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Buck has decided that he will never step foot outside again. Pun absolutely intended.
He's not going out again- except on calls, but he's basically covered head to toe for those- until all the evil mosquitos die in the cold of winter.
He's also never having a picnic again- but that's mostly to do with the logistics of lowering and raising himself from the ground, and the absurd amount of bugs, and the fact that most of the food is gross by the time they even get around to eating it.
Maybe his real enemy is picnics here, not mosquitoes.
But still, his point stands.
And, to make matters worse, Eddie and Chris got out totally unaffected from the seemingly thousands of mosquitoes floating about the parks of LA.
Their bites are everywhere, his arms, leg, back, even one on his scalp.
Buck tried, he really did, to not scratch. The itch only gets worse after one scratch. But he gave into temptation.
So, he itched once, now he has to keep itching. And itching, and itching. At this point, Buck would rather his skin be rubbed raw than feel itchy.
He spent most of last night tossing and turning, cursing Eddie out for his clear skin and ability to sleep.
Buck's fine if he has a distraction, but of course today had to be mind-melting slow. He considered saying the q-word but he's pretty sure Chim would skin him blind- not that he would mind at this point.
Instead he just has to sit on the couch, rereading the same two pages of his book because he can't focus.
So, he starts to scratch, subtly at first. He can play it off, he's fixing his hair, or adjusting his sleeve. He digs the corner of his book into his hand for some relief.
Then Buck starts to scratch some more, up and down his neck, back, and stomach.
Soon it gets more desperate, moved on to full on itching as his hands fly up and down his legs.
He makes the mistake of looking up and sees everyone staring at him. His hands freeze.
"I know!" Buck says, full of despair. His fingers twitch. "I should've never scratched in the first place."
"Buck," Eddie says, eyes shooting down to his legs.
"What?"
Buck looks down. His left leg has light pink scratches up and down it, and his right leg- oh, right. Pun intended.
His right leg is amputated. His right leg is a prosthetic. His right leg could not possibly be itchy, because it has no feeling in it.
"Oh," Buck says, all the itchiness in his right leg suddenly disappearing.
"What was that, some sort of phantom pain but with bug bites?" Chim asks.
"I guess. It doesn't itch anymore, at least."
Buck's eyes flicker between his legs. He doesn't need to be itching his right leg anymore. Slowly, he brings both hands over to his left leg.
"No!" Eddie chastises.
- - -
Not many people know this- actually everyone does, Buck just lies to himself- but Buck can be pretty dramatic.
Maybe it has to do with needing to practically beg for his parent's attention, or this could just be his real, authentic self.
Buck sneezes loud, house might genuinely be shaking loud, goes basically comatose if he gets even the slightest cough, occasionally rag dolls himself if he gets pushed, pretends to be hurt when someone fakes a swing at him.
He also- but one could argue this a reflex that most people do- is automatically say 'Ow' if he thinks something's going to hurt him, even if it hasn't happened yet.
So, when Buck bumps his prosthetic into the oven while cooking dinner, he subconsciously hisses in pain, even if he can't actually feel it.
He does it again, sitting down at the table to eat. He doesn't see the weird look Eddie gives him.
Eddie huffs as Buck kicks the edge of the coffee table as they settle onto the couch to watch a movie.
"Again?" Buck mutters.
Chris giggles at him, so Buck ruffles his hair in retaliation.
"Do you have to do it every time?" Eddie asks.
Buck frowns, eyebrows scrunching together. "Sorry."
It's not till his foot slips off the coffee table with a small thud and a grumble from Buck, that Eddie realizes.
"Buck," Eddie says, reaching over to pause the TV.
"Hey!" Chris protests.
"I don't know what's into me tonight. I keep bumping into things."
"Which foot?"
"Huh?" Buck asks.
"Which foot have you been bumping into things all night with?"
Eddie feels like a proper asshole, unless Buck is actually tricking him.
"My, uh." Buck sits up a little so he can look at his feet. His left foot is still propped up on the table. "My- huh."
"I thought you were joking, Buck," Chris says with a frown. "Did it actually hurt?"
"I don't think so. It wouldn't actually hurt, kiddo, I would just think it had."
Buck gives an experimental kick to the coffee table. Eddie rolls his eyes.
"I guess not?"
"Maybe it was a subconscious reaction," Eddie suggests. "But now that you're doing it consciously, you know it won't hurt."
"Like how you can't stub your toe on purpose?" Chris asks.
"Exactly, mijo ."
Chris kicks a foot into the coffee table.
"That was not permission to kick the table."
"But it didn't hurt!" Chris protests.
Buck laughs. Eddie elbows him. "That's not the point."
Eddie turns the movie back on before any more experiments happen that will leave him with a broken coffee table.
He whispers his apologies to Buck, who waves him off in return.
Eddie accepts that stubbing his toe on Chris's bed, night stand, and doorway that night is his karma.
- - -
Buck's sitting up in bed when Eddie comes back from the bathroom.
There's something about it all, Buck being in his bed, in his house, in his clothes, that has him crawling across the bed and straddling Buck's thighs.
"Hi," Buck says, already breathless somehow.
Eddie presses into him like a man starving.
They make out lazily for almost ten minutes before Eddie readjusts his position. He freezes for a moment, then pulls back. Buck whines at the loss.
Eddie looks down in confusion. Something didn't feel right when he moved.
Buck frowns and presses a hand against the back of Eddie's neck. "What's wrong?"
Eddie looks up at Buck and almost forgets entirely- Buck's blown-wide eyes and messed up curls are almost too much for him to handle.
He leans on one knee so he can life his other leg up. Eddie looks down and starts giggling .
" Dios , Buck," Eddie says, dropping his forehead to rest on Bucks shoulder.
"What is happening?" Buck asks, mildly offended but without knowing why.
"Your leg," Eddie gasps between wheezes.
"Yeah?" Bucks not sure if he should be offended or concerned. "I always take it off before bed."
"I forgot! I leaned back and I guess I thought your leg would be there."
"What, like you've got phantom limb by proxy?" Buck jokes.
"A couple times I've woken up in the middle of the night, and I got confused when I could feel your thigh on me but not the rest of your leg."
"I think you might miss my leg more than I do," Buck says with a giggle.
- - -
Buck wakes up in absolute agony.
He should've seen it coming. He over did it his last shift. It had been cold all week, and it rained most of yesterday.
Any one of these could set him off, but all three? He's done for.
Buck's blinking away tears as soon as he's awake.
His leg is being crushed, actually crushed and destroyed under a fire engine, thousands of pounds pin him to the road. Except it's not actually, is it?
That happened over a year ago. It doesn't make the pain go away, doesn't make it hurt any less.
Buck lets out a pitiful whine into his pillow. He grips the sheets so tightly that he would usually worry they would rip.
He groans again- he swears he's dying this time and might let it happen just to get some relief- when suddenly Eddie's there, stroking his hair back and rubbing his back.
"Is it your leg?"
Buck jerks his head up once and hopes Eddie gets the message.
He does, thankfully, and leans over Buck to dig through his drawer and get his meds.
Eddie flips him over with relative ease, and Buck feels like he can breathe again. He hadn't been on his back when the fire engine crushed his leg.
Eddie props a pillow under his head and slips a pill into his mouth, and a second after the absolute miserable look in Bucks eye.
Buck dry swallows both pills. He breathes shallowly as Eddie gently wipes the tears from his cheeks.
"You gotta eat something," Eddie whispers.
Buck clenches his eyes shut. He can't fathom doing anything right now.
" I know ," Eddie says so, so softly. "But it makes you sick when you don't eat something. Just some toast? One slice."
Buck shakes his head one to the left and right.
"Crackers?"
"'Kay," Buck murmurs, barely audible.
"I'll be right back," Eddie promises, pressing a kiss to Bucks hair.
Buck isn't sure if Eddie is the fastest man on earth, or he just blacked out, but Eddie's back with a sleeve of crackers and a gatorade before Buck can blink.
"Just a couple."
Buck tries not to feel too pathetic, useless, childish, etc. as Eddie has to hand feed him crackers, but his leg is still on absolute fire, so he doesn't care too much.
Eddie smiles a little at Bucks pout. He cracks the gatorade open and has Buck take small, slow sips.
Bucks eyes flutter close with a soft sigh. He's not going to be going back to sleep anytime soon, though. But the fire in his leg has become more of a dull ache.
"Meds kicking in?" Eddie asks.
"Mmm," Buck hums, "It's like my toes are stretching and twitching."
"Does it hurt?"
"Not as much. It's feels... weird."
Eddie slips a hand into Bucks hair, scratching and massaging his scalp.
"Try to sleep, cariño. "
Buck melts like butter under his touch.