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He hears the shot.
Sees the blood splatter across his best friend’s face like a macabre Jackson Pollock painting. All before he feels the pain, it searing through him, his skin on fire. He reaches out, tries to tell Buck, warn him to get down, shield him from whatever’s coming, but his knees are giving out underneath him.
He hits the ground. Crumbles like a puppet with its strings cut.
He sees Buck, then. Wide-eyed and terrified. Held down against the asphalt. His thousand-yard stare never wavering from Eddie’s face.
Christopher will be okay. Buck will take care of him. I know he will…
The thought flits around his mind as they look at one another. Both frozen in their own ways. Eyes locked and unwavering.
Chris will be okay. He has Buck. He’ll be okay. They'll be okay. I’ll be—
Eddie Diaz jerks awake, a bolt of pain darting up his shoulder at his sudden movement. A soft groan escapes his throat as he rights himself on the living room couch.
Not his couch, though.
He blinks, taking in his surroundings.
Oh, right.
He had come over to Ana’s house for dinner. Only minutes after they had finished eating, she had gone into the kitchen to answer a call from her colleague and Eddie...must have taken an accidental nap. With a wince, he shakes his head to try and rid himself of the vestiges of sleep and the all-too-familiar recurring dream that had been haunting his every sleeping (and waking) moment for over three weeks now.
It had been a close call. Not his closest, but definitely in the top three, and that was bound to have an effect on his subconscious. He knows that. Still, it doesn’t make his recovery any easier. The physical part is one thing. He does his PT, rests when he should, allows his body to slowly heal.
His mind, though. That’s a whole other ballgame.
Something that Buck has been not-so-subtly reminding him, leaving brochures for therapy all over his house, car, shoved into his temporarily unused locker at work when he stops by to visit—basically anywhere and everywhere that Eddie can and will see them.
He doesn’t call any of the numbers.
Instead, he heals the best way he knows how.
He spends time with his son.
And the 118.
And Buck.
Who has taken up residence on his couch more nights than not over the last month, his bear-like snores now practically white noise when Eddie finally falls asleep in his bedroom, barely twenty feet away.
“Sorry about that. Lauren needed some advice,” Ana smiles as she walks back into the room, a glass of wine in one hand, and water in the other.
God, Eddie wants a beer so bad he could die.
Bad choice of words, Eds.
He smiles back at her, inwardly begrudging his dumb no-alcohol-allowed antibiotics and ignoring the voice in his head that sounds jarringly like Buck.
“‘S okay. I uh...kinda took a cat nap.”
She chuckles at that, easing herself gently down beside him, careful not to jostle him as she holds out the glass of water for him to take.
“Yeah, the meds are wearing you out, huh?”
He nods, not willing to disclose the more truthful reason why he’s falling asleep sitting up at 8pm on a weekend. He takes the glass of water, sipping it.
“I’m surprised to see you tonight,” Ana continues, putting her own glass to her lips, “I thought Friday is boys’ night?”
It usually is.
Even before his...incident, Fridays (when shifts allowed) had been Buckley-Diaz video game nights. Or movie nights. Or one memorable time never to be repeated, Monopoly night.
But Buck had called Eddie earlier this morning, all apologetic, something about Taylor surprising him, they going on their first official date later tonight.
So Eddie had of course done what any good best friend would do and made the appropriate teasing remarks, waving off his apology and assuring him that he and Chris understood. And Chris had. Apparently, he had gotten roped into a visit tonight by Pepa anyway and had bemoaned his fate to Buck already, wishing him a better time than whatever his abuela and tía had in store for him. (Chris adored them, Eddie knew he did. He was just ‘too old for Paw Patrol, Dad.’)
And so that left Eddie. Finding himself suddenly alone, a rare night to himself.
It had only taken him twenty-five minutes of sitting in silence, staring at a mute TV before he reached for the phone. That’s when Ana told him she was making paella and that settled it, really. Eddie was in an Uber fifteen minutes later.
“Chris is at Pepa’s and Buck has a date with Taylor so, boys’ night is postponed,” he gives a half-shrug with his good arm.
Ana watches him, an expression he can’t decipher crossing her face.
“I thought Buck and Taylor were just friends?”
“Me too,” Eddie replies before he can stop himself, clearing his throat. “I mean, they were. Just friends. But they’d been dancing around it for a while, I think. I know Buck...he uh, he wanted more. Guess Taylor did too. She helped him a lot after I…” he trails off, not really wanting to end that sentence.
Ana hums, not particularly perturbed, taking another sip from her glass.
“I had a feeling something was going on with them at your welcome home party. Taylor’s nice,” she murmurs, picking at a loose thread on the hem of her blouse, “she seems like a good fit for Buck.”
Something pricks at Eddie’s nerves, he leaning forward carefully and putting his now empty glass down on the coffee table. Seconds tick by where he stares at the purple floral coasters.
“Edmundo?”
“Hmm?” he looks up, pulled from his trance.
Ana is looking at him like that again.
“Do you not think Taylor is a good fit for Buck?”
“I—” he coughs, suddenly wishing he hadn’t gulped down his drink so fast, “Taylor’s...nice.”
She wasn’t always.
He winces at that kneejerk thought, willing it away. All of that is water under the bridge now. He has spent time with Taylor since she came back into Buck’s life and she really is...nice. Witty. Smart. Determined. Beautiful. Everything anyone could want in a partner.
Eddie knows that Buck has always felt left behind. Starting from his parents’ neglect, to his sister moving away, his best friend had always been the one on the outside looking in. Always struggling to find his way in the world, and where he fits in it. But then he found the 118 and started not feeling like that anymore, or, maybe not as much. He finally has a place where he fits. With friends, a family. Christopher and Eddie.
All he really needs is something a little more. Through his Buck 2.0 and 3.0 stages, Eddie knows that finding a partner, a romantic one, is important to Buck. Having that connection, deep, trusting, and loving with someone.
Eddie just doesn’t know if Taylor is that someone.
Be sure you’re following your heart…
That’s what Carla had said to him, wasn’t it? Make sure you’re doing what you want, not what someone else wants.
What does that have to do with Buck?
“They’re still figuring themselves out,” he replies instead of trying to decipher the tangled, confusing thought-spiral his brain seems to have gone down.
Dumb meds.
Ana tilts her head.
“That doesn’t really answer the question, though.”
A spike of irritation flares up in him that he immediately shoves down.
“Well, I don’t really know what else to say.”
And that says it all, really. He knows that. And judging by the look on Ana’s face, she knows it too.
Shit.
She seems to drop it, though, holding her hands up in surrender.
“Well, hopefully, they will figure it out. Buck deserves someone. He’s a good man.”
He is.
The best.
Man. Firefighter. Friend. Guardian to Chris.
Partner.
Be sure you’re following your heart…
Dammit, Carla.
“Yeah, he is,” he mumbles, hesitantly rubbing his thumb against his sling.
Ana clears her throat, then, depositing her glass down next to Eddie’s, her eyes bright, her face etched with determination.
Eddie’s stomach jolts uncomfortably.
“Edmundo, I...I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
Well, that can’t be good.
Just as Eddie manages to clumsily slot his key into the lock, his front door swings wide open, revealing his best friend, eyebrow arched, a small smile on his face.
“Uh, hi…?” he gapes at Buck, watching as he takes Eddie’s key out of the door and stands back, allowing him room to step through it.
“Hey,” Buck replies airily, closing the door behind him and ushering him through to the living room.
“I thought you were on a date?” Eddie asks as he awkwardly tries to remove his jacket.
Buck halts behind him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder and slowly peeling it off him. Eddie’s stomach does a weird flip as he tilts his head slightly and catches Buck’s eye.
“I got back early,” Buck shrugs, taking Eddie’s jacket off the rest of the way and folding it over the back of the armchair, his gaze falling to the floor.
Eddie blinks, red flags beginning to pop up in the back of his head.
“Everything okay with Taylor?”
Buck clears his throat, stepping away to clean up what is obviously his share of the leftovers from the Chinese takeout they had had yesterday after Buck’s long shift.
“Uh, yeah. She just got called into work. Some cryptocurrency scandal or something.”
Eddie frowns, those flags multiplying at the off tone in his best friend’s voice. Silently, he follows him into the kitchen where he had obviously started emptying and refilling the dishwasher before Eddie got home, a job that he and Christopher often do together while Eddie delegates, passing them whatever he can one-handed.
“And I uh...I kinda freaked out.”
This is directed to the cutlery in Buck’s hands that Eddie now notices are shaking a little. He crosses the room in a flash, ignoring the pang of pain in his arm as he tries to catch Buck’s eye.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
He nods, because of course he does, but Eddie is an expert in Buck Bullshit™️ by now.
“Buck—”
“I’m fine, Eds, promise,” he cuts across him, putting the fork and plate down on the kitchen counter and leaning his back against it, head hanging low.
“It was...fireworks, I think? Or maybe a car backfiring?”
Discomfort and understanding begin to dawn on Eddie.
“The noise—” Buck lets out a choked breath, “I just dropped to the ground. Right there on the sidewalk.”
A different kinda pain rises in Eddie’s chest.
“Buck.”
He approaches him slowly, carefully, knowing the hair-trigger of nerves well and not wanting to spook him further.
“And I...I kept looking around, tryin’ to find you,” Buck gasps, tears spilling onto his cheeks, “I couldn’t—I couldn’t even hear Taylor. It was like I was...was…”
“Right back there,” Eddie finishes solemnly, gently reaching out and squeezing Buck’s forearm with his good hand.
Buck lets out a shaky scoff at that.
“Yeah,” he sniffs, “I mean, it’s dumb. I’m not the one who was shot—”
“You were shot at, Buck,” Eddie interjects with another squeeze to his arm, “that’s traumatic enough. It’s understandable that you’d—”
“I wasn’t thinking about me getting shot,” Buck cuts across him, hunching in on himself, head still downcast, “I just kept seeing you. Lying in a giant pool of your own blood while I froz—”
A noise escapes him then, low and wounded.
“I-I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you, Eddie.”
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, eyes stinging, Eddie leans up and wraps his good arm around Buck’s shoulder, pulling him down into him.
“I’m here,” he whispers, “you didn’t lose me, Buck. I’m okay. We’re both okay.”
Buck falls against him, face buried in his shoulder, his own arms coming to rest gently against his back, clutching his shirt in his fists. They stand there, in his kitchen, pressed up against the counter for a minute, five minutes, an hour, Eddie isn’t sure and he doesn’t care.
He does know this has been a long time coming, had been brewing between them since the day of the shooting, Christopher having told him of just how upset Buck had been, how they’d been there for each other, comforting each other until Eddie came home.
He knew it at the time, but with every passing day since, Eddie has never been more sure of his decision to make Buck his son’s legal guardian.
“S-Sorry,” Buck mumbles eventually, pulling back a little, voice tinged with embarrassment as he winces at Eddie’s now damp collar.
“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie smiles, pulling back too, but not entirely breaking the hug, “I’ve got more shirts, Buckley. The few you haven’t stolen from me yet, anyway.”
A wet, shaky laugh escapes Buck’s chest at that, letting his hands drop from Eddie and nodding, palm wiping at the side of his face.
“They look better on me anyway, Diaz,” he jokes before clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, gathering back up the cutlery and finishing loading the dishwasher.
It isn’t the end of the conversation, not by a long shot.
Even worse choice of words, Eddie.
But it’s all they’ll say tonight, anyway.
Eddie watches Buck for a beat, two, as he moves around his kitchen with the fluid ease of someone who is confident that he knows where everything is and goes. Which, Eddie supposes, he does. Buck has never been just a guest in the Diaz home, after all.
“You want some leftovers…? I kept you some kung pao chicken in the fridge,” Buck directs over his shoulder, still not looking him in the eye, but Eddie lets it slide.
“No thanks,” he replies, nabbing one of the clean glasses and filling it with water, his throat inexplicably dry again. “I uh...had dinner at Ana’s.”
Buck stills from where he’s hunched over and fiddling with the dishwater buttons.
“Oh, cool. How is she?”
“She’s good,” Eddie nods, taking a sip of his drink, “we broke up, actually.”
Buck almost drops the stack of plates in his hand.
“What?”
Eddie almost laughs at his comically wide eyes if not for the fact that they are still red-rimmed from crying.
“Yeah,” he gives a tiny shrug, “I guess she just realised what I think I already knew a few weeks ago.”
He shuffles his feet back and forth, trying to find the words.
“What we had, it was nice. Easy. Uncomplicated,” he sighs, “not exactly the most...passionate? Earth-shattering? Intense, but in a good way?”
He winces, shaking his head, wondering when he started to spout off romance-novel vocabulary.
“I’m not explaining this right.”
“No, I get it,” Buck tilts his head at him. “So there wasn’t like, a spark?”
Be sure you’re following your heart…
“Yeah kinda,” he agrees, rubbing the back of his neck, “but it was more than that. I just realised that...that I wasn’t in it for the right reasons, you know? Ana’s beautiful, smart, funny, great with Christopher, but...I think she was more what Chris wanted, what his heart wanted. Not mine.”
He can feel Buck’s gaze piercing through him with laser focus, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.
“And what does your heart want?”
Slowly, he looks up, brown eyes meeting blue eyes.
The eyes that had been seared into his brain as he bled out on the streets of Los Angeles. The eyes he keeps seeing every time he shuts his own. The eyes he hasn’t stopped thinking about every waking second he finds himself alone.
The very same eyes that are looking at him right now in a way that has his stomach doing somersaults like he’s fourteen all over again and the bottle just landed on Jenny Stevens.
...Oh.
Distantly, Eddie registers that it’s not shock he’s feeling. Not surprise. Instead, it’s confirmation. Affirmation of something he has known deep down inside for a very long time now. He had known it when he was bleeding all over asphalt with a bullet in his shoulder. He had known it when he held his son again after the tsunami. He had known it when he was yelling in a grocery store between bouquets of flowers and Charmin toilet paper and he had known it all the other times in between.
It was the same something that, among many other things, made him contact his attorney about his son’s welfare over a year ago, made his new favourite colour blue, made him amicably break up with a woman perfect for him on paper, and made him finally feel at home with his found family in Los Angeles.
He just didn’t fully understand the extent of that something until this very second.
A quiet moment in a dark kitchen on a regular Friday night.
If I follow my heart, it leads to…
Eddie disguises his laboured breath with a cough, his heart racing a mile a minute, thudding in his ears.
Had Carla known? Does she know? How could she know when I didn’t even—now is not the time, Eddie.
“I’m...not sure,” he forces himself to lie when he’s been silent far too long, hoping his face isn’t doing something to betray him.
Buck keeps staring at him, a look crossing his own face that Eddie doesn’t recognise.
“I’m sorry, Eds,” he says eventually, putting away the last of the cutlery and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, “but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
I already have.
With that, Buck steps away, back out towards the living room, calling over his shoulder.
“Seeing as you can’t have a beer, what do ya say to me whipping us up my famous chocolate milkshakes? I can keep some chilled in the fridge for Chris when he gets home tomorrow?”
Eddie’s sure he says something in reply, but can’t recall what.
His heart may have trailed Buck out towards the couch, but his brain has stayed firmly with him in the kitchen, Kill Bill sirens whirring around his skull.
God, his heart is following Buck.
Fuck.