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“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” Eddie calls out the window as Buck’s about to open his door.
Buck rolls his eyes as he turns around, but he smiles, and that’s all Eddie wanted to see anyway. The call today had pretty much wiped it out of him.
Buck doesn’t usually get this panicked and antsy when they have calls to abandoned places, but something is different this time. Eddie, at the least, is realistic. He can attest whispers, shuffles, and chills to the temperatures. All the abandoned places are rusty, dirty, and at the very least, full with bats and rats and whatever other creatures fancy giving Buck a scare. Buck says ghosts and Eddie says draft.
Eddie was a little apprehensive, to be fair. But Buck is the one who screamed Eddie’s name across the abandoned factory and laughed somewhere between hysterical and lifeless until they went outside. Buck has been shaky ever since: sleeping immediately on the ride back to the station and eyes shifting from the radio to the window when Eddie drove him home.
Now, here they are, Buck still laughing as he walks away, and Eddie smiling to himself as he starts the car.
He’s overdue for an inspection, needs to renew his license, needs to reschedule his dentist appointment. Eddie sits for another moment at the curb—the backseat and trunk filled with his bags—and stares at the dashboard. He can feel his smile drop as he sighs, pushing the brake pedal and reaching to switch gears. It feels like lifting lead as he switches into drive, even harder to slowly inch out and turn into the road.
Eddie doesn’t know why. But he can see Buck’s apartment through his rearview mirror, and that makes it all the more difficult to drive away.
“Don’t go too fast, please.”
“I know how to drive.”
Buck levels him with a skeptical look, which only grows when Eddie laughs. He’s leaning through Eddie’s open window, gesturing at his bags in the back. When Eddie adjusts his mirror to look too, he sees that Buck has buckled up his gym bag and left his regular backpack on the floor with his hoodie thrown haphazardly on top of it. Eddie’s not really sure how much stuff Buck needed for his quick workout before his shift, but Eddie’s tasked with taking it all back for him.
“You have your laptop?”
Buck nods, they say goodbye, and Buck knocks twice on the roof of Eddie’s car before jogging back to his meeting.
Eddie drives in silence—his car radio broke last week, add it to the list—away from Buck again. Maybe that’s why he’s thinking about that conversation now. But this time, it’s not Buck’s bags buckled into the backseat. It’s something a lot more precious and unnamable. Something that has Eddie checking his rearview mirror and being surprised when all he sees are cars. It’s fine.
He gets strange feelings all the time. At least he can attribute them to being human, and not being haunted, as Buck would probably say. Eddie takes the familiar route back to his own apartment, conceding that Buck doesn’t make everything about ghosts. But Buck’s made the shift from non-fiction to fiction, and now looks over his shoulder at calls. He thought Bobby was communicating with him from beyond the grave, and now he thinks that odd shadows are residual energy. Still, a decrepit building doesn’t constitute a demon.
“Do you really not believe in any of this?” Buck asks on a cold day that has them both shivering and waiting by the truck with hair blowing into their faces.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Eddie replies for the millionth time.
Instead of fighting, Buck sighs and confesses, “Sometimes I hope it’s not real.”
Eddie loses his Abuela right after he gains back his faith. He’s still praying— still hoping. He doesn’t believe in superstition, not on call or in his life. But he’ll put his beliefs in the hands of another. He believes in plenty of things he can’t see. But ghosts and demons are too far. There are bad people, sure. But Eddie’s faith is the more personal thing that he keeps close to his chest, thinking maybe there’s also someone to save me.
Eddie doesn’t want to think about being abandoned, but he can understand why people might think that.
There is always another problem. He lost Shannon, Bobby, his Abuela, the list goes on. And he’ll lose someone else on a call next week. Another colleague or old friend from war. A memory from El Paso or what Chris said to him years ago.
Eddie pulls into his driveway, thinking about Buck’s strained smile as he walked away. Of the way he yelled Eddie’s name and spent the rest of the time somewhere between falling asleep and anxiously looking around him.
Buck, Buck, Buck.
He loves Buck, really. Loves soft smiles and loaves of lemon bread and updates on game scores said to appease Eddie.
Eddie can’t get out of the car even after he turns it off. Chris is at a weekend field trip with his school’s music department—a whole other problem by itself. He was nauseous enough about camp, but Chris just silently slid him the permission slip and the parent information meeting times. Eddie doesn’t want to talk about El Paso.
He can’t get out of his car because he’s thinking about Buck. In the irrational way that haunts his nightmares and makes him turn around when he hears that tilt in his friend’s voice.
There were a cluster of shadows at Buck’s front door. The motion-sensor light hadn’t turned on, something Eddie only realizes when he goes for his own car door handle. The wind was too strong in the trees. The curtains were drawn too tightly. Buck’s hand shook as he unlocked his door.
None of those factors really mean anything, but Eddie is used to noticing little details. Medic or firefighter, they come in handy. And with all of Eddie’s experience in the field, he can tell that something is wrong with Buck.
Eddie calls him first, because there is a chance that Buck was just tired. But Buck doesn’t pick up. He could be asleep, but the next two calls also go unanswered. Buck leaves his ringer at max volume all through the night, just in case. Eddie does too.
There’s a sinking feeling in Eddie’s chest that doesn’t go away as he turns the car back on, retracing the familiar route back to Buck’s.
The street lights are on, but Eddie has to turn on his phone’s flashlight in order to locate the keyhole and unlock the door with his own copy, only after his knocks went unanswered.
He doesn’t need to look far, because Buck is standing in the kitchen, frozen and staring at something on the counter.
“Buck?” Eddie says, hesitantly stepping into the room as Buck’s hand trembles.
Eddie’s not one for metaphors or allegories or whatever else gets hidden behind words, but the hair on his arms stands up as Buck blankly turns around and stares at him. Something is very, very wrong.
Eddie isn’t meant for this. The look in Buck’s eyes, devoid of any of the previous passion that was present when Eddie dropped him off. They’re slightly glazed, likely in tandem with the tears that are piled up in the corners of his eyes.
Buck doesn’t show any other indicators of having heard Eddie, but now that they’re facing each other, Eddie can see the twitching hands, lips bitten raw, and hesitant eyes.
“Buck?” he repeats.
“I think I’m being haunted,” Buck says, frighteningly not for the first time.
Eddie takes a step forward. Buck startles backwards until he slams into his counters.
“Something’s following me,” he says frantically, still looking around. “It happened on that call and it’s here, Eddie.”
“Buck,” Eddie says slowly, fighting the urge to take another step forward.
He holds up his hands instead and tries to telegraph his movements, “It’s just me here. Me and you. No one else is here.”
“Not someone,” Buck rasps. “Something. It’s in my head, I can feel it, Eddie. It’s telling me to—”
Buck cuts himself off and looks down, biting back down on his lip so Eddie can’t hear whatever he was about to say.
“I can hear it, Eddie. Can’t you?” Buck asks.
He looks up and at Eddie for this, another tear slipping and tracking down his face. The only thing Eddie can hear is his own beating heart, Buck’s raspy breaths, and the loud rustle of leaves outside.
Eddie shakes his head and watches Buck back himself farther away, curling at the waist before bending over the sink. He braces his arms on either side, but they shake too much to provide any real support.
“Buck,” he tries.
Buck doesn’t say anything, but Eddie can see his shoulders tense.
Eddie lowers his voice, “Buck, please.”
“What, Eddie?” Buck forces out.
“How about we sit down?” Eddie asks, taking those few hesitant steps until he’s next to Buck at the counter.
“Don’t patronize me.”
But Buck pries his hands off of the counter and flexes them, long enough that Eddie gets concerned about the pain. Eddie offers out his arm and Buck latches on, grip bruising as he stumbles after Eddie to the seats at the table.
Eddie fights the urge to take out his flashlight and check Buck’s pupils, to push his fingers into his carotid and measure his pulse, to find Buck’s blood pressure monitor and check. He sits Buck down and drags another chair to be across from him.
Without Eddie’s sleeve to latch onto, Buck’s hands float uselessly into his lap, where they continue to twitch and flex.
“What did you see there?” Eddie asks, because on call he had heard Eddie! and when he rushed to Buck, the other man stood silently in an empty room, flashlight abandoned on the floor.
Buck’s breaths are turning more shallow now, as he struggles through saying, “I didn’t see anything. It was there, though. I— it— Eddie.”
Eddie inches closer, Buck’s chair squeaking against the hardwood.
“Buck, hey.”
Buck’s eyes close and his breaths come out stuttered, exhales pausing as they catch on his tears.
“I can be Derek. I can be Evan. I can be Daniel—”
Eddie’s hand finds Buck’s as he says, “Buck— Buck. You’re Buck. You don’t have to be anyone else.”
Buck starts muttering to himself, so Eddie tries to keep his panic in check and exaggerates his breathing. He squeezes Buck’s hand on his inhale and releases when he exhales.
“Just like that, Buck, yeah,” he says as Buck’s shoulders slowly relax and his breathing fights to steady itself. “I’ll take them on. Whatever demons followed you. I got it.”
Eddie doesn’t know how long it takes, but he keeps muttering assurances until Buck is taking his hands back to wipe away his tears and take deeper breaths on his own. After Eddie had gotten over the denial of his own panic attack—because he didn’t panic, until he did—he had done everything he could to research.
Even though he already had medic training and had seen countless while serving, it was always different when it was him. Eddie was calm, always the collected man in the group, never the one thinking he was dying on the floor of a store.
Maybe Buck did research too.
“Oh my gosh,” Buck murmurs to himself after he comes to his senses. “I’m so sorry, Eddie.”
Eddie frowns, “You don’t have to apologize for that, man.”
“No, for my paranoia. I don’t know what got into me,” Buck says slowly, voice still raw from his tears.
They’re strange words from a man who was convinced a demon was haunting him only moments ago.
They drove to Nashville, fought their way back home with matching bruises, shaky hands, and too many nightmares. They were run off the road and Eddie woke up in a hospital without Buck.
Eddie shakes his head, “You’re always so quick to explain everything away. Is this enough for you to admit that you need help?”
“—I don’t need help—”
“Because you haven’t been the same since we were fighting for that title in Nashville. And you don’t have to be; you shouldn’t just be the same. But you should talk to someone.”
Buck coughs, “I’m talking to you.”
Eddie looks at the picked beds of his nails, “After stressing yourself into a panic attack over demons.”
Eddie doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but he thinks the wind sounds a little bit lighter outside.
“I’ll… I will,” Buck says.
Eddie’s resolve doesn’t last long looking at Buck’s dejected face. His friend’s often the last to admit he needs help, whether it means endangering the job or jeopardizing himself. He stands up and pulls Buck into a hug, close, tight, and personal.
Buck latches on just as easily, nails digging into Eddie’s back as he collapses.
“Your porch light is broken,” Eddie whispers.
Buck laughs, sounding suspiciously like a sob as he buries his head into Eddie’s shoulder. He nods and Eddie feels the fight that’s been in his body for the past hour drains out of him.
Buck lifts his head just enough to say, “Why did you come back?”
“Didn’t feel right.”
“What, can you tell when something’s up with me?” Buck laughs.
Eddie shakes his head and pulls back, “You just weren’t yourself, Buck. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“That I’m not hearing— I don’t know.”
“Okay. But you’re alright now?” Eddie asks.
Buck shrugs, “Tired. You leaving?”
Buck is still shaky under Eddie’s hands and Eddie spots a splatter of utensils spread across the counters, so he shakes his head.
“No,” he says.
“I’m gonna crash,” Buck threatens.
Eddie laughs, “I know.”
Eddie doesn’t want to stay to hang out. He doesn’t mind sitting on the sofa as Buck sleeps or just waiting until something breaks. Eddie thinks that something breaks in that moment, as he’s looking up at Buck and Buck’s eyes crinkle at the edges.
“Do you mind if I just…” Buck trails off, but his hand creeps up Eddie’s shoulder and hesitates at his cheek.
Buck’s cheeks are still streaked with tear stains and his voice is still hoarse. He’s not in the best space, but there is rarely a time when they both are. Eddie isn’t exactly handling his nightmares very well either. But at least he finds the time to talk about them in therapy.
And with the way Buck’s gaze is filtering down to Eddie’s lips, unmistakable, even in the dim light, Eddie thinks he understands.
Eddie nods and Buck kisses him. Once, soft and slow. Twice, deeper. Three, four, five.
Eddie sighs into him and exhales shakily when they part. Buck’s smile is soft, but more genuine than it had been since before the call that changed his attitude.
“You wanna sleep here?” Buck asks shyly, like Eddie didn’t turn around when he got home on the sole hunch that something was wrong with Buck.
Eddie’s nod brings them to Buck’s bed. They fall asleep with their legs tangled together and the rest of their bodies pressed together.