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It’s not a conscious thought.
Not him. Anyone but him.
He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t want to lose any of them—but it’s flitting to the front of his mind and he can’t even stop it, is the thing. And maybe, some awful, heartbroken part of him—this little thing inside of him that he’s been so scared to acknowledge—knows why, but it doesn’t stop the wave of guilt.
He doesn’t want to lose any of them.
And they’re all in that building.
And one of them is dead.
And all he can think is—not him. Anyone but him.
He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. The 118 is his family, and he’d throw himself in front of a bullet for every last one of them, but the idea of being here. 800 miles away. Of Buck—Buck dying and Eddie being here instead of with him—
His knees buckle.
One cracks on the edge of the coffee table as he falls between it and the couch, gaze locked on the tv. On the reporter. On the—the body bag being wheeled out in the background.
He doesn’t even register the pain of the fall. Too focused on the headlines; the grim faces behind the reporter.
Nobodies answered their phones all day. Read their texts. Given him any indication as to what’s going on. Who’s hurt. Who’s—dead. He almost drove to the airport, almost got on the freeway and just drove until he hit LA city limits. But he’s got less than $20 in his bank account because he uprooted his entire life on a whim, without getting a goddamned job, and $20 isn’t even enough for a fucking bus ticket.
His phone remains clutched in his hand, grip so tight he thinks he might shatter it. Numbly, he drags his gaze away from the tv and down to the phone, forcing himself to open his hand so he can unlock it.
Bucks contact is still pulled up when it unlocks.
His hands shake when he presses his thumb to the call button. He can’t find the energy to bring it to his ear—too many missed calls, too many hopeful heart beats—so he stumbles through the motions of putting it on speaker and sets it on the coffee table while it rings. His mind translates every unanswered ring into the nightmarish symphonic song of a bagpipe—a firefighters last goodbye.
It goes to voicemail. Bucks voice is chipper, playful and Eddie—Eddie can’t.
He lets it play out, shaking his head, crumpling into himself, his head thumping against the seat of the couch at his back. A million things to say. He has a million things to say, so many little nothings that don’t even matter—the kid at the grocery store who made direct eye contact with him as she licked an avocado and put it back on the shelf; Chris’ art classes; the fair he picked up last night that called him pretty, and it didn’t feel weird, because maybe he’s not as straight as he thinks he is; his feelings.
God, his feelings.
He hasn’t even been able to wrap his head around them, and now he’ll never get the chance because—
A beep.
He lifts his head, breathes shakily, and then reaches out and ends the call.
Something wretched settles in his stomach.
It’s Buck.
Buck’s dead.
Anyone but him.
He’ll regret it in the future—letting the thought settle into something real. A tangible hope.
Anyone but him.
Does he mean it? No. No. He—
Fuck.
He calls Buck again.
“You’ve reached Buck’s voicemail. If this is Eddie—“
He hangs up.
Swipes out of Buck’s contact and scrolls through everyone else—taps each of them individually. Calls each of them individually. Nothing. Nothing. Fucking—nothing. Opens the group chat—nothing since this morning, an eye roll emoji from Chim—and finds one of the numbers he doesn’t have saved. Ravi, he thinks.
Pick up, he thinks.
Pick up.
Voicemail.
“Fuck!”
The phones out of his hand and across the room before he even realizes what he’s done—it splinters against the wall in slow motion. Cracks violently against the drywall, followed by a vitriolic, angry sound jackhammering across the living room, that he realizes belatedly isn’t the phone.
It’s him.
His throat’s raw in its wake.
He stares after the phone, vaguely numb in the way that nothing feels real and all too real all at once—and takes a breath, deep and wavering. His phone’s shattered. He threw his phone and its shattered. He lifts up onto his knees, stomach clenching at the sight of it. The screen’s flickering, like it’s trying for one last grasp at life, and his mind wanders a dangerous path on the edge of that thought—
Buck.
Did he—
Shakes his head—forces the thought away before it can fully form, the remnants of anyone but him dousing it like a fire starved of oxygen.
The screen dims—flickers. Fades.
Panic tunnels his vision, zeroes in on his phone on the ground. What did he do? That—that was his only lifeline. The only way he could—and he shattered it.
There’s a steady strum, something quick and angry; and his breath stumbles out of his chest just as testy. He tries to count, tries to tune into one of the self soothing techniques meant specifically for this—the swirling, raging storm of anxiety flurrying in his chest and mind. But they’re all just out of reach, somewhere west with the 118.
He falls back onto the floor, his back pressing into the couch, a hand coming up to grasp at the fabric of his shirt over his chest. His fist clenches tight in it, as if he can reach through it and into his ribs—if he presses hard enough he can pull his heart right out. Cull the pain.
It doesn’t work.
Nothing works.
The anxiety and fear takes root and drags him down with it.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the tv, unable to catch a breath deep enough to keep the world from tipping upside down. Eventually, the news shifts to some other tragedy on the other side of the country; eventually time moves on without him. Time moves, and he trembles along in its wake; an unwilling accomplice in a world without Evan Buckley.
He doesn’t even hear the front door open. Just his sister calling out, somewhere distant, a faint echo that barely greets him past the sound of his pounding heart. “Where are you? I know you’re here, your car’s outside. Just because you and mom got in another fight doesn’t—oh my god, Eddie?”
Something clatters to the ground, and a moment later, she’s there, reaching out for him and pulling away like she doesn’t know if she can touch him. She’s right in front of him, asking if he’s okay, but he feels entirely estranged from this moment, this place. She grabs him, but he doesn’t even feel it, can’t, because he can’t feel anything but the tingling in his cheeks and fingertips.
He needs to breathe, but can’t find the strength or will to hold anything in long enough to do any good.
“Hey—Hey, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
Something in him, some wild, frayed cable holding him still, snaps and allows him to turn to her, vision swimming. His spine aches with how hard it’s trembling; doesn’t know how long this has gone on, or how much longer he can withstand it.
“Buck,” He breathes, nothing more than a choked out whisper that crackles into the space between them.
He crumples as the final syllable slips past his lips.
“Buck?” Sophia asks, gripping him tight enough to breach the fog. “What about Buck?”
He shakes his head, falling forward, towards the edge of the coffee table.
She catches him, pulls him back like he doesn’t weigh twice as much as she does, and holds him there, as steady as she can.
“Hey, talk to me. What happened to Buck?”
They’d get along—Sophia and Buck. He was going to call Buck during lunch today—mainly because he’d accidentally double booked himself. But also because there are bridges that need mending, and Buck—Buck’s—
Dead.
“I think he’s dead,” He says, the words as much crawling from the back of his throat as they are yanked out of him by grief and desperation.
Sophia goes still, and then her grip tightens on his arms, and she nods. “Okay,” she says, soft. Tenderness isn’t a trait she covets, but she’s entirely tender when she ducks her head to look at him. “Okay. I need you to take a breath with me, Edmundo.” She nods slow, and he mimics the motion. “Good, follow me. In,” She lifts her chin on the inhale, and he follows the motion, chest shuddering—almost like his bodies fighting him on it. Like it’s not ready to climb back into reality.
“Out.” Her chin dips, and he follows.
Repeating the motion, she holds him tighter. Her grip’s like gravity, holding him down. Secure. Certain.
Breathing starts to come easier—only in form, not in practice. In practice, every breath feels filled with needles. In practice, his spine stills and his extremities stop tingling, and reality starts seeping into the corners of his vision again. Tears, hot and frequent, slip over his cheeks, a volcanic river seeping into the collar of his shirt.
Sophia’s staring at him.
He looks away—can’t bear the brunt of her gaze.
“Why do you think he’s dead?” She asks, eventually.
“The news.”
She turns to the tv, frowning, before swinging back around. “The news told you he’s dead?”
He sniffs, reaching up to tangle a hand in his hair, his elbow digging into the hardest part of his knee. “Nobodies answering their phones,” He says, voice hoarse and crackling.
Her gaze travels across the room—to where the phone’s still lying in carnage beneath the hole in the wall. “So you threw your phone?” He nods, once, and she watches him for a long moment before nodding as well, pushing to stand.
“Are you leaving?”
He hates how small he sounds—how frightened. But he can’t be alone right now. He can’t.
“I’m getting my phone,” She says, simply.
Oh.
She’s not even gone ten seconds before she’s falling to her knees beside him. “I’m going to text Adriana. Have her pick up Chris from school. She was going to have a girls day with Daphne, but they can go see a movie while we figure this out.”
And he doesn’t want to keep lying to Christopher, but, “Don’t tell him,” he pleads. “Not yet.”
Sophia takes a breath, but nods, as she types out a text. He presses into the couch, fist clenching in his hair, eyes squeezing shut.
“Do you have anyones number?” She asks.
A noise catches at the back of his throat, and he doesn’t even look at her when he says, “Just Buck’s.” He should have taken the time to memorize all their numbers, but the only one that ever stuck, that he’s ever felt the need to keep is—is Buck’s. Because he never, even after everything they’ve all been through, even after the lightning, he never imagined a world where Buck wouldn’t—couldn’t—be there to answer.
A soft hand wraps around his. He blinks at her, vision still shrouded by tears, and she carefully sets her phone in his hand. “Call it.”
He shakes his head, trying to back away from her, but there’s nowhere to go; he’s as far against the couch as he can get. “I can’t.”
She wraps his fingers around the phone. “You need to know for sure.” A pathetic noise curls on his tongue, and when he opens his mouth to object, it fills the space between them instead. “I know. But you can’t sit here wallowing in the not knowing. You need to know. Call him.”
He sucks on his cheek, before nodding, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “Okay,” he croaks, “okay.” His gaze falls back to the phone and he carefully types the number in.
Nobodies going to answer.
He already knows, because—
“Hello?”
He jerks upright. “Maddie?”
She exhales. “Eddie?” Another little noise stumbles out of him, he can’t stop it, or the way he clutches at the phone like the last remaining lifeline at the end of a long line of tragedies. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling. Something—”
“Is he okay?”
It feels like an eternity—the moment between him asking and her answering, though it can’t be more than a handful of seconds.
“Yeah,” She says, soft, gentle surprise lining the word. It strikes him that she’s probably wondering how he knows. “They all are. It, um. It was touch and go for a minute there, and—”
Whatever she says next falls on deaf ears.
Because he’s alive.
Buck’s alive.
He breathes in—the moment an unconscious jolt; as if his body needed the answer as much as he did.
He looks at Sophia, and she slumps, as if his relief is so palpable, it’s transferred over to her. “He’s okay?”
Nodding, he tries to tune back in, but a flash of the body bag crosses his mind and he tenses back up, interrupting whatever Maddie’s saying to ask, “Who died?”
Maddie stumbles over the end of a sentence. “You didn’t know him,” she murmurs, after a beat. “He was your cover.” There’s something she’s not saying in the silence that follows the statement, in the careful way she’s breathing.
“Tell me.”
She exhales slowly. “Howie’s in the ICU. Hen—has a collapsed lung. Bobby—god, we thought we’d lost him. Athena and Buck were . . .” She pauses, swallowing. “He’s okay. He’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” It sounds less like she’s trying to update him and more like she’s trying to remind herself that they’re okay.
As if today was worse than he can even imagine.
But everyone’s okay. They all made it out.
But, he’d called Buck, and Maddie answered.
“Where’s Buck?”
Another pause.
“That’s—” She stops, sighing. “He and Ravi got arrested.”
Sitting up, he rounds on his sister, wide eyed. “What do you mean they got arrested?”
Sophia frowns. “Arrested?”
Better than dead. Arrested is better than dead.
“Ravi did something crazy, and Buck—when he thought Bobby was dead—“ She cuts herself off with a gasp, and then whispers, like she's been wounded, “Oh my god.”
“Maddie?”
“I think Buck might still think Bobby’s dead.”
“Why would he—”
“It’s a long story, Eddie.”
“Then give me the short version.”
“They won’t let Athena in to see him, and honestly, even if they would, I’m not sure she’d have it in her to go in. And he hasn’t called anyone. I’m working on finding a lawyer, it’s just, this whole thing is—it’s a lot. It’s a lot, and I’m barely hanging on. All I can focus on is that none of the people we love died, and isn’t that the worst thought?” Her voice goes quiet, wobbling. “Someone died. And all I can think is how relieved and grateful that everyone I love is going to make it home.”
In the background, someone calls her name, and she sighs.
“Eddie, I’m so sorry. I have to—they said I can go see Howie, and I—”
“Go,” he says.
She exhales, slow and shaky. “I’m—I’ll call you when I have any new updates.”
“Thank you.”
She sniffs, and then the call goes quiet, and Eddie’s left with his thoughts and the knowledge that Buck’s locked away somewhere, safe and sound.
Safe and sound, and alone.
And most likely grieving.
Numbly, he draws the phone away from himself and holds it out to his sister. She takes it without saying anything, but he can feel her gaze on the side of his face like a brand. He needs to get to LA. He needs to get to LA and be there for his family while they’re recovering. He needs—
He needs to see for himself that Buck’s alive and he needs to gather him in his arms and never fucking let go.
It was one thing; being there when Buck gets hurt. Witnessing the horror in real time. Hearing the flatline. Out here—even knowing that he’s okay, hurting but not hurt, it’s not enough. He needs to see it with his own eyes. Because there’s a nugget of doubt sitting in his stomach, the belief that Buck would ask Maddie to lie for him. The belief that she would. Because if Buck had died, and his final request had been don’t tell Eddie—nobody would tell him.
Because he left them.
Because Buck wouldn’t want to hurt him. Even in his final moments, he’d find a way to protect him—help him. In that ass backwards way of thinking that always ended in him thinking he doesn’t matter as much to anyone else as he does.
“There’s a flight out in three hours,” Sophia says, voice fracturing through his thoughts. He turns towards her, frowning—her gaze is drawn to her phone, thumb scrolling easily. “Is that too soon? I don’t think Daphne would mind Chris staying over for a couple days. And then once everything’s settled he can come out with you.”
His brows furrow. “What?”
Her shoulders rise with a deep breath, and then she glances up, unimpressed. “To LA?”
He can’t.
He doesn’t have the money.
“I can’t,” He croaks, shaking his head.
“Three hours is short notice,” She murmurs, nodding, turning back to the phone.
“No,” He says, frowning. “I can’t go to LA.”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course you can. I just told you, I’ve got Chris covered.”
“It’s not Chris.”
She looks up, facing pinching. “Eddie, you were on the ground crying when I got here. You’re still crying.” He frowns, reaching up and touching his cheek, surprised to find it still wet with fresh tears. One catches on his index finger right before he pulls it away, pooling in the grooves by his nail. “I think we both know you need to see that he’s alive.”
“They’re okay,” Eddie says, looking down at the tear clinging to his fingertip; glaring at it.
“And you’re fine just sitting on your floor waiting for another update?” He jerks his gaze over to her, and something in his expression must give him away, because she nods, once. “Exactly. So, let’s—”
“I can’t afford it,” He murmurs. “I—I don’t have the money to book a flight. Or a train. Or a damn bus. I—of course I want to be there.” His hand falls to his lap, and he squeezes it into a tight fist, fingernails digging into the meat of his palm. “But I can’t.”
She blinks at him, and then sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically before turning back to her phone and clicking around on it without saying anything.
And then, she looks up.
“I booked the flight that takes off in three hours. You should shower off all the sweat and tears and snot and pack a bag, quickly. Because traffic to the airport right now is going to be a bitch.”
His heart stills.
“What?” He’s not even sure he manages to actually ask it.
But then she’s pushing up to her feet and holding a hand out for him. “Get up. Shower. I’ll see if I can salvage your phone.”
He stares at the hand held out for him, and then slowly drags his gaze up to meet her, feeling like the smallest man who ever lived. She’s towering over him, a kind of softness in her gaze that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen from her—but it’s not pity, it’s something else. It almost.
It almost makes him feel seen in the most beautiful, heart wrenching way.
Because his family, the one he’d been born into, doesn’t see him—he’s gone to great lengths to ensure it.
But she’s standing here, like for the first time in their shared existence, she gets him. Like something about all of this made something click for her.
And that’s as terrifying as it is a fucking relief.
“Soph—”
“Don’t do that, Edmundo. Your—” She pauses, eyebrows furrowing, and then quirking, like she’s not exactly sure what to call him, “Buck needs you.” Her head tilts to the side, and she wiggles her hand at him. “And I think you need him just as much. So get up, go shower, and let’s go.”
She doesn’t ask—he can see the question in her eyes, behind the determination and understanding. But she doesn’t ask, and he allows himself to take her hand and pull himself up to his feet, legs unsteady and aching. His knee burns from where he cracked it against the coffee table, and—
And he moves forward without thinking, dragging his sister in for a hug.
There’s a beat where she just stands there, and then carefully, her arms come around his back, and she hugs him back.
“Once everything’s settled,” she says into his chest. “We’re having a talk.”
He nods. “Okay.”
That’s fair.
She’s not the only one he needs to have a talk with.
They pull up to the departures gate, and Eddie moves to climb out of the car, heart in his throat. He feels a bit like a magnet being dragged back to its polar connection—like every step closer to LA he gets is one step closer to where he belongs. Doesn’t think he’ll truly feel home until Buck’s there, at his side, in his arms—within five feet of him, breathing. He doesn’t care. He just needs to see him.
And everyone else.
Once he can see Buck’s okay, the coursing anxiety that whispers the rest of his family's names can find its way to the surface. He knows everyone’s okay, that nobody he loves has died, but he won’t be content until he sees it for himself.
A hand settles on his arm, and he turns, frowning.
Sophia holds her phone out to him. “Take it,” she says. “Yours wasn’t salvageable.”
“I can’t take your phone.”
She rolls her eyes and reaches out, grabbing his hand and forcefully pushing the phone into it. “You’re going to need to order an uber to get from the airport, and you’re going to need to figure out where your friends are. You can’t do that without a phone, Edmundo.”
A familiar sting burns the back of his nose, and he clears his throat, shaking his head. “I—”
“I’ll come with Christopher in a few days.”
“You can’t go a few days without a phone, Sophia.”
She shrugs. “I’ll figure something out. Go trade in yours and use it until we can trade back. I’m not worried.”
He blinks away tears as they flood his vision and looks down at the phone. “Why—”
“Because you’re my brother,” She says, quietly. “I know you don’t think that means anything, but it does. Now, go.”
He swallows down a wave of emotion—doesn’t have the capacity to really deal with what all of this means to him, so he nods, looks up at her, jaw clenching. “Thank you.”
She smiles. “Not necessary, but appreciated.”
He sniffs, reaching up to wipe at the corner of his eye and then climbs out of the car. “I’ll call you when everything’s settled.”
“Call Adriana first,” She says. “I’ll tell her to watch the phone.” Her hands settle on the steering wheel as she turns to face forward. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
And she doesn’t look back at him—even as if he stands there staring at her for a few moments, conflicting emotions, the version of his sister he’s had in his head, and the version sitting in front of him warring for surface perception. He nods, closes the door, watches as she nods.
Then the car inches forward, and she’s gone.
He doesn’t sleep on the plane.
Somehow it feels like he sat down, blinked, and they’ve landed, and, simultaneously, like he’s spent his whole life in this seat, waiting to touch down in LA.
He calls Maddie the second his feet hit the floor of the airport. She answers on the second ring, sounding tired, wary, but less drained than before. “Eddie?”
And he should—he should say hello, or I’m here, or ask how the others are, but what tumbles from his mouth breathlessly as he speed walks through the airport towards the exit is, “Where is he?”
Maddie, for her part, doesn’t take offense, or sound bothered by his singular focus. “Athena got a call about ten minutes ago that they’re going to release him. I’ve been trying to find someone who can go pick him up—”
“I’ll go. Text me the address?”
“Okay,” She says, and then, “Just—Eddie. Nobodies talked to him. We haven’t been able to.”
He comes to a stop in the middle of the hall. “He still thinks—”
He still thinks Bobby’s dead.
“Yeah,” She murmurs. “I think he does.” Her voice goes distant for a moment, and then comes back. “Howie says hello,” There’s a smile in her voice, something that distinctly tells him that’s not what Chimney said at all, and something warm curls up in Eddie’s chest.
“I’m sure he does,” Eddie says, starting towards the exit again. “Tell him I’m glad he didn’t die?”
“Eddie says he’s glad you didn’t die,” She says, away from the mouthpiece. “No, I’m not telling him that. Stop it.”
“Telling me what?”
There’s a sigh.
“Now’s not the time,” Maddie says, eventually, as he slips through the automatic doors, blinking in the sunlight. It’d been overcast in El Paso, hot and sulky, and every bit as miserable as he remembered it would be before he moved back. But there’s a soft breeze, a faint smell of ocean, that he’s almost definitely imagining, and a sense of rightness settling in his bones.
“For what?”
“Nothing.” The phone buzzes in Eddie’s hand. “I just sent over the address for where they’re holding him. Call me when you have him? Or—or when you get a chance.” Chim must say something, because Maddie makes a shushing noise at him. “Now is not the time.”
Chim’s voice raises, but Eddie only catches a vague sense of what he’s saying, and he has more important matters than what he assumes is a morphine induced rant. For now, he’s alive, and that’s enough. And, even if it weren’t, Maddie’s fond exasperation tells Eddie all he needs to know—that Chimney’s not just alive. He’s well.
He’s well, and he has the woman he loves there keeping him company, and he doesn’t need Eddie’s concern or focus right now.
“I’m getting an uber,” Eddie says. “I’ll let you know once I’ve got Buck.”
“Okay. Be safe.”
“You, too.”
The call’s still connected when he drags the phone from his ear—faintly, he hears Chimney’s voice, “I knew he’d come for him,” but he doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, and the call disconnects before he can even think to ask. It doesn’t matter, anyways, because he pulls up his sister's uber account—frowning at her rider score; making a mental note to discuss uber best practices with her in the future, and to pay her back for all of this—and puts in the address Maddie texted him.
Another text comes through as he climbs into the uber and offers a polite smile to the driver; he’s met with disinterest, and nods, turning down to the phone.
Athena says he’ll be released at 10. Do you think you’ll make it?
His gaze darts up to the corner of the screen; 8:12am. Pulls the app back up; ETA 9:27am.
I’ll be there.
Maddie doesn’t reply right away—probably passing the message along.
And then, a picture comes through—Athena and Bobby together in a hospital room. A selfie, Athena’s holding the camera up, and Bobby’s smiling into the lens, a tired, but world weathered certainty about him. Eddie takes a deep breath—Athena looks just as tired as Bobby does, like the two of them have been through hell and back, but their smiles say they’re alive, and that’s what matters.
Show him this?
Eddie reaches up, swiping at his runny nose, before typing out a reply. Of course.
Another picture comes through a beat later—this one of Hen and Karen in their own hospital room. Hen’s asleep, but Karen’s smiling into the camera, a solemn, all is well lining the corners of her smile.
And another—Chimney’s rolling his eyes, and Maddie’s gaze is on him rather than the camera, as if he’d said something ridiculous in the moment between posing and taking the photo. He’s pale, and an IV line is hanging from his arm; but Maddy’s smile is bright and Chimney’s is a little morphine-drunk, but they’re okay.
And these.
Eddie’s vision swims again, but he texts his assent and puts the phone down, turning his attention out towards the city. They’re headed straight for rush hour traffic, but there’s something oddly comforting in the slow starts and stops.
He waits outside. Traffic was, predictably, worse than expected, and he ends up with only a few moments to prepare himself. Buck’s somewhere inside, being given his things—if he has any, Eddie’s still not sure how Maddie has his phone—and he’s going to come outside any minute now.
Because he’s alive.
Eddie swallows past a lump in his throat, tries to appear casual where he’s leaning against the wall facing the doors—a few people give him wary looks, but nobody says anything.
Eventually the doors open, and Buck walks through them. His face is downturned—his steps slow, almost uncertain. Like he’s not even clear with himself whether or not he can take the next step. He doesn’t have anything on him, and he’s wearing sweats that clearly aren’t his. Eddie pushes away from the wall, stepping towards him.
“Buck.”
Buck doesn’t respond right away, but Eddie sees the confused furrow of his brow right before he lifts his head. His eyes are bloodshot, bags heavy beneath his eyes. He looks a bit like his entire world has collapsed out from under him and he isn’t sure how he’s still here. When their eyes meet, he doesn’t appear to recognize him, either. Not right away.
He comes to a stop, five feet away from Eddie, and his mouth parts—opening and closing several times.
And then, sounding entirely unlike himself, but so achingly familiar, he says, “E—Eddie?”
His voice cracks, and when Eddie nods, something inside Buck does, too, and Eddie’s rushing forward as soon as he sees it, catching Buck just as his knees buckle. Buck’s hands find his shirt, fisting in the material with the kind of broken desperation that speaks of true, debilitating loss. And the noise he makes, when Eddie’s arms wind around him, lowering them to the ground outside the police station—Eddie’s never going to forget it.
Something utterly shattered.
Eddie brings a hand up, cups the back of Buck’s head, holds him tight; secure. “I got you,” He says into Buck’s ear. “I’ve got you, Buck.”
He said once, right before leaving for El Paso, lashing out because he felt trapped, that if it came to a choice between Buck and Chris — it’d always be Chris. And it would. It will. Chris is his priority; the part of his heart that walks out in the world separate from himself. He’ll always put his needs before his own.
But—
He can’t do this again.
He can’t leave Buck to fend for himself. To go through hell alone again.
He decides then, with Buck sobbing into his chest, and a flurry of grief in his heart, that he and Chris are moving back. And if that means Chris hates him again—he’ll find a way to win him back. They’re Buck’s family. Eddie and Chris.
Because when it comes down to it—when the entire 118 is down for the count—
It’s Eddie who finds Buck, and it’s Buck who finds Eddie, while everyone else reunites with their spouses.
Chimney has Maddie, and Cap has Athena, and Hen has Karen, and Buck—
Buck has Eddie.
Because Eddie—
God damn it.
He—
“He’s dead,” Buck sobs, trembling violently against him. “Bobby’s dead.”
Fuck.
Eddie pulls back, just enough to look down at him, shaking his head—Buck doesn’t let him go far, like the idea of letting go is the final thing that’ll send him over the brink. Eddie squeezes the back of Buck’s neck, ducking his head to meet his gaze.
He shakes his head again. “No,” he says, forcefully. “He’s not.”
Buck doesn’t hear him, though, too lost in his grief, and he drags Eddie back in, burying himself in his chest, and sobbing so hard that Eddie can feel it in his own heartbeat like it’s an earthquake shaking the walls of his ribs, splintering one beat from another and resetting it entirely.
Eddie curls over him protectively. “Buck,” he says into his hair. “You gotta listen to me.” Buck shudders against him. “Bobby’s alive. Do you hear me?”
Buck goes still but for the trembling of his spine.
Eddie nods against him, holding him tight and steady. “I can show you.” He pulls back, looks him in the eye. “Can I show you?”
Buck’s lower lip trembles, and a tear trips over his lashline, but he nods, once; watching as Eddie blindly reaches for the phone in his pocket, pulling it out and unlocking it. The text thread with Maddie is already pulled up, and Eddie quickly, with unsteady hands, scrolls up to the photo of Bobby and Athena.
When he turns the phone around and Buck drags his gaze away from Eddie to the phone, a jagged noise clatters from the depths of Buck’s chest. His eyes come back up, wide and brimming.
“He’s—“
Eddie nods, squeezing the back of his neck. “He’s okay. Everyone’s okay.”
“But—I—I saw—“
Eddie moves in, pressing their foreheads together—a motion that’s altogether unfamiliar and grounding—and meeting Buck’s gaze head on. “He’s alive.” His jaw clicks side to side, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath—the first that’s really felt it’s enough to keep him alive—and allowing himself to settle, just a bit, just enough to say, “You all are.”
Buck sinks into him. When he exhales, his breath ghosts over Eddie’s lips.
“How are—how are you here?” Buck asks, quiet. His voice is still thick and wet and Eddie can still hear all the emotions whirling within him in the delivery—grief and relief in a desperate dance for dominance that he’s not sure either will ever win.
“Saw the news,” Eddie murmurs.
“And you just . . . jumped on a plane?”
There’s no disbelief in his voice—but it’s a near miss.
“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” Eddie answers. “We should get up. Go by the hospital.” Find the others.
Buck nods against him.
Neither of them make to get up.
“I tried calling,” Buck says eventually. “They—said I could make a call. I—I knew nobody else would—“
Eddie goes still.
“Be—because it was everyone, and I—I didn’t want you to hear from someone else.” He shudders, fists tightening in Eddie’s shirt. “You didn’t answer and they wouldn’t let me try again.”
That explains why he never called Maddie.
He had one call—and he’d used it on Eddie. Eddie, who was eight hundred miles away and wouldn’t be able to help—but who he wanted to find out from someone who cares, and who he cares about, rather than some other way. Even in his grief, even in the wake of what he thought was his entire world crumbling out from beneath him—
Eddie was his first thought.
Eddie opens his eyes—finds Buck watching him.
“I threw my phone at a wall,” Eddie says. “When I thought you were dead and nobody was answering their phones. That’s—I would’ve answered if I’d known you were calling.”
Bucks brows furrow—Eddie can feel the shift against his own brow. “Why did you think I was dead?”
Because the universe has a habit of breaking Eddie’s heart.
And losing Buck—
That’d just about do it.
Not that losing anyone else in the 118 wouldn’t break him, too. It’s just—different. In the same way losing Hen would break Karen, or losing Bobby would break Athena.
Because, Eddie—
“I saw a body bag on the news being wheeled out past a truck from the 118, and I just—assumed it was you.”
“Why?”
And isn’t that the question of the day?
“I don’t know,” he answers, even though he does.
Buck nods, his eyes close, and he takes a deep breath. “Can we go see Bobby?”
Eddie squeezes the back of his neck. “Anything you want, Buck,” he says, before pulling away. Buck stays where he left him for a moment, as if Eddie’s still pressed up against him holding him there, and then his lashes flutter, still wet, and his gaze falls to where his hands are clutched in Eddie’s shirt. Slowly, as if it takes a minute for his body to process the command, he relinquishes the hold.
Eddie gives him a questioning nod, and Buck sniffs, returning it. He watches him for a beat, before rising to his feet and holding a hand out for him—Buck looks at the hand offered to him, and then up to Eddie, and back to the hand, before reaching out, almost tentatively, and placing his palm in Eddie’s. Eddie’s breath hitches, and he wraps his hand around Buck’s, squeezing—and then pulls him to his feet.
Even like this, hunched over and withdrawn, Buck towers over him. Eddie reaches out with his free hand, settling it on the side of Buck’s neck, and looking at him seriously.
“You okay?”
Buck closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. His adam’s apple bobs, and then, quietly, as if he’s almost ashamed to say it, he says, “No.”
Breathing in deep, Eddie steps in. his thumb settles on the hinge of Buck’s jaw, and he waits until Buck opens his eyes again, before replying. “That’s okay,” he says, watching the water brimming on Buck’s lashes. “I’m not going anywhere. I got you.”
Buck nods, and Eddie stares at him a beat too long—eyes tracking over every ridge and valley of his face, before he pulls his hand from Buck’s neck, and turns. He doesn’t let go of Buck’s hand as they move towards the sidewalks. Buck makes no move to make him, either.
Eddie orders the uber, standing there with Buck in one hand, and phone in the other.
Just as the notification hits that the drivers on the way, Buck clears his throat.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
There’s a breath, a moment of silence where Eddie thinks Buck’s decided not to continue, but then, “Thank you.”
Eddie turns to him. “Don’t thank me,” He says, serious and sure. “I needed to be here. I wanted to be here.”
Buck’s eyes widen a fracture, and he looks like he’s going to say something, but a car pulls up in front of them, and it’s time to go, and what’s there to say in this moment other than let’s go?
They load into the car without letting go of one another's hands.
They ride to the hospital in silence—their hands clutched tight between them in the middle seat. Buck’s gaze is out the window, and Eddie’s is on Buck. Watching him. The way his eyes flicker over every car that passes, the skyline, a plane in the distance. The heavy rise and fall of his chest. The clenching and unclenching of his jaw. The tears that he doesn’t even bother to reach up and swipe away.
Maddie’s waiting for them when they arrive.
They climb out of the uber still holding hands, and Eddie only thinks to let go when Buck reaches out to pull Maddie into a hug. Her eyes follow the rise of Eddie’s arm, and it’s subsequent fall when he releases Buck’s hand, and then track up to meet his, even as Buck pulls her in tight to himself.
She hugs Buck back, her eyes sliding shut, like she’s just relieved to know that he’s okay.
Eddie stands back like the outsider he is. Until Buck releases her, steps back and just—takes Eddie’s hand back.
Maddie’s eyebrow rises. But she doesn’t ask.
“Howie’s asleep, and Hen’s out for tests, but Bobby’s awake,” She says, softly. “I told him you were on the way.”
Buck’s hand clenches around Eddie’s, and unconsciously, Eddie steps in closer to him.
“Can we—”
She smiles, something small and tired and meaningful, and then nods, turning to lead them to Bobby’s room.
When they get to the door, Eddie lets go of Buck’s hand and takes a step back. Buck turns to him with a questioning look. “You go,” he says. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Buck looks like he wants to object, but then he nods, and turns, opening the door carefully—almost like he’s scared that if he goes in too quickly, he won’t like what he finds.
Even with the door closed, Eddie hears the relieved sob that rips out of his chest when he sees Bobby. He takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over himself, closing his eyes.
That’s the thing about being in love with someone. The guilt. When you’re relieved they’re okay, when someone they love might be dead. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the assault of anyone but him dragging through his mind.
Because if it had—if it’d been Bobby—
It still would have been Buck. In a way.
The same if it’d been Chimney or Hen.
“The hand holding is new,” Maddie says, suddenly, as if she’s been holding it in and can no longer.
He frowns, blinking and turning to look at her. “What?”
“You and Buck. Holding hands. That was new.”
“I was comforting him.”
She nods. “Right.”
There’s a crack in her voice.
Something—something that leaves just a little room for Eddie to see what she’s getting at.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She curls her lips inwards, and then wrinkles her nose, before sighing and saying, “I’m breaking all my rules by asking this, and now is really not the time, but it also kind of is, because everyone almost died, and at some point someone has to draw a line and admit that life is too short for doubt when things are so obvious—”
He frowns, trying to follow, but she’s talking too fast and not really making much sense. “What are you—”
She huffs, stopping and then asking, point blank, “Are you in love with Buck?”
He freezes.
And then slumps against the wall and looks up at the ceiling. “Seems like it,” he says, quietly.
She lets out this—deeply relieved?— sigh. “Then why haven’t you said something to him?”
“That particular list is a little too long to get into in the hallway of a hospital,” He mutters, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.
“How long have you known?”
He huffs out a laugh, something lined with irony and dips his chin to look at her again. “We talking how long I’ve known known, or how long I’ve buried it and pretended it wasn’t happening?”
“Either is good.”
“Think it hit me after the lightning strike.” He inhales, shaking his head. “Buried it as deep as I possibly could, because—I don’t even know. I just couldn’t deal with it.”
“And now?”
He scoffs. “And now, I live eight hundred miles away and can’t even do anything when his life is on the line and I—” He waves a hand uselessly, tears welling and throat going tight around the words. “I see a body bag on the news and I just assume it’s him because I can’t love him, because if I love him I—”
Maddie steps towards him. “You’ll?”
He shrugs, hand falling to his side. “Lose him. Obviously.”
“Oh. Obviously,” She echoes. “You two certainly make a perfect pair, I’ll tell you that much.”
Despite himself, he laughs. It jolts a tear down his cheek, and he reaches up quickly to swat it away. “Yeah. Well.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
He shrugs. “Probably nothing.”
Probably something stupid.
He hasn’t decided yet.
She reaches out, squeezing his arm. “I know we don’t talk as much as we could. But I know a little about denying yourself joy because you don’t feel like you deserve it. And—if I’ve learned anything from it, it’s that you do deserve it.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I thought when I saw that body bag.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I’d imagine it’s not much different to what I think when I hear a firefighter’s been hurt on a call,” she says, quietly. “You don’t need to feel guilty for loving him, Eddie.”
Doesn’t he?
He clears his throat and pushes away from the wall. “I have to call my sister. Check on Chris.” Glancing back at the door to Bobby’s room, he nods, mostly to himself. “I’ll come back in a bit. Give them some time.”
Maddie opens her mouth like wants to argue with him, but then closes it, and nods. “Okay,” she says, simply. “We’ll be here.”
There’s a chapel at the end of the hall. He’s half a step from walking past it, phone clutched in his hand, prepared to call his sister, but his steps falter before he can wander beyond it. He stands there for a moment, staring at the double doors.
There are probably a million reasons to just keep walking.
But he takes a step towards the double doors, and then another, and heads inside.
God doesn’t strike him down when he crosses the threshold, and that’s a start.
When he finally emerges, worse for wear, but lighter somehow, he finally manages to call Adriana. Finally gets to talk to Chris. Sophia’s already booked herself and Chris a flight, three days out, and Eddie slumps against the wall by the front door of the hospital with relief because of it.
“Dad?” Chris asks, as they’re saying their goodbyes.
“Yeah, bud?”
“Can you tell Buck that I’m glad he’s okay and that I love him?”
Eddie has to take a breath to hold himself steady, vision blurring again, as if he hasn’t cried enough today, or in the last hour, and he nods. “Yeah,” he says, voice choked off. “Of course.” He blinks back the tears, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna head back in now. Listen to your tias, okay?”
“Okay.”
The call disconnects and he takes a moment to collect himself, gather his thoughts and his aching heart and thrumming anxiety, and then shakes his hands out at his sides. Nods to himself, and then heads back in.
Buck’s still in Bobby’s room, Maddie’s not, probably gone back to Chimney.
Eddie knocks on the door before entering, hesitantly stepping in.
Buck’s smiling when he turns to look over his shoulder, even though his cheeks are wet. “Hey,” he says, softly, turning back to Bobby. “He was just asking about you.”
Bobby smiles tiredly, waving Eddie into the room. “Good to see you, kid,” he says, voice cracking.
Eddie’s chest swells, an involuntary breath catching at the back of his throat as he closes the door behind himself. “I could say the same to you,” He replies, moving further into the room and taking the chair opposite the bed of Buck.
There’s a chair next to Buck, too. But Eddie can’t be that close to him right now.
Anyone but him.
Did that mean Bobby?
No.
But for a minute—for a minute, it had.
He swallows, lowering himself into the chair.
Bobby turns to Buck. “Can you get me a water?” He asks.
Buck’s gaze dips to the pink pitcher of water on the bedside table, and then back up, his eyes narrowing slightly, before he nods. “Um. Ye—Yeah. I’ll. Be right back?”
Bobby smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”
They both watch as Buck stumbles to his feet and out of the room, only looking back at them three times, in what is probably a master feat in self control. And then Bobby’s tired, steady gaze lands on Eddie and somehow—somehow this feels more dangerous than stepping into the chapel.
“How are you holding up?”
Eddie blinks. “Me?” He asks, “You’re the one who almost died.” Bobby tilts his head, speculating, and Eddie clears his throat, looking around the room. “Where’s Athena?”
“She could only avoid giving her statement for so long,” Bobby replies, shifting on the bed. “Maddie told me you already knew when she called.”
Eddie closes his eyes, lips pursing. “Yeah,” he answers, quietly, calmly. “It was national news. Hard to miss.” He can feel Bobby’s eyes on him. Scrutinizing him. Even in a hospital dead, only a few hours removed from nearly dying, he can still make Eddie feel impossibly seen with a single look.
“Eddie.”
He doesn’t open his eyes or turn to him. “Yeah, Cap?”
“Tell me.”
“Nothing to say.”
Bobby scoffs. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
Eddie bites his cheeks, shaking his head. He tries to hold it in, tries to sit there and be the supportive former employee slash family friend, because Bobby’s the one in the hospital bed, and Eddie—Eddie’s the reason, isn’t he? He prayed—he prayed, and God—
“I didn’t mean to,” He whispers, brokenly, blinking up at him. “I swear, I just—”
“Didn’t mean to what?”
He looks to the ceiling, biting down on his lower lip and nodding, mostly to himself. The ceiling tiles blur into a singular blob as yet more tears floor his vision. “I thought it was Buck. I saw a body bag on the news and I thought it was Buck, and I—” He cuts himself off, reaching up and running a hand over his mouth.
“You prayed it wasn’t him,” Bobby finishes—no judgement, no disbelief. Just. Quiet understanding.
Eddie jerks his gaze back to him. “Bobby, I’m so—”
“It’s natural,” Bobby murmurs, interrupting him. “To not want to lose someone.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
“Then make me.”
“I didn’t just wish for him to be okay. I . . . My first thought was anyone but him because I don’t think I’d survive it again.”
And it says a lot about Bobby that he doesn’t focus on the part about Eddie wishing death on anyone else; that he zeroes in on the end of the statement, and asks, “Survive what?”
Eddie’s chest rattles with a broken inhale, and he drags his eyes away, to the wall behind Bobby. “Losing the person I love.”
“Well,” Bobby says. “That sounds only human, to me.”
Eddie frowns, turning to look at him. “What?”
“You didn’t cause any of this, Eddie.”
“I wasn’t there, and I—”
“You were where you needed to be. And by the time you found out what happened, it’d already been done and over.” Bobby raises his eyebrows, looks at him meaningfully. “Whatever your first thought was, it was impulse, not prayer. I’d think the same thing if Athena was in danger, hell, I have. And I’m sure if you ask anyone else, they’d say the same thing. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
Eddie starts to shake his head.
“At some point, you’re going to have to admit that you’re not responsible for every bad thing that happens to the people you love.” He leans towards him. “Even if I’d died, your first thought being Buck wouldn’t have caused it.” He takes a big breath, and Eddie watches him. “That’s one of the things that scares me, about dying,” he admits, after a moment.
“What?”
“Buck.” Bobby’s gaze goes distant, his brows furrowing. “Knowing he’s someone’s first thought?” He swings it back around, settling on Eddie. “He’d throw himself into the fire for any one of us. Trade his life for ours in a heartbeat. He needs someone out there who’ll catch him before he falls when he can’t. I know you have a complicated relationship with love, and with dealing with all of this, but please just accept that loving him so much that he’s your first thought when we’re all under fire? That’s not a bad thing. That will never be a bad thing, Eddie. No matter how it comes about.”
Eddie sniffs, reaching up to catch a tear as it makes an escape. “I don’t even—”
“You’ll figure it out.” The door opens, and Bobby offers him one more smile. “Hopefully sooner rather than later, but we’ll take what we can get.” Buck emerges from the hall, smiling shakily at them, his gaze dipping between them nervously. “Find everything okay?”
He nods and holds up a water bottle. “Everything okay in here?”
“Never better,” Bobby says brightly, even though fatigue lines the words.
Buck looks between them like he’s not quite sure what to think, before he nods and moves towards the bed. “I—uh. I ran into Karen. She said Hen’s back in her room and awake. Would it be okay if I—”
“You don’t need to ask, Buck,” Bobby says, smiling. “Both of you, go. Athena should be back soon, anyways.”
As if she’s been summoned, the door opens to reveal Athena stepping into the room. She looks between everyone, looking every bit as tired as the rest of them do, straightening out her shoulders. Like she’s trying to make herself appear taller; stronger. Like she’s a pillar for them and she has to stay standing so everyone else can.
Eddie knows a little about that.
“I’m sure you’ll think twice before punching a high ranking military official again?” She says, giving Buck a look.
Buck flushes, ducking his chin.
“You did what?”
Athena nods, “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” She purses her lips, moving to take the seat by the bed, stepping around Buck to get to it. “I’d say it was impressive if it weren’t flat out idiotic.”
Bobby smiles at her like she’s his entire world, and Eddie shakes his head.
“And here I thought we’d resolved the impulse control issues.”
Buck makes a noise, turning to glare at him; betrayed. “It was—”
“This is Evan Buckley we’re talking about,” Bobby laughs, though the sound is slightly strained, and he clutches his stomach as it peeters out. “Impulse control issues are intentional, not a bug.”
“Why am I being bullied right now?”
Eddie, despite himself, laughs. “Okay,” He says, moving around the bed and motioning for Buck to follow him. “Let’s give Cap and Athena some alone time. Check on the others, and then you can tell me why you punched a high ranking military official?”
Athena raises a hand. “He did deserve it, I’ll say that much.”
Buck points at her, looking at Eddie. “See! It’s not impulsive if the person deserved it.”
Eddie rounds him up and starts pushing him out of the room. “It’s still impulsive, Buck.”
“Is it? Because I thought really hard about it before doing it—”
“Go,” Eddie groans, reaching for the door.
Buck turns to look down at him, eyes—eyes alight with something other than grief, and it punches something at the center of Eddie’s chest, hard. “I’m going!” He says, raising his hands and allowing himself to be led out of the room.
Eddie pushes him through the door, heart pounding heavily in his chest, as Buck slowly turns to face him, a slow smile cracking the corners of his mouth.
“Hen first,” he says, pointing to the left. “She said she wanted proof that you were here.”
“Proof?” Eddie shrugs. “Not sure why she’d need proof, but lead the way.”
Buck nods, ducking his head. “I’m not sure it’s about proof that you’re here so much as proof that you’re okay.”
“I wasn’t in the lab—“
“Would it matter to you if you were and she weren’t?”
And, oh.
No.
It wouldn’t.
“Got it,” he says around a lump in his throat. “Let’s go.”
Buck shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Sorry, I just—“
“Buck.”
“I’ve spent the last few months doing nothing but wish you were back and then today, I just—I knew we were all in danger and all I could think was thank god Eddie isn’t here.” He shakes his head again, this time a motion clearly meant for himself even though Eddie definitely needs the beat, because those words are going to sit in his mind and his heart for the foreseeable future. “But now you are here, and I think—“
Eddie steps forward, settling a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezing, just enough to get him to look at him. “Lets go see Hen,” he says, because if he says anything else they’re going to have a conversation in this hallway that neither of them are prepared emotionally to handle.
“Eddie—“
“You and I will talk. Just—not here. Okay?”
Buck’s eyes flicker back and forth between his. He must see something of what Eddie’s feeling, which is a terrifying prospect on its own, because finally, he nods. “Okay.”
Karen hugs him so tight he gets dizzy, and when he turns to Hen, her eyes are glassy.
“Talk about a sight for sore eyes,” She says, chidingly, motioning for him to come to her.
He obliges. “You calling me hot, Hen?”
She rolls her eyes. “Called that the day you joined,” she says, hugging him gently with one arm. Before he pulls away, she asks, low, just for him, “How’s he doing?”
He squeezes her. “I’ve got him.”
He expects an argument, or snappy remark directed at Buck, but she holds him tighter for a beat, like that’s all she wanted to hear—and it says everything he needs to know about what all happened today. He pulls away, offering a small smile.
“So, how’re we passing time?”
Karen sits at Hen’s bedside and takes one of her hands in her own. Eddie’s fingers twitch in his lap as Buck takes the chair next to him, a hand on his knee, so close that he could just reach out and take it. “Well,” Karen looks at Hen. “I think we’re just now moving past the grateful everyone’s alive crying.”
Hen makes a face. “Not everyone.”
“No,” Karen agrees. “Not everyone.”
Eddie looks between the three of them. “Did you know him well?”
Buck shakes his head. “This was his first shift with us.”
Fuck.
“He was covering from another station,” Hen murmurs. “I didn’t get a lot of time to talk with him, but it sounded like that was home.”
Buck nods, hunching over and pressing his elbows into his knees. “I should have tried harder—“
“Hey, no—“
Hen moves to sit up but Karen holds her down, leaning over the bed instead, reaching out with her free hand. “This is not on you,” she says, carefully. “Tragedies happen, and you did everything you could.”
Buck looks up, stares at her hand for a long moment. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It never does,” Eddie offers, finally moving his own hand out of his lap and offering it out between them. Buck’s gaze dips, and one of his hands comes out, almost instinctively, and settles in Eddie’s palm. Eddie pulls it back into his own lap and holds it with both of his.
“That’s why we go to therapy,” Hen says, her eyes tracking the moment, an eyebrow quirked knowingly. She doesn’t comment on it—doesn’t even give Eddie a look that anyone else would.
She does glance at Karen though. They do share a look with one another.
They sit with them for a bit longer; Karen invites Eddie over for dinner when he mentions staying more than a few days—pointedly ignoring the way Buck sits up and stares at him. And rhen, finally, they head to Chimneys room.
Maddie’s got a sleeping Jee curled up in her lap beside his bed, her own head lolling to the side. Chimney’s watching them with a soft, out of this world, disbelieving smile on his face, when Buck and Eddie enter the room.
He barely even glances at them.
“Really thought I’d never get to see them again,” He whispers, turning to them. “We gotta stop almost dying.”
Buck nods, “No kidding.”
“I think you had the right idea, Eddie.”
“Oh? What idea is that?”
“A vacation.”
Eddie makes a face. “I wouldn’t call it a—“
“Yeah. I’m taking a vacation. The three of us, somewhere far away. Where’s somewhere nothing bad can happen?”
Buck hums thoughtfully. “Not the beach.”
Eddie nods. “Or a theme park.”
Buck turns to him. “Definitely not. Oh!” He turns to Chimney. “I’d also say avoid anywhere you have to fly. Or drive. And large boats. Maybe—maybe a staycation?”
Chimney blinks at them, unimpressed. “Really?”
Buck nods, “Staying in is in. And there’s no way anything can crash, explode, sink, flood—“
“Yeah, I get it,” Chimney mutters, waving a hand. He lets out a long sigh. “We really found the one job that can ruin anything.”
Eddie nods solemnly.
“There’s always reading?” Buck offers.
“Gotta say,” Chimbey replies, “I love you guys. It’s good to see you, but—“
“It’s time for us to leave?”
“Yep. Come back tomorrow, though.” His gaze lingers on Buck for a moment before bouncing over to Eddie. “Seriously.”
“We will.”
His gaze softens, and he nods. “Good.” He turns back to Maddie and Jee, and then comes back around, “Oh — your stuff’s on the table,” He says, motioning to a clear bag on the table nearest the door.
“Thank you,” Buck says, grabbing the bag and looking at Eddie expectantly. “You’re staying with me, tonight?”
Eddie pretends he doesn’t see the interest that lights up Chim’s face at the question, or how intently he’s watching them. “If you don’t mind?”
“Yeah,” Chimney says, almost cheerfully. “You don’t mind right, Buck?”
“Shut up, Chim,” Buck says.
Chimney, for his part, doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Shut up, he says, to the guy who almost died today.”
Buck opens his mouth, with what Eddie’s almost certain is going to be a barb, and Eddie steps between them, smiling at Chimney. “Thank you, glad you didn’t die, we’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns to Buck, and pushes him towards the door—and it says enough about how the day’s gone, that Buck goes easily, without a single argument about getting the last word in.
It’s mid afternoon when they finally pull up to the house. Eddie thanks their driver and they climb out of the car, walking up the path to the front door. He watches Buck unlock the door and quietly steps into the house behind him. He’s had glimpses over facetime the last couple months of how the house has changed, how Buck’s made it his home, but stepping through the doorway is something else entirely.
It still feels like Eddie’s home. Just with the addition of Buck.
He takes a jagged breath and tries not to think about how right that feels.
Buck sets his keys down and closes the door behind them, locking them into an uncomfortable silence.
It’s been a long day.
Buck clears his throat. “Do you want a beer?”
Eddie twists around to face him, shaking his head. “No.”
Buck blinks. “Oh. O—okay. Um.”
Shaking his head, Eddie closes the distance between them and winds his arms tight around Buck’s back, dragging him into a hug, and burying his face in Buck’s neck. Buck’s arms come up almost immediately, wrapping vice-like around Eddie, an almost relieved breath gusting out over Eddie’s cheek.
He doesn’t know how long they stand in the entryway, holding one another, but when they finally start to pull apart, his heart feels a little lighter, and Buck’s eyes are misty, and the weight of the entire day seems to wash out over his limbs.
“You should take a nap,” Eddie murmurs. “Recover a bit.”
Buck makes a face, glancing away. “I’m not sure sleep’s a good idea right now.”
“Why not?”
“If I close my eyes for too long—I don’t want to think Bobby’s dead again.” His chin trembles, and Eddie steps back in.
“I’ll stay with you.”
“Eddie . . .”
“You can even build a pillow island between us.”
He huffs. “I don’t want to build a pillow island between us.”
“Then don’t.” He reaches out for Buck’s hand. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. Come on.”
“Just until I fall asleep?”
“However long you want me.”
Buck sniffs, reaching out for his hand. “I don’t think you’d like the answer to that,” he mumbles, before stepping past Eddie to head down the hall, pulling Eddie along behind him.
Eddie follows easily. “You might be surprised.”
Buck doesn’t reply, just continues quietly down the hall to the master bedroom. They close the door behind them, and Buck heads to his side of the bed—Eddie tries not to focus on how he’s naturally inclined to sleep on the opposite side Eddie is—and slips his shoes off, before falling onto the bed, over the blankets.
Eddie stares at him for a moment, taking it in. His room—Buck’s room. Buck’s bed. Buck, nuzzling into the pillow, slowly turning his face up to Eddie, as if now that he’s in a bed, sleep is dragging him down faster than he can catch up with it. He blinks up at Eddie owlishly, before holding a hand out to him wordlessly.
Eddie slips out of his shoes and climbs into the bed, swatting Buck’s hand away and pulling him in against himself. Manhandling him until he’s where he wants him—Eddie leaning up against the headboard, Buck’s head on his chest.
Buck makes a questioning noise.
Eddie hushes him, dragging a hand through his hair. “Go to sleep, Buck.”
Buck nuzzles into him, like he’s one of his pillows, and something swooping and grand crashes through Eddie’s chest as a hand swings over his waist and settles, a heavy comforting weight holding him there.
Buck’s out in a handful of heartbeats.
Eddie’s out not much later, vision fading in on Buck, comfortably asleep against him, like right here, tucked up against Eddie’s heart is where he belongs.
And isn’t it something, that that thought doesn’t scare him?
It’s almost . . . comforting.
He sinks into it with ease, his eyes fluttering closed, his hand slipping out of Buck’s hair and settling at his nape, slumping down and pulling Buck impossibly closer.
It’s dark when he wakes up—as if they’ve slept the rest of the day away. He seeks out his alarm clock for an exact time, forgetting that this isn’t his room anymore, and that Buck just uses his phone as an alarm. When he finds the nightstand empty, he twists back around—finds Buck staring at him, watching.
“Hey,” He says, surprised.
“Hey.”
“What time is it?”
Buck shrugs. “No idea. Late?”
“Very helpful, thank you.”
He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I try.”
Eddie frowns, “Buck—”
“Can we talk now?”
Tensing, Eddie asks, “Here?”
“Would the couch and a beer feel better?”
“No.”
“Then, here’s fine.”
Eddie nods, unconsciously holding Buck tighter, as he drops his head back against the headboard and looks up at the ceiling.
Where does he even start?
I’m in love with you?
I’m gay?
I would’ve traded anyone else if it had been you?
He doesn’t even realize neither of them have said anything for too long, until Buck shifts, sighing. “One of us has to start.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Eddie—”
“I thought you died,” Eddie says, frowning up at the ceiling. Guess he does know how to start, after all.
Buck tenses. And then, carefully pulls himself out of Eddie’s arms and sits up, knees tucked under him as he watches Eddie. Eddie doesn’t look at him, wringing his hands in his lap now that he doesn’t have Buck in them.
“You know how many times you’ve almost died?”
Buck lets out a slow breath. “More than I’d like.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh, nodding. “More than I’d like, too.”
“I could say the same for you, though.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
What is?
He could go about this the roundabout way—meander through everything he’s been feeling, all the guilt and feel and self blame and make Buck relive every mirroring emotion he’s felt in it’s place, or—
“I don’t want to lose you, Buck.”
He can just start at the most important part.
Finally, he turns to look at him—finds a whirling concoction of emotion on Buck’s face, confusion—hope? Fear.
“I’ve spent so much time running from what that means, but I can’t do it anymore.”
“What—what that means?” Buck sits up, scooting closer to him. “What—”
“Do you ever think about how when something happens to one of us—everyone looks at the other first? When you get hurt, all eyes turn to me. When I get hurt, all eyes turn to you.”
Buck shrugs, eyebrows furrowing, already ready to spout off the normal talking point—“Because we’re best friends.”
“Best friends don’t feel the way I feel about you.” He makes a face, shakes his head. “Or, maybe they do, but it’s more.”
Buck’s mouth parts.
“I’ve been angry with myself all day because when I saw that body bag, I wished it was anyone but you. And, logically, I know I didn’t mean it, because losing anyone in the 118 would change us irrevocably, unforgivably. But, if I had a choice?” He turns his body to Buck. “If god came to me and said I could make a trade—I can’t promise that I wouldn’t take it. If it was you, I’d choose you. Every time.”
He takes a shaky breath, looks down at where Buck’s hands are digging into the blanket.
“I know I’m not, historically, great. At the whole feelings thing, and I’ve got, probably, the worst track record in LA for loving people—”
Buck’s breath hitches.
“ —but I’m really hoping that you see where I’m going with this, and what I’m trying to say.” He takes a breath, and then glances up, eyebrows furrowing. “Do you?”
Buck’s staring at him, wide eyed.
“Buck?”
“It—” His voice cracks, and he shakes his head, shuffling and swallowing so loud Eddie can hear it. “It kind of sounds like you’re telling me you’re in love with me.” He laughs, but it sounds forced, like he’s trying to make light of the situation in case he’s somehow misread it.
Eddie lifts a shoulder. “Probably because I am.”
“You are?”
“Unless you don’t feel the same way, in which case, let’s forget I’ve said anything, and go get that beer you mentioned—” He moves to roll out of bed, something like horror and humiliation starting to thrum in his veins, but a hand wraps around his arm and drags him back around.
Buck’s wide eyes lock on his. “Best friends don’t feel the way I do about you,” He says, softly.
“Yeah?”
He nods. “I think—I—I’ve been running from it, too. But only because I thought you’d never—” He breaks off, his gaze going a little wonderstruck. “I didn’t want to be the guy pining over his straight best friend.”
Eddie grins a little dopily. “Pining, huh?”
Buck huffs. “We have a whole mood going, and you’re going to ruin it?”
Eddie shakes his head, still smiling, and swaying in towards him. “Haven’t felt this hopeful in a real long time, Buck,” he murmurs. “I don’t think anything could ruin it.”
“I could reject you.”
Eddie scoffs.
“What? I could!”
“You’d rather kiss me. You’ve been pining.”
“I haven’t been pining.”
“You’ve been pining, you admitted it yourself.”
Buck crosses his arms, pouting. “Prove it.”
Eddie’s heart swells. “Or you could just kiss me,” He says softly. “Show me you’re alive and that I can have this with you.”
Buck’s mouth parts, and he shifts closer. “This?”
“A life. A future.”
“Oh.”
He smiles, reaching up and gently cupping Buck’s jaw, careful and slow as if he might spook him. “I’m gonna talk with Chris. Dad up and tell him we’re moving back.”
“Dad up?”
Eddie nods. “I don’t want to be a thousand miles away when you need someone to have your back.”
Something flickers in Buck’s gaze. “Are you sure?”
Eddie’s thumb sweeps over the side of Buck’s jaw, and he nods, tracking the movement with his eyes. “I think,” he says, carefully, “This might be the first time in a long time, I’m completely sure about what I’m asking for.” He looks up, meets Buck’s gaze. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you, Buck. Life’s too short to keep being afraid.”
A noise erupts from the back of Buck’s throat, and Eddie barely has a second to register it before he’s pulled in, hands finding either side of his face, and lips pressing, warm and insistent and needy against his own. His free hand finds the front of Buck’s shirt, fisting in it and holding him close.
Buck pulls away entirely too soon, looking at Eddie with wide, wild eyes.
“Hey. I—I almost forgot.”
Eddie blinks at him. Why have they stopped kissing? “What?”
“I love you, too. As well. In conjunction with. I’m so—”
“Buck?”
“Yep, yeah, shutting up.”
Eddie’s laugh gets caught between them.
It feels weird ending a day so entrenched in pain with a smile, but everyone he loves is alive, well, on their way to what looks like full recoveries, and when he closes his eyes for the second time, with Buck curled up against his chest, there’s hope. Because their jobs are dangerous, and they’ll always run into the flames knowing they’ll get burned—
But they’ll never go it alone. And maybe, accepting that as what’s most important, is the first step to being happy.
A few days later, Sophia pulls Buck away—which doesn’t stress Eddie out at all, especially when he hears mention of ballroom dancing just before they disappear out of sight—and leaves Eddie with Chris.
Chris looks at him expectantly.
“What’s that look for?”
“I’m not blind.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Chris shakes his head. “Do I at least get my old room when we move back?”
Eddie’s heart stills and starts in the space of a singular beat. “You’re not upset?”
Chris shakes his head. “I really thought we’d move back after the chess thing.”
“Oh.”
“Does being with Buck mean no more weird women in the house?”
“Yeah, definitely no more weird women. Just good ol’ weird Buck.”
Chris smiles, turning back to his ice cream. “Good. That’s enough weird.”
Eddie laughs; it’s wet and relieved, and a little more carefree than he ever would have thought himself capable. “That’s all you gotta say about me and Buck, then?”
“What else is there to say?”
Like it’s a foregone conclusion.
Well, alright. He can work with that.
When all is said and done, and they all find themselves on shift together again, and the alarm sounds for a five alarm fire, Buck and Eddie’s gazes meet across the bay. There’s a moment of hesitance, of fear, but then Bobby’s sweeping past them, calling out orders like it’s just another Tuesday, and they nod.
They'll find each other when it's over.
They always do.