Chapter Text
The firehouse had been surprisingly hectic since the moment they clocked on for their 48-hour. There hadn’t been a single lull in the chaos—no time to eat properly, no time to rest, not even a breath between calls. Meals were reduced to the protein bars Bobby tossed into the rig, handed out like lifelines between sirens and smoke.
They were running on adrenaline. Buck’s muscles screamed with every movement, his body soaked through with sweat, ash, and the general grime that clung after back-to-back emergencies. His throat was raw, his hands aching from the constant rhythm of work—hoses, tools, ladders, grips that never loosened until the job was done.
Finally, mercifully, B-shift came in to take over. And with the first step away from the rig, Buck felt the exhaustion hit him full force. It seeped into his bones, heavy and unrelenting, dragging his shoulders down. He was drained—physically, emotionally, mentally.
Luckily, they’d taken Eddie’s truck that day. Buck collapsed into the passenger seat, his body folding in on itself as if it had finally been given permission to let go. The drive began in silence, the hum of the engine filling the quiet. Streetlights flickered across the windshield, cutting gold and shadow over Eddie’s steady profile.
Buck couldn’t help himself. He stole glances—tiny, guilty, fleeting. Eddie’s hands resting easy on the wheel. The set of his jaw, tired but still so composed. The way his breathing seemed to keep its rhythm no matter what the world threw at them. Eddie was always like that—calm, collected, steady as stone. Buck had learned to live inside chaos, to thrive in motion, but Eddie was gravity. Even on the days when exhaustion threatened to swallow them whole, Eddie was his anchor. Just being near him made Buck feel like the world could stop spinning for a while.
Usually, this was when Buck would start talking. Pouring out the whole shift—what went wrong, what could’ve gone worse, what almost went too far. Eddie had been there for every call, seen everything Buck had, but Buck still had this ritual of saying it all out loud. It was his way of processing. His way of shedding the weight before it got too heavy.
But tonight, the words didn’t come. He didn’t have the energy to sort through it, to drag it all up again. For fifteen whole minutes, he sat in silence, eyes half-closed as the city slipped by. The streets were mostly empty, washed in the soft glow of streetlamps. The world felt quieter than it had in days.
Buck didn’t even notice they’d pulled into the driveway until Eddie’s hand landed gently on his shoulder. His eyes flicked open, and there it was—the sight of their house. Home. A wave of relief hit him so hard it almost broke him open. The air rushed out of his lungs in a slow, shaking breath. This wasn’t just a house. This was safety.
Inside, the house was still. Chris was spending the night with Carla so they could have time to recover. Buck shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, dragging another breath into his chest. His eyes followed Eddie as he stepped in, moving with the kind of quiet efficiency that Buck always admired—dropping the keys in the bowl, toeing off his shoes.
Something inside him snapped. The need for that grounding, that safety, that warmth—it was too much to ignore. Buck pushed himself forward, and before Eddie could even turn around, Buck was on him.
He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close, burying his face into his shoulder. It wasn’t neat or measured; it was desperate, raw, like Buck was afraid he’d fall apart if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
Eddie stilled for half a second, startled, before his body softened against Buck’s. One hand came up, slow and steady, to rest at the back of Buck’s head. His thumb brushed through sweat-matted curls, grounding him in the way only Eddie could.
“You okay?” Eddie’s voice was low, gentle, but steady. Always steady.
Buck shook his head against him, the words stuck in his throat. His voice cracked when he finally managed, “Better"
Eddie tightened his hold. He didn’t say anything right away—he didn’t need to. His embrace said it all, warm and solid, promising Buck that he wasn’t carrying any of this alone.
For the first time in two days, Buck let himself truly exhale. The adrenaline drained out of him, leaving only the ache of his body and the warmth of Eddie’s arms. He felt the ground beneath him for the first time in hours.
Eventually, Eddie shifted beneath him, his hand brushing up and down Buck’s back. “You’ll feel better after a shower,” he said gently, not quite a suggestion, not quite a command. Just fact.
Buck groaned into Eddie’s chest, shaking his head like a child refusing to budge. “Don’t wanna move.”
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest against Buck’s cheek. “I know. C’mon, I’ll help.”
And he did. Eddie coaxed him to his feet, guiding him down the hall with a hand at his back. Buck leaned into him with every step, too tired to hold himself upright, letting Eddie carry more of his weight than he probably realized. The bathroom light was soft, the faint sound of the pipes groaning as Eddie turned on the shower.
Before Buck could even think about fumbling with his gear, Eddie’s hands were there—steady, unhurried, peeling away the layers. His jacket came off first, dropped onto the floor in a heap. Then his sweat-stained t-shirt, tugged carefully over his head. Eddie’s touch was gentle, like he knew Buck didn’t have the strength for sudden movements.
“You’re a mess,” Eddie said softly, almost fondly, as he worked Buck out of the rest of his clothes. Buck leaned on him the whole time, pliant, barely lifting his arms unless Eddie guided them. His eyes stayed half-closed, his body humming with the quiet relief of being taken care of.
By the time they stepped into the shower, Buck was clinging again, arms wrapping around Eddie’s waist, face pressed to his shoulder like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. The hot water cascaded over them, washing away the ash and sweat, streaks of grime running down the drain.
Eddie smoothed a hand through Buck’s damp hair, coaxing him to tilt his head back. “Let me,” he murmured, reaching for the shampoo. He worked the lather in slowly, fingers massaging over Buck’s scalp in careful circles. Buck let out a low, unguarded sound—half sigh, half groan—that made Eddie’s chest tighten.
“You’re gonna put me to sleep standing up,” Buck mumbled, voice muffled against Eddie’s skin.
“Then lean,” Eddie said simply, bracing him with one strong arm while the other continued to wash his hair. He was thorough but gentle, rinsing the suds out with a hand shielding Buck’s eyes from the spray. Every movement spoke of care, patience, the quiet intimacy they didn’t often name out loud.
Buck stayed wrapped around him, clinging even as Eddie shifted to soap his shoulders, his arms, running the cloth over tired muscles. Eddie never rushed, never let go for more than a moment, always returning his hand to Buck’s side or back, grounding him.
By the time Eddie worked the last of the dirt away, Buck felt lighter, cleaner, like the weight of the past two days had finally loosened its grip. He let his head rest against Eddie’s collarbone, breathing slow and deep as the water poured over them.
Eddie pressed a quick kiss into his hair—so light Buck almost wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.
“You’re okay,” Eddie whispered, almost to himself. “I’ve got you.”
By the time Eddie shut off the water, Buck was barely upright, his body boneless against him. Eddie grabbed a towel one-handed, wrapping it around Buck before taking one for himself.
“Sit,” Eddie said softly, guiding him to the closed toilet lid. Buck didn’t protest. He sat, blinking heavy-lidded as Eddie knelt in front of him, towel working gently through his damp hair. Buck let his eyes slip shut, savoring the feeling of being looked after, every stroke of the towel careful, deliberate, grounding.
He opened them only when Eddie’s hands slowed, still cradling his head. Their eyes met—Buck’s glassy with exhaustion, Eddie’s steady and unreadable in that way that always felt like he was carrying more than he let on.
“You don’t have to—” Buck started, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” Eddie interrupted softly, not letting him finish. “I do.”
Buck’s throat tightened, something unspoken sitting heavy between them. He didn’t have the words, not tonight. But Eddie seemed to understand anyway.
Once Buck was dry enough, Eddie tugged him gently to his feet, steering him toward the bedroom. He found clean clothes for both of them—old sweats and a t-shirt for Buck, soft with wear—and helped him into them with the same quiet care as before. Buck didn’t argue, didn’t tease, didn’t even think about the fact that Eddie had basically undressed and dressed him like Chris after a long day. He just let it happen, too tired to do anything else, too grateful to want to.
When Eddie finally eased him into bed, Buck let out a long, shaky sigh, sinking into the mattress like it was swallowing him whole. Eddie started to move away, but Buck’s hand shot out blindly, curling in his wrist.
“Stay.”
One word, quiet but raw.
Eddie hesitated only a beat before slipping in beside him. Buck immediately curled into his side, face pressed against Eddie’s chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like he might drift away without the anchor. Eddie wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close without question.
The room was dark and still, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of Eddie’s heartbeat under Buck’s ear. For the first time in two endless days, Buck felt safe enough to let go. His breathing evened out, his body sinking into sleep almost instantly, still tucked firmly against Eddie.
Eddie stayed awake a little longer, his hand moving absently through Buck’s damp curls. He pressed another quiet kiss into the top of his head, whispering words Buck wouldn’t hear.
“I’ve got you. Always.”
And with Buck asleep against him, Eddie finally let his own eyes close, both of them held safe in the quiet certainty of home.