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Buck’s been thinking too much.
The past few weeks have been – well, great, really. He and Tommy are something, even if neither of them are really putting any serious words to their relationship. But they’re hanging out and making out and having fun, and Buck can now honestly say that he likes being with a man.
He’s driving home from one of their late night, post-shift meet-ups at Tommy’s, something that they started doing not long after Tommy kissed him. It was hard enough finding time to hang out with their contrasting schedules, so getting burgers and chilling in either of their apartments was an easy solution.
But something about tonight was – different. It was a hard shift, a house fire that left all of them a little bit shaken. And now, after leaving Tommy’s, Buck can’t really say why it felt different with Tommy, too. He doesn’t really have a reason, it just felt . . . off.
Tommy kissed him, his hands roaming up Buck’s chest under his shirt, and said, “Remember when you wanted to get my attention?”
Buck had hummed into the kiss at the time, his hands full of Tommy and his mind occupied, but now he’s thinking about it. He’s staring at the red light in front of him, and he’s . . . thinking.
Because he had been trying to get his attention, at least Buck thinks so. He remembers feeling green with envy as Eddie talked about hanging out with Tommy, as he watched them win basketball while he and Chim struggled. He remembers wanting Tommy to look at him, remembers wanting Eddie to see him, remembers –
He pauses and blinks as the light turns green. He shakes his head and keeps driving.
He’s also trying not to think about what Tommy said as Buck left. Because Tommy had kissed him again – the proof of it now etched on Buck’s own mouth, on his jaw, on his neck, the redness and warmth likely to stick around for a few days – and, with his hands on either of Buck’s shoulders, said, “I like you, Buck. And I’m having fun, and I think you’re having fun. But I think you want more than fun, eventually, and I’m not sure if I can offer you that.”
Buck just shrugged. “Eventually.”
Tommy hummed and kissed him again. “Well, whenever eventually comes around, just let me know.”
And Buck left the loft with even more questions.
Because he thinks he could build something with Tommy – something beyond the sex and dates and just lighthearted fun that they’re currently experiencing. He could love Tommy, if he put his mind to it. Tommy is fun, and serious, and competent and good at his job and he is really good in bed and with his mouth. He could love him.
He could. And maybe he even would, if he didn’t already –
He screeches to a halt at the next red light, almost missing it as the images race through his mind. An image of Buck himself digging through the mud, calling and calling the name of a man buried beneath feet of dirt, the name of a man that couldn’t hear him. He feels his heart breaking as Bobby grabs him, as Buck sobs into the sky.
Another image of Buck as he watches a man fall in front of him, gunshots ringing through the air and Buck’s own white shirt splattered in his blood. The feeling of his hand in Buck’s own as he drags him under the truck, his fading heart beating under his chest as Buck pumps life back into him in the back of the firetruck.
He hears, “Because, Evan,” on repeat in his head, flashes of him sobbing into Christopher’s hair racing in his mind. He sees his name on a piece of paper, signed in a messy signature, Edmundo Diaz written on the bottom of the page, legalizing Buck’s place in their lives.
A car honks behind him, and Buck drives the rest of the way home on autopilot.
It’s storming, and lightning flashes in the sky. Buck feels himself hanging from a cord on another similar night, sees a lightning strike and then feels the pain and then nothing, nothing, only the faint sound of his name being shouted in the storm, over and over and over by the same voice, pained enough that Buck isn’t sure if it actually happened or is only a dream.
“You have a beautiful family,” the elf says, so many Christmases ago now that Buck nearly forgot about it. He hears himself say, “Thank you,” quick and breathy before rushing off. He can feel Christopher’s wet yellow shirt under his arms as he holds him on top of the firetruck, can feel the love that he feels for the kid so strongly that it scares him. The fear when he loses him, the way he gripped the glasses as he shouted his name over and over into the wasteland of the pier.
Buck takes a deep breath and turns off the car. He knows that he needs to get out, needs to go tidy up the loft a little bit, but he can’t bring himself to move.
Because he –
He’s in love with Eddie. And he has been forever, it seems like.
The image of Eddie’s first day in the station flashes into his mind, shirtless for just a moment before the t-shirt was tugged in place, his abs on full display in their questionably glass locker room windows. And Buck feels all the jealousy, all the anger again, and it’s not dissimilar to what he felt that day on the basketball court. He wanted Eddie to look at him, to see him, to know that he was there. But now, Buck thinks it wasn’t anger, it was the start of – attraction?
He scrubs a hand over his face and gets out of the car, grabbing his work bag and slowly making the trek up the stairs to the loft. He wants the burn in his thighs, wants to distract himself from everything that he’s feeling, everything that he’s seeing. Because it feels like he’s seeing it for the first time, and it’s –
A lot. Or it should be, but Buck feels oddly . . . calm.
It feels like something has been lifted off of his chest, like there’s a hackle no longer binding him to the wall.
Once outside his apartment, he digs his phone out of his pocket and shoots Tommy a quick text. Because he doesn’t want to string him along if – if he knows.
Think I’m ready for eventually, is all Buck types. After a second, he adds a quick second text. Thank you.
Because he does have to think Tommy for – well, everything, really.
Tommy responds almost instantly. Then Eddie is a lucky man. And it was my pleasure (literally)
Buck huffs at the ceiling, rolls his eyes, and pockets his phone again, because apparently even Tommy was aware of everything that Buck himself was suppressing.
He opens the door to the loft, enters, takes his shoes off and turns, only to see –
Eddie, sitting on the steps of Buck’s loft, his hands in his hair and his elbows resting on his knees.
“Eddie,” Buck breathes, and his name feels at home on Buck’s lips. Eddie’s fingers are blanching from how hard he’s gripping his hair, and Buck takes a single step closer. “What –”
“Did you . . .” Eddie clears his throat. “Did you go see Tommy after shift?”
Buck just nods, unsure of what else to do.
“Okay,” Eddie says again. He pauses. “I’m not sure why I’m here.”
“I’m not sure why you’re here, either,” Buck admits. Because he doesn’t. It just feels – serendipitous, really, that Eddie is here after Buck had his big car realization.
Because Eddie is here, in his loft, on his steps, and Buck – loves him.
“No,” Eddie begins again. “I do know why I’m here.”
Eddie gets up then, taking a step closer to Buck, but there’s still feet of distance between them. Buck remembers a time when they wouldn’t let inches keep them apart, before there was Tommy and Marisol, and even before Taylor and Ana.
“I’m here because I need to do this before I lose my chance,” Eddie whispers as he takes another step. Buck swallows, his heart thumping in his chest. “I need to – say something.”
“You’ve been saying things since I opened the door,” Buck deadpans. Eddie snorts.
“I know you’re with Tommy,” Eddie starts slowly. “And he makes you happy. And that’s all I want, is for you to be happy.”
Buck nods again when Eddie pauses.
“But I once told Chim that tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone. And after that call today, it made me think that if – if we don’t get a tomorrow, if there’s no guarantee that it’s promised, then I need you to know.”
Buck swallows down the lump in his throat. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he again sees Eddie on a different day, his arm in a sling, telling Buck that he’s not dispensable.
“I wake up every day and think of you,” Eddie says quietly, his eyes now looking right into Buck’s. “I go to bed and think of you. I think of you when I’m in line at the grocery store, or when we get a call that involves the ropes and you’re the man behind. I think of you when our son says a fact about beavers that nobody other than you would know. You are . . .” Eddie pauses, breathes again, takes another step forward. “You are my every waking thought, my every sleeping thought. I – I breathe for you, Buck. I breathe because of you.”
“Eddie –” Buck starts, but Eddie shakes his head. He reaches an unsteady hand out towards Buck.
“I know it’s not fair to say this now when you have Tommy,” Eddie continues. “And I – I can just pretend it never happened, if that’s what you want. But I needed you to know.”
Buck swallows, his mind reeling as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. He opens up his text thread with Tommy and flashes it in Eddie’s direction, watching as Eddie reads their last two exchanges. “Tommy knows.”
“He –” Eddie furrows his brow. “How . . .?”
Buck shrugs. “He’s smarter than us.”
Eddie snorts, and Buck takes that as his cue to fully lace his hand with Eddie’s.
“Eddie,” he says slowly. “I’ve loved you for – years, I think. I just . . .”
“Couldn’t see it.”
“Didn’t see it,” Buck clarifies. “I thought it was just . . . you know, bros being bros.”
Eddie hums. “Me too.”
“But it’s . . .” Buck pauses, smiles, his voice breathy as Eddie tugs him even closer. “It’s everything.”
Eddie smiles and reaches his other hand out to grip Buck’s shirt at the waist. “When you were dead last year,” Eddie says quietly, “It felt like I was dead.”
“When you were shot,” Buck whispers back, just as quiet, his voice almost trailing away in the darkness of the loft, “It felt like I was shot.”
When Eddie kisses him, Buck feels the breath leave his body. He feels it deep in his core, in his lungs, down to his toes. Eddie’s hands grip Buck’s shirt tightly, pulling him closer, closer, and Buck feels his own hand tangling in Eddie’s hair, angling his mouth up and pulling him in.
Eddie moans quietly against his mouth and Buck feels . . . peace. The images have stopped flashing in his head, the voices have cleared from his mind. All he can feel is Eddie, all he can hear is Eddie’s breath. And all he can see is, for once, his future.
“Eddie,” Buck breathes into his mouth. He doesn’t want to take a single step back, doesn’t want even a centimeter of space between them right now. “I didn’t . . .”
“I know,” Eddie whispers and kisses Buck again. “I’m sorry, I –”
Buck isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for – he feels like they both have an assortment of things to work through – but right now, he just shakes his head and kisses him again.
They sink down onto the stairs, hands wandering and gripping shirts and hair and anything else that they can reach.
“Did you know,” Buck gasps as Eddie’s mouth works down his throat, teeth nipping gently at his collarbone, “That beavers mate for life?”
“Oh my god,” Eddie groans into his throat, his stubble scratching against Buck’s skin as he talks. “Shut up.”
“You brought it up first, I’m just saying, it’s another fun fact you can share with Chris, maybe it’ll make you the cool one for once –”
Eddie kisses him again, and Buck doesn’t get much of a chance to say any other facts for the rest of the evening.
And when he wakes up in the morning, in his bed with the warmth of Eddie’s body next to him, his thumb gently rubbing circles along the scar on Eddie’s shoulder, Buck finally feels at home.