I posted 240 times in 2021
For every post I created, I reblogged 0.4 posts.
#9 1 1 spoilers - 21 posts
Longest Tag: 132 characters
#i’m convinced minear and murphy were like “’shit let’s put this cute opener in with buck teasing eddie since we are bringing in ana’
pt 1 of 2 and also found on ao3!
(i promise i’m not ignoring my prompts- this idea just kinda popped into my head)
“Hi, may I speak with Mr. Evan Buckley?”
Frowning, Buck pulls the phone away from his ear. He doesn’t know the number; however, the area code is local, so he can probably rule out a scam call. At least, he thinks, the woman on the other line sounds very much real and not a robotic recording about to lead in with a cruise ship he didn’t sign up for.
“Uh, yeah. This is Buck—I mean Evan. This is Evan Buckley.” He clears his throat. He can hear a lot of background noise—a lot of muffled speaking, intercoms crackling. He’s heard it before, but he’s struggling to equate the noise to a particular memory, only having a small rock of dread burrowing low in his stomach to go by.
“Hi, Mr. Buckley. I’m Nurse Johns at LA General. I have you listed as the second emergency contact for Christopher Diaz.”
Buck’s stomach bottoms out, leaving him nauseous, weightless, and far too cold despite the LA sun beating in through his window and warming his bed. He shivers and forces himself upright in bed, muscles rigid, jaw a tense, jutted line.
“His father,” Buck starts into the phone, shaky, “Eddie—Edmundo Diaz—”
“—didn’t answer. You’re next on the list. Sir, if this is incorrect, I’ll need to move on to the next person—”
“—no!” Buck jerks to his feet, nudging abandoned clothes around with his foot until he finds a pair of gym shorts. “I’m… His father’s on a shift with the LAFD. Is Chris okay? What’s going on?” Composure, he thinks, is out the window. Then again, he’s never been capable of the whole ‘cool, calm, and collected’ thing when it comes to Chris. He snags the same shirt he tossed to the floor when he climbed into bed this morning after his 24-hour, a short-sleeved, blue shirt, and slips it over of his head, careful of his phone.
“Sir, I can’t disclose that over the phone.”
“Right,” Buck mutters, nodding more to himself. “I’m on my way now. Tell Chris—tell him Bucky’s on the way, okay?” He ends the call, taking the steps down from his loft two at a time. He’s only faintly aware that he’s shaking, and the rock of dread’s grown triple in size and sits heavily against his gut. He fumbles with his keys, pockets his wallet, and just remembers to slip on a pair of sandals. If he weren’t moving against a rush of fear, he’d take the time to give a mental ‘look who’s laughing now’ to everyone who’s made fun of the sandals in the last two months since he purchased them, but, the fear is a cold hand that’s pulling on him, disrupting his thoughts, chiseling against his composure.
He doesn’t dwell. He races out of his apartment, and in seconds, he’s in his jeep and whipping out of his parking spot. He knows LA well, knows the traffic patterns, and he’s unfortunately hitting lunch rush, which, he thinks, is probably similar to some twisted second layer of hell. He wishes, more than anything in this second, that he had an engine, that he could dominate the road with the power of a siren, but his jeep will have to suffice. Still, his grip on his steering wheel is tight, his knuckles fading white, when he hits the first of many red lights.
He uses hands-free to call Eddie, not surprised to get his voicemail after only two rings.
“Eddie! Chris is in the hospital—They didn’t give me any details, and I’m on my way now. They called you first. I’m next on the list?” Buck pauses briefly on that, gets lost in that fact, but then he shakes his head. “Look, he’s at LA General—just get there when you can, okay?”
He ends the calls, somehow feeling even worse, and then he tries Bobby. Logically, he knows that if Eddie’s not answering, Bobby probably won’t either. Still, when he’s teetering on the edge of panic, Bobby can talk him down, can ease him safely back to the present.
Buck’s foot slips a little too hard on the gas, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Bobby? Bobby! Where’s Eddie?”
“Currently? He’s probably making his way back to a second story window, hopefully with one of the victims of an expansive house fire.” A pause. “What’s going on, Buck?”
Buck peers around, swallows back a groan at the cars on every side of him. “Look, can you get Eddie to LA General ASAP?”
“You’re at LA General? Are you hurt?”
“No! I mean, I will be, but it’s not me—it’s Christopher. Bobby, I don’t…” Buck sighs, drags a free hand down his face. He can feel his lungs constricting. The pressure of panic’s a bitch.
“They didn’t say anything over the phone. They tried Eddie first, and then they called me. I’m—”
“—Buck, take a breath. I’ll get Eddie there as soon as possible. You be careful driving there, okay? Keep us updated.”
Buck comes back down to earth with a low breath that’s been trapped in his lungs. “Thanks, Bobby,” he says, and he means it, pushing his gratitude hard into the two words. The call ends, and Buck forces his focus onto the road, onto making it to the hospital in one piece because Christopher needs him.
It’s the only word Buck keeps coming back to. He’s being led down hallways that are too bright, too loud, and annoyingly familiar, and the nurse is explaining that Christopher took a tumble at school and is currently being monitored for a possible concussion. Buck nods when appropriate, offers a few non-verbal affirmatives, and then he’s stopping before two large, glass windows, and behind them, Chris is sitting in bed chatting with another nurse. His hand finds the glass, fingers spread out, anxiety spread even to his palms.
“You’re welcome to go in. We’ve told him you’re coming.”
Buck nods absently. He’s going to go in—of course, he’s going to go in. He just needs to take a single second to fully capture the image of Christopher alive and breathing in his mind, an image that can break through the muddle, clear his head, bring breath back to his lungs.
“Sorry,” Buck mutters, nodding. He turns when the nurse opens the door for him, and he wills away any and all fear etched deep in his face the second he crosses over into the room.
“Chris!” Buck’s no stranger to concussions, so though animated, he keeps his voice soft, and he walks toward the end of the bed, glancing at the clipboard. “How’re you feeling, bud?” He asks, satisfied to see that the doctor’s notes are promising.
“I bet it does,” Buck mutters, sympathetic, and he drops onto the edge of the bed, one hand resting atop Christopher’s covered knee. “What happened?”
“Me and Caleb were playing firefighter, and I fell down a step.”
Buck sucks in a sharp breath, holds it in his lungs to brace for the familiar wave of guilt that’s soon to tangle in his breath, jab past his rib cage to his lungs. “Is that so?” He settles for, breathless, and Christopher’s face falls, his eyes dropping to his lap.
“Don’t tell dad. He’ll get mad.”
“—Mr. Buckley, I presume?”
Buck’s never been more thankful for a doctor to walk in for he wasn’t sure how to unpackage Christopher’s quiet plea in a way that wouldn’t be considered as overstepping Eddie’s parental authority but also in a way that wouldn’t have Christopher demanding he leave.
“Okay, Buck. Want the good news?”
“Will it be followed by bad news?” Buck asks, one brow arched, stomach twisting. “Because his father—”
“—no bad news today,” the doctor interrupts, and Buck huffs out a quiet sigh of relief and gives Christopher’s knee a squeeze. He gives a nod, and the doctor plucks the clipboard up.
“Christopher’s been cleared of a concussion. He’s got a few scrapes and bruises, and his head will probably hurt for a few more hours, but otherwise, he’s fine. I’ll leave a note at the front desk to begin the discharge papers. He should be out within the hour.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Buck mutters, and he nods when the doctor and nurses exit, giving him space to breathe; though, he’s not sure how much he can actually breath encompassed in four, blinding walls that bring back a pressing dark cloud of memories.
Buck blinks slowly, peels his gaze from the door to see Christopher smiling softly at him, poking at his side.
Buck eyes the small bed, mentally works round the best way to squeeze in, to maximize Christopher’s comfort, and he slips his sandals off and climbs onto the bed, impossibly gentle when he adjusts Chris. When he’s got Christopher against his chest, he sighs, and Christopher sighs with him, content, safe.
“That’s the last of them, Cap,” Eddie coughs lightly, tugs his helmet off. His lungs burn faintly from smoke inhalation. It’s not bad by any means, but he’s dabbling with the idea of having Hen look him over anyway.
“Should I help with fire…” Eddie’s words trail off when the 122 pulls up onto the scene, their members already hopping out of the engine and working the hose. “Was backup necessary?” He glances back over his shoulder. Sure, the fire’s large, but he doesn’t think it’s classified as a level high enough to warrant local support.
Eddie whips back around, squints at Bobby. “Yeah, why?”
“Let me clarify: are you okay to leave the scene right this second, or do you need to a look-over now?”
Eddie’s still struggling to read Bobby’s tone for it’s always frighteningly composed, even in the face of emergency. “I’m okay now.” He nods slowly, and then Bobby’s turning on his heel and wordlessly gesturing him toward the engine.
He slips into the back, pausing to see Bobby sitting in the back with him, stationed across from him.
Eddie sits slowly, slips his headphones on, and then the engine’s roaring to life beneath him and pulling away from the scene. He’s alone with Bobby because Hen and Chimney left earlier with a patient, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s in trouble for something. He replays his actions at the house fire, yet he can’t find an error that would warrant a private conversation with Bobby.
“Buck called,” Bobby finally says, and Eddie drags his gaze from the cars moving onto the road shoulders, now finally tuning in to the fact that the sirens are wailing overhead still, the engine demanding the street with the shrill sounds and flashing lights. The sirens shouldn’t be on unless…
“Buck’s fine. The hospital called him because Christopher was brought in. They tried you, and he was next on the emergency contact list.”
There’s dread, Eddie thinks. Dread when he rides up to a call and gathers the first, initial assessment of the situation. And then there’s bone-deep, crippling fear—fear that twists in his gut, pools into his lungs, walls around his heart. It drains the blood from his face, freezes his muscles, steals his breath, and buries his mind in a series of what if scenarios that range from grim to downright terrifying.
He does, but only because his mind is trained to respond on command to Bobby’s voice. The breath he sucks in his short and cold, and he finally reaches in his pocket for his phone. He’s got four missed calls, three voicemails, and a series of texts from Buck, all fairly close in time to the other.
He goes through the texts—he won’t be able to hear the voicemails right now, and he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach Buck’s panicked, broken voice.
[From: Buck] Chris is okay. He fell at school and hit his head
[From: Buck] no concussion. Doc said he can be discharged within the hour
[From: Buck] I’ve checked him over. There’s a bruise on his side I want to keep an eye on but otherwise he’s okay
[From: Buck] we should talk about why he fell
[From: Buck] but not until later! Sorry that last text sounded weird…
[From: Buck] discharge in 20 minutes. I’ll bring him back to yours if you aren’t able to come yet. I still have the spare key you gave me
He’s blinks around the tears pooling in his eyes, swallows thickly. “Buck said he’s okay. He fell at school.” He’s aware his voice is shaking, and then Bobby claps him on the knee.
It is, Eddie thinks, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes. He works on his breathing, controlling it, counting breaths, but when they pull up to the hospital, the fear comes back, muted now, but still there, always there.
He hops out of the engine, Bobby not far behind, and in just seconds, a nurse is guiding them back. When he reaches the door and looks beyond the glass to see Christopher curled up against Buck’s chest, he breathes, deeply and fully, for the first time since he pulled himself up into the engine. Relief, he thinks, is the singular image of the two most important people in his life safe and together.
Buck whips his gaze from his phone where he’s got a story pulled up to read to Christopher, and he slowly turns Chris over just as Eddie rounds the bed and pulls Chris to his chest tightly. He notes, to himself, that Eddie’s in full turnout gear, that he’s got soot smudges on his face, that his jaw is a set, unwavering line jutting against his skin.
Buck wordlessly slips from the bed, toes his feet into his sandals. He crosses his arms and backs away from the scene, feeling all too overwhelmed, suddenly suffocated despite the brush of relief before him, and then Eddie’s looking toward him, frowning, eyes unreadable, and Buck offers a small smile.
“The discharge papers,” he motions toward a stack of papers on the end of the hospital bed. “I’ll bring my jeep around.”
Buck slips out of the room, eyes cast to the ground, and he bumps right into someone, his hand coming up to fist around the turnout jacket and his head dropping against a shoulder.
There are so many ways Buck wants to say no, but the one that’s most alarming, one that’s been a nagging twinge in his lungs, is the one he opts for. “I don’t think I can breathe.” His voice is breathless, and then Bobby’s guiding him with a hand to his back toward the nearest exit. The second he bursts through the double doors, he sucks in a sharp gasp that breaks way to a few coughs, and he’s being gently eased onto the edge of the sidewalk.
“Easy, Buck. Breathe with me, okay?”
Buck meets Bobby’s eyes, nods, and drags his gaze down to Bobby’s chest, watching the steady rise and fall, mimicking it, until the fog clouding his brain breaks, leaving him far too tired. His shoulders slump, and Bobby claps a hand to his shoulder.
“I didn’t know…” Buck sighs, dropping his face into his palms. He can hear his therapist’s voice reminding him that he’ll feel better if he’s more open with others. “I’m really overwhelmed right now.” He can feel Bobby’s hand tighten around his shoulder, a wordless sign to continue. “Just… Getting that call that Chris is in the hospital really freaked me out. I know he’s fine, but just… He’s the last person I ever want to see in a hospital bed.”
“Now you know how I feel every time I get a call that you’re in the hospital.”
“Bobby,” Buck groans, lifting his head to match Bobby’s smile.
“You look tired—I don’t imagine you got much sleep before the call?”
“A few hours,” Buck admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not sure I’ll get back to sleep anytime soon. I’m exhausted, but it’s definitely going to take some time for the adrenaline to die down.”
“Do you need me to take Eddie and Chris back?”
“Nah,” Buck drags himself up to his feet, yawning. “I’m going to need to physically see Christopher safe in bed before I can even think about unwinding.” He can see one of the engines not far off in the parking lot, and he laughs quietly. “Though, I bet Chris would love to be back in the truck.” He frowns at Bobby’s turnover gear. “Did you leave right after a call?”
“I requested the 122 to come in for backup.”
Nodding absently, Buck looks back toward the doors they came from, and he crosses his arms, fingers digging into the skin. He knows that he’s taken all necessary steps when faced with an abrupt situation, yet he can’t shake the underlining burn in his stomach that he overstepped, that he didn’t get here fast enough, that he should have added a step, or even removed one, when getting here.
“You did good today, Buck.”
His shoulders slump, tension falling with them, and he huffs out a low sigh.
“You keep looking at him like he’s going to disappear.”
Buck jumps; he didn’t hear the shower cut off, nor did he hear Eddie slip into Christopher’s room behind him.
“I keep thinking he might,” Buck whispers, and Eddie tugs at his arm, urging him up from the chair he’s got pulled up to Christopher’s bed. He lets Eddie guide him from the room, but when Eddie tries to ease him onto the couch, he digs his heels into the floor, and Eddie turns to him, brows furrowed.
“—when were you planning on telling me I’m second on Christopher’s list of emergency contacts?”
Buck doesn’t miss the deep, calculated sigh Eddie breathes, and he opts to remain standing when Eddie sinks down onto the couch, only watching wordlessly as Eddie runs fingers through his damp hair.
Buck blinks slowly. “What?”
“After the tsunami. When we were leaving the hospital, he mentioned how you saved him. He said he wanted you to be the person who comes to save him again.” Eddie pauses, rubs smally at the shirt fabric just above his chest. “I resisted at first—I told Christopher we couldn’t ask something that big of you, but I’ve seen countless times since then how far you’ll go for him, so I called and had you added second on the list.”
Eddie takes in a low breath, and Buck’s mutely envious because he can’t do the same.
“If I can’t get to him, it needs to be you.”
Buck’s struggling to pick something to focus on. His heart wants to chase the heat of Eddie’s words, yet the guilt, as it always is, is an overpowering force that leaves him shaking his head, backing up until the back of his leg hits the coffee table.
“It can’t be me.” He watches Eddie’s face fall, but Eddie still nods, understanding even now.
“I get it. I should have asked first. I know it’s a big responsibility—”
“—what?” Buck shakes his head again, crosses his arms. “It’s not the responsibility. You know I would do absolutely anything for that kid. It’s the fact that it’s my fault he ended up in the hospital today.”
Eddie cocks his head to the side, lips in a firm line, and Buck knows this look well—it’s Eddie’s way of signaling for Buck to continue, knowing well that Buck will finish on his own, that he doesn’t need verbal prompts to guide him toward his point.
“He was playing firefighter with one of his friends at school, and he fell down a step.”
The silence that follows feels thick enough to clog Buck’s lungs. He wants to sit—his legs are shaking, but if he sits, he can’t flee as fast, and he just knows Eddie’s going to ask him to leave, to not come back. And, Buck thinks, Eddie should. Eddie should yell at him for filling Christopher’s mind with stories from work, for encouraging this imaginative behavior that dropped him onto a hospital bed.
“Is that it?” Eddie says instead, calm, and Buck frowns, jaw opening and closing, struggling for words.
“I mean, I’m waiting for the part where you tell me how this is your fault,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck sinks onto the coffee table at this, not trusting his legs to hold him upright.
“Eddie, I’m constantly telling him stories from work, glorifying the job, painting all of these verbal, detailed images that fill his mind and plant ideas.”
“—Buck, we have the same job. If Chris asks me what I did at work, I tell him. I spare him the calls that don’t go in our favor, but otherwise, I tell him.”
Buck blinks slowly, mind operating around 30% capacity, and Eddie leans forward, cupping a hand to Buck’s knee.
“No one’s at fault. Kid’s got one hell of an imagination.”
“Wait, hold on. You’re not mad?” Buck expected yelling. He expected to get kicked out of Eddie’s house, and yet, Eddie’s calm before him, relaxed, a little tired around the edges, but he’s showing no signs that he’s seconds from blowing up.
“There’s nothing to be mad about.”
Buck can only blink at Eddie. He’s faintly aware that his eyes are watering, and then Eddie’s pulling him back up by the arm.
“Okay, we all know by now that you get sappy when you’re tired.”
Buck stops in the doorway when Eddie steps into the bedroom, watching as Eddie pulls back the covers and motions toward the bed. He shakes his head, one hand gripping tightly at the doorframe.
“Eddie, I’m not taking your bed. You should be with Chris. I’ll go—”
“—Chris will want you here when he wakes up. Plus, it doesn’t take but basic math to realize you’re working on only four hours of sleep after a 24, so you’d be doing everyone a favor by shutting up and getting in the damn bed.”
Buck holds Eddie’s gaze, breaking it after a few, heavy moments with a weighted sigh. He shuffles toward the bed, kicking off his sandals and climbing in on the side farthest from the door, knowing that the side closest to the door is reserved for Eddie, to accommodate Eddie’s needs to be the first to act if something happens.
The bed is heaven against his sore body, and the second his head hits the pillow, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The adrenaline is fully fleeing now, leaving him exhausted to the core in more ways than one. He blinks slowly, watching as Eddie climbs into the other side of the bed, sighing loudly, and he rolls toward Eddie, studying the way Eddie gingerly rubs at his chest for the second time.
“You give your oxygen mask to someone during the house fire?” Buck asks around a yawn, and Eddie nods.
“You didn’t get checked over.” It’s not a question; Buck knows, based on the sight of Eddie arriving at the hospital looking rough for wear and donned in full gear, but Eddie still responds.
Buck forces himself up on one elbow, frown deep, brows furrowed. “You should get checked out now. I can call Hen—”
“—did you forget I was a field medic?” Eddie arches a brow, and Buck sinks back against the pillow.
“No, you always find a time to remind me. You can’t check yourself over, though.”
“And how many times have you ignored a fractured rib because you ‘checked yourself over?’” Eddie fires back, and Buck groans, draping an arm over his eyes.
They fall silent, and Buck’s body is urging him to give in to the fatigue draping over him. Still, he can’t fully settle. The adrenaline of the last hour and a half is a flame that’s almost completely burned out. Still, it flickers smally, and he rolls onto his side, watching Eddie.
“The bruise on Christopher’s side. We should—”
“—I looked, and we iced it until he fell asleep. Now, please shut up and sleep.”
310 notes • Posted 2021-03-09 04:22:51 GMT
hi, here’s some Buck and Eddie sleeping quarantining together
It’s ten minutes of Buck listening to Eddie roll and shift around in his makeshift bed that he clears his throat and props himself up on his elbow, sighing. “This is stupid.” It’s dark, but he can still make out the dark lump on the floor beside his bed moving until it’s taller, and Eddie’s bare, tan skin is barely visible, his blanket pooling around his waist.
“Is this your way of inviting me to the bed?” Eddie’s voice is passively eager, and Buck sighs again, louder, a little more drawn out.
“Yes.” He drags out the word, a laugh slipping past his lips as Eddie hops up from the floor and throws himself on the bed, rolling over Buck to the empty side.
Eddie breathes through a deep sigh, the content evident on his breath, and Buck rolls over until he’s lying on his side, facing Eddie with a cocked brow.
“The floor can’t be that bad.”
Buck huffs out a laugh, and he moves until he’s lying on his back, matching Eddie’s position. He stares at the ceiling, and though his muscles are still, his heart’s beginning to quicken in speed until it’s a rapid, rabbit’s foot thump against his rib cage. “This isn’t weird, right?”
“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Eddie grumbles around a yawn, and Buck can feel Eddie shift around in the bed.
He peers over to see Eddie lying on his stomach, his back faintly exposed with the blanket only pulled up to his hips. His head is turned away from Buck, and contradicting his own words, Buck stares, his eyes following the small, sharp curve of Eddie’s back.
“Go to sleep, Buck,” Eddie mutters, and Buck whips his gaze back to the ceiling and swallows thickly.
He’s thankful his ceiling fan ticks slightly because otherwise, he’s sure Eddie would be able to physically hear his heart threatening to burst out his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed tightly and takes to breathing exercies to steady his heart rate: in for four, hold for seven, out for four. He repeats this until his face falls slack, and then comes the water.
It creeps at the edge of his dream, a muted crescendo to decrescendo lapping faintly at his ears. It brings a furrow to his brow, and he rolls onto his side, his back to Eddie, to try and jostle the hint of a dream away during a brief bout of consciousness.
It comes back stronger when he nods off again. He falls into his first REM cycle, and the water’s all around him, floating debris slamming against his ankles. He stares around, stuck in a vast, seemingly endless, pool of rushing water that whips strongly around him, trying to pull him off his feet.
He holds his ground, bracing himself with bent knees, but then the debris gets bigger, longer, and he spares a glance down to see that the chairs and trashcan lids have morphed into listless bodies floating along the pulsing waves.
No, he thinks, shaking his head. Something’s off. The dark walls around him are closing in, but they can’t because he’s missing something. Someone..?
He works the name around his jaw, frowning, and the single word feels sour but right. Christopher should be with him, beside him, his small hand in his, but he’s not. There are bodies floating face first in the water around him, and Christopher isn’t here.
“Chris?” he tries, eyes scanning his darkening surroundings. He can’t... He can’t lose Christopher; he...
Something latches onto Buck’s leg, sharp, breaking his skin, and he falls, his entire head going under. The water’s cold and murky, painted in faint wisps of red, and Buck cannot breathe. There’s something heavy pushing against his chest, keeping him under, and he can’t break free.
“Christopher!” he shouts, dirty water rushing into his mouth, sinking heavy in his lungs. He twists and fights against the dark force against his chest. He tries to break free because he can’t breathe, and if he can’t breathe, then Christopher probably can’t breathe.
The water around him is growing redder, thicker. It’s getting harder to see, and it’s cold.
He pushes with every muscle; his jaw clenched tightly. “Christopher!” he calls back. “I”m here!”
Christopher’s voice sounds different, deeper but similarly desperate, and Buck’s lungs are burning. He needs to...
Buck jerks forward, a strangled scream ripping up his throat, and he grips at the arms in front of him, staring frantically hard at the face before him, a face that’s pale, lifeless, floating, until it’s not.
Eddie’s face slowly gains life and color until Buck can make out his sharp, worried features: his dark eyes narrowed, his forehead creased, his jaw set hard. “Eddie?” he rasps out, fingers tightening around Eddie’s arms.
“Hey, yeah. It’s me. Are you okay?”
A loaded question. Buck’s far from fine; Buck hasn’t been fine for a long time. He nods, but he doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s frown deepens.
“You were mumbling for Christopher.”
“It was just a dream,” Buck tries. He doesn’t want Eddie to worry about him; he doesn’t want anyone to see through the plasters he’s thrown up to mask his cracks.
“About the tsunami? Buck, have you-”
“-it’s fine, Eddie,” Buck says, pushing his voice to be light yet firm. “I’m fine.” Even as he says it, his fingers are still digging into Eddie’s arms, and he slowly releases his grip and falls back against his back with a sigh. “Sorry.”
Even through the dark, Buck can make out the brief pull of conflict against Eddie’s face. He knows Eddie wants to say more, but instead, Eddie carefully lies back on his back, his shoulder brushing against Buck’s.
Buck stares at his bed; it’s still a mess of tangled sheets. His comforter’s been kicked toward the end of the bed. He got hot last night, after his dream. The heat was welcome though, comforting and encompassing, and when he woke to his alarm, he was on his side, and Eddie was pressed flush against his back, his arm wrapped tightly around Buck’s waist.
Buck can’t remember his dreams from the night before after the intrusive tsunami one. All he can remember is bright, wide-open warmth that wrapped around him, carried him over a light, welcoming breeze.
“Should we make the bed first?”
Buck turns a smile to Eddie, who’s walked up to his side, head tilting at the mess of the bed.
“I never really saw the point of making a bed if you’re just going to mess it up again later.”
Eddie breathes through a laugh, and he slips around Buck and flops onto the bed, a deep sigh morphing into a groan. “Me either, but my mother and my grandmother insisted.”
“Well, luckily they aren’t here, and you’re just stuck with me.” Buck climbs onto the bed, watching as Eddie fiddles with his phone. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to Facetime, Chris,” Eddie starts, and he tugs at Buck’s arm until Buck’s falling onto his back beside Eddie, his shoulder knocking into Eddie’s.
Eddie holds his phone up until the camera’s squishing both their faces close into the small square in the corner, and then the call’s being answered, and Christopher’s face is so close, his smile so wide.
Buck suddenly feels warm from head to toe, and he smiles so naturally wide. “Hey, Christopher!”
“Are you and daddy having a sleepover?”
Eddie snorts, and Buck slaps his leg outside of the camera. “Your dad’s elderly back can’t handle the floor.” He laughs loudly when Eddie’s over-dramatic pout covers their small screen in the corner.
“Tell us about your day, Chris. How’s virtual school going?”
Buck listens as Chris talks excitedly about his day, in specific detail, and for the first time, despite everything that’s happening and has happened, he feels calm, at peace, if he’s willing to admit he’s being cliche.
Chris and Eddie bounce naturally off each other for thirty minutes before Chris has to get off to get ready for bed. He and Eddie follow suit, and before Buck knows it, he’s back in last night’s position, lying on his back in the dark and staring at the ceiling, hoping, desperately, that his ceiling fan will continue to mask the echoing thump of his heart.
They lie like this for a while, and though Buck says nothing out loud, he knows Eddie’s still awake and working through his own thoughts.
“You know Chris is okay, right?”
“Because of you,” Eddie adds. “Chris is fine.”
There are things Buck knows that Eddie leaves unsaid: it was a while ago, stop worrying about it, I’m not mad.
“He’s a strong kid,” Buck opts for, turning his gaze when Eddie shifts until he’s propped up on his elbow, his body twisted toward Buck.
“You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. Though,” Eddie pauses, his face falling, “I wish you would. But, whether you open up to me or not, I know I’ve told you before, but you’ve got to let go of the guilt, Buck. No one could have predicted that, and you literally drove yourself to a hospital bed searching for him. You didn’t just save him, either. You saved so many people that day, and I don’t blame you for what happened. I haven’t lost my trust in you. I still stand by my thinking that Chris is safest when he’s with you.”
Buck’s eyes are stinging. He blinks quickly, slowing craning his neck until’s he’s looking up into Eddie’s dark eyes. “Good thing you just did enough talking for both of us.”
Eddie groans around a light laugh, and he flops back down onto the bed, twisting his body more toward Buck until he’s draping himself half atop Buck, his face dropping to Buck’s neck.
“I hate you. Haven’t you ever heard of a moment?”
“Who the hell has moments at 10 PM?”
“Will you two please shut up?”
Eddie pushes himself up, his lips pursing together, biting back a laugh at Chimney’s groan from the couch downstairs.
Buck can’t help but giggle, and then Eddie’s falling back against him, and they’re trying, and promptly failing, to cover their laughs.
“I forgot he was here,” Eddie whispers.
“Too lost in the moment?”
Eddie buries his face back to the crook of Buck’s neck, and his breathy laugh is warm against Buck’s skin. They lie like this for a moment, both laughing quietly until their breathing evens out, and only the sound of the ticking ceiling fan cuts through the silence.
“Are you going to be okay tonight?”
Buck’s seen Chris tonight. Granted, it was through a camera that sometimes froze, leaving Chris’s voice still echoing through the speaker despite his face blurred mid-turn. But, he saw him. Alive. Breathing. Steady on dry land. And, Buck thinks, he’s got a very real, very alive, body atop him, keeping him grounded, keeping him from floating away.
Is he okay? No, Buck thinks. Okay is a loaded word with multiple jagged edges that struggle to smooth out and meet in the middle. But, tonight? With Eddie firm at his side, with Christopher safe and warm in his own bed?
“Yeah,” he says, and he can feel Eddie smile against his neck.
446 notes • Posted 2021-01-20 03:59:40 GMT
Going to Master List my 911/911 Lone Star fics because I think I have enough to accumulate a decent list!
- this one here has good, ole Buck cutting his arm on a call and not realizing until he’s half naked and Eddie looks like he’s about to have a heart attack
- this one has Buck coming down with a cold after a water rescue, and whOOPS the cold gets worse because he doesn’t know how to pace himself ever and winds up with pneumonia
- this one takes place after that damn well/Eddie almost drowning episode that was dangerously close to ruining me and has Eddie ending up sick because bro’s been through a lot okay?
- this one happens after we learn Eddie’s been fighting for sport because his boyfriend Buck hurt him realy badly. Basically, Buck finds out and he’s nOt happy about it
- this one has Buck meeting Eddie at a hospital bc Christopher’s been sick, but he finds out that Eddie’s also sick and has to take care of both his boys
- this one has Buck feeling anxious, sad, and insecure and just overall not having a great day and boyfriend Eddie’s the only one who really picks up on it and goes to help
- this one is a little Valentine’s Day fic where Eddie and Buck have dinner plans but dinner plans end up not being dinner plans because Buck’s sick and tries to ignore it bc [cue heart eyes] Eddie
- this one has Buck getting stuck in a burning building a little too long and he gave his oxygen mask to someone else bc of cOURSE he did and he’s a little woozy and Eddie’s a lot not happy and gets him out despite his shoulder being a little not great at the moment (dislocated; his shoulder’s dislocated bc the two can’t just keep themselves together)
- this one has some Buck and Eddie sleeping quarantining together and just being too cute and it’s really not allowed
- here’s just a little, domestic Buddie where Buck’s retelling a riVETING story about his call today to Christopher, and Eddie didn’t sign up to have two children in his house tonight
- here’s a little one where Buck’s a little sick (he’s a lot sick bc he doesn’t do things halfway literally every) and he spirals a little, so he drives to Eddie’s house and Eddie looks after him bc we stan soft in this household
- (crying) this was my first 911 fic wowowow so this one has Buck throwing himself back into work once he’s back (and we just don’t fucking discuss the lawsuit bullshit okay?) and he’s pushing himself way too hard and ends up being really not okay at Eddie’s house while he’s playing games with Christopher
- this is a sequel to the fic above so my second first 911 fic lmao it’s a continuation. Eddie’s worried. Bobby’s worried. Buck’s “fine,” grown men watch cartoons-- it’s really a whole thing lmao
- this is my most recent 3-chapter child that i spent an embarrasing amount of time on and it’s set after the crossover episode and has Buck driving to Texas right after a 24-hour shift to confide in TK about his feelings he’s having (feelings of the sexual preference nature) bc as said above he really doesn’t do things halfway and of course Eddie gets involved, proving Buck’s not the only one who’s overdramatic
- here we have a little drabble of how I imagined TK would react finding out about Owen’s diagnosis in Season 1 bc I was having feelings, okay?
- this is just a little Valentine’s Fic in season 1 setting where TK and Carlos are striclty NOT on a date (are they doing date things? Yes, but for TK purposes, it’s not a date)
- this one is a little drabble where TK’s v upset and might be having a break down, and Carlos is there (too soft, very sharp on the cheese in this one)
- this one’s a little drabble where someone spray paints something not nice at all on TK’s locker, and TK’s all whatever shit happens about it and his Team + Carlos is NOT HAPPY (as they should be)
- this one is a little deep dive into that whole comment TK made in season 1 where everything’s gray and he just wants to feel so, in the tornado episode, he goes toward the tornado and Carlos takes care of him after
- this one has TK getting trapped on a call and Carlos pANICS bc of feeLINGS and goes in to save him and there’s some after hopsital revelations to be made
- this one’s a little role reversal where Carlos gets hurt on the job, and TK seems like he’s the last person to find out and he’s 100% not happy and is 100% going to take care of Carlos
- this one has TK thinking he picked up a small cold from Carlos so he goes about his business but gets worse and passes out while on a call bc his single brain cell is stretched a little thin
- this one is season 1 setting (catching a trend here? lmao) that has TK kind of running himself into the ground trying to be the perfect son after he learns about Owen’s diagnosis but he disregards it bc Owen is more improtant and ends up at Carlos’s house later in the night, where Carlos very quickly learns he’s not here to vibe with fever sex
- this one has Carlos working too hard to catch a dangerous man and he ends up collapsing after they finally catch him so Michelle brings him to TK, and TK’s left to deal with a feverish, tired, yet still very much on edge Carlos
494 notes • Posted 2021-02-21 21:07:39 GMT
The most underrated takeaway from this episode: Josh is in a group chat with Buck and Chimney
1124 notes • Posted 2021-02-23 01:48:06 GMT
David Hale, esteemed doctor, facing his single biggest challenge in his medical career: trying to work out how to stretch and sustain the single brain cell his boyfriend shares with his boyfriend’s ex wife’s husband.
1753 notes • Posted 2021-03-02 02:47:48 GMT
Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →
areudirty
yousharknotpass
janainaart
baratheonpilled
annaxmalina
