Work Text:
Buck can barely contain his excitement for this weekend. He’s always loved camping. Well, always loved it since discovering it in his adulthood. His mom and dad never took him, and he doesn’t count the few times Maddie set up a tent in the back yard for them to pretend they were far away from home, even though he loved that, too.
He just loves camping. Loves backpacking especially. Loves loading up everything you need for several days and carrying it with you, going deep into the backcountry and just being alive.
He’s gone on his own once or twice, sure, but he much prefers having company. Being able to split the heaviest gear between multiple packs makes things so much easier: the cooking supplies, the tent, wilderness first aid kit, the fuel, it all adds up. And he loves the community aspect of it. Working together to provide for each other, to care for the group, to leave the land better than how they found it.
Being in the middle of nowhere has always felt freeing. He loves being far from civilization, unreachable by the demands for attention that are everywhere in this modern world. Disconnecting for a weekend sounds like a great idea on the surface, and normally it is. Normally Buck loves putting his cell phone away and taking some space from everything outside of his trip.
It’s just that this summer has just been anything but normal, and despite his best efforts to reassure himself, Buck’s a little nervous to be without cell service for several days. Even though Eddie’s got the number for the satellite phone with sincere instructions to call if there’s an emergency, Buck’s not convinced that he actually would.
Not being there for Eddie—for any of the people who he loves—makes his neck itch.
One of the main points behind taking this trip is to disconnect, though. Well, to connect by disconnecting. To spend time with Tommy with nothing to distract either of them. Putting down their phones and focusing on each other.
He wishes that Tommy would put his phone down and focus on him now, too.
They still have some decisions to make. Buck’s got his computer out, chromecasting the planning document to the television so they can narrow down the last few points. And Tommy’s been sucked into his phone since he got to Buck’s apartment.
Buck won’t pretend that he’s the perfect example of putting his phone down while they’re together. And of course he’s checked his phone a few times tonight, sure, but it’s not like he’s scrolling through instagram or reddit or who knows what app.
And Tommy’s got a screen protector that makes his phone too dark to see unless you’re looking at it straight on, so during times like these, Buck’s not even sure what he’s competing against for Tommy’s attention. And times like these are happening more and more often, Tommy on his phone while Buck tries to recapture his focus. It makes him feel a bit like a circus animal sometimes, performing tricks to a bored audience in hopes of a few measly peanuts.
Tommy could be surfing Grindr for all Buck knows.
But he wouldn’t do that. Probably. Buck doesn’t think he’d do that. Tommy might not be the most attentive partner, but he’s not a cheater. Probably.
No, definitely not.
Regardless, Buck wishes that Tommy would set his phone down. Pay attention to the reason they’re here—actually look at the plans that Buck’s spent hours developing. Weigh in on what he’d like to eat for breakfast on the final day, on which campground they want to shoot for on the first night.
Buck throws a glance at the end table where his own phone sits, face up, just in time to see it light up with a facetime call.
“Shit,” Buck says. Tommy raises his gaze to Buck’s and lifts an eyebrow with a question. “Chris is calling. Tom, I’m sorry, I’ve gotta—”
“Yeah, no, of course. Anything for Chris…” Tommy looks back to his phone, but not before Buck catches an eye roll.
He fights the temptation to lay into Tommy for it, knowing that it won’t do them any good. And plus, Chris so rarely calls Buck: his Gen-Alpha reliance on texting means that whatever has prompted this phone call must be serious business.
When Chris calls, Buck answers.
Buck snags his phone from the table and steps into the kitchen, leaning against the counter—careful to make sure that Tommy’s off to his side—neither in the background of his call nor in Buck’s eyeline.
Tommy knows only the bare minimum of the circumstances with the Diazes. He knows that Chris is in El Paso and that Eddie is in crisis. Or, maybe was in crisis is more accurate. Now he’s just in therapy. A lot of it.
Tommy has been so patient with the whole thing. Sure, he’s tried to pry, asked what’s so important that Buck needs to step away from dates—or, on a couple of occasions, from sex—to be there for Eddie or Chris. And Buck gets it, of course he gets it. He’d be curious too, if he were Tommy. Maybe even frustrated at the whole thing. But he’s done his best to preserve their privacy through the whole situation; it’s not his story to share.
Unless Buck wants to lock himself in the bathroom or the closet—which he does not want to do for so many reasons—he’s sort of stuck having this conversation within Tommy’s earshot. The balcony would be the perfect place to go for a private call like this, but the combination of the wind and the rush-hour traffic noise makes it a no-go today, and he doesn’t want to go through the trouble of going out to sit in the Jeep.
He swipes to accept the call. “I didn’t know I’d be facetiming my favorite person today!” Buck says in greeting, trying to keep it casual, upbeat. Leaving some room for Chris to ease into the conversation, into whatever it is that’s on his mind.
“Hi, Buck,” Chris replies. “I…what’s up?”
There’s no way that Chris called just to ask what Buck’s up to, but he entertains the line of conversation for a little bit before he redirects the focus back to Chris.
Chris seems to be doing well, all things considered. He’s going to a day camp, his Grandma and Abuelo are driving him crazy but also spoiling him, which is a strange balance that’s hard to predict and harder to deal with. But he’s fine. He’s doing fine.
“I miss you guys,” Chris admits, his voice a little quiet. “I was thinking…” he trails off.
Buck’s heart pounds a little faster. Is it happening? Is Chris ready to come home? Why did he call Buck instead of Eddie? Maybe he’s just giving him a heads up?
“I miss you too, so much,” Buck says. He pauses, leaving room for Chris to respond, but he seems reluctant to say anything. “You know I love talking to you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, I’m not trying to rush you, I swear,” Buck says. “Just curious if you…maybe called me for a reason. To talk about something specific?”
“Well, yeah…” Chris averts his eyes from the screen but keeps his face in the frame, so Buck can still see his tentative smile.
“Should I guess?” Buck asks. He smiles, recalling the guessing games they used to play when Buck was new in the Diazes' lives. Chris, too shy to ask for what he wanted—usually for Buck to play with him, or to watch a specific movie—would clam up from time to time, and Buck would make guesses increasing in ridiculousness until Chris was comfortable enough to ask for whatever was on his mind.
Buck’s just about to ask something silly, something like Did you want to talk about worms? when Chris speaks.
“No, I—I think I’m ready to come home.”
“Yeah?” Buck can barely respond, his heart is pounding so hard that his throat feels tight.
“I mean, I know I’m ready,” Chris clarifies. “Grandma keeps bringing up school registration and…” he trails off, shaking his head.
“You don’t want to have to start at a new school?” Buck guesses.
“No, well, yes, but—I guess…I didn’t realize that…” he sighs deeply, and Buck recognizes Chris’s thinking face as he waits for him to figure out what he wants to say. “Grandma’s talking about me being here like it’s permanent. And, um. Well. Is it?”
Chris’s ask punches a breath out of Buck. “Your dad wants you here more than anything,” Buck says emphatically. “We’re just following your lead, bud. Waiting for you to say the word. And when you do, he’ll drop everything and come for you.”
Chris lets out a small breath, plain relief flooding his face. “Okay, good. I am not going to high school here. Tía Sophia said it was the worst.”
Buck laughs. “So, you think you’ll be ready soon? To come home?” Buck asks, unable to remain a modicum of chill about the idea. Buck’s always been the type to pace aimlessly while talking on the phone, a habit he tries to control while video chatting. He can’t help but start walking the few steps in his kitchen back and forth with the excitement bubbling in his limbs.
“Yeah,” Chris says, nodding along. “But don’t tell my dad, I want to be the one to do it. Okay?”
“I won’t, you know what I said. I don’t tell him stuff unless you specifically say I can share, or if—”
“—If someone’s getting hurt, Buck, yeah, I know,” Chris cuts him off, impatient. “You’ve only said it a thousand times.”
“Well, I think it bears repeating!” Buck smiles. “But really, Chris, this is the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“Yeah?” Chris smiles.
“Of course! I miss you so much. Your dad misses you too. And I know he wants to talk with you about what happened.”
Chris goes rigid onscreen. Shit, things were going so well, of course Buck’s tendency to stick his foot in his mouth is going to make an appearance.
“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” Chris says. “I’m not ready.”
“I’m not saying you have to be,” Buck is quick to agree. “I don’t think your Dad is quite ready to talk either. I think he’s still…figuring out exactly what happened. And why.” He’s careful with his wording, not wanting to be too specific that Tommy learns more than he’s already pieced together from the details Buck’s been willing to share. Especially when Tommy has made it no secret how he feels about Buck’s level of involvement in the minutiae of Christopher’s life—well, both Chris and Eddie’s lives.
It started with increasingly unsubtle comments about how Eddie shouldn’t force his co-worker to help parent his son—which Buck had refuted on several counts (“First off, he’s my best friend. Second, Eddie’s not forcing me to do anything, I like being there for Chris”).
The first time they fought, Buck had assumed that Tommy just needed more time to understand. That learning more about Chris, spending some actual time with him, would make him see that Buck’s not there for him out of some sense of obligation—that he wants to be there. It seemed like a starting point; Tommy’s always perfectly pleasant with kids, and Chris is the greatest kid Buck can think of. But with Chris three states away, Tommy has a built in excuse against getting to know the most important kid in Buck’s life.
By the third or fourth fight on the topic, Buck started to realize that Tommy doesn’t seem to actually like kids—always acting like it’s a chore to spend any time with them. He’d canceled on Buck the night they were going to babysit Jee-yun together and Buck hasn’t made an attempt to reschedule. They haven’t talked about it in so many words, but Buck’s pretty certain Tommy doesn’t want any kids of his own.
The most recent time they fought about the Diaz family, Tommy threw out the word “codependent.” Buck had floundered trying to refute it, unable to defend himself against the implication. Eddie needs him; of course he’s going to be there for him. How could that be bad?
If this is where they are now, Buck’s not sure what the fight will look like when Tommy finds out about Eddie’s will. Even if it never becomes relevant—it better not ever become relevant—he’s pretty sure Tommy won’t react that great to the plan even existing.
“Buck?” Chris says.
“Sorry, say that again, Chris? It cut out for a second,” Buck lies.
“Dad better have a great excuse,” Chris repeats. “He was acting crazy.”
Buck can’t help but let out a chuckle. He doesn’t totally disagree, but he can only imagine what would happen if he saw a doppelganger of Daniel, and it’s not like Buck even has memories of him. Eddie and Shannon had so much unfinished business that will always remain that way; Buck understands why the temptation of some semblance of closure had drawn him to Kim.
“Well,” Buck says, “I know he’s thinking about it a lot. So I’m sure he’ll tell us when we’re all ready.”
“He hasn’t even talked to you about it?” Chris asks, clearly surprised.
“Uh-uh,” Buck shakes his head. He keeps trying to initiate the conversation with Eddie, keeps gently probing. Creating opportunities for him to talk, to let Buck in, tell him about therapy. But he just gets surface level responses. Assurances that he’s working on it. That they’ll talk…eventually. Not now. But eventually.
The promise of eventually has been enough, but Buck’s starting to get impatient about it.
“For real?” Chris asks.
“I would tell you if we had, even if the specifics were private.”
“That’s crazy he hasn’t even told you. Aren’t you guys, like, super codependent?”
“Woah, excuse me?” Buck says, affronted.
“That’s what grandma says, anyway!” Chris adds.
It sucks to hear Chris repeat it, but it’s made that much worse knowing Tommy’s listening in, probably smug to hear that even Eddie’s mom agrees with him.
He knows that Eddie would never let this comment slide. Not from his mom, and certainly not from Chris. But Buck, who exists in a role that is undefined, a nebulous place in this not-quite-a-family but not quite not a family dynamic, isn’t sure what to say. If it’s his place to say anything.
This summer has been all about Eddie trying to figure out how to navigate this entire thing. Not wanting to alienate his son from his grandparents, not wanting to let his own baggage drive a wedge between them. But also standing up to his parents, not letting them make decisions for him or for Chris. It’s been…tough, to put it mildly.
So Buck says nothing. Just makes an excuse to Chris that he needs to wrap things up, says he loves him. That he’s excited to see him.
“Oh, and Chris—” Buck adds, just after they’ve said goodbye but before they’ve hung up. “We’ve got ninety-six off starting…” he looks at the time in the corner of his phone and does some mental math, “seven hours ago. So…” he draws out the vowel, pitching his voice up and down. “If you are ready, now might be a good time.”
“Duh, I know your schedule, you both sent it to me.” Chris says.
“Okay! I’m just saying!” Buck smiles a sheepish grin. “But it’s up to you. There’s no rush. You can come home whenever you want. It just might be nice to do it while your dad already has the days off work.”
Chris doesn’t know much about Gerrard beyond the basics, just that Bobby is temporarily not the one in charge and the new guy is less forgiving, more bigoted, and less willing to grant Buck and Eddie extra days off.
“Bye, Buck,” Chris says, ignoring Buck’s last comment. “I’m hanging up now. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Buck says, just as the end-call noise beeps through the apartment. Buck sets his phone down and rubs his face.
“Sorry about that, Tom,” Buck says, and turns around to be met with Tommy, duffle bag in hand, and a facial expression that’s clearly been schooled to appear neutral but betrays so much more behind it.
The contingencies tab of Buck’s excel spreadsheet doesn’t have a section for this.
COVID exposure? Of course. He’s got a ten-step plan outlined to ensure that the trip continues without a hitch while they minimize any potential infection to themselves or others.
Chronic pain flare up in his calf—his meds are packed, both the tamer stuff and the heavy-duty ones. Worst case scenario, they call for an emergency airlift on the sat phone and bite the bullet on the multi-thousand dollar uber ride through the skies.
Buck’s even got a half-serious backup in case of a zombie apocalypse. Mostly, it’s just rendezvousing with Eddie to follow through on the half-serious plans they’d developed while tipsy on Eddie’s couch one day. Chris being in El Paso throws a small wrench in getting as far away from densely populated areas as possible, but flexibility is a key part of apocalypse survival. Of any good contingency plan, really.
It's just that, for all his many spreadsheet columns, from Airborne Virus to Zombie, Buck hadn’t accounted for a breakup before they even left Los Angeles.
Given his history, maybe every activity he plans should come with a “what if I get broken up with” backup.
Tommy sets down the duffle bag by the door and takes a few steps toward Buck.
“Does it have to be now?” Buck asks. He wishes his voice wasn’t so wobbly, but he’s beyond the point where he’s able to control it.
Tommy nods, coming closer to take both of Buck’s hands in his, guiding them to sit together at the kitchen island.
“It does. It has to be now, Evan, I’m sorry,” Tommy says. “It’s been fun, it has. But…we both know this isn’t going anywhere.”
“What about the fact that we were literally going somewhere tomorrow morning?” Buck asks. “Our bags are already packed.”
Buck points to where the two huge backpacks lean against the wall—his, well-worn and broken in, and Tommy’s: brand new, never worn apart from the long, agonizing minutes they’d spent at the mountaineering outfitters trying to find the right size while Tommy made excuses for why every pack wasn’t right. The new pack has clearly been rifled through, the top flipped open and the drawstring loose.
Buck had purchased the pack for Tommy as a gift. He’d envisioned using them together for years, taking them all over the world. Red-hot shame grows in his chest. That he’d been so excited for something that Tommy had shown barely any interest in, just the bare minimum of reluctant enthusiasm.
Maybe Buck should have seen this coming, actually.
“I was already not sure this trip was a good idea,” Tommy says. “That phone call—it just put some things into perspective for me.”
“But—” Buck starts, not sure where he’s going to go with the sentence. Put what things into perspective?
“You can keep the backpack. Or return it, I know it was expensive. I already got my clothes out. Anything else I forgot you can leave at harbor.”
“But…the plans,” Buck says, gesturing half-heartedly toward the spreadsheet that’s still open on the TV screen. He’d worked so hard on them. So many hours of research and reservations and maps and prepping gear and packing.
“You can still go, Evan,” Tommy says. “I just can’t go with you.”
“Did your PTO get…unapproved? Or something?” Buck’s not sure why he asks. He knows what's happening; he’s not dumb. But he can’t stop the naive part of him that bubbles up and wonders whether there’s some other explanation. He knows there isn’t. But maybe there’s some way he can convince Tommy he’s wrong.
Canceling the trip doesn’t mean they have to break up. He doesn’t want to break up.
Tommy heaves a deep sigh. “Evan…”
“I’m sorry, I know, I get it.” Buck deflates, gives up fighting it with just one word from Tommy. “But. Why…why?” Buck asks, pleading for an answer.
“C’mon. I’m not blind,” Tommy says.
“Well…could you, maybe, um…explain it like I’m blind?”
Buck doesn’t know what’s wrong with him that every partner he has won’t stay. Even the ones that feel really solid. Really right. And Tommy had almost been that. He almost felt right. After all, he’d help Buck unlock a new side of himself. That had to count for something.
“You really don’t know, do you?” Tommy asks, but it sounds like he’s telling Buck, not asking. “I thought…I thought maybe you were being cruel, but you actually don’t know.”
“What don’t I know?” Buck snaps, a little more heated than he intends. “Sorry, I—sorry. I just. Please tell me?” When Tommy doesn’t respond, he continues. “I just want to understand what it is about me that dooms every single relationship I’ve ever been in.”
Tommy takes a deep breath and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It’s Eddie.”
“Eddie? He’s—he’s not a part of this relationship, Tommy. If you’re going to break up with me, fine. But break up with me. Tell me why you’re breaking up with me.”
“Because—exactly what you said. Eddie’s not a part of this relationship,” Tommy says, a nearly hysterical laugh coloring his words. “But he’s here all the time.”
“What do you…” Buck trails off. The three of them haven’t hung out all together in ages, but he knows what Tommy means. It’s a continuation of every fight they’ve ever had on the topic. He just hadn’t realized it was relationship-ending.
“He looms over everything. Every time we’re together I’m wondering if we’re going to be interrupted by Eddie—or by his son,” Tommy barrels on, gesturing to Buck’s phone on the counter as if to say case in point.
Bold of Tommy to say, when he was barely paying any attention to Buck when Chris had called. He decides to be the bigger man and ignore it, though. Focus on the real problem here.
“I told them to ask me for help and they are, I’m not going to turn my back on them,” Buck says.
“And Evan, that’s so, so good of you. It’s what I like about you, how much you give to the people around you. I’m happy they have you. But it means that I don’t.”
“Tommy, c’mon,” Buck tries to push back, but he’s not actually sure what he can say to defend himself here. It’s true. Eddie and Chris take up a lot more space than anyone else. If he’s not with them or talking to them, he’s thinking about them. They’re his boys. “They’re…my friends.”
A grim smile appears on Tommy’s face. “I know you love deeply and you love freely, Evan. But you don’t give the same amount to your other friends. It’s just Eddie. You two are…” Tommy trails off.
Though unspoken, the word codependent floats through his mind again.
“Well, Eddie is my best friend.”
“Have you ever had a best friend before Eddie?” Tommy asks. It’s just on the edge of feeling mean, but Buck doesn’t think he intends it like that. “Really, Evan, I’m asking. Have you?”
“Well,” Buck licks his lips. “I-I guess not.” he thinks back through the catalog of his old playmates and the friend groups he’s occupied throughout the years. The closest that comes to mind is Connor, but he’d always felt like the second-choice friend even in their relationship too; the one who got a call when Connor’s first option wasn’t available. “No,” he says, definitively. “I had friends, but mostly it was Maddie, and then like…groups of people. Never someone like Eddie.”
“Evan. I mean this with all the kindness in my heart.” Tommy takes one of Buck’s hands between his. “What you and Eddie have is not normal best friend stuff. Okay? I noticed it right away.”
Buck’s stomach drops, like he’s strapped into a roller coaster with no way out.
“What do you mean?” Buck asks, tentatively.
“The basketball game?” Tommy asks, like it should be obvious.
“Yeah, but, I was trying to get your attention, we talked about that.” Buck deflates, embarrassment at his behavior that day flooding his body with an icky, itchy feeling.
“No, Evan. I said I thought you were trying to get someone’s attention, I never said whose attention.” Tommy says, smoothing his thumbs across Buck’s palm. “You two are…not normal.” Tommy laughs, a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve had best friends. And I’ve had relationships like what you have with Eddie. I was trying to have one with you.”
“I…” Buck starts. “You mean…” He pulls his hand away from Tommy’s and goes right to picking at the skin around his thumbnail. It’s a nasty anxious habit of his, something that Eddie knows he wants to stop doing, that he’ll physically interrupt, slapping Buck’s hands apart when he notices. Tommy makes no such attempt—maybe doesn’t even notice that Buck is doing it.
“I mean you and Eddie have a…dynamic that looks a whole lot more like romance than friendship from the outside.” Tommy’s voice is gentle and his face mirrors the tone, kind, but also a little bit sad. “You know…No, never mind.”
“Tommy, oh my god, you know I can’t stand when people do that, you have to tell me now.” And it’s true, he’s always hated it. Tommy, despite knowing this very well, tends to do it often, much to Buck’s chagrin.
“Okay, but…don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Tommy replies.
“Can’t be worse than everything else you’ve already dumped on me today,” Buck replies, chuckling lightly when he realizes the unfortunate phrasing. “No pun intended.”
Tommy laughs too, a genuine one that sends a pang in Buck’s chest. He recognizes the feeling for what it really is, now: grief that this will never work out. Because it’s always been that. The whole time they’ve been together, it’s been in the back of Buck’s head.
“I don’t regret this. Us. I don’t. I really did have fun with you, Evan.” Tommy says.
“Okay, and? Spit it out!” Buck says, a little impatient to get this whole thing over with so he can wallow in his empty apartment and rethink everything he thought he knew about himself for the second time in mere months.
“Okay, okay. Well. There’s no easy way to say it, so I’ll just say it.” Tommy breathes deeply and looks steadfastly away from Buck, refusing to meet his eyes. “When I first met you guys…I was trying to pick up Eddie.”
Buck’s eyes go wide and his jaw gapes open. “What?” he asks. “No, no way.”
“Yes way,” Eddie says. “But I realized pretty quickly he’s already spoken for.”
“Oh, right,” Buck says, nodding. “Marisol.”
Tommy mumbles something under his breath and Buck only catches the word “Clueless.”
“What was that?”
“I learned that she existed when we ran into them on our date. I said you’re clueless, because I meant that he was spoken for by you.” Tommy gestures at Buck like it should be obvious.
Buck’s not quite able to stomach the reality of what Tommy’s said, though, so he re-directs the focus. “Why were you trying to pick up Eddie, though? He’s straight.”
“I just…got a vibe, when I met him.” Tommy looks like he’s picking his words very carefully. “Same as I did with you.”
“Well, he’s not gay,” Buck says. “I would know.”
“You sure about that?” Tommy asks.
“Of course! He would tell me!”
“Like how you told him you were going on a date with me?”
“It’s different—”
“Is it?”
Buck switches tacks. “Okay, fine. Maybe Eddie’s…queer.” Buck still feels a little odd, saying the word, the one that’d only meant strange or weird or worse growing up. But he’s talked about it with Tommy and Hen, even forayed into some basic queer theory. He’s got some library books on hold right now that he’s anxiously awaiting.
Point is, he feels better about the word than he had before. Especially when it comes to himself. But for other people, for someone like Eddie, someone he’s only ever known to be straight, it feels tricky.
“Why did you agree to go out with me though? If you noticed our ‘dynamic’ right away,” Buck continues, making judicious use of air quotes on Tommy’s word from earlier. “If you knew Eddie was…spoken for, why’d you still agree to date me?” He doesn’t deny it, because he can’t.
“I mean…I almost didn’t. Especially after the disaster that was our first date.” Tommy says.
It stings, still, the reminder of how he’d acted on that date. This whole conversation, though, has put it into a whole new context.
Tommy continues. “I could tell that you guys weren’t anywhere near talking about it with each other, so I figured…either you’d get over him or you wouldn’t. And maybe you and I wouldn’t work out but we could have some fun together in the meantime.”
“So, what. You don’t think I’m going to get over him?” Buck asks. “I’m ruined for any future relationship because I’m in love with my straight best friend?” Saying it out loud is the first time he’s ever put it into those words, and he realizes how true they are the moment he does. He’s in love with Eddie. His straight best friend.
“Eddie is not straight, Evan.”
“That’s not the point I’m trying to make—”
“But it is the point I’m trying to make,” Tommy says. “Look. Usually, I don’t like to speculate about people’s sexualities. It’s weird.”
Buck makes a noise in agreement.
Tommy continues. “All I’m saying is that you and Eddie have something bigger than friendship. Something deeper. And until you deal with it, confront it for real, together, then yeah, you’re probably not going to be successful trying to date anyone else.”
Buck’s stunned into silence.
It should be crazy. The idea that Buck’s in love with his best friend. That maybe this was the throughline, the real reason why none of either of their previous relationships had gone anywhere. But the crazy thing is that it’s not crazy. It makes perfect sense, in fact. It fits. It explains a lot.
“Oh,” Buck finally says.
“Yeah, oh.” Tommy parrots. “We can’t go on this trip, we can’t keep seeing each other, because if we do, I’m going to get my heart broken.” Tommy grimaces, like the admission is physically painful.
Maybe the distance Buck had been perceiving between them was Tommy pulling away to protect himself. The walls were to keep himself safe. Buck wonders if maybe in a different world, maybe they would have worked. Maybe they could have been something real.
But Eddie exists, and he exists here, in Buck’s life, so Tommy and him never had a chance.
“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Buck says. “I really, really didn’t know.” He raises his right hand to his chest, rubbing over his heart as though to soothe the way it aches.
“I know you didn’t.” Tommy takes the few steps back toward the front door of the apartment and scoops his duffle bag back up and over his shoulder. “I’m rooting for you, Evan. For both of you. I really am.”
Buck takes a few steps toward him, unsure of exactly why his body has decided to move closer. They’re definitely broken up, it’s not like he can ask for comfort. “I…”
“C’mere,” Tommy says, pushing the bag from his side to his back and opening his arms to invite a hug.
Like a strong magnet, Buck’s desire for physical closeness pulls him into Tommy’s embrace, and they stand there, wrapped up together, for long enough that tears start to form in Buck’s eyes.
When Tommy pulls back, he spots the tears and gives each of Buck’s eyes a gentle swipe to clear them. “Good luck, Evan.” Tommy says, pressing a kiss against his cheek, and then his birthmark, and then his cheek again. “I need some space, for a while. But we’ll see each other eventually. And who knows, maybe next time you’ll have a different name on your turnout coat.”
Buck lets out a tiny guffaw at the idea, but he sobers with the realization that he wants that more than anything. The idea of DIAZ across his lower back brings warmth to his chest that reminds him a lot of the comfort of returning home after a long time away.
With one last squeeze to his shoulder, Tommy pulls away and turns to leave the apartment. “Bye, Evan.”
“Bye, Tommy,” Buck replies.
When the door shuts behind him, Buck’s resolve breaks, and the tears release down his cheeks, unbidden. He leaves his phone on the counter, grabs the camping packs, and trudges up the stairs to his bed. Buck throws himself into the middle of the bed on top of the covers, pulling the edges of his blanket up and around his body in a haphazard semblance of warmth.
He resolves himself to emptying the packs once he’s had a solid round of crying, but he finds that after only a few minutes, his tears dry up. He is sad, of course, just like he has been every time he’s been broken up with. But the prospect of Eddie…of him and Eddie…it’s proving to be more distracting than the grief of failing at his first queer relationship.
The bags are easy enough to unpack. He empties his clothes from their organizing cubes and stuff sacks to put away later as he thinks back to the day he’d met Eddie. To the big feelings he’d incorrectly interpreted as jealousy that in retrospect were so obviously attraction. He feels himself blush, a little embarrassed at the realization. Had the others understood what was really going on?
He returns his camp kitchen supplies to the yellow and black Costco bin in his storage unit in the basement, wondering if Eddie really could be queer. Gay, like Tommy had insisted. The times it’d crossed Buck’s mind—because of course Buck had thought about it before, much as he might like to stamp it down and ignore it—he always went through the same rebuttals. Eddie can’t be gay, because what about Shannon. He liked her enough to have a son with her. What about Ana, Marisol, Kim.
As he’s returning his first aid kit to the cabinet under the bathroom sink, he thinks about Michael and Athena, about May and Harry. That Michael loves Athena, loves his family. And he’s still gay. So maybe…maybe it’s possible. Maybe Eddie is queer. Gay. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s into Buck. He can’t get his hopes up.
He and Eddie might have some strange, codependent, more-than-best-friend stuff going on, but Buck can’t let himself hope too much that it means what Tommy has implied. He resolves himself to not let the realization change anything. Maybe he’ll be a little more observant, look for signs that Eddie’s…queer, or into him, or something else. But he’s not going to let this get in the way of everything they’ve built together.
He absolutely cannot tell Eddie anything about this.
Buck’s returning the shelf-stable backpacking food to his pantry when a familiar vibration pattern echoes through the loft. His phone, forgotten on the kitchen island, is receiving a call.
He dashes over and sees Eddie Diaz!! 118🚒🆒 along with his contact photo—one of him and Christopher—lighting up his screen.
And oh. Chris! Chris, who wants to come home, must have told Eddie the news.
Buck smiles and picks up the phone.