Work Text:
Eddie groans under the strain of the weights on the sled pull he's doing in his backyard. He's pulling exactly 235lbs using nothing but his forearms and back, the effort breaking sweat across his dark brows.
The rope burns against his ungloved palms, rough fibers digging into skin that's already raw. They're already torn in places that haven't had time to heal, but still Eddie doesn't stop.
Doesn't let himself.
"C'mon", he mutters under his breath, voice tight, like the word itself weighs something added. "Again."
The sled barely lifts against his pull.
It's not enough.
It's never enough.
Eddie resets his stance, boots digging into the dry California dirt, shoulders rolling as he grips the rope again.
His muscles scream, back, arms, even his ribs protesting with every breath he drags in. He leans back regardless pulling with everything he has.
He will not fail Buck again.
For a second, just a second the world tilts.
Not his backyard, not the worn patch of grass, not the quiet hum of the neighborhood.
Suddenly he's back to that night, on his back on the wet pavement. Gear haphazard on his body, he was flung off the ladder. The seared image of BUck dangling from his harness and rope, unmoving flashes in his eyes.
Rain. Cold. Blinding all sensible thought.
Lightning cracks somewhere too close as Eddie lays in the slightly wet dirt of his backyard trapped in a memory.
Suddenly the rope in his hands isn't this one. It's that one, the one he'd pulled uselessly after running up the ladder truck unharnessed.
Everything is sharp. Wrong. Afraid.
Eddie's grip falters.
The sled jerks to a stop.
His chest heaves as he stumbles forward, rope going slack in his hands. He swallows hard, blinking the memory away, but it lingers anyway.
The memory is blazed into his eyelids like bitter branding.
Three minutes.
Seventeen seconds.
He knows the number the way he knows Christopher’s birthday, the way he knows the layout of a burning building before he even steps inside.
Three minutes and seventeen seconds of nothing.
Of Buck not breathing.
Of Buck not being.
Eddie drags a hand over his face, smearing sweat, jaw clenching hard enough to ache. He looks back at the sled like it’s done something personal to him.
Like it’s him.
“Not this time,” he says, quieter now. Rougher.
He wraps the rope around his forearms again, tighter, ignoring the sting, the way his skin protests. His whole body coils, every muscle locking into place.
If he had just been stronger.
Eddie pulls.
If he had just held on.
The sled shifts an inch.
If he had just not let go, never let go.
Eddie grits his teeth and hauls, a strained cry ripping free out of his chest as the sled finally starts to move.
Inch by stubborn inch across the now wet grass through the rain.
"Not. This. Time."
Eddie grits out in a partially wrecked voice.
The sled slams to a stop hard enough to rattle it's metal frame.
Eddie lets go of the rope like it's burned him, stumbling back a step, chest heaving.
His arms tremble at his sides, fingers twitching like they don't quiet remember how to relax.
"Jesus man."
Eddie freezes.
He didn't hear the gate.
Didn't hear the footsteps.
Didn't hear him.
Buck stands a few feet away, one hand still one the latch like he forgot what he was doing halfway through closing it.
His blonde eyebrows are pulled together, confusion cutting through the usual openness of his expression.
"How long you been out here Eds?"
Eddie shrugs, turning away too quickly, reaching for the water bottle on the patio table.
"Not long."
Buck huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Yeah Okay, because that."
He gestures toward the deep sled drag marks through the dirt.
"Looks like, I don't know. Punishment?"
"It's training Buck."
"For what?," Buck steps closer.
His eyes catch on the rope burns on Eddie's arms, the way Eddie is closed off and holding himself too tight.
"The games aren't for another week Eds."
“I know.”
"Then why?"
"I said it's training Buck."
The sharp edge in Eddie's voice lands harder than he means for it to.
He sees it the second it hits Buck, sees him flinch, it's subtle but it's real.
Silence stretches.
Buck’s jaw tightens, something quieter, more careful settling in behind his eyes. “Right. Okay.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Didn’t realize I needed clearance to ask.”
Eddie exhales hard through his nose, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Eddie doesn’t answer.
Because he doesn’t have one that doesn’t unravel everything.
Buck studies him for a long moment, like he’s trying to piece something together that doesn’t quite fit. “You’ve been off,” he says finally. “For a while.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Buck mutters, not convinced. “You keep saying that.”
Eddie forces a shrug, already turning back toward the sled. “I just need to finish this set.”
"Eddie?"
"I said I've got it."
The finality in his tone is like a door slamming shut.
Buck goes still for a second, something like frustration, but it fades almost as soon as it surfaces into something softer. He's concerned.
"Okay." He says softly, "Yeah You've got it."
But he doesn't leave right away.
Buck watches.
And Eddie, he can feel it.
The weight of Buck's icy blue eyes bores into his back as he picks up the rope again.
He resets his stance, and he pulls like his life depends on it.
Like Buck's life depends on it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It doesn't take long for the rest of the 118 to notice.
"Okay, I'm just gonna say it," Chimney starts, leaning against the engine as Eddie disappears into the locker room for the third time that shift.
"That guy is either training for the Olympics, or he's losing it."
"He's not losing it," Hen says automatically, but her eyes follow Eddie anyways.
Thoughtful, clinical, "But something is definitely going on with him."
“He’s been doubling workouts,” Buck adds, arms crossed tight over his chest. “Before shift, after shift… at home.” He hesitates, then admits, “I went over yesterday. He’s got a whole setup in his yard now.”
“Of course he does,” Chim mutters. “Because a normal person would just, I don’t know, go to a gym.”
“Did he say why?” Hen asks.
Buck shakes his head. “Every time I try, he shuts me down.”
Ravi, who’s been quiet until now, finally speaks. “The firefighter games are coming up.”
“Yeah, but we’ve all done those before,” Chim says. “Nobody’s ever gone full Rocky montage over it.”
Buck’s jaw tightens. “It’s not just that.”
Hen studies him. “What aren’t you saying?”
Buck hesitates.
Because saying it out loud makes it real. Makes it heavier.
“…He’s been timing things,” he admits. “We were running drills the other day, and he kept checking his watch. Over and over.”
Bobby’s expression sharpens just slightly. “Timing what?”
Buck swallows. “Three minutes and seventeen seconds.”
Hen stills.
Chim frowns. “Three minutes for what?”
But Hen already knows.
Her gaze flicks toward the locker room, something clicking into place.
Hen doesn't meet Buck's eyes and looks at Chim who has a shocked realization face.
Her gaze flicks toward the locker room, something clicking into place.
Hen inhales slowly, like she’s about to say something.
Buck catches it, he always does.
A silent conversation passes between them in a glance. Not now.
Chim shifts awkwardly. “So… we just gonna stand here being ominous or...?"
"We've got a call," Chim chirps loudly from his captain seat.
It's not a dismissal not really.
But it's close enough.
Buck lingers half a second longer, eyes still on the locker room door, like he’s waiting for it to open. Like he’s expecting Eddie to walk out and somehow make all of this make sense without a single word being said.
It doesn’t happen.
“Buck.”
He blinks, snapping back.
“Yeah,” he mutters, already moving for his gear.
But the thought sticks.
Three minutes and seventeen seconds.
They don’t talk about it.
Not on shift.
Not after.
Not even when Buck ends up back at Eddie’s place two nights later, beer in hand, both of them pretending this is normal, this quiet, this careful space they keep stepping around.
Eddie still trains.
Buck still notices.
And neither of them says a word.
Nashville hits all at once.
Heat, noise, motion, firefighters from all over the country packed into one place, the air buzzing with competition and adrenaline. Banners hang high over the grounds, names of departments stretched bold across them.
The 118 has only sent just Buck and Eddie.
Eddie sticks close to Buck's back as they move through the crowded event.
"Okay, this is a lot more than I expected it to be."
Eddie murmurs softly just loud enough for Buck to hear him.
Buck smiles, "Looks like it. Stay hydrated and pace ourselves it's what Cap would tell us."
It’s on Eddie.
A few steps ahead.
Already focused.
Too focused.
Eddie’s gaze tracks the field like he’s mapping it, like every movement is calculated. His shoulders are set, posture tight, not nervous but not at ease either.
Buck has seen this posture enough on calls that made both of them uneasy.
That razor-thin edge of concentration that borders on something else.
Something heavier.
“First event’s in twenty,” One of the event coordinators assigned to Buck and Eddie tells them.
“Good,” Eddie replies immediately.
Too quickly.
Buck’s jaw tightens.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Not here.
Not now.
Events blur together.
Strength. Speed. Precision.
Buck barely registers the scores. Every time Eddie steps up, something in his chest tightens, like he’s bracing for something he can’t quite name.
Eddie doesn’t falter.
Doesn’t miss.
Doesn’t slow down.
If anything, he pushes harder.
Like he’s chasing something no one else can see.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Next up—tower haul!”
The announcement cuts through the noise.
And everything in Buck goes still.
Eddie’s head lifts.
There’s no hesitation.
No surprise.
Just recognition.
Of course.
Buck exhales slowly, already watching him. “That’s the one.”
Eddie sets his jaw.
"I've got it Buck."
Buck grimaces.
Because he sees it too now.
The way Eddie steps toward the base of the tower.
The way his hands flex at his sides before he even touches the rope.
Like he already knows exactly what it’s going to feel like.
The rope hangs high above, thick and rough, a weighted load secured at the base.
Two hundred-plus pounds.
Dead weight.
Waiting.
Eddie steps into position.
Grips the rope.
And for just a second.
Just a flicker.
His composure cracks.
Rain echoes in his ears that isn't there.
The phantom scream of his voice calling out for Buck.
Where the weights hang, he sees the ghost of Buck's limp body.
Across the open arena Buck sees it.
He doesn't think.
"EDDIE YOU'VE GOT THIS!"
The shout cuts through everything.
Sharp. Grounding.
Eddie’s head snaps up.
Finds him instantly.
And there Buck is...alive.
Steady.
Right there.
Not slipping. Not falling. Not gone.
Eddie exhales.
Resets.
The whistle blows.
Eddie moves on instinct.
Hand over hand, the rope slides through his grip, rough and unforgiving, biting into gloves but Eddie feels it. His shoulders strain, back locking tight as he leans his full weight into the pull.
The load jerks sharply, then lifts.
A ripple of noise moves through the crowd, but it barely registers. It’s distant. Irrelevant.
Because Eddie isn’t here.
He’s somewhere else.
Rain crashes down around him loud, blinding, cold enough to steal breath straight from his lungs. The rope in his hands is slick, impossible to hold, slipping inch by inch no matter how hard he tries.
His grip tightens violently.
“No,” he breathes, the word ripped raw from his chest.
He pulls harder.
Faster.
Like he can outrun it.
Like he can get ahead of the moment where everything went wrong.
His arms shake, muscles screaming as the weight climbs too slow, too heavy, not fast enough.
You’re losing him.
“No.”
He hauls again, a broken sound escaping him as the rope burns deeper into his palms.
Not this time.
Not again.
The world narrows rope, weight, breath.
Slipping.
Failing.
“Eddie!”
The voice cuts clean through it.
Not the past.
Now.
Eddie’s head snaps up.
And there.
Through the blur, through the noise.
Buck.
Standing just beyond the barrier, eyes locked on him. Alive. Solid. Here.
“Look at me!” Buck shouts.
Eddie does.
And just like that—
the rain is gone.
The rope in his hands is dry.
Real.
He drags in a sharp breath, something in his chest cracking open as he resets his grip.
“Yeah,” Buck calls, softer now but no less steady. “That’s it. You’ve got it.”
Eddie nods once barely there, but enough.
Then he pulls.
Not chasing.
Not panicking.
Just… pulling.
The weight climbs.
Foot by foot.
Steady now.
Controlled.
Real.
His arms burn, his vision blurs at the edges, but he doesn’t lose it not the rope, not himself.
Not this time.
The bell rings.
Sharp.
Final.
The weight locks at the top.
For a second, Eddie doesn’t move.
His hands are still clenched around the rope, breath tearing in and out of his chest like he doesn’t know how to stop.
Like he’s still there.
“Time!”
The world rushes back in.
Noise crashes over him cheers, shouting, movement but it all feels too far away, too loud, too much all at once.
Eddie lets go.
His hands fall from the rope.
His legs give out.
He hits the platform hard, staring up at the sky, chest heaving.
He did it.
He did it.
His vision blurs.
And then.
his shoulders hitch.
Once.
Twice.
Eddie turns his head, pressing his face hard into his gloves like he can hide from it, like he can shove it back down where it’s been sitting for years.
It doesn’t work.
A broken sound tears out of him, quiet but wrecked, his body curling in on itself as everything he’s been holding in finally gives.
Not on the rope.
Not during the pull.
But now.
Now it crashes through him all at once relief and guilt and fear and something sharp and aching that he doesn’t have a name for.
“I didn’t drop him,” he chokes into the fabric, voice barely there. “I didn’t...”
“Eddie.”
Buck is there.
Eddie didn’t see him move.
Didn’t hear anything over the noise in his own head.
But suddenly Buck’s there, dropping to his knees beside him, one hand hovering for half a second before settling firm against Eddie’s arm.
Grounding.
Real.
“You didn’t,” Buck says, breathless but steady.
Eddie shakes his head hard, even as the words seem to break something open further. “I thought. I thought I...”
“You didn’t.”
Buck’s voice doesn’t waver.
Eddie’s grip fists tighter in his gloves, his whole body shaking now as the adrenaline burns off, leaving everything else exposed and raw.
“I couldn’t get you up,” he chokes. “I couldn’t...”
Buck reaches for him then no hesitation this time grabbing his wrist, pulling his gloves down just enough to access his pulse point.
“Hey,” he says, firm. “Look at me.”
Eddie resists for a second.
Then breaks.
His eyes are wrecked red, unfocused, tears cutting through sweat and dirt as he finally looks at him.
Buck doesn’t look away.
“I’m right here,” he says, quieter now. “Okay? You didn’t lose me then. You don’t lose me now.”
Eddie’s breath stutters, catching hard.
He searches Buck’s face like he’s checking for something like he needs proof, needs confirmation that this is real, that Buck is actually here.
“You’re okay,” Eddie manages, voice shaking.
“Yeah,” Buck says softly. “I’m okay.”
Something in Eddie finally gives.
His hand fists in the front of Buck’s shirt, pulling him closer like he needs the contact, like he needs something solid to hold onto.
Buck lets him.
Stays right there.
“I’ve got you,” Buck murmurs, one hand coming up to the back of Eddie’s neck, steadying him as his breathing stutters and starts to fall apart again. “Just breathe, alright? Slow.”
Eddie tries.
God, he tries.
It’s uneven, messy but Buck’s there, matching it, grounding him through it until it starts to level out.
Until the noise fades.
Until the shaking eases, just a little.
Buck doesn’t let go.
Doesn’t rush him.
Just stays.
And this time.
Eddie doesn’t try to hide it.
He takes Buck's face in his hands.
"I was so fucking scared I'd lose you."
Buck shushes him softly.
"You didn't Eddie. You couldn't. And you never will."
Eddie looks down.
"I love you."
He wants before desperation outweighs hesitation and kisses Buck.
To say the kiss startled Buck isn't the right term.
Buck whimpers softly against Eddie tear salted, plush lips.
"I love you too Edmundo Diaz."