Archive of Our Own

“Love me while you can. That life is a wheel that turns a thousand times and in the end nothing remains”

The sun beat down like molten lead on the desert, pressing itself into the skin, into the lungs, until every breath felt like swallowing ash. 

It wasn’t just heat —it was a heavy, suffocating shroud that clung to bone and marrow. The makeshift base seemed to tremble under the constant roar of helicopters, each one cutting through the sky with the violence of an open wound. Sand whipped in spirals at every landing, stinging exposed skin, biting into eyes. By now, Eddie no longer blinked when the wind burned against his face. He’d grown too accustomed to chaos, to noise, to the unending rhythm of a world perpetually on fire.

Since running away from home at eighteen, this dry, merciless land had claimed him. He had built a life here, a life steeped in blood and adrenaline, under skies that never softened. 

He stayed, year after year, because staying meant proving something —to his parents, to himself. They had wanted to shape him into their image, to cage him in their rules and their silence. Eddie had fled into war, hoping it would forge him into something else, someone else. 

Maybe even someone worth keeping.

And in that relentless pursuit, he had learned discipline carved into muscle memory: hands that couldn’t shake. He had taught them not to. Even when his heart battered against his ribs like a caged animal, his fingers stayed steady. Tourniquet. Morphine. Pressure. Compress the wound and compress the panic, pray beneath the breath. 

Life in this place never lingered; it slipped too quickly, bleeding away like water through cracked stone.

Sometimes, when exhaustion blurred the edges of his vision, he wondered at the futility of it all —the desperate rush to save a body that might, within twenty-four hours, be nothing more than a name added to a list. Still, he never hesitated. Each soldier on his stretcher was more than just flesh and blood. They were whole worlds, each one, and every world deserved another chance to keep spinning.

And among those fragile, fleeting worlds, there was one in particular that refused to let him rest. 

One with blue eyes that carried too much fire, with a smile that burned itself into Eddie’s mind until it haunted him, kept him awake longer than caffeine ever could. One that made him remember what it felt like to want —for himself, not just for duty.

The thunder of a helicopter louder than usual dragged him back to the present. 

The latest bird carried a team of SEALs ambushed on reconnaissance. Eddie adjusted his gloves, ignoring the surge of adrenaline that sent his pulse racing. He was always ready for the worst.

The first soldier stumbled down the ramp, a botched tourniquet tied clumsily near a shredded leg. The second bore a bloodied arm, wrapped hastily with fabric. Eddie signaled to the other medics, already barking orders, his body moving before his thoughts could catch up.

But then came the third.

And just like always, Eddie’s chest locked, air caught somewhere between breath and heartbeat.

His face smeared with sand and someone else’s blood, a tired but unbroken grin still clinging to his lips, Evan “Buck” Buckley descended.

That familiar pang shot through Eddie’s chest —a violent mix of anger and relief, a storm that churned every time he saw Buck stumble back alive.

"You again?" Eddie muttered, trying for stern, though his voice cracked at the edges, betraying more than he wanted.

Buck tilted his head, the tired grin sharpening into that crooked, boyish smile Eddie knew too well. 

"I'm glad you recognize me under all this glamour," he quipped, even winking.

Goddamn him.

Eddie shook his head and closed the distance. His eyes scanned him automatically: a cut above the eyebrow bleeding freely; a deep but not catastrophic graze on the shoulder, scrapes along his arms. Nothing immediately fatal. Physically, Buck was intact.

But Eddie’s gaze caught on the subtle tremor in Buck’s hands. That betrayed the truth. He had been too close again. Much too close.

"Someday your luck’s going to run out, Buck," Eddie said, low and sharp, motioning to the other medics where to take the rest of the wounded.

"And what are you going to do when it happens?" Buck asked lightly, the words shaped like a joke, but his eyes —his damn eyes— held the kind of quiet torment that came from already knowing the answer and finding it unbearable.

Eddie’s throat closed. He had no answer. He had too many answers. So he said nothing, only guided Buck firmly toward his tent, sat him down on the stretcher, and pulled out the necessary supplies. 

His hands were brisk, almost punishing, as he cleaned the wound on Buck’s shoulder. The sting made Buck grunt, but he didn’t pull away. Around them, the camp roared with its usual chaos —shouts, orders, engines revving— but for Eddie, the noise drowned into static. There was only Buck. Only this.

"You know, Eds..." Buck’s voice was softer now, leaning back against the canvas wall, his eyes sliding toward Eddie. "We’re in the middle of a roulette wheel with our lives. Today you’re here. Tomorrow..." He shrugged, as if dismissing it, but his tone carried the weight of inevitability.

Eddie’s hands froze for half a second. He looked straight into Buck’s eyes, his chest a battlefield of unspoken words. Don’t you dare talk about tomorrow. Don’t you make me picture a world where you’re not in it. Don’t you leave me with that silence.

He swallowed the ache and forced his voice steady, clipped. 

"Shut your mouth and let me stitch you up."

His hands moved again, mechanical, pulling sutures with more force than necessary.

Buck chuckled weakly, his breath uneven. "Always so loving."

Eddie jabbed the needle into torn skin, grateful for the surgical mask hiding most of his face. Because under it, every part of him screamed to close the distance, to crush his mouth against Buck’s, to claim him in the only way that might make the fear ease, even for a second. To kiss him with the desperation of a man who knew tomorrow wasn’t promised.

That night, the base was cloaked in an uneasy stillness, the kind that never truly meant peace. The only sounds were the crunch of boots from the patrolling guards and the low, steady hum of the generators, like a heartbeat trying to convince the camp it was alive. The desert air was heavy, hot even in the darkness, every breath tasting of grit and dust.

Eddie lay in his cot, staring at the ceiling of the tent. Sleep was a stranger to him on nights like this —nights when the faces of the men he’d patched up still lingered behind his eyes, when the smell of blood hadn’t yet been washed from his hands. But mostly, it was him. Buck’s face kept rising in the quiet like a tide he couldn’t hold back.

With a frustrated exhale, Eddie swung his legs over the side and stepped outside. Maybe the air would clear his head, though out here "air" was just another way of saying more dust, more heat. Still, movement felt better than suffocation.

He spotted Buck almost instantly, a silhouette against the horizon. 

He was perched on a supply crate just outside the medical tent, like he’d been waiting for him, elbows loose against his knees, rifle butt resting between his boots. His bandages were still fresh —of course they were, Eddie had changed them barely two hours ago— but already his T-shirt was wrinkled, clinging to his frame as though the desert had claimed it too.

He didn’t look over when Eddie approached, but that crooked smile of his curved, as if the night itself had told him who was coming.

"I knew you were coming," Buck said softly, letting out a sigh that seemed older than him. "You never sleep when I’m hurt."

"And you do, don’t you?" Eddie folded his arms, trying to sound more distant than he felt. 

Buck gave a small, tired laugh. 

"Well, I try. But I always end up overthinking it." At that, he finally raised his head, his eyes catching the dim moonlight. There was a rawness there that cut through Eddie’s defenses —the kind of honesty that left no armor intact. "Especially about what I don’t say."

Eddie’s chest tightened. In Buck’s gaze he saw it all: fear, yes, but also desire, and beneath it, a tenderness so fierce it could split him open. This wasn’t a warzone with rules and orders. This was another battlefield entirely, one where neither of them had training, where retreat wasn’t an option but neither was surrender.

"And what is it you’re not saying?" Eddie asked, his throat dry. He moistened his lips, almost daring himself to cross a line he couldn’t uncross.

Buck opened his mouth, shut it, then let out a brittle laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. His hands fidgeted restlessly with the pockets of his cargo pants, fingers twitching like they wanted to confess but didn’t know how.

"Every time I come back and see you," he whispered, voice raw now, "I think: I still have time." He swallowed, looking down at his hands. "And I don’t know how much time I have left, Eds. Maybe one day I won’t be lucky enough to return to your tent."

The silence that followed was heavier than Kevlar, denser than the air itself. Eddie’s body moved before his mind could catch up. He stepped forward until his knees brushed against Buck’s, until the heat radiating from him was enough to make his palms itch to touch. His hands stayed clenched at his sides, fighting the pull.

"Don’t be stupid," Eddie murmured, his voice lower, rougher than he intended.

Buck lifted his gaze again, unwavering this time. 

"It’s not stupid. It’s the truth. No one here takes anything with them when they die, you know?" His voice dropped, quieter than the hum of the generators. "So, if you have something to say to me... let it be now."

The words sliced through Eddie’s chest. Buck wasn’t just talking about war, about death; he was talking about them. About everything Eddie had buried under discipline and silence. And God, he wanted to say it. He wanted to tell Buck that every time he came back, Eddie breathed again. That every time he didn’t, Eddie felt like he was dying too. He wanted to confess that the war didn’t scare him half as much as the thought of losing him did.

But speaking it out loud would unravel everything. If he gave it voice, there’d be no going back. And Eddie Díaz had never allowed himself the luxury of “no going back.”

So he stayed silent.

Instead, he leaned forward until his forehead rested against Buck’s, closing his eyes as his breath mingled with his. The small contact was a surrender, a prayer, a confession without words. His sigh brushed over Buck’s lips, heavy with everything he didn’t dare speak.

Buck let out a shaky exhale, and Eddie felt it tremble against his own mouth. For a moment, it was enough. Enough to keep them standing, enough to keep the world at bay.

"That’s all I need," Buck whispered, almost to himself, like Eddie’s silence and the weight of that touch could anchor him to tomorrow.

And maybe, for just one more night, it was.

There was nothing poetic about the desert dawn.

The sky bled into the horizon with a sickly red hue, like water tainted with rust, like blood swirling through sand. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and gunpowder from the previous night’s firefight, as if the desert itself refused to forget. Eddie hadn’t closed his eyes once. Neither had Buck. They both knew it without needing to ask —the sleeplessness clung to their shoulders, heavy and familiar.

The camp woke in its usual rhythm, like an ancient, creaky machine that somehow kept grinding forward: soldiers hauling crates, mechanics cursing under armored vehicles, officers hunched over maps nailed down by rocks against the wind. Boots crunched over sand, engines roared awake, radios crackled. Beneath it all was the echo Eddie couldn’t silence, a truth that was as constant as the hum of the generators: any one of them could vanish before nightfall.

A few feet away, Buck sat near Eddie’s tent, cleaning his rifle with a kind of devotion that had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with distraction. His T-shirt clung damp with sweat and dust, already marked by the desert, and the white of his bandage peeked stubbornly through the fabric. Despite it all —despite the ache Eddie knew he must feel— Buck grinned broadly at every soldier who passed, his smile bright and careless, like the simple fact of surviving the night was enough to warrant joy.

Eddie stared longer than he should have. Longer than he’d ever admit. And as if the universe enjoyed betraying him, Buck looked up at that exact moment. Their eyes caught. And there it was again —that spark. That damn spark that burned hotter than any desert sun and left Eddie defenseless.

Buck stood, brushed his dusty hands against his pants, and crossed the distance with the steady gait of a man who belonged everywhere he went.

"You look like a ghost, Eds. Did you get any sleep?" Buck asked, his tone playful, but beneath it Eddie heard the soft edge of concern. He always asked, as if one day Eddie might surprise him with a different answer.

Eddie grunted, forcing a grin as he adjusted his uniform, then scrubbed a hand down his face. 

"Enough."

"Liar." Buck smirked, and just like that, Eddie felt the edges of his armor crack. That damn cheeky grin —it was relentless. Buck leaned closer, lowering his voice into something conspiratorial. "Were you thinking about me?"

Heat shot up Eddie’s neck, flushing his cheeks. He gave Buck a warning glare, but his heart betrayed him, leaping against his ribs like it wanted to answer for him. Thank God for the desert sun —it made the excuse for his coloring all too easy.

"I was thinking about you having a stitch in your shoulder and still carrying your gear like it’s nothing," Eddie said flatly, clinging to reason, to rules, to anything that wasn’t the truth beating inside his chest.

"That also means thinking about me," Buck concluded triumphantly, winking.

"Buck…" Eddie warned, his voice catching, panic still buzzing in his veins from the thought of how close Buck had come to not walking back into camp at all.

Buck tilted his head, unfazed. "What? I can’t joke?"

The air between them thickened, charged. Around them the camp bustled, engines roared, orders were barked —but all of it blurred into background noise. For the two of them, there was only this bubble, fragile and impossibly loud in its silence.

Eddie inhaled sharply, fighting to stay grounded. 

"Promise me you’ll take care of yourself," he whispered, the words spilling out before he could stop them. His voice shook with a weakness he rarely allowed himself. "Promise me you’ll come back in one piece."

Buck’s grin faltered. He raised an eyebrow, the playful mask slipping into something heavier. 

"Since when in this place can anyone promise that?" His smile was faint, but his voice betrayed him —low, aching, far from a joke.

"Since I asked you to."

The weight of the words hung between them, unbearable. Buck’s expression softened, stripped bare. And for the first time, Eddie saw it: the fear. Not fear of bullets or bombs —he knew Buck too well for that— but the fear of everything unsaid. Of all the words neither of them dared to give voice to.

"Eds…" Buck’s voice cracked, trembling around the edges. "If I don’t come back tomorrow…"

"Don’t finish that sentence." Eddie stepped forward, fast, until their chests nearly touched. His pulse hammered, his breath collided with Buck’s in the narrow space between them. "If you don’t come back tomorrow, I don’t want to think about it now. All we have is today."

Buck’s eyes burned, shifting shades of blue that seemed to plead and challenge all at once. Asking permission. Asking forgiveness. And Eddie, exhausted from holding himself back, from pretending silence was enough, finally snapped.

He grabbed Buck by the front of his shirt, yanked him closer, and kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cautious. It was a collision, a confession ripped raw by desperation, by fear, by years of restraint finally shattering. Buck responded instantly, his hands clutching Eddie’s waist with an urgency that made Eddie’s knees weaken. They kissed like men who knew time was a thief, who knew any second could steal them apart. Around them, the base kept moving —orders, shouting, the war— but all of it faded to a dull, meaningless hum.

Eddie pulled back first, panting, his forehead resting against Buck’s, lips still tingling. 

"This is crazy."

Buck smiled against his mouth, that goddamn smile that set fires Eddie could never hope to put out. 

"Then let me live it with you."

And for that fleeting moment, the desert wasn’t a warzone. There was no death waiting in the shadows, no bullets in the distance. There were only two men, clinging to the only certainty they’d ever found: each other.

The next few hours slipped away in fragments —patrols, reports, the endless rhythm of waiting. 

Eddie worked like a machine, his hands steady, his voice clipped, his body carrying out the motions he knew by heart: disinfect, suture, monitor, send them back out. But beneath the discipline, beneath the armor of routine, his thoughts strayed, again and again, like a compass unable to point anywhere else. His eyes searched for Buck across the camp, drawn to him in every crowd of uniforms. And he always found him —always. Standing tall, laughing too loudly, alive in a way no one else dared to be in the middle of that hell.

By nightfall, the desert shifted. The oppressive heat drained from the ground, replaced by a cold that gnawed at the bones. The base didn’t sleep —generators hummed, voices carried, boots kept pounding— but the sky above was black velvet, and Eddie’s exhaustion pressed heavier with every step back toward his tent. He dragged his feet, every muscle aching.

And there he was.

Buck sat on Eddie’s bunk as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like the cot had always been waiting for him. His broad frame bent casually, his bandaged shoulder illuminated by the dim lantern glow. He looked up the instant Eddie stepped inside, and that familiar smile spread across his lips.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie muttered, kicking off the weight of the day as he dropped into the chair, tugging at his boots with a weary sigh.

"I came to do my checkup." Buck pointed lazily at his shoulder, though the gesture was more theater than need. Then his grin widened. "And to make sure you’re still thinking about me."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but the laugh that escaped him was soft, unguarded. "You’re unbearable."

"And you didn’t kick me out," Buck countered easily, like that was all the proof he needed.

That simple truth cracked something open inside him. Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging his hands through his hair until his scalp stung. The dam broke.

"You don’t understand, Buck." His voice came out raw, broken. "I don’t know if I can stand it… watching you walk out there again, not knowing if—" He swallowed hard. "Not knowing if you’ll come back."

For once, Buck didn’t joke. He rose from the bunk and lowered himself in front of Eddie, kneeling until their eyes met. His hands cupped Eddie’s cheeks, firm but gentle, forcing Eddie to look at him.

"I don’t know if I can promise you tomorrow either," Buck confessed, voice low, steady despite the heaviness behind it. Then he sighed, long and tired. "But I can promise you this: today. Every second I have. Isn’t that enough?"

Eddie’s chest ached. Buck’s words were both knife and balm, cutting him open but soothing at the same time. He wanted to argue. He wanted to demand guarantees that didn’t exist. But he knew Buck was right. There was no eternity here, no safety, no future carved in stone. Only this moment, fleeting and burning.

"Yes," Eddie whispered finally, the fight draining from him. "Today is enough."

Buck leaned forward and kissed him. It was slower this time, deliberate. A caress instead of a clash. A kiss that spoke of love in a language both unfamiliar and instinctive. Eddie melted into it, his lips moving against Buck’s as if he’d been waiting years for this one simple act.

They broke apart only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together.

"Then love me while you can, Eds," Buck murmured.

Eddie closed his eyes, drawing in the warmth of him, the miracle of him. 

"I love you now. That’s all that matters."

Outside, the night wind lashed against the canvas walls, rattling the tent like it wanted to tear it from the ground. The war kept moving. But inside that thin-walled room, a different kind of silence swelled, thick and alive.

Eddie’s lips still tingled from the kiss. His chest rose and fell quickly, not from fatigue but from release —the tension he’d carried for months finally cracking open. Buck was still kneeling before him, watching him like a man memorizing scripture: the stubble on his jaw, the dust caked into the creases of his skin, the shadows under his eyes that never dulled his focus.

"You know this is crazy, right?" Eddie said, trying for steadiness and failing.

Buck’s grin spread slow and certain, that same grin that had undone Eddie from the very first day. 

"War is crazy. This…" He pressed a hand to his chest, then to Eddie’s, his fingers lingering against the fabric. "This is the only thing that makes sense to me here."

Eddie’s lips parted with the instinct to argue, to push back, to throw up walls. But the words never came. Not when Buck was looking at him like that—like Eddie was the only thing real in a world built on sand and smoke.

Their faces drew together, small measured movements, until there was no space left to close. Their lips met again, deeper this time, sure. Eddie’s hands rose to frame Buck’s face, fingers trembling as they mapped the curve of his jaw, and he kissed him like he needed to memorize the shape of his mouth.

Buck sighed into him, breath catching, and pulled at Eddie’s uniform, dragging him up from the chair. The motion tipped them both toward the bunk, Buck dropping back onto it and Eddie following, colliding against him hard enough to steal a gasp.

The kiss deepened, urgent now, a raw confession spilling out wordless between them. Eddie’s hand slid into Buck’s hair, tugging, the other pressing against his chest, feeling the hammering heartbeat that matched his own. Buck groaned —a sound that shot fire through Eddie’s veins— and his hands clutched at Eddie’s back, desperate, pulling him closer still.

The war faded. The fear faded. There was only this— two men grasping at the only sanctuary left to them: each other.

What followed blurred in heat and whispers. Uniforms shed clumsily, boots kicked aside, laughter muffled by kisses. Every caress spoke what they hadn’t dared to say, every touch was layered with urgency. Eddie traced the scars on Buck’s torso with reverent fingers, learning them by heart. Buck answered with kisses along Eddie’s throat, slow and claiming, as if he could erase years of tension with his mouth.

It wasn’t just sex. It was surrender. A laying down of weapons, a wordless vow, a collision of bodies that said: if tomorrow never comes, let me have this today.

When they finally collapsed side by side, skin slick and warm, the silence was different. Not heavy. Not suffocating. But whole.

Buck turned his head, still breathless, his eyes catching the lantern light. "If I leave tomorrow…"

Eddie cut him off, pressing a finger gently to his lips. "Don’t talk to me about tomorrow. Just about now."

Buck kissed the tip of his finger, a soft acknowledgment, before resting his head against Eddie’s chest. His eyes closed. His breathing evened. Eddie’s arm wrapped around him, holding him as though the world outside couldn’t take him away.

And for that moment, listening to Buck’s heartbeat in rhythm with his own, Eddie believed it. Believed they were safe. Believed they were alive.

Dawn came too quickly.

The world outside was still cloaked in night, the sky heavy and reluctant to surrender its darkness. The air in the tent was freezing, every breath Eddie exhaled turning sharp as it met the cold. He stirred at the faint rustle of movement beside him, instincts honed by years of service dragging him awake before his body was ready.

Buck.

He was already half dressed, lacing up his boots with swift, practiced motions, his rifle propped against the cot, his vest hanging from one shoulder. Every gesture carried the mechanical efficiency of someone who had done this routine a thousand times, and yet Eddie could see it —the stiffness in his hands, the weight in his posture.

Eddie sat up slowly, scrubbing his face with both hands, searching the shadows for something —anything— that would tell him what time it was. His voice cracked before he could steady it.

"Are you leaving now? It's too soon."

The words came out raw, thick with need. He hated that it sounded like begging, hated even more that he didn’t regret saying it. They had just shared their bodies, their truths, their fears, and the thought of Buck walking away into the dark made his chest ache with a helplessness he couldn’t shake.

Buck froze for a moment before turning. His eyes softened, but there was a sharp edge of pain in their depths.

"We have a mission before dawn," he said quietly, adjusting the strap of his vest. "Reconnaissance. Nothing big."

Eddie let out a humorless laugh and shook his head.

"You always say the same thing," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost breaking. "And you always end up in my tent."

Buck’s mouth twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. He let out a long sigh, crossing the space until he was kneeling in front of Eddie.

"Eds…" His voice was softer now, his hands steady as he reached up, resting against Eddie’s knee before lifting to cup his face. His eyes locked on his, unwavering. "I’m going to come back in one piece."

Eddie’s lip trembled as he whispered, "You say that like it depends on you."

"It depends on me," Buck insisted. "At least in part." His thumb brushed along Eddie’s cheekbone, rough against stubble, grounding him in that touch. "I’ll do everything in my power to get back to you. I’ll fight against every odd, every damn thing this place throws at me —so I can give you what you asked for."

Eddie closed his eyes at that, leaning into the warmth of his hand, trying to carve the memory of it into his skin. "I hate you when you say those things."

Buck’s lips quirked faintly. "You hate it because you’re afraid."

Eddie’s eyes snapped open. There it was —that spark that never dimmed in Buck, no matter how dark everything around them became. Fear, yes. But defiance too. Life burning in him like a flare against the void. And Eddie knew it was a lie, that hatred he claimed. He couldn’t hate him. He couldn’t stop loving him, even if he tried.

Buck leaned in, brushing his lips against Eddie’s. It wasn’t the fevered urgency of the night before; it was slow, careful, a kiss heavy with all the weight of goodbye, of promise, of uncertainty. Eddie clutched at the back of his neck, not wanting it to end, not wanting to let him go.

When they broke apart, Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s, his hands lingering on his skin like he couldn’t let go either. His voice was a whisper, almost swallowed by the hum of generators outside.

"Love me while you can, Eddie."

The words split him open. Eddie swallowed hard, unable to summon an answer. Words felt too small, too fragile, for what sat like a storm in his chest. So instead, he wrapped his arms around Buck and held him with a strength that bordered on desperation. Held him until he had to let go.

And then Buck pulled away. He straightened his vest, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and walked out. Eddie watched his silhouette shrink against the darkness, swallowed by it, heading toward a mission neither of them had any control over.

The sun was just beginning to scrape the horizon when the convoy rolled out. The sky bled pale gold against the jagged desert, but Eddie barely saw it. He stood at the entrance to the medical tent, arms crossed tight over his chest, his heart beating in a frantic rhythm he couldn’t slow.

Engines roared. Soldiers shouted. Tires crunched against the hard-packed dirt. And amid the blur of movement, Eddie’s eyes found him again —Buck, helmet under one arm, adjusting the straps of his gear. Always meticulous, always restless. At the last second, he turned his head, that instinctive glance backward, as if searching. And Eddie knew —he was searching for him.

He didn’t wave. He couldn’t. He just stood there, rooted, holding on to that single look like it was oxygen.

The convoy pulled away. The engines grew smaller, their rumble swallowed by the vastness of the desert. The base exhaled and returned to its rhythm: voices calling orders, footsteps pounding, the metallic clatter of weapons.

Eddie turned back to his work with hands that refused to steady. He prepped supplies, checked inventories, bandaged sprains, handed out pills. Every task done with precision. But behind it all, there was a constant hum in his skull, a restless buzzing he couldn’t shake:

A mission is never small.

Beside him, the radio crackled. Static, clipped voices, coordinates exchanged. Eddie’s ears sharpened every time —every mention of "Team Three," every sliver of Buck’s unit filtering through the static. He clung to those fragments as if they tethered him to Buck’s side, as if by listening closely enough, he could shield him, could will him back safe.

But deep down, Eddie knew the truth: there were no guarantees. Not here. Not ever.

And that was the weight he carried —alone in the silence of his tent, and louder still in the spaces between every heartbeat.

Buck advanced between dunes and jagged rocks, his rifle pressed firmly against his chest, the ghost of Eddie’s hands still lingering on his skin like a talisman. Every step forward carried that memory —his warmth, his kiss, the weight of his plea: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

The air was heavy, suffocating even in the pale morning light. The desert silence stretched unnaturally clean, so perfect it felt hostile.

“This smells strange,” one of the men muttered behind him, voice taut.

Buck’s gut clenched. He didn’t need the warning —he already knew. Every nerve in his body screamed it. This wasn’t calm. This was the kind of silence that swallowed whole patrols, the kind that meant death was waiting with its finger on the trigger.

He glanced toward the sergeant leading them, but the order was sharp, uncompromising: keep moving.

The ground narrowed ahead, forcing them into a rocky throat that wound like a natural corridor. Under any other circumstances, it might have been beautiful —the stone glowing faintly under the rising sun, shadows painting fractured patterns across the sand. But here, in war, beauty was just another mask for danger.

Buck’s jaw tightened as he stepped into the chokehold of stone. Every instinct screamed against it. Corridors meant no escape. High rocks meant no eyes on the enemy. Only one way forward, and no way out.

The first shot shattered the silence like thunder. A streak of molten heat tore through his shoulder, and before his mind could even register it, the world erupted.

Hell opened its doors.

At the base, Eddie sat hunched over paperwork, though his eyes barely tracked the words. His ears strained instead, fixed on the constant crackle of the radio. He had learned to hear the smallest shifts in tone, the faintest static that meant news was coming.

And then it did.

The static snapped into chaos: raised voices, panicked shouts, coordinates spilling out in jagged fragments. And then —the code.

“Contact, contact. Ambush.”

Eddie’s chair clattered to the floor as he shot up, blood draining from his face. His pulse hammered in his ears. He reached for the radio, fingers trembling but decisive.

“Unit Three, respond,” he barked, breaking every protocol drilled into him. He didn’t have the authority to demand. He didn’t care. He just needed to hear him.

Static answered.

“Unit Three, status!” Eddie’s throat burned with bile; he hadn’t eaten all day, but it still rose like fire.

Gunfire roared through the speakers, followed by a voice broken with panic.

“Soldiers down, I repeat, soldiers down!”

Eddie’s fists clenched so hard his nails sliced crescents into his palms. His stomach twisted, his breath stuttered. Not him. Please, not him. He wanted to run —to throw himself into the desert, to carve a path through bullets just to get to Buck— but all he could do was wait. Wait for them to drag back what was left.

Buck slammed into the ground behind a jagged rock, his breath ragged, tearing in and out through his mouth. Shrapnel hissed above his head, ricocheting off stone. Dust swirled thick in the air, choking, mixing with the sharp sting of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood.

A scream cut through the chaos. One of his men crumpled beside him, arm and leg both gushing red. Without hesitation, Buck moved. Pain lanced through his own shoulder, but he ignored it, dragging the soldier toward cover with brute strength, shielding him with his body.

His rifle was awkward in his left hand, but he fired anyway, bursts of light splitting the dust-filled air. Adrenaline surged hot in his veins, steadying his aim even as his vision blurred.

Then the heat came. A flash across his chest, lower this time. His whole body jolted, the breath ripped from him. He looked down. His abdomen bloomed red, soaking fabric, spilling warmth down his side.

"No… Not now," he hissed through clenched teeth, pressing his palm hard against the wound. His lips trembled with the effort of containing the pain, but he didn’t stop searching, eyes darting, calculating, clawing for a way out of this kill box.

Eddie. Just one more day. Give me one more chance to see him again.

The base radio crackled alive with a voice that froze Eddie in place.

“This is Buckley. We need immediate extraction!”

The sound of him —the ragged edges of his voice, the crack in it that Eddie had never heard before— punched the air from Eddie’s lungs. The tent closed in, canvas walls pressing, suffocating. His vision tunneled, spots of black dancing at the edges. His breath came fast, shallow, frantic.

But his hands —his hands stayed steady. They had to. Because if they brought Buck back —when they brought him back— he would need those hands.

“Medical team, stand by,” came the order through the radio.

Eddie didn’t wait to hear the rest. He was already moving, already grabbing supplies, already running with a speed that bordered on desperation. His body knew where to go, even if his heart was splintering with every second of silence from that crackling speaker.

The helicopter descended like a beast from the sky, its blades whipping the desert into a storm of sand and noise. The air was chaos —dust burning the eyes, engines roaring, voices shouting over one another. But Eddie stood there, knees rooted in the ground, gloves already on, his heart pounding hard enough to break bone.

The first stretchers came down, one after another. Blood, screams, groans of men barely clinging to consciousness. Eddie jumped forward, automatic, his training taking the reins. Hands pressed to wounds, eyes scanning injuries, words spilling to other medics: “Pressure here —move him, now— watch for shock.” He moved, but his mind… His mind was searching for one man only.

And then he saw him.

Buck.

Between two men, his body slumped, dirt and blood painting his skin a cruel mask. His face was pale, lips cracked, eyes half-shut but still… searching. Always searching. Eddie felt his knees threaten to give, his throat burn as if he’d swallowed fire.

“Eds…”

The whisper was a thread of sound, fragile and fraying, but to Eddie it struck louder than the helicopter, louder than all the screams around them.

“Relax, I’ve got you,” Eddie rushed to his side, voice breaking even as his hands pressed gauze against the wound in his side. The fabric soaked red in an instant, warm and terrifying. “You’re not going to leave me, do you hear me? Not now. Not ever.”

Buck’s lips pulled into the ghost of a smile, stained crimson. 

“I told you… Promise me… that you’ll love me… as long as you can.”

Eddie’s hands shook, and he pressed harder, as if he could hold Buck’s life in his palms, as if sheer will could keep him here. Rage and terror burned together, searing his veins. 

“Shut up,” he pleaded, his words raw and trembling. “I’ll always love you. Always. But don’t you dare leave me today.” His voice cracked on the last word. He leaned closer, following as they lifted Buck onto the stretcher, refusing to let go.

The noise of the helicopter, the shouts of orders, the blur of movement around them —none of it existed anymore. For Eddie, there was only Buck. Buck, and the blood, and the desperate promise of a love that had no patience left to wait.

The medical tent smelled of iron and antiseptic, a stench Eddie knew too well, but never hated as much as now. His hands moved with a precision born of years, gauze and bandages pressed firmly, IV secured, oxygen fitted. His training demanded calm, but inside, his heart slammed against his ribs, each beat a frantic countdown.

Buck lay on the stretcher, pale as death, his chest struggling to rise, every breath shallow and jagged. His body arched when Eddie pressed near the wound in his side —too close to his lung. Too dangerous. Every moan that escaped him stabbed into Eddie’s chest like a blade.

“We need to evacuate him now!” a senior medic barked, urgency in his tone as he checked Buck’s vitals.

“He’s not stabilized!” Eddie snapped, eyes blazing, fingers wrapping gauze with a fury that was more prayer than medicine. “If we move him now, he won’t survive the flight!”

“If we leave him here, neither will he,” came the clipped, merciless reply.

Eddie knew it. God, he knew it. Logic was clear, unshakable. But logic didn’t know what it felt like to have Buck’s laugh in his ear the night before, Buck’s lips whispering against his skin: Love me while you can. Logic didn’t know how it felt to hold all that fire and tenderness in his arms and then see it slipping away.

His hands trembled only when they touched Buck’s face, brushing dirt and blood from his skin. His thumb lingered at his temple, gentle in a way he couldn’t be anywhere else. His voice was low, meant for him alone.

“Hang in there, Buck. Don’t you dare leave me here. Not after this. Not after last night.”

Buck’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, cloudy, distant —but searching, always searching for him. “Eds…”

Eddie bent close, so near their foreheads almost touched. His whisper was fierce, desperate. 

“Don’t move, amor. I’m here. I’ll always be.”

Then the order fell: immediate evacuation. Soldiers stepped in to lift the stretcher. Eddie’s body moved before thought —he stood in their way, shoulders squared, heart pounding against the storm inside him.

“If he leaves, I will too,” Eddie said. His voice was low, but steady, and it carried all the weight of a vow.

“Diaz, it’s not your place. Your job is here,” the officer snapped.

Eddie’s chest heaved, anger twisting in his gut. He stepped forward, his gaze unflinching. 

“I don’t care about my job. My place is with him.” It was the corniest thing he’d ever said, but it was also the truest.

The officer’s jaw tightened, silence thick between them. Then, finally, a resigned nod. “Fine. But if something goes wrong, it’s your responsibility.”

“I know.”

Eddie climbed into the helicopter before anyone could change their mind, grabbing Buck’s hand as though it were the only tether holding him to this world. He didn’t let go, not for a second.

The flight was hell —every bump of turbulence shaking the stretcher, every alarm from the monitor slicing deeper into Eddie’s chest. The beeping slowed once, twice, and Eddie pressed harder against the wound, gauze slippery with blood. His voice filled the roar of the blades, trembling, begging, commanding all at once.

“Do you hear me? You’re not allowed to let me go. Not after last night. Not after everything we haven’t lived yet. Stay, Buck. Stay with me. Please.”

And through it all, Eddie’s hand never left his.

The VA hospital felt almost obscene in its comfort. Solid walls, not canvas that flapped with every gust of desert wind. White lights instead of dim lanterns that cast more shadow than clarity. Clean sheets, instruments that gleamed instead of rusted, and antiseptic that stung the nose but at least smelled of something other than sweat and blood.

Eddie had his gloves off now, but he hadn’t let go of Buck’s hand —not for one second— until the moment the surgeons pried his fingers away and wheeled Buck behind double doors. Eddie stood there, watching until the last glimpse of him disappeared down the sterile hallway. His body felt hollowed out, stripped raw.

And then he leaned his forehead against the cold wall, the chill biting into his skin, and prayed. Prayed to a God he wasn’t sure was listening, to a God he hadn’t spoken to in years, to anyone or anything that could bargain with him. Take it out on me, but don’t you dare take him.

The hours stretched into an eternity. Minutes that felt like centuries. Soldiers came and went through the corridors, stretchers rolled by, boots echoed. Eddie didn’t move. He couldn’t. His body was a statue, except for the twitch of his fingers —phantom movements, still gripping a hand that wasn’t there.

And then at last, the doors swung open and a doctor stepped out. Eddie’s chest seized until words finally reached him. 

“He’s out of danger. Surgery went well. He’ll need time, but… he’s alive.”

Alive.

The word shattered him. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, because otherwise he would have collapsed in sobs right there in front of everyone. Alive.

They let him in.

The beeping of the monitor was steady now, but Eddie couldn’t unclench his jaw. Hours ago, each rise and fall of Buck’s chest had been uncertain, shallow, like a candle sputtering in the dark. Now the machines said he was safe. Alive. But Eddie didn’t trust machines. He only trusted what was in front of him.

And in front of him lay Buck —bandaged, pale, his lips dry, the flutter of his lashes the only proof that he was still fighting.

Eddie hadn’t moved from the chair at his bedside. His hand was wrapped around Buck’s, thumb tracing over bruised knuckles in endless, restless circles. His back ached, his eyes burned, but he couldn’t look away. He was terrified that if he blinked too long, the universe would change its mind and take Buck from him after all.

When Buck finally stirred, his lashes lifting with agonizing slowness, Eddie exhaled like he hadn’t breathed in hours.

“Eds?” Buck’s voice was a ragged whisper, the kind that tore straight into Eddie’s chest.

“I’m here,” Eddie said quickly, leaning closer. He brushed the damp hair off Buck’s forehead, relief and fear tangled in every gesture.

Buck’s lips twitched into a faint, broken smile. “Thought… you’d left me.”

Eddie let out a laugh that sounded too much like a sob. His throat ached, his chest tight. 

“Leave you? Buck, I couldn’t even if I tried. You don’t get it, do you? There’s nowhere you could go where I wouldn’t follow.”

Something flickered in Buck’s eyes —pain, disbelief, hope. His grip tightened weakly on Eddie’s hand. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Eddie’s voice cracked, raw and unsteady. He squeezed Buck’s hand like an oath. “God, Buck, I’ve always meant it. Since the desert. Since the first time you smiled at me like I was someone worth saving. You think I didn’t want to say it back then? You think I didn’t want to tell you what you were to me?” His words spilled out, urgent, trembling. “I was a coward. I thought if I said it out loud, the universe would hear me and rip you away. So I stayed quiet, even when all I wanted was to tell you-” He broke off, his chest heaving.

Buck blinked up at him, confusion and yearning mingling in his expression. “Tell me what?”

Eddie swallowed hard. There was no going back now. 

“That I love you. That I have for years. That the thought of losing you-” His voice broke, and he pressed his forehead to Buck’s hand. “It was worse than death itself. Every time I thought it was over, every time I saw blood on you, I swore I wouldn’t survive it if you didn’t.”

Silence fell, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of the monitor. Eddie kept his gaze fixed on Buck, terrified he’d see rejection, but unable to hold back anymore.

Buck’s eyes softened, wet with unshed tears. His lips parted, shaky but sure.

“Eds… I knew. Maybe not in words, but I felt it. Every time you patched me up, every time you stayed awake just to watch me breathe… I knew.” His chest rose with effort, his voice faint but certain. “And I love you too. I have for so damn long.”

The confession punched the air from Eddie’s lungs. Relief and devastation collided inside him, and he bent forward, pressing his forehead against Buck’s. 

“You’re not allowed to leave me. Do you hear me? Not then, not now, not ever. Because I can’t… I can’t live in a world without you.”

Buck let out the faintest laugh, though his tears betrayed him. 

“Guess you’re stuck with me, Diaz.”

Eddie’s lips quirked into a trembling smile, and for the first time since the gunfire, since the blood, since the endless praying in sterile hallways, he allowed himself to believe it.

He kissed Buck’s temple softly, reverently, and whispered, “Then God help you, because I’m never letting you go.”

And with Buck’s heartbeat steady under his palm, Eddie finally allowed himself to breathe.

Outside the hospital walls, the world hadn’t stopped. The war still raged. Helicopters thundered overhead, soldiers ran to new orders, and fate spun its wheel without mercy, deciding who would live and who would not. The chaos pressed against the walls, a storm they could never fully escape.

But in that room, for that fragile moment, there was only them. Two hands clasped together. Two hearts that had already promised what words couldn’t.

“I’ll love you as long as I can… and afterward too. No matter what.” Eddie closed his eyes, whispering so softly it was almost a vow. 

And Buck, fighting sleep, fighting the drugs, fighting his body just to stay awake a second longer, squeezed Eddie’s hand with what little strength he had left.

That was enough.

Because in a world full of uncertainty, they had found one truth. They were each other’s certainty.

The roar of the helicopter was now just a memory —an echo that sometimes clawed its way into Eddie’s sleep, turning into nightmares of sandstorms and blood. But at dawn, those echoes dissolved into the softer rhythms of laughter, coffee brewing, and the call of a new shift. The years had passed. The desert had stayed behind, swallowed by time, replaced now by fires, collapsed buildings, and rescues that smelled more of smoke and grease than gunpowder.

The uniform he wore weighed differently these days. Not like armor against the constant promise of death, but as a responsibility —heavy, yes, but alive. It was the weight of protecting life, not constantly bargaining with the end of it. 

Eddie tightened the strap of his turnout coat and climbed into the truck. 

Across from him, Buck sat in his usual spot, leg pressed against his, grinning like the idiot he’d always been. Eddie glanced at him —just for a moment— but it was enough to see that smile. The one he’d first memorized in the desert, when everything was noise and chaos and somehow Buck’s grin had been the only clear thing in the world. That smile still said the same thing, even after all these years: Here I am. Still with you.

But now there was a simple golden silicon band on his finger that caught the light of the cab, a silent vow Eddie still marveled at every time he saw it.

“Ready to save the day, Eds?” Buck asked, his tone too bright for the early hour, his eyes carrying that mischievous spark that had once terrified Eddie and now, impossibly, steadied him.

Eddie shook his head, suppressing the tug of a grin that refused to be hidden.

“You’re always too ready to get into trouble.”

The engine roared to life, the siren cutting through the night, and for a moment, Eddie closed his eyes. That sound, years ago, would have dragged him back into the chaos of the desert, the thunder of helicopters and screams. But now —now it was the anthem of a life they’d built from the ashes. A miracle with Buck’s smile at the heart of it.

That night, when they finally came home, exhaustion clinging to every step, the house was glowing —warm lights spilling from the windows like an embrace. Eddie barely had time to drop his keys before a small whirlwind barreled down the hall.

“Dad! Daddy!” Christopher’s voice rang out, joyous, expectant. “Did you get pizza?”

Before Eddie could answer, Buck scooped him up effortlessly, spinning him until his laughter filled every corner. 

“With double cheese, just like you asked, Chief.”

The boy’s squeal echoed through the house, and Eddie leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching. His chest ached —not from fatigue, but from something deeper, sharper.

There had been a time he never let himself picture this. He hadn’t dared. The thought of Buck in their home, laughter bouncing off these walls, Christopher’s little arms wrapped around his neck —it had once seemed as impossible as surviving the desert. But here they were: A son whose love filled every shadow, whose presence was their truest miracle, Buck’s arms, the gold band on his own hand. A home. A future. 

Life had spun its wheel a thousand times, cruel and reckless, but somehow the best part of the story had never changed: Eddie and Buck had always been each other’s constant. Companions. Survivors. Lovers.

Later, when the house had gone quiet, Christopher asleep with the steady rhythm of a child who trusts the world to hold him, Eddie found Buck on the terrace. The city stretched out before them, restless even in the small hours. But above it all, the sky was clear. A rare, perfect night.

Buck leaned into him, the glow of the porch light brushing over his face, his actual ring glinting faintly as he reached for the railing before resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder as naturally as breathing. 

“You know what I think sometimes?” His voice broke the silence, soft but certain.

“That you should stop talking at three in the morning,” His voice broke the silence, soft but certain.

Buck’s laugh was quiet, but it warmed him all the same. 

“I think about… how we’re still here. After everything. How impossible it seemed. And yet —here we are.”

Eddie closed his eyes. His mind betrayed him, pulling him back to the feel of blood slicking his palms, to Buck’s body trembling under his grip in that helicopter, to the whispered plea —love me while you can. He swallowed against the memory, forcing it down before it could choke him.

“I told you once,” Eddie said, his voice thick, “that I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. And I meant it. I still do.”

Buck turned, his eyes bright, tender. 

“And I told you once I was waiting for you to stop loving me.”

Eddie cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint scar near his hairline, a mark that once meant loss but now meant survival. 

“That’s never going to happen. Not tomorrow, not in ten years, not even when time itself runs out.” His throat tightened, but he pressed on. “We don’t have promised tomorrows, Buck. We never did. But I swear to you, I’ll love you until the end of time.”

Buck blinked rapidly, fighting tears, his smile breaking through anyway. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you married me anyway,” Eddie whispered back, kissing him softly, reverently.

When they finally pulled apart, Buck rested his forehead against his. 

“Forever, then?”

“Forever,” Eddie promised, sliding his hand over Buck’s ring, grounding himself in the solid, simple truth of it.

Inside, Christopher’s steady breathing filled the quiet house. The world outside spun on, unpredictable, fragile, cruel. But here, in this moment, on a terrace under the stars, Eddie knew the one thing that would never change.

They had survived. They had chosen each other. And their love —scarred, stubborn, infinite— would last until time itself ceased to be.

“And the best thing about this story is that you are my partner of this fleeting life”