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buddie-buddie · 10 months

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as long as you're right here (stay next to me)

2.2k - g - read on ao3

The fireworks show is Buck’s idea.

Not that Eddie puts up much of a fight once he sees the hopeful glint in Buck’s eye. But still. Buck’s idea.

“Fireworks?” Eddie asks, passing Buck the stack of plates he’d just pulled out of the dishwasher. He used to like fireworks. It feels like a lifetime ago, but he did. Before he was choppered out of a combat zone with a couple of bullets and some shrapnel beneath his skin. Before he almost bled out on the pavement in the middle of the day and added another couple of scars to his collection. Before sparks rained down in the middle of a parking lot and left Buck’s lifeless body hanging limply from the ladder truck.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” Buck says by way of reply, putting the plates away before turning back to Eddie. “We have to see fireworks on the Fourth of July.”

It is the Fourth of July after all, and Christopher is sleeping at the Wilsons’ which means Eddie and Buck have the night to themselves. Fireworks might not be the worst idea. Sure, they’d have to go to the ones in the park to avoid running into Christopher and his friends at the pier, lest they commit the ultimate parents-of-a-preteen crime.

But it could be nice. Romantic, even. Eddie can picture it now. Just the two of them, laying side by side in the grass and staring up at the stars, hands intertwined as they wait for the show to begin. Although he doesn’t think there’s anything romantic about his chest tightening and his heart rate ratcheting up as soon as the explosions begin. Nothing screams “romance” quite like his palms sweating and his skin buzzing beneath an onslaught of anxiety.

Any protests Eddie might’ve had die on his tongue when he goes to pass Buck the silverware basket and instead finds himself lost in the sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes. There’s something hopeful there, something that has Eddie setting the basket down on the counter and stepping around the dishwasher door, something that has him snaking his hands around Buck’s waist, something that has him saying, “Okay, baby,” before meeting Buck’s lips in a kiss.

Eddie understands why Buck wanted to come. It’s… well, it’s kind of perfect. The sun is dipping beneath the horizon, leaving the sky painted in shades of purple that slowly bleed into blue. The balmy air smells like popcorn and Buck’s lips taste like cotton candy, which makes the twenty minutes spent waiting in line for it completely worth it, as far as Eddie's concerned.

There are plenty of other people here, but there’s more than enough room for everyone to spread out and have their space.

“This is nice,” Eddie says, once they’re settled on the blanket Buck insisted they bring. Buck hums in agreement, leaning his head against Eddie’s shoulder as their fingers tangle together.

. . .

The first explosion startles them both. There’s plenty of warning, and yet Buck feels Eddie tense beneath him, the muscles in his shoulders coiling tight as the first round of fireworks burst in the sky above them. His own breath hitches in his throat, and he catches himself gripping Eddie’s hand just a little bit tighter.

Eddie squeezes back almost instantly, without hesitation. It’s the reminder Buck needs that Eddie’s here, that he’s safe. That this won’t be like the last couple of times a similar sound echoed around them. That no one’s going to be left bleeding out in the middle of the street. No one’s going to be dangling lifeless in the air as a driving rain pours down over them.

“We’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. Somehow, amidst the explosions and cheers and voices around them, Eddie’s quiet assurance rings the loudest.

“We’re okay,” Buck echoes. He squeezes Eddie’s hand again.

When the next round is fired off, neither one of them flinches.

There’s something a little bit surreal about it, living in this moment. It’s the same feeling he has every morning when he wakes up next to Eddie, the same feeling he has every time he packs Christopher’s lunch, every time Eddie announces it’s Buck’s turn to take the trash out. It’s the same rush of warmth beneath his skin, the same flutter of his heart that happens every time they pull up to a red light and Eddie steals a kiss across the center console, every time Eddie texts him from the grocery store and asks if they’re out of eggs.

There’s beauty in the mundane, and even more so in the moments— these moments— that make up a love, a life that Buck simultaneously dreamed of and never thought he’d have.

He’s never known happiness like this.

He turns to tell Eddie as much when the first spark hits them.

It takes a moment for Buck’s brain to realize what’s happening. At first, all that registers is Eddie grabbing him, his arms coming around Buck’s sides as he pulls him into his chest. One of Eddie’s hands is in the middle of his back, the other on the back of his head. He tucks Buck against his chest, holding him as close as he possibly can. And then they’re moving. Rolling, more specifically. There’s a flash of heat, a loud series of pops and sizzles and high pitched whines.

Someone screams. Someone else does too. And then there’s another round of quick, loud pops.

And then Buck doesn’t hear anything at all except for the hammering of his own heart.

Maybe it’s Eddie’s heartbeat he hears. He’s still holding Buck against his chest, still has his own body draped over Buck’s. He’s still blanketing him— still protecting him.

Buck doesn’t know yet what’s happening. He doesn’t know what it is that Eddie is shielding him from. But he does know that it feels safe here, wrapped up in Eddie’s arms and tucked close into his chest.

“Buck?” There’s panic creeping into Eddie’s voice. “Hey, look at me.”

His hands come to bracket Buck’s face, leaning back just enough so they can see each other clearly.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

Buck nods. Part of him wants to look around and figure out what the hell just happened. But a bigger, more insistent part of him can’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. They’re wide and searching, filled with fear and concern as they rake over Buck’s face. Buck doesn’t miss the slight tremble in Eddie’s bottom lip, nor the way his breath seems to catch in his throat with each shaky inhale.

“You’re sure?” Eddie asks, his voice equal parts hopeful and unsteady.

Buck nods again, and lets Eddie hold his face in his hands and run his thumbs over his cheeks as the panic in his eyes melts into relief.

“W-What’s going on?” Buck asks, his voice unsteady.

“Some idiots brought homemade fireworks.” The disgust is thick in Eddie’s voice, each word dripping with disdain.

A second round explodes nearby and they scramble to get to their feet. Buck stumbles, his foot catching in a stranger’s blanket amidst the chaos. He hits the ground, though Eddie’s quick to haul him up and link their fingers together. People are still screaming, still running, the entire area having descended into madness as the professional fireworks continue firing into the sky.

Eddie leads the way as they weave through the crowd. His grip on Buck’s hand is steady and unwavering; he doesn’t let go until they’re back at the truck, and even then it’s only long enough for the two of them to climb inside and shut the doors before Eddie’s hands are back on him. This time, they’re running over Buck’s hands, his wrists, the warm skin of his arms left exposed by his arguably too-tight t-shirt. They make their way to his face, pausing in time with the breath that catches in Eddie’s throat.

“Eddie,” Buck begins. His voice sounds gravelly, like he’s just swallowed sand. He clears his throat and tries again. “Eddie, I’m fine. I— I’m okay.”

. . .

“You’re bleeding,” Eddie says. Voicing the realization doesn’t do much to stop the hammering of his heart, nor the way his breath is coming in bursts so quickly his lungs have started to burn. If anything, it magnifies it. “You’re… you’re bleeding. On your cheek.”

Buck brings his fingers up to his cheek, and Eddie guides them with his own trembling fingers to where the skin across his cheekbone is scraped. It isn’t bleeding heavily, but enough so that Buck’s fingers come back tinged in red.

“Guess I am,” Buck says, his voice calm in a way that’s almost disarming.

He’s bleeding because some imbeciles thought it would be fun to set off their own amateur fireworks a few feet away from them, and Buck is calm about it. Not that it matters — Eddie’s got enough rage for the both of them.

Buck pulls down the sun visor, turning his face away from Eddie’s gentle hold just long enough to check out his scraped up cheek in the small mirror before turning back to face Eddie. “Nothing a little betadine and Neosporin can’t fix.”

“Buck—” Eddie hates the strangled edge to his voice, the way it threatens to break over the single syllable. He hates how scared he sounds, how weak and defeated. He needs to be strong for Buck. He needs to—

“I know,” Buck says, his voice soft and gentle as he brings his hand up to Eddie’s cheek. He runs his thumb over the freckle beneath Eddie’s eye, the same one he makes sure to press a kiss against every night and again every morning. “I was scared too.”

He leans forward, his forehead resting against Eddie’s. They share a long, deep breath. Eddie’s hands have migrated to Buck’s neck, the steady thrum of his pulse beneath Eddie’s fingers grounding him in ways he’d never be able to describe. Eddie closes his eyes, breathes in the familiar scent of Buck’s shampoo, and thanks God and Jesus and every saint he can name that they made it. That they’re here. That they’re together.

That they’re okay.

By the time they get home, Eddie’s calmed down. Around halfway through the drive, his heart no longer felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. His hands were still shaking, mostly due to the adrenaline comedown. Buck had been quick to notice, though, reaching over and taking Eddie’s hand in one of his own.

“How were you so calm?” Eddie had asked, looking over at Buck and admiring the way his eyes sparkled beneath the glow of the streetlights.

Buck had shrugged. “You had me. I knew it would be okay.”

Eddie’s eyes shone with tears for the next two blocks.

Their hands are still laced together now, as Eddie leads Buck into the house and towards the bathroom. He pulls out the first aid kit as Buck sits atop the counter, spreading his knees to make room for Eddie to work.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says after a moment, earning himself a frown from Eddie.

“Sorry?” Eddie echoes, his voice low and quiet as he focuses on getting the lid off of the betadine, but the concern in it perfectly clear all the same. “What for?”

Buck sighs. Shrugs. Drops his gaze to where his hands grip the countertop on either side of his thighs. “This isn’t supposed to be how we remember tonight.”

“Nah,” Eddie says simply, pouring the solution onto a gauze pad. “I’m not going to remember this part. Standing in the cotton candy line for twenty minutes because someone has a raging sweet tooth, though…”

Buck scoffs. “Well I’m going to remember you eating half of the cotton candy you insisted you didn’t want.”

Eddie will remember that too.

He’ll also remember the way it tasted even better clinging to Buck’s lips. He’ll remember that slow, sweet kiss right as the sun went down. He’ll remember Buck’s head against his shoulder, the way the tension bled out of him and how everything inside of him suddenly settled as their fingers laced together in the overgrown grass. He’ll remember his stolen glance at Buck as the fireworks display started, the way the shadows danced across his face beneath the shades of red and blue that lit the sky.

He’ll remember being together.

He’ll forget the rest.

. . .

Later, once Eddie’s put the first aid kit back under the sink and eased Buck off the counter— despite his protests that he’s completely fine, baby, I promise — they make their way to bed. It’s there, with Buck tucked into Eddie’s side and his curls brushing the underside of Eddie’s jaw, where Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and murmurs, “That’s not what I’ll remember.”

“Hmm?” Buck hums, looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“When I think about tonight,” Eddie says. “I won’t remember giving you first aid on the bathroom counter. Or those godforsaken idiots lighting off a glorified IED.”

Buck grins. “Yeah?”

“I’ll remember being with you.”

“You will?”

“And the cotton candy line,” Eddie deadpans. “But mostly being with you. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Buck tips his chin up to meet Eddie for a kiss. And even though this one doesn’t taste like cotton candy, Eddie thinks it still might be the best one he’s ever had.

#my writing #buddie #whump #not like a tonnnn of whump but enough to tag it #hurt/comfort #also soft as hell #protective eddie diaz #soft evan buckley #soft buddie #i started this fic a year ago and immediately got absolutely rocked by covid and wrote half of it with a 104 fever #and didn't touch it again until today #princessfbi enabled me as always #i'd like the record to reflect that #but anyway i digress #my birthday is today and finishing/posting this is my gift to myself #all the online shopping i've done today notwithstanding

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buddie-buddie · 1 year

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we will find a way (through the dark)

9.2k - t - ao3 In which President Evan Buckley is kidnapped and Secret Service Agent Eddie Diaz falls apart.

This whole Wyoming trip was a bad idea. Eddie had said as much when the travel plans first crossed his desk. Buck, to his credit, had agreed. Neither one of them seemed to understand why a speech at an hour-long ceremony warranted a three-day trip, but that ship had apparently long since sailed.

“What’s there to do in Wyoming anyway?” Buck had asked one of his advisors. “Can’t I just fly in for the ceremony and leave as soon as it’s over?”

Eddie thought that was a brilliant idea. The less time they had to spend away from the White House– the less time they had to spend in Wyoming, of all places– the better.

Unfortunately, Buck’s team was prepared with an answer, quickly launching into some long-winded explanation full of Washington jargon like strategic and good faith and precedent-setting. It was buzzword salad, as far as Eddie was concerned.

The way Buck’s eyes seemed to glaze over as they spoke indicated he felt the same.

Buck going anywhere other than the White House or Camp David is already less than ideal, and heading to some rural area of Wyoming, where there’s bad reception, limited resources, and guns outnumber people 4:1 is pretty much Eddie’s personal hell.

Now that they’re here, his feelings haven’t exactly changed. His team is incredible, as is the entirety of the Secret Service. They’ve been hard at work clearing buildings, mapping travel routes, surveilling, and filling the gaps left by the less-than ideal amount of local law enforcement support they’ve been provided.

They’ve been here for a day and a half now, and while Eddie still isn’t feeling great about the trip, he’s no longer walking around with “resting bitch face so severe it might get stuck that way,” as Buck had so lovingly pointed out when Air Force One had first landed.

Tensions had managed to grow since their arrival, which Eddie knew could be attributed to Buck’s overall frustration with this trip in the first place. A frustration Eddie shared, tenfold.

Buck was exhausted after a particularly busy week, spread thinner than he had been in recent memory. Thinner than Eddie thought possible. And yet, somehow, even after all these years, Buck still manages to surprise him.

The night before they were set to leave Washington, Eddie had brought up the idea of postponing the trip. It had been a long, draining week and to add a few days of travel on top of it felt like a cruel and unusual punishment, at least as far as Eddie was concerned. It physically pained him to see Buck so stressed, exhaustion materializing in the bags under his eyes, in the dark circles that cast an unwelcome shadow across his face.

When Buck didn’t go for that, Eddie suggested shortening it to one day instead of three. He was met with protest, insistence that he’d rather go and be miserable than change his plans and disappoint his constituents. Buck had stopped for a minute, his half-packed suitcase in front of him, and promised that when they got home, he’d stay in bed for a whole day.

“I’ll allow it,” Eddie had said, wrapping his arms around Buck from behind and dropping a kiss to his temple.

“I have one condition,” Buck said, relaxing into Eddie’s arms, melting into his touch.

“Let’s hear it,” Eddie murmured against Buck’s ear.

“You,” Buck said, pausing and tipping his head back in an attempt to look at Eddie. “Have to stay in bed with me.”

Eddie grinned. He couldn’t help but squeeze Buck a little tighter, fondness unfurling in his chest. “Deal.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nodded, turning Buck so they were pressed chest to chest, their foreheads resting against one another. “Yeah,” Eddie murmured, stealing a proper kiss.

The first day of the trip goes according to plan. Buck is exhausted, and Eddie can tell he’s losing steam towards the end of the day, but he still manages to keep a warm smile on his face until they make it back to the hotel room. Eddie follows him inside, locking the door behind them as Buck heaves a sigh and sits on the edge of the bed.

“You did well today,” Eddie says, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his suit jacket before crossing the room towards the bed.

“I– I feel like you guys are smothering me.” Buck’s reply seems to startle both of them.

Eddie tries not to take it personally. It’s not his fault there are fewer police officers in the entire state of Wyoming than there were students in his high school! Usually when they travel, local police come in to support the Secret Service. The small police population out here has meant fewer support officers than they’re used to. It left Eddie and his team feeling a little stressed, and they had come to the decision that the best way to fill the gaps and compensate for the change in routine was to increase the presence of Buck’s personal detail.

Instead of two agents shadowing him, they bumped it to three. Instead of four agents surrounding him in open air, they’ve had six.

Frankly, Eddie isn’t a huge fan of the change in routine, either. He’s been on edge since the second they got here. But if it means keeping Buck safe, he’ll adopt whatever changes are necessary. He might not like it, might spend all day longing for the status quo, but he’ll do it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant keeping Buck safe. Nothing .

“I’m sorry,” Buck and Eddie say at the same time.

“No– no, Eddie. I’m sorry,” Buck insists, his eyes wide and searching as he holds Eddie’s gaze. “I– I don’t know where that came from. I just–”

Eddie sits down beside him. Their knees brush, and the tension in the air dissolves immediately. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for telling me the truth,” Eddie tells him. “I’m sorry that we had to change your detail. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“There’s nothing here but open air and cows,” Buck grumbles, loosening his tie and pulling it over his head with a sigh. “Can’t we decrease it?”

Eddie shakes his head. Annoying as it is, it’ll be a cold day in hell when he does anything that could potentially put Buck in danger. “No, baby. I’m sorry.”

Buck makes a noise halfway between a groan and a whine, flopping back onto the mattress. Eddie sighs, taking comfort in knowing that even as tired as he is, Buck hasn’t lost his personality.

“We just have to get through another day and a half. Not even. First thing Wednesday morning, we’re on the way home,” Eddie reminds him. “And then I believe there’s a deal involving a bed and a locked door that’ll need your attention.”

The following afternoon is Buck’s big speech, the whole reason for the trip in the first place. He spends 15 minutes speaking at a ceremony to honor the 100th birthday of a national park that Eddie isn’t convinced he himself had ever heard of before learning of these travel plans. As Eddie expected, Buck absolutely crushes his speech, complete with a standing ovation before he waves goodbye and heads backstage to meet up with his team.

“Nice work,” Maddie says, beaming as Buck makes his way down the stairs, trailed by Eddie, Bobby, Chim, and Hen. He strides over to where she’s waiting with a few of his advisors and a flock of additional Secret Service agents.

Buck lets out a deep breath, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes as he thanks her. “Now what?” he asks, accepting the bottle of water Eddie passes him with a small smile.

“Now, you have to go get changed into something more appropriate for skeet shooting with the governor,” Maddie tells him.

She manages to keep the grin off her face, but Chim fails, chuckling as he claps Buck on the back. “Now this, I can’t wait to see.”

It’s a twenty minute ride in the motorcade to the rifle club, where Buck is ushered into a sitting room and promised that the governor will be with him shortly. He takes a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs, directly beneath a taxidermy buck.

“It’s Buck-ception,” Chimney muses. Eddie grins, though it may have less to do with Chim’s bad joke and more to do with the horrified look on Buck’s face as he turns his head and sees the deer mounted directly above him.

“I miss Washington,” Buck grumbles.

Eddie doesn’t blame him.

Washington has the Oval Office, which is free of dead animals hanging on the walls. Washington has four times more law enforcement officers in its 70 square miles than Wyoming does in its nearly 100,000. Washington has Christopher. Washington has the Residence. Washington has their bed–– God, Eddie misses their bed.

Washington has their best memories and some of their worst ones too, but it’s home. And while Eddie’s never felt homesick when Buck’s in reach, he finds himself longing for the city just as much as Buck is.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the governor is striding into the sitting room and Buck is rising to his feet to shake the man’s hand.

“Mr. President.”

“Mr. Governor,” Buck says with a warm smile. Eddie remains in awe of him– how even when he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be, doing something he doesn’t want to do, Buck still manages to be so friendly, so genuine. He still manages to share the best parts of himself. “Thanks for having me.”

The governor returns Buck’s smile. “Pleasure’s mine.” He leads Buck down a hallway to a private locker room, Eddie, Bobby, and Chim trailing behind them alongside the Governor’s security. The Governor motions for Buck to use the room on the left before heading into the room on the right himself.

Chim stands to the left of the door while Bobby walks through the room, returning a moment later with a nod to signal that it’s empty and safe for Buck to enter. He steps into position, standing on the right hand side of the door as Eddie moves to follow Buck inside.

“I think I can handle this by myself, guys.” Buck motions to the bag in his hand. Eddie tries not to take it personally. He knows Buck is feeling overwhelmed. He said as much last night. And yet, there’s still a pang of rejection at Buck’s words. But he shoves it down, nods, and steps to the side, as much as he hates the idea of Buck being out of their sight.

But it’s only for a minute. They’re in a building that’s crawling with agents, and this is a private room– Eddie remembers as much from when he saw the building’s plans during his briefing this morning. There are no exterior doors, no doors that connect to other rooms. Just a small changing area connected to a private bathroom. And Buck is only getting changed out of his suit and into whatever sort of skeet shooting attire Maddie put into the bag that’s slung across his shoulder.

He’ll only be a minute.

The Governor reappears a few minutes later, his own suit traded for a flannel shirt and a dark khaki vest with matching pants tucked into calf-high boots.

Eddie catches the way Chim’s eyes light up, already anticipating Buck’s getup. He shoots him a look, silently begging him to behave.

They wait for another minute before Eddie starts to get antsy. He has no idea what could possibly be taking Buck so long. He’s pretty efficient when he gets dressed in the morning, only slowing down to swap lazy kisses with Eddie as they move around the walk-in closet at the same time. That and tying his tie. But Eddie’s out here in the hallway and he’s hard pressed to believe Maddie would pack him a necktie for an afternoon at the rifle club.

Something must be wrong.

Eddie steps forward, knocking on the door. “Mr. President, all good?” He waits with bated breath for Buck’s answer, only it doesn’t come.

“Mr. President?” Eddie tries again, more insistent this time. Again, no response.

He looks between Chim, Bobby, the Governor, and the two state troopers trailing the Governor, concern written across all five of their faces.

Fuck.

Eddie doesn’t waste another second.

The door is unlocked, but there’s something blocking it. He’s able to twist the knob and push it open, but it only goes a few inches before he’s met with resistance. He slams his shoulder into the door, using all of his weight to push it open far enough that he can make it through.

A leather-trimmed bench has been dragged over from the middle of the changing area, if the dents in the carpet are any indication of where it once sat. It was shoved in front of the door, clearly meant to slow down anyone trying to make their way inside. Buck’s suit jacket is in a pile on the floor, just beside his dress pants and shoes. His bag lays sideways on the floor, a pair of olive green pants hanging out of the opening.

His white button-down is in the middle of the floor, stained red with what can only be blood.

There’s a lot of blood. Too much blood.

A trail of it starting in the middle of the room, leading out through a wide-open window.

Shit.

There are bloody footprints on the carpet. Three pairs in the middle of the floor – two made by shoes and one made by bare feet. By the window, there are only two pairs. Both shoes. They dragged him out.

The realization burns in Eddie’s chest, nearly breaks him. They dragged him out.

How did they all miss this? How did none of them hear it? Eddie thinks he might be sick.

Behind him, he hears Bobby radioing in a mayday and calling for a total lockdown. He hears boots in the hallway, voices echoing in his earpiece. The Governor’s saying something, the state troopers, too.

But he can’t focus on any of that. Not when Buck is gone.

No, not gone.

Taken.

The worst of it is the tiny black rectangle in the corner of the room. Buck’s panic button. Eddie beelines toward it, dropping down to get a better look. It’s still intact, which has Eddie trying to wrap his head around why Buck didn’t hit it– it must’ve been in his hand at some point if it made it all the way out of his pocket and across the room. Why didn’t he hit it?

He’s careful not to put any fingerprints on it, pulling a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and using it to flip the thing over. He’s not ready for the sight of the bloody fingerprint, just to the left of the button itself. It trails off, as if the device was knocked out of Buck’s hand before he could get his finger onto the button.

But he tried.

Something about that makes it even worse.

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, walking into the sitting room, which has since become, for all intents and purposes, Secret Service headquarters.

He just got off the phone with the director, briefing him on what had gone down. It’s been fourteen minutes since Eddie breached the door to the locker room and they discovered Buck had been taken. Closer to eighteen minutes since Buck entered the locker room in the first place. The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows steadily with each passing minute. He’s desperate for an update– a real update. Not just “Yeah, he’s definitely gone,” which had been the latest one a few minutes ago, before Eddie stepped out to call the director and try to tamp down the rage burning within him before it consumed him.

“We have footage,” Bobby says, looking up at Eddie from behind a laptop screen. He’s sitting in the same oversized leather chair Buck had been in before, the stupid taxidermy buck above his head.

God, what Eddie would do to go back to that moment. The things he would change. The things he could prevent.

“Let me see,” Eddie says. Bobby hesitates, one hand on the laptop screen, as if to shield Eddie from view.

“Eddie,” Bobby begins. “I just watched it. I think–” His voice is gentle and sympathetic in a way that has Eddie feeling absolutely terrified.

“No,” Eddie insists. He can hear the hysteria starting to creep into his voice. He clears his throat, takes a quick breath. “Let me see.”

Bobby hesitates once more, but Eddie steps up next to him, standing over his shoulder and staring down at the screen. Reluctantly, Bobby hits play.

It’s from an exterior camera, one that had a perfect view of two men dragging Buck out of the locker room window. Eddie stands there fuming, his blood boiling beneath his skin as he sees Buck, covered in blood, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a strip of tape across his mouth.

He kicks and claws, thrashing around as they pull him out of the open window and throw him in the back of a waiting golf cart. It has a miniature flatbed in the back, and one of the men jumps in beside Buck, locking his legs around him and holding a hand over his mouth to keep him still and quiet.

The other man throws a tarp over the both of them, concealing them from view, before jumping in the driver’s seat and speeding off.

And then they’re gone.

Eddie can’t breathe. Buck is gone– taken – on his watch. He’s out there somewhere, barefoot and covered in blood and at the mercy of the two animals who just dragged him through a window right under Eddie’s nose and Eddie can’t fucking breathe. His chest is tight and his head is heavy and everything hurts. He can’t–

“Eddie,” Bobby’s voice sounds far away, too distant to be coming from the man standing directly beside him. “Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie can’t get the words out. Can’t get the air in. Can’t do anything except stand here as his world falls apart and stammer out a broken, “They– I– I can’t–”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even where Eddie’s wavers, smooth where Eddie’s grates against the lump in his throat. But the fire in his eyes burns just as furiously as the one in Eddie’s. The undercurrent of anger that Eddie can sense coming off of him is just as intense as the one thrumming beneath his own skin.

And something about that is more comforting than the evenness of his voice ever could be.

“We’re going to get him back,” Bobby says, matter-of-fact. There’s no room for interpretation, no doubt behind his words.

“He’s… Bobby, I– I don’t–”

“He needs you,” Bobby says, his voice low. Quiet enough that it doesn’t draw the attention of the other agents coming in and out of the room, but loud in all the ways that matter. Keep it together , is what Bobby doesn’t say out loud. Keep it together for him. And fall apart later.

Eddie hears it all the same.

He nods, managing to get a shaky breath. And then another one. The heat behind his eyes eases up, the pressure in his head and the burn in his chest ebbing away with each additional breath. Not all the way, but it’s enough.

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes reassuringly in a way that has Eddie’s chest aching for an entirely different reason.

And then Hen is running into the room, waving a sticky note in her hand. “I got a plate.”

“Let me have it,” Eddie says. Bobby, to his credit, doesn’t protest as Eddie grabs the laptop out from in front of him and pulls up the database.

Hen reads off the plate number and Eddie types it in. The system shows a match immediately. He pulls up the driver’s ID and his heart skips in his chest. That’s the same guy from the security video, the one driving the cart away. He’s sure of it.

If the way Bobby stiffens beside him is any indication, he’s sure of it, too. They share a small nod, and Eddie sends a silent prayer of thanks to every God he can think of before keying his radio. “All agents, be advised, we have an ID on one of our suspects. Dixon Allan, age 31. Driving a white Silverado with a busted left tail light. BOLO is going out now.”

“Last known address on our friend Mr. Allan is 129 Fox Hollow Road,” Bobby says, looking between Eddie, Chim, and Hen.

“Well, let’s pay him a visit,” Eddie says.

Eddie kills the Suburban’s engine three doors down from the house. The road has a more suburban feel to it than many of the streets Eddie’s seen since they first arrived two days ago. And yet, despite the paved streets and the houses close together, there’s not a single streetlight on the entire block. Though that’ll work in their favor. The sun is quickly setting, leaving them with only a few more minutes’ worth of daylight before the street is completely blanketed in darkness.

Another two cars pull up behind him, all of the agents careful to close their doors quietly and move silently as they head over to Eddie’s car.

Eddie swaps his suit jacket for a kevlar vest, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down up his forearms as Bobby steps up beside him, clad in his own vest.

“Eddie.” Bobby says, the fear on his face giving way to something softer, more compassionate. “I can go in first.”

Eddie’s chest squeezes, the onslaught of emotion catching him completely off guard.

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Bobby says, the compassion from his face bleeding into his voice and softening the razor-sharp edge of the truth behind his words.

“I know,” Eddie says solemnly. He knows Bobby is trying to protect him, offering to be the first one in, the first one to see whatever it is these animals have done with Buck. To Buck.

But what Bobby must not realize is that this – whatever it is they’re walking into – is what Eddie deserves. He’s the one who let Buck into that locker room alone. He’s the one who waited too long to breach the door and get inside. He’s the one who failed. He failed his country, failed his people. Failed Buck.

And whatever horror scene they’re about to walk in on, Eddie deserves every second of it. He can’t put that on Bobby. Not when all of this is his fault.

“I’ll lead,” Eddie says, the words scratching against the lump in his throat.

He’s saved from having to say anything more about it when his earpiece beeps, signaling an incoming communication. “All agents, be advised. SWAT is eleven minutes out.”

It’s Eddie’s boss, the director of the Secret Service. The unspoken words there are Wait for them. Which Eddie has no plans of doing.

Eddie keys his radio. “We’re moving in.”

“Special Agent Diaz––”

“Do you have any idea what can happen in eleven minutes?” Eddie demands. He gives zero regard to the reprimand he’s bound to get for interrupting his boss– and over the team comms for everyone else to hear, no less. “What they could do to him?”

“Stand down and wait for SWAT,” the director says. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t give a damn if it costs me my badge!” Eddie hisses, careful not to raise his voice to the point of giving away their position. “It’ll be on your desk first thing tomorrow if that’s how it has to be. But I’m going in there and getting my President. And I’m not waiting eleven minutes to do it.”

The comms are silent for a beat before Eddie keys his radio one more time. “Respectfully, Sir.”

“I would never ask any of you to disobey–” Eddie’s voice trails off as he turns to face his team, only to find them all in their vests, their weapons drawn. They’re ready to go.

“We know,” Hen says.

Eddie tries again, shoving down the ball of emotion that’s started unfurling in his chest. “No one is under any obligation to–”

Chim cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all consenting adults here. Now, let’s go get our President back.”

Eddie nods. “Clip your lights on,” he tells them. “Stay light on your feet and wait for my signal.”

He’s met with a round of nods, each of the agents fastening their flashlights onto the top of their guns. As they’re walking down the sidewalk, approaching the house, his earpiece beeps again.

“Be advised, SWAT recommends breaching at the alpha side.”

Eddie knows that’s as close to a “You were right and I was wrong” as they’re ever going to get. He’ll take it.

At least his badge is safe.

“Copy,” Eddie replies. He directs the agents to different sides of the house, approaching the front door with Bobby, Hen, and Chim on his heels. He glances back at them, and once he sees they’re all ready, he turns to the door and kicks it in.

The lights are off, the entire house swathed in a darkness that feels somewhat fitting for the gravity of the situation. Eddie steps over the threshold gun first, feet second.

His stomach drops as he looks around. He freezes, the beam from his flashlight locked in place. His breath catches in his throat and from somewhere behind him, he can hear Bobby’s do the same.

The front door opens up into a small entryway, just large enough for a coat rack and a small table pushed up against the wall, holding nothing but a single set of keys– no doubt belonging to the white Silverado parked out front, the same one they used to flee the scene– and a layer of dust Eddie can see from several feet away. Directly ahead is an open door that leads to what looks like the kitchen. To the left, a hallway.

There are cobwebs in the corners and dust on the floor. The house is cold– too cold for anyone to be living here comfortably. But that’s not what has Eddie’s blood running cold, alarm bells going off in his head as he fights against the fire in his chest to get a clean breath.

There, on the hallway wall, set clearly against the white paint, is a bloody handprint.

Beside it, another one. This one messier than the first, the fingerprints trailing away, down the hallway, as if their owner dragged them across the wall.

As if their owner was dragged.

Not without a fight, though, if the fingernail scratches in the wall are any indication.

“Jesus,” Chimney mutters. His voice is empty, hollow in a way Eddie’s never heard it before. Almost as if he’s shut off his emotions, tamped them down in the way Eddie so desperately wishes he was capable of doing himself.

“Let’s move,” Eddie says, pushing the words past the fear that’s materialized by way of a lump in his throat.

He heads down the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes scan the trail of blood and scratches on the wall. The need to find Buck is the only thing more powerful than the rage burning deep inside him. It’s the only thing keeping him moving forward, keeping him from falling apart.

The intensity of the blood against the wall trails off the further he gets down the hallway, the heavy, robust marks fading into barely-there traces with each step Eddie takes. He tries to take comfort in knowing that it means Buck wasn’t actively bleeding– at least not from his hands– but any shred of relief is lost to the fear and the fury dangerously close to consuming him.

The trail ends at the second door on the right. Eddie holds up his free hand in a silent signal to his team to freeze. The quiet footsteps behind him come to a halt, and he turns his head to see Bobby beside him.

The anguish in his eyes has Eddie feeling like he’s looking in a mirror. Bobby has the same clenched jaw, the same creased forehead, the same fire burning behind his eyes that Eddie feels in his own. But there’s something more there. Something softer. At first, Eddie isn’t sure what to make of it. Then, Bobby nods his head towards the door, a silent offer.

I’ll go first.

He doesn’t have to say it out loud–– Eddie hears the unspoken words loud and clear. He knows it’s Bobby’s last attempt to protect him. To shield him from whatever might be behind the door.

Later, he’ll let himself feel the gratitude. Later, once Buck is home and Buck is safe.

Later, he’ll find Bobby and he’ll thank him. He’ll tell him that he’s never had anyone care about him in the way that Bobby does. He’ll tell him how much the seemingly simple gesture meant to him. How he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it.

Later, he’ll tell Bobby how even though it meant the world to him– maybe even more– he couldn’t take him up on the offer. He hopes Bobby will understand. No, he knows he will.

Later, he’ll tell Bobby “I had to do it.” And later, Bobby will smile and clap him on the shoulder and say “No, I know you did.” Later. Once this is all over.

But now, all Eddie can do is meet Bobby’s eyes and hope the look he gives him is enough to say all the things he can’t right now.

And then he moves.

The door is locked. Eddie wastes no time kicking it open. It slams against the wall, the hinges rattling as he barrels into the room, Bobby and Chimney immediately behind him.

The room is dark, illuminated only by the beams of their flashlights. There’s a startled whimper from the far corner, and it’s a miracle that Eddie hears it over the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

“Buck!” Eddie crosses the room in three strides. Protocol says he needs to clear the room of any potential threats before entering, but he’s long past the point of giving a single damn about protocol.

Someone behind him shouts out a “Clear!” and he hears Bobby on the radio, updating the other agents on scene.

None of that matters to him. His sole focus is Buck.

Buck, who’s sitting in front of him, eyes wide and wet even in the bright light of Eddie’s flashlight. He’s on the floor in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest. His hands are bound behind his back and there’s tape over his mouth. His captors are nowhere to be seen. He’s alone.

For reasons Eddie can’t quite name, that makes the knots in his stomach coil even tighter. Buck was alone in here. Buck, who hasn’t been alone– not really, anyway– in years. Buck, who just minutes before being taken had insisted he’d be fine by himself.

Sure, the alternative is that Buck’s captors could’ve been in here with him, doing god-knows-what to him. And that’s hardly better than Buck being left in here alone. But something about the sight of him all by himself, tucked in the corner of the room and looking smaller than Eddie’s ever seen him, has Eddie’s stomach turning, his chest squeezing beneath the agony of it all.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie promises, easing one corner of the tape up. He’s not sure if that last part is true. Not yet. But it needs to be.

“We’re here, we got you.” That part is true. They have him.

Finally, finally, they have him.

“Are you hurt?” Eddie asks. He can barely stand the half-second of wait time between his second and Buck’s reply, which comes by way of a quick head shake. No.

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief, just as his radio beeps in his ear. “All agents be advised, we have both suspects in custody.”

Eddie lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob. The relief is palpable, coursing through him and soothing the frayed edges of what little remains of his sanity.

“We got them,” he tells Buck. “It’s over.”

Buck nods, eyes still shining in a way that feels like a knife to Eddie’s heart. “Gonna take this off, okay?” Eddie says, working hard to keep his voice calm and even. Buck nods eagerly. Bobby is there too, kneeling down at Buck’s side and starting in on the ropes wrapped around his wrists.

Eddie brings one hand up to the side of Buck’s face, and his chest squeezes at the way Buck immediately melts into the touch. He pulls the tape off with his other hand, dropping it to the ground as soon as it’s off.

Bobby gets the rope off at the same time and Buck collapses like a puppet whose strings have just been cut, falling into Eddie’s chest with a strangled noise that Eddie knows he’ll be hearing in his nightmares for years to come.

“I got you,” Eddie says, fighting off a sob he can feel building in his chest. He swallows it down and brings a hand up to the nape of Buck’s neck, holding him close. “I got you.”

Buck’s chest heaves as he draws in a shaky breath, fingers wound so tightly in Eddie’s suit jacket that his knuckles have gone white. “I got you,” Eddie says again. It’s just as much for Buck as it is for himself.

He holds Buck as close as he possibly can, buries his face in his hair and finally takes a deep breath for the first time in hours. His hair smells like sweat and blood, but underneath it all there’s still the familiar minty fragrance of Buck’s fancy conditioner. It’s barely recognizable, but Eddie clings to it just as hard as he holds onto Buck.

Bobby backs off, gives them a moment to hold each other, to breathe. To let it sink in that this nightmare is finally over. Eddie’s gratitude knows no bounds.

“I– I’m sorry.” Buck’s voice is ragged, trembling in the same way his hands are.

Eddie’s heart breaks all over again.

“Shh,” Eddie shushes him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-I told you… I told you not to–” Buck stammers. Eddie eases him back, putting just enough distance between them that he can take Buck’s face in his hands.

“Buck, please–” It’s all Eddie manages to get out before his voice cracks, hot tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over.

He blinks them back, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Buck’s. “I’m sorry I left you,” he says, his voice wavering. He could apologize every day, every hour, every minute for the rest of his life and it still could never be enough. “I shouldn’t have listened, I should– I should have insisted.”

Buck shakes his head. “This is not your fault.”

“It is,” Eddie insists. “It is, I– I should have…” His sentence trails off when he registers the way Buck is shaking. He’s trembling in Eddie’s arms, his whole body fighting against what Eddie assumes is a combination of an adrenaline crash and the fact that he’s still barely clothed. Eddie lets go of Buck only long enough to stand up. Quick as their lack of contact may be, it’s still met with a sound of protest from Buck. Eddie helps him to his feet, and it’s the first time he gets a proper look at him, and it takes his breath away. There’s dried blood all over him. It’s caked onto his skin, his hair. It’s beneath his fingernails, stuck in the creases of his palms. Sweat-damp curls are plastered against his forehead, and dark circles hang beneath his weary eyes.

“Come on,” Eddie says gently. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, taking on his weight as he leads him towards the door.

He keys his radio with his free hand. “All agents be advised, I’m bringing POTUS out. Need medical on standby.”

“No medical,” Buck protests. “I– I’m fine. Just need a shower.”

“Yes, medical,” Eddie shuts that nonsense down immediately. He leads him out the door and towards the waiting ambulance.

Maddie is the first one to reach them, running over as soon as she sees them cross the threshold. She meets them halfway across the front lawn, pulling Buck into a tight hug. She’s the only person on Earth for whom Eddie would let go of his hold on Buck, and he doesn’t mind stepping back and letting them have a moment together. Eddie can’t make out what she says to Buck, but if the way his shoulders sag is any indication, it’s exactly what he needed to hear.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. Buck is sitting on the back of the ambulance, Eddie directly next to him. Buck’s head is resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie finally, finally feels like he’s able to breathe again. Buck is dressed in Secret Service issued sweats, a navy blue crewneck sweatshirt and matching pants. Hen had been quick to bring them over as soon as they made it out of the house, and Eddie’s not sure who was more grateful– him or Buck.

Eddie was quick to help Buck into them, hoping they’d help to fight against the chill in the night air. He had grabbed a rescue blanket off the back of the ambulance, too, and draped that over Buck’s shoulders in an attempt to get him as warm as possible.

“I– I promise,” Buck says, voice still a little wobbly. “My, uh, my wrists are a little sore. That’s all.”

“And your head,” Eddie reminds him.

“And my head,” Buck agrees.

There’s a small gash on Buck’s forehead, just above the spot where his birthmark kisses his eyebrow. It’s no bigger than an inch wide, and there’s an angry bruise already blooming across the skin behind it. The paramedics already cleaned it and applied a steri-strip, and Eddie was able to find a tiny bit of comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn’t need stitches.

That tiny bit of comfort was immediately chased away by rage when Buck explained that one of his captors had accidentally smacked his head against the window frame when dragging him out of the locker room, hence the injury. “It’s weird,” Buck had said, both to Eddie and to the paramedics as they tended to the wound. “He apologized. It was like… I– I don’t know. I almost feel like they didn’t want to hurt me.”

Buck had also said that they dumped him in the room, tied his hands behind his back, and left him alone almost immediately. They didn’t hurt him, didn’t demand information or national secrets. Didn’t make so much as a single threat. Not that they would have had much time to do so– Buck hadn’t even been there an hour by the time the Secret Service arrived.

It all certainly tracked with what Bobby was getting from Dixon, who apparently started talking before the cuffs were even fastened. Bobby had come by a few minutes before and pulled Eddie aside. Maddie was quick to swoop in and sit with Buck while Eddie was briefed. Apparently, the two idiots were hired by someone to whom the governor had an outstanding debt. They were only supposed to rough him up, but upon realizing the man they had jumped from behind was the president, they panicked and took him. How kidnapping the president of the United States was a better decision than aborting the mission and making a run for it, Eddie will never understand. But all that matters is Buck is here. He’s safe. And Eddie isn’t letting him out of his sight any time soon. Possibly ever.

Not even to deal with Dixon and his partner. Bobby had asked if Eddie wanted to speak with either one of them before PD took them away, to which Eddie had shaken his head. “You’d be wrong to trust me alone with either one of them,” he said.

Bobby nodded, understanding. “Why do you think I’m over here?”

“It doesn’t hurt, though,” Buck says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts and back to the present. “My head.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Eddie reminds him. He feels sick at the thought of it, the visuals playing in his mind sending his stomach churning all over again. “It was all over the locker room. And on the walls in the house.”

“Not mine,” Buck says. “It was his. The smaller one. He tried to grab me in the locker room and I– I pushed him off. He hit his head on the corner of a locker. And then he must’ve gotten scraped up on the window, cause his arms were bleeding a lot. He got it all over me.”

Eddie remembers seeing the smaller of the two kidnappers get in the back of the golf cart alongside Buck, the visual of it seared into his mind. That would certainly explain the blood in Buck’s hair, not to mention the streaks of it across his bare body.

“Okay,” Eddie nods, comforted by the fact that Buck seems to be alright. At least physically. And for now, he’ll let himself take solace in that. For now, that can be enough.

He tips his head against Buck’s, their temples resting against one another as Eddie takes a shaky breath. Buck’s voice is so quiet, so small, Eddie almost misses it. “I fought back.”

“I know, baby,” he assures him, rubbing reassuring circles into Buck’s back. “I know you did. It’s over now. It’s all over.”

When they get back to the hotel, Buck beelines for the bathroom, eager to shower off the blood and the sweat still caked onto his skin. Eddie fights every instinct telling him to follow Buck inside, to keep himself plastered to Buck’s side. Instead, he tries to give Buck a little bit of space, tries to wait to follow his lead, painful as it may be. He leans against the door frame and watches as Buck turns the shower on and grabs a towel off the rack.

“Can you–” Buck says quietly, and there’s something uncertain in his voice, something almost a little bit shy, that Eddie hasn’t heard in a long time. He looks between Eddie and the shower, biting on his bottom lip. “I– I don’t… I don’t want…” His voice trails off, his question left unspoken.

Eddie hears him anyway. Understands him perfectly, in the way he always has. “Of course.”

He walks the rest of the way into the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his own clothes before helping Buck out of his. Steam fills the room as Eddie guides Buck into the shower and steers him beneath the warm spray.

Buck closes his eyes, tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, his back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, holding him close as the water sprays over them. Eddie can’t bear to look at it, can’t stand the sight of the water running pink as it swirls around the drain. He presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and closes his own eyes, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to relax into the feel of Buck pressed up against him.

“Thank you,” Buck’s voice is so small, Eddie barely hears it over the sound of the running water. “I don’t–”

Eddie’s not sure how Buck was planning to end his sentence before his voice broke off. But it doesn’t change his answer. “It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Buck admits.

“You don’t have to be.”

He feels the sob tear its way through Buck’s chest before he hears it. Buck crumples against him, falling into Eddie’s arms as the gravity of the day’s events seems to finally hit him.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises, taking on Buck’s weight and easing him onto the floor. He pulls Buck into his lap, holds him against his chest. He ignores the way the tiled floor is digging into the bottom of his thighs, and the way the water is beating on his back on the wrong side of uncomfortable. “I’m here.”

There’s a certain weight behind his words. They hang heavier in the air between them, as if they’re suspended in the thick cloud of steam. They’re more than just an assurance.

“I’m here,” Eddie says again. It's a promise. A pledge. And unspoken vow that he’ll never leave again.

They stay like that for a while, until the sobs wracking Buck’s body fade into sniffles, until the water starts to turn tepid and Eddie gently eases him to his feet just long enough to wash off. He turns the water hotter and work’s Buck’s fancy shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp and scrubbing behind his ears in the way he knows Buck loves. Eddie’s stomach turns as it rinses out pink, the last of the blood disappearing down the drain.

He follows it with conditioner, the shower filling with its peppermint fragrance. Buck has been using this stuff for so long, Eddie feels like one of Pavlov’s dogs with the way the smell of peppermint instantly soothes him. It’s immediately grounding, and never more so than tonight, as it covers up the metallic scent of the blood washing down the drain.

Once they’re done and all of the hot water is gone for good, Eddie detaches himself from Buck just long enough to turn the water off and grab Buck a towel, passing it to him before grabbing one for himself. As they towel off and step out of the shower, Buck’s hand finds Eddie’s wrist, holding onto him as he guides them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

Buck stands over the dresser for a moment before crossing the room and pulling a t-shirt out of Eddie’s duffle bag. It’s the one he wore to bed last night, and as he turns it over in his hands, Eddie can see some of the lingering tension bleed out of his shoulders. He looks up at Eddie, who nods without hesitation. “All yours, baby.”

They make their way into bed, and Eddie relaxes instantly as Buck curls into his side. Eddie shuts the lights off and drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s head.

“Thank you for finding me,” Buck says quietly, the words muffled by Eddie’s t-shirt. But Eddie hears him loud and clear.

It feels like Eddie’s heart is splitting wide open. He wonders, briefly, if Buck is able to hear it do so from where he’s laying with his head atop Eddie’s chest.

“Thank you for fighting,” Eddie says, running a hand through Buck’s hair.

“I didn’t do much,” Buck replies.

Eddie shakes his head. “You did more than you realize. You fought back, you…” he takes a breath, clears his throat as he searches for the right words. “You bought us time. You fought to make it out of there. You… you gave me– you gave us hope. We needed that.”

He shoves all thoughts of what might have happened if Buck hadn’t fought out of his mind and instead tries to focus on this, on being here with Buck. He tries to focus on the feel of Buck curled up against him, tucked into his side like they’re two puzzle pieces slotting into place. Like the two of them were made for each other.

Eddie likes to think they were.

Buck’s eyes are shining as he props himself up on his elbow, looking at Eddie properly.

Eddie continues. “Even in our worst moments, we still make a pretty good team.”

Buck smiles for the first time since this whole nightmare began, and the sight of it alone does more to mend Eddie’s battered heart than he ever thought possible. “You think so?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “I know so.”

"You know what could have stopped them even sooner?" Buck asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. He’s looking more and more like himself with every passing moment, something for which Eddie has never been more grateful.

Eddie knows exactly where this is going. "We're still not giving you a gun. Nice try."

Buck lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “But what about a really sharp knife?”

"So you can end up with an accidental self-inflicted stab wound?” Eddie asks. “I don't think so."

"What about…” Buck begins, his voice trailing off as he inches closer to Eddie. “A super smart…” He brushes his nose against Eddie’s. “Absurdly handsome Secret Service agent…” he drops a quick, playful kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “...Who carries both a gun and a really sharp knife?"

Eddie grins, only for Buck to chase it away with a long, lingering kiss. "Deal," he murmurs against Buck’s lips as they part.

"Great,” Buck leans in again, smiling against Eddie’s lips as they kiss again. “I always did like Bobby."

Eddie can feel Buck’s chuckle rumbling in his chest, and despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, he can’t help but laugh alongside him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “But you love me.”

Eddie nods, stealing another kiss. “I do,” he promises. “I really, really do.”

Eddie wakes up slowly, a tiny, content sigh falling from his lips as he turns over and reaches for Buck. Only instead of finding his warm boyfriend, all Eddie’s fingers are met with are cold bed sheets. “Baby?” Eddie mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He props himself up on his elbow and blinks slowly as his eyes adjust slowly to the low light.

It’s too dark for the bed to be this empty.

He glances over at the door to the ensuite bathroom, but there’s no light slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door. “Buck?” he calls, a little louder this time. When he doesn’t get an answer, he kicks the duvet off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up properly. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, clicking it onto the dimmest setting. It’s still enough light to have him squinting as his eyes adjust.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before standing up and looking around the room.

No.

No, no, no . Not again.

His stomach drops, his heart slamming into his ribcage. There’s a pool of blood on the carpet, just next to Buck’s side of the bed. And a trail of blood across the wall, leading from Buck’s side of the bedroom all the way to the door. Five lines for five fingers, fingernail scratches chasing after the bloody smears before cutting out abruptly at the door jamb. He stumbles, nearly falling over as he scrambles towards the hallway.

“Buck!” The scream tears its way out of his chest, shredding against his vocal cords as he yanks the door open. “BUCK!”

“Eddie.”

He blinks his eyes open. Buck is leaning over him, his eyes shining with concern. Moonlight pours in through the open window, dancing across his face as he looks down at Eddie. “It’s okay,” Buck assures him. He runs a thumb over Eddie’s cheek, his touch instantly grounding. “You were dreaming.”

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat and tries to catch his breath. His heart hammers in his chest as he looks around, trying to get his bearings.

They’re in bed, in the Residence. The window is open, just how Buck likes it. Buck is beside him. Buck is here. The walls are perfectly clean. No blood. No fingernail scratches. Nothing but wallpaper.

And Buck is here. Buck is pulling Eddie into his chest, holding him and murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you,” and “You’re safe.”

Buck is here.

Eddie’s breathing begins to even out, his heart rate slowing down as he holds onto Buck, his arms wrapped tight around him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes.

“No need,” Buck says simply, as if Eddie waking him up in the middle of the night plagued with nightmares of something that happened months ago is no big deal.

Self loathing burns in his gut. He hates that he still thinks about that awful, awful night in Wyoming. He hates that everyone else seems to have moved on, and yet there’s a part of him that’s still right there, still standing in that blood-soaked locker room. Still kicking down that door. Still finding Buck, tied up and covered in blood.

He hates how vivid the memories are when they come. He hates how he feels like he’ll never be normal again. Like it’ll never stop hurting.

He hates the nightmares. Hates the sick, twisted dreams where he sees that bloody wall again and again and again. Hates the dread that consumes him, the darkness that lives inside him still, even now.

He hates that it ever happened in the first place. That he ever failed Buck like that.

Eddie remains in awe at how well Buck is doing since that terrible night. Sure, the two of them both clung to each other for the first few days after their return. And it was weeks before Eddie felt like he could breathe again anytime Buck was out of his sight. But Buck seems to be doing well.

He hasn’t been plagued by nightmares in the same way Eddie has. He doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up every time their schedules don’t line up and they have to spend a few hours apart. Not like Eddie does, anyway.

He’s doing well.

Eddie is not.

“Was it Wyoming again?” Buck asks after a beat.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he nods. Buck passes him a glass of water from the nightstand. It makes something in Eddie’s chest ache.

Buck is so good to him, so in tune. He always knows exactly what Eddie needs, always before Eddie knows it himself. Eddie could live a million lifetimes and still never find the one in which he’s worthy of being loved by Buck.

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie says, his throat feeling better after downing half the glass of water. “I woke up and you had been taken again.”

Buck sighs. “Oh, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie is quick to say.

“For what?” Buck asks.

Eddie sighs, setting the glass down. “Everything,” he admits.

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, placing a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. “Stop being sorry for that.”

“But I–”

“You came and got me,” Buck says, cutting him off. “Like you always do.”

“I always will.”

Buck smiles, and still, even after all this time, it’s the most beautiful smile Eddie’s ever known. “I’ve never doubted that.”

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