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Buck had gone to sleep, stretched out on the couch, slipping into the comfort that staying at Eddie’s brought, and he would have stayed that way if it hadn’t been for the storm that rolled in sometime later.
A clap of thunder startled him awake, an unknown amount of time since he’d drifted off, dreaming of nothing for the first time in so long, but the sharp crack immediately had his heart bruising itself against bone, leaving him to clutch at his chest, gulping for breath.
And for a brief, barely there second, before it had started the low rumble through the sky, the crack of it had sounded like a gunshot, sharp and ringing in his ears. He could taste blood on his tongue again, the tepid splatter on his face, and Eddie’s too-quiet eyes as they stared into him.
He shivered, the darkness around him having a sticky, inky quality that spoke of an hour well past midnight but plenty before sunrise.
Breathing heavily, he forced himself to sit, blinking gritty eyes as he glanced around, only to jump when a flash of stark light flickered through the windows, casting shadows and causing shapes to spill over the walls, clawed fingers reaching for him.
He shivered, trying to quell his panic, but he was disoriented, somewhere in the land of not-quite-awake—it wasn’t where he wanted to be.
With one breath, then another, he forced air into his lungs, making his ribs expand.
His fingers dug into the fabric of the cushion under him, and it felt familiar, not like the couch his mother had purchased him.
Then another flicker brightened the room, only long enough to blink but still enough to orient himself a bit, to know where he was—that he was at Eddie's.
He was on Eddie’s couch, which felt safe, because it always did.
Mind clearing, he began to remember the night, coming back to Eddie’s place, drinking a few beers, and choosing not to drive home.
“It’s just a storm,” he tried to assure himself, though another snap of bright light shattering the air had his heart rabbiting in his chest, making him think of rain and ladders and things he'd rather forget.
Eddie probably hadn't noticed the storm, sleeping through it instead. He wasn’t defective like Buck. All turned around and backward over some inconsequential thing.
The rain beating on the windows made his skin itch, though, making his mind think of the cold, then of colder things like dead things. He had been dead not that long ago, for three minutes—or, according to Eddie, three minutes and seventeen seconds.
Those extra seconds had seemed painfully important to Eddie, enough to make sure it was known at the table, and Buck hadn’t been sure what to make of that—leaving him to wonder what they meant to him.
A long, drawn-out growl from above had him on his feet before he decided to get up. And he wasn’t sure where he was going, just that he needed to get there—or maybe get away.
But leaving the couch hadn’t soothed his nerves.
It had done the opposite of settling him, making him feel more anxious, less anchored, and also very small.
He had never been close enough to his parents to crawl into their bed in a storm, but the longing for it, the desire for someone to wrap around him, shielding him from all the things that hurt, that feeling had been his companion for more years than would ever be fair.
And right then, he ached, knowing who he wished would hold him but too afraid of judgment—from himself and Eddie—to reach out for the comfort he needed.
In a perfect world, where he could have what he wanted, he’d go knock on Eddie’s bedroom door, confess his fear, then curl against Eddie’s chest and let him soothe all the bruises left by the world away.
But he couldn't do that—he wouldn't.
Eddie didn’t need to deal with him like this—he’d burdened enough people.
People were already acting like he should be over this, ready to play it off with a silly joke or smile.
The fractures, each possible break in his façade, strained under the pressure of each attempt to make light, warning of the potential to leave him shattered on the floor.
Every time a hollow, not-quite-right laugh broke from his chest, it made him feel a little less alive—and he and death had shared a certain intimacy he’d never wanted, its touch having left a dark smudge he could feel on his heart.
Not something he could forget.
He’d been struck down—as someone had joked: he’d been turned off and back on again, doing a hard reset to work out the issues.
And objectively, it was funny, and he’d laughed, but it echoed in the hollow of his chest.
It didn’t seem like something he could say—and who would he tell? People were already worried enough—they needed him to be better, so they could feel better, too.
And watching out for his family? That’s something Buck did as naturally as breathing.
But the way Chief Williams and Captain Mehta had so freely mentioned him dying, treating it like a hiccup in his day rather than something that had rattled Buck’s sense of reality so deeply that he’d spent each morning not knowing what was real ever since.
And they hadn’t meant anything by it—he knew— gallows humor was part of the job, after all—but it still settled funny under his skin, niggling doubt slithering under the surface like worms and making him want to dig them out.
His mouth was dry, and he tried to ignore the rumbles of thunder, breathing through the jolts to his nerves the flashes through the windows caused, heading to the kitchen to get a drink, partially because he was thirsty and partly because he needed something to do with his hands, to stop himself from clawing at his skin just to see what was beneath, to make sure he was real and alive.
The glasses were easy to find, even in the dark. Eddie had set some out on the drying rack, forgetting to put them away.
Snagging one, he filled it from the tap, not bothering to go to the fridge and get the filtered water.
He didn’t even wait for it to run cold, settling for the tepid, almost metallic water to quench his thirst. He drank it, washing away the coppery tang of blood that had only existed in his mind.
Stomach uncomfortable and rebellious, he grimaced at the sharp sound the glass made hitting the counter as he set it down. His fingers had fumbled it, leaving him thankful that he hadn’t shattered it altogether.
A circle of water gathered around it on the tile, the exterior of the glass still dripping from the careless way he’d filled it.
Fingers wet, reminding him of rain, he wiped them on his shirt, then gripped the sink, wondering if the burning, pulling ache starting near his heart was the lightning finally catching up to him.
He rubbed his sternum and took a few breaths, feeling stupid for letting this get to him, hating that he still wanted to wake Eddie, even though he didn’t even know what he’d say if he did.
Things between them were weird enough.
There was no missing the way that Eddie’s gaze lingered a bit too long, though, the brushes of fingertips over vulnerable skin in passing, only to cover the gestures with an awkward pat to the shoulder after, as if that dispelled anything strange about friends touching each other in that way.
And so many times, Eddie had seemed to catch himself before saying something more, which always left Buck wishing he’d finish what he’d started to say—because he was too scared to take the first step himself and needed Eddie to forge ahead and take the risk for them both.
White knuckling the sink’s edge, he sipped the air, tasting the apple pie scent diffuser that Eddie had plugged into the outlet on the wall.
Better than ozone—better than rain.
Time lapped at him in waves, jerking him in and out of awareness, leaving him uncertain how much had passed as the shades of too many things he wanted to forget haunted him.
And the constant sounds of the storm continued to hold him partially in the rain, standing on the ladder as he looked into the sky.
Thunder had woken him, eyes snapping open, Buck’s name on his lips, hands twisting in the sheets—muscle memory, a reaction he doubted he’d ever shake, the sound of a storm, flashes of lightning, tricking his brain into thinking wet rope was biting into his hands again as he pulled.
Buck’s body hanging beneath him in the rain.
Surprisingly, they hadn’t had many storms since all that happened, and none with the force of what tore at the sky outside right now.
It took him a moment to catch his breath, to release his cramping fingers from their death grip, palms already sweaty.
His heart had to be setting some new record, but he forced himself to relax, listening for Christopher, knowing he didn’t always do well with storms either, though he’d gotten better now that he was older.
A bonus for him reaching his early teens that balanced out some of the attitude that came with them.
Another hard crack, then seconds later, bright white flashed through the edges of the shades.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, goosebumps chasing over his shoulders and down his arms. He shivered, remembering the cold, mind going to the place it did so many times—the night Buck had gone where he couldn’t.
Eddie’s heart had continued to beat for three minutes and seventeen seconds, and Buck’s hadn’t been able to answer.
They might not have spoken the words, but their souls didn’t need them to have twined themselves together, though saying the words, putting a name to all the things they felt and did, was something he’d love to do someday.
And it might have been that invisible, impossible bond they shared that had anxiety—more than his own—churning in his gut, and immediately, annoyed at himself for not realizing it sooner, his mind went to Buck and the storm and all the ways he could be trying to muscle his way through it, instead of coming to him.
So turning on the bedside lamp, he tossed back the covers, rubbed his eyes, and went to check on Buck.
Buck felt the shift in the air, sensing his presence in a way he only could with Eddie before hearing the soft footsteps approaching.
The edge of the counter had begun to sting his palms with how hard he squeezed it, forearms flexing to the point of pain, tension pressing its splayed hands over his neck and shoulders, knotting it all under its touch.
No doubt he looked like he felt, which only added to his misery, knowing that Eddie was getting an unfiltered glimpse at the splits and fractures he usually tried to conceal.
“Buck,” and his name said in that tone, so careful and breathy, made him shiver, sending goosebumps up his arms.
He kept his head hung, eyes squeezed shut, not sure what to say, though his instinct was to apologize, even though he doubted it had been him that had woken Eddie.
The storm had probably done it, and it was surprising that Christopher wasn’t awake, too. The winds kept hitting the house with purpose, and the rain had a chill in the air, seeping through every gap and crevice, leaching through the glass.
Something above them wanted to rage and cry tonight—that much was clear.
And Buck could understand the sentiment.
A warm hand, calloused and familiar, a touch he loved and ached for, settled on his neck, fingertips kneading slightly. It sent a tingle from the base of his skull to his tailbone, easing the tension in his muscles as he sagged forward over the sink, dropping some of his weight onto his elbows.
“Bad dream or the storm?” Eddie asked, fingers still working in little circles at the base of his neck, seeming content to give Buck all the time he needed to answer.
A shiver of a breath, then he cleared his throat. “Uh, not really a nightmare—been doing better with those, not so often anymore, ya know?”
Then Eddie’s other hand found his forearm, and he rubbed over the flexed muscles and tight tendons that rippled under his skin.
“I dreamt about you dangling underneath me, hanging from the rope and not being able to pull you up—ended up pulling the sheets half off the bed trying to do it.”
There was a pause before Eddie cleared his throat. “So I get it—but I think you should know that there’s not really a timeline for healing from things like this, so you shouldn't be holding yourself to one.”
Buck’s throat felt sandpaper dry. “Isn’t there, though? Why do I feel like the only one who isn’t over it sometimes?”
“Hey,” Eddie said, hand moving to his shoulder as he turned Buck to face him, then hooking a finger under his chin to guide his attention to Eddie’s face. “Hey, look at me, okay? No one is saying you should be over it—and sure as fuck not me.”
“Eddie—”
“No, listen to me.” Eddie’s throat worked, then he wet his lips before adding after the pause, “For three minutes and seventeen seconds, you weren’t—you went where I couldn’t follow, Buck, and dammit, that isn’t something—let’s just say, it’s not something I’ll ever forget or be over.”
And even in the barely-there light of the kitchen, Buck could see the shine of tears in Eddie’s eyes, the implication of what went unsaid, and it had him feeling too damned much, knowing it was all just out of reach.
Though the first tears to fall came from Buck, leaving tracks on his cheeks as he blinked, overwhelmed and unsure how to respond, unsure what he even meant as he asked, “Why?”
But, like always, Eddie seemed to know him better than himself, his warm hands framing Buck’s face, then bringing their foreheads to rest against each other.
They breathed the same air, warm breath mingling, the darkness cradling them and holding back the storm.
Then, just loud enough for the two of them, murmured like a prayer, Eddie breathed the only words with the power to stop his heart again—or even restart it.
“Why?” Eddie asked, exhaling and pressing their foreheads together more. “I’m pretty sure you already know—but why, Buck? That’s the easiest damn thing you could ask me—the answer is simple because it’s part of me—the answer is because I love you, maybe even longer than a sane man should admit to—from the start, from that first day, I think—no, I know.”
Then, voice trembling, Eddie confessed in the space between them, his warm breath brushing Buck’s lips. “I’ve loved you long enough that my heart has forgotten how to beat without yours to follow.”
And any other moment or time, perhaps Buck would have made some silly joke to downplay the impact of his admission, to dispel the notion that he could be that to someone else, but just the idea of doing that to Eddie—this wasn’t the time.
But being the object of someone’s love—love that intense—had Buck feeling so many things, though he wouldn’t call them bad emotions, just overwhelming to be enveloped in something so big, making him feel almost small.
So sniffling—because, of course, he’d begun to cry—he croaked a bit more emotional than he’d meant to sound, “Pretty sure you’ve always kept mine beating—literally and not, but, uh, I love you, too—if you didn’t notice. Sorry, not really fair making me follow that poetic shit, man.”
And that pulled a broken sound from Eddie’s throat before he hesitantly moved, tilting his head and brushing his lips over his, catching the bottom one carefully, then letting it go.
Then another loud, gunshot-like clap of thunder turned into a roll through the sky above, though it didn’t spike Buck’s anxiety as bad as earlier, even if it did make him jump.
Eddie dropped his hands to Buck’s upper arms, rubbing as he studied him in the dark, a question visible in his eyes.
“Uh, um—it’s not you,” Buck said, hating that the storm interrupted what had been building for so long, though it still didn’t feel real. Some part of him worried he might wake up again and it would all be a dream. “Just the thunder, you know?”
Eddie frowned. “Not the lightning?”
He shrugged, drowning in the uncharted waters, not knowing how this changed things, if he was allowed to be selfish and take the comfort he needed, though he didn’t want Eddie to see the depth of his issues, either.
“Talk to me, Buck—you’ve always been there for me. So let me be there for you.”
“It’s both—the thunder, uh, when it woke me up, for a split second, I was watching you get shot all over again. Funny how I never forgot the taste of your blood.”
And before he could avert his gaze, he saw a flicker of something akin to horror on Eddie’s face, which had him regretting that he’d said anything.
Eddie must have noticed his internal panic, quick to offer reassurance.
“Look, whatever you’re thinking—don’t, okay? Just—I hadn’t really thought about it before, and I just—I hadn’t realized.”
He nodded, flinching at another flicker of white light. Buck hated this, the storm stealing their moment. Why couldn’t he just be over this already?
“Uh, and the lightning— it kinda gets me how you’d think it would, so yeah. Pretty stupid, huh? Letting it get to me, right?”
And he had to swallow to keep the sob he’d been holding back from breaking free, embarrassed enough without breaking down.
“Shit, fuck—come here, just come here.”
And Eddie pulled him into a hug, letting him bury his face in his neck, knitting his broken pieces back together, gold threaded through cracks, kintsugi for the soul.
Then struggling to speak, Eddie said, “You’re so fucking wrong if you think I’d ever let you get away with calling yourself stupid for this shit, you idiot—my idiot—the dumbass that I love.”
And despite his tears, Buck chuckled a bit against Eddie’s neck, pulling away to touch his temple to the hinge of Eddie’s jaw for a moment, collecting himself enough to speak. “Well, I’ll be your dumbass, but only if I get to call you my stubborn asshole.”
“Deal—just look at us. The perfect set,” Eddie said, taking Buck’s chin to pull him back enough so he could kiss his cheek. “Now, my sweet, loving, caring idiot, how about we head to bed—my bed—no more couches—and you let me take care of you.”
Then, hand on his neck, over his pulse point, Eddie added with a smirk, though it was really too soft to call it that, “You know, I’ve been told I make a great big spoon.”
And despite his fears and doubts, not entirely understanding how things had turned out this way, he nodded, exhaling as he said, “It’s funny, you know, most people peg me for big spoon—but, uh, I like the sound of that—being the little one for you, um, yeah.”
And Eddie’s answering smile, tinged by a hint of sadness, spoke of conversations to come, but that would be for later, and it seemed Eddie felt the same, offering Buck a hand and a little nudge of encouragement, then guiding him to the bedroom.
Then, once they settled on their sides, the storm moving away now, barely noticeable in the distance, Buck finally got to experience what he’d longed for his whole life, someone who could pull him close, shielding him and settling him into a sort of comfort he had only imagined to exist.
And if the person who gave that to him happened to be Eddie? Well, it wasn’t like that fact came as a surprise, as it had always been him from the start.
Their hearts were bound together like an ouroboros, each beat chasing the rhythm of the other’s last, unable to continue without its leader.
Yeah, this wasn’t how he saw things working out—them coming together—and no doubt, Eddie would be corralling him into talking about things come morning, but for now, this was a damned good place to start.