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There are 1300 miles and some change between the Diaz house in El Paso and Station 118 in Los Angeles. Buck spends 1000 of them seated between Eddie and the window, long legs cramped in the limited space of the cabin.
He dozes initially, exhausted from the adrenaline fleeing his body and his stomach filled with Mrs. Diaz’s good food. Beside him, Eddie falls asleep immediately, chin tipping down to touch his chest. A residual from his Army days, Buck’s pretty sure, that Eddie can fall asleep that fast pretty much anywhere. He’s almost jealous at the skill.
But total sleep eludes him, for some reason. His mind won’t quiet down, despite Eddie being right next to him, despite the quiet roar of the firetruck that should lull him right into sleep.
Somewhere near New Mexico, Marjan finally follows him back on Instagram.
He’s less excited about it than he thought he would be.
Eventually, Vasquez slows down and pulls into a gas station with a parking lot large enough for the truck. Everyone awake piles out to stretch; Buck’s back pops when he lifts his arms over his head, working out a kink in his back.
Eddie’s still asleep in the truck as he heads into the store, stomach growling. He hasn’t snacked in at least six hours, and it’s the middle of the night. It’s cold in the desert, gooseflesh rising on his bare arms, and the temperature doesn’t change much as he enters the gas station proper with Hen and the others.
The gas station coffee tastes like it came straight from the La Brea tar pits, and he makes sure to get Eddie a cup and a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for when he wakes up. He grabs a bag of chips for himself, something easy enough to snack on while driving because Vasquez had tossed him the keys before they walked in with a simple, “Your turn, Buck.”
They load back into the truck once everything is bought and paid for, and Buck is unsurprised to see that Eddie hasn’t moved a muscle. He throws the peanut butter cups into the vacant seat next to him, puts the nasty, lukewarm coffee into the cupholder nearest Eddie, and loads himself into the driver seat.
He doesn’t mind driving at night in L.A., where everything is well lit. But out here on the interstate in the middle of the desert, nothing is lit— there are no street lights. It’s just him and the headlights of the firetruck lighting up the night.
Him, and his thoughts as everyone else in the cabin sleeps.
It’s almost worse than being alone in his apartment in the middle of the night.
On the other side of New Mexico, Buck pulls into a rest area and wakes up Hen with the dawn.
He climbs back into his seat between Eddie and the window, noting with mild surprise that the peanut butter cups are gone and the coffee cup is empty. Eddie’s asleep again, cheek pressed against his shoulder and head tilted away from the window.
Buck is intent on getting some sleep— he’s only half-dozed since stealing the 126’s truck rescuing their captain and Hen, and he needs the rest. But Eddie’s muscular thigh is warm against his; T.K.’s assumption comes back to haunt him, unbidden.
The truth is, Buck’s never really put any thought into his sexuality. He just did whatever felt right, with whoever it felt right with. It just happened that ‘whoever’ happened to be women. Like, all the time. Especially during his Buck 1.0 phase.
It’s been a very long time since he slept with anyone. He turns down women constantly, now that he thinks about it, because going on dates would interfere with his free time, and he likes having free time because ‘free time’ typically translates into more time to spend with Christopher and Eddie.
He cherishes the time he gets to spend with Chris and Eddie, no matter what they’re doing. Movies, park trips, just hanging out at Eddie’s house. He loves that kid like he was his own, and would do anything for him. Being mistaken for Chris’s dad never makes him feel weird; it always puts a spring in his step.
And Eddie— Eddie’s never said anything, whenever Buck brings up that someone has mistaken him for Chris’s other dad yet again. He just smiles, edges of his mouth curling up softly, eyes glancing down at the floor before looking back up at Buck. And it’s that smile that does things to him; makes his stomach swoop, makes his heart stutter-stop in his chest before starting to beat again, a little faster than before.
Buck isn’t blind. He knows Eddie’s attractive. What with his gorgeous brown eyes and perfect hair and strong jaw and the fact that he’s built. What woman wouldn’t want him? And he’s such a devoted father to Chris, always going above and beyond what any other father would do, and doing it on his own. Plus, he’s always there for Buck on top of it all, no matter how petty and small Buck’s own problem might be.
It’s around Arizona that he realizes he might be in love with Eddie. Not in the best friends way, but in the way he wanted to love Abby. Before she up and left. The way he tried to love Abby. The way he wanted to love Ali, before she left him too.
The realization sets off a new wave of panic in his chest, cold and barbed.
He can’t love Eddie. Not like that. Eddie’s. Eddie’s a man. Buck’s not gay.
. . . is he?
After a stunned moment, he tilts his phone towards the window and googles am I gay?????
But google is not a magic eight ball and does not give him a straight answer. It spits links out at him instead and he clicks on each and every one of them, hoping for a quiz or something. But there’s nothing, no quiz, no test, just articles about sex dreams and feelings and being bisexual.
And that’s the magic word, isn’t it?
Bisexual.
So he googles that instead, getting much the same result. But at least it comes with a loose definition, this time, attracted to two genders instead of a single gender.
God, this would be so much easier with a quiz.
Los Angeles is so much better than Texas. The lack of humidity, for one thing. The fact that there are currently no raging wildfires is another in the plus column, and something Buck is grateful for as he climbs out of the truck and his feet hit the solid concrete ground of Station 118’s firehouse.
Bobby is waiting for them, stern look on his face. Buck knows the dad talk is coming, had been prepared for it since he hatched the plan to steal the firetruck with T.K. Bobby’s always good for them after Buck’s done something disappointing, only this time he didn’t do it alone.
This time, Eddie was with him.
Bobby says, “While I’m glad you all made it back safe and unharmed, we should probably talk about how theft is not the answer to any problem, and it is a crime.”
“Was it really theft if we had the company who it belonged to with us?” Buck hedges, digging the toe of his boot into the ground.
“Yes, Buck, it is.” Bobby claps his hands together. “But we’ll have this conversation after you’ve all slept in real beds. Now go home and get some rest; you’re all on duty in 40 hours.”
With that, Bobby’s off deeper into the station, still on duty himself.
Sighing wearily, Buck turns to get his bag out of the truck. He’s surprised to find that Eddie is no longer at his side; instead, the other man is already rummaging through the storage compartment of the firetruck, one bag already slung over his shoulder.
Buck is content just to watch him for a moment, too tired to process what’s going on; he hasn’t slept properly in over sixteen hours.
“You didn’t say a single word the whole drive back,” Eddie says, dropping their bags at his feet. “Is something wrong?”
“What? No. Just tired.” He should be honest. Tell the truth. Just come out and say, I’m in love you and think I have been for a long time, but he can’t. The words are stuck in his throat, clogging up his airway so bad he might choke on them.
His therapist has been encouraging honesty: honesty with himself, honesty with others. It’s just. The words are stuck, and this is Eddie, and the feelings are too big. Too new.
He’ll come out and say it eventually; just not right now.
Eddie narrows his eyes at him, suspicious, but doesn’t push. “Right. We’re still on for tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. Movie night with the Diaz boys, one of his favorite things to do in the history of the world.
Buck smiles, mouth soft at the edges. “Of course.”
He does the only thing he can think of once he gets back to his apartment and a couple hours of sleep in him:
He texts T.K.
They had exchanged numbers, shortly before leaving. Before T.K. had assumed he was gay. Before T.K. had basically imploded his life with one well aimed comment.
To: T.K. : hey, why did you assume i was gay
He hits send and throws his phone down next to him on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. It isn’t the most eloquent of text messages, and probably not the best way to start a conversation, especially not with someone he barely knows, but Buck finds it best to just throw it out there. To rip off the bandaid and get the messy stuff out of the way.
T.K. texts back minutes later, Buck’s phone buzzing multiple times in quick succession.
From: T.K. : you’re not?????
From: T.K. : sorry man
From: T.K. : i just saw the way you looked at eddie and assumed
Buck promptly drops his phone on his face.
The way he looked at Eddie? Was he that obvious to other people, even before he realized it himself? Had Eddie noticed? No. Eddie couldn’t have noticed. Nothing had changed between them, for better or for worse.
To: T.K. : i had a crisis the whole way back from texas because of what you said
To: T.K. : i’ve questioned everything about myself before this
To: T.K. : except for my sexuality
To: T.K : and now i’ve questioned that too
From: T.K. : and what have we learned
To: T. K. : i think i might be bisexual
To : T. K. : according to the internet
It feels weird, to apply the term to himself for the first time. Weird in a good way. Like coming out to himself. It’s like seeing himself in a new light, like a breakthrough he has in therapy, but without the guidance.
From: T.K. : FIRST OF ALL
From: T.K. : congratulations
From: T.K. : second of all you’re welcome
Movie night comes faster than Buck is prepared for, all nervous energy as he is. He finds himself on the Diaz’s front porch nonetheless, heart in his throat as he thinks about what he has to do.
He can’t keep a secret from Eddie. Not something like this.
Honesty, he reminds himself as he knocks on the door. It takes a moment before Chris throws it open, wide smile on his face as he squeals, “Buck!”
“Hey, superman!” Buck greets, scooping the boy up into a hug. “I missed you.”
“Missed you too!”
Eddie isn’t far behind Chris, soft smile on his face as he takes in the sight of Buck shuffling into the house and closing the door behind him.
Movie night goes off without a hitch, all three of them crowding together on the couch and watching something Chris picked out with a bowlful of popcorn. It’s some kind of kids movie that Buck only half pays attention to, nerves eating away at his stomach; Chris falls asleep three quarters of the way through it, but Eddie allows the movie to run it’s full course.
Eddie’s put Chris to bed and has returned to the living room by the time Buck has gathered all of his courage in his hands. He waits to say anything until his friend joins him on the couch again, sprawling out bonelessly.
“I, um. I have to tell you something.”
Eddie looks concerned immediately, brow drawing low over his eyes. “Buck? What is it? What’s wrong?” Worry colors his voice, and Buck finds it insanely attractive, now that he knows exactly what he feels for his best friend.
He swallows past the lump in his throat. He wishes things didn’t have to be this hard. But he knows that he’s about to throw a metaphorical grenade into the middle of his friendship.
“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. It’s just. I. T.K. said something to me, right before we left for your parents house, and it made me start thinking. Really thinking. About— about me, and my life, and what I wanted, and who I wanted in it. And I know this is going to sound crazy, and like I’m coming out of left field, but. I love you, Eddie. And I know you don’t feel the same way, and I’ll leave if you want me to, but I would like to keep seeing Christopher, if that’s alright?” It comes out in a rush, all one quick breath, Buck not even pausing to breathe.
Eddie sits there.
Blinks at him.
Then shakes his head, as if he’s clearing away cobwebs.
Buck sits in the quiet, hands trembling. He isn’t a shaker, not under any circumstances; he clenches his hands together to get them to stop.
“You what?” Eddie finally says after what feels like a lifetime.
Buck squirms. “I love you,” he repeats simply.
Eddie laughs.
It isn’t a cruel laugh. It’s breathless and wild and a little disbelieving, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. The noise is so Eddie that it makes Buck’s heart ache.
“I don’t think Hen and Chim put you up to this; this is too mean,” Eddie finally says, once he’s caught his breath.
Buck tilts his head to the side, confused. “Hen and Chim have nothing to do with this?” A beat, and then, “Hen and Chim have nothing to do with how I feel, Eddie. Hen and Chim don’t even know? I just realized it for myself on the drive back from Texas? Which is a hell state, by the way.”
Eddie laughs again, disbelieving. Like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe the words currently coming out Buck’s mouth.
“You’re serious?” he says, looking down the hall towards Chris’s room and then back at Buck.
He nods, feeling small. Opens his mouth to say something, to instinctively defend himself, to say he’ll leave and talk to Eddie about this later—
But then Eddie’s mouth is on his, insistent. Demanding. Hot and heavy, tongue swiping at Buck’s lower lip. Startled, Buck’s mouth drops open, granting Eddie access as the other man’s hand comes up to rest on Buck’s neck, thumb settling in the hollow of his adam’s apple.
Buck kisses him back with just as much insistency once he’s over his surprise, bringing up a hand to rest on Eddie’s hip. There’s bare skin there, in the space where Eddie’s shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of skin just above the waistband of his pants.
He whines when Eddie eventually pulls back, leaving him cold and breathless. He flexes his hand into the bare flesh of Eddie’s waist; Eddie responds by tightening his grip on Buck’s neck ever so slightly, thumb digging in.
“I never thought,” Eddie starts, then aborts his sentence. The only noise in the living room is their heavy breathing, Eddie hovering over Buck on the couch, knee pressed between Buck’s legs. “I never thought I’d get to do this.”
“Wait,” Buck says, brain short-circuited. “You’ve been wanting to kiss me?”
The look Eddie gives him is exasperatedly fond. It does things to Buck, to his stomach, to his heart. “Sometimes, you really are a dumb blond.” Eddie nips at his mouth before sitting up, and the loss of warmth on Buck’s neck is enough to make him shiver. “Buck, I’ve been in love with you for a while.”
Buck scrambles to sit up, reeling at the news. “And you’re just now telling me this?”
“Some things you have to realize for yourself.”
He frowns at Eddie, opening his mouth to retort. And then he closes it again, because the other man (the love of his goddamn life) has a point. He wouldn’t have reacted well to any of this, before the drive back from Texas. Before his big bisexual panic. Before he realized he was in love with a capital L with his best friend.
They should send T.K. a fruit basket.