Express to nowhere

Part 12

Buck drifted back into consciousness to the tune of steady beeping. That godforsaken beeping that meant he was alive but in a maybe-almost-wasn't kind of way. He just couldn't wrap his mind around what exactly had happened yet; what exactly he'd done.

"Buck?" Bobby's gentle voice cut through the thick fuzz of cotton in Buck's brain. "Hey, son. You back with us?"

The familiar sensation of a hand, roughened through manual labour, softly brushing the side of his face with fingers combing through his hair became apparent to him. He hadn't really been aware of it before, but he must have been slowly waking up to the gentle caresses for some time. Unconsciously, Buck leaned into the warm palm as the hand paused on his cheek.

"Bobby?" Buck croaked. His throat felt angry and dry, so dry. His mouth tasted like he'd guzzled salt and, fuck, he had, hadn't he? Memories were coming back to him in a jumbled rush.

The bridge. He'd gone over the side of the bridge in that truck. He'd cut Rodney out of his seatbelt and gone out through the window before they could be crushed inside the truck when it inevitably finished slipping through the guardrails.

The ocean. He'd fallen in the water. He'd been looking for Rodney. He'd found him breathing, but barely conscious. The bridge had been in the distance and getting further and further away. The water had been cold, so surprisingly cold, but Buck's legs had burned.

The drowning. The coast guard had found them. For some reason, Chim had been with them. They'd taken Rodney - Buck remembered the immense relief of no longer having to worry about keeping the man's head above the rolling waves. The waves - Buck remembered one crashing into him, he remembered not having the strength to push back, he thought of the pain in his head, the cold rush, the suffocating, the nothingness.

Buck lifted a hesitant hand to his temple, noting the needle and the IV in his right hand. He felt around and cringed when his fingers brushed against a bandage. So, he had hit his head then - and badly too, if the throbbing headache he was swiftly becoming aware of now that he'd located the wound was anything to go by. Was he concussed? He didn't feel concussed.

"Buck - can you open your eyes?"

He did, though it was harder than he'd expected; almost like his eyes had been glued shut by the salt water. He blinked a few times, squinting against the harsh fluorescent overhead lights. Bobby was leaning over him, one hand wrapped tightly around the safety rail on his bed, the other still warmly cupping Buck's cheek. He was wearing his LAFD hoodie, which Buck distinctly remembered Bobby not wearing out on the call at the bridge. How long had he been out?

"You gave us quite the scare, kid." Bobby smiled down at him, his eyes crinkling but still, somehow, so sad. Buck couldn't handle the weight of that gaze, didn't even want to start to speculate about what it all meant. Whether it was fear or disappointment that he was seeing. Or worse, whether it was both. He broke eye contact to briefly look around the room, but it was vacant except for him and Bobby. He'd clearly been checked into the hospital and was in a semi-private room, but the bed next to his was empty.

The curtains were drawn, and there was no light bleeding through. It was still night, then. Maybe he hadn't been here all that long.

"Chim took Maddie home to be with Jee-Yun and get some rest," Bobby explained gently, the emptiness of the room no longer pressing in on Buck in a way he wished wasn't so familiar. "Hen should be back any minute now."

"What - what time is it?" Buck asked, licking his dry lips. If Chim had taken Maddie home, maybe more time had passed than he'd thought.

"What do you remember?" Bobby asked instead. His hand released the rail and slipped into Buck's left hand at his side, squeezing once; gently, reassuringly, like a second touchpoint for proof of life. Bobby's thumb gently brushed against Buck's cheek, but his hand still didn't leave his face.