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As a millennial, Buck is plenty familiar with the fact that Pixar’s movies can fuck you up. But the thing is, as a millennial who has no kids of his own, he’s a little behind on the recent ones. He hasn’t had the time or the drive to go see kids’ movies he knows are going to make him cry alone, you know?
(The exception, obviously, being Toy Story 3, which he saw the week it came out tucked in the back of a theater where nobody he knew would see him, trying to pretend the ending didn’t leave his chest feeling tight and his eyes prickling. He’d been in his late teens and teetering on the uncertain edge of adulthood, of course he’d seen Toy Story 3 and of course he’d sobbed over it as soon as he’d been properly alone.)
Anyway, all of this is to say that now that he’s got a best friend with a solidly Pixar-target-aged child, he’s getting caught up. And, like, it’s getting to him.
For one, Chris has been on a Brave kick lately. Buck hadn’t really expected that – all he knew about Brave before like three weeks ago was that it maybe had a princess in it which meant he did NOT know it was Pixar – so he really wasn’t prepared for the first time he ended up wedged onto the Diaz couch tearing up over Merida’s tension with her mom.
So Brave catches him off guard, and he likes The Good Dinosaur more than Eddie does, and Inside Out leaves him sobbing while Christopher gently pats his knee for comfort. He’d tagged along with Christopher and Eddie for Toy Story 4 not long after his injury and they’d left the theatre collectively baffled and disappointed. But the one that really gets him – and he’s never going to fucking live this down – is Finding Dory.
(He won’t live it down because it is objectively not as good as most of the ones that have made him cry so far, but also because he’s not prepared to face why it hit him so hard so there’s no way in Hell he’s going to explain it to Eddie.)
It’s the first movie they watch after the lawsuit nightmare, so maybe Buck is a little fragile to begin with. He’s still trying to find his footing again, trying to believe that Eddie doesn’t hate him and he hasn’t ruined everything.
And then the movie Chris picked opens on Dory – of just keep swimming through the goddamn tsunami fame – as a child, then a teen, then an adult, wandering the world and never quite finding a place. Lost and lonely and scared.
And Buck aches.
The opening eventually crosses paths with the first movie, and Buck can’t help but remember that thing Dory said to Marlin at the end of that one – No one’s ever stuck with me for so long before. I look at you and I’m home.
That had hit him hard as a kid, too, sitting funny in his chest and hard to define. It hit him harder two days after the tsunami, when Christopher had insisted they needed to watch it together since just keep swimming got them through the day. That scene isn’t rehashed in the sequel, but Buck can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop feeling I look at you and I’m home buzz under his sternum and realizing just how close he came to fucking it all up for himself.
Dory lives in a brain coral next to Marlin and Nemo’s anemone in the sequel.
“Is that the fish equivalent of sleeping on their couch three times a week?” Buck says in a low voice. Eddie snorts but doesn’t answer.
It was a joke, he’d meant it as a joke, but now that he’s put the words into the world he can’t stop thinking about it.
Christopher, between them, elbows him. “This part is important, Buck, stop talking.”
“I think you’re the one talking right now, kiddo,” Buck points out.
Chris levels him with a glare worthy of his father, then turns his attention back to the screen. Eddie snorts again, and when Buck glances over at him he finds Eddie already looking back.
Buck doesn’t quite know what to do with that anymore, so he refocuses on the movie. On Dory remembering a fragment of herself and her makeshift family tagging along to find the rest.
On Dory slipping up in a panic and hurting Nemo, only to get snapped at by Marlin and the three of them separated.
Buck can’t stop the sharp hiss of breath he takes when Marlin yells at Dory. He’s watching the movie but he’s hearing Eddie’s voice saying How could you? You’re not around! echoing in his head.
Something bumps his shoulder. He glances over and finds Eddie watching him again, his brow furrowed. Buck shakes his head, not prepared to sort through all of this now. Eddie frowns but doesn’t push it.
Buck doesn’t cry at the end of Finding Dory that first time, but it’s a near thing.
So yeah, Finding Dory of all things has settled under his skin in an uncomfortable, unshakeable way. Maybe that was inevitable – it’s hard not to see a reflection of himself and the Diazes in Marlin, Nemo, and Dory, right, and it’s hard not to be haunted by his failures and those two things are sort of inextricably bound up inside his ribcage with the knot getting tighter every time they watch one of the movies.
And they watch them a lot. Because their movie rotation isn’t that long, but also because Eddie actually loves Finding Nemo even though he doesn’t like to admit it, and because he and Christopher have both definitely picked up on the fact that Finding Dory resonates with Buck in a way he doesn’t really want to analyze.
(It’s hard, it’s hard, not to see Eddie, Chris, and Buck in Marlin, Nemo, and Dory. In a single dad who’s doing his best but stretched too thin, in a kid who’s painfully independent and too clever for his own good, in their tag-along friend who’s been out of place her whole life and fell into theirs by chance.)
Eddie and Buck are apart from Christopher for a while right after COVID hits California, it’s safer for him not to be exposed to what they could be bringing home from work and they’re dealing with that. They’re dealing.
They’re still doing movies when they can, with Eddie and Buck wedged closer together than usual on Buck’s couch so they can both be in the FaceTime frame together, timing the start of their movies as best they can so it can almost, almost feel like normal. It isn’t, and being away from Chris sucks, but at least they’re in it together, pressed together from shoulder to knee with Eddie’s arm thrown lazily behind Buck’s shoulders like this is how they’ve always sat for movie night.
Chim and Hen don’t join them for video call movie night with Christopher, even though the four of them watch plenty of movies together, because the first time they’d called Christopher for a movie Eddie called it family movie night like it was natural to include Buck in that group and Chim and Hen’s eyebrow conversation about it wasn’t even that long. Their eyebrow conversation the first time they actually saw how close together Buck and Eddie had decided to sit was longer, but if they don’t understand that sometimes being best friends means having no personal space then that’s their loss.
But that’s not forever – Buck and Eddie sharing space in Buck’s loft while Hen and Chim chirp them for every third thing they do – and eventually Eddie goes home to Christopher and the three of them go back to hanging out in person for movies but also for dinner and for a tiny shred of normalcy.
Finding Dory is out of rotation for a while, even after they’re all able to flop across the same couch again, Christopher safely wedged in between Buck and Eddie. There’s just a little bit too much talk of quarantine for all of their taste for a while, there. And anyway, Buck is feeling a bit – rattled, for want of a better word. A little off. Maybe a lot off.
(The thing is, he pursued therapy trying to sort through his family shit, to figure out how to settle that restless buzz that’s started to burn through him again, long before his sister dragged his parents back into his life. He can’t deny that it’s worse now, though.)
Anyway, this is maybe not the time to investigate why lost, lonely Dory strikes such a chord in him. Why her parents being glad to see her after all their time apart makes him feel like he’s cracking open, and why –
Do you know what that feels like?
Only he walks into Eddie’s house after sorting things out with Maddie and sort of reconciling with his parents, and Christopher frowns at him. “Oh.”
“That’s one way to greet your best bud, pal,” Buck says. He shoves his hands into his pockets so Chris won’t see that they’re shaking.
“Sorry,” Christopher says. “Hi Buck. I just was going to ask for How to Train Your Dragon today, but it can be Finding Dory.”
“I’m – what are you talking about?” says Buck.
“It’s your favorite,” Christopher says, shrugging, like this isn’t a huge deal. “And you look – uh, no offense, Buck, but you look like it’s a favorite movie day.”
And the thing is, for Chris it probably isn’t a big deal. But for Buck –
There has only ever been one person in his life who could always tell when something was wrong, right, and he’s gotten really fucking good at lying to her about it lately. He didn’t mean to, but it happened. Maddie has had bigger things to worry about than whether or not her baby brother is falling to pieces.
(And anyway, he’s not her baby brother anymore. He’s a grown adult and he can handle himself. And yet here he is about to cry because his best friend’s ten-year-old can see right fucking through him.)
“You know what, Chris, I think you might be right,” Buck says instead of any of what’s reeling through his head. Maybe it’s a mistake, because does he really need to poke this bruise today? But on the other hand, he can maybe sort through some of this stuff without falling to pieces if it’s through the lens of an animated fish movie. “Favorite movie, and my two favorite guys. What do you say?”
“That you also probably need ice cream.”
Buck laughs, and it feels real in a way he hasn’t managed in days. “Nice try.”
“It would help!” Christopher says, grinning.
“Yeah, yeah,” says Buck. “Run that one by your dad, how ‘bout.”
“He’d say yes,” Christopher says simply. Like it’s easy. “If he thought it’d help you he’d say yes.”
And the thing is –
The thing is –
Buck really, really doesn’t know what to do with the fact that Chris is probably right.
“Hey, Chris, you gonna let Buck out of the front hall or am I moving the TV out there?” Eddie says, leaning around the doorframe.
“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Buck says. He scoops Chris up, even though he’s already started claiming he’s getting too big for that, and starts moving toward the living room.
Christopher, who for once isn’t protesting being picked up and is just laughing at Buck’s dramatics, taps his dad’s shoulder as they pass him. “Buck wants to watch Finding Dory.”
“It’s already queued up,” says Eddie.
Buck drops Christopher unceremoniously onto the couch and turns to look at Eddie, finding him already looking back with his hands in his pockets.
Yeah, fuck, Buck definitely doesn’t know what to do with being known like this today. He blinks hard, willing away the tears pricking at his eyes again.
“Thanks.”
Eddie shrugs. “No problem.”
“I think Buck also needs some ice cream,” Christopher says, twisting to prop himself on his elbows on the back of the couch.
“Does Buck think Buck needs some ice cream?” Eddie replies, amused.
Buck shrugs, smiling. “Probably wouldn’t hurt.”
Eddie studies him for a long moment, like he’s considering asking something else, checking in further, but then he turns. “Good thing we’re stocked up, then.”
And it shouldn’t be a big deal – of course they’re stocked, because Eddie and Buck went grocery shopping together two days ago, and Buck was the one who threw the goddamn chocolate chip cookie dough into the cart – but Buck still feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff and it might just put him over the edge. He’s pretty sure he’s got a safe place to land if he falls, though, and ain’t that a fucking first.
Buck ends up sitting in between the Diazes for once – usually Chris still ends up between him and Eddie, but tonight they’d exchanged looks across Buck as Eddie had carried all three bowls of ice cream in two hands back into the room and wordlessly settled on either side of Buck. Ice cream finished, Chris is nestled against Buck’s side like he might doze off. Eddie isn’t pressed so tightly to Buck’s other side as he had when they’d been trying to squeeze into frame for a video call, but he’s unmistakably present, a grounding weight keeping Buck from slipping away. He’s got one arm draped almost across Buck’s shoulders, mostly resting on the cushion, his fingers lazily combing through Christopher’s hair on Buck’s other side.
Dory gets lost. Gets found and then lost again. And Buck does not fucking cry.
But there’s this one scene, like, two thirds of the way through. The fish family find each other in the pipes and Dory tells Marlin and Nemo how close she is to finding her parents and she’s – she’s scared.
Scared she won’t be good enough, because her life fell apart over something she’d messed up as a kid. It wasn’t on purpose, but it still felt like her fault.
Buck isn’t crying, not really, but he’s shaking. He’s sure both of the Diazes can feel it, too.
Christopher finds Buck’s hand, holding it in both of his smaller ones. Buck doesn’t cry.
Eddie leans a little closer. His arm falls more fully over Buck’s shoulders, slid down off of the cushion, pulling Buck tighter against his side.
Buck doesn’t cry.
But he can’t watch anymore. Not this part, where Marlin is telling Dory how much she means to them, and not the next one where they realize that Dory’s parents aren’t actually there after all and after everything she’s still failing.
Buck knows how it ends, and yet –
He’s got that place to land, he realizes. So for once, he lets himself tumble over the edge. Turns and tucks his face into Eddie’s shoulder and sobs through I don’t have a family and No, Dory, that’s not true –
There’s a small hand rubbing up and down his spine the same way Buck and Eddie do when Chris has nightmares. There’s a large one cupping the base of his skull as he cries. The full force of this godforsaken week is finally hitting him and it’s all because of this goddamn fish movie that’s not even as good as the original.
“Is Buck okay, Dad?” Christopher murmurs. “Will – will Buck be okay?”
“He’s had a really tough week,” Eddie replies, just as soft. “But he’s got us, right? So he’ll be alright.”
They stay like that, nestled tighter together than usual by a very wide margin. Buck doesn’t completely tune the rest of the movie out, eventually finding it in him to turn his head back toward the screen, still resting on Eddie’s shoulder.
The movie ends.
The three of them stay entangled until the tank gang show up at the end of the credits. Buck isn’t crying anymore but he’s tired, and he’ll take this comfort as long as it’s available.
Eventually, Eddie taps his shoulder. Buck picks his head up, meeting his eye, and is more surprised than he should be by how close together their faces are.
“Hey, you up for dinner? I’m willing to suffer the indignity of ordering your weirdass pizza for you,” Eddie says softly.
“It’s not that weird,” Buck replies with none of his usual enthusiasm.
“That a yes?”
“I could eat.”
“Alright, up,” says Eddie. He doesn’t push Buck away, though, just sits up a bit straighter and waits for Buck to pull away on his own. Christopher stays nestled into Buck’s other side.
“Sorry for crying all over you,” Buck says, not quite meeting Eddie’s eye anymore.
“Don’t be,” says Eddie. “You’re my best friend. I got your back, right?”
“Right.”
Eddie gets up, snagging his phone off of the table and walking out of the room. Their favorite pizza place’s online ordering kind of sucks, but the pizza is worth having to actually make a phone call about it.
Chris sits up, tapping Buck’s arm to get his attention. “I’m glad you’re our Dory, Buck.”
“What?”
“That’s why you like this one so much, right?” Chris says. “Because you’re our Dory. We found you and we kept you and you’re our family now, too.”
Buck blinks back a new wave of tears. “Yeah, bud. I hope I am.”
Christopher fixes him with an even, unimpressed stare. “Of course you are, Buck. Don’t be dumb.”
“Hey,” Eddie says warningly as he comes back into the room.
“He said he hopes he’s family, Dad,” Christopher says. “He is being dumb.”
“Oh,” says Eddie. “Yeah, actually, I’ll allow that one.”
“Eddie,” Buck says.
“I’m sorry, Buck, you think I’d let just anybody get snot all over my shirt?”
“You just said it was fine!”
“Yeah, obviously.”
Buck falters. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“I just –“ Buck glances at Christopher, reluctant to admit to this in front of him. “I – no one’s ever stuck with me for so long before. No one but Maddie, and she’s – she’s my sister, you know. She didn’t get a choice about it.”
(He’s pretty sure both Eddie and Chris will catch the reference – not to the movie they just watched but the other one, to I don’t want that to go away and I look at you and I’m home. It’s all pressing closer to the surface than he usually lets it, aching under his ribs.)
“Well, we do,” Eddie says. He’s looking at Buck like there’s more he wants to say about it, like he’s holding back. Buck isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to say it in front of Chris either, or because he thinks Buck is too fragile for it. Either could be true; Buck is definitely, definitely fragile today. “We chose you, and we’re going to keep choosing you. You know what that feels like?”
It rings in Buck’s ears. Eddie said it like that on purpose, probably remembering the way Buck’s grip on the back of his shirt had tightened on that line, his face still buried in Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie knows what it means to him, even though Buck has never been able to find the words to explain.
Buck catches his breath, meeting Eddie’s eye. “Yeah. I know what that feels like.”