ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 Wordcount: 7.1k Summary: Everything gets a lot more complicated. It's also a lot easier. Warnings: MCD (canon compliant), idiot4idiot, yearning overload, dead mom waffles™, depictions of grief/injury/surgery aftermath, firetruck KA-BOOM, and they were roommates??. A/N: rip...
That secret, useless, inconvenient talent of yours comes back again. Only this time, when you inconveniently cross paths with Shannon Diaz, she’s dying. Some people would wish death upon the woman their ex is currently married to, but you can't do that. In fact, you have to save her. And quick.
Because Chim is barely holding Eddie back from coming over here. If it were anyone but Shannon, you would've already been coming to terms with the fact that this woman just isn't going to make it. You'd already done all you could to control the bleeding, but there was already too much bleeding by the time you'd arrived on site.
Hen's also there, asking her questions. Her expression isn't reassuring in the least. She looks alarmed, and a little sad. If you could look through the cloud of denial blocking all of your emotions, you'd probably look the same. But right now, you're still focused on saving her.
You yell out at the ambulance, asking why it's taking so long to bring a stretcher over here. The amount of blood pouring out onto the concrete is making you dizzy. Eddie finally makes his way over. He crouches down and looks at you in question. He'd just been told it was pretty bad by Chim, but he wants confirmation. You have to tell him the truth. You shake your head.
Then he finally looks down at her. His eyes are filled with an inexplicable sadness. You've only met Shannon Diaz four times, this one included, but you can't bear the thought that she might die. That she might die and leave Eddie and Chris alone again.
“Shannon?” Eddie calls out to her.
She sounds delirious, “Hey. Are you here?”
He gives her a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and nods.
“I'm here.”
She looks between the both of you and you can tell she's trying to smile. The universe is playing the biggest joke on her ever, and she's trying to smile. You think you can see where Christopher gets his strength from.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” she jokes.
Yeah, you wouldn’t want your husband’s almost-mistress stare at you during your last moments, either.
Hen uses her stethoscope to measure her heart rhythm and sounds. She over looks at Chimney.
“Vitals trending downwards,” she announces. It makes a pit form in your stomach.
You gulp as Chim begins handing out assignments. You let her and Eddie have a moment as you get ready to pull her up onto the backboard.
“Ready?” Chim asks, and you nod, “On three. Three, two, one.”
You pull her up by her legs, rolling her onto the backboard. She closes her eyes slightly. You can imagine the pain is intolerable. You pull her up with the rest of the paramedics and bring her to the ambulance.
You're already on the ambulance before you can think to leave. You really don't want to make this any worse for her, but it's already too late to get off. Hen needs a hand and you aren't sure you can find someone quick enough once you step off. So you stay.
“She's decompensating. We got to intubate her,” Hen yells.
You prep the intubation tube and anything else she might need. But Eddie decides against it at the last moment, which is pretty understandable. He wants a his few minutes with her to not be silent. He holds her hand on the ride to the hospital.
“I don't feel anything. That can't be good, right?” she questions. It isn't.
She gasps and starts crying. Usually, you'd have to advise against it, but you'll absolutely let her have her moment.
“Leaving again,” she begins, “I'm so sorry. I'd love... a little more time.”
“Just be silent,” he advises her.
He's right, of course, it usually helps make her chances of survival higher. But you think it's more for him than her. He doesn't want to feel this right now. He wants to stay strong for her. He smiles, and tries to stop himself from crying.
“God, I love you so much,” he whispers. “Christopher loves you so much.”
You can feel Hen sneak a glance at you. This absolutely isn't about you, and yet she's still checking on you. You nod towards her, trying not to let the dam of your tears break.
You're so sad for them both, and you can feel your heart break for Chris. He probably wasn't going to have Shannon as a mother figure in his life anyway, but there was still a possibility. This takes even that small chance away.
“I...I,” Shannon says through labored breaths, “I love you...both.”
Her eyes move backwards, and it's clear she's finding it very difficult to say what she wants to next, but she's determined to get it out.
It comes out in barely a screech, when she makes eye contact with Eddie and then you and says, “Take care...of Chris.”
And then her eyes are rolling back, and she can barely breathe. Hen and Chimney start intubating almost immediately. Eddie sits back on the ambulance bench. You both stare at her with tears in your eyes. Instinctually, you grab his hand and squeeze tight. He doesn't dare let go until you've reached the hospital.
Shannon Diaz's death hits everyone hard. It hits her son and husband the most, of course, but the impact is widespread. After the hospital, you head straight home. Your head isn't screwed on right for hours after. You spend the long minutes on the couch, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.
Eventually, you make your way to the kitchen, and before you even know it, you're making food for two extra people, and packing it into Tupperware containers. It’s the kind of thing you’ve seen friends do for each other. It’s the kind of thing you hope Shannon meant when she spoke her last words.
You change out of your uniform and get into your car with a definite location in mind. So, you aren't too shocked when you end up parked in front of the Diaz residence.
It takes you a few minutes to gather up the courage to make it out of your car. When you do, you ring the doorbell twice and wait for an answer. A minute goes by before the door swings open.
Eddie's on the other side. He looks shocked to see you. His hair's a mess. His eyes are swollen and blood-shot, like he's been crying. You hold up the bags you brought over.
“It's food. And dessert,” you explain. “I figured you don't have much energy left to cook. Kid's gotta eat, right?”
You hand him the bags and he sets them on the table beside the door. The look in his eyes says he wants to lean in and kiss the living daylights out of you. He might’ve, in another universe, where his wife, who was trying to walk out on him for the second time, hadn’t just died horrifically.
Instead, he steps onto the porch and hugs you in gratitude. You think he might've forgotten about food altogether. You smile curtly when he pulls away.
“You need anything else?” you offer. “Anything at all.”
He shakes his head immediately, and you take it as a sign to leave. As you're walking back to your car, though, he calls out to you.
“Actually,” he runs over, “It's Chris. He's been in his room ever since we got back from my abuela's. He won't come out. I don't know... I'm not sure I know how to deal with him. Do you mind trying?”
You nod right away. Of course you'd try. You both make your way inside, and he closes the door behind you. He takes the bags you'd brought into the kitchen, as you take off your coat. He tilts his head to where Chris' room is, but you already know.
You make your way through the hallway and to Christopher's door. The door's already open, but you knock anyway. He's lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It reminds you of yourself a few hours ago. He looks over at you, and then looks back up. You take that as a sign to come in.
You walk inside slowly, and make your way to sit beside him, on the edge of the low bed. You actually aren't too sure what you'll say. You were hoping it'd come to you in the moment.
“How're you feeling?” you ask, to start off.
He just shakes his head. Okay, not much to work with.
You sigh and look at the floor. You just try to imagine what you'd want to be said to you. That seems to work wonders, because you start blurting something out before you know it.
“Y'know, I'm kind of an expert at losing people. I've lost so many someones I've loved before,” you inform him, hoping it'll build credibility. And it's true. The job doesn't come without its losses. You've seen so many friends off, you've had to watch so many heroes you considered family pass away, you watch people almost lose the people they love the most on the daily.
“I know you’re feeling a lot of things. I know you might feel like it’s your fault in some roundabout way,” you tell him, because guilt always finds a way to creep into feelings of grief.
“But I need you to know, you did everything right. Even if it was just being there with her. You did everything you could,” you affirm. It's a little good to hear yourself too.
“And I know it hurts a lot, every time you think of her,” you guess, and he nods, closing his eyes tightly.
“But over time, it’ll hurt less and less. And eventually, you’ll remember her and it’ll only hurt a little. You're so strong, Chris. And she was so strong. And so brave.”
He needs to know, you think. He needs to know that she fought for him. He should remember her well, even if she wasn't the best at staying. You grab his hand and he squeezes tightly. You smile at him, and he smiles back. You bring a hand up to trace the side of his cheek, and it makes him laugh loudly.
“You hungry, bud?” you ask.
“Yes,” he all but shouts.
“Well, there's some dinner in the kitchen. I'm sure your dad's waiting for you.”
He shoots up and makes his way towards the door. Only then, do you realize that Eddie's been standing there the whole time. He thanks you quietly, as they make their way to the kitchen.
You stand in the hallway, not sure where to go. If you and Eddie were still together, you'd have stayed for dinner. You'd have stayed the night, too. Throughout the course of your relationship, you'd forgotten enough stuff around, opting to 'borrow' Eddie's instead, that you could stay over at any time without issue.
Now, though, it feels awkward to even be here. There are almost no traces of Shannon around the house. It's like she was a ghost that wafted in and wafted out with such meticulous care, that she didn't leave anything behind. It was newfound information to you that she was planning on leaving Chris and Eddie, again.
If you weren't so saddened and shocked by her death, you'd have resented her. The time you shared being integrated into their family was the best you've ever had. You don't think you'll never understand why anyone self-sabotages so thoroughly. You've had your moments, too, but those were fueled by a fear that you'd be the one getting left. A leave before you get left mentality. Or a leave before you get left again one.
So, you make your way to the door, set on leaving. You'll show up for the funeral tomorrow, but you can't stay here right now.
Chris catches you at the door. You feel cruel for trying to leave without saying goodbye now. You crouch down and give him a smile.
“I have to go,” you confess, “I'll see you tomorrow?”
“No,” he responds, and you frown.
“Can you stay and make me waffles tomorrow?”
You close your eyes and laugh. Wow, you regret making him waffles that one time. You ruffle his hair with one hand, as you think of the smoothest rejection possible.
“Y'know, maybe I could come over a little earlier and bring them with me,” you suggest.
He doesn't look too pleased. But he nods and makes his way into the living room to eat, as Eddie leaves the kitchen with two plates in hand.
“You can stay,” he whispers.
You look up at him with a shocked expression from your crouched position. You get up and shake your head. You can't, really.
“Hey, you did say anything,” he reminds you, “And Chris needs this right now. I can tell.”
You sigh, “I guess I did.”
Shannon's last words replay in your mind. Take care of Chris. Her eye contact with you couldn't have been a mistake. You can't shake the undeniable responsibility you feel for the kid now. You can tell it isn't just Christopher who needs you, but that is neither here nor there. Besides, you're more than willing and able to help. So you will.
Eddie nods in understanding, “Go make yourself a plate in the kitchen, and come join us.”
You wake up a little before sunrise. Sleeping was a battle in and of itself, but waking up to a bunch of clattering in the kitchen is less than pleasant. The couch was moderately comfortable. You fluff the cushions back up before making your way to the kitchen. You look at the offender who's woken you up through lidded eyes.
“Couldn't sleep?” you grumble at Eddie, as he opens up all of the cabinets to look inside for something.
“Hey. Yeah,” he says, still searching around.
You make your way over to him and grab his arms.
“Could you...just stop with the noise?” you whisper angrily.
You sigh, “You're going to wake Christopher up.”
He nods. You let him go. You cross your arms and lean on the counter, trying to wake yourself up for a moment. Coffee, you decide, is probably a good choice right now.
You walk towards the coffee maker and fill it up with enough water for two, clicking the button to get it to open. Then, you turn around and stare expectantly at Eddie, who's still standing in the same place you left him.
“So, what the hell is it you’re looking for exactly?”
“Melatonin pills. I can't do this funeral without at least a few hours of sleep,” he says, and you frown in confusion.
“My family's making it into town. My parents,” he explains.
You nod. Ah. The overbearing parents he told you all about that one night. You imagine that can't be easy. You wish you could find a way to pop their tires telepathically so they can't make it. The funeral's going to be difficult on its own, without their interference.
“You could always just tell them you moved houses. Y'know, misdirection,” you recommend, making jazz hands. He laughs. That was kind of the intention.
“Or just ditch the funeral. Kid won't remember it anyway,” you shrug.
He looks contemplative, “I think that'd make them a bit more...y'know.”
“Valid point.”
You turn around to pour two cups of coffee. You hand Eddie one and take the other for yourself.
“C'mon, you probably won't sleep anyway,” you tell him, as he second-guesses whether he should take that first sip or not.
He starts to drink from the mug, but looks a little saddened by the fact that he won't be getting any sleep any time soon. You nurse your mug and stare at the fridge.
“We should probably get started on those waffles. So they're ready when he wakes up,” you suggest.
“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says, like he's completely forgotten why you're here in the first place.
You gather all of the ingredients into a pile on the counter. It doesn't take you long to realize that a key ingredient is missing. Milk.
“We're missing the milk. Why the hell do you guys not have any milk? There's a growing boy in the house,” you complain, half-joking.
Eddie snickers at you, “We could just use water.”
You turn around and narrow your eye at him, “Sorry, what? You think I'm going to half-ass the dead mom waffles?”
“Oh, right. Of course not,” he reasons, sarcastically.
You grab his mug out of his hand.
“Go,” you order, “and bring back some milk.”
He rolls his eyes but leaves the kitchen nonetheless. You hear the front door shut. You begin assembling the dry ingredients, and cracking eggs into a large bowl. By the time you're done, Eddie walks in with two milk cartons. You smile and thank him, proceeding to make the batter.
The sun begins to rise as you talk and pop the waffles into the waffle maker. You sip on reheated coffee as the scent of something freshly baked wafts through the house. You almost burn a couple of the waffles, too engrossed in each other's conversation.
You'd be lying if you said it wasn't incredibly weird to be acting so normal. No one can bring themself to address the elephant in the room, so you just sweep the last two months under the rug and let yourself enjoy the calm before the storm.
The aforementioned storm being the funeral, of course.
The finishing touches you set up onto the dining table consist of butter, the jar of strawberry jam, chocolate syrup, and a few plates. Chris walks into the living room as you set up the last plate. His smile is wide when he realizes you kept your promise and stayed to make the waffles.
“Good morning, Chris!” you say.
“Morning,” he mutters, still clearly sleepy.
You're glad he looks a lot better than yesterday. He makes his way to the table to take a seat, as Eddie walks in from his room. He'd been in the bathroom getting ready for the day ahead. He kisses Chris on the cheek before taking a seat.
You sit beside Christopher, asking which waffle he'd like.
“That one!” he points.
You put two waffles onto his plate, and hand him the chocolate sauce and sprinkles you know he likes. You watch him and Eddie eat, sipping on your second coffee of the day. Eddie's phone pings with a text. He sighs and his body language speaks volumes about how stressed he is.
“What is it?” you ask.
“Oh, nothing. My parents just said their ETA is in half an hour,” he answers.
You look down at your mug. You should really head out before they get here. The last thing any of you need is Eddie's parents asking about you sleeping over the night his wife died. You aren't sure you'd be able to explain if you tried.
You wait until Chris is almost done with his waffles, and you make your way into the kitchen to wash out your mug. When you come back you announce that you should get going. Chris takes a last bite and gets out of his seat to hug you good bye.
“Thank you,” he says. You're sure he's just talking about the waffles, but it makes you smile anyway.
“Of course. I'll see you later, okay?” you promise, and he nods.
You give Eddie a smile, and mouth ‘good luck,’ before making your way to the front door.
No one likes funerals, and you're certainly no exception. You happen to think that funerals should be abolished altogether. Memorials are acceptable. But the time directly after a person dies should be strictly reserved for the family to grieve. Not only have they just had someone die, now they have to host a bunch of people who couldn't possibly care about that someone more than they do. And the cherry on top of it all is: the body's there for everyone to gawk at. It's absurd.
Besides, it forces you to contemplate your own life in ways you wouldn't otherwise. You hate it.
After the burial, there's a small reception at the Diaz's. You sit with the rest of the 118, and entertain Chris with little games. Eddie's parents have mistaken you for Carla twice now, each. Your modest, black dress is itchy and uncomfortable. You feel so overstimulated and sad you might just die right here and turn this into your own funeral. You don't do that though; it'd be incredibly self-centered.
So, you offer everyone who comes to hug Christopher a curt smile, and ignore their judgmental looks. Yes, you're aware his mother's just died. No, you aren't trying to replace her. But how do you explain to anyone that her dying wish was this?
When it's all over, you hug Eddie goodbye, and kiss Christopher's cheek with a promise that you'll be back. His grandparents aren't nearly as happy as he is at that, though. Hen drives you home after, and you rant to her all about it on the way there. She's one of the only people who were there when Shannon said what she'd said, so she just nods and agrees the whole way home.
You're on a quick med call, the night after, when you receive a phone call from Eddie. He hasn't called you since the day you fought about Shannon. It makes you frown. Your immediate thought is that he might be in danger.
“Hey Hen?” you call out to her as she patches up a citizen, “I need a minute.”
She nods and waves you away.
You quickly press 'accept,' as the last ring sounds. There's immediately just a bunch of heavy breathing on the other line.
“Hey, Eddie? What's wrong?” you say abruptly.
“Oh, uh,” he sounds a little surprised that you picked up.
“Nothing. Nothing's wrong,” he claims, but his voice is a little shaky.
“Talk to me,” you urge.
He takes a shaky breath, “You're on a call?”
“No, no. Don't worry,” you reassure.
You can almost hear him run a worried hand through his hair.
“What is it? Is Chris okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. He's fine. I just...”
You wait for him to continue.
“It's just,” he sighs, “They didn't even come for the funeral. They just came to convince me and Christopher to-”
He barely even continue with his sentence without pausing take a deep breath. He stays silent for a moment, and you genuinely begin contemplating if you should clock out a little earlier to be with him.
“My parents. They came all the way here to try and get me and Chris to go back to El Paso,” he rambles.
It makes your heart sink. Even in the time you weren't talking to Eddie, he's been a stable pillar in your life. You've let yourself get too close, and now the thought of him and his son leaving makes your chest hurt.
“Is that what you want?”
“No, no. God no. We're trying to build a life here, away from my parents,” he explains, and you almost sob in relief.
“I want nothing more than for Christopher to grow up somewhere he can express himself freely. Texas is not that. We're not going back,” he asserts, but there's still a bit of doubt in his voice.
You check the clock on your phone, it's almost midnight. Hen begins to call for you to join her in the ambulance.
“Hey, I'm sorry. I have to go,” you confess, “But my shift ends in an hour. I'll come around with a six-pack and we can talk all about it, yeah?”
“You don't...” he trails off, “There's no need.”
“Well, that's just not true,” you call him out.
You begin walking towards the ambulance, “See ya, Eddie.”
“Yeah. See you,” he says with a smile, and you hang up.
The city's been a complete mess since the bombings have started. Everyone's panicking at any sight of an unmarked package or unclaimed school lunch anywhere. You get the mass hysteria, though. You find yourself texting Eddie every few hours to check up on him and Chris. He does the same. It's so crazy to think that with a single wrong movement, you could end up so seriously injured. Or worse.
You can tell Eddie's a lot more than just on edge. All of these incidents are triggering something from his past. He constantly looks like there are skeletons being dug up from his closet, skeletons he's had buried so deep for so long. You're sure it has something to do with his time in the army, but when you ask him he just brushes it off. So, you just do your best to remind him that you and Christopher are completely fine.
Unfortunately, for him, that also means that he's started putting you and him in different firetrucks. It's a grim thought, but you figure he does it, because if he ever ends up injured en route, you're one of the only people he trusts to do their best to help. On site, and if it goes really badly, with Christopher.
So, today, you ride with Buck and a few other firefighters in a different firetruck than the rest of the them. His text comes through a few minutes after you've been on the road.
Checking in.
You laugh at how oddly clingy it is. You begin typing a message back, but before you can respond your phone is thrown out of your hand.
A loud noise fills your ears. You can feel the truck tip back, falling onto its side. You can see red, and heat licks at your face before you feel your face slide across the hard concrete of the street. A burning pain shoots up your chest. You breathe heavily, and every breath comes with unimaginable pain.
You try to sit up, your hands supporting you by leaning on the road, but you fail miserably. You wince in pain instead, and fall back onto your front. You look back at the firetruck, which was a few feet away from landing directly on top of you. You immediately start looking for Buck, whose fate wasn't as lucky as yours.
He's lying directly underneath the truck, his entire leg crushed by the vehicle. You can hear him scream in pain. You almost sob at the sight, but you notice someone standing above him. You squint. It looks like just a kid.
A kid with a bomb strapped to his chest.
Your eyes grow wide, as he says something inaudible to Buck. In minutes, the site is surrounded with cop cars and news vans. You try to crawl your way to Buck, in hopes you can help him in any conceivable way.
You hear Eddie call out your name. He's behind the truck with Hen and Chimney. He tries to instinctually run to you, but Hen holds him back, whispering something into his ear.
“Give me your captain!” the idiot holding you hostage screams.
He keeps yelling nonsense about the captain, and when he tries tell off someone for moving, with you directly behind him, Chimney steps into view.
“I'm the captain,” he announces, “I'm the captain, so please just let me help them, okay? Please.”
The teenager clarifies that he wants Bobby instead. You sigh, and continue crawling towards Buck, glad for the distraction. Once you reach Buck, you place a gentle hand onto his back.
“Hey, you're going to be okay,” you whisper. “We’re going to be okay.”
You lean back against the truck, breathing heavily. You both watch Bobby negotiate for your lives. You listen to the kid call you 'collateral damage' and it almost makes you puke. You'd really prefer if you didn't die right now.
The kid, Freddie, walks closer to you and threatens to make you all 'go boom,' as he says. You stare up at the sky. If these are going to be your last moments, you don't want to spend them staring at this murdering halfwit.
Your eyes land on Eddie instead. You smile. He smiles back. You wouldn't exactly say you'd die happy now, but you'd die pretty satisfied.
You're starting to think Bobby's very bad at negotiating if it has you thinking about death. He disarms him physically after distracting him instead. That works wonders.
Eddie, Hen, and Chimney run in your direction immediately. Eddie pulls you in for a tight hug. Your tears begin almost immediately. He kisses the side of your brow and wipes your cheeks. He only pulls back when you bring his attention to your dying friend.
You move to crouch beside Buck, as you all check his vitals and try to figure out a way to get him out from under this truck. You all try to pull the truck up with sheer force. You quickly realize there aren't enough people.
Thankfully, the people of LA, while incredibly self-absorbed and uncharitable, can be helpful too. They help you pull the truck up and release Buck in no time. You move him into the ambulance and make your way to the hospital.
You rest your head against the walls of the ambulance, feeling a little lightheaded. Hen and Chimney are working on stabilizing Buck, when Eddie turns his focus to you. He tends to a cut on your forehead from the initial blast, as you focus on evening out your breathing.
“You alright? Any pain anywhere?” he asks.
You shake your head, as he checks your vitals anyway. When he checks your pulse, he frowns deeply. He grabs the blood pressure monitor from behind him.
“Your heart rate's really high,” he notes, putting the cuff onto your arm.
“You're hypotensive too.”
You roll your eyes at him.
“I'm probably just coming down from the adrenaline rush. I was almost killed, y'know,” you say, clutching your chest.
A wave of pain hits you like a freight train. You take gasping breaths trying to calm your body down, but breathing's difficult and your chest feels heavy.
Your head's getting lighter by the second. You can feel your vision getting blurrier, too, until Eddie's just a blob of blue in your sight. You whimper at the heaviness in your chest. You can barely hear the questions Eddie's yelling at you, as you fall unconscious.
You wake up to a screech and a hug so tight it makes you see colors dance in your vision, from the pain. You're just about to cuss whoever it is out, when you realize it's little Christopher, who's just excited to see you wake up. So you grit your teeth, and smile through the pain.
You ruffle his hair, as Eddie makes his way into your line of sight. He looks like he'd been sleeping here, in this hospital room. You frown at his tired appearance. Carla comes by and takes Christopher away to bring a nurse over, and to give you and Eddie some privacy.
“Hey,” you croak out.
“Hi,” he greets, sounding he's about to cry.
You realize you can't remember a single thing after falling unconscious, “What happened?”
“You, uh,” he sounds a little choked up, “You had some internal bleeding. Hemothorax, probably from the fall.”
He gulps, “They had to perform a thoracotomy to remove the blood. Your lung was collapsed. You couldn't breathe. I just...”
He trails off. His eyes have a faraway glance in them. It looks like he's hanging on by a thread, so close to breaking down. You can tell he's reliving those moments in the ambulance, and whatever happened after. You pull his hand into yours. You let him feel your pulse with his fingers to ground him.
“I'm okay, alright? You didn't lose me. You saved me,” you say, with absolute certainty.
“No,” he sobs out, “I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. Hen had to help you. I was...stuck.”
“Oh,” you blink, “That doesn't matter, y'know. There's barely anything you could've done when I was in an ambulance, already on the way to the hospital.”
“No, no,” he argues, “I couldn't even hold your hand. You could've...You could've died. And I couldn't even look at you.”
You bring his hand up to your lips. It's a gesture that shocks him. He looks into your eyes with an intensity that almost makes you want to cry with him.
“It's okay. I forgive you. You did all you could. You did your best, Eddie,” you reassure him.
He nods once. Then, the nurses walk in and they're checking your vitals, looking at your stitches, and making sure you're comfortable. Eddie keeps his eyes on you the entire time. He searches for any way to help, but when the opportunity never comes up, he excuses himself.
"I'm gonna go call Hen. She wanted to know when you woke up."
A few days later, it's almost time for you to be discharged. Hen had taken the key to your apartment to bring you back some clothes and other essentials. You had slowly gotten up from your bed to throw the outfit she'd brought you on, in the few moments you had alone.
You only managed to slip your jeans on, though, before someone burst through your room door. You turn around immediately, covering yourself with your shirt. Your first instinct is to shout, so you do.
“Close the damn door, Diaz,” you yell.
For some reason, Eddie takes that as an invitation to close the door behind him, instead of getting out. You roll your eyes. Well, he's definitely seen it all before, so there's no reason to be shy. You move your shirt away to throw it on, which leaves you in just your bra.
He stands frozen in the corner. His eyes are trained on the bandages covering your surgical site. He must notice something, because he yells out before you can fully get your shirt on.
“Wait!” he shouts.
You look back at him, frowning. He makes his way across the room to you, staring at your torso. You wait expectantly for him to say anything. He doesn't. Just continues staring.
“Y'know if you wanted me to stay naked, you could've just asked,” you joke.
His face flushes, “No. That's not it, obviously. You bled through the surgical dressing, it's been soaked. When'd they last change it? How didn't you notice?”
You don't look down, now that he mentions blood.
“Uh, this morning probably? And I don't look,” you say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“I can't look,” you clarify, “I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If I look, I'll freak out.”
He nods in understanding. He starts to gather a few things from around the room. He starts washing his hands with an antiseptic soap.
“So how were you planning on changing those every day at home, exactly?” he questions.
“Oh, I wasn't. I was planning on calling Hen to do it for me,” you explain.
He laughs, and grabs a pair of gloves out of the glovebox. You frown in confusion.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm going to change your bandages. Do you mind?”
“Well, yes. I like to think, as a respectable young woman, that my first choice, in a hospital full of doctors and nurses, for this isn't my ex.”
He nods, “Yeah, well, I'm all you have. They're pretty backed up. Train wreck. It could take hours for someone to come in and help you. And you seem pretty eager to get out of here.”
You are. You hate hospitals. You've hated them a lot more since you had a full-blown panic attack in one. And he's a trained professional. You're sure he's done this kind of thing an endless amount of times.
“Fine. Whatever. Go ahead,” you succumb to your fate
Eddie helps you sit up on the edge of the hospital bed. He makes his way downward, so he's at eye level with your wound. He's so close, you can feel his breath on your skin. It makes every hair on your body stand.
He starts to pull off the soaked dressings slowly. And it hurts like a bitch, even with all of the pain-killers they have you on. You wince in pain, and grab the back of his neck instinctively.
You're just about to apologize when he says, “It's okay. Just hold on. I'll be more careful.”
He dabs the wound to make sure it's dry. He grabs the new bandages and rips them open. He carefully positions them where they're supposed to be, applying gentle pressure to get the adhesive to stick to your dry skin. You keep your hand on the nape of his neck the entire time, gripping tighter when it gets more painful.
When he's done, he comes back up. But your hand doesn't leave him. He makes no move to step away. You both just stare at each other for a long moment. Your eyes drift from his eyes to his lips a few times.
Until a nurse steps into the room with wide eyes.
“Uh, I'll just come back,” she mutters, shutting the door as she leaves.
You turn around to look at him with narrowed eyes. You grab your shirt from your lap and whip him with it.
“You said they were backed up!” you accuse.
He just laughs and walks away, “They were!”
You finally throw your shirt on. You know you should feel a little taken advantage of, but you can't help but feel thrilled. Having him touch you again was a much needed comfort.
He makes his way towards the door, and then stops abruptly, like he's remembered why he came here in the first place, “Also, I think you should come stay with me and Chris for a few days. You need someone to help you around the house.”
“And I'm more than willing to do that every day.”
You shriek and laugh nervously at him. You wish you could say no. Well, that's a lie. It all just makes logical sense, you suppose.
You need someone to look after you, and he doesn't seem to mind. You'd also be doing him a favor by looking after Christopher while he's at work. Mutual transaction.
Also, the thought of him changing your bandages every day sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. You nod in agreement as he all but skips his way out of the hospital room.
Well, seems like Christopher isn't the only person who's going to enjoy this new roommate arrangement.
“Hello, Probie,” you tease, resting against the locker beside Eddie's.
“Not anymore,” Eddie responds firmly.
“No, no,” you say, shaking your head.
You wave your phone in front of his face, “I still have an hour to call you that. I’m wearing it out.”
He sighs, looking frustrated. He's been standing in front of the mirror in the station dressing room for 17 minutes trying to get his tie right. You counted.
You step closer in his direction. You grab the tie from him roughly. He almost tells you off, but gets distracted by your uniform, which is tighter today than your everyday one. He begins to look you up as down, as you begin to tie his tie neatly.
“How's your wound?” he asks.
“It's fine, dad. You don't have to keep asking me every ten minutes,” you snark, still working on the tie.
It usually doesn't take you three minutes to do this, but you'd like to prolong it as much as possible. You could guess he's definitely done the same once or twice while changing your dressings. That sadly ended a two days after you'd gotten discharged, and you wouldn't admit it even with a gun to your head, but you miss his touch.
Once it's tied, you tap his chest twice to get him to look. He finally takes his eyes off of you to look down. He looks pleased with it. He looks into the mirror one last time, and then slams his locker closed.
You can tell he's anxious, because his parents are in town. He gets this way whenever they come by. It's completely valid, but today is his day, no one else's. So you'll try to distract him in any way possible.
“You look nervous. Are you nervous, Probie?” you joke, sitting on the bench in the middle of the room. He joins you.
“I am not,” he denies, tying his boot.
“And stop calling me that,” he insists, but his eyes say he's entertained by this whole interaction.
You shake your head hard, “No. I actually can't believe I didn't do it more often, when I had the chance. Never mind, though, I still have 55 minutes.”
You laugh and move out of the way when he tries to grab you, shaking your head furiously. You walk out of the dressing room, cackling like a maniac. You pull your phone out and shoot him a message.
Probie.
He responds almost immediately. You can hear him chuckle from the other room.
Stop
You don't. In fact, his annoyance only makes you more insistent. You keep calling him that until the very moment he gets awarded the title of firefighter. Literally.
As you and Chris sit at a table, with Carla and Eddie's abuela, you convince him to cheer Eddie on when he appears to receive his new title. You want Chris to feel comfortable enough to cheer his dad on, but you also want to use the opportunity for evil.
You can't help but scream, “Yeah, Probie Diaz!” at him, as he walks over. He shoots you a feigned dirty look, but it dissipates into a smile as he sees Chris hoot for him, with you encouraging it. You both watch Bobby declare him a firefighter, pride filling your hearts.
When the ceremony's over, you take pictures and pointedly avoid Eddie's parents. You can already tell they know you're staying with him and Christopher. And they aren't happy about it in the least.
You're sure in another life, where you'd just meet them on an emergency and had absolutely no personal ties to them, you wouldn't hate Helena and Ramón Díaz.
In this life, though, you do. Anyone who's aware of the harm they cause Eddie, and by extension Christopher, would too.
After hours of carefully tip-toeing around Eddie's parents, Christopher decides that he’s completely worn out and passes out on the couch at the station. Eddie carries him, when you all make your way to the truck.
You both sigh loudly once you’re in the car alone, and as far away as possible from Chris' grandparents. You laugh quietly at your mutual distress, before making your way home in comforting silence.
Even though being around Eddie's parents has put a bitter taste in your mouth, you wouldn't trade this for the world. Christopher quietly snoring in the back seat, as Eddie drives you all back to their house. A house you've never felt anything less than loved and appreciated in.
You quickly realize on the way back that all of the glares and subtle side-eyes were completely worth it. You hope you don't have to see Helena and Ramón again any time soon.
A/N: caring more about your ex almost dying than your wife being dead is crazy work. i love eddie.
