Work Text:
Okay, fine. Buck could maybe admit—distantly, from some far corner of his mind—that maybe he had been going a little bit crazy since Eddie moved back to Texas.
It had been two months now, over one thousand hours (one thousand four hundred and forty, but Buck for sure, definitely, did not do the math) since Eddie had made off in his stupid U-Haul attached to his stupid pickup truck that took him back to Texas (had Buck mentioned to anyone how much he hates Texas? Stupid state, really). And while Buck could also recognize—from a closer, more logical corner of his mind—that the reason Eddie left was a good one, it didn’t keep him from feeling abandoned and betrayed and all the (stupid) other things he felt over the last two months. He felt kind of like that kid in some movie who smells really bad, so when he sits down in the school cafeteria, the stereotypical group of cool kids around him promptly evacuates to another table to get out of his weirdo-freak-stink cloud. Buck knew he didn’t smell that bad. Maybe a little sweaty after a shift, a little musty after a fire, but never so bad that it would warrant everyone in his life promptly evacuating. Though, they always did. Taylor, Tommy, Maddie three times, Natalia, Allie, his own parents a hundred times, and now Eddie. Eddie was the latest cool kid in this movie trope scenario he was living, but he definitely wasn’t the first. Everyone was always leaving. Maybe he should invest in a new cologne.
Buck thought he was making progress, though. Slowly, sure; but progress nonetheless. At least now he could tell himself that even entertaining for a second the idea that Eddie left not to reunite with his son, but to escape Buck’s horrible odor, was insane, and he was spiraling. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?
And yes, Buck knew it counted as part of the overarching problem to be laying in his bed after his shift, three glasses of wine deep, stalking Eddie’s Facebook page. When Eddie had called earlier, casually mentioning he remembered Hen’s birthday because of their Facebook friendship, Buck couldn’t help his curiosity—despite the teasing he did about Eddie being an old man for still even using the outdated social platform. He scrolled all the way to the bottom, finding pictures back to Eddie’s high school days; ones of him smiling next to Shannon, first posts after Army basic training, young snapshots of Christopher. There were basically none posted since he moved to LA, but Buck talked himself down from a tipsy ledge and chalked that up to Eddie’s general distrust in technology these days. Although it warmed his heart in some disarming way to see younger, scrawnier, less-burdened-looking Eddie Diaz, Buck had to cut himself off, like he was starting to do every time he did anything that indicated an unhealthy level of yearning towards his absent best friend. Admitting he had a problem. Progress!
So he swiped off of Eddie’s page, perusing his general feed for the first time in probably three years. It was filled with ads for mobile games he couldn’t believe anyone would ever download, weird manifestation mantras that had thousands of comments, and only the occasional post, most of which were Hen’s life updates or some half-acquaintance he vaguely knew from community college sharing a birth announcement. In other words, Buck quickly remembered why he didn’t use this app anymore. The entire thing was one big overstimulation nightmare, equipped with marketing scams targeted at vulnerable old people and A.I.-generated bullshit and a built-in dating platform (for literally what reason?). He was beyond ready to exit the app and never go back on again within five minutes of scrolling outside of Eddie’s page. But he scrolled another few times, just for science’s sake. Maybe it really was as addicting as people say social media is, so he couldn’t look away even as he actively hated the experience. Maybe he needed a mindless distraction to keep his thoughts from wandering to the distinct, painful lack of Eddie Diaz in his life.
Whatever it was, Buck kept scrolling and stumbled across a promotional banner for joining Facebook ‘groups.’ Another new feature rolled out, Buck assumed, with the preposterous and insane ‘dating’ feature. Buck realized it really must have been half a decade since he’d been on this app, judging by the algorithm’s suggestions for communities to join: Bikers of Pennsylvania; Mixologists of VA Beach; Sex Addicts Anonymous (okay, embarrassing—also, how can Facebook be anonymous?). The last one on the list caught his eye, though.
Separation Support Group-- LA.
It was probably the wine that got him here.
Separation Support Group? To be fair, he and Eddie were separated. This was a long-distance relationship that Buck was struggling to adjust to. Every second of his day was consumed by the aching absence of his best friend, occupied by the constant awareness that wherever he was, Eddie was not. He had admitted he had a problem; the problem being, he didn’t know how to go on about his life as if it was nothing that Eddie (the love of his life, if he let his wine-addled brain be honest for a second) wasn’t here, in it. That was the first step. The second step was to do something about it.
Buck requested to join the group and turned off his phone.
As he rolled around in his fitful sleep, his screen lit up with the notification.
You are now a member of Separation Support Group-- LA. Get the conversation started!
Maybe this would help him. To talk to other people who were struggling in long-distance relationships. Platonic or romantic—or wherever in between Buck and Eddie fell—it could be useful to hear other people’s experiences with being so far away from their loved one. Being separated from Eddie was tearing him apart inside, so opening up to complete strangers might help ease some of the weight he was dragging on his shoulders.
It was surely the wine. Must’ve been.
But that was neither here nor there. Buck had a new outlet to exchange for his unhealthy I-miss-Eddie-so-much-I-could-die coping mechanisms. In the morning, he resolved, he’d check out the page. He’d learn how to deal with this. Second step: finding a solution. Maybe this could be his solution.
*******
So, it had to have been the wine. He was certain of it beyond a doubt, now.
Because what the fuck.
Buck had to blink at his Facebook notifications four times over before he realized what a stupid fucking mess he had gotten himself into. He half-wished, passingly, that someone had a camera to his face to capture how ridiculous he felt, must have looked.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evan Buckley has joined the group.
Grace Jones (Moderator)
Welcome, Evan! This group is a safe place to talk about all the complications and feelings of getting a separation from your spouse. Whether it’s just temporary or a pit stop on the way to divorce, we all know how difficult it can be to adjust to being alone. We’re all here to support each other in adapting to the newly-single life, in navigating legal proceedings, and any other challenges that come with separation. If you feel comfortable, we love to hear our newcomers share a little about themselves so we can help you deal with whatever made you seek out this group. If not, we’re still happy to have you here!
Let us know how we can best support you in this difficult time!
Eve Turner
Glad to have you here, Evan! Hope you’re well.
Michelle McLeod
Hello Evan welcome to the group
Kristy Johnson
:) :) :)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No, actually. What the fuck.
Buck knew he was being dramatic about Eddie leaving. But it was too much of a stretch, in any corner of his mind, to say they were at a ‘pit stop on the way to divorce,’ to use Grace’s words. As messy as their dynamic was, they definitely were never married. Buck knew that much. Even if it felt to him like they were. Even if he wished they were.
And okay. All women. Divorced (separated, he amended pitifully) women. Judging by the profile pictures, likely starting at 10+ years older than him. Also judging by the profile pictures, probably the types to say ‘it’s 5 o’clock somewhere’ six hours early while drinking margaritas on their lunch break from a corporate job and to post boomerangs on their Instagram stories of said margaritas.
Would it be too awkward to just leave the group? Not say anything, just slip out like he was never there? He shouldn’t be there. He doesn’t belong here, in this seemingly-sweet support group for women who are missing their spouses.
But no; that would mean regressing back to step one in his journey of getting over Eddie. Back to recognizing he shouldn’t be imagining Eddie in Ravi’s place when they go out for post-shift beers, but not being able to control it. Back to sleeping at Maddie’s to try and ignore the torturous fact that Eddie used to sleep in the bedroom that’s now his; ignoring the image of Eddie sleeping, probably softly snoring and keeping one leg out from under the comforter so he didn’t get overheated, waking up with tousled hair and…
No. He couldn’t go back. He needed to get it together.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evan Buckley
Hi, my name is Evan!
My partner and I have been separated for two months now.
It’s been a huge adjustment that I’m not handling very well, haha.
Grace Jones (Moderator)
Hi Evan, thanks for sharing! I think I speak for everyone when I say the first few months are always the hardest. But we’ll get through this together!
Some of us usually meet for drinks once a week, it’ll be this Thursday at 7 if you want to join us.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Buck knew he shouldn’t do it. He knew that, really. There were a lot of things he shouldn’t do, shouldn’t have done. But like most of those things, especially when they involved Eddie, he couldn’t stop himself. He did say he was going a little bit crazy, to be fair.
*******
“Chris is living back at your place now?” Buck asked as he swiped gel through his wet curls, tidying up in his bathroom mirror.
His phone was propped against the faucet, Eddie looking up at him from FaceTime.
“Chris is here full-time,” Eddie half-said, half-laughed, unable to keep a wide, bright smile off his face.
“So, what I’m hearing is you took my advice.”
Eddie’s smile was contagious—pure joy and sunshine and everything good in the world—that Buck couldn’t keep his own expression from splitting into a grin.
“I did ‘dad up.’ And it made all the difference. I guess I have to thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just happy for you. Both of you. I’m glad my boys are back together again,” Buck answered genuinely.
Eddie had a bemused, eyebrows-raised look that prompted Buck to replay what he’d just said. His boys? Come on, Buck, get a grip.
Eddie chose not to comment on it, thankfully, though his smirk said more than enough.
“Yeah, we’re back together again. And Chris seems happy, which is all I wanted.”
Buck just nodded as he adjusted the neck of his shirt, rolling deodorant under his arms.
“Anyway, what are you getting all dolled up for?”
Buck could feel a flush rising on his face, losing his breath for a second. He never lied to Eddie. Ever. Eddie was probably the only person in his life he could say that about. Unless you were counting the years of pretending he didn’t want to get down on one knee anytime he was alone with the man. That was a justified concealment, though. For sure. But this—well, this he had to lie to everyone about. Forget his own internal embarrassment over the situation, he would never hear the end of it if anyone found out. Especially Eddie.
“I’m- uh, I have a therapy appointment.”
Not totally a lie, right? Support groups count as a form of therapy!
“Kinda late for a therapy appointment, no?”
Fuck. Fuck. Shit.
“Yeah, I guess. But you know…firefighter- our crazy schedule- couldn’t find time to…”
Eddie stared at Buck through the phone as he stumbled over his words. His face was unreadable as he asked, “this is your real therapist, right? Not the old one you slept with in your first session?”
Oh. Not where Buck was expecting him to go at all. And why did his eyes look so hardened when he mentioned Buck’s old fling?
“What?!” Buck blurted out incredulously with a surprised guffaw. “No, of course not! I think she got fired, anyway. That was probably my bad.”
“So actual therapy. At seven p.m. on a Thursday. Not a date.”
Eddie seemed shockingly caught up in the prospect of Buck going a date; so much so that Buck’s heart was skipping beats, hammering hard in his chest. Buck had been on plenty of dates before throughout his five-year-long in-love-with-Eddie-denial. As a matter of fact, so had Eddie. They usually called each other right after, even, to debrief the events of the night. Never before in these conversations did Eddie look so…determinedly stoic. Buck didn’t know what to make of it.
“No, Eddie not a date. Just, uh, regular old boring therapy. Y’know, talking about the feelings, reliving past traumas, picking apart my brain. All the fun stuff.”
“Mhm. Should I let you get to it, then?” Eddie’s tone was clipped.
“Ah, yeah, sure. I’ll probably head out in a few. Are you driving tonight?”
“Yeah, have to. Didn’t realize how much Christopher could grow in just a few months. He’s practically eaten through the whole fridge and pantry since he moved in, so gotta keep it up to make some extra grocery money.”
“Hey, he’s a teenager. It’s what they do,” Buck chuckled.
“Hope the tips are good, then. Be safe.”
“Always am,” Eddie promised, warming back up at Buck’s concern.
“I’ll talk to you later. Bye-bye.”
“Talk soon, Buck.”
*******
The meet-up was at a Mexican place off Sunset, very close to Buck’s old loft, supposedly with the best margarita in Downtown LA—so Buck knew he stereotyped the group right on the beverage front. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Partially, he thought, it was because of the massive, huge, crushing lie he fabricated this entire thing on. Partially, too, because this second step business was harder than he had imagined. The thought of talking about his relationship (friendship, coparenting agreement, unrequited love, whatever it was) with Eddie in the past tense left a pit in his stomach not even a hundred tequila drinks could numb, or make him throw up enough to relieve.
It wasn’t hard to find the group once he crossed the threshold into the restaurant. They were congregated at a table in the back, closest to the bar, a circle of balayage-d hair, fancy-looking purses dangled off the back of their chairs. Buck was glad there was only six women, any more and he probably would’ve choked on the smell of their perfume cloud as he approached. The woman at the head of the table tapped her friends as he neared, mumbling something with a smirk that Buck couldn’t hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears.
“Evan, right?” the leader spoke, rising from her seat.
“Uh, yes, hi! That’s me.” His voice was shaky, and he subtly wiped his palm on his pants leg before he shook the woman’s hand.
“I’m Grace. I’m so glad you could make it!”
“Yeah, me too! Um, thank you for having me, or inviting me, or…”
“Relax, Evan,” she laughed. “We don’t bite. Even if our husbands act like we do.”
The rest of the women at the table snickered, still locking their eyes on Buck. He couldn’t blame them, he definitely looked out of place with this group. But he knew that coming in, expected it. He just had to try and get over it if he was going to make strides (progress!) in his stop-pining-for-Eddie journey.
Grace continued, motioning to the others around the table one by one.
“Come, sit! This is Michelle, Kristy, Megan, Julia, and Eve. Usually Lisa comes, too, but she has her kids this month.”
Buck sat down in the empty seat next to Grace, smiling and giving an awkward wave to everyone as they were introduced. They seemed enamored by him, in a way that made him conflicted if he should be flattered or just crawl into the ground and die.
“So, Evan. Tell us about you,” Julia spoke, taking a long sip from her glass.
“Uh, right. Yeah. I’m Evan- sorry, you already know that. My, um, partner moved to Texas two months ago. So that’s why I…that’s why I’m here.”
Julia hummed noncommittally, while Grace and the others made a sympathetic face at him. He felt kind of pathetic.
“How could someone leave you? If I had a husband that looked like you I’d let him walk all over me.” Michelle spoke under her breath.
When all the eyes turned to face her, and Buck blushed red like the fruity drink Michelle was nursing, she hid behind her hand.
“Sorry, did I say that out loud?”
“Oh my God, Michelle. Leave the boy alone,” Grace chided, pinching her on the forearm. “He’s here for the same reason as all of us.”
Oh, Grace. Little did she know.
Buck kept quiet.
“Does this partner have a name?” Julia made a half-hearted attempt at redirection.
“Eddie,” Buck answered, wishing desperately for the waiter so he could get a drink in his system, dull some of the awkwardness. This was a bad idea. Very bad idea.
“Eddie,” Julia repeated, sucking on the salt rim of her drink.
God, Buck hated how his name sounded on someone else’s lips.
“Eve’s first husband was named Ed!” Michelle added with too much enthusiasm for a group discussion about exes; probably trying to make up for her previous outburst.
“Though, that’s not the man she’s here about.”
“Okay, just air all my dirty laundry to the new guy, Michelle. Thanks,” Eve rolled her eyes, but her tone was mostly playful.
“Do you want to tell us about Eddie, Evan?” Grace asked, ignoring her bickering friends.
“I can, um- yeah, sure, if…is this like a share circle?”
The women all laughed—Buck had not been making a joke—and smiled at him with doe-eyes not unlike the ones he got from Eddie when he wanted Buck to accept a compliment. Buck was not good at receiving those; the compliments or the doe-eyes. Although, they didn’t melt him as much when they were coming from a bunch of middle-aged pending-divorcees.
“You’re adorable,” Kristy teased. She tapped Megan on the shoulder. “He’s adorable.”
“Alright, enough, all of you.” Grace said sternly, but even she had a coy grin on her face.
“We usually all vent when we meet up, some of us over a few too many drinks,” she explained, pointing at Michelle with a faux bid at subtlety.
“Hey, I’m not that bad!” Michelle interrupted.
“Anyway,” Grace continued. “Since it’s your first time, we’re all ears. It’s not often we hear any new stories. And I think we’ve all gotten tired of listening to Kristy’s weekly back and forth with Dave.”
Kristy feigned offense at the rest of the women nodding in agreement.
Buck huffed a laugh, his anxiety back tightening his chest.
“Alright, well. I don’t really know what to say. Eddie, uh…we started working together about six years ago. Five years ago, I knew I was in love with him. Honestly, maybe sooner than that. Either way, we didn’t get together right away. But when we did…” Buck stopped himself. They never got together. Eddie never wanted him the way he wanted (wants) Eddie.
He tried to get back on track, keep it mostly truthful.
“It’s been great. He’s my best friend, you know? And then him and his kid got in a huge fight. Kid moved in with Eddie’s parents, left Eddie completely devastated. So Eddie went out to Texas to be with him, which I totally understand. But now we’re in a weird place. We still talk, but it’s not the same, probably won’t ever be the same. He’s there, and I’m here, and he has no plans of coming back for me. I kind of wish he’d thought to ask me to go with him, but…his son is more important. I know that, and I respect that. I just…I miss him a lot.”
“Kids always make it harder,” Megan said solemnly, like she spoke from experience.
Buck didn’t want to get near the topic of Christopher with a ten-foot pole, despite Megan seeming able to relate.
That boy was his, too, and he and Eddie both knew it. It was a whole piece of his life gone when Chris left, then another when Eddie followed him; if Eddie was part of his soul (which Buck believed to be true, even if the thought was borne out of a panic attack regarding moving into the house on Bedford), Christopher was his bleeding heart, now yanked out and run over on the street.
One thing at a time. The ‘Eddie part’ of his soul first. He would find another way to mend his bleeding-out heart. Besides, he couldn’t exactly work through his emotions surrounding Christopher under the guise of their imminent divorce. He’d have to find another support group to misinterpret for that one.
“Eddie sounds like a great guy,” Michelle commented.
“It takes a really good man to give up everything for his kid.”
Grace pinched Michelle again.
“Will you control yourself? The guy abandoned Evan to move halfway across the country, he probably doesn’t want us to sing Eddie’s praises.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Buck laughed sheepishly. “He is a great guy. I guess that’s why it hurts so much. He did this for his kid, and I know it was the right thing. He is kind, and loving, and the best father I’ve ever met. It was the right thing to do. He didn’t do anything to me. Which somehow makes it worse. He didn’t do anything to me, because I wasn’t even a consideration. I wasn’t part of the equation. It didn’t have to be a sacrifice, a one or the other deal. I would’ve followed him in a second. But he went to rebuild his relationship with his son, leaving LA, leaving me, like it was nothing. I don’t want to be nothing to him.”
All eyes were on him again—all pitying frowns and understanding nods—and Grace placed a gentle, affirming hand on Buck’s shoulder.
The waiter finally came over, and Julia ordered a double for him.
After Buck’s confessional, the rest of the night was spent testing his earlier theory about how much tequila it would take to remedy the pit in his stomach. His scientific record-keeping wasn’t impeccable while intoxicated, but he knew he felt at least marginally better after five margaritas. Better enough that he actually enjoyed himself listening to the women of the group rant and laugh and lament about their shitty partners (most of them should definitely, positively be divorcing these men). Better enough that he had a good time, for the first time in a while, in the company of someone other than Eddie. Better enough that the Eddie-sized weight on his shoulders felt to have gone on a diet after getting some of the resentment out of his system.
Better enough that when he got back to the house on Bedford, stumbling out of an Uber, he didn’t even tear up at the emptiness of the place that was once not just his home, but theirs.
*******
Saturday 9:31 am
Eddie :)
Morning! Have a good shift
Buck
gm!! thanks :))))
how was the driving the past two days??
enough tips to keep chris fed i hope
Eddie :)
Thursday was okay, last night was really good
Plenty to keep my kid from starving
Buck
that’s good news
i was worried i’d have to come rescue him out there
Eddie :)
I don’t think he’d mind that
He misses you a lot
Eddie’s text bubble appeared, then vanished, then appeared again, then vanished again. Buck blinked at the screen, wondering if he was crazy to imagine Eddie typing, ‘we both do.’
Buck
i miss him too
like an unreasonable, soul-crushing amount
don’t tell him that part
Eddie :)
I’ll leave out the hyperbole
How was therapy?
Buck
therapy was fine!! :))))
*******
When Buck walked into the firehouse for his shift an hour later, he spotted Hen immediately, fixing him with a curious, kinda threatening look from up in the loft. What on Earth that could be about, he had no clue; but he walked into the locker room, dropped off his stuff and changed out as quickly as possible to go figure it out.
Buck didn’t even get a word in before the interrogation began.
“I didn’t realize you were back in therapy,” Hen said in greeting, taking a pointed sip from her coffee mug.
What happened to hello? How are you? Proud of you, Buck, for continuing to take care of your mental health in the wake of your best friend deserting you?
Buck flushed at the ambush, choosing not to discriminate on the choice of wording. Margaritas and venting to women miles outside your typical friend demographic is definitely therapeutic, thank you very much. He was sure of it now.
“Uh, yeah, I…well, wait. How did you know?”
“Eddie texted me. Said you were being cagey about your therapy appointment on Thursday and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“He- what? Eddie was…checking up on me?”
Hen scoffed at Buck’s surprise.
“Buck, that man has been checking up on you since the day he started working here.”
“That’s not- no he hasn’t,” Buck grumbled, inexplicably defensive over the commentary on his and Eddie’s relationship.
“Okay, that’s not the point. You’re back in therapy, not talking to Eddie about it? You talk to Eddie about everything.”
“Not this,” Buck muttered under his breath. Apparently not quiet enough.
“Is it about him? Going back to therapy, I mean,” Hen asked, changing her tone from the previous sassy questioning to something softer, more cautious.
“No, no, of course not. I just meant…” Buck stammered, looking for a reasonable excuse that wasn’t a total lie. He seemed to be lying about a lot of things recently.
“My therapy is private,” is what he settled on.
Pretty lame explanation, but at least it was honest. If there was one thing in his life he ever wanted to keep private, it was the clandestine rendezvous of Facebook moms he attended on Thursday (and would probably be attending every week from now on, to be even more honest).
Hen snorted, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting out her coffee.
“Your therapy is private? You kept all of us updated on your ingrown toenail with graphic pictures every day for a month. That should’ve been private. We usually have to convince you to stop sharing things, not the other way around. I can only imagine even more so with Eddie.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t need to know everything!” Buck argued, voice coming out in a weird squeak he wished he could take back.
Hen paused, contemplative, like she was weighing options in her head.
“He asked if you went on a date,” she said quietly when she finally spoke, with a tone Buck couldn’t decipher.
Buck didn’t answer; couldn’t answer. Eddie wanted to make sure he was okay. That he could understand, even if the prying was unintentionally challenging Buck’s attempts at secret-keeping.
Eddie wanted to make absolutely sure he wasn’t on a date; two-factor authentication and everything. That was harder to grasp.
“I wasn’t on a date,” Buck eventually got out.
“Besides, what does he care if I was?”
Hen just sighed, defeatedly, some light leaving her eyes at Buck’s answer. She got up to go greet Chim in the kitchen without another word, leaving Buck to sit stewing, in a constant mental loop of ‘what the fuck’ until the alarms rang to call them out.
The shift went fine, and he talked to Eddie afterwards (pointedly avoiding the topic of Hen tattling on him), and Hen didn’t bring it up again, and he was fine. The shift on Tuesday was fine, too. Everything was fine. Buck wasn’t thinking about the implications; refused to get his hopes up at the prospect of Eddie being jealous that Buck might’ve been on a date. Because he wouldn’t be. It was Buck being crazy, being obsessed, projecting his own helpless, pathetic, desperate yearning onto his best friend. It was Buck regressing, going back to his days of playing Ray Charles as he baked, changing the lyrics to ‘Eddie on my mind.’
He was going crazy again. But that was fine. It had to be fine, because the other option was to confront the possibility that this was a glimmer of hope, the inkling of a chance that Eddie might want Buck for himself. And if Buck was wrong about it…he didn’t even want to know the depths of insane he would go. For now, denial was the right path.
Seriously, everything was fine.
*******
“He asked our friend if I was on a date,” Buck groaned, exasperated, already on his second drink.
The support group meeting was at a cocktail bar this week, some swanky place he never would’ve stepped foot in given the choice. Kristy was absent this time, apparently meeting up with Dave to ‘talk things out,’ the discussion of which had all the women rolling their eyes and claiming she never learned.
“Oooh, so he’s jealous,” Julia smirked.
Buck nearly blew his cover—so caught up in his own mental struggle that, no, Eddie is straight; what right does he have now to be jealous when he’s 800 miles away—forgetting that he couldn’t harp on the integral point that Eddie had no reason to be, seeing as they were distinctly not a couple.
“I don’t know if it’s that,” he ended up saying, coming back to himself.
“Honey, it’s always that,” Eve chirped. “Men are possessive. You guys have separate lives now, by his doing, but he still wants to stake his claim on you.”
“It’s not really fair to you, Evan. He’s the one that left you. He has no right to be jealous if you want to try to move on,” Grace added, always the voice of reason it seemed.
“But I don’t want to move on. I want him. He should know I would never go on a date when… y’know, he’s only been gone two months. I’m not moving on. I’m stuck, standing still, praying he’ll come back to me.”
“Well, we all know how that feels,” Michelle laughed sourly into her drink.
Grace lifted her martini glass in a toast, a mellow, knowing smile on her face.
“Here’s to being stuck standing still.”
*******
Eddie FaceTimed Buck just as he was getting out of the shower, cleaning off the tipsy sweat from his espresso martini-fueled therapy session. He was buzzing with the caffeine, buzzing in general from the alcohol, trying to cool himself down to get some sleep. The group’s—and Hen’s, now that it was in perspective—insistence on Eddie trying to ‘stake a claim’ on him was jarring, and he knew he would never be able to rest if he didn’t try to scrub it off.
But then Eddie called, and Buck can never ignore his phone lighting up with that name and a smiley face, the picture he loved of the two of them dressed as Crockett and Tubbs (Eddie was Tubbs, he’d die on that hill). And Buck thought maybe he could settle the idea once and for all.
He propped his phone up against the sink, towel wrapped around his waist, steam fogging the mirror, and accepted the call.
“Woah, sorry, is this a bad time?” Eddie asked, blushing at the shirtless image he was greeted with.
“Nah, all good. Just got out of the shower.”
Buck blushed himself, despite feigning off-handedness. It was petty (crazy, even) of him to do it, but he wanted to test the groupthink conclusions. So what if he wanted to show off his muscular arms a little, his buff chest, to see if Eddie had a reaction that was even possibly non-platonic? So what? At least he would get some answers. He was going crazy over here.
Like the last time, the time that got him into this support group and entangled in the secretive shame that followed, it was probably the alcohol that pushed him here.
Unfortunately, his words were a little sluggish, and his eyes were hazy, and he could see by the confused look on Eddie’s face that he knew it was the alcohol, too.
“I was just, uh, calling to see how your therapy went, but…are you drunk?”
Damn Eddie and his total, omnipotent, stifling knowledge of Buck.
“Only a little,” Buck tried, grabbing his t-shirt from the towel rack to pull on, slowly and purposefully.
“What kind of therapist takes you out for drinks?” Eddie asked, eyes darkening; argumentative, like Buck’s drunk, topless, post-bar self was a personal affront to him.
Fuck, Buck hated lying to him. But he was kind of loving seeing him scramble.
“The drinks were after the therapy. Unrelated,” he replied, aiming for nonchalant, adjusting the grip of the towel on his hips.
“Oh, right. Sure. With anyone I know?”
He acted innocent, turning his eyes up at the camera, but Buck could still the see the ghost of a flame behind them.
“Just me,” he answered simply, shrugging.
“So you went to therapy. Again, seven p.m. on a Thursday. Then got drunk by yourself.”
“Pretty much,” Buck confirmed, shaking water out of his curls. The movement gave him a headrush, but he blinked it away.
“And then I took a shower.”
“I can see that part.”
“Yeah, sorry. Guess I should’ve waited to get dressed before I answered.”
“It’s good. Or not good, I mean- it’s okay.”
Eddie was flustered. Eddie was asking him about dating, with a fire behind his eyes. Eddie was stuttering at the sight of Buck, damp and half-naked.
Buck wanted to believe he got his answer; he wanted to believe it more than anything. He was getting closer. But after all these years—all this time he’d spent praying for this answer to come—he couldn’t accept it that readily, not even with the alcohol running hot through his veins.
Either way, he didn’t get a chance to.
Eddie’s demeanor shifted as he spoke again, cutting off Buck’s processing time.
“Look, I just wanted to make sure everything’s good. You were being weird about the therapy appointment last week, and now apparently you’re going to a bar by yourself after this week’s. I’m kinda worried about you over here,” he admitted, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
“It’s harder to make sure you’re alright when I’m not there.”
And okay, Buck was being a total asshole. Lying to Eddie, trying to seduce him into some botched admission over the phone, being guarded and selfish with someone he usually would offer the world to. He knew it, and the shame came flooding over him suddenly, in an unstoppable rush that instantly sobered him.
“Eds, I’m…” Buck started, choking on the guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I promise I’m fine. The therapy is just…I need to figure out how to cope with…recent changes.”
Fuck. Recent changes? As if that wasn’t glaringly obvious. He had really thought that would come out better. He needs to stop talking to Eddie when he’s been drinking.
Eddie looked away from the camera, turning his face completely out of frame.
“Yeah, I get it.”
Buck thought he was angry. Knew he had a right to be, when reading between the lines of Buck’s words told him ‘fuck you for moving’ and ‘I’m in therapy because of you.’
Then he dared a look at his phone, where Eddie was still turned away but raising a hand to swipe under his eyes. Where Eddie took a deep breath, his shoulders rising with the inhalation, trying to collect himself.
“Eddie?”
He cleared his throat before he answered.
“It’s been hard for me, too.”
Buck opened his mouth to reply, trying to form words—any words, seriously, his brain was not responding—but Eddie just shook his head and continued.
“You know I didn’t leave for nothing. I don’t want you to think…I didn’t leave because of you. You know that, right?”
Buck could feel the tears starting to pool in his eyes, the pang in his chest, the acute awareness that he had actually stopped breathing. This is it, he thought. Finally.
“I didn’t want to leave you. You’re my- you’re my best friend,” Eddie finished, sighing shakily. Something in his eyes flickered when he said it.
Then Buck was crushed again. Stomped on, beat up, kicked while he was down; whatever you wanted to call it. What you couldn’t call it, though, was anything novel or groundbreaking, like Buck had stupidly started to let himself believe was coming with the staring at his naked chest and the earnest emotion. It was the same as always. Buck was on the rooftops, shouting and screaming and begging for Eddie to love him, to want him. And Eddie was on the ground below, listening and hearing and smiling and still calling him just a friend.
“Yeah,” Buck swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“I know that. You’re my best friend, too.”
“Good. Good,” Eddie nodded, sniffling to clear the emotion.
“You would tell me, right? If something was going on that I needed to worry about?”
“Of course,” he lied easily this time, biting his tongue to keep all the numerous, tremendously worrisome things he’d done in the past two months out of the air.
Eddie nodded again, relaxing back with a bittersweet tenderness in his eyes. Buck finally moved to his room to put on some pants, suddenly very cognizant of their absence for this entire rollercoaster of a conversation. Eddie fell back into his couch, lounged on his side in a way that Buck could tell his arm was softly tucked under his chest, sleeves pulling short at his wrist.
Everything was fine. He’s drunk, and Eddie’s still oblivious (maybe), and regardless of the context, Eddie misses him. That has to be enough, for now. If he still gets to see Eddie like this, vulnerable, cozy, comfortable and open, getting emotional over him, it would be enough. Even if it killed a part of him to settle for just best friends.
*******
Friday 8:59 am
Eddie :)
Good morning
Sorry about last night
I didn’t mean to be weird or overstep
Buck
don’t be sorry!!
you weren’t weird i appreciate the concern
Eddie :)
Okay, good
I’m going to be driving all day. Call later?
Buck
yeah sure :)))
be safe!
Eddie :)
Always
Miss you
Buck dropped his phone on his face, smack in the middle of his forehead.
Buck
miss you too!!
Eddie :) loved ‘miss you too!!’
Yeah, maybe this could be enough.
*******
The next few weeks passed mostly uneventfully. Something had shifted between him and Eddie. Something minute but tangible, palpable in the way Eddie signed off every text conversation with ‘miss you’ and every FaceTime with a sad smile, like he didn’t want to say goodbye. It was nothing that quelled Buck’s burning, overwhelming desire, and it was quasi-platonic, but it was enough. Buck fought hard to accept it as such. It was certainly more than he’d gotten used to in the three months since Eddie left. It was enough to keep him from scrolling through his iPhoto album of Eddie on a nightly basis while listening to Phoebe Bridgers, so it would have to do.
The firehouse was the same as usual, becoming more accustomed to Ravi as the shifts went on. Cap finally wasn’t calling him Eddie on every call, which, unbeknownst to Bobby, was doing Buck huge favors. They hadn’t had many life-threatening emergencies, either, which was a welcome relief given the 118’s track record. A factory fire, a couple car accidents, a woman’s hair tangled up in her boyfriend’s shower head while they were being…intimate (Eddie had gotten a kick out of that one when Buck told him the story). Everything seemed to be settling down, Buck’s life slowly adjusting to fill in the gaps Eddie had left.
The support group, too, was becoming a regular, happy part of Buck’s new normal. He’d been hanging out with them for over a month now, and it was really one of the best parts of his week. Not only did he always have fun, laughing at the antics of the women he never could’ve imagined being friends with, but he really thought it was helping him. Before, in the first weeks Eddie was gone, he couldn’t even think of the guy without bursting into hysterical tears. Or baking twelve (yes, twelve; he was in a really dark place) dozen cupcakes to cope. Now, he shared about Eddie every week, telling the girls how much better their communication was getting; how he truly, finally, thought maybe they could make this—friendship, he reminded only himself—work, despite the distance.
It was the sixth week he went to meet them, this time at a bar-restaurant hybrid that was much more up Buck’s alley than the previous spots they’d visited.
Buck was relaxing into the night, vaguely listening to Julia reminisce about her husband (Matt, he thought) when things were good. Him bringing home flowers, him listening to her work problems, him slow dancing with her on their wedding night.
He was only half-listening, daydreaming about what kind of flowers he would bring home to Eddie after a tough shift; roses were too basic and he knew daisies made Eddie sneeze (a fact he discovered with very unfortunate timing on a call, and was when Buck truly knew he was down bad, because even Eddie having an allergy attack was adorable to him), but he imagined Eddie might like lilies, maybe sunflowers. He raised his beer to his mouth just as Julia turned to him, leading the rest of the eyes at the table in his direction as she did.
“Evan, what was yours and Eddie’s wedding like?”
Then Grace was thumping his back, trying to soothe his choked coughing from the sip of beer he’d just aspirated.
“Fuck, sorry,” he heaved out between the hacking.
He finally got ahold of himself, catching his breath, completely mortified.
“Sorry,” he said again.
“You alright there?” Kristy laughed, resting a hand on his arm.
“Yeah, all good,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. Wrong pipe.”
“Clearly,” Michelle teased, lighthearted now that the worry had passed.
Julia seemed unphased.
“Well?”
“Well- what? Sorry, I kinda missed what you were saying. Y’know, with the choking,” he tried to joke, deflect, as much as possible. Anything to avoid what he knew Julia said.
“I asked what your wedding with Eddie was like.”
God, as humiliated as he was, he actually wished he’d kept choking long enough to die. Because what the fuck was he supposed to do now.
“It was nice,” he mumbled, shying away from the far-too intent gazes plastered on him. Clearly that wouldn’t be enough to get him out of this. The women were looking at him like they were a pack of starving wolves, and he was a fat, slow deer begging to be eaten alive.
“It was really small, just close friends and family.”
Please, Grace, save me, he internally begged, trying to shoot her an uneasy look. She’d been good, in getting to know him, at picking up his signals when he really didn’t want to discuss certain topics. A.K.A., when the conversation inevitably drifted towards their sex lives. At one point, Michelle and Kristy (both considerably over the legal limit, he should mention) had pushed Buck to chime in, and it was Grace who wrangled them and apologized on their behalf. He hadn’t even been offended, necessarily—just desperately looking for a way to evade describing his sex life with Eddie, which of course existed only in his head.
Grace didn’t rescue him this time. She, much to Buck’s dismay, seemed as interested in his answer as the rest of the group.
“Oh, come on. We need more than that, Evan!” Michelle joined in.
“Yeah, please,” Julia pressed. “I want to hear about someone else’s so I can stop moping over my own. Spill.”
And okay, it wasn’t like Buck had never imagined it. He’d spent too long imagining it, probably. At first, it was the passing thoughts of first dance songs and vows, eventually snowballing into tuxedo colors and reception venues and the bittersweet memory of Christopher, awestruck looking over the hills from Griffith Observatory, saying, ‘you should get married here someday, Buck.’ His and Eddie’s wedding was something he could envision perfectly at this point, familiar with every detail of his desired day, down to the second. That didn’t mean, though, that he wanted to share it with his friends—as much as he’d grown to love and appreciate them. This was his dream; his little sanctuary to escape to when he let himself hope. More importantly, it didn’t actually happen.
But then Julia was looking at him with these sad eyes, like she needed a distraction before she started sobbing at the table, and he really wanted to help. Michelle and Kristy were practically leaning onto him to hear whatever grand story they thought he was about to tell. There was absolutely no way out. Every exit was boarded up or locked from the outside.
“Well, uh…like I said, it was really small. We thought about doing a traditional thing, big ballroom or whatever. But I don’t have that much family, and he’s not that close with his. And neither of us had many friends outside of each other and work,” Buck started, trying to keep his comingling guilt and deprecating inner-monologue at bay.
This is a lie. This is a lie. I’m so going to hell.
All the women were hanging onto his every word, Julia practically drowning in her wine glass.
He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Seriously, how did he end up here?
“I used to take his son to Griffith Observatory all the time when I was on medical leave from work. He’d ride on my back the whole hike up, which was exhausting, but, you know. I’d do it for him. Anyway, he asked me to go there to see the sunrise, and a couple was getting married up there. Turns out you can have a wedding ceremony for free, as long as it’s not an actual event—you know, no tables, chairs, whatever. The kid told me I should have a wedding there someday. At the time, Chris didn’t know I’d be marrying his dad, but…I think he was happy. When I told Eddie, he just had this perfect smile on his face. So that’s what we did. We’d both do anything for that kid, so it felt right to honor his wishes.
“It was just us, his son, my sister, and our crew from work. Captain Nash did the whole thing. Walked me up, officiated it. Had a little reception at a ranch Cap’s friend John owns that Eddie loved. Dancing, drinks, Eddie’s favorite food truck. Everything was…it was perfect.”
Buck finally stopped talking, chancing a glance up at the table. Maybe they could tell this was all a huge lie. It sounded too good to be true, right? He totally oversold (he left out a lot, actually, including the one-sided vows he had started to jot down weeks ago). This was it; he was totally found out. Buck felt a single tear trailing down his cheek, not sure when the fuck he started crying. God, what a loser. This isn’t even real, he reminded himself repeatedly. It didn’t seem to matter. Even as a dream, a fantasy, talking about it was enough to make his heart ache.
“That sounds beautiful, Evan,” Grace smiled wistfully, the first to speak up.
“I need another drink,” Julia groaned, sloppy diction, clearly still moping.
Buck laughed in surprise, a little at the reaction, mostly at the semblance that he had gotten away with the web he’d weaved of big fat lies.
“What? I thought this was supposed to help!”
Julia turned a sad grin towards him.
“Eh, it did. Kind of.”
Buck must’ve looked confused enough—he was, indubitably so, and also embarrassed at his sappiness—that Julia continued.
“What I had was never that. It seemed huge, you know? It seemed like everything. But my everything was not that. Makes it hurt less to lose if it wasn’t all I thought it was. What you had… that’s real. Mine doesn’t measure up.”
Fuck, did he just make everything worse? Ruin Julia’s rose-tinted memories of her husband with his stupid, Eddie-centric fiction?
Then again, it wasn’t far from the truth…
Okay, maybe it was moderately far.
But not outlandishly so.
Christopher had told Buck he should elope at sunrise up at Griffith Park. He and Eddie had visited John’s ranch a dozen times, Eddie saying on each visit how nice it would be to host something there. Eddie was the only person Buck had ever shared a dance with, at some First Responders’ gala they had last year that he’d been forced into (by Eddie, mind you). They did frequent Eddie’s favorite food truck, Tropic Truck, anytime they found it around; Buck had even signed up for the newsletter to find their location, planned to pass by it to surprise Eddie with tacos and those Ropa Vieja fries on their days off.
All of the details of the ‘wedding’ were rooted in truth, concocted carefully in his head to resemble what his perfect days with Eddie looked like. It wasn’t that far of a stretch of the imagination to take all the things they’d done, the half-dates and parental outings, and picture them doing it with rings on.
What they had was real, like Julia said. What they have is real.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Buck admitted.
“Look, Evan,” Eve spoke up. “You’re the only one of us who has a legitimate chance at making your thing work. Eddie still loves you, clearly. The jealousy, the constant communication. You guys had- or still have- something for the ages. Do us all a favor and take advantage of it, so the rest of us can live vicariously,” she urged, taking a large handful of fries from the plate he didn’t know she ordered.
“Take advantage of it?”
“Jesus, yes, Evan. It’s been weeks of listening to you grovel at this man’s feet, telling us he still calls you every day, says he misses you. None of us have made it that far. I think we’re all the ones stuck in place, and Eddie is pulling you back to him,” she went on, rolling her eyes playfully at his apparent obliviousness.
“Don’t waste the chance none of us have gotten.”
Oh. Yeah.
There had been a shift, he knew it. And he had been happy, ecstatically so, to accept it as just enough. Enough to let him survive without a nightly lonesome, wine-soaked spiral. Without hugging a pillow when he slept to pretend it was Eddie. Without crying in the bathroom stalls at work when a firefighter from B-shift asked, ‘what happened to Diaz?’
Taking hold of it; doing something about it. Buck hadn’t really considered it as an option. This far, the only option he’d posited was pretending it didn’t exist—learning to make it go away.
But he looked at the women, all varying levels of intoxicated and green with envy for his relationship. He thought of Eddie, his new conversation sign-offs and his checking in. If what they had was really as perfect, as entirely everything as Julia and them acted like it was, it might really be time to take advantage. To take the risk. He shouldn’t (couldn’t) let it slip away. Not any more than it had already.
It was never really enough, because he knew he wanted more.
Maybe he could have it. He’d sure as hell pull out his phone and try.
Thursday 8:31 pm
Buck
hey how are you!!
Eddie :)
Hey Buck
I’m good, how are you?
Done therapy?
Buck
almost
call when i get home??
Eddie :)
Yeah of course
Anything I should worry about?
Buck
no everything is good :)))
great even
because i know i have you
Eddie’s text bubble appeared, then went away. It was a full three minutes before he answered, Buck sweating each second with no, take all that back, this was a mistake, what the fuck was I thinking, oh my God. Then the messages came through.
Eddie :)
You’ve always had me
Always will
Eve and Julia were peering over his shoulder, not-so-subtly reading the text messages.
“I hate you,” Julia scoffed facetiously, resting her head on Buck’s shoulder.
“We should get out of here. Let you get home to your man,” Eve signaled the table, raising a suggestive eyebrow at him.
Buck just laughed, blushing, a sudden spark of joy more alive inside him than anything had been since Eddie left. A chance.
They were ready to go quickly, everyone glugging down the last of their drinks, eager they might actually get to hear some good news next week, if Buck’s swift confidence panned out the way they all were hoping. Buck, with some prying and persuading, got Julia’s head off of his shoulder and offered to drive her home, but she declined, as if Buck getting home five minutes faster would be the deciding factor in his and Eddie’s future. He called her an Uber instead, and walked her out to it as the rest of the women started to break off their separate ways.
And that’s when he discovered that the universe must truly fucking hate him. Like centuries-long curse, ancient Roman gods level of hate. There was no other explanation.
He was walking Julia to her Uber, waving goodbyes to everyone, crossing the street just a few paces behind. And a car fucking hit him.
There was a walk sign; he knew the walk sign was on. And the road wasn’t that busy—it was LA, sure, but they weren’t in the middle of downtown or anything. This was a random dive, not an overpopulated area. There were enough streetlights on the road to see him there, he was sure of it. Streetlights, traffic lights, the glow of businesses all still open at 8:45. So really, the only explanation was the universe had a grudge. Or Billy Boils was seeking his revenge, having his final laugh.
It was a flash of light, and he was propelled into the air, slamming into the side of a parked car on the corner. Then it was dark.
*******
When it wasn’t dark anymore, Buck wished it was. He slowly opened his eyes to blinding light and prayed he was dead, stuck in a coma or some weird dreamscape. Because why the fuck else would he be staring, blinking drowsily, at Eddie Diaz—in all his glory—in a hospital room, shoulder-to-shoulder with Grace and Julia. It had to be some weird, alternate, dead universe where he was seeing the most recent people he talked to (the three people he least wanted in a room together, ever, by the way) for some closure before he could move onto the afterlife. Right?
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie whispered, moving to his side and placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.
Okay, that definitely felt real. Do you have your five senses in limbo? Can you feel the warm, firm grip of your unrequited love there?
“You with us?” Eddie asked, leaning closer in.
Buck tried to answer, respond, ask what the fuck was going on, but his voice came out nothing more than a hoarse wheeze.
Eddie was passing a plastic cup of water to his lips in less than a second.
“Here, love, take slow sips.”
Love? This had to be a dream.
But Buck did as he was told, the chronic people-pleaser.
“Better?”
Buck nodded, sure his voice was back but still not sure how to use it.
“I… Eddie? Are you real?”
And fuck, breathing hurt. Talking even more.
Eddie laughed under his breath, “Yeah, I’m real, Buck.”
“Why’re you…how’re you here?”
“Apparently I’m still your emergency contact,” Eddie started, smiling adoringly, despite Buck’s half-conscious embarrassment.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think to-”
“Don’t apologize,” Eddie started, a tangle of sincerity and worry.
“I’m glad I heard from the hospital. I was starting to get scared when you didn’t call me after the texts.”
The texts? What had he said again?
“We’re so glad you’re okay, Evan,” Julia piped in from the chair closest to the door. Buck had totally forgotten he’d seen her there. Eddie tended to consume most of his attention, even when rooms were full.
“Julia? Grace?” he asked dumbly.
“You got hit by a car, Evan,” Grace explained. “You were walking Julia to her Uber, and someone plowed through the crosswalk. We followed the ambulance here.”
Buck was putting the pieces back together in his mind. He remembered hitting the hood, the sharp sting of cracking bone on a metal frame. The brief flight before he landed with a thud on the LA pavement.
“And you’ve been…how long have I been here?”
“You have a bad concussion,” is what Grace supplied, after careful consideration. “They couldn’t get you to stay awake on the ambulance ride, so you were out for around eighteen hours.”
“Eighteen?!”
“Yeah, eighteen,” Eddie confirmed, hand still sure on his shoulder.
“I took the soonest flight out, been here all day.”
“You…”
Buck took a breath, trying to cement things.
“Eddie, you got a call from the hospital and flew out?”
Eddie nodded, unphased.
“Of course, Buck.”
Grace and Julia were trading looks in his periphery, ones he couldn’t quite make out over the blur of his vision and the way the lights were making his head throb.
“We’ll give you two some time alone,” Grace stood from the waiting chair, pulling Julia along.
That’s when it really started to hit him. No, not that Eddie had dropped everything, presumably, to get on a flight because Buck was hurt and stupid enough (desperate enough) to not change his emergency contact to someone actually within the Greater LA area. Rather, that Buck had been out cold for eighteen hours, and Eddie had been sitting in the waiting room with Grace and Julia that whole time. Grace and Julia, who thought Buck had been on his way home to repair his marriage with Eddie before the car crushed his dreams. Grace and Julia, who had just hours ago listened to Buck ramble on about his and Eddie’s (nonexistent, completely fabricated) wedding. Grace and Julia, who thought Eddie was Buck’s long-distance, separated husband. He didn’t think he could be any more screwed.
To Eddie’s credit, he looked completely unaffected. He was gazing down at Buck from a chair he’d pulled bedside, wearing this smitten blush and still holding the pressure point of Buck’s shoulder. If Grace and Julia had said anything, he was doing a really good job of hiding the outrage Buck knew would be there.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” Eddie spoke first, clearing his throat.
“I was starting to worry I’d have to spend the night sharing a cot with your new friends.”
“You could’ve gone to the house. I didn’t change the locks on you or anything.”
Eddie scoffed, still aglow with a gentle smile, still a grounding hand on Buck.
“You know I never would’ve left. Besides, uh, they’re nice. Grace and Julia, I mean.”
Buck tensed under Eddie’s fingers, averting his eyes.
“Did you…were you talking to them a lot?”
Eddie’s face flushed deeper red, and he took a deep breath.
Here it comes. He’s so pissed. They told him everything, and now everyone is going to hate me. I’m so fucking stupid, this whole thing was—
Eddie was biting back a laugh, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the effort.
“Eddie?”
Eddie swallowed hard, straining himself to keep it under control, how he used to when his army buddies were goofing off in front of their sergeant.
“Yeah, Buck, we talked. Learned a lot about myself, actually. For starters, I didn’t realize I was married.”
Buck seriously contemplated slamming his head against the hard plastic of the hospital bed, hoping to conk himself back out.
“Eddie, I-”
Eddie couldn’t contain his laugh, then. Buck couldn’t decide if he was more mortified that Eddie was laughing at him or relieved that this hadn’t turned into a screaming match. His head really did ache.
“Don’t, Buck. It’s okay.”
Buck spluttered, shaking his head (which made him wince, Eddie immediately took note).
“It’s okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay. You can fill me in later. For now, we gotta keep up the act. Your friends are spying on us outside.”
Eddie pointed to the outline of Julia and Grace lingering by the hospital room’s window, quite conspicuously leaning their ears towards the glass.
The act.
“We have to…you didn’t tell them?”
“C’mon, I wasn’t gonna blow your cover. Besides, it’s way too funny not to play along with. How does this shit even happen to you?”
Buck actually chuckled a little at that.
“I truly don’t know.”
And okay, Buck did know. That first contact, the drunken mistake of joining an online support group that he misunderstood was purely an accident.
The rest, though. It was all his fault.
He would explain that to Eddie later. Right now, Eddie was looking at him with pure infatuation, this goofy grin and soft eyes, and Buck couldn’t bring himself to falter it.
Eddie leaned over and pressed a kiss to Buck’s temple, and Buck dissociated. Surely because of the concussion. Most definitely.
“Right now, all that matters is you’re okay. The rest is to be discussed.”
Grace knocked on the door, and Eddie pulled his lips from Buck’s head. Buck mourned the loss as if it was Bobby’s death or something else he couldn’t fathom the tragedy of; because those things were certainly comparable.
“We wanted to come back in and say goodbye. I think we’re going to head home now that you’re up and in good hands.”
“Yeah, come on in. Thanks for staying, by the way. You really didn’t have to do that. I…it means a lot to me.”
“Evan, please. You got trampled by a car walking me out. I had to make sure my drunken stupor didn’t get you killed,” Julia teased. “Besides, once I heard Eddie was on his way…”
Grace slapped her on the chest.
“Ow, Jesus. Sorry, I just wanted to see the man of the hour. The man of the century, really, the way Evan talks about you.”
“Julia, give it a rest,” Grace groaned.
Eddie was giggling again, turning his face away as if that did anything to hide it.
“The way you talk about me, huh?”
He tilted his face back to Buck, still wearing that charmed smile. It was infuriating how much enjoyment he was getting from this. How much more it would hurt when Buck couldn’t lie and say it hadn’t been a game to him.
“I can see why he couldn’t let you go. I mean I thought this one was hot,” Julia made a lazy gesture to Buck. “But wow, he wasn’t kidding about you.”
“Okay, we’re leaving. That’s enough,” Grace chastised, tugging Julia in tow. “Evan, we really are so happy you’re alright.”
She paused for a second, weighing words on the tip of her tongue.
“Eddie, take care of him. He’s a good one.”
“I know he is,” Eddie answered, smoothing his hand along Buck’s messy mop of curls.
This is worse. This is so so much worse. He’s acting. He’s just playing a part, and it’s my dream come true.
Eddie and Buck were alone now. The elephant in the room would be ignored until the last possible second, maybe forever, if Buck had any say in the matter.
“So, how’s my prognosis, Paramedic Diaz?”
Eddie seemed to startle back into himself, lost for a moment. He didn’t pull his hand from Buck’s hair.
“Think you’re gonna make it, cowboy. Bad concussion, like Grace said, and a few cracked ribs. You got lucky.”
“Tell that to my double vision,” Buck tried for joking, but jokes about his health never seemed to fly with Eddie.
“Double vision? Is your head hurting? I can get the nurse to give you another dose of pain meds, now that you’re up. Here, let me turn down the lights-”
“Eds, relax, I’m fine. It’s just a concussion. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Eddie stood, and Buck swore the air around him went ice-cold when Eddie wasn’t touching him.
“I’m still turning down the lights.”
And yeah, it did help. As much as Buck refused to say so out loud.
When Eddie sat down again, silence fell over the two like warm rain; obvious and heavy, but not unpleasant. Buck didn’t think he could break it. Didn’t think he wanted to. Wanted to stretch out the moment—where he and Eddie were ‘married’, Eddie was taking care of him, Eddie flew cross-country to get to him at the drop of a dime when he was hurt—as long as he could before it had to be torn away.
“So…” Eddie broke it.
“Can’t believe you didn’t give me a chance.”
What?
Buck didn’t have a more eloquent thought, so it slipped past his lips anyway.
“What?”
“If I had known about our marriage before, maybe we wouldn’t have had to get a separation. You didn’t give me a chance to make it work.”
Eddie grinned, sly and teasing.
Okay, still just a joke to him. So so so so so much worse.
“Look, I can explain-”
Eddie met Buck’s eyes, suddenly tender and hesitant. Serious, in a second’s time. He took a deep breath, like he was psyching himself up.
“Did you mean it?”
Still just a joke?
Couldn’t be, unless Eddie’s only closet skeleton was years of acting at Julliard.
Buck’s eyes flicked away, trying to control the dam of emotion, of shame, of pent-up yearning, threatening to crumble.
“Eddie, I-”
Eddie turned his head to the floor with an almost inaudible gasp, but enough to effectively cut Buck off.
“Everything you told them about me. The way you talked about us. Did you mean it?”
A thousand lies coursed through his head (I needed a way to make friends. I was bored. I was drunk. I got an anvil dropped on my head and got temporary amnesia. I want to become an actor now, so I needed to work on my improv). They all felt wrong.
“I meant it.”
Before he could take a second—to deal with the weight of what he’d just admitted, grapple with the chance that he might’ve just ruined the most important thing in his life—Eddie was leaning over the rails of the hospital bed, swallowing Buck in his arms, burying his head into Buck’s neck. He cradled him, squeezing tight enough that Buck let out an involuntary groan at the pressure it put on his injured ribcage.
“Fuck, sorry, you’re hurt. Are you okay?”
Buck’s eyes were shut, grimacing at the ache, but he steeled himself. Much more pressing matters than his chest pain were at hand.
“I’m okay. But I don’t…we have to…why did you hug me?”
A pause. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, lifting his head. He shrugged, as if this moment wasn’t the entire world; as if this moment wasn’t Buck’s entire future (sanity, too) decided.
“I really wanted you to mean it.”
Buck could’ve sworn his brain turned to literal mush, only TV static noise occupying it, that old DVD logo bouncing around, never perfectly hitting the corners. Some deep, insecure part of him—still crazy, after all this time waiting—was worried Eddie might just be method acting. Really digging his heels into this role, like it might be his big break. Who knows, maybe Grace or Julia or one of the other support group women was an agent, lingering outside the hospital walls waiting to discover him. But Eddie spoke again, the sweet sound and nervous shake of his voice dispelling all of Buck’s doubt.
“I mean, we still have to talk about how we got here. It’s too damn funny not to, and I can’t let you off that easy,” Eddie continued, huffing a jittery laugh. “But I really, really wanted you to mean it.”
“How long?”
Probably not the first words Buck would’ve chosen, if he could’ve gotten ahold of himself. He hadn’t, yet.
Eddie was looking him over, scanning him up and down, gnawing idly on his bottom lip.
“Do you want the truth?”
Honestly, Buck wasn’t sure he did. He nodded anyway.
Eddie nodded back, bracing himself.
“Since the sniper.”
And that’s when his brain kicked back on, like an old generator, needing a few extra tugs to jumpstart. A flood of memories, of feeling, of everything all at once; the dam finally crumbled.
Buck started laughing.
Now Eddie was the one blue-screening.
He couldn’t stop it. It was honestly a bit manic. He was caving in on himself with hilarious laughter, only getting it together when the pull on his ribs became unbearable.
“Jesus, Eddie. I mean, seriously. Since the sniper? Since the fucking sniper? I’ve been driving myself crazy, fucking batshit insane, all this time! I mean, especially since you left, but- fuck, for so long before that, too. And this whole time, you knew? You…you wanted me to mean it? This whole time?”
Eddie had cracked open, splitting into a smile.
“This whole time,” he confirmed. “To be fair, I only fully realized it once I left. Being away from you made it painfully clear I did not want to be separated- shit, no pun intended. But I knew what we had was…something…since then.”
“I’ve been tormented for years,” Buck groaned dramatically.
“I could kill you right now.”
“Kill me, or marry me?”
It struck Buck square in the chest.
Can’t be real. Can’t be fucking real.
“Both?”
Eddie was flashing his teeth, his cheeks dimpled in joy, looking like a lovesick fool. Buck was completely and unequivocally obsessed.
“Fair enough. Can you marry me first, though? I don’t want to miss out on the wedding you had planned. It sounded amazing.”
Buck knew he didn’t really have a reason to be embarrassed anymore, knowing now he wasn’t as insane as he’d thought, if based only on the state of Eddie’s blush. But still.
“They talked to you about the wedding?”
He wanted to palm his face—slap himself, really.
“Yes, Buck. They told me, like, everything. They talk a lot. Guess that’s why you got along so well.”
“Wow, hilarious, Eddie, truly,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“But really, you weren’t…mad? I mean- I lied to them, cried to a bunch of strangers about how much I missed you. Pretended you were my husband. I thought…I didn’t even want to imagine you finding out. About any of it, let alone that I had a whole wedding planned. It’s humiliating. I thought you’d be…”
“All I am is ridiculously in love with you, you idiot. It’s all I’ve been for a while now.”
Eddie paused, letting the admission hang in the air, before going on.
“Don’t get me wrong, I was caught off-guard. Had to do some serious quick-thinking to go along with it. But if this mess of yours is what got us here, I can’t be angry. I’ve waited- I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“You’re in love with me?”
Another dam crumbled, this one letting the waterworks free on Buck’s cheeks.
“I’m in love with you,” Eddie confirmed, reaching a hand to swipe the tears from Buck’s face. “Like an unreasonable, soul-crushing amount.”
“I-I’m in love with you, too.”
“I gathered as much,” Eddie teased. “If the fully-planned wedding ceremony was anything to go by.”
“Guess that kinda gave it away, huh?”
“Just a little bit.”
Buck sniffled, grasped his fingers around Eddie’s, where they had moved to cradle his neck.
“What now?”
“First, I think you need to start from the beginning. ‘Separation Support Group?’ I mean, Buck, how could you possibly have misunderstood that?”
Buck groaned, “I thought it meant physical separation. Like long-distance! I realize it was stupid now!”
Eddie giggled.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Buck pouted. “I was drunk and seriously going off my rocker with you gone. You don’t even know the half of it. I was majorly spiraling.”
Eddie put his hands up in surrender, scrunching up his mouth to stifle the laughter.
“Well, I’m gonna need to hear that whole story first. After that…I don’t know, Buck. After that, I guess we call Bobby and ask when John’s ranch is available.”
“We get married?”
“Might as well make it official,” Eddie winked.
And God, he looked so good; a crease of past worry still slightly visible between his brows, the rest of his face lit up with this unbridled joy, his eyelashes fluttering—Buck keenly aware, and never prouder, that he did that. Eddie was sat by him, looking so perfect, because of Buck. Because he loved Buck.
He sat up slowly into Eddie, despite the screaming protests from his head and lungs, and gripped the back of Eddie’s neck. He pulled him in, not even an inch between them, feeling Eddie’s catching breaths against his lips.
“Make it official?” Buck asked in a whisper.
Eddie cupped his hands around Buck’s jaw, so steady Buck swore he’d never let go. He’d be perfectly content to walk around with Eddie’s hands plastered there for the rest of his life.
Eddie pressed his lips onto Buck’s, soft like summer rain and fervid with years of unspoken want. It was everything Buck had dreamed of (Eddie, too, apparently); it was vindication from his insanity; it was relief, washing over him in a wave; it was happiness and peace and so many good things that Buck couldn’t name anymore when Eddie’s teeth grazed his bottom lip.
It was love.
It was finally more than enough.