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Eddie hates Texas. He’d fled this place once—twice, even, if you counted his foray into the Army. Which Eddie does count—even if at the time it was more akin to a twist of the arm, his actions wrapped in a cling film of desperation. At 19, it felt like the only feasible way to support his family—both monetarily and, most importantly, with healthcare. He'd been desperate and afraid, and rather than any adult in his life throwing him a buoy or semblance of support or assistance, they'd allowed him to be shipped overseas and hollowed out on brutal, bullet-riddled battlefields. He'd spent years putting other soldiers back together, and by the time he made it back home, he didn't know how to do the same to himself. In a sick way, he still preferred all of it to feeling the bleak desolation that arrived hand in hand from simply crossing over Texas's state line.
Eddie isn't sure exactly when he started hating Texas. He thinks he hated El Paso before he ever hated Texas as a whole. Even when he was young, though, he was brimming with the desire of escape. It had always simmered just under his sternum. But that was also back when Eddie had big dreams for his future, although he doesn't remember what the younger, idealized version of Eddie from before had wanted for himself. Until this last year, he's actually come to quite like the life he's built for himself, save a hiccup or two along the way.
When Eddie came home with battle scars, a silver star, and a never-ending war within him that he doesn't know how to tame, every wordless cry for help is met with resistance from all of those 'safe' people in his life. Shannon and his parents look at him like he isn't about to shake apart at the very edges, like he's not fraying right in front of them; they expect it all too much too fast. Everything is too loud, too soft, too much. He asks for help and time—and is granted none of that. Eddie feels useless in his own life and disconnected from the people he loves, his wife, his parents, and his son.
Most of the time, though, none of them can really look at him now that he's gone and served his purpose. Served his country. He tore himself apart at the seams and leveled his foundation for the sake of unmet expectations and escape. Shannon leaves him; he works himself until there's nothing more Eddie can give, and when nothing but destruction seems imminent for his future. Well, Eddie takes the center of his new universe, his son, and runs for the hills.
Everyone told him that taking his son halfway across the country was an extreme response at the time—but for fuck's sake, they'd tried to take his kid from him. They stripped away his childhood and parentified him too fucking young, then had the gall to try to take his son from him. Like they didn't know that Chris was the only thing in Eddie's life worth holding onto, now that his nervous system had been rewritten in helicopters, gunfire, and gallons of blood and bandages. He did something for himself—he'd reached for freedom. He didn't know that LA would become his safe haven, that it would become the very thing he'd been reaching for from the first moment he ached to taste escape.
Eddie spent 7 years enjoying the life he built for himself and his son. Breaking again, but healing bit by bit, piece by piece. Rewriting a new him, maybe something closer to the one he'd stuffed away growing up. All of that had ended, of course, like all good things did. Untreated PTSD had a way of sneaking up on you when you least expected it. PTSD he'd had to confront a second time when Chris requested his own escape, with his grandparents as his getaway drivers. Chris had returned to the very place they'd once made an adventure out of fleeing. Oh, bitter irony.
When Chris asked for space, Eddie understood firsthand, and he'd wanted to afford his son the time and space to heal that his parents never afforded him growing up. Chris deserved leeway. Only retroactively is Eddie able to realize that maybe Chris was a little too much like him—too kind and caring to hurt his grandparents feelings even when he was long past ready to leave. So Chris went to Texas—which only made Eddie hate Texas that much more. And now, Eddie's in Texas too, and finally Chris is under his roof once again, snug in his own bed. So Eddie can put up with hating Texas as long as Chris is back where he belongs.
Still, that doesn't mean Eddie has the guts to call Texas, much less El Paso, home now. Home has taken on a very specific shape and feel. And it sure as hell wasn't this. And if and when Chris is ready to leave—well, Eddie's not sure if he'll ever come back here.
Texas feels like nothing but a cesspool of bad memories and dread. Growing up here was enough Texas for Eddie's entire lifetime. He'd held the weight of his family on his shoulder while his dad played breadwinner, while his mom did God knows what. He'd borne every responsibility on his shoulders—raising his two little sisters almost singlehandedly. He'd nearly crumbled under the pressure, living in a constant mode of fight or flight. His grades dropped, his attention waned, and the pressure grew and grew and grew until he broke. He'd become numb long before he entered the Army, and when he returned hurt, both inside and out—he'd had to tape himself back together, for both him and his son.
That was the first time they'd tried to take his son—this time they'd nearly succeeded. And Eddie loathed himself so deeply for every misstep and over- and under-correction along the way. He'd let their little voices that lived in his skull spewing condescension invade. He'd almost believe them back then and even almost believe them now—when they told him he wasn't enough for Chris, or even enough for himself, a man without pride or purpose. The difference from that Eddie to Eddie now is that he's got a best friend to snap him out of those downward spirals. He's clearheaded now—realizing his own worth. Eddie knew one thing: he couldn't let the damage they caused him become his son's damage too. And really, what kind of parents try to take a man's entire world away from them? The sheer fucking audacity.
Eddie still loves them, of course, and he respects them—but he's just not sure if he'll ever be able to trust them again. Definitely not with his own heart—or his world. So until Chris is ready to move onto greener pastures, he'll stick around Texas as long as his son needs. Even if that meant sticking out the school year—or two, if asked. Chris deserves to return to the stability Eddie had taken from him, like a thief in the night.
So Eddie hates Texas with every fiber of his being; he keeps that to himself, though. He hates every inch of it, from sticky Texas humidity to the sun, which seems brighter than usual lately. He hates that his relationship with his parents has been boiled down into a black hole of dread that's been threatening to consume him since Eddie took his son back. They've been pestering him about his decision, despite the fact Eddie was very clear he wouldn't budge—not even over his dead body since Buck would retain guardianship. His parents still didn't know about that, though, and at this rate, he never intends to tell them. So anyways, Eddie will bide his time and check back in with Chris around May or June. Because home will always be waiting for him back in LA. Home is the 118, home is a place of his own far from his parents, home is…well something Eddie has started seeing the shape of throughout FaceTime’s and phone calls with Buck.
Eddie glances at his phone, distracted from his train of thought by the device's now-familiar Lyft notification. Up the road from the McDonald's parking lot he was sitting in, someone needed a ride from the airport. After accepting the ride, he backs out of his parking spot, sparing a glance at the time: 2 AM. No wonder he was so damn tired; Eddie is fucking exhausted in a way he hasn't felt since his time at dispatch.
He worries momentarily after his son, who was asleep at the house—the house that's still falling apart around them more quickly than Eddie can put it back together. For now they could make do… Eddie mentally curses himself for putting a damn down payment on the place rather than simply renting as he'd done in LA. In retrospect, Eddie is able to see how hard he'd overcorrected—he pulls onto the exit leading to the airport and tries not to think about the El Paso captain who had very recently reminded Eddie that a job was still awaiting him in LA at the drop of a hat. Eddie rolls into the pickup lane and rubs his eyes, throwing back the last dregs of a Monster—he's been partial to the juice-blended ones lately.
Eddie adjusts the temperature as his Lyft driver slides into the backseat, glancing at his phone to confirm the fare's name. "Are you Mister… Freddie Fakeman?" Eddie almost laughs when he asks, fondly thinking about Buck. He's about to break out the antidote when he remembers himself.
“I’m starting to think your newfound excessive drinking of energy drinks might be killing your brain cells. Are you drinking the radioactive stuff or what? There’s no way you actually fell for that twice.”
Eddie whips around so quickly; there was a small chance he had whiplash. "Buck?" He stares owlishly at his passenger in the back seat, speechless, because yeah. His best friend is right there, with his long legs practically to his chest in the tiny vehicle.
“Freddie Fakeman, actually.” Buck quips. And Eddie is so overwhelmed—so fucking fond and a little confused.
“How are you here?” Not that Eddie isn't happy that Buck's right there—Buck's right fucking there. He could reach out and touch him; he was tangible; he was real—he was here in Texas.
“Airplane. Airport.”
Eddie rolls his eyes but says, "That's not—stop being a smart ass. And get up here.”
Buck levels him a cheeky look in the rearview mirror before sliding out of the car and climbing in the passenger seat, adjusting it to meet the needs of his legs. Eddie almost laughs because honestly Buck looks a little fucking ridiculous in this tiny Prius.
He looks the same as ever—but maybe distant too. He's so soft in the dim glow of worn street lamps. Eddie can still barely believe he's here. He's right fucking there. He's got to speak now, or he'll get too distracted staring to remember his train of thought.
“Start talking, Buckley. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Chris told me you could use some help with house maintenance. Since I was in construction, I thought I could help out. The sooner you get the place fixed up, the sooner we can get you packed.”
“Packed.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question, but the edges of it are still fuzzy with confusion.
Buck smiles at Eddie a little sheepishly. “Yeah, I don’t think Chris knew how to explain that when he told you he wanted to go home, he was talking about LA specifically.”
“Oh,” Eddie says dumbly. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Buck says, laughing. “And based on Chris’s descriptors of your new place, we’ve got our work ahead of us?”
“You came because Chris asked?” Eddie's so soft, his chest aches, and he's pretty sure if Buck's sweetness was edible, his teeth would have rotted out years ago. He's so fucking touched and so fond.
“Eddie, I would drop everything for either of you. You know that.”
It's so matter-of-fact Eddie has to look away speechlessly, because yeah, he guesses in a sense he always knew that Buck would do pretty much anything for him and his son—getting used to his grand gestures had taken some getting used to when Eddie was used to people only taking. Taking from him or taking him for granted. He wasn’t used to people giving and giving and giving the way Buck did. And giving back never felt like a chore—it felt simple. Uncomplicated. It felt like home. Eddie hates El Paso a little less with Buck here, sitting in it with him.
Buck taps the ceiling, looking around apparently a little self-conscious himself. “Love the new ride.”
“You know I hate you, right?” Eddie asks.
Buck tilts his head in that flirty, ridiculous way he does and fucking smirks—he has the nerve to smirk at Eddie. “You wish you could, Eds.”
And Eddie, Eddie's not entirely sure what possesses him when he grabs Buck by the collar of his shirt and drags him into a bruising kiss, almost on autopilot. The shape of home finally clicks into place. It wasn't Texas, and maybe it wasn't even LA. It was Chris, and it was Buck—it was this. And the world has tipped on its head and then righted—and Eddie. Well, he never realized just how badly he wanted to kiss Buck until their lips were pressed together. Buck is melting into him like putty—like maybe he's been waiting just as long as Eddie for this. Eddie's head knocks against the window, but he doesn't care. They keep kissing and kissing and kissing until he's breathless and his mouth aches. They jump apart when someone in the lane behind them blares their horn. Eddie fumbles to sit up, and he flicks his hazards off, trying to compose himself.
"Damn, Eddie. Tell me how you really feel." Buck sounds dazed and when Eddie glances at him his best friend is grinning ear to ear. His hair is mussed and his cheeks are pink and the slightly gobsmacked look on his face satisfies Eddie to no end.
"How did you know I was driving anyway?" Eddie realizes suddenly.
"I didn't, it was just luck. I was about to text you on the way over, Chris sent me the address, but then… I saw the vehicle was a black Prius and I checked your location and I knew it was you. You can't deny fate."
“You’re an idiot.” Eddie says so full of affection he might burst.
"You know, making out with your Lyft fare isn't very professional. Is that how you're getting those big tips?"
"Shut it, or you'll walk the rest of the way, Buck."
“That’s Mr. Fakeman to you. Now clock out and take me home, Diaz.”
And if more kisses are traded at red lights and stop signs… Well. That’s between them and the traffic cameras.