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try-set-me-on-fire · 6 months

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Bed hair for the soft prompts if it inspires :3

@zahlibeth also asked for this one! On ao3 here!

It's easy to rely on habit in times of crisis. It’s been a long while since Athena has been put on security detail but her body still sinks into it, easy. Think of a grocery list, or a mediocre book you read, or try to remember all the rules of Risk — something to keep you from inattentive boredom, but not something so engaging you’ll be distracted. Feet a little apart, legs stiff but not locked, settle into your own bones because you’ll be here awhile.

It’s wrong, though, because if she were actually working she’d be in uniform, and she’d be by the door facing out instead of across the hall looking in, and she’d never be assigned to this room. She isn’t a doctor, there aren’t any hard and fast rules about family members, but any captain worth a damn would bench her for being too close to the situation to keep a clear head.

In the room, Eddie Diaz sets a plastic grocery store bag down on Evan Buckley’s bed. Buck shifts his thigh just a little to make room for it, gazing up at his friend with a smile that Athena can’t quite manage to look at without hurting. Every smile on that boy’s face since he woke up has hurt, for reasons Athena can’t quite explain to herself. Bobby has been shaking with relief, giddy with it, grinning down at the kid in awe whenever he’s in the room. Maybe that’s it; while Buck was unconscious she was needed as a rock, she had to be the solid foundation everyone could build themselves around. It’s okay now. Buck is awake — alive — and still sore, still not well, but he’s going to be okay. They can all relax. But here she is, standing guard, because everyone is alright and she can take her turn giving into paranoia and catastrophe.

She doesn’t think that’s quite it, though. It’s… she’s having trouble with the timeline. The facts of the case don’t feel like they’re adding up right, though she knows they’re true. Sunday afternoon: Evan Buckley was at the home of Robert Nash and Athena Grant. He was there for lunch. He sat at the kitchen table and he laughed, and he smiled. Monday night: Evan Buckley, in the regular course of his job, climbed a ladder to aid in putting out a fire in an apartment building. He was struck by lightning, and he died. Bobby, the one time she convinced him to come home and sleep in a bed, wept that he had again held the body of his son. Thursday morning: After four days in a coma fighting organ failure and other yet unknown effects of being hit by 300 million volts of electricity, Evan Buckley woke up. He woke up. He laughed with his father, with the rest of his family. He smiled, bright as he always has.

He smiled, he died, he’s smiling again. That’s what happened, indisputable, but each part of it feels wrong, feels tainted by the central event. How could he have smiled so happily on Sunday, when that was going to happen the next day? How can he smile so happily now that it has? He was in her house. She shouldn’t have let him leave.

“Alright,” Eddie says, pulling wet wipes, a spray bottle, various other things out of the bag. “I’m not gonna lie to you; after a few days of this your hair is going to feel as disgusting as it does now just in new and exciting ways, but hopefully by then you’ll be home. Or- at least they’ll let you take a real shower.”

Buck laughs, running a finger over the spines of a hair brush. “Dude, anything will be better than this. I feel like I’m made of grease.” He reaches a hand up — to run it through his limp hair, maybe — but winces and lowers it carefully again. Athena holds her breath yards away as Eddie freezes, minutely, just a tiny second of stillness before he’s smiling and opening the wipes.

“Well,” Eddie says, voice just as cheerful as before, “Luckily for you I am a master of the unsatisfying hospital hair cleaning routine.”

Buck almost giggles, shoulders wiggling like the way a child laughs. “Oh, please, show me your ways.”

Eddie holds up the wipe first. “Sorry this smells so flowery, but it’s the wettest brand of wipes I‘ve found.” He starts to hand the damp square to Buck, but hesitates. “Uh- I was going to let you- but it’ll be uncomfortable for- do you want me to just…”

“Sure,” Buck smiles. “I trust you.”

Eddie only made it in the room once while Buck was out, as far as Athena is aware. He’d haunted the hall like a ghost or a watchdog, though she supposes she’s not really one to talk while she’s posted out here. She watches as he directs Buck to scoot closer and stands as far to the back of the bed as he can get so he’s sort of behind Buck. She wonders if he’ll hesitate to touch him. She did. Since he woke up nearly 24 hours ago she has put a hand on his shoulder, once. It had been warm. He’d been moving, a little, half dead and even then unable to keep still. Eddie squeezes the wipe above Buck’s head, dripping faintly floral dampness, and then starts moving the cloth around his curls, and he doesn’t hesitate at all. Athena breathes in and out. Not half dead, she reminds herself. Mostly living.

Buck isn’t moving much now. He looks utterly relaxed as Eddie cleans away days of hospital grime. The man is so gentle about it, movements incredibly soft and slow, a hand supporting Buck’s head any time he needs to reposition to get at a new spot. She’d assumed this is a trick he’d learned after getting shot, but wonders now if this is an older skill, perfected on his child’s curls after any of Christopher’s hospital stays.

“Alright,” Eddie says, several discarded wipes later. He sets the last one on the mattress with a little flourish. “Step one complete.”

Buck opens eyes that drifted shut at some point, laughing quietly. “God, I feel better already.”

“Well, now it’s time for detangling, so don’t be too happy with me yet.”

Buck snorts, gingerly passing back the hair brush. “I’ll be brave, do your worst.”

Buck can’t see Eddie’s face with the way he’s standing, but Athena has a clear view. Sort of sad, kind of frightened. Athena is suddenly sure that he’s only ever going to do his absolute best for the man in the bed before him. “Okay,” he says, a warning before he starts, and she’s surprised that his voice doesn’t shake.

He begins with his fingers, pulling them so very carefully through the knotted strands, and it’s so intimate that Athena looks away on instinct. She counts all the chairs she can see in the waiting room, she reads all the signs on the walls. She doesn’t look in the room again until Buck speaks.

“Thank you.” He’s looking up at Eddie, neck craned as he tilts his head back, and she knows all the jokes about our Buckaroo, resident golden retriever, but it makes her think of a cat she had when she was younger. The tiny thing would plaster herself to your side and lean her head back up against you, so much love in her gaze you couldn’t help but smile back. Eddie smiles back, now.

“It’s no problem, Buck.”

“I can still thank you,” Buck says as Eddie leans over him to grab the spray bottle. Dry shampoo. He mists Buck’s head with it, ruffling his hair to get it evenly coated. “It’s polite.”

Eddie laughs, and Athena hadn’t realized his laughter before had been a little muted. “You don’t have to be polite to me.”

Buck grins. “Fine. Gel me up, peon.”

Eddie laughs again, loud and cackly, as he grabs the last tub from the bag. “Yes, sir. I got a pomade, it’s a little lighter than your normal stuff so hopefully the build up won’t feel so bad.”

“Okay.”

Eddie moves so he can see Buck’s face again, working the product into his hair and doing some light styling. The pomade doesn’t have much hold, his curls remain more prominent than they usually are, but he looks cleaner, a little neater, and definitely happier once Eddie is finished.

“There you are.” Eddie says, sitting back down in the chair pulled up to Buck’s bedside. He raises a pointed eyebrow, lips curved into a smirk. “Remember to leave a five star yelp review.”

Buck throws his head back in laughter, and Eddie sways forward into the orbit of it. The look on his face is- he’s lovestruck. She’d wondered about that — with more and more frequency lately, every story from Buck starting and ending with the other man — but she doesn’t know Eddie as well as some of the others on Bobby’s team and hadn’t wanted to assume. There is no doubt, though, looking at him now. Strangely, it makes Athena feel a little better. She definitely hadn’t known Eddie when his wife had passed but she knows it happened. She remembers Emmet, thinks of Marcy. Michael, and then Bobby. Buck and Eddie. The timeline — smiles, death, smiling again — is one she knows, after all, just in a different context, on a longer timeline.

When Buck leans forward again after his guffaw Eddie hasn’t moved back, so they end up very close to each other, matching grins reflecting between them. Eddie spots a bit of product near Buck’s temple and reaches up with a thumb to wipe it away, and it’s such a casual gesture until, suddenly, Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. When he falls apart he does it with a swift efficiency that something in Athena admires. His face shatters, his whole body slumps forward like a puppet with cut strings, a sob rattles up out of him with no preamble.

Buck’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t necessarily look surprised. “Oh, Eddie…” he breathes, leaning even closer on his pillow.

“S-sorry,” Eddie gasps, scrubbing at his face like the touch of his palm will put him back together, sucking in air to try and stop the weeping. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Buck’s tone is so gentle, so patient. Athena realizes she still thinks of him as a kid — a fool kid much of the time — but he doesn’t seem so young as he rests a calm hand on Eddie’s arm.

“For- I- I shouldn’t fall apart like this.”

“Why not?” Buck asks, laughing just a little. “You know I was a mess when you- it’s fine, Eds.”

“But-“

“You want me to forgive you?” Buck asks, eyebrows raised, a look on his face like he’d wanted the same, once. “I will. You’re forgiven.”

“I couldn’t- I couldn’t-“ Eddie takes a few more shuddering breaths and Buck just waits him out. “I couldn’t come in here. You were in here and I couldn’t- I left you alone.”

“I forgive you,” Buck says, easy as anything. Eddie’s face pinches up again, and he shakes his head sort of desperately even as Buck’s hand soothes up and down between wrist and elbow.

“I broke your ribs,” he says, voice cracking like the bones must have under his frantic compressions.

Buck’s free hand travels to his chest, and his fingers tap a little heartbeat rhythm there. “I forgive you, Eddie.”

“I love you,” Eddie says, in a voice Athena has heard in interrogation rooms and the priest’s box after Sunday mass. Buck’s inhale can’t be very loud, but she hears it all the way from the hall.

“I’m not forgiving you for that,” he says, a little winded but very firm. He sits up in his bed, ignoring Eddie’s worried hands hovering around him as he puts his own on either side of Eddie’s face. “I’m not- please, don’t apologize for that.”

“Sorry- I- I mean-“ Eddie smiles like he can’t help it as Buck’s gentle amused huff hits his face, even as tears still stream across his skin. “I won’t. I just wish I’d told you sooner.”

“You can tell me now,” Buck says, sliding a thumb over Eddie’s wet cheek. “Again. You can tell me again, and- and tomorrow, and the next day- I’m right here. It’s not too late, Eddie. I’m right here.”

Eddie nods, breathing unevenly again, and then they sort of fall into each other, holding and being held, so carefully but tight enough that Athena isn’t sure of the force it would take to pull them apart again. She inhales long and exhales slow. She can sort of see Buck’s face, smiling into Eddie’s shoulder, and it still hurts but she can maybe see how it might not, eventually. Right here, and tomorrow and the next day. He’ll still be in the hospital for a little while but- maybe, when he’s settled back at home, he’d like to come over for lunch.

Athena stands up straight, takes one last long look, and leaves Buck in safe hands.

#my writing #brick classic…. dropping fic in the dead of night….#athena grant #Buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc

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