Chapter Text
Buck took another swig from the rum bottle before answering Eddie’s call on the fourth ring. If he’d been thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have answered it, but, at this point, denying himself any contact with his best friend was just something he couldn’t make himself do.
“‘Lo?” he answered, voice low enough that he hoped the slur was imperceptible.
It’s been a week since he last heard Eddie’s voice in the grocery store, the echo of you’re exhausting running through his head again and again. Bobby had called him that evening, let him know that the Chief was in negotiations to get him reinstated, that they hadn’t wanted the headache of a lawsuit.
Because that’s all he was: a headache.
“Buck? Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, Eds,” he answered, working to enunciate past the numbness in his lips, “you ‘kay?”
“Look, um, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day about. . . about Chris, and Abuela told me he’s been asking to talk to you all night before bed,” Eddie blew out an exasperated breath, and Buck could imagine the way the older man rubbed the back of his neck, thick eyebrows drawn together. “I know it would mean a lot for him to talk to you. . .”
Buck’s lips wobbled as he thought of Chris, that precious little ball of sunshine that he’d lost in the water. His breath hitched, and he took another slug of rum, trying to dull the pain in his chest. He grabbed another tiny, yellow tablet from the coffee table, sticking it under his tongue as he looked out the dark loft windows.
“—Buck? Buck?!”
“Hmm?” Buck returned his attention to Eddie. He didn’t even know he’d stopped paying attention. “Sorry, ‘m s’ry, Ed’s, what?”
“I just asked if you wanted to talk to Christopher,” his tone was incredulous, “hell man, I’m taking a huge step here trusting you to talk to my son. Do you really not care?”
Buck’s face screwed up at the anger in Eddie’s voice, trying to keep the hurt from entering his own. “Ah-course I care, Eds. S’just. . . It’s not r’lly a good t’me. . .” he couldn’t disguise his increasing slur, but he hoped he held back the sound of the thick sob growing in his throat, “Chris shoul’n’t talk t’me like this.” He tucked his free arm around his torso and pressed his face into his jean clad knees, trying to muffle his wet sniffle. I’m sorry, Superman, he thought, heartbroken.
“Buck, are you drunk?!” Eddie hissed, voice lowering as it became even more disbelieving. “You’re on blood thinners, Evan, are you crazy? What happened to taking care of yourself so you could get back to the station?”
He laughed, the sound wavering and wrong. “Dunn’t matter, Eds,” he answered, leaning back against the bottom of the couch, head tipping back for another swallow of liquor. He grabbed at the table clumsily, hearing a couple of skitters across the floor. The chalky texture of the pills was unpleasant, and his tongue worked against the inside of his mouth, washing it down with more rum.
“What? What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Wasn’t that the whole point of the lawsuit? Wasn’t that the whole point of you not being around?” Eddie’s voice was angry, his tone taking the same razor edge it had in the grocery store when he’d had his finger in Buck’s face.
Buck shook his head, rubbing clumsily at his eyes as they started to water, forgetting that Eddie couldn’t see him. “Nah... not really,” he mumbled, honesty forced to the surface through alcohol and drugs, “I jus’ wanted to c’me home, but ev’n Bobby d’n wan’ me back. Nobody wants me, Eds,” he whimpered, “‘M alone.”
Parents didn’t want him. Maddie abandoned him twice, Abby left, Ali couldn’t handle him. . .Bobby didn’t want him.
The crew of the 118 didn’t understand why the job meant so much to him. They had families, kids, lives outside of the station. What did Buck have really? A group of people who didn’t want him, didn’t understand him. At least as a firefighter he made a difference, saved lives. Who was Evan Buckley without that? What did he have without that?
An empty apartment, and a sister who didn’t need him. He didn’t have Eddie and Chris, they weren’t his, not really. He’d ruined whatever they could have been with the lawsuit, with abandoning them, however unintentionally. Eddie would never forgive him, not after Shannon did the same thing
All the while, playing on repeat: You’re exhausting. Suck it up. You’re exhausting. Suck it up. You’re exhausting.
“What are you talking about, Buck? We’re pissed, but we’re a family, okay? You had a place in the 118 until the damn lawsuit, hell, from what I hear you’re getting that spot back. All you had to do was talk to us, Buck, and none of this would’ve happened.”
That was Buck. The impulsive fuck up. Didn’t think about the consequences.
“Would you—“ he hiccuped, rubbing a few more tears away with his damp sleeve, “—w’ld you tell Chris m’sorry? I jus’ couldn’t keep swimmin’, ‘kay? He’s such an awesome kid, s’not his fault I’m fucked up.”
“What? Buck, you’re not making any sense.”
“Might be the pills,” he mumbled, “makin’ errything fuzzy.”
“Pills?!” Eddie gasped liked he’d been sucker punched, “Buck, what?”
“Jusss dinn’t wanna hurt anymore, Eds,” he tried to explain, “feels like my chest’s always ‘bout to implode. M’heart’s bein’ crushed,” he snorted indelicately, “s’worse than my leg. Hurts. M’so tired a’hurtin’, Eds.”
“Oh, Buck, cariño mio,” it sounded like Eddie was about to cry, “do you know how many you took?” He thought he heard a feminine voice in the background, thick with concern. “Me tengo que ir, Abuela, te lo explicare mas tarde. Call 9-1-1 to Buck’s. Now.” There was the sound of a door slamming, and Eddie breathing hard into the phone.
“Don’ call 9-1-1, Eds,” he slurred, “m’fine, don’ wanna bother Maddie.”
“You’re not fine,” Eddie snapped, “do you know how many you took? What did you take?”
“Don’ be mad,” he started crying softly, “can’t stand when you’re mad a’me. M’sorry I lost Chris, m’so sorry.”
“Buck,” Eddie took a deep breath, his tone softening, ”Chris is home safe, I told you I don’t blame you for that. Cariño, I need to know what you took, how much did you take?”
“I dunno,” he mumbled, “had ‘lot from my sug’ry dinn’t use. Tried t’get better faster. Dinn’t work,” he sniffled, swallowing thickly, voice shaking, “cause m’not good enough.”
“Buck, Evan,” there was a car door slamming in the background, an engine revving, “you’re good, so good, nothing’s been the same without you, cariño, please.”
“You don’ want me, Eds,” Buck slurred, biting his lip as his heart gave a viscous squeeze. It didn’t matter than Buck had wanted Eddie since he’d seen him in that locker room for the first time, had fallen in love with him and his son after seeing them after that earthquake. Eddie didn’t, could never, want Buck back. Couldn’t love Buck the same way he loved him, with everything, every ounce of himself. He hiccuped back a sob as he took another slug of rum, another pill to chase away the pain, head lolling on the couch cushions, “Bosko already replaced me anyway. . .s’better.”
Bosko would take care of Eddie. It’s not like Buck had done a very good job of having Eddie’s back.
“Bosko?! What—How?!” Eddie couldn’t seem to settle on a question, an inarticulate noise of bewilderment trailing his quick breaths. “Talk to me, cariño, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“The truck, the embolism, the tsu—tsunami. . .“ he blinked slowly, taking a shallow breath and sighing it out over the phone, lips wobbling as he sniffled back a whine, “M’be the w’rld’s tryin’ t’tell me somethin’, ya know?”
“Buck, Evan, what are you saying?” The other man’s voice was shattered, and it broke Buck’s heart, destroying the last dam holding back his tears.
“‘M jus’ so tired, Eds,” he sobbed, letting the tears stream down his cheeks. “I know ‘m exhausting,” he said, quoting Eddie’s words that had burned their way into his brain, “but ‘m jus’ so tired. M’sorry, I can’t. . .can’t do it anymore.” The lump in his throat became too thick to force words past, and he sobbed harder, head swimming.
Everything was becoming heavier, breaths shallower as his eyelids slid closed. The rum bottle tipped to the side, clinking against the floor as a dribble of liquid splashed out onto his limp hand. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept without nightmares, without being crushed by a ladder truck, being swept away by the water, without losing Chris. Seeing the blame in Eddie’s eyes for losing his son.
Couldn’t he just sleep?
“—uck! Evan?! Don’t you dare go to sleep! I’m almost there, please, cariño mio, por favor.”
Had he said that stuff out loud? He hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t find the energy to apologize as the phone slipped from his hand. Eddie’s voice became even more muffled until even that went away.