Chapter Text
The shrill chirp of his alarm ripped through the bedroom, far too loud, far too bright.
Buck groaned, slamming his hand over the clock with a thud that rattled the nightstand. His sinuses burned, throat raw, and his entire body ached like he’d been through another tsunami.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to swallow against the soreness, and the effort sent him pitching forward with a sneeze.
“AITCH! AITCH! AITCH!—hh—HA-HA-HAITSHOO! HE- HE- HE’ITCHOOO! CHOO! CHOO! CHOO!”
The force of it left him slumped on the bed, head spinning.
He fumbled blindly for the crumpled box of tissues at his bedside and blew his nose miserably, long and gurgling, before flopping back against the pillows with a groan.
Last night it had just been a scratchy throat, a little congestion. He’d figured he’d sleep it off.
But this morning?
This morning felt like he’d been run over by a truck, dragged a couple miles, and then dumped into a freezer.
He was hot.
Then cold.
Then shivering in sweat.
His skin prickled and his head was stuffed full of cotton.
Definitely a fever.
Definitely a nasty cold.
Possibly the worst timing in the world.
Buck dragged the blanket over his head, trying to burrow back into sleep.
His body begged for it — for quiet, for stillness, for the comfort he could almost imagine.
He let himself drift, fever weaving strange little half-dreams.
Eddie, leaning over him with that furrow in his brow, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, kissing his temple.
Eddie’s voice low and warm: You’re okay, Buck. I’ve got you.
Buck sighed into the pillow, almost able to feel it.
But an hour later, his phone blared again.
Buck startled awake with a gasp — and immediately pitched into another fit of sneezes, wracking and relentless.
“Hh—HA-HA-HAITSHOO! ! HAHHH-HE’TCHIEW! HE’TCHIIEEWWW! AITCH! AITCH! AITCH! AITCH! AITCH!”
His chest heaved as he fumbled for more tissues, blowing his nose until it was raw and sniffling hard.
His head pounded.
His phone was still buzzing.
He finally swiped it up, squinting at the screen.
Eddie.
A flicker of relief stirred.
Maybe he could just say he wasn’t feeling good.
Maybe Eddie would understand, tell him to stay in bed, promise to check on him later.
God, he wanted that so badly right now.
Comfort.
Permission to just collapse.
He swiped to answer.
His voice came out hoarse and cracked: “Eds—”
“Where the hell are you?” Eddie’s voice was sharp, rushed, no space for softness.
Buck froze. “…Huh?”
“You better not have overslept, Buckley. Tell me you didn’t forget. I’ve got like 25 minutes to get to the station and Chris is here waiting for you. He was so excited. I told him you’d be there. You promised me.”
The words hit like blows, too fast for Buck’s foggy brain to process.
“I—” Buck rasped, trying to catch up.
His throat burned.
Eddie’s sigh thundered through the line. “Dammit, Buck, I was counting on you. Chris was counting on you. You know he deserves better than this.”
A pause.
Low, almost under his breath, but Buck heard it like a knife twisting:
“We deserve better than this.”
Buck’s stomach sank.
Shit.
Right.
Watching Chris.
Eddie had an extra shift today.
Carla was out of town.
Buck had said he’d step in.
He loved watching Chris.
He never minded.
Except today he’d completely forgotten.
His brain cooking with the haze of fever and congestion.
“I’m— I’m sorry,” Buck croaked, forcing his voice steady. “I overslept. I’ll— I’ll be there in fifteen. Go. You’ll be late.”
“Buck—” Eddie started, but one glance at his watch confirmed that Buck was right, and if he didn’t leave now he would be late.
Eddie cursed softly. “Fine. Just— don’t make me regret this. I’ll see you tonight.”
The line went dead.
Buck let the phone slip from his hand, trembling.
His eyes stung, and he didn’t know if it was fever or guilt.
Eddie was right.
Chris deserved better.
Eddie deserved better.
He couldn’t back out now.
With a groan, he rolled out of bed. The floor tilted under his feet. He staggered to the bathroom, braced himself against the sink.
His reflection was a nightmare: pale skin, flushed cheeks, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with shadows.
He swallowed down a surge of nausea, dry and bitter in his throat.
“Just take some meds,” he muttered. “You can do this.”
He dug out the Tylenol and DayQuil, choking them down with lukewarm tap water.
His thermometer blinked at him from the counter, but he shoved it aside.
He didn’t want to know.
Numbers would just make it real.
By some miracle — sheer force of will — he made it to his jeep.
Driving felt like steering through fog, every red light an eternity, every turn sharper than it should’ve been. But he got there.
Eddie’s house.
Safety.
Sort of.
The key felt clumsy in his hand, but he got the door open.
“Buck!” Christopher’s voice called immediately from the living room.
The boy sat on the couch, controller in hand, a game paused on the screen. His face lit up when he saw Buck.
“Finally! I thought you weren’t coming.”
Buck summoned a smile.
It felt wobbly, stretched thin. “Course I’m here, buddy. Wouldn’t miss it.”
Chris grinned, satisfied, and turned back to unpause his game.
“Dad already left. He said you’d make pancakes.”
“Right,” Buck murmured, shutting the door behind him.
His legs wobbled as he stepped inside, every muscle heavy with fatigue.
He tried not to sway.
Tried not to let Chris see.
“Pancakes. Sure.”
But his stomach turned sharply at just the thought of food.
Buck sank onto the armchair, blinking through the haze.
Chris was happy, distracted.
Eddie was at work.
All he had to do was hold it together. Just ten more hours.