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What wakes Eddie up isn’t the light that’s pouring in through the blinds he always forgets to close. It isn’t the cold air tickling his bare feet where his comforter has been kicked up. It isn’t even the familiar sound of his alarm ringing from the bedside table.
No. It’s the way the warm body he’s attached to in every place possible is moving. Away from him.
Eddie’s ability to think has not yet turned on. But some deep, instinctual part of him just knows—this is the absolute last thing he wants to happen.
He’s still half-asleep and too tired to do anything that could really stop this unacceptable behavior. All he manages is a sleepy sound in protest. Against the skin of Buck’s neck, it comes out more like a content hum.
Buck, his mind catches up finally. The warm body is Buck.
His pillow smells like the fancy lavender shampoo Buck uses and his nose is being tickled by soft wisps of hair and his heart is joining in on the birdsong barely filtering in from outside and Buck—his beautiful, perfect, sweet Buck—is in his arms.
And trying to leave them, Eddie realizes with dawning horror. Because suddenly he feels fresh air under his nose rather than the head of curls he’s been breathing into, and Buck is shifting against his chest and briefly running a hand over the forearm Eddie has slung over his waist like he’s soaking it in before he tries to pry it away.
Eddie doesn’t let him. Pulling his wrist out of Buck’s gentle grasp, he wraps his arm more securely around his body, palm sliding over warm, bare skin as he pushes himself closer into his back. He nestles his nose into Buck’s neck and says, “No.”
It comes out sleepy and raspy and not as firm as he wants it to, but at least it gets Buck to stop moving.
“No?” He snorts, amused. “What do you mean no?”
Eddie noses at the shaved-down hair at his nape. “You’re not allowed to leave,” he says without opening his eyes, petulant and toddler-like and so desperately in love. “‘S too early.”
Eddie wouldn’t be able to see Buck’s face even if his eyes were open, but he can still picture the way he’s probably raising his eyebrows, all amused and beautiful and everything Eddie’s ever wanted. “Eddie, that was literally your alarm that went off. At the same time it always does,” he stresses.
This, Eddie thinks, is a shitty counterargument. Who cares about the alarm that’s meticulously set up to give Eddie just the right amount of time to shower and brush his teeth and make sure Christopher has eaten before it’s time to take him to school? Buck should stay in his arms forever.
Eddie decides to discard the point completely, ignoring Buck’s protest to instead map out all the bare skin he can reach, from the peak of Buck’s spine to the hidden corner behind his ear, featherlight presses of his lips that can hardly be considered kisses. He brushes his nose over Buck’s ear and smiles lazily when it causes Buck to shiver. “Too early,” he mumbles, again, insistent.
“Eddie,” Buck tries to scold, but he can tell he’s smiling so big that it completely ruins the effect. Even just imagining the face he’s making—cheeks scrunched and eyes crinkling—makes Eddie feel like he’s falling in love with the guy all over again. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to survive a lifetime of this, of loving someone so much it feels like it’s going to burst out of you. “If I’m not out there in like, the next ten seconds to start making pancakes, Christopher’s going to start screaming.”
Eddie just makes a hmph sound and squeezes Buck tighter.
His back is so firm and muscular and solid against his chest. Eddie loves it, loves getting to hold something precious so close to his chest and get to wrap his whole body around it in a mirror of what his heart has been doing for a really, really long time.
“Eddie—”
“No.”
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if Christopher is waking up hangry right now and will want his Buck almost as much as Eddie does. He doesn’t care if there’s a kid that need to be taken to school and laundry to be done and beds to be made and a kitchen light they could stand under and love each other just as well from there. He wouldn’t even care if the world was ending outside his bedroom window, if volcanoes were exploding and chasms were ripping themselves into the ground and the sky was falling and shattering around them. It could be the last moment of their lives or just the first in a long list of mornings they’ll wake up wrapped in each other like this; Eddie doesn’t care. He wants to hold the scene in his hand like a snow globe and shake shake shake. He doesn’t ever want the snow to stop falling.
He wants to love Buck like this—lazily and dream-drunk and as if the entire world is held here, in the space on top of the mattress—for the rest of his life.
Another five minutes would do, too.
Buck sighs, resigned, and lets himself melt back into Eddie’s embrace. “You are going to be so much trouble now, aren’t you?”
Now that they’re dating , he means. Because now that Eddie’s brain has come back online, he remembers the exact reason why he woke up feeling safe and happier than he ever has, draped over the body of the man that less than twenty-four hours ago he was sure could never love him back.
Because yesterday, Buck had proved him wrong. Yesterday, Buck had looked at him, his eyes burning with more than just the reflection from the TV, and said Eddie’s name like it was something holy, low and careful and full of the type of want Eddie thought he was the only one who knew. Yesterday, Buck had breached the space between them, tingly with static, and only hesitated for a single second before pressing his lips to Eddie’s, a question and an answer all at once. After that, it was like dominoes falling down, one by one, and they ended up here.
Maybe the dominoes had been falling for a lot longer than that.
Eddie can’t deny it. He’s been starving for this for so long; the last thing he’s ever going to do is let a single drop of Buck escape his grasp.
So he just hums in response, finally pressing a real kiss to the peak of Buck’s spine, feeling the sharp jut of the bone under his lips.
One of his hands lands on top of Eddie’s where it’s spread out against the relaxed muscles of Buck’s abdomen. He pushes it up so Eddie’s palm is laying out over his heart. Eddie can feel it beating under his hand. He’s going to memorize the rhythm one of these days.
“Hey,” Buck begins, and there’s suddenly a cautious note in his voice. He turns around in Eddie’s arms, and Eddie lifts up his arm to let him, only because he knows Buck isn’t going far.
Buck flops around to face him, mouth open like there’s words already queued up on his tongue, but it stutters out as soon as his eyes land on Eddie. His mouth falls shut, something close to amazement bleeding into his expression.
Eddie offers him a bare, shy smile. It’s a little bit overwhelming to have that sort of gaze turned on you; Eddie feels unendingly caught inside of it. “Hey what?” he prompts.
Buck doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring.
“Buck.” Eddie brings the tips of his fingers up to Buck’s bottom lip and huffs out a laugh when Buck still doesn’t move. “Are you broken?”
Buck snaps back to it with a little shake of his head. “I’m fine, uh.” He ducks his head, sheepish, and then looks back at Eddie through his eyelashes, a little bit of wonder filling his eyes immediately. “It’s just—” he shakes his head, like he still can’t quite comprehend it, “you’re so fucking beautiful, do you know that?”
Instantly, Eddie flushes bright red. He thinks his cheeks are probably hot to the touch as he tucks his bashful smile between his teeth. God, he thinks. This man.
“Just noticed?”
Buck laughs, a quick chuckle Eddie can feel his chest move with. “No,” he says, eyes full of amusement and that same awe, “definitely not.” And he wraps his thumb and pointer fingers gently around Eddie’s wrist to place the softest of kisses to his fingertips, all without taking his eyes off of Eddie.
Eddie just—melts. All of him. How he hasn’t turned into a pile of goo yet is beyond him.
All he can say to that, all he can ever say, really, is, “I love you.”
Buck, impossibly, softens even further. He doesn’t have to say it back—Eddie can see it in his eyes—but he does anyway. Of course he does. “I love you too.” And god, Eddie thinks there’s no way that will ever get old.
They just smile at each other from across the pillow for a second too long, before Eddie finally says, “Hey. What were you about to say?”
Buck is entranced as he traces Eddie’s cheekbones with his finger, tongue poking out adorably. “Huh?”
“Before. You were about to say something.”
Buck drops his hand. “Oh.” He blushes. “I was, uh—I was just going to ask if you were, you know, still okay with,” he waves a hand towards their intertwined bodies, “with this. Last night…things went so fast, we didn’t really have time to, like, talk or anything. But, I, uh,” he ducks his head down, blinking up at Eddie through his eyelashes, “I think you might’ve already answered the question.”
Eddie guesses that Buck’s right. Things had moved fast last night, and they hadn’t exactly had time to sit across from each other and list out all their intentions explicitly. But Eddie thinks that everything that needed to be expressed had been, if not through their words then at least through every press of their lips, the way both their hands slid over each other’s skin like they were mapping out their devotion, building an altar for it. Even if Eddie hadn’t heard Buck whisper the words a thousand times last night as they fell into bed together, Eddie would’ve known it. He had fallen asleep in Buck’s arms with no doubt in his mind—Buck was his to love, his to keep, his to cherish. Forever.
“Buck,” Eddie laughs, “if I wasn’t okay with this, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been working so hard all morning to make sure you can’t get away from me.” He squeezes the arm he has tightly wrapped around Buck’s waist in emphasis.
Buck has the decency to look a little bit embarrassed, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. “I was just being thorough, okay,” he protests, his petulant expression quickly shifting into laughter as Eddie pushes him on his back and begins bombarding his face with exaggerated, point-proving kisses.
“You,” Eddie says in between kisses, “are an idiot.”
“Maybe,” Buck says, grinning, half-heartedly swatting Eddie away. “Am I an idiot who’s going to be allowed to exit the bed now?”
Eddie leans back from where he was kissing down the line of his jaw to glare at him. “Seriously?”
Buck stifles a laugh at Eddie’s unimpressed look as he hovers over him on his forearms. “C’mon,” he says, nudging Eddie with his elbow, “I can hear Christopher out there.” He makes a face, pulling out the fucking puppy dog eyes. “What if he’s sad?”
Eddie sighs, shaking his head fondly. “He’s thirteen, Buck. Thirteen-year-olds don’t get sad about pancakes.”
“Eddie,” Buck whines, “I miss him.”
Eddie bites his lip.
He loves his son, he really does, and it means more than anything to him that Buck loves him just as much. It’s just—is it selfish of him to want Buck to himself for a little bit longer? To not have to let go?
Finally, Buck sighs, softening. “Baby,” he says, placing a hand on Eddie’s bicep with a smile, “I’m not going far, okay? You can hold my hand all the way there.”
And that, well—that sounds pretty convincing to Eddie.
He pushes off of his elbows and flops back onto his back with an angry huff. “That shouldn’t be allowed,” he bitches.
Buck raises his eyebrows with a smile that says he knows he’s won. “Oh?”
“Yeah. It’s—it’s a low blow.” Eddie thinks he could be convinced to do anything if Buck just slaps a Baby onto the end of the sentence. It’s a weakness he fears will be exploited for the rest of his life, if Buck’s knowing grin is any indication.
“Sure,” Buck drawls as he slides off the bed. Eddie mourns the warmth of his presence immediately. He watches through dreary eyes as Buck digs through the dresser and haphazardly throws some clothes back at Eddie without much attention paid to who they actually belong to (or maybe not. Both the sweatpants and t-shirt Eddie is given are Buck’s, which seems like an unlikely coincidence. Eddie, of course, is not complaining. Belonging has always been nothing but a construct when it comes to Buck and Eddie, anyway).
Eddie shimmies into the sweatpants and slides the slightly too big t-shirt over his head, and by the time his head has re-emerged from the opening, Buck is fully dressed and standing in front of him with a small smile playing on his lips.
He leans in to press a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips, hand sliding against his jaw. Eddie closes his eyes and hums, instinctively trying to chase Buck’s lips when he breaks the kiss.
Smiling at him, Buck makes to step out of the open-v of Eddie’s thighs and towards the door, but Eddie stops him immediately with a no you don’t kind of sound at the back of his throat.
He raises his eyebrow and holds out his hand for Buck expectantly. “A promise is a promise.”
Buck rolls his eyes, trying and failing to tamp down his fond smile, and takes Eddie’s hand.
-
Buck is right. Eddie is so much fucking trouble now.
It’s something most people probably wouldn’t expect of him. Hell, he hardly expected it from himself. He was born and raised in a strict household in a strict city, and in the suffocating Texas heat, staying inside the lines was survival. The army quickly shaved off the rest of his rough edges, teaching him to stand so still and to always look forward and to never, ever step out of line. He’s always been the picture of discipline, always been good at keeping his mouth shut and locking desires so deep inside himself that he forgot he ever wanted them. He, of all people, should be able to keep his hands to his fucking self.
But there’s just something about Buck. Something about his uncontained, unhoned energy that makes Eddie want to meet him full on, with the entire force of himself he’s never felt safe enough to let out before. He thinks that from the first moment he met Buck, the shackles he’d kept on his wrists have been slowly and slowly loosening. And now, they’ve fallen off completely, clattering to the floor.
Eddie is all fucking over him.
He falls asleep with his body sprawled over the broad expanse of Buck’s chest and wakes up with his face buried into the skin of his neck. They watch movies together on Eddie’s couch and Eddie practically sits in his lap, head tucked under Buck’s chin as he blinks at the screen. When they’re alone, Eddie can’t stop himself from peppering kisses to Buck’s lips and his cheeks and his forehead as Buck giggles and pretends to try and duck. Under the dinner table every night, Eddie will hook his foot around Buck’s ankle and make Buck duck his head into a flushed smile. And Eddie is always, always holding Buck’s hand—running errands and in their own bed and at the grocery store and on the sidewalk as they walk to lunch and across the console while Buck’s driving them to work.
Maybe he’s just in the honeymoon stage. Or maybe this is how he’ll always feel—like every second he’s not touching Buck is a second wasted.
Which, of course, makes working together very, very hard.
When they had walked into the station—not even touching, Eddie swears —confetti might as well have gone off with the way the entire team picked up on the change in their relationship status immediately. After enduring several minutes of squealing and oh my god s, Bobby had taken them to his office. Eddie wondered whether this was the part where he needed to swear never to break Buck’s heart, but besides sliding HR forms across the desk, Bobby had said nothing. So, yes, Bobby had never told them that PDA was off-limits, but Buck and Eddie were professionals who knew it anyway.
Pats on the shoulders, quick squeezes of hands, and deathly tight hugs by the engine after a bad call, those they could probably get away with. But making out in the supply closets and cuddling together in the bunks? Eddie thinks the rest of the team would arrange a public ostracization.
But going twenty-four hours without kissing his boyfriend is the hardest thing he’s ever had to endure. Especially when said boyfriend is always no further than a couple of feet away from him, smiling and laughing and so fucking hot in his too-tight uniform shirt.
Blinking, Eddie ascends the stairs up to the loft with a bedhead and his half-finished, still steaming coffee in hand. They’re coming around the final stretch of their 24, and Eddie’s spent the last couple hours of it in the bunkroom, using their first real break in between calls to sleep off the soreness that’s built up over the otherwise nonstop shift. He would’ve been content to sleep for as long as the EMS gods allowed it if he hadn’t rolled over randomly to find Buck’s bunk across from him empty.
And then he just couldn’t go back to sleep. It wasn’t even worth trying. He would miss Buck too much.
So now he’s here, blinking away the sleep from his eyes as he steps out onto the loft floor. It’s light now, the sun finally rising outside the window, and way quieter than usual, everyone else still sleeping away in the bunkroom. It smells like, Eddie realizes, Bobby’s bacon. Huh.
It doesn’t take long for him to realize why. The reason he left his bunk is up here, standing in the kitchen with his striped apron over the uniform, humming a song under his breath as he stirs something around in a pan with a spatula.
Eddie’s heart immediately warms at the sight of him. He missed it—the feeling he gets when he’s around Buck, like he’s holding the very core of the universe in his hands. Like life could pass him, flow right by in streaks of bright watercolor, and he wouldn’t care to catch it; he’d just let it go so he could hold onto this instead. It’s hard, sometimes, when he looks at Buck, to remember that there’s anything else at all worth looking at.
He likes it. He likes that he loves Buck like that. So he lets himself feel it, parking himself on the fringes of the kitchen and just taking a moment to look. To catalog all his tiny, favorite things about Buck he hasn’t gotten to see in a couple of hours—the splotch of red like a paint splatter by his brow, the perk of his cupid's bow, the relaxed skin of his arms where it bulges around the edges of his sleeves.
Buck hasn’t noticed him yet, still stirring whatever’s in the pan—Eddie thinks it must be scrambled eggs—with a focused expression, eyebrows pushed together and tongue peeking out in between his teeth. His heart flips over itself. Buck’s got to be the most adorable thing on the planet. Completely objectively.
Eddie watches as Buck steps away from the pan and turns to face the opposite countertop, grabbing a mitt to pull a pan out of the oven. With his back turned, Eddie now has a perfect view of the taut stretch of his uniform over his broad shoulders and the little slice of pale skin at the nape of the neck Eddie wants to make a home for his lips on. He’s never seen anything more enticing.
Buck’s body calls to him, like a physical tug in his chest. Eddie is a perfect show of restraint.
For, like, three seconds.
Fuck it. How is he seriously expected to be normal and respect workplace boundaries when he’s in a relationship with Evan fucking Buckley? It’s really just not possible.
Eddie turns his head to take a peek over the railing, just so he can tell himself he’s at least being responsible about this. When he finds the rest of the station as empty as it was when he first emerged from the bunk room, he steps into the kitchen, slides his coffee on the counter, and wraps his arms right around Buck’s waist.
Instantly, the itch under Eddie’s skin dissipates, and he’s nothing but content.
Buck jolts in surprise before melting into Eddie’s hold. As if a single second was all it took for his body to place the presence, and without even looking to verify, his heart knew he was safe.
Eddie rests his head on the knob at the top of Buck’s spine. He feels vaguely like a cat rubbing itself all over its owner's legs. He could purr. Or something.
“Hey,” he says instead, the words muffled by the fabric of Buck’s shirt.
“Hi.” Eddie can tell Buck’s smiling. The big infectious one he’s starting to think might be Buck’s Eddie Smile . The fact that such a thing could even exist is Eddie’s biggest accomplishment. “What are you doing?”
Eddie ignores the question. He thinks it’s pretty obvious what he’s doing. Instead, he breathes out, “I missed you.”
Buck lets out a disbelieving huff. “You’ve been asleep.”
Eddie nods against his spine. “And I missed you,” he says. Duh.
Buck shakes his head like this makes no sense, but Eddie has a feeling he’s still smiling, probably trying to hide the way it pulls uncontrollably at his cheeks.
After sliding the oven mitt off of his hand and onto the counter, Buck lands his now bare hand on top of one of Eddie’s where it’s spread out on his stomach and intertwines their fingers together. He leans his head back, relaxing further into Eddie’s body heat, and they just stand like that for a minute or two in companionable silence.
Eddie closes his eyes around the feeling and hopes Buck is doing the same. God, he’s missed this. He knows it might seem embarrassing or codependent or weak of him to barely be able to make it through twenty hours without getting to hold Buck, but anyone who thinks that simply doesn’t know the power of what Buck can do with a simple touch. He can physically feel his body recharging, refueling, replenishing.
After a long moment, Buck lets out an exhale, and Eddie decides it’s time to lift his head and hook his chin over Buck’s shoulder to see in front of him. He has to elevate himself slightly on his toes to manage it. “What are you doing up? It’s, like, six in the morning.” A yawn filters out of his mouth then, as if emphasizing his point.
“It’s nine, Eddie,” Buck says. “And I’m making the team breakfast.”
Right. Eddie could have deduced that himself. “What, did Bobby take an early retirement without me noticing or something?” he jokes, craning his neck over Buck’s shoulder to look around as if trying to spot the guy.
Of course, he knows he’s not going to find him, because he knows exactly where Bobby is—asleep in the bunk room like everyone else. Eddie still thinks it’s kind of weird that he knows what all of his coworkers look like when they’re sleeping.
Buck swats at his hand. “I just wanted everyone to have something nice to wake up to after all those crazy calls last night,” he says, simply. Then pauses. “Well, mostly just you, but,” he shrugs, “can’t have them saying I play favorites, can I?”
Eddie feels so fucking warm inside all at once. All this for me? he thinks. “But you do, right?” When Buck hums in question, Eddie clarifies, “Play favorites?”
He already knows the answer. He’s been Buck’s favorite since they pulled out a grenade out of a man’s leg together in the back of a truck, and from the first second he looked behind and realized Buck was following at his heels, he knew he should be honored to have earned that distinction. Buck has love enough in his heart for everybody, but Eddie has always known the way he’s received it has been a little bit…different. Buck has always treated him and Christopher like they’re the center of his entire world. It’s an intense feeling.
“Yeah,” Buck says, rubbing a thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. “I do.”
God. Only this man would ever do something like this, so unbearably sweet and thoughtful and selfless. Eddie loves him so much he’s not sure how he’s still breathing around it. “You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met, you know that?” he says, awe creeping into his voice.
“Sure,” Buck says, and Eddie can tell he’s blushing, caught in between his reflexive humbleness and the urge to preen under the praise, “but you might want to hold off on the glowing review until you’ve actually tasted the food.”
Eddie thinks the food could taste like dog shit and he would still think Buck was incredible, but okay.
He peers over Buck’s shoulder at the glass baking dish he pulled out from the oven. “What is it?”
Buck hums from under him. “You remember that breakfast place we went to last week? The one with the omelets you wanted to try?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, because of course he remembers it.
He had felt like a fucking disney princess on the way there, just barely resisting the urge to full on skip down the sidewalk because Buck was holding his hand and the birds were out and he was living a life better than anything he could ever dream up. The cafe was cute and summery, fairy lights strung everywhere, and they had gotten a table on the back patio, the fresh morning breeze ruffling Buck’s ungelled curls. He doesn’t remember much about the omelet, but he does remember the delighted gleam in Buck’s eyes, the warm feeling of their legs pressed together under the table, and the way Buck talked animatedly about the new cool jellyfish species he had researched the night before for at least ten minutes. Eddie had sat there grinning like an idiot as he listened, feeling happier than he even knew was possible.
“And I got that casserole as a side and really liked it, right?”
Eddie nods. He remembers. Buck’s eyes had gone all wide as he took his first bite. Then he was immediately shoving his fork back into the casserole and holding it out to him with a Eddie, oh my god, you have to try this. Eddie had liked it too, but maybe not quite as much.
“Well,” Buck continues, “I thought it might be a good thing for everyone to try. So I found a dupe on Pinterest—”
“Pinterest?” Eddie interrupts with a snort. “Seriously?” Is his boyfriend a middle aged soccer mom?
“Yes—”
“Oh my god,” Eddie says, the thought occurring to him, “do you have a dream wedding board? Kids nursery inspiration board?”
Eddie can see Buck go a little pink out of the corner of his eye. “No,” he says, not at all convincing.
Holy shit, he thinks, he totally does. “Christ, Buck,” he laughs, just a little bit delighted.
That’s actually really sweet, Eddie thinks. Buck’s always been a bit of a hopeless romantic, always dreamed of having the kind of love you can build a life around. A cozy house somewhere with kids running around everywhere and handprints in the concrete and a permanent tan line around his ring finger. Eddie loves that he gets to be a part of giving that to him now.
“Shut up,” Buck mutters, screwing his lips together and turning his head away so Eddie can’t see his red face. He’s so cute, Eddie wants to catch him like a butterfly in a mason jar and just—stare at him forever.
Buck’s doing that thing he does where he pretends to be mad at Eddie, which just won’t do. Eddie tries to win him back by craning his neck to press little kisses over his jaw and cheek. “No, no, c’mon,” he says, laughing a little bit into the kisses, “tell me about the casserole.”
Buck gives in, relaxing his body back into Eddie. “The recipe called for sweet potatoes, but I switched them out for regular because I know Chim despises them.” He chews on his lip. “I hope it still tastes alright. I’m also going to add avocado to the top because—”
“It’s the perfect muscle building fruit,” Eddie fills in with an imitation of Buck’s voice. “I know. You’ve only told me a thousand times.”
Buck huffs out a breath of laughter and reaches for the bag of avocados pushed up against the wall, drawing one out. “You’re learning,” he says with a squeeze to Eddie’s hand before he begins slicing it, twisting the two halves apart in his thick fingers.
“Did you know,” he says after a moment, “that avocados technically classify as a berry?”
Eddie hums curiously. He’s still looking at Buck’s hands. “Why is that?”
Buck pulls out the pit. “A berry is just a fruit that forms from a single ovary. Most true berries have multiple seeds, but there’s a classification of types of berries with pits, like peaches and cherries and,” he gestures to the fruit currently on the cutting board, “avocados. They’re called drupes. And actually—a lot of fruits with the word berry in their names aren’t even berries, at least not in a botanical sense. Like strawberries and raspberries.”
“So what are they then?”
“Aggregate fruits. Which means they develop from multiple ovaries,” Buck explains. “So like in strawberries, the little seed-like dots? Those are actually individual fruits. They’re called achenes. Isn’t that cool?”
Eddie swallows heavily. “Yeah,” he agrees, because it is cool, and he never would’ve known that if it wasn’t for Buck. If it wasn’t for him and his late night research binges and endless curiosity and that excited, bright-eyed look he gets when he talks about an interest.
Knowing Buck often has the same magic that storytime used to when he was in kindergarten; the thrill of getting to sit down criss-cross applesauce on a scratchy carpet and be spoon-fed the beauty of the world from someone who knows it better than you. Sometimes Eddie wants to climb into Buck’s mind just so he can see the world the way Buck does, like every tiny little miniscule detail of this planet is worth knowing, like there’s no such thing as too old or too small or too meaningless.
Buck is an explorer, and Eddie wants to spend his entire life being pulled along with him. He wants to wake up every day knowing that he’s going to have the privilege of learning something new, because Buck is by his side.
“And did you know—” Buck tries to continue.
“Buck.” Eddie doesn’t mean to interrupt, he really doesn’t. It’s just that he’s overcome with a surge of love so powerful it’s almost painful, and he doesn’t know what to do with it besides letting it burst out.
Buck stiffens under him instantly. “Sorry,” he hastens to say, “I didn’t meant to—”
He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence, because Eddie is taking a step back, flipping Buck around with two hands on his hips, and seals their lips together. Their teeth clacking against each other from the force, Buck makes a surprised sound before they adjust, falling easily into the muscle memory of this they’ve built up over the last couple of weeks. Eddie’s hands fly to all of his favorite places—the hair curling at the nape of Buck’s neck, his broad shoulders, his pectorals where they strain the front of his uniform shirt.
Buck pulls back from him with slick pink lips and wide-eyes, looking at Eddie like he’s gone crazy. “Eddie—”
“I love you,” Eddie says, before Buck can get another word in.
Buck softens, like he always does. He brings up a hand to gently comb back a puff of Eddie’s hair that’s sticking up and looks down on him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“I want to hear you talk about aggregate fruit forever,” Eddie says. He wants to get on one knee about it, really. No, he’s not crazy.
Buck quirks up one corner of his lips at that. “It’s pronounced aggre- git ,” he says. Eddie gives him a look until his half-smile shifts into a full one and he says, “I love you too.”
Eddie smiles back and leans in for another kiss, and—
Buck dodges him. Like, full on rears back, splaying a hand on Eddie’s chest to try and push him away. “Eddie,” he says, mournfully, “we’re at work.”
Yeah. Eddie noticed. “And?”
Buck gives him a look. “Someone could see ,” he hisses.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Who, the avocados?” He lays a hand over Buck’s chest, rubbing up and down over the muscle there. “Buck, everyone is asleep.”
“They could wake up,” Buck tries, feebly. But Eddie can tell he’s won simply by the way Buck’s eyes keep being pulled down to his lips like they’re magnetized. By the way Buck is biting his own lip, eyes a little blown in want.
Eddie resists the urge to smile smugly and instead takes a meaningful step closer. Like this, Buck has to look down to make eye contact, and the thin strip of air between them crackles with electricity, as if this is the first time they’ve done this and not the seven hundredth. Eddie brings up a hand to toy with the collar of Buck’s uniform and meets his eyes with a gleam in his.
“Buck,” he says again, voice low, a command and a request and a prayer all at once. “Kiss me.”
Buck lets out a long exhale that Eddie can feel brush against his cheek. He shakes his head, face tilted closer and closer, and says, “You’re the worst.”
And then he’s kissing him. Hands on Eddie’s hips, tongue against his bottom lip, bodies pressing together. Eddie’s content sigh is quickly replaced by a breathless gasp when Buck swings him around so that the edge of the marble countertop is digging into his lower back.
Buck’s hands drift to spread across the back of his thighs, and Eddie—who learned to predict Buck long before he ever tasted his lips—knows exactly what’s coming. And sure enough, Eddie feels Buck’s muscles tense and his own weight shift as Buck begins to lift him up onto the counter—
A creak of the stairs rings out through the silent loft.
Jolting back immediately, Buck drops Eddie on unsteady feet and plasters himself to the counter at his side.
Ravi is standing at the top of the stairs, frozen in place. He looks between them and Eddie feels like he can visibly see his brain processing it all—the red faces, their ruffled hair, the wide-eyed look you only get when you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
Ravi shakes his head, turns, and immediately goes back down the stairs.
Buck and Eddie slowly make eye contact.
“I told you,” he hisses under his breath.
Eddie just laughs airly. He can’t find it in himself to care.
“Worth it,” he whispers back.
-
Eddie scowls at the canned vegetable aisle like it’s personally offending him.
He feels personally offended as he looks down distastefully at the can of crushed tomatoes he’s holding. He could’ve been holding Buck’s hand instead. They could’ve been side by side as they perused the aisles, shoulders knocking as Eddie made sure Buck didn’t accidentally ram the cart into an innocent bystander because he got too excited about his favorite brand of protein shakes finally being back in stock. He could’ve spent the hour laughing and contently listening to Buck explain the pros and cons of different types of apples and why they shouldn’t buy from this brand or another and about the recipe he’s planning to make for dinner later that night. Eddie could’ve actually enjoyed the grocery store.
Instead, he has to do this stupid thing—dividing and conquering.
It’s not a completely terrible idea, he guesses. It’s a realistic, efficient, good idea. But it’s also Eddie’s least favorite that Buck’s had all week.
He feels like something’s being stolen from him. Like he’s getting deprived of his much needed Buck Time. Yes, Eddie woke up under Buck this morning. Yes, they locked eyes in the mirror as they brushed their teeth and ate breakfast playing footsie under the table and drove here together, both singing along to Buck’s favorite pop songs that Eddie lies about not liking. Yes, they’ve hardly spent a moment apart since they had their first kiss a month ago. Shut up. That’s all irrelevant.
The point is—he fucking hates canned tomatoes.
If Buck had given him the chance to argue (he had one, he just didn’t take it because he was too busy staring at the way Buck’s arms were bulging as he opened the trunk to compute what I’ll take produce, you can get the rest actually meant. This is not Eddie’s fault), Eddie would’ve made several compelling and completely rational points about why splitting the list in half was a terrible idea.
The first is that he’s, well—Eddie’s not good at it. Which he didn’t even know was a possibility before he met Buck. Buck is extremely thorough at the grocery store. He studies the prices, the food label, the expiration date, he checks every fruit and vegetable before picking it, he does prior-hand research to find out which brands are ethical. Eddie, on the other hand, just swipes the furthest forward item on the shelf into his cart. And he always forgets something, or loses the list, or buys the vegan substitute instead of the real thing, which is why Buck took over the grocery shopping for the Diaz house in the first place, all those years ago. He swears Eddie cannot be trusted to pick out good corn husks.
The second reason is that Eddie misses Buck. He lied; he only has two reasons.
A remarkably terrible, stupid, unnecessary, morning-ruining idea, Eddie thinks.
Eddie looks away from the can and at the list, staring at the crumpled paper so hard he’s surprised holes aren’t being burned through it. Canned crushed tomatoes, it reads in Buck’s scratchy handwriting at the bottom. Eddie looks back at the can. Surely this is okay. Surely he hasn’t messed this up.
Discreetly, Eddie raises himself on his tiptoes to look over the aisle shelves, as if he’ll be able to catch a glimpse of Buck’s head of curls peeking over, bobbing as he hums along to whatever songs stuck in his head in the milk aisle. He doesn’t see him, which is just a fucking travesty.
Newly frustrated, he tosses the tomato can into his cart with an undue aggression. It’ll have to be good enough for Buck (and if it’s not, then that’ll be a nice incentive for Buck to never suggest dividing and conquering again). There might be an item or two left on the list, but he doesn’t care.
He needs to find Buck now.
He huffs his way out of the can aisles and into the produce, around the milk aisles, and— there . He finally spots him in front of the squashes.
Eddie’s heart does a flip at the sight of him, golden under the store lights and looking unfairly gorgeous in his LAFD t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants Eddie thinks might be his. He’s standing with the sort of easy, relaxed confidence that always draws eyes even if he’s just picking out summer squash and smiling so big that it makes Eddie fill up like a balloon with happiness.
That is, until he sees exactly where—or who, more accurately—Buck is directing that smile towards.
It’s a woman. Which is fine; Buck’s allowed to talk to people, to let other people drink up a little bit of his charm, to get just a taste of what it’s like to know the sun. But Eddie knows his boyfriend. He knows what he looks like, he knows what it’s like to talk to him, and most of all—he knows what it’s like to talk to him and think wow the universe has really blessed me today. Which is exactly the look he sees in this woman’s eyes, mixed in with a sort of predatory gleam he does not find himself appreciating.
Eddie watches, frustration growing, as the woman says something. He watches as Buck laughs at it. The full, uncontained, gorgeous one. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Then, he watches as the woman lays a hand gently on the bend of Buck’s bicep, perfectly manicured nails against the soft skin Eddie was pressing kisses to just this morning.
Absolutely fucking not.
He’s storming over before he even fully thinks it through.
His footsteps must be extra stompy and toddler-like, because Buck looks over at him before he even makes it halfway to his side. Eddie watches as his face softens into something familiar and that, admittedly, makes him feel just a little bit better.
Still, his jaw is tight and his eyes are stormy as he threads his arm through Buck’s free one and pulls, tightening Buck to his side and away from her.
“Hey,” Buck says, still soft, probably oblivious, “you finish already?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says stonily. He turns his hostile gaze to the woman, jaw clenched. “And who’s this?” he directs towards Buck, punctuating his words by sloping his arm around the small of Buck’s back and resting his hand on the divot about his hip. He thinks he should be forgiven for the iciness that creeps up into his voice. It’s completely necessary.
The woman’s eyes widen, her hand wavering where it’s still against Buck’s bicep.
“Oh,” Buck says, like he’s just remembering the woman still exists. He looks back to her and smiles easily. “This is Kara,” he says.
He knows her name? Oh, this just keeps getting worse.
Kara smiles politely at Eddie, a little awkward around the edges. He knows in her mind, all her hopes are crumbling at her feet. She’s probably throwing herself a metaphorical funeral for the baby she and Buck were going to have together as they speak.
Eddie gets it, he really does. He still hates her.
Buck tries to continue. “She—”
“Was just about to leave,” Kara fills in for him, dropping her hand back to her side and bending down to pick up her discarded basket of groceries. She flashes one last slightly-dimmed smile to Buck and a wary look at Eddie, before hurrying away.
“Well,” Buck says, watching her go before turning to Eddie with a cheery look, “she was nice.”
Eddie is staring daggers at the empty space where she had been standing now. He probably looks like a maniac. “Was she?”
Buck glances at him oddly. “Yeah,” he says, slow, taking in Eddie’s clenched jaw and stiff posture like he’s trying to figure him out. “She was — wait.” He rears back, somewhere in between shocked and delighted. “Eddie, are you jealous?”
Eddie scoffs and looks away. “What? No.”
But, unfortunately, Buck’s already figured him out.
“Oh my god,” Buck says, giddy, “you are.”
Eddie presses his lips together, stiff-shouldered. Why is Buck laughing at him? This is a very serious matter.
Buck, seeing Eddie’s face, huffs out another laugh. “Eddie,” he says. Then he wraps his arms around his back and pulls him in.
Eddie reluctantly tucks his head under Buck’s chin, cheek smooshed into the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m not jealous,” he mumbles, “why would I be jealous?”
Buck laughs again, and Eddie can hear the sound reverberate. “Exactly,” he says. “You have nothing to be jealous about. I’m yours.”
Eddie finally softens. He buries his head further into the crook of his neck and lets his own arms come up to wrap around Buck, breathing him in. They’re full-on holding each other now. In front of the squashes. It’s normal.
“Yeah?” Eddie asks in a small voice, even though he knows the answer. As if Buck doesn’t show him every day, in a thousand different ways.
“Yeah,” Buck says with a squeeze. “What was her name? I don’t even remember.”
Eddie pinches Buck’s side because he thinks if he brought up a random patient from over a year ago, Buck would still be able to rattle off their name. “Yes you do,” he says and can’t keep the fondness out of his voice, “You liar.”
Buck laughs again, big and unrestrained. Eddie pulls him closer.
-
It’s a bad call.
It’s nowhere near the worst they’ve ever had. Eddie makes it through without feeling like he’s on the precipice of a panic attack, nobody disappears behind the truck to throw up, and at the end of the day, they save more people than they lose.
Still, it doesn’t feel like a win. Not when Eddie can still see her eyes, wide and terrified and full of tears. Not when Eddie can still feel her ribs under his palms, and the way they had given out. Not when he still feels the phantom pressure of Buck’s hand on his shoulder prying him away, his low voice in his ear saying Eddie, she’s gone.
It’s one thing to lose a patient. It’s another to lose them right under your own hands, when you were the one who promised to save them.
Eddie climbs into the engine feeling like he’s lost ten years off of his life. A bone-weary tiredness clings to him, and there’s a weird sensation in his throat, like he might be choking on his own heart, on his own guilt, on her blood.
He feels like he’s a single breath from withering away. His fingers shake as he buckles himself in.
Eddie stares forward as Buck pulls himself into the engine and settles beside him, leaning over to slide the engine door shut. Then, a thigh presses against his, warm and firm and alive even through the fabric of their turnouts.
Eddie takes a quavering breath and rolls his head limply against the back of his seat to meet his eyes. Buck’s looking back at him, of course he is. His blue eyes glow even in the dark interior of the truck, standing out like a lighthouse, questioning and concerned and caring all at once.
Buck had been there too. Buck had seen it all, had been watching, had lost that patient just as much as Eddie had. And still, regardless of the way that the grief and exhaustion is sticking to him too, tangible and thick and revolting, the first thing he does—the first thing he always does—is to make sure Eddie’s okay.
Eddie looks away. Leans his head back against the seat. He can feel Buck’s eyes on the side of his face.
He’s so goddamn tired. And shaky. He could fall apart, easy. Crumble into dust.
Or not. Buck wouldn’t let him.
Buck. Like he often does whenever he feels broken on the ground, he thinks about Buck. Buck, unwavering from his side from the first moment they met. Buck, who holds him together and keeps his heart safe in his hands. Buck, who’s always had his back.
He thinks about himself too. How for so long what he wanted and what he allowed himself to have lived on separate hemispheres. How once he finally found a purpose for existence—Christopher—it became his only one. For years, he didn’t allow himself another why. Christopher’s needs became his needs. Christopher’s wants became his wants. He was a hell of a father, but a husk of a man.
And if it wasn’t for Buck, he might have spent an entire lifetime like that.
But Buck is the one thing he’s finally granted to himself. Just for him. His need and his want and his love, all at once.
His.
Six years ago—hell, one year ago even—he wouldn’t have done it. He would’ve sat in this seat and avoided Buck’s eye contact, brushed everyone off, and suffered through it alone. But now he knows better. He knows what he needs. He knows that the answer to almost every question—even the ones he never knew to ask—is and always has been Buck.
He’s always been there. Eddie knows to reach for him now.
So he does. He inches his hand away from his thigh and finds Buck’s without looking, intertwining their fingers together.
Buck immediately squeezes. A silent I’m here. I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay.
Eddie breathes in and lets himself believe it. Feels some of the shaky ground under his feet steady.
He meets Buck’s eyes. Buck dips his head, an offering.
Eddie takes it. He tilts his head down so it’s resting on Buck’s shoulder, in the soft crook between it and his neck that he loves so much.
Instantly, something deep in him shifts, and under all the bone-crushing heartbreak from the call that still lingers, he finds himself relaxing. Giving himself up to the rising and falling of Buck’s breathing.
Buck leans his own head onto Eddie’s, cheek burying into his hair.
I love you, Eddie thinks. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Their hands are still tightly clasped together between them. Eddie hopes Buck never lets go.