#eddie diaz lockscreen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

set-phasers-to-whump · 2 years

Text

the very noisy night

prompt: caught in a storm

whumpee: eddie diaz

fandom: 911

hi what's up! it's been a hot minute since i've done a 911 fic but i'm never not obsessed with this show i swear. anyway this is a pre-ship buddie fic set like. current-ish in the show. hope you enjoy!

Eddie is miserable, to put it bluntly. He feels like absolute shit. Like he’s been run over by a truck and then dragged along behind it for good measure.

He’s sick.

Well and truly sick. There isn’t a part of his body that doesn’t ache, from his head down through his legs. It feels like every other breath he takes turns into a cough. He’s lost track of how many times he’s begun shivering and wrapped himself up in all the blankets he could find, only to immediately begin sweating like he’s just run a marathon.

And it isn’t like he hasn’t tried to make it better. He’s taken the maximum dosage of tylenol and a few hours ago he had tried some old cough syrup he’d found in the back of a cabinet for good measure (the less said about that particular experience, the better). He’s even trying to keep himself hydrated, though it’s not easy to do that when getting up out of bed to refill his water glass seems like the most difficult challenge the world could pose.

At least Chris is spending the weekend with Abuela. He’d hate to get his son sick, or to not be able to be there for him.

But this means he’s completely alone. He half wishes he could trade places with Chris, really, he thinks, as he lies atop his sweaty sheets with his face pressed into a pillow. He’s miserable enough to want to be in the presence of someone who cares about him. Someone who will put a hand to his forehead and touch his hair and bring him water so he doesn’t have to drag himself to the kitchen while trying his hardest not to pass out.

Not that this is going to happen. Besides, he tries to scold himself with the rational part of his brain, he’s used to taking care of himself.

I don’t care, argues the sick and vulnerable part of him. I want someone to hold me and tell me that it’s all okay.

A few tears soak into his pillow, but before they can turn into anything more, he falls asleep.

He wakes up disoriented and hot. At some point he’d burrowed under the blankets, and he spends several frantic seconds trying to disentangle himself from them, nearly falling out of bed in the process. Eventually he frees himself and then lies there, out of breath and staring up at the ceiling, which he can’t actually see because it’s dark.

It hadn’t been dark when he had fallen asleep, he thinks, though he can’t really remember for sure. Anyway, it’s dark now but he’s awake and he feels even worse than he had before he’d fallen asleep, which he wouldn’t have thought was possible. His head feels weird and thinking is difficult. He should do something about this, but he’s in no condition to figure out what.

And then there’s a horrifically bright light coming from his side table. He turns toward it, squinting, and grabs his phone, its screen lit up from a notification, with sweaty hands. He’s about to press the power button to get rid of the terrible brightness when he catches sight of the image on his lockscreen. He stares at this image that he’s seen every day for the past year or so as though it’s the most amazing thing in the world.

It’s a picture of Chris and Buck at the zoo. They’re both beaming and holding ice cream cones and there’s a tiger in the enclosure behind them. The picture gives Eddie an idea, but just as quickly as the idea had come to mind, he loses sight of it.

He needs to remember. He turns the phone back on, braving the blinding light, and stares. Should he go to the zoo? No, that’s not it. And he can’t go to Chris because if he does then Chris will get sick and that would be really bad.

But he can go to Buck. Buck is strong, so Eddie thinks he probably won’t get sick. And anyway, he’s a firefighter. He’s around sick people all the time. So it will be okay. He can go to Buck and Buck can help and then everything will be fine and he won’t feel so bad anymore.

He just has to get there.

Thinking may be hard, but Eddie’s not stupid even so. He knows he can’t drive like this. So he’ll just have to walk. He knows the way.

Compelled forward only by the momentum of having made a decision, Eddie pushes himself out of bed, gets so lightheaded he nearly passes out, then carefully pulls on a discarded pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his shoes. He’s halfway to the sidewalk when it occurs to him that he hadn’t locked the door or grabbed his phone or his keys, but there’s no way he’s turning around now. It will be fine, anyway. Nobody is going to break into his house, and he knows where he’s going, so it isn’t like he needs his phone.

The walk to Buck’s apartment is so much longer than the drive. It’s a cool night, but Eddie begins sweating immediately, and then the sweat cools on his skin and makes him shiver. It’s horrible, absolutely horrible. But he has to keep going, now that he’s started.

He’s just passed a restaurant that he recognizes as being roughly the halfway point between their houses when everything goes from bad to worse.

It starts to rain. And it’s not a drizzle, either. Thunder rolls across the sky and lightning flashes and within seconds it’s pouring. The cold rain soaks Eddie to the core and for a few moments it actually feels good, because he’s definitely not sweating anymore. But then the coldness catches up to him and he starts shaking and he’s probably never been this cold in his whole life. He wants to sit down. He wants to crawl into his bed and fall asleep. He wants someone to wrap him in a blanket and pull him inside and hold him until he stops shivering.

Instead, he keeps walking through the storm, tears and rain mingling on his cheeks.

After an eternity of walking, Eddie arrives at Buck’s building. Almost all of the lights inside are off, but he knows what it looks like, and anyway, he can see Buck’s Jeep in the parking lot beneath a streetlight. This means that Buck is here, which means that things will be okay.

As he walks up the stairs (slowly and very carefully so that he doesn’t slip), Eddie experiences a moment of doubt - what if Buck is mad at him? After all, he’s dripping wet and so sick he can’t even think and also it’s the middle of the night and he knows Buck has said come over anytime but surely he hadn’t meant anytime. But he’s already here and the possibility of Buck not being mad is more than enough to propel him onwards.

He arrives at Buck’s door and realizes that he’d left his keys at home. He’ll have to knock. He raises a shaking hand, balls it into half a fist, and knocks so weakly that for several seconds he wonders whether he’d actually knocked at all.

After what feels like a very long time, the door swings open and Buck is there. He’s wearing pajamas and his hair is messy but his eyes are wide and alert.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, grabbing Eddie’s arm and pulling him inside when Eddie doesn’t immediately step forwards on his own.

Eddie just stares at him. He isn’t mad. Buck isn’t mad and his apartment is so nice and warm and his hand is steady and very real and still holding onto Eddie’s arm. But he’s freezing and achy and so, so miserable and this contrast is so startling that for several seconds Eddie finds himself quite incapable of doing anything.

And then Buck lets go of his arm and presses his hand to Eddie’s forehead instead. “Jesus, Eds, you’re soaking wet but you’re burning up,” he says. His voice is soft and concerned and his hand is the most comforting thing Eddie has ever felt in his entire life.

Something inside of him shatters at the feeling that this simple contact generates, and all of a sudden he’s quite powerless to stop himself from beginning to cry.

“Eddie,” Buck says, and his hand drops from Eddie’s forehead and then he’s stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Eddie, pulling him impossibly close and then just holding on.

Eddie experiences a brief moment of utter disconnect before he registers what is happening, and then he reaches up and latches his hands onto the thin fabric of Buck’s t-shirt like it’s a lifeline and he’s a drowning man.

Eddie presses his face into Buck’s shoulder and then Buck’s fingers are in his hair and he tries to bite back a sob but can’t. This is so nice and it’s all he’s ever wanted but it’s nothing he deserves but he’s so miserable and sick that he barely even cares. He has this, somehow, regardless of deserving, regardless of wanting.

He does not stop crying for a very long time.

Eventually, though, the tears do stop, and then Eddie starts coughing, and everything shifts. Buck slowly pulls away and Eddie lets his hands drop back down to his sides.

“Come on,” Buck says, and Eddie follows him to the bathroom. Buck pulls a towel off of the rack and hands it to him.

“Dry yourself off, alright? I’ll be right back.”

And then Buck is gone and Eddie is standing there alone in the middle of the bathroom, suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he is still dripping wet.

He towels himself off to the best of his ability, but his clothes are so waterlogged and he’s so tired that it’s impossible for him to get fully dry. Eventually he gets too tired to keep standing and sinks down onto the closed lid of the toilet, where he halfheartedly dries off his hair.

Buck returns with another towel and a pile of clothes, some of which Eddie recognizes as his own. He sets the clothes down onto the counter and then hands Eddie the new towel, pulling the now soggy one away.

“You can put on these clothes,” he offers, gesturing to the pile on the counter. “They’re mostly yours, so they should fit.”

Eddie nods mutely. It kind of makes his head spin.

“I’ll be back in five minutes. Yell for me if you need anything.”

Eddie nods again, and then Buck is gone again.

He very slowly strips out of his wet clothes and shoes, then dries himself off for a second, much more successful, time. Once he’s mostly dry, he sets about getting dressed.

Among the new clothing items are a pair of his own sweatpants and one of his old LAFD training t-shirts. There’s also a hoodie which belongs to Buck. It’s just slightly too big for him and it’s the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn. Already, he never wants to take it off.

He emerges from the bathroom and comes face-to-face with Buck, who immediately puts a hand to Eddie’s forehead again. “You’re still really warm,” he says. “Hold on a second.”

He steps past Eddie into the bathroom, and Eddie momentarily feels bad for leaving his wet clothes and towels all over the place. But Buck doesn’t comment on this, just digs through a cabinet and then emerges with a thermometer.

It’s one of the ones that goes across the forehead. Buck passes it over Eddie’s skin and then stares at it. “102.3. Could be worse, but you were out in the rain so it might actually be a little higher. Have you had any tylenol recently?”

Eddie shrugs. “Before I fell asleep.”

“When was that?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t dark.”

“Okay. You can have another dose, then. Have you been drinking lots of fluids?”

Eddie shrugs again. “Some.”

“Come with me.”

They go out to the kitchen. Eddie sits at the table while Buck fills a glass with water and takes a medicine bottle from a cupboard.

“Take these and drink all of that.”

Eddie complies. The water feels wonderful on his throat, but then it makes him cough. He’s quite distracted for a few seconds, and when the coughing stops he becomes aware of Buck’s hand on his back. As soon as he’s aware of it, though, Buck moves, and then he’s sitting next to Eddie and his hand is on Eddie’s leg instead.

“How are you feeling?”

Eddie shrugs and wills himself to not start crying again. “Bad,” he says, honestly.

Buck makes a sympathetic noise. “I bet. Why didn’t you call me?”

He’s starting to feel less foggy in the head and realizes that he has absolutely no idea why he didn’t do that. It seems so obvious, now. “I don’t know.”

“And you walked all the way here, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm?” As Buck says this, there’s a clap of thunder, like the universe is emphasizing his point.

“Wasn’t storming when I left,” is Eddie’s defense.

Buck inhales like he’s about to say something, but then goes quiet. “Never mind,” he says, after a beat. “You made it here and you’re alright.”

Eddie would argue that alright is a relative term. “Don't exactly feel alright.”

Buck’s hand moves to his shoulder. “I’m sure. I wish I could do more to help you, but there’s really nothing else we can do right now except let the fever run its course, and keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

This answer isn’t a surprise to Eddie - he is a medic and does know how fevers work - but god, he wishes there was some immediate remedy. Mostly, though, he just wishes he could go back to sleep.

As soon as the thought of sleep crosses his mind, he’s yawning.

“Think you can make it upstairs?”

He blinks at Buck, uncomprehending, and yawns again.

“So you can sleep, I mean.”

“In your bed?”

“Well, I don’t currently have a couch. Not that I’d make you sleep on a couch when you’re sick, anyway.”

He stares at Buck for a little while. “And you?”

Buck shrugs. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh.” Eddie is a little disappointed with that answer. It’s selfish, he knows, after everything Buck has done for him already, but he wants - lord help him, he wants nothing so much as to curl up in Buck’s bed with Buck there. But he can’t - he can’t ask.

“Or,” Buck says, and his voice is quieter now, unsure. “I can stay. Only if you want me to. If you’re cold it might be nice to have the added warmth, but…”

“You’d stay?” It’s Eddie’s voice that is unsure now.

“Yeah, of course.”

This is how he ends up curled up beneath Buck’s comforter and a thick layer of blankets that Buck had produced from seemingly nowhere. There’s a bottle of tylenol on the bedside table, and a bag of cough drops, and three glasses of water, and a thermometer.

Most importantly, Buck is there. Eddie can feel his presence on the other side of the bed. They’re not quite touching, but they’re close enough for it to be a matter of a tiny movement.

They’re already here, and it really would be so easy. Eddie takes the chance and rolls himself over so that he’s facing Buck.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Think your fever’s going down?”

Probably not, if he’s honest. He still feels physically quite bad. He’s shivering ever so slightly and the achiness and exhaustion are absolutely bone-deep. But. He isn’t alone.

“Not really.”

“So you don’t feel any better?”

“You’re here. Course I do.”

Buck smiles at him, and he looks so fond that Eddie has to once again stop his fevered self from crying. Instead, he closes his eyes and then tests his luck. He shifts slightly, putting himself firmly into Buck’s space.

Buck throws an arm over him and draws him closer still, until Eddie is curled up right against him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Night, Buck. Love you,” he mumbles, and then closes his eyes.

He’s asleep before he can process the words he’s just said, before he can process Buck’s reply.

“Night, Eddie. Love you, too.”

thanks for reading!!! i couldn't resist getting kind of ridiculously soft with this, what can i say it's simply where the currents took me. anyways i had a lot of fun writing this and i hope you enjoyed!

#whumptober2022 #no.9 #caught in a storm #911 #eddie diaz #fic #sick #fever #wet #comfort #my writing #i say things #hope i did alright with eddie's character here vis a vis wanting comfort but also thinking he shouldn't need it #lord knows i know a thing or two about that one lmao #aaaaaanyway. hope we see more of these two soon i need to lose my mind again !!!#also idk i love the thought of buck going full mother hen mode when someone's sick. idk. it just feels right lol #yeah. goodnight!!

16 notes · View notes

saltwater-and-woodsmoke · 1 year

Text

Stupid Things (Good Outcomes) || JJ Maybank || Prologue

All things considered, Los Angeles wasn’t a bad place to end up when you’re freshly twenty three. Sure, it’s no Pelican, North Carolina, but JJ Maybank likes well enough.

Words: 1,982

Pairings: JJ Maybank x OFC (Mariella “Mari” Diaz); mentioned Eddie Diaz x Evan “Buck” Buckley.

Warnings: mentions of drowning, sparknotes version of OBX as told by JJ Maybank. Eddie gets called a tonto. Mentions of Eddie being shot

Also on ao3

All things considered, Los Angeles wasn’t a bad place to be when you’re freshly twenty three. It was no Pelican, North Carolina, but JJ Maybank never expected he’d ever actually leave the damn island. Except, you know, for the time he was stuck on an uninhabited island with his friends for six weeks or the time he’d flown to South America in a cargo plane of weed, but neither of those things were so bad when he thought about them.

The studio apartment he rented in LA was expensive, but he had his share of El Dorado and Royal Merchant gold to help pay for that, and when you spent the majority of your high school days couch surfing because your one living parent was too drunk to pay the bills and he skipped town when you were seventeen, you learned quickly to not take up too much space. He liked the vibe of Los Angeles. The surf was decent, he worked as a bartender, and he’d even made a couple friends in his time there.

The surf was decent, the weather was nicer than North Carolina, and that day, a Saturday in May, JJ found himself sitting on a beach soaking up the warm sun while he sipped the beer he’d swiped from one of his friends that had joined him while he texted the Pogues back home.

Kie was telling him all about her most recent trip to Bali with her girlfriend, Avery. John B was giving him an update on the latest house he was flipping while also giving him updates on Sarah’s pregnancy and sending the most adorable photo of his two year old goddaughter, Scout, popsicle mouth and all as she grinned. He couldn’t help but smile at the photo, saving it to make it his lockscreen later.

He was replying to Pope about his plans to fly home for a few days in June for Father’s Day, planning a barbecue at the Routledge household to celebrate Bobby Heyward who had been both his and John B’s father figure after his own dad skipped town and Big John had died when he heard it. It was a mother, yelling at a girl no more than eight years old to come closer to shore because she was getting too far out.

He watched for several moments before he realized what he was seeing. The girl was swimming like she was attempting to get closer to shore but she was struggling and getting farther out. Fuck. He knew immediately what was happening, wasting no time standing up and ripping his shirt off before tossing his sunglasses and phone on the towel he’d been sitting on.

Getting to the girl wasn’t an issue, but he could tell she was exhausted and had inhaled an unknown amount of water in her panicked state. One arm wrapped around her tightly while he swam like hell to get them both out of there. The girl was unconscious by the time his feet were back in the sand and he went into action before looking at the panicked crowd that had gathered.

“Fuck, someone call 9-1-1!” He yelled before finding the moms eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Clara”

“Okay.” He tried to smile through his own panic. He continued to provide chest compressions and rescue breaths for what felt like a lifetime. His arms ached, he could hear the sirens approaching as he kept going, telling the girl to just hang in there. Finally, he could see paramedics rushing towards them, the mother of the girl telling them that her name was Clara Logan and she was eight years old. Before the woman could kneel down and take over there was a gasp from the girl, then coughing as she started to expel the water in her lungs.

He quickly helped stabilize her neck as they moved her to her side so she wouldn’t re-aspirate on the water before he let the medics take over. As he stood there, he couldn’t help but feel ten years old again. It was a feeling that he quickly pushed down as the medics worked quickly, stabilizing her and getting her on a gurney before one of the other firefighters stopped and looked at him.

“What’s your name, sir?” He asked.

JJ froze, looking at him before clearing his throat. “Uh, JJ. JJ Maybank, sir.”

“Well, JJ.” He started, sticking his hand out for JJ to shake. “I’m Captain Nash. Your quick thinking saved that little girl's life today.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey you’re the guy from the beach today, right?”

The voice brought JJ out his thoughts. The scene from that afternoon had been replaying in his head since he’d gotten home, his thoughts dragging him back to when he’d lost his brother. He’d decided that he needed to get out of his apartment so despite that it was his night off, he had come to the bar and was sitting in a corner booth with his beer.

“Uh, yeah.” He answered. “I’m JJ.”

“Mariella Diaz.” She smiled, sliding into the other side of the booth. “The tonto at the bar ordering drinks is my brother, Eddie.”

“You’re the paramedics that showed up, right?”

“We are.” She confirmed. “Although, I have to say it would have been a completely different outcome had you not been there. The mother said she was stuck in a rip current, those usually don’t end well. She said you just jumped in without a thought and pulled her out. Most people wouldn’t have thought to do that.”

JJ was silent, kind of shocked by this woman’s boldness. She’d just sat down and started talking to him like they were old friends and he didn’t know what to say. Before he could reply, her brother showed up and gave her a disapproving look.

“Mari, what have I told you about talking to strangers.” He told her, but sat down next to her anyway. “Here’s your straight whiskey, you crazy ass woman. I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“This is JJ.” She told him. “He’s the guy that jumped in after that little girl today, so not a stranger. I was just telling him that most people wouldn’t jump in like that.”

“Well.” JJ sighed as he took a drink. “I couldn’t just watch another kid die like that.”

Both siblings were quiet, looking at him with shocked expressions as they took in that information. It was clear that Mariella wanted to ask, but was afraid to so he just gave them both a weak smile.

“Thirteen years ago, I was ten years old and my brother, Tyler, took me to the beach. The surf was rough, but our dad had been drinking again and he wanted to make sure I was out of the house so we went to the beach. I was standing on the shore while he took our one surfboard out and he was knocked off. I didn’t know anything about rip currents but when the board came back and he didn’t, it scared me. I could just barely see him struggling. He was so far out. So I ran to the nearest adult and told them, but they couldn’t get to him in time. They finally got him back to shore, and did CPR until paramedics arrived, but it was too late.” He took another drink. “He was only fifteen. He just, he was the one that always took the brunt of what my dad did when he was drunk because he didn’t want me to get hurt. After he died, my dad got worse and eventually skipped town when I was sixteen.”

“Shit” she frowned. “I’m sorry, that had to be rough. Edmundo here drives me insane but a couple years ago he was shot and the thought of him dying terrified me. I couldn’t imagine if he actually died.”

“It was hard.” JJ told her. “But it’s been thirteen years, y’know? I still think of him all the time. If he would have gotten out, what he’d be doing now. It was part of the reason I even came to California. He always said he wanted to see the west coast.”

“That’s a good thing.” Eddie told him. “Keep his memory alive.”

“I uh, I came into some money when I was almost seventeen. It was kind of a local legend, this ship that went down with 400 million in gold.” JJ half smiled, thinking of the adventure he and his friends had gone on years ago. “The Royal Merchant. My friend, his dad was obsessed with it. Well, Big John went missing when we were sixteen and John B, he became obsessed that his dad was still alive.”

“Was he?”

“Yeah.” JJ laughed. “We almost died like, four times. John B was framed for murder by his girlfriend's dad and brother. I stole my dads boat to help them off the island when that happened. But the boat capsized in a tropical storm, they were presumed dead, then they weren’t dead and ended up in the Bahamas. Sarah’s brother shot her, she died for a couple minutes, they came back to North Carolina, John B was arrested. I got hit in the head with a machete.”

“Holy shit.”

“It gets wilder. We were stranded on an island for six weeks, and survived a plane crash. There was a train heist. Sarah’s ex boyfriend burned down John B’s house while we were all inside of it. Kie’s parents shipped her off to wilderness camp because “we were bad influences on her” and I busted her out, then rode in a cargo ship full of weed to South America.”

“Wait.” Eddie stopped the younger man. “I think my husband read an article or something about this. Four teenagers from North Carolina who found El Dorado.”

“Yeah.” JJ laughed. “We went through a lot of shit in like a four month time span. Also, technically only John B and Sarah found El Dorado. They were the only two who actually saw it. We were held hostage by this crazy man trying to get rich off of it and he was going to shoot Sarah, but her dad literally sacrificed himself to save her. Threw himself off a cliff taking one of this guy’s buddies down. Big John was shot and didn’t make it back. Anyway, they split the money six ways. We didn’t actually get any of it until we were eighteen, but I have a good little nest egg to sit on.”

“How much is “little”? I’m just curious.”

“About sixty seven million a piece.” JJ told them. “Actually, it’s probably more due to interest now. I kept most of it in a savings account.”

“He sounds like Buck.” Mari laughed. “And his trust fund.”

“Who’s Buck?” JJ questioned.

“My husband.” Eddie clarified. “His grandparents started a trust fund for him when he was little that he couldn’t access until he was twenty five, but didn’t tell his parents about it, only his older sister. So by the time they got back in contact, he was twenty six and this money had been sitting collecting interest for twenty years, so he had more money than he knew what to do with, so he just….left it sit. He used part of it to put a down payment on our house and start college funds for my son and our daughter. But otherwise, he just uses what he makes.”

“I don’t know, you just remind me of him. Especially when he was younger and super impulsive.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing.” JJ laughed. “It sounds messed up but I wasn’t trying to be a hero today, but when she came to, god it felt good being able to say I did that.”

“Well, your impulsiveness saved a kid's life today, JJ.” Mari told him. “And you should be proud of that.”