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Buck can’t sleep.
Christopher is sleeping in his bedroom down the hall for the first time in months, Eddie is passed out on Buck’s too-stiff couch, and this house that had forgotten how to be a home finally feels alive again. Like life has been breathed back into it simply because they are here - because they are home, now, exactly where they have always belonged.
And Buck is scared down to his very bones that if he closes his eyes, all of this will disappear. He’s all too familiar with how life can change in the blink of an eye. He’s terrified that this is some elaborate, torturous dream his mind has conjured up from the depths of his grief.
If it is, he just wants to stay locked in it forever.
He’d give up the real world for this one, where Eddie and Chris are home, and Bobby is somehow - miraculously - alive; not buried six feet under the Minnesotan earth, but in the home he and Athena built together, after the military finally let him go. Buck will exist in this make-believe, inbetween place, where nothing hurts and everyone is back where they belong.
He’d had this choice once before, after the lightning. Buck had been forced to choose between a world where his brother lived and his parents loved him, and a world where Bobby was alive, and Maddie was safe, and Eddie and Chris were in LA with him.
It had been a no-brainer then, and it’s still one now: Buck will choose his family - his real family - every single time.
His eyes sting with exhaustion, and the strain of trying to keep them open is almost too much for his world-weary body to handle. Every time they droop closed it becomes harder to reopen them - he hasn’t slept properly in months, after all - but he refuses to give in. He refuses to let this happiness slip away from him, and wake up in a world that’s gone dark without Bobby, and Eddie, and Chris around to keep it light.
It almost feels like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the curtain to be torn down to reveal what’s hiding behind all of this. It’s all too good to be true. Bobby alive, and Eddie and Christopher home, is all Buck wanted. It’s the last thing he’ll ever ask the universe for, as long as he gets to keep it. As long as the sun doesn’t rise on a world without Bobby, and a world where Eddie and Chris are 800 miles away from him.
His heart is beating too fast, panic clawing up his ribcage like a ladder, as exhaustion starts to claim him. He’s not ready. Too scared to close his eyes in case he wakes up in a different, harsher reality. But then, whisper-quiet at first, there’s a knock on Buck’s bedroom door. And then another, louder. And then a third one.
Buck is out of bed before he’s even fully processed the sound.
He opens the door, hinges creaking in the silence of the night, and finds Eddie standing on the other side of it.
His hair is washed free of gel, falling loosely over his forehead, and his eyes are heavy from sleep deprivation. He’s shirtless, his bare chest on display, with a pair of basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. He looks maybe as beautiful as Buck has ever seen him, except for that first moment in the airport when Buck finally got to hug him again - when he was reminded that this, what they have, is something tangible. Something he gets to hold in his arms. Something real, even if there isn’t a name for it.
Eddie’s mouth quivers like he’s trying to smile, before remembering this is Buck - this is them - and he doesn’t have to pretend. Not ever. They’re both too tired for smiling, so drained that they have almost nothing left to give after the rollercoaster these last few days have been. Saying goodbye to Bobby, then fighting like they’ve never fought before, and then both Christopher and Bobby coming home in the span of just a handful of hours. It’s a lot.
It’s more than any sane person could deal with, and Buck and Eddie have been hanging on by a thread since long before the lab disaster.
“Hi,” Eddie whispers.
“Hi,” Buck replies. “Are you okay?”
Eddie nods his head as he shifts from side to side. Buck glances down for a moment, and sees Eddie’s bare feet on the hardwood floor. They must be cold, Buck thinks, and he gets a bizarre urge to offer Eddie a pair of his favourite fluffy socks. He bites down on the words, swallows them before they can slip out.
“Yeah, yeah I - um. Can I stay in here?” Eddie asks, his gaze fixed on a point over Buck’s shoulder instead of his eyes, as if he’s worried Buck might deny his request.
“Of course,” Buck says, without a moment's hesitation.
He moves to slide through the gap between Eddie and the doorway, more than happy to give Eddie’s bedroom back to him - he was only a placeholder anyway, just keeping it warm until Eddie made it home.
But then a hand reaches out, and Eddie’s warm, steady fingers circle around Buck’s wrist and hold on tight, not letting Buck take a single step further out the door. Buck’s eyes immediately latch onto Eddie’s hand on his skin, the thick, careful fingers that are pressed against Buck’s fluttering pulse. When he looks back up at Eddie he finds that Eddie is already watching him.
“No, Buck. Can I stay with you?” The words drip from Eddie’s mouth like a sigh.
Buck nods his head and shuffles backwards, giving Eddie the space to step inside the bedroom. “Oh. Yeah. Of course,” he says, his voice too soft and too telling.
He would give Eddie anything. Not just because of the day they’ve had, or because of the fight last night, or because Buck now knows how it feels to wake up to an empty house and nothing but a note on a folded pile of blankets. No, Buck would give Eddie anything because, well. Because he’s Buck, and Eddie is Eddie, and they are them. Because there’s not a single thing in this world Buck wouldn’t give to him - no request too big, or small, or outlandish. He’d move heaven and earth for Eddie without question.
Because, despite all of Buck’s protestations - despite the fact that he’d spent weeks laughing, and ridiculing, and denying the suggestion - he is in love with Eddie.
He hadn’t known until that moment in the airport, when he’d folded Eddie into his arms and suddenly Buck could breathe again. Suddenly the weight of his grief felt just that little bit lighter, simply by having Eddie close to him. And then, in an instant, Buck couldn’t stop knowing - couldn’t stop realising. All of those moments, big and small and seemingly insignificant, where Buck had loved Eddie quietly. Where he had loved him so effortlessy that he hadn’t even known he was doing it. A secret not just to everyone else, but to himself as well.
And after that it was simply impossible to ignore. It felt like the biggest, loudest thing in every room - felt like his love was pouring out of him like sunbeams, blinding and obvious and impossible to hide. But the clouds of grief had blocked out the light of Buck’s love, and somehow they’d ended up at each other’s throats instead.
He steps back into the bedroom, waits for Eddie to follow him inside, and then closes the door behind them.
The silence feels louder now that they’re sharing it. It feels thick, and heavy, like something Buck could hold on his tongue; something he could chew. He doesn’t want to be the first one to break it though, and doesn't want to force conversation if they’re not ready to have it yet. So he climbs into bed, holding his breath as Eddie does the same, and it’s not lost on Buck that they sleep on opposite sides. Buck takes the left and Eddie the right, like two halves of a whole. Something that is meant to be…is meant to find each other.
“Thank you,” Eddie says, his voice barely even a whisper. “I just - I’m tired of being alone.”
It makes Buck feel cracked open; raw and bleeding and aching. He hates it, the thought of Eddie all alone in Texas when Karen made the call about Bobby being gone. The way he would have shattered silently, so he didn’t scare Chris in the same way he did the last time he found out people he cared about were dead. He hadn’t asked what it was like for Eddie to get the call because he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer, wasn’t sure he could survive the visual of Eddie having to go through that moment alone. It would have broken Buck, and Buck needed to be strong - he needed to be whole for everyone else.
So Buck wasn’t there to hold together all of Eddie’s pieces, but he can be now.
He rolls onto his side so he’s facing Eddie, and waits patiently for Eddie to copy him. It takes less than three seconds before they’re facing each other, less than a foot of space between them.
“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” Buck promises. “I’m here. And I’ll still be here when you and Chris go back to El Paso, cheering you on from 800 miles away.”
Eddie isn’t wrong about much, but he was wrong about that. Even if it breaks him, Buck will always be happy for the things that make Eddie happy. He might be selfish sometimes, might want to always keep Eddie to himself, but he would never jeopardise Eddie’s happiness. Certainly not for his own.
Eddie shakes his head, his hair scratching against the pillow. “I - I don’t think I can take the job.”
Buck holds his breath. “Why not?”
“I don’t think I can leave again,” Eddie says, the words falling from his lips like a confession. “We - me and Chris - we belong here. LA, the 118, you.”
Buck wants to scream, and he wants to laugh, and he wants to cry all of the tears he’s been holding back for months, but he keeps a lid on the emotions that want to explode out of him like a rocket. Instead he reaches across the space between them and lets the tips of his fingers kiss the side of Eddie’s forearm. A small, honest gesture that makes Eddie’s lips curl upwards into something almost like a smile.
“I’ll support you no matter what you decide to do,” Buck promises.
“I know. I know you will, Buck. And - and I’m sorry, okay? For-”
“No,” Buck silences him. “No, you don’t have to apologise for anything.”
Last night in the kitchen was the culmination of so much hurt, and loss, and grief, and anger. It was both of them missing Bobby so much that they could barely breathe, but it was missing each other, too. It was everything they’d ever left unsaid suddenly being turned into weapons in a misguided attempt at protecting themselves. It was both of them wishing Eddie had been there so neither of them would have had to go through it alone, and it was both of them feeling guilty - Buck for not being able to save Bobby, and Eddie for never even having the chance to.
It was all of their pain finally coming to the surface, because they know - no matter what - they can always be honest with each other.
Being vulnerable is the hardest thing in the world. It’s flaying yourself open, cracking your ribs apart, and revealing your still beating heart, all while hoping that the other person doesn’t shy away from you. That the weight of all that you are doesn’t frighten them away. For Buck and Eddie, the only people they can truly do that with is each other. It’s safe for them to break in front of each other, because they always know they’ll have help fitting the pieces back together.
“Buck, what I said - you have to know I didn’t mean that. You weren’t being selfish…”
“I was,” Buck quietly interrupts. “I was being selfish, and so were you. Grief is selfish. It’s selfish, and angry, and lonely, because even though we’re grieving the same person, we aren’t grieving in the same way. But - but that’s okay, Eddie. Just because our grief looks different, it doesn’t make it any less valid.”
Eddie sniffles, and a single tear streams down his cheek but he doesn’t wipe it away. He doesn’t hide from Buck. “When did you get so smart, huh?”
Buck laughs softly, rolling his eyes as he presses his fingertips harder against Eddie’s arm. He wants to take hold but he’s not sure if he should, if he’s allowed, so he leans into that small point of contact and doesn’t dare pull away.
“It’s been known to happen from time to time.”
Eddie smiles, something small and shy and sweet, and Buck takes a moment to just look - to take Eddie in properly, for the first time since he came home. He’s got dark circles beneath his eyes, like his sleep has been messed up for far longer than these last couple of weeks, and his skin looks sallow with the lingering grief they haven’t quite been able to shake yet. But his eyes are bright, and warm, and they finally look alive again. He looks peaceful, content, like the weight of the world has suddenly been lifted off his shoulders.
Buck hadn’t quite realised just how much he’s missed this - missed his Eddie - until now, lying face to face with him instead of seeing him through a collection of pixels on a phone screen.
Eddie’s cheeks redden under Buck’s intense attention, and he glances away for a moment as he reaches out a hand to tug at the string of Buck’s hoodie. He keeps hold of it, threading it between his fingers and twirling the end of it over and over again. Buck shifts closer, and he tells himself it’s so the string isn’t so taut, but he knows better than that. He knows it’s just an excuse, a reason to be as close to Eddie as he’s allowed to get.
“You know there’s nothing you could ever do to push me away, right?” Buck whispers.
Eddie’s fingers fall still but he doesn’t let go. It takes an infinite, breathless moment for him to look up and meet Buck’s eyes. And once he does, to Buck’s absolute devastation, he realises they’re brimming with tears again.
“I should never have put my hands on you-”
“Stop,” Buck insists. “Stop, Eddie. It’s not like you hurt me, is it? It was just the heat of the moment.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s absolutely the point,” Buck argues, “because you didn’t do anything wrong, and I won’t let you beat yourself up over it. Okay? You did nothing wrong.”
Buck takes a breath and tries to be brave as he folds his hand over where Eddie’s has frozen around the string of Buck’s hoodie. He curls his fingers around Eddie’s and lets his thumb brush over his knuckles, white from how tightly he’s holding on - a death grip on his lifeline.
In that moment there wasn’t a single second, a single breath, and single heartbeat, where Buck had felt afraid of Eddie. There was never an ounce of doubt in his mind, not a fraction of worry that Eddie would ever, in a million years, do anything to hurt him. Eddie is soft, and gentle, and kind, and just because he spent so long being forced into a role he didn’t fit the shape of, it doesn’t mean that is who he is. Buck knows him right down to his very bones, better than anyone else ever has, and he knows that he is - above everything else - good, fundamentally, right at the heart of who he is.
It’s an honour, really, to be the person Eddie lets himself be honest with. A true privilege to be the place where Eddie feels most safe. And the truth of it is, they both know that it’s okay to lash out at each other because they know they’ll always have each other’s back - they know they’ll catch each other every time they fall, that they’ll stem the bleeding and patch up the wound, and hold each other through the healing.
They’ve got each other, no matter what. Through anger, and guilt, and grief, and loss, and love, there is always them.
“I wasn’t angry at you,” Eddie explains. “I just - I needed you, Buck. I needed you so much, and I was furious at myself because I didn’t know how to ask for that.”
Buck’s hand tightens over Eddie’s as he says, “You never have to ask, Eddie. You can just take. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”
He would give him anything, give him everything. If Eddie was a vampire, Buck would bare his neck and willingly let Eddie bleed him dry. If Eddie was dying, Buck would give him the breath from his lungs and the beat in his heart. Comfort? Support? Love? That’s the easiest thing in the world to give a man like Eddie Diaz, because no one has ever deserved it more.
Eddie is looking at Buck like he is seeing him for the very first time. His eyes are wide, and his face is so open and honest that Buck almost feels like he should look away - it feels too intimate, having Eddie watch him like this, as if Buck has caught him in a moment that was supposed to be private. But Buck is captivated, hooked, held hostage by all the emotion swirling in Eddie’s irises like honey drizzled through chocolate. He couldn’t look away from him even if he wanted to.
Especially when Eddie closes the remaining distance between them until their noses are brushing, and he leans forward to press their foreheads together.
Buck can feel Eddie’s breath on his skin. He smells like toothpaste and Buck’s shampoo, and Buck is half-convinced his heart is trying to break out of his chest and crawl into Eddie’s. He understands. Buck would live inside of Eddie if he could, or have Eddie live inside of him. He’d fuse their bodies together just like their souls already are, and he would never let him go - would follow him around like a dog with a bone, would always be touching him and talking to him and existing with him.
The way he wants Eddie is feral and animalistic - a frenzied, desperate thing. He wants to bite at the skin of Eddie’s throat to claim him, to let everyone know exactly where he belongs. And he’d be embarrassed, maybe, if Eddie wasn’t pressing against him like he would gladly sink into him. If he hadn’t slipped his ankle between both of Buck’s, so their legs and hands and breath are all tangled together.
“Can I take this?” Eddie asks, and Buck wants to weep.
“Anything," Buck promises.
So Eddie kisses him.
It’s chaste and syrupy slow; an easy, closed-mouth press of their lips. There aren’t fireworks or sparks, but instead there is a quiet undercurrent humming beneath Buck’s skin. There is a tender, gentle, beautiful feeling of home, finally, after a lifetime of searching for it. It’s not even new, not really. Because this is Eddie, his best friend, the person who knows him best in the world. It’s familiar, even though they have never done this before. Familiar, because there is no part of each other that they haven’t already seen glimpses of.
It’s the best thing Buck has ever done - his most favourite moment in the whole world.
When they pull apart the breath Eddie lets out is shaky as it ripples across Buck’s skin, and when Buck opens his eyes it’s to the most glorious image he’s ever set his sights on: Eddie, tears streaming down his face, with the most lovely smile he’s ever worn.
Mine, mine, mine, Buck thinks, and kisses him again just to satisfy the craving. And then he brings his hand to Eddie’s face, cups his cheeks gently, and brushes away the still-falling tears. Tears, Buck knows, that are joyful.
“You love me,” Eddie whispers. It isn’t a question.
“I love you,” Buck confirms.
Eddie’s smile widens, and he leans back into Buck’s space like he can’t bear to be apart from him. He rests their foreheads together again for a moment, before he says, “I love you, too.”
Matching tears start to leak from Buck’s eyes, but before they can fall Eddie catches them.
And they fall asleep just like that: together, holding each other, in love. Home. Exactly where they belong. Exactly where the universe designed them to be.