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The room is dark, still, silent. Dead. Buck’s phone shatters the silence. He fumbles for it off the bed side table only just opening his eyes enough to see the time and who’s calling.
3:38am, Eddie.
His stomach sinks. A call at this hour is never good. Without any thought he answers the phone.
“Eddie?”
“Buck…” Eddie whispers, voice cracking. His voice sounds dry.
Buck sits up slowly, pulling the duvet up with him “Eddie, hey, what’s going on?”
All Buck can hear is the soft sound of muffled crying on the other side of the phone, knowing Eddie is barely keeping it together. Without thought, Buck is already putting on any clothes he can find in the dark.
“He’s dead… Bobby’s dead.” Buck stops rushing around for just a moment.
“Oh, Eddie.” His voice was soft, tinged with sympathy. Eddie had been holding in all his emotions ever since Bobby died. Everyone could see it, waiting for him to explode at some point but it never happened. It’s been exactly 6 weeks and 4 days since he passed away, and apparently that’s how long it takes for Eddie to realise he could no longer hold it in.
“I’m coming over right now, everything is going to be okay, I’m coming” Buck rushes down the stairs and grabs his keys off the wall, not even worrying about putting shoes on in the rush.
“I wasn’t there to save him, I could have saved him” Eddie takes a moment to take in a big breath through his mouth before continuing, “he’s dead!” he spits through his teeth, getting frustrated.
Bucks voice is gentle, steady, like a hand reaching out to him in the dark “you can’t do this to yourself Eddie.” He gets in his car and pulls away from his apartment.
Eddie shakes his head violently, getting up of the floor, the exact same spot he had his last breakdown, now pacing like a caged animal “you don’t get it. I should have been there. We are a team- “
“We’re a team; we always will be. But sometimes things happen. Things we can’t control.” Buck has been to therapy a lot since Bobby died, it helped but it doesn’t get rid of how much he misses his captain-well let’s be realistic-dad.
Eddie stops pacing, fists now clenched, and his voice drops to a broken whisper once again “then whats the point of it all?”
The silence hangs heavy for a moment, only the hum of Bucks engine in the background.
“To love someone enough to want to protect them” Buck finally says “even if you can’t always succeed. That means something.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens, but his eyes begin to shine with the sting of held-back tears. “doesn’t feel like it.”
“I know,” Buck utters. “But you’re not alone in this.”
Buck pulls up outside of Eddie’s house. He must have ran at least a dozen traffic lights on the way, rushing to his best friend. The silence settles again as the engine sits idle, headlights casting long shadows across the familiar driveway. Through the bedroom window, headlights shine on Eddie’s bedroom wall. Eddie doesn’t need to look – he knows its Buck. The familiar sound of his engine coming to a stop.
A beat passes. Eddie doesn’t move. He doesn’t hang up either. Then a jingle of keys as Buck unlocks the door and enters the house. He walks to Eddie’s bedroom at the back of the house and pushes Eddie’s door all the way open. He always leaves it cracked so he can hear if Christopher needs anything in the night.
“You really didn’t have to come” Eddie says, voice rough. Tears still imprinted on his cheeks. Eddie is sat on the end of his bed, looking down at his still clenched hands, not making eye contact with Buck.
Buck shrugs, eyes searching for his. “Didn’t feel right leaving you alone.”
Neither of them says much as Buck walks over to Eddie and crouches down in front of him, putting his hands over the top of Eddie’s to give some support.
Eddie leans forwards slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know how to fix it. Any of it.” Buck watches him for a moment before answering. “You don’t have to. Not tonight.”Eddie glances up at Buck, finally making eye contact. “But I don’t know where to start.”Buck’s voice is soft, “Start with not pushing me away.”
Eddie lets out a shaky breath, “I won’t. I don’t want to.” And Buck, always steady, just says “Okay.”
Buck stays crouched in front of Eddie, thumbs gently brushing over his knuckles. The silence between them is thick but no longer suffocating. It’s the kind that wraps you like a blanket-heavy, but warm. Shared.
Eddie blinks slowly, a tear slipping down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away; he just lets it fall. “I thought if I kept it together… if I just kept moving… it would hurt less.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “But it didn’t.”
Buck gives a small, understanding nod. “Grief’s not something you can outrun. You can just carry it… and hope someone is there to help when it gets too heavy.”
Eddie’s lips press together in a thin line. “It’s heavy now.” Bucks’ response is almost immediate, “Then let me carry it with you”
Eddie closes his eyes, the weight of Buck’s words sinking into his chest. For weeks he been holding the dam in place, patching every crack with fatherhood and stubborn silence- but now finally, its breaking.
“I miss him” Eddie says, voice shaking. “I miss his voice. I miss his support, I miss knowing he was just there.”
“I miss him too,” Buck replies quietly, “every single day.”
For a moment, neither of them move. The night holds them still, grief hanging like smoke in the air- thick, inescapable but familiar. Eddie’s shoulders start to tremble, and Buck doesn’t hesitate- he rises from his crouch and sits beside him. Their knees now touching, gently pulling Eddie into a hug.
At first, Eddie resists, stiff, like the act of being held will crack him completely open. But slowly he leans into Bucks chest, hands gripping his shirt like a lifeline. The sob that escapes him is quiet, but it’s the first real sound of release since the call.
Buck holds him tighter, one hand cradling the back of Eddie’s head, the other firm across his back. “You don’t have to hold this all by yourself anymore.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything—he just lets himself cry. Into Buck’s shoulder. Into the dark. Into the silence that Bobby used to fill.
They stay like that for what feels like forever, until Eddie’s breathing evens out and the tears finally stop. He doesn’t pull away, but his grip loosens, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again.
“Christopher’s asleep,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want him to see me like this.”
Buck nods slowly, still holding him. “He doesn’t have to. You’re doing the best you can, Eddie.”
Eddie sits up just enough to wipe at his face with the back of his hand. He glances at Buck, eyes still wet but a little clearer now. “You always show up.”
Buck smiles softly, a bit sad. “You’d do the same for me.
“I have,” Eddie says, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
They both let out a small laugh—worn and tired, but real.
A beat of silence, then Buck speaks again, quieter. “I keep hearing his voice in the firehouse. Like I’ll turn a corner, and he’ll be there with his clipboard, giving me that look when I mess something up.”
Eddie’s smile fades into something more bittersweet. “He always made us feel like we mattered. Like we were more than just a team.”
“We are,” Buck says. “Because of him.”
Eddie nods. “Because of him.”
The silence settles again. But this time it doesn’t feel empty. It feels full- of memories, of pain, of love. Of Bobby.
Buck looks over, “Do you want me to stay?”
Eddie doesn’t hesitate, “Yeah, please.”
Buck walks around to the other side of the bed. He pulls the covers, and Eddie follows without a word. They lay side by side, backs against the headboard, not touching but close enough to feel comfort from each other’s presence.
After a moment Buck breaks the silence again, “Well figure it out. Together.”
Eddie stares at the ceiling “One day at a time?”
Buck smiles, “One day at a time.”
And in the quiet that follows, Eddie finally lets himself believe it.
Eddie exhales, the breath long and slow. His eyes are still red-rimmed, his chest heavy, but there’s something else there too—something steadier. A beginning.
He turns his head slightly, catching Buck’s profile in the dim light from the hallway. “You know,” he murmurs, “he would’ve hated this.”
Buck raises an eyebrow. “What? You crying, or me being in your bed?”
Eddie lets out a soft huff of laughter. “Both.”
Buck chuckles too, low and warm. “Yeah, probably. He’d grumble something about boundaries… I still think he’d be happy for us though”
“He’d still be glad we had each other,” Eddie says, more certain this time.
Buck nods slowly. “He always wanted us to look out for each other.”
And they are. In the mess. In the grief. In the space Bobby used to fill with quiet strength and unwavering guidance—they’re still there for each other.
Eddie leans his head back against the headboard. “I don’t know how I’m gonna walk into that firehouse again.”
Buck doesn’t answer right away. He’s quiet, thinking. Then he whispers just loud enough to be heard, “Together.”
Eddie tilts his head, eyes meeting Buck’s.
“When you’re ready,” Buck adds, “we go in together.”
Eddie nods, just once. That’s enough for tonight.
They stay there, side by side in the dark, a little lighter now than they were before. Not fixed. Not even close. But held. Supported. Understood. And when Eddie finally closes his eyes, Buck doesn’t move. He just stays there, steady and present, watching over him like Bobby once did for both of them.
The silence of the night wraps around them like a blanket—not of absence, but of memory.
And somewhere, in the stillness, it feels like Bobby is there too.
The next morning the soft, amber glow of dawn creeps through the slats in the blinds, painting stripes of light across Eddie’s bedroom floor. The quiet hum of morning birdsong floats in through the open window, a gentle reminder that the world has, somehow, kept turning.
Buck stirs first.
He blinks slowly, head leaning back awkwardly against the headboard, neck stiff from sleeping upright. For a moment, he forgets where he is—then he turns slightly and sees Eddie still asleep beside him.
Eddie’s breathing is slow, even. Peaceful in a way Buck hasn’t seen in weeks. The duvet is tangled around their legs, and Eddie’s hand rests loosely over his chest, fingers twitching slightly as if dreaming. Buck doesn’t move, not wanting to wake him, not yet. It’s the first time Eddie’s face hasn’t looked weighed down by grief.
Buck glances toward the hallway, listening for any sound of Christopher waking up. It’s quiet. Still early.
He sighs and lets his head fall back again, eyes closing. Just for a moment.
But Eddie’s voice, rough with sleep, breaks the silence. “You stayed.”
Buck turns his head to find Eddie watching him, lids half-lowered, voice gravelly and hoarse from last night’s crying. But there’s no embarrassment in his tone—just quiet gratitude.
“Of course I did,” Buck says, stretching his legs slightly. “Told you I would.”
Eddie nods slowly, sitting up straighter. He winces slightly, shoulders stiff. “I haven’t slept like that in… weeks.”
Buck offers a small, lopsided smile. “You looked peaceful.”
Eddie chuckles under his breath. “That’s not a word I’d use for myself lately.”
“Maybe it’ll come back,” Buck says. “Peace. Just... one piece at a time.”
There’s a beat, then Eddie’s gaze drifts to the clock on the nightstand. “Chris is gonna be up soon.”
“I can make breakfast,” Buck says, already swinging his legs off the bed. “Give you a minute.”
Eddie blinks, like the offer catches him off guard. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Buck replies before Eddie can finish his sentence. He slowly stands, stretches, then looks over his shoulder. “Let me do something for you. For him.”
Eddie doesn’t argue.
Buck pads out of the room in his socks, quietly making his way to the kitchen. He knows where everything is—how Eddie takes his coffee, where the cereal is that Christopher likes, how to work the ancient toaster that only functions if you press the lever twice.
It feels natural. Familiar. Like coming home.
A few minutes later, the sound of small footsteps echoes down the hall. Christopher appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, his hair sticking up in a sleepy mess. He pauses when he sees Buck.
“Buck?” he asks, confused but a small smile appears on his face.
“Hey, buddy,” Buck says softly, turning from the stove. “Hope you don’t mind I snuck in.”
Christopher shakes his head, walking into the kitchen. “Did you sleep over?”
“Yeah,” Buck nods, crouching slightly to meet him at eye level. “I wanted to make sure your dad was okay.”
Christopher’s face falls a little, like the memory of Bobby’s absence settles into him anew. “Is he?”
“He’s trying,” Buck says gently, ruffling his hair. “And that’s pretty brave, don’t you think?”
Christopher nods, thoughtful. Then he hugs Buck without a word, his arms wrapping tight around Buck’s middle.
Buck hugs him back, eyes stinging.
When Eddie appears in the doorway, dressed in a clean T-shirt and sweats, he stops and watches them quietly. His chest tightens at the sight—not just from the ache of loss, but from the overwhelming love pressing against the edges of it.
He’s not doing this alone.
“You made eggs?” Eddie asks eventually, voice still scratchy.
Buck glances up. “Yeah. And toast. And… maybe burnt one pancake.” Christopher giggles, letting go of Buck. Eddie walks into the kitchen and takes a mug of coffee from the counter where Buck left it for him, his fingers brushing Buck’s for just a second. He doesn’t pull away.
They sit down together at the table—just the three of them.
It’s not the same without Bobby. It never will be.
But it’s something.
A start.
A morning that doesn’t hurt quite as much as the night before.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.