Work Text:
When Chris got sick, it was only a matter of time before Eddie was sick too.
Usually, he prided himself on having a good immune system. Being a paramedic, he was constantly being exposed to all sorts of illnesses, being sneezed on, vomited on, and coughed on was a normal part of his day, and he was always fine. But when Chris got sick? Give it three or four days and he was curled up in bed, fighting off whatever his son had. Maybe it was because he was physically closer to Chris, constantly in his space as he cared for him, but honestly, kid germs were of a different breed, a special kind of contagious.
So when Chris came home from school with a sniffle and complaining of a sore throat, Eddie knew his days were numbered. Subconsciously holding his breath as he fetched the thermometer and approached it with him, his suspicions were confirmed.
101.48. Fuck.
He was sick. And so would he, in approximately three days.
Eddie spent the next few days between doctors' offices and the couch. As he’d grown older, Chris’ body had gotten better at fighting off infection, but it still took him a lot to fully get over something. Luckily, whatever he had wasn’t too bad in the grand scheme of things, just the newest cold that was making the rounds of his classroom, but still, he needed pretty much the whole week off until he was capable of going back to school.
(That, and with the whole post-pandemic climate, Eddie liked to keep him home a little longer anyway. Just in case).
At least, he reasoned, most of the time Chris was sick co-inside with his three days off, so he only had to use four of his sick days to cover the rest of the week he was home. His fever only lasted 48 hours, but the sore throat and cough lingered a few days longer. By day six of his stint at home, he was perking up, reaching out for his video games and even homework rather than lying idle in his bed or on the couch, and Eddie took that as a sign he was well enough to get back into routine.
Just in time for the sore throat to creep up on Eddie, and for the migraine to settle behind his eyes.
The day Chris went back to school was the day it hit him fully. Eddie barely managed to drag himself out of bed to make breakfast before Carla arrived, and barely managed to say goodbye to them both before he crawled back into his bed. His head was heavy, his throat practically on fire, and his chest was tight as a cough rattled his lungs every so often. If he had the energy to find the thermometer, he was almost positive it would show a fever, his skin hot and brow sweaty.
Sending a quick text to Bobby to tell him he was extending his sick leave for another day, there was no way he could show up to work like this, he rolled over and went straight back to sleep, unable to keep himself awake any longer.
***
He didn’t know how long he slept, but when Eddie woke he felt no better than he had before. If anything, he felt worse. His mouth was so dry it hurt, he was drenched in sweat, and somehow his ears had started to ring, worsening the headache and irritating him beyond belief.
Fuck.
Reaching for his phone and wincing at the brightness, he sighed at the notifications. One from Bobby approving his absence, which was fine, and 16 texts from Buck, interrupted by 3 missed calls.
Double fuck.
Eddie? Work starts in 10 minutes, where are you?
Eds?
Helloooo?????
[1 missed call: Buck <3]
Are you ignoring me :(
Wait, is something wrong? I’m going to talk to Bobby
He says you extended your sick leave?
Would’ve been nice to know >:(
I’m joking I’d never be mad
Thought you said Chris was better tho?????
Wait, are you sick?
[1 missed call: Buck <3]
Eddie? Do you need to come look after you?
Eddieeeeeeeeee
Pls just give me a sign of life
[1 missed call: Buck <3]
Okay I’m gonna assume you’re sleeping
I love you, feel better, please let me know you’re alive when you wake up
Eddie swore under his breath and wiped the sweat from his face. In his delirium, he’d forgotten to let Buck know where he was, and knowing him, he was probably worrying himself sick. Knowing better than to call him on shift, he frantically typed out a response.
I’m sorry I’m alive
Feel like death, definitely sick
I was sleeping
Probably gonna do that more I still feel shit
Buck’s response came almost instantly, worsening the swirling guilt in Eddie’s stomach.
FINALLY
Bobby was about to confiscate my phone
I’m sorry you're sick :(
I’ll come over as soon as I’m done with work
Don’t worry about getting Chris, I’ll sort it out
Love you xx
You’re the best
Love you too
:)
The second Buck’s response came, Eddie was out like a light
***
The second time Eddie woke, the late afternoon sun was sneaking through the gaps in his blinds and the house was filled with the sounds of the kitchen cabinets slamming and something sizzling on the stove. He couldn’t hear the TV, couldn’t hear any signs of Chris being home at all, but someone, Buck he assumed, was definitely in the kitchen.
Throwing back the tangled covers of his bed, Eddie stood, instantly grabbing onto his bedhead for support as a wave of dizziness washed over him and his knees buckled beneath him. His go-to method of sleeping off his illnesses was proving ineffective, because he felt absolutely no different from when he last woke. His head still hurt, his throat still ached, his ears were still ringing, and now he was dizzy too.
Once the room stopped spinning, or at least stopped spinning enough that he wasn’t worried about collapsing if he moved, he slowly made his way out to the kitchen, using whatever furniture was in front of him for support. There, he found Buck standing over the stove, a pot of something that would inevitably smell heavenly if Eddie could in fact smell.
On the bench were two paper shopping bags, one from the local supermarket, the other from the pharmacy, the contents of both spilling out onto the countertop. He smiled. Trust Buck to be the type to ransack the local store when someone is sick.
“Hey,” Eddie croaked, his voice hoarse and rough. He cleared his throat, coughing into his elbow, wincing with silent defeat as his throat burnt and chest rattled with force.
Buck jumped slightly but turned to Eddie with a soft, albeit concerned, smile. “Hey Eds,” he said, putting down the spoon he was holding to approach him. “You look rough.”
Eddie nodded. He sure felt it. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “But… yeah. When did you get here? And where’s Chris?”
Buck put the back of his hand against Eddie’s forehead, recoiling almost instantly. Eddie chased the cool sensation of Buck’s fingers, pouting as Buck’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Wow, okay, you’ve got a fever. Have you taken your temperature?” Eddie shook his head. Of course he hadn’t. “And to answer your questions, I let myself in about an hour ago. I did text to tell you I was coming, but you were dead to the world. And Chris is at Hen’s. She offered to take him so I could assess how sick you are. The boys are thrilled about their impromptu playdate, by the way, so there’s no need to worry there.”
Eddie sighed thankfully, watching through hooded eyes as Buck washed the thermometer and stirred whatever was in the pot. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, knowing that Chris was okay and sorted. One less thing he had to worry about when feeling like this.
“Of course.” Buck wiggled the thermometer teasingly in front of his face as if he were feeding a toddler. “Now, open up.”
Eddie shook his head instantly, taking a few steps back and out of Buck’s space. “No, I’ll do it.”
Buck’s brow furrowed, hand dropping by his side. “Umm, why? Don’t you trust me?” His shit-eating grin was enough to tell he was joking, but still, Eddie winced. “I know you’re the parent here, but I am capable of using a thermometer.”
“Yes, Buck, I know that.” If Eddie’s head wasn’t pounding the way it was, he would’ve rolled his eyes. “But I’m sick, you shouldn’t get too close. Honestly, you probably shouldn't be here at all.”
That time, Buck rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no. Someone has to look after you. Besides, my immune system is great. I never get sick.”
“Oh, right, I forgot. I get sick, you get horrifically injured instead.”
“Haha, you’re so funny,” Buck deadpanned. “Now let me take your damn temperature.” Eddie relented, barely resisting the urge to make a sexual remark as Buck put the thermometer under his tongue. The longer he stood, the dizzier he was getting, and he couldn’t wait to crawl back into his bed. Or maybe the couch, his sheer were probably soaked with sweat. “Damn, 101.8. It’s concerning, but I don’t have to take you to the hospital. Yet . Any higher and you’re going.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’ve got you some fever reducers from CVS, but you should probably eat first. That’s a thing, right? I know I look like I know what I’m doing, and I can use a thermometer, but I haven’t looked after anyone in a while.”
Eddie hummed. Eating sounded good, assuming it was something he could swallow. Which, judging by the feeling in his throat, wasn’t much. “Thank you.”
Buck had moved back to the stove but smiled at Eddie over his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to thank me. I want to be here, helping you, looking after you. You’re always taking care of me, and you’ve never properly let me look after you before, so I’m taking my chance and running with it. Which sounds weird in this context, but you get it.”
And he was right. No matter how many times Eddie got sick, and no matter how many times Buck begged and pleaded with him to let him look after him, or at the very least cook him some soup and take Chris for the afternoon so he could rest, he always refused.
It was something deeply ingrained in him from his childhood, that he didn’t need to be looked after. Once he hit thirteen, the coddling stopped, that’s how it worked in his house. He was a man, he didn’t to be looked after when he was sick. He could keep it together just fine on his own, a fever wasn’t going to stop him.
And in the back of his mind, the niggling worry that he was a burden was ever-present. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t want people to help him, they just… shouldn’t have to. He’d been managing perfectly fine on his own for years, and yes, he had Abuela, Tia Pepa and Carla for help, but they didn’t count. They looked after Chris, not him.
Eddie didn’t need to be looked after. He never did, and he didn’t need to start now.
But with Buck… he supposed it was different. Buck was his boyfriend now, and yes, prior to their relationship becoming official he vehemently refused Buck’s help when he was sick, not wanting to wear him down. But Buck, somehow, wanted to look after him. Why else would he be standing over his stove?
“Okay,” he said simply. Everything hurt far too much to be having those kind of thoughts. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise either! Now go sit on the couch, this is nearly done. I would offer you a blanket, but you’re hot enough as it is.”
Eddie very much disagreed, a chill was shivering its way up his spine, but he’d be a hypocrite if he argued after spending days telling Chris he couldn’t have a blanket because of his fever. Still, he followed Buck’s orders, curling into the corner of the couch, sitting so he could still see Buck pottering about his kitchen. “What are you cooking anyway?”
“Bobby’s chicken soup recipe,” he said bashfully. “It’s got like, healing properties of something. He made it for me all the time after the ladder truck, and on the odd occasion I do get a cold, and it’s basically the only thing I can stomach.”
Eddie smiled. “Sounds amazing.”
“It is. And I would’ve made it for you much sooner if you weren’t so stubborn.” He put the steaming bowl of soup down on the coffee table, quickly retreating back to the kitchen to grab what Eddie assumed was the fever reducers.
He had to admit, the soup looked good. Brothy, which in his opinion all chicken soup should be, with shredded chicken, noodles, and piled with vegetables (what looks like carrots, onion and celery, which he certainly didn’t have in his cupboard before Buck arrived). Trust Bpbby to have the chicken soup recipe to trump all soup recipes.
(Granted, most of the chicken soup he’d had in recent years had come out of a can, or an instant sachet, so really he didn’t have much to go off)
Buck walked back into the living room, a handful of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Okay, I’ve got fever reducers and paracetamol. I spoke to the woman in the pharmacy, she said you could take them both at once. Now eat! It’ll go cold. You’ve gotta eat it hot, that’s part of the charm.” He passed Eddie the bowl, putting a tea towel over his lap as to not burn his thighs.
With shaking hands, Eddie picked up the spoon and blew on it carefully. Taking his first sip, his eyes fell shut in contentment. The hot liquid felt amazing on his throat, the insistent ache masked by the sensation of it travelling down his throat. And he was sure if he could actually taste, it would taste good too. Everything Buck cooked that came from a Nash recipe did.
"Is it good?” Buck asked eagerly.
“Yeah,” Eddie nodded, his voice suddenly catching with an unexpected wave of emotion. “Yeah, it is.”
Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was because Buck was sitting beside him organising the pills in size order on the side of the couch. Maybe it was because he went to the supermarket, and the pharmacy, all for him. Or maybe it was just because he was there, waiting to take care of him. But as Eddie swallowed his second spoon of soup, he burst into tears.
Buck noticed instantly, abandoning the pills and looking up at him in alarm. “Eddie, baby, what’s wrong?” Taking the soup off his lap and hastily putting it on the coffee table (and choosing to ignore the fact that some of it most definitely ended up on the rug), Buck wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist and dragged him across the couch, instantly taking him into his arms. “Eds, what’s wrong?”
Eddie shook his head against Buck’s shoulder, half-heartedly trying to push away. Being in Buck’s arms and against his chest was significantly comfier than the corner of the couch, but… “I’ll get you sick,” He croaked, the onslaught of tears worsening his already congested chest.
Buck just held him tighter. “Eddie, I don’t care . I don’t care if you get me sick. Just tell me what’s wrong. Is it the soup? Is it too hot? Or do you feel worse? Does something hurt? Please, just tell me what’s wrong?”
“No, no. I feel like shit, but not worse, and the soup’s great. It’s just…” Eddie took a deep breath as best he could, a harsh, watery cough interrupting him halfway. This was all far too much, and the pressure behind his eyes was damn near blinding him. “I don’t know how to let you take care of me. I’m always looking after everything, and I don’t mind, obviously, but I’m not used to being looked after like this. I just… I feel like a burden.” There. He said it.
And oh. Buck was positive he could feel his heart breaking. Because what the fuck? He knew Eddie was stubborn and refused help, but this? Because he felt like a burden?
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?
(And Buck knew the feeling. That was the worst part. He’d been in Eddie’s shoes, stubborn, refusing help, feeling like a burden, and knowing Eddie felt like he did was just crushing).
“Eddie. Eddie, no.” Buck drew him in closer until he was more or less on his lap, drawing patterns onto his arms. His skin was clammy, and Buck was growing increasingly concerned that his fever was getting worse (maybe the soup wasn’t such a good idea), but at that moment, there were bigger concerns. “Listen to me. You’re not a burden. You’ll never be a burden. Not to me, or your family, or the 118. You’re allowed to let people look after you, to help you, and especially when you’re sick.”
Eddie sniffed. He had stopped crying, but he felt even more like he’d been hit by a bus. “I know.” In theory, he knew. In practice… “But I still feel guilty. You came straight from work, picked up Chris, organised a place for him to go, and went to the store. It’s too much.”
Despite the alarm bells still ringing in his brain, Buck rolled his eyes affectionately. “Okay, first of all, that is literally the bare minimum. Secondly, I wouldn’t be a very good co-parent if I didn’t pick up our son, would I?” When Eddie shook his head, Buck continued. “And third, if our roles were reversed, if I was in your lap with a fever of a million and a cough so bad it’s rattling my body, would you think I was a burden?”
“No! Obviously not, why would I ever-”
“So it goes both ways. I love you, Eddie, and I want to look after you. You’ve been looking after me for years, and it’s my turn now. I’ll tell you a million times if that’s what you need, but please believe that I want to. Okay?”
And somewhere in the back of Eddie’s mind, the thought was still there, but looking at Buck, he knew he meant it. Because if he didn’t want to look after him, he wouldn’t be. Buck wouldn’t do anything if he really didn’t want to. Would he?
“If you still don’t believe me,” Buck added, seemingly sensing his apprehension. “Would it help if I told you that I really wanted to look after you? Like, what if it was my greatest desire in this world to care for you? Which it is, by the way. You wouldn’t deny your oh-so-loving boyfriend anything, would you?”
Eddie blushed despite himself (or maybe that was just the fever). “I’m pretty sure that’s blackmail.”
“Is it working?”
Finally, Eddie relaxed fully in Buck’s arms, moulding himself fully around his partner. “Yes.”
Triumphant, Buck pressed a kiss to the top of his head, interrupted when Eddie’s body once again shook with the force of a cough. Eddie fell back against him with a groan, his chest burning and head thumping with the movement. “You really aren’t well, are you?”
Eddie shook his head pitifully. “Chris was nowhere near this bad,” He wheezed. “I’ve got what he had plus some.”
Buck hummed sympathetically. “I think you’re fever has gone up. The soup was probably a bad idea. And my body heat also isn’t helping anything.” He went to twist himself out of Eddie’s embrace, far enough away that Eddie wasn’t entirely encased in his heat, but close enough that he could still hold him, but instead Eddie clung tighter. “Eds?”
“Please stay,” Eddie said. “I feel like shit but the fever isn’t going to change whether you’re right here or over there. I just want to sit. With you.”
And who was Buck to refuse that? “Okay, okay. I’ll stay here.” He settled and tucked Eddie back under his chin. “You should probably eat though. And take those pills.”
Since when was Buck the responsible one? “Okay. Later though.”
“I’ll look after you Eddie.”
And Eddie let him.