Chapter Text
Okay, so here's the thing—it didn't go away. And Eddie couldn't ignore it. Two best-known strategies for all of mankind ever, and they didn't work. Eddie was lost.
He was lying in his bed, arm thrown over his forehead, eyes almost unblinking in all the thinking he was doing. That feeling of unease couldn't leave him, crawling through his muscles and tendons, vibrating through the bones, and not letting him turn off his brain and call it a night—even though he said goodnight to Buck probably two hours ago. Every so often, Eddie could hear him shuffling on the couch. Once in a while, his snoring intensified, and the nasal sounds reached the bedroom, filling the gray space with signs of life and presence, so welcome. Eddie hated it when his house was lifeless and quiet, and he loved all these small disruptions. Even now, they were lessening the anxiety under his skin—sufficient enough that he could stay on the mattress and not launch himself from his window into the dead roses' bushes outside. But well, even their magic couldn't stop his thoughts from circling around that particular topic. He pondered whether going to the living room would help—being close to Buck generally did, but staring in the darkness at your sleeping best friend sounded so creepy; maybe not in practice, not really, but in theory—yeah, Eddie wasn't about to project his lunacy onto the outside world.
The situation was dire and called for a dire solution—that is, getting deep inside Eddie's own head and figuring out what exactly it is he's feeling and why he’s feeling that. Not the perfect option, but hey, you cannot say therapy didn't teach our dear old Eddie Diaz something. Apart from breathing exercises, which he actually liked, and the fact that sarcasm was indeed the best way to deal with all and every misfortune, of course.
So yeah, he was gonna tackle this monster and look straight into its eyes. He did it before, right, and maybe retracing the beast's steps could also bring him to the answers now. And what greater beast existed in Eddie's life than the feeling of the control being taken away by people who believed they knew better than him?
Just, well, that obviously wasn't Buck. Buck was so good at being there for them, doing all these things without being asked but also without encroaching on Eddie's space. Buck never made it seem like he doubted Eddie’s ability to make decisions. He just... he believed in him, sometimes probably even more than he should, but— it allowed Eddie to believe in himself too. It allowed Eddie to thrive, actually, and it was crazy how everything went so bad so quickly when he couldn't talk to Buck anymore, either because of some stupid lawsuit or his own stubbornness. But yeah, Buck naming himself family could have pulled up some... unfavourable memories.
But had it, though? Right now, lying in his bed at 1 am. and thinking about it, Eddie could recall the suffocating feeling of a suit on him, the tightness in his throat, Ana crowding in, in, in and not letting him breathe. The way he felt like he was thrown into this ready-made family, and with every strained smile, the walls were closing in on him. It was supposed to be right, he was following the steps, but it didn't get better, only worse, until Buck—obviously Buck—pointed out that sticking it out wasn't the way. And he was right, of course.
Even with Marisol, he was, overall, in a better place, and at first, it seemed fine, it seemed fun. He was so blindsided by that fact, so happy to be doing something like he should (finally), that he tried to speed it up and ended up in a sweltering, stifling box—let it be their relationship, theirhis bedroom, theirhis house, whichever works best for you. So he had hoped that the hurry and old, buried Catholic guilt was to blame, he made them have a shot at taking the step back and... well, he could be honest with himself now and admit that even if he didn't implode his whole life, it probably wouldn't have worked. There was fun, but there was no spark. No excitement about the future with Marisol specifically.
Buck, though? Buck was so deeply ingrained in their lives, so inwrought that Eddie couldn't imagine untangling the threads of their everydays from each other, nor could he fathom having a wish to do so. Eddie trusted Buck with his son a year after he met him and never walked back on it. Even when his friend was an obnoxious asshole, even when he was so annoying, either in a serious or completely whimsical way, Eddie knew that he would want to see him the next day. All these memories—Buck's golden smile on a beach day, Buck's arms flailing in the firehouse's loft and the indignant shrieks he lets out while arguing his point, Buck's heated gaze, Buck losing soundly in Mario Kart with Christopher on the couch, Buck grinning after rope rescue, Buck joyful, Buck sullen, Buck ill tempered and patient and caring and angry–
They were all precious to Eddie, each and every version of his best friend. Going through them in his mind was enough to calm his racing thoughts, and—this Eddie was sure of—Buck didn't overstep, he didn't trigger Eddie's fight or flight commitment-phobe-instincts. Buck was family, and it was only good. The uneasiness must have come from something else.
Eddie breathed and let it go for the time being. He fell asleep with a soft smile on his face.
🌀🌀🌀
Morning found groggy Eddie walking into his kitchen barefoot. He couldn't fully unstick his eyelids, and everything was kinda blurred, so he wasn't able to locate his slippers. That put his mood on the downside. The smell of coffee, on the other hand, was definitely a perk.
"Mornin'," he grumbled to Buck.
The other man was sitting by the table with a glass of what appeared to be orange juice. Eddie definitely didn't own an orange juice before yesterday (even though a certain priest would for sure have something to say about that).
"Morning, sunshine. You look like death incarnated."
The cupboard creaked. Eddie took hold of a cup and used the other hand to try to get rid of the eye boggers. He managed to not spill the coffee and turned around to face Buck. He was already watching Eddie, definitely after a shower, with the way his curls all fell into place nicely. His clothes looked freshly pressed, and his complexion was bright and clear. He looked so good, damn bastard. Eddie tried to massage away the—undoubtedly visible—bed linen imprints on his left cheek.
"Are we carpoolin' to the station?" Even Eddie's voice was rough.
"Yeah, if you wanna." Buck shrugged. "If we take the truck, we won't need to stop at the gas station."
"Mhm."
"It could give you time to, I don't know, put on some socks?"
"Shut up." Eddie didn't grumble again, thank you very much. He also didn't kick Buck lightly with his bare feet, even though Buck definitely shrieked and pulled away with the whole chair.
The contours grew sharper, and with them, the dust dancing in the air, the smear of ketchup on the countertop, and the slight crease on Buck’s forehead. Eddie tilted his head.
"Didn't sleep well?" Buck asked, with no teasing left to mask the undercurrent of worry in his voice.
"It was 'kay. Couldn't fall asleep tho."
Buck's forehead furrowed further. "Stressing about Chris?"
Eddie gulped some more coffee, the bitter taste refreshing on his tongue. It may have been true that around a week and a half after Christmas, after riding the high of reconcilation with his son, with all the plans for him to come home already in motion, Eddie panicked hard about Chris coming back and regretting it—or Eddie fucking it up once more, and saying or doing the wrong thing while his son was still in Texas, making him want to stay with his grandparents forever. Buck had to talk him off the ledge. So yeah, it probably made sense for him to worry about Eddie being insomniac again, even though this time it had more to do with Buck himself. Which, Eddie realised, was also stupid.
"No, we're okay. Gonna talk after shift."
Buck nodded slowly. Still unconvinced, still worrying. "That's great, Eds. But if anything, you know I'm here, right?"
Eddie Diaz from half a year ago would probably have spluttered and gotten annoyed. Eddie Diaz from now breathed and smiled at the soft voice of his friend.
"I know, Buck. It's really fine tho’. Just– had a lot on my mind yesterday, okay? But it wasn't anything bad."
Buck hummed and got up. Then—he kicked his white, fluffy slippers off. They slid on the tiles and hit Eddie in his big toe.
"Ouch! The hell?"
"Put them on, you heathen. Your feet are giving me the ick."
"Seems like n you problem," Eddie mumbled, but didn't resist slipping the shoes on. The padding was really soft. He wiggled his toes and enjoyed the feeling. Maybe he ought to buy some fluffy slides for himself. Buck started using them when Chris was younger, at first as one of his tomfooleries. He had quite similar white ones then, but they had extra floppy bunny ears, and Christopher would burst out laughing whenever the 6 feet 2 inches, buffy man would wear them. The joke might have gotten old, but the next pair Buck bought were cute panda ones, and they also never failed to make the Diaz boys smile. Now, Eddie could admit that it wasn't their only benefit.
"We need to leave in twenty, but I've already ordered us breakfast at Bonnie's to pick up. They didn't have the egg paste sandwiches, though."
Eddie made a long face. Damn, the egg paste sandwiches from Bonnie were the best. "So what did you take?" He squinted at Buck, who hip-checked him out of the way to put his glass in the dishwasher.
"The cucumber ones, of course."
Well, that wasn't too bad.
His coffee was almost drained when Buck stopped on the way out of the kitchen, one hand resting on the door frame and body facing Eddie sideways. He drummed his knuckles on the wood. "Hey. Last night, you weren't mulling over what I said, were you?"
Damn. Busted.
Could playing stupid work? Eddie was nothing but a steadfast believer.
"What? About the sea fossils?"
"Eddie."
Geez.
"I don't know, did I have something to mull over?"
Buck narrowed his eyes. "You jumping around the topic makes me think that yes, Eddie, you did. And I told you to just— just forget about it."
Well, to be honest, Buck didn't say that. And Eddie knew him and knew that if he let him think that the... topic made Eddie uncomfortable, he would internalise the fuck out of it, translate it to him being unlovable and start acting crazy, like—stop coming over uninvited, for example. As if he needed an invitation. All these bullshit, pesky stories.
"Buck. Everything is fine."
"I saw your face! You— you made the face you make when you get an ick about something! Your ick face."
"An ick face? Dude, what are you talking about?"
"Your eyebrows, they— and you do this thing with your cheeks—" Cheeks? Eddie mouthed. "Ugh, it doesn't matter. But I saw it and I would much rather prefer you told me if I like, made you uncomfortable—"
"But you didn't. If I made a face, and I'm only saying if—" Eddie raised his finger. "—it was because I was surprised. Maybe a little confused, at first. But Buck, you are family. And if you wanna call it a queerplatonic one—be my guest."
A myriad of expressions passed through Buck's face.
"Why are you worrying so much about it?" Eddie's voice softened, as of its own accord.
"I don't. I just... You know me. If you say it's okay, I'm gonna let it slip, one way or another, and I don't wanna, like, press the wrong button for you? I remember how hard it hit you with Ana whenever somebody assumed— What if your insurance won't cover any more visits to the cardiologist, huh?"
"Okay, but have you considered—you're not Ana?" Eddie gave him a pointed look. "Besides, it wouldn't be the first time somebody assumed something about us—even if nobody assumed the queerplatonic part, I will give you that."
Buck froze. "People say it to you, too?"
"Yeah, man. Our prominent love is what keeps Rebecca from PTA at a relatively safe distance," Eddie drawled with irony and chuckled, remembering his own confusion transforming quickly into relief when the only single mum from Christopher's class stopped the poorly disguised attempts at getting him to ask her out in favour of gushing about his amazing, handsome, and kind partner. God bless Buck and his baking skills.
When Eddie's gaze moved back from memories onto his best friend, a frown set on his face. Did the light change that much, or did Buck suddenly lose all color from his face?
"You okay, man?"
Buck blinked and let his arms fall down. "Yeah, all good. Peachy. I'm gonna... do what I was going to do."
Well, Eddie didn't honestly expect to be let off the hook that easily, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask questions. Still, not being one hundred percent truthful with Buck never really worked for Eddie, and while he didn't lie—he truly wasn't uncomfortable per se—he needed to figure out why exactly the queerplatonic family thing didn't sit right with him. Rather soon, preferably.
🌀🌀🌀
Buck, sitting behind the wheel, had some residue aura of antsiness around him that he pretended didn't exist. Eddie, more awake with each minute, was looking at his friend and trying to work it out. Fruitlessly. It lasted up until the radio station mentioned something about the newest research on an extra nutritional value when it comes to this or that vegetable, and it got Buck going a mile a minute. Eddie relaxed and enjoyed the incessant chatter, letting his mind go quiet in turn.
They got a call almost right after arriving at the station. It made Eddie grateful for having eaten the sandwiches in the car, even though he might or might not have grumbled about it at the time.
"I told you so," Buck chimed with a smirk, putting his turnouts on next to Eddie, already knowing what the other guy was thinking.
"Yeah, yeah. You're still vacuuming the truck, remember?"
The only response he got was Buck rolling his eyes while keeping the door open for Eddie.
The first half of the shift passed uneventfully, with calls and breaks in between. Well, uneventfully apart from the fact that sometimes Eddie would look at Buck and the cursed words—queerplatonic family – would appear unbidden in his head and cause the echo of unease in his belly. What was his problem? Eddie would fucking like to know.
Late evening found all of the A-shift in the loft, waiting for food to be ready. They were fresh out of showers, but the smell of smoke clung to Eddie's nose. The last call was an old factory fire, nothing too grueling, but annoying and time-consuming to deal with, so they were running on fumes—ha, got it?—from lunch. When Buck brought the meal over to the table, everybody dug in, and for a moment, all you could hear was the clanking of the cutlery.
Staying silent wasn't really a character trait of anybody there though, so something had to give. Eddie would very much like it to be something different than what happened; however, the (unconscious but still very uncharitable) universe wasn't ever on his side.
"So, Buck, how are things at Lemoyne?" Hen asked between the bites.
Eddie's hand, with a fork full of pasta, froze just for a millisecond before continuing its way up.
"I— why are you asking?" Buck stammered, his gaze circling around the table, not looking but not not-looking at Eddie.
Hen's eyebrows slowly went up. "Didn't you go there after last shift?"
"Well, yeah."
"So..."
"So... what?" And he stuffed his mouth full of food.
"Don't choke yourself, Buckaroo. It was just a question. But now you've got me convinced that there is something more to know."
Eddie dug into the pasta on his plate and stopped himself from giving Buck a bad eye. Why couldn't he act normal? And he complained that Eddie was being weird about this!
It took Buck a few long seconds to swallow everything down. "Oh, it was okay."
Hen tried to catch Eddie's gaze, but he stuck to his nonchalant indifference. The topic wasn't about him, right? But then, Hen looked at Chimney, and it seemed like she even kicked him under the table, if you trusted the sudden shuffling and grunts. And well, if she got Chimney involved, they were going to make this into a bigger deal than it was.
"Chim, how did Jee like the Lego sets?" Eddie asked conversationally, using the lull in the chat; he did the uncluttering of Chris's room under his son's watchful eye on the screen to get it ready for him coming back with all the new stuff grandma bought me. They actually managed to put some things aside and either give them to the Hans or donate. It was normal for him to be interested afterwards, right? Chris's first Lego sets were important.
"Oh, she made a farm! Or was it a holiday resort for sheep? I got lost in the story at some point, but it was a whole thing." Chimney leaned back on a chair, balancing on its two legs.
"Oh man, do you have some photos?" Buck jumped in.
"Don't change the topic."
Buck, hit with Hen's pointed finger, stuck his lip out. "Hen," he— well, he would probably say groaned, but being honest, it was more like a whine.
"What are you not saying?"
"Nothing!"
"So what did you do at Lemoyne?" Hen's eyes had once again traveled around the table before narrowing. "Did you meet somebody?" She questioned with gradually increasing glee in her tone.
Eddie wanted to stick the fork in his eye.
"Nope, it was the same old people. But I don't know if I mentioned Tanya already? She was spending the Christmas break with her grandparents, so I only met her, like, one and a half weeks ago?"
"She meant meet meet, my sweet innocent tadpole," Chimney quipped.
"What? Guys, the only people that are like, on my side of thirty there, are two lesbians that are married and, Ryan who's probably fifty–five."
"Wouldn't be so out of character for you," came a murmur from Chim's side. Buck glared at him.
"If you didn't meet anybody, why are you so fidgety? Fuss up, Buckley."
"Oh my gosh, why are you so annoying about it?" He complained, but nobody responded. Hen was looking in his direction with an eyebrow still elevated, Chim obnoxiously smacked his lips and rattled his fingers on the table, and Eddie... Eddie was eating his pasta.
"It was a totally normal, nice visit, okay? We were baking again, and we talked, and then I went back to the loft at 6pm. Estimately."
"Hmm," Hen hummed. "What did you bake?"
"Vegan chocolate cookies."
"And what did you talk about?"
"We—" Buck shot a brisk glance at Eddie and immediately looked back to Hen.
Crap. They were done for.
"Well—they told me what a queerplatonic family is."
Eddie gave up on his pretended nonchalance and was watching the exchange now like a ping pong match, so he saw a small twitch in Hen's expression—really minuscule, to be honest, and apart from that—no reaction. He knew what she was doing—give Buck a while to stim in silence, and he would start blabbering in three, two, one...
"Well, I have never heard about it before, and that's crazy, 'cause it's so great. A great… concept, really. It's when—"
"I know what a queerplatonic family is, Buck." Hen interrupted. She put her chin on her hand, and it was like she wasn't even blinking, just... watching Buck like a hawk. "Anything specific brought up this topic?"
"Oh." Buck startled, like it wasn't obvious she was about to ask. "Yeah… I mean, not–not anything specific in particular, just like–– it was just that I—"
"It was me." Eddie jumped in, deciding to be merciful. He then took a bite of his meal, ignoring everybody's looks.
"Wait. You also went to Lemoyne?" Chim scrunched his forehead.
"Nope. It was me who—brought up the topic." He made a circle in the air with his fork. "Me and Chris."
"Oh," Hen replied with barely concealed mirth.
Chim was darting his eyes between everybody. "What? How could you bring up the topic when you weren't even—oh."
A piece of pasta almost got stuck in Eddie's esophagus, but he swallowed down hard. He could feel Buck's gaze on him, and he glanced in his direction; Buck was sitting motionless, his lips slightly parted and eyes stuck on Eddie.
"You mean you inspired the topic?" Hen asked.
"Well, yeah, you could say."
"Okay, rewind, rewind." Chim's hands jumped in the air. "Can somebody just say what exactly happened? I feel like I got confused."
"Not our fault you're not following, Chim," Eddie muttered, but at the same time, he smashed his elbow into Buck's ribs. Gently. Just to get him out of his stupor.
Buck reacted only by making bigger eyes at him. Go on, Eddie communicated with his eyebrows.
And so Buck explained. In not as many words and details as he did the previous day, but still, he made the whole deal clear enough. Strangely, nobody interrupted him, so the story was done in less than… two minutes? Not that Eddie was counting. However, he did become unusually aware of the rhythm of his heart, enough that he couldn’t help keeping track of it. Tum, tum, tum-tum, and there Buck was, finished, directing his gaze at Eddie once again; his head was leaned a little bit forward, like he tried to make himself smaller, like he was, for a lack of better word, shying away from his words; blue eyes pellucid behind thin eyelashes, looking for something in Eddie that he didn't know how to give.
"Huh." Chim summed up.
"Well, I can't say that it wouldn't in a way explain the whole Eddiebuckism that you guys have going."
Eddie really wasn't a big fan of the modern word–formation trend, but still, he could easily understand what Hen meant. People saw them as a set, which was a pretty painless deal to explain on the job, seeing as they were partners, having each other's backs through fires and busy LA streets. When it came to different parts of their lives, well, people, as it turned out, also tried to name it somehow, even when the accuracy of it wasn't something that Eddie's guts agreed with.
"But hold on. Don't you have to be queer to be in a queerplatonic relationship?" Chimney sat straighter on his chair.
Eddie grasped at the chance of somebody understanding his struggle. "That's what I asked." He put the fork back on the plate, and his pointer finger steered towards Chimney.
"I would say that if you are in a queer relationship, you are queer, in a way. Queerness isn't only about sexual orientation," Hen pointed out.
Eddie closed his mouth.
"Isn't it?" His question came through Buck's mouth. "I mean, aside from gender stuff. And like, romantic in general?"
"Sure, by definition. But nothing about queerplatonic is intrinsic to any of these things, right? So why…"
Eddie stopped listening completely. That was it, wasn't it? He was worrying about cultural appropriation yesterday, but it's totally plausible that he felt a little bit weird being called queer by like, association, right? Just because he wasn't; or at least, he never thought he was. Because if what Hen said was true, and Hen was usually right, especially about queer topics, then maybe…
"Eddie? Hello?"
Eddie's vision cleared. Everybody was looking at him. "What?"
Chim groaned.
"We were just saying—folks from Lemoyne think you guys are a queerplatonic family. Buck, looking at how stressed about it he is, is also fond of that idea. But what about you? What do you think about it?" Hen explained patiently, her expression curious and open.
Eddie knew that he could be honest; maybe he even should. Hen at least would help him work it out. But at the same time, he felt a vibration going up his calf from the way Buck kept rattling his feet—it was sending minuscule movements all the way to the table's leg. He didn't have to look to his right to know that the man was probably worrying his lips between his teeth and looking like a constipated hamster. Besides, before everybody interrupted Eddie's thoughts, he was definitely onto something, so the problem was almost solved.
"It's great." He smiled.
For a moment, it was quiet—not even the tap-tap-tapping of Buck's leg there anymore, no clattering of forks. Then:
"Oh man," Chimney snickered. "It's great, he says!" He raised his hands and smashed them on the table; leaned in Eddie's direction, making him lean back, even though there was still a whole table between them. "Eddie, my man, tell me then, why do you look like Cap's pesto just turned really, really sour?"
"What? I don't!"
"Oh yeah, tell it to your squished lips, tense cheeks, and this… this frenzy in the eyes!"
Eddie sputtered. "I was smiling! It’s called a smile."
"Facing your dead squad smile, you mean?" Chim snorted.
"Oh, you're the one that's gonna be facing death soon."
Luckily for Eddie, it came out muttered, because Bobby appeared, rounding the corner and carrying a plate of his own. He was looking at it with a scrunched face and then turned the perturbed look towards everybody sitting by the table. "Did I hear right that my pesto is sour?"
Chimney and Hen wheeled around towards Bobby, but the reverberating ringing of the bell didn't allow anybody to answer. Their boss sighed unhappily and put the dish down. Then, the first person out of their chair was Buck; Eddie rose right after him. He hoped that the emergency was nothing bad and thus didn't put him on a guilt trip for feeling slightly happy about a disruption.
Man, he loved 118, but they could be so annoying.