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Walking the familiar streets after a hard shift is as familiar as the sadness settling in his chest. In fact, every shift is heavy after Buck's act. The desire to return to the people he loves and who he thought loved him turned out not to be what Buck wanted. He had gotten his way, but only partially. Weeks had passed since returning to the unit and his home, his newfound family all showed just how unwelcome he was. Buck was stung by memories of the old house, the walls of which seemed embedded with the tears of a little boy screaming into the cold walls of the house or in the face of his estranged parents. Why don't you love me!? Why?
Warm smiles, gentle embraces, dinners together outside of work, shared walks-all seemed distant, so unreal. Buck wondered if any of the things he often thought about when he was alone together had really happened. Had Buck invented this whole family of one hundred and eighteen because he was so desperate to feel the warmth he'd traveled the country in search of before he'd been a fireman?
Nightmares haunted Buck every night, as if waiting for him to be at his most vulnerable to strike. It was no coincidence that every person who appeared to Buck in his dreams was one of the people he loved endlessly.
It was like Hen was never sure how she should feel about Buck. Sometimes she greeted him with a smile, and he felt like the day wouldn't be so bad. Han's smile was worth the whole day. The next time, she would look away, pursing her lips, and Buck felt his heart aching, but sent a smile. He always smiled, to each of those who were his family, even if they were no longer theirs.
Chim was both kind and not at the same time. He and Hen were the only ones who didn't treat him like an enemy. More like a confused kid, a little brother. Buck was grateful for that, too. He knew trust had to be earned, and Hen and Chim didn't turn a blind eye to the lawsuit. And he was trying! Really tried to show he was sorry. But more often it felt like he was knocking on an empty house.
Maddie hadn't made her position clear, but by the way their conversations became less frequent and their pauses longer, he realized - the choice had been made. Buck hadn't even found the energy to be angry that Maddie had left him. Again. It was to be expected, wasn't it? If it hadn't been her choice the first time, it might as well have been the second. The funny thing was, Buck wasn't even surprised, as if he knew on a subconscious level that those he grew attached to would leave sooner or later. They abandon him, leaving him behind. That's exactly what happened with the one hundred and eighteenth. Anyway, he loves Maddie no matter what. Buck had stopped writing or calling first, not that his sister was trying to do it herself. He didn't blame her, but himself? Hated.
More than any other person, Buck was hurt by Bobby and Eddie. Bobby was never violent, but the only times they interacted were when they were given harsh and direct orders. Not a drop of the former warmth. Bobby just beed. A sharp blade stabbed into his chest, a silence in which Buck heard all the things Bobby wasn't telling him directly. There were sharp looks, and silent disapproval (Bobby's expression of worry, sadness, regret? Probably imagined), but not once had he ever really spoken to him. Buck missed Bobby incredibly, a strong shoulder by his side as they cooked together for the firehouse. When the man gives him advice, rubs him on the head - so po... fatherly? Bobby wasn't his father, but he was the closest thing to that concept. And even so, Buck lost him. Now, every time Buck wanted to apologize to the man, to explain himself - Bobby walked away. It hit harder than he recognized. Maybe Buck was the only one who treasured him so much that his chest ached. Maybe he was the only one who felt such longing for their past interactions. Maybe he was the only one who missed and loved always.
Eddie was either silent or sarcastic. If they were forced to work together, he was like a bomb ready to explode at any second. The sarcasm was reserved for when Buck was in the same space with Eddie for a certain amount of time (i.e., more than a couple minutes, which was rare). But one thing was constant: Eddie didn't see him. It used to be that one look at each other was enough to tell what was wrong with the other, to look into the soul and start struggling together with problems. Only once, when Buck thought he might apologize and asked if the Diaz's wanted to go to the park together, did Eddie look at him. Just one look was enough for Buck to realize he'd lost Eddie. Lost Christopher. Lost everything he'd gained and loved. The man he'd raised his son with had drawn a line Buck wasn't ready to cross. The man he knew better than himself wanted nothing to do with Buck. Eddie, to whom Evan hadn't even admitted his feelings, had rejected him long before the confession itself. The heartbreak felt like the once-warm gaze of a loved one, a barbed reply Buck didn't even remember. And the cold. That cold seemed to be lodged deep in Buck's bones forever (even if it had started out as a lawsuit, but it didn't want to end).
And once the nightmare happened again, Buck didn't even flinch at the realization. He'd known for a long time, but some part of his mind just didn't want to admit it. There were no nightmares. Just reality. A cruel, painful reality where Buck was neither wanted nor loved by anyone. A reality where Buck's greatest fear had come true - he was alone.
After the lawsuit, Buck didn't have anyone he could go to. Not that anyone was happy to see him. He'd met Chris near his school a few times, each time the boy had tried to hold back but still cried at the end, unwilling to let Buck go. How do you explain to a kid that he's not leaving? That he'd be happy to come more often, but he can't? The pain that Buck felt during these encounters could not be compared to either the silent Bobby or the avoidant Eddie. If those were incredibly dear to him, Chris was everything to him. And now all that was left.
"Hey, look at me," Buck said, but the boy shook his head stubbornly, pulling himself tighter against the man. His chest ached. They'd seen each other only a few days before, but each time Chris ran to him as if he hadn't seen him in years, and he didn't let go during the entire encounter. And looking into the child's eyes Buck realized that not only could he breathe, but he was actually doing it. Chris gave strength just by his presence and brought meaning to Buck's life. "Baby, if you don't look at me, I can't tell you something important"
"I'm sorry," the boy sighed.
"Nothing, buddy. But could you still?" Buck lightly stroked the kid's hair and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. Chris sniffled, but obeyed. "I promise I'll never leave you. I'll be there for you as long as you let me."
They sealed the promise the way Buck and Maddy had done when they were kids - on their little fingers. There was something secret, familial about it. Buck kissed the boy's forehead when he sobbed, and then held him close. He'd give anything in the world to never see Chris suffer again, and he'd hate himself even more if he'd been the cause of it. He could feel the child trembling in his arms, how small he was in his arms. But also he knew how amazing Chris was, strong and with a good heart, never weak. He hid his own tears in the baby's head, remembering that Chris was the only thing he had left. But he could disappear, too, if Eddie found out about their meetings. Carla was there for them both, and supported them both. Buck was eternally grateful to the woman.
"You promised," Chris said as they said their goodbyes. Something warm in his chest grew stronger.
"I promised," Buck agreed and smiled. He loved that child so much that words could not describe it.
Buck shook his head to his thoughts. If he was leaving the house to clear his head, he should clear his head.
The place he was in was not the most pleasant. It seemed like all the life had been drained out of this place by the recent fire they'd traveled to with the crew a while back, when their relationship hadn't yet been ruined by Buck. Thankfully there had been no casualties, but a lot of people had been hurt, and Buck was still remembering how he and Eddie had had to figure out how to get a little boy out of the fifth floor. Even without looking at his partner, he knew who he saw in the kid's place. No one blamed them when, right after the call, Eddie called Christopher and Buck was there for him. At the time, he still had the right to do it.
Even after a long time, there was a smell of burning in the air that made Buck want to cringe. As a firefighter, apparently dealing with fires almost every day, he should have gotten used to the smell. But just as obviously, he couldn't. The surrounding charred houses, or what was left of them, didn't lend any reassurance. Just as he turned around, about to leave, he heard a muffled scream. Buck rushed toward the sound, his heart immediately pounding in his chest. Just as he rounded the corner, he immediately saw a man pinning a girl against the wall. He shouted for her to shut up, which only made the girl squirm more. Buck was beside him faster than he could think about it, rage gripping his entire gut as the man slapped the girl on the cheek.
He lunged at the man and together they fell to the ground. Buck thought fleetingly of the shards of broken glass digging into his palm. Precious time was quickly running out as he turned to the girl standing behind him, "Go away!" She stared at them wide-eyed, clasping her hands to her face and shaking. The man beside him hissed, groaning. "Don't just stand there, get out!" Buck shouted, and as he turned, he was slammed headlong into the wall.
His eyes whirled, but not enough to incapacitate him, and Buck swung his elbow at him. He felt something crunch, and at the same second there was a suppressed scream.
The ugly carcass fell beside him. Buck tried to get up, but his legs gave out immediately, only the wall he was leaning against kept him from falling. His head throbbed with pain, and when he brought his hand up to remove the interfering hair, he felt warm blood. The throbbing intensified, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. Buck suppressed a groan. He hoped that girl had gotten away in time. Still, as bad as he felt, he had just saved a man.
"S-shithead!"
The moment of pride was exhausted as soon as Buck heard the scream. He didn't have time to react as the man slammed into him, pinning him against the wall. His whole back screamed in pain, and his head spun with renewed vigor. Something was wrong. Something was wrong, pounding in his head, but he didn't realize what it was. Panic hammered throughout his body as breathing became harder. Buck watched the asshole get up and stagger clumsily away. For a moment he even felt funny. He didn't notice as he began to settle to the ground. Something was wrong and Buck lowered his gaze.
There was a knife handle sticking out of his stomach.
Everything should be fine as long as he doesn't pull the knife out of his body, right? Not that he liked having something in him that definitely shouldn't be, but Buck knew that if he took the knife out, he'd die faster than if he left it in his body.
He tried not to let panic take over his mind, not when no one was around. It was a miracle Buck had wandered into this place at all and helped the girl. Better him than her. But who's going to help him now? Wait, the girl, she's all right, isn't she? What if that asshole ran after her and hurt her? But she seems to have gone way before him and in a completely different direction. I wonder if she'll call for help or if she figured he could handle it on his own. He did a great job.
Buck shook his head, which he immediately regretted. Too many thoughts, too much pain.
He needs to call 911. The phone appears quite close on the ground, but his finger freezes over the call button. Does he need to?
If he survives, the only thing waiting for him is the cold walls of an empty house. No more someone visiting him in the hospital or dropping off home-cooked meals at his house, checking on him. There's no one waiting for him at the firehouse, and probably won't even be disappointed if Buck doesn't show up for his shift tomorrow. Maybe only Bobby would be upset that Buck had let him down again. Or probably Han and Chim will glance over, unsure of what's wrong, but forget it afterward. Eddie wouldn't even notice his absence. Buck was no longer in their lives.
So is it worth wasting precious operator time on someone like him?
He remembers Eddie, who hates him but Buck still loves him, remembers Christopher in his arms, the childhood tears, the trembling "You won't leave us, Buck?" and presses the call button.
Deep down, he's glad it's not his sister who answers. He actually doesn't even know if she has a shift today. The question, "Can you tell me your name, sir?" stalls Buck. He asks if the operator remembers that recent fire. Not that he himself knows where he is. Fortunately, such fires are rare and it's easy for the operator to recognize the approximate location. Arrival time is proving to be long, and Buck isn't sure he has that much time. Maybe it's for the best. He doesn't even wait, he immediately resets, interrupting with "Please stay in tou..."
Buck sits hunched against the dirty wall and presses his hand against the wounded area. He is all alone, and now he wants to laugh. He risks his life - or did, until they stopped letting him on calls - almost every day, getting into situations where there seems to be no way out, but every time he got out and kept fighting, and now he's dying from a fucking knife. It's ridiculous. Either way, he's been on the tip of the knife (ironically) for a long time now, balancing between "give up" and "Chris, Chris, Chris". He was going to keep his promise. And it was probably the only thing that had kept him afloat for a long time. Not that Buck was willing to admit that his only reason to live was because of one boy. Even if it was true.
Thoughts of Chris lead him to Buck picking up his cell phone. His fingers instinctively find the person Buck knows won't answer it. The question is, does he have the right to call? And if he does call, how much will his heart break when all he hears for the umpteenth time is an answering machine? He has nothing to lose, though.
In the silence, the call seems awfully loud. Buck looks at the hand clutching the wound, and the way the rare drops of blood rush through his fingers. He stares, and stares, and stares. Time goes by and still no one answers him. He shouldn't feel so crushed, Buck knew Eddie wouldn't answer him, but he does. This time he allows himself to laugh, and it comes out so broken that it's almost impossible to breathe from the pain. He throws his head back, hitting the wall and bringing more well-deserved pain. Everything is getting worse. Nothing matters anymore. The only thing left to do is wait for help to arrive, but that no longer seems like as good an idea as it used to. I'd rather not call anywhere and just let myself die.
The thought of letting go of the arm and letting the blood drain out of the body seems... appealing.
"Buck?"--
But Eddie? Eddie had really answered him, if all this wasn't a hallucination before his death.
"Buck?" Eddie's voice sounds concerned. Buck is lost in his thoughts and what he wants to say. Maybe he should just listen to Eddie, not even say anything himself. But he has to.
He tenses and brings the phone closer to his face. The wound makes itself known with a burning sensation. Buck doesn't know what to say. He's called numerous times in the weeks of ignoring it, and Eddie has only picked up twice. The first, when Buck called at the beginning, intending to apologize in the blind hope that things would go back to the way they were. And the second, when he'd told Buck to fuck off and stop interfering with their lives. He didn't anymore, even if the desire to hear Eddie's voice was incredibly strong. He feels like saying, "Hi, Eddie," or "I miss you, Eddie." Maybe even "Do you want to talk for a while before I bleed to death in a godforsaken place?"
Buck feels his eyes getting wet, because whatever he says - Eddie will probably drop it as soon as he hears it. It's surprising already that he's been answered. Almost blurts out "talk to me," but Buck knows then it would definitely be a lost game beforehand. Eddie hasn't talked to him before, so why should he now? So he uses the forbidden technique.
"Hey," Buck tries to speak cheerfully, but he can feel every inch of his body tensing, protesting every movement or word. He tries to go on faster, afraid of missing the chance. "С-can you give me Chris? A couple minutes. Please."
Eddie is silent and Buck feels himself breaking down in pain. Not just physical, mental. Of course Eddie won't give him Chris. Of course he'll just dump him and go on doing what he was doing before. Of course, because they don't need him anymore and Eddie hates Buck. The shattered hope and heart feel like a lonely alley, a blunt knife in his body, and a hard, uncomfortable wall behind him. And the silence. She's been around Buck all the time lately.
An eternity seems to pass, but in fact only a few seconds, when Buck hears the boy's voice. "Hello?" Chris asks uncertainly. "Buck?"
A few tears roll down his cheeks. He doesn't know what it was that convinced Eddie to let them talk, but he's not about to pass up the opportunity. Buck tries to say something, but all that comes out is a sob that, thankfully, neither of the Diazes can hear. Or Buck hopes they do.
He squints, trying to calm himself.
"Hey, Superman," Buck continued before Chris could answer, "How you doing, buddy?"
He senses Chris's uncertainty and doubt even through the phone. He must be stunned that Eddie is letting them talk for the first time in weeks. Buck doesn't believe it himself very well, but a lot of things can become likely when you're lying there slowly dying away from everyone you love.
Buck puts it on speaker. He's not sure he'll have the strength to hold the phone anytime soon.
Chris is silent for a bit, out of uncertainty or thoughtfulness - Buck doesn't know, and then he starts talking. He speaks for the two of them, gradually becoming more and more excited, apparently missing the idea of why his dad is letting them talk.
Buck can't afford to see Chris too often, and the last time they saw each other was a week ago, which obviously means the boy has something to say. Like the fact that he's going to Danny's this weekend. And Buck is glad that Chris has close friends that Buck didn't have at one time. Maybe if - when - Buck dies, Chris will be at Hеn's and she can comfort the kid with the news, if he's ever told about Buck. He knows that closer to evening, Bobby will bring Harry over and it will be a sleepover for the three boys, because Buck has witnessed such get-togethers himself. He was a participant.
And, Bobby? Just one name, and Buck's heart breaks. He presses his free hand to his mouth, keeping the sob from escaping his throat. It hurts so much, it hurts terribly to hear about the man he loves like a father, but who he won't even get to say goodbye to. It's almost the only thing he regrets right now, besides the thought of leaving Chris alone. Again. And yet, both Chris and Bobby will have loved ones around to support them. Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, he never told the man how grateful he was for literally everything, and very glad to know someone like him. Now he would never say that Bobby had replaced his father, never hug him again, and never be able to spend time together.
Chris gets quieter when it comes to going to the water park with the class. He doesn't tell his dad until he finds out for himself, and Buck realizes that the tsunami scar isn't just on him. And when the boy needed him - he wasn't there for him. Chris began to feel more confident when, along with his father, they went to the pool alone a few times. A surprising amount of pride for the kid grew in his chest. Chris is much stronger than Buck because he has conquered the fear he had while Buck was only good for messing up everything around him and unable to even come close to getting rid of what scares him. Rather, he has the opposite of bringing to life everything that Buck fears. But he's so glad Chris is moving forward (even if he won't be around)
It's been a few months, and he's missed so much of the child's life. Only a few months, rare meetings with the boy, but it seems to Buck that several years have passed. And there's no way he can make up for or replace them. Things get worse when Chris talks, almost in a whisper, about his father's nightmares and how he screams, calling for his son. And Buck.
Chris is silent. "I miss you," he whispers. Buck doesn't find the strength for words. All the strength is gone along with the tears that fold from his cheeks during Chris's entire story. From wishing he'd been in Eddie's life, from wishing he'd been there to support his Diaz when they needed him, and from wishing he'd ruined everything with his stupid act.
I'm sorry, Buck thinks and feels his heart break with pain, but not for himself, but for Chris when he finds out that this call was not because Buck can finally communicate with him, but because it's the last time they'll talk. I can't keep my promise. He'll probably die like this, all alone, but at least he'll get to hear Chris before he dies. It's wrong to think about anything else right now, but he wants to hear Eddie so badly. Just one word, that's really enough for him. He can be a little selfish before he dies, right?
But. Buck wants to sleep. He misses both the point of the story and his thoughts, choosing to take a brief respite. It seems as if he covers his eyes for just a second to drop the veil, but when he opens them again, everything is horribly blurry and he can't hear Chris anymore. This makes him cry again. Buck feels negligible, so much so that he wants to close his eyes completely. He can barely feel his body, and everything seems to be spinning so funny. His stomach screams in pain momentarily, but is silenced, so Buck doesn't focus on it until he lowers his gaze. Oh, a knife. That's right.
And there's still no strength for anything. His head drops to his shoulder again, and afterward Buck feels himself sliding lightly down the wall, sliding even lower than he was. The strе-е-ength is gone.
"I'm sorr', С'ris" still Buck mumbles. He owes him an apology. And Eddie. To Eddie, too.
"Buck!" It's nice to hear a man, much nicer than the last few weeks, but still not the same. "Hey, hey, don't fall asleep, okay?"
Does he hear the plea?
"Please, Buck. For my sake, don't sleep, cariño, please."
Consciousness clings to a familiar word, and Buck snorts, trying to remember the meaning. The translation rolls around on the tip of his tongue, but it's all so complicated that Buck lets his thoughts drift away. It's nice to hear Eddie's voice before he dies, he wanted it so badly. And Chris and Eddie are still his family, his Dias. He loves them to the moon and back, and even death won't change the way he feels. It's funny that he can say that now, everything will, because Buck really is dying, and still loves Eddie. And Christopher.
"Please, Buck. Don't be silent. We need you, please," Eddie's voice trailed off.
He has a lot of things he wants to say in response, like, "I love you guys too," but it's like his tongue is glued to the spot. Buck finally gives up. Letting his mind drift as far away as it can. Eddie will realize what he meant to say, probably. He closes his eyes and sighs slightly. Letting things go is easier than holding on, he realizes only now. Maybe he should have done that earlier, before he was on death's doorstep.
"lоv' уо', Eddie," still Buck whispers.
He can't hear anything else.
"Get him on the stretcher, quick! His pulse is weak, but it's there."
"Don't fall asleep, Buck. Baby, hold on. We're here, we're all here waiting for you, just open your eyes, okay?"
"Baby, please, I can't lose another child...."
"We can't lose you, Buckaroo."
"We need you, Buck. Chris needs you. I need you. Please, cariño."
Someone strokes his head. Out of a thousand people, Buck will always know who it is. It's gentle, careful, but his hands are shaking.
I wish it could go on like this, he thinks, and falls back into oblivion.
Waking up in the hospital is becoming so familiar that Buck isn't even surprised when it happens again. Only this time he doesn't have anyone close to him to hold him. And frankly, he's sick of waking up every time with a numb body and a terrible headache, as if he's been held in a vise for hours. But why was he in the hospital?
His eyelids were heavier than the fire engine that had once fallen on his leg, and it felt like that very car had driven over him, otherwise why did he feel like that? He tried to open his eyes, but even that action was worth the effort.
Exhausted, Buck gave up and never tried to open them again.
He fell asleep.
The next time Buck woke up, there was darkness all around him.
Luckily, when he blinked, the shroud had lifted slightly. It was dark only because all the windows were shuttered. Now that visibility was better, Buck listened to himself. There was no pain, only a slight weakness throughout his body, but he was surprisingly full of energy. There was no desire to sleep at all. When he looked down at the site of the slight throbbing, there were snow-white bandages beneath the hospital cloth. Nothing but them indicated that only a short time ago Buck had been on the verge. The recollection brought with it a slight shudder.
Buck sighed. It's okay now, he's fine. Or rather, he'll be fine.
Someone had left a glass of water on the nightstand, and Buck took it with gratitude to the man. A few seconds and the water made him finally regain consciousness.
Just as he decided to look around the room, he noticed a man sleeping in a chair to his right. And Buck froze, afraid of missing the moment.
It was Eddie. Eddie, who hadn't come within a stone's throw of him in recent weeks, and was only around when they needed to work together. Eddie, who drew a line between them, forbade him from coming near his son, made it clear how he felt about Buck trying to patch things up between them as well. Eddie, who he'd called when he was dying, not even believing he'd be answered. Eddie, who asked him not to leave them and who whispered about how much Buck cared about him.
Buck clamped his hands over his mouth, trying to stifle the coming sobs. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He was infinitely glad to see Eddie so close to him, but at the same time, the man's presence brought unbearable pain. A particularly loud sigh made Eddie hiss. Buck's breath hitched with panic and he stared at the man. He hissed sluggishly and ran his hand across his forehead in the familiar gesture of removing interfering strands, then brought his hand up to his eyes and Buck heard a shuddering sigh. Eddie's whole essence at the moment was fatigue, and to see the man like this was painful. To know that he was the cause of that condition hurt even more.
It was quiet for a while, and Eddie's sharp half-sigh, half-sob made Buck jerk, which was immediately answered by a shooting pain. He couldn't hold back a groan of pain. Eddie immediately raised his head, and Buck saw how exhausted the man really was.
"Buck," he exhaled and stood up.
The next second, Eddie literally collapsed beside Buck. He didn't resist, too surprised by what was happening, when Eddie wrapped his hand around his own, gentle and so familiar. Warmth rushed through his entire body, and Buck raised his eyes from their interlocked palms to Eddie. He was looking at him. Really looking.
"Forgive me, forgive me, oh, mi amor." Buck opened his mouth in surprise. Eddie really?... "I was so afraid that you would never open your eyes again, that I would no longer be able to hold you and tell you how much I cared for you, diós mío." Large tears rolled down his face. Buck raised his hand, hesitant to touch the other man. There was no desire stronger than to comfort Eddie, but he didn't know if he could. He couldn't cross the blurred line of friendship and something more between them. Not when they were both broken and unstable. Eddie made the decision for the two of them, pressing the other man's palm against his cheek, covering the top with his own. Buck's breath caught again. "Hoy me asustaste. Do you know how scared I was when I realized something was wrong? I thought we were gonna be late. I was so afraid we were gonna be late."
Eddie fell silent, pursing his lips, and Buck could see how each word broke the other man. He could feel every word breaking him. Buck was willing to spit on his own suffering all he wanted, but another man's was making him slowly die. And Eddie wasn't just a stranger, he was the man Buck was in love with, and there was no sight in all his life that hurt more than the trembling man in front of him.
"I'm here," Buck tentatively stroked the other man's cheek with his thumb, "and you're near. I'm all right. You made it."
Eddie shook his head and was ready to answer when he sobbed and turned away. Buck watched the tension slowly drain from the man, and the full weight of what was happening came over him. Just a short while ago he had almost died, and it had affected more than just him.
The man pulled away and Buck sadly spent the warmth that Eddie had taken with him.
"I owe you an apology. I, we, we're terribly sorry to you, and--"
Ignoring the pain, Buck pulled the other man to him, interrupting, and both knew that if Eddie wanted to break free, it wouldn't be worth the effort. Eddie sat on the edge of the hospital bed, refusing to meet his gaze. The ever-confident man in front of Buck was so fragile and vulnerable that his heart snapped. With the urge to comfort him and tell him everything was all right. Only Buck knew that nothing was okay at the moment, neither of them were okay.
"Let's not talk about it," Buck said simply. "This is not a conversation for the hospital. We have a lot to talk about, but not now."
Eddie still wasn't looking at him, but neither was he putting up a wall between them. Buck hesitated for a moment before slowly placing his hand over the other's. The gesture could have destroyed the remnants of friendship between them, but he allowed himself to be a little more desperate. All or nothing, right?
The man finally raised his head, meeting the gaze across from him. Buck felt the uncertainty engulf him more and more as time went on, as he felt unanswered. And when he was ready to break, Eddie intertwined their fingers. Relief surged through his entire body along with endless tenderness. All of Buck's feelings were probably reflected in his eyes (they were always more honest than words), because Eddie smiled slightly and...
"Do I need to talk about how much I love you?"
The universe didn't collapse, a meteorite didn't hit the earth, time didn't stand still. Everything was the same as it always was, except Eddie said he loved Buck. He had imagined the moment of confession more times than he could count, but it was always Buck who revealed himself. Every scenario was similar. Eddie yells and demands that he stay away from him and Chris. Eddie accuses Buck of lying, of the implausibility of their friendship. Eddie resists Buck's admission and calls him disgusting, nasty, horrible. And Eddie walks away. Always walks away, no matter what Buck or he says. And Buck loses him, loses him forever. Never did Buck think he'd be reciprocated. But it's happening right now, and he's not about to miss his chance.
"I wouldn't mind one more time. And maybe for the rest of my life."
Eddie is the first to smile, and Buck snorts. He is given an affectionate kiss on the top of his head, and he wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life. He closes his eyes, trying to hold back the tears. Eddie is there when Buck starts to cry, he's really there for him, cradling Buck against him, allowing him to let go of all that he's been holding inside.
"I love you, Evan, I love you so much. I can't tell you how you make me feel. Te necesito, I promise I'll never leave you alone again. Estaré ahí para ti."
When Buck falls into slumber, it's the first time in weeks that he feels comfortable enough to think about the fact that he's where he's supposed to be. He feels loved in the arms of Eddie.
"I'll be around," Eddie whispers.
And you know what? Buck believes him because he knows he's loved. And he loves him back.