Chapter Text
Shadows creep along the wall, their shapes dancing in sync with the lights outside.
Eddie's eyes track them from his peripheral vision, blinking every so often to relieve the pain. His bed feels stiff and uncomfortable beneath his body; his arms heavy at his sides, a dull ache at the back of his head, his feet ticking intermittently as they move to a tuneless song. It hasn't been long since he completed a 24 hour shift, and yet sleep eludes him.
The shadows on the wall morph into a large black mass, as another pair of headlights go by. For an instant, the shadow splits into two - one long crooked finger, next to a smaller, softer hill - and his thoughts immediately divert towards Chris. His son hadn't said much that evening, and had made a beeline for his room as soon as the plates had been cleared. For a second, as Eddie had stood there with a kitchen towel in one hand, and leftover lasagne in the other, he'd been tempted to call Chris back. To ask if he would like to watch a film, or maybe play a game together. The words had already been formed and developed before he'd stopped, thinking back to his earlier conversations with Chris. His boy needed his space - he was growing, and independence was pivotal to the process.
And so, Eddie had placed the leftovers into the fridge, dried the rest of the dishes, and then sat down to watch part of a program on rising fuel prices. Or maybe it had been food prices? Either way, Eddie hadn't been able to recall much, his thoughts drifting to the empty space next to him on the couch. It hadn't been long before he'd switched the TV off and trudged towards bed, stopping to knock on Chris' door and wish him a goodnight.
Eddie rolls over onto his side, now more-or-less fully awake. Chris had sounded happy as he'd shouted a goodnight back. But the door had remained shut, and Eddie had felt the distance between them as personified by that physical partition. Would Chris want to hang out tomorrow? Or was this a new way of life he had to adjust to? After all, these instances were steadily growing in reoccurrence, and now Eddie was confronting a vast ocean of time he'd never really had had time to navigate.
Sleep eludes him and the shadows retreat back into the dark. Eddie breathes in deeply, twice, before gently cursing and kicking the blankets off of him. He sits up in bed - rolling his shoulder as he does, a habit from after he'd been shot - and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. There is an image of empty space on his couch embedded behind his eyelids, and so he messages the only other person he could envision there.
Eddie: The lasagne was good. Thank you.
He props his pillows up against the headboard as he awaits a reply. It is nearing 2am, yet he listens to the voice inside him that tells him Buck isn't sleeping yet. Sure enough, his screen lights up shortly.
Buck: You're not sick of it yet?? I need to beg Bobby for more recipes 🤔
Eddie smiles at Buck's response, and drums his thumbs against the screen as he thinks of a reply. He types out a message, and then deletes it. He tries once again, deletes it, and then goes straight to the point.
Eddie: All good. Does Chris seem more distant to you?
Buck: Distant?
Buck: No?
Buck: Well he seems more independent?
Buck: But like in a good way 👍
Eddie: Good way?
Buck: Yea. He has his own things to worry about now.
Buck: Like school and homework.
Buck: CGI dinos. Personal interests.
Buck: Crushes 🤪
Eddie frowns at the last comment. He recalls the secretive behaviour Chris continuously demonstrates around his first crush. He is still no closer to distinguishing which one of Chris' friends is the special one (if any of them are). He reminds himself not to worry - Chris will come to him if he needs advice (surely), and needs his privacy to cultivate new relationships.
His phone lights up again, a fifth message sliding into place.
Buck: But you are his dad and he loves you. Maybe more than ever. I am sure of that :)
Eddie feels a smile cross his face involuntarily; an effect Buck often has on him. His body relaxes into the pillows beneath him, and he types back a response as exhaustion begins to tickle his brain.
Eddie: Thanks, Buck.
Eddie: We are out of lasagne, but I can try to cook something tomorrow?
Buck: 🤢
Buck: Kidding I'll be there :)
Buck: As self-appointed food taster.
Buck: So Chris survives 😉
Eddie: How kind.
Eddie: See you tomorrow, Buck.
Eddie: Sleep well.
Buck: Goodnight Eds! 😊
The light on his phone screen dims once more, and Eddie places it back onto the nightstand. A heavy pull has began to dull his entire body, and he yawns out loud as it engulfs him entirely. He rearranges the pillows and sinks down onto the mattress, the cool material now a soothing sensation beneath his skin. He briefly wonders whether Buck will bring something instead of allowing him to cook, considers both possibilities, and then lets the thought drift into the silence of the room. Regardless, Buck will come and he will bring a presence into the Diaz home that lights it up from the very centre.
A car passes outside, and shadows once again dance upon the wall. But Eddie does not see them from behind his closed eyes. The sound of the engine peaks and then subsides, fading into the black sea outside. Silence settles upon the room. It holds for a few minutes, before the sound of gentle snoring interrupts it once more. Eddie rolls over, now fully immersed in sleep, and settles, one hand outstretched towards the nightstand.