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Buck rubs at his eyes, a fruitless attempt to combat the utter exhaustion he feels right down to his bones. He blindly reaches into the cupboard for two mugs, steadily filling them with freshly brewed coffee. He leaves the mug intended for Eddie alone and accidentally adds too much cream to his own. He sighs heavily, watching the color swirl into a golden brown before he takes a long sip, deciding it’s good enough considering how shitty he feels anyway. He nearly talked himself into calling off this morning, but he figured the buzzing in his head would make him feel worse and at least work gives him something to do with his hands.
He stiffens slightly when Eddie falls into his peripheral. Eddie is quiet, body tightly wound as he looks down at the coffee Buck poured for him. It’s a habit at this point, one he never broke even when Eddie left the 118 for a few months. Hen learned to wait, taking the mug set out for Eddie, dumping the excess into the sink to make room for her own vanilla oat creamer and sugar. For one, gut wrenching moment Buck thinks Eddie is going to ignore it or pour it down the drain. Eddie sighs, scrubbing his face before he grabs the mug and maneuvers around Buck to where Chimney is sitting at the table. Buck deflates and swallows another large gulp that burns the roof of his mouth.
“What’s going on with you two?” Hen asks as she bumps her hip into Buck’s, reaching across him to make her own cup of coffee.
“Nothing,” Buck replies almost instantly, “we’re fi—”
The pointed look Hen gives him stops whatever lie he was going to tell. He looks over his shoulder and watches as Chimney and Eddie head towards the stairs to start the morning chores. It’s just the two of them now in the kitchen and the rest of the loft is quiet save for the one person snoring softly on the sofa. Hen waits him out, peering over her mug as she takes a steady sip.
“I, um,” he rubs the back of his neck to keep his hands from shaking, “I told Eddie about the sperm donor thing.”
Hen raises an eyebrow. “And he didn’t take it well?”
“Sort of.” Buck shrugs, which both he and Hen know is an understatement.
He hadn’t really planned on telling Eddie at all, at least, maybe not until after he went through with it. He was terrified Eddie would see right through him, talk him out of it even though he already promised Conner he was all in. Eddie had a way of navigating the perpetual fog in Buck’s brain, clearing a path Buck might not have ever found on his own. It should be infuriating that someone knows Buck better than he knows himself, but there’s no one he trusts more than Eddie Diaz.
It was just after the lab explosion and subsequent curse that plagued the firehouse for three days straight (he still has the bruises from the pigeon incident), so Buck was already feeling raw and vulnerable, his worry for Karen eating away at any remaining composure he managed to maintain for work. Another near death experience. Another loved one almost lost. Buck is getting really tired of the universe throwing them in the deep end. The waves feel like they’re growing bigger and it’s harder to keep their heads above water. He and Eddie were winding down after putting Christopher to bed, a few beers that loosened his tongue more than it should, and it just sort of slipped out. What Buck thought would be relief at spilling his not so secret secret to his best friend quickly turned into guilt and shame as he watched Eddie’s face harden.
He was sure Eddie would be angry, maybe feeling a little left out because Buck had kept it from him for a while now, but what he wasn’t expecting was for Eddie to look devastated. Like Buck hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” Buck leans forward, reaching out for Eddie, because he needs to fix this, he can’t lose Eddie, not now, “Eddie, I’m— look, I should have told you sooner.”
“Buck.” Eddie shakes his head, moving to stand, slipping just out of Buck’s grasp. “That’s what you think I’m upset about?”
Buck looks up at his best friend with wide, sad eyes. What else is there? How else could Buck have royally fucked this up? He was doing something good, wasn’t he? A friend asked for his help and who is Buck to say no? That’s what he’s good at, probably the only thing he’s good at. Helping people. So why the fuck does Eddie look like Buck just punched him?
“I don’t understand,” Buck says quietly. He wrings his hands together, desperately wishing he could touch Eddie, smooth the deep furrow in his brow, or take away the pain he’s clearly caused. “What else is there?”
“What else is—” Eddie stops, his lips pressing into a thin line as his jaw trembles. “Buck, did you ever think about how this might affect you?”
“It’s not like I have to have surgery—” Buck starts, but Eddie cuts him off.
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
And it feels a little like deja vu. Like he’s sitting at Hen’s dining room table with a half empty bottle of tequila and a pounding headache right behind his eyes where Hen reminds him that he matters.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Buck says dismissively, but it sounds even less convincing now than it did a few weeks ago. “If I can help someone, a friend, why should my feelings get in the way of that?”
Eddie barks out a hysterical laugh.
“Do you know how hard it is to watch someone you care about hurt themselves over and over again?”
Buck feels ice cold and he bites down on the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood. Of course he does. Of fucking course he does. And Eddie already knows that answer.
“I’m not hurting myself,” Buck says weakly.
“Really?” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows sky high as he stares Buck down. “I know you’re not physically throwing yourself into danger willingly, but Buck, your happiness matters too.”
“Helping them will make me happy.” Buck snaps, something white hot and deadly licking its way up his throat.
It’s not a lie. Mostly. Helping people does make him happy, or at least it makes him feel useful and at this point in his life those two things are pretty interchangeable. And yeah, he’s aware of how fucked up that sounds.
“I don’t think it will,” Eddie says quietly, his face crumbling into something that makes Buck feel absolutely sick because he put that look on his best friend’s face.
“Well,” Buck says, low and deadly, his rage sitting just behind his teeth, “what do you know.”
He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond as he quickly gets up from the couch, desperate to just get the fuck out. He can see Eddie’s arms drop to his side, the flash of hurt like a sniper shot to the shoulder that makes Buck wretch up the contents of his stomach next to the Jeep when he stumbles outside. He should go back in and apologize, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He has to get up early for his appointment tomorrow anyway.
“Are we sure we cleansed this place from that bracelet?” He jokes, self-deprecating, “Because I think I’m cursed.”
And it all seems fucking pointless now because he went to do what he promised to do and, well. He’ll never really be rid of Daniel’s ghost. He’ll always be one step behind, trailing the shadow of a brother he was born to save, but never knew. It’s hard to donate sperm when cancer runs in your family. So Buck disappoints another person in his life and now Eddie won’t talk to him and he probably should have seen it coming, but he never seems to learn his lesson. Always growing older, but never wiser.
“Don’t let Chim hear you say that,” Hen jokes before her face softens, a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re not cursed, Buck.”
“Yeah, well,” Buck just shrugs, trying for a smile, but he doesn’t have the energy for it, “maybe I’m just the world’s biggest unfunniest joke.”
Hen opens her mouth to say more, but the bell rings and the rest of their morning is full of car accidents, kitchen fires, and a group of hikers stuck in a cave. By the time the evening rolls around Buck beelines for the bunk room, avoiding the very intense gazes of Bobby, Hen, and Chimney. He’ll probably be pulled aside later, but all he wants to do is stop existing for a little while just to catch a fucking break. He’s not surprised when he hears the telltale creak of the door opening and closing quietly or the dip of the mattress, where a line of heat presses against his thigh. He is surprised to know that it’s Eddie who sought him out, because even though Buck has his eyes closed he’d know Eddie anywhere.
“Buck,” he murmurs, “talk to me, please?”
That’s all it takes, really. All the guilt and anger and hurt snakes its way through Buck’s ribcage, wraps like a hot coil around his lungs until he feels like he can’t breathe. His eyes burn with tears and he squeezes them tight to keep them from falling.
“I’m sorry, Eds,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.”
And isn’t he always sorry?
His eyes flutter open and he looks up at his best friend in the dim light of the bunkroom, his heart melting at Eddie’s open expression. Distantly, he thinks he doesn’t deserve someone like Eddie Diaz, but the selfish part, maybe the more honest part of him, wants Eddie more than he’s ever wanted anything. And he’s tried to deny it. Tried to bury it in his bones because the truth of the matter is, no matter what Hen or Maddie or anyone else says Buck is cursed.
And if he ruins Eddie it will kill him.
Eddie’s fingers wrap around his bicep, squeezing gently, a half smile so soft and reassuring that Buck imagines how sweet it might taste if he were brave enough to lean forward and kiss him.
“Buck,” he starts, but because the universe loves to mock him, the bell rings.
Eddie knocks his knee into Buck’s and keeps it there as the truck pulls out of the station and it feels a little bit like a promise.
They roll up to a movie set just as the sun really begins to dip beyond the horizon, setting the sky on fire with hues or reds, oranges, and yellows. Bobby relays that there was a malfunction with some of the props and there are two injured parties and one person trapped beneath a collapsed set. Hen and Chimney immediately tend to the people who are injured, nothing serious from what Buck can tell, while he and Eddie set off for the partially caved in fake building.
“This is LAFD,” Buck calls out, “just stay where you are and we’ll get you out in no time.”
Beneath the rubble the actor sighs as he drops his hand, which he was using to shield his eyes from Eddie’s flashlight. He’s dressed in a James Bond type outfit, decked out with fake weapons and tech gear that reminds Buck of the Mission Impossible movies Chimney made him watch a few years ago.
“I swear to god this set is cursed,” The actor groans dramatically, shifting just a little to squint up at Eddie and Buck through a small opening, “it might be better to just leave me here.”
Eddie hides his laugh in a fake cough that makes Buck grin. Dylan, the actor who eventually relays his name, gives them both a pointed look that clearly says I’ve seen better acting than that.
“Tell us more about this curse, Dylan.” Buck says to distract him while they carefully start to dig him out.
Dylan gives off a humorless laugh. “All I’m saying is anything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.”
“Are you sure you’re not just having a bad week?” Eddie asks in a tone that Buck recognizes as his the universe doesn’t scream voice.
“I got food poisoning from oatmeal on Monday,” Dylan replies with an impressive amount of snark. “Oatmeal.”
“Doesn’t sound so ba—“ Buck starts, but quickly shuts up when Dylan glares up at him from the hole that is steadily growing bigger.
“I shouldn’t have taken this job,” Dylan laments, “but this was my dream role.”
Eddie meets Buck’s gaze for a moment, his eyes scrunched in quiet amusement, a smile tugging on his lips. Buck just raises a challenging eyebrow in return. He knows Eddie thinks it’s all nonsense; that curses and jinxes are just ways for people to grasp at an explanation for all the bad or weird shit happening to them.
“Maybe it’s me,” Dylan says after a moment, “maybe I’m the problem here.”
“That sounds a little dramatic,” Eddie laughs, “don’t you think?”
“Dream. Role.” Dylan reiterates through gritted teeth. “And you know what happens to me?”
Buck and Eddie exchange a glance, knowing full well that Dylan can clearly see him.
“Halfway through filming they decide to change the script,” Dylan snarls as Eddie slips into the hole to check Dylan’s vitals before they move him, “and instead of saving the day I get fucking shot and killed off with forty minutes left!”
Eddie frowns as he moves his flashlight over Dylan, his white shirt turning a dark red near his abdomen.
“Dylan, are you feeling any pain?” Eddie asks more seriously now as he reaches down to lift Dylan’s shirt.
“What?” Dylan asks as he follows Eddie’s hands. “Oh,” Dylan sighs as he lays his head back down on the concrete, “no that’s just the special effects for when I go out in my blaze of glory.”
Eddie undoes the white button down anyway and pulls it aside to see three different packs of what Buck imagines is fake blood taped to his stomach, rigged to some sort of electronics that probably make it explode at the right time. One of the bags is leaking right where the stain is seeping into the fabric and Eddie smiles as he finishes his evaluation.
“Maybe you’re not cursed after all,” Eddie says as he helps Dylan to his feet. “No concussion or any sign of other injuries.”
“Great,” Dylan rolls his eyes, sighing as he stares down at his exposed chest. “Thanks,” he adds more sincerely as he turns towards Buck while Eddie packs up the supplies they used, “I’d shake your hand, but if I really am cursed, better to not pass it on to someone else.”
Buck almost laughs, his smile becoming a little strained as he swallows around something sharp and bitter. He vaguely wonders if their curses would cancel each other out. If he took Dylan’s hand then maybe it would erase his poisoned genetic history and he could do the one thing he was born to do. The one thing he keeps failing at over and over again. Or maybe he would just ruin Dylan completely. Take him out at the knees and bury him in the ground to rot and fester in the earth. Buck opens his mouth to respond, he wants to make a joke, to deflect from the way it feels like the fake building is suddenly coming down on him, threatening to trap him beneath tons of steel and concrete, when three loud bangs echo in the space between himself and Dylan.
Buck blinks, flinching back as something dark red and warm splatters across his face. He stands, frozen, his vision tunneling as he watches Eddie Diaz fall to the pavement in slow motion, like the universe made sure he’d remember this moment for fucking ever. Eddie hits the ground, the sound reverberating in Buck’s skull, and he just stands there. He just stands there and watches as a thick pool of blood saturates the road, Eddie’s hand reaching, reaching, reaching.
“…uck!"
“Is he okay?”
Buck can hear voices, but they’re far away and muffled, like he’s underwater. He needs to get to Eddie. All that matters is Eddie. He licks his lips, the rusty iron taste of blood makes his stomach lurch, and he stumbles forward. Strong arms catch him and he braces himself to be taken to the ground, muscles stiffening to minimize the impact. Hands cup his face gently and Buck forces his gaze forward, finds brown eyes so warm and beautiful it punches a harsh breath out of his chest.
“Buck,” Eddie says, “Buck, it’s okay, I need you to breathe.”
And like a rubber band snapping back into place after it’s been pulled to its breaking point, Buck moves into action. He presses his hand against Eddie’s shoulder, his fingers slick with blood as he fumbles with the fabric of Eddie’s turnout coat.
“J — just hang on, Eds,” Buck pleads as he applies pressure, “I need you to hang on.”
He watches as Eddie’s face shutters. That sends a wave of panic down Buck’s spine and he can practically feel the way his chest heaves as he begins to hyperventilate. Somewhere, far off in his mind, he knows that something isn’t right. That Eddie is in his turnout gear, standing in Buck’s line of sight with his hands, warm and calloused, on Buck’s cheeks, holding onto him with a gentleness that makes Buck ache. In his peripheral he can see the others too, Hen and Chimney with shocked looks on their faces, Bobby hovering just to his right, ready to intervene, but clearly holding back. Dylan with his white button up drenched in dark red, plastic pieces hanging limply from where they’re taped on his chest.
“Told you I was cursed,” Dylan murmurs before someone in a firefighter uniform ushers him away.
Buck shudders out a wounded noise. He needs to get it together. He needs to get Eddie – no. No. Eddie is right here. Eddie is fine. Eddie is safe. Eddie isn’t bleeding out beneath his hands. He’s not even in the middle of the goddamn road. He’s fine. He’s fucking fine and he’s having a panic attack during an emergency response and–
Something drips down his forehead, tracing a path from his eyebrow to his nose and he inhales sharply at how scarlet it is. He lets go of Eddie, looking down at his fingers stained so dark it’s almost maroon and the panic sets in again. Because that has to be – Eddie’s blood.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Eddie murmurs softly, his voice wavering with something that sounds like pain.
Buck doesn’t say anything as Eddie takes his hand and begins to pull him in a direction Buck can not discern right now. He blindly follows Eddie, unblinking as a quiet buzzing sound fills his ears. He feels heavy, like his bones are suddenly made of lead and he can’t understand how Eddie hasn’t given up carrying the weight yet. He’s shuffled into a bathroom, something small and cramped, especially for two big firefighters in their turnouts. Eddie quickly sheds both of their coats and coaxes Buck down onto the closed toilet seat. There’s the sound of running water, but Buck can’t see much past the beige wall staring back at him from where he’s sitting.
“Buck,” Eddie says, fingers gently tilting his chin up, “Buck come back to me.”
Eddie feels so far away, like Buck has slipped into a limitless space where no one can reach him. There’s pressure against his chest, like someone is rubbing at it, the heat from the friction soothing and warm. Buck shakes his head, and Eddie’s face, wrecked and full of concern, fills his vision. That nearly startles him and he chokes out something close to a sob as his fingers curl around Eddie’s wrist.
“There you are,” Eddie tries for a smile, “hey, it’s okay.”
“Eddie,” Buck breathes and it feels like the first, real one he’s taken in the past several minutes, “Eddie.”
“I know,” Eddie says quietly as he carefully cleans Buck’s face, “I know.”
“It’s me,” Buck blurts out as he holds onto Eddie like a lifeline, “I’m the one who’s cursed.”
“Buck,” Eddie huffs out in frustration, his brow furrowing, but Buck just shakes his head.
“I ruin everything.” Buck croaks, “I couldn’t save Daniel. I couldn’t save you,” he says, his chest starting to heave again, “and now I can’t even give Conner a stupid piece of myself so he can start a family.”
“Hey,” Eddie drops the cloth, one hand rubbing against Buck’s chest again, the other cupping his cheek, “hey, slow down. That’s not true, Buck,” he says almost sternly, but it's enough to get Buck’s eyes to snap to his face, “that’s not true.”
Buck just laughs, but maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s a stifled sob that sits in his throat, choking him.
“You are not cursed,” Eddie says, “and you don’t ruin everything.”
“Then I must be the world’s favorite punching bag,” he tries to joke, but there’s a few, hot tears that slip down his face and Eddie moves to wipe them away with the pad of his thumb.
“Buck,” Eddie sighs, lips twisting into a grimace.
“I’m sorry,” Buck swallows. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Conner and I’m sorry for pushing you away.” He tries to take a deep breath, his lungs burning with the effort before he exhales shakily, “And I’m — I’m sorry…”
I’m sorry for making you watch me circle the drain. For causing you pain because I can’t stop hurting myself. For wanting you so much that I can’t let you go. For being too much or never enough. For not being brave enough to tell you how much I love you. Because you deserve to be loved even if my love is twisted and poisoned and lethal. I’m sorry that I’ve cursed you too.
“It’s so frustrating, sometimes,” Eddie closes his eyes, both hands now holding Buck’s face with such reverence Buck is terrified he is going to shake apart, “to know that you still think you’re expendable. That you think you’re not worthy or deserving of happiness or love even when we’re standing right here. It feels a little like screaming into the abyss.”
“Eddie, I’m—“ Buck starts, his eyes pricking with tears again.
“But I would scream forever,” Eddie says with such conviction that Buck’s breath hitches in his throat, “I would stand there and yell until my throat is rub raw and the sound no longer exists if it meant you would finally hear me.”
“I hear you,” Buck says quietly as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s, “I hear you.”
“Good,” Eddie laughs, a little wet and wavering, “that’s a start.”
And Buck knows that this moment will be over soon. That he’ll have to step outside this room and face the world head on and figure out how to navigate this dark, winding path he’s been stumbling down all his life. He knows he’s not alone, but that believing it are two different things. He can get there, he thinks, and that Eddie will have his back no matter what. That he deserves someone like Eddie to catch him when he falls. And it feels unbelievably daunting, but Eddie makes him feel brave.
Buck tilts his head, their noses brushing, and he presses his lips softly into Eddie’s, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit. It’s a gentle, quiet thing, but it tastes a little bit like forever.
“Let’s get out of here,” Eddie hums as he kisses the corner of Buck’s mouth, like a promise for later.
“Okay,” Buck says, taking Eddie’s hand, giving it a small squeeze, because maybe he can touch Eddie and hold Eddie and be with Eddie and not ruin him. And when Eddie smiles, soft and private, just for Buck, he wonders if this is what it feels like to finally break a curse.