Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As soon as Hen and Chimney are evacuated, Bobby moves to follow them out. But he notices Buck at the edge of his vision, turning around. Buck goes back into the room where he was trapped with Hen and Chimney and Ravi. Bobby follows curiously, watching Buck enter and close the thick glass door behind him. Maybe Buck accidentally left something behind.

Before Bobby can ask what Buck forgot, Buck wordlessly punches the emergency button. A second glass door, designed specifically for HazMat containment, releases down over the first.

“Whoa, stop, Buck, wait!” Bobby shouts.

The second containment door locks automatically.

Bobby throws out his hands in exasperation. “What are you doing?”

“It’s time for you to go, Bobby,” Buck replies. His voice crackles weakly through the radio system that connects all the firefighter masks.

“What?” Bobby stares hard at the kid. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, Cap. I’m not leaving.”

Bobby takes a step away from the glass in disbelief. Buck isn’t making any sense. It’s over. Bobby and Athena located the cure for rapid-incubation CCHF. Ravi delivered it to Chimney. Chimney is already showing signs of improvement. Hen is already en route to the hospital. Chimney will get sent to a specialized facility so that he can be monitored as he recovers. Ravi will not be charged with counts of international and domestic terrorism. It’s over. They won. But Buck is still here, in the locked heart of this biological nightmare chamber, on the other side of the containment glass. And he is standing so, so still.

Bobby doesn’t understand. He shakes his head and pulls forward, pressing his chest against the glass. His turnouts fold awkwardly against the barrier.

Buck shouldn’t be this still. Buck is never this still. On a good day, it takes a miracle—or a blow to the head—to get Buck to be this still. Why isn’t Buck leaving the hot zone? He should be walking, no, skipping toward the decontamination station set up just outside. He should be ecstatic. He should be—

Bobby slaps both gloved palms against the glass. “What are you saying, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t reply. He won’t meet Bobby’s eyes. He bows his head a little, reaching for the latch on his helmet.

“Buck!” Cold dread spills into the sockets of all of Bobby’s joints. “What are you doing!”

Buck fumbles to release the lock, but he gets it on the second try.

“Put your helmet back on! Kid!”

Buck shakes his head once. He drops the helmet and the mask to the floor.

That’s when Bobby sees it. Blood. There is blood leaking steadily out of Buck’s nose. How did Bobby miss it before? What does it— it can’t— Buck can’t—

“I was born to save somebody’s life,” Buck explains hoarsely. He winces. “My parents thought it would be Daniel’s. Turns out…”

Buck staggers slowly to the closest lab table. He drops his hands heavily onto its surface, steadying himself against it.

“Turns out they were off by one.”

“You can’t save anybody’s life in there, kid,” Bobby argues, feeling himself turn mean. One of his fists pounds against the unforgiving glass. “Get out of there! That’s an order. From your captain!”

Buck’s blue eyes find Bobby’s.

Bobby falters.

Buck says gently, “It’s okay, Bobby. I’m gonna be okay.”

And Bobby’s lungs fail.

Buck tries to readjust his hands on the edge of the lab table. One arm locks straight. The other wobbles. Buck’s legs give out. He collapses, and only barely catches himself with his forearms before his knees hit the floor.

Bobby drops to a crouch, setting both hands on the glass.

“Get out of there,” Bobby begs. “Come out of there.”

With labored coordination, Buck lets his arms fall from the surface of the table. Pressing against the floor, his hands try to prop him up. But he sags onto his ankles, and then nearly tips forward, off-balance.

Buck coughs into his shoulder. “There was a leak in my suit. I was already exposed. Hours ago.” He shakes his head. “Can’t risk anyone else.”

“We’ll get another— we’ll find another cure,” Bobby insists. “Come out so we can get you to a hospital.”

Buck shuffles his bulky suit around until he’s sitting with his back against one of the legs of the table. Slumping with exhaustion, his head dips back to loll against it.

“This isn’t so bad either,” Buck says wearily. “I owe it to her anyway. She deserves— she deserves it anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Bobby sinks to his knees.

A sluggish smile tugs on Buck’s mouth. “It’s called destiny, Cap. I’m saving the other Buckley.”

Chapter Text

Eddie is just going to let the phone vibrate itself off the nightstand. It’s, what, midnight? Chris is living with Eddie now, finally, so Eddie can’t be getting a phone call from his parents about some Chris-related emergency. And Eddie is waking up at 5am to drive early commuters and, obviously, Texas is not all it’s cracked up to be, and, look, Eddie is just going to let the phone commit ritual suicide if it wants to. Eddie is going back to sleep.

But the phone does not fall off the nightstand. And it does not stop vibrating.

Fumbly with exhaustion, Eddie gropes blindly for his phone. He refuses to crack open his eyes, but he can tap to answer by muscle memory alone. Eddie accepts the call, brings the phone to his ear, and mumbles, “Yeah?”

“Hey, Eddie, I’ve got some news.”

That’s Bobby’s voice. Why would Bobby be calling? And why is he talking so fast? Maybe he’s in a hurry on the way to a scene, or something.

“Yeah?” Eddie repeats groggily. “What’s the… news?”

“We don’t—”

But Bobby doesn’t finish the sentence. Eddie waits a beat, but Bobby remains silent.

Eddie props himself up on an elbow. He hears Bobby clear his throat, and immediate understanding cuts through the fog. Bobby is trying to hold himself together. He is trying not to cry.

Eddie’s stomach hits the floor.

“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Bobby takes a shaky breath, then: “We don’t think Buck’s going to make it.”

Eddie bolts upright. He can’t hear whatever Bobby says next. A sound like a tornado siren is whining in his ears, like this is a dream. Oh. Eddie must be dreaming. This is a nightmare.

Eddie digs two knuckles into his own sternum. The pain is dull and radiating. Like a heart attack. Maybe it’s a heart attack.

“And, uh… you—” Bobby’s voice is thick. “You should come if you can.”

Eddie looks frantically around his dark room. He lunges for the light switch, cringing momentarily at the shock to his retinas. He squints in the bright light, already crossing to his closet for an empty backpack.

“What time is—?” Eddie starts to ask, only to realize he left his phone on the bedside table. Eddie turns back, scoops it up, puts it on speaker mode, and checks the clock. 23:37.

“Are there any flights? Can you check?” Eddie says.

“I’m looking right now. Give me a second…”

Eddie shoves his legs into pants, yanks a sweatshirt over his head, and grabs a pair of socks from his dresser drawer. He drops his phone into the pocket of his hoodie, then he whirls through the house, shoving his keys, wallet, and granola bars into the backpack.

Eddie’s eyes catch on Chris’s bedroom door. Oh. Chris. Eddie should take Chris. No. Eddie should not take Chris. Chris would want to go. But Chris shouldn’t see, if Buck’s not going to… Eddie should not take Chris. Maybe when Buck pulls through. If Buck pulls through. When Buck pulls through. Then Chris can come.

Bobby’s small voice pipes up from the pocket on Eddie’s stomach.

“Last red-eye tonight leaves just after midnight local time.”

Eddie stares down the hallway at Chris’s room.

“I can make it,” Eddie decides.

Eddie will call his parents on the way to the airport. They’ll look after Chris. Eddie can speed all the way to the terminal. He can even leave his car in the unloading zone and let it get towed, if that will get him out of this state a little faster. Eddie can sprint to the gate agent, sprint through security, and sprint right onto the plane before the doors are sealed shut.

“No, you can’t.”

An unexpected roughness catches in Eddie’s throat. “I have to—”

“You can’t make that flight, Eddie.”

Eddie stills.

We don’t think Buck’s going to make it.

And Eddie is going to miss— Eddie is going to miss it. Miss him. Eddie isn’t going to be there. But Eddie has to be there.

“You’d just be stuck for six hours waiting on the next one.”

Eddie has to leave. He has to leave now. Maybe he should start driving. What is it, twelve hours to LA? He could get there by eleven local time. That’s soon enough, right?

“Next flight’s in six hours?” Eddie hears himself ask.

Probably a two hour trip. That would put Eddie in LA around 7am local time. That would be faster than driving. And Eddie would have time to explain things to Christopher before he leaves. Not that Eddie wants to explain any of this. God, does Eddie wish he could go there and back before Chris even wakes up in the morning. But it’s about trust, right? Eddie needs to build back trust. Eddie should wake Chris up.

Bobby sighs. “Let me see what they have.”

Eddie’s chaotic panic starts to ebb. In its place, paralyzing dread begins to take root. He feels like he’s watching a sniper take a shot in slow motion. He’s hunched over in the back of an ambulance, diffusing a bomb or saying goodbye to someone he loves. His body is sagging with well water and exhaustion. No, he must have been struck by lightning. He can feel the systems of his body shutting down in turns.

This is it.

We don’t think Buck’s going to make it.

And Eddie won’t either.

Eddie lets his near-empty backpack fall to the floor with a hush. He drops to one knee, sinking to sit back on his ankle. He covers his face with his hands. He swallows a low whine threatening to tear out of his throat. He digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, but the tears can’t be stopped.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Eddie sobs. “Bobby, I have to get there. I have to be there.”

“We’ll get you here,” Bobby says quietly. “I’m getting you a ticket. You’ll get here."

Chapter Text

At 4:17am, Eddie is hovering outside Chris’s door. He needs to tell Chris what is happening. He can’t get himself to turn the doorknob. He doesn’t want to say the words. He wants to wait. It’s stupid to try to prolong it. But Eddie breathes, and waits, and doesn’t move a muscle.

Finally, Eddie lets himself in the silent room. He steps carefully across the floor before sitting on the edge of Chris’s bed. He doesn’t say a word. The fewer words, the better. Or in this case, none at all.

Chris is breathing deeply, sound asleep on his right side. Every couple of breaths, on the inhale, he snores softly. His body is long, almost filling up the bed. He’s gotten so big. A teenager. He is still so small. A teenager.

Eddie can’t bring himself to speak.

Eddie watches the digital clock on the bedside table. A minute ticks by. A second minute goes. 4:29am. His flight will leave in just over two hours. He’ll need to park in a long-term lot before heading to the terminal. Maybe there’s a shuttle he’ll need to take from the lot. He can’t remember. 4:30am. He should leave now. Earlier rather than later. He can’t miss this flight. He can’t miss Buck. 4:31am.

Eddie rises just enough to reach the lamp on the bedside table. He clicks it on, then sits back on the mattress near Chris’s feet.

“Chris,” Eddie says quietly, reaching out a hand. He finds the outline of Chris’s calf under the blanket. “Wake up, mijo.”

After a beat, Chris stirs. Slowly, he leverages himself up with a hand. He looks around. He finds Eddie sitting on the end of his bed, takes a lazy moment to stretch his arms out, and flops back down.

Eddie doesn’t want to do this.

“Something happened and I have to leave. I have to go right now.”

Chris props himself up on an elbow. His scowl is heavy with sleep.

“What happened?” Chris asks.

The fewer words, the better.

“Buck got in an accident at work. He’s not doing too well. And there’s a plane to LA in a couple hours, so…”

Chris works himself up into a sitting position. “Not doing too well?”

Eddie chews on the inside of his lip to keep himself from saying anything. He nods.

“When is the flight?”

“I’m heading out now,” Eddie says. “Your abuelos are—”

Chris shoves away his comforter. He swings his legs off the bed, grabs his crutches, and pulls himself to standing.

Okay, guess the conversation is over.

Eddie shouldn’t be surprised. Four in the morning is a bad time to start a conversation with a Diaz. And Eddie has to get going anyway. He can’t miss this flight.

Chris walks to his dresser.

“Okay,” Eddie sighs. “I’m going to go.”

He puts his hands on his knees, about to stand.

Chris opens a drawer halfway down. “I’ll be out in a second.”

Eddie stills. “I’m not bringing you with me. I can’t right now. Abuelo will be here soon. He’s going to stay—”

“I just need five minutes,” Chris promises, snagging a shirt and closing the drawer.

“You’re not coming, Christopher.”

“I can be ready,” Chris argues. He straightens and levels a glare at Eddie. “I’m coming with you.”

Eddie wants to stay calm, but he feels his anger rising. He stands to keep control, and crosses his arms to keep his frustration locked down.

“You can’t see him like this, alright?”

“Well, that’s not fair.”

“You don’t have a ticket, you don’t have a suitcase—”

“I don’t need anything!”

“Look, please, I just can’t bring you—”

“But he’s mine, too!” Christopher shouts.

Eddie’s heart stops. His cheeks heat with overwhelming shame. The tornado siren is back in his ears, screaming, telling him to take cover. Take cover. It’s coming. It will destroy you.

“It’s like you have no idea,” Chris spits, leaning forward between his crutches. “You have no idea who he is.”

And it will destroy you.

Eddie stares at Chris. He needs a second to think. He needs a second to breathe. He needs to regain some semblance of control.

“Christopher,” Eddie whispers, “that’s my best friend, and he’s dying right now. I have to leave. I’m sorry you can’t come, but I’ll bring you out when I can.”

“Sure.”

Chris moves back to his bed. He drops onto it with a huff. He lets his crutches clatter to the floor.

Eddie bites his tongue and heads for the hallway.

“Tell him something vague from me,” Chris calls after him. “I’m sure it’ll be enough.”

Chapter Text

Eddie stands perfectly still on the sidewalk outside LAX. If he stays absolutely frozen, his adrenaline will fade. He will be calm. Everything will feel normal.

But some instinct in the back of his mind tells him to call Buck to see how far away he is. Eddie even reaches for his phone once before remembering that Buck isn’t coming to pick him up. The nagging voice in his head is the same instinct that told Eddie to ask Buck what Congo-something-fever-whatever meant. That’s what Bobby called it on the phone. And rare diseases are the kind of thing Buck would know something about. But Eddie can’t ask Buck, and Eddie’s brain still hasn’t gotten the memo. Eddie needs his brain to get with the program.

A large SUV eases into the loading lane in front of Eddie. Eddie instinctively takes a step back, dropping his hands from his backpack straps. The driver rolls down the window.

Athena peers across the dashboard at Eddie. “It’s almost a two hour drive. Let’s go.”

Eddie loads himself into the shotgun seat.

As Athena slowly pulls into circulating airport traffic, Eddie removes his backpack. He settles the thing on his lap, buckles his seat belt, and firmly plants his hands back on the canvas straps.

“Why is he so far away?” Eddie asks.

Athena checks traffic over her left shoulder, then changes lanes.

“CDC made a special arrangement at a facility outside the city. Chimney’s there too. That’s why Bobby didn’t call you until late. We were waiting to see if…”

Eddie braces himself. “If what?”

“If Buck would survive the transfer.”

Eddie’s hands tighten on the backpack straps.

Athena crosses to the right lane to exit LAX traffic. “No suitcase?”

No suitcase. What would Eddie have brought? What do you need when your best friend is dying in another state? What do you need to pack when all you need to have is him. Alive.

Eddie feels Athena’s gaze on him. He forces himself to remain calm. Indifferent, even, like this is not the most difficult thing Eddie has ever done.

“How is he?”

“No change.”

They don’t think Buck is going to make it. Buck is going to die. He hasn’t. But he will. Soon. Maybe he’s just waiting for Eddie to arrive. Then he’ll die. And Eddie will be there, just to watch it happen.

Eddie tries to swallow. His throat is too dry.

But no change means he’s not dead yet. Maybe there’s a chance. Buck made it this far. Eddie made it this far. Maybe there’s a chance that they’ll make it a little farther.

Eddie says, “Is no change good?”

Athena shrugs. She squints against the glare of the rising sun. She watches the road vacantly. She scans her rear view mirrors. After exiting the airport traffic, she changes lanes again.

Eddie wonders if she has slept. He hasn’t.

Athena says flatly: “He’s unlikely to recover. So no change means it’s going to take a while.”

It’s going to take a while for him to die.

Which is like a punch to the gut.

“And there’s nothing they can do? No vaccine?”

Athena dips her head, hesitating briefly. “Chimney got a dose—”

“Chimney is infected too?”

Athena shoots him a look. “Yes, Chimney and Buck. Bobby told you that.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue that, no, Bobby didn’t mention that, but… Bobby may have mentioned it. Eddie starts to reach for his phone. He needs to ask Buck if Bobby mentioned it and Eddie just forgot. Then Eddie remembers that no text is going to get through. He abandons the search for his phone. His fingers return to gripping the canvas backpack straps.

“Chimney got a vaccine,” Eddie repeats, trying to distract himself, “and he’s— is he okay? Why can’t Buck try that?”

Athena shakes her head. “There was one dose.”

“Which Chimney got because…?” Eddie presses.

After a beat of heavy silence, the realization dawns on him.

“Oh, don’t tell me.”

“Buck didn’t tell anyone he’d been infected.”

Eddie watches it play out like a movie in his mind, like he was there to see it all unfold. He pictures the look of surprise on Buck’s face as he realizes he was exposed. But the expression is fleeting, quickly overridden by grit and determination. Buck decides to focus on the task at hand, the emergencies that require his immediate attention. For hours in silence, Buck shoves aside his own suffering, ignores his own pain, just to help his family get the care that they need. For Buck, it’s an easy thing.

“So Chimney would just take the dose without a fight,” Eddie realizes aloud.

Athena nods slowly. “That’s right.”

Sudden heartache hollows Eddie out like a cannonball to the chest.

“That’s Buck."

Chapter Text

Athena pulls up to the curb and brakes, idling there.

“Are you going to park?” Eddie asks.

“I can’t go in.”

“They won’t let you?”

Eddie turns to his window, scanning the entrance of the building. It doesn’t look overly secure. Nobody is in army fatigues. Eddie can make out the shape of a security guard standing just inside the glass double doors, but there’s no parking lot attendant or anything. And this place wouldn’t let Athena in?

“I can’t,” Athena enunciates deliberately, “go in.”

Oh.

Eddie unbuckles his seat belt, slides out his door, and turns back to say something. Maybe a thank you, maybe something reassuring.

But Athena’s watery eyes are glaring at Eddie, daring him to break her composure. His gratitude dies in his throat.

“Tell Bobby I’m waiting,” she says.

Eddie nods once and shuts the door. He walks up the short path leading to a wide, squat building. Before he can reach the entrance, Maddie is pushing through one glass door to greet him. She waves Eddie in.

Inside, the security guard puts a sticker that says VISITOR on Eddie’s shirt. Maddie is already wearing a matching one. Eddie is then subject to a quick inspection, with a pass through a metal detector and an investigation of any food he brought with him. The security guard confiscates his granola bars and empty water bottle, saying he can get his stuff back when he leaves.

Eddie doesn’t question it. He doesn’t care. He walks with Maddie down a hallway to the right.

“Has anything changed?” Eddie prompts her.

Maddie nods. “As of this morning, they’re trying to synthesize something. Some kind of treatment from Chimney’s blood because he got a vaccine. They think maybe… he received it recently enough that maybe—”

Maddie rounds a corner. Eddie follows, nearly running into a couple of people chatting casually in the middle of the hallway. Eddie huffs around them. As Eddie leaves them behind, one of them sounds disgruntled. Eddie doesn’t care.

“I don’t know,” Maddie is still saying. “Tarik has been working on it for a couple hours already. He’s the main guy I’ve talked to. I’m not sure what his title is exactly.”

Maddie and Eddie arrive at an elevator somewhere near the back of the building. Maddie punches the down button. Seems a little aggressive for her. Eddie raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t comment.

“He said it’s a long shot.”

Or a Hail Mary, Eddie thinks. Ave Maria.

Maddie rests her hands on her pregnant belly. “Was the flight okay?”

What does it matter.

“It was fine.”

“And the drive with Athena?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

The elevator doors open. Eddie and Maddie wordlessly step inside the empty box. The doors close. Maddie takes a deep breath, gently pushes the B button, and returns to idly rubbing her belly. There is a tremble in her movements.

Eddie wonders how long she has been here. How much she has slept. Is anyone here to take care of her?

The elevator starts going down.

“How are you holding up?” Eddie asks quietly.

Maddie lets out a breathy chuckle. “It never gets any easier.”

Eddie turns toward her, frowning.

In an instant, Maddie’s forced smile breaks. She covers her mouth with one hand to stifle a sob.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Without a second’s hesitation, Eddie steps forward and tugs Maddie into a crushing hug. He feels her tense, and Eddie is about to let go and stutter an apology, but then Maddie shifts her arms to wrap around his waist. She squeezes tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

Eddie’s chin finds the top of Maddie’s head. He can feel her fingers gripping at his back through his shirt.

“Gonna be alright,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay.”

The Lord is with thee.

“Bobby said—” Maddie huffs between muffled sobs, “Buck was saving me. Saving Howie for me.”

The elevator arrives on the basement level. The doors open. Eddie doesn’t move. Maddie doesn’t either. After several seconds, the doors close.

Eddie dips his head and presses his lips to Maddie’s hair. He is not going to break. He is going to hold Maddie together, or let her fall apart, because everything Eddie is feeling can wait. Eddie knows how to do this. He can be this. Somebody’s brother was the first thing Eddie learned how to be.

Maddie shakes her head against Eddie’s chest. “He didn’t tell anyone. He just decided, all on his own.”

“Hey, if I know Buck, that was the easiest call he ever made. No question. He loves you so much.”

Maddie sags into Eddie, and he remains solid. He is dependable. He is somebody’s brother. Hers, maybe. After an aching minute, Maddie starts to withdraw. Eddie lets her go.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She swipes at her cheeks with a flat hand. With her fingertips, she tries to neaten the smudged mascara under her eyes. Abruptly, her desolate expression flips into annoyance. “I mean, I’m going to kill him for doing this to me again.”

That startles a laugh out of Eddie.

Blessed art thou among women.

Maddie hiccups a laugh too. She takes a deep breath, nods at Eddie, and presses the B button again. The doors open into a bright hallway.

Directly in front of them, there is glass wall bordering a large laboratory. A couple of people in white lab coats seem to be doing scientific things in there. Eddie’s attention pulls to the right as somebody exits one office down the hall, crosses the corridor, and enters another room, calling out to someone named Svetlana.

Maddie steers Eddie out and to the left.

Maddie clears her throat. “Buck isn’t alert. They have him in a coma. It’s his best chance of living long enough to try the synthesized— the— the whatever—”

“The Hail Mary,” Eddie offers.

Holy Mary, Mother of God.

Maddie looks up at him. “Yeah.”

“And Chimney’s getting better?”

Maddie looks at the floor.

“Yeah,” she whispers, like a confession. Like she’s ashamed of it.

Pray for us sinners.

“He’s doing really well.”

Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but Maddie stops outside a glass-panel room at the end of the hall. One of the panels is a sliding door. On the other side of the door is Bobby, perched on a chair facing away from Eddie.

Eddie freezes in place. He feels the air pressure around him drop. There’s a whining in his ears, the sound of a distant wind or an emergency siren.

Mother of God, take cover. It is coming to destroy you.

Bobby’s elbows are resting on the mattress of a pristine hospital bed. His hands are folded together in front of his face. His head is bowed.

Pray for us sinners.

And lying comatose in the bed is Buck.

Now and at the hour of our death.

Chapter Text

Eddie steels himself, then slides open the door to Buck’s room. It is small and cramped. He takes one step across the threshold.

Buck’s skin is mottled with bruises. There are dark red and purple splotches on his arms and the side of his neck. There’s a spot on Buck’s right temple, a gruesome mirror of his birthmark. It’s probably a result of the hemorrhagic part of the whatever fever.

Bobby speaks up somewhere nearby: “Oh, hey.”

Buck is intubated, again, getting high flow oxygen straight into his lungs. The IV drip in his arm is providing fluids and nutrients. But it’s just palliative care until Tarik comes up with a Hail Mary.

A solid, careful figure eases into Eddie’s line of sight.

Buck doesn’t look right. His chest rises and falls regularly. Steady breaths… but the rate is too fast. That’s what it is. The rest of Buck looks like he should be peacefully sleeping, but his breaths are too fast. Just slightly. It’s eerie. It makes Buck look like he’s in a nightmare, running for his life.

Eddie feels like he’s in nightmare. Fighting for his life.

“You got here okay?” Bobby asks in a low voice.

Eddie finally looks at him.

Bobby stands right in front of him. He looks empty with exhaustion.

“Athena’s waiting out front for you,” Eddie reports.

Bobby considers him. Then— “Okay. Alright. We’re going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

Eddie’s gaze returns to Buck.

“Okay, Eddie. You won’t need PPE. The rapid incubation means he’s not contagious anymore. And there are some people in the lab… you probably saw them. If anything happens, tell them. Otherwise… just talk to him. I know he’s glad you’re here.”

The tornado siren is back in Eddie’s ears, begging this time. Pleading. But it’s too late to take cover. It is here. It is here to destroy him.

Bobby’s hand finds Eddie’s shoulder, then it’s gone. The door slides closed behind Eddie. And Eddie is alone with Buck.

Eddie crosses his arms, furrows his brow. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Eddie wasn’t supposed to be in Texas in the first place. Buck wasn’t supposed to do anything stupid in the second. And none of them should be in the basement of a CDC facility just outside the city. It’s not right. It’s not real.

Eddie studies the room around him. There are digital cardiac and respiratory monitors on dual screens nearby. There’s a locked drawer cabinet on wheels, probably stocked with drugs or medical equipment. There’s the chair Bobby was sitting in, and another one on the opposite wall, under a painting of a flower meadow.

Eddie can’t imagine this room gets a lot of use. Surely there are not many victims of—what amounts to—biological warfare needing direct supervision by the CDC outside the Los Angeles area.

Buck is breathing too fast in the pristine hospital bed.

This is real. Buck is here. Eddie needs to talk to him.

Eddie looks at the floor before walking to the foot of Buck’s bed. He clears his throat, sliding his hands into his pockets. He isn’t supposed to be here. Maybe he should have let Chris come by himself. Chris would know what to say. He would know how to be brave.

“Chris sends his love,” Eddie starts softly. “He wishes he could be here, but I didn’t, um…”

Eddie scratches an itch behind his left ear.

I didn’t want him to see you like this again. Or see me like this again.

“He was pissed,” Eddie adds, wincing through a laugh. He slips his hand back into his pants pocket. He rocks on his heels once, staring at the empty chair where Bobby had been sitting.

“He thinks I’m pretty stupid. I must not know who you are because I’m an idiot.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, then lowers himself into the chair. He sinks forward, letting his elbows rest on the tops of his thighs. His hands meet in front of him, fidgeting.

“What he doesn’t realize is I’m actually a coward.”

Eddie slides his palms together, pressing them flat.

“My whole life, I thought if I did difficult things, I could prove that I wasn’t. So I did as— as many of them as I could find.”

Becoming a father. Becoming a husband. Going to war. Moving back stateside only to take a job that kept him away from his kid for days at a time. Even dating Ana and Marisol, who didn’t feel easy, simply because they didn’t feel easy. Eddie has always done the hard thing because it was the right thing, or even just to prove that he could operate through the pain. That’s what real men do, so that’s what Eddie does.

Eddie huffs a pained laugh.

“I spent so long making tough choices and then… you were something I could just have. Easily.”

Buck was easy to love. And Buck made life easy to live. And settling into something that easy would have been wrong.

Eddie smiles, a self-deprecating grimace. “Well, I couldn't allow that. So I made this whole thing messy and hard instead. But I’m not stupid.”

Eddie leans forward, finally looking at Buck’s face, desperate to see a flicker of recognition in his slack features. Eddie reaches out for Buck’s closest hand, faintly warm and clammy. Eddie wraps it in his grip, squeezing urgently. Buck needs to hear these words.

“I’m not oblivious. I know there’s something here. I know it. You have to keep going so I can tell you that I know. I’m not an idiot. I’m just scared.”

Eddie has tried to be brave and alone. He thought he had to be brave and alone. But he doesn’t. He’s never been brave. And since he met Buck, he hasn’t been alone.

Eddie has never asked for anything. He has never wanted anything. But he needs this. He has always needed this.

Eddie unfolds his hands and presses his mouth to Buck’s palm.

“Stay a little longer,” he whispers, “just for me. Let me have one easy thing.”

Chapter Text

Cold air conditioning. Nasal cannula. Thin sheets. A well worn knit blanket. The faint smell of something that’s almost rubbing alcohol, but not quite.

Even with his eyes closed, Buck knows exactly where he is.

Buck hums. The vibration sets off something rough in his throat. His throat hurts. It’s dry. Oh. Buck recognizes the feeling from being intubated before, during his coma. Has he… is he in another coma? He clears his throat, coughing a little. There’s no tube in his airway.

“That’s it,” Maddie encourages softly, “come on out of it.”

Maybe he’s coming out of a coma. He cracks an eyelid, trying to make out the shape of Maddie against the fluorescent lights. It’s too bright. He hates fluorescent lights. He hates hospitals. He scrunches his face, giving up on looking at Maddie.

He clears his throat again and groans with exhaustion. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Suddenly the pillow is yanked out from behind him. Buck’s head drops ten degrees and slams into the mattress. He opens both eyes just in time to see a puffy, white shape come hurtling toward his nose.

The pillow whaps into his face with an all-encompassing poof.

“You can’t keep doing this?” Maddie shrieks incredulously.

The pillow is immediately withdrawn. Buck catches a glimpse of Maddie winding up to swing again, and he lifts his arms to block. They feel like they weigh a ton, but he manages to raise them in front of his face.

Maddie changes course at the last second and thumps the pillow onto Buck’s stomach.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” she demands, hard and unforgiving.

Buck slowly lowers his arms, blinking away a couple of dark spots in his vision. He moves cautiously to attempt to reach the pillow on his lap.

“Um. I feel like you could—”

Maddie jerks the pillow off Buck’s lap, out of his reach. She folds it into her crossed arms.

“—be a little nicer about it—”

“I was nice the first two times you woke up.”

Buck flinches. “I don’t remember that.”

“I was also nice every other time you ended up here, and look where that’s gotten us.”

Buck hesitantly meets Maddie’s gaze. Her eyes are welling with tears. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days. She is squeezing the pillow in front of her so hard that Buck is concerned it might actually pop.

Buck shrinks. “I’m sorry.”

Maddie chews on the inside of her lip. “Yeah, well, I’m trying a new parenting style.”

Buck opens his mouth to clarify, but he gets a face full of pillow. He takes a deep breath through his nose, grateful for the nasal cannula feeding him oxygen. Maddie reels back, winds up, and whaps him again. Buck manages to block that one with a weak hand. But when she withdraws and winds up to hit him again, both of Buck’s arms turn practically boneless. Maddie gets in a whap with the pillow. Now, Buck’s arms are barely responding to him. Unable to physically block Maddie’s pillow, Buck shuts his eyes, curls up, and appeals to her logic.

Whap!

“You’re blocking my airway!” Buck tries.

Whap!

“You’re on oxygen!” she snaps.

“Oh-kay!” a new voice interjects.

The whaps stop abruptly.

Buck opens his eyes. Maddie is frozen, pillow poised to strike. Fresh tears are streaming down her cheeks. She’s staring at something across the room.

Slowly, Buck follows Maddie’s gaze until he finds… Eddie, standing in the open doorway of Buck’s glass-panel hospital room. Eddie. Cool and collected. Freshly shaven. Eddie, who lives in El Paso now, but is here. Here with one hand is in the front pocket of his jeans, all casual. The other hand is outstretched toward Maddie, placating and reasonable. And he’s wearing— hang on, that looks like one of Buck’s long sleeved t-shirts. It hangs a little loose off the shoulders, but drapes so nicely. And… does the dark green color look better on Eddie? And Eddie lives in El Paso now.

Is this another trippy coma dream?

“Maybe let’s put the weapon down, okay?” Eddie suggests.

Maddie shoots a glare at Buck, then looks back to Eddie.

Eddie nods at the bed. Maddie tosses the pillow onto Buck’s legs, then marches toward Eddie.

As quickly as his feeble body will let him, Buck bends forward to retrieve the pillow.

“We’ll finish this conversation later, Evan,” Maddie throws over her shoulder.

“No, it seems finished!” Buck calls after her. She stalks out the door. “I got— I got the message—”

Maddie jerks the sliding door shut with a click.

Chapter Text

Then it’s just Buck and Eddie, alone.

“Am I dead,” Buck groans, letting his head sag back against the mattress.

Eddie puffs a breath out of his nose, a sound that could be mistaken for a half laugh by someone else. Buck knows better.

“No, but you gave it your best shot.”

Buck struggles to wrap his arms around his pillow. Both his hands are tingling like they’ve fallen asleep. Buck’s brain might be headed that way too. He feels like he donated too much blood, like, way more than they normally take. His temples ache. His stomach is cramping with nausea or hunger or, well, no, it just feels like pain. And his muscles have the structural integrity approximately comparable to that of a chocolate eclair.

What happened to Buck?

Maddie is pissed. Eddie is here. Eddie, who lives in El Paso now. So Buck must have been in bad shape. Buck is pretty sure he was intubated, at least for a little while. But why?

A fragmented memory returns to Buck abruptly: watching Chimney, on the ground, propped up against something, with a tube in his nose. Dim lights overhead. Hard breaths through an SCBA mask. And sharp pressure behind Buck’s eyeballs that he can’t… he can’t place. He doesn’t remember. All he knows is Chimney was in trouble.

“How’s Chimney?”

Eddie crosses his arms casually. “Better than you. He’s in his own room across the hall.”

And Eddie is here. Eddie, who lives in El Paso now. But surely Buck is not in El Paso. Buck must be in LA, because Maddie and Chimney are here too, which means Eddie came to him.

“We’re in LA?” Buck confirms.

“Mm hm.”

Buck flushes with embarrassment. Eddie came because Buck was dying, but Buck is pretty much always dying, especially with Eddie gone these days, and there’s nothing special about it anymore.

“Sorry you came all the way out here,” Buck mumbles. “For nothing.”

“For nothing?” Eddie scoffs. “What do you think this is?”

It’s not anything. Not anymore. Not that it ever was. In any case, Eddie moved away. Eddie should move on.

“I just mean you don’t live here anymore.”

Eddie doesn’t reply.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Eddie points over his shoulder. “Well, if you’d rather finish your conversation with Maddie, I can go get her.”

Buck tightens his weak grip on the pillow. “Very funny.”

Discoloration on Buck’s forearm catches his attention. At first, Buck thinks the faintly purple spot must be a bruise from a failed IV start, but it’s not in the right place. Buck turns his arm over, and there are more splotches all around. On his other arm too. Like some sort of bleeding problem. Bleeding under the skin, and probably out of the eyes or nose—

Hemorrhagic. The facility with the dim lights and the containment glass and… hemorrhagic fever. That’s what it was. Rapid-incubating Crimean-Congo Hemorrhagic Fever. Bioengineered super ebola. Chimney was exposed, and Buck was exposed, and Chimney got the dose but Buck— Buck was pretty sure he was going to die trapped behind that biohazard containment glass.

Overwhelming grief comes out of nowhere. Buck struggles to swallow a sob that lodges quickly in his throat.

He was prepared to die, all alone, and it would have been bad but it would have been okay because Chimney was going to be okay. Maddie was going to be alright. And Eddie doesn’t live here anymore.

Except Eddie is here.

Buck looks at him.

Eddie’s mask of casual detachment drops instantly. Eddie’s gaze softens, and even though tears are welling up in Buck’s eyes, Buck feels like he’s coming home.

Eddie takes a deep breath, uncrosses his arms, and moves toward Buck. At Buck’s bedside, Eddie wordlessly tugs the pillow out of Buck’s grip. Buck tracks Eddie’s movements with quiet wonder—Eddie is here—as Eddie fluffs the pillow and takes a step toward the head of Buck’s mattress. Oh. Eddie is offering to put Buck’s pillow back.

Buck tries to lean forward to accommodate Eddie. He lifts his head off the mattress, crunches his stomach and— and barely gets himself leveraged upright. Shit. He has to brace himself with his arms to keep himself from collapsing back. He hasn’t felt this weak in— well, since the last time he was in a coma. This was a coma, right?

As soon as Eddie settles the pillow behind Buck’s head, the rest of Buck’s body starts to fail. He is too exhausted to stay upright, but Eddie’s warm hand slides against Buck’s spine, holding him up. Eddie keeps Buck in place with one hand, finishes scrunching the pillow under Buck’s back and neck with the other, and then eases Buck into a reclining position.

Buck’s eyes slowly close. Eddie’s hand lingers on the back of Buck’s neck, warm and solid. Buck wants Eddie’s hand to stay there forever. But Eddie squeezes gently, then withdraws completely. Buck feels cold.

Buck opens his eyes, fighting to stay awake. He hums, and that scratch catches again in his throat.

“What happened?” Buck says, blinking a couple times. “With me, I mean.”

Eddie retreats to the foot of Buck’s bed. He crosses his arms and scrutinizes Buck carefully.

“You remember some of it?” Eddie guesses.

“Super ebola. Everyone evacuated but me.”

Eddie nods. “You’ve been in a coma for a couple days.”

Then Eddie waits expectantly.

Buck knows Eddie is giving him time to process the news. But it doesn’t mean much to him. It should, right? Normal people don’t ever go into comas. Definitely not twice in one lifetime.

“Two comas in two years,” Buck muses, “so I must be pretty good at them now.”

“The doctors said you were a natural,” Eddie agrees.

“I— I should probably incorporate them into a health regimen of some kind.”

“Like a juice cleanse.”

“Exactly!” Buck grins lazily. “But a… a monthly coma.”

“I don’t think Maddie would stand for it.”

Buck considers this. “Yes, I agree. We’d have to—”

“I would also not stand for it.”

And that hits Buck like a physical blow. Bitter anger ignites in his chest.

Sure, Eddie can move to El Paso whenever he wants without considering other options like—just spit-balling here—moving Christopher back to LA. Or temporarily visiting El Paso, just long enough to reestablish a good relationship with Chris, and then move everyone back. Sure, Eddie can punish himself by giving up his career and his friends and his— well— he gave up Buck, is what he did, but even after all of that, Eddie thinks he has a right to Buck’s life? Even though Buck is no longer in Eddie’s?

Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t live here anymore. You don’t get a vote.”

Eddie stills.

Maybe Buck shouldn’t have said that. It isn’t nice to say. But it is true, isn’t it? Buck gives, and gives, and it’s never enough. People still leave. Eddie still left. And that’s okay. Buck can handle it. Eddie just isn’t allowed to judge whatever Buck does on his own.

“Does Christopher get a vote?” Eddie asks.

There it is.

That’s the thing they never talk about: Eddie’s will. Buck becomes Chris’s legal guardian if anything ever happens to Eddie. And maybe Eddie could have—should have—changed his will when he moved back to Texas, but Buck knows he didn’t. Evan Buckley is still invoked there, in neat print on a crisp white page.

It’s not fair.

A wave of exhaustion crashes into Buck.

It’s not fair that Buck knows exactly what Eddie and Christopher mean to him, and Eddie has no idea. Eddie lives in El Paso now, and Buck has to let him go.

Heavy lethargy creeps up Buck’s ankles, his knees, his hips.

“You’re tired,” Eddie decides softly, crossing to the door. “I’ll let you rest.”

Buck blinks slowly. He knows that isn’t right. Eddie is finally here, in the same room as Buck, after hundreds of miles of distance and video calls that were never enough, and Buck is saying the wrong thing? Buck is letting Eddie go? Again?

Buck’s head lolls on the mattress.

“Stay,” Buck pleads. “A little longer.”

Eddie’s hand drops from the door handle. “Okay.”

Drowsiness tugs on Buck’s chest, his head, his eyelids. It wants to take him away. But Eddie is here. Buck can’t let Eddie leave. They can’t be apart, not even for a minute.

Buck watches Eddie sink into the chair next to the bed. Buck nods. Eddie is here.

“You should sleep,” Eddie says.

Mm. Sleep. Maybe. But Eddie is here.

“You know, you’ve got it backwards,” Eddie whispers, leaning forward on the seat. “This is the only place I live anymore. The farther I get from here, the less I feel alive.”

“I feel less alive,” Buck agrees, closing his eyes, “the farther I get from you.”

Chapter Text

Buck comes back around a couple hours later. He drifts awake to the sound of Bobby reading aloud from a book, something about a guy in a spaceship having conversations with a rock. Or perhaps with a hologram of Rocky from the movie Rocky. Buck isn’t totally sure which.

Athena is there too, and the three of them exchange pleasantries or whatever you call it when this isn’t your first time in a hospital—heck, it’s not even your first time waking up from a coma—to a bunch of worried faces asking how you feel. At Buck’s insistence, they help him video call Karen and Hen. Hearing from them is a balm, though Buck starts to feel conscientious of the worrying about him. It’s not bad, really, it’s nice; he knows his people care about him. He hasn’t always had that. It’s just a lot.

Still, Buck isn’t nearly as exhausted this time around. When Maddie and Chimney wander in from his room across the hall, Buck can’t help but swing his legs off the edge of his bed and yank each of them into a hug.

One of the lab techs comes in after a few minutes to introduce himself as Tarik. With Athena and Bobby and Maddie and Chimney all loitering nearby, Tarik asks Buck a dozen questions about his overall physical and mental state. Tarik makes copious notes in a chart on a laptop he brought with him, takes Buck’s vitals at least three times, and leaves again without explaining much of anything.

It’s only after Tarik leaves that Buck realizes Chimney isn’t in a hospital gown.

“They letting you out of here?” Buck asks, leaning back in his bed.

Chimney sits in one of the chairs, Athena in the other. Maddie perches on the armrest of Chimney’s. Bobby leans over the foot of Buck’s bed, resting his hands on the plastic frame.

Chimney nods. “I never went comatose, so I’m all checked out.”

“Good,” Buck grins, “get out of here, then.”

“Just lunch for now,” Maddie says. “The facility doesn’t allow food on this floor, so we’re all heading out to eat. Tell us what you want, and we can bring it back to you.”

“I thought you said they don’t let food on this floor.”

Chimney explains obviously, “Yeah, so we dump you in a wheelchair and take you outside for a picnic.”

Buck knows that Chim is joking about the picnic part, but that sounds… really nice. Sunshine, food, and all the people he loves.

“Is Eddie going with you too?” Buck asks, trying not to look at anything. Nobody has mentioned him since Buck woke up this time.

“At this very moment, he is outside on the phone,” Bobby says with a knowing look.

Chimney swipes through the air with an annoyed hand. “This place has terrible service.”

“He’s getting Chris on a plane tonight,” Athena explains, leaning forward in her chair, “to come see you.”

Buck tries to hide his excitement with a casual nod. He is desperate to see Chris again. He wonders how fast he can get cleared and get out of this fancy CDC facility. He needs to move back into Eddie’s house so he can make Chris some homecooked meals before… before he has to return to El Paso. Right, Eddie and Chris are only going to be here who-knows-how-much longer. Their time together is going to be so short. Buck wants to make the most of it.

Maddie steps to the edge of Buck’s bed. He flinches, bracing for another pillow attack, but she wraps one hand around his shoulders and squeezes him in a half-hug.

“Just text us what you want us to grab for you,” she repeats.

The flock of them moves toward the door, Chimney a bit slower than the rest. Buck waves them off. Just as Maddie starts to close the sliding door behind them, Eddie is there at her shoulder, tapping once to get her attention. Buck watches curiously, but Eddie and Maddie don’t seem to say anything at all; she just lets him pass, and he slips inside Buck’s room. He gingerly slides the door closed, turns on his heel, and hesitantly meets Buck’s gaze.

They are alone again. Eddie is here, and Buck isn’t dead, and Eddie is even bringing Chris out to visit him. Of course, Eddie and Chris will leave again soon because they live in El Paso now, but they’ll have a few breaths together. Maybe one more memory. That’s something.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks.

Buck is really tired of that question. He was already tired of it the last time he came out of a coma, and it’s all everybody has been asking this time, too.

“Please don’t ask me that.”

“Yep.” Eddie shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. They look like Buck’s jeans.

“Are you wearing my clothes?”

Eddie, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. “Yep.”

“Okay.”

Eddie catalogs the room for several seconds, then says, “So, Maddie explained everything about… the rest of what happened to you?”

“No. Tarik came in, though.”

“Oh. So he explained everything.”

“No.”

“Oh. Do you have… questions?”

This is bizarre. This is officially weird. Maybe it’s Buck’s fault because he has missed Eddie so much and now Eddie is here. Eddie is here, and Buck is making it weird.

Buck shakes his head to clear it.

“So— so how did I get better, exactly?” Buck asks, just to take Eddie up on his offer and try to be normal. “Did they find another vaccine for me?”

Eddie crosses to the foot of Buck’s bed. He nods confidently, like he’s grateful for the task.

“Some of the lab techs managed to synthesize a treatment program for you, so you got dosed while you were under.”

“I’m cured.” Buck hesitates. “I’m— I am, right?”

“Your liver is going to hate you for the rest of your life, but yeah. Tarik is worried about other chronic issues, blood disorders, stuff like that. But you might make a full recovery.”

Buck’s stomach flips. “Might?”

He might not make a full recovery?

“You’re a guinea pig.” Eddie shrugs. “This is uncharted territory.”

Buck feels nauseous.

What if he can’t go back to work? Eddie isn’t firefighting right next to Buck anymore and Buck feels like he’s operating with one arm tied behind his back. With Eddie gone and a new blood disorder—Buck’s already had one, and it sucked, thanks but no thanks—and a liver that hates him, then Buck can forget about working in the field. The fire department will put him on light duty or make him transfer, or he’ll have to quit and find something else to do. Something else he’s good at. And he’s not good at anything else. This is the only thing he’s ever wanted to be.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs. He sinks onto the mattress, next to Buck’s feet. He reaches out a hand for Buck’s left shin. He lets it rest there, on top of the thin, knit blanket, and his thumb idly strokes Buck’s leg.

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Eddie says softly. “We’ve been in uncharted territory before.”

That’s true. Eddie is right. Okay. Buck needs to clear his brain. He needs information. The more he learns, the more he can prepare for recovery.

So Buck clarifies, “But I have… permanent liver damage?”

“Ah—” Eddie waves a casual hand— “if it was really bad, I’d have given you half of mine.”

Buck starts to laugh politely, but Eddie’s expression is sincere.

Buck’s laugh dies in his throat. “Right.”

“Right.”

Buck frowns, confused. Eddie narrows his eyes. Too late, Buck tries to school his expression.

Eddie draws back haughtily. “Oh, like you wouldn’t be lucky to have half my liver?”

Buck opens his mouth.

“My liver is in great condition,” Eddie insists. He leans back, putting his hands on the bed behind him. “Well, decent condition. Maybe I drink too much for— Look, it’s in okay condition. It’s better than yours, alright? I didn’t get super ebola. Take it or leave it.”

Buck closes his mouth.

Eddie seems satisfied. “That’s right.”

“Right,” Buck repeats weakly.

Okay, it’s definitely not just Buck making this weird. Eddie is being weird.

Eddie suddenly stands and paces around the small room. He stops to admire the flower painting on the wall.

“Maybe if you stopped making bad choices, you wouldn’t almost need my liver.”

“Woah, hey,” Buck interjects, sitting up a little straighter in bed. “This was not a, a bad choice. It was Chim or me. Come on, you can do that math.”

Eddie turns his glare on Buck. “I’ve never been very good at math.”

Which almost makes Buck laugh, except Eddie looks so angry.

Buck only means that it’s not a big deal. Look, it happened, it’s over. Yes, it would have sucked to die, but it’s better that Chimney and, by extension, Maddie, didn’t have to worry about that eventuality. Buck is certainly very grateful that he also made it out alive, but he has grown up a lot too. He knows how to believe in something greater than himself. In this case, it was Maddie’s, and Jee-Yun’s, and the new baby’s futures.

Eddie should understand that. Doesn’t he always put Chris above everything and everyone else?

Buck tries again: “If someone has to go—”

“It should be you?”

“I don’t— I don’t have a family waiting on m—”

“Seriously?” Eddie cuts in with deadly precision. “What do you think this is?”

“Something you never say out loud,” Buck snaps matter-of-factly.

Eddie’s mouth clicks shut.

There it is.

Eddie stills, minutely straightening his tense shoulders. A cool, collected mask meticulously neutralizes his features.

“That’s what I thought,” Buck whispers. “You have no idea, do you.”

“Believe it or not, I did all of it on purpose.”

That makes Buck pause. What is that supposed to mean? Eddie knows exactly what this is?

“It wasn’t an accident, putting you in my will.”

“And neither was pushing me away?” Buck digs.

Eddie’s gaze grows distant, but his mouth firmly remains a flat line. “Nope.”

Buck falters.

Eddie meant to push Buck away. That means Eddie understood… all of it. He knew what he was doing when he put space between them. Eddie knew that he was ending something before it could begin.

It’s out in the open now: Eddie doesn’t want anything to begin. Buck doesn’t know where that leaves him, except right back at the start, barely alive and so far from Eddie. Eddie, who lives in El Paso now.

Buck’s throat has gone dry. He swallows, apprehensive. He wants to be sure what Eddie is saying. He has to be certain, even if it hurts.

“What do you think this is?” Buck asks hoarsely.

“Something that’s gonna destroy me.”

Buck feels his stomach plummet.

Message received. Eddie doesn’t want him, and saying it out loud would destroy their friendship. Okay. Buck can understand that. Eddie needs Buck to be his friend, so Buck can do that. Buck can forget the rest of it.

Buck blinks rapidly, trying to prevent tears from gathering in his eyes. Okay.

“I don’t want to destroy you,” Buck says, letting Eddie go.

Eddie’s eyes widen. The mask whips right off his face.

“No, that’s not—! Oh—” Eddie puts his hands on his hips and sighs at the ground. “Shit. I have to explain something.”

Buck can’t really hear Eddie over the heartbreak in his ears, but sure. Buck’s heart is barely beating, but sure. Eddie wants to explain. Buck can make it through this.

“Okay. Short version.”

Buck braces himself. At least it’ll be quick.

“I’m a coward. All the way down to my bones. So if I start letting myself have the things that I want, then then it’s going to destroy that guy I used to be. I can’t be him anymore. But I don’t want to.”

Buck opens his mouth, then closes it again. Finally— “This is not— this isn’t making more sense to me.”

“I don’t know who I’m going to turn into once I let myself have you.”

Buck blinks.

I don’t know who I’m going to turn into.

Buck’s heart skips a beat.

Once I let myself have you.

Suddenly Buck deflates, practically doubling over with relief. Giddy joy erupts in his chest.

He composes himself just enough to quip, “Well, Eddie, I hope he’s a better communicator than you."

Eddie makes an indignant sound. Buck breaks his composure and laughs. Eddie lunges for Buck’s bed and swipes the pillow out from behind Buck’s head. Buck's head hits the mattress and he laughs again. Eddie whaps him once. Buck lifts his hands, catching the pillow on Eddie’s second swing.

Buck admires Eddie’s embarrassed expression. He looks so annoyed.

Buck grins. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Eddie yanks the pillow away from Buck and tosses it over his shoulder. He folds one knee on the edge of Buck’s mattress, leans forward, and slides a hand around to the back of Buck's neck. Eddie tugs, tilting Buck's head back.

Buck gazes up. Eddie is here. Buck's hands settle on Eddie's hips, his fingers twist into the belt loops on Eddie's jeans. Buck's jeans. Buck could get used to this. He likes the look of Eddie wrapped up in him.

“That is really great news,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Buck close. “Because I want to have you.”