Chapter Text
“Buck!” Eddie’s voice calls from up the stairs and Buck whips his head around to meet his gaze.
Instead, the world tips and swirls, fuzzing at the edges the way it had been for the past four days. Buck blinks his eyes, willing the spinning to cease, and when he opens them again, the world—thankfully--has returned upright.
“What’s up?” he forces himself to sound casual, like the nausea isn’t still swimming in the back of his throat.
These--Buck hesitates to call them symptoms, symptoms implies that something’s wrong and there is nothing wrong—These moments of swirling vision and distant nausea and headaches were new.
Vertigo his mind supplies, filling in the words alongside the image of the Google search bar from that first night. The false feeling that you or the room is spinning.
That first night, when he’d tumbled over while walking up the stairs to his house. When he’d stood up, brushing off his jeans and dignity, and prayed no one else had seen the misstep.
He’d just misaligned his feet, that was it. He has only lived here a few months, he’s still adjusting. That all.
“What’s the name of that dish you made the other night?” Eddie asks. The question is vague, should be impossible to narrow down, but Buck can still remember the look on Eddie’s face when he’d tried it. How he had gone in for a third helping and the way Buck’s heart swooned in pride.
Maybe it was problematic, the joy that Buck felt in putting those little cracks in Eddie’s armor.
Eddie Diaz is a master of control—or so he would say. He is a structured morning routine, nearly obsessive level of cleanliness and order, he is proper and grown-up grocery shopping lists. And he is a one—maybe two—servings person. But not with Buck.
With Buck, Eddie was a ‘stealing from an unfinished pot,’ ‘one more cookie can’t hurt’, and ‘third serving grabbing’ man. And Buck loved every second of it.
So yes, he knows exactly which dish Eddie’s referring to. “Coq au Vin” he responds with a smile, taking pride in his pronounciation—watching those YouTube videos were good for something. “Why?”
“Just telling Hen and Chim about it, you’ve got to make that for dinner one night” Eddie smiles back and if Buck wasn’t mistaken, the tips of his cheeks flushed a subtle pink. “Thanks!” He cheers, heading back to the loft.
It’s the biggest praise that he could ask for. Eddie sitting with their friends, boasting about the dish he’d made for their little family.
Buck’s not sure when that started, honestly. The thought of him, Eddie, Chris, and Theo had slowly morphed from two parents helping each other out into…well, family. Maybe that was a greedy thing to think but it felt close to the truth.
Eddie had really stepped up when Theo’s adoption went through. Had started appearing in the evening and in the mornings with offers of grocery shopping and carpooling.
It was so stupidly domestic, sitting around the table, all four of them, as they spoke freely about their days. With Eddie’s knee tapping into Buck’s when he laughed or when he made a lighthearted joke at Buck’s expense—more often than not, sending the two young boys into matching laughing fits.
Buck shakes his head, clearing the image of some of his favorite people in the world sitting in the warm lit dining room with smiles plastered across their faces. The shake achieves that and then some, when the spinning—which had just stopped—returns and he forces in a harsh breath.
It was starting to get annoying.
He wasn’t stupid or anything, he’d gotten checked out after their last bad call. Hen had fretted over him, wouldn’t have let him walk away, even if he wanted to. She’d done the full concussion scan and everything and he’d come back clean.
Even still, these…moments kept happening.
He must be more tired than he feels, that had to be it. Even with Eddie and Christopher’s help, Theo was no storm to be messed with. If left to his own devices, for even 5 minutes, that boy could manage to start a fire, kidnap the neighbor’s dog, and paint half the house in fingerpaint.
Buck couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed by it, though, he would trade every inch of his house for that little boy’s smile.
So, he must just be tired.
--
It starts becoming harder to avoid in the afternoon of that fourth day.
He leans over to assess a patient, and he has to blink the dizziness away. It’s becoming harder to blink away, too. It stays, lingering there, even after he’s completely aware he’s not moving.
He turns his head over his shoulder, and his feet suddenly feel uncoordinated and he has to take a step forward to recalibrate.
Scrolling on Wikipedia for a little bit after Theo’s down for the night? His vision starts swimming, and he has to close the screen to sustain the rocking motion threatening him with seasickness.
When he washes his hands and reaches for paper towels only to find them caught in the panel, he tips his head to the right to get a better look and sways forward without realizing. His shoulder bumps the mirror glass, causing him to startle. How had that happened?
And when he lays down in the bunks, curled onto his left side and eyes shut already, swirls manifest behind his eyelids, spinning around and sending a pitch in his stomach that makes his jolt his eyes back open.
It’s not affecting his ability to work but it is definitely not his favorite feeling.
That and the nearly constant underlying nausea. It’s different from the normal nausea he’s felt before, the kind that riles from his stomach to warn him that he’s going to be sick. This form is far more of a nuisance.
The feeling is far away, almost like it’s not truly happening to him but like he’s feeling it through someone else. It’s weird. That warning starts somewhere deep in his throat, working its way down to his stomach as it gets the memo that he should be feeling sick.
He’s at his wits end with it all but…how could he ask about this?
“Hey, I know I have been working every day—possibly putting civilians at risk—but I have actually been getting vertigo and I know it’s not a concussion and I’m not entirely sure that it’s not all in my head, but can you help me?”
He doesn’t think even Hen would know what to do with that. And even if she did, she’d surely have to report it to the captain.
And listen, it’s not lost on him that Chim would do anything for him. He knows how important he is to his brother-in-law, but it’s only been a few months since Buck last put Chimney in a tough spot.
Hell, Buck’s only just got his three-month chip last week. How could he walk up to his captain for the second time in 6 months and tell him that he’s compromised the team again?
And maybe there’s still a small, immovable part of Buck’s brain that reminds him that he is a liability. He has tried, his team has tried, his sister has tried, to get that thought to dissipate. But it has lived there for his whole life, and it doesn’t seem to have any plans to move out.
No, he cannot do that to the already stressed out newly appointed captain with two young children at home. To the people who spent the past three months already worrying for him and going out of their way to check in and make sure he’s doing alright.
He was cleared by Hen—and she’s probably the smartest person Buck’s ever known—and this isn’t interfering with his work. He’s still saving people and fighting fires and caring for his son. Buck is fine.
--
His knees skid against the tiled floor as he barely hunches over the toilet in time for his dinner to make a second appearance.
Buck had made the, apparent, mistake of laying down for a quick nap between tones. He’d made it all the way to the bed and even halfway into sleep, before the swirling started. Stubbornly, he’d squeezed his eyes tighter, willing them away. If anything, this only made them spin faster, holding him as an unwilling hostage on the worst teacup ride he’d ever experienced.
That once distant feeling suddenly was not the quiet, deep sensation it had been. Instead, it practically roared in his ears, loud like standing too close to the engine when the tones went off. In seconds that felt too long, Buck was jolting out of his bunk and into the bathroom.
Finally, his stomach settles down and he leans back onto his heels.
Flashes of the last time he’d been in this stall, in this same position, move through his memory. The guilt churns unpleasantly with the ever-present sickness and he pitches forward again.
--
“Buckley, get the kit!” Chim orders and Buck takes off running toward the engine. He skids to a stop in front of the doors and swings them open to grab the med kit before swiveling on his heel to run back.
Which he would’ve, except the world pitches onto its side violently. Buck has a half-thought that there’s another earthquake tilting and shaking the ground right before the side of his leg hits the ground.
“Buck!” Chim cries out from across the lot, having watched the whole thing unfold. He’s breaking into a run toward Buck instantly.
Buck feels his cheeks heat immediately. “S-sorry! Uh, lost my footing!”
Chim sighs, his run slowing to a walk, as he extends a hand to help Buck up and to grab the pack. Do not fall over again, he pleads to whatever higher power may be listening. It seemingly takes pity on him and the world rights itself as he stands again. “You okay?”
“Course,” Buck shrugs with a small, sheepish smile. “Go” he insists when Chim’s eyes linger on him a second too long.
Chimney must be satisfied with whatever he sees—or maybe he’s just more concerned over the girl currently bleeding on the sidewalk, understandably--and hitches the pack onto his shoulder, running back to the scene, and Buck breathes a sigh of relief. He allows himself approximately 5 seconds to blink and lean back against the truck before he hustles back behind him.
“You good?” Eddie whispers when he slots back in beside him. Buck nods curtly, fearing what may happen if he nods any more aggressively. He doesn’t let himself meet Eddie’s eyes, even as the other man continues to watch him.
Buck’s provided a reprieve when Chim asks Eddie to jump in to apply pressure to the bleeding girl’s leg.
--
“—And then she assigned us another 20 pages!” Chris complains loudly, tipping his head back with a groan. Apparently, another kid in his class had thrown a public fit about being assigned 20 pages of reading for homework and now the wholeclass had to suffer—much to Christopher’s distaste. “Stupid Bryan.”
Eddie and Buck exchanged a look, stupid grins painted across their faces. Like they were both in on a secret inside joke. He loved these moments, when it felt like...like maybe Eddie felt the same. Like it wasn’t just Buck labeling whatever this was as family.
“Well, before you start your 40 pages of reading,” Buck forces himself to look away from Eddie’s blinding smile to stand up from the couch. “I’ve got dessert.”
The two boys cheer from the opposite couch and Theo’s arms soar into the air. “Dessert!!”
“What is it, Buck?” Christopher pries.
“Nuh-uh,” Buck tuts playfully, “You’ll see”
And with that, he’s on his way to the kitchen. He knows Eddie’s behind him without hearing or seeing him, he just knows.
“You’re going to regret riling them up” Eddie’s voice betrays his words, a slight giddiness lacing the letters.
“Eh, what’s a little chocolate gonna do?” Buck shrugs, making quick work of removing the tin foil from the pan of brookies.
“Spoken like a true rookie.” Eddie shakes his head, reaching up instinctively to grab dishes from the cabinet. Buck tries not to think too much about how domestic it is, how Eddie knows his next move without him saying anything, and how Eddie knows the exact sized plates that Buck would have chosen. “Theo’s not going down until the sun comes up.”
Buck laughs and then makes the mistake of shaking his head, white filling his field of vision in an instant. “M-maybe not, but we’ve got the next two off, so we’ll live.” He says it so quickly that he barely catches the implication threaded into his own statement. We as though Eddie is embedded into the fabric of Buck and Theo’s lives. “I mean—”
“Yeah, we’ll live.” Eddie agrees before Buck can grab the words back from the air between them, mimicking Buck’s turn of phrase as though it’s nothing. Like hearing the confirmation doesn’t knock the wind straight from Buck’s lungs. Buck’s brain misfires for a second, hand frozen halfway between the air and cutting the next slice. “Here, let me.” Eddie jumps in without missing a beat, hand clasping over Buck’s to take the knife.
Buck watches without breathing as Eddie finishes plating the brookies and turns on his heel to exit the kitchen. “You coming?” He asks over his shoulder as the door swings behind him.
--
“Alright, for the 5th time, good night, Theo” Eddie says, the barely constrained smile dropping from his lips as the door settles in the hinge. Then, dropping his voice, he meets Buck’s eyes with a look that screams ‘kids, right?’ and it feels insurmountable, this feeling of gratitude that he gets to experience this. Theo. Christopher. Co-parenting with Eddie. It feels surreal in a way that Buck is too afraid to touch out of fear of bursting the bubble—like the coma dream but so much better. Even his wildest imagination couldn’t summon this feeling.
“Thanks for getting him down,” Buck pats Eddie’s shoulder as he hands him another beer, “You didn’t have to.”
Christopher had already trudged to the guest bedroom around the 3rd time Buck had put Theo back in the bed.
Eddie shrugs, taking a seat on the couch, “How many times have you put Chris to bed over the years?”
“I-I never minded doing that” Buck rushes in to say, dropping down onto the cushion beside Eddie, but Eddie levels him with a look that tells him that was the whole point. They fall into a brief, comfortable silence but it’s the best sound Buck can fathom.
“I’m still kind of wired,” Eddie says around the beer bottle, “Movie?”
“Y-yeah, what about that new action movie we saw on Netflix the other night…”
--
They make it halfway through the movie, with both men providing commentary throughout, when they fall silent. The tone of the movie has dipped into emotion as they watched the main characters have an emotional conversation about their relationship and how the battles they’ve fought beside one another.
Buck can’t help the way his gaze flickers over to Eddie’s profile—lit dimly by the glow of the TV screen. He wishes he had a camera in his eyes, sometimes, to capture moments like this. When Eddie looked at peace, happy without any real cause, just…content.
“I couldn’t do this without you” The words slip past his lips, unleashed by one too many drinks. Eddie’s gaze flicks to him and Buck watches a whirlwind of emotions swirl before his eyes. He, for some reason, forces himself to continue. “Y-you know, all this stuff with Theo and the adoption…I…I wouldn’t know where to start and…having you by my side—I mean, not like…not like by my side—it’s just been really helpful and—”
One minute his mouth is moving too fast, releasing words that his brain hardly has time to comprehend before their in the air, and the next there’s a pressure against them. Not a pressure, Eddie.
Eddie’s lips are pressed against his, rough and yet restrained, unmoving but unrelenting. Like he’s waiting for permission. And who is Buck to deny Eddie anything?
He parts his lips after one second and lets himself give in. Years and years of holding back, months of suppressing, hours of wanting to grab Eddie by the shirt and do exactly this, all open with the parting of his lips.
His own emotions quickly tangle with Eddie’s, who promptly deepens the kiss, pulling Buck closer, closer, closer.
This is everything, more than everything, that Buck could ever dream of. Pure bliss and heat light up every nerve in his body. Forget coma dreams and family dinners, this is the moment Buck would choose to live in forever. Would he be allowed that?
Buck startles with a jolt. Would he be allowed that?
What if Eddie was just…feeling the pressure of Buck’s words? What if he just wanted Buck to stop talking and that’s all this was? Or the drinks? Eddie was on…maybe the fourth beer? Eddie wasn’t exactly a lightweight but surely that could sway his judgement, right?
What would Buck do if they broke apart and everything else went away with it?
Buck doesn’t think he’d survive that. Doesn’t think he could face looking Eddie in the eye ever again if this isn’t real and doesn’t think he can go on if he lost Eddie either.
Maybe Eddie senses his sudden panic or maybe Buck pulls away first, he’s honestly not sure, but their lips separate in nearly the same rapid pace that they had joined.
“Buck?” Eddie’s voice filters in, his brown eyes wide with panic. Here it comes. “Hey, hey—you have to breathe, man.”
Buck takes a step backwards—when did he stand up?—as the heaving in his chest becomes apparent.
“Buck, hey, can you look at me?” Eddie asks, his voice almost pleading.
--
Buck had looked…incredible all night. Eddie was a weak man, what can he say, he’s a sucker for a hot man with a chest practically built out of marble who could lift his teenaged son over his shoulder and who could cook them a full course meal with dessert and then sit beside him to watch an action movie while drinking beers. It was everything that Eddie never thought he could have—the partner, the laughter, the easy feeling of it all.
He had spent years trying to fit this feeling into relationships, hoping that any moment with any of his ex-girlfriends could have felt comfortable and right in this way. Instead, every second with them had fit like an old wool sweater dredged out of his mother’s closet to make him look the part.
And then Buck had said those words; “I couldn’t do this without you,” and every bit of strength that Eddie had been saving ripped away in a flash.
All he could see was those blue eyes, so softly directed at him, backlit by the screen before them. Those lips and cheeks, flushed red from the beer, matching the pink flush of the birthmark gracing his eyebrow. And all he could do was lunge forward and kiss those perfect, red lips.
And when Buck started to return the kiss, Eddie felt like his heart might explode from his chest. The kiss deepened quickly as Eddie pulled the other man closer to him, he just wanted to feel him everywhere.
Then, just as quickly as the kiss had escalated, Buck jolted away from him like he’d been burnt.
Eddie blinks at the rapid change, fear replacing the adrenaline like a bucket of ice water poured over his head.
The man stands a few paces away from him…completely still. In an utterly un-Buck like manner, he stood above Eddie with a heaving chest. Eddie wills himself to remain calm, they can’t both freak out right now. Right now, Buck needs him to be here.
Eddie tries to catch Buck’s eyes, but they remain locked on a spot right beside the couch, his breathing erratic as ever. Eddie tracks as one hand begins to twitch, a small movement, but hopeful none the less.
“Buck?” Eddie braces himself, waiting for the explosion he knows is coming. When the man’s breathing does not even out or even falter from its increasing pace, he tries again; “Hey…hey, you need to breathe, man.”
Eddie’s standing now, stepping closer. Buck shows no sign of even noticing, not even a change in breathing. Eddie meets his eyes and then jolts, Buck’s eyes are glassy, completely unseeing. He’s not staring at anything at all, he’s not even present behind those blue eyes.
“Buck, can you look at me?” He prompts again, willing Buck to return to him.
He thinks maybe it’s working when blue eyes start to move—No.
No, his eyes aren’t refocusing, Eddie realizes, as Buck’s head tips back, tanking his whole-body weight in seconds. Eddie lunges for him, closing the space between them, and guarding Buck’s head as it plummets towards the ground.
They’ve barely hit the ground when the convulsions start. Aggressive, jerking begins to overtake Buck’s whole body.
Years of medical training take over his entire body, hands loosening on Buck to provide a guarding barrier rather than a proper grip.
“Hey, Siri!” he raises his voice enough to catch the attention of his phone sat on the coffee table. He’s never been happier to have eavesdropping technology in his life. “Call 9-1-1!”