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Eddie is a pretty awful patient.
There is only a small window of time, twenty minutes to be exact, where he’s left unsupervised from the time Carla leaves the house with Chris in the morning until when Buck gets home from shift. Twenty minutes in the early morning in which most sick people would just stay curled up in bed. Not Eddie. No, instead Buck finds him hunched over in the kitchen wheezing through congested lungs as he tries to empty the dishwasher. Hence, terrible patient.
“What are you doing?”
Buck’s duffle hits the floor with a thump startling Eddie. The sound of dishes rattling fills the air, but it’s not enough to cover up the small squeaks on each of Eddie’s inhales.
“Dishes,” he pants out, pulling the coffee mugs from the top rack and placing them in the cabinet. Even from across the room, Buck can see the way his hands shake.
“And they couldn’t wait until I got home?”
“Not an invalid,” Eddie grouses.
A sigh of defeat slips past Buck’s lips as he steps into the kitchen. “No, cause that would mean you admitting you feel like shit.”
It comes out harsher than intended so Buck soothes the sting of his words by running a hand softly up the side of Eddie’s arm, turning the man towards him. It’s obvious from the bright flush across his cheeks, but Buck settles the back of his hand against the too hot skin of Eddie’s forehead anyway.
“Your fever is up again,” he murmurs softly, cupping the side of Eddie’s neck. “Did you take anything for it?”
“No,” Eddie admits, shoulders slumping.
He looks tired. And sick, no matter how much he tries to deny it. Skin pale, dark shadows under his eyes, lips chapped, and a fever flush across his cheeks. Buck wants nothing more than to bundle the man he loves up in blankets and tuck him back into bed, to let him rest and recover like his body so desperately needs, but he knows Eddie is too stubborn for that.
Baby steps are required if he wants to be successful. Eddie is used to being on all the time, being the one and only to keep his household running. He hasn’t had anyone to share the load with in a while so he doesn’t know how to put it down and rest. Buck has learned, though, that he can help offload it slowly if he goes piece by piece.
And it starts with the dishwasher.
“Hand me that pan and I’ll put it back in the cabinet,” Buck offers.
And Eddie does. Dish by dish they unload it together, then reload it with that morning’s breakfast plates and utensils. When they’re done, Eddie’s energy is already flagging, but he’s too stubborn to give in, propping himself up against the counter like it’s not the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor.
“Why don’t you go grab a shower while I make something to eat.”
It’s a multi-benefit move if it works. Hot water to relax Eddie, and wash off the sweat from the fever he’s burning through. Plus, food for both of them because he’s sure Eddie didn’t eat much yesterday, probably just made sure Chris ate. And it’ll get Eddie out of the way so Buck can quickly change the sheets on the bed. It’s a risky move though, and might tip his hand too quickly.
But it doesn’t. Eddie just nods, pushing off from the counter and trudging away like his bones are made of cement. Buck spares a moment to watch him go, listens for the creak of the bathroom door closing before he moves. For once he’s glad he spent the extra five minutes to shower off at the station. The intention had been to slip right into bed with Eddie and nap when he walked in the door, but that plan went right out the window. Now, it means doesn’t have to worry about Eddie trying to pick up Chris’s room or start doing laundry in the time it takes Buck to shower.
He makes quick work of everything while Eddie is washing up. Clean sheets on the bed. A fresh blanket draped over the back of the couch. Chamomile tea steeping in mugs. Bread toasting in the toaster as eggs sizzle in the pan. Medicine lined up on the counter like little soldiers ready for battle. It’s all waiting for Eddie when he shuffles back into the kitchen.
Buck hands him his mug of tea, watching amused as he sniffs it suspiciously. Eddie detests tea, it’s not a secret. The only time he will actually break down and drink it is when he is feeling absolutely miserable. And the way he takes a tentative sip and sighs, Buck knows he’s well on his way to conceding defeat.
“I’m beat. Eat on the couch?”
“Yeah, okay.” Eddie gives him a valiant attempt at a smile as he accepts his plate.
With sitcom reruns playing in the background, it’s easier than Buck thought to get Eddie to relax. Or maybe he’s just really feeling like crap and finally giving in. Either way, he doesn’t bat an eye when Buck takes away his mug and plate, settling a blanket over him instead. Eddie just slowly sinks lower and lower into the couch until his head is resting on Buck’s shoulder.
“Lay down, Eds,” Buck murmurs, carding his fingers through Eddie’s hair and gently guiding him down until his head is pillowed on Buck’s belly.
It’s easy enough to kick his feet up on the coffee table and ease back into the couch a little more until they are both comfortable. His fingers keep sliding through Eddie’s shower-damp hair, curling the ends around his fingers mindlessly as the canned laughter from the TV drones on. With each passing moment, Eddie’s breaths grow a little heavier, a little steadier, until Buck feels him finally drop off into sleep.
Victory swells in Buck’s chest as he listens to the congested snores coming from the man he loves. Mission successful, he allows himself to close his eyes and rest for a little while, the weight of the day finally sinking into his bones.
He comes around to a soft touch on his cheek, a gentle tapping that pulls him the rest of the way up from the depths of sleep. It feels like he’s swimming through molasses, mind sluggish, body heavy, eyes unwilling to open. His head is pounding. He groans and tries to turn away from the incessant tapping, just wants to go back to sleep.
Fortune is not on his side though.
“Buck,” a croaky voice calls out. “Wake up, Buck.”
Even through the thick layers of mucus distorting the sound, he’d recognize that voice anywhere. Eddie. Buck manages to crack his eyes open, hand reaching for the man that had been settled next to him on the couch, but finding it disturbingly empty. A hand tips his chin up so he’s looking at his partner, now hovering next to the couch. He looks sleep-disheveled and flushed with fever, but there’s a wrinkle of worry on his face and a thermometer in his hand. Buck can’t quite put the pieces together.
“I think I got you sick,” Eddie rasps, raising the thermometer to scan Buck’s forehead. It bleeps angrily and Eddie’s brow knots up further as he turns the red blinking screen to face Buck. “You have a fever too.”
Well, shit.