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It had been a brutal, unrelenting shift. A multi vehicle pileup on the bridge had kept the 118 running on pure adrenaline for the better part of four hours. Now, the wreckage was mostly cleared, the ambulances had transported the injured, and the heavy rescue rig was parked at an angle, its hazard lights painting rhythmic flashes of red against the concrete.
The crew was utterly spent.
Chimney was leaning against the side of the truck, a bottle of water pressed to his forehead, exchanging exhausted banter with Hen, who was meticulously repacking her jump bag. Ravi sat on the bumper, staring blankly at the asphalt, while Harry stood near the edge of the bridge, watching the water just taking a moment.
And then there were Buck and Eddie.
They stood together near the crumpled remnants of the bridge’s railing. They weren't touching, but as always, they were invading each other’s personal space, pulled together by the inescapable, magnetic gravity that had defined their relationship for the better part of all the years. Years of shared trauma, shared joy, raising Christopher together, surviving snipers and lightning strikes and bombings. Years of stolen glances, lingering touches, and a profound, agonizingly beautiful mutual pining that neither had ever been brave enough to voice.
Eddie was speaking, his voice a low, that vibrated straight into Buck’s chest, pointing how lucky they are, that not more people died. Buck was just watching the way the fading sunset caught Eddie’s eyes.
Then, the world played a cruel joke.
It happened with the terrifying, unceremonious speed of a nightmare. A distraught, disoriented driver from the secondary crash site, a man who had previously refused treatment and wandered off, suddenly emerged from behind the incident command vehicle. He was panicked, thrashing wildly, convinced his car was still on fire.
Eddie, operating on pure instinct, stepped forward with his hands raised, his voice dropping into that calm, soothing register he used for terrified victims. "Hey, sir. It's okay. You're safe. Let's just step back from the edge,"
The man lunged. It wasn't an attack, it was the blind, desperate flailing of a man in shock. But his heavy shoulder collided with Eddie’s chest, hitting him with the force of a battering ram right where his balance was compromised by the shattered railing.
Eddie stumbled backward. His heavy turnout boots slipped on the slick asphalt.
Buck’s heart simply stopped.
He saw Eddie’s hands fly up, scrambling for a hold that wasn't there. He saw the sudden, sharp widening of Eddie’s eyes, a flash of pure shock. And then, gravity claimed him.
Eddie fell backward over the edge of the bridge, vanishing.
"EDDIE!"
The scream that tore from Buck’s throat was entirely involuntary, a primal, jagged sound that ripped through the quiet evening like a siren. It was the same visceral, earth shattering panic that had seized him years ago when the ground had swallowed Eddie whole during the well rescue. That same suffocating, absolute terror.
"Eddie!" Buck screamed again, sprinting to the edge. He hit his knees on the jagged concrete, peering over the edge. The water below was dark, moving fast, churning around the concrete pylons. There was no sign of him. No thrashing, no struggling. Just the dark, indifferent surface of the water.
Time dilated. The audio of the world around him dropped into a muffled, ringing. He could vaguely register Chimney shouting his name, the frantic slap of Hen’s boots running toward him.
But Buck wasn't going to wait for orders. For Chim to make a plan.
He didn't think. He didn't calculate the drop, or the current, or the heavy weight of his turnout gear. He operated on a singular, undeniable truth, where Eddie went, Buck followed.
He vaulted up onto the crumbling edge of the concrete.
"Buck, stop! Get a harness!" Hen shrieked, her hand grasping empty air inches from his jacket.
Without a word, without a moment's hesitation, Buck launched himself off the bridge.
The wind roared in his ears for three terrifying seconds before he hit the water. The impact was brutal, knocking the breath from his lungs in a violent rush. The water was freezing, shocking his system as the heavy fabric of his uniform immediately tried to drag him under.
Buck kicked out violently, breaking the surface with a desperate gasp for air. The current was strong here, pulling at his limbs. The fading sunlight barely penetrated the murky depths.
"Eddie!" he roared, swallowing a mouthful of dirty river water. He spun in a circle, his eyes burning, scanning the ripples. "EDDIE!"
Nothing.
Panic, cold and sharp as a knife, carved out the inside of his chest. He took a massive breath and forced himself under, kicking against the current, sweeping his arms blindly through the dark water. His fingers brushed against trash, against river weed, against the cold concrete of a pylon. His lungs began to burn, screaming for oxygen, but he refused to go up. He couldn't go up without him.
Just as his vision began to spot with black edges, his grasping hand tangled in something heavy and synthetic.
Canvas. Reflective striping. A turnout coat.
Buck gripped the collar with a surge of adrenaline, hauled the dead weight toward him, and kicked for the surface with everything he had.
They broke the water together. Buck was gasping, coughing, desperate for air, but his entire focus was on the man in his arms.
Eddie’s head lolled back against Buck’s shoulder. His face was shockingly pale, his lips tinged with a terrifying shade of blue. He wasn't breathing.
"No, no, no, no," Buck chanted, a frantic mantra of denial. He hooked his arm tightly across Eddie’s chest, fighting the current, swimming with agonizing slowness toward the rocky embankment beneath the arch of the bridge. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, his heavy gear weighing them both down, but the terror fueled him.
He hit the shallow rocks, scrambling on his hands and knees, dragging Eddie’s heavy, unresponsive body out of the rushing water and onto the muddy shoreline.
Buck collapsed beside him for a fraction of a second, just long enough to rip off his own heavy jacket, before he was hovering over Eddie. He pressed two trembling fingers to the pulse point at Eddie's throat.
Nothing.
"Eddie, please," Buck begged, his voice breaking. He ripped open Eddie's turnout coat, tearing at the buttons of his uniform shirt to bare his chest. He positioned the heel of his hand over the center of Eddie’s sternum, laced his fingers together, and locked his elbows.
One, two, three, four...
Buck drove his weight down, his shoulders pumping rhythmically, using every ounce of his strength. The sickening give of Eddie’s ribs under his palms was a tactile nightmare, but he couldn't stop.
Twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.
Buck pinched Eddie’s nose shut, tilted his head back, sealed his mouth over Eddie’s cold, wet lips, and breathed two hard breaths of life into his lungs. He watched Eddie’s chest rise and fall, but the moment Buck pulled away, the stillness returned.
"Come back to me," Buck sobbed, slamming his hands back onto Eddie’s chest. He resumed the compressions, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the river water dripping from his hair. "You don't get to leave me, Eddie! Do you hear me? You don't get to leave me!"
One, two, three, four...
The world shrank to the size of Eddie’s chest beneath his hands.
Years of memories flashed behind Buck's eyes like a strobe light.
Eddie walking into the station for the first time. The earthquake. Seeing him covered in dirt from the well. The blood on the asphalt when the sniper hit him. The look in Eddie’s eyes when he told Buck about his will. The looks they shared, after Eddie found him in New Mexico. The quiet moments during Buck's withdrawals. All the little moments.
Twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.
Buck bent down, pressing his mouth to Eddie’s again, breathing into him with a desperate, soul deep plea.
Take my breath. Take my heartbeat. Just don't leave me.
He pulled back, his chest heaving, his hands hovering over Eddie's sternum, ready to start the third cycle.
Suddenly, Eddie’s chest seized.
A horrific, choked gargle erupted from his throat. Eddie’s back arched off the rocks as a violent spasm hit his body. He rolled sharply onto his side, coughing up a terrifying amount of river water.
Buck was instantly there, his hands supporting Eddie’s shoulders, rubbing his back, his own breath coming in ragged, hysterical gasps. "That's it. That's it, get it out. I have got you. I got you, babe."
Eddie retched, violently expelling the water from his lungs, his entire frame shaking violently in the cool evening air. He gasped for air, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut in agony.
Buck hovered over him, entirely unspooled. His hands fluttered over Eddie’s face, his shoulders, his arms, needing to touch him, needing to verify that he was solid, that he was alive. Buck was trembling violently, the adrenaline crash hitting him like a freight train, leaving him raw and entirely exposed.
Slowly, the violent coughing subsided into harsh, ragged breathing.
Eddie slumped back onto the wet rocks, utterly exhausted.
He blinked against the fading light, his eyelashes heavy with water, and looked up.
Above him, backlit by the bruising twilight, was Buck. Buck, dripping wet, his face pale and smeared with muddy water, his chest heaving. Buck, looking at him with an expression of such absolute, devastating love and terror that it stole whatever breath Eddie had just fought to get back.
It was a mirror image. A perfect, heartbreaking parallel to the day in New Mexico when Buck had collapsed, and Eddie had been the one to run to him, running toward him with his world ending in his chest. Now, the roles were reversed, but the profound, agonizing truth between them remained the exact same.
Eddie looked up at the man who had just thrown himself off a bridge for him. The man who had always been there, steady and fiercely loyal, the co parent to his son, the other half of his soul.
The years of agonizing pining, the fear of ruining their friendship, the hesitations, they all washed away in the rushing current of the river.
Eddie didn't have the breath to speak. Instead, his lips curved into a small, weary, painfully tender smile.
He lifted a trembling, freezing hand. His palm found the curve of Buck’s jaw, his thumb brushing over Buck’s cheekbone, wiping away a streak of dirt and tears. He slid his hand to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers curling into the wet curls there.
Buck’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly, but he didn't pull away. He leaned into the touch, a soft, broken sound escaping his throat.
With a gentle, insistent pressure, Eddie pulled Buck down. Buck went willingly, collapsing the final fraction of an inch between them.
Their lips met.
It wasn't a gentle, cinematic kiss. It was desperate. It was clumsy and raw, tasting of dirty river water and the salty tang of tears. It was an impact. Buck let out a shattered groan, his hands coming up to grip Eddie's soaked uniform, anchoring himself as if Eddie might still float away. He kissed Eddie back with everything he had, pouring all his fear, all his relief, and years of unsaid, suffocating love into the contact.
Eddie’s thumb stroked the nape of Buck’s neck, grounding him, holding him close.
It was a confession. It was an absolute surrender.
When they finally pulled apart, they didn't go far. Their foreheads rested against each other, their noses brushing, their breathing synchronized into harsh, ragged pants. The air between them felt electric, charged with a profound, quiet peace that stood in stark contrast to the chaos of the last ten minutes.
Eddie let out a breathy, exhausted chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His voice was hoarse, wrecked from the water, but his tone was infinitely warm.
"I knew you would jump off the bridge if I didn't," Eddie rasped, a fond, knowing glint in his eyes.
Buck stared at him for a second, processing the words, the call earlier this year, when Eddie jumped off the bridge, to save the billionaire. The sheer absurdity of the comment, delivered while they were both freezing and soaked on a muddy riverbank, broke through the last of Buck's panic.
A laugh bubbled up from Buck’s chest a rich, breathless, shaky sound that was equal parts disbelief and pure joy. He let his head drop, pressing his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck for a moment, just breathing him in, before pulling back to meet his eyes.
"I will jump, every time," Buck said. His voice was steady now, devoid of any hesitation. It was a promise. A vow.
Eddie’s smile softened into something breathtakingly vulnerable. He moved his thumb to brush over Buck's lower lip.
"I know," Eddie whispered.