Archive of Our Own

“Pay attention to the road,” Eddie says, pointing his finger towards the road in front of them. “I’m not that interesting.” 

Buck replies, “Hm, hard disagree,” a half smile on his face. Buck continues to stare at him and Eddie feels the tips of his ears go hot, shaking his head. 

“Buck, I’m serious.” 

“Oh, I know. You’re using your super serious dad voice. It’s very no nonsense.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, forcing the corners of his mouth to stay down. “Just shut up and watch the road.” 

“Yes, sir,” Buck says, finally looking at the road. 

“Are we almost there yet?” Chris asks from the backseat, removing one side of his headphones from his ear. “Like, how much longer?” 

Eddie turns his head, raising an eyebrow. 

“Pretty much the same as the last time you asked,” Eddie scoffs. “You okay? Should we find somewhere to stop?”

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbles, pulling his headphones back. 

Buck laughs, airy and sweet. “Yeah, Eddie. He’s clearly fine.” 

“I can still hear you, y’know,” Chris says, laser focused on his iPad. 

Buck casts a glance over at Eddie for a second, then back at the road. He’s biting down on his lip, trying not to laugh. Eddie scrunches his mouth to the side, doing the same.

The car hums around them, windows slightly ajar, and Eddie’s music is playing softly—it’s comfortable. True comfort; something Eddie hasn’t felt in a very long time, if ever. A luxury, honestly. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to bask in it, if he’s earned it, but he will anyway. 

“Y’know,” Buck begins, his voice nonchalant, fingers thrumming with the music along the edge of the steering wheel. “I have no idea where we're going.”

Eddie frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

“I don’t know what the destination is. I’m just driving.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Wait–”

“Do you even know where we’re going, Eddie?” 

“Uh, well, yes. Of course,” he says too quickly, rubbing the heels of his palms against his jeans; his hands are so itchy. He blinks slowly, trying to piece together how exactly they got here in the first place. His mind wanders to this morning, last night, last week. He just can’t remember. What he had for breakfast, when they got in the car, where they were going. 

Chris chimes in, amused. “What? Dad, how could you not know?” 

There’s a light drilling sensation in his head, behind his eyes, a growing pressure. He winces and looks out the window for reprieve, for a clue on where they’re going—it’s just rows and rows of tall trees and a long open road, one way, nothing really up ahead. The sky is gray: no clouds, no sun, no planes. There aren’t any other cars, people, birds, or road signs. There’s no sound, really, other than his own ragged breathing and the faint music playing; it’s a lullaby, he recognizes it, something he sang to Chris when he was a baby sometimes. He doesn’t know how it’s on, when the song changed, but he doesn’t question it; it’s soothing, like a balm. 

“Huh, I was pretty sure I did,” Eddie mutters weakly, rubbing circles into his temples. “Weird.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Buck chuckles, looking at Eddie again instead of the road. “It’s okay though, I’m just gonna keep driving.” 

“Okay,” Eddie says, mid-yawn. God, he’s really tired. His head goes slack against the headrest, his muscles starting to go limp. “Buck, is it okay if I sleep for a bit?” 

“Of course,” Buck grins, big and toothy, his canines flashing. Eddie has always thought Buck’s smile is the closest to perfect anything could ever get on this Earth. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

“Yes please,” Eddie says, his eyelids suddenly becoming very heavy. He can’t keep his eyes open for the life of him, his vision getting blurrier by the second. His breathing starts to slow down. He feels guilty for falling asleep here, on their journey. He should be soaking up every moment he can get with his two favorite people like a sponge, full of love and light. It’s okay though, because Buck will wake him up. 

“Sweet dreams, Dad,” Chris says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sweet dreams, Eddie,” Buck echos, his eyes glued to Eddie as his own sluggishly shut. 

He sleeps, and he floats and he swims, and it’s okay because Buck will wake him up. Buck will bring him back down, Buck will bring him back to shore. He always did. 

Eddie’s warm and content, his head doesn’t hurt anymore. Before he can drift away too far, he hears something, or someone, maybe. It’s calling his name but it’s muted. It has to be Buck, right? 

“I’m trying to sleep,” he mumbles, barely audible. 

“No, Eddie,” Buck sounds panicked, more so than Eddie’s ever heard him before, on the verge of tears. He can feel Buck’s fingers all over his face, caressing his hair. “Eddie, you have to open your eyes.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You said I could sleep for a while.” 

“C’mon, Eddie, you gotta wake up, c,mon,” he cries, cradling Eddie’s face now with his hands. Buck’s big, strong hands, capable and warm. But they’re cold right now. God, why are they so cold? 

But they’re good nonetheless. Trustworthy and kind; they save people everyday—they have saved him and his son, over and over and over again. 

Buck sobs hysterically, his voice splintering. “God, please, Eddie. Not like this. Please, open your eyes. Just do this one thing for me.” 

Eddie’s not sure if this is a dream or real life, or something in between. A nightmare, maybe, but he would do anything for Buck, so he tries. 

His eyelids are still tremendously heavy; that incessant drilling feeling behind them is present again, much worse this time around, and he can’t really see anything. It’s too dark, or maybe his eyes aren’t even really open. 

They must not be because, a couple of seconds later, Buck breathes, desperately, “Eddie, please,” through his gritted teeth.

“I’m trying,” Eddie slurs, he’s really confused. 

Weren’t they going somewhere, just the three of them? He was just taking a small nap, harmless, really. 

He should turn around, to see Christopher. He starts to shift, just a little, and Buck’s hands grip tightly on to his shoulders. 

“Wait, stop, don’t move,” Buck stresses. Eddie still doesn’t understand. 

“Where’s Chris?” he coughs. It’s like he hasn’t had a sip of water in years.

“What? Chris?” Buck questions, baffled. His hands find their way back to Eddie’s face, and he squeezes a little harder this time. “Eddie, you need to open your eyes. Please, look at me.” 

He tries again, and his eyes burn. But, eventually, they open and it takes a few seconds for his vision to adjust. It’s dim and everything is dusty, ashy. 

“Oh thank god, there you are. Hi. Okay, Eddie, don’t freak out,” Buck coaxes. Eddie still does not understand. 

But as soon as he makes eye contact with Buck, he does. His eyes widen and terror wraps its slender fingers around his neck and squeezes him. 

He peers around the area they’re in, at Buck, eyes darting around uncontrollably. In the panic, his brain doesn’t even register the sharp, burning pain in his gut. Eddie looks down at his torso, and his body jolts. He can hear his own pulse now, it’s loud, like he ripped out his heart and put it by his ear. 

There is a metal pole stabbed straight through his abdomen, right into Buck’s. 

They’re face-to face, and by some miracle, sitting upright. Eddie’s legs are wrapped awkwardly around Buck’s waist, while Buck’s are spread, one on each side of Eddie’s hips. 

“Buck,” is all he can manage to squeeze out. 

“I know,” Buck strokes Eddie’s forehead, frowning, his lower lip sticking out. “I know. Does your head hurt? You’re bleeding, you must have hit it on something, but your helmet took the brunt of it.” 

Eddie blinks languidly, failing to gather the reality around them.

“Eddie?” 

“Sorry, uh, no, it doesn’t really hurt,” Eddie whispers, a lie. 

But Buck is looking at him all distraught, eyes all sad and droopy, and Eddie can’t bear making him feel worse. He’s a little dazed, not just from the possible concussion, but from Buck’s gentle touch. He melts into it, like an ice cream cone on a hot Texas afternoon. 

He wants to fall asleep again; dream of Buck and Chris, like he was before. 

“Okay, it might be a concussion. Can you move your toes?” Buck asks, nervously.

Hey, I’m the medic here, Eddie wants to joke, but he doesn’t. It would fall flat. There’s a time and place, he thinks, because the lines in Buck’s forehead are deep, and he looks so serious, so scared. 

Eddie wiggles his toes—it hurts, everything does—at least the pole managed to avoid his spine somehow. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “You?”

Buck nods and winces, removing his hand from Eddie’s face to wipe the sweat and dirt from his own brow. 

Eddie furrows his brows, hand twitching to reach out, to touch. “Are you in a lot of pain? Anything broken?” 

“Not as much as I probably should be in, I think it’s the adrenaline. But I might have sprained my ankle, maybe bruised my ribs.” 

“Alright,” Eddie exhales, nodding. “Okay, at least it’s nothing major,” 

“It wasn’t much of a fall,” Buck replies, looking up. “Just a couple of feet.” 

“God, Buck,” he croaks, his throat bone dry. “What the hell happened?” 

“Uh, what do you remember?” Buck asks, hesitantly, flashing Eddie a very nervous look. He wants to smooth out the lines of his face with thumb. 

“Not much. We were in the elevator shaft. Guy stuck on the 3rd floor, right?” 

“Yeah, we rappelled down from the 5th, found him. Got into the elevator, pried the door open from the inside and passed him off to Hen and Chim.” 

“I don’t remember any of that.” 

Buck narrows his eyes. “You’re sure your head is okay?” 

“Yes, Buck. Just a little short-term memory loss, the least of our worries right now,” he says dryly.

Buck pulls a sour expression but he moves on anyway. “We were on our way back up, and then everything started to shake,” he explains. “I think it was an earthquake.”

He pauses, taking in a deep breath. “And then this,” pointing at the pole. “I guess it loosened from somewhere above us, I don’t know, it was all so fast,” 

“Jesus.” 

“Yeah, I think we landed on the actual elevator.” 

Eddie palms his chest for his radio but it’s not there. “Fuck. Do you have your radio? How long has it been?” 

“Oh, I have it. It’s right there,” he sighs and points to an object that’s been smashed to pieces. 

Buck’s frustrated, that much is obvious. “It’s been about 10 minutes, I think. Maybe more, I don’t know. Our harnesses are still attached. They might be dealing with their own stuff up there.” 

Eddie groans, “They have no idea we’re stuck like this.” 

Buck twists his mouth to the side, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I know.” 

He points to Buck’s helmet on the surface beside them.“Does the flashlight work?” 

He shakes his head. 

Desperately, Eddie asks, “My helmet?” 

“I threw it off to the side,” he says sheepishly, gesturing his head towards the corner where his helmet was laying. 

“Buck,” he huffs, frustrated. 

“I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry,” a slight grimace on his face. “I saw you were bleeding, and I just ripped it off.” 

Eddie sighs and looks down at the point of impact again. He doesn’t want to touch it, but there isn’t as much blood as he thought there would be. Then again, there's no way of actually confirming that, seeing as there was barely any light down here. It’s an odd sensation, having this foreign object in him, in Buck, skewering them—connecting them. 

Deep down, in the darkest corner of his mind, Eddie wouldn’t even be opposed to the idea, he thinks insanely, of being connected to Buck. 

They were already intrinsically linked in all other ways, but not physically. Eddie wants to be stuck to him like glue; to stitch their skin together. He wants to be blissfully unaware where Eddie begins and Buck ends, because it’s the same damn thing. 

Protect and support each other, like they do now, but never spend a moment apart—awake or asleep, happy or sad, alive or dead. 

He moves to unbutton his shirt, slowly, to further inspect the damage. A stupid move. 

Buck hisses, mortified, “Eddie, don’t.” 

“Buck, we can’t just sit here and wait,” Eddie declares, his voice shaky. “I need to see the damage.” 

“And then what? There is literally nothing you can do here.” 

“You don’t know that,” he says petulantly, like a child who was just told they can’t touch the burning hot stove because it will, in fact, burn them.

Buck is right though. Eddie knows that. There is absolutely nothing he could do here. 

“I do. And you do too,” Buck tilts his head. “If one of us moves…” 

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, not able to fathom the mere thought of where the rest of Buck’s sentence was going. 

“Yeah,” Buck echoes, even softer. 

Eddie perks an eyebrow up. “You’re awfully calm and rational right now.” 

“Well, I did have 5 extra minutes to process it before you woke up,” he huffs, and his breath brushes Eddie’s face. 

Eddie finally notices how close they are to each other. Closer than they would be on a regular day, but as close as they always should be. If it weren’t for these circumstances, Eddie might have taken his sweet time to count each and every one of Buck’s eyelashes; and Buck would have let him, is the thing. 

As he looks at Buck, Buck looks at him. 

Eddie quickly realizes that he wants to cry. It aggressively bubbles up inside him, a visceral reaction. He swallows instead, and it feels like the saliva in his mouth has been replaced with acid, burning his esophagus on the way down. 

He wants to burst into tears, wail and sob, scream, but he won’t—he can’t. It would worry Buck. 

He takes a deep breath, his chest rattles, and it comes out feeble. He should stay calm, he has to remain calm. He can’t panic. He’s a soldier, a firefighter. He’s level headed. 

He’s been in life or death situations like this before. He’s been shot multiple times, buried under 30 feet of mud, been held hostage. 

But none of that matters, because he’s never been able to be calm about Buck. 

And right now isn't any different, and Buck is so, so pale. His lips are hueless; maybe Eddie should bite them, bring some color back. His normally vibrant blue eyes glazed over, his birthmark is a sickly pinkish gray. It makes Eddie’s stomach lurch, overtaking the sharp pain the pole is causing him.

It reminds him of the lightning strike; one of the worst days of Eddie’s life, and he has quite the catalogue to choose from. When Buck was wet and dead, his freezing limp body under Eddie’s hands. He shudders at the memory coming back to him, in flashes. 

“I’m cold too,” Buck chimes in. 

Eddie mindlessly hums, raising one hand to graze Buck’s birthmark with his thumb and the other fitting easily around his jaw. Buck makes a soft noise through his nose. 

They just stare at each other. It looks like maybe, Buck wants to cry too. 

Eddie’s thumb travels down from Buck’s brow bone to his cheekbone. Lightly, he caresses the skin there, it’s cold and full of dirt. He rubs hard at a particular dark spot near his mouth, fixated on it. It’s bothering him, making his own skin feel prickly. Eddie frowns deeply. He doesn’t like seeing Buck like this. 

Buck just lets him, watching Eddie intently, with a look in his eye Eddie doesn’t want to interpret. Not here. 

He wipes the mark off, smiling to himself, feeling just a bit better.

“Thanks,” Buck says, the corner of his mouth twitches upward as his hands creep forward, settling on Eddie’s ribs, his fingers spread out. 

Eddie can barely feel him through his shirt, and he wants to curse and hiss and growl. He wants to be skin-to-skin, he wants to tear the damn shirt off and rip it into a million little pieces; throw the pieces around like confetti. Just so he can feel Buck. Or, so Buck could feel him.

“Buck? Eddie?” a voice booms from above. Buck’s hands stiffen where they’re touching him and his eyes go wide. 

He recognizes that voice. 

Immense relief washes over him. Eddie yells, “Cap? We’re down here!” 

Bobby yells back, “What’s the situation?” 

Buck lets out a quiet sob, sucking in a deep breath and before weakly yelling, “Bobby, we’re stuck down here!” 

“I’m assuming your radios are out of commission, so we’re gonna send another down by rope!” 

Their hands still linked, both trembling.

“Bobby,” Eddie sighs, thankful. 

Buck opens his mouth to speak, but instead swivels his head to the side and coughs. It’s weak and wet and awful. Eddie startles, his body jolting. He winces from the pain. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Buck?”

Buck shakes his head, running his hands up and down Eddie’s sides. “I’m okay, I promise. The air is just dry here,” offering Eddie a fatigued smile. There’s blood in his mouth, smeared on his teeth. 

A shrill whine escapes through Eddie’s mouth, his brows pulled together tightly. He uses his fingers to wipe the blood from Buck’s teeth and lips, babbling under his breath incoherently. 

Buck blinks at him sadly, a silent conversation of sorts, but Eddie has no interest in talking back, he just keeps wiping. 

He won’t cry. He can’t cry. It’s just a little blood. 

“Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head, he’s almost done. Buck’s perfect smile was almost perfect again. The low, electric pulse humming under his skin is starting to settle. “It’s okay. See? It’s all okay, I got it.” 

Buck gives him a lopsided smile and murmurs, “Am I pretty again?” 

He cradles Buck’s face, his thumbs on his cheeks, ignoring that the blood from his teeth are still on his fingers. “You’re always pretty,” Eddie says earnestly.

Buck laughs, low. “Always? Even now?”

Eddie chokes back a sob, his eyes still stinging. “Especially now.” 

Buck wets his lips. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” he replies, absently, his mind still occupied with Buck’s blood under his fingernails. 

Buck’s face twitches. “Why were you asking about Chris? When you woke up.” 

Eddie averts his gaze to a tiny light flickering behind Buck, stupidly feeling a little shy at a time like this. “Oh, uh, I was just dreaming. We were going on a trip. The three of us. It seemed very real.” 

Buck hums, Eddie feels it under his palms. “Where were we going?” 

“I…really don’t know,” Eddie says truthfully. “We were just on the open road.”

“Was I driving?” 

Eddie huffs a tiny laugh, shaking his head. “You know you were.” 

“I’m glad even your subconscious knows you’re a passenger princess.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie deadpans, rolling his eyes. 

“You, uh, know I’d go anywhere with you, right?” 

“Yes,” Eddie goes stiff. “I know that,” he says, quiet and serious. 

“Good.” Buck says, “Hey, maybe we can go on a trip when we’re outta here. Take a few days off. Go to the coast. Chris would love it.” 

Honestly, Eddie’s a realist—he’s a skeptic. He only believes in facts and proof, solid evidence that he’s seen or heard or felt. Eddie didn’t have the time or luxury to believe in things. He didn’t believe in a higher power, or ghosts, or curses. He doesn’t really hope or dream, he doesn’t have goals or aspirations, not anymore—they’re frivolous and privileged and frilly. 

He couldn’t afford to have faith. 

He knows the chances of one of them getting out of here alive, with enough time and strength to make it to a hospital for surgery, is low—let alone both of them. And that’s generous considering the fact removing this pole prematurely could kill them both. Eddie knows that. 

Eddie doesn’t get to have faith, but Buck does. 

Eddie drops his hands from Buck’s face, to his shoulders, gripping them tightly. He smiles weakly, blinking away the tears, mustering up all the strength he can to sound convincing, like he actually believes they’ll both be okay. “Yeah, uh. I’d really like that, Buck.” 

A bit of light returns to Buck’s eyes. Eddie wonders if the pole grazed his heart, somehow, or if the overwhelming ache in there is due to something else. 

“So you think we’ll be okay?” Buck asks quietly, sounding so small, so fragile.

Eddie tangles his fingers together on the back of Buck’s neck. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Me too,” Buck says, something like hope laced in his voice. Eddie feels like throwing up. “How are you feeling?”

He huffs and winces, “Pretty uncomfortable. Like there’s a metal pole in my body.” 

“Hey, what a coincidence, I feel exactly like that too.” 

“Wow, look at us.” They laugh because what else could they really do? Once the laughter dies down, his chest feels hollow. He misses the sound immediately. 

“What are the chances there would be an earthquake, today, while we were in here?” 

Eddie snorts, “Uh, pretty big, actually, considering our track record.” 

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, it comes out shaky. “The universe hates us.”

“The universe,” Eddie repeats skeptically. 

“But hey, between the two of us, that’s 18 lives. Not too shabby.” 

“We’re not cats, Buck.” 

“No, I guess we’re not,” Buck chuckles, low. “Did you know many people believe that the myth that cats have 9 lives originates from Ancient Egypt?”

“I didn’t. Tell me about it?” 

“Well, an Ancient Egyptian sun god was actually believed to take the form of a cat when he would visit the underworld,” Buck explains. “Apparently, he gave birth to 8 other gods and plus his own life, that’s 9.” 

“Hm, that’s pretty interesting.”

“Of course there’s no actual proof, just legends and stories. But there are a lot of different stories from other countries, like they all have their own spin on it. It’s cool.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, with a small smile. “Cats are cool. I’ve always wanted one.” 

“Maybe we should get a cat,” Buck says. “Chris would love that.” 

“We, huh?” Eddie pokes, his thumbs stroking the damp hair at Buck’s nape. 

Buck hums, blinking sadly. He looks like he wants to say something, but before he can, Bobby’s voice echoes through the shaft again. 

“Buck, Eddie,” Bobby yells. “We’re sending the radio down, it’s got a reflective strap on it. Watch your heads!”

They sit in silence as the radio makes its way down, the tension palpable. 

When it’s near them, Eddie grabs it with force and presses the button. “Cap, it’s Eddie. Listen, Buck and I are stuck down here on the elevator. We’re impaled in the abdomen with a thick metal rod.” 

Silence. 

“Hold on, who is impaled?”  

Eddie shakes his head in frustration, clutching the radio firmly. “Bobby, it’s both of us. It went right through us. We can’t move.”

“Got it,” Bobby says. “The earthquake wasn’t a big one, but we’re just a bit out of sorts up here. Just sit tight. We’re gonna figure something out.” 

“Okay. Bobby, please hurry,” Eddie stresses. 

“Copy,” he replies. “We’ll keep you updated.” 

Eddie looks at Buck with a tight smile. “Just a waiting game now.” 

Buck nods slowly, clearing his throat. “Isn’t it crazy that the last time there was an earthquake, we were also in an elevator shaft?” Buck says with a rather jovial tone. 

“You sound way too happy recalling that day,” Eddie replies. 

Buck chuckles lightly. “Well, I don’t know if you remember, but that was the day I met Christopher… so,” he trails off. 

He remembers it all, like it was yesterday. 

That heavy stone that sat firm in his body while he worried deeply about his son. The stone shrinking in size, just a bit, due to Buck’s steadfast reassurance. The anxiety and adrenaline of the rescue weaved together, coursing through his veins. The excitement of truly working with Buck for the first time, continuing the partnership they started the week before. That partnership extended when Chris met Buck, his little boy completely enamored by him, like Eddie was. The start of something ferocious blooming, growing in his chest; he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, it was out of his control. 

So, of course, Eddie remembers.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I remember. Chris couldn’t stop talking about you. It was getting a little annoying, actually.” 

“Well, I told you I love kids. Kids love me, too,” he replies simply. 

Eddie snorts, pulling on Buck’s earlobe playfully. “Yeah, that’s because they think you’re one of them.”

“Yeah, maybe.” 

Then, there’s another beat of silence. 

Except this time, it’s weird, and the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand as the energy violently shifts. The atmosphere gets dense, suffocating and Eddie knows what Buck is about to say. He can fucking see it in his eyes—they’re too soft, too apologetic. The corners of his mouth curve downwards slightly, his lip quivering.  

Eddie’s privy to this look. His tone is unwavering when he says, “Buck, absolutely not.” 

Buck sighs, his grip on Eddie’s shirt gets tighter. “Eddie, at least one of us has to make it out.” 

For Christopher, he doesn’t say, Eddie hears it anyways. 

Eddie shakes his head vigorously; he flinches with pain. He doesn’t care how bad it hurts. “We both do.” 

“Eddie.” 

“Buck.” 

“I really don’t want to argue with you but–” 

“Good, ‘cause I don’t wanna argue with you either.” 

“But, if there’s a choice. If one of us is worse off than the other…” he falls silent. 

“One of us?” Eddie asks, voice trembling. “You mean you?” 

Buck’s mouth taut in a stiff line. “I’m just saying, Eddie.” 

Eddie’s frustration is tangible; real and alive, a third entity in the room, wedged tightly between them.

He has always been able to read Buck, that’s not a secret. Probably better than anyone else could, and he took pride in it. A single half-glance and Eddie could tell you exactly what Buck was feeling or thinking in that moment. It’s a gift, knowing Buck like that. 

This is the first time Eddie’s ever thought it could also be a burden.

“Don’t say it again,” Eddie hisses, attempting to keep his voice steady. “We’re both getting outta here alive.”

“I’m sorry,” his mouth twitches like he wants to argue, push and fight. Instead, he grabs both of Eddie’s shaking hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Eddie softens, barely, still unsettled. He interlocks their fingers together, “I’m not letting you die, Buck. Please don’t make me choose that.” 

“Okay,” he says, his thumb stroking Eddie’s. “I won’t.” 

+

They’re still holding hands when Eddie lets his eyes close for a moment. 

Buck’s hands are ice cold, but there’s water, or some sort of liquid, dripping onto the floor near him. A puny distraction. He wonders where it could be coming from. 

He hones in on that instead of how his best friend, who is always warm and full of life, isn’t either of those things right now, and there is nothing Eddie can fucking do about it. 

He hears the trickle rippling into the puddle—each drop getting increasingly louder, roaring in his ears. Eddie synchronizes his shallow breathing to the rhythm. 

Buck’s voice breaks through like shattered glass, “Eddie,” Buck squeezes his hand gently. “Eddie.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You gotta stay awake, man.” 

He peels them open, and is met with Buck’s pinched expression. 

“Sorry, just resting my eyes.”

He can tell Buck is antsy, wants to say something. Eddie opens his mouth to question him, but he gets cut off.

“Listen,” Buck starts, his voice cracking but his demeanor serious, and it immediately gets Eddie on high alert. “There’s something I have to tell you.” 

He blinks at him, head tilting. No, Eddie thinks. No confessions down here. 

The thing was, Eddie knows Buck loves him. Eddie loves him, too. Inevitable, when he really thought about it, something that was set in motion the day they met. It wasn’t destiny, or the universe, or any other random, uncontrollable factor—they were the ones who made it. 

They danced around it for years, unknowing. But now, Eddie knows. 

“Save it for when we’re outta here, Buck.” 

“I think you and I both know the reality of the situation here, Eddie.” 

“No, Buck. I’m serious.” 

Buck lets go of Eddie’s hands. “So am I.” 

Eddie looks down at his empty hands and starts to feel ill. “It can wait–” he tries to explain, before Buck cuts him off. 

“God, no, it–I can’t wait, Eddie,” he urges, desperate. “Please.” 

“Buck,” Eddie pleads through his clenched teeth. 

“Please.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes until they hurt, until the pressure behind them throbs, and he nods, begrudgingly ushering him to go ahead. 

“Okay. Uh, I actually don’t know how to say this,” Buck begins. Eddie swallows back the words forming a ball of lava in his throat. Then don’t, he wants to scream. He doesn’t want to hear it—not now, not here. 

“I’m just gonna–uh. Okay, when we, uh. When we fell, when this pole impaled us–we weren’t…sitting like this.” 

Eddie’s eyes snap open, his vision is fuzzy around the edges. 

“I–uh, you weren’t this close to me,” he chokes out. “You were so far away. So, I moved myself closer.” 

There’s a ruthless buzzing in his ears. He wonders if Buck can hear it too. 

“God, Eddie. You don’t know–you weren’t waking up, and you looked so uncomfortable, and I–I don’t know, I had to do something. You were right there, and I couldn’t reach you,” Buck sobs. “So, I just came closer. I wrapped your legs around me, I woke you up.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open, but no words come out. 

“Look, our team is gonna figure something out, and they’re gonna work very hard to save us, but I’m gonna need you to be selfish, okay?” 

“No, what–no, not okay, Buck,” he breathes out. The words are entering Eddie’s mind, but they’re jumbled around, floating in his skull, unable to actually comprehend what’s being told to him. “I don’t even understand.” 

“Eddie. I moved. I slid myself closer to you. I’m bleeding out, from my back, from my stomach. I can feel it. You can’t see it, but I can feel it.” 

Eddie inhales a sharp breath, “No, no. You wouldn’t do that,” 

“Eddie–” 

“No, you know better than that,” Eddie reasons. 

“Well, it turns out when it comes to you, I can be pretty fucking stupid,” he says, limply wiping a tear from his cheek. “I know you noticed. You’ve been keeping the faith, indulging me, but you know deep down. You’ve known this whole time. You’re smart, you’re a medic.” 

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, his breath thin and thready. The warm tears finally spill from his eyes, and Eddie hates himself. He hates the way Buck inhales sharply at the sight of Eddie crying. He hates worrying Buck. He hates and he hates. 

“Eddie, please look at me,” Buck pleads, his frozen fingers cupping Eddie’s cheek. Eddie doesn’t want to look but he still opens his eyes slowly. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Maybe this wasn’t even real.

“My hands are way colder than yours, and I don’t need a mirror to know my face is pale. Eddie, I can barely feel any pain. I’m dying.” 

“Buck, you–” he whispers, tears running down his face silently, on to Buck’s fingers. “You’re not–”

“Guys,” Bobby’s voice spills out of the radio, smashing the moment to bits. They don’t say anything.

“Eddie? Buck?” 

Eddie maintains eye contact with Buck while he speaks into the radio, “We’re here, Cap,” struggling to keep his voice stable.

“Sorry for the wait. We were trying to gain access to the control panel. We have it now.”

He hears commotion on the other end. 

Bobby continues. “We’re bringing you guys up in a minute. It’s gonna be tricky. We have to go very slow. But once you’re up here, we can have Hen and Chim assess, and hopefully get to the hospital as soon as possible. Understood?” 

“Understood.” Eddie’s still staring intently at Buck through his tears. “Bobby, listen. Buck is bleeding out. It’s, uh. It’s really bad. He doesn’t have much time.”

Buck is silent, just watching him with a strange knowing expression, his damp eyelashes clumped together. 

“Uh,” Eddie can tell Bobby’s trying to remain calm. “Copy. Any–uh. Any other injuries we should be worrying about?” 

“Just Buck’s ankle, it might be sprained, some bruised ribs,” Eddie says. “God, Bobby, please just–just hurry,”

“Copy,” he repeats. “We’ll keep you updated.”

Buck frowns. “You didn’t tell him about your possible concussion.” 

“I think we have other pressing matters here, Buck,” Eddie snaps, the potent anger that’s been stewing in his chest finally coming forward. 

He’s angry at Buck, he’s angry at himself, he’s angry at the universe; the very thing he denounces. 

“I had to do it, y’know,” Buck slurs, his blinks getting more sluggish. “You were so far away.” 

He manhandles Buck’s face, holding his head up. “Buck, you have to keep your eyes open, okay? We’ll be outta here soon.” 

Buck ignores him. “Chris has that assignment, the poster. Eddie, you need to go to Michael’s–don’t skimp on the materials. Okay?” He smiles and then coughs, it’s wet and awful. 

“Buck–”

“I’m serious, Eddie,” he exhales, small and weak. “Don’t be cheap for once in your life.” 

“Okay, Buck, okay. Michael’s,” he appeases, his voice shaky. 

“And God, don’t forget to call Mrs. Jordan back about the career day thing. She’s already not a huge fan of yours.” 

Eddie tilts his head up in exasperation. “She hates me.” 

“I didn’t wanna say it.” 

“She always compares me to you. Don’t you and Mr. Buckley have the same job? ” he says, in a high-pitched voice, mimicking her. “How is he able to answer all my emails within the appropriate time frame?” 

“Oh, yeah, she sucks,” Buck laughs weakly. “No one compares to you.” 

“Buck, I don’t think I can do this without you–any of it. I don’t want to do it without you,” Eddie sobs, crushing their foreheads together. “It’s not fair.” 

Buck hushes him, petting his hair. “I know.” 

Eddie clenches his stomach. He feels nauseous. Buck is comforting him right now. He always does—why would today be any different.

“God, what the hell is taking them so fucking long?” Eddie cries, leaning back to look at Buck. 

Eddie’s seen a lot of people die before, an unfortunate certainty from his time served and his current occupation. Buck was already one of those people. And, yet, here they were, again. 

Buck had once told Eddie the universe was screaming at him. Truthfully, he should have screamed back.

What a cruel joke, Eddie thinks, hysterically. Take me instead, your fight is with me. 

“Eddie,” the radio crackles. “How are you guys doing? Is Buck–” Bobby pauses.

“He’s not looking good, Bobby, but he’s here. Please tell me you’re bringing us up soon.” 

“Yep, any second now.” 

Eddie sighs, hanging his head. “Finally.”

Bobby pauses again, clearing his throat. “Hey, Buck, hang in there, kid. You’re both going to be fine,” his voice raw. 

Eddie brings the radio up to Buck’s pale gray lips. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Bobby,” he rasps.

“Wouldn’t expect any less. Good to hear your voice, Buck. Guys, we’re gonna start moving it now. Keep an open channel, in case we need to stop for anything, alright? See you soon.” 

“Copy.” 

The elevator comes to life under them, whirring and slow-moving. 

“Look, Buck, we’re moving. You gotta promise me that you'll stay with me. We’re so close.” 

Buck plays tenderly with Eddie’s left hand, his touch exceptionally dainty, and his chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself when Buck fixates on his ring finger. 

“Buck, are you listening to me?” 

“If I somehow get out of here alive,” Buck mumbles, his voice low. “I think I’m gonna marry you.” 

Eddie blinks back the tears profusely. “If that’s your proposal, I gotta say, it could use some work.” 

Buck scoffs quietly. “C’mon, Eddie, I’m serious. If I somehow manage to survive this, marry me.”

“You gotta hold on then,” he begs, frantic. “You wouldn’t want me to marry someone else, would you?” 

Buck pulls a face. “Ugh, I would hate that. I’d haunt him forever, y’know, make sure he never has a moment of peace.” 

“Oh, I know, I believe you.”

“You don’t even believe in ghosts, Eddie.” 

“No, I really don’t, but Buck, I believe in you. Alright? I believe in us. We’re almost there,” 

“So, you would? Marry me?” 

“Oh, you gotta wait if you wanna hear my answer,” he exhales sharply, trying his hardest to keep it together. 

“That’s okay, I have a really good feeling it’s a yes.” 

Eddie lets out a humored puff of air from his nose. 

It was—a yes, that is. Eddie has thought about it before; if he would ever get married again. 

His marriage to Shannon was one out of necessity; two young kids, scared out of their minds. The crushing pressure from all sides, backed into this little corner; the illusion of choice ripped from their fingers. 

There was love there, but not the right kind. That’s okay, Eddie had realized eventually. 

Nonetheless, it tainted the idea of marriage for him. That commitment was inconceivable with Ana, and even less with Marisol. 

But when he thinks about true connection, about love and devotion, about Hen and Karen, Bobby and Athena, Chimney and Maddie—Buck comes to mind. The concept of marriage was never the crux of the matter. 

Committing to someone wholly? Sharing your life with someone? That wasn’t the issue; he’d already been doing that this whole time. 

The elevator car jerks, loud and obnoxious—Eddie writhes in pain, Buck does not. 

He screams into the radio, furious, “Jesus, take it easy!” 

“Sorry,” Bobby answers. “The mechanics here are less than perfect.” 

Eddie lets out a long sigh. 

Buck wheezes, “Listen, you have to–you gotta–Chris, Eddie.” 

“You’re not allowed to talk to me like you’re already dead. Whatever you’re about to say, you can tell him yourself, Buck. I’m serious.” 

They’re almost there. 

“Please.”

“Buck, just hang on, one more minute,” Eddie coaxes, stroking Buck’s hair as his head falls forward onto Eddie’s neck; his irregular, slow breath, hitting the moist skin there. 

Buck tilts his head up a little so his chin rests on Eddie’s shoulder. He speaks right in Eddie’s ear, completely disregarding his words, “I love him, Eddie. In ways I didn’t even realize were possible. I need him to know that. He’s my entire heart.” 

“He already knows that, Buck,” Eddie hisses, running his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. “You show him that every fucking day, and you’re gonna show him again.”

They are almost there; the light from the opening is starting to illuminate them. Eddie squints. The brightness hurts, after spending however long in the near-dark. His head pounds like a tiny animal found its way into his skull, rattling around in there, looking for an exit. 

Buck lifts his head up to look Eddie in the eyes. And Eddie can finally see for himself the severity of Buck’s state. His blood-soaked shirt, his matted hair, his beautiful face. 

“Maddie–” Buck slurs, licking his cracked lips. “Maddie. You need to take care of each other.” 

Eddie can hear his words—his pleas—but they just hang above his head, like a keen sword. “Buck, we’re right there, just a second longer,” 

He can see their team, the anxiety and panic painted over their faces.

“All of you guys,” Buck whimpers, he barely makes a noise. But Eddie hears it loud and clear, always attuned to the sound of Buck’s voice. “You gotta take care of each other.” 

Finally, they reach the 5th floor. Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, a wail coming along with it. 

“Buck,” he cries, to their friends—their family. “Buck, God. Please, just don’t let him die.” 

Hen solemnly nods, there’s a wrinkle in her brow. She soothes him, “Eddie, it’s okay, we got you guys.” 

Chimney kneels beside them, his eyes red-rimmed. “Hey, Buck,” he says softly, voice cracking. “It’s Chim, I’m just gonna check you out, okay?” 

“Okay,” Buck whispers, “I’m getting really tired, but please don’t tell Eddie, I don’t want him to worry.” 

Buck’s hand lets go of Eddie’s. Eddie screams. Buck doesn’t even flinch.  

Quickly, Hen puts a c-collar on Eddie and Chimney puts one on Buck. They work silently in tandem, sharing looks, passing equipment; a partnership that could rival their own.

They do their paramedic dance; checking pulses, administering fluids, checking their wounds, securing the pole with gauze and tape. It’s all in the background though—a flash of limbs, rushed and precise voices—like Eddie is watching a play, and Buck’s the main character. 

Then, carefully, slowly, they place them both on a gurney. 

In the elevator, Bobby strokes Buck’s hair. Eddie can’t bear to watch. When Bobby’s hand rests on his shoulder, he still doesn’t open his eyes. 

They have to wait until they’re in the hospital to remove the pole, so they’re still connected. He doesn’t mind, because if Buck died right now, it should happen while they’re still this close together. Not when he’s on an operating table, or somewhere else; nowhere near Eddie. 

If Buck is going to die, he would have to do it in front of Eddie. 

Eddie opens his eyes, and Buck doesn’t look like Buck anymore. Eddie smiles at him anyway. He leans over and whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” so softly in his ear. He’s not sure if Buck heard him. Hen must have heard it though: it’s sullenly written on her face. 

In the ambulance, it’s all a blur—bouts of lightheadedness and nausea, slipping in and out of consciousness. Buck is barely alive, the heart-rate monitor mocking Eddie. 

The morphine kicks in and his grip on Buck loosens; their hands just near each other instead of tangled. 

Everything is white, and smooth around the edges. Eddie screams again, but this time, his lips don't move. 

He prays the whole ride to the hospital. 

He prays when the hospital staff cuts them apart. 

And when Buck’s heart rate goes flat at that exact moment, like Buck could tell they weren’t connected anymore, his eyes delicately closing—dying in front of Eddie like he wanted—well, he prays then, too. 

An endless stream of prayers, to a God he doesn't believe in, a cruel faceless entity somewhere, for the man he loves. 

They take Eddie into surgery. He wants to swing his feet over, hop off the table, and find Buck. Lay on him, with their matching wounds and fuse their skin together. Because, usually, where Buck goes, he goes. 

Eddie won’t give up, he decides. Yes, for Chris, that’s a given, but for Buck, too. 

He’s already quite acquainted with grief—no beating around the bush. He knows grief, and grief knows him. 

So, Eddie will live, he decides; for Chris, and for Buck, but not for himself. That was the best he could do. 

+

When he wakes up, he’s not in a hospital bed. 

The fresh smell of the ocean breeze lightly hits his nose, and seagulls squawk somewhere above him. There’s families enjoying their afternoon around him, children laughing and playing. He hears the sound of the waves crashing at the shore and returning home to the sea. 

He’s on the beach, and Buck is right beside him.

“Finally,” Buck says, flashing his perfect smile. His loose curls frame his face, golden and fluffy. There’s no blood on his teeth, and his lips are plump and pink and full of life. “I was about to check your pulse.” 

He knows this isn’t real, but he would have to get used to it—only seeing Buck in his dreams. 

“Uh, I guess I’m more tired than I thought,” he huffs, shaking his head. “Where’s Chris?” 

“Chris?” Buck says, his eyebrows raising. “I mean, I love him, too, but bringing him on our honeymoon? Not even a stage-5 clinger like me would do that.” 

“Honeymoon?” Eddie breathes out, stuttering a bit. 

He gives Eddie a peculiar look, big blue eyes blinking at him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a gentle smile, holding his hand out. “I think so.” 

Buck smiles back, it’s warmer than the sand between his toes. He fits his hand into Eddie’s, snug like a glove. 

Eddie knows this isn’t real. He knows that. 

But the feeling of Buck’s wedding band against his palm shakes something loose in his chest, and in this universe, Buck isn’t cold and dead. His body isn’t laying alone in a morgue. In this universe, Buck is right here, and Eddie doesn’t want to wake up. He doesn’t think he can. 

Eddie shakes his head at himself, leaning forward and resting his face in the crook of Buck’s neck. Buck’s other hand snakes its way into Eddie’s hair, gently running his fingers through his scalp. 

“I’m really glad you’re here with me,” he mumbles, his voice thick, directly into Buck’s skin. 

“I’m really glad I’m here with you too,” Buck replies. “Even if it’s not real.” 

Eddie leans back slightly. Their faces are so close to each other, like earlier. “It could have been.” 

Buck’s eyes are sad and misty, but he gives Eddie a tiny smile anyway. “Yeah.” 

+

When he wakes up, he’s cold. The hospital sheets feel like sandpaper against his skin, and the monitor tells him his heart is beating. 

He doesn’t open his eyes yet, unwilling to fully enter this realm. A world where he doesn’t have his best friend anymore, where Chris has lost another parent. 

Someone shifts in the hospital chair near him, and he can’t help but squeeze his eyes tighter, because that person is not Buck.

He feels the weight of a hand on his arm. “Eddie?” 

His eyes open, hazily, and the white fluorescent light makes him a little nauseous. 

“Bobby?” he chokes out, his voice dry and scratchy. Bobby looks tired and worn, holding a bible and a rosary. 

You prayed for the wrong person, Eddie wants to say sardonically. 

“Hey,” Bobby says, relieved. “Hold on.” 

He leaves for a moment and comes back with a cup of water. He helps Eddie sit up a little and guides the straw to Eddie’s mouth. He takes a few sips. 

Eddie coughs, clearing his throat. “Thanks.” 

Bobby nods, setting the cup down. “I should get a doctor.” 

“In a minute. How’s Christopher?” 

“He’s currently with Hen and Karen,” Bobby explains. “Safe and sound. But he’s been pretty anxious. I can call him, if you want.” 

 “Yeah, I’d like that,” he swallows harshly, ignoring the pins and needles. “In a minute,” he repeats. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh, groggy. My head hurts–well, actually, everything hurts, but, I’m okay.” 

Bobby gives him a sympathetic look. “You’re not okay.” 

“No,” Eddie says truthfully. He’s uncomfortable, the air in the room getting thin. “But, I will be. I’m the one that lived, aren’t I?” 

Bobby’s face does a complicated thing at Eddie’s acidic tone, but before he can reply, Eddie speaks again. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“Uh, about 2 days.” 

“2 days,” Eddie nods slowly. “Chris has been with Hen and Karen the whole time?” 

“He stayed with Athena and I for a bit,” Bobby says. “He was here yesterday, actually. We’ve all been rotating with the kids so there would always be someone with you and Buck.” 

Eddie’s ears ring like a bomb just went off in his lap. “Buck?” 

“Yeah, he’s in the room two doors down,” Bobby says matter-of-factly. “Maddie’s with him now.” 

Eddie thinks they’re fucking crazy, that somehow his hospital room was two doors down from the hospital morgue. But, that can’t be—that doesn’t even make any sense. Eddie opens his mouth to speak, to ask a million questions, to scream, anything. But nothing comes out. The heart-rate monitor starts going haywire. Because that would mean—

“Eddie?” Bobby says, eyes wide with concern. He leans over him and presses the assistance button.

Then, it hits him, all at once. 

“Buck,” Eddie cries out, unable to control the way his voice cracks. “Buck is alive?” 

“Yeah, Eddie,” Bobby softens, nodding. “He’s alive. He made it through surgery, too.” 

Eddie passes out. 

+

When he wakes up this time, Hen is beside him, scrolling through her phone. 

Her face lights up when she notices him shifting. 

“Hey,” she says warmly as she stands up. “Welcome back.” 

He tries to sit up, but she immediately sticks her hands out. “Whoa, easy, you’re gonna rip your stitches.” 

He throws his head back on the pillows and winces, rubbing his neck. 

“Yeah, that would be the concussion,” she says. 

He gulps, trying to swallow the unease settling in his throat. 

“Buck–uh, did he–” he starts, his eyes focusing on the lights. His vision starts to blur as the tears form. 

Hen lets him take his time. He takes a deep breath. “Is Buck really alive?” 

She doesn’t say anything the second he asks, and Eddie starts to panic. Was it all a dream? Was Bobby even in here earlier? 

Hen cups his face, tilting his head to force him to look at her, a huge smile on her face. “He’s alive, Eddie.” 

The tears fall, wetting his face and Hen’s fingers. “He is?” 

“He is,” she nods her head to the left. “Two doors down from you, he’s awake too. Asking the same question about you.” 

“You’re sure? This isn’t a dream?” 

Hen raises her eyebrows and lets go of his face. “100% sure this is not a dream. I could pinch you, if you want,” she chuckles, pinching the air. 

Eddie puffs out a brief laugh. “Please don’t do that.” In the same second, he stills. “I wanna see him.” 

“Neither of you can even leave your beds, Edmundo. Especially him.” she frowns. She pauses for a brief moment. “But–actually, I have an idea, hold on.” 

She grabs her phone from the chair. A couple of seconds later, she has it pressed to her ear. 

“Hey,” she says, but not to him. “I have someone here who wants to talk to Buck.” 

His heart starts racing, and the monitor betrays him, beeping erratically. Hen peers over at it, and stifles a laugh, passing him her phone. “Guess who.” 

He grabs it with more force than intended, and brings it to his ear. He’s already crying when he says, “Hello?” 

“Eddie?” Buck whispers, sniffling. 

“Buck?” Eddie breathes through his sobs. 

They don’t say anything else for a while—they just listen to each other breathe.  

+

“He’s very excited to see you,” Bobby tells Eddie, a few days later, as he pushes his wheelchair down the hallway. “He wouldn’t leave the hospital staff alone.” 

“I know, I’m pretty sure they said I could visit him so he would shut up.” 

“Maybe,” Bobby laughs. “But your pestering probably helped.” 

“Probably,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. 

They enter Buck’s room, and Eddie’s chest is pounding so hard, he’s almost certain Bobby can hear it and is just ignoring it out of courtesy. 

“Here we go.” 

Buck’s sitting up on the bed, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. When he sees Eddie, the stiff tension in his face melts away. The smile on his face is huge, mirroring Eddie’s own, his cheeks starting to hurt. 

Bobby pushes his chair as close to Buck as he can. He touches Eddie’s shoulder softly. “I’ll be right outside.” 

He nods, and they both watch him leave before they turn to look at each other. 

“Hi,” Buck whispers, holding out his hand. 

“Hi,” Eddie replies, weaving their fingers together. He lets out an unsteady breath at how warm Buck’s hands are—it gives him goosebumps.  It was a stark contrast to the last time he held them. 

“How are you feeling? Buck asks. 

Eddie flushes. “Better now. You?” 

“About the same.”  

“Buck, I–” Eddie starts, then stops. There’s so much he wants to say but, he’s unsure where to start. 

He didn’t think he would get this chance. He thought he had lost this right, this privilege to be near Buck. Buck, who is warm and full of life; heart pumping and blood coursing through him. 

“You’re really alive,” is what he settles with, his voice fragile. 

“I am.” 

“I thought I lost you, Buck.” 

“You didn’t,” Buck replies softly. 

“But I almost did,” Eddie says, his throat feeling tight. “I was mourning you, even when you were still alive.” 

Buck frowns, squeezing his hard firmly. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“I had no idea how I was gonna talk to Chris. He’s already lost so much. To tell him he’d lost another parent, I just–” Eddie stops, sucking in a tight breath. 

“Oh, Eddie,” Buck sighs, woefully. 

“You know, when we were down there, and you told me you had something to say, I thought you were gonna tell me you love me.” 

“Would that have been so wrong?” 

“I didn’t want the first time to also be the last time I heard it,” Eddie replies, shaking his head. “Or said it,” he adds, after a second. 

“Well, we’re here now,” Buck says, slowly. “And I do. Love you. I have for a really long time. I didn’t realize how easy it was. Like, one day I woke up and that last piece finally clicked. It’s always been you and Chris.” 

“I love you, too,” Eddie murmurs, looking into his eyes. “I’ve loved you before I even knew how to define it. I want it all. Everything, with you. You’re my best friend. You’re our family.” 

“You’re mine,” Buck whispers, low and shy. His cheeks are pink and wet from tears. He lets go of Eddie’s hand and moves slightly, making room on his bed, patting the surface. “C’mere.” 

Eddie lifts himself up carefully onto Buck’s bed, fitting his body alongside Buck’s, their legs tangling together. Their doctors would probably throw a tantrum if they saw them right now, Bobby too, but he doesn’t care. And he doesn’t think Buck does either. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?” Eddie whispers. Buck looks a little shocked, but he nods, his gaze dropping to Eddie’s lips.  

He tilts his head up and cups Buck’s jaw, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s small, and chaste, and it couldn’t possibly begin to display the amount of love he has for him, yet his head feels loopy. 

Eddie didn’t think he would get to experience this. He’s still a little terrified that this whole damn thing could be a dream. 

He’d come to terms with it, convincing himself that he would just have to live the rest of his life suspended in the air, floating and meandering. But the thing about Buck, he’s steadfast and resolute; he’s solid ground. 

When Eddie leans back, Buck has a goofy half smile plastered on his mouth. 

He exhales, it’s light and giddy. “You should kiss me again.” 

“Okay,” Eddie complies, going in for another kiss. It’s not small, or chaste, and it would probably be in their best interest to remember that they’re in a hospital, both recovering from major abdominal surgery. 

This time, Buck leans back first, breathing heavily, a dazed little look in his eyes. “I heard you in the ambulance, y’know.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie strokes his thumb on Buck’s birthmark, tracing the shape.  

“So, technically, we’re engaged right now,” Buck says, straightforward. 

“Oh, are we?” Eddie laughs, despite how serious Buck’s tone is. 

Buck pouts slightly, so Eddie quickly adds, “Yes, you big baby, we’re engaged.” 

Buck’s eyes soften, and he smiles; it’s bright and warm and perfect like always, and kisses him again. 

“But,” Eddie mumbles against his mouth. “Will you stay alive long enough for the wedding?” 

Buck tilts his head back and snorts, “I told you already, 18 lives between the two of us.” 

“Could you maybe keep this one?” Eddie says with an edge. 

“I mean, I’ll definitely try.” 

Eddie makes an unimpressed noise, scrunching his mouth up to the side. 

“Oh my god,” he says, placing one of his hands flat against his chest. “I, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley, wholeheartedly promise you, Edmundo ‘Eddie’ Diaz, that I will try my absolute hardest to look out for bombs on ladder trucks, make sure I never go out when it’s raining, and avoid metal poles that fall out of the sky.” 

“Wow, look at you, you’ve already written your vows,” Eddie deadpans, rolling his eyes. 

“Shut up,” Buck laughs, holding him tighter in his arms. 

With his head comfortably nestled on Buck’s chest, Eddie drifts off to the sound of his heartbeat; strong and real. He dreams about Buck and Chris, about their family vacation to the coast. But this time, he can enjoy it. He’s not afraid to wake up. He wants to.