Archive of Our Own

It starts after Buck drives to Texas to get Christopher back.

And- well, if he thinks about it, maybe it started even earlier. But it's just the way Eddie's eyes start shining in a different way after he rings the doorbell because he wants it to be that kind of surprise- it's the way Buck's never realized the way his brown irises seem to soften when he looks at him, the way the edges of his lips lift up a little, in a gesture that's not a smile, not exactly, but it seems to convey so much fondness Buck's not really sure what to do with all of it.

Because he loves it. His heart seems to burst every time Eddie looks at him, a sudden punch against his ribcage, as if his insides were trying to tell him something. He's just— not exactly sure what.

And sometimes— only sometimes, when it's late at night and the empty space next to him in his bed feels like a blackhole, sucking the happiness out of him, when Tommy scoffs and rolls his eyes at something he says, when he starts wondering where he will be in a couple of years, he wonders if his eyes shine in the same way when he looks at Eddie.

*

Buck knows Eddie's not okay.

To be fair, he's sure everyone knows that, but Eddie's always been good at keeping his feelings to himself, good at keep going, leaving his sorrow behind him, waiting silently for it to be too much and crush him when he's trying to run faster than it. But Buck knows, because he notices the way his eyes are duller, his frame bigger but his muscles always aching, the way sometimes he opens his mouth but swallows his words, realizing the person he wants to be talking to isn't there to listen to him.

Buck understands Christopher, he really does. Eddie fucked up, and it'd be too biased to pretend he didn't. He thinks about his fourteen-year-old self, and how he would have given everything to run away if he had the chance, to leave the thing that's hurting him, the person that's hurting him, behind.

But it's been months now, and he misses Chris so damn much he can't even imagine what Eddie must be feeling.

At first, he tries to make sure Eddie's okay, watching movies until late at night, going for breakfast on Sundays. They're both alone now, in a way, even if Buck's dating Tommy. Sometimes he feels guilty, especially when Eddie approaches him with a plan in his hands and Buck has to say no. He wishes he could be with Eddie all the time, but Tommy doesn't deserve that. He can't let Tommy down either; he'd hate for him to think that Buck's not taking it seriously.

On Saturday night, Buck convinces Eddie to go to a bar with him.

Eddie seems reluctant at first, his brow furrowed, his lips forming a grimace, but Buck insists with a smile he knows Eddie can never say no to.

The drinks seem to come and come and come, and all Buck can taste is the bitter aftertaste of whiskey and Eddie's lone tear as he wipes it away with a thumb that seems a little too big for Eddie's cheek.

"I just really miss him," Eddie's words are slurred but so heavy with pain— with grief that Buck feels like Eddie's ripping out his heart, tearing it apart with his sad doe eyes. "It's almost like missing a limb. You never forget it's not there."

Buck makes sure Eddie gets into bed. He takes his boots off and fills a glass with water, leaving it at his bedside. He's never seen Eddie so drunk— not since Chimney's bachelor party, but he barely remembers that night. This one feels too real, to raw, making his skin crawl with uncertainty and an uncomfortable feeling that dances close to pain.

He hates seeing Eddie so sad.

And he hates knowing he can't help, not really. There's only one thing that'll fix this, but he's twelve hours away. Buck wonders if Chris thinks about Eddie as much as Eddie thinks about him, if he can feel Eddie's despair, darkening the edges of his life.

Twelve hours away.

It's not that far, now that his somewhat drunken brain thinks about it. He's driven way further than that, back when he was younger, and he's been yearning for a road trip for a long time now.

He makes his choice before the sober part of his brain can overrule his instinct. He goes home, he takes a shower and downloads the map to his phone. He writes a text to Maddie explaining everything and sets a reminder to call Bobby as soon as it's a respectable time.

He's going to El Paso, and his going to get Eddie his son back.

*

El Paso smells like burning asphalt. It's technically winter now, but the heat still draws waves in his windshield. The sun seems suffocating, in a way Los Angeles's sun doesn't. He kind of understands why Eddie prefers LA.

El Paso is not bad, but it seems small (smallish, at least) and it looks like it carries memories and engraves them in its buildings, in its streets, unforgiving and eternal.

Elena Diaz opens the door, and her smile falters a little. The sun's setting down, and her eyes reflect the orange sky. She kind of looks like Eddie, with big brown eyes and sharp cheekbones. Her smile is confused, a little nervous.

Buck's not really sure what to say. His planning didn't make it this far, and he's not really sure how Eddie's parents will react when he asks to talk to Christopher, when he tries to convince him to go back home. To Eddie. To Buck. To them.

"Hello, ma'am."

"Hi, Buck," Elena's voice is clipped. She seems to have deduced Buck's plan. "Such a— lovely surprise. Oh, is Eddie with you?" Her last words seem a little more eager.

"No, no, sorry. I— came on my own. I just wanted to check on Chris."

Elena swallows.

"You wanted to check on Chris. And... you drove all the way to Texas?"

"Well—" Buck shifts his weight, wondering when was the last time he felt this uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's, um, great. Come in, Buck, I'll go get him."

The Diaz' home is small, cozy, yellow. Buck feels a little out of place. He never thought he'd be there, especially without Eddie. It feels a little like overstepping, like crossing a line he wasn't aware that existed.

But Eddie needs this, and if Buck plays his cards right- if he can explain to Chris what his dad is going through, if he can explain that Eddie is, after all, only human, maybe he can help. Maybe he can fix it.

Christopher does look happy to see him, and that boosts Buck's confidence a little. They hug and Buck breathes him in— it's been almost six months, and god he's grown so much. He's grown at least three inches, Buck's pretty sure, and he looks a little more like Shannon, if Buck focuses on his eyes and his nose. It reminds him of the reason Chris left in the first place, and he wonders if Chris saw those features –his own— in Kim, all those months ago, and he feels a little sick.

"What are you doing here?"

Buck scoffs. "Direct to the point, huh? I guess fourteen is fourteening."

Chris' eye roll makes Buck feel even more nostalgic. "Did— um— did something happen? With dad?"

"No, no, he's okay, I promise." Chris had sounded a little scared, and Buck hates himself for it. "I mean— well, that's what I wanted to talk about."

"You want me to go back."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why, Chris? Your dad loves you. God, he adores you. And I know he made a mistake, and I know he deeply hurt you, and I know how hard it is to try and forgive your parents, especially when it feels like they shouldn't be making these mistakes in the first place. But your dad's only human, and he regrets what he did."

Chris' frown seems more confused than angry. "So you're taking his side, then. Just like you did before."

Buck stands up. He moves towards Chris, trying to placate him, gesturing with his hands. "No, Chris, there are no sides to this, okay?" He sits beside him, passing his arm through Chris' shoulders. "I'll always protect you, you know that. Please tell me you know that."

Chris relaxes. "Yeah, Buck. I know."

"Good. Please, never, never forget it. Like I said, I can't pretend I know exactly what you're going through, but you know I have a complicated relationship with my parents, right?" He waits for Chris' nod to continue. "I know how deeply a parent can hurt you, how they can make you feel like you need to get away. Like you need to punish them for them to understand what you're going through. But Chris, I swear your dad understands. And I also swear the I would have given anything to have a dad who cares as much as yours does."

There are a few seconds of silence as Chris breathes, looking down at the floor.

"I know he cares," he says then, and he sounds defeated but honest. "It's just— I hated it. How it made me feel."

"And you needed some time. I get that. But, Chris, listen— your dad needs you. He's a mess without you. Do this for him, okay? Come home with me."

Chris looks up at him, and for a moment, Buck can't help but feel like he looks like him, just a little, with the hair and the lips.

"Okay."

*

Surprisingly, Eddie's parents don't complain that much.

Buck hates them, just because he's allowed to feel all the bad things Eddie's not allowed to feel. He hates them because they were okay with watching Eddie grieve for a son that was living with them, because they took Chris from him, in a way, from them. They did what they thought was best for Chris, yeah, but what about Eddie? What about their son?

So yeah, Buck hates them, just because he wishes Eddie could.

But still. On Monday morning, after sleeping on the Diaz' couch, (the worst couch he's slept on, and he's slept on a lot of couches,) he and Chris get on the Jeep and start their drive back to California.

They take their sweet time. They drive up to Gila National Forest and have a picnic near the river. Chris laughs so hard his glasses fall off his face. Buck spills orange juice all over his white shirt and has to buy the only shirt from the gift shop they have on his size— a ridiculous t-shirt with a cartoon beaver on it.

They stop in Tucson and buy ice cream from a guy that only speaks italian. They go to the Museum of Art and after they ask a lady to take their picture she says they're an adorable family and Chris only blushes that much.

They go to Joshua Tree, take pictures and listen to the music Buck used to love when he was Chris' age- Fall Out Boy and Simple Plan and All Time Low. It's great.

Late that night, before the day they're supposed to make it to California, Chris is playing cards with him outside of their motel room.

"Holy sh-shoes, you win again," Buck groans. Chris laughs and takes his prize— a Hershey’s bar.

"I wish dad were here," he blurts out, and Buck's heart aches so much his throat closes up with unshed tears.

"I know, man. I wish he were here too."

Eddie keeps asking him where he is. Buck's told him the same vague excuse at least four times a day— he had to make an emergency trip. He'll be back on Thursday. He'll explain when he gets back. He swears he's fine— It's nothing serious, Eds, quit acting like I died.

Chris facetimes Eddie a few times and pretends he's still in Texas. It's supposed to be a surprise.

Buck can't wait for Eddie's reaction.

They're entering Los Angeles when Chris goes quiet.

"Are you okay?" It's night already, almost nine, but they've only got forty minutes left. His legs are cramping, especially the bad one, and he really wishes he didn't have to deal with LA traffic.

"Yeah. I'm just- nervous."

"Why?"

Chris swallows.

"Do you think I really hurt him? When I left?"

"Well," Buck licks his lips, not really sure how to go on. "He loves you more than anything. And you needing to get away from him— even if he understood why, it hurt. But he knows you weren't trying to hurt him. You were trying to deal, and that's always valid, Chris, as long as it is in a healthy way."

"Alright." Then, out of nowhere, so sudden and unexpected Buck almost hits the breaks, "do you love him?"

"What?”

What?

“Who? Your dad?"

"Duh," Chris chuckles a little.

"Um... I— I guess so. You know I do. He's— my… best friend."

Chris stares at him in a way that Buck feels like he's being judged. He diverts his gaze, focusing on the road before him.

"Right. Your best friend."

"C'mon, Chris, your dad and I— it's not like that."

"You're just best friends."

"Yep."

"And you're still dating Tony?"

Buck laughs, even if it stings a little. "Tommy. And yeah."

It's only then that he realizes that he completely forgot about Tommy. It's been days, and he's forgotten to call or text.

It's not like he has received any texts or calls either, though. For a brief moment, he wonders if he's that insignificant in Tommy's life, and then he realizes that that implies Tommy is insignificant too, in his own life. And he doesn't want to think about that.

"Okay."

"What?" Buck insists, hearing the teenage, sarcastic, amused tone.

"Nothing! I said okay."

*

Buck turns off the car in front of Eddie's house.

Both he and Chris stay sitting, the radio buzzing with uncomprehensible words.

Christopher's eyes are nervous, his hands fidgeting, and Buck grabs his shoulder, squeezing a little.

"You okay, bud?"

"I don't know. It's been a long time."

"Don't I know it, kid. Does it feel good to be back?"

"Yes."

"C'mon, you've got this."

He rings the doorbell because he wants it to be that kind of surprise.

He's not prepared for his eyes to fill with tears when Eddie realizes, when his brain is done processing that it is, in fact, Christopher, standing in front of him. He watches the hug and seems to feel it, as if he were in their arms. Buck gives Eddie a soft smile and goes to Chris' room, closing the door behind him, trying to give them some space. He knows that this, this moment is between them, and he needs them to understand that too.

So he listens to the muffled words through the doors of the bedroom, and even if he tries not to eavesdrop, he hears words like sorry and home and mistakes and love and Buck.

Buck, among all those other things. Him, and Eddie and Chris and the— little family they've happened to build. The one he's part of.

And god it feels good.

*

Eddie's embrace is soul-crushing. Soul-healing, if that’s even a thing.

"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you—"

"You don't have to thank me, Eds."

"Of course I do. Of course I fucking do. Look at me," and then Eddie's grabbing his face, the palms of his hands warm against his cheeks, fitting on top of his bones like ancient, ivory puzzle pieces. "Look at me, Evan. Thank you so fucking much."

Buck swallows.

He can feel Eddie’s breath against the skin of his face, his neck, making it feel like he’s almost touching it, caressing it. His throat closes up and he starts shivering a little, not really sure what to do with the closeness of it all.

"You're welcome."

*

After that, Eddie starts acting weird.

Not a bad weird, not exactly, but his actions and his words soften, almost as if he were talking to a kitten, a vulnerable animal.

"Hey, come here, grab something to eat."

It's not like Eddie has never made sure he ate before, but this time is different, because his words are like a prayer, like he's begging him.

It's the way he touches him, his big hands all over his forearms and shoulders and even his thighs, the way his smile seems- not brighter, not exactly, but bolder, as if he weren't afraid of Buck realizing he's smiling at him anymore.

They go for long walks to the beach, just like they used to do after Shannon died, when Buck was healing after the ladder truck incident, when everything seemed more complicated and simpler at the same time.

Eddie talks about Christopher and the fear he has of being a bad father, of trying so hard not to be like his dad and ending up making the opposite mistakes.

Buck talks about the fear he's developed of thunderstorms, about how sometimes the scar on his chest makes him feel insecure, as if his body didn't belong to him. He talks about Tommy and the way he makes him feel so small sometimes, and how he's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.

Buck starts realizing that Eddie's eyes darken when he talks about Tommy. How his face drops just a little, and his brow furrows. So, eventually, he stops bringing it up. He just hates making Eddie feel bad.

One night, after he comes home from a date with Tommy- he had grabbed his hand, and his sweaty palms had felt clammy and cold against his, unlike Eddie's, whose hands are always warm and soft, that feel like anchors holding him in place when he needs them to be- and he lies down on his bed, too tired to get changed, he checks his phone and sees that Chris has sent him a video.

'help he's listening to sad shakira songs again'

In the video, Eddie's laying down on his couch, staring up at the ceiling, his hands crossed on top of his stomach. He's wearing a tank top and shorts and his flip-flops, (the ones he calls chanclas,) and there's a glass of wine on the coffee table beside him.

There's a song playing on the background, a girl's voice singing sadly in spanish—

(Buck googles the lyrics, when it's late at night and he's finally gotten changed out of the uncomfortable shirts Tommy likes him wearing.

my days without you are so dark, so long, so gray

my days without you are like a sky without silver moons, no traces of sun,

my days without you are only an echo that always repeat the same song

how hey hurt, the days without you

And oh. Wow.)

—and Eddie's muttering the words to himself, as if he's sung them many times before. And Buck ponders about Chris' message, and the again, and he dares to wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he went on a date with Tommy.

*

At the end of the video, Eddie seems to realize Chris is filming him, because he lifts his head and raises a menacing eyebrow, Chris giggling.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Were you filming me?"

"No."

Eddie stands up and the video cuts abruptly, the laughter dying suddenly but not painfully.

*

Buck's so fucking cold.

It's happened since the lightning strike, and he knows it's not the worst symptom he could've acquired after— well, after everything, but still. He hates it.

The way he shivers in the early mornings, embracing himself after leaving his bed, the cool morning breeze feeling like ice daggers against his exposed skin. The way not even a hoodie and a jacket seem enough for him to feel warm.

The way it never ends.

"You're shivering."

Buck nods. Eddie sits beside him, looking worried. It's three a.m., he thinks, and it's quiet in the bunk room of the station. And it's fucking cold.

"I can't seem to get warm," Buck hates the way his voice sounds like a whine, like he's about to burst into tears. He's wearing every layer he's allowed to wear, but his body doesn't seem to care. "I— I hate it."

Eddie hugs him.

It's sudden and unexpected, but so, so welcome. Eddie feels like a furnace, and he wishes he could stay there, in his arms, forever.

"It's okay, Buck. It's okay."

Eddie gives him his jacket. He grabs the blanket from his own bunk and lies down beside him, holding him close, even closer when he shivers. Close close close so close Buck wonders if this is okay. Close close close so close Buck doesn't care if it's not okay. He rests his nose against Eddie's neck, and he feels so warm he wants to cry.

Chim snaps a picture.

Buck pretends to be annoyed, but he saves it to his favorite folder.

*

"So, what were you up to this whole week?" Tommy had asked, after the road trip to Texas, when they were catching up in Tommy's apartment, having dinner in front of the TV.

"I went to Texas."

"Okay. Cool."

No further questions. No wondering, no caring, no— nothing. Just okay.

Buck hates feeling hurt because of it.

But Tommy's not like that, he knows he's just- not curious, not really, doesn't think twice about the things Buck does or doesn't do.

So he had shrugged and kept on eating the chinese food Tommy had ordered, even if he hates the takeout place that he bought it from

He's pretty sure he's told him he didn't like it before.

Tommy's just bad at remembering things.

*

"Are you okay, Evan?"

Buck nods. They're walking, it's late at night, and the movie they just watched was boring.

"Yeah. Just- you know, cold."

He's freezing. He's shivering, and the thin jumper he brought is not helping. Tommy's car is parked far away, and Buck swears his muscles ache with the force of his trembles.

Tommy frowns.

"It's not that cold."

"I know, it's just— after last year—"

"You should've brought a jacket."

Buck sighs.

"Yeah. I should have."

*

They get called to a crumbling building.

Buck’s not even sure how it happened— how a building can come crashing down like that, the half of it turned into debris and ashes. Buck thinks about the people there, the ones that were just existing, (it was an apartment building, after all, it’s always apartment buildings,) whose ceilings have trapped them under tons and tons of memories and other people’s homes.

Bobby starts barking orders immediately, and Buck walks towards the small entrance that’s left of the building—a half opened door within all the debris. There are two other houses in the scene, and a dispatcher giving information through the radios, his voice a little scared. Buck’s pretty sure it’s Josh. 

The crumbling has risen a lot of dust. It’s almost like smoke, thick and gray, and it makes it hard to see. There are people walking towards the door, covered in soot. Hen and Chim are on triage. He and Eddie are on rescuing victims.

“Dispatch is making sure entering is safe,” Bobby tells them. “The engineering team is making sure nothing else is coming down, and they’ll warn us if the building gets unstable again. And if they give the order, you evacuate, are you hearing me?” And now he’s looking directly at Buck. “I say the word, and you leave.”

Buck has a bad feeling churning in his stomach. He doesn’t get them often, at least not in the job, but there’s this— fear bothering him, making him sweat under his turnout gear. There are people on the other side of the building, two siblings, both teenagers, who were home alone.

The radio’s soft humming doesn’t seem to stop. There’s Josh’s voice, and Maddie’s, and Linda’s. Bobby’s and captain Mehta’s. Buck just wants them all to stop. Something feels wrong. 

“C’mon, Buck, hurry up.” 

He tries to swallow down his fear and nods. “Yeah. Right.”

They have to climb some debris to get to the apartment of the victims they’re trying to find. Eddie looks at him with his brow furrowed and they both know what they’re thinking— if the children are hurt, they’re going to have a hard time leaving. 

Eddie kicks down the door of the small apartment. 

“This is the LAFD!” He calls. “We’re here to help!”

The sister has hit her head. There's a long trail of blood falling down from her forehead, the red bright against the gray of her pallor.

"Hey," Eddie kneels beside her, offering a tight, professional smile. "I'm Eddie. This is Buck. We're here to help."

Half the apartment is nothing but remains. Buck closes his eyes and thinks about what would've happened if she and her brother had been hanging out in the kitchen instead of the living room, and his stomach churns once again. He hates this. The feeling.

While Eddie tends to the sister, Buck goes to the brother. He seems fine, only a little shaken. He's older than her, but they look strikingly alike.

"I'm George. She's Florence."

"Alright, George, your sister's dizzy so I'm gonna carry her. We don't have time for a stretcher because we need to leave as soon as possible, and she doesn't seem to have a neck injury, so we should be—

"This is captain Bobby Nash to all radios, captain Nash to all radios. There's imminent danger- the building's unstable. We're evacuating. I repeat, we're evacuating. Everyone, grab all victims who are mobile and find your nearest exit."

Buck looks up at Eddie, who's already looking at him. And, for a second, Buck can't seem to focus on anything else than the way the afternoon sun reflects on his irises, the way his fringe falls on his forehead, making him look even younger than he is.

He stands up.

"You want me to take her?" He asks, licking his lips, trying to sound normal.

"What, you think I can't?" Eddie's tone amused, and George chuckles. "I got her, c'mon."

The thing is- they're far from the exit. This is the last apartment, the one furthest in the hallway, and Buck's painfully aware of that. There are a couple of firefighters running- all desperately walking towards the exit.

The feeling in his stomach does not want to stop. It's crawled all the way up to his throat, to his mouth, and he starts feeling sick. He fastens his pace a little, wondering how it is that the building has come crashing down but the sun still manages to slip through the cracks in the cement.

"Hey, Buck, can you—"

That's when everything starts shaking. It's not an earthquake, not exactly, but Buck could sweat the walls are trembling, melting. Maybe the sun's that powerful.

"Evacuate evacuate evacuate—"

Buck grabs George by the hand and starts running, making sure Eddie's behind him, Florence now on his shoulder, her face down on his stomach, limp.

"C'mon, c'mon!"

Buck sees it- a big piece of something, and he sees its path in his mind- and he reacts even before he knows what he's doing.

He shoves George out of the way, and then there's pain and his mouth tastes like dust and this loud, annoying ringing in his ears. And pain. Sharp, bright, screaming pain.

He's not really sure what happens next. He hears some muffled screaming, and he tries to opens his eyes but there's clouds and clouds of something, and he's not sure if it's because his eyesight is failing or maybe he's falling- he's not sure.

There's Bobby's voice, shrilling angry from the radio.

Evacuate evacuate evacuate—

And a voice, a little desperate.

"Buck. Hey. Buck, can you hear me?"

evacuate evacuate evacuate

"Buck, c'mon, dios mio—"

Buck blinks. Then he blinks again, and again, because his eyes refuse to focus on what's above him— a dark room, sunrays no longer slipping through the cracks. And someone, hovering over him.

"Eddie?"

"Yup."

Buck smiles. "So, not god, then?"

Eddie's smile is so relieved it's a little ridiculous. Buck tries to bring his hand up, to comfort Eddie, to make him remember he's still there- wherever they are, alive, (somewhat,) and that they're okay. But his arms feel heavy, and he forgets what he was trying to do in a frustrating pang of pain.

"No, not god. At least not yet."

"What does that even mean?"

Eddie helps him sit up, and Buck groans when the pain multiplicates, like a burning sensation coming from his side. He presses against it with his hand and feels something wet and warm coming out of it— shit, he's bleeding. Eddie's eyes land on his fingers and his eyes darken.

"Are you hurt?" Buck's voice is nothing but a whisper. The phrase sounds familiar, heavy with Eddie's bloodied form laying on the truck, his eyes a hundred miles ago, still asking about him.

Eddie shakes his head, closes his eyes, presses his hand against Buck's abdomen, gentle but firm.

"Fuck, shit, fuck, that hurts."

"Sorry, perdón, I'm sorry—"

His eyesight goes blurry once again, and then he feels like he's falling again. The world goes white for a long, excruciating second, and he can't even hear the screams he's sure Eddie's letting out.

The world comes back slowly, the gray debris feeling engulfing. That's when he realizes they're completely surrounded by debris, under a little safe space formed by two columns. George and Florence are not there.

Eddie's talking into his radio, his hand pressing against Buck's side.

"I have activated our emergency devices, yeah, you should have our locations... No, Bobby, it's not looking too good. The air's really heavy here. It's almost like a cave. No sun, no air flow— I don't have anything on me. I'm using my handkerchief to press on the wound, but it's already soaked through. His left pupil's blown, I don't even know when he hit his head."

Then, more mumbling. The world turns gray again. "I know that, Bobby, but I had to go back. What did you want me to do, to leave him there? To not carry the kids out of here while I could-? No, Bobby, I don't care—"

"That's usually my line," he manages to slur. Eddie looks down at him, his eyes wide with fear, with something dark and heavy, dangerously similar to panic.

"I know," Eddie gives him a smile. His voice softens. "I'm just pretending I'm a dumbass like you."

"Hey. Not- not a dumbass."

"Nope. Just an ass."

"Hey!"

And Eddie's right. It's not looking too good.

He's not really sure where they are. He figures they're on the first floor, since the apartment they went to help the kids was on the second. There's concrete and shattered glass and a fridge, but other than that is just dirty linoleum floors and darkness. No sunlight, no air flow.

Big red flags if you're trapped.

Just his luck, then. Maybe that was that the bad feeling was about. The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach has become pain, getting sharper with every breath he takes. He tries to sit up, but the world goes white once again.

"Hey, hey, hey, Buck, stay there." Eddie's hands are warm over his shirt. They firmly guide him back to the floor. "You're hurt. There's a big laceration on your side and I don't know what damage it caused so you need to stay put, alright?"

Buck blinks. "I'm— hurt?"

Shit. Everything's just— so confusing.

"Yeah. You are."

"And we're trapped here."

"... Yeah. We are."

"Are they— coming to get us?"

Eddie nods. There's a glimpse of a smile dancing in his lips, even if his eyes are worried. There's a small gash on his forehead, now that he sees him, and his eyebrow is red with blood. "Of course they are. We just need to wait—"

The whole building trembles once again. Eddie immediately grabs Buck, lifting his back even if he just told him not to move, hurling him towards the closest wall. There's more pain, and there the floor gives out underneath them. Buck panics and holds onto the only thing he knows he has nearby- Eddie's hand.

Then everything goes dark.

*

They're driving.

Eddie's in the passenger seat, sunglasses hiding his eyes. His hair is disheveled, covering his forehead. The breeze is strong, coming through the windows. It smells salty, like the sea, like home.

Eddie's singing, loudly, banging his head, a playful grin extending all over his face.

Buck's singing too, and the song is quiet in his memory, all he can hear is his own laughter reverberating in his ears. The sun makes it hard to see, but he doesn't care.

He knows where he's going.

Then Eddie's grabbing his hand, and his fingers feel like electricity, like a grounding weight.

Buck intertwines their fingers, and it feels so good—

So right.

*

"That's it, that's it. C'mon, Buck, open your eyes. Please."

The hand. Eddie's hand. Squeezing his own, his fingers trembling. Buck has intertwined their fingers- he's not sure when. But his eyes feel too heavy, and his head hurts too much, so he just— squeezes.

"Good. Good job, baby, good job. Now open your eyes, please."

Eddie's breath is warming his face, fanning against his neck. Buck can't see, but he's pretty sure Eddie's on top of him.

"You— you just called me baby."

And wow, Eddie's chuckle sounds angelic.

His eyesight is blurry. But he can see now- they're trapped in a small space, barely big enough for the two of them. Eddie's on top of him, and he must be hurt real bad because he can't feel any pain. The air is stale, heavy with nothing but shaky exhales.

"This is bad," he chokes out. He can feel Eddie nodding, and wow, their faces are really close. Have Eddie's lips always been this plump? And— soft?

"Yes. But— don't worry. The search and rescue team are near. You just need to hold on, okay?"

"You— you're covered in blood."

Eddie sighs. Buck closes his eyes and then realizes with a pang of pain that it's dangerously hard to open them again.

"It's all yours, Buck."

And Buck knows he's talking about whose blood it is, but- it sounds good. The fact that it's all his, anything Eddie has to offer.

Eddie shifts a little, and that makes Buck remember he was in so much pain. He lets out a scream, tries to muffle it but realizes he can't when the noise is raw and echoing.

"Sorry, sorry, I just need to—"

Then Eddie's fingers are pressing softly against his neck. Buck lets himself relax.

"No, hey, hey, don't fall asleep on me." And Eddie's hands are on his face now, patting his cheek softly. "C'mon, mierda, c'mon."

"I'm fine. Just— resting my eyes."

"Then don't."

Buck opens his eyes. Eddie's staring right at him, his face only inches away. His hand is still resting on Buck's cheek, his thumb tracing delicate circles that make his skin tickle.

Buck breathes. Eddie leans a little bit closer.

"You- you called me baby."

He can see Eddie's throat move as he swallows. "Yeah."

"Why?"

Eddie leans a little bit closer.

"Because, Evan—"

Eddie leans even closer. Buck can almost taste his lips, the tip of his nose. Just a breath away. Buck raises his head a little, just a little, and then his forehead is touching Eddie's. His skin feels warm, familiar, embracing. He opens his mouth, and when he licks his lips, trying to find something to say, he feels Eddie's skin, a single touch, burning his tongue.

They're that close.

And for a second, Buck's sure Eddie's going to kiss him.

Eddie's thumb keeps on tracing the circles, almost cradling his face. Eddie lets out a sigh that feels like a strong, sudden breeze against his skin. And then—

There's sunlight. So much of it Buck has to close his eyes, and then he shifts and there's pain, blinding and deafening and weakening.

Noise, words and shouts and Hen's voice.

The last thing he manages to mutter is Eddie's name as the world disappears around him once again, heavy with sadness because he was, scarily, craving the kiss.

*

When Buck wakes up, it's Tommy who's sitting beside his bed.

He tries not to be disappointed.

*

He fails.

*

The next time he wakes up, it's too soft, acoustic music coming from somewhere.

They've moved him to a private room. The room's dimly lit, and the ceiling is a yellowish, boring white. Breathing feels a little bit easier than it did last time, but there's still an oxygen cannula resting under his nose, prickling uncomfortably against his neck.

He feels strangely floaty. It's like his brain isn't attached to his body.

Buck takes a second to remember what happened- and lowers down his gaze.

This time is Eddie who's beside him. He's slouched on an uncomfortable looking chair, his eyes closed, his mouth forming silent words.

Then he recognizes the song softly playing, the sweet voice in spanish—

help he's listening to sad shakira songs again

my days without you are so dark, so long, so gray

my days without you are like a sky without silver moons, no traces of sun,

my days without you are only an echo that always repeat the same song

how they hurt, the days without you

"Shakira," he mutters. Eddie's eyes open so quickly it's almost funny. "You're listening to Shakira again."

Eddie's smile burns bright with the force of the whole sun.

"It's a good song, okay?"

And then Eddie's talking, coming closer to him, explaining stuff about fractured ribs and a pierced lung, surgery for his abdomen and brain swelling. About how he's been in and out of it for almost a week now.

How much he's missed him.

And Buck wishes he were holding his hand.

Even if it makes him feel guilty, because Tommy had been there the last time, squeezing his palm with a little too much force.

*

The days are long, boring, painful. The pain's not going away this time, and it's frustrating. Bobby and the doctor tell him it's because if everything that happened in that building, and that it'll take a while for him to feel better. That he's lucky to be alive.

He's heard that one a lot of times before. It's becoming a little bit boring.

The morphine makes him feel dizzy. Nauseous. Floaty and out of control.

Maybe that's why it happens.

It's been another week, after all, and the fever he suddenly developed has just broken. He feels tired and frustrated, and Tommy's absently caressing his hair while he scrolls through his phone. He doesn't play music like Eddie does, and the silence feels suffocating.

And then Tommy's kissing him, muttering that he really scared him, that he's glad he's okay.

He's never heard Tommy sound so— caring.

Maybe that's why it happens.

"I love you, Evan."

And god, he swears he doesn't mean to. It just— happens.

"Love you too, Eddie."

*

Buck understands that Tommy's upset.

But he seems so mad, yelling and cursing and making his chest feel like it's closing up. Buck tries to ignore his sharp, bitter words and focuses on trying to breathe. His lungs ache, and there's a dull noise coming from one of the many machines surrounding him.

"Fuck you, Buck."

And ouch.

He can't even remember the last time Tommy called him Buck. He finds it a little bit ironic, the fact that it's only now that Tommy doesn't refuse to call him the name he knows Buck prefers.

Tommy leaves.

Buck tries to go after him, he really does, but there are cables pulling him and the desperate beeping becomes louder. His throat closes up, and when he tries to take a step, the world tilts and then he's falling.

*

Hen's there.

And she's furious.

Buck tries to explain that it was his fault. He knows Tommy was hurt and confused and god, he can't even think how he would've reacted if it had been the other way around.

He's the one who fucked up.

He's the one who called him Eddie.

He's the one who, indirectly, wants Eddie to love him.

Hen's still mad. She curses Tommy and he chuckles a little when she calls him things. And okay, yeah, maybe Buck's a little hurt too, because Tommy has said a lot of stuff that he was fearing. That still itch, that hit uncomfortably close home, and he's pretty sure Tommy knew how to make his words sting, knew his weak spot, exactly where to press for Buck to wither in pain.

Then he's crying.

Hen holds him close, careful with the bandages and the wires and the broken heart.

Buck wonders if he can call his heart broken, if his newfound feelings and his guilt and his hope are making the pieces of his heart remain together, stitched up but still bleeding, a pounding, stubborn mess he doesn't know what to do with.

*

Tommy doesn't come back.

Buck's sad and relieved at the same time, and he's not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing.

*

Maddie takes him home exactly a week after that.

She helps him walk, climb into the car, gets him a glass of water and reminds him to drink slowly. They shuffle slowly towards his couch, his legs shaking. Maddie tucks a blanket around him, kisses his forehead, right above his birthmark. She strokes his aching leg muscles until he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Eddie's there.

Playing that damn Shakira song.

Buck's starting to like it.

*

"Dad says you broke up with Tony."

Buck chuckles. He's facetiming Chris. Bobby's making him dinner, but he can hear him chuckling too, all the way from the kitchen.

"C'mon, Chris, you know his name's Tommy."

"Yeah. Whatever. I never liked him. Dad didn't either."

Buck frowns at that. "Didn't he?"

"Nah. He was always— complaining about how much time he took from you. He even said he was ugly, and that you deserved—"

"Okay, Chris—" Carla's amused tone comes from the phone. "Let Buck rest, alright? We'll go check on him tomorrow. Bye, Buck!"

*

Eddie has a huge bruise on his face.  

It's dark and angry, covering his right eye. His knuckles are also hurt— they’re covered in these thin, shallow cuts, a red tint still hiding his pale skin.   

He comes into the apartment, breathing heavily, almost buzzing with unkept energy. Buck watches him from the kitchen stool he’s sitting on, wanting to stand up and place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, to appease him at least a little. But he’s too weak to do that, and he hates himself and his body for it.  

“Sorry for showing up like this,” Eddie lets out, pacing around the apartment, his hands fidgeting.  

It’s raining outside, thunder making his skin crawl with fear. God how he hates thunder. Because it usually means lightning.  

Eddie’s soaking wet. His shirt clings to his frame, sculpting his muscles. And Buck really shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. 

“What— what happened?” Buck had been trying to eat, but his wound had been hurting, his meds not working. He hadn’t wanted to take the stronger ones, the ones that make him dizzy and tired. 

“I couldn’t go home like this. Chris would’ve freaked out.” 

“Eddie, what did you do?” 

Eddie stops pacing, then sighs. Then he sits down in front of him, looking defeated. 

“I punched him.” 

“Eddie!” 

“You know he deserved it.” 

"No he didn't."

Eddie takes his hand.

It's slow but determinate, almost unconscious. Like Eddie's fingers are programmed to do that, to hold onto Buck when he needs to ground himself. It feels good.

"You know he did. Please, Buck, quit acting like you don't deserve better."

Buck swears he's not pissed. He's hurt, yeah, but he's not angry. He doesn't have the energy for that, especially when it comes to Tommy. They hadn't spoken since that day in the hospital, when everything had— well, happened. And of course Buck hasn't told Eddie that he called Tommy Eddie. That- maybe he wasn't confusing just the name but the feeling too, his brain and his tongue a mess of strange, unfamiliar feelings that have been crawling inside him for a long time now, dulling everything else.

So he gets why Eddie's pissed. Because, to him, Tommy just left him, after an accident that almost took his life—

("I saw you, Buck, and I thought that was it. You were covered in blood and Eddie was too and your eyes were closed. I couldn't see your chest rising. It was the lightning strike all over again, but this time you had been alone-"

"I wasn't alone, Chim. I was with Eddie.")

—without an explanation, without a reason.

He doesn't know Eddie' the reason.

So when the voicemail had come, his heart had plummeted towards his feet, scratching his insides while it fell. And he had played it with shaky hands, his pulse throbbing behind his throat and his chest. Eddie had been there, sitting on the couch beside him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

And Tommy had said all those things. Buck's pretty sure he'd been drunk, judging by the slur of his voice and the meanness of his words, sharp attacks that were trying hard to draw blood.

Eddie had listened to the whole thing, and Buck's pretty sure it's been a few years since he's seen him that mad.

"How dare he talk to you like that— like, like— you owe him something for being the first guy you were with— puta madre, I can't deal with this."

And then he had stormed out.

Buck had tried to stop him, but his legs had felt like long, unmoving pillars, and he had stayed on the couch, trying to breathe.

Now, Eddie's back, and he's hurt and there's a bruise on his face and Buck's terrified that he knows.

"Did he— did he tell you?"

"Huh?" Eddie shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts, looking up at him with his eyes a little clearer. More kind, less angry. Good. "Tell me what?"

"Why he broke up with me."

Eddie frowns.

"No, not really. We just— I told him that he was an asshole, and that he didn't— um— deserve you. Then he got mad at me too and said something not having you but not letting you go either, and then I just— saw red, man. The next thing I knew, I was throwing the first punch." Buck can't help but notice that Eddie's lip is trembling a little. "I'm sorry."

"Don't— don't be."

"It's pretty clear he can punch back," Eddie chuckles. Then he frowns again.

They're still holding hands.

"I told him to leave us alone. He said fine."

"Eddie- you- you didn't have to do that. There's something I haven't told you, okay? I'm the one who fucked up. He has a reason to be mad, a really valid one, and he was right to break up with me."

"But you don't deserve that. No matter what you did, Buck, you don't deserve to be dumped while you're in the hospital, you don't deserve angry, drunk voicemails insulting you, you don't-"

Buck stands up. Eddie's hand slips away from his, and he immediately misses the contact.

He needs to take a step back. To— to assess the situation before he tells Eddie what happened.

He climbs the stairs slowly, frustrated at the way his whole body complains.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting changed. Just— give me a minute, Eddie."

He needs to think.

Because- because Eddie's been acting weird. Ever since Buck brought Chris back Eddie's been acting— all soft and tender, all shy words and smiles and raised, knowing eyebrows. All intertwined fingers and warm skin against his cold one, all staring and resting his forehead against Buck and almost kissing.

Buck still remembers the feeling of Eddie's breath, misses it like an addict misses nicotine, craving desperately a drag. Just the taste of it, familiar and love in his mouth.

And Eddie's there, behind him, like he always is.

And fuck, he's pretty sure Eddie loves him.

And holy shit, he's pretty sure Buck loves him back.

"Let me help you," Eddie's words are even softer now. He seems to have calmed down a little. "I know changing shirts must hurt."

"... sure."

Eddie's right. He's not sure if it's because of the fractured ribs or his reinflated lung or the abdominal, deep wound that still has stitches on, but raising his arms is hard. In the last few weeks, he's lost count of how many times Maddie has helped him change, quick and professional. Like a nurse, like a mother.

Eddie hasn't helped, though. Because- because of the huge scar, decorating his chest, turning his torso into a torn canvas, an exact portrait of what happened. And Buck hates it.

He's used to dealing with insecurities, and he's learned to not care what people think. The birthmark over his eyes has taught him that, has given him that strength. But this is different, because the scar is new, angry, big. It's just— all over, over his tattoos and his shoulders and sometimes it's visible when he wears low collared shirts. It has faded a little, yeah, but still— sometimes Buck traces the shape of it with his fingers, and it's almost like he can remember Bobby's and Eddie's screams, can feel the burst of energy running viciously through his body.

Eddie takes his shirt off slowly, so so gentle Buck wants to cry.

And then there's a small gasp, almost inaudible.

"I know it looks bad."

"No, no, Buck, it's not that— it's just— I hadn’t seen it before. That's it.”

And then his fingers are hovering over the lines, tracing its patterns, his fingertips not quite touching him but making his skin raise, nervous with a contained shiver.

Eddie looks up at him, then, and his eyes are perfect. Are everything Buck's ever wanted.

"It's beautiful."

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"Tommy told me he loved me."

"Oh." Eddie blinks. Buck remembers the destroyed building and the way Eddie had leaned closer and closer— and then Buck's doing the same, feeling like there's a rope attached to his chest, pulling and pulling and pulling-

"And I said- I said I love you."

"Oh," Eddie tries to pull away, but Buck grabs his hand, keeping him close.

"I said—" Buck continues. And leans a little bit closer. Their foreheads touch. His skin feels warm, familiar, embracing. He opens his mouth, and when he licks his lips, trying to find something to say, he feels Eddie's skin, a single touch, burning his tongue.

They're that close.

"I said I love you, Eddie."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit."

And then the distance between them disappears with a loud, desperate, infinite sigh.

And they're kissing.

They're kissing, they're kissing, they're kissing, and Buck feels like everything's floating around them, exiting the earth so they can have this moment just for themselves. Like, for the first time, in his whole damn life, he can just— exist. No worries, no questions, no answers, no expectations or orders or tears or pain or lightning. Nothing but sun and Eddie's lips against his own and the knowledge that he's loved.

* 

“So, what’s with that sad song you’re always listening to?” 

“What song?” 

“The sad one. Mis dias sin ti, or something.” 

Eddie closes his eyes, looking mortified. Still, his lips form a little, shy smile. “You know the song?” 

“Well, it’s like, the only thing you will listen to. And I googled the lyrics a while ago, back when Chris sent me that video—“ 

Eddie sits up. And then groans. “Ay jesús, did Chris send that to you? I’m gonna kill that kid.” 

“Well,” Buck chuckles. “It’s not like you never stop playing it. I think I know all the lyrics by now.” 

“It’s a good song. I— I don’t know. My sister was obsessed with Shakira growing up, and I found one of her old CDs, and that song just kind of— reminded me of you.” 

Buck blinks. “Of— me?” 

“Duh.” 

Buck shoves Eddie playfully. Eddie laughs, and Buck wonders if this is what heaven sounds like. Then he gives himself a mental slap. He’s become such a sap. 

“My days without you- they’re so dark.” 

“Oh god I love you so much.” 

* 

“Wait.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you just say that you love me?” 

“…” 

“Buck.” 

“Eddie.” 

“Buck!” 

 "What?"

There’s a second of round, sweet sweet silence.

"I love you."

"You— do?"

"Of course I do, you damn— can I still call you an idiot?"

"You can always call me an idiot."