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Years in the army had instilled something in Eddie, something stubborn and buried too deep to be reasoned with, that told him unless he was on death's door, he needed to show up.
For roll call. For duty. For his team.
But after three nights of barely sleeping and coughing hard enough to see stars, even he couldn't argue anymore.
"You need to go to the doctor," Buck had told him that morning, firm and annoyingly gentle all at once, like someone talking to a skittish cat who might bolt.
"I'm fine," Eddie rasped, which immediately undercut his argument by setting off a coughing fit that made Buck drop the spoon he was using to stir his coffee.
That had been the final straw.
Now, sitting in an exam room, his hoodie pulled tight around him like a second skin, Eddie waited for the results.
He hated being here. Not just because he felt like he was wasting time when he could've been recovering in his own bed, but because Buck had driven him, hovered in the waiting room, and insisted he be "on call" in case Eddie needed anything.
Eddie had rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
And he didn't argue when the doctor came back in with a clipboard, a patient smile, and a soft, "It's bronchitis."
Viral. Nothing they could give him but fluids, rest, and a strong warning not to push himself.
He texted Buck from the exam table.
Eddie:
Bronchitis
Buck:
Oh, hell no.
I'm coming in.
//////////
Buck's 'taking care of him' started before they'd even made it back to the house.
There were two pharmacy stops ("You don't need this many cough drops." "What if we run out in the middle of the night?!"), a brief detour for ginger tea, and a heated discussion in the grocery store about electrolyte drinks.
Eddie was bundled into bed the moment they got home.
"I can take care of myself," he mumbled, already halfway under the covers and glaring at the tissue box Buck set down next to his water glass.
"But you don't have to." Buck just kissed the top of his head and smiled.
And that, annoyingly, shut him up.
Buck was a menace.
He flitted between nurse and over-eager boyfriend, never able to stay still long enough to not make Eddie feel fussed over.
He fluffed pillows. He brought him soup. He re-filled his humidifier, put on bad action movies Eddie could barely stay awake through, and made sure his phone was always within reach.
All things Eddie could appreciate, deep down.
But Buck had no sense of personal safety.
The first time Buck leaned in to kiss Eddie, right on the mouth, no hesitation, no fear, Eddie barely managed to get a hand up in time to block him. He pressed his palm flat against Buck's face with what little strength he had.
"What are you doing?" he croaked, voice scratchy like gravel. His brows knit together, but it was more confusion than annoyance.
Buck blinked, eyes bright with mischief even as his nose smushed slightly under Eddie's hand.
"Trying to kiss my very sick, very handsome boyfriend," he replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You'll get sick." Eddie gave him a look, the kind of unimpressed stare he usually reserved for overly cocky suspects or Chris when he was clearly trying to sneak dessert before dinner.
"I won't." Buck peeled Eddie's hand off his face gently and held it between both of his. "I have a great immune system."
"That's not how bronchitis works, Buck," Eddie grumbled, trying to pull his hand back, but Buck held on, thumbs stroking over his knuckles with infuriating gentleness.
"Maybe not. But love is stronger than bronchitis." Buck declared dramatically, eyes wide with fake sincerity.
"You're an idiot." Eddie let out a long sigh.
"An idiot who loves you." Buck said, grinning like he'd just won a prize, and ducked under Eddie's half-hearted attempt at another hand-to-the-face maneuver.
Instead of a kiss to the lips, Buck veered left and planted one firmly on Eddie's cheek, just under his temple.
It was warm, soft, and maddeningly fond.
"Buck," Eddie warned, though his tone was already slipping toward fond exasperation.
"Okay, okay! No mouth kisses." Buck leaned back with an exaggerated flourish, hands raised like he was backing away from a crime scene. "Cheek only. Maybe forehead if I'm feeling rebellious."
"Forehead is worse," Eddie muttered.
"Wait–" Buck paused. "How is your forehead?"
"You're literally breathing into my sinuses." Eddie coughed.
"Fair point. I'll save that for later." There was a moment of silence that followed as Buck appeared to genuinely consider this, then nodded solemnly. "When you're past the contagious stage but still cuddly and vulnerable."
"I'm going to regret letting you take care of me." Eddie muttered, but he didn't pull away when Buck tucked the blanket tighter around him.
"No, you won't." Buck whispered, pressing the back of his hand lightly to Eddie's cheek to check his temperature again. "You love me."
"I'm delirious from a fever." Eddie gave a weak, sarcastic smile. "Don't trust anything I say right now."
"You're so full of crap." Buck laughed.
But even then, as he settled beside Eddie with a bowl of soup he'd clearly reheated for the third time, he leaned in again, just close enough to brush his nose against Eddie's hair.
"You're still the cutest germ factory I've ever seen." he whispered.
"Regret." Eddie groaned into his pillow. "So much regret."
"You love it," Buck said smugly.
And yeah, deep down, Eddie really did.
A week passed.
Eddie got marginally better.
The coughing slowed. His throat stopped feeling like sandpaper. His temperature dipped back into normal range.
But Buck? Buck stayed completely, obnoxiously healthy.
"See?" he said smugly one night, flopping next to Eddie on the couch while they watched Ocean's Eleven. "Iron immune system."
"You're not invincible, Buck." Eddie gave him a tired look.
"No, but I'm stubborn." Buck just kissed his cheek again.
"Stubborn's not a cure." Eddie grumbled.
"It's a lifestyle." Buck teased.
Eddie turned back to the TV, trying very hard not to smile.
"Idiot." he murmured, voice still hoarse.
//////////
Buck didn't get sick right away.
It took another full week. Long enough for Eddie to finish his course of rest, be cleared to return to work, and start feeling like himself again.
Long enough for Buck to strut around the house like he'd beaten bronchitis in a one-sided battle of willpower.
Then, karma struck.
It started with a sniffle. One that Buck tried to deny.
"It's allergies," he insisted.
Then came the cough.
"Dry air," he said.
Then came the fever, the chills, the raspy voice, and finally... Defeat.
Eddie came home from a grocery run to find Buck in a hoodie and two blankets, sunk so low into the couch he looked like a pile of laundry with a head.
He didn't even look up when Eddie walked in.
"I'm dying," Buck moaned.
"Oh, really?" Eddie dropped the bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter and walked over, arms crossed.
"It's not funny." Buck peeked out from beneath the blanket like a wounded animal.
"I'm not laughing," Eddie said, his mouth twitching. "But I did warn you."
Buck groaned and pulled the blanket back over his head.
Eddie took care of him exactly the same way he had been taken care of, except with more smugness.
He brought him the same tea. Made him the same soup. Tucked him into bed the same way, albeit with a not-so-hidden grin.
"Need anything?" he asked that first night, leaning against the doorframe.
"My dignity." Buck sniffled.
"That left the building the second you tried to kiss me mid-fever." Eddie chuckled.
Buck groaned into the pillow.
"You'll live." Eddie walked over and gently placed the thermometer on the nightstand.
"You sure?" Buck replied dramatically. "Because I think I'm actively disintegrating."
"Pretty sure." Eddie chuckled.
There was a pause.
"I thought you said viral bronchitis wasn't contagious." Buck inquired.
"I said it was viral." Eddie smirked. "You said you had a 'strong immune system.'"
"I hate you," Buck mumbled into the blankets.
Eddie leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
"No, you don't." he whispered.
Buck was as bad a patient as he was a caretaker.
He refused to stay in bed. Tried to insist on watching old episodes of Mythbusters at full volume. Tried to kiss Eddie even while sniffling and coughing.
"Stop that!" Eddie had to physically shove him away at one point. "You're the sick one now."
"You didn't stop me." Buck just looked at him with watery eyes and pouted.
"Yes, I did." Eddie blinked.
"You failed." Buck added.
"Well, you definitely failed." Eddie returned.
Buck opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but another cough stole the breath out of him, and he flopped backward with a groan.
Eddie laughed so hard he had to sit down.
By day four, Buck was still sick, but his fever had broken and his voice was finally back to full strength.
Unfortunately, that meant the whining increased tenfold.
"I'm bored." Buck whined.
"Sleep." Eddie replied bluntly.
"I slept all morning." Buck complained.
"You still look like death." Eddie teased.
"You said I always looked good, no matter what." Buck stuck his tongue out.
"That was before you sneezed directly onto my hand." Eddie sighed.
"Ouch." Buck snorted, then winced. "Don't make me laugh."
"I told you this would happen." Eddie handed him another tissue.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I get it. You're a genius, I'm an idiot." Buck grumbled.
"Finally, we agree on something." Eddie grinned.
But as Buck blew his nose and curled back into the mound of blankets, Eddie's teasing softened. He reached out and brushed a hand through Buck's hair, tender and warm.
"You'll be okay," he said softly.
"I know." Buck sniffed.
"Because I'm taking care of you." Eddie assured.
"What are boyfriends for, right?" Buck blinked up at him, glassy-eyed and touched.
"Exactly." Eddie smiled.
And even if Buck had no self-preservation, no immune system worth bragging about, and an annoying habit of trying to kiss people mid-fever, he was his. And Eddie wouldn't have it any other way.