Chapter Text
Buck knew that it wasn't healthy. But with the way his life had been going, he didn't care. He didn't care if he woke most mornings with a dry mouth, his head pounding and his eyes red and sunken. He didn't care if the circles under them had grown darker than he thought possible. He didn't care if the stench of cheap stale alcohol never left the house.
He craved the quiet alcohol brought him, the burning in his throat was a momentary distraction from the fire that was his life: Eddie left. He was gone, in Texas. With Christopher, where he belonged. Except Buck couldn't help but wonder, as he finished another bottle, why Eddie couldn't stay. They would've found another way to bring Chris home, they had each other's back, they always had. Until he left.
It had been 6 months. Since Eddie held him in his arms. 6 months without breathing Eddie in. At first, the texts were often and the phone calls once or twice a week. Then, slowly but surely, they spoke less and less, until Buck was left alone, wondering how his boys were doing without him.He knew it wasn't healthy, the alcohol. But in his eyes, there was worse he could be doing. So, he drank.
It was dark in Eddie's living room, when Buck woke up. His skin was covered in sweat, the blanket and clothes around him drenched and sticking to him. His stomach churned as he raced to the bathroom, knocking over empty bottles on the floor in the process. His heart was erratic, pounding violently in his chest as he heaved over the toilet. Every muscle ached in his body and his skin burned. His throat was raw, he wanted to move, to do something to help himself, but he could barely lift his head of the cool porcelain without feeling nauseous. The world spun around him, the lights above him blinding. He heaved again, nothing happened. He blinked, taking in his situation.
Most days started like this, his head in a toilet, processing last nights desicions. He traced the purple marks littered across his neck, reminders of the people he used to fill the empty space. They were just like him, broken, lost, confused. He didn't remember their names, or faces, but the haunted look in their eyes was familiar. He knew the look, saw it everytime he braved the mirror. He shook his head, trying to ground himself, then instantly regretted his choice when the pain spread.
What was he doing with his life? Most people would kill to be in his position, he had a family, people who cared about him. He was young and healthy, he had a great job that made him feel needed. Yet, here he was, throwing it all away, wasting time.
He just had to stand up and get ready. He sighed, slumping himself against his bathtub. The idea of spending another day alone, without Eddie and Chris, felt impossible. He closed his eyes, fighting the thoughts of the time they spent in this house, together. The good, the bad, and the beautiful. Every game of Mario Kart, every burnt slice of toast, every Diaz smile that Buck caused. He breathed through the memories, hoping they'd pass.
They never did.
Days passed, Buck didn't notice. In his mind, he was still lying on his bathroom floor, yearning for Eddie. He drank more, hoping the constant ache would subside. Sometimes it quietened down, but really it never left him. "Ironic," Buck thought.
He knew the 118 were worried. But he didn't care. Well, maybe that's a lie, of course he cared about them. He just didn't want them to worry about him. He was fine. The alcohol just took the edge off a bit. Made the day seem less daunting. He'd be fine. Even if he couldn't sleep without it anymore, even if it was the only thing that brought him comfort, even if it was the one constant in his life. So, yeah, he drank and he was fine. That's all there was to it.
"Buck?"
He'd tried to avoid him, dodging calls and texts as often as he could without raising suspicion, worried he'd see through his bullshit. He saw Buck in a way that made him vulnerable, exposed to the world. His call was unexpected, Buck had been passed out on the couch when his phone rang. He thought he was dreaming when he saw the caller ID. It sounded like he'd been trying to get his attention, like he'd repeated his name multiple times, aware that Buck hadn't heard a word.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
Eddie sighed, pushing his face closer to the frame, as if he was trying to see what Buck was hiding. "I asked if you were okay. You seem-"
He trailed off, not sure how to describe the mess he saw before him. Worry was evident on his face, his eyes impossibly soft and caring. It didn't matter how much Eddie cared, he wasn't here.
"I'm fine."
"Buck-" Eddie started, his voice filled with fear.
"I've gotta go." Buck clicked 'End Call' before Eddie could argue, then threw his phone on the table. He was tired of lying to everyone, but they wouldn't understand. He knew how it looked, like he was drowning again, but this time with the alcohol.
Buck slumped into Eddie's couch, picking up another bottle, the last of his stash, and took a swig. There was no taste, only a sharp sting in his throat, probably from a mixture of dehydration and crying himself to sleep. He sat, staring at the TV that was turned off. The screen showing his hideous reflection, a corpse of the man he once was. He didn't think he would ever get back to the old Buck, the happy one, who despite the cards he was dealt, never gave up, never slowed down, never stopped. Buck wondered if anyone missed the old Buck, or if they were grateful he was quieter, more subdued. He continued to stare at the black screen, anger simmering under his skin, fighting for release. He gripped the, now empty, bottle tighter, his knuckles turning white. Then it happened. The TV smashed, glass flew everywhere and Buck did nothing but sit on Eddie's couch, panting and sweating.
He didn't know how long he was sat there before he came. It was dark again and Buck was clueless about the hours that had passed. The key turned in the lock, the hinges of the front door cried as the door was opened.
"Buck?" Bobby's voice echoed in the void of a house. The streetlight outside shone through the open curtains, highlighting Buck's slouched silhouette on the couch. Bobby sighed, making strides towards the young man. The smell of vodka burned his nostrils, he took a breath through his mouth, trying to calm his frustration. As he reached Buck, his heart stopped. He was staring ahead, unaware of the world around him, barely awake and shaking from exhaustion. "Kid, can you look at me for a second?"
Buck didn't flinch, or acknowledge Bobby's presence. He sat, staring at God knows what. Bobby knelt in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, trying to understand what was going through his head. His pupils were dilated, sluggish, his eyes heavy and cloudy. His skin was red and blotchy, looking irritated and painful. Bobby stroked his fingers across his birthmark, trying to bring him back.
"Talk to me, kid. I need to know how to help you." His usually calm exterior was replaced with dread and fear at seeing the broken man before him. He looked into the man's eyes, hoping to find an answer, when Buck's phone shone beside him. Hundreds of missed calls and message from Eddie lit up the darkness. "Do you want me to call Eddie?"
That seemed to get through to him. Tears filled his eyes, as he shook his head. His breathing was shallow, trembling as he tried to take deep breaths.
"Okay, okay, Buck. Hey, look at me," Buck listened for the first time since he'd arrived, "Good, now, I've got you okay, just breathe."
Buck, more aware of himself, looked at Bobby, and saw him. A sob erupted into the silence, as he lurched forward, clinging onto Bobby's shirt.
"I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's not-" Bobby held him, running his hands through his flat curls. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the evidence of his fear, "Let's not do that now, okay?"
Buck nodded.
"Why are you here?"
Bobby sighed, helpless and frustratingly angry. There was nothing he could do to help him, he couldn't promise him things would get better. He couldn't tell him that he knew what to do, because the truth was, he didn't. Bobby was terrified to lose the kid, he brought him back from a dark place, a place he was lost in himself.
"I knew you needed me."