Archive of Our Own

If you asked Eddie why he remembered it at that moment, he wouldn't be able to tell you. Probably some combination of the news story about the construction on some bridge being finalized, the dull ache on his shoulder that sometimes still acts up when the weather shifts, the discomfort against his now healed ribs due to the remote digging into them and him just being too lazy to move, and a car backfiring somewhere out in the street. 

But he remembers the blood on Buck's face, the pain shooting across his body, his own screams sounding foreign to his ears, his grip on Buck's hand as he pulls Eddie towards him.

There was no issue with remembering being trapped in that van. He was aware of it all the whole time. The pain, being trapped in a confined space with no way out, waiting. It had him thinking about being trapped with no way out on a different occasion. But he wasn't worried they wouldn't find him this time, his radio was working just fine, Buck got him out with incredible efficiency considering the situation they were in. That day could've been a lot worse than it was.

The issue is he's not thinking about being pulled out of a flipped van on a collapsed bridge. He's thinking about being dragged through the pavement under a firetruck. 

The memories are clouded. Fuzzy around the edges and Eddie can't place them in order. 

But there are memories now.  

He doesn't usually try to remember what happened. Talked about the aftermath of it in excruciating detail, and sometimes about the way he felt like he was about to die when he fell, but never about the actual shooting. He considered it a small blessing that he doesn't remember everything about that day. He thought about it in the last few months, after Buck asked him, but he kept being met with empty space. There was pain keeping him standing but pulling him down, the thought of how his life was about to end when he hit the ground, and then there was a hospital room. 

But now there are eyes locked into his across the pavement. There are hands pulling him towards a body and hoisting him into a shoulder and into the cabin. There are hands keeping pressure on his shoulder while he struggles to stay awake. There is a voice telling —begging —him to hang on. There is a shade of blue he could recognize anywhere surrounded by red and stained with fear.

It all belongs to Buck. He knows that. A somewhat frantic and covered in blood, Eddie's blood, Buck. 

Eddie knew Buck was there. And he knows Buck well enough to know he would've stepped up to save him. He knew he did in some capacity.

He just never thought about how it happened. How involved Buck was. How much of the fact he made it to the hospital was due to his actions. And how he did it.

Maybe he should have. It isn't surprising. It isn't some sort of revelation. He would do the same. He did do the same. But maybe he should've thought about it when he was the one on the other side of it all. 

Because now that he has, he wonders if the memories sometimes kept Buck awake, the way they did to him. Sometimes all he can think about is the dead weight of Buck's body dangling from the ladder. Or the panic that came from a lifepak that just wouldn't start beeping. Or the feeling of Buck's chest under his hands as he did compression. 

In the end, he's not even sure it's his own emotions that have him getting up from the couch, grabbing his keys, and making his way to his truck. 

And it's not until Eddie is standing outside of Buck's door, trying to decide if he should knock or use his key, that he realizes what he's doing. 

For a second, he questions it. What he wants from the impromptu visit. It's later than he would usually show up the nights Chris has a sleepover and they could do something without worrying about making it preteen-friendly, but not so late that it would be unexpected for him to show up. 

But he still thinks about it. Does he want to talk about it? Does he just want to replace the image of Buck on his head, forget the red splatter on his face, the way it was twisted with worry? Is he just overwhelmed and wants someone to sit with him while he processes it? 

That thought makes him knock. The underlying thing is that Eddie needs to see Buck. But it feels too weird to just barge in like he normally would. 

Buck is smiling, a teasing glint in his eyes when he opens the door.

"Since when do you knock?" He asks, but the amusement disappears from his face once he takes in the look on his face, “Eddie? What’s wrong? Is Chris—"

“Chris is fine, he’s at a sleepover,” Eddie’s quick to interrupt him, and Buck gives him a questioning look as he steps back to let him in.

“Okay, what about you?” Buck asks, eyes following Eddie as he moves into the loft, and takes a seat by the counter.

"What do you mean?" Eddie asks even though he can imagine what Buck’s seeing on his face as he watches him. 

"I don't know, man, you tell me." 

"I think I need a beer first.” 

Buck narrows his eyes at the request but moves to the fridge, fishes two bottles, and slides one towards him as he takes the seat next to him. 

Eddie twists the cap off, takes a swig of it, and twists the cap between his fingers just to have something to do with his hands once he places the bottle on the counter and turns to Buck. 

The thing is, he has done the whole dealing with feelings thing to an exhausting degree. He sometimes still struggles with opening up, but he's been better at it now than, well, the rest of his life. And it's not like he never broke down in front of Buck. Buck has seen all the parts of his life. He's past feeling like he can't say what he's feeling. But he is struggling to find how to say what he's feeling now that Buck is carefully watching him, slowly sipping on his beer, as he waits him out.

“You asked what I remembered about being shot,” he finally says and Buck’s eyes widen. Whatever he was expecting wasn’t that.

“You said you didn’t remember.” His voice is careful, head tilting to the side. Eddie heard that tone many times before, it's close to the way he talks to victims during particularly rough calls but it's so much softer when it's directed towards him.

“I didn’t."

“But you do now,” Buck finishes for him and he shrugs.

“Bits and pieces, it’s still foggy. I never really thought about how we got out of there,” he says, the cap slipping from his fingers, hitting the counter with a sharp but low sound while Buck tenses, "you pulled me out from under the truck."

"Yeah," he nods ever so slightly, voice strained.

"Buck, you got under the truck." 

Eddie still remembers the way Buck had screamed while they tried to free his leg. The tight grip, the painful grip, he had in his hand as they worked on him. The moments of panic that followed the explosion, the thought of losing Buck with the wound of losing Shannon still raw and unbelievably painful. Hell, Eddie isn't sure he would be able to roll under a truck while under fire, and he wasn't the one who got crushed by one.

"It was that or letting you die," Buck says, voice firm but small, somehow, almost a confession. 

And Eddie gets it. It's the same instinctual reaction that had him up a metal ladder in the middle of a lightning storm to reach Buck. He didn't even question it, he just acted, because the alternative was unthinkable. But Eddie didn’t want to talk about himself. 

"What do you remember about me getting shot?" He asks and Buck flinches.

"What do you remember about me getting struck by lightning?" He asks in response. The answer is every agonizing second. Everything from the moment he noticed Buck dangling from the ladder to when the doctors wheeled him away is burned into his brain. 

"Everything," he settles on and Buck gives him an exactly look. 

He thinks it's not the same for a second. He didn't die. His heart never stopped. But Buck didn't know that when he crawled to him. The same way Eddie had no idea what he was going to find when he got to the top of that ladder.

“You told Chief Williams I was dead for 3 minutes and 17 seconds, how do you know that?” Buck asks before he can figure out what to say next and the question takes Eddie by surprise. 

The poker game had been an attempt to get Buck out of his own head, have some carefree fun, the fact that they got to cheat their way into steaks was just an added bonus. And Buck looked squeamish when people brought up the whole “you died” thing at the time, he still does sometimes even now, and Eddie knows he didn’t need to intervene, Buck would answer whatever he wanted to, but he didn’t want him to have to answer. He wasn’t really thinking. It was just something he knew.

“I counted,” he answers, hiding from Buck’s gaze by looking down at his beer before gulping what feels like half of it. It wasn’t a conscious thing. Eddie is good with time. Always was. Being trained for combat and emergencies made him even better at it. Every second counts in the type of situations they face every day. "Not in a weird way," he adds after he puts the bottle down because he can feel Buck's eyes on him and it's making him feel uneasy, like he’s exposing too much of himself. "It's just something I do with time-sensitive rescues, I guess." 

"You count during calls?" He frowns at him and Eddie shrugs, looking back at him.

"It helps me focus." 

"But how accurate are you?” He asks, crossing his arms while leaning back in his chair, looking somewhat amused, a lazy grin on his face, “could it be 3 minutes and 16 seconds? 3 minutes and 19 seconds?" 

"Buck.” Eddie sounds exasperated as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “does it matter?”

"Why didn't you tell me?" Is not an accusation, even though Buck's tone is serious now, it's just genuine curiosity.

"I was giving you time to process it. And I didn't think it was relevant."

"Is that why we never talk about our near-death experiences?" Buck asks after a beat where he just studied his face and Eddie just shrugs.

"Well, we did talk about me getting shot." 

"No, I asked you about being shot," Buck corrects. Which is fair. Buck had tried to start that conversation a few times with different levels of success leading to Eddie finally being honest about it on a random Monday night in his kitchen a few weeks after the lightning strike.

"Do you want to ask about every other time? We might be here a while," he jokes, deflection coming more on instinct than anything, because he wants to talk about it. He thinks he needs it, actually, on some level, to say it, deal with it with someone who was there with him, to talk about everything.

"Eddie," Buck breathes, almost a sigh as he drops his head, and Eddie can tell he's ready to drop it even if he wants to talk about it because he'll follow him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, leaning closer to Buck, and he glances at him, "I have nowhere else to be, and I know you were just following my lead with this, we can talk about it all if you want," Eddie offers, trying to show him how serious he is about it but Buck just looks skeptical.

"I don't know, man," Buck shakes his head, picking at the label of his beer, clearly wanting to say something but not knowing if it's his place to say it.

"So here's what we're gonna do, the shit we've been through that you keep telling yourself didn't happen to you so you have no right to feel anything about it? You're gonna tell me how you felt about it anyway," Eddie says, turning on his chair so he's facing Buck fully and watching as Buck mirrors his movement, places his beer on the counter, and rubs his thighs before speaking.

"I tried to dig you up by hand," Buck says, voice low, after a second of consideration that leaves Eddie confused because he didn't think he would bring up the well collapsing.

For one nonsensical second, he even thinks oh, we're doing this chronologically. 

Eddie didn't really think about what happened above the 45 feet of dirt he was buried under while he was down there. His radio wasn't working, the well wasn't stable and filling out with water, the drill was a lightning rod. There wasn't much anyone could do after the thing collapsed. He got out and that was the only thing that mattered. If he had some revelations while he was down there, it was between him and the dirt that tried to swallow him down. 

But Buck's confession also startles a laugh out of him. Because digging through dozens of feet of mud by hand feels as efficient as trying to lift the two-hundred-something pounds of Buck in full turnout gear one-handed. And for some reason, the thought was funny. But the hurt look on Buck's face makes him stop.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not funny," he tries to amend, shaking his head, "it's just, I tried to pull you up," he explains and Buck frowns for a second before understanding what he meant.

"You can't lift me," he shakes his head with a huff and Eddie rolls his eyes.

"I can lift you."

"Not in full gear with gravity pulling me down, you can't," he teases, seemingly amused by the thought.

"Like you can dig through 40 feet of dirt when it took us hours to do it with a drill?" Eddie teases back, raising an eyebrow and Buck knocks their knees together.

"Shut up."

"Thank you," Eddie says because he doesn't know what else to say and right now, he feels like he doesn't say it enough. 

"For what?" Buck asks with a chuckle.

"For trying to come and get me. For actually coming and getting me. " Which time? Eddie is not sure, he feels like Buck has been catching him ever since they met. He's been there even before Eddie fully allowed himself to trust someone else. Steady and caring and constant. 

"Always," Buck says, voice earnest and serious all of the sudden. 

And Eddie knows. 

It messes with his head sometimes. He knows Buck will always come. He's proven that so many times. Eddie is sure Buck doesn't even realize just how many times he saved him. And in how many ways. All the times he did it since day one. 

Maybe not day one. He doesn’t really think about the one shift Buck hated him for no apparent reason. He now knows why. Knows him well enough to know that Buck was scared of being replaced and acting up. But he never thought to hold it against him. Even while it was happening it was more entertaining than anything, to watch as he tried to prove himself. 

And, God, did he. 

Maybe that's part of what fucked him up so badly during that awful week of waiting. Buck was always there to catch him. And wandering through hospital hallways avoiding the door he couldn't make himself walk through but couldn't move away from, Eddie came to find out he had no idea how to cope without him anymore. He's not even sure he ever learned how to before meeting him. 

It's Buck who offers the solution to Eddie's problems with a shrug and smile as if it was nothing. It's Buck who pulls him out of danger with no hesitation. It's Buck who breaks down doors to make sure he's okay. 

Buck is the one Eddie goes to when the world gets hard. Or maybe Buck is the one that always comes in like he's the sun rising behind the clouds that hang over Eddie's head every time the world gets dark. 

And the world got dark. As dark as it could get. He thinks part of him stayed up on that ladder. Some part he'll never get back. Was it the same for Buck? Did some piece of him stay behind, trapped under the truck in the smeared puddle of Eddie's blood? Was some piece of him lost to the ground that tried to bury Eddie alive?

"Was that why you insisted on being the one to drive me home that day?"

"The doctor said to keep an eye on you," Buck shrugs, tone lighthearted but there's some tightness in his shoulder. Eddie remembers Buck hovering around him that night, never too far, seemingly unwilling to let him out of his sight. And it made him equal parts grateful and annoyed, because he needed it even if he didn't want to admit it at the time.

"I'm a medic," Eddie echoes the excuse he kept giving Buck back then, expecting Buck to joke back, but he doesn't.

"You can't blame me for being worried, everyone thought you were dead, I just—"

"Needed to make sure I wasn't, I get it."

"It was hard to calm down after that because,” Buck cuts himself, and Eddie gives him an encouraging nod, “you cut your damn line."

"I was—" he tries to defend himself, but gets interrupted.

"—trying to save the kid, I know, but it doesn't make it less stupid," Buck finishes for him, giving him an unimpressed look.

"You would've done the same thing," Eddie huffs and Buck smiles sheepishly at him.

"Hen said that," he says, and Eddie gives him a questioning look, "I wanted to be the one to go down to get you, Hen said that would lead to two cut lines. Which is fair, I guess.” 

It was. Both of them have the tendency to get too involved and maybe a bit reckless in calls involving kids. And the team didn’t know why Eddie cut his line, but faced with the same situation, Buck would probably do the same. They all knew that.

"I'm sorry we never talked about it, that was a rough night, pushing things aside was still my M.O. and," he pauses because he doesn’t have an excuse other than the fact that he walked out of that farm knowing he needed to talk to his lawyer and he knew he couldn’t talk about it without having a conversation about Buck’s place in his life that he wasn’t ready to have yet.

"It's okay, after the adrenaline crash, knowing you were okay was all that mattered," Buck pats his knee, with a comforting smile that Eddie tries to return.

"No, Buck, I really should've talked to you, with everything that happened before that, and—" he cuts himself but Buck frowns at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I know how much you beat yourself up over things, even shit you can't control," he says, carefully, and the frown on his face deepens. He knows how Buck can get, all the misguided guilt he carries around and Eddie knows he could find a way to put the blame of what happened on his shoulders.

"I don't," Buck tries to say something but Eddie shakes his head.

"Don't do that, I've watched you blame yourself for a natural disaster," Eddie says before he can stop himself, flinching at the same time as Buck, who drops back into his seat.

"God, you're digging in, huh?" He says, swallowing hard and Eddie runs a hand over his face, leaning forward while Buck crosses his arms across his chest, leaning further onto the back of the chair.

"I'm just saying that—" 

"I took him there, that is on me, I'm the reason he was there," Buck interrupts whatever thought he was about to say, which promptly vanishes from his head at his words. 

"And I dragged you out of bed," Eddie challenges, because two can play the blame game, eyes trained on Buck's face as his eyes widen.

"That's—"

"Different?" Eddie finishes the sentence that Buck seems to be unable to say and he half nods, "How? If I hadn't barged in here, you would've stayed in bed and neither one of you would've been there in the first place." 

He thought about it when it happened. Adding to the guilt he felt at the time. The feeling of failure that came with finding out that two of the most important people in his life got caught in a tsunami without him even knowing about it.

He remembers clutching a, miraculously mostly uninjured, sleeping Christopher, holding him tight to his chest, while watching Buck hooked up to IVs and blood with stitches and bruises all over, still looking haunted even in his sleep, in the field hospital and thinking that they wouldn't be there if he hadn't forced Buck out of the loft. 

He knows it's irrational. He couldn't have known. But it stayed in his mind anyway.

"I—" Buck is watching him, like he couldn't understand how Eddie could think that, searching his face while trying to think of what to say.

"Did you ever blame me for that?" Eddie hates how unstable his voice sounds as he asks, he's pretty sure the thought of blaming him probably never even occurred to Buck, but he can't help it. 

"God, Eddie, no," Buck says, looking distressed as he drops his arms and leans forward.

"And I never blamed you for being at the pier either." 

"We could've lost him that day, I thought we—" Buck's voice cracks as he pauses, exhaling heavily.

"But we didn't, you both made it home safely."

"I should've done more."

"Like what? Walk yourself into dehydration? Almost fucking up your leg again trying to find him?" 

"I didn't even notice it."

"No, you just passed out the second you realized he was safe," Eddie says, giving Buck a pointed look and he crosses his arms across his chest again.

"What's your point here?" 

"You did everything you could. But you blamed yourself because Chris fell in the water, I blamed myself for forcing you out of the house, but I don't blame you and you don't blame me, so you don't think we would've benefited from this conversation?" Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow and for a second Buck looks amused.

"Therapy really did wonders for you, huh?" He chuckles.

"Come on, man, help me out here," Eddie says and Buck sighs, dropping his arms to the side and adjusting on the seat.

"I'll never not feel guilty for putting him through that, no amount of talking is gonna change that," Buck tells him, looking down at the counter.

"Buck." 

"He got hurt on my watch, that's, it's just, I get upset when he gets the flu, it won't just go away."

Eddie knows that. The first time Buck had taken care of Chris while he was sick was a few months after the tsunami because Eddie had taken an extra shift, which ended up being one from hell, and the school called Buck to get him when they couldn't reach Eddie. Buck looked on the verge of tears while giving him a rundown of the afternoon and his symptoms while Chris slept curled up against him on the couch once Eddie finally got home. 

And he understands the instinct better than anyone. The need to make things better no matter the cost. 

"And I had your line," Buck glances at him and Eddie cocks his head.

"That I cut."

"I could've done something more." 

"Like trying to dig me up? Telling Cap maybe I needed more time? Defying a direct order based on a feeling that I might do something stupid it's not worth it." 

"Who told you that?" Buck asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Hen."

"I had a feeling you just needed a bit more time," Buck shrugs and Eddie laughs at the thought.

"You were right, I had him, that's why I cut the line," he explains and Buck laughs. 

"That's kinda creepy."

"You think?" 

"Nah," Buck says, wrinkling his nose.

"I'm also sorry we never talked about the shooting," Eddie says, making Buck frown.

"We did." 

"No, I mean about you."

"I'm not the one who got shot."

"That happened to the both of us, Buck, you had to watch it happen and I was terrified going up that ladder so—"

"Are you making my death about you?" Buck interrupts him, shoulders tense and voice sounding strained under the clear attempt at something lighthearted.

"My fear about losing my partner is about me." 

For another nonsensical second he thinks Frank would be proud. 

Eddie likes the word partner. Best friend doesn't feel all-encompassing enough anymore. It feels too juvenile for what they have. So he likes the word partner for them. Technically speaking they are work partners, but he read once in one of those fancy dictionaries that have way more definitions of a word than strictly necessary that partners were two people who were closely involved in some way. That definition is just vague enough to feel fitting. There isn't a word he knows that can explain who Buck is to him. Not without some serious conversations he tried not to think too hard about having or the implications of wanting to have them. How much it would change them. Or how maybe it wouldn't change them at all. 

"And the way you keep having to save my life is about you." 

"Saving you is not up for debate." Buck's voice sounds final and maybe he should drop it but something about how defensive he is makes Eddie want to push it.

"I know, but I almost died in front of you and you're allowed to have feelings about it." 

"Why does it matter now?" Buck asks, deflecting again and some part of Eddie gets it. It's been years not talking about it, Buck doesn't know what made him want to have this conversation in the first place.

"Because I could have died on that bridge," Eddie starts and Buck shakes his head, getting up from his seat, "no, look it's true," he continues, following Buck as he tries to move away, "the van could've rolled all the way down, it could've toppled down before you got to me, many things could've gone wrong there, and it triggered me and I barely remember what happened." 

"I got you out, that's all that matters," Buck says, turning back to Eddie, conflicting emotions on his face and Eddie tilts his head as he studies his face.

"You matter too," he says, simply, and Buck exhales with his whole body, but the tension in the way he's holding himself stays clear.

"I know that," he sighs, blinking slowly and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

"Do you?" 

"Yes!" 

"You told me you thought it would've been better if you had been shot," he says, voice sounding angrier than he intended and Buck groans, looking up.

Buck's words had echoed in his mind while he was in the hospital, ricocheting all around his brain while he tried to figure out the best way to tell him about his will in a way that he would understand he wasn't expendable, no matter how much he believed that.

"For Chris!" Buck fights, motioning vaguely around him.

"You think it was easy for him when it was you in that hospital?" 

"I'm the backup, Eddie!" His voice is sharp, and Buck's tone could be read as angry if Eddie didn't know him like he does. So he knows it's actually hurt. And it punches the air out of his lungs. 

The idea that Buck would see his will as just a contingency, a break-in-case-of-emergency sign, a backup plan never crossed his mind. 

Maybe it should have, the man needs things spelled out for him to understand them but Eddie thought he had been clear enough. 

It was a desperate plea for him to understand that he matters, no matter how much he feels like he doesn't. 

Sure, it's a legally binding document that he hid for over a year, partially because he knew Buck's reaction, but mostly because he was afraid of what it meant at the time, that he would trust a man he knew for a few years as unconditionally as he does, but it is a show of how sure of Buck he is, how much he wants him in his life. 

There's a letter attached to it, a slightly confusing and maybe too honest considering how unable to name his feelings Eddie was at the time letter, where he tries to explain his decision because he wasn't sure he would tell Buck about the change and wanted him to have something in case the worst happened. 

He debated writing a second one, a few weeks after he got back to the 118, but he wasn't ready to put his feelings into words. Not about what Buck means to him anyway. But he's not shy about what Buck means to Christopher.

"Buck, he runs to you when he's mad at me, he talks to you about whatever thing he's interested in that week because he knows you'll find some book or documentary or exhibit for him to learn more, you help him with projects and his homework, you used to read him bedtime stories and he still asks you to take him to the library to get him more books," he pauses, moving closer to Buck, trying to get him to look at him, "did you know he doesn't even tell me he needs to bring food to school anymore? He just asks you. And don't blame my cooking because we both know I'm better at it now," he adds when he sees the signs that Buck is about to try to make a joke, "you're not a backup for him or for me and I should've known that's how you would interpret that, but I didn't exactly know how to tell you 'thank you for helping me parent him, I'm not sure I could do this without you'. But I needed you to know you have us. He made me sneak him into the ICU. He just needed to see you." 

"Eddie," Buck tries, but Eddie's not ready to stop talking yet.

"You've been taking care of him since the moment you found out he existed, I wanted to make sure that your place in his life is not questioned if something happens to me because he needs you." 

"What about what I need?" Buck asks, voice sharp, definitely sounding angry now and Eddie frowns, blinking at him.

"You know you—"

"I don't want to refuse ," he says, rolling his eyes, "I love that kid more than anything, you know that." 

"Then," Eddie begins, Buck's words just making him more confused but he's interrupted before he can finish the question.

" You , I need you and you're forcing me to live without you." 

"Buck, I'm right here."

"But you need me to be okay with you not being, as if the time you spent on that well with everyone looking at me like I was crazy for believing you were alive wasn't some of the worst moments of my life, and I've had a lot of them, as if me being forced to leave you behind with some dude that was threatening you and hearing a gun go off didn't put me right back when I watched you get shot. I thought you were dead. You were looking at me and then you weren't and for a second, I thought you were dead. And you asked me if I was hurt as if you weren't bleeding out under my hands. God, I know what your blood tastes like, Eds, I—" Buck's voice cracks while his breath quickens and it takes a piece of Eddie's heart with it. He takes one of Buck's hands and brings it to his chest, placing his palm on top of his sternum where he could feel the rhythm of his heart. Maybe he should say something, some reassurance but he just holds Buck's hand in place under both of his and watches as he starts matching his breathing, waiting him out. "Everybody leaves me, you can't leave me too," his voice is low, fingers gripping onto Eddie's shirt as he looks down at their hands. 

"I can't promise that nothing is gonna happen, but as long as I have a choice in the matter I'm not going anywhere," he moves one hand to Buck's face, cupping his jaw to get him to look at him, his grip on his hand tightening when he does, "I'm right here," voice barely a whisper, the words leaving his throat like a promise and Buck drops his forehead to Eddie's.

Here's the thing, Eddie knows. He loves Buck more than he knows what to do with. It all feels kind of inevitable. He never had anyone in his life quite like him. He didn't think about it for a long time, what the way he makes him feel meant. Refused to acknowledge it once he did. Then made his peace with the way he would forever walk the line between them like he was on a tightrope, hoping he wouldn't crash down from it. 

It's not like he needs things to change. They are BuckandEddie. Buck's friendship is not a consolation prize. It's one of the most important relationships in his life. He's okay with never crossing the line because Buck doesn't feel the same way.

At least that's what he tells himself most of the time. 

But there are moments. Moments where Buck would do something that left him wondering. Where he would smile at him, fond in a way that was for Eddie only, or let a touch linger as if the thought of letting go pained him too, or just look at him, with eyes, so incredibly blue, filled with something that can only be described as love and Eddie's chest would crack right open with something dangerous. 

Because hope is dangerous. Hope can hurt him in so many ways. Hope can make him crash down from his careful balance on the tightrope of his feelings and he doesn't know what would happen if he did fall. 

And besides, Eddie doesn't need things to change. 

But, God, sometimes he wants them to. Craves that change, even. 

"I'm not leaving you," Eddie says, hand moving to his neck, squeezing lightly in what he hopes is a comforting manner because Buck's eyes are shining as he looks at him, so close he's out of focus, so vulnerable it shocks his heart out of rhythm. And he knows Buck can feel it, he still has a hand on his chest, so he can feel the erratic way his heart is beating as he wraps his fingers around the wrist Eddie has on his neck like he needs him to hold on.

And Eddie wants to hold him. And he thinks that right now he can get away with it. With wrapping his arms around him, fitting his face on the crook of his neck, and holding on until Buck pulls away. 

So he does. Gently removes his hands from under Buck's, ignoring the displeased sound he gets in response, and wraps his arms around his shoulder pulling him in.

Buck all but melts against him, arms going around his waist, fingers digging into his back while he hides his face on Eddie's neck. 

"I really need you to stop trying to die on me.”

"You did die on me so I guess we're even." Buck tenses at his words, curls himself further against Eddie's chest like he wants to make himself smaller, and it’s an awkward fit, the few inches between them making Eddie adjust his hold as Buck leans more heavily against him, trusting Eddie to keep them upright and tightening his hold.

"Do we need to talk about how you keep saving me?"

They talked about that day, about the mechanics of it all, about Buck's feelings about it, even if Eddie wasn't sure Buck was being completely honest about how he felt.

But Buck had questions. Who got him down, how long did it take, how did it happen. Basic things about the events that Eddie tried to answer as best as he could without sending himself into a panic, because Buck was alive in front of him and that was all that mattered at the time. If he had to schedule an emergency appointment with Frank after it to deal with it, it was between him and Frank's office. 

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

"I died." Buck's voice is low and Eddie can feel his lips against his skin as he talks. 

"I remember," he says, a hand moving to the back of his head, combing his fingers through the short curls there.

"I did not handle it well."

And for a second Eddie questions if this is too intimate, having this conversation into each other's necks, but given the hold Buck has on him, he seems as reluctant to let go as he is. So he doesn't move, he just continues to move his fingers through his hair.

"I know, it's okay." 

"Is it?" 

"You're allowed your feelings, Buck." 

"I didn't want to face it, what it did to you. All of you," Buck says, stepping back, and Eddie awkwardly lets his arms drop to his sides, watching him, while Buck moves closer to the counter and leans into his hands, facing away from him, "the world didn't feel real and I didn't want to see what it meant." 

“You needed time to process it, and besides, I took a baseball bat to everything I own, I can't judge," he jokes, but Buck flinches, "what?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, and Buck drops his head.

"That was not about—"

"What did I tell you?" Eddie interrupts him, and Buck sighs, looking back at him.

"I was scared out of my mind, I thought—" he cuts himself, looking down, dragging one of the beer caps aimlessly across the stone.

"It's okay, you can tell me." 

"When Chris called, I made him stay on the phone with me while I was driving, and I could hear you in the background but then I couldn't anymore, when I got home I was… I thought I was too late, you wouldn't answer and the room was so quiet and," Buck pauses, and Eddie steps closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"I'm okay now, we're okay now." 

"I was really fucking scared," Buck says, finally looking at him, and Eddie tightens the hold he has on his shoulder 

"I know we talked about that night, and I know that wasn't anyone's fault, but I am sorry you had to go through that." 

"I'm always gonna come, you're my," he cuts himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I didn't sign up just for the pretty parts, you know? But that doesn't mean I'm ever gonna like seeing you like that."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He understands it, he does, because he feels the same way, but he doesn't know how to say it.

Maybe they should talk more about the bad things that seem to keep happening to them before one of them hits a breaking point.

"I should've talked to you," Eddie says, dropping his hand to his side, "about the well collapsing, changing my will, the sniper, getting kidnapped, I should've talked to you, but I didn't know how to talk about it." 

"I didn't talk about it either," Buck says and he huffs.

"You were following my lead, you tried, I just didn't let you."

"Do you need to talk about me dying?" Buck asks, pushing away from the counter so he's back to facing Eddie fully. He does, probably. Needs to talk about the fear coursing through his veins while he ran up the ladder. The desperation growing higher and higher every time he called Buck's name but he didn't call back. Because he always calls back. Eddie can't think of a single moment where he reached for Buck and he didn't reach back. The fear morphing into sheer panic once he was back on the ground and realized Buck's heart wasn't beating. But he doesn't know how to say it without confessing it all.

"It's weird," he starts, trying to keep his words true but without saying too much, "I remember everything while we were out on the street but things get foggy after we got you to the hospital."

"I get it, the only part of that day I remember clearly is talking to Christopher," Buck says, studying his face.

"I wasn't really thinking, while it was happening, I got you down on instinct, and Cap made me drive, I think he knew I couldn't be back there."

"Because of—" Buck stops himself before saying her name, but they both know how that sentence was gonna end. 

It was the first time Buck saw Eddie break. The aftermath. His memories of the day are clouded by pain and grief and the image of Hen and Chim desperately trying to keep Shannon alive, but he remembers standing in front of his truck near the beach, clutching his keys and calling Buck, asking him to come get him because he wasn't sure he could get himself together enough to drive. Remembers Buck showing up after what felt like no time at all, carefully taking the keys from him, before trying to guide him to the passenger side. Remembers collapsing into his chest once he got them home because even then, Buck already meant safety. Remembers a blur of words about feeling haunted by what happened in that ambulance and Buck's steady presence until he fell asleep on the couch.

So Buck knows.

"I watched Shannon die," Eddie says, fully aware that he's now definitely exposing too much of himself, grouping Buck and Shannon together, but he doesn't want to stop now, "but we were broken. I loved her. Some part of me will always love her. And I will always miss her. But I also knew I could go on without her because I had lost her before," he pauses, taking a deep breath and trying not to shy away from what he needs to say because of the way Buck is looking at him, fond like he always does, yes, but with a flash of curiosity that makes him scared of looking too hard to understand what it means, "I don't know if I would've been able to go on without you. I definitely wouldn't be able to keep it together if I had to watch Chim and Hen work on you. I watched you die. And that fucked me up. Maybe as much as almost dying did. And that confirmed what I already knew and I'm sorry, I should've been more clear about the will but I was scared and you were acting like your own life didn't matter and I—I wasn't asking you to live without me, Buck, I was just asking you to live." He adds, and he can't read Buck's expression, doesn't know what to do with the way his eyes are wide, looking at him like he's seeing something for the first time.

"You're my family." Eddie doesn't trip over the word, he definitely doesn't, he doesn't say it with a second of hesitation because it wasn't the word he wanted to use. Because Buck is his world, right next to Christopher. He is everything. But he is family. So he keeps telling himself he didn't trip over it, while Buck narrows his eyes, searching his face for whatever's wrong with that sentence, and he just, can't deal with him looking at him like that, "one day I'll get it through that thick skull of yours that you're stuck with me," he says, aiming for a teasing tone, after a few seconds of charged silence, not sure if quite manages, reaching to playfully bump into Buck's arm but stopping short of reaching him, turning and sitting back down while reaching for his beer. The bottle is pretty much empty and definitely warm and flat by now, but he needs something in his hands while he tries to control the urge to sink back into his arms. 

Buck doesn't really give him the chance though, because he's right beside him before he manages to lift the bottle to his lips, gently taking it from him and putting it back on the counter.

"Eds," Buck's voice is low, careful, and something else Eddie can't tell just from his name as he turns to meet his eyes, "please tell me I'm not reading this wrong." 

Hope. That's the last thing on Buck's tone. It's also written all over his face. Not that Eddie knows what to do with it because Buck is cupping his face, and he's so close now while searching his face that Eddie's eyes are being drawn to his lips while he strokes his cheeks and he wants to kiss him so badly. It'd be so easy to close the space between them like he's been craving for longer than he's comfortable admitting.

Then Buck is kissing him. 

Eddie reacts on instinct, body catching up to what's happening faster than his brain can, hands clutching Buck's shirt as he kisses back. 

He doesn't think about it a lot, pushes those thoughts away more often than he allows them to take over his mind. He did always think their first kiss would be more frantic though, something triggered by getting caught up in the heat of the moment and snapping. A mess of feelings and wandering hands, kissing with bruising force pressed against the nearest surface.

But kissing Buck is nothing like what he imagined it would be like. 

It's not frantic or desperate. It's grounding. It settles something deep in his chest he didn't even know he was missing.

And the way Buck's kissing him is almost reverent. Careful. Loving. Like kissing Eddie is something to be cherished. It makes him glad he's sitting down because it makes his knees weak as he feels himself melt into his touch.

It empties his mind as it echoes Buck's name. 

But then he realizes that he will never be able to give it up now that he knows how it feels like. And he doesn't know why Buck had just decided to kiss him. 

So he pulls back despite the way every instinct keeps telling him to hold on, hands staying on his chest but releasing the grip he had on his shirt, trying to ignore the way Buck's heart is thundering under his palm.

"Wait… I…" Eddie can't find words. Words are hard under normal circumstances and they are way harder when Buck's eyes are on him, looking dazzled, fond, and maybe a little scared, after restarting his brain, but he needs to ask. He needs to confess. "I need to know that this is not a reaction—"

"I love you," Buck says, interrupting whatever self-doubt rant/love confession Eddie's mouth was about to try to spill out, and he freezes, blinking like he's surprised he said it out loud, taking a step back and Eddie is staring at him trying to get his brain to catch up while his hands drop to his lap. But he thinks his face must be showing something encouraging because Buck takes a deep breath before shrugging as if to say fuck it and continuing. "I don't know when that changed to me being in love with you, I think maybe I always was and just didn't know." He's getting agitated, starting to pace and move his arms in the way he does when the words are coming to him faster than he can actually say them, and it shouldn't be this endearing, but it makes Eddie feel something warm inside of his chest, "but I know it now, and I am, in love with you, and I didn't say anything to you because you're too important to me, you and Chris are everything to me, and I was scared of messing that up but I didn't kiss you because we were having an emotional conversation and I'm reacting to that. I kissed you because I love you and I think you love me too and I'm tired of being scared of doing something about it," he pauses for a beat, searching Eddie's face with wide eyes. "So please tell me I didn't read this all wrong because you were saying a lot of things that sound like I love you and it made me realize that a lot of things you say to me sound like I love you and you always make me feel loved, and cared for and I'm scared shitless that one day I'm gonna have to be without you but you never left me behind before. We can pretend I didn't do anything if you want but if there's a chance that we can have this then—"

Eddie makes an effort to always let Buck finish whatever rambling he gets caught on, never wanting him to think he's not allowed to keep talking. But he also knows him and he can see in the way he's talking that he's steadily moving towards a spiral that convinces his brain that he was wrong and Eddie doesn't love him and he can't have that.

"Buck, you're not reading anything wrong," he interrupts him, moving off the stool and taking the few steps that Buck had put between them so he could look him in the eyes, "I love you. I love you so much." Eddie finally says it. It feels good. It loosens the tightness in his chest that has been there since he put a name on his feelings and tried to shove them back down. 

But it feels better to watch as the tension left Buck's shoulders, eyes softening and a small, almost shy, smile forming on his lips.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, just come here," he nods, hands moving to Buck's face and pulling him back to him. 

The kiss is still gentle, like both of them are still just getting used to the feeling, even if Buck's hands find his back and pull him flush against him and if the way that he needs to tilt his head up makes his stomach flip and how his hands are on his neck and hair but he wants to run them all over until he has every curve of his body committed to his memory. But there's no rush. He would happily stay right there forever.

"You love me?" Buck says when they pull apart for air, resting his forehead against Eddie's, but it sounds like a question and it makes him smile.

"I do, yeah," he says, a hand moving to stroke his cheek and Buck pulls back just enough to look at him properly, hands staying firm on his hips.

"You love me," he repeats, now sounding awed by the idea and Eddie chuckles.

"Need a minute to sit with that, bud?" He teases, and the words are barely out of his mouth before he's being kissed again.

And this one is more like how he thought this would go. It's like Buck finally realized he's allowed to touch and decided he needs to make up for lost time. One moment they are standing somewhere in the middle of Buck's kitchen, the next Eddie is being backed into the counter and they are pressed together from legs to chest, and Buck is taking advantage of the surprised gasp lets out to lick into his mouth, his hands finding the skin under his shirt and any hope of forming a coherent thought is out the window as he kisses back with as much enthusiasm, running his hands up his back, down his sides, grabbing his arm until he's so lost in the feeling he doesn't even know where they are, Buck being the only thing that feels real.

Eddie doesn't know how long they stand there, making out like teenagers, before Buck pulls away, lips dragging across his jaw before nuzzling into his neck, arms tightening around him and he squeezes back. 

"You okay, baby?" He asks, the endearment slipping from his tongue, and he feels Buck smiling against his skin.

"I can't believe this is real," he says and Eddie leans back, a hand moving to his face to force him to look at him. 

"I can pinch you, if you want," Eddie jokes, poking at his side, laughing at the offended look on his face, "It is real and I love you, I have for a long time," he says, loving the way Buck's face lights up with his words. 

"How long is a long time?" He asks, teasingly, eyes narrowing and Eddie laughs.

"I've been falling for you for longer than I've been aware of it. I was in too deep before I realized what was happening." 

"And when was that?" Buck asks, hands dropping to his hips and squeezing lightly, and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

"Wanna know who fell in love first?"

"I think I fell in love with you when we blew up that ambulance," he says, and Eddie chuckles.

"You think?"

"You're the one that knows," Buck's retorts, nonsensically making them both laugh. He's tracing nonsensical patterns against Eddie's skin, hands absentmindedly moving under his shirt, now that he's settled between his legs as he leans their weight against the counter, but Eddie is not sure he even realizes he's doing it, and he loves him for it, how natural this all feels, even if everything is changing.

"I realized what it was after I got shot, but I think I've been aware of it for longer, maybe since I changed my will."  He decides to be honest, he probably had been steadily falling for him for longer than that, but he couldn't name it, not with everything else.

"That long?" Buck sounds awed by it and it makes him smile. 

"You just said you fell for me the week we met," he teases, getting an offended noise in response as Buck pouts, "Why do you think I made you Chris' guardian?" 

"God, I love you," Buck says and Eddie feels the urge to kiss the words out of his lips, so he does. Leans in to kiss him even if he's smiling against his lips making the kiss uncoordinated when Buck starts smiling too, "what?" He asks, pulling back just enough to look at him and Eddie shrugs.

"I like hearing you say that," he says and Buck grins at him.

"Yeah? I'm gonna say it so much you're gonna get sick of it."

"Not possible."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

And then Buck is kissing everywhere he can reach, his cheeks, his jaw, his hair, the freckle under his eye, saying he loves him after every kiss, until he's shaking with laughter because he's too happy to try to contain it.

"You love me."

"So much," Buck is grinning, baby blues shining and Eddie moves his hands to cup his face, gently stroking his cheeks.

"I didn't think I'd get to have this."

"Me neither," Buck agrees, turning his face to kiss his palm, before leaning into his touch, "Are we stupid?" He asks and Eddie huffs out a laugh.

"Probably, but why?" 

"All we needed was one conversation that we kept avoiding?" He sounds disbelieving and Eddie's face softens looking at him.

"I don't think we were ready for it." 

"You think we're ready now?" And for a second Buck looks scared, and Eddie can hear what he left unsaid, the I don't want to fuck this up under his words.

"I think we can figure it out together now," Eddie says, hoping Buck understands that he means it, that he's in this and that he's also scared but knows they can do it if they have each other, "you're stuck with me, Buckley," he teases and Buck grins, wide and beautiful, before stealing another kiss. 

"Nowhere else I'd rather be."