Chris is the one who finds Buck sitting alone in the kitchen at 2am in the dark, save for the light under the cabinets. He has a glass of whiskey, though Chris wonders where Buck has been keeping his alcohol.
"Hey buddy," Buck says, voice low and even. He picks up his glass and takes a sip. "You need water?"
"Yeah, I got thirsty," Chris says quietly.
Buck nods at him to sit, so Chris sits and waits while Buck fills a glass of water for him.
"How are you holding up?" Chris asks when Buck returns to his perch. "I know... I know you were close with Bobby."
A tight smile flickers over Buck's face, and then he sighs. "I'll be okay, eventually."
Chris waits, taking slow sips of his water. Los Angeles water and Texas water taste different.
It's several minutes before Buck replies, "Some seconds are easier to bear than others."
Chris moves to the chair closer to Buck. When he puts a hand on Buck's knee, Buck blinks at him. He looks tired, genuinely exhausted, since the first day Chris met him.
"When Mom died," Chris says, "I kept thinking someone was gonna admit that it was a hoax. That she'd show up at the door with some store bought brownies."
Buck's big blue eyes glimmer.
Chris shrugs. "So I get it. Some seconds are harder than others. Like you're stuck in a dream you wanna wake up from, but can't."
Something complicated passes over Buck's face, like he's trying to control whatever emotion he's feeling from showing, but in the end he just covers his face with one big hand and a thick, damp sob crawls out of his throat.
His own heart aching, Chris stands and moves next to his friend to hug him. Buck lets Chris hold him as he weeps, occasional apologies croaked out between his harsh intakes of air.
Chris pets him on the back of his head, suddenly reminded of that terrifying day on the pier. He doesn't tell Buck that it will become easier; he knows that Buck knows.
He's just glad he's the one who found Buck in the middle of the night. Because he knows what it's like to lose a parent.
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