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Buck is tired.
Not the sort of tiredness he can push through, or will go away after a brief nap, but the sort of tiredness that makes it feel like he’s moving backwards through molasses. Weariness clings to him like a second skin. It twists its way through the fiber of his muscles, buries itself in every cell, and burrows deep into the very marrow of his bones.
It’s an all-consuming, suffocating, tiredness.
Exhaustion hangs over Buck like a cloud as he makes his way out of the firehouse with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He drags his feet across the asphalt of the parking lot, his shoulders curling forward and his head slumped. Early morning heat beats against the back of his neck. The stench of smoke and the lingering of something he doesn’t want to name clings to his clothes and body.
His left leg aches, pulsating beneath his pant legs. Tension pulls every single one of his muscles tight.
Usually, Buck showers at the station rather than drag the smell home with him, but he can’t bring himself to do it. His leg shakes when he puts too much weight on it, and his body is heavy.
All he wants to do is sleep.
He’d taken on an extra shift to help someone from B-shift out, but he deeply regretted it the moment he reached the firehouse.
Their shift had been long and drawn-out.
From the moment they stepped through the firehouse door to the moment their shift finally came to an end, Buck didn’t stop moving. They faced everything from minor kitchen fires to children stuck in places and things. Their last call, a warehouse blaze that meant their shift overran by two hours, had been the worst.
The building had ignited in seconds. It was a bright convergence of flickering orange and yellow lights that jumped from window to window. Dark gray clouds of thick smoke filled the sky and chased away the sunrise, leaving nothing but darkness behind.
Two people had died.
The fire had been too far gone for a rescue attempt to be possible.
Buck can still hear their desperate cries for help.
His trembling fingers curl around the strap of his duffel bag, and he hauls it off his shoulder, throwing it into the backseat of his jeep. Buck slides into the driver’s side and slumps against the leather. He drags his hands down his face and sighs. A small headache begins to drum behind his eyes. Buck stifles a yawn and starts the engine, wincing at the sound.
The drive passes in a blur of technicolors. The early morning traffic adds to his growing headache, the pulsing behind his eyes growing with every car horn or glare from a side mirror. His left leg continues to ache.
Buck drives without thinking about it, and he isn’t all too surprised when he finds himself outside Eddie’s door. Although they’ve discussed the possibility of moving in together over the past few months, they both agreed to take it a little on the slow side. Still, Buck spends more time with Eddie and Chris than he does at his own place.
It’s the only place where he truly feels safe.
Where he feels loved.
Climbing out of the jeep, Buck grabs his duffel bag and drops it onto his shoulder. He limps up the walkway and fumbles for his key, his fingers trembling around the metal. Buck manages to unlock the door despite how much his fingers shake and staggers into the house. The door closes behind him with a soft click, but he winces all the same.
“Buck?” Eddie’s voice carries through the house, and Buck exhales in relief, his shoulders sagging. The duffel bag slips off his shoulder and hits the ground with a thump.
“Yeah. It’s me.” Buck’s voice cracks and shakes a little.
Eddie’s footsteps echo through the house, and he appears from the small hallway. His deep amber eyes meet Buck’s from across the room. They soften the second he sees him, and Eddie crosses the space between them in a matter of seconds. His arms snake around Buck’s back, and he tugs him towards him, lifting one hand and letting his fingers tangle in his curls.
A small, shaky sigh escapes Buck’s lips. He buries his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales the scent of cedarwood.
“Long shift?” Eddie mutters, his fingers still tangling in Buck’s hair.
Buck presses a small kiss to Eddie’s neck. “The longest. Warehouse fire. Two fatalities. There was nothing we could do.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Is there anything I can do?”
“I just want to sleep.”
“Have you eaten anything recently? Other than a granola bar?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay. Why don’t you go and jump in the shower, and I’ll get you something to eat? You can sleep afterwards.”
“M’kay.”
Eddie kisses Buck’s birthmark, something that always manages to reduce Buck into a puddle. Some of the tension melts off his shoulders. “Off you go.”
Reluctantly untangling himself from Eddie’s arms, Buck goes to grab his duffle bag from the floor.
“Leave it,” Eddie says. “I’ll sort it out. You go and take a shower, get rid of the smoke smell.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t.”
Buck nods. He lets his hands hang loosely by his side, his eyes heavy and his stomach grumbling.
Limping down the hall, Buck heads to the bedroom and grabs one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants from the dresser. Most of his wardrobe has somehow ended up crammed in either the dresser or the closet, his and Eddie’s clothes merging seamlessly. More often than not, Eddie ends up wearing his hoodies around the house.
It always brings a smile to Buck’s face when he sees it.
With the clothes gripped between shaking fingers, Buck moves to the bathroom and strips off his street clothes. The smoke from that afternoon's fire clings to the fibres even though they were tucked into the comfort of his locker when it happened. He flings them into the hamper to be washed and steps into the shower.
Steam envelops him, and a little more of the tension slips away. Buck faces the hot spray of water, closing his eyes and letting the droplets run down his skin. The hot water helps to chase away the tightness in his shoulders. He listens to the sound of water hitting the ceramic and drumming against the plastic door, keeping it from spilling onto the floor.
Buck keeps his weight on his right leg, knowing his left will give out the second he tries to stand on it. He leans forward until his forehead touches the cold bathroom tile. The water drums against the back of his neck, loosening up the muscles.
He opens his eyes and turns away from the showerhead, grabbing the curly-hair shampoo Eddie always keeps in the shower. His arms are almost like lead, but he manages to wash his hair and makes light work of scrubbing the soot and smoke from his skin. The scent of vanilla fills the bathroom, chasing away the remnants of his shift. Buck watches the dirt swirl down the drain at his feet.
Once washed, he turns off the shower and grabs his towel. He quickly dries himself and changes into his hoodie and sweatpants. The fabric is soft and sits comfortably against his skin. Buck tugs the sleeves past his fingers and leaves the bathroom, limping towards the kitchen where Eddie busies himself in front of the stove.
Eddie glances over his shoulder and smiles warmly at Buck.
“Sit down.” He gestures to one of the chairs. “I’ve made you an omelet; it’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Buck mutters.
He slides into the seat and rests his forearms on the wood of the table. The smell of cooking eggs, peppers, and melting cheese makes his stomach grumble and his mouth water. Buck hasn’t eaten anything since the early hours of the morning when he crawled out of his bunk and ate several handfuls of cereal in front of the sink. It was all he managed before the alarms went off again.
Eddie switches off the stove and moves the omelet from the pan to a plate. He turns around and places it in front of Buck. “Here you go.”
“It smells good.”
“I should hope so; it was one of the first things you taught me how to cook properly.”
“You mean cook without burning.”
“Oi.” Eddie hits him lightly on the shoulder with a cloth, a smile tugging on his lips. “Eat up.”
Chuckling to himself, Buck grabs his fork and digs in. He almost moans at the first bite, the sharp cheese and warmth from the eggs exploding in his mouth. It’s such a simple meal, but it warms Buck up from the inside. It’s like eating comfort, or a hug. Buck knows it’s made all the more special because Eddie cooked it.
By the time Buck’s finished, the tendrils of sleep are curling themselves around him. The omelet has settled his grumbling stomach, warmth flooding through his veins, and he can feel himself starting to slip. His eyes keep fluttering closed as Eddie grabs the plate from in front of him and deposits it into the sink. A glass scrapes across the table.
“Take these.”
Buck opens his eyes, blinking against the light, and stares at Eddie’s hand. Two small pills sit in the palm of his hand.
“I saw you limping, and I know you have a headache. You have that pinched look about you. Take them, and then take yourself off to the bedroom.”
“Thanks, Eds.” Buck takes the pills from Eddie’s hand and places them in his mouth, swallowing them down with the cold water. He stands up, the chair squeaking across the tile.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Eddie cups Buck’s cheek and kisses his forehead. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Buck lets his feet carry him to the bedroom, where the curtains have already been drawn, and the softest blanket Eddie owns has been draped over the bed. He smiles, love blossoming in his chest. Before Eddie, Buck never had anyone care about him this much. Eddie notices things that, oftentimes, Buck is willing to ignore.
Peeling back the blankets, Buck burrows himself beneath the warm fabric. The Tylenol has begun to take the edge off the pain in his leg, and the headache has quietened the drumming. The pillows still smell of Eddie, and Buck inhales the scent like oxygen, his eyes closing as sleep wraps itself around him and slowly tugs him into its arms.
Then the screaming starts.
The familiar, gut-wrenching screams for help that echoed from the warehouse fire flood his mind. He sees the bright flashes of light, the shattered glass on the sidewalk, and the thick plumes of smoke filling the air.
But it’s the screams that haunt him.
They echo through his mind as a cruel reminder of the people he couldn’t save.
He wrenches his eyes open and stares into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, his chest heaving and tears trickling down his cheeks.
Every time he tries to close his eyes, the screams come back. He can’t shake the terror in their voices, the desperation that carried on the wind like the smoke.
Buck isn’t sure how long he lies there staring into the darkness. The usual lingering smell of Eddie’s body wash on the blankets does little to help him. He tries to burrow himself deeper beneath the blankets, but nothing can keep the screams at bay.
The bedroom door creaks open, and Buck listens to Eddie’s footsteps on the hardwood floor.
“Buck?” he says, his voice soft. “Why aren’t you asleep?” Eddie perches on the bed, his right hand tangling itself into Buck’s still-damp curls.
“I can’t,” Buck whispers.
“What do you mean? You were practically falling asleep at the table.”
“Every time I close my eyes, I can hear the screaming.” Buck squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling. “We could see them at the warehouse, but there was no way in. All the exits were blocked, and with all the falling debris, we couldn’t set an airbag up under the windows. We just had to stand there and listen to them scream, begging for help.” A choked sob escapes his lips.
“Oh, Buck.” The mattress moves under Eddie’s weight. A weight settles behind Buck’s back, and he feels Eddie’s arms wrap around him, tugging him into his chest. “I’m sorry you had to listen to that, baby.”
Buck releases his grip on the blankets and grabs Eddie’s arms, holding onto them tightly as his small sobs fill the room. His body shakes against Eddie’s, but the warmth of his body against Buck’s is comforting.
“Let it out, sweetheart,” Eddie says, his voice close to Buck’s ear. “You don’t have to carry all of this on your own.”
Eddie’s grip tightens, and he presses a kiss to Buck’s curls, his chin resting on the crown of his head. He whispers reassurances to Buck, who sobs quietly in his arms, his eyes squeezed shut, and tears dampening the pillow beneath his cheeks.
They lay like that until Buck’s sobs fade to the occasional sniff and the tears stop streaming down his cheeks.
“I’m so tired,” he mutters, “but I can’t turn my brain off.”
“Let me help.”
Eddie unravels himself from Buck’s body and lightly moves him onto his back. Crawling under the blankets alongside him, Eddie all but lies on top of Buck, his head resting in the crook of Buck’s neck.
The effect is almost instantaneous.
Buck relaxes into the mattress when Eddie’s weight presses against his body. He tucks his arms into the blanket and wraps them around Eddie’s back. Burying his face in Eddie’s hair, free from the gel that always annoyed him, he inhales the strawberry scent of his shampoo. The last of the tension melts out of his body, and his mind begins to quiet.
“Better?”
“Yeah.” The word is more like an exhale than anything coherent.
“Good.” Eddie kisses his neck. “You can sleep now, I’ve got you.”
And Buck does because he knows that no matter what the job throws at him, Eddie is always going to be by his side.