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It’s weird, Buck thinks, how quickly the sound around him can fade, how fast the pain in his back and his side can grow fuzzy, almost numb even, until he’s completely disassociating, losing his touch on reality in time with Eddie’s final blink.
He’s back at Eddie’s house, head burrowed in the fridge, and he’s digging around meal prep containers for hidden beers.
“Heard you flipped out yesterday.”
“Huh?” Buck’s only half listening because he’s on a quest of the alcoholic nature, and he’s pretty sure he spots a dark neck of a beer bottle nestled between a container of rice and a jar of low fat mayonnaise.
“At the well.”
This Buck hears quite clearly, and he snags the beer and turns away from the fridge, lips curving softly downward at the edges.
“Bobby said you were frantic.”
The grooves in the beer bottle cap dig into Buck’s palm. Or maybe, Buck thinks, he’s deliberately pushing it into his skin. “You were trapped.”
“And your plan was what, Buck? Dig me out with your hands?”
“If that’s what I had to,” Buck spits back, eyes narrow, shooting Eddie a gaze he is normally on the receiving end of, and it’s just enough to have Eddie’s face go soft before him.
“Not sure if I should thank you because I know that you are genuinely serious, or if I should officially declare you as the world’s biggest idiot because I know that you are genuinely serious.”
Buck laughs lowly under his breath, yet still, his eyes are warm, determined, and he cocks his head to the side. “I said I have your back, didn’t I?”
“This again?” Eddie asks, now laughing with Buck.
“I’m a man of my damn word, Eddie. If I say I have you back, then I have your back.”
“Firefighter Buckley!”
Buck’s gotten used to pulling himself slowly out of a dissociative state, cool and calm, working through grounding techniques, so the abrupt, loud voice in his ear is a gun shot that rips through his mind.
Gun shot.
Buck blinks quickly. Eddie’s face is now in full view, and he looks unnaturally pale and cold, a contrast to his blood still warm and splattered across his face.
“Eddie.”
“Sir, we’ll get to him as soon as it’s safe. We need to focus on you first.”
Buck shoves himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the thrum of pain gnawing at his side. He’s sure he’ll look purple and blue by morning.
“No, Eddie,” he repeats, unable to form much more in terms of sentences. His mind can only collect what’s currently the most meaningful in this situation, and that one thing is only Eddie.
“Eddie,” he tries again, louder, hoping to jostle Eddie awake by his voice, hoping that, maybe, Eddie’s only passed out from the pain and that the pool of blood isn’t actually draining from a potentially severe gun shot wound.
“Firefighter Buckley—”
Buck shoves away from the firefighter beside him. He ignores the hand grabbing at his shirt, ignores the voices shouting for him to come back, and then he’s hovering over Eddie, shielding him, assessing what he can of the wound with shaking hands.
Eddie’s unresponsive below him, and Buck’s stomach twists so tightly, he could double over in pain. He’s just turning around to yell for help when he’s being jerked to his feet by a cop. His eyes stay on Eddie as Eddie’s rushed onto a backboard, and he’s so focused on Eddie’s face, so desperate for a hint of life, a crease of the brow, that he doesn’t process the hand squeezing his arm or the voice close to his ear until the cop is speaking.
“Go with him, and stay low.”
Nodding, Buck hunches over and runs to the ambulance Eddie’s being lifted into, and the second he gets a nod, he pulls himself up, and the door’s closed in front of him.
With as loud as it had been outside, it’s eerily quiet in the ambulance, even with the siren blaring overhead. The paramedics are working quickly and quietly, discussing the best course of action under their breath. Buck stares at Eddie’s sodden shirt, at the too dark stain toward his shoulder, and he reaches over, ripping the shirt open to get a clear look.
“Sir, please let us handle the patient.”
One of the paramedics swats at Buck’s hands, and he leans back, eyes glued to the small silver bullet nestled inside of Eddie’s chest. It wasn’t a clean shot, and Buck knows that poses more recovery complications. He’s sure surgery is just on the horizon for Eddie.
He only pulls his eyes away from the angry wound when Eddie groans, his brow furrowing.
“Eddie?” Buck leans forward, one hand resting just above Eddie’s forehead, his hair soft against his palm. “Can you hear me?”
Eddie’s eyes squeeze before he pries them open. Even through the small slits, Buck can see how glossy and unfocused Eddie looks.
“Buck?”
His voice is shot, weak, and thick with pain, and Buck nods, one thumb smoothing across Eddie’s forehead.
“Hey, man. Yeah, it’s me. You’re going to be okay.”
Eddie frowns, and he lifts one shaking hand to Buck’s cheek, fingers pressing to the blood on Buck’s face.
“You’re hurt?”
“What?” Buck asks, shaking his head. He goes to explain more, to reassure that he’s fine, but Eddie goes slack below him, and the paramedics push him back, shouting for the driver to pick up the pace. Eddie’s crashing, and the frantic beeping is deafening to his ears.
He won’t because he wants all focus to be on saving Eddie, but still, Buck kind of wishes he could throw up to ease the pressure in his gut.
***
“Buck!”
Bobby’s voice rings out across the waiting room, and Buck lifts his head from his hands to see Bobby running toward him with Athena hot on his heels. He can see the question written all over Bobby’s face, and he holds up a single hand, shaking his head.
“It’s not my blood.” What he leaves off is how he’d give anything for it to be his blood. For him to be the one carted off to surgery, not Eddie.
Bobby nods, and Athena sighs softly.
“You okay, Buckaroo?”
Buck’s not sure if it’s just because it’s Athena, or if it’s her motherly nature, but his composure crumbles at her words. He wants to tell them he’s fine— that Eddie is the one everyone should worry about. But, he can’t stop shaking, and his eyes have been burning with unshed tears.
Athena pulls him to his feet, and he falls against her, a sob ripping up his throat. He can feel Bobby at his back, a warm, grounding hand to his shoulder, and Athena’s arms are wrapped tightly around his back, keeping the pieces together.
“You’re okay, Buck.”
He clings to Athena until he’s sure he can stand up on his own, and then he falls into the soft question and answer process, revealing all he knows: Eddie was shot; the police who took his statement have yet to find the shooter, but they don’t think Eddie was specifically a target; he’s in surgery, but the doctors are extremely optimistic.
“Are we going to be able to pry you away from this hospital?” Athena asks, and Buck gives a shaky nod.
“Chris is with a friend, and Eddie was supposed to pick him up. I’m going to... I’ve got to tell him.”
“We can have someone else—”
“—no,” Buck interrupts, stepping back. “It has to be me.” He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the smudged glass of a vending machine: pale face smeared red with dried blood. “I should,” he notions weakly to his face, laughs awkwardly, and Bobby nods, a frown etched across his lips.
“I’ll drive you back to your jeep after you wash up.”
Nodding, Buck slips to the bathroom, thankful to find it empty. He looks at himself, but all he can see is the muted, pale shock written across Eddie’s face looking back at him, painted in the blood splattered across his face. He turns the tap on as hot as it will allow, and then he scrubs, hands moving roughly up and down his face, the hand soap slightly stinging his skin. He scrubs until his entire face burns, and then he stumbles backward with a gasp he covers with his palm.
He holds in a deep breath that quakes against his lungs, and he doesn’t release it until he’s sure he can without falling apart.
“Eddie’s going to be fine,” he says aloud, practicing now to sound as confident and as believable as he can.
***
“Did you get hurt at work, Buck?”
Buck’s not surprised that the first question out of Christopher’s mouth is about his well-being and not of his dad’s absence— typical Diaz behavior.
“Uh, no, bud.” Buck kneels down, leveling himself with Christopher. “It’s not mine.”
“Where’s my dad?”
“He...” Buck stumbles with his words, swallows thickly. “He won’t be coming home tonight, bud. He got hurt at work, but I’m going to make sure he gets better real fast.”
“Is he at the hospital? Can I see him?”
Christopher’s voice is growing more and more unsteady, adopting a waver that’s a brick smashing to Buck’s heart.
“He is, but he’s still busy getting patched up, so he can’t have visitors just yet.”
Christopher nods, and Buck wonders just when it was exactly that Chris matured without his seeing. “He’s going to be okay, bud. But you know what will make him get better faster?”
Before Buck can answer, Carla slips into the room, supplies in hand.
“Make him a really big card!”
“Yes!” Christopher’s smile turns into a giggle as Carla drops markers and glitter and poster boards onto Eddie’s kitchen table.
“Chris, Carla’s going to watch you while I go back to the hospital. As soon as I get the okay for visitors, I’ll call.”
Christopher nods and shuffles to the table, already scoping out markers to use for the card. While occupied, Buck slips toward the door with Carla hot on his heels.
“Is he okay?”
“Still in surgery,” Buck answers on auto-pilot, having muttered those words too many times already to count.
“Are you okay?”
Buck laughs weakly, rakes a hand through his hair. “Ask me again when Eddie’s awake.”
“Oh, honey—”
“It’s okay,” Buck mutters, casting his eyes to the floor. “Sign my name on the card for me?”
“Buck, why don’t you stay for a little bit? Change your clothes? Eat something?”
“I can’t,” Buck shakes his head, unsure how to explain that the only way to easy the jutting pain in his chest is to be back at the hospital. “I need to—”
“Go,” Carla rolls her eyes. “But I’m bringing you food.”
Buck smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks, Carla.”
***
Buck scans his text from Hen, gnaws at his lower lip.
[From: Hen] where’d you run off to? We’re all in the waiting room.
He pulls his gaze up to Eddie’s sleeping form, to the wires sticking out of him.
[To: Hen] I may have waited until a dr walked through the double doors and snuck into Eddie’s room...
His phone blows up shortly after with texts and calls, and he ignores all, instead typing to a 118 group text.
[To: Fire Fam] look, I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but don’t tell on me okay? I know the dr said his surgery went well, but I had to see for myself
[From Chim in Fire Fam] Hen’s rolling her eyes
[From Hen in Fire Fam] damn right I am. So is Athena
[From Bobby in Fire Fam] how is he?
He looks terrible, Buck thinks. His skin is still too pale, and there are dark purple spots coloring below his eyes. His breathing is labored, and his face is pinched as if in pain.
Terrible, Buck thinks, yet so beautifully alive. The relief is edging his nerves, hesitant to completely encompass him.
[To Fire Fam] he looks like hell, but he’s alive
Buck locks his phone and leans forward, resting his head on the edge of Eddie’s bed. He lays one hand over Eddie’s, and he drifts somewhere between awake and asleep, coming to fully when Eddie groans above him.
He jerks forward, leans in close, and squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Eddie? You with me?”
It takes an impossibly long time for Eddie to open his eyes, but when he does, his smile is weak but warm enough to bring Buck’s relief fully over him.
“Buck.”
There’s no confusion in Eddie’s voice this time— only soft certainty, and Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand once more.
“In the flesh.”
“You’re here.”
“Yep,” Buck nods, smiling. “Though when I have to duck behind a chair when a nurse comes in, pretend like you didn’t see me, yeah? Kinda breaking hospital rules right now.”
Eddie laughs, and then he coughs weakly, wincing. Still, his eyes hold Buck’s gaze, and Buck wouldn’t look away even for a second.
“Chris?” Eddie finally croaks out, and Buck nods.
“He’s okay. He’s with Carla. They are coming as soon as the doctor gives the okay for visitors.”
“Legal visitors,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck smiles. If Eddie can joke, he must be on the mend.
“Hey, a part of having your back means I simply must sneak into your hospital room to make sure you don’t croak.”
Eddie’s laugh turns into a harsher cough, and Buck smooths a hand over Eddie’s forehead. “Maybe stop laughing?”
“Stop making me then,” Eddie pouts, and Buck leans back with a smile.
“I gotta talk to Carla.”
Buck cocks a brow. “She’ll be here as soon as she can.”
“She told me to make sure I’m following my own heart.”
Frowning, Buck tilts his head. “Uh, Eddie? You okay, man?”
“She was right— I thought I was but I wasn’t.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll give myself up and grab a nurse. You are talking too weird right now. Clearly something’s not clicking right in that old head of yours.” Buck makes to stand, to leave, his concern heightening behind his poor joke, but Eddie grabs at his wrist, a weak grip that Buck frowns deeply at.
“Eddie, I—”
“Stay. Please.”
Slowly, Buck takes his seat. “As long as you stop being weird as hell.”
“I will for now.”