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The task is simple: get the weights from the floor to platform before the other contestants.
As Eddie approaches the edge, hands bracing on the bars to peer over with his opponents at his sides, he shakes out his muscles. He can do this. He can do this easily with the amount of time he spends in the firehouse’s gym.
He’s not scared, initially. He’s not thinking about anything other than winning when the announcer’s voice introduces the task over the loudspeakers.
“Come on, Eddie!” Buck’s voice resounds from below, and Eddie smiles softly when he sees the man gazing up at the platform, clapping his hands enthusiastically.
He’s still in that tight fucking shirt, arms bulging out of the sleeves as the fabric stretches around his biceps. His hair is messy and unkempt, and it bounces as he applauds. Sweat drips down his temples and his upper lip. Eddie can see it even from so far up on the platform, where the droplets reflect the colourful arena lights.
He looks amazing, grinning up at Eddie and nodding his head with quiet encouragement. Even the sound of the crowd cheering as they wait for the game to begin is drowned out as Eddie’s eyes fixate on the blonde’s own, breath catching in his chest.
There’s been a thick sense of unknowing flowing between them for most of the day. It presses against Eddie’s chest when he tries to talk to Buck about anything other than the competition.
See, last night, when Buck had decided to stay at the bar and talk to that blonde woman who wouldn’t fucking shut up about flirting with him, Eddie had decided to go back to the hotel room.
Not his own, hotel room. That would be sad.
Buck’s hotel room.
He doesn’t know why he did it, took his pyjamas from his backpack and used the spare key Buck had stuffed into his wallet to get in his bed and not the one in his own room. He’d turned on the tv, snuggled under the covers in his boxers and sleep shirt, and waited.
And waited. And waited.
Until the blonde had pushed his way into the room and positively jumped from his skin at the sight of Eddie staring back at him, eyes tired and hopeful. The sheets were only halfway up his chest and his cheeks were flushed from the minibar wine he’d helped himself to, drinking right from the bottle.
“…Are you gonna share?” Buck had asked, and in some way or another to which the memory is a blur in Eddie’s mind, he’d ended up feeding the blonde the wine directly from the bottle.
They’d been drunk. So drunk.
They’d been drinking at the bar, they’d drunk at the restaurant next door when they’d gotten hungry. Buck had probably bought the woman a glass and maybe even more for himself. Eddie had almost finished the full bottle of wine on his own.
And so, the thought of Buck choosing to stay at the bar instead of coming back to the hotel with him, spending time with him, got to Eddie’s head. His swimming, alcohol ridden head.
He thinks they had sex.
It sure seemed like it — waking up with their clothes off, tangled together under Buck’s sheets. Eddie had been tucked under Buck’s arm mere hours ago, nose buried safely in his neck as a deep headache took root behind his skull.
And now, Buck is ignoring it.
He’s acting like nothing happened, like he doesn’t remember. He must remember. He’d looked at Eddie so tenderly when he’d first opened his eyes, before coming to his senses and scrambling awkwardly into the bathroom.
But his eyes are so blue as they watch Eddie from the ground. His flushed cheeks are so reassuring. The way he’s transferring his weight between his legs to relieve the pain of standing on his bad knee for too long makes his calf muscles catch the light, and he looks like every dream Eddie’s ever had.
As the announcer’s voice comes back onto the speakers and the crowd starts cheering louder still, Eddie is snapped from his Buck-induced trance with a sharp pat on his back.
“Good luck.” The guy next to him grins with a flash of perfect white teeth, and he can’t do anything but smile awkwardly back. He thinks the guy is from Indiana – his shirt is off, so his badge isn’t visible, but Eddie vaguely remembers thinking he was hot during the introductions.
Hot. But not Buck.
“Yeah, man.” He clears his throat, un-tensing his shoulders, “You too.”
It’s a frantic moment that seems like slow motion when the horn blares to signal the start of the challenge. Everyone surges forward, hands clasping the ropes that dangle over the platform’s railing, and Eddie strains as he wraps it once around his right hand to secure a strong grip.
His chest pangs with envy when he sees that Blue has already begun pulling up his weight. His face is scrunched up and his arms are flexing and he looks so stupid and so infuriating. So good. Eddie can’t let Buck see him lose to such a great looking guy. Every chance he’s ever had to impress him would be thrown entirely out of the window.
So he pushes hard.
Leans over the edge of the railing and pulls with all his might, hands reaching further down the rope to tug it up. The weight at the bottom sags and pulls Eddie’s torso down, but he sees Buck cheering for him from below and his arms practically hit autopilot, lifting faster and faster.
Climbing. Rising.
Left hand, right hand, left hand, right hand.
The weight gets bigger and bigger as seconds pass, its dark surface coming closer to Eddie as he frantically pulls it up. He’s halfway now, Blue’s weight only a fraction above his own. He can do this. Keep pulling. Don’t let go. For Buck. Don’t let go. Buck.
Don’t let go, Buck.
The memory hits Eddie like a freight train and his mind stutters so forcefully that his grip on the weight loosens.
The rope running through his hands must be causing him nasty friction burns but Eddie can hardly feel it, because suddenly it’s dark and lightning is flashing around him. He can feel the end of the ladder digging into his ribcage as he hunches over it. He can see Buck’s lifeless body dangling from the rope where the weight should be, can feel the rain beating down on his back and running into the seams of his uniform.
The only thing that pulls him out of the sudden haze is the sound of the weight clattering onto the floor below. The crowd cheers as if he’s dropped it by accident, fumbled the task. As if he’s a fool.
Eddie is not a fool.
He barely even registers the commentator mocking his failure through the rush of white noise in his ears. He can feel his heartbeat in every fingertip, feel the nausea pooling in his stomach.
His chest is heaving. Every breath hurts. Is he even breathing? It hurts, but is that because he’s not getting any air? He can hardly move his mouth to test it out.
Eddie can’t breathe.
Can’t move.
Can’t see anything but the soaked through turnouts swinging below him, bent in such an unnatural position that he’d thought for a moment Buck might have broken his back.
“Buck—“ he splutters, staring at the weight on the floor where the rope has piled on top of it.
Most of the other firefighters have their weights now. They’re waving down at their teammates, grinning stupidly, cheering for their first, second and third place positions.
Eddie’s teammate is dead. Eddie’s teammate is hanging from that rope, and he wouldn’t respond when Eddie screamed his name. Eddie’s teammate is in a coma and if he’d only gone up the ladder with him then maybe—
“Woah, man,” a steady, concerned voice echoes behind him over the roar of the crowd, “Are you alright?”
The brunette’s mouth is dry when he tries to croak out a response, tell them no, he’s not okay, and no sound comes out. Instead, he shakes his head, vision blurry with unshed tears, and his hands tremble. His palms are red raw, and the skin is peeling on his callouses as Eddie steps back from the railing and stares down at them, jaw slack.
“Hey, it’s okay. You win some, you lose some.” Another voice cuts in, hand rubbing over his shoulder blade.
Lose some? Eddie can’t lose Buck. He can’t.
With a choked sob, he practically throws himself down the ladder and onto the mats below. He lands with so much force that he has to steady himself on his hands before pushing back up and stumbling through the sea of firefighters in the arena floor, past the commentator’s desk, past the cameras.
Eddie runs past the trophy table and out of the exit, legs carrying him weakly through the hallway until he’s collapsing out of glass door and sitting himself down on the asphalt outside.
Sun beats down on his face, but he shivers still. There are tears drying on his cheeks, but Eddie doesn’t know how soon the next bout of them will erupt from his eyes, so he just leaves the tracks be on his skin.
Eddie feels sick.
He hasn’t felt like this since— since the changing rooms, when someone had mentioned his girlfriend being Chris’s mom. When Ravi had assumed Ana was Eddie’s wife.
The feeling of a panic attack is distant but familiar, its ugly arms curling around his chest cavity and digging their nails into his skin until he’s bleeding with grief and fear. The anxiety rears its head at him with no avail, the feeling of the rope still singed into his palms as he presses the heels of them into his eye sockets to escape from the image of Buck just hanging there.
“Eddie?”
Buck’s voice is quiet, and it’s obvious he’d had to soften himself before trying to approach the brunette.
The sound of the door closing behind him faintly registers in Eddie’s mind before the man is kneeling beside him, a gentle hand coaxing its way around his wrist to pull it from his face.
“Eds.” Buck whispers, “What’s going on?”
Eddie just shakes his head, a fresh round of sobs wracking his body at the mere scent of Buck so certain beside him. The feeling of warmth radiates from the man’s skin and his soft skin against Eddie’s wrist is like the eye of the panic storm.
The blonde must catch sight of his raw palms, because he lets out a quick breath from his nose and runs a gentle thumb over a particularly painful area beneath is ring finger. Eddie barely even flinches, letting his knees fall towards Buck and curling his body into him until his nose is back in the crook of his neck.
Just like this morning.
Just like it should be.
“What’s going on?” Buck repeats, a hand finding Eddie’s back and rubbing slow circles over the bumps of his spine. He occasionally rises his hand up his neck and into the short tufts of hair on the back of Eddie’s head.
“You— “ Eddie gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his arms weakly around Buck’s neck, “It was you.”
Buck furrows his eyebrows, though Eddie can’t see his face. “What was me?”
“The weight. It— it was you. The storm. You were hanging there and I had to pull you up all by myself and— “
“Oh, baby.”
The pet name rips a strangled cry from Eddie’s lips as he presses impossibly closer into Buck. There are fingers splayed out on his outer thigh now, holding him by his hip and pulling his body sideways into the blonde’s chest as though it’s the only way he’ll ever be safe again.
“You were dead.” Eddie whispers, sniffling wetly against Buck’s skin. His eyes burn from crying.
Buck sighs. “I was.” He whispers, “For three minutes and seventeen seconds. But I’m alive now.”
“You’re—“
Eddie is cut off by Buck forcing his hand against his heart, feeling the beat of it against his sore palm. “I’m alive.” He says, “S’beating right in there for you.”
They stay like that for a moment, silent as birds chirp around them and the arena thrums with excitement inside. The bass of the music vibrates the glass door slightly and makes it rattle on its hinges behind them.
Eddie doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s cold, doesn’t care that he just ran out here like some pussy who can’t stand losing a stupid little game. He’d run past everyone. He’s made a fool of himself not just in-front of the crowd but also on live television that was most definitely being played at the 118.
But Buck is alive. He’s in Buck’s arms and he’s alive and there’s no lightning bolts running through his veins as he holds the brunette close to him. He’s warm and breathing and his heart is beating beneath Eddie’s hand in a steady rhythm.
“I never even considered that it would have been you who got me back up there.” The blonde whispers after a while, lips moving against Eddie’s hair.
It’s the most thoughtful thing either of them have said to each-other all day and it puts the breath right back in Eddie’s lungs.
“It was.” He croaks, lifting his chin to look at Buck, finally. They’re so close that Eddie’s nose brushes Buck’s stubble-coated cheek.
“That must have been horrible, I- I’m so sorry, Ed. I should have done that game.”
“I didn’t even realise.” Eddie whispers, shaking his head, “It was just another round until the light made the one of the sandbags look like your coat.”
Buck swallows. “You didn’t lose me, y’know.” He breathes.
“I know. Just feels like it sometimes.”
“You won’t lose me. Ever.”
Eddie’s eyes flicker to Buck’s lips and then back up to his eyes, moving between each one. He nods slowly, their noses brushing as the blonde turns to properly face him.
“What happened last night?” He whispers, swallowing.
Buck smiles softly. “I can’t really remember.” He says sheepishly, a hint of pink creeping up his neck.
“I liked it. Waking up next to you. Could feel you right there with me as soon as I woke up.” The brunette says quietly, almost unintelligible.
“…do you dream about it?” Buck speaks, “The lightning strike?”
Eddie can’t do anything but nod. He feels the bile rise in his throat as he thinks about all the nights he’s woken up with a cold sweat and frantically opened find-my-friends to check that Buck is safe and sound in his house. He can’t even count the number of times he’d crept into the man’s room when they lived together, making sure with his own eyes that his chest is moving up and down and he’s not lying there dead.
“All the time.”
“I dream about the well, too. Seeing it just fall in on you. Clawing at the mud, Bobby having to hold me back because I couldn’t do anything but scream, it’s— I can feel the mud in my hands sometimes.”
A pang of emotion sweeps through Eddie’s stomach and suddenly he’s planting a desperate kiss on Buck’s lips. It’s short, closed mouthed and sudden, but the warmth of the skin against his own is enough to throw away any doubt he was feeling about Buck being real, being alive.
The blonde takes a moment to respond before returning it with equal fervour, equal desperation to feel the life inside Eddie’s body. Taste the breath in his lungs.
A tongue swipes over Eddie’s bottom lip and he pulls away, hands cupping the sides of Buck’s face as he presses their foreheads together instead. “I got out because of you.” He whispers.
“Me too, Eddie.”
Eddie swallows, nodding. His lip trembles and fresh tears well in his eyes because he still has a headache and his palms are still stinging and he just needed this so fucking much.
“I love you, Buck.” He whispers gently.
Buck smiles, sniffling. He nuzzles their noses together and sways them slightly where they sit tangled on the concrete. They both laugh into each-others mouths as the muffled sound of the announcers asking about their whereabouts seeps through the door.
“I love you too. Now come on, Champion. Bobby wanted us to win this thing.”
“Yeah.” Eddie whispers, “He did. But you better finish this conversation once we kick all these guys’ asses.”
He says the words with a joking tone, letting Buck pull him to his feet and adjust his messy hair, but he’s anything but joking.
Buck’s right about Bobby counting on them to win the money even before his death. But Eddie can’t help but feel that Bobby wanted them to win something else this weekend too.
Each-other.