Chapter Text
Eddie stood in front of Buck’s loft, paper bag in one hand, the other balled into a loose fist he rapped—once, twice, three times—against the door. The knocks echoed in the quiet hallway like they were bouncing off concrete. He waited. Nothing. Not a shuffling footstep. Not a muttered curse. Not even the sound of Buck pretending he wasn’t home.
His jaw twitched.
He shifted the bag under his arm and pulled out his phone. Opened the thread.
Monday:
“You eat anything yet? I can bring by abuelas tamales.”
Tuesday:
“Let me know if you want company tonight. Chris misses you.”
Wednesday:
“Hey, at least let me know you’re still alive. Please.”
three dots… then nothing sent
Thursday:
“Buck.”
Friday:
voicemail.
Hey, uh… just checking. Again. Call me, man. I am getting really worried here.
Now it was Saturday, and Eddie was out of excuses to be polite about it.
He exhaled hard through his nose, pulled the spare key from his pocket—a key Buck had given him two years ago, with a sarcastic “In case I die alone and get eaten by my cat,” and no cat—and jammed it into the lock. The tumblers clicked with an old familiarity.
The door creaked open.
Darkness clung to the inside of the apartment like mildew. The curtains were still drawn. The air was stuffy, the kind of air that came from too many days of the windows being sealed, no circulation. Something faint and sour tinged the air—maybe leftover food or maybe just the smell of too much stillness.
Eddie stepped in and closed the door behind him. The silence didn’t break. It just swallowed him whole.
He set the breakfast bag on the counter—egg sandwiches, coffee, orange juice, probably already cold—and moved toward the bedroom with the quiet kind of anger only reserved for people you care too much about.
“Buck?” His voice was loud in the quiet. “I swear to God—”
He stopped on the top of the stairs.
Buck was lying in bed, fully clothed but barely present. He was on his side, one arm crooked under his pillow, the other hanging over the edge like it had nowhere else to be. His hair was unwashed, sticking to his forehead. The scruff on his jaw had long passed into neglected territory. He stared at the ceiling like it was whispering something only he could hear.
He didn’t flinch when Eddie stepped in. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
Eddie’s jaw locked.
“You gonna say hi?” he asked, voice low but not soft.
Buck didn’t answer. His lips parted slightly, but no sound followed. His eyes stayed fixed.
Eddie shook his head, tight and controlled, and turned away.
He moved to the windows and yanked the curtains open. Blinding sunlight poured in like an accusation. He cracked the window, let in a breeze. Dusted off a nearby chair with his palm and shoved aside a pile of old mail on the counter with just enough force to make it clear he was not going to tiptoe around the mess.
Behind him, Buck blinked once. Slow. Still didn’t sit up.
Eddie walked back to the counter, opened the breakfast bag, and started unpacking containers one by one. He didn’t say a word, didn’t glance back. But every motion was louder than it needed to be. The clatter of plastic lids. The thud of the juice bottle. The squeak of the chair legs as he dragged it out just enough to sit.
He took a breath. Held it. Let it go through his nose.
Then finally, quietly, he muttered, “You look like shit.”
No response. Not even a smirk.
Eddie didn’t need one.
He wasn’t here to be charming. He was here to drag Buck out of this black hole, one curtain and egg sandwich at a time.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Buck said, voice scratchy and flat.
It was the first sound out of him in what felt like an hour. Eddie didn’t turn around right away. He was still at the kitchen counter, peeling the lid off a plastic coffee cup like it owed him money.
He snorted. “You shouldn’t be rotting in bed.”
That finally got Buck to move—barely. He turned his head just enough to see the back of Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m not rotting.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Eddie grabbed the coffee, walked over, and set it down on the nightstand with a little too much force. “This has been what—five days? You haven’t texted back. Haven’t answered calls. Didn’t even open the damn curtains.”
Buck closed his eyes, like maybe if he did it long enough, Eddie would disappear. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”
“Yeah?” Eddie crossed his arms, brows raised. “Too bad.”
Buck inhaled, sharp and shallow. He looked awful. Hollowed out. Like his skin had been wrapped around someone else’s bones.
“I quit,” Buck muttered, like that explained everything.
“No kidding,” Eddie said. “Bobby told me. He was heartbroken.”
Buck flinched, just slightly. “I’m done, Eddie. What else is there to say?”
“You tell me.” Eddie sat on the edge of the bed, arms still folded. “You fought like hell to get back. Surgeries. Rehab. All of it. And now you’re just… giving up?”
Buck’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I didn’t give up. I was forced out.”
“Bullshit.”
Buck finally turned to look at him, face tight. “I’m on blood thinners. I can’t run into burning buildings, can’t lift anyone, can’t even trip without risking a brain bleed. I’m a liability, Eddie. They can’t have me on the line. And I’m sure as hell not sitting behind a desk while the rest of you do the real work.”
“Since when is being alive not real work?” Eddie asked, voice quieter now, but sharper too.
Buck’s jaw clenched. “It’s not what I’m meant for.”
“That’s crap,” Eddie said. “You think your whole worth is tied up in a uniform? You think helping people only counts if you’re kicking down a door with a hose in your hands?”
“Yes!” Buck exploded, voice cracking. “Yes, Eddie, I do! Because that was the one thing I was good at. That’s what kept me sane. That’s what made me feel like I mattered. ”
The silence that followed was rough-edged.
Buck dropped his head back onto the pillow and stared up again, eyes burning.
“You don’t get it,” he said. “You’ve always had something else. You’ve got Chris. You’ve got this—this life outside the job. I don’t. That’s all I had.”
Eddie was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke, calm but firm.
“You still have Chris.”
Buck blinked, confused.
“And me,” Eddie added, quieter now. “You still have me.”
Buck didn’t say anything. His expression flickered. One heartbeat, two.
Eddie looked down, exhaled, then looked back up at him. “You didn’t lose everything. But if you stay in this bed, if you shut us out, you will. ”
Buck looked away.
Eddie stood, voice soft but unyielding now. “Chris misses you. So do I.”
He let that hang in the air like a thread stretched between them, waiting to see if Buck would reach out.
But Buck didn’t move.
So Eddie walked to the door—slow, deliberate—and left it open behind him.
Eddie didn’t slam the door. He left it cracked behind him, stood in the hallway for a full minute, just breathing. He counted the drywall screws in the corner, the slow, flickering hum of the light bulb above him, the soft creak of the building settling. Anything to stop himself from marching back in and shaking Buck until he rattled.
Instead, he composed himself, returned to the kitchen, and unpacked the second sandwich from the bag.
Buck hadn’t moved much. Maybe shifted a leg. Eyes open now, but unfocused.
Eddie set the second sandwich down on the coffee table and dragged the chair around so he could face Buck without looming over him.
“Alright,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “here’s the deal.”
Buck didn’t answer, but his gaze dragged toward Eddie, wary.
“I’ve got a shift today,” Eddie said.
A twitch of Buck’s brow. Not quite interest. Not quite indifference.
Eddie’s voice dropped into something more direct. “Carala is scheduled for today but I want you to take Christopher for the day.”
That pulled Buck up short.
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Buck propped himself on one elbow, like that might help make sense of the situation. “You’re dropping Chris off here?”
Eddie nodded once.
“No,” Buck said immediately. “Eddie, I’m not—I’m not fit for this.”
“Buck,” Eddie said, leaning forward slightly, “you’re not a broken appliance. You’re still you. And Chris loves you.”
Buck sank back down into the pillow. “He shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
“That’s exactly why he should, ” Eddie said. “He needs to know people get back up.”
Buck’s eyes closed. “What if I can’t?”
Eddie stood, voice quiet. “Then let him help you remember how.”
They sat in silence again. Buck’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling like he was debating something that cost more than he could afford.
Finally, he opened his eyes, turned his head. “What if I say no?”
“I’m still leaving him here,” Eddie replied.
Buck let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m really not,” Eddie said, walking toward the door.
Buck stared up at the ceiling again. “You’re a pushy bastard.”
Eddie grinned over his shoulder. “Only for people I care about.”
He was halfway down the stairs before Buck called out, voice faint but clear.
“Wait. You said Carla. Isn’t she watching him?”
Eddie paused. Turned back.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “But I figured you need Christopher to hang out with today . ” Then he added, offhand but unmistakably pointed, “And you’re not dying, so…”
Buck groaned into the pillow.
Eddie walked out with a quiet, satisfied smirk.
The knock came fifteen minutes later.
It wasn’t frantic or impatient—just soft, rhythmic. Two short taps, then a pause. Buck had barely gotten himself out of bed, mostly out of spite. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, still in yesterday’s sweatpants and a hoodie he wasn’t entirely sure was clean, when he heard the door open.
“I told you I’d be back,” Eddie’s voice rang out.
Buck muttered something unintelligible and wiped at his face with one hand. He hadn’t brushed his teeth. He hadn’t even put on socks.
Then came the sound of crutches tapping across the hardwood. Buck looked up just in time to see Christopher appear around the corner, eyes bright, cheeks pink from the morning air, a backpack slung across his shoulder like a mission was underway.
“Hey, Buck!” Chris beamed.
Buck felt something behind his ribs shift. Not crack—just… tilt. He stood up, awkwardly, unsure whether to go in for a hug or stay back in case he smelled like despair.
Chris made the decision for him. He dropped his crutches carefully, opened his arms wide, and launched into Buck’s midsection like he’d been aiming all morning.
Buck grunted at the impact, but didn’t let go. His arms came up slowly—hesitant, then tight.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice muffled in Christopher’s hair. “You’ve grown, like… six feet.”
Chris snorted. “That’s not even possible.”
Buck pulled back and gave him a smile that didn’t feel forced for the first time in days. “Still true.”
Behind them, Eddie leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching them with something between satisfaction and relief.
“Alright,” Eddie said. “He’s got snacks, water, his meds, and my entire trust in you. Don’t make me regret it.”
Buck mock-saluted. “Sir, yes sir.”
Eddie gave him a look that almost— almost —held a grin. “You might want to text your boyfriend.”
Buck blinked. “My…?”
“You know. The very patient man who hasn’t been scared off by your commitment issues.”
Buck flushed. “I don’t have commitment issues.”
“Sure you don’t.”
Christopher looked between them with exaggerated eye-roll energy. “Are you guys gonna argue the whole day or can we go get funnel cake now?”
Eddie checked his watch. “Tommy’s got the morning off, right? Take Chris to the pier. Go outside. Remember what sun feels like.”
Buck reached for his phone with a skeptical frown, then glanced at Christopher, who was already grinning like he’d won a prize just by showing up.
He typed quickly:
Buck: Chris wants to go to the pier and get funnel cake. You in?
The reply came ten seconds later.
Tommy: Always.
Buck stared at the screen a second too long.
Christopher nudged him. “You okay?”
Buck looked at him—at the crutches, the hopeful smile, the quiet trust in his eyes—and nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think I am.”
By the time they reached the elevator, Buck had even changed his hoodie. Small miracles.