Work Text:
Buck couldn't breathe.
He knew he had to be doing it, or he would have passed out by now. But every time he tried to take a deeper breath, the pain in his chest became so strong that it forced him to exhale. A voice similar to Hen's suggested that he might have at least one cracked rib, which was far from impossible given what happened, but it didn't matter. Buck didn’t care about himself.
He could still feel Captain Mehta's weight on him, the hand on the back of his neck forcing him to the ground when the only thing he wanted to do was get up and run to Eddie.
Protect him.
Save him.
The door to the waiting room opened, and Buck whirled around expecting to see Mehta even though he was perfectly aware that the man had his own team to worry about. A team that was probably in another waiting room in another hospital. So perhaps it was Bobby he was hoping to see, but there was no way Bobby already knew what happened. Buck would have to be the one to tell him, and he still couldn’t find the strength to do so.
Buck stood up and began pacing the room, the sound of his sneakers the only distraction in the heavy silence that surrounded him. Buck didn't dare look down, knowing that his shoes were no longer as white and clean as he always kept them. He looked around the waiting room instead. Despite being in one of the largest hospitals in Los Angeles, there was only a young couple with a baby asleep on their legs and a lone elderly man with his head bent forward there to keep him company. The unnatural calm seemed to itch against Buck's skin.
He started to bring his hands to his face but stopped them in midair, seeing that blood still stained them. If he had been breathing before, he certainly wasn’t now.
Buck choked back a sob. He couldn't let it out, not yet, not there. In two long strides, he made it over to the small bathroom, and leaving the door open to avoid missing anything important, he began to scratch the blood off his skin.
He wasn't gentle. He scrubbed his fingernails as the hot water turned red, leaving trails of color on the white of the sink. Buck watched as the blood slowly left his skin, and he couldn't help but think about everything that had happened.
His mind had never been kind to him. It never provided him with clear and orderly memories. No, it preferred chaos. Disorder. Flashes of moments that he could not return to or change.
Like the weight of Eddie's body in his arms or feeling helpless as he screamed Eddie's name to keep him awake. Or even the sensation of his hands pressed against a wound that didn't want to stop bleeding.
The echo of bullets ricocheting between buildings and the silence that followed before being broken by screams of terror from nearby. The frantic and frightened voice on the radio that Buck couldn't hear, not over the sound of the blood rushing through his head.
The sight of the blood on Captain Mehta's hands as he shoved Buck to the ground and barked at him to stay still, to not move because it wasn't safe. The heated air above the asphalt burning his nose with every breath.
Eddie's gaze fixed on his and filled with fear, concern, and anguish.
Buck had known then and still knew now that Eddie hadn’t been worried about himself. He’d been worried about Buck.
In other circumstances, he might have found it funny. Eddie had been struck down. He was alone and exposed, but somehow he was still worried about Buck who was completely unharmed. He was covered in blood, yes, but at least it wasn't his own. Whereas the blood that covered Eddie had definitely come from the man’s own body.
Buck turned off the water and wiped the last traces of blood from his hands and face with rough paper towels. His skin was red and raw from the force he’d applied cleaning it, but he didn't care. He would have clawed off his own skin to escape the blood if necessary.
He went back to the waiting room where nothing had changed. The hospital air was cold. The lights were still harsh and bright. The only difference was that the older man was looking at him now, his expression curious and sad.
Buck wondered what the man saw when looking at him. He was a complete stranger standing there with his clothes covered in blood. His hair was no longer held back by gel. His skin was damaged from his time in the bathroom. Even his eyes were red from crying. He looked away and began to pace around the room once more - unable to sit still or even just pause and take a breath. He knew he should try to calm down, but in his twenty-nine years of living, he still had yet to learn how. And with Eddie so close and yet so far away, he wasn't even sure if he could.
A slight tapping noise caught his attention. The older man was knocking on the seat next to him with his cane, inviting him to sit down. For some reason, Buck didn’t hesitate. He walked over and let himself fall on the seat with a small sound of pain as he put a hand on his side. Even if he did have a cracked rib, it wasn’t like the doctors could do anything about it, so what was the point of getting it checked out?
"Who are you waiting for?" The man asked gently.
Buck was taken aback by the question. Sure they were in a waiting room. Waiting was in the name, and he knew that every person who had ever occupied those seats had someone to worry about. But being asked so bluntly stunned him.
However, it wasn’t the shock of the question that prevented him from answering right away. It was that he had only one way to describe the person he was waiting for. It was a word, a name that encompassed everything.
Eddie.
But the man wouldn’t understand that, just as Mehta hadn’t understood when he’d prevented Buck from running over to him. To say Eddie was his colleague, his partner, his best friend didn't even begin to touch what their relationship truly was. Not even with hours and days could Buck explain what they were. How could he? Eddie had saved his life in ways he didn’t even know how to articulate, and he could only hope he'd returned the favor. Whether it was by trying to protect Chris during a natural disaster or by showing up at their house with dinner ready. How could he explain the feeling of security he felt whenever he was in Eddie’s company? Or how the two of them were able to communicate with just a single glance?
And above all, how could the man next to him understand the terror he’d been feeling since that first bullet cut the air and divided them. Buck behind the truck protected by Mehta, and Eddie alone. Exposed and vulnerable. How could he explain to a stranger that there, in that moment, when he had seen Eddie fall to the ground, the only thing he wanted was to be in his place. Eddie had Christopher, his family, Ana. He was finally happy, and Buck would have gladly died to save him.
"Um... Eddie." Eventually he just whispered the name. The name that he had screamed and cried so many times that he felt like he couldn't say anything else anymore.
The man seemed to understand. He slowly moved closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, as if he knew it was exactly what Buck needed.
And Buck finally broke down.
He covered his face with shaking hands and let the tears flow without even trying to hold them back or hide them. Letting them wash away the lingering feeling of blood still staining his skin. It hurt. His chest tightened with each breath, but it somehow felt cathartic.
Buck had wanted to bear this burden alone, the agonizing worry of waiting for news and not knowing how things were going to turn out. So for as long as possible, he repeated to himself that he shouldn’t call anyone, not until he had something certain to say. But sharing his pain with this stranger in such a way almost gave him a sense of hope.
For the first time since he had let go of Eddie's hand, he allowed himself to think about where he was right now. To think about what was happening beyond those waiting room doors and in the operating room (perhaps the same operating room they had saved his leg in almost two years ago). Buck had seen enough surgery documentaries to know that they weren't going to take the bullet out, not if it wasn't in a dangerous location. He knew at that moment they were trying to fix the damage, that Eddie was asleep with a tube down his throat and his chest cut open. Maybe they’d find Buck's heart there as well. After all, it had been Eddie’s for a long time now.
Part of him was aware that he should be worried about the sniper who was still out on the streets of Los Angeles and targeting his colleagues, but he could only think of Eddie. And Christopher. He had thought of Christopher immediately, as soon as the ambulance doors closed behind them.
Christopher couldn't see his father like this, not when they still ran the risk of losing him. Buck could protect him for a little while longer, and he would do so at any cost.
"They have the best doctors in the state here." The old man's voice roused him from his thoughts, and Buck found himself smiling. Sure, it was a sad smile that didn't do more than raise the corners of his lips, but it was something. Because he knew how good these doctors were. He’d been in their hands before.
"Thank you," he answered in a faint voice, looking up at the man. He was sure his eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks still wet with tears, but he was grateful that someone had come forward to even try and comfort him.
Buck was on the verge of returning the favor, of turning the question around and offering the man anything he could give, when both doors to the room swung open. From the right door entered Bobby, obviously attempting to maintain his composure, but Buck knew him. He could see the wrinkles around his eyes. He noticed the hurried speed with which he walked and he saw the man frantically gaze around the room searching for Buck.
From the left door, however, entered a doctor. She was wearing the blue scrubs he knew they wore in the operating room, and a white mask was covering half of her face.
"Buck!" "Mr. Buckley?" The two voices overlapped, both demanding his attention, and although Buck wanted nothing more than to be hugged and to collapse in Bobby's arms for a minute or an hour, he strode quickly to the doctor, terror flaring back to life.
It was only at that moment that he realized he hadn't actually considered losing Eddie. He had known it was serious. He had seen and felt it with his own two hands. Buck had been the one pressing on the wound until the paramedics arrived. He had seen the blood, but Buck had just assumed that one way or another, Eddie would always come back to him. Like the night he had gotten trapped in the well, when he had managed to save himself and come back to them. And even if he needed more help this time, Buck had just assumed he’d make it out. A little more worse for wear maybe, but alive.
For just a moment, he imagined a life without Eddie, without both Diaz boys, and he panicked. Thankfully, before the world could collapse in on him, Bobby's hand came down on his shoulder and brought him back, his presence alone bringing him reassurance. As much as Buck had wanted to save everyone else from this pain, having Bobby there made him feel better. Not just because he wasn't alone anymore, but because Bobby cared about Eddie too . He was another piece of this big extended family that kept ending up in the hospital for one reason or another.
"Eddie?" He managed to whisper. The name he had shouted a million times just a few hours before now felt fragile on his lips as though this might be the last time they’d get to feel the shape of it. The doctor's eyes narrowed in an expression that he couldn't understand with the mask blocking the rest of her face, and Buck found himself wanting to scream. He wanted to push past her and run until he found Eddie and could see for himself that Eddie was okay because he could only ever be okay.
"Mr. Diaz has made it through surgery and will be fine. "
Suddenly nothing mattered anymore.
His rib? His clothes that were covered in blood? His shoes that would never be white again?
None of it mattered because Eddie was okay.
He knew the doctor was still talking, but he trusted Bobby to be listening because Buck himself was barely able to reach a chair before collapsing, his legs no longer willing to support him. He ran his hands over his face, noticing his cheeks were again wet from more tears, and then he slipped his fingers into the uncontrollable curls of his hair.
Fear and adrenaline gave way to relief, to a fragile happiness ready to take flight as soon as he was able to actually see Eddie. To see him talk and smile and probably worry about Buck even though he was the one who nearly died.
But whatever happened from then on, Buck was no longer afraid. He would no longer hide or step aside, not when it came to Eddie. He would give Eddie everything he needed and more until the end of his days, and the realization didn’t shock him. It wasn’t unexpected. It was as though he had found the blurred line of their relationship and had slowly crossed over it, one moment at a time.
He was ready now, and nothing was going to hold him back.
Finally, he could breathe.