Work Text:
“There's a ghost upon the moor tonight
Now it's in our house
When you walked into the room just then
It's like the sun came out”
Six
“Evan,” Maddie’s voice sings out over the summer haze, “who are you talking to?”
Evan turns, head cocked to the side as he catches sight of his sister stepping out onto the cool grass with pink painted toes and two popsicles in her hand. It’s hot enough that they’ve already started to melt, drips of sticky sweet orange and purple spilling down her fingers as she takes off in a jog to reach him underneath the shade of the sycamore tree. He gives his sister a toothy grin as she hands him the orange popsicle, his favorite, and sits down next to him.
“So?” Maddie asks again with a raised eyebrow as she slowly eats the purple ice, lips staining a lavender color that reminds Evan of her bedroom walls.
“W-what did the beach say w-when the tide came in?” Evan reads slowly, eyes moving across the printed black words visible on the handle of his popsicle.
He looks between Maddie and the space on his otherside with a thoughtful expression on his face. He catches Maddie leaning forward, as if she’s looking around him, brow furrowed. Evan sucks one of his fingers into his mouth, the pad slightly stained orange from the juice. He turns his attention back towards his sister and merely shrugs his shoulders.
“He doesn’t know either.” Evan says as he scrunches his nose.
“Who?” Maddie asks as she peers around him again, looking more confused than ever.
“My friend.” Evan grins before he takes a big bite from the top of the popsicle, determined to find out the answer to the joke.
“Oh,” Maddie says as something like understanding blooms across her face, her smile bright as she nudges him playfully in the ribs, “an imaginary friend. What’s his name?”
“He’s not imaginary,” Evan responds with a slight frown, “he’s sitting right here. And,” he pouts in Maddie’s direction, unhappy with the way she stifles a laugh behind her hand as if he’s making this all up, “I don’t know his name because he can’t talk.”
“Why can’t he talk?” Maddie asks, indulging him.
Evan just shrugs his shoulders as he sucks on his popsicle. He curls away from her, knees pulling up to his chest.
“Hey,” Maddie says softly, “okay, I’m sorry Evan, maybe I just can’t see him like you can.” Blue eyes dart in her direction and she gently smooths back a loose curl that’s fallen over his birthmark. “What does he look like?”
Evan is back to smiling again as he pulls the wooden stick from his mouth. “He kind of looks like me,” Evan says excitedly, “same hair and nose, but he has your eyes.”
Maddie stiffens, her fingers still brushing through the mess of sweaty curls, and she accidentally drops the rest of her popsicle in the dirt. “My eyes?” Her voice is barely above a whisper now and she retreats her hand, pushing forward to look around the tree just to be sure there’s no one there.
“The same color and everything,” Evan continues, but his lips turn down in the corner as he taps his popsicle stick against his chin in thought, “and sad. Sometimes he looks so sad it reminds me of when you’re sad,” he puffs out his cheeks, blowing out a long breath, “I don’t like it when you are sad, Maddie.”
Maddie tips backwards and catches herself, left palm smashing into the sticky remains of her popsicle. She raises her hand, the tinge of lavender covered in dirt and she quickly wipes it in the grass.
“Long time no sea!” Evan laughs as he reads from his stick, facing away from her. After his giggles subside he turns back towards Maddie, grinning so wide that she can see the gap from where he lost his first baby tooth last week. “He thinks that one was funny.”
Maddie’s lips part, but anything she’s about to ask is cut off by the stern voice of their mother calling them in to wash up for dinner.
“Mom made meatloaf again,” Evan says with a look of disgust, nose wrinkling in a way that makes Maddie’s eyes prick with tears, “she knows I hate meatloaf!” He tilts his head in thought, watching the empty space next to him with fierce concentration. “Well,” he states matter-of-factly, “you can’t eat it.”
“Can’t eat what?” Maddie asks.
“He,” Evan throws his tiny thumb over his shoulder, “likes meatloaf, I think it’s his favorite.”
“How would you know if he can’t talk?” Maddie tries to tease, but the words are thick and heavy, getting caught in the back of her throat.
“He doesn’t need to talk for me to know things, Maddie.” Evan says with an exasperated eye roll.
Margart’s voice, hard and a little more unforgiving, calls them inside again. Evan quickly gets to his feet, waving to his imaginary friend or empty space or whatever is sitting there and runs towards the backdoor. Maddie sits for a moment longer willing herself to see what Evan sees. Or what he thinks he saw. Their parents are always so careful. She hasn’t seen a picture of her brother in years there’s no way that Evan—
A small breeze blows through the sycamore and Maddie rubs her hands over her arms, her skin suddenly chilled and crawling with goosebumps. She follows her younger brother inside, picking up her speed as the sound of a tree branch snaps behind her.
Sixteen
“Here, try this.”
Evan turns his head slightly, catching the faint neon blue sloshing in a cheap plastic bottle and grins as he wraps his fingers around the neck, brushing along the pair of rough, warm hands holding it out to him. Tyler doesn’t pull back; instead he lets their touch linger before he lets the bottle go.
“Where’d you get this?” Evan asks as he takes a drink, lips screwing up immediately as the shitty alcohol hits his tongue, washed away by the sugary flavor of fake coconut and pineapple.
“Drew’s mom has like two fridges worth of this stuff,” Tyler says as he pulls an orange one from the brown paper bag sitting in his backpack, “so he can easily sneak it without her noticing.”
“It’s really bad,” Evan laughs, but he takes another drink, gaze lingering over the way Tyler’s lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle.
“So fucking bad,” Tyler agrees, but he grins down at Evan.
The moon is full tonight, cascading over their makeshift blanket laid out in the back of Tyler’s truck bed parked on the hill that overlooks the cemetery. While it’s not the most comfortable arrangement in the world, Evan wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. His entire body is still crackling with electricity, a pleasant buzz that only comes when he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. Sneaking out of his bedroom and down the lattice to meet Tyler down the road makes something sizzle and pop in his blood. He can imagine how furious his parents would be if they found out. How worried that their only son would partake in late night drinking and trespassing.
“Are you trying out for the team this year?” Tyler asks after a few moments of comfortable silence.
“Depends.” Evan says with a frown, shrugging his shoulders.
“Is it your parents or grades?” Tyler’s voice softens as he traces the lip of the bottle with his thumb.
“Both.” Evan lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “But it’s not my fault Mr. Harris hates me.”
“No,” Tyler hums in agreement, “it’s not. He’s a grade A dick and he doesn’t understand that everyone learns differently.”
Evan blinks up at Tyler with wide, wide eyes. He doesn’t think anyone’s come to his defense before in relation to school. He’s not stupid, he loves to learn, but paying attention and sitting still aren’t things he’s good at, especially if the material isn’t even remotely interesting. He hyper fixates on the less important things which makes taking tests difficult. He knows Tyler has trouble reading. Dyslexia Tyler had told him unashamedly one day when they were working on homework together. Evan wished he knew what was wrong with him, but his parents hadn’t seemed to care too much as long as he was passing.
“Yeah,” Evan replies softly, a lazy smile stretching over his face as he looks at Tyler.
“Oh hey,” Tyler takes a large swig from his bottle before setting it down on the cooler, “we should go to the drive-in this weekend, they’re showing some horror double features.”
“Oh yeah?” Evan asks with a raised eyebrow. “What movies?”
“The Village and The Sixth Sense,” Tyler grins mischievously. “They’re supposed to have a good plot twist.”
Evan’s hand tightens around his bottle as a coil, hot and searing, wraps around his lungs. His gaze darts around the darkness, but there’s nothing save for the orange glow from the street lamps at the bottom of the hill. It’s too dark to see the cemetery properly. He can just make out the blurred, eerie white shapes of tombstones scattered in rows. He takes another hurried sip and swallows harshly around the taste, suddenly metallic, like he’s bitten his tongue for too long.
“Evan,” Tyler says, fingers gentle against the inside of Evan’s wrist, “we don’t have to if you’re not interested or scared.”
He sounds genuine, not mean or teasing like most people would be at their age. Evan licks his lips and sets his bottle down before he lets it slip from his trembling hands.
“I’m not scared,” he says a little defensively.
“Horror movies aren’t for everyone,” Tyler ducks his head to meet Evan’s gaze, offering him a reassuring smile.
“My sister snuck me in to see The Sixth Sense when I was eight,” Evan blurts out.
Something like understanding passes across Tyler's face as he swipes his thumb soothing over Evan’s pulse point. “I get it,” he says, “my brother made me watch House on Haunted Hill when it came out and I swear I had nightmares for weeks.”
Evan wants to tell him that’s not the full picture. That he wasn’t afraid of the movie because of the jump scares or makeup or special effects. What terrified him was watching a boy just like him who could see ghosts. Panic swelled deep within his core and curled around every single one of his ribs when he realized the people he saw — the silent ones covered in blood and bruises with sunken sad eyes or cold, dark stares floating down the hallway, standing at the foot of his bed, next to his window in the car, between the trees, in the locker room and the school yard, and every place Evan’s ever been — were ghost.
Some just pass through while others wait, wait, wait until he figures out there’s something they need from him. He’s still learning to separate the good ones from the bad. Some he only catches a fleeting glance; a woman standing beneath a lamppost as they drive by or a child that wanders off into the woods, waving goodbye. Some of them stay for a long time. The boy he saw when he was six that has Maddie’s eyes. The man with the crooked smile that stands at the foot of his bed that keeps Evan frozen in place until dawn breaks through. He hates the crooked smile man. Something bad always happens when he sees him.
“We could still go,” Evan bravely says, “maybe it’s not as bad as I remember.”
“You could always, you know,” Tyler smiles shyly now as his fingers slowly slide to intertwine with Evan's, “hold my hand if you get scared.”
Evan’s pounding heart isn’t from the thought of ghosts with crooked smiles as something wild and free sparks in his veins. He inches closer and tilts his chin up, counting the freckles that dot Tyler’s face and the way his lashes fan over his hazel eyes.
“Anything else?” He asks hoping it doesn’t sound desperate and needing and wanting of someone to just choose him.
“We don’t have to watch the movie at all,” Tyler hums as he brushes his nose against Evan’s, “we could just do this…”
Tyler’s lips are surprisingly soft as they press against Buck’s gentle and searching. Evan parts his lips, allowing Tyler in as he wraps his hands around Tyler’s waist. Tyler is strong and only half an inch shorter and Buck likes the way Tyler’s muscles coil beneath his palms as Evan pulls him onto his lap. Tyler licks hot into his mouth and tastes like passionfruit and mango, cheap booze, and the faintest hint of tobacco. It makes Evan’s head spin in the best way. Tyler kisses him like he wants Evan. Not like he wants something from him. Evan can’t help, but grin, pulling a breathless laugh from Tyler before his friend trails kisses down Evan’s jaw, biting and sucking a beautiful lavender across Evan’s neck.
Evan wants to see Tyler. He wants to see the way the moon cascades over his freckle-dotted face and his kiss swollen lips. He wants to see that fire that’s growing in the pit of Evan’s stomach, roaring to life with such ferocity he doesn’t know what to do with it, reflected back in those eyes that see Evan, not look past him. He blinks his own open, syrup slow, and startles so hard that Tyler slides sideways, hitting the bed of the truck hard.
“Evan?” Tyler pants as he pushes up on his elbows.
Evan can’t look at him right now. Every nerve ending feels ice cold, the fire extinguished into wisp of black smoke that makes it hard for him to breathe. There’s a girl standing just in front of the truck bed, her neck bent at a horrible angle, head almost reaching toward her shoulder. Her skin is a smatter of black, purple, and blue in the shape of a ring around her neck. Evan shoves away the sob that builds in the back of his throat because the worst fucking part is that he knows her.
He knows her.
Barbie blonde hair with dazzling green eyes and a wicked smile that made every head in the hallway turn. Amanda Sinclaire. The most popular girl in school. Evan remembers how she kissed him one time in gym class when they were twelve behind the bleachers. She was wearing cherry lip gloss and she told Evan his birthmark was pretty.
And here she is with a broken neck and sad, dead eyes dressed in a baby pink pajama set staring at Evan.
“What do you want?” He whispers, but he knows that she can hear him.
“Evan, what?” Tyler asks and out of the corner of Evan’s eye he can see Tyler looking between where he is and the space where Amanda is standing.
Amanda doesn’t say anything. They never do. She just turns, a fluid motion that seems inhumanly possible and walks barefoot across the grass towards the cemetery. Evan doesn’t hesitate as he scrambles from the truck bed, knocking over his bottle of booze as he goes.
“Where are you going?” Tyler calls, confused and a little hurt.
“I have to follow her.” Evan says without looking back.
He can hear Tyler moving, the sound of his shoes pounding into the dirt as he runs to catch up. Amanda passes through the fence like it’s not even there and Evan quickly scales over it, Tyler right behind him. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls even with Evan, but Evan can feel the heat of his gaze as glances to the side every now and then. It doesn’t matter. He thinks Tyler might understand more than anyone else. Maybe he can explain himself without being told he needs to seek psychological help.
They follow Amanda for a good five minutes, past the nicer mausoleums made of white marble, chipped away by time and brushed over with moss and spider webs. They loop around the small pond, the water still and quiet. Sometimes he and Maddie would come feed the ducks in the morning, catching fish with butterfly nets and watching turtles sunbathe on rocks. There’s no sign of life now, the night quiet save for the hum of crickets and the occasional whistle of wind through the leaves.
There’s a tree that stands just on the other side of the water, tucked further back behind bushes and smaller evergreens. It’s a big, towering thing with black branches and spikes that stick out of the trunk, thick and sharp. Everyone calls it the Devil’s Tree and they say it’s been standing in the same spot since before the cemetery was built. He’s heard the rumors. How anyone that plans to try and remove it fails. So they planted foliage and placed a tool shed to block its view from the road. Most people forget about it, passing by without every glancing in its direction, but Evan’s seen the tree more than once.
A lot of his ghosts come from there.
“Evan,” Tyler hisses as they round the tool shed, “we need to leave now. I hate this part of the cemetery.” He sounds scared. “You know what’s on the other side of those bushes.”
Evan trips over his own feet as Amanda suddenly appears in front of him. The ground is hard and unforgiving, the skin at his knees scraping against his jeans painfully. He feels Tyler’s hand at his back, but he only looks up at the tree now towering over them.
“Jesus fucking christ.” Tyler says, stumbling backwards, taking his warmth with him.
Pain explodes behind Evan’s eyes, a headache that digs its claws into his neck, needling in like a parasite sucking the life from him. Amanda — the real Amanda — sways in the wind, the tips of her toes only inches above the ground as the Devil’s Tree groans from the movement.
Distantly, he can hear Tyler retching into the bushes, but he can’t take his eyes off of the tree.
She wanted me to find her.
“W—we shou—should call someone,” Evan stutters out after what seems like years.
“Evan,” Tyler says seriously, “we can’t be here.”
“Well, we can’t just leave her!” Evan yells back as he turns, catching sight of Tyler’s pale and terrified face.
He doesn’t want Amanda to be alone.
Tyler just shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair. Evan watches as he takes a few deep breaths before marching over and grabbing Evan’s wrist to pull him up.
“We’ll call for help when we get back to my truck, but please,” he begs, “just, I don’t want to wait here.”
Evan swallows, his bottom lip trembling as he looks over his shoulder where Amanda’s ghost is standing just in front of her body. Her neck is still bent horribly and Evan thinks she’ll haunt his nightmares for years to come, but she gestures ever so slightly like she’s giving him permission to go.
“Okay.” Evan whispers.
Guilt drips down his esophagus, hot and thick like concrete, and pools in his stomach making it nearly impossible for him to remain standing. He lets Tyler drag him back through the bushes and around the lake. The scraps on his knees sting and he can just catch the metallic scent of blood. His head pounds and pounds and pounds the further he gets away from Amanda. Out of his peripheral he can see her hovering in the distance like a shadow chasing the last rays of sun.
He barely makes it over the fence, landing hard on his left ankle which bends painfully, but pales in comparison to the pressure that builds continuously behind his eyes. The only reason he thinks he’s still moving is because Tyler won’t let him go, his quick shaky breaths and his small please, Evan come on just a little further, are the only thing that cut across the buzzing that’s filled his ears.
When they make it back to the truck Tyler grabs his flip-phone from the glove box, handing it out to Evan expectantly. Evan takes one look at it, hands shaking so uncontrollably he can’t mold his fingers around the device, and promptly vomits on the ground. There’s a sweet sense of relief, the pain slowly retreating like ocean waves.
“Oh, Ev,” Tyler murmurs, his warmth spreading across the space between Evan’s shoulder blades as he moves his hand in a soothing motion that reminds him of Maddie.
A few seconds later he can hear Tyler making the call, his voice short and clip giving just enough detail to get the police where they need to go and hanging up before they can ask for his name. Evan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the sick taste of coconut mixed with bile making his stomach turn. He fist the grass, blunt nails digging into the cool mud hoping the feeling of the earth will ground him.
“Let’s get into the truck.”
Tyler gently lifts him up, his legs weak as he stumbles over to the passenger side. He doesn’t even realize he’s violently shivering until Tyler shoves one of his old hoodies into Evan’s hand, quietly telling him to put it in. Evan obliges and lets the faint scent of Old Spice ease some tension out of his shoulders. Tyler pulls them into a dark, abandoned parking lot still in view of the cemetery. Two minutes later an ambulance, a firetruck, and a police car come barreling through the gate.
Evan tilts his head, watching the red and white lights pass over Tyler’s face in a beautiful, haunting dance. The come down is always the worst part. The way his body aches and the utter exhaustion that seeps into his bones. He feels wrung out and hollow and embarrassed. The reality of what happened — of him dragging Tyler into his ghost hunt — hits him full force. He sinks into his seat, wrapping his arms around himself for protection.
“Evan,” Tyler eventually says, and Evan knows what’s coming next, “what the fuck just happened?”
Evan flinches and keeps his eyes on the firetruck in the distance. He knows they’ve found Amanda by now. He hasn’t seen her since the emergency responders passed through the gate.
“I don’t think you’ll believe me.” Evan responds, voice small.
Tyler laughs, a sharp bark of a thing.
“Try me.”
Evan dares to meet his gaze and despite the clear fear still lingering in the corner of Tyler’s eyes he looks hesitantly curious. He licks his lips, shifting forward as something dangerously like hope flutters in his chest. Evan gave up trying to explain what happens to him after his parents forced him to have a talk with one of their friends, supposedly a pediatric therapist, and cruelly hinted that if Evan didn’t stop seeing and talking about his “invisible friends” as if they were real then his parents would send him far away to places where they lock children up in padded rooms.
“Look,” Evan says quickly, forcing out the words before he gets too scared to speak,” I—I know this is going to sound crazy, but, um, ever since I was a kid I can see ghosts.”
Tyler’s mouth parts open like he’s going to say something, but Evan doesn’t let him get a word in.
“A—and when we were in the truck Amanda’s ghost suddenly appeared,” he explains as he gestures towards the cemetery. “Sometimes they want something from me and I think th—that she wanted to be found.”
“She wanted to be found.” Tyler repeats slowly, annunciating each syllable like he doesn’t fully understand what Evan is saying. Like he’s speaking a different language entirely.
“Yeah,” Evan nods his head, “she didn’t want to be alone.”
He holds his breath, fingers pressing into the dash as he looks at Tyler and waits. His friend isn’t looking at him anymore, lips pressed in a thin line as he looks out at the emergency lights. Evan wishes more than anything they could just go back to the moment where they were kissing in the back of Tyler’s truck; where Tyler held him and kissed him like he was the best thing to ever exist. He wants to wipe away the fear and doubt and whatever else is swirling in Tyler’s mind like a storm cloud, ruining their budding romantic relationship before it could even start.
“This is my fault,” Tyler finally says with a heavy sigh.
“What?”
That’s the last thing Evan expects him to say.
“I pushed too soon,” Tyler grips the steering wheel so tightly Evan can hear the way the material chaffs beneath his palms, “and you got scared.”
Evan suddenly wishes he were the one hanging from the tree.
“Tyler,” he says, voice breaking, “I—I’m not scared of this; us.”
“Come on Ev,” Tyler scoffs, hurt, “you’re really going to try and sell me on that Bruce Willis bullshit after we just talked about it?”
“That’s not…” Evan starts with panic and rejection and shame all wrapping around his vital organs like weeds with sharp thorns. “I’m not lying to you.”
“I get it,” Tyler says like he understands, but Evan knows it’s too late, “there aren’t a lot of people like us at school.”
The sting of hot tears forces Evan to shove his fist into his mouth so he doesn’t start pathetically sobbing and begging Tyler to just listen. Tyler doesn’t look at him as he starts the truck.
“I’ll take you home,” he says quietly.
Evan doesn’t argue. He doesn’t fight. He just nods his head and chokes down all of his hurt. He rolls down the window and lets the chilly, night air cool his swollen and splotchy face. As they pull out of the parking lot he can see the paramedics rolling a body bag into the back of the ambulance.
Twenty-Seven
“You think it’s too much?”
Buck blinks a few times, first up at Eddie, and then down at the box of chocolates sitting on the table between them. He takes a swig of beer to save himself from answering right away. It tastes flat and a little bitter and makes the corner of his mouth twist unpleasantly. Eddie is anxiously waiting for a response, shifting slightly on his feet. It’s very un-Eddie like. Eddie doesn’t do nervous or worried or anxious. Eddie is the calm one; collected and together even under pressure. This is a side that he rarely shows to anyone and Buck takes some comfort that he gets this much of Eddie at all.
“Who doesn’t love chocolate?” He finally responds, hoping to sound confident and casual.
He’s not quite sure if he succeeds. Eddie’s eye roll a second later confirms that he doesn’t. It makes him smile just a little. The weight that’s been pressing against his chest — sinking deeper and heavier like any moment now it will cave in his ribcage and crush his vital organs — since Shannon’s return and Eddie’s frequent absence sneaking around Christopher’s back to sleep with his own wife lifts just a little.
Not like Buck has any right to be upset.
This is Eddie’s wife. This is Christopher’s mother. And despite the fuck ups she and Eddie have committed against each other and their son over the years doesn’t she deserve this second chance? She loves Christopher, Buck knows that much and if there’s one thing he understands more than most it’s complicated family relationships. If she and Eddie want to work on fixing things between them and try to become a real family, how could Buck ever find fault in that?
It doesn’t stop the deep, deep ache that goes right down to his bones, though.
He supposes he was always on borrowed time with Eddie and Christopher.
Besides, Eddie is still his best friend and that, Buck knows, will have to be enough.
Even if it ends up killing him one day.
“Eds,” Buck says, leaning forward, hand resting between himself and the chocolate, “don’t worry about whether anything is too much or not enough, because you are enough.”
More than enough.
Eddie smiles wryly, “History says otherwise.”
Buck frowns, fingers curling in. He hates when Eddie talks about himself like that. No one is perfect, that he gets, but Eddie’s the best person he knows and he knows a hell of a lot of amazing people.
He swallows, “You still love Shannon, don’t you?”
He knows Eddie does. Knows that people are capable of loving more than one person romantically or otherwise at once, but still the sting that threads through his skin, like a needle when you get stitches, hurts.
“Yes.” Eddie nods, but Buck can hear the complexities layered in such a simple word.
“And Shannon still loves you,” Buck continues as if he hadn’t just choked down shards of glass, “and you both love Christopher.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, just purses his lips to the side. Buck wants to run the pads of fingers over Eddie’s warm skin, smooth out the furrow in his brow, but he just tightens his fist and forces himself to be the best friend that Eddie deserves.
The one that isn’t kind of sort of completely falling in love with him.
“Then everything will be okay,” Buck assures him. “You and Shannon get to choose each other again — you get to choose Christopher — and the rest will work itself out later.”
Eddie’s lips quirk up and Buck bathes in that smile, greedily letting it wash over his skin like rays of sun bursting from behind a cloud.
“What would I ever do without you?” Eddie murmurs quietly as he smooths out his shirt, dropping his gaze to his hands.
“Probably live much more peacefully,” Buck tries to joke, but it comes out a little more self-deprecatingly than he means too.
Eddie’s face does something complicated and if Buck knew better he’d almost think that he could describe it as hurt. Buck wants to rush and explain that it’s okay. He’s never been anyone’s first choice and people get on without him all the time. His parents. His friends. Abby. Even his sister, Maddie, though maybe less than he thought a few years ago. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ali didn’t stick around forever. It’s just how it is. How it will always be.
“You should probably be heading out soon,” Buck says as he catches the time, hoping it will cut Eddie off from telling Buck how important he is. It doesn’t change the fact that still isn’t anyone’s first choice. He finishes his beer in one go and gets up from the table to clean up his mess. “Bobby always says being late never makes a good impression.”
“And choking on bread before you’ve even ordered a main course?” Eddie asks a little teasingly, but there’s a lit to his voice that Buck wants to spend the next hour dissecting over and over until he’s figured out exactly what Eddie really means.
Buck waves his hand as he drops the bottle into the recycling, “He must have skipped over that part, but,” he gives Eddie a playful grin that feels mostly normal, only slightly taut, “I would not recommend it.”
“Noted.” Eddie looks at him for a moment, face soft and open like he’s seeing something that Buck doesn’t know is there. “What are your plans for the evening?”
“Well,” Buck hums as he looks away from Eddie, not sure of what his best friend will find if his gaze lingers too long, “since Christopher ditched me for a lego hangout with Denny and Ali is busy,” he doesn’t miss the way Eddie scrunches his nose ever so slightly, “it’s just me, myself, and I.”
“Loft all decorated now?” Eddie asks as they both simultaneously head towards the front door, like two magnets always pulling the other along.
“Mostly,” Buck shrugs, “I’m not really used to having my own space to decorate.”
“I saw my Abuela’s old record player made its way onto your bookcase,” Eddie snorts, but there’s a brightness to his dark honeycombed eyes that makes Buck bite the bottom of his lip briefly.
“And it still works,” Buck smiles, feeling a little drunk not from the beer, but merely Eddie’s presence and beauty as they step out into the setting sunlight, “Fleetwood Mac has never sounded better.”
Eddie chuckles, always fascinated by Buck’s varying taste in music. He can blame the Stevie Nicks on Maddie, but Taylor Swift is, admittedly, all him.
“Let me know how it goes.” Buck says honestly as they stop in the space between their vehicles.
Buck thinks there’s only one way for it to end. Eddie and Shannon finally getting their happily ever after.
“Don’t cry too hard to Landslide,” Eddie nudges him with his shoulder.
“Me?” Buck gestures dramatically at himself. “Never.”
“See you later, Buck.” Eddie smiles before he climbs into his truck with his chocolate and Buck’s broken, bleeding heart.
“Bye, Eds.” Buck whispers as Eddie pulls out the driveway.
He rubs at his chest, trying to rid the pang of guilt that sits heavy with everything else. Ali deserves someone better than him. She’s funny and smart and kind and all Buck can think about is how much it hurts to let Eddie go. Maybe he can be better. Maybe when the finality of Eddie and Shannon reconciling really sets in he can finally give himself fully to her. They can be good for each other. Maybe Buck can find happiness too.
He lets the guilt eat away at the muscles and ligaments between his ribs and puts on the Fleetwood Mac album at full blast to drown out his sad and pathetic thoughts as he cooks dinner alone. He thinks about texting Ali, but he doesn’t have the heart to hold a conversation right now. He comes close to calling Maddie before he remembers she and Chimney are on a date.
He swirls his fork around the leftover pasta sauce, his record still playing and a baseball game he’s not really interested in on mute on the television, and thinks about all the people he loves. Maddie and Chim. Bobby and Athena. Hen and Karen. Eddie and Christopher. All of their pieces slowly falling together into their own separate families and even though Buck knows he belongs to them he somehow still feels slightly apart from them.
Replaceable.
Like his piece can be plucked and discarded and the puzzle will still fit together.
Maddie is the only one that can still hold onto him both because of their blood relation and their deep love for each other that can’t be lost no matter what happens. It’s a small comfort and Buck knows he’s just being dramatic and is feeling lonely, but his fears and doubts were sowed long ago and even after years of digging he still can’t seem to find the roots.
He checks his phone a few times just in case Eddie texts him, but it’s been a couple of hours so he can only assume dinner is going well. He moves around the loft like the ghost he’s grown used to seeing over the years. If he’s being quite honest, it’s been a while, which he is more grateful for than anything else. He remembers seeing that old man and his husband, holding hands as they walked off into the distance.
You don’t find it son you make it
Buck smiles sadly. At least they were together.
They were the last ghost he’s seen, that is, if he doesn’t count the Crooked Smiled Man that showed up right before Doug returned. The fear sometimes still lodges itself in Buck’s throat. How at any second he was terrified to see his sister or Chimney on the side of the road as he and Athena drove further and further away from home. How Buck thought, for one agonizing moment, the bleeding and broken image of Maddie stumbling through the snows was just there to lead Buck to her body until she opened her mouth and cried out his name.
He never wants to see the Crooked Smiled Man ever again.
He decides he might as well get ready for bed considering they have an early shift tomorrow and pretends to ignore the sting of tears when he can hear Landslide echoing from downstairs.
He turns the water up too hot in the shower, but lets the pain ease that aching inside of him. He feels unexplainably cold and the steam helps chase away the chill that seems to permeate the entirety of the loft. He doesn’t waste time and quickly towels off so he can throw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie because it’s only grown colder even in the tiny space of his bathroom. He thinks about checking the thermostat just as a pounding headache, sudden and sickening, hits him.
He fumbles to open up the bathroom cabinet and grabs the nearest bottle of medication. He forces at least three pills into his throat before bending down to gulp a mouthful of sink water. His mouth rings with a sharp, metallic taste that wasn’t there before and as he closes the mirror he nearly jumps out of his skin.
Standing just behind him in the reflection of the mirror is the Crooked Smiled Man.
He turns, movements uncoordinated and a bit jerky, and knocks anything sitting on the counter to the floor. There’s no one there, but Buck knows. He knows. As soon as he looks back at the mirror he will be standing there, smiling smiling smiling like he always is. He bolts from the bathroom, tripping over a pile of dirt clothes to get to his phone. The record has stopped playing and the loft is only filled with the sound of it endlessly spinning and the pound of Buck’s own heart.
He completely pulls the charger from the wall as he fumbles to put in his passcode. He doesn’t know who to call first. Everyone is busy, carrying on with their lives and Buck is stuck here in the loft with the terrifying ghost of his childhood like an omen. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the Crooked Smiled Man now standing in the dark entrance way to his bathroom. He swallows around the taste of blood in his mouth, hands shaking, useless as his list of contacts blur beneath the burn of tears.
Eddie Eddie Eddie
He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from, but it’s sudden and sharp and excruciating. Eddie is the first name at the top of his list, his most recent calls and texts, and he doesn’t hesitate to hit the call button.
The phone rings and rings and rings.
Buck backs into the far wall, sliding to the ground. He tries to reassure himself that Eddie is alright. He and Shannon probably went to the movies or took a romantic walk on the beach or are fucking in Eddie’s bedroom. He’s getting his happily ever after and what is Buck doing? Ruining it like he always does. He can’t even let Eddie have this, but he doesn’t hang up either. He needs to hear Eddie’s voice. He needs to know that he’s okay. It will eat away at him until he does.
If it saves Eddie’s life isn't it okay for Buck to be selfish? Isn't it okay for him to take a little bit more, just this last time? Eddie will understand, he always does. That’s why he’s too good for Buck.
The Crooked Smiled Man tilts his head and Buck closes his eyes, digging his palm in hard until he can almost see stars.
“Buck?”
When Buck was eight his parents dumped him at a summer camp because Maddie was working her first job and they couldn’t stand to have him in the house for hours on end without her. He remembers the lake tucked beneath a beautiful blue sky with deciduous and evergreen trees scattered around the banks. The water was the kind of blue-green Buck’s only ever seen in the movies. Camp felt a bit like freedom. The warm breeze that nestled through his curls, the sugary taste of marshmallow and orange soda from the mess hall. He made a few friends and participated in every game and not once injured himself for attention.
He avoided the older boys, the twelve year olds that smiled cruelly in his direction and bullied anyone that got too close when the counselors weren’t looking. They hardly posed a threat until one of them caught sight of his drawing of a boy by the lake. It was the second day of camp when Buck saw him. Red pajama pants and always dripping with water, face pale and arms wrapped in green seaweed. They seemed frightened, defensive and tore the drawing up before Buck could ask why.
Buck was pulled from his bed that night, dragged down to the lake where they held him underwater, demanding he tell them how he knows the boy in the drawing. He remembers the way the water filled his mouth; a slight hint of dirt and bitingly cold as it poured down his throat too fast, too fast. He could see the boy hovering over him in the water as they pushed him further down. It calmed something in Buck, his fingers wrapping around the water as he stopped struggling to break free.
Seconds later lights poured over the lake and Buck broke through the surface taking a heaving, gasping breath that tasted so sweet.
Air fills Buck’s lungs, swift and harsh, but oh so fucking sweet just like that night at camp as Eddie’s voice, tired and a little defeated, but right there in Buck’s ear breaks over the speaker.
“Eddie,” Buck says, a mixture of wrecked and relieved, “god, Eds, you’re okay.”
He hears a shift on the other end of the line, like Eddie is suddenly sitting up in bed.
Holy shit Buck is so fucking stupid.
Of course Eddie is okay.
Of course he’s in bed. Shannon is surely right next to him and he probably interrupted something very personal. He called Eddie for no goddamn reason other than his own peace of mind over his childhood ghost that lingers on the edge of Buck’s own sanity. Maybe The Crooked Smiled Man was a warning against himself. Maybe he is the bad thing that happens to Eddie. He shouldn’t have called. He shouldn’t have—
“Buck,” Eddie says, more alert and voice flooded with concern, “hey, what’s wrong?”
“I—” Buck stops, looks up and shudders to see that the Crooked Smiled Man is still there, “it’s n—nothing, Eddie,” he settles on feeling embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Eddie responds immediately, almost darkly, and Buck knows instantly that dinner did not go as planned, “you know I don’t mind when you call.”
Buck cradles the phone against his ear, picking at a loose strand in his sweatpants, “Eddie, is everything okay?”
“Fine.” Eddie replies sharply enough that Buck flinches. There’s a weary sigh and Buck can imagine Eddie scrubbing his hand over his face. “No, I mean, physically I’m fine if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Buck’s eyes dart to the bathroom door, but the ghost is gone and Buck finally allows his body to relax.
“Want to tell me what that’s all about?” Eddie asks, the worry returning.
Buck bites his bottom lip, sucks on it hard enough until he can taste blood for real, instead of just the phantom tang that lingered in the bathroom. After Tyler Buck swore he’d never tell anyone about the ghost ever again. It was safer that way. No one ever really believed him anyway and he doesn’t think he could handle the heartbreak of telling Eddie and his best friend thinking he’s out of his mind. Eddie could humor him, sure, but he wouldn’t believe Buck and that would hurt more than anything else.
But he can’t lie to Eddie either.
“I, um,” Buck starts, “you know sometimes when you get those feelings that something bad is going to happen, but you can’t explain when or why or how. You—you just know?”
They’re firefighters and Eddie’s been in the army. Instinct is a driving force that keeps them alive. It’s not the full truth, but it’s definitely a part of it and the best way Buck can explain why he called Eddie panicked at nearly midnight.
“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice is soft, tinged with a small smile, “I do.”
“It was just one of those,” Buck feels exhausted, the headache abating into a dull throb right behind his eyes, “and with all the Doug stuff recently, I got scared.”
“Hey,” Eddie says, “I’m okay, promise.”
Buck makes a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a sob. They’re quiet for a few moments, just listening to each other breathe. It’s comforting, in a way, and Buck can’t help, but smile knowing Eddie’s finding some sort of peace just being on the phone with Buck too.
“Eddie,” Buck says after a while, “what happened at dinner?”
There’s a small intake of air and without even seeing Eddie, Buck can already tell he’s trying to shut everything down. Like he isn’t allowed to feel whatever pain or sorrow or hurt Shannon’s given him in the last few hours.
“It’s nothing,” Eddie forces out through gritted teeth.
“Come on Eds,” Buck says sincerely, hoping to take even just the smallest amount of weight from Eddie’s shoulders, “you know you can tell me anything.”
“Not tonight,” Eddie murmurs, “just, please not tonight.”
“Okay,” Buck assures him gently.
“But,” Eddie says softly, almost as if he’s embarrassed to ask, “you don’t have to hang up, maybe we could just talk for a while?”
Buck manages to climb from the floor to the bed, collapsing against the covers as something warm chases away the last of the chill in his bones.
“Of course, Eddie.”
Anything for you.
Buck falls asleep to the soft snores of Eddie on the receiver.
Buck pulls back his finger, hissing and nearly dropping the entirety of lunch as he jostles the pan sitting in front of him. Hen just shakes her head, lips graced with a small smile as she flips the tap on. Buck throws her a sheepish grin as he sticks it under the cool tap, sighing at the instant relief.
“Do you think I’ll survive?” He teasingly asks her.
“Jury’s still out on that one, Buckaroo.” Hen replies, but the amusement in her eyes eases the tension in Buck’s shoulders.
It’s been a tough shift most of the morning and not because of hard calls or long, grueling rescues. Bobby is still gone, Chimney is still working to maintain a balance of Captain versus friend, and Eddie hasn’t spoken much since Buck picked him up this morning.
Everything has felt off.
And Buck still can’t shake the terrible, gut-wrenching feeling that something is going to go wrong.
The Crooked Smiled Man sits in the shadowy corners of his mind, making his heart pound every time he’s too alone with his thoughts or when the bell rings. He’s stuck suspiciously close to Eddie all morning, offering quiet support and trying to not push too far like he always does.
All he managed to get out of Eddie this morning is that Shannon isn’t pregnant and she wants a divorce.
Buck watched as Eddie pushed everything down down down as they pulled into the fire station. He knows Eddie can’t run away from this, but he’s never really been shut out by his best friend before and he’s not sure what to do besides wait and see if Eddie comes to him.
He tries not to let it remind him too much of Abby.
He tries not to let the tremble in his hands show.
His stomach is a venomous pit of snakes writhing and twisting together; worry, fear, guilt, and exhaustion as he plows through the morning trying to keep his spirits up.
He and Hen took up the mantle of making lunch and her steady, calm presence is like a balm to the nerves. Hen is a constant, someone Buck can always depend on and her small quips about his cooking and teasing smiles are the only thing holding him together at the moment.
“Did you burn yourself?” Eddie asks with a tiny frown, his brow furrowing in a way that makes Buck want to lean over and smooth it with the pad of his thumb.
But he doesn’t touch. Not right now. Not when everything feels a little fragile and slightly shifted to the left.
“A small price to pay for Bobby’s alfredo penne special.” Buck replies with a grin as he holds up his finger for Eddie to inspect. “You could always kiss it to make it better,” he teases lightly and is rewarded with the smallest smile curling in the corner of Eddie’s mouth.
“Maybe if you were five,” Eddie shoots back, but Buck bites back his grin from growing wider. This is the most normal Eddie’s sound all day and Buck will take as much of it as he can.
“Hen?” Buck turns to her with a mock pout.
“That’s cute.” Hen snorts as she begins to set out the plates at the table.
“And if I have to cut off my own finger because no one kissed it to make it better?” Buck sighs dramatically as he carries a basket of garlic bread to the table, Eddie right behind him.
“Should I give Maddie a call then?” Chimney asks as he climbs up the last stair.
“Ha ha.” Buck deadpans as he takes a seat at the table.
Everyone else files in as Hen places the pan of hot pasta down. He feels Eddie’s knee knocking into his own, a pleasant warmth seeping into Buck’s bones when he doesn’t pull away. Buck ducks his head, smiling shyly to himself and only blushes slightly when he catches Eddie watching him out of the corner of his eye. For the first time all day the firehouse feels alive as they all chat pleasantly over food. Buck is pleased that he and Hen managed to make it almost exactly like Bobby does and his heart only aches a little at the thought of the last missing piece of their family.
They get mostly through lunch before the bell rings and they’re all piling into the truck. Hen is in the middle of telling a story about Denny that has them all grinning from ear to ear. He tilts his head and finds that Eddie is already looking at him. There’s something soft and open in his expression and Buck exhales, feeling the relief all the way to the tips of his toes.
Eddie’s going to be okay and Buck is going to stand by his side until the universe physically tears them apart.
He turns, looking out the window and nearly jumps in his seat, slamming his elbow into Eddie’s side.
“Buck, hey!” Eddie says, startled, but Buck can’t really hear him.
He can’t hear anything except the roaring of blood in his ears as watches the Crooked Smiled Man waving at him from the depths of a dark alley.
Not here. Not now.
Buck can’t breathe as the ghost fades back into the darkness, the bright white of his teeth the last thing Buck sees before he’s gone. There’s a hand on his knee and he jumps again, turning wide, fearful eyes in the direction of his team.
“Buck,” Eddie says gently, “what’s wrong?”
Buck opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Everything is stuck in his throat and the sour taste of bile threatens to climb past all the words and explanations he can’t even begin to say. He doesn’t get the chance either as Chimney barks orders to them, the doors flying open as everyone else begins to pile out.
“N—nothing,” Buck stammers as he fumbles with his seat belt.
He doesn’t miss the exchange Eddie and Hen have, but he needs to get out of the truck before it crushes him. The sun is too bright, an uncomfortable hot press of air that makes his lungs seize for a moment. He surveys the scene, looks for something that could go wrong. There’s a gathering crowd and the accident, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on anything as Chimney tells him to check on the driver.
Adrenaline takes over, numbing his fear and anxiety as he slips into his firefighter role. He ignores the thick, metallic bite of blood in his mouth and the mounting headache as he gets over to the passenger side of the vehicle and falls into rhythm with Eddie. Eddie throws Buck a quick look of concern before he’s easing a C-collar on the driver as she stutters out a panicked slur of words.
Buck only catches part of it, but something about the way she talks about the woman she hit, the paralyzing fear in her voice has Buck looking over towards the pavement where a small crowd is standing. He freezes as devastation and realization hit him like a fucking train.
He knows who is lying on the ground.
He knows why the Crooked Smiled Man came.
Don’t let Eddie see.
Too late too late.
Don’t let Eddie see.
He hears his name, can picture the way Eddie is furrowing his brow, but he can’t stop the pull he feels to face his best friend, like a magnet clicking into place or a commit falling into the gravity of the sun. He looks at Eddie and knows he can’t hide it. Can’t stop whatever is about to happen next.
“Buck?”
Eddie follows the path and Buck can see everything falling into place. He gets to his feet, not caring if he has a job to do. He needs to protect Eddie.
“Eddie.” He manages to get past the taste of blood in his mouth, “Eddie, wait, stop, Eddie!”
Eddie shoves him out of the way and Buck just stands there. Every part of him aches deeply where Eddie touched him. Chimney stops Eddie and Buck doesn’t have to see his Captain’s face to figure out just how bad it is. The Crooked Smiled Man standing over Shannon’s body is enough to tell Buck everything he needs to know.
Buck pushes away the need to vomit. He still has a job to do. He doesn’t hear much, just a quiet buzzing as he works through the rest of the scene. Chimney, Hen, and Eddie are transporting Shannon and Buck is left behind to help clean up the rest of the mess.
Something awful itches beneath his skin as he watches Eddie climb into the back of the ambulance.
It doesn’t mean Shannon has to die. It doesn’t mean Shannon has to die. It doesn’t mean Shannon has to die.
Buck repeats the mantra over and over again. It’s a four minute drive to the nearest hospital and Buck counts the seconds as he blindly moves around the accident site. He blames the wetness in the corner of his eyes on the brightness of the sun. It feels like forever, like Buck’s somehow been dragged through purgatory, before they can leave.
He nearly sprints to the truck, yelling at the driver to take them directly to the hospital when he sees her.
Floral print on a beautiful sunny yellow. Freckled dotted face with a splatter of blood down her temple. She’s standing where her body had been minutes ago; sprawled and broken and doomed. People pass around her, through her, but she doesn’t move. She looks at Buck and Buck can’t take his eyes off her.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, voice quiet.
I should have known. Maybe I could have saved you.
Shannon just shakes her head, the smallest of movements, and Buck thinks she has the saddest eyes he’s ever seen.
“I’ll take care of them,” he says before he can stop himself, “I—I’ll look after them. Promise.”
The barest of smiles brushes over Shannon’s face before someone barks at Buck to get into the truck. He only looks away for a moment, but she’s gone. Every part of him feels numb, like someone cut him open and scraped out every single last one of his nerve endings.
Eddie. Christopher.
It seems a little unfair that Buck is the last person to see Shannon. That he can make her promises and that he knew, on some level even if it was buried so far down he’d never find it in time, that Shannon was going to die.
Buck climbs into the truck and tries not to let the guilt eat him alive.
Buck takes a harsh, shallow breath.
He chokes on the taste of oil. The burn of asphalt and the lick of smoke that claws down his throat.
Everything hurts.
Everything hurts
There’s a burn on his face, the sticky sensation of blood coated over road rash blistering across his cheek.
He can’t hear much. Just a dull ringing and the sound of his own rapid, beating heart. There’s some part of his brain that quietly tells him to take stock of his injuries, but he honestly doesn’t remember what happened. His hands tremble, ghosting over pavement, white lines marking intersections that tell him he’s somewhere on a road. He tries to pull himself forward, but nearly blacks out from excruciating pain crushing his left leg.
He knows he makes some sort of wounded sound; a scream or a guttural cry, but everything is still just white noise. He presses his cheek into the ground, warm to the touch, and tries not to pass out.
Keep your eyes open.
Buck blinks blearily against the flashing red and white lights and can only think about how glad he is that Eddie, Hen, and Chimney were in the other truck.
The smoke is thick and heavy, a dark impending cloud that swirls in the aftermath of the explosion. Buck helplessly watches as a shape emerges. He bites his lip, holding back the rising sob that’s nearly bursting from his chest as the Crooked Smiled Man steps in front of him. The ghost raises its hand, waving it slowly, eerily from side to side.
Buck can’t help but think of Shannon. Of how she was crushed against the road, her body broken and dying as the Crooked Smiled Man towered over her like the Grim fucking Reaper. He knows this can only mean one thing. The same thing it meant when he saw it a few weeks ago. Buck curls his fingers in, shaking his head.
He doesn’t want to die.
He can’t.
He can’t leave Eddie and Chris and Maddie and Bobby and the rest of his family.
Not when they’ve already had so much taken from them. The only, only, comfort he can take from this, from the bright white smile of his childhood ghost is that if it were going to be anyone he’s just thankful it’s him. No one else is hurt. It’s just Buck and the road and the inevitable end that awaits him.
He wonders if the Crooked Smiled Man knows that he’s a fighter. That he won’t give up until death is prying him from life with everything it has. He looks up just to spit his defiance in its face and a shuddering breath leaves him when he’s faced with a young boy tilting his head curiously down at Buck.
“You’re new.” He says in a detached sort of way that makes Buck shiver.
He watches as the Crooked Smiled Man wraps itself around the boy, hands reaching into his pockets, thumb pressed against a button that Buck knows for certain is a detonator. It seems that his ghost was counting on Buck being a fighter.
Everything fades in and out. Seconds could pass, maybe even hours, but Buck doesn’t register much save for the familiar voices of Chimney and Bobby that cut through the fog in his brain. At some point he hears the kid say collateral damage and Buck almost laughs.
Collateral damage.
Sounds about right if you ask him.
The Crooked Smiled Man never leaves the kid’s side. Just keeps himself wrapped around the boy, almost smiling right in Buck’s direction. In the distance he can see people gathered behind barriers. He can’t quite tell if they’re real or ghosts just waiting to take him home.
There’s a sudden flurry of movement and Buck feels a hand, warm and familiar, gripping his own.
“Hang on, Buck.”
Buck manages to look at Eddie through half-lidded eyes and he can see the flickering flame of determination and anger and fear in those beautiful browns. He wants to tell Eddie that it’s probably too late. That he doesn’t want Eddie to watch him die like Shannon did. He wants to tell Eddie to let go to get away from here, but he selfishly holds on tighter as the Crooked Smiled Man disappears into the sea of people rushing forward.
He doesn’t know how he gets into the back of the ambulance, but he’s there with Hen hurrying around him and Eddie still holding his hand.
“You’re going to be okay, Buck.” Eddie says, voice breaking just a little as Hen passes him a fluid bag.
Buck doesn’t even feel the needle press into his skin. Everything is cold; numb. He knows that’s definitely not a good sign.
“I saw him, Eds.” He murmurs, words a little slurred.
“Saw who?” Eddie tries to humor him, but Buck can still read him like he always does. He can see the worry lines creasing in Eddie’s brow. How his mouth pulls taut and tension coils in every muscle.
“He wanted me to come with him.” Buck continues as the world around him blurs. “I didn’t want to,” he forces out, “not after he took Shannon.”
Eddie’s face shutters for a brief moment and Buck feels a stab of guilt as he tries to squeeze Eddie’s hand in reassurance. He’s not sure why he even said it at all, but it felt important for Eddie to know.
“Hey,” Eddie says, gently rubbing Buck’s sternum, he doesn’t remember closing his eyes, “keep your eyes open, Buck.”
“Don’t worry,” Buck coughs, tasting blood in his mouth, “he got lost. Couldn’t get to me. Not this time.”
It’s the last thing he remembers saying before everything goes black.
Buck stares up at the fluorescent lights, nose scrunched as he tries to fight off tears. He’s in between visiting hours which means he’s currently alone.
And it’s fucking killing him.
There’s only so many things he can read or watch or doom scroll through before his thoughts nestle so deep into his brain, like the roots of weeds and take hold. There’s a lingering itch near his bad ankle and his skin feels stretched thin, like it barely fits over his bones that he can’t wash away in the tiny hospital shower. He’s desperate to get out. To go home. To start the long and hard road to recovery so he can get back to where he’s supposed to be.
And he knows that chances are slim. That recovering from something like this is next to impossible considering he wasted all his luck just surviving it. But what else can he do? If he’s not a firefighter then what is he? If he was so easily replaceable before then what can he possibly do now except kick and scream and crawl back to the 118 just to ensure he doesn’t become a name ripped off a turnout coat? It’s easy to promise that everything will be the same, but Buck knows how it goes. How easily you lose touch with people when you don’t see them on a near daily basis anymore.
Sure, he has Ali, but even as she kissed him it felt like something at a distance. Her face did something complicated when he told her he wanted to go back to his job as soon as he could.
He shivers, the room colder then before and he closes his eyes in anticipation of something appearing in his room that he really can’t fucking deal with seeing right now. He’s already watched too many of them roam down the halls late at night; a reminder that he was almost one of them.
“Buck?”
Buck’s eyes fly open and he breaks into a quiet, wet laugh when he spies Eddie standing at the door.
“H—hey, Eds.” He waves Eddie inside, a grin spreading across his face as something warm and bright settles all the nerves and aches in his chest. “Did you sneak in?”
Eddie grins sheepishly as he sets a bag down next to one of the chairs and pulls out Buck’s favorite hoodie, handing it to him.
“Hardly,” he says as he helps Buck with the hoodie before sitting down, “it’s pretty easy when you’re one of the firefighters featured on the news.”
Buck sighs happily as the soft fabric chases away the goosebumps pebbling his skin. He lets Eddie tell him about Christopher’s day at school and shows him the picture Carla sent of cookies she and Chris baked just for Buck. Buck finally feels content and settled, the buzzing in his head quieting down for the moment.
“Buck,” Eddie says a little seriously, his lips pursing to the side, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Buck frowns as he sets down his pudding cup. “You can ask me anything, Eds.”
Eddie scrubs a hand over his face and Buck thinks he’s steeling himself for something he’s been holding back for a while. Buck tries not to freak out and instead reaches for Eddie’s free hand sitting on the bed and gives it a gentle squeeze.
Eddie smiles briefly, a barely there tug of his lips, and then says, “I’m not sure if you’re even going to remember, but in the ambulance, you said you saw someone.”
Buck freezes and dread, ice cold and haunting, pools in his stomach. He might not remember the ambulance ride or whatever he apparently told Eddie, but he knows exactly what Eddie is talking about. Buck could never, ever, forget seeing the Crooked Smiled Man step out of the smoke like an omen of death that’s followed Buck all his life.
“And at first, I thought, maybe you meant that boy,” Eddie continues, almost spitting out the word, but he’s a little jittery, nervous, his finger tapping against the sheets of the bed, “but it sounded like you were talking about someone you knew.”
Buck swallows. “What else did I say?”
He tries to keep his heart from jack rabbiting right out of his ribcage, the electrodes attaching him to the monitor recording an uptick in his heart rate. All he can think about is Tyler. The two of them sitting in his truck as Buck painfully explains that he can see ghosts. That he didn’t ask for this ability, he’s just fucking cursed with it, but no one ever believes him. He thinks about Tyler avoiding him for a week straight. Trying to pretend like everything was normal even though they never kissed again. Buck lost his best friend that night by the cemetery and he’s kept his promise that he’d never tell another soul ever again.
“You said,” Eddie takes a deep breath, eyes cast down to their joined hands, “Don’t worry, he got lost. Couldn’t get to me. Not this time.” Eddie’s grip suddenly becomes too tight as he looks Buck in the eye now. “You said he took Shannon.”
Buck can’t stop his jaw from dropping open. He doesn’t know why the hell he would say that, but he was pretty fucking sure he was going to die on that asphalt, so he supposes he wasn’t completely in his right mind.
“Buck,” Eddie’s voice is so so low, “who is it that you saw?”
“No—no one, Eds.” He stammers and knows, immediately, that Eddie does not believe him.
“Buck,” Eddie says, swiping his thumb over Buck’s hand, “you can tell me.”
He can’t.
He really really can’t.
Not this.
If he loses Eddie because of what he sees then he might as well have been left for dead beneath the ladder truck.
Buck just shakes his head, lips firmly pressed together. He could lie and say he was delusional or suffering from blood loss or in shock. Most of it is probably true, but it wouldn’t be the truth. Eddie forces a smile and keeps rubbing his thumb soothingly over Buck’s skin.
“Okay,” he murmurs, “okay.”
Twenty-Eight
Buck stares blankly at the tea kettle, waiting for the crisp, white puffs of steam to spill from the top of the spout. He wrinkles his nose as his mother’s voice, shrewd and petulantly says Evan, a watched pot never boils. The kettle didn’t need to be screaming for the stove top to be hot enough to burn his hand so bad his mother made him his favorite dessert.
He grits his teeth and tries to scrub away the exhaustion. It’s nearing three in the morning and the dredge of his most recent nightmare still clings to him like a second skin. It’s been a while since he’s had a tsunami nightmare. Or maybe his anxiety and guilt over the lawsuit took too much out of him to let the nightmares slip back in. Now that it’s over and he’s back with the 118, nestled in the family he should have known would never leave him, they’re making up for lost time.
He woke up drenched in sweat, tangled so badly in his sheets he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to break the surface before he realized his lungs were filling with air instead of water. His hands trembled with the need to call Eddie, just so he could hear Christopher’s voice or the sound of his steady, sleeping breaths, but Buck immediately shut that down. He just got them back and he wasn’t about to fuck anything else up by calling Eddie in the middle of the night over some stupid dream.
He thinks going back to sleep will be near impossible, but he has a shift in five hours and he can hardly afford to be late or useless because he didn’t sleep. He grabs two bags of sleepytime tea and catches the kettle just as it begins to whistle. He watches the water fill the mug, a steady stream that wafts the smell of chamomile into the air. He dunks the bags a few times and wraps the strings around the handle of the mug and turns to head to the couch. He hopes the tea in combination with late night Bob Ross might soothe him into something close to a dreamless sleep.
He barely manages a step forward, startling so hard that he drops the mug, as he faces towards the living room.
He’s surrounded.
The room is packed from the corner behind the television all the way up the loft where his bed is. Children and adults with dead eyes, drenched and dripping, covered in scars and bruises, some bloated and others wrapped in seaweed.
“Jesus.” Buck says, stumbling backwards into the refrigerator.
They don’t move. They don’t close in. They just stand there and stare at him. Buck doesn’t have to wonder why they’re here, in fact, he’s surprised it’s taken this long to see them at all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do for them, “I—I’m so sorry.”
Logically, he knows it’s not his fault. He barely saved himself and Christopher, let alone people he never saw that day on the pier. But he can’t help, but feel the weight of their stares. He was one of the lucky ones. He was a survivor. Why did he get to live when the rest of them never stood a chance? How come the world plucked someone like Evan Buckley right out of the chaos just for him to fuck everything up?
He wraps his arms around his torso, the room so cold it reminds him of nights in Hershey when the heat would go out in the middle of a snow storm. He and Maddie would burrow beneath blankets with sweatshirts and two pairs of socks until their father managed to get a fire lit. He’s just dressed in sleep shorts and a hoodie, a violent shiver running through him as the ghosts just stare and stare and stare.
He spots a young boy near the top of the stairs. He’s dressed in a yellow-striped shirt with curly hair and a pair of red glasses. Buck knows it’s not Christopher. He knows. But the panic that curls around his ribcage sinks its claws into the cartilage and the bone, ripping it right open.
He can’t stay here.
He can’t be here with all of these ghosts and wait until they fade away because there’s a chance they may just embed themselves in his walls. A permanent reminder that he wasn’t meant to live and yet here he stands flesh and blood, alive and able to see the sunrise tomorrow.
Even as he puts mile after mile between himself and his apartment he still can’t breathe. Water fills his lungs drip drip drip and he chokes on the stench of salt and seaweed and a faint whiff of gasoline.
He stands in front of Eddie’s door and tries to stop his chest from heaving. He should turn around and go somewhere else, but he’s afraid to look over his shoulder, afraid that they followed him all the way across town. He reaches a shaky hand forward, but doesn’t knock. He just presses it against the wood and tries not to vibrate out of his own skin. The chill still runs down to his bones, the looming headache that always follows after seeing ghosts creeping down the back of his neck and tenses his shoulders.
He tumbles over the threshold as the door swings open and a hand shoots out, grabbing his elbow to steady him.
“Buck?”
Eddie’s voice is sleep-soft and edging on concern as he blinks up at Buck in the orange glow from the porch lamp with mussed hair and slight twist to his lips. He digs his knuckle into his eye and seems to snap awake when he really gets a good look at Buck.
“Hey,” he frowns, pulling Buck the rest of the way in, “what’s wrong?”
“How did you know I was here?” Buck asks, voice high pitched and stressed as he wrings his hands.
“I heard your Jeep pull up,” Eddie says as he rubs his hands over Buck’s arms to warm him after a particularly nasty shiver. “Are you cold?”
“Freezing.” Buck answers honestly as he steps closer to Eddie who is a pleasant line of heat.
“Come on.” Eddie murmurs leading them into the living room.
The only light on is coming from the hallway, but both he and Eddie know the layout so well they easily maneuver to the couch in the dark. Eddie flicks on one of the lamps and pulls out a throw blanket from the basket underneath the coffee table, draping it over both of them as he sits down next to Buck. Buck buries himself into the couch, pulling his hood over his head and lets his legs press against Eddie for extra warmth.
“Buck,” Eddie ducks his head to catch Buck’s gaze, “what’s going on? It’s nearly three in the morning and, I mean, you know I never mind that you’re here, but—”
But you look terrified out of your mind.
Buck’s eyes quickly dart around the room, but there’s no sign of anything more than the two of them sitting on the couch in semi-darkness together. Buck worries his bottom lip between his teeth trying to think of what he could possibly say to explain his sudden appearance in the middle of the night.
There are ghosts in my apartment. And not just any ghosts. They’re the ones that died in the tsunami. There’s one that looks like Christopher. It could have been Christopter. What if it was? What if they were there to drag me into the depths of the ocean where I belong? I don’t know what they want. I usually know what they want, but instead of figuring it out I ran. I ran to the only place that felt safe. I was afraid to become one of them.
“Uh,” Buck finally breathes out, “n—nightmare.”
It’s as close to the truth as he can get. Because isn’t seeing ghosts almost every single day a nightmare in itself?
“Tsunami?” Eddie’s voice is quiet and sounds a little pained.
Buck nods. “I’m sorry, Eds. I probably should have just called,” he says, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “or just sucked it up until morning.”
He’s already steeling himself to head back to the loft. To face the ghosts. The thought makes him feel sick and his entire body stiffens, a taut line of tension that makes his headache worse.
“No need to apologize.” Eddie smiles as he reaches out and gives Buck’s wrist a gentle squeeze, thumb swiping over his pulse point for a brief moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, it’s — I’m fine.”
If he starts he fears he may let everything slip out.
Eddie clearly doesn’t believe him, but they both know it’s too late for that kind of conversation.
“I’m better now that I’m here,” Buck amends even though it reveals too much about his big, bleeding heart.
“Might as well stay then,” Eddie says in a way that Buck knows he can’t say no to, “and maybe we can swing by that coffee place on the way into work.”
Eddie already knows there’s an extra work bag in Buck’s Jeep ready to go and Buck can’t fight the small grin from spreading across his face. He doesn’t understand what he did to deserve someone like Eddie Diaz.
“Yeah, okay.” Buck says through a yawn.
They quickly make up a bed on the couch and Buck sinks into it, surprised at how quickly he’s ready to drop back off to sleep considering the past hour he’s had. He watches Eddie head towards his bedroom through half-lidded eyes and is surprised to see Eddie stop and turn back towards him.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Eddie says softly.
Buck swallows the bitter taste of guilt. “I know, Eds.”
Anything except this.
And the small simple truth of falling in love with you.
That’s only two things. Everything else belongs to you.
Eddie’s lips tug up in the corner for a moment before he nods and heads off to bed. Buck feels a little boneless as he wraps the blanket that smells a little like Eddie and a little like Christoper around his shoulders. He falls asleep faster than any other place he’s ever slept.
The ghosts don’t bother him here.
There’s a groan to their left, a sign that the structure is starting to collapse under its own weight as the fire presses in from all sides of the building. The heat and the stench of smoke stick to Buck like a second skin, sweat pooling beneath his turnouts, drenching his shirt and soaking through his curls.
Thick, black plumes billow out of the room next to them, the door too hot to the touch. They move onto the next one. He and Eddie are on the last leg of the apartment sweep and they’re nearing the end of the hallway when the building punches out another sound like a warning shot. If Bobby hasn’t hailed them over the radio yet he will be soon.
“How many left?” Eddie asks, though his voice is slightly muffled.
“Just two.” Buck answers, pointing at the last doors at the end of the hallway.
They can see a bright, orange glow from beneath the emergency exit door on the other side and when Eddie takes a step forward the floor starts to give way beneath him. Buck fists his turnouts, pulling him back so roughly they topple down to the ground. Buck grunts as he takes Eddie’s weight, but the feeling of his best friend being whole and alive and not spilling into the fire abyss below burns out everything else.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Eddie grins beneath his mask as he props himself up over Buck.
“Funny,” Buck says as Eddie helps him up, “I was just going to say we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Eddie’s snort of a laugh is drowned out by the crackle of their radio and Bobby’s voice asking for their location. Eddie answers first and Buck takes the time to look at the new hole in the ground. It’s mainly condensed to the left side, taking up a quarter of the hallway space, but who knows how stable the rest of the floor is moving forward. He feels a shiver crawl down his spine, a sudden chill that makes all of his insides turn.
He looks up to see a woman dressed in a white nightgown, ripped and burned at the edges, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. There’s a patch of skin on her face charred right down to the cheekbone all the way to the collarbone and Buck nearly chokes on the sudden, heavy scent of burnt flesh. She points to the door on her right and Buck takes the hint, sprinting forward just as he hears Bobby say, Evacuate immediately.
“Buck!” Eddie yells after him, reaching out, but missing Buck’s coat by inches. “Buck, we have to go!”
“There’s someone still here!” Buck calls back as he stops in front of the door. The ghost is standing next to him and despite the absolute heat from the fire all he feels is ice cold. “LAFD!” He bangs on the door, but the ghost shakes her head and Buck braces himself as he kicks it in.
There’s a crashing sound somewhere behind him, the apartment just across the hall probably caving in. The smoke is thick, but the blaze is mainly contained to one side as small paths of flames work their way around the furniture towards the bedrooms. The ghost beacons him towards the bathroom and he runs over as the back wall of the apartment begins to crumble.
He hurriedly gets the door open and is met with two ash stained faces peeking up at him from over the lip of the bathtub. He kneels down so they’re at eye level and to his surprise he finds a baby nestled between what looks like a ten and eight year old. The eight year old immediately burst into tears, but the ten year old girl looks determined as she hands Buck the baby first.
“Don’t worry,” Buck assures them as the terrifying sound of fire crashes outside the bathroom, “I can carry all of you.”
The girl looks relieved and surprised, her eyes finally pooling with tears, but she directs her younger brother to get out so Buck can pick him up. It takes a good second to maneuver all three children so he doesn’t drop them and the extra weight certainly isn’t making his trek back any easier, but he steels himself for what waits outside.
The wall behind the television is completely gone and the floor creaks dangerously as he heads back towards the front door. The frame is bursting with flames and his coat catches on a jagged nail that’s been bent out from the wall where the structure has collapsed slightly. He grunts as he tries to turn and twist to get off the nail, his hands full when he hears the snap of something above him. He doesn’t have time to look, just braces his body, covering the children as much as he can.
Just as the beam makes contact with the back of his head a pair of hands push him from behind and another pair pull him from the front of the door. Buck stumbles out and into Eddie and they hit the opposite wall which starts to warp beneath their weight.
“You okay?” Eddie asks with a mixture of anger and concern and something else Buck can’t decipher, but knows he’s heard in his own voice when he sees Eddie escape a close call.
“I’m fine.” Buck says, ignore the burn on the back of his neck and the way pain creeps up his skull. “We need to go.”
He can imagine the lecture waiting for him from both Bobby and Eddie, but that doesn’t matter right now. Eddie takes the sobbing eight year old from him and they move in tandem heading back towards the safer end of the hallway. Buck takes just a second to look back. The ghost lingers in the hallway with a sad smile as she nods her head in thanks and vanishes in the smoke.
They make it out of the building with seconds to spare and Buck only has one terrible moment to realize that maybe the woman who led him to these children was their mother. Relief, strong and sure wash over him as a different woman, flesh and blood and unscarred by fire, runs towards them, arms outstretched.
“Oh my god,” she sobs as Buck gently hands her the baby, the other two children wrapping their arms around her as they all sink to the ground, “oh thank god.”
Buck pulls off his mask and gives her a smile as he squeezes her shoulder. “My friend Hen would really love to check them out, make sure they’re okay.”
The woman nods her head, continually thanking them between tears. Buck takes a second to look at Eddie, knowing they’re both thinking the same thing.
Christopher.
They guide her over to Hen and step away to take a breather by the firetruck. There’s another team working on putting out the fire and Buck feels his knees wobbling from the adrenaline crash. His neck is sticky and wet, the throb of a headache promising as he all but crashes down onto the truck.
“Mind telling me what the hell you were thinking back there?” Eddie asks as he steps into Buck’s space, arms over his chest and jaw clenched tight.
“I told you,” Buck says as he looks up at Eddie, “there was someone still there.”
Eddie shakes his head. “How could you have possibly known that?”
“I heard them.” Buck replies too quickly, the lie ready to go as soon as he handed the kids over to their mom.
He knows Eddie doesn’t believe it and he’s clearly in a mood to push and fight and dig the truth right out of Buck.
“Bullshit.” Eddie growls. “Buck, you were almost hit!”
“Why does it matter how I knew,” Buck snaps back, frustration and fear building behind his eyes, “I found those kids and we made it out alive.”
Eddie opens his mouth to argue and Buck wonders how well he’d take it if Buck told him some ghost of a dead woman guided him exactly where he needed to go. He’s not sure if admitting that it was just a stupid intuition feeling that demonstrated his value for other people’s lives over his own would go any better.
Eddie doesn’t get the chance to say anything as Bobby rounds the corner, face set in a grim look that tells Buck exactly how much trouble they are in. Buck drops his gaze to the ground and decides to just suck it up and take the brunt of the yelling and disappointment. He supposes the stunt was reckless regardless of whether the supernatural were involved or not and it’s not like he hasn’t heard the lecture before.
It still stings though. He can’t tell whose look hurts him more; Bobby or Eddie’s. He wants to sink into the ground and never come back up for air. It’s just another reminder of how unfair it feels to have this ability he never asked for. Something he can’t talk about or explain because he’s been too conditioned to keep the secret and take it to his grave.
He can only imagine how well that’d go over up the chain if anyone ever found out. He’s already not well liked after the lawsuit and he’s sure they’re clawing at any opportunity to deem him unfit for duty. The ghost part would just be the cherry on top of the fucking sundae.
The only solace he feels, a loosening of the never ending knots in his chest, is seeing the mother with her three children safe and in her arms.
The ride back to the station is quiet, everyone either too tired or too upset to give any running commentary. Buck hopes the rest of their shift passes by quickly. He’s got a splitting headache and an itch beneath his skin that won’t be soothed until he talks things over with Eddie.
“Jesus, Buck,” Chimney says as he gently grabs Buck’s shoulder to turn him further into the light, “what happened to your neck?”
Buck lightly brushes his fingers over the back of his neck, wincing from the pain and is only mildly surprised to see blood. Eddie is in his space between one breath and the next, eyes softening as he carefully checks for a concussion.
“Beam probably hit me when you pulled me out of that doorway,” Buck mumbles as Hen tells him to take off his shirt so she and Chimney can examine his back.
“No concussion.” Eddie says with a small huff of relief, his fingers lingering along Buck’s pulse point on the inside of his neck.
“What the hell is that?”
Buck tries to look over his shoulder as a flash of panic rises up his throat, but he can’t see much. Eddie takes a step around Buck and he can just see the way Eddie’s eyes widen at something. Buck can’t stop the high whine that leaves him in a desperate need to see what the fuck they’ve found.
“Hey,” Eddie says, grabbing his elbow to hold him steady, “it’s okay.”
“What is it?” Buck snaps in frustration.
“It — well,” Hen hesitates as she reaches forward, “it looks like hand prints.”
Buck doesn’t waste another second and takes off for the shower room with the closest set of mirrors. He turns around and freezes as he sees two distinctive marks on his back tinted the lightest shade of purple with swirls of blue in the shape of hand prints.
One pair of hands that pulled him from the front.
Eddie.
One that pushed him from behind.
The ghost.
He doesn’t mean to vomit into the sink, but it surges up out of him so violently he barely has time for it not to hit the floor. He’s never been touched by a ghost before. Not even the Crooked Smiled Man has come that close. He’s trembling from head to toe when the team bursts through the door and he quickly wipes at his mouth and tries to rinse out whatever he upheaved.
“I—I don’t know what that’s from,” He says hurriedly, hoping the fear in his voice makes it sound believable.
He’s not afraid that she touched him. By all accounts she saved his life. What scares him the most is knowing that if she can reach out and leave her mark who else can? He avoids looking at the dark corners in the room just in case the Crooked Smiled Man is waiting for him.
“It looks like some sort of bruise,” Chimney says thoughtfully as he carefully touches it, “and it feels ice cold.”
“Strangest bruising I’ve ever seen.” Hen says with a furrow in her brow. “Buck, you’re freezing, let’s get you into a warm shower and then we’ll bandage up your neck.”
Buck just jerks his head in a nod, but he doesn’t want to be left alone. There’s too much space. Too many dark corners where they could be hiding.
“Think I’ll shower too,” Eddie says.
He gives Buck a small smile, thumb quickly brushing over Buck’s hip bone. Buck sighs in relief and is happy to hear Chimney say a shower is probably good for all of them.
Buck stands beneath the hot spray of water, but it’s the slight chatter from Chimney and the quiet humming from Eddie that finally make him feel warm again.
Twenty-Nine
“Okay,” Chim claps his hands together, grin growing as he stands in front of the television, “the popcorn and hot chocolate are made, now it’s time to pick out the flicks.”
The lights in the living room have been dimmed and there’s a white pumpkin scented candle on the coffee table wafting in the scent of fall, which Buck didn’t even realize he had until Chimney found it after dinner. He’s pretty sure it was a house warming gift Ali gave him which was promptly stuck deep in his closet after they broke up.
Hen just shakes her head in bemusement tucked in one of the chairs under a blanket, thanking Buck for the mug of hot chocolate. He sets Chimney’s down on the table and carefully passes one to Eddie before he joins his best friend on the couch.
“No pumpkin beer?” Eddie frowns as he reaches into the bowl of popcorn.
“Chim conveniently forgot to pick some up on his grocery run today,” Hen says with a pointed look in the man’s direction.
“Pumpkin spiced coffee is fine,” Chimney points a finger at Hen, “but I draw the line when it’s put in my beer.”
Hen and Eddie sigh, but Buck stifles a small chuckle in his drink, fondly catching Eddie’s eye. Eddie’s smile tucks up in the corner all soft and privately, just for Buck. Buck exhales, letting the long day wash away as he slumps down into the couch, knee and thigh pressing comfortably into Eddie.
“Okay great movie czar,” Hen teases, “what options have you chosen for us tonight?”
“As it is nearly Halloween,” Chimney says, rifling through his box of DVDs he brought over to Buck’s loft at the beginning of quarantine to provide boundless entertainment (“And to give you all the moviecation you deserve, seriously Buck you’ve never seen a single James Bond movie?”), “a double horror feature feels appropriate.”
“No ghost.” Buck says a little too quickly. He shifts on the couch to dispel the rush of nervous energy and doesn’t look at Eddie for too long when he catches the confused furrow in his brow.
“I’m with Buck on that,” Hen says, “ghost movies don’t do it for me.”
“Why’s that?” Chimney asks with a skeptically raised eyebrow.
Hen shrugs, “I guess suspension of disbelief is supposed to be a thing, but they’re not real, so all you get is cheap jump scares and stupid people who stay in the house too long.”
Buck’s throat burns as he swallows a too big sip of his drink. He wonders if it’s too late to cowardly bow out of movie night with a fake headache when he hears Eddie say, “I think she has a point.”
He tries not to stiffen too much, but he can’t stop the full body flinch, nearly spilling the hot chocolate over him and Eddie. Eddie shoots him a look of concern and Buck sits his drink down to prevent any further incidents as he feels a slight tremor in his hands.
“Sorry,” he shrugs, noticing the strange tone in his own voice that he knows Eddie definitely hears, “muscle spasm.”
Eddie’s eyes soften and he drops his hands to Buck’s bad knee and immediately begins to massage the area. Buck exhales, going a little boneless, because it feels good, his leg always a tight line of tension and knots after a long day.
“Fine,” Chimney says, “no ghost, we’ll just stick to the classics.”
He holds up the original Halloween and Scream for all of them to see.
“Great,” Hen says, “a movie about serial killers when there’s a serial killer loose in the area right now.”
“Technically Michael Meyers is a mass murder.” Chimney corrects as he moves to put the DVD in.
“What’s the difference?” Eddie asks through a mouthful of popcorn.
“Mass murderers commit all of their killings in one night,” Buck answers, “serial killers do it over a period of time.”
“Well just know,” Hen pulls the blanket tighter around her, “if we get anyone breaking in I’m leaving all of you boys for dead.”
Chimney scoffs, but Buck looks at Eddie grinning and they both burst out into laughter before Chimney quickly shushes them as he presses play. Buck lets himself sink back in next to Eddie. It shouldn’t matter if his friends believe in ghosts or not. Buck’s the one that sees them. Buck is the one haunted by them. He’s had years of dealing with it. Of learning to keep it a secret. This just affirms he’s made the right decision of telling no one about his life’s curse.
Buck jumps more than he expects to for a movie made in the late 70s. Despite the age of the film he’s got to hand it to Chim, it still holds up really well. Eddie is unphased by the tension and anticipation and Buck can’t keep himself from grinning as he looks at Eddie to distract himself from the movie. He can imagine Eddie and Shannon sneaking into R rated horror movies together and Eddie holding her hand or smoothly wrapping his arm around her during the scary parts.
His hand is lightly resting on Buck’s leg, thumb occasionally swiping back and forth. Eddie probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it and Buck ducks his head to keep his blush hidden in the dim light of the candle. He looks up right as Laurie backs into one of her friend’s bodies, but that’s not what makes him nearly jump out of his skin.
Standing just behind the television is a young woman, naked and covered in perfectly etched lines that look like something an autopsy specialist or a mortician would do. She’s unnaturally pale and her mouth is open in a silent scream that Buck swears he can feel right down to his bones. He grips Eddie’s hand as the music in the movie crescendos, his horrified gasp covered by Laurie’s cry.
“Jesus, Chimney,” Hen says as she smacks her friend’s shoulder, her other hand pressed to her chest, “you could have warned me.”
Buck takes a shuddering breath as he tries to refocus his attention on the girl, but she’s gone and all he’s left with is a chill that makes him shiver and his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thinks everyone in the room can hear it.
“You okay?”
Buck blinks over at Eddie who is giving him an amused smile as he holds up their joined hands. Buck is holding on to him so tightly he can practically see Eddie’s fingers losing circulation. Buck forces himself to let go and he rubs his icy palms on the blanket they’re both currently under.
“Sorry,” he quickly huffs, trying to rid himself of the awful itch beneath his skin, his gaze continuing to dart over where the ghost had been standing moments ago, “movie got me good.”
He wants to try and make a joke, try to convince Eddie that’s all there is to it; just a silly horror movie with a decent jumpscare. But his voice is shaky and he can’t quite stop the way his body trembles every few seconds both from the cold and the shock of seeing the poor, gruesome girl he knows is dead.
“Looks like more than just the movie scared you.” Eddie whispers as he leans in closer to Buck, a pleasant line of heat that Buck greedily takes.
“T—that stupid art piece hanging on the wall reflected in the window,” Buck points to the window across from them, “and looked just like Michael Meyers.”
It’s not a total lie. He noticed it near the beginning of the movie and just managed not to have a heart attack when he realized what it was. Eddie tilts his head and huffs a small laugh.
“Yeah,” he says, “it kind of does.”
“Too bad Hen will leave us to fend for ourselves,” he teases as he elbows Eddie playfully in the ribs.
“Don’t worry,” Eddie says in a mock macho voice, “I’ll protect you.”
“My hero.” Buck fakes swoons, falling into Eddie’s lap.
Their laughter is hurriedly shushed by both Hen and Chimney this time. Buck hides his snicker into Eddie’s shoulder while Eddie tries to silence his by eating a disgustingly big bite of popcorn. Buck sits back, the dull aches of a headache radiating down his neck. He feels something warm and soft slide into his hand and he looks down just as Eddie is interlocking their fingers.
He catches Eddie’s beautifully fond smile as he says, “Just in case.”
“Buck,” Hen glares across the island, eyes narrowing in on his hand currently dipped in the candy bowl sitting on the table, “if you take one more piece of candy before dinner I swear I will cut off your fingers.”
Buck gives her a sheepish grin, pulling out his hand and waving all ten of his fingers to show how empty they are. Hen sighs, shaking her head as she returns to the stove, muttering something under her breath that Buck can’t hear, but he’s sure it’s some sort of curse word that makes his grin turn devious.
“I saw that.” Eddie says, stepping into his space with an amused expression.
“Do you take bribes?” Buck asks as he slips a Butterfinger out of his sleeve and passes it over to Eddie with a faux innocent smile.
Eddie takes the candy, back turned to Hen. “I’ll let it slide this time,” Eddie says as he carefully unwraps the candy, shoving it into his mouth before Hen can hear the wrapper crumple in his hand.
“You’re not smooth, Diaz.” Hen says without looking up from her station and Buck can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out when Eddie’s ears turn pink at the tips, his shoulders hunching up as he tries to give Hen a convincing smile mid-chew. “You can help Buck set the table.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but Buck elbows him playfully and goes to grab the plates out of the cupboard.
“Room for one more?”
Athena reaches the top of the stairs, Bobby right behind her and the loft becomes a chorus of greetings as she pulls out a chair to sit down. While they are all happy to see Athena, Buck can tell even from the other side of the kitchen that she isn’t just here for a surprise visit. Her mouth is pulled in a taut line, posture rigid and serious. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, setting it down in front of Bobby.
“What’s this?” Bobby asks with a small furrow of his brow.
“Another missing person,” Athena says gravely, “two girls taken three days apart.”
Buck carefully grabs a stack full of plates, the room going eerily quiet as they all listen in.
“Melissa Stewart was last seen five days ago,” Athena says as she points to the first picture on the flier, “and Amy Richards is the most recent girl to be taken.”
“You think it’s that serial killer,” Chim leans over the island, “The Mortician or whatever they call him.”
“Unfortunately,” Athena sighs and suddenly she looks exhausted as she leans back in her chair.
Buck catches the way everyone shares a wary glance, the tension in the room thick and heavy, like there’s a sudden weight pressing down on the back of their shoulders. Buck rounds the corner and nearly drops all of the plates in his hand, barely scrambling to keep them from hitting the floor when he sees the flier.
“Alright over there, Buckaroo?” Chimney asks, but Buck ignores him as he stares down at the picture of Melissa Stewart.
In the picture she’s smiling, dressed in a UCLA hoodie wearing glasses with her hair tucked behind her ears. In Buck’s apartment last night she was silently screaming, covered in markings like someone was ready to carve her open. His stomach gives a violent twist and he stumbles back against the kitchen island, plates clutched against his chest.
Dead.
Melissa Stewart is dead.
Buck’s seen the news reports. He’s read the articles. He knows exactly what this person does to his victims. Keeps them alive while he dissects them. Takes them apart piece by piece and sews them back together before he paints them to look like dolls and props them up in empty storefronts for everyone to see.
He can’t imagine the pain and torture Melissa endured before she finally met her untimely end, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to help her. He’s not a detective and he certainly knows the difference between listening to a cold case podcast to develop a theory and solving an actual ongoing homicide investigation. If the serial killer doesn’t gut him first then surely Athena or Maddie — hell, probably Bobby and most likely Eddie — would if they found out he even thought about snooping.
And how would he even begin to explain how he found anything assuming Melissa is trying to lead him somewhere?
He exhales, long and slow, and tries to shake the helpless, overwhelming feeling away when he looks up to see Melissa standing just between Bobby and Athena, mouth open wide in that horrible, silent scream that somehow makes his bones rattle. The plates slip from his grasp as he brings his hands up to cover his ears, a sharp ringing that makes his ear drums want to burst.
The ceramic shatters at his feet, but he doesn’t care as he curls in on himself, eyes squeezed shut as the ringing grows louder and more painful.
Stop stop please stop!
There’s a hand on his shoulder and maybe the soft echo of his own name, but it’s so hard to hear anything over the ringing. His hands feel warm and sticky, like they’ve been drenched in blood and he wonders if the room is starting to spin, the whole world turning turning turning until it dumps him out into the darkness and—
“Buck.”
Suddenly, it stops.
The sounds of the loft; bubbling sauce, the hum of the refrigerator, shoes squeaking on the floor, the television playing some car commercial, and a slur of words that could be Buck and what’s wrong and hey, look at me please all fade back in.
Buck slowly, carefully pulls his hands away and blinks his eyes open to see his team all standing in front of him. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead, along the back of his neck, but he feels cold, goosebump pebbling across his skin as he looks past all of them. Melissa is gone and he’s left with the resounding pound of his heart and no way to explain what the hell just happened.
“Hey,” Eddie says, soft and soothing, trying to catch Buck’s gaze, “you okay?”
Buck swallows and manages a nod. He looks down at the mess of broken plates and curses, immediately bending down to try and clean it up, hoping it buys him a little bit of time.
“Buck,” Hen chides, pulling him over to a chair, “don’t worry about the plates right now, what happened?”
Buck shoves his hands between his thighs so the trembling doesn’t give him away. He’s seen ghosts at the firehouse before, but nothing like this. Usually, they just startle him a little and he chalks it up to being clumsy or tripping over his own feet. This. This he doesn’t even know how to begin to explain.
Melissa wanted to be heard.
And Buck knows that the truth will only make him look incredibly guilty, if not certifiably insane.
“I—I’m not sure.” He says, which is mostly honest, considering that’s never happened to him before. “There was some sort of ringing and it hurt my ears.”
“Has that ever happened before?” Chimney asks as he takes a pen light out to examine Buck’s ears.
“Don’t think so.” Buck says as he drops his gaze down to his hands.
He can’t take the way Eddie is looking at him right now. Worried and like he knows Buck is hiding something.
“Ears look fine,” Chimney concludes after a minute, “and you can hear normally now?”
“Yep.” Buck says. “I’m fine, honestly, just probably some weird frequency only I can hear or something.”
It’s a stretch and a shitty explanation, but Buck’s pretty sure no one else is tuned into the fucking ghost network, so for all he knows it’s the truth.
“Buck,” Eddie says gently, his fingers brushing over Buck’s shoulder, “you’re shaking like a leaf.”
Buck doesn’t get a chance to say anything as the alarm sounds. It’s excruciatingly loud and makes Buck flinch. He can already see Bobby beginning to say, Buck you’re going to man behind, but the last thing Buck wants to do is be here alone.
“Cap,” Buck jumps up, “I’m fine, promise, if it’s nothing big I can wait by the truck, but please don’t make me stay behind.”
If he wasn’t so terrified of facing Melissa again when he’s helpless to do anything for her he’d cringe at how desperate he sounds, but right now he could care less. Bobby presses his lips together in a thin line, Eddie hovering at the staircase, and all Buck can do is look down at the picture of Melissa and Amy.
“Fine,” Bobby gives in, “but if I tell you not to do anything when we get to the scene you better listen.”
Buck nods his head, relief rushing through him and quickly follows Eddie down the stairs. Eddie sticks close, throwing Buck looks of concern, brow furrowed, but Buck just gives him a small, reassuring smile.
There’s just something about Eddie that chases away the fear and chill and exhaustion that the ghosts leave him with. A feeling of safety and warmth that he clings to with all of his might. He tries not to examine it too closely, knows, deep down, the truth of why Eddie is the lighthouse in the middle of the storm, but he buried all of that. Locked it up tight in a box and threw away the key to keep it from imploding one of the best relationships he’s ever had.
The ghosts never bother him at Eddie’s house.
The call takes them out to some stretch of LA that looks more like a patch of the midwest with empty fields of brown grass and houses that could slot themselves into any rural farm town. Buck remembers passing through places like this, states like Ohio or Nebraska, where their oceans were made from corn and soybeans.
Knee high by the fourth of July
When he was twenty-one he remembers meeting a farmer at a gas station somewhere between Iowa and Wyoming where his Jeep broke down. The farmer took him in while the shop down the road repaired his Jeep and earned his keep by helping to clean the barn and look after the kids since their mother passed away the previous winter. Heart attack, sudden, leaving behind seven kids and a father just trying to do his best.
“What does your dad mean by knee high by the fourth of July?” Buck asks Rebecca, the oldest sibling at nineteen, as they work in the kitchen to make dinner.
“That’s how tall the corn should be,” Rebecca grins as she chops vegetables, dumping them into a large pot, “if it ain’t, then it’s not going to be a very good harvest.”
He remembers catching glimpses of a woman in white floating through the halls at night, sitting at the window when Buck looked up, but gone in the blink of an eye. He could never make out her face, but he just figured their mother still lingered, looking after the children as they ran through the house clinging to their youth and innocence.
“You see her too,” Ruth, the youngest at eight, says as she tugs on Buck’s sleeve.
“See who?” Buck asks, a light tremor in his voice as he tries to smile.
“The lady in white.” Ruth replies.
Buck looks around, but they are the only ones here. They’re stashed in the corner of the living room because Ruth asked Buck to draw with her while everyone else went outside. Buck nods his head, offering her a small grin like it’s a secret.
“It’s not mamma.” Ruth says as she pulls out a piece of paper from the bottom of her stack.
Buck’s grin falters as he looks down at the paper. There’s the outlines of what Buck guesses to be the kitchen, the bright yellow walls, a dead giveaway, and what looks like a woman at the sink washing dishes or maybe cooking, he can’t really tell. What sends a chill up his spine is the figure right behind the woman in a white dress with a veil over her head to cover her face. It’s a kid's drawing, so the details aren’t the best, but Buck can’t fight the cold, aching feeling from crawling down his neck and it takes everything in him to not look over his shoulder.
“Do you see her a lot, Ruth?” Buck asks carefully.
He’s seen her every day, almost hourly like clockwork.
“Depends.” Ruth says as taps her finger against the paper. “She’s been around a lot more since you been here.”
Buck swallows past the lump in his throat, his eyes flickering to the hallway briefly, but there’s nothing there.
“I think she killed mamma.” Ruth whispers. “I think she was jealous.”
Buck’s mouth parts open, but he doesn’t know what to say. Seeing ghost usually leaves him exhausted and a little sick, but now he has another name for the feeling that’s been creeping over him the past week.
Dread. Malevolent. Danger.
“She likes you,” Ruth continues, “and she don’t like that Becca likes you.”
Buck thinks about Rebecca flirting with him over cold beers when they sneak out to sit on the roof of the barn at night. How her cheeks dust a pink whenever Buck smiles in her direction. He thinks about how much closer the Lady in White is the closer Rebecca gets to him.
“Ruth—”
“There you two are,” Rebecca smiles, hands on her hip as she stands in the entranceway. “Ruth, go wash up as Evan and I get started on dinner.”
But Ruth doesn’t move. Neither does Buck. They’re both frozen in fear as they look just past Rebecca to the woman standing right behind her. The veil is over her face, but a slight breeze from the hallway blows it to the side and they can both see the terrifying face beneath, a malicious grin slowly spreading across dead skin.
“Something wrong?” Rebecca frowns as she looks over her shoulder.
The ghost is gone and warmth seeps back into the room. Ruth hugs herself to Buck’s side, shaking and Buck lets out a deep exhale.
They don’t speak about it again and Buck leaves the next day when his Jeep is repaired.
When he was still in the fire academy he remembers looking up Rebecca on Instagram and was instantly relieved to see that she was still alive and that the whole family was doing well. Still, in one of her photos of Ruth who was twelve at the time, he could catch the faintest outline of the Lady in White.
“Where’d you go?” Eddie nudges him with his elbow as the truck pulls to a stop.
One of the abandoned houses is on fire, stretched out next to what looks like a large barn which feels out of place for being on the outskirts of LA. It reminds Buck too much of the farmhouse and he hurriedly starts to look for the Lady in White.
“Nowhere.” Buck answers, but it’s immediately met with a disbelieving look and Buck sighs before answering truthfully. “This just reminds me of a place I stayed in while I traveled across the country. They were a nice family.”
Haunted by a terrible ghost.
“One of the daughters and I still follow each other on Instagram.” Buck continues with a small smile. “She just got married.”
Eddie gives him a soft smile in return, but Buck can tell that Eddie knows there’s more to this story, something Buck isn’t willing to share. Buck swallows and sometimes wishes Eddie couldn’t read him so fucking well.
The fire isn’t big, probably some sort of Halloween prank or a group of teenagers sneaking into an abandoned property to scare each other. He follows Bobby’s instructions and does his job, but can’t help throwing an interested glance at the barn not too far behind the house. He feels like they’re being watched. Like there’s something there, but every time he takes a second to look he’s just met with the illuminated shape of darkness.
No Lady in White.
No Crooked Smiled Man.
Just the uneasy feeling that he’s missing something right in front of his face.
Bobby pulls him off fire duty early to help start packing things up by the truck and Buck tries not to grumble about it as he stalks over to the road. The smell of smoke hangs thick in the air, a sliver of moon like the Cheshire’s grin peeking out from behind a lonely cloud. There are barely any street lamps out here and the lights from the city blink like fireflies in the night. It’s not their usual area, but the station closer got called out to a five-alarm fire and the 118 were the only ones available.
They’ve set up lights and some road flares, but the darkness beyond is heavy, almost impossible to adjust to and the barn seems to become swallowed up by it. He’s just turning away to load up some tools when the ringing hits him full force, a high pitched frequency that makes him grind his teeth as he quickly moves to cover his ears. He slams into the truck, his balance lost, and practically feels the bruises blistering over his shoulder.
“I hear you.” Buck manages. “Please.”
The ringing fades, a slow, far off sound that echoes in his skull. He slowly straightens up and turns towards the barn where he knows Melissa is waiting for him. She’s stark white and almost blinding in the dark, but the jerk of her head tells Buck everything he needs to know.
A coincidence, surely, to be called out to the place Melissa needs him to be, but it doesn’t stop Buck from sprinting over to where Athena and Bobby are standing, right outside of her police vehicle. The red and blue lights fall over him as he nearly barrels into Bobby, still slightly off balanced and a little dizzy.
“Buck?”
“The barn,” Buck says, ignoring Bobby, “Athena, I think you need to check the barn.”
Athena arches an eyebrow, but Buck hardly has time to explain, let alone go into the excruciating detail of how a ghost is leading him to the potential layer of a serial killer. If they don’t get inside that building right now he’s afraid Melissa is going to scream for him again and leave him permanently deaf.
Athena must read something in his face, some sort of truth or gut feeling that can’t be ignored, because she signals to a few other officers and gives Buck a nod. Buck exhales in relief and pointedly doesn’t look at Bobby as he turns to follow Athena towards the barn. It’s probably not protocall, but no one calls him out for it save for Bobby who jogs to catch up with them.
“Buck,” Bobby asks with what Buck knows is a stern expression he usually reserves for Buck, “did you see someone go in there?”
“Something like that,” Buck answers without thinking. He shakes his head and gives Bobby a sheepish expression as he rubs the back of his neck. “Or, well, maybe it’s kind of dark, but I just have a bad feeling, okay?”
Bobby’s lips are pressed in a thin line, but he just sighs and pats Buck’s shoulders, because what else can he say or do? If the barn is empty then Buck was wrong about where Melissa was leading to him and the worst thing that happened is making Athena walk a few extra feet to check it out.
But Buck doesn’t think he’s wrong.
Not with the way Melissa watches him intensely as Athena pushes open the barn door. Buck lingers outside for a second longer, standing just in front of Melissa, face crumpling into something pained and sad. He can’t help, but think of the smiling girl with glasses in a UCLA hoodie like she’s getting ready for the first day of class.
It’s too late to save her.
But maybe it’s not too late to save Amy.
Before he even manages to step inside he can hear William’s quiet swear as bright, fluorescent light floods the darkness. Buck squeezes inside and is promptly stopped by Athena, but it’s too late. He can clearly see everything just from where he’s standing.
The floor is strewn with hay stained a dark color that is unmistakable blood. An operating table placed in the middle with a giant tarp beneath and a stack of surgical instruments laying out next to it. There’s a giant, metal tub and a chair set up like some sort of sick vanity with a stash full of porcelain dolls lined up in exact replicas of the victims that have been found throughout LA in front of the giant mirror.
There’s a body, tied back to keep it from slumping over in the chair, face painted with rosy cheeks and cherry red lipstick. Thick white powder and baby blue shadow over delicately placed lash extensions. Hair curled in perfect ringlets with two bows and even the fucking finger nails are painted a pale pink.
Buck stumbles back against the door as Melissa Stewart’s very dead eyes look straight at him, a piercing blue that haunts him more than her ghost ever could. He wants to vomit. He thinks he probably does, pushing past Bobby and into a dry patch of grass that brushes against the wood in the wind. He slowly sinks to the ground, knees against his chest and back against the wall. There’s a flurry of movement from inside, the sounds of Athena calling for backup and shouts from the other side of the barn.
Bobby joins him a second later looking grim as he sits down on Buck’s left. He doesn’t need to feel the cold rush of air, the trickling ache down his neck, or the sick taste of acetone to know Melissa is now sitting to his right. He keeps his gaze forward, the wisp of her hair blowing into his peripheral when the wind picks up.
They just sit there for a moment. The three of them. Bobby, Buck, and the ghost of a dead girl whose body sits just feet from where they are. He can't help, but think of Amanda Sinclaire swinging from the Devil’s Tree back home in a Pennsylvania cemetery. Maybe if he turns his head she’ll be sitting there too. Maybe all the people he’s never been able to save will line up along the outside of the barn like some sort of sick vigil.
“Cap, what the hell is going on?”
Melissa’s ghost melts into the walls and Buck blinks up at Hen, Chimney, and Eddie. Hen and Chimney wear matching looks of confusion and apprehension, mainly directed at Bobby, while Eddie’s barely hidden look of concern is focused solely on Buck. Bobby gets to his feet, giving Buck’s shoulder a squeeze, and sighs heavily.
“Buck mentioned to Athena that he thought he saw someone going into the barn,” Bobby begins to explain, “and they’ve found some pretty gruesome things inside.”
“You don’t mean—” Chimney begins, mouth dropping open, but he’s swiftly cut off by Athena’s sharp voice.
“We’ve got a live one in here who needs medical attention!”
The doors fall open and Williams comes out with a barely conscious girl in his arms. Hen and Chimney scramble to get a stretcher as they move back towards the ambulance. She’s not dressed in the same clothes as her missing persons photo, instead she’s essentially naked from the waist down and swallowed up in a dirty UCLA sweatshirt that makes Buck want to dry heave again.
But she’s alive.
Amy Richards is alive.
Buck doesn’t move as the few officers left with Athena start to search the area for a serial killer that may or may not even be there. He slumps against the side of the barn, exhausted, the taste of his mouth pooling with acidity and the faint edge of formaldehyde. He should probably be doing something. Helping clean up or preparing to follow Hen and Chimney to the hospital, but getting up seems like a herculean effort, his limbs weighed down like he’s suddenly filled with lead.
Something warm and familiar presses in next to him, chasing away the ache and the chill that seems to permanently live in his bones. Eddie doesn’t say anything, which Buck is beyond grateful for. He’s not sure what there is to say. He doesn’t have an explanation and he’s too tired to come up with a lie that Eddie would see right through anyway.
If he leans back just a little bit more he’d be able to see Melissa in the chair. Her dead eyes and dead face and dead heart and dead everything staring back at Buck like she’s been waiting for him to come and find her. He can’t stop himself, falling into the pull like a paperclip drawn to a magnet they used to play with in science class.
Buck thinks he owes her this.
He half expects her mouth to drop open in that silent scream, but Melissa remains motionless; transfixed. He feels Eddie flinch next to him and he feels a sharp pang of guilt for not protecting Eddie from this.
“Hey,” Eddie says, quiet and low, lips barely brushing against Buck’s ear, “let’s get out of here, see if they need help.”
“Okay.” Buck swallows as he looks away.
Eddie gets up first and holds out his hand, offering Buck the best smile he can muster despite the circumstances. Buck takes it. He lets Eddie’s heat and life and warmth fill him, like stoking the dying embers of a fire until they reignite.
“Thank you.” Buck blurts out before he can stop himself.
But maybe Melissa isn’t the only person he owes.
Because what Buck really means to say is I need you. You’re the only one that makes this bearable. But I can’t tell you. I can’t lay this burden on your shoulders and risk losing you. I’m selfish that way.
Eddie’s face does something a little complicated before his eyes soften and his smile grows a little wider.
“Of course,” Eddie says as the bump shoulders walking back towards the firetruck, “you know I’ve always got your back.”
“I know.” Buck smiles in return, because he does.
He does.
It’s three days later, in the middle of the night when Buck gets the ping on his phone. A Breaking News article about the suspected serial killer known as The Mortician is now in police custody.
Buck takes a deep breath and looks around the room. The dark loft is bathed in the barest hint of moonlight and the nightlight from downstairs Hen and Chimney made him buy so they don’t trip on their way to the bathroom. He waits for the cold dread or the ache or the taste of something horrible to fill his mouth.
But there’s nothing save for the quiet sleep-soft breaths from Eddie fanning over his pillow because he somehow managed to roll into the middle of the bed.
Buck puts down his phone and curls himself around Eddie, promptly falling asleep a few moments later.
The ghost don’t bother him tonight.
“How will you breathe?”
“I’m gonna hold it.”
“For how long?”
“As long as I can.”
He should be used to it.
Failing.
Falling.
Never being good enough.
The feeling’s been carved into him all his life. From the moment he was pulled from the womb where his cells were harvested for their sole purpose only to fall short at the finish line.
Buck’s knees dig into the hard ground.
His lungs fill with smoke and water that’s dripped into his mouth. All he can see is orange, tinted with dark plumes that make him believe that hell might be an actual place. If not, then maybe purgatory.
That seems more fitting.
Buck fighting and fighting and fighting, but never seeing the light.
Never making it to where he needs to go.
He remembers, a few years ago right after the truck bombing when he was working to get back to the team that someone told him he was resilient. That he could survive anything that life threw at him. Buck liked that word.
Resilient.
It made it feel like all the bad shit he’s been through only made him stronger. That the universe could throw him hit after hit after hit and he’d still get back on his feet, wipe the blood from his mouth, and grin as he took another step forward.
Not invincible, Buck was well aware of that, but resilient.
As long as he never gave up then there would be some meaning in his end.
But Buck—
Buck is tired.
He’s not resilient. He’s not strong. He’s not anything he somehow convinced them all he's supposed to be. He’s just a guy who the world keeps letting get up to always end up out of reach. It’d be cosmically funny if it didn’t fuck over all the people Buck was — is — supposed to save.
The scream that rips out of him is deep and guttural and hurts all the way down the core.
The cold prickle that follows bubbles a hysterical laughter out of him, but it dies in his smoked stained throat. He looks up, lashes heavy with sprinkler water and grit, and grips the rope in his hands tighter. It’s the only thing keeping him up, because he won’t let go until his heart gives out. He can’t die without giving all of himself over. He’s a performer in a mask and the least he can do is let them think he was resilient til the very end.
Just in front of him stands the ghost from his childhood.
The one with shaggy, dirty-blonde hair and Maddie’s sad, brown eyes. The one that has Buck’s nose and dimples. The shape of his mouth curves down like their mother’s when she frowns and his eyes crinkle just like their dad’s when something disappoints him.
Buck knows he likes meatloaf and silently laughs at silly popsicle stick jokes. He’s the ghost he drew pictures of that made his parents mad and always came to Buck’s rescue when he was lonely.
Buck’s seen him almost everywhere. All the places he’s ever been. Sometimes just passing glances or out of the corner of his eye. The one ghost he’s never been afraid to find. The one who felt like his friend. Who didn’t want anything from Buck.
He’s not surprised to see Daniel Buckley here at the end.
It’s ironic, he thinks, or maybe he’s just come full circle.
Buck could say he’s sorry because isn’t he always? Sorry he’s too late. Sorry he wasn’t good enough. Sorry he wasn’t there or couldn’t save them or give them a fighting chance.
Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.
But what would be the point?
Daniel is gone. Buck made sure of that a long time ago.
The water feels heavier, almost like the waves of a tsunami bearing down on him. He sinks further into the floor as the fire rages on.
Evan Buckley, they say, he was resilient.
Evan Buckley, Buck knows, shouldn’t exist at all.
He feels a tug on the line and something warm presses against his shoulder; a heat not from the fire, but something Buck could recognize anywhere.
Eddie.
Eddie is there.
And suddenly, the weight becomes easier, lighter. There are more hands. Chimney and Hen and Bobby all holding on. Buck looks at them, wondering if maybe he’s the ghost now. If they’re pulling an invisible line connected to an invisible boy that is no longer part of this world. He turns his head to find Daniel still watching him with those sad, sad eyes. His ghosts have never been able to talk, but Buck learned when he was just six years old to know everything Daniel wanted to say to him.
Don’t give up.
“Buck,” Eddie’s voice is quiet and muffled, but it’s there which means Buck is still there too, “we’re here. We’ve got you.”
Tears hot and slicked with salt fall down his face and he gives Daniel the smallest nod of his head. They both understand this is the last time they will see each other.
And then, with every ounce of strength left in his body, Buck pulls.
There’s a dry thunderstorm that rolls in halfway through their family dinner. Loud rumbles of thunder that nearly shake the firehouse and flashes of lightning that brighten the early evening sky. It keeps them all a little on edge, the threat of a wildfire high since there isn’t any accompanying rain, but they haven’t been called out since they helped that mom who fell through the balcony with the sick boy.
“Christopher is ready to donate half his room to Charlie,” Eddie says with a fond shake of his head, his lips curling up into a smile that makes Buck melt in his corner of the couch.
“He is the best kid in the world.” Buck grins as he nudges his knee into Eddie’s.
They’re sitting a little farther apart than normal, a breath of space between them that never used to be there, but even since Eddie started dating Ana, Buck feels like constantly being in Eddie’s orbit is no longer his to have completely. His fingers twitch with the urge to text Taylor, but as far as bad ideas go that’s probably super fucking high up there.
“Hey,” Buck says instead, allowing himself to take one more time, pressing into Eddie like he was made to fit there, “maybe I can come over tomorrow and help Christopher pick some stuff out? We could make dinner and maybe have a movie night.”
Eddie’s face does something weird. A quick shutter of guilt and nervousness that Buck has never really seen directed at him before. He immediately pulls away, a rush of cold air creeping down the back of his neck. He leans forward, frowning, but doesn’t touch Eddie again as he tries to catch his best friend’s gaze.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie settles on a half-hearted smile, “it’s just that Ana will be over for dinner tomorrow. We’re introducing her to Carla.”
“Oh.”
Buck blinks once, twice, three times and realizes how shitty that sounds.
“Right, duh, of course,” he rushes to say. He’s trying to remember if this is something Eddie’s already told him. If this is something he’s supposed to remember. Isn’t it natural to introduce your girlfriend to all the important people in your life? “Sorry, must have slipped my mind.”
“You’re fine, Buck.” Eddie tries to reassure him, hand hovering over Buck’s arm before it drops back down to his side.
“Hopefully Ana is doing the cooking.” He tries to tease, but it tastes all sour and bitter and he nearly flinches when the words come out of his mouth.
Eddie huffs out a weak laugh. “She is.”
And Buck doesn’t really know what to say to that. He thinks, maybe, he should try to joke some more, but he suddenly doesn’t have the energy for it. He’s saved from having to respond at all as a loud roar of thunder rolls through the loft. They both look out over one of the windows, but there’s still no patter of rain and the alarm doesn’t sound. There’s only a few other people awake, milling about the kitchen with mugs of hot tea and Buck thinks this is as good a time as ever to excuse himself to the bunk room.
“Should probably try to get some sleep,” he says a little abruptly as he gets up from the couch, slightly jostling Eddie.
Buck can see the way Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, the line of concern he’s seen so many times, has memorized like every other part of Eddie’s beautiful face. It’s probably too much, but Buck’s never really known when to reign it in. Hen’s always joked he’s the golden retriever of the firehouse, but really he’s like stray fucking dog that constantly bites that hand that feeds and still comes back for more.
“Buck,” Eddie stands up, “hey, wait a minute.”
Buck stops halfway around the couch and tries to morph his expression into polite curiosity, but he’s never been good at hiding who he is from Eddie. He doesn’t even know why he feels like this. Eddie’s finally found someone that makes him happy. Someone that is smart and beautiful and kind and adores Christopher and all Buck can think about is how he will have to rearrange every part of himself to still fit in Eddie and Christopher’s new life.
(He does know why)
“We could have breakfast and pick Christopher up from school together.” Eddie suggests in a way that sounds hesitant, a little shy, like he’s not sure if what he’s offering is good enough.
“Yeah, sure, Eds.” Buck gives him a shaky smile in return.
He’ll take what Eddie gives him and swallow down the greedy, selfish need to ask for more.
Eddie gives him a small nod in return and Buck turns away before he lets any of his stupid, hurt feelings show on his face. It’s probably time he found someone anyway. He can’t keep playing pretend with Eddie and Christopher. Ana is nice, but there’s only so much room Buck can take before her niceness wears out and the last thing Buck wants to become is a problem.
He fumbles with his phone as he heads down the stairs and urges himself not to text Taylor or hop on Bumble or Grindr at almost one in the morning. It’s just a bad decision waiting to happen that will make him feel shittier longer than the few seconds of gratification he’ll get from helping someone else feel good for one night.
The bunk room is blissfully dark and the door muffles most of the thunder that still rages outside near the bay doors. Chimney is snoring softly, but it’s a quiet sound that Buck doesn’t mind too much as he climbs into his usual bunk on the bottom back corner, directly across from another empty bed that is taken up by Eddie.
Sleep comes to him in spurts. He tosses and turns, plagued by weird dreams that he can’t quite remember, just snippets of people he loves getting further and further away, fading into darkness with no way to get to them. He sometimes wakes up soaked in sweat or chilled to the bone like he’s been placed in a meat freezer. He’s vaguely aware that Eddie’s across from him at some point, breaths low and steady, facing towards Buck with his hand stretched out.
It settles something in Buck’s chest and he mirrors the movement, barely touching his finger against Eddie’s. Eddie makes a soft, sleepy sound, but doesn’t wake up or pull away. His fingers curl just a touch around Buck’s and Buck takes the moment to carefully, gently brushes his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels safe here to do that. To hold onto a piece of Eddie that is his and his alone, even if Eddie was never really his to have at all.
There’s a sharp movement in the dark as something ice cold digs its claws into Buck’s wrist, the smallest pinpricks of blood spilling down his skin and dripping onto the floor. He wretches his hand back and completely falls out of his bunk when he sees the Crooked Smiled Man looming over him and Eddie in the darkness.
He can’t stop the terrified yell that rips right through his throat as he lands on the ground. There’s an immediate flutter of movement, but Buck can’t focus on anything except for the Crooked Smiled Man now taking a step closer to him. He pushes back on his hands and legs, needing to get the fuck away.
Panic hot and heavy compresses his lungs as the ghost’s black nails trail over Eddie’s right arm and up past his shoulder.
Buck screams and screams and screams.
Stop! Don’t touch him! Stop, please! Go away!
In all his life seeing the Crooked Smiled Man he’s never been as afraid as he is now.
He knows he needs to get it the fuck together. It’s just a ghost. Just a ghost that only he can see, but it’s steadily getting closer to him, reaching out, smile growing growing so wide Buck thinks it’s going to unhinge its jaw and swallow him whole. There are other shouts, confused and scared, from his teammates, but Buck can’t think or breathe or do anything except get the fuck out.
He manages to burst through the door, spilling out into the bay and the Crooked Smiled Man follows him to the doorway, its claws digging into the wood frame before someone flicks on the lights and he disappears in a wash of blinding white.
His chest is heaving heavily, shallow pants choked by the sob that’s clinging to his throat. His head is throbbing painfully and every single part of him aches and aches and aches. He raises his hand to see a smear of crimson where the ghost left its mark and he can’t stop the fresh wave of nausea that rolls up his stomach, forcing him to turn over and expel a disgustingly black liquid onto the floor.
“Holy shit.”
“What the hell happened?”
“What the fuck is going on?”
Somewhere, through the fog of everything else, Buck can just pick out the rough edges of shame and embarrassment curling around his insides. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and doesn’t dare turn around to face the others. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to explain this one to the team. A nightmare might be plausible, but no one’s ever had such a visceral reaction to a dream especially at work.
“Hey, hey, Buck, jesus are you okay?”
Buck immediately closes his eyes as warm, calloused hands cup his cheeks, thumb carefully brushing away tears that are still stupidly leaking from his eyes. For once he doesn’t want to lie about the ghosts. He doesn’t want to come up with some sort of excuse or say that he’s fine because he’s not.
He’s here, Eddie. He’s here and he touched me and he touched you and I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know what it means, but it’s always something bad.
Always.
I can’t let him hurt you. I can’t let him take you away.
“Danger.” Buck spews out harsh and angry and tired and scared.
“Danger?” Eddie’s voice is low and filled with worry as he holds onto Buck. “Where? Buck, where’s the danger?”
“Me.”
And he can’t stop himself from looking up at Eddie. Eddie’s face crumbles into something a little heartbroken, but it’s about time Buck told him the truth. Maybe not all of it. Maybe not even most of it. But what it always comes down to is Buck being the danger. The cursed one. The real monster. He may be surrounded by ghosts, but he’s the only thing haunting the people he loves.
“Okay, everyone,” he hears Chimney say, “show’s over, get back into the bunk room or go make yourself useful.”
“Buck,” Eddie says softly, “what are you talking about?”
“I—I should clean this up.” He gestures towards whatever spewed out of his mouth seconds ago.
“Buck,” Hen says as she kneels down next to him, her hand ghosting against his forehead, “don’t worry about that right now.”
It all sinks in heavier. The embarrassment and shame and guilt. He finally manages to pull himself out of Eddie’s grasp, but no one lets him run away like he wants to. They bully him upstairs and wrap him in a blanket because, apparently, he’s shivering violently and sit him down on the couch. Hen makes tea, Chimney gets Bobby, and Eddie sits down next to him, but doesn’t get any closer than their knees touching.
“Hey kid,” Bobby rounds the corner with a tired smile, “want to tell us what happened?”
Buck doesn’t say anything as he gratefully takes the warm mug from Hen’s waiting hands. He takes a long, slow sip just to wash out the lingering taste in his mouth. It’s sharp and metallic with a faint hint of gasoline and asphalt. He feels like it should mean something, like a clue that’s been left behind, but his thoughts are too scattered and everything else too slow to try and find some significance.
He’s at a crossroad.
He can confess everything about the ghosts and the Crooked Smiled Man and the curse that’s been following him all his life and hope that they believe him, or at the very least humor him.
Or he could lie.
“I um,” he starts as he shifts in his seat, his team’s wide and watchful eyes burning right through him, “it’s—”
He trusts his team. With his life and his heart and all the good things that are a part of him, no matter how small or few. But he can’t escape the sinking feeling of suddenly being on trial. Like he’s standing in front of the Sunday morning church congregation confessing his crimes of witchcraft and devilry.
And when he’s done they’ll stand and scream and point: Burn the witch! Hang him for his sins! Drown the Devil right out of him!
“Sleep paralysis.” Buck finally says, careful to keep his gaze from falling into his lap. “Combined with a nasty nightmare.”
Things like demons and monsters and Crooked Smiled Men can be explained away by sleep paralysis. Buck remembers binge reading book after book when he was just thirteen. He burned through the library’s entire collection about the subject despite seeing ghosts at all hours of the day. But it wasn’t for him. It was to tell anyone else that asked too many questions if he freaked out in the middle of the night. Team sleepovers or one night stands or future partners that stay over.
“Sleep paralysis?” Chimney asks, like he’s taking a mental note to ask Maddie to confirm whether Buck is just bullshitting or not.
“Yeah,” Buck shrugs, “had it since I was a kid. It’s, um, never really been a problem before—before, well, now.”
They all look at each other, wondering how much of the story they should bite. Buck carefully pulls his sleeve over the three little scarlet marks on his wrist. It’s the closest truth he can offer them, something based around logic and science not some supernatural bull that’s out of goddamn M. Night Shyamalan movie.
“That’s some pretty intense sleep paralysis,” Hen says after a moment, “you were scared out of your mind.”
“I thought you couldn’t move during sleep paralysis.” Chimney adds as he narrows his eyes.
“Doesn’t mean the fear and adrenaline go away when it wears off.” Buck mutters defensively.
He doesn’t miss the significant look Bobby shares with Eddie and he buries himself down deeper into the couch. He kind of wishes they would all leave him alone. He needs to figure out why the Crooked Smiled Man came this time. He has a deep, sick feeling that it means something is going to happen to Eddie. The way it traced up Eddie’s arm feels seared into Buck’s brain.
It’s a message. A warning.
But he just doesn’t know what the fuck it’s trying to say.
“Well,” Bobby hums after a moment, “if you want to head home early—”
“No!” Buck nearly jumps up from where he’s sitting. “I’m fine, Bobby, really, it just caught me off guard.”
He can’t leave. Not when they’re still on shift. Not when Eddie is still here and there are about five hours left where something could go terribly wrong. It’s not like he’s going to go back to sleep the rest of the night and if the Crooked Smiled Man shows up again he’ll be ready this time. Bobby looks like he’s made up his mind, but he just sighs, maybe realizing that sending Buck home in the middle of the night might not be the best option either.
“Fine,” he relents, “but if the alarm sounds you will man behind.”
Buck opens his mouth to argue, but the stern look he gets in return shuts him right up. He just nods his head and sips his tea, pointedly looking away as he sees Hen and Chimney have a full blown conversation with their eyebrows. Chimney can call Maddie all he wants. His parents and their stupid child psychologist friend had thrown around sleep paralysis enough that it probably stuck with his sister enough to back him up on the claim.
“You never told me you had sleep paralysis.” Eddie says quietly when everyone eventually wanders back towards the bunk room.
Buck fiddles with a small hole on the corner of the blanket. Eddie doesn’t sound hurt or betrayed, just worried. Buck wishes he didn’t have to lie, but what else can he possibly do? He remembers the look on Eddie’s face when he told Buck about the things that slipped out in the ambulance after the truck bombing. He can’t bring Eddie anymore into this than he already has.
This is Buck’s problem and he’ll deal with it like he always has — alone.
“Yeah,” Buck shrugs, “it doesn’t happen often.”
Just when something bad is going to happen.
He automatically finds the dark corners of the room, body tensing as he waits for too white smile to stare back at him.
“What about when you stay over at our place?”
Buck tears his gaze away and something warm and comforting fizzles in his chest, seeping into his veins like honey, golden and sweet. He gives Eddie a smile, a real one, because the Diaz house is safe. Christopher and Eddie are his safe spaces.
“Never.” Buck says, some of the chill and ache finally fading away.
“So,” Eddie’s lips quirk up, “definitely breakfast and a nap after shift then?”
Buck dramatically places a hand over his chest. “You sure know the way to a man’s heart, Diaz.”
Eddie laughs, shaking his head, but there’s the slightest tint to his cheeks that melts some of Buck’s resolve and he greedily scoots closer to Eddie. They end up watching Antique Roadshow on PBS the rest of the night since the alarm doesn’t sound.
As they head out to their cars Buck hovers behind his driver’s side door as he watches Eddie through his bag in the back seat of the truck. They agreed to drive together to the diner nearby for breakfast and then come back to pick up Eddie’s truck before heading home to nap before they get Christopher. Sitting in Eddie’s passenger seat is the Crooked Smiled Man, looking directly at Buck. He wiggles his fingers in a slow, eerie wave, disappearing just as Eddie walks past the windshield.
“You okay?” Eddie asks when he gets to the Jeep.
“Yeah,” Buck swallows down the taste of asphalt and gasoline and blood, “yeah, I’m okay.”
He climbs into the Jeep and doesn’t look back at the truck, but he can’t quite stop the feeling that he’s running out of time.
And it doesn’t quite hit him yet when the air cracks with the thundering sound of gunfire.
Or when something hot and crimson and Eddie’s splatters across his face and his hair and in his mouth and on his entire fucking soul.
He doesn’t fully understand as Eddie looks up at him like one of the moments in the movies. Where everything falls into slow motion and you’re there, but you’re not there, because how can you be there when the worst possible thing is happening in the blink of an eye. In the seconds before you can take a breath.
He doesn’t think to look anywhere else, but at Eddie.
Eddie falling.
Eddie reaching.
Eddie in a pool of blood.
Eddie’s eyes fluttering close.
And Buck is just — frozen.
It happens a lot when he sees them. The ghosts. Like he’s grown roots that’ve dug deep into the surface of the earth to keep him where he stands. To make sure he sees and knows and understands. Frozen. Because everything becomes cold and biting as they reach out for him.
Eddie is falling and Buck is frozen and that means—
But he still doesn’t fully see the picture yet.
Because Buck is screaming and clawing his way to Eddie.
They don’t get to take him. They don’t get to have him. He is Buck’s and Buck will not let Eddie go.
The pricks on his wrist bleed as they scrape against the asphalt. His blood and Eddie’s staining the creosote together because you can’t have one without the other. He should have known, then, that this was the warning.
But Buck can’t think about anything other than Eddie Eddie Eddie.
Eddie screaming.
Eddie breathing.
Eddie bleeding out beneath Buck’s hands.
Are you hurt?
Buck’s not hurt, but he is dying because Eddie is dying. Two ghosts for the price of one. Maybe the Crooked Smiled Man knew that where Eddie went Buck would follow.
Tell them to dig two graves, Buck wants to say as he stands in the middle of the hospital drop off as Eddie slips away, or maybe just one big enough to hold us both.
He looks down at his hands as the taste of gasoline and asphalt and blood — Eddie’s blood Eddie’s blood Eddie’s blood — saturates every part of his mouth.
Oh, he thinks, finally realizing that the clock’s hit zero, the hourglass is empty, and the Reaper has come, this is what you were telling me.
Maybe if he’d just let the Crooked Smiled Man take him then he’d be the one who got shot instead of Eddie.
Buck doesn’t realize the water running in the bathroom sink is hot until it’s too late.
A sharp hiss of pain escapes through his teeth as he pulls his hands out of the spray; his right fingers and the bottom of his left palm the victim of a very minor burn. He quickly switches the cold water on and shoves his hands under. The water starts to run a pale shade of pink like the color of his birthmark. He almost recoils, a violent flinch that rocks his entire body, but his hands remain where they are.
It feels wrong to wash away pieces of Eddie.
He should be giving them back. He should be shoving every missing piece of Eddie back inside his body just to keep him alive a little bit longer.
Of course, logically, Buck knows that’s not how this works. He’s seen and rescued plenty of people bleeding out. He knows that any normal, healthy adult can afford to lose fourteen percent of their blood before it becomes critical. Whatever is washing down the sink to the sewers of LA won’t help Eddie anymore.
But, still.
Maybe if Buck rubs it hard enough it will seep into his skin, melt down layer after layer until he’s permanently stained. Then when anyone looks at him they’ll know, they’ll see.
This is where Eddie Diaz has been.
Mark me like a bloodstain or something like that.
He doesn’t dare look in the mirror. Can’t stray too far out of his peripheral because if he sees Eddie; pale and dead and haunting then he won’t be coming out of this bathroom alive.
Except — Christopher.
Buck swallows because that’s Eddie’s voice. And he knows that no matter what he sees when he lifts his head that they can’t take both. Someone has to stay behind.
Funny how it always seems to be Buck.
He fights off the tears and the sobs and the utter, desirable need to scream at the world and steels himself for the bravest thing he’s ever had to do. He looks up and right into the mirror. It’s almost a little anticlimactic, being met with his own crimson speckled face and bright blue eyes. There’s no one behind him or next to him or waiting for him in the dark shadows lingering in the corner.
It’s just Buck.
Just Buck covered in his best friend’s blood waiting for the worst to come.
But Eddie is a fighter. That’s a truth that lives deep in his bones and Buck should be ashamed to think that he’d give up so easily just to stand behind Buck as a phantom of himself to say goodbye. Buck suddenly needs to get all of Eddie’s blood off. He rips a paper towel from the dispenser and quickly wets it, scrubbing at every inch of his skin. Every few seconds his eyes dart around the room just to be sure.
The fear coats his heart and his lungs like a thick, black tar. Eddie was shot. Eddie was fucking shot and not everyone gets to survive that. And even though he’s a fighter, that he’ll never give up, the chances aren’t always in their favor. So Buck washes the blood and looks for Eddie’s ghost and doesn’t think he takes a single breath until he’s stepping outside in a borrowed LAFD shirt where the sun is far too bright for a day like this.
He wants to stay, but he needs to go. Christopher is more important. By Christopher’s side is where he’s meant to be. If he’s cursed to see the ghost of Eddie Diaz it only seems fair that he and Christopher will be in this together. That they’ll have each other through it all.
It’s Taylor’s hands that gently grab his shaking ones. Perfectly manicured, delicate, and too small, but Buck lets her hold on. He needs this. He needs someone and Taylor is the safest option as she looks at him with wide, concerned eyes. She doesn’t say anything on the ride to his loft. Doesn’t offer false hope or platitudes and Buck finds something comforting about that. Taylor Kelly may be a lot of things, but right now her refusal to coddle people is keeping him from falling apart.
He never stops looking for Eddie.
When he sits on the bed next to Christopher he can’t help, but look up at the door as if Eddie is standing there right now. Eddie alive and whole and smiling that beautiful fond smile that makes his cheeks all full and his brown eyes sparkle. Eddie dead and gone, just an echo of everything he ever was and all the things he could be.
“He’s going to be okay, right?”
Then his phone pings.
Bobby: Out of surgery. Doctors say it went well.
“I think so, buddy,” Buck manages as the damn finally breaks loose, “I think so.”
And as he holds onto Christopher and Christopher holds on to him all he can think about is that tonight they’re safe.
You’re home, Eddie murmurs in his head, of course you’re safe.
No ghosts.
They won’t find you tonight.
It’s not the bright, shining light that catches him off guard. That gives him pause with his fingers curling around the rungs of the ladder. He knows that it’s probably not the sniper, but the moment of dread and anticipation simmers in his blood all the same. Probably some survival instinct that’s somehow kept him alive this long.
The flash passes, but Buck is still stuck looking out over the expanse of the city at the Crooked Smiled Man waving from a sky rise.
This time he doesn’t cower in fear or flinch back from the inevitable.
Buck smiles.
Here I am, he thinks as his grin spreads across his face in a mock challenge, come and get me.
For once he’s not afraid. He wants the world to take its best shot.
(Literally)
He’s not a religious man, but he understands what it means to give penance. Isn’t this what the universe has always wanted from him? Why else would he be so tied to death? Buck’s on borrowed time. Has been ever since he came out of the wound and failed the one thing he was created for. He’s the one who’s supposed to be the ghost. It’s about time he re-tipped the balance of the scales.
It’s the first time he’s watched the smile slip right off the Crooked Smiled Man’s face. Like he’s the one scared of Buck. He slinks back into the shadows and Buck resumes his climb.
And maybe that’s the real curse.
Maybe he’s doomed to watch everyone else become ghosts.
Thirty
Buck does his best not to crush his phone between his hands. He doesn’t know what he expected. Chimney hasn’t answered the past twenty times he’s called and Maddie’s mailbox is full. Either they don’t want to talk to him (most likely) or they can’t (less likely, but still makes it hard to swallow).
He hasn’t been sleeping much. Fits of unconsciousness here and there just to get him through the day. If Taylor’s noticed she hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t think she’s noticed. It feels like a vigil. Like he’s keeping watch for Maddie or Chimney’s ghost, because, at least then he’ll know why they aren’t returning his calls.
It’s almost funny, in that biting hollow sort of way. He hasn’t seen a single ghost since they’ve both vanished and it stupidly makes Buck feel lonelier than ever. Everything feels like it’s slowly crumbling apart. Eddie pretends like he’s fine, even after his breakup with Ana, but Buck knows there’s something he isn’t telling them.
He doesn’t mean to take it out on Ravi, but the 118 is the only thing he has right now and with Chimney gone and Eddie distant it’s like it’s all slipping right through his fingers. The once solid foundation shifting into wisps of smoke that curl into the air until they fade away. So he can’t afford to lose anyone else just because the probie is incompetent and unprepared.
“The coffee isn’t going to make itself, you know.” Hen smiles as she sets a box of Christmas decorations down onto the kitchen table.
Buck blinks a few times, not even realizing he’s been staring at the empty coffee maker for the past several minutes. He laughs a little nervously and quickly gets to work making a fresh batch. He turns and watches Hen unpack garland and Christmas lights, things they usually use to decorate the firehouse.
“Little late to decorate this year.” Buck notes as he peeks at the calendar.
“It’s been a bit,” Hen pauses and he can see the smallest twitch in her jaw, they both know what it’s been like the past month, “busy.”
“That’s one word for it.” Buck says as he picks at a loose thread on his pants.
Now that he thinks about it he’s hardly done any Christmas shopping this year. The only person he has presents for is Christopher and that’s only because he tends to buy things throughout the year despite Eddie’s insistence on not spoiling him. He’s hardly felt in the spirit to get anything done, especially now that part of his family is gone and decidedly not talking to him.
“Hey,” Hen says as she comes around the counter, her hand squeezing his bicep gently, “you okay?”
“Me?” Buck gives her an unconvincing smile. “I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t anywhere in the realm of being believable,” Hen snorts as the coffee maker beeps.
Buck grabs three mugs from the cupboard; one for him, one for Hen, and one for Eddie. He stares at a fourth mug with a faded picture of E.T. on it that Chimney frequently uses and decides to grab that too. He’s begrudgingly learned how Ravi takes his coffee and he probably owes him something considering the way he’s been acting.
“Everything just feels off.” Buck says after a moment as he sets to work. “And I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I’m waiting to see Chimney or Maddie appear in my house. Not as a homecoming, but as a final passing. I’m waiting to see Eddie standing in my doorways bleeding out from his chest where I couldn’t stop the damage because it constantly lives behind my eyelids and all the places where his blood stained my skin. I’m waiting for the Crooked Smiled Man to show up and take someone else I love away.
“Honestly,” Hen says quietly, her eyes briefly flickering to Eddie for a moment, “me too.”
Buck wants to ask. If Hen’s noticed something up with Eddie that means he’s not doing a very good job of hiding whatever it is he’s hiding. He doesn’t get the chance though as Ravi comes up the stairs and hesitantly steps into the kitchen, eyes wide and apprehensive like he’s waiting for Buck to bark an order at him.
“Here, probie,” Buck sets the mug down on the counter, “I, uh, mean Ravi.”
Ravi looks at it a little suspiciously as if Buck poisoned it, which causes Hen to snort a laugh into her coffee. Buck barely manages not to roll his eyes as he makes a show of taking a big slurp from his own. Ravi gives him an actual smile and happily grabs his mug. Buck melts, just a little, and allows himself to feel right-footed for the first time today as he grabs Eddie’s coffee to bring it over to where he’s sitting.
“Thanks.” Eddie gives him a soft, tired look as Buck sits down next to him.
“You doing okay, Eds?” Buck asks with a slight furrow in his brow. “Christopher still upset?”
“Chris is fine.” Eddie says a little too quickly.
Buck watches as he digs his knuckle into his eye, a telltale sign of his exhaustion and his desire to avoid talking about certain topics. Christopher may be fine, Buck’s been texting him on and off since Eddie mentioned his meltdown, and their conversations have been normal and full of their usual banter and weird, random research binges, but that doesn’t mean Eddie is.
“And you?” Buck probes gently.
Eddie doesn't look at Buck as he takes a slow sip from his mug. He’s got his eyes trained on the television, some show Buck knows for sure Eddie isn’t even remotely interested in.
“I, um,” Eddie hesitates after a moment, “I need to talk to you about something.”
Buck blinks at him in surprise, his heart seizing in his chest for a moment. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound good from Eddie’s tone, but he’s already let so many other people down recently he can’t do that to Eddie.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
It’s a mirror of all the times Eddie’s said it to him. The open invitation to talk about the things he knows Buck never talks about with anyone. He hardly doubts Eddie sees ghosts too, but there is something off and Buck is desperate to fix it.
Eddie’s lips twitch up, but the alarm sounds and Buck settles for giving Eddie’s wrist a gentle squeeze; a promise to talk later.
He doesn’t miss the way Eddie won’t look at him in the firetruck on the way over to the scene. How he doesn’t fully engage in conversation even though Ravi’s more chatty and Hen is being indulgent. Buck tries to bump their shoulders, a reminder that he is still here for Eddie, but all it gets him is a half-hearted smile in return.
They pull up to a small shop where there were reports of a small fire and a fight with a few minor injuries.
“Well,” Hen says as she eyes the store front, “this should be interesting.”
Buck looks out the window and immediately understands why Hen already sounds so exasperated. They’re outside a psychic medium’s shop, a small thing where the windows are covered in starry tapestries, decorated with crystals and things that look like they were plucked from a halloween yard sale. There’s also a rather large group of people, eight adults, standing outside the store front. At least three of them are bleeding, three more are verbally fighting, and the remaining two are standing on the curb looking extremely nervous.
They all pile out of the truck, Athena already stepping in to break up the fight that is on the verge of turning physical. Buck catches some of what they say. Something about heirlooms and being the deadbeat sibling that never did anything.
Ah, family drama.
“I’m the oldest!” One of them yells, a man with hair starting to grey and a superiority complex that Buck can sniff from a mile away. “That’s how this works!”
A woman scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. She’s the smallest out of the group, but doesn’t back down even as Athena puts her hands out to keep them separate.
“Yeah, John, we all know you’re the oldest,” she sneers, “and also the one that wanted nothing to do with helping mom unless it benefitted you in some way. How’s your east coast mansion ever going to survive without dad’s portrait?”
Buck looks between Hen and Eddie, their eyes just as wide as his as they watch the argument unfold. Bobby has his hands on his hips, looking to the heavens like he doesn’t get paid nearly enough.
“Firefighters Buckley and Panikkar,” Bobby says in his most professional voice, but they can all hear the strain as the shouting match proceeds to get louder, “please go inside and make sure the fire’s been put out completely.”
Buck is more than happy to get away from the fighting, it reminds him too much of his own family even though he knows there is nothing of his parents that he wants when they’re both gone. For a split second he wonders if this is the kind of thing that would have happened if Daniel were still alive. Would he, Maddie, and Daniel be arguing over family possessions that belonged to their parents?
He can’t imagine fighting with Maddie about a picture or some trinket, but he has no idea what Daniel would have been like. A middle child, but clearly the favorite from what Maddie’s said in passing even before he had cancer. Of course, maybe if he’d succeeded in saving his brother his parents may have actually loved him. Not as much, probably, but enough that he might have actually cared about getting something when his parents inevitably die.
“Diaz and Wilson,” Bobby continues as he starts to move to help Athena, “assess for injuries.”
They split off and the shout only dies down a little when Buck and Ravi step into the shop. It’s bigger on the inside with rows of shelves stocked with strange and interesting looking items for sale. There’s a strong whiff of incense even over the remnants of smoke and it’s enough to give Buck the beginnings of a headache. He does admire the dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling and nearly trips over a fallen chair into a case full of different tarot cards for sale.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly as he looks up at Ravi and an older woman who must clearly be the psychic medium.
“It’s fine.” She says with a slight shrug as Ravi asks her to step aside so he can check on the carpet where a small billow of smoke is fading. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened today.”
She’s standing next to a giant, round table draped in a maroon cloth with a good number of candles now covered in a white foam that must have come from the fire extinguisher sitting on the checkout counter. He can see a giant scorch mark down the side and several candles turned over, a few more on the floor.
“I can imagine you don’t need to be a psychic to guess what happened here.” She gestures to the table and the floor where Ravi is making sure the fire is completely out.
“Get a lot of family disputes in your line of business?” Buck asks with an amused smile.
“Depends on if they’re looking for the truth or just something they want to hear.” She sighs as she sinks down into one of the chairs. “I’m Rose, by the way.”
“Well, Rose,” Buck steps forward to start working on cleaning the table, “I’m firefighter Buckley and that is firefighter Panikkar. We’re just going to make sure the fire is out and the space is safe.”
“Did they really pay for a seance to settle what heirlooms they all get?” Ravi asks, clearly interested in getting as much information about the drama as possible.
“It’s more common than you think,” Rose responds with a bemused smile, “but usually they save the fighting for after it’s over.”
“And what do the dead usually have to say?” Ravi continues and Buck can tell he’s humoring her.
Rose must catch on because her smile becomes a little too knowing. “It depends on if they have anything to say at all.”
“Right…” Ravi responds a little skeptically, giving Buck a look before he busies himself with a final check of the carpet.
“In this case,” Rose presses on, unperturbed by Ravi’s doubt, “there was nothing to be said, which caused the fight to break out in the first place.”
Ravi straightens up, blinking owlishly at Rose like he’s not sure whether to believe her or not. “I’m, uh,” He finally manages, turning towards Buck, “gonna let Cap know the fire is out and ask if he needs us to do anything else.”
Buck just nods as Ravi quickly steps outside, the little bell on the door ringing quietly in his wake. He chuckles to himself, but the sound catches in his throat when the familiar feeling of cold drips down the back of his neck. There’s the faint taste of tobacco and coconut on his tongue cut by the strong smell of hospital.
He doesn’t have to look very hard. They’re both standing by the window overlooking their still screaming family members. It’s an older couple, holding hands with matching sad expressions. Buck swallows, suddenly hit by a wave of grief, love, and guilt. It’s overwhelming and he feels his knees wobble as he slowly lowers himself in the nearest seat.
They don’t look at him. They don’t need to. There’s nothing he can do for them. Nothing that is going to heal the very deep wounds clearly cut into their children. Rose was right. There’s nothing to say.
He doesn’t mean to think of Maddie and Chimney. Doesn’t mean for his own grief and love and guilt to weigh him down, but he’s been so desperate for answers. To be absolved of his sins and to hear what he wants instead of the truth. He always took their silence to mean that they were angry or disappointed in him. Maybe scared to share the burden. He never once thought it was because they had nothing to say.
The small, delicate hand that lands on his shoulder startles him. He looks up at Rose and is completely embarrassed about the fact that he’s obviously trying very hard not to cry.
“You have a gift,” she says softly.
“Hardly.” Buck snorts as he scrunches his face.
Rose just smiles and pats his cheek, a motherly gesture that makes him want to cry for entirely different reasons.
“Stop looking for them,” she says, “it’s not their time.”
For a moment he feels something ugly and horrible rise in his chest. He wants to bite and snap and show his teeth. He wants to let the anger buried in all his cells go just to feel some sort of relief. He wants to tell her he’s seen so many terrible things. That he’s not afraid to die, but of others leaving him behind. That he lives with the fear of seeing someone he loves before it’s their time.
It wasn’t Shannon’s time. Or Daniel’s. It certainly wasn’t Amanda or Melissa’s time. So what makes Maddie and Chimney and Eddie so different from everyone else?
But this isn’t Rose’s fault. It’s not her burden to bear. He deflates, letting all his rage slither back into its cage. He hears the tinkle of the bell and stands up so fast he knocks the chair to the ground.
“Sorry,” he grunts as he bends to pick it up.
The older couple are still standing at the window and for the first time he wonders if they can feel what he feels. Can they hear the hum beneath his skin, the itch that he constantly ignores in favor of pretending like he’s still holding it together? He can feel them. Taste their last moments on his tongue like an echo, far away but imprinted forever.
Of course, they’re dead, so maybe they don’t feel anything at all.
“Hey Buck,” Eddie’s voice cuts across the thick fog in his head like it always does, “Cap said we’re good to go.”
“Cool.” Buck says, still facing away from Eddie to give himself enough time to get it the fuck together. The last thing he needs is Eddie probing him about why he’s close to crying in a seance shop of all places.
He expects to hear the bell again, signaling that it’s safe to turn around, but he should have known better than that. Warmth spreads through his veins, deep and honey-sweet, because Eddie is waiting for him despite everything else going on Eddie is still waiting.
“Need any extra help cleaning up?” He addresses Rose first like the coward he is.
Rose looks between them with a thoughtful expression, eyes turning a little sad as Eddie shifts on his feet.
“No, no,” she shakes her head, “I’ll be fine.”
Buck nods and starts to head towards the front door when Rose holds out her hand to stop him.
“One second,” she says as she steps around the counter, “I have something for you.”
Buck tilts his head, catching Eddie’s eye for a moment. His eyebrow is raised particularly high and Buck fights off a grin because he knows that Eddie hardly believes in any of the stuff that fills this space.
Rose comes back around and carefully places something in his hand. It’s a card, face down, and he flips it over, nearly dropping it when he recognizes the dark, wispy shape of the Crooked Smiled Man looking up at him. His face is outlined in white, a bony skeletal neck poking up from the black, smoke like robe making up the rest of his body. There’s nothing behind him save for the sliver of a crescent moon and the few dots of stars.
The card is upside down, but Buck can clearly read Death.
“Do not be afraid,” Rose says as her fingers wrap around his wrist, “and do not fear the silence.”
Buck watches the way the card trembles in his hands and he knows his face must be doing something because that warmth he felt at Eddie’s presence is suddenly a searing heat at his side. He tries to slide the tarot card into his pocket before Eddie can see what it is, but he’s not quite sure if he’s succeeded.
“Come on Buck,” Eddie says softly, but there’s a hit of steel, his body tense as he shoots a glare in Rose’s direction, “we should get going.”
“Yeah,” Buck swallows, voice thick and heart in his throat.
Rose merely smiles in return as Eddie sends her another look that would wither a weaker being and Buck doesn’t even notice that Eddie’s hands are gently holding onto Buck’s wrist, leading him outside until the door closes with a loud click. Buck wonders if Eddie can feel how his pulse beats against his skin, like every part of him wants to crawl out of his own body. Eddie doesn’t let go until they’re at the firetruck.
“What did she give you?” Eddie asks as he looks down at Buck’s pocket.
Before Buck can answer Ravi is stepping between them to climb inside the cab. “The weird psychic medium lady gave you something?”
Buck sighs as he follows Ravi inside, Eddie right behind them. The scene of family members has dissipated and Buck takes one last look at the shop front, but the older couple are gone as well. He has half a mind to ask if the fighting got resolved, but he’s not quite sure he wants to know the answer.
“Who gave Buck what?” Hen asks, already sitting in her seat.
Buck knows he isn’t getting out of this one and he’s honestly too tired to put up a fight. He digs into his pocket, which is harder to do than normal since Eddie is somehow sitting as close to him as possible. He holds out the card for all of them to see and tries not to flinch when it feels like the Crooked Smiled Man only has eyes for him.
“Creepy.” Hen says as she looks down at it.
“What is it?” Eddie asks with a frown.
“A tarot card.” Buck answers. “People use them to, you know, gain insight about the past, present, and future or whatever.”
“Ah,” Eddie says, leaning back against his seat, “so is Death supposed to be a threat or a warning?”
“It’s a common misconception,” Ravi interjects, his phone held high in his hand, “was the card upright or reversed?”
“Oh,” Hen chuckles, “are we doing fortune telling readings now?”
“Reversed.” Buck mumbles as he turns the card around to the position it was in when he flipped it over.
“Well,” Ravi says with a slight grin, “according to my quick Google search the Reversed Death card can mean a fear or resistance to change, stagnation, or holding on. This may prevent your growth as an individual and could be an indication of a savior complex, self-esteem issues, or wounds that need to heal.”
The truck becomes unbearably quiet as all eyes, even Bobby who is sitting upfront, are looking right at Buck. Ravi’s smile is gone as he slowly lowers his phone and Buck tries his goddamn hardest not to unbuckle his seat belt and throw himself from the moving vehicle. It’s not going that fast. He’d probably survive with a sprained wrist and some roadrash.
He runs his thumb over the Crooked Smiled Man’s face and forces himself not to choke on the familiar sharp metallic taste of blood mixed with asphalt and gasoline.
“It’s all made up anyway,” Hen says with a wave of her hand trying to dispel the lingering tension, “people see what they want to see in these things. Cards can’t show us the future or know about our past.”
“We should get a station deck,” Ravi says, jumping on the joke bandwagon, “maybe test it to see if it correctly predicts the emergencies we have.”
“Chimney would love that.” Hen snorts at the same time Bobby says in an exasperated voice, “Absolutely not.”
That breaks Hen and Ravi out in a debate with Bobby, but Buck can’t muster the heart or the energy to join in. He shoves the card back into his pocket, not wanting to look at it anymore. Eddie is quiet next to him, eyes straight ahead and no longer leaning into Buck’s space like he was earlier.
When they get back to the station Buck stashes the card in the back of his locker hoping it never sees daylight again. He doesn’t remember that Eddie had wanted to tell him something until they’re both heading to their respective vehicles at the end of their shift.
“Hey,” Buck says as he pivots, turning towards Eddie’s truck, but not closing the gaping distance between them, “what did you want to talk about?”
“What?” Eddie asks as he throws his bag into his truck giving Buck a look that means he knows exactly what Buck is talking about.
“Before we went to that emergency at the psychic shop,” Buck huffs, “you said you wanted to talk to me about something.”
Buck watches as Eddie forces a smile, his exhaustion betraying him.
“Oh,” he hums after a moment, “yeah, no, everything is fine, nothing to worry about.”
“Eddie…”
“I said it’s fine, Buck.” Eddie snaps and Buck can’t stop the near full body flinch. Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sorry, I’m tired, can I call you later?”
“Sure.” Buck says. “Th—that sounds good. Tell Christopher I said hi.”
“Will do.” Eddie gives him a tight smile, not meeting Buck’s gaze.
Buck’s not quite sure why it hurts so fucking much to watch Eddie pull out of the parking lot. He climbs into the Jeep and reads a text from Taylor saying she’s working late tonight letting him know he’ll be on his own. He can’t tell if it makes him feel relieved or even more lonely.
Eddie doesn’t call him later.
Don’t fear the silence
Buck holds the Death tarot card in his hand and thinks that maybe Eddie just doesn’t have anything to say either.
I’m leaving the 118
Buck understands.
He does.
Christopher comes first, besides it’s only temporary. He knows Eddie. He knows Eddie. The 118 is where he’s meant to be. By Buck’s side as his partner out in the field. By his side at the table when family dinner is served. By his side on the couch knocking knees after a grueling call. By his side on the bunk across from his own snoring softly in the dark. By his side in the truck laughing and smiling and quietly squeezing his wrist when the odds are stacked against them.
Eddie won’t leave permanently.
He’ll come back.
Just like Chimney and Maddie.
They’ll all come back.
They have to.
Except—
Except they don’t.
Days turn into weeks which turn into months.
Chimney and Maddie are still radio silent. He’s only heard from Maddie once, a very brief conversation that gave him just enough information to tell Chimney to go to Boston. Eddie is still at dispatch looking more exhausted and defeated than ever, but he keeps pushing Buck further and further out of reach.
Move on, I have.
And the ghosts. God the fucking ghosts won’t leave him alone. Maybe now that everyone else is letting him go the dead are finally staking their claim.
They’re everywhere.
He sees them in his loft when he wakes up. He sees them in the firehouse at all hours of the day. He sees them driving home and when he’s out with Taylor. He’s got a permanent headache that sits behind his eyes and is almost used to the chill that creeps across his skin no matter how many layers he wears.
He doesn’t know what any of them want. If they want anything at all. They just stand in the corners or behind him in the mirror or at the foot of his bed and just stare and stare and stare. He thought not seeing them felt incredibly lonely, but now it’s like the walls are closing in, the clock ticking down and he’ll pass over into their realm in a blink of an eye.
He tries to chase it away with too many shots at the bar when they go out. Tries to bury it in a stupid kiss with Lucy and in the lies he tells Taylor because letting her go might actually break him. And he gets it. He knows that he’s just becoming worse and worse. Someone that doesn’t deserve the people he’s still clinging to.
Sometimes, late at night, he’ll drive to the pier.
They rebuilt it a year after the tsunami, but it almost looks nearly the same. There’s a plaque that commemorates those lost on that day. Buck’s looked at it for hours on end memorizing names and wonders who showed up in his apartment that night he ran to Eddie’s.
He’ll stand on the bench against the railing and look out over the water, leaning his weight into the cool metal so he can feel the spray of waves. He can see hands reaching up out of the water — decayed, wrinkled skin with blackened fingers wrapped in seaweed — desperate to pull him in.
He thinks it could be easy to let them take him.
But then he catches flashes of the Crooked Smiled Man in the white crest of waves and reminds himself it’s not where he belongs.
“Didn’t take you as someone who believed in the supernatural, Buckley.” Taylor says from somewhere behind him and he can practically hear the smirk in her voice.
He decides on the red button up, grabbing it from his closet before he turns to see how she could have possibly come to that conclusion. He’s made sure to never mention anything ghost related to Taylor and he lets her assume his standoffish behavior is a combination of half his family missing and the entire kiss scandal.
He can’t quite stop the way he stiffens when he sees the Death tarot card held between two perfectly manicured fingers.
“Where did you find that?” He asks as he swallows hard, not moving any closer to take it from her.
The last time he saw that card was when he tossed it into the ocean on one of his worse nights out on the pier.
“It was sitting on your nightstand,” Taylor shrugs, “kind of creepy looking.”
The Crooked Smiled Man grins up at him, even from its reversed position and Buck wants to rip it from Taylor’s hands and throw it in the next five-alarm fire they’re called out to.
“Uh, Ravi bought a deck as a joke after one of our calls,” Buck explains, half lying, “must have somehow slipped into my bag or something.”
Ravi did buy a deck as a joke, but the one he got has cats on each card because he thought it was funny.
“Not the strangest thing I’ve seen you all do at the 118.” Taylor shrugs as she sets the card back down on the nightstand.
“Yeah,” Buck says as he stares down at it, “it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.”
Taylor laughs and steps into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Now that they’ve mostly reconciled they’re going out to try and reconnect. He’s still trying to figure out whether he’s disappointed or relieved that Taylor wants to make it work. Maybe a bit of both. Maybe Taylor is clinging to him just as hard as he’s clinging to her and it feels like it’s for all the wrong reasons.
He doesn’t linger on the thoughts long as his phone rings from where it’s connected to the charger downstairs. He quickly jogs to answer it, a real smile spreading across his face as Christopher’s name and contact photo appear on screen.
“Hey, Chris—” He starts, warmth spreading through him like it always does when he talks to Christopher.
It’s gone in an instant like he’s been plunged into ice cold water. Like the hands that reach up for him at the pier finally found ground and now he’s tumbling into the waves with no way to kick to the surface.
He can hear Eddie shouting in the background; terrible, wrecked noises that sets every single nerving ending of Buck’s on fire.
“Buck, something’s wrong with dad!”
Christopher is in a state of panic that has Buck grabbing his keys and running out of the door before he can think better of it. He doesn’t even have a passing thought for Taylor and their evening. He just needs to get to Christopher and Eddie right fucking now.
“I’m on my way Chris,” Buck says, working to keep his voice steady and calm, “just stay on the phone with me.”
“Okay,” Christopher whimpers, small and scared and so much like that day the tsunami hit.
He tries to keep talking. Tries to keep Christopher distracted from the storm that’s raging inside Eddie’s bedroom. It gets harder with each passing second and Buck wants to scream, but he’s already pushing the speed limit. He knew something was wrong with Eddie, but he didn’t push. He let Eddie slip from his grasp and hide away everything too busy stuck in his own self-pity party.
The flash of emergency lights distracts him for a moment, cutting him off mid sentence as he turns his gaze to the side of the road. There’s some sort of accident. A bad one. The car is practically wrapped around a tree. There’s a flurry of movement from the paramedics, a small boy being lifted onto a backboard screaming.
None of them see the pale figure of a man standing on the side of the road. They pass through him and around him, but he doesn’t flinch as looks at Buck with a devastated expression on his face. Buck chokes on the taste of cold coffee and the unmistakable metallic bite of blood. He can’t take his eyes off the man that looks like…he looks just like….but it can’t be…
Eddie.
“Buck?”
Buck swerves his Jeep at the sound of a car horn blasting in his direction. He manages to get back on his side of the road as the other car passes him by and Christopher’s voice turns a little hysterical again.
Buck’s heart is in his throat as he grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
“S—sorry, buddy,” Buck manages, “just some bad traffic I’m almost there.”
It’s not Eddie it’s not Eddie it’s not Eddie.
He’s so used to the warmth of the Diaz house. The way it chases away the chill and deep ache that rattles in his bones. He’s always thought of it as his sanctuary. The place he can finally find peace from the ghosts and nightmares and every other terrible fucking thing in his life. Maybe that’s why he feels like he doesn’t deserve to stay. He doesn’t want to scorch such holy ground.
When he gets the door open, after several attempts of slotting the key into the lock because his hands are still shaking, it’s the first time he’s ever felt cold.
“Chris?” He calls out, stepping inside immediately spotting Christopher in the hallway. “Hey, hey buddy, you okay?”
His hand grips Christopher’s shoulder as he sinks down to his knees. Buck doesn't miss the silence save for Christopher’s heavy breaths and his own pounding heart. It’s worse, so much worse than hearing Eddie’s screams.
“He won’t come out,” Christopher answers, pained, “I keep calling him, but he won’t answer.”
Don’t fear the silence
Buck gently slides his fingers to cup the back of Christopher’s neck, forcing himself to take a deep steady breath. He needs to be strong. He needs to be strong for Christopher and Eddie no matter how tired he is or how much everything hurts.
“Okay, well,” Buck ducks his head to catch Christopher’s gaze, “y—you just wait here and I’m going to go get him, okay?”
“Okay.” Christopher whispers.
Buck tries his best to smile before he turns towards Eddie’s bedroom door. Everything is heavy. The cold and the silence and the crushing weight of what Buck will find when he opens up that door.
Don’t fear the silence don’t fear the silence don’t fear the silence
“Hey, uh, hey Eddie,” Buck says to the closed door, sounding much braver than he feels, “it’s uh, it’s me. Can I come in?”
He tries the door handle, not surprised to see that it’s locked. Even at his lowest point Eddie would make sure his bomb finally going off wouldn’t dare touch Christopher. If only he could see his son right now, standing just behind Buck, waiting for the worst.
He throws a cautious look at Christopher before making a decision. He will not let Eddie suffer alone.
“Alright, Eddie, I—I’m coming in, stay away from the door.”
It doesn’t take much. The door bursts open, the handle flying off as Buck breaks into the room. The cold is almost suffocating, thick and heavy, like he’s still trapped beneath the waves and he doesn’t know how to get out. The hands have him. They’re pulling and pulling and pulling him under. There’s no surface or escape just Buck suspended in the water as the ghosts drag him out to sea.
His mouth forms around the sound of Eddie’s name, but he can’t hear it. Can’t hear the way the word cuts across the warzone. He’s not supposed to be afraid of the silence, but he doesn’t know how else to feel because he’s been stuck in it since the day the gunshot rang out in the middle of the street, ripping right through Eddie and shattering all of Buck right along with it.
Eddie’s gasping, choking sob sounds just like Buck finally finding the surface.
“You’ll stay?” Eddie murmurs as he looks at Buck through half-lidded eyes.
Buck smiles as he reaches out and brushes back Eddie’s hair. He’s sitting on the floor next to the couch where Eddie’s sprawled beneath a blanket. He already has his own pillow and an old sleeping bag from the closet that smells a little musky, but is better than the bare floor.
He’s not going anywhere.
“Always.” Buck says as he runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair again, scratching lightly at his scalp. He’s rewarded with a small, pleased sigh that escapes through Eddie’s parted lips. “It will be just like my boy scout days camping in the woods.”
“You weren’t in boy scouts.” Eddie huffs, popping one eye open.
“I was too!” Buck cries in soft, mock offense. “For like two days.”
Eddie’s lips barely tug up in the corner, but Buck holds onto it like a lifeline.
“You’re warm,” Eddie hums as Buck’s hand slides down to cup Eddie’s cheek, “I was so cold before.”
Buck swallows back the urge to cry. His thumb gently swipes underneath Eddie’s eye and he lets Eddie take as much heat and comfort from Buck as he wants. He hadn’t realized how the warmth seeped back into the Diaz house, into his own exhausted body, the headache he’s had for weeks finally dissipating.
“You’re usually the one that keeps me warm,” Buck admits softly. “You’re the one that chases all the ghosts away.”
Eddie’s sleep-soft snores makes Buck grin and he carefully pulls back his hand, tucking the blanket up around Eddie’s shoulder. He sinks into the floor and looks up at the lights dancing across the ceiling as a car passes through the neighborhood.
Maybe it was his turn to chase away Eddie’s ghosts. His army friends who are no longer with him, but haunting his shadow and dragging him down beneath a sea of bloodstained sand. Maybe it’s his turn to be Eddie and Christopher’s sanctuary. To provide the safety and light and warmth he always finds in their company.
Maybe tonight he’ll be the one to make sure the ghosts don’t bother them here.
There’s a moment, as the lightning strikes through him, where he realizes the irony that when he dies no one is going to see him.
Thirty-One
Buck breaks up with Natalia on a Tuesday.
It’s not his finest moment. He probably could have done it somewhere a little more private and not in the middle of a cafe during their weekly date right after he picked up their coffee from the counter.
If he’s being honest it wasn’t really a planned thing. He likes Natalia. A lot. She’s wicked smart and funny, drop dead gorgeous and patient even when he rambles about things he knows she’s not interested in. They were good together — they are good together — but.
But.
He thought he had things figured out after the lightning strike and the bridge collapse. After Kameron delivered on his couch and Natalia came back wide-eyed and smiling, wanting Buck, this version of Buck, because all the previous versions were zapped out of existence the moment the universe decided to smite him in the middle of a rainstorm.
He stopped seeing ghosts. His loft finally felt warm and welcoming and safe. He found someone who saw him, or saw this version of him — Buck 4.0 or 5.0 or whatever upgrade he’s finally achieved — a Buck that survived and is alive and died, but didn’t die.
Which, he knows, is a bit unfair. Natalia only gets the Buck that is living and breathing and smiling and ghost free while everyone else got…well.
Buck knows what they got.
And Natalia doesn’t see him the way Eddie sees him, but that’s different and complicated and something neither he nor Eddie have ever looked at too long.
Besides, Eddie has someone too. Sort of. Maybe not as serious as what he and Natalia have, had, but Marisol is nice and Christopher likes her and isn’t that all Buck can ask for? Marisol doesn’t see ghosts and isn’t a walking trauma bag and Natalia’s been good for him, was good for him. It would have been fine, all perfectly fine, because maybe he and Eddie would have fallen out of each other’s orbit eventually, except Buck somehow screwed that all up like he always does.
Dying isn’t so bad if it breaks a curse.
Three minutes and seventeen seconds of loitering on the other side, of becoming one of them, but still somehow a part from them because he got to come back. He crossed the line he’d been straddling all his life, but Buck came back. He came back different and new and cured until—
Three months and seventeen days later they find him again. One ghost in particular, the only one he’s seen the past few months.
He and Natalia were out at the movies. It wasn’t supposed to rain that night so they got caught underneath the awning waiting for the shower to dissipate before making a break for the Jeep. Natalia was giving some running commentary on the plot twist, but Buck couldn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear anything. There was a spark of electricity, a tingling in his fingers that fizzled in his blood and made every hair on the back of his neck stand up.
And suddenly he felt nothing. No cold or ache or all the waves of emotions that choke him when he sees ghosts. He looks out into the rain and he sees himself. He sees his uniform shirt torn open and the dark, patterned Lichtenberg figures branching over his shoulder and across his chest. He sees himself just standing there, slowly raising his hand and waving just like the Crooked Smiled Man.
And Buck sees him the next day and the next day and the next. Every single day. Fleeting glimpses of himself and his lightning scars in the mirror or out at a scene or in the backseat of his Jeep and on date nights and hang outs and everywhere Buck goes.
There he is.
There’s his ghost.
He remembers asking Natalia at dinner one night as his waving phantom stares at him from across the restaurant if she believes in ghosts. If anyone could understand, a Death Doula seemed the most likely.
“Ghosts?” She asks, thoughtfully, her mouth pulling into a curious smile. “Being forced to confront mortality, whether it’s our own or of those we love, is hard and scary even though dying is a natural part of life.”
“Sure,” Buck nods, eyes darting up for a brief second, he avoids downing his glass of wine because his hands had started shaking beneath the table, “but what about, you know, people that stay?”
“No one stays, Buck.” She answers as she twists her fork in leftover pasta sauce. “I think ghosts are a way for people to grieve loved ones. The idea that someone is watching over us or believing that someone is still here even when they’ve passed can offer comfort in our time of need.”
Buck just smiles and nods and doesn’t ask her again.
His loft slowly becomes cold and every corner or dark shadow or reflective surface his enemy. He tries to ignore the numbness that sinks further and further into his bones and seeks the warmth radiating off of all his friends and family. He can bask in their happiness and force himself to make things with Natalie work because eventually he’ll come out the otherside.
If he just keeps going.
Because he is resilient.
He died and still he’s here.
Except he breaks up with Natalia on a Tuesday.
He sits down with their coffees and Natalie reaches for his hand, but he’s not looking at her. He’s looking at himself waving in the distance and when she touches him he feels nothing and he can’t stop his mouth from dropping open and telling her this isn’t going to work anymore.
It gets a little nasty, but Natalia has the grace of not yelling at him publicly. When she asks why he can’t explain and she says something about Eddie that he doesn’t fully comprehend, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s found more excuses to be at the Diaz house as much as possible because despite everything it’s still the only place that is his sanctuary.
So maybe Eddie is part of it. It was foolish of Buck to think he’d ever meet a force strong enough to pull him from Eddie’s orbit, but Buck can’t go his whole life feeling numb and pretending that he’s okay when, in fact, he hasn’t been fine since the moment he crawled back from the other side.
Because Buck learned that day in the warehouse fire he wasn’t resilient.
He should have remembered that.
He doesn’t tell anyone right away that he broke up with Natalia. He’s got less than twenty-four hours to come up with an explanation that doesn’t make it sound like he’s circling the drain. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever happiness everyone has sunk into the past few months. He put them through enough when he was in a coma and, besides, he has so many things to look forward to he can’t imagine he’ll be on his knees begging for a reprieve forever.
“Chim,” Hen grins as she leans over her best friend’s shoulder, looking down at his chicken scratch that resembles some sort of seating chart, “do you really need to plan out where we’re all gonna sit when there’s only going to be two tables?”
“Placing guests at just the right spot is a delicate game, Hen.” Chimney answers as he chews on the end of his pencil. “Did you not see Eddie side-eyeing Josh at the engagement party?”
Buck grins into his coffee mug as Eddie makes an offended scoff from the kitchen sink where he and Ravi are currently doing dishes.
“It’s true,” Ravi says, which gets him a splash of sudsy water to the face, but he just shrugs sheepishly before carrying on. “Besides, Chimney’s right. One time at my cousin’s wedding two of my aunts who had been in a feud for years were two tables away from each other and they still managed to get into a fight over the second course of dinner.”
“I hardly doubt Eddie is going to throw hands with Josh if they bump elbows while passing a plate of green beans.” Hen mutters with a roll of her eyes.
“The math isn’t mathing,” Chimney sighs as he drops his pencil, “we are one person over to make an odd number for the fire family table.” Chimney looks up sharply at all of them. “You’re all still bringing your plus ones, right?”
There’s a chorus of yes from Ravi, Eddie, Bobby, and Hen before silence falls and Buck shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Um,” he says a little quietly, “actually, you uh, you can take Natalia off the list.”
From somewhere behind him he can hear a dish drop to the floor and shatter followed by Eddie cursing quite loudly. No one says anything for a very long and painful minute and Buck wishes they would just get the interrogation over with.
“Buck,” Bobby finally asks, “what happened?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Buck tries to joke, but it sounds heavy and wrong and like he’s just ran through the factory training level at the fire academy. “We broke up, or well, I broke up with her.”
“Why?” Hen asks, voice full of surprise.
Everyone liked Natalia. They made sure to tell Buck that several times. He feels incredibly small as he runs his finger over a small indent on the table.
“I didn’t see it working out in the long term,” He shrugs, which is probably part of the truth, “and I didn’t want to drag things out like I did with Taylor.”
“That’s very mature of you.” Bobby says with a kind smile as he leans forward to give Buck’s arm a gentle squeeze.
Buck doesn’t miss the sudden line of heat next to him, a knee pressing into his own which he practically melts into. He turns towards Eddie and finds something almost unreadable and complex on his best friend’s face.
“You okay?” Eddie asks, brown eyes so so beautiful and full of quiet concern.
Just behind Eddie he can see his ghost standing in the corner, a blurred shape that isn’t fully in focus, but Buck knows is there. The nothingness and the numbness don’t quite reach him as Eddie sways just a little closer.
No, Buck wants to say, but he just gives Eddie a shaky smile, but I might be better with you.
“I’ll be fine.” He answers when Eddie’s brow furrows at the silence.
Because Eddie still isn’t his. He chose Natalia and Eddie is choosing Marisol and in the end it’s probably better this way. He’ll take what Eddie gives him because he’s still Eddie and he loves Buck even if it’s not fully in the way Buck wants. So he’ll save Buck from the ghosts for just a little while longer and Buck will figure out how to live and if that doesn’t work at least he knows he’s really fucking good at pretending to be resilient.
The drizzle is light, but steady, the grey sky darkening as the afternoon blurs into evening. There’s no chance of storms. Buck checked his weather app at least three times just to be sure.
They’re sitting in the cab of the truck on the way to a call about a potential jumper at a bridge just on the outskirts of the city. The usual comradery that fills the cab is stifled by the seriousness of the impending call. Buck rubs at his eyes in a wasted attempt to wake himself up. He’s pretty sure he didn’t sleep at all last night considering his ghost stood at the foot of his bed until the sun peaked out through his window.
He thought about calling Eddie at some point, but he remembered that it was date night with Marisol and Buck’s already taken up too much of Eddie’s time recently, so he just elected to suffer in silence. A step back, perhaps, in his personal growth and development, but if he’s being honest it feels like he’s been on the backslide since he broke up with Natalie.
And if he’s being even more honest probably well before that.
The bridge is old, a condemned sign barely hanging off its hinges as they all pile out of the truck. The rain is coming down a little heavier now, the water rushing at a dangerous rate that falling in is a one way ticket. Bobby briefed them on the ride over. The girl’s name is Hannah, she’s twenty years old, and the reason she is on this bridge in particular is because last month she and her best friend Grace hydroplaned over the side.
Hannah survived. Grace did not.
Buck can see her standing with her back against the guardrail, hanging on for dear life as she looks down into the water. Her family is being held back by Athena and a few other officers who are on scene. Bobby immediately begins to bark out orders. He wants Buck and Eddie to repel beneath the bridge in case she jumps so they can try to pull her out quickly or catch her. Hen and Chimney are on standby for medical treatment and he and Ravi will try to coax Hannah off the guardrail in hopes that Buck and Eddie’s rescue skills are not needed.
There’s a clutter of chaos as everything starts to set in motion; the sounds of the rushing water, the rain, the wind, equipment being pulled from the truck, and the cacophony of noises from all the people on scene.
But Buck stays right where he is.
Between one blink and the next Hannah isn’t alone on the bridge. He’s grown used to the cold that’s latched onto him like a second skin from seeing himself everywhere. It’s been months since he’s seen anyone else, but there she is. Buck watches as the rain goes right through her as she clings to Hannah, arms wrapped around the girl's chest in a tight hug, head tucked in the crook of Hannah’s neck with her eyes squeezed shut. If ghosts could cry he thinks Hannah’s shirt would be soaked with tears instead of rain.
Grace.
She doesn’t look at Buck. Doesn’t acknowledge his presence. But he feels a tug in his chest like a call that beckons him forward. It’s desperate and pleading and Buck feels his rib cage crack open.
“Bobby,” he says, catching his Captain’s arm, “let me talk to her.”
Everyone stops. Bobby blinks a few times like he hadn’t heard Buck properly over the noise before he shakes his head and pulls his arm from Buck’s grasp.
“Buck,” Bobby says seriously, “we don’t have a lot of time we need to get—”
Buck takes a step forward and levels Bobby with a look that he hopes conveys how much he needs to be the one out there talking to Hannah. “Bobby,” he says again, voice steady and sure, “let me go.”
Bobby inhales sharply through his nose, eyes darting over Buck’s face for a second before he presses his lips in a thing line and nods his head.
“Okay,” he says, “Eddie you—”
“Will be going with Buck on the bridge.” Eddie cuts in almost defiantly.
Bobby manages not to roll his eyes. “Fine,” he agrees, “Ravi, get into a harness, you and Chimney are going to get in position under the bridge.”
Ravi nods, taking the harnesses out of Eddie’s hands so he and Chimney can start to gear up. Bobby places his hand on Buck’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Buck offers him a smile in thanks and turns towards Eddie.
“Ready?” Buck asks as Eddie steps into his space.
“Let’s go.” Eddie bumps their shoulders together, waiting for Buck to take the lead.
They hurry over to where Athena is waiting by police tape that’s been put up to try and keep others from going out on the bridge. Buck can hear Hannah’s family arguing and crying with a few of the other officers as they’re ushered further back behind the line.
“She’s been standing there for at least a good half hour,” Athena says as she lifts the tape up for them to duck under. “It’s slippery and the bridge is old, so be careful.”
“Aren’t we always?” Buck grins, his false bravado masking how hard his heart is beating against his chest.
He and Eddie start slow as they move towards where Hannah and Grace are standing. The bridge groans loud and low as a gust of wind picks up, knocking the rain a little sideways. They can both easily see the rip in the railing where the car went over the side. There’s a thin layer of water already pooling on the concrete and as they get closer Buck can taste the grit of dirt and mud between his teeth, his throat swallowing around the sudden rush of river water.
“D—don’t come any closer!” Hannah’s voice echoes over all the noise.
Both Buck and Eddie stop. From where they are they can easily see that Hannah is shaking, but her grip on the railing is knuckle-white and she’s leaning all of her weight back, dark hair plastered to her face as her chest heavily heaves. Grace is still holding on, but now her eyes are looking directly at Buck now.
“Hannah,” Buck says as he shuffles half an inch forward, “my name is Buck and this is my friend, Eddie, we’re here to help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Hannah immediately bites back.
“Then maybe we can just talk.” Buck says as he moves a little closer.
Hannah catches him out of the corner of her eye and Buck freezes, watching Grace’s pale finger curl around Hannah’s shirt tighter.
Hannah laughs a little hysterically as she shifts her footing, but doesn’t let go. She looks out over the water and says, “What’s there to talk about?”
“Anything you want.” Buck licks his lips as he carefully slides to the right so he’s easily in Hannah’s line of sight while Eddie hoovers behind him, unmoving.
“So, you’re not going to try and pull the Grace wouldn’t want you to do this line on me?” Hannah barks sharply as she looks at Buck with a challenge in her dark eyes, but beneath that Buck can still easily see the fear.
“I didn’t know Grace like you did,” Buck says, “but I can say for certain she doesn't want this.”
Hannah laughs again, a warp and twisted sound that shoots right through Buck like lightning.
“There it is.” Hannah says as she gives Buck a half-feral grin. “Grace is dead, no one knows what she wants.”
“I’m not saying it because I think it’s what should be said or what I think you need to hear.”
Buck’s voice breaks off at the end and he shudders on the inhale. This is it. There’s no hiding anymore. He turns his head to look at Eddie, his best friend gazing back with those dark, brown eyes that see Buck, that know him, and still love him anyway.
“I’m saying it because I can see Grace,” Buck finally says as he looks back at Hannah. “I can see her holding onto you so tightly that the thought of letting you go would destroy her.”
Hannah’s anger immediately melts away. Her eyes grow wide as she looks at Buck fully now and he can see tears tumbling down the sides of her cheeks.
“What?” Her voice is a whisper, but Buck can still hear her.
He takes another step forward and Hannah remains frozen to the bridge, watching Buck in a mix of shock and disbelief and something else he grabs hold of.
“A long time ago,” Buck says, “when I was sixteen I made a promise to myself to never tell anyone what I see. No one ever believed me and the truth ended up hurting more than helping me.”
He doesn’t dare look at Eddie. Can’t bear the thought of turning and seeing what he saw on everyone's faces growing up.
“I—I don’t understand.” Hannah huffs. “H—how…ghost aren’t rea—”
“They are.” Buck insists as he reaches out his hand, fingers brushing against the cool metal, inches from where Hannah is. “I see them all the time. Everywhere I go.”
He tilts his head, catching sight of himself standing just behind Hannah in the middle of the bridge. Ripped LAFD shirt, lightning scars, milky white eyes, and the slow wave of a hand as his mouth curls into that wicked grin he’s been afraid of all his life.
“Sometimes I even see myself,” Buck whispers, “because a few months ago I died.”
Hannah’s lips part open as she exhales sharply. Grace is still wrapped around her tightly, her lips turning up into a sad, knowing smile as she too watches Buck.
“And I’ve thought that’s where I always belonged,” Buck continues, swallowing hard, “that they were just waiting for me to come home.”
He closes his eyes briefly and he forces himself to shift his body so he can see Eddie from where he’s standing. Eddie hasn’t moved from his spot, but Buck knows he’s heard every single word. His face is cracked open with heartbreak and it makes Buck ache and ache and ache.
“But I had people who were holding on to me,” Buck turns back to Hannah, “who are still holding on just like Grace is holding on to you.”
“You can’t know that.” Hannah cries. “You can’t see her.”
“She’s wearing that white GAP hoodie that’s too long in the arms,” Buck says as Grace reaches out, her fingers gently wrapping around his wrist, one arm still hooked around Hannah, “and mom jeans you always made fun of her for.”
Hannah scrunches her face as a sob escapes into the space between them. The rain is settling into a drizzle now, but the wind is cold and Buck can tell that Hannah is starting to shiver.
“You were listening to the Indigo Girls on a mix CD Grace made,” Buck slides his hand along the rail, but stops just short of where Hannah’s white-kunckled grip is shaking, “and when you hit the water Grace managed to get your seatbelt undone.”
“She was supposed to be right behind me.” Hannah chokes out. “She told me she was right behind me, but when I hit the surface she never came up.”
Hannah’s foot slips and she starts to rock forward, but Grace pulls her back at the same time Buck reaches for her hand. Hannah’s back hits the bridge and Buck grabs on to her to keep her from slipping again. Hannah looks up at Buck in shock as she reaches for the spot on her chest where Grace clings to her.
“I told you she was hanging on.” Buck smiles.
Hannah just nods her head, jerky movements and Buck carefully helps her climb back onto the safe side of the bridge. She immediately falls into Buck, sobbing right into his chest. Grace presses against her, hugging her from behind and Buck wraps his arms around both of them.
There’s that familiar line of heat. That warmth that spreads from the tips of his fingers and buries itself into his bones. Buck leans into it. Lets Eddie take some of his weight and his cold and all the wrong bits and pieces that are still peeling off of him like paint in an abandoned house.
“Okay?” Eddie asks quietly, his lips barely brushing against Buck’s ear and a stray curl from the rain.
“Yeah,” Buck nods, “yeah I think we will be.”
Buck is standing outside of Eddie’s door.
It’s not where he planned on going. He knows this conversation needs to happen. He knows he’s been running too long and it’s time to let all his ghosts catch up to him. He wanted to go home first. He wanted to gather his thoughts and prepare for the ultimate blow if Eddie doesn’t believe him.
Eddie didn’t say anything about what happened on the bridge. He just shrugged off Hen and Chimney when they asked, claiming he couldn’t hear what Buck said because of the rain and the wind.
Buck knows that’s not the truth.
But when Eddie asked him to come over after shift Buck stuttered out something about going home to the loft to shower and change and gather all his fucking courage because part of him was ready to bolt back to the bridge and take his chances in the river.
He sat in the Jeep in the parking lot for a few minutes, the rain picking back up, making the morning grey and unforgiving. On his dashboard sat the Death tarot card upright.
An upright Death card can symbolize the end of one phase in your life and the beginning of a new one. You just need to close one door, so the new one will open. The past needs to be placed behind you, so you can focus on what is ahead of you.
He hadn’t seen the card in weeks. Lost somewhere between Taylor moving out and Natalie coming in. He reached out and picked it up with trembling hands. The Crooked Smiled Man transformed into something else. Buck looked down at the drawing of himself. At the man with his shirt ripped open, Lichtenberg figures painted in red, his arms spread out on either side, eyes a milky white, and a cascade of lightning against a black sky.
The smile, of course, was still the same.
He held the card in his hands as the rain came down and thunder sounded in the distance and there was a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye and suddenly he was driving to the only place he knew he’d be safe.
So now he is standing at Eddie’s door with the Death card in his hand and all of his ghosts standing behind him.
He starts to put his key in the lock, but stops and rests his fist against the door. He doesn’t knock. He heaves a deep breath and tells himself to be brave. To not be afraid of the silence.
“Buck?”
Buck blinks and takes in the beautiful sight of Eddie standing in the doorway. The light from the hallway bathes him in a soft, orange glow, like the sun had suddenly come out from behind the clouds just to touch Eddie Diaz. He’s already turned down in comfortable clothes and Buck probably looks like death itself in his ratty old sweats and a hoodie he threw on before trying to run from the locker room as quickly as possible standing against the backdrop of a thunderstorm hardly ever seen in LA.
“I—I need to tell you something.”
He watches as Eddie’s throat bobbles for a second before he swallows and nods his head. He steps aside and lets Buck in. Buck lets the sanctuary of the Diaz household cradle him in all that warmth and light and everything good and alive.
“Do you want something to drink?” Eddie asks as they stand in the hallway, neither of them making a move towards the living room.
“No, no,” Buck shakes his head, “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Eddie responds quietly.
They fall into silence; brown watching blue. Buck feels the confession lodging in his throat. It should be easy. Eddie already knows. He heard everything Buck told Hannah on the bridge. He broke his most sacred promise to himself, why is it so fucking hard to do it again?
Eddie waits, like he always does.
Buck wishes it didn’t take so long for him to figure it out. He’s loved Eddie for forever it seems and he’s buried every part of it because he always thought it was easier. Easier to love Eddie as he should and not as he wanted. And somewhere along the way he didn’t realize that maybe the way Eddie loves him is how he wants.
Eddie sighs, dropping his gaze, and starts for the living room.
Buck thinks if he lets him go now then he will never get the chance again.
“I can see ghosts.” Buck blurts out.
Eddie freezes, taking his time as he turns slowly to look at Buck, expression slightly guarded, but Buck can see that heartbreak he witnessed pass over Eddie’s face on the bridge.
“Buck—”
“I—I know how that sounds.” Buck takes a step forward, hands raising between them, still holding onto his tarot card. “And I know you heard everything I said to Hannah, but Eddie, god, Eddie it’s true, it’s all fucking true.”
Eddie’s face cracks open just a little with something like anguish or pain.
“I’ve seen them all my life,” Buck says, his voice breaking. “When I was just six years old, I saw Daniel, before I even knew who Daniel was and—and sometimes they want something from me, you know? Sometimes I have to help them or they won’t leave me alone.”
“Buck—” Eddie tries to cut in, but Buck doesn’t give him the chance.
“And most of them are good, but—but sometimes there are ones that are bad.” He sounds hoarse and rough, like he’s been screaming and maybe in a way he has. Just like Melissa Stewart. A silent scream with his mouth hanging open, begging, pleading for someone to hear him. “There’s one that’s followed me everywhere I go. Whenever I see him something bad always happens. Always.”
“The one who took Shannon.” Eddie murmurs. “The one who wanted to take you that day the truck crushed your leg.”
Buck feels the hot prick of tears building behind his eyes.
“I call him the Crooked Smiled Man,” Buck says, “and I have seen him so many times over the past few years. And I—I try to figure it out. I try to stop whatever it is, but I’m always too late.”
“Buck, you can’t—”
“Shannon died, Doug came back, the goddamn tsunami,” Buck heaves as a sob builds in his chest, “you got shot and all the other terrible fucking things in between.”
Eddie reaches out for him, but Buck shakes his head. He holds out the tarot card for Eddie to take, knowing that this could be the thing that finally breaks them. Eddie’s lips part, like he wants to say something, but he takes the card from Buck and turns it over, upright.
“And then after the lightning strike they went away.” Buck whispers as he looks down at the drawing of himself on the card. “And I thought, maybe I’d found my fresh start, that Natalia was the answer, but I was wrong.”
Eddie’s thumb brushes over the scars, his face blank and unreadable.
“The only ghost I saw was myself that day I died.” He says and Eddie looks up at him sharply. “And that’s when I figured it out. That I was the Crooked Smiled Man — a different me, a me that didn’t come back or maybe just came back wrong.”
“That’s not you, Buck.” Eddie says softly. “This,” he says as he grips Buck’s wrist gently, “this is you. And you’ve been carrying around this terrible secret for far too long.”
“I couldn’t tell you.” He says, finally breaking, the sobs and tears and all of his pieces shattering on the floor. “I couldn’t tell anyone. N—no one’s ever believed me. I tried, god, I tried so hard, but they pushed me away or told me it was all in my head, that if I didn’t stop they would send me somewhere terrible.”
“I believe you.”
“Eddie—”
“I believe you, Buck.” Eddie says strong and sure and true.
“How?” Buck croaks as he sags forward, but Eddie catches him. “Y—you never believe in stuff like that.”
“Because I do.” Eddie cups Buck’s face. “Because I’ve watched you explain away this burden you’ve had for years and I didn’t understand it, but I always saw you looking past people’s shoulders and in the corner of rooms. I remember how terrified you were that day in the bunk room before I got shot.”
“I’m safe here,” Buck murmurs as he leans into Eddie’s touch, “always safe here.”
The corner of Eddie’s mouth pulls up into a smile.
“No ghosts?”
“Never.” Buck shakes his head. “You and Christopher are the only people that chase away the lingering ache they leave behind.”
Eddie’s thumb brushes beneath Buck’s eye, catching a runaway tear. Buck knows he’s taking too much right now. He told Eddie the truth and Eddie is still standing here, smiling at Buck and holding him like he’s everything. Like he isn’t a monster or a crooked smiling ghost sent from beyond as a beacon of death and despair.
“B—but I shouldn’t put this on you or Chris,” Buck stutters as he starts to pull away, “it’s not fair of me, especially when you already have—”
“Buck,” Eddie laughs as he brings his other hand up to hold onto Buck’s waist to keep him in place, “I ended things with Marisol the day you told us you broke up with Natalia.”
Buck’s eyes go wide, but he stops trying to pull away.
“I didn’t mean it,” Buck tentatively settles his hands at Eddie’s waist, “what I said that day in the graveyard.”
Eddie’s eyebrows raise, but they both know he remembers.
“Natalia saw a version of me that I thought I was,” Buck says, “or one that I wanted to be. Someone that doesn’t see ghosts or that hasn’t been touched by the otherside or maybe just someone that’s finally figured it all out.”
“You don’t have to be anything for anyone,” Eddie says warmly. “Just you is enough.”
Buck ducks his head for a second, fighting off a smile. “You see me,” Buck looks up at Eddie through his lashes, “all of me. Every part and I think that’s what makes me, me and not one of the ghosts.”
Eddie’s smile grows and he shifts, careful not to put any space between them as he holds the Death card up for both of them to see.
“So,” he says, “Death upright, what does it mean?”
“Well,” Buck says as he takes the card and sets it down on the front table, next to the bowl of keys, “from my quick rabbit hole research binge I believe it means the end of a cycle, a new beginning, or a change.”
“A new beginning?” Eddie raises his eyebrow.
“Or maybe just the transformation of a relationsh—”
Buck is cut off as Eddie leans forward and presses his lips against Buck’s, slotting their mouths together like they were made to fit that way. Buck wraps his hands around Eddie and pulls him as close as he can get, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Eddie tastes like coffee and something deliciously sweet that sparks a fire in Buck’s veins as he slides his tongue into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie greedily holds onto Buck, taking more, giving more, swallowing every sound Buck makes like it’s his lifeblood.
And for the first time in a long time Buck feels alive.
Buck blows warm air into his hands, trying to chase away the cold before he pulls his hoodie over his head. The sun slips behind a cloud and Buck grumbles into the chilly, winter air wondering how he let Eddie convince him to take a trip up north to the mountains in the middle of winter. It’s beautiful, he’ll give Eddie that, but being left to man their park bench spot as Eddie went to get coffee means Buck’s lost his own personal heater.
He sighs, watching his breath fan out into the air like tiny wisps of smoke. There’s a lake frozen over where people are ice skating, laughter echoing over the fresh drops of snow. He catches sight of a father and daughter, holding hands as they spin in a circle. The girl shrieks in laughter, asking her father to go faster. Just behind her Buck can see the outline of a woman who looks just like the girl, holding on to her shoulders as they spin.
“One s’mores latte,” Eddie says as he hands Buck his cup before sitting down next to Buck, “with extra marshmallows because of course the normal amount wasn’t enough.”
“Christopher would agree.” Buck argues playfully as he scoots closer to Eddie, the warm rays of the sun finally spilling out over the afternoon.
Buck smiles sadly as he watches them pass through the woman holding onto her daughter. He feels Eddie’s hand slide into his free one.
“Ghost?”
Buck nods his head towards the father and daughter who finally stopped spinning. They nearly fall over, but crash into each other, which turns into a hug. The mother steps in, holding onto them both.
“But she has everything she needs.” Buck says as he gives Eddie’s hand a squeeze. “And so do I.”
Eddie’s smile is brighter than the sun, warmer too as Buck feels it fill him, lets it sizzle in his blood and keep the bone deep chill from holding on to him for too long.
“And the day is clear
My voice is just a whisper
Louder than the screams you hear
It's like the sun came out”