Chapter Text
Eddie’s truck rattles down the road, windows open and spilling soft radio music out into the warm night. He’s on the back roads for now, not wanting to disrupt the process of Christopher falling asleep. Every time he checks the rearview mirror El Paso is more faded, merging with the horizon as the sun sinks, and he’s practically choking on the relief and the ache of it.
Most of the stuff in the truck is Christopher’s, books and clothes and toys, an extra pair of crutches and everything he needs for his PT, the bones of his little twin bed in a bundle, the crappy mattress that goes with. Eddie’s got two weeks worth of clothes, his toothbrush, and the St. Christopher medal dangling from his neck. It’s all he needs.
That, and the hope that’s been sitting under his tongue ever since he decided to move to Los Angeles, that he can really do it. Fix it all. Eddie’s got a gut feeling that if he can just get the pieces of his life in the right places, they’ll snap back to each other, a hidden magnetism drawing them to where they’re supposed to go. Fuck what his parents say about it, Eddie decides with a flare of that uncertain independence he’s been cultivating. They don’t know shit about him and Shannon, they don’t know shit about his life.
So here he is. In the car, on the way to his new life, but he's also back in El Paso, standing across the room from Shannon, as she yells and pleads and then just stops saying anything at all. He's clenching his hands into fists and trying not to, forming fists and forcing himself to relax over and over again. She's crying, and his throat aches with his own unshed tears. In twelve hours she will be gone.
It’s been more than a year and still, the memory plays in his head. Sometimes it loops for hours or days; sometimes it comes and goes in a flash. Sometimes it's gone for weeks, months, and he thinks maybe it’s gone for good.
Why won't you talk to me?
We're talking right now, Shannon.
God, Eddie, you really are just like your fucking father.
"Fuck this," Eddie whispers vehemently to himself, quiet enough that he’s pretty sure Christopher doesn’t hear it. His hands itch to slam down on the wheel in a way he can’t with his kid in the car. He grips the wheel tight instead, tells himself it works just as well even as the skin of his palms wants that slap-stung pain that’ll get him out of his head for a second.
"Daddy?" Christopher says, a soft, dozy mumble.
"Hey, kiddo," Eddie says, and finds a smile somewhere.
"Are we in Los Angeles?"
"Not yet," Eddie says. "Go to sleep, and we'll be there when you wake up."
"I'm not sleepy," Christopher says with iron determination.
"Well," Eddie says, having learned by now that this is not a statement that can be argued with, "that's okay. We'll be there really soon. For now you can just watch the moon."
It's a full moon, a bright silver coin in the sky. Eddie wants to take it as an omen; a good one, one that means that he’s on the right track. That everything’ll work out.
"Watch it?" Christopher asks. He's already getting drowsy again.
"That's right," Eddie says softly. "It's gonna come with us all the way to Los Angeles. You watch."
Christopher watches, and Eddie hums with the music, until Eddie looks back and Christopher is sound asleep.
Eddie starts at the fire academy, and he’s working every spare minute he can, stretching every dollar. He never gets to rest. But he’s feeling the best he has in a long time.
The other people at the academy – he gets them, and they get him. He's not making close friendships, but he likes the people he's met. Some of them, like him, used to be in the military, and even the people who haven’t speak enough of that language that it’s easy to talk to them. Pretty much everyone there swears a blue streak given the opportunity, and those who don’t have the skill of pounding back a full meal in five minutes acquire it quickly. It’s familiar.
Pepa and Abuela, two of his very favorite people, are back in his life full-time. They make him feel about eight in the best way possible, kissing him on the head and making him his favorite foods, and they spoil the hell out of Christopher the same way they did him as a kid. His abuela presses him to take some of her furniture that’s gathering dust in her garage, a bed frame among other things, which makes it so Eddie can afford a mediocre mattress instead of a shitty one.
And there's Christopher himself, who Eddie has been nervous about, if he's being honest with himself. Christopher loves him, but Christopher is just a little kid, and love comes easy to him. Eddie has never taken care of Christopher without his parents hovering over his every move, and maybe they have a reason to hover. Not everyone is suited to be a parent, as they’ve reminded him a number of times.
But Eddie finds, with a disbelieving, slow-growing sense of wonder, that he just loves it. Being a dad. Helping Christopher get ready in the mornings, when Christopher lets him help. Talking to him about his day or ideas he’s had or anything at all. He just loves who Christopher is. He can't get enough of it. It's exhausting, to be a parent, it's intense, it's stressful. It's the easiest thing he's ever done.
Things are just – good. Somehow, despite everything, things are good.
Today, Eddie’s got a cool half hour of downtime before he has to head to work, and he sprawls out on the couch with his phone. He’s developed a bad habit since he moved of scrolling through Shannon’s social media, looking through her photos of sunsets and her mom’s garden like there’s gonna be some clue there that breaks the case wide open.
It’s not like Eddie couldn’t get her number, assuming it’s changed, considering he knows her entire family. It would take ten minutes. He just wants to be ready when he sees her again; what kind of ready, he’s not sure. So he doesn’t get her number, he doesn’t reach out on social media, he just looks through the few things she posts on Instagram. Never any pictures of her .
Except that today there is a picture of her. It’s a group shot, a bunch of people at a sandwich joint, and Shannon is smiling at the camera. And next to her is someone tall and muscled with their arm around Shannon’s shoulders, kissing her cheek while she smiles.
Eddie knows that particular smile of hers. He saw it at their first date, saw it the night they undressed each other under dim starlight out on the field of some elementary school nearby Shannon’s house. And yeah, she said she wanted to separate, but Eddie took that as, like, take space from each other. A breath, a moment to calm down before they got back together. Not go be with someone else, not move on .
Shannon’s voice in his head, angry and defeated, says, God, Eddie, you really are just like your fucking father.
“I’m not,” he says aloud – to himself, to her – same as he did when she said it over a year ago. Memory-Shannon shakes her head, a furious sharp jerk, and says, It was better when you were gone.
A notification pops up on his phone, his boss, texting to tell him he doesn't need to come in tonight; Eddie scrubs a hand viciously through his hair and sends a thumbs up.
"Fuck," he bites out; he'll have to get an extra shift sometime to make up for it, and when will he find the time for that? He texts Pepa to tell her he can get Christopher from his friend's house, actually, and not to worry about it.
She texts back a few minutes later, as Eddie is tidying the house compulsively, an ineffective strategy at dispelling financial anxiety.
No, I'll get him still, Pepa writes, take the night to do something fun. You need a break!
A break is something of a foreign concept at this point. It's been a couple months since he came to Los Angeles and he's got a while left before he'll have anything like free time, or the ability to save money. He can use this night off to finally apply for assistance programs for Christopher, maybe, or finish cleaning. Or just get some extra rest. Something useful, that's what he will use this evening for; and definitely not anything that costs money.
Eddie goes to a bar.
It's not intentional, the bar he chooses. Maybe he would have avoided it had he noticed when he was still outside, but it’s not until he’s in the door that he notices the rainbow...everything. And, well, Shannon's words are still playing in his mind, and Eddie's not like his father but he is a contrary son of a bitch, and he knows his father wouldn’t even have gone in. Eddie’s dad, walking down the street, would have edited this place out, excluded it entirely from the options. So Eddie will stay. It's not a big deal; it's a bar, they’ve got alcohol, and that’s what he’s here for.
He’s staring into his beer watching the foam bubble into nothing, when someone slides onto the bar stool next to him, and Eddie feels a blunt, friendly nudge to his shoulder.
"Get you something?" the guy asks, blue eyes and a sidelong smile.
"I have a drink?" Eddie says, but for some reason he says it like he’s not sure.
"Make that two whiskeys," the guy clarifies to the bartender, and grins at Eddie, too big, kinda manic. He nudges Eddie again with his – extremely broad – shoulder.
"Really, it's okay," Eddie says, but the guy cuts him off.
"C'mon, man, my girlfriend just broke up with me and I need to drink with someone," he says. He’s good-looking, not really in that stereotypical L.A. way, more a corn-fed jock kinda look, with a hint of frat bro to him. Probably holds a record for keg stands somewhere in upstate New York.
"That sucks," Eddie says, and takes the glass from the bartender.
"Yeah," the guy says. "I'm Buck."
"Eddie.”
Buck sips his drink morosely. "This is ass. Whiskey sucks."
"You ordered it," Eddie says.
"I thought it would be like, significant," Buck says, looking at the whiskey like it’s betrayed him personally. Eddie laughs and the expression of betrayal deepens, and then Buck’s laughing too.
Ten minutes later, their glasses sit empty and forgotten in front of them and Buck is ranting, gesturing so expansively that it rocks his whole body.
"And then she tells me that she needs to, like, go to fucking Dublin because her mother wanted to go and never got to go – and I, you know, yeah, that makes sense, and whatever, and I told her I got it – " Buck throws his arms wide. " – she says, well, I actually have no fucking clue when I'm coming back. Who knows."
"Wow," Eddie says, genuinely. It’s actually kind of an insane story.
"Right? Like, and that sucked enough. I was – I knew I'd really miss her. I was fucking sad." Buck slams his hand lightly on the bar for emphasis. "And then I'm dropping her at the airport and saying – you know – saying I'd wait for her. She kisses me goodbye and leaves and then – "
"Then what?" Eddie says after Buck is silent a while, still gesturing as if engaged in an argument in his head.
"She never came back," Buck says, and gives Eddie a hurt, wide-open look like he’s got the answers. "She just called less and less...she never came back and I...finally I just wrote her saying, you know, this fucking sucks and I deserve better. That was like, weeks ago, and then today she finally reached out to tell me she thinks I’m right, that we should break up."
"Shit, Buck," Eddie says, with empathy. It’s not the same, it’s not, but. He can’t help but think of Shannon.
"Yeah," Buck says, and then – "Fuck, I gotta go."
"Right – now?" Eddie says, and cringes internally at the way he sounds like a sad little puppy about this total stranger going home. He is truly at a sad level of loneliness. He’s just tipsy enough that he can’t stop talking when he wants to, though, so he says, "It's like, nine P.M."
"No, I mean," Buck says. "Fuck. I see someone I know, and she hates me, so I gotta go now."
"Oh," Eddie says. "Why does she hate you?"
"Eddie, I don't think that matters right now," Buck says, and as Eddie is taking a minute to absorb the way Buck's voice wraps around his name, Buck grabs Eddie by the wrists and turns him on his stool, ducking down a little like that’ll be enough to hide him.
"Human shield?" Eddie says with humor.
"How is it, in a city with 3 million people, I always see someone I know when I go out?" Buck says. His eyes widen comically, and he says in a hiss, “She's coming over, what do I do?"
"I don't know," Eddie says. He can't stop looking at his wrists wrapped in Buck’s long fingers, pale against his skin.
"Okay, this is a dumb idea but bear with me," Buck says very fast, and pulls Eddie in by the back of his neck.
Eddie makes a sound that he can't hear – and hopefully no-one else can either – but can tell is close to a squeak. Buck leans in and there he is, soft lips, warm pressure, and Eddie’s kissing him back with too much sincerity for this kind of moment. Then a voice, a woman saying, "Fucking Firehose, are you kidding me?"
Buck pulls back, and Eddie sways after him unthinkingly for a split second, almost falling off his stool. He stands like that’s what he meant to do, hot all over.
"Heyyy, uh, Rebecca? Becca?" Buck says with a terrible approximation of nonchalance. "Been forever."
"Fuck you," she says. "Fuck you." She punctuates the latter with a middle finger directed at Eddie.
"Hey, c'mon," Buck says. "Eddie – "
Becca prevents Eddie from finding out what Buck was about to say about him by tossing her drink on Buck, effectively cutting him off. Or well, at Buck, and some of it hits him, but the vast majority gets Eddie. He tastes vodka and cranberry and he splutters, wiping his face on his shoulder.
"Holy shit, Eddie, I am so fucking sorry," Buck says. Rebecca or Becca or whoever is gone, and Buck is all big, worried eyes.
"It's okay," Eddie says. "Don't worry about it. I'm washable." Fucking what, why, why does he say words, ever.
Buck's got dimples, Eddie sees. "Oh yeah?" Buck says.
"Yeah," Eddie says. Buck is looking him up and down, half a smile growing on his face, and Eddie gets in a few seconds of staring at Buck’s lips before he catches up to the fact that he’d like to kiss Buck again.
"On the other hand," Buck says; Eddie feels a tug on the hem of his shirt, and looks down to see Buck's fingers playing with it. "Your shirt might be a goner."
"Oh," Eddie says dumbly, looking down at his shirt like it's something he's just learned about.
He's certain he's taken part in conversations in his life, and even held up his end, but that all seems to be a thing of the past.
"I, uh," Buck clears his throat. "I think I have a clean shirt in my car. If you wanted to change into something dry."
There's a sane choice here: say that he's fine, his shirt will dry off soon, he should be heading home anyway. Eddie might be at sea, looking a man up and down and connecting dots in his head as lust jolts through him – but he’s not actually stupid. Buck’s radiating an energy that makes it pretty obvious what he’s saying, and Eddie really, really doesn’t do stuff like this. But, well, it’s been the night that it’s been, and talking to Buck has been the most fun he’s had in months, and Eddie doesn’t care what he’s supposed to do. Supposed to be.
(From nowhere, a sharp pulse of angry satisfaction at the image of Shannon here somewhere, seeing Eddie with Buck. Must be unmistakable what’s happening from the outside; fuck, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if there’s visible electricity, tiny bolts of lightning crackling across his skin.)
"Yeah, that'd be great,” Eddie says, his mouth dry as bone.
Buck's car is a Jeep parked in a lot catty-corner to the bar. Eddie leans against the dusty side while Buck rifles through the trunk.
"Got it," Buck says, emerging with a handful of fabric.
Eddie starts pulling his shirt off, but he freezes before he gets far. Is this – is it weird if he just whips his shirt off? Too forward?
"You, uh, you need help there?" Buck says. Startled, Eddie lets go, drops his shirt back to where it started, catches the look of amusement on Buck’s face, outweighed by a frank appreciation as Buck checks Eddie out, looking all fucking over him.
"I," Eddie says, scrubbing a hand on the back of his head, looking at the asphalt so he can get himself to say, "yeah, I do."
"Allow me," Buck says lowly, and Eddie, still staring at the ground, feels the heat of him before Buck gets a grip on his shirt.
Eddie closes his eyes and breathes, lets Buck pull it up and off. He sways towards Buck, towards the heat he can feel. Buck's hand splays across the small of his back, a couple of callouses dragging roughly. It makes Eddie inhale shakily, and his eyes fly open just in time for Buck to lean in and kiss him again.
It’s quick, too quick, and Eddie leans right back in for more. Buck laughs in a surprised way against Eddie's mouth, and now his mouth is working against Eddie's, open and hot and wet, his tongue flicking in between Eddie's lips.
Eddie makes a sound, not a moan but threatening to be, as Buck works his tongue in and out of Eddie's mouth, slow, a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck.
Next thing Eddie knows, he’s been turned and his back is hitting the side of Buck's Jeep. It’s a little overwhelming hemmed in like that, the way he has to tilt his face up instead of down to kiss Buck. It makes him feel short for the first time since he was probably thirteen.
At the same time, Eddie expected something more, in a sense, from kissing another guy like this, something undeniably different. But here he is and it’s just kissing, closeness and warmth that’s muddling Eddie’s head, making him press in for more. Pretty much the same, even if he doesn’t usually kiss people who smell like Axe body spray.
Buck is breathing fast when they stop kissing and Eddie, his whole body buzzing, lolls against the side of the car and looks up at him. In the dim parking lot, his eyelashes look like smudged shadows, his lips a deep wet crimson.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Buck says, sort of like it's a line, but also like he really means it. Eddie bites his lip, tongue-tied; he doesn't know what Buck sees on his face, but it makes him grin and say, "You, uh, wanna get out of here?"
"I, uh," Eddie says. It's kind of hard to think, because Buck is leaning in close to him, not kissing him, but close enough that he could.
"I know I want to," Buck says, almost against Eddie’s tingling lips. "What do you say, Eddie?"
Eddie closes the distance and gives him a clinging kiss, which turns into two kisses, and nearly turns into another makeout session before Buck steps back, pressing a hand to Eddie’s sternum to keep him there against the car.
"Fuck," Eddie says. "I. Yeah. I want to." He swallows. "I never have before. With a guy. Not anything. You're the first guy I've even kissed."
"Eddie," Buck breathes, and his hand keeps Eddie pinned even as his body tries to bow to Buck's, some automatic reaction to hearing Buck say his name that's gotten ingrained in him in the last hour. "Are – are you sure?"
"I'd remember it if I'd kissed other guys," Eddie says, deadpan. Buck gives him a brow-furrowed look of confusion before he gets it and laughs, a warm, lovely burst of sound.
"Fuck you, you know that's not – really, are you sure?" His eyes are wide, sincere, and painfully kind.
"I'm sure," Eddie says. “I’m just – you know, full disclosure. In case I suck at this.”
“Sucking is fine,” Buck says with an outrageous wink. Eddie shoves at him playfully, which doesn’t move him a millimeter. “So, uh, yours or mine? And no pressure, but I’m really hoping you’ll say yours.”
"What, you have roommates?"
"No, uh, it's my ex's place," Buck says. "Kind of a mood killer."
"Oh," Eddie says. "Yeah, mine's fine."
"Okay, great," Buck says.
"Yeah," Eddie says.
They look at each other in silence. Buck’s palm still rests flat on Eddie’s bare chest, hot enough to burn.
"Yeah," Buck says, voice drifting into distracted, eyes flicking down to Eddie's mouth. Gives a stunned blink when Eddie licks his lips. "Guess we should..."
"Yeah, I heard you're gonna, uh, have your way with me?" Eddie says.
"Fuck yeah I am," Buck says. His hand stops pressing and trails softly down to Eddie's hip in a way that makes Eddie viscerally aware of his shirtless state. Buck leans in, not to kiss Eddie, but to say in his ear, "Gonna ruin you for other guys."
Eddie bites back a moan, mostly, fingers clutching tight on Buck's waist. Buck moves in, flush against him, and Eddie can feel Buck's cock twitching against his body in response. He can’t control the next sound he makes, can only muffle it into Buck's shoulder.
"Yeah?" Buck says, breathless satisfaction. "You want that? Tell me what you want."
"I," Eddie says, can't go on.
Buck kisses his neck. "You want me to touch you? Feel my hand on you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, kissing into the crook of Eddie’s neck. "You wanna blow me? I bet you’d love a cock in your mouth."
Eddie's hands tighten and loosen on Buck's waist without any input from him, mouth hanging open as he rocks into Buck, a sloppy, mindless motion.
"You wanna fuck me?" Buck says, and Eddie moans as he gets his hands on Eddie's ass, pulling him forward to grind them together hard. "Or..." Eddie can feel a finger lightly trace over the seam down the ass of his pants, and his eyes blink open, hips jerking with surprise. "Maybe you want me to fuck you?"
"Buck," Eddie says, voice curling into a whine. He’s hot like he’s got a fever, body going loose. No control left. Buck kisses his neck, again, again. “Buck, I…"
"Get a fucking room!" someone yells, and Buck jolts back from him a little, just enough to put a tiny amount of space between them. Eddie tries to control his breathing, the car the only thing holding him up.
"Hey, Dara, what’s up," Buck calls, resigned but still friendly, waving to the group passing. A drag queen in a glittery wig and absurd heels makes an obscene gesture at them.
"Some of us need to use this parking lot every day to go to work," she yells. "Please just leave me one place you haven't fucked in."
"Oh my god," Eddie mutters.
"He's just changing his shirt!" Buck yells, to a general chorus of disbelief and laughter.
"Have fun, homos!" Dara yells over her shoulder.
"Sorry," Buck says when they’re gone. "Uh. You okay?"
"Yeah," Eddie says. "I'm okay."
His eyes lock with Buck's again, the wildfire of sexual chemistry striking up once more as they start to sway into each other's orbit. Eddie's eyes are drifting shut when he's stopped again by Buck's hand on his bare chest.
"Maybe we should head out before more people come by to comment," Buck says. Eddie wants another kiss, and so he looks up at Buck again, and Buck takes multiple steps back from him. "Stop looking at me like that," Buck says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, "or we're never gonna get out of this parking lot."
Eddie smiles, and even remembers to grab the dry shirt from the roof of Buck's car and put it on before he gets in.
They don't talk, but partway through the drive Buck puts a hand on Eddie's thigh and leaves it there. The route feels unfamiliar with the heat of his hand soaking through Eddie's jeans. Eddie is off the map, through the looking glass, and the normal rules don’t apply to anything.
"Here okay to park?" Buck says, as they pull up in front of Eddie's house.
"Yeah," Eddie says. He gets out and leads Buck to the door, nervousness making him quiet. As he gets his keys out, Buck's hands fit over his hips. "Shit," Eddie blurts as he fumbles and drops his keys.
Buck laughs into his shoulder blade. "Sorry."
"Sure you are," Eddie says. He bends to grab the keys, letting his ass slide over Buck's crotch.
"Eddie.”
Eddie gets the key in the lock and gives Buck a faux innocent look over his shoulder. "Sorry," he says, imitating Buck's tone, and laughs when Buck turns him by the hips and presses him up against the door.
"Sure you are," Buck says, and gives him a breath-stealing kiss. "Fucking – you're ridiculous. Driving me crazy."
"How about you," Eddie says, as Buck kisses his neck, "Buck – how about you let me open the door, and then I can stop driving you crazy and actually – " Buck reaches past him, turns the key, and wrenches the door open, sending Eddie stumbling backwards into his house.
"Sorry I gave your neighbors an eyeful," Buck says.
"They'll just be jealous," Eddie says, which really, that’s just too revealing of a thing to say. And ideally none of them have noticed Eddie bringing a strange man home for sex.
His brain’s starting to catch up to the situation, gears catching and turning again as he takes in this literal stranger, here, standing on the cheap Wal-Mart rug Eddie got a couple months ago when he got to Los Angeles and is already starting to shed bits of fluff that end up absolutely everywhere. The thought falls into Eddie’s head: Buck is only the third person, other than Eddie and Christopher, to come into this house since Eddie’s lived here.
Talk about a mood killer. Eddie bats that away and cups Buck's face, leans into his body to kiss him slow and sweet. Buck makes some kind of sound, inaudible but tangible.
When Eddie draws back from him, Buck says, "So, bedroom?"
"Yeah," Eddie says.
It’s a long walk down the hallway with the way they keep stopping to kiss. At the door to Eddie's room, Buck says, with a kind of breathless hunger, "Why did you put a shirt on? I liked it when you didn't have one."
"Hmm," Eddie says, pulling Buck in the room after him. "I think I need help again."
Buck gets his shirt off and throws it somewhere, and Eddie pulls on Buck's shirt until Buck stops kissing him long enough for Eddie to peel it off him. They find the bed together, Buck a delicious weight on top of Eddie, and Eddie can’t stop touching his bare skin. His hands are going everywhere on Buck, his chest, his stomach, up the length of his back. A shiver runs through Buck; Eddie, entranced by the feeling of it under his hands, repeats the motion and watches his face, the way his mouth drops open a tiny bit.
"So, did you decide?" Buck says in a ragged voice.
"Decide," Eddie says, letting his fingers dip below Buck's waistband. His brain is stuck between I can't believe this is happening and Let's just think about that later, shall we? He almost wishes he was drunk so he could just decide fuck it, he's drunk, he doesn’t even know what he's doing. But he's sober; he knows. He very much knows. He's just, whatever. He's just going to think about it later, or possibly never. "Decide what?"
"Decide what you wanna do," Buck says. He bites at Eddie's jawbone, whispers in his ear. "Anything you want, pretty boy."
Eddie doesn't think, can't think with Buck's voice in his ear like that. He opens his mouth and finds himself saying, "I want you to fuck me."
"Eddie.” Buck backs off him a little, gives him breathing room. "You sure?"
He's incredibly sure, actually, more sure than he's been about most things in his life. Teetering on the edge between desire and fear, trying to control his breathing, pure sharp want shoots through him at the thought of Buck inside him. Inside him, fuck.
Eddie's heart is pounding. "I'm sure," he says.
"Can I?" Buck says; hand hovering over Eddie’s belt buckle.
"Yeah," he says, and lets himself be stripped completely bare. Once he is, Buck stands and unceremoniously shucks his own clothes.
He is extremely fucking handsome, and that knowledge and the recognition of it shouldn't be tripping Eddie up like this. He's been making out with this guy for the past hour, grinding on him, telling him he wants to be fucked by him. But just the thought in his mind, God he's handsome, tangles something through him, a feeling that Eddie can’t even begin to decipher. He thinks of the drag queen with the glittering hair, sure-footed in eight-inch heels on asphalt, flipping them off, calling, Have fun, homos! – and he almost laughs.
"You with me?" Buck asks; Eddie doesn’t want to imagine what Buck is seeing on his face, what he must think is going through his mind.
"I'm good," Eddie says. "You're just very...yeah."
Buck gets this cocky grin that evokes the same dual reaction from earlier, where Eddie smiles and rolls his eyes at the same time, with the added effect of making Eddie incredibly hot all over. "Oh yeah?"
"Mhm," Eddie says; Buck is flexing now, incredibly blatantly but it's still harming Eddie's capacity for coherence. That capacity dies a quiet death once Buck crawls back on top of him totally naked.
Eddie can’t even think when the last time he was touched this much was. It’s Buck’s hands, his mouth, and most of all his body against Eddie’s. And Eddie’s touching Buck, tousling his hair, running hands over his neck and chest and sides. He has to; he can't stop. Buck is Co2 foam and Eddie is a Class C electrical fire and he has to initiate as much contact as possible as a matter of great urgency. He’s in a daze, drunk on nothing but Buck, his bare skin on Eddie’s.
Buck kisses Eddie's nipple, an open–mouthed, wet kiss, then his sternum. Eddie's stomach jumps when he kisses next to his belly button. He's so lost in everything that he ends up where Buck guides him without thinking, legs spreading and Buck lying between them. Buck’s hand makes a journey down and a finger slides gently into the cleft of Eddie’s ass, rubs, there, where Eddie’s never been touched before. He can't think enough to restrain his reaction, to decide if he should have a reaction. It’s too good, and he’s too hot, too hard. All he can do is moan.
"Fuck," Buck says. "Forgot, hold on." He writhes partway off the bed, reaching for something on the floor.
Eddie's laughing by the time he comes back up, waving a condom and a little packet of lube victoriously. Buck makes a face at him and gets back to where he was. There’s his finger again, slick with lube, and it’s as good as before, except ten times better.
"Fuck," Eddie says.
Buck ducks his head like he’s trying to hide his smile. He pushes a long finger in, slowly, and starts fucking it in and out in long, slow movement. His eyes stay locked on Eddie's face, and his pupils visibly dilate in reaction to whatever he's seeing.
“How does it feel?” Buck asks after a few moments, his voice deep with arousal.
"G-good," Eddie stammers.
"Another?" Buck asks. Eddie nods, and when Buck starts fucking him with two fingers he can't hold himself up anymore, he has to fall back onto the pillows and gasp at the ceiling. It’s not how he would’ve expected it to feel; it’s friction, and pressure, and a slightly achy stretch that’s making it hard to think.
Buck just keeps fingering him like that, sometimes speeding up for a little bit before slowing back down to long languid movements that make Eddie shudder. Eddie's not sure how long they spend like that, Eddie on Buck's fingers, clutching at the sheets and breathing hard and grinding unevenly against them.
He's sweating by the time he pushes up on his his elbows to say, "Buck, can you just –"
Buck startles out of some kind of deep focus; he's red, his cheeks and his ears and his neck, and he looks halfway hypnotized. Eddie follows the motion with his eyes as Buck’s throat bobs with a swallow, then follows the motion further down, Buck's hand around his own cock, stroking it loosely.
"Yeah," Buck says. "Yeah, let's – turn over?"
Eddie lets Buck position him on his hands and knees. The condom packet drops onto the bed next to him, empty, and a second later there’s Buck's cock, not quite pushing against him.
"Just breathe, okay?" Buck says, and Eddie does, not having realized that he had stopped. Buck pushes in, in, and Eddie's mouth is hanging open; he might be drooling, but that's his own business, Buck can't see. Buck pulls back, fucks back in until he's as deep as he can go, and Eddie's head can't seem to support itself anymore, hanging low, his mouth working soundlessly. Fuck, he’s so – so fucking full, and it feels so right. Like something in him has calmed, something he didn't even know wasn't calm.
God, Eddie's hard, aching hard, and aching lower too, where Buck’s inside him. He shifts his weight to one arm so he can get a hand on himself, but then Buck pulls back again, a slow drag that makes Eddie need all the support he can get to stay up. Buck thrusts into him, hard, and fuck, he's gonna fall on his fucking face if he tries to hold himself up on one arm.
His cock just hangs there, hard and heavy and twitching when Buck thrusts into him, leaking when Buck pulls back with that filthy slow drag, aching to be touched. Eddie moans with it, the need that's arcing through his whole body, the shimmering arousal taking over his nerves. Everything’s sensitive, his lips, his neck, his nipples, his hips where Buck is holding him.
"’kay," Buck says, sounding half like he's talking to himself. "Let me just, let me – " He shifts, adjusts in some way, and the next thrust feels different. Eddie arches his back with a shocked gasp, cock jerking. "Yeah," Buck says on a panted breath, "yeah, yeah."
"What," Eddie tries to say, but he can't form words right now, and every time he tries, he just ends up making a pathetic little whining sound.
"God," Buck moans. "Fuck, fuck, you feel so fucking good.”
Every thrust feels like it’s striking sparks now, and Eddie is moaning, he can hear himself, the way his voice sounds high and desperate and shaky, and somehow distant, like it's not even his. And his cock is so fucking hard and he needs to touch it and he can't touch it and it's fucking dripping now, he can feel it, he can feel it jerking against nothing at all, desperate for contact. And Buck's cock just keeps moving in him – that slow drag out, fuck, fuck, then fucking back in hard, god...and out – fuck – and – fuck, in, in –
"Oh fuck," Eddie gasps breathlessly as he starts to come, his cock pulsing and spurting and he rocks helplessly back into Buck until he’s done coming and all the muscles in his body try to give up simultaneously. He sways on all fours, barely staying up.
"Did you just," Buck says, and when Eddie nods, shaking, Buck wraps an arm around his chest and he's being pulled up, Buck's chest to his back, his warmth surrounding Eddie. Eddie's pretty boneless, so Buck has to keep his arm there to hold him up as he thrusts into him, faster now. It’s – it's a lot, Eddie can feel himself shaking, little muscle tremors, and he's still so sensitive all over, not least where he’s stretched around Buck’s cock. Then Buck’s moaning, loud, and he pulls Eddie to him, hard, sunk deep into Eddie as his hips grind and grind.
They stay like that for a moment, Buck still inside Eddie, Eddie melting back against Buck's chest. Eddie's eyes are starting to drift shut when Buck eases out of him. Buck lays him down gently before slipping out of the room, presumably to the bathroom.
He's close to dozing when Buck comes back; Buck fits himself in next to Eddie on the bed. It's warm enough that it's comfortable like that, no blankets, just skin to skin.
The next thing Eddie knows, he's waking up with his mouth dry and a ringtone blaring in his ear.
"Sorry, sorry," a voice rasps; Buck. They fell asleep like that, him and Buck.
"Time's it?" Eddie says blearily.
"Late," Buck says; Eddie settles sleepily back into him. "Sorry, one sec."
"Sure," Eddie says as Buck stands, bringing his phone to his ear.
"Hey," Buck says, "hey, Derrick, what's up, everything okay at Abby's?" A pause, and then Buck says flatly, "She can't be, she's in Reykjavik. Are you – what?" His tone changes, a kind of desperate, disbelieving hope in it. "M–maddie? Are you sure she said Maddie?"
"Everything okay?" Eddie says, but Buck doesn't seem to notice.
"Fuck. Fuck, okay. I'll be there as, as soon as I can. No, yeah, it's okay, let her in. Okay, thanks. Bye." Buck hangs up and stands there, staring at his phone in his hand.
"You good?" Eddie says.
"Yeah, I – I gotta go. Sorry. Sorry, I meant to – sorry, I have to go right now. You should go back to sleep." He's moving as he speaks, finding his clothes and putting them on.
"Sure,” Eddie says.
"Thanks for – yeah. That was great, you're super hot by the way, uh, I gotta go, man." Buck kisses Eddie, just a soft press of his lips, and then he's gone.
Eddie wakes up in the early morning, hints of sunrise just beginning. He lies on his back, stiff, staring blankly at the ceiling for a long time. Then the memory of looking at the ceiling, gasping and laughing and arching into Buck's fingers inside him, bubbles up in his mind and he forces himself out of bed, shame prickling through him.
He strips the bed and starts the sheets washing, on their own even though it's a waste of water not to do a full load. He tidies neurotically for about five minutes, since he already neurotically tidied his house half to death last night, before sitting down on the couch. Slowly, since it turns out that kinda hurts right now.
Then he sees it; a scrap of paper on the coffee table. It’s got words scribbled on it in the kind of handwriting his mom calls chicken scratch: Sorry I had to run! Text me sometime ;) Buck. Followed by ten digits.
Eddie stares at it, runs his fingertips over the words, the sloppily drawn winking face. He flips it over; it's a receipt for coffee, a place Eddie’s never been to.
Finally he makes himself put it down. He's not going to text Buck, because he doesn’t want to text Buck, because last night – last night –
Last night wasn’t Eddie, because Eddie doesn’t pick up guys at bars, because Eddie isn’t even attracted to guys even a little. Let alone enough to kiss a guy and take his clothes off and moan at his touch and get fucked into the mattress by him, naked and panting and –
Right, well, maybe Eddie’s attracted to guys, but the fact remains that he doesn’t have casual sex with strangers, he doesn’t smile and flirt like that, let alone with tall guys with bright blue eyes and shoulders broad enough to build a house on, he doesn’t, he just doesn’t.
Last night wasn’t Eddie. That was another person, a person who was free and a little wild, who laughed and blushed and asked a guy to fuck him. Someone who wasn’t married. Eddie’s still married, separation or no, Shannon’s brilliant smile directed at someone else notwithstanding. He’s still going to fix everything and get life back on the track it should be on. Someone like Buck is a live grenade in the middle of that, and Eddie’s just lucky that they weren’t with each other for long enough for him to go off.
Eddie takes the scrap of paper with Buck’s number on it out to the recycling bins waiting by the road, and his recycling is picked up soon enough that he barely has time to wonder whether he should take it back out.
Life goes on, and Eddie gets back to living the way he usually does. A few weeks later, he's a fire academy graduate.
His last shift at the restaurant is done. As of today, he is employed full–time with the Los Angeles Fire Department. He'll receive bi-weekly checks that will direct deposit into his bank account. He'll be making three times what he made between tending bar and waiting tables, and working fewer hours. He'll be able to pay the bills and put a portion away in savings besides. It doesn't feel possible.
"Christopher, you ready?" Eddie calls, going through his duffle bag one more time. "We gotta go in two minutes, bud, no wiggle room today." Extra uniform, change of street clothes, charger, earbuds...
"I'm ready, Dad," Christopher says from the doorway, making him jump.
"Jeez, Christopher," Eddie says. He gives himself a last check in the mirror. He looks a little like he did when he was first deployed; new uniform, new boots, everything scrubbed shiny clean.
"Why are you looking in the mirror so much?" Christopher says, and Eddie snaps out of it.
"Just makin' sure I'm still pretty," he says, pretending to steal Christopher's nose and walk away with it.
"I need my nose for school!" Christopher yells after him, giggling madly.
"Your nose will be waiting for you in the car, vamanos."
Once he drops Christopher at school, the nerves start to hit. There's nothing left to get done except drive there, and Eddie is a live wire of nervous energy. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel arrhythmically as he gets closer to the station. He parks, checks three times to make sure he didn't somehow park in the captain's spot, and then heads inside.
It's just a job, and it’s not like it’s entirely unfamiliar territory. Plus he’s not in the Army anymore, no one’s gonna be trying to kill him. But, God, he just wants to do well. Make something go right for once.
Eddie shakes it off a little once he heads through the door. He hates waiting; doing is manageable.
"Hey, looking for Captain Nash?" he says to someone wiping down one of the engines, and goes where they point. He knocks lightly on the closed office door.
"Come in!" says a voice, and Eddie does.
"Hi, I'm – "
"Eddie Diaz, right?" A man shakes his hand warmly. "I'm Captain Nash, please just call me Bobby, and I'm delighted to have you here."
"Thanks, I'm really happy to be here."
"Good, good." Captain Nash sits down, gesturing for Eddie to take the other chair. "I'll be quick, the rest of A-shift is about to be here, and it rarely stays calm for long when that crew is around, calls or no. But it’s a great group, and I really think you'll fit in well with them. Firefighter Evan Buckley, our newest addition, is someone I have a feeling you'll mesh with; you'll also see a lot of our paramedics, Hen Wilson and Howard Han. Now, I know you have some medical background yourself, so feel free to jump in and show us what you've got as long as it's not too high stakes of a call."
"Alright, sounds good," Eddie says.
"Great." Captain Nash stands. "Looks like some people are arriving, if you wanna come say hi." Eddie follows him out. "Eddie, these are the two paramedics I mentioned, Hen and Chimney. Hen, Chim, this is Eddie Diaz."
"Hi," Eddie says, shaking hands. "Uh, Chimney? I thought your name was Howard."
"No one calls me that, and lets keep it that way," Chimney says with a crooked smile. "Nice to meet you."
"Let me tell you why he's called Chimney," Hen says as they all start to walk towards the stairs.
"No! On his first day? No!" Chimney says, voice rising in pitch. Hen breaks into a grin.
"Uh..." Eddie says.
"Not on his first day," Captain Nash says. "Come on, go go go. I have things to stir up there."
They've all been chatting casually for a little while when loud steps ring out on the stairs.
"Jesus, he's like an elephant," Chimney says.
"No, didn't you hear? His body fat is down another half percent," Hen says with exaggerated emphasis.
"You're late, Buckley," Captain Nash says from the kitchen. "Again, I might add."
"Sorry, Bobby, sorry, really." The guy turns to where they're sitting. "Hey, who're – " Eddie’s reaching for his coffee mug when he recognizes the guy’s face, and he manages to punch the mug off the table to shatter on the floor. Now everyone is looking at Eddie. It actually feels like everyone in the entire universe is looking at Eddie.
"Shit," Eddie says, "sorry." But he doesn't move to deal with it. He's busy staring at those long legs, the soft mouth, those blue eyes that make him absolutely stupid. At – against all odds or sanity – Buck. Eddie blinks hard in case it makes Buck go away. No dice.
Looking surprised, Buck makes to speak. Eddie is almost certain he can see his name starting to form on Buck's lips.
"Hi," Eddie says with frantic energy. "Eddie Diaz. It's my first day."
"H – hi. I'm, uh, Buck. Nice to, uh..." Buck tosses a look over his shoulder. "I'm gonna just...I gotta change still, be back in a few."
Once he's gone, Chimney leans closer confidentially. "Just ignore your first impression of Buck. He’s been the crankiest fucker around since he and his girlfriend broke up."
Hen rolls her eyes. "At least he finally realized she’s not just on a long trip to Europe. Look, Buck's terrible with change, so he might be a dick for a little while.”
“Ignore your second impression too,” Chimney says. “I’d go for the fourth or fifth impression.”
“But he's a good guy, and a hell of a firefighter. Don’t tell him I said that."
"I'll reserve judgment," Eddie says with an attempt at a normal smile. "I should, uh – mop?"
Eddie takes a moment in the supply closet to dissolve into hysterical laughter, a hand slapped over his mouth to stay as quiet as he can. It's just – it's fine. Right? He's fine. Or maybe he's imagining all of this. Maybe it's a dream and he hasn't even left for work. Maybe he's dead. God, wouldn't that be great.
Or maybe the man he had sex with on his little night of madness works at the same firehouse as him. The only one-night stand of Eddie’s life, back to haunt him like the Ghost of Christmas You Really Fucking Thought.
Because Eddie's life is a joke, he bumps straight into Buck when he comes out with the mop. "Sorry," Eddie says brusquely, taking a huge step back.
"It's cool," Buck says quickly. He’s in his uniform now, and when he crosses his arms the seams of his shirt strain. “So...”
Eddie's staring. He looks at the mop instead. "I’m gonna go get that cleaned up," he says with as much animation as he can muster.
"Hold on," Buck says, shifting into Eddie’s path before he gets more than a step. “Look, Eddie. I, uh, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I mean, I – I know this is kinda weird.”
“It’s fine!” Eddie says, too loudly. He laughs, going for good humor, a casual brush-off. It doesn’t land quite like that.
“Cool, I, uh...I don’t really do that kinda thing. Anymore. The, uh, the casual stuff. Was kind of hoping I might hear from you.” There’s an open warmth to everything about him, not all the way to flirtatious, just inviting. A bright hopefulness to his eyes that makes irritation ignite a trail up Eddie’s spine.
“Why?” Eddie says, flat, and Buck’s face drops. Raking his fingers through his hair, Eddie looks around quickly. No one nearby.
“I – I left you my number,” Buck says, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying and failing to figure this conversation out. “Did – you didn’t see it?”
The word falls like a stone from Eddie’s mouth, and it sounds like the lie it is.
“No.”
Buck’s mouth opens. Closes. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and says, “Right.”
“Gotta - “ Eddie says, and Buck says, “Yeah. Me too.”
Yep, they're both going to the same place. As they will for the next twenty four hours. Over the ten second – or possibly infinite – walk up the staircase with Buck behind him, Eddie learns a new definition of vulnerability.
He fades himself into the background of the conversations that start up. Buck keeps glancing at him, each flick of his eyes like a brush of sandpaper on Eddie’s skin. Jaw tight, Eddie doesn’t manage to think of anything else.
That night. That one stupid night where Eddie said fuck it to responsibility and restraint, took his eye off the target. It was supposed to be a blip that no one but Eddie would remember. Eddie is not that guy, reckless and messy and free. He’s married. He’s a father. And Buck...Buck was an anonymous stranger, meant to disappear into the population of Los Angeles without a ripple. To be forgotten.
Of all things, he wasn’t supposed to be looking at Eddie across the firehouse. Looking at him and knowing things about him, things Eddie’s been trying to forget. Because there’s no point in remembering. No point in exploration, or self-discovery, or any of that shit, not for Eddie. There’s a way his life is supposed to be, and once Eddie gets there – once Eddie gets there, it’ll all be worth it.
The alarm goes, and Eddie restrains his sigh of relief by the skin of his teeth.
"So, Eddie, you hear about the hot firefighter calendar?" Hen says when they're in the truck.
"The what?" Eddie laughs.
"Calendar of hot firefighters," Chimney says helpfully.
"You'd be great for it!" Hen says.
"Hen..." Buck says.
"It's for charity!" Hen says, grinning.
"Come on, Buck," Chimney says. "It's okay to admit that Eddie's hot."
Eddie watches Buck look anywhere but Eddie. "It's okay to admit that I'm definitely gonna win, Chimney," Buck says.
"Yeah, in your dreams, beefcake," Chimney says.
"That’s not really an insult in this context," Buck says. "I'm gonna win, dude. Gonna crush the competition."
"Even Eddie? Mister Male Model over here?" Hen says. "You're gonna take him?"
Buck makes a choking sound. "Uh – I – Eddie didn't – " At the sound of his name in Buck's mouth, Eddie turns towards the window to try and hide...whatever his face is doing. He's sure it's not good. Buck is still spluttering out the rest of his sentence. " – he didn't say he was, uh, gonna submit any-anything."
"Good point," Chimney says. "Are you?"
"I really don't know," Eddie says to the window. "I'm, uh, just hearing about it now, so. Gotta think about it."
"What's to think about?" Hen asks with manic cheer. "I'll help you take pictures." She smiles sunnily at Buck as they slow to a stop.
"Hen, I swear to god," Buck mutters, shoving his door open hard.
Eddie would love to sit a moment and gather his thoughts, but he can't. It's his first damn day, and he needs to keep up.
"The nozzle got embedded in his ass cheek," a man informs them, and then it's off to the races.
Eddie enters a mental groove. That focus is one of his favorite things about this kind of work. The world, its demands and complications, the mess and confusion of it all – it all just falls away. There's the patient, and there's what he can do. It’s beautiful in its simplicity.
Then Buck’s shoulder bumps his, and just like that he’s out of the groove. “Excuse me,” Eddie says with an edge, gives Buck a look until he shifts away.
They get left alone with the guy for a minute, and Buck’s just – he’s just everywhere. He asks Eddie if he wants help, he offers to cut the guy’s shirt open. He won’t stop, and finally Eddie snaps, “Can you find something else to do? I’m trying to work, here.”
“I – I wasn’t,” Buck says, and then just gets up and goes. Comes back a moment later with the syringe Eddie needs, and hands it to him without a word.
Back at the station, Eddie finds his way to the gym. He needs to stop thinking about Buck for a minute, get out of his head. Of course, that’s not how life works. Buck is already there working out, and Eddie can’t just turn around and walk away again, already changed to work out and all. He doesn’t look at Buck, just finds the bag and starts warming up.
“Hey,” Buck says, and oh, great, he’s coming over.
“Hey,” Eddie says, clipped. Doesn’t stop what he’s doing.
"Look," Buck says, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face. He lowers his voice. "I – I get that it's awkward to run into a one night stand, especially at your new job.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Eddie says, with a smile that feels pinched. One-night stand, that phrase. Eddie Diaz is not supposed to have one-night stands.
“I’m not gonna make it a thing, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Great.”
“Eddie,” Buck says, and Eddie loses his coordination for a second.
“Look, Buck,” Eddie says. “Clearly it’s something that’s on your mind, but I can’t help you with that. Okay? You’re gonna have to figure your own shit out and not bring it in to work.”
“Making friends?” Chimney says as he comes in, and Eddie discreetly sighs with relief.
“Yeah,” Eddie says. He turns away from Buck, chats with Chimney about whatever, but Buck doesn’t leave. He’s staring at Eddie, and every second that he stares, Eddie ratchets up a level of tension. His hands want to form fists, his lungs struggling to inflate against an invisible weight on his chest.
When Chimney goes back to his workout, Buck is still there in the gym, still flashing looks as he lifts. Chimney makes another casual comment, and Buck snaps at him. Chimney looks surprised, but not offended, and Eddie -
Eddie takes the opportunity. His heart’s pounding, and he kind of wants a fight. More than anything, he wants to be on the offensive, not waiting for whatever is going to happen.
“What’s your problem, man?” Eddie says.
Buck’s eyes storm. “You kidding me? I – you - “ He glances at Chimney. “ You’re my problem. You don’t have to act like – “ Buck stops talking, his jaw working. “You can’t just walk in here like – like you own the place.”
“Okay,” Eddie says in the amused, patronizing tone that drove Adriana to tears more than once as kids. “Uh, I didn’t mean to walk in here like that. My bad. I don’t wanna step on any toes.”
“Oh, you don’t?” Buck says, taking a step toward him.
Chimney says, “Buck, your girlfriend broke up with you forever ago, at a certain point you’re gonna have to get a grip.”
“I broke up with her, okay,” Buck says, “and will you just stay out of it, Chimney?” Chimney rolls his eyes and goes back to counting his reps, looking unbothered.
“I’m sorry you’re going through something, but you don’t need to take it out on me,” Eddie says. “Or be threatened by me. We’re on the same team.”
“W-Why would I be threatened by you?” Buck says, like it’s preposterous, but he’s shifting his weight, drawing himself up like he’s trying to look taller. Eddie’s hit a nerve somewhere, and if there’s anything he’s good at, it’s finding a nerve and hitting it as hard as he can.
Eddie’s lips are numb, but he forces himself to smile like he just can’t help it. Like Buck is adorable. “Exactly. There’s no need to be. We do the same thing. I’ve...just done it while people are shooting at me, is all.”
This is the point of escalation where Adriana would usually physically attack him with her tiny fists, yelling and sobbing that Eddie’s being mean, he’s being mean! Eddie turns away, back to the bag, like this conversation is nothing to him, and tries to take a deep breath. The weight on his chest is still there, but lessening. Behind him, he hears Buck take a breath as if he’s gonna say something – but then he leaves instead. Chimney is chuckling under his breath.
A few minutes later, Eddie can breathe again. Next time he sees Buck, he tries for polite, but Buck’s gone from fire to ice, and Eddie doesn’t get anything from him that isn’t absolutely required for work.
Shame sits on Eddie’s tongue, sour. He swallows past it; he’s used to the taste.
Captain Nash was right, though; they work well together, for whatever fucking reason. Buck's good at his job. It's actually fascinating to learn all these little details about this guy that Eddie only met in one, extremely specific circumstance, and never expected to see again.
That night – Buck was funny, confident, even borderline suave. Eddie didn't know, then, that he was a golden retriever given human form, that he was goofy and kind and had never seen Alien, or, for that matter, any movie that Chimney can think of. Or that he's a klutz most of the time, except when they're out on a call.
Or, apparently, in bed.
This is the problem about learning these new things. They get added and compared to the little Eddie already knew about Buck.
On a call, as Buck pulls a rubber glove on, Eddie remembers his fingers, wet with lube.
As Buck flashes a smile towards Hen, catching Eddie in its path, Eddie remembers noticing Buck's dimples for the first time. Right before he went out to the parking lot and made out with him against the side of his car.
The week goes on like that. Eddie tries desperately to act like Buck is a coworker he's never met before. Buck is polite but cool. And Captain Nash just keeps on pairing them up.
A few shifts in, Hen invites him to help her inventory the ambulance, in a way that suggests it is not optional.
Chimney shakes his head. "Better you than me," he says, and goes to heckle Cap and Buck in the kitchen.
After a few minutes, Hen puts down her clipboard. "So," she says. "How's everything? You liking it here?"
"Yeah," Eddie says, and actually means it. Stressful, with Buck there, but everyone’s competent and friendly, and Nash is a good captain. Eddie’s heard plenty of horror stories about what having a bad captain does to the job. "I am. It's great, and you guys have been really welcoming, so thanks for that."
"Getting along with Buck too?" Hen says. She narrows her eyes at him.
"He’s been great." Eddie says with an awkward laugh. “Nice.”
“No, he’s being weird,” Hen says bluntly. “He’s been weird since you got here. What’s his problem with you?”
"I don't know," Eddie says. “I didn’t think he was being weird.”
"Yeah, and not weird is weird for Buck," Hen says. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. Whatever Buck’s issue is...you have to know this isn't sustainable. You were in the army; how well would it go if someone in your...phalanx or whatever was giving someone else the cold shoulder?"
Eddie sighs. "Not well," he says. "Eventually it would come to a head. Usually at the worst time."
"Yeah," Hen says. "That, or Bobby is going to notice and step in. If it gets that bad, even chances it ends in someone getting reassigned.” Eddie, obviously. He’s the probie, and Buck and Cap are clearly close. “Unless you want that?”
"No," Eddie says quickly. "No. I really like it here."
Hen smiles. "Good. We all like you too. I’m not gonna tell you what to do..." She half stands, making her way to the back of the ambulance. "I don’t want that kind of responsibility. But you should probably do something.”
"Okay," Eddie says. "Okay. Uh – we're not finishing the inventory?" Hen’s climbing out of the ambulance.
"We aren't," she says. "You finish this up, probie."
Well, that's fine. Eddie needs something to do with the nervous energy racing through his body. He takes a minute before he gets back to inventory, taking deep breaths of air infused with the faint, familiar smell of antiseptic.
Knowing he has to talk to Buck, he can't wait. He's just going to go insane if he does. So he takes his time changing when the shift ends, waiting for Chimney and Hen to leave. Luckily, Buck takes even longer; and Hen, giving Eddie a significant eyebrow raise, hustles Chimney out quickly.
Eddie says, "Hey, Buck." Across the locker room, Buck sighs heavily.
"Hen got to you too, huh?" Buck says.
"Uh, yeah," Eddie says. He turns to look at Buck. "She talked to you?"
"She doesn’t tend to do things halfway," Buck says wryly, sitting on the bench. "So."
"So," Eddie says. Buck just looks at him. Eddie leans back against the lockers, looks at the ceiling, and says, "I don't want things to be weird."
"Then why are you making them weird?" Buck says.
"I'm not – " Buck scoffs audibly and Eddie stops talking.
"Hen thinks I'm the problem," Buck says. "Did you know that?"
"I...got that impression." Eddie forces himself to look at Buck. He’s feeling kind of unwell, stomach sinking.
“If you knew how hard I’ve worked – “ Buck cuts himself off, a muscle in his jaw spasming. “Hen thinks I’m being unprofessional. She keeps telling me what a great guy you are, that I, I just need to give you a chance.”
Eddie winces.
“Even though,” Buck says, in a way that suggests he is exercising an iron self–control, “you showed up here, at the 118, and treated me like – and I get a talking-to. For that.”
"You’re right, okay?" Eddie says. Buck stops talking. “I’m just – it won’t be a problem anymore.”
Buck stands up slowly, like he's exhausted. "Thanks," he says. Shoulders his bag and leaves.
Go to work. Be normal. Be a good coworker to Buck. It's all going to be fine.
He makes Buck coffee the next morning. Buck stares at the cup in Eddie's outstretched hand before he takes it.
"Thank you," he says, and goes to the table with it.
"You're welcome," Eddie says, and decides to consider it progress.
Buck makes a save later on, and Eddie claps him on the shoulder. "Nice one," he says.
"Thanks," Buck says with the ghost of a smile, and turns away.
It goes on like that. Eddie ends the shift somewhat deflated. It's like running into a brick wall, exhausting and with zero progress to show for it except a collection of bruises. And every time he makes a genuine overture to receive a lukewarm, over-polite response, he feels like a fool.
Maybe this is how it’s been for Buck this past week and change. The difference is, he knows Buck didn't deserve it, and that he does.
The next shift, Eddie sees a grenade shot into a man's leg and goes cold at the sight of the gold cap. But before he can offer to help deal with it – because he does know how, so he has to offer if it's needed – the bomb squad is there to take over. Eddie exhales a jerky sigh of relief, relaxing muscles he hadn't known were tense. His whole body is sore, the aftereffects of being on high alert for three hours straight. At least their shift will be over by the time they get back to the station.
"Anyone wanna get breakfast?" Eddie says as they pull in. He's got a feeling all through his body, strung tight but also floaty in a way that is not especially pleasant, and he really, exceptionally doesn't want to go home to sit in his house alone right now.
"Sure," Hen says. "If it's somewhere with mimosas."
Chimney groans longingly. "You, my friend, just said the magic word. I could kill for a mimosa right now."
"Okay, uh, I don't know where has mimosas, but that works for me," Eddie says.
"There’s that place on Sunset," Hen says. "Karen and I have been going there and it's really good."
"Oh, the place with the mini quiches?" Chimney says. "She won't mind if you go without her?"
"She's gonna meet us," Hen says, waving her phone at Chimney.
Chimney smacks Buck on the shoulder. "Buck? You coming?"
"I..." Buck says hesitantly, making a gesture like he's preparing to brush off the invitation.
"Oh, come on, Buck," Hen says.
"Yeah, come on, Buck," Chimney says.
"Come," Eddie says. "It'll be fun."
Buck's eyes flick to him, and he actually smiles, like, at Eddie. A small smile, but real. Eddie blinks at him, tongue-tied. A second later, Buck breaks into laughter as Chimney starts poking him in the ribs, and it transforms him. His whole body alive with it.
"Okay, okay!" Buck laughs, squirming away from Chimney. "I'll come, but I don't have my Jeep today, I need a ride."
"Did that rust bucket finally break down?" Chimney says.
"Do not," Buck says forbiddingly. "My baby is perfectly fine. I just – I lent it to someone."
Hen and Chimney exchange a bemused look. "To who?" Hen asks.
"A – friend," Buck says.
Hen snorts and says, “Just say hookup,” to which Buck rolls his eyes.
Chimney says, "You have friends that aren't sitting in this engine right now?"
"Man, shut up," Buck says. "Like you do?"
Chimney opens his mouth, then closes it. Buck spreads his hands like, see? "Neither does Hen!" Chimney says.
"I have a wife and a child," Hen says sniffily.
The three of them look at each other for a moment. Eddie watches them, a flash of shame ripping through him when he clocks how much more relaxed and talkative everyone is now that Eddie’s made an effort with Buck.
"Huh," Buck says after a moment.
"Yeah," Hen says. "We're all kinda tragic, but whatever."
"Maybe Eddie can redeem us!" Chimney says, jolting Eddie out of his reverie. "Eddie, please share all about your active, fulfilling social life."
Eddie shifts in his seat. "Well...I moved here right before I started at the academy, so I've been pretty busy with that and work. Haven't had much time for socializing." Chimney throws up his hands in resignation. Eddie's face is threatening to heat up as he remembers the one time that he did, uh, socialize. "I have a kid, though."
Three pairs of eyes are on him. No, four – Cap is definitely turning to look at him from the captain's seat.
"Christopher. He's seven." He pulls up a picture and passes his phone to Hen.
"You know, he's around Denny's age – my son," Hen says. "If they're both interested, maybe a play date would be fun."
"Yeah," Eddie says genuinely. "That would be great."
"He's adorable!" Chimney says, looking at the phone over Hen's shoulder. He tosses it to Buck, who catches it with a grimace.
"Yeah, he's super adorable," Buck says, but he sounds angry. "I love kids."
"I love this one," Eddie says. "I'm all he's got." Three pairs of eyes, now; Buck isn't looking at him. "His mom isn't in the picture."
Buck looks at him again, unreadable, before handing his phone back. Eddie tucks it into his pocket as they pull into the station.
It's only when Eddie finishes changing that he sees Buck is still there, loitering sheepishly.
"Hey," Eddie says, soft and surprised. He clears his throat. "Thought you went already."
"They told me I was too slow," Buck says. "Chimney's like, the world's fastest at changing clothes."
"I've never noticed someone's changing speed," Eddie says.
"I don't normally!" Buck says. "With Chim it's like you blink and he's done and out of the locker room."
Eddie chuckles, and then it dawns on him that they're having an actual, normal interaction. He clams up immediately and says, "I'm ready whenever you are."
He puts on the radio in the car. They don't talk, and if the memory of the only other time they rode in a car together isn't on Buck's mind, it's definitely on Eddie's. He has one foggy–headed moment where he almost puts his hand on Buck's thigh.
Pulling into a parking spot is like reaching sanctuary. Eddie's nerves are frayed beyond belief.
Eddie drinks his mimosa and lets the champagne go to his head. Everyone is talking and laughing, and they get him laughing too. He meets Karen, and she tells him stories about Denny, and they talk about figuring out a playdate for him and Christopher
Long after they've gotten their food, and finished it, much later, when Eddie’s home alone and waiting for Christopher's school day to end, he can still hear it distantly, the laughter and the conversation. How it echoes in the stillness of his everyday life.