i don't care about the presents underneath the christmas tree
It’s like something in the air has shifted. He can’t describe it, can’t put a finger on what, exactly, it is—all Buck knows is that Eddie looks up at him, and it feels different somehow.
A smile spreads across Eddie’s face, slow and sticky-sweet like honey.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I promise.”
“But—” Buck tries, his voice fading when he sees the look in Eddie’s eyes. Something curls deep in his stomach, expectant, like his body knows what’s coming before he does.
“It’s okay,” Eddie says, “Because there’s only one thing I want, anyway.”
“Yeah?” Buck asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s that?”
Eddie leans in, so close Buck feels the air move as he inhales. “This,” he breathes. His fingertips land along the curve of Buck’s jaw, the only warning Buck has before Eddie kisses him, soft and careful and slow.
read on ao3
tags under the cut / lmk if you want to be added or removed
@cowboydiaz @kitkatpancakestack @alex1424 @elvensorceress @imstillatherestaurant @dancer-me @swiftiebuckleys @eddiediazisascorpio @eddito @buckupbuttercup @arrenemris @bybuckley @ghosthunterbuck @babytrapperdiaz @messyhairdiaz @deafgaynerd @princessbb @ryanguzmaan @dickley-buddie @vilanaxxa @afoldintime @rajalagang @goldenretrieverfirefighters @cm1031sr @gaydisasterdiaz @dearestdiaz
“• starting to see each other in a different light” 🥺 the buddie of it all
footsteps and fingerprints
(1686 words, rated g, an expansion of the 5x04 balcony scene)
Eddie had texted to tell him that he was on his way over, so Buck doesn’t flinch when he hears him at the door, still sprawled on the couch as he listens for the familiar click of the lock and even more familiar footsteps across the floor of his apartment. His eyes are still closed when the sound stops.
“You know you should have ice on that.”
Buck squints up at him, his view made blurry by both an afternoon nap he’d needed and a black eye he’s trying to ignore. “So, you talked to Chim.”
“Little bit, yeah,” Eddie says. “Why didn’t you call me?”
There are a lot of ways to answer that, probably none of them entirely true, and there’s something warning Buck that Eddie might be looking for something honest right now. He forces himself to sit up before he can get caught in a lie, pausing there only long enough to catch up with the new angles of the room before he pushes off the couch and shuffles toward the kitchen for some ice.
“You’re not taking sides?” Buck asks, grabbing a bag from one of his drawers before he bends to reach into the freezer.
“Mmmm, no. Pretty sure you know me better than that,” Eddie murmurs. “And I’m here, so.”
Buck swears he can almost feel Eddie shrug against his back when he stands, Eddie far closer than he needs to be while Buck seals the ice in the bag. And Buck wants to ask him why – why Eddie came over or why he’s right behind him or why Buck knows him exactly that well – but he’s not ready to hear the truth any more than he’s ready to offer it up.
“Yeah, okay. Here is good.”
Eddie waits for Buck to turn around, then winks. “I am gonna give you shit about not having any actual ice packs, though.”
“We can’t all be medics, Eddie.”
“At least I know what to get you for your birthday now.”
“Right, because you’ve ever had trouble coming up with ideas before,” Buck says, and he won’t ask why that’s true either, so much easier to bite his own tongue and pretend it’s because his eye still hurts.
Eddie steps past him to pull two beers from the fridge and presses one into Buck’s free hand. “Little surprised you didn’t just use this.”
“I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”
When they wander out to the balcony, it’s a quiet thing, and however many moments between them have been like that for a while, Buck appreciates it now, suddenly sure that Eddie’s not here for much more than a drink, some fresh air, and the chance to make sure his best friend is okay without them having to talk about it.
Buck gets to make sure Eddie’s okay, too.
Of course, they’re only halfway through their first beers before Buck curls a little further into his hoodie and accepts that neither of them is doing all that well. Eddie wears his own grief too comfortably – always has, maybe – but everything about what they’re doing makes Buck a little itchy and a little afraid, both of them settling into a back and forth about nothing important while Buck squirms in his seat and Eddie melts into the balcony wall. They’re really nowhere near each other, eye contact fleeting, and Buck is grateful for the space while he resents it, curious about whether Eddie feels any way about it all.
Buck doesn’t ask, but he’s strangely aware of the moment two empty bottles land on the small table, and he clings to the bag of ice in his hand when he thinks something else gets tugged loose, Eddie stepping into the apartment without a word and returning with another round. The image of his own girlfriend doing something like that seems almost clumsy in comparison, Taylor shockingly loud everywhere Eddie is not, but Buck doesn’t know what that means, or why it would matter to him now.
Everything is a little blurry, but he’s worried that might have been true before he got hit.
He’s not as dizzy as he thinks he should be when Eddie hands him the second beer and playfully praises Chim’s aim, so there’s only a beat before he tries to defend himself against an accusation Eddie hasn’t really made. And maybe Eddie isn’t doing much of anything, everything about him easy in a way that must take some effort, but Buck feels a lot less steady through the rest of the conversation, Eddie’s wisdom about everyone’s relationship to each other heavier than Buck can carry while neither of his hands is free.
And Eddie keeps looking at him like maybe he’ll hold onto it for both of them for now.
Ice goes on the eye, bud, is a gentle reminder that Eddie can’t do it all, and that it’s not how partnerships work anyway.
They don’t exactly avoid anything after that, or not any more than they had since Eddie first let himself in, but they’re careful with what they say as the afternoon begins to spill into night, and a second beer becomes a third – when both of them should think about grabbing something to eat, and neither of them do. Buck is still sitting, his makeshift ice pack a little watery where he’s left it next to four empty bottles, and if Eddie’s moved any closer, it’s not enough to make a difference, that much empty space between them still too much, and it makes Buck want to fill it with something real.
He thinks he’s going to ask Eddie about the mix-up with the cheerleaders, and the tangle of parents and children and relief and tragedy – it’s the most obvious reason for Eddie to silently ache while Buck too often has something to say – but then there’s something else he wants to know.
“Why did you break up with Ana?”
Eddie probably flinches, but everything about the past couple of hours has softened the sharp edges that might hurt them tonight, so whatever Eddie’s reaction, he recovers from it well, and Buck wouldn’t swear it happened at all.
“Pretty sure you were there when I told the team about it,” Eddie huffs.
“I was there when you said, and I quote, ‘Ana and I aren’t together anymore, there was no huge fight, she and Chris got to say goodbye to each other, and I’ll be fine,’ but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“It does not.”
Buck takes a sip and chases it with a sigh. “Was it my fault?”
“Don’t remember you being in the room with us when I told her to leave,” Eddie says.
“No, I—come on, after we talked during the blackout—when I said—” Buck shakes his head and manages to make everything start throbbing again. “And then when you were going home that morning, it just seemed like—”
Eddie walks away.
Or maybe it’s not that bad, a few empty bottles collected on his way into the kitchen like he’s housekeeping more than he’s running from anything, and Buck watches until he can’t help but follow, the rest of the bottles in his hand. Buck sets them onto the countertop and backs into the island while Eddie continues to move so damn naturally in Buck’s space, invisible footsteps and fingerprints everywhere, and suddenly Buck isn’t sure that Taylor’s ever been here at all.
He doesn’t know why he keeps comparing the two, but Buck aches with the need to do it over and over again.
“Is it really that easy?” Eddie asks, his back to Buck while he stares out the window, the view they’d had all afternoon mostly shuttered by the night. And only the light from the other side of the sliding glass door bleeds into the apartment now, the shadows keeping them terrifyingly safe. “Is that really how it works?”
Buck frowns. “How what works?”
For a while, Buck isn’t sure he’s going to get a response, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe the entire day – or several of them in a row now – has caught up to them and left them unable to say anything else. But then Eddie turns and takes the single step needed to close the gap between them, his hand tender where it cradles the side of Buck’s head, the pad of Eddie’s thumb barely brushing over the bruise around Buck’s eye.
“Looks a little better now,” Eddie murmurs.
It’s not an answer to Buck’s question, nor is it the truth when nothing can be gauged all that well in the dark, but Eddie’s lie is just soft enough that Buck wants to push against it, curious about whether it might give under his touch.
“How what works?” he repeats.
“You told me I wasn’t in love with her. You asked if it was enough,” Eddie says. “Was that all I needed to hear before I broke up with her? Is it that easy to get what we want?”
Buck blinks carefully, afraid he’ll dislodge Eddie’s hold on him. “What we want?”
“No, I—never mind. I should probably—”
“Don’t,” Buck interrupts, his fingers landing at Eddie’s wrist, just insistent enough to let Eddie know he doesn’t have to let go, but too light to keep him there when Eddie’s already made the decision to pull away. “Not if—is there something you want to tell me? Is there something I need to hear?”
Eddie looks off to the side, toward memories resting on the couch or maybe ones seated at the dining room table, and Buck’s breath catches when he realizes how many more are piled up at Eddie’s house, higher than anything he’s ever built with anyone else. Buck’s head hurts and his whole world spins and he’s so, so tired, but he’ll wait here forever if Eddie is about to help him keep everything still.
Except that Eddie had asked whether it’s really that easy.
The answer is no.
“Not tonight,” Eddie whispers around a smile as he reaches up to touch Buck’s face one more time. “Maybe soon.”
(on AO3 here)
thank you for tagging me @princessfbi @renecdote @thekristen999 and @nymika-arts you beautiful wonderful talented beans <33
Rules: Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line (or a few), and share it! Then tag 10 people
I'm not you, nor you me (but we're both moving steady)
“I’m surprised you’re not keeping Eddie company right now, not that I’m not grateful for the visit,” Bobby jokes lightly, but the fond look becomes troubled, and Bobby starts to wonder what he’s missed.
“Ana’s with him, I didn’t want to…crowd him.”
Ah, Bobby thinks. There’s the rub.
Gently whispered hope
A peaceful feeling seems to wash over him, as he leans back against the sofa, settling into the role he’s been assigned, careful not to jostle Jee-Yun in his arms. Jee-Yun Buckley-Han. It has a nice ring to it, a beat, a rhythm, almost like a calming melody in his head; dum-dum-dumdum-dum.
Covered in hope, and filling with doubt
Did you know there’s a shark called a tasselled wobbegong?
You're calling me home like a ship that got wrecked
“Let me do this,” he begs, clutching at Eddie’s palm in his, before letting go to reach out and gently tilt Eddie’s chin upwards. Even though there’s a part of Buck that’s worried he might have overstepped, he pushes the thought down deep as he moves to cradle Eddie’s jaw in his hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing at the tear tracks that are still visible on the other man’s cheeks.
Send me a postcard (when you get to where you're going)
The light from outside that shines through the tall glass windows of the apartment complex is almost blinding, and Buck can’t quite make out the man’s face, but he can just about see the outline of his white bushy beard shining in the sunlight.
Coloring outside the lines
“Wait, is that Hen?!” Chim interrupts with glee, as he points to the person in the rig with slightly lopsided glasses, before reaching for his cellphone, presumably to take a picture. “Which means Bobby’s up-front and these two cozy-fellas are—”
“Listen —” Buck protests as he tries not to choke on Chim’s description, “crayons aren’t exactly my strongest medium—”
Bound to each other's hearts
"You could have been killed," Buck says, blinking past the burning in his eyes that has nothing to do with the smoke in the air, as he launches into a bitter tirade that would have put their Captain to shame.
He’s nowhere near done, and he has plenty more to rail and shout and scream against as his anxiety peaks in the relative safety of the aftermath of what could have been—even if what comes out of his mouth is little more than a harsh pain-filled whisper—but before he can say another word, Eddie’s surging forward, cutting him off at the pass with the sudden press of his lips against Buck’s.
And just like that, they crash together, fumbling for purchase as they collide.
Every bit of me hurting for you
He hopes he didn’t freak his husband out too much with that message, just enough to come running, just enough to hope that he’d know to leave Christopher at home before racing to Buck and Maddie’s rescue.
Crawl towards a life of fragile lines
There’s another shot in the distance, a horrible bang from somewhere behind him, followed by the surreal sound of a lead round slamming into metal at high velocity—much louder than if the bullet had found a soft target. Buck flinches so hard that his head hits the underside of the engine and his adrenaline spikes.
And in short, I was afraid
Buck’s silhouette is standing in the doorway, and god, Eddie would know him anywhere, even now as he fights just to breathe.
& i'll tag @littlespoonevan @henswilsons @capseycartwright @homerforsure @lovebuck @hopeintheashes @evanbucxley @shortsighted-owl @buttercupbuck and @tripleaxeldiaz <33 sorry if you've already been tagged and I missed it!!
Midpoint Line Game
Tagged by @thekristen999
Rules: Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line (s), and share it! Then tag 10 people.
The Warmth (of You)
The first press of his fingertips was nothing more than a passing graze but it still had Buck hissing as he arched away. The pain crashed through him in waves without any indication when the tide would change and a pained keen fell out of him before he could stop it.
Oh Captain (My Captain), Our Fearful Trip is Done
Bobby lurched after them but Dallas dropped a hand onto his shoulder and kept him in place until Trevor yanked Buck back down onto his knees and pointed a gun to his head.
Tear Me to Pieces; Skin to Bone
He’d been expecting Eddie to text or maybe even call before collapsing in his own bed but Buck had been pleasantly surprised when he stirred from his… third?... nap to find a zombie Eddie Diaz crawling under the covers beside him and pulling him close.
Smoke and Ashes Brushed Off with Ink
The rest of the tattooing flew by as Maddie took the shading like a champ and when she was done, Eddie rewarded her with the coveted strawberry kiwi capri sun. He tossed Buck the fruit punch with a wink that made Buck blush so deeply he was sure that his stubble would burn off.
I Don't Mind Waiting (If It's For You)
“He went after Buck, Lena.” The burning hot inferno growled to life in his chest making his voice strangled to his own ears. A rough imitation to his own sound as he kept from slamming his fist into the nearest available surface as he could find. Maybe then some of the kinetic sparking fight that was running like volts up and down his arms would tamper down. Or maybe it wouldn’t.
What a Wicked Thing to Do (to Let Me Dream of You)
Eddie’s knees bracketed Buck’s hips as he tilted his head up so that Buck had to bend back to chase after his lips. Those firm hands curled around his wrist again, pinning them to the mattress as Eddie took control of the kiss.
Yes. Yes! That was familiar. That was something Buck knew how to handle. Eddie taking what Buck was willing to give which was turning out to be everything if it meant being seen by someone.
If I Risk It All (Could You Break My Fall?)
The accent was too worn on the consonants and too familiar with the melody of the vowels to be fake. And despite the accent— British, maybe London�� Eddie knew that voice.
He knew the sound it made when Eddie found that perfect spot mid sentence. He knew it when it would climb higher and higher into breathlessness when excited. He knew it when the words would go flat whenever he was annoyed.
Eddie knew it like the sound of his own name on that tongue.
Falling Slowly; Sing Your Melody (I’ll Sing It Loud)
Buck spent the majority of the drive with his head back and his eyes closed but Eddie knew he wasn’t sleeping. His thumb was too busy tapping out the tempo of the song over and over again against his knee cap. Eddie slid his hand over the nervous twitching when Buck’s thumb started to blur after he lost the consistency.
To Look and Be Seen
Buck was leaning against the wall, looking like sin and smiling at Eddie with a drunk look on his face.
She Made Herself Stronger (by Fighting with the Wind)
In hindsight, Buck probably could’ve thought of a better way to tell Maddie that he wasn’t going to college than running into the bookstore and announcing to everyone that he was going to become a firefighter instead.
This was fun! I'm going tag @buddie-buddie @mellaithwen @homerforsure @lovebuck @bigfootsmom @renecdote @prettyboybuckley @swiftiebuckleys
02122022 - 9-1-1
"See, that's the thing that pisses me off," Eddie says, more an unintended outburst than anything else.
Hen looks at him over her coffee. "Oh?"
Eddie runs his empty hand down his face, before rubbing at his chin. Fuck, he didn't mean to- "I mean…" he starts, and then sighs, heavy and annoyed. "He keeps on going as if he's all alone in the world, as if this thing with Connor and his wife is the only shot he's ever getting at ever having kids."
"Which," Hen interrupts, with a pointed look. "We all know it isn't. Because A, that's not gonna be his kid, and B, he's still young and he still has a long life ahead of him."
Eddie nods. "Exactly. And." He stops. Looks at Hen, turns to look at where Chris and Denny are playing a video game in the living room, then looks back at Hen.
"And?" Hen prompts, a spark of something knowing in her eyes. Once, Eddie would have hated feeling so seen.
Now he just shrugs, and takes a sip of his own coffee. "And it's not like he hasn't been helping me raise Christopher for the past four or five years."
Hen tilts her head, an understanding smile unfurling on her lips. "He has, hasn't he? And he's done a pretty good job, too, from what I can tell." Eddie nods, because it's absolutely true. "But, Eddie." Hen sets her cup down and straightens her back, faces him fully. "At the end of the day, Buck still only thinks of himself as just your best friend. At the end of the day, Chris' dad is only you, to him. And at the end of the day, he still goes back to his empty apartment and lets himself sink into his own head and into his own feelings of loneliness and self-deprecation."
Eddie tries swallowing past the knot that forms in his throat at Hen's words. "Yeah." He takes a deep breath, and when he exhales it, it's with a defeated drop of his shoulders. "Yeah, he does, doesn't he."
Hen hums in answer, before her posture softens again. "Look," she says, lowering her voice so the boys don't hear her if they decide to eavesdrop (though Eddie doubts they'd be interested enough to do so). "I'm not saying you should stop being an idiot and ask him out already."
Eddie chokes in shock at that, sputtering a hissed, "Hen! Wha-" But Hen waves him off before continuing.
"I am saying that you can stop waiting around for him to realise he's already a part of your family, and maybe make it a point of showing him that he is."
And Eddie… What can Eddie say to that? When he knows Hen has a point? "Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that."
One Line Any Fic
Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line, and share it! Then tag you’re it!
Tagged by @elvensorceress @monsterrae1 @the-likesofus @bekkachaos Thank you I adore you and loved your choices of lines
The Look of Love
So maybe what he’s really learnt from his youth is what love doesn’t or shouldn’t look like.
Time To Come Home
He reaches out to remove the offending piece of jewellery and Buck’s hand shoots out and grabs him by the wrist, stopping him. Eddie’s pulse jumps at the sudden contact, the hope it sparks in his chest.
Dear Eddie, If you’re reading this I guess my luck finally ran out and I didn’t make it home. I expect there wasn’t time to say goodbye so this is what I would have wanted to say to you. (Ps no one is actually dead in this one promise)
Someone beat you to that user name
Eddie should really go to sleep but honestly, he was loving this person’s blog Buck or no Buck. Armadillosdreamoflove was funny, their text posts, comments and the tags all made him smile. He pressed follow.
They say the Truth will set you free
“Chim I don’t want a drink, I want to tell Eddie that I like him”
A Life Like This Maybe Tomorrow
He wonders if Buck can see them: the unspoken words that run through his mind, dance behind his lips, the ones that echo the sentiment he can’t yet express, the words he’d say if he was braver ‘You, you're perfect.’
Alone With Your Thoughts
His voice breaks on the last word, there’s no anger any more, which is maybe worse, “ Please,” his eyes beg Buck to find an alternative, “We have to think of something else. Anything. I can’t….”
A Boy Like That
Eddie doesn’t know what to think, he wants so badly to believe Ray, he knows he’s scared of changing things because he’s built his world around Buck being there and if he did something to ruin that … he doesn’t know what would happen to him but on the other hand being able to have it all with him, hold his hand, kiss him, fall asleep and wake up together, Eddie smiles to himself, well that would be something.
Love Is Transformational
“You… you turned Buck into a cat?” It’s suddenly extremely hard to breathe.
“Shhh” Buck kisses the shell of his ear and feels him shiver, “ I know, I know baby. I want too but later, just relax, you can have this, just this, it’s ok. I’ve got you. I'm here and I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”
come see me on AO3
Tagging with no pressure to join in @ajunerose @buddierights @fiona-fififi @loveyourownsmiilee @lostinabuddiehaze @shortsighted-owl @rogerzsteven @megslovesbooks @swiftiediaz @fleurdebeton @hetrez @sibylsleaves @swiftiediaz
walking around with your heart
(buddie) (1.4k words) (spoilers for 6x04)
It fucking hurts.
It fucking hurts, and maybe Hen was right, maybe it would’ve hurt either way, but this is worse, Buck thinks. He drops his phone to the counter top and buries his head in his arms.
Spare parts. Defective spare parts, as it were.
All Buck’s ever wanted to do is help, but he was cursed from the start.
…family history bars you from participating in the donor program…
Buck’s phone rings on the counter.
He ignores it.
Then three texts come through in rapid succession.
Hey Buck, give us a call?
We just heard from the facility
Think we need to talk
Buck picks the phone up and turns it over in his hand. Over and over, until he’s accidentally opened the camera and he’s staring at his own face.
When Buck was a kid, adults always used to think he was hurt. They’d fuss, right up until they realized it was just his birthmark, and then they’d go back to doing whatever it was adults did. He never thought much of it, not really. Forgot it was there, most of the time, unless someone asked him about it.
For a while, after the shooting, any time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he’d mistake it for blood. Eddie’s.
Maddie told him once that it was an angel’s kiss. He always liked the thought of that.
Now, though, as he stares at it on the screen of his phone, he wonders if it wasn’t a defective stamp, meant to differentiate him from all the perfect babies born at the hospital that day. A bright red mark that, from the beginning, was meant to say, “throw me away! I’m no good!”
His phone rings again.
This time it’s Eddie.
Buck answers the call before he has time to think better of it.
“Hey Eds,” he says, quiet and subdued.
“Uh-oh,” Eddie replies, sounding distant and tinny. “I know that voice. What’s wrong?”
Buck rolls his shoulders and forces a smile to his face. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
Eddie hums disbelievingly. “Convincing, Buckley,” he says sarcastically.
Despite himself, Buck’s fake smile morphs into something softer and a little more real. “Seriously, Eds, I’m fine.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Eddie replies. “Which is an excellent segue, because Mr. Independent has decided he’s going to sleep over at Benny’s after the movie tonight, and I’m going stir crazy.”
“And what, you think I’m just going to drop everything and come over?” Buck asks, grinning a little wider.
“Nope,” Eddie says. “I am hoping you’ll open the door, though.”
Buck snorts and stands, crossing the short distance to the door and pulling it open.
“Surprise,” Eddie says, holding up a case of beer, a paper grocery bag, and what honest-to-god looks like a blow up mattress.
“You have keys,” Buck says, stepping back to let Eddie inside.
“And I’d be very appreciative if you grabbed them for me.”
For a fleeting moment, Buck entertains the idea of sticking his hand in Eddie’s pocket and fishing around for keys. Then Eddie nods at the entryway, Buck spots them on the ground, and the illusion is shattered.
“You know,” Buck says as he bends to scoop them, “I might have plans.”
“Do you?” Eddie asks, settling his load on the counter.
Buck presses his lips together and mock glares at Eddie.
“Great,” Eddie grins. “In that case, we’re playing drunk Mario Kart until we can’t see straight.”
“And the air mattress?” Buck asks, prodding it with a finger.
“You,” Eddie says, pointing at him, “don’t have a couch. And we’re too old to sit on the floor.”
Buck snorts out a laugh and ducks his head. “Fine,” he says. “You blow up the ‘couch’ and I’ll make popcorn.”
Eddie bumps against his shoulder. “Knew I could count on you.”
At least someone can, Buck thinks.
“So,” Eddie says when they’re settled on the mattress, a bowl of popcorn between them, “you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing–” Buck begins to answer, before Eddie fixes him with that don’t-bullshit-me look he’s way too good at. Buck sighs. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got time,” Eddie says.
Buck leans back and closes his eyes. “I ever tell you about my old roommate, Connor?”
“You’ve said his name, but I don’t think you’ve ever told me anything about him.”
Buck sighs. “He got married a few years back. His wife– she’s sweet. They’re a good match.” He pauses, but Eddie doesn’t interrupt him. “They want kids. But uh– Connor– he can’t, um. So they… asked me?” Buck cracks one eye open and looks at Eddie.
He hums thoughtfully. “So that’s what’s got you in knots? You’re not sure how to turn them down?”
Buck chuckles mirthlessly. “No need, apparently. Did you know that a family history of childhood leukemia disqualifies you from making a sperm donation through a bank?”
“No, I– Buck,” Eddie says.
“I said yes,” Buck says quietly. “A few weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?”
Buck bites his lip and looks away. “I told Hen.”
“Oh,” Eddie says quietly.
“I just– they wanted their kid to be someone like me, Eds. I thought… I wanted to help.”
“But you can’t,” Eddie puts together.
“No,” Buck says, “I fucking can’t.”
Eddie’s quiet for a long moment. “Is it really what you wanted?” he asks finally.
“I—I’ve wanted kids my whole life,” Buck says. “And I know this wouldn’t have been the same, but if I could help someone else have it then maybe… maybe I…”
“Maybe you’d what?” Eddie asks, looking him in the eye. “Deserve to have it too?”
Buck swallows and ducks away from Eddie’s gaze. “Something like that,” he says quietly.
“You know that’s not how it works, right?” Eddie asks gently.
“Kind of seems like it does,” Buck mutters.
Several seconds pass in contemplative silence. Eventually, Eddie breaks it.
“You want to know what I think?” he asks.
“Am I allowed to say no?” Buck jokes weakly.
Eddie slaps his bicep lightly but allows his hand to linger. “I think you would have been miserable, knowing there was a kid out there with your eyes and heart and mind that you couldn’t call your own. I think you’d feel guilty every time you thought about him, and I think you’d be wondering, constantly, what it’d be like if he was yours. And I think you’d feel even more guilty about that, because I know you wouldn’t have considered it if you didn’t think your friends were going to be good parents.”
Buck allows his eyes to slip closed and focuses on Eddie’s hand as it slowly slides to his wrist.
“I think you’re an incredible dad, and it would kill you to have a kid whose life you weren’t a part of.”
“M’not a dad, Eds, that’s the whole point,” Buck says, without opening his eyes.
Eddie’s hand tightens around his wrist. “I don’t think that’s true,” he says softly.
Buck furrows his eyebrows and blinks his eyes open. “What, you think I have a secret kid out there?”
Eddie snorts a laugh. “No, Buck. I think you made dinner last night, and went to the science fair the night before that. I think you went to the beach last weekend and spent the entire day chasing Christopher around with a bottle of sunscreen. I think I put you in my will for a reason. You’re a good dad, Buck. Whatever it is you think you have to do to deserve it, you’ve already done it.”
“Eddie,” Buck breathes. “I’m not—”
“We’ve got more than one friend I’m pretty sure you’d offend if you finished that sentence,” Eddie says gently.
A tear pricks at the corner of Buck’s eye. “You really think…”
“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says, rubbing his thumb across the inside of his wrist. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I’m kind of glad you’ve only got the one kid running around.”
Buck sniffs and scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, well, that kid’s going to destroy us both the next time we play if we don’t practice.”
“Destroy you, maybe,” Eddie says softly. He clearly recognizes the deflection for what it is, but he lets go of Buck’s wrist anyway. He picks up his controller. “Ready whenever you are, Evan.”
Buck’s heart gives a hard thump, and he grabs his controller too. “You’re on, Diaz.”
(And in the morning, when they wake up tangled together on a half-deflated air mattress and Buck’s heart gives another heavy thump, he’ll shoves it in the same box as everything else he’s too afraid to look at.)
We don’t talk enough about the fact that it took Buck like half a shift to do a complete 180 and get smitten by Eddie 😭 Like homeboy was down bad!! 💀
6 x 01 drabble based off of this spoiler, pre Buck/Eddie. Happy last week of hiatus, y'all!
If Buck was being pragmatic, it would make sense to go to anyone else.
Buck knows this. Buck knows there are spare bedrooms at Hen and Karen's house and in the Grant-Nash household. He can probably move into Maddie's one bedroom she doesn't see much of these days, practically back to living with Chimney again. Albert owes him a couch to sleep on. Ravi has a one bedroom that's technically a one and a half bedroom with an office that he said Buck is welcome to.
"I can't thank you enough. The next time you need a couch to crash on, I'm there for you." Buck says, passing one of his bulging duffel bags to Eddie.
"Buck, you don't even have a couch," Chris says without glancing up from his homework. At least, Buck thinks it's his homework because his math in his day didn't look nearly as complicated as the triangles Chris is glued to.
Eddie snorts. "He's got a point," he says, walking away from the couch, which is where Buck thought they were heading. "I told you your fancy apartment would one day give you hell."
"I still don't get how there was that much flooding from one thunderstorm," Buck shakes his head. "It's not even supposed to rain that much in California."
"Climate change," Christopher chimes in, now drawing his own complicated triangle on the paper in front of him. Buck's heart leaps at the thought that he'll get to see this every day for a while now, until he finds another place.
"Yeah, thanks bud," Buck laughs. The strap of his duffel digs sharply into his shoulder, and it's then that Buck realizes Eddie's not in the room with them.
"Where did your dad go?" Buck wonders aloud and Chris points in the direction of Eddie's bedroom.
Buck murmurs a quick "Be right back" and heads towards the back of the house. The door is wide open and Buck still marvels at how indistinguishable it looks from a few months ago, teeming with plants and framed pictures, sunlight and life. Eddie's at his closet, holding a stack of neatly folded t-shirts.
"What are you doing?" Buck asks, walking in.
Eddie glances at him. "Making room for your stuff," he says. "We might have to put some of your hoodies in the linen closet for now but there's room for your shirts and pants and stuff. I think we can do a quick run to Ikea tomorrow and get a few more shelves for this closet."
"Um," Buck says, his mind refusing to let him catch up to what he's seeing. Eddie bends down to unzip one of Buck's bags and Buck watches bemusedly as he grabs a stack of pants.
"What are you doing?" Buck repeats. Eddie pauses.
"You okay, Buck?" Eddie asks. "Did you want to do the unpacking? I thought I'd help since you complained enough about the packing—"
"I thought I'd just live out of the bag," Buck blurts out. Eddie raises his eyebrows.
"Why?" he asks simply, and then, "I'm putting your pants on the top so I don't accidentally wear them."
"I don't think it would be the same fit," Buck says without thought, and it doesn't help that Eddie chooses that moment to lean up and put said pants away, drawing Buck's attention to the curve of his ass.
When Eddie looks back, there's a shadow of something in his eyes that Buck's been noticing a lot lately.
"No," Eddie says slowly. "I guess not." Eddie bends down again, this time grabbing a stack of LAFD shirts. "Your shirts though," he says casually, "those should fit me perfectly now, I think."
Buck pretends he's not staring blatantly at Eddie's arms as he attempts to pick his brain off of the floor. "Wait," he says slowly. "It's going to be a hassle coming to your room to get dressed every morning. I really think I can just shove these bags under the couch."
"You'll be in here, so why do your clothes need to be out there?" Eddie asks, frowning, like Buck's the one being ridiculous here.
"In here?" Buck asks. "In here where?"
"I thought you could take the right side of the bed like we did during quarantine, I already changed the sheets and everything and gave you a second pillow for your knee."
"For my knee," Buck echoes, because after more than a year Eddie still remembers that Buck's leg bothers him unless his knee is elevated just a little.
"Why do you look like that?" Eddie inquires. "Is something wrong?"
"I thought I was going to be on the couch," Buck says quickly. "I don't want to put you out of your bed, Eddie."
"Well, I'll still be in it," Eddie says with a small smile. Buck flushes, and he swears Eddie's eyes flicker to his reddened neck. "Besides, it won't be comfortable sleeping there every night, not when there's a large bed here." Eddie hesitates, "If you're fine with that, of course."
"We'll wake each other up when we have different shifts," Buck reminds him instead of answering. Eddie probably heard it in the thundering of Buck's heart anyway.
"We hardly have any of those anyway," Eddie responds.
Buck pauses. "I snore," he says. "You know that."
Eddie smiles. "I do know that."
He doesn't continue, and Buck lets the weight of acceptance and want wash over him. They wouldn't need to do this if Buck moved into anyone else's house. If Buck was being pragmatic, he'd remember that. But no one else's house has an Eddie and a Christopher, and if Buck lets himself admit it, Eddie isn't being very pragmatic either.
Buck lets out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm fine with that," he replies, and he can almost see the relief spread through Eddie's limbs.
"Good," Eddie says simply.
"Good," Buck echoes. "Good."
jump on my back (i will take you home)
just some 6x04 sperm donor buck spec maybe
“You said what?”
Buck bites his lip, watching Eddie as he paces up and down the foyer. “That I'd consider it?”
“Buck,” Eddie says, and it's his Serious Voice, the one he uses when things are really wrong, the one Buck really doesn't want to be hearing right now— “why? Why would you possibly—”
“Because,” Buck interrupts, pushing off the dining table and retreating back behind the kitchen counter, where the sixpack Eddie brought sits unopened. “It's—I'm supposed to be saying yes to things, right? That's the point. To be open to possibilities I wouldn't consider otherwise and—enrich my fucking life, I don't know.”
He grabs the plates left over from dinner, barely dirty because they split a cheese pizza, neither of them really hungry for vastly different reasons. They slip in his grip - or maybe he lets them go on purpose - and clatter into the sink. A handful of pieces chips off the lip of the top plate, coming to rest next to the drain, bright white on the inside.
Buck doesn't realize his hands are shaking until he reaches for them.
“Don't do that,” Eddie says, suddenly right there, his hand on Buck's hip as he reaches forward to snatch Buck's wrist away. “Don't do—this.”
“This,” Buck repeats, staring at their twisted reflections in the faucet.
“Don't be a fucking sperm donor for your old frathouse buddy.”
Buck breathes in and feels it rattle, like something chipped off him, too. “I don't think it's a frathouse if you're not in—”
“Buck,” Eddie says, but it's not the serious voice this time. It's the other one, the one that makes something shiver in Buck's chest every single time. “Look at me.”
Buck doesn't, counting seconds in the beats of his heart against Eddie's fingers, still curled around his wrist.
Eddie sighs. “Okay,” he says, and then he takes a step back and pulls, until Buck has no choice but to face him. Until they're standing opposite each other on Buck's unnaturally shiny kitchen floor with Eddie holding on to him, ducking his head trying to catch Buck's eye. “So—your new life philosophy. Saying yes to things. But that's not the only reason.”
Buck looks down. He feels scraped raw, exposed, itching to tear out of Eddie's grip and run up the stairs two at a time, to hide, but—Eddie's holding him. After all this, after the stunt Buck pulled with the bike that had both Bobby and Chimney looking at him tight-lipped with what he knows is worry, but looked a lot like anger - after that, Eddie came over, kicked off his shoes, smacked a bunch of beer on the counter, and refused to leave.
And he's holding on, so very carefully. Like Buck might break under his touch. Like Eddie would give a damn if he did.
“I want to be a dad,” Buck says, the pathetic truth of it, and it comes out thin, strangled. “And I don't know that I'll find someone, and if I will—Taylor didn't want kids.”
“I know,” Eddie says, his voice low.
“Not everyone does,” Buck says, nodding to himself, because he's been over this in his head. All the good reasons. “But I do, and they do, and maybe—this might be my only chance.”
Eddie makes a noise, a little wheeze like someone knocked the air out of him. Buck's still watching the floor, and he sees the way Eddie slips a little in his socks, but he closes the distance between them anyway, and puts a warm, insistent hand on Buck's jaw.
Buck lifts his head.
“It's not your only chance,” Eddie says, and there's fire behind it, the kind of conviction he's only learned how to wield recently, discovered along with all the other parts of him that had been buried for a lifetime. “And it's not—it wouldn't work like that.”
“I know,” Buck says, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down until it stings. “But I could—I could visit, and—”
“And it would kill you,” Eddie says. Gentle, quiet. A fact. “Not being able to be a dad to your own kid? It would destroy you, Buck. You know damn well it would.”
Buck swallows. Tastes blood in his mouth. “I just wanted,” he says, and then shakes his head, because he has no idea what he wanted.
He doesn't know what he wants, and that's the whole fucking problem. He has no idea what it means to be at ease, and every definition he finds is like a shape in the fog, dissolving right in front of him as soon as he reaches for it, but he's figured—if he says yes enough times, if he invites everything in, maybe he can have his pick. Find blessings in unexpected places, like the book he started yesterday says.
He could be a dad, but not a dad. Half of one, a quarter of one, not really a father at all, and maybe that's what he deserves, anyway. To pass on whatever good parts of him are left, and just—dissolve into the fog, too.
“Do you know,” Eddie starts, and Buck realizes he's all blurry under the lights because there are tears in his eyes, “why I came over tonight?”
“To yell at me,” Buck says, his jaw moving against the soft cradle of Eddie's palm, even though Eddie doesn't ever yell. He has this look, a little pinched with the corner of his mouth turned down, that means he's disappointed, but it's not the one he was wearing when he walked through the door.
“To check that you're okay,” Eddie says with his eyebrows raised, enunciating like Buck is a child. “And to ask for your help.”
Buck straightens up, immediately alert. “My help?”
Eddie huffs, shakes his head. He puts a grounding, heavy hand on Buck's shoulder.
“With Chris,” he says, all the humor gone as suddenly as it appeared. His Serious Voice. “I need advice, and you're the first person I went to to get it.”
“Me,” Buck says, frowning. “Me?”
“Always, Buck,” Eddie says, and slides his other hand down to Buck's shoulder too, like he's willing him to stay put. Like Buck could go anywhere else when Eddie is right here. “I don't—do you hear what I'm saying? I'll always come to you first. You're the only one who knows him like I do.”
“Eddie,” Buck says, a little helpless, because his heart has been racing for an hour, since this morning, for days, maybe since the day he was born, always running to catch up with something. “I might not even—how are you so sure?”
Eddie smiles, then, wide, the very tips of his canines coming out. “Just am,” he says, and his eyes on Buck are so heavy he wants to hide from them. He would, except Eddie is holding him in place. “You help. Okay? You help.”
He's running his thumb over Buck's collarbone, a barely-there touch, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and Buck—
Buck exhales, just for a moment, just once. His heart thumps inside his chest, and for the first time in a while, it doesn't feel like his ribcage is empty.
He helps. It's one of those things Eddie always says, one of those things he can't possibly mean, but when he tilts his head like this and waits for Buck to process what he said, familiar with the way it goes, he makes it so, so easy to believe.
“What happened with Chris?” is what he settles on, in the end, because that's always been easy. Talking to Christopher, about Christopher, is the most familiar thing in the world.
“Come sit and I'll tell you,” Eddie says, letting go. The space between them grows, and Buck looks down at the shiny tile separating their feet and hates it a little. Or a lot. He's still fucking deciding, because everything is up in the air these days. “Just—Buck?”
Buck lifts his head again, easy, drawn in.
“It's not your only chance,” Eddie says, and he somehow makes that easy to believe, too.
of accidents and inevitabilities
For @bedhadakdiaz loml <3 I hope I got this out before you went to sleep but you know.
Accidental kisses my beloved <3
Word Count: 3536 words
Honestly, Eddie thinks it was just a matter of time before it happened anyway.
He’s sitting at the breakfast table with Christopher when it happens, his forehead pressed to the table, one hand curled around a cup of coffee. Christopher’s sitting in the chair opposite from him, chattering happily about his breakfast plans in great detail.
Eddie’s trying to listen to him, he really is, but it was a late, grueling shift, and he hasn’t even gotten through his morning two cups of coffee. He doesn’t even feel remotely human yet, and there’s still a stretch of three hours to go before he can curl up for a nap, guilt free.
Chris whines out, “Dad, are you listening to me?”
Eddie looks up at that, and breathes in the coffee-scented steam from his mug as if that will magically wake him up. It doesn’t but the illusion is enough for Eddie to perk up a little and at least pretend to be more awake. “Yeah, buddy, I am. You were talking about raspberries.”
Chris still looks skeptical, but he nods. “Right, and the raspberries Buck and I picked last week are weirdly sour, so he puts honey…”
Eddie admittedly zones out a little watching his son talk and talk. Not because he’s stopped listening, but because it always does something to him to see Christopher in his element like this.
Most days, he feels like he’s hurtling towards the teenage years armed with nothing but his friends’ experience with teenagers and the three books he’s practically memorized cover-to-cover on how to parent teenagers.
But days like these, where Christopher talks like he’s still five years old and curled into Eddie’s lap…those are days where the nostalgia makes a home in his chest and he can’t think outside it.
It doesn’t help matters that his kid is going into his first day of middle school, and all Eddie can think about is how small Chris was when Eddie held him for the first time, and how they’re at the point where Chris is as tall as Eddie’s shoulder. The only things that haven’t changed across the years is how earnest his kid’s eyes have always been.
Christopher’s in the middle of a tirade on blueberries and cinnamon when Eddie hears the shuffle of feet behind him.
Like young sunflowers seeking the sun, Eddie turns towards him, another piece of his world shifting into place as he watches a sleepy-eyed Buck walk into the kitchen.
Buck’s lips greet him good morning as his fingers slide into Eddie’s hair, one hand braced on the back of Eddie’s neck, and the other sifting through his bedhead to curve around his ear. They’re gentle, the calluses as familiar to Eddie as his own.
Eddie hums quietly as Buck’s fingers tilt his jaw, pressing a softer kiss to his mouth, then to the freckle under his eyebrow, then to his forehead. He feels marginally awake under Buck’s easy affection, but his hand tightens around his coffee mug anyway.
“Good morning,” he rasps out against Eddie’s hairline, the scent of mint washing over him.
“Morning,” Eddie returns, watching as Buck rounds the table to press a kiss to Christopher’s curls, looking like he’ll fall asleep against the kid any moment.
“Morning, bud. Did you decide what you want for breakfast?”
It’s then that Eddie realizes that Christopher’s fallen stock-still and silent, his gaze jumping between the two of them.
“What?” Eddie asks, taking a sip out of his mug. “Buck asked you something.”
“Oh, waffles, thanks, Buck,” Chris says absently, still looking shocked for some reason.
Eddie’s about to push and ask if he’s okay when Chris visibly shakes it off, shrugging as he turns to Buck to tell him the grand plans for his first day of school.
He studies his son for a minute, then decides it must not be important for him to shake it off so easily.
Buck valiantly tries to listen, but Eddie laughs softly when he makes a beeline to the coffee machine, his ear tilted towards Chris as he nods and responds in all the right places.
For all of Buck’s energy, it takes at least three cups of coffee before he remotely wakes up after a shift like last night’s.
“You didn’t have to get up, you know,” Eddie tells him after Chris goes to brush his teeth, unable to hide the fond tone from his voice this early in the morning. Buck looks sleep-rumbled and exhausted, but there’s a curve to his mouth and crinkles bracketing his eyes from listening to Christopher talk.
In his head, Eddie calls it Buck’s Christopher look — it’s a look he’s never seen on him anywhere else. Not even with Jee-Yun — there’s a different fond look for her.
“Wanted to see Chris before his first day,” Buck grunts out, his voice still hoarse. Eddie ignores the warmth that flares in his stomach for a moment before he lets himself relax into it, sliding back in his chair as he watches his friend perk up with the first sip. “Are you doing okay?”
Buck watches him knowingly over the rim of the mug, despite his eyes still half-shut from his exhaustion. It’s cuter than it has any right being, and Eddie smiles as he answers the question.
“He was literally just this small.” He holds his hands up about a foot apart to accentuate his point. “Now he’s going into to middle school. Next thing you know, he’ll graduate and leave me for college or whatever else he wants to do.”
It’s more emotional than he’d planned on being, but Buck’s expression softens like he’d expected Eddie to say that — and maybe he had. No one tends to be on the same page as Eddie the way Buck does.
“He’s never going to leave you,” Buck says gently, one hand dropping to Eddie’s shoulder. “He’s always going to have his dad in his corner, and he knows that.”
“He’s going to have a lot of people in his corner,” Eddie says, ducking his head as a flush crawls up his ears, like it always does when Buck says anything about his parenting. “Most of all, us.”
“Yeah,” Buck agrees, tipping his forehead against Eddie’s for a quick moment before getting up to make his infamous waffles. Eddie throws the toppings Christopher had been talking about into small bowls to make it easier on all of them, sliding them across the table as his son wanders back in to check on the progress.
The morning crawls by slowly, but also somehow so much quicker than Eddie had anticipated. For all that they’d gotten up early so they would be on time, eight-fifteen finds them rushing out the door with minutes to spare, a waffle still clenched in Christopher’s syrupy hands.
“Have a good first day, bud!” Buck calls out as Eddie gets Chris situated in the truck and climbs into the driver’s seat. He’s still wearing pajama pants with cartoon koalas going down one leg and cartoon penguins down the other but he’s seen worse at school drop-off.
At the very least, he’s in a plain, clean white T-shirt.
He waves to Buck as he reverses out of the driveway, sticking his tongue out as his best friend clearly laughing at him.
“Dad?” Chris asks after Eddie drives out of their neighborhood.
“Is something different between you and Buck?”
Eddie’s still-too-slow brain doesn’t process what his son means to ask, because he simply shrugs. “No, why?”
“Because he kissed you.”
Eddie’s about to ask why that’s a problem when it hits him, and the breath whooshes out of his lungs.
He and Buck aren’t together.
Buck kissed him, and they’re not together, and by God, Eddie thought it was real.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, he’d fucked up.
“Oh my God,” he whispers to himself, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as his heart hammers wildly in his ribcage.
“Dad?” Chris asks, confusion ringing from his tone. “Are you okay?”
Not in the slightest.
“Uh, yeah, I think. Maybe? I just…don’t know what happened,” Eddie says truthfully, wincing as someone behind him honks. He presses on the accelerator on auto-pilot, trying to focus on the road and not the thoughts racing through his mind, pricking every inch of his skin.
Chris sighs, looking entirely put-out for some reason, but Eddie’s mind is still playing Buck’s tender touch in his head, the softness of his lips against his skin, and the gentle combing of his fingers through Eddie’s hair — things he’s only ever felt in dreams before this morning — and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to question his son any further.
They pull up to his school before Chris can say anything else, and from there, Eddie’s pushed right back into the reminder of his kid growing up as he watches all the parents hug their kids goodbye. He spots Shelly taking a million pictures of her twins — both looking endlessly exasperated — and finds himself grateful that Christopher endured his own batch of pictures at home without complaining too much.
Chris starts towards the school doors as soon as Eddie kisses his forehead, but then stops. Eddie waits by his car door, wondering if he forgot something, but what Chris says next knocks the wind out of his sails completely.
“Can you go home and kiss him for real? Please?”
Eddie’s mouth drops open, and whatever words he could’ve thought of evaporate off his tongue. Chris sees this and comes back to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Eddie bends to hug him closer.
“You want me to go kiss Buck?”
“I’ve been waiting years for you to get together, Dad,” Chris whispers, his little hand twisting in Eddie’s shirt. “He makes you happy, and I think we make him happy, too. Why can’t it be like that forever?”
Eddie exhales on a rush, pressing his lips to his kid’s head. “Yeah, he does. But it’s not just our choice, you know? Forever’s a long time. I have to talk to him about it.”
Chris nods, pulling away to grin confidently up at Eddie. “Yeah, but I know he’ll say yes.”
He has to laugh at that, smoothing his palm over Christopher’s curls — the ones that look so much like Buck’s as he grows older. Neither Eddie nor Shannon had curly hair, and Eddie thinks that maybe this is Buck’s universe telling Chris how to carry Buck with him.
“I’ll talk to him,” he says, not committing either way.
Chris seems confident enough for both of them, because he gives Eddie another hug before his attention is lost to a friend excitedly calling out to him. Eddie watches him go, students all around him rambling on about their summer vacations.
He drives back home on auto-pilot, far less careful than he’d been with Chris in the car.
Buck might’ve kissed Eddie first — on accident or not — but Eddie had kissed him back, and had leaned into his touch like he was starving for it. That, at the very least, hadn’t been an accident at all. He can’t plead the fifth on it, no matter how tired he’d been.
He parks in front of his house and stares at the four walls that house Buck’s fingerprints just as often as Eddie’s and Christopher’s. Then, he digs his phone out and flicks through all the pictures they’d taken this morning — the ones that made them late in the first place.
Buck grins up at him, clad in one of Eddie’s old shirts that stretches across his shoulders, and shorts that he’d left here last week. Christopher is wrapped tightly in his arms, and they’re both smiling at Eddie behind the camera as if they know that Eddie is made up of nothing but these two people.
Almost every picture in his camera roll has Buck. Not just the ones from this morning, but almost every memory from months and months ago has Buck written all over it in some capacity. Eddie doesn’t even remember explicitly inviting Buck to some of these things — it’s always understood that they’re a group of three, not two.
That’s the way it’d been last night, too, when Buck had wordlessly taken Eddie’s cue to come home with him, even at four in the morning. They’d only managed to sleep for a couple hours before the shuffle of Chris’ feet had woken Eddie up, and Eddie remembers waking up to see Buck snoring lightly next to him, grateful that he didn’t have to go through this emotional day alone.
There’s a large part of Eddie that seeks Buck out like magnets, turned to let each other connect, and it’s a part of him that he’s tried to reign in for years — years of working through the fear of what could happen if Buck knew that Eddie had fallen in love with him.
Now, he’s content to let the card fall where they may because it feels like an inevitable part of whatever brought them together in the first place. There’s not a part of Eddie that has ever been able to hide what Buck means to him — and especially not to the person who knows him best.
But when he finally climbs out of his truck and swings his front door open to see Buck pacing the living room, still in his pajamas, his hair a scrunched mess of anxiety like he’d spent hours yanking on the ends, Eddie realizes that maybe he hadn’t been as obvious to him.
Buck’s head snaps towards Eddie as soon as he walks in, and Eddie’s heart breaks at the red-rimmed gaze, the clear fear on his face.
“Buck,” he whispers.
Sometime between now and Eddie leaving to drop Chris off, it clearly dawned on Buck what he’d done, and it’d scared him.
Eddie smiles as comfortingly as he can manage, shutting the door behind him and sliding his keys into the bowl on the entrance table.
Buck stands stock-still in the middle of the living room, tracking each of Eddie’s movements like he’ll never see them again, and Eddie can’t have that at all.
“What did you do to yourself?” he murmurs, not expecting a response as he reaches out to smooth some of his curls back in place, his thumb tracing one tear track. Buck’s a hurricane of barely-restrained emotion right now, but Eddie’s standing in the eye of the storm and he knows Buck won’t let any of it touch him.
Some of the stiffness in Buck’s shoulders ebbs at Eddie’s touch, and instead of fear, Buck watches him cautiously. His eyes are wide in his face, twin pools of sea carrying Eddie afloat, and his mouth is downturned.
“Eddie, I’m so sor—”
“Did you mean it?” Eddie interrupts, not wanting to hear apologies for what is probably the softest moment of his life. Buck had touched him as if his edges weren’t battle-hardened, as if Eddie deserves to be touched like one holds a flower, and he’d done it without even thinking.
Eddie doesn’t need more proof of reciprocity than that.
Buck freezes in place, stormy eyes glossing over with hope as he takes in Eddie’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, I did, but I didn’t want to kiss you for the first time like that.”
Relief flutters over Eddie’s shoulders, and he steps closer to Buck, wrapping his fingers around his wrists. Buck’s pulse pounds like it’s trying to reach for him, and Eddie’s pulse responds in kind, beating through his fingers like they could be one in this way.
“Then kiss me like you wanted to.”
The last of the stiffness leaves Buck’s shoulders as he steps the rest of the way into Eddie’s face, his eyes searching every inch of Eddie’s expression across the bare inches that separate them. “Yeah?”
Eddie laughs quietly, pressing his thumb into where the divot that curves around Buck’s laugh lines deepens, right at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, Buck.”
He feels stripped naked under the blazing intensity of those blue eyes, but it’s a feeling he embraces as the hope in Buck’s gaze shifts into determination — a look that burns itself in the back of Eddie’s mind.
It’s all he gets out before Buck’s mouth is on his, the space between them evaporating into this intensity where Buck’s hands are cradling his jaw, one large palm holding Eddie’s head in place. Eddie’s hands fall to where Buck’s pulse flutters in his throat, cupping the sides of his neck as they kiss.
Buck tilts his head to deepen the kiss and it’s all Eddie can do to not press himself from head to toe against him. Buck tastes like maple syrup, coffee and blueberries but Eddie tastes home and the future all in one, and he tastes the years that stretch between them from what’s your problem, man to yeah, Buck, and he tastes the reasons Chris was as confident as he was that Buck wouldn’t let him shatter at the end of it all.
Eddie feels the cards falling exactly where they should be as they kiss right in the middle of Eddie’s living room, Buck’s arms curving around his waist to hold him closer, then up his back to press him closer still.
By the time they separate, their lips have gone dry, but Eddie doesn’t let Buck go far regardless.
Buck’s sigh ghosts across Eddie’s skin as his temple rests against Eddie’s. “I thought I’d messed up forever.”
“Why’d you think I’d ever let you fall alone?” Eddie whispers, one hand twining into Buck’s curls. They’re pressed as close as two people standing can be, but it doesn’t feel like enough — it never does.
Buck doesn’t reply but Eddie knows the answer.
Instead, he pulls Buck closer by the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to the same divot he’d been tracing. “Everyone in my life knows how much I love you, and I thought you did, too. I couldn’t hide it even if I tried, and honestly, I’m tired of having to hide it.”
Buck pulls back with his eyes wide, trembling hands coming up to cup Eddie’s face. Buck kisses him once, then twice, a tremor of a laugh cutting under his voice as he says, “I love you, too. I don’t ever want you to hide from me, Eddie, I love you.”
Eddie grins widely at him, because even though he’d been sure, something in him needed the words, too. “Chris is going to be so smug when he gets back home.”
Buck groans, laughing lightly. “I didn’t mean to kiss you for the first time in front of your son.”
“Well, he thought it was real. And until he told me, I didn’t even realize that it was an accident.” Eddie recounts his conversation with Chris to him, and the look of awe that takes over Buck’s expression when Eddie tells him that Chris wanted them to kiss for real — and has apparently been waiting years for it — makes Eddie fall in love with him all over again.
“It was real,” Buck murmurs quietly. “It was an accident, yeah, because I was still half-asleep and stuck in the middle of a really good dream where we do all of that, but it was still real.”
Eddie tugs him that last half-inch closer until he can press their mouths back together. “Now, we can do all of that when you’re awake.”
Buck smiles and it’s the best thing Eddie’s ever tasted.
But he laughs a few minutes later when Buck’s yawn breaks their kiss, and is reminded that they’re both still coming down from two hours of sleep after an exhausting shift, and an even more emotionally-exhausting morning. “Okay, I get the hint. Want to go nap?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Buck grumbles good-naturedly. He looks happier than he had ten minutes ago, and that’s what Eddie focuses on as Buck slots their fingers together to tug him into his bedroom.
The sheets are still rumpled from both of them climbing out of bed this morning, but Eddie has to laugh as Buck slides into his side of Eddie’s bed. “You think we did any of this backwards?”
Buck’s quiet amusement washes over him, and Eddie comes to life under the fondness that shines in his expression. “Not sure I would’ve figured it out even after all of this.”
Eddie had always been content with staying in love with his best friend without letting him know, but for months, there’d been a sense of inevitably blooming right alongside the hope in his chest. He knows that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret forever, but he’d dangerously begun to hope that maybe, it was the same for Buck.
It’s Eddie’s turn to yawn, but he drags Buck into his arms, turning him over until Eddie can press his forehead to the nape of Buck’s neck. “You would’ve, eventually. We would’ve gotten here.”
Buck’s hand comes to interlace with where Eddie’s is pressed against his chest. Eddie can’t see him like this, but he can hear the smile in Buck’s voice as they drift off. “Yeah, we would’ve.”
keep the ones who want me
buck drives them home, and the jeep is silent as eddie spends the whole time trying to decide whether or not to bring it up. when he finally opens his mouth, they’re just three blocks away from his house.
“anything you want to tell me?” he asks buck, tipping his head back against the seat and letting it roll to the side.
buck seems to—flinch, almost, but it’s brief and barely there and eddie’s taken advantage of the fact that buck agreed to drive tonight, so he’s not entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it. he blinks and it’s gone, blinks and buck’s in the driver’s seat just like he always is, one hand on the wheel and his elbow propped against the window. any tension eddie thought he’d seen is gone, nowhere to be found in the languid lines of his long—
“what do you mean?” buck asks, interrupting eddie’s disintegrating thought process with a slight frown.
“just—back there,” eddie says, waving a hand in the vague direction they’d come from. “you’re not planning on trying to transfer again, are you?”
“first of all,” buck says, quirking an eyebrow at him as he turns to check his blind spot before turning into the driveway. “you’re one to talk about leaving the 118.”
eddie holds his hands up. “that’s true,” he says. “but i was always going to come back.”
“second,” buck says, turning the car off but making no move to get out. “why would i be trying to transfer?”
“i don’t know,” eddie says on a sigh. he doesn’t reach for the car door, doesn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt. they could easily continue this conversation inside, but—some things are easier to talk about in the dark, when you don’t have to look directly at them. eddie has a nagging feeling this might be one of those things.
“i was just thinking about—you said it might be the last time we’re all together,” he continues, his eyes flicking to buck and away again. “why would it, unless—”
“i’m not going anywhere, eddie,” buck says, low. “hen’s leaving, and i know she says she’s not going to disappear but we all know what doctor schedules are like, so i just thought—i don’t know, it seems unlikely that we cold just—keep things the way they’ve been.”
eddie hums. “unlikely, maybe,” he says. “but not impossible.”
“sure,” buck says. “not impossible. we’ll do it once, maybe twice, then hen has to miss one or one of us has to cover a shift or someone will be injured and then suddenly it’s christmas and we’re sending hen holiday cards thinking about how we haven’t seen her in sixth months.”
“christmas is two months away, buck,” eddie says, and buck rolls his eyes.
“but you get what i mean,” he says. “right? we’re all hopeful and optimistic now, but this is how it starts.”
and there it is, the thing that’s too fragile to examine under the bright artificial lights of his kitchen, the thing that can’t take shape in the same space as something as mundane as a cup of coffee.
“how what starts?” eddie asks.
“hen leaves first, and then—what, a couple of years from now bobby retires, and then—”
“and then what?” eddie asks. “where exactly am i going? where’s chimney going?”
“i don’t know,” buck mumbles, dropping his head back and staring at the roof of the car. “but that’s just life, isn’t it? people move on.”
“is that life?” eddie asks.
“isn’t it?” buck counters. “everyone leaves eventually.”
“not everyone,” eddie says.
“who’s dying?” eddie asks. “buck. you’re spiralling.”
“am i?” buck asks. “i know what happens to guys like—guys like me. i’ve seen it.”
it takes a second, then eddie remembers the old firefighter buck met years ago. the one who’d died alone, who’d lived out his final days alone, who’d had buck somehow convinced that was his future, too.
“buck,” eddie says, softer now. “you’re not red. you’re nothing like him.”
“yeah?” buck asks. “nothing like the guy who ended up alone when everyone else got busy with marriage and family and kids? i couldn’t even keep the damn dog, eddie.”
“that wasn’t a dog,” eddie mutters. “that was a chaos demon with fur and a tail.”
buck huffs a laugh and eddie grins, shifting in his seat to face him.
“buck, you’re nothing like red,” eddie says again. “red didn’t have a sister, for one thing. maddie wouldn’t—”
“no,” buck agrees, soft. “she wouldn’t.”
“and for another thing,” eddie says, “red didn’t have me, or an eleven-year-old who hangs onto his every word.”
“i thought you said he was growing up,” buck says, dubious.
“he’s growing up on me,” eddie says. “dad isn’t cool anymore. but i’ll bet you anything buck still is, hm? you want to come in and see?”
buck had planned on just dropping eddie off, on going to the loft for the night, but eddie’s not letting him off without an object lesson in exactly how much evan buckley is nothing like red delacroix.
“i should—” buck starts, and eddie rolls his eyes.
“you should crash here for the night,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “and in the morning you should teach chris your french toast recipe, because he says mine isn’t half as good.”
buck hesitates for a moment, still, but eddie sees the moment his resolve cracks and he softens, like he’s finally allowing himself to relax. “well, then,” he says, flashing his first genuine smile since they’d climbed into the car. “if it’s about the french toast.”
Eddie Diaz vs The Feelings
Buck/Eddie | rated: Explicit | 62K | complete
His dad smiles warmly. “It’s wonderful seeing you so happy and obviously in love. We always hoped you would find a man who would bring you happiness like this. I can’t tell you how many nights your mother prayed for you to finally allow yourself to fall in love. The kind of love we know you always wanted.”
The kind of love…
Obviously in love?
They hoped he would find a man? To be in love with? Love he has always wanted?
Eddie nearly drops his phone.
It slips a little. And he almost accidentally presses the End button. Then hastily scrambles to pick up and put everything right.
“I—” he starts but has nowhere to go. Or he has everywhere to go? “I’m… in love? You think— why? Why would you think that’s the reason I’m happy?”
“Eddie,” his dad chuckles and shakes his head. “You don’t need to hide it. You talk about this man you love all the time. Christopher talks about him all the time. You said he’s always been there for you.”
Someone Eddie talks about all the time. His partner who takes care of him. Who is also loved by Chris.
His dad even smirks at him. “You have this look anytime you mention him. Your mother says I used to look at her the same way, with nothing but hearts and stars in my eyes. Where you’re young and it’s new and you’re head over heels for each other and can’t think or talk about hardly anything else. You always sound… you sound happier than I think I’ve ever known you to be. You talk about him like you admire him, and sometimes like you’re amazed by how fiercely he loves you. And Christopher. It sounds like he’s very special.”
Of course he’s special. Of course he’s important. And incredible and amazing. He’s fun and funny and generous and so compassionate. He has the biggest, most beautiful heart.
And then all Eddie can think is, what if it’s not wrong?
What if he is in love with Buck?
In which food is a love language, Eddie's parents know too much, and Eddie tries to figure out asexuality, romantic love, and the mysteries of attraction, because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. And what in the world do you do with that?
(read on AO3)
keep me as your finish line
buck/eddie | rated e | 33k words | aka the gym crush au
“Oh no, we’re not doing this.” Chimney pops a bubble with the gum he’s been chewing as he moves one of his fingers back and forth to point between The-Man-who-isn’t-Buck’s-man-he’s-just-The-Man and Buck. “You didn’t drag me to the gym just so you can ditch me to fuck some guy in the showers.”
Buck lowers his voice, leaning forward as if trying to make the words’s journey shorter between him and Chimney so they can’t escape and reach anyone else’s ears,“I wouldn’t fuck him in the showers.”
Chimney’s response is wordless in the form of an eyebrow raise.
“Not anymore, okay?” Buck clarifies, rolling his eyes. “That’s not who I am now.”
(spoiler alert: Buck does fuck the guy in the showers. but that comes after nicknaming him Big Beautiful Brown Eyes, finding out his name is actually Eddie, becoming best friends with him, and falling madly and deeply in love.)
(read on ao3.)
*Bobby walks into the firestation loft and sees Buck in his hoodie*
Bobby: buck is that my..?
Buck: 😳 no...?
Omg someone wrote this fic and if I wasn’t at work right now I’d dig for it! Help me out world!
but, baby, watching you blush
buck/eddie | fake marriage | 10 100 words | for @naguaraquerandom
Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it. Finally, he settles on, “You told your parents you’re married? To a man?”
Chimney and Hen both glance at him with twin looks that clearly mean he’s on his own with telling the rest of the story. Which—they had no problem teasing and joking about it three seconds ago, but now that Buck has to really get to the heart of the issue, they’re leaving it to him?
Go fucking figure.
“I told my parents,” Buck says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with closed eyes, “that I’m married to you.”
or, buck and eddie go to hershey for buck's high school reunion. the only problem? everyone thinks that they're married.
tags under the cut (interact here if you wanna be added!)
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