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He looks like he’s sleeping.
That’s the worst part— that it looks like he could open his eyes at any moment.
Eddie stares at Buck through the window into the room. He’s not supposed to be here. He’d followed a nurse at Bobby’s insistence he get checked out, and after being cleared hadn't been able to face returning to the waiting room.
He hadn’t made the conscious decision to go looking for Buck, but now that he’s here, he can’t bring himself to leave.
He stares, eyes tracing the mechanical rise and fall of Buck’s chest. He clenches his fists, remembering the feeling of Buck’s rain slick skin beneath his hands. In all his years as a medic, then a firefighter, nothing could have prepared Eddie for the sick crack of Buck’s ribs as they caved beneath his hands.
The gown hides the bruises that must be blooming across Buck’s pale skin, just like it hides the vivid branching marks that claw across his chest.
Eddie has a matching mark on his hand, feathering up from where he’d been gripping the side of the ladder. It doesn’t seem fair. They’d both been there on that truck, and all Eddie had to show for it was a burn and a few bruises, while Buck…
He looks like he’s sleeping.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Eddie jerks back from the window. “Sorry, I didn’t— he’s—” He doesn’t have an excuse ready and the words fail on his lips.
“You’re Eddie?” The nurse's expression softens at Eddie’s nod. “They’re looking for you downstairs.”
“Yeah, I’ll go—” he trails off, turning back to the window, his feet making no attempt to carry him away. “How much longer,” he asks instead, “until he can have visitors?”
The nurse makes a soft noise beside him.
“I’m about to go get his sister.” She turns to Eddie, her expression fixed into something unreadable. “You can sit with him for a minute, just until we get back.”
“Thank you.” Eddie’s already reaching for the door, before she can change her mind. The door swings shut behind him, and the busy hum of the ward fades beneath the beep and whir of the machines in the room.
From the bed, Buck looks like he’s sleeping.
Eddie crosses the room with short, uncertain steps, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
Up close, the illusion is shattered.
Buck’s chest rises and falls, with the slow even tempo of the machine counting his breaths.
“Hey.” Eddie almost chokes on the word, clearing his throat to start again. “Hey Buck.”
He reaches out, his fingers hesitating over Buck’s limp hand. He wants to grasp it, feel the warmth of Buck’s skin, the proof he’s still alive.
“I need you to wake up. I can’t—“ he gives in to the urge, his fingers squeezing around Buck’s, careful of the IV lines that disappear beneath his skin. “I need you Buck.” The words that have been playing in the back of his mind come spilling out. “Chris needs you, we— fuck—“ Eddie drops his head down to rest against their joined hands. “You need to wake up.”
He glances up, breath caught in his throat, hoping for some kind of sign that Buck can hear him.
But Buck doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t shift. His fingers stay limp in Eddie’s grip.
He looks like he’s sleeping.