Word Count: 3,272
Warnings/Spoilers: None in particular for this chapter.

Time ceased to have a lot of meaning. Buck slept when he was tired – even if daylight filtered into his loft – and he ate when he was hungry – even if it was terribly dark outside – and he showered when he felt the need to and it didn't scare the shit out of him again – but seeing as he had nowhere to go and no one to see, there wasn't much need so he let the fear win – and he stared at the wall a lot, or the ceiling, or the empty TV screen.

Not having Christopher was a blessing – he had his own time and space.

But not having Christopher was also a curse – he could truly sink under the layers of misery and despair that had always threatened to engulf him.

It wasn't the first time he'd felt like this, of course. Buck could remember Eddie coming over, tearing the sheets off his body, demanding he get out of bed almost a year ago…and then springing taking care of Christopher on him. And this time, no matter how much he reminded himself about Eddie's belief that Chris never felt sorry for himself, he knew Chris was struggling just as much. The tearful calls of a broken boy late at night were proof enough of that. Buck felt like there weren't any words he could say that could provide enough comfort

As far as Buck was concerned, he was doing a great job at rebuffing the 118's texts. Hen sent a lot of messages asking if he was okay, if he'd seen Eddie, if he needed some leftovers so he didn't have to cook. Maddie sent him a lot of messages, asking if he wanted her to come over to keep him company. Bobby sent him messages, asking how he and Eddie and Christopher were doing, that he was welcome at Athena's any time. And Buck… Buck often just left the messages sitting there, unopened and unanswered, until sometime later in the day when he'd apologise and claim he'd been with Eddie and had his phone off.

But he hadn't been to see Eddie.

Without Christopher urging him to go to the hospital, it was too impossible to work up the nerve to see Eddie or the Diaz clan that would have gathered at the hospital. Deep down, Buck was also afraid to leave his house in case he got shot, or another tsunami hit, or his car was bombed. He was afraid to see Eddie with all the tubes and wires spilling out of him, and he was afraid of Eddie not waking up. And maybe, deeper down, he was even more afraid of Eddie waking up and Buck being there and Eddie losing it and telling him to get out. He'd imagined that scenario – he'd dreamed that scenario – more times than he cared to count. He ended up in tears of guilt and shame and fear every time, hyperventilating so harshly that his throat and lungs were in a perpetual state of pain.

So he stayed inside his apartment because at least there weren't any threats there and he tracked shadows across whatever flat surface he was blankly staring at for that day because at least it passed the time.

He wasn't sure how many days had passed before there was a knock at his door. It was more like a pounding really, and he was tempted to ignore it because if it was someone from the 118, he could pretend he'd been at the hospital, or getting groceries, or seeing Christopher. If it was Maddie, he could find a slightly different story he knew she'd believe. He didn't want to see anyone. He-

"Don't you dare leave me outside this door, Evan Buckley!"

He inhaled sharply, unwilling to move but knowing he'd be in even worse trouble if he didn't. He rose from the couch, muscles stiff at lying in different places in his apartment and thoroughly unused. A few days of doing nothing would probably mean a few weeks to get back the muscle mass he'd started to lose from all the inaction, but he couldn't think that far ahead. He couldn't think about anything except the crushing pain in his chest.

For the first time in days, he unlatched the door for someone other than a delivery person.

"So you are alive," Carla said, fixing him with a shrewd and disappointed look, hands on her hips as her eyes scanned over him. There was a flash of something in her eyes but it was gone by the time she met his stare. "I was starting to think I'd have to call 911 to break your door down. That would've been ironic."

He held onto the door handle for something to do, his bulk blocking the doorway but Carla wouldn't take no for an answer or listen to his refusals. She pushed her way inside because she had no appreciation of boundaries when he was wallowing. She made an appalled noise as she surveyed the mess that his apartment had turned into before folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

"Right. Time to get you showered and dressed and looking like an actual person again. I'll clean up so that the mess out here-" She gestured at the various take-out containers he'd left on the kitchen island, "stops reflecting the mess in there." She waved towards his head. "Then we'll go."

He blinked.

"Go? Go where?"

"The hospital," she said with a very dramatic eye roll like it was the only answer to every question in the history of existence. "You need to see Eddie."

"I-" The words tangled in his throat and he swallowed, rubbing at the uncomfortable pain that had flared in his chest at her words. "N-No, I don't."

"Yes, you do." She approached him, her hands out and cradling his face before he'd fully registered her movement. And her glare had softened, something sad in the edge of her smile. "He's been awake almost a week and everyone else has seen him except you, baby. He's starting to think you don't love him anymore."

His eyes grew wide and she rubbed her thumb against his cheekbones.

"C'mon, Boo. What's going on? I didn't even see you this bad after Abby left."

The memory of Abby stung and from anyone else, he probably would have pulled away and gotten angry. But Carla was different. She'd seen his relationship with Abby blossom from a very different perspective, and then she'd seen the way Abby left him in a cage of thorns that pricked him whenever he tried to move.

He wasn't exactly sure what had helped get him free of the cage but he had a suspicion that Eddie's constant friendship and Christopher's constant enthusiasm had helped.

"I don't want to leave my apartment," he admitted, eyes darting over her head and skipping over key spots to help soothe the anxiety that made his hands shake at his sides. "I don't- Eddie doesn't- He won't-"

"Buckaroo, he's asking for you," she murmured, tilting his head to catch her gaze again because he probably looked like a panicked deer in the headlights. "He's been asking for you every time I've brought Christopher to see him. Yesterday, Chris told Eddie that you've spoken on the phone but you haven't seen him in more than a week and he's scared you're dying too."

He blinked.

A lot.

And his heart cracked in two.

"So you need to see Eddie, okay? You need to work out whatever this thing is that's got you so tangled up inside, and you need to get out of your apartment so you realise the world outside isn't full of fears, and you really need to shower because you stink, Buckley." She laughed her throaty chuckle but Buck couldn't muster any sort of semblance of a smile, and that made her grin drop as she combed her fingers through his knotted hair. "Let's start with the easiest first, alright? You go shower and I'll clean up and then we'll talk."

He didn't really feel like talking but at least it sounded better than leaving his place, or seeing Eddie and getting yelled at until he had to leave, or seeing Eddie and crying. Or both. He didn't know if staying in his apartment or leaving it sounded scarier and he only realised his breathing had shallowed when he noticed the cold, sick twisting in his gut.

"Hey." Her hands slipped from his cheeks to his chest, her eyes still fixed on his. "Shower. We'll work out the rest afterwards."

It felt like his heart was using his ribs to climb to a height that it could leap into the valley of acid that was his empty stomach, but he complied because he knew there was no point arguing. She'd picked up the pieces too many times after Abby.

At the risk of leaving her still annoyed that he hadn't had a proper shower, he even washed his hair. He only realised he was mumbling to himself the entire time so he had something to focus on other than the water sliding over his body when the foul taste of conditioner got onto his tongue.

She clucked her tongue approvingly as he descended to his kitchen area, small drops of water still dripping down his face and onto the collar of his shirt. The island was clear of any containers and boxes and the burst of lemon that permeated the room suggested she'd even wiped it. He didn't deserve Carla.

"Do you feel like a person again?" she said and he shrugged, fiddling with the fabric between pinched fingers because it was an actual piece of clothing rather than the sweatpants and loose t-shirts he'd been living in for…over a week, if her mention of Chris' conversations was accurate. He moved to grab a spare hand towel from under the sink to get rid of the water on his skin that was making him feel sick and then she swept around to loop an arm through his elbow, dragging him towards his couch and making him sit with a gentle push. Then she sat beside him, an expectant stare on her face.

"What?" he said eventually, rubbing at his neck and the strands of hair and desperately uncomfortable and wishing he could melt into a puddle on the floor.

"C'mon, Buckley. Give me something here," she said with exasperation obvious in her tone. "You clearly haven't been taking care of yourself. Why? What's happening inside that pretty little head of yours?"

He rolled his shoulders, avoiding her gaze by pressing the towel into more of his hair to try to dry it off. "I just- I don't think Eddie would…would really want to see me."

"Why?"

"Because I hurt him," he muttered, wiping at his face when he felt another droplet start to streak down his temple and digging the edges of his fingernails painfully into his palm at the shiver of memory it sent through him. "And then h-he got…shot. And I- I can't- I s-still… I meant what I s-said? It's clear I w-wasn't enough for h-him b-b-"

Carla scooted closer, folding her arms around his shoulders and running her hand through his damp hair. "Why do you think you weren't enough for him, honey?"

"B-Because Chris knew but w-we couldn't… We s-still weren't…" He made a little gesture that meant nothing but that she seemed to understand.

"Ah, so you two were pushing the friendship boundary. Glad I was right," she said, nodding almost to herself. "But then you started to feel like it meant more to you than him, I'm guessing? Abby 2.0?"

He shrugged, but he'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind once or twice or a hundred times in the past week or so. He'd just wanted to feel enough for Eddie, especially because of Christopher. After feeling inadequate for Abby, and then Ali, and then Eddie, Buck was starting to think he needed to avoid anyone whose name ended in an 'ee' sound. Maybe that was the curse of being a Buckley.

"I've known you a while now, Buckaroo, and I know Eddie and Christopher pretty well too," Carla said, petting his hair and dragging the towel from his limp wrist to absorb some of the moisture on the back of his neck. "I reckon you're selling Eddie's feelings short and you need to listen to him, and not just because he has the sharpest cheekbones and jawline of anyone I've ever seen and is one fine hunk of firefighter meat."

Given he'd seen Eddie mostly naked, on more than one occasion, he knew she wasn't wrong – but he was so lost in his funk that he barely reacted to her attempt at a joke, and that just made her sigh.

"Okay, okay. So next step is to get out of the house. Why haven't you left?"

There were so many reasons but he decided to just go with the first and most obvious one: "It's not safe."

She pushed him so there was enough distance between them for him to see the way her eyebrows had drawn together. "Not safe?"

"I've lived through an earthquake, a bombing and a tsunami. Eddie got shot. Shannon was killed." And that was just the last twelve months. He shuddered to think about the years before that, or the years to come. "So it… Staying inside is just…safer."

"Inside has spiders," she said seriously, her tone holding as much sage wisdom as it could even as she bubbled with laughter again. "Buck, you're a firefighter. You can't develop a fear of outside."

"It's…not a fear," he mumbled, pulling away from her so he could pick nervously at the damp collar of his shirt just to keep his shaking hands busy. "I've just wanted to be safe."

"You're using that as an excuse to avoid the hospital."

And there may well have been a kernel – or many kernels – of truth in her statement but Eddie getting shot had been some sort of final straw. It was one thing to be on duty and face terrible dangers and risks and wild rescues. It was an entirely different thing to be under threat from natural disasters and human disasters when you were minding your own business. He still didn't know exactly how Eddie had gotten involved in helping Beatrice and he honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know. It wasn't as though the knowledge would somehow change the outcome or soothe his fears.

"Please will you come with me to see Eddie, baby boy?" Carla asked, cupping his cheek and tilting his head up so she could see his eyes. "I can't promise to keep you safe but I can promise to make someone laugh if we think they're trying to harm us."

He had a feeling she wouldn't let it go. She'd probably call the 118 and demand they strap him to a gurney and cart him to the hospital if she thought it would work. And he could still remember what she'd said about Christopher thinking he was dying too because he hadn't visited. He owed Chris more than giving him new fears.

"You're not really giving me a choice, are you?" he said and she patted his cheek, a wide grin spreading over her lips.

"See? He's more than just a pretty face," she cooed and he rolled his eyes. "You have a choice, Buck. You always have a choice. But answer me this: is staying inside your apartment really helping?"

Sometimes, Buck forgot just how smart Carla was at seeing through all the layers of stories everyone wrapped themselves within. She'd drilled through Abby's fears and he knew she'd been invaluable to Eddie and Christopher. He should really have known what he was getting himself into when he answered the door.

He sighed, conceding a nod to her logic, and she gave his cheek another pat before letting him stand and find shoes.

She chatted during their journey to the hospital, filling his silences with stories about her husband or anecdotes about Christopher or her plans for an upcoming holiday in the summer. Though Buck barely processed most of what she said, the mere act of having to listen to her rather than his fears at least helped him not spiral into an anxiety attack during the drive. He felt like he was constantly monitoring the streets outside, checking to see if someone looked dangerous or could be a potential threat. He hated the red lights because he felt like a sitting duck, even though it wasn't a fear he'd ever had before.

She parked her car in the hospital lot, then came around the passenger side to loop her arm through his and gently steer him into the hospital.

"Are you actually sure he wants to see me?" he said, interrupting whatever she'd been telling him about some other family she worked for when Christopher was at school.

"Eddie?" She wriggled her arm against his. "Absolutely. And Christopher wants to see you as well."

Buck remained unconvinced but he let Carla continue guiding him. He saw the sign for the ICU but she led him in the opposite direction and he realised, with a dull sort of ache behind his ribcage, that he'd let enough time pass that Eddie was out of critical care. He remembered the wounds, the doctor mentioning Eddie would need rehab for his arm. Would it be like the rehab Buck needed for his leg? Would it take months and months of hair-tearing frustration? Would Bobby restrict Eddie's return too?

When they finally stopped in front of a room with a partially closed door, Buck really had no idea which ward they were on or how to get out of the hospital if he needed to. It makes his throat tighten, the feeling that he couldn't find an escape, and he had to shut his eyes for a moment and concentrate on his breathing when the anxiety nipped at his heels and toes and fingers.

Carla brushed her hand over his and squeezed, her thumb moving in an aimless pattern. "Do you want me to check on him first?"

He shook his head, the heavy, sick feeling returning as he inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled. Maybe he just needed to confirm for himself that Eddie was okay and then the nightmares would ease, and every time he closed his eyes while sprawled on the couch he wouldn't see Eddie hooked up to all the machines and monitors, and then they could settle the argument that had been started, and…then what? Buck put in transfer papers?

He shook his head again and when he opened his eyes, Carla's eyebrows were drawn together. "I'll wait out here unless you stick your head out and tell me to leave because everything's okay, alright Buckaroo?"

He nodded and attempted to swallow, but his throat was dry and a ball of nerves was lodged in his throat instead.

She released his hand and arm, propelling him gently towards the door, and he was biting his bottom lip and cheek without being consciously aware of it.

The door swung open silently when he touched the handle and he crept inside. He could immediately hear the hushed beep of a machine and the tinny sound of a television program and it was almost enough that he turned and fled before a quiet whisper of a voice made his feet freeze on the floor.

"Buck?"

~TBC~