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“What happened to you guys earlier?” Buck asks the team as they’re digging into family dinner at the firehouse. “On the call at the set?”
It was like one moment they were all at his side, and the next, Buck was alone. He left them in his dust. And he’d been moving pretty quickly, like they all had been a second prior — like they all should have been, since there was a dude hanging from a prop ladder truck in need of their help.
“Guys?” Buck turned around to see the four of them — Chimney, Hen, Eddie, even Bobby — rooted to the ground with varying shades of shock on their faces. They all watched the stunt double just dangle there, unmoving. “Hello? I’m gonna need help,” Buck shouted.
That’s all it took for them to spring into action, so Buck wrote it off and got to work, but the moment kept poking at something in his brain all afternoon.
That, plus the wild look in Eddie’s eyes at the call. At the time he’d placed it as excitement — Chris watches Hotshots, and Eddie had told Buck that the crumbs of information they’ve gotten from Bobby have kept several of their Zoom conversations alive.
But the look, it was — it was something piercing, something Buck’s never seen from Eddie before. At least, not pointed at him. It was fleeting, only there for a moment, but he saw it. And he can’t decipher what it meant, and the whole team had just reacted really strangely to the call, so maybe they’re connected? So he asks.
Everyone freezes, an echo of earlier except that Eddie pushes back from the table with a mumbled “Sorry, ’m not really hungry,” despite having just filled up a plate of scalloped cheesy potatoes.
Buck sputters, too stunned to form words in response before Eddie’s out of sight down the staircase. Once he processes what happened, he’s on his feet, but Hen catches his forearm and forces him back into his seat with a shake of her head before he can go anywhere.
"What's his deal?" Buck asks, gesturing after Eddie. “He loves my potatoes.”
Hen sighs a deep exasperated sigh. Well, maybe if she’d just let Buck go, she wouldn’t have to deal with whatever about him is making her sigh.
"What is it?" he asks, a little snappish. "Was there a call I missed or something?"
Hen and Chim look at each other and have a silent squabble that Buck recognizes as them passing back and forth the responsibility of explaining whatever the hell is going on here.
Buck just ignores them and sends a pleading look to Bobby. The sooner he gets an answer, the sooner he can skive off to find Eddie and demand an explanation for his hasty exit.
Bobby clears his throat and everyone else’s eyes snap to him too, including a few people listening into the conversation further down the table. “Let’s take the time to get some food in our stomachs. Never know when the tones’ll sound again.”
Dutifully, they all oblige. Buck squirms in his seat as he shovels the meal into his mouth, all the while shooting glances over his shoulder to see if Eddie has somehow wandered upstairs without him noticing.
He’s finishing up his meal, scraping the bottom of his plate, eyeing Eddie’s still-full dish across from his seat, when Bobby clears his throat again, quieter this time. Not enough volume for the whole table to come to attention.
"Buck,” he says, catching his focus. “You were the call."
"What do you —" When he realizes what Bobby is saying, his back straightens and his jaw comes to a rigid stop. He looks between Hen and Chimney who both nod in confirmation.
Hen dabs at her mouth with her napkin and sets it down in front of her, pretty clearly buying herself some time to gather her thoughts. "When you were struck by lightning, you — well, you —" Hen gestures like she’s not sure what to say. “It looked a lot like that stunt double today.”
That … makes a lot of sense, actually. It’s not like any of them had laughed, but he’d assumed maybe there was some sort of like … gallows humor inside joke? Some reminder of something Buck had missed. Which, well.
A phantom pain of the five-point harness digging into his arms and legs tugs at him. It’s easy enough to recall; even the perfect rope rescue can cause a bit of bruising. And after the lightning strike, Buck’s entire body ached. He’d never taken the time to parse out the source of each individual injury.
"I didn't know, I — how was I supposed to know, I was…" He looks over to the staircase again. Because who else would have told him? He’s sure they all assumed that he and Eddie had talked about it.
Which — of course they didn’t.
Buck’s memory of that day is pieced together from the various things he learned after the fact. From the medical staff at the hospital, mostly, but also the bits and pieces he gleaned from his friends and family — mostly Maddie and Bobby.
It’s all very clinical, is the thing. He knows that his heart stopped beating and he was without compressions for three minutes. That his brain was without oxygen.
And he knows from being a certified EMT that it’s damn-near a miracle he survived. That his heartbeat even came back, that they got him to Presbyterian in time for surgery. He didn’t have a traditional heart attack, no, but he’s keenly aware that only 9% of people who have a cardiac arrest out of the hospital survive until they get there, and only 7% make it to being discharged.
He knows the statistics because he looked them up afterwards, when his morbid curiosity had him learning every detail around what had happened to him. It was strictly medical, at first. Then with Natalia at his side egging him on, it had been all about death.
He just … he never thought to ask about this part of it. He had never thought about what happened to the people who watched him die.
Hen pats Buck on the shoulder. "It was awful, Buck. I dreamed about it for weeks.”
Bobby nods in agreement. “It was a hard thing for all of us. Seeing you like that.”
"Yeah, but you're not the one who yelled at the hospital staff,” Chimney says, pointing at Bobby with the tines of his fork.
Hen chuckles as Buck whips his head over to look at Chimney. “Sorry, what?” Buck asks.
Chimney cracks a smile. "He never told you about that day?" He doesn’t even have to say Eddie’s name, it’s clear who the “he” in question is.
Buck grimaces and looks down at his lap. He wants to ask what Eddie said, but he decides to answer the question instead. "We talked — we talked about it some. About … how you move on. But he never really told me about — what it was like. For him. We don’t really … talk about that stuff.”
Logically, of course it impacted Eddie. Just like how Eddie being shot impacted Buck. And if Buck never told Eddie about dragging him to safety, he can’t blame Eddie for never describing his experience doing the same for Buck.
"Well, maybe you should ask him," Bobby says gently. "You know, you two are so close.” He squints at Buck, his head tilting to the side like he’s realizing something.
"And?"
"It’s important to talk to our people about hard things, Buck. Especially in our line of work." Bobby uses his head to point to a spot out of Buck’s line of sight.
He spins to see what caught Bobby’s attention — Eddie’s standing there just steps away. Despite Buck’s constant eye on the staircase, he still managed to sneak upstairs.
"You can use my office, if you'd like?" Bobby adds.
*
They end up on the roof. Still private, especially with Chimney volunteering to guard the staircase, but less claustrophobic than trying to have this conversation surrounded by post-its and stacks of binders and forms and loose sheets of paper.
He’s absolutely dying to pelt questions at Eddie, to demand an explanation for everything. For his intense eye contact at the set, for leaving the dinner table, for now, looking like a kitten in a rainstorm with nowhere to go, resigned to the fate of being sopping wet.
But Eddie’s … well, he’s not shy. Maybe easily scared off is the way to put it. He’ll close up and keep secrets if someone pushes the wrong button. So Buck holds his tongue and lets Eddie take the lead.
It's quiet between them for a while, as they sit side by side in lawn chairs. More and more lights come on across the city as the time passes silently and dusk begins to set in. It’s a beautiful view — the twinkling city and the evening sky — but Buck’s getting impatient, so he decides to say something.
"They told me — oh, sorry, you go first," Buck says, laughing when he realizes they both chose the same time to break the silence.
"My bad, you go," Eddie replies.
"No, for real, all you." Buck insists, more seriously this time. He wants to know what Eddie was about to say. He’ll save his questions, it’s not like he’s going to forget them.
Eddie takes an audible breath. "I'm sorry I left earlier."
"No, you have nothing to apologize for," Buck says. He was confused and a little upset in the moment, but now he’s just … curious. He doesn’t need an apology. Just an explanation for why Eddie’s reaction was … what it was.
"I just couldn't do this in front of everyone else,” Eddie continues, still avoiding eye contact.
"This?"
"Talk about it. About that day."
Neither of them follow it up with any specifics. Buck can feel Eddie’s reluctance coming off him in waves.
"What were you going to say?" Eddie asks.
"Oh, um. Well. They told me about. Well. Why the call today … what it reminded everyone about. So I was just going to … tell you. That I know.”
Eddie looks over then, and Buck swears there’s a glint in his eyes — tears, maybe. Buck looks away to give him some privacy.
“Yeah, I figured.” Eddie says. His voice sounds so normal, and it’s so Eddie — so macho-soldier-from-Texas — to be seconds away from crying and still speaking so evenly. How many phone calls home from Afghanistan did it take for him to learn how to do that? Or did he perfect it when he was younger? Every possible explanation breaks Buck’s heart.
"I just, I realized I don't know anything about what happened after … well, after. And I …” Buck looks down at his hand, spreads his fingers and focuses intently on the spots between them. “I want to know. I want to understand … what happened to me.” It’s true, but Buck hadn’t known it until now, when he said it out loud. “I’m missing a lot of that day. I think …” he smiles to himself as the memory surfaces. “I think you called me cowboy. That’s — that might be the last thing,” he says.
“Buck, we —” Eddie grits his teeth so hard it makes Buck’s jaw hurt. Clearly, Buck’s attempt at levity didn’t land. “I —”
"It's okay." He puts a hand on Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie slips away from the touch like he's been burned.
Buck snatches his hand back to his chest and looks away again, trying to ignore the heavy brick of shame forming in his stomach at the rejection.
Eddie’s hand making contact with Buck’s own shoulder steadies him, keeping him from diving face first into a downward spiral.
"No, Buck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … I just." Eddie closes his eyes. "When we talk about this, I'm … going to cry. And I don't want to do it here." His fingers tighten around Buck, and then release their hold.
And shit. That’s … it might be the most honest, vulnerable thing Eddie’s ever said to Buck. "Oh, Eddie, is — I'm so sorry I pushed you —"
"I — No, it’s. You’re right. We should talk about it. But not yet." Eddie swallows and dabs at his eyes. "Come home with me after work?"
Buck's nodding before Eddie finishes his invitation. "Yeah, of course. Maybe, uh, waffles? And mimosas, if you want?" Eddie makes a face at mimosas, and Buck regrets making the suggestion. "Or no booze, which is also totally okay, but. Waffles, still, maybe?"
"If I'm going to be talking about one of the worst days of my life, there better be waffles."
It surprises him to hear Eddie put it like that. It's not that Buck thinks the rest of the team would categorize it as a great day — awful and hard for all of us is how they’d put it earlier.
But Eddie … well, Eddie has a lot of worst days to choose from. The fact that this even makes the top five feels significant.
*
Buck follows Eddie home. They eat waffles. They’re not nearly as good without Chris there to share them, but Eddie pulls out the nutella anyway, and they both slather it on. Any alcohol stays put away, and Buck is relieved; it’s probably best that they both stay sober for this conversation.
Some soft-spoken public radio hosts chat in the background, too quiet to understand but loud enough that the room isn’t so starkly silent as Buck and Eddie pointedly do not speak.
They’re cleaning up, Buck elbow-deep in breakfast dishes (plus a few that were already in the sink, which he really, really doesn’t mind doing, no matter how much Eddie protests), when Eddie turns off the radio.
“That day — I was so scared, Buck.”
Buck freezes in the middle of sponging off a plate. Okay. So they’re doing this now. It’s silent apart from the water sloshing in the sink and their breaths. He lowers his arms slowly and lets them balance against the counter.
Buck peers to his right to risk a look at Eddie. He’s leaning against the counter, facing the opposite direction, but he must sense Buck’s gaze because he turns his head to lock eyes with Buck before dropping his gaze to the dish towel in his hands.
"Just … It was so scary.” It sounds like he’s trying to keep his voice even, but he’s definitely failing. “You hung there, Buck.” His voice is nearly a whisper. “Limp.”
Buck lets the plate he was holding slip into the sink water, and pulls off his dishwashing gloves. He doesn’t move from the spot at the sink, though, too afraid to spook Eddie.
Conceptually, he’d understood that he had hung from the ladder. He hadn’t taken the time to imagine it, though. To really picture it. There’s a flash where his mind provides a hint at what it’d feel like if their roles were reversed. If Eddie were hanging and Buck was staring up at him. It’s — it’s too much to handle even as a thought experiment.
“It took three minutes to get you down, to realize your heart had stopped. Before we started compressions. A hundred and ninety-seven seconds, really.”
Buck knows. His doctor had told him.
“That’s so long, Buck,” Eddie says. “It’s a lifetime. I know, I counted it. And I’m the reason it took us that long.”
It’s not a surprise that he counted; Eddie’s ever-steady internal clock has provided plenty of timing estimates in the field over the years. His accuracy for estimating time proves consistent even when everyone else has adrenaline-fueled time dilation. This is the first Buck is hearing about something Eddie did wrong, though, and he’d wager it’s Eddie being too hard on himself like always.
“What are you talking about?”
“I wasted — I wasted so much time. Time we didn’t have,” Eddie’s voice starts to break and he looks up at Buck. “The strike, it threw me from the truck. When I stood up and saw you … hanging there — I.” He pauses, takes a few shaky breaths. “I ran up the ladder, tried to pull you up.”
“But the leverage —” Buck stops himself with a hand on his mouth as he looks at Eddie, whose face is utterly dejected.
Eddie knows all this. Of course he does. It makes no sense to try to pull weight up from the top of the ladder, especially not when Buck could be lowered from the control panels at ground level. But Eddie hadn’t been thinking straight.
“I wasn’t thinking. And I made a bad call.” Eddie says it like he’s speaking to a priest in a confession box. Guilty. Reverent. Desperate for absolution he doesn’t think he deserves and would never accept. “You could have gone ischemic.”
Buck knew that too. That he was close to it, to losing parts of his body and brain to oxygen deprivation. That if it’d gotten to that point, he almost certainly would have died. That usually, three minutes is what it takes to get there.
Eddie’s hands come up to cover his face then, and Buck can only assume he’s crying in earnest behind them.
“I cost you so much time,” Eddie says through sobs, confirming Buck’s theory. Which — turns out it’s not as fun to be right when it means your best friend is breaking down. “You could have died, Buck, and it would have been my fault —” Eddie gasps and chokes on his breath and starts sucking air in and out way too quickly.
“Hey, Eddie, breathe,” Buck says, stepping closer to Eddie and placing a grounding hand on his upper back. It’s so different compared to the night before on top of the firehouse. Instead of flinching away, Eddie melts into the touch, angling himself to let Buck slide in right next to him. “I’m here, aren’t I? C’mon, Eddie, breathe with me …” His hand moves of its own accord, soothing across Eddie’s shoulders.
It takes a while of synchronized breaths between the two of them, but Eddie gets himself under control relatively quickly. Buck’s impressed, all things considered.
He guides them to the couch and they sit down, Buck’s hand still on Eddie’s shoulder. It’s as natural as anything to extend his arm and use it to pull Eddie close against his side. Eddie comes easily, tucking his face into the nook between Buck’s neck and shoulder. Buck angles his head down to capture Eddie’s head, his other hand coming up to stroke through his hair.
They — they don’t do this, really. They don’t touch like this. And it feels electric, the newness of it all. Every part that touches Eddie feels like it’s on fire. But Buck pushes down some of the excitement in his belly and reminds himself why they’re here.
“You may have made a bad call, who knows,” he whispers into Eddie’s hair. Because even though Buck knows Eddie didn’t do anything wrong, he’s been there, on both sides of this — he knows Eddie won’t accept any attempt to convince him it was anything but his fault. So Buck just needs a slightly different approach. “But you made enough good ones that night that I'm here. I'm safe.”
“It’s my job to protect you —” Eddie’s hand comes up and hooks over Buck’s shoulder, which secures him snugly against Buck’s chest.
“Lightning strikes, tsunamis … there are things you can’t control, right?” Buck says.
Eddie snorts. “You know what I mean,” he says petulantly.
“I do.” He knows because he feels it too. The need to put himself between Eddie and harm’s way. Buck lets his arm fall from Eddie’s hair and sweep its way across his back, allowing himself to fully commit to the embrace. “But we’re part of a team for a reason. It’s not all on you to be perfect.”
“But it’s you, I can’t fail you —” Panic seeps its way into Eddie, his body tensing in Buck’s arms.
“You didn’t, I’m here, I’m okay,” Buck soothes Eddie with his voice, moving his hands to do the same. “I’m safe. No one failed me. You all got me there.”
They sit like that for a few minutes, and it’s nice, the warmth and solidness of Eddie relaxing in his arms.
Eventually, he pulls Eddie away from his neck just far enough to make eye contact with him, holding him tightly to say don’t leave me, I just needed to see you. “Will you … tell me what happened next? I'm sorry to ask, I just. No one’s ever told me.”
Eddie’s eyes slam shut and his face contorts in a pained expression. He lets out a shuddery breath. “Yes, I will. Just …” He takes a few more breaths, opens his eyes. “Can I?” Eddie nods towards Buck’s neck where his head had just been tucked.
Buck tugs him close instead of saying anything, resting his head right back on top of Eddie’s with a sigh that’s halfway between contentment and relief.
“I know it sucks to talk about. So, thank you … I — I just feel like I should know.”
Eddie nods, and the slight motion of his nose against Buck’s neck is so soft and delicate that little shocks travel down his skin.
“Oh my god that’s ticklish, stop,” Buck says, freezing himself and holding Eddie’s head in place.
“What, this?” There’s a devious note to Eddie’s voice, and before Buck connects what that means, Eddie nods his head again. Eddie’s insistent nosing against Buck’s neck has him shrieking in response.
“Stop!” Buck brings both hands to Eddie’s jaws, cradling his face like he would hold someone before a kiss. Only the angle’s all wrong and Eddie’s still pressed against Buck’s throat, using his eyelashes as a weapon to make Buck laugh uncontrollably.
Eddie pulls away and Buck’s too busy catching his breath and eyeing Eddie’s lips to notice what Eddie’s looking at. Buck clears his throat when he realizes his staring has gone a little too long.
“Here, let’s …” Buck gestures, a loose twirl of his fingers that means let’s rearrange how we’re sitting. Eddie correctly interprets it, sitting back to let Buck get into place.
Buck leans against the arm and swings his legs up onto the couch, lifting one leg around Eddie and extending it lengthwise down the couch. Eddie intuits Buck’s intended landing spot for him and sinks into the slot between Buck’s legs without comment, grabbing a throw pillow from the floor and shoving it behind his lower back. Eddie folds his hands politely in his lap even though it’d clearly be more comfortable to rest them on Buck’s thighs.
“Thought this might be easier,” Buck mumbles as Eddie settles in, adjusting the pillow behind him.
There’s something about looking the same direction as someone that makes talking about hard things easier, Buck’s noticed. Whether it’s sitting in a car, sharing the same side of a booth at a diner, holding your best friend between your legs — it’s worked wonders on so many occasions.
But they’re both … well, beefy, so it’s a bit of a tight fit. Buck’s leg on the outer side of Eddie has what feels like mere millimeters of couch cushion supporting him.
“Mmh,” Eddie agrees. “I think you’re right.” He grabs the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and together they spread it over top of them both. It is decidedly very cozy. He could sit here for hours if his leg wasn’t at risk of sliding onto the ground.
“So …” Buck says. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, and he ends up awkwardly squeezing Eddie’s upper arms and then just leaving them there, fingers draped over Eddie’s biceps, his thumbs tucked up underneath.
The move is, of course, accompanied by his leg sliding off of the couch and onto the ground. Naturally. Buck’s about to admit he’d been wrong about the seating arrangement when Eddie fits his hand around Buck’s thigh and tugs his leg back up onto the couch, scooting over to make a little more room. He’s not at risk of suddenly slipping out of his seat anymore, but Eddie’s hand remains, sprawled down the side of his leg in a now-unneeded effort to keep Buck on the couch.
“Thanks,” Buck mumbles.
Eddie nods, which Buck feels against his chest more than sees.
Eventually, Eddie speaks. “I drove the ambulance.”
“What?” Buck asks. “Why did — that’s a — but you’re —” He’s not sure what he’s trying to say. That’s a conflict of interest? A bad idea? You were too involved? A liability? Buck grunts to himself, trying to clear his mind of the thousand different directions it’s trying to take him. “Bobby let you?” is what he ends up with.
“Bobby made me,” Eddie says. “He made me get off of you, let the paramedics work.”
The paramedics. It’s so purposefully distant, the way he says it. “You mean Hen and Chimney.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “They — those two are the ones who actually saved you, Buck. Chim lowered you down, Hen drove the ambulance into place. Some other guys got you onto the gurney. I …” Eddie’s voice chokes off as he curls in on himself. “I wasn’t there to help, I had to run back down the ladder.”
Eddie’s hands come together in his lap again. Buck’s leg remains where it is despite losing the seatbelt that was Eddie pretending to hold him up. There’s a brief shock of warmth in his chest at the realization that Eddie had probably known it was superfluous to hold Buck, and had chosen to do so anyway.
“When you say Bobby made you get off me, do you mean …” Buck can picture it vividly: Eddie on his knees, bent at the waist over Buck, embracing him just like he’s seen a thousand times at calls. The way people hold their loved ones when they know they might lose them, how they get in the way of the medics because they can’t stand to back away.
“I was trying to take over compressions. I — it had been so long, I just. I needed to try. To help.” Eddie lifts his hands in front of his face. “If something had … If you hadn’t made it. And if I hadn’t done something to try to help, I’d always wonder. You know? What if I could have saved you.”
Buck knows exactly what he means, because it’s just verbalizing the same way he’s always felt. He cranes his neck to get a glimpse of Eddie’s face. The way he’s looking at his hands is all a little Lady Macbeth, but the thing is that Buck relates. Because he’d done the same thing with his own hands so many times.
Because he was bent over Eddie the same way. Not only in the don’t-take-him-from-me kind of way, but the I-need-to-keep-you-alive sort of way. The trying-to-save-each-other-with-their-bare-hands kind of way. Doing everything they could so they wouldn’t have to wonder if they could have done more.
Buck moves before his brain processes what he’s doing, and just like that he’s got each of Eddie’s hands firmly in his grasp.
It’s an awkward position; Eddie’s a little like a T-rex strapped to an operating table, so Buck sits up a bit, leaning over, which slides Eddie and his pillowed head more into his lap. Buck sets all four of their hands down gently on Eddie’s chest and looks at him intently — albeit upside down.
“You did help,” he says, trying to imbue every word with how seriously he means it. “Thank you for getting me there safely.”
Eddie nods up at him, so Buck nods too. He lets go and trails his hands up to Eddie’s head, cupping the base of his skull at his hairline. Eddie closes his eyes and lets out the smallest of whimpers when Buck puts some pressure on his neck.
Something Chimney said earlier floats through Buck’s mind, and he smiles at the memory. “I hear you may have yelled at some of the hospital staff when you brought me in?”
Eddie groans, which is as good as a confirmation for Buck. Honestly, he had assumed Chimney was exaggerating. But if Buck really stops to think, he can picture it. A flustered, teary-eyed Eddie, shouting in the ambulance bay in some attempt at finding control during a crisis.
“Yeah, I did,” Eddie opens one eye and smiles a tiny smile at Buck before letting it fall closed again. “I just … needed them to know how important you are.” Eddie looks like he’s got more to say but a yawn overtakes him.
The yawn covers up Buck’s sharp inhale at Eddie’s words. Under pretty much any other circumstance, Buck would push, make Eddie say whatever else is on the tip of his tongue. Insist on hearing more about just how important Eddie thinks he is. It makes something in Buck tingle to imagine, even though Eddie’s the one getting his head scratched.
But they’re just off the back of a tiring shift, and he's pretty confident that Eddie will tell him another time. “Tired?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm,” Eddie confirms. “Could fall asleep just like this.” He extends his vowels, playing it up a little bit, but the bags under his eyes betray how exhausted he really is.
“Then fall asleep,” Buck says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
A familiar smile appears on Eddie’s face. It’s a relief to see it again after so many months without it — that smile that says I’m happy, I’m safe, I’m home.
Buck’s heart beats heavily in his chest as the same feelings echo through his own body, but it’s twinged with a heavy reminder of the emptiness that Chris has left behind.
If Buck closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that he’s in a scene directly out of his fantasy future. Him and Eddie on the couch, Chris holed up in his bedroom just down the hall. A lazy afternoon at home together. It’s simple, but if Buck’s being honest, he can’t imagine his life any other way.
Soon, he thinks. They’ll all be together soon. He’s sure of it.
Buck needs to get comfortable if Eddie’s taking a nap, so he stops both the daydreaming and the head scratching to adjust how he’s sitting on the couch, which Eddie protests in the form of angry sounding grumbles.
“One sec, Eddie,” Buck attempts to soothe him as he slides them both down the couch a bit. Not enough to push Eddie’s long legs off the other side, but enough that he can at least rest his own head against the arm and cushion. He repositions the blanket over them, even though it doesn’t come up further than Buck’s waist because of their position.
It’s fine, though — Eddie’s furnace of a torso should keep him plenty warm.
“Okay,” Buck hesitates for a second before plunging his hands back into Eddie’s hair, which is met with an enthusiastic moan that sends goosebumps up Buck’s forearms. He takes a breath. “Now you can sleep.”
“Mhm,” Eddie hums. He turns toward the back of the couch onto his side, narrowly avoiding pummeling Buck right in the groin, thank goodness. Then he reaches out an arm and drapes it lightly on Buck’s thigh, his hand coming to rest naturally on that gray area that’s too high up to be leg but not quite far around to be ass. Then, so quiet Buck’s shocked he didn’t miss it, Eddie whispers, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Buck slides his hands down under the blanket to squeeze Eddie’s shoulders as he simultaneously closes his hips, holding Eddie tightly from all angles.
“Me too,” Buck whispers back.
There are plenty of layers between their skin, but Buck feels every spot they touch as if it were bare all the same. Because they don’t do this. They don’t fall asleep holding each other. They fist bump and high five and clasp each other on the shoulder and shove each other around and occasionally, they even share a hug!
But they’ve never held each other. Not like this.
Buck’s hands wander back up to Eddie’s hair, his fingers finding the little duck tail at the back of Eddie’s scalp that only forms when he goes too long without a haircut. Buck’s always wondered — in an offhand type of way — what it would feel like to do this.
And it feels … big and new and scary. But it also feels easy, natural. Right. Like him and Eddie were made to slot in next to each other. Like they were always going to end up here, holding each other on the couch.