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It’s just luck that he looks out the window.
It’s snowing—it’s always snowing, November to May, but Eddie’s used to it by now, ten years living in Stowe have gotten him acclimated to the bitter cold, and it helps that Buck’s insulated the house well. Eddie’s office overlooks the backyard, an endless expanse of white that stretches to the tree line, dotted with boughs from the pine trees that line their property and—
Blood. Streaks of it, bright red, pooling into the snow and trailing towards the back door.
Eddie shoves his laptop back and bolts—out of the room, down the stairs, skidding around the corner to the kitchen where Buck is leaning heavily against the sink, blood dripping from his hand, face pale and breathing hard.
He grabs a clean towel from the drawer and comes up next to him, reaching for his hand, putting pressure on the jagged cut. “Hey,” he says, nudging Buck. “Tell me what happened.”
“Was tryin’ to make a new bookcase for the house up in Eden,” he says, drawing in a stuttering breath, hissing when Eddie presses down harder. “Cut myself on the bandsaw when Ox barked in his sleep, startled me.”
“Alright, we’ll get you patched up,” Eddie says. He lifts the towel and frowns as the blood wells up again.
“Knew my army medic would take care of me,” Buck says, the corners of his mouth lifting.
“I think we’re going to have to let the doctor take care of this one,” Eddie says. “Your army medic hasn’t given anyone stitches in quite a while and this looks deep. Can you keep pressure on it while I see if Hen’s around?”
“She’s working, Maddie’s getting lunch with her today,” Buck says. “Sorry, Eddie. I know your deadline is tomorrow.”
“Hey,” Eddie says, “I don’t care about the deadline, I care about getting you to a doctor. Can you keep pressure on that while I drive?”
“Sure thing, Staff Sergeant Diaz,” Buck says, and Eddie rolls his eyes. “Ox is still out in the workshop.”
He makes sure Buck is holding the towel properly and leads him to the table. “Sit here,” he says, kissing Buck’s forehead briefly, “it’ll just be a few minutes.”
The towel is stained through by the time he gets his boots on and comes back in with the dog, finds his jacket, phone, and keys to the truck. Buck doesn’t protest when Eddie wraps a new one around his hand and helps him out of the house, keeping a tight grip on Buck’s elbow as they walk down the slick path to the garage; he can see the trail of blood to his left and he makes a note to get it taken care of before Chris comes home.
“Shit,” he says, opening the truck door for Buck and helping him in, “I need to call Bobby and see if he can pick the boys up from robotics.”
“Just text Chris and tell him to catch a ride,” Buck says, shaking his head. “They’re almost eighteen, Eds, they can manage themselves. And you really should be teaching him to drive in the snow, you know.”
“I don’t see you doing it,” Eddie says, and Buck holds up his injured hand.
“I can hardly be considered responsible enough,” he says, smiling.
“You’re just upset that he got mad at you for yelling ‘brake’ three blocks away from the stop sign,” Eddie says. “Are you keeping enough pressure on that?”
The drive to Copley doesn’t take long, but Buck complains the whole way, trying to get Eddie to go to Burlington—“I’m not driving an hour when there’s a hospital fifteen minutes from here,” Eddie says, repeatedly—so he can see Maddie.
“We both know you just want to stop into the nursery and see Joy,” Eddie says, parking at the emergency room door. “I’ll drive us to Maddie and Chim’s tonight if you would please just stop complaining.”
It’s a thankfully short wait in the emergency room; Eddie taps his foot the whole time, both hands wrapped around Buck’s injured one, until the nurse calls them back. She takes one look at Buck’s cut hand and bruised forearms and asks Eddie to step out while they confirm Buck’s information—“hospital procedure”—which he knows isn’t true, but Buck can have fun explaining how he’d forgotten to secure one end of a beam in the new house only to have it crash into his arms the second he stepped off the ladder. They’re back in the car an hour later, Buck’s right hand stitched and put into a splint so he can’t move and make it worse.
“You know what this means, don’t you,” Buck sighs, inspecting his hand carefully.
“That your mouth is gonna be pretty busy for the next few weeks while your hand heals?” He waits a moment, then laughs as Buck reaches over and smacks his thigh.
“Cold showers for you,” Buck threatens, but he’s grinning. “I was going to say, this means we’ll have to sweet talk Bobby into making some freezer meals for us, because there’s no way I’m letting you cook and getting food poisoning on top of this.”
“There’s always take-out,” Eddie says.
“Yeah, from Bobby’s. Easier to just beg once, we’ll send Chris over with a pitiful smile and next thing you know, we’ll be set for a few weeks.”
Eddie reaches over and picks up his hand. “I’ll get it taken care of, Buck,” he says. They fall silent and he glances over. “Hey,” he says, squeezing Buck’s hand, “what’s wrong?”
“You were so calm about it,” Buck says after a moment. “I was freaking out, I thought I was going to pass out and I didn’t want to bother you while you were working. I didn’t think it was this bad until the bleeding wouldn’t stop.”
“I knew you were fine,” he says. “Wasn’t anything to freak out about. Don’t worry about the book, it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe we should put an intercom or something in the workshop so you can call next time.”
Buck snorts. “We should train Ox to go get you,” he says. “Useless dog just laid there.”
When they get home, Eddie pushes Buck down on the couch and turns on HGTV, a guaranteed way to get him to stay still, and leaves him there while he cleans the blood up from the yard and kitchen. It doesn’t take long; he’s back by the end of the episode, holding out a pair of sweats for Buck to change into.
“Go work,” Buck says, but Eddie sits down on the other end of the couch and pulls Buck between his legs and settles him against his chest, burying his nose into the curve of Buck’s shoulder and giving him a kiss. “Eddie, you gotta send your edits in tomorrow, go.”
He makes a displeased noise and kisses Buck again. “Nope,” he says. “My husband needs me to cuddle with him.”
“You’re flattering yourself, your husband is fine.”
“Nah, he loves this,” Eddie says. “If he’s good, maybe I’ll show him what a working hand can do.”
“Setting me up for failure, I see,” Buck laughs, but he relaxes against Eddie’s chest and pulls his shirt up so that Eddie can slide his hand underneath, settling it on top of Buck’s warm skin. “Love you, Eds.”
“Love you, too.”