, of course, that’s who Buck is really worried about — not himself, not even in the slightest. Even though he could’ve died and Eddie… Eddie would’ve had to watch. Again, he’s reminded of the way it’d felt to see Buck fall from so high, to not even know he was okay the whole run down the damn building.
He’s only got another foot or so before he reaches Buck and when he does, he grabs for his wrist, tugging him away from everyone — from the cameras, the prying eyes, their team, because he needs — he needs to know that Buck is okay. He needs to feel it.
“Eddie, what?” comes Buck’s startled response from behind him, though he doesn’t pull away, just follows right after him.
It’s better this way, so much better than having just crashed into Buck out there in the middle of the street. Here, he’s got Buck behind the truck, everyone a flurry of activity on the other side. Here, he can whirl around and drag Buck into his arms, feel him there, living and breathing and okay.
“Oh… okay,” Buck murmurs and then he’s moving, too, his arms coming up to wrap around Eddie in return, his head ducking down in the way that it always does when they hug.
The only difference this time is the fact that Eddie really, really doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon. There’s no backslaps, no laughter, no teasing mixed underneath it. No, this is desperation, fear, Eddie’s need to feel Buck.
He’s not dumb, either, he realizes the irony of the entire thing. Buck’s line had snapped, it hadn’t been his choice — it was nothing compared to what Eddie’d done not too long ago, purposefully cutting his line to help save that kid. Yeah, it’d been stupid, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat, he would.
But, everything that came after? He’s not so sure he’s really dealt with it yet and that probably plays into this whole thing now, his hands curling tightly around Buck’s turnout coat, his head all but smashed against his shoulder as he breathes him in. It’s pointless, all he smells like is smoke, but it’s something, it’s better than how Eddie’d felt five fucking minutes ago.
It’d felt like he’d been drowning again, watching Buck fall, not knowing if he’d be able… it was just too fucking much, and he needs to do something about it.
“Eddie,” Buck whispers, his hands splaying across Eddie’s back, venturing towards his hips, and Eddie… well, he might start to panic a little, worried that Buck is going to shove him away.
“Don’t,” Eddie says, curt, sharp, vulnerable, “not yet.”
And Buck, bless his fucking heart, just whispers a soft Okay and wraps his arms around Eddie again, holds onto him like he’s something precious — such a stark contrast to how Eddie’s got a fucking death grip on Buck right now.
When he thinks back on it, though, he knows Buck had been the same when Eddie’d wandered back across that field, back to his team. He’d held his hand, Eddie remembers, so tightly that he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to feel his fingers if they hadn’t already been numb from the cold.
Maybe he hasn’t dealt fully with what happened to him yet, even with seeing Frank again. Maybe he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what Hen had told him back in the hospital: how Buck had reacted when the tunnel caved in. Maybe he just… he needs Buck, and he’s tired of hiding it.
He’s not sure how long they stand there for, could’ve been minutes, hours, or merely a few seconds, but it still doesn’t feel like enough — not even when he’s got the air back in his lungs and the buzzing beneath his skin has diminished to a low hum.
Even as he pulls away, he doesn’t let himself go far, grateful for the fact that their helmets had been knocked off in Eddie’s greed to have Buck in his arms, against his chest. It means he can lean up enough to press their foreheads together, that he can feel it when Buck’s breath hitches beneath where Eddie’s still got his hands pressed firmly against his back.
“Please, never do that again,” Eddie whispers, eyes closed, so Buck won’t have to see the raw emotion hidden in them. It’s enough that he’s given away so much already, that he’s pushed it this far, pushed Buck this far.
“Technically… wasn’t my choice,” Buck points out and there’s no mistaking the implications behind his words, the way it makes something — guilt, probably — twist hot and tight in his chest.
“Maybe so,” Eddie answers, his hands moving, lifting, caressing Buck’s face between them before he even realizes what he’s doing. He can’t help it, he can’t stop, he’s still got that voice in his head raging at him; make sure he’s okay, make sure he’s okay, is he okay?
“I would’ve done the same thing,” Buck answers, and now it must be his turn to grasp onto Eddie’s jacket tightly, likely remembering things neither of them will forget in their lifetimes. The amount of trauma they’ve both been through, enough to fill books that no one would ever want to read.
“Doesn’t make any of it less…” Eddie shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut tighter, struggling to find the words to use. Painful? Traumatic?
“Real,” Buck answers, in a way that makes Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as he opens his eyes back up to him again, to take in the look on his friend’s face. It’s staggering, to be so close to him, to truly realize how they’re pressed against one another, a breath away from changing everything.
“Yeah,” Eddie whispers, closing his eyes again, follows it with a soft, “Buck…” and hopes he gets it, that he understands, that he knows exactly what Eddie’s trying to say, what he can’t quite find the words for yet.
“I know,” Buck whispers, and his lips are suddenly there, on Eddie’s, answering the question that Eddie hadn’t even been able to ask.
Do you feel it too?
There’s still constant noise around them, they’re in probably a terrible place for this, but Eddie’s brain is only focused on how it feels to have Buck beneath his hands, the soft, tentative way that Buck’s lips are moving with his own.
It’s nice, but not enough, not with how he’s feeling.
He’s got Buck pressed against the side of the firetruck in the time it takes him to tilt his head and deepen the kiss, welcoming the way Buck groans in surprise at the change, how his hands haul Eddie in closer. It’s eager, desperate, no finesse behind it whatsoever. They probably should’ve talked more, dealt with the mess of emotions that’ve been brewing between them ever since Eddie’d cut that damn line, but there’s no way in hell he can stop now.
At least, not until there’s a distinct crackle, Bobby’s voice echoing against their shoulders, through their radios.
“Buckley. Diaz. Our job’s not done out here,” Bobby claims and Eddie — very, very reluctantly — pulls away from Buck. Not far, definitely not as far away as he should be.
All he does is take one look at Buck and he forgets how to fucking breathe, stunned into a damn silence by the dazed expression on his face — his lips, red and slick, soot across his cheek likely from Eddie’s glove, and his eyes, wide and dark; wanting.
“Buckley. Diaz.” Bobby’s harsher this time, making the pair of them jump, broken out of their little trance. Eddie can’t help but laugh, his head dropping down to rest on Buck’s shoulder, and it’s worth it for the way his hand comes up to curl around the back of Eddie’s neck.
“Yeah, Cap, we copy,” Buck answers for them, pausing a moment later when Eddie’s head tilts just so, enough to graze his lips across the side of his neck, humming softly.
“Then get back out here, would ya?”
“Copy that,” Eddie answers this time, his eyes glued to Buck, a smirk on his face when he watches his friend’s tongue peek out to wet his lips, his eyes narrowed. “C’mon, we’d better get back.”
Even so, Eddie doesn’t move, his eyes roaming across Buck’s face, trying to read him, to figure out what he might be feeling now, thinking, about what they’d just done. When he doesn’t say anything, Eddie merely brushes another kiss across his lips, there and gone in a flash, a promise of more and later.
“C’mon,” he whispers again, moving back to lean down and grab their helmets, passing Buck his again before he makes to step away, only to be stopped by the man’s hand wrapping around his wrist this time.
“Eddie?” Buck asks, giving him pause, making his eyes furrow as he looks over at him again.
“Yeah?” He tilts his head, catches Buck’s gaze, smiles at him when he sees the apprehension there. It’s like watching a damn movie scene unfold before his eyes, the way Buck transforms. The smile that slides slowly across his lips, how his eyes soften, the way his hand slides down, grabs onto Eddie’s own.
“Me too,” Buck says, nodding slowly, his gaze never once breaking away from Eddie’s, and he knows exactly what he’s saying — what Eddie had been asking after the second he’d yanked Buck into his arms.
And they still have shit to talk about, mountains of it, but Eddie knows they’ll get to it later.
After all, Buck loves him — he’s not going anywhere.