Archive of Our Own

BLOOD

The gunshot echoed through the air. Buck didn't register it at first. What he registered was Eddie's expression. The way his eyes widened. The way his body jerked. The way he looked surprised. Then Eddie fell. And Buck's entire world stopped.
"No." The word left him before he could think. Eddie hit the ground.
"No!" Buck was running. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Not Eddie. Anyone but Eddie.
By the time he reached him, Eddie was struggling to stay upright. Buck dropped beside him instantly.
"Eddie. Hey. Hey." His voice sounded frantic. Terrified. Eddie looked up. For a split second, Buck saw something he'd never seen before. Fear. Real fear. And somehow that was worse than anything else.
Because Eddie Diaz wasn't supposed to look afraid. Not Eddie, who ran into burning buildings. Not Eddie, who always knew what to do. Not Eddie, who had become Buck's home without either of them realizing it.
"Eddie, stay with me." Buck grabbed his hand. Eddie squeezed back weakly. "I'm trying," he whispered.
The words shattered something inside Buck. Because Eddie sounded tired. Too tired. "No." Buck shook his head immediately.
"No, don't talk like that." Around them, everything blurred. People were shouting. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. Buck couldn't hear any of it. All he could hear was Eddie breathing. Every breath felt precious. Every breath felt fragile.
"Eddie." His voice cracked. Eddie's eyes drifted shut. Buck's stomach dropped. "No, no, no." He reached up immediately. "C'mon, man. Look at me." Slowly, Eddie opened his eyes again. Buck almost cried from relief. Almost.
Then Eddie gave him a look. A soft look. A heartbreaking look. The kind of look people gave when they thought they were running out of time. Buck hated it. Absolutely hated it. "Stop." Eddie frowned slightly.
"Stop looking at me like that." Buck's voice was shaking now. His entire body was shaking.
Because suddenly there were a thousand things he hadn't said. A thousand moments he'd taken for granted. Tomorrow morning. Coffee at the station. Movie nights with Christopher. The stupid arguments. The easy smiles. All the things he'd assumed would always be there. All the things he might lose.
"Evan." Buck froze. Eddie rarely used his full name. Only when something mattered. Only when it was important. The sound of it nearly broke him. "Don't." His eyes burned. "Don't do this."
Eddie swallowed. His gaze flickered away for a second. Then back. "If something happens—" "No." Buck cut him off immediately. "No." "Evan—" "No." The word came out louder. Desperate. Almost angry. Because he couldn't listen to this. Couldn't sit here and hear Eddie say goodbye.
Not when Buck had spent years losing people. Not when he'd finally found someone who stayed. Someone who chose him. Someone who trusted him with Christopher. Someone who had become family. "You are not leaving me." The tears came then. Fast. Hot. Impossible to stop.
Buck didn't even care who saw. "You hear me?" he said. "You're not." Eddie stared at him. And Buck saw it. The realization. The understanding. The things neither of them had ever said out loud. His chest hurt. Everything hurt. "Eddie." His voice dropped to a whisper. A plea. A prayer. "I still need you."
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Eddie's fingers tightened around his hand. Just barely. But enough. Enough for Buck to cling to it like it was the only thing keeping the world from falling apart. The sirens were close now. Help was coming.
But Buck couldn't stop staring at Eddie. Couldn't stop counting every breath. Couldn't stop thinking the same terrifying thought over and over. Please. Not him. Please, not him.

DNA
The waiting room was too quiet. Buck hated it. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Nurses walked past every few minutes. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang. Everything kept moving. As if Eddie wasn't lying unconscious a few floors above them. As if Buck's entire world hadn't tilted on its axis.

Christopher sat beside him, curled up in one of the stiff hospital chairs. He hadn't said much since they got there. Neither of them had. Buck glanced over. Chris was staring at the floor.

"Hey." Christopher looked up. Buck forced a smile. "You hungry?" A shrug. "What about a snack from the vending machine?" Another shrug.
Buck swallowed. Usually, he knew what to do with Christopher. Usually, it was easy. Today, nothing felt easy. The silence stretched between them. Then Christopher spoke.
"Do you think Dad was scared?" Buck's chest tightened. The question hit harder than he'd expected. He thought about Eddie on the ground. The fear in his eyes. The way he'd reached for Buck. The way Buck had never felt so helpless in his life.

"Yeah," Buck admitted quietly. Christopher nodded. Like he'd expected that answer. "He doesn't like being scared." A laugh escaped Buck before he could stop it. "No. He really doesn't." For a second, Christopher smiled too. Then it disappeared. Buck watched him pick at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The same nervous habit Eddie had. The sight nearly broke him.

"You know," Christopher said suddenly, "my teacher did this thing at school." Buck blinked. "What thing?" "A family tree." Buck nodded slowly. "Yeah?" Christopher shrugged. "We had to write down everyone in our family." Something in Buck's stomach twisted. Christopher looked down at his hands.

"I didn't know if I was supposed to put you on it."
Buck stopped breathing. For a second he genuinely thought he'd misheard. "Oh." The word came out small. Christopher frowned. "I mean, you're not my uncle." "No." "And you're not really my cousin." "No." Buck's voice felt strangely distant. Christopher continued. "But you aren't just Dad's friend either."

The room felt suddenly too warm. Too bright. Buck stared at him. Christopher stared back. Completely serious. Completely unaware that Buck's heart was threatening to climb out of his chest. "So I put you on it anyway." Buck laughed once. A broken sound. "Yeah?" Christopher nodded. "Because you're family."

Just like that. No hesitation. No explanation. No conditions. Buck had spent years trying to earn that word. Family. Trying to fit himself into spaces that had never wanted him. Trying to convince himself that sharing blood with someone meant they would love him. But Christopher said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it wasn't even a question. Like Buck belonged.
The tears hit before he could stop them. He looked away quickly. Christopher noticed immediately.

"Are you crying?" Buck huffed out a laugh. "No." "You're definitely crying." "Okay, maybe a little." Christopher rolled his eyes. The gesture was so much like Eddie that Buck nearly laughed again.

For the first time all day, something inside his chest loosened. Just a little.
Christopher shifted closer. Then leaned his head against Buck's shoulder. Buck froze. Not because it was unusual.
Because suddenly it felt like everything. Trust. Love. Home. Family. Not because they shared DNA. Not because of some name on a family tree. But because they chose each other. Buck wrapped an arm around Christopher's shoulders. And for the first time since the gunshot, he felt like he could breathe. Just a little. Just enough to keep waiting.

FEEL
Buck stood under the shower until the water turned cold. At some point he'd stopped actually washing and just stood there, forehead pressed against the tile, letting the water beat against his shoulders. The blood was gone. The smell of smoke and hospital disinfectant was gone. His clothes were in a heap on the bathroom floor, shoved into a trash bag because he couldn't stand looking at them. None of it helped. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Eddie.
Not the Eddie from yesterday. Not the Eddie who rolled his eyes at Buck's terrible jokes or argued with him over takeout. The Eddie from today. Falling. Looking at Buck with fear in his eyes. Reaching for him. Buck squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop." The word disappeared beneath the sound of the water. His thoughts ignored him.
By the time he finally stepped out of the shower, his skin was pruned and the bathroom mirror was completely fogged over. Good. He didn't particularly want to see his reflection anyway. Everything felt wrong. The apartment felt wrong. The silence felt wrong. The fact that Eddie wasn't answering his texts felt wrong, even though Buck knew exactly why.
He pulled on a clean t-shirt and jeans before wandering into the kitchen. Maddie had texted him three separate times reminding him to eat. Hen had texted him twice. Bobby once. Christopher four times. Buck's chest tightened at the sight of Christopher's name. The last message was only twenty minutes old. Did the doctors say anything?
Buck stared at it for a moment before typing back. Not yet, buddy. I'll let you know the second I hear something. The response came almost immediately. Okay. Buck swallowed. Christopher was scared. God, of course he was scared. Buck was terrified.
He tossed his phone onto the counter and opened the refrigerator. Nothing looked remotely appetizing. He grabbed leftovers anyway and forced himself to heat them up. Bobby would ask if he'd eaten. Hen would ask if he'd slept. Maddie would somehow know if he lied. The microwave beeped. Buck stared at the food. Then stared some more. After a minute, he pushed it away untouched.
His appetite had apparently been left behind at the hospital. With Eddie. The thought hit him so hard he actually laughed. One short, exhausted sound. Because there it was again. Eddie. Everything led back to Eddie. Every thought. Every fear. Every goddamn thing.
Buck leaned against the kitchen counter and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted. His body ached. His head hurt. And somehow his brain had chosen now to start asking questions he'd spent years avoiding. When had Eddie become the person he called first? When had the Diaz house started feeling more like home than his own apartment? When had Christopher become one of the most important people in his life? When had Eddie stopped being just his best friend?
Buck froze. The question hung in the silence. Heavy. Unavoidable. He immediately looked away from it. Because no. Nope. Absolutely not. He wasn't doing this. Not today. Not while Eddie was lying in a hospital bed. Not while Christopher was terrified. Not while Buck himself was barely holding it together.
Unfortunately, his brain had never cared much about timing. He thought about the shooting. About seeing Eddie go down. About the panic that had swallowed him whole. The sheer desperation. The terror. For one awful moment, Buck had genuinely believed he was about to lose him.
The memory made his stomach turn. Not because Eddie was his friend. Not because Eddie was his partner. Not because Eddie was family. Those things were true. But they weren't the whole truth. And Buck knew it. The realization settled into his chest with horrifying clarity. "Oh, no." He stared at the wall. The wall stared back. "Oh, no."
Because suddenly years of confusing emotions were lining up into something that made far too much sense. The jealousy whenever Eddie dated someone. The way Buck always looked for him first in a crowded room. The way Eddie's approval mattered more than it should. The way one smile could improve Buck's entire day. The way the thought of losing him felt like it might actually destroy him.
Buck dropped into a kitchen chair. His heart was pounding. This was ridiculous. This was absolutely ridiculous. He was thirty-something years old and having an emotional crisis in his kitchen because his best friend had gotten shot and apparently that had been enough to break open a box he'd kept nailed shut for years. A hysterical laugh escaped him.
"Seriously?" Nobody answered. The apartment remained stubbornly silent.
Buck let his head fall back. The ceiling offered no wisdom either. Great. Just great. His best friend was recovering from surgery. Christopher needed support. The entire team was worried sick. And Buck had somehow managed to realize he was in love with Eddie Diaz. Fantastic timing. Absolutely incredible timing.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. For years he'd convinced himself there was nothing to examine. Nothing to question. Nothing to name. Now he couldn't stop seeing it. Couldn't stop feeling it. And that was the worst part. Because if this really was love—if it had always been love—then Buck had absolutely no idea what to do with it. Especially when he had no idea whether Eddie felt anything at all.
LOYALITY

Buck wasn't expecting to be nervous. He'd spent the last hour away from the hospital forcing himself to shower, change clothes, and eat something resembling a meal. The entire time, he'd been counting down the minutes until he could get back. Back to Eddie. Back to Christopher. Back to where he belonged. The realization made him grimace as he stepped out of the elevator.
Because apparently his brain had decided that wasn't a complicated statement anymore. Or maybe it was the most complicated statement he'd ever made. Buck shoved his hands into his pockets and headed down the hallway. He could already picture the room. Christopher curled up in a chair with a blanket. Maybe Hen or Chim stopping by. Nurses checking monitors. Eddie asleep. Safe. Alive.
The knot in his chest loosened slightly. Then he pushed open the door and stopped. Helena Diaz was sitting beside Eddie's bed. Ramon stood near the window. Both turned toward him immediately. Buck froze. For a second, nobody spoke. Then Helena stood.
"You're Buck." It wasn't a question. Buck nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Her expression softened slightly. "Eddie talks about you." The comment caught him off guard. Buck wasn't entirely sure what to do with that information. "Oh." A beat passed. Then Ramon stepped forward.
"Thank you for being with Christopher." Buck glanced toward the empty chair in the corner. Christopher must have gone to the cafeteria with a nurse or one of the team. The thought eased some of the tension in his shoulders. "Of course."
Ramon nodded. The room fell silent again. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Buck shifted his weight. Then quietly moved toward the chair beside Eddie's bed. His chair. The one he'd practically lived in for the last twenty-four hours. The second he sat down, he felt their eyes on him. The feeling crawled beneath his skin. Helena exchanged a look with Ramon. Buck immediately knew something was coming. He just didn't know what.
"You've been here this whole time?" Helena asked. Buck nodded. "Mostly."
"You should rest." Buck almost laughed. He'd heard that one from Bobby. Hen. Maddie. Three different nurses. It hadn't worked on any of them either. "I'm okay." Helena's gaze drifted toward Eddie. "He has family here now."
The words weren't cruel. They weren't even particularly sharp. But Buck felt them anyway. Like a punch straight to the chest. He looked down at his hands. Suddenly fascinated by the fraying edge of his sleeve. Because logically, he knew what she meant. She meant parents. She meant relatives. People connected by blood. But after the conversation with Christopher. After the realization in his apartment. The distinction stung more than it should have.
"We appreciate everything you've done," Ramon added.
The knot in Buck's chest tightened. There it was. The polite dismissal. The thank you. The reassurance. The implication that his part in this was finished. That now the real family had arrived. Buck swallowed hard. Part of him wanted to leave. Not because he wanted to. Because it would be easier. Easier than sitting here wondering where he stood. Easier than trying to explain something he barely understood himself.
Instead, he looked over at Eddie. At the steady rise and fall of his chest. At the monitor quietly beeping beside him. At the man Buck had spent years building a life around without realizing it. Something inside him settled.
"No." The word slipped out before he could stop it. Helena blinked. "I'm sorry?" Buck took a breath. Then another. His heart was pounding. But the longer he looked at Eddie, the steadier he felt. "I'm not leaving."
The room went quiet. Buck almost laughed. Because a week ago he would've stumbled over the explanation. Would've tried to make it sound reasonable. Would've downplayed it. Made himself smaller. Not today. Today he was too tired. Too scared. Too honest. "I know you're his parents." His voice remained calm. Steady. "I know you love him."
Helena's expression softened. Just slightly. Buck continued. "But I'm not leaving." Neither of them spoke. So he kept going.
"I was there when he got hurt." His throat tightened. The memory flashed behind his eyes. Eddie falling. The fear. The panic. The blood. Buck pushed the images away. Barely. "I was there when Christopher found out. I was there when the doctors came out after surgery." He swallowed. "And I'll be here when he wakes up."
The room remained silent. Buck wasn't even sure where the courage was coming from anymore. All he knew was that every word was true. "Eddie has shown up for me more times than I can count." His gaze never left Eddie. "Every time my life fell apart." The tsunami. The lawsuit. The lightning strike. The panic attacks. The losses. The failures. Eddie had been there. Every single time.
"So if you're asking whether I'm leaving because things got difficult—" Buck shook his head. "No." The answer came instantly. Without hesitation. "No chance." For a moment, nobody moved. Then Helena looked at her son. Really looked at him. Her eyes lingered on the chair Buck occupied. The overnight bag beside it. The half-empty coffee cups scattered around the room. Evidence of days spent waiting. Of someone who had refused to leave.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter.
"You love him." Buck's heart stopped. The room seemed to tilt. For one horrifying second, he wondered if she'd somehow read every thought he'd had over the last twenty-four hours. Every realization. Every fear. Every impossible feeling. Buck opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Helena's expression softened further. Not judgmental. Not surprised. Just knowing. The kind of knowing that only made Buck panic more. Fortunately, Christopher chose that exact moment to burst through the door carrying a bag of chips.
"Buck!" The spell shattered instantly. Buck looked over. Relief hit so hard his knees nearly gave out. "Hey, buddy."
Christopher hurried toward him. Without hesitation. Without question. Straight to Buck's side. Buck felt Helena watching the interaction. Watching Christopher settle beside him. Watching Buck immediately make room. Watching the ease between them. The familiarity. The trust. The family. And for the first time since entering the room, she smiled. Small. Sad. Understanding.
Buck didn't know what it meant. Didn't know what came next. Didn't know how he was supposed to survive being in love with Eddie Diaz. But he knew one thing. No matter what happened. No matter what anyone thought. No matter how complicated things became. He wasn't going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.
PRIDE
The sound of the beeping was what hit him first.
Steady. Unrelenting. It was annoying, a rhythmic pulse that made him want to reach out and stop it, but the mere thought of moving made the heavy ache in his limbs flare. For a long time, Eddie just drifted. He was suspended in that blurry, hazy space where reality and unconsciousness bled together, waiting for his mind to catch up with his body finally.
Hospital.
The realization arrived in pieces. The sharp, clinical tang of antiseptic. The stiffness pinning his arms down. The crushing weight of the blankets. The fire burning in his chest. Then the memories crashed into him—violent, sudden, and terrifying. The pavement. The echo of the shot. Christopher. Buck. Eddie's eyes snapped open. The room was a mess of fluorescent glare and white walls. Everything was softened by the fog of medication, but he could see well enough to identify the figure slumped in the chair beside him.
Buck. Eddie just watched him for a heartbeat. Buck looked completely drained. He was out cold, or at least he looked like it, because no one should look that exhausted while they were awake. Deep shadows hung under his eyes, his hair was a disaster of frantic cowlicks, and his hoodie was wrinkled and twisted. He looked like he'd been living in that stiff chair for an eternity.
There were coffee cups everywhere. At least six of them were scattered across every available flat surface. Eddie counted them twice just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.
Jesus. He tried to clear his throat, but it felt like swallowing shards of glass. The sound he made was barely a noise at all. It didn't matter. Buck's head snapped up immediately. Not a second later—instantly—like he'd been on high alert even in his sleep. He just stared at Eddie, his face caught in that fragile, heartbreaking space between doubt and hope. Then Eddie saw it. Relief. Pure, devastating relief.
"Eddie."
His voice cracked on the name. Normally, Eddie would've had a comeback ready. But right now, even a single syllable felt like a marathon.
"Hey." The word was a rough, broken rasp. Buck exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days. Then he was moving.
"Stay still. Don't move." Eddie wanted to mention he wasn't exactly in any condition to run. Before he could, Buck had already lunged for the call button and vanished into the hallway with the kind of desperation that usually meant a five-alarm fire. It was a little flattering, honestly. The next few minutes were a blur of questions and medical staff. Eddie was pretty sure he got the answers right, but his focus was anchored to the man hovering by the door.
Buck didn't sit back down. He didn't leave. He just stood there, hyper-fixated, like he was terrified that if he looked away for even a second, Eddie would disappear. Like he still hadn't remembered how to breathe. Eventually, the doctor seemed satisfied that Eddie knew what year it was. It felt like a low bar, but they all looked relieved.
"You're looking good," the doctor said with a small nod. "We're going to keep an eye on you, but this is exactly the progress we want to see." The progress they wanted. He was lying down and not dying. He hoped so. The doctor kept talking about meds and schedules, but Eddie's mind was wandering. Because Buck was still there. Still watching.
Still looking like a stiff breeze might actually knock him over. The moment the room emptied, Eddie shifted his head. The motion made his chest throb, but it was worth it.
"Chris?" The reaction was instant. Buck's shoulders finally dropped, like he'd been waiting for that specific question. Like hearing Eddie ask about his son was the only proof he needed that Eddie was really back.
"He's okay." Buck had the answer ready before the question was finished.
"Carla's got him." Eddie let his eyes drift shut as the tension bled out of him. Thank God. Christopher was safe. He was home. He wasn't in a waiting room somewhere, trying to be brave while his dad was in surgery. When he opened his eyes, Buck had finally reclaimed his seat. He didn't look comfortable—Buck never did in those hospital chairs—but he was leaning in, hands clasped tight.
"He really wanted to be here." A small, tired smile touched Eddie's lips.
"Yeah?" Buck gave a little huff of a laugh.
"Yeah." The warmth in his voice was undeniable.
"I think he felt personally insulted when I told him he had to go get some sleep." That was Christopher, alright. The thought made Eddie's chest feel a little less tight. They were quiet for a moment. It wasn't a bad silence, just the heavy, exhausted kind that follows a nightmare.
Eddie took a proper look at him then. The disheveled clothes. The graveyard of coffee cups. The sheer fatigue. A question started forming.
"How long?" Buck blinked, looking confused. "How long what?" Eddie tried to wave a hand. It was a weak, pathetic gesture.
"Have you been in this room?" Something guarded flickered in Buck's expression.
It wasn't quite guilt, but it was close. The look he gave when he was about to admit to something completely reckless didn't narrow it down much.
"Since they brought you here." Eddie just stared. Buck stared back for a second before looking at the floor. Of course.
"You've been here the entire time?" Buck shrugged, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably. "I mean, not every single second." Eddie waited. He knew the drill. Buck let out a dramatic sigh.
"I went home." Okay. That was a start. "To get a shower."
And probably right back.
Eddie arched an eyebrow.
Buck noticed immediately.
"Twice."
"Evan."
Buck pointed a finger at him.
The fact that he was trying to be assertive while looking like he'd been dragged behind a truck was almost funny.
"And I left to eat, too."
Eddie narrowed his eyes.
Buck suddenly found the ceiling very fascinating.
Busted.
"How many meals, Buck?"
Buck rubbed the back of his neck.
"That's irrelevant."
"How many?"
A long pause followed.
"Some."
Eddie kept staring him down.
Buck groaned.
"Stop it."
"Tell me."
Buck threw his hands up in defeat.
"Fine. Not many, okay?"
Jesus.
The reality of it settled deep in Eddie's chest.
Because he knew Buck.
He knew exactly what happened.
He knew Buck had probably stayed glued to that chair and only left when the team practically dragged him out.
Buck shrugged, as if he could sense what Eddie was thinking.
"Bobby brought stuff over."
Naturally.
"Hen did too."
Of course.
"Chim brought tacos."
Eddie closed his eyes, a huff of a laugh escaping him.
"So you were bribed into staying alive."
"They were good tacos, Eddie."
Eddie laughed, even though it hurt.
It was worth the pain.
Buck's face lit up immediately.
Like hearing that sound was the highlight of his entire month.
It was ridiculous.
And it was everything.
"You should've seen Bobby."
Buck sat back, finally looking a little more relaxed now that Eddie was talking.
"He acted like me drinking nothing but coffee was a personal insult."
"You were living on coffee."
"It was efficient."
"It was stupid."
Buck pointed at him again.
"See, now you're just quoting everyone else."
Everyone else.
The words landed heavy.
Because Eddie realized there had been an 'everyone else.'
Bobby. Hen. Chim. Maddie. Christopher. People coming by to check on Buck. Bringing him food. Making sure he hadn't collapsed. Because they all knew exactly what he was going to do.
They knew he'd stay.
The thought settled warm and heavy in Eddie's chest. Dangerous. Emotional. Buck was still rambling about something. Probably how bad hospital coffee was. Eddie wasn't really listening.
All he could think about was waking up and finding Buck right there. Not at home. Not at the station. Not just stopping by between shifts. But here. In that chair. Waiting for him.
The realization hit him hard. Not because it was a surprise—Buck always showed up. For Christopher. For the team. For everyone. But because it mattered. Because waking up and seeing him there made everything easier. It lifted a weight Eddie hadn't even realized he was carrying.
"Hey."
Buck stopped mid-sentence. Concern flooded his face immediately.
"What?"
Eddie just shook his head. He didn't have the words for this. 'Thank you' was too small. 'You stayed' was redundant. And everything else was far too much.
So he went with the truth.
"I'm just glad it was you."
The room went quiet. Buck froze. Still as a statue. For a second, neither of them breathed. Then a soft look crossed Buck's face. Gone in a blink.
"Yeah?"
His voice was barely a whisper.
Eddie nodded.
"Yeah."
Buck looked away. He seemed very interested in his coffee cup all of a sudden. The tips of his ears were turning pink. Eddie definitely didn't need to see that. And he was absolutely not going to analyze it later. Not even slightly.
Outside, the hospital hummed with life as usual. But inside, everything was finally still. Eddie was awake. Christopher was safe. Buck was right here.
For right now, that was enough.
HUMBLE
Eddie wakes sometime after midnight.
The room is dark.
Quiet.
The rhythmic pulse of the monitor is the only thing cutting through the silence, that and the muffled, distant sounds of the hospital night. For a long moment, he just lies there, his gaze fixed on the shadows above. The physical pain is manageable, dampened by the haze of medication. The exhaustion, however, is another story entirely. It settles deep in his bones, heavier than the blankets pinning him down. And his thoughts—well, those are even worse. Those are the things no amount of morphine can fix.
Slowly, the movement making his chest throb, Eddie turns his head toward the chair.
Buck is still there.
Of course he is. Because that’s what Buck does. He stays.
The stiff hospital chair was never built for comfort, and it shows in the way Buck is folded into it. He’s at an angle that looks genuinely painful, one arm tucked against his stomach while the other hangs loosely toward the floor. His head is propped awkwardly against the headrest, and a thin blanket is halfway to the ground. He looks completely drained. It’s the kind of fatigue that comes from too many hours of high alert. The kind that follows a nightmare you can’t quite shake.
Eddie’s chest tightens, and it has nothing to do with the bullet.
Because he knows exactly why Buck looks like that. He knows why the shadows under his eyes are so dark and why his hair is a mess of frantic cowlicks.
It’s him. Buck looks like this because of him.
The realization should probably bring guilt. Instead, it sparks something warmer. Something dangerous. Something Eddie has spent years pretending he doesn’t see.
For a heartbeat, Eddie just watches him. He counts the steady rise and fall of Buck’s chest. He notices the crease between his eyebrows that won’t even relax in sleep. He sees the graveyard of empty coffee cups scattered on the table and the charger plugged into the wall. The overnight bag shoved beneath the chair like it’s become a permanent fixture. Proof. It’s days worth of proof that Buck had planted himself here and refused to move.
The thing is, Eddie isn’t actually surprised.
Not really.
Because Buck doesn’t leave. He never has.
The thought pulls him down a path he’s spent a long time avoiding. Buck stayed when Shannon was gone. He stayed when Eddie tried to push the entire world away. He stayed through the tsunami, the lawsuit, the lightning strike, and every panic attack in between. Through every disaster life threw their way, Buck was the one constant. Sometimes Eddie thinks Buck is held together entirely by stubbornness and loyalty. Then again, maybe they’re just two different words for the same thing.
A faint, tired smile touches his lips. Christopher would certainly agree.
Christopher.
The name hits him with the force of a tidal wave. It always does. His son is the center of every choice, every fear, and every hope Eddie has for a future. Everything leads back to him. And somehow, along the way, Buck became part of that equation too. Not recently. Not by accident. Years ago.
The realization lands heavy in Eddie’s chest. When had the transition happened? When had Buck stopped being just his partner and become the person woven into every single version of the future Eddie imagined?
He closes his eyes, and the memories surface immediately. Christopher laughing on Buck’s shoulders at the pier. Movie nights where they fell asleep on the couch. The way Christopher asks if Buck is coming over for dinner before he even asks what they’re eating. The way he calls Buck first when he’s proud, or when he’s scared, or when the world just feels like too much.
Buck. Always Buck.
A lump forms in Eddie’s throat. Christopher doesn’t give his trust away easily. He’s careful with his heart. But he trusts Buck without hesitation. Without any conditions or fear. He just handed Buck a place in their lives and never looked back. As far as his son is concerned, Buck belongs. Period.
Eddie thinks about that family tree project Christopher worked on months ago. At the time, Eddie had just laughed it off. Now, the memory feels different. Christopher put Buck on that tree not because of some school requirement, but because to him, it was the simplest truth in the world. Buck was family.
Eddie swallows hard against the sting in his eyes. Kids have a way of cutting through the complications adults spend years building. Christopher never needed labels or explanations. He just loved the man who showed up. And somehow, he’d decided that Buck was theirs.
The word settles deep inside him, dangerously close to his heart. Because Christopher isn’t wrong. Buck has been helping raise him for years. Maybe it doesn't fit into a neat category, but he’s there for every milestone and every ordinary Tuesday. And Eddie trusted him with that. He trusted him with the most important person in his world.
The thought humbles him in a way the shooting never could. Eddie knows how hard he guards his heart. He knows how many walls Buck had to climb over to get here. Yet somehow, Buck never seemed to mind the height. He just kept showing up. Again. And again. Until one day Eddie looked up and realized the man wasn't knocking on the door anymore. He was already inside.
The ache in Eddie’s chest has nothing to do with the physical injury now. He realizes it’s impossible to separate Buck from the life he’s built. Buck isn’t an addition to the house; he’s part of the foundation. He’s part of home. He’s part of Christopher’s future, and he’s part of Eddie’s. And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all. Not the feelings themselves, but the thought of losing them. Losing him.
For one awful second after the shot echoed, Eddie thought he might. He thought he might lose the chance to say thank you. The chance to say stay. The chance to admit the truth.
I love you. The words settle into the silence of the room. They are unspoken, but they are real. For years, Eddie was afraid that saying them would change everything. Now, staring at the man asleep beside him, he wonders if refusing to say them is what changed everything instead.
Buck shifts in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. He’s probably arguing with a dream. Eddie smiles despite himself. The idiot. His idiot.
The thought slips through his mind so naturally he actually lets out a quiet laugh. And for the first time in a very long time, he doesn't immediately bury the feeling beneath expectations or fear. He just lets himself feel it. He acknowledges the truth: Buck is the person Christopher runs to. The person Eddie trusts most. The person who stayed. The person he wants beside him tomorrow, and every day after that.
It’s terrifying, but compared to the thought of almost dying without ever saying it? It suddenly doesn't seem like enough of a reason to keep hiding. For the first time, Eddie allows himself to imagine a future where he stops running. And in the darkness of the hospital room, surrounded by coffee cups and evidence of Buck’s devotion, that future feels a little less impossible.

LOVE
Buck lasts nearly a week.
Seven days.
Seven days of wearing a mask and acting like he’s fine.
Seven days of sitting in that stiff hospital chair, desperately trying to ignore the terrifying realization that he is completely, irrevocably in love with the man in the bed.
Seven days of failing miserably.
Because the problem is, once you name it, you can’t look away. You can’t go back.
Every small smile carries weight.
Every lingering look means everything.
Every pathetic joke feels like a confession.
It feels like the universe has taken every buried emotion and forced him to stare directly into the sun. It’s brutal.
Exhausting.
But the worst part? Eddie keeps looking at him.
Not with judgment.
Just...
Watching.
Checking in with that quiet intensity he’s always possessed.
The kind of gaze that leaves Buck feeling completely exposed, even when he’s trying his hardest to hide.
That’s how he knows he’s doomed.
Because Eddie Diaz is observant. He’s going to see it.
Soon.
Maybe not this afternoon.
Maybe not tonight.
But eventually, he’ll know. And Buck would rather step into oncoming traffic than have to explain himself.
The room is finally still.
Carla had to practically drag Christopher out the door so he’d go home and sleep.
The team drifted away hours ago.
Visiting hours have long since passed.
The hallways have fallen into that heavy, artificial silence that only happens in hospitals after midnight.
Buck is still in the chair.
His chair.
He’s spent so much time here he’s pretty sure he should be paying for the space.
Eddie is awake.
Pretending to read.
Buck has watched him stay on the same paragraph for twenty minutes.
Not that he’s counting.
He’s definitely counting. Every second. Every breath.
It’s a problem.
"Buck."
Buck looks up instantly.
Pure muscle memory.
"Yeah?"
Eddie lets the book rest against his chest.
"You’re being weird."
Buck nearly spills his cold coffee.
"Wow. Ouch."
"Am I wrong?"
Buck gestures vaguely at his surroundings.
"This is the thanks I get for living in a waiting room for a week?"
Eddie doesn’t let him off the hook.
"You’re being weird, Evan."
Buck hates that he’s right. Hates that Eddie can read him like an open book.
Because Eddie always knows when something is off.
Always.
It’s one of the reasons Buck is so deeply in love with him.
Which is not a helpful realization right now. Not at all.
"I’ve always been a little weird."
"Not like this."
Buck shifts his gaze to the floor.
Big mistake.
Now Eddie knows for certain he’s hiding something.
The silence in the room stretches, becoming heavy and uncomfortable.
Buck can feel Eddie’s eyes on him.
Waiting.
Patient.
Watching.
God, he hates the patience. It means Eddie is analyzing every twitch, every shallow breath. It means Buck is cornered.
"Buck."
The concern in that one word nearly breaks him.
Just his name.
But that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?
He’s in love with him.
Not in some vague, theoretical way.
Not in a way he can brush off as just being partners.
He loves him. Period.
He loves Christopher.
Loves their quiet movie nights.
Loves the mundane grocery trips.
Loves the way Eddie trusts him with everything that matters.
Loves the way Eddie says his name when he’s truly worried.
And maybe if things had gone differently on that street...
The thought is so sharp Buck has to look away again.
It’s the thing he hasn’t said out loud to anyone. Not Maddie. Not Bobby. Not even himself.
For one terrifying heartbeat, Buck thought the world had ended.
He thought he’d lost him.
And it didn’t just hurt. It shattered him.
"I thought you were gone."
The confession slips out before he can stop it.
The air in the room feels still.
Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt.
Just keeps watching him.
Buck lets out a shaky, broken laugh.
"Wow."
He wipes a hand over his face, trying to steady himself.
"Okay."
His heart is racing. Faster than it ever has on the job.
It’s the kind of panic that leads to life-altering mistakes. But this has been coming for years.
"When that shot rang out..."
His voice cracks, but he keeps going.
"I couldn't process anything."
The memory is right there. Vivid. Terrifying.
The blood on the pavement. The pure, unadulterated fear.
The desperate realization that Eddie Diaz was the center of his entire world, and he might never get to tell him.
Eddie’s expression softens, and Buck knows he’s in trouble.
If he keeps looking at him like that, Buck is going to lose it right here in the middle of the night.
It’s humiliating.
"I tried so hard to convince myself it was just because we’re best friends."
Buck laughs, a short, hollow sound.
Because Eddie is his best friend. That’s true.
It just isn't the whole story. Maybe it never was.
And then, because he’s exhausted. Because he’s terrified. Because almost losing Eddie was the worst thing he’s ever felt.
Because life is too fragile to keep hiding.
Buck finally admits it.
"I love you."
The words are quiet, almost a whisper, but they fill the entire room.
Buck’s stomach drops. There it is. The cliff.
He wants to keep talking, to explain it away, to take the words back and hide.
He wants to disappear into the hospital tile.
And then Eddie starts to laugh.
Not with cruelty. Not with surprise.
Just... laughing through tears.
Like someone who has been carrying the exact same secret for a long, long time.
And suddenly, Buck has no idea what’s going to happen next.