Work Text:
Buck’s POV
Christopher's voice on the other side of the door was easily the most difficult part of this.
Buck was leaning against the wall, arms hanging by his side lifeless, staring at the white wood with no motivation to interact.
He didn't want to. He could. He could, is the craziest thing. He could. But he didn't. Want. To.
It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
Buck was a do-er. He was always on the go, always moving, always onto the next project. Even when he was trying to distract himself, he moved to do it. Baking, the gym, or dropping by Maddie's to visit the kids. If he got bored enough, he drove. He would find a destination along the way, and keep himself busy by finding something new.
This?
This paralyzing fear? This refusal to leave the house? The urge to sit and do nothing and let his mind go blank?
This was debilitating.
He had a prescription for Xanax from his follow up appointment after arriving back in Los Angeles. His primary doctor got the rundown of what happened, added it to his already disturbing medical record, and promptly prescribed him use-as-needed anti anxiety medication.
That was almost two months ago and Buck was still heavily relying on the little pills at least twice a day on his days off.
Work kept him busy and distracted enough to rarely need one. He almost felt like himself again when he was at the station: a fully functioning adult who was also fully capable of moving on from a single traumatic day.
In the silence of his house he was thrown back into a child's bedroom. He wasn't sure it if was Derek's or Daniel's. He was in a hospital bed, his back aching, being told he was a brave little boy for trying to save his big brother. The nurse was Bonnie, telling him he was a brave boy for surviving a motorbike accident. Bobby was holding his hand, telling him he was a brave kid for surviving the apartment fire.
He was always called brave. Resilient.
How was he supposed to admit that he wasn't?
Like he told Eddie, this wasn't his first rodeo. He was brave, he could handle this. He should be able to handle this.
So why the fuck was he frozen in place, losing his breath, and dissociating? Why was a little white pill the only thing that could make him feel better?
He was supposed to be going to therapy. But why? The Xanax worked. The Xanax would keep working until he could control his own brain again and move on.
Eventually he wouldn't struggle to leave his house anymore. He knew how this shit went: trauma was full of ups and downs. He was down, but soon he'd be up. This too shall pass... or whatever the fuck people said.
The next time Eddie and Chris came over he let them inside. It was a good day, one that he mentally prepared himself for. He smiled and baked and did everything he was supposed to do; everything Buck had always done before.
It was normal. He felt normal.
Eddie said, "I was worried the man I knew didn't make it out of New Mexico."
Immediately, Buck thought: I didn't.
But then Eddie smiled and Christopher laughed and Buck felt like he was going to be okay.
Later, when he was alone, Buck repeated Eddie's statement in his mind, over and over, clutching a little orange bottle in his hand while he stared across the room at nothing in particular.
All things under pressure break eventually. Buck was not immune to the laws of physics.
The crazy couple just wouldn't give up on their dream home; this unattainable goal they made up in their minds. They were refusing to see the reality of their home - it was a bad investment, broken, and the only way to make it work was to find a new one and move on. Instead, their relationship grew more tense with every visit from the 118, who was in charge of the not-so-handy recurrent offenders.
The husband had been installing their sound system, one of the final touches to the house.
But the house was all smoke and mirrors. It looked nice on the surface: cleaned, trimmed, and painted over. Under the rugs and wall fixtures, the foundation had broken long ago.
Buck and Ravi were in charge of disconnecting the power box. They were wearing electrical protection gloves, but it didn't fully prevent the shock that vibrated up his arm when he opened the metal door to the box.
"Shit!" He recoiled wildly, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his ass.
He scrambled away, still on the ground, shaking.
Ravi was manically flipping the switches off and looking at Buck over his shoulder. Since Buck was conscious and sitting up, the power was a priority.
Buck was far enough away that when he started mumbling to himself Ravi couldn't hear it.
"I'm Derek, I'm Derek, I'm Derek." He rubbed his hands over his face and hair, whether it was to hide or to calm himself, he didn't know.
"Buck!" Ravi was shaking his shoulder.
His head snapped up, eyes wide, and he looked around, fully aware of his surroundings once again.
"Can you stand up?"
Buck nodded, although he wasn't sure if it was the truth. But he couldn't just sit on the ground obsessing over a stun baton, a red-headed woman, and a man in an everlasting coma. He was at work. He had his turnouts on, not a red and white striped polo shirt. He was in LA, not New Mexico.
He stood up and Ravi patted his shoulder in solidarity.
"We'll have Eddie check you out." Ravi steered him towards the ambulance, where Hen and Eddie had already loaded up the husband. He was sitting up on his own, shocked back to consciousness.
"Status?" Chim turned to them and gave them a once over.
"Buck got a jolt when he opened the electrical box. I was able to switch it all off once it was open." He held up a wire with his free hand, but did not let go of Buck with his other.
"Sit down, Buckley."
Buck complied and Eddie was in front of him in an instant, taking Ravi's spot. His eyes narrowed and searched Buck's face for answers. Buck refused eye contact while Eddie took his vitals and heart rate.
"I'm never allowing you near anything electrical again," Eddie muttered.
"I told her I'd be Derek."
Eddie's hands froze and his shoulders tensed.
"Buck?"
Hands were on his cheeks, angling his face gently. Buck refused to meet Eddie's eyes while he shined a light into his, checking a pupil response.
"I wanted it to stop. She kept using the fucking thing."
Eddie's jaw flexed and he trailed his fingers onto Buck's pulse point, holding it there to feel the beats for himself.
"Your heart rate is too high. I can give you something to calm down."
Buck nodded immediately, knowing that it would work. Medicine was the only thing that worked.
"I called her mom."
Eddie was focused on the task but very clearly listening.
"I guess it worked. She didn't use it again until you showed up and I stopped pretending to be Derek. But then I had to be Derek again. I'm Derek." He spoke the words so quietly, with soft reverence, like it was comforting him.
"You're Buck. You fought, did what you had to do, said what you had to say. You're Evan and you saved yourself."
Buck shook his head. "You saved me. She was about to shoot me and you showed up."
"I got you. Always have your back." Eddie squeezed his forearm gently and then positioned the IV line that was now set up and feeding him medication. Straight to the vein would hit him faster than the pills.
Buck sat back and waited for the medicine to work and finally bring him some peace.
Eddie’s POV
Eddie was not losing his mind, thank you very much. In fact, he was acutely aware that Buck was lying to him left and right, and was powerless to do anything about it.
As frustrating as it was to watch, Buck was not doing well and Eddie had no clue what to do about it. He showed up at his house as often as he could, he asked him how he was, he tried to check in. But Buck said he was fine, over and over, completely full of shit.
Not just skipping therapy, but lying about it?
Hiding from him and Chris?
Pretending that he was a happy baker in a big empty house that Eddie never wanted him to move into in the first place?
Staring into space silently when the rooms got too quiet for too long?
All massive red flags that Eddie would be a fool to not see.
Oh, he was seeing them all right.
He had to do something, and soon, before Buck did something first.
Eddie knew Buck better than anyone, and the terrifying thing was that he didn't recognize the man in front of him these days. He would learn him, though, if that's what it took. He would study any version of Buck and become an expert. He wasn't going to lose his best friend. In any capacity, Buck was worth keeping close.
They had been texting until it devolved into something nonsensical.
Eddie: you sure you don't want to come over?
Buck: no
Eddie: chris said he wants more macarons
Buck: [URL attached]
Eddie clicked it and it opened to a pillow for sale at a furniture store. It was generic, maybe matched Buck's decor, but it was very, very random.
Eddie: could look nice in the living room
Buck: ny the floral clea.
Eddie: ?
Buck: ok *thumbs up*
Eddie: you good man?
Buck: *thumbs up*
Eddie called. Buck didn't answer. He stared at the phone for longer than he probably should have before he got his ass up and decided to drive over and check on him. He warned Chris he was leaving for about an hour, and then locked the house up behind him.
It was a twenty minute drive to Buck's. He lived in the valley, which was an odd choice in the first place and one Eddie resented. When there was traffic it was a ridiculous commute and it made it more difficult for them to see one another. But he did get a lot more space for the price. Eddie understood but he didn't have to like it.
Buck's truck was parked out front in its usual spot, and Eddie parked in front of it.
He knocked harshly a few times and pressed his ear to the door, trying to pick up on any sounds inside. The windows had no light illuminating from them.
"I have a key, Buck. I'm letting myself in if you don't do it yourself," Eddie yelled at the door, and got no reply. He didn't want to barge in, but he would if it meant saving his best friend.
The house was dark. The light from outside lit up the entryway but otherwise it felt like a cold shadow had enveloped the room. It was so contrary to what Eddie felt about Buck that it was jarring.
Maybe Buck was napping, but... Eddie had an instinct that there was more to it.
He made his way through the house, eyeing the living room and checking out the surfaces. It wasn't scary, it was just quiet. It felt lonely. He hated that Buck lived like this.
When he stuck his head into the kitchen he didn't expect to find Buck, and he didn't. He did, however, find an unzipped black pouch with three bottles of pills halfway inside of it. Eddie strode forward immediately and read through the labels.
A painkiller (oxycodone), Xanax, and sleeping pills.
They weren't empty, but they were low in stock. The fill dates were from the week they returned to LA, which meant he'd had them for a while. It wasn't the worst thing to find, but... Eddie hadn't known about them at all. The painkiller made sense, with the bruised ribs Buck suffered. The other two? They were not what Eddie expected to see.
The real question was... was Buck still taking the oxy now that he was fully healed?
"Buck?" Eddie said loudly, and started towards the bedroom.
He opened the door gently and visibly relaxed when he heard Buck's soft snoring. His phone was on the bed near his limp hand, but he was out cold. His eyes skimmed the room for any more evidence and landed on another pill bottle on the bedside table.
It was more sleeping pills, a stronger prescription with a fill date a couple of weeks later than the other pills. Eddie frowned, realizing this meant Buck had sought out more help to sleep but had been dodging his therapy anyways.
Reassured that Buck was safe, Eddie headed back out to the kitchen and stared down at the almost-empty bottle of painkillers.
Buck would be out for hours, and he had to get back to Christopher.
He withdrew a pad of paper and left a note right next to the pill bottles, making it clear that he’d seen them. On a whim, he snagged the bottle of oxycodone and shoved it into his pocket. Maybe it was sort of insane and definitely illegal, but Eddie had realized many years ago that when it came to Buck he wasn't ever going to be normal.
He left the house quietly and locked the door behind him.
I stopped by after you sent those weird texts.
Call me
Buck did not call him. Buck didn't even text him. Eddie ended up having to call him after twenty four hours of silence, and then the call was sent to voicemail. Eddie scoffed at the audacity and tried again, getting the same results.
Eddie: I know where you live, you know.
Buck read it immediately and didn't reply.
Eddie: you can talk to me about anything
Read again
Eddie: I'm not mad. I won't tell anyone if you don’t want me to.
Read
Eddie: are you still taking them? Your ribs are healed
Read
Eddie: im coming over
Read
Buck didn't reply, didn't tell him not to, and so Eddie took it as an approval.
The door was unlocked and the lights were on inside. The windows were still covered by curtains, but at least the house looked a little more lived in. Buck was laying on his sofa, hugging a pillow to his chest staring at the television. He didn't move when Eddie walked in.
Eddie sat down on the couch near Buck's feet and sank into the cushions.
Despite the looming conversation, it felt nice to just be together. Buck was alive. Eddie was alive. They could figure anything out from there.
"I missed this," Eddie spoke first. Buck shifted slightly and his foot brushed against Eddie's thigh. He didn't move it away.
"You should come over more," Buck said, his voice gravelly.
"Two vs one," Eddie said wisely.
"I was lonely over there, after Bobby. It was hard. It's hard to go back."
Eddie turned his head, surprised. He didn't realize that Buck felt any sort of way about his house since the move.
"At least here you've always been in town. You've always been twenty minutes away. I've never been here and worried you weren't coming home. I... Bobby was dead and I was in your house with no one anymore. It was lonely."
Eddie didn't know what to say.
"It's forty minutes in traffic."
Buck huffed and shifted again. They sat in silence and Eddie took in Buck's admission. He was hurt, isolated. At one point before Eddie moved back he had lost the people closest to him. Eddie looked around and felt a little more gratitude for the new house. If it made Buck feel better, it was hard to resent.
"I'm not okay."
"I know."
Buck curled his legs up, breaking the connection between them.
"I still take the oxy. Not everyday. Just... sometimes."
Eddie inhaled deeply.
"And the Xanax?"
"Yeah."
"Together?"
"Sometimes."
Eddie exhaled.
"Do you crave it? Need it?"
Buck took his time answering.
"It's the only thing that makes it quiet. I... I get angry and irritable the day after I take the oxy. I'm careful. I don't take it every day."
Eddie nodded but knew Buck wasn't looking. Maybe that made the conversation easier to have.
"No more, Buck. Not the oxycodone. The Xanax and sleeping pills, fine, for now, but not the oxy."
"I'm tired, Eddie." Buck finally moved. He sat up, planted his feet onto the floor, and rested his elbows on his knees. He looked truly exhausted.
"I can't do this anymore. I can't... It's too much. I know I tend to make things about me, that I'm too self involved, but I'm so fucking tired of things going wrong. Why is it always me?"
Eddie wished he had an answer, but he didn't. He heard the echoes of his own accusation in Buck's words. He called him selfish, and told him to stop making it about himself. And now, a year later, Buck had closed everything so deep inside of him it was taking over him. Buck was expressive. He liked to talk, he needed the outlet, and Eddie knew that. Yet, he'd made him feel bad about it. Told him he was being too much, too Buck, and to reign it.
"I'm sorry. I'm here for you now. I can... I can help. Whatever you need."
"I feel like I died and my body missed the memo. I want..."
Buck's shoulder slumped even more and his head fell forward.
"Do you want to die?" Eddie asked, terrified of the answer.
"No," Buck said adamantly, his voice stronger. "That's why I keep taking the pills. I want to feel normal again. I just want to feel normal."
Eddie understood deeply, in a way that he never wanted Buck to relate to. He remembered taking a baseball bat to the walls and saying similar words to Buck all those years ago.
"There's no normal, or right way. There's just living and choosing to keep going and finding reasons to."
Buck's breathing increased and his hands dug into his knees.
"I... I can't, Eddie. I've never given up before but there's a first time for everything, right?"
Eddie's body reacted viscerally, adrenaline shooting through him. Giving up and losing Buck was not an option; the mere thought was sending him into a fight or flight mode. He shifted closer to Buck, angling his knees and reaching for him. He gripped his shoulder and turned him so he was forced to face him, finally. Buck's eyes looked tired, he had bags and dark circles. But all that mattered was Buck: breathing, alive, and in front of him. It was all Eddie needed.
"Do it for me. Do it for Christopher."
Eddie stared into his best friend's eyes and urged him to see, to do, to fight.
"If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me." He reached forward and cupped Buck's cheeks in his hands. "I can't do this without you. Do it for me."
Buck's eyes searched Eddie's for an explanation.
"Eddie..."
"Buck. Don't make me do this without you." He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers lightly brushed along Buck's jawline where he held him.
"I need you." He opened his eyes and tilted his head up, separating their foreheads, but they were closer than ever now, eye-to-eye, inches apart.
"I love you. You have to fucking fight." He pressed his lips against Buck's, holding hard and steady. It was sturdy and unmoving, but they were locked together. Eddie whimpered a desperate noise and pulled back.
He turned his head away immediately and dropped his hands from Buck's face. Buck was facing his profile now, Eddie was breathing heavily with his fists clenched.
"I need you to know that you were part of the reason I clawed my way out of that tunnel when I got buried underground. You and Christopher, that's it."
Buck registered the admission for what it was: a declaration that this thing between them was many years in the making. He felt blindsided but also guilty. It was a lot for Eddie to ask this: to be selfish like this. Eddie was a man who rarely asked for anything for himself.
"Don't put that on me," Buck said weakly. To put his happiness and future in Buck's weak hands was a risk.
Eddie's jaw clenched and he shook his head.
"No, Buck. You need to hear it and you need to know that whatever decisions you make aren't just about you. I care - we all care. But I... I need you to be okay, whatever that looks like.
"A long time ago I pulled three people out of the desert, but I failed at saving them. Don't make it four. I saved you, I got us out, and I'll keep doing it or die trying. I can't lose you. Not you."
It was like being ripped open and flooded with guilt and a reason all at once. He was listening, he understood what Eddie needed, and he wanted to give that to him. He wanted to give Eddie everything.
He'd spent the year since Bobby's death trying to be there for everyone else. He'd conducted assessments, reached out for one on ones, and tried his best to keep the station cohesive. He implemented Bobby's mandatory meal time, and the crew went along with it, humoring him. All the while he went home to an empty house haunted by memories, and then haunted by ghosts, with the daily reminder that he was alone.
After his coma, he'd taken to calling Bobby every morning to reassure him he was really alive. After Bobby's death he had no one to call. There was no one to talk to every morning when he had to realize this was real, and it was a new living nightmare. No one was there to tell him it would be okay someday.
It started so long ago and now, a year later, Buck was feeling even more dead inside than when he was in a coma. In the coma he fought to live, and now he was awake but waiting for his muscles to give out, so tired of treading water and not sure why he was still trying.
"I need help." Buck hung his head and choked on the words.
"Okay." Eddie turned again and pulled Buck against him hard, burying his face into the side of his head. Buck fell into Eddie's shoulder and he shook with emotion, not quite crying, but boneless. Weak. Empty. Relieved to have someone helping to hold him up.
"I'm so tired, Eddie."
"I got you," Eddie said, holding tighter. "I got you. It's going to be okay."
Buck believed him.
"Shouldn't it be when you're at your worst, and they're at their worst, you have every reason to give up, and you still decide you want to try again?" - Buck
"I got out of the ocean for you. For both of you." - Maddie