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“It’s okay if you’re mad at me, you know.”
Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. Buck’s voice is hushed, and rough from the thirty minutes he spent vomiting up most of his dinner. He managed to keep down the Tylenol and anti-emetics Eddie gave him, and Eddie thought that he’d finally fallen asleep.
Buck’s eyes are already on him when Eddie looks up from his book. They’re glassy and red rimmed, lids heavy with sleep that stubbornly won’t come, thin sheen of sweat dotting his forehead. He looks strangely peaceful; he looks like shit; he looks beautiful.
Eddie closes the book and grabs the washcloth he’d laid on Buck’s end table, dampening it in the small bowl of water. Buck reaches for it but Eddie bats his hand away, perching on the edge of the mattress to lay the cloth across Buck’s forehead himself.
He feels a bit like a Victorian era doctor, ridiculous and overbearing. Next thing you know he’ll be rolling up Buck's sleeve for some good old fashioned blood-letting. Buck rolls his eyes, silently agreeing with Eddie’s musings in that uncanny way of his, but says nothing. He’s accepted the hovering pretty gracefully so far, all things considered. But Eddie can tell when the irritability gets to be too much, and gives him his space when he disappears into another room. For his part he’s tried not to be too mother hen-ish, but here in the vulnerable dark of Buck’s room, he can’t help but give into his protective instincts, the ones that prickled under his skin for weeks every time Buck assured him he was fine. And now in this small, insufficient way, he can atone by wiping the sweat from Buck’s forehead.
“Thanks,” Buck mutters when he’s done.
Eddie hums. He feels Buck’s eyes on him when he turns away to toss the cloth in Buck’s laundry hamper. He’s still watching when Eddie twists towards him again. It might be the most Buck’s looked him in the eye since Eddie found him half-dead in Los Nietos.
Without thinking, Eddie pushes a hand into Buck’s damp curls. Buck hums and closes his eyes, accepting the touch without fuss. “You should sleep,” Eddie tells him.
“Hard to do with you in the room,” Buck says with a wry smile. It’s stupid the way it makes Eddie flush, makes his stomach swoop like a lovesick teenager. Buck didn’t even mean it like that. Eddie’s glad his eyes are still closed.
“Want me to go?” Eddie asks, pulling his hand away. “I can get Maddie, if you’d rather—”
“No,” Buck interrupts. He opens his eyes, reaching for Eddie for a brief moment before dropping his hand on the comforter. “No, I want—stay. Please.”
Eddie swallows, looking away at last to stare at the moon through Buck’s window. Eye contact feels too hard right now, too much. It’s only the first night of this, he has to keep it together for Buck’s sake.
“Eddie,” Buck says softly. “I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
Eddie inhales, stale chilled air rattling through his lungs like it’s his last breath. They’ve kept the thermostat low with Buck running so warm for once, and the bedroom is particularly icy. He releases a shaky exhale; his eyes burn, and his chest aches fiercely.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Buck,” Eddie says to the window. Eddie blinks, and turns to face him again. Buck’s eyes are redder than before. “I mean it. No one is angry with you, or disappointed. We just want to help you.”
“I know,” Buck says. “I know that. I’m not—I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. For lying to you.”
Eddie shakes his head. Voices what’s been echoing in his mind since Buck approached him after their last shift, looking like death warmed up and saying they needed to talk.
“I’m not angry, Buck. Not with you, at least, I’m just—I wish I’d seen it. I should have seen it.”
Buck’s brows pinch and he sits up, leaning forward a little. They’re close, Eddie’s knee pressed to Buck’s waist. Buck’s hand flexes like he’s going to touch him, then balls into a fist in his lap.
“Eddie, you did. You knew something was wrong, a–and I knew you’d see right through me if I let you look too close. I worked so hard to hide it from you, you can’t beat yourself up about this.”
They should stop here. He knows how exhausted and beaten Buck feels, can see it all over his face, in the dark circles under his eyes. They should table this conversation for another day, but Eddie can’t seem to get a handle on any of his impulses tonight.
“Why?” Eddie asks, and predictably, Buck’s face falls. “Buck, I just—after everything in New Mexico, after all the years we’ve been—why didn’t you trust me?”
“I do trust you,” Buck says, full of conviction. “More than anything. I—I tried, Eddie, there were so many times I picked up the phone, a–and then that day in the ambulance…”
He trails off, and Eddie can’t hold back anymore. He catches Buck’s wrist, feels his rapid pulse under his thumb. Buck’s fingers loosen, curling around Eddie’s wrist automatically, and he takes a shaky breath.
“I was scared,” Buck admits quietly, eyes on their joined hands. “I–I knew that once you knew, you’d do everything you could to fix it. And I didn’t—I couldn’t face the pain that would come from that.”
“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. He can’t think of anything else to say, squeezes his wrist instead.
Buck’s mouth twists. Not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. He shivers, and Eddie knows they don’t have long before the shakes really take hold.
“I don’t know where I’d be right now if I’d gotten another prescription,” Buck confesses quietly to his lap. Eddie’s heart squeezes. “I might have—I might have never asked for help. A–and that scares me too.”
His hand trembles beneath Eddie’s, the rest of his body quickly following suit. There’s tears in his lash line, and the sight cracks the final thread of Eddie’s resolve. He releases Buck and stands, and Buck gapes up at him in a panic, then confusion when Eddie climbs into bed next to him.
“Lay down,” Eddie says as he settles on his side, his head on Buck’s pillow. It smells like sweat and Buck’s shampoo.
Buck blinks down at him with wide eyes before complying, scooting down until their heads are inches apart. Once he’s horizontal Eddie shuffles closer and wraps his arms around Buck, tugging at his shoulders until Buck is on his side too, head tucked beneath Eddie’s chin. Buck sucks in a sharp breath against Eddie’s neck but doesn’t pull away. Eddie smooths a hand down Buck’s spine when the shaking starts up in earnest, feels the way Buck’s muscles contract and quiver under his hands, and wishes for all sorts of impossible things.
“‘M gonna sweat all over you,” Buck mutters as the shaking intensifies.
Eddie snorts and tightens his arms. “I’ve endured a lot worse for you, Buckley.”
Buck huffs a laugh, warm breath puffing against his neck. “Worse than–than flop sweat and vomit breath?”
“Mmhmm. You ever tried riding a horse with bruised ribs and a fractured wrist?”
“S–still don’t believe you did that.”
“I did. And it sucked.”
“Liar. You love being able to tell that story.”
“Hmm. Well what about the first time you tried to make Bobby’s lasagna for us? Choking down charred noodles so we wouldn’t hurt your feelings.”
“You s–swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“Yeah well. Desperate times.”
Buck’s teeth are chattering from the force of the shakes, yet he still manages to quip, “I’ll s–say. You’re w–wearing jeans in bed, man.”
Eddie laughs and tips his nose into Buck’s sweaty hair. If someone had told him six weeks ago that he’d be here, holding his best friend in his arms with a feeling like a balloon trying to burst in his chest, he wouldn’t have believed them. He didn’t know then what that feeling was, though it had been in him for a long time—eight years long, in fact.
He knows now. And he’s not going to fuck it up this time.
It’s quiet for a long time. If it weren’t for the tremors that he could still feel he’d think Buck was finally asleep. When Buck speaks next it’s muffled, spoken softly against the neck of Eddie’s shirt.
“I wish I could talk to Bobby,” he whispers. Eddie’s heart splinters clean in two.
“I know,” Eddie says, rubbing Buck’s back. His other hand comes up to cup the back of Buck’s head, fingers carding through his hair. “He’d know what to say. I don’t—I wish I had the right things to say, Buck. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Buck says, voice muddled and sleep-heavy at last. He shifts, noses Eddie’s collarbone. “You’re here.”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
The shaking subsides at last, and Buck’s breathing turns slow and deep. Eddie presses his lips to Buck’s forehead as he drifts off, just once. Buck makes a soft sound against Eddie’s throat that could be a snore. Eddie ends up sleeping the whole night in his jeans, and Buck does end up sweating all over him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s right where he needs to be.