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When Buck finally opens his eyes, the pounding is incessant. For a moment he can’t tell if it’s real or just the pounding in his head that he really wants to medicate. He accepts it’s real once he hears someone calling his–
“Buck!” It’s not Eddie or Maddie or Hen. “Buck, open the door. My brother, stepfather and you are firefighters. I know where to get a battering ram and how to use it.”
He rolls his eyes and huffs. It’s May and she sounds just like Athena. He figures he should get up and get to the door before she calls for backup. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side replacing it with a t-shirt then ruffles his hair and scrunches his face to prepare for his act.
“May!” He pulls the door open, hoping he doesn’t sounds too enthused and just enough sleepy. “What- uh. What are you doing here? It’s kind of late.”
“You missed our Monday night Bachelor watch for the third week in a row. Said you had plans with Eddie and Chris. Funny story, I went to Eddie's and he said you guys didn't have any plans.” She says without missing a breath. Buck freezes, caught in a lie he knew wouldn't last long. She peers past him, “I just wanted to see what could be more fun than hanging with me and Harry. I’m kind of hurt that you’re not at least throwing a party.” Then she bullies her way in as if she lives there too.
Well, technically, he is throwing a party. It’s just not that kind of party. More of a party for one.
Buck turns his wrist towards him to check the time. It’s already 9:30. He didn’t think he was down for that long. Seven hours and still he can’t wait to rest again.
“I was just, you know, catching up on sleep.” He lies. “I forgot how grueling firefighting could be when I was on leave.”
May hums and he catches her apprising eyes, sizing him up as if she’s suspicious. Her eyes ease over him from head to toe with a double take at his legs. He’s still wearing his blues. Normal people don’t sleep in their blues. He needs a distraction.
“Hey, you should have a seat. I’ll get you some wine. Or- or if you prefer, a beer. And you can catch me up on The Bachelor so I’m ready next week.” Even though he knows he won’t show up week. They both know.
Buck has this feeling that he should be a little more present. Talk to people more. Try to do at least half of the things he used to do. And he really really wants to. He want's to be around his friends and family. To bask in the warmth of their love. He does. But, he can’t bring himself to. Or won’t. He hasn’t figured out which.
“Sure. I’ll take a white.”
He claps his hands with a bright smile. “White wine coming up.”
They amble into the living room, her eyes catching on the decorations. It dawns on him that she hasn’t seen the interior since before he redecorated.
She continues to scan the house with this look, as if she’s sizing it up too. He thinks maybe he should be suspicious of her. As a matter of fact-
“Did Eddie send you?” He turns to squint his eyes and points a finger. Because that’s what Buck would do. This is very Buck of him. He’s being Buck well enough, he thinks.
She scoffs and seems insulted.
“I don’t need Eddie to tell me to come visit you.” She’s insulted. He opens his mouth to ask a follow-up question. “Or Maddie or Chimney or Hen or anyone you think might have sent me.” Yep, very much insulted.
Buck can feel her stop at his living room. He can hear the ever so soft sound as she sighs and sinks into his couch. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to catch up and then he’ll send her off because it’s late and he needs sleep. They both need sleep. So thirty minutes then he’s free.
He returns to the living room with a glass of wine and a beer to tide him over.
But May’s not there anymore. He scans the house. The bathroom door is open. The hallway to his room is dark. There are two places she could be and he hopes she went out to her car because she forgot something.
“Buck?” He turns to see May standing in the arch of his foyer, three familiar bottles in her hands. “What is this?”
A range of emotions flash through him. From anger to annoyance to embarrassment to guilt and right back around to anger. He places their drinks on the coffee table, foregoing coasters.
“You were snooping through my bag?” He accuses. He knows she wasn't and he knows he has no right to be accusatory but he just is. He feels like for the first time in months someone sees the ugly thing he’s been hiding. Maybe he doesn’t need thirty minutes.
“I wasn’t snooping. I went to hang my jacket up and they fell out of your duffle.” She explains. But still he thinks–
“You should go.” He takes the bottles from her hands and begins to usher her to the door.
But she doesn’t budge. She stands there, stubborn, with her doe eyes doing something he’s never seen them do. First he thinks it’s sadness or pity or disappointment. Then, there it is, concern. He’s never seen her like this for him. He’s seen worry but never concern. There was never really reason for her to be concerned. She worried for him but never had to be concerned. He can’t handle this right now, she needs to leave.
“May, please just-” He's not angry, he doesn't think he really was in the first place. Now he's desperate for solace.
“No.”
It’s a single word and yet, it’s imbued with Athena’s tone. Tongue dripping with power and the refusal to let it go until she gets the information she needs.
“Okay. Fine, I’ve been seeing a pain management specialist and psychiatrist to help with the New Mexico thing.”
“The New Mexico thing…” She repeats.
They both know his time in New Mexico has a real name. A name that Buck tried to say plenty of times when he first got back. It was just, every time he tried to say it, the words would catch in his throat. He’d try to lubricate it with water. As if he oiled it up well enough it would all come rolling out, relieving that pressure on his chest. Eventually, it felt like it was too late to name it, so he never did.
“Okay, that explains the Oxycodone.” Buck hopes she doesn’t notice, but her father is a renowned architect known for his diligence and her mother is a sergeant; catching details runs in the family, “But, Buck, you have two prescriptions of Xanax from two different doctors less than three weeks apart.”
He feels cold and raw. As if he's just been pulled from a burning building and his nerves are exposed. He shudders.
Buck stands there thinking of another answer. Any answer, really, except the ones he now refuses to wear on his sleeve for the world to see.
May sighs drops her hands in defeat and walks back to the living room without saying a word. Buck turns to see her place the pill bottles down. She hovers over the wine and beer hesitating before picking up her glass. She plops back onto the couch almost as if she didn't just find what she found.
Buck, caught off guard, sits down without looking at the coffee table. As if him looking at it would confirm what she’s thinking. He's not looking but he knows they're there. Sitting out like dirty laundry.
“What’s going on?” She asks again. He can feel her eyes boring through his profile as his stare bores through his hands.
If it were Eddie, Buck would already be slinging insults to push him away. To piss him off and get him to drop it. Buck wouldn’t do that to May. That’s not how they work. She’s May and he’s Buck so he doesn’t push.
“I wasn’t doctor shopping if that’s what you think.”
Buck turns to see her lift an eyebrow at this but she says nothing. Leaving the door open for him to say what he needs to say. Except he's not sure where to start. He could list a dozen places where he couldn't start, the airport, the diner, the ten hour drive; but, he can't seem to think of a place where he could start.
The palms of his hands are suddenly clammy. He brushes them against his pants. He tries to swallow it all down, but his mouth is dry.
“My first psychiatrist recommended I also do talk therapy with a psychologist. But I’ve done so much that I don’t see the point anymore.” She'd told him that what he went through required more than just medication. In the end she said that she couldn’t be his doctor in good conscience if he didn’t take any other steps to help, but she set him up with another psychiatrist for a second opinion. “My new psychiatrist is a little more understanding of my needs.”
May hums, her glossed lips pursing in thought. “And what do you need?”
“To move past New Mexico. To be free of it.” He feels like he’s being flayed alive, showcasing the rotten thing he's spent the last year stuffing down to the bottom of his shoes. He wants to say it's too much. He settles with, “It was a lot.”
The thing is, he can only hold so much. What he thought he was stuffing in his shoes eventually rode up to his waist, then his gut; and, now, it’s pressing against his lungs. He wants to relieve the pressure. Somewhere deep down he knows that the road he’s taking will lead to his heart being compressed and a burst trachea while filling his throat until he's choking on it completely.
Mercifully, May fills the silence. “Are you okay?”
He wants to light himself on fire when anyone asks that question. Is he okay? Of course not. Will he be okay? Eventually. He's been crushed by a ladder truck and struck by lightning. Being tased is nothing compared to those. He doesn't reply. His gaze drifts towards a wall.
“I don't know what happened out there, or what's going on here. But, Buck, I'm worried.”
“Don't be. I'm fine.”
“But you're not!” She doesn't yell, but she's emboldened. She takes a deep breath. "I'm scared, Buck."
The quiver in her voice pulls sniffle from him. It's May.
He doesn't know what to say except, “I'm sorry.” Because he doesn't want anyone to worry about him. It's why he's been doing it this way. If he can do it his way, he can prove to them, or him, that he's fine. He can handle grief. He can handle a little trauma.
“Don't be.” Buck watches as she takes a sip of her wine. He wants to reach for his duffle bag, he'd even settle for grabbing the beer. Something to ease his chest.
May shares the silence and Buck looks at her from the corner of his eye. He can tell she's working up to something, he just doesn't know yet.
“Remember when Bobby was trying to find out what really happened to Wendall?” May asks.
Buck's heart does that familiar thing, the thing it's done since Bobby died. His name triggers a pinch and displaces his vital organs to his gut.
“You mean, when he single handedly brought down the shifty rehab?” Bobby was good that way. He cared and never let anything rest, not until he found the truth. Buck wishes Bobby was here now. Maybe everything wouldn't be too much all the time.
May nods and pulls her legs under her, getting comfortable with her glass of wine hanging in her hand. Buck looks away.
“When I was helping him he opened up about Wendall and... everything.” May shifts next to him. She’s tiptoeing and he has a feeling he knows where this is going. “I think it nearly broke him. Losing Wendall.”
“Yeah, I remember. He wasn't able to get more than two hours of sleep at the house.”
“At our house either.” There's a pause. “Look, Buck, I don't mean to be presumptuous, but-”
She stops, head tilting like she's doing calculus in her head.
“Bobby told me, it wasn't the back pain that fueled his addiction. It was-”
“What he was carrying around.” Buck finishes in tandem. “But this isn't that.”
"Isn't it?" She asks. A fucked up part of him thinks at least it would bring him closer to Bobby. Knowing and going through this. He may be alone but he'll share this with Bobby. “It starts with coping and ends god knows where."
Deep down Buck knows it's true. He still can’t help but think he’s different. The path he's on is working for now. He'll stop when it's time. When he's better. Because he can. Stop, that is. And he will get better. It will all be in his rearview. This is just what he needs right now. To not feel too much. Numb it so he can't feel the pressure against his lungs for a little while longer.
“It's not the same,” Buck starts to refute, but there's a knock on the door. His head snaps over, eyes wide. One visitor on a Monday night is one thing, but two is weird.
The knock comes again, the pattern all too familiar. “Buck!” Eddie's voice rings in his ears.
“Did you call him?” He whispers.
"No, but you should talk to him." She shakes her head, speaking at a normal volume.
“I'm fine.” He rolls his eyes.
“You're not.” May says with a sad smile. “If you won't talk to him, talk to someone else. If you won't talk to someone else, talk to him.”
“Buck. Open the door, please.” Buck knows Eddie has a key. He can enter whenever he wants, but he hasn't in the last few months. Eddie's given him grace and space. Eddie would never break down his door, physically or otherwise.
Buck compromises with himself. He won't listen to May's advice, but he will let Eddie in. He puts on that Emmy worthy smile and voice before getting up to answer the door.
“Eddie, hey, come in.” Buck checks to the side and behind Eddie. “Where's, uh, where's Chris?”
“He’s at Hen's. Wanted to play some game with Denny.” Eddie's holding a bag of take-out. It smells like Chinese. Now that he thinks about it, he is kind of hungry. He hasn't eaten since he got off shift over 12 hours ago.
Eddie's lying. Chris' games are almost all online. Including the ones he plays with Denny. But, he lets Eddie stay anyways. He has food.
“Hey, May.” He hears Eddie say on his way to the kitchen. “Oh, you don't have to leave I brought enough for all of us.”
“That's okay. I have to get home anyways, it's time to feed my fish.” Buck doesn’t think she has fish, but the last time he was over there was a month ago. Maybe she does have fish now.
May gives Eddie a sideways hug, then he takes her glass with his empty hand and walks off to the kitchen. Leaving Buck staring at May, two tons sitting between them. Buck can hear Eddie rifling through drawers in the kitchen and the familiar clink of glass hitting his sink.
“Thanks for stopping by.” Because that's what polite people say and Buck is polite. He's being Buck. She doesn't say anything, just gives him a sideways sad smile.
She walks over and wraps her arms around him, tight. For the first time since he got up, he feels his shoulders loosen as he wraps his arms around. He could wrap his arms around her two times over, but right now he feels like the small one.
“I don't want to lose you too. You, Harry, Mom and the firehouse are all I have left of him. I refuse to lose another part of him. I refuse to lose you.” Everything is muffled but he thinks he hears a sniffle as her arms tighten around him. Her voice goes soft. “I love you, Buck. I need you around.”
Eddie clears his voice from the entry way and May pulls back. Buck's shoulders tense again. May wipes her eye with a thumb before padding her way to her coat and shoes. She calls out to Eddie and Eddie wishes her a good night.
“Everything okay?” Eddie asks as he sits where May was sitting the take-out bag hiding Buck's dirty laundry. He begins to pull out the small cartons of food and fishes an egg roll out of its bag. He doesn’t wait to take a bite.
“Yeah, yeah. All good. May just wanted to stop by. I missed Bachelor night.” His shoulders tense again. His eyes flit towards the bottles for a brief second then back to Eddie, throat dry. There's no way he can grab them without Eddie knowing. He can only hope Eddie is oblivious or the food bag covers them for however long Eddie's here.
“Mmh. I heard.” Eddie says around a mouthful of egg roll. “I didn't know we had plans today. I would've told Chris.”
Buck sighs heavily. May did say that when she went to Eddie's place before coming to his.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I just wanted some time at home.” He says lamely.
“I figured since we had plans, I'd come over. Make sure they weren't missed.” Eddie places a carton to the side of his own and holds a fork out where Buck's still standing. “Here. Come sit. Eat.”
Buck listens, maybe the path of least resistance will get Eddie to leave sooner. He just needs time to himself. He promises he'll see Eddie later. Invite him over for dinner again or even have a 118 gathering one weekend. But he needs this one night.
He pries the box open and it's lo mein from his favorite Chinese restaurant up the street. His breath stutters, overflowing with guilt. Here Eddie is, feeding him, letting Buck lie to him and still he stays. Buck usually loves that about him. Today, it annoys him. Buck can't push everything down while Eddie tugs and tugs pulling at all the things he's hidden away. He wants to leave it there.
Eddie tilts his carton towards Buck offering fried rice. He dips his fork into the rice and pulls it into his mouth. It tastes like its the first time he's ever eaten. In return he tilts his box to Eddie who does the same.
“What are we doing tonight?” Eddie uselessly asks.
“Well, I'm supposed to be sleeping. Didn't know I would have so many visitors tonight.” It's a challenge and they both know it.
“Mm, in your work pants.” He asks around another mouthful of egg roll. “Try again.”
“I was just resting, Eddie. Is that okay? Can I not take a night off from socializing every once in a while?” This seems to do the trick, to wind Eddie up for an argument.
“No, it's not okay.”
“It's- what?”
“It's not okay, Buck. It isn't just one night.” Eddie puts the food down on the table in a huff. “Everyone's rarely seen you outside of work for the last month and a half. Why?”
This again, “You're here because you want to talk.” Buck doesn't want to talk. He wants to forget and move on.
“You told May and Harry you had plans with me, didn't actually make plans with me, then stayed home. So, yes, Buck I want to talk.”
The more Eddie's around the more Buck has to think about New Mexico. Having Eddie around used to be comforting, but now he's reminded of the worst day of his life.
It's not that he blames Eddie. Eddie did everything he could to get to Buck. He's hasn't talked about it but he's thought a lot about it. Really, it's his fault. It was Buck who rented a car. Buck, who suggested taking the I-10. Buck who made a scene in that diner. Buck doing what he always does, trying to fix what’s not broken.
“You should go. I still need to rest.” Buck stands over Eddie throwing a thumb to the door. “I promise I'll call tomorrow.” Unless he needs more alone time.
“No, you told me you needed an night at home.”
“You’re being pedantic.” He groans and throws his head back, rubbing both hands down his face. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? Checking in on you?” Eddie tilts his head, feigning ignorance and baiting Buck. Buck won't bite.
“You know what I'm talking about.” It's like bile is building up to his throat and he can't swallow it back down. It's bitter and burns and pools in his mouth. If Eddie leaves, he can spit it out in the trash and rinse it down. If he stays...
“I don't.” Eddie stands and folds his arms making direct eye contact with Buck. He has that shit eating grin on.
“You're trying to get me talk about New Mexico! I don't want to talk about New Mexico! I'm supposed to be doing it my way.” He doesn't swallow the bile, he doesn't spit it out neatly, Eddie pushes it from his throat and it spews all over them.
“I was going to let you. Then, tonight, I decided I need to do it my way.” Eddie's voice hardens.
“Let me? You must have forgot, but this isn't about you.” Buck pushes a finger into Eddie's chest and the shit eating grin disappears. Buck scoffs, “You say I make everything about me.”
“And how is it not about me?” Eddie asks puffing out his chest.
“What I went through, I have to deal with it.”
“I do too, Buck! I do too.” Eddie looks away for a second, jaw ticking and voice cracking. “I've done this before. Except last time, everyone I went through it with were gone. They we gone, Buck. And every day I have to live knowing I'm the last one standing. No one who knew what I went through. No one knows what I went through out there and no one will understand me the way you do.”
Buck remembers the patched holes. Eddie's tears streaming down his face and drenching his t-shirt. All the months before and after that, he spent in therapy and away from the job at dispatch. He remembers.
“What if I don't want to talk about it?”
Eddie's response is almost immediate and soft, “What if I do? What if I can't do this alone again? What if I don't want to?”
Buck stands there, chest heaving and aching. He doesn't want to talk about what he went through. It's too much to face. He was powerless with no end in sight. Help came but a part of him accepted that it never would. That part still lives in him.
But it's Eddie, and Eddie never asks for help. His hand is forced when he needs help. Now he's asking Buck for help. His brain is in a saw trap between facing the ugly of it all and helping Eddie.
“Okay.” Buck's shoulders relax and his sits back down.
“Okay?” Eddie seems surprised, but takes a seat anyways.
“Yeah.”
Buck waits. And waits. And waits. But Eddie says nothing; the silence never ends. He can hear the hamster running on it's wheel. Eddie doesn't know where to start either. He looks at Eddie who's already looking at him as if he'll disappear. Then Eddie leans his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. His adams apple bobs.
His voice is low when he finally speaks. “When I woke up in the hospital and you weren't in the bed next to me... I thought the worst. I thought that they were going to roll me down to the morgue.”
Buck's heart drops at the confession. If he hadn't rented the car and just listened to Eddie complain for a few more hours, they would've never ended up here. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”
Eddie peeks out the corner of his eye face contorting in confusion. “You didn't. The nurses did when they told me I was in the car alone. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy.” His laugh is humorless.
Eddie stares at Buck just a little longer, swallowing before closing his eyes again.
“You were missing. The Sheriff was a dickhead. If it weren't for Athena and Maddie, I don't know what I would've done.” More silence, and then, “I don't want to think what would've happened to us without them.”
Eddie reaches out blindly grabbing for Buck's arm which he gives. Warm fingers wrap around his wrist and Eddie's presses them gently below the base of his thumb. Buck can see him relax more, sinking deeper into the couch.
“I couldn't think about a life past not finding you. Coming back here without you wasn't an option. I've missed you too much before. I didn't want to miss you when you were more than a phone call away.” It sounds like Eddie is try to say something else entirely.
It seems to be all Eddie can say for now. Buck watches him for a minute. Eddie throws his free arm over his face, trying to wipe the tear Buck already saw escape his eye.
If Eddie can be brave so can he. He tries for a few minutes but can't.
Eddie, eyes still closed, head still tilted back, releases Buck's wrist and instead locks their hands together tight. He's Buck's tether to this world.
He follows Eddie's lead. Closing his eyes, tilting his head back.
“I didn't know where you were when I woke up.” He breathes deep. “I didn't even know where I was. For a second I thought some misguided good samaritan saved me but couldn't find you.” He thought Eddie could've been missing or dead or somewhere in the desert waiting for someone to find him. Waiting for Buck to find him.
He shakes his head willing away the tears.
“l was alone and no one was coming for me. No one knew where I was. I didn't know where I was. I was lost.” In a moment of vulnerability he adds “Without you.”
“That's the scary part. The not knowing.”
“Yeah.”
He thinks he's okay. He thinks he can say more, but his throat burns with that bile and he breaks, tears streaming freely down his face, into his ears and down his lips. “Eddie, it was horrible. Every hour it got worse. I didn't know when or if I even would be-. I thought I was going to die there. From my injuries or…”
“I know, me too.” Eddie pulls at Buck's arm, forcing him to lean against his shoulder. Buck feels bad, he doesn't want to ruin Eddie's shirt.
“But I've faced death. I have died. And I survived, so this should be easy, right?” Buck is dry heaving, breath stuttering. “I'm- I’m healed and back to work. I should be okay. Why am I not okay?"
He wishes he could stop the tears. He should've run out by now. He thought they were all shed for Bobby.
“It's not the same.”
“Why not? It should be, right?” Buck leans further into Eddie cradling his head in the corner of his neck. Like he's trying to burrow his way closer to Eddie's heart. “You get hurt, get better, go back to work, everything is normal. That's how it works. That's how it always worked.”
“Not this time, bud.”
“Why?” Buck feels like a child looking for answers to something that should be simple.
“It's not the same.” Eddie repeats as he pulls Buck closer, releasing his hand and wrapping it around his shoulder. Buck's ear is pressed to Eddie's chest and he can hear Eddie's heart pound when he presses a light kiss to the top of Buck's head. It's a little muffled when he says “What happened to you out there isn't just physical. Sure, your bruises are gone, ribs are healed. But the rest? It needs more than a bandaid.”
Buck wants a bandaid, something easy to slap over it all while it heals so he doesn't have to worry about it. For the first time since they started talking, Buck remembers he has a bandaid. It's still hidden behind their cold dinner.
“You don't have to talk to me about it, but you can't keep it all unsaid either. Talking about it makes it hurt less.”
Buck knows. But what does he do with the pain before it wanes?
Eddie lets them sit in silence. His shirt is soaked. Buck's dry heaving eases into small hiccups. His head aches.
“I love you, Buck.” They don't say that to each other ever, but maybe they both need to hear it.
“Love you too, Eddie.” He mumbles through sniff.
“No. Buck, I love you.” Eddie's looking down at him when he lifts his head. Eddies lips barley move when he murmurs, “I think I’m in love with you.”
A part of him is irritated. Why couldn't Eddie have said it before today? It's not fair for him to drop that right now when his world is spinning two-thousand and eighty miles an hour. He wants to be over the fucking moon about it, but he can't. He doesn't get it.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Eddie shrugs as if it's nothing. As if he didn't just give Buck a light at the end of a very dark tunnel he's been walking down for months. “You deserve to know. I need you to know. Take your pick.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Buck asks, eyes flitting between Eddie’s. His scleras are red and irritated, like Buck.
“You don't have to do anything. You just have to know it. You need to know it.”
It's really hard to hide things from Eddie. It's even harder to hide things from Eddie when he's just pried his chest open with his bare hands and offered Buck his still beating heart. So he stares. Then stares. And stares a little bit more.
Hands trembling, Buck moves the take-out bags and pulls the pill bottles to the front.
“What are these?” Eddie asks still holding Buck, but leaning forward to grasp Buck's secret.
Buck is silent. He's said a lot tonight. Shared a lot tonight. But he's not ready for this confession to see the light of day. So he lets Eddie figure it out.
“Buck.” He hates that Eddie's voice sounds so sad. Full of concern and fear.
“I need help.” Buck whispers. Then there are even more tears so he presses the palm of his hands into his eyes trying to push them back in. Eddie wraps both arms around Buck, tucking him back into his chest. Trying to embed Buck in the space he just created.
“You’re going to be okay. I promise. I'm still here. You're still here.” He places another kiss to the top of Buck's head.
“I don't think I'm ready.”
“That’s okay. No one ever is.” And still, Buck thinks, they do.
Buck moves first, brushing tears from his eyes and then he tries to brush Eddie’s shirt dry. Eddie looks at him with a tilted smile then they both laugh. It’s less hearty and more of a relief.
“I'll stay here tonight.” Eddie offers.
“You don't have to.” Buck still really wants to nap. Sleep it all away one more night before he has to open the blinds and clear the dust.
“What if I want to?” Buck looks at him unsure. “I can even take the couch.”
Buck still doesn’t respond torn between two worlds. If Eddie made this admission months ago, Buck would have jumped Eddie’s bones then and there. And now he’s stuck choosing between numbing it all and living a literal dream come true.
“How about this. You go shower, I’ll put the food away and we’ll revisit it later.”
Buck agrees.
When later comes, he finds Eddie in his room rifling through his drawers and mumbling to himself. It sounds like, “Even his drawers. I’ll put it on the list.” He turns around and jumps, nearly dropping the clothes he just fished out. “Jesus, Buck. You scared the hell out of me.”
“You’re staying.”
“I decided. I’m staying.”
Buck ducks his head. “Good.” Because he didn’t want to choose. He hates to think of what would happen if he chose.
He’s standing in the doorway when Eddie slips by, his hand reaching out to briefly run across Buck’s chest. Buck catches his hand and holds for a moment. Just to feel the heat. He feels two taps over his heart before Eddie slides his hand across then off of his chest.
Buck lays down in bed. It feels formal. He can’t remember the last time he slept without a little bit of help. His mind starts to race, rushing through everything that happened. The hopelessness. The acceptance as he pled for Eddie’s life. Offering her himself to make it up to Eddie for leading them down that road.
He tries shutting it all out by folding his pillow over his ears. He can feel himself start to hyperventilate. His chest is tight and he can’t take a deep breath. He rushes to the living room looking for the one thing that could soothe him. The coffee table is cleared and his duffle bag empty. He heads to the bathroom ready to knock and bang and beg. His lifts his hand then stops when he hears Eddie singing to himself. Buck can’t make out the words or the tune but he knows Eddie is singing.
He stands there for a while, hand pressed flush against the door, before he heads back to bed. Closing his eyes, Buck lays in bed and listens to the shower beating against the tub. He can’t hear Eddie anymore, but he knows he’s here. He knows someone’s here. He’s not alone tonight.
When the shower turns off, Buck relaxes. Comfort in the shape of Eddie Diaz is down the hall and headed his way. The bedroom lights are still on when Eddie comes back wearing Buck’s shorts and cutoff t.
“Blankets in the same spot?” Eddie asks as he reaches for one of Buck’s pillow.
Before he can think, Buck’s hand shoots out stopping Eddie before whispering,
“Stay.”
“Okay.” He nods and turns out the light.
“Can you- can you turn on the hall light?” It’s embarrassing to ask. He feels like a child scared of the monster under his bed. Softly he adds, “Please.”
Eddie doesn’t wait or hesitate. As soon as the words slip from Buck’s lips, he’s leaving to flip the switch.
“Door open.” Eddie nods again pulling the door to his bedroom open. It all feels so silly, letting someone else see his new nightly routine. But he needs it. When he forces himself out of a nightmare in the middle of the night, he needs to know he’s home. He needs to see the hallway without bars in the way.
Finally, Eddie climbs in behind Buck, pulling the blanket up and turning on his side. Buck follows, back towards Eddie. Arms wrap around him tight and he’s pulled flush against a heart steadily thumping. Eddie runs a hand down Buck’s arm until their hands are linked. He places them over Buck’s chest pulling them even closer.
“It’s Monday.” Eddie says out of nowhere. “You didn’t wash your hair.”
Buck wants to cry again. Being held. Being seen. Being known. No one else would notice he skipped something like his Monday night hair routine.
“I love you too, you know.” It’s easier to say than he thought it would be. Like letting out a breath he’d been holding in for a year.
“Yeah?” He can feel Eddie's smile in his shoulder.
“Yeah… but I can't- not right now.” Buck hates that he has to say it. He doesn’t want to. “I need to-”
“I know. It’s okay. I’ll wait.”
“Really?” Buck asks. Because people don’t wait for him. He waits and waits until they never come back. But Eddie does. Eddie did.
“Really.” Eddie’s laugh is more of an amused huff. “We're both here and we're both okay. So I’ll wait for you. And when you're ready for me, I'll be ready for you.”
Buck wants to say something but every time he opens his mouth to speak the words are swallowed down.
“I love you, Buck.” Is the last thing he hears before finally closing his eyes, calling for sleep and hoping for reprieve.