Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eddie thought wearing a bulletproof vest would protect him.

It’s designed to cover his chest, to prevent any real damage from happening to him. It completely shelters his heart, so no bullet can penetrate such a vital organ and shatter it into pieces. 

At least, it’s supposed to.

It doesn’t.

A sharp crack, a violent whizzing sound, and suddenly Eddie’s ears are ringing.

Time seems to slow down around him as he staggers backwards, almost as if he’s been shoved back by an unseen force.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the sounds of panicked screaming around him, muffled by the constant, overwhelming ringing in his ears. There’s a flurry of activity, people running around him in flashes of blurry color.

Eddie looks down carefully, slowly, fighting his body as if it’s somehow aware of what he’s going to see before he sees it.

There's blood. So much blood. It's staining the pavement and starting to pool next to him. 

His eyes follow the steady stream of crimson liquid, all the way to its source. His brain can't register it, can’t comprehend the fact that all of that blood is coming from one person.

This wasn't supposed to happen. They were responding to a hostage situation at a grocery store, one they often frequent. But they hadn't even gone inside yet. 

Suddenly, it's like the lens he's been looking through has been focused properly and the radio in his brain has been tuned to the correct frequency. His body unfreezes, and he launches into action. 

Because it's Buck. 

Buck is lying there on the pavement, in a pool of blood, bleeding out. 

He barely registers the sounds of police yelling out orders as they swarm the grocery store. His only train of thought is that he has to save Buck. He has to stop the bleeding. 

Eddie crouches over Buck, quickly locating the bullet wound just under his right pec. He presses his hands against the wound, willing the blood to stay inside Buck's body. 

“C'mon, Buck, stay with me.” Even through the persistent ringing, Eddie can hear the desperation and panic in his voice. He needs to push all that down, to stay calm, to go into medic mode—for Buck. 

Apply pressure to the wound. Keep Buck awake. Get him to the hospital.

Buck's eyes snap open, and he inhales a sharp, ragged gasp. His eyes dart around wildly, seemingly not entirely aware of his surroundings. 

“There you are,” Eddie huffs out with a tiny, relieved smile. Buck's awake. That's good. 

Buck's deep blue eyes land on Eddie's face, wide and panicked. There was some hope that Eddie's presence would reassure Buck, maybe even comfort him, but that doesn't appear to be the case. 

Buck's breath is labored as he tries to speak. 

“You—you’re…” He licks his pale lips and gasps out another breath. “You're hurt,” Buck manages to get out. 

He must be in shock, confused about what's going on around him, fueled by the blood loss. Buck is the hurt one here, not Eddie. 

“N—no, I'm fine,” Eddie reassures him, “and you will be too. Everything's gonna be fine.”

It has to be. Buck hasn't had enough time. Eddie hasn't had enough time with him. They haven't had enough time.

Buck furrows his brow and slowly, shakily raises his arm up to Eddie's face. If Eddie didn't need to keep both hands firmly on Buck's chest, he'd gently swat his hand away. Buck needs to conserve his energy, not waste it worrying about him. 

An uncoordinated hand brushes against the side of his head. When Buck pulls his hand away, he holds it between them so that Eddie can see. 

Buck's fingers are shaking and covered in blood. But…it can't be Buck's. His blood is all over his chest, the ground, Eddie's hands—not Eddie's head.

So it's not Buck's blood. 

It's Eddie's. 

The insufferable ringing in his ear. The throbbing pain that his body is slowly becoming aware of. The trickle of blood that he can now feel tickling the side of his neck.

None of that matters right now, though. 

Buck's hand drops to the ground beside him, limp, and his eyes flutter shut. 

“Buck! Buck!” Eddie calls out, nudging his hip with his knee. Buck's eyes slowly open once more, staring at Eddie with an unfocused gaze. “I'm fine, but I need you to stay with me, okay? Keep your eyes open for me.”

Buck hums and blinks slowly, but Eddie takes that as an agreement. He looks around, frantically turning his head as far as it can go and trying to figure out why no one is helping them.

Eddie spots the paramedic who's been filling in for Hen and shouts over to him, barely registering the chaos that surrounds them. His only focus is on keeping Buck alive.

"Alvarez, we need some help over here!"

Buck's blood is completely coating both of his hands at this point, but Eddie can still feel his heart beating, albeit weakly. He doesn't dare move his hands off the bullet hole for even a second.

Alvarez appears at his side, dropping a backboard onto the ground next to Buck.

"I can't—" Eddie takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaky voice. "I can't move my hands. I can't help you lift him."

"That's okay, I've got it," Alvarez reassures him. He does his best to slide the backboard under Buck without jostling him too much. Eddie has to look away from the pained expression on Buck's face for a moment, as if he can feel Buck's pain deep in his own bones.

Another figure appears at Eddie's side, someone he doesn't recognize.

"We're gonna lift him on three and walk him over to the ambulance, okay? We just need you to make sure you stand with us and keep applying pressure."

Eddie nods. The man's voice is muffled, almost sounding as if he's speaking underwater, but Eddie understands just the same. He adjusts himself so he's crouched by Buck's side instead of on top of him, never lessening the pressure he's applying to the hole in Buck's chest.

Alvarez counts to three, and they all rise as a unit, Buck's head lolling to the side, keeping his eyes on Eddie as they walk the few feet to the ambulance nearby. They've just gotten Buck into the ambulance when Eddie hears a familiar voice shout his name.

"Eddie!" He turns his head as Chim calls to him from across the parking lot, face pale and shaken as he stands with Athena and some of the hostages that have been retrieved. Chimney licks his lips, concern written all over his face. Eddie's worried he's going to make him stay for some reason, but then— "Keep us posted."

Eddie sets his lips in a firm line and nods, Chimney giving his own nod in response before the ambulance doors close and they drive off.

Alvarez sets about hooking Buck up to monitors while they speed off to the hospital, Eddie doing his best to make sure Buck stays awake and alert.

After a few minutes, Buck reaches an uncoordinated hand out to Eddie, landing on his arm and giving it a weak squeeze.

"Ed…Eddie," he manages to get out, voice a raspy whisper.

"Hey, Buck, stay with me," Eddie says, smiling weakly in an attempt to hide his worry.

"You're okay, right?" Buck asks, slowly, his words coming out between labored breaths.

"Yeah, Buck, I'm okay," Eddie reassures him, "and you will be, too. We're almost at the hospital."

"Good, good," Buck breathes out softly. He gives Eddie's arm what he thinks is supposed to be a reassuring pat. Buck locks his eyes on Eddie's, a weak, open-mouthed smile spreading across his face. Eddie's heart drops when he sees blood smeared across Buck's teeth, watches as a small trail of crimson trickles from the corner of his mouth down his chin.

"Buck?" His voice comes out trembling, panicked. Buck's eyes flutter closed, and his hand drops from Eddie's arm, falling limp by his side.

"Buck?"

The sound of the heart rate monitor's steady, continuous, piercing wail fills the ambulance, and Eddie panics.

This can't be happening, it just…can't. Buck can't be flat-lining right now.

Eddie can't move his hands to start chest compressions. If he does, Buck could bleed out and die.

…except Buck's already dead.

His heart isn't beating.

Buck's heart isn't beating, which means he's dead. Eddie's alive, and Buck isn't. It's like all the air has been sucked out of the ambulance, and Eddie's world has stopped. He's paralyzed, unable to function in a world where his heart's beating and Buck's isn't.

They haven't had enough time together; Eddie has so much more he needs to tell Buck. He can't leave without knowing the truth, without knowing how Eddie really feels.

Eddie's jostled from his stupor by Alvarez moving next to him.

"Starting chest compressions!"

While the other man acts as Buck's heart, Eddie springs into action.

Buck will come back, even if Eddie has to bring him back himself.

Carefully, he shifts his hands, making sure one stays firmly on the bullet hole in Buck's chest while the other is freed. If they can get Buck's heart back to a shockable rhythm, the wound needs to be covered without Eddie's hands on it. He grabs the materials he needs to make a simple dressing, covering the wound as best and as quickly as he can.

Finally freed from having to stop Buck from bleeding out, Eddie holds his hands out in front of him, feeling useless. They're completely covered in Buck's blood, shaking, as he looks around the back of the ambulance frantically.

Eddie doesn't know how long it's been since Buck's heart last beat on its own, doesn't know how far away they are from the hospital. All he knows is that he has to do something.

"Switch off!" he yells, maybe a bit too loudly, trying to force himself into a state of calm action rather than panicked reaction. He needs to center himself, to collect his composure and breathe.

He needs to breathe.

Breathe for himself, breathe for Buck; he can't be of any help if he's a panicked mess. So he takes a deep breath—in, and out—and tries to recenter himself as Alvarez steps aside. He's a first responder, and this is just another patient, not his best friend, the love of his life.

Whoa.

In the brief moment between Alvarez stepping aside and Eddie putting his hands over Buck's heart, the line on the monitor remains horizontal.

Eddie tries not to think about it. He has to focus.

"C'mon, Buck," he mutters, making sure he's doing the best chest compressions of his life. Arms locked, two inches deep, one hundred beats per minute. He knows how to do this, has done chest compressions a million times, but a little encouragement couldn't hurt.

"You've gotta come back to me, okay?" Eddie already feels out of breath, but he needs to keep going. For Buck. "I need you, Christopher needs you. We need you. C'mon, I know you can fight."

He keeps going, pressing down on Buck's heart and keeping the blood flowing throughout his body. Buck needs to come back. He needs to fight.

They

need

more

time.

A bead of sweat drips down Eddie's forehead, but he won't stop to wipe it away. His ears are ringing, and there's a pounding in his head, but he can't lose focus. He has to help Buck come back.

Multiple things happen at once.

The ambulance stops, Eddie's vision swims, and Buck coughs below him before taking in a labored, rattling breath.

Eddie takes a step back, nearly collapsing against the interior wall of the ambulance as the back doors open, and they're greeted by a swarm of doctors. He lets Alvarez rattle off the details of Buck's condition while they move Buck out of the ambulance, too shaken to speak.

Buck's alive. He'd gotten his heart started again. But for a moment there…

Eddie can't think about that, can't dwell on the fact that Buck had been dead, bleeding out in the back of the ambulance before he'd gotten his heart started again.

He stumbles out of the ambulance, tries to follow after the gurney that's carrying his heart into the hospital, but he's stopped by a hand to his chest.

Eddie jerks his head up, vision swimming for a moment before Alvarez's face comes into focus. Why is he stopping him? He has to follow Buck; he needs to keep his eyes on him, make sure he's still alive and breathing.

"Hang on, you got shot too. We have to get that looked at," Alvarez says, his voice echoing strangely.

Eddie frowns and shakes his head, ignoring the way the motion makes his head go all swirly and worsens the ringing in his ears.

"I need to be with Buck," he insists. His eyes dart to the closed doors right in front of him, the doors separating him from Buck, lying on the gurney that they've wheeled out of his sight.

Alvarez keeps his hand firmly on Eddie's chest, not budging or giving in to his protests.

"No, you need to get checked out, make sure that's nothing more than superficial damage." He uses his free hand to point to Eddie's ear, covered in crimson, drying blood. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, once again all too aware of the painful throbbing coming from the side of his head. He hears Alvarez sigh and feels him give his chest a light, comforting pat.

"You can't perform surgery, Eddie. But you can take care of yourself, and then be there waiting for Buck when he's out of surgery. You can't be there for him if you end up in the hospital yourself because you've ignored your own injuries."

Eddie knows he's right. Logically, he knows there's nothing more he can do for Buck right now. The responsible thing to do is to get himself patched up. As much as he wants to argue, to put himself on the back burner like he's so used to doing, Eddie relents.

With a sigh, he gives Alvarez a short nod before being guided into the hospital by a doctor he hadn't even noticed was standing a few feet away from them.

Eddie lets himself be thoroughly examined, his entire body thrumming with pent-up worry as his ear is bandaged and the doctor runs some tests. He needs to know what's going on with Buck. It doesn't matter that the ringing in his ears could last for days or even weeks; he barely registers the possible long-term effects that the doctor warns could come from a bullet grazing your ear. Buck is his priority.

How long is he going to be in surgery? What's the extent of his injuries? Eddie had assumed the bullet had punctured Buck's lung, but was there something more than that?

Time seems to pass slowly and then all at once. Before he knows it, the doctor is handing him his post-care instructions and a prescription for painkillers and then ushering him off to the waiting room.

Instead of sitting, he makes a beeline for the nurse's station.

"Hi! I'm trying to find out what room Evan Buckley is in," Eddie says to the kind-eyed nurse in front of him. He tries to keep his voice light and friendly, but he has a feeling his request came out a bit more clipped than he'd intended. He rests his hands on the counter in front of him, frowning slightly when he realizes there's a distinct lack of blood on them—he doesn't remember when they were cleaned.

The keys on the nurse's keyboard click-clack away as she types, pausing after a moment and meeting Eddie's expectant gaze.

"I'm sorry, I cannot disclose that information." She says it with a smile, but that just makes Eddie frown.

"But…I need to be there when he wakes up. I need to see him. I'm his partner, I should be there for him." Eddie tries to keep his voice down, very aware that he won't help his case by yelling at the person who's just doing their job.

"Partner?" she asks with a curious raised eyebrow. A small amount of tension leaves Eddie's shoulders; there's no judgment in her voice, so he feels like he might be getting somewhere.

"Yes, I—"

"And what's your name again?" she cuts him off, eyes returning to the computer in front of her.

"Eddie Diaz. Edmundo, but I go by Eddie."

For a moment, Eddie holds his breath as the nurse once again types away on her keyboard.

"Okay, Eddie," the nurse starts, looking up at him with a warm smile. "It looks like Evan's still in surgery, but since you're here as his emergency contact, I'll make sure any updates about Evan's condition are directed to you."

"He prefers Buck," Eddie can't help but mumble, relieved that he's getting some information but still unable to resist correcting her.

"Right, Buck," she nods, smile never wavering. "Well, it could be a while, but it looks like the plan is for him to be in room 806 when he's out of surgery, but that could always change. You can wait here until your husband's out of surgery."

Eddie's brain malfunctions for a second. They're not…does Buck have it in their paperwork that they're married? Or is this lady just making an assumption?

The last time someone had assumed he was married, he'd ended up in the hospital because of a panic attack. This time, though, the idea fills him with warmth, a molten calm slowly flowing through his veins.

He doesn't correct her.

"Um, right. Thank you…" He trails off, quickly searching for some sort of name tag or identification so he can thank her by name.

"Jackie," she helpfully provides, pointing to the ID card clipped to her scrub top.

"Right, Jackie. Thank you, Jackie."

"Of course. Let me know if there's anything else you need." Eddie gives her a small nod as the phone rings next to her, and she picks it up. He turns to the empty waiting room behind him with a sigh and chooses to sit in the chair facing the hallway, where he assumes the doctor will be coming from.

Jackie hadn't indicated how long Buck would still be in surgery, or the extent of his injuries, so Eddie has no idea how long he's going to be sitting here.

He sends off a text to Chimney, letting him know that he's okay and that Buck's still in surgery. Chimney texts back right away, giving Eddie an update that the hostage situation had been handled and no one else had gotten hurt.

That's a relief. Eddie just wishes Buck had been included in that group of people not getting hurt.

Eddie sends off a text to Carla next, giving her the briefest summary of the day's events just so she's aware that he might be home late, if at all. He promises to keep her updated.

Finally, he texts Alvarez. He knows he shouldn't, that the other man is busy, but he just has to. He needs to be reminded of every detail of their ride to the hospital so he can go over it and over it, just in case. There are gaps in his memory, the whole trip showing up as flashes in his mind. Eddie had been so focused on keeping Buck alive. Had he been too focused on the bullet hole? Was Buck hurt somewhere else that he didn't know about? How long exactly was Buck's heart not beating?

He glances at the clock on the wall, noting the time. How is it possible that just two hours ago, he had been joking around with Buck back at the fire station?

Eddie's pent up with nervous energy, too wired to take a nap or even just relax back in his chair. His leg bounces up and down as he looks around the still-empty waiting room. He knows the rest of his team has a job to do, has to continue functioning as best they can, especially now that they're down two more people, but he wishes someone else could be here with him.

Just to keep himself occupied, he reads his post-care instructions, catching a lot of things he hadn't paid attention to when the doctor had been relaying the information earlier.

Permanent hearing loss is possible but not likely.

Call us if the tinnitus persists for more than two weeks.

No internal damage detected. Come in if you experience any nausea or fainting spells, or headaches for more than three days.

None of those things concerns him too much. He's dealt with being shot in much worse places before and turned out just fine.

The clock ticks on, time moving by at a snail's pace. Eddie does whatever he can to distract himself from his thoughts. He can't dwell on the "what ifs" for too long or he'll lose his mind.

Buck's going to be fine. He has to be. Besides the fact that he won't be able to survive in a world without Buck, there are still so many things he needs to say to him.

Eddie feels so stupid. He's spent weeks, months even, being weird and skittish around Buck just because he didn't want his feelings for him to ruin their friendship. And yet, it's been awkward and stilted anyway. Eddie's spent so much time trying to put his feelings for Buck into a box that he hasn't really appreciated the times he's had with him lately. In a way, his reluctance to admit his feelings has led to the very thing he'd been trying to avoid.

The universe that Buck speaks so fondly of wouldn't be so cruel as to take the love of his life away from him before he's worked up the courage to tell him that…right?

Eddie tilts his head back and takes a deep breath. Buck is going to be fine.

He answers texts, scrolls through Instagram, counts the seconds as they pass—anything to keep his mind occupied.

Eddie's counting the tiles on the ceiling—he's lost count somewhere between 70 and 80 more times than he'd care to admit—when a middle-aged man in dark blue scrubs, glasses perched on his nose, enters the waiting room.

"Mr. Diaz?"

Eddie stands so quickly from his chair that he gets a head rush, the room swirling in front of him for a moment. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his vision to return to normal before he opens his eyes again. He takes a step toward the doctor and his stomach does flips as he contemplates what he could be here to say, unable to read the other man's neutral expression.

"That's me, Eddie," he says, extending a hand that the doctor shakes firmly.

"I'm Doctor Gordon, Evan's surgeon."

"Buck," Eddie blurts out before he can stop himself. "He goes by Buck."

"Okay, Buck then. I'm Buck's surgeon," the man says with the ghost of a smile dancing across his face.

"So, uh—" Eddie clears his throat. "How is he?"

"Well, he's out of surgery, and he's just been taken to his room. It was touch-and-go there for a while; he lost a lot of blood."

Eddie nods along as the doctor relays the extent of Buck's injuries. He's anxious to get to Buck, now that he knows he's in a room just down the hall, but he tries to focus so he has all the information he needs. Buck's definitely not going to be able to recover on his own, so Eddie can't help but try to problem-solve in his head. Should he offer to have Buck stay with him? He knows Chris would be more than happy to have Buck living with them again, even if it's just for a few weeks. Would Buck rather stay with Maddie? Being in a house with two young children might not be the most relaxing, but Buck adores his niece and nephew, and recovering with a former nurse might be helpful.

"But we're hopeful, barring any complications, that he'll make a full recovery," Doctor Gordon concludes with a small, reassuring smile. Eddie blinks. He'd expected the doctor to have more to say, fearing that Buck's injuries had been far more extensive than whatever he'd made up in his head while sitting in the waiting room.

"That's…great," Eddie breathes, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders that he's been carrying for the last several hours. "Can I see him?"

"Yes," the doctor assures him. "He's in room 806, just down the hallway and to the left. He's still out from the anesthesia, but he should be awake soon. We've also got him started on morphine—he's going to be in a lot of pain for a while. If he wakes up and is still experiencing much discomfort, let one of the nurses know, and we can increase his dosage."

"Great, thanks doc," Eddie says, cringing to himself as soon as the word "doc" leaves his mouth.

Dr. Gordon gives him a curt nod before walking off, leaving Eddie to walk down the hallway to Buck's room by himself.

He knocks on the door softly before pushing it open, greeted by a sleeping, bandaged Buck propped up on the hospital bed in the middle of the room.

Buck looks so small, his face pale, and with an IV connected to his arm. Eddie sits in a chair next to him and finally, for the first time since that bullet shot through the air, he lets himself break.

He drops his head onto the bed in front of him, covering one of Buck's hands with both of his own. Tears fall freely down his cheeks, soaking the sheet beneath his face, but he does nothing to stop them. He's been so scared, worried about Buck for hours—it's such a relief to have him here, in front of him, breathing, alive. Eddie is well aware that there could have been a very different outcome, that he came close to losing Buck forever, and he makes a promise to himself that he will tell Buck how he feels. He's so tired of being scared, of not being completely honest. Life is too short to waste time not being honest with the ones you love. And if Buck doesn't feel the same, well, at least he'll know, and maybe they can just go back to how they were before Eddie's feelings got in the way. Before he ruined things.

Once the tears stop and he feels like he can't cry anymore, Eddie lifts his head, wiping away the drying streaks across his cheeks. He keeps one hand firmly grasped on Buck's and uses the other to send off a text updating the team. Dr. Gordon said that Buck would have to stay for at least one night, possibly more, depending on how things progress over the next several hours.

Eddie watches Buck, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic beeping of the heart rate monitor music to his ears, a reminder that Buck's heart is beating as it should.

It's about twenty minutes after Eddie first sat down next to Buck that the other man begins to stir. His fingers twitch in Eddie's hand, and then his brow furrows, almost reminding Eddie of how Christopher looks when he's resisting waking up for school.

"Buck?" he calls out softly, not wanting to startle him.

Buck's eyes flutter open at the sound of his name, slowly taking in the room around him before settling on Eddie, a smile breaking out across his face. Just the sight of Buck awake, smiling, nearly brings Eddie to tears again.

"Eddieee," Buck says slowly, dragging out the last "e" sound for far longer than necessary.

"Hi, Buck," Eddie responds with his own soft smile, giving Buck's hand a gentle squeeze. "How are you feeling?" he asks, eyebrows turning up in the middle in concern.

Buck scrunches up his nose, and Eddie has to resist the urge to lean over and place a quick kiss on the tip of it.

"I feel okay," he eventually answers, words coming out slowly, as if he has to put in a great deal of effort to string a sentence together. "Pretty good actually."

"Good?" Eddie scoffs. "Buck, you were shot."

"Mm," Buck hums. "Don' really r'member much'f it."

That's probably for the best, Eddie thinks. Buck doesn't need to remember getting shot in the chest, bleeding out on the pavement of a grocery store parking lot, with Eddie panicking over him.

Eddie rubs a soothing thumb over the back of Buck's hand while Buck scans his face with wide, scrutinizing blue eyes.

"You're hurt," Buck states with a frown.

"What?"

Buck lifts their joined hands a few inches, attempting to gesture at Eddie's head before letting their hands drop back in his lap.

"You're hurt," he repeats. "Got a bandage wrapped 'round your ear."

"Oh, that." Eddie attempts to wave off Buck's concern with a playful roll of his eyes. "The, uh—the bullet that hit you clipped me first. I'll be fine, it was just the tip of my ear."

Buck pouts, his lower lip protruding in a way that Eddie finds endlessly adorable.

"I liked the top of your ear."

Eddie can't control the laugh that bursts out of him—it's such an out-of-pocket comment, and yet so endearingly Buck.

"Don't laugh!" Buck protests, continuing to pout. "I like a lot of things about you. I like your smile. I like your little freckle under your eye. I like your arms." He waggles his eyebrows, and before Eddie can even begin to think about why Buck's giving him that look— "I even like your butt."

Eddie chokes on his spit, completely thrown off guard by Buck talking about his butt. He coughs a few times, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh my god, Buck," he gasps out.

"What?" Buck says with a frown. "Do you not like my butt?"

"I—" Eddie doesn't even know how to respond to that. He can't believe the turn this conversation has taken, and he's sure his cheeks are burning a bright crimson.

"I see the way you look at me, Eddie." The words sort of tumble out of Buck's mouth, running together as he fixes Eddie with a smug little smirk.

"I—Buck, we're…" Eddie clears his throat, trying to compose himself. "We're not doing this here." He's not sure what's compelling Buck to say what he's saying—maybe the morphine is making his lips a little too loose—but he knows this is certainly not the time, let alone the place, for this conversation. Not in the hospital, after Buck's just been shot. Especially not when Buck's so hopped up on painkillers that he probably won't even remember this conversation later.

Buck studies Eddie's face for a moment, bright blue eyes roaming over his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his eyes. Eddie hasn't looked in a mirror since getting shot, but he's sure he looks pretty rough.

"Okay," Buck concedes softly, the word coming out of his mouth slowly, floating in the stillness between them before drifting away.

Eddie continues to gently stroke the back of Buck's hand with his thumb as they sit in silence. Buck's blinks start to slow, like he's fighting to keep himself awake.

"You can go to sleep, Buck," Eddie says gently, fixing him with a crooked smile. "You need your rest. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

"Promise?" Buck mumbles sleepily, using all his effort to hold his hand up with his pinky out.

"Promise." Eddie reaches over and links his pinky with Buck's.

Buck drops his hand and closes his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

Eddie watches him, monitoring the steady rise and fall of his chest, never letting go of his hand.

The first thing Buck registers is pain. Pain in the back of his head, pain radiating throughout his chest—even a small twinge of pain coming from his arm.

The next thing he registers is an annoying, persistent beeping sound coming from his left side. It's steady, piercing, rhythmic. Much louder than the shuffle of footsteps he can also hear coming from the hallway outside his room.

Right.

He's in the hospital.

He's in the hospital because he got shot.

Slowly, he peels his eyes open, squinting as he's greeted by the bright, unforgiving overhead lights of his hospital room. He feels a weight on his hand and looks down, only to see Eddie's hand covering his. Buck follows the line of Eddie's arm to the slumped form of his best friend dozing in the chair next to him, lips parted slightly and a tuft of hair flopping over his forehead.

He smiles, a soft upward turn of his lips. The memories of the day's events are like flashes in his mind, laced with fear and panic and pain, but the sight of Eddie by his side is an instant comfort.

Buck shifts slightly in his hospital bed, hoping to get a little more comfortable, and instantly hisses in pain. The sharp intake of breath sends a searing spark throughout his chest, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a groan, clenching his teeth in the hopes that the pain will fade away.

"Buck?" a panicked voice calls from his right side. He feels Eddie shift in his chair before standing over him, his shadow blocking some of the light that makes its way through his eyelids.

Buck opens one eye, meeting Eddie's concerned gaze with his own.

"What's wrong?" he asks, one hand still holding Buck's, the other hovering over him, as if he's afraid to touch him anywhere else. "Are you in pain?"

"Yeah," Buck chokes out through gritted teeth. He closes his eye and leans his head back onto his pillow. "Hurts."

"Okay, okay, I'll see if we can get you some more morphine," Eddie rushes out, dropping Buck's hand and reaching across him to hit the call button. Buck whines quietly at the loss of contact. It's embarrassing, but hopefully Eddie either doesn't hear it or chalks it up to Buck being in pain.

Buck focuses on breathing—slowly—until a nurse comes in and fiddles with his IV.

"That should kick in shortly. You were on a pretty high dose earlier, and we're already trying to taper down, but if the pain is still too much, just call for someone again," she says.

Buck opens his eyes and gives her a small nod, confirming that he understands. She exits the room, leaving Buck and Eddie alone once more, Eddie sitting back down in his chair. After a few minutes, Buck can already feel the pain start to ease. It's still there, ever present, but he no longer feels like he's on fire every time he moves or takes a breath.

"Better?" Eddie asks, hands folded in his lap. Buck wishes he would hold his hand again.

"Much," he responds with a sigh.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, Buck focusing on his breathing, timing it with the steady beats of the heart rate monitor next to him. His thoughts wander, replaying tiny snippets of the events of the day out of order. He remembers some things, but others are foggy.

"What—" Buck clears his throat before trying again. "What, uh, ended up happening? Y'know, after..."

Eddie looks at him with wide eyes, perhaps not expecting that to be the first thing Buck asks him about.

"Oh, um…" Eddie shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, they pretty quickly found the open window the gunman had shot us out of, apprehended him, and got all the hostages out safely. Still don't know why he decided it would be a good idea to shoot into a crowd of first responders, but…" He shrugs, uncrossing his legs. "Other than me and my ear, you were the only one who got shot."

It's a relief, really, that things didn't escalate any further than that. That no one else got hurt.

Buck nods, looking down at his lap before bringing his eyes up to meet Eddie's. "That's…good. That it was just me."

Eddie frowns, the corners of his mouth turned down so it almost forms a perfect half-circle, his eyebrows pinched together over his wide, brown eyes.

"Don't say that."

Buck blinks.

"What, isn't it a good thing that no one else was hurt?"

Eddie purses his lips, looks down at his clasped hands in his lap before returning his gaze to Buck's face. Buck can tell he seems frustrated, and maybe a little bit flustered.

"Yes, but I know that's not really what you meant," he huffs out, frown still etched across his face.

"Oh?" Buck raises an eyebrow and tries his best to keep the bite out of his voice. He doesn't want to fight, but he also knows that if he doesn't push the right buttons, then Eddie will just shove his words down, hold them in, and let them fester. "Then what exactly did I mean, Eddie?"

He knows he's goading him, but he can't help it. He's tired of how they've been tiptoeing around each other lately, and, while a conversation in a hospital room may not be the best setting for them to hash it all out, Buck can at least try to start cracking at the walls Eddie's built up over the last few months.

We're not doing this here.

The words play in the back of his mind on a loop. Eddie knows they have things they need to talk about, and maybe there's a part of him that's finally ready.

Buck can only hope.

"You're minimizing yourself," Eddie responds, crossing his arms over his chest. Buck knows that stance. He's closing himself off, shutting down. So he pushes.

"Minimizing myself?"

Eddie tilts his head back, eyes to the ceiling, and lets out a frustrated huff of air. "Yes, Buck, minimizing yourself."

He brings his gaze back to Buck, eyes dark and piercing. Buck doesn't blink, doesn't look away.

"Don't—" Eddie cuts himself off, rolling in his lips before starting again, a bit of a desperate edge coloring his voice. "We've had this conversation before. Remember? When I got shot?"

Buck does remember. How could he not remember? In fact, he's been remembering that time all day. How Eddie was shot down in the street right in front of him, bleeding out on the pavement, reaching out for him.

When the bullet pierced his chest in the middle of that grocery store parking lot, that was the first thing he thought of. His life didn't flash before his eyes, he didn't register the pain, he didn't think to himself, oh, I might be dying. He thought of Eddie. He remembered that day, how scared he was when he watched his best friend get shot, and he wondered…did Eddie feel the same? Is he scared, now, just like Buck had been scared back then? That's not what he wanted. He didn't want Eddie to be scared; he just wanted him to be okay.

As he lay there on the pavement, Eddie looming over him with blood dripping down the side of his head, he realized—this is how Eddie felt. When he got shot, and he saw Buck leaning over him, blood splattered across his face, and he asked if he was okay. Buck remembers being so confused and a little frustrated that Eddie would be concerned about him when Eddie was the one who was bleeding out. But in that moment, he understood. He was the one bleeding out, shot through the chest, but all he could focus on was the blood on Eddie's face, making sure that he was okay. If Eddie was okay, Buck didn't need to worry.

He remembers the days following the shooting, taking care of Chris, waiting to hear that Eddie was okay and would fully recover. He remembers Eddie telling him that he'd been put in his will, naming him as Chris's legal guardian should the worst happen, Eddie insisting that Buck's not expendable.

He remembers it, all of it, in vivid, excruciating detail.

"Of course I remember that," Buck says softly, voice hoarse with emotion.

There's a quiet between them for a moment. It's tense, charged, not at all comfortable like silences usually are between them.

"I just…" Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek, something that Buck has noticed he does when he's trying to suppress emotions that he doesn't want to feel. "I hate that you said it was 'just' you. Like you don't matter. I don't want you to still think like that, like…" He tilts his head to the side and fixes Buck with an honest, open stare, eyes wide and pleading.

"Like I'm expendable?" Buck supplies with a small, sad shrug. Eddie nods, the ghost of a smile crossing his face as Buck echoes his own words back to him all these years later.

Buck gets it, he really does. If it was the other way around, if Eddie was trying to diminish his importance in this world, Buck would be moving mountains to show him otherwise.

"I don't think that, though," Buck continues, shaking his head slightly. "I just meant…I'm glad no one else got hurt, you know? And, yeah, I guess if someone had to get shot, then I'm glad it wasn't one of the hostages or someone else on our team or whatever. I can handle it."

As he says that, he has to suppress a wince at the spark of pain that shoots through his body when he breathes wrong.

Eddie's face twists into a pained expression—that's not the response Buck was expecting. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that Eddie was on the verge of tears.

"You died, Buck. Again."

Buck knows Eddie. He can be dramatic at times, of course, but this is not that. The anguish in his voice, though, the sheen of tears in his eyes that he refuses to let fall—he's being serious. Which means…Buck was dead at some point today.

He didn't know that.

It's jarring information to process, but he puts that in a box in his mind to deal with later. Instead, he tries to lighten the mood, turn it into a joke—anything to stop Eddie from looking so distraught.

"Oh, did I beat my record? What was it before, three minutes at seventeen seconds?" he teases lightly, a poor attempt at bringing levity to the situation.

Instead of laughing, Eddie frowns.

"That's not…" He sniffs, tugging on his fingers and furrowing his brow. "That's not funny."

So humor was not the way to go—a swing and a miss. Noted.

"Sorry," Buck murmurs. He holds his hand out with his palm up, an offering of comfort. Eddie places his hand on top of Buck's, lacing their fingers together. Buck's heart flutters at the contact, and he rubs his thumb in soothing, comforting circles.

"It, uh," Eddie shrugs one shoulder, "it wasn't that long this time, anyway."

"Oh?" Buck questions, continuing the motion of his thumb absentmindedly.

"It was two minutes and thirty-six seconds," Eddie mumbles, picking at the bottom of his shirt with his free hand.

Buck doesn't know how to respond to that. It's scary to think about the fact that he's now technically died twice. For over five minutes combined, he's just…ceased to be part of the world of the living. If he thinks about it for too long, he's worried the thought will eat him alive.

It somehow seems like it's having the same effect on Eddie.

If the roles were reversed, if Eddie had been the one who had died, for any amount of time, Buck doesn’t know how he’d survive it. The thought of dying is terrifying, but the thought of living in a world without Eddie is so much worse. It’s unbearable.

He decides to change the subject.

"I'm sure the doctor will be in at some point, and I can ask them, but…do you know what the extent of my injuries are? Like, I obviously got shot in the chest, and it hurts like a bitch, but my head is also killing me, and I'm pretty sure I didn't get shot there."

"Uh, yeah." Eddie honestly looks relieved to have a subject change, to be given the opportunity to relay facts instead of dwelling on emotions.

Buck listens to him explain it all, how the bullet punctured his lung, but they were able to patch it up, and that he'll have to be on alert for infections, but the prognosis looks good. Apparently, he hit his head when he fell to the ground, which explains why he seems to have a persistent, throbbing headache, but no internal damage was detected on his scans. He lets Eddie's soothing, competent voice wash over him. Overall, he's gathering that he'll need some time to recover, but he ultimately should be able to make a full recovery.

Fittingly, as soon as Eddie's done explaining everything to Buck, Dr. Gordon enters the room. He chats with Buck for a bit while he checks his vitals, then relays the information that he'd just heard from Eddie. The whole time, Buck is very aware of the strong, warm hand that's still tangled with his.

Once Dr. Gordon leaves, confirming what Buck already figured—that he's staying for at least one night, maybe longer, depending on his recovery—Buck and Eddie fall back into a comfortable silence, still holding hands.

Buck glances out the window, barely able to see the dark night sky through the closed blinds. His eyelids are heavy—he doesn't know how long he's been awake this time, but he can feel the veil of sleep trying to pull him under. He stifles a yawn as he turns his gaze to Eddie, only to find that he's already looking at him, a soft smile on his face.

"It's getting late," Buck says, eyes flickering over to the window before landing back on Eddie's face, "and I'm getting tired again." Another yawn creeps up on him, emphasizing his last point. "You should probably go."

Eddie sits up straighter in his seat, eyes wide with panic.

"What? Go? Buck, no, why would I—I'm sorry, did I do something? I—"

Buck cuts off his rambling with a quick squeeze of his hand and a reassuring smile.

"Eddie, I'm not telling you to leave because I don't want you here," he says with a soft chuckle. "It's just…it's late, and you need to go home to Chris."

"He's a teenager, and he's got Carla, he'll be fine," Eddie mumbles halfheartedly.

"And," Buck continues, ignoring Eddie's silly attempt at an excuse, "you also got shot today. You should go home, get some good sleep in a real bed. I'll still be here tomorrow."

Buck glances around the room, eyes zeroing in on the bag in the corner that holds all of his personal effects.

"Besides, I need to call Maddie. I'm sure she knows I'm one of the firefighters who was shot at that call and is worried about me—I need to let her know I'm okay."

Eddie shifts in his seat, drawing Buck's attention back to him.

"I—uh—I've actually been texting Maddie all day," he says, holding up the phone in his hand.

Buck blinks. For some reason, he hadn't been expecting that. He didn't even realize his best friend and his sister had each other's numbers.

"She should be here soon, actually," Eddie continues, glancing at his phone.

“Well, okay then. See? I’ll have some company. You should go home, get some rest.” Buck isn’t trying to push Eddie away; he just knows how he can get sometimes, running himself ragged to take care of everyone else.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “See, now it does seem like you don’t want me here,” he teases.

“No,” Buck insists, “I just want you to take care of yourself. I’m probably just going to sleep for a while anyway; I won’t be much company. Please.”

Eddie’s got the sad puppy dog eyes down pat, but Buck tries his best to fix Eddie with his own convincing pout, hoping it can be just as persuasive for Eddie to give in and do what Buck’s asking.

It looks like Eddie’s about to protest, come up with some sort of rebuttal, when his phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down at it. Buck has a sneaking suspicion it’s a text from Maddie.

“Fine,” Eddie concedes, looking back up at Buck. “I’ll go home and sleep, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

“After you’ve seen Chris off to school,” Buck corrects.

“Of course,” Eddie responds with a warm smile, his canines poking out between his lips.

“Before you go, can you grab my phone for me?” Buck asks, pointing over to the bag in the corner. “And text me when you get home, okay? I want to know you made it home safe.”

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly.

"Typical Buck, worried about everyone else. Meanwhile, you're the one who got shot."

"Hey, so did you!" Buck responds, though he can't stop the smile that spreads across his face.

"Yeah, yeah."

Eddie gets Buck's phone and places it on the tiny table that hovers over his hospital bed. He stands over Buck for a moment, hesitating. His lips twist, as if he's contemplating what to do or say next. His eyes meet Buck's before he leans down, slowly, a gentle hand placed on the side of his head. He places a soft, barely-there kiss on the top of his curls, and the simple gesture makes Buck's heart race. He hopes Eddie doesn't notice the way the steady beep of his heart rate monitor speeds up slightly.

"I'm so glad you're alive," Eddie whispers as he pulls back slightly, chocolate brown eyes boring fiercely into his soul.

"Me too," Buck breathes, an electric hum coursing through his body that has nothing to do with the machines around him.

Eddie runs his hand down the side of Buck's head in a gentle caress before standing up straight.

"I'll text you when I'm home," he says with a soft smile.

"Yeah, okay," Buck replies quietly as Eddie walks out of the room, turning back to give him one last look from the doorway before closing the door gently behind him.

Buck lets out a long, slow breath. His mind is racing, trying to piece together everything that's happened throughout the day. Shooting and, apparently, dying once again aside, things with Eddie had seemed…different. A shift away from the tiptoeing they've been doing around each other for months and more of a return to how they used to be—almost.

Because Eddie showed his cards more than usual. He was a bit more vulnerable, used his words, voiced his feelings, albeit in his typical Eddie way. He let Buck pry him open, without the usual resistance.

There's no way he just made all of that up in his head.

Normally, he'd spiral about it, overthink things until he's worked himself up into a panic. But the brain fog is starting to settle in, exhaustion spreading throughout his body. He can barely keep his eyes open or form a coherent thought. So, for now, he decides to let it be, accept the little gifts of openness and soft touches that Eddie had given him, and let himself be pulled under into a dreamless sleep.

Buck drifts in and out of consciousness all night.

At one point, he wakes up to Maddie holding his hand and combing her fingers through his hair. They talk quietly for a bit, Maddie relieved that he's okay.

The next time he wakes up, he's being checked on by a nurse he hasn't seen before. They don't talk to him, just give him a smile and make some notes in his chart.

It's still dark out when he wakes up in pain, every breath pure agony. As quickly as he can, Buck reaches for the call button, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. A nurse rushes in and asks what he needs.

"Hurts," Buck chokes out, trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating throughout his chest.

The nurse puts something in his IV—he doesn't ask what—and soon enough Buck's drifting back into a dreamless sleep.

A deep, comforting rumble of a laugh pulls Buck back into consciousness. He cracks his eyes open, blinking a few times to adjust to the light flowing into his room through the now-open blinds of his window.

"Oh, hey, he's awake, I'll talk to you later," Eddie rushes into his phone before tucking it into his pocket and focusing his attention on Buck. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" he asks.

Buck shakes his head, even though Eddie definitely did.

"Who were you talking to?" he croaks, voice cracked and raspy.

Eddie reaches for the pink pitcher next to him and fills a cup with water before handing it to Buck, who takes it with a grateful smile.

"That was Hen. She wanted to know how you're doing."

Buck takes a few sips of water, resisting the urge to gulp it all down in one go.

"Ah, yeah, I meant to text her last night," he admits sheepishly, "I just fell asleep pretty much right after you left."

"I figured as much, since you didn't text me back," Eddie teases.

"Sorry."

"Don't be, it means you actually got some sleep," Eddie reassures him with a smile.

"Mm, in and out," Buck says, tilting his hand back and forth. He adjusts himself so he's sitting up straight, propped up by the pillows behind him. He winces as the movement causes pain in his chest, but is relieved to notice it's not nearly as bad as it had been in the middle of the night. "What time is it, anyway?"

Eddie checks his watch. "Almost ten."

"Hm." Buck takes another sip of his water. "Has anyone come in since you've been here? Any news?"

"Actually, yeah, about an hour ago."

"You've been here for an hour already?"

"Almost two, actually." Eddie waves him off before he can respond, probably—accurately—predicting that Buck would say Eddie should have woken him up instead of sitting in silence for two hours. "Your vitals are all good, no complications or anything, and as long as the pain isn't too bad, they're hoping to discharge you today."

Buck lets out a sigh of relief. He was so sure they were going to make him stay for another day or two. He's been in hospitals enough times to not want to stay an extra second longer than he needs to.

"You're going to need someone to help you out for at least a few days, though," Eddie says slowly. Buck knows he's not great at accepting help, but in this case, he recognizes it's a reasonable precaution. "I talked to Maddie already, and we think you should stay with one of us. But we didn't want to make that decision for you, so…yeah, you can decide who you want to stay with while you recover."

Buck quirks a playful eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "And if I said I want to stay with Maddie and not you…what, she'll just come and get me later?"

A soft pink blush spreads over Eddie's cheeks and he looks down at his feet.

"Well…yeah, if you want." He looks up at Buck through his eyelashes. "But Maddie seemed pretty convinced that you'd want to stay with me, and I was already planning on coming here and staying with you all day so…"

Now it's Buck's turn to blush, heat creeping up his neck. Of course, Maddie wouldn't pass up an opportunity to poke her nose where it doesn't belong. And, of course, she's right.

"Well, uh, yeah, if that's okay. I'll stay with you. Like, if that won't put you out too much."

"What?" Eddie raises his eyebrows before rushing out a response. "No, of course it won't put me out. We're on a 72-off, and when I have to go back to work, I'm sure Carla would have no problem helping out. She loves you. I mean, if that's what you want to do, of course."

Buck fully recognizes that they could do this back and forth all day. Instead, though, he decides to just ask for what he wants. He loves Maddie, and spending a few days with his niece and nephew would be great, but…he wants to stay with Eddie and Chris. He misses living with them sometimes, and while he knows things have been a bit off between them lately…he can't resist. Besides, maybe he and Eddie will finally talk. Maybe he can keep chipping away like he did yesterday until he gets Eddie to completely open up.

"Yes, Eddie, I want to stay with you. Unfortunately, my sister knows me better than I'd like to admit."

Eddie smiles, a wide grin that makes his eyes shine, and Buck can't help but smile in return.

"Okay then, you'll stay with me—and Chris."

"Sounds perfect."

As they always do, things take a while to get done in the hospital, so Buck doesn't end up being discharged until well into the afternoon. Doctors and nurses check on him, giving him very specific instructions for his aftercare, and schedule his follow-up appointment. Eventually, finally, Buck's being wheeled out of the hospital, and Eddie helps him ease into his car.

The drive to the Diaz house is uneventful—Buck spends most of it responding to texts from the last 24 hours and staring out the window, comforted by the way they're once again able to just exist in silence without it being awkward.

As they pull off the freeway and start winding their way through the suburbs, Eddie breaks the amicable silence.

"Chris is at a friend's house working on a project, but he'll be dropped off in time for dinner. I was thinking we could order in? Maybe Chinese or pizza?"

"Either is good," Buck responds, turning to look at Eddie. He quickly amends his statement. "Actually, can we do Chinese? Hot and sour soup just feels like it'd hit the spot."

Eddie chuckles. "You got it." He glances over to Buck for a moment before returning his gaze to the road in front of him, checking both ways before turning onto South Bedford Street. "If you're tired, you can just take a nap, or we can watch something or play a game…whatever you want."

"I'm not tired," Buck lies. He's exhausted, but he also wants to spend time with Eddie rather than watching the back of his eyelids. "Let's watch something, I don't care what."

Eddie helps Buck into the house and guides him to the couch. Buck does his best to make himself comfortable while Eddie walks off into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water for Buck, somehow knowing that his throat was dry. Buck accepts the glass with a grateful smile, heart fluttering at the reminder of just how well Eddie knows him, how he can read him

It's a wonder that he hasn't figured it out yet.

Buck does know that he's mostly to blame for the distance between them lately, the awkwardness and the tension. He just thought it would be easier. Because Eddie knows him so well, because he has the ability to read Buck so easily, when he finally accepted that he was in love with his best friend, he really thought putting space between them would be for the best, just until he could figure out how to compartmentalize his feelings.

It's moments like these, though, when Eddie can just look at him and somehow know exactly what he needs, that make Buck wonder how he doesn't know yet.

Maybe he does know, and he's just been politely ignoring it, hoping it would go away. That wouldn't be the worst—at least Eddie's being nice about it, not completely shutting Buck out in disgust.

There is a part of him, though—a very, very small part—that thinks, maybe, Eddie might feel something for him too.

Sometimes he'll catch glances, and the way Eddie looks at him…he doesn't look at anyone else that way, with that much intensity, that much love. The soft touches, the private smiles, just for him. For Buck.

But he always has to shove that part down, especially when it starts to get too loud, too hopeful.

Eddie sees him as a friend, nothing more. And Buck can live with that, he really can. He just needs a bit more time to pack his feelings away.

The TV flickers on, and Eddie starts to scroll to find something for them to watch. They go back and forth, calling out suggestions to one another as they pop up on the screen. Eventually, they land on reruns of a sitcom they've both seen a million times before, both men in need of some comfort and laughs after the last 24+ hours they've had.

Buck settles in, glass of water on the table in front of him, while Eddie sits on the other end of the couch, phone in hand but eyes glued to the TV. It's normal, something they've done a hundred times before. Buck wishes they were a bit closer, wishes he could feel the soft knock of Eddie's knee against his, but this is still good. He loves his best friend, and they're just going to watch some TV together, and that's enough. As long as Buck can have Eddie in his life, as his best friend, he can be fine with this, just this, forever.

"Buck."

He's startled awake by a soft voice saying his name and a gentle hand on his shoulder. He blinks his eyes open, a little disoriented considering he hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. A beautiful, familiar face and warm, honey eyes greet him. Buck can't help but smile back when he sees the sweet smile on Eddie's face.

"Sorry to wake you up, but Chris should be here any minute, and I didn't want you to get startled by him walking in the door."

Eddie's so close that, for a moment, Buck is overwhelmed by the musky, warm scent that's so indescribably Eddie. He takes in a slow, deep breath, wishing there was some way they could stay this close forever.

But then Eddie pulls away, standing up and stretching with his arms high above his head, and it's like a bucket of cold water pulls Buck out of his little fantasy. It takes the force required to pull apart the world's strongest magnets to divert his eyes away from the little strip of skin that appears as Eddie's shirt rises.

Not even a minute after waking, the front door clicks open, and Buck can hear the unmistakable sound of Chris walking into the house. He turns his head as much as he can toward the door, trying his best to suppress a grimace at the pain that throbs throughout his body at the movement.

"Hey, Chris!" Buck calls out brightly, relieved for the distraction but also genuinely happy to see one of his favorite people in the world.

"Buck!" Chris makes his way to Buck's side of the couch as quickly as he can, and Buck instantly relaxes when he comes into view. He's missed seeing Chris every day, and he's so glad he'll get to return to what it was like to live with the Diaz boys again, even if just for a few days.

"Hey, hey, easy buddy," Eddie rushes out from where he's just closed the front door behind Chris.

"Relax, Dad, I know—he's hurt." Chris rolls his eyes in that patented teenage way, and Buck has to bite back a giggle—that sassiness is so Eddie, a definite Diaz trademark. A part of him misses that young Chris who would absolutely have run up to him and smothered him in a hug without hesitation, but he's also grateful, in this instance, that he doesn't have to hide the excruciating pain that would probably cause. Instead, Chris stands before him, somehow even taller than the last time Buck had seen him, and seems to evaluate him before asking a question.

"Can I give you a hug?"

"Of course," Buck responds immediately, already holding out his left arm as a way to beckon Chris into his embrace. He would never turn down a hug from Chris, no matter how much pain he's in.

Chris leans down gently, wrapping his arms around Buck, and Buck can feel his heart melting. This is exactly what he needed.

"I'm glad you're okay," Chris says softly, voice slightly muffled from where his face is buried in Buck's neck.

Buck blinks back the hot sting of tears that threaten to fall as a wave of emotion crashes over him.

"Yeah, me too," he whispers thickly. He runs a soothing hand up and down Chris's back, relishing in the comfort a simple hug can bring for a moment, until Chris pulls back. He adjusts his glasses when he straightens up, and then, as if they hadn't just shared a sweet, sentimental moment—

"What's for dinner?"

They order their usual items from their favorite Chinese restaurant—with extra hot and sour soup—and soon enough they're sitting around the table, plates piled high as Chris relays the tales of an apparently very exciting day at school.

Buck is so comforted by the familiarity—eating dinner together, the three of them, as they've done so many times before—that it makes his heart ache. In a perfect world, this is how things would be, always.

After dinner, they watch a movie together, just like old times, and soon enough, Chris is getting ready for bed while Buck prepares to settle in on the couch for the night.

"What are you doing?"

Buck turns from where he's just pulled the spare pillow and blanket out of the closet. Eddie's giving him a questioning look as he leans out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

Buck thinks it's pretty obvious what he's doing, but he decides to lay it out for Eddie anyway.

"Getting the stuff to set up the couch." He lifts the blanket and pillow for emphasis.

"Yeah, but why? I can do that; you should be getting ready for bed." Eddie sticks the toothbrush back in his mouth, continuing his meticulous brushing.

"I am," Buck says plainly. He's confused—he's pretty sure he's the one who hit his head, not Eddie.

"Wait—" Eddie spits into the sink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning back to Buck. "Do you think you're sleeping on the couch?"

"Well…yeah?"

"Buck," Eddie quickly sets his toothbrush back in its place and fully steps out of the bathroom so he's closer to Buck. "You were just shot, you're taking the bed."

"You were shot too," Buck mumbles under his breath. The look Eddie gives him makes it clear he heard that comment. Honestly, Buck's so tired his bones ache, and he doesn't really have the energy to argue. Besides, he knows just how comfortable Eddie's bed is…and as soon as Eddie breaks out those big brown doe eyes, Buck knows he'll fold like a soggy paper towel anyway. "Fine, we can share the bed."

"Oh, uh, no—that's okay, I'll take the couch," Eddie rushes out, a faint pink glow dusting over his cheeks.

"What? N—no, it's fine. We've slept in the same bed before, man, and I don't want to kick you to the couch in your own house," Buck reasons. He already feels guilty enough for imposing, as if Eddie doesn't have enough to deal with without having to also take care of Buck. He doesn't want to also banish him to the couch for multiple days in a row.

For a moment, it looks like Eddie's going to concede, that he's going to give in and agree to share the bed. But then a look crosses his face that Buck can't quite place.

"No, seriously, it's not a big deal. Besides, what—what if I…roll over in my sleep, or something? Hit you? Kick you? I don't want to risk it. I'll take the couch for a few days, you get the bed. It's fine."

Buck deflates a bit. He'd honestly love nothing more than to share a bed with Eddie again, wake up next to him, maybe tangle up together in the middle of the night. Eddie seems determined, though, to give Buck the bed and take the couch for himself.

"Okay," Buck sighs, trying not to let the disappointment show in his face.

Eddie gives him a tight-lipped smile in response and returns to the bathroom to continue his nightly routine.

They silently finish getting ready for bed, Buck taking another dose of his painkillers in the hopes that they'll help him sleep through the night. Eddie helps adjust the pillows on the bed so that Buck's propped up but still comfortable, positioning them in a way that will hopefully prevent him from rolling over on his side in his sleep. As promised, Eddie then heads out to take up his position on the couch, leaving the door cracked behind him. Almost as soon as he's gone, Buck drifts off to sleep.

A loud pop echoes throughout the air around them, and suddenly—chaos.

Screams erupt in the busy streets of LA, but Buck's focus narrows in on the sight of his best friend, right in front of him, collapsing to the pavement like a rag doll. A pool of blood quickly surrounds Eddie's lifeless body, yet Buck is frozen in place.

"Eddie!" he screams at the top of his lungs, hoping beyond hope that there's someone around to help him. People are running past him in all directions, and yet it's like no one sees him, like no one sees Eddie bleeding out in the middle of the street.

"Please, someone, help! Eddie!" Buck's getting desperate as he watches the blood spread more and more, almost forming a perfect circle around Eddie. And yet, still, he can't move. As much as he desperately wants to run to Eddie, stop the bleeding, make sure his heart is still beating—he can't.

His heart is racing, pounding so hard it feels like it'll burst out of his chest. Why is no one coming to help? Why can't he move?

"Eddie!" he cries out helplessly, tears streaming down his face.

Suddenly, incredibly, a paramedic—someone who Buck vaguely recognizes but can't quite place—emerges from the crowd and crouches over Eddie. This is good—finally, someone's here and is going to help.

But the paramedic doesn't start chest compressions. Instead, he straightens, slowly turns to Buck, and shakes his head.

"What? No! Do something!" The man has to try, he has to try to stop the bleeding, to save Eddie. Buck struggles against an invisible force, wanting to run over and push the paramedic out of the way and do it himself, but it's like he's trapped in a block of ice, frozen solid and helpless.

The paramedic glances down at Eddie's pale, lifeless body once more before he walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

"No! Eddie! Please!" This can't be happening right now, this can't be real. Buck can't function in a world without Eddie; he needs him, he loves him.

Someone touches his face, a soft caress that starts at his forehead and gently cascades down his cheek. Why is someone touching his face right now? Eddie's dead, and he couldn't do anything to save him. He lifts his hand to swipe away at whoever is trying to comfort him and instantly regrets it as searing pain radiates throughout his body.

His eyes fly open, and he gasps for breath, suddenly ripped away from the bright, crowded streets of LA and brought back to the dark quiet of Eddie's bedroom.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're okay," Eddie whispers into the dark. He's crouched over Buck, a hand on his cheek, eyebrows turned up in the middle in concern.

Buck stares at him with wide eyes.

"You're here," he chokes out, voice small and trembling.

"I'm here," Eddie affirms, brushing his thumb across Buck's cheekbone, wiping away the steady stream of tears. "Bad dream?"

Buck nods his head, not daring to take his eyes off Eddie for even a moment. It was just a dream. Eddie's here, he's not dead in the street. In fact, Buck can even feel the soft, barely-there heat of Eddie's breath ghosting across his face—proof of life.

"Can you—" Buck stops himself. Eddie was pretty clear earlier that he didn't want to share a bed, was insistent on taking the couch. Buck doesn't want him to leave, though, doesn't want to let Eddie out of his sight.

"Stay?" Of course, Eddie knows what Buck was going to ask for, what he needs—he always does.

"Yeah," Buck breathes. He searches Eddie's eyes, looking for any sort of annoyance, frustration, hesitance. Instead, all he sees is patience, comfort, and understanding.

Eddie brings his other hand up to wipe away the lingering tears on his other cheek, for a moment cradling Buck's face between his large, warm hands. It's a gesture filled with such quiet intimacy that Buck's heart flutters in his chest, and he feels his breath hitch.

"Of course," Eddie whispers. He leans back and adjusts Buck's pillows for him before rounding the bed and climbing in on the other side. He settles in on his back, a mere few inches between them, his warmth radiating off him.

Buck knows it would probably be painful, but he wants nothing more than for Eddie to roll over and wrap his arms around him.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Eddie asks softly into the quiet room.

"Not really," Buck responds. He doesn't want to relive the nightmare he just endured; Eddie is here, right beside him, alive, and that's what matters.

"Okay."

Buck feels a soft brush against his fingers, and then Eddie's pinky is hooked around his. It's a simple touch, but it means so much.

I'm here. We're safe. You're not alone.

It's yet another gesture from Eddie, another indication that he knows Buck even better than he knows himself sometimes.

Buck lies there next to Eddie, staring up at the ceiling, mind reeling.

The dream hadn't been real, but the fact is that they've both almost died several times over the years. In fact, just yesterday, Buck had died. Again. Does he really want to keep living in this limbo with Eddie? Of pretending nothing has changed between them?

As he's grown older, he's tried to pull back, be less impulsive, think things through before acting. But maybe he's been too careful with this particular situation, thought this through too much. Buck has been so certain that if he ever revealed that his feelings for Eddie are much more than platonic—that he's not sure they ever really have been—he'd lose him. But what if, instead, he gets everything he's ever wanted?

The tiny part of him that he's been shoving down, trying to push away, starts getting louder, and Buck lets it out.

He goes over the last day or so in his mind, then reflects on the past few months, letting that part of him put pieces of a puzzle together. He takes stock of the lingering glances, the gentle touches, everything that Buck had previously chalked up to Eddie being Eddie, to them being best friends.

He dissects all of the pointed words Eddie has said to him, from the you can have my back any day's to the I hope you know you do matter to me's and everything in between.

As he drifts back into an easy, dreamless sleep, his pinky linked with Eddie's, Buck decides that life is too short for what-ifs.

The first thing Buck notices as his mind slowly reboots in the morning is the gentle caress of Eddie's hand against his. He turns his head to look at the man next to him, but immediately hisses at the pain that's sent through his body at the movement.

Eddie sits up quickly, as if Buck's pain had somehow shocked him awake.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning over to Buck's side of the bed and running his eyes up and down Buck's body with concern.

"Yeah, yeah," Buck grimaces. "Just hurts."

"Alright, let's get you some breakfast so you can take your meds." Eddie rolls off the bed, and Buck has to hold back a whine at the loss of contact.

With some help from Eddie, Buck makes it out of the bed and shuffles into the kitchen. He sits, as instructed, and is soon given a simple breakfast of toast with peanut butter along with a piping hot cup of coffee.

"Eat that," Eddie instructs him. "I'm going to make sure Chris is up and getting ready, and when I come back, I'll get you some water, and you can take your meds."

Buck gives Eddie a playfully mocking salute, and he doesn't miss the eyeroll he gets in return before Eddie walks off down the hallway.

He munches on his toast and sips on his coffee as the Diaz boys get ready for Chris to go to school around him.

With a promise to "stay put," as per Eddie's insistence, he's left at home while Eddie drops Chris off at school. He pretty much immediately breaks that promise, getting up to wash the dishes from each of their breakfasts. His painkillers have kicked in, so it doesn't hurt too much to slowly walk around the kitchen, cleaning off the counters as best he can.

Buck has just finished pouring more coffee into each of the mugs on the table when Eddie walks back through the door. He's given a look at the fact that he's on his feet instead of resting, but Eddie doesn't say anything as they sit down at the table next to each other.

"Everything go okay?" Buck asks.

"Yup," Eddie responds before lifting his mug.

They sit in silence, sipping on their coffee, until Buck can't take it anymore.

"Can we do it here?"

Eddie nearly chokes on his coffee, a dribble of brown liquid leaking down his chin. He coughs once, twice, before wiping his chin with his sleeve.

"Do…what?"

It takes Buck a moment to realize how what he just said might have sounded.

"The other day at the hospital, you said, 'we're not doing this here,'" he quickly explains.

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

"I, uh, wasn't sure you would remember that," he says slowly. "You were pretty high on pain meds."

Buck gives him a small, playful smile as that entire conversation replays in his mind.

"Yeah, I was…but I still remember."

Eddie shifts in his chair, fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, takes another sip of his coffee.

"I guess I just…thought, maybe, that we should talk about why things have been so weird between us lately?" Eddie says with a slight frown, eyes fixed on where he's scratching at nothing on the table with his fingernail.

Buck suddenly feels like his heart is in his throat. He knows he brought it up, knows it needs to be talked about, but it's still terrifying. Life is too short, though. He needs to leave it all on the table and just hope that that tiny voice in the back of his mind is somehow correct.

"I…yeah, I—I know I've been kind of distant lately, it's just that…" Buck takes another sip of coffee, letting the warmth comfort him as he prepares to lay his heart out on the table between them. "I realized I have feelings for you, and it's just something I've been dealing with. I'm guessing you figured it out, and that's why you've also been pulling away a bit, and I get it! I really do! I'm trying my best, and I hope—"

"Wait," Eddie cuts him off, and Buck immediately closes his mouth with a snap. "That's not why I've been distancing myself from you."

Buck's eyes widen as Eddie meets his gaze.

"It's not?"

"No," Eddie says with furrowed brows. "I was stepping back because I realized I have feelings for you."

A beat of silence passes between them, and then—

At the same time that Eddie groans, putting his head in his hands, Buck throws his head back, laughing in relief. Of course, there's a part of him that's frustrated that he's wasted so much time trying to push his feelings away, but he's mostly overwhelmingly relieved that Eddie seems to feel the same way.

Eddie lifts his head out of his hands. "You mean to tell me this whole time I've been worried about being obvious about my feelings for you, and you've felt the same way?"

Even Eddie's slightly distressed face makes Buck giggle, giddy that, for once, it feels like everything's going to work out.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Eddie runs a hand down his face and chuckles. "Oh, we're both idiots, aren't we?"

"Apparently." He sips his coffee, a bemused smile still on his face. "We should probably work on our communication."

A look falls over Eddie's face, a sort of confident determination that Buck doesn't think he's seen before.

"Yeah, we should. I'll start." Eddie looks Buck in the eye, dark brown eyes intense and focused. "I love you. And not just in like a 'I love you because you're my best friend' kind of way. As in I'm in love with you, and I want to be more than friends."

Buck takes a beat to take that in. It was intense, direct, and exactly what he needed to hear.

"That's good, because I feel the same way," he says softly. At Eddie's raised eyebrow, he keeps going. "I love you, too, and I would also like to be more than friends."

It feels a little awkward to say it out loud, to put it so plainly, but based on the smile that crosses Eddie's face, he knows it landed perfectly.

"Good," Eddie says, leaning back in his chair.

"Good," Buck echoes, tracing a finger along the handle of his mug.

Another silence falls between them as they sit across from each other, a calm energy settling between them. They both nod to themselves, looking at their coffee mugs in front of them with soft smiles on their faces. Buck's not exactly sure where they go from here.

Then, Eddie surges forward, practically lifting out of his seat, and covers Buck's mouth with his own. It takes Buck a moment to register what's happening, and then he's melting into the kiss. Eddie tastes like coffee and cinnamon and something a little sweet and home.

His heart hammers away as a tiny voice in the back of his mind tells him that this is just the first kiss of many, that he and Eddie can just do this now.

He brings a hand up to cup the back of Eddie's neck, pulling him in closer as he feels Eddie's fingers comb through his curls.

Eventually, they part, only pulling back enough to press their foreheads together.

"I've been wanting to do that for so long," Eddie breathes.

They're so close that Eddie's face is a bit blurry, but Buck can see the grin splitting Eddie's face, mirroring the one on his own.

"Please don't ever stop doing that," Buck murmurs. Now that he's gotten a taste of what it's like to kiss Eddie, he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

"Deal," Eddie agrees before leaning in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate.

He braces himself against the back of Buck's chair with one arm as they continue to kiss, Buck leaning up and smiling into it. He runs a hand up Eddie's chest as he parts his lips, an open invitation that Eddie readily accepts.

Buck almost can't believe, after the whirlwind of the last 48 hours, that he actually has everything he could ever want.

Sometimes all it takes is a little push—and maybe a bullet to the chest.