Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey. It’s me. Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, but… Chris. Chris is desperate to see you. We’re going to drive back to LA tomorrow but if there’s… If there’s any chance you could swing it, come out here and drive back with us, he’d appreciate it. We could wait until day after tomorrow, if you’re coming. I don’t know if you’re… Maybe I’ll try to text you. Just let me, uh, let me know.”

Buck is going to be so sure it’s his fault, Eddie already knows. Tsunami, dead brother, sniper. None of them was Buck’s responsibility, but Buck felt guilty anyway. Eddie was there. Eddie remembers. That's how Eddie knows that Buck is going to hate this memory, pick at it like a scab until blood rushes out.

Eddie knows how this goes.

“Chris,” Eddie breathes, willing his forehead to pull away from the passenger window. “Chris.”

“Hey, don’t move. Eddie, don’t move.”

“Get him.”

“Okay,” Buck pants.

Eddie feels Buck’s hand find his left shoulder and squeeze.

“Okay,” Buck repeats. “Okay.”

Eddie hears Buck shove the driver’s seat back as far as it can go. Eddie tilts his head against the window, trying to look behind his own seat. Chris was back there. Wants to be diagonal to Buck while Buck drives. Drove. Got hit by something. Chris was back there and he’s not talking. He’s not talking.

Chris is slumped against the car door.

“Chris?” Eddie panics.

Some disembodied voice is asking something in a sharp tone. Maybe it’s Eddie, demanding answers.

Then a light noise filters through, soft murmurs coming from Buck in the back seat. Buck is talking to Chris, or prompting him. Begging him? Eddie feels like begging. Feels like it’s too late for that now, but Eddie would do it. Eddie will do it.

“Tell me he’s breathing,” Eddie says. “Tell me he’s breathing.”

“He’s breathing,” Buck replies. “Don’t move. I— I got him.”

Eddie shuffles against the door but gasps in pain. He must have bruised his shoulder really good, or separated it. Feels separated. That’s fine. Eddie never liked his right shoulder anyway.

That disembodied voice is back. Sounds like dispatch, which doesn’t make any sense because Eddie doesn’t have his radio. He’s not at work. Or... is he at work?

“Unconscious?” Eddie asks, unbuckling his seat belt, then guarding his injured arm.

“Responsive to pain.”

Eddie’s heart stutters. “Why isn’t he awake? Why isn’t he awake?”

“He hit his head.”

Eddie shuffles his feet to try to lean forward because he’s going to wake up his kid if it kills him, but there’s a sound like water. Eddie tugs his head off the window. Looks down. Looks at the crack of the car door. Water is gushing in. It’s dark outside, and they’re under water. That’s right… there was a bridge. Something hit the U-haul trailer off the bridge. The car followed, backwards, into the river or whatever it is they’re in now. That’s why Eddie’s center of gravity is pulling down against the backrest. They’re tilted slightly up, nose of the car pointed at an angle at the surface of the water. Which is weird because Eddie’s head is spinning like he’s sideways.

The only light is the faint shine of streetlamps from the bridge. The glow of the dashboard. Something that might be the moon.

Nausea sweeps through Eddie, swirling his head. He tilts forward and vomits, except not much comes out because Eddie hasn’t eaten for five or six hours. The bile swirls with the water at Eddie’s ankles. Which is weird because Eddie is pretty sure he’s upside down.

Head to his knees, Eddie groans. Concussion or worse. He can’t make sense of his direction. Something in his ears is screwy. His brain is throbbing where it smacked against the window. Now it’s beating in time to the pulse in his separated shoulder. His neck aches. But it doesn’t matter, because the water is at his ankles.

If the water is at Eddie’s ankles, maybe Buck and Chris are under more water. Because Eddie doesn’t know where the water is coming from or going. He’s so dizzy. His head hurts.

“Get him out,” Eddie rasps. “Buck, get him out.”

Eddie tries to press the button on the rearview mirror that connects to 9-1-1. The green light is already flashing. Oh. That’s what the disembodied voice is. Someone is trying to talk to him. That’s stupid. What conversation are they going to have? Chris needs to get out. Then the water catches up to the machinery and the voice cuts off, and the light beeps away.

Eddie squints as a mirage covers his eyes. Tears, or an aura. Something fuzzy. Eddie blinks, and it’s gone.

Buck is back in the driver’s seat, leaning toward Eddie.

“You have to go,” Eddie grits out. His eyes swipe left to right, left to right, trying to make the dizzy feeling in his head make sense, but it doesn’t. Eddie is upside down, and Chris is going to be under water, and Eddie can’t get out.

“Because I can't.”

Buck shakes his head. “I’m not leaving—”

“Not asking. Something’s… wrong,” Eddie whimpers. “My head.”

“No,” Buck insists, flitting hands over the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt, cautious around Eddie’s right shoulder. “If you can’t—”

“Get him. Out.”

Eddie feels his throat tighten. Christopher has to wake up. He has to be okay. Buck will make sure Chris is okay. That’s how it goes.

“He’s not ‘wake,” Eddie insists. “You have to… get him out.”

Buck’s hands squeeze against Eddie’s ribs, hips.

Eddie hisses.

“Broken?”

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t tell. Something on his right hip hurts like hell.

Eddie forces himself to straighten against the seat back, even though his shoulder hurts and his head is throbbing. His lungs are skating breaths now, shallow and quick. He can feel his pulse pound in his sore hip, desperate to break free. Eddie is desperate to break free. But he knows that isn’t going to happen.

The water is at Eddie’s waist. Must be higher in the back. Chris will be under any second.

Only two people are getting out of here. Eddie knows exactly who they are.

“You have to go.”

“No.”

Buck’s hands move quickly down Eddie’s legs, plunging under water to check for bleeds and instability.

“My love.”

Eddie doesn’t mean to say it, except it’s natural. It’s the only thing that can find its way off of Eddie’s tongue. What else is there?

And the words echo, wash into Eddie’s ears like a balm on some wound that has been festering ever since Eddie was little, maybe since before he was born. Maybe something ragged inside Eddie has been infected from the start, hot and red. Maybe that’s where the anger comes from. Maybe that’s where Eddie comes from, this gash inside himself that has been aching since before he knew what pain was supposed to signal. Maybe after the wreckage of him—the dead skin and debris trapped inside his poisoned, wicked blood—is cleared away, there is just nothing else left at all.

But right now, there are two words that run like cool water over burning skin. All of Eddie has been on fire so long. But these two words. These bring relief.

Buck retreats into the driver’s seat, staring wide-eyed at Eddie. “No.”

“My love,” Eddie breathes. His left hand reaches for Buck. Finds his shirt, already soaked with river water. Holds on. “You have to go, my love. You have to go.”

“No.”

Eddie blinks, feeling barely awake. He tries to clear another aura from his vision. It doesn’t go away. His head pounds, off balance and piercing.

“Get him out,” Eddie begs through labored breaths.

Buck crowds forward, sideways, somehow bending around the center console. His eyes are earnest and undeniably afraid.

It’s unnerving. Buck should be talking, spilling out anything—assurances, facts, biographies, narration—but his mouth is caught on this one word, this single syllable that taunts Eddie, has always taunted Eddie, ever since Eddie knew what it was to want and deny.

“No.”

Eddie’s head sags to the side. Buck’s hand finds the side of Eddie’s neck, lifting to support him. Buck’s forehead presses against Eddie’s temple, hesitant and light.

“Don’t you know… how this ends?” Eddie whispers.

“No.”

Eddie fists his left hand tighter in the front of Buck’s shirt. There is heat under Eddie’s fingers, on the other side of that thin cotton blend of heather blue. There is warmth and light and life in there, a whole life Eddie doesn’t get, because he never has.

“I do. I do, alright?” Eddie says. “I do.”

Eddie has never been one to get a happy ending. Never got a happy start. Barely didn’t fall apart trying for a happy middle. This is how it goes, because this is how it always does.

The water sloshes against Buck’s belly, against Eddie’s hand that is pressing there. Chris needs to get out.

“It goes like this.”

His fingers carefully unlatch from Buck’s shirt fabric, skimming up, up, slowly, until his hand finds the ridge of Buck’s shoulder. Until Eddie’s thumb slots into the dip at Buck’s collar, and Eddie presses Buck away gently, so gently, until Buck’s skin leaves Eddie’s skin. Until Buck’s eyes meet Eddie’s.

“Listen to me—”

“No.”

“Buck.”

“No—”

“There’s nobody,” Eddie shakes his head, eyebrows high and sincere, “in this world,” he shakes his head again, and he has to fight to keep his eyes open against the dizzy ache, “I trust with my son more than you.”

Buck is quiet and Eddie's bones feel like dying but Eddie keeps his hand on Buck’s shoulder because it feels good there, like it always does.

“But do you trust me with you?” Buck asks quietly.

That doesn’t matter now.

Eddie’s head lolls a little. His hand shifts from Buck's shoulder, palming the side of Buck’s neck. Eddie’s thumb lines Buck’s jaw, noting stiffness. Buck is so tense. Every fiber of him is taut like string, or a steel cable.

But the truth isn’t difficult.

“You got my back,” Eddie replies.

His thumb finds the corner of Buck’s mouth, pressing where he wishes his lips could reach.

Buck stares. “I do.”

Eddie likes the sound of that. His fingertips curl on the back of Buck’s neck. Buck eases forward, steady and aching, until his exhale mixes with Eddie’s. Buck’s mouth forms a word, something low and beautiful against Eddie’s lips, the friction almost enough to spell a kiss.

Then it’s cold. Buck is already in the backseat by the time Eddie opens his eyes. The water is at Eddie’s chest. Buck says reassuring words to Christopher and the kid doesn’t respond because he hit his head, and he needs to get out. Buck opens one of the doors. Eddie hears the water pour in. Hears two bodies rush out against the flow of it.

Eddie gets another inhale before the water squeezes against his throat. He holds his breath as he submerges fully, considers opening his door and following Buck out. But his head spins. Maybe the car is spinning under water, under the weight of the equalizing pressure. There’s no way Eddie will make it out of here now. His headache pounds against the back of his eyes.

Passing out wouldn’t be so bad.

Last time Eddie almost drowned, he was so scared. Now it makes sense. It’s not scary. It’s just how it goes.

Chapter Text

It feels wrong to clamp his hand over Chris’s nose and mouth, but the kid isn’t conscious, and Buck can’t risk letting water into his lungs. It feels wrong to tug Chris’s body, limp and little, into the frigid black river when he could have broken bones or spinal damage, but air is more important.

And it feels so wrong to leave Eddie slumped in the front seat as the water surges over his head. But Buck knows his job here. His job anywhere. He knows how this goes.

After all, he was born to save people. Even though every time he does, it's the worst feeling in the world.

Buck heaves himself and Chris out of the car, against the force of the surging river. He immediately swims upward, one hand still looped under Chris’s arm and firm on Chris’s face. Buck strokes up with one hand as fast as he can manage. Buck hears his heartbeat in his ears. It sounds like Eddie’s voice.

My love. My love.

Chris starts to thrash in Buck’s grasp. Buck can’t tell if Chris is awake or just subconsciously fighting for breath. It almost doesn’t matter. Any movement feels like a good thing, even if the flailing body is threatening to drown Buck too. By the time Buck breaks the surface, Chris’s hands are clawing at Buck, and in the open air, he gasps.

Buck shifts Christopher in his grip, lets Chris lie on top of him, to keep his head above water.

“Deep breaths, Christopher,” Buck pants. “Deep breaths, buddy. I got you.”

Chris’s lungs heave against Buck’s body a few times before Chris reaches out, wrapping an arm weakly around Buck’s shoulders, like he knows how this goes. Buck supposes Chris does.

Buck almost cries. This is too much. This is too much for one lifetime.

My love. My love.

Buck turns in the water, headed for the shore. Street lamps from the bridge glint on the water. Six feet from the muddy bank, Buck finally gets his feet under him. His sneakers find the soft river bed, and he sloshes up to dry land, Chris tight in his arms.

When the nighttime air hits his skin, it feels like a blade of ice cutting straight through him. Buck shivers. The river wasn’t freezing, but it’s spring and it’s colder than the Pacific ocean Buck is used to, and there’s no telling when Buck’s body will shut down with cold shock if he goes back in the water. The last time he and Chris were in water like this, it was daytime in Los Angeles. At least there had been sun to dry their clothes, warm them up. Now, it’s dark in an unfamiliar river, and Eddie Diaz is trapped underneath it.

My love. My love.

Buck cranes his head. It hurts with the ache of whiplash. A burn on his neck, where the seat belt tightened and rubbed, stings as his skin twists. Buck looks behind him and sees a glow of headlights under the surface of the murk.

My love is at the bottom of a river.

Buck has to leave Chris on shore. He has to go back down after Eddie.

Buck lowers Chris to the ground. Needs to get him talking. Make sure he can breathe.

“There was an accident,” Buck explains quickly. “I have to leave you here, okay? You have to sit right here and wait for me.”

Christopher stares blankly at the water. His voice is soft: “What? Happened.”

Chris’s breath sounds are clear. They’re a little shallow and definitely fast but clear. Even though there’s shiny blood oozing sluggishly out of Chris’s hairline, he’s keeping himself upright and his hands are squeezing Buck’s forearms about as tight as they ever have. That’s going to have to be good enough.

“What happened?” Chris repeats disjointedly.

Chris could be asking because he’s a little disoriented, or because he’s totally out of it. Even if it’s a mild concussion, Buck might have to explain what happened four or five times before it really sticks, and Buck doesn’t have that kind of time. Eddie doesn’t have that kind of time.

“Chris, this is important. Can you lie down on your side for me?”

Buck helps Chris arrange one arm under his head. Recovery position, in case he passes out. In case he vomits. This is the best Buck can do. Eddie is drowning at the bottom of a river. Buck has to go.

“There you go, there you go. Wait here for me.”

Chris is shivering already, hard. He’s holding onto Buck’s soggy pant leg. Chris needs oxygen and pressure on that wound and dry clothes and a CT scan. But Eddie is at the bottom of a river. Buck has to go.

Chris raises his head. “What happened?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Buck pulls out of Chris’s reach. Buck has to go. Eddie has been under too long.

Buck wades backwards a few steps into the water, holding out placating hands. “You have to stay here.”

Buck has to get Eddie out.

Chris tries to sit up. “What’s going on?”

“Christopher!” Buck admonishes, hoarse and mean and pleading.

Chris flinches.

“Lie down!”

Chris freezes. Buck realizes distantly that if Chris was more alert, he’d probably shout right back. But he doesn’t, and it’s a sign that he’s concussed or worse.

Buck tries to refocus. He hears sirens and looks up at the bridge. There aren’t any flashing lights yet, but they’ll be here soon.

They won’t be here in time to get Eddie. Buck has to get Eddie out.

Buck was made to save Eddie Diaz. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.

“You— you have to wait here for the firefighters, okay?” Buck explains. “Please. I’ll be right back. You have to stay there.”

“I’m staying here?”

Chris’s teeth audibly chatter. Knee deep in the river, Buck suppresses his own body’s urge to shiver.

“It’s important, Christopher. You— you have to stay there.”

Chris slowly lowers to the ground. He curls into himself. “Okay.”

Buck aches, hates this, but he turns, throwing himself back into the water. He dives toward the frigid glow of the headlights just as they start to flicker out.

Chapter Text

Buck has one breath to save Eddie’s life, because if he can’t find the car in the dark, nobody is going to get Eddie out in time. Buck fights down through the darkness, keeps his eyes open even though his vision is blurry and there’s hardly anything to make out. Buck pulls himself through the water urgently. Way too quickly, he feels an itching sensation in his lungs. He needs to breathe. He can’t breathe. He needs Eddie. He has to get to Eddie.

Something dim shines through the dark river, a couple of faint lights on the dashboard that refuse to shut off. A beacon. Buck’s hands find the metal roof of the car, the plastic windshield wipers, the curve of the side rear view mirror. Buck can’t see the passenger seat, but he yanks open the door and reaches blindly for Eddie, because Eddie has to be there, because it’s Buck’s job to get him out.

Buck’s hands touch soft fabric billowing in the water, and faint warmth. A solid figure cooling too quickly. Unmoving. Buck clicks the seat belt open and wraps his arms around Eddie, instinctively expecting to feel Eddie reach back.

He doesn’t.

Buck almost gives up right there. His lungs are protesting now, and furious, but Buck heaves Eddie into the open water and starts kicking up. Eddie is heavier than Chris, and his clothes drag like fifty pounds of extra weight in the water, and he is so, so lifeless in the dark river that Buck let take him. Buck almost inhales, just to make it even.

Buck squeezes his eyes shut and pushes Eddie the last few feet toward the surface. Eddie breaks first, but by the time Buck joins him, Buck knows Eddie isn’t breathing. Eddie isn’t going to breathe unless Buck reminds him how. And Buck could start right here in the middle of the river but it’s freezing. Maybe the cold is good for Eddie, to preserve him, but it’ll kill Buck and then Christopher’s chances will plummet too. Buck’s limbs are already forgetting in turns how to listen to him. Buck’s teeth are chattering.

Flashes on land catch Buck’s attention. Through the trees, there’s a rapid flicker of emergency lights. Buck can even make out silhouettes moving in the foliage, can hear their shouts asking Buck to call out. And there’s the outline of Chris on the river bank, still curled up.

Chris must hear the first responders too because his faint, exhausted voice lifts and carries over the water: “Here.”

Buck adjusts his arm around Eddie, then strokes jerkily toward the shore. He has saved Eddie’s life before. He has to do it again. Even though Eddie is already dead.

Chapter Text

Buck has forgotten a lot about the day that Eddie was shot by a sniper. Buck doesn’t really remember crawling under the firetruck to get to Eddie. He can’t remember Charlie’s face, or Charlie’s mom’s face, as they were wheeled into their ambulances. Buck can’t even remember why he wasn’t in uniform when he and Eddie went over there to help. For Buck, most of that day has dissolved into nonsensical flashes, like the taste of asphalt, even though Buck doesn’t remember his face brushing the ground.

But Buck does remember reaching out for Eddie’s hand. Tugging. Buck remembers the sound of Eddie’s scream as Buck dragged Eddie’s injured shoulder along the pavement.

Buck hated the way he had to cause Eddie more pain just to keep him from dying.

Now the memory surfaces like a bizarre comfort.

It goes like this, Buck thinks. I hurt you. You live.

Buck’s feet find purchase in the river bank, so he stands over Eddie’s floating body, grabs his forearms, and pulls toward Chris waiting on the shore. Buck knows Eddie was guarding his right arm, but they have to get onto land. So Buck drags Eddie—hurts Eddie—because then maybe Eddie will live. That’s how it went before.

Buck heaves Eddie onto the shore and drops to his knees with exhaustion. He crawls to Eddie’s left side, shivering almost violently. His muscles are tense with it. He is panting hard, and almost collapses right next to Eddie, but he has a job here.

“And where are you right now, Chris?” someone asks in a strong, clear voice.

Buck glances up.

An EMT is addressing Chris, asking orientation questions and Chris is giving soft responses, then comes what hurts the most and hold still. An EMT materializes opposite Buck, on Eddie’s other side, and bends low to check for Eddie’s pulse and breathing.

Buck knows that Eddie is already dead. And if the only responders on scene are two EMTs, then there’s a good chance that both will shift into triage protocol, leaving Eddie to lie there, not breathing, until Buck and Chris have been fully assessed. Or until a second ambulance arrives.

Buck can’t have that. Eddie can’t afford the delay. Someone needs to remind Eddie to breathe.

As soon as the EMT pulls away to evaluate whether readjusting Eddie’s chin made him start breathing—it didn’t—Buck bows forward. He has a job to do. Buck pinches shut Eddie’s nose, tips back Eddie’s chin, and presses his mouth to Eddie’s.

It is the worst thing Buck has ever felt. Eddie’s lips are colder than Buck’s. They don’t respond to him. Buck almost chokes at the sensation. He fights back a sob. Someone has to remind Eddie how to breathe.

Buck exhales once, evenly, then pulls away from Eddie enough to inhale. Buck drops onto Eddie’s lips again and exhales a second time. He senses the air enter Eddie’s lungs, can feel it push steadily into the hollow space and inflate. It should feel reassuring: Eddie is getting oxygen. Instead, the reality makes Buck nauseous.

Buck sits up and retreats onto his heels, locking eyes with the EMT who is reaching a gloved hand out to him.

“Sir, can you let me examine you?”

Buck puts a hand on Eddie’s chest.

“Is he— too cold,” Buck stutters, “for compressions?”

“Sir, let’s— can I take a look at you?”

“No,” Buck insists, shaking his head. His mouth is having a hard time making sounds. “No, I’m okay. We’re firefighters but I can’t— I can’t remember what the— is he too cold?”

Buck doesn’t have a lot of experience with hypothermic patients. He knows that severe hypothermia means no compressions. But Buck doesn’t know what severe is. Under Buck’s palm, there is a faint glow of heat on Eddie’s skin. It’s so little. Eddie is so cold. Maybe this is severe hypothermia.

Buck bends forward, presses his mouth to Eddie’s, and delivers two more breaths. He tries not to fall apart as the air enters Eddie’s lungs unimpeded.

“Well?” Buck prompts, shifting onto his heels again.

The EMT eyes Buck warily, then cups gloved hands on Eddie’s neck, reaches into Eddie’s armpits and along the lines of Eddie’s hips. She is checking for heat.

“It’s right on the line,” the EMT says softly, shaking her head. “Drowning protocol is CPR on scene. Severe hypothermia is transport, no CPR. It’s a judgment call.”

Buck takes a single breath, straightening his spine. Then he plants his hands in the middle of Eddie’s sternum, one on top of the other.

“Are you sure?” the EMT mutters.

It goes like this. I hurt you. You live.

Buck presses down, starting the count. With each compression, he feels the bend of Eddie’s intercostal muscles, the repetitive give, down and down and down until something cracks under Buck’s hands. He keeps counting. Keeps beating Eddie’s heart for him.

“Come on, Eddie,” Buck begs breathlessly. “Hang on.”

The EMT inserts an OPA into Eddie’s mouth. It’ll keep his airway clear. It’s not as invasive as intubation. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s a lost cause thing. At least this way, the EMT can administer continuous breaths. When she attaches the bag to an oxygen tank, that will mean continuous oxygen for Eddie.

That’s good. Eddie needs oxygen. And Eddie needs to remember how to breathe.

Buck does a pulse check. Eddie’s heart is still not beating.

Buck continues compressions. He’s not shivering anymore. Whatever that means. Buck doesn’t feel cold. He feels numb. Eddie is already dead. Buck is going to bring him back.

After a minute, the EMT sets aside the bag mask, shifting her body to look at something Buck doesn’t care about.

“ALS is on scene.”

Buck barely registers her.

“I’ll go get them.”

Buck doesn’t look up.

The second EMT disappears into the brush, and the first EMT is cutting Chris’s shirt away from his body, wrapping him in a blanket, and Buck is still beating Eddie’s heart for him.

“We’re so close,” Buck whispers. “We were so close.”

Before Buck breaks to administer two breaths with the mask, he does another pulse check. His hand finds Eddie’s neck.

Something faint beats back once.

Buck startles. Maybe it’s a remnant of the compressions. Buck readjusts his fingers on Eddie’s throat, bending low to listen for a breath.

There’s another beat under Buck’s fingers. ROSC. Buck peers hard at Eddie’s belly, watches for any sign of inflation. After a second, there’s a lift. Eddie wheezes a tiny inhale, and Buck pulls away only far enough to rest his hands on either side of Eddie’s face.

“Again, Eddie, again, do it again, do it again—”

Eddie inhales, stronger this time, and chokes halfway, sputtering on water trapped somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. He gags, and Buck pulls the OPA out of his mouth. In one smooth motion, Buck puts Eddie’s left arm up by his ear, grabs Eddie’s separated shoulder and injured hip, and log rolls Eddie onto his side in recovery position.

“I got you, I got you,” Buck murmurs. “Get it out. I’ve got you.”

Eddie coughs weakly, pressed against Buck’s own kneeling body to keep him propped up. River water dribbles out of the side of Eddie’s mouth.

Buck cups the back of Eddie’s neck with his left hand. His right hand fists on the ground to balance him, but something cold and waxy presses against this thumb, seeking something. Buck doesn’t hesitate: he opens his hand and slips it into Eddie’s. Squeezes.

“I got Chris. I got you. It’s okay. Just breathe. Breathe.”

Chapter Text

Chris gets strapped to a backboard and carried away by the first two EMTs on scene. Buck should go with Chris in their ambulance. That's what Eddie would tell him to do.

Not that Eddie can tell him what to do. Eddie is too weak to tell Buck anything.

When Eddie first came around, he could report his own name. He could remember they were in Arizona. But after the paramedic cuts away Eddie’s clothes and wraps him in a thick blanket, Eddie starts saying El Paso. When he tries to give his name again, the syllables slur together. Eddie’s eyes close, and they only open when the paramedic shouts at him.

Buck aches, but he knows what Eddie would want. Buck pries himself out of Eddie’s grip to go with Christopher.

As soon as Buck stands, the blood falls out of his head. He sways on his feet. He tries to take a step after the EMTs and Chris and the backboard weaving through the maze of trees between the river and the road, but his left leg locks with cold.

Buck’s vision blurs. His hands are suddenly on the ground. His soggy knees squish into the dirt. His fingers flex on cool earth and push, try to shove Buck back to standing. Buck throws himself to his feet but tilts, off balance, against the thin trunk of tree.

“Sir—”

Someone is calling to him. Someone grabs Buck’s shoulder at the same time that Buck sinks to the ground.

“Sir, can you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Get Eddie.”

“Juliana’s with him right now. Let me worry about you, okay?”

Buck’s head shakes against the tree bark. He feels the bark on his skin. It’s smoother than tree bark should be. Or maybe it isn’t. Buck should find out what kind of tree it is. Just as soon as his headache clears.

“Get him out.”

“I’m going to wait with you until the next ambulance comes, okay?”

No, that’s not okay.

It’s going to take two people to carry Eddie’s backboard to the ambulance. Or Buck can carry Eddie by himself, if they need him to. Eddie needs to get in the ambulance. Buck didn’t even hurt himself in the crash. Buck is fine. Buck can carry Eddie.

“Did you hit your head, neck, or back in the crash?”

“Tha's not okay,” Buck insists. His teeth hurt. “Get him. Out. I’ll… wait here. Get him out.”

“What if I put you in with him?” the voice says. “Or with your son?”

That’s right, Buck is supposed to go with Christopher. Buck is just supposed to talk to him. Eddie wants him to open the door.

The hand on Buck pulls away for a second, then it’s back.

“Actually, they’re on their way. But that’s okay, we’re right behind them. How— how about we put you in our ambulance, then I can load Eddie in there too? We’ll go together.”

Buck is pretty sure he and Eddie go everywhere together. Texas doesn’t count. Eddie hates Texas. Buck hates Texas. But they’re leaving Texas together, and they never have to go back. Buck can’t remember where they’re going, but they’re going together.

Well, if they’re going together, that’s okay then.

“We’ll go together?” Buck parrots.

“That’s right. Can I help you up?”

Buck grabs onto someone’s arms, heaves himself upright, and his knees immediately buckle. He drops like a stone, unconscious.

Chapter Text

Buck wakes to the sensation of his lungs expanding abruptly, like he's barely been breathing for his whole life, and just now his brain has figured out that he needs more air. Buck jerks to full consciousness, feeling his heart rate briefly spike. Buck forces his eyes open. From the pattern of the ceiling tiles, it's clear he is in a hospital.

That checks out. He usually is.

Buck pushes himself up to his elbows. He is behind a long, gray curtain. He is reclining in a bed with the guardrails up. He is hooked up to four leads and a pulse oximeter. Buck stares at the wires running into the ECG machine. Oh, Buck must have been hypothermic. Hypothermia can cause arrhythmias, so they’re keeping an eye on his heart.

Shit, doing CPR on Eddie could have given him an arrhythmia. Buck could have killed him. What was Buck thinking? Maybe… maybe Eddie is—

Buck has to find Eddie. He has to find Chris.

Buck does a quick check. Nothing really hurts. His neck twinges like he pulled a muscle. There’s a brutal bruise on the outside of his right forearm. Buck must have rammed it against something in the crash, the console? The parking brake? And he can feel the long socks he’s wearing, and scrub pants and a crewneck sweatshirt, all hospital issue. His fingers and toes itch, but that’s got to be because of the rewarming. Maybe the hypothermia is why he… did he pass out? He must have passed out. But there’s no IV in his hand. That’s a good sign. That means it wasn’t bad enough to require warm fluids, just dry clothes, which Buck now has, and a nap, which Buck has apparently taken.

Buck tugs himself out from under the tightly wrapped bed covers. He unclips his ECG wires, setting them down so they don’t tangle. He doesn’t bother taking the lead stickers off. He has to find Chris. He has to get to Eddie.

Buck swings his feet onto the floor, noticing for the first time the sounds of a bustling night shift as they filter through the curtain. Buck isn’t in his own room, which means he is in an emergency department. He carefully slides the curtain open.

The emergency room is packed. Buck counts four patients being examined by nurses or ED techs or residents around the room. A couple of paramedics hustle in through the bay door, pushing a gurney with an unconscious woman on it. Buck keeps clear of them as they pass, and a couple of nurses swarm the new patient.

Where is Chris? Where is Eddie?

Looking around, Buck finds a plastic bag on the bedside table next to his cot. Buck can make out his shoes inside the plastic—obviously still soggy—and his wet clothes, which were probably sliced up the seams when they were cut off of Buck’s body. He grabs the bag and holds it to his side with one arm, feeling like he’s clutching a teddy bear. He glances around the room again before crossing the tile to the nurses’ station, where only one woman in scrubs is bending in front of a computer screen, clicking a mouse rapidly. As Buck reaches the desk, she notices him.

“I came in with another man and— and a boy,” Buck starts hurriedly. “Chris. Christopher Diaz. And Eddie. What’s—”

“Oh, you’re the river crash, right?” the nurse chirps. “I was just about to check on you. Your CT scan was clear and, well, clearly you’re up and around. How do you feel?”

“Where’s Christopher?”

The nurse holds up a placating hand and redirects. She asks Buck questions about himself: any symptoms? Pain? Tingling? Numbness? She asks for medical histories, allergies, insurance information for him and Eddie and Chris. She hands him forms, and a pen, and gives Buck a sharp look when he opens his mouth to request repeat his question. She brushes past him, crossing to the bed Buck has just vacated to check the readout on his ECG.

Buck completes the forms as quickly as he can, letting his brain fade into autopilot. It’s the only way he can keep from losing his cool. Once the nurse is satisfied with Buck’s documentation, she carefully explains Buck’s aftercare instructions. This is overkill. Buck is walking away from this with nothing but a couple of bruises, a prescription for preemptive antibiotics, and a case of hypothermia that has already dulled into a distant chill. What he needs is Chris and Eddie.

When the nurse finishes her speech, Buck thinks he’s about to be released, but a trauma attending intercepts him. She apologizes that Buck hasn’t gotten an MRI yet, but, “if you can believe it, the machine’s been swamped these two hours! Crazy night here, sorry, sir.” She promises that if Buck sticks around another fifteen minutes, he can probably be the next person in the machine.

Buck decides not to tell the attending that if Buck doesn’t have eyes on Chris within the next ten minutes, he’s going to throw a chair through a window.

Besides, the CT was clear. Yes, his body feels like laundry after a spin cycle, or like he just finished a grueling 24 hour shift, but he’s been through a lot worse. He politely turns down the MRI and signs himself out.

He needs to see Eddie. He needs to get to Chris.

This time when Buck presses the nurse for more information, she relents. She tells Buck that his husband and his son were admitted, that they’re upstairs, and Buck unquestioningly sets his feet walking in the direction she points. Buck slips into an elevator. Gets out on the third floor. Finds room 319 without getting stopped by anyone in scrubs. He doesn’t bother to knock on the door, just pushes it open.

The room is dimly lit by half the ceiling lights. As Buck’s eyes adjust, Buck notices a nurse, standing on the far side of a bed five feet from Buck. Then Buck notices the frame of a second bed, behind the nurse, but movement in the closest bed catches Buck’s eyes.

A slim figure on the mattress has one hand raised to the right side of his head. He’s fidgeting with a white bandage taped to his hairline. There are four wires running from an ECG machine to various entry points under his clothes and blankets. And when his head swivels toward Buck, Buck nearly collapses with relief.

Chris squints. “Buck?”

Chris.

Chris is here. His curls are flat but he’s alive. He’s awake and talking. None of his limbs are in casts. He’s okay.

Buck almost bursts into tears, except that he’s pretty sure Chris would unflinchingly dismiss him from the room if he did that, so Buck only clears his throat. He sinks into the chair next to Chris’s bed.

“Hey,” Buck chokes, grinning.

“Are you okay?” Chris asks softly.

Sure, Chris’s eyes are bleary with exhaustion and he’s recovering from a car crash and a near drowning, but, damn, if he isn’t going to make sure Buck is okay.

Well, of course he is. That’s Eddie’s kid.

Buck drops his bag of wet clothes onto the floor, then reaches out a hesitant hand toward Chris’s closest arm. But— oh, Chris isn’t wearing his glasses. Buck lost them—

Buck aborts the movement, letting his fingers rest on Chris’s blanket.

“Yeah, I’m okay, bud. Are you okay? I was so worried about you.”

Chris looks meaningfully at the nurse standing above him before answering, “It’s concussion check time.”

“Oh.” Buck right hand fists into the blanket.

The nurse volunteers gently, “He’s been wondering when you’d get here.”

Buck tries to look playful, almost offended— c ome on, kid, you know me —but he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He forgot Chris's glasses. Or lost them in the water. How could he lose them?

“His MRI was all clear,” the nurse continues softly. “So this is just standard. To make sure nothing changes.”

Buck nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “So, you’ve got some questions to answer?” He winks at Chris. “Are— are you winning?”

Chris huffs. “You can’t win a concussion check.”

“He’s two for two so far,” the nurse offers, smiling.

Buck raises his eyebrows. “Well, my expectations are set now.”

Chris shoots a glare at the nurse. “Thanks, Fabian.”

“Sorry, sport,” the nurse, Fabian, says. “What time of day is it?”

“It’s nighttime,” Chris reports dryly. “And I also know that today was Monday, unless it’s tomorrow, which I can’t be expected to know without a clock.”

“Someone’s fishing for extra credit,” Buck jokes, poking at Chris’s leg.

“Alright, last one,” Fabian nods. “What do you remember about the accident?”

Chris’s nose wrinkles a little.

Buck’s stomach drops to his feet. He doesn’t want to hear Chris’s answer. Buck holds his breath. He briefly considers bolting out the door.

“Pretty much nothing,” Chris answers.

Buck exhales slowly. He tries to keep his face impassive, but he’s relieved. Chris doesn’t need to know anything else. At least not right now. Not tonight. It’s too much for one lifetime.

“When do you start to remember?”

“I remember swimming with Buck,” Chris replies. “And the EMTs putting me on the board. And everything after that.”

Fabian jots a note on Chris’s chart. “Okay, feel free to sleep, alright? I’ll be back in two hours for another check.”

“You don’t have to,” Chris says. “I feel okay.”

Fabian glances up from the chart.

Buck straightens in his chair, crosses his arms, and frowns at Chris, unimpressed.

Chris sighs dramatically. “You know that I can’t tell what face you’re making without my glasses.”

“Christopher,” Buck counters, “you can guess which face I’m making.”

Chris slumps into his pillows. “See you in two hours, Fabian.”

“See ya, sport.”

Fabian hooks the chart on the foot of the bed and moves to leave.

“Oh, Dad,” Fabian starts.

Buck turns expectantly, certain Fabian is going to give Buck news about Eddie. But the nurse has one hand on the door, and is nodding at Buck.

“Come get me at the nurses’ station when you want to talk more about your boys. And I can find you a rollaway cot.”

With that, the nurse exits. The door softly shuts.

Dad.

The word is so loaded. It feels good. It feels wrong. It feels wrong that it feels good.

It’s one thing for people to assume that Chris is Buck’s son. Buck is used to that. But it’s something completely different for strangers to call Buck Dad.

Buck isn’t a dad. Not Chris’s dad. There’s the will, but that feels wrong. It feels like erasure. And Buck didn’t even manage to hang onto Chris’s glasses in the wreck, which means— oh, Buck didn’t get the crutches either. Buck could have killed Chris down there, suffocated him when they swam for the surface. Chris only said he remembered swimming with Buck, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember Buck nearly drowning him. Buck isn’t a dad, and even if he was, Chris probably doesn’t— it’s just— because Chris has—

My love.

Buck suddenly remembers the second bed in the room. Fabian must have been blocking it before. It’s right in Buck’s sight line now.

Buck’s eyes pull to it like gravity.

Eddie is lying there, propped up at a 30 or 40 degree angle, unconscious. Two thick blankets cover him, and four wires lead into his hospital gown, and an IV sticks in his left hand, and a nasal cannula pushes oxygen into his nose.

My love.

“Buck?”

Buck tears his eyes away from Eddie. Chris is tentatively reaching one hand toward Buck. Buck uncrosses his arms, folds both his hands around Chris’s, and leans his elbows on the mattress.

“Yeah, Chris. Are you okay? You feel okay? Hungry? Any— anything?”

“I told them to call your firehouse. To tell Bobby.”

Buck blinks. “What?”

“Because we lost all our phones. I asked one of the EMTs. She said she would call.”

“We…”

“And I didn’t want to call abuela.”

Buck stares at Chris, processing.

Leave it to Chris to call for backup when Eddie and Buck are both out of commission. This kid. This smart, kind, good kid did the thoughtful, caring, calm thing, even when the world had been slammed into chaos.

But Buck shouldn’t be surprised. That’s Eddie’s kid.

“I’m tired,” Chris says, like a question.

Buck settles one of his hands gently on Chris’s closest shoulder. “That’s okay. You did so good today, Chris. I— I’m really glad you’re okay. You can go to sleep and I— I’ll wait right here.”

Chris looks pointedly toward Eddie, then whispers, “Can you wait over there?”

This kid.

“Sure. I’m going to go talk to Fabian, then yeah, uh. I’ll wait over there.”

Chapter Text

Buck helps Fabian maneuver the rollaway into the Diazes’ hospital room, parking it between the two beds. Eddie is still unconscious. Chris seems asleep. At Buck’s silent insistence, Fabian leaves Buck to make the bed on his own. Fabian closes the door behind him, and the room is quiet.

Buck stands in the middle of the room. He does not make the bed. He watches Chris breathe.

“Some initial concern due to his CP,” Fabian had told Buck, “but he’s remarkably unscathed. Should be discharged tomorrow.”

After several minutes, Buck makes the bed. Then he straightens, and his eyes find Chris again.

Buck knows Eddie is right behind him, but Buck doesn’t want to turn around. He should. He should want to turn around. Buck feels the obligation like an alarm bell in his head. Look at Eddie. Say something to Eddie. Touch Eddie.

My love.

Words pound against Buck’s teeth, angry in a way Buck rarely is.

It can’t be this easy. You have to stop.

Buck crosses the room and slips out the door. As it closes behind him, Buck lets his back fall onto it. He slides silently to the floor.

“Large bruise on the right hip,” Fabian had said. “No fractures.”

Their phones, the car, the trailer. All of Eddie’s belonging’s. All of Chris’s things. It’s all at the bottom of a river in Arizona. Even if somebody pulls the car and trailer out, everything inside will be ruined. Buck needs to buy new things. Get in touch with insurance. Probably a police officer will be coming in the morning to ask about the crash. Who knows what insurance will pay out, especially if nobody finds whoever shoved them off the bridge.

“And there’s a separated right shoulder, but minimal associated damage,” Fabian had reported. “Two to four weeks in a sling.”

Buck should call Chris’s optometrist to get a copy of his prescription, so Buck can order new glasses. Buck will need to get to a library or somewhere with a computer so he can order Chris’s glasses. And a phone to call the optometrist. He needs to go to a store and buy a phone. Does he have money?

“Intracranial pressure spiked, but it’s already going down,” Fabian had assured Buck. “He’s sedated with a barbituate. We’ll wake him up in the morning to see how he’s doing.”

Buck’s wallet is in his plastic bag of wet clothes. He should take it out and set it aside so it can dry. At least the water won’t have ruined his credit cards. The leather may be worthless now, but the plastic is good. Buck should pull the clothes out too, hang everything up to dry in the bathroom attached to the hospital room. Buck should take out Chris’s clothes too, and see if they’re worth salvaging, and hang them to dry.

“And three broken ribs,” Fabian had noted. “Three to six weeks’ recovery. But that CPR saved his life.”

Buck should ask Eddie if he wants to repair his clothes. They’d have to sew up the seams again. Unless… how did the paramedic cut away Eddie’s shirt? Up the side? Buck can’t remember. Was it right up the middle, because they were desperate to hook up leads? Or in case they needed the AED?

Buck covers his mouth with one hand. He squeezes his eyes shut. Two tears escape anyway. He needs to talk to Eddie.

“We’re firefighters,” Buck had replied, like that explained everything.

Fabian had patted Buck’s hand, like he understood all of it.

Buck tries to focus. He should get himself together. He should start calling people, and phone companies, and Eddie’s family. He should get new clothes. New crutches for Chris.

You have to stop, he wants to scream at Eddie. The words fester on Buck’s tongue. You have to stop leaving me. It can’t this easy to leave me. You have to stop.

“Buck?”

He should talk to Eddie. He can’t look at Eddie. He doesn’t want to yell at Eddie. He should tell Eddie. My love, it can’t be this easy.

“Buck.”

Buck blinks back to the present, to his spot on the floor in the hospital hallway, trying to place that voice. It doesn’t make sense. Why would Bobby—

“Hey, kid.”

Buck looks up.

Bobby is rapidly closing the last three steps of distance between them. Athena is hot on his heels. Bobby drops to a crouch in front of Buck, resting a few fingers on the top of Buck’s foot.

Buck stares at his foot. It still has a hospital-issue sock on. Buck’s eyes trace Bobby’s fingers to his hand, to his arm, to his shoulder, to Bobby, who is here, because Chris called him. That’s right. Chris called him.

“You came?” Buck croaks.

“First red-eye they had,” Bobby answers readily, dipping his chin to get a better look at Buck. “You hurt? You alright?”

Buck shakes his head. He doesn’t know which question he’s answering.

Bobby’s lips tighten. “Eddie and Chris?”

Buck’s hand absently finds the door behind his back. “Chris has a concussion. Eddie had… ICP. It’s going down.”

“Sedated for now?” Bobby guesses.

Buck nods. “They’ll, um, discharge Chris in the morning.”

Bobby shares a look with Athena, then presses, “The EMT who got ahold of me said it was a little bit worse than that, Buck. For Eddie.”

“I got him back,” Buck whispers.

“Are you okay?”

Buck doesn’t answer.

Athena offers him a tissue.

Buck stares at it, and finally feels the tears on his face. There is wetness running down his cheeks and his neck. Has he been crying this whole time?

Buck should get himself together.

“I need…” he tries. Eddie and Chris need Buck to pull himself together. “I’ll need, um.”

Bobby offers his hands to Buck. Buck hesitates, then grabs on. Bobby helps Buck to his feet. Once Buck is standing, Athena presses the tissue insistently into Buck’s hand. Buck mops his face and chin. There’s a lot of water coming out of his eyes. The tissue soaks quickly.

Buck tries to focus. He can’t be this useless. “I just have to—”

Athena holds up a hand.

Buck falters.

“First of all,” Athena declares. She steps right up to him, tugs on his shoulders, and pulls him into a hug. She squeezes him so hard that the pieces of him almost seem to fit back together. Then she steps back, rubbing Buck’s arms once before completely letting go.

“Second of all,” she continues, calm and sure. “We’ll do a Target run for clothes. And shoes. Buck, I trust you can tell us what sizes your boys need? You text Bobby so we get the right things. You got some wet clothes around here somewhere? You go ahead and hand them over so we can take care of it.”

Buck stares at her. He feels fresh tears spill onto his cheeks.

Athena reaches for her purse.

“Any food you want,” Bobby chimes in, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Let us know, we’ll pick it up. We grabbed a rental car.”

Athena is fiddling with the tissue packet. “We’ll get a hotel room—” she glances at Bobby, who nods— “but we can book two if you want to sleep over there tonight. Buy you a phone in the morning.”

Then her hand is holding out a second tissue for Buck. When Buck is too slow to accept it, Bobby uses his free hand to take it and gently wipe it on Buck’s cheeks. When Bobby finishes, his hand on Buck’s shoulder squeezes.

Buck meets Bobby’s gaze.

“You want to come with us, or stay here?” Bobby asks.

“Stay here.”

“Can I wait here, then? I can sit with them,” Bobby nods at the door behind Buck, “if you need a break. Or I can sit with you, if you need company.”

Buck looks between from Bobby to Athena, then back to Bobby.

It can’t be this easy.

“You came?” Buck repeats, because it’s the only way he can ask it.

Bobby huffs a laugh. “Yeah, kid. We came.”

Buck practically trips forward, nearly knocking Bobby over. But it’s like Bobby was ready for him because Bobby’s arms wrap around Buck without hesitation. Buck lets himself sag a little, lets Bobby keep him upright. Buck buries his face in Bobby’s shoulder and sobs. Bobby doesn’t let go.

Chapter Text

The taste of the river is so thick in Buck’s mouth. It’s a bitter, pungent spike on the back of Buck’s tongue, lingering in his gums. Buck has to get it out.

Buck rinses his mouth in the bathroom while Bobby sits next to Christopher’s bed. When Athena brings supplies from a Target that was open late, Buck uses a new toothbrush and toothpaste to brush his teeth. The taste of the river is muted by mint, just long enough for Buck to thank Bobby and Athena for everything he can’t articulate.

Bobby and Athena head for the door. They are going to spend the night in their hotel room. They tell Buck to call if anything changes, and they take everyone’s wet clothes, and they promise to come back first thing in the morning.

The scent of dirty water creeps back over the toothpaste as soon as the door closes behind Bobby.

In the days after the tsunami, the smell of the ocean was never the problem. The taste of the saltwater was never the problem. It was the smell of heat and sewage overflowing as the sea flooded streets that imprinted on the inside of Buck’s lungs. A couple of showers, filtered A/C, and Buck could almost forget the day altogether.

This time, the water itself is tainted with something rotten. The river is in Buck’s nose, in his throat. It’s in his hair.

Buck showers, washes his whole body twice with soap. He drains half a travel-sized bottle of shampoo trying to purge the smell of the river from his hair. But the humidity in the bathroom heightens the dirty taste on his tongue, and Buck stumbles out of the shower, still soaked, to brush his teeth again. When he’s finished, he dabs a spot of toothpaste on the tip of his tongue and lets it sit there.

It seems to help.

Buck rips open packages of boxers, white undershirts, and cotton socks Athena brought. He pulls the clothes on over his dripping body, yanks fabric over his wet hair. In the bottom of one shopping bag, Buck finds two pairs of men’s sweats and two flannel button downs tagged with clearance stickers. He yanks off the tags and pieces together an outfit. Fully dressed, Buck smells like a department store, and shampoo, and toothpaste.

It seems to help.

There’s a bag with three pairs of canvas sneakers too, and another bag of clothes for Chris, and another bag with more toiletries and snacks and a prepaid flip phone with Bobby’s and Athena’s numbers already saved inside. Buck stuffs them under a couple of chairs by the window. He’s exhausted. His bones ache. He collapses onto the cot.

Buck stares at the dark ceiling, letting the minutes stretch. Gradually the toothpaste fades and the memory of the water soaks back into his mouth, like his saliva has been infected with the grime of the river. And his skin has been stamped with the feeling of cold lips pressing back against his own.

Buck might not ever get it out.

And nothing helps.

When Fabian comes in to wake Chris for a concussion check, Buck wordlessly plants himself in the chair next to Chris’s bed. Just to be there. Just to feel like he’s doing something right.

Chris groggily passes his check. Fabian leaves. Chris falls back asleep. Buck returns to the cot with the taste of the river still on his tongue. The press of Eddie’s dead lips on Buck’s mouth.

In the dark, Buck’s gaze finds Eddie.

That’s nothing. Buck has found Eddie in deafening, hazy crowds, smoke-thick buildings, in the nighttime during raging storms. Buck has even found Eddie by touch alone, at the bottom of a pitch-black river, when Eddie was dead and cold.

Buck stands. He forces his feet to step across the room toward Eddie’s bed. Buck lowers himself into the chair next to Eddie’s left side. Buck looks at Eddie’s face, slack and bruised, and the taste of the river swells like a wave inside Buck’s mouth. Buck almost bolts for the bathroom to vomit. He swallows thickly. There has— there has to be something else, something else for Buck to hold onto. Something that isn’t Eddie under water, drowning in a river.

Buck’s left hand slides under Eddie’s until their palms are pressed together. Buck shifts until he is clutching Eddie’s hand like Buck is dangling off the side of a building and only Eddie can pull him up. Buck squeezes.

It almost helps.

Then Buck’s right palm finds the back of Eddie’s hand, sandwiching it. Heat from Eddie’s skin melts against Buck’s grip. Eddie is alive, and dry, and safe. Buck inhales fully, all the way into his shoulders and belly, for the first time in hours.

It almost helps.

Buck inches to the edge of his seat, close enough to the bed that his elbows can rest on the mattress. Buck lifts Eddie’s hand in both of his, brings Eddie’s hand to his lips. Buck breathes in. And Eddie somehow doesn’t smell like river, he smells like Eddie, and his knuckles are warm against Buck’s mouth.

The taste of sour grief retreats. Buck closes his eyes. Eddie is here. Almost here.

It’s almost enough.

Chapter Text

Twenty minutes after the day-shift nurse cuts off Eddie’s sedation, Eddie blinks awake.

Buck is still planted in the chair on Eddie’s left.

“Hey, Eddie. Hey.”

Eddie closes his eyes, slowly opens them again. He lifts his head off the pillow, staring at his legs. He’s frowning, like he could have sworn he put his keys in his pants pocket, and now he can’t find them. His left hand pats the blankets on his lap curiously. His right hand is stuck in his sling.

Eddie notices. He tries to move his right hand. He hums at it when it only lifts an inch off his chest.

Buck leans forward. Eddie’s eyes slide over to track the movement.

“You were in an accident,” Buck says softly. “But you’re okay. Chris is okay.”

Eddie blinks purposefully, but his head drifts back, and he’s out again.

Buck’s elbows find his armrests. His hands fist together in front of his mouth. He bites his tongue. He is not going to scream.

Buck stands. He might scream.

Buck shakes out his hands. He paces. He is not going to scream. He looks at Eddie. He paces some more. He glances at Eddie. Eddie’s eyebrows twitch, like he’s trying to wake up again.

Buck sits down on the edge of his seat.

“Gotta wake up, Eddie.”

Eddie’s head lolls upright.

“There you go,” Buck coaxes. “Wake up. Time to wake up.”

Eddie scrubs an uncoordinated hand over his face, then groans when the IV under his skin tugs.

“Ouch,” Eddie grumps.

Buck stands to take Eddie’s left hand from him.

“Easy, easy,” Buck murmurs. He gently removes Eddie’s hand from his cheek, glad that the nurse took the nasal cannula away already.

Eddie’s other hand drifts up in its sling, but doesn’t get far before Eddie winces.

“Separated shoulder,” Buck informs Eddie quietly. He reaches down to smooth the IV tape on the back of Eddie’s hand. “And you hit your head.”

Eddie looks up at Buck, squinting.

“You were in an accident, but Chris is okay. You’re okay. You’re just waking up.”

“Are you…” Eddie slurs, “okay?”

“I’m not hurt. I’m fine, I’m not hurt.”

Eddie rotates his left hand so that it can hold onto Buck, but his gaze drifts to his hospital gown.

Buck is not going to scream.

“What’s— what’s your name?”

“Ed-die,” he says distractedly.

Buck follows Eddie’s gaze, but the ECG wires are gone. Buck isn’t sure what Eddie is looking at.

“Where are you right now, Eddie?”

Eddie’s left hand lets go of Buck, reaches for Eddie’s collar. His fingers hook in the paper fabric, trying to pull.

“I better…”

Eddie tugs again, but the collar doesn’t stretch.

“I better not be in. Texas.”

“You’re not in Texas,” Buck answers with a light laugh. Thank god they made it out of Texas. “Where do you remember being last?”

Eddie’s head suddenly drops back against the pillow. His face sags with pure exhaustion. His eyes close. He squeezes them a couple times, then reopens them.

“The car. Driving in… Arizona.”

“That’s right. We almost made it to Phoenix.”

Eddie swallows roughly. Pulls his head back off the pillow. “We didn’t make it?”

“Well, uh, we did. Not in the car though. We’re in a hospital in Phoenix now. You want some water?”

Buck turns to retrieve a cup with a straw from the table next to Eddie’s bed. Buck offers it to Eddie, who stares at it.

“I taste bad.” Eddie looks to Buck.

“The water should help. Come on, drink some.”

Eddie looks dubious, but when Buck insists, he drinks. After a few sips, he pulls away from the straw and grimaces.

“Tastes bad.”

Buck puts the cup down and fetches the Target bags. Buck sets the one with toiletries on his seat, rifling through it for a solution. There’s no mouthwash, just more toothbrushes and toothpaste. Buck breaks into one of the toothbrush packages, about to check the bathroom for disposable cups to see how he can make this work—

But Eddie is staring at his collar again. His fingers are still tucked on the edge, so he deliberately removes them. He splays his hand flat on his chest. He rubs faintly over his sternum, over the strap of his sling.

Buck doesn’t want to think about why Eddie is feeling there. Buck doesn’t want Eddie to remember.

You have to go, my love. You have to go.

Buck doesn’t want to remember.

I hurt you. You live.

He is not going to scream.

“You know what day that was?” Buck asks abruptly. “When we were driving almost to Phoenix?”

Eddie’s left hand skims over to the left side of his ribcage. He frowns at whatever he finds. “We left… Sunday? So. So. Monday.”

“That’s right, and now it’s Tuesday morning. Do— do you remember anything else?”

Eddie shakes his head.

Which is what Buck expected. Eddie probably won’t ever remember any of it. As soon as the hippocampus is deprived of oxygen, memory formation or retention or whatever critical part of that functioning it is flies out the window. That’s why Buck can’t remember any of the call he was on before he got struck by lightning. It’s why Eddie is not ever going to remember sending Buck away at the bottom of the river.

Which is for the best. For everyone.

Eddie’s hand feels out the right side of his ribcage, under the sling, then comes to rest in the middle of his chest.

Buck tries, “Want to brush your teeth?”

Eddie swivels his head to look at Buck. Eddie’s gaze flickers unfocused, then it sharpens.

“Are you okay?” Eddie repeats.

“Yeah, I’m okay. They didn’t even admit me.”

“Somebody,” Eddie says carefully, “broke my ribs.”

“Hey, you’re okay now,” Buck pivots, aiming for levity. “You’re going to heal. You, you’ll be back up and running in no time. I should— I should tell Chris you’re up.”

Buck drops the toothbrush back into the shopping bag.

“Bobby and Athena—” Buck continues, digging for his temporary phone, “Bobby and Athena took him to breakfast—”

“Right here.”

Buck looks up.

Eddie’s fingers tap in the center of his chest. “Right here.”

Buck falters. His hand curls around the phone.

“I know.”

Buck shakes his head. “You— you don’t know. You don’t remember.”

“I know you.”

Buck is not going to scream.

“I know you and me,” Eddie amends.

Buck might scream.

“Gimme.”

Buck looks at the phone in his hand, then offers it to Eddie. Eddie takes the phone—drops it onto the bed—and grabs Buck’s hand before Buck can react. Eddie guides Buck’s palm toward his own sternum.

Buck recoils. Tries to take his hand back before it meets Eddie’s chest.

Eddie doesn’t let him. Eddie plants Buck’s hand over his heart.

Buck watches, frozen, so sure that Eddie is about to fall apart. Buck’s hand shakes. He doesn’t trust himself to move. One mistake and his hand is going to hurt Eddie.

Eddie’s chest rises, then falls.

“See?” Eddie asks.

Buck brushes his free hand roughly over his eyes.

Eddie’s chest rises, then falls.

“Nothing bad.”

Eddie’s chest rises, then falls.

“Don’t ever make me save you again,” Buck whispers.

Eddie lowers his head to the pillow. Keeps his hand on top of Buck’s.

“You’re good at it.”

Buck can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, but Buck can’t look away from his hand. If Buck looks away, his hand is going to press down, Buck is sure of it, and break Eddie.

“I never want to save you again,” Buck insists, voice hollow. “I— I mean it.”

Eddie’s voice is soft. "I know you do.”

Chapter Text

“Maybe take him to a museum or something,” Eddie says over the rush of the water. His voice reverberates in the bathroom. “There’s got to be so many museums around here. Get his mind off of everything.”

Buck leans against the wall inside the closed bathroom door. The humidity from the shower is steadily fogging up the mirror. Buck stares at it, listening for sounds that mean Eddie has fallen down on the other side of the flimsy shower curtain.

“He’s fine,” Buck replies. “He can hole up in the hotel. Bobby and Athena are happy to hang out with him.”

“Would you just go be with him?”

Buck tries not to let himself sound frustrated. “He knows you’re worse off than he is. You need extra attention right now. In— in fact, he wants to come be here for you.”

“And I want you to go be with him. So go be with him.”

Buck clears his throat. “Do you need any help in there?”

There’s a brief pause. Then: “You know, if I’m going to have a separated shoulder, let’s just separate it all the way.”

Buck smiles faintly.

“Just take it off. Get it out of the way.”

The water shuts off. Buck pushes away from the wall to offer the towel at the edge of the curtain. Eddie’s hand emerges to take it.

Buck stares at his canvas sneakers. The air is thick with heat and dampness. At least Buck can’t taste river water anymore. At least Eddie’s mouth is moving on its own again.

“Do you remember what you said…” Buck starts, “in your voicemail? Asking me to come out and drive with you?”

Eddie doesn’t respond for a few seconds.

“I asked you to drive with us,” Eddie grunts. “That’s pretty much all I said.”

Buck dips his head, chews bitterly on the memory. “‘Chris is desperate to see you.’”

“Chris was desperate to see you.”

“You, uh, can’t hear it, can you?”

It goes like this. Eddie is vulnerable. Eddie talks through Chris.

Buck has seen it before, every time Eddie is furious or sad or worried about Buck. Eddie’s defense is always Chris.

“Hear what?” Eddie asks. He swipes the shower curtain to one side. His towel is wrapped around his hips. His right shoulder is a little sunken, the forearm hovering near his side.

There is also bruising on the edges of Eddie’s sternum, Buck knows, but he avoids looking.

Buck crosses to the sink, removing a white undershirt from the same package he got his own from. Gingerly, he and Eddie coordinate working the thing over Eddie’s injured shoulder and sore chest. Then Buck raises a new pair of boxers at Eddie questioningly. Eddie grabs them with his left hand, so Buck turns his back to let Eddie pull them on by himself.

“I’ll help you with the sweats,” Buck offers over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

Buck nods at the bathroom door. He listens to the soft shuffling of Eddie behind him. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to find the right words for what comes next.

“We… we spend all this time talking about what you want for Chris, what he needs. You’re always putting Chris first. You tell me to put Chris first, and— and I’ll do it but, man, it’s starting to feel like that puts him right between us.”

Eddie scoffs. "That's how it goes when you have a kid. Grow up.”

“No, I— I know that,” Buck protests weakly. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Is— is it so easy to cut me out?”

“Oh, come on, Buck.” Eddie’s voice is tight. He pushes past Buck and yanks open the door, exiting into his hospital room. His sweatpants are already on. “None of this has been easy.”

Buck’s eyes narrow.

“Really?” Buck shoots back. “‘Cause you put me in your will without asking!”

He follows Eddie into the room, gesturing vaguely out the window at the worst moment of his life.

“You— you sent me away at the bottom of a river!”

At the foot of his bed, Eddie wheels on Buck. “I sent you to get Chris out! Both of us are drowning and you expect me to choose someone else?”

“You’re not hearing me—”

“Between me and my son, it’s my son every time.”

"You're not under water anymore, Eddie!"

That stops Eddie in his tracks.

“You haven’t been,” Buck insists roughly. “For a long time.”

Eddie's left fist clenches at his side. His right hangs near his ribs, probably aching.

“So what do you want?” Buck prompts him. “Just because you want it.”

Eddie looks out the window.

Buck waits. Eddie doesn’t respond.

Buck approaches Eddie slowly, retrieving the sling from where it got discarded on the bed. Eddie lets Buck slide his right arm into the sling, lets Buck adjust the strap on his neck.

“Nobody’s drowning,” Buck says softly. “This isn’t a— a zero-sum game. Chris doesn’t win just because you take a loss. And he doesn’t lose every time you get a win.”

Buck steps back, bobbing his head to catch Eddie’s gaze. Eddie refuses to look at him.

“You don’t have to choose which one of you gets to live.”

Chapter Text

Eddie is discharged that evening without a hitch. He is still suffering a few concussion symptoms, and he’s on strict orders to avoid screens and operating heavy machinery, but the swelling in his brain has vanished. The bump on his temple has vanished.

Eddie's voice also seems to have vanished. Buck hasn’t heard him say more than a few words since he showered, and mostly just to the hospital staff who paraded in to check on him before they left.

Buck and Eddie are now waiting in front of the hospital’s main entrance, on a bench in the setting sun. Buck is on the left. Eddie is on his right. They are not talking. At least Buck isn’t screaming.

Bobby and Athena will swing by in the rental car soon. When they arrive, the first order of business should probably be another shopping run for more substantial clothing options and suitcases and electronics. Buck silently drafts the list in his head, wishing his flip phone had a notes function. He keeps tapping fingers on his leg to count off items one at a time, every few seconds, so he doesn’t forget anything.

“I told you something down there, didn’t I?”

Buck startles. He looks at Eddie. Eddie is watching the parking lot indifferently.

Buck’s brain loses its grip on the shopping list, trying to figure out how to say no. His mouth can’t quite form the word.

“I wish I could remember,” Eddie muses.

“Don’t.”

Eddie meets Buck’s gaze.

You have to stop leaving me. It can’t be this easy.

Buck explains hoarsely, "Not a good memory.”

“That bad, huh?”

Buck can’t tell if they’re talking about the accident itself or I told you something down there, didn’t I. It doesn’t matter. There’s no way Eddie remembers either. Eddie doesn’t know what happened, and he’s never going to. Buck is not going to tell him.

As much as he wants to.

My love.

No.

Buck can’t risk confronting those words on dry land. Doesn’t want to hear Eddie’s convoluted explanation taking all their weight away.

“Tell me how it went,” Eddie says.

“No.”

“Buck.”

“No.”

Eddie scrunches his nose, sets his left hand on his lap. His fingers drum on his leg once, then fall still.

“Okay, so… so, what. We’re under water. Sinking. Maybe I’m out of it, but you— they didn’t admit you, so you’re alert.”

“What— what are you doing?”

“Chris, he got a concussion. So we’re all under water and he needs to get out. I need you to get him out. You know that I do.”

Buck looks away, shaking his head. “Stop it.”

“For some reason I can’t go. And you don’t want to, but you will.”

Buck sags forward until his elbows hit his knees. "Please." He presses his palms together in front of his mouth. He is not going to scream. He counts the cracks in the concrete below him. He will not scream.

“But I’m so… I feel so…”

Eddie hesitates.

“My whole life I felt trapped,” Eddie murmurs. “And some of that is my fault. But— but every time I think it’s about to suffocate me, you pull me out.”

Buck shakes his head.

But do you trust me with you? Buck had asked. And Eddie almost hadn’t known the answer. Because Eddie never has.

“I’m calm because I can finally let go of the rest of it,” Eddie says, “I can let you get me out.”

Buck takes a weak breath. “That’s not how it went.”

“That’s how I want it to go. I’m getting a different ending this time.”

Buck blinks. He doesn’t understand. He turns to look at Eddie. Eddie is already watching him.

“Just because I want it,” Eddie adds quietly.

Buck straightens. He can’t have heard that right. Eddie wants…?

Eddie falters, staring at his arm in its sling. “I know you hate it. But maybe you can save me one more time.”

Buck stares.

Eddie huffs a laugh. His left hand rubs anxiously on his pant leg. “I know it’s a lot to ask—”

“Not to me.”

Buck turns on the bench, facing Eddie, moving closer. Eddie tentatively glances at him, then at the parking lot.

Buck reaches up to trace Eddie’s jaw, to pull Eddie’s gaze back to him. Eddie comes willingly. His brown eyes find Buck, soft and scared.

“Not for you.”

Buck’s hand slides along Eddie’s cheek, hooks under Eddie’s ear. Buck tips Eddie’s head back, opens his mouth against Eddie’s, but doesn’t quite close the distance.

Buck remembers being here before. Being sent away.

He needs a different ending.

“Get me out,” Eddie begs, low and beautiful against Buck’s lips. His left hand finds the open lapel of Buck’s button-down, tangling in it, tugging.

“My love, get me out.”

“My love,” Buck echoes, letting his mouth brush against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s lips purse briefly, eager.

Buck grins.

Eddie rushes into the empty space between them. His lips slot against Buck’s, smooth and wanting and warm. He leans forward, his hand insistent on Buck’s belly, his weight pushing into Buck. Buck holds Eddie’s face gently, giggles between quick kisses. Then Eddie's hand slips around to Buck's back, trying to press them closer together. Buck cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair, feeling the vibration in his chest as Eddie moans. Eddie's mouth opens, and his tongue licks Buck's lips.

Buck tilts his head, gasps into Eddie’s mouth, breathes the air that Eddie is exhaling. Lets his tongue taste the whine that Eddie is making.

Eddie is alive, and he is Buck’s.

Buck pulls away just long enough to laugh. “Eddie. Eddie."

"What?" Eddie mumbles, eyes closed and kiss-drunk. "What happened?"

"My love, you’re out.”