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“Buck, you do realize it’s two a.m.”
Hearing Eddie’s voice come through his speakers did wonders in calming him down. Even if it was full of annoyance, justifiably so.
It was after two a.m., after an overly long forty-eight hour shift. Two days of being “on” was normal, but they had ended up only getting a few hours of sleep across the entire time, which left them all dragging themselves out to their cars as soon as B-shift arrived to take over. It hadn’t been a tragic two days - no deaths, the worst being a man who made a very questionable life choice with an inanimate object that Buck did not want to ever think about again - but a busy one nonetheless. They’d finally been able to head home around dinner time.
But coming home to a trashed apartment courtesy of his current house guest and her current flame meant that he wasn’t going to get any sleep any time soon. Not only did he end up deep cleaning most of his appliances, he also had to empty out his fridge, which had been left open for who knows how long. Long enough, anyway, for all of the perishable foods to go bad and begin to smell.
He refused to look in the living room the entire time he cleaned, just knowing that it would be a disaster.
The only place in his loft that was spared a mess was his bedroom, though he did make it a point to strip his sheets just in case. But just after he finally dropped off, after four long hours of cleaning and regretting letting someone else back into his lift, after the nightmare that was seeing Colt Bailey again only months prior, his apartment door opened and in stumbled his guests.
He’d met Marisa Yokota long ago in Virginia Beach, where he tended bar for the first time. They’d been fast friends, hanging out every shift that he wasn’t chasing after his surfer fling (her words). After that had burned out, he’d taken his leave, but had tried to keep in touch with Marisa by email. Hell, she was the only one who had ever answered him back. Until her newest girlfriend Elinore Nowick came into her life and cut their contact.
That had been five years ago, just after his last email telling her that he was heading towards Los Angeles. Since then, it had been radio silence, not that he didn’t try to drop her a line every few months. Until, of course, just last week, when he had a reply to what he had decided to be his last email. Marisa was coming into LA for work, and would she be able to crash with him for a few days, she just needed a place to sleep.
A few days turned into a week, and she’d come with Elinore, who Buck was not very interested in meeting. He still remembered the only reply he’d gotten to the LA email, the scathing comments about himself, his sexuality (still in progress at that point, but thanks for making him question himself for four more years), and his friendship with Marisa, before saying that any more emails would be considered harassment. He’d left that well enough alone for six months, before figuring that Marisa would have seen it and dropped the girl.
Nope. She was still there. For the eighth time, apparently.
The just past one a.m. wake up had not been appreciated. The women were well on their way to wasted, stumbling around and calling out to him to join them - and mix them drinks. He was never more glad that he still locked all of his expensive liquor up (mostly because of Albert, but also because he didn’t want any of the boys or Jee to unintentionally find it).
Instead of humoring them, or hell, addressing them at all, he decided to do the next best thing. He borrowed some of Chris’ leftover craft paper (stored upstairs, because he just didn’t trust anyone at this point) and made a few identical signs. One he quickly hung on the bathroom door downstairs, one on the fridge, and one on the back of the front door. All said the same thing.
They had until noon to leave his apartment, otherwise he’d call the police and have them trespassed. They’d long outstayed their welcome.
And then he grabbed his coat, shoes, and keys and fled.
For nearly a half hour, he’d driven aimlessly around LA, just trying to calm down. Once again, someone from his travels had walked back into his life, and once again it came back to bite him. He really needed to plan his next move. But first, he needed sleep.
So he called the one person who wouldn’t immediately throttle him for the early morning wake up call.
“Heeeey, Eds, I need a favor.”
“Again. It’s two a.m. What did you do?”
Buck tried not to think of a frazzled Eddie Diaz sitting up in his bed, worrying that he’d done something stupid. He really tried. He also failed.
“I can’t go home tonight, because of Marisa and her girlfriend. Can I crash on your couch?”
The other end of the call was silent. For a moment, Buck thought the call had been disconnected. And then he heard it - snickering. Eddie was laughing at him.
“Oh, come on! They trashed my kitchen, and probably my living room. I just need sleep. I’m kicking them out as soon as I get up in the morning. Just a few hours?”
He wasn’t beyond pleading for a bed at this point.
“Use your key. I’ll yell at you in the morning. And don’t wake Christopher.”
Buck let out a rush of air. “Oh thank God. You’re a lifesaver, man.”
Another snort, and then the line disconnected. But Buck could have sworn he’d heard something else before the normal click.
“Did… Did he just say, ‘this is your home anyway, Buckley?’” Buck muttered, pulling up to his normal spot outside the Diaz house only seconds later. “No, it couldn’t be.”
Right?