Archive of Our Own

Buck wouldn’t say this year has been his favorite one he’s lived through. 

It’s certainly up there with Maddie moving out and away after getting married to Doug, leaving Buck lonely and bruised in a house where no one saw him. With those few months where he got his leg crushed, went on blood thinners, sued his family, got caught in that tsunami, and then lost Chris in said tsunami, back to back to back. 

One year has passed since Bobby… since Bobby didn’t make it out of that call at the lab. One year of heartache and horrors for his favorite people and for himself. 

He really thought that maybe, just maybe, things might start to look up for them after a year. Maybe this next year will not be another worst to add to the list. 

But here he is, screaming while being held back by his team— his family, as he watches the stupid, stupid truck that Eddie insists is the best on the market, erupt in another round of flames. 

——

Buck’s morning routine has changed a few times in his time living in LA. A normal, not so horrible day goes like this: Buck wakes up, gets dressed, packs his work bag with a few changes of clothes, grabs a protein bar, drives to Eddie’s house, they have a nice calm breakfast, Buck climbs into Eddie's truck, drives Chris to school, and finally himself and Eddie to work. 

It’s been this way, on and off, for the last 8 years now. He makes pancakes, sometimes French toast, in Eddie’s kitchen using Eddie’s pans and Eddie’s flour. He helps Chris go over his homework from the night before at Eddie’s table. He washes Eddie’s dishes in Eddie’s sink. He entertains Eddie’s son. He drives Eddie’s car to work and back. 

Sometimes they will go months without the routine. Take, for example, when Buck was avoiding the Diaz boys just a few weeks ago. Or maybe when Eddie and Chris were in Texas. Or during Buck’s coma. Or— well, the list goes on. All that to say, when there’s a gap in their morning routine, it falls back into place just as quickly as it fell out. 

It doesn’t matter if one of them has the day off. It doesn’t matter if neither of them are working either. If it’s a school morning, Buck will be at Eddie’s front door with a smile and a breakfast plan. 

Today is only Buck’s third day back at the 118. Just like always, though, their mornings are already part of his routine again. His shift starts at 8 am, and Eddie isn’t working today, but Buck still finds himself on Eddie’s doorstep at 6:30 fiddling with the key. 

Using the key has been a relatively recent development. Before, Eddie was often awake prior to Buck breaking into his house to cook. He would putter around the house, unlocking the door first thing. 

Now, though, Buck is pretty sure Eddie has been sleeping in. It’s especially apparent on days like today, where he doesn’t have to go into work. Buck thinks it’s great. Actually, he thinks it’s an incredible development. Eddie deserves to give himself the simple pleasure of a few hours of extra sleep. 

It does, however, mean Buck has been having the pleasure of meeting a version of Eddie he hasn’t met thus far. Grumpy morning Eddie. Pre-first cup of burnt straight black coffee, pre-morning shower, pre-being fully awake. Buck gets to be dearly acquainted with this sleep rumpled and prickly Eddie. 

If Buck didn’t already know he was in love with Eddie, this might just have been the final nail in the coffin.

Selfishly Buck relishes in seeing this side of him. It feels like the most Eddie version of Eddie he can meet. Eddie in his loose sweatpants and baggy t-shirt that Buck is pretty sure used to be his from his few days at college. He can always tell when Eddie got a good night of sleep too. Sometimes when he exits his bedroom, Buck gets a front row seat to his untamed bed head. 

It’s his favorite of Eddie’s hairstyles.  

Morning Eddie is also bitchy. It's like he hasn’t built his wall yet for the day and there’s nothing stopping his every thought from filtering through freely. Buck can’t help but picture him as a tiny kitten, rubbing his eyes with a paw and baring their tiny teeth. 

Morning Eddie has and will complain about any and everything that slightly irritates him. From not having enough juice to having too many types in the fridge. Maybe he wanted bacon or that he can’t even look at an egg today. Buck looks too happy and even one morning, Buck looked “too much”. He wouldn't clarify what that meant, no matter how much poking and prodding Buck did. 

Buck can’t bite back his smile each time. It's cute. Sue him. 

By the time Chris’s teenager alarm goes off, with the perfectly calculated number of seconds he needs to get ready and out the door, bitchy morning Eddie is long gone, replaced by Buck’s second favorite Eddie: good dad Eddie. 

Or maybe that would just be called Eddie, because he’s a good dad all of the time. Buck is pretty certain he’s actually the best dad that anyone could be. 

Especially to Chris. 

Eddie lets Chris pick the music on their drives. Buck hands his phone off, Spotify open, and lets Chris cue whatever he wants about 3 minutes before they walk out the door. He chooses something up beat and almost jazzy that makes Buck sad their drive is not longer. 

To his disappointment, they pull up to the high school drop off line a mere song and a half later. Chris is off like a shot, already chatting with three friends on his way in before Eddie can yell a goodbye and love you to him. 

The drive to the station takes three more songs, and then Eddie takes over the driver's seat. Buck waves Eddie off with a smile, staying to watch the truck disappear into the distance before heading in. 

It will be a good day, he thinks over and over. If he says it enough times, maybe it will be true. He can do this. He’s worked without Eddie hundreds of times now. He did months of it while Eddie was in Texas! Buck can go a day without Eddie. He can do it. 

Buck takes a deep breath and walks into the station. 

Handoff from the last shift is easy. No calls come in while the A shift trickles in and C shift trickles out. Thankfully, their night had been a slow one. 

Buck gets to work on making breakfast again, this time for the firefighters, thankful that the calm from yesterday has bled into their morning. Country fried potatoes, ones he cut up and froze last week, get dumped into a bowl to thaw. He pulls eggs and milk from the fridge for scrambled eggs to go with. It may be nothing fancy but at least it’s something filling. 

Just as he’s about to pour the potatoes in a heated pan, the tones sound. 

10 minutes. 

That’s how far into the shift they got. 

It’s gonna be one of those days, he signs. 

“One alarm MVA!” Chim calls from the bottom of the stairs. “6th street bridge! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

——

Two arms are crossed over Buck’s chest. Two arms, that are not his own, blanket his body. They are pushing, straining, and Buck can’t tell why. 

His legs are moving. 

His body isn’t. 

Why… why not? 

Why is he not moving?

He looks down. Yeah, his legs are working. He's just not going forward. 

That’s Eddie’s truck.

Don’t these arms understand? That’s Eddie’s truck!

He has go. 

He has to get closer. 

Why can’t he get closer?

Why can’t he get to Eddie?!

Whose arms are keeping him away?? Wildly, Buck looks to his left and right. He sees navy blue and radios. Sees black hats with yellow striping and white numbers spelling out 118. 

Oh.

Someone, two someones he realizes, are holding him back. Two people with eyes locked on Buck’s face are keeping him from Eddie. 

He twists and turns and tries to break away. Even while he kicks and screams to be free, he never once lets his eyes leave the truck before him. It is engulfed in flames, fire licking up the windshield and truck bed. It’s surrounding the cab and the tires and slowly creeping up on the gas tank. 

Whoever is in there can’t get out! 

Eddie’s in there. 

Eddie can’t get out.

Buck hopes to everyone and everything he doesn’t really believe in that it’s not Eddie in that car. That this is a cruel coincidence the universe is playing on him. That this truck belongs to someone else having the worst day of their life. 

Please, he begs, don’t let it be Eddie. 

Methodically, Buck watches the fire get knocked down. Water from the truck and fire extinguishers from the crew come in a wave. They smother the fire around the front of the truck. He can see the driver’s door now, the greenish blue color now black and burnt. 

Behind him, Chimney calls for Harry and Ravi to get in there. Through his radio he tells Hen to prepare the ambulance. 

Chim steps around Buck then, trying discreetly to block his view of the crash. 

He thinks it’s Eddie in there too. 

Buck shifts to keep his line of sight. At his full night Chimney can’t obfuscate the crash. Buck can’t let even a second go by without knowing if Eddie is okay. 

If it even is Eddie.

Please don’t be Eddie. 

Someone is sobbing, their cries echoing through his radio and in the air around him. Buck can’t tell who it’s coming from, though. Everyone else is doing their job, strong and silent. 

He needs to see Eddie. 

He needs it like air in his lungs. Like blood in his veins. Like a Buck needs an Eddie. 

Even with the fire knocked back, all he sees is the truck and the crash. A boat that seems to have broken loose on the road is eating up the front of the truck. The grill is crinkled in a sharp V where the propeller pushed into the engine cavity of the truck. 

Eddie’s truck. 

Eddie’s stupid fucking truck and his stupid fucking need to do all the of the chores while Buck is working so Buck can relax at Eddie’s house with Eddie’s son after he worked without Eddie and—

A blur of blue and silver breaks his gaze. 

Hen. 

She is running, stretcher and backboard by her side. There's a life pack sitting in the middle of the mattress. A bag of saline glints in the morning’s light. 

It’s bad. 

The flames are gone when Buck’s eyes refocus on Eddie. He hears metal screeching, pulling and scraping against itself as the car settles. He watches as they try to get into the car with no luck. The driver's door won’t budge. Harry is yelling something to Hen that he can’t quite hear over the pounding in his ears and the sobs from whoever is yelling. 

Ravi rounds the truck, though, and has no trouble pulling open the passenger door. It must not have crushed as much as the driver's side. 

The door that’s keeping Buck from Eddie. 

“Let me do it,” Buck pleads to Chimney’s back. To his captain. He could get that door open right now! He could get Eddie out and safe and home in no time flat if these people would just. 

Let. 

Him. 

Go! 

Buck struggles some more, sure he’s mumbling nothing but Eddie’s name. It’s no use. Buck remembers this act from all those years ago outside the well. Everyone else thinks Eddie’s already dead. They are going to try, but they think he’s already gone. They are going to do all they can, he knows they will, but… 

Buck knows he could fix it. He.. that’s what he does! He fixes things! He's great at fixing things! He helps Eddie! He can help fix Eddie! 

If only he could—

Flowers. 

That’s what Ravi pulls from the car first. 

A bouquet of flowers. They are singed black with wilted petals and melted cellophane stuck to what’s left of the stems and Buck sags.

Buck likes fresh flowers. 

He likes fresh flowers in Eddie’s house. He told Eddie that last week. 

Eddie got him flowers. 

His chest hurts. His ears hurt. His throat hurts. Is he screaming? Is that what all the noise is?

Harry darts past him, jaws of life in hand, as Hen and Ravi switch places. Of course Hen goes in. She has to make sure Eddie’s okay. If it can’t be Buck, he knows in his heart that Hen will keep Eddie safe. He trusts her. He can let her do her job. 

Still, Buck needs visual. A smile. A wave. Eye contact. Even a scream. Something to know he’s alive. Please, be begs to the frantic air. To the god that Eddie believes in. To Chim. To Hen. 

Please let Eddie be alive in there. 

Ravi yanks the door open as the jaws wrinkle the metal. He’s too far away to be certain but, that is a man in the driver's seat. One with the same grey shirt and jeans Eddie had on just a little bit ago. There’s the cow print steering wheel cover Buck bought as a joke but Eddie insisted on keeping. A blue disability parking pass is peaking out, askew in one of the cupholders instead of its usual place on the dash. 

For some reason, that’s what convinces Buck that this is real. He collapses, sobs erupting from him in waves of anguish. The arms around him do their best, but they are no match for the terror whipping through his body. His knees buckle and suddenly Buck is on the ground, gravel digging into his bad leg. 

The man isn’t moving

Eddie isn’t moving. 

“No, no! This can’t be real!”

Chim rushed forward to help Hen with the medical needs. Ravi and Harry drop back. Someone runs to the ambulance behind Buck to get more supplies or something. He doesn’t know. 

“Please,” he chokes out around sobs, “This can’t be happening!”

There’s less resistance now that Buck is on the ground, and the two people holding Buck back are able to move him a few feet away. They sit him on the fire engine’s bumper. Someone tries to offer him a water bottle. Someone else wraps his shoulders in a blanket. 

He pulls his legs up, making himself as small as possible. This can’t be real. 

Chim is massaging an IV bag above his shoulders. 

Eddie is still in the driver’s seat. 

He still isn’t moving. 

“I can’t lose him,” Buck begs. His voice is raw and gravelly. “I can’t. I love him. I can’t. I can’t…”

A steadying hand wraps itself around Buck’s shoulder. It’s warm and familiar. He tenses. 

“Hey Buckaroo,” the person says in that firm and comforting way she always speaks. 

Athena. 

Someone must have called her when they arrived on scene. Maybe Chim when he realized. Maybe Maddie if she overheard the call. Maybe Bobby sent her a sign. Maybe she is his sign from Bobby. 

He can’t look at her, though. He can’t leave Eddie. A C-collar is being slipped around Eddie’s neck. That’s a good sign, right? Ravi and Harry are getting in position to move the patient. To move Eddie. Hen is cradling his head, Ravi and Harry are lifting his legs and chest, and Eddie is still not moving. 

“He’s not moving, ‘thena,” Buck whispers. 

She makes a small hum. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“You know we are gonna do everything in our power to keep him safe. Just like you did with Chimney. Just like we did with you.”

He does know this. He knows it in his core. It’s central to who he is now. He has family to lean on and trust now. 

“But,” he says instead, “it’s Eddie.”

“He’s a fighter, Buck,” Athena reassures. Her thumb is rubbing circles over his shoulder. “He will always come back to you.”

“I love him.”

“I know you do.”

The team is rushing to the ambulance now. Everyone important, at least. Other firefighters are still working, making sure nothing else is going to go up in flames. That everyone else is safe. 

Buck doesn’t care about that right now. 

He cares about Eddie. 

Hen catches his eye as the gurney is lifted into the ambulance. She tilts her head slightly, asking Buck to come along. Telling him to join. 

He wants to go. He needs to go. But for some reason he can’t move from his place. His body is like lead, too heavy for its size. Like a magnetic field has attached him to the bumper and he doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

Thankfully, Athena does. She gives him the push he needs. A firm hand on his back and a quiet, “Go,” sets him in motion. 

He has to go. He has to see Eddie. Has to know if he’s alive.  

——

Buck isn’t really sure how it happens, but suddenly he’s sitting on the bench of the ambulance, watching an unconscious Eddie bounce as they make a turn. 

The monitor is beeping in rhythm. It’s slow but it’s steady. 

He’s alive. 

The thought cracks the tiny piece of what is left of Buck’s composure. His body shoots forward on its own, his ear landing right on Eddie’s chest. 

His heart is beating. He’s alive. He’s gonna be okay. He’s alive. He has to be okay.  

Hen’s hand is trying to work its way between Eddie’s chest and Buck’s ear, but Buck’s bones are locked in place. He doesn’t budge a millimeter. 

His hands are wrapped in Eddie’s shirt, the same one he slept in last night. A shirt Buck threw in with the load of laundry he did yesterday after Christopher and he went searching for worms for their garden in the rain. It still smells faintly of sleep and sweat and mostly smoke but Buck thinks there isn’t anything he would want to smell more. 

It all smells like Eddie. 

“Come on Buck,” Hen pleads gently, “You have to sit back for the drive. We can’t have both of you getting hurt.”

For Eddie, Buck relents. It takes strength he still doesn’t have, but Buck makes it back into a sitting position. He can’t, however, convince his fingers to let go of Eddie’s shirt. Not yet, they scream. Hen will just have to work around him. 

“Four minutes out!” Ravi calls from the cab. Chim must have stayed on scene to finish up the call. Harry too. 

Sitting like this, hand fisted in the t-shirt fabric, gives him a front row seat to everything Hen is doing to keep Eddie stable. She pushes some syringe of something with his IV line and then adjusts the oxygen mask to sit more flush on Eddie’s face. She massages around his shoulder, arms tangled in between Buck’s. With a soft hum, she clicks the call button to give the radio report to the hospital team as they approach. Her head never stops moving, watching between his chest, his face, and the heart monitor as she talks.  

Being here, right in the middle of the care, is almost worse than watching from far away. He’s here, right here, but still there is nothing he can do. There is nothing that he can fix for Eddie. Buck is helpless but to wait for the doctors and to beg Eddie to wake up. 

The three of them jolt as the ambulance pulls to an abrupt stop, hopefully in an ambulance bay of some world renowned hospital. One where every doctor and every nurse is perfect and never makes a mistake. Where even just breathing the air of the waiting room will heal Eddie fully. 

It’s wishful thinking, Buck knows, but Eddie deserves the best. 

The back doors are thrown open from both sides, combined force from Hen and Ravi. Chimney and Harry and the rest of their team are already there, waiting and watching with a team of doctors and nurses for handoff. 

Buck can’t leave this call at the doors. He can’t. This isn’t a normal call. It’s Eddie. His Eddie. 

He can’t lose sight of him yet. 

Bobby wouldn’t expect him to, he remembers, so Chimney won’t either.

Buck climbs out of the ambulance alongside the gurney, hands still twisted in Eddie's shirt. He stays there, catatonic and breaking, while Hen gives her report again. He does his best to tune it out. Hearing the words makes it real. 

More real. 

Too real. 

So for now he just stands there in the morning light holding onto Eddie’s shirt while he lays unconscious on the stretcher. 

——

Between what feels like one blink and the next, Buck is in the waiting room. 

The room isn’t empty around him by any means. Families and loved ones are mindless in packs, desperate but together in their horrors. 

Maddie in her dispatch blazer to his left. May in newly bought scrubs to his right. One hand each is intertwined with his own in his lap. 

“You had work,” he says, though he’s not so sure who he’s talking to. They both shouldn’t be here. 

Maddie squeezes his hand but it’s May who speaks first. 

“Well someone needs to be on Christopher pickup duty, and we all know you or Maddie aren’t leaving any time soon.”

Her eyes are red and raw but her mouth is tilted up in a smirk. It startles a wet laugh out of Buck, something he didn’t know he was still capable of doing. 

“It’s family, Buck,” Maddie says with a shaky voice, “I am always going to be here for you and your family.”

His eyes slide back to those white double doors. A small part of him is still waiting to see Eddie walk through them. To watch as he runs a hand through sweat soaked hair and smiles wildly with a clean bill of health while he asks what Buck wants for lunch.

“I’m not the family he wants,” Buck mutters. It tastes like a lie as he says it. The words linger like bile in his mouth, bitter and acidic. 

Maddie hums but lets him keep staring. 

The doors don’t budge.

“How long has it been?” Buck asks. He doesn’t clarify, doesn’t need to. They all know exactly what he means. 

“32 minutes since handoff,” Maddie answers automatically. It’s almost like she’s been counting. 

Eddie was stable when they brought him in. They should know something by now, right? Buck feels his heart rate start to pick up. Someone should be out here giving them an update. To give him an update. To give him anything. 

He pulls his hands back, suddenly too hot, too much contact. The silence is oppressive. How is no one talking! The lights are too bright, like someone raised the exposure of the room. Like it’s the perfect summer day at the beach and not what could be the worst day of his life. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing that one thing to change. Someone needs to tell him—

“Hey, hey, Evan,” Maddie is kneeling at his feet. She’s talking. She’s filling the room with noise. “Breathe, okay? In and out,” She moves her hands up and down, up and down. He tries his best to follow her speed. Focus is good. “In and out,” she repeats, “The doctor will be out soon with news. We want them to take their time with Eddie. We don’t want them to rush and miss something, right?”

Maddie is using that same voice she used to use when he was a kid. The one she uses with Jee. Calm and slow and firm and warm. 

He nods. He doesn’t want them to miss anything. Eddie deserves to be seen fully. He deserves everything good. 

She reaches up, wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks. 

“You’re doing so well, Buck. This whole thing, it’s hard. You’re doing so good. What is it that Eddie’s Abuela used to tell him?”

“There’s no use in worrying twice,” he whispers. May leans down, resting her head on his shoulder. The warmth is nice this time. 

“Exactly. I think we should listen to her about this one, no?”

“Okay,” he answers, settling into May’s comfort. 

Pepa. 

He sits up suddenly, patting his legs and looking around for his jacket. “I- I need to call—“

“Pepa?” May asks, pulling his phone from her lap. “Already done. I stole your phone when I first got here. She’s up in San Francisco right now but she should be back in a few hours.”

“Oh,” He settles a bit at that. Reaching for his phone, he leans back in his chair and lets May rest against him again. “Thank you.”

“Always,” she replies, looping her arms around his in a gentle hug, “It’s family.”

——

It only takes 10 minutes for the doors to swing. A woman in a long white coat pushes them open, a stethoscope in her pocket clicking softly. The doors squeak slightly as it swings to a stop behind her.

“Evan Buckley?” She calls, scanning the room from behind her clipboard. The question carries throughout the waiting room. It bounces off of the grey walls and other families waiting in limbo until it hits Buck’s ears. 

Her eyes land on his huddled body, slightly shaking and still in uniform. Maddie must wave or maybe she can just tell this news is for him. The doctor takes a few steps, shoes heavy on the floor, and suddenly it’s real again. 

No more Schrödinger’s Eddie, both alive and dead in a room down that hall. No more questions or what if’s. No more hope and fear. Just another fact learned and a next best choice to make. 

“Family of Eddie Diaz?” The doctor asks, coming to a stop in front of the three of them. 

His instinct, still, is to shake his head no. To say not really, not in the way you think. This isn’t the time, though. Maddie made that clear. 

He nods, just once, and waits for his world to stop spinning.

“Mr. Buckley. It seems that Mr. Diaz has appointed you as his medical proxy in the case that he is unable to make decisions about his own care and treatment. In doing so, he has made you my main point of contact while Mr. Diaz is still unconscious.”

“Is he…” Buck’s question trails off. Okay? Safe? Stable? Alive? He’s not quite sure he can say that out loud just yet.

“Mr. Diaz took a hard hit today, but he seems to have been smart about it as well,” she nods. She glances down at her clipboard, rhythmically tapping with a pen as she reads. “He came in with a dislocated shoulder and a few broken ribs. A CT scan confirmed the breaks, as well as a partial dislocation of his left arm. This is consistent with a driver's seat crash.”

Something softens in the doctor’s voice then. She morphs from the detached persona first responders often need to wear to protect themselves from their job into… herself. Into just another person in the hospital waiting room. 

“The vehicle seems to have hit the passenger side of the hood, based on the placement of his injuries. Most people when faced with a crash turn away. They turn hoping to position themselves as far from the crash site as possible. All that does, however, is put them into a more dangerous position. Collisions from the side can result in some horrible injuries that your partner was smart enough to avoid. He fought his instinct. He turned into the crash, just a little bit. Had Mr. Diaz turned out instead of in, we would likely be having significantly harder conversation.”

“Oh,” Buck breathes. 

She looks up, meeting his gaze with kindness and intensity. It almost reminds him of Eddie.

“Your partner is a very, very smart man, Mr. Buckley.”

May squeezes his hand. Buck squeezes back. 

“To ensure that he has no lasting adverse effects to the smoke inhalation nor any signs of a severe concussion, we would like to monitor him for the next couple of days. Once Mr. Diaz is awake, we can discuss how long that may be, but for now—“

“Can we see him,” Buck asks, voice shaky with emotion, “Please?”

For what feels like the first time in this conversation, the doctor looks to Maddie and May. “Unfortunately we are only allowing one visitor at a time, outside of immediate family members of course.”

“Go,” Maddie urges him with a smile and glassy eyes. 

“Just,” his voice cracks. Buck sniffles, clearing his throat and trying again. “Just me for now. Can I—“

“Of course,” she smiles, “Follow me.”

——

Over the years, Buck has been well acquainted with hospital rooms across the country. From Pennsylvania to Mexico to California, as both a patient and a visitor, he's spent a good chunk of his life sitting in them. At this point, the residual smell of disinfectant and metal is as nostalgic as Maddie’s cherry blossom perfume. 

These past few years have added an undercurrent of smoke to the frey. 

That's what hits him first. The smoky smell of Eddie’s clothing and the chemical smell of the room. 

On their short walk, the doctor warned him that lights would be off and Eddie would be asleep. He hasn’t woken up from the crash yet, but his vitals are good. He’s stable. 

She was right, of course. The room is dark as he closes the door behind him. Light seeps in from the cracks in the edges of the drawn blinds and the blinking monitors. 

Eddie is centered against the back wall. There’s an ice pack wrapped against his right side. A sling lays across his left arm. Slow, almost shallow in a way, he is breathing. 

“Eddie,” Buck gasps. 

He’s bruised. 

Across his forehead and cheek blooms a slight redness where his face hit the airbag. It will darken, the only visible sign of the damage Eddie took in the crash. Maybe his shoulder and ribs will bruise too. Eddie wouldn’t let anyone see that, though. He would find a way to hide his hurt behind his favorite Henley and perfected mask of strength. 

Selfishly, Buck appreciates that he can’t hide this one. Maybe Eddie will accept some help if he can’t pretend he’s fine. 

Right now, even with the pain he’s certainly in, Eddie looks calm. Relaxed in a way he never is, even asleep, in his own home. Loose and unrestrained. 

Free. 

Yeah, that’s it. Eddie has let himself be free. Free from expectation built up by his parents and himself. Free from the burden of a lone wolf, roughing it alone against the odds. Like he’s finally accepting every one in. 

Like he’s bringing Buck in. 

Even now as he sleeps, he’s letting Buck in on something sacred. 

The metal feet of his chair scratch lines along the linoleum as he pulls it closer to the edge of the bed.  Buck can’t find it in him to care. He pushes into Eddie’s space, the place Eddie has opened for Buck alone, and slides their hands together. 

“You’re okay,” Buck murmurs, leaning down to kiss the top of Eddie’s hand. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Just like in the ambulance, Buck lays his weight onto Eddie’s chest. He listens, the gentle thump thump thump more soothing than any medicine. He feels the weight of the day slip off his shoulders. Despite it still being early in the day, Buck drifts off to the rhythm of Eddie’s heartbeat. 

“I missed you,” he says, eyes closed and cheek squished against Eddie’s stomach. 

——

Minutes later, or maybe it’s been hours, he still can’t really tell, Buck is woken by squeaky hinges, steady beeping, and soft clicks. Someone is running their fingers through his hair, a mindless, comforting motion. He wants to sink into the warmth. To live in this in between where all things are real and nothing is bad.

From the fuzzy edges of his mind it all rushes back to him. The crash. The worry. The waiting. The unknown.

He blinks rapidly, attempting to wipe away the sleep and sit up. He needs to assess Eddie, to make sure he’s okay. A heavy arm is slung over his shoulder, though, hand still twirling the ends of Bucks' hair. The weight anchors him in place. 

In the end, his fight doesn’t matter. Once his eyes adjust, he is met with the most beautiful sight: an exhausted Eddie. Smiling softly with eyes glued to the space above Buck’s head, Eddie is alive.

He’s alive. 

“Hey Mijo,” Eddie sighs, voice scratchy from disuse. There is so much love in that word. Eddie’s smile dances in the air around his word, and Buck floods with relief. 

He’s alive.

He tries to sit up again, one arm carefully placed against Eddie’s chest. 

This time Eddie lets him go. 

“Dad!”

Christopher is right there by his dad’s side. His eyes are teary, cheeks raw from rubbing tears away. Slowly and deliberately, Chris leans his crutches against Eddie’s bed. He climbs in, curling into his dad like a puzzle piece made to fit. A beautiful picture with two pieces alone. 

Buck can’t help but see him as that seven year old he met all those years ago. The kid who’s survived losing one parent and has been faced with the threat of losing another too many times. The kid who survived his own share of near death experiences too. Even at fifteen, he isn’t too cool to hug his dad. To love him openly and loudly. 

“I’m okay bud,” Eddie assures Chris. He glances up from his son and meets Buck's gaze. “I came back to you. I’m okay.”

Buck has never been great at emotional honesty or eye contact. He can’t fight the urge to look away.

He catches a glimpse of May and looks at her instead. She’s watching from the doorway, assuring the nurse she will go back to the waiting room in a second. Her eyes meet his, and Buck doesn’t know what to do except mouth a quiet thank you. May blows him a kiss, clicking the door shut behind her. 

“What happened,” Chris asks, a little quiet from his place next to Eddie. 

“May didn’t fill you in on your drive over?” Buck jokes, trying to refocus on the important. Eddie’s alive. Eddie is here. Chris is here. 

“She said to ask dad about it when we got here.”

“Uh,” Eddie’s eyes flit between Buck and Chris. “Are you sure you want to know bud? It’s not a super fun one.”

“Dad,” Chris deadpans. There’s that teenager he knows and loves. “I watched a video of you getting shot. I can handle this.”

Eddie sighs but agrees anyway. 

He explains the accident. The errands. The groceries. The flowers. The shaky boat from a few cars ahead of him. How he tried to keep his distance, but other cars turned away and left him in the wake. Two lane bridge. Couldn’t get out of the way. Probably a broken hitch. Didn’t want to hit oncoming cars. 

“And then nothing until I woke up here with Your Buck napping on me!” Eddie laughs. 

“But you’re okay,” Chris worries. He’s watched Eddie rapt in his words, seemingly not wanting to miss what could have been another missing parents story. Something in Buck’s heart squeezes tight again. “You’re going to be okay right?” 

“Of course mijo, of course.” Eddie plies, “It’s just a few bruises.”

“And two broken ribs and a concussion,” Buck adds before he can stop himself. Wide eyed and a little sheepish, Buck looks to Eddie who’s just smiling back at him.  

“Trader,” Eddie jokes and Chris laughs bright and sunny through his worried tears. 

It’s nice, Buck thinks. Being here with these two. It feels like family. Like he’s sitting with the group, not watching from outside and wishing to be loved. The harsh hospital lights are still off and it makes the room, the world really, shrink to just them. 

Buck watches, really watches, Eddie with his son. How naturally good of a dad he is. How he jokes with his son about how weird Buck is. How he answers his questions easily and openly. 

How he keeps insisting on Buck being there for Christopher’s milestones and teacher conferences. 

How he makes up an excuse most nights to get Buck to stay even though his house is only a 5 minute drive. 

How Eddie has started to keep brown sugar and flour stocked in his cupboards and his kitchen aid is always clean even though he doesn’t know how to bake. 

Eddie, who buys expensive flower arrangements and new vases for his house even though he probably couldn’t care less about them. 

How no fight they’ve ever had in eight years has broken their closeness to the point of no return. 

Buck startles, realizing Eddie has been watching him back. 

“Hey Chris,” Buck butts into their conversation, eyes not straying from Eddie’s. 

“Yeah Buck?”

“Would you go grab your backpack from May? You probably have some homework right?”

Chris groans and probably rolls his eyes, but he listens anyway. Careful to avoid jostling his dad too much, he crawls off the hospital bed and clicks the door shut behind him. 

“You’re in love with me,” Buck says plainly. The thought has barley hit him. 

“Oh good,” Eddie smiles, “you noticed.”

“Eddie, you’re—“

“Yeah, Buck, I’m in love with you.” He breaks their eye contact then, reaching up to scratch at his neck. Eddie lets out a small hiss, like he forgot he was hurt for a moment. “I’m sorry I’ve been—“

“No!” He practically yells, and Eddie’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “No, no, Eddie no—okay hold on. Wait. You’re in— right okay but. No, Eddie,” buck stammers and buffers, trying to grab hold of a full sentence as his every thought is flying around his brain. “Eddie! You’re straight. You’re straight and I’m in love with you and you’re just… being nice to me? That… That’s what’s happening, isn’t it?”

”Yes, Buck,” Eddie says with a sarcastic tilt to his smile, “I’m in love with you because I’m being nice. Sure.”

“Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“It is stupid, bud. I’m in love with you! Like, so incredibly and utterly in love with you that I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you that felt like enough.” 

Eddie looks up, shaking his head slightly like he’s trying to find his words. The same look he makes during game nights and on the job where he’s running through all of the different ways this could go. His eyes dart back and forth until they land softly on Buck's face. 

“You are so much Buck, so so much in all of the best ways and you deserved something enough. I had a whole plan for when you got home too. I promised Chris I’d tell you this week! I chose after your shift but obviously that idiot driver and the broken hitch…” he trails off, leaving them sitting in silence with the steady beep of his heart monitor. 

“No,” Buck says more in disbelief than an argument. 

“Yes,” Eddie replies much more definitively. 

He reaches out his good arm, careful of stretching this time. On instinct, Buck laces their fingers together. It’s a comfort now that he knows he’s not breaking some unspoken rule between them. Eddie uses his new position and much too much strength for a man with two broken ribs to yank their joined hands. His laugh is silver and sparkling as Buck stumbles into Eddie’s space. “Now come here and kiss me. I’m hurt, I deserve it.”

For a moment, Buck is frozen. Here he is, one hand pressed into the pillow next to Eddie’s bed, the other holding his hand, while Eddie asks Buck to kiss him. This has to be a dream, right? It’s too good to be true, too easy to move from friends to more. 

Eddie huffs, the soft air warming Buck’s cheek, and seems to give up on Buck making the first move. Even if it’s only been a few seconds from when he asked. Eddie raises their joined hands, hooking a finger in Buck's collar and pulls him closer once again. 

Buck’s lips meet Eddie’s like maybe they started this fall years ago. That first moment of eyes meeting through glass started the slow magnetic pull to have them end up here, kissing in a hospital room eight years later. 

Buck doesn’t want to push too much too fast, he wants to do this one right, but Eddie doesn’t seem to have such worries. Parting his own lips, he licks at Buck’s until he does the same. Deep in his chest, Eddie groans, and the sound zips down Buck’s spine. It settles deep in his belly, coiling and swirling there as Eddie just keeps kissing him.

Except suddenly, Eddie pushes him back. 

Not far, of course. His mouth is barely an inch from Eddie’s. But the magnetic pull is strong now and Buck can’t help but sway back in. 

“Aww,” Eddie pouts, looking terribly disappointed all of the sudden. He is truly, actually, pouting. A sliver of his pink bottom lip is jutting out and everything. The drugs must still be strong in his system. “The ring was in the glove box! Darn it!”

“T— the ring??” Buck asks because clearly he heard Eddie wrong. He pulls back a little more to study Eddie’s face as he asks, “What ring?” 

“The ring to marry you,” he blinks, “Obviously.” They slow, getting longer and longer. He looks heavy in the bed, sinking lower under the hospital sheets. Maybe Buck could ask Maddie to grab Eddie one of his blankets from home, he thinks. Make his stay a little more comfortable. 

Stifled by a yawn, Eddie asks, “You’d marry me right?”

“Um ye- yeah. Of course I would.” 

Answering is as easy as breathing. He would, in a heartbeat. 

“Good,” Eddie smiles, loose and happy. He rubs his head into the rough fabric of the pillow a few times before immediately falling back asleep. 

Okay. 

Well. 

Buck isn’t certain if that counts as a real proposal, but with the day they’ve had he kind of wants to believe it was. Eddie isn’t usually the kind of person to say things he doesn’t mean, anyway. 

He probably meant it. 

Later, he’ll ask Maddie to call Chim and see if the ring could be saved from the wreck. 

Later, Eddie and him will talk about how to do this whole thing for real. 

Later, Eddie and Chris will move into Buck’s house because Chris insisted it was cooler to have a hot tub and a new room. 

Later, Chris will surprise them with a wedding idea Pinterest board he started years ago and has been adding to ever since. 

Later, the three of them will go ring shopping to replace what was lost in the crash, making sure to get Chris something special too.

Later, they will work out all of the little things like who mows the grass and who mops and who vacuums. 

But right now? 

Right now, Eddie is going to sleep off his injuries and Buck is going to try really hard to remember how to do geometry homework.

And right now, that’s more than enough.