Archive of Our Own

Hen had called it “self-imposed isolation” when she’d first found out, which Eddie thought was somewhat cruel. It was only cruel because she didn’t know yet what had transpired, how thoroughly things had broken this time, how very little there was left to salvage— but, still. It stung. 

The isolation was a byproduct of the event itself, anyhow. He hadn’t even realised it was happening until he’d dropped Chris off at a friend’s house, gone to bed, and woken up again in the morning to pick him up. It had hit him when he took his first sip of coffee that he’d gone to bed at four in the afternoon, after dropping Chris off. He’d fallen asleep and stayed asleep. Entirely of his own volition. 

But— well. Maybe it’s to be expected. That things are weird. He hasn’t spoken to Buck in nearly a month, now, and he’s probably still... processing that. 

But it was weird before that too. Before the argument that led to Buck transferring stations, and before Bobby retired and Chim took over as captain. Maybe things never got any better, after the whole Texas debacle. Or maybe things changed when Buck met Tommy. 

No one knows how to talk to Eddie about it. The team tiptoes around the topic of Buck entirely, only really mentioning him in passing. Eddie wishes he felt something about it; gratitude or annoyance, or just— general anxiety. But all he feels is indifference. 

Of course I miss him, Eddie wants to say. Wants to want to say. Buck is — was? — his best friend. Has held that title for nearly a decade now. So, of course Eddie misses him. 

Except… 

He’s finding it hard to grasp the feeling. The longing, the hurt— all of it. 

He wants to press on the hurt like a tender bruise, wants to dig his fingers in until he aches all over, until all of him is one big echo of it. But he can’t fucking find it. The hurt. 

He calls Frank after putting Chris to bed on a school night. He’s in Frank’s office a day later. 

“There’s something wrong with me,” Eddie opens with. Frank’s face barely twitches. 

A long moment passes, and Eddie thinks — viciously — that this was a mistake. 

Then, “Why do you think that?” 

What a question to have to answer. Eddie could start anywhere, really. That he’d chased Shannon’s ghost for so many years he drove his son away. That he got his son back, and subsequently lost Buck. That he’s lonely. That no one’s touched him in months. That he gets itchy when someone expresses concern for him, that a simple you look tired gets on his nerves these days. 

That he hasn’t always been like this. That he did this to himself. 

But most of all— 

“Buck.” 

Frank raises an eyebrow, leaning back. He’s got his notebook in his lap, pen still capped in his hand. “Buck said there’s something wrong with you?” 

Eddie huffs a laugh. “No.” Wringing his hands, he ducks his head. He’s always doing that, automatically. Like it’s built into him to be ashamed, to hide. “We had a falling out. And I can’t… I don’t feel sad about it. I don’t feel anything.” 

“Okay,” says Frank, endlessly stoic. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

Again, Eddie wrings his hands. He doesn't want to tell Frank anything. But he should. It's not like it matters in the grand scheme of things, anyway. Nothing's going to change Eddie for the better.

“I don’t know," he starts with. "It was… I guess we just hit a breaking point. Neither of us were entirely wrong. With– with Bobby, um. Bobby, he died. But then he came back, before retiring. And I guess I thought things would go back to normal, but Buck just– he was acting so weird, you know? And I confronted him, one night. Asked him outright what his problem was. And he said– he said I was his problem.” 

Frank uncaps his pen and jots something down in his notebook, nodding before looking back up at Eddie. This time, Eddie holds his gaze. “How did that make you feel?” 

“At the time?” Eddie shrugs, shoulders loosening inch by inch. “Numb. I think I’ve been kind of numb to everything for a long time. So, my best friend blowing up at me, calling me his problem, it– it was like, what’s another bad night?” 

Frank hums, readjusting his glasses. “And did you two talk? After the fight?” 

“I– no,” Eddie says. “I told him to take a walk, and, well, he’s still taking that walk. We haven’t talked since.” 

For a moment, all is quiet, save for the ticking clock on the wall. Frank regards Eddie, but not in a probing way. He’s being patient, Eddie thinks. 

Eventually, though, Frank says, “That must be difficult.” 

“How so?” 

“Losing such an essential part of your support system,” Frank clarifies. “Buck has been vital, over the years, yes? He's in your will.” 

“For Christopher,” Eddie says, too quickly. Frank raises an eyebrow. “And for me. Of course, for me.” 

That, for the first time in weeks, sparks a muted flame of relief within Eddie. Still– 

“Now, it’s like it doesn’t matter. I feel fucking hollow, Frank, like– like maybe my damage finally got to me, you know? I’ve been callous. And–” Eddie swallows hard, unable to identify what he’s feeling beyond tired. 

Frank lets him sit with it, for a minute. Only when Eddie sighs does Frank clear his throat. 

“I don’t think you’re callous, Eddie,” Frank says. It’s the first time he’s gentled his voice. “I think you’re overwhelmed.” 

Eddie huffs a dark laugh. “I’ve been overwhelmed since I was sixteen, man.” 

“It catches up to you eventually.” 

Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I— I just… I have so much going on. With work, and Christopher, it’s— I don’t have time to feel it. And— and even when I do, I just don’t. I go for a run, or I clean the house, or take Chris out for ice cream, but I don’t fucking feel it. My best— Buck isn’t in my life anymore, and I don’t feel anything.” 

“I bet you will,” Frank says, and it isn’t cruel. Eddie knows he’s telling him, kindly, that this – the numbness, the exhaustion – too shall pass. 

Things change after his session with Frank. For one, he’s now prone to bursting into tears in the slow moments of his day. He’ll be in the car on his way home from work, focused entirely on the road, and before he knows it, he’s swiping furiously at his face, cheeks so wet you’d think someone threw a glass of water at him. 

And he can’t sit still. The second he’s motionless, his body gets heavy. 

But slowly by slowly, the indifference starts to feel improvised. He keeps expecting his eyes to glaze over while watching a telenovela with Chris, and blinks in surprise when he realises he’s invested. 

He cracks a joke at Ravi’s expense during a rope rescue, and it catches Ravi so off-guard he squawks. Eddie cracks a smile when Chim barks a laugh down the radio. For a moment, he can set aside Buck’s absence. 

He only really has to confront it, confront the way things are once again changing, when Sophia calls. 

It’s late. An hour to midnight, almost, and Chris is already asleep. Eddie’s sitting in the backyard reading about soil. Buck used to tend to the small garden a couple of paces away from the orange tree, but Buck isn’t here, and Eddie needs more soil. 

He’s been out here for nearly two hours. 

“Hello?” he presses his phone to his ear, settling on the stoop instead of half-crouching like he’s been doing for however long he’s been surfing the web for the most nutrient-rich soil. 

“Eddie, hi,” Sophia says. She doesn’t apologise for calling so late. She never does. “How are you?” 

“This feels formal,” Eddie comments mildly. 

“Well, it is, a little,” says Sophia. 

Eddie’s shoulders draw up tight. “Why did you call?” 

“Buck,” she says simply. “He implied it was, um. Time. To check in.” 

A wave of emotion washes through Eddie, so unexpectedly he has to manually untense his body. He presses his knuckles into his eyes, rubbing until the wetness there dries. 

How often does Buck speak to his sisters? He knows Buck and Chris text occasionally, but this is... this is different. 

Backtracking that line of thought, he clears his throat. Does it again. “I’ve been better,” he hears himself say. “But I’m working on it. I promise.” 

“You’re always working on it,” Sophia says, voice soft. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. You just… you’re always trying so hard, Eddie. To be what everybody needs.” 

Eddie swallows around the lump in his throat. “I’m trying to be what I need this time.” 

“Good.” 

Silence. And then– 

Sophia sighs. “Eddie, look. I don’t know half of what you’ve been through, but from… from what Buck’s told me you’ve had it…” she trails off, clearing her throat. “Look. After I gave birth to Emily, I felt like shit. Like the worst mother in the world, ‘cause I’d look at this tiny, helpless baby, and feel nothing. Just bad. Like I’d lost myself in the process of giving her life. But James wouldn’t give up on me, okay? I had someone in my corner who told me to let myself feel what I was feeling, but also to— to live. He’d stay home with Emily so I could get a coffee with a friend, stuff like that. And I thought it was so stupid. What was a little time and space going to change? But Eddie—“ she exhales shakily, “Eddie, things did change. Because I talked about how heavy it all was. How badly I wanted to feel light again. I put words to the feelings, not to give them power, but to understand them.” 

“Sophia…” 

“I know. And if things had been different, I would’ve called you. You know that.” 

“Okay,” Eddie says, and he sounds small, even to himself. Then, absurdly, he adds, “I’m going to therapy.” 

“You are?” Eddie can hear the smile in Sophia’s voice. “That’s good, Eddie. I’m glad.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales. “Yeah, um. I’m sorry. For being MIA. Can– do you want to call again? More?” 

Sophia laughs. “I– yes. Yes, I would. We could start FaceTiming again, like we used to. Me, you, Adriana, Chris?” 

Faintly, Eddie smiles. “I’d like that.” 

“I love you. I’ll set the call up for Friday?” 

“I love you too, Soph,” Eddie says softly. “Friday’s good.”

Regularly FaceTiming family, it turns out, actually kind of rules. As time passes, Eddie adjusts. To work, to homelife, to nights spent alone. He grabs a drink with Chimney. He has dinner with Athena and Bobby. There’s a gaping hole where Buck once was, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Thinking about it feels too much like backsliding, and– well. He thinks about it enough during his sessions with Frank. 

He doesn’t think about it, that is, until a random Thursday morning. 

He’s on a 48 off, and he’d just dropped Chris off at school. He has time to toe off his shoes, to grab a glass of water, to check his phone for any missed notifications. And that’s when he sees it. 

(3) Missed Calls. 

Chimney Han: Buck got into an accident. It’s not looking good. Call me back. 

For the first time in months, Eddie truly feels his heart where it sits beneath his ribcage, pounding like it wants out. Like it knows nothing could outweigh Buck’s importance, friend or not. 

He calls Chimney and dashes for the door, feet back in his shoes in ten seconds flat. Chimney picks up on the third ring. 

“Eddie, hey, just–” 

“Where is he?” Eddie kicks his front door shut behind him, not bothering to lock up. “Chim, which hospital?” 

“He’s not, um. So,” Chim pauses, and Eddie cannot do this right now. 

“Chim,” he nearly yells, desperation setting in. His entire body is a livewire, and he’s breathing too fast as he his stupid Prius rumbles to life. 

“He’s at ours. Maddie's, uh, looking him over?” 

Eddie hears voices in the background, but nothing distinct. Why does everyone sound so fucking calm? 

“Okay, I’ll– give me ten minutes,” Eddie says, pulling out of the driveway with a dangerous lurch. 

“Eddie, wait–” 

Eddie tosses his phone onto the passenger seat. Doesn’t care if Chim hangs up or listens to him drive like a fucking idiot through LA traffic. 

He makes it to the Buckley-Han’s house in eight minutes. 

It’s only as he all but falls out of his car, rushing toward the front door, that he registers something’s off. An ambulance would have made it here before him, if somebody had made the call before Chim called Eddie. And why the fuck wouldn’t somebody have called? 

How the hell did Buck even get hurt here, at Maddie’s house? 

The door, at least, is unlocked. 

He trips through it and is met with three faces, all at different stages of alarm. 

Hen and Maddie look almost guilty, but Chim– Chim looks panicked. 

They’re all stood in the living room, and there’s no blood anywhere. Nobody’s even holding a damn phone, so no one’s on the line with 911 either. 

“What the hell is– where’s Buck?” Eddie pants, heart still jackhammering. 

“Look,” Chim says quickly, holding up his hands placatingly. “He’s on his way, okay? This was supposed to be an interrogation, but you– ha, you really kind of derailed that plan.” 

Chim sends a quick look to Maddie, who flares her nostrils. 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” she says. 

“Maddie, honey, I–” 

“Why would— why the fuck would you—“ Eddie wants to yell, but the words barely leave his mouth— hoarse and disjointed. 

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” Chim says, eyes wide. “I— it was stupid, it worked with Hen and Karen, okay? I thought you’d get your head back on—“ 

“Fuck you.” Eddie spins in place, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Fuck you so much, oh my God.” 

Jesus, is he having a heart attack? He can’t– 

I can’t breathe, Eddie thinks hysterically, clutching his chest. 

“I can’t breathe,” he gasps. His legs fail him, and he stumbles, hitting the wall hard. Chim’s hand shoots out to catch him, but Eddie flinches away, a mournful sound tearing out of him as he slides down the wall. 

He realises, then, tailbone twinging when his ass hits the floor, that he’s slipping down the wall of his friend’s house. He’s having a panic attack because Buck’s not hurt, and it’s so absurd he kind of wants to laugh. 

Instead, he cries. 

He cries the way he always has: silently, with his head between his legs. He’s so tired, and he misses his best friend, and he can feel it now. He can feel the absence, under threat of that absence being made permanent. 

“Hen, call Buck.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath, tensing to keep it all from spilling out. This is already mortifying. He’s crying in Maddie’s fucking foyer.  

Still, he has to try very hard to keep himself still. He’s always hated crying. Has never felt better afterwards, only ever tired like giving in to the burn in his eyes saps him dry, stretches him thin. So he shuts his eyes and, like always, prepares to ride it out. 

He still can't fucking breathe. 

“Eddie,” Maddie’s soft voice breaks through the haze. She doesn’t try to touch him, but she’s close by. “Eddie, Buck’s on his way, okay? I’m so sorry.” 

If Eddie had the wherewithal to reply, he’d say he was sorry too. It’s not exactly cool to fall apart like this with no warning. 

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" 

Eddie tries. He really does - is only ever trying, it seems like - but he chokes. His throat tightens further, and Maddie makes a small noise. 

"It's okay. Let's try again. Just copy me." 

After a while, Eddie's breathing calms. So, not a heart attack. That's nice.

He unclenches his hands, wondering if he could ask for a glass of water when the front door suddenly flies open. 

“Why’s Eddie’s car out fro–” 

A pause. Eddie does not look up. 

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice isn’t steady like it usually is. It’s wavering, and Eddie tries to gather himself, tries to find the strength to stand up and leave, but he can’t. He’s falling apart, and he can’t stop it. 

“What’s– what’s wrong with Eddie?” Buck all but collapses next to Eddie, voice panicked. Blinking down at the floor, Eddie can see Buck’s hands hover in front of him, like he’s scared to touch him. 

“I— I don’t know,” Chim stutters, misery plain in his voice. “I think I broke him.” 

“What did you say to him?” 

“I, uh— may have told him you were grievously injured. But I was just—“ 

“You what?” 

“Listen, it was a tense situation–” 

“Jesus, just– go,” Buck says. Pleads, almost. “Go, I’ve– I’ve got this. Please.” 

Maddie gets to her feet. “Okay. We’ll be in the backyard.” 

Their footsteps retreat, but all Eddie can focus on is Buck’s breathing. 

He’s okay. Not hurt. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck says. He says it soft and steady despite how fast he’s breathing. “I’m here. What can I do?”

I love you, Eddie thinks. 

He sucks in another quick breath, blinking a swell of tears out of his eyes. 

Then, finally, he looks up. 

It’s always been difficult not to look Buck directly in the eye. There’s so much life there, in the crow's feet, in the blue, in how expressive he is. 

For a moment, Eddie’s teleported back to that night years ago, when he’d taken a bat to his entire bedroom. Buck had looked at him like this then, too. Not with anger, but with a tenderness he hadn’t deserved. He doesn’t know if he’s done much of anything to earn it this time around, either. 

But Buck’s here. He’s still here, even now when things are upside down. 

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, to apologise, maybe, but what comes out is: “I thought you were hurt.” 

Buck’s face does something devastating, mouth trembling as he tries to smile. 

“I’m okay,” he promises. 

Eddie nods. Feels exhaustion setting in, weighing his shoulders down. He sighs wetly, pressing his shaking hands to his knees. “Tired.” 

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, and it's entirely earnest, like this is his fault somehow. 

“Don’t be,” Eddie says quietly. A beat. Then, “I’m sorry too.” 

Buck settles a little on the floor, crossing his legs with a grunt. “Why’re you sorry?” 

“Buck, I…” Eddie wets his lips, trailing his eyes up to Buck’s face. “I know I was wrong, okay? I was expecting you to be there for me as a–” he hesitates, body buzzing, “a spouse. A partner. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

Buck blinks fast, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Whispering, he says, “Eddie, you’re the most important person in the world to me. Chris is– you know how much I love him. How– how much I love you.” 

Eddie shoves down the urge to sob. He’s never been this rundown, this damaged, and somehow, Buck still has faith in him. Still loves him enough to be here, despite his jagged edges. 

But does Buck love him like Eddie loves Buck? 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie manages. 

“Don’t be,” Buck says immediately. “Eddie, it’s never gonna change for me, alright? I love you, end of story. I just– I needed time to get past it.” Buck’s face twists up as he says it, lower lip trembling. “Not over it, okay? Past it. ‘Cause there’s no getting over you. Not for me.” 

“Buck,” Eddie tries, stomach swooping, but Buck barrels on. 

“So I lashed out, because– I mean, you know what we’re like. You know what I’m like. I attached myself to you like a fucking leech, and then– then you became my best friend, and I– I guess it was inevitable, that I’d fall in love with you. But this–” Buck sucks in a breath, palm sweaty where it lands gently on Eddie’s forearm. “This, playing house with you, almost having everything I wanted– that– that fantasy, that’s what I needed to get over. I need you, Eddie. I was never gonna be gone forever. I just have to– to figure out a way to love you without losing you.” 

There’s a wildfire in Eddie’s chest. A spark turned into a roaring flame, burning hot despite months of downpour, because this– this, right here – is all Eddie ever really wanted. 

Buck. Buck, choosing Eddie, again and again. 

“Don’t,” Eddie rasps. 

Buck hesitates, voice watery when he says, “What?” 

“Don’t figure it out,” Eddie says, pushing himself to his knees. With no finesse, he pulls Buck in, hugging him close and hard. 

The relief is instantaneous. 

Eddie breathes Buck in until his lungs protest, throat constricting at how familiar he is. Buck’s faint cologne, his coconut-scented curl cream, his natural musk. He’s– he’s here, and he’s folding Eddie into his embrace, large hands spanning the width of Eddie’s back. 

Eddie’s heart pounds. This time, it’s with want, with trust, with reassurance. 

I bet you will, Frank’s voice echoes in Eddie’s head. 

Well, here it is, Eddie thinks, a touch hysterical. 

“I love you too, okay?” Eddie whispers into Buck’s neck. The moment he does, Buck freezes, his soft muscles at once tensing. 

“W-what?” 

“I love you,” Eddie repeats, and it’s easy saying it, when it’s the whole truth. When the words have been lodged in his throat for years. 

“You do?” Buck sounds almost like a child: small and unsure, but so hopeful anyway that it aches. 

Eddie pulls back, hand landing on Buck’s shoulder, thumb grazing the hollow just above his collarbone. His spot. 

“I do,” Eddie promises. And he knows he looks pathetic, knows his eyebags have eyebags, knows his face is flushed and wet, but he simply does not care. Buck deserves to know. 

For a long moment, Buck’s eyes flicker between Eddie’s, throat working. He stares and stares, and Eddie stares right back. 

Then, finally, Buck exhales, blue eyes wide. “You want to be with me,” he says. 

“I do.” 

“A-and you want me? In– all the ways?” Buck flushes as he asks, but Eddie also knows he needs this. Needs it to be clear, to be impossible to misconstrue. 

Leaning in, Eddie presses a soft kiss to Buck’s birthmark, and then another to his cheek. “I do.” 

When Eddie pulls back, Buck looks close to crying. “Okay,” he says roughly. “Okay. Last question.” 

Eddie huffs a laugh, and Buck looks privately delighted at having elicited such a response, despite the fragile moment. 

“Last question,” Eddie echoes. He’s still holding onto Buck. He’s not planning on ever letting go again. 

“Can I take you home?” 

And Eddie knows what Buck means: can I take you home and cook for you? Can I run the shower for you and put Chris to bed and brew you a cup of tea? Can I sit with you in bed until you fall asleep? Can I hold your hand and watch you breathe? 

Eddie knows, because he’s done it before. Because Eddie has done the same for Buck, time and time again. He’d never known devotion could be so easy. He wonders if that’s why it took him so long to identify what it was. 

So, feeling light and grounded all at once, Eddie says, “Only if you stay.” 

And Buck, of course, says, “I’d never leave you.”