Archive of Our Own

"Because you're exhausting, Buck. We all got our own problems but you don't see us whining about it. Somehow we manage to suck it up. Why can't you?"

--

Buck’s head felt fuzzy.

Not just fuzzy—like it didn’t quite belong to his body anymore. Everything came in waves. Sound, light, thought… all of it sliding in and out of focus like he couldn’t quite hold onto any of it long enough to make it real.

The ceiling above him blurred at the edges when he stared at it too long. He tried to blink it away.

Didn’t really work. He didn't expect it to.

His phone was in his hand, though he didn’t remember picking it up. Or maybe he had. Time didn’t feel like it was moving properly.

Just… gaps.

Too many fucking gaps.

Eddie’s name was already open in his contacts.

Buck stared at it for a second longer than he meant to, thumb hovering like it might suddenly stop being there.

Then he pressed call.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four—

“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice came through sharp, clipped, tired in that familiar way that usually meant Buck had interrupted something.

There was background noise on Eddie’s end. Life continuing somewhere Buck couldn’t be. Where he really wanted to be.

“What do you want, Buck?” Eddie added after a beat, a little more annoyed now. Not cruel. Just worn down.

That should’ve hurt more than it did.

Or maybe it did.

It was hard to tell through everything else.

Buck let out a small breath that didn’t sound like it belonged to him.

“Ed’e…” His voice felt heavy. Wrong in his mouth. He swallowed, trying again. “Y'u picked up.”

A pause.

“I d'n’t think you would.”

Eddie goes still at that.

The annoyance drops out of his voice so fast it’s almost disorienting.

“Buck?” he says again, sharper now. “Are you drunk?”

There’s a beat on the other end of the line.

Too long.

Then Buck makes a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it had been steadier.

“I… I'm not,” he mumbles. “Dn't feel right. M tired, Eddie."

Eddie’s voice changes the second he hears Buck’s words again.

“What's going on?” he asks, but now there’s no annoyance left at all—only concern and panic. “Buck… what did you do?”

On the other end, there’s a long, uneven pause.

Too long.

Like Buck is trying to remember how to form words and can’t quite find the shape of them.

“I jus’…” Buck starts, then stops. A soft, unsteady breath follows. “I didn’… want t' think 'nymore.”

Eddie’s foot is already hitting the floor harder as he moves, keys jangling in his hand.

“No...” he says immediately. Firm now. Controlled panic now bleeding through every word. “Buck, listen to me. Stay with me, okay? Don’t hang up.”

Buck makes a small sound, almost like agreement—but it doesn’t sound like he’s fully there.

Eddie swallows hard.

“Where are you right now?” he asks again, sharper. Focused. “Tell me where you are.”

Another pause.

Then Buck, slower this time:

“Home…."

“Good,” Eddie says fast. “Good. Stay there. I’m coming to you right now.”

There’s a faint shift on Buck’s end—like he’s trying to reposition, but it doesn’t quite work right.

Eddie hears it anyway, and his stomach drops further.

“Buck,” he says again, voice cracking at the edges now. “Talk to me. Did you take something? What did you take?”

Silence stretches.

Then Buck exhales shakily.

“I didn’… m' sorry 'm exhausting, Eddie...” he murmurs.

Eddie goes still for half a second.

“No,” he says immediately—too sharp, like he can physically cut the thought out of the air between them. “No, Evan. Don’t. Don’t say that.”

On the other end of the line, Buck doesn’t respond right away. His breathing is uneven. Slow. Like he's fighting to try.

“I heard y'u,” Buck mumbles anyway, like it’s the simplest fact in the world. “'s okay.”

Eddie’s hand tightens around his phone so hard his knuckles ache.

“Buck,” he says again, slower now, forcing control into his voice because panic is starting to win everywhere else. “Listen to me. That is not what I meant. You hear me? That is not—”

But Buck interrupts him, faint and slurred at the edges.

“You were tired,” he says. Like he’s explaining it to himself more than Eddie. “I am… a lot.”

Eddie’s breath catches.

“No,” he says again, and now there’s something breaking through it—fear, anger, guilt all tangled together. “No, you are not a lot. You are not exhausting. Buck, you are—”

He stops himself, because if he finishes that sentence wrong, it won’t matter how fast he drives.

There’s a soft sound on Buck’s end—like he’s trying to move again.

Eddie hears it immediately.

“Hey—hey, stay still,” Eddie says quickly. “Don’t move. Just stay on the phone with me, okay? I’m coming to you. I’m almost there.”

A pause.

Then Buck, quieter than before:

“…y'u still mad?”

Eddie shuts his eyes for half a second as he drives, jaw tight enough to hurt.

“I was never mad at you,” he says, voice rough now. “I was annoyed with the lawsuit, Buck. That’s it. That’s all it was—I swear to you.”

Silence again.

Longer this time.

And Eddie can feel it—that thin, terrifying distance between what he’s saying and what Buck is actually hearing.

“Buck,” he says, softer now. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”

A faint breath.

“I-I tried,” Buck whispers.

And Eddie’s chest tightens so hard it feels like it might crack.

“Yeah,” he says immediately, voice breaking now despite everything. “I know you did. I know you did everything to get back to us—to me. Dios, Buck, just—don’t leave me, okay? Don’t you do that. I’m right here. I’m coming.”

But Buck doesn’t answer.

Only breathes.

Faint. Very unsteady.

And Eddie presses harder on the gas.

--

The phone is still in Eddie’s hand when he reaches the apartment building.

“Buck,” he says again, breath tight, already at a run. “Buck, I’m here. I’m here, okay? Stay with me.”

There’s no real response anymore.

Just that faint, uneven breathing on the other end—like Buck is still there, but drifting further out of reach with every second Eddie isn’t fast enough.

“Buck—answer me,” Eddie pushes as he hits the stairs two at a time. “Talk to me.”

Nothing.

The silence that follows isn’t empty.

It’s horrible.

Eddie doesn’t think. Doesn’t slow down. He’s already at Buck’s door before his brain fully catches up.

Locked.

Of course it’s locked.

“Buck!” Eddie shouts, slamming his fist against it. “Buck, open the door!”

No answer.

Just that same silence behind it. He doesn't hesitate, he needs to get in there.

Eddie steps back once, breath heaving hard in his chest, adrenaline burning so violently through him his hands have gone numb.

Then he drives his boot straight into the door. The wood cracks sharply near the lock but doesn’t give.

“Damn it!”

He kicks it again.

Harder this time, sending waves of pain up his leg.

The entire frame shudders violently.

“Buck!” Eddie yells again, voice breaking apart now. “Buck, please answer me!”

Nothing.

He hits the door a third time with everything he has.

The lock finally snaps with a loud crack.

The door bursts inward.

Eddie nearly stumbles with the force of it before catching himself against the frame and immediately surging inside.

“Buck?!”

His voice echoes through the apartment.

No answer.

The living room is empty.

Kitchen light still on. An empty glass overturned near the sink.

Eddie’s heart is slamming so hard it fucking hurts.

“Buck!”

Still nothing.

Then he sees it—

The staircase. Dark and eerie.

And suddenly the silence feels even worse.

“Oh God.”

Eddie takes the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping in his panic. His shoulder slams against the rail as he rushes up, but he barely feels it.

“Buck!”

The upstairs loft comes into view all at once.

And Eddie’s entire body goes cold.

Buck is sprawled across the bed. Lying on his back with his arm draped over the edge. And he's pale.

Very pale.

He's completely still.

“Fuck—Buck!"

The word tears out of Eddie’s throat broken.

He crosses the loft in seconds and drops hard onto the bed beside him, hands immediately grabbing for Buck’s face, his shoulders, anywhere.

“Hey. Hey, no—come on.”

Buck’s skin is cold and damp beneath Eddie’s shaking hands.

His lips are parted slightly.

His breathing shallow enough Eddie almost misses it entirely.

Fear detonates in his chest.

“Buck,” Eddie says again, sharper now, tapping his cheek carefully. “Buck, wake up. Come on, cariño, wake up for me.”

And oh, he's too involved in what's he doing, he doesn't realize what he just called Buck.

Buck’s head lolls weakly against Eddie’s hand.

Dead weight.

The sight of it nearly makes Eddie sick.

His fingers fumble shakily toward Buck’s throat, searching desperately for his pulse.

It's there but it's weak.

Relief crashes through Eddie so hard it almost hurts.

“Oh thank God.”

His forehead nearly drops against Buck’s as he sucks in a shaky breath.

Fear spikes violently through Eddie again as he realizes his friend needs help NOW.

“Shit.”

His hand dives into his pocket so fast he nearly drops his phone trying to pull it out.

His fingers barely work.

Everything’s shaking too hard.

“Come on, come on—”

He finally manages to hit the emergency call button.

The line rings once.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Not Maddie. Good.

Eddie swallows hard enough it hurts.

“T-This is off-duty firefighter Eddie Diaz,” he says immediately, words stumbling over each other. “I have a twenty-seven-year-old male, possible overdose, unconscious but breathing. I don’t know what he took.”

His eyes never leave Buck.

Not even for a second.

Buck’s face is frighteningly pale against the pillow now, lips parted slightly as another weak breath slips out.

Then silence again.

Eddie’s chest tightens so hard it aches.

“Sir, what’s your address?”

Eddie rattles it off instantly.

Too fast.

The dispatcher asked him to repeat it.

He forced himself to slow down the second time, voice rough and shaky while one hand stays pressed against Buck’s chest like he’s afraid to lose contact with him.

“Okay, paramedics are on the way,” the dispatcher says quickly. “Stay on the line with me. Is there a way to find out what he took?"

Eddie’s eyes dart frantically around the loft.

Nightstand.

Floor.

Trash can.

Anywhere.

“Hold on—”

He shifts carefully, refusing to fully let go of Buck as he reaches toward the nightstand with one trembling hand.

His fingers knock into an orange prescription bottle hard enough to send it clattering sideways.

Eddie snatches it up instantly.

And his stomach drops.

“Oh God.”

“What is it, sir?”

Eddie stares at the label, trying to force the words into focus through the panic flooding his head.

“It’s…” His voice catches. “Sleeping pills. The bottle’s almost empty.”

His eyes flick helplessly toward Buck again.

“How many were in the prescription originally?” the dispatcher asks quickly.

Eddie turns the bottle over with clumsy fingers, heart hammering so hard it hurts.

“I—I don’t know,” he chokes out. “It says thirty. There’s maybe…” He shakes it once. The faint rattle nearly makes him sick. “Maybe ten left.”

The dispatcher’s voice turns even more focused.

“Okay. Do you know when the prescription was filled?”

Eddie’s eyes dart back to the label, struggling to force the numbers into place through the panic roaring in his head.

“A-about a week ago,” he manages.

Which means Buck probably hadn’t taken twenty tonight.

But it also means Eddie has no idea how many he did take.

And Buck is still barely breathing beside him.

The dispatcher exhales carefully. “All right. That lowers the likelihood of a massive ingestion, but I still need you to monitor him closely. Is he awake at all?”

Eddie looks down immediately.

“Buck,” he says, shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey. Come on, open your eyes for me.”

A long pause.

Buck doesn’t react at all.

Not to Eddie shaking his shoulder.

Not to his voice.

Not even when Eddie grips his face a little harder, panic instantly spiking through his chest.

“Buck.”

Still nothing.

Only the slow rise and fall beneath Eddie’s trembling hand where it’s pressed against Buck’s sternum.

Thank God, he’s breathing.

But he won’t wake up.

Fear crashes into Eddie so violently his vision blurs for a second.

“Sir? Is he responding?”

“No,” Eddie chokes out. “No, he won’t wake up.”

“Is he still breathing?”

“Yes. Slow, but yes.”

“Okay. Listen carefully to me. I need you to try a sternum rub.”

Eddie of course knows what that is.

His hand curls instinctively into a fist before he stops himself, horrified at the thought of hurting Buck.

But dead is worse.

“Okay,” he whispers shakily.

He presses his knuckles hard against the center of Buck’s chest and drags downward firmly.

“Buck,” he says desperately. “Come on, buddy. Wake up.”

For one horrible second—

Nothing.

Then Buck makes the faintest sound.

A weak, pained whine.

His face pinches slightly before going slack again.

But his eyes never open.

Eddie’s relief is so sharp it almost hurts.

“He reacted,” Eddie says quickly into the phone. “A little.”

“Good,” the dispatcher says calmly. “That’s good. Stay with him. Help should be arriving now.”

Right on cue, Eddie hears pounding footsteps tearing up the stairs below.

Then voices.

“LAFD!”

Eddie nearly sags with relief.

“Up here!” he shouts back instantly, voice wrecked. “Bedroom!”

Paramedics flood into the loft seconds later carrying gear.

One of them immediately drops beside the bed while another starts opening equipment.

“What’d he take?” the first paramedic asks fast.

“Sleeping pills,” Eddie says immediately, holding up the bottle with shaking fingers. “Prescription. I think maybe… maybe thirteen? I don’t know exactly.”

The paramedic takes the bottle quickly, scanning the label.

“When?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie’s voice cracks hard. “He called me confused and slurring maybe twenty minutes ago—I got here and he was like this.”

Another medic is already checking Buck’s pulse, shining a penlight into his eyes.

“Respirations are low,” she says sharply. “Let’s get oxygen on.”

The second they fit the mask over Buck’s face, something inside Eddie twists painfully.

Because Buck looks so still.

Eddie can’t stop staring at him.

Even with the paramedics moving around the loft in controlled motions, even with questions being fired at him and equipment clattering onto the mattress beside Buck, Eddie can’t look away from Buck’s face.

He's too pale.

The oxygen mask fogs faintly with each shallow breath, and Eddie finds himself counting them without meaning to.

“BP’s dropping,” one medic says sharply.

Eddie’s stomach twists violently.

“Buck,” he whispers immediately, grabbing his hand. “Hey. Come on, stay with me.”

Buck doesn’t react.

A medic starts attaching cardiac leads to Buck’s chest while another adjusts the oxygen flow.

“Sir, when was the last time you spoke to him normally?” the female paramedic asks Eddie.

Eddie blinks hard.

For a second, he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped responding.

The loft suddenly feels too loud and too quiet at the same time—the hiss of oxygen, the crinkle of medical packaging, Buck’s faint uneven breathing beneath all of it.

Because you're exhausting. We all have our own problems, but you don't see us whining about it. Somehow we manage to suck it up. Why can't you?

The memory hits so hard it almost feels like an actual slap.

Eddie sees it all over again in awful clarity: Buck standing in the store, already looking wrung out and hurt, while Eddie snapped at him after Buck tried to apologize to the team. He’d been frustrated. Tired. Angry at everything except Buck, really.

But Buck hadn’t known that.

How could he have?

Eddie had watched Buck’s face fall in real time after the words left his mouth.

At the time, Eddie had been too irritated to stop it. Too wrapped up in his own exhaustion to notice the way Buck had immediately gone quiet afterward.

Because Buck was never quiet.

And a sad Buck looked like a kicked puppy.

Buck had stood there beside the cart, shoulders pulled in tight, staring down at the floor tiles while the rest of the team awkwardly pretended not to listen to Eddie tearing him a new one.

Hen had looked uncomfortable.

Chimney had opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before deciding against it.

And Buck—

Buck had just stood there and taken it.

No fight.

No attitude.

No snapping back even though Eddie had absolutely deserved it.

He’d only looked… hurt.

Deeply, quietly hurt in a way Eddie should’ve recognized immediately.

Because Buck wore his emotions all over his face. Always had.

Especially when it came to Eddie.

And Eddie had ignored it.

And now Buck is lying unconscious beneath an oxygen mask while paramedics call out dropping vitals around him.

“Sir,” the paramedic repeats more firmly. “When did you last speak to him normally?”

Eddie blinks hard like he’s being dragged back into his own body.

The loft snaps back into focus all at once.

Buck lying frighteningly still beneath gloved hands and medical straps while paramedics move quickly around him.

And Buck’s hand—

Cold in Eddie’s grip.

Eddie swallows hard enough it hurts.

“Yesterday,” he hears himself say hoarsely. “At the store.”

The paramedic glances up briefly while adjusting something on the monitor. “And he was acting normal then?”

No.

God, no.

That’s the problem.

Eddie looks down at Buck again, at the way the oxygen mask fogs faintly with each shallow breath.

Buck hadn’t been normal.

“He…” Eddie’s voice catches. “He was upset.”

The paramedic nods once, focused but gentle. “Did he say anything concerning?”

Eddie almost laughs at that.

Because, no. He had not.

Eddie’s fingers tighten helplessly around Buck’s limp hand.

“No, he didn't say anything out of the ordinary.” he whispers brokenly, staring at Buck’s pale face. “We kinda got into a fight."

The paramedic’s eyes flick toward him briefly at that.

“What kind of fight?”

Eddie’s throat tightens immediately.

The honest answer feels poisonous sitting in his chest.

A stupid fight.

“I said some stupid things I shouldn’t have,” Eddie admits quietly.

The medic doesn’t push, just nods once while continuing to work.

A medic brushes past him quickly.

“We need to move now.”

Eddie barely hears them.

All he can see is Buck standing in that store looking like Eddie had just reached into his chest and confirmed every terrible thing Buck already believed about himself.

------

The first thing Buck notices is the beeping.

It drags at him through the heavy fog in his head long before he actually opens his eyes.

Everything hurts in that strange, distant way that comes after being unconscious too long. His body feels weighed down. His mouth is painfully dry. There’s something tugging uncomfortably at his nose—

Oxygen.

Buck is in the hospital.

The realization comes slowly. Sluggishly.

Buck’s eyelids flutter weakly before finally cracking open.

The light overhead is dim, but it still burns.

He winces immediately.

For a second, everything blurs together into shapeless color and movement. White ceiling. Machines. A chair beside the bed.

Someone sitting in it.

Buck’s vision swims again before slowly, painfully focusing.

Eddie.

Still in yesterday’s shift clothes.

Buck stares at him in silence.

Eddie looks awful.

Tired in a way Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

There are dark circles bruised beneath his eyes. His jaw is rough with stubble like he hasn’t bothered going home. One of his hands is still wrapped loosely around Buck’s wrist.

Something tightens painfully in Buck’s chest.

Memory comes back in awful fragments.

The pills.

The phone call.

A panicking Eddie.

Buck’s stomach twists hard enough to make him flinch. The movement is tiny.

But it doesn’t matter.

Eddie wakes instantly.

His head jerks up so fast the chair creaks beneath him.

For one terrifying second, Eddie just stares at Buck like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Then relief crashes over his face so violently it almost looks painful.

“Buck.”

His voice breaks on the word.

Buck swallows thickly, throat burning raw.

“…hey,” he rasps.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh before abruptly pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“Oh, thank God.”

Buck blinks at him slowly.

Everything still feels fuzzy around the edges. Heavy.

“How long…?” he mumbles weakly.

“About eighteen hours,” Eddie says immediately, leaning forward now like he physically can’t stay back anymore. “You scared the absolute hell out of me.”

Buck looks away instinctively.

Eddie notices.

Of course he does.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Buck keeps staring toward the wall anyway, throat burning.

Everything feels thick and wrong inside his chest now that he’s awake enough to understand what happened.

He's in the hospital. He overdosed.

The realization settles heavily over him, crushing and humiliating all at once.

Buck squeezes his eyes shut briefly.

God.

Eddie had found him like that.

Barely breathing. Unconscious. So out of it that paramedics had to drag him back to life while Eddie watched.

Shame crawls hot beneath his skin.

“…sorry,” he whispers.

Eddie immediately shakes his head.

“No, you don't get to apologize for this.”

Buck lets out a weak breath, eyes fixed stubbornly on the blanket gathered in his fists.

“I didn't want to die...” he says quietly.

The words fall heavy into the room.

Eddie goes completely still.

Buck keeps staring down at the blanket because he can’t bear to watch the expression on Eddie’s face change.

“I didn’t think…” He swallows hard. “I didn’t think it would go that far.”

Silence.

The monitor beside the bed keeps beeping steadily, cruelly normal against the awful pressure building in Buck’s chest.

Then Eddie speaks.

“What do you mean?”

His voice sounds wrecked already.

Buck squeezes his eyes shut briefly.

“I wasn’t trying to—” He stops, throat tight. “I don’t know.”

That’s the horrible truth of it. But he also hadn’t really cared what happened afterward.

And admitting that out loud feels monstrous now that Eddie’s sitting beside him looking like he survived another war in that hospital chair.

“I just wanted it to stop,” Buck whispers finally.

Eddie looks away sharply.

Buck catches the movement anyway.

The hurt in it.

“I couldn’t sleep anymore,” Buck says shakily. “Every time I closed my eyes, I was back there. In the store. In that aisle. Hearing you yell at me in front of everyone. Telling me I'm..."

His voice breaks apart.

Eddie goes completely pale.

Buck immediately regrets saying it.

Not because it wasn't true.

Because the look on Eddie’s face is unbearable.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Buck says quickly, words stumbling over each other now. “I know you were stressed and tired and I shouldn’t have let it get to me like that, it’s just—”

“Buck.”

Eddie’s voice breaks hard enough to stop him cold.

Buck falls silent.

Eddie looks wrecked.

Like Buck just reached into his chest and ripped something open with his bare hands.

“You believed me,” Eddie whispers.

Buck’s throat tightens painfully.

Because yeah.

He had.

Buck stares down at the blanket again, shame crawling hotter beneath his skin now.

“I already kinda thought those things about myself,” he admits quietly. “You just…” His voice cracks. “made it truer.”

Eddie recoils like he got physically hit.

“Oh my God.”

Buck hates how broken he sounds now.

Hates that Eddie’s seeing this part of him at all.

Eddie looks horrified.

“Buck,” he says shakily, “I need you to listen to me really carefully right now.”

Buck can’t make himself look up.

Eddie shifts closer abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the hospital floor.

“Hey.” His voice softens immediately. “Look at me.”

Buck shakes his head once.

“I can’t.”

“Buck.”

There’s so much hurt in Eddie’s voice that Buck finally forces himself to glance up.

Big mistake.

Eddie looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

“I was angry,” Eddie says quietly. “And exhausted. And I said cruel shit that I should never have said to you.”

Buck swallows hard.

“But that doesn’t make it true.”

Buck laughs weakly under his breath.

“It felt true.”

Eddie’s face crumples.

Buck immediately looks away again.

“I know it’s stupid—”

“No.” Eddie’s voice sharpens hard enough to cut him off. “Don’t do that."

Eddie either doesn’t notice Buck freezing or he notices and can’t stop now that the words are finally out.

“I keep replaying it,” Eddie whispers. “You standing there and me just…” He laughs once, hollow and disgusted with himself. “God, Buck, you looked so hurt.”

Buck remembers that part too well.

The fluorescent lights.

Hen pretending not to listen.

Chim looking uncomfortable.

The awful sinking feeling in his chest when Eddie kept going instead.

“I thought if you thought I was too much…” Buck’s voice shakes. “Then maybe everyone did.”

Eddie closes his eyes like the words physically wound him.

“No.”

Immediate.

“No, absolutely not.”

Eddie leans forward suddenly, close enough now that Buck can feel the warmth coming off him.

“Buck, listen to me.” His voice cracks. “You are not hard to love.”

Buck’s chest tightens painfully.

“You are not exhausting.”

Tears sting unexpectedly behind Buck’s eyes.

“And you do not get to carry my worst moment around like it’s proof that there’s something wrong with you.”

Eddie’s hand hesitates for only a second before carefully covering Buck’s clenched fist on top of the blanket.

“You know what I saw when I got to your loft?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck shakes his head weakly.

“I saw the person I love most in this world lying there not breathing.” His voice breaks hard. “And I thought I was too late to do anything.”

Buck’s eyes burn instantly.

Eddie squeezes his hand gently.

“I do not care how messy this gets,” he whispers. “I do not care how much help you need. I don’t care if I have to sit beside your bed every night until you sleep.” His face crumples. “You are never gonna scare me into loving you less.”

Buck breaks.

The first sob tears out of him before he can stop it.

Humiliating and sharp and painful.

Eddie moves instantly.

One second he’s in the chair and the next he’s leaning over the bed, arms wrapping carefully around Buck despite the wires and monitors.

"Y-You love me?" Buck asks.

Eddie exhales shakily.

He doesn’t step back.

Doesn’t dodge it either.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

Just that.

Buck stares at him like his brain can’t quite process it yet.

Eddie’s hands are still holding him carefully, one braced at his shoulder, the other steadying him like he’s something breakable but not disposable.

“I—” Buck swallows hard. His voice cracks again. “Since when?”

Eddie lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Longer than I probably realized,” he admits. “And definitely longer than I ever said anything.”

Buck’s eyes flick down, overwhelmed.

“I-I didn’t know,” he whispers.

“I know.”

Buck’s breathing is uneven again, but slower now. Less panicked. More overwhelmed in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s going to swallow him whole.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” Buck admits quietly.

Eddie huffs a soft, broken breath against his shoulder.

“I know that too.”

Buck lets out a shaky laugh that turns into another sniffle.

“Apparently you know everything, huh?”

“Not everything,” Eddie says. Then, after a beat, quieter: “Just enough to be really mad I didn’t say it sooner.”

Buck doesn’t even have time to fully process the kiss.

It’s soft. Brief. Grounding in a way that makes his chest ache more than it soothes it.

Then Eddie pulls back like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, eyes still warm but focused now.

“We’ll have a real one later,” he says quietly, like it’s a promise he fully intends to keep. “The others are worried about you.”

Buck blinks at him.

“…the others?”

Eddie gives him a look that says you really want to do this right now?

Buck opens his mouth—

But Eddie is already moving.

Not rushing like before. Not panicked.

Just… purposeful.

Like now that Buck is awake, Eddie’s brain has shifted into a different kind of survival mode.

“Eddie—” Buck starts, confused.

But Eddie is already standing, letting go of his hand with care instead of hesitation.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Buck stares at him.

“That’s not— you can’t just drop that and leave.”

Eddie pauses at the foot of the bed, glancing back.

There’s something steadier in his expression now. Still exhausted. Still shaken. But no longer falling apart in front of Buck.

“You just woke up from an overdose,” he says simply. “I’m not leaving you alone, Buck. I’m getting people who are going to want to see you are actually okay.”

Buck’s heart stutters.

“I am okay,” he says quickly, like he needs to convince him.

Eddie’s expression softens.

“I know,” he says. “But they didn't. “I’ll be right back,” he repeats.

Then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And Buck is left staring at it, chest tight, hand still slightly raised where Eddie was just holding it.

The room feels strangely empty without him in it.

Buck stares at the closed door for a long second, still trying to catch up to the last five minutes of his life.

Eddie kissed him.

Eddie loves him.

Eddie said we’ll have a real one later like there was absolutely no universe where that wouldn’t happen.

Buck lets out a faint, bewildered laugh that immediately turns into a wince because apparently overdosing and crying for an hour had consequences.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles weakly to himself.

His heart is still pounding too hard.

Not panic this time.

Just… complete emotional whiplash.

Before he can spiral too hard into that, the door swings open again.

Buck immediately looks up, expecting Eddie.

Instead, Maddie is right beside him.

The second Buck sees her, his stomach drops.

Because she looks terrified.

Relieved too, overwhelmingly so, but there are tears already gathered in her eyes like she’s been holding herself together by force alone for hours.

“Maddie—”

She crosses the room before he can finish.

Buck barely has time to brace before she’s wrapping her arms carefully around him, mindful of the IV line and monitors but still holding him tight enough that it almost hurts.

“Oh my God,” she whispers shakily. “Oh my God, Buck.”

Guilt crashes over him instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he says automatically into her shoulder.

Maddie pulls back just enough to look at him.

“No,” she says immediately, voice breaking. “Evan, we're not doing that."

She cups his face carefully in both hands, eyes scanning him like she’s checking he’s actually real.

“You scared me so badly,” she whispers.

Buck can’t even defend himself.

Because yeah.

He did.

Maddie lets out one shaky breath before pulling him into another gentler hug, pressing a kiss into his hair the same way she used to when they were kids and Buck woke up from nightmares.

And suddenly Buck feels about six years old again.

“I’m okay,” he mumbles weakly.

Maddie laughs through what is definitely the start of tears.

“You were unconscious for almost a day.”

“…mostly okay?”

That earns a wet huff from Hen.

Chimney mutters, “There he is,” under his breath.

Buck glances up just in time to catch Eddie watching him from the doorway with an expression so unbearably soft it makes his chest ache all over again.

Then Maddie pulls back enough to really look at him.

And her older-sister expression sharpens immediately.

“How long?” she asks quietly.

Buck freezes.

Maddie knows him too well to miss it.

“How long have things been this bad?”

Buck looks down at the blanket again.

Nobody pushes immediately.

The room stays quiet except for monitors and distant hospital noise.

Finally:

"Since I started this stupid lawsuit." Buck admits.

Silence follows immediately.

Buck keeps his eyes fixed on the blanket because he can’t bear to look at any of them now.

Not after admitting that.

Not after realizing how long he’s really been drowning.

“…Buck,” Maddie whispers.

He laughs weakly under his breath.

“Yeah. Turns out suing the people you love and then almost losing them in the same year is maybe not great for your mental health.”

Nobody laughs.

Buck swallows hard.

“I thought I was doing the right thing at first,” he admits quietly. “And then after a while it just felt like… every time I looked at you guys, all I could think about was how badly I screwed everything up.”

Bobby’s face tightens with immediate pain.

“Kid—”

“I know,” Buck cuts in quickly, because he can already see the guilt forming on Bobby’s face and he can’t handle that too. “I know nobody meant for it to turn into that.”

Bobby goes quiet immediately.

Buck stares at his hands.

“But after it happened, everything just felt… so messed up.” His voice turns rough around the edges. “Like I broke something for all of us and I could never fix it again."

Hen’s expression crumples slightly.

“Buck, honey—”

But Eddie is already moving.

Nobody really notices it at first.

One second he's standing near the wall, and the next he's back at Buck's bedside like being farther away than arm's reach is physically impossible.

He sits carefully on the edge of the mattress.

Very close.

Buck barely has time to look up before Eddie's hand finds his.

Like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"There's nothing you could've done to break us," Eddie says firmly.

Buck immediately looks down.

"Eddie—"

"No."

You don't get to carry that."

Buck lets out a weak laugh.

"Pretty sure I already have."

"Then stop."

Buck blinks.

Because Eddie's staring at him with an intensity that borders on reckless.

"You hear me?" Eddie says quietly. "You don't have that kind of power."

Buck frowns.

"What?"

"You don't have the power to make me stop loving you."

The room goes silent.

Buck feels his eyes burn.

And Eddie squeezes his hand again.

Like he's trying to anchor him to the bed.

To the room.

To all the people sitting around him.

For a second, nobody says anything.

Nobody even looks surprised.

Which is honestly the most surprising part.

Buck glances around the room, bewildered.

Hen is staring at the ceiling like she's giving everyone the opportunity to maintain some dignity.

Chimney has the expression of a man mentally rearranging several years' worth of memories.

Maddie looks suspiciously close to laughing through her tears.

And Bobby—

Bobby just looks tired.

Tired and relieved.

Like something has finally stopped being a secret.

Buck looks back at Eddie.

"Eddie..."

But Eddie isn't done.

"We all love you, Buck," he says quietly.

The words land like a weight settling into place.

"Not just me."

Buck's throat tightens.

Eddie gestures vaguely with his free hand.

"You've got Bobby sitting here looking like he's aged ten years in eighteen hours."

Bobby huffs despite himself.

"You scared me, kid."

Buck's eyes immediately sting harder.

Eddie keeps going.

"You've got Hen trying really hard not to cry."

Hen points at him.

"I am failing, actually."

That earns the faintest, weakest laugh from Buck.

The first real laugh anyone has heard from him all day.

Eddie's expression softens instantly.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "That."

His thumb brushes over Buck's knuckles.

"You don't get to decide what you mean to people."

Buck looks down.

Because that's easier.

Because if he keeps looking at Eddie, he's probably going to start crying again.

Too late.

A tear lands on the blanket.

Then another.

"Oh, Buck," Maddie whispers.

The heartbreak in her voice is almost worse than the tears.

Buck laughs shakily.

"I really screwed this up, huh?"

"No."

Bobby's answer is immediate.

Firm.

The kind of voice Bobby uses when he's absolutely certain of something.

Buck looks up.

Bobby leans forward in his chair.

"What happened is that you were hurting."

The room goes quiet.

"And you tried to carry it by yourself."

Buck's chest aches.

"You should never have had to."

Nobody speaks for a moment after that.

The silence isn't awkward.

It's full.

Full of grief.

Relief.

Love.

Everything Buck has spent years convincing himself he'd somehow lost.

Eddie's hand tightens around his.

Still there.

Still steady.

Still refusing to let go.

And for the first time since waking up, Buck lets himself believe maybe he's not sitting in this hospital room alone.

Maybe he never was.