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“Hey, you okay?”
Buck glances up, grinning as Eddie joins him in the locker room.
“Yeah.” He stops to roll up his sleeves and scratch at the incessant itch that’s been driving him mad. “I don’t know. I think I got something on me during that last call?”
Eddie drops down onto the bench, his mouth twisting down into a frown. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He reaches for Buck’s arm, tracing a finger down one of the bright red marks Buck has scratched into the inside of his arms.
“I didn’t notice,” Buck says honestly. “And there’s nothing on my uniform.” He grabs a spare shirt from his bag. “I’ll shower and wash whatever it is off.” He catches Eddie’s concerned look. “It’s fine. I’m probably just itchy from sweating or something.”
The shower helps and when he finally dresses some of the burning sensation has eased. The shirt has probably been in his bag a bit too long. It's a little musty, but it's better than whatever he'd managed to spill on the other one.
"Better?" Eddie asks, still sitting on the bench in the locker room. He pulls Buck in, forcing him to step up between Eddie's legs.
Pushing Buck's sleeves up past his elbows, Eddie checks for any sign of injury, but other than a few scratches from Buck's own fingernails, the skin is unmarred.
"It's fine," Buck assures him. "I really don't think it was anything."
He can’t get comfortable. The back of both knees itch and burn. There's a line of fire up his back and Buck doesn't know what he wants to do more, scratch or just tear his skin off.
"Buck, stop moving." Eddie's sleepy voice cuts through the darkness.
"Sorry."
Rolling onto his side, Buck closes his eyes hoping for the sweet release of death sleep.
Justignoreitdontscratchjustignoreignoreignore
His skin prickles. It crawls. It itches. Buck curls his fingers, digging his nails into his palms.
Dontscratchdontscratchdontscratch
God, he wants to scratch.
He gives in, digging his nails into the itching line running up his spine. It stings but the stinging distracts from the ants crawling underneath his skin.
He keeps moving his hand upwards, scratching across his shoulders and up his neck.
"Buck—" Eddie rolls over to face him in the dark. Buck can just make out his face, illuminated by the digital clock on the nightstand. "Hey. What's going on?"
"I didn't mean to wake you," Buck says, keeping his voice low. "Just can't get comfortable." He throws off the covers. "Go back to sleep."
"Wait." Twisting, Eddie reaches for the lamp beside the bed. He turns it on, flooding the room with warm yellow light. "Jesus Buck, your neck."
"Huh?" Standing, Buck goes to the mirror above their chest of drawers.
The skin of his neck is red and irritated, with streaks of blood where he's taken off skin.
"Let me see." Eddie turns on the overhead light and guides Buck back towards the bed to sit. "It's some kind of rash," he says, tugging at Buck's t-shirt. "Maybe an allergic reaction to something?"
"I'm not allergic to anything," Buck insists, letting Eddie pull his shirt up over his head.
"This clearly says otherwise," Eddie points out, letting the cotton shirt fall to the floor. "Any nausea?" His hands are warm on Buck's shoulders.
"No."
"Tightness in your chest? Tingling or numbness in your mouth?"
"No." Buck scratches at his collarbone. "I feel fine," he insists, grabbing at Eddie's hands and forcing them still. "It just itches like mad, and burns a bit where I broke the skin."
"Let me see."
With a sigh Buck twists, showing Eddie his back.
"Jesus." A finger traces his spine and Buck shivers. "Stay there, I'm going to get a washcloth."
"Don't bother." Buck stands. "I'm going to have a shower. You should go back to bed though."
"You think I can sleep now?" Eddie asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You could be having a major allergic reaction."
"Eddie, I have been crawling out of my skin for the last hour, maybe two." Buck digs in the drawer for a fresh pair of sweats. "I think if I was going to stop breathing it would have happened already."
"That's not funny," Eddie says, following Buck across the hall to the bathroom. "Knowing your track record, it could still happen."
"Go back to bed, Eddie."
Buck wakes up on the couch. He doesn't remember falling asleep. He'd all but given up on the idea.
The TV is blank. He'd been watching movies on Netflix but the system must have timed out and shut down after he'd fallen asleep.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" Eddie pads down the hall, dropping beside Buck on the couch.
There are red bumpy flaky patches on the inside of his elbow, his neck and under his arms.
"I'm okay."
Eddie doesn't look like he believes him, but he doesn't call Buck on it.
"I read last night that an oatmeal bath might help."
"An oatmeal bath?" Buck laughs. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"No, not really."
Buck feels like a jerk. "I'm sorry, Eds."
"It's not your fault," Eddie says, standing. "Really." He pulls Buck to his feet and into the kitchen, rummaging around in the pantry for a box of oatmeal.
"Hey Eddie, I'm washing my uniform, you want to throw anything in?"
Buck pokes his head out of the laundry, looking for Eddie.
"Here." Eddie emerges from Chris's room. "Can you wash Chris's school uniform?"
He drops it into the washing machine and Buck reaches for the detergent. “This isn’t the one you usually get.” He scoops some powder into the washing machine.
“Yes it is.” Eddie grabs the box from him. “They just redid the packaging.”
The words New Fragrance are splashed across the front of the box, and suddenly it clicks.
“It’s the detergent.”
Eddie's eyes flick from Buck's face to the full load of laundry sitting in the washing machine.
"Take off your clothes."
"Eddie—"
"It's the fucking detergent!" Eddie holds the box like it might explode.
"Yeah, we just established that." Buck points out, shutting the washing machine. He's already added the laundry powder, he'll just have to run it a few times.
"I washed the sheets with this," Eddie says,
"I know, I was there," Buck reminds him. "This isn't your fault. This has never happened to me before."
Eddie glares at him.
"Buck, will you please go change your clothes?" he asks. "There should be something in the closet that hasn't been washed recently. I'm going to throw this in the trash."