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It’s a relatively quiet evening in the firehouse. They’re all still wiped from a big call earlier in the day and Buck swears he keeps hearing Chim snore where he’s sitting on the couch watching TV—something the other man vehemently denies any time someone teases him and tells him to change the channel.
“You’re acting like my grandpa, man,” someone laughs. “I guess we can be glad it’s not golf.”
Chim makes a face and Bobby has a small, fond smile as he calls them all to the table for dinner, one that, hopefully, they’ll actually have time to eat.
Buck drops into the seat next to Eddie and leans over to bump his shoulder, grinning and loose limbed and honestly just happy to be here with his family, everyone in one room and one piece—even if he does still feel a little shitty from the cold he’s had all week. He’s had the sore throat and runny nose, the headaches and congestion, and now he’s moved on to the final stage of gross post-nasal drip and the occasional, scratchy cough.
So given the number of times he’s blown his nose in the last few days, he’s not really surprised when, halfway through dinner, he feels the telltale tickle of a nosebleed. He shifts forward and pinches his nose, waits a few seconds then frowns when the tickling sensation doesn’t move forward and instead seems to stay annoyingly at the back.
“You okay there, kid?” Bobby asks.
Buck sits back up, shrugs it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I just, I thought I might be getting a nose bleed.”
Hen snorts and smirks at him from across the table. “Why? Eddie’s still got his shirt on.”
“Ha-ha.” Buck rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the way his ears are burning. Ever since he and Eddie had gotten together, the rest of the team has been teasing them mercilessly.
And it doesn’t help when Eddie squeezes his leg under the table, trying to be supportive but instead just making Buck blush harder and nearly choke on his own spit. He coughs a couple times and screws his face up at the sudden taste of blood in his mouth, metallic and thick.
The nosebleed had apparently detoured to the back of his throat and was coming back up with whatever crap was in his lungs. Disgusting. He hates being sick.
Knowing he’s not going to be able to eat until he gets the taste out, he stands up to head to the kitchen, unable to stop one last cough that leaves his hand flecked in red and an even bigger glob of snotty blood in his mouth. It’s fucking nasty and all he wants to do is go spit in a trashcan or a sink or a napkin, hell he’d pretty much settle for his own shoe at this point. But before he can take another step, Eddie is rocketing up out of his chair and getting in the way.
“Buck?” he asks, sounding way more worked up than the situation calls for. Like yeah, it’s gross, but he’s handling it.
Buck waves him off and tries to get to the trashcan, can’t say anything to explain himself with the fucking mess in his mouth, but Eddie puts a hand on his arm and holds him back, now looking downright terrified.
Then Bobby’s got a hand on his shoulder and Chim is tugging at him trying to get him to kneel down saying something about hitting his head and Hen is hovering in the background like she’s ready to jump in and catch him herself. Confused and now a little freaked out himself, he wonders if he’s somehow dying and just didn’t get the memo, like Chim with that freaking rebar through his head.
Buck gently but firmly pushes them away and goes to the sink, needing to be able to speak but still unwilling to swallow because, just, no.He leans over the side and spits and fuck it’s so gross but it feels so good to have it out of his mouth, even if the taste is still lingering.
“Guys, what the hell? I’m fine,” he says, except the gunk still at the top of his throat makes it garbled and sends him into another hacking fit that is not attractive in the least. But honestly, right now all he wants is for it to be out.
There’s more phlegm and blood in the sink and a nasty, partially congealed bit he has to pick off his tongue. There are hands all over him and he hears somebody yell about starting up the ambulance. Which is ridiculous.
“Guys, I said I’m fine!” His voice is clearer now and he spits one last time before wiping at his mouth. “I’m gross, not dying.”
They all look between each other, uncertain, and Buck makes a face, ducks under the sink and gets a mouthful of water, swishes and spits a few times. When he comes back up, he finally risks giving them a smile. “See?” he says, even throwing in a little jazz hands. “I’m fine.”
He’s not expecting the way Eddie suddenly tugs him into his chest, breath hitching like he’s close to tears, or the way Bobby exhales slowly and turns to Chim. “Check him over, just in case.”
Buck sputters in Eddie’s hold. “Guys, seriously, you’re freaking me out. I said I’m fine.”
Hen just puts a hand on his bicep and shakes her head. “Don’t even try it, Buckaroo.”
“The last time you were coughing up blood, we almost lost you,” Bobby adds.
Buck takes another look around at all their faces; how they look they’ve seen a ghost. It’s not too long ago he was still biting back panic any time he saw Christopher wet, and suddenly he gets it. He leans back against the counter and opens his arms, nods at Chimney.
“Do what you want, but I promise I’m fine.”
Chim just starts prodding at him, mutters, “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Buck keeps talking as Chim starts to press at his ribs and Hen steps forward to jam two fingers against his pulse. “It was just a weird nosebleed and my stupid cold. I know you all say I die easy, but a little snot isn’t going to take me out.”
“It will if you get pneumonia,” Chim says, turning him around and pressing a stethoscope against his back. “Now shut up and give me a few deep breaths.”
Buck rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, willing to submit to all the poking and prodding Hen and Chim can dole out if it means everyone will stop looking at him like he’s one more cough away from six feet under.
“He’s been off the blood thinners for a few months now,” Eddie says nervously. “Should we take him to the hospital just in case?”
Buck groans. “I don’t want to set foot in a hospital for the rest of my life.”
Hen and Chim finally step back, nothing else they can do here in the kitchen, and Buck throws each of them a pleading expression.
“Tell him I’m fine, guys, c’mon.”
Hen stares at him for a long moment then walks to the counter and grabs a napkin, shoves it into his chest. “Blow,” she says.
Buck blows. Hen snatches the napkin back before he can say anything and opens it, scrutinizes the snot to blood ratio while Buck makes horrified noises in the background because what the fuck.
“He’s fine. The blood’s already going away and his snot’s clear.”
“Exactly! Thank you,” Buck says, throwing up his hands.
Hen ignores him and turns to Eddie. “We’ll watch his cough and make sure it doesn’t get worse, but he should be fine.”
“But it’s Buck so who knows,” Chim mutters, yelping when Hen hits him on the arm. “What?”
Excitement over, Hen scoots Buck to the side to wash her hands and everyone else begins to disperse, most settling back at the table to finish dinner and pray the alarms stay quiet, but Eddie’s still got Buck boxed in against the counter.
Hen shoots them a look as she walks away.
As soon as they have some semblance of privacy, Eddie’s tugging him in, one hand guiding him to the crook of his neck and the other just holding him tight, fingers tangled in the fabric at the small of his back.
Buck huffs against the warm skin of his throat and brings his own arms up to hold him. “I’m okay, man.”
“Okay,” Eddie murmurs. But he doesn’t let go, just keeps holding him like he’s trying to memorize the feel of him in his arms, the heat of his breath, the thump of his heart.
“Come over after your shift,” Eddie says. “Please.”
“Alright.” Buck gives him a light squeeze before pulling away with a smirk. “Am I staying over?”
As if Buck doesn’t already know the answer, doesn’t know the routine each one of them has some kind of near death experience. He’ll be lucky if Eddie lets him out of his house before their next shift.
The color that suddenly darkens Eddie’s cheeks is beautiful and Buck has to resist the urge to lean in and kiss the curve of each one, settles for reaching out and squeezing his arm instead.
“I’ll take that a yes,” he grins, walking backwards towards the table with a wink. Eddie’s smile is soft and genuine and Buck feels lighter seeing the fear gone from his eyes. The night is finally returning to normal.
Something he curses not a moment later when the alarm goes off, his half-finished dinner still waiting at the table.
He groans and stuffs a roll in his mouth, running off down the stairs with Eddie right behind him. And if it turns out to be another false alarm, well, then you won’t find any of them complaining.