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Buck blinks up at the sky. It’s blue. Too bright.
For a second, he can’t figure out why he’s lying on the ground. He was standing a moment ago. Working. Everything was normal.
Now all he can see is the sky. The world feels too far away, like he’s underwater.
He tries to move, to sit up, but it’s like the ground is holding him down, pressing him into the earth
This isn’t how he thought the day would go
It had started quietly. Just another slow shift. Buck sat at the table, coffee half-finished, staring without realizing it. Eddie was across from him, scrolling on his phone.
He should say something. He’s had this feeling ever since Eddie came back from Texas. A pull in his chest, like he’s supposed to speak, but the words never come. They hover, just out of reach.
So he keeps looking. At Eddie’s jaw, the way his hair falls, the crease near his mouth. Trying to catch the thought that keeps slipping away.
Eddie finally looks up. “You gonna say something, or just stare?”
Buck blinks. “I… don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. He opens his mouth, like he might try, but the alarm blares before he can speak.
The call was a minor car accident. A small sedan crooked across the lane. Airbags out. Glass scattered. Driver’s door jammed. Quick in and out: stabilize the patient, get the door open, get him to the hospital.
So how did he end up here, lying on the pavement, staring at the sky?
His thoughts scramble. He can’t piece together the moments in between. It’s like his memories are slipping through his fingers. He doesn’t know how long he’s been down, but it feels like an eternity. Time has slowed.
Air. Just breathe.
But it’s wrong. His chest feels heavy, his ribs a cage that won’t fully expand. Warmth spreads across his side, soaking through him.
He hears his name, faint, urgent.
Eddie.
The sound is muffled. Mostly, all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears.
The sky is too bright. His chest too heavy.
Suddenly, Eddie is in his sight. Eyes wide. Mouth moving. Hands pressing on his ribs. Pain should be there, but everything feels numb. Eddie moves in slow motion.
Get up. Breathe. Just breathe.
A cough rips through him, hot metal flooding his mouth. He chokes, spits, more comes. Iron. Thick, metallic, unmistakable. He wants to wipe his face, but his body won’t obey. If the taste didn’t make it obvious, Eddie’s face did. He’s coughing up blood.
And there it is again, that gnawing feeling, the thing he forgot to say but can’t remember. Panic hits him in waves. This can’t be it. He’s supposed to work then go home after shift. He’s supposed to be at the museum this weekend with Chris. He has plans, people he wants to see, things he hasn’t done yet. And he can’t. He has to stay.
He tries to breathe, because he knows he needs to stay calm. Years of training, of telling injured people to stay calm, should be enough. But then he sees Eddie. Panic in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie doesn’t panic. If Eddie’s panicked, it can’t be good.
Hands move on him. He feels people cutting his shirt, murmuring around him, shadows crossing his vision. But he can’t focus on any of it. All he can see is Eddie. All he can feel is Eddie. Tears sting without permission. When was the last time he told him he loved him? Did he ever say it out loud?
Eddie’s mouth moves, but the sound doesn’t reach him. He thinks Eddie is telling him to stay. He wants to stay, but exhaustion drags at him. His eyelids flutter. A hand brushes his cheek, wipes the tears, taps him gently. He wants to fight it, to stay alert, but the weight is too much.
He wishes he could hear Eddie’s voice. He wishes he could speak. He tries to reach him, but his arm won’t move. All he has is Eddie’s eyes. He clings to them, hoping it’s enough.
Then everything goes black.
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What felt like an eternity for Buck, was running against the clock for everyone else.
A high-speed police chase had roared past the nearest intersection, gunfire erupting in rapid bursts. Instinctively, everyone hit the ground, pressing their bodies into the pavement. Buck was quickly on the ground, face up. Something wasn’t right.
Eddie’s eyes snapped to the red soaking Buck’s shirt, pooling around him on the pavement.
“No- no, no! Buck!” His voice cracked, raw with panic, as he lunged forward, half crawling, half running. His stomach dropped, each movement hammering against his ribs as he reached him. Knees slammed against the pavement, hands immediately pressing onto Buck’s right side, trying to contain the bleeding.
He looked down at Buck’s face. The color was wrong. Buck tried to breathe, but a wet, gargling sound escaped, followed by a harsh cough that splattered blood across his own face.
Eddie froze for a split second, heart hammering, watching his best friend choke. Hen and Chim were there, moving fast. Hen cut through Buck’s shirt with precise efficiency. Chim leaned close, giving Eddie a firm, steadying nod: We’ve got this. Your job is him.
Eddie swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod back.
“Don’t talk. Just breathe. I’m here. Stay awake. Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking.
Buck’s eyes fluttered. Tears streaked down his face. Eddie’s hand brushed them away, trembling slightly, insistently. Only then did he realize his hands were wet with Buck’s blood. He froze for a heartbeat, but it was too late. The smear left a dark streak across Buck’s face.
“Please, stay- keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Look at me.” Eddie insisted.
Buck’s eyes flickered, then rolled back, lids sliding shut. His arms and legs went slack, his chest rising and falling shallowly.
He went completely limp
Eddie could only try to guess what had happened next. He’d be lying if he said he remembered it clearly. All he knew was that he had held Buck’s hand on the ambulance, gripping it so tightly he was sure his knuckles were white, unable to tear his eyes away. Every instinct told him to do something, to fix it, to make it better, but there was nothing he could do. He felt completely useless.
Hen and the rest of the team were working, and Eddie had no choice but to retreat to the role of panicked family member, perched on the back of the ambulance, caught between hope and terror. Time slipped past him in uneven stretches, though he couldn’t tell how long had passed. Minutes, hours, maybe just seconds.
When he finally came back to himself, it was to a room full of quiet murmurs.
Everyone was in the waiting area. Eddie’s gaze wandered, unfocused, and he realized he was dazed, trapped behind a fog that made movement and thought feel impossible. His eyes landed on Maddie. She was already there, held in Chim’s arms, soft, quiet sobs escaping her lips. Enough time must have passed for her to be notified, leave work, and get to the hospital. But Eddie felt suspended, like he existed outside of time.
His stomach twisted into knots. His throat felt tight, like swallowing would tear him apart from the inside. His hands shook, and he thought he might throw up if he tried to speak, if he tried to move, if he even breathed wrong.
So he stayed frozen.
He could still feel the phantom weight of Buck’s hand in his own, the memory pressing against his palm like it hadn’t left him at all. His fingers were still stained with Buck’s dried blood. He knew he should get up, wash it off, scrub until it felt clean. He knew Maddie shouldn’t see it like this, shouldn’t see the blood on his hands. But he couldn’t move. Every muscle in his body felt locked in place
Every time a set of doors swung open, Eddie jerked his head up, heart hammering in his chest. The waiting room had become a distorted blur of sounds and shadows but each movement set his nerves on fire.
Finally, a doctor appeared.
“Family of Evan Buckley?”
Everyone got up instinctively. Eddie’s hands were still clenched together, blood-stained and trembling, and he felt suddenly raw and exposed.
The doctor gave a sharp nod, stepping closer. His voice was steady.
“He came in with a gunshot wound to the right chest,” the doctor said. “The bullet nicked the lung. He lost a significant amount of blood, but we’ve managed to stabilize him for now.”
For now. The words landed like a stone in Eddie’s stomach, dragging him under.
“We’re taking him into surgery immediately to repair the lung,” the doctor continued. “He’s stable, but this is still serious. The next few hours are going to be critical. There’s risk, but he’s strong. We’ve got him in the best hands possible.”
“He’s alive,” Maddie said, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and disbelief, almost questioning, almost affirming.
“Yes,” the doctor said firmly, giving her a steady look. “He’s alive. And we’re doing everything we can to make sure he stays that way.”
“Can we see him?” Maddie’s voice trembled.
“Not until after surgery,” the doctor replied, but Eddie barely heard the rest.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief surged briefly, but it hit him all at once, everything. The adrenaline, the fear, the blood, the panic, the helplessness. His stomach churned violently.
Without thinking, he bolted toward the nearest bathroom, not noticing Hen following quietly behind him.
He slammed the stall door open and leaned over the toilet, dry-heaving at first, then finally vomiting. His body shook with the effort, bile and adrenaline mingling in a bitter, metallic taste. He coughed a little, shuddering, when a warm hand rested on his back. Hen’s presence was steady, grounding him without a word.
When he finally finished, Hen guided him upright and toward the sink. His hands were trembling too much to manage, so she turned the water on, held his hands under it, and started washing them for him. She was careful, patient, precise.
Eddie caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, the panic still there. Dried tears streaked his cheeks, though he couldn’t remember exactly at which point he’d cried. In some places, the tears had been wiped away, leaving streaks of Buck’s blood across his face.
Hen finished with his hands, and then gently began cleaning his face. Eddie didn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off his own reflection. He was haunted by it.
What did Buck feel when it happened to him years ago? When Eddie was the one that had been shot and someone had to wash his blood off his face? Eddie had never asked. Had Hen helped Buck like she was helping him now? Or had Buck been alone, forced to face it by himself? The thought made his chest tighten. He had never even considered it before, how terrifying it must have been. He doesn’t have to imagine it, though.
Softly, Hen broke the silence. “He’s going to be okay,” she said, her voice low but firm. “It’s Buck. He’s a fighter. He’s strong.”
Eddie wanted to respond, to say something back, to reassure her or himself, but his throat felt tight, his body still trembling, and the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was nod slightly and let Hen’s calm wash over him.
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Buck has tried, more times than he can count, to pinpoint the exact moment when his life started to go wrong. Each time he fails. Sometimes he lands on the idea that even his birth was a mistake, the first sign that he was set up for failure.
He knows that’s pessimistic, dramatic even. But there’s something almost addictive about being dramatic, about leaning into the doom.
And yet, how could he not wonder? Too many things have gone wrong. He’s come close to death more than once. One time, he actually died and was brought back. Sure, he’s a firefighter, danger comes with the job. But some of the things he’s lived through aren’t exactly standard risks. The truck getting bombed. Being swept up in a tsunami. Getting shot in the middle of the street.
Getting shot didn’t even feel the way he’d imagined. Maybe it was the way the bullet hit, but there was no sharp pain, just panic, then a strange slide into darkness.
Now there’s only that darkness.
He can’t move. He can’t speak. His eyes won’t open. Maybe this is death. He hopes not. He's just confused, caught in some limbo of body or mind.
He thinks he’s breathing. Then doubts it. He doesn’t feel pain. He doesn’t feel much of anything. After what might be seconds or minutes, a sound cuts through: a steady beeping. He tries to match it to his heartbeat, but he can’t feel his heart either. More sounds appear. Faint voices, the shuffle of footsteps.
Maybe he’s alive. Or maybe this is some strange state of being that science hasn’t named yet. That would be kind of cool, he thinks, being part of a discovery like that. If, of course, he ever wakes up.
Time blurs. Minutes, hours, he can’t tell. He just hopes it hasn’t been days.
The more he focuses, the more the sounds sharpen. That beeping, he is sure now that it has to be his heartbeat. No sound of a ventilator, which is a relief, he thinks. He’s heard the nurse come in a few times, but he wishes she would speak to him, just tell him what the hell is happening.
He drifts in and out until a voice cuts through.
His sister.
“Hey, Buck,” she says. “I’m here. You're okay. They say you’re stable now. The surgery went well. You’re… going to be fine. Just get some rest.”
He isn’t lying down anymore. He’s standing.
The beeping still echoes, steady, somewhere near but distant.
Maddie is there, sitting beside his bed. His bed.
He watches her thumb trace slow circles on the back of the hand that isn’t really his anymore. He can see himself. Tubes, wires, an oxygen mask on his face.
He stays close to himself for a while, saying nothing. Maddie doesn’t speak either, but he can hear her breathing, soft, steady, almost like a metronome. He tries to fixate on her instead: the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the way her fingers rest on the edge of the bed, the way her thumb keeps brushing the back of his hand. Anything but looking at his own face lying there.
Because looking at himself is unbearable. That body doesn’t feel like his. It’s pale, still, foreign. He can’t reconcile the fact that he’s both lying there and standing here. Something’s wrong.
Thoughts scatter and collide inside his head. Maybe he’s caught between worlds. Maybe his spirit is wandering before it crosses over. Maybe he’s trapped in this limbo because, deep down, he doesn’t want to leave yet.
The idea terrifies him.
He thinks of Eddie. Eddie would laugh at him for even entertaining this mystical crap.
Eddie.
The thought brings back that nagging feeling, that itch in the back of his mind. There was something he meant to tell him. Something important. But it’s gone now, like trying to hold water in his hands. Not that it matters, he guesses. It’s not like he can talk. Right?
He decides to try anyway. He wills his mouth to move. He feels sound rising inside him, or thinks he does, but his body in the bed doesn’t twitch, doesn’t open its eyes, doesn’t even stir. Whatever came out feels more like a thought echoing inside his skull than an actual voice.
If this is another coma dream, it’s a weird one for sure. He can’t help but wonder why is he the only one who gets these bizarre, half-real experiences. Eddie didn’t remember a thing after being shot. Chim had nothing but blank space after the rebar.
He hears Maddie inhale, then speak. “I’m going back outside with Howie. You should stay with him a bit longer.”
He freezes. Confused. There’s no one else in the room but them.
“Maybe try talking to him?” Maddie adds softly. “I think it might be good for both of you.”
She stands, circles around the bed, and leaves. The door shuts with a soft click.
Buck drifts to the foot of the bed. Looks around. Empty room. Just him. Just himself.
He closes his eyes and tries to focus, reaching past the noise. He listens. Really listens. And then he hears it, faint. Someone breathing slowly.
He’s about to open his eyes when a voice cuts through the quiet.
“Hey.”
Eddie.
Buck’s eyes snap open so fast he almost expects to wake up in his bed. But no. He’s still standing there, outside himself.
And Eddie is sitting at his bedside.
He hears Eddie take a shuddering breath. “You scared the crap out of me out there.”
Buck listens as Eddie continues, his voice uneven. “The surgery went well and the doctors say-” He pauses, and Buck wishes he could read Eddie’s expression, see the tension in his face. But it feels… unreal.
“This feels stupid,” Eddie goes on. “You probably can’t even hear me right now.”
“I can,” Buck replies. The voice isn’t in the room. It’s inside his head, reverberating across some invisible space between them.
“This is not how I wanted to be talking to you,” Eddie says, softer now. “I want you to hear me, and I want you to reply. I want you to open your eyes and look at me.”
Buck glances at his own body lying on the bed. Still. Perfectly still. Then back at Eddie, who seems impossibly real, like he’s both here and somewhere else at the same time.
“I wish I could stay,” Eddie continues, his voice tight, “but the hospital won’t let us linger in the ICU.”
Buck can hear the frustration rising up in Eddie’s voice.
“How are we supposed to leave you here alone? What if you wake up and-” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “You better wake up soon, Buck.”
Eddie reaches forward, his hand closing around Buck’s. The touch is firm, grounding. Buck freezes. He swears he can feel it. He looks down at his own hand, ghostly, empty. He tries to squeeze back.
Nothing.
For a long moment, Eddie says nothing, and all Buck has to hold onto is the sound of his breathing and the touch of his hand.
Suddenly, he hears the door open. A nurse’s voice cuts through. “Sir, I’m sorry, but time is up. Tomorrow you’ll be able to stay longer” She offers. “Right now, he needs to rest.”
Eddie squeezes his hand one last time, then rises. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?” He says it like a promise. Then he turns and leaves, the door clicking softly behind him.
Buck considers calling out, chasing him, but he knows it would be useless. He stands there, suspended in the room. Standing doesn’t feel like exertion or fatigue; it feels different… weightless, untethered, like part of him has been split from his body. He wonders if his soul has wandered out, or if this is just his mind playing cruel tricks.
For a long stretch, no one else enters. The rhythmic beeping and soft hospital sounds fill the space. Slowly, the steady pulse of the machines begins to soothe him. His mind drifts, floating in and out of clarity again.
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The next time Buck comes to, it takes him a moment to realize he’s not in the hospital anymore. He’s standing in the middle of an empty street. For a heartbeat, he thinks he’s dreaming. He glances down at himself and sees the hospital gown fluttering faintly against his legs. Under normal circumstances, he’d be mortified to be standing outside like this, but he knows he isn’t really outside. This isn’t the real world.
It’s broad daylight. The sky above is bright blue. The sun is blazing overhead, yet he doesn’t feel its warmth on his skin. There's no wind and no sound. Everything around him feels off, like a perfectly detailed photograph with the life drained out of it.
Downtown L.A. shouldn’t be empty. Not at noon, not even at midnight. But here he is, alone on a deserted street.
A cold thought crawls into his mind. What if I walked too far from my body?
He’s always had a soft spot for the supernatural, stories about ghosts, near-death experiences, and people floating above hospital beds. He remembers reading once that if you wander too far during an out-of-body experience, you might not make it back. He tries to shake off the thought, but it sticks like static.
He looks around again, and recognition slams into him. This is the street where he got shot. He doesn’t remember the impact, not clearly. Just the pavement rushing up to meet him. Just Eddie’s face hovering above him.
His eyes drop to the ground. There’s a dark stain there, a blotch of dried blood. He lets out a soft, humorless scoff. The city would’ve washed the blood away hours ago, but here it is, stubbornly fixed in place. Another reminder this isn’t real. Maybe Eddie’s cynicism about all this supernatural stuff has rubbed off on him more than he realized.
He stares at the intersection where it happened, but there’s nothing. No cars, no shooting, no Eddie. Just him.
He wonders why he’s here. Is this some message? Some lesson he’s supposed to learn? A detail he’s meant to notice? Or is it just his mind replaying the moment on a loop?
Without thinking, he lowers himself to the pavement. He lies down right on top of the bloodstain. The ground feels cool, but not cold. He stares up at the sky. It’s so bright it almost hurts.
And then, suddenly, he’s there. Not in the empty street, but back there. Back in the moment. His shirt is soaked with his own blood. Eddie’s face fills his vision, eyes wide with panic. Buck tries to speak but nothing comes out, not a word, not a sound. Eddie’s hands are pressing on his chest, then cupping his face, trying to hold him there.
Buck tries again to speak. Nothing. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. Maybe that’s why the words won’t form.
Frustration builds, sharp and hot. His breathing speeds up. Somewhere far away, he hears the faint beeping of hospital monitors. The rhythm quickens, matching his pulse.
I need to wake up. I can’t keep wandering around like this.
He lurches upright, and suddenly he’s back in his hospital room, standing beside his own body again. The walls, the machines, all of it slams back into focus.
A nurse enters, checking his vitals, oblivious to him standing right there.
He can’t get his body and mind to sync. It’s like being stuck in sleep paralysis, unable to break free.
He really needs to figure out how to get the hell out of this.
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After the nurse told him the time was up, Eddie stepped out of the ICU room and back into the waiting area. The noise of the hallway rushes in all at once. It feels wrong. Too loud. Too normal.
He presses a hand to the back of his neck, trying to ease the tightness there. He hates leaving Buck in that room. Hates that some hospital rule can separate them. “Tomorrow you’ll be able to stay longer,” the nurse had said, but the words didn’t land. Didn’t fix the gnawing anxiety in his chest.
Back in the waiting area, he sees them all. Ravi, Hen, Chim, Maddie, Athena. Faces etched with worry, each one carrying the weight of not being able to do anything.
“Any change?” Maddie asks, voice quiet but tense. Eddie shakes his head, and he sees the shadow of disappointment deepen in her eyes.
“At least he’s stable,” Chim offers, forcing a small smile, trying to steady the group. “He’s on heavy painkillers. It’s only normal that he’s not waking up yet. He just needs time and rest.”
Eddie nods, jaw tight. Stable is good. But it’s not enough.
He leans against the wall, trying to ground himself, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders tight. He exhales slowly through his nose, staring at the floor for a long, steady beat.
They all know they should go home. There’s no point in staying if they can’t be inside Buck’s room. But no one wants to take that step.
Eddie hates hospitals. The sterile smell, the quiet tension, the helplessness of knowing everything that matters is happening behind a door, beyond reach. He should go home. Shower. Sleep. Try to rest. But the thought of leaving feels wrong. Like abandoning a post.
He’s sure everyone else feels the same.
This time, Hen breaks the silence.
“We should go get some rest. See our children,” she says gently. Her words hang in the air.
Everyone quietly agrees. Slowly, like peeling themselves off the waiting area floor, they start moving toward the exit.
Hen lingers by Eddie. “Do you want to come over? You can bring Chris.”
Eddie hesitates. He’s not sure he can handle socializing right now. Not that Hen or Karen would expect anything from him, but still, he wants nothing more than to hold Chris close and be at home.
“Pepa should be bringing Chris over soon. I should be at home… but maybe we’ll stop by later,” he says. “I’ll let you know.”
Hen nods, then rests her hand lightly on his shoulder. “He’s going to be okay, you know.”
Eddie offers a soft smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods back.
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He’s pretty sure he switches to autopilot. The next thing he knows, he’s at home, though he doesn’t remember driving there. The house is too quiet, as if someone hit pause on his life while the world kept moving.
He slouches into the living room, doing nothing, staring blankly at the TV. Any thought of showering, eating, or resting, was left behind at the hospital. Now that he’s home, he can’t summon the energy to do any of it. Instead, he keeps glancing at the clock, counting down to the time Pepa will bring Chris over.
He knows he could’ve just called her and asked her to bring him sooner. But that would mean explaining what happened. So he waits. Alone.
Not long after, a knock on the door shatters the haze. He opens the door and Tia Pepa stands there with Chris. The moment she sees him, she knows something is wrong.
“Hey,” Eddie says, pulling Chris into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you.”
Chris looks up at him, eyes wide and confused. For a moment, Eddie fears the boy can see right through him.
“Dad, why are you in your uniform?”
Eddie glances down. He hadn’t realized he never changed. The dark blue uniform is stained, but the blood is dry now, dark brown, almost unrecognizable. A small relief in an otherwise surreal moment.
“Oh… uh. Go put your stuff in your room first.”
Chris obeys, heading down the hall, while Pepa lingers, looking him squarely in the eyes, worry etched deep into her features.
“Eddito, what happened?”
“Buck got hurt,” Eddie says, short. Blunt. He expects the words to break him, but instead, he feels numb.
Pepa’s voice tightens, sharp with concern. “You can’t let your kid see you like this, there’s blood on your shirt.” Her worry borders on panic. “Go take a shower and get changed. You can talk to Chris after.”
Eddie nods, moving almost mechanically. He obeys, letting the motions carry him.
He showers, slips into clean clothes (ones that aren’t stained with his best friend’s blood) and walks back into the dining room. Pepa is there with a cup of tea, and Chris is on his phone. The moment he steps in, Chris drops the device, alert and tense. He’s already seen more than most kids his age, and he knows the look on his dad’s face means something’s wrong.
“Dad,” he says.
“Hey. How was school?” Eddie asks, trying for normalcy. But Chris isn’t interested in small talk right now.
“What happened?”
Eddie takes a deep breath, feels the words lodge in his throat.
“You promised me you’d always tell me the truth,” Chris presses, eyes steady on him.
“Yeah. Sorry. It’s just-” Eddie swallows hard, tries again. “Buck got hurt today at work. But he’s okay,” he adds quickly. “He’s recovering at the hospital, all right?”
“So he’s okay?” Chris asks, searching for reassurance.
“Yeah. He’s just resting,” Eddie replies.
“You look scared,” Chris says. Eddie realizes that not only has his son read him, but he himself is scared.
“No, hey, look. It was scary, when he got hurt. But the doctors helped him, and he’s doing well. I promise.” He forces a comforting smile, uncertain if it’s enough. Slowly, he sees Chris relax just a little.
“Can I see him?”
“In a few days, maybe. Right now they’re not even letting me stay. But I’ll tell him you want to see him.”
Pepa has been watching, worry and care etched in her eyes.
“Maybe,” she begins, “we could make him a get-well card. So he knows you’re thinking of him.”
“Yeah,” Chris says immediately. “Let’s make him a card.”
Eddie feels a rush of gratitude toward Pepa.
“I’ll bring him the card tomorrow. I’m sure he’s going to love it,” he reassures them both.
He isn’t sure if omitting the fact that Buck is unconscious counts as lying. It does, probably. But he figures there’s no need to pile that kind of worry on a teenager. Right now, it’s enough to let him hope.
Eddie is glad Pepa isn’t anything like his parents. She doesn’t push, doesn’t guilt him, doesn’t tell him to get over it and “man up.” She stays without being asked. Quietly, calmly. She and Chris make a cute card for Buck. Later, she cooks dinner while Chris does homework in his room. Eddie hasn’t said much, but she seems fine with the silence.
The dinner smells amazing, though he doesn’t have much appetite. The food makes him think of Buck. He knows Buck would love to be cooking with Pepa right now.
This isn’t the first time Buck’s been hurt, not the first time his life’s been on the line. Eddie can’t stop wondering what the hell the universe has against him, why it keeps attacking Buck, putting him through hell. It’s unfair. Buck doesn’t deserve this.
He’s angry. At life. Maybe at God. But the feelings tangle so tightly he can’t even sort them out. He gets lost in thought, wishing he could turn back time, prevent all this. But it’s impossible.
He must have been thinking too loud, because suddenly Pepa’s hand is on his shoulder, grounding him.
“Eddie…”
He exhales slowly, resignation seeping into his chest.
“Can I ask what happened?” she says, gentle, careful. No pressure. Just a real choice whether he wants to talk. He looks at her, searching for the words.
“We were- We were working at a scene. And a police chase happened nearby… It all happened so fast.” His voice catches. His eyes well up. “He got shot.”
Pepa’s expression freezes for a moment, shock flashing across her face, then she quickly masks it with something calmer, more comforting.
“He’s okay. Surgery went well. He’s just… pumped full of medicine and painkillers, hasn’t woken up yet.”
His lip starts to wobble. He presses his lips together, trying to hold himself together. Pepa shakes her head gently, as if telling him he’s said enough, then pulls him into a hug.
“I’ll pray for him,” she murmurs.
Eddie can’t help the bitter irony that the God he resents, blaming for all of Buck’s suffering, is the very God Pepa will be praying to, asking for Buck’s recovery. They definitely see the world differently.
“I can’t lose him,” Eddie admits, words spilling out before he can stop them.
“You won’t,” Pepa reassures him. “That boy won’t leave your side, even if it means fighting God himself.”
They both know it’s true. Buck can be stubborn like that.
Dinner passes quickly. Eddie takes a few bites, out of habit, mostly to avoid worrying Chris, and partly to show gratitude toward Pepa. But he barely tastes the food.
When it’s time for bed, he takes the couch, leaving the bedroom to her. He doesn’t expect much sleep anyway. And he isn’t wrong. He tosses and turns, gets up a few times, tries distracting himself with his phone, then sets it aside. Nothing works.
Frustration surges through him again. He shouldn’t be here, in his living room. He should be at the hospital, right next to Buck’s bed. Watching. Waiting. Seeing with his own eyes that Buck is alive.
He wishes Buck would wake up soon, but the thought of him opening his eyes alone, in that sterile hospital room, twists his gut.
His mind drifts to memories of Buck, but he yanks himself back each time. Focusing on memories feels too much like admitting loss. He can’t allow himself to think that way.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Buck wakes up a few times during the night. A nurse comes in now and then, moving quietly around the room, checking monitors, adjusting equipment, shuffling, but not speaking. He wishes someone would say something. The silence feels heavy, lonely.
He’s long since given up trying to open his eyes or move. He knows it’s pointless. He doesn’t know if he’s in a coma or why his body won’t respond. All he can do is wait.
His mind drifts in and out, until suddenly, he’s standing again.
This time, he’s at the pier. The same pier where he and Chris got swept away by the tsunami. Night has fallen here. Maybe it’s because it’s nighttime in real life.
The pier is empty. The moon casts a silver glow on the water. Stars dot the sky, free from city lights. The last time he saw a sky like this was when he was traveling in his early twenties, when the world still felt open, full of possibility. Endlessly looking for something he couldn’t find.
He doesn’t know why his mind has brought him here. Maybe because, despite telling himself he’s moved on from that traumatic day, he’s avoided this pier ever since. He remembers the cold, chaotic water, the disorientation of swimming blindly, lungs screaming for air he couldn’t reach. He remembers fighting to keep Chris safe, the desperate, unthinking instinct to protect him at all costs.
And then, just as suddenly, he’s back at his old loft. The lights are off, the air feels cold. He feels it too, a chill creeping through him. He wonders if a nurse would notice and bring a blanket.
He looks at the empty couch and remembers Chris sitting there, small. Then, he remembers Eddie standing next to him, telling him, softly but firmly, that there’s no one he trusts more with his son more than him.
Something tugs at his chest. He thinks about how Eddie could have resented him for putting Chris in danger, how one decision could have ended their friendship. But Eddie didn’t. He showed up at his doorstep instead, offering him his heart. And he’s held it close ever since.
He’s back at the pier again. The sound of the waves rolls in and out, steady and low, and the salt in the air hits the back of his throat. It feels so real that he has to keep reminding himself it’s not. It’s quiet here, almost peaceful.
He does the only thing he is able to do: think.
He misses Eddie. The thought comes sharp and immediate. It hasn’t even been a full day since they last spoke. At least he thinks it hasn’t, but all this drifting, this strange traveling between places, is warping his sense of time. It feels like days. Maybe longer.
He misses Eddie, and that gnawing feeling is still there, the one that’s been pulling at him from the start: that he left something unsaid. Something important.
The idea creeps up on him before he can stop it. Maybe he’s dying. Maybe his soul is caught here, circling old memories because of unfinished business. Maybe the reason no one’s allowed in the ICU with him isn’t hospital policy at all. Maybe it’s because things are worse than they’re letting on.
No. He can’t let himself freak out. Not now. Not here, not in this in-between place where nothing behaves like it should. He forces the panic down, his chest tightens, but he reminds himself to breathe, slowly.
He drifts out again.
The next time he wakes, it’s morning and he’s on Eddie’s couch. The way the sunlight falls across the room pulls him in, almost like he’s home.
He rises carefully, folds the sheets and blankets into a neat pile, and moves toward the kitchen to make breakfast. The smell of coffee fills the air as he walks toward Chris’s room to wake him, but the door opens to an empty space. His chest tightens.
Quickly, he checks Eddie’s room. Also empty. That’s when it hits him: none of this is real.
Frustration surges again. He can’t ignore the pattern any longer. Every place he’s visited in these drifting moments, every memory he’s stepped into, involves Eddie.
He’s standing in Eddie’s house now, alone. He feels like he’s chasing him. Chasing Eddie through a series of frozen, stalled memories, but he can’t even catch a glimpse of him.
Where is Eddie?
He needs to see him. Needs to talk to him. Needs to tell him-
He needs to tell him.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
As soon as visitation time starts, Eddie is already there. Maddie is waiting too. From what he’s seen in the 118 group chat, everyone else will show up later. For now, it’s just the two of them in the quiet waiting area, until a nurse comes to let them into Buck’s room.
Eddie settles into a chair besides Maddie and immediately realizes something that surprises him: he can’t remember ever being alone with her before. Not really. Maddie, his best friend’s sister, Chim’s wife, someone he’s known for years… and yet, here he is, nervous in her presence. A little jittery.
The room is quiet. Eddie can’t help but sigh in frustration. “I hate being here,” he admits finally. “Not knowing. Not being able to-”
Maddie nods, finishing his thought for him. “Be there. Do anything. Yeah. I get it.”
“I barely got any sleep last night,” Eddie admits. “I just kept replaying how everything went down. And thinking about Buck being here by himself all night-”
“I thought about sneaking in,” Maddie says with a small, guilty smile. “Middle of the night, slipping past the nurses just to sit with him.”
Eddie lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah. You and me both.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Hopefully today they’ll let us stay longer.”
“How’s Chris holding up?” Maddie asks gently. “Does he know?”
“Partly, yeah.” Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded card. “He and my aunt Pepa made this for him.”
Maddie takes it carefully, smoothing it open. The bright colors and uneven letters make her smile. “This is perfect,” she murmurs. Then, after a pause: “You know… I’m really glad he has you in his life. It’s good to see him so… loved.”
That word lands heavier than she probably meant it to.
Loved.
Eddie looks down, his throat tightening. Loving Buck has always been the easiest thing in the world, and maybe that’s why he’s never said it out loud. It’s just there, like breathing, like muscle memory. The fear, the ache sitting in his chest right now, it’s all love. The kind he’s never felt before. Different from Shannon. The kind that fits without effort.
“He makes it easy,” Eddie says softly, almost to himself.
Maddie studies him for a long moment, then reaches out and touches his arm. Her voice is gentle, certain. “I think... I understand what Buck means to you.”
Eddie’s eyes snap up to her, like he’s been caught.
“You don’t have to say it out loud,” she continues softly. “But it’s okay to feel it. To admit it to yourself. You know?”
Something inside Eddie tightens. He swallows hard, her words circling in his head like a truth he’s been dodging for years.
He exhales slowly, nodding more to himself than to her.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
After a moment, Eddie stands up, and Maddie looks up at him with a confused looked.
“I’ll be right back” he says, staring at her intently, like promising he’s not running away.
Maddie nods, soft look on her eyes. And he walks away.
It doesn’t take him long to find the small chapel tucked away at the end of a hall. Pepa’s words echo in his head, “I’ll pray for him.”
Maybe he should try that too.
The chapel is quiet, almost empty. A few candles flicker near the front, their light soft against the walls. Eddie sits in the back, elbows on his knees, hands clasped even though he’s not sure what to do with them.
He hasn’t prayed in a long time. Prayers always felt like begging, and he learned pretty quickly that begging didn’t change much.
He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. He just bows his head and starts talking under his breath, like he’s arguing with someone he can’t see.
He tells God to let Buck stay. To make him wake up. To make him okay. His words come out sharper than he means them to, almost like orders instead of prayers.
If Buck can fight God, then Eddie figures he can too.
But the longer he sits there, the fight starts to fade. The quiet in the chapel settles into him, soft but heavy, like it’s pushing him to listen instead of talk. The anger starts to drain away, and all that’s left is fear. And love.
He realizes that’s what it is. Love.
He loves Buck. He’s not sure yet what that means for him, for who he is, but he knows it’s true. It’s been there for a long time. He just never let himself name it before.
And sitting there, in that stillness, it feels like he finally does.
He feels like he should ask for permission. To feel this, to have this. To have him.
So he does. Not out loud, but somewhere deep inside. He asks God not to take Buck away. Not now. Not when he’s finally figured it out.
After some time, Eddie just stays there, sitting in the dim light. The candles flicker in front of him. He’s not really praying anymore. He’s just breathing. He doesn’t feel that restless anger anymore. Now there’s just a quiet ache. A strange calm in knowing the truth, even if it scares him.
He thinks about Buck. About how much of his life has quietly wrapped itself around him. How many of his days start or end with Buck in some way. How Eddie lets him talk until he runs out of words, because he loves listening to him. He knows that somewhere along the way, Buck stopped being just his partner, or his best friend. He became home.
There’s a small wooden cross hanging above the altar, barely catching the candlelight. Eddie isn’t sure if he believes in God, if anything he’s said has been heard. But he’s sure he believes in Buck. In the way he loves so hard, even when it gets him hurt. In the way he always finds his way back, no matter what the world throws at him.
When he finally gets up, his legs feel heavy, but something in his chest feels lighter.
Outside the chapel, the world is still painfully normal. Nurses walk by, voices low, wheels squeaking against tile. Eddie moves slowly, almost afraid the calm he found inside will slip away once he steps back into the chaos. But it stays.
He heads toward the ICU.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Maddie knows she might have crossed a line with Eddie. But she also thinks maybe he needed it. Someone to tell him it’s okay. That he’s allowed to feel what he feels. She thinks Buck needs that too. They both spend so much of their lives taking care of everyone else, holding it together, never asking for more than they think they deserve.
She wishes she could tell them both that it’s okay to want something for themselves. But it’s not that simple, not when one of them is lying unconscious in a hospital bed.
Just a few moments after Eddie walks away, a nurse approaches to let Maddie know she can go see her brother now. As they walk, the nurse gives her a quiet update, how he spent the night, how his vitals are steady, how they’ve started tapering his meds. “If things keep going this way,” she says with a small smile, “he might start waking up later today.”
Maddie feels a wave of relief wash through her, small but enough to steady her breathing.
When she steps into Buck’s room, it looks almost the same as yesterday. The only difference is the blanket pulled up over him.
“His temperature dropped a bit last night,” the nurse explains, checking a few numbers on the monitor before jotting them down. “It’s better now.”
Maddie nods, murmuring her thanks, and waits until the nurse leaves before moving closer.
She sits down beside him, the chair legs squeaking lightly against the floor, and takes his hand in hers. His skin is still cool, but not as cold as it was before. She brushes her thumb across his knuckles, a familiar motion by now.
“Hey, Buck,” she says softly, her voice warm but tired. “You’ve got everyone holding their breath, you know?”
There’s no answer, of course. Just the steady sound of his breathing.
She talks to him anyway, about Jee, about the baby, about Chimney. About all the little things that fill their lives.
Buck can hear everything. Once again, he sees himself standing outside his body, watching his sister hold his hand and speak. He tries to answer, but he’s the only one who can hear his voice.
He loves his sister so much. A quiet, constant love that reminds him, no matter how much the world goes to hell, she’ll always be there. He wishes he could do enough to repay everything she’s ever done for him.
At some point, Maddie starts talking about Eddie.
“He was waiting outside just now, but he had to go do something. He’ll be here though, so don’t worry.”
After a moment, she adds, “You’re loved, you know that? So much. And not just by me.” Her voice softens even further. “You’ve got people waiting for you. People who can’t really breathe right now without you.”
She squeezes his hand gently, as if she’s trying to remind him what’s waiting for him on the other side of sleep.
This time, he can feel it, her hand on his. He tries to squeeze back, and she feels his fingers twitch against hers. Just a small movement, but enough to make her freeze. Her breath catches.
“Buck?” she whispers.
He freezes too. He tries again to move, but nothing happens. Still, she doesn’t let go.
Instead, she smiles through the tears gathering in her eyes. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “Take your time.”
After a long stretch of quiet, Maddie squeezes Buck’s hand again and leans back slightly.
“I know Eddie will be here soon,” she says softly, almost trying to convince herself, “but I can’t help feeling responsible that he isn’t here right now. I said something to him… maybe I scared him away. I’m sorry about that.”
Buck tries to speak, but of course, she can’t hear him.
She lets herself sigh, looking down at his hand in hers. “You know… I can see it, Buck. How strongly he feels for you. He might not be letting himself feel it, not fully. And I think… I think you do the same thing. You’re both too stubborn to admit it, even to yourselves.”
Her voice grows a little firmer, though still gentle. “I know, I know, you’ve said you’re not in love with Eddie.” She shakes her head, chuckling softly. “But I stand by what I said back then: it wouldn’t be so crazy. Not at all. You two… you’ve got something so special already. Something that could grow into something even more special.”
She pauses, letting the words hang. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the monitors. Maddie shakes her head and laughs quietly at herself. “I mean… talking to you about this while you’re unconscious is kind of ridiculous. I know”
Her thumb brushes across his knuckles again. “I’m pretty sure you feel the same way. I’m just saying.” She smirks faintly, a mix of teasing and certainty. “Maybe one day, you’ll both stop pretending so much.”
Buck hears all of this, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know how to react. Yes, Eddie is important to him. Yes, he feels something- something deep, constant, undeniable. But… it doesn’t make sense, right? Eddie’s straight. So even if he is in love with him, that wouldn’t mean anything. Would it?
The room around him starts to blur and dissolve. The walls, the monitors, Maddie’s voice, all of it fades away, and suddenly he’s somewhere else.
He’s at Eddie’s house again, sitting at the dining table. Alone. And he feels it, this big, aching, Eddie-shaped hole in his chest. All the words Maddie said are spinning through his mind faster than he can catch them.
Maybe Maddie is right. Maybe he’s been avoiding it all this time. Maybe the reason he’s been holding back, overthinking, dancing around what he really feels… is fear. Fear that admitting it changes everything, that it could break something important.
Maybe that’s what he’s been meaning to say to Eddie for longer than he can remember. The words he hasn’t said yet.
“I love you.”
He’s not sure he’s ever said it out loud. Not properly. Not with all the meaning packed into it, not with all the truth behind it. Not the right way. And he realizes that, of all the things Maddie said, this is the core of it. This is the thing he’s been running from.The way he feels when he sees Eddie, when he hears him, when he knows Eddie’s in his life. The way his chest tightens and his heart races and his mind spins just thinking about him.
He buries his face in his hands for a moment, overwhelmed, unsure if he’s proud, terrified, or both. The silence of Eddie’s house presses around him, the way it always feels intimate, safe, and impossible all at once.
Somewhere deep in the quiet, Buck understands something else too: it’s not just about saying it. It’s about allowing himself to feel it, to hold it. Even if Eddie might never feel the same way.
Because loving Eddie feels right. It feels necessary. And maybe… maybe he doesn’t need permission from anyone to feel it.
But first, he needs to wake up.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The door opens, and Eddie finally steps inside Buck’s room. Maddie looks up and meets his eyes, a small, knowingly grateful smile passing between them. Relief washes over her; she’s glad he’s finally here.
“I’m going to give you some time,” she says softly, standing. “I’ll go grab some coffee, okay?”
Eddie nods once. Maddie lingers just long enough to give Buck’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then turns and leaves.
Buck is still in his mind, sitting at the dining table, palms pressed against his face, heart hammering. Every nerve feels raw. And then… he hears it.
“Hey.”
The word is soft. He slowly pulls his hands away and blinks. There, sitting across from him, is Eddie.
Buck’s chest tightens. He’s not sure if this is real. If he’s awake. If he’s still somewhere between dreams and consciousness. But the presence in front of him is enough to make his pulse spike, to make the words Maddie had nudged him toward pulse like electricity through his veins.
"I brought you a card," Eddie says. "Chris and Pepa made it for you." He rustles the paper in his hand but he can't really see it.
"They hope you get well soon. Pepa said she’s praying for you. And she insists you stick around. She’s still got recipes to teach you, so you can’t leave yet."
Buck’s chest feels warm. He hopes this is real.
He misses Eddie so much it aches.
"Sorry I didn’t show up earlier," Eddie continues. "I thought it’d be a good idea to swing by the chapel, have some words with God." He shakes his head, a small laugh in his voice. "Sounds crazy, I know."
Buck feels a squeeze in his hand. He looks down. Eddie is holding it.
"Your sister… she’s smart, you know? I realized this morning I’d never had a private conversation with her before. It was good. Made me regret not doing it sooner. I guess you could say she smacked some sense into me…"
Buck just sits frozen, feeling Eddie’s hand on his, listening intently. He can see his face so vividly.
"You better wake up soon," Eddie says, voice tighter now, "because there are some things I want to say to you. I want to be sure you’re listening. I don’t know if you are listening right now. For all I know, I’m just talking to myse-" His words catch as he feels Buck’s fingers twitch.
"Buck? Buck, can you hear me?"
Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand lightly.
"Hey. Hey, I’m here," Eddie says softly.
"I know," Buck thinks, smiling.
"Well," Eddie laughs, voice wet, "if you can hear me, then I won’t say any more until you wake up, okay? That should be enough motivation, I know you can’t resist knowing everything."
Tears slide down Eddie’s cheeks.
Buck wishes he could wake up right now, be there fully, hear Eddie’s words in real time and then say the words he’s been carrying himself. But his body feels impossibly heavy, and for some reason, he’s still in his mind at Eddie’s dining table. I’m not even at the hospital, he thinks.
Eddie seems to feel it too, or read it in him. He squeezes Buck’s hand again, soft, reassuring. "Hey… it’s okay. Take your time," he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere”.
As Buck sits there, Eddie across from him, hands intertwined, he can’t believe he kept it all inside for so long. How did he manage to bury this, to dodge it, to act like it didn’t exist?
Right now, it’s blindingly clear. Obvious.
He loves Eddie. More than he ever let himself admit. More than he could have even allowed himself to name. And the feeling it’s almost absurd in its intensity. So powerful, so consuming, he feels like he could transform it into sheer will, will strong enough to fight the drugs coursing through his body, to push his consciousness back into the world, to wake up right this second just to be with him.
It feels ridiculous. Foolish. Overwhelming. And yet… it feels perfect. It’s as though this love was always meant to be.
“Get some rest” Eddie’s voice breaks through.
And he just closes his eyes, surrendering to the heaviness in his body.
The nurse had been right. This time, they were allowed to stay longer. Enough for everyone else to visit too. Hen, Ravi, Chim, Karen, Athena…
Eddie had given up his spot right beside the bed, and even though he was only a few steps away from Buck, it felt too far. For the first time, he allowed himself a selfish thought. He wanted everyone else to leave. Just for a little while. He wanted Buck all to himself. It was selfish, he knew that, but it was just a thought and nothing more.
Gradually, one by one, everyone started to leave. First Hen and Karen, then Ravi, Athena following quietly. Each goodbye left the room quieter, softer. Soon, it was only Maddie, Chim, and him.
“Well, I should go back to relieve the nanny,” Chim said, glancing at Maddie. “You coming, or do you want to stay?”
Maddie’s eyes flicked toward Eddie for a brief moment, taking in the quiet way he hovered near Buck. “If Eddie can stay, then Buck will be in good hands,” she said.
“Not going anywhere,” Eddie replied with a soft smile, and in that moment there was a quiet understanding between them.
Minutes later, it was just Eddie beside Buck.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
Buck is inside his mind again, darkness surrounding him. But it’s different this time. He can feel his body, breathing in and out, his chest rising and falling. He can feel his heart, steady and persistent, beating in his chest. Slowly, with an effort that feels like lifting mountains, he begins to open his eyes, peeking through the darkness.
The light in the room is harsh, and he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and groan.
The sound makes Eddie startle awake from the chair where he had been dozing.
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says softly.
Buck forces his eyes a little wider, and though everything is still blurred, he can make out Eddie’s outline standing nearby.
Lights, he tries to say, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat and tries again. “Lights.”
Eddie immediately understands and dims the room’s lights. The softer glow lets Buck blink more freely, his sight gradually sharpening.
“Hey,” he croaks, groggy, a small, uneven smile breaking across his face.
Eddie mirrors it, just staring at him as if he can’t believe he’s awake.
Buck tries to move his arms. They shift slightly, barely, but it’s something. He lifts his head off the pillow, only for it to fall back almost immediately.
“Careful,” Eddie murmurs, leaning closer.
“Am I awake?” Buck asks, voice rough.
Eddie scoffs softly, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”
“You… can hear me?” His voice slurring.
Eddie hums, a quiet affirmation.
"I tried… to speak…” He swallows, but his mouth is dry and his throat tight. “…tried… but couldn’t.”
Eddie doesn’t rush him, just watches, giving him the space to find his voice.
“We were… at your place…” Buck says, each word a struggle.
“I think you were dreaming,” Eddie replies gently. “You’ve been here the whole time.”
Buck nods slowly.
“Let me get you some water,” Eddie says, stepping out of the room briefly. Moments later, he returns, a glass of water in his hand. A nurse follows quietly, checking on Buck.
Buck doesn’t have the strength to lift the glass himself, so Eddie guides it to his lips, tilting it just enough for him to drink. The nurse runs a few quick checks, smiles at him, and reassures him, “It’s good to see you awake.” Then she leaves, giving them the room to themselves again.
For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Eddie leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on Buck, like he’s afraid to believe this is real. That any second, it could all vanish, and he’d wake up alone. Buck watches him, taking in every detail: the tense line of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch as if holding onto the possibility that Buck might drift away again, the faint crease of worry between his brows.
Buck’s throat is still raw, his body weak, and words feel heavy, lodged somewhere in his chest. He wants to say everything at once, but all he can manage is to look, to feel, to hold Eddie’s gaze and hope the he knows.
His eyes drift to the card lying on the bedside table. Recognition sparks in his chest. “Is that… the card… from Chris and Pepa?”
Eddie freezes, shock written across his face. “How… how ‘d you know-?”
“I heard you,” Buck murmurs, faint, hoarse.
Eddie exhales slowly, his jaw loosening, and hands the card over. Buck holds it, and the corners of his lips lift into a small, tired smile. “I miss them,” he whispers.
“They miss you too,” Eddie replies softly.
A quiet settles over them, the kind of comfortable, tender silence they’ve always shared. After a beat, Buck’s voice emerges again. “I… missed you. When I was sleeping.”
He knows it doesn’t make perfect sense. His words stumble, but he hopes Eddie can hear the meaning behind them, even if the sentences are messy.
Eddie’s expression softens. “I missed you too,” he admits, and then lets out a soft laugh. “Which is crazy… it’s only been like, what, two days?”
Buck tries to laugh, but it comes out as a cough.
“Sorry,” Eddie says immediately, but Buck just shrugs, the motion small and forgiving.
“Can I ask…” Buck begins, hesitating, the words tentative. “What… happened?”
Eddie leans forward slightly, keeping his voice steady, careful. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Buck swallows, memories flashing in fragments. “Working… then… being on the ground. I… got shot. Did I?”
Eddie nods slowly, his face tightening for just a moment. “Yeah, uh- a stray bullet. Just… wrong place, wrong time, I guess.”
Buck scoffs, voice rough but laced with humor. “Story of my life.”
Eddie smiles back.
Another silence follows, long and unhurried. It isn’t uncomfortable, never has been between them. In fact, it feels peaceful. Buck can rest in it.
Buck’s eyelids grow heavy again. He can feel sleep tugging at him, and a small, uneasy part of his mind protests. He doesn’t want to drift back into that limbo, the endless traveling through memories, leaving the real world behind. He does his best to stay awake, clinging to the present.
He can’t help but notice Eddie looks tired too.
“You should get some rest,” Buck suggests softly.
“I’m fine,” Eddie replies. “You’re the one who should rest.”
“I slept for like two days,” Buck says with a small, dry laugh. “I think I’ve had enough.”
There’s no mistaking it, he’s scared to go back to sleep. But he knows he can’t fight it for long.
If he’s going to risk returning to that space between worlds, he wants to say what’s in his chest first. He won’t make the same mistake twice.
Slowly, hesitantly, he speaks again. “You know…”
Eddie turns his gaze toward him, quiet, alert.
“When I was lying there… on the street… I tried to speak. But I couldn’t.”
Eddie swallows, his heartbeat quickening, though he doesn’t push or interrupt.
“I wanted to say something to you,” Buck continues, his fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of the sheet. “But… I wasn’t sure what it was…” He looks down, trying to gather courage.
Eddie just nods softly, giving him the space to keep going.
Buck takes a deep, shaky breath, and finally decides to say it outright. “I love you… that’s what I was trying to say.” He meets Eddie’s eyes, vulnerable, raw.
For a moment, the air feels too thick to breathe. Eddie’s chest tightens. His own emotions, long held in check, press against him.
“I guess… I never really said it,” Buck continues, voice rough. “I didn’t really know… just how much…” The words get stuck, tangled in his chest, and he can’t go on.
He feels a pang of guilt, as if his hesitation is disappointing Eddie, but Eddie’s response is immediate and warm.
“I love you too,” Eddie says, soft but certain. “I really do.”
Suddenly, Buck feels more awake than he has in days, as if every nerve in his body is alive with the weight of the words. His chest tightens, not from fear, but from the intensity of feeling Eddie right there, holding his hand.
Eddie swallows, hesitates for just a moment, then adds, “I… think we should have an actual talk about this. After you’re out of here, I mean.”
Buck just nods, unable to speak, his lips pressed into a small, nervous smile. They sit there, fingers intertwined, hands warm against each other, both of them trembling a little, part excitement, part fear.
He wishes he could pull Eddie close, feel him fully, let the world fall away. Eddie probably feels the same, Buck thinks, seeing it in the way his eyes soften, in the tight grip on his hand.
For now, this is enough. This quiet, electric closeness, hearts racing. They just look at each other, sharing that mix of wonder and longing, the kind of silence that speaks louder than any words.
Holding hands like this, it feels like nothing else matters.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
They weren’t sure how they managed the next few days. They talked, held hands, and stayed close, but didn’t let themselves go any further. Every touch was careful, every glance full of something unspoken. They had agreed to talk about it properly before taking the next step, and for now, that was enough.
When Buck finally got discharged from the hospital, still needing some rest, Eddie didn’t hesitate. “You should stay with me,” he said softly, almost as if he couldn’t imagine Buck anywhere else. “Let me take care of you.”
Buck nodded, trusting him completely.
They settled on Eddie’s couch, Chris thankfully in his room, giving them a little privacy. Buck was tucked under a blanket, and Eddie eased an arm behind him
Their hands found each other naturally, fingers lacing, the electricity between them buzzing like two magnets pulling toward each other.
“You know,” Buck said, voice low, “I was worried about this… about us. About saying the wrong thing or moving too fast.”
Eddie shook his head, a soft smile forming. “It doesn’t feel fast. It feels… right.”
Buck leaned slightly closer. His thumb brushed over the back of Eddie’s hand, sending a shiver through him. Eddie looked down at their hands, then slowly let go, lifting it to cup Buck’s cheek. Buck leaned in without hesitation, their foreheads touching, eyes closed.
“I’ve wanted this,” Eddie murmured, barely audible. “For so long.”
Buck swallowed hard. “Me too.”
Their lips met softly at first, tentative, then deepened immediately, carrying everything they hadn’t been able to say. Relief, fear, love, certainty. Buck tilted his head to fit against Eddie’s, and Eddie’s left arm tightened gently around him, keeping him close.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads still pressed together, their breaths mingling, both were smiling through the tension that had held them so tightly for weeks.
“You’re really here,” Buck whispered, voice thick.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, brushing a thumb along Buck’s jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”