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Something has shifted.
Eddie knows it so deep in his bones they ache with it.
Buck is not the same.
Not that anybody expected him to go back to normal after what happened in New Mexico. No, they all know and understand it isn't just his body healing.
But this is not just him working through it, and Eddie sees it. Seethes with it. There's something more than just needing time behind that empty, glassy look in Buck's eyes when the attention shifts away from him, the smile never reaching his eyes, his insistence on being okay, how he talks about therapy as if every appointment has given him a new positive revelation, but never about his struggles, never about the dark circles underneath his eyes.
It's also about Buck avoiding Eddie. Again. He cancels even on the nights Christopher expects him to come over, and doesn't want Eddie to hang out at his place either. A few times now, Eddie stood at Buck's front door just for him not to open. And the one time he did open the door, he told Eddie he'd just been about to go to bed and refused to let him in.
Eddie can feel the helplessness in him rising like steam in a pressure cooker. He's never been able to handle this avoidant version of Buck particularly well.
If Buck would let him in, he could help. He could listen, he could worry about him without having to walk on eggshells. But like this, Eddie feels like he's spinning in circles, trying desperately to hold onto something he's no longer sure even exists while the world flies by.
It all comes to a head when Buck returns to work. The first few shifts are alright. Eddie can't do his job and constantly check in on Buck, but Ravi tells him Buck is doing okay. Eddie understands that part. The kind of pressure you get during an emergency activates your brain in different ways, keeps you focused on the here and now, no matter what might be going on in your life at the moment.
It's the times they're at the station that are weird. Buck's hollow laugh, how he stares unfocused at something in the kitchen or in his hands until somebody addresses him directly and snaps him out of it, the way he moves just a little bit slower than usual when there's no high stakes, as if somebody set him on 0.95 speed.
Then Buck faints during a call. Luckily, he's on safe ground while it happens, not dangling somewhere from a harness. One moment, he's joking around with this dude who almost killed himself playing Fruit Ninja with a real samurai sword, while Eddie's dabbing at the blood to see how deep the long cut on his face goes, next Buck's eyes roll into the back of his head, and he crumbles to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.
Later, there's talk about dehydration. Nothing to worry about, in Chimney's opinion. It's a hot day, and Buck forgot to drink. Eddie begs to differ. Undiagnosed ADHD or not, Buck has never executive dysfunctioned hard enough to faint.
There's something wrong with him, something more, and Eddie feels insane for not being able to figure out what it is exactly or why nobody else sees it the way he does.
He almost gets into a fight with Chimney over it after their shift, when he keeps telling Eddie, "He says he's fine. His doctor says he can work again. What do you want me to do about it?"
Over the next few days, Eddie makes sure to press a bottle of water into Buck's hands while they're on shift. Something that would've earned him an eye roll in the past, now barely acknowledged.
Then, Buck faints again, and this time he is in his harness, dangling several feet down from a cliffside where they're trying to find a pair of hikers in distress, Ravi shouting at him to wake up while they're pulling his unconscious body back up.
At the hospital, the doctor talks about severe sleep deprivation and a minor concussion from when he fainted and hit a rock. Chimney decides to take Buck off the job for at least six weeks and refer him to a different therapist.
When he steps out of Buck's room, his mouth is twisted to the side, so Eddie can imagine how well that went over.
"You wanna go see him next?" Chimney asks, and Eddie shakes his head.
"I'd rather amputate my own foot than talk to Buck when he's in this kind of mood."
Chimney gives an understanding nod, and Eddie is… Eddie just had enough. He can't live like this anymore. Something has to change. Now.
"He's getting discharged in a couple of hours," Chimney says. "He's going to need a ride home. He doesn't want me to call Maddie, and I need to go back to the station—"
"I'll do it," Eddie says firmly. "But first, I have to pick up Chris from school. Make sure they won't let him leave before I'm back?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Chim sighs, hands on his hips, head hanging low. Then, he asks another variation of his earlier question, "What are we going to do about this?"
"Oh, I have an idea," Eddie grits out through clenched teeth.
Eddie leaves to get Christopher, who instantly knows something is up when he gets into the car and sees Eddie's stormy expression.
"Did something happen to Buck?"
God, Eddie must be more transparent than their locker room.
"Yeah," Eddie answers, curls his fingers around the steering wheel until the leather squeaks, "I think something has been happening to Buck for a while now."
He lays out his proposal to Chris in as clear terms as he can, leaving it up to him to make the ultimate decision for them. Chris just nods because, grumpy teenager or not, if Buck needs them, there's no question what they have to do. They are the same that way. Perhaps a genetic trait.
They return home to pack their stuff into two large duffel bags. Eddie, perhaps with a little more force than warranted, throws his folded shirts and pants into the bag in a messy heap that has instant guilt rise in his throat when he remembers his army days and what his Sergeant would have to say about how much he's been slacking on organization these days. Or emotional control.
Then he has to help Chris make sure he won't forget to pack his socks, toothbrush, and school books, since he only seems to care about the gaming laptop Eddie bought him a few months ago, which, apparently, needs very careful handling as Chris slides it into its protective sleeve and then his backpack, like it's the holy grail.
At the hospital, Eddie selfishly lets Chris enter Buck's room first. He listens to Buck's strained laugh while leaning against the wall beside the door, trying to get the churning in his gut under control with a few deep breaths. Buck tells Chris he fainted because he watched a fascinating docu-miniseries about the Vikings until early in the morning and didn't get enough sleep, just as Eddie enters.
Buck's eyes flicker to Eddie's, and he must see some of that pent-up frustration in them, because he can't hold his gaze for longer than a few moments before returning his attention to Chris.
They don't speak on the ride to Buck's house.
Or at least, Eddie and Buck don't speak. Chris and Buck keep chatting about how Vikings were actually the first Europeans to set foot on the continent.
"What's all of this?" Buck asks with a furrowed brow when Eddie opens the trunk and pulls out the two duffel bags.
He shrugs. "Just some stuff."
They follow Buck inside the house, where Chris immediately heads to the guest room.
"Laptop stays off until you're done with homework," Eddie reminds him, which gets him the usual groan through the open door. “You know the drill.”
"Wait," Buck calls after Chris, "you're staying over?"
"Duh, of course we're staying. Do you think we packed all of our stuff to go back to Texas?" Chris scoffs, which settles that.
Eddie drops Chris's bag off in the guest room and carries his own to Buck's bedroom. Ignoring the prickling of Buck's very pointed look at the back of his neck, he sets it down in front of Buck's dresser.
The door behind him clicks shut. When he turns around, Buck is leaning against the closed door, head hung low like it's too heavy a weight to carry.
"You can't stay," he rasps, looking up at Eddie from under his lashes.
"Sure, we can," Eddie says with a shrug, then leans down to unzip his bag. If he weren't so angry, he might worry that opening Buck's drawers and shoving his shirts to the side to make room for his own is a bit of an intrusion, even for how entangled their relationship has become throughout the years.
"No," Buck insists, his voice wavering. "You don't understand. You. Can't. Stay."
Eddie ignores him and crams more of his clothes into the drawers until they're overflowing, and he has to shove them shut with the side of his arm.
"Eddie," Buck groans, rubbing his face in frustration. "Please, just, listen—"
"We've already made up our mind, Buck," Eddie retorts, his throat itchy with anger. He turns to him to pin him to the spot with as determined a look as he can. "We're staying, and that's that."
Buck shakes his head frantically, then starts pacing across the room. "It doesn't make any sense. Think of how much longer it will take to get Chris to school."
"Ten minutes of earlier rising won't kill my son," Eddie laughs, takes out his toiletry bag, and carries it to the en suite bathroom to unpack. It reminds Eddie of the few times before when Buck's toothbrush had rested next to his, during quarantine, and last year, when Eddie had come back home (well, Buck's home at the time) for Bobby's funeral. Seeing them right next to each other again probably shouldn't give him the satisfaction it does.
When he returns, Buck is standing in front of his bed, big pleading eyes still fixed on some spot on the floor. "I don't have any food in the house."
Eddie shoots him a worried look. Because that is definitely not normal.
"Then, we'll order in tonight, and tomorrow we'll go grocery shopping."
"No," Buck whispers, turning his head towards the door like he's worried that Chris will overhear them, "no, Eddie. You can't. It's just really not a…"
"Good time?" Eddie sighs, and some of the anger drains out of him. "Yeah, I know. That's why we're here."
"No, you don't get it," Buck hisses. "This is not like that time after the ladder truck. I can't take care of Chris, I- I can't—"
Eddie steps in, puts his hand on Buck's shoulder, the way he's done so many times before, thumb pushing into the skin above his clavicle. This time, though, he adds more pressure to his touch, guiding Buck to sit on the bed so he can squat in front of him and meet his lowered gaze with his own.
Buck follows his guidance despite the resistance in his body, and something warm, if slightly burning, spreads through Eddie’s chest, like a sip of expensive whiskey slowly unfurling.
"Buck," he says with his best paramedic voice, even though he wants to argue, wants to shove. But Buck needs the controlled side of Eddie today. Calm, stable. The one that says, I'm here. You're okay. "Chris is fifteen. Apart from making sure that his entire diet doesn't consist of chips and he wears clean socks, there's nothing to take care of."
Finally, Buck says something honest. "I don't want Chris to see me like this."
"Like what, Buck?" Eddie asks, and lets his thumb draw one small circle against his skin.
Buck shakes his head, lowers it even further until his chin is tucked against his chest.
"Like what? Tell me."
He shrugs, doesn't answer.
Eddie nods and licks his lips. "You're having nightmares?"
"Wouldn't know," Buck mumbles, "barely slept more than a few hours in days."
"Yeah, that would explain the sleep deprivation."
Buck huffs a laugh, but it sounds fake.
"What else?"
"The kitchen is a mess. I can't cook. I can't clean. I've been ordering in these past few weeks, but I'm sick of that, too—"
"Okay, that's something easy to fix," Eddie interrupts. "Let me fix that for you?"
"You don't have to take care of my mess."
"Oh, like you've never done the same for me?"
Buck has nothing to retort.
"What else?"
"I don't know. It's hard to explain."
"Try me."
"I-I won't be fun to be around. I don't want Chris to be bummed out, because I—"
"You just spent twenty minutes telling Chris about how Vikings actually had surprisingly good hygiene, Buck. I'm not worried the two of you are going to run out of things to talk about."
"Yeah, no, I—" Buck is shaking his head again. "I can't always…" He cringes. "Time is moving weirdly."
"Time is moving weirdly?" Eddie repeats, and that finally gets Buck to look at him.
"Yeah, sometimes hours pass, and I don't know— If you asked me what I did when I'm not at work, I couldn't tell you a single thing. I feel like all I do is—"
He clams his mouth shut, shakes his head again.
"Well, you watched that documentary on Vikings, didn't you?"
"No," Buck laughs, the same hollow sound from these past few weeks that caves out Eddie's chest again. "No, I didn't. I watched it months ago. It was just the only thing I could think of when Chris came into the room."
"Okay," Eddie says, "have you told your therapist about any of these things?"
The unhappy look on Buck's face is answer enough.
Eddie can't help but chuckle. "Charmed yourself out of getting help, huh? Good thing Chimney decided you should switch to somebody else."
At the reminder of that, Buck's scowl intensifies.
"Alright," Eddie says and stands. "I haven't heard any real reason why we can't stay—"
"I gave you plenty!"
"No, Buck. The only thing you told me is that you're not doing so hot right now. Which is exactly why we're here."
"It's more than that. It's—"
"It's okay. It's fine. You can be moody, cranky, distant, anything you want. I can take it."
He knows it's a lie the moment the words leave his mouth. His fingers are itching with the need to grasp Buck’s cheeks, force him to look at Eddie, to have him come back to him.
But Buck doesn't know that. For Buck, Eddie can rein in his emotions.
Well. Not always. Last year, he'd failed at it multiple times. Spectacularly, if one takes the whole yelling at Buck over his grief into consideration.
A new beginning, then. This year, Eddie will learn to tuck the intensity of his emotions away again. The way he'd been able to do so well for so many years before. All those years when Buck's sad puppy look hadn't crawled beneath his skin, curled a fist around his heart, made it near impossible to breathe.
"But Chris—"
"Chris will be on his laptop with his headset on for the majority of his free time. Tell him some more Viking facts over dinner, and we're good."
"Eddie…"
They've said enough for now.
Eddie slides his hand down Buck's arm and pulls both of them up with a tug on his bicep. Like this, they're standing too close, Buck's chest nearly brushing his. Buck's right brow furrows, the corners of his mouth tugged down. Eddie wants to push his fingers against all these unhappy spots, smooth them out.
He steps away instead, nudges Buck towards the bathroom with his hand still on his arm. "Go take a shower. I'll figure out dinner in the meantime."
Despite the lingering tension in Buck's frame, Eddie is satisfied to see Buck following his guidance once more, closing the door behind him. Eddie lingers for a moment, listens to the rustle of clothes on the other side of the door. Once the hiss of water reaches his ears, he startles away, ignoring the way his pulse has picked up speed in favor of seeing what the damage is inside Buck's kitchen.
He's heard Maddie's stories of how messy Buck had been before leaving his parents' house. How she'd helped him clean his room for years because otherwise he would've just vanished in his own chaos. How after she left, his room had been a hazard zone, she didn't dare step into. How proud she is of him for having developed such good systems despite his former struggles with organization, that nobody would even know that taking care of himself wasn't second nature for him.
Perhaps in here, in this kitchen full of empty take-out containers, an overflowing sink and garbage can, Eddie's as close to that younger version of Buck as he'll ever be able to get. It's hardly logical that this—taking care of Buck's mess—is what soothes some of the pressure in his chest.
Eddie orders them pizza, not having the mental capacities for anything more complex, then empties and refills the dishwasher. Buck is there when he's coming back inside from taking the trash out, eyes red from his shower, a towel curled around his shoulders. He's wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, his curls still damp, and he looks almost unbearably soft like this. Eddie wants to shove him into his turnouts, have him transform into the Buck with the giant grin who is overly confident, but present. Here.
It's hypocritical as fuck. He wanted Buck to let him in, to let him see his struggles, so he should not shy away from looking at it now.
Sighing at himself, he picks up a sponge and starts scrubbing the kitchen counters clean.
"You really didn't have to—"
"Will you just let me take care of you, man?" Eddie snaps back. His ribcage seems to tighten around that ball of pressure that had just shrunken, and he has to take several deep breaths before he mumbles, "Sorry."
It's the whole buying groceries when Eddie said he would get them again. Why does Buck never let Eddie do things for him?
A glance at Buck reveals that he's stepping from one foot to the other, struggling for words.
"I'm just— I'm here because I want to, okay?" Eddie drops the sponge into the sink, then turns to face Buck, hands curled around the edge of the counter. "You don't have to thank me, apologize, or whatever. Just let me do what I want to do."
Buck is chewing on the inside of his cheek, a habit that Eddie would like to pinch out of him. God, he's so messed up. This is so messed up. When did these constant intrusive thoughts even start?
"Okay."
Eddie nods. Floorboards creak beneath their feet, the dishwasher hums in disapproval. They've never stewed in silence as much as they do now, and it's only increasing the weight on Eddie's chest. Buck blinks at him, but his gaze is so empty, far away. Eddie can't look at him any longer, so he turns away to clean the sink. Luckily, he's rescued just a few seconds later by the ring of the doorbell.
When they're at the table with Chris, giant pizza boxes in front of them, Buck's smile is back in place. He's forcing himself to be present with Chris, Eddie can tell.
Buck's asking tons of questions about this new game Chris is playing. An adventure game about this little insect guy in a fallen kingdom plagued by disease, which actually sounds more interesting than Chris's usual first-person shooter games. So after dinner, Eddie suggests that Chris install the game on Buck's PS5 (which Buck only bought to bribe Chris into coming over more often) so they can watch him play it together on the big screen.
He thinks spending more time together with Christopher might cheer Buck up, but it's not a completely selfless idea either. He's used his son as a buffer between them before, knows it's not the healthiest way to deal with their problems. Doesn't stop him from doing it again and again, anyway.
They huddle on the couch together after cleaning up, Eddie in the middle. For a while, Eddie can forget why he's here with Chris on a late Wednesday night. This is their normal. Hanging out on the couch. With tea instead of beer, but still.
If only Buck's body wasn't one long line of heat, Eddie could shut off his brain, follow the game's story, and forget that there are so many pieces to this that aren't normal.
Just another thing that bothers him. Something that hadn't been this way before Texas. His brain has never focused so much on the minute shifts in Buck's body when they sat close before. He's never felt the proximity like a hum in the air.
Not like this.
Buck slides down on the couch after a while, and when Eddie dares to glance at him, he finds him slumped into himself, arms curled tight around his chest, the hood of his pullover pulled over his head, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape.
"Is he sleeping?" Chris asks, and Eddie presses a finger to his lips, whispers back, "Let him. He's got some catching up to do."
Chris nods and focuses on his game again. They play for another hour or so before Eddie shoos him to bed, knowing Chris will scroll on his phone for far longer than he's usually allowed at home.
Not wanting to wake Buck, he does his best to carefully maneuver him on the couch. He drapes a throw blanket over Buck's bulky frame, then hovers over him for a while, wondering where to go.
He doesn't want to take Buck's bed without asking first. Plus, even if his concussion is mild, Eddie should check in on him every couple of hours. With a sigh, he lifts Buck's feet just enough to slide underneath them. The weight of Buck's socked feet in his lap has him take a deep, steadying breath. He tilts his head back against the couch and stares at the yellow glow on the ceiling, listening to the soft noises around them as the house settles.
Buck shifts in his sleep, his foot digging into Eddie’s thigh. Eddie absently catches his ankle and nudges it aside, just enough to ease the pressure.
He doesn't take his hand away.
He has never touched Buck here before. Never rubbed his thumb into Buck's Achilles heel through his sock. And it's…
God, it's so stupid, but touching him here feels special somehow. It's not the foot that Buck injured and still…
Buck is so strong everywhere, bulked muscles and corded tendons. Just a few inches above Eddie's touch is Buck's calf, hard and powerful, like it's made out of marble and the fevered intention of his sculptor. But here, the place that Eddie is currently soothing his thumb into, here he's vulnerable, soft.
"E-Eddie?" Buck rasps, a hitch on the first syllable.
"Yeah," Eddie says, his fingers curling around Buck's ankle, steadying him. "I'm here. You can sleep."
Buck makes another noise, a hum, turning into a grumble, something sleep-rumbled and confused. Then his foot rolls under Eddie's touch.
Like he's asking for…
He does it again, toes nudging Eddie's thigh, and Eddie pushes his thumb back into Buck's Achilles heel instinctively.
It earns him another rumble that Buck tries to stifle by pressing his face into the throw pillow, and Eddie can't breathe.
He can't breathe, because…
Because…
Because.
Eddie tightens his fingers around Buck's ankle, not quite a massage but gentle pressure. It earns him another hum, another roll of Buck's foot. And. Oh. Okay.
Eddie releases the air in his lungs in one controlled rush. He slides fingers over the curve of Buck's ankle again, traces the shifting bones and tendons, digs his pinkie into Buck's heel. Buck doesn't make any more noises, but he keeps nudging his foot into Eddie's touch, keeps asking for more, more, more, and Eddie provides, driving his thump into the pressure points on the sole, dragging his knuckles against the side of Buck's foot.
They're not the kind of friends who give each other foot rubs. Is anybody, really? He can't imagine offering this kind of service to Hen, or, God forbid, Tommy, when they'd still been friendly. But Buck…
It's just Buck. Sweet, trusting Buck and… Eddie doesn't mind.
No, that's a lie.
He minds. He minds that it's Buck's foot in his hand, that it's Buck pushing against Eddie's fingers, asking for what he wants, asking for Eddie's touch. Even if he can't bring himself to think it yet, he knows why he minds in such a different way than he would with anybody else. Why it doesn't feel awkward or weird, but instead…
Instead.
Eddie keeps his eyes on the ceiling, wide open until they start to burn. When he squeezes them shut, tiny white dots float behind his eyelids. Buck stops wriggling into Eddie's touch, seemingly satisfied now that Eddie won't stop kneading his fingers into Buck's foot.
When Eddie chances another glance at him an eternity later, Buck's asleep again, his mouth open and lax like he's finally been able to relax for the first time in weeks, and the pressure in Eddie's chest slackens once more.
🧭
Eddie wakes up to Buck's soft laughter coming from the kitchen. He blinks a few times into the morning light, his brain booting up with a lag. He recalls why he's here, but still feels like he's traveled back in time. He doesn't think he's heard Buck's sleepy laugh since well before Bobby's death.
Rubbing his eyes, he sits up. The throw blanket that he'd draped over Buck last night falls into his lap. He wonders when Buck woke up, if at least he'd been able to sleep through the night.
Buck's laughter echoes again, and Eddie gets up, drawn by the sound like a moth to a flame. He finds Maddie in the kitchen, giving him a closed-mouth smile over the rim of a take-out coffee she must've brought over for herself and Buck. Baby Nash is sitting on Buck's hip, happily babbling while Buck coos at him.
If not for the dark circles still remaining under his eyes, Eddie would say, Buck looks as good as new. One foot rub and Eddie’s cured him of whatever depressive episode he's been going through these past few weeks. If only it were ever that easy.
"Morning, Eddie," Maddie says when he moves around the counter to rub her shoulder. "I didn't know you were here, or I would've brought you coffee, too."
"That's alright." Eddie shrugs and walks towards the coffee machine. "I prefer to brew my own anyway."
"Thank you for staying the night. I'm glad someone was with my brother when he was too stubborn to call me." She gives Buck a pointed look that he pretends not to notice.
"Sure. Uh, actually, we—"
"We live here now," Chris calls from the dining table where he's sitting with Jee, both of them munching on sandwiches that Maddie must've brought with her.
Maddie's left eyebrow twitches.
"Only until Buck is better," Eddie says, avoiding her gaze.
"It's a mild concussion," Buck groans, and he sounds so normal. "I really don't need a babysitter."
"Until Buck is better," Eddie repeats, not leaving room for argument. When he finally looks at Maddie again, she frowns at him. Not unkindly, but like she's searching for something. Searching for that thing that Eddie can't name, he's sure.
"Listen to your doctor," Maddie insists.
"Eddie's only a para—"
Baby Nash shoves a finger into Buck's mouth, shutting him up effectively. Clever baby.
"Alright," Maddie says, and takes her baby boy from Buck's arms, something that has both the child and Buck pout. "I've gotta drop Jee off. I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay, but it looks like Eddie's got everything under control here."
"I've got everything under control," Buck says a little petulantly.
"Of course." Maddie pats his cheek until Buck groans again.
Eddie watches them with a smile that only grows when Jee comes running to hug Buck goodbye, and his big goofy grin is on full display again.
The moment the door falls shut behind Maddie and her children, and Chris disappears to his room to get ready for school, the light in Buck's eyes dims as if somebody flipped a switch on him. It's such a violent change—from happy to barely even present—that it feels like a slap to Eddie's face.
"I-I'm," Buck begins, helpless when he sees Eddie's face falling, then points towards the hall. "I think I'll get some more sleep."
He disappears before Eddie can stop him, left alone in the kitchen that is suddenly much darker and quieter despite the churning coffee machine behind his back.
🧭
Eddie calls Frank as soon as he drops Chris off.
He squeezes Eddie into his busy schedule for a late afternoon session. Eddie does the grocery run he promised he'd do, then returns to his house.
The place is quiet, the door to the bedroom resolutely shut. Eddie decides to give Buck the chance to come out himself and busies himself with putting the groceries away.
When there's no sign of him still, Eddie walks to his door and rasps his knuckles against the wood.
"Hey, Buck?"
No answer. He tries the doorknob to find it locked.
He can't help but scoff at that, ribcage once more a tight cage around the pressure inside his chest.
"Buck? Are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah, just resting," Buck finally answers.
"You wanna go out, take a walk in the park? We could stop by a food truck for lunch."
Buck doesn't answer for a long while.
"Maybe later? Not feeling so good."
"Nauseous?"
"Nah, just tired."
Eddie's foot twitches with the urge to kick the door in. He takes a deep breath and clenches his hands into fists.
"At least open the door again, so I can check in on you from time to time?"
"Okay." There's a shuffle on the other side, then the click of the door unlatching.
Eddie doesn't open the door. He doesn't want Buck to see him like this. Doesn't want to see that distant look on Buck's face.
"Good," he sighs. "Get some rest. I'll call you when lunch is ready."
"Okay," Buck replies, hollow.
Eddie walks away before he can do something stupid, like bullying himself into Buck's room and then his bed, wrapping himself around Buck like an octopus, squeezing until he comes back from wherever he goes when he gets that glassy sheen in his eyes.
🧭
He's talked about Buck in therapy before. Mostly good things, or in conjunction with how Buck helped him through the not-so-good things. He's never talked about Buck as if he were a problem to be solved, even though there have certainly been times when such conversations with Frank might have been warranted.
Since he hasn't talked to Frank after those two online sessions he's done from Texas, there's so much to catch up on and so little time to talk about the actual issue. Eddie tries to speed-run through Bobby's and his abuela's deaths, the kidnapping, the changes in their team dynamic, and how all of that put a strain on his relationship with Buck.
How now that he's here and fully present for the first time in so many months, he wants to help Buck, but doesn't know how. How the whole situation makes him so irrationally frustrated, and he doesn't understand why.
"Okay," Frank finally says. They've only got twenty minutes left in his session. Frank taps his pen against his notebook. "There's a lot to unpack here. Where would you like to begin?"
Eddie shakes his head and lifts his palms. "Anywhere."
"Fair." Frank hums. "I suppose your most burning question must be how to help Buck, but I'm sure you can already answer the question yourself."
"Only Buck can help himself," Eddie groans. "That's it, isn't it?"
"Partially, yes. You said he's going to therapy, and that is definitely an important step in any trauma recovery. That doesn't mean you can't still try grounding exercises with him when he's struggling. Breathing together, handing him something warm or cold to drink, and a few of the techniques I taught you for your panic attacks. Touch, if it's welcome."
Eddie thinks of last night, of his fingers digging into the curve of Buck's foot, and presses his lips together tightly. He's pretty sure that's not what Frank means.
Frank cocks his head to the side, regards Eddie as if his silence is revealing more than Eddie wants it to reveal.
"A single person can't heal somebody else's trauma, no matter how well-intentioned. But of course, you are aware of that from your own experience. You can still be a support system for your friend, and that too can be part of his recovery process."
Eddie nods. He knows it's true, knows there are things you can only work through yourself, but that it never hurts to have people there with you. Like Buck was for him all those years ago when he'd taken a bat to his bedroom walls.
"Now, for the frustration you're experiencing, I fear that's something we need more than one session to talk about. Same for how you are feeling about everything that has happened to you since we've last seen each other, which frankly is a significant amount of stress and loss for such a short period of time."
Eddie wants to argue that they shouldn't waste their time talking about Eddie's feelings. He's feeling fine, he's done his grieving, he's not traumatized by what happened in New Mexico. But Frank has a point about the frustration.
"One thing I do want to talk about today is that disconnect between you and Buck you mentioned. You said it happened before New Mexico?"
"Yeah, I think—" Eddie pushes out a heavy breath. "Probably since Bobby's death. Perhaps even before that, when I told Buck that I was looking for houses in El Paso."
"He didn't take it well?"
"At first, no. But then he was very supportive. He even sublet my house, so that I could leave without having to worry about it."
Frank hums again, that annoying little hum that says he hears the subtext in Eddie's words.
"Can you describe what happened exactly before you left? How did you notice that Buck wasn't dealing well with your decision?"
Eddie scratches his temple, then taps his fingers against his knee. "He overheard me talking to this couple that was interested in the house. I said something along the lines of El Paso being where my family is, and that LA is just a work opportunity. He took it personally."
"And is that so? If El Paso is where your family is, why did you come back here?"
"Chris is my family." And just like that, Eddie's blood is growing spikes again. This is a moot point. Wherever Chris is, that's where Eddie belongs. Buck should've understood why he said what he said. It didn't mean he didn't care. He always cares. Sometimes too much, which is why he needed Buck to make the decision easier for him instead of harder.
"Of course," Frank calls him back from his angry thought spirals. "Your son always comes first."
"Exactly. That's what I told Buck, too."
"And how did Buck react to that?"
"Well, he—" He looked hurt. That sad puppy-dog look that could reach right into Eddie's chest and squeeze his lungs together. And yeah, perhaps he hadn't used the best words to get his point across. Saying that Buck would always lose to Chris… in retrospect, it had been the cruelest way of phrasing that. But he'd been so angry at Buck for making him have to say it in the first place.
He had to leave. How could Buck not see that? It was Chris, his son, the person who mattered more to Eddie than his own happiness, more than his life. He had to go where he was. He couldn't live without him, no matter how much he wanted to stay. And he wanted Buck to let him go with a smile. Wanted him to say that nothing would ever change between them, even if they didn't live in the same place anymore. That their friendship could overcome any distance.
But in the end, that's what Buck had done, wasn't it?
Deflating in his armchair, Eddie says, "He told me that he would be my renter, so that I could go be with Chris."
"He sounds like a really good friend," Frank says gently, and Eddie feels that truth deep inside his body, Buck's kindness forever calcified in his bones.
"Yeah, he's the best." Eddie's lips twitch at the thought.
Frank hums again. "If you didn't split in anger, the disconnect…"
"Didn't happen until I returned. Perhaps it's because we're not partners at work anymore. I don't know. It's just— Everything was always so easy between us before that. During calls, it was almost as if we were sharing one brain. Buck would hand me whatever I was looking for before I even knew I was looking for it. Hen used to accuse us of having telepathic powers." Eddie shrugs helplessly at the memory.
"But it was more than that, too. I don't know how many times I was about to text Buck to ask him to come over, only for him to knock on my door at that exact moment. He just kind of knew when I wanted to see him, I guess. A-and we used to always have something to talk about. I mean, of course, we would, Buck is an absolute chatterbox, but even if we didn't, the silence would be… " Eddie shrugs. "Nice, comfortable."
"In comparison to now, where it's…?"
"Charged," Eddie supplies.
Eddie checks his watch again. There are only eight minutes remaining, and Eddie doesn't feel like they've reached a solution he can bring back with him yet. He needs guidance, really, any kind of advice on how to handle Buck.
"Charged," Frank notes. "That's an interesting word."
This time, Eddie hums.
"So, you miss that. Being in sync with Buck? Feeling like the two of you can communicate without having to use words."
Eddie shrugs. Which is translation for yeah, he really fucking misses that.
"You told me once that you were a competitive ballroom dancer."
Eddie scoffs. "Yeah, as a teen."
"So being in sync, finding a rhythm with another person, one could say, comes naturally to you?"
"I mean, sure?" Eddie frowns.
"But never the way it has been with Buck?"
"I haven't had a dance partner in two decades, so—"
"Maybe you should dance with Buck more consciously then."
Eddie chokes on his own spit.
"Metaphorically speaking," Frank adds calmly.
"Uh-huh." Eddie nods. Then he shakes his head. "No, actually, I have no clue what that means."
"When you dance, there's normally one person leading the other, right? It's a partnership, yes, but it's also one person taking gentle charge and the other following suit."
"Yeah… I guess?"
"From just the examples you've named earlier, it sounds to me that until recently, it was Buck who took charge in many of the moments you felt in sync with him. You needed something at work, and he would be there to hand it to you. You wanted to see him, and he would appear at your door. Perhaps something about you leaving changed how easy it is for Buck to find that kind of rhythm with you."
Eddie huffs a laugh, at a loss for words. He's never thought of it that way.
"So you're saying, I should—"
"Lead him for once," Frank replies with a determined nod.
"Isn't that kind of bad timing? He's struggling so much, and I don't want to, I don't know, overstep."
"You already started taking charge when you decided to stay at his place yesterday," Frank points out. "You could tell that he needed you, and so you were there for him. I'm not saying push his limits. Of course, you should be respectful of his current situation. Still, you could try to find a new rhythm between the two of you. One where you reach out to him until Buck feels safe to do the same to you again, the way he's done for years before. The way you miss him doing."
Eddie's breath hitches in his chest, his blood turning to ice. "You think he's not feeling safe enough to reach out to me?"
"I think there's a very realistic chance that, justified or not, you leaving for El Paso has disrupted his confidence in how much you want him to be a part of your life."
"Oh." Eddie sees the clock spring to five, the same moment his heart cracks in two. "Oh."
🧭
Reaching out is much easier said than done. Especially when Buck remains so elusive. During Eddie's time off, he hides away in his bedroom and only comes out to eat or to talk to Chris. Eddie's not sure what Buck does when Eddie's on shift, but he assumes it's much of the same, either sleeping or sitting up in bed or on the sofa, staring at nothing besides his mobile phone screen occasionally.
Whatever he lacked in sleep before Eddie moved in, he must be making up for it now. There are days when Buck sleeps as much as an aging dog. Several long naps throughout the day, only interspersed with the occasional trip to the bathroom or kitchen.
Eddie tells himself it's fine. He meal preps for the days he's on shift, keeps Buck's house organized and clean, takes care of the things Buck can't until he finally wakes up from his hibernation. Which he's sure will happen sometime soon. There's no way Buck can sleep this much forever.
And:
At least, Buck eats.
At least, Buck continues to come out of his room for Christopher.
At least, whenever someone else comes over, like Hen and Karen with that casserole, Buck manages to turn on his million-watt smile.
At least, Buck is attending therapy again.
Even if he looks more haunted after that first time. Even if only Eddie gets to see that exhausted, empty-looking, unmasked version of him. Even if nothing feels fine at all, and still Eddie tells himself that somehow it must be.
It's fine that Buck doesn't want to cook or bake. That he doesn't want to read or watch anything on TV. That he doesn't want to exercise or go sit outside in the sun. That he gets that far-off look several times during Eddie's stories about his shift, as if just listening is too much effort. Buck does take the occasional walk with Eddie to appease him, but hardly speaks a word even then.
And that's fine also.
Watching Buck switch between his fake bouncing golden retriever personality and that empty husk several times a week, depending on who is around, is fine.
Eddie is fine with it. Really.
Better this way than Buck locking him out.
Yes, there are days when Eddie wants to shake Buck and tell him to pull himself together, but Eddie is not his father. Eddie has evolved. Eddie 2.0, so to speak. The new, improved version that knows that you can't guilt someone out of their depression. The frustration breaking his ribcage open like a rongeur bowing out each rib is fine. Really, he's got it under control. Just some remains from Eddie 1.0, who thought that there's nothing you can't do if you put your mind to it. Including willing your PTSD and panic attacks away.
Then, finally, an opportunity to reach out presents itself when they head over to Maddie's and Chim's BBQ party. Eddie can tell that, not even twenty minutes into their arrival at his sister's house, Buck is drained. Pretending to be fine when you're not is hard work, Eddie knows from experience.
He watches Buck like a hawk while his smile flickers on and off like a faulty light bulb, so of course, he notices when Buck takes a look around before slinking inside the house.
Eddie finds Buck lying on the plush carpet of the nursery, while baby Nash naps in his crib. He lowers himself onto the carpet next to Buck, close enough that their shoulders brush.
"Hey," he whispers, turning his head to look at Buck, "can I try something?"
Buck doesn't look back, his gaze empty and fixed at the ceiling, but he still nods. Eddie reaches over and curls his fingers around Buck's wrist, tugging it closer until the back of his hand rests against Eddie's stomach.
Buck sniffs, the only sign that he's registering Eddie's touch. Beneath Eddie's index and middle finger, Buck's pulse is thin and fluttery.
"You remember your Morse code?"
"Uh," Buck breathes, "yeah."
"Good."
He hopes the memory of Eddie teaching Morse code with a flashlight the night one summer years ago, when they'd spontaneously decided to camp in Eddie's backyard with Chris, warms Buck the way it does him.
Buck developed a real obsession with it afterwards, studying the alphabet for days, tapping the answer to Eddie's crossword puzzles with a pen against Eddie's knee at work. Snickering every time Eddie narrowed his eyes at him, when he tapped words just for his own amusement, like nincompoop or verklempt.
So, Eddie does the same for him, now. Spelling silly words with his index and middle finger against the inside of Buck's wrist, right above his pulse.
Short, short, long, short. Short. Short, long, short. Short, long, short. Long, short, long, long.
"Ferry," Buck rasps.
"Yeah, good."
Buck guesses each of them easily with a low whisper: tower, drool, bagel, gouge.
"What are Wordle words?" Buck eventually chuckles under his breath. And for the first time in days, Eddie knows that Buck's laugh is real. A sound not to deflect or pretend, a sound just for Eddie.
If Eddie's eyes burn at the thought, that's between him and Baby Nash's ceiling.
"Ding, ding, ding," Eddie whispers back, and Buck laughs again. Gently, present, real.
"Can I—?"
Eddie tilts his head towards Buck. Buck finally looks back. Blueblueblue.
"Yeah." He slides his fingers away from Buck's wrist, tilting his hand for better access. "Sure."
When Buck's fingers find the inside of Eddie's wrist, they hesitate there for a beat too long to be accidental. Buck's measuring his pulse, and Eddie doesn't know why, but the realization has his heart rate pick up speed, incidentally.
Then, he starts tapping, and Eddie forgets to be nervous, focusing on what Buck is spelling out instead.
Sorry.
"Buck, no," Eddie croaks, but Buck shakes his head, taps again. Sorry.
And Eddie understands what it means: Sorry, I can't pretend with you. Sorry, you have to see me like this. Sorry, you have to be here.
Eddie grasps Buck's other arm, pulling it towards him until Buck has no choice but to turn on his side, his forehead lowered and pushed against Eddie's shoulder. Eddie catches the tapping hand with his own, pulls Buck's other arm closer until he's got his wrist pressed over his sternum. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
Buck stills, his knuckles brushing against Eddie's throat, his arm draped completely over his torso. They've never touched like this before. Eddie's not the type to cuddle. Not with his former partners, nor his friends. But this feels alright. Better than alright. Natural in a way that hardly anybody else's proximity has ever felt.
Eddie taps his fingers against his wrist, slowly, purposefully.
Evan.
Buck takes a shuddery breath, the air of his exhale warm on Eddie's arm where his t-shirt sleeve ends. He continues tapping, spelling each word with intention.
I. Want. To. Be. Here.
Then again, just the last word: A staccato rhythm, not so different from his own heartbeat.
Here.
Buck takes another shaky breath, this one wetter than the one before, his forehead pressing against Eddie's shoulder as if he wants to fuse them together. Eddie's throat is tight and itchy, but neither of them cries.
Here, Eddie taps against the thin skin separating his fingers from the living proof of Buck's heart beating. Here.
Buck's fingers uncurl against Eddie's throat, finding his pulse with precision, tapping back, Here.
🧭
Later that night, in the car, Buck says, "I don't always feel like I'm inside my own body."
Eddie inhales through his teeth, his chest expanding.
He reached out, and now Buck is reaching back.
"What do you mean?"
Buck shrugs. "L-like earlier at the party. There was so much noise, so much movement, but it all felt distant. Like a movie playing on a screen. It's like I'm hovering next to it o-or like I'm in a dream. I dunno. It's hard to describe."
"Since when?"
Buck shrugs again, even though the answer comes straight away. "New Mexico."
Eddie frowns, glancing at Buck once before turning his attention back to the road. "Do you feel like that right now?"
"A bit."
Eddie reaches over with his hand closest to Buck, curls his fingers around his wrist, taps.
Here.
"Yeah," Buck laughs, sadly. "I know."
Eddie taps the word once more for good measure, hoping that it can sink right inside his veins, unfold, and take root there forever.
🧭
The Lego set is Chris' idea.
"He needs to do something with all that free time before he goes stir-crazy. Something easy that can occupy his mind," he says one afternoon when Buck is hiding away in his bedroom again. "I found some ideas on Reddit."
Eddie can't help but press a kiss to Chris's head, which has him swat at Eddie with a groan. He has the best kid in the world. He's brilliant and kind, and Eddie loves him so much.
"Don't be gross, Dad," Chris complains when he sees Eddie's expression. "Get the car keys."
The Lego store is overwhelmingly bright and colorful, but Chris is on a mission and does not get distracted by the hundreds of sets that Eddie is sure he would like to have for himself. Chris settles on the T.Rex skeleton for Buck. Eddie gulps when he sees the price tag.
They buy it, have it gift-wrapped, then head back home. Buck's home.
They haven't been at their own house for more than a week now, and, weirdly enough, for how much Eddie missed the place while he was in El Paso, he hasn't thought about it since.
"It should be a gift from you, mijo," Eddie tells Chris. "Since it was your idea."
They do it that same night after dinner, watch Buck's brows furrow when Chris hands him the wrapped box.
"What's that for?"
"Everything," Chris answers sagely, and Buck's lower lip wobbles because he gets it. Eddie wonders when his child has grown into such a wise person.
"Yeah," Eddie agrees while Buck is unwrapping his gift. "Everything."
Because there's so much Buck has done for them over the years. Starting with introducing him to Carla, keeping Chris safe during a freaking tsunami, being there when Eddie broke down, and being there when Chris needed a safe space.
Being there, being there, being there.
"Oh, wow," Buck says with a smile that finally, finally, reaches his eyes. "A Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton? That's so freaking cool! How did you guys even get the idea?"
Chris explains the research he's done on activities Buck can do during recovery so time will pass more quickly until he can return to work. He doesn't specify what kind of recovery he's talking about, but it becomes clear that Chris knows it has nothing to do with his work accident.
Buck's smile falters when he comes to the same conclusion.
Eddie can't help himself. He reaches over, finds Buck's wrist, taps one word.
Here.
Buck huffs out a laugh and gives Eddie an incredibly fond look that makes him smile in return.
Chris frowns at them. "You're being weird. Is that one of your inside jokes?"
Eddie pulls his hand away, and Buck stumbles towards the kitchen to get a knife to open the box.
"Did you guys know that the T.Rex was actually not nearly as fast as they made it seem in Jurassic Park? No way it could've caught up with a Jeep, so we'd be safe as long as we have a car. Actually, we should watch Jurassic Park tonight while I set this up!"
"So you can fact-check the movie?" Chris groans when Buck returns, but he's smiling now, too.
"You love it when I fact-check our movies," Buck replies with a small pout.
"We do. It's educational," Eddie agrees, and Chris just laughs and shrugs his shoulders like he doesn't want to admit the truth.
It's been so long since he's seen Buck this enthusiastic about something. Eddie ruffles Christopher's hair. He's so freaking proud of his kid. Goddamn.
"I'll make the popcorn," Eddie says, then hides himself away in the kitchen so nobody can see him when he wipes below his eyes.
🧭
Their weird little Morse code thing turns into a ritual. Whenever Eddie notices Buck zoning out, staring too long at nothing, Eddie's there, tapping "here" against the inside of his wrist. Sometimes, Buck relaxes into it. Sometimes, he taps it back. Sometimes, it doesn't work. But that's fine, too. Because at least it connects them. A tether they didn't have before. A way to stay in sync when everything else fails.
He doesn't tell Frank about it, but they've got enough to unpack about Eddie's frustration anyway, opening box after box of memories and finding Silver Stars, ballroom trophies, and ribbons for being the man of the house. They unpack all the words of wisdom and warnings that, in hindsight, are nothing but endless reverberations of generational ideas on masculinity. It has exactly as much to do with his father as Eddie feared. It's grating work, boring even for how unsurprising it is, but necessary in Frank's professional opinion.
Meanwhile:
Buck is halfway through building his T. Rex.
Meanwhile:
Eddie wakes up to the smell of toasted bread and coffee. Finds his two favorite people at the kitchen table.
Meanwhile:
Buck goes on walks again at least once a day.
Sometimes, when Eddie returns from dropping Chris off at school, he finds Buck sitting outside in the sun with a mug in his hands, head tilted up, and eyes closed, and Eddie watches him silently for as long as he can get away with. In those moments, he knows what he has to do once he's unpacked all those remaining boxes stuffed in the furthest corner of his mental attic.
Things are not perfect, but they're moving. And on the harder days, they always have this:
Here.
🧭
Four weeks into their new living situation, Eddie returns from a grueling 24-hour shift early in the morning. It'd been raining all night, their calls mostly car accidents and overflowing sewers, and he feels gross enough that he has to take a shower first. Not wanting to wake Chris this early on a Saturday morning, he checks on Buck to see if he can use his en suite bathroom and finds him already up in bed with a laptop propped up on his legs.
"Hey," Buck greets him with an earnest smile that seems to melt all the tension out of Eddie's body. "Tough shift?"
"Yeah, you can say that. Can I use your shower? Don't wanna wake Chris."
"Go ahead, man."
When Eddie returns freshly showered and in sweatpants, Buck is still in bed, gesturing for Eddie to come over. "Why don't you take the bed today? I'm getting up in a moment anyway. I wanna try that sugar-free waffle recipe for Chris."
"Your couch is fine."
"Eddie. C'mon. You look like you're dead on your feet."
Eddie hesitates for a moment, but Buck is reaching out, and Eddie never wants to discourage him from that ever again. He walks around the bed to the empty side and punches the pile of pillows a few times. "You’re like that princess on the pea."
"The Princess and The Pea, Eddie. Great fairytale. Very misunderstood."
"Yeah, whatever," Eddie rumbles sleepily, turning on his side to look at Buck.
"There's nothing wrong with voicing your discomfort," Buck says absentmindedly while scrolling his fingers over the pad of his laptop. "That's the actual message. Not about being spoiled."
"Yeah, well, try voicing your discomfort in the barracks. See where that gets you."
"That would explain the sad state of your mattress," Buck laughs. "Of course, you'd take the worst lessons from your time in the army and use them to punish yourself."
"My mattress is fine."
"Your mattress was registered as an official torture device before you bought it."
"Ha. Ha," Eddie mumbles back, but his chest feels like sunshine. They haven't bickered like this since the road trip. God, how he missed bratty Buck. He hopes he's here to stay. Hopes he will take a fork to his neck and yell at Eddie to put him out of his misery again.
That's probably weird. But whatever.
"Eddie?"
"Hmm?"
"I've been thinking of telling Maddie."
Eddie hums, flutters his eyes open. Buck is looking back.
Blueblueblue.
Eddie hasn't told anybody, but it's his favorite color.
"About?"
"About me. About how I'm really doing."
"Oh, okay?" Eddie's not sure why he's feeling a weird sense of hesitation about this. Of course, Buck should tell his sister. Eddie doesn't have an exclusive right to this side of Buck. It should even be a relief that he's finally ready to open up to others, that Eddie and Chris will no longer be alone with the knowledge.
"I-I mean, if anybody gets it, it would be her, right? She's been through it twice, she would understand—"
"Of course, she will," Eddie interrupts Buck's rambling, reaching out to encircle his wrist. A habit at this point.
"I mean, I know how ridiculous all of this is. I-It wasn't even a day. I wasn't even locked up long enough for it to truly matter. I don't understand why it has messed me up so bad—"
"Hey," Eddie stops him, rubbing his thumb into the bone of Buck's wrist. "There's no such thing as a time frame for how long you have to go through something horrific until it scars you. I mean, the helicopter going down and being shot all seemed to happen in a blink of an eye, and look how that fucked me up."
"That's hardly the same."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't in a war zone. I wasn't shot."
"Yeah, you were just kidnapped and electrocuted," Eddie replies with a roll of his eyes. They haven't talked about this before, and Eddie should be more understanding and not let his anger win out, but it's so hard to stay calm when Buck downplays what happened. Like it doesn't matter because on some kind of fucked up internal scale of horrors, Buck doesn't rank his traumas as high as Eddie's. Like he's ashamed of having to heal.
It's worse because it might be partly Eddie's fault that he feels this way.
"I don't think getting stunned is the reason I feel like this. Or at least, Laura doesn't think so."
"Laura?"
"My new therapist. She's great."
"Okay," Eddie says carefully, keeping his hold on Buck's wrist light. "Why does she think you're feeling like this, then?"
Buck's knees start bouncing under the duvet. "You know, because of the whole Derek thing."
"Them wanting you to roleplay as their son?"
"Yeah. I think that opened some old wounds, you know, because of—"
"Your brother?"
"Yeah."
"And your parents coming to town just to tell you that they're getting divorced?"
"I guess so."
"And Bobby dying?"
"Hmm, yeah. I guess they're all kinda connected, aren't they?"
"I would say so. Yes."
Eddie hesitates, taps the word "here" into Buck's skin.
"How about me leaving last year? You think that's connected too?”
"Uh, I—"
Buck glances at Eddie, and he can see the moment the panic sets in. All of a sudden, Buck looks like he wants to bolt, like he thinks he's said too much, his body a hard line of tension. Then he laughs, loud and unnatural. "Sorry, I didn't want to turn this into a pity party. It's probably more than you ever wanted to know about the infamous psyche of Evan Buckley —"
"Shut up, Buck," Eddie growls, then shoves the laptop from his legs to the other side of the bed. "Come here."
"Come—" Buck looks at the space between them bug-eyed, "where?"
"Here," Eddie says, releasing his wrist to pat the bed. "Lie down."
"Uh."
Eddie pulls on his arm until Buck reluctantly scoots down, lying flat on his back, unmoving like he's about to be mummified. Eddie ignores Buck's awkwardness and moves closer.
"Can I try something?"
Buck startles at the question, eyes trained at the ceiling. "Huh?"
"Can I—"
"Yeah, sure, g-go ahead, man." He cringes, and even that is adorable.
"Close your eyes."
"E-Eddie," Buck croaks helplessly.
"I'm not gonna bite, Buckley. Trust me?"
Buck closes his eyes. Squeezes them shut, really.
Eddie tugs his face into the curve of Buck's shoulder before he can lose the nerve, Buck's pulse fluttering against the tip of Eddie's nose. Buck always smells good. It’s not news to Eddie. Hell, he’d just spend ten minutes in the man’s shower reading the label on his fancy shower lotion. Sage and citrus, apparently. But this close and so warm on Buck’s skin, the scent is far more intoxicating than straight from the bottle.
"You feel like you're in your body right now?"
"M-mostly."
"Good," Eddie replies, placing his palm on Buck’s sternum, trying to ignore how that slots his hand right between his pecs. He’s reaching out, not trying to be a pervert. "Breathe with me?"
"Okay?"
Eddie taps his chest lightly. "In."
They breathe in tandem, then he taps Buck’s chest again. "Out." A longer exhale.
Buck gets it, so Eddie shuts up and closes his eyes as well, snuggling just a little closer into the crook of Buck’s shoulder, guiding each of their breaths with a light tap of his fingertips.
Gradually, Buck relaxes against him, their bodies sinking into the too soft mattress, naturally creating a dip that has their bodies slide closer against each other until Eddie’s chest is pressed against Buck’s arm. Rain keeps rasping against the windows in heavy sheens, but for once it’s not his responsibility to worry about.
The sleep deprivation catches up with Eddie eventually, his body warm and satisfied the way it only gets when he’s exhausted to the bones, but even more than usual, because Buck is here and they’re as in sync as two separate bodies can possibly be.
"When I tell Maddie," Buck breathes against the crown of Eddie’s head, "can you be here?"
"Course," Eddie mumbles back.
Buck seems satisfied with the answer, because he tilts his head even closer until his nose is buried in Eddie’s hair. For a few quiet moments, they only breathe with each other, then Buck’s foot curls below Eddie’s, the back of his toes pressed into the arch of his foot. Such simple touches, and Eddie’s positively floating.
Eddie reached out.
Buck is reaching back.
If only he’d known earlier that it could be this easy.
Later, when he wakes up, the house is empty, but there’s a note on the kitchen table. If anybody asks him in the future, he will say that this was the moment he knew for certain he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Buck.
Made you a sandwich. It’s in the fridge. Chris and I are out getting the most frivolous frappuccinos we can find (don’t worry, they will be caffeine-free because we respect you).
Your princess on the pea
Buck
🧭
"Can I try something?"
They’re in the kitchen. Buck is frowning at the amount of water in his measuring cup, and he’s so pretty that Eddie needs to reach out. The radio is on, playing some kind of top-40 song that Eddie knows nothing about except that it has a good rhythm.
So far in the last week, the question has fallen from his lips enough times that it doesn’t startle Buck anymore. He’s done it just yesterday when Buck was sitting in front of him on the floor, working on his T.Rex on the coffee table. When Buck affirmed his question (he always affirms), Eddie curled his hand around Buck’s neck, massaging his fingers into those little indents right below his skull, the ones connected to his Vagus nerve, until eventually Buck had given up on his project in favor of slumping against Eddie’s legs.
A few other things have changed, too. Here are the most important ones that Eddie’s been compiling on his mental list:
- Eddie is now sleeping in Buck’s bed, and it’s perfectly normal, and there’s zero grounds for clutching one’s pearls, thank you very much.
- They don’t cuddle as much as that first morning, but Buck always tugs his foot into the arch of Eddie’s foot eventually, wriggling his toes against it.
- Eddie sometimes slots his nose into the slope of Buck’s shoulder in return.
- After Buck told Maddie about his struggles and she reassured and comforted him, she hugged Eddie so tight and for so long that he didn’t know what to do with himself.
- Buck cooks more than just breakfast now.
- Buck finally sleeps a regular amount of hours at night, though he still takes the occasional afternoon nap on the couch with his feet resting in Eddie’s lap.
- Yesterday, Buck went on his first run in weeks, coming back all sweaty and flushed, and Eddie wanted to lick him.
- Eddie wants to lick Buck several times a day. It’s a new form of intrusive thoughts, and it’s torture.
- Frank thinks they’ve made good progress tackling the root of Eddie’s frustration. Seeing as his intrusive thoughts have transformed (see point about licking above), Eddie’s inclined to agree.
- They probably have to move back to their own place soon, but he can’t bring himself to think about it yet.
"Yeah, sure," Buck says now, thankfully stopping Eddie from thinking about that last point on the list too deeply.
He looks at Eddie with clear blue eyes and an expectant smile, and Eddie wants to kiss him (also lick him). He steps closer instead, grabbing hold of one of Buck’s large hands, slotting the other against his waist.
Buck’s eyes widen when he realizes what’s happening, but Eddie doesn't give him the chance to freak, taking a step forward and asking Buck’s body to follow instead, before taking a step back and pulling him along.
"Holy shit," Buck whispers, his eyebrows rising high up his forehead. "We’re dancing."
"I’m dancing," Eddie corrects, "you’re gaping."
Buck barks a laugh, then places his free hand on Eddie’s shoulder.
Frank was right about this, too: Leading Buck is no hardship. Despite the fact that he obviously has no clue how to Rumba, he’s following Eddie’s guidance like he was made for it, like they were both made to find that perfect rhythm, no matter what they’re doing. Forever.
A perfect seesaw, endless push and pull, just another language they will become fluent in if they practice it. The steps of the dance are like Morse code, too: Slow, slow, quick, quick.
Buck laughs, clear and beautiful, his whole face lit up with the simple pleasure of connection, and Eddie wants to say: Here. This is where I want to be forever. Here.
"I can’t believe you’re finally teaching me how to ballroom dance," Buck gloats. "It only took a kidnapping to get you to cave, huh?"
Eddie can hardly believe it either. Just the suggestion of dancing with another man would’ve sent him into cardiac arrest a few years ago. But perhaps, with this, as with everything else, the only one who has ever punished Eddie was Eddie himself. Because having Buck follow his lead, smiling that wild, beautiful smile of his, might just be his favorite thing in the world. Joy straight from the most brilliant of sources.
Until Buck’s blubbering mouth disrupts it. "Oh my god, Chris so needs to film this."
"Yeah, over my dead body."
"Aw, c’mon. Please? I need some kind of proof that this really happened. Who would believe me otherwise? Let me just call CHRI–"
Eddie shuts Buck up with a kiss.
A bumbling gesture with too much forward momentum that still has Buck sway into him on a shaky inhale, nevertheless.
Eddie reached out. Buck reaches back.
With both hands on Eddie’s jaw, tilting his head to get a better angle, before returning the kiss with such careful intention that Eddie literally swoons and stumbles into the kitchen counter behind his back, the inside of his wrist bumping into the cutting board, knife clattering into the sink.
Buck is smiling against his lips, as if he finds Eddie losing his footing endearing, and for a moment, they remain frozen like that, fully present in the perfection of their first kiss’ imperfection.
Then, Buck hooks a thumb under Eddie’s chin, and his smile forms into something softer, and, Jesus, the moment Eddie feels the full extent of Buck's mouth on his, he's so done for.
Like, obviously, Eddie has been aware that kissing men would be different from kissing women. There's the height difference for one. The scratch of Buck’s stubble against his own, the stretch of seemingly endless muscle caging him in, the strength with which he's being held, but there's also…
just, well, the Buck of it all.
The cocky confidence of a man who knows how to kiss, but also the slight tremble in his fingers that gives away his nerves. The sweet dichotomy of Evan Buckley.
And the Buck of it all, is what causes Eddie to collapse against the counter like an amateur, completely overwhelmed by everything he wants to do, and therefore not doing much of anything besides giving Buck his mouth to shape his own around, over and over and over again.
Years later, he’s still going to remember all the details of their first kiss. He will never tell Buck because he doesn't want to be accused of being sentimental, but the memory comes to him quite often when they're in the kitchen together.
The way the song ends and fades into an older Coldplay one (A Sky Full of Stars, as Eddie researches that one weekend Buck is away on a sibling trip with Maddie and he misses him so much he has to stop himself from texting him every other minute), the exact way the floorboards shift below their socked feet, Buck wearing a dark gray hoodie, soft beneath Eddie’s fingertips where he’s got them curled into the material at his waist, even the painful way the counter digs into his back.
And then, this:
The tip of Buck’s tongue flicking against Eddie’s lower lip, shyly almost, like he is still not sure if there’s a limit and if his tongue against Eddie’s mouth might be it. Which would make sense, seeing that he doesn’t know how much Eddie’s been thinking about licking him these past few days.
And so, Eddie cradles the back of Buck’s head in one hand and licks into the wet warmth of Buck’s mouth, groaning when their tongues slide together. Buck tastes like those sweet cherry tomatoes he’s been snacking on a few minutes ago, and he kisses like he’s got something to prove. Deep, so deep that Eddie’s head swims, then shallower, with tongue and teeth, with nips and rumbling groans coming directly from his chest.
"Eddie," Buck says thickly, rolling his forehead against his when they have to break apart to catch their breath. Eddie swallows heavily, his whole body tingling, and Buck nuzzles his cheekbone. "God, Eddie."
"Yeah," Eddie agrees with the unspoken sentiment around the lump in his throat, scratching his blunt nails through the short strands on the back of Buck’s skull in answer, and Buck kisses him everywhere but his lips, tiny, breathless pecks to his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, Eddie’s jaw.
The second kiss ends up being near bruising when they both tighten their hold on each other. Dazed, Eddie’s hand falls to Buck’s bicep, fingers clawing into the tight muscle, his other arm curling around the small of his back (though there really is nothing small about the man), eliminating the remaining space between them with a sharp tug that has both of them groan.
Fuck, they’re good at this.
Eddie should’ve known. Years ago, when they’d pulled that grenade out of a man’s leg, he should’ve known that the way they work off of each other would extend to everything.
And somehow it’s that thought that drags Eddie back to the here and now, even if he wants to dig his fingernails into the dream of the current moment instead.
Timing has never been their strong suit, and this is no exception.
Eddie leans back, almost bowed backward over the kitchen counter, and their lips separate on a wet click.
"Buck, wait," Eddie pants, when Buck fights Eddie's hold against his arm and continues to chase his mouth. "Wait, please."
Buck’s head falls against Eddie’s shoulder with a low whine, chest heaving heavily against his, two hearts trying to thump their way out of their chests to be with the other.
"Fuck," Eddie moans, lifting his eyes towards the ceiling in an attempt to keep himself from giving in and kissing Buck stupid again. "I didn’t mean to do that."
He regrets the words the moment they’re out of his mouth, and Buck stiffens in his arms. Especially, when he asks with a small voice, "Y-you didn’t mean to kiss me?"
Eddie can't answer right away, searching for the right words, and Buck stumbles out of his reach. And there it is, that hurt puppy-dog look that can rearrange Eddie’s organs until the entire landscape of Eddie’s insides has changed. There’s that pressure inside Eddie’s chest again, but he finally understands that it has never been frustration trying to burst free from his ribcage. Just his foolish heart too large for his chest, large enough that he feels split open already.
"Oh, no," Buck breathes, and he sounds devastated for precisely one second before he catches himself and scoffs instead, hiding behind self-depreceating humor. "I mean, of course, you didn’t mean–" He rubs a hand over his mouth, falters. "Of course this wasn’t–"
"Buck."
Buck shakes his head, eyes roaming over anything but Eddie. He looks sick, stricken.
"I didn’t mean to kiss you. Yet."
"Yet?" Buck croaks, his wide eyes finding his, and Eddie nods.
"Jesus, Eddie," Buck chuckles nervously, "you're putting me on a real emotional rollercoaster ride here."
Eddie can only shrug, the lump still stuck in his throat. He wants to lean in and kiss Buck again, but there’s a point to this, and he’s trying to recall the exact circumference of it.
"Why not… yet?" Buck takes a step closer, eyes flicking down to Eddie’s throbbing and kiss-swollen mouth, his pupils blown. "Eddie, why not—"
"It’s just— It’s not the right moment."
"B-because of me? Because, Eddie, I’m doing so much better. I’m– You’ve seen me. Laura’s even been reducing our therapy sessions to once a week now. I can do things again. I can sleep again. I mean… I sleep regular hours now. I’m not– You don’t have to worry about me."
"I know you're doing better, amorcito."
Buck winces. "Don’t do that. Don’t call me pet names to let me down easy."
"Buck, no. I’m not trying to—" Eddie rolls his shoulders back, his fingers clenched around the edge of the counter. There’s panic filling his lungs like acid, so close to the surface now. Eddie 1.0 surely would’ve lashed out already, but he’s not that man anymore. He can be honest even if it costs him his dignity.
"I’m not saying no."
Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to appease Buck in the slightest. "Sure sounds like it."
"I just– Look, you’re doing better, I know you are. But it’s only been a few days, really. I don’t want to bring anything into your life that could disrupt that."
"Because you think I’m fragile."
"Because I think you’re important," Eddie throws back, knowing that he’s losing the thread again, that his words are starting to come from a place of frustration instead of understanding. "Because you matter to me."
Buck cringes away, and Eddie doesn’t know what it is about kitchens that he never manages to get the true meaning across.
"Yeah, right."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I know I matter to you, Eddie. Just not enough that you would’ve come back from El Paso unless somebody else told you to."
"God, Buck, not that again."
"Why not that again, Eddie? Because you don’t want to hear how much your decisions affect me?" Buck takes one step closer, forcing Eddie to tilt his chin up in defiance. "That’s why you call me selfish whenever I tell you how you make me feel, don’t you? Because it’s inconvenient? Because it makes you uncomfortable?"
"Buck, c’mon, that’s not—"
"Well, I’ve got a news flash for you, Edmundo," Buck continues undeterred, pacing away from Eddie now, gesturing around with his hands as if there’s a point to be made somewhere in the air. "Just because you don’t want to hear how people feel about you, doesn’t mean they don’t still feel it. Sometimes the truth is just fucking inconvenient."
Eddie groans, rubs his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "How can we be so good at every form of communication, but the one where we’re exchanging actual words?"
Buck stops his pacing and crosses his arms over his chest.
Eddie doesn't want to fight again. Just this once, he wants to get the words out right. With a deep exhale, he consciously expels the tension from his body.
"Look, this is not just about you. It’s also a-about me. About having to–"
"Oh my god, Eddie. I can’t believe you’re giving me the whole it’s-not-you-it’s-me stick right now!"
"Well, it is about me! You think this has been easy for me? You know how I’ve been raised. Where I come from. It's not as simple as one kiss, and I’ve got it all magically figured out the way you did with Tommy. There are stakes here. Real stakes. You’re my best friend, the second most important person in Chris’ life, I can’t risk that by being careless."
Buck frowns at him, jaw tight, so Eddie continues, "I’ve been meaning to talk about this with Frank for weeks, but there was just so much else going on recently, and I– I just need a little bit of time to figure it out. To figure myself out. It doesn’t mean I don’t want this. It doesn’t mean I don’t—"
Buck’s arms fall away from his chest, his eyes wide like he still somehow heard the rest of that sentence. Gently, he asks, "You don’t…?"
Eddie shakes his head, chokes on the words. They’re too large for his mouth, too heavy to do anything but swallow them back down.
"It’s not a no, Buck. It’s not even an if. It’s just a question of when."
"When… not if?" Buck rasps, softening further. "You’re sure? You’re not going to change your mind tomorrow because it would be easier to make a different choice?"
"I actually don’t think I have much of a choice in the matter," Eddie says with a twitch of his lips, and finally, finally, Buck smiles back at him.
"Yeah," he says, cocking his head to the side. "Me neither."
"Good."
"Good? Eddie, you're fucking killing me here. Do you have any idea how much I want to touch you right now?"
"Good," Eddie repeats, which has Buck glower at him. Yeah, he loves his bratty side, alright. "You can still hug me, you know."
"Oh," Buck says, raising that one cocky eyebrow of his that has been driving Eddie insane for far longer than he cares to admit. "I can?"
"You can."
Buck purses his lips in answer, before breaking out into a half-smirk, half-bite on his lower lip, and godfreakingdamnit, being on the receiving end of Buck’s flirty little strut shouldn’t be doing it for him. It’s ridiculous. He should scoff, roll his eyes, something, anything to diffuse the tension. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut.
"I’m not going to bite you, Diaz," Buck laughs, teasingly throwing Eddie’s words from the other day back at him.
"I know," Eddie groans. "I just can’t look at you when you’re all—" He makes a hand gesture in Buck’s general direction.
"Because you think I’m hot."
It’s not a question.
Jesus, Buck is going to be unbearable about this from now on.
"Because you-you’re… peacocking!"
Eddie opens his eyes, just to find Buck right in front of him with a knowing grin.
"Why?" Buck whispers, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes the shell of Eddie’s ear, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. Eddie’s brain starts buzzing pleasantly, thoughts drowned out by a low static hum. "Does it get you weak in the knees when I do?"
Eddie huffs a desperate laugh and prays for his own sanity. "You know it does. That’s why you have to stop."
Finally, Buck leans away, lips pressed together in a weak attempt to hide his grin. To his credit, he does stop with the bedroom eyes. "Sorry."
"No, that’s— I like it when you flirt with me. You’ve been doing it for years."
"I have," Buck admits. "I didn’t think you would ever notice. Didn’t even call it flirting in my own head, even though it’s definitely what it was."
Eddie tugs his mouth to the side, hears the underlying assumption. "Oh, I have noticed. It‘s been driving me crazy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, Buck. Now stop it."
Buck wrinkles his nose and deflates. "Not to make this all about me again–"
"This is literally the one time you can assume that it’s all about you."
"Yeah, right. It’s just— I’m not really good with patience?"
"Is that a question? Because we both know the answer."
Buck grins sheepishly in return. "Sorry, yeah. I’m just– I’m going to try. Be on my best behavior, I mean. No peacocking, no flirting. I’ll give you all the time you need. Promise. Could you just, I don’t know– give me a rough time frame? Like, are we talking hours? Days? Weeks? A month?"
Eddie shakes his head with a disbelieving laugh.
"Month-s?"
This time, Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes.
"You’re not going to make me wait another year until I can kiss you again, are you? I’ve already waited more than eight!"
"You did not want to kiss me eight years ago, Buck. Don’t be melodramatic."
"Eddie," Buck says with insistence, "if I’d known that kissing you was an option at any point since I’ve known you, I would’ve dropped anything for just one chance to put my lips on you. Heck, if somebody showed me a picture of you ten years ago and told me ‘this guy wants to kiss you’ I would’ve searched the face of the earth for you."
"God," Eddie growls, tilting his head back into his neck. "You are such a freaking charmer."
"Sorry," Buck says sheepishly.
"Nah, you’re fine, babe. Come here." Eddie opens his arms, and Buck sweeps in right away, pulling Eddie to his chest and burying his face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling his throat.
"What happened to that Spanish pet name?"
"Amorcito? You like it?"
"I like anything you call me," Buck laughs into Eddie’s shoulder.
"Alright, dude."
Buck squeezes an undignified squeak out of Eddie.
"I’m so happy, I feel like I’m going to burst. I didn’t think I could ever be this happy again."
"Buck," Eddie says, overwhelmed, holding as tight to him as he can with both arms around the large expanse of his back. They stay like that for another song, swaying just a little until eventually, Buck whispers against Eddie’s temple, "Here."
Eddie nods, relieved that they can finally say it out loud, even if they’re not all the way to the finish line yet.
"Here."
🧭
Eddie doesn’t even get comfortable in his armchair before blurting out, "I’m in love with Buck."
"Alright," Frank replies with a grin that Eddie has never seen on the man’s face before. "Let’s start unpacking."
🧭
It takes them until the second session to get to the point of it all.
"So how did Chris take the news? Was it as nerve-wracking as you feared?"
"Nah, he had a gut feeling I would tell him soon because, in his words, ‘it was the only logical conclusion’," Eddie laughs. "He said any other explanation would’ve been weirder considering how clingy the two of us have been with each other recently."
"He's a really clever kid."
"Yeah, he is. He had some questions about what it means for me exactly, so I told him I’m still figuring that out, and he just said, "Okay, cool," and that was that."
"So, you’re no longer worried that you being in love with Buck could negatively affect him?"
"I don’t think I’ve ever believed that, to be honest. I should’ve known he would take it like a champ."
"So, where does that leave you and Buck?"
"Well, I mean…" Eddie scratches his chin. "I don’t know, really. Should I tell my parents first? They’ll probably freak. God, my Dad will– I don’t even want to consider that right now. The team would take it well, I know, but they’d probably have so many questions, I don’t know I could answer. I mean, I sure do have tons questions. Like, what did that mean for Shannon and me? I really loved her, you know. And it’s not like I hated sex before, it’s just, it was never– Ugh, I don’t even know."
"That’s okay. You don’t have to figure everything out at once."
"It’s just– I keep thinking, if I had a different upbringing, would I have come to the conclusion much earlier? I’ve read that sexuality is a spectrum, and I’m still not sure where exactly I fall on it, to be honest. Then I saw that it can even change over time, too? I don’t know, maybe it’s just Buck. Just Buck and his stupid grin."
Eddie sighs, frustrated with himself. He’s been wanting to kiss Buck again every night they share a bed, every morning they smile at each other over the rim of their coffee mugs, and all the hours in between.
"I thought there were only a couple of boxes left in that mental attic of mine, just to find out there was a trap door and behind it are a hundred more that I need to unpack."
"And you want to unpack everything, so you can—"
"Be with Buck."
Frank hums, and Eddie hates how much meaning there is behind that small sound.
"You’re going to say something I don’t want to hear, aren’t you?"
"I just have a question for you," Frank tries to appease him, but Eddie bumps the back of his head against the armchair with a groan, nevertheless.
"Last year, you said you weren’t planning on coming back to LA. That you were going to stay in El Paso. What changed your mind?"
"Well, there was that building that collapsed, and I—" Eddie stops himself, because he knows that’s not the truth.
"Did you want to come back, Eddie?"
He thinks about his time in El Paso, how miserable he had felt in a house that was falling apart, in a childhood home he’d outgrown by miles, with a son who could barely stand the sight of him. How the one highlight of his day had been whenever Buck called.
"I tried not to think about it."
"Okay."
"I wanted to do what was right for Christopher."
"Of course."
Eddie groans again. "Just say what you want to say, please."
Frank nods. "Even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself at the time, it’s fair for me to assume that deep down you really wanted to return?"
Eddie shrugs. "I guess so. I mean, it’s home."
"But you forced yourself not to even consider it as an option until—"
"Until…" Eddie furrows his brows. "Well, Cap held that whole speech on how none of us were going to leave the 118, and that was that."
Frank hums. Eddie’s not entirely certain he truly overcame his anger issues.
"So, one little speech by your captain and suddenly you could talk to Chris about where you really wanted to be?"
"I mean… it was inspiring, I guess?"
"It sure must’ve been."
"Frank."
"Sorry, I’m going to get to my point soon. Last year, you told me something else that I found very interesting. About that priest who told you to stop punishing yourself."
"Uh-huh."
"And afterward you had that little moment of joy, right? You said it was kind of freeing to get permission to do what you wanted to do from somebody you respected."
Eddie clicks his lower jaw to the right, tries to take one stabilizing breath. He can see where this is going.
"I think," Frank continues, "you’re waiting for me to give you permission to be with Buck."
Eddie does not dignify the statement with an answer. Mostly, because he fears Frank is right.
"But I won’t give you that permission."
Now, Eddie is gaping.
"Not because you still have things to unpack. Trust me, we’ll continue to work on it, but there will never be a time when you clear out the entire attic. A little bit of mess is just part of being human. You don’t need to understand all parts of yourself at all points of your life. Not knowing all the grand and small mysteries about your existence shouldn’t hinder you from living the life you want."
"Then why won’t you give me permission? Why can’t you just say, 'Go be with Buck?' if it's that easy?"
Eddie knows he sounds like a petulant child. Hates that he’s proving Frank’s theory correct.
"Because you don't need my permission. The only person who can give you permission to be with the person you love is you."
Eddie purses his mouth, then presses it flat.
"Do you believe that, Eddie? That you can give yourself permission to choose the life you want?"
Eddie's gut instinct is to say no. There are so many factors to consider. First of all, Chris. Always Chris first. And then all the other people who might be affected, dynamics that might shift, consequences that could lead to, what his decisions would communicate to the world— Though, actually, who cares about what other people think? Eddie surely didn’t when the incompetent Sheriff in New Mexico thought Buck was more than just a friend.
Eddie sniffs a laugh. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"
"No," Frank says. "You just learned something really important today."
"And what would that be?"
"That the world is your oyster."
🦪
The day before Chris and Eddie plan to finally move back to their own house, Buck shoos them outside. Tells them not to return before five.
It's only a few days until Buck can return for duty, and the last chance for them to spend time together while Eddie is off-shift, so he feels reasonably annoyed about the development. Something Chris spends their entire time at the mall teasing him about.
"Why don't you get Buck a gift, too?" Chris eventually asks at the GameStop.
"What?" Eddie returns with a frown, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Like what?"
"I don't know." Chris shrugs. "Whatever grown men in love get each other."
"Chris," Eddie scolds him, and gets a sly grin in return.
"Buck doesn't even know yet that I'm—" Eddie makes a gesture with his elbow to not have to finish the sentence.
"Well, then, the gift could be your grand gesture."
"Yeah," Eddie replies, scrunching up his face. "I don't know. We're not really the kind of people who do grand romantic gestures for each other. It would probably be cringe."
"No, Dad, ew. Please don't ever use that word again. And also, are you kidding?" Chris laughs.
"Please tell me you're kidding," he continues, more somber when Eddie shakes his head in confusion. "Oh my God, Dad, you can't be that clueless. Buck is like the most romantic person we know. He cried at Lady and the Tramp!"
"That was years ago."
"He also cried at that new Bridget Jones movie, and that was two weeks ago."
Eddie chews on the inside of his lip. "You really think so? That he'd like a grand gesture?"
Chris rolls his eyes. "Clue~less, Dad, seriously. At least I already got him a gift to show him how much I appreciate him."
"That I paid for!" Eddie shoots back.
"Well, Buck doesn't know that, does he?"
"Okay, you know what, you win. Let's go." He steers Chris away from the shelf of new PS5 releases and towards the jewelry store they passed earlier. The one that wasn't just dainty necklaces for women but also had a good collection of watches for men.
As soon as he's inside, a man in a pinstripe suit greets him with a brilliant smile. "What are we looking for today?"
"Uh." He glances helplessly at Chris, who only shakes his head at him and slumps onto the leather sofa at the other side of the store.
"I'm looking for a gift for my… partner."
"Partner, huh?" the man says with a nod, then his smile grows a little more knowing, like he just unpacked one of the boxes that Eddie's still storing in his mental attic and found that they are alike. "What's he like?"
"What's he— Uh, curly hair, blue eyes, tall, strong build, very handsome, biggest heart in LA?"
"Good God, Dad, you're so cringe," Chris chuckles behind his back, and Eddie hits him with the stink eye.
The sales clerk gives him an enamored look like he's seconds away from aww-ing. Eddie clears his throat and pushes his hands even deeper into his pants pockets. "He's a firefighter like me, so nothing that would get in the way of our work. Oh, and he likes to wear button-down shirts, maybe something that would go with that?" Eddie rubs his forehead and sighs in frustration. "I've actually never bought jewelry for a man before, so I'm pretty lost right now, to be honest."
"That's what I'm here for. Let's decide on the kind first. I'm assuming we're not at the ring stage yet. So maybe a watch? A necklace?"
Eddie's hand goes up to his St. Christopher medal, and he nods. He likes the idea of them matching like that. "Necklace sounds good."
"Okay, let me get you a collection from the back. I think I've got some ideas."
The clerk returns with a tray of necklaces, each with a thin silver chain and a different pendant. Eddie's eyes fly over the different designs, only to get stuck on the one with the compass.
He thinks of Buck having traveled all over the world just to end up in the same firehouse as him, eventually. Of the chances of them actually meeting. A lost boy from Pennsylvania, and a former army medic and father from El Paso. Of them becoming work partners first, then best friends, and now…
"That one."
"That was quick," the man laughs, "I kinda assumed you were still at the getting to know each other stage, but it seems you know your partner pretty well."
"Buck's been part of our lives forever," Chris answers for Eddie. "I basically grew up with him."
"I see." The clerk happily takes the tray back to the counter. "You must feel lucky to have two dads then."
"Eh," Chris says and shrugs. "It's alright."
Eddie's frozen for a moment, waiting for the panic to set in the same way it did when another sales clerk in a different store assumed that Ana was Chris' mother years ago. But instead of panic, all Eddie feels is a certain kind of settlement, and warmth, so much warmth.
Eddie points at him with a mock-scowl. "You're on thin ice today, Christopher."
"Sorry," Chris snickers without looking up from his phone. "They're the best. Very handsome and not cringe at all."
Eddie narrows his eyes at him, then follows the clerk back to the counter.
"Would you like to have the back of the pendant engraved?"
"Nah— Or actually… Yes."
"Of course. What would you like me to put there? Your initials? A date?"
"Just one word." Eddie feels the smile spread across his face before he can stop it, his chest wide and open, like a window that has been opened for the first time after years of being shut. "Here."
🧭
The little velvet box burns a hole in the pocket of his leather jacket on the drive. Eddie's not sure he can hand it over to Buck anytime soon. No matter how romantic Chris thinks Buck is, Eddie doesn't think he can match that kind of energy without melting into a puddle of shame.
"Out here," Buck calls back when they come back home, find the house empty, and Eddie shouts his name. They head outside just to find Buck and his giant grin in the middle of his backyard.
"Tada!" Buck stretches out his arms, and Eddie raises his brows.
The backyard has been completely transformed. There's a large white screen in front of the wooden wall, the PS5 start screen projected on it.
Buck carried his armchair outside and placed it across from the screen (for Chris to sit comfortably, Eddie assumes, and his heart swells to twice the size at the thought), a blanket and a frankly obscene number of pillows next to it.
He started a fire in the fire pit and strung several lights across the backyard so the entire place glows in an almost golden light. In the far back of the yard is a large dark green tent, the flap thrown over the roof, revealing more blankets and pillows inside.
"I thought since this is our last night before you guys are moving out, we should do something special. Just like old times, but better. No offense to your teeny-tiny tent."
"Hey," Eddie complains, but he has to admit that none of his backyard camping nights with Chris have ever been this fancy.
"I made us so much finger food," Buck blabbers on, pointing at the table next to them. "Sausage rolls, all kinds of skewers, a quiche, these cute little cherry pies, muffins—"
"Wow," Chris says, and steals a muffin from the plate. "Sick."
"Yeah?" Buck asks, beaming, and Eddie wants to kiss him so badly he feels physically ill.
"Can I play Fortnite on the big screen?" Chris asks through a mouth full of muffin.
"Sure," Back affirms. "Maybe later we can also watch a movie? Dealer's choice."
Chris nods, already heading over to the armchair, placing his headset over his ears and starting the game. A moment later, he's lost to the world.
Buck hands Eddie a beer with a grin, then rubs his neck. "Too much?"
"Are you kidding? You made Chris' whole week. And that's a tough thing to achieve with a fifteen-year-old. They're not easily impressed, as you know."
"I just wanted to do something special for him, you know? He's been so great throughout these past few weeks despite it not being that much fun to be around me."
"He loves you, Buck. You don't need to bribe him with all of this for him to want to come back."
"No, I know. I just— I like seeing him happy." Buck glances over at where Chris is sitting, his face all soft with love for Eddie's son, and Eddie needs to reach out, or his head will explode with how much he wants this man. He's not even kidding.
"Fuck it," he says and places the beer back on the table.
"Eddie?"
Eddie crosses the distance between them, cradling Buck's face with both of his hands.
"I didn't do this to impress you, I swear. I know what you said about the flirting. I'm really trying to be patient, you don't need to—"
"Shut up, Buck," Eddie says. "I know."
"Th-then what are you doing?"
"I'm trying to kiss you, but you won't stop yapping."
Buck licks his lips, his eyes wide. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Why now?"
"Because," Eddie says, tracing the edge of his thumb against Buck's birthmark, "the world is my oyster."
Buck squints at him. "Wha—?"
Eddie swallows the question with his mouth. Their third kiss is sweet and innocent, on behalf of the teenage boy sitting only a few feet away from them, their lips clinging to each other for a moment before Eddie leans away with a sigh.
Buck's cheeks are a rosy pink, and it takes all of Eddie's willpower not to lean back in.
"Th-thank you?" Buck stammers, and Eddie laughs softly.
"You're very welcome, Buck."
They watch one of the newer Spiderman movies and eat way too much food once Chris can pry himself away from his game. Eddie and Buck are sitting together on the blanket, propped up by pillows, their shoulders and pinkies brushing all throughout the night.
Afterward, they go wash up, only for Chris to desert them with, "I'm way too old to sleep in a tent with you guys. I need my beauty sleep in a real bed with a proper mattress."
"I miss mini-Chris," Buck sighs as the two of them lie on their backs in the tent, high on sugar and each other's company an hour later, the flap pulled down to ward off any bugs. "He loved sleeping outside with us."
"They grow up too fast."
"He was so cute, too." Buck turns to him and props up his head on his elbow. "God, Eddie, do you remember how cute your son was?"
"Well, duh, he's my son."
"No, I mean. There are cute children, and then there's Chris. Like a baby kitten and a golden retriever puppy all in one. Cuter than a capybara and a bunny being best friends. The first time I saw him with you after that earthquake, I thought my heart was going to crack open."
"Are you drunk?" Eddie laughs.
"Drunk on sentimentality."
"Yeah, that tracks."
"I’m just going to miss having you guys around so much. I-I know we’ll still see each other all the time, but it will be different, you know?"
"Yeah, I do know," Eddie admits on a whisper, because he’s been feeling the same restlessness at the idea of not spending every night next to Buck.
Buck smiles at him, looking at him through his lashes. The tent is dark, but Eddie can still see the intent in Buck's eyes. "Can I—" He purses his lips. "Am I allowed to flirt with you now?"
Eddie hums, pretends to think about it. Chris’ room is all the way on the other side of the house, facing the street, so far away that even if he left the window open, he absolutely wouldn’t be able to hear them. They’re in a dark tent where nobody can see them, which perhaps is a bit cliché, but, God, Eddie wants this. Wants to take all that he can get from Buck.
There’s nothing standing in his way besides himself.
He only has to give himself permission to reach out. Buck will always reach back.
Buck must misread the silence because his face falls. "It’s fine if you don’t. Really. I wasn’t expecting anything just because—"
Eddie kisses him sweetly.
"You always kiss me to shut me up," Buck murmurs against his mouth with a smile, but he doesn't sound annoyed. Instead, he lifts a palm to Eddie's cheek and cradles it.
The next kiss is honey-slow, testing all the ways their lips can shape against each other. Every tilt, every press of lips, every slide of tongue against tongue speaks the same language. Says, here, here, here.
It's intimate, the closest Eddie has ever felt to another person, and they haven't even touched below the neck yet.
"Why now?" Buck breathes, nuzzling him. It has Eddie's heart do an insane flip inside his chest. A Buck-flip, so to say (which, okay, he realizes how terrible that one was all on his own). "Not that I'm complaining."
"Just because I can," Eddie replies, digging his fingers into Buck's soft curls, pulling him back in until their lips brush. "Because I want to."
"That simple?"
"Yeah, I'm done over-complicating things."
"Breakthrough in therapy?"
"Hmm. Not the way you might think. Now shut up and kiss me."
"Oh." Buck grins against Eddie's mouth. "Bossy."
"You like it."
"Fuck, yeah, I do."
They kiss again until Eddie's lips are throbbing, until his cheeks are raw from the stubble burn, and his fingers ache from how hard he's been digging them into Buck's muscles. The last time he made out with another person just for the sake of making out had been with Shannon. Everything felt brand new and exciting at the time.
It feels brand new and exciting with Buck now, too. But not because Eddie has no clue what he's doing and is fumbling his way through it, or because Buck is a man, but because he's never kissed anybody before, just because the idea of not kissing them is unbearable.
And because Buck is pure sunshine. Joy in its most refined form.
The only issue Eddie has with this setup is that Buck is way too respectful of not crossing any boundaries, his hands never moving any lower than Eddie's upper back, his hips tilting away whenever Eddie tries to align them.
"Buck," Eddie groans when Buck sucks on the hinge of his jaw, curling a fist into his hoodie and trying to haul him in, "come closer."
Buck does the opposite and leans away, only to give him a lopsided grin. "Make me."
With a growl, Eddie rolls on top of Buck, snatching both of his wrists and pinning them into the blanket next to his head. Buck's eyes are all pupils in the low light, his body arching into Eddie's with a drawn-out moan.
Eddie's been hard for what feels like hours at this point, a low thrum of arousal that's been getting more insistent with each touch, and still, nothing prepares him for feeling the proof of how much Buck has been affected by him pressed against his own pelvis.
"Y-you're so hard," he stammers, can't help but roll his hips down, which has Buck's lashes flutter and curl his fingers into fists, the tendons in his wrists straining under Eddie's grip.
"Yeah," Buck groans on the second roll of Eddie's hips. "You, too. So hard. God, Eddie, you really want this, don't you?"
Eddie swallows heavily and nods, forehead collapsing against Buck's clavicle. Buck's cock feels as unforgiving as polished steel where it presses into Eddie's abdomen, and Eddie's mouth waters at the idea of curling his fingers around him there, of feeling the juxtaposition of his soft skin against all that hardness, of the way he might twitch and pulse in his hold.
"I want to touch you."
"Yeah," Buck agrees with a frantic nod. "Anything you want."
Eddie rolls off Buck to give himself more space, and they kiss again, Buck's hands much less hesitant now, one giving a sharp tug on Eddie's hair that has an embarrassing whimper slip from his lips, the other grabbing a handful of Eddie's ass and squeezing him through his sweatpants. Buck's tongue licks heavily inside his mouth, the kiss filthy from the start.
Eddie’s head swims, unsure which sensation to focus on: hands, mouth, the lack of blood in his brain, the abundance in his cock. Nobody has ever grabbed Eddie with the kind bruising force Buck is holding him, as if he could, he would crawl beneath Eddie’s skin, make himself a home there. And Eddie wants the same, wants to be closer, and closer, and closer.
God, they’re so good at this. They should’ve done this years ago instead of unsuccessfully dating other people.
Never again, Eddie promises himself.
Now that he’s got Buck in his hands, he will hold on with everything he’s got, build a world around Buck he’ll never want to leave again.
They should look at houses together, he thinks deliriously, sucking on Buck’s tongue, having him whine into the kiss. One without the history of how they hurt each other, where they can start over, build a life for them.
Eddie will find one with a large kitchen for all of Buck’s baking projects, with a convection oven and that expensive stand mixer Buck’s been talking about for an eternity.
He tugs on Buck’s lower lip with his teeth, then slides his tongue back inside his mouth gently, softening his kiss, thinks about getting a mattress springy enough that Buck will never have to voice any discomfort, and place a hundred pillows on it.
Buck rolls a little closer until they’re chest to chest, hearts aligned, their fingers gentle against each other’s jaws as if Buck is somehow sensing the shift in Eddie’s thoughts, wants to match his energy.
And Eddie loves him so much that he will adopt a dog for him, because Buck will love the little creature with all of his big heart, and Eddie loves looking at Buck when he looks at the things he loves. They’ll have a garden big enough for Buck to grow his own vegetables, and Eddie will brush the dirt off Buck's cheek every morning when he comes back from picking his own tomatoes and watering the crops.
He’s not sure why it’s the last thought that has him snap. He only knows that he needs Buck closer, needs him now. And so, he pushes into Buck’s kiss until his teeth ache, Buck’s weight grounding him to the earth below.
The wet meeting of their mouths grows louder in his ears, almost as deafening as his own heartbeat, and he melts into the sensation, into this idea of their future, melts into Buck, beautiful, magnificent Buck and his talented tongue, all his bones liquefied. Everything turns a little hazy then, and for a minute or an eternity (how is Eddie to accurately measure time when Buck makes him feel so good?), he floats somewhere inside his dream of Buck smiling at him from the other side of their kitchen island forever and forgets all about the mission he was on.
Until Buck bullies a thigh between Eddie's, giving him just enough friction that he’s moaning low and desperate into Buck's mouth like he's a virgin all over again.
"Fuck." Eddie breaks away with a gasp, heaving air into his lungs. Buck digs his fingers harder into his ass in answer, drags him closer, and flexes his thigh.
"You feel so good," Buck rumbles into the skin of Eddie’s throat, and Eddie nods helplessly, grinding his cock into Buck's thigh in tight circles that have sparks explode behind his closed eyes. "Fuck, yeah. C'mon, Eddie. Take what you want."
They're kissing again, Buck's fingers bruising the muscles in his ass with every thrust he helps guide Eddie into. And now Eddie worries they're too good at this. That they won't even get to the part where they undress. He can already feel that telltale tightness in the lower part of his spine, his cock throbbing and spurting precum into his briefs.
Desperate, Eddie pushes against Buck's hipbone with the fleshy part of his palm, getting some distance between them and easing the pressure against his cock. Only then does he slip his fingers beneath the waistband of Buck's sweats and scratches his fingernails through the rough hair there.
"O-oh." Buck tips over and onto his back, propped up by his elbows, giving Eddie even more space to explore. They both stare at Eddie's hand inside his sweatpants, where his knuckles brush against the tip of Buck’s wet cock. "Holy Shit."
"Yeah," Eddie says thickly, the only word still in his vocabulary that makes sense. He scratches Buck again, harder this time, and Buck collapses fully onto his back with a thud, head thrown back into his neck, Adam’s apple bopping on a heavy swallow.
Even in the barely there light, the sight of Buck all spread out and wanton, has Eddie’s heart thumping somewhere in the region of his stomach. He licks his lips, feeling uncharacteristically nervous all of a sudden. There's so much he wants to do, so much he wants to have done to him, but there's also so much he doesn’t really know yet.
Not the act itself, of course, he’s got practice with his hand on his own cock, but he’s not sure it will translate into something Buck will enjoy. If he’s completely honest with himself, he’s never been one to pay too much attention to his own pleasure, his usual under-the-shower-wanks perfunctory at best.
Buck makes a low rumbly sound from somewhere deep inside his chest, rolling his hips up like he can’t help himself, chasing Eddie’s touch, and fuck that’s so hot. He wants to make this good for Buck, draw out his pleasure, if only because it feeds his own to an extreme he’s never experienced before.
Past Eddie might’ve pushed through his discomfort and hoped for the best, but he’s not that man anymore. He wants to learn what gets Buck going, what makes him lose his mind, like they’ve learned so many other ways of communicating with each other before.
Plus, it’s Buck. There’s nobody he trusts more with his own shortcomings.
"Show me how to make it good for you?"
The words are sticky on his tongue, foreign, but Buck moans as if it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard and nods enthusiastically, and any and all doubt about it is gone in an instant. He pulls Eddie’s hand out of his pants by his wrists, lifts it to his mouth, and spits.
And, God, that should probably be gross and not turn Eddie on the way it does. Instead, he thinks about sticking his now-wet hand into his own sweatpants, slicking himself up with Buck’s spit and—
He lowers his hands back to Buck’s waistband before he loses track of his goal again, pushes his closed palm inside, and curls it loosely around Buck.
He’s warm under Eddie’s palm, silky smooth and in perfect proportion, just as rock hard as Eddie thought he would be. Worse, Buck makes these tiny, aborted little sounds of pleasure like he’s already losing his mind, and they make Eddie feel insane, too.
Focus, he tells himself. He’s got another Evan Buckley language to learn, and he wants to be an attentive student. Spreading the wetness around his shaft carefully, he gives Buck an expectant look, waits for further guidance.
"G-go slow." Buck’s chest is heaving, his eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth. "Wanna draw it out."
Buck’s birthmark seems to have darkened to an almost cherry pink, the same as his swollen lips, his eyes as blue as the Mediterranean Sea. Based on how little light actually filters through the dark tent from the string lights in the yard, Eddie knows he must be drawing these colors from memory. Which doesn’t stop Buck from being unbearably pretty, still.
"God, you’re so beautiful." The words slip out before he can hold them back, but he doesn't regret them. Buck furrows his brow as if he’d just been hit in the gut instead of complimented. Eddie leans in until they're sharing air again, tightening his grip around Buck and moving over him at a slow, consistent pace. In answer, Buck’s eyelashes flutter heavily, like he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. "So fucking beautiful, Buck. You've been driving me crazy for ages."
"Eddie," he whines, sounding undone, "you can’t just say shit like that to me."
"Oh?" Eddie brushes the inside of his wrist against the head of his cock, wetness smearing against it. "Why not?"
"M-makes me wanna keep you," Buck stammers, eyes rolling into the back of his head when Eddie speeds up his strokes, twists his wrist the way that he knows feels good on himself.
"Well, that’s good," Eddie says with a grin he can't suppress, nipping on Buck's lower lip with his teeth, tightening his fist around him until his hips stutter upwards. "Because I’m definitely gonna keep you."
Buck pulses in his grip, heels grappling against the blanket spread over the floor of the tent, pushing his chest out. Eddie lowers his mouth to a pec, digging his teeth into it through Buck’s hoodie, reveling in the sound of the rustling of fabric where his hand works him over and Buck's strangled grunt.
"Slower," Buck whines. "Eddie, slower, please." He swallows heavily and licks his lips. He looks so stunning like this, completely at Eddie's mercy, all pliant and dreamy. Eddie squeezes harder, and Buck throbs heavily in his palm. He’s so wet. So fucking hot. "Oh, fuck, Ed— baby, wait. You're going to make me come."
"You could," Eddie breathes against the shell of his ear, before pushing himself up on his elbow and watching his hand work underneath Buck’s sweats, cursing under his breath at how sexy it is to watch himself getting Buck off. He wants to see Buck fall apart like this, with just Eddie’s unpracticed hand on him, still completely dressed. But he also wants so much more than that.
Buck frantically shakes his head against the pillow below his head. "Not yet," he pleads. "Don’t want it to be over yet."
"Okay," Eddie relents, slowing down his movements, stroking him gently, thumbing beneath the head, drawing circles into it. "Show me how, mi amor. Show me what you want."
Buck’s eyes fly open at the words, or perhaps the pet name, and rest wide on Eddie's before he nods and slowly moves his hand down his stomach until his fingers bump into Eddie's forearm, where it stretches out the waistband of his pants. When he finally curls it over Eddie's hand through his sweats, they both groan. Buck's legs fall open wider, hips lifting into their combined touch.
Buck squeezes his hand around Eddie's, pressing it down on him in a slow, rubbing rhythm that has Buck's cock trapped against his own stomach, oozing more and more wetness into his skin, "Fuck your freaking hands, Eddie. They make me so hard."
"Yeah? You like them?" Eddie gasps. He had no idea he would be so into words of affirmation during sex, but apparently, that's just another secret box that Buck is unpacking for him. "You like this?"
"So much," Buck blabbers, loosening his grip on the back of Eddie's and sliding his hand lower. "They're so strong, so capable." Eddie watches enraptured as Buck opens his legs and slides his own palm between them, cupping his balls through his pants and moaning softly.
Eddie feels feverish, his skin clammy and too tight for his body. He wants to keep watching Buck like this forever, but he also wants to be touched again so badly.
"Love your hands so much," Buck mumbles, sounding like he’s being swept away by his own words. He arches his back on a particularly heavy grind of Eddie's palm against him. "Want them to hold me down while you fuck me."
"Fuck, yes," Eddie gasps and collapses into Buck's shoulder, his hips spasming against Buck's, trying to get some kind of relief for his cock, which has reached unprecedented and painful levels of hardness.
"Yeah?" Buck asks, and when Eddie glances down, he sees him lowering his hand even further, knees open wide, rubbing into the spot where Eddie would take him. Eddie's going nearly cross-eyed from how much he wants, his scalp prickling in delayed shock. He can't help but wonder how it would feel to be touched there, his body throbbing with want, tightening around the emptiness.
"You want that, baby?" Buck asks, turning his head until their lips brush again, eyes sincere. "Wanna fuck me?"
Eddie wants to say yes, wants to take Buck apart the only way he knows how. He's never left his partners disappointed before, no matter how much or little into the act he was himself. But he knows that with Buck it would almost certainly be overwhelming from the beginning, and it's not what his body is asking for anyway.
It's a heavy ask, a risk. Buck could not be into it, and that might kill the mood. Then, again, Eddie might find out that he’s not into it halfway through, and that most definitely would kill the mood.
But it's what he wants right now, and maybe that's enough. Just giving himself permission to voice it.
"Or—" He clears his throat, keeps his hand still until Buck looks at him again. "We could try the other way around."
Buck suck in a heavy breath and freezes under Eddie's touch.
Oh, no, he hopes he hasn't miscalculated—
Buck cuts off the beginning of his thought spiral by lifting his hand to Eddie's head and tugging him into a bruising kiss, pulling on his hair so sharply that Eddie moans, overwhelmed.
"Are you sure?" Buck gasps when he releases him. "I need you to be sure. I'm going to make it so good for you, but I need you to want it. To be sure you want it."
"I—" Eddie's head is swimming. He's never been particularly good at knowing what he wants. All he knows is that he wants Buck's full attention on him, wants to try something he's never tried before.
"What if I won't like it?" Eddie voices his fear, and Buck's eyes grow impossibly soft.
"Then we pivot."
Eddie raises one brow. "Pivot."
"Yeah, Ross was onto something there. Pivot, pivot, pivot!"
Eddie snorts a laugh, and just like that, everything is simple again.
"If it's not for you, that's completely fine. We can always switch halfway through," Buck says. "I know I like taking it, so it will be good for me no matter what we do. There will be no regrets either way, I promise."
Eddie really doesn't want to think about how Buck learned that he likes to be the bottom, so he pulls him into another kiss instead.
"Let's try," Eddie says with a nod when they separate again. "I want to try."
"Fuck, okay, yes," Buck says with the happiest of grins, pushing himself up on his knees. "I'll just— I'll get some things from inside, okay? Make sure the terrace door is locked, just in case Chris develops a sudden onset of a sleepwalking condition."
Eddie frowns at that. "And then how will we get back inside?"
"With the key?" Buck replies as if that's the dumbest question he's ever heard.
"I didn't even know you had a key for the terrace doors."
"I have. I do. It's in the kitchen drawers somewhere."
God, Eddie can already imagine how much time it will take for Buck to go through all of his drawers for a tiny key.
"Fine," Eddie sighs, defeated, and collapses onto his back. "Hurry up."
"I will," Buck promises and presses another peck to his lips before shuffling to the other end of the tent to open the zipper and vanish outside. Then, he draws another snort out of Eddie when he says, "Don't start without me."
Eddie lies flat on his back with his arms stretched out wide while he listens to Buck close the zipper from the outside, shuffle into his shoes, and then walk across the grass towards the house.
When the terrace door is slid open and shut quietly in the distance, Eddie exhales heavily. Now, the only noise is the clitter of crickets and the distant rush of traffic from that main road a mile away.
Eddie waits for the panic to set in. Waits for his brain to spiral into what-ifs and what-if-nots, but all that remains is that pleasant if insistent buzz under his skin.
He hasn't felt like this since…
Hmm, perhaps since Chim's bachelor party? When he'd been buzzed and happy in a different way, singing and jumping with Buck, just happy to be in his chaotic orbit.
Today's buzz is thankfully a much less nauseating sensation, but equally as dizzying. It makes him want to… well, touch himself.
Oh, fuck, yeah.
He puts a hand on his heaving stomach, presses down into it, thumb rubbing into his solar plexus, pinkie slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.
Oh.
Maybe this is more than just a little buzz, he thinks with a gasp when his body grows even heavier, his skin tingling, over-sensitized. He closes his eyes and sees Buck behind them. Buck, with his legs spread wide, with both of their hands curled around him, guiding Eddie into how to touch him just right. Buck begging Eddie to go slower, to draw it out, to make it last—
Eddie slips his hands into his pants on a stifled little moan, bumps his knuckles into the head of his cock, and almost bows off the ground at the sharpness of the sensation.
Fuck.
He can't recall ever having been this sensitive to the slightest touch of his own calloused hand. Is that what Buck felt when he said that he loves Eddie's hands? Does Buck watch him at work sometimes, and think about what his hands could do to him in the bedroom?
"Oh, shit," he hisses out loud this time.
Eddie curls a fist around himself because he can't not touch himself anymore, and it's dry and the movement a little choppy, but fuck, it feels good. So good in fact, that he has to stop stroking himself, or he might have to explain to Buck why he didn't just start but also finished without him.
He presses his cock flat to his stomach instead, the way Buck had made him do to himself, keeps it trapped there with just enough pressure that his breathing grows labored, but not enough that it will cause a premature end.
He counts thirty breath cycles, fingers occasionally twitching around himself just enough to keep himself on the precipice of pleasure without tipping over into too much.
Then, the sliding door opens again. He hears the click of the lock, just like Buck promised. He considers pulling his hand out of his pants for a moment, then decides against it.
Based on Buck's footsteps, he's jogging back to the tent, the zipper tugged open harshly, shoes discarded.
A moment later, Buck is kneeling inside the tent, breathless, a paper popcorn bucket in his hands.
He grins at Eddie, only for his eyes to fall to the place where Eddie is cupping himself inside his pants. "Oh, fuck, Eddie, have you been touching yourself?"
Eddie nods, tilting his chin down to get a better look at Buck and the way he stares at him as if Eddie’s one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
"Don't stop," Buck rasps, nodding towards Eddie's hand still curled around his cock inside his pants. "Let me see."
Eddie moans at the order and closes his eyes, tilting his chin up. He gives himself a couple of pumps before he has to stop again.
"I can't. I'm too close," he groans, and when he looks at Buck again, he finds him with his knees spread wide, one hand curled around himself through his pants, biting down hard on his lower lip. And holy shit, holy shit. Suddenly, he's pretty certain where he falls on the spectrum. "Fuck, Buck, I'm so gay."
That startles a surprised laugh out of Buck, before his face grows somber all of a sudden, a dark promise in his eyes.
"Yeah?" he all but growls, and it would be adorable if it wasn't so fucking hot. "What makes you say that?"
"Well," Eddie gasps when he trails the tips of his fingers along the throbbing vein below the leaking tip of his cock. "We're both still completely dressed, and you just carried the supplies for us to be able fuck each other over in a popcorn bucket, and I still think you're the hottest person alive."
Buck's mask slips, and his face splits into that giant grin again that Eddie loves so much on him.
"Don't laugh. I've never been hornier in my life. I think it might have reached critical levels. I might die."
"Eddie," he chuckles, sliding between Eddie's open thighs and pushing him down into the ground with his full body weight. "Ed, you can't make me laugh so much while we're having sex. I'm trying to keep up the mood."
"Well, then, how about you give me a good explanation for why there's lube in my popcorn," Eddie deadpans, and Buck collapses into him with a snicker.
Eddie decides that making Buck laugh is just another language between them that he absolutely loves. No matter the situation they're in.
"There's no popcorn in the bucket, you idiot." Buck sits up and grabs it from the other side of the tent. Lifts it so Eddie can expect what it contains, which is mostly wrapped chocolate bars and candy.
"Just in case Chris was still up." Buck shrugs and pours the candy out onto the blanket, revealing a paper lid pushed all the way to the bottom of the bucket. Buck pulls out the lid, too, to finally reveal a strip of condoms, lube, and a damp washcloth.
"Ingenious."
"Thank you," Buck replies, still grinning. "So."
"So?"
"Shall we finally undress? See if we can push that horniness to another level?"
"Could be dangerous," Eddie replies with a smirk and sits up.
"Worth the risk?"
"Oh, absolutely."
They're on each other a second later, kissing, pulling on their clothes, only ever separating to fight their pullovers over their heads. Buck pushes Eddie back down onto his back when they're both shirtless, hooks his fingers into the waistband of his pants, then drags them down slowly.
His eyes widen when he finds the navy briefs below. "You're not wearing tighty-whities."
"Haven't been for a while."
"How long?" Buck asks, pulling the pants off the rest of the way and throwing them somewhere behind him. "Eddie, since when—"
"After that first kiss in the kitchen," Eddie admits with a roll of his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head."
Buck stares down at him with an open mouth. "Don't let it go to my— Eddie, you took off your chastity belt for me, how on earth can I not let that go to my head?"
"They were comfortable, but I know you didn’t find them sexy."
"You could wear fuzzy underwear with a leopard print, and I’d find you hot," Buck laughs, leaning down to feed the sound directly into Eddie's mouth, filling his veins with liquid joy. "But you bought new underwear for me. Fuck, Eddie, that's the sweetest—"
Eddie shuts him up with a kiss. Buck must know that's what he's doing, but doesn't complain, and it doesn't take more than a few moments until things get too heated between them again, and they forget about popcorn buckets and types of underwear.
They slot together like two perfect puzzle pieces, moaning at the sensation of all that skin sliding against each other. Eddie's shifts below Buck, carding his hands through his hair when he moves his mouth lower, sucking small bruises into his skin, kissing and nipping on his throat, his shoulder, his clavicle, sinking teeth into his pec.
When Buck's mouth comes around one taut nipple, Eddie keens, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. Buck teases him until Eddie starts writhing beneath him, fingers tight in his curls.
He's a mess by the time Buck tongues his belly button, trembling and overwrought. Perhaps the whole reaching dangerous levels of horniness was no joke after all.
"Oh, fuck, baby," Eddie breathes when Buck nuzzles him through his briefs, running his tongue over the large wet spot. "B-Buck, you're making me feel too good. I-I'm not sure I can last."
"You can," Buck insists, and he sounds so certain that Eddie almost believes him. "You'll see. I've got you."
Eddie's naked a moment later, a pillow pushed beneath him to tilt up his hips, legs spread open. He tries to relax into the position when Buck's wet fingers brush over the tight furl of muscle, but his heart is beating itself into frenzy, his head empty of thoughts, his breathing erratic.
It's the most vulnerable position Eddie's ever allowed himself to be in.
He can't imagine doing this with anybody else. Just Buck. Always Buck.
When Buck breaches him for the first time, the dull pressure is not painful, not exactly comfortable yet either, but all in all, entirely consuming.
"Buck," Eddie gasps, reaching a hand out towards him. Buck clasps his free hand around Eddie's forearm, and they hold onto each other the way they've done a hundred times before when they pull each other closer. Up from cliffs, below ladder trucks, out of whatever tricky situation they find themselves in. And now…
"Here," Buck says, voice all gravel and desperation.
"Here," Eddie agrees with a shaky nod, his throat closing. "Nowhere I'd rather be."
Buck chokes, forehead collapsing against Eddie's knee. He presses tiny kisses to the inside of it. Eddie tries to think of something to calm the ache he knows Buck must be feeling inside his chest, but he's too worked up to find the words. Especially when Buck uses a second finger to press inside of him, slowly, then crooks it against the bundle of nerves inside that Eddie knows is his prostate and…
Oh…
"Buck," Eddie exclaims, digging his fingers harder into his forearm, nails pressing crescent moons into his skin.
"Yeah, baby," Buck soothes him, mouth smearing even more kisses on the inside of his thigh. "That's it."
Eddie answers with a garbled mess of a moan, pushing his hips into the pressure, chasing friction.
So much for not being into this.
The only bad thing about this is that he could've had this for eight years if he hadn't been such an idiot.
"Better late than never," Eddie mumbles under his breath, half out of his mind, his skin all clammy and sticky already, sweat beading at his temples, even though he's hardly moved enough to warrant it.
By the time Buck's got three fingers inside of him, Eddie's lost all ability for critical thinking, blood boiling with the kind of animal lust that so far he's only ever felt a distant echo of.
All he knows is that his body is moving on its own accord, hips rolling into Buck's thrusting fingers, angling to get him to push against that spot again even when he avoids it on purpose.
"You should see yourself right now," Buck rasps, nipping on his hipbone. "God, Eddie, you're a marvel. The prettiest thing I've ever seen."
Eddie tugs hard where he's still got his hand curled around Buck's forearm, forcing his attention up to his face.
"Fuck me," he whispers, hoarsely, not sure when he's lost his voice. Then, when Buck only stares at him with that wide, startled look. "C'mon, mi amor, I want you inside of me. You said you'd make it good for me. Show me. I want to know how you feel so bad."
Buck blinks a few times, then shakes his head like he has to clear it, and pats around the tent for the condom. He's very efficient in putting it on, obviously practiced, which Eddie tries not to think about too much.
He’s been known, on occasion, to get a little possessive over Buck, even if he hid it better than Buck ever could.
Perhaps one day soon, they can talk about whether protection is needed between them. For now, Eddie tugs Buck all the way on top of himself, moaning into his mouth when Buck catches one of his legs below the knee and curls it around his waist.
"Eyes on me," Buck forces out, and Eddie opens them only to find Buck right in front of him, the tip of his nose brushing Eddie's. "Yeah, just like that, baby. Keep them open. I need to see you."
Eddie nods helplessly, his mouth running dry with anticipation.
Then Buck, finally, presses into him, slowly, steadily. And, God, it's so much more than just fingers, so much that Eddie's breath curdles inside his lungs and his body locks up.
"Shh," Buck breathes, halting his movement. "You're doing so well. We're going slow, okay? Breathe."
Eddie sucks in a desperate breath, then tries to stabilize it. He's good at this. Learned how to breathe in therapy, when he studied again to become a paramedic. He can do this.
"That's good," Buck praises him, but Eddie doesn't miss the tremble inside his voice or the way his arms are quivering where he's holding himself up over Eddie. He slides in another inch, then holds himself back again. "Is this okay?"
Eddie nods, digs his fingers into Buck's hips. "More."
Another few inches, and then Buck bottoms out, holding himself even more still.
Eddie can't help but close his eyes at the sensation, his whole body a live wire. "Oh, Buck."
"Yeah."
"Y-you're inside of me."
"I know, baby. You feel so good. So tight. I'm dying a little right now." Buck shakes his head, brows knitted together like he's holding on by a thread. "How do you feel?"
"Crazy."
"Crazy?" Buck makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a whine.
"Crazy in love with you."
"Oh my God, Eddie, that was so bad." Buck lowers himself on shaking arms until their chests rest against each other, hearts once more reaching for each other, the way their hands have done on so many occasions. "You're lucky I'm so in love with you, too."
"Lucky," Eddie agrees with a nod. In the end, it's that easy. No more dramatic conversations in the kitchen, no grand gestures, just them, saying the words because they feel right, because they've always been there in one form or another.
Eddie tilts his hips up to chase… something. Buck kisses him, swiveling his hips in tight circles, their mouths open against each other, panting and sharing breaths, until finally the spark catches, and…
"Yes," Eddie hisses, catching Buck's rhythm, letting him lead, then matching it. "More."
Buck thrusts harder between his legs, one hand gripping Eddie's hip in a bruising hold, lifting it higher, and Eddie cries out his name, his whole spine on fire, his cock throbbing and leaking where it's trapped between their stomachs.
Buck's other hand starts as a fist tangled in Eddie's hair with a tight grip, lowering to his throat and holding him there next, finding one of Eddie's hands and interlacing their fingers, then, finally, sliding over his skin and under Eddie's back, grabbing his ass and kneading it into his thrusts.
It’s so good. Every touch, every hushed whisper between them, how Buck takes and gives and makes Eddie feel so, so important.
After dancing with Buck in the kitchen, he should've known that they would find their equilibrium here, too. Should've known how easy it would be to learn this new language between their bodies. Still, nothing prepares him for the steady and confident way Buck takes charge of Eddie's pleasure, wrings it out of him until he's nothing but a trembling ball of nerves. Nothing prepares him for how small it makes him feel in Buck's hands. How large his heart feels inside his chest.
He's not sure whether the physical borders and boundaries of his body still exist, feels he's losing the shape of himself.
Whenever Buck reminds him to open his eyes, he worries tears will leak out. Not because of the sex, not because his whole world is being blown open at the moment, but just because he's here.
With Buck.
He can barely hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears anymore, all sound a distant drone of noise, but he knows he must make some noise because Buck keeps shushing him with his mouth against Eddie's.
"You're so good, baby," Eddie babbles lowly, filter blown wide open. "Should've known you'd be so fucking good at this."
Buck whimpers at the praise, fingers tight on Eddie's thighs, bruising him, marking him. It makes a lot of sense that Buck would enjoy words of affirmation in the bedroom, too, perhaps even more so than Eddie himself. Eddie will absolutely make the most of the knowledge one day soon, when he’s less overwhelmed.
Buck picks up the pace, hoists Eddie's leg higher up his ribs, and that changes the angle in a way that is— Fuck.
Eddie's gasping for air, desperate to stay afloat when his body is pulling him into a vortex of chaos and submission—
"There," he whispers, fingers grappling for Buck's shoulders, his arms, his hair, anything he can reach. "Oh, God, that’s so—oh, fuck."
"There?" Buck pants, slowing down his thrusts in favor of grinding deeply against the spot that rubs all of Eddie's nerve endings raw. "Is this good? Am I making you feel good, baby?"
Eddie hooks his heel into the small of Buck's back with a frantic nod that bumps their noses together.
"Buck, Buck," he hisses, trying to keep quiet with little success. He turns his head into the pillow below him, presses his mouth into it, bites it, anything to mute the high-pitched moans spilling from his throat.
Eddie's insides are coiled tight, the aching pressure in his balls telling him he's close to something, another trap door opening, but instead of revealing more boxes to unpack, there's only sunshine.
"The way you sound," Buck chokes, brushing his thumb over the corner of Eddie's mouth where he's got it pressed into the pillow. "God, Eddie, you're fucking me up."
Eddie turns his head and nips at his thumb. "Buck, I-I need—"
"I know," Buck breathes back, because he does. He does know what Eddie needs, even if Eddie himself is often too stubborn to admit it. And isn't that something?
Buck lifts himself up on those freakishly strong arms and gets a hand between them, curling it around the part of Eddie that has been keeping him on the edge for the better part of the night. Eddie realizes that this is the first time Buck is touching his dick, and honestly, at this point, he's just rendered useless, unable to do anything but take what Buck gives him.
He lifts his head, watches Buck's hand move over him, then lowers his gaze to where Buck is fucking him. He can't see much in the dark tent, but just the implication of it, the pointed movement of Buck's hips, the way he's so stable, so relentless…
Buck jerks his hips once with a sharp thrust, and the next noise that leaves Eddie is full of surprised anguish.
He collapses again, eyes rolling into the back of his head, muffling himself in the crook of his own elbow. If he could still use his mouth, he'd try to spur Buck on, but luckily, Buck understands him in the silence, too, and starts to fuck him harder, faster, pushing Eddie up the tent with every thrust, jerking him off with the same persistent intention.
Eddie falls.
There's no other way to describe it. He falls, and falls, and falls. Moaning against his skin as he spurts over Buck's hand, his body on fire, a conflagration of every cell that makes up Edmundo Diaz. It's rapture. Rebirth. But in a much smaller, much more important sense, it’s settling down, coming home, knowing that he's here with the best man he's ever known. The best person in the world. Kind, loving, sometimes sad, sometimes lost, often silly Buck.
His person.
Here.
"I love you, Buck," Eddie slurs against Buck's temple after dropping his arm back down, the words sweeping over him like a torrent, unstoppable. "I love you so much."
Buck chokes out a sound like an injured animal, muscles locking up under Eddie's touch. He thickens where Eddie clenches around him, hips grinding deep, then everything grows quiet, and they still from within as without.
Buck brushes soothing palms over Eddie's skin, resting most of his weight on Eddie's chest. They're sticking together, damp with sweat, drool, and Eddie's cum. It's the best Eddie’s ever felt. The best he can imagine feeling.
"Wow," Eddie rasps, blinking through sticky lashes at the dark ceiling of the tent. His heart is hammering away, still, his ears ringing.
"Yeah?" Buck pants into the crook of Eddie's neck. "Was this—? Are you okay?"
"I'm probably dead," Eddie replies with a chuckle. "You're speaking to my ghost."
"That bad, huh?" Buck leans away, his teeth glinting in the darkness. Tomorrow, Eddie will make sure to memorize every color on Buck's face to its minute detail, so no night can ever hide it from him again.
Eddie tugs Buck's head back into the crook of his neck, pulling on a curly strand on the top of his head to straighten it out and letting it spring back. Buck's hand finds his free hand, and their fingers tangle, holding on tight. Buck pulls their combined hands up to his mouth, and brushes the gentlest of kisses against the inside of Eddie's wrist. "I love you, too, you know? So much."
"Yeah," Eddie laughs deliriously, his thighs slipping from Buck's waist and landing on the blanket with a thud. "I know."
"Maddie knows, too," Buck continues, surprising Eddie. "She knew all the way back when you were still in El Paso, but I denied it, and I wish- I wish I didn't. I think loving you is the best thing I've ever done."
"I think so, too. I think you deserve a medal for that."
Buck pinches Eddie's side with his free hand. "You're making fun of me."
"I'm really not," Eddie replies earnestly, holding Buck closer and resting his lips against Buck's forehead. "I think loving each other is the best thing we've ever done."
They're silent for a while. Eventually, Buck pulls away, cleans them up, and helps Eddie dress. When they're back in order, Eddie drapes himself over Buck's chest, holding his thumb against the pulse in Buck's wrist. He hasn't tapped Morse code into Buck's skin in a while, not since Buck came back to him fully, present in both body and mind. He doesn't feel the need to do so now, either, because Buck is here, truly here, and that's enough.
There might be harder days again in the future, days when Buck will still struggle with the bad things that happened in his life, days when Eddie wakes up from a nightmare. They might get bad calls, they might fight and make up, they might have to grieve again.
But as long as they have each other, Eddie's sure it will be fine now.
🧭
The next day, when they're finally about to return home, Eddie leaves the velvet box on top of Buck's made bed, before shutting the door to the room.
Being back in his own house is stranger now than it was when he returned from El Paso. He almost feels like a ghost in his own house, like the things inside, his own possessions, don't belong to him anymore.
Eddie keeps himself busy with cleaning the dust off his furniture and restocking the fridge. Chris heads out for a sleepover at a friend's house, apparently even less enthused about being back home than Eddie.
It's not until after dinner, when Eddie has nothing else to do, that the ache starts. He pulls out his phone, disappointed to find no new messages from Buck. He'd hoped that now that they had found a new rhythm, Buck might read his mind again and reach out the moment Eddie wanted to hear from him.
Would it make him look desperate if he asked Buck to come over?
Tapping his foot against the kitchen floor, Eddie starts typing a message, just to delete it again. Perhaps Buck is glad to have his house back to himself for the first time in six weeks. Eddie wouldn't want to make him feel obligated to spend more time with Eddie.
With a sigh, Eddie stands to get a beer from the fridge. He leans against the kitchen counter after the first sip, his thumb aimlessly scrolling through the apps on his phone, only to hesitate at Homes.com. He opens it and types in the ZIP code for Chris' school with a seven-mile radius. The page is just loading houses in the area when a knock at the front door startles him out of his search. He drops the phone on the kitchen counter and calls, "Coming," toward the door.
Buck is already there when Eddie gets to the living area, with a six-pack of beer and a big grin on his face.
"Oh, you already started without me," he says when he notices the beer in Eddie's hand. "Let me put these in the fridge then."
It's been so long that Buck has let himself into Eddie's house that Eddie's frozen for a moment, until he remembers that his phone is still on the counter with Homes.com open, the screen unlocked.
"Uh, w-what are you doing here?" he stammers, hurrying after Buck into the kitchen.
Buck shrugs while placing the bottles of beer in the fridge. "Do I need a reason to want to see my boyfriend?"
"No. No, of course not. I really wanted to see you, too." Eddie tries to inconspicuously flip his phone upside down, but just like last time, he gets caught.
Only that this time, Buck's face falls right away, big puppy eyes on display. "What are you looking at, Eddie?"
Eddie sighs, then hands his phone to Buck.
"Homes.com?" Buck exclaims, looking up at Eddie in shock. "What the— Eddie. What?"
"They're in LA, Buck," Eddie says, because first things first, he wants him to stop spiraling about this.
"Why are you looking at houses in LA?"
Eddie shrugs. "It was just— I don't know, just felt like it. Wanted to see how the market is doing, I guess."
"You wanted to see how the market is doing."
"Yeah," Eddie answers and shrugs, snatching his phone out of Buck's hands. "Did you already eat? I've got some leftover enchiladas in the fridge if you want—"
He gets stopped by two large hands on his shoulders, pulling him in until he has no choice but to look at Buck.
"Eddie."
"Hm?"
"You're blushing."
"Trick of the light."
Buck is grinning again. "I found your gift."
Eddie's eyes fall to Buck's neck, his heart doing something a cardiologist would certainly find alarming when he notices the thin silver chain around it.
"D-do you like it?"
Buck hums, and Eddie can't look at him, thinks he might truly die of embarrassment now.
"I didn't want to come over tonight, you know. Thought you might be glad to have your own space back again, but then I found this—" Buck tugs the necklace out of his shirt. "And I thought, actually, I know you better than that. And I think you always want to see me."
"Interesting thesis statement," Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes on the pendant.
"I know, I know, correlation is not causation. You can love me and not want to spend every single second with me, but I—"
"It's causation," Eddie interrupts, finally looking up at Buck.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Eddie admits. "I was looking at houses for us to move in together."
"Oh my God, I knew it," Buck bursts out laughing. "You are truly such a nester. You're trying to build a nest for me."
"With you," Eddie corrects. "I-is that okay?"
Buck's answer is a bruising hug. As soon as he returns it, Buck lifts Eddie into his arms and sets him on the counter.
"How long until your lease expires?" Buck asks, cupping his face with both palms.
"Uh, seven months?"
Buck groans theatrically. "That's still so far from now."
Eddie snorts. "I haven't even asked Chris if he's okay with moving again yet. We need some time to plan this."
"I love your gift, by the way," Buck says, jumping already to the next topic. Then, his face darkens. "But at first I was really angry with you."
"What? Why?"
"For being too cowardly to hand it over to me personally."
Eddie grimaces because he knows it's the truth.
"Then, I saw what you had engraved, and I might've shed a few tears, so I was actually relieved you didn't."
Eddie's heart melts inside his chest. "Aw, baby, you cried?"
This time, it's Buck who shuts Eddie up with a kiss.
🧭
The next morning, they drive to the station together. It's Buck's first day back, but also the first day they're together at work as a couple. Eddie already made his decision about what he wants to do about it last night, but that doesn't mean he's not nervous.
As soon as he gets out of the car, he offers Buck his hand, hoping that he knows he's allowed to make whatever choice he wants to make.
Buck blinks at Eddie's offered palm for several moments before breaking out into the biggest, most beautiful smile yet, and slotting his fingers between Eddie's. Just before they walk through the threshold, and the chaos about their new relationship status will erupt all around him, Buck stops walking, though.
Eddie gives him a questioning look, and Buck lifts their entangled fingers to his lips, pressing a tiny kiss to the knuckle of Eddie's index finger.
"Here," he says, quietly. Just for them.
Eddie nods. The morning sun sits high behind Buck's back, painting him in the most beautiful colors. Eddie knows he will never forget them again.
"Here."