Work Text:
Still Yours
The first time Buck saw Eddie with her, he didn’t even flinch.
He smiled, wide and fake, like it didn’t matter that Eddie’s hand was on another woman’s back or that she laughed at all the same jokes Buck used to tell. Buck told himself it was fine. That Eddie had every right to move on—to find something stable. Safe.
And she was. Safe. Soft-spoken and sweet, the kind of person who wore her kindness like perfume.
Buck couldn’t hate her. He didn’t even want to.
But he could hate himself. For waiting. For staying silent. For pretending he wasn’t in love with his best friend for over three years.
He’d had so many chances. So many little moments that whispered say it now.
And he hadn’t. Because Buck was great in emergencies, but when it came to love—real love—he always froze.
So now he sat on the edge of his bed at 2AM, staring at his ceiling, wondering how long it would hurt like this.
“Okay,” Hen said, cornering Buck in the locker room like a lioness spotting the wounded. “Talk.”
“I am talking,” Buck replied automatically, tugging on his hoodie.
Hen crossed her arms. “You’ve been half-alive for a month. You eat like someone insulted your toast, and you haven’t made a single sex joke in three weeks. Are you dying?”
“I’m fine.”
Hen tilted her head. “You’re not fine. You’re ‘Eddie’s-dating-someone-and-I-didn’t-say-I-loved-him-in-time’ fine.”
Buck froze.
Chimney poked his head in from the hallway. “Wait, are we finally acknowledging this? Because I have notes.”
Buck groaned and flopped back against the locker. “Why does everyone know?”
“Because you light up like a Christmas tree every time he walks into a room,” Chim said.
“Because you shut down every time he talks about her,” Hen added.
Buck closed his eyes. “I thought I could live with it. Be happy for him.”
“Can you?” Hen asked gently.
“No,” Buck whispered. “I can’t.”
The depression didn’t hit all at once. It crept in, like water leaking through a crack—silent, invisible, until suddenly everything was soaked.
Buck still showed up to work. Still saved lives, still smiled when people needed him to.
But when he went home, the silence was unbearable.
The thought that he’d be a guest at Eddie’s wedding one day made him physically sick.
He started avoiding their usual routines—stopped going to family dinners, stopped hanging around the Diaz house unless it was Christopher asking.
Even then, he kept his visits short.
Christopher noticed.
“Are you mad at Dad?” he asked one day, clutching his science book.
“No,” Buck said. “Never.”
“Then why don’t you come over anymore?”
Buck didn’t have an answer. Not one he could give a kid.
It was a routine call. House fire. Everyone made it out safe. No injuries.
But Buck lost it anyway.
One minute he was in control. The next he was yelling at a rookie who froze, then storming out and slamming his gear onto the truck.
He didn’t even realize he was crying until Eddie grabbed his shoulder.
“Buck,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t,” Buck choked. “I can’t keep pretending this is fine. That I’m okay. I’m not.”
Eddie looked stricken. “Buck—what—”
Buck backed away. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t remember driving home. Just that he collapsed into bed and didn’t answer anyone’s calls for two days.
Hen let herself into Buck’s apartment without knocking.
He looked like hell. Blank-eyed, unshaven, wrapped in a hoodie he hadn’t taken off in days.
“I’m not here to fix you,” she said, setting a container of soup on the counter. “I’m here to remind you that you’re not broken. You’re hurting. And you’re allowed to hurt.”
Buck said nothing.
Hen sat next to him on the couch. “You love him.”
He nodded.
“You think it’s too late.”
“I know it is,” Buck rasped. “He’s happy.”
Hen tilted her head. “Is he? Have you asked?”
Buck didn’t answer.
Because no. He hadn’t.
He didn’t plan to see Eddie that night.
He didn’t plan anything, really. He just… ended up driving. No music, no GPS. Just his hands on the wheel and his heart crawling up his throat.
The house looked exactly the same. Porch light on. Christopher’s skateboard in the driveway. Curtains half-drawn like someone had just peeked out.
Buck sat there for a long time, engine idling.
Then Eddie opened the front door.
Like he knew.
Buck rolled down the window. “I wasn’t gonna knock.”
“I was hoping you would.”
Eddie looked tired. Not angry. Not confused. Just… sad. Like he was waiting, too.
“Come in,” he said.
Buck did.
They sat on opposite ends of the couch like strangers.
Buck clenched his hands. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t,” Eddie said quickly. “You’ve been going through something, and I—I didn’t ask. I should’ve noticed—”
Buck cut him off. “It’s not your job to notice when I fall apart.”
“Yes, it is,” Eddie said. “You’d notice if it were me.”
Buck looked down at the floor.
Eddie inhaled, voice soft. “Is this about Ana?”
“Yes,” Buck said. Then, after a beat, “And no.”
Eddie waited.
“I’m in love with you,” Buck said. “I have been for a long time. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose what we had. But then you started dating her and… I thought I’d missed my chance. I thought I’d never get to tell you.”
The room felt frozen.
Buck stared at his hands. “I’m not saying it to ruin anything. I just—Hen said I needed to stop pretending. And she’s right. I can’t keep lying to you. Or myself.”
He stood, ready to leave. “I’ll go. I just—needed you to know.”
“Buck, wait.”
Buck paused at the door.
“I broke up with Ana,” Eddie said. “Two weeks ago.”
Buck turned slowly.
“What?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Chris. I needed time to think. To figure out why I felt like I was always waiting for something else. For someone else.”
He stood too, hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “You being gone… it made it really clear.”
Buck’s heart beat so hard it hurt.
“I’ve been in love with you, too,” Eddie said. “But I was scared. And maybe I didn’t want to see it. Because if I saw it, I’d have to do something about it. And I wasn’t ready.”
“And now?” Buck asked, barely above a whisper.
Eddie took a step closer. “Now I am.”
They didn’t rush it.
They told Christopher together. He just blinked at them and said, “You guys are slow,” before going back to his video game.
They didn’t tell the team right away. Just started smiling more. Standing a little closer. Looking at each other like everything had shifted.
(Chim cried when he found out. Hen claimed she was owed at least $50 from everyone.)
Buck still had bad days. So did Eddie. But now they talked about them. Now there was no pretending.
Now there was just this love—quiet, steady, unshakable.
Something that had been there all along.
One night, months later, Buck sat in Eddie’s backyard watching the sun dip below the fence line.
Eddie came out with a beer, sat beside him.
“Still scared sometimes,” Buck admitted.
“Me too.”
“But I’m not running anymore.”
Eddie bumped their shoulders. “You’re allowed to be scared. I’m still yours.”
Buck looked at him, heart full.
“Always?” he asked.
“Always,” Eddie said.
And Buck believed him.