Archive of Our Own

If anyone ever asked Eddie what he feared most, he’d probably say dying alone.

The thought of reaching the end of his life with no one beside him terrified him. No hand to hold. No voice telling him he wasn’t facing the dark by himself. No familiar face to anchor him in those final moments. Just emptiness.

Maybe the reason why that fear clung to him is that he’d brushed up against it more than once. It wasn’t hypothetical for him; it was a reality he’d nearly lived. Multiple times.

He’d been alone when the well collapsed, buried under mud and convinced he’d never see daylight again. He’d been alone in Texas when Bobby died and was hit with overwhelming amounts of grief. He’d been alone in that elevator, bleeding out after being stabbed. There was no one there in what he thought were his final moments. When he was scared and in pain.

And yes, the 118 were always there for him afterwards. They helped him heal. They stepped in for Chris, for the house, for every part of his life that threatened to fall apart. They did everything family is supposed to do—more, even.

But the aftermath was never the part that haunted him. It was the moments before—the breath between life and death—when he’d had no one to hold on to but himself. That was the part he never quite shook.

Eddie feels guilty for admitting it, even in the quiet of his own mind. But he still wished he hadn’t been alone in the moments when he thought he was dying.

Because the one time he wasn’t—truly wasn’t—changed something in him, he still doesn’t know how to name. It rewired him, carved out a truth he can’t unlearn, no matter how hard he tries to pretend it’s nothing.

When he was shot in the street in broad daylight and all he could see was Buck. All he heard was Buck. All he felt was Buck. It was like his body, even while fighting to stay alive, had locked onto him—tuned itself to Buck’s voice, Buck’s hands, Buck’s presence. As if some instinct older than fear had decided that Buck was the thing that meant safe.

And the more he thinks about it, the more he realises it wasn’t just that day.

Buck had a way of cutting through the panic, the pain, the noise. A way of anchoring him without even trying. Eddie’s never said it out loud—never even let himself think it too clearly—but Buck was the only person who made dying feel less like sinking under and more like breaking the surface just in time to breathe again. 

That was just who Buck was. The one person Eddie’s body trusted, even when his mind was fading. The one person who made him feel like he wasn’t alone, even when everything else was falling away. The one person Eddie loved with his whole heart. And the one person who still doesn’t know just how much Eddie’s heart beats for him. 

Because Eddie hasn’t told him, and he doesn’t know if he ever will. 

Yes, he is scared of dying alone. But he is also terrified of losing Buck. The fear that his feelings would lead Buck to walk out on him. On Christopher. It floors him sometimes. Though he supposes those fears work hand in hand. Because, as dramatic as it sounds, Buck’s presence is one of the only things that keeps his heart beating. That’s what his heart does, has always done; it beats for Buck. 

He realised all of this while staring at Buck’s back in the station kitchen, perched on the counter like a lovesick gargoyle. Which, honestly, was a concerning image. He should probably unpack that later. Or never. Never sounds good.

Buck was humming to himself, swaying a little as he stirred whatever was in the pan. Eddie had no clue what it was. He’d been too busy having an existential crisis about love and mortality, and Buck’s stupidly perfect everything.

God. What was he doing?

He dragged a hand down his face. One minute, he was thinking about dying alone; the next, he was mentally writing a sonnet about Buck’s ability to sauté onions. He needed help. Professional help. Possibly spiritual. 

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice cut through the haze—because of course it fucking did—and Eddie’s head snapped up. 

Buck had turned around, brow furrowed, spatula still in hand. “You okay? You zoned out so hard I thought you fell asleep with your eyes open.”

Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I’m fine.” 

Buck didn’t look convinced. Which is fair enough. Eddie wasn’t very convinced either. He’d had a long morning. 

“You sure? Because you were staring at me like… I don’t know. Like you were trying to solve a really complicated math problem. Or like you were about to tell me I’m dying.”

“I’m not—Buck, no one’s dying,” Eddie said quickly, because wow, that was not the direction he needed this conversation to go. “I was just… thinking.”

Buck stepped closer, concern softening into something gentler. Something that made Eddie’s chest feel too tight. “About what?”

Absolutely not. He was not about to tell Buck what he was actually thinking about. 

Eddie was not about to say you.

He was not about to say your voice is the only thing that’s ever made dying feel less terrifying.

He was not about to say my heart beats for you like it’s got no other job.

So he went with, “Stuff.”

He really had a way with words. Oh well… he never claimed to be a wordsmith or anything. 

Buck huffed a laugh. “Wow. Riveting. Truly. I’m honoured to be included in this level of detail.”

Eddie felt his mouth twitch. “It’s classified stuff.”

“Oh, classified,” Buck repeated, nodding solemnly. “Should I be worried? Are you planning a heist? A surprise party? You got secrets, Eds?”

And was this flirting? Were they flirting? God, Eddie was going to have a brain aneurysm. Or a heart attack. He wasn’t sure yet. But he felt like he was dying. Hey, at least he won’t be alone. 

Before Eddie could answer—thank God because that would have been a disaster—Chim barreled into the kitchen, stopping dead when he saw the two of them standing way too close, Eddie still on the counter. 

Chim looked between them, squinted, and said, “Okay, what’s happening here? Because I walked in for a snack and instead I found… whatever this is. A staring contest? A cooking show? A rom‑com?”

Buck groaned. “Chim.”

“No, no, don’t mind me,” Chim said, grabbing an apple and backing toward the door. “Just pretend I’m not here. Continue your… intense eye contact or whatever.”

Eddie felt his ears heat. Buck muttered something about throwing the spatula at him. 

Chim took a bite of his apple and pointed it at them. “Just keep it, PG kids. This is a workplace.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hall. 

Eddie’s face was on fire. He knew he was blushing. But the thing is, they weren’t even doing anything. They were just talking. Maybe a little too closely, and maybe it was a little flirty. But it was still just talking. Buck and Eddie did that all the time.

Except… apparently his body hadn’t gotten the memo either, as his pulse was doing its best impression of a hummingbird and his brain had fully checked out of the conversation the moment Buck leaned in.

Buck noticed, of course. Because Buck always noticed.

“You sure you’re okay? You’re a little red. Are you feeling sick?”

And Eddie wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Just take him away. Fuck his fear of dying; right now, death would be a reprieve. But his heart also skipped a beat at Buck’s genuine concern. 

“Yeah, Buck, I’m fine.”

Buck still looked sceptical. “If you’re sure.”

Eddie wasn’t sure about anything in his life. Clearly. 

And Buck—because he was Buck—didn’t move. Didn’t back off. Didn’t let the moment slip away like Eddie desperately needed it to. Instead, he stayed right there in Eddie’s space, close enough that Eddie could feel the warmth of him, close enough that Eddie’s pulse decided to start doing parkour.

Buck’s voice softened, teasing but threaded with something warmer. “You know… when you say you’re fine like that? You sound exactly like you do when you’re not fine.”

“You analysing me now?”

In reality, Buck could do anything to him. But he wasn’t going to say that out loud. 

Buck grinned. “I mean, someone has to. You’re a very complicated man, Eddie Diaz.”

“Complicated,” Eddie repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That's what we’re calling it?”

Buck shrugged, leaning one hand on the counter beside Eddie’s thigh—close, too close, deliberately close. “Sure. Complicated. Mysterious. Broody. Handsome. Take your pick.”

Eddie’s brain short‑circuited. “Handsome?”

Buck blinked innocently. “Did I say that out loud?”

Oh shit. They were absolutely flirting. Full‑tilt, no‑brakes, straight‑into‑oncoming‑traffic flirting. Abort mission. Abort. Mission. Eddie needed to pull himself together, find a grip, any grip—except there was no universe in which he could manage that, not when Evan Buckley was looking at him like that. Honestly, who was he trying to fool? The man could barely function when Buck smiled at him across a room; surviving Buck actively flirting with him was like asking a baby deer to perform brain surgery. 

So Eddie did what any rational adult man would do in this situation.

He panicked.

And then he flirted back—badly.

“Well,” Eddie said, clearing his throat and trying to sound smooth, “you’re… uh… not… un‑handsome yourself.”

Un-handsome? What the actual fuck is wrong with him? Where was that sniper when he needed him?

“Not un‑handsome,” Buck repeated, delighted. “Wow. High praise. Should I write that down? Put it on a plaque? Maybe embroider it on a pillow?”

Eddie groaned. “Shut up.”

He was on a new level of red now. Did he mention the fact that he wanted the earth to swallow him whole?

Buck stepped closer, grin softening into something warmer. “No, seriously. Say it again.”

“Absolutely not.”

If Eddie had it his way, he would never say the word handsome again. 

“Come on. Say your terrible line.”

Eddie swallowed. “I’m not terrible.”

“You’re adorable,” Buck corrected. “I said the line was terrible.”

Eddie nearly combusted on the spot.

“Buck,” he tried again, but this time it came out softer. Smaller. More honest.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “Seriously. Are you okay?” Buck’s teasing faded, replaced by something steadier. 

“Buck…” 

“You know you can talk to me about anything. Even the stuff you think you shouldn’t.”

Eddie’s breath caught. “Yeah. I know.”

Buck’s voice dropped. “Good. Because I like it when you let me in.”

Eddie’s heart did something painful and stupid. “I do let you in.”

And Eddie did. No one knew him better than Buck. Buck knew him better than he knew himself. 

“I’m just saying… if you ever want to tell me what’s actually going on in that head of yours, I’m right here.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

Buck’s gaze flicked to his mouth—quick, instinctive, impossible to miss.

And because Eddie was a world-class panicker, he looked at Buck for a long second before saying—

“…your onions are burning.”

Buck whipped around.

The pan hissed.

“Shit!”

He grabbed the handle, yanked it off the burner, and started frantically stirring like he could reverse time through sheer force of will. 

Eddie slid off the counter, biting back a smile. “Told you.”

Buck shot him a betrayed look over his shoulder. “You couldn’t have said something sooner?”

Before Eddie could respond, Hen walked in, took one look at the smoking pan, and sighed like she’d aged ten years on the spot.

“Buck,” she said, “why does it smell like you’re trying to summon a demon?”

Buck bristled. “It’s caramelised onion.”

“It’s charcoal,” Hen corrected.

Chim followed her in, sniffed the air, and immediately gagged. “Oh, my God. Did something die in here?”

Buck threw his hands up. “It’s not that bad!”

Chim peered into the pan. “Buddy… this is arson.”

Eddie’s pulse finally backed down from its attempt to break the sound barrier. This was familiar territory. Safe. Manageable. The dynamic, he knew how to survive without spontaneously combusting. And sure, in a perfect world, he’d absolutely keep flirting with Buck and maybe even make out with him against the station kitchen counter, but in this world? Yeah. This was much better for his overall well-being. 

Then Bobby walked in. 

“Do I want to know?”

Buck opened his mouth.

“No,” Bobby decided. “I don’t.”

He took the pan from Buck, dumped the contents in the sink, and handed him a cutting board like a man who had been through this exact scenario too many times.

“Start over,” Bobby said. “And this time, don’t flirt so hard you forget you’re cooking.”

Eddie choked.

Buck went bright red. “I wasn’t—! We weren’t—! Bobby!”

Hen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you weren’t standing two inches apart whispering at each other like you were in a soap opera?”

Chim nodded. “Yeah, I walked in earlier and genuinely thought I’d interrupted a proposal.”

Eddie wanted to melt into the floor. “We were just talking.”

“Sure,” Hen said. “And I’m Beyoncé.”

Eddie takes it back. His heart was not under control. They could all go to Hell for all he cares. 

Luckily, before he committed an act of murder, the station alarm cut through the kitchen. 

And all Eddie could think was, thank God. Thank every God. He was saved by a building collapse. That was… not great. But also? Fantastic timing. 

By the time they arrived at the scene, one side of the apartment building had partially folded inward. It was chaos—dust in the air, a collapsed mid‑rise office building, civilians shouting, paramedics already triaging on the sidewalk. Eddie’s relief evaporated, replaced by the familiar, sharp focus that came with the job.

Bobby was already barking orders. “Hen, Chim—triage. Buck, Eddie—you’re on search and rescue. Reports of at least three people still inside.”

Buck shot Eddie a quick look, the kind that always made Eddie feel like he could breathe. Eddie nodded back, and they moved. 

Inside, the building was a maze of fallen beams, cracked walls, and drifting dust. The air tasted like concrete. Eddie swept his flashlight across the debris, listening for anything—movement, a breath, a cry for help.

“Over here!” Buck called, crouched beside a partially collapsed doorway.

A woman was trapped beneath a fallen support beam, conscious but panicked. Eddie dropped to his knees beside her, offering a reassuring smile. “Hey. We’re gonna get you out, okay? You’re safe now.”

Buck worked quickly, assessing the beam, checking the stability. “We can lift this enough to slide her out, but we need to be fast.”

They coordinated without speaking—years of partnership distilled into instinct. Eddie braced, Buck lifted, and together they managed to get the victim out. She clung to Eddie’s arm, shaking, as he helped her stand.

Buck touched Eddie’s shoulder. “I’ll get her out. You keep looking.”

Eddie hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Buck to notice.

Buck’s voice softened. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie nodded, stepping deeper into the wreckage as Buck guided the woman toward the exit. The building groaned overhead, a low, ominous sound that made Eddie’s skin prickle. He moved quickly, calling out, listening for any response.

“Fire department! Call out if you can hear me!”

A faint sound answered—a cough, weak but unmistakable. Eddie followed it, climbing over a collapsed section of flooring. He found a man pinned beneath a desk and a chunk of ceiling. Alive, but barely.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie said, dropping beside him. “Just hang on.”

He radioed it in, but before he could start freeing the man, Buck’s voice crackled through the dust.

“Eddie! Where are you?”

“Back corner of the east side,” Eddie answered. “I’ve got one more.”

Buck appeared moments later, breathless, dust streaking his face. “You okay?”

Eddie nodded. “Help me with this.”

Together, they lifted the debris enough for Eddie to drag the man free. Buck checked his pulse, then slung the man’s arm over his shoulder.

“I’ll get him out,” he said, already shifting his weight to support the man. “You keep looking.”

Eddie nodded, even though something in his chest tugged at the idea of Buck leaving his line of sight yet again. “Go. I’ve got it.”

Buck hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Eddie to feel it—before he turned and started guiding the man toward the exit. Eddie watched him disappear through the dust, the beam of his flashlight bobbing until it vanished behind a slab of fallen concrete.

The moment Buck was gone, the building felt louder. The groans of shifting metal. The crackle of settling debris. The distant shouts from outside. Eddie pushed deeper into the wreckage, sweeping his light across the rubble.

“Fire department!” he called. “If you can hear me, shout!”

Then he heard Bobby’s voice crackle over the radio.

“118, be advised—last victim has been located and extracted from side access. Repeat. Last victim is already out.”

Which was good news because Eddie was getting tired. His arms ached, his ribs throbbed, and the dust in the air made every breath feel like dragging sandpaper through his lungs. Even with his gear on. He was ready to get out of this building, ready to breathe clean air again, ready to—

As he started making his way toward the exit, Eddie nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.

Buck.

Which was concerning because Buck was supposed to be outside. Safe. Not here. Not back in the unstable building, Eddie was trying to leave.

“Buck, what are you doing?” Eddie demanded, more sharply than he meant to.

Buck’s chest was heaving, dust streaking his face, eyes wide with something that looked a lot like fear. “You didn’t answer your radio.”

Eddie blinked. He hadn’t even noticed it going off. Not after Bobby’s initial evac call. 

“I was worried,” Buck said, voice low and raw.

Eddie’s heart melted again—because of course, Buck came back. Of course he did. That was who he was. That was who he’d always been. They had each other’s backs. 

But there were also more important things to be doing. Like evacuating the building before it finished collapsing on top of them.

“I’m fine,” Eddie said, trying to sound steady. “Let’s just get out of here.”

They were almost to the main hallway when the building groaned again—louder this time.

Buck grabbed Eddie’s arm. “Go, go, go—”

They sprinted.

Or tried to.

The floor beneath them shuddered violently.

Then it gave out.

Eddie felt the world drop away, felt weightlessness, felt Buck’s hand clamp around his turnout coat—felt the two of them fall together as the floor collapsed in a roar of splintering wood and concrete.

Impact slammed through him, knocking the air from his lungs.

And everything went dark. 

— — —

Eddie came to with a sharp gasp, dust burning his throat. His head pounded, his ribs screamed, and for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was.

Then it hit him.

“Buck,” he rasped, pushing himself upright despite the pain. “Buck!”

His flashlight lay a few feet away, flickering weakly. Eddie crawled toward it, grabbed it, and swept the beam across the debris.

“Buck!”

A groan answered him.

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped. Because a groan meant he was alive. Eddie could live as long as Buck was alive. 

He scrambled over a pile of broken drywall and found Buck half‑buried under a fallen beam, dazed but conscious. His eyes were unfocused, blinking slowly.

“Buck,” Eddie breathed, dropping beside him. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Buck blinked again, pupils sluggish. “Eddie…? You okay?”

Eddie huffed out a shaky laugh. “Am I okay? Buck, you’re concussed.”

Buck frowned, as if that were mildly inconvenient. “’M fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Eddie said, voice cracking. “You’re—God, Buck, you scared the hell out of me.”

Buck tried to sit up, winced, and Eddie immediately steadied him. “Easy. Just stay still.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Buck’s eyes weren’t on Eddie’s face anymore. They had drifted lower sometime during Eddie’s attempt at reassuring him, and now they stayed fixed there with a strange, intense stillness. At first, Eddie thought Buck was just staring blankly—concussion, probably—but then Buck’s expression changed. Fast. The lingering haze disappeared from his eyes, and something sharper took its place. Alarm. Buck’s hand shot out and closed around Eddie’s wrist.

“Don’t move.”

Eddie frowned automatically. “What?”

Buck swallowed once before speaking again. His voice came out quieter this time.

“…Eddie.”

Something in the way he said his name made Eddie finally look down.

His brain didn’t process it immediately. His turnout gear was filthy with dust and concrete powder. There was blood too—nothing unusual after a collapse. His eyes moved lower.

And stopped.

A length of rebar protruded from his side.

Not all the way through. But still, enough. 

For a second, his brain simply refused to engage with the information. It looked wrong in a detached sort of way, like seeing a chair balanced upside down on a table. Strange. Out of place. Like, someone should fix it.

Then his thoughts caught up.

Oh.

That’s in me.

Eddie went very still.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly his body decided to betray him after that. The adrenaline that had gotten him moving—the adrenaline that had let him crawl through debris yelling Buck’s name and not notice anything else—seemed to evaporate all at once.

Pain arrived in its place.

His ribs stopped being background noise and became unbearable. Heat spread outward from his side in sharp, deep pulses. Every breath felt wrong. Like his body had forgotten how to do it properly. His stomach twisted unpleasantly.

Eddie stared at the rebar for another second.

Then looked back up at Buck.

“…huh.”

Buck stared at him.

“Huh?”

Eddie blinked slowly.

“I think…” His voice sounded strange to his own ears—too thin, too distant. “That’s probably not ideal.”

Buck made a sharp noise that sounded halfway between a disbelieving laugh and panic.

It happened so quickly, Eddie almost missed it. One second, Buck had been dazed and slow and blinking too much. The next, he looked terrifyingly awake.

His eyes moved quickly over Eddie’s body, assessing damage automatically. Eddie knew that look. It was Buck in firefighter mode. 

But there was something else under it.

Buck looked scared.

“Okay,” Buck said, too evenly. “Okay. Don’t move.” 

Eddie couldn’t even if he wanted to. The pain was getting unbearable now. 

Buck looked at him then. Really looked at him. And Eddie realised his face had gone pale underneath the dust.

“It’s fine,” Eddie said quickly, because Buck’s voice had gone tight and scared, and that was the last thing he wanted. “It’s not deep. I didn’t even feel it.”

“Because your adrenaline was through the roof,” Buck snapped, suddenly more coherent than he had any right to be. “Eddie, you have metal sticking out of you.”

Eddie winced. “Yeah, okay, when you say it like that—”

Buck was already reaching for his radio. “Buckley to Captain 118, we need—”

The radio crackled, sputtered, then died in his hand.

Buck stared at it like it had personally betrayed him. “No, no, no—come on—”

Eddie tried his own. Nothing. Just static.

Well, that wasn’t ideal. 

Buck looked back at him, and Eddie smiled automatically. The movement pulled something in his side, and pain ripped through him so hard his breath caught halfway in.

“Hey,” Eddie said, forcing calm into his voice even as pain finally began to bloom hot and sharp along his side. “Buck. Look at me.” 

Buck did—wide‑eyed, frantic, dust‑streaked, terrified in a way Eddie had only seen a handful of times.

“We’re okay,” Eddie said, steady and sure, even though his ribs were screaming and the rebar felt like it was pulsing with every heartbeat. “We’re together. They know we’re in here. They’ll get to us.”

Buck still looked worried. 

“We’ve been in worse places.”

Buck looked genuinely offended.

“No,” he said immediately. “We have not.”

Eddie breathed out something that almost became a laugh.

“Well, there was the tsunami, a tipped‑over ladder truck, a sniper, oh, and the lightning strike. We survived all that. It’ll be okay, Buck.” 

Buck pointed at his side.

“You are currently skewered.”

Well, when Buck put it that way. 

Buck’s words—You are currently skewered—echoed in Eddie’s head like they were bouncing around inside a metal drum. He wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. Hard to tell. Everything was starting to feel distant, as if he were listening to the world through a wall.

He blinked slowly. The dust in the air made the edges of his vision swim.

“Eddie.” Buck’s voice was sharp again. “Hey. Stay with me.”

“I’m here,” Eddie murmured, though his voice sounded wrong.

He was fading fast. He knew it too. He was just losing too much blood. 

Buck shifted like he was about to stand—like he was about to leave—and something primal and terrified ripped straight through Eddie’s chest.

“No,” Eddie breathed, sharper than he meant to, his hand shooting out and catching Buck’s wrist with more desperation than strength. “Don’t—don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Buck froze instantly.

And Eddie hated how much relief that gave him.

If he was going to die—and God, he could feel the edges of himself slipping, thinning, drifting—then Buck had to stay. He needed him like oxygen, like gravity, like the last tether keeping him from floating away. He wouldn’t die alone. 

Buck leaned in, eyes wide and terrified and furious all at once. “Eddie, I have to get help.”

“No,” Eddie whispered, fingers tightening weakly around Buck’s wrist. “Please. Don’t leave me alone.”

Eddie’s thoughts spiralled, frantic and childlike and painfully honest: If this is it, if this is the moment, I can’t go without him here. I can’t disappear into nothing without Buck being the last thing I see. 

“Okay,” Buck whispered, breath trembling. “Okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck’s hands were already slick with Eddie’s blood, but he didn’t hesitate—he pressed down harder, leaning his full weight into the wound. Eddie hissed, the sound thin and frayed, but Buck didn’t let up. 

“Stay with me,” Buck muttered, voice shaking as he adjusted his grip. “You’re okay. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Eddie wasn’t okay. He could feel that. Feel the warmth leaving him, feel the cold creeping in. The world was tilting, sliding sideways, and Buck’s voice was the only thing anchoring him.

Then, with a soft curse, Buck dragged Eddie fully into his lap, cradling him like he weighed nothing. Eddie’s head lolled against Buck’s chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat loud and grounding.

Buck’s hand cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Hey. Eddie. Look at me.”

“I’m trying,” Eddie murmured, though his eyelids felt like they were made of lead.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Buck said, voice cracking. “You hear me? You stay awake. Stay with me.”

Eddie blinked slowly, vision swimming. “You’re loud,” he mumbled, because humour was easier than fear.

Buck let out a wet, broken laugh. “Yeah, well, too bad. You’re not checking out on me. Not today.”

Eddie wanted to answer, wanted to reassure him, but the darkness was tugging harder now, pulling him under. His chest tightened with panic. He couldn’t go. Not yet. Not without Buck.

Buck’s hand shook where it held his cheek. “Eddie, please,” he whispered, voice raw. “Please, baby, stay awake.”

The word hit Eddie like a jolt of electricity.

Baby.

Buck had called him baby.

And God help him, Eddie loved it. Loved it so much it almost hurt more than the wound. If he wasn’t bleeding out, he might’ve teased him for it. Might’ve kissed him for it.

But all he could do was cling to the sound of Buck’s voice, to the warmth of his arms, to the desperate way Buck was holding him like he was something precious.

“I’m here,” Eddie breathed, barely audible. “I’m… here.”

But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay.

He forced his eyes open for a second—just long enough to see Buck’s face above him, streaked with dirt and blood and panic. Beautiful, even like this. Especially like this. Eddie wanted to tell him that. Wanted to say something real, something honest, something he’d been too afraid to say when he was healthy and whole.

But all that came out was a faint, broken sound.

Buck’s grip tightened around him. “Eddie, please. Please stay awake. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

The desperation in his voice hit Eddie hard.

He’s scared. Because of me. Because I’m slipping.

Eddie tried to breathe, tried to speak, tried to stay. But the world kept tilting, the edges dissolving. Buck’s heartbeat under his cheek was the only steady thing left.

He focused on that. On Buck. On the warmth of his chest, the tremble in his hands, the way he kept whispering Eddie’s name like it was a lifeline.

If I go… if this is it… at least I’m not alone. At least he’s here. At least I’m not disappearing into nothing.

“I’m okay.” Eddie blinked slowly. “Just tired.”

“No,” Buck said, fierce and terrified. “No, you don’t get to be tired. Not right now. Not like this.”

Eddie tried to smile, but it came out weak. “You’re bossy.”

Buck let out a broken laugh. “Yeah, well, too bad. You’re not dying on me.”

“I’m not… trying to.”

“I know,” Buck whispered. “I know you’re fighting. Just—stay awake. Please.”

Eddie’s vision blurred again. He blinked hard, trying to clear it, but the darkness kept tugging at him.

“Eddie. Hey. Hey, no. Don’t you dare.”

Eddie’s head dipped.

Buck shook him gently. “Eddie Diaz, open your eyes.”

Eddie forced them open. 

“Buck…” Eddie breathed.

Buck leaned closer, forehead pressing to Eddie’s again. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving. Just stay with me.”

Eddie’s lips parted. The words were right there, sitting on his tongue, heavy and aching and impossible to hold back anymore.

If this is it…

If this is the moment…

He can’t go without saying it.

“Buck,” Eddie whispered again, voice trembling. “I… I need to tell you something.”

Buck’s breath hitched. “Okay. Okay, I’m listening. Just stay awake. You can tell me anything.”

Eddie swallowed, the effort enormous. “I… I love you.”

Buck froze. Completely. Like the world stopped moving.

Dust drifted around them in slow motion. The building groaned overhead. Eddie’s heartbeat thudded weakly against Buck’s chest.

But Buck didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stared at Eddie like the words had cracked him open.

“Eddie…” Buck whispered, voice breaking. “Baby…”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered at the word. He did it. He said it. He would be okay now. 

His eyes drifted shut again.

“You don’t get to say that and then pass out,” Buck said, voice shaking. “You hear me? You don’t get to drop that on me and then check out.” 

Eddie’s breathing hitched. “It’s true.”

“I know,” Buck whispered, voice cracking. “I know it is. But you’re gonna tell me again. Later. When you’re awake. When you’re okay.”

Eddie’s vision blurred again. “Later…”

“Yeah,” Buck said, brushing his thumb over Eddie’s cheek. “Later. You’re gonna tell me again. You’re gonna look me in the eyes and say it when you’re not bleeding out in a basement.”

Eddie’s lips twitched. “Bossy.”

Buck huffed a laugh that sounded like a sob. “Say it again later, baby. Promise me.”

Eddie’s eyes drifted shut.

He wanted to promise Buck the world, but he just didn’t have the strength. 

Buck shook him gently. “Eddie. Eddie, no. Hey. Stay with me.”

Eddie forced his eyes open one last time. “I… love you.”

Buck’s breath broke. “Baby, please—tell me later. Tell me when you’re safe. Tell me when you’re okay. Just—just stay awake so you can.”

Eddie tried.

He really did.

But he lost the battle to the darkness anyway. 

— — —

Buck didn’t notice the moment Eddie slipped away.

Not at first.

He was too focused on keeping him warm, too focused on the way Eddie’s breath stuttered against his chest, too focused on whispering his name over and over like it was a spell that could hold him here.

“Eddie… hey… stay with me. Stay with me, baby.”

He didn’t even realise he’d said it again. Didn’t care. Didn’t have room in his chest for embarrassment when fear was taking up all the space.

Eddie’s head was heavy against him, his curls brushing Buck’s chin. His breaths were shallow, uneven. Buck could feel each one.

“Come on,” Buck whispered, voice shaking. “You’re okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Then Eddie exhaled. A long, slow, soft breath. And didn’t take another.

Buck froze.

“Eddie?”

Nothing.

“Eddie.”

Still nothing.

Buck’s heart slammed against his ribs. He shook Eddie gently, then harder.

“Eddie. Eddie, wake up. Hey—hey, come on, man, don’t do this. Don’t—Eddie!”

He pressed his fingers to Eddie’s neck.

No pulse.

For a second, the world stopped. Buck’s lungs stopped. Everything stopped.

Then something inside him detonated.

“No. No, no, no—Eddie! Eddie, come on!”

He lowered Eddie to the ground, his hands shaking, and positioned him flat on his back. His vision blurred with tears, but he didn’t need to see — he’d done CPR a thousand times. He could do it blind.

But he’d never done it on Eddie.

Never on the man he loved. 

“Come on,” Buck choked, lacing his fingers and pressing down hard on Eddie’s sternum. “Come on, Eddie, breathe. Breathe!”

His arms shook with each compression. Dust rose with every push. His tears fell onto Eddie’s face, streaking the grime.

“Don’t do this,” Buck sobbed. “Don’t you dare leave me. Not like this. Not after—after what you said. You don’t get to tell me you love me and then die on me!”

He bent down, sealing his mouth over Eddie’s, giving two breaths.

Their first kiss.

God.

He jerked back with a broken sound.

“That’s not—” His voice cracked. “That’s not how that was supposed to happen.”

He pressed down again, harder, faster, desperate.

“Come on, Eddie. Come on. Please. Please. Please.”

His hands were slipping — Eddie’s blood, his sweat, the dust — but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.

He’d tear the world apart before he let Eddie go.

“Wake up,” Buck begged, voice raw. “Wake up, baby. Please.”

He didn’t know how long he’d been doing compressions. Time didn’t exist. There was only Eddie’s still chest, Buck’s shaking hands, and the sound of his own sobbing echoing off the broken concrete.

Then—

“Buck!”

Voices. Footsteps. Flashlights cutting through the dust.

Hen. Chim. Bobby.

But Buck didn’t stop.

“Buck, move!” Hen shouted, dropping to her knees beside him.

“No!” Buck snarled, curling protectively over Eddie’s body. “He said—he said he didn’t want to be alone. I’m not leaving him!”

“Buck,” Chim said, voice tight with fear. “We need to take over.”

“No!” Buck’s voice cracked. “No, I can’t—I can’t let go. I can’t—he needs me—he said—he said—”

“Buck.” Bobby’s voice cut through everything. “Let us help him.” 

Buck shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t. I can’t let go. He’ll think—he’ll think I left him.” 

Bobby stepped closer.

“Evan.”

Buck flinched.

Bobby rarely used his first name. And never like that.

“You’re not leaving him,” Bobby said. “You’re letting us save him.”

Buck’s hands were still on Eddie’s chest. His fingers were numb. His arms were shaking. His whole body felt like it was made of glass.

“I can’t,” Buck whispered. “I can’t let go.”

Bobby knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You have to,” he said gently. “Let us take care of him. Let us take care of both of you.”

Buck’s breath hitched. His vision blurred. His chest caved in.

And when Bobby reached for him, Buck broke.

“No—no—no—” Buck sobbed as Bobby gently pried his hands away from Eddie’s body. “Please—please don’t take him—please—he said he didn’t want to be alone—he said—”

“He’s not alone,” Bobby said, voice steady even as his own eyes shone. “We’re right here. All of us. He’s not alone, Buck. I promise.”

Buck collapsed against Bobby’s chest, shaking violently, sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

Hen immediately took over compressions. Chim prepared the bag valve mask. The world became a blur of movement and shouting and urgency.

But Buck saw none of it.

He only saw Eddie.

Who was still quiet. Still pale. Still dead. 

Buck didn’t remember how long he sobbed into Bobby’s chest. Seconds, minutes, hours — time didn’t exist. There was only the sound of Hen’s compressions, Chim’s frantic voice, and Eddie’s stillness. 

Eddie’s pulse came back like a whisper.

A faint flutter under Hen’s fingers. A fragile rhythm on the monitor. A breath so shallow Buck almost didn’t see it.

But it was there.

It was there.

Buck’s knees nearly gave out with relief. He stumbled forward, reaching for Eddie before anyone could stop him.

“Easy,” Hen warned, but she didn’t push him away. “He’s not stable.”

Buck didn’t care. He needed to touch him. Needed to feel that Eddie was still warm, still here, still something he could hold onto.

He brushed Eddie’s hair back with shaking fingers. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

Hen’s head snapped up. Chim froze mid‑movement. Even Bobby blinked. But no one said anything. Not yet. They were too busy saving Eddie’s life.

They got him onto the backboard. Buck helped lift him, hands slipping in Eddie’s blood, breath shaking so hard he could barely speak.

The world blurred around him — sirens, shouting, dust, lights — but none of it mattered.

Only Eddie. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest. Only the way his head lolled to the side, unconscious, unresponsive.

Buck climbed into the ambulance before anyone could stop him.

Hen shot him a look. “Buck, you need to sit down.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Buck said, voice raw. “I’m not— I can’t—”

Hen didn’t argue. She just nodded once, tight and scared.

Chim started rattling off vitals. Eddie’s blood pressure was tanking. His breathing was shallow. His pulse was thready.

Buck leaned close, gripping Eddie’s hand. “You’re okay. You’re okay, baby. I’m right here.”

Hen’s eyes flicked up at the word. Chim’s eyebrows shot up. But again, neither said anything.

The ambulance lurched forward.

Eddie didn’t move.

Buck swallowed hard. “You said you didn’t want to be alone. I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”

The monitor beeped.

Once.

Twice.

Then the rhythm stuttered.

Hen’s head snapped up. “Chim—”

“I see it,” Chim said, voice tight.

Buck’s stomach dropped.

“Eddie?” he whispered. “Hey. Hey, no. No, no—Eddie—”

The monitor flatlined.

Hen cursed. “He’s crashing!”

Buck’s world shattered again. For the second time in the last few minutes. 

Hen shoved him back with one arm. “Buck, move!” 

But Buck didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t watch Eddie die again. Not from a distance. Not while he was still breathing the same air.

He shoved past Hen, hands shaking violently as he positioned himself over Eddie’s chest.

“Buck—!” Chim yelled.

But Buck was already pressing down.

It might not have been protocol. Buck might not technically be a paramedic. But none of that mattered—not when Eddie was bleeding out in his arms. Eddie was his, in every way that counted, and Buck would burn through every line of protocol if it meant keeping him alive. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing 

“Come on,” Buck sobbed. “Come on, Eddie, breathe. Breathe!”

Hen grabbed his shoulder. “Buck, let me—”

“No!” Buck screamed, tears streaming down his face. “I’m not letting him go! I’m not— I’m not losing him—”

He bent down, sealing his mouth over Eddie’s again, giving two breaths.

Their second kiss.

He pulled back with a broken sob. “Eddie, please. Please, baby, come back. Come back to me.”

Bobby, riding up front, shouted, “Status?”

Hen yelled back, “Buck is—uh—Buck is doing compressions!”

Chim muttered under his breath, “And calling him baby?”

Hen elbowed him sharply. “Not the time!”

Buck didn’t hear them.

He pressed down again. And again. And again.

His arms burned. His chest ached. His vision blurred.

But he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t stop.

“Come on,” Buck begged. “Come on, Eddie. You promised. You promised you’d tell me again. You promised—”

The monitor beeped. 

Hen’s breath caught. “He’s back. Buck—he’s back.”

Buck collapsed forward, forehead pressing to Eddie’s shoulder, sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Hen placed a hand on his back. “Buck… you did it. It's okay. You brought him back.”

Chim stared at him, wide‑eyed. “Dude… did you just call Eddie—”

Hen smacked him again. “Chim!”

— — —

The hospital waiting room felt too bright. Too loud. Too open.

Buck couldn’t breathe in it.

He paced the length of the room like a caged animal, hands shaking, shirt stiff with Eddie’s blood. Every time he blinked, he saw Eddie’s chest stilling. Every time he inhaled, he tasted dust and copper. Every time he swallowed, he felt the shape of Eddie’s name lodged in his throat like a stone.

Hen sat on one of the plastic chairs, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands. Chim sat beside her, eyes red, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. Bobby stood near the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes shining with a grief he was trying to hide.

They were all crying.

But they were also watching Buck.

Like he might shatter. It didn’t matter anyway; he already had.

Buck dragged a hand through his hair, pacing faster. “He should be out by now. They should’ve said something by now. Why haven’t they said anything?”

“Buck,” Hen said softly, lifting her head. “It’s been ten minutes.”

“It feels like hours,” Buck snapped, voice cracking.

Chim stood slowly. “He’s in surgery. They’re doing everything they can.”

Buck shook his head violently. “I should’ve—I should’ve done more. I should’ve gotten him out faster. I should’ve—”

“Buck,” Bobby said, stepping forward. “You saved his life. Twice.”

Buck flinched.

He didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like a man who had watched the person he loved die in his arms. He felt like a man who had kissed Eddie for the first time while forcing air into his lungs. He felt sick.

He stopped pacing abruptly, gripping the back of a chair so hard the metal groaned. His breath hitched. “I never told him.”

Hen frowned. “Told him what?”

Buck swallowed hard. “I never told him I loved him back.”

Silence.

Hen’s eyes widened. Chim’s mouth fell open. Bobby’s shoulders sagged.

Buck pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. “He said it. He said he loved me. And I—God, I didn’t say it back. I didn’t—I didn’t tell him—”

His voice broke.

“I didn’t tell him.”

Hen stood and crossed the room, pulling Buck into a tight hug. He didn’t hug back at first. He was too stiff, too shocked, too full of fear to move.

Then he collapsed.

His arms wrapped around her, fingers digging into the back of her jacket as he sobbed into her shoulder.

Hen held him tighter. “He knows, Buck. He knows you love him.”

Buck shook his head against her. “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t—he passed out before I could—before I could say anything. What if he thinks—what if he thinks I didn’t feel the same? What if he dies and I didn’t—”

“Buck,” Hen whispered, voice breaking. “He is alive.”

“He—he stopped breathing. Twice. Twice, Hen. I watched him— I watched him go still. I watched him—” Buck choked. 

Chim wiped his eyes. “Dude… you called him baby.”

Buck froze.

Hen shot Chim a look that could kill, but Chim kept going, voice soft and stunned. “You called Eddie baby. Like… multiple times. He knows you love him.”

He didn’t even know what to say to that. Because he had called Eddie baby and what he wouldn’t give to have the chance to call him that forever. 

Then the waiting room doors opened.

Buck turned so fast he nearly fell.

“Maddie!” Chim gasped.

Buck’s sister rushed toward him, eyes wide with fear, hair messy like she’d run the whole way. “Where is he? What happened? I came as soon as I heard—”

Buck didn’t let her finish.

He collapsed into her arms.

Maddie wrapped him up instantly, holding him like she used to when he was a kid, and the world felt too big. “Hey. Hey, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Evan.”

Buck sobbed into her shoulder, shaking violently. “He—he stopped breathing. He—he—Maddie, I thought—”

“I know,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “I know. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Buck clung to her like he was drowning. He figured drowning would be less painful. 

“I didn’t tell him,” he choked. “He said he loved me and I didn’t—I didn’t say it back—”

Maddie pulled back just enough to cup his face in both hands. “Evan. Listen to me.”

Buck blinked through tears.

“You will tell him,” Maddie said, voice steady. “Because he’s going to wake up. And when he does, you’re going to tell him everything.”

Buck’s breath hitched. “What if—what if he doesn’t—”

“He will,” Maddie said firmly. “He will. Eddie Diaz is too stubborn to die. And he has too much to come back to.”

Buck swallowed hard. “Chris…”

“Chris.” Maddie nodded. “And you.”

Buck’s chest caved in.

He sagged against her again, sobbing quietly now, exhausted and terrified and so full of love it hurt.

The team watched, silent and grieving and hopeful all at once.

And Buck whispered into Maddie’s shoulder, voice cracking:

“I can’t lose him. I can’t. I love him so much.”

Maddie held him tighter.

“I know,” she whispered. “And he knows too.”

Buck didn’t know how long he’d been clinging to Maddie. All he knew was that his body shook with every breath, his throat was raw from crying, and his hands were still stained with Eddie’s blood. Too scared to clean it off in case it was the last piece of Eddie he ever got. 

Then the waiting room doors opened.

A surgeon stepped into the waiting room, mask pulled down, scrubs streaked with something dark. His expression was tight. Serious. Exhausted.

Buck’s heart stopped.

He tore himself out of Maddie’s arms so fast she stumbled.

“Family of Eddie Diaz?” the surgeon called.

Buck was in front of him in two steps. “I’m here. I’m— I’m right here.”

Hen, Chim, Bobby, and Maddie all stood behind him, silent and terrified.

The surgeon looked at Buck, then at the others. “Are you family?”

Hen stepped forward. “We’re his team. His family.”

The surgeon nodded politely but shook his head. “I can only give detailed medical information to immediate family or a legal spouse.”

Buck’s stomach dropped.

And then he heard himself say—

“I’m his husband.”

The surgeon blinked. “You’re…?”

Buck didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t look away.

“Yes,” he said, voice steady even though his hands were shaking. “I’m his husband.”

Hen didn’t miss a beat. “They’ve been together for years.”

Chim nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Married. Very married.”

Bobby stepped forward, voice calm and authoritative. “He’s telling the truth.”

The surgeon looked at them all — at the blood on Buck’s clothes, at the terror in his eyes, at the way he stood like he’d die if he wasn’t allowed through that door.

Then he nodded.

“Alright. Come with me.”

Buck’s knees nearly buckled.

He followed the surgeon down the hall, Maddie squeezing his hand once before letting him go. The others stayed behind, watching him with a mix of fear and fierce loyalty.

Buck didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

He needed to get to Eddie.

— — —

The recovery room was dim, quiet, too sterile for someone like Eddie. Machines beeped softly. IV lines dripped. Eddie lay still, pale, bandaged, a tube taped to his mouth.

Buck’s breath left him in a painful rush.

He moved to the bedside like he was approaching something sacred. In a way, he was. 

“Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m here.”

He reached out with trembling fingers and brushed Eddie’s hair back from his forehead.

Eddie didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t squeeze his hand back.

Buck swallowed a sob. “You scared me. You— God, Eddie, you scared me so bad.”

He sank into the chair beside the bed, leaning forward until his forehead rested against Eddie’s arm.

“I lied,” Buck whispered. “I told them I was your husband.”

His voice shook.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

He let out a broken laugh. “I hope— I hope someday it won’t be a lie.”

The machines beeped steadily.

Eddie didn’t stir.

Buck lifted his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “You told me you loved me. And I didn’t say it back. I didn’t— I didn’t get to tell you.”

He took Eddie’s hand gently, holding it between both of his.

“I love you,” Buck whispered. “I love you so much it hurts.”

His voice cracked.

“So you have to wake up. You hear me? You have to wake up so I can tell you again.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

— — —

The world came back slowly.

Not in a rush, not in a jolt — more like drifting upward through warm water, heavy and slow. His body felt distant, muted. His chest ached. His side throbbed. His throat was raw.

But none of that mattered.

Because there was warmth.

A hand wrapped around his.

Buck.

Eddie didn’t need to open his eyes to know. He could feel him. Could sense him. Buck’s presence was like gravity.

He forced his eyelids open. 

Light. Blur. A ceiling. A monitor. Then, as he guessed, Buck. 

Asleep in the chair beside his bed, head resting on their joined hands, curls falling over his forehead, tear tracks dried on his cheeks. His shoulders were hunched, his whole body curled inward like he’d been holding himself together for hours and finally ran out of strength.

Eddie’s chest tightened.

Buck looked wrecked.

And so very beautiful.

Eddie swallowed, throat dry and burning, but he managed to whisper — barely audible, but enough.

“Baby… wake up.”

Buck jerked awake like he’d been shocked.

His eyes snapped open, wild and terrified, scanning Eddie’s face like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Eddie?” Buck breathed. “Eddie—Eddie, oh my God—”

His voice broke. And then he was crying.

Eddie lifted a trembling hand — it felt impossibly heavy — and brushed Buck’s tears away with his thumb.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t cry.”

Buck let out a sound that was half‑laugh, half‑sob, leaning into Eddie’s touch like he’d been starving for it. “You—you scared me. You scared me so bad. I thought—God, Eddie, I thought I lost you.”

Eddie shook his head weakly. “I’m here.”

Buck pressed their joined hands to his forehead, shoulders shaking. “I didn’t leave. I stayed. I—I couldn’t leave you.”

“I know,” Eddie murmured. “I heard you.”

Buck just continued to stare at him. 

Eddie’s smile softened. “You cried on me.”

“You died on me!” Buck shot back, voice cracking. “Twice!”

Eddie winced. “Sorry.”

Buck shook his head, tears falling again. “Don’t apologise. Just—just don’t do it again.”

Eddie brushed another tear from Buck’s cheek. “I love you.”

“You… remember saying it?” Buck whispered. 

“Of course I do.” Eddie nodded. “It was the most real thing I have ever said.”

Buck swallowed hard, tears spilling again. “I didn’t get to say it back.”

Eddie’s heart stuttered. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Buck said immediately, fiercely, like the words had been waiting in him for years. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“C’mere,” Eddie said, reaching out for Buck. 

Buck blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Eddie reached out and caught Buck’s hand. Buck took it immediately.

Eddie gave a small tug. Buck leaned down automatically and then froze when he realised how close they suddenly were.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Eddie squeezed his hand. Then closed the distance. Just leaning forward carefully and pressing a soft kiss to Buck’s mouth.

Buck went completely still.

Eddie felt the exact second Buck realised this was real. His breath left him quietly.

Then Buck kissed him back. Slow. Careful. Like Eddie might disappear if he moved too quickly.

Eddie lifted a hand—still heavy with exhaustion— and placed it on Buck’s cheeks. 

Buck just leaned into the warmth. And Eddie loved him so much. 

Buck’s hand came up slowly and settled against the side of Eddie’s neck, his thumb resting just below his ear.

Like he was holding something fragile. Like he couldn’t quite believe he got to. Eddie was familiar with the sentiment. 

Eddie smiled into it. 

He didn’t mean to.

It just happened.

Because—God. This was ridiculous. He was in a hospital bed. He had stitches. His ribs hurt. His side felt personally offended by every life choice he’d ever made. And somehow—somehow—this was still one of the nicest things that had ever happened to him.

When they finally separated, Buck stayed close.

Eddie brushed his thumb under Buck’s eye.

Then smiled and whispered—

“Hi.”

Buck blinked. Then laughed.

“…hi.”

And Eddie kissed him once more because apparently they could do that now.

Buck kissed him back immediately. And Eddie could get used to this. 

Eddie let the silence settle for a moment. Let himself feel it — the warmth, the safety, the impossible relief of being alive and being loved.

Then he spoke.

“You know…” Eddie whispered, voice rough but steady, “I used to think dying alone was the thing I feared most.”

Buck’s eyes opened, soft and wet and unbearably tender.

Eddie swallowed. “I’ve been alone before. In the well. In the elevator. In the dark. I thought… I thought that was the worst thing that could happen to me.”

Buck’s hand tightened around his. 

“But I wasn’t scared today,” Eddie said softly. “Not once.”

Buck blinked hard. “Eddie—”

“I wasn’t scared,” Eddie repeated, brushing his thumb along Buck’s jaw. “Because you were there.”

Buck let out a shaky breath, tears spilling again.

Eddie leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “If you’re there… I’m safe.”

“I love you,” Buck whispered, voice cracking. “I love you, baby. So much.”

Eddie closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the words settle deep in his chest.

“I love you too,” he murmured. “Always.”

Eddie wasn’t afraid of dying alone anymore. Not now. Not with Buck’s hands on him, Buck’s voice dragging him back from the edge. Because somewhere along the way, he’d learned a truth he’d never dared to name: there would never be a moment in his life—or his death—where Buck wasn’t with him. Buck didn’t leave. Buck didn’t let go. And Eddie wasn’t alone. Not anymore. He never would be again.