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The drive home is quiet. The light hasn't quite returned to Eddie's eyes. His knuckles are white around his phone as it bounces on his thigh. His eyes follow the passing buildings, lingering on all the big complexes that look even marginally similar to 7800 Torrey. Like he's expecting to see some sort of SOS. Like he could catch it somehow, through the walls and through the darkness.
Normally Eddie would insist on driving after something like that. He says it helps him reset, get himself out of his head. He can focus on the road and on the music and not on whatever trauma they'd just witnessed.
But he doesn't like driving at night anymore. He never said it, but Buck had noticed, ever since they got back from New Mexico. The way his muscles tense when he pulls out, the way he jumps, just slightly, when a pair headlights pull around a corner behind them. The way he doesn't relax until the engine is turned off. So, Buck started offering. Whenever he could. And Eddie's protests weakened and then disappeared. And the last few times they've been out together after sundown, he'd just wordlessly passed Buck the keys. A silent understanding between them. Some sort of inherent agreement since Buck got sober to stop pretending it's fine. At least with each other.
And maybe that's why, eventually, the silence breaks. “I wish I knew…” he falters. Loses the words. “I… I don't know how to not feel so powerless right now.”
Buck's eyes flicker over to him. The muscles in his jaw are pulsing. Clenching and unclenching in an unsteady rhythm. His hands are both clenched around his phone now. He won't turn from the window.
“We got them out,” Buck says softly. “They're safe now.”
Eddie shakes his head. “No, they're not.” He takes a breath and leans his head against the glass. His fingers twist. “One prison to another,” he mutters. “We know how this goes.”
“They're witnesses, remember? You made sure of that,” Buck tries. But it falls flat even to him.
“And where do they stay in the meantime?” He asks. “And where do they go once the trial is done? Once the state has used them to make their case? What thanks will they get for all of it?” He's so angry. The kind of quiet rage Buck knows well. Simmering in his blood. Pressure building behind his chest. He won't explode. He hasn't in years, despite having every reason to. Buck doesn't know where he puts it all.
Buck's eyes sting. He takes a breath. “They're alive,” he reminds him. “There's hope.”
“Una luz en la oscuridad", Eddie says. Buck tilts his head, silent question in his eyes that Eddie quickly answers. “It's, uh, the man whose lighter they used. That's something he said, or… something his son said to him when he gave it to him.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes,” he says, “these days… it just feels like the darkness is so massive that no light we muster could ever be enough.”
“Not alone,” Buck says. “But together, right?”
Eddie purses his lips. Looks unconvinced. “Maybe,” he says tightly.
The car falls silent again. Buck can't think of what to say. He doesn't have another reassurance. Doesn't even quite believe the ones he already tried. He wants to fix it. Like he had with Chimney's job. It's suffocating. Realising that he can't.
“I was in Downtown with Chris over the summer,” Eddie's voice is flat. Distant. “After the big protests had died down a bit. But there were still small ones popping up most days and we ran into one. Pretty low key. Not walking, just standing there with signs and chants and all that. Chris wanted to stop for a bit. So we did. Sat off to the side and chanted and got that feeling you're supposed to get. Like you can change the world. Like things will get better. They have to.” His hands are still crushing his phone. Buck is surprised, almost, that he hasn't heard the glass crack. “And then the banging started.”
He bangs the phone against his leg, like some sort of sense memory. He's not light with it. Buck winces at the sight. “Turns out we were next to the downtown detention center. A skyscraper of cells for people waiting on their immigration trials or waiting to get deported. It's this big concrete building. Like some brutalist 80s shit. Ugly and imposing. And the only windows are these little vertical slivers built deep into the wall like some awful medieval fortress. And the people behind them. They could see us, you know? But we couldn't see them. So they were knocking on the windows. Letting us know they were there. Letting us know that they knew that we were trying, I guess. And I remember staring up at that fucking beige fucking fortress, listening to the banging. To all the people who needed our help. And all the chants and signs and solidarity just felt so fucking pitiful all of a sudden. Like, suddenly, it didn't feel like we could change the world. Suddenly, it felt like we couldn't change… anything, really.” The banging on his thigh hasn't stopped or softened. The bruise he leaves is gonna be a killer. “You do the job we do, you get used to feeling powerless sometimes. There's always people you can't save but… nothing has ever felt like that.”
They pull to a stop at a red light, and Buck turns to him. Watches him in the dim light. His temple is still pressed against the window. His breath fogging up the glass. His jaw is tense. There's a crease between his eyebrows. Buck wants to reach over. Run his thumb along it. Smooth it out. His hand twitches. The light turns green. He turns back to the road.
“I've got a cousin,” he adds eventually. “With kids a bit younger than Chris. One of them, she used to beg to be left home alone. Was so thrilled when their parents finally decided she could be. A few months ago, they started calling me to babysit again. Two years later and all of a sudden she's too scared to be left alone for more than a couple hours.” His breathing is shaky. He tries to steady it. Doesn't really succeed. “Then I keep getting emails from Christopher's school, you know? New policies around access to campus and new restrictions around the kids leaving for lunch and it's all just so fucking…” He gestures aggressively with his clenched hands. “You know, Chris, he–he looks like his mom. But he still has my last name.” He sighs, head shaking, leaning back into the seat. Hands finally stilling, but not letting go. “My family is lucky. Everyone's a citizen for as long as that even matters, but it…” He trails off. When Buck glances over again, his eyes are watering. Anger replaced by that same distraught emptiness he saw earlier. Has been seeing since they stepped into that basement. “And seeing those people today. You know, luck is fickle and random and unjust… and it's all just out of my hands now.” His voice cracks. He swallows it down. “Powerless,” he finishes softly.
The car goes quiet again. An SUV turns around a corner behind them. They both flinch this time when the headlights flash into view. They hit another red, and Buck's eyes scan back over to Eddie. His eyes are still dull. His knuckles are still white. And Buck doesn't know what comes over him. Just the need to do something, maybe, anything, to relieve some of that painful tension Eddie's holding in every inch of his body. Anything to bring some life back into him.
Before he has time to second-guess, he’s reaching over the console, fingers brushing against Eddie's. Gently loosening his grip. Eddie's hand relaxes as Buck pulls it away from his phone. Laces their fingers together. Squeezes. Doesn’t let go. They don't do this. Their hands have been covered in each other's blood more times than they can count–DNA fused and twisted together in a fucked up tradition of palming over each other's wounds, the other's life held in their shaking hands. But, still they've never been woven into each other quite like this.
Eddie's palm is warm against his. Softer than he'd thought it would be. Fits Buck's so perfectly that he can't believe it wasn't bespokely designed for him. Buck's thumb rubs circles into Eddie's knuckle. Feels his grip tighten around his fingers. He pulls their hands, still connected, into his body. Holds him there. Makes something warm and conspicuous churn roughly in his gut. Buck looks over at him–a small, comforting smile on his lips. It's all he can offer. It's not enough.
But, still, Eddie musters a smile back. Just a small pull of his lips as something comes alive behind his eyes. Not faltering even as the smile does. They still look sad–sad enough to break Buck's heart again–but some of his usual warmth is coming back to them. It’s not much. It’s something.
“Ahí estás,” he breathes, almost to himself. “Luz.”