Buck has spent months telling himself that as long as Eddie and Christopher were happy, he was happy for them. And they deserve to be happy, nobody deserves happiness as much as them. He could live with that. He never quite convinced himself that last part was true, but God he tried.
Then Eddie was reaching out to Buck across the asphalt from a growing pool of his own blood. And Buck's never felt so stupid in his entire goddamn life.
He should have told him. He should have told Eddie he's in love with him. Has been in love with him. Will always be in love with him. He should have told him and now it might be--
Well. He should have told him.
But he didn't. Buck kept that knowledge to himself, tucked up tight and safe, a secret constantly smoldering beneath his breastbone. And now somebody shot Eddie.
Eddie's been shot, again, and this time Buck had to watch. This time Buck was standing right there and there was nothing he could do but feel the hot spray of blood on his face and stare.
This is the second time in a year that he's had to watch Eddie almost die and not be able to do anything except hope. Eddie might still--
Anyway. Buck should have told him. But he didn't.
Buck didn't ever say a goddamn thing to Eddie about how he's so in love with him that sometimes he feels like he's losing his grip on reality. Eddie is his favorite person in the entire world and the only reason anyone else even comes close is because Christopher and Maddie and Jee-Yun exist.
But that's not the same kind of love at all. And he's known that for a long time. He would die for any of them, for anyone of his family from the 118, but he would live for Eddie.
Buck wants to be around Eddie all the time. Wants to swallow him whole. Wants to tunnel into Eddie's body and make a home there. Wants to hold his hand. Wants to hug him. Wants to kiss him. Wants to sleep with him, in every sense of the word. Wants to live with him. Wants to buy a house with a big yard out back with him. Wants to put a ring on his finger. Wants to adopt his son.
Buck wants to stand up in front of all their friends and say till death do us part and then he wants that death to be at the same time decades and decades from now when they're both old and gray and complaining about how their joints and old injuries ache when the weather gets as cold as it ever does in southern California.
Buck wants. Buck has spent his entire life wanting.
There have been times when he thought that maybe Eddie might feel the same way someday. Hands lingering a hairsbreadth too long, bodies moving in concert without a need for words, eyes meeting easily across a crowded room. So many times there had been a whisper of perhaps.
But this is real life, not daydreams. In real life, outside of his imagination, Buck rarely gets anything that he wants. Not the big stuff.
Not parents who love him, or a flesh and blood family to call his own, or someone who stays. People leave. Buck's left standing.
That's how life works.
And now Buck is standing outside the swinging doors at the hospital. They wouldn't let him go any further. He tried, still holding onto Eddie's hand as they got out of the ambulance, but they wouldn't let him.
Doctors aren't the same as first responders. The paramedics let Buck hold Eddie's hand the entire ambulance ride. They understood.
It's dangerous to separate partners.
But this is a hospital, not the 118 or a bullet-riddled street or the back of an ambulance. They don't care about partners here. The doctors and nurses rolled the gurney away and one of them paused just long enough to tell Buck they'd keep him updated, but it was a halfhearted afterthought.
Buck's been one of Eddie's emergency contacts for years and his medical proxy since Abuela's health scare early on in the pandemic, but he doesn't have a lot of faith that they'll actually keep him updated.
He's spent too much time in hospitals to expect that.
They whisked Eddie's too-pale, too-still body through the swinging double doors where Buck can't follow. They take him to an operating room.
In the operating room they will cut Eddie open and see inside of him and they won't know because they don't know Eddie. They don't know Eddie like Buck knows Eddie. They don't know that he will fight with every ounce of strength left in him to get back to his son. He's done it before.
Buck needs him to do it again.
Or maybe the doctors and nurses will know. Maybe they'll know when they see the scars on his other shoulder. The scars from the last time someone thought they could shoot Eddie Diaz and leave Christopher without his father.
Maybe they will look at Eddie and understand how important it is that he lives. And maybe if they are all very, very lucky and everyone has a really good day they will stitch Eddie back together.
Maybe Eddie's heart will keep beating and his lungs will keep filling with air and his hands, hands that hold his son and comfort victims and rest so gently on the curve of Buck's neck when he says, Buck, there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you, well then maybe his hands won't grow cold and stay that way.
Maybe.
Eddie's blood is still only half-dried where it covers Buck's face and neck. His shirt is warm and slick and tacky with it. There was so much blood. So much blood on Buck and on the road and in the ambulance, and not nearly enough in Eddie's body.
Buck has no idea how long he's been standing there before a steady, familiar hand curls around his shoulder.
"Captain Mehta called and told me what happened."
Bobby. Bobby's here. That's good.
Bobby's good at telling Buck what needs to be done. Buck isn't always good at following Bobby's orders, but he is good at listening to them. He tries so hard to do what Bobby wants.
"Buck? Buck, can you hear me?"
And Buck doesn't actually know when Bobby went from putting his hand on Buck's shoulder to standing in front of him with a familiar, worried expression. One hand is still on Buck's shoulder, but the other is lightly touching Buck's face.
There's still blood on Buck's face. Eddie's blood.
There was so much blood.
"Yeah."
The single syllable scrapes out of his throat so raw and quiet it sounds like he's been screaming.
He thinks maybe he was.
There are moments between Yeah, that'd be gre-- and Buck becoming fully aware of what was happening in the ambulance that are just flashes.
Eddie's eyes not leaving Buck's until he couldn't hold them open any longer, the pool of blood growing beneath his head.
Mehta losing his grip on Buck as he flailed and finally broke free to get to Eddie, uncaring if there was another bullet with Buck's name on it.
Buck without Eddie wouldn't make sense anyway.
Eddie's pained gasp as Buck apologized over and over, but never let up from keeping pressure on the wound.
In the US Army Field Manual, there is an entire section on basic survival medicine. Buck had found Eddie's beat up copy one night while he was babysitting Christopher.
Eddie and Ana were having a dinner date at the Italian place Buck took Eddie and Christopher to last year after Christopher got all A's on his second quarter report card. Buck had been puttering around the house, tidying, trying to distract himself from thinking about Eddie and Ana sitting in one of the cozy booths ever since he'd put Christopher to bed.
The field manual had been innocuously tucked on the living room shelf between a dogeared copy of The Forever War and the paperback copy of the first Enchanted Forest Chronicles book that Buck bought Chris on his eighth birthday.
Buck had picked up the manual and flipped through it. There was a section of about eight pages torn out about a third of the way through, and most of the remaining pages were marred with something, be it wrinkles or smudges. Some of them looked like mud or dirt or even just ink. Some of them looked like blood.
Buck tried very hard not to think about all the places the manual had been, all the places Eddie had been when he'd needed it.
Severe bleeding from any major blood vessel in the body is extremely dangerous. The loss of 1 liter of blood will produce moderate symptoms of shock. The loss of 2 liters will produce a severe state of shock that places the body in extreme danger. The loss of 3 liters is usually fatal.
Three liters is usually fatal.
There had been so much blood.
In a survival situation, you must control serious bleeding immediately because replacement fluids normally are not available and the victim can die within a matter of minutes. The most effective way to control external bleeding is by applying pressure directly over the wound.
He can still hear Eddie's pained gasp when Buck applied pressure to his wound. He thinks he'll be hearing it whenever he closes his eyes for a long time.
This pressure must not only be firm enough to stop the bleeding, but it must also be maintained long enough to "seal off" the damaged surface.
Buck just kept telling Eddie he was there, that he had him, that he was sorry. That help was coming. That everything would be fine and that this would be another story to add to the compendium of tales Eddie can use to get free rounds, not that Eddie has ever once tried to use his heroics for free drinks, but Buck teases him about the possibility often enough.
Buck never let up on the pressure. Never looked away.
Control panic, both your own and the victim's. Reassure him and try to keep him quiet. Perform a rapid physical exam. Look for the cause of the injury and follow the ABCs of first aid.
Finding the cause of the injury was not difficult. Controlling Eddie's panic was not difficult, because Eddie did not panic.
Eddie just stared up at Buck with pain in his eyes and he did not look away.
Eddie didn't look away even when the paramedics took over putting pressure on the wound and Buck was put in charge of holding Eddie's hand. He didn't look away as they loaded him onto the backboard, or the gurney, or into the ambulance. He didn't look away until Buck's hand was pried off of Eddie's and they disappeared with Eddie through the swinging double doors.
Control panic.
No, Buck saw pain and fear and something that looked terrifyingly like regret on Eddie's face, but he never saw panic.
"Buck, I think you're having a panic attack."
He doesn't know how much time passes before he comes back to himself this time. Bobby's hand is a warm pressure at the nape of his neck. He's sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room.
There is a clock ticking somewhere nearby. It counts the seconds and minutes and soon it will count the hours since a bullet ripped through Eddie's body.
Since Buck froze, unable to comprehend what had happened. Since Eddie fell, and Mehta tackled, and Buck and Eddie reached uselessly towards each other across a chasm that felt wider than the Grand Canyon.
"That's it, you're doing great, Buck. Just keep breathing with me."
Buck can hear his breath slowing to a rattling wheeze in his chest.
"I need you to drink some of this if you can."
Bobby presses a cool bottle of water into Buck's hands. The cap is already off, which is good, because Buck feels like he's swimming through molasses and his body's not working right. He didn't even realize his hands were shaking until he spills some of the water down his chin as he finally raises it to his mouth.
"That's it, just another couple of sips."
Another couple of sips, a few shaky breaths, and then he's finally locking eyes with Bobby.
"There was so much blood."
Bobby's eyes are the kind of tight and bright that means he's trying so damn hard not to cry in front of a victim's loved one.
It's his I'm sorry for your loss face.
Bobby is not supposed to be looking at Buck with that face. He's supposed to be telling Buck that everything is going to be fine.
The loss of 3 liters is usually fatal.
"The doctors are doing everything they can." Bobby sits down in the chair next to Buck. "And Eddie's a fighter."
"Bobby, I don't. I can't. Somebody shot Eddie." Buck's voice cracks on Eddie's name.
Oh.
Buck didn't just have a panic attack. Buck's in shock. That's why he feels so cold and floaty. He should probably make an emergency appointment with Dr. Copeland. He'll add it to the list, right after--
"I need to tell Christopher."
"The only thing you need to do right now," Bobby isn't using his captain voice and Buck can't figure out why that's scaring him, "is to finish drinking that bottle of water. Then we're going to get you cleaned up and have somebody take a look at you. Mehta says you got rattled around pretty good when he tackled you. You banged into the truck before you hit the asphalt."
And that's when Buck realizes that Bobby is using his sad father voice. It is soft and firm and it comes from the unending wellspring of kindness and faith that lives at the very core of Bobby.
Buck's heard him use it with Harry and May, and on the rare occasions he's talked about Brooke and Robert Jr. Buck's heard it when he was in the hospital drugged out of his mind with his leg in a sling as Bobby's hand moved slow and gentle through Buck's filthy curls.
But most often Buck's heard it when Bobby murmurs the Lord's prayer over victims. Sometimes as he stopped compressions and sometimes as he placed still bodies on tarps, soon to be zipped away in a black bag and taken to the coroner's office.
For Buck, that voice means something very bad has happened.
"Bobby." And the sudden steadiness of Buck's own voice seems to frighten Bobby. His brow furrows and his mouth flattens into a grim line. "I promised him I would take care of Christopher."
And Buck sees when the full meaning of his words hits Bobby.
"And you will." He takes Buck's hand in his, not even seeming to notice the blood staining his own sleeve, leaving rusty tracks between his fingers and across the lines of his palm. "But you might have a concussion and you came here in the ambulance. If you want a ride, you're gonna have to deal with me being a pain in the ass for a little while, first."
Buck's jaw clenches, the need to kick back reflexive and quickly suppressed at the thought of delaying getting to Christopher.
"Okay."
And then he goes away for a little while, again. He vaguely understands that he's being led to the bathroom and that Bobby is helping him peel out of his button down, swiftly discarded in the trash. Here is soap and water and Bobby gently wiping a damp paper towel across Buck's face and neck when Buck catches sight of himself in the mirror and can't breathe for a long moment.
There was so much blood.
He answers the nurse's questions when asked, and doesn't kick up a fuss through the initial exam with her or the harried resident who swings by to look at him after her. No concussion indicated, but Buck is going to have a lot of bruising on numerous parts of his body, and if anything feels off he's to come straight back.
He's coming straight back, anyway.
And then he's in the parking lot next to Bobby's car, and Bobby is handing him a worn LAFD t-shirt from Bobby's own bag. Buck changes out of his stained undershirt and into the t-shirt right there next to the car. It's a little snug in the shoulders and a little roomy everywhere else. Bobby takes the discarded undershirt and Buck has no idea what he does with it.
Bobby's t-shirt smells like the detergent Bobby and Athena use. When his eyes close he remembers hugs in greeting at Bobby and Athena's house over the years and his heart rate slows, just a little.
"Let's go."
The ride to Eddie's house is silent. Buck catches Bobby looking at him at red lights, but he seems content enough to let Buck stew in his own thoughts for now. When they roll to a stop next to Carla's car in the driveway, Buck pulls out his keys.
"You don't need to wait. I'll get a ride with Carla or I'll grab an Uber whenever I head back. I'd appreciate it if you went right back to the hospital. I want someone there in person and Pepa and Abuela both have health issues and shouldn't be waiting around a hospital for who knows how long."
Bobby looks like he wants to protest, but nods in agreement.
"In theory the hospital should be calling to keep me updated, but if you hear anything before me, I'd appreciate a text."
"Of course." Bobby nods. "I'm really proud of you, Buck."
And any other time Buck would need some time to unpack that, but Christopher is inside and doesn't know that his dad is fighting for his life on an operating room table, so Buck just nods and steps out and toward the Diaz house.
He doesn't knock, because he never knocks. Eddie has made it perfectly clear that Buck is not a guest in his house. Guests don't have keys.
But for a moment, he pauses at the door and he closes his eyes and he wonders if he should knock. Then he thinks of soldiers' families. He thinks of casualty officers, screaming wives and crying children and how that all starts with a sharp knock.
He takes a shuddering breath and unlocks the door, long practice and muscle memory forcing his hand into the particular jiggle needed for the deadbolt to slide smoothly on the first try.
Carla pokes her head out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening and she looks pleasantly surprised for a moment before her face freezes.
Buck had seen his own face in the mirror at the hospital. Even without the blood, he knows what he looks like.
Carla glances back into the kitchen, where Buck can hear Christopher saying his goodbyes to his classmates for the day on Zoom. She slips down the hall toward him, smile dropping away as she moves.
"How bad?"
"Bad." Buck hates how flat his voice sounds even to his own ears. "I need to talk to him alone, Carla."
One of her small, warm hands pulls him down by the back of the neck and she hugs him, a tight, swift squeeze before releasing him. Like she knows if he gets a real Carla hug he's gonna fall to pieces and they both need to keep it together for Christopher.
"The hospital should've already called Abuela and Pepa, but I."
Buck pauses, swallows around the lump in his throat. He hates this, he hates every last thing about all of this.
"I don't have Ana's number." Carla's eyebrows shoot up. "Could you let her know that there was an incident at work and that Eddie's at Cedars? It's probably gonna be hours before they let any of us in to see him. He's been in surgery less than an hour."
"You don't have her number?" Carla looks like she wants to kick herself for asking, but she's still Carla, so she couldn't not ask.
"We haven't actually met yet. Eddie's always picked her up when I babysat for their dates."
Carla's lips press together and she nods. "I've got it. You go on, he should be just about done saying goodbye to his friends."
Buck nods and the few steps down the hall to the kitchen feel like running the final stretch of a marathon. A painful relief, leaving you winded and wrung out and so, so tired. But you've still gotta paste on a smile for the spectators.
"Hey, buddy."
Christopher's head shoots up from where he's just finished plugging in his tablet and his face splits into a wide grin.
"Bucky!" He moves slow and steady across the room sans crutches, since they're propped up on the far side of the kitchen table. Buck immediately drops to his knees to pull him into a tight hug.
Chris hugs back just as tightly, his smiling face tucked into the curve of Buck's neck. Buck lets one hand smooth up and down Christopher's back before ruffling his hair and releasing his grip, no matter how much he wants to just cling and not let go.
Buck doesn't get to hide right now.
"I thought you were working with, with Dad today," Chris says when he pulls back.
Buck's still got a gentle grasp on Chris's arms and he nods.
"Yeah, I was." Buck licks his lips, mouth Sahara dry. "Chris, we have to talk about something serious. Your dad and I went to help someone who's sick and when we were outside their apartment your dad got hurt."
And Chris's brow wrinkles and he looks at Buck like he doesn't quite understand what he's talking about. It takes all Buck's strength not to start crying right then, because it's the exact same face Eddie makes when he's puzzling something out.
"How'd he get hurt outside?" Chris asks. "Did he fall?"
"He did fall." Buck nods. "But he fell because somebody hurt him first. Chris, I'm really sorry, but he's in surgery because somebody shot him. Your dad's not coming home tonight because the doctors need to work on him and make sure he's gonna be okay."
Christopher's whole body stills and his eyes are wide behind his glasses. "Is he? Gonna be okay?"
Buck squeezes Chris's arms gently and gives him a small smile that seems to reassure him a little, if the loosening of his shoulders is any indication.
"I know that he's fighting every second to get better and come back to you. And he's been through this before and came back home to you. But he was hurt pretty bad, Chris."
A tear slips loose and starts to slide down Chris's cheek and Buck swipes it away with his thumb. He leaves his hand there, cradling that small, dear face as gently as he knows how.
"They've got lots of really smart doctors and nurses working to help him get better. I was with him the whole time until they took him in to work on him. He made me promise while he was there I'd take care of you."
"Because you're our Bucky and you always take care of us."
And now Buck's crying, too. But he nods and his heart hurts, but it's so full. So full of love for his Diaz boys it feels like he could crack open, could overflow with it, could spill out like waves crashing on the beach. He tastes salt when he smiles and a tear trails to the corner of his mouth.
"Always. But I have to ask you a tough question and there isn't any wrong answer. Nobody will be upset no matter what you decide, okay?"
Chris sniffles, but nods. "What is it?"
"Because of everything that's going on, and because you're still too young to be vaccinated for a bit, you can't wait at the hospital, Chris. Once your dad is all tucked up in his own room they let you be real careful and wear your mask and then you'll be able to sit with him, but that could be a lot later. Maybe not even till tomorrow."
"You have to go wait for him!"
Buck loves this kid so goddamn much.
"Are you sure?" Chris looks determined, but Buck wants to be certain this is what he really wants. "I promised I'd make sure you were okay. I can stay here until the doctors call and say we can both visit."
"No, Dad shouldn't be by himself. He should have you with him. Carla was gonna stay with me tonight, anyway. Right?"
Buck turns and sees that Carla's leaning against the door frame, looking exhausted and clutching her phone in one hand.
"Of course, baby. But your Buck can stay, too, if that makes you feel better."
Chris shakes his head, hard, and almost loses his balance. Buck brings his hand back down until he's got a good grip on Chris's shoulder.
"You'll keep him safe while I can't be there. He shouldn't be by himself."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Dad says when someone gets hurt, you can't leave them alone. It's like the buddy system. Like in Nemo! So he doesn't get lost."
And Buck chokes down a sob and hugs Christopher tightly against him again, standing up with him still clutched in his arms. He settles Chris on his hip and walks towards Carla, who holds out her arms and gathers them together.
Buck holds them tight so he does not fall apart.
There are more tears and promises to text and call the moment he knows anything, and putting Chris down for an emotionally exhausted nap. He takes the world's fastest shower and resolutely does not think about how he's going to smell like Eddie's piney shower gel and coconut shampoo for the rest of the day.
He snags one of Eddie's hoodies to throw on over the shirt he's already borrowed from Bobby, and at some point he's gonna need to get his car from the station and go to his own place, but it's so far down on the list of things that needs doing it barely registers.
He gets another long hug from Carla, and only cries a little when she tells him to keep your chin up, Buckaroo. I'll take care of this Diaz, the other's all yours.
Then a car horn's honking and he's in the back of a ride share listening to Taylor Swift singing about the sun going down and painting blue skies gray. He hopes the young guy driving isn't too freaked out by the fact that he's crying in the back of his car, but considering he's taking Buck to a hospital, it's probably not too shocking.
Buck knows he thanked the driver, because he always does, but he doesn't remember it. He just knows that's he's back at the hospital and he's walking up to the makeshift socially distanced waiting area outside and his family is waiting there for him.
Hen reaches him first, pulling him against her with the long practice of a good mother. It's firm and warm, and comes with a kiss pressed to his temple. And then she's passing him off to Chim, who looks like he probably hasn't stopped crying since he got the call.
Chim's hugs have always been brusque and big brotherly, usually accompanied with hair ruffling or noogies. But he simply wraps his arms around Buck's shoulders, squeezing tight. It lasts long enough for Buck to feel several tears that aren't his own trail down the side of his neck and dampen his shirt collar.
Next is Bobby, who hugs like he always does. Like a father, but not like Buck's father, because Buck can't actually remember his father ever hugging him.
"Athena's still at the scene," Bobby explains his wife's absence when he relinquishes his tight hold on Buck. "No word on location or motivation for the shooter, yet, but it's looking like a lone sniper. They'll catch him."
"Maddie's home with Jee-Yun," Chim adds, "but we've been keeping her updated and she says to call her if you need anything."
"If there was anything any of us could do to help, I would." Buck laughs, sharp and humorless, and the look on his face must be terrible, because they're all looking at each other with their hysterical loved one needs calming down expressions. "None of the staff called me. Do we actually have any updates?"
Bobby shakes his head, and Hen supplies, "Not really. They're still working on him. He's more stable than when he got here, but it could be a while before we know. He lost a lot of blood."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know."
Severe bleeding from any major blood vessel in the body is extremely dangerous. The loss of 3 liters is usually fatal.
"Come on, you guys should sit." Bobby ushers them over to a grouping of chairs. "I'm gonna go get us some coffee. Have any of you eaten? Buck, can I get you a sandwich or something?"
"No, thanks."
"Buck, you should try and eat something," Hen says, sitting in the chair next to him. "You've had a bad shock."
"I will absolutely throw up if I try to eat anything."
Buck's glad he's staring at his hands and not looking at them, because their silence is so heavy that he can feel it pressing down on him. But the shock and adrenaline has finally faded enough that his hands are rock steady again. So he stares down and let's that reassure him as they trade looks over the top of his head.
"That's alright. I'll just go get us some drinks and be back in a few."
Chim takes the seat on Buck's other side, and Hen and Chim start up a soft patter of conversation. How's Jee-Yun's colic? Is Denny excited for soccer to start back up in the summer? Is Jefferson from B shift ever going to ask out Cameron from C shift or are they just going to keep leaving each other cutesy notes all over the firehouse?
Bobby returns with a drink carrier and disperses drinks. Buck takes a sip of his and it's hot chocolate and he almost starts crying again.
Bobby joins Chim and Hen, talking about his and Michael's success at their last family game night. How Harry is excited he's going to get to have a sleepover with Christopher and Denny soon. They finish their drinks and they put their masks back on.
Time passes and Buck stares at his hands. He breathes in and out. His heart pumps his blood through his body. He continues.
He looks up at the sound of heeled shoes clicking across the pavement toward them and oh. Buck forgot he asked Carla to call her.
Vice Principal Ana Flores is lovely. She's short and slim and he's sure when she's not looking worried behind a face mask her sweet face is probably beautiful. She's got a cloud of dark curls pulled half away from her face, and a pink sweater over the top of a flowered yellow sundress.
God, no wonder Eddie's dating her. Ana looks like she should be sitting in a pew between Eddie and his parents at Easter mass. And the dress is almost identical to the one Shannon's wearing in the smiling family photo that sits on Christopher's desk at home.
Buck feels like he's just been hit with a truck, a feeling with which he is intimately familiar.
"Hi, I--" Her steps falter as she approaches their small semicircle of chairs. "Are you Eddie's coworkers?"
Coworkers.
Oh.
So either she has willfully misunderstood, or Eddie hasn't properly explained anything about his non-covid-contained life at all.
The 118 is a family, and a ridiculously codependent one at that. When the world isn't turned on its head, Eddie and Chris spend roughly 80% of their free time with Buck. On top of that, the crew all spend most of their free time together in some way or another, despite regularly working 24 hour shifts and 60 plus hour weeks together.
She doesn't understand that there are nine different configurations of 118 family group chats at a given time, with various permutations of kids and spouses and dispatcher friends. That Friday movie night is sacred and Chris always gets to pick the movie, even when it's not his turn, because Buck and Eddie are suckers like that.
She doesn't understand firehouse get-togethers at Bobby and Athena's are not technically mandatory only in the way that submitting to concussion screenings with Hen after a rough call are not technically mandatory.
She doesn't understand that he and Eddie have keys to each other's places, have for years, although both of them think of where the Diaz boys lay their heads as home. She doesn't know that Buck is down as Christopher's emergency contact, secondary only after Eddie.
She has no idea Buck talks to Abuela on the phone at least once a week and that he's been trusted with all of the sacred Diaz family recipes that Eddie and Chris like best. Doesn't know Abuela declared his tamales decent, which sent Eddie's eyebrows shooting up his forehead so far they practically disappeared into his hair when Buck mentioned it the last time he made them.
She doesn't know that Buck and Pepa have a standing monthly bridge night with Eddie's cousins Sam and Carolina, and that they've kept it up virtually throughout the pandemic. They help him keep his middling Spanish from fading to terrible Spanish, even as they make fun of his Peruvian accent.
Buck ruthlessly squashes the voice in his head that says, we're all sitting here in LAFD gear and half of Eddie's Instagram page is pictures of me and him and Christopher, of course you know who we are, because that's rude and small and even if it's true it's not kind.
If they all need a little something in this moment, surely it's kindness.
Bobby stands and offers her a hand, which she shakes. "I'm Eddie's captain," and Buck has literally never heard Bobby introduce himself that way outside of work, "but you can call me Bobby. This is Hen," Hen nods, but doesn't stand, "and Chimney," Chim flashes a very small, quick smile, "and of course you know Buck."
"Oh."
Ana looks startled, like the assumption that she'd obviously know Buck is bizarre. Buck stands, realizing he probably should've been moving around instead of staring blankly at his hands for however many hours he's been sitting here. His whole body is stiffening from the tackle to the pavement earlier. He extends a hand to her.
"We actually haven't met, yet." And Buck absolutely does not miss the baffled looks on his friends' faces. "Sorry it had to be under these circumstances."
Ana hesitates for a long moment before she takes his hand, her grip soft and sliding away almost before they shake at all. She's frowning at Buck's chest, which is roughly eye level for her, so he tries not to take it personally. They're all having a weird, terrible day, and she clearly just came from work, an oversize leather handbag slung over one shoulder.
"Is that Edmundo's shirt?"
Chim repeats, "Edmundo?" under his breath to Hen in a puzzled tone. Nobody at the 118 calls him that unless he's being particularly grumpy and they're making fun of him. Eddie absolutely hates it. Even Abuela only calls him Edmundo when she's making a point.
Buck looks down and realizes he grabbed one of Eddie's old army sweatshirts instead of one of his spare LAFD hoodies.
"Uh, yeah. I needed a change of clothes after... I was with Eddie on the scene."
Ana finally looks up from the faded GO ARMY BEAT NAVY emblazoned across Buck's chest.
"At the scene?"
"Did Carla not..." Buck glances at Bobby, who shrugs and tilts his head at Buck, as if to say, it's your show, kid. "I'm sorry, did Carla not explain what happened?"
"She said Eddie was hurt in an incident at work, and that he was in surgery here." Ana's frown deepens. "I thought it was at a fire, or. I don't know what I thought."
"There wasn't a fire. Eddie and I were standing outside after a medical call when he was shot by a sniper."
Ana's hand shoots up to her mouth as she gasps in shock. Buck forces his voice to stay even as the pained expression on Eddie's face plays on a loop in his head.
I'm sorry, God, Eddie, I'm sorry. I know it hurts, but I have to keep pressure on the wound, just hang in there we're gonna get you out of here--
Eddie's pained gasp at the press of Buck's hands. Eddie's hand, slick with blood, weakly reaching up to fold over Buck's and squeeze, feather soft, before he managed to choke out Buck's name.
Control panic.
"I rendered medical assistance on-scene until the area was cleared safe for paramedics, then we brought him here for the surgeons to take over. It was a single bullet, through and through."
"I don't...I don't understand, why was he shot?"
"We don't know," Bobby says. "They're looking for the shooter, but we don't have any details."
"A single shot, shouldn't he. I mean, Carla mentioned once that he's been shot in the shoulder before. And obviously he came home from that and was fine."
Buck is holding on to his composure by his scrabbling fingernails on a cliff's edge. He cannot let loose the hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat, trying to escape at the idea that after the last time he was shot Eddie was fine.
He can see Hen's furious expression out of the corner of his eye and Chim's looking at Ana like she's speaking Martian or something. Bobby's face is the careful blankness of formal reprimands and telling reporters no comment at the scenes of emergencies.
"I mean...it's not that serious, is it?"
Ana looks back and forth between Bobby and Buck, like if she just looks sad long enough then one of them will assure her she's right, of course, that gun shots aren't serious and everything is perfectly fine. She'll be sitting at her army hero boyfriend's bedside in no time, looking pretty as a picture as he smiles up at her and then they can go home that same night. She'll nurse him better with sunshine and daydreams.
God, Buck's an asshole. She's scared and hasn't been through anything like this before. Isn't accustomed to the waiting in uncomfortable rooms or on the other side of the doors. She's not at all used to being the one left standing, alone.
"The paramedics were pretty sure it clipped a major artery in his shoulder," Buck says, looking down at his hands. "There was...he lost a lot of blood."
The loss of 3 liters is usually fatal.
"On the scene." Buck looks up and sees that Ana's staring at the damn sweatshirt again. "You said you were on the scene. He lost a lot of blood. That's why." She waves a hand at Buck. "The blood?"
"Yeah."
Buck forces the word past the ball of emotions clogging his throat. He doesn't get why she's so hung up on his sweatshirt, but people get preoccupied with weird things when they're in shock.
One time they had an accident victim who wouldn't stop hollering for his wedding ring, saying they stole it, until Eddie finally opened the cooler they were holding the guy's severed hand in to show that the ring was perfectly safe right where he left it.
"There was a lot of blood. Shirt wasn't worth trying to salvage."
"Right. That makes sense. Right, then."
"How about you sit down?" Bobby says, guiding her into the vacant chair next to the one Bobby abandoned when she walked up. It conveniently puts her at the far end of their little group.
Buck sits back down and Hen takes his hand in hers and oh. They're shaking again.
"It's okay, Buckaroo," she says, voice low. "You're alright, you're here with us and you're safe. Christopher is home with Carla and they're safe."
"Yep. They're safe." Buck blinks back tears. "Perfectly safe."
When he looks up Ana is staring at him again, but it's different. He can't shake the feeling that she's looking at him like he's a naughty student who's been sent to her office. Puzzled and a little wary. Like he's a child who will only briefly and nominally be her problem, and then she can dismiss him and get on with her day.
"Excuse me, is one of you Evan Buckley?"
Buck shoots to his feet, one of his hands still clutched in Hen's as he turns. There's a tired looking woman with her mask pulled down beneath her chin, wearing green scrubs and a white coat. She's not one he recognizes, but in all fairness he'd been staring pretty hard at Eddie's face as they pulled him away earlier.
"That's me. Is he...?"
Buck can't finish the question.
The doctor smiles and Buck feels lightheaded with relief. Hen stands and steadies him, Chim rising to stand on Buck's other side with a radiant smile on his face.
"It was touch and go for a bit, there, but he's stable now." She takes a swift sip from her water bottle, clearing her throat as she slips her mask back into place. "We're moving him into a recovery room, and he's gonna be with us for a few days due to the blood loss. Plus we'll want to keep an eye on him for infection. After that, you can take him home to rest up before he starts PT for the shoulder."
"Will he regain full mobility?" Buck asks.
The doctor nods. "Nothing's ever guaranteed, but aside from the blood loss, he was really lucky. The path the bullet took avoided most of the tricky bits you'd normally worry about for recovering full range of movement. And I'm told you did a good job keeping as much blood in there as possible until you got him to us, so thank you."
"No, thank you," Buck says. "I'd shake your hand, but I figure we probably aren't supposed to do that."
"No, not really," the doctor laughs.
"Expect lots and lots of baked goods from grateful first responders."
"Well, we never turn those down." She glances at her phone when it trills a small chirp, typing a reply as she continues explaining. "It's gonna be a little bit of a wait and then just two visitors at a time."
"Are children allowed to visit?"
"Make sure they're masked and they have to be with an adult. And not for too long. He needs his rest."
"I know the drill," Buck assures her.
"Yes, Firefighter Buckley, I'm sure you do." And because the universe loves to laugh at him, the doctor looks up and even with the mask he can tell she's smiling. "I was a resident when we put the titanium rod in your leg. I'm glad to see you're doing well."
"You're getting double muffins." Buck smiles back behind his own mask, relief fizzing like champagne in his chest. "Doctor?"
"Stacy. And I never say no to blueberry." She nods at the rest of them and adds, "A nurse will be out to bring you inside for your turns when we get him settled. Try to stay out of trouble for at least a few months, would you?"
They all agree to try and thank Dr. Stacy as she heads back inside.
"Excuse me for a minute." Buck pulls out his phone, shooting brief but thrilled texts to Pepa and Abuela, who immediately respond with relief (Abuela) and a stream of incoherent emojis and swearing in Spanish (Pepa). Buck learns all his best curse words from Pepa. "I need to call Carla and Christopher."
He steps away, only half hearing Ana's confused, but why were they asking for Buck? as his screen lights up with a picture of Christopher's smiling face pressed against Carla's as they laugh.
It only rings twice before it picks up and Carla asks, "How is he?"
"It's good news, really good news. Is Chris still sleeping?"
"No, he woke up a little bit ago. He's right here. Baby, it's Buck on the phone."
Buck grins at the excited sound of Chris's voice in the background. "You can put me on speaker, Carla."
"Buck, is Dad okay?"
"He's okay. The doctor said he did really well in surgery and they're taking him to his room now."
Christopher cheers, his small cries of I knew he'd be okay! I knew it! bringing tears to Buck's eyes.
"I asked and they said you could visit, but not for long. Would you like to do that? He's still gonna be hooked up to some monitors and things, and he might still be sleeping or too tired to talk much. It's okay if that's too scary and you want to wait till he's feeling a little better."
"No, I don't want to wait! Carla, you can take me to Buck and Dad, can't you?"
"Of course I can, Christopher, who do you think you're talking to?" Buck laughs, watery. "We'll be on the road in no time. Do you need us to bring anything?"
"If you could throw some comfortable clothes and Eddie's shave kit in a bag I'm sure he'll appreciate it when he's conscious enough to worry about that kind of thing. He keeps the shave kit in the second drawer on the left. It's always packed and ready to go just in case. I guess old army habits die hard."
"I'm sure they do. Alright, we'll see you soon, Buck. Chris, say bye to Buck!"
"Bye, Buck! I knew you'd keep Dad safe for me. We'll see you soon!"
The line goes dead and Buck tips his head back and just breathes, slow and deep and so goddamn relieved he feels like he could fly.
When he walks back, he realizes Ana is having what looks like an actual argument with Hen, so apparently Ana is way ballsier than he'd originally pegged her for.
"Of course it's Buck's decision!" Hen snaps and Buck's steps stutter to a halt a few feet away.
"Uh, did I miss something?"
At some point Ana removed her mask and she's exactly as pretty as she looked in pictures, though the effect is of course spoiled by the fact that he's in love with her boyfriend and that she's glaring at him like she wants to kick him in the shins for the great crime of existing.
"Why exactly do you think it's appropriate for you to have Christopher brought to the hospital?"
Of all the words he thought might come out of her mouth, those were certainly not ones he'd guessed.
"Because Christopher will feel much better once he's seen Eddie," Buck replies, because it's true and also the most obvious thing in the world, "and Eddie will feel the same."
"That's not your call to make! Christopher is a child, and a child with special needs, at that. I don't think you really understand how sensitive he is and how--"
"No, Miss Flores, I don't think you understand."
The way she'd said special needs sent a cold spike of fury down his spine. She said it like Chris was some sad charity case she puts up with because Eddie loves him. She didn't say it like his CP is just another part of what makes Christopher the amazing person he is, and that makes Buck want to scream.
"I'm Eddie's medical proxy and Christopher's primary emergency contact in case of incapacitation." Ana couldn't look more shocked if he'd slapped her. "I'm sorry, I'm a little confused...did Eddie just not talk about any of us at all?"
"I mean, of course he's mentioned you all in passing, but this." She waves a hand at all of them, like she can swat away the confusion. "Having a coworker for your medical proxy? Some single man who's not family as his son's emergency contact? Surely that's not true."
"They have all the proper paperwork on file with the department," Bobby says, expression steely. "It's true."
"It's been the case for years." Well, the proxy has just been for one year, but he's making a point and they were emergency contacts before. "I'm on file with Christopher's school as well. I assumed you knew since you used to be his teacher. I even picked him up and signed him out from the office once when he was sick while that was still the case. You're Eddie's girlfriend and I know you care about him, but unless he tells me and files the paperwork, the family and medical decisions are mine."
Ana stares at him, her jaw clenched tightly. She turns and walks back to her chair, sitting without another word. She pulls out her phone and begins typing, not looking at any of them.
"Is she seriously acting like Chris is some delicate goddamn flower who shouldn't be allowed to see his own dad in the hospital?" Hen's speaking in the deadly even tone that Buck has only ever heard when she's five seconds from kicking somebody's ass at a violent scene, almost exclusively directed at belligerent drunks and abusive parents.
"Sure sounded like it," Chim replies, his smile tight and mirthless.
"I'm sure she's just...upset."
They look at Buck with unimpressed expressions and he throws his hands up. "Her boyfriend got shot, we can try to be understanding."
Personally, Buck is so filled up with gratefulness and relief that he's got enough goodwill to spread around. Even if the way she spoke about Christopher makes him feel queasy. Surely it was just a stressful moment and she doesn't...she doesn't think of Chris like that.
"Buckaroo, you are too good for this world."
Buck lets Hen sweep him into another hug and he sinks into it, breathing in the scent of the perfume Karen buys her for birthdays and holidays. It's something citrusy and spicy and comforting.
"Buck!"
Buck pulls back at the sound of Chris's voice, the rhythmic rise and fall of his crutches across the pavement. Carla's following swiftly behind, but Chris is pelting full tilt at Buck and even with his mask on Buck can tell he's got a huge grin on his face.
Buck swoops down and scoops Chris up, careful not to smack his head as the crutches dangle against his back.
"I knew you'd keep him safe, Buck, I knew it," Chris whispers in his ear and yep, Buck's crying again, but just a little and it's mostly happy.
"Your dad and the doctors did all the hard work. We just sat here and waited for the good news."
Chris pulls back a little and shakes his head.
"No, I knew he couldn't leave if you were here. You guys are a team! Dad says you've always got each other's backs."
"Yeah, Chris, since me and your Dad met, we've had each other's backs." Buck presses his face to the top of Chris's head, breathes in the familiar fruity scent of his shampoo. If they were home he'd press a kiss there. "We promised."
"Oh, Buck, I'm so happy it was good news." Carla carefully untangles Chris's crutches and holds them in one hand so Buck can adjust his grip without anybody getting whacked in the head. "But I know never to count out my Diaz boys, isn't that right, Chris?"
"Right!" Chris giggles, but Buck can tell he's still tired, still worried.
"I know we talked about it before, but it's okay if you're scared. I know neither one of us is a big fan of hospitals and seeing your dad hurt isn't fun."
"I still want to see him. Not seeing that he's okay is worse."
"Yeah, I agree."
"Evan Buckley?"
They turn and a nurse is waving at them. "That's me."
"Mr. Diaz has been cleared for visitors. If you want to make sure you and your second person have your masks in place, I can take you in."
"Well, surely I should take Chris to see Edmundo."
Buck lets out a breath through his nose and turns to where Ana is pulling a floral printed mask out of her purse with an expectant expression.
"I want my Bucky to take me!" Chris clings tighter to Buck's shoulders.
"Now, Christopher," Ana says and it's the tone.
Chris and Buck are both very familiar with that tone.
"Miss Flores, I won't keep you from seeing Eddie when he wants to see you," Buck says, "but no. I will be taking Chris to see his father. You'll need to wait here."
Ana looks like she wants to argue, but Buck turns away from her. "Carla, can I--" but she's already handing him the overnight bag and Chris's crutches and Buck is so damn grateful that if nothing else came from his relationship with Abby it at least brought him Carla.
"You go on. We'll all be here quietly waiting our turns."
Buck only catches a glimpse of Ana's face in his peripheral vision, but if looks could kill he'd be flat on the sidewalk.
He really wishes he hadn't just given himself that mental image.
Buck walks towards the nurse, who's still waiting for them, and asks Chris, "You want to use the crutches, or should I carry you?"
Chris wavers for a moment before tucking his head down, face pressed into Buck's neck. "It's faster if you carry me. I trust you to take me to Dad."
"Always."
They follow the nurse up to recovery, and are ushered into Eddie's room. Buck quickly puts the overnight bag where the nurse shows him and leans Chris's crutches against the wall.
"He was just becoming more coherent and having some water when I came down for you," the nurse says, and when Buck looks at the bed he sees that Eddie is blinking slowly, the back raised so he's sitting mostly upright. His head turns toward their voices. "He's been awake a few times and asking for you. Keep hugs gentle and on the off-side, okay, kiddo?"
"Of course," Chris replies. His tone is carefully polite, but Buck can tell he's only just refraining from rolling his eyes. A true Diaz. "I'd never hurt Dad."
"Of course not," the nurse agrees. "He's gonna be a bit groggy, still."
"Got it."
Buck nods as the nurse slips back out of the room. Once the door shuts he takes off his mask and helps Christopher with his, tucking them both into his pocket.
"Hey, mijo," Eddie says, voice the painful rasp Buck remembers from being post-intubation. "Buck taking good care of you?"
"Always."
Tears start slipping down Christopher's face, but he's nodding and smiling, and tugging on Buck's sweatshirt to get him to move closer to the bed.
Eddie's hooked up to monitors and a blood bag and some sort of narcotic drip, cause the guy got shot not that long ago. His right arm's immobilized with a soft sling against his chest. He carefully lifts his left arm, wary of the IV. Buck sets Christopher oh so gently against him, head resting on Eddie's good shoulder.
Eddie is warm and awake and alive. It's enough to make Buck want to believe in God, just so he has somebody to thank.
"I'm sorry I scared you," Eddie says, voice soft.
"It's okay." Chris shrugs. "I knew you were gonna be okay cause Bucky was there."
And Buck loves this kid so much, but he's gonna make Buck cry again when he'd just gotten himself together.
"Yeah." Eddie's smile is the gentle one reserved for family as he looks down at his son. It doesn't change when he looks up at Buck. "Sit down, you're gonna give me a neck ache."
Buck immediately sits in the chair next to the bed, taking inventory. All limbs and faculties accounted for. One Eddie Diaz, whole aside from yet another bullet wound. The bandaging is bulky and obvious beneath the hospital gown.
Eddie's shoulders will match now.
"Buck." Buck swallows back the incoming tears as best he can and meets Eddie's eyes. "I'm sorry for scaring you, too."
And Buck can feel his face crumple and he folds over, head resting on the blanket next to Eddie's leg as the tears begin to fall. Two hands immediately rest on him, Christopher's small one in his hair, and Eddie's large one on his back. It smooths up and down in a soothing rhythm.
"You're gonna be okay, kid."
"Yeah," Buck agrees, not looking up, "I think we all are."
Buck stays ducked down until he no longer feels like he's shaking apart, but like most of the day, he has lost his sense of time. Seconds or minutes or hours, he has no idea.
He lifts his head and swipes at his damp cheeks with the sleeves of his borrowed sweatshirt. Christopher's hand drops from his hair to his shoulder with a reassuring little pat he learned from Abuela.
They sit and soak up the quiet as Christopher nods off, exhausted by the events of the day.
"Thank you." Eddie's voice is barely above a whisper and his hand is still rubbing up and down Buck's back.
Buck shakes his head, looking up from Christopher's sleeping face to meet Eddie's eyes again.
"I didn't do anything."
Eddie's tired smile slips sideways into a smirk. "As the guy whose life you saved this morning, I'm gonna have to beg to differ."
"I just hurt you by leaning on you until the trained professionals showed up."
"You kept me around long enough for the professionals to do anything," Eddie corrects, hand stilling at the nape of Buck's neck. "And when I asked you to take care of Christopher, you knew what I meant. And you agreed. And knowing he would be safe, that he would have someone who loves him as much as I do." A tear slides down Eddie's check even though he's still smiling. "Who loves him the way that I do, that believes he's as amazing as I do. That means the world to me. You know it does."
"Of course I love him."
Buck leans into the comforting pressure of Eddie's hand on his neck. He wants to memorize everything about this moment in time, bury it in his heart so he can live there later when it's not just him in this quiet bubble with his two favorite people.
"He's the best kid in the world. Don't tell Maddie. Jee-Yun is a super close second."
Eddie snorts and releases his hold on Buck so he can swipe his cheek free of tears.
"I promise I won't tell." Eddie runs his hand through Christopher's curls. "Buck, I need to talk to you about something."
And that's Eddie's serious conversation voice. Last time he heard it was when Buck's parents came to visit. And the time before that was when Buck signed the paperwork to be Eddie's medical proxy. And at that thought Buck's heart feels like it dropped into his stomach.
"Of course, Eddie. Anything."
Eddie's jaw clenches, his tell when he's about to have an emotional conversation and oh God, he's gonna tell Buck that he's grateful for everything, but he's got Ana now, so really Buck doesn't need to be around for--
"I broke up with Ana this morning."
Buck's mouth drops open, and he knows he looks ridiculous and he does not care. He absolutely doesn't care, because he's been dreaming for some sort of combination of those words for months and had just about given up hope.
"But she's outside?" And now Eddie's the one who's staring like a fool. "She got into an argument with me about even bringing Chris in to see you."
"She did what?" Eddie sounds somewhere between confused and angry. "Why?"
"Why did she argue? Cause she said she's your girlfriend and thought it was weird that your random single coworker who's not a relative would even be listed for anything at all. Honestly, she acted like she'd never heard of any of us and was pissed that the doctors were even looking to talk to me."
And now the confusion has slid right down to anger, growing towards furious.
"Well, that's absolutely not..." He takes a slow breath, looking down at Christopher and lowering his voice so he doesn't wake him. "I broke up with her for a lot of reasons, but the way that she spoke dismissively about all of you, about you , was one of them. She didn't understand how you could be so important to me."
"First responder bond. Some people don't get it."
"It's not that." Eddie tilted his head. "Not just that." He sighs. "I'm assuming Carla brought Chris?"
Buck nods.
"Can you text Carla and Bobby and tell them I broke up with Ana this morning and I don't want her here? And we'll be sure to tell the floor staff, too."
Buck's nodding, fingers flying on his iPhone screen, and sends off the messages.
"I'm sure Bobby and Carla can handle it. I guess maybe Ana thought after today you'd have a change of perspective."
"Well, she's right I had a change of perspective, but it was earlier and it was why I broke up with her. She could tell, I think, that it wasn't just a first responder bond or best friends or whatever. Not when I was talking about you."
Buck swears he can't breathe for a minute. And just like when Buck was holding pressure and then holding his hand, Eddie does not look away.
"I didn't say anything before because I was scared. Because you're so important to me and to Christopher, that if anything went wrong it would be my fault and I'd blow up our whole lives. I couldn't take another important person away from him. And our timing has always been so terrible." Eddie huffs a laugh. "And I couldn't say it today because that wouldn't have been fair. Not if--I couldn't do that to you if something might happen."
"Eddie, there's not a thing you could say to me that would make it worse than it already would be if I had to live in a world without you in it." He takes a rattling breath and puts a gentle hand on Eddie's blanket-covered leg. "If I didn't need to keep it together for Chris today I'm pretty sure I would've just sat down there in my blood covered shirt staring into space until somebody told me whether you lived or died."
"Buck." Eddie grabs him by the front of his sweatshirt. "I got shot and my kid's asleep on me, so you're gonna have to do the heavy lifting here."
And Buck is up and gently putting one knee on the bed, leaning in with a quick check to make sure Chris is still asleep.
And then he's kissing Eddie.
Buck has imagined kissing Eddie Diaz an estimated minimum of five times a day since the first time he saw him, shirtless and gorgeous in the 118 locker room years ago.
He's imagined them slamming together against the side of the truck after a rough call. Kissing sweetly on Eddie's front porch after their first date. In the showers at work, trying to keep quiet in case anyone hears them. After the officiant says, you may now kiss the groom at their wedding.
And somehow it's this moment, soft and tired and worn around the edges, just a gentle press of mouths before Buck's pulling back with a smile too wide to suppress. His forehead leaning against Eddie's, Christopher asleep beneath the secure curves of their arms.
This moment is more perfect that he could have ever imagined. Because this moment is real.
"For the sake of clarity," Eddie drops another sweet, slow kiss on Buck's grinning mouth, "I love you. I'm in love with you."
Buck cups Eddie's jaw in his free hand and feels joy, an impossible bloom of it unfurling in his chest.
"Eddie Diaz, I love you so goddamn much it's gonna take the rest of my life just to show you how much."
"Yeah?" Eddie laughs. "The rest of our lives sounds pretty good to me."