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Grief is a fickle thing. It does not like to be pushed, it does not like to play nice, and it most definitely does not like to be forgotten. It strikes when you least expect it, brought on by the most innocent of things. The smell of a favorite flower. A voice that sounds just a tad too similar. A beloved song on the radio. It jumps to the forefront of your mind, buries down deep in all your waking thoughts, and stays there for as long as it can.
Sometimes you wish you’d never smelled their shampoo at all.
You walk through the station in a daze. It’s like you’re there, but also not at all. There’s a distance between you and your actions, and you don’t even know how to begin to explain that.
On your way to the locker room, you pass Eddie. He smiles at you, and not even that can thaw your frozen insides. You nod, because you know a smile will not fool anyone right now. He claps you on the shoulder, and for a moment it feels like he’s pushing you down into the ground, down and down and down until there’s no lower for you to go. Your bones rattle.
You hear Eddie bounding up the stairs, none the wiser, and you take a deep breath. Today is going to be rough.
Grief is a beast. One that roams at night, looking for its next prey. One that hides in the shadows, waiting to come out. One that has no mercy, is not familiar with the concept. It sinks its claws into you deep, holding on for dear life. It waits till you forget it’s there, until you’re just comfortable enough, and it tears you apart from the inside. It slashes and gnaws, rips and tears, until all that’s left is a jumbled mess that used to be you.
Is still you.
At least. You hope it is.
Not even the familiar scratch of your uniform calms the jitters coursing through your body. Putting this shirt on is like putting on a second skin. You’re no longer Buck, but you’re Buck the Firefighter. There’s an image you can hide behind, an act for you to play. It’s like a layer through which nothing can truly touch you, a shield around the real what actually matters.
Not even that is enough for you, today.
You go up the stairs, hearing your family long before you see them. Chimney and Eddie are wrapped up in some kind of debate, and Bobby is looking on fondly. Normally you’d join in, figure out what the argument is about, thrilled to be part of the action. Today you’re okay with fading into the background.
‘Buck! Can you set the table? Breakfast is almost ready.’
Somehow, Bobby is no longer sitting at the table but standing in the kitchen, and breakfast has magically appeared on the stove. You nod, not trusting your voice, as you grab some plates from the cupboard. You don’t want to admit how much effort it takes for them to not just shake out of your hands.
Grief is a menace. It swallows you up whole, leaving no prisoners. It makes you feel guilty for surviving, guilty for moving on, guilty for not living the life they’d want for you, guilty for not thinking of them every second, guilty for not living the best life possible because they no longer can. This guilt sits like a physical being in the pit of your stomach, your ribcage, your throat. It rages and roars, lashing out at everything it can touch. You know it’s the grief talking, you know your mind will clear up at some point.
Deep down, you know that you deserve this.
You don’t miss the glances your family throw each other. How could you? You have been so in tune with their feelings, their thoughts, their everything for so long that you don’t think you can miss this if you’d tried. There’s this constant anxiety, this nagging fear, that one day all of this will be over. That they will realize what you are, how messed up you truly are inside, and that they will cast you aside again. You don’t think you will survive that.
You let the glances roll off your back, and you try to eat what Bobby has served you. The bacon tastes like ash in your mouth, and the eggs feel like glue, but you push through. Bobby made this for you. You take what Bobby gives you, as long as you can. Who knows how long that will be.
‘Buck?’
You look up, right into all too familiar brown eyes. The table has cleared, and you don’t know when that happened. Your fork is on the side, long forgotten. Your plate is the only one left.
‘What do you need?’
You open your mouth, ready to protest. There’s nothing you need. Nothing anyone can give you, anyway. If there’s one thing Buck has learned throughout the years, it’s that the one sure thing in life is death. You cannot cheat your way out of that one, no matter how hard you try. Death is permanent, the conclusion, the end. There is no after. Only before.
All this runs through your head, but as you look at Eddie, the concern etched into the lines of his face, you cannot bring yourself to say any of it. Your vision begins to swim, and your hands start shaking, and this high pitched noise you cannot even describe escapes your throat.
Eddie rushes forward, wrapping you in warm, strong arms, and as you bury your face into his neck and cling to his shirt, you cry.
Grief is Goliath, and you’re David. Sometimes you win. Those rare times that the fight actually seems to make a difference. You’re on top of the world and think maybe, maybe just this once, you’ll have kicked it to the curb for good. The other times you lose. You’re crushed under boots so big you can barely see the heel from where you’re standing under the toes, and you realize it was pointless. It didn’t matter. None of it did. No matter what, the odds are stacked against you, the cards are dealt in favor of the house, the game is rigged.
You can win, but you can never win for good.
You don’t know how you get there, but suddenly you’re in Eddie’s car. You wonder where everyone went, why you left the station, but you don’t have the energy to ask. You see Eddie’s mouth moving, know the radio must be playing, but you hear nothing. All that sounds is the ringing in your ears.
A hand grabs your thigh, and you yelp. The hand doesn’t let go. You look up at Eddie, and you see him searching for something. You’re not sure what that is, exactly. You just hope you can give it to him, because he looks sad. You don’t want him to be sad.
Eddie nods, just slightly, and turns his head back to the road. You were at a red light, and now you’re not. You keep looking at Eddie, focusing on the way his hand feels on your thigh. It feels nice, and true. An anchor of sorts It’s the first time you feel warm all day.
Grief is a wave. It rises and rises and rises, higher than you ever thought possible. It crashes into you, pulling you under until your lungs are screaming for air and your fingers go numb. You know you shouldn’t fight it, can’t fight it, should just ride out the wave, but that fear of not being able to breathe consumes you whole. So you swim upstream, and you hope, and you pray, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough. The crash is even worse when you’re hoping for it to be better, somehow.
You want nothing more than to stop hoping.
Eddie ushers you inside. The house is still, so very different from how you usually experience it. Christopher isn’t there, and you vaguely realize he’s probably at school. It’s Tuesday. You think. You’re not sure it matters.
Eddie helps you out of your shoes, and swats away your shaky hands as you try to unbutton your uniform shirt. He gently pulls you towards his bedroom, muttering the entire time. You have no idea what he’s saying, but you appreciate it all the same.
He deftly gets you out of your stiff work clothes and into soft sweats and a hoodie. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep in the heat. The hoodie smells like Eddie, and you try to savor it. You’re not ready to think about what that means, exactly.
Eddie appears in front of you, suddenly dressed similarly, and you realize you’ve lost track of time again. He smiles at you, uncertainty in his eyes. It makes you ache. You put on a smile, trying to chase away that weird feeling in your gut, but it only gets worse when Eddie’s face falls. He looks sad as he puts a hand to your face. You nuzzle it, close your eyes, and sigh.
‘You don’t have to pretend, Buck,’ he whispers, the first thing you understand since you lost it at the station table. ‘Not with me.’
You nod, covering Eddie’s hand with your own before he can move away. A low, needy sound escapes you. You know you should be embarrassed, but you don’t have it in you to care.
‘Do you want…?’ Eddie asks, and somehow, you know exactly what he’s asking. You open your eyes, and look at Eddie, and somehow, he knows exactly what you’re asking, too.
As Eddie steps away to pull back the covers, you suppress any sound of complaint. Just a moment, now. Just a moment longer. He pats the side of the bed, your side of the bed, and you climb in the way you used to when you were a kid and were afraid of the monsters in the night.
Eddie is standing next to you, just looking, and you cannot have that. Not now. You reach out, pulling him down with you, and Eddie lets out an amused chuckle. ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming. Jeez, Buck.’
You let him grumble as he maneuvers himself, and when Eddie opens his arms for you, you sink into them without a second thought. He pulls the covers around the two of you like a little cocoon, and the warmth spreads through you. Eddie is the first solid thing you’ve felt all day. Maybe you feel a little solid too.
One arm is wrapped around your back, whilst the other is lazily carding through your hair. You sigh, not from contentment, but from something else. Something you cannot really define.
Your insides feel like a tangled mess, and it’s like something is pulling at it, trying to uncoil. It rises up until it’s everywhere, in your stomach, your throat, your calves, your fingers, and at long last, your lungs. You’re close to breaking, you know you are, but something holds you back. Something always holds you back. Because what if there’s nothing left after you’re done?
‘I’ve got you, Buck. You can exhale now.’
You do just that, and with it, every little thing starts flooding out. You gasp, and you sob, and you shake, and you cry, and it feels a bit like dying. Feels a bit like living, too. And through it all, Eddie holds you, and whispers sweet nothings into your hair. You cannot hear, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just this.
You know this fixes nothing. You know the reservoir will just fill right up again, beating against the dam to break. But right now, you’re with Eddie, and he’s holding you, and you can exhale. He’s got you, so you don’t have to. And for the tiniest of moments, you feel lighter.
Today, grief won. It was a fickle thing, a beast, a menace, Goliath, a wave. Grief was today. But maybe it won’t be tomorrow.