Work Text:
i dance, i unpack the groceries. i love you on purpose, i say. and i mean it.
i love me on purpose, too.
the love that i want exists out there.
after all, i exist.
i love like that.
alida moon
One month, one glorious love-filled month into their official relationship, Eddie receives this text from his newly pronounced, un-lawfully wedded boyfriend:
From: Buck Buckley
Raincheck on tonite? Not feeling well. Just a bug
4:53am
Eddie leisurely trots, he does not run (this delusion is disproven when later that morning the pre-teen at the pharmacy gives him a cunty look and asks why he’s got two different shoes on his feet), to collect his necessary belongings and pack himself off to Buck’s apartment with the smooth gusto of a kleptomaniac in a store with no self-checkout cameras.
And, okay. Eddie might have gone a tiny bit overboard at the corner store. His basket is filled to the brim with Pedialyte, crackers, and other miscellaneous items sick people need to have on hand. He’s an overthinker-turner-drama-queen, as his boyfriend gleefully points out every time he shrieks when Buck hogs the blankets and when his coffee is a little bit burnt from the old shitty machine Buck has been bullying him into replacing for years. But really, Eddie thinks it’s just in the job description of a boyfriend to swaddle his partner like a baby when he’s ill.
The problem is, Buck doesn’t like feeling needy. He doesn’t like feeling like people are going out of their way to be kind to him. He doesn’t like feeling helpless, or like he can’t take care of himself. Buck doesn’t like when every bit of attention is on him, despite his preening when he’s catcalled on job scenes or given phone number after Snapchat username by soccer moms and gay guys respectively. He gets all weird and quiet, and Eddie has to pry him out of his little turtle shell and remind him that people love him so much that he deserves every ounce of kindness and more. Buck deserves to let people love him, more than anyone.
It’s the first time Eddie ever made him cry, and he wanted to eat an entire bowl of rusty nails about it – last week had been brutal.
Since they’ve started dating no one has been sick or injured, if he doesn’t count the time a shrimp burrito didn't agree with him in the middle of their movie theater date and they had to cut it short – which he certainly doesn’t count nearly shitting himself in the passenger seat of Buck’s Jeep. He was so nice about it, and if Eddie hadn’t been curled over, clutching his stomach, waiting for that ceramic john, he would’ve shown his appreciation a little more enthusiastically.
The medicine aisle is taunting him. There are shelves and shelves of basically the same fucking stuff re-bottled in each container in varying prices and colors. He’s about to get on his knees and start praying to God for the answers.
Eddie isn’t even at the apartment yet and he’s already sweating bullets about which brand of anti-nausea meds to throw onto his pile. No rest for the wicked, or whatever the hell they chant in that weird musical.
Eddie grabs a little of everything and then swipes his credit card without bothering to look at the total. He loads everything neatly into the back and climbs into the driver’s side. The sooner he gets there the better, and barely thinking about the directions, he’s pulling into the parking garage to Buck’s apartment.
The key on his keyring burns hot and warm and loving in his palm as he fishes it out of his pocket. Sure, Eddie has had this key forever. It’s rusting away and even a little dented from when he dropped it down a sewer but it’s Buck’s. It’s literally the key to his home, and he’s always cherished it. Buck always encourages him to use it, and he knows there’s one stuffed somewhere in Christopher’s backpack in case of emergencies. It’s got little cartoon fish printed on it. Eddie wants to ugly cry every time Chris asks when he can use his fish key again – less so now that he’s thirteen, but when Chris pushes him out of the way so he can open the door to this apartment first, he still gets misty eyes.
He loves that he found someone who loves his son just like he does. In the same passionate, fiery way he always has. Christopher adores him right back, and Eddie had known their family would last a lifetime all bundled up together like the Milky Way in the universe, filled with shining stars and love.
The apartment is quiet when Eddie pushes through the door. He can hear the soft hum of a fan coming from the bedroom, so he makes his way up there to triage.
Eddie almost coos pityingly when he takes in the scene. The first thing his gay little brain interprets is Buck being shirtless and only in basketball shorts that display his gleaming muscles and hip bones, but the next thing he interprets is why he's so shiny, and his medic brain says sweating from a fever, so it’s not as exciting.
There are empty plastic water bottles thrown everywhere, which is a bad sign in itself because Buck’s reusable water goes – without exaggerating at all – everywhere with him, even to five-alarm fires, meaning he can’t make it to the kitchen without some difficulty. A small garbage pail Eddie has never seen before is right beside his bed, and he’s lying on his side facing it, which means he’s been throwing up or he will be with time. Held tightly to Buck’s chest is a quarter-empty bottle of Pepto, and he’s clutching it like it’s the only thing keeping his damn heart beating.
He’s kicked off only one of his fuzzy socks, which – actually, Eddie doesn’t know what that means. What he does know is that Buck is rarely without a good pair of fuzzy socks on his big feet. He’ll approach that with caution and compassion when the time comes.
On his bedside table sits his ice maker which usually resides next to the refrigerator, and a glass with half-melted ice. He must’ve dragged it up here at one point either from sheer desperation or for comfort. Eddie doesn’t know what reason is worse.
“Hey,” he says quietly to not startle him. Eddie approaches the bed slowly, gently kicking the bottles out of his path. There is such a ridiculous quantity of them that Eddie would be giggling if it weren’t for how uncomfortably flushed and miserable his boyfriend looks. It’s stabbing him right through the chest to see him in so much pain. His pinched expression was there even as Eddie ascended the stairs, and he’s breathing a little heavily with half his face mushed into his sad-looking pillow. “Heard you needed a hot ex-army medic to think about during your fever dreams,” he jokes as if he isn’t about the stroke out at the very sight of his sick boyfriend.
The joke lands hot, and as Buck peeps one single eye open, he smiles an inch too. “Not really. I’m more in the mood for a hot single dad who can bench press me.”
Eddie sets the bag down close by on the floor and sits on the side of the bed by Buck’s hip. “Lucky I showed up then.”
“Always lucky to see you,” Buck mutters, closing his eyes again. He must have the pinch of a headache because he winces every time he hears something or blinks. “You’re not so lucky to see me though. I told you I was sick. Why’d you come?”
Why wouldn’t I, Eddie wants to say but bites back at the last second. There is a time and a place to confront Buck’s lack of self-worth, and while he’s curled up and queasy and hot in the not-fun way definitely isn’t one of them.
“To see how you are, silly,” he replies gently instead.
When he reaches out a hand to both smooth Buck’s hair from his face and to feel for a fever, his boyfriend twitches away again, huffing out a quick breath and scrunching his eyebrows like the movement was painful. Eddie can feel his own face drop, and he settles the hand over the fabric of Buck’s shorts, and – God, they’re soaked. How long has he been sick like this? Eddie hasn’t seen him in a few days, and with opposite shifts and parent-teacher conferences the next night, they couldn’t make it work. The only reason the time apart was bearable was the promise of their lunch date and the three-day-long sleepover that would follow.
Some might call it codependent. Eddie calls in being in love with a man who could be mistaken for a ray from the sun if they were side-by-side.
“How do you feel?” Eddie asks instead, trying not to let the sting of rejection settle. He knows why Buck moved, he knows it’s so Eddie limits their conflict to have less of a chance of getting sick, but just once he’d like Buck to accept some comfort without thinking of how it might harm someone else. He wants Buck to accept his love without flinching, without running from it, without overthinking it.
Eddie knows he will one day. He just hopes that one day comes soon– A.K.A., three minutes from now when he’s going to try again.
Buck groans and shifts, rolling more onto his back. He throws an arm over his eyes and yup – headache. “Hot,” he replies. “Gross.”
“Okay, well, you’re one of those things all the time. Could you be more specific?”
“I threw up yesterday around four in the afternoon. Thought it was food poisoning and that it’d go right through me – That I’d be better in the morning. I took some Pepto and went to bed, then I woke up at around midnight and haven't stopped, uh, throwing up and stuff, since then.”
Eddie is relieved that it’s only been around a day, and this time when he reaches for Buck’s forehead he doesn’t move away. Eddie cards his fingers through his tacky hair, scratching at Buck's temples with his stubby nails, and it must feel good anyway because he hums and pushes into it. He does this for a minute or two before placing the back of his hand in the middle of Buck’s forehead to feel; for a temperature. Even without a thermometer, Eddie is certain he has a fever. It’s not close to hospital high, but if it gets any worse that’s right where they’re going. He isn’t afraid to throw his boyfriend over his shoulders like a heft sack of potatoes if need be.
“Why didn’t you say anything, baby?” Eddie asks quietly, and gently. He sets his hand back in Buck’s hair and strokes. His goal isn’t to be accusatory. He needs to know if Buck hasn’t been able to break the fever he’s so obviously battling.
And a little bit, he wants to know why Buck is hiding himself away from the love and care he deserves.
“Didn’t want to worry you,” Buck replies just as quietly. His eyes are closed and he’s thoroughly enjoying the free scalp massage.
Eddie sighs and makes a mental note to book another couple’s therapy session. They’ve been going since before they were even a couple, and he’s sure they’re due for another with how this is going.
“Game plan: medicine, bath, soup, sleep. That sound good?”
Buck rouses himself to sit up against the pillow. He moves as if it aches and takes a lot of energy. A nice hot bath will fix him right up, at least for a little bit. “There’s stuff coming out of all three holes right now,” Buck warns. His hair is sticking up funny. Eddie loves him so much. “You should go before it gets you too.” He blinks slowly, and his words are a little slurred. He’s disoriented in the way that only comes with being sick and sweaty for hours without reprieve, and it feels like there’s a five-hundred-pound weight on his chest.
Buck isn’t hurt, not really, but it feels like he is. It’s a minuscule drop of what Eddie felt during the truck bombing and the split-second of the tsunami when he realized Buck was almost swept away forever, and the train derailment, and the lightning strike. Buck is his baby, his big old sweetheart, the love of his life and beyond, and every one of Eddie’s nerves and instincts are screaming at him to take care of him.
“I’m familiar with all those holes. We’re on great terms, actually. I love all three of them. A lot. Religiously, even. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I wasn’t planning on shitting with you in the same house as me until our honeymoon,” Buck admits with that sideways, goofy grin that Eddie has longed to see for the entire duration of the day, maybe even his entire life.
And Eddie almost snaps at Buck, to tell him to stop trying to scare Eddie off, that there isn’t a single thing about Buck to say that would make him want to run, but instead, he leans forward and kisses his sweaty, sweet cheek.
He is happy though, that Buck is feeling up to being a little shit about his predicament. His ability to be humorous is a sign from angels that Eddie will not be taking for granted.
“You’re lactose intolerant,” Eddie reminds him unceremoniously. “Ice cream is your favorite food. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
Even through his pink face, Buck’s bashful blush is evident. “No, I – I mean while we’re dating dating.”
“Buck,” Eddie leans forward and cups Buck’s face with both his hands. “I love you so much, stink and all. Please let me help you into the bath.” To get rid of the stink, he thinks. He’s not kidding – he really does love every inch, every quirk, every loving, quilted breath he takes, even when he reeks of sick and chalky Pepto-Bismol.
That doesn’t mean Eddie wants to leave him smelling like that. God, it’s awful, and he feels guilty for thinking that because it’s not his boyfriend’s fault at all. The whole room is suffocating in it, including the bed, blankets, and sheets. The second Buck’s big toe is touching that water Eddie vows to scramble out here and air the place out – not with a gun, but with some good ole window propping.
He just has to stomp down Buck’s lovable-but-not-so-much-right-now stubbornness, then they’re in the home stretch.
Buck sighs, and Eddie hopes to God it’s in defeat. “Last chance to leave before you catch – whatever this is,” he gestures around haphazardly and gives Eddie a tired, self-deprecating smile.
Eddie stands up and holds out a hand for his boyfriend to take. “Nope,” he says, popping the p obnoxiously. “Come on. The sooner you get in that tub, the sooner we can finish The Bachelor.”
The bathroom closest to Buck’s bed is steamy and humid when they tumble through. It’s probably not too necessary – Buck isn’t swaying where he steps – but Eddie’s got his hands under Buck’s armpits as he walks behind him in case he trips. It makes for an awkward trip, but Eddie knows, that as much as he loves Buck, he’s the most accident-prone man he’s ever met.
He sets Buck carefully on the closet toilet seat lid and takes a second to peck his sweaty, curling hair, before getting the tub to fill with hot water. Buck isn’t congested, not really, but the heat seems to be helping him minute shivering. He puts the fancy eucalyptus body wash and swirls it around to make some bubbles, then helps Buck undress to get him in the tub.
Sat in the tub with his knees bent so that they poke out of the water, his shoulders covered in suds, and his hair slicked back from the accidental splashes of setting himself down, BUck looks as adorable as a grown man in his early thirties could possibly be. He is the sweetest thing Eddie has ever seen – his mouth coats with the faux taste of syrup and brown sugar every time they kiss he’s just that sweet.
Eddie sits on the side of the tub, uncaring of how his sweatpants are soaking through from the spilled water and soap. He sighs and smiles at Buck, who is staring up at him so lovingly that he’s queasy from it. Sometimes Buck looks so young, so vulnerable, especially when he sleeps, that he’s surprised anyone had the ability to hurt him.
But that’s far from true. Buck has been hurt so much that it’s a goddamn miracle he still has more to give.
And Eddie is the luckiest sucker in the world to receive all the love Buck still has to give after a lifetime of hardship. Buck wakes up right with the sun and hands Eddie the coffee he burns every morning and continues to do so because Eddie refuses to tell him it tastes like shit because he refuses to wipe the proud smile of his boyfriend’s face – the joy that comes from loving people and doing it right, because even while Buck is burning his coffee and leaving eggshells in his omelet every once in awhile no one has ever loved Eddie as hard and as much and as perfectly as he does.
Buck loves with all that he is, and Eddie has made it his lifelong mission to throw himself right into the pit of fire next to him. While Buck burns, he does too. For him.
“Okay, baby,” he says gently. Eddie doesn’t usually slip the pet names out this much, but in this situation, it feels appropriate. He likes the way Buck gets all soft and gooey between his palms when he’s called that; what Buck wants, Buck gets. “Let me know when you want to get out. I’ll come back and wash your hair for you in a few. Do not fall asleep.”
“You don’t want to get in with me?” Buck pouts.
Eddie scratches the back of Buck’s neck soothingly, making his eyes droop a little where he sits. Turning like this is pricking his back, but Buck looks like he’s finally relaxing and he loathes to take this comfort away from him after how awful he’s been feeling. “If I get in you won’t be able to soak your muscles properly. I’ll be right outside. I’m not going anywhere.”
At Buck’s hesitant nod with his pursed lips, Eddie drops him one last kiss and leaves the door open a crack as he exits.
Then he gets to work.
He opens the window to let some breeze in and hopefully some of the sick smell out, and turns the fan all the way to high to speed up the process. He strips Buck’s bed, somehow finding more empty plastic water bottles under the comforter – which, gross – and throws them into the pile he made of them earlier. He’ll deal with those later while Buck is asleep.
Every so often he pokes his head in. Buck is always in the same position. All of his limbs are underneath the water and it looks like he’s sweating out the fever still. The chills are a fucking nightmare – he’s shaking like a leaf even in the water but there’s not much either of them can do to combat those. It’s a bullet to the heart every time Eddie hears Buck’s teeth clenching and chattering, his least favorite symptom of sickness per his past complaints.
Just looking at his miserable, beautiful boyfriend, Eddie wants to slip on a lab coat and some hideous goggles and find the cure to Norovirus all by himself.
Eddie throws Buck’s pajamas into the dryer right before he gets him out of the tub. They pass on washing his hair – Buck is slipping into sleep quicker and quicker and Eddie refuses to risk anything. He towels Buck off and helps him slip his feet into new, clean fuzzy socks, green ones with yellow sharks printed all over them, a gift from Chimney from his last birthday.
“Sit tight,” he instructs, squeezing his shoulders and setting a dry towel over them to keep him warm for the seconds he’ll be gone. “Let me get your clothes.”
Buck looks up at him in exasperation. “I can do that myself, you know.”
“I know,” Eddie soothes. “I just – I want to, okay? Can you let me do it?”
“Okay,” Buck gives in instantly.
Buck always does. He’s so good to him, always letting Eddie get his way. He puts up with every one of Eddie’s hangry moods and snide comments and bitchy attitudes with a smile on his face. He always suggests Eddie’s favorite restaurant on date nights and to rewatch Eddie's favorite movies and it’s so sweet and so devastating all the same.
Eddie wants to roll up a newspaper and bat him on the nose as you would a troublesome puppy because Eddie loves Buck for all the things he likes too and he just can’t get that through his boyfriend’s thick stubborn skull.
It’s okay, he reasons. Eddie has the rest of his life to do it. He’s not worried.
For now, if Buck can’t do it, he will. Buck picks Eddie every time, but Eddie picks him. No hesitation, no though, he’ll always pick Buck.
At the speed of light (read as: how fast he can go in socks upon hardwood floor without falling and breaking his neck) he gathers Buck’s pajamas from the dryer to get him back into bed. He hadn’t asked for the vomit trash can in the bath, so Eddie tentatively assumes his stomach is settled enough to have a few bites of crackers and keep down some Pedialyte.
They get Buck dressed with a hassle – he is a big, big man, with long limbs and heavy arms, which Eddie adores ninety-nine percent of the time, but that doesn’t make a good combo to slip him into small shorts and even smaller boxers – and Eddie leads him back to bed
“Eddie,” Buck says while Eddie is tucking the blankets tight into his sides. He’s a little weird, loving the crushing pressure, and Eddie might finally buy that fifty-pound blanket that’s been sitting in his Amazon cart for a month as a gift to him. “Thank you. I feel a lot better.”
Eddie smiles back down. His Buck, such a sweetheart. “I’m glad. Oh,” he digs through the plastic convenience store bag and pulls out the rest of the contents. “This little guy hopes so too,” he says, pulling out one of the not-so-necessary purchases.
Along with the medicine and bland food, a stuffed animal jumped into his basket. Or at least, that’s going to be his excuse when he’s inevitably asked why he bought his grown-man boyfriend a kid toy while he’s sick.
Once again, Buck proves him wrong. There’s a giant, splitting grin on his face as he wrestles away from the duvet and scoops the kitty into his arms. It’s small with orange tabby stripes and big brown cartoony eyes. There are hearts where the paw pads should be and the little pink tongue poking out of its sewn-in mouth.
“Eddie,” Buck coos, examining the stuffed animal. “You got me a cat?”
Eddie smiles back sheepishly, feeling his cheeks heat up. He’s had this man’s dick all the way down his throat and this is what makes him blush like a virgin? He huffs and pushes Buck down playfully so he’s horizontal on the bed, and covers him once again. “It reminded me of you.”
With the arm not cradling the kitty, he breaks free of the blanket and yanks Eddie in to hug him around the shoulders. Eddie returns it immediately, holding him close and feeling for a fever – not fully gone but better than an hour ago.
“Thank you,” Buck says again. Regretfully, he lets go and leans back into the pillows and finally, finally gets under the covers of his own accord. Eddie was going to go fucking insane if he broke free one more time. “Can you hand me the Pepto?”
Eddie frowns and digs around for it. “Nauseous?”
“A little.”
Buck winces as he takes the capful of the medicine like a shot. He wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist like an animal and washes it down by plopping an ice cube in his mouth to suck on. Eddie watches dutifully for any other signs of discomfort, and when none comes, he pats the middle of Buck’s chest and turns to head down the stairs to start the soup.
Buck catches his wrist and tugs a little, persistent and feigning innocence. He looks really cute and a little pathetic. He’s under the heavy comforter with the orange ears of the kitty peeking out next to his big head. His bottom lip swells out like a begging dog, and Eddie is helpless to do anything but stay.
Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “What?”
“Lay with me?”
Eddie waves the can of chicken soup in his hand, though he knows he’s been defeated. The second Buck pulls out those eyes, those eyes that have only ever asked Eddie to stay, he knows he’s a goner. He shouldn’t have even tried, honestly.
“Come on, Eddie. You woke up at five in the morning to take care of me. Take a break.”
“I like taking care of you, Buck,” Eddie says, letting an ounce of that boiling frustration slip into his tone. Not at Buck, never at Buck, but at all of the people who made him feel like he didn’t deserve love and care and everything. “I don’t need a break. Not for the rest of my life, actually.”
“Well, I want you to take a nap with me,” Buck replies stubbornly, his hand getting tighter around his wrist as he tugs and tugs and tugs. “Please. Please, Eddie. I’m so sick. I’m dying – This is my dying wish, baby, please–”
“Fine,” Eddie hisses. He snatches his wrist back and swats Buck on the arm for the trouble. He’s not really mad, and Buck knows that. He’s just teasing his baby. He kicks off his house slippers and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Buck is a human furnace on a good day. He can't imagine the kind of domestic terrorism his body is about the undergo. It almost makes him shudder. “Scoot. I want to be the big spoon.”
“Eddie–”
“Buck.”
With a few grumbles of back-talk, Buck does as he’s told. He lugs himself to the edge of the bed with some effort to allow Eddie to slot himself right up behind him. They settle in – Eddie gets an arm under Buck’s head and wraps the other as far as it’ll go around his chilly ribs. He’s a little clammy again, but this time the t-shirt is there to soak it up and not his bedsheets. He slots a leg between both of Buck’s and lets his weary body melt into the mattress. Buck was right – he is tired, but not from taking care of him. It’s a general exhaustion, one that comes from being a thirty-something-year-old man with an exhilarating job and a son to care for.
Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.
“What are you naming the cat?”
“Eddie One.”
“Does that make me Eddie Two?”
Buck wiggles, and when Eddie loosens his grip he sneakily flips so they’re face-to-face. They’re sharing a pillow, and Buck’s breath puffing in his face smells of chalk and plastic water bottles unfortunately, and Eddie still leans forward for a short kiss. Buck’s mouth is cold from the ice and he sighs into it, squirming forward to press them together.
When they break apart, Buck smiles tiredly. “You’re still Eddie One.”
“We can’t both be Eddie.”
“Sure you can,” he brushes off. “Can we watch The Bachelor?”
They spend the rest of the morning like that. The laptop propped open and held steady on one of the firmer pillows, strategically placed for them both to see. Eddie is flat on his back while Buck is tucked into his side, his big arm and bigger leg trapping him in place. He makes comments every so often, but not nearly as many as usual.
Halfway through the second episode, Buck tucks his head into Eddie’s neck. He kisses the skin there three times. “Love you, Eddie,” he mutters sleepily. “Thank you.” Next, he presses his nose in and inhales deeply. There’s no way it’s an overwhelmingly pleasant scent – Eddie hadn’t even remembered deodorant before leaving in his rush, much less cologne – but Buck does it again, and again, until Eddie feels his eyelashes fluttering less often, the tell-tale sign of sleep. His lips are quirked just slightly up, and he almost wishes he could see that sleepy smile, Eddie's all-time favorite Buck smile.
It’s his favorite because that means Buck feels warm and safe and loved enough to fall asleep. Eddie doesn’t get to see them often – Buck sleeps on his belly with his face pressed worryingly deep into the pillow most of the time, or, he sleeps with his face in Eddie’s hair or his neck. The sleepy-soft smile means Buck is ready to doze off and be held. His pointy nose and warm breath and soft lips always tickle Eddie's skin, and his stomach feels like a vat of molten chocolate, sweet and savory, bubbling inside of him.
Eddie presses his own kisses to Buck’s heated skin. Everywhere he can reach – the top of his head, his forehead, his birthmark when he stretches – and sighs happily in their little bubble. It feels as though the rest of the world has melted away and all Eddie has to do is exist to love Buck.
“I love you too, baby. So much,” he mumbles back. He rubs his palm over Buck’s back and ignores the damp strands of Buck’s baby curls trying to poke him in the eyes for the effort. “So, so much. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“Course I will,” Buck replies, voice raspy and soft. He’ll be asleep in a minute, that much is obvious. “I’m with you.”
And when Eddie tears up, he blames it on Joey Graziadei’s hometown visit with Daisy.