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Eddie’s flight is delayed. Buck knows the second the status changes because he’s had the tracker open since Eddie sent him the number, but he still arrives at the airport when he was originally slated to land. There’s nothing else he feels like doing in the meantime.
LAX isn’t any more packed than it usually is, and despite that, Buck still feels like the amount of people he has to be aware of enough to skirt past on the way to Terminal Five is too many. All of the chaos fogs up his head. He keeps his hands balled in the pocket of his hoodie and picks up into longer strides to get somewhere he can sit down. The gate appears out of the haze and he scans the area in time to catch a family nearby getting up to meet their arrivee. It's a guy in a UCLA sweatshirt that immediately gets swept up in the arms of the oldest man in the group. UCLA squawks, “Oh my god, put me down, put me down, Dad—”, and Buck tunes the rest out.
He shuffles through and parks in a scuffed corner seat. It creaks under his weight. Buck sympathizes.
Time passes the same way it has been, immeasurably slow. Buck breaks long periods of unfocused staring at his own lap to glance at the watch on the wall and oscillates between it being both earlier and later than he expects it to be. The lack of consistency makes his chest tight with formless anxiety, the same kind that’s been there since he read DELAYED on the flight tracker. It feels sort of like a kind of dream he’s tired of waking up from. He digs his nails into his palms to feel the sting and swats the thought aside for the hundredth time in the past month.
His phone buzzes. It’s heavy in his hand when he checks the screen.
Eddie
Landed
Buck shuts his eyes. His next exhale doesn’t hurt as much as the ones that came before. He lets Eddie know he’s already waiting and sits up to pay attention to the gate.
People start trickling through in a few minutes. Eddie’s ticket was last minute, so Buck knows to expect him last since he’d been at the back of the plane. In his peripheral, there are reunions and a swell of chatter. He starts counting seconds.
When the shout rings out, he completely forgets where he is. The numbers fly out of his head to make room for instinctual adrenaline-fueled readiness. There’s a specific kind of commotion to an emergency that you come to recognize when you’ve been around them enough, a controlled kind fissioned with urgency. He swivels his head around to see two airport paramedics hustling through the crowd, loudly asking for people to move out of the way.
Buck’s not sure when he gets on his feet. Whatever amount of calm Eddie’s text managed to pacify him with is abruptly yanked away, the panic that swells in its place jagged and complete. Please don’t , he thinks nonsensically as they come right up to Eddie’s gate’s counter. Buck’s ears are ringing too loud for him to pick up what they say and the attendant nods, wasting no time in escorting them back into the tunnel.
“Sir,” he hears, feels a hand bump his shoulder. He startles, and a security officer is in front of him, and he’s right at the gate’s cordoned off barrier. The officer repeats, “Sir,” like this isn’t the second or even fifth time she’s said it, “please move away. I’m sure whoever you’re here for will be coming out shortly.”
“You don’t understand,” Buck says, rough because of how his tongue sticks to the inside of his dry mouth. He can’t get himself to ask, What’s happening, why are they going back there, why now, why, why, choking on it all before it can come out.
The officer just raises both eyebrows. Buck suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to start screaming and not stop.
“Buck?”
Eddie’s here. Buck’s heart stutters and he turns to find him, confused and plane-rumpled, but fine. Alive. He touches the back of Buck’s hand, the one he doesn’t even feel himself cup around Eddie’s elbow. It’s warm, solid.
“You’re okay,” Buck breathes.
Eddie’s forehead just bunches up even more. He has more stubble than Buck’s seen him with since he first arrived in California. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Hi.” His tired eyes shift over Buck’s shoulder and his face smooths in understanding. Buck glances back.
The paramedics are back, vaguely exasperated as the older woman they’re touting out in a wheelchair insists, “Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s just heartburn!”
Buck doesn’t understand why it makes him feel so much heavier. Probably the shame of being stupid, even if Eddie doesn’t look like he blames him when Buck looks at him again. He opens his mouth, can’t muster anything coherent before Eddie pulls him in.
Eddie’s arms are strong around his shoulders, the strap of his backpack digging uncomfortably into Buck’s collarbone. He smells tinny like stale air and ozone when Buck automatically tucks his nose into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezing shut in sync with his own arms coming up around Eddie’s waist. Eddie’s chest hitches against his and Buck feels the broad touch of a hand cupping the back of his head. Even through his hair he thinks he can feel the calluses he knows Eddie has, the scar from a first attempt at cooking for his sisters when he was thirteen. They’re both holding on too tightly. Buck might get a rash where their cheeks are pressed together. His brain goes blissfully quiet.
The compulsive stab of guilt that’s been tearing through him lately is what forces Buck to separate them. He rigidly lets go of Eddie, and Eddie lets one arm fall. The other remains lifted, his hand sliding to rest on Buck’s bicep. Eddie’s eyes are red and shining searching his.
“Let’s get to the car,” he finally says, and despite him not knowing where exactly it could be parked, it feels like he’s the one that leads Buck back to the waiting lot. He doesn’t let go of his arm. The silence is all-consuming, but for the first time, Buck doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating in it.
They’re already on the 105 when Buck winces at himself and asks, “Shit, sorry. The— I was spaced out. How was the flight? How’d you leave Chris?”
He knows Eddie gives him a look, and it could be because of how hoarse he sounds or because he apologized, but Buck doesn’t meet it. He’s focused on getting them home through the late night traffic.
“The flight was Spirit,” Eddie answers, like that’s enough to deduce, “but I was too happy we were actually taking off to care. One of the pilots bailed on his shift for some reason, so they had to find someone to replace him within the hour to keep the schedule. I got scared they might have to cancel it altogether. And Chris is—” His voice catches and Buck aches in sympathy. It had been heart-wrenching to even hear Chris when he’d told them, so he can’t imagine having to actually watch the sorrow Buck’s been dealing with settle over him. Eddie quietly settles on, “He’s holding up. He really wanted to come, but…”
“Yeah,” Buck responds. The funeral landed in the middle of his midterm week and despite Eddie having an hour long meeting with the principal, there was no way to retake the amount of tests Chris would miss. He wants to touch Eddie’s knee where it splays close to the gear shift, to remind them both they’re here together. He just can’t manage to take his hands off the wheel. There’s too much in his head about it.
Eddie sucks in a breath and lets it out, long and slow. “How’s everybody been here?”
“Holding up,” Buck echoes hollowly. He shrugs one shoulder. “You basically know as much as I do. I saw Hen, Ravi, and Athena when I passed by to give them the casseroles, but every time I go to Maddie’s, Chimney’s out.”
“Doing what?”
“Running,” Buck says, pressing his mouth into a line he finds mirrored in Eddie’s face when their eyes meet briefly. He’s tried texting, calling, waiting around with Maddie. Chimney, if he can be reached, is monosyllabic and an awful kind of empty. It hurts to watch, but what can Buck do? Blame him?
Silence lapses back around them, protected by the car’s cabin from the sounds of the highway. Buck had been blasting random radio stations on his way over to drown his own thoughts out, but with Eddie next to him, he uses his breathing instead. He’s so focused that, when Eddies does speak again, he sounds miles away.
“I should’ve been here.”
Buck looks away from the road completely. Eddie’s shaking his head, tilted away toward his window with a white knuckle pressed against his mouth. His jaw’s clenched the way he does when he’s holding back. A tear manages to escape down his cheek anyway. Eddie makes a frustrated sound in his throat while he swipes at it.
“Eddie,” Buck gets out, and Eddie flattens the hand to press fingers into his eyes, shoulders twitching in an aborted sob. He’d heard enough through the phone when he’d had to— When he’d called Eddie, to tell him. This is unfathomably worse. It’s almost enough. Everything Buck’s been trying to keep safely contained inside himself roils, like a shaken soda bottle about to burst.
“I don’t want to think it, but I can’t stop feeling like it’s true. He– Without him, I don’t know where I’d be right now, and I didn’t even say goodbye, o-or thank you.” He lets his head fall back against the rest and stays that way, struggling face tipped up to the ceiling. “Fuck. I didn’t want to do this already.”
Buck wants to tell him there’s never a right or wrong time or something to that effect, but even thinking it makes him feel like he’s spouting the same therapized bullshit that turns his brain to static mush any time his therapist’s said it the past few sessions. In the end, he’s able to force his body to ignore his mind’s protests and he fits a hand over Eddie’s knee. Eddie shudders. Buck croaks, “He knew. I know he did.”
Eddie wordlessly bumps up both shoulders. He takes a minute before brokenly responding, “I wish that changed anything.” His hand falls back into his lap, eyes squeezed shut. His head rolls back and forth against the rest once, twice. “God, I really do, man.”
Buck nods, because he believes it. For the rest of the ride, Eddie’s crying trickles out in fits of hitched breaths and these bitten off noises that tear through Buck’s chest every time they escape. He burns with the urge to cry too.
They pull into the dark front of the house, and Eddie’s hand lands on top of Buck’s when he starts lifting it off him to put the car in park. Buck freezes, eyes flicking up. Eddie’s not looking back, just taking deep breaths with his head bowed. If his lips were wordlessly moving the way they usually do, Buck could say he was praying.
Buck uses his other hand to park the car and sits back. He doesn’t know how long they stay outside. Time recedes and crashes around him again; at least with Eddie here, he’s got something to hold onto to keep from going with it.
Eddie signals he’s ready with a heaving, final sigh. He lets go of Buck, the slide of skin lingering while they file out of the car. Buck takes Eddie’s backpack from the backseat before he can do it.
He’d left the front door light on along with a few others around the house, just the living room lamp and the hallway in front of Chris’s room. Bad environmental practice, sure, but Buck didn’t want Eddie to come back to a dark house. He hangs the key on their hook, hoping Eddie’s perusal of the remodel is enough to distract him while Buck keeps walking.
Except: “Buck.”
Buck stops, one foot still raised. He lets it fall, slumping. When he looks, Eddie’s at the back of the couch, idly dragging his fingers over a seam. “I’ll be good here,” he says, voice scraped raw. His entire face is puffy from crying. Still, he manages one of those unwavering staredowns he’s capable of, the kind that means he’s ready to fight over it. Buck already told him Chris’s room is untouched, so the couch is a deliberate alternative.
Buck would, usually. “Okay,” he says quietly. Eddie either fails or doesn’t try to hide his surprise, straightening up when Buck comes back to gently place the bag on the couch’s arm.
He doesn’t want to give Eddie time to mull over his lack of will, so he asks, “You hungry at all? I’ve got leftovers,” the way he’d practiced. He knows Eddie should be, Chris told him he was barely eating, just like Hen and Chimney. Buck’s own appetite hadn’t gone away. What he wasn’t able to do was eat any of the food he’d been making for the others, each one a recipe of Bobby’s he knows he’ll automatically be turning the taste of over and over in his head the way he always does, wondering how it could be better, what he could ask Bobby about how to improve. He’s missed take out, anyway.
Eddie shifts his feet. “Yours?”
Buck nods. His nail catches on a loose thread on the couch cushion he’s apparently had his fingers dug into. He detaches, crossing his arms over his chest instead.
“Then sure,” Eddie says, gaze sliding away from the grip Buck’d been trying to hide. The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches, though to frown or smile, Buck isn’t sure. The stubble hides his dimple.
He follows Buck into the kitchen saying, “You know, I think I’ve missed your food the most.”
“That’s just ‘cause you wouldn’t have to cook,” Buck responds dismissively. He faces the stacks of Tupperware, squinting until he finds something with a good amount of nutritional content and at least three kinds of vegetables. If he’s getting Eddie to eat, he’s making the most of it.
“No, it’s not,” Eddie parries, and Buck could, should throw something back to keep their usual rhythm. He doesn’t have the energy to let Eddie make him feel better though, not now.
Instead, he just gets Eddie a glass of water for his throat, vaguely says, “So what haven’t you told me about Texas,” and lets Eddie figure out he has to lead the conversation tonight. He hasn’t been talking without having to, lately, and he doesn’t think he can make himself turn it back on yet. Thankfully, Eddie gets it. Buck knew he would, and it still makes him dizzy, the flash of happiness about it quickly curdling. He’s not going to think about that, much less right now.
Eddie somehow manages to stay quiet about Buck quickly making himself a protein shake instead of eating with him. He does sit down at least, that easy silence coming back to envelope them while Eddie’s mouth is full. Considering how alone in this house Buck has been, the difference is startling. Buck wants to ask Eddie if he feels the same way, if when he would be alone here it felt so yawning and off center, but Eddie also had Chris for most of the time, so that difference wouldn’t be the same. He’s not about to try and make it about himself.
Eddie takes advantage of Buck’s clear lack of fight to wash everything up, off-handedly pushing Buck in the direction of the bathroom. “I need to get my suit out anyway,” he mutters, wavering at the end.
Buck goes and takes first shower. He gets dressed for bed slowly, so focused on all the sounds of Eddie shuffling around that time once again slips away and when Eddie comes by to say good night, Buck’s been sitting on the edge of his bed with one sock on for probably longer than he can track.
Eddie lingers, hand splayed on the doorway. His eyes flick around briefly before settling on Buck completely. To deflect, Buck puts on his other sock.
“Night,” Eddie mutters. His feet, bare, cross one over the other. Buck forgot about the freckle on the curve of his ankle and has to swallow hard to not panic about that. “Should I set my alarm or…?”
“I’ve got it already,” Buck says. “You need to adjust to the time difference. I’ll wake you up.” After a second, Buck remembers. “Good night. All the spare blankets and stuff are in the same place, so y’know.” He shrugs. A weak attempt at a smile struggles to live on his face. “It’s your house. Whatever you need.”
Eddie makes a weird move, a split-second twitch Buck would’ve missed if he’d blinked. They both know it happened, and Eddie doesn’t explain it. He just nods, says, “Thanks,” and, only slightly closing the bedroom door, pads back to the living room. Lights go off in his wake.
Buck gets into bed with sluggishly automatic routine. This is the only case where he lets time escape him consciously. The first night, he stared at the ceiling until dawn started painting it pink through the window; he’s learned to work with it since. It’s not hard to trick his brain into falling asleep when all it want is to escape the stifling emptiness.
He barely feels it.
He comes back gasping for breath. The suffocation doesn’t stop at his lungs, full-body and visceral. A high, pained sound rips out of him as he struggles to fight his way out of it, find any opening to escape, breathe—
The floor’s cold enough to wake him up and remind him where he is when he tumbles onto it, but not enough to stop the hyperventilation that’s already worked up to take him over. His tailbone protests his sudden movement of trying to sit up, and the blankets are still tangled around him, strangling the more he tries to get them off, he can’t get them off.
Yeah you can, far away. Buck doesn’t stop. He tugs hard, trapping the blanket tight over his shoulder, and before he can panic, there’s a warm weight on his wrist. Eddie appears out of the dark, or maybe Buck just hadn’t seen him there this whole time, and he’s saying something Buck can’t really hear. Their eyes lock together and Eddie’s widen.
“Get it off me,” Buck chokes out, getting at his own throat, “Eddie, Eddie, please—”
Eddie squeezes both his arms briefly, shaky, “I am, keep breathing.”
It’s been the same nightmare, every night since that night. Buck can’t remember it past waking up like he has now, fighting to get air in his lungs and fight off the oppressive numbness in his body. He can’t decide whether or not he’s glad he doesn’t know what happens to him, because the only part he knows with certainty is that Bobby’s in it, and if he could see him, just one more time—
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can, I’m here, look, it’s already off,” Eddie says, all in a rush. Buck feels the air’s disturbance as Eddie tosses it aside with a barely restrained growl. “You can,” he repeats, moonlight touching enough of his face for Buck to see the fear draining out of it. He holds Buck’s bare knee where he has it drawn up, his other hand hovering over Buck’s chest so he only feels the graze of fingertips against his shirt. “In and out.”
“Why should I?”
Buck knows the seal he’s been maintaining with every ounce of his depleted strength breaks the moment the words are out, the way they only can when it’s Eddie he’s saying them to. He can barely recognize his own voice. “Why should I still get to? Why me? Why not him? Why didn’t anybody else make it out, somebody who c-could’ve— We could’ve— I could’ve, if I’d been faster, if—”
“Buck, you can’t,” Eddie starts hoarsely and Buck can’t take it. He’s shouting.
“I know! I know I can’t! I know it doesn’t change anything, I know that if it hadn’t been me, it could’ve been the exact same outcome with anyone else, but it wasn’t anyone else! It was me, and I failed! H-He loves me more than my own parents and I couldn’t even save him when it counted.” Eddie’s breath hitches. Buck catches himself too late. He flags, slumping back against the uncomfortable frame of the bed, Eddie swaying after him. The guilt of just being alive, of getting to still eat and sleep and hug the people he loves, has been eating away at Buck from the inside out, and everything left is so weak that it crumbles under the full, unfiltered weight.
“Loved,” he hiccups, sobs, hunches to bury his face in both hands. “I m-meant loved.”
Eddie moves, fitting himself against Buck’s side. “Come here,” thick through tears, and Buck doesn’t stop him from pulling him closer, closer than they’d been at the airport, and somehow Buck doesn’t want to shove him off. He presses the words into Buck’s temple. “I miss him, too. It hurts, all of it.”
More than anything, Buck thinks, worse than all the almost-losses in their lives could’ve prepared them for. He can’t get it out, so he just nods frantically until Eddie starts talking again.
“You know, when you told me, my first thought was that I wanted to talk to him? To ask what I should do, since I couldn’t be with you guys. I was halfway to texting him,” he laughs wetly, no strength behind it. Buck is moved on the choked stutter of Eddie’s inhale where their ribcages are caught together. “The last thing we talked about was me having a place to come back to here, whenever I wanted to do that.”
Eddie pauses, grip on Buck’s shirt softening, so Buck manages to pull his head up. Neither of them make a move to fully separate, but now Buck can see his face in the dull moonlight. He looks awful, about as bad as Buck feels. He can’t fully cope with the comfort there is in that, especially since they’re not trying to fix or hide it. He hasn’t wanted to let himself have this.
“And I do,” Eddie sniffs. It takes another long second for Buck to realize what he means, and he can’t keep down his gasp, the movement forcing another tear out of him. Eddie nods. “I-I left to be with Chris, so I wouldn’t keep missing his life, but I didn’t realize it would mean missing my— Our life. Our family, here. Once he’s done with this semester next week, we’re both moving back.”
Two weeks ago, that would’ve been enough to send Buck running around the house in a victory lap. Now, with any happiness in him atrophied to the point of pain when he tries to feel it, all he can do is look into the single ray of light it punctures through the storm of grief. He whispers, “Really?”
Eddie nods tiredly. “Wish I’d realized it sooner, but.” The last word breaks. He digs a knuckle between his eyes and lets his head fall back against Buck’s, then snorts. “You good with me couch surfing for a little longer?”
“Eddie,” Buck forces out, throat seizing around it. “Obviously.” He’s not sure why the joke doesn’t land right. Maybe the lack of surety in Eddie’s tone. Buck had been freaking out so badly about whether or not Eddie knew what some people thought they were, how he should act because of it, but it all seems stupid now. What does it matter, as long as they still each other?
“Had to ask,” Eddie mumbles, but Buck’s already shaking his head.
“No you didn’t.” His entire skull aches from all the effort of crying, skin tight and uncomfortable where he’s covered in the tears somehow still coming. He wipes at whatever he can, and that doesn’t make it better. His hand settles in the seam where their legs press together. All he can manage is, “Just stay. As long as you want to, please. Stay.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything for a long time. The brush of his fingers, back and forth against Buck’s shirt, doesn’t stop. It’s nice. Buck shuts his eyes so he can keep the feeling of it closer.
“Okay,” Buck hears by the time he’s already mostly back under. “I will. Whatever you want.”
He comes back into consciousness when his muscle instinct to smack an arm out and silence the alarm makes Eddie yelp. Still half asleep, he shoots Buck a betrayed look. Buck points at the nightstand. Eddie gets the alarm.
They finish waking up out of their tangled heap. At some point, they’d slumped over so Eddie was mostly supporting Buck’s weight. His elbow might leave an imprint in Buck’s sternum. Buck feels both better and worse than he should the morning of a funeral, and that better’s been so rare that he lets himself have it a little longer. Reality slowly returns to the tune of Eddie’s vague grumbling.
Separating takes a lot of effort to the tune of excessive groaning and bones that shouldn’t be popping the way they do. Buck knows they’re no longer touching anywhere because all the emotion he’d managed to kick up last night calcifies, nothing there to conduct it anymore. It would be laughable, if he had it in him to do that.
He means to drags his eyes away from Eddie cracking his neck, except Eddie catches him looking before he can. They stay that way for a breath, shoulders sagging in a synchronized realization of what they’re about to face. Buck rasps, “You’ve got first shower today,” and goes to get the coffee started.
The morning’s a blur. Buck really only tunes back in when there’s a knock at the front door and he has to let Ravi in with their suits. He’s got the buzz of his and Eddie’s stilted small talk in the background while he fumbles to unzip his with his shaking hands. He might have to ask someone to tie his tie for him. His phone rings.
“Hen,” he reads when Eddie and Ravi look at him. Buck swipes to answer. “Probably have to pick up some—
There’s screaming, hysterical and close. It’s so loud, Buck almost drops his phone when it blows his hearing out for two seconds. Eddie’s at his side asking if he’s okay before he can fully register it. Through the high whining, Buck’s adrenaline spikes with panic. He has to shove the phone against his ear to keep it steady, no, no, don’t do this, not her.
“Hen? Hen, what’s happening—”
Her voice comes through, muffled, “Buck, you guys have to get here, now, it’s— ”
“Where is he?! Where’s my goddamn husband?! ”
Ravi gawks where he has to be able to hear something despite being a few feet away. “Is that Athena? Is she okay?”
Hen hasn’t stopped talking. At least she doesn’t sound hurt. “—Athena found some p-paperwork, I don’t know what it said, but she says she thinks he’s- Bobby’s— ”
“ —hat Buck? ” Chimney cuts in, and Hen’s response is lost in another round of Athena’s yelling. Buck is steadily getting colder and colder with shock except for where Eddie’s hand fits over his shoulder to shake him back. He widens his eyes for Buck to explain, and Buck shakes his head. Bobby’s what? What more could there be?
After a few seconds, most of the sound quiets, and he can clearly hear Chimney when he says, more awake than Buck’s heard him since, “Yo, do you have Eddie? ”
Buck opens and closes his mouth, lets Eddie pry the phone away. “Yeah, he does. Ravi’s here, too,” he responds for all of them.
“Put me on speaker. ”
Eddie does, and maneuvers Buck around so they form a semi circle around where Eddie places the phone down on the table. “You’re on, Chim,” Eddie confirms.
“Everybody hear me? I can only say this once, I’ve gotta get back in there. ”
“Yeah, loud and clear.”
Chimney takes a deep breath. There’s a dry click in it that betrays the fact he’d been crying at some point earlier.
“Okay. I went to apologize to Athena about all the calls last night, and I told her I was doing it because of this awful feeling I had, this-this pit in my stomach that wouldn’t go away. I know grief, and I know denial, but this was something else. She said she felt the same way and, just to get both of us steady, she used her security clearance to check the funeral home’s system for any notes on why Bobby hadn’t been released, since that’s what she could access. Nothing looked weird except for this redacted note on the details of his casket that specified filling it with ‘miscellaneous dressing’ amounting to his exact living weight. So when it was delivered to the church earlier, she looked inside. It was full of sand bags.”
Buck feels Eddie’s go slack next to him, or maybe that’s just him. Ravi’s the only one with the function to blurt out, “What?”
“There was no body. Bobby wasn’t in there, and now they won’t tell us where he actually is.”
This time, all three of them shout, “What? ”
“What I just said, and that’s all I’ve got with certainty, so, sorry, any other questions’ll have to wait. Just get your asses to the church, fast. We’re gonna need backup. See you soon.”
The line goes dead. None of them move.
“You don’t think,” Ravi starts, and Buck cuts him off with an airy, “Can’t.”
“But,” Eddie adds, and Buck whips his head up to stare at him. Eddie, skeptical, practical, sane Eddie, just stares back, unexpectedly angry. His jaw is already flexing where he’s clenching it. “Whatever this is,” he continues, looking between them, “whoever’s responsible is fucking with our captain. It can’t be good.”
It only clicks then. The bizarreness took precedence over the facts, but now that Buck’s running them back over in his head, he can’t reach any kind of safe, logical place to bank his conclusion. Concrete evidence of a cover up’ll do that.
Rage runs through him for a white hot flash. His legs go out. Thankfully, both Eddie and Ravi catch him in time to dump him into one of the chairs. Eddie presses the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead unnecessarily. Buck can’t push him away because he’s still reeling.
“I just need a second,” he hears himself say. Eddie opens his mouth, but Buck knows what he’s gonna say already, so he keeps looking at him, and repeats it. Eddie sighs through his nose, hand falling away.
Ravi clears his throat so they both look up at him. He’s vaguely grey, shoulders tense. “Do I have time to go to the bathroom first?”
“Yes,” Buck responds, belatedly realizing Eddie does too.
“Right,” Ravi confirms, eyes darting between them. He glances around. “And, uh, remind me where—”
“Down the hall, to the left.” They unfortunately wince in unison, too.
Ravi’s definitely not more comforted by it. “Jeez. Okay,” he gets out, spinning around to hurry over. He keeps muttering under his breath, and all Buck catches is creepy .
Eddie waits until they can hear the door shut to lowly ask, “What do you think—”
“I can’t do that right now,” Buck deflects. He runs both hands back through his hair to link them behind his neck and pull himself down.
He takes a deep breath from between his knees. Hen’s hectic voice replays in an echo through his head (—she thinks he’s- Bobby’s—) and he asks himself that same question again. What? What could he be, if not just gone?
Hope is too strong a word, especially with the metric ton of a miracle it brings with it. But he can’t not at least think it, not with it starting to glow weakly through the storm clouds.
“Like you said,” he finally mutters when Eddie’s fingers brush the top knob of his spine, entire palm flattening soothingly against his shirt. The toilet flushes, so Ravi’ll be back any second. They’ll have to go. They’ll have to find out. Buck shuts mental curtains against the light. “Nothing good.”