A.N. I started writing this immediately after 4x13 aired, as a coda I guess, because I couldn't handle it, couldn't handle the wait and not knowing, so I started piecing this together as what I thought might happen from the promo for the next week, and as what I wanted to happen. But I don't write fast, so 4x14 came out and this turned into a blend of canon-compliant and AU? Sort of? Well, whatever it is, it's here. Did there need to be another story dealing with 4x13 and 4x14? Probably not. Did I need to write this? 100% yes. To cope. And here we are.
This fic is primarily about Eddie and Buck, with Christopher, too, and with a good amount of Maddie. Because I love Buck and Maddie's relationship and there's never enough of it on the show, and I know Maddie was dealing with her own challenges but the fact that she and Buck barely interacted throughout this bothered me, and I wanted to fix that.
I'm also hand waving Ana away because the writers seemed perfectly content to hand wave her back into Eddie's life without backing it up with any sort of substance… so, no. She is not part of this fic, and has not been a part of the Diaz's life since moving schools. She's a wonderful person and character, but I really felt they did a disservice to her by throwing her in this season in a random way, and I don't want to further disservice her in this fic. So she's not part of this fic.
This fic is fully blocked out at around 5 chapters. All chapters are written first-draft and just require editing, so I hope to post updates in a reasonably timely manner (anyone who has read my stories before knows this is something I struggle with, so for this one I made sure it's all there before even beginning to post!). Also it has a happy ending, I promise.
This is my first time dabbling in the 9-1-1 fandom. Hopefully it goes well and the characters come across right! And I hope you enjoy!
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He feels it happen in real time, but his brain is cataloguing every second, every minute reaction on Eddie's face, the individual drops that strike his own and cause him to flinch, breaking eye contact with Eddie for just a moment. And he knows that his brain will play these moments back to him, frame-by-frame, over and over and over again.
But right now, right now it's happening in real time. Eddie's words cut off mid-sentence and a protest is on the tip of Buck's tongue, telling him to continue, because he always has time to listen to Eddie. But then there's something else on his tongue as he flinches, mouth parting in surprise at the unexpected spatter across his face.
It's a cloudless sky. And there's liquid spattering across his face. It's a cloudless sky and a clap of thunder rings in his ears. It's a cloudless sky and Eddie locks eyes with him, equally shocked. None of this should be happening.
But it has nothing to do with whether there's a cloud in the sky or not.
And it has to do with the fact that it's Eddie's blood spattering across his face. It's the fact that there's a gunshot ringing in his ears and they're not in the middle of a war. It's the fact that they were just standing in the middle of the street after Eddie saved a kid's life, and now Eddie's eyes are locked on his, and they both just realized what is happening.
Buck doesn't know why or how this happened, but his eyes and ears and the blood on his face, the sharp jerk of Eddie's shoulder, his slight step backwards, tell him all he needs to know of what happened.
His brain screams at him to move. To reach out to Eddie, to catch him.
But he doesn't.
Maybe Eddie would have. Maybe if their roles were reversed—god did he wish their roles were reversed so he wouldn't be seeing this play out in front of him, powerless to do anything—Eddie would react fast enough. In fact, Buck's sure he would. Buck never heard the whole story of what happened with the helicopter, what Chris was so proud of when he brought Eddie to talk about it at the school. But he knows a tiny bit of it from Chris animatedly trying to recap it to him afterwards. He knows Eddie's been under fire before, and that he'd done something about it, he hadn't just stood there.
Yes, if their roles were reversed, Eddie'd probably snatch Buck's hand before Buck's knees had even thought about giving out.
But their roles aren't reversed, and it's Eddie's knees who give out. Eddie who's been shot and doesn't have the strength to catch himself, let alone Buck.
And Buck doesn't catch him. It's all happening too fast and his brain is screaming at him to reach out, but before he can even move, Eddie's stepping back once, twice, and falling to the ground.
Buck's fingers twitch, and he feels himself leaning forwards, body finally responding to the emergency signals his brain has been sending—help him!—when a weight slams into him from the side. For a brief moment, he wants to believe that it is Eddie. Eddie, who is telling him to get down, pushing him out of the way of another shot. Because that's something Eddie would do, he knows without a doubt. But Eddie is lying on the ground in front of him and the weight slamming into Buck takes him away from Eddie.
He lands on the asphalt, arms skidding across the pavement, before he comes to rest on his stomach.
And Eddie's there, but so damn far away.
He can see him, they're staring at each other, but now there's an entire fire truck and a sniper between them.
And if he'd just been faster, just reached out and grabbed Eddie, they'd both be back here. Safe.
But he didn't.
And now Eddie's bleeding out only sixteen feet and a world away from him. Eddie's lying in a rapidly growing pool of his own blood, and he's reaching out towards Buck.
And Buck doesn't reach back.
Not until Eddie's eyes slip closed, and Buck screams.
The breath that's been caught in his lungs since Eddie's blood spattered across his face, since Eddie's whole body jerked, since Eddie had realized what had happened a second before Buck did. That breath, which lodged in his chest and wasn't knocked loose even when he was thrown to the ground because he couldn't breathe around the shock and panic clawing at his throat because, oh my god, no, not Eddie. That breath comes screaming out.
"EDDIE!"
The yell rips out of him, shredding and tearing his throat apart, but the pain is nothing compared to the way his heart his shattering.
"EDDIE!"
"Stay down, Buckley," a voice growls in his ear, accompanied by renewed weight pressing down on his back, weight he hadn't even noticed until just now. "We have a firefighter down, I repeat, firefighter down! Requesting immediate backup! Apparent sniper targeting the street!"
"EDDIE!" he screams again, pulling his arms underneath himself and pushing upwards with all his strength, because Eddie is bleeding out and Buck can't lose him.
"Shit, Buckley stop!" the voice yells, throwing more weight on him.
He barely feels it. He's up on his hands and knees now, ready to sprint forward, to the front of the truck where Eddie is, until his world gets turned upside down. One moment he's pulling a knee off the pavement to put a foot to the ground and take off, the next he's flat on his back, breath whooshing from his lungs.
And the growling voice is suddenly all up in his face, and he realizes it's Captain Mehta. Mehta, who had tackled Buck to the ground behind the truck, probably saving his life but also taking him away from Eddie. Mehta, who somehow flipped Buck onto his back in a move that would probably be cheered in the wrestling ring. Mehta, who grabs the front of Buck's shirt and shakes him. "I said stay down, Buckley! It won't do Diaz any good if you get shot, too!"
Too. Because Eddie's already been shot. Eddie's been shot.
"I need—Eddie, he needs—" Buck stammers, pleading with the captain to understand. To understand this is his partner, this is Eddie out there and he can't leave him.
Mehta's tone softens, but his grip and weight bearing down on Buck remain resolute. "I know, Buckley. I know. But you'll have to wai—"
Buck doesn't wait. Mehta's blocking him from getting up, so he doesn't try to get up again. Instead, he goes sideways. Towards Eddie.
A string of curses follows him as he rolls underneath the fire truck, a hand tries to swipe his shirt, but he's too fast. He almost laughs at the irony, at the fact that he's too fast now, when just moments ago he'd been too slow to do anything for Eddie. But he's moving now, and he's not stopping.
"Eddie!" he yells, rolling onto his stomach and lifting his head up so he can lay eyes on his partner again, quickly moving hand over hand, pulling himself towards his best friend. "Eddie, stay with me!"
Eddie's lying on his right side and his eyes are closed. He's not with Buck right now, and Buck is terrified he never will be again.
"Eddie, hang on, I'm almost there!"
He stops just at the edge of the fire truck, because despite the panic that is coursing through him, despite the 'leap first and think about it later' mentality that he's so often—rightly—accused of, he can't do that this time. He wants to, because he wants to—needs to—save Eddie right now. But he can't. Because he wants to—needs to—save Eddie. And leaping out into the open isn't his best plan. Not because of what might happen to him—right now he couldn't care less about that—but because of what might happen to Eddie. Because right now, Eddie is completely exposed. The sniper has mercifully left him alone after the initial shot, turning their attention to try to get other targets, probably thinking that Eddie's dead—oh god please don't be dead, Eddie—but if that eye in the sky notices Buck going for Eddie, and if Buck isn't fast enough… the sniper might finish the job.
And if Eddie comes to as Buck tries to move him—because he's still alive, Buck refuses to accept any other kind of reality—he might be disoriented, he might struggle because of the pain—god he's going to be in so much pain—and he might even not know where he is… Buck knows this isn't the first time he's been shot. Which means if Eddie comes to as Buck moves him, it might slow them down, wasting precious seconds and allowing the sniper to fire again.
So, Buck stops and doesn't just dash out, because he needs to think this through and he needs Eddie to wake up so that he knows where he is, so that he knows Buck is here for him and he's not trapped in another war and Buck is here. And Buck needs him to wake up right now so that he knows he's still alive. He needs to still be alive.
Buck pulls in a breath to yell Eddie's name again, but then a shot strikes the metal of the truck a handful of feet off to Buck's right and Eddie's eyes snap open. Eddie's alive. The yell Buck had been about to unleash dies, falling to a reverent whisper at this realization. "Eddie."
Eddie can't have heard him, not with all of the yelling and screaming that's swirling around them, not with the gunshots that keep striking and echoing.
But Eddie sees him. His eyes are open and their gazes meet, and Buck feels relief course through him. Because there's still a chance.
He can see that answering relief course through Eddie, relief that Buck is alive and well and not lying shot next to him. Eddie doesn't move, doesn't—probably can't—speak, but Buck knows him. He's spent years working with him and reading his cues, verbal and non-verbal. Years sitting on Eddie's couch or front porch, chatting his ear off about something that's happening in Buck's own life, watching Eddie's small smiles, the minute tightening around his eyes, in order to understand what Eddie is thinking but maybe not saying.
So Eddie doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. Buck sees the relief that rings out in his eyes, in the slight shift of his left shoulder, when he sees Buck only a handful of feet in front of him.
Buck swallows around the lump in his throat that appears because of the other thing he sees in Eddie's eyes: complete and absolute trust in Buck. That with Buck there, everything is going to be okay. "Yeah, I've got you, Eddie. I'm coming to get you, just hang on and don't move."
He gathers himself, ready to lunge forward and grab Eddie's outstretched hand, but then, another shot rings out, and while that wouldn't and doesn't stop Buck, Eddie's changing expression does. Eddie flinches ever so slightly at the sound of the shot, and his eyes flick away from Buck's before returning. And they're different now.
Despite his years of reading Eddie, it takes Buck a moment to understand what he's seeing.
And Buck doesn't like what he sees, because all of a sudden Eddie is looking at him with regret and apology, wrapped up in absolute, steely determination.
Buck doesn't understand why, doesn't understand what that means, until Eddie starts to move for the first time since he'd fallen and reached for Buck.
But this time, Eddie's not moving towards Buck, he's not reaching for him, he's pulling away.
Eddie's left hand starts inching back towards his own body.
Buck frowns. "Eddie, what are you doing?"
And then Eddie's left shoulder starts shifting back, and in slow motion he starts to roll onto his back away from Buck, all the while maintaining eye contact.
And the panic that Buck had been living with since the moment Eddie was cut off mid-sentence, skyrockets. "Eddie, stop it, stop moving!" he yells frantically, eyes furtively flicking up and to the left, to the buildings that rim the street where he knows someone is watching all of them and trying to pick them off. And Eddie moving is about to clue the person into the fact that they hadn't finished the job.
He thinks Eddie must be more confused than he'd thought, that his best friend doesn't understand what's going on. But that doesn't square with the expression that's on Eddie's face. Because even as he withdraws his hand from Buck, he maintains eye contact. And his eyes are clear. Pained, but there's no confusion swirling, only determination and apology.
Oh… oh.And suddenly Buck understands. In the years that Buck has known Eddie, he's watched the countless number of times that Eddie has put others before himself. Whether it's watching him muster a smile—a real smile, not just a plastered fake one—for Christopher after a shift from hell and pushing past his own exhaustion to take Chris out for ice cream, or read chapter after chapter to him. Or whether it's Eddie climbing a drain spout with no equipment and no guaranteed extraction method into a burning house to rescue a young boy. Or him cutting his own line in order to reach a terrified little kid stuck in a well… over and over again Buck has seen it, seen Eddie put others first in a variety of different ways.
So, while it takes him a minute because he doesn't want to understand what Eddie's look means, what he's doing, it finally clicks. Eddie's pulling away because he's putting Buck first. He may have reached for Buck right at the start, when none of them knew what was happening, but once the fact that there are still shots ringing out registered to him and made him realize that the first shot that hit him wasn't just a one-off, that changed things in Eddie's mind. Because now he knows he's totally exposed as a sniper continues to try to pick people off, and that Buck will be exposed the minute he tries to get Eddie.
"Eddie," he hisses, "don't you fucking dare! Stop that right now!"
But Eddie doesn't. Despite the excruciating pain Buck can only imagine the movement is causing as he rolls over his injured—shot—shoulder, he finishes rolling onto his back, pulling his left arm onto his chest, right arm still resting stretched along his side. Before he'd moved, Eddie's outstretched left hand had only been about three feet away, and now it's maybe five. It's only the difference of a few feet, but it feels like a chasm.
Because Eddie's not going to let Buck help him, not when it means Buck might get hurt.
"Dammit, Eddie, get that hand back here!" Buck half orders, half pleads.
Eddie just stares at him.
Screw it. Buck gathers himself up as much as the clearance of the truck will allow, preparing to dash out there anyway, sniper be damned, when a voice makes him freeze.
It's quiet, and cracking around the edges, but it's there, and it's saying his name. Eddie's saying his name. "Buck."
And god help him, with just that one word, he knows what Eddie's saying. "No, Eddie, please."
Eddie manages to shift his head ever so slightly in a side-to-side 'no' motion. "Y-you c-can't. Not… safe."
Buck knows that. It's not safe for Eddie either and that's why he needs to get him out of there. "I don't care!"
"I do." Eddie's eyes bore into him. "I c-care." A cough bubbles up with that admission, and a little red weeps out onto Eddie's lips, slowly falling down to land in the pool of blood that's already steadily expanding beneath him.
Buck's heart seizes at Eddie's sincerity, and there's new wetness on Buck's face, tears joining Eddie's blood that is already there. "But Eddie…" you're dying. He can't say it, but the unspoken words sit heavily between them.
"I know, but it's not—you need to stay safe. Chris can't lose you, too."
Buck stops breathing. Eddie could mean he doesn't want Christopher to experience any more loss period, not after Shannon. But Buck knows that's not what he's saying. He's saying he doesn't think he's going to make it out of this, that he doesn't want his son to lose Buck in addition to him. And there is no world in which that is an acceptable outcome. Buck does not want to live in a world where he's lost Eddie.
Buck sucks in a breath and with it gathers every ounce of command he can from the edges of his scattered, frantic thoughts. "Eddie Diaz, don't you fucking give up on me now. You are getting out of here. Chris isn't going to lose either of us, today, you hear me?"
He pins his partner, his best friend with a challenging stare, daring him to disagree.
Finally, Eddie blinks slowly and the ghost of a smile quirks up on one side of his mouth. "Okay," he manages. "But you can't—" he swallows painfully "—come out here."
Buck could. He knows he could. But he also knows the strength of Eddie's conviction. That if he tries right now, somehow, someway Eddie would find the strength to either push him away, back under the truck, or move away from him. And even if he didn't, he knows Eddie's right. What good would it do either of them if Buck breaks cover and gets shot before he gets Eddie to safety? It would make things worse because then there would be two people to rescue, instead of just Eddie.
"Okay," he echoes back. "Okay, I'm not going to come out there, but you have got to hold on for me, okay? Promise me."
"Promise."
It takes all of Buck's will-power to shuffle a few feet back and roll onto his side and turn away from Eddie. But he can and does, because Eddie promised.
Only a minute has gone by since Buck went under the truck, but it feels like an age. And in that age, he's only had eyes and ears for Eddie. Once on his side, though, his world expands again. He sees Mehta still kneeling to the side of the truck, half watching Buck and half watching the rest of the scene as he yells into his radio. And then Buck starts to pick up on the shouting and yelling that's still going on.
And then he wishes he hadn't, because the voice over the radio doesn't have good news. "Units are in route but are six minutes out."
Eddie doesn't have six minutes. Not with the amount of blood that is painting the street red.
The world is already screaming and shouting, so Buck may as well add to the cacophony. "Captain Mehta!"
To Mehta's credit and Buck's eternal relief, the captain stops talking to the person on the radio midstream, and immediately turns his attention to him.
"Captain Mehta I need a web sling, right now!"
And again, Buck can only thank the heavens, the universe, anything, that the other man doesn't question him, immediately understands what Buck's plan is, and doesn't try to stop him.
Mehta's face disappears for a moment as he stands up and throws a hatch in the truck open, before he's back and flinging the strap at Buck. "Do it fast, Buckley!"
"I know, I will!"
He turns back to Eddie, and inhales sharply when he sees his eyes are closed again. "Hey! Eddie!"
He's scrambling forward again, just to the edge of the truck, heedless of the asphalt scraping and burning at his skin, because he looked away and now maybe Eddie's gone, and—
"M'here," Eddie murmurs, eyes opening.
"Oh, thank god, thank—good," Buck rambles breathlessly, hands working furiously to knot the end of the web sling into a useable loop. "Okay Eddie, we're going to do this your way. And it's going to hurt, buddy, but I'm going to go as fast as I can."
Eddie's chin dips in an approximation of a nod. "I know." I know it's going to hurt, and I know you're going to do everything you can. I trust you.
"I don't want that shooter to know I'm going for you until the last possible moment. So, I'm going to throw this over your hand and you're going to twist and loop it, but first I need you to stretch your right hand out towards me, can you do that?" Buck dearly hopes that this will work, that even if the shooter sees Eddie reaching out, they'll just think his movements are the last gasp of a dying man, that time will finish the job and there's no cause for a second shot. That they won't see the web sling until too late, and won't have time to line up a shot. As long as Buck is fast enough.
Eddie answers by way of slowly sliding his right hand upwards. His eyes close again, squeezing shut tightly as his jaw clenches and he fights through the pain. Buck's asked him to move his injured arm, his injured shoulder, and he's doing it.
And all the while Buck whispers apologies and promises over and over. "I know, I'm so sorry Eddie, I know it hurts but you're doing great, you're almost there, we're going to make it."
And then Eddie's hand is in place, and Buck is throwing the web sling and it lands perfectly so that all Eddie has to do is rotate his hand slightly to let it wrap and tighten around his wrist, and then Buck is pulling with all of his strength. Praying that he is strong enough, that he is fast enough.
And Eddie yells. A hoarse shout that he tries to muffle, to spare Buck, but can't. It rips out of his throat as Buck pulls on his shoulder, stretching the wound and pulling at the shredded ligaments and muscles.
And Buck is apologizing over and over but he doesn't stop pulling.
And then Eddie is beside him, fully beneath the truck and Buck drops the end of the web sling and immediately clasps one hand on the exit wound, leveraging himself so his chest is partly on top of Eddie's, in order to apply as much pressure as possible, and sliding his other hand beneath Eddie's shoulder to cover the entrance wound.
Eddie's hoarse yell cuts off with a sharp inhale, and then he's coughing. And he's not stopping. And blood is trickling down his chin.
"Hang on, Eddie, come on, just breathe." Just breathe, right, like it's the easiest thing in the world when he's just been shot and dragged to hell and probably has blood leaking into his lungs. "Stay with me, Eddie, breath in, and out."
And Eddie manages to pull in a shaking breath and let it out.
"That's it, that's it."
Buck glances back towards the front of the truck, towards where Eddie was lying just moments ago. He has to swallow hard when he sees the red they left behind, both pooled where he'd been lying, and streaked along the ground from the drag. It's so much blood. And there's more already leaking out between his fingers.
"Buckley!" a voice snaps off to his left and he looks over to see Mehta crouched down, staring at them. "Status report!"
"Uh." Status report? No idea. Panicked. Freaked out. My best friend's bleeding out in my hands. He stares back at Mehta, knowing the captain can no doubt see how wide and panicked his eyes are.
"Status report, Buckley," Mehta repeats more quietly, firm calm permeating his voice.
"Uh, we're not hit—I mean, I'm not hit and Eddie didn't get hit again," he clarifies, realizing how stupid that had sounded, because of course Eddie's hit. "Eddie's got a through-and-through to his shoulder and it's bleeding—it's bleeding a lot."
"Okay, sit tight, we're going to get you out of there." And then he's standing back up and shouting in the radio, trying to figure out who has a safe path to come over and help extract Buck and Eddie.
Because Mehta's seen that Buck's not budging. Without Buck even having to say something. Now that he has his hands on Eddie, he's not letting go. Even if there's still blood leaking out between his fingers, even if he's barely doing anything to stop the flow of blood and give Eddie more time, he's doing something. He's not letting go. They'll have to pull them both out. Together.
"Buck," Eddie's voice is low and urgent.
He whips his head back to look at Eddie, prepared to find more blood on Eddie's lips, Eddie struggling to breathe.
But he doesn't find that, which is a relief. Instead, what he finds is that Eddie's eyes finally have fear in them. From the start of this, he's been so calm. Collected in a way that Buck can't even comprehend as his thoughts go nine different directions, trying to pull together the shreds of comprehensible sentences and plans. So while Buck has been frantic and terrified, Eddie has been the complete opposite.
But now for the first time since Eddie was shot, there's fear in his eyes. And Buck doesn't blame him one bit.
"It's okay, Eddie, Mehta's gonna be right back and then they're gonna get us out of here—" he starts rambling immediately, wanting to do whatever he can to comfort Eddie, after all of the physical pain he'd just caused him, after his inability to really do anything to help Eddie..
Eddie cuts him off. "No, Buck, you're hit. Where are you hit?" he demands.
What? I am? Buck thinks in confusion, wondering if his concern for Eddie had completely driven the pain from his head.
His confused expression must be obvious, because Eddie manages to reach his left hand up and brush it across Buck's face, eyes wide and concerned.
Oh. The blood on my face. Eddie must not have seen it when Buck was in the shadow of the truck, but now that their faces are only a handful of inches apart, he does. "Oh, no, Eddie, I'm not hit. That's your blood, Eddie. It's not mine, I'm okay."
Eddie relaxes, the fear evaporating from his gaze. Because of course he'd only been afraid when he thought it was Buck who was injured. The man's protective streak is larger than the Valles Marineris, and his own self-preservation instincts are severely lacking.
His hand stays on the side of Buck's face for a moment, touch feather-light, and Buck finds himself leaning into it, leaning into Eddie, before his hand drops back down to his chest, leaving Buck to yearn for the contact again.
"Good," Eddie breathes out. He closes his eyes and swallows. "'Cause Chris needs you."
Buck clenches his jaw. "We've been over this, Eddie. Chris needs you, too."
"Yeah, but promise me you'll take care of him, Buck. Promise me."
"Of course I will, Eddie. You don't even have to ask. But just until you're back on your feet, you hear me?"
"Mmm," he hums noncommittally, head starting to fall to the side.
"Hey, no, you've got to stay with me, Eddie!" Buck orders, shaking him forcefully, not even trying to be gentle. There's no room for gentle when Eddie's bleeding out. "You promised."
"I know." Eddie doesn't pull his head back up. He leaves it relaxed, canted off to the side resting on the asphalt, canted towards Buck. But he manages to open his eyes just a bit. "'M trying, Buck."
Buck knows. He knows how hard Eddie is fighting when all of the odds are stacked against him, when he has a bullet hole in his shoulder and too much blood on the pavement and the sniper still has everyone pinned down. Eddie Diaz is not one to give up a fight. He'd been buried under 40 feet of mud, and after 20 minutes Buck had been coming to the realization that he was gone, that he'd lost his best friend and he'd never told him… And then Eddie had walked out of the shadows like Buck hadn't just started to grieve him. Like he hadn't just almost suffocated.
Buck doesn't know how much water Eddie swam through, how much mud he climbed and crawled up, how long he held his breath… But he'd fought and he'd made it.
And that was only one of the many times that Buck has seen Eddie fight. He saw him catch Ali and stop her from plummeting out of the high-rise to certain death, saw him fight to hold onto her as she hung out the window, and then managed to pull her back inside even when he was halfway out the window himself. He saw him fighting to keep his and Christopher's lives together after they first moved here, managing a full-time job and full-time single parenting. Still picking Chris up and swooping him in joyful circles when he didn't know how it was all going to turn out, helping his son with school work when his eyes kept trying to slip shut after being on the go—at work and at home—all the time. He saw him fight to hold Christopher and his' lives together after Shannon died. To still put a smile on Chris' face, or pull a surprised giggle from him when Eddie did something ridiculous, just to help them feel normal for just one moment.
He's fought every time, and he's won.
So, Buck knows how hard Eddie is willing to fight, but no matter how much of a hero he is, he's still only a person. A person with limits.
And Eddie's starting to hit his limit. In fact, Buck thinks his limit was probably two minutes ago when, after bleeding out for several minutes, Buck had pulled on his wounded arm. Because now, now his skin is a frightening shade of gray, his lips are starting to go white and blue, and there's still blood on them, and Buck doesn't want to think about what it means for Eddie's lungs, for what the bullet did inside. But he's still holding on, for Buck. Because Buck asked him to. And he's held on for so long, longer than Buck had any right to hope or ask for, but he's starting to fade. Right in front of Buck's eyes. And Buck is not ready. He's not ready one bit.
After the well, he'd told himself he needed to act. To tell Eddie, because he'd come so close to losing him. But then as with all major life events, the fear of that night had started to fade the minute that Eddie had walked back into his arms, soaked and shivering, but alive. It had faded further on their way to the hospital, with Eddie wrapped in mounds of blankets and Buck sitting right next to him the whole time. And then it had faded even further every day that Buck went over to the Diaz's house and had dinner and games with them, and every day that Eddie had come to work and made Buck chuckle. Had had Buck's back.
And Buck hadn't said anything. He'd thought he'd have time.
He'd been so stupid.
"Eddie—"
"Buckley," a voice calls from his left and a hand jerks the side of his shirt.
Looking over, he sees Mehta reaching beneath the truck and from the expression on his face—concerned, wary, like he's trying not to startle an injured animal but trying to help—Buck realizes he'd probably been trying to get Buck's attention for some time.
"Y-yeah?"
"We're ready, we're going to get the two of you out from under there, okay?"
Relief courses through him. "O-okay, yeah. You hear that Eddie?"
The barest hint of a smile crosses Eddie's face, and Buck's astounded that his eyes are still slitted open.
"Okay," Mehta continues, "but I'd rather not pull on Diaz's injured shoulder."
It takes Buck a moment to understand what Mehta means, before it clicks: Buck is in the way. He's currently half lying on top of Eddie, half lying next to him, between him and Mehta's team. The end of the web sling that's still wrapped around Eddie's right wrist is within Mehta's reach, but the rest of Eddie is entirely blocked by Buck.
Buck immediately starts to shift, so that he can pivot 180 and clear Eddie's right side but still keep his hands on Eddie's shoulder.
Eddie's eyes snap completely open immediately and he tenses. "Where—" he starts, but Buck doesn't let him finish.
"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, just moving so they can get us out of here."
Eddie relaxes, and Buck continues his slow, awkward shuffle pivoting so that he's still by Eddie's head, but now his feet are pointing the other way, so he and Eddie are lying in almost a continuous line.
"Okay," he tells Mehta.
And Mehta and three other firefighters reach under, two on Eddie, two on Buck, and grab the sides of their pant legs and shirts.
"Hang in there, boys, this is still going to hurt," Mehta warns, and then they're moving.
It does hurt. Buck's elbows scrap over the asphalt, along with the back of his hand under Eddie's shoulder, but he thrusts it out of his mind because it's nothing compared to what Eddie's experiencing.
Eddie sucks in a breath and stops breathing, and Buck can see him biting his lip hard enough that it starts to bleed, as if he hadn't lost enough blood already.
Buck stops breathing with him, and doesn't start until Eddie does again, when they stop moving once they're out from underneath the truck.
And once they're out, he immediately shifts so he's straddling Eddie, putting more pressure on once more. And then he realizes he has no idea where they're going to go. Eddie needs to get to a hospital, but the ambulances with Charlie and his mom took off the moment the shots were fired, and there's not another one on scene. And there won't be until the sniper is gone. He can still hear shots every few moments.
Buck blinks back tears of frustration because they're so close and yet so far.
But again, Mehta's already thought of this and Buck thanks the universe again for him.
"We're going in the truck, Buckley!"
And the side door is just above them, already open and someone's already inside, crouched down to stay below the line of sight of the windows, hands reaching down towards Buck and Eddie.
There are hands reaching beside him to help lift Eddie up into the truck, but Buck moves first.
There's no way he'll be able to maintain his grip on Eddie's shoulder as he gets moved into the truck—the doorway's too narrow. Now, now it's more important that Eddie gets into the truck as soon as possible.
So Buck moves fast.
He grabs Eddie's left arm and pulls it over his own shoulder, pulling Eddie into a seated position, ignoring the pained gasp this elicits, and hiking Eddie over his shoulders as he stands.
He turns and steps towards the open door, placing Eddie's shoulders into the hands of the firefighter waiting there, and lifting from Eddie's waist. And then they're in the cab, and Eddie's on the floor in the cramped space that was not intended to be an emergency place for Eddie Diaz to be treated, and Buck's leaning over him, ripping his shirt open as someone thrusts unpackaged gauze in his face and someone's climbing into the front seat and they start moving.
Buck doesn't even see the wound, there's still so much blood, but he slaps the gauze on quickly, front and back. And then he's pressing down again with all his might.
And that's when he notices Eddie's eyes are closed. How long have they been that way? Were they closed before Buck moved him into the truck? Buck can't remember, can't think.
"Eddie!" he yells, panicking.
No response.
He looks frantically to the side, where a firefighter crouches on one of the seats. "Is he, is he—"
He can't finish the question. Doesn't want to finish the question.
But the firefighter understands and reaches a hand down and places it on Eddie's neck, feeling for a pulse.
Please. Oh, please god, whoever's listening, please.
And the firefighter nods. "Thready but there. And he's still breathing."
Buck sags, relieved, but Eddie needs to open those eyes. His hands are occupied, he doesn't dare move them, so he lets himself continue to sag—perhaps in reality he no longer has the strength to stay fully upright—and does the only thing he can, the only other point of contact he can offer; he leans forward and rests his forehead on Eddie's.
"Eddie," he murmurs, closing his eyes. "Please, hang on just a little longer, okay. For me. I need you. You can't leave me now. Not when…" he doesn't finish that sentence aloud, aware of the other people in the truck, aware that when he says those words, he wants it to be just for Eddie. When Eddie can hear him. "I need you, okay?"
There's a rustle of fabric and then he feels a gentle squeeze around his wrist.
Leaning back, eyes popping open, he sees Eddie's left hand has managed to cross his body and grab Buck.
And Eddie's eyes are open.
Eddie squeezes his wrist again.
And Buck sobs. A full on, no-holds-barred sob.
"We're two minutes out!"
But there's no color in Eddie's face anymore, and too much color in the bandages beneath Buck's hands. And Eddie's grip on his wrist is weak.
But then Eddie's squeezing his wrist one more time, and eyes locked with Buck's, he murmurs. "It's okay, Buck. You're going to be okay."
And that would thrill Buck, that Eddie still has enough strength to speak, to be thinking of trying to comfort Buck when it's him who is bleeding out and dying.
Except for the fact that it sounds so damn much like a goodbye. Except for the fact that once the words have left Eddie's mouth, his grip on Buck's wrist goes slack and his hand falls to his chest, and his eyes close.
And then the firefighter who's kept his hand on Eddie's pulse, sucks in a sharp breath.