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Every time Eddie closes his eyes, he relives his mistake.
He can see Buck taking the stairs two at a time, clearing the last floor of the burning apartment building. He can see the ladder at the end of the hallway, the light at the end of a burning tunnel. He can see part of the ceiling give way as he turns, reaching for Buck, too slow, too fucking slow, and Buck—
—is gone, pushed through the floor by the caving-in ceiling, what Eddie was sure was a scream drowned out by the roar of the flames.
They find him, of course they do, half buried beneath rubble three floors down with a cracked helmet, broken mask, and blood leaking sluggishly around the temples. Buck is out cold—which is probably for the best, because when Eddie peels his helmet off as Chim speeds through the Los Angeles streets to the nearest trauma hospital all he can see is blue, and black, and red, splashed over the bridge of Buck’s nose, his lids, from ear to ear.
Retinal detachment.
Orbital fracture.
Extreme ocular trauma.
“It’s too soon to tell. The surgery went well, but the healing is where… well, where the healing happens. The gauze needs to be changed daily, and the tape on your lids needs to be removed in two weeks time—by that time, the nerves in your…”
Eddie started to zone out while the doctor was talking, his hand nearly numb from how hard Buck was squeezing it, not that he was going to complain. He had only left the hospital twice in the 60 hours Buck had been admitted—once during Buck’s surgery to drive home, take a well needed shower and a change of clothes, and once to pick up some coffee because he felt about as dead on his feet as Buck looked, and that was saying a lot.
Buck, who had thrashed around and nearly punched Eddie in the face when he came to after the surgery, because he couldn’t fucking see. Buck, who had stitches in his fucking eyeball and two metal rods in the bone around his nose to keep the cartilage from sinking back and puncturing his brain. Buck, who had his eyelids taped shut—which was barbaric in a way Eddie couldn’t properly describe.
“Do I look like a mummy?” Buck had asked after he woke up, near monotonous, and Eddie had to stop himself from near hysterical laughter—he just had two circles of gauze packed toward his eye sockets, another layer of tape beneath the fluff to keep his lids shut.
“Now, Mr. Buckley, who will you be staying with?”
And god, after less than three days, Buck was being discharged.
Eddie blinked, bringing himself back to the present as he heard the question, giving a small gesture with his hand—and remembering Buck couldn’t see it. Off to a great start. “Me. I’ll be taking him back to our home, the only hard part will be convincing my kid that it’s not a two week sleepover vacation.”
If Eddie didn’t already know how low Buck was feeling, the fact that he didn’t even try to argue said more than enough.
–
Eddie had immediately cashed in three weeks of his paid time off—he had racked plenty up with all the overtime he had worked his first few months on the team, before Carla, the patron saint of financial aid had swooped into his life. He wasn’t about to leave Buck alone, not for a minute if he could help it, but Eddie knew better than anyone that sometimes, things didn’t happen as planned.
The first few days of Buck staying with them had gone… alright. Tensions were sky high, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why, but thankfully Chris was in the house more often than not on the weekend, and it was impossible to be tense or angry when Chris was in the room, even if you couldn’t see him.
At night, though, everything changed. Tension turned to despair, and Eddie had never been more thankful that the guest room was next to his own, on the opposite side of the hall from Chris’ room—he knew the nightmares would be coming hard and fast, and he knew Buck would have never forgiven himself if he scared Christopher with them.
The past two nights, all Buck had needed to anchor himself was a firm touch, a loud enough noise, something to anchor him to the situation, but Eddie could tell that wasn’t going to be enough when he opened Buck’s door a few nights into his stay.
Partially because of his own guilt, maybe, but mostly because Buck sounded like he was fighting for his life.
“Buck, come on, wake up—you’re safe, you’re home with me and Chris, you’re okay, fuck, Buck—“
He finally pulled Buck upright, hands on his shoulders, and Buck gasped, head snapping side to side. “Eddie, what’s going on, where—where the fuck am I, Eddie, what—I can’t see, Eds, I can’t fucking see, I—“
It was only years of Army training that had Eddie’s reflexes moving fast enough to grab Buck’s hands as he moved to claw at his eyes, to rip the gauze and tape off of his lids.
“Listen to me, you’re safe. You’re okay. Come on, Buck. We can do this. I got you.” Keeping his voice as low as possible, Eddie pulled Buck’s wrists toward his own chest, and to his complete dismay, he could feel the moment that Buck’s mind caught up with him. He fell forward, limply pushing his forehead into Eddie’s shoulder, body wracking with sobs as Eddie let go of his wrists and just held his friend, his Buck, who had become completely undone in his arms.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, too afraid that the wrong thing would come spilling out, so he just held onto Buck and let him cry, only loosening his grip when he felt Buck’s breath start to even out again, only interrupted by the occasional hiccuping sob or hitch of emotional aftermath. He didn’t realize that Buck had passed out again until it was too late; it was hard to tell in the first place, not being able to see if Buck’s eyes were open or shut, but by the time he realized Buck had literally cried himself asleep he couldn’t even imagine waking him back up just so Eddie could leave.
Also… he didn’t really want to leave.
Slowly pulling the sheet up around Buck’s shoulders, Eddie wiggled himself back down against the headboard, his own eyes closing. He had certainly had worse sleeps—anywhere overseas came to mind—but that was an afterthought. If this is what it took to help Buck feel safe, so be it.
It was the best night of sleep he had gotten in weeks.
–
The next night, after he had read to Chris and wished Buck a good night, Eddie only needed to pick up on the smallest of hesitations from Buck before he took Buck’s hand and led him into his own bedroom. Buck’s shoulders sagged in relief as Eddie helped steer him into his bed, laying close enough that their legs were touching, but far enough that they still had plenty of their own space, the small contact hopefully enough to ground Buck into the present.
And if Eddie secretly loved the mornings where he would be lucky enough to wake up with Buck any degree closer, well, that was his own business.
–
Staying together in the same bed didn’t stop Buck’s nightmares, of course, not that Eddie expected it to. What it did was give them both the ability to stop them before it got too bad—with the solid resistance of another body beside you, it was harder to let a dream spiral down too far. He wish he didn’t know this from experience, but… well, he was far from perfect, and that was becoming more and more obvious every day.
The hardest part of it all was that Buck was a morning person, which, who would even have thought that were a thing? Eddie took advantage of sleeping in whenever possible—he had been known to drop Christopher off at school on his days off and get another hour or so of shut eye—but by the time his first alarm went off, Buck had almost always untangled himself from Eddie’s form and retreated to his own side of the bed, and that wouldn’t do.
(When had Eddie started to think of it as Buck’s side of the bed? He really didn’t want to look into that too deeply.)
Eddie started to push himself—waking up ten, fifteen minutes before his alarm, just to enjoy Buck’s closeness, his warmth.
He was getting used to it too quickly, forgetting that this wasn’t actually his, even as he dreamed of spending a sleepy Saturday in bed with Buck, looping an arm around his waist.
“Eddie?”
Fuck. He was awake, and apparently, so was Buck.
His mind immediately kicked into overdrive, not sure if he should pretend that he was still asleep or snap his hand back and apologize, but thankfully, Buck made up his mind before Eddie could. He felt Buck’s arm move atop of his own—not pushing off, just resting alongside, the limb a line of heat along Eddie’s arms as their fingertips brushed. “…this is okay with you?” Buck asked, and Eddie let out a rush of air, nodding, nose tickling the back of Buck’s head. “Yeah Buck, it’s, um. I like it. And if you like it, that’s even better. It’s great! I mean, it’s the least I could do, I guess.” God, Eddie, shut the fuck up.
“… the least you could do.”
Eddie swallowed as he heard the frown in Buck’s voice, knowing instinctively that he was in trouble as Buck moved himself, rolling to face Eddie—probably more out of force of habit than anything, considering they couldn’t exactly meet eye to eye.
“Edmundo Diaz.” Yup, he was in trouble. “You don’t actually think that this is your fault, do you?” Buck said, his tone uncertain, brows furled even with the little bit of motion they had.
“… it’s just… you were right there, Buck. You were right in front of me, and then you were gone. I couldn’t catch you, couldn’t do anything. I was too slow to act, even when you were in arms reach of me, and now you might be blind.” His voice was thick with emotion as he looked over Buck’s face, hating now more than ever that he couldn’t see the others eyes, see how upset or disappointed Buck must be in him. He felt his own throat tighten as he looked down, his arm burning where it was on Buck’s hip. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as Buck, let alone touch him, and—
“Eddie, shut the fuck up.”
His jaw snapped shut with an audible click, Buck’s tone like concrete, heavy and unyielding as he jabbed a finger into Eddie’s chest. “You don’t get to apologize because you haven’t done anything wrong. Hell, you’re the only one doing anything right. You’re here, you stepped up, you’re helping me, you’re… hell, where is anyone else? You don’t get to apologize for stepping up, for making sure that I had… well, don’t think I didn’t notice you calling this our home.”
Buck was getting more and more animated as he spoke, and Eddie found himself floundering a little bit, trying to keep up with what Buck was saying (and fuck, had he really said that?). “Buck, I just—”
“Eddie, this is not your fucking fault and I won’t hear you say that ever again.”
…well. Eddie might have disagreed, but he wasn’t stupid enough to argue, not when he had an angry Buck in his bed. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry about it anyway.” he grumbled, aware that he sounded like a petulant child—and if anything, the small smile that Buck had on his face meant Buck thought so too.
“Well, fine. I’m sorry too.”
“What? Buck, what do you have to be–”
“Sorry it took me having a major accident to get you to cuddle with me.”
“What! We aren’t—I didn’t—this isn’t—”
“Eddie, shut up.”
Eddie would have protest when he felt Buck’s shoulders start to shake, worried he had said the wrong thing again—but Buck was laughing, the sound muted under his breath, and Eddie let out a dramatic puff of air as he collapsed back to the bed, his arm back at Buck’s hips.
But, he did shut up.
–
Eddie almost slammed his head on the hood of his car when he heard a crash coming from the kitchen. He bolted out of the garage, hands stained with oil, swearing as he stumbled in to the main house, almost tripping up the stairs.
“Wait, Eddie, stop!”
Buck’s face was angled toward Eddie’s direction, hand out, obviously having heard him stumble down the hall. Eddie froze in place, eyes huge as he took in the scene—everything looked fine, Buck was upright, he wasn’t bleeding, but the ground around him was glittering with broken glass; nothing more than a broken dish, but Buck was barefoot.
Buck was okay. Eddie hadn’t failed him again. He hadn’t let him get hurt again.
Taking a few steps loser, he let the wrecked look on Buck’s face register for only a moment, wishing for nothing more than to make it go the fuck away. “Hey, okay, you’re good, it was just a plate.”
“And a glass.”
“And a glass.”
“I’ll pay for it, I promise.”
“Buck, if you think I own any nice dishes after having a kid, you have another thing coming.” Eddie laughed in spite of himself, only encouraged when Buck let out a wet sounding chuff. “Are you okay with me just lifting you out of here? It’ll be the easiest way to get you out of glass before I sweep everything up.”
Buck lifted his arms in response and Eddie had to bite down another laugh as he lifted the other male easily, his hands latched beneath his rear end, Buck’s chest right against his face. He brought Buck easily to the couch and deposited him there, getting a little hasty with the broom as he cleaned up—but Buck looked so miserable, he couldn’t stand to leave the other alone for any longer than he absolutely had to.
It made Eddie want to scream—not because of the situation, but because of everything leading up to it. The day before, Buck had tried to start cleaning the dishes, and had nearly impaled himself with one of Eddie’s pairing knives. The night before that, he had almost started a kitchen fire, cleaning the stove with cooking spray instead of Lysol. Buck passed both of these off as just trying to be helpful, but Eddie was about to pull out his hair—not because the situations were stressful, but because Buck kept coming closer and closer to hurting himself, and Eddie couldn’t accept that.
Tossing the glass into the garbage, he grabbed two beers and cracked them both open, making his way over to the couch with a sigh. “Alright, Buck, what’s up? Why are you pushing yourself so hard, when you only have a few days with the tape left?”
Eddie knew the answer before he even asked, the emotion on Buck’s face more clear than ever as he looked down. “Because I have to. What if I don’t get my vision back? All I want in the entire world is to rip this tape off, to—not even to see, just to know. I can’t stand not knowing, Eddie, I can’t. If I’m blind, I can’t be dependent on you forever, I can’t—”
“Hey, hey, take a breath.” Eddie easily took Buck’s hands in his own, squeezing them reassuringly, eyes studying the visible portions of Buck’s face, his thumb stroking over the pulse point in Buck’s wrist. “You know that whatever happens, we’ll be here for you, right? Chris and I aren’t going to let you face this on your own.
Buck let out another wet sounding laugh, sniffing as he shook his head. “Eddie, I told you, this wasn’t your fault—”
“I’m serious, Buck. We’re not letting you go. I’m not letting you go.”
Any protests that Buck had died in his throat as Eddie shrugged, his hands stilling beneath Eddie’s, suddenly painfully aware of their proximity. Eddie had to bite his lip to avoid laughing as Buck started to lean up, head moving on its own accord, because of course it would take Buck going blind to finally pick up on the signals Eddie had been broadcasting since forever—
“Eddie, I’m blind, you have to tell me if I’m misreading this, because I can’t see your stupid handsome face at all, and—mmphs!”
Eddie swallowed a laugh as he leaned in and claimed Buck’s lips with his own, feeling the quick moment of shock melt into something better, easier. His mouth was warm against Buck’s as he tilted his head, hand coming up to cup his jaw, only encouraged by Buck’s little moans as he melted into Eddie’s side.
The smile on his face was so bright when he pulled back that Eddie felt like he could feel the warmth from it sink into his skin, the heat from Buck’s breath dancing over his face, and nothing could bring him down from this high, not even Buck’s moment of insecurity as he squeezed Eddie’s arms.
“…you’re smiling, right?” Buck asked, his voice low, his own face cut into a shy smile that Eddie would have paid hard cash money to look at for the rest of his life.
Rather than answer, Eddie took Buck’s hands in his own, letting Buck’s fingers trace over his face, his smile, taking every moment he could to kiss the fingers that traced over his lips. Buck couldn’t help but laugh as he swatted Eddie’s shoulder, the sound warming Eddie to his very core—it was the first time in weeks that he had heard Buck laugh, he realized. Letting his arms slide back around Buck’s waist, he had to sigh as they fit back into one another’s space.
Chris didn’t even question finding the two of them like that when Carla brought home, because bless that kid. He just let his backpack fall to the floor, grabbed a blanket, and curled into Buck’s side. Buck, to his credit, let out a happy hum, wrapped an arm around Chris, and that was that.
(Two days later, Carla spent an absurd amount of time peeling the tape off of Buck’s eyelids, but Eddie couldn’t even complain about the laborious process when Buck’s eyes opened slowly, squinting as he started to re-focus.
Eddie held his breath as Buck’s eyes flickered over to him—not knowing if Buck could see was killing him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask, biting his lips as a smile bloomed over Buck’s face.
“God, you’re cute.”
Eddie wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying as Buck spoke, pulling his teammate—his Buck—into his arms, but he didn’t care. All that mattered right now was Buck, tight in his arms.)