Chapter Text
“You look like shit,” Eddie says by way of greeting, looking Buck up and down. He frowns at the sight of his pale skin, his sunken-in eyes. He places the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead.
“Shakespeare is shaking” Buck replies, leaning into Eddie’s touch. “You have such a way with words.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, taking his hand back. He’s relieved that Buck doesn’t seem to be running a fever, but still not satisfied. “Seriously, you okay?”
Buck nods. “Fine. Just tired,” he says. Understandable, seeing as he’s just come back from a last-minute overnight trip. The trip popped up on Eddie’s day off, and Buck declined his repeated offers to come into work and join him. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want Eddie to miss out on spending time with his kid just because he needs half a Xanax to get on an airplane.
So he went by alone, or as alone as you can be traveling with dozens of other people. Funny how despite countless Secret Service agents, advisors, staff, and the entire White House press pool, he still felt lonely.
His going alone also meant he hadn’t slept in forty something hours, between the plane and the time differences and the need to get right back to work as soon as Air Force One hit the tarmac earlier.
Eddie, for what it’s worth, didn’t get much sleep either, instead spending his night worrying about Buck. Worry that had melted away upon seeing Buck climb out of the motorcade earlier after it returned from Andrews, only to return a few moments later once they were alone and he finally got a good look at him.
“You should get some sleep,” Eddie says.
Buck shakes his head. “I’m okay,” he insists. “Just need a cup of coffee and I’ll be good.”
“Buck.”
Buck sighs. He’s exhausted, the type of tired he can feel in his bones, his body aching with every step. But he has things to do and places to be, and there’s a college in West Virginia expecting him in a few hours for a campaign rally. So, despite the way his eyeballs feel too hot in his head and the concern written across Eddie’s face, he insists, “Everything’s fine, Eddie. Promise.”
Eddie’s walking through the stadium as the crowd filters in, doing his best to go unnoticed as he scans the attendees for anything out of the ordinary. So far so good, though it isn’t doing much to quell the slight edge of unease lurking in his gut. He’s worried about Buck, plain and simple.
He stands in the crowd for his speech, hanging on every word that he watched him practice last weekend.
They snuck him out of the White House and over to Eddie’s place on Saturday, where he spent the day helping Eddie build a bookcase for Christopher, whose growing collection of chapter books was rapidly outgrowing the old floating shelves in his bedroom from when he was a baby.
Christopher had lined up a bunch of stuffed animals on the couch beside him as Buck stood on the coffee table and read his speech off of his phone, switching between a variety of silly voices as he spoke. Eddie can’t think of anyone else who’d be able to keep a nine-year-old giggling through 23 minutes of campaign promises and policy remarks, shouting “again!” once he’d finished with an over-exaggerated bow.
So, in his refusal to deny Christopher anything he asks for, Buck practiced again, and then they ordered pizza, and Buck helped Chris build a blanket fort in the living room while Eddie looked on and tried his hardest not to physically swoon.
He looks pretty good up there, the combination of the bright stage lights and a tube of concealer from Maddie’s handbag doing wonders for his tired eyes. Though, the glint is missing from them as he speaks, his smile not quite reaching his ears.
Eddie walks the perimeter of the room as he speaks, continuing to scan the crowd. They erupt into applause, followed by chants of four more years as he raises his hand in thanks and his exit music begins to play from the speakers. As the crowd starts thinning out, Eddie starts to make his way back to the hallway behind the stadium doors, where Buck will pose for some pictures and shake some hands before they head back to D.C.
He’s just stepping into the hallway when he hears Maddie yell.
“Buck!”
Eddie’s blood runs cold, turns heavy in his veins. He breaks into a sprint immediately, running down the hallway to where he can see Buck is wavering on his feet.
He’s there in seconds, just in time to get his arms beneath Buck’s elbows as he slumps to the ground. Eddie eases him down onto the tiled floor, his heart racing as he keys his radio, shouting orders out to his team and calling the paramedics in.
Eddie’s on his knees beside Buck, two fingers on his wrist as he feels for his pulse. The beat of Buck’s heart, fast as it may be, grounds him instantly, quells the anxiety bubbling within him as he looks up at Maddie. She’s got nothing but fear in her eyes as she catches Eddie’s gaze. “His eyes just rolled back,” she says, voice wavering as she glances down at her brother, motionless on the floor.
“He’s okay,” Eddie says, more for himself than for Maddie. There are agents lining the hallway now, whispering to each other and talking into radios. “Where are the medics?” he calls out to no one in particular. He thinks it’s just dehydration, but he’s not about to take a chance. Not when it’s Buck on the floor beneath his hands.
Two paramedics burst into the hallway just then, jogging over to them and taking over. Eddie doesn’t move, keeps one hand on Buck’s thigh, the other on his wrist until they’re ready to load him onto the stretcher and get him into the ambulance.
“He’s dehydrated,” one of them says, glancing between Maddie and Eddie. “We’re going to get him in the rig and get him some fluids. He’ll be okay.” Eddie lets out a strangled breath, relief flooding him as he hears the words out loud. He’s too worked up, too strung out to appreciate that his gut was right from the start.
As he follows the paramedics to the waiting ambulance, Eddie thinks back to earlier, when Buck promised he was fine as the car pulled away from the White House. He should’ve insisted he stay back, he shouldn’t have let it go. He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knew from one look at Buck that he was exhausted, that the last thing he needed was a full day’s schedule. Why didn’t he push harder?
What was it Buck had said? Everything’s fine, Eddie. Promise. Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek and thinks that if there were a narrator talking through the day, that would’ve been the part where they’d have said, “Everything was not, in fact, fine.”
Eddie jumps in the back of the ambulance– thanking God for the umpteenth time in the last few minutes that there’s always one with the motorcade– as they load him in. The paramedic who hoisted the stretcher into the rig jumps back down onto the pavement, shutting the doors behind himself. Through the window in the back of the ambulance, Eddie can see that the paramedics are talking to Maddie and a few of the agents, no doubt filling them in so they can call ahead and get the hospital cleared.
Buck’s brow furrows as he begins to come to, his eyes moving behind his eyelids. “Hey,” Eddie says, his voice low, calm, even. The lone syllable is grounding, a small groan escaping Buck’s lips as he gets his bearings. “You’re okay, I got you.”
Buck opens his eyes long enough to confirm that it’s not just a fever dream, that he’s not imagining Eddie’s touch. He closes his eyes again after confirming that Eddie’s actually standing over him, with one hand on the side of the stretcher, the other resting on his thigh just above his knee, his fingers moving in small, reassuring circles. “Wh-” he begins. It doesn’t take him long to get his bearings, anxiety bubbling inside him as he realizes he’s inside an ambulance, buckled into a stretcher.
“Shh,” Eddie shushes him, bringing a hand up to push a stray piece of hair away from Buck’s forehead. “Rest. You passed out,” he says, the way his jaw sets as he says it not lost on Buck.
“I’m-”
“Mr. President,” one of the paramedics from before climbs into the back of the ambulance. Eddie drops his hands to his sides immediately, standing up straighter. “How are you feeling?”
“Peachy,” Buck replies, met with an eye roll from a certain Special Agent. But his voice cracks as he tries to get the second syllable out, his eyes threatening to close at any second as he nearly succumbs once more to the exhaustion.
“You need to rest. You’re exhausted, sir, which led to your loss of consciousness,” she says. “We’re going to get you some fluids and bring you over to the nearest hospital for a work up.”
“Is that necessary?” Buck asks, his weak voice the answer to his own question.
“Yes,” Eddie and the paramedic say at the same time. Eddie’s cheeks flush as she looks over at him and gives him a funny look. He ignores it.
“Fine,” Buck agrees. Eddie’s hand brushes up against his as he steps out of the paramedic’s way, and it takes everything Buck has not to lace their fingers together and squeeze. Anything to get the fear off Eddie’s face.
She jumps out and rounds the rig, climbing into the driver’s seat as her partner climbs into the back to monitor Buck as they make their way to the hospital.
He closes his eyes as the ambulance starts moving. He’s drifting in and out of a twilight-like state, half asleep, half lucid as they make their way through town, sirens cutting through the silence. And then someone’s rolling up his sleeve, then there’s a small pinch in the crook of his elbow. He’s always hated needles, but takes comfort in knowing the bad part’s over and the IV is in.
But then the needle moves again. And again. There’s a hushed swear word, and then the needle moves inside his arm once more, this time sharper than before. He hisses, screwing his already-shut eyes closed even tighter, willing himself to focus on anything but the needle digging around beneath his skin.
“Seriously?” It’s the sound of Eddie’s voice, more of a growl than anything else, that pulls him back. “Move.” He opens his eyes to see Eddie shoving the paramedic aside and grabbing the IV kit from his hands. He pulls the needle out so gently that Buck doesn’t even realize it’s out until he sees it in Eddie’s hands.
He flicks the inside of Buck’s elbow gently, rubbing at the skin before nodding to himself. “Quick pinch,” he mumbles. He’s right, it’s quick– Buck barely notices it, but then again, maybe he’s just captivated by the man hovering over him. Eddie gets a vein on the first try, removing the needle and leaving the catheter behind in a matter of seconds. Satisfied, he grabs the saline bag from where it’s resting on Buck’s chest and brings it up to his shoulder, tipping his head to hold it in place between his shoulder and his ear.
Eddie takes a long breath, exhaling slowly as he looks over at the paramedic, who’s suddenly engrossed in the chart on his clipboard, flush creeping up his neck as he no doubt makes sure not to meet Eddie’s eyes.
He feels a little bit bad for shoving the guy aside like that, but couldn’t stand to see Buck’s face twist up in pain like that one more time. There are only two people on this earth who Eddie’s this fiercely protective of; one of them’s on the stretcher in front of him and the other one is in a third grade classroom on Wisconsin Avenue.
Buck just looks up at him, hint of a smile playing on his face. He’s still got his gaze locked on Eddie when they pull up to the hospital, the paramedics jumping out to meet the waiting doctors. As soon as they wheel Buck into the hospital, it’s a whirlwind of different tests and hallways and doctors. Eddie’s right there beside him the entire time, even stands next to the CT machine in a lead apron.
Duties of his job notwithstanding, Eddie can’t imagine being anywhere but at Buck’s side right now. He’s never been more thankful for the shiny piece of metal on his belt and the government-issued credentials in his pocket that let him do just that, with no questions asked.
“What?” Eddie asks finally, once they’re alone in a patient room, waiting for a doctor to come by and give Buck a diagnosis. Which Eddie’s sure will be dehydration and exhaustion just as he and the paramedics suspected, but alas, he’s not a White House-sanctioned doctor, so his opinion doesn’t matter. Nevermind the fact that he spends every waking minute beside Buck and called this long before it happened.
Buck’s still got that look on his face, staring up at Eddie like he’s the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Eddie’s starting to wonder if he missed them giving him a shot of morphine when Buck finally answers him.
“Nothing,” he replies, but the grin on his face says otherwise. “That was hot, though. Back there in the ambulance.”
“Well make up your mind,” Eddie says. “Was it nothing or was it hot?”
Buck rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m otherwise incapacitated.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’d have no choice but to kiss you senseless.”
Eddie smirks from where he’s standing beside the door, hands folded behind his back. “Well, then ‘lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use.”
“You put the fear of God in him,” Buck points out. “Poor guy.”
“He was digging around in your arm like a fucking amateur,” Eddie replies, frustration dripping from his words. “I mean, come on. Christopher could’ve found a vein faster.”
Buck could live to be one hundred years old and his heart will still skip, his body instantly feeling warm when Eddie’s protective streak shows itself. And at the same time, he knows that Eddie could live to be one hundred years old without that streak running through him burning out.
“I love you, you know,” Buck says, without a care in the world who might hear him. Eddie steps forward, crossing the room. And then Buck’s eyes go even softer, if possible, as his fingers brush against Eddie’s. Eddie takes his hand without hesitation, lacing their fingers together.
“I know.” He squeezes Buck’s hand in his, soft smile dropping off his face when Buck’s hand goes limp beneath his. “Hey,” Eddie says, shaking Buck’s shoulder. He’s trying to stay calm, but Buck doesn’t respond, doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move beneath him. “Buck, hey,” he tries again, shaking him a little harder this time.
For the second time in as many hours, his heart all but stops, blood running cold. “I need some help in here!” he shouts. There are agents in the room within seconds, two nurses and a doctor right behind them.
Eddie steps back as they run up to the bed, talking over Buck as they check monitors, drop the head of the bed, and dig around on instrument carts. Eddie feels like he’s frozen, feet stuck in place on the linoleum floor as he watches, helpless, as they work. Someone’s talking to him- Maddie, maybe? - but the words don’t register. His eyes are locked on Buck in the bed before him, even as one of the monitors starts beeping louder than it was before and two hands land on his shoulders.
“No,” Eddie protests, pushing back instinctively. He’s not even sure who’s standing in front of him, who’s trying to get him to leave. “No, no. I’m not going anywhere.”
“We have to.” It’s Bobby, with his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. His voice is calm, yet insistent as Eddie tears his eyes away from Buck long enough to register it’s Bobby talking to him.
Eddie swats at Bobby’s hands. “No!” he says, a little louder this time. “I’m not- we can’t leave him.”
“They need space to work,” Bobby says, a hand coming up to grab Eddie’s wrist. “We have to go, Eddie.”
Eddie shakes his head, wrestling to get out of Bobby’s grip. Bobby manages to get him to the door, walking him through it despite his repeated refusals. He pulls it closed behind them, alone with Eddie in the hallway. “You need to take a walk,” he hisses.
“Fuck that,” Eddie says, moving to step past Bobby and head back into the room.
“Take. A. Walk.” Bobby says through his teeth. He plants a hand on Eddie’s shoulder firmly and turns him around so he can’t see into Buck’s room. “ Now , Special Agent Diaz.”
It’s enough to bring Eddie back into his body, to get him to finally register what’s going on. He scoffs, yanking his shoulder back from Bobby’s grip. He thinks he might explode– some combination of fear, anger, and anxiety bubbling up inside him and threatening to boil over.
He storms off down the hallway, throwing the door to the staircase open and letting it slam loudly behind him. He immediately hurls his fist at the wall, the pain as his knuckles make contact with the cinderblocks rushing through his body instantly.
And then he’s not feeling fear so overpowering he thinks it might consume him anymore. Now, he’s just feeling pain. And it feels good.
He hits the wall again, swearing under his breath. Then again.
His skin is broken open now, beads of bright red blood starting to appear on his knuckles as he flexes his fingers.
The fear and anxiety ebb away with each swing, but the anger and self-loathing stay. In fact, they grow exponentially with each passing second. When the door flies open after Eddie’s third punch, he’s not sure if he’s ever hated himself more.
He did this. He didn’t speak up. He let Buck get in the motorcade this morning, let him get on stage under those bright lights, let him keep going when he was already run ragged and then some.
“Hey,” Bobby says, closing the door to the staircase and standing in front of it.
“Is he okay?” Eddie can hardly get the words out fast enough.
“He’s fine. Just passed out again. It’s a good thing you were in there with him.”
Eddie lets out a long exhale, one he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. “I want to go in there,” he says, starting to pace.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Bobby says. Despite Eddie technically outranking Bobby, he knows better than to dismiss him right now.
“I did this,” Eddie says, voice breaking. “I knew he wasn’t up for this today. I knew it in my gut and I didn’t stop him. He shouldn’t have been there, he–”
“You really think he would’ve listened if you tried?” Bobby asks. “If anything he would’ve tried twice as hard to prove you wrong, and then things could have been even worse.”
Eddie knows he’s right about that. But still, his guilt is eating at him all the same.
“I should’ve gone with him to California,” Eddie says. “I should have had him stay back today, should have insisted they reschedule the event today. I did this.”
“This is not on you,” Bobby insists. “Eddie, you have to know that.”
Eddie feels hot tears behind his eyes all of a sudden. He doesn't bother turning away from Bobby in his attempt to blink them back. “I should have stopped him.”
“Listen to me,” Bobby says. “You did not do this. It was bound to happen anyway– he’s exhausted, dehydrated, overworked. And whether he was at that rally or in the White House, it was bound to happen. I mean, he passed out in a hospital bed while resting and getting fluids. The doctors even said there’s nothing anyone could’ve done. He’s just exhausted. But he’s going to be fine, Eddie.”
Eddie nods slowly, Bobby’s words sinking in. Logically, he understands what he’s saying. But it seems to be taking his heart a little longer to catch up and get on board.
“I want to see him.”
Bobby nods, leading him back to Buck’s room. When Eddie steps in, Hen steps out, letting Eddie take her place beside the door. Maddie’s in the hallway talking to the doctors and Bobby’s waiting outside the door.
They’re alone in the room, just the two of them and the steady beeping of the monitor beside Buck’s bed. Eddie’s not sure how long he stands there, watching the steady rise and fall of Buck’s chest as he sleeps. Finally, he begins to stir, his eyelids fluttering open.
“Hey, you,” Buck says, his voice thick with sleep.
Eddie almost chokes on a deep sigh of relief.
“And you thought I looked like shit before, ” Buck jokes, sitting up. It’s then that he gets a better look at Eddie and is able to take what remains of a panic-stricken look still lingering on his face.
The soft, sleepy smile drops right off of Buck’s face. “Evan,” Eddie whines, sounding absolutely shattered. Buck’s heart squeezes, just as it does every time Eddie uses his first name. It feels like someone’s got a hand around it, twisting and kneading and squeezing every last drop of love out and into his bloodstream, where it can course through his veins, a warm electric buzz spreading through him with each beat. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I failed you today.”
“What?” Buck’s brow furrows. “Eddie, no.”
“I should have sent you home.”
“I wouldn’t have listened to you if you had.”
Eddie knows it's true, but it doesn't placate him much. He still feels so guilty, so foolish, so angry with himself. It’s only a fraction of what he was feeling earlier in the stairwell, but it’s still enough– still so powerful– he doesn't know if he’ll ever shake it.
“Come here.”
Eddie moves instantly, crossing the room and stepping up to the side of the hospital bed. Buck grabs his hand without hesitation, lacing their fingers together. That simple act alone is enough to take the edge off, to pull Eddie out of his spiral of self-loathing.
Buck runs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, frowning as he feels broken skin beneath his finger. He looks down at Eddie’s hand, at his busted knuckles, then back up at him. “Eddie,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He doesn't have to ask. He knows Eddie inside-out, backwards and forwards, six ways from Sunday. He knows exactly where Eddie’s head went, and exactly why his hand looks the way it does.
“I’m okay.” Buck says. “You didn’t do this. If anything, it was my own lack of self-preservation skills that did me in.”
“I just–”
Buck cuts him off. “There’s no one I trust more than you.”
Eddie doesn't say anything, just basks for a quick minute in the way his heart seems to hang a bit lower in his chest all of a sudden. He brings his free hand up to cup Buck’s face, running his thumb over his cheek affectionately. He drops his head, pressing a kiss to Buck’s forehead and giving his hand a squeeze.
Buck squeezes back, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes close and he takes a deep breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, just barely loud enough for Eddie to hear it.
“Love you more.”