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Adrenaline throbbed against Buck’s brain as he moved, hollering one desperate word. It drowned out the crackle of orders coming over his radio, the scream stripping his throat raw, but the pain was not enough to stop him calling again, over and over.
There was no answer. Buck breathed sharp, shallow breaths into the fear stabbing ice through his veins. He kept moving.
Another order barked across the radio, telling him to evacuate. Ignoring it, Buck pressed forwards. The girl who had come stumbling out of the house, eyes streaming with smoke and terror beneath the borrowed mask, had said she was in her bedroom when the firefighter found her.
Buck had waited, because he was ordered to wait. He waited, and Eddie never appeared.
“Fuck this,” he’d spat, then plunged back into the burning house, refusing to acknowledge the shouts echoing in his wake. If it cost him his job, then so be it; he would find Eddie or die trying.
The house was enormous and ancient. Buck carefully made his way up the stairs, calling again. His voice scraped against the pain in his throat, cracked and squeaked as he yelled Eddie’s name into the rumble of the fire.
The hallway stretched away to both sides. Buck cursed bitterly, not knowing which way he should go. Smoke rolled thick and dark along the walls, blocking his sight. Swearing again, he wagged one finger and muttered a quick eenie-meenie-minie-moe, then turned to the left.
Skimming one gloved palm along the wall to guide his way, Buck staggered forwards. Beneath his trailing fingers a door frame appeared, but this door was closed so Buck ignored it. His radio quacked again; he ignored that again too and yelled for Eddie.
Barely able to see, Buck gnawed on his tongue between shouts, panic surging like a storm within his chest, thrashing against his ribs as his heart bobbed amid the tempest.
Another door, also closed. Buck moved on. He wanted to run, to pelt forwards, every muscle itching with the desire to rush—but the smoke made it impossible, his gear encumbering him. There was no way to tell how long the hallway was.
Muttering bitter swear words under his breath, Buck wondered if he should turn around when a sudden shadow cut out of the smoke-choked gloom, plastered to the floor and utterly unmoving.
“Eddie!” Buck gasped, lunging towards him. Dropping to his knees, Buck twisted his fists in the back of Eddie’s turnout. He was face down in the ruined carpet, his unmasked face ghostly pale as Buck thrust him onto one side. “Eddie?”
Eyes closed, Eddie’s mouth was slack and lazy, his tongue flopped into the corner of his lips. Fear pulsed through Buck, spurring him into movement. He patted his gloved palm to Eddie’s cheek, feeling terror but not surprise when he got no response.
“Okay, Eddie,” he called, hoping that somewhere within his unconsciousness Eddie could hear him. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Hooking his arms under Eddie’s, Buck hauled him up, flinching as Eddie’s head lolled aimlessly against his chest. He wanted to smooth his fingers through Eddie’s hair, wanted to touch him reassuringly, but there wasn’t time.
Instead, Buck muttered as he backed down the hall, steps careful as he dragged Eddie towards safety, muttered words he wasn’t even aware of, soothing words that were as much for himself as they were for Eddie.
The smoke was so thick Buck almost moved right past the stairs. Spotting them, he carefully turned and started down them backwards, moving as slowly as he dared as Eddie’s feet thumped from step to step. Unable to see his path, Buck chewed on his lip, fearful that he was going to slip and fall until he finally reached the bottom of the staircase.
Glancing over his shoulder, Buck eyed the door, still standing open from when he’d rushed inside. He heaved Eddie towards it. Moments later, they burst free of the house, the smoke thinning in the open air.
Hen and Chimney raced to meet him as Buck dragged Eddie a safe distance from the house. “Over here,” Hen said, snagging one hand around Buck’s elbow to guide him. Roughly, Buck shook her off. “Buck, bring him over here!”
Not wanting anyone else near Eddie, without knowing why, Buck tried to ignore them as Hen and Chimney flanked him. It was impossible. They steered him back, soft lawn crushing beneath Buck’s boots as Chimney tried to pull Eddie from Buck’s grasp. “Okay, put him down here.”
Buck tightened his grip.
“Buck, put him down!” Hen cried, and Buck sharply realised that he had to, they needed to get oxygen on Eddie, check him over, make sure he wasn’t hurt… Slowly, Buck crouched down and lowered Eddie into the grass.
Eddie’s head rolled to one side and Buck carefully steadied him, words breathing between his lips without any conscious thought. “It’s okay, Eddie. I got you.”
Yanking Eddie’s turnout open, Chimney thrust two fingers against his throat.
“What are you doing?” Buck heard his own voice as though it came from someone else. Ripping off his mask and helmet, he tossed them onto the lawn.
“No pulse,” Chimney said to Hen.
“What?” Dread washed through Buck’s body, ice cold and terrifying.
Glancing at him, Chimney ripped Eddie’s shirt open, buttons flinging into the grass. “Was he breathing when you found him?”
“Ye—” The word choked in Buck’s mouth, panic stinging his mind. His brain crackled with a piercing screech as his ears began ringing. “I don’t kn— … I didn’t check.”
“Life pack,” Hen said, moving around Chimney with a pair of scissors. She cut Eddie’s undershirt open and pressed the pads from the defibrillator to his chest as Chimney started chest compressions.
“Buck, bag him,” Chimney directed, as the defib spoke its calm instructions.
Buck just sat there, crouched beside Eddie’s head.
“Buck!” Hen said, and Buck jolted to look at her. “Help us.”
“No shockable rhythm,” Chimney said, his voice rich with urgency. Palms lapped together, he pressed on Eddie’s chest and a bitter crack of breaking cartilage hit Buck’s ears. A wave of nausea coursed up his throat.
“Oxygen, Buck!” Hen cried.
“Is he…?” Hands shaking so hard he could barely move them, Buck slid his fingers down the cords of Eddie’s neck, searching for the pulse Chimney had obviously missed.
“Buck.” Hen’s voice was firm yet filled with compassion. Her fingers curled around his hand, peeled it away from Eddie’s skin. “Help us, or get out of the way.”
“No!” The sharpness in his voice startled him. Buck’s hands closed against Eddie’s cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Beneath his fingers, Eddie’s skin was dry and cool. Patting his palms to Eddie’s face, Buck tried to draw some blood into them, his taps getting firmer with each pat.
“Buck, stop!”
“Eddie.” Voices meant nothing, the words directed at him seeping into a background slurry of white noise. “Eddie, wake up!” Buck patted him again, his palms moving hard enough to hurt as he slapped Eddie’s cheeks with increasing frenzy.
“Cap!” Chimney’s voice cracked like a whip. “We need you!”
A few moments later, an iron grip closed around Buck’s chest, levering him away from Eddie. “No!” Buck screamed, struggling hard, clawing at the arm holding him. “No, let me go! Eddie!”
“Buck, stop.” Unreasonably calm, Bobby’s familiar voice echoed in Buck’s ear. Squirming, he pulled hard, almost breaking free, before Bobby hauled him back again, dragging him inch by devastating inch away from Eddie’s lifeless form. “Let them work.”
“He needs me!” Buck cried. “I can’t leave him, Bobby, he needs me!”
Not answering, Bobby’s arms tightened around Buck, restraining and reassuring at the same time. They fought one another, Buck desperately striving forwards, trying to get back to Eddie’s side, as Bobby marched him back one painful step at a time.
“Pulse check,” he heard Chimney say. Hen glanced up and a moment later, Chimney shook his head.
A wail tore itself from Buck’s core, scraping up his throat and bellowing into the smoky air. Gushing down his face, tears dripped into his mouth as Buck shrieked, “Eddie!”
Leaning over him, Chimney’s shoulders flexed with every compression, his palms flush with Eddie’s chest. Hen’s fist flexed around the oxygen bag when Chimney paused. Buck saw it as though he were looking through the wrong end of a telescope—narrow, pinpoints of action in a cylinder of darkness. They seemed so far away, yet still Bobby clawed him back.
“Let me go,” Buck snapped, tugging fiercely at Bobby’s hands, trying desperately to weaken his hold. “Let me go!”
“You can’t help him like this,” Bobby said, his tone strained, yet somehow also keeping its familiar evenness.
“Eddie needs me,” Buck cried. “He needs me, Bobby! I have … I have to—”
“You’ve done your part, Buck,” Bobby said. “You got him out. Now let Chim an—”
“ No !” Grief crashed over Buck, overwhelming and suffocating. Collapsing into Bobby’s chest, Buck sagged as his legs gave out. Buckling, Bobby managed to keep them both upright for mere seconds before they inevitably dropped. The earth kissed Buck’s knees as he fell, pain ricocheting up his thighs. “Bobby … Bobby, I…”
“I’ve got you, kid.” Bobby’s voice in his ear was something to cling to, something to hold onto. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”
“I need to help Eddie,” Buck wept, the fervour of desperation spiralling and reshaping inside him as despair overwhelmed him. “I need to help him. Bobby…”
“There’s nothing else you can do, Buck.”
“There has to be.” Tears washed down Buck’s cheeks. “There has to be something.”
Determinedly, Bobby clung to him even as the struggle slipped from Buck’s muscles. He was so far away from Eddie, too far … he couldn’t even read the name on the turnouts of the person who dropped the stretcher beside Eddie’s lifeless body. Watching impotently, Buck wriggled feebly against Bobby again as they shunted Eddie onto the stretcher, Hen and Chimney smoothly swapping places to keep compressions going.
“I have to go with him,” Buck blurted, eyes wide and blurry as he followed the stretcher moving across the yard. Renewed fight entered his body. Pulling against Bobby, he nearly broke free before Bobby yanked him tight again. “Let me go, I need to be with him!”
“Easy,” Bobby said. Struggling, he stood again, pulling Buck with him. “Come on.”
Bursting forwards, Buck tried to storm back across the yard but Bobby prevented him, fighting Buck every step of the way as they moved towards the ambulance. Blinking away tears, Buck’s gaze glued to Eddie as the stretcher was loaded in. “I wanna ride with him.”
“No.” Bobby’s voice was firm. “In the front, Buck.”
A babbling argument spilled from his lips, hurried words that even Buck couldn’t track. But Bobby argued back, his tone tense as he carefully walked Buck towards the ambulance. By the time they got there, the back was already closed and, a scream welling in his chest, Buck had no option but to clamber into the front, Bobby squashing in beside him.
The drive was agonising. Twisting in his seat, Buck wished he could see into the back. He reached for the radio and Bobby snatched his hand, pinned it down.
“How much further?!” Buck demanded. “Why are we going so slowly?”
Nobody answered him. and Buck chewed on his tongue as he fought back another desperate cry. His face was still wet. Raising one trembling hand, he dusted his fingertips against one eye, surprised to find himself still crying. Completely detached from his body, Buck had no control, no clue what was happening to him. All he knew, his entire mind honed in on, was Eddie needed him and he wasn’t there. He was here, apart, blocked, unable to fix things.
The minutes felt like months until, finally, they squealed to a stop outside the emergency bay at the hospital. Buck reached for the door, tangling his legs with Bobby’s in his rush to get out the ambulance.
“Buck,” Bobby started, but Buck didn’t want to hear it.
“Let me out,” he said.
Bobby climbed down and stepped aside to let Buck out.
He was already too late; the stretcher was beelining for the entry doors, Chimney kneeling over Eddie’s body, pressing his chest. “Eddie—” Buck started after him, this time slipping through Bobby’s reaching hands, escaping his restraint. Within moments, he jogged up to the stretcher. “What can I do?” Buck huffed, staring into Eddie’s ashen face.
“We’ll take him,” a strange voice interrupted, and suddenly Buck was jostled back as a pair of nurses swept in to take over. Only Chimney, straddling Eddie’s waist, was allowed to go with them as they rushed Eddie through the glass doors into the emergency room.
Hen’s arms crashed around Buck as he tried to follow, and Buck didn’t know if she was hugging him or holding him back. “We don’t go past those doors, Buck.”
“Fuck that,” Buck snarled. Wrenching free of her grip, he stomped forwards and followed through the doors.
Eddie was already gone.
Buck was stranded in a cold and busy waiting area, dozens of people clustered in plastic seats. There was a wide door at the far end of the room and he moved automatically towards it, only to be blocked by a security guard. “No entry, sir.”
“But—”
“No. Entry.”
Scrubbing at his cheeks, Buck looked down at the man, his attempt at an intimidating expression melting off his face as worry spiralled inside him. “My friend just came in. I need to be with him. I’m his emergency contact.”
“Then you can wait for them to call you, and go around to the main entrance and they’ll let you in there.”
“Come on ,” Buck snapped, moving forwards. “That’s my best friend back there!”
“Yeah, mate,” the guard said, his tone brooking no argument. “Most of the people in this hospital are someone's friend.”
“Buck, come away.” A hand curled around his elbow and Buck wrenched away from it. “ Buck .”
Spinning angrily, Buck glowered at Bobby, who had followed him. “I need to be with him,” he said. “He needs me.”
But Bobby shook his head. “No, Buck. At the moment he doesn’t. But Christopher does.”
“Christopher,” Buck echoed, the fight immediately leaving him. Panic took its place. “W-what am I supposed to tell him?”
Grasping his shoulder, Bobby gave him a gentle yet very sombre look. “I’ll let you know when you get there.”
<*-*>
By the time he climbed out of the Uber, Buck had cried himself out and was battling a sprawling emotional numbness. Standing outside Eddie’s house, he pulled his phone out and jabbed at the screen with trembling fingers.
He had been four minutes away from the hospital when he sent his first needy text. Bobby had replied that there was no update—and said that that was a good sign.
Punching a call through, Buck snapped, “How is that a good sign?” the instant Bobby answered.
“They would have called you if they’d stopped treatment.”
“So he’s alive?”
There was an achingly long silence. “Buck, his heart wasn’t beating when we handed him over.”
“He’s not —”
“Buck, I will keep you updated. As soon as I know anything, I will tell you.”
“I wanna come back,” Buck demanded. “I want to be there.”
“You can,” Bobby said. “When we know more. For now, be there for Christopher.”
Enduring the drive to Eddie’s house, Buck stood in the driveway and texted Bobby again.
The reply came far too slowly, Buck’s chest constricting tighter with every second that passed. And then his phone buzzed and the tension snapped as a text flashed across his screen—
We’ve got him back. Respirator. Unconscious. Update you soon.
—and Buck sobbed, the phone nearly slipping from his fingers as relief bled into him. His knees wobbled and for a moment he swayed, thinking he might collapse … Then the unsteadiness passed and Buck moved mechanically towards the house.
Dismissing the sitter, Buck found Christopher in his bedroom playing video games. Glancing up, his lively expression collapsed immediately. Christopher pulled off his headphones and stared. “What’s happened?”
Buck didn’t cry as he told him, but the words cracked in his dry throat as he shared the details.
When he ran out of words, Christopher asked lowly, “How serious is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to protect me, Buck. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I honestly don’t know, Chris,” Buck murmured.
“When can we see him?”
“As soon as the hospital calls,” Buck promised. “They … they told me we won’t be allowed in until then.”
Christopher shuffled in his seat. “Can we go anyway? And wait?”
“If you want to,” Buck said. “But you’ll be more comfortable here than in the waiting room.”
“Dad’s gonna need some things.” Christopher ignored him. “We should pack a bag for him.”
“I can do that,” Buck said, because he didn’t have the strength to argue. As desperate as he was to be with Eddie, Buck was also reluctant to drag Christopher to an uninviting waiting room. Pausing, he asked, “What about dinner?”
“We can worry about that after we know Dad’s okay,” Christopher said, stubbornness gripping his jaw.
Buck sighed and nodded. “Okay, I’ll pack some things for him.”
“I’ll get his stuff from the bathroom,” Christopher said. “You do the bedroom.”
Buck agreed.
Minutes later he was in Eddie’s bedroom, listening to Christopher clattering around in the bathroom. Grabbing a small duffle from beneath Eddie’s bed, Buck pulled open a few drawers with numb fingers, snatching things out at random—a couple of henleys, a pair of jeans. Grabbing boxers, socks and some sleep things, Buck moved to Eddie’s nightstand, packing the pair of books that were sitting on the top.
He didn’t really know what he was looking for when he opened the drawers. Ignoring the box of condoms and bottle of lube in the top drawer, he shoved it closed and slid open the second one—then froze.
A large envelope sat neatly in the drawer. Buck’s name was scrawled across it.
Reaching for it automatically, Buck tugged the envelope out. Stuffed with pages, it was a thick packet. Bamboozled, he shook it open and tugged out the first page.
Handwritten, it was a letter.
Hi Buck , it started. Buck blinked, staring blankly down at the page. Eddie had never written him letters. He had no idea what he was looking at, no idea why Eddie would have a sheaf of pages hidden away with his name on them.
A hideous thought captured him—maybe this was part of Eddie’s will.
Fear shivered through Buck, knowing how close they had come to losing Eddie, perhaps how close they still were … if it was Eddie’s will, he needed to know what it said. He needed to prepare himself.
So Buck read on.
Hi Buck,
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I could just talk to you. You’re in the lounge room right now, sleeping on my couch, curled up like a cat. I could go out there. I could sit on the arm rest and touch your feet and talk to you and I know you’d let me. You’d let me touch you and talk to you even though you’re tired and just want to sleep. You’d let me.
But I can’t do it. So I’m doing this instead, because Frank told me to try it so I guess I’m fucking trying it. Talking to you without talking to you. Telling you all the things I wish I could say but can’t.
Why can’t I? It’s not like you wouldn’t listen and hear me out. It’s not like you’d be angry or weirded out or anything. I know you wouldn’t be, if I just told you. You’d be so gentle about it. I know that. I know.
But I can’t tell you. I can’t talk to you, not about this.
I mean, I’m writing a fucking letter that you’re never going to read and I still can’t fucking admit it. How do I write down the words I don’t want anyone to hear?
Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t I fall in love with almost literally anyone else?
Mouth falling open, Buck reread that line several times. Why couldn’t I fall in love with almost literally anyone else? Why couldn’t I …
“You’re in love with me?” Buck breathed to the empty room, collapsing onto the side of Eddie’s bed. Sinking against the mattress, the page shook in his hand.
Eyes flitting across the page, Buck looked for a date, for any marker to determine when the letter had been written. There was nothing … and Buck couldn’t remember any particular time in all the years of their friendship where Eddie had acted any differently around him … Eddie was always just … Eddie.
And then a horrifying realisation pulsed across Buck’s stunned mind— maybe Eddie didn’t want to be in love with him.
Heart lurching between his teeth, Buck turned starving eyes back to the page.
Sometimes I wish I could get over you. Go back to platonic, to the great friendship we’ve always had. But most of the time I just love being in love with you. But it hurts, Buck, it hurts to feel this way and have to keep it to myself. It hurts to know you don’t feel the same.
Okay, so Eddie did want to be in love with him. Buck reeled. He couldn’t remember anyone ever choosing to love him before. If they had, they’d certainly never told him or let him feel it.
But … Eddie thought he didn’t feel the same.
It had never occurred to Buck that Eddie might not know about his feelings. He had flirted with him so many times over the years, come so close to kissing him on multiple occasions … only a desperate sense of self-preservation had held him back. Because Eddie was straight—or, maybe not so straight after all.
Lifting the packet, Buck rifled through the pages … there were dozens and dozens, all handwritten, some only a page long, some sprawling across several sheets of paper.
A sudden flash of colour caught his eye and Buck carefully pulled out a drawing.
He recognised it, pink and yellow and smiling—a cartoon heart he had drawn, stuck between a couple of letters. He thought Eddie had thrown it out, but here it was, preserved in a stack of letters. Love letters.
“Oh my god,” Buck gasped, grabbing the first page up again and sweeping his eyes back across it.
A voice spooked him from the doorway. “Buck, are you done yet?”
Starting, Buck jumped to his feet and spun towards the doorway. “Chris!”
“Yeah,” Christopher said, frowning slightly. “Obviously. Are you ready?”
“Just about.” Buck dropped the packet back into the drawer and shoved it closed.
He had forgotten to replace the first one. Snatching it up, Buck folded it hastily and stuffed it into his pocket. Grabbing a pair of shoes from the floor, he threw them into the bag and then moved towards Christopher.
“I’ve got everything in the bathroom, you just need to pack it,” Christopher said.
“Right.” Slipping past Christopher, Buck went into the bathroom, shoved all of Eddie’s things into the bag and zipped it shut.
“Can we go now?” Christopher asked.
“I’ll order an Uber,” Buck said.
Detouring to the station, they collected Buck’s truck. He was still in uniform, but had shed his turnouts before leaving the hospital, giving them to Bobby. Taking a few moments to open his locker, Buck knew he should change but didn’t want to spare the minutes. So he threw the bag with his civvies inside into the back of the truck and left for the hospital.
Buck’s phone finally rang as they were pulling into the car park. Fumbling it out of the cupholder in his centre console, Buck punched the answer symbol. “Yes?” he asked hurriedly.
“Is that Evan Buckley?”
“Yes.”
“We have you listed as the emergency contact for Mr Edmundo Diaz. He was brought in about an hour ago with serious injuries from smoke inhalation.”
“I know,” Buck said. “I was with him.”
“Right,” the person on the other end of the line said. “Well, we’d like you to come in.”
“I’m just finding a park,” Buck said, his heart thumping into his ribs. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
“We’ll be expecting you.”
The words were spoken in a tone so deliberately calm that Buck’s body immediately flooded with anxiety. If something had happened, they would not tell him over the phone. Taking a sharp breath, Buck tried very hard not to think about it…
Eddie could not be dead. Eddie could not die without Buck there. He couldn’t die alone.
Parking the truck, Buck took Christopher inside. Registering as guests at the front desk, they were shown to a waiting area.
Buck balked in the doorway.
It wasn’t a waiting room like he was used to. Instead, it was a small room with a plush couch and a coffee table bearing twin boxes of tissues. “What is this?” he asked, snapping toward the person who had shown them in. “Why are we here?”
“Someone will be with you shortly,” the man said, offering him a bland smile. “Please have a seat.”
“No.” Acid panic sizzled inside Buck’s veins. “I want to see Eddie. We’re here to see Eddie.”
“Someone will be with you shortly,” the man repeated, and left. Buck had little option but to step into the room as the door was pulled shut.
Christopher glanced at him, nervous anxiety cracking his expression. “Buck, why are we in this room?” he whispered. “This feels really bad.”
Eyes lingering on the tissue boxes, Buck fussed Christopher into a seat, sinking down beside him. “It’s going to be okay, Chris,” he lied, his voice thin as rice paper.
Unlocking his phone, Buck was about to text Bobby when the door swung open again and a doctor came in. “Mr Buckley?”
“Yes.” Buck jumped to his feet. “Where’s Eddie?”
“Please sit down,” the doctor said gently. Her gaze flicked to Christopher. “Who is this young man?”
“Eddie’s son,” Buck said, watching the doctor’s face. Her expression did not shift. “Christopher.”
“Lovely to meet you, Christopher,” she said, gesturing again for Buck to sit. She sank into a chair across from their couch. Aggravated, Buck sank down, feeling so brittle he was surprised his body didn’t splinter.
“How’s my dad?” Christopher asked. His voice wobbled.
The doctor smiled bracingly. “He wasn’t breathing when he was brought in. CPR was administered before and after he arrived, and we were able to get a shockable rhythm back, then we were able to use the defibrillator to revive him.”
“So he’s alive?” Buck barked. “Why are you torturing us like this?”
The doctor’s face was sombre beneath an insipid smile. “I want you to understand the seriousness of his condition. Mr Diaz has not regained consciousness and is currently on a respirator to treat the smoke inhalation that caused his heart to stop. There may be lasting impacts that we don’t know about yet.”
“Eddie’s strong,” Buck said. “He’s gonna be fine.”
“He died, Mr Buckley,” the doctor said, firmly but with empathy.
“Yeah, well, so did I once,” Buck grumbled. “And I’m great.”
Glancing between them, Christopher’s voice was low when he asked, “Can we see him?”
“You can,” the doctor said. “I’ll show you to his floor.”
<*-*>
Buck always hated seeing someone he loved in a hospital bed.
“I remember seeing you like this,” Christopher murmured when they entered Eddie’s room. “After the lightning strike.”
Bobby had left as they came in, pausing to hug them both before leaving them alone with Eddie and the hiss of the respirator, a breathing tube wedged between his teeth.
For a while, Buck and Christopher talked, to each other and to Eddie. Time lost all meaning as they simply waited. A fist of tension gripped Buck’s heart, twisting and squeezing so hard he could barely breathe.
It loosened very slightly when some medical staff came in and fiddled with Eddie’s IV.
“What are you doing?” Christopher asked.
“Reducing his sedation,” a nurse explained, offering him a brief smile. “We’re going to take the tube out and stop the respirator.”
“Is that safe?” Buck said, getting to his feet and moving closer.
The nurse immediately blocked him. “It’s very safe,” she reassured him. “And it’s a good sign, his vitals are strong enough to come off it already. Reducing the sedation will also help him wake up and we can assess any effects of being—of needing CPR for so long.”
Buck flashed a glance at Christopher, who stared back at him with a grim expression.
They let the medical staff work, then filter out of the room to leave them alone again. Buck watched them go before turning back. He stared at Eddie as though the reduced medication would immediately wake him.
Of course, that didn’t happen. Finally, Buck dropped back into his seat to wait.
Hours passed.
Christopher drifted off, falling asleep in his chair with his head resting against the side of Eddie’s bed. Watching him for a few moments, Buck’s eyes drifted across to Eddie. His hair had been neatly combed back by someone, a series of wires connected to his shrouded body.
Wanting to touch him, Buck made himself stay in his chair. He didn’t know what he might do if he let himself close to Eddie’s bed.
Slowly, watching Christopher, Buck pulled Eddie’s crumpled letter from his pocket.
He only had the one page, though the letter must have been longer. Starting it over from the beginning, Buck’s heart pounded in his throat as he read Eddie’s words again, the admission of love, the ache inside him.
It hurts to know you don’t feel the same.
A soft, broken noise cracked in Buck’s throat as he reread the words. He wanted Eddie to know the truth, to know about the absolute desperation that filled his soul whenever he gave himself the luxury of thinking about them together. He hadn’t thought about it too often; he’d been too sure Eddie was off limits.
But here were words—he didn’t know how old—revealing a truth he hadn’t known was secret.
There were only a few sentences left on the page that Buck had missed earlier. Smoothing the paper between his fingertips, his eyes flitted over them.
This feels stupid. What good does it do to talk to an imaginary you on paper? I have no idea how it’s going to help me. Frank has some weird ideas.
I wish you were here … actually here, with me. In my bed instead of on the couch. But who knows
Buck blinked. The words ended there, the paper filled with Eddie’s scrawling handwriting.
He needed to know the end of that sentence. Eyes flicking to the top of the page again, as though he could find the answer there, Buck’s heart danced, beating hard and fast. He sucked in a sharp breath, realising he wasn’t breathing.
The paper shivered in his grip.
Eddie wanted him. Eddie wanted him in his bed. Eddie wanted him—
“What you reading?”
Starting violently, Buck flinched as a tiny, scratching voice broke the silence. Thin and fragile, it was unmistakable. “Eddie!” Buck cried, flying from his chair so fast it flung backwards behind him and hit the ground with a violent bang.
One eye slit open in a tiny sliver, a wisp of a smile hovered across Eddie’s washed-out face. He had clawed off his oxygen mask. “Hey,” he whispered.
“Oh my god,” Buck gasped, wrapping both his hands around one of Eddie’s. “Oh my god, you’re awake. Eddie…”
And he burst into tears.
“Shh,” Eddie murmured. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not, though,” Buck babbled as tears coursed down his face. “Eddie…”
“M’fine.” Eddie’s eye dropped shut as he gave Buck’s fingers a feeble squeeze. With a supreme effort, he muttered, “Why you in my bedroom?”
“Eddie, you’re in hospital.” Buck raised one hand and dashed it across his cheeks. “You … you …”
“Oh.” Eddie’s eye peeled open again, just enough to lock Buck in its bleary glare. “Christopher?”
“He’s here. Sleeping.”
“Sleeps,” Eddie sighed. “Yeah, good.”
Moving his damp, tear-streaked hand, Buck gently touched Eddie’s brow. “How’re you feeling?”
“Told you,” Eddie whispered. “M’good.”
“Liar,” Buck said. “You’re a fucking liar, Eddie.”
Opening his other eye, Eddie’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Harsh,” he muttered. A faint crease appeared on his brow. “Why you upset?”
“Because …” Buck’s nose was running. He sniffed sharply, a wet, snorting sound.
“Sexy,” Eddie mumbled, his eyes falling shut once again.
“Don’t,” Buck said, swiping his fist beneath his nose. “Don’t, Eddie.”
“Don’t be sad, Buck,” Eddie whispered. “I’m okay.”
And then a cough wracked his body, barking from his chest with alarming force. It startled Christopher awake, fresh worry carving through Buck as he fumbled for the bed remote to raise Eddie’s head further. Then he punched the call bell to alert the medical team.
A nurse came quickly. Glancing around the room, she ushered Christopher and Buck away from the bed and immediately took Eddie’s vitals, pushing his oxygen mask back on as she talked gently.
Buck watched it all in a haze. He didn’t hear a single thing the nurse said as she spoke to Eddie, who whispered back. It was a fug of white noise, Buck’s eyes watching every movement, Christopher watching too.
Before the nurse was done, another woman came in. Slight and dark, she waited patiently as the nurse finished working, then they spoke together for a few moments before the nurse left and the new woman—a doctor, judging by her white coat—approached Eddie’s bed.
Giving himself a sharp mental shake, Buck made himself listen. “How much do you remember, Mr Diaz?”
Struggling to keep his eyes open, Eddie replied thinly, “I remember my name is Eddie.”
Smiling slightly, the doctor inclined her head. “Eddie, then.” With some prompting questions, she gauged what Eddie could remember—everything up to his collapse in the burning hallway, apparently—and then told him what had happened.
Brow crumpled, Eddie whispered, “I died?”
“For a time,” the doctor said very gently.
“Actually for real died?” Eddie asked.
“Yes.”
“... Oh.” Eddie’s gaze swivelled to Christopher back in his chair beside the bed. One hand twitched against the blankets, reached for him. “I’m so sorry.”
Christopher’s face was pale. He placed his hand over Eddie’s but didn’t say anything, tears glimmering beneath his glasses.
The doctor talked a little more, sparingly due to Eddie’s grogginess. When the conversation, such as it was, ended, she turned to Buck. “It’s probably best you head home for the night. All of you need rest. We’ll call you if anything changes.”
Buck glanced at Eddie. “I don’t want him to be alone,” he muttered.
“S’okay, Buck,” Eddie whispered. “Take Chris home. Sleep. That’s all I’m gonna do.”
It took a little persuading from the doctor and an increasingly muzzy Eddie, but eventually Buck agreed to go home, more for Christopher’s sake than anything.
They both hugged Eddie goodbye. He was soft and limp beneath Buck’s hands.
Stopping on the way home for drive-through junk food, it was late when Buck and Christopher arrived home. Helping Christopher into bed, Buck withdrew quietly, hovering in the hallway.
Glancing at the bathroom, Buck scruffed a hand through his hair and thought about showering. Still in uniform and knowing he smelled, he sighed and retrieved his bag from where he had dropped it in the lounge room then slunk to the shower to sluice off the day.
Afterwards, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, Buck made up the couch and sank down, scuffing his hand across the soft sheet.
He wanted a beer. But he didn’t dare drink when he could get called back to the hospital again at any time. Buck knew he should sleep, but he felt wired.
And then he remembered the letters.
Sliding off the couch, Buck padded carefully back down the hall and into Eddie’s room. Feeling like a naughty child, he pulled the packet of letters from Eddie’s nightstand and returned to the couch with them.
It was an invasion of privacy … but then again, the letters were addressed to him. Studying the envelope for a few long, conflicted moments, Buck finally sighed and drew out the next sheet.
what the hell I would do if you were here.
Buck swallowed.
I think about it all the time, all the fucking time. I think about … all of it. Everything. I wanna touch your belly and make you shiver. I wanna taste your tongue and rake my fingers through your stupid curls and press our bodies together and feel you inside me and I can’t stop fucking thinking about it, about all of it.
So it’s probably a good thing you’re sleeping outside of my reach.
I don’t think writing all of this out is helping at all. It just makes me want you, makes me ache and hard and it hurts but oh fuck, it feels so good to love you. Because … it’s you. And you’re really kind of incredible.
This is dumb. I need to stop doing this and go to sleep.
I hope you’re having pleasant dreams out there on the couch, Buck. See you in the morning.
x
Mouth parted, Buck stared down at the page in his hand. A tremor shook through his belly.
Eddie really was in love with him.
<*-*>
Unable to sleep, too preoccupied with everything Eddie, Buck curled beneath his blanket, bundled into one corner of Eddie’s couch, and steadily made his way through the packet of letters.
Spanning from sweet to despairing, they captured the full range of Eddie’s desperate pining, a tumultuous wave of emotions all aimed at Buck. And he had had no idea about any of it. Not for the first time, Buck was amazed at Eddie’s ability to mask his true feelings … and a little annoyed at them, both—at himself for having missed it and at Eddie for having concealed it.
I guess when I’m dead someone will find these and give them to you , one letter started. How many more of these nonsense letters will I write before then? Why am I still writing them at all?
Why can’t I just tell you?
A tear slipped down Buck’s cheek. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice a broken whisper in the early morning silence. “I wish you had. I wish it hadn’t taken you dying for me to find out.”
He kept reading. One letter outlined an explicit daydream and Buck forced himself to put that one aside, forced himself not to read all the smutty things Eddie wanted to do with him. A twinge of lust spurred low in his belly, but reading that felt like crossing too far over the boundary he’d already trampled down.
Eventually, hunched against the pillow reading with one eye closed, Buck fell asleep. Restive, he tossed against the couch in fitful bouts, waking frequently without quite breaking the blur of fatigue gripping his brain.
“Buck?” a voice crackled through his broken consciousness. “Buck!”
“Hmph?” Snapping his head up, Buck snapped his eyes open and glanced around. Christopher stood beside the couch. “Chris?”
“What are these?” Christopher asked. Buck followed his gaze to find the sheaf of letters dropped in a fan on the floor.
“Nothing,” Buck said hurriedly, nearly launching himself off the couch in his rush to sweep them up. He stuffed the letters back into the envelope, muttering, “Just some bedtime reading.”
Narrowing his eyes, Christopher studied him a little longer, then shrugged. “Can we go back to the hospital?”
Fumbling his phone from the coffee table, Buck checked the time. It was before seven. “After a shower and breakfast,” he said, looking back at Christopher.
Expression turning surly for a moment like he was about to argue, Christopher finally sighed and nodded. “Fine.”
An hour later, they were in the car heading back to the hospital. Buck had no updates, and when he had phoned the hospital while Christopher had breakfast, they had said very little beyond that Eddie was stable and rested overnight.
When they arrived they found Eddie awake and surprisingly bright, grimacing into a cup of hospital coffee as he picked at his breakfast tray. Glancing up as they came in, he offered Christopher a dazzling smile. “Hey, kiddo. Come here.”
Pushing his overway table back, Eddie made space for Christopher to step into his arms. They held each other for a long moment as Buck hovered at the foot of the bed.
Over Christopher’s head, Eddie’s eyes flicked up at him.
Buck shivered at the look in them. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but the brittle darkness of Eddie’s gaze scared him. Eddie had never looked at him like that before.
“How are you feeling?” Christopher asked.
“Pretty good, all things considered,” Eddie said, giving him another squeeze before releasing Christopher, who sank back into the chair by the bed. “My chest hurts and my skin burns from where they shocked me, but I’m alive so I’m okay.”
“Dad,” Christopher whispered. “You died.”
“I’m alive,” Eddie repeated. “The doctor says I’m fine. They’re gonna transfer me to a ward this morning.”
“Eddie,” Buck started, but Eddie flashed another glare at him and the words turned to ash on Buck’s tongue.
Swivelling back to Christopher, Eddie grinned. “They’ve been running tests on me all night, I barely got any sleep. My heart rhythm is strong, my sats are good, my ribs aren’t badly broken. I’m okay, Chris. I promise. I’ll be home before you even have a chance to miss me.”
“I already miss you,” Christopher said softly.
They talked for a while, Eddie and Christopher, while Buck sank into a chair and watched them, feeling uncertain. Eventually, Christopher excused himself for the bathroom, dismissing Buck’s offer to walk with him, and Buck and Eddie were left alone.
Somehow, even in bed, Eddie managed to round on him, an intimidating scowl dropping onto his face.
Buck’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say. Eddie looked furious , and Buck could not discern why.
And then he raised a creased and crumpled paper from his overway table, tugging it from beneath the abandoned breakfast tray.
It was his letter.
“The nurse found this,” Eddie said, his voice deliberate and hollow. “Mind telling me how it got here?”
Flinching, Buck started, “Okay, don’t be mad.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Don’t be mad ?” Eddie hissed. “You went through my things and read my private letters!”
“Well, they were addressed to me,” Buck said dumbly, knowing he was digging himself a grave.
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Why are you angry?” Buck blurted. “Eddie—”
“They were private ,” Eddie repeated, his tone acidic. “I said things in those letters that I’ve never said to anyone, you weren’t supposed to read them!”
“Right,” Buck said, suddenly nettled. “Not until you were dead, right? That’s what you wrote in one of them. Well guess what Eddie, you died and you can ignore it as much as you want, but you did , and I had to deal with that and then find out that you’re in love with me in the same day.”
“Yeah, right,” Eddie grumbled. “Because this is about you.”
“It’s about us ,” Buck cried. “Both of us! Why aren’t you happy?”
Squinting at him, Eddie growled, “Happy?”
“We’re—” Buck’s words cut off abruptly as Christopher re-entered the room.
His eyes swivelled between Eddie in the bed and Buck perched on the edge of his seat. Slowly, he asked, “What are you fighting about?”
“We’re not fighting,” Buck said quickly.
Eddie, pursing his lips, said nothing.
“Don’t lie to me,” Christopher said lightly. “I can tell when you’re fighting.”
“Buck went through my things.” Eddie’s tone was a little more controlled, but still full of displeasure.
“Well, yeah,” Christopher said, moving back to his seat. “I told him to. We brought some stuff in for you.”
Eyes narrowing, Eddie peered at Buck. “He went through things he had no right to go through.”
Christopher blinked. “What does that mean?”
“I found some … some papers your dad didn’t want me to read,” Buck explained. His tongue darted across his lips.
Understanding dawned on Christopher’s face. “And you read them? That’s what you had this morning.”
“Yeah, uh.” Buck cleared his throat. “I did.”
Looking at Eddie, Christopher said, “So now you’re angry at him?”
Eddie’s expression shifted, but he did not answer.
Christopher sighed. “Is it really that important? After …”
A silence fell across the room before Eddie murmured, “It’s important, Chris.”
“What is it?” Christopher gave him a direct stare. Eddie floundered and Christopher rolled his eyes. “If it’s so important you’re thinking about that at a time like this, and you’re fighting about it, then it’s important enough for me to know.”
Pausing a moment, Eddie glared at Buck as he finally answered. “Buck went through my stuff and … found some notes I’d written. About how I feel. About him.”
Mouth shaping a silent ‘oh’, Christopher gave Buck a curious glance. “So Buck knows you’re into him?”
“Wait, you know?” Buck blurted.
Christopher snorted. “Well, yeah. Dad’s not subtle.”
Staring, Buck’s jaw moved a few times, but he couldn’t find any words. Finally he mumbled, “Well, it was news to me.”
Smiling lightly, Christopher shook his head. “You two are as bad as each other. I guess you probably want to be alone to kiss now or something, huh?”
“Christopher.” Eddie’s voice was low and tense, a silent warning for him to stop speaking.
Feigning innocence, Christopher replied with a broad grin.
Buck looked at Eddie. His heart hammered within his chest, beating out a painful rhythm. Sucking in a sharp breath, and all his courage with it, he said, “Christopher’s right.”
Brow creasing, Eddie flicked a stormy gaze at him. “About what?”
“I wanna kiss you.”
Face turning to stone, Eddie lunged towards him, pointing aggressively. “Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare tease me, Buckley.”
Very seriously, Buck wriggled to the edge of his seat, leaning towards Eddie. “I would never do that, Eddie. Not about this.” Still wary, confusion entered Eddie’s glare. He arched a questioning eyebrow, but Buck spoke again before Eddie could ask him anything. Very softly, he said, “Eddie, I’m in love with you too.”
Jaw falling open, Eddie’s brow smoothed with shock as he gaped at Buck. Shaking his head slightly, he stammered, “N-no … no. You aren’t.”
Seriously, Buck nodded. “I am, Eddie,” he whispered. “I really am.”
Staring, Eddie suddenly snapped his eyes towards Christopher, who was determinedly staring at a corner of the room as though he couldn’t hear them. Then his gaze flicked back to Buck and he swallowed hard. “Uh. You are?” he breathed.
“Yes.”
Glancing at the page clutched in his hand, a visible shiver raced through Eddie’s body. “Oh…”
“What are you thinking?” Buck asked gently, his voice quiet. He could not read Eddie at all and it left him nervous.
Scrubbing his fingertips into the blankets bunched around his waist, Eddie muttered, “You’re not just saying what I want to hear because of … what happened. Are you?”
“No way,” Buck insisted. “I’m in love with and I have been … for a long time.”
Looking up again, Eddie asked, “How long?”
“Very long,” Buck deflected, and was gratified when the ghost of a smile slipped across Eddie’s mouth.
“Me too,” he murmured. His tongue touched his lips. “What happens now?”
“Well, we could take Chris’s advice and kiss,” Buck said, a flirty grin slipping across his mouth.
“That wasn’t advice,” Christopher interjected.
Giving him a playful glance, Buck turned back to Eddie more seriously. “And we should probably wait until you’re stronger.”
“I’m strong now,” Eddie protested.
“You know what I mean,” Buck said. “Like, recovered.”
“I am recovered,” Eddie said.
“Gee, Dad, anyone would think you want to kiss Buck,” Christopher drawled, then got out of his chair and headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be outside when you’re done being sappy.”
“Chris, we’re not really gonna kiss,” Buck said. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Sure you’re not,” Christopher said, and left the room.
Watching him go, Buck hesitated, wondering if he should follow, when Eddie’s voice re-caught his attention. “When I get out of here,” he murmured, “I’m gonna take you on a date.”
Joy rushed through Buck’s chest. “Yeah?” he smiled. Eddie nodded. “Where are we gonna go?”
“Somewhere fancy,” Eddie said. “I wanna spoil you. You deserve it.”
“I can’t wait,” Buck replied. “But Eddie, don’t try and rush your recovery, okay? You fucking died .”
“I don’t want to dwell on that,” Eddie said, dropping his eyes. “I want to focus on something good, Buck. And right now, I’m alive and I have Christopher and you. Let me have those good things, okay?”
Considering, Buck said softly, “Just as long as you don’t avoid it.”
“I’ve been here before,” Eddie said. “Or, almost anyway. And you can help me. I’m going to be okay, Buck. Will you come and kiss me now?”
Getting out of his seat, Buck moved over to the bed, sinking down on the edge of the mattress. Eddie scooted towards him, one hand sliding carefully across Buck’s thigh. “Hi,” Buck said, smiling at him.
“Hi,” Eddie whispered.
Then Buck leaned in and kissed him.
<*-*>
Eddie came home two days later. His heart and lungs were strong considering what he’d endured, but there was a list of recommendations from his doctors that Buck snatched and pinned to the fridge.
“I think I should stay tonight,” Buck said as he settled Eddie on the couch after driving him home. “Make sure you’re okay.”
“If you want to,” Eddie said, giving him a knowing glance.
“I do.”
“Do you need to go home first?” Eddie asked. “Check on anything?”
“No.” Buck had done that between dropping Christopher at school and picking Eddie up from the hospital. “Everything is fine.”
“Okay,” Eddie said, wriggling deeper into the couch, a blanket draped around him. “Stay then. And hey, thank you for not throwing a welcome home party this time. I don’t think I could handle the attention.”
Over the past two days Eddie had been inundated with visitors and Buck knew, despite his continued assertions of being fine, that he was tired. What Eddie needed now was rest and time to process everything, alone.
Or, mostly alone. Buck had no intention of going anywhere.
They had talked a lot over the past two days, and while Buck wasn’t convinced Eddie was as okay as he was claiming to be, he was certain that he would be with a little more time. Until then, Buck planned to be there for whatever Eddie needed.
For himself, everything had properly hit him the night before. Buck had spent two hours on the phone to Bobby, sobbing his way through entire the conversation.
But now Eddie was home, safe and alive. And beyond that, Eddie was his .
Sinking onto the couch beside him, Buck snuggled into Eddie’s side as he lifted a fold of the blanket and tucked it around Buck’s shoulders. “I love you, Eddie,” he said, taking Eddie’s hand and slotting their fingers together.
“I love you too.” Eddie looped his other arm around Buck and pulled him close. He sighed. “I’m glad we’re here, but I still can’t believe you read my letters.”
“I really can’t believe you wrote them,” Buck replied.
Eddie grunted and shrugged.
Kissing his cheek, Buck said carefully, “I’m not so happy about how it happened, but I’m glad we’re here too. And I can’t wait for that date you promised me.”
“We can go tonight,” Eddie offered.
“No,” Buck said firmly. “The doctor’s note says—”
He was cut off by Eddie laughing. “Okay,” he conceded. “We’ll go as soon as Doctor Buckley gives me the all clear.”
Relaxing against him, Buck smiled. He would happily be responsible for Eddie’s wellbeing. He supposed, really, he always had been—now, before and for the rest of forever.