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“Hey.”
Buck startles awake at Eddie’s hand on his shoulder. He curls into the touch, head aching as he gets his bearings.
“Chris’s school just rang; they've asked me to pick him up.” Eddie keeps his voice low and perches on the edge of the couch where Buck has cocooned himself in a blanket. “You want me to pick anything up for you while I’m out?”
“Mm, I’m good,” Buck waves him away. “I hope I didn’t give Chris this bug.”
“It’s more likely he gave it to you,” Eddie tells him. “Or at least one of his friends did at that party the other week. It's one of the many joys of living with children. Sit up for a second.”
“Do I have to?” Buck mumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He’s shivery from the fever, his muscles aching from the flu that’s kicking his butt for the last two days.
“C’mon, take these and I’ll get out of your hair,” Eddie promises, pressing two tablets into Buck’s hand. “I’ll be back soon.” He collects his wallet and keys, hesitating beside the couch for a moment.
“Stop hovering.” Buck sits up to reach for the water on the coffee table, swallowing the pills with a grimace. “I think I can survive on my own for an hour. Go get Chris.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
Buck grins. “Yes, dad.”
Buck wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to the slam of the front door. He blinks blearily over at his two favourite people and shuffles around on the couch so that he’s sitting upright. The meds have kicked in, bringing his temperature down and he’s feeling more human and less like hot garbage.
“Hey Christopher, did you get sick just to keep me company?” Buck asks, lifting the blanket up enough for Chris to climb up onto the couch with him.
The eleven-year-old doesn’t say anything, he just burrows into Buck’s side.
"He okay?" Buck asks, glancing up at Eddie as he wraps the blanket back around them both.
"Yeah, he's got a low-grade fever and was feeling a bit sick in class," Eddie says, dropping Chris's backpack by the front door. "The school nurse said there's a twenty-four-hour bug going around, so he should be right in a day or so." He props the crutches near the couch so Chris can reach them if he wants them later. "I'm going to make us all some lunch. Will you two be right for a bit?"
Buck nods, looping an arm around Chris to keep him from falling off the couch. "Yeah, we're good."
Buck spends most of the afternoon napping with Chris on the couch, but he forces himself up while Eddie is making dinner. His boyfriend has come a long way in the kitchen, but still has the tendency to mess around with quantities that shouldn’t be messed with.
“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks, glancing up when Buck enters the kitchen.
“Gross.” Buck drops onto one of the dining chairs. He props his elbow on the table and rests his head on his palm to watch Eddie cook.
Turning down the stove to let the soup simmer, Eddie moves to stand behind Buck, his hands coming to rest on the back of his neck. “You still feel warm,” he says, and Buck melts under the touch as Eddie rubs small circles into his skin with his thumbs. “You should probably take another day off work.”
“Mm, I already sent Bobby a message.”
Eddie’s soft laugh ruffles his hair. “Look at you being responsible. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Fuck you, I’m so responsible,” Buck replies, twisting to look at Eddie. There’s no heat in the words, he knows Eddie’s just teasing. "I hate being sick though."
"I don't think anyone really enjoys it," Eddie points out, returning to the stove to finish dinner. “But you are a particularly bad patient.”
“Maybe if you were a better nurse…” Buck says cheekily, letting the words trail off.
“You’re really going to sass me right now?” Eddie asks with a grin. “While I’m here, slaving away to bring you a delicious meal of canned soup.” He turns the stove off and divides the soup between three mugs.
Buck takes the mug that’s offered to him. “It’s not sass if it’s the truth.”
After they’ve eaten, Eddie ushers a still sleepy Chris off to bed and Buck takes the opportunity to shower off the sweat that’s left him sticky and itchy.
Eddie is back in their room by the time Buck wanders out, dressed in a pair of clean sweatpants. He tosses the towel around his shoulders into the laundry basket, reaching for his favourite hoodie.
“Hang on,” Eddie says, stopping Buck before he can shrug on the hoodie. “Turn around for me?” His hand is warm as it traces down Buck’s back. “Did you know you’ve got a rash?”
“What?” Buck cranes his neck to get a look, but he can’t turn his head far enough.
“Here.” Eddie pulls out his phone and takes a picture, handing over the phone so Buck can see. "Does it hurt?"
"No." Buck studies the picture, hesitating before adding, "It's itchy."
Eddie’s still standing behind him, his hands splayed out on Buck’s hips.
"Have you ever had chicken pox?”
“I... don’t think so?” Buck scrunches up his nose at the itch that he desperately wants to scratch. “I didn’t think people got it anymore. Isn’t there a vaccine?”
“Yeah," Eddie says. "Do you know if you got it?”
“I don’t know,” Buck admits. He hands Eddie’s phone back and takes a seat on the end of the bed. “I would have thought so, but I don’t know off the top of my head what vaccinations I got as a kid.” He picks his hoodie back up and pulls it over his head. The soft material irritates his skin making it itch fiercely. “Oh, this sucks.”
“I think oatmeal is supposed to help,” Eddie says, tapping at his phone screen. “I’m going to go check Chris and make a grocery list for tomorrow."
Bucks mouth drops open in horror. “What if I give it to Chris? Maybe I should go stay at my place?”
“Hey, relax,” Eddie says. “Chris is vaccinated. He’s probably just got a cold, but I’ll check just in case.”
Buck flops back onto the bed feeling miserable. He scratches at his back, trying to reach a particularly bad spot between his shoulders. Eddie returns after a few minutes.
“Don't scratch,” he warns, smacking Buck’s hand away. "You’ll just make it worse.”
“How’s Chris?” Buck asks, scooting under the covers.
“No spots," Eddie confirms, joining Buck in bed. "Looks like we lucked out."
"I'm not feeling particularly lucky right now," Buck grumbles. He turns onto his side to face Eddie. "You sure you don't want me to go back to my apartment? I don't want you to get sick."
"I had chickenpox as a kid, and Chris is vaccinated," Eddie says again with a shrug. "We've already been exposed, so if we get it, we get it. I'd rather you be here." He loops an arm around Buck’s waist. “I remember getting chicken pox as a kid. Sorry, but you’re going to feel miserable tomorrow. You don’t want to be alone for that.”
Buck sleeps fitfully. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him but he's too uncomfortable to completely drift off. It means he's awake, somewhat, when Chris appears at their door in the early hours of the morning.
"Can't sleep?" Buck asks, beckoning Chris over to the bed.
“No.” Chris shakes his head, one hand rising to scratch absentmindedly at his stomach. “I don’t feel good.”
The movement draws Buck's attention, so he asks Chris if he can take a look, heart sinking when he spots the small red dots on Chris's skin.
“Ah, I’m sorry buddy,” Buck says, shifting so that Chris can climb in between him and Eddie. “It looks like we get to suffer through this together.”
All the movement wakes Eddie. He gives a sleepy rumble, rolling over to wrap an arm around Chris and pull him into his chest.
"What time is it?"
"Early." Buck rolls over to face Eddie. “ Way too early.”
“How are you feeling?” Eddie reaches out to rest a hand against Buck’s forehead.
“I’m okay,” Buck says, melting into the touch. “But it looks like Chris has got chicken pox too. I’m sorry Eddie. I should have gone home, I should have—”
“Buck stop.” Eddie’s tone is firm yet gentle. “This isn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done okay? Just— try and get some more sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
Early the next morning, Eddie makes a telehealth appointment with Chris's paediatrician to find out what he should do while Buck sprawls out on the couch, half listening to the one-sided conversation.
“What did she say?”
“It’s uncommon, but you can still get chicken pox if you’re vaccinated.” Eddie shrugs, perching on the arm of the couch beside Buck. “She told me what to keep an eye out for but says it looks like Chris has a pretty mild case.”
“That’s good.” Buck scratches at one of the spots that appeared on his neck overnight.
Eddie gently pulls Buck’s hand away. “Yeah, she said it’ll probably hit you harder.”
“Yay for me.” Buck groans, taking his hand back and fisting it in his lap to keep from scratching again.
“She suggested a list of things to get from the pharmacy,” Eddie continues. “Will you two be right here for half an hour?”
“What do you think?” Buck asks Chris, who’s now curled into his side. “As soon as your dad’s gone, it’s party time.”
That gets a half-hearted smile from Chris, so Buck considers it a win. “Yeah, we’ll be fine,” he reassures Eddie, turning back to the TV that’s playing quietly.
After his sleepless night, Buck soon finds himself drifting. The background hum of the TV is relaxing but he can’t quite get comfortable enough to completely drift off. There doesn’t seem to be a single inch of his body that doesn’t itch, and Chris, as much as Buck loves the kid, is a hot and sticky weight at his side.
“Hey, I ran the bath.”
Buck blinks up at Eddie. He doesn’t remember hearing his boyfriend's return.
“Come on. You’ve got it worse, so you get to go first.”
Nodding, Buck untangles himself from Chris’s octopus grip and rises, heading for the bathroom. He’s a bit skeptical about bathing in oatmeal, but he’s willing to try anything that claims to stop the itching.
Buck can’t remember the last time he had a bath. He's too long for this one. He has to hook his legs over the side so he can lie down in the water, but it’s cool on his overheated skin.
It’s almost relaxing.
There’s a knock on the door before Eddie enters. “Do I need to keep an eye on you,” he asks, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re not going to drown are you?”
Buck mumbles a ‘no’ and shakes his head.
“Okay then, I’ll be back in a minute.” The door clicks shut and Buck is left on his own.
When Eddie returns he’s got a towel in one hand and a bottle of lotion in the other. He hands over the towel and waits for Buck to climb out of the tub before emptying it.
“I’m going to run another for Chris,” he says. “Don’t get dressed yet, I have something else for you.” He hands over the bottle of lotion. “Dab some of this wherever you have spots.”
“You mean everywhere?” Buck asks, twisting to get a look at himself in the mirror. His back and chest are covered and they’re beginning to spread down his arms and legs.
Eddie winces in sympathy as he starts the water running in the bath. “I’ll grab you when I’m done with Chris,” he promises, “and help you with any you can’t reach.”
“You look ridiculous.” Eddie grins, turning to face Buck. He’s just finished painting calamine lotion over Chris's spots. “Want me to get your back?”
“Please.” Buck turns to let Eddie get to work. “I don’t even care how we look, as long as the itching stops.”
He sits in his boxers, side by side with Chris on the edge of the empty bath. The doctor had been right, Chris doesn’t seem to have developed many more spots and none of them have blistered but after almost twenty-four hours, Buck is covered in them.
“Okay, you’re good to go.”
“What do you think?” Buck asks, turning to Chris. “More movies?” He’s probably going to crash as soon as he’s horizontal. The virus has been kicking his butt, but at least Chris hasn’t been too unwell. It’s a small consolation, but Buck will take it.
“Just give me a minute to put an old sheet over the couch,” Eddie says. “Chris, you’re in charge until I get back.” He goes to leave, but stops in the doorway and turns, phone in hand. “Say cheese.”
“I hate you.” Buck frowns at the camera right as the flash goes off.
“No, you don’t.”
Buck wakes to a gentle hand shaking him. He groans, rolling away and tries to tug the quilt up over his head.
“No you don’t.” The quilt gets pulled away from him. “C’mon, Ev. You need to eat.”
“’m not hungry.” He snakes a hand under his shirt, reaching to scratch a particularly itchy spot on his stomach.
“I know.” A hand catches his and pulls it away. “But you haven’t eaten anything today. ”
“I just want to sleep.” It comes out pathetic and whiny but he’s so tired and he's uncomfortable and he itches so bad. He's ready to tear at his skin to make it stop. "I'll eat later."
The bed dips. "I know you're uncomfortable but your fever’s gone up and I don't want you to take these on an empty stomach." Eddie puts down the plate and the packet of tablets on the bedside table.
"Uncomfortable?" Buck scratches at his cheek until Eddie gently pulls his hand away again. "I’m not uncomfortable. This goes way beyond uncomfortable. They’re everywhere, Eds. Everywhere . They’re in my mouth. They’re on— just— leave me alone, please."
The bed shifts again as Eddie stands. "Okay, I'll leave you alone," he says, concern etched into the lines of his face. "Just— try and eat something for me. A few bites. And drink some water."
Eddie leaves the bedroom and Buck feels worse for sending him away. He doesn't want to be on his own but he doesn't have the energy to pretend that everything is okay and his discomfort is making him lash out.
With a soft groan, he reaches for the sandwich, taking a couple of bites before swallowing the pills Eddie had left for him. He finishes the glass of water on the bedside table and stands, taking the glass and plate back out to the kitchen.
He finds Eddie and Chris out in the living room. Chris is sitting on the floor, Switch controller in his hand, his tongue poking through his lips as he concentrates on the screen.
“Buck.” Chris glances up, smiling when he notices Buck in the doorway. “Do you want to play with me? We can play Mario kart” He’s glad to see that Chris, at least, is feeling better.
“Thanks, Chris,” Buck says, dropping down onto the couch. “Maybe later.” He tucks his feet under Eddie’s leg. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to blow up at you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie pulls Buck’s feet into his lap, his fingers tracing up the faded scars that wrap up around his knee. “You feel like shit. You’re allowed to be grumpy.”
Chris’s head shoots up. “ Dad .”
“Eddie.” Buck mirrors Chris’s tone, chuckling at the eleven-year-old’s scandalised expression. He lets his head tip back against the cushions, ignoring the persistent itching and instead focusing on Eddie’s warm hands on his legs. The meds he took are starting to kick in, so he shuts his eyes and lets the soft chatter of his two favourite people swirl around him until he drifts off.
Chris's spots clear up after a few days. They never blistered and by the weekend he’s back to one hundred percent and chomping at the bit to leave the house and see his friends. Buck takes a little longer. It takes a week for the spots to heal until finally he’s no longer contagious and can go back to work.
He wakes early the morning of his first shift. Lying in bed, one arm slung across Eddie’s waist, he’s too comfortable to move. It’s a nice change from the itching discomfort he’d been in for most of the week. He’s glad Eddie convinced him to stay. As awful as the week had been, at least Buck hadn’t been alone. At least—
“I can feel you thinking,” Eddie murmurs, half asleep. He shifts, pressing back into Buck’s chest. “You good?”
“Yeah.” Buck tightens the arm around Eddie’s waist. “I’m great.”