#5b speculation

He can visibly see Eddie struggle to draw himself together as he turns away to walk to his bedroom, and with his heart in his throat, Buck follows him. 

It doesn’t escape him that Eddie doesn’t reply but it also doesn’t escape him the trust Eddie’s putting in him by showing him his back, especially with how scared he still is.

The white-knuckled grip on the bat only proves it — he hasn’t let his guard down enough to let go of the makeshift weapon, but he has enough to let Buck in. 

“Eddie,” he says quietly as he watches the other man lower himself to the ground in front of the footboard, his knees cracking loudly in the still house. 

Buck takes in the state of Eddie’s room. The bed looks rumpled, as if Eddie had tried to sleep there and couldn’t, and he laid out a pallet on the wooden floor in a last-ditch effort. The sleeping bag is rolled out with careless heed, creased as if Eddie tripped over it in his haste to get up, and only the thinnest blanket and and old pillow are laid out with it. 

He remembers Eddie once telling him that sometimes, he feels like he’s sinking through the mattress because his brain confuses where he is. The wooden floor reminds him of how he used to sleep on mission in Afghanistan, and it’s the only way he can sleep and stay alert at the same time.

But he shouldn’t need to stay alert, because this is his home, not a warzone.

The wicker laundry basket on the side has been knocked over, clothes spilling haphazardly over the floor, and with tears pricking at his eyes, Buck’s gaze drifts to the freshly bloodied scrapes on Eddie’s knuckles — ones that match the hard, roughly sharp fibers sticking out from the wicker basket sides.

You need to tell me if something is wrong.

His own words echo in his ears as he lowers himself down to sit back on his haunches, hardly two feet from where Eddie’s sitting with his knees drawn up, picking anxiously at his nails with the bat centered between his thighs like a safety blanket. 

“Eddie,” he repeats, keeping his voice gentle. He doesn’t reach out to touch him anymore. “Hey, what’s going on, man? Talk to me.”

Christopher had called him while the 118 was on their way to a call because he was worried about his dad. Getting phone calls from Chris from the Diaz landline number itself was rare these days with the time Buck’s been spending back and forth between his house and the Diaz home, but getting a call from Eddie’s phone was a whole other story. Chris hasn’t picked up Eddie’s phone ever since the Uber incident, but the fact that he did this time was a realization that had tied a tight noose around Buck’s throat for the rest of his shift.

Their last call, because he has the worst luck in the world, ran over by at least three hours, and there had been no way for Buck to leave early. Even as exhausted as he’d been when they got back to the station, Buck had known that he wouldn’t be able to go back to his own apartment without knowing if Eddie’s doing okay — because if Chris had noticed something and was concerned enough to get help, then there had to be something very, very wrong. 

He’d showered at lightning speed and had immediately sped to the Diaz house, only to find Eddie’s silhouette poised to defend his home and its sleeping occupant. 

It felt like he’d been confronted with a familiar ghost, to see Eddie standing against the shadows of the living room with a baseball bat clutched tightly to his torso. Back then, the ghost had been in the form of Maddie, who’d been terrified to sleep for so long. 

Now, it’s Eddie who clutches a bat to help him sleep, arming himself even in the most vulnerable states, and the fact that Buck had no idea that it’s gotten this bad makes his heart shatter into sharp shards in his chest that prick him every time he inhales.

He knows about Eddie going to therapy again. He sees the dark smudges under Eddie’s eyes, sees the vulnerable, withdrawn way he seems to carry himself these days — so unlike the cool, confident man who’d held Buck up more times than he cares to count. He sees the man slump when he thinks no one’s watching, and if Buck’s honest with himself, Eddie’s been stealing his gaze away from Buck long before he ever left the 118.

It’s just that he hadn’t known what to make of it until after Eddie left.

Buck keeps all that in mind as he looks towards where Eddie is visibly trembling, his hands shaking against the rubber grip of the baseball bat, now pointing downwards.

The ghost of a clock ticks by in the background as Buck stays silent, not wanting to push Eddie into talking while he’s like this, but the clock strikes the hour, the words Eddie lets out echo damningly into the quiet.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispers, still staring blankly at nothing. “I can’t sleep, I can’t sit in that bed, I can’t let myself fall asleep without something to keep Chris safe in case...”

In case the demons touch him hangs ominously in the air between them.

Eddie doesn’t mention them by name, but it feels like a missing puzzle piece clicks into place when Buck realizes what he’s been alluding to, and with a wry, self-deprecatory huff of a humorless laugh to himself, Buck figures out what he’s been hiding.

Why hadn’t he figured it out sooner? 

He takes a slow breath and lets it out. “What are the nightmares about?”

Eddie flinches at the question, turning to look at Buck with red-rimmed eyes that have questions in their depths. Buck looks steadily at him, trying to convey that even like this, he would know Eddie deaf and blind, and that he could pick him from a crowd with nothing but the song of his heart. 

“Blood. Always so much blood, everywhere.”

Blood .

It had taken months for Buck to stop seeing blood every time he closed his eyes, to stop feeling the spray on his skin, to stop seeing it crusted in his nails. The feel of Eddie’s torn skin, even under the gauze that somehow made it all even more grotesque, because there had been nothing to hide the roughness with as the cotton dampened with blood, molding to the shape the bullet left in its wake.

There had been one night where his palms had itched in the shape of the bullet wound in Eddie’s chest. He’d been torn out of a nightmare, mind still stuck in that fucking firetruck as he’d sped down the streets to get to Eddie.

Eddie hadn’t balked at seeing Buck at his doorstep at three in the morning. He’d simply slipped his shirt over his head and let Buck see his bare skin — bloodless, stainless, healed.

He thinks that if he never saw another drop of Eddie’s blood for the rest of his life, it’d be too soon.

“Whose?” he asks anyway, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Everyone’s. Yours. Mine. Christopher’s,” he says monotonously, shaking his head as he laughs humorlessly. Another piece of Buck breaks off at the clear self-resentment in his body language, but then Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, whipping around to look at him with eyes widened with renewed panic, and Buck forgets about everything else. “ Christopher ! I need to — Buck, you have to let me—”

Buck reaches out then, pressing a palm to his shoulder to stop him from scrambling to his feet. “ Eddie . Chris is fine, I promise. I’ll go check on him for you, but I need you to stay here for me, okay? When I get back, we’re going to talk about this.”

Eddie looks like he’d rather pull teeth, but he’s in no place to argue with the tone in Buck’s voice. He settles back down with the bat between his legs, clutched to his body as Buck gets up.

The door is shut when Buck silently rounds the corner to Christopher’s room, and he can hear the boy snoring softly. He carefully slides the door open anyway, needing to see him for himself as much as for Eddie. 

Chris is spread out like a starfish on his bed, mouth open as he drools onto the pillow. He looks completely at his peace, unlike his father in the other room, who’s been haunting the halls of the house to make sure his son stays protected.

Buck wonders how much of that is to protect Chris from himself, rather from anything else.

There’s a faint furrow in between Christopher’s eyebrows as he snuffles, and Buck can’t resist but smooth it out as he places a kiss on the boy’s forehead and tucks the covers tighter around him.

He loves this kid with everything in him, and it’s one of the greatest honors of his life to have Christopher love him back just as much.

“He’s fine. He’s sleeping, doesn’t look like he woke up,” Buck assures Eddie as he settles crisscross on the floor next to Eddie again.

“Good, that-that’s good,” Eddie nods to himself as he repeats Buck’s words over and over to himself. “He’s fine, you haven’t dragged him down with you, he’s fine, you haven’t dragged him down with you.” 

Buck can’t ever imagine a world where Eddie would drag Christopher down with him to begin with. Eddie’s the type of father to let his head be pushed underwater if it means that Chris stays afloat, but he recognizes the desperate need in his friend’s voice, and knows that he’s echoing words from a past life. 

It’s almost compulsive, the way he mutters the words to himself as he rocks back and forth, his eyes casting over all corners of the room, lingering on the windows in front of them. The skin surrounding his nails has been picked to the point of bleeding, and Buck resists the urge to cover them with his own palm to stop Eddie from anxiously picking at them anymore.

As he waits for Eddie to speak again, he picks up a few more details. The blinds are completely closed, barring any light from entering the room. Despite the bed laid out, Eddie clearly wasn’t planning on sleeping at all, because he’s clad in his usual Henley and slacks — as if he needs to be alert and ready at all times.

“Eddie,” he starts quietly when the silence stretches too far and Eddie shows no signs of stopping. “Are you okay?”

Buck will never forget the way his best friend pauses in his rocking. He will never forget the way Eddie turns to look at Buck as if he doesn’t know what to make of the question, as if no one’s ever asked him the question with the expectation of an honest answer.

And he will never, ever forget the way Eddie’s face crumples, and then turns to ruins as the first sob slips from his mouth. 

Buck feels frozen in place as he watches his best friend break to pieces on his own bedroom floor, each sob coming harder until his entire body is bowed over with the force of it. He rocks back and forth with that fucking baseball bat still held to his chest, nonsensical words slipping from his mouth.

It takes Buck almost no time to recognize “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” in between each harsh breath, and that snaps him out of his daze. 

Hot pressure pricks behind his eyes as he moves forward to leverage himself up on his knees, sitting on his haunches. He slowly slips the bat from Eddie’s hands as he crowds him into the space between his legs, gathering him close. He gives in to the urge to cover Eddie’s hands with his own, stilling the picking. 

As expected, Eddie doesn’t make it easy, crying and trying to push Buck away but Buck doesn’t let him go. He knows what this is — it’s a product of how Eddie’s only given safe spaces to other people, and has never had one in return. 

The other man struggles and struggles against accepting the comfort but Buck hangs onto him, trying to press how worthy Eddie is of being taken care of into every action.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Buck keeps repeating as he moves his arm to hold Eddie’s head to his chest, trying to keep him still so he doesn’t hurt himself. “I’ve got you. I’ve got your back, Eddie. I’ve got you.”

Eddie gives up the fight at the familiar promise, and he goes instantly slack in Buck’s arms, letting him hold him up as his body shakes and trembles with each cry. Buck’s collar grows damper with the steady stream of Eddie’s tears, but he pays it no heed as he cards his hand into the sweaty strands matted on Eddie’s head.

“You’re so good, you don’t have to be sorry, I’ve got you,” he rambles on and on, pressing his mouth to the top of Eddie’s head without thinking. “Nothing to be sorry for, you could never hurt anyone.”

Eddie cries for what feels like years, his shoulders trembling underneath Buck’s grip, but Buck doesn’t let up on how tightly he’s holding him. He feels so cold, and Buck rubs his back to try to get some heat in him.

Eddie’s hand twists tighter into the back of Buck’s shirt before it loosens, his breathing hiccupped with the force of how hard he’s been crying. Each choked sound lands on Buck’s heart as Eddie turns his face further into Buck’s shoulder, and he adjusts to let Eddie burrow himself further. He shifts until he’s sitting on the ground with Eddie practically curled up in his lap, small in a way a six-foot tall man shouldn’t be.

It’s silent as Buck runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing the lines of his forehead where he can reach. He rocks them slightly back and forth until Eddie’s breathing steadies further.

He’s about to say something when the hand wrapped in his shirt falls away, and Buck realizes that Eddie’s cried himself to sleep in Buck’s arms. The thought lances a new agony through him at just how much he must’ve been suffering to fall asleep like this.

He’s terrified to move, even as his own tears finally slip free as the echo of Eddie’s harsh cries reverberates in his ears. How long has Eddie been holding all that in?

This time, maybe she's the one who needs taking care of.

Eddie shattering to pieces has been a long time coming, but Buck refuses to let him withdraw into himself — he won’t let Eddie go through it alone. They may not have gotten far enough to have a conversation today, but they’ll talk about it tomorrow, when Eddie’s well-rested and Buck can sort through the jumble of knots in his chest to be the partner Eddie needs right now.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers as he looks down to where Eddie’s head is nestled against his chest. His eyes are puffy, face blotchy and read even with all his features slack in sleep. His nose is scrubbed raw from where he’d constantly rubbed it against the rough cotton of Buck's shirt, and salt tracks streak down his face for as far as Buck can see from this angle.

Buck’s pretty sure there’s snot and tears smeared all over his clothes, and he should probably get them up to clean Eddie’s face at the very least, but to see him feel safe enough to fall asleep with Buck…he doesn’t have the heart to wake him.

Mind made up, he settles in to hold vigil over the night, keeping his best friend in his arms as long as he needs it.

There’s pain in his voice. “Please tell me what’s happening,” Eddie says, trying to put on his calm, authoritative dispatch voice but falling somewhere south of that, in anxious territory.

“Building collapse. And then a secondary collapse. I was… Eddie I swear I was trying to get out. I wasn’t doing unnecessary heroics. I just wasn’t fast enough.”

“Everyone else?” Eddie forces himself to ask.

“Got out. Least that’s what Bobby told me on the radio. They know where I am, they’re trying to get to me.”

“Buck. How bad?”

Buck makes a wheezing sound that Eddie thinks might be an attempt at a laugh. “It’s not good, suffice to say.”

Eddie’s fingers have gone numb, and he remembers, distantly, when they’ve done that before, in a suit store, in a dark fire station, outside a hospital fire. He knows it’s a sign of a panic attack, but he pushes it down. “Walk me through your injuries,” he says, finally slipping into his dispatcher voice.

“S’not what I called for. Not a lot I can do anyway. It’s mostly internal, I think, and I can’t really move.”

Eddie scrubs a palm over his face. “Why did you call me, Buck?”

A shaky breath. “Because I’d rather die with your voice in my ear than alone.”

Eddie’s eyes burn but he forces it back. “You’re not going to die.”

“I’ve never liked arguing with you.”

“Then don’t, Ok? Keep talking to me, but just believe me when I say you are not dying.”

“Ok. Ok. But… Just in case, I need to say some things.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, ready to argue, to fight against the idea that Buck won’t have another chance to say whatever it is he needs to say.

“Eddie, please,” Buck says, and Eddie can tell it’s getting harder for him to muster the words, so he shuts his mouth. “I’m sorry, Eds. I’m sorry about the distance between us after you left. I was angry, but it wasn’t at you. Or—or it was, I guess, but it wasn’t your fault.” A breath, shaky, not as deep as it needs to be. “I know you’re doing what you need to. You’re a really great Dad, you know?” A cough, weak and wet sounding, followed by a groan that locks Eddie’s heart in an icy grip of fear.

“Anyway, I’m sorry,” Buck continues. “And I’m—I gotta say something else, too. And it’s not fair, and I—I’m giving you full permission to hate me for it, because it’s not fair for me to do this, but I need to say it. And you need to know it, I think, especially if I…Anyway, I broke up with Taylor,” he pauses to wheeze another horrible sounding laugh. “That’s not the thing, but I had to say it first. The thing is—”

And Eddie knows, before Buck says it, he knows what words are about to come out of his mouth and he wants to stop them, wants to reach through the miles between them and put his hand over his mouth, anything to keep the words from tumbling out, words he wants to hear, but not like this. Not when there’s the possibility that he’ll get to hear them this one time and then never again.

But Eddie doesn’t try to stop him, and Buck says, “I’m in love with you, Eddie. I’m so sorry I’m telling you like this. I’m sorry I wasted so much time being angry. And I’m sorry for all the time I wasted before that. I know telling you now isn’t fair, dropping it on you when it’s looking like I’m not gonna be around for the fallout. But I couldn’t die without saying it.”

“Buck,” Eddie manages, his voice breaking on the word. “Buck you have to know I love you too. You know that, right?”

“Didn’t know. Hoped though.”

“Well, I do. I love you so much, ok? And that’s why you’re going to hang on, ok, so we can deal with the fallout together. We need to talk about a lot of things, and you have to be here for that.”

“I’m trying,” Buck breathes, his voice sounding weaker still. “I’m trying, but it’s hard.”

“I know. I know, Buck, but I know Bobby and the others are trying to get to you as quickly as they can.” His hands shake, desperate to put his hands on Buck, to find his injuries and fix them. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve talked to you, about a lot of things, really, but I especially should’ve talked to you about leaving the 118. Actually, I should be there with you right now.”

“Nah,” Buck says quickly. “You would’ve just gotten trapped with me. Not enough room in this pocket for the both of us. For once I’m glad you’re not here. But you are though. Here. In the way that matters, you’re with me.” Buck clears his throat, and Eddie tries to stop cataloging the minute details of the sound. It’s not helping either of them, but he can’t stop. “Hey, I need you to tell Maddie I’m sorry, and that I love her. I know she knows I do, but just… Tell her anyway, ok?” His words are slower, like it’s taking a lot more energy to say them. “And—” he cuts himself off, sounding choked up, but he takes a breath, a little deeper than the others, but still sounding wrong. “Tell Christopher how much I love him. And that I’m so sorry I can’t keep my promise to always be there for him. Tell him—” he interrupts himself with a sob, and Eddie realizes his own cheeks are wet. Tears are streaming down his face and he doesn’t know when they started. “Tell him I said it’s ok if he’s mad at me for it. Tell him I never wanted to be another person that leaves him. That leaves you, and that I’m trying so hard to stay…” he trails off, and Eddie listens as hard as he can, but he can’t hear anything.

“Buck,” he says, but he’s met with continued silence. “Buck!” He barks, harsh and loud, but there’s a sound in response.

“‘M here,” Buck mumbles. He sounds so tired.

“Buck, you have to keep talking, I know they must be close by now. I need you to hang on.”

There’s a huff. “Said that to you once.”

“Yeah, you did, and you know what? I listened. So now I need you to listen to me and hold on, ok?”

“Trying.”

“Good. Keep trying. Talk to me, ok? Whatever you want to say, just as long as you’re talking.”

There’s a brief pause, and Eddie opens his mouth to yell Buck’s name again but Buck begins to talk. “If I make it out of here the first thing I’m gonna do is go to dispatch and kiss you senseless.”

Eddie grins through his tears. “Sweetheart, I think the first thing you’re gonna do is go to the hospital, but I’ll meet you there and I promise, as soon as you’re able, you can kiss me all you want.”

“Knew you’d be a pet name kinda guy.”

“There’s more where that came from.”

“Can’t wait.” Buck trails off again, only making a noise of recognition the third time Eddie says his name. “Sorry. Tired.”

“It’s ok. Tell me about your plans this weekend. You’re taking Chris to the aquarium, yeah?”

“Was. Probably can’t now, sorry.”

“It’s ok, you’ll take him when you’re better. Tell me about what you guys will do.”

“Really wanted to see him grow up, Eddie,” Buck says instead, and Eddie can hear the tears in his voice, and worse yet, the resignation.

“You will.”

“You guys changed my life. Need you to know. I always felt safe with you. You’re my home.”

“You’re our home too, Buck.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Buck,” Eddie says, louder, but there is no response. “Buck!” He shouts, and he knows he’s disturbing the fellow operators around him, but he doesn’t care.

“Buck!” He shouts again, desperate for any kind of sound, and he gets one, but it’s not Buck, it’s the all too familiar sound of debris shifting, and Eddie’s heart stops for a terrifying moment, sure he’s hearing another collapse, but then he hears Bobby’s voice, and it starts beating again.

They got to him, but he’s terrified it’s too late.

He waits with bated breath as Bobby’s voice draws closer. He can’t make out most of the words, but he tries anyway, and is rewarded when he hears Hen, closer, victorious when she shouts “I’ve got a pulse!”

He lets out a sob and stands, whirling around and coming face to face with Josh, who he belatedly realizes was probably right there all along.

“Josh, I—I have to go, I have to—”

Josh holds up a hand. “We’ve got you covered. All the other victims were transported to First Presbyterian, that’s where they’ll take him.”

In his haste to leave it hadn’t even occurred to him he didn’t know where to go.

“Thank you,” he manages, clapping Josh on the shoulder before darting past him.