Work Text:
Everything is falling apart.
Everything has been falling apart for a while now, if he’s being honest. But sometimes when you’re falling, it’s easier to pretend that you jumped. That there’s something waiting to catch you when you land.
But Buck is crashing, right now. And the only thing waiting for him when the dust settles is rock fucking bottom.
“Taylor,” he’s saying, surrounded by half-empty boxes that might be packed right back up, and this woman who says that she loves him is looking at him like she’s never seen him before. “I’m so–”
“Save it, Buck,” she says. There are tears in her eyes, but she’s not letting any of them fall – all of her walls are back up, blocking him out. “I don’t even want to look at you right now.”
He’s kind of panicking, heart racing. Because if he doesn’t have Taylor, then what does he have? Eddie has gone radio silent, Maddie and Chimney have been back for like, three minutes, and he can’t bring himself to trust that they won’t walk right out of his life again. And even work, his safe space, is a disaster – Lucy is there around every corner, reminding him that he’s a major fuckup just by existing.
“Taylor, I promise –”
“Just get out,” she snaps, some of the cutthroat Taylor Kelly that he first met seeping back through.
Buck blinks. “Get out?” he repeats weakly. He can’t get out. This is his apartment.
Except that it isn’t, really. Not anymore. It’s their apartment, and Taylor had gotten out of her lease. She has no more apartment, and no family here, and nowhere else to go.
It’s different when neither of you have your own place to run to. Yeah. He should probably listen a little better when Hen talks to him.
But Buck does have somewhere to run to, is the thing. Or at least, he did. He probably still does. There has to be at least one thing in his life that Buck hasn’t broken irreparably. The key is still on his key ring. He’s almost positive that he won’t be turned away.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m going. I’m sorry,” he says for the twentieth time, and it doesn’t feel like enough, because it isn’t.
He manages to grab a hoodie and the keys to his Jeep on his way out the door, looking back at Taylor one last time, at the way she’s not even looking at him, turned the other way. And if his hands shake as he opens up the car door, well, that’s probably to be expected.
***
There’s a light on in the kitchen when Buck pulls into the Diaz driveway, which is good. It’s late, and he’s really not sure what a normal sleep schedule is for someone with a 9-5 job, but he just… he really needs to talk to Eddie.
He really needs his best friend right now.
His key still fits in the lock, still turns just as seamlessly. It’s muscle memory, stepping over the threshold, closing the door soundlessly behind him, turning the lock. Lifting the handle just an inch so it doesn’t stick.
Sometimes this place feels more like home than the loft ever did. And the loft feels even less his, now, with Taylor’s boxes everywhere, her things replacing stuff he hasn’t bothered to move in years. It should probably be exciting, the mingling of their lives, visible in front of him like that. It should probably make him happy to see. But instead, it mostly makes him feel like he’s being replaced in his own space. Especially now. Now that he’s been kicked out of his own apartment, the first place he ever lived in all on his own. The first place that was his and his alone.
He toes off his shoes in the foyer, and pads softly towards the kitchen. “Eds?” he calls out in a whisper. He’s being quiet, avoiding the squeaky floorboard that Eddie always says he’s going to replace, one of these days. Christopher is probably asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake him.
The kitchen, when he reaches it, is empty, and Buck frowns. “Eddie?” he whispers again, but the house is eerily silent. Maybe Eddie just left a light on, maybe he’s already asleep. Maybe Buck drove here just to sleep on a couch and cry by himself, like he’s 20 years old again and desperately trying to hold onto something, anything, to feel like he belonged somewhere, and coming up short every time.
There’s a soft noise from down the hall, though – maybe a footstep? Buck heads down the hall towards the bedroom, shutting off the kitchen light as he goes. He navigates the terrain easily, even in the dark. Eddie’s bedroom door is ajar, and a light is on, throwing a warm glow onto the wall as Buck heads towards it. Not asleep then.
Buck opens his mouth, Eddie’s name familiar on his tongue, hand on the cool wood of the door.
And then he’s ducking with a yelp, barely avoiding the baseball bat aimed at his skull. Eddie is at the other end of it, eyes wild, hair sticking up in every direction, and that had been a hell of a swing.
“Eddie!” Buck whisper-shouts. “It’s me, hey, it’s me.”
Eddie is shaking, baseball bat still raised at his shoulder like a weapon, eyes wide, staring at Buck with something like horror tinting his expression. “Buck?” he croaks.
“Yeah,” Buck breathes, heart pounding. “Yeah, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Fuck.” Eddie spins on his heel and stumbles back into his bedroom, and it’s as the door swings all the way open that Buck notices the absolute carnage that Eddie’s room has become – laundry hamper overturned, clothes spilling everywhere, dresser drawers open and torn apart. Eddie’s knuckles are shining, too, torn and bloody.
“Hey,” he says, following Eddie in. “Hey, Ed– Eddie. What’s goin’ on, man?”
And Eddie just collapses, folding down onto the ground at the foot of his bed like all of his strings have been cut. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, and then he breaks down into tears.
For a moment, Buck is completely frozen. He’s never seen Eddie cry before. Not really, anyways. Not like this. Because now he’s sobbing, big, hiccupping sobs, clutching the baseball bat to his chest like he desperately needs something to hold on to.
That little detail is what snaps Buck out of his shock and back into action. “Hey, c’mere,” he says, getting down on the ground, kneeling in front of Eddie’s hunched form. “Can I touch you?” he asks softly. The moment that Eddie nods, Buck is gently pulling him in against his chest, folding him in so that Eddie is in his lap, shaking against his throat. “You’re okay,” he whispers into Eddie’s hair. “You didn’t hurt me, you’re okay.”
“Buck,” Eddie says, when the sobs are a little more under control. Buck is pretty sure that they’re both shaking.
“I’m here,” he murmurs.
“Buck,” Eddie says again. His lips catch against the skin of Buck’s throat, wet from Eddie’s tears. Buck wonders if he can taste the salt. “Something is wrong.”
Buck’s breath catches. “Yeah,” he says, because there’s no sense in denying it. Something is wrong, and if Buck hadn’t been kicked out of his own apartment, he wouldn’t have even realized at all.
Everything is falling apart. And Buck doesn’t know how to fix any of it.
“It’s okay,” he says anyway. “Look, Eds… we’ll get you help, okay?”
Eddie laughs bitterly. His breath is warm against the skin of his throat. The weight of him in Buck’s lap is heavier than Buck is used to, but he’s pretty sure he likes it. It feels right. “I don’t think I’m fixable,” Eddie mumbles, so quietly Buck can barely hear him. “What’s the point?”
“Eddie,” Buck says, the same panicky feeling in his throat as when Taylor was confronting him in his loft. They’re entirely different situations, but… Buck can’t lose both of them. He can’t handle that.
Everything is falling apart.
“I just want everything to go back to how it was before,” Eddie mumbles into Buck’s neck, and Buck can’t help the choked laugh that escapes him.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”
They sit like that for a long, long time, down on the floor, each of them falling apart in different ways.
“I’m making an appointment with Frank,” Eddie says eventually. He’s moved so that his forehead is tipped against Buck’s shoulder, but he’s still effectively hiding his face. “I mean – I already made one, because Bobby won’t let me back–” he takes a deep, rattling breath, and doesn’t go on. Buck blinks in surprise – Bobby won’t let him back? “I made an appointment with Frank,” Eddie says again, more firmly. Buck decides to shelf the Bobby comment for now.
“That’s good, right?” he says. “Therapy is hard, but – but it’ll help.”
Eddie shrugs. “Didn’t help last time.”
Buck lets out a shaky breath. “Look, I’m no expert in therapy,” he says, with a guilty thought spared towards Dr. Copeland, who he hasn’t so much as spoken to in months. Maybe that’s why he’s backsliding so hard into a version of himself that he hates. “But, Eds. I just – I really need you to be okay.”
Eddie snorts, but doesn’t say anything in response. It stings, but Buck gets it – gets the way that sometimes, it feels like the only way you can go is down. Buck’s pretty sure he’s in the exact same boat, and it’s going down like the Titanic. But Eddie is so good. He deserves the metaphorical lifeboat, even if Buck doesn’t.
Eventually, Eddie shifts, pulling away from Buck’s embrace entirely. The absence hits him like something physical, an ache deep in his chest, but now that he can see his face, Eddie looks awful. Tear-streaked and blotchy, with these deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. He looks completely and utterly exhausted. Like a man at the end of his rope. Buck reaches out on autopilot to thumb at the thin skin under his eyelashes. It’s hot and feverish beneath his touch, slick with tears that haven’t had the chance to dry.
“Have you been sleeping at all, ba– Eds?” He shifts awkwardly, taken aback at himself. It must be the whole Taylor situation messing with him. That must be why he just almost called Eddie baby like it was second nature. Like it was something he did all the time.
“No,” Eddie whispers. If he notices Buck’s slip, he doesn’t show it. “Buck, I – I’m just so fucking exhausted.”
“I bet,” Buck says softly.
Eddie shakes himself, and withdraws enough that Buck’s hand falls limply from his face. He’s trying to draw his walls back up around him, too, but it’s not working. Of course it isn’t – Buck knows him too well for that.
“I need to clean up,” Eddie says, eyes flitting nervously around the room, taking in the disaster zone surrounding them like it’s the first time he’s noticed.
But Buck shakes his head. “In the morning.”
“Buck…”
“Is Christopher here?” Buck asks, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.
His hunch is confirmed when Eddie shakes his head. “He’s at Abuela’s.”
“Then it can wait until tomorrow,” Buck tells him firmly. He feels tired in a way that’s bone-deep, and he knows Eddie is worse. He just wants to sleep until the world starts making sense again. “I’ll help,” he promises.
Eddie looks at him properly for maybe the first time since Buck let himself in the front door. “You staying?” he asks quietly. Hopeful.
“Yeah,” Buck says. “Yeah, I’m staying.”
Eddie works his mouth for a moment, staring at him. He looks absurdly young, and for a moment Buck can imagine the Eddie that existed before Shannon, before Christopher, before the army. An Eddie with no bullet holes scarring his skin. “Will you – in here?” he asks, and it’s totally nonsensical, but Buck knows what he’s trying to ask.
And he doesn’t hesitate a second when he says, “Of course.”
***
Later, when he’s warm under the weight of Eddie’s duvet, the man himself curled in close under his arm, Eddie looks up at him and says, “Why were you coming over so late, anyway?”
There’s no judgement in it, but Buck flinches a little bit anyway. “No reason,” he says evenly. He tries not to think about how Taylor would feel about him cuddling Eddie like this, no matter the context. “It doesn’t matter.”
(Neither of them sleep much. The mess surrounding them is still there in the morning, just waiting to be tackled.
“Taylor isn’t mad that you’re giving up your Saturday to help me get my pathetic life together?” Eddie asks, trash bag in hand, cleaning up some shattered glass that Buck hadn’t even noticed in last night’s chaos. He wonders absently where it came from. How much Eddie had broken, before Buck showed up.
“No,” Buck says, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. He means to tell him, means to say I think I fucked up in a way that can’t be fixed , but he just. He can’t. Can’t push the words out past his teeth. He doesn’t want to see the look on Eddie’s face when he realizes what a shitty person Buck is, deep down. “She’s working,” he says instead.
Everything is falling apart. But this, at least, is a mess that Buck feels equipped to handle, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie.
He’ll tell him eventually. Maybe when Eddie is a little more settled, a little more stable, when Buck isn’t encroaching on everyone else’s trauma with his shitty life decisions. Yeah. He’ll tell him. Just not yet. )