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It starts on an overnight shift, a loud clanging noise waking Eddie up from a restless sleep in the bunkroom. He thinks he can make out a string of hissed cursing that follows, and he’s not sure who would be awake at such a late hour, so he climbs out of his bunk to investigate. To his drowsy confusion, Eddie comes into the loft kitchen to find a frazzled-looking Buck standing facing the island that is covered in every pot and pan and baking dish the 118 fire station owns.
“Umm…” Eddie manages as he rubs at his tired eyes and examines the strange scene.
Buck glances up and offers a curt, “Hey, Eds,” before returning his focus to the kitchen-ware that has apparently personally affronted the man or something.
“What’s going on?” Eddie inquires as he approaches the spread of cast iron and Pyrex.
“I’m reorganizing the kitchen. Hasn’t been done in at least six months.”
“Six months? I guess that means I shouldn’t tell you that I haven’t reorganized my own kitchen in the entire three and half years since we moved here?”
Buck turns to Eddie then with wide, alarmed eyes. “Eddie! That’s insane. I’ll do it for you this weekend after movie night.”
“Buck,” Eddie says sternly as he places a firm palm against each of Buck’s biceps, “you’re not reorganizing my kitchen. I’m a grown up. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”
“Clearly not if it hasn’t been done in three and half years, Eddie.”
“I promise I will do it this weekend, after you’ve gone home and gotten a good night’s sleep.”
“Come on, at least let me help you,” Buck practically whines.
Eddie fondly rolls his eyes. “Why don’t we worry about finishing this little project,” Eddie gestures to the mess on the island, “before Bobby wakes up and strangles you.”
“Right, yeah. See the problem is, I’m great at pulling everything out with the intention of putting it all back neatly… but then once everything’s gathered in a heap, I sort of lose focus or struggle with deciding how exactly I want to put it all back.”
“So, you’re a skilled de-organizer, not a reorganizer.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ll help, then. And while we work, you can tell me exactly why you’re awake at this hour and so worried about kitchen organization.”
Eddie takes a proper survey of all the items they need to find a place for, and then he quickly works up a game plan and relays it to Buck. They work together in companionable silence for a while, but as Eddie is neatly stacking Bobby’s sacred non-stick pans, Buck finally says, “I haven’t been sleeping well since you got shot.”
Eddie’s first instinct is to curl up on himself and hide away at the thought that any moment where he feels safe and secure like this, someone could be targeting him with a sniper.
Instead of running away and shutting down, Eddie takes a deep breath and opens up. “Me either… I mean, it’s easier when I’m on shift because I tell myself I have a job to do, and if I don’t get enough rest, I won’t be able to do that job properly… but at home, I don’t sleep for shit.”
“I think I’ve always had insomnia,” Buck admits next, “like sometimes it’s not as bad and I can manage seven hours on good nights, but anytime anything slightly stressful happens in my life, it becomes a horrible battle to even get an hour or two here and there.”
“Have you asked Doctor Copeland about ways to deal with it?”
“She’s offered to prescribe sleeping pills, but I’m hesitant to take them for some reason. I dunno, they just make me feel weird. And I’ve tried things like weighted blankets or sleep sound apps. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it’s useless. I always just feel restless, like there’s more I should be doing than lying in bed, trying to get sleep. And my legs, they’re always craving to be moved. Sometimes they burn or itch if I don’t move them enough in my bed. It literally pains me to keep them still.”
The two of them seem to be in this comfortable exchange of sleeping woes, listening to the other lament and then offering somewhat relatable experiences of their own. It’s not that they’re trying to outdo each other or compare who has it worse; they’re just illustrating that like everything else, they’re in this sleeplessness together.
“I still get nightmares constantly,” Eddie speaks up next, “they started after the helicopter crash and never really stopped. They change in nature. War, then my parents taking Chris from me, then Shannon dying, then you under a firetruck, then a tsunami, then a well, then me getting shot again. They morph and alternate, sometimes blend together into a horrifying combination of all the things. But they’re never gone.”
Buck places the last fragile baking dish into the cupboard at last.
“Want to watch some late-night Dateline or something?” Eddie suggests as he nods toward the stations cozy couch.
“I think the TV would wake me up more,” Buck explains, “but maybe we could just sit together for a while? Talk some more or something?”
Eddie nods contentedly, perfectly willing to sit and talk to Buck for the rest of eternity.
They sit down close together, despite having the entire large couch to stretch out on, and the warmth of Buck’s arm and leg pressed against Eddie’s own is suddenly the best feeling in the world to Eddie’s sleepy brain.
“Did you have insomnia as a kid too?” Eddie asks, genuinely curious as to when Buck’s sleep issues started and if, like everything else, the Buckley parents only made the problem worse.
“Sometimes, yeah. If I was anxious over schoolwork or a football game or in a fight with mom and dad, I wouldn’t be able to sleep for weeks. The only thing that ever helped was sometimes Maddie would let me lay with my head in her lap, and she would sort of run her cool fingertips all along my face with my eyes closed. It wasn’t exactly a massage… it was really gentle and soothing, and somehow, it would put me right to sleep every time.”
“I could do that for you,” Eddie suggests before his brain has even had a second to think on it.
Buck whips his head around to stare at him. “What?”
“I could, um, well… you could lay down, and I could rub your face with my fingertips, like Maddie used to do. You said it’s the only thing that helps, and I just want to help you get some sleep, Buck,” Eddie confesses sincerely.
Buck studies him for a moment, looking skeptical. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Eddie assures in a whisper, “I promise.” He gestures toward his lap, wordlessly telling his best friend to lay his curly head there. Buck watches carefully for a moment longer before he readjusts so that his back is on the couch cushions and his head is rested against Eddie’s favorite pair of sweatpants.
“Close your eyes,” Eddie instructs softly, and Buck obeys this time without hesitation. Then, Eddie slowly raises his right hand and ever-so-gently touches the pad of his fingers to the apple of Buck’s cheek. He hears the tiniest hitch in Buck’s breathing, but Eddie can tell that the man is trying his hardest to just relax and actually go to sleep.
From there, Eddie draws a pattern through Buck’s temple, traces the arch of his brows, caresses the tangle of his hairline and the bridge of his long nose. He tickles Buck’s earlobes and circles the pout of his perfect lips. Eventually, he even lets the weight of his fingers fall upon Buck’s twitching eyelids, willing them to fall still and heavy in slumber. Buck remains silent through it all, and Eddie works his digits over the beautiful canvas for what feels like hours until his friend’s breathing evens out, and he can feel a swell of achievement at having gotten Buck to sleep.
Then, Eddie runs his fingers carefully through the fluffy texture of Buck’s hair as he lets his own head fall back against the couch and dozes off easily.
***
The next time it happens is once again on an overnight shift. This time, Eddie doesn’t even have to get out of bed because he wakes up to his bunk dipping and Buck pulling himself under the covers right up next to his best friend.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Eddie asks in the tiniest whisper, not wanting to wake the others in the bunkroom.
“No,” Buck answers glumly.
“Lay on your back,” Eddie instructs as he rolls to his side facing Buck and props himself up on his elbow.
“Eddie, you don’t have to do it again. I didn’t come here just so you would massage my face.”
“It’s not a massage, remember?” Eddie teases fondly. “And I don’t mind, Buck. Honest.”
Buck sighs in defeat and gets comfortable on his back with his face turned up to the dark ceiling. He closes his eyes this time without having to be told. Eddie is the one to hesitate here as he raises his right hand to work its magic.
“Why did you come to my bunk then? If it wasn’t for this…” he wonders as his index finger makes contact with the corner of Buck’s mouth.
“Just like being close to you, I guess,” Buck mumbles, and the vibrations of his words shoot right through Eddie’s fingertip and straight into his heart, causing it to flutter wildly.
He answers by running his fingers tenderly along the curve of Buck’s lips, spending extra time there before moving on to Buck’s nose and the bags under his eyes.
***
When it happens again, it’s entirely Eddie’s doing. He’s at home, in his cold and lonely bed, his son already sound asleep in the other room, and Eddie cannot go back to sleep for the nightmare he’d just had while dozing off briefly. His heart races, and his breath is ragged, and all he can think about now is how nice it would be if Buck were here with him. How soothing it would feel for Eddie to be able to touch his face right now, to use Buck’s soft skin to ground him.
Without really deliberating it, he grabs his phone and presses Buck’s contact. It rings twice, and Buck picks up, not sounding sleepy at all.
“Eddie? Is everything okay?”
“I can’t sleep,” he practically sobs into the phone, feeling pathetic and weak, and honestly a little bit frightened by the images his brain had conjured in his sleep.
“Want me to come de-organize your closet for you?” Buck offers, clearly trying to cheer Eddie up with his ridiculousness.
“No,” Eddie sighs, “but if you were awake anyway… maybe you could just come over… and lay with me?”
“Sure,” Buck replies easily, as if it’s no trouble in the world to drive twenty minutes to Eddie’s place at one in the morning.
“Thanks, Buck. See you in a bit?”
“See you in a bit.”
Time passes quickly then, and before Eddie knows it, he’s listening to Buck slowly turn his key in the front door and attempt to let himself in without waking Christopher. His footsteps are light as they come down the hallway, and then Eddie’s bedroom door is cracking open, and an adorable-looking Buck is peeking his head in.
“I was hoping you might have managed to fall back asleep while I was on the way,” Buck whispers as he closes the door behind him and approaches the side of Eddie’s bed.
“Why? So you could draw a dick on my face with a sharpie or something?” Eddie jokes.
Buck lets out a snort that is perhaps a little too loud, and Eddie has to shoot him a faux threatening glare to keep quiet.
“Just don’t want you to miss out on too much beauty sleep. You need all the help you can get, Eds.”
Eddie makes an affronted gasp and reaches out to latch onto Buck’s waist and pull him down to the bed. They lay on their sides, face-to-face, barely a breath apart.
“Can I use your face to help me fall asleep?” Eddie asks nervously.
“Of course,” Buck answers.
So, Eddie reaches his right hand up again, to paint Buck’s face in loving touches and get lost in this comfortable intimacy that has grown between them since the shooting.
“I think I have ADHD,” Buck confesses to him after a while. “I’ve been doing some research, reading stories from people who have been diagnosed later in life. It’s all remarkably similar to what I’ve experienced. I think it might be tied to my insomnia as well.”
“What does Doctor Copeland think about it?”
“I haven’t brought it up to her yet…”
“Buck…” Eddie can’t help the concerned tone that makes its way into his voice.
“I know, I know. I need to tell her and possibly ask about seeing a specialist and getting tested for it… I guess I’m just nervous that she’s gonna dismiss me for doing internet diagnosis or something.”
“Firstly, ADHD is a little bit different than self-diagnosing yourself for cancer or something, Buck. Nobody knows your mind better than you. Secondly, you already have a really good relationship built with her. I can’t imagine she would be dismissive toward you at all. She seems like a really good therapist.”
“You’re right, as always,” Buck admits as his eyes blink open to get a glimpse of Eddie.
“Hey, eyes closed, mister. I’m not done,” Eddie playfully scolds, and the second Buck’s eyes have fallen closed again, Eddie runs his fingertips smoothly along the folds of his eyelids. Buck lets out a low hum at the touch.
“Have you ever considered talking to someone about your nightmares? About your PTSD?” Buck asks next, and Eddie can tell that there is trepidation in his voice, like he worries that the question will piss Eddie off.
“I didn’t for the longest time, thought I had a pretty good handle on things after coming home from Afghanistan. Plus, I was doing that whole ‘bottle it up and move on’ thing that I’m oh so good at.”
Buck snorts again, and Eddie pinches his chin in retaliation.
“Then, I tried talking to Frank because Bobby ordered it, but I never felt like my sessions did me any good. Never helped with the nightmares or anything.”
“Did you even tell Frank about the nightmares?” Buck points out.
Eddie scrunches up his face, having been caught out, though Buck can’t see it.
“I think it’s also important that therapy be a willing endeavor for it to actually do any good. My sessions with Doctor Copeland help me so much because I’m the one that makes the conscious decision to be there, to work through things. Nobody is forcing me to do it.”
“You’re right… Which is why, ever since getting shot for a second time, and my nightmares having gotten a hundred times worse, I’ve been looking into getting a therapist outside of the department. Like you did.”
“That’s great, Eddie. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Buck… Now hush so we can get some sleep.”
Eddie keeps running his fingers all along Buck’s features in his gentle manner, and it doesn’t take much longer for Buck to pass out from the caresses. It’s the sound of Buck’s peaceful breathing, the contended look on his face, that always does Eddie in. Puts him right to sleep.
***
The next morning, everything feels lighter. Easier. For some reason, when Eddie wakes up with Buck wrapped around him like a giant koala bear, it seems so beyond simple to brush his fingers along the man’s cheek and then place a featherlight kiss there. And when Buck’s eyes flutter open from the contact, Eddie places soft kisses to his eyelids too. Then to the tip of his nose. Then to his forehead and temple. Then to the furthest corner of Buck’s crooked lips. And once Eddie is sure that Buck is fully awake due to the way his best friend is beaming at him and wearing a surprised smile, Eddie places a full kiss to Buck’s waiting mouth.
“I love you,” Buck whispers into him.
“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers back.