Work Text:
Buck wasn't sure where he was, or even really how he ended up here.
His night had started at a bar. Some random little place with cheap drinks that he had never heard of before, so he was fairly certain he wouldn't see anyone he knew there. Not that the 118 went out much anymore, considering almost all of them had kids. Still, he hadn't wanted to risk it.
Buck had known going to a bar in his current state instead of one of his friends wasn't the best idea. Bobby would give him a very stern and worried talking to if he found out. But Buck was miserable, and he couldn't talk to the one person he wanted to about it, because that person was the source of his misery.
Whatever. He had gone out to stop thinking about Eddie leaving for Texas tomorrow.
Buck had gotten good and drunk at the bar, and his strategy had mostly worked. Mostly being the keyword. He would forget about Eddie for stretches of time, striking up conversations with random people around him—Buck was a friendly guy by nature, and being drunk also tended to make him chatty. Even more so than usual.
He had ended up falling in with a group of women who were a friend group but also seemed like some kind of divorce support club, considering all four of them were divorced—one of them recently so, hence the night out. Buck was pretty sure that particular woman just wanted to get him in bed, but they all were nice and honestly it was good to feel wanted.
Things got a little blurry after that.
He could remember bits and pieces. They did shots—so many shots. He could remember stumbling after his new friends when the bar closed, drunk enough to want to keep the party going when they said they wanted to stop at one of their places to get more booze.
Then there was the briefest memory of someone's apartment, more shots. An undetermined amount of time later, he remembered being on the beach with only two of the women he had met.
And now, he was here.
Buck was slumped on the ground in some alley, and even through the haze of alcohol, he could feel that his face ached. He still felt drunk, too drunk—the world around him spun as he shifted to grab his phone from his back pocket. It was still dark out, a bit dimmer in this little alley since the streetlights were further away.
His phone was so bright it was nearly blinding, and he squinted with a low groan as he somehow managed to navigate to his contacts and click his most recent call.
It rang, rang, and then—
"Hello?"
-
Eddie woke to the sound of his phone ringing. He blinked his eyes open with a groan, his vision taking a second to adjust in the dark room as he looked to the alarm clock on his bedside table. 4:47.
He didn't even look at his phone before he answered it, chest tight with worry. He didn't think anything good could be coming from a call at almost five in the morning. "Hello?"
"Eds?"
"Buck?" Eddie sat up, feeling his brows furrow in confusion. Buck sounded drunk—drunker than Eddie could ever remember hearing him. His words were so slurred they were nearly unintelligible when he started to speak again.
Eddie just barely managed to understand a few words. Drunk. Not sure where I am. It was enough to get him out of bed and pulling on the pants he had left on his floor before going to sleep.
"I'm on my way, stay on the phone." Eddie's words were practically an order. He put the call on speaker, listening to more meaningless mumbling as he checked Buck's location. It showed him near the beach, oddly enough.
About halfway through the drive, Eddie suddenly heard the tone that indicated that Buck had hung up. When Eddie used his truck's Bluetooth to call him back, it went straight to voicemail—his phone had died.
Eddie cursed under his breath, accelerating even though he was already going over the speed limit. He had another fifteen minutes according to his truck's GPS. He just had to hope Buck would stay put.
What the hell was Buck doing out there anyway? Why was he so drunk all alone in some random part of the city?
He threw his truck into park the minute he'd reached the address that had been right at Buck's location, some clothing store that was obviously closed. It only took a few minutes to find him, in the alley next to the store.
Buck was half-asleep, slumped against the exterior wall of the store with his long legs stretched in front of him. He had on a t-shirt and jeans, his phone clutched loosely in his hands in his lap. There was some blood on his shirt, which is when Eddie noticed that Buck's nose was bleeding, or at least had been. It seemed to have stopped. It also looked like he had a black eye that was already mostly developed, though he knew it would darken a bit with time.
What the fuck?
-
Buck blinked his eyes open as someone tapped his cheek. His vision was a little bleary, but Eddie's face—full of worry and a hint of irritation—swam into focus.
"Eds?" He was confused for a minute, and then he remembered calling. He also remembered the call ending. "You hung up on me."
Eddie rolled his eyes. "Your phone died, actually," he muttered, picking Buck's phone up from his lap and waving it in front of his face. Buck watched with a pout as Eddie tucked it into his own pocket.
Buck whined petulantly as Eddie helped pull him to his feet. He felt dizzy, and the moment he was upright he turned just in time to puke. Vomit that was more liquid than anything else splattered onto the concrete, miraculously avoiding getting on either of them.
"Jesus, Buck," Eddie said lowly, face twisting in disgust as he wrapped an arm around Buck's middle to keep the man from falling over.
Somehow, they make it to the truck. Buck lets Eddie wrangle him into the passenger seat and buckle him in without a word of complaint. He slumped in his seat, letting his eyes fall closed as he started to drift off.
His mind was swimming, drunkenly drifting from thought to thought. Though, at the current moment, he really only had one thought. Eddie.
Eddie had shown up, even though it was late—well, early now, according to the clock on the dash.
Buck shifted as he heard the driver's side door open, and he opened his eyes as Eddie shoved a plastic bag into his hands.
"Do not puke in my car," Eddie said sternly as he buckled his seatbelt. "I don't want to drive with that smell all day tomorrow."
Eddie how shown up tonight, but he was leaving. Soon. Today.
Buck slumped back against his seat again, squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden wave of tears. He winced as the action unexpectedly sent pain through his face. His nose hurt pretty badly, as well as one side of his face, mostly around his eye and upper cheek. Why—
"Gonna tell me what the hell happened to your face?" Eddie asked, and Buck could hear annoyance there. God, of course Eddie was annoyed with him. He'd disrupted his sleep, he was going to be miserable on the drive to El Paso later— "Buck?"
"Huh?" Buck mumbled, trying to ignore the way his eyes stung as he glanced at Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes and reached over to pull down Buck's visor, opening the little mirror there.
Buck took in his appearance as Eddie started his truck. He was able to note the black eye and bloody nose before the nausea hit him again, and he was puking into the plastic bag Eddie had given him.
-
Eddie didn't bother trying to talk to Buck on the drive back, despite the frustration that simmered under his skin. He wanted answers, felt like he more than deserved them. But Buck just looked so pathetic, barely able to go a few minutes without puking. It probably had to do with the car ride itself, which was probably worsening whatever nausea was hitting him from the alcohol.
Besides, he knew his frustration was more worry than anything, anyway. This wasn't like Buck, not at all. And yeah, Buck had been off for a little while now. Things between them had been weird and messy since Eddie had bought the house in El Paso. Eddie wanted to believe this didn't have anything to do with him, but he wasn't stupid enough to convince himself of that. Their lives were so intertwined that he knew this had to be hitting Buck harder than anyone else.
By the time Eddie parked in his driveway, Buck's stomach seemed to have settled a little. He hadn't thrown up in nearly ten minutes, which was the longest stretch he'd gone so far.
Eddie got out and helped Buck into his house, stumbling under his weight to get him onto the couch. Once he'd gotten him down, Eddie reluctantly took the puke bag and tied it before walking to the kitchen to toss it out. His nose was still wrinkled in disgust when he walked back into the living room with a bottle of water.
Buck was already half-asleep even though he was sitting up. Eddie rolled his eyes and couldn't bring himself to feel too guilty as he shook him awake. "Buck, stay up. I gotta get you cleaned up."
"Cleaned up?" Buck slurred, blinking up at Eddie with sleepy confusion. Eddie couldn't help the half-fond smile that made his lips turn up slightly.
"Yeah, since you apparently got your ass beat, hotshot."
Buck scowled at him petulantly, but Eddie just shoved the water bottle in his hand and went to get the first aid kit.
A few minutes later, Eddie was sat on his coffee table, which had been scooted closer to the couch so he could sit between Buck's spread legs and lean in to clean his face.
Buck was pouting as Eddie cleaned the blood from his face and gently checked his nose to make sure it wasn't broken. "What happened, Buck?"
"Don't really remember," Buck mumbled, eyes half-closed but still trained on Eddie.
"I don't just mean the fight you apparently got in," Eddie scoffed, tossing the alcohol wipe into the trashcan he had brought from the kitchen. "What the hell were you thinking, getting this drunk on your own?"
Buck scowled and kicked his shoes off, suddenly moving to lay down on the couch. Eddie sighed and closed up the first aid kit, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched Buck's eyes close.
"Buck, we have to talk about this."
"Doesn't matter. You're leaving."
Eddie's chest felt tight as he heard Buck's voice crack. "Buck—"
Buck turned his back to Eddie, burying his face in the back of the couch. Eddie clenched his jaw, trying to will himself not to get frustrated. It didn't really work.
"You're acting like a child," Eddie muttered irritably, standing from the coffee table and going to put the first aid kit back. He grabbed a blanket and went back out to the living room.
Buck had shifted, more on his back now. His chin was on his chest, his cheek resting against the back cushion of the couch. All the anger in Eddie's chest fizzled out as he noticed a tear slip down his best friend's cheek.
He pursed his lips and spread the blanket over Buck, who seemed to be half-asleep. He looked unbelievably vulnerable like this—and unbelievably sad. Eddie's hand moved almost without his permission, brushing some of Buck's curls back off of his forehead.
Buck took a shaky breath and sniffled, mumbling something. Eddie hummed in question, gently stroking his thumb over one of his curls.
"Don't go." The words were barely audible, and Eddie felt like his chest was cracking open. "Just— Please don't leave me."
"I don't have a choice," Eddie whispered, and suddenly all of his irritation with Buck over the last few weeks disappeared completely. He had picked up over the years that Buck had a thing about people leaving. But Eddie wasn't leaving Buck, he was going back to Christopher. And he'd already told Buck he'd never win in that scenario, he couldn't. Christopher was everything. Eddie needed his son back.
But he suddenly ached at the idea of leaving Buck. The man who had been his best friend for seven years, the one who had his back through everything like he'd promised. The one who was practically another parent to his son, who had done everything he could to help Eddie get back to Christopher even though it was clearly hurting him.
Buck sniffled again, shifting to lean into Eddie's touch. "I know," he whispered, voice breaking and words slurring a bit. It's quiet for a few moments, Eddie trying to ignore the tightness in his chest as he kept stroking Buck's curls.
He thought Buck was asleep, and Eddie knew he should step away. He needed to go back down the hall, try and get some sleep himself before he finished packing the trailer tomorrow and started the drive to El Paso. But he couldn't seem to make himself move.
"I wish I didn't have to go," Eddie admitted in the dim living room, nearly silent except for Buck's breathing. It felt like he was confessing something deeper, but he didn't know what. He couldn't try to figure that feeling out, it didn't matter. He had to leave L.A. no matter how he felt about it.
"Would've gone, f'you asked," Buck mumbled, barely loud enough for Eddie to hear. "Miss Chris, too."
Eddie swallowed thickly, pulling his hand away from Buck's hair like he had been burned. He couldn't figure out why the younger man's words made his stomach twist. Buck didn't mean it—he was drunk out of his mind and practically asleep. He'd never want to leave Los Angeles, even less than Eddie did.
Still, some part of Eddie believed him. It wasn't too crazy, was it? Maybe Eddie just wanted to believe him.
"Goodnight, Buck," Eddie whispered after a beat of silence, clearing his throat.
Buck just snored, finally asleep.