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The first time Buck notices it, Eddie is carrying three cases of bottled water into the station like he's trying to prove a point to someone.
Which, honestly, isn't that weird on its own. Eddie has always been capable of ridiculous things when he puts his mind to it and Buck has seen him carry Christopher, a duffle bag, groceries and a toolbox all at the same time without even looking winded.
But this feels different somehow.
Mostly because Eddie’s jaw is tight with effort by the time he drops the cases onto the counter and flexes his fingers once after like they hurt.
“You know they make carts for that right?” Buck asks as he walks into the kitchen and Eddie startles just slightly before smoothing his expression back out.
“Didn’t need one.”
Buck hums, unconvinced.
Hen walks in a second later, takes one look at Eddie and sighs deeply. “Tell me you at least stretched first today.”
Eddie rolls his eyes immediately. “I’m fine.”
“Mhm.” Hen grabs a yogurt from the fridge. “That wasn’t an answer.”
And okay.
That catches Buck’s attention.
Because Hen says it casually, like this is a continuation of a conversation they’ve already been having. One Buck apparently missed completely, which makes him raise a brow in curiosity towards the two of them.
Eddie must realize that too because his shoulders tense for a fraction of a second before he reaches for the coffee pot. “You two done?”
Hen just smirks. “Depends. You gonna listen to me?”
“I always listen to you.”
Buck snorts before he can stop himself and Eddie shoots him a betrayed look over the rim of his mug that makes warmth bloom low in Buck’s chest despite himself.
Some things, at least, are normal.
Even if Eddie’s been…off lately.
Not bad off. Not spiraling in the terrifying way Buck knows too well after years of watching the people he loves carry things they refuse to put down. But different enough that Buck notices it in little pieces.
Eddie leaves earlier now.
Gets home later too, some nights. Chris is definitely not keeping the same secrets as he tells Buck about anything and everything.
So Buck notices things more.
Eddie’s always sore lately, rubbing absently at his shoulder or the back of his neck when he thinks nobody’s paying attention. Buck catches him icing his wrist twice in one week and gets waved off both times with muttered excuses about training.
Training for what, Buck has absolutely no idea.
Especially because Eddie already works out. They all do. Kind of comes with the job.
Still, Buck lets it go at first.
Mostly because things are finally settling back into something good again.
Buck’s back at work. Back on the truck. Back in his own skin after months of feeling like his body belonged to doctors and physical therapists and everyone except himself. The lightning scars still crawl over his skin in branching pink patterns that draw attention no matter how much Buck pretends not to notice people looking at them.
Eddie notices them too.
Buck catches him sometimes.
Quick glances when Buck changes shirts at the station. His eyes lingering for one strange second too long over the marks disappearing beneath the collar of Buck’s t-shirt before Eddie looks away again like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t.
The first few times it happens, Buck thinks maybe Eddie’s worried.
Which makes sense.
Buck nearly died.
Again.
And Eddie had looked haunted for weeks afterward, all sharp edges and exhaustion every time Buck woke up enough in the hospital to really see him. Like he was carrying something heavy inside himself that nobody else could touch.
Buck remembers waking up one night to Eddie sitting beside his bed with his head bowed low and his hands clasped so tightly together his knuckles looked bloodless.
Buck had tried to say his name.
Eddie’s head snapped up so fast it almost looked painful.
Then immediately softened.
“Hey,” Eddie had said quietly, standing so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “Hey, you with me?”
Buck had been too tired to answer properly.
But Eddie had grabbed his hand carefully, carefully, like Buck might disappear if held too tightly.
He remembers that part most.
The way Eddie held on.
Buck remembers a lot of things about that day, actually.
Some clearer than others.
The rain.
The smell.
The strange metallic taste in the air right before everything went wrong.
And he wishes he could remember what everyone has told him, how everything when down.
How Eddie had screamed his name trying to get to him.
Which is maybe why it takes him longer than it should to realize something is actually wrong now, because Eddie had earned a little strange after that.
They all had. Chimney still goes quiet during storms sometimes. Hen checks vitals twice when Buck takes even a slightly hard hit on calls. Bobby watches all of them with that carefully neutral expression that usually means he’s worrying himself sick internally.
They almost lost him.
Buck understands that.
So Eddie being weirdly protective doesn’t exactly register as unusual at first.
Until it does.
Because one afternoon Buck reaches up automatically to grab a box from a high shelf in the station kitchen and Eddie is suddenly there beside him so fast it almost gives Buck whiplash.
“I got it.”
Buck blinks, hand still half-raised. “...Okay?”
Eddie grabs the box easily, jaw tight the entire time.
“You know I can reach that myself, right?” Buck asks slowly.
“I know.” But he still sounds tense.
Buck watches him set the box down harder than necessary before turning away immediately like the conversation is over.
Except it isn’t.
Not really.
Because things like that keep happening.
Eddie hovering too close near ladders.
Eddie insisting on taking heavier equipment from Buck during calls.
Eddie’s hand catching the back of Buck’s turnout coat once when the ground was slick beneath his boots, fingers digging in hard enough to nearly yank Buck backwards entirely.
“You good?” Eddie asks immediately after, voice rough around the edges.
Buck stares at him.
“Yeah,” he answers carefully. “Are you?”
Something flashes across Eddie’s face then vanishes so quickly Buck almost misses it.
“Fine.”
Buck doesn’t believe him for a second.
Still, he doesn’t push.
Mostly because Eddie has always been difficult to corner emotionally and Buck has learned over the years that pressing too hard usually just makes the man retreat further into himself.
So instead he watches.
And once Buck starts paying attention, he realizes just how bad it’s gotten.
Eddie works out before shifts now.
And after them.
Sometimes when Buck stays over he wakes up in the middle of night and Eddie isn’t there. And when Buck pretends to be asleep the moment the front door opens, Eddie always comes in and goes straight to the shower, before going to bed.
The shoulder thing is getting worse too.
Buck notices him wincing when he pulls shirts over his head sometimes. Notices the way he rotates the joint carefully after lifting something heavy. Notices the bottle of painkillers shoved into his bathroom drawer.
That one bothers him enough to finally say something.
“You’re overdoing it.”
Eddie barely glances up from where he’s making coffee. “I’m fine.”
Buck leans against the counter, unimpressed. “Wow. Original response. Did Hen write that for you?”
That gets him a tiny smile at least. But only for a second.
“It’s just working out, Buck.”
“No,” Buck says slowly. “It’s not.”
Eddie goes still after that.
Not visibly to anyone else maybe, but Buck sees it immediately. The slight stiffness in his shoulders. The way his grip tightens almost imperceptibly around the mug in his hand.
Then Eddie shrugs, “I like keeping busy.”
And there it is.
Deflection.
Buck sighs softly through his nose and lets it drop because Eddie looks exhausted suddenly, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes in a way concealer and station lighting can’t hide anymore.
But later that night, lying awake on the couch while Eddie sleeps all night for once, Buck finds himself staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the times Eddie’s looked at him lately like he’s trying to make sure he’s still there.
Like he’s afraid to blink and lose him again.
The thought settles somewhere deep in Buck’s chest and stays there.
It gets worse after an apartment fire in downtown LA.
Not because the call itself goes bad exactly.
It’s mostly controlled by the time they get there, just a kitchen fire that spread farther than it should've because the tenant panicked and made everything worse. A lot of smoke, a lot of yelling, a lot of people crowding around outside trying to record on their phones instead of getting out of the way. Normal stuff.
Normal enough that Buck doesn't think twice about heading back down the stairwell with equipment after helping clear the third floor.
Until the railing gives out beneath his hand.
It happens so fast Buck barely registers the sound at first, just metal screeching loud enough to hurt his ears before suddenly there's nothing solid under his grip anymore.
His foot slips.
Then all at once the world jerks sideways.
“Shit—”
Buck drops hard enough for pain to shoot through his side before his harness catches on something below him with a violent snap that nearly knocks the air from his lungs completely.
For one horrible second, he’s just hanging there.
The broken remains of the railing sway beside him and Buck’s heart jumps straight into his throat because oh, he knows exactly what this looks like.
Knows exactly what it must look like to Eddie.
“BUCK!”
Eddie’s voice tears through the stairwell so loud it echoes.
Buck coughs around smoke and adrenaline, trying to get a boot against the wall to steady himself, “I’m okay!” he yells back immediately. “Eddie, I’m fine, I just—”
But Eddie’s already moving.
Buck barely has time to process it before Eddie’s suddenly in front of him, dropping down the stairs faster than Bobby would ever approve of, soot streaked across his face and something terrified written all over it.
And then Eddie grabs him.
Hard.
One hand fisting into the front strap of Buck’s harness so tightly Buck feels the pull of it through all the gear between them.
“You with me?” Eddie asks and his voice sounds wrong somehow. Too rough. Too breathless.
Buck blinks at him.
Because Eddie sounds scared.
Not regular call scared either. Not focused or sharp like he usually gets when things go sideways. This sounds messy. Panicked.
“I’m okay,” Buck says again, quieter this time.
Eddie’s jaw clenches hard enough Buck sees the muscle jump.
Behind them Chimney is saying something about stabilizing the stairs before the whole thing collapses further but Eddie barely seems to hear him. His eyes stay fixed on Buck like he’s trying to make absolutely sure he’s still there.
Still alive maybe.
“Eddie,” Buck says carefully.
That finally seems to snap him out of it. Eddie lets go so fast it almost feels strange after how tight his grip was.
“I know,” Eddie mutters, but his voice still sounds rough around the edges. “I know.”
But after that he stays close the rest of the call anyway.
Close enough that every time Buck turns around Eddie’s right there.
And later, back at the station, Buck reaches automatically for one of the heavier equipment bags during cleanup only for Eddie to take it from him before he even really gets a hand on it.
Buck frowns immediately. “Seriously?”
Eddie shrugs without looking at him. “I got it.”
And maybe it shouldn't bother him as much as it does, but something unsettled twists low in his stomach anyway.
Because this is starting to feel like more than Eddie just being protective.
This feels like fear.
Buck tries not to think too hard about it after that.
Mostly because if he does, he starts noticing things he’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to notice in the first place.
Like the way Eddie watches him during calls now.
Not constantly, not enough that anyone else would probably pick up on it, but Buck sees it. The quick glances every few minutes. The way Eddie tracks him automatically whenever they split up at a scene. The way his shoulders only seem to loosen once Buck is back within arm's reach again.
And Buck gets it.
Really, he does.
He died.
Well, technically he was dead for three minutes and seventeen seconds which Chim had informed him of with deeply unnecessary detail once Buck was awake enough to process words again, but still. Close enough.
The people who loved him got scared.
Buck understands that better than anyone.
But this feels bigger than that somehow.
He just doesn't know what to do with it.
Especially because Eddie clearly doesn't want to talk about whatever's happening in his head.
Every time Buck gets close, Eddie redirects so smoothly it almost impresses him. Changes the subject. Makes a joke. Asks Buck about physical therapy or Christopher or dinner plans instead.
And Buck lets him.
Because despite everything, things between them are still good. Better than good maybe.
Domestic in a way that sometimes catches Buck off guard if he thinks about it too long.
Like now.
He's standing barefoot in the kitchen at almost midnight while Eddie leans against the counter beside him looking half asleep already, waiting for the frozen pizza in the oven because neither of them had enough energy left after shift to make actual food.
Christopher had gone to bed an hour ago after making Buck promise to help him study for a history test tomorrow and stealing Eddie’s hoodie on the way upstairs because apparently all Diaz men just took Eddie’s clothes now.
Buck thinks maybe he should be embarrassed by how fond that thought makes him.
“You're staring again,” Eddie says suddenly.
Buck startles slightly. “What?”
Eddie’s mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile into his beer bottle. “You keep zoning out.”
“Oh.” Buck huffs softly and reaches for the paper plates. “Sorry. Long shift.”
“Mhm.”
Buck narrows his eyes immediately. “Why does that sound like you don't believe me?”
Eddie finally smiles properly then, small and tired and unfairly pretty in the low kitchen light. “Because you get this look on your face when you're thinking too hard.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Buck scoffs. “Okay, and what look is that exactly?”
Eddie looks at him for a second too long before answering quietly, “The one where you disappear into your own head a little.”
Something warm twists low in Buck’s chest.
Because that's such an Eddie answer. Too observant. Too honest in a way he probably doesn't even realize.
Buck opens his mouth to respond but the oven timer goes off before he can and the moment breaks apart easily after that.
Still, Buck catches Eddie rubbing absently at his shoulder while he pulls the pizza out of the oven.
And this time, Buck notices the wince he tries to hide after.
“Okay,” Buck says finally. “Seriously, what did you do to your shoulder?”
Eddie stills almost imperceptibly. “Nothing.”
“Eddie.”
“Buck.”
“That doesn't even make sense anymore,” Buck points out and Eddie rolls his eyes like that somehow makes Buck dramatic instead of right.
“It's sore. That's it.”
Buck crosses his arms. “From?”
Eddie shrugs, looking suddenly very interested in cutting pizza slices evenly. “Working out.”
“Working out shouldn't injure you every week.”
That gets him a look.
Not angry exactly. More caught off guard than anything else, like Eddie hadn't realized Buck was paying this much attention.
Which honestly is ridiculous because Buck always pays attention to Eddie.
Always.
Something shifts in Eddie’s expression for just a second before he looks back down at the pizza. “I said I'm fine.”
And there it is again.
That wall slamming back into place.
Buck exhales slowly through his nose. “Right.”
The kitchen goes quiet after that outside the soft hum of the fridge and traffic somewhere outside.
Then Eddie says quietly, without looking up, “You know I worry.”
Buck’s chest tightens immediately.
Because yeah. He does know that.
But somehow hearing Eddie say it out loud still feels different. Heavier somehow.
Buck swallows. “I know.”
Eddie nods once like that's enough, like that explains everything.
Maybe to him it does.
But Buck lies awake a long time that night anyway, after Eddie had quietly told him to stop sleeping on the couch if he’s going to stay here, and listens to Eddie breathe beside him and trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
A week later Buck finds Eddie in the station gym at almost one in the morning.
Which honestly wouldn't be weird if Eddie didn't look like he was actively trying to kill himself.
Buck had only come back because he'd forgotten his phone in the loft after shift and he'd been halfway down the block before realizing it. Chim and Hen had already left, Bobby’s office lights were off and the station was quiet enough that Buck figured everyone else had gone to bed already.
Then he heard metal hit the floor hard enough to shake something downstairs.
Buck rounds the corner toward the gym with a frown already forming and immediately stops short in the doorway.
Eddie’s standing over the deadlift bar breathing hard enough Buck can hear it from across the room. Sweat darkens the back of his shirt completely and his shoulder brace is visible beneath the stretched sleeve of his t-shirt.
And the bar—
Jesus Christ.
“Eddie,” Buck blurts before he can stop himself. “What the hell?”
Eddie startles violently enough that Buck’s stomach twists.
For one second he looks almost guilty.
Then the expression disappears behind something carefully neutral. “Thought you went home.”
“I forgot my phone.” Buck steps further into the room slowly, eyes dropping back to the weights loaded onto the bar. “What are you doing?”
“Working out.”
Buck stares at him. “At one in the morning?”
Eddie shrugs and reaches for his water bottle but his hand shakes slightly when he lifts it. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Normally Buck probably would've let that go.
Except now he’s close enough to actually look at the bar properly.
And suddenly something cold settles in his stomach.
Because Buck knows weights.
Knows exactly how much is loaded there.
And maybe he would've brushed it off if it was random, but it’s not random at all because Buck knows something else too.
He knows how much turnout gear weighs.
Knows how much he weighs in it.
Knows because he spent months in physical therapy having every pound of muscle and body weight monitored constantly after the lightning strike.
And the number sitting on that bar is close enough to make Buck feel a little sick.
His mouth goes dry.
“Eddie.”
Eddie looks up immediately at the tone in his voice.
Buck can actually see the exact moment he realizes.
The exact moment Eddie understands Buck figured it out.
Neither of them speak for a second.
Then Buck asks quietly, “How long?”
Eddie’s jaw tightens. “Buck—”
“How long?” he repeats, sharper this time.
Eddie looks away first.
And somehow that's worse.
Buck laughs once under his breath but there's no humor in it anywhere. “Are you serious right now?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Buck just stares at him.
Because maybe Eddie believes that somehow, but Buck absolutely does not.
Not with the way his shoulder’s clearly injured. Not with the dark circles under his eyes or the way he’s been running himself ragged for months while Buck stood there and watched it happen without understanding why.
“Not a big deal?” Buck echoes quietly. “Eddie, you're destroying your shoulder trying to deadlift my body weight.”
Eddie flinches.
Tiny. Barely there.
But Buck sees it anyway.
And suddenly he's back there again.
Wishing he could remember it, wishing he had more than what everyone has told him. But it’s enough to understand.
“Oh my God,” Buck whispers.
Eddie turns away immediately. Which tells Buck everything he needs to know.
His chest aches so sharply it almost feels hard to breathe around it. “Eddie…”
“I couldn’t get you up.”
The words come out rough and immediate like they've been waiting behind his teeth for months now that the secret’s finally out.
Buck’s throat tightens instantly.
“Eddie—”
“I tried.” Eddie laughs once but it sounds awful. “Jesus Christ, Buck, I tried so hard.”
Buck can hear it.
Can hear how wrecked he still is underneath every exhausted word and suddenly all those weird moments over the last few months make horrifying perfect sense.
The hovering.
The panic.
The lifting.
All of it.
Eddie scrubs a hand hard over his face before continuing quieter, “And all I could think after was if I’d just been stronger—”
“No.” Buck says it immediately.
Eddie shakes his head like he didn't even hear him. “I had you and I still couldn't—”
“You did have me.”
Eddie finally looks at him then.
His eyes are bright in a way Buck almost never sees from him and the sight alone cracks something painful open in Buck’s chest.
“You held onto me,” Buck says softer now. “You didn't let go.”
“But I couldn't pull you back up.” Eddie’s voice breaks slightly around the words. “Buck, I can still feel it sometimes. The rope just slipping through my hands—”
Buck moves before he really thinks about it.
Just crosses the room and grabs Eddie’s wrist carefully. Immediately, Eddie goes still.
“You know what I remember?” Buck asks quietly.
Eddie doesn't answer.
Buck swallows hard. “I remember waking up and seeing you there every single time.”
Something in Eddie’s expression shifts painfully.
“I remember you holding my hand like if you stopped touching me I'd disappear.” Buck’s grip tightens slightly around Eddie’s wrist. “I remember you staying.”
“Buck—”
“You don't get to blame yourself for physics, Eddie.” His voice shakes a little now too despite his best efforts. “You were one person trying to pull up dead weight hanging from a rope in the middle of a storm.”
Eddie looks down hard enough that his curls fall forward into his face. “Still wasn't enough.”
And there it is, the thing Buck has been trying to figure out this entire time.
The awful thing Eddie’s been carrying around inside himself this entire time.
Buck feels his heart break a little listening to it.
The gym suddenly feels too quiet, he thinks he can hear exactly what that sounded like. And Buck still has hold of Eddie’s wrist, so maybe it’s just Eddie’s rapid heartbeat underneath his fingertips.
“I need you to listen to me for a second,” Buck says softly.
Eddie lets out a tired breath. “Buck—”
“No, seriously.” Buck steps closer before he can think too hard about it. “Just listen.”
Eddie looks up at him then and Buck’s chest aches at the sight. Because he’s always known Eddie loves people hard. Christopher. The team. Bobby. Buck.
He knows he’s loved by this man, that much is clear.
But this feels different somehow. Bigger than either of them have let themselves say out loud yet.
“You didn’t fail me,” Buck says quietly.
Eddie’s expression tightens immediately. “Buck, you died.”
“Yeah,” Buck swallows. “And you still held on.”
Eddie looks away again but Buck doesn’t let him retreat this time. His hand slips down until their fingers brush together and then settle there naturally.
Buck feels the exact moment Eddie realizes it. The sharp inhale he takes. But he still doesn’t pull away.
“Bobby told me they practically had to force you to leave the hospital,” Buck says softly. “Hen said you barely slept.”
Eddie huffs quietly through his nose at that but doesn’t deny it.
“You stayed,” Buck says again. “Even when nobody knew if I was gonna wake up.”
Eddie swallows hard. “Of course I did.”
And maybe that’s the thing.
The way he says it like there was never any other option. Like staying beside Buck was the easiest choice he’s ever made even if it destroyed him at the same time.
Buck’s chest hurts around it.
“You looked terrified after that apartment fire,” Buck admits quietly. “And I think part of you is still back there.”
Eddie closes his eyes briefly. “Buck…”
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Buck squeezes his hand without thinking. “You can’t keep hurting yourself trying to fix something that wasn’t your fault.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens immediately. “Doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t save you.”
Buck feels something crack painfully open in his chest at that because Eddie still doesn’t understand.
“You did save me.”
Eddie shakes his head automatically. “No.”
“Yes.” Buck steps even closer. “You held onto me as long as you could in the middle of a storm, you tried to pull me up and when you couldn’t,” he says, ignoring the way Eddie’s breathing hitches, “you got me down. You got me to the hospital.” His voice softens. “You stayed.”
Eddie looks wrecked hearing that. Completely wrecked.
And Buck suddenly wonders if anyone’s actually said it to him before. If Eddie’s just been carrying all this guilt around alone while everyone else assumed he was okay.
“I thought I lost you,” Eddie whispers finally.
Buck’s breath catches. Because that’s it, isn’t it?
That’s the real thing underneath all of this.
Fear wrapped up so tightly in love Eddie doesn’t know where one ends and the other begins anymore.
Buck lifts his free hand carefully, resting it against Eddie’s jaw.
Eddie inhales sharply. Their eyes lock and Buck sees it then too. Not just guilt.
Want.
Quiet and aching and probably buried for way too long.
“Buck…” Eddie says softly, like he doesn’t know what to do with this. With them.
Buck’s thumb brushes against his cheek before he can overthink it. “You don’t have to earn keeping me alive.”
Something in Eddie’s expression breaks at that.
And Buck kisses him before he can lose his nerve.
Soft at first. Careful enough that Eddie could pull away if he wanted to.
He doesn’t.
Instead Eddie makes this quiet wrecked sound and suddenly his hand is gripping Buck’s waist as he kisses him back.
And Buck—
Buck feels warm all over. Like something inside him finally settled into place.
The kiss turns deeper slowly.
Not rushed. Not messy.
Just Eddie finally giving in to something that feels like it's been living between them forever and it makes Buck smile against his mouth just realizing that here in this moment.
Then Eddie’s hand tightens slightly against Buck’s waist and Buck steps closer automatically until there’s barely any space left between them at all.
And maybe Buck should feel overwhelmed right now.
Maybe he should be panicking a little because this is Eddie and this is huge and they work together and basically live together at this point and Christopher is involved in both of their lives so completely Buck can't even picture what this would look like if it all went wrong.
But instead he just feels—
Warm.
Safe somehow.
Eddie kisses like he loves. Careful at first. Intentional. Like he’s trying to make sure Buck has room to change his mind at any second.
Buck absolutely does not want to change his mind. So he kisses him harder.
Eddie makes that same wrecked little sound again and Buck thinks that might actually ruin him permanently.
When they finally pull apart, Eddie keeps his forehead resting against Buck’s for a second like he’s still catching his breath.
“Buck,” he says quietly. And Buck can hear it in his voice immediately.
The panic trying to creep back in.
Because of course it is. Eddie can finally kiss him after apparently loving him into actual self destruction for months and somehow he’s still gonna find a reason to feel guilty about it.
Buck huffs a quiet laugh and brushes his thumb once along Eddie’s jaw. “If you apologize right now I’m actually gonna get offended.”
That startles a tiny smile out of Eddie at least.
“I wasn’t gonna apologize.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches reluctantly. “Maybe a little.”
Buck shakes his head fondly because honestly, of course he was.
The gym feels softer somehow now even with the fluorescent lights still buzzing overhead and the abandoned weights sitting behind Eddie like physical proof of everything Buck just found out tonight.
His gaze flicks toward the bar again automatically.
Eddie notices immediately and his expression shutters slightly. “Buck—”
“No.” Buck looks back at him. “We’re still talking about this.”
Eddie sighs quietly and leans back just enough to look properly exhausted again. “There’s nothing else to talk about.”
“Eddie, you hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
Buck just stares at him until Eddie rolls his eyes faintly.
“Okay, my shoulder hurts a little.”
“A little,” Buck repeats flatly.
Eddie shrugs. “It’s manageable.”
And there it is again. That thing Eddie does where he decides pain only matters if it physically stops him from functioning.
Buck hates it.
“You can’t keep doing this every time something bad happens to someone you love,” Buck says quietly.
Eddie stills slightly at that. Because they both heard it.
Someone you love.
But neither of them corrects it and it makes Buck’s chest flutter strangely.
Eddie looks down for a second before admitting softly, “I didn’t know how to stop.” And that hurts worse somehow.
Not because Buck’s surprised, but because Eddie sounds so honest about it. So tired.
Buck reaches up automatically, pushing gently through Eddie’s curls. “You could’ve talked to me.”
Eddie laughs softly under his breath. “Yeah, because telling you I was secretly trying to deadlift your body weight wouldn’t sound insane.”
Buck snorts despite himself. “Okay, fair.”
That finally gets a real smile out of Eddie. Small, but real.
And God, Buck loves making him smile.
The realization hits so suddenly Buck almost stops breathing around it.
Because maybe this thing between them has been growing for longer than he realized too. Quietly settling into all the empty spaces until Buck stopped being able to picture his life without Eddie in it somewhere.
Without Christopher either.
Home.
The thought settles heavily and warmly inside his chest all at once.
Eddie’s looking at him carefully again, like he’s trying to read every thought crossing Buck’s face. “What?”
Buck smiles a little helplessly. “Nothing.”
Eddie immediately narrows his eyes. “That’s your lying face.”
“I do not have a lying face.”
“You absolutely do.”
Buck laughs softly and suddenly the tension in the room feels different now. Lighter around the edges. Not gone completely, because there’s still months of fear and guilt sitting between them that probably won’t disappear overnight.
But softer.
Manageable maybe.
Eddie’s hand is still resting against Buck’s waist.
Neither of them have moved away yet.
Buck doesn’t really want to, but he glances toward the clock on the wall and groans softly anyways.
“It is actually criminal how late it is right now.”
Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound still a little rough around the edges but lighter than before. “You’re the one who came back here.”
“Yeah, because I forgot my phone,” Buck points out. “Which, by the way, is probably still upstairs.”
Eddie’s mouth twitches. “Tragic.”
Buck narrows his eyes at him but there’s no real heat behind it. Not when Eddie’s looking at him like that now. Softer than before. Open in a way Buck’s not sure he’s ever really seen from him.
It makes something warm settle low in his chest.
“Come on,” Buck says finally, nudging Eddie lightly with his shoulder. “Your shoulder’s probably killing you.”
Eddie immediately waves him off. “It’s fine.”
Buck just stares at him until Eddie sighs dramatically.
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet,” Buck says as they head toward the door, “you’re obsessed with me.”
That gets him an eye roll, but Eddie’s smiling when he does it.
Buck feels stupidly fond about it.
The station is quiet as they head upstairs, most of the lights dimmed low for the night. Buck grabs his phone from the loft couch while Eddie disappears briefly into the locker room and when he comes back out a minute later Buck notices the shoulder brace is gone now.
Probably because Buck knows about it.
The thought tugs strangely at his chest.
Not guilt exactly. Something softer than that. Something that feels a little like trust.
By the time they get back to the house it is completely dark except for the kitchen light Eddie must've left on for them before shift.
Buck toes off his shoes by the couch while Eddie checks Christopher’s room automatically, quiet footsteps soft against the hardwood.
Buck watches him disappear down the hallway and feels that warmth bloom in his chest all over again.
Home.
It hits him suddenly how close he came to losing this.
Not just his life.
This.
Late nights in Eddie’s kitchen. Christopher stealing hoodies. Movie nights on the couch. Coffee in the mornings before shift. Eddie standing sleep rumpled in the doorway asking Buck if he wants breakfast like it’s the easiest thing in the world to fit Buck into every part of his life.
Buck swallows hard around the thought.
Eddie comes back a minute later, voice quiet automatically. “Chris is out cold.”
Buck smiles softly. “Good.”
Neither of them move after that.
Just stand there in the dim kitchen looking at each other while something nervous and hopeful flickers between them all over again now that the adrenaline from earlier is fading.
Then Eddie says quietly, “You really mean it?”
Buck’s brow furrows slightly. “Mean what?”
“That I saved you.”
God.
Buck’s chest aches immediately.
He steps closer without even thinking about it. “Eddie.”
“No, I know what happened logically,” Eddie says quickly, like he needs Buck to understand. “I know there wasn’t any way I could’ve pulled you up alone, I just—” He breaks off, jaw tightening. “I hear you sometimes, or what you would’ve sounded like if you didn’t—.”
The confession lands heavily between them.
Buck feels his heart crack a little hearing it.
Because of course Eddie does.
“You know what I hear?” Buck asks softly.
Eddie looks at him carefully.
“Everybody telling me afterward how hard you fought for me to stay alive.” Buck’s throat tightens slightly. “How you wouldn’t leave my side.”
Eddie looks away immediately like the words are too much.
Buck reaches for him anyway, fingers curling carefully around Eddie’s hand. “You loved me through it,” he says quietly. “You still are.”
Eddie’s eyes close briefly.
Then he laughs once under his breath, small and helpless. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “I really am.”
And maybe Buck should say something bigger after that. Something life changing.
Instead he just steps closer and kisses him again.
Slow this time. Sleepy almost.
Eddie melts into it immediately.
And Buck thinks maybe that’s enough for now.
Not all the answers. Not everything figured out perfectly overnight.
Just this.
Eddie warm in his hands. The quiet house around them. Christopher asleep down the hall.
Home waiting for both of them.