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Buck knows trauma. Buck has seen and experienced the worst of the worst when it comes to catastrophic events. He's survived an earthquake, fought through a tsunami, dealt with fallen wires and freak weather and accidents that shouldn’t have been possible.
He's pulled children–babies–from burning buildings and performed CPR on already broken bodies. Most had survived, but not all. He's had to look devastation in the face, too. A partner's jaw set tight in an attempt to keep themselves together, even if just until they can fall apart privately. The agonizing screams when a parent realizes their child will never return home. As Hen had told him years ago, it never does get easier.
There were the gunshots, too. He lived in Los Angeles, after all. Before that, Peru. Oregon. Montana. Arizona. Florida. Virginia Beach.
Everywhere had its share of violence, noise and chaos. He doesn’t like it, but he’s no stranger to the sound. And it never bothered him before. It’s just background noise. Ambiance.
Okay, that sounds a little fucked up. But it really wasn't ever that big of a deal.
But that was before.
Before Eddie was shot and Buck almost lost his best friend. Again.
Sure, he was a little more aware of Eddie's proximity in the months during and after his recovery. Ana and Carla were around for whatever domestic tasks Eddie let them help with, things like laundry and cooking and taking care of Christopher.
At the station, Buck helped with any two-handed tasks, but so did Chim and Hen and everyone else. Maybe Buck texted a little more often than he usually did. He might have swung by Eddie's a few extra mornings with coffee, or extra evenings with some beers in. Maybe he offered to take Christopher (and then maybe Eddie by proxy) out for lunch or to the park on days off. His best friend was recovering; it was the least Buck could do.
But not much else had changed.
Until the ambulance heist. Ambulance jacking? Whatever. When those inmate assholes pulled out guns and threatened to shoot them.
He'd been nervous–of course he had, there was a gun pointed at his best friend just months after feeling Eddie’s blood spatter on his skin. There was also a gun pointed at himself, too, which wasn't ideal; if things went south, Christopher would have no one. But shit, honestly–selfishly?–he hadn't thought about that until later. Later, when Eddie confessed how terrified he'd been the whole time. Buck had been terrified, too. At least that wasn't a lie.
"I was so scared," Eddie all but whispered into his beer. "Christopher almost lost me so many times already." He took a swig and glanced up. "He could have lost us both."
The pit in Buck's stomach widened at the confession. It was one thing to throw himself into harm's way in order to keep his family out of it. But with the reminder of the guardianship paperwork, he realized that dying would be taking someone away from the kid he loved. Again.
He couldn't do that to Christopher. But he also couldn't bear the thought of it happening to him, of losing someone he cared about. Someone he depended on.
For a long time, that had only been one person: Maddie. He'd pinky promised her he'd work on keeping himself safe, for her sake. Now that Doug was well and gone, he thought she was always going to be right there. But she had left, too.
Okay, okay, he knew she didn't leave him. Clearly she was not okay, and he understood that, intellectually. But it still stung and fed the fear of abandonment always buzzing just under his skin.
Standing in the hospital, listening to Athena talk to Bobby about the situation, he was finally feeling clear of danger. Well, maybe not clear, but not as intense. If the prisoner was here to see his son, surely he wouldn't do something stupid and hurt Eddie. Right?
He wanted to go back out, see what was going on (Bobby's rendition though the speaker phone just wasn't cutting it), but Athena made him stay. She knew to keep him out of the way, to not rush this in and put Eddie in danger, but it took all of Buck’s willpower to not charge. He had to wait, unable to do anything. Again. A-fucking-gain.
And then the loud crack rang out from the ambulance bay. An icy claw gripped Buck's heart. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think of anything but one name: Eddie.
He sprinted like his life depended on it (and it kind of did), body running on adrenaline and terror. They were here, Bobby made it seem like they were safe–why wasn’t Eddie safe?!
But he was.
Buck was confused–Eddie was leaning over the body of the prisoner, performing CPR. Buck wanted nothing more than to take his friend's hand and drag them both away to the safety of the firehouse. But Eddie the hero couldn't let the story end this way, he stayed long after the commotion was over, needing to see everything through.
Buck left the hospital with everyone else, leaving Eddie with the family of the now-dead inmate.
That night was the first dream.
Buck woke in a panic, gasping for air and frantically checking his damp skin for blood. There’d been so much blood as he held Eddie’s body in his arms. But he couldn’t find the source of the bleeding, couldn’t stop it, couldn't get Eddie to wake up.
Now, in his bed–not watching Eddie bleed out in broad daylight–he realized the wetness was coming from his own sweat. His back was slick with it, making his hoodie stick uncomfortably to his skin. His phone told him it was almost six. There was still time before he had to be awake, but he decided to give up in favor of starting a pot of coffee. He couldn’t risk closing his eyes and seeing Eddie’s lifeless body again. He’d text Eddie in a little bit, just a casual check-in to make himself feel better. He told himself he would wait, in case Eddie was still sleeping. That it had nothing to do with the way his hands still shook and droplets of cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
Besides, it was fine. Just a nightmare.
🚒
The nightmare didn't stop.
Suddenly, everything was loud. A car backfiring, something dropping on the ground, the sound of a baseball against a bat–everything was making Buck startle.
“What is going on with you?” Hen asked after Buck nearly dropped his phone when the truck door was slammed a little too hard.
“Nothing,” he said immediately. “Just need more caffeine.”
“Not been sleeping well?” Her concerned mother/paramedic/doctor gaze burned into him.
He shrugged it off, hoping she would move on. “Nah, you know me! Always the life of the party.”
“Does falling asleep on my couch before 9 PM count as the life of the party?” Eddie teased.
Buck knew he was referencing the night before, when he came over for a boy’s night with him and Christopher. It was maybe the fifth day off in a row that Buck had invited himself over? But whatever, they were best friends, and Christopher was his little buddy. Why shouldn’t they hang out every day?
It helped that Buck always felt a little calmer when he was there. Eddie's couch was more comfortable than Buck’s, the ambiance was homier, and… well, any time he felt a little nervous, he could just look over and see that Eddie was fine. Alive. Much easier than texting him at random times (which he also absolutely did).
Hen’s eyes held the same concern, but she seemed to drop it, at least for now.
Apparently, though, Eddie had noticed. Of course he did, because Eddie noticed everything about Buck.
"Hey, man," he said quietly one afternoon while they repacked the truck. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Buck said, brushing it off. "Of course."
When Eddie didn't answer, Buck chanced a glance over. His friend's face was set, serious.
"I'm fine," he said again, but this time he allowed some honestly to color his words. "Sometimes I just, I dunno." He bounced on the balls of his feet, hoping the nervous energy would dissipate. "Get a little jumpy."
"Jumpy," Eddie repeated.
"Yeah," Buck shrugged. "Like around loud noises and stuff. It's fine."
Eddie took a half step back and eyed Buck appraisingly. "When did this start?"
He sighed, walking to the wall to take a battery pack from its charger.
"I don't know," Buck repeated. "A few weeks ago?"
"Buck."
"It's fine."
"Evan."
That finally made him stop and look at his friend. Eddie had used that voice with him, the one he uses when Christopher is in trouble. The one Abuela uses on them both.
"After the prison thing, okay?" He huffed. "It started after that night."
A pause, then Eddie's stern face softened. "Buck–"
"I'm fine!" Buck insisted, cutting him off. He knew Eddie was just concerned, but his voice sounded too gentle. Too full of pity, like Buck was something fragile and delicate that had to be handled with care.
A slam rang out as something dropped on the other side of the house.
"Sorry!" Someone called.That didn't stop Buck from stiffening, inhaling sharply as he took an unconscious step towards Eddie. By the time he realized what he was doing, Eddie's eyes were full of understanding.
"That's why you've been texting at all hours of the night."
Buck shrugged, embarrassed.
"Why didn't you–"
"Because it's nothing," he insisted, feeling naked and vulnerable at Eddie’s ability to see right through him. "Sometimes I just… want to make sure you're okay."
Eddie looked away, nodding like he understood. "Yeah."
"You two done loading that rig yet?" Chim called from the loft. "Some of us want to eat before the bell goes off again."
“You’re welcome to come help!” Buck retorted, thankful for the distraction from this painful conversation. He smacked Eddie's shoulder playfully on his way to the stairs. “Coming, Eds?”
Eddie wordlessly followed and didn't bring it up again until they were getting ready to clock out.
"If you ever need to call me," he said quietly. "I'll answer. Any time."
🚒
"Can we get our faces painted?" Christopher asked. He pointed ahead at the booth, one of the dozens of vendors at this street fair.
"All of us?" Eddie laughed, but his smile dropped when he saw his son's serious face.
"They have too many options, I can't choose!"
"Yeah, c'mon, Dad," Buck teased.
"Fine," he conceded. "But I get to be the dragon."
Twenty minutes later, the three of them walked towards the food trucks, faces coated in grease paint.
"You look ridiculous," Eddie laughed.
Buck batted his eyes in response, the glitter on his lids shining in the evening sun.
Chris had insisted Buck be a mermaid, and he accepted the pink paint and sparkles with enthusiasm. Chris announced he would get to be a dragon, and that he and his dad couldn't have the same creature. So, Eddie was a unicorn, doused with an equal amount of glitter over his cheeks and brow. Buck liked the way it brought a sharpness to his face, highlighting his handsome features. The golden light complimented his already warm skin tone.
"Can I get a funnel cake?" Christopher's voice cut through his thoughts, breaking the trance that Eddie's smile had cast on him.
Buck cleared his throat while Eddie looked down at his son.
"Maybe after you eat some real food."
"Buck?"
He chuckled. "I gotta go with your dad on this one, bud." He leaned forward and added in a stage whisper, "Then we'll get one bigger than your head."
"Promise?!"
"Promise."
They followed after Chris as he pondered the many food options, finally settling on chili dogs. Buck found a picnic table for them while Eddie got their food, coming to sit across from the two as he doled out dinner.
Buck was just reaching over for a napkin when a loud pop sounded behind him. Automatically he grabbed Eddie's arm, gripping it tight as he whipped his head around to look for the offending noise.
Across the street was a little girl, holding a string and a popped balloon.
"Buck–"
"Fine!" He practically shouted, louder than he intended, releasing Eddie's arm. The imprints of his fingers flashed white before fading back into Eddie's tan skin.
"It was just a balloon, Buck," Christopher said.
"I-I know that, bud," he said, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Just startled me."
"You jumped really high," Chris laughed, loving the chance to tease.
"Yeah, yeah." Buck feigned offense, mussing the boy's hair. "Eat your food."
The whole time they stayed at the table, Buck noticed Eddie never moved his arm away, continuously keeping it within Buck’s reach.
🚒
This was stupid. They were just fireworks. Buck was watching them, Eddie safe at his side; he knew they were harmless.
But it still felt wrong, somehow.
The tenth time he tensed, face turned up towards the dark sky, he felt something brush against his arm. Eddie was scooting closer on the blanket, careful not to disrupt where Christopher was sprawled out watching fireworks.
"We can leave." Eddie's voice was low enough that Chris couldn't hear over the booms, deep and coarse in Buck's ear.
"Nah," Buck tried to wave him off. "Chis is having fun."
"Chris will be fine."
Buck chanced a look at Eddie, only to find those dark eyes watching him closely.
"Every time I came back from a tour, I was anxious like this. Jumpy." He shifted impossibly closer, resting a concerned hand on Buck's shoulder. "I know what PTSD feels like."
"I don't have–"
The words were cut off in his throat by another loud boom.
Okay, maybe Eddie had a point.
"They're just fireworks." Buck didn't like how defeated his voice sounded. "I know that's all it is. I'll be fine."
"There's a difference between knowing something and feeling it," Eddie said. "Have you talked to anyone? Dr. Copeland, or…"
"No, no. It's not that bad."
Eddie gave an unconvinced hum in response. After a pause, he turned to look up at the light show, his hand moving down to sooth over Buck’s back.
"Well you can talk to me. Any time, if–when–you need, just call. I'll pick up."
So he did.
Reluctantly.
Buck hated nothing more than being a burden, being seen as a problem child that everyone needed to deal with. But after the leftover lasagna Bobby let him take home started exploding in the microwave (but was still somehow cold in the middle?), he bit the bullet and called.
Eddie answered on the second ring, an instant comfort.
After that, he felt more comfortable with bothering Eddie (who swore it was never a bother). Any time Buck woke up in a sweat, or got startled at a noise, or even just got a sickly feeling deep in his stomach, he called. And Eddie answered. Sometimes it was enough to just hear "I'm okay," and sometimes Buck needed a little more, which Eddie was always willing to give, even in the middle of the night. And, for a while, it was enough.
🚒
It all came to a head on a Tuesday that Eddie was off. Christopher had a physical therapy appointment, and Carla was unavailable, so he'd traded with someone from the B Shift.
The day was pretty slow (not that any of them would have said it aloud), and Buck was just laying down for a late afternoon nap when the bells rang. Three and a half minutes later they were in their gear, sitting in the rig as it flew down south Azusa.
"Dispatch says it's a two-vehicle, sedan versus flatbed," Bobby relayed over their headsets. "No fatalities; let's keep it that way."
When they pulled up, a bright red truck full of concrete slabs was jackknifed in the middle of a street, with a silver Prius crunched against the back of it. Bystanders milled around the sidewalk, trying to get a better view, as the truck driver paced back and forth frantically, a phone to his ear.
"My husband is stuck!" A woman screamed from beside the tin can that was once a Toyota. The driver, presumably her husband, was pinned in the driver's seat by a large column of concrete that had come through the windshield. More broken pieces of cement littered the hood and surrounding street.
"Hen, Chim, check the driver," Bobby instructed. "Buck, get the jaws."
“On it, Cap!” Buck called, already jogging back to the rig.
"I feel okay," the man was saying when Buck returned. "Just hard to breathe."
"Then let's get you out of there," Chim said.
Once the man had been assessed (as best as possible) and a c-collar was in place, Hen went to comfort the wife as Buck moved into place.
"What's your name, sir?"
"Edward," the man said through his oxygen mask. His frantic wife sobbed behind them.
"Well, Edward, my name's Buck." He wedged the hydraulic tool into the seam of the crunched door. "This might be loud."
The door came away with ease, allowing them to get a better look at their patient. Some lacerations were bleeding, but the movement of his feet ruled out any spinal cord injuries.
"Still hanging in there?" Chim asked.
"With everything but taking a deep breath."
"He's likely got multiple rib fractures, with a possibility of flail chest or even a pneumothorax," Hen said. "Be prepared to give airway support once we get this moved."
Buck looked at the column protruding from the truck. It was at least twenty feet long, easily ten thousand pounds. "And how are we going to do that exactly?"
Bobby followed his gaze.
"Same way it got there."
Bobby jumped in the cab of the truck, turning on the engine.
"On your call!" He told Chim, who had relocated to the passenger side of the car. Buck and Hen stood next to Edward, ready to provide whatever support was going to be needed.
"Easy now!" Chim called, and the truck inched forward. Edward cried out in pain, but Hen was quick to soothe. She was going to be an excellent doctor.
Concrete-on-metal shrieked as the truck rolled forward another inch, and the space between the column and Edward's chest became visible. It was a mess of dirty, bloody fabric, but the man was able to take a deep breath for the first time since they had arrived.
"Patient's clear!" Hen shouted, and Bobby pulled the truck forward at a faster speed, giving them more room to work. When the column moved further from Edward's body, the true damage was revealed–a long piece of rebar was pulling free of his chest. Before anyone could call after Bobby, it was completely dismantled, followed by a massive flow of blood.
"Oh shit!" Buck swore as Hen clamped her hands over the wound, and Edward cried out in pain.
"It punctured his aorta!" Hen shouted. "Buck, get the gauze from my pack!"
He scrambled, pulling out packages of rolls and tearing them open. As Chim raced to Bobby, calling out for the ambulance gurney, Buck tried to staunch the bleed.
"Hold tight," Hen instructed. "He might bleed out."
"Edward!" The wife's piercing scream filled Buck’s ears.
"No, no, no, no," she sobbed. "Eddy, no!"
Eddy.
"C’mon," Buck grunted, pressing the bloody gauze harder into Eddy's chest.
"Hollie," Edward gasped. He reached a weak hand towards his wife, but there was no room for her to get close.
"Eddy, baby," she said. "Please."
"Hollie…" Eddy said again, but it sounded wrong. Muffled. Buck looked up to see the man's pale face go still.
"No!" He cried, pressing even harder. The gauze, now fully saturated, did absolutely nothing but squeeze hot, slick blood out onto Edward's shirt. It ran down Buck's arms, dripping on the crushed metal and asphalt.
Hollie screamed like a dying animal, her shrieks filling the air as Hen guided her away.
Buck continued pushing hard. "C'mon!" He shouted. "C'mon, Eddy!"
"Buck."
Bobby was at his shoulder, voice gentle.
"No," Buck gritted. "He's gonna be okay."
"Buck."
"You said no fatalities!"
"Buck, he's gone."
"He can't be gone!" His voice was thick, eyes burning as he pressed his hands harder into the dead man's chest. "We can get him back! We have to get Eddie back!"
Bobby placed his hand over Buck’s. The drastic difference in Bobby's clean skin against his own bloody fingers made him freeze. He pulled his shaking fingers away, unable to tear his eyes away. The bright red blood was drying into dark brown and maroon patches, staining Buck’s vision with every blink.
"Buck, I think you should go," Bobby said quietly. "I'll get you a ride back to the station. Clean up, take a break. Go home. You think you can do that?"
"Y-yeah," Buck whispered.
He didn't notice much of what happened next. Someone–maybe Hen?–poured water over his hands, wiping them down with a cloth. He climbed into the cab of the ambulance, staring blankly out the window on the way back to the station. Under the hot spray of the shower, he scrubbed at his skin, watching the red swirling down the drain. He got dressed in sweats, hurrying to climb into his Jeep before the rest of the team could arrive.
It wasn't until Eddie opened the door to his house that Buck even realized where he was.
"Hey," Eddie said softly. "Come in."
He guided the numb Buck to the couch, easing him onto the cushions.
"Cap called me," he explained. "Said I might want to check on you."
"I tried to save him," Buck whispered, unable to look his friend in the eye.
"I know," Eddie acknowledged, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "But you know we can't save everyone."
"I couldn't save him," he said again. "I couldn't save you."
He finally looked up, raw and broken, into Eddie's face. That face, the set jaw and determined eyes, looked back.
"You did," Eddie insisted. "You did save me."
"I didn't!" Buck realized he was shouting, but didn't care. Couldn't stop. "I couldn't get you out of the well! I couldn't stop you from getting shot! I couldn't stop the blood!"
"Evan."
Eddie's voice was stern as he moved into Buck’s space.
"You did save me. When Shannon left. When she died. When I almost died. Every time I needed you, every time Chris needed you, you've been there. You've saved me more times than you know."
Buck couldn't do anything but collapse into Eddie's arms. He wept. He let it all out, everything he had been holding in. All the tears and the pain and the fear and the rage. He sat on the couch and let Eddie hold him as he finally, finally let go.
🚒
He vaguely noticed Chris poking his head out of his room to say goodnight. He knew Eddie had walked away, returning with a bottle of water. He had finally stopped crying, eyelids like sandpaper, and Eddie had turned something mindless on the TV. He stayed close, though, holding Buck close as neither of them watched the show.
At some point he must have dozed off, waking up to Eddie nudging him.
"C'mon," he whispered. "Let's lay down."
They walked through the house, checking the locks and turning off lights, Eddie dragging a stumbling Buck behind him.
Turning back the comforter, Eddie let Buck climb into his side of the bed before moving around to slide in beside him. Wordlessly, he scooted closer, wrapping Buck in his arms. Buck melted into the touch. It was safe here with Eddie.
"Get some sleep, cariño."
🚒
Buck jumped out of the rig and headed towards the crushed Prius. He could see the slab of concrete jammed through the windshield, pinning the driver in his seat. As he moved closer, he could see who the man was.
"Eddie!"
He scrambled over, assessing his friend.
"Eddie, talk to me!"
But Eddie couldn't, he just looked at Buck with that glassy eyed gaze, the same as the day with the sniper.
Suddenly, the concrete was gone, and Eddie was bleeding from his chest.
"No!" Buck cried, clamping a hand over the wound. He looked around frantically, but the two of them were completely alone on the deserted street. "Eddie! Can you hear me?"
A new spot of blood bloomed over his right shoulder, right where the bullet had gone through. Buck moved to cover that hole, too.
"Eddie, I need you to wake up!"
The blood kept pouring, harder and faster than possible for the human body. It was filling the car, and Buck was drowning in it. Eddie slipped under, and Buck couldn't see him through all the blood.
"Eddie!" He screamed, again and again. "Eddie! Eddie!"
"Hey!"
He jolted awake, gasping for air. Something was holding him down, keeping him from flailing.
"Buck."
Eddie's gentle voice grounded him.
Eddie.
He was here. He was okay.
"It was just a dream," Eddie murmured, holding him close.
"You were bleeding," Buck said into the darkness. "You–I couldn't stop it."
"I'm okay," Eddie soothed. He rubbed a hand up and down Buck’s bicep. "You're okay."
"A-and then you were gone…"
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Buck turned over to face him, needing to see him. "But how can you know that?"
Eddie smiled. "I told you that you weren't expendable," he said softly. "Someone has to stick around to remind you of that."
He felt Eddie's strong hand find his, their fingers interlacing.
"I can't lose you," Buck confessed.
"You won't," he promised. "You've got me."
"I–"
Eddie moved impossibly closer, cutting off Buck's protest.
"You've got me, Evan," he repeated.
Not leaving any room for second-guessing, Buck leaned in, pressing his mouth against Eddie's. But Eddie froze under his touch.
Fuck, Buck thought. Apparently, disastrously, he'd misread everything. Hoping he could play it all off as a hysterical insanity, being so emotionally distraught that he wasn't in control of his faculties, he began to pull away–only to have Eddie pull him closer, deepening the kiss.
Oh.
Buck knotted his free hand in Eddie's shirt, feeling Eddie's fingers caress the back of his neck. He shifted, hiking his leg up to slot between Eddie's, wanting to be as connected as humanly possible.
He wanted to do more, to tease Eddie's lip with his tongue, to rip the shirt from his chest. But that seemed a little much for tonight; he didn't want his frayed nerves and high emotions dictating anything so big. So, against his usual modus operandi, Buck pulled back.
Eddie moved to cup Buck’s jaw, thumb running over his cheekbone. His face was so open, so tender, it was almost painful.
"So… I've got you, huh?" Buck joked, trying to lighten the intensity.
"You've had me," Eddie said, a face of raw honesty. "You'll always have me."
Buck didn't know what to say to that; at least didn't know what he felt he could say. So instead he kissed Eddie again, holding him tight against his chest.
"I… I think I need to talk to Dr. Copeland again," he admitted when they parted for the second time.
Eddie chuckled, fully aware of Buck's tendency to steer conversations away from his own feelings. "I think that's a good idea. But can we wait until it's not three in the morning?"
Buck nodded.
"Do you think you can go back to sleep?"
He took a deep breath. "I'm not sure."
"What can I do?"
He tightened his arms around Eddie. "Just this."
Eddie smiled, and Buck felt himself melting just a little. They repositioned, both on their sides with Eddie curled at his back. Despite being bigger, Buck always liked being the little spoon; there was something about being held in such strong, capable arms.
"I can't promise I won't still be jumpy," Buck warned.
"I'm not going anywhere," Eddie whispered in his ear. Buck squeezed the hand enlaced with his. "And the next time you jump? I'll be there to catch you."