Chapter Text
It all happened in slow motion.
They were standing across from one another, talking in the street, next to the fire truck. Buck heard a popping sound. Then a cloud of red mist exploded from Eddie’s shoulder.
Buck felt the droplets hit his face. It was in his mouth. A harsh, metallic taste. Like blood.
It was blood. Eddie’s blood.
Buck watched Eddie collapse to the floor, a dark red stain spreading across the asphalt beneath him. Another pop. Then Buck was on the floor too, Captain Mehta on top of him.
He understood, suddenly. The sounds he’d heard had been gunshots.
Eddie had been shot.
Eddie’s blood was on his face, on his clothes, in his mouth.
Buck’s eyes found Eddie. He was lying in a growing pool of his own blood, reaching towards Buck. The light was fading from his eyes. Eddie, his Eddie, was dying right in front of him.
He couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen.
Without making a conscious decision to do so, he felt himself move.
Buck would never really remember what happened between that moment and handing Eddie over to the ER team outside the hospital. He was there but not there, existing only to do what was needed to keep Eddie alive.
He only came back to himself when Captain Mehta asked if he was OK. It was the insanity of the question that broke through to him. How could he be OK? Nothing would ever be OK again if Eddie died. Buck couldn’t lose him. He’d never had the courage to admit it, but Eddie was his everything. His world. His love. Buck had been in love with Eddie for so long now, it was as automatic as breathing.
How could Buck breathe if Eddie was gone?
No. It was fair to say that Buck was not OK.
Against the backdrop of the busy hospital, Buck just stood there by the fire truck, alone, willing himself to move. Trying to follow Eddie inside.
He must have managed it, because the next thing he knew someone was crouching in front of him. A nurse. He realised he was sitting on one of the hard plastic seats in the hospital waiting area, an empty chair on either side of him. He didn’t know how he’d got there, or how long he’d been sitting there. Almost absently, Buck wondered if he should be worried about losing time like this. It probably wasn’t a good sign.
“…hurt, sir?”
Buck blinked and tried to focus. The nurse had been speaking to him but he hadn’t registered what she’d said. She seemed to be waiting for him to answer, but he’d missed the question entirely.
“I-I’m sorry” he managed. “What did you say?”
She gave him a careful smile, like you might give to a lost child so it didn’t feel scared.
“Are you OK? Are you hurt?”
A memory hit him like a bolt of electricity.
Buck. Are you OK?
Eddie had asked him that. In the fire truck. While he’d tried to keep Eddie’s blood inside his body with nothing but his bare hands and a piece of gauze. While he could feel Eddie’s heart stuttering under his touch. Uncertain, flickering, like a flame about to go out.
It took Buck a moment to fight his way out of the memory. The nurse was still in front of him, still waiting for him to answer.
But why would he be hurt? Was he hurt? No, he’d have noticed. Surely.
“I-I’m fine. Just waiting for an update on my friend. Eddie. Eddie Diaz. Is there any news?”
The nurse smiled at him again, still careful. Trying not to spook him.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any news, yet, about Eddie. He’s in good hands, though. What’s your name, sir?”
“Um… B- Evan. Buckley. Evan Buckley. But everyone calls me Buck”.
“Hi, Buck. My name is Jamie. Are you sure you’re OK? It’s just,” she paused before continuing, “you have some blood on you.”
Buck looked down. His once pale shirt was deep scarlet in places, covered in blood.
Eddie’s blood.
Dried blood was caked over Buck’s hands, mostly brown now, flaking off in places, but still red under his nails and between his fingers.
Eddie’s blood.
He remembered the warmth of the blood spatter hitting his face. He remembered it settling on him, almost like a mist. He wondered how he looked now, face covered in blood.
Eddie’s blood.
That thought echoed through his mind, again and again.
Eddie’s blood. Eddie’s blood. Eddie’s blood.
Eddie’s blood.
Buck could still taste it. It filled him. It covered him. It was everywhere, and it was overwhelming. He felt sick. Dizzy. His vision blurred at the edges, the colours fading to shades of grey. His ears filled with a steady buzzing.
He gradually became aware of someone in front of him. Of words he couldn’t grasp hold of. Of hands squeezing his own. Buck blinked, trying to clear his head. The world rushed back, bright and loud. Too much. It was all too much. He was drowning in reality.
“Buck, you with me?” Jamie was kneeling now, their faces level, real concern in her voice. “I need you to breathe.”
He wanted to say he was fine. That it wasn’t him that got shot. Eddie was the one who got hurt. Eddie was the one needing help. Eddie was the one who mattered.
Eddie was the one who mattered more than anything.
But he couldn’t find his voice. The words just wouldn't come.
And then there was someone else. Bobby was there. Sitting next to him and taking his hand. To Buck, as he fought against the fog in his head, it felt warm and solid.
It felt real.
“Buck? How're we doing?”
Bobby’s voice was warm and level. Gentle but firm. Buck recognised the tone. It was the voice Bobby had used when Eddie was missing in the well. The voice he’d used when Maddie had been taken.
His captain’s voice. Calm and in control. It was meant to reassure, to bring comfort.
But it didn’t, not to Buck.
Hearing Bobby use that voice scared Buck more than anything. It meant something was seriously wrong.
“Buck. Can you look at me?”
Buck turned his head to look at Bobby, fighting against the haze in his mind.
“How you doing, kid?” Bobby asked gently.
“I-I’m OK, Bobby.” A pause. Then, quietly, “Bobby, Eddie got shot. I-I couldn’t protect him.”
“Buck, no one could have done more. Captain Mehta filled me in. You brought him to safety. You kept him alive till he got here. You saved Eddie’s life.”
Bobby drew Buck in for a hug.
“You did good, kid”.
Buck tried to focus on the words. But all he could think about was the taste of Eddie’s blood. Eddie’s blood was inside him. Buck hadn’t kept him safe.
“Buck?” Bobby was talking again. Buck realised he hadn’t registered what Bobby had said.
He tried to get himself under control.
“Sorry, Bobby” he managed.
“It’s OK, kid. I said let's get you cleaned up and changed. Maybe get you checked over, too.”
Buck just nodded, still unable to find the words he wanted.
Bobby turned to Jamie.
“Is there a bathroom we could use? I think he needs a shower to get…” Bobby’s voice tightened ever so slightly, his composure finally threatening to break. “…to wash his hair.”
So there was blood in his hair, too.
Eddie’s blood.
The metallic taste in Buck's mouth got stronger. Buck fought a sudden wave of nausea that made his stomach heave. He was shaking but he couldn’t bring himself under control.
Jamie gave him a quick appraising look and then nodded at Bobby. They both stood and it took Buck a moment to realise they wanted him to stand, too, and go with them. He stood on shaky legs, Bobby’s strong hand taking his elbow to steady him. They followed Jamie down the corridor, through some double doors marked Staff Only, and into a locker room with individual shower cubicles.
“It’s for the nurses,” Jamie said. “We’re not supposed to, but we sometimes let other people use it in… specific circumstances. You’ll have to be quick.”
“Thank you,” Bobby said, voice thick with gratitude. “We’ll be as quick as possible.”
Jamie exchanged a look with Bobby that Buck saw but didn’t understand. His head was filled with static again and it was difficult to process what was going on around him. He felt unsteady and leaned heavily against the cold, tiled wall. The chill was almost nice. It cut through his shirt and t-shirt, and he could focus on that rather than the feelings in his body or the thoughts screaming through his brain. He realised he was still trembling uncontrollably. He tried to steady himself, but his brain didn’t seem in control of his body.
“Once you’re done, bring him back to the desk and I’ll check he really is alright.” Buck didn’t know who “he” was. Then he realised. Jamie was talking about him.
Bobby already had the shower running before Jamie closed the door. Buck just looked at it, unmoving.
“Come on kid” Bobby said, gently. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, showered, and into something clean. You’ll feel better.”
And that actually made Buck laugh. Bobby gave him a strange look, but Buck couldn’t help it, Because in what universe could taking a shower fix Eddie being shot? How could he feel better with the taste of blood still in his mouth?
Eddie’s blood.
Bobby was still looking at him, but Buck couldn’t talk about this right now. He needed to do something. Anything. Shower, right? OK. Buck started to struggle out of his clothes, trying to touch them as little as possible, his fingers slow and clumsy. The blood was dry now, and it made the material of his shirt stiff where the spatter had hit. While he was undressing, Buck noticed for the first time that Bobby had a duffle with him.
“I brought this in from my car,” Bobby explained, rifling through the bag. “It’s my grab bag. I was on the way in when Hen called. It should have… There. Towel, shampoo, body wash. Clean shirt and… oh… no pants, apparently.”
Bobby looked at Buck’s jeans, stained in places with red that was now fading to brown.
“I-it’s OK Bobby”, Buck said in an empty voice, surprising them both by breaking his silence. “The shirt got the worst of it. I-I can put these jeans back on.”
Once he was naked, Buck climbed under the spray and let the warm water wash over him. He watched as it turned from clear to pink to red. Washing the blood away.
Eddie’s blood.
Buck suddenly felt an overwhelming and irrational sense of loss. Eddie. His Eddie. The best friend Buck had been hiding feelings for for years. Eddie, who Buck loved with all his heart. Eddie, who Buck had never told - would never tell - about those feelings. Eddie, who had been shot. Eddie, who could be dying. Eddie, whose blood was washing away, leaving him.
Irrationally, he wanted it back. It was his. Buck couldn’t lose any more of Eddie.
“Buck? You OK?” Bobby asked. Buck wondered why and then realised he was crying. He fought the tears, and tried to find his words again.
“Sure, Bobby”. Meaningless. Same empty voice as before.
It was the best he could do.
Buck reached for the shampoo. The lather turned his fingers pink, and he tried not to think about why.
He stood under the stream of water till it turned from red to pink to clear again. When he was done with the shower, he dried off with Bobby’s towel. He pulled on Bobby’s shirt- slightly too small but workable- then his own jeans. Bobby had tried to sponge off the worst but they were still stained with rust coloured spatter.
Bobby gave Buck an appraising look when he reappeared, fully dressed and clean. He wasn’t shaking as badly now, though his hands still had a definite tremor, and he seemed much more present.
“Better?” Bobby asked cautiously.
“Some” Buck replied, quiet but clear, and Bobby was relieved that he at least sounded more like himself.
“Let’s go get you checked over then.”
Buck looked like he was going to protest, but Bobby steered him by the elbow back to the nurses’ station where Jamie was waiting.
It took just a few minutes for Jamie to declare Buck mostly uninjured but, understandably, in shock. There were grazes on his palms where he’d crawled on the asphalt, under the fire truck, to reach Eddie. Nothing serious. Buck tuned everything out as Jamie cleaned his cut hands, and she and Bobby discussed him, their voices merging into a kind of soothing white noise that Buck couldn’t process.
Then Bobby was saying something. Buck heard Eddie and tried hard to focus till the noise became words again.
“Buck, did you hear me? Jamie checked and Eddie is going to be in surgery for a few more hours. We think you should go home and rest. I can stay and let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
Buck was going to protest. He wasn’t going anywhere. He suddenly realised Jamie was gone, and he and Bobby were alone together in the waiting area.
Then his phone vibrated and lit up with an incoming call.
Carla.
Automatically, he answered.
“H-hey, Carla”. His voice still sounded like it belonged to someone else.
“Buckaroo, thank goodness. I was getting worried. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Eddie but I can’t reach him. He was supposed to be home a while ago. Is he with you?”
Buck’s heart froze.
Christopher.
Someone needed to be there for Christopher. Someone needed to tell Chris what had happened to his dad.
“C-Carla. I’m at the h-hospital. Eddie…Eddie’s been shot.”
He expected to break down again at having to tell Carla. To cry. To shake till he finally fell apart. But he didn’t. He felt strangely calm. Disconnected.
He heard Carla gasp through the phone. Bobby was watching him intently, hovering nearby like he was ready to step in if Buck needed. Their eyes met and Buck shook his head in an I got this gesture. And he did. This was something he could do for Eddie. For Christopher.
“Oh, honey.” Carla’s voice was thick with tears. “I saw something on the news. I didn’t think… Is he going to be OK?”
“St-still in surgery. We don’t know yet. Carla, I’m coming over. I need to tell Chris. I-I want him to hear it from me”. Buck ignored Bobby who was obviously trying to catch his eye again. “I-I’ll be there as soon as I can. Can you stay till I get there?”
“Of course, baby. Whatever you need.” A pause. “Buck, sweetheart, are you OK?”
He sighed. People kept asking. Jamie. Bobby. Eddie had asked, while his blood was drying on Buck’s shirt and on his skin. While his blood was in Buck’s mouth.
Eddie’s blood.
The thought would not go away. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth again and, just for a moment, he thought he was definitely going to throw up. But no. Somehow, he managed to keep control.
Still not meeting Bobby’s eyes, he said “Yeah, Carla, I’m fine. Really. I’ll see you soon.” And he ended the call.
Buck stood. Slowly. Unsteadily. Bobby was there with a worried hand at his elbow, gripping Buck firmly. Keeping him stable like so many times before. He didn’t dare look at Bobby, but just said quietly “I have to go and see Chris”.
Bobby started to object but Buck stopped him, saying in a broken voice. “Bobby. I have to do this. Let me do this. Let me do something that makes a difference here.”
Then he added, stronger now, “You wanted me to get out of here, so I’ll go to Eddie’s. I can rest there just as well as at my loft.” It was reasonable. Rational.
It was desperate.
Bobby slowly nodded, obviously not liking any of his options. He’d argued that Buck should leave the hospital, should go home and rest. It was obvious he needed to, so Bobby could hardly go back on that now. But taking on the responsibility of telling Christopher what had happened to his Dad? That was a lot for anyone. Especially someone who’d just lived through the trauma Buck had faced. Bobby also knew in his heart that no one would support Chris better through this nightmare than Buck. His Buck. They’d faced trauma together before and it had forged a bond between them stronger than most family ties. Buck was important to Christopher. He loved him and trusted him, almost like a parental figure. And Chris would need that tonight. He would need Buck.
Bobby sighed, resigned, then asked, “You need anything, kid?”
“I’m good”. Lie. They both knew it. Buck was not good. “I’ll take your duffle, if that’s OK. So I can wash your stuff and give it back. I-I do appreciate the loan, Bobby”.
“Buck, you really don’t have to…”
“I do, Bobby. I need to.” Then in a softer voice, “Thank you for being here. For him. For me. When we needed you. Stay with him for me?”
Bobby swallowed and Buck thought he looked like he might cry. “Of course, kid. Anything for you. And for Eddie.”
Buck pulled Bobby into a hug and then, without any further goodbye, he turned and headed for the exit.
First, he ordered a ride to his loft. Once he was home, he quickly changed into his own clothes. A shirt that actually fit and pants that weren’t bloodstained. He put Bobby’s shirt back into his duffle and threw some of his own things into a bag. He already had clothes at Eddie’s, but he didn’t know how long he’d need to stay there with Chris. Once packed, he ordered another ride then, grabbing his bag and Bobby’s duffle, he headed for the door.
It was late by the time Buck got to Eddie’s place. He thanked his driver, then walked up Eddie’s drive, past where his own jeep was parked. He hadn’t even looked for it at his loft. Of course Buck’s jeep would be on Eddie’s drive. He’d carpooled with Eddie to work that morning. When everything had been normal. Just a couple of hours and a lifetime ago.
Pushing open the front door, Buck stepped quietly into the silent hallway. It usually felt like coming home, but this time his thoughts screamed at Eddie’s absence. Buck put his bags down by the door, then slipped off his shoes leaving them in the space Eddie had made for him on the Diaz family shoe rack. He moved into the living room but, finding it empty, he headed to the kitchen.
Carla was there, finishing the washing up. She turned as he entered and, taking him in with one critical look, she bustled over to wrap him in a hug.
“Oh Buckaroo, you OK?” She asked, the worry plain in her voice.
Again, thought Buck. I’m fine. It’s Eddie who isn’t OK.
“I’m good Carla, really. Wh-where’s Chris?”
“In his room. I told him you guys were out on a call that ran late. I hope that was OK. I knew you wanted to talk to him about what’s going on with Eddie.”
“Thanks Carla. And thanks so much for staying.”
“Any time, baby. Do you want me to wait while you talk to him? Do you need me to make you some dinner, or did you eat already?”
At the mention of food, that now familiar metallic taste flooded back into Buck’s mouth.
Eddie’s blood.
His stomach churned.
“It’s OK, Carla. I ate at the hospital.”
She looked at him dubiously, but let it go.
“You go home,” Buck continued. “Get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning, right? To take Chris to school?”
Carla raised an eyebrow.
“You think he should be going to school?”
Buck rubbed at his tired eyes. His head ached. Everything was suddenly overwhelming. How was he supposed to have all the answers?
“I-I think so. He can’t visit Eddie right now because he’s in the ICU, and keeping some normal routine has to be good, right? I can talk to the school and make sure they know what’s happening. It feels better that he goes to be with his friends than he sits at home worrying.” He looked at Carla, wondering if she agreed with this decision. Maybe she would call him out on it. Who was he to be making decisions like this for Christopher, anyway? Would Eddie trust him with this if he was awake? Probably not.
Buck was just about to backtrack when Carla smiled at him and said “Sounds good to me, Buckaroo. I think you’re right about maintaining his routine as much as possible.”
She gave him a reassuring squeeze, then pulled away and went to grab her purse from the kitchen.
“I’ll head home, then, if you’re sure. Buck, I know you got this but don’t hesitate to call if you need me. Either of you. You do not have to do any of this alone.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and then let herself out.
Buck stood alone in Eddie’s kitchen. He was in Eddie’s house. Christopher was in his room, a couple of yards away. For the second time in his life, Buck felt responsible for the most precious thing in Eddie’s world. His mind flicked back to being with Chris in the tsunami. He’d lost him that time. He’d failed to protect him, whatever Eddie said. This time, he promised, there will be absolutely nothing he won’t do to support Christopher through this. He sucked in a breath to steady himself. His hands were shaking again, and he felt like he might cry. He filled a glass of water and drank it down in an attempt to steady himself.
Even the water tasted of blood.
Eddie’s blood.
Why couldn’t he shake that thought? Why was his own mind so intent on torturing him?
Buck left his used glass in the sink. Not able to put it off any longer, he headed to Chris’s room, pausing at the door to knock.
“Come in,” Chris called.
Buck pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was a riot of colour. It was a celebration of childhood, a celebration of Chris. It had been decorated with love and with joy. As ever, Buck felt the stark contrast between this room and the rest of the house that was decorated in the drab neutral colours that he knew Eddie hated but thought he had to use. Buck desperately wished Eddie would show himself a fraction of the love he gave Christopher.
Chris was sitting on his bed, so Buck went over and perched next to him.
“Hey Buck!” Chris was always so happy to see him. Buck wondered if this moment might change that. Would Buck bringing this terrible news make Chris hate him?
“Hey” Buck managed,
“Where’s Dad?”
Buck swallowed.
He’s not coming home tonight, Chris”. I can do this, Buck thought. I can.
“Why not?”
Because I didn’t save him. I didn’t keep him safe.
Looking back, Buck would never understand how he survived that conversation with Chris. Somehow he held it together, trying to balance reassurance with honesty, not promising anything that would give a false hope. Chris, always positive, argued that his dad would be OK because the doctors would fix him- just like they fixed Buck.
Then his phone lit up with a text from Bobby. Eddie had made it through surgery and it had gone well.
Buck made some reassuring noises to Chris and then, well, everything he’d been holding in, all the pieces he’d been holding together, shattered under the relief that tiny bit of hope had brought.
He sat, sobbing, on Chris’s bed, lost to everything, until a small hand cupped his face and a voice, wise beyond its years, said “It’s gonna be OK, Buck”. Which made him cry even harder.
Once the storm had passed, Buck helped Chris get ready for bed, tucked him in and turned out the light.
“Night, Superman”
“Goodnight Buck”
Buck gently closed Chris’s door and went back into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since, well, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Breakfast, maybe? Here in this kitchen before the world had gone to hell. He knew he should eat. He thought about trying to throw something together, but he was exhausted and even thinking about food made him nauseous.
He sat on the living room couch, a mug of herbal tea - chamomile tea that Buck couldn’t remember making - sat untouched on the coffee table. The house was silent. Still.
The television was off, but that didn’t matter. Buck had a movie clip playing on repeat in his head. He closed his eyes and watched inside his brain, again and again, as Eddie rocked with the impact of the bullet. His Eddie. He saw the cloud of red explode from Eddie’s shoulder and he felt it settle on him. On his face. In his mouth. He could taste Eddie on his lips. But not in the way he’d been dreaming, wanting, for the last few years. Not the taste of Eddie’s kiss, but a sharp metallic tang.
Eddie’s blood.
Buck reached for his now-cold tea, anything to take away that taste. But it didn’t. He gulped down the cold, bitter liquid but all he could taste was blood.
He moved back into the kitchen, swapping the tea for a glass of water. Then he grabbed blankets and a pillow from the closet in Eddie’s hallway and went back to the couch.
Not to the bedroom. Not to Eddie’s bed. He couldn’t sleep in Eddie’s bed. No matter how much he wanted to, how much he wanted to feel close to Eddie. Because Eddie wasn’t his, despite how much Buck wanted him to be. However much Buck loved Eddie, and he really did love Eddie with all his heart, Eddie didn’t love Buck. Or maybe Eddie loved him as a friend, but that was all.
And it was enough. More than enough. It had to be. Right now, Buck didn’t need Eddie to be in love with him. He just needed Eddie to be alive.
Buck squirmed as he tried to get comfortable on the couch. He set his alarm for 6.00 am and settled into the cushions. It wasn’t too bad, all things considered, and it felt familiar. He hadn’t expected to be able to sleep but the exhaustion of the day overwhelmed him almost immediately.
Buck closed his eyes and dreamed of Eddie. He usually loved it when dreamed of Eddie. His Eddie.
Except, tonight, for the first time his dreams of Eddie weren't dreams at all. They were nightmares.