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Buck’s hands won’t stop shaking.
He looks down at them and sees red, and for a second he flashes back to the moment in the hospital, right after the sniper almost stole something precious from him. But this is not Eddie’s blood on his hands, not Eddie’s life hanging in the balance. So he sucks in a breath and lets the oxygen inflate his lungs, but he still can’t make his hands stop trembling.
He hates Gerrard. He hates Gerrard like he hates Helena Diaz, and Councilwoman Ortiz, and like his own parents too, sometimes. But that doesn’t mean he wanted to see him hurt. Certainly didn’t want to see him dead.
He was trying to save him. Even with all the bullshit he was spewing at Buck - the bullshit that he’s been smothering them all with for months now - he’d heard the saw blade break off, seen it fly through the air like it was going in slow motion, and he acted on instinct. You were born to save someone, his mom had told him once. Guess it’s hardwired into his DNA.
But they hit the floor too hard, and suddenly there was blood…so much blood that it pooled out beneath him, growing and spreading so far that he had to stumble backwards to keep it off his boots. And that shouldn’t have mattered at all, but somehow it did. Somehow Buck looked down at the puddle of blood creeping towards his polished boots, and he’d thought Gerrard will flip if I get them dirty.
And then for a moment, Buck had been frozen. They had all been frozen, paralysed by the reality of what was happening right in front of their eyes.
Then they acted.
Hen, and Chim, and Eddie took charge, while Buck just did what he was told. Passed them the things they needed, put his hands where they asked him to, stepped back once the second lot of paramedics arrived. But it was all done in some hazy kind of stupor, like his body was there but his mind wasn’t. He hardly remembers any of it at all, really, except for the feeling in his chest that was clawing and scraping and shredding him from the inside out.
They took him away, still bleeding. Still unconscious. And Buck disappeared into the locker room the second the ambulance doors closed on him, unable to face his team. His friends. His family.
God, has Buck killed him? Is he a murderer now?
The instant he lets the thought enter his mind, Buck is reaching for the trash can. He empties the contents of his stomach - organic fruit leather and crippling terror - and then he collapses to the floor, his back against the lockers as tremors wrack throughout his whole body. As he struggles to breathe around the panic lodged beneath his ribcage, and the lingering haze of complete sensory overload.
Buck was born to save. He may have just done the exact opposite.
He reaches his hands up to knot them in his hair, but the blood staining them crimson makes him halt - makes him lower his shaking hands until they’re dangling over his knees. Fire engine red. He squeezes his eyes before the sight makes him throw up again.
It feels like he exists outside of his body. Like he’s watching all of this happen from above. A terrible, awful movie that he can’t turn off, even worse than when Chris went through a phase of only watching Alvin and the Chipmunks, and making Buck and Eddie watch it too. God, those fucking songs used to drive them insane.
But he misses Christopher so much that his bones ache with it. He misses Bobby, too. And Buck misses his best friend. Because even though Eddie is still around, still in Buck’s life as much as - if not more than - he’s always been, sometimes it seems like he’s only half a person when his heart is living 800 miles outside of his body.
Buck misses the moment twenty minutes ago, when he could have simply kept his mouth shut and walked away. But now a man is being rushed to hospital and it’s all Buck’s fault. Because maybe he didn’t save him. Maybe, like with Daniel, his attempt failed. And maybe, any minute now, cops will walk through the door and put him in cuffs.
Because Buck was trying to save him, honestly. But for a moment, while Gerrard was snarling so close to Buck’s face that he could feel his spit on his skin - could hear the buzzing of electricity, and see the flickering of the lights, and taste his own heartbeat in his mouth - when the only sound that permeated through all of the fuzzy noise was Eddie’s voice of reason, Buck had wanted to hurt him. He’d wanted to swing back and punch him so hard he broke his fucking nose. Wanted some terrible accident to happen that would sideline him for just long enough to get Bobby back home to them. He’d wanted Gerrard to suffer as much as he’s been making Hen, and Chim, and Eddie suffer.
So maybe it’s Buck’s fault. Maybe the universe heard him and acted accordingly.
Maybe Buck is just being a fucking idiot, and none of that crap is even remotely true. But that thought doesn’t stop his hands from shaking. It doesn’t change the fact that Gerrard is being rushed to hospital while his blood stains Bobby’s floor. And it doesn’t change the fact that Buck feels so suffocated by guilt, he’s still struggling to catch his breath.
The sound of the door creaking open makes Buck flinch, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes. He’s not ready to see the look on their face, whatever it may be.
He hears the tap of boots against the floor as they walk towards him, and Buck knows instantly that it’s Eddie. He can recognise him by the sound of his footsteps, the scent of his honey and ginger body-wash, the way Buck’s heart always beats just that little bit faster whenever he’s nearby. He’s not surprised that Eddie has come for him, and he’s not surprised when he feels Eddie slide down the lockers to sit by his side.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks.
And it would be a stupid question coming from anyone else, because of course Buck isn’t okay. How could he be? But Eddie means that he wants to listen if Buck wants to talk. Eddie means I’m here.
“I was trying to save him,” Buck says, almost like a promise. Like he’s scared that he won’t be believed.
“I know that, Buck,” Eddie says, without any hesitation. Without a single moment of doubt. “We all know that.”
“I could have killed him.”
“So could the saw blade.”
Buck knows that. Logically, of course he knows that. If it was any one else in this situation he’d be reassuring them until he was blue in the face, promising that they made the right call. That they did what they could in the time they were given. But this isn’t anyone else, this is Buck.
And Buck has always felt like he needs to be perfect in order to make up for the fact that he’s him.
“Can you look at me, please?”
Eddie asks so sweetly that Buck doesn’t have the heart to deny him. He turns his head to the side so he’s looking at Eddie, and he lets his eyelids flutter open. He’s instantly met with Eddie’s warm, chestnut gaze, and it soothes some of the panic in Buck’s chest. Eases some of the hurting in his bones.
“They you are,” Eddie whispers. “I don’t like it when you hide from me.”
“Sorry,” Buck murmurs back.
It makes Eddie smile, and he bumps their shoulders together gently as he says, “You have nothing to apologise for.”
Buck knows he’s not talking about hiding. He knows that Eddie is trying to reassure him. And maybe it makes him weak, but it works just a little bit. Eddie’s unwavering support settles some of the guilt swirling in the pit of Buck’s stomach; it brings his heart back down to its normal rhythm.
Buck looks down to his hands, and while they’re no longer shaking, they’re still stained red. Still marked with the evidence that no good deed goes unpunished. He feels his face contort into an ugly expression without his consent, and he tries to smooth it over quickly but it’s too late. Eddie’s already seen it.
“Come here,” he says softly, as he tries to take hold of one of Buck’s hands.
Buck flinches, pulling back from Eddie’s gentle touch - from the damp cloth that he’s holding in his hand, like he came in here with the express purpose of cleaning Buck up. He’s even got a bowl filled with soapy water sitting on the floor beside him.
Buck feels his heart fracture straight down the middle, then instantly stitch itself back up again.
Eddie is so kind. So good. Even now, while in the worst pain imaginable with his baby so far away, he’s still trying to be here for Buck. Still trying to clean up his messes. But Buck doesn’t want to taint Eddie - doesn’t want to get him all caught up in this, when he’s already got too much going on. He doesn’t need blood on his hands, too. Doesn’t need to make Buck’s problems his own, even though they both have a habit of doing that: helping shoulder each other’s burdens.
“Buck, let me clean your hands.”
“It’s okay,” Buck says, reaching for the cloth. “I can-“
“Buck,” he says, the name firm on Eddie’s tongue. “Let me take care of you.”
And who is Buck to say no, when Eddie is looking at him like that? When Eddie is so desperate to take care of somebody right now, and Buck is so desperate to be taken care of?
Eddie takes Buck’s hand in his own, grip loose around his wrist as he brings the cloth up and begins to clean. The water isn’t cold like he expects, and it makes something inside of Buck unfurl at the thought of Eddie taking the time to get warm water for him. Taking the time to be kind.
He’s slow and methodical as he wipes away the blood, making sure to get every single spot of it. He washes the grooves of Buck’s callouses, and in between his fingers, and even beneath his nails. And when he’s finished, he moves onto the next hand.
Buck doesn’t think he’s ever been touched so gently before. Not when Maddie would clean his grazed knees as a kid, or when Christopher used to take his chin between his finger and thumb, or when Natalia would run her hands through his curls. He’s never been touched with such reverence - with such obvious and deliberate tenderness. It makes his eyes well with unshed tears, and his throat feel thick with an emotion he’s too scared to voice. Too scared to even put a name to.
He clears his throat and then says, “When I saw all the blood I thought…I thought about when you got shot.”
“Yeah?”
“I had your blood all over my hands, and arms, and my shirt. I could taste it.”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, his eyes flickering to Buck’s for a moment before refocusing on his hand.
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Buck repeats Eddie’s earlier words, and he sees the corner of Eddie’s mouth quirk upwards in a half smile. Feels his grip tighten a little as he cradles Buck’s hand.
Silence descends upon them for a little while, but it’s not oppressive; it gives Buck time to catch his breath, time to sit with his thoughts but not let himself drown in him. Eddie is always the one who helps keep him afloat.
He revels in the feel of Eddie’s touch on him - the way his calloused hands hold Buck’s so softly, the way he cares for him with such easy gentleness, like it’s something that Buck deserves. Like it’s the easiest thing in the whole world to afford Buck this kindness.
“Eddie? What if he - what if I-” Buck can’t get the words out. Is too scared to say them out loud in fear of making them come true.
But Eddie’s eyes flit back up to meet Buck’s, and he says, “He’s gonna be fine, Buck.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Hen and Chim followed him to the hospital. He’s already awake, talking, and cursing out the construction company.”
The instantaneous relief that floods through Buck’s body is overwhelming. It gives him his lungs, and his heart, and his head back…makes him feel like his body is his own again. He takes in a gasping breath and then lets it out slowly, like a balloon deflating but not bursting. And Eddie holds his hand the entire time, even though it’s clean now. Even though he’s already used a towel to dry every inch of Buck’s skin, and there’s no reason to still be touching him.
Eddie holds on, and so does Buck, and he doesn’t ever want this moment to end.
But Buck’s phone buzzes from where it had landed when he collapsed on the floor. He picks it up, and Eddie must see the screen - must see the name Tommy flash with an incoming text - because he lets go of Buck’s hand. He doesn’t move away though, and their shoulders and hips and thighs are still all pressed together, as close as they could possibly be without crawling inside of each other’s skin. Without carving out a home beneath each other’s ribs.
Buck puts his phone face down on the floor, and leans his weight into Eddie.
He doesn’t know how to talk to Tommy right now. Not after the last conversation they’d had. Or last argument, really. After Christopher’s birthday party, when Buck refused to go home with him. When he insisted on staying with Eddie because he was too scared to leave him alone - too scared to let him spiral in his guilt, and grief, and pain. And, maybe, because Buck didn’t want to be alone either, after the cold shoulder they’d received from Chris.
Sometimes, more often than not, being with Tommy feels a lot like being alone. He doesn’t know Buck, not really. He doesn’t get him like Eddie does. And maybe that’s a little bit his own fault, for not fully opening up to him. But it’s hard to be honest with someone who turns your vulnerability into humour - who turns your trauma into jokes. It’s hard to crack yourself open and let somebody see inside, when they don’t understand what’s written on your heart.
And Tommy doesn’t understand that Eddie and Chris - they’re Buck’s. They belong to him in a way that nothing and no one else ever has done. Sure, Tommy claims to understand, but if he did - if he really got just how much Christopher and Eddie mattered - then he would have never asked Buck to leave that night. He would have never even considered it.
So Buck doesn’t really know where they stand now. He’s entirely unwilling to compromise on Eddie and Christopher’s position in his life, and Tommy simply refuses to accept that. He isn’t sure where that leaves them.
“Thank you,” Buck says.
He feels Eddie’s eyes on the side of his face when he asks, “What for?”
“For coming after me.”
No one has ever made Buck feel wanted quite like Eddie does. Because everything he does for Buck is because he wants to - there’s no sense of obligation, no responsibility to uphold. He’s here in Buck’s life because he wants to be, and Buck doesn’t think he’s ever really had that before. Except for Maddie, who never had any choice in raising him, everyone else has made him feel like he’s only wanted if he’s useful.
And Tommy, well. Sometimes Buck thinks Tommy wants him for one thing, and one thing only. Their conversations aren’t exactly heartfelt or riveting, and they know as much about each other now as they did when they first met.
Buck has been used for his body before; he recognises the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.
“I’ve got your back,” Eddie says. “You know that.”
And Buck does know it. He knows it as certainly as he knows the sun will set tonight, and it will rise tomorrow. Eddie is the most constant thing in his life. An unwavering, unchanging force.
“I wanted to hurt him, Eddie. Like, I really wanted to hurt him. And then he was hurt, and I-“
“Nothing that happened was your fault, Buck,” Eddie promises.
His hand reaches out once again, seeking the flutter of Buck’s pulse beneath his fingertips. It’s something Buck started doing after the sniper - searching for the steady rhythm of Eddie’s pulse as a comfort. As proof that he’s still alive. And then, after the lightning strike…after three minutes and seventeen seconds, and two of Buck’s ribs broken by Eddie’s hands, Eddie started doing it too. A comfort for both of them, when they need something to steady to ground themselves.
“Maybe,” Buck hedges, and he feels Eddie’s grip tighten.
“There’s no maybe about it,” Eddie insists. “You didn’t make the saw blade snap off and shoot in his direction, but you did stop him from getting hit by it. Gerrard is fine, Buck. If anything, you saved him. You did good.”
Buck lets his weight sag against Eddie, and there’s a moment of hesitation - like they’re both on the precipice of change - but then Eddie’s arm comes up to wrap around Buck’s shoulders. Then he’s pushing and pulling to manoeuvre Buck, until half of his back is pressed firmly against Eddie’s chest. Until Eddie is holding him close, with his hand reaching down over his chest to feel the thumping of Buck’s heartbeat.
It feels like all the lingering tension in Buck’s body simply melts away as Eddie surrounds him. Like there’s no place left in his body for it now that he’s so filled with…filled with love.
Because that’s what this is, right? Even though it shouldn’t be. Even though it’s a really, really bad idea. There’s no way to ignore it when it feels like Buck has been holding his breath for months, and this is the first time he gets to exhale. When Tommy’s name lights his phone up again, and Buck just wants to burrow closer into Eddie. Wants the whole world to disappear except for this moment right here, just the two of them. There’s no other word for that, at least not in any language that Buck has learned on Duolingo.
“Do you want me to call Tommy for you?” Eddie offers when he sees the texts rolling in, but his voice sounds pinched, like he wants nothing less.
And it’s a sweet offer, truly. It’s Eddie trying to care for Buck like he always does. But instead Buck’s entire body seizes up; his muscles tense and his joints lock into place, and it feels like even his heart has stilled inside his chest. And it shouldn’t feel like this when Eddie mentions his…when Eddie mentions Tommy, but it’s a visceral reaction. Because he knows that Tommy will find a way to blame him for this, even when Buck was trying to do the right thing. He knows they’ll just fight over Chris, and the will, and Eddie, like they have done so many times before.
Quite frankly, he can’t imagine anything worse than talking to Tommy right now. The thought of it only makes his anxiety start to build again, and Eddie must feel the way his heartbeat starts to quicken beneath his hand because suddenly his thumb is massaging soothing circles over his fluttering pulse.
“No,” Buck all but begs. “No, I just need you.”
He doesn’t mean to say that. Doesn’t mean to be so honest, so vulnerable, but the words slip out before he has a chance to swallow them back down. And then, so softly it could almost be a dream if Buck weren’t so hyper-aware of everything that Eddie does, he places a gentle kiss on the strawberry pink of his birthmark.
“Okay,” Eddie replies, voice steady as a rock. “You’ve got me, Buck. Always.”
“I think…I think I need to break up with-“
“-Yeah,” Eddie interrupts. “I think so, too.”
But he doesn’t reach for his phone, or get up to leave. Instead, for just a few moments longer, he lets himself exist inside of the peace that Eddie brings him. The rest of the world can wait for them.