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For a few seconds the world is perfectly still, gravity hangs in the balance as Buck’s eyes meet Eddie’s, wide and scared. Then, everything happens, all at once. The gunshot hangs in the air and suddenly, Buck is standing upon the ramparts of a shoddily assembled wall, watching sprawling fields in front of him, trampled by thousands of feet, soaked in blood, a tall city rising in the distance. Its citadel is looming, its walls tall and proud, the sounds of battle not too far off separating him from the city’s splendour.
He’s watching the armies move, eyes scanning for a familiar helmet, a familiar plume sitting atop it. He’s not sure how long he stands there, hands clenched at his sides, dreadful foreboding settling in his stomach. The armies move against each other and it’s impossible to catch a glimpse – inevitable that he should’ve lost the familiar frame of his armour, the familiar back of his closest companion, his brother in arms, his second in command, the man he loves more than life itself.
He’s watching and suddenly, a chariot breaks away, headed towards his camp. And deep down, he knows. He knows the news Antilochus will bring him. And yet, he sends his prayers, begs Zeus, again, for anything, anything but this. He’s already pleaded with him- begged for Patroclus’ life. He sees himself, prostate, the great warrior brought low, kneeling before the inscrutable lord of the sky, pleading for a chance to hold Patroclus again, after this. But it seems his prayers were ignored. Perhaps, this time, Achilles has run out of favours with the gods.
Antilochus finds him and Achilles falls to his knees. He tears at his hair, he stains his face with soot, ash, the bloodied ground his only companion as he collapses onto the ground, despair clawing at his chest. Grief clogs his throat, and he grasps for the sliver of a knife next to him- for what point is there, in the end? Without Patroclus in his world, what is left for the great Achilles?
Antilochus pries the dagger out of his hand, and he allows it, his fingers clammy with loss. His entire body is cold as he lays on the ground. All the warmth in the world has left it alongside Patroclus’ soul, his beloved on his way to Hades, staring down the Doors of Death.
He lets out a scream, bloodied, raw, so loud that the earth shakes with it. The gods above and below hear him, even his mother, far away in the depths of the ocean hears him and the message is clear. It is devastating, it is final, it is unchangeable, it is clear.
Patroclus is dead. And Achilles, strongest of the Greeks, mightiest warrior, shall follow. There is to be nothing but devastation in his wake until their souls are reunited in Elysium.
And then, Buck blinks and he’s lying on the pavement, someone’s hand on his head, shouts and gunshots, fire and the wailing of sirens all around him and he watches Eddie’s brown eyes, wide in pain. He watches as Eddie reaches out, his hand shaking, eyes pleading and all Buck can think is not again. Not this time.
He can’t understand the magnitude of what he’s just seen – the depth of despair he’s experienced, centuries ago, at the loss of his closest companion. All he knows, all his body knows is that he cannot, will not, shall not let it happen again.
So, as Eddie’s eyes fall close and the whinnying of the approaching chariot’s horses sound in his ears, Buck braces himself, rolling to the side, underneath the fire truck.
He screams something, what, he isn’t sure – all he manages to remember, later is that he’s pleading with Eddie to stay, to please just stay, stay with me, this time, as he drags him to safety, as he hauls him into the fire truck, as he holds Eddie’s face, with desperate hope.
Buck comes to in front of the hospital, staring at the doors and he remembers. He remembers standing in front of the doors of death, the ferryman left behind him, blood dripping from his hands, his hair shorn short to honour Patroclus. He remembers traveling through the land of the dead, passing the fields of Asphodel, the screams barely audible, a magnetism in his bones, buried in the same golden urn as Patroclus’.
He remembers finding Patroclus in Elysium, finally. And as he blinks away the tears, trying to listen to what the fuck Taylor is saying to him, he remembers brown eyes opening, light dancing in them, shades of molten gold, deep amber intermingling with deep shades of earth and mahogany. And it dawns on him, finally, why Eddie’s eyes have always felt like home.
‘I- I have to go- take care of Chris,’ he gasps, wishing nothing more than to stay by Eddie’s side, but there’s something more important to do.
Eddie’s floating in a weird void. He’s half aware he’s in pain, that someone- Ana, maybe? Is holding his hand. But the other part of him is stuck on that street, caught in a single moment stretched into infinity. He sees Buck, watches the blood splatter across his handsome face and he’s thrown back, through time immemorial, space collapsing around him and he cannot do anything but watch.
Achilles stands before him, drenched in blood. He’s seen him like this before, many times, every evening of the past ten years. He sees him laughing, watches as blood drops down his throat, smiles as he’s pushed against the sturdy wood holding up their tent, blood and spit mingling as Achilles kisses him, hot, hungry, all-consuming.
Then, again, the great warrior stands before him, fury etched across his face, his honour insulted. Then, again, he’s standing before Achilles, hands pleading, tears streaming, and Achilles relents, Achilles dresses him in his armour and sends him to his death.
He stands before Achilles again, hovers over him, a lost soul locked out of Hades by Achilles’ refusal to bury him. And he aches as his closest companion reaches out, desperately, trying to touch him for one final, hopeless time.
He stands before Achilles for the final time, watching as he enters Elysium, blood still pooling at his feet, the arrow that struck him down clutched broken in his hands. The screams of the dead follow great Achilles – his wrath, cataclysmic in its magnitude left nothing but devastation in its wake. The ghosts of Asphodel and Elysium slain by Achilles cry out as he enters the lands of the dead, and Patroclus watches him. He counts the heavy footfalls it takes for Achilles to cross the space between them and finally, perfectly, his bones settle, returned at last to their final resting place.
Eddie groans, the double vision of Ana by his bedside and B-Achilles? Finding him in Elysium.
And then he wakes up and someone is running down the hallway toward him and Eddie doesn’t really care that Ana is there, because the moment the door opens, he sees those eyes again, finding him in Elysium.
‘Hey, Buck,’ he whispers, voice croaking.
Buck, who looks like he hasn’t slept in days, lets out a breath, deep and final and a beautiful smile spreads over his face and oh. Of course. Of course it’s Buck. It’s always been Buck. Even before Buck was Buck.
‘Hey,’ he whispers, and it’s loaded with the millennia stretching between them.
Ana clears her throat, but Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from Buck, from the fact that he’s fine, no longer drenched in blood. It’s good, this absence of brutality. It doesn’t fit this version of Buck. He’s no longer the warrior, doomed to wrath and ruin in pursuit of glory, leaving nothing but devastation in his wake. And Eddie – Patroclus loved him, as he was, brutal and petty and quick to anger. But he doesn’t have to be that anymore, now. His broad hands are made for care, in this life. His strength in service of others.
Buck’s staring at him, too and Ana gets up, a complicated expression on her face.
‘I’ll give you guys a minute,’ she says, her voice breaking and a part of Eddie feels bad, but then Buck steps closer and the steady thrum of a war drum that’s been at the back of Eddie’s head since the moment thought formed in his mind finally, finally goes quiet.
‘Thanks,’ Buck manages to say, and Ana leaves the room, quickly, quietly. Buck sits at Eddie’s bedside and the uncomfortable double vision slots into place. Buck sits next to him and Achilles stands in front of him at the gates of Elysium.
‘Hey,’ Buck says, again.
‘You said that already.’
‘Y-yeah,’ he whispers. ‘I guess I did.’
‘Were you hurt?’
Buck blinks.
‘Wh-what?’
‘You- were you hurt? I saw the blood-‘
‘No,’ Buck says, his voice breaking. ‘It- it was yours. Your blood.’
Eddie’s not sure how he feels about that, but he gets a flash, Achilles, holding his lifeless body in his arms, blood seeping from Patroclus’ gut, the spear wound in his back, drenching Achilles’ tunic.
‘My blood,’ Eddie whispers. ‘I- fuck, I think I’m still pretty out of it.’
Buck huffs a laugh.
‘You did just get shot.’
‘Not the first time that happened,’ Eddie grumbles.
‘What, you think cause you survived a war or two, your body’s suddenly used to mortal wounds?’
‘Two?’ Eddie asks, eyes wide. Buck freezes.
‘Ah- I was just- I was- just- figure of speech, I guess.’
Eddie’s still too out of it to call Buck on whatever he’s hiding, but without thinking he reaches out a hand, covering Buck’s.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers. ‘For getting me out.’
‘You remember that?’
‘Not much,’ Eddie admits. ‘It’s like- flashes, right? I saw you under the firetruck and covered in blood and- some- stuff, I don’t know. It’s all still fuzzy.’
Buck’s looking at him with a calculating stare, when his phone buzzes and Eddie forgets everything else because it’s Chris calling.
It’s only after Chris is safely tucked in bed, the call ending, that he has a moment to look back at Buck and that strange, calculating stare.
‘I kinda lost it when I told him,’ Buck’s saying. ‘I think- I think it would’ve been better for everyone if I was the one who was shot.’
Eddie’s too tired to say much but the words hit him like a spear in the back. It’s all there, in Buck’s wide blue eyes, the guilt, the pain of almost losing Eddie for the second time.
‘Achilles,’ Eddie whispers and Buck freezes.
‘E-eds,’ Buck says, awed. ‘Do you- do you remember?’
Eddie smiles.
‘Of course I do,’ he says, with his last strength before he falls back into unconsciousness. ‘It’s in my bones.’
Buck’s entire fucking life has been pretty succinctly turned on its head in the past week or so. There’s not a lot of time to dwell on it, though, the blood staining his hands, the haunting nightmares of losing Eddie – Patroclus, a strange mix of the two. He looks after Chris, he reels from the soft admission that Eddie knows- because what the fuck does that mean? Just because- just because they were everything to each other, millennia ago- what does that make them now?
He can’t ask Eddie, not when he’s still more or less out of it and never left alone – although, he realises that Ana stops coming pretty quickly. Still, their family is around them, a constant vigil at Eddie’s bedside.
Still, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Eddie, who’s never been one to mince his words, eventually corners Buck. Or, well, really, Buck corners himself, picking Eddie up from the hospital alone.
‘We have a minute,’ Eddie says, brown eyes nailing Buck in place. ‘Sit. I gotta talk to you about something.’
Buck bites his lips. He’s not sure what he’s expecting- something along the lines of I know you have memories of our past lives but in this life I’m straight and you’re straight, so that can’t happen.
‘So, you might’ve noticed, I almost died,’ Eddie says, catching Buck of guard. ‘Again. I’ve- yeah, I’ve had a lot of close calls. And this one wasn’t even my closest.’
‘Eddie-’ Buck says, desperate to banish thoughts of Eddie buried underneath tons of mud.
‘Lemme finish,’ his best friend says, turning to him, his arm in a sling, his eyes twinkling. How anyone could look that beautiful in hospital lighting is a mystery to Buck, but Eddie’s defied the laws of nature for longer than the English language has existed, so he’s not all too surprised.
‘After the last time, after the well collapsed on top of me,’ Eddie says.
‘Which you survived,’ Buck interjects, helpless to stop. He cannot stomach the idea of burying Eddie again. Eddie smiles, softly, laughing. It’s like he can tell what Buck’s thinking, his soft tone a balm on Buck’s overheated, desperate soul.
‘After that, it got me thinking. Y’know, what would’ve happened to Christopher if I hadn’t. So, I went to my attorney and changed my will. So, someday, if I uh- didn’t make it- Christopher would be taken care of. By you.’
Lightning shoots though Buck, his entire body seizing with the words leaving Eddie’s mouth.
‘W-what?’ he asks, voice shaking.
Eddie watches him, brown eyes swimming with something so total, so hopeful, Buck’s afraid to name it.
‘It’s in my will if I die, you become Christopher’s legal guardian.’
‘I-’ Buck stutters. ‘I- I mean how does that even work, don’t you need my consent?’
‘My attorney said you could refuse.’
‘But you know I wouldn’t.’
‘Mhm, I know you wouldn’t.’
Buck’s completely caught off-guard, tears gathering in his eyes. Eddie’s placed something in his hands, his bloodied, gruesome hands, something so blindingly precious it defies description.
‘He- he has grandparents. Other- other family.’
‘Uhuh,’ Eddie says, with a scoff. ‘After Shannon left, they all tried to guilt me into giving Christopher to them. It’s not what I wanted then and it’s not what I want now.’
Eddie turns to look and there’s something ravenously hopeful roiling in Buck’s stomach, something desperate to claw its way out.
‘If- if it came to that. Wouldn’t they fight for him?’
‘I don’t know,’ Eddie says, turning away and Buck misses the steadiness of his gaze like a limb, now that he knows he’s had to exist on this earth without it. ‘Maybe. Probably. But no one will ever fight for my son as hard as you.’
Buck feels his lungs constrict as Eddie turns back, resolve in his eyes hardening.
‘That is what I want for him.’
Buck opens and closes his mouth a few times, turning away from the burning gaze of Eddie’s eyes. There’s so many questions swirling around his head, so much left unsaid, but there is one thing, above all else, that gives him pause.
‘Y-you said you did this last year, why are you just telling me now?’
‘Because, Evan,’ Eddie says, Buck’s given name echoing through the ages and Buck sees him, leaned into his side, the dust and grime and blood of battle clinging to him, eyes bright, his given name rolling of his tongue, hands finding his long locks, lips finding his, whispering his name like a benediction, like a promise, into Achilles’ mouth.
‘You came in here the other day, and you said it would’ve been better if it was you who was shot. You act like you’re expendable. But you’re wrong.’
Buck’s rendered utterly speechless for a few moments. He stares at Eddie with wide eyes, and he’s pretty sure he’s crying, but it doesn’t matter, not anymore, not when Eddie has placed his heart into Buck’s gruesome hands.
‘Eddie,’ Buck whispers. ‘H-how can you say that- after- all I’ve done- how can you trust me- when- when I-’
‘When what?’
‘When all I’ve ever done is kill.’
Eddie’s face turns sad.
‘You’ve always been more than that,’ he says, quietly. ‘I just- we were born for it. Raised for it- for war- you- you’ve spent this entire life in service. Despite it all, you chose kindness.’
‘But how can you know that I won’t-’
‘I know,’ Eddie says. ‘There’s no one in this world I trust more than you.’
‘But I was- Eds, listen, I know Achilles’ story. He’s not a good person. He’s brutal, he’s so fucking angry, he’s petty and- he killed and hurt so many people-‘
‘Patroclus wasn’t good, either,’ Eddie interjects.
‘No- no you were. You are.’
‘I’ve killed people, Buck. In that life and this.’
‘But- not- you didn’t- you didn’t do it like I did. You weren’t a monster.’
‘Maybe,’ Eddie says. ‘But if you were a monster, I don’t think that makes me much better.’
‘Why?’
The air between them is static with something and Buck’s at the edge of a breakdown but Eddie’s steadfast eyes keep him tethered to the earth.
‘Because I loved you regardless,’ Eddie says. ‘I love you, either way. Monster or not. I always have.’
It feels like a crack of thunder above them, like the spinning of yarn in the distance, the fates unravelling their web.
‘Y-you-’
‘I love you,’ Eddie says, quiet, sure. ‘I love you, more than life itself. I love you. I’m giving you Chris because I love you. Because when I asked you to bury our bones together, so we’d never have to part I meant it. I love you and I’m not gonna fucking waste another minute of this life without you knowing that.’
Maybe this is Elysium. Maybe this is a long, elaborate dream. Maybe Buck’s the one who got shot on that street and he’s in a coma.
‘I- I mean- I love you too- of- fuck, of course I do, but I understand that- we- look, I know you don’t mean that- in that way-’
‘I mean it in every way,’ Eddie says, fully turned to Buck, now, his good hand coming forward to grip Buck’s biceps. ‘I love you, to the core. All of you, in every way.’
‘I- Eddie, you’re straight-’
‘And a week ago I wasn’t a reincarnated Greek hero, things change.’
Buck sputters.
‘W-would- what- what does that mean for us? What- what are we? Reincarnated- best friends?’
‘Does it have to be one thing?’ Eddie asks, the hand on Buck’s bicep going from gripping to a gentle caress. ‘What were Achilles and Patroclus to each other?’
Buck laughs.
‘You know, that’s actually a big debate,’ he says, shaking, leaning into the touch gently. ‘There’s some people who got real upset when someone says they were lovers. People call them a lot of stuff- brothers, best friends, companions, lovers, a prince and his second in command-‘
‘I mean,’ Eddie says. ‘Weren’t we all those things?’
Buck sighed.
‘I guess.’
‘We still are,’ Eddie continues. ‘If you want us to be.’
‘I- well, I don’t really want to be a prince,’ Buck whispers. ‘But- if you’re interested in everything else- well, I- I’d be down for that.’
Eddie smiles, broad and perfect and beautiful and suddenly, Buck sees them both – Patroclus, lit like he’s the gods’ favourite creation, like not even Apollo could compose a song capable of describing his beauty in full – and Eddie, smiling at him softly in the hospital room, familiar and warm.
‘Yeah,’ Eddie says. ‘Cause- I think I was supposed to die, because of that sniper.’
Buck grits his teeth.
‘I- I couldn’t- not again. I don’t- I know what it’s like in a world without you. I can’t do that again.’
Eddie smiles.
‘I know,’ he says, ‘I heard you. I saw you. But- I think, you told the fates to go fuck themselves, this time.’
Buck smirks.
‘Yeah,’ he says.
‘So, who fucking cares,’ Eddie says. ‘What we call ourselves. Who cares if I want to kiss you.’
‘I care,’ Buck says. ‘I care a lot.’
With a snort, Eddie pulls him in. ‘You’d better,’ he whispers against Buck’s lips. ‘You haven’t kissed me in centuries.’
‘Millenia, actually,’ Buck whispers, before closing the distance.
Now, the kiss doesn’t taste like blood, not anymore. Buck’s hands are still stained- and so are Eddie’s, but they’re here, now. Achilles was no stranger to attempting to defy the gods, but here, now, Buck’s finally done it.
And it feels like coming home, kissing Eddie, his soft lips sliding against Buck’s, quiet sounds so novel, yet so familiar, testament to a love so cataclysmic its story is still told.
And when Eddie’s better, when he’s back home with Chris and Buck stops sleeping on the couch, people ask them what they are, countless times. And the answer is always the same.
‘Everything,’ Eddie says with a smile on his face, his eyes finally free from dark circles. ‘Anything.’
Buck’s answer is more pragmatic, partners, but he’s always known that Eddie was a closeted romantic, so he lets him grin and confuse every stranger they meet happily.
And everything is the right word, really- because Eddie’s still Buck’s best friend, he still makes fun of Buck when he manages to get flour stuck in his hair. Eddie’s still Buck’s partner at work, their hands calloused and perfectly in sync after two lifetimes. Eddie’s his closest companion, too, his co-parent. And the first time that Eddie rides him after he’s healed, on their living room couch, head thrown back, mouth falling open with desperate, perfect little whines, Buck’s pretty sure he’s reached Elysium on earth.
He doesn’t know how he deserves it, not with the memories of his past haunting him- but he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want it. So, he’ll take it, he’ll keep Eddie and Chris and this new life they’ve built out of the smouldering ashes of the war they lost their youth to, out of the threads the fates so desperately tried to keep in line. And he’ll fight for it, tooth and nail, with all the strength he used to wield his spear on the fields of Troy.