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“I’m pregnant.” Buck’s voice is clipped, exasperated. A little bit hysterical.
Eddie stills over the electric kettle, eyes narrowing as he starts the boil. Was that– Did he just– “You’re, uh, you’re what?” Eddie asks as he ducks around the corner into the living room.
Buck is curled on the couch, staring at his laptop with a frown. There are bags under his eyes, popped blood vessels littering his face with light red dots. He’s pale and sweaty, wrapped in their softest throw blanket, his rattiest hoodie pulled over his bedhead.
“Pregnant,” Buck repeats. “Apparently.”
Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t quite come up with what to say to that. He opens and closes it a few more times before he eventually chokes out, “Elaborate?”
Buck points a frustrated hand at his laptop screen. “I typed my symptoms into Google and the internet told me I’m pregnant.” He holds it up for Eddie to see before tossing it a little recklessly onto the coffee table. “So, I don’t know, call up a realtor, I guess we need another bedroom.”
Eddie laughs lightly and circles around the back of the couch. “Have you considered the flu?” He asks, sitting down next to him, and lifting Buck’s socked feet onto his lap.
“It’s not the flu,” Buck insists. “I don’t get the flu.”
“But you do… get pregnant?” His thumbs are absently digging into the soles of Buck’s feet, and he feels him scoot closer, settling into the comfort of their bodies starting to intertwine.
“Crazier things have happened,” Buck mutters. “Besides, I’m–” he squints at the screen of his laptop, now a few feet away from him. “I’m vomiting and exhausted and– and I got up to pee like ten times last night, and, uh, my head hurts and I’m kinda dizzy and, oh yeah, food smells keep making me nauseous.”
Eddie has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Sweetheart, those are all flu symptoms. There’s something going around right now.”
“Flu is respiratory. I don’t have any respiratory symptoms.”
“You had a sore throat two days ago.”
Buck waves him off. “If it’s the flu, I should be coughing or something.”
“Depends on the flu, bud.” He reaches over to press the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead with a frown. “We should get your temperature again.”
Buck shakes his head. “‘M fine.”
“I think you have a fever.”
“No, I don’t get fevers! I haven’t had a fever since I was, like, five!”
Eddie’s hand presses to his cheek and Buck, despite his frustration, leans into it with a hum. “And now you’re caring for a five-year-old. Who spends all day with other five-year-olds. Who all have five-year-old germs and five-year-old hygiene habits. Five-year-old illnesses are to be expected.”
“Then why isn’t Theo sick, too?”
“Do you want him to be?” Eddie chuckles.
“Obviously not,” Buck grumbles. “I’m just saying.”
“I know you understand how germs work.” His thumb traces lightly under Buck’s eyes– eyes that gaze back at him with a misery that’s slowly being replaced by the sparkling softness he’s used to seeing in them.
“I still think I should pee on a stick,” he murmurs, but his indignation is fading too.
“Okay,” Eddie concedes with a soft laugh. “Don’t have one in my med kit, though, so maybe later?”
“Later,” Buck nods. He leans back into the pillows with a yawn–the frantic anxiety finally fizzling out and leaving him drained.
Eddie hears the kettle ding from the kitchen and he stands up slowly, laying Buck’s feet back onto the cushions. “I’m gonna finish that tea I was making you, and then I’m gonna grab the thermometer, and then we’re gonna sit here and watch that new gardening show on Netflix and stay off of WebMD for the rest of… forever. Okay?”
“It was the CDC website.”
“Alright, well, considering who’s running the CDC right now, we can put that away for a while too.”
“Okay,” Buck agrees.
“Okay.” Eddie smiles and presses a kiss into his forehead, and the TV remote into his hand. “Be right back.”
“Do we have honey?” Buck mutters. “For the tea. I used a lot of it when I made that baklava.”
“I picked some up when your throat was sore, remember?”
“Oh right. Yeah. Good.”
Eddie chuckles and leans against the entryway. Watches as Buck settles into the pillows. Pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Switches the TV on without lifting his head. There’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest like the one he used to get when Chris was home sick from school. As much as he hated seeing him miserable, there was something about being able to take care of him–especially as he got older and more independent–that always made him secretly love those long, lazy days. It’s no different with Buck. He’s always known that, even if he didn’t always know why. He would gladly spend the rest of his life here– making him tea and taking his temperature and watching TV on the couch. Just the two of them. Forever. What else could he possibly need?