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Buck is a terrible sick person. He refuses to take his medication, whines about what and when he has to eat, coughs like a victorian child.
But he's also so sweet, looking up at Eddie through sweaty curls, eyes big and round like a baby cow.
And he's a pathetic sight, with snot pouring out his nose, a crease between his eyebrows that means he has a headache, and gets surprised every time Eddie caters to his needs, like he didn't know he's worth caring for.
The whole thing makes Eddie feel like a sap. A sap who's hopelessly in love with his best friend.
He supplies tissues and shoves soup down his throat so he doesn't do something stupid, like tell Buck he's in love with him.
Eddie runs his hand through Bucks hair, massaging at his scalp because his head hurts, Buck practically purring like a cat, and tries not to think too much about it.
Some nature documentary that Bucks been trying to get him to watch for weeks plays in the background. Eddie finally gave in after Buck asked one more time, voice nasally and thick.
"Buck."
Buck barely peaks an eye open. "Hmm," he hums.
"You should take the bed tonight," Eddie suggests, but it's not really a suggestion.
Buck closes his eye again. Leans more into Eddie's touch. "No, it's your turn, right?" he mumbles, face have squished into the couch.
They've been taking turns– week on, week off– since Eddie (and Chris) came back from El Paso. They said it would be until Buck moved out, but it's been months and Buck hasn't looked for anything. Eddie never brought it up again.
"You're sick, you're taking the bed."
"Not uh," Buck says, because he's a child. A stubborn child.
Eddie pulls lightly– so, so lightly, he's not cruel– at Bucks hair. "You're taking the bed." It's not a suggestion.
Buck snuggles into the couch more with a groan. Eddie pulls back.
He picks up the seemingly hundreds of tissues piled up on his coffee table and begins to stuff them into the empty tissue box.
"Fine. But when I'm done cleaning up you're going to bed. In a bed."
Buck hums like he's agreeing, but it sounds dismissive.
Eddie disappears into the kitchen to throw the box out, then comes back for the half eaten soup and room temperature ice packs.
He puts the ice pack back in the freezer and gets out a new one to let it thaw. He washes the bowl and pot he used to make the soup.
Eddie grabs a new ice pack and wraps it in a hand towel. He goes back to the living room to find Buck lying on his stomach, mouth open, drooling all over the couch.
He drops the ice pack on the coffee table and sits on the edge of the couch, tapping Bucks cheek.
"Hey, wake up."
Buck curls into himself. "No," he whines. "Just leave me here to die."
Eddie rolls his eyes at Bucks dramatics. "C'mon, you said you would."
Eddie grabs the remote and turns the tv off. Buck sticks his bottom lip out and it starts to tremble, like Eddie's doing him a great disservice.
"Lemme sleep, please?"
"You'd sleep better in the bed," Eddie argues, but he knows he's somehow losing the battle.
"Don't make me get up. I'm so tired."
Eddie sighs, pushing back Bucks sweaty hair, subtly checking his temperature. "Fine."
He pulls the blanket over Buck higher up, practically tucks him in. He disappears into his room, ignoring the offended good night Buck calls after him with, and comes back with a pillow, sliding it under Bucks head.
Buck grumbles happily, "Thought you were leaving without saying goodnight."
Eddie gasps, fake offended. "I would never."
He tucks the blanket again. "There's an ice pack on the table if your head hurts too much. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?"
"Uh huh," Buck hums into the pillow.
"Hey," Eddie huffs. "I'm being serious. I'm already letting you stay on the couch."
"Okay," Buck whines, soundly like an angsty teenager. "Can I sleep now?"
A sick Buck is a cute Buck, sure, but it's also a Buck that tests Eddie's patience.
"Yes, you big baby."
"Night, Eds," Buck yawns. Which only reminds Eddie that Buck can be just as endearing as he is annoying when he's sick.
"Goodnight."
Eddie tucks Bucks blankets in one more time, for more of his own comfort than Bucks at this point.
He tosses and turns for a while, sure Buck is somehow dying from the flu in the living room.
Sometime around eleven, he's able to drift off into a light sleep, ready to burst into the living room the second Bucks coughs turn violent.
Eddie doesn't scare easy. He went to war, he has a child, he's a firefighter. He's used to things going 'bump' in the night.
But when he wakes up for seemingly no reason hours later, and turns over to see a massive figure taking up his whole doorway, he's pretty sure his heart stops beating.
Then he remembers his six-foot-something best friend– love of his life– has been sleeping on the couch.
"Dios, Buck!" Eddie exclaims in a whisper.
Buck doesn't move, and Eddie considers for a moment that it isn't actually Buck standing in his doorway, and that he's about to be murdered.
"Buck?" Eddie tries, heart hammering. "What's wrong?"
Buck takes a step into the room. His head jerks to the side in a nod.
"I lost my kaleidoscope," he says with a sad, dejected tone.
"What?" Eddie asks. He's starting to think he's still asleep, dreaming some weird, possibly feverish dream. Did Buck get him sick?
Buck crosses the room in two quick strides, climbing onto the edge of the bed. "I lost my kaleidoscope, Eds."
Eddie sits up to get a better look at Buck. His eyes are half open, glassy and unfocused, eyelids fluttering.
"Are– Are you sleep walking?" Eddie asks, like Buck would answer if he was.
"How am I supposed to go bird watching?" Buck asks, sounding so heartbroken it makes Eddie's heart hurt.
Eddie reaches out and grabs Bucks shoulder lightly. You're not supposed to wake sleep walkers, right?
"It's okay, baby." The pet name just slips out. He's still half asleep, okay? He's not perfect, he's just a man. Plus, if Buck remembers it in the morning, Eddie's sure he can convince him it was something his fever made up. "You can still look at the birds without your kaleidoscope."
"Really?" Buck asks hopefully. He pitches forward to hug Eddie.
Eddie wraps his arms around him automatically, patting him on the back. Buck shoves his face into the crook of Eddie's neck, like he's freezing and Eddie is the warmest thing to ever exist.
"Really," he promises.
Buck slumps so suddenly that Eddie's sent flying on his back. Buck happily follows him, settling half his body over Eddie's.
He's pretty sure Bucks elbow is in his lung right now. "Buck, you gotta move."
"Not uh," Buck insists, somehow becoming heavier.
"Buck–" Eddie shifts Bucks upper body so it's not entirely on top of him, just half to the side, tucked between his chest and arm.
There's only one pillow now, the other somewhere on the couch, he tries to reason.
Bucks leg jerks out, kicking Eddie in the shin.
"Hey, watch it. You better not think you're playing soccer."
"Shit," Buck says earnestly, "the crickets got out."
Eddie smiles down at Buck, reaching up to sooth the crease between his eyebrows. "Make sure to get them, baby. I don't want the house full of crickets."
Buck kicks out twice more, swats Eddie's bicep once, then seems to settle down.
He's quiet and still for long enough that Eddie thinks he's asleep.
"Hey, Eds." Buck taps at Eddies chest clumsily. "Guess what."
"Chicken butt?" Buck taught Chris that one a couple weeks ago, and Eddie's been hearing it nonstop since.
"No," Buck huffs with an attitude. "I'm in love with Eddie."
Eddie swears his heart stops again, just for a moment, then it goes into overdrive. He's not sure how Buck can't feel the way it's hammering against his cheek.
"Don't tell him," Buck insists before Eddie can even think of a response, then, he sneezes loudly on Eddie's neck.
"Oh, my God, Buck," Eddie says, shaking with laughter. He's wipes his neck without much fuss, he's a father, a first responder; he's used to other people sneezing, coughing, vomiting on him.
"Dios, Buck, I love you too, you big stupid lug."
Buck snores, loud and nasally, nose still clogged, coughs weakly. Eddie watches him with amusement and adoration.
He strains forward, trying his best not disturb Buck, to press a kiss against his forehead, right over his birthmark.
In the afternoon the next day, watching Buck steam his face over his soup to clear his sinuses, Eddie asks about kaleidoscopes and birdwatching.
Buck gives him a look, like Eddie had read his mind.
"How'd you know what I dreamt about?" Buck asks. When he woke up in Eddie's bed that morning, half wrapped around him like a squid, he assumed Eddie forced him to take the bed for the night, then joined him to make sure he was okay.
Eddie leans over the table before he can think too much about it, and presses his lips against Bucks.
Buck freezes for a moment, eyes wide. Eddie's just about to pull away, blubber out a scrambled apology about misunderstandings and sleep talking and crickets, when Buck cups Eddie's jaw and pulls him closer.
The pounding headache and hacking cough that wakes up Eddie, and also Buck and Chris, two mornings later is absolutely worth it.