Work Text:
Eddie:
It takes Eddie hours after finding them to stop clenching his jaw. Until the paperwork is all filled out, the statements given, the awful hospital coffee drunk and disparaged while the 118 milled around, reluctant to leave and wash their hands of these stranger’s lives and problems. They didn’t leave these people at the door when they arrived to the hospital piled into cars following the ambos. And Eddie hadn’t been able to leave them at the door when he and Buck piled back into Eddie’s truck to drive to Eddie’s house, where Buck’s truck was still waiting in the dark.
“I don’t know, man,” Eddie says, his eyes on the road behind the wheel as he drives the familiar route home from the hospital. “I just don’t trust that Badge.”
“What, Detective Hooks?” Buck replies distractedly.
Eddie finds his jaw working its familiar rhythm and purses his lips, eyes still facing forward, and tries to start again. But in the silence, his mind is pulled back to the construction gigs he’d worked high school summers since he was fifteen, because his work ethic was lacking, his father had said. To the familiar sun-lined faces he would sometimes see congregating in the Home Depot parking lot, to the feeling of relief he would get when he pulled up to a job site to the sounds of mariachi instead of swear words and screaming. How at a naive seventeen he didn’t understand the whispered warnings and questions he sometimes caught between other workers about certain bosses and other jobs in hushed and hurried Spanish.
But now he knows. He’s had just enough therapy to see clearly the mass of threads that can tie a good man to a dangerous situation for the promise of a paycheck. He has always known the pressures of family, has spent the last fifteen years learning the desperate love and responsibility that drives a parent to leave everything behind for a better life for their child. He’s seen how quickly a situation can get out of control, knows how fruitless the fight can be and how much it takes out of you to keep fighting anyway. And that’s if you have something to fight for. The lucky ones of this group have wives or husbands at home that think they ran off when they got to California, that will not understand, just like he didn’t at seventeen, because they won’t tell them what they’ve been through, won’t speak aloud the horrors for their children to overhear across the miles that separate them from each other.
He wishes he could give them the better life they came for. But he can’t have sixteen adults and a child come around for family dinner like he did the last person whose life he upended even more by trying to help her through a tough time. And he couldn’t even get Buck through the last six weeks after New Mexico without making things worse, and that was with all the family dinners he could force on him. Maybe family can only be too much or not enough, he thinks. He remembers so clearly Inez’s face as she sat beside her boy, refusing to leave his side after days, or weeks, who knows, of holding him close. It was the last look he took before leaving, the family huddled on the bed surrounded by hospital staff speaking a language they couldn’t understand. “Abandoner”, his mind supplies unhelpfully, in Buck’s sing song voice. The thing about always leaving, he realizes, is that you always end up alone.
Buck:
From the moment Eddie first turned to him in the basement room of that apartment building, Buck hasn’t been able to stop himself from watching him. Now, as he sits silently on Eddie’s right, he can’t help but catalogue the lines of Eddie’s shoulders against the driver’s seat, the glare in his eyes with each passing headlight that Buck worries could be tears held back from falling. “Eddie,” he almost says, over and over, but stops himself. A thought comes to his mind unbidden, an answer to an old unfinished argument he’d forgotten about. He doesn’t make everything about himself. He makes everything about Eddie. Eddie who held onto his anger so tightly tonight his hand is still shaking slightly on the wheel, who hadn’t allowed himself a word aloud after Chim arrived on scene until they got to hospital, where he’d finally smiled again for a moment seeing the people he’d saved and had to borrow some of their hope, borrow some of their voices, to make sure that their interests were heard. Eddie who had locked his jaw again as soon as he and Buck were alone in the car, his nostrils flaring with the effort to keep his mouth shut. Buck wishes Eddie would talk to him. He would understand if Eddie broke open behind the closed doors of the truck, yelled, cried, gasped for breath; Buck wants to give him what he needs, would hold him while he sobbed, however long it took, he would. But Eddie can’t, or won’t. Buck understands that, too. It’s too much, tonight.
No one wants to ever find what they found. But Buck wishes it hadn’t been Eddie. Buck hears the sound of Eddie’s call, “LAFD, anyone in here?” dying on his lips in the dark, over and over, any time the silence has time to take root and the distractions are gone. And Buck sees what he saw when Eddie’s flashlight landed on those faces, sees Eddie go straight to that little boy, too; it’s on replay in his mind any time he takes his eyes off the real Eddie sitting next to him. If he tries, he can see it overlaid on Eddie’s figure even now. Eddie’s hands on the boy’s pulse, breath caught in his chest, eyes wide and not yet full of anger, only fear and the kind of deep and pleading sadness that made Buck afraid in turn. Buck’s not ever going to forget that. He’d never seen that before today, not on Eddie. Hopes he never sees it again. Even in New Mexico it was only relief he saw in those eyes after Eddie made what must’ve been the very same strides toward Buck’s own limp body in the dirt, hand on his pulse like the world’s gentlest tether, keeping him there.
Buck knows Eddie’s not magic. But if the gravity of the full moon can wreak its havoc on the earth, surely there’s something in the gravity of Eddie’s will, too, something healing in his care, even if only for a moment before God or science wrests back control and ends it. Buck has felt it. Buck has always liked watching Eddie work. And Buck loves kids. But in that moment, Eddie loved that one. And tonight, watching him, Buck fell in love with Eddie. Buck fell in love watching him triage with shoulders hunched almost defensively, breath straining to keep his chest from heaving, eyes wet but focused on what mattered. Fell even deeper watching him throw those shoulders back to ask the hard questions in that hospital room, watching him take all the breath from that room as he turned his anger, measured and right, on that detective that had already written off these migrants’ futures like they didn’t even matter. Watching Eddie stand up for them. For his community. His past. Himself. And Buck’s still falling in love with him now, watching him drive them home with still-shaking hands but steadying breaths. If what Buck’s feeling now for Eddie isn’t all-consuming, soul-binding, life-altering love then he doesn’t think that kind of thing can even exist. That realization burns in his chest, its own little light inside the dark and silent truck.
“I don’t know, man,” Eddie says, and Buck’s eyes snap up to his face from where they had been fixated on his hands. Eddie’s eyebrows smooth from anger to worry and back again. “I just don’t trust that Badge.”
Buck casts around his mind for the name of the detective, dragging it slowly from his waterlogged thoughts. “What, Detective Hooks?” It comes out like a question, but he already knows the answer. He gives his head a shake like that might get the water out; blinks and then waits for Eddie to answer his non-question. Waits long enough that he starts to hear the phantom Eddie again. “LAFD—“ Buck coughs and then continues, “yeah,” he says, trying to pick up the dropped conversation. “I hope the victim advocates will be there tomorrow.”
Eddie makes a noise in between a scoff and a throat clear. “If he even called them,” Eddie grumbles.
“He said he did,” replies Buck, as if that helps at all. He knows it doesn’t but can’t think of anything else to say. He doesn’t want the silence to return.
“Do you think we should report it?” Eddie asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the road to meet Buck’s.
“Report the detective?” Buck says, distracted by Eddie’s gaze. “I dunno..” he starts, but Eddie cuts him off.
“No, the victims.”
Buck frowns and pulls himself together, for what feels like the hundredth time this week. He wills himself to focus on the task at hand, snaps himself forcefully into clipboard Buck mode and pulls out his phone. “Like the hotline? Or call victims services ourselves?” He’s already finding the number in his phone.
“For a start.”
Eddie:
By the time they’ve pulled into Eddie’s drive, they’ve got a phone list of tasks and resources a scrolling mile long, and they’re not ready to stop. They set up on the couch, laptop open on the coffee table, hushed voices so they don’t wake Chris, just learning what they don’t know about trafficking and what happens after you survive it. Buck’s already down a rabbit hole on types of visas available to victims of crime, and Eddie’s content to watch over his shoulder, their list of numbers to call in the morning finished and ready for the next business day, safe on his phone. His thoughts keep drifting to Chris asleep in his room, and Eddie has so far resisted the urge to disturb him just to comfort himself. He takes his comfort from Buck instead, and Buck’s constant stream of information at Eddie’s side.
“CAST LA has a 24 hour hotline,” Buck’s saying now, and then he’s calling them, as excited as if he’d just discovered a new recipe he couldn’t wait to try. Eddie listens as Buck makes the call, takes some notes for him with fingers that have finally stopped shaking, and even breathes a sigh of relief when he hears that CAST is sending someone to the hospital right away. His mouth settles into a smile seeing Buck grin at him as Buck slides his phone back onto the table in quiet satisfaction.
After a moment, Buck sighs. “I guess it’s probably time for sleep.”
“Shifts over,” Eddie agrees softly. Buck moves in his seat, raises a hand as if to clap it on Eddie’s knee in goodbye, but stops himself. Eddie feels the energy shifting and his soft smile falls. “Stay,” Eddie says on impulse. His muscles are too tired to clamp shut on his words any more. He spent all his usual control hours ago, is left feeling empty and used up and small. Seventeen again and afraid to be alone.
“Not tonight Eds,” Buck is saying, and Eddie’s already shaking his head.
“Buck. It’s the middle of the night,” he argues back. “You can take the bed.”
Buck looks ill, the ghost of the last week passing over his face. “You don’t have to worry about me, Eddie,” he says, “not tonight. I’m just gonna sleep. I’m not gonna take drugs. I don’t even have any.”
“Buck”
“And I’ll call you if I feel like I might.”
“Good. But that’s not what I’m asking for right now.”
Buck refuses to meet Eddie’s eye, disbelieving as usual, petulant as ever. “Then what?”
Eddie thinks for a moment again of Christopher sleeping peacefully in his bed, undisturbed by the events of the night. He’s not sure he can stop himself from waking him if he’s left on his own. He looks at Buck, opens his mouth, wants to say the words for once but can’t find them.
“For me,” he manages to get out, looking pathetically up at Buck.
Buck tilts his head. “What do you mean.” His eyes are earnest and his face is open now, the earlier doubt vanished, replaced by concern.
Eddie’s breath stutters at the change in Buck. He tries to steady himself and starts to get frustrated at his own inadequacy. He squares his shoulders. “I need you,” Eddie says, and despite himself, he feels even smaller than before. But Buck’s there for him, his hands fluttering at Eddie’s sides like he’s feeling for wounds, finally pulling him into a hug, tight, and warm, pulling Eddie back into his own body as he does, hand over hand like a dummy on a rope pull until his hands are still and solid on Eddie’s back.
“Anything,” Buck whispers into his hair. “Anything for you, Eddie.”
And Eddie feels like he could break open, like he could, but he doesn’t need to, not anymore, not tonight. He just needs to be held, and to sleep, and to wake up in the morning with someone there to ground him in his body, in his house, if just this once, to give him what he needs. He sinks into the hug for several moments, breathing in Buck’s comforting smell and not counting the seconds, not hastening the end. He lets Buck lead, lets Buck burrow against his collarbone, lets Buck pull him to his feet and linger softly with their hands joined as he guides him past the table. They brush their teeth and make their way into the bedroom like they’ve done a dozen times before. Eddie throws Buck his usual pair of sweats from the dresser and Buck changes silently and without a thought right there, waiting for Eddie to finish changing too before saying goodnight. When Eddie’s ready, he glances quickly at Buck and gestures casually to the bed and Buck stills.
“I’m.. uh.” Buck gestures awkwardly to the living room. “The couch,” he says, “yeah.”
“Buck,” Eddie says, exhausted but still managing that tone of annoyance he knows gets under Buck’s skin. “Anything.” Eddie parrots back, catching Buck’s eye. But Buck’s still Buck.
“Eddie, you just slept on my couch for a week, I’m not letting you do it in your own house,” Buck huffs.
“Once again, wrong,” Eddie says, the testiness coming naturally now, “and I didn’t even sleep on the couch that much, I was mostly on the chair when the guest bed was taken, and you didn’t have a problem sharing your room then, so why should it be a problem sharing mine.”
Buck looks around the room wildly like a reciprocal chair to sleep on might appear in it. He doesn’t find one. “You want to share the bed?” Is Buck’s eventual confused reply.
“And I don’t want to talk about it.” Eddie says, exasperated, pulling the covers back on his side and climbing in. Buck’s appropriately dumbstruck for once but eventually complies. Eddie can feel Buck’s weight on the mattress, a satisfying reminder that he’s real, they both are, and they’re together and home. He doesn’t even think he needs to cuddle, really, just needs to feel Buck there. But he reaches for Buck and Buck reaches back and they’re cuddling, they are, and it’s nice and Buck’s solid and warm and Eddie sinks into sleep like he trained for it, which he did, in the army, technically train for, but never was quite this good.
Buck:
Buck can’t sleep at all. He’s frozen in what should be a comfortably warm embrace under the covers, afraid to move and wake Eddie and be banished from Eddie’s life probably for thought crimes that surely Eddie will be able to sense after he gets some sleep and clears his head. He’s still seeing the fear and despair in Eddie’s eyes back in that basement, only now he’s imagining it directed at him, Eddie afraid, not of Buck dying, but of Buck’s feelings for him, of Buck failing him again by wanting more than Eddie can give. He tries to breathe like he learned in treatment, hoping Eddie can’t feel the uneven rising and falling of his chest as he fades in and out of focus. He repeats the phrases he learned in CBT. What are you missing by not being present in this moment, he hears his therapist ask, and he feels the answer like a physical touch and his breathing stops all together for a microsecond, the stutter painful in his chest until he breathes again. He gets this for one night, he tells himself. Gets to hold the most amazing man he knows as long as the moon stays out, gets to watch the (secret) (probably) love of his life sleep like it’s normal that he now knows he wants to do it every night for the rest of his life. He vows to stay present just this once instead of getting swept up in catastrophizing. He can finish spiraling tomorrow. He blows a breath out and glances around the room for five objects to observe to ground him and sees Eddie’s phone on the bedside table. He left his own phone back on the table in the living room, but he knows Eddie won’t mind if he uses his to put on some quiet music to help him sleep. He reaches carefully for Eddie’s phone, trying not to change his position too much. He manages to snag it, but only by drawing closer to Eddie in the process, his body half draped over top of him, face smooshed in the crook of his neck. He struggles to maneuver the phone and charging cord over Eddie’s sleeping body without unsticking his cheek from Eddie’s neck, and then finally unlocks Eddie’s phone and opens his Spotify. The app is already on a soft mariachi playlist he knows Eddie can sleep to, he remembers because he told Eddie he thought the concept of sleeping to mariachi music was laughable, and Eddie did laugh at that. Buck manipulates the volume before he presses play and drops the phone on the bed on Eddie’s other side. He raises his head to make sure Eddie’s still asleep, and swears he sees Eddie smile in the dim light of the moon. It calms him and he relaxes back onto the bed in full, his nose just brushing Eddie’s skin where his t-shirt is displaced, and listens to the mariachi band play a slow and soulful love song. It’s the last thing he hears before he falls asleep himself.
Yo creo, podemos ver
El nuevo amanecer de un nuevo día.
Yo pienso que tú y yo
Podemos ser felices todavía.
…
They both startle awake to the loud clunk of Eddie’s phone dropping off the side of the bed. The soft mariachi music is still sounding from the phone’s speakers, but the room looks different now with sunlight streaming in, the blankets and their bodies both tangled on the bed. Buck and instinctively tries to pull his body away from Eddie’s from the waist down, kicking the covers onto the floor to join the errant phone in his haste. Eddie just lifts his tired eyebrows in Buck’s direction and motions for Buck to come back. When Buck shrugs and does, Eddie lets out a laugh that just might be Buck’s new favorite sound. He replays it in his head and smiles against Eddie’s skin before deepening his breath and preparing to face the morning. He has a new breakfast recipe he wants to try out on Chris before they all head back out into the real world where he doesn’t get to have this, probably, at least not without a lot of words standing between him and it. But for now he just wants to feel Eddie’s heartbeat against his own in Eddie’s bed, his personal reminder that there’s good in the world, even if it isn’t always under his hands. It’s only dawn, now, on a new day. They’ve got their whole lives left for everything else.