Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes, when Eddie is alone, he talks to Buck.

It started in El Paso, when Buck, inexplicably, didn’t call Eddie for weeks after Eddie left. At first, he thought that Buck might be angry. He messaged him constantly—which Buck responded to, although unenthusiastically—and tried to call him whenever possible, but Buck always had an excuse as to why he couldn't answer. Eventually, Eddie, beaten down by the rejections, had messaged Buck saying If you don’t want to talk to me, just say that. Five minutes later, his phone blared with his ringtone, and he had picked up the call to Buck frantically assuring that he does want to talk to Eddie, that he’s just been tired, but he’ll try harder. 

Honestly, it made Eddie smile. A hidden, sick part of his brain didn’t want Buck to be doing anything else. They’ve always been in sync, and Eddie was thinking about Buck constantly, so Buck should’ve been, too. 

Buck started calling, and they started talking multiple times a day, and Eddie had no reason to be lonely anymore.

But before that, when Buck wasn’t calling him, when Eddie was all alone, he talked to Buck. Buck wouldn’t answer, of course, because he wasn’t there, but Eddie could imagine that he was—knew what Buck would say if he was on the phone, or standing right in front of him.

It’d always go something like this:

“I know I fucked up,” Eddie would say to nobody, folding his laundry, “but he seriously can’t even talk to me? And now you won’t talk to me, either.”

Silence. Eddie would continue on. “No, I know you didn’t want me to leave. I didn’t want to leave, either, it’s just—” He would sigh, placing his face in his hands. “You know I had to.”

More silence.

“If you miss me,” Eddie would start, scoffing, “then fucking call me. This is ridiculous. You’re—You’re ridiculous. You—”

Even more silence. Eddie would hear the sound of the faucet dripping, and he’d get frustrated, throwing his shirt onto the coffee table. “Whatever. We’re just going back and forth. I wish you’d just talk to me.”

But it wasn’t always like that. They didn’t always argue; sometimes they’d just talk, with Eddie replaying one of Buck’s fun fact ramblings in his head and responding accordingly. 

“I love when you get like this,” Eddie confessed, laying in his bed late at night. “You know so much. You want to know so much. I love it. I—” He sucked in a breath, tears springing to his eyes. “I love you, man. I hope you know that.”

I know, Eddie, Eddie could almost hear. I know.

“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understand just how—just how much I care about you. Do I not say it enough? I’m saying it now. I need you to hear me.”

A beat of silence. “I need you to hear me, Buck. And I need you to call me. I want to tell you everything. I want to talk to Chris, but I don't know what to say. I know you could tell me.”

Eddie laughed, all alone in his bedroom. “I know I’m his dad. But—you’re better at that stuff than me. Chris loves you. He—” He shook his head as tears spilled onto his cheeks, willing them to go away. “I don’t think he likes me very much right now. I know it’s my fault. I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

“I can’t just talk to him. He doesn’t answer me. And neither do you, by the way,” he says, and then they’re arguing again.

Eddie could admit that it was unconventional, but he didn’t care. Eddie likes talking to Buck, and Buck was depriving him. It was a rational solution to an irrational problem.

Eventually, Chris messages him. Eddie is so used to not talking to people that he jolts at the notification, staring at his phone like it's going to shock him.

Chris: hey

Eddie tries very hard to have a proportional reaction to this. His heart beats out of its chest.

Eddie: Hey! How are you doing?

Chris: im good
what about you

Eddie: Great! 🙂

Chris: cool
can i come over

Eddie thinks he almost faints.

Eddie: Yeah, of course.
Want me to pick you up?

Chris: nah i got a ride
see you soon

Chris is awkward and skittish. They’re sitting on the couch, watching a movie—something Chris picked out, something Buck would probably like. He keeps glancing at Eddie, then back at the television, then back at Eddie, as if he’s going to do something insane in the moments Chris is looking away.

“Chris,” Eddie says eventually, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie. “I—I’m sorry that—”

Chris shakes his head slowly. Eddie goes quiet. “No?” Eddie asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Let's just watch the movie,” he says, reaching for the remote.

Eddie pulls it out of reach. “I think we should talk about this, Chris.”

Chris huffs. “About what?”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Eddie breaks the silence. “Alright. Fine. You win, kid. We’ll just watch the movie.”

Eventually, Buck gets his message and calls, and they're talking again. Eventually, they’re FaceTiming every day, and Chris is at his house all the time. Eventually, he and Chris talk, and there's way less awkward energy in the air. Eventually, everything is okay.

And then he gets the call.

It's the middle of the night, and his phone blares with his ringtone, startling him out of his sleep. His first thought is that Buck is struggling—he’s the only one that would be calling at this hour.

Unless Buck is—

He sits straight up, hastily reaching for his cell phone, hands shaking. It’s Hen. It's not Buck. A knot forms in his throat, but he pushes it down, clicking the Answer button.

“Hen? What happened?” Eddie asks, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Eddie…” Hen starts. Eddie’s heart drops.

“Just tell me,” he whispers. “Don't lie to me.”

Hen is quiet for a long second. “It’s Bobby,” she says eventually, voice distorted by tears. All the air leaves Eddie’s lungs. He stands out of bed, staring at the phone screen as if Hen is in front of him.

“Is he—alive? Is he—”

“We had a call in—in a lab. And there was a virus and—and he was infected, but we didn’t know.” She pauses, breathing in shakily. “We didn’t know, Eddie.”

Eddie inhales sharply. “Is he alive, Hen?” he repeats.

Silence. Eddie sinks down to the floor, trembling. He knows the answer before Hen says it.

“No. I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I called you as soon as I could.”

Eddie drops his phone onto the floor.

He sobs into his hands for as long as he possibly can, muffling the noise with his palm so he doesn’t wake up Chris. He cries for so long he completely forgets he's on the phone with Hen, and when he looks at his phone screen again, she’s still on the call. “Fuck, Hen,” he whispers, voice hitching. “What do I do? What do you want me to do?”

Hen clears her throat. “Um. I’ll—I’ll get you a plane ticket. If you need me to. Buck is—Buck’s not doing well, Eddie. We had to drag him off the floor.”

Eddie’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. His eyes feel heavy, both from being woken up and the crying. He knows there’s more to come. That thought hits him so suddenly his head pounds with the force of it. 

He’s never going to see Bobby again. This pain is permanent. There’s no way to fix it.

“No,” Eddie says eventually, shaking his head. “I’ll get the ticket. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” she says, sniffing. “Are you…gonna be okay? Do you need me to stay on the phone?”

Eddie tears up again, rubbing his eyelids with his fingertips. “I—No, I’ll be okay. Go get some sleep.”

Hen sighs heavily. “Okay, Eddie. I—I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry I wasn't there,” Eddie responds, and then he hangs up.

It takes a few days to get everything in order so he can leave. His parents are very unenthusiastic about it, which Eddie tears into them for (“Someone died. Are you serious?”). Eventually, though, after a long, hushed, angry conversation in their kitchen, they relent, only suggesting that Eddie not bring Chris.

“He’s too young for another funeral. Especially one for your boss,” his mother says.

Eddie wants to argue. Chris loved Bobby. Eddie loved Bobby. To reduce him to just their captain is insulting and disrespectful. “Watch how you talk about him,” Eddie warns, voice low.

She sighs. “Now you know that’s not what I meant. I recognize he was important to you. Still, that doesn’t mean you should drag Chris with you. He stays here.”

Eddie purses his lips, thinking. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right.”

Helena blinks, seemingly shocked. “Okay, great,” she says eventually, nodding. “I’m very sorry for your loss, honey.”

Buck doesn’t answer him for three days. Eddie thinks he calls him thirty times.

Normally, on flights, Eddie sleeps. It makes him feel what he now recognizes as anxiety, mind jumping to the worst possible outcome—which he thinks is fair, because he’s seen emergencies, seen the worst possible outcome. So, when he flies, he takes whatever generic brand sleeping pill he can find at the store and sleeps the whole way. Now, though, he wants to be awake. He needs to think.

Buck isn’t doing well. That much is obvious.

Eddie thinks about what Hen said. We had to drag him off the floor. He doesn't think he’s ever seen Buck like that, though he’s heard things—heard about when he was buried in the well, when Buck got on the ground and screamed, trying to dig him out. The thought of Buck being that devastated makes him sick. 

Despair claws at him, but he ignores it, thudding his head on the back of the seat in an attempt to reset his brain. 

He wonders how everyone else is doing. He’s gotten messages and calls from everyone, asking how he’s feeling. He has an inkling that they're worried about him being eight-hundred miles away, unreachable in case Eddie takes a turn for the worst. It’s—fine. An understandable precaution, though Eddie doesn't need it. 

He stays awake throughout the entire flight, staring forward, jaw clenched. He will not fall apart when he sees Buck. He can’t; Buck needs him.

When he finally spots Buck, he’s standing with Maddie, tightly gripping his hand. Eddie gets the distant feeling that there’s a reason she’s here, that they don't trust Buck to be alone right now, but he pushes that thought away. He’s frozen in place.

He sees Buck turn his head, and then when Buck sees him, he freezes, too. 

Eddie makes the first move. He runs toward Buck, stumbling slightly, legs moving faster than his brain is keeping up with. He pauses in front of him, eyes wide, before crushing him into a hug, resting his head on his shoulder. He immediately tears up, and he doesn’t even care. He’s back with Buck. Buck is here.

Buck speaks first, wrapping his arms around Eddie. “Hey,” he says, voice strained.

Eddie laughs, a small wet sound distorted by tears. “Hey.”

Buck doesn’t let go. “How are you doing?”

Eddie swallows. “Oh, I'm fantastic,” he says dryly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Buck pulls back, lips flattening into a line. His eyes flit across Eddie’s face, worry morphing his features. “Eddie.”

Neither of them say anything. Maddie steps forward, pushing Buck out of the way gently, hugging Eddie. It’s nice. He doesn't know Maddie very well, but she’s never been anything but sweet to him—or to anyone. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, honey,” she says quietly. She’s crying, too, audibly. “I’m sorry you had to find out all alone.”

Eddie reaches a hand up, rubbing Maddie’s back, before stepping back. “Thank you, Maddie.”

Buck’s eyebrows furrow. “Where’s Chris?”

Eddie sighs heavily. “In El Paso. I didn’t think he wanted to go to the—” The word gets caught on his tongue. “I didn’t think he should go to the funeral.”

Buck’s face crumples. “Oh. Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

Maddie clears her throat, reaching out to grab both of their hands. “Let’s get you boys home, okay?”

Maddie doesn’t leave them for a long time. They sit on the couch, talking about everything they can but the one thing they probably should be talking about. It’s almost eight hours before she reluctantly says she needs to go, that Chim needs her. Chimney. Jesus Christ. Another person Eddie is worried about.

When Maddie leaves, it gets quiet. Eddie seriously considers not saying anything, but curiosity tugs at him. He has to know. “Are they...watching you?” Eddie asks, glancing towards Buck.

Buck sighs. The silence hangs in the air. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Eddie whispers, though he’s sure he knows the answer.

“Because I lost it,” Buck deadpans, “and they don't trust me.”

Eddie takes a deep breath in. “Don’t trust you to not...hurt yourself? Do something reckless?”

Buck laughs humorlessly, rubbing his face. “I think they’re worried about something a little more permanent than that,” he admits, shooting a glance at Eddie.

Eddie’s stomach drops, feeling a little nauseous at the idea that Buck would—

He sets a hand on Buck’s shoulder, causing him to look at Eddie. “Should I be worried about that?” he asks, a little frantically. “Don’t lie to me, Buck.”

Buck actually seems to think about this. “No,” he says eventually. “Bobby said everyone would need me.”

Eddie nods slowly. “We do need you, Buck.”

Buck takes a breath like it’s hurting him. “And I—I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Eddie gulps, relief flooding him. It may be flawed logic—he would much rather Buck be staying alive for himself—but he knows Buck means it. He knows Eddie would never recover. “Good. Don’t do anything stupid, Buck.”

“I won’t, Eddie. I promise you. I won’t,” he says, and that’s that.

The next few weeks are a blurry mess of arguments with Buck, sleep rotations between the bed and the couch, and anxiously awaiting for Bobby’s funeral. They don’t talk about Bobby, he and Buck. Truthfully, they don’t talk about much of anything. 

He hears Buck through the wall one day, on the phone in the bathroom, as if he doesn’t want anyone to hear him—though he has to know that the walls in this house are thin, and the only way for noise not to travel is to go into the backyard.

“There has to be a reason they’re not releasing his body,” he hears Buck say. “Maddie, I—I think he’s alive. I can feel it. Right—Right here.”

There’s silence, presumably Maddie speaking, and then he says, “No, I know. I saw what happened. I just—I can’t—It doesn't make sense. Bobby being dead? Does that make sense to you?”

“Well, it doesn't make sense to me. I’m sorry. I—I know what you think. But listen to me. I never saw a body. That means—That means that we have no proof he’s dead at all!”

“Maddie. Maddie, stop crying. Please. It’s okay. I’m—I’m sorry if I upset you. I’m trying to help. I’m trying to say there’s no reason for you to be upset. It’s gonna be okay, ‘cause Bobby’s not dead.”

Buck sighs. “Okay. Well, I’ll let you go. Have a good day, Mads.”

Buck walks out of the bathroom with his head held high, as if he really won that argument, only stopping once he sees Eddie watching him. He rolls his eyes and smirks, almost good-naturely, though Eddie has no idea what’s making him see this situation as funny. “You heard that, I guess?” he asks, walking out of the bedroom and into the living room. Eddie follows behind him.

“Uh, yeah, Buck. I heard that,” is all he says, confusion gnawing at him. Is that what Buck has been thinking this whole time? That Bobby’s not dead? Has he reached the denial stage of grief this quickly? Has he been in it for weeks?

“Don’t worry about it. I can feel you worrying about it,” he says, sinking into the couch.

Eddie sits down beside him. He pauses for a moment, thinking. “You really think that?” he asks eventually, bracing for an answer he's not prepared for.

Buck just shrugs. “Yeah. I—I mean, I know what you’re gonna say. We don’t have to talk about it. But you weren’t there, Eddie. You didn’t see it.”

Eddie feels a flash of anger. He tries and fails to shove it down. “I know I wasn’t there, Buck.”

“I’m not saying that to make you feel bad,” Buck assures. “I’m saying that you don’t know how it looked. It was weird. Fishy. And—And I really think we should stop to consider that—”

Eddie interrupts him with a sigh. “Buck. I don’t think this is a line of thought you should go down.”

Buck deflates. “But—”

“It’s gonna hurt so much worse later if you think like this,” Eddie says, and he's speaking to both of them; he knows that if he lets himself believe that Bobby’s not really dead, it’s going to destroy him when he is.

“I don't think it,” Buck says sharply, putting his hand up to his chest, “I know it. I can feel it.”

“Buck, stop. This isn’t good for you.”

“I told you we didn’t have to talk about it. I knew what you’d say.”

“Have you been telling everyone this? That’s cruel. You can’t let them think—”

“It’s not think, Eddie! It’s ‘know’! I know he isn’t dead,” Buck yells, standing up. “And—And I know you aren’t gonna listen to me, but I’m right. I know I’m right. And you…of all people…can’t believe in miracles?”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to be mean?”

“Neither of us should be alive. Especially me. But—But we are, right?” he asks, frantic, pacing back and forth. “There has to be a reason for that.”

“Buck—”

“Bobby was important. He is important. The Universe or whatever wouldn’t just let him die. He matters too much for that.”

“People that matter die all the time,” Eddie says, causing Buck to freeze where he’s standing. He knows by the look on Buck’s face that Buck didn’t think about how that’d come across—didn’t think about Shannon, and why would he? Eddie doesn't blame him for that, but the logic is flawed; Shannon isn’t the only important person that has died. Daniel died. All the people Eddie saved died. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at Buck anymore.

“I know. I’m not saying that the people that died didn't matter. I’m just saying—” He takes a deep breath. “I don't know. Just forget it.”

Eddie is more worried about him than he can express. Buck has been asking him, daily, if anything has changed regarding his mood—very carefully, trying his best not to mention Bobby—and Eddie has tried to do the same, but when Eddie checks on him, Buck shuts down. It’s aggravating. Frustrating. Concerning. 

The funeral is exactly how Eddie expected it to be: quiet, sickeningly so. A quiet speech. Quiet, soft music playing in the background. Quiet crying from nearly everyone in the room. When they meet for drinks after, it’s so quiet it seeps deep into Eddie’s brain. This is how it's going to be from now on. They're going to heal, and they're going to try to move on, but there will always be a voice missing, and there’s no way to fill that silence.

It’s almost funny how easy it is to slip. You don’t even notice it at first; you’re too busy with other things, too busy with work and your son and your best friend to realize your mind has gotten significantly louder. It’s easy not to notice the warning signs, and it’s even easier to ignore them.

It starts with the bed. At first, Buck and Eddie were switching between sleeping the bed and the couch, but eventually Buck cornered Eddie, telling him it looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and said he refused to sleep in the bed again. So now Eddie has the bed. He loves the bed. He missed the bed—this room, this house—when he was in El Paso.

But then he doesn’t leave the bed.

That's an exaggeration, of course, and Eddie will argue that until he’s blue in the face. He still has to go to work and take care of Chris. He still watches movies every weekend with Buck, though it’s becoming increasingly harder for him to pay attention. He still cleans around the house, and does laundry, and tidies the throw pillows whenever he remembers to. He just likes the bed. It’s comfortable—comforting in a way Eddie rarely feels anywhere anymore, even at the firehouse. But Buck says it one day, kneeling down at eye-length while Eddie lies on his side.

“You won’t leave the bed,” Buck says, lips flattening in a line. “Um. Are you—Are you okay?”

Eddie almost laughs. “Yes, Buck. We just got off work. I’m tired.”

“How long have you been tired? ‘Cause it’s been—” He breathes in. “It’s been a few weeks. And you keep spending more and more time in here. If—If you’re feeling depressed or—”

“Oh my God, Buck,” Eddie interrupts, pulling the comforter over his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m not sad. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, and that’s how it starts,” he emphasizes, grabbing the comforter and pulling it back down. “With tired.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “Buck. It’s fine. I’ll tell you if anything changes, okay?”

This seems to satisfy Buck, because he retreats, ruffling Eddie’s hair before standing up. “Okay, Eds. I’ll let you sleep.”

Eddie doesn’t mean to start talking to Buck when he’s alone again. Really, he doesn't, because he doesn't have time for that anymore and Buck lives with him so he has no reason to. But sometimes, lying in his bed alone, he whispers things out loud, things he can’t actually say.

“I wish things could go back to the way they were,” he admits, sighing. “Before I moved. Before you knew I was moving. It’s weird. Things are weird.”

“I know it’s partially because of Bobby, but it feels like more than that. I hope you’re okay. I wish you’d just tell me if you are or not. Don’t wanna find out from Hen that you’re struggling, I just want you to talk to me. But I get why you won’t.”

“You’re so good with Chris,” and then, “I love you so much,” he says, and he means it. He loves Buck. In every possible way, he loves Buck. He can’t grapple with that right now, doesn’t have the time, but he wants Buck to know. He wants Buck to feel it. A part of Eddie thinks that Buck can somehow hear him, that he can feel Eddie’s confession through the halls of their quiet—silent—house.

“I love you,” Eddie repeats. “I love you.”

Eddie won’t stop noticing things. He notices the way the clock on the living room wall ticks, loud and aggravating in a way that makes Eddie want to tear it off the wall. He notices Hen looking at him sometimes in the corner of her eye, opening her mouth to say something but deciding not to. He notices Chris spending more time at his friends’ houses than he used to, as if he doesn’t want to be at home anymore. He notices Buck. Buck laughing at his jokes, but not in the way he used to—not a hearty cackle, but a forced chuckle. Buck washing dishes when Eddie starts forgetting to, or when he starts coming home and heading straight to bed, not even bothering to shower first. But mostly, he notices Buck latching onto Chris. Something about it is unnerving him, though he knows this is a good thing; Chris loves his Buck, and Buck is incredibly helpful when it comes to taking care of Chris. Still, it feels strange. Off, in a way Eddie can’t describe. And he keeps noticing it.

It’s almost funny how it starts—in Eddie’s bed, where he always is.  

Eddie is lying in bed, Buck asleep on the couch, when he opens his mouth. “Y’know,” he starts, “I really hope you’re doing okay. I know with Bobby—I know it was hard. It was hard for me, too. It was like…like nothing in my life made sense anymore without him in it. Except you. You’re the only thing that still makes sense.”

“Yeah?” he hears, and his eyes slam open. He looks around, looking towards the door, but it’s still closed, and the room is still empty. “You know I’m gonna move out soon. How are you gonna function without me?”

The voice is undeniably Buck—though it sounds a little off, echoey, in a way that Eddie can’t pinpoint—but Buck isn't here. This isn’t supposed to be the point. Eddie is supposed to be talking to no one—a concept of Buck that never talks back. He feels panicked, deep-seated dread. He decides to push it down. It’s almost comforting, in a way. It’s Buck. “I—I don’t know. I’ll just have to deal. I mean, I’ll probably still see you all the time.”

“Not enough, though. It's never enough for you. You’re greedy, Eddie,” Buck laughs. 

Eddie frowns. Shakes his head a little, squeezing his eyes, head starting to hurt. “I don’t know why you're being an asshole. I’m not greedy for wanting to spend time with my friend.”

“No,” Buck agrees, “you’re greedy for wanting to talk to me after saying goodnight fifteen minutes ago.”

Something like shame blooms in Eddie’s gut. He feels shaky, anxiety filling him. A part of Eddie knows it's because this isn’t real; he isn’t really talking to Buck, isn't really hearing him, because Buck is outside. He wants to talk to Buck, though. Wants this to be real. “I won’t talk to you, then,” he bluffs. “You can just leave.”

“Oh, come on, Eds, I’m kidding. We can talk whenever and about whatever you want. I know you’re just worried about me.”

Eddie lets out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. You’re distant. It’s scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared. Just talk to me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere, so just breathe, okay?”

Eddie’s breath hitches, inexplicably feeling the need to cry again. “Okay. You’re not gonna leave?”

“Not gonna leave,” Buck assures, and if Eddie closes his eyes he swears he can feel Buck running his fingers through his hair, comforting him.

In the morning, Eddie thinks he should be freaking out. Buck wasn’t there. Buck wasn’t there, so Eddie was talking to himself, but not just himself—he thought he could actually hear Buck, and he just kept going.

Okay. Not a big deal. He can manage this.

The days melt together, with Eddie becoming increasingly exhausted, thoughts jumbling together in a way that makes it difficult to focus. It's small things at first: Eddie struggling with instructions on a call, or focusing more on the tapping of Ravi’s foot than what he's actually saying, or taking a few seconds to respond to Chris’s attempts at starting a conversation during breakfast.

Eddie keeps noticing things. He notices Buck talking about him through the wall, presumably on the phone, though he can’t make out the words. He notices Buck becoming impossibly closer to Chris, even putting him to sleep at night because Eddie is too busy rotting in his bed. He notices Chris asking both of them if he can go out with his friends, instead of just Eddie. He notices it all, and he can’t fucking stand it.

Buck walks into his bedroom after putting Chris to bed, yawning into his hand. “He should be asleep soon.”

Eddie hums, rolling over to look at the ceiling. “He’s really going to bed?” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, shrugging. “Yeah, he seemed tired.”

“You know he stays up all night, right?”

“So do you,” Buck chuckles. “He gets that from you.”

Eddie rolls over on his side, watching Buck. He stares, face morphed into a scowl as he watches Buck’s smile fade. He can’t put his finger on what exactly is bothering him, but something is off. Buck is off. What is he up to?

Buck’s brows furrow. “Hey, I’m just kidding.” He steps forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How is your sleep, by the way?”

Eddie ignores the question. He barely knows where it comes from when he says, “I know what you’re doing.”

Buck blinks. “I—W—What am I doing?”

“You want him all to yourself,” Eddie says, and he had no idea he was going to say that, but suddenly it makes perfect sense; he can see all the signs he’s missed, everything he’s chosen to ignore up until now. Everything he’s noticed. “You think I’m unfit.” His chest heaves, drawing heavy, angry breaths. “You’re just like—like my fucking mom.” He remembers the conversations Buck had had about him through the bathroom door. “Did she put you up to this?” 

Buck stammers. “All to myself? What? I—Why would I be talking to your mom?”

“I hear you talking on the phone,” Eddie says shakily. He points to himself. “About me.”

Buck looks caught. Guilty. Eddie feels vindicated. He’s right. He knows he’s right. That’s what this has all been leading to—this exact realization. “I—Yeah, to Maddie. But I always talk about you. I’m not talking to your mom.” There’s a beat of silence, and then, “I have no way of contacting her, Eddie.”

“You think I’m gonna fall for that?” Eddie asks, eyes narrowing.

“Wh—What is going on right now? Why would I want to take Chris from you? You’re—You’re a great dad.”

Eddie scoffs. “I know I am.”

“So...?” He grabs Eddie’s face in his hands. “What’s going on? Are you...Are you okay?”

Eddie breathes out a laugh, reaching up and forcefully pulling Buck’s hands away. “Oh, I bet you wish the answer was no. That’s give you plenty of reason to take him away from me.”

He has no idea what he’s saying. The words are spilling out of him faster than he can think about it. Still, he knows, with perfect clarity, that he’s right. He’s cracked it.

Buck draws his hands to his lap. “Eddie...Eddie, what? What do you mean?”

“Just forget it,” Eddie says, reaching to switch off the lamp. “Goodnight, Buck.”

“I—Okay?” he whispers, standing up and walking to the door. Before he leaves, he pauses. “You know I wouldn’t do that, right? You know that.”

“Sure,” Eddie lies, because of course Buck won’t admit it. Of course he thinks he’s the good guy here. “Goodnight,” he reiterates.

Eddie hadn’t known he was going to say all that. Truthfully, he had barely thought it before it left his mouth. It felt like someone was putting thoughts there, like they weren’t really his own. Once he saw it, he couldn’t unsee it. Buck waking up early to cook breakfast for everyone. Buck being the one to take Chris to the hospital when he gets the Flu, because Eddie slept through his alarm. (Funny that Eddie’s never done that before. Funny that he’s only doing that once Buck’s living with him.) Buck being the one to advocate for them to continue movie nights, just to see Chris light up in a way that Eddie can’t make happen anymore. Eddie knows. He sees it. 

He can’t sleep. Or, more accurately, he won’t sleep. 

He stands outside Chris’s door all night, anxiety on high, tapping his fingers against his mug of coffee. Every noise causes him to jump, like the floorboards creaking or that stupid fucking clock in the living room. Eddie should take it down. He needs to take it down. His thoughts go back and forth between Chris and that stupid clock for what feels like days.

The next night, Eddie walks into the kitchen to refill his coffee, and Buck walks in shortly after. Eddie chuckles lowly under his breath.

“Oh, hey! I’m just getting water.” He pauses, head tilted slightly to the side. It’s cute. Jesus Christ, Buck is so fucking cute. How could he be doing this to him? How could he be trying to take Chris away from him knowing what that would do to Eddie? “You making tea?”

“Coffee,” Eddie corrects.

Buck furrows his brows. “You...are making coffee at midnight? Why? You working on something?”

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says, turning around to turn on the coffee maker.

Buck laughs. “Well, coffee’s not gonna make it better.”

“No, Buck.” He turns back around, abandoning his mug on the counter. “I can’t sleep. I won’t. I don’t want to.”

This seems to throw Buck off. He stares for a moment, eyes flitting down to Eddie’s hands, which are trembling, clasped in front of his chest. “Eddie,” he starts, shaking his head, “how long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Eddie huffs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Buck says sharply. “It’s dangerous to go too long without sleeping, you know that. Are you—Why are you staying up?”

Eddie licks his teeth. Looks at the floor. “I just don’t know what I would do if something happened to Chris,” he admits, quietly, much quieter than the thought sounds in his head. He doesn’t even know why he’s telling Buck this. He knows he’s just going to use it against him, and Eddie will be the idiot for falling for it.

Buck’s face morphs in concern. Eddie can barely look at him. “Why would something happen to Chris? Eddie, do you know something?”

Eddie huffs, running a hand over his face. “I know that it’s not safe out here. Anything could happen. And—And no one wants me to take care of him.” He feels frantic, grasping at straws for an explanation. He pauses, scowling, still not looking at Buck when he says, “Not even you.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” He steps forward, closing the distance between them. “Hey, I can tell something is going on. You can talk to me.”

“So you can go tell someone else?” Eddie retorts.

“Why would I do that?”

Eddie laughs. “Why would I do that?” he mocks.

Buck pauses, face going blank. Eventually, he sets a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, practically whispering into his ear. “Hey, why don’t we forget the coffee? You can sleep with me on the couch tonight. You’ll know if Chris leaves the room.”

It almost sounds nice—sleeping with Buck. He misses the way it used to be. Misses when he would’ve taken Buck up on that offer. But he can’t now. He can’t unknow what he knows. “Nice try,” he mutters. “Not gonna trick me.”

He takes a step backwards, back digging into the counter, and waits for Buck to disappear.

At work, he can feel it—the effects of not sleeping. He feels dizzy, tripping over himself. He feels foggy, taking too long to understand Chim’s instructions. He feels shaky on his feet. But mostly, he feels vindicated. Nothing has happened to Chris. Everything is okay. He’s doing good.

Eddie keeps seeing bugs.

At first it was in the corner of his eye, skittering across the floor. He had asked Buck if had seen it, searching high and low for a sign of it, but it had disappeared. Buck had said he hadn’t seen it. Then, after a few times of Buck not noticing the bugs, Eddie comes to the conclusion that there must not actually be any bugs. 

That should be the end of it. Eddie knows there’s no bugs now, so he shouldn’t still be thinking about them.

But then he goes to wash his hands, and about fifty ants are crawling out of the kitchen sink drain.

He jerks his hands back, staring with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” he whispers, shaking his hands to air-dry them. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Buck yells from the living room. “Everything good?”

“I—Th—There’s ants.” It’s just fucking ants, so Eddie shouldn’t be freaking out as much as he is, but his heart is beating out of his chest.

“Ants?” Buck stands up, walking into the kitchen swiftly. His head moves around the kitchen as he searches, and then he frowns. “I don’t see any. You saw them in the sink?”

Eddie’s hands shake. “Yeah. In the sink.”

Buck moves closer, shoving his face into the sink, eyes moving around it. “I mean…I don’t see anything. You sure?”

Eddie scoffs, cheeks turning pink out of embarrassment. “Yeah, Buck. I don’t think I imagined a hoard of ants crawling out of the sink.”

Buck puts his hands on his hips. “Well, you haven’t been sleeping. So that’s entirely possible.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not hallucinating, Buck.”

Buck raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he relents. “Just, uh—Maybe you should take a nap.”

“I don’t need a nap.”

“I think you do.” Buck’s lips flatten into a line, like they always do when he’s thinking. “How long has it been?”

Eddie shrugs, looking to the floor.

“Don’t lie, man. How long?”

Eddie licks his teeth. He shouldn’t tell Buck. Buck's going to overreact, and that’s going to make it a million times worse. Plus, he shouldn’t arm Buck with this information about himself. Who knows what he’ll do with it? No, Eddie’s not going to tell him. He’s not— “Four days,” he says, before squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn’t meant to say that. What is it about Buck that always gets his guard down? What is going on?

Buck’s eyes go wide. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry, I just—What’s going on? Why are you doing this? You know we could get you something to help you sleep.”

“I just don’t want to,” Eddie says. “I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re gonna crash. And you’ve seriously been working with no sleep? Do you know how dangerous that is?”

He shrugs sheepishly.

Buck sighs. “Eddie. I need you to sleep.”

Eddie stills. Suddenly, he remembers the circumstances he’s found himself in, and with that comes another epiphany: Buck doesn’t want him to watch out for Chris, because he wants to be the one to do it. 

Eddie turns around, using grabbing a cup from the cabinet as an excuse not to look at Buck. “No. Leave me alone.”

Behind him, Buck makes a noise. “Eddie.”

“Leave me alone. Just stop.”

Buck is quiet for a long moment, and then he sighs softly. “Okay, Eddie,” he says, and then he hears the sound of footsteps, and when he turns back around, Buck is gone.

“It’s getting worse.”

Eddie jolts, gritting his teeth. “Shut the fuck up.” This is not Buck. This is not Buck. This is not Buck.

“No. You know it’s getting worse. And you’re making it worse.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Eddie whispers. “You know why I can’t sleep.”

“There is just no rational option for you, is there? You’ve always been like this. Impulsive. Can’t think clearly. This isn’t new.”

Buck wouldn't say this. Buck wouldn’t talk about him like this. Or—maybe he would. Eddie doesn’t know; his brain is filled with fog, and it feels like his thoughts are moving at a crawl’s pace. This is not Buck. This is not Buck.

“I know,” Eddie mumbles.

“You can’t do anything.”

His breath hitches. “I know.”

“Sucks, doesn't it?”

“Fucking obviously,” he says, probably louder than he meant it to be. “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?”

He doesn’t leave him alone. Eddie hears him whispering throughout the rest of the night—nothing coherent, just loud, overlapping sounds—but he ignores it until there’s tears in his eyes, desperation clawing at him. “Please,” he begs. “Please make it stop.”

He falls asleep. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. Pure exhaustion, he guesses, from being tormented all night. When he wakes up, he frantically runs to Chris’s room, accidentally waking him up in the process.

“Dad,” Chris mumbles, “it’s Saturday. I don’t have school.”

“I—I know, buddy,” he says shakily. “I’m sorry. You can go back to sleep.”

Chris just groans, rolling over onto his stomach and closing his eyes. Eddie reluctantly slips out of the room.

In the living room, Buck licks his teeth, watching Eddie. Eddie watches for a moment before breaking eye contact, staring at the clock on the wall. “Always fucking ticking,” he mutters under his breath.

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, placing a shaky hand on his shoulder, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Buck. Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, continuing to watch the clock hand move. 

“You’ve just been kinda…” Buck sighs. “You’ve been…off. I’m really, really worried about you. If you need—If you need to start therapy again, or—or you need help in another way, I can help you.”

“Don’t need therapy,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve had enough of therapy.” He glances over at Buck. Buck’s eyebrows are pinched together in concern, and it makes Eddie sigh heavily. “What? Why go? So they can tell me I’m crazy? Is that what you’re trying to accomplish here?”

“No, I—I didn’t say you were crazy. I would never call you that.” He takes a deep breath in. “I just think there’s something wrong you’re not telling me. And you can—you can talk to me.”

Eddie scoffs. “I talk to you plenty.”

Buck is quiet for a moment. “No, Eds, you—you don’t. Not really. Not anymore. You’ve basically been ignoring me for days. You only talk to me when—when you’re mad at me.”

Eddie turns to Buck. Buck is watching him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

But—Eddie has talked to Buck. Eddie talked to Buck last night. Buck wouldn’t leave him alone, so Eddie crashed, but he definitely talked to Buck last night.

Or—did he? He did talk to Buck, right? Which part was actually Buck? Was any of it actually him? Surely he did talk to Buck at some point yesterday, right? 

He rubs his temples with his fingers, already overwhelmed. “Oh. Sorry,” he mumbles, shrugging.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You can’t hold an argument anymore. It’s like you lose the energy. And you—you’re acting…paranoid. You know I’m not gonna hurt you, Eddie, right? I’d never hurt you. Or—Or Chris.”

Eddie wraps his arms around himself. “Yeah, of course. I know,” he lies.

“Okay,” Buck whispers. “So I think we should consider—”

“No,” Eddie interrupts.

Buck recoils, taken aback. “No?”

“No. I’m not doing that. There’s nothing…wrong with me,” he says.

Buck sighs. “Eddie…”

“What about you, huh?” Eddie says, turning towards Buck. “You’re the face of mental stability, I’m guessing?”

Buck frowns. “That’s not fair. Bobby died. I’m allowed to be sad.”

“And I’m not?” he retorts.

“This isn’t sad, Eddie. This is something else. And—And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I don’t need fixing just because I’m having thoughts you can’t control,” Eddie says sharply.

“I’m not trying to control you,” Buck argues.

“Then stop acting like it.”

Buck goes silent. He takes a deep breath. “Look. You told me you would let me know if something changed. Has anything changed?”

Eddie almost laughs. So much has changed since then, and it’s only been—what, two weeks? Eddie doesn’t know; he can't remember how much time has passed. But Buck doesn’t get to know that. He doesn’t get to be let in anymore. “No,” he lies. “Nothing’s changed.”

Buck scans his face, likely searching for signs of dishonesty. Eddie knows he probably finds it, but he doesn’t say anything. “Okay,” he relents, “but I need you to talk to me if anything does. Seriously. If things seem too hard to deal with, or—”

“Okay,” Eddie interrupts. “I get it.”

Buck smiles softly. “Good.” And then, just for good measure, he repeats it. “Good.”

Eddie sighs, stands, and then retreats back to the bedroom.

In the bedroom he stays. If he’s not at work, and he’s not hovering around Chris because he’s at school, he’s there. It’s just…safer in there. There’s no Buck watching him, and no fucking clock that Eddie hates—though he thinks he can still hear it.

Eddie can’t get up.

He’s stuck in the bed. His body feels weighed down, like he’s a bag filled with sand. And worse, mortifyingly, he can’t stop crying. He doesn’t know when it started. At some point, he laid down, started crying and couldn’t stop it.

“You hate me,” Eddie whispers, tears blurring his vision. Buck is looking at him differently, that much is obvious. He doesn’t understand how someone who seemed to love him so much is looking at him with so much vitriol. He doesn’t understand what he did wrong.

He’s lying in his bed, on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He knows, logically, that Buck went out with his friends. Friends that Eddie hasn’t hung out with in what feels like years. Still, he hears him laugh.

“Maybe. I guess you’ll never know.”

“Oh, God. I made you hate me.” He inhales shakily, trying to blink the tears away. “Buck, what do I do? How do I fix this?”

No response. Eddie continues on. 

“You used to love me. I want to go back. How do I go back?”

Buck sighs. “You can’t, Eddie. You ruined it.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. “I know.”

He hears something like a ‘why,’ but it’s all jumbled, loud and overlapping with another voice, so Eddie barely makes it out. 

“I can’t—You can’t take Chris from me,” he pleads.

“Yes, I can,” he hears, devastatingly clear. “You can’t take care of him.”

Eddie scowls, reaching a hand up and hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. He hits himself once, then twice, and then a third time hard enough that his head starts pounding. Good, he thinks. Maybe that will rewire his brain. “Yes, I can. Don’t say that.”

“You don’t even believe that,” he says, laughing again. Eddie wishes he wouldn’t have to hear the laugh that he loves making fun of him. Buck’s never made fun of him before. What happened? “You're arguing with yourself, Eddie. Come on.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Right. Buck’s not here. This isn’t Buck. Buck went out. He is talking to himself. “Oh, God.” He clasps his hands together, bringing them to his chest. He doesn’t pray, not anymore, but he tries anyway. “Please, please help me. Please. Clear my mind.”

“That’s not gonna work,” he hears. “You barely even believe in God.”

Eddie shakes his head. “God forgives.”

Buck doesn’t have to respond for Eddie to know what he’s going to say: Not you. God doesn’t forgive you. You don’t deserve it.

“I know,” Eddie responds, even though Buck didn’t speak.

“So stop talking to Him. Leave Him alone.”

“You hate me,” Eddie reiterates, and he knows it's true—can feel it down to his atoms. The thought splits his heart in two. “You hate me. What did I do to you?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, but he doesn't have to. Eddie sobs, clawing at his chest. He did this. He’s tired Buck out, and now Buck’s going to leave. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t move out—he’s already distant, already pulling away. Bobby wasn't just a reason, it was an excuse.

He feels exhaustion claw at him, so he closes his eyes, curling up into the fetal position, and lies there until he isn’t thinking anymore.

Eventually, his phone dings.

Buck

you ok?

i miss you

trying to give you space lol 

He ignores it. Hours pass. Or maybe a day. Eddie’s not sure. He needs to get up. He needs to talk to someone. He needs to take care of Chris. Is he losing his mind? What is happening?

Buck

eddie?

should i come in there?

ik you’re spend a lot of time alone recently

maybe you just need your space

but you said you would talk to me if anything was different

but maybe you can’t 

idk

ok im coming in

Eddie sets his phone face down on the bed beside him, and then before he knows it there’s banging at the door. “Eddie?” Buck yells.

Come in, Eddie tries to say, but nothing comes out.

“Eddie, you—you locked the door.”

What? He didn’t—He didn't lock the door. He doesn’t remember locking the door. He would know if he did that. Why would he do that? 

I didn’t, Eddie tries to say again. He almost thinks he can hear it coming out that time, but he doesn’t feel his mouth moving. He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep. He wants to be left alone. He wants Buck to stop making him feel like he’s losing his mind, because he isn’t.

More banging at the door, then Buck yells, “Eddie, I’m coming in!” and he hears the sound of the door hitting the wall.

Fuck. Now the door is broken. Eddie wishes he could just lay down and disintegrate into ash. Then, he wouldn’t have to worry about things like broken doors and a broken mind. Then, he wouldn’t have to worry about—about any of it. He wouldn't have to worry about Buck’s level of worry, and he wouldn’t have to worry about if Christopher was taken care of, because Buck would be there. But no—that's exactly what Buck wants. For him to be out of the way. For something to take away the obstacle that is Eddie. And now he broke his fucking door. 

He feels something warm on his face—hands, he realizes—and then Buck is shaking him. “Eddie,” he says, voice shaky, “open your eyes. C’mon.”

“Leave me alone,” Eddie whispers wobbily, the sentence practically forcing its way out of him. He can feel it—tears building up behind his eyelids again. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. I—I never should’ve done that in the first place. Eddie, you’re scaring me. Really bad. I miss you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Eddie responds. “You did.”

“I haven’t been as attentive as I should’ve been,” he admits. “I’m sorry. But I’m here. You’re not…talking to me.”

“I’m okay,” Eddie says. “Don’t need you watching me.”

“Talk to me,” Buck tries.

“Buck. Leave me alone.”

“No. I’m not doing that again. Talk to me, Eddie. Right now.”

Eddie opens his eyes. Buck is frowning, worry morphing his features until he’s almost unrecognizable. Eddie’s never seen him look like this. Eddie shudders, closing his eyes again. “How long have you hated me, Buck?”

Buck makes a noise. “I don’t hate you.”

“How long?” Eddie reiterates.

“Never. Never would I ever hate you. You could do whatever you want to me,” he says.

“Then why?” Why are you looking at me like that? Why are you watching me? Why are you trying to take Chris away from me? Why are you trying to hurt me? What happened? What did I do to you?

“Why what? I’m here, Eddie. I’m here.”

Eddie is silent. So is Buck. There’s something weird in the air, something that feels electric. It's almost like the night of the bachelor party, but tinged with something darker, something Eddie doesn’t want to touch. “I don’t know, Buck,” Eddie sighs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Buck says quickly. “Talk to me. Explain what’s going on.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. He needs to get a hold of himself. This is Buck. Why does he think Buck is trying to hurt him? What is going on? “I—I’m sad,” he whispers. He hates the sentence as soon as it's out of his mouth. What a pathetic, childish way to communicate. 

Buck’s eyes soften. “So am I,” he admits. “You don’t have to hide that from me.”

“I don’t…know how to tell you the rest,” Eddie says.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Buck says, and then he sits on the edge of the bed and drapes his body across Eddie’s. Eddie stiffens for a moment before forcing himself to relax. This is Buck. Buck, Buck, Buck. He has to remember what that means. 

Buck shoves his face in his neck, and then he whispers, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’m here,” into his skin.

And Eddie—Eddie doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t know what to think. This is Buck, and Buck has always been loving and kind to him, but something changed. Maybe this is just Buck trying to get his guard down, and Eddie is falling for it. He needs to push him off of him. He needs to lock the door again. He doesn’t, though, because he doesn’t have the energy, and it feels good to pretend, even for a little while, that nothing has changed.

-

Eddie can’t say things have gotten better, but he’s getting good at pretending. Buck still looks at him like he’s going to call an ambulance at any moment, and Chimney seems annoyed at how slow he’s being at work, but he’s working to fix these things. He’s working hard to make sure he doesn’t accuse Buck of anything so Buck doesn’t think he’s onto him. He’s watching Chris a completely normal amount so he doesn’t alarm anyone. He even invested in heavy duty sleep medication so Buck can see he’s sleeping. And when Buck talks to him at night, he doesn’t answer. He ignores it. He’s getting good at pretending. Things aren’t okay, but they could be.

On the couch, Buck scrolls through his phone and says, “Ravi’s helping me look at apartments now.” 

Eddie goes quiet. “...Really?” he asks.

“Yep,” Buck says. “He’s awesome. Only landlord I support.”

Eddie clenched his jaw together. What happened to not moving out? “That’s—That’s awesome, man. Congrats. Hope you find a place.”

Buck’s features morph in concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “What is it?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

He huffs, setting his phone down. “Eddie, talk to me. Come on.”

Eddie huffs then, too. “Fine. I—You said you weren’t going anywhere. I thought...maybe that meant you weren’t moving.”

Buck tilts his head. “Well...I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be around all the time.” There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, “When did I say that?”

Eddie turns to Buck, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh…I don’t know, a while ago? We were lying in bed. I told you I was worried about you, and you said…” He trails off. He can’t remember exactly what Buck said, but he knows what he was implying. When did he change his mind?

All the blood drains from Buck’s face. “Eddie...you know I don’t sleep in the bed with you, right?”

What? Of course Eddie knows that. He scoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, but—We still...talk. Sometimes.”

Buck reaches his hand out slowly, grabbing Eddie’s, like he’s afraid of scaring him, but Eddie can’t grasp why. “Yeah, we talk sometimes,” he says. “During the day. But, um—” He clears his throat, eyes going all shiny. “It’s gonna be okay, Eddie. Okay? Don’t—don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just breathe.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I wasn’t gonna cry,” he argues.

Buck frowns, reaching to wipe at the corner of Eddie’s eye. “You are crying.”

Eddie reaches to his face, too, and finds his fingers come away wet. He doesn’t know when he started crying. He hasn’t cried in over a week. He’s been doing very good, and Buck brought his guard down again. “Oh. Sorry. Sorry, I’m exhausted. I didn’t mean to—”

Buck lets out a breath, wiping his own eyes. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I can sleep with you tonight.”

Eddie should say no. The bedroom is his only safe space in the house. He doesn’t. He smiles softly. “Okay. We can do that.” 

At work, Chimney calls Eddie into his office, and Eddie feels his heart drop to his ass. This can’t be good. Fuck. Is he getting fired? He’s been trying to be quicker, but he knows he’s slowed down tremendously since he’s come back from El Paso. He sits down in the chair in front of Chimney’s desk, knee bouncing up and down.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “What is it?”

Chimney sighs heavily. “Eddie, I wish I didn’t have to say this.”

Eddie feels the blood drain from his body. “Am I getting fired right now, Cap?” he asks, trying to joke, but it falls flat. Chimney frowns.

“No, no. I just think...maybe you should take some time off. A few weeks, maybe. Or…as much time as you need to get your head on straight,” he says.

He scoffs. “What? What do you mean? Why would I take time off? Since when do I do that?”

“You’re not here,” he says. “Your mind is somewhere else. As your boss, you’re a liability in the field. You’re slow. You’re bad at following directions. As your friend...I’m worried about you. Everyone is.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Oh, so everyone’s just been talking about me? For how long?”

Chimney sighs again. “This is what I’m talking about, man. No, Eddie. No one is talking about you. That’s not what I’m—Look, it’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. I need you to go home.”

Eddie stands, crossing his arms, irritation bubbling up inside him. “Seriously? You're just gonna get rid of me? After everything?”

“I’m not getting rid of you,” he assures. “You’re coming back. It’s just not safe to have you working right now. I don’t know if you’re sick, or if this is because of Bobby, but something is wrong.”

Eddie scoffs again, turning around. “Whatever, Chim,” he says over his shoulder. “Just don’t come crawling back when you need me.”

Buck takes time off, too. Tells Eddie it’s because he doesn’t want him to be alone, but Eddie knows Buck just wants to keep an eye on him.

After the third missed shift, Chris corners him at the kitchen table.

“What is going on with you?” he asks, taking a bite of his bacon. “Are you sick?”

Eddie chuckles, scratching his chin. “No, buddy, I’m not sick. Why?”

“You’re not going to work. Neither is Buck. Did you…” He gasps. “Did you get fired?”

Did he? It sort of feels like he did. “Uh, no, we’re just taking some time off.”

“Why?”

“Because of Bobby,” Buck interrupts, setting down his mug of coffee. Eddie hates this conversation, but he’s grateful for it, because he almost can’t hear the clock. “I was still really sad, so your dad took some time off to spend it with me while I grieve.”

It’s a lie. Why did Buck lie for him?

“Oh,” Chris says, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Buck replies, ruffling his hair. The sight makes Eddie fume, but he pushes it down by taking a bite of his eggs. “We’ll be okay. Right, Eddie?”

“Right,” Eddie mumbles.

Buck doesn’t talk to him at night as often anymore. He still hears him, but they don’t conversate, because Eddie has absolutely nothing to say to him. 

They do talk during the day, though. Sometimes it feels like old times, if Eddie tries hard enough. Sometimes Eddie can ignore the blaring alarm bells going off in his head. Sometimes Eddie can ignore that stupid fucking clock. Not always, though.

Buck sighs, curled up next to him in bed. “It’s just us, Eddie. You, me and Chris. I don’t—I don’t go anywhere else.”

Eddie rubs his hands over his face. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen anyone else since he got sent home from work. Why is that? “Y’know, I’ve been getting messages,” he starts, patience to be kind wearing thin. “And yet—no one seems to ever visit, huh?”

Buck twists his lips together. “Um. That’s, uh—because I told them not to.”

Eddie sits straight up. “What?”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he explains, but Eddie is already fuming. Who is Buck to decide that for him? “I know you’re struggling with having people around Chris. Everyone is telling me you never respond to them anyway. I thought you—you didn’t want to see them.”

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s not your call to make. I need my friends, Buck. I miss my friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck tries. “We can call them tonight, maybe have them come over for dinner?”

“No, they’re probably terrified now. They probably think I’m gonna act insane,” Eddie says.

“They don’t think that,” Buck assures. “They were trying to give you space. I thought that was best. I should’ve asked you, I’m s—” 

“What about what I think is best?” Eddie interrupts.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Eddie.” Buck sits up beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder, but Eddie shrugs it away. “I really was just trying to help.”

“Save it,” Eddie says sharply. “I was trying to be nice, y’know. But you don’t deserve it. You haven’t stopped trying to control me for months.”

“I know you’re not okay right now,” Buck starts, “but that’s not fair. I stopped going to work for you. I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to weasel your way into my life. You’re trying to replace me.”

“There’s something wrong with you, Eddie.”

He huffs. “No, there’s not,” he says.

“We’re just gonna keep pretending nothing is happening? What’s that gonna solve?”

“I’m handling it,” Eddie responds.

“Not well enough.” Buck sighs at the way Eddie stiffens, shaking his head. “Sorry. I know you’re trying. But I—”

“Get out of my room, Buck,” Eddie says, pushing Buck’s chest. 

Buck doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Get out of my room before I make you get out of my house.”

Buck huffs, standing up. “If you don’t let me help you, I will find someone who will. That’s not a threat, that’s a promise. Okay? So think about that,” he says, and then he walks out.

Eddie stares into space, back pressed against the headboard, for a very long time. He can’t believe this. He can’t believe he let his guard down again. He can’t believe he was starting to trust Buck. He can’t believe the gall of Buck to act like he’s the one being insane. He’s not. He’s being very good. He’s not talking to Buck when Buck isn’t around. He hasn’t been accusing Buck of anything, or snapping at him. But he’s at the end of his rope. How dare Buck threaten to hospitalize him? This must’ve been what he was planning on doing all along, and deep down, Eddie knew that.

He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t have to; Buck isn’t there to watch him anymore.

Still, when Eddie is awake, Buck follows him around like a lost puppy dog. It’s aggravating the fuck out of him.

Eddie walks to the kitchen, and Buck trails behind him. Eddie huffs, full-body turning to Buck, throwing his hands in the air. “Can you stop fucking stalking me? Why are you hovering around me like I’m a bomb about to go off? What are you doing?”

Buck frowns. “Nothing, Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m worried about you, I said that, and I—I want to make sure you’re…okay.”

“I don’t need a caretaker. I need my best friend. I need you to not—to stop looking at me like that.”

“Looking at you like what?” He shakes his head. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re so different, and I’m sorry for not seeing it. I'm sorry—”

Eddie sighs. “Buck, I’m fine. What are you so scared of? You think I can’t handle myself? You know I'm thirty-three years old, right?” 

“I know you can handle yourself,” Buck says.

“Then why are you acting like I’m on psychiatric watch or something? I don’t need that. I don’t need you to—to follow me around,” Eddie says.

“I’m scared you're gonna hurt yourself, Eddie!” Buck exclaims. He clamps his mouth shut, eyes going wide. Eddie stands, frozen, watching Buck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I just don’t know what I’d do if—Eddie, I need you. Please don’t do that to me.”

Eddie takes a step back. “Why would I hurt myself? What are you talking about? Do I seem like I’m gonna—” 

Buck is staring at him. He won’t stop fucking staring at him. It unnerves something deep inside of Eddie, a voice in his mind whispering that he needs to get out of here. He needs to leave. He can’t keep staying in this house with this—with whatever Buck is. This monster that’s stolen his best friend’s skin.

Buck swallows, averting eye contact. “Yeah, man, sort of. And I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you want me to do if I’m not allowed to help you.”

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters. “Sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

Buck looks pained. “No, you don’t have to apologize. I want—” He takes a deep breath through his nose, making eye contact. “Eddie, I want you to get help. I want you to start talking to a therapist again.”

Eddie recoils, stepping back again. “What? Why? You realize—You realize Bobby died, right? You’ve been acting off, too.”

“This isn’t just acting off,” Buck says, voice steady. “There's something seriously wrong. I—”

“There's something seriously wrong with me?” Eddie asks.

“That’s not what I'm saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” 

Buck takes a shaky breath. His steady demeanor cracks. “Eddie, I need you to do something. I don’t think I can do this anymore. You’re scaring me.” At Eddie’s hurt expression, he corrects himself. “Or—No, you’re not scaring me. I'm scared for you.”

“Scared of what? Because I promise you I’d never hurt myself, Buck. I promise,” he says, and he really, really means it. He doesn’t want to hurt himself; Buck wants to hurt him. This is projection at the highest level.

Buck’s lips flatten into a line. “I just think you should talk to someone.”

“Buck—”

“Eddie, I need you to listen to me,” Buck says, reaching a hand out to grab onto Eddie’s. “We never used to argue this much. Just this once, listen to me, okay?”

Eddie breathes in deep. He’s so angry. He wants to say no—but Buck’s hand feels so good, and he’s looking at him with those pretty blue eyes and—God. Fuck. Eddie is so weak.  “...Fine.”

“I’m gonna make you an appointment, and you’re gonna go.” He leaves no room for debate, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “Okay?”

Eddie, embarrassingly, finds himself tearing up, frustration clawing at his heart. He knows what they’re going to say; knows he can’t be honest, so there’s no point. But Buck is looking at him like he’s terrified, and he needs to prove he’s fine. “Fine.”

Buck squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and then he nods. “Good. Now, let’s—let’s watch a movie. You can pick, I don’t care.”

“I don’t want to watch a movie with you. I’m still mad at you,” Eddie says.

“Then just sit with me? Please?” Buck tries, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “I know you said I don’t deserve it, but can we pretend?”

“I’m tired of pretending.”

“I know. So am I,” Buck responds. “But can we?”

Eddie sighs. He will sit with Buck on the couch and he will not tell him anything and he will go to therapy. He will not tell the therapist anything, either. He will show that he can handle himself, and Buck will be forced to back off. “Okay.”

-

The new therapist—Richard, Eddie comes to find out—takes a deep breath. “Is it true that you often talk to yourself?”

“No. No, I’m talking to Buck.”

He hums. “And you talk to Buck when he’s not there?”

He waves a hand. “He’s my best friend.” Was his best friend. Eddie isn’t sure what he is now, what he should call him.

“Okay,” Richard responds. “So he’s very important to you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“Do you talk to anyone else when they’re not there?” 

He shakes his head. “No. Well...Bobby, sometimes, but he’s dead.”

He taps his pen against the table. “And you don’t hear either of them respond?” 

Lie, Eddie. “No. Of course not.”

Richard hums. “What do you think is the difference between talking to yourself out loud and talking to Buck when he’s not there? Buck isn’t dead.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “No, Buck is fine. Buck is—outside.” 

“Right,” he agrees. “So what’s the difference?” 

“It's just—different,” Eddie tries.

He watches him for a long time. “Are you imagining a conversation, like...daydreaming, or are you actually having a conversation?”

Eddie blinks, confused. He doesn’t understand the question. He hates this already. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s been so good at ignoring it. “I’m—I’m talking. We’re talking. I don’t understand what you’re—” 

Richard takes a long deep breath. “I’m going to suggest something and I think you should choose to be open to it. But sometimes, individuals who wouldn’t typically experience psychosis can experience the symptoms due to stress—or severe depression, which you’ve had periods of, and you’ve just experienced a loss. You’ve gone through a lot. I know that much. You have PTSD. Psychosis doesn’t always include auditory or visual hallucinations. You said you’re not hearing anyone talk back to you. But sometimes...sometimes you can experience delusions, and that could impact your ability to differentiate your imagination from reality. And that is very dangerous, Eddie, so I need you to tell me if that’s the case.” 

Eddie chuckles, looking up to the ceiling. “That’s not what this is.” 

“You don’t ever see or hear things that other people don’t?” Richard asks.

“Are we really doing this right now?”

“Do you?” he repeats.

“No.”

“Any experiences lately you can’t explain?”

“No,” Eddie repeats.

“Does it ever feel like people are trying to harm you? Are you afraid of anyone?”

“No,” Eddie reiterates, sighing. “Jesus. I’m depressed, that’s why I’m here. I think the Buck thing is a…coping mechanism.”

Richard hums again. “Perhaps. I think we should keep an eye on this regardless. I can’t help you if you aren’t truthful with me, Eddie.”

Eddie bristles. “Why would I lie?”

“I didn’t say you lied,” he assures. “If anything changes for you, like if you start hallucinating or thinking things that scare you, could you let me know?”

When Eddie agreed to therapy, he didn’t agree to this. He understands depression; knows it like the back of his hand, knows how to deal with it. This isn’t that. This is grief. Hard, ugly grief. But it’s not psychosis. Eddie doesn’t—that’s not something he deals with. “Yeah,” he says, scoffing. “Okay.”

-

Eddie can’t stop staring at the knife block.

He doesn’t know why. He isn’t planning on doing anything with it. He would never do that. But he can’t stop looking.

If Buck tried to hurt him, what would he do? He can’t hurt Buck. How is he supposed to protect himself? Why did Buck leave the knives out? Is Buck banking on him hurting himself so he can be hospitalized? 

He takes the block and hides it under the sink.

-

He doesn’t let Buck take care of Chris anymore.

He forces himself to get up. It’s hard, but it’s getting easier. Eddie will do it for Chris. He will do it so Buck can’t. No more cooking breakfast for them. No more tucking Chris in at night. No more driving him to school. That’s Eddie’s job. No one is going to take it away from him, no matter how much Chris loves Buck.

-

He still hears Buck at night. 

It’s starting to scare him. He’s louder now. Meaner. He says things Eddie can’t believe anyone would ever think. Things Eddie can’t even repeat. 

-

Eddie just wants it to stop. How long is this going to last? Things were supposed to be better by now.

-

Eddie, for the first time in a while, decides to tell the truth. The anger has given way to despair so quickly he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I have something to tell you,” he says.

Richard waits for him to go on.

Eddie sighs. “I lied to you.”

“About what?” he probes.

“I—When you asked me if I was hearing voices. I said no.”

“And you are hearing voices?” 

Eddie tears up, placing his face in his hands. “Yeah. Um. For a while now,” he admits.

“I’m sorry about that. That sounds rough,” Richard says. “Are these voices distressing?”

“It’s always Buck. I mean, sometimes I hear a clock ticking, but the voice—it’s always Buck. But—not Buck. He’s mean to me.”

“Is real Buck ever mean to you?” he asks.

“No. Never.” He sniffles, face crumpling. “And I’ve been so mean to him. I keep—I don’t know what to do. It’s like I get so angry. Sometimes, I look at him and I see my best friend, and sometimes I see—I see—”

“You see the version of Buck that’s mean to you.”

“Yeah. I, um. I don’t know what to do.” 

Richard hums. “Well, to me, it sounds like you’re experiencing all the classic symptoms of psychosis. Paranoia, delusions, hallucinations. This is exactly what I brought up on our first session, so I’m curious what changed.”

“I just…I got scared.”

“Scared of what, exactly?”

“Scared of a lot of things. Scared Buck is gonna hurt me. Scared of the things he says to me at night. Scared of what I might do if I get worse.”

“That does sound very scary,” Richard says. “Do you ever see Buck when he’s not there?”

“No. But, uh—sometimes I feel him.”

“You feel him touching you?”

Eddie nods.

“In what way?” he asks.

“It’s nice. It feels like how Buck touches me in real life. Or—” He furrows his brows. “I don’t know if I should call this real life or not. I don’t—I don’t know.”

Richard hums again. “Well, let’s think about this. I could make you an appointment with a psychiatrist and have you undergo an assessment. We could consider putting you on psychiatric meds. Antipsychotics are a great tool, and they could help you. Or…we could discuss the possibility of hospitalization.”

Eddie sniffs. “I don’t want to be hospitalized.”

Richard looks at him sadly. “No one wants to be hospitalized, Eddie. But sometimes it’s not safe to be on our own, and we need a little extra care. Have you had thoughts of hurting yourself?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Others?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not lying this time, I swear. I told you everything. I just—I’m not gonna do anything crazy. I don’t need to be hospitalized, I just need help.”

“Alright, Eddie,” he says quietly. “Let’s make that appointment then.”

-

Eddie does the assessment. He talks to Dr. Garcia. And she says—

“‘Major Depressive Disorder,’” Eddie says. He pauses, unsure if he should say the next part. “‘With psychotic features.’”

Buck is shocked into silence. “...Okay. Okay, well that's good, right? I mean, not good but…that means they know how to help.”

Eddie can’t look at Buck. This is all wrong. The alarm bells have graduated to sirens. Something is off. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

“What do they want to do?” Buck asks.

“They prescribed antipsychotics. Seroquel. I’m supposed to pick them up tomorrow.”

Buck breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s great. That’s amazing, Eddie. You’re gonna take them, right?”

Eddie’s throat feels tight. He can’t breathe. He can’t look away from the clock on the wall. “Yeah,” he says.

“Okay, good. I know this is scary, but this is how things get better, okay? One day at a time.”

“Yep. One day at a time,” Eddie repeats.

-

Of course. Of-fucking-course. How could Eddie be so stupid? He was so caught up in who Buck used to be that he forgot how bad things have gotten. He forgot who Buck is now. 

He is not taking those meds. He can’t. That’s exactly what Buck wants. He wants him to be sedated and easy to manipulate. He wants to suppress him. He was too happy when he found out Eddie was prescribed medication. Fuck. How could Eddie be so stupid?

He grabs the pill as Buck watches, back turned, and places it in his mouth. He downs a cup of water, but the pill doesn’t go down. “Happy?” Eddie mumbles.

Buck watches him for a long moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, that’s good, Eds. This is good.”

“Yep.”

“Tell me if you start feeling bad, okay?”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

“Are you…mad at me?” Buck asks. “For making you take the meds?”

“Nope,” Eddie lies. “I just have to pee really bad and you’re holding me hostage in the kitchen. Can I go now?”

“Of—Of course. Sorry,” Buck says, taking a step back. Eddie rushes past him, shutting the door behind him and spitting the pill into the toilet. He feels a sense of satisfaction at the sight. He did it. He didn’t get caught. He didn’t have to take it. Now he just has to keep doing this, and he’ll get to keep being himself. He’ll get to keep his—his sanity. He can relax now.

Except—he can’t, because Buck is still here. 

But he’ll adapt. He’ll learn how to deal with it. He’ll find a way to get Buck out, or maybe figure out how to rid Buck of this—this demon that’s inside of him. Eddie will not back down. He can’t believe he was ever going to let himself lose.

Eddie keeps this routine up. He finds different ways to avoid taking the medication, and once Buck has gotten comfortable enough, Eddie doesn’t even need to lie. Buck isn’t even watching him take them anymore. He won. 

-

Buck has his arms wrapped around Eddie, with his face buried in the back of Eddie’s neck. Like this, Eddie almost forgets all that’s happened over the past couple months. It’s nice. Buck’s touch is soothing and warm, and Eddie blinks sleepily, exhaustion overtaking him. He wouldn’t normally let Buck lay in bed with him nowadays, but he had a really, really bad day—with the clock ticking loudly in his ears all day long, taunting him—and he just…he really needs a hug. And he needs Buck to think he’s okay. He doesn’t want to give him another reason to try to hospitalize him again.

“Miss you, Eddie,” Buck mumbles against his skin.

Eddie frowns. “I’m here.”

Buck just hums, squeezing Eddie tighter. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re here. Things are okay.”

Eddie shudders as Buck places a kiss to the back of his neck. They do this sometimes, though it’s been a while; Eddie tries not to think too hard about it. Eddie closes his eyes. He misses Buck. He misses the way it used to be. He misses trusting him. He misses feeling like Buck loved him. So he says, “I love you.”

Buck is quiet for a long moment. “Goodnight, Eddie,” he says, and then he turns the lamp off.

And of course, that’s exactly what he knew would happen. Buck doesn’t love him; he hasn’t for a while. Whatever’s inside him doesn’t love Eddie. Eddie stiffens, the arms around him suddenly feeling suffocating. He needs to stop doing this. He needs to stop letting himself relax. He can’t do that until this threat is gone. Until Buck is back to normal.

But maybe he never will be again. Maybe whatever’s inside Buck will never leave; maybe it’s taken a permanent home in him. Maybe something is wrong with Buck. Maybe—

Maybe Bobby’s death broke him. Maybe he’s lost his mind.

He can’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep, not with Buck laying beside him. 

He has to find a way to fix this. He has to; he can’t continue to let Buck do whatever he wants around him. Around Chris. He can’t.

-

It’s been days. Days of Eddie wracking his brain for what to do about Buck and wishing he could go back to work. Wishing Buck would go back to work so he could have some time alone.

Eddie is trying to make a glass of milk. He needs to sleep, he can recognize that at least, but he doesn’t think he can sit in the kitchen and wait for tea to brew right now, so milk it is.

Eddie is trying to make a glass of milk, but when he pulls a glass out of the cupboard, his hands shake so badly his grip weakens and he drops it straight on the ground.

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles, letting out a shaky breath. He kneels down, reaching to pick up the shards of glass, but he’s too clumsy and too frantic and a piece pierces right into his skin, slicing across his palm and drawing blood.

Eddie yanks his hand back, wincing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers, gritting his teeth. “No. Not now.”

And of course, because Eddie is the unluckiest man in the world, Buck walks into the kitchen.

He freezes when he sees him, eyes widening. “What—What are you doing?”

“I dropped it,” Eddie says, gesturing to the half-broken glass.

Buck looks pained. Like he’s trying to keep down everything he’s feeling. “Eddie,” he whispers, shaking his head slowly.

“I dropped it, Buck. It was an accident,” Eddie says, probably sounding more defensive than he meant to.

“You—” A million emotions flicker across Buck’s face. “I don’t know if I believe you,” he admits. 

Eddie scoffs. “Buck. Jesus Christ. I didn’t try to kill myself in the kitchen. Are you serious? I thought we were past this.”

“Eddie,” Buck says softly.

“I didn’t. I—” He inhales sharply. “I swear to God. I didn’t.”

Buck stares for a moment, eyes filling up with tears. “Okay,” he says, voice just above a whisper.

“Okay? Can you relax?” Eddie snaps.

“Can I relax? No, Eddie, I can’t relax. I—” His breath hitches. “You know what? Okay, Eds. I believe you.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Buck says. He’s lying; Eddie can tell a Buck lie from anywhere. It’s how he knows Buck has been lying to him for months. It’s how he knows this is not Buck; not the Buck he knows, anyway.

Eddie watches him for a moment. He looks terrified—eyes wide, hands beginning to shake at his sides, matching Eddie’s. Buck doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t believe him. He thinks he’s so far gone he’d self-harm in the kitchen in the middle of the night. And he probably wishes that was the case. He wishes Eddie would do something drastic so he could take Chris away. “I didn’t do this, Buck. It was an accident,” he repeats.

“Okay, man. I hear you. Let me help you bandage it up.”

Eddie takes a step back. “No.”

“No?”

“No, I got it. Don’t worry.” He looks to the counter. The knife block has been replaced. “You can go to sleep.”

Buck swallows. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you. It was nice the other night, right?”

Sure you do, Eddie wants to say. He doesn’t, though. “Okay, Buck. Sure.”

Buck beams, says goodnight, then leaves the kitchen.

-

When Eddie next walks into the kitchen, Buck is putting a lock on the medicine cabinet. 

He’s putting a lock on the medicine cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Buck’s eyes widen. He looks like he’s been caught. Anger tears at Eddie’s chest. Of-fucking-course. “Eddie…”

“I told you I’m not gonna do anything. I’m not gonna hurt myself. Why would I do that?”

“And I believe you,” Buck assures. “It’s just a precaution.”

Eddie huffs out a breath. He can’t do this. He can’t keep pretending like what is obviously happening isn’t happening. “Why are you even still pretending to care?” he asks, voice low. “You can drop the act.”

Buck freezes, full-body turning towards him. “What?”

“Just stop,” Eddie says.

“Why would I be doing this if I didn’t care?”

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat. “So you’d look better when something happens to me. You’d look like the hero.”

Buck’s mouth falls open. “I—Eddie, what? What are you talking about?”

Eddie scoffs, tearing up. He can’t believe Buck would do this to him—can’t believe Buck is treating him like this. What happened to the Buck he loves? He misses him so much it’s tearing his heart apart. “You’d love it if I was gone. I’m in the way, right? Should I just go up to the roof? How does that sound? That’s what you want, right? Or do you want it to be cleaner? Want me to—”

Buck barely has time to respond to that before he’s rushing forward, forcefully grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands. “Stop,” he says definitively. “Fucking stop, Eddie. Don’t—Don’t say that.”

Eddie frowns. “Let go of me,” he says sharply, trying to pull himself from Buck’s grasp.

“Don’t fucking say that, Eddie. You know I wouldn’t—” He seems to choke on his words, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t survive if something happened to you. That’s not an exaggeration. I wouldn’t survive.”

Eddie grins humorlessly. “I think you’d manage.”

Buck shakes his head again, tearing up. “I wouldn’t. And you’re not in the way.”

“Buck.”

Buck licks his lips, thinking. “Um. Your meds…I know you haven’t been taking them, Eddie. Realized a few days ago. Counted all the meds in the bottle. I don’t know why you aren’t, but, I, um—” He laughs, though it doesn’t look like he finds anything funny. “I need you to try. Please.”

Eddie huffs. “I know what you’re doing. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but something must be. You didn’t used to be like this. I know you want to—to suppress my—” He cuts himself off, watching Buck, who’s sniffling. “Buck. Stop.”

Buck remains quiet, staring, before bursting into a sob. “Eddie, please. Please try this. For me? Please, I want you to get better. I want you to be okay. I love you. I’m—” He stares at him, eyes wide. “I’m really scared. Can you hear me right now? I don’t want to lose you.”

Eddie is quiet. Buck’s never said he loves him before—he thinks, though he’s having a hard time remembering. Buck wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it. 

Would he? Eddie doesn’t know. 

He stares for a long time, flinching at the flash of lightning through the window. Buck’s lower lip wobbles, and suddenly, all at once, he feels bad. Was he wrong? Is this Buck? Is Buck just trying to help him? God, what is going on? “What if it doesn’t work?” he asks quietly. “What if it makes things worse?”

Buck shakes his head. “I don’t think it can get much worse. Could you please just try? For—” He chokes on a sob, running his hand over his face. “For me?” he repeats. “So I can sleep at night?”

Eddie frowns. Buck looks exhausted. Guilt tears at him. Still, he can feel doubt trying to claw its way to the forefront of his brain. What if this is a trick?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe Buck is right. Maybe he should just listen. “Okay,” he says reluctantly. “Okay, I will. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says. And then, “I love you,” he repeats.

Eddie clenches his jaw together. He doesn’t know what to think. “I love you, too.”

-

The first time Eddie actually takes his meds, he almost cries.

Buck is watching him closely, standing directly in front of him. Eddie swallows it down, then lifts his tongue, showing that it’s not still in his mouth. “I swallowed it, Buck. I swear.”

“Good,” Buck says quietly. “This is really good, Eddie. Are you okay?”

“Nervous,” Eddie admits.

“Don’t be. Just keep monitoring for side effects, and let me know, okay?”

Eddie nods. He can do this. He can get better. “Okay,” he agrees.

-

Eddie is sleepy. 

That’s mostly it for the first few days. He can’t stop sleeping. He’s less angry, mostly because he feels sedated. 

He’s still sad, though. That hasn’t gone away.

-

Eddie doesn’t hear Buck anymore. The realization makes him tear up. It’s been months. He hasn’t had a quiet night in months. He also doesn’t hear—

“Wait, Buck,” Eddie says, laying on Buck’s lap on the couch. He still isn’t sure if he trusts him, but he’s starting to think he does. “When did the clock break?”

Buck hums. “Couple months ago. Why?”

Eddie sits straight up, eyes going wide. “What?” he asks. “Months?”

“Yeah, it broke while you were in El Paso.” He squints. “Why?” he repeats.

“I’ve been hearing that fucking clock for months,” he says, and for some reason, the idea of it is almost funny. “I can’t believe that was all in my head.”

“For months?”

“Since maybe two weeks after I got back to LA,” Eddie confirms.

“Jesus,” Buck mutters. “I didn’t think you could actually hear the clock. I thought it just bothered you.”

“Oh, I could definitely hear the clock. Was driving me fucking crazy.” 

“And you can’t hear it now?” Buck asks.

“Nope.”

“Do you…hear anything?” he asks. Eddie knows what Buck is doing; knows he’s trying to assess him. For the first time in a while, it doesn’t scare him. He feels himself relax. 

“Nope,” he says, grinning. “I don’t hear anything.”

Buck’s face splits in a smile. “It’s working, Eddie. I told you this was the right choice.”

Eddie feels all warm and gooey inside, which is a feeling he hasn’t felt looking at Buck in a very long time. He missed this. “Yeah. It was.”

-

Eddie feels better with the hallucinations gone, but he’s still fucking miserable. He’s still sad, and he finds himself crying when he’s alone. He misses working. He misses not feeling like this. He misses not feeling guilty about all the things he said and felt and did when he was losing his mind.

They’re sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Eddie tries watching the movie. He does. But suddenly he can’t stop thinking about how miserable he is and how much his head hurts and how his chest won’t stop fucking aching and before he realizes it big fat tears are rolling down his cheeks against his will. He sobs, placing his face in his hands.  

He hears the sound of the television volume muting, and then before he knows it Buck is kneeling in front of him instead of sitting beside him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice soft. “Are you okay?”

“I—Yes. Yes, yeah, sorry, I just...I didn’t mean to cry.” It's juvenile, and Eddie feels stupid for saying something so obvious. He can’t stop feeling that way. Stupid. Childish. “God, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, we’re not doing that anymore,” Buck interrupts. His voice is soft but firm, and Eddie feels a flash of comfort for a moment. “We’re talking to each other now, right?”

Eddie takes a deep shaky breath. “I just—” He doesn’t want to admit it. He should be patient; shouldn’t worry Buck before necessary. But Buck says they tell each other the truth now, and Eddie is so tired of arguing with him. “I don’t feel better.”

Buck seems to think for a long moment. “Yeah, but you will,” he says carefully. “And—And if not, we try something else, yeah?”

“What if I don’t?” he asks before he can think twice about it. “Buck, I don’t think I've felt normal since…” He thinks. Not before Bobby died, when he was in Texas. Not when he met Buck. Not when Chris was born, or when Adriana was born. Not when he was five years old and his great uncle died and he thought about what it’d be like to be buried. “...Since I was a baby. I don’t know if I’m capable of it.”

“You are,” Buck responds quickly.

Eddie continues on. “And I want this to end. It has to end one way or another. I—I’m tired of it. I’m done.”

He’s looking down at his lap, so he doesn’t see Buck’s reaction to that, but he does feel him grab his hands, squeezing them. “Eddie,” he says after a moment. “What? What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t know,” he says, and he really doesn’t. His head feels clearer, but he’s still so fucking sad. “I just—”

“I need you here,” Buck interrupts. His hands are shaking. “If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Um. Please?” He rubs a thumb over Eddie’s hand, and then adds, “I need you.”

Suddenly, Eddie realizes what this sounds like. How does he keep implying this? “Buck. No, that’s not…I’m not going anywhere, I just…”

“How do I believe you?” Buck asks, and Eddie looks up at him then. No matter what, Buck looks at Eddie like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Eddie wants to know what he sees. How he can feel that way when Eddie’s been so hateful towards him for months. “I want to, Eds, I do, but how? Tell me how.” 

“I—” Because I love you. Because I wouldn’t do that to you. “Believe that I know what that would do to you. Believe that.”

Buck is silent. Finally, he says, “Okay. P—Promise me. Promise me you wouldn’t do anything to hurt yourself. I know promises don’t mean anything, but I need to hear it.”

“I promise. I promise that’s not what I meant. I promise I would never.”

Buck gasps in a breath. “I love you,” he whispers.

The words hit Eddie like a brick. He wants to say it back so badly it hurts. Still, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop the rest of the words that would follow. I love you. I’m in love with you. He knows this now; can feel it down to his bones. He’s always loved Buck. It feels good to be home again. “I—You’re my best friend.” 

“I know,” Buck replies, and part of Eddie thinks Buck knows everything.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Buck stiffens. “Don’t start talking like that, Eddie. It scares me.”

Eddie closes his eyes softly. “That’s not what I mean,” he assures. “I just want to make sure you hear it.” 

“I hear it. I—”

“You promise?” Eddie asks.

“I promise,” Buck says.

-

Buck reads over something he’s written on a sheet of paper. “Okay,” he says, fidgeting with his reading glasses, “you’re gonna say you’ve been having an increased feeling of hopelessness. They’re gonna ask questions to assess for suicide risk, and you’re gonna say you don’t have a plan.” Buck looks at him then. “You don’t have a plan, right?”

Eddie lets out a breath. “No, Buck. I don’t have a plan.”

“Okay. Good. Um. Yeah, that’s about it. Keep it short. Ask Dr. Garcia what she thinks you should do.”

Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. “Okay. Got it.”

When he tells Dr. Garcia this, she doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright. Any thoughts or suicide or self-harm?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No.”

“Do you have a plan for how you would end your life?”

“No.”

“Have you had any thoughts recently that you would be better off dead or gone?”

That question stumps Eddie. “No?”

She looks up at him. “‘No?’”

“I mean—No.”

“Mr. Diaz, have you had any thoughts like that recently?”

Eddie sighs. “A little,” he admits.

“Elaborate.”

“I—Just that it’d be better if I was gone. Because it—hurts.”

“But you don’t have a plan?”

“I’m not actually gonna do it,” Eddie says.

“Okay. Any history of suicide in your family?” 

Eddie wonders how psychiatrists do it. Every therapist he’s ever talked to has made him feel so seen; every psychiatrist he’s talked to might as well have been replaced by a robot.

“I don’t know. My mom has depression, but I don't think so.”

Dr. Garcia sighs. “Okay. You’ve been on this medication for two weeks. That’s not a long amount of time. We’re not going to up your dose until we know for sure this one isn’t working for you, so we’re going to move your next appointment to a week from now so we can check up on you soon. And…” She flips through the sheets on her clipboard, grabbing one and pulling it out. “This—” She hands it to Eddie. “This is a list of resources for how to cope with that hopeless feeling, and then resources for what to do if you do start having suicidal thoughts. There are numbers on there to call. How does that sound?”

Eddie looks down at the sheet of paper. The solution really is to just wait. He's a little disappointed. “Yep. Sounds good.”

-

Chris furrows his eyebrows at him over his cereal bowl. “Are you okay? You’ve been napping for, like, days.”

Eddie hesitates. A part of him wants to shield Chris from this, but he knows there’s no point. Chris is old enough to see the effects; he’s old enough to know the cause. “I...started a new medication. So I’m having some side effects. But they should go away.” 

“Oh,” Chris says, taking a bite. “That’s why you're all...spacey.”

Buck chuckles lightly. “Chris.”

“Spacey?” Eddie probes, putting his chin in his hand.

Chris nods. “Yeah, you keep zoning out. I mean, you’ve been like that, but it’s worse right now.”

Eddie frowns. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry. I'll be back to normal in no time.”

Chris twists his lips, thinking. “The meds are for your depression?”

Eddis blinks. He’s taken aback; he hadn’t told Chris he was depressed—hadn’t even considered it. “How did you know about that?”

“You stopped going to work. You lay in bed all day.” He shrugs. “I get it. Bobby died.”

Eddie loves this kid so fucking much he can hardly stand it. No wonder his love for him threw him into delusion. “I’m sorry you figured that out, Chris. You shouldn’t have to deal with that. I should’ve—I should’ve been there more for you, and I’m sorry.”

Chris looks at him weird. “Uh, you’ve been there for me plenty. You actually won’t stop being there for me.”

Eddie is reminded of nights spent staying up watching Chris, the accusations he’d thrown at Buck over him. “I—Yeah, I guess.” He pauses. “Hey, you’re so smart, you know that?”

Chris chuckles, reaching to drink his milk out of the bowl. “Yeah, I’m not five.”

Eddie laughs. Genuinely laughs, easy and uncontrollable, and Chris and Buck both pause, watching for a second, before a smile splits both of their faces. “Yeah, buddy,” he says eventually. “You’re not five. You’re right.”

“There it is,” Buck says, balling his hand into a fist and reaching his hand out. Eddie fist-bumps him, smiling. 

“Feels like I haven’t seen you smile in years,” Chris mumbles. “It’s cool,” he says nonchalantly.

Eddie chuckles again. “Thanks, Chris. It is pretty cool,” he agrees.

-

Eddie lies on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Buck is beside him, eyes closed, but Eddie knows he’s not asleep yet, because if he was he’d be snoring. “Buck,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Buck frowns, opening his eyes. “For what?”

Eddie shrugs. “For everything. I have no idea how you don’t hate me.”

Buck turns towards Eddie, lying on his side. His eyebrows furrow, like he’s genuinely confused. “For—For being sick? Why would I hate you for that?” 

Eddie shakes his head. He puts his face in his hands. “I was so mean to you.”

“No, you—you had no idea what you were saying. You were hurting. It hurt me to see you like that.” He pauses, then clarifies, “Not because you were mean, but because I care about you. You thought I was trying to hurt you. I can’t imagine how that felt.”

“Didn’t feel good,” he admits, “but that’s not an excuse.”

“Maybe that’s true. But I forgive you.” He gently grabs Eddie’s jaw, turning him towards his face. “Do you hear me? I forgive you. So stop beating yourself up. We’re not gonna do that anymore.”

Eddie giggles at the feeling of Buck’s warm fingers grazing his skin. “When did you become the mentally stable one?” 

Buck snorts. “Oh, I’m not. I just don’t think you’ve noticed I’ve been losing it. Which—I do not blame you for.”

“It’s okay if you do,” Eddie whispers. “I know it was hard.”

Buck smiles softly. “Eddie, I love you. You’re my best friend. I don’t care how sick you are. I don’t care if you kill someone. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

Eddie sets his forehead against Buck’s, taking a deep breath in. “I hope you know the feeling is mutual.”

Buck’s smiles wide this time, all teeth. “Yeah, I know.” A pause, and then, “So, uh, when I kill your parents, you'll cover for me?”

Eddie gasps. “Buck!”

Buck giggles. “I’m kidding.” 

“You are losing it.”

Buck shakes his head, still smiling. “Shut up, man. Goodnight.”

Eddie tucks his face in Buck’s neck, nuzzling into him. “Goodnight.”

-

Eddie sits on the grass, looking up at the sky. “Hey,” he whispers. “I haven’t talked to you in a while. I, um—I probably won't ever again. It’s not good for me. I don’t want to—to get as bad as I was. But I have to tell you something.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to gather the strength to say the words.

“I’m gay.”

Now that it’s out in the open, it feels a little less scary; like the weight of it has been taken off. His shoulder sag in relief.

“I realized a while ago, I just…I didn’t have time to think about it. I don’t know if you noticed, but I've been a little busy losing my mind.” He laughs, running a hand over his face. “But, um—Yeah. I’m gay. I know I should tell you. Like actual you. But I—can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to tell anyone.”

He shakes his head as tears spring to his eyes, forcing them away. He will not cry. He’s cried enough. “I also—I love you,” he says, voice wobbling. “Romantically. And I feel fucking terrible for—for putting you through this. I know it wasn’t my fault. I was sick—really sick. But I just can't stop thinking that I could’ve…maybe if you didn’t have to take care of me you would’ve been happier. I don't know. That’s probably not a thought process worth going down. I wish I could tell you how much I love you. I wish we could be together. I wish we could get married.” He starts to tear up again, and he can’t find it in himself to stop it. “But we can’t. And that's okay. I need time to—to pull myself together.”

A bird chirps from nearby, and Eddie relishes in the sound; he hasn’t been outside much lately, and he missed it. “So maybe one day. Maybe one day I’ll tell you, and hopefully you’ll feel the same. But not right now.” He pauses, licking his lips. “I love you, Buck. I’m—I’m gonna go now. Gonna go inside and eat dinner with you. But we won’t talk like this ever again, so I had to get this out.” He lets out a breath, standing up. “Goodbye. Even though you were kinda the worst.”

Inside, Buck tilts his head at him. “What were you doing on the lawn?” he asks.

He shrugs. “Looking at the birds,” he lies. “You ready to eat?”

“Breakfast for dinner?” Chris yells from his room.

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah, Chris! Breakfast for dinner!”

“Score!”

Buck laughs, a smile splitting his face. “We had pancakes this morning. He is insatiable.”

Eddie smiles fondly. “Hey, before I forget, I had a question—”

“Yeah?” Buck asks.

“Would you wanna go back to work? I know it may seem too soon, but I think—”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe light duty for me for a while,” Eddie admits. “But you should go back. I know you’re going crazy in here.”

Buck huffs out a laugh. “A little,” he says.

“So…?”

He twists his lips in thought. “So we will revisit this conversation later.”

Chris appears from his bedroom then, making his way towards them. “Can you guys stop talking so we can eat? I’m starving.”

Eddie smiles, squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “Later,” he whispers in Buck’s ear.

That night, at dinner-breakfast, Eddie thinks. He thinks about how hard the past few months have been. He worries he may relapse one day. He worries he’ll never fully feel normal.

But these are his boys. And he loves them. And they won’t ever get to a point where they can’t help each other. So no matter what happens, things will be okay. He will recover. He will fight his way back to stability, and he will work hard to maintain it.

And one day, when he’s ready, he’ll tell Buck he loves him. He’ll get down on one knee, and he’ll propose, and they’ll finally get to be together. He won’t ever doubt Buck’s love for him again.

But that day isn’t today. And that’s okay—because he’ll get there.