Chapter Text
God, he was tired.
There was grit in his eyes, an ache in his chest, and dust in his mouth - his eyelids felt like lead, and he couldn’t really find it in himself to do anything about the stifling heat turning the dust in his mouth to mud. He could, in theory, push the blankets back. But that would mean having to deal with the fact that the room was light enough that it had to be early morning by now.
And having to deal with the fact that he’d been awake long enough to watch it go from pitch black to rosy gold.
He was tired.
And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
He heard something that sounded vaguely like a door being opened. One of his neighbors leaving for work probably. The thought tasted sour, and he found enough energy to move for the first time in awhile - you know, that was probably why he was aching, now that he thought about it - to turn over, and pull the blanket closer over his head, like it’d do anything to block out the rest of the world.
When Eddie yanks the blanket away with a resolute “Get up,” Buck’s not in anyway prepared for it, and can really only blink at him for a long moment before trying to curl back up with the blanket to block the light his brain suddenly registers.
He feels...fragile. And slightly pathetic. And he really, really doesn’t want Eddie to see any of that. “Why man? Come on…” He groans, in a weak attempt at getting Eddie to leave him alone. He knows it’s a lost cause, but whatever.
Sure enough, he hears heavy footfalls coming around the bed right before Eddie unmercifully pulls the blanket away again. “Because it’s morning and you have things to do.”
And that...well, that stings a little - twists the ache in his chest sharply. “No, I really don’t.” Buck shoots back, making one more try for the blanket. He’s not sure if Eddie’s letting him get a hold of it to be nice, or to be a jackass, but the dark is nice, for however brief a moment he can get it back. He’s not even tired anymore at this point. He’s not sure yet if it’s anger that’s pushing it back, or restlessness, but either way, he’s pretty sure it’s Eddie’s fault.
And the blanket’s gone again. “You need to get out of this house and take a walk around the block and get some fresh air.” Eddie sounds way too calm. Too matter of fact, as he lists off things that, sure, in a reasonable light, would be good for him, but that sound like utter bullshit right now. But Buck knows a losing battle when he sees one, sometimes. Doesn’t have the energy to bite back at it like he normally would. So, instead, he gives up on the bed, heading for the stairs instead. Maybe if he can convince Eddie that he’s up and ready to move, he’ll leave him alone. And if he plans on escaping back to bed as soon as possible, well…
“Why? What’s the point?” But, he also wouldn’t be Buck if he didn’t get the last word in, dammit.
“Well, the point is, your life isn’t over just because you’re not a firefighter.”
“Says the firefighter.” And maybe it’s a bit sharp, a bit bitter. He can’t deal with the man’s painfully calm optimism right now - couldn’t even if he’d had a decent amount of sleep recently. Which. He hadn’t.
The grit still in his eyes and the slow, constant ache in his chest - and now his head - has just made everything too sharp, too bright. And Eddie could be as calm and tactful as he wanted - that unending tide of optimism was just grinding away at what little energy Buck had.
“You know, that blood clot could’ve almost killed you. But it didn’t. You have your whole life ahead of you, so why don’t you just take it as a win and stop feeling sorry for yourself?”
Buck’s trying to tune Eddie out. It’s about the only option he has left. He takes a deep breath in - forces it out instead of the hard words scraping at his throat, pushing past him without a word to go sit on the couch. Ignore him long enough, surely he’ll go away right? It worked with the others, it should work with Eddie. In theory.
Then he hears Christopher’s “Hey, Buck,” right before he sees him sitting on the couch. Okay, so, he can maybe forgive not hearing Eddie, but how did he not hear Christopher? He wasn’t that out of it, was he?
Either way, the smile he cobbles together for Chris is the most genuine thing he’s managed in awhile, even if he can feel the way the edges are cracked, “Hey buddy...:Uh...what’re you doing here?”
“He’s hanging out with his Buck today!” Eddie says and he slips around Buck to give Chris a hug, “Because I have to go to work today.” Anytime Eddie wanted to stop twisting at the crack slowly forming in Buck’s chest, that’d be great.
“Where’s Carla?” And the question’s maybe a little desperate. He loves Christopher - the kid’s a bright spot in a sky that’s lost it’s stars. But he’s not really sure he can...deal, with that much direct light right now. The sun has nothing on the kid, and that light is still stinging his eyes if he looks out the window for too long.
“She went to Morongo,” Chris says, before Eddie gets a chance. Well, isn’t that nice for her.
“Mm-hm. So!” Eddie looks back at him, and for all his fighting, for all his weariness, for all his anger, Buck just feels himself folding in the face of that smile. The one he’s been resolutely not looking at since Eddie got here, for this exact damn reason. “Take him out. Have some fun. Maybe you’ll learn something.” Buck doesn’t really get that last part until Eddie leans in close to whisper, “He never feels sorry for himself.”
Eddie’s real lucky Buck likes his smile. And likes his kid even more.
“Love you buddy!”
“Love you. Love you, Dad.”
And he’s gone.
And Buck’s left with the ache in his chest, the grit in his eyes, and the one bright star in his dull night.
His smile’s still strained - still cracked and warped at the edges. But it’s still real too, as he turns back to Christopher. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”