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Pop-hiss. Pop-hiss. In Buck’s ears the hissing was – somehow – as loud as the bullets that hit first the driver’s side front tire, and then the passenger’s. The ladder truck tires were deflating fast, and Eddie was barely under the front bumper. And Buck despised himself in that moment because he froze, because for the smallest percentage of a second he almost let go of his best friend’s hand, because Eddie was bleeding to death and the truck was dropping like a slow-motion guillotine and all Buck could think about in the briefest of moments was getting crushed – again.
But then Eddie rotated his head, and blue eyes met brown and, his breath hitching on the “k,” Eddie whispered, “Buck?”
And Buck snapped out of it. He crawled towards the danger, instead of away, because if he tried to inch them both back he’d run out of time and Eddie would get flattened into a human pancake. Buck latched onto the collar of Eddie’s uniform and, with a grunt-yell, he pulled Eddie back towards him. But, it wasn’t far enough. The underside of the truck was sinking towards Eddie’s abdomen. So, after lurching himself forward another foot, Buck grasped Eddie’s belt and pulled again – summoning all his adrenaline-soaked strength. He pulled and then, when Eddie’s legs were within reach, he used different muscles to push until his nose was against Eddie’s shoes.
Buck looked up and saw that the truck was so close to his face that his eyes couldn’t even focus on it and part of him hoped that his head would be crushed fast enough that he wouldn’t feel it. And that was when the tires finished deflating, and the truck’s descent stopped on the tall rims, and a pair of hot tears burst from Buck’s eyes.
A hand suddenly gripped his ankle. “Buck!”
“Eddie!” Buck gasped. The firefighter started inching his way backwards – shuffling, worming, squirming, pushing against the hot concrete. He passed Eddie’s knees, waist, stomach, gunshot wound, until the pair were eye-to-eye… one man on his back looking left, the other on his stomach looking right. “I’ve got you!” Buck promised for the millionth time. “Just – just hang on!”
Eddie replied with a slow blink.
More shuffling, worming, squirming, pushing. Once he was in position, Buck once again grabbed Eddie’s arm and pulled – pulling a scream from his friend in the process. They went straight backwards – inch by inch – until Buck emerged from under the rear bumper. Yelling, not unlike Eddie, he pulled his best friend the final feet out and, mercifully, they were both back under the sun.
Buck yanked his shirt open, Superman-style, buttons exploding in every direction. He ripped it off (leaving a white undershirt behind), rolled it up and pressed it against Eddie’s chest, keeping the pressure there as he yanked his friend up into a sitting position, then leaned him back against the bumper. Eddie’s head rolled, limp, chin against his chest. Buck cupped his chin with his right hand and angled it up to see closed eyelids.
“Eddie – Eddie! Open your eyes. Eddie, open your eyes!” Buck pleaded.
Eddie obeyed. “Buck, I…” he whispered, “I think… I think I’m…”
Buck put his free palm against Eddie’s left cheek. “Shhh,” he soothed. “I’m going to get you out of this – going to get you home, all right? Believe me? Eddie, say you believe me.”
Tired, apologetic, Eddie opened his mouth to speak, and that was the exact moment the fire engulfing the truck beside them found the gas tank.
Buck shoved Eddie to the street and wrapped his body on top of and around him. Even combined, their weight wasn’t enough, and the force of the explosion sent the pair rolling away from the ladder truck. They came to a stop Eddie-side-up and a moment before flaming metal debris rained down, Buck turned them both over and took all of it. He screamed into the concrete as his back, the backs of his legs, and the back of his head got sliced up. When the roar died down Buck, gasping, bleeding, pulled his weight off Eddie and fought his way up to his knees. Eddie’s radio was on his left and Buck’s already soaked shirt was on his right. He lay spreadeagled, still, half-shut eyes cloudy with shock. “Buck—” He said his friend’s name through what sounded like a hiccup. “Buck, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding, Buck.”
Buck had the wind knocked out of him and, though he tried, he couldn’t catch his breath enough to speak.
“Get out of here, Buck, please,” Eddie begged. “Christopher… It’s you and Christopher now.”
“No—” Buck managed to gasp. “Us.” He pointed at Eddie, and then at himself. “Together.”
Two gunshots. They flinched, and shared a terrified look.
They’d rolled right back into the line of the sniper’s fire.
A bullet grazed Buck’s knee and the heat in its wake yanked out a scream from him. The force of it knocked him over and he sprawled, gasping, grasping his injured knee, at Eddie’s side.
“No!” Eddie shouted. “Buck!” He reached for his friend.
Buck had only been grazed, but the blood implied otherwise. His own puddle merged with the one pooling under Eddie. He growled and clenched his eyes shut—for barely a moment. Then he looked left, looked right, and determined that the now burning ladder truck was – definitely – not the safest place at that moment. So, after ordering Eddie to plant his feet, Buck lifted him up by his wrists, threw him over his shoulder, and, limping heavily, biting his bottom lip, Buck started to sprint towards the glass windows of the nearby building. Several bullets whizzed by as they went.
Sirens in the distance. Backup was on its way.
A bullet ricocheted off a sewer and clipped Buck’s earlobe.
“Sorry about this, buddy,” Buck apologized to Eddie. He picked up speed, and launched them both through the window just as more bullets spat down at them. They rolled head over heels through shards of glass and came to a stop against one of the racks of clothes that crisscrossed the department store. Without wasting a second, Buck yanked down the nearest prom dress and pressed it into Eddie’s wound. Eddie groaned and pushed him away, aiming the makeshift bandage at Buck’s knee.
“Eddie, Eddie no,” Buck pushed the fabric against the gunshot wound and leaned his weight into it, desperate to prevent more blood from exiting. “Eddie, don’t worry about me. Focus on staying awake!”
Eddie snorted, then released a belly laugh. “Don’t worry about you?” he croaked, barely audible. “That’s—that’s like telling me not to worry about Christopher…”
“You’re going to see Christopher real soon – real soon, buddy, just hang on.” Buck’s knee was throbbing. And Eddie was so pale, so pale.
Eddie blinked up at his friend. “You… You love that kid.”
Buck nodded. “So much,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “So much.”
Outside, the gunfire had stopped. The streets were empty, and a graveyard silence had settled.
“I want him… It’s a gift. It’s the best gift I can give him. You’ll tell him that, yeah?” Eddie whispered.
“Tell – what – Eddie, tell Christopher what?” Buck’s lower lip trembled, and tears turned his vision blurry. “What gift?”
“Y-You.”
“What?”
“You get him – he’s yours – when I die… In my will… You’re his legal guardian now. You’re my l-last gift to him.”
“Eddie, don’t…” Buck rubbed the side of his thumb against Eddie’s dirty cheek. “We’re not having this conversation. Not now. Not—not yet, Eddie…” Buck’s voice broke, and so did the invisible dam holding back his tears. “Please – God please – Not like this, Eddie, not like this…”
“Tell him I love him.” Eddie’s words were barely more than exhales. “You, too. Buck… You, too. Love… Love you, too.”
Buck grinned and nodded. “L-love y-you.”
“Hands up. Step away or I’ll kill you, too,” a voice behind Buck declared.
Eddie looked past Buck’s shoulder and, for the first time, he looked scared.
Buck gave Eddie’s hand a squeeze, then raised his arms and slowly stood up. He turned to face the masked sniper—turned, but didn’t step aside. Buck planted his feet, body between his best friend and the aimed gun, and nothing but a barrage of bullets would move him.
“I don’t want you,” the faceless man told him. “I want firefighters dead—not civilians.”
Buck had almost forgotten he was out of uniform. “This man you shot,” he said, voice suddenly full of strength again, “doesn’t deserve to die. You want to kill a firefighter today? Well, kill me.”
“No,” Eddie begged behind him.
“I told you—” the sniper began.
“I’m a firefighter,” Buck declared. He took a step forward—straight at the weapon. “And to get to him, you will have to go through me.”
The sniper straightened, shrugged. “As you wish.” His trigger finger flexed—
—and for the second time that day, Buck was showered in another man’s blood.
The bullet Athena fired from behind the man went right through his heart.
Arms still raised, cringing, Buck spat a teaspoon of blood on the department store carpet. “Really?” he asked the universe. Then he snapped out of it. “Eddie needs help—now!”
For once, Athena didn’t speak—just nodded and retreated through the shattered window to wave down the nearest incoming ambulance.
Buck pivoted back to his best friend. He collapsed down onto his one good knee, cupped Eddie’s white face in his trembling hands and quickly kissed his forehead. Eddie’s eyes were shut. His breaths were shallow but there and Buck counted them… Until they stopped.
“N-No,” Buck moaned. “Eddie, no. Eddie… Eddie! EDDIE!”
Hands suddenly gripped him—forearms, waist, wrists. Faceless figures in uniform pulled him back while others swarmed forward. Voices shouted. Someone started doing compressions. And Buck was dragged away.
“EDDIE!”
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Two days later, at four in the morning, Eddie Diaz woke up shouting Buck’s name.
Now, Buck couldn’t run—not with his busted knee—but he could hop so he did, right out of his bed in the other half of the hospital room. Eddie was half out of his own bed so Buck half-tackled him back into it. On instinct, he snatched his friend by the wrists and pulled his hands to him—one to his heart, the other to his cheek. The pair made eye contact and Eddie’s bulging eyes blinked.
Eddie’s jaw dropped and he asked, his voice a squeak, “Are we alive?” And then he was pulling Buck into a hug, and Buck was hugging him back, and they stayed like that until both of their pulses settled down.
When Eddie’s adrenaline wore off the weakness set in, and his body went limp in Buck’s arms. Buck gently lowered him back into the bed, pillow behind his head, then sat on the edge with Eddie’s left hand cradled in both of his. “I thought…” Eddie whispered, “I thought we were both…”
Buck nodded. His voice cracked when he said, “I gotta ask. I gotta know. Tell me—can you answer something for me?”
Eddie interlaced—interlocked their fingers. He nodded.
Buck dropped his eyes. He stared at the sheet around Eddie’s stomach. “Did you mean it? Did you really make me Christopher’s legal guardian in your will?”
Eddie sniffed. Nostrils flared. Another nod.
Buck slowly shook his head. “Why?”
“Evan,” Eddie whispered, “no one will ever fight for my son as hard as you. That is what I want for him.”
“I need… I need you to know something,” Buck told Eddie. “I need you to understand something, ok? Can you do that? Can you do that for me?” A third nod from Eddie. “You said I’m a—I’m a ‘gift’ to Christopher… I need you to know that you two—you and him, Eddie… For me you’re a whole Christmas morning.”
More than one tear filled Eddie’s eyes, but they didn’t dull his grin. “Buck that was… Was that a metaphor?”
Buck chuckled. “Maybe.”
“Buck, you know what a metaphor is?”
“Shut up,” Buck laughed—and the pair kept laughing, together, until dawn.
The End