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El Paso was driving Eddie insane.
It had been bad enough when he had come back from Afghanistan, trying to balance repairing his family and ignoring his trauma with his parents breathing down his neck. It had nearly made him crazy then, and it was all he had known.
But now? Now, he knew what it was like to have a supportive family. He had found one in the 118, and his life in L.A. had been good. Until he’d fucked it all up.
Really, he deserved this. El Paso was his punishment for the whole Kim situation.
(Although, sometimes his anger would build and he’d remember that he never asked her to show up that night - in fact he had tried to send her away. It was a little unhinged, wasn’t it? To dress up as someone’s dead wife and show up at their house.)
But he had given in. Been weak. That was on him. He should’ve never sought her out in the first place after seeing her in that store.
He should’ve kept walking and forgotten about the glimpse of the past he thought he’d seen. But of course, he hadn’t, and now he was stuck in his own personal hell.
A shitty fixer-upper that he’d poured all his money into in El Paso, with his son living across town in his childhood home.
Just thinking about Christopher there, living out some twisted fantasy of a second chance that Eddie knew his parents were forcing onto him, made Eddie feel a rage that he hadn’t felt in years.
And a loneliness that felt all-consuming and ached in his chest. God, Eddie felt so alone. He didn’t have anyone here except Chris, and the kid was still barely talking to him. He still talked with the 118 - him and Buck FaceTimed pretty much everyday, but it wasn’t the same.
He didn’t have anything to channel the anger into. He hadn’t been able to get a job as a firefighter, and there was only so much of his house he could tear apart under the guise of renovations.
Which was how he had ended up here.
Eddie stood in a makeshift ring in an abandoned warehouse, looking out at a crowd of people that couldn’t wait to watch him bleed. He wondered how many of them were betting against him tonight.
It had been four months since he’d moved back to El Paso, but only one month since he’d started fighting again. He knew it wasn’t the best idea, but it felt good. And there was no one here that cared enough to stop him, anyway. No one to notice the bruises, so he didn’t bother trying to hide them.
It’s not like he had anything else to lose, anyway.
When the fight started, his mind finally shut up.
Nothing mattered in the ring, nothing except skin on skin and the metallic tang of blood in the air. It didn’t matter that he was a failure. It didn’t matter that no matter how hard he tried, he was never enough.
All that mattered was throwing the next punch.
Most fights, Eddie was quick with it. Sure, the other guy would land a few good hits, but Eddie was usually faster, landing hits and dodging the fists flying at him. But some nights, he let it drag out. He let hits find their mark instead of blocking them. When he was punch-drunk, the years fell away and it was almost like he was back in L.A. - back in a time where he was no less angry, but maybe a little less lonely. A time when he still had a kid to go home to.
Tonight was the second kind of night.
It was a good fight, really - they were evenly matched, though the other man thought he had the upperhand. Of course, Eddie was letting him think that.
Getting hit was just as much an outlet for his anger as hitting was. He craved it - that ache in his ribs, stomach, jaw, where he knew his skin would turn a satisfying shade of purple. Eddie could taste blood as his tongue flicked out to feel the split in his lip. His head was hazy with the pain and the energy of the crowd - he knew they were expecting him to fall. He’d taken a number of good hits by now.
He couldn’t prove his parents wrong, couldn’t prove himself as a father.
But he could prove all of these strangers wrong, could prove himself as a fighter.
Eddie could win here, in this blood-stained ring, even if he couldn’t seem to win anywhere else.
His opponent managed one more good hit - Eddie felt and heard his nose crack, could feel the blood begin to gush. That was when he let himself snap.
He saw the moment the man’s perception shifted, when he realized Eddie had lulled him into a false sense of security and was a bigger threat than he seemed.
But it was too late. Eddie took him down within moments, knocking the other man unconscious.
It didn’t compare to the fight itself, but there was something to be said for the high of winning, too.
The cash wasn’t so bad, either.
Eddie tossed the envelope into the passenger seat of his stupid car - he missed his truck - and started it, barely hearing his seatbelt click into place. He had cleaned up most of the blood from his face, but there was still a steady stream trickling from his nose, which might've been broken. He couldn’t really bring himself to care at the moment. He’d clean it up again when he got back to his empty house, and then he’d crash into his bed and hopefully get some sleep.
It was a quick drive back to the house, and he leaned back against the door for a moment, letting the ache settle in his bones. It felt like penance.
Eddie had just started towards the bathroom to shower, tugging his shirt off as he went, when his phone started to ring in his back pocket.
It was Buck - a call, not a FaceTime.
His heart leapt in his aching chest in a way that he’d gotten very good at ignoring. He didn’t hesitate to press the green button and bring the phone to his ear. “Buck?”
“Hey, Eds,” Buck greeted, sounding entirely too chipper for the fact that it was nearly midnight. “Can you check the door? I sent something for you and Chris.”
Eddie felt his brows furrow, feeling nothing but confused. “It’s-” He pulled his phone from his ear to check the time. “It’s 11:46, I don’t think anything’s getting delivered right now.”
He could hear the smile in Buck’s voice. “No, I got the notification, it’s there.”
Eddie gave a long-suffering sigh and walked back towards the front door. “What the hell did you even-”
The question died on Eddie’s lips the moment he opened the door to see Buck standing on his rickety porch. Buck had his phone pressed to his ear and a wide grin on his face, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His curls were mussed, his blue eyes bright with excitement.
Eddie suddenly ached in a very different way, though it was no less familiar.
Buck’s smile had fallen by the time Eddie tucked his phone into his back pocket. He didn’t have to guess why - his shirt was still off, displaying the bruises scattered across his torso. Not to mention his split lip and (most likely broken) nose that was still just barely leaking blood.
“What are you doing here, Buck?” Eddie asked before his best friend could get a word in, stepping back to let him walk into the house.
“I, uh, took a few days off. Thought I’d visit,” Buck explained as he walked in, his eyes running over Eddie’s body again with plain concern. “I- Eddie, what happened?”
His tone made it clear he knew the answer. Of course he did. Buck knew Eddie better than anyone else had ever bothered to. Plus, he’d seen this before, back when he’d come back to the 118 after the whole lawsuit disaster. He recognized the look in Eddie’s eyes, recognized the bruised and bloodied knuckles.
“I was just about to hop in the shower,” Eddie said instead of a proper reply, his eyes hard as he looked at Buck. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.
Buck’s eyes searched his face for a long, quiet moment. Then he sighed and dropped his bag on the floor next to the door. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, and Eddie had to admit he was surprised.
He was used to Buck pushing, not knowing when to let up. Buck always wanted to fix everything, even when Eddie wished he would just leave well enough alone. Sure, he was still trying to fix things - fix Eddie, at least on the surface. But he was ignoring the deeper issue for the moment.
Eddie felt his shoulders slump with relief, and he didn’t even argue, just led Buck to the bathroom. They just stand there for a long moment, Eddie leaning back against the door and watching Buck with tired eyes.
He’s too tired - that bone deep exhaustion that hasn’t let up since he bought the house and the concept of moving back to El Paso become a reality - to feel as excited as he knew he should at Buck’s presence.
Buck’s hands were steady as he reached out and ran a finger over a particularly nasty bruise that was already developing along Eddie’s side. Eddie had to drop his gaze, trying not to wince as well as trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.
“Looks like you barely fought back.” Buck’s words are a little teasing, an attempt to bring some levity to the moment that feels oddly intimate in Eddie’s dimly lit bathroom. But there’s a heaviness behind them, a question that Eddie doesn’t want to answer.
Because Buck knew him. Knew the things that Eddie didn’t even let himself think too much about.
“I did. I won.” Eddie chose to ignore the defensive edge to his own voice. Predictably, so did Buck.
“Of course you did,” Buck murmured, his fingers running along another bruise, this one from a fight a few nights ago and therefore a little faded. Despite his exasperated look, there’s a fondness in Buck’s eyes that makes Eddie’s chest ache from the inside out.
Sometimes, Eddie felt more like a bruise than a human being. Sometimes, every little look from Buck felt like fingers poking and prodding at skin mottled with purple, making the ache feel more like a sharp sting for just a moment.
He wasn’t sure when he started feeling all of this around Buck. He was an expert at ignoring his own emotions. He just knew it was a pain that felt familiar, and a hurt that felt like an even better release than the fighting.
But Buck would go home in a few days. The fight would always be there.
Eddie didn’t deserve this, anyway. He didn’t deserve Buck’s fingertips so soft and hesitant on his skin, afraid of hurting him. He didn’t deserve the concern in his eyes, that look that made him want to curl up and accept something easy and good for the first time in his life.
He cleared his throat, forced himself to speak. “I’m fine, Buck.”
“You’re bleeding, Eds.”
Buck gently maneuvered him to sit down on the closed toilet, and again, Eddie didn’t fight it. He already knew he was weak. Was there really any harm in letting himself be taken care of for just a moment?
He’d repent later, in the ring, for taking what he knew he didn’t deserve.
For now, he leaned back and let Buck wipe away the blood drying below his nose with the most gentle touch Eddie could ever remember experiencing.