Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, they’re on a call. Eddie is busy doing a sternum rub on a guy who ate too much at a pie eating contest, all in favor of the incoming fall weather. He’s not paying attention to anything else at all; focuses the way he always is while on call — getting his job done while his teammates move around him and do their own jobs as Captain Nash sees fit.

He was like this in military training too, all in when the action came. It’s the comedown he struggles with; there’s always a dissonance there. In the quiet after a shootout, or the drive back to the firehouse after thirty minutes of nonstop sirens… Eddie floats along with it, and does his best to think of the techniques Frank taught him for when he gets too in his head like this.

He’s on three things he can smell when he finally processes the conversation he’d heard earlier, when that man had been coughing in his ear. Buck had been talking to the man’s kid, trying to calm her down. He’d said, “I think I’m gonna make some lasagna when I get home. Do you like lasagna?”

Eddie sits with it. Buck is staying at his house tonight, because Eddie still has twelve hours left of his shift and Buck has 48 off. He’d agreed to spend part of it at Eddie’s so Carla could have the night to herself. Christopher’s been excited for ages, because he knows Buck will give into an extra thirty minutes of video games before bedtime.

But Buck had said home, as if… as if he feels comfortable there, and maybe he does, he’s there often enough. He should, Eddie wants him to, but now he’s stuck wondering just when his house became a synonym for home in Buck’s mind.

He puts away his gear in silence. Buck and Chin are laughing over something that happened with Baby Jee and Buck says something like, “I baby-proofed the loft for whenever you guys come over,” which is– Buck calls his house the loft, and Eddie’s house home.

Eddie presses his hand to his heart and grits his teeth. Of course he’s getting anxious over this. At least, that’s what he thinks it is, the heat in his chest, the drop in his stomach. He almost starts his five-things exercise again before Buck is clapping him on the shoulder, squeezing once, and then a second time, his brows furrowed in a silent you okay?

Eddie nods. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything of substance, let alone intelligence. He’s good at putting his foot in his mouth. Shannon used to say (and his mom, and his dad,) that it’s best to keep himself quiet when his feelings are still unsorted like this. It’s best not to make a mountain out of a molehill.

Buck leaves. The firehouse feels an echoey sort of quiet without him. Eddie drifts upstairs where everyone is eating, chatting loudly, but for some reason, Eddie can’t hear it at all.

“Go take a nap,” Bobby says to him. It’s the first thing that breaks the stuffed cotton feeling in his ears. “You’re on break for the next hour.”

Eddie obeys without a fight. Maybe he'll take his earphones and listen to some kind of meditation music. He lays on his back on his cot, eyes staring up at the metal rafters on the ceiling.

Buck probably just said it for convenience. It’s so much quicker to say “at home” than to say “at my friend Eddie’s house”. Logically, that’s probably all it is. That’s why Eddie is the only one freaking out, because he’s the only one who didn’t think this through using logic. But now that he has, it’s fine, and everything can go back to normal.

But when he returns home, finally done with his shift, he gets stumped at the sight of Buck’s keys hanging next to his, the surfboard keychain Christopher had insisted on getting him bright and happy beside Eddie’s green carabiner and Lady Guadalupe pendant.

He tries to make cereal, but when he opens the cabinets he sees that beside him and Chris’ favorites is Buck’s, all sugary and rainbow-y and too sweet to be a proper breakfast, in Eddie’s opinion. And Buck’s water bottle is in the fridge, next to Christopher’s, in front of the milk. They have matching stickers, characters from a cartoon they watch together. Eddie has tried his hardest to listen to the lore whenever Buck explains it, and he understands the gem part pretty well but he always gets a little confused when Buck starts explaining fusions to him.

(“So, they have rock sex and then they become one person but they’re also two people?”

“Well it’s sex but it’s not sex because they’re not humans, it’s just the closest thing we have to fusing. Also, when they’re fused they’re only one person, and they have a new personality and everything, but they’re still the two people they were before. Think of it like how the doctor regenerates.”

“Wait, so there’s a doctor too?”

“Oh my god. Eddie no.”)

Eddie doesn’t know the characters names, but he knows the one on Christopher’s bottle is a kid, and the one on Buck’s is one of said kid’s many alien parents. She’s big and pink and has a giant pair of sunglasses covering most of her face.

What Eddie also knows is that there’s a third sticker in Christopher’s desk drawer, one that he and Buck have been trying to sneak on Eddie’s own water bottle for days now. Christopher thinks it’s a fun game, and Eddie likes pretending to catch him or Buck in the act. He’s not even sure which character they’ve deemed as one needing to be on his bottle, but he likes that it’s something they do together. They’re a team, sometimes, and even if it’s against Eddie, he can handle it because both Christopher and Buck need the brotherhood they get from each other.

He makes it to the living room and Buck is snoring softly on the couch, curled in with his cheek on his fist. He looks so soft when he’s sleeping, he always does.

Eddie grabs a spare blanket and covers Buck with it. He watches Buck sigh and tuck his face into the soft fabric. That anxious-hot feeling overcomes him again, just knowing that Buck is comfortable enough to fall asleep here. He tries to push it away but it sits in his chest, heavy and unexamined.

And unexamined it will stay, for the time being.

Buck pulls a small calico kitten out of a chimney and he won’t let it go, even after the call when he’s supposed to be taking it to the shelter.

Instead, he cleans it in the loft sink, using warm water and Dawn dish soap because “If it works on ducks, it’s gotta work on kittens.” The kitten takes it like a champ, even though her ears are flat, she lets Buck rub her down with a damp washcloth without clawing him up. She yowls the whole time though, sounding a bit like Buck when inconvenienced. They might be perfect for each other.

She’s so small that he wraps her in another washcloth to dry her fur, and she soon snuggles up in his arms, purring far too loudly for how small she is.

Buck is enamored completely, carrying her around in his arms during the entire shift. When they get a call, he leaves her on his cot and she curls up in the hood of his hoodie until he returns.

When their shift is finished, Eddie is busy getting dressed in the locker room, avoiding the mirror because he doesn’t like the new scars he knows litter his body. Buck is there too, none the wiser as he tries his best to get dressed without disturbing the kitten that is perched on his shoulder.

“Can we take him home? Please? Christopher will love him.”

It’s- Well it’s just not what Eddie expected Buck to say. He thought Buck would’ve just taken the kitten home to his own apartment. Maybe, if that didn’t work, he’d talk to Maddie and Chimney. He’s not expecting his own house to be anywhere on Buck’s radar.

Sure, Buck has been semi-living with them since Eddie got shot, but only because Buck is really worried about him and Christopher. So he sleeps on the couch sometimes and makes dinner sometimes too and they don’t really talk about it because what is there to talk about?

But then Hen is saying something along the lines of “Don’t break the poor boy’s heart, Eddie,” and Eddie is wondering when Buck’s heart became his responsibility. He’s wondering if everyone knows something that he doesn’t. He feels hot under the collar suddenly, and doesn't know why. He just slams his locker door shut and points a finger at Buck. “Fine, but you’re on litter duty.”

They go to the pet store before they head home to relieve Carla of her duties. She coos at the kitten and gives Eddie a look, saying, “He wore you down, huh?”

Which. Eddie rolls his eyes. He mumbles something back but he’s not sure anyone hears it, as Christopher has finally come into the kitchen, and he’s thrilled at the sight of the little kitten.

“Dad? You got me a kitten?”

“Buck got a kitten,” Eddie corrects.

“But he’s staying here,” Buck says happily. He’s got a slight blush on his cheeks from what Eddie can only assume is sheer excitement. He gets in these moods sometimes, usually when he’s got something to play with or an interest to talk about, where he gets extraordinarily happy, cheeks flushed and talking a mile a minute. He’s doing it now, telling Carla facts about cats that Eddie isn’t even sure how he knows. The kitten’s new collar jingles as it follows Chris happily around the kitchen.

As they make sandwiches for dinner, Buck tries to feed it a piece of sliced ham, but Eddie slaps his hand away, “Don’t encourage it.”

“It is a she,” Buck says. He gives her the piece of ham anyways, sticking his tongue out at Eddie. “I’m earning her trust.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie says. “What are we naming her?”

Buck smiles. Eddie doesn’t know if he can recall what the smile of his childhood best friend, Jaime, looked like, but he remembers that he liked it. He remembers how some days under the hot El Paso sun, it was the one bright thing Eddie couldn’t turn away from.

He can’t turn away now. An irrational thought crosses his path. Do whatever you can to keep him smiling.

“Cinderella?” Eddie shoots a guess. “We found her in the fireplace.”

“She’s so much more than her beginnings,” Buck hisses in mock offense, covering the kitten’s ears, “Plus, Cinderella is too much of a mouthful. We need something short and sweet.”

“Shouldn’t we ask Chris?”

Buck sighs, “Yeah, well Chris wants to name her Steven even though she’s a little girl so–”

Eddie tilts his head to the side and purses his lips like he’s deep in thought, “You know what, she kinda looks like a Steven.”

Buck throws his head back in laughter.

It’s worth it. It’s worth it. It’s worth it.

Eddie doesn’t know when grocery shopping went from an EddieandChristopher thing to an EddieandChristopherandBuck thing.

It’s surreal sometimes, remembering that he has a friend who would do even the most mundane of tasks with him. He can't even remember Shannon doing this kind of stuff with him. They were never good at being in each other’s orbits for too long. It was best to delegate tasks for them both to do alone. But with Buck, instead of losing energy, Eddie feels like he’s gaining it.

It’s too late on a school night, both Buck and Christopher are at the height of their sugar highs from the ice cream parlor they convinced Eddie to stop at. He watches both of them get slowly more sluggish as they walk the aisles, until Eddie is the only one actually doing any shopping, and his two boys are just dragging their feet, silent for what seems like the first time today.

Well, Buck isn’t his boy. Not like that. That’s… Eddie just means that he’s responsible for the two of them, is all.

He's trying to organize the items in his cart when he hears Buck’s voice, “Christopher, we already have a box of these at home.”

He snaps his head up so quickly he thinks it might’ve popped something. Christopher is reluctantly putting back a box of the too-sugary cereal that does nothing but make him hyper (which is all Buck’s fault by the way, for getting him hooked on the rainbow atrocity.) Buck catches Eddie’s eye above Chris’ head, and he winks like they’re sharing some soft secret, and Eddie wishes he knew what it was, and why it seems hidden behind the word home.

The annoying pop music playing over the store speakers is starting to give him a headache, which won’t help him figure out his sudden crisis anymore than staring at the back of Buck’s head will. Still, he listens. Still, he watches.

He’s in a haze, sort of, pushing the cart to the check out. Buck knows something is up with him. Eddie knows that Buck knows but it doesn’t pull him out of the cycle of thoughts he’s suddenly found himself in. He feels like a broken record, or a scratched up CD. Like some loop that won’t stop singing home, home, home.

It’s just a word, he tries to tell himself. It really is just a word.

But it doesn’t feel like just a word, is the thing.

Buck says home and Eddie thinks of their shoes sitting side by side at the front door. He thinks of the old Spider-Man blanket Buck shares with Christopher during movie nights. Hell, he thinks of the fact that they have movie nights. He thinks of the new kitten that romps around the house, scratching up his rugs and waking him up with a cold nose against his neck most mornings.

Buck says home and Eddie can’t bear to separate himself from the mesning. He’s realizing that he likes when Buck refers to his house as home. He likes that Buck feels so comfortable there.

He’s partially frozen in front of the cashier, his mind spiraling. He’s thinking of Buck’s phone charger in his bedroom. His drawer of Bucks things for just in case and Buck’s hand now, slipping into Eddie’s back pocket, pulling out his wallet and paying seamlessly as Eddie can only watch on. Buck knows the numbers to his PIN.

Buck knows how to keep Christopher awake on the ride home so he won’t fall asleep and get a crick in his neck. He knows just how low Eddie likes the volume when his mind is running amuck like this. He knows Eddie’s mind is running amuck, even though he hasn’t said anything.

He knows where all of Eddie’s groceries go, and he delegates so well that Eddie almost thinks he has a clipboard hidden underneath his jacket somewhere. The thought is amusing enough to pull him out of his head, put him back in the present.

“You’re back,” Buck says softly.

Eddie grunts. He hates being called out. “Never left.”

“You missed an entire argument where I put my foot down and told Chris no video games before bed,” Buck elbows him, jostles him enough to keep him in the present. He gets touchier, too, when he knows Eddie needs to be grounded. He’s so thoughtful. He’s so proactive. Eddie has the sudden, childish want to cry, but he doesn’t know why. Or rather, he knows why, but thinking about it might just make him want to cry even more.

“Oh, I’m sure you bribed him with something worse,” he manages to get out.

Buck blushes. He looks caught. “I told him he could have my sugar cereal tomorrow morning.”

“Buck!”

Eddie has a date. It’s another one that Pepa sent him on, and he wants to please her, so he goes. Christopher is at a sleepover anyways, and Buck is on shift, so Eddie really has nothing else to do but sit in a stuffy restaurant with a woman who is kind but ultimately not what he’s looking for. He knows it from the moment he sits across from her, though there’s no specific tell.

This happens. Leading up to a date, Eddie can imagine a lot of things. He can imagine holding hands and kissing and even sex if he really thinks about it. He can imagine that he likes it, that it’s good, and nice, and everything he wanted with Shannon and Ana and every other woman he’s both tried and failed with.

But when he’s here in the present, digging through anecdotes that don’t start with “Buck said–” or “Buck did–”, he finds that for all the imagining in the world, it’s never the real thing.

The real thing falls short. Eddie imagines even the most perfect woman would somehow fall short in his mind’s ideal. He doesn’t know why. That’s how it’s always been, unfortunately, and it eats him alive sometimes because he’s trying to be a normal adult. He’s trying to find a partner that will be a good parent to Christopher. He is, it’s just not… it’s not working. He can’t make it work.

He barely eats anything at the restaurant. The woman leaves him with a disappointed look and he can’t fix it, even if he wanted to. He doesn’t know how.

He gets home later than he’d like, and he’s surprised to see Buck on his porch, sitting with his face in his hands. “Buck?”

Buck startles. He looks up, and in the moonlight, Eddie can see he’s been crying. He sniffs, “‘m sorry, Eddie. Thought you’d be home.”

He hardly registers the word this time, too set on unlocking the door and ushering Buck inside. “What happened? Are you okay? What can I do?”

Buck shrugs. His shoulders are slumped. “We lost someone. Smoke inhalation. You know… part of the job, I just– He was–”

“You don’t have to say any–”

“He looked like you,” Buck says, and he actually does start crying this time, his shoulders curling in like he’s trying to make himself small. “Sorry, this is so– I’m too– I just needed to make sure it wasn’t. I needed to see you. Alive.”

“Buck,” Eddie whispers. He wants to say more, but he doesn’t know what he could say. He wants to promise that he’ll never die, that he and Buck and Chris will live forever and life will be good to them, but he can’t, and the open ending of their lives haunts him suddenly, as it often does. “Buck, I’m alive.”

Buck crumbles into his arms. Eddie can feel the hot puffs of his breath against the skin of his neck. His tears, his snot, and it could be gross but Eddie is no stranger to snotty crying.

He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, and he brings his other hand to the nape of his neck, squeezing, hoping it grounds Buck the way it always grounds him. “Buck, it’s okay.”

“I know, I know,” Buck rasps, but he doesn’t move. “Sorry, I– I get scared sometimes–”

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie whispers. He thinks of all the times Buck has caught him in tears, in fits of anger or anxious meltdowns. He thinks of how strong Buck has always been for him. He wonders if he can be that for Buck. If it will translate the same way. “I get it. I watch you sleep sometimes.”

“What?” Buck splutters a laugh against his neck. Eddie can feel the edge of his teeth for a quick, agonizing second.

“And Chris,” Eddie continues, his heart beating far too quickly for his own liking. That anxious-warm feeling envelopes him. He pushes through it, holding Buck close to him, “Especially since the tsunami, you know? Saw a kid with delayed drowning. He almost died miles away from the water. It’s been years, so I know that logically, you guys are okay, but– I sometimes get scared, so I check.”

Buck squeezes him tight. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Okay, you get it, then. Sorry, ‘just wanted to be here. Wanted to be h– uh, here.”

Eddie thinks Buck was gonna say the word home again. He wonders why this moment is the one where Buck chooses to correct himself. He wonders if Buck thinks that somehow, if he doesn’t correct himself, that Eddie will correct him. Which is, of course, ridiculous, but only if one doesn’t know where he stands. Buck knows where he stands with Eddie, right? He knows that Eddie thinks the world of him, right?

“You can take my bed tonight,” Eddie says.

Buck untangles himself. He wipes his nose. “What? No–”

“No buts,” Eddie says, using his best dad voice. “Go shower and sleep. I’ll be here. Chris is at a sleepover, but he’ll be here in the morning.”

Buck relaxes. It’s subtle. Eddie probably only caught it because he analyzes Buck religiously. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Eds.”

Eddie’s throat feels dry. He makes tea while Buck is in the shower. He can hear the water running, the squeak of the faucet, the pop of the shampoo cap. While he makes up the couch for himself, he thinks about the fact that Buck has all of his soaps here, just in case. They’re probably half empty by now after all the showers Buck has taken. The only thing more startling than Buck’s shampoo bottle in his shower has to be Buck’s empty shampoo bottle in his shower. The evidence that Buck has lived here, in some semblance of the word.

There’s a lot to be thinking about, is all. Eddie sets a cup of tea on his nightstand so Buck has something to drink before bed. He makes his bed too, suddenly self-conscious about his room. Which makes no sense because it’s pretty immaculate, but he tucks the sheets anyway. He’s not sure his Army technique will impress Buck. Nothing about the Army impresses Buck, except for their extra comfy t-shirts that he sometimes uses for sleepwear when he’s over.

There’s something strange and transformative about it: a shirt he used to wear under his combat gear now softened by years of sleep and fabric softener, worn by his best friend for an activity as gentle as sleeping. Buck comes out of the shower wearing it, because it’s been his favorite and Eddie always keeps it clean in his drawer (Buck’s drawer) just for him.

Why does Buck have a drawer? Why are Eddie’s clothes in said drawer despite Buck having multiple changes of his own? Why is Eddie still here?

Eddie was supposed to be in the living room by now, watching some rerun of How It’s Made or something. He was supposed to leave the tea in here and go, but he stayed. Stayed to make the bed, stayed to catch a glimpse of a post-shower Buck, his curls dripping water onto his shoulders, stayed to watch him get settled on the side of the bed that hasn’t been claimed for years. Yet… in the dim light of his bedside lamp, Eddie finds that Buck fits in it perfectly.

Sometimes Eddie’s chest hurts. He’s aware of this, aware of why, aware that getting shot reopened not only physical wounds but psychological ones as well. He’s been working on it, slowly but surely. Still, there are days when he could use a stiff drink, if just to loosen his muscles a bit.

Somehow, Buck and Hen cajole him into going to some bar Eddie has never been to. Karen meets them there with a round of shots, and Eddie orders a beer and nothing else, knowing he’ll more than likely be the designated driver of the night.

The bar is dark, flooded with neon lights and heavy smoke. There’s a hookah section that everyone sidesteps, not because they aren’t curious but because Hen gives Buck and Eddie a look that says she will give an anti-nicotine spiel in the middle of this hookah bar so help her God, and Karen gives them a look that says she doesn’t want to hear it. So, they stick to drinking.

Eddie nurses his beer and sits with Karen. She’s not drinking much either, so they make comfortable conversation. Chris and Denny are around the same age, so they’re dealing with similar things. Mostly childish worries like crushes and school projects and video games.

Buck and Hen disappear to the bar for a good while and come back sufficiently wasted.

“How many shots?” Eddie asks, and Buck furrows his brows as he tries to count on his fingers.

“Um. Lost track,” he says. His lips are a pretty pink color. He’s got some salt on his chin.

“Tequila?” Eddie points. Buck goes cross eyed trying to follow his finger.

“Oh my God,” Hen wipes at Buck’s chin with her thumb in that aggressive way that mothers often clean their kids. Except Buck is a grown man, so he’s much more offended by this and tries to swat her hand away.

They go dance, Hen’s hand in Buck’s. The two of them, when drunk, can be a pretty funny pair.

“I’m not even sure that can be called dancing,” Karen laughs. Her wife is currently pretending to make it rain on Buck while he shakes his body to a nonexistent beat.

“They’re so embarrassing,” Eddie says, feeling fond.

The pair take turns grinding on each other, and Eddie can hear their shouts of encouragement all the way from his seat, so he knows they’re being fucking loud. Probably annoying a lot of people, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to be all that worried about what others think.

Karen is snorting into her drink. “Hold on. I need to film this.”

Eddie sips his beer, content to watch.

The truth is, Buck doesn’t let loose as much as he used to. He’s getting older, he’s weighed down by more responsibilities than Eddie can even surmise. He keeps himself healthy and goes to bed on time most nights and tries to stay on top of things, especially after reading his many self help books. He’s always conscious about himself, it seems. With his Buck 1.0’s and 2.0’s and his constant reinventing of himself, his constant need for an ego death and resurrection, his obvious want for one of these identities to be the one that makes people stick; makes one of the many girls he’s dated stay.

Eddie takes another sip and it tastes more bitter than the last. He wonders if Buck is different to the person he’s dating. Because if all those girls before dated the Buck he knows, well, Eddie is having a really hard time understanding why they would let him go.

Buck has tossed his jacket who-knows-where. Eddie will probably have to come by in the daytime and beg to look for it in the bar’s lost and found. That’s not really important. What’s important is the fact that Buck is now in nothing but his white tank, his muscled shoulders and corded arms suddenly on display.

“Gah, my beers empty,” Eddie frowns.

“Thirsty?” Karen asks, raising a brow.

Eddie feels hot. He just wants something to do with his hands, so he picks at the bottle label. “I dunno.”

“Oh!” Karen says it like she’s just figured something out. “I thought–”

Eddie stops listening. His eyes are back on the dance floor, where a man is butting in between Hen and Buck, his hand outstretched to Buck, and for a still, horrifying moment, Eddie thinks Buck is gonna take it.

Instead, Buck smiles his megawatt smile and shakes his head, gesturing to Hen. Eddie knows he’s telling the guy that he’s just here with his friends, and he knows that’s the God honest truth, but there’s a part of him that wishes Buck would gesture to him. Wishes Buck would say something like “I’m with him.” Wishes the guy would look over so Eddie could give him his bitchiest fingerwave. Wishes he could go interrupt their friendly conversation right now and wrap his arms around Buck just so everyone in this bar knows–

He wishes. He wishes. He wishes.

“I’m gonna get some air,” he tells Karen, and he doesn’t care if he sounds jealous. He is, sue him. Better to be jealous alone than embarrass Buck over it.

Eddie leans against the cool brick wall outside of the bar. He can get his head on straight out here. He can be normal out here. He can be Eddie The Friend and not Eddie The Guy Who Desperately Wants To Drag His Best Friend Off Of The Dance Floor. Huge difference there.

He feels his blood run hot. It’s anxiety and anger and the feeling of being out of control. He tries to do his exercise.

Five things he can see.

Four things he can touch.

Three things he can hear–

“Eddie!” Buck comes tumbling out of the side doors, less-than-gracefully. Hen and Karen are right behind him, Hen just as uncoordinated. She’s clinging onto Karen like a lifeline.

Karen looks apologetic, “I told him to give you a minute.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. Though he’s struggling to say anything at the moment, because Buck is grabbing his hand, pouting.

“Eds, I wanna go home,” his face is flushed. His eyes are tired, like the drinks have made him drowsy.

“I’ll drop you off,” Eddie says.

“No, home,” Buck slurs, insistent. “Um. Like, our home. With Christopher and Steven.”

Eddie hears Karen whisper a soft Who the fuck is Steven? to Hen as they get into their Uber. They don’t say much, but they’re giggling and pointing and Eddie feels a little embarrassed but mostly supported.

Our home. Oh.

Buck holds Eddie’s hand, plays with his fingers the whole way home. His palm is rough and sweaty, his fingertips calloused, but he’s as gentle as he’s always been. Eddie manages to drive one-handed, even after Buck falls asleep, his head slumping against the windowpane, Eddie hand still in his hold.

Buck gets struck by lightning and for a few days, Eddie is beside himself with the grief of not knowing. He can’t leave the hospital while Buck is in a coma, but he can’t sit in Buck’s room either. He can’t bring himself to stare at the man he loves, the man he wants so badly to wake up.

When he does wake up, Eddie’s finally able to walk up to the hospital bed. He lets Christopher have his fun, talking to Buck as if he was never in any mortal danger. They talk about the possibility of getting super powers. They talk about The Flash. Buck says he hopes he gets permanent abs. Christopher says he hopes he gains superspeed.

Eddie is asked to weigh in and he tries to think of an option that isn’t I hope you’re never that close to death again. He ends up shrugging, taking the jests and jeers from the two because he “never” knows what he and Buck are talking about. He’s sure he does know, he just can’t unpin his tongue from the roof of his mouth, is the thing.

Now that Buck is awake– alive, Eddie feels less like he himself is dying. He sits at Buck’s bedside as much as he can. Carla (bless her) doesn’t say much when she picks Christopher up and drops him off. She just leaves a duffel full of Eddie’s clothes and toiletries, and Eddie knows he’ll be giving her a bonus for all she’s been doing this week.

Eddie doesn’t leave. Unless Buck and Bobby need some time alone, or Buck and Maddie, Eddie is always there. He keeps the room tidy, ignoring Buck’s protests. He updates the nurses on any changes in Buck’s demeanor. Any little thing that could mean rehospitalization, which of course Buck hates, but Eddie isn’t taking any chances. He refuses.

It’s late. Eddie is the only visitor allowed after hours because Buck is allowed one close friend or family member and Buck chose Eddie over his own sister or fire captain, which has Eddie feeling all kinds of warm. The usual anxiety feeling that accompanies the warmth is gone, replaced by something like surety. There aren’t anymore doubts in his head, not real ones, not ones that matter.

The clock on the wall is ticking out of time with Buck’s heart monitor. Buck is wearing his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting cross-legged on the bed, freshly showered. “I’m so ready for tomorrow. I can’t wait to go home.”

Eddie is flitting around the room, packing his and Buck’s things. “We’ll be home before you know it, Buck.”

There’s silence. Ticking and beeping, but silence. Eddie glances at Buck, worried he might’ve said the wrong thing. “Buck?”

Buck is smiling down at his lap. He shakes his head softly. “I get to go to your house?”

“You’re always at my house,” Eddie says. He sits down on the bed, his hip pressed against Buck’s knee. He leans against his hand. He has to dip his head to catch Buck’s eye, “It’s home, right?”

Buck’s neck turns red. He shrugs. “I just… I like it more. It’s nicer there. The loft is so cold and lonely and with you and Chris…”

“It feels like home when you’re with us,” Eddie offers. He hopes Buck can see it in his eyes: how much he means it. “I love having you around. Christopher does too. The place feels empty without you.”

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans forward and his forehead falls on Eddie’s shoulder. “I love you guys,” he whispers.

Eddie wonders what it means — to love a man and his son. To him, it means everything.

He puts his fingers in Buck’s hair, ruffles his curls like he does Christopher’s sometimes. He presses his lips to Buck’s forehead, kisses him and mutters, “We love you, too.”