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Each step feels heavier than the last.
Grime coats Eddie from the top of his scalp to the soles of his feet, soot and dirt and a thick layer of dust from broken cement. It’s gritty and grating against his oversensitive skin, pimpled where he’s shivering from overheating in his turnouts. That same layer of dust coats the back of his throat and the inside of his lungs, too, and every thudding step is followed by an accompanying wheeze. One of his lungs might be partially collapsed, he thinks distantly, but that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter, right now. He’s fine. He’s alive.
Eddie shifts the weight in his hands when it starts to slip, hoisting it up more firmly. It’s long since stopped moving, but he carries it anyway. It’s not even really all that heavy.
There’s a light up ahead at the end of the corridor. Just a little further, now.
His legs are monstrously unsteady. He’s not even very aware of it— it feels like a distant sensation, merely an echo of jellied limbs and sticky sweat drying in his eyes where it drips down from his brow. Like it’s happening to someone else, and Eddie is merely a spectator. He stumbles over loose debris and catches himself against the closest wall, leaning his weight on his bad shoulder and hissing at the shock of pain that rocks through his nerves. Eddie grits his teeth against it, but it does nothing to soothe the ache. Even his gums feel raw and sore.
He manages one step, and then another, balancing himself upright again, and when he finally makes it to the opening he summons every ounce of strength he has left to stumble through it and collapse to the ground. The concrete is harsh on his knees, even through all those sweat-soaked layers of fabric.
“Eddie!” he hears, multiple voices, and he tries to lift his head up but the flashing siren lights make his vision swim. He holds one feeble hand up to block it out, gulping in the night air like knives in his throat.
There are people swarming him, taking off his helmet and kneeling down next to him, moving as if sped up while his hazy, slow-motion brain struggles to process. “I tried,” he croaks out, flinching away from the gloved, sterile hands that examine him. “I tried, I tried to save him,” he says, his voice choking and thick and desperate, and he clutches the body of the lifeless kid in his arms with a wet sob. Four, maybe five years old, he can’t remember. Tears blur his vision, stinging against dry red eyes, but when he lifts his head up he manages to make out some familiar faces: Chimney and Hen, kneeling next to him on the hard pavement, agony twisting up their expressions. Ravi, his hair curling up in damp, messy waves across his flushed forehead, brows pinched together solemnly. Athena, one hand resting on her belt, her lips carefully tight. And behind her—
Buck, standing lost and dazed amidst all the mayhem, face falling when their eyes meet. Eddie, he thinks he sees Buck mouth, but it’s too loud to hear him over all the noise.
“I tried,” Eddie says weakly, one last time, before he succumbs to the white-hot lightheaded sensation tugging at his brain stem, and he falls limply into Hen’s panicked arms.
The first thing he registers is the steady beeping of his heart monitor.
The second thing he registers is the wild flare of pain in his ribs and shoulders when he shifts in his hospital bed, sucking in a hissed breath between his teeth. The sharp air makes him notice how sour and dry his mouth feels. He cracks open his eyes, his lids fluttering weakly as he adjusts to the harsh overhead lighting.
“Eddie,” he hears beside him, quiet and almost hopeful, and he turns his head on the pillow to glance over at the owner of said voice. As if he wouldn’t recognize it anywhere.
“Buck,” Eddie says, the consonants breaking on his cracked dry throat. It rumbles when he clears it with a stuttered cough. Buck is standing next to his bedside, leaning over him to catch his eyes. He’s still dressed in the grimy navy blue LAFD shirt he was wearing under his turnouts, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He looks so relieved.
Eddie can’t say the same.
“Thank god you’re okay,” Buck breathes out, eyelashes fluttering. His chest deflates. “I was so—”
“How could you do that?”
The words spill out of him before he’s even cognizantly aware of forming them. They come out acid-soaked, bitter where it lies residual on his tongue. Buck is visibly taken aback, jerking his head back like Eddie struck him with his words. He almost wants to apologize, to suck them right out of the air and take them back, but the empty, aching void in his gut demands otherwise. There is a hollowness there that persists.
“You knew it was dangerous,” Eddie continues, his lips smashed together tight to keep himself in check. “You knew the roof was structurally unstable. Chimney ordered you not to go. I begged you not to go. And then you charged in anyway.”
“Eddie—” Buck starts, downtrodden.
“We went in after you,” Eddie says. The anger perks him up a bit, adrenaline overriding the lingering effects of the drugs. Anger is an easier feeling than grief, right now. His words still slur a bit with the effort. “Me and Ravi, we charged in after you.”
“I couldn’t just stand there, Eddie, they were just kids—”
Buck cuts himself off, and Eddie’s heart pangs with the still-fresh memories while they gaze helplessly into the other’s eyes. Gloved fingers desperately checking for a pulse, praying and praying he would find one— despite knowing he wouldn’t— and the despaired cry when his worst fears were confirmed.
A fresh body, still warm, and the palpable vacuum of space in the room. Too many bodies, and not enough souls.
“And look what happened,” Eddie says bitterly. Buck’s face falls.
“I don’t want to fight,” he says quietly, and Eddie’s shoulders deflate where they’d started to tense up. The exhale he lets loose is long and shaky, and when his lungs are finally empty he finds the anger has gone with it. He wants to be mad— wants to cry and scream and yell, wants everything to make sense— but the guilt in Buck’s eyes won't make the pain go away. It won’t undo the life that’s already been lost.
Through the windows behind Buck’s head he can see Hen and Chim disembark from the elevator, scrubbed clean and changed into their street clothes. They walk up to the nurse’s station with slow, trepidation-filled steps, turning their heads in sync when she points over to Eddie’s room. He lifts one arm to give them a weak wave.
“Hey, look who’s awake,” Hen softly says when they poke their heads through the door. Chimney looks exhausted, red-rimmed eyes highlighted by dark, puffy circles beneath them.
“Only just,” Eddie says. Buck has gone still next to him, silently hovering where he stands beside Eddie’s bed.
“How are you feeling?” Hen prods, pulling up a chair on his right side to sit closer to him. She grabs his hand with both of her own, cupping his fingers with the dry warmth of her palms. It feels soothing.
“Like a building fell on me,” he says dryly, and she gives him a wry smile— almost amused, but not quite.
“How’s your pain level?” Chimney prods, ever the medic despite his promotion. He fidgets, crossing his arms over his chest, fingers restlessly tapping against his ribcage. He’s not chewing any gum for once.
“Physical or emotional?” Eddie says, and he immediately regrets it when Hen and Chimney’s faces fall. Hen cranes her neck to look up at Chimney where he’s standing beside her, who looks down at her warily in return. “I’m fine, you guys,” he quickly corrects. His throat bobs, swallowing thickly. “I mean, I’ll—I’ll be fine.”
“Eddie,” Chim says forlornly, almost pitying, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut to block it out. There’s a ringing in his ears, hollow now, and the dull echo of his heart thudding against his sore ribcage makes the monitor start beeping faster. He can’t do this.
“Just— let’s not talk about it right now, okay?” Eddie begs. His left hand, the one closest to Buck, twitches where it rests on the sheets. “Please. I’m exhausted.” When he opens his eyes again Hen and Chim are looking at each other, silently communicating. He envies that.
“...Okay,” Hen finally says, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “You should get some rest. We’ll ask the nurse to call us when you wake up.”
He squeezes her hand back gratefully and finds himself missing the contact just as soon as it breaks. His eyelids are already drooping from the weight of his exhaustion. He thinks maybe one of them hit the button for his morphine, actually; he feels a little looser than he did a couple minutes ago, his head going foggy and dreamy as it sinks into the pillow.
“Let’s let him sleep,” Chim says quietly, and Eddie fights the pull of his tired eyes, watching as Chim and Hen file out of the room, Buck not far behind. He lingers by the door, looking back at Eddie with wide, bright eyes, before making up his mind and wordlessly trudging back into the room. Eddie blinks, slow and sluggish, and then Buck is settled into the chair at Eddie’s left side, his long legs tucked up beneath the plastic.
His left hand remains empty and cold as he slips into a dreamless slumber.
“You really should let me take Christopher for a few days.”
Eddie looks up at Pepa where she’s leaning over him, fluffing the pillows behind his back to prop him up carefully against the headboard. “That’s really not necessary.”
“How are you going to take care of him in this state?” she says, visibly exasperated. “You can barely walk.”
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “I can walk just fine, thank you. It’s just a little tender.”
“Tender,” she repeats mockingly. “You know, this wouldn’t be a problem if you let me try setting you up again.”
His eyes flicker away as his jaw tightens, and he purses his lips playfully to try and ease the tension he feels burrowing at the base of his spine. “I do not need to go on any more dates with strangers,” he says firmly, and then looks back up at her and adds, “I can take care of the both of us just fine. I have plenty of friends and coworkers who can pitch in. Besides… I could use the company, right now.”
Her expression melts into something soft and maternal, and she delicately cups his cheek with dry, aging hands. “Are you sure you’re okay, mi ‘Mundo?” she asks quietly.
Eddie swallows nervously, saliva flooding his mouth and making his throat slick. “I’m fine,” he says, for what feels like the thousandth time in two days, but each time he says it he feels less and less sure of himself. “Other than, you know, being cursed.”
“Don’t joke like that,” she reprimands, before soothing his cheek with her thumb. He’s got a couple days’ worth of stubble building up, and it’s scratchy beneath her fingernail. “You have a soft heart. I worry about you.”
He smiles and exhales at that, pushing his cheek into her touch and reaching up to pat the back of her hand. “You don’t need to,” he assures.
“Who else will?” she jokes, a teasing glint in her eye, and Eddie manages a wobbly smile as his gut sinks into the floor. She presses a dry kiss onto his forehead with a promise to stop by tomorrow with food for the both of them, and Eddie waits until the front door clicks shut to allow himself to exhale. He doesn’t hesitate to reach for the prescription bottle on his nightstand, grimacing at the bruising stretch of his muscles, and knocks back a tiny pill into his waiting mouth. It goes down dry.
It all just feels like a bit much, right now.
The pain meds make his head go foggy, quiet enough to really feel the tug of sleep, and he naps restlessly in his mountain of pillows for a while. It’s dark when he wakes up, and it feels liminal and cozy for a few seconds. Like he’s lost in a timeless little bubble. No pain, no grief, and no expectations.
“Hey,” Buck says from the doorway.
Eddie startles and turns to look at him, rubbing the blur from his vision. “Hey,” he croaks out, before struggling to sit upright. “How long have you—?”
“Not long,” Buck says. He strides quietly into the room, easing himself down at the foot of Eddie’s bed. Eddie moves his feet up to give him room, which is— silly, really. He fights a wince at the pressure that puts on his ribs. “You look like shit,” Buck adds, and Eddie can’t help the snort that slips out. It eases whatever uncertainty had been accumulating, like swiping away old cobwebs. Good as new.
“Yeah, you look like a real model yourself,” Eddie quips back. Buck’s face lights up with a smile, lips parting to show off his white teeth, ducking his head like he’s bashful, and it’s so achingly familiar that Eddie almost forgets to be mad at him. Maybe he just doesn’t have it in him to be angry anymore. Maybe he could just… really use his best friend, right now. For however long he’s got him. Maybe pushing people away just isn’t gonna cut it for him anymore. “I’m starving, I haven’t eaten real food since breakfast yesterday. Chinese?”
Buck pauses, blinking at him for a handful of seconds. “Well, I was thinking Thai food, actually,” he says with a little smirk, voice pitched up like they’re both in on the joke. Eddie rolls his eyes and moves to sit up out of his bed.
“I think your voting privileges have been revoked,” he says in a thin voice, hissing in a harsh breath against the pain. Buck moves forward on instinct, hands outstretched to help, but Eddie placates him with one flat palm in the air as if to say, I’m fine. “In a just world, you’d be doing my laundry and cooking all my meals for the next two months.”
“Hey, if we agreed to that every time I Buck-ed something up, I think I’d’ve racked up lifelong indentured servitude,” Buck laughs. He says it like he wouldn’t probably love that. He watches, patiently, as Eddie stands and balances himself on his own. “You good?”
Eddie blows out a stiff breath. “Yeah,” he grunts, tightening his mouth as he starts moving down the hallway towards Chris’ room. He raps on the flat of his door with two knuckles. “Buddy? You awake?”
A pause, and then in a flat voice Chris replies, “yeah.”
“I’m ordering food,” Eddie says, and he shifts his weight when there’s an extended silence. “You want anything?”
“No,” Christopher says through the door, and Eddie presses his forehead to the wood. I’m sorry, he doesn’t say.
“Text me if you change your mind,” he says instead, before hobbling into the living room and collapsing on the couch. Buck settles into his usual spot to his left.
“He’s not mad at you, you know,” Buck says after a while. Eddie looks up from his phone, thumb still hovering over the chow mein. Buck’s favorite.
“I’d almost prefer it if he was,” Eddie says bitterly, before exhaling and scrunching up his lips unhappily. “Be easier if everything was my fault. At least then I could do something about it.” Atone for it, he almost says.
“You’re just injured, alright?” Buck says quietly. “Not dead or anything. You have no idea how relieved he was when he saw you in that bed.”
His jaw pulses. “He shouldn’t have to be, okay?” he whispers harshly, angry tears beading hot at his waterline. “He’s fourteen. He shouldn’t have to be— worrying about whether or not I come home alive. Maybe— Maybe I should just—”
“What, quit again?” Buck scoffs. He doesn’t respond. “Eddie.”
“Yes, okay?” Eddie hisses, looking over his shoulder down the hall. The door is still firmly closed shut. “Maybe it’d be better for the both of us. After everything that’s…” he trails off, looking away and twisting his lips to fight the quiver building in his throat. Looking at Buck makes everything feel a little too real, right now, and he wants to go back to that safe, liminal space he’d woken up in. “Maybe I should just quit.”
It’s quiet for a while. The house itself is near silent; Eddie tries to focus on the things he can hear. His own breathing, for one thing, his chest rising shallowly as he sucks in air. The fridge running in the kitchen, the fan running in Christopher’s room, the distant passing of cars out on the street. Eddie closes his eyes and buries his brow in his hand and stews in it.
“I don’t want you to quit,” Buck says, finally breaking the tranquil silence.
Eddie looks back over at him, tired and resigned. He exhales, amused, but doesn’t quite smile. “I should stay because you want me to?” he asks, everything in his tone screaming, do you see how ridiculous that sounds?
“Yes,” Buck says without a shred of insincerity.
Eddie nods to himself, and then he picks his phone back up again to look at his online order. He wordlessly adds the chow mein to his cart, and the scent of it lingers in his kitchen for the rest of the night.
Frank’s office still smells the same.
It’s a weird thought to latch onto; he hasn’t been in this office in years, hasn’t sunk into Frank’s plush armchair with the weight of the world laying heavy on his shoulders. The olfactory senses are hard to tune out, though, and familiarity drapes over him like a warm shawl: Clean and sterile, like the antibacterial soap from the restrooms. Oaky and earthy, from the smooth spread of his beard oil. The acidic tang from the cooling mug of coffee resting on the table next to him, half-full and billowing out rich plumes of steam.
“It’s good to see you,” Frank says, and he gives Eddie a sort of half-smile, lips scrunched up while his eyes crinkle. It’s only been a few years, but he looks so much older than Eddie remembers. Maybe he’s getting old, too. “I’m glad you came in.”
“Don’t look too happy, it was LAFD mandated,” Eddie says lightheartedly, and Frank cracks a more sincere grin at that. He’d tried to wave it off, had been rather insistent in fact, but then Chimney had tightened his lips into a no-nonsense line and said you’re going, Diaz, and that’s final with an accusatory point of his index finger. Eddie had easily caved. “Honestly, I don’t think this is necessary.”
“Why’s that?” Frank asks, settling back into his chair with steepled hands. Waiting for Eddie to start talking on his own.
“Your tells are very obvious, you know,” Eddie says, and he cuts his eyes away to stare at the wallpaper. His chest expands, slowly, and on the exhale he feels what little fight he has in him drain away. “I’m just— used to death, is all,” he says tiredly, rubbing at his eyes.
“Is there any such thing?” Frank asks bluntly. “I think perhaps you’ve just gotten better at compartmentalizing it, is all.”
Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I mean, sure, I dunno. We all have, especially since…” he trails off.
It surprises him, the little pang he still feels, dim where it’s buried deep in his chest. He gently presses his knuckles to his sternum, as if he could put pressure on it to dull the pain.
“Since Captain Nash?” Frank supplies when Eddie doesn’t complete the thought.
Eddie’s mouth twists, corkscrewing unhappily to the side. “Bobby,” he corrects.
“Bobby,” Frank says. “We could talk about him, if you’d like.”
He seriously considers it, for a moment— considers cracking open his jaw and letting the words pour forth, everything he never got to stay. Every sour, wretched, guilty thought that never left the confines of his mind, late at night when he would clutch at his chest and grit his teeth and stain his pillow with tears.
But the moment has passed. That was then, and this was now.
“No, thanks,” Eddie says quietly.
Frank lets out a little sigh, and then gives him another one of those half-smiles. “Okay,” he concedes, before picking up the pen in his lap. “Why don’t you tell me about the call to the parking garage?”
“Hospital,” Eddie says. “It was a hospital.”
They all know, way after the fact, what caused the explosion— a bitter husband, angry at the system that let his wife suffer without treatment, without meds, until the very second she died. He drove his unassuming little jalopy to the underground garage beneath the hospital, already rigged, and parked until he had the courage to hit the detonate button. What they didn’t know, at the time, was the who and why of it all, whether there were more set to explode, what the motivation was—
Things that shouldn’t have mattered. They had a job to do. But the lingering possibility of danger and structural instability had them playing it safe, right up until—
“S—S—” the guy on the stretcher stutters, garbled and thick through the blood he’s still choking on.
“Sir, don’t try to speak, we’re going to get you out of here,” Hen reassures, listening to the crackles in his chest while they extract him from the rubble. “Just hang tight.”
“Sav—” the guy coughs again, and then his arm flails out and grabs Buck by the front of his turnouts, hauling him closer. “Savannah,” he finally manages, wincing from the pain. “Please.”
“Savannah?” Buck says to him, picking his head up to meet everyone else’s eyes. They collectively shrug. “Sir, who is—”
“My daughter,” he rasps. “She was with my— my nephew— they’re only—”
They all go a bit pale, looking to each other for god knows what; guidance, reassurance, maybe for one of them to say oh, yeah, we extracted them already. None of them do, though, and they pick up the pace to get back outside and out of the horrible, choking, claustrophobic mess of rubble.
“Command, this is Captain Han,” Chim says as he thumbs the radio on his shoulder. “Do we have eyes on a young girl named Savannah? Last seen—” he looks behind him, his face going dark at the grim scene before them. “Somewhere on the second floor.” He leaves out the unspoken, what’s left of it. They’ve barely received the dreaded confirmation that no, they haven’t, before Buck starts running back towards the building.
“Buckley!” Chim yells, and Buck twists around while still backing up. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“We have to find them,” Buck bellows out over all the noise; so, so much noise. Sirens and car alarms and the shrill, screaming warning from the smoke detectors. People yelling over each other, barking orders, crying out in pain.
“By yourself?” Hen yells out.
“It’s not safe, Buck,” Chim says. “That column is gonna collapse at any second and who knows what comes crashing down with it.”
“Exactly,” Buck roars, and then he breaks out into a jog and runs directly towards the chaos.
“Buck, get back here!” Eddie yells, wiping the sweat from his brow, and Chim yanks the entire radio off his shoulder to scream directly into it.
“Buck, this is not the time to be a hero,” he says. “If you don’t get back out here and work out a safe plan, you’re fired.” Silence on the other end. Eddie’s ears block out all other noise— he thinks he could hear a pin drop right now. “I mean it this time,” he warns, and then he’s crying out in frustration and spinning around to smack the radio into his forehead. “Final warning,” he says into the receiver, his voice pitching up like he’s desperate.
“Cap, let us go help,” Ravi suggests, pleading, and Eddie nods and steps forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “If he does actually find those kids…”
Chimney stews on it for the longest moment of Eddie’s life. “Fine, okay, go,” Chim says, his eyes wide and his face unhappy. “I’m really gonna kill him this time,” he mutters, huffing, but his voice is wet and sort of choked.
“Let me bring him back safe and sound first,” Eddie says, nodding solemnly, and Chimney gives him a nod back.
“You better,” Chim says.
His first day back at work is a quiet affair. He’s still recovering, still a bit bruised around the edges, but he needs the distraction; needs to do anything other than lay around the house with just his own thoughts keeping him company. He’s on light duty for now, and the look on everyone’s face when he strolls into the bay makes it worth every gritted hiss of persisting pain.
“You missed a spot,” Buck childishly crows where he’s hovering behind him.
Eddie’s lips purse in faux-annoyance, and he turns to lift one brow at him. Buck’s lips are quirking up where he’s clearly trying to cover a smirk. “Very helpful,” he says dryly, whipping the rag over his shoulder.
“And one down there, too,” Buck says, pointing at the spot with his finger, though Eddie doesn’t turn to look. “Real shoddy workmanship.”
“It hurts my ribs to bend down that far,” Eddie says. He pivots a hundred and eighty degrees to stride towards the stairs, and he can feel Buck trailing after him. “Besides, it’s almost time for lunch, anyways, and I’m stuck on cooking duty.”
“Some say stuck, others would say blessed,” Buck says from behind him. “What’s, uh, on the menu?”
“Fish loaf surprise, of course,” Eddie says sarcastically. He strolls into the empty kitchen. Over his shoulder he throws out, “the surprise is food poisoning.”
“Just like Nana used to make,” Buck sighs wistfully, one hand cartoonishly rubbing his belly. Eddie cracks open the fridge to pull out the defrosted pork shoulder. “Pozole?” he guesses.
Eddie does a double-take, blinking at Buck in surprise. “Uh— yeah,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly and turning back to the fridge. He pulls out the bag of onions. “Lucky guess.”
“Nah,” Buck says, settling into a stool at the counter. “You always crave it when you’re sick.”
Eddie flushes at the notion— he feels unabashedly and shamelessly seen right now. “I’m not sick,” he scoffs, turning the sink on to wash his hands, running his fingers under the tap until the water is warm.
“Comfort food, then,” Buck offers, and Eddie digs his teeth into his cheek until the water turns scalding.
“Buck,” Ravi calls out, cupping both hands over his mouth to help the sound travel farther. He and Eddie wade through piles of debris and broken concrete, sliding over the cars that block their path. “Buck, can you hear me?”
It’s getting dark out now, and the light from the flashlights clipped to their turnouts is meager at best. Dust settles in the air around them in heavy layers and the light cuts through it like a thick fog, dimming their view even further. “Buck!” Eddie yells.
“Over here!” they hear Buck roar, distantly, and the two of them whip their heads around to catch the source of it. Eddie breaks out into a jog, Ravi not far behind, and Eddie’s chest throbs in relief when he turns the corner and finds Buck with the two kids. The boy is a little older, maybe seven or eight, and he’s got broken glasses on his small, agonized face, desperately trying to lift a slab of concrete off of his cousin. She’s small— smaller than Eddie was expecting, and it makes his adrenaline kick into overdrive. Eddie and Ravi rush in and take the weight from him.
“Ravi, take him,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, pushing against the floor with his feet to give him better leverage. “Get him outside and then get back here with a jack fast.”
Ravi almost looks like he wants to fight him on that, but then he pinches his lips into a tight line and gives Eddie a solemn nod, backing away and kneeling down to scoop the kid up into his arms. The weight increases substantially without him helping, and Eddie and Buck both grunt at the pressure pushing down on them.
“Come on,” Buck grits out, his breathing harsh and wobbly. “Almost there.”
Eddie finds whatever remaining strength he has left in his reserves, and so must Buck, because they push with a coordinated heave and free the slab up and away from her body, throwing it as far as they can. It lands with a quaking thud, rocking the foundation of the concrete, and the floor beneath them shifts unsteadily.
They both freeze, shifting their helmets to look up at the crackling ceiling above them. No, god, Eddie thinks, they need more time, they need to get the girl, Ravi still has to get out with the boy—
Eddie dives for the girl, scared and small and bleeding sluggishly from a wound in her head, and scoops her into his arms. He’s backing away and straightening his spine when the floor starts to give, and one foot slides down into the newly gaping crevasse forming. His heart leaps up into his throat, and he clutches the girl tighter by instinct, ready to cushion the fall with his body, when one firm hand reaches out and yanks him back by the arm.
“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, looking into Buck’s face with wide, terrified eyes.
“I got you,” Buck says, and then the ceiling collapses and everything goes dark.
He’s completely exhausted by the time they get home from the church.
“Boy, that was a real snoozefest,” Buck says, hands crossed firmly over his chest where he’s leaning against the counter. “Starting to feel extremely grateful my parents only busted out church for special occasions. You know, Christmas Eve, Easter mass, that kinda stuff.”
Eddie snorts and shakes his head, fiddling with the buttons of his sleeve so he can push them up to the elbow. The sink is full to the brim with dirty dishes, and he’s sick of looking at it. He needs to bring these pans back to Pepa, anyway. “Don’t tell me. You were the menace child who would kick the pew in front of them the entire time.”
“Guilty,” Buck says with a little shit-eating grin. “Airplanes, too, which is probably why we never flew anywhere.”
“I figured you were just selective about the peanuts,” Eddie quips, grabbing the sponge and getting to work. It’s easy, mindless labor, and it settles him for a while— lets his brain go blank while he focuses on the mess in front of him. He can feel Buck’s eyes on him the entire time, can feel his presence lurking behind him, quietly observing.
“You didn’t say anything,” Buck says after a while.
“Hm?” Eddie distractedly hums, frowning at a stubborn piece of dry food. He scrubs at it harder, brows furrowed tightly in concentration.
“At the church.”
Eddie falters for a moment, freezing like a deer in headlights, before resuming his scrubbing. “Not much to say,” he answers vaguely.
Buck scoffs behind him. “Eddie,” he says doubtfully.
“I just mean—” Eddie starts, dropping his plate back into the sink. The dry piece of food smugly mocks him, and he feels his jaw pulse with frustration. “It’s nobody’s business. How I feel. About any of it.”
“Okay,” Buck says quietly. Eddie’s gut feels tight. “But you should still say it.”
Eddie exhales. “To who? You?”
“If you want,” Buck says.
Eddie’s throat bobs. He hangs his head between his shoulders and laughs self-deprecatingly. “If only it were that simple,” he says vaguely. He rubs at his brow with his thumbnail, ignoring the queasy way his stomach flips.
“It can be.”
Eddie turns to look at him over his shoulder, and the expression he finds there— so steady and sure, so vulnerable but unwavering— it makes his whole body churn. Like he’s been rotating around like a spin top, and he’s just finally wobbled over.
His whole world, spinning on its axis, and now things have finally begun to slow. And Eddie’s dizzier than ever.
“Fine,” he says, curtly, grabbing his keys off the table. “Let’s go, then.”
The first thing Eddie notices when he finally comes to is the pressure on his chest— it feels crushed and compacted, like he can’t suck in a full breath. He tries lifting his head up to get a look at his surroundings, but it makes everything go tilted and hazy, and his vision goes wrong and blurry.
“Buck,” he tries, but the word barely escapes his lips, fizzling out into the dry, dusty air. He groans, and his world shifts precariously, and Eddie maybe passes out again— it’s hard to tell when everything is just searing pain and ragged breaths and wheezing coughs. He tries, desperately, to shake himself out of it, and he opens his stinging eyes again. “Buck,” he says, more firmly now, when he notices the arm lying still next to him, almost draped over him, and that’s what makes him realize just exactly where Buck is; curled over him and the girl, protectively encasing them with his body.
“Buck,” he tries again, struggling to get up now, to push Buck off of them to get a good look at them both. His sides flare up with pain; broken ribs, probably, and a concussion most definitely, and when he pushes with his feet he feels a twinge of pain in his ankle, too. The blood is rushing in his ears, drowning everything out; he only feels Buck’s name on his lips through the vibration of his vocal chords. But he keeps saying it, over and over, trying to get his attention.
When he finally manages to push Buck off of them he goes to check the girl first, two gloved fingers checking the pulse at her neck. It’s faint, but present, which is good enough for him. He turns then to shake Buck’s chest, still unresponsive.
“Buck, come on, buddy, wake up,” he says, rubbing his sternum in a desperate attempt to get him alert. He cradles his limp head with both hands, praying and praying for those eyes to crack open, for Buck to groan and suck in a breath and maybe say Eddie’s name.
He pulls one gloved hand away to check Buck’s pulse, but he stops when he sees what’s smeared there, all over the palm of his hand—
Grey matter.
And Eddie feels cold.
He kills the engine as soon as they pull up to the cemetery, and then there’s no noise at all— no rumbling engine, no radio, nothing. Just Eddie, breathing heavily, and the leathery squeak where his hands are tightly gripping the wheel. They’d been quiet the entire drive over while Eddie thought about what to say, but now that they’re here he finds himself at a loss for words. He’s just so, so, so—
He’s angry. He’s heartbroken. He wants all of this to go away.
Eddie ducks his head forward to press it against the back of his hands, white-knuckled, and heaves out a dry sob.
“I was supposed to have more time,” Eddie says, the syllables cracking where he’s holding back the tears. “I thought— I thought we had more time.”
“Eddie,” Buck says gently.
“I should be mad at you,” Eddie hisses. “It would be so fucking easy to be mad at you. But instead, I’m just— I’m just mad at myself.” He turns to look at Buck then with pinched up brows, and his whole chest goes melty and liquid at the look he finds. Has Buck always looked at him like this? Soft and sweet and— like Eddie was his entire world? “You left me,” he whispers, and then his waterline runs hot and wet. “You left me.”
“I know,” Buck whispers.
Eddie’s mouth twists up, and he turns to look out the driver’s side window, lips quivering as he tries to hold it together. He’s not even sure for whose benefit, anymore. “Have you been— sticking around just for me?” he sniffs, running the back of his hand under his nose. “If you’re even really here,” he scoffs self-deprecatingly. “If I haven’t lost my damn marbles.”
“Oh, you definitely have lost them,” Buck says lightheartedly, and Eddie cracks out a wet laugh at that, turning to give Buck an affronted expression. Buck grins back at him.
“I’m baring my soul here, man,” Eddie says.
“I am a soul,” Buck counters, and then adds, “man.”
Eddie shakes his head and laughs, and then laughs again, and again, and then Buck is laughing too, and tears slip out of the corner of his eyelids and his face goes red with how hard he’s laughing; full bodied and gasping for air, cheeks hurting from being stretched so wide. He feels a little manic, actually, but maybe he’s earned a little crazed laughter.
“You are so…” Eddie starts, wiping the snot and the tears from his flushed face.
“Funny?” Buck offers. “Eternally handsome? Thoughtfully observant?”
“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says, taking in his visage with fond eyes. “Let’s go with that.”
A breeze blows in through the window, cooling off his overheated face. He just stares at Buck while Buck stares back, like he’s imprinting the image of him on the back of his eyelids. That wouldn’t be so bad, actually; if every time he blinked, Buck was there.
“...That girl,” Buck says quietly, shifting his eyes around Eddie’s face. “Savannah. Is she…?”
Eddie nods at him, a subtle little jerk of his chin. “She’s alive.”
Buck’s chest deflates with a heaving sigh. “Good. That’s good.” And he had to have known, really, all the time he’s spent lurking around Eddie, but— but maybe he just needed to hear Eddie say it.
Maybe he’s just waiting for Eddie to move on.
“I miss you,” Eddie says, like Buck isn’t right in front of him. It feels ridiculous. His throat goes tight again, and he fights the urge to tremble his fat lip and cry about how unfair it is.
“Me too,” Buck says somberly, almost equally ridiculous. He wants to reach out and touch him more than anything, and the thought of never getting to makes the pain wash freshly all over him. It knocks him on his ass, every time, just how painful grief is. Just when you think you’re on solid land, another wave drags you back under. Vertigo of the highest degree.
“I should’ve…” Eddie starts, and his mouth twists unhappily. I should’ve hugged you more. I should’ve invited you over more. I should’ve let myself look when every cell in my body told me I had to glance away.
I shouldn’t have taken us for granted. I shouldn’t have put up so many boundaries. I shouldn’t have had so much trouble admitting what I really wanted. What we both really wanted. Was it possible to mourn a life you hadn’t even lived? Auxiliary grief for something he had never even known.
“I know,” Buck says. It remains, as always, unspoken between them. But it’s not accusatory; it feels warm, and safe. Buck always makes him feel safe.
Eddie looks out towards the cemetery. He can see Buck’s plot, just a few rows inward, the dirt mound still fresh where the earth was recently dug up. He hadn’t let himself linger on it too long, when they were lowering the casket into the ground, gritting his teeth and cutting his eyes to the spectating presence just a few meters away; still wearing his uniform, still caked in dust. Watching it all happen with a calm, peaceful gaze. Like he was still keeping an eye on his team.
“I’m gonna go over there,” he says, still looking out the window. He pulls the key out of the ignition, and his heart flutters erratically. “You coming?”
There’s a beat of silence. “...Nah,” Buck says nonchalantly. “You go on without me.”
Never, Eddie doesn’t say, still looking towards the grave. I could never.
He gets out of the truck without looking back, drawn towards the headstone as if by magnetism. Every step feels heavier than the last.
He sinks down into the dirt, legs crossed, uncaring about the stain. He settles his hands on his knees and closes his eyes, shutting away the visual image before him, etched in marble: Loving brother, devoted uncle, caring friend.
Eddie feels the phantom presence of a warm, comforting hand settle in the space between his neck and shoulder. He savors it, leaning into it and inhaling for one, two, three full seconds. The air smells good; like fresh dew and a soft spring breeze, warmed by the mid-morning sun. He exhales for one, two, three, and he feels his shoulders relax and let go of some of the tension. Eddie reaches up slowly, reaching, reaching…
His hand encircles a wrist— or just the shade of one, really— and the pressure turns into a gentle squeeze. A rock steady presence, watching his back. Watched it for just as long as he could. The leaves rustle overhead, a soft scratch in the wind, and a warm feeling envelops him. Something like peace.
The pressure is gone between one inhale and the next— slipping away like soft sand between his fingers, leaving just the imprint behind. The breeze kisses his skin, gently, like the universe was exhaling, too.
And Eddie breathes.