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At first, when Buck talks about his coma dream, Eddie takes part in the conversations, still euphoric about Buck coming back to them to consider what is said too closely. Just hearing the man's voice is a balm slowly easing a wound Eddie, for a moment, wasn't sure would ever heal. Besides, Buck is eager to discuss his oneiric experience, and the alternative versions of, well, everyone but Eddie.
It’s cute. A way for Buck to declare how much Bobby or Chim mean to him, to unravel the impact they had on him, and Eddie cannot begrudge them that. But after a few days of Buck bringing it up constantly when all members of the 118 are present, it is starting to grate on his nerves.
It’s a matter of reading Buck’s pauses and silences, his laughs and deflections, what is left unsaid rather than Buck’s words, rather than the anecdotes he has told to all other members of the 118, his reticence when Buck’s eyes stray away from them after Chim made an innocuous remark about not imagining Eddie without Buck around.
By the end of the first week, Eddie can quote almost by heart Hen and Chim’s reactions to Buck, Bobby coming back to life to guide him home, hearing Athena talking to him through the dream. Even Buck’s confrontation with himself. But of Eddie, nothing.
The most he gives out to Hen, in a conversation Eddie was not supposed to be privy to, is a laconic, “I didn’t see him.” After those four words, Buck changes the subject, and it cuts any wish Eddie had to ask, in case it was simply Buck not being ready to be confronted with his feelings, like manifesting himself as Christopher’s father or anything else that might have upset the balance between them.
How naive and delusional Eddie feels.
The reality is far simpler. And harsher. Of course Buck doesn’t talk to Eddie about it, because there was no Eddie in Buck’s dream. No Eddie in Buck's world. Whatever it is supposed to mean. Not dead like Bobby — because that would have gotten him a mention at least — or estranged like the others. Just absent. Not worth seeking out, his mind unhelpfully provides.
Eddie’s heart sinks as the realization sets its merciless claws into his mind, stealing the breath from his lungs. A crushing but familiar feeling leaving him gasping for air, not unlike the start of a panic attack.
The worst is Eddie gets it. Buck can’t help how he feels, how his oneiric life is peopled by everyone but Eddie while Eddie’s filled with his presence. It stings, more than it rationally should, more than Eddie would have allowed it to a year ago. Eddie might be making a mountain of a simple coma hallucination except for the way Buck’s gaze scatters off each time it falls on him during one of his anecdotes, like he’s taking umbrage at Eddie not being there as well or feeling guilty about it...
Anecdotes Eddie is not part of, because there was no Eddie in Buck’s world. Despite his best efforts, despite his relief and his exaltation at Buck coming back to them, the thought brings forth an unhelpful bitterness, bile searing its way up Eddie's throat like the pain needs to make up for the insensitive exclusion and forlornness the idea causes. Buck doesn’t deserve that. Not after threading the line between life and death for days that were among the worst of Eddie’s life.
Not when Buck looks like he occupied his last six nights since he left the hospital turning in his bed rather than sleeping, when he hides the tremors running through his hands by launching headfirst into a debate on the meaning of dreams until the subject saturates every moment spent together. Until each remark, each reference to the dream becomes another needle that probes at Eddie’s heart.
The Buckleys being there when Buck woke up and buying him a couch are the icing on the cake. Thhat freedom of choice for the couch Buck seemed so hesitant to buy in fear of getting the wrong one again being trampled by the Buckley’s wish to redeem themselves before flying off to Hershey with a satisfied smile and conscience probably for the next two years, unless one of their children buy a house or get into an accident. Maybe just the first, considering they were nowhere in sight when Buck got stuck under a fire engine. But it doesn’t seem to matter since they stayed at the hospital, at Buck's side, when Eddie couldn't, when he struggled to even watch his limp figure in the plain medical bed.
Eddie would be sorely tempted to burn that couch to the ground if it wasn’t made with a gray velvet-like synthetic fabric that he's sure would burn his lungs or poison him if he tried.
So he smiles politely and flees when those talks arise — more often than he’d like, given the last few days have been a queue of meals and celebrations at everybody’s home. He’s under no impression that he is being in any way subtle after his third escape but no one calls him out or stops him.
Eddie doesn’t want to think about it, but, after he leaves Hen’s party, when he is alone in the house he is tempted to call Frank, to, well, talk about a lot of things, shout into the void ‘I was supposed to be better after all the work I did on myself last year!’, but more significantly to ask him what it means when a person you can’t imagine living without dreams of everyone but you.
To be fair, it most likely says more about Eddie than it does about Buck. Is it because he couldn’t get himself to talk to Buck when he was under? Because he couldn’t even keep him breathing during the rescue or be in the ambulance at his side?
Because it tickles a sore knot in Eddie’s stomach, one that he’s let fester with Buck hiding important things from him, relying on Hen instead. A deep latent insecurity. It shouldn’t surprise him. Eddie’s not enough. He’s never been enough. Not even to be included in Buck’s dream, it seems. The thought sears through his skin and etches itself into the small recesses of his mind, a small but ever-present tumorous companion, despite the parties, despite Buck smiling at him each time he sees Eddie, even if it’s dimmer than usual, racked with a pang of misplaced guilt.
Maybe a call the Frank is warranted, after all. Maybe ‘my best friend almost died, and it made me realize I might not mean as much to him as he does to me’. Even that is selfish. Eddie saw Buck in the hospital after he was shot. It’s not true, or wasn’t, or… Eddie calls Frank — who, of course, chose that very week to go on vacation at the other side of the globe, out of phone range, because Eddie’s luck has always left up much to be desired. He refuses the receptionist’s offer to see someone else. That’s too much, too soon.
For once since Buck witnessed the aftermath of Eddie taking a bat to destroy his room, Eddie is afraid of being vulnerable in front of him, of Buck catching a glimpse of all that inane ugliness festering inside him, that weird egotistic wave threatening to taint their relationship and to drag Buck in its path.
So Eddie smiles. A poor attempt that threatens to split his lips open with how bland it is. Even tries to catch Buck one-on-one to check if he needs help or anything at all really, just talk without the others, without that fucking dream being mentioned again, only to always find someone at his side, making sure he’s alright or offering support, to house him for a few nights if he wants. Like an eery throwback to when he entered that bar a year ago and witnessed how happy Buck could be without him. So he smiles, pats whoever is there, and takes his leave. Lets Buck mingle with people who don't feel betrayed by something that's not under the man's control.
Eddie’ll be there for Buck. He just needs a minute, which makes him feel like a lousy friend considering the staunch support Buck provided him when he broke down, but it’s like no matter where Eddie looks, there is already someone better at handling things, making Eddie redundant. Someone who might help, unlike Eddie did that night when the only thing he could do was lower Buck away from him and drive because even Bobby didn’t trust him to be in the ambulance with Buck. Someone brave enough to talk to him when he looked like a warm corpse on the hospital bed, a door away from death.
He’s not avoiding Buck, except it feels like he is. Like if Eddie comes too close, he’ll jolt awake to a world without him breathing. He’ll relive the days when Buck relied on the ventilator then the ECMO to do it for him. And maybe it is easier to focus on not being in a growth-inducing coma dream instead.
Buck corners him in the kitchen as Eddie hosts their latest welcome home party. One Linda accepted to help him with for old-time sake, completed with the leftovers from the previous day’s meal. In the kitchen, Eddie retreated to get some peace from the other guests, from the latent wariness about getting caught up in another conversation about dreams.
“Fleeing the crowd?”
There are not even that many people. The Buckleys left two days ago. Linda and Maddie had to take their leave and begin their shift about an hour ago. Still, Eddie would like nothing more than to self-flagellate in peace, without his colleagues and friends bearing witness to it.
“Too obvious?”
Buck tilts his head from one side to the other as the tips of his lips shoot up.
“A bit.”
The realization that it might be the first time they’re alone in a room since Buck fell off a ladder leaves a weird metallic tang in Eddie’s mouth, close to what he imagines thunder would taste like. The first thing Eddie longs to ask is if Buck is okay, despite the nightmares, despite being on the path to recovery but not quite there yet.
Buck scratches his head, a self-conscious tic agitating his left eye before he leans against the wall.
“Athena said all I have to do is ask and there’s a room with my name on it in their house. Maddie and Chim said they would gladly set a tent in their still-to-be-renovated guest room and Hen and Karen have offered theirs.” Buck’s eyes crinkle at that. “I’m not sure how well I can fit in a four-year-old bed, though.”
Eddie snorts at the mental picture. Buck’s grin seems less forced when he peeks back at him, a little proud at Eddie’s reaction.
“And you’ve not taken any of them on their offer?”
Not even to run from the loft that has always seemed too empty and cold for Buck.
“Who says I haven’t?” Eddie raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the hurried answer and Buck folds in a matter of seconds. “Nah. I know they mean well. But it’s like I’m infringing, you know. And I need to be by myself for a bit.”
“I hear you. But they wouldn’t offer if they didn’t mean it. Given what happened, I suspect it’s a comfort to them as well to have you nearby.”
Where they can check Buck is still alive without making a big deal out of it, without having to take a dozen calming breaths while repeating to themselves that he is fine when they wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night, without hesitating a few minutes in front of their phone as the calming breaths are not quite calming enough. But Eddie might be projecting.
“Maybe.” Buck ducks his chin to his chest. “You — you haven’t offered?”
Eddie’s focus snaps back at Buck. Buck, who clasps his mouth shut like his admission, is nothing but a distasteful grab for attention. The hesitation in his voice fuels the underlying self-accusation echoing through Eddie’s own brand of nightmares. From each minute he spent away from the hospital room when Buck was still kept alive by a mechanical device breathing air into his lungs. It screeches at him, reinforced by the last few days, by Eddie’s not absence but insufficient presence, by the fear gripping fear of having let Buck believe he didn’t care. The back of Eddie’s throat burns and he has to fight a wave of nausea.
“You’re always welcome to stay, Buck. In sickness, health, or all that comes between.” Eddie clears his throat at the mushiness of the wording, avoiding the sudden glint of surprise in Buck’s gaze as best as he can. “You know, in case you need a four-of-a-kind hand as far as the invitations go.”
For all of his talks about his coma dream, Buck has remained tightlipped about the nightmares or the bouts of insomnia the shadows under his eyes growing steadily darker are hinting at, about the way he doesn’t want a witness to his struggles. It’d make no sense for Buck to accept, and Eddie’s confidence has been fragile enough lately that he isn’t sure how well he can cope with a direct rejection. Even one concerning temporary lodging.
Buck’s gaze drops to the ground, and he wipes his hands on his pants before he meets Eddie’s gaze again.
“I… Actually, if you and Chris are free tonight, I’d —“
Eddie has a moment of pause as he digests the news. He blinks at the indirect demand of spending the night because the afternoon is already well on its way and answers automatically, “Sure. Anything you want to eat?”
“Err, I’m not sure I can swallow anything else after that meal. Good job on the tamales, though. Abuela would be proud. And remind me to give my thanks to Linda for dragging your cooking above what anyone could have wished for, despite yourself.”
Eddie snorts but doesn’t deny Linda’s influence on his culinary skills. Insomnia played a non-negligible role in his progress as well. Today’s result is no stranger to that either.
“Do you need to make a detour by the loft first?”
“No. Tomorrow, maybe? I have an appointment at the hospital. That’s not — that’s not why I want to stay with you. Just —”
“Yeah, the wonders of post-hospitalization life. I get it. I’m afraid we’ll have to make do with only two beds and a couch for the three of us, though. Hey, it’s not too late to run back to Athena to take her up on her offer of an entire bedroom.”
Despite the half-closed door, her laughter at whatever Hen said ricochets to the kitchen.
“Nope, nowhere I’d rather be.”
A rush of elation goes through Eddie and curls down his spine as he shares a charged look with Buck. However, Chim barges into the kitchen, in search of tissues for Jee, before either of them can utter another word or give the moment more tangibility.
The evening goes well, even if Buck sometimes avoids his eyes. They spend most of it playing board games until it’s Christopher’s time to go to bed, which he doesn’t do until he has extorted from Buck the promise of being there to take him to school.
Neither Eddie nor Buck is awake enough by then to do more than prepare the couch and go to sleep. Even if Eddie loathes for their time together to be impeded by something like exhaustion, he’s not sure how another one-on-one with Buck with no one to interrupt them would turn up. Apprehends it, a bit.
A scream startles Eddie awake in the middle of the night. He has a few seconds to wonder what caused his sudden awakening before soft moans and cries resound from the living room. By the time his brain has processed the anguished sounds, Eddie is already out of bed, rushing to Buck’s side.
The blanket has been thrown out on the ground at one point of the night and Buck is tossing and turning in his sleep like he’s grasping at something — someone? — he can’t reach.
Eddie calls his name a few times before resorting to pushing his hand on Buck’s shoulder. It jolts him awake with a half-swallowed gasp. Buck’s eyes are still unfocused as he clutches Eddie’s hand against his torso and doesn’t let go. They dart everywhere in the room. After a few gulps of air, he appears to realize where he is. The pressure on Eddie’s skin doesn’t lessen when he does, even increases, but the cadence of Buck’s breaths slows down and he closes his eyes for a few seconds.
“It’s alright. You’re safe,” Eddie says, brushing Buck’s shoulder with his available hand as much to compose himself as to reassure the man.
Buck nods, still holding on to Eddie’s hand like a lifeline. It takes Eddie a few minutes to coax Buck into getting up and following him to the kitchen - or more accurately, for Eddie to tow Buck with him as he hasn’t let go yet and Eddie is not about to make him. He puts a pot of milk on the stove one-handed and, in the meantime, gives Buck a glass of water.
After a few gulps, Buck mutters like he has to get it out of his chest, his voice still wrecked from his bad dream, “I remembered you in the dream. The sensation of someone having my back, anyway.”
“Did you? I thought I didn’t exist,” Eddie replies, after swallowing his surprise, keeping his tone more tentative than resentful.
Buck frowns and pushes the glass aside.
“Who told you that?”
“Heard it when you told Hen two days ago.” A moment of silence settles between them. One that Eddie breaks because the anguish on Buck’s face makes his heart sink. “It makes sense, you know? I couldn’t get in when you were under. In the room, I mean. I snuck Christopher in but I couldn’t — Maybe that’s why you didn’t see me in the dream, why you saw everyone else. They say you hear people talk when you’re in a coma and I — couldn’t.”
‘I failed you,’ Eddie doesn’t add, keeping in the tears, ‘when you got hurt, when you lied in bed, when I couldn’t save you, when I stayed away, when I couldn’t face you with that stupid tube in your mouth.’
Haunted by the words Chim once said to him during Buck's entire stay in the hospital: ‘We put that tube in. There’s a good chance it never comes back out.’
Eddie can’t help but attempt to cross his arms to ward off the helplessness he feels, but the movement is stopped short by Buck’s hold on his hand. Buck blinks, his mouth hanging open like Eddie’s assumption gutted him, but doesn’t let go, even tightens his grip, and shakes his head like he can't bear the thought of Eddie claiming the monopoly of the blame.
“I — You definitely existed in the dream.” Buck gulps like the very thought makes him physically sick. Eddie is no longer sure he wants to hear whatever comes next. “You existed, you were in pain, and I didn’t go after you. All I could think about was leaving the dream.”
Eddie shifts to mask the wince at the response. Buck's gaze lingers on him, his hands twitching as if he was desperate to add something more meaningful but couldn’t figure out how. Any easily available reassurance Eddie can come up with would be a lie, a trivialization of what he’s been going through for the last week.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Buck fidgets with the hem of his shirt.
“Guilt.”
“Why? Bobby died of an overdose. You were a dick in your own world? What did that alternate version of me do that you are so ashamed of?”
“I —“ Buck’s knuckles around his hand whiten and his voice catches, but he adds nothing as his gaze flits around, anywhere but at Eddie’s face.
“Did I kill someone? Quit firefighting for good? Shoot myself?” That one would have probably ended up with being dead. “Abandon Chris?”
Buck’s face twitches at that and Eddie’s insides turn to lead.
“No — not abandon, but you — you lost Chris in a custody battle with your parents.”
Eddie draws in a sharp inhale, unable to contain his discomfort at the thought or to keep his face from tensing.
“I don’t think that of you,” Buck says in a breath.
Eddie slowly raises his chin, shame tightening in his muscles as he locks eyes with Buck.
“What?” Eddie’s voice wavers, distorted by the dread gripping his guts.
“That you would lose Chris if I wasn’t there. You were a great dad even before I knew you.”
Eddie waves it off. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s had that very conversation within the confines of his own head.
“Being a great dad isn’t always enough, Buck,” he answers, his tone flat.
Slivers of ‘don’t drag him down with you’ and ‘we’re all he’s ever known’ run through Eddie’s head in waves. He has to close his eyes momentarily to assuage them. It’s no wonder Buck didn’t bring it up in casual conversation. ‘You know that deep-seated fear you have? I totally dreamed it up while I was in a coma!’
Before long, Buck’s voice lashes into the air, demanding Eddie’s attention. “No. But you were the one who showed me what a great parent could be. Even if I wasn’t there, you would have fought for Chris! It — it’s not a reflection of who you are. I refuse to believe that. I’ve — I’ve asked Dr. Copeland. She agreed with me. Said that people in dreams are often concepts rather than who they seem to be.”
“Then why were you so afraid to tell me?”
To the point of not sleeping, to the point of avoiding Eddie as well, which, really, is the only reason Eddie got away with it for as long as he did. Regrets gnaw at him at how fast Buck’s expression shatters. Because, in the end, Buck did it all: force the conversation, invite himself to stay despite his nightmares, tell Eddie...
“I didn’t want you to think less of yourself — or of me," he adds more quietly. "Or even for you to convince yourself that I think that of you.”
Buck's gaze is unwavering, but it is also full of a quiet pleading. Eddie shakes his head and averts his gaze, turning his attention back to the milk that is bubbling. Maneuvering the restrained position with as much care as he can, he pours it into Buck’s mug with a spoon of honey and hands it to him.
As much as he loves Buck, Eddie needs a few minutes to mull it over. Minutes, Buck spends blowing on his mug, trying not to look at Eddie, awaiting his verdict. Eddie lets out a long exhale. It’s not Buck he’s mad at or even at Buck’s subconscious for conjuring up that sort of twisted scenario of Eddie’s parents trying to take Christopher away from him. Not when, as unfortunately hard as it is on Eddie’s ego, it also speaks of their fear lining up. A fear Eddie put inside Buck’s brain during his conversation about the will. One he can almost recall word for word because of the hours he spent trying to imagine it to the letter.
‘After Shannon died, they all tried to guilt me into giving Christopher to them. It’s not what I wanted then. It’s not what I want now.’
It hurts because even now, even after patching things up with his father, Eddie can’t entirely stifle the fear that, in a moment of weakness, they’ll come for him. It’s dwindling. Eddie knows it is unlikely, but his emotions haven’t caught up yet. Not after the years when it ranked as one of his primary concerns.
Besides, Buck mentioned his dream was about him fighting his desire to fix everyone. Maddie left Doug on her own, but was still stuck with him in the dream. Bobby died without leaving an impression on the 118, even if he had already started by the time Buck set a foot in the station. A myriad of situations for Buck to fix. Dream Eddie’s would be no different. A last-ditch effort Buck’s subconscious conjured to keep him ensnared in the dream. An occasion for him to fix both Eddie and Christopher on his own, to earn a place in their family. A place he might not believe he deserves in real life by simply being Buck.
The revulsion that thought inspires is what gets Eddie to answer.
“I don’t think less of you because of it, Buck, and I can’t regret you leaving the dream instead of seeking me or Chris out.”
Buck’s eyes are too vulnerable when they meet Eddie’s again and Eddie has to blink a few times before his vision is no longer blurred by unshed tears, by the weight of all the emotions Buck brings to the surface. The urge to embrace him thrums through Eddie’s bones despite the half-filled mug, their positions, and the apprehension still holding him back.
“You think you’re ready to get some sleep? Or at least lie down a bit?” Buck freezes as resignation fills the creases of his eyes in an expression that Eddie abhors on sight. “Can’t promise you the bed will keep the nightmares at bay, but I’ll be there to wake you up next time.”
Buck’s eyebrows rise before he immediately objects, “I can’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking. I almost did last night, but I thought you wanted some privacy.” When Buck remains immobile for too long, Eddie nudges him with his elbow. “I’m not above guilt-tripping you with Christopher’s sleep to get you to come.”
Eddie is the one to squeeze Buck’s hand this time, prompting his mouth to curve into a timid smile.
“I’m not sure I can sleep.”
“You don’t have to. But I was up last night and spent my time going over the recipes for the gathering. I could do with being away from the kitchen for a few more hours.”
“And the living room is out because of Christopher?” Eddie offers a slight nod as Buck squints at him. “So the only option left is snuggling in your bed?”
“Never said anything about snuggling. Though that can be arranged. I mean you — I’m not against the idea.” Eddie’s gaze flickers away from Buck as he attempts to hold back embarrassment over the not-so-smooth segue from showing on his face. Buck’s breathless laugh informs him he wasn’t particularly successful. “Unless you prefer the bathroom? Can’t account for tastes.”
“Nope, snuggling in the bed sounds good.”
Putting that plan in motion is more awkward than Eddie would have imagined, more than getting the words out. First, because it requires Buck to let go of the hold he has on Eddie's hand to find a comfortable position and abandon the half-consumed hot beverage behind. Second, because all of their movements exude tentativeness, as opposed to the wordless ease they fall into at work with no TV or sound to take their attention away or interrupt them.
Eddie’s body is buzzing with tension at what the moment might mean for them going on. He swallows as he draws Buck closer until he settles against him, his muscles still clenched, radiating an apprehension, not unlike the one roiling within Eddie.
From there, it still takes a few moments for them to uncoil, for Buck’s hand to slip causing him to fall head first on Eddie’s chest, triggering a hysterical laughter that quickly turns genuine, for Eddie’s fingers to find Buck’s again, inducing a placated hitch in Buck’s inhale, for Eddie to start stroking Buck’s back until most of the embedded tension rubs off of his frame.
Eddie is a hairbreadth away from being lulled back to sleep by Buck’s relaxing breaths and the comforting smell of his skin when Buck’s next words resound against his clavicle.
“You left your door open. I saw it before I went to sleep. I thought it’d be enough…”
Eddie lifts his hand to thread his fingers in Buck’s hair, prompting the man to huddle even closer as the arm wrapped around Eddie contracts.
“To stop the nightmares?”
“For the night, at least.”
The sound is not above a whisper, like Buck despises the idea of disrupting the calm that has settled in the room but can’t get his brain to stop dwelling on the issue. In contrast, Eddie’s voice is rough with the sleep that has almost claimed him, loud in the silence of the night.
“What do you dream of? The lightning? Being stuck in that dream again?”
“More like a sensation. The shock and then searching for someone I can’t find. Someone I’ve lost. The worst is when I wake up, the guilt when I remember the Christopher I left behind, the version of you I didn’t even get to meet.”
“Not that much of a loss, given the circumstances...”
“That’s not — the worst thing I can think of is you and Chris getting separated and it — I couldn’t face it in the dream. I couldn’t even help the version of Chris that was trying to find you. I — I let you down. Both of you. I’m sorry.”
Eddie frowns. They’ve been over it less than an hour ago. Not satisfyingly enough for Buck’s guilt, it seems.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Buck. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Eddie kisses his brow, letting the contact linger for as long as he can get away with, until Buck halts and burrows closer at the gesture, letting out a wobbling sigh of contentment. When Eddie withdraws, Buck does as well, peering at him with something resembling awe in his eyes, his jaw lax. Then he cradles Eddie’s face in his hands, releasing his grasp on Eddie’s fingers, and brings their lips together in a movement as soft and swift as it is slow for Eddie’s heart that started pounding in his chest as soon as Buck touched his face.
The kisses that follow are ghost caresses on his face, reassurances that Eddie returns, using his newly freed hand to stroke Buck’s neck.
“Wait.” Buck stops inches from Eddie’s face, his breaths grazing Eddie’s lips with each exhale, tethering, in turn, Eddie's focus to Buck's lips that he can’t quite stop staring at, especially when they curl up at the attention. He closes his eyes and counts to five, nervously wetting his own as he reaches for the right words. “Not that I’m not thrilled with the program, but you’ve had a major brush with death. Now might not be the best time for a drastic change.”
Eddie’s words would have more impact if he wasn’t already leaning toward Buck to prolong the embrace with his eyes half-closed.
Buck chuckles, the puffs of air reverberating against Eddie’s chin.
“I wouldn’t call it drastic. That’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. I — I might need more time to come to terms with everything and to be ready for this, for you —“ his words are immediately contradicted by Buck pulling him into another series of kisses Eddie doesn’t have the willpower to resist as Buck’s lips roams over his cheek, eyelids, and chin. “I’ll stop. Just — just give me until tomorrow. Then I’ll do as much soul-searching as I need to. I’ll take it as slow as we need to.”
“Which tomorrow?”
Is it even past midnight? They all went to bed early and Eddie’s focus wasn’t exactly on the clock when he ran to Buck earlier.
“Whichever one gives me more time with you.”
Eddie can’t quite argue against that line of thinking, nor does he want to. If it was only up to him, Buck could keep going for as long as he’d like. He lets Buck set the pace for the hours till morning. The touches are as charged and affectionate as they are soft, exploring, the gentle pursuit leaving no place for escalation.
Dawn draws its first lights without either of them having fallen back asleep, although Eddie has explored Buck’s face with his fingers and lips long enough to have learned every divot and bump his eyes hadn’t etched in his memories yet.
Despite the dark rings under his eyes, Buck is freer in his affection for Chris that morning, hugging him tighter, less like he is attempting to make up for abandoning him in a dream and more like he is enjoying the moment, the time spent with him.
“Will you be there when I come back from school, Buck?”
Buck’s mouth hangs open as he looks at Eddie.
“Buck needs to get a check-up at the hospital, Chris. He might want to go home for a bit after that.”
Christopher pouts, disgruntled by Eddie’s answer.
“But you’re working tomorrow and I’m home. I can keep Buck company like I did when he was hurt before.”
“I’d be delighted to spend the day with you, Chris.”
Eddie raises his hands in acceptance — not that his intention was ever to keep them from making plans — a splinter of regret creeps in at the idea of not spending that time with them.
“If you’re sure. Maybe don’t head to the pier just yet.”
The drive back home is spent in a lethargic, if comfortable, silence. Buck’s head is edging closer and closer to the window, like he is minutes away from dozing off. His humming along with the radio is the only thing proving he’s still awake. When Eddie lays a hand on his shoulder to let him know they’ve arrived, Buck startles.
“Maybe a nap is in order?” Buck smiles at Eddie’s words but looks away. “Could do with a lie in myself.”
It gets Eddie an amused glance and a crooked grin, but no outright refusal. Most of their morning gets sucked into the nap. Or into Buck napping and Eddie guarding his sleep like a besotted idiot, smoothing out any wrinkle that threatens to appear on Buck’s forehead. The rest gives him ample time to regret his decision to insinuate that Buck might not have been ready last night for reasons that range from absolutely selfish to dubious of his own intent.
It takes until they are washing the dishes before the subject comes back to taunt him when Buck talks about going back to the loft after his appointment.
“I meant it. You can stay here as long as you need,” Eddie puts forth, uselessly, already downhearted at the prospect of facing his bed alone tonight.
Buck keeps his eyes on the plates he’s rubbing clean, furrowing his brows at a spot that doesn’t seem willing to disappear.
“Probably shouldn’t get too comfy or we will really become as codependent as Chim thinks we are.”
Before Buck scraps the painted designs from the poor plate as well, Eddie hands him the dish soap. Buck nods a brief thanks, re-applying some on his sponge, his mouth hanging half-open in concentration.
“I remember someone telling me it was okay to accept help while I got better not a year ago…”
The answer snatches Buck’s attention away from the soon-to-be-spotless plate. Eddie bears the scrutiny head-on.
“But I didn’t squat your bed to do so.”
“Would have been hard to do. It was filled with broken glass…” With a half-choked snicker, Buck’s focus drops back to the plate. “And I don’t remember having that much lee-way when I was hurt.”
“Are you complaining?”
Buck passes Eddie the last plate to dry. Eddie does a quick job of it, unwilling to let his attention wander away from Buck for too long.
“Not at all. I won’t force you to stay. I trust you to find your way back when you’re ready or if you need to.”
Buck’s stare remains fixed on him for a moment before his face slowly melts into a tender expression.
“Thanks. Knowing I can call or walk in anytime I want is already a lot.”
It doesn’t feel like enough, especially considering all Buck has done for him, but Eddie is not sure anything short of having Buck over twenty-four-seven would, and that wouldn’t be for Buck’s sake.
“Told you, in sickness and in health.”
“To cherish and to love?”
Eddie bites his lips. He brought that one on himself, even if Buck’s bashful grin does nothing to make him regret it. Something in Eddie uncoils as he realizes there is nothing to hide anymore and he waves a finger at Buck.
“Let’s just attempt to stave off the ‘til death do us apart’ for as long as possible…”
Eddie’s efforts to keep his answer on the sarcastic side are foiled by how fervent his words end up being, by how his throat clogs up halfway through. Too soon, even for him.
Buck’s forehead creases, before he kisses Eddie once more, softly, like Eddie is about to shatter, or Buck is. Eddie closes his eyes, and he tilts his head to accommodate the gesture, grateful for the contact, as featherlike as it remains.
“We’re definitely tomorrow,” he says in a halfhearted whisper.
“Not if last night was today… but it’s not — it’s a promise. To come home.”
Eddie lifts a hand to trace the edge of Buck’s temple.
“When you’re ready.”
Buck nods and leans into the touch until his lips brush against Eddie’s palm.
They go to Buck’s loft after the hospital. Leaving him there after a few hours later is harder than Eddie would want, but probably better in the long run. They see each other often in the next few days. Eddie comes home from his shift to Christopher and Buck, making chili and talking about cocoa powder like it is a hard-kept secret.
Buck doesn’t spend the night again, but he calls when the nightmares strike. One night they spend hours on the phone, Buck sharing theories about dream significations and how objects that were in the dream represented events that happened to him. The tsunami, Maddie’s kidnapping, getting pinned under a ladder truck, the train derailment... Tiptoeing around the sniper attack not having a material toy dedicated to it until Eddie suggested that his estrangement from Chris might have been its materialization. Buck hums, sounding unconvinced, until his breath hitches and he whispers ‘the shirt…’.
Hearing about the dream or his absence in it no longer fills Eddie with dismay. Not when he has no genuine doubts about his place in Buck’s life. Not when Buck mentions the nightmares about Eddie being shot again or being struck by lightning instead of Buck — Eddie gets around to telling Buck that one is partially true and ended with him having a mandatory medical appointment at the hospital when the adrenaline wore off and the burn on Eddie’s arm was no longer discountable. Nothing time didn’t ease, although Buck insists on checking it the next time they see each other in person before resuming their conversation.
It lasts long enough for Eddie to scour the internet for the best-rated book on dreams that he buys and sends to Buck’s address in a spur-of-the-moment decision, hoping it will cheer him up or get him something to delve into when insomnia arises.
It sits proudly on Buck’s table the next time Eddie walks into the loft, although his attention is drawn by the precarious gray monstrosity under the stairs, its legs thinner than Taylor’s previous addition to the loft. If one squints enough and looks at it the right way, it could almost be called pretty. It’s too polished, though, and gives off an impression of being more expensive than visually appealing or meshing well into the existing space. Eddie hates it.
“What do you have against the couch?”
“It’s ugly. It is somehow both dull and garish, and it’s not even comfortable.”
“How would you know?” Buck snarks. “You’ve been very careful to keep at least a few feet between you and the couch.”
With a heavy sigh, Eddie edges toward the loathsome piece of furniture, decided not to let it win him over. Staring at a grinning Buck, Eddie sits and crosses his arms.
“Still don’t like it.”
Buck dips his chin on his chest as he snickers.
“You’re ridiculous. They’re trying and I’ve wasted enough time running after their love. I don’t want to do that anymore, even if it’s by holding a grudge against them. Not when I know I already have a family here in L.A. that cares about me and matters more than them. But I won’t refuse their attempts to make things right between us or the chance to build a relationship with them.”
Eddie doesn’t find any suitable retort to Buck’s arguments or none that wouldn’t bring Buck’s mood down like pointing out how well it fits into the Buckley’s habit of caring about Buck when he’s hurt. Finally, he petulantly answers, “Fine. I’ll hold a grudge for the both of us.”
Buck shakes his head fondly. “You do that.”
By sheer contrariness, Eddie pats the couch and adds, “Can’t be very comfortable to sleep on…”
Buck throws the furniture a dismissive glance.
“Cause you’re planning to sleep on the couch when you stay over?”
Eddie raises his eyebrows at the not necessarily false assumption but still surprising, considering their latest discussion on the subject and the fact that not even a month has passed since then. Buck isn’t even been back on rotation yet.
“What happened to ‘taking it slow’ and ‘needing to get better for it to work’?”
“That was two weeks ago —“
“And you’ve done so much soul-searching since then…”
Buck rolls his eyes.
“I’ve thought about it. I still want to take things slow. But If you’re, huh, amenable, we could get past the status quo?"
“And jump straight to sleeping together?”
Buck’s tongue flickers between his lips. He extends his arms and takes a few steps forward, his knees almost colliding with Eddie’s.
“The key point being ‘sleeping’. For now. I wouldn’t say no to a kiss or a hug here and there.” When Eddie keeps squinting at him, not against the sudden volte-face, merely curious about it. “I’ve talked with Dr. Copeland a few times and she asked me why I made the recovery harder on myself than it needed to be.”
“‘Cause you believe choosing to come back for yourself means you feel you have to prove you can take part of that journey on your own?”
Buck’s gaze falls to the ground, a peal of helpless laughter erupting from his chest.
“Somewhat. But she didn’t deter me from starting a relationship. She kind of encouraged me to take that step if I felt ready for it, even with the timing being as is. And I — I want you, sometimes too much for your sake or for mine and I’m tired of pretending I don’t, of not reaching out to you, not touching you — “ Buck stretches his right hand toward Eddie and interlaces their fingers before using the support to lower himself on the couch till their foreheads collide, his knees resting on each side of Eddie, “from kissing you or snuggling.”
Buck brushes their lips together, deepening the kiss as he leans more fully on Eddie and lays his left hand on his shoulder as Eddie’s finds its place on Buck’s hip to tug Buck closer, breathing him in with a raw kind of relief.
Their embrace comes to an abrupt halt when a sinister crack resounds in the room right a second before one of the couch’s legs gives away and it brusquely shifts beneath them. Eddie’s grip on Buck tightens in an effort to keep him upright and unhurt.
“Definitely not the right couch,” Eddie deadpans as soon as they stop moving. Probably faulty too, given how easily it collapsed under them, which is a pleasant surprise. It wouldn’t have gone better if Eddie had sawed one of the legs on purpose.
Buck shuts down Eddie’s complaints with another kiss. His groan tickles Eddie’s lips as he almost sends them toppling down again in his one-minded purpose to press as close as he possibly can. Because Buck could impale his foot on the remnants of the couch — and Eddie is not that thrilled by the prospect of having a squad of their colleagues turn up to take him to the hospital yet again —he puts an end to it. Not without some difficulties as Buck keeps drawing closer and Eddie is far, very far, from impervious to his passes, but he finally gets Buck to stand up.
With a little too much smugness, Eddie almost singsongs, “Your ‘universe’ is clearly telling you to drop the couch.” All it gets him is a glower. “And seems like you’ll have to buy your own, because mine is definitely staying where it is. I’ll help you set it up, though.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Do you think we could use this one for a fire extinguishing exercise?” Eddie says, close to gloating. Probably past gloating, if he’s honest. But Eddie is not above such simple pleasures.
“It might still be under warranty...”
Eddie can’t help the smile that keeps expanding on his lips at Buck's weak reply.
“So, you’re going to call Margaret and tell her how quickly her couch collapsed?”
Buck shoots him another well-deserved glare, although the grin gracing his lips never disappears from his face. As he turns toward the couch, he grimaces.
“Maybe the fire exercise is not an unacceptable solution…”
The probies don’t set Buck’s couch on fire. Neither does Eddie, regrettably, though its short-lived fate helps him not to be too bitter about that and, despite Buck’s claims, he is very graceful about letting the store take it back in return for a voucher.
Buck remains couch-less for a few more months. By the time he has his eyes set on a new couch, one that Eddie helps him bring into the loft, the investment is more decorative than anything, considering the number of nights he still sleeps there. Not that Eddie is about to point that out to him or complain about the evenings spent testing the new couch's sturdiness. Much better than the last one.