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Had it been any other occasion, Buck would have, admittedly, been pretty impressed.
From where he and the rest of the 118 were standing, it looked almost like a magic trick.
One moment, Eddie had been there, crouched down, like a sentient, sturdy cloak, wrapping himself around a terrified child.
The next, he had disappeared.
Not with a puff of smoke, nor with a flash of dazzling confetti, but with an explosion so loud it had left Buck's ears ringing, fire blazing from the upturned car the kid had somehow managed to escape on their own.
There's strong arms holding him back, but Buck can hardly concentrate on that when he needs to focus, body tense and ears straining and mind racing as he counts one, two, three, four-
Something hits the water, and Buck stops breathing.
Eddie shielded a kid with his own body and got thrown in the water.
Eddie is in the water.
Eddie is underwater, and may be unconscious.
Buck feels possessed.
He blinks, and he's standing at the edge of the bridge, where the accident ripped the railing apart - what Eddie would have been thrown against, and Buck has no clue if he's furious at the lack of protection or glad Eddie didn't snap his spine against metal beams and concrete.
He sees-
There's smoke around him, from the burning car at his back, slowly petering out as it seems it only had one good bang left to offer its crowd.
There's debris in the river below: scattered pieces of metal, some still aflame, and floating branches.
Murky water restricts Buck's sight, preventing him from clearly distinguishing what he's looking at and hindering his desperate search for bright yellow lines.
At the corner of his eyes, there's his own hand clenching suddenly around the dust and rubble left behind in place of safety.
There's a chorus of voices screaming at him from inside his own mind - it should have been him, Buck should be the one in the water, he should be the one getting thrown off, why would Eddie risk his own life like that, doesn't he know he's important?
Doesn't he know he's needed, that Buck needs him, that Chris needs him?
Doesn't he know that Chris loves him? Doesn't he know that Buck …
Buck's eyes snap to a set of concentric ellipses, waves rippling and shimmering on the surface, larger than all the others.
The point of impact.
Eddie and the child fell there, right there, but the current is fast, already pulling apart and stretching those marks.
It feels like a worst-case scenario, like the universe is out to get them specifically, and if Eddie were there he would laugh and roll his eyes and give Buck a gentle shove, because he doesn't believe in the universe doing anything.
But he's not there.
Eddie isn't there, he's underwater, in full gear, with a scared child in his arms, and fuck, how long have they been under, why are they not coming back up?
Buck's body tilts forward, head spinning as he fruitlessly gulps in oxygen, and almost feels guilty for how he's able to do so when Eddie-
A figure breaks past the surface, catching Buck's eyes and straightening his spine quicker than the firehouse's alarm.
It's further away than Buck expected, but not too far that he couldn't reach them in a few seconds.
And then Buck's heart gives a valiant attempt at stopping in his chest, because that body is too small to be Eddie's.
It's tiny, flailing around, visibly gasping and spluttering. And it's alone.
And a few seconds is basically an eternity when you're underwater with 50 extra pounds of weight holding you down, a terrified voice screams at him, leaving his hands shaking and knees weak.
Buck's world tilts backwards, and he feels-
There's a dull ache radiating from the tip of Buck's elbow, where he jammed it into somebody's face a handful of seconds ago, and his own knee, a background radiation of pain, its ever constant presence almost comforting. It started again only recently, because it always does when he spends too much time not putting weight on it and then goes back to overdoing it.
This is only his third day back on duty. It was supposed to be a normal call, and then Eddie had pushed Buck out of the way to run and grab the kid, yelling at everyone to take cover, and then …
Buck still feels the phantom pressure of his touch, the searing brand of it against his skin.
Will that be the last memory of Eddie's touch on his skin? A shove?
How can it, when Buck still aches, terribly, for more, for softness, for gentle caresses and the reverent - but still unknown - pressure of their lips together?
Buck also registers, distantly, the roughness of his throat. At home, later, if there even will be a later, he will have to down an embarrassing amount of ginger and honey to make up for the way he almost tore his vocal chords apart when he desperately called out Eddie's name.
Once, when the car went off, and a second time when he reached the broken off edge of the bridge.
It had been a broken, ragged thing, scooped out of his own insides, torn from his chest. If Buck were a poet, he'd say it had been his own heart being ripped away from him with those screams, following Eddie's unconscious dive into water.
Buck is several things, a cook, a firefighter, a friend, a brother and a son and so many more, but no words he can string together will make Eddie magically resurface - hence, none of them matter to him, at the moment.
The impact of his own body against the water surface does not leave him winded only because he's bracing for it. Cold water seeps through layers of clothing immediately, because in his haste to jump he at the very least remembered to take off part of his gear.
He does not shiver, because even his own body recognises he has far more important things to worry about at that moment.
His visibility does improve ever so slightly now that he's closer, but not enough to allow him to immediately pinpoint where Eddie's body is. Where Eddie is.
Buck swivels, eyesight straining, legs kicking to assist his movements when he starts to head deeper, just a little more, even as the current drags him forward.
The current isn't stronger there, but it also doesn't get any slower, the depth of the river quickly increasing while the pressure in Buck's lungs goes up, up, up, and there's a crackling somebody calling him a fucking idiot in his ears. They would sound a lot like Chimney if Buck had ears to listen to him - but Buck isn't listening yet, he's not going to hear anything until he finds Eddie.
When - not if - he finds him, Buck is going to kill him, though. Whatever he thought he was doing, putting himself in harm's way when he has a child at home, when he has people that love and care for him, it simply … It infuriates Buck.
Eddie seems hellbent on making Buck wonder what life would be like if Eddie wasn't there anymore, which is cruel, considering Buck could hardly stand him being in a different state.
So, once Eddie is safely in his arms, breathing, looking back at him defiantly as if daring Buck to say anything about the recklessness of his actions, Buck is … Buck is going to do something. Strangle him, maybe.
Kissing him sounds very good, also, and so is crying his eyes out while hiding his face in his chest, feeling Eddie's hands hold him close, his hands in his curls, gentle puffs of breath against the top of his head, steady heartbeats pounding under Buck's shaking hands.
When - not if - he finds him, Buck is going to force Eddie into an early retirement, or make him swear never ever ever to make him worry like this again.
Eddie needs to stop doing this to Buck, or Buck is going to have to get on his knees and beg him, because he's starting to genuinely worry that his heart might give out.
Eddie needs to- Eddie.
A flash of yellow in murky waters.
A muddled cloud of red.
It's only Buck's own sense of self preservation - the last smidge that remains, which has a rather suspicious Chris-shaped outline - that prevents him from uselessly calling out Eddie's name underwater.
With two powerful kicks, ignoring the pain that shoots up his leg, he reaches Eddie's limp body, floating in the water.
Eddie is underwater, and he's unconscious, and he's bleeding.
Buck has never been more thankful for his firefighter training as in this moment, when wrapping Eddie's arm around his shoulders and kicking up to the surface is doable and not a fool's errand. A fellow tall firefighter, in full gear, as an added dead weight - not dead, Buck, not dead not dead not dead.
They breach the surface: Buck draws in a desperate gulp of air, gasping and heaving, and Eddie's head just lolls forward.
Tears sting at the back of Buck's eyes, but he has a job to do. He is not letting him go.
A part of him distantly wishes that either one of them had been prepared to climb down the side of something - the bridge, a building, whatever - just so that Buck could hold on to a fucking harness or something, instead of needing to sacrifice an arm to hold Eddie close. The current isn't strong enough to tear them apart - and honestly, would anything be strong enough to do that? - but it's certainly trying its hardest.
He should have tugged Eddie's jacket off, freed him of some of the weight, but it's too late, and Buck literally has no more time to waste.
How long has Eddie been unconscious for? How long since he last had oxygen? A minute? Two minutes? Eddie would have counted.
Eddie did count, and Buck didn't.
Buck chooses to postpone the self-flagellation that will inevitably come: his brain is still stuck between a haze of terror and the rescue procedures that got ingrained in his brain so clearly they feel like instincts.
And so, Buck grips Eddie, and swims, and swims more, and then his hand clasps around a tiny, feeble arm, and tugs.
With a screech and a flail, twin spindly arms wrap around his neck, squeezing just on the wrong side of too much.
Buck kicks up again, grimacing at the twin pain irradiating from his leg and choking him, and gently tugs one hand to the side of his shoulder.
Another terrified sob echoes out past the ringing in Buck's ears, warm alive skin pressed to his cheek, a pitiful ‘please’ cried against him.
It clears a bit of the panicked fog clouding Buck's brain.
“My name is Buck! Hold on, I'll get you safe!” He calls out with a voice that is barely his own, rough and scratched, but firm, not even half as shaky as he feels himself.
The tiny hand squeezes his shirt and nods, and Buck feels his strength returning - adrenaline is his superpower.
Buck has no recollection of how he manages to get the both of them to the shore, but he does. He does.
The child - Hayley - is fine, so Buck drags Eddie up just enough so that the rushing waters can't get to him, and focuses.
Eddie is still unresponsive.
Eddie is still unconscious, still bleeding out.
Panic seizes up Buck's spine, throat convulsing around a sob as he tugs his own belt out - his only solace comes in the form of the puddle of blood soaking into the sand, profusely bleeding means his heart is still pumping, right? His hands only shake as he unclips the buckle.
Buck does sob when Eddie has seemingly nothing to say in response to his makeshift tourniquet being tightened around his leg.
Five rescue breaths, Maddie tells him gently, cupping the back of his hand to guide him into pinching Eddie's nose, his palm tilting his chin backwards.
Buck's comms are waterlogged somewhere at the bottom of the river, so there's nobody to hear his desperate whisper of ‘come on, Eds’ except for Eddie's body under him.
One eye fixed to Eddie's chest, he presses their mouths together and breathes.
Buck feels time stretch, like pulled taffy, densely viscous, as the muscles of Eddie's thorax expand, and his mind stills, focusing. Listening.
He hears muted sobs, right next to him, as adrenaline seeps out of Hayley's body. She's close, not too much, leaving him space to work but seemingly too worried to move away.
In her mind, Eddie gave his life to save her. Buck refuses to even consider the idea of Eddie being … of him not being …
Distant wails signal the impending approach of the ambulance. Hope. An answer to a prayer Buck is not religious enough to speak out loud - doesn't feel worthy of it, of bowing down only in the moment of need, fears more a rightful retribution than a one time deal.
Buck's voice is the only sound louder than his own blood rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart, his panting breaths as he fights back impending exhaustion.
He's counting each pulse of Eddie's heart he beats for him, every second he exhales Eddie's inhales, air passing through his own lips into Eddie's mouth.
Through the chaos and panic, whispered pleas to him to come back spill out of Buck, frantically begging Eddie to stay with me, please, kneeling at the only altar he's ever wanted to worship - and didn't, hasn't had the chance to, so please, please, let me, I have to, you can't leave now, please don't leave me yet.
Under the blanket of panicked focus, Buck knows that angry, bitter tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes, and the thought infuriates him - this is not about him, he needs to concentrate, how dare his body waste time on that when all he should be doing is pump Eddie's blood in his arteries, breath air in his lungs?
If Buck could, he'd reach into his chest cavity, past his ribcage, and clutch his heart in careful hands, and make sure nothing - nothing - could ever make it stop.
His hands spasm, but he forces the trembling down, and pushes it to the side.
The smell of fire and smoke is distant, here, on the riverbank, but the wind has been dragging it down and away from the site of the crash, just like the current with Eddie and Hayley's bodies.
On the following harsh inhale, preparing to breathe out against Eddie's mouth, Buck forces his mind to focus on the acrid burn of it.
Buck leans forward, their lips touch, and it's at that point that the metallic tang of the cars’ exterior shell going up in flames hits him.
Flashes of the last time he crouched over Eddie, praying for him to be alive, blink alive behind Buck's eyelids as his face scrunches up, and Buck could swear he tastes blood but he doesn't. He doesn't. There's nothing to taste.
Buck's next inhale is a gasped hiccupping sob against Eddie's neck, and he breathes in the lingering memory of Eddie's aftershave - the citrus one Buck gifted him two Christmases ago, which Eddie has kept buying ever since.
Buck clings to the familiar scent, and hopes, and swears he'll buy Eddie all the aftershaves he wants, and shampoos, and flowers, and bake for him forever, pay for Chris' school supplies and all their clothes and suits and ties and a ring and a dog and a house and everything you want, anything you need, just please, come back to me, I haven't told you I love you yet, please.
Buck seals their lips together again, and-
The plain bitterness of river water spurts against his mouth and Buck almost chokes on it, reeling back.
It takes him a moment, but Buck can taste it.
Everything slams back into him at once, his senses overwhelmed as his hands clutch at Eddie's shoulders and turn him on his side, because Eddie is coughing, retching, sputtering and gasping - the first gulps of oxygen he's inhaling on his own.
Buck has absolutely no idea what to do with his entire body for a split second, as he watches water leave Eddie's lungs, his shoulders shake, his legs twitch and a pained groan tumble past his pale lips.
And then their eyes meet, Eddie's unfocused ones snapping towards him and widening. A hysterical, disbelieving laugh rushes out of Buck's lungs.
He's breathing. He's alive.
One hand reaches out, more water spills in a cough, and Eddie's voice, warbled and rough, is the most beautiful thing Buck's ever heard when he calls out his name.
Buck is close to him in less than a heartbeat, hands rubbing heat back into Eddie's arms for a moment before he gently pushes him back on his back “You're ok- stay still, you're hurt.”
“Buck. Are you hurt?” Eddie rasps out, and Buck can't help but laugh, teary and fragile, and cups Eddie's cheek - the tips of his fingers pressing into the spot underneath his jaw where his pulse thrums, heavy, steady, autonomously.
Eddie blinks, coughs, but leans into the contact, bringing his own shaking hand to grasp at Buck's wrist. His own fingers pressed to the soft inner portion of it, checking, too, the crease in his brow easing just a bit.
It hits him all over again - how close this was. How fucking close he was to losing him, and Buck isn't prepared for how the fear does not melt into rage.
It softens him, melts him, spine bowing as he brings their foreheads together, whispering out soft reassurances between pitiful sniffles that have his face flushing - I got you, you're safe, baby, you're back, I got you, I got you, babe, I got you, you're good.
And it's only because Eddie meets him, beat for beat, word for word, that he doesn't register his own heart being spilled on the ground between them. Doesn't realise how much he's said, how easily he tore down years of self restraint, of biting his tongue, of pushing it down.
The experience has left him raw, flayed open, and he doesn't think he could hold anything back at all, not even if he wanted to. Because he wants, he does want, he got his second chance and he will use it, suddenly unable to stomach Eddie leaving - again, but forever - without knowing.
Buck refuses to take it for granted, he won't-
There's hands gripping his shoulders, pushing him back, and both him and Eddie let out desperate, panicked protests - Eddie's nails dig into the meat of Buck's wrist, drawing blood, and Buck welcomes the sting of it, another tangible proof that Eddie is alive, breathing, back to him, to him.
One moment, he's staring at Eddie's wide eyes, the next he's looking at Hen, gasping out her name in a warbled sob.
“He needs medical attention, Buck. Chim is on it. I need to check out the kid. Are you fine?” She asks, solid, firm, stable under Buck's fluttering hands.
He's shaking, exhausted and cold, his legs hurt and his arms throb and he's breathless and his wrist is bleeding.
He pushes her gently towards Hayley, who's staring - scared and relieved and shivering - at Eddie. Buck wants to go back to looking at Eddie, too.
“I'm good. I'm riding with you.” He huffs out, clinging to his own hands to try and still his tremors, and then somebody is pushing a shock blanket on his shoulders.
Hen rolls her eyes at him, muttering a quiet and fond ‘didn't expect otherwise’ before she turns to Hayley, her tone softening.
Buck clutches his blanket closer to his chest, and offers Hayley a tiny smile - her lips twitch up in response, and that's at least good enough for now.
“Dumbass number two?” Chim calls out impatiently, sounding incredibly annoyed. Buck turns, and then grimaces - he should not get used to answering to that.
Eddie is staring at him - and maybe Buck should have looked to Chimney, but Eddie is right there, with a C-collar on, about to be moved onto a stretcher, so Buck can't not look at him.
And then he notices Eddie's hand, extended towards him. Fingers twitching repeatedly.
“See? I told you he's fine.” Chimney huffs, and Eddie rolls his eyes.
“I know he's fine.” Eddie grunts out, then his eyes snap to Buck. “You're fine. You're riding along.”
“I'm riding along.” Buck nods back, louder than Chim's exasperatedly fond ‘lord have mercy’.
And then Buck reaches out, and tangles his fingers with Eddie's, offering a small squeeze, a feeble distraction against the pain that seizes Eddie when he's rolled onto the stretcher.
“I got you.” Buck breathes, feeling alive for the first time since Eddie disappeared from his sight.
“I know.” Eddie smiles back, and it sounds like more than an acknowledgement.