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Eddie crawls, arm over arm, pulling the dead weight of himself through the elevator doors and smearing a trail of crimson red behind him. The last of his strength saps out of his arms and he collapses back down. His face meets the carpet, hard.
The elevator doors drag closed, barely missing the toe of his boot where his leg is splayed out crooked and limp behind him. He can hardly feel it at this point. A surge of panic at that thought has him wiggling his toes, scrunching them weakly against his boot. He can feel where the seam of his socks meets the worn insole and he sags at the rough texture. It should be a relief, but the searing heat in his abdomen doesn't leave room for the feeling to unfold. Shocks of pain radiate over him in agonizing waves that override everything else.
He doesn't know how long he lays there, breathing shallow and quick, vision blurring in and out. His view of the carpet swims back into focus at some point. He needs to warn them. He needs to get help. He can't stay here. The elevator isn't moving. He needs to press a button. Last he knew, everyone else was in the waiting room still. First floor, right near the ambulance bay. Maybe they all got out. He has no way of knowing. He needs to– a slight tug of the muscles in his stomach whites out his vision. A breath. Another. Focus.
He rolls onto his back so he can see the panel in front of him. He can also see the way his blood is pumping in slow spurts from the ragged hole in his gut. All he would have to do is sit up and he would be eye level with the buttons. Not an option.
Instead Eddie embarks on a slow shift from the middle of the elevator to the wall. About two feet. It feels like hours. Inching across the ground until his vision blacks out or his muscles collapse beneath him and then starting again. The pain is dulled now, not gone, not even less all encompassing, just dimmer. Everything is dimmer. He's running out of time. He throws a blind hand up and it meets cold metal. He can't even see the buttons, but his fingers catch on one and he presses. Anything is better than dying alone in this box.
There's a buzz. The elevator doesn't move, or Eddie can't feel it moving. Before he can try again there's a crackling voice.
"Is anyone there?" The speakers fizz overhead.
"Hello?"
"Sir, this is LAFD. The police have the building locked down."
"I'm LAFD." Eddie replies. His body slumps into the corner, forcing his head up at an awkward angle. At least it's keeping him close to the speaker so they can hear him.
"Sorry, did you say you're LAFD?"
"118." Is all Eddie can muster.
Several crackling clicks is the only response until– "Who's there?"
Hen.
He knows that voice, the frantic but determined edge in her tone.
"Hen." He says out loud this time.
"Eddie? Are you okay? Are you alone? We can't– what's going on in there."
Eddie should be giving her the details. Two gunmen, that he saw, 3rd floor, east wing. But that was ages, and a significant amount of blood loss, ago. It wouldn't do anyone any good now. Now he needed–
"Shot. It's bad. Just me."
"Shot where?" Hen's voice is leveler now than before, all business.
"Lower right quadrant, no exit. It's– um– the blood loss– it's bad." He can taste it on his lips.
"Eddie, we can't get in. I can't–"
"S'okay." Eddie promises. "Is everyone out?"
"Chim and Harry are with me. Ravi and May are in hiding, but we have contact. Athena is stable. But Buck–" a staticky pause.
"You don't know." Of course. A new pain lances through his chest. Of course he's run off to try and save the day.
"He went to find you." Hen's voice cuts sharp at the end, the radio giving out.
"Didn't do a very good job." Eddie wheezes. For just a moment, Eddie can feel with perfect clarity exactly how badly this is going to end for him. The carpet around him is stained sticky and red. With only one limp hand keeping the pressure on his wound, he's barely clinging to consciousness. "Hen." Urgent this time.
"We're working on it, Eddie, just hold on. Keep pressure on the wound. Talk to me, we need you awake."
"M'wake. But–" a ragged inhale that catches and shutters. "Chris. If I– you have to–"
"No, Eddie, don't think like that. Chim is working on it. We'll figure it out, okay, we're coming for you."
"Don't think I can– wait." His eyes close and he can't find the strength to drag them back open.
He drifts for a while. Blank and heavy beneath some kind of weight. It's dark, but he settles easily into the empty space. Then– sharp needles. A voice, angry and frantic. Loud. He pushes against the weight, dragging himself up– out.
"Eddie! Eddie! Hey! You have to wake up. Come on. Eddie! Answer me."
"M'here." He still can't open his eyes. He's not sure where he is anymore, but he forces the words out anyway.
"Stay with me." The voice demands. He wants to listen. He’s good at following commands. He presses against the weight again. He wishes Buck were here to take some of it. Eddie isn't used to having to fight on his own, Buck always takes some of the weight.
"Tell him–" suddenly it's all that matters. He can't leave without saying it. After everything Buck has done for him, the least he deserves is the truth. It's all he has left to leave behind.
There's a faint ding from somewhere.
"Tell Buck–" he tries again. "Love him. Tell him. Please."
The voice that comes doesn't crackle over the speakers. It's all around him. It's everywhere, it's everything.
"Eddie? Oh my god– hey, Eddie, wake up– you have to wake up–"
Eddie opens his eyes to meet Buck's, he never could deny him anything he asks.
"I gotcha, okay, just keep looking at me." Eddie watches Buck's mouth move a little disjointed from the sound of his voice.
Eddie feels the heaviness dragging his eyelids down again, but he blinks them back open. He can do it. Buck's here. He'll take some of the weight.