outofbuck
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- 9-1-1 (TV) (37)
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After New Mexico, four times Buck and Eddie share a bed for comfort, and one time they share it for something more.
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Buck adjusted his apron, pulling the string around the waist a little bit tighter. It made the curve of his waist just that much more obvious, the fabric loosening out around his pecs enough to make his build look even more unreal. “How do I look?”
Eddie almost choked on his own tongue. “Biteable.”
“Huh?”
“Buyable!” Eddie said quickly. “Super buyable! No one’s going to be able to keep their auction paddles down. You’ll be the most expensive charity date on record.”
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Buck asked Eddie to record some video to play behind him during the firefighter auction. Eddie agreed, promptly regretted it, and tried his hardest not to bite Buck's biceps.
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Buck had explained to him once, before they started this, that there were all sorts of creatures like him, humans who half-belonged to the water. Buck came from the depths, something so warm born out of a place so cold. He needed the pressure every so often to maintain his equilibrium, needed to greet darkness to be able to step into the light.
And Eddie would dive to any depth for Buck; that much is certain.
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The world should have ended. The priest should have run out of words to say, the mahogany framing her body as a prison should have marked the final trees to collapse on earth, the cushion under her head from the last sprig of cotton to be picked. Eddie would have gladly bled out, allowed them to use his blood to stain the wood, his bones to fortify the metal locks, his skin to make the leather adornments.
But no one asked that of him. The coffin had been pre-fabricated, the priest's speech routine, the grave pre-dug. And so the grass grew around the disturbance, and so it would continue growing, until no one could even tell that Isabel Diaz had been more than a fable, until the tangled roots of the grass and weeds locked her in as a final toll of the bell.
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Eddie needs glasses. Buck reacts normally.
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It was obvious now, looking at Eddie, that time had passed like a friend, grazing his features with the sort of tenderness only a loved one could manage. It was his Eddie, the same one who sauntered into the 118 decades prior, just softened.
Buck burst into tears.
Eddie, alarmed, cupped Buck's face, thumbing lightly at the swell of his cheeks. "Buck? Buck, baby, what's wrong?"
Buck sniffled, straining against the burn in his throat to answer. "You're getting old."