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Eddie Diaz does not know how, out of all places, he found himself doing karaoke with his teammates. He’s pretty sure it was Chimney who suggested it, which of course made Hen agree right away, who then convinced Buck to join. And then, of course, Buck asked Eddie to join as well, and Eddie can't say no to Buck’s puppy eyes.
“Come on, Eds,” he begged. “Just one song! You’re from Texas, I’m pretty sure you have at least one country song in you.”
Eddie had resisted at first, but Buck was relentless, and even Hen had said that it was “team bonding.” So, Eddie caved, and that is how he found himself in a sticky and loud bar, with a mic that was crackling with decades of use.
Chimney does an over-the-top Elton John. Hen absolutely kills a Whitney Houston ballad. Buck does a chaotic, semi-dance-routine version of what Eddie is pretty sure is some sort of Taylor Swift song.
Eddie looks at Buck, really glad his best friend is having fun with the team tonight, and not with Tommy. Eddie almost shudders just thinking of the man. I mean sure, he was friends with him for a while, they were both in the army, both liked basketball, both liked watching fight sports. But in reality, Eddie hates Tommy.
Eddie must admit he sounds like a teenage girl, hating his best friend's boyfriend. Sure, he hated Taylor Kelly, but that’s because she was just insufferable in general, not because she was dating Buck. Ali was alright, Natalia gave him weird vibes, too obsessed with death, but he had never thought that they were “stealing” his best friend.
God, he does really sound like a teenage girl . But all Eddie can think of is the moment he shared with Buck before he started dating Tommy.
It had been one of those rare shifts where the city seemed to hold its breath, no fires, no accidents, no drama, just a looming thunderstorm that rolled in slow and heavy over Los Angeles.
The team had dispersed for the night, dozing or scrolling or reading in their bunks. But Eddie couldn’t sleep. Neither could Buck.
He found Buck sitting alone in the kitchen, staring out the big window as lightning pulsed silently on the horizon, his knuckles resting on a half-empty mug of coffee gone cold.
“You okay?” Eddie asked.
Buck didn’t jump; he never did when it was Eddie. Just offered a tired smile and nodded toward the chair across from him.
“I hate this kind of storm,” Buck mutters.
“I know.”
“You always know.”
Eddie swallows hard, staring at Buck's hands. “I try.”
Outside, thunder cracked, and the lights flickered for half a second.
Eddie watched the rain start to streak the window.
“It just always reminds me of you know, the one call” Buck said suddenly. “I really thought I wasn’t getting out of that one.”
Eddie’s chest tightened. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You were the first face I saw when they pulled me out. Not Hen. Not Bobby. You.”
Eddie didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything.
“You always are,” Buck added, voice lower now. “The first one. The one who shows up.”
Eddie’s throat felt tight. “You’re always worth showing up for.”
Buck turned to look at him. “Sometimes it feels like… this is it, y’know? You, me, Chris. Like we already are… something.”
Eddie’s fingers curled around his cup.
“We are,” he said.
Buck blinked.
Eddie forced himself to keep talking. “You come over more than anyone. You cook with us. Chris talks about you like you're—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “You matter. To both of us.”
Buck’s voice was barely audible. “Do you ever think it’s more than that?”
Eddie froze. His heart was beating too fast, too loud in his ears.
He could have said it. Right then. Could have told Buck that he didn’t sleep when Buck got hurt. That he couldn’t breathe the first time he saw him with someone else. That sometimes he dreams of waking up with Buck’s hand around his wrist like it belongs there.
But he didn’t.
Eddie looked away, instead watching the lightning scatter across the clouds.
“It’s late,” he said, voice too steady.
Buck stared at him for a second longer, like he was waiting.
When Eddie didn’t look back, Buck stood up. Left his coffee on the table.
“Night, Eds.”
“Night.”
Eddie had promised himself he would tell Buck how he felt soon. That it was only fair for both of them. Eddie didn’t believe in signs from the universe, but it really did feel like the universe had it out for him.
The next week, Buck mentioned someone new.
Tommy.
Eddie is nursing a soda, still not entirely sure how he got convinced to come to the bar, when Hen leans over and says, “You’re up.”
“What?” he blinks.
“Your name’s in,” she smirks. “Someone signed you up.”
Eddie turns toward Buck.
He just shrugs, smiling— innocent as hell.
He sighs. Stand. Walk toward the stage. Picks a song he figures he kind of knows.
And picks up the mic.
The music starts.
The first chords of Blue Ain’t Your Color float through the bar.
And suddenly, it’s too late to turn back.
Eddie’s voice isn’t perfect. But it’s steady, low, true. And from the second the lyrics leave his mouth, he’s not singing to the room.
Eddie is singing to him.
I can see you over there
Staring at your drink
Watchin' that ice sink
All alone tonight...
His eyes find Buck’s, and stay there.
Buck stills.
Chances are you're sittin' here in this bar
'Cause he ain't gonna treat you right...
The room starts to blur. Everyone’s clapping along, swaying, but Eddie doesn't see any of them.
Just him.
Blue looks good on the sky
Looks good on that neon buzzin' on the wall
But darlin', it don't match your eyes...
Eddie doesn't blink.
You don't need that guy
It's so black and white, he's stealin' your thunder
Baby, blue ain't your color...
When the final note fades, the bar erupts in cheers.
Hen whoops. Chimney is already pulling out his phone to find a replay.
But Eddie?
He looks at Buck one more time.
And this time, he can’t look away.
The second Eddie steps off the stage, the team loses it.
“ What the hell?! ” Hen yells. “You’ve been hiding that voice this whole time?!”
“I’m not even mad,” Chimney says, shaking his head, “I’m just impressed. ”
“Hold on. Why did you sound like a Southern heartbreak cowboy?!” Ravi calls out from the back of the booth.
Eddie tossed the mic to the bar’s busted table and shrugged coolly, taking a sip from his soda. “I had to match the song, didn’t I?”
“You chameleoned your entire accent!” Chimney gasps. “You went full Nashville on us!”
“I adapt,” he says simply. “It’s called range. And I am from Texas.”
They laugh, and the energy is all warmth and applause and teasing, and for once… Eddie lets it all in.
But Buck?
He hasn’t moved.
Still sitting where he was when the first chord hit, his drink untouched, his eyes trained on Eddie like he just walked into the room dressed in every secret he thought he’d buried.
Because he heard the lyrics.
He saw the way Eddie had looked at him.
And he knows.
Buck corners Eddie outside the bar ten minutes later, just past the neon glow.
“What the hell was that? ”
Eddie turns, casual as ever, one hand in his pocket. “What?”
“That song, ” he snaps, stepping in. “ Blue Ain’t Your Color? Are you kidding me?”
Eddie blinks. Tilts his head. “You didn’t like it?”
“It was—you looked at me the entire time , Eddie!”
He smirks. “So you noticed.”
Buck’s mouth opens. Closes. He throws his hands up. “Don’t do that! Don’t act like it was nothing!”
“I didn’t say it was nothing.”
“Oh my God—”
Eddie holds up his hand, calm and cool like he’s not unraveling inside. “Alright. Fine. Maybe the lyrics were a little… targeted.”
“A little? ”
Eddie shrugs again. “He’s not right for you, Buck. Sorry if someone needed to say it.”
Buck stares at his best friend like he doesn’t recognize the version of him standing here now—open, composed, honest.
Eddie meets his gaze and stays quiet.
Buck does not.
“I’m dating him,” he snaps. “You don’t get to just sing some… some heartfelt cowboy ballad at me in front of our entire team and then act like it was some casual playlist choice.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one who made it a thing.”
“Because it is a thing!” His voice cracks. “You can’t keep doing this. Making me feel things and then pretending you didn’t!”
“Who said I didn’t feel them too?” Eddie says quietly.
He stills.
“I’m just not the one who ran away,” Eddie adds, softer now. “I opened up. I wanted it. You’re the one who walked into a relationship with someone you don’t even seem to like half the time.”
Buck goes very still.
Eddie can see it happening in real-time—Buck’s rationalizations falling apart, his posture rigid, his eyes wide. His heart’s doing all the talking now, and his brain’s struggling to keep up.
But Eddie?
Eddie stays perfectly calm.
Because if he lets the storm out, it won’t stop.
Not this time.
“Say something,” Eddie murmurs finally, when the silence starts to ache.
Buck swallows hard. “I—I can’t do this right now.”
Eddie nods once. Not hurt. Not angry. Just… resolved.
“Okay.”
Eddie turns to walk back inside, where the team is still laughing and calling for another round, pretending this is just another fun night out.
And Buck?
He stays on the sidewalk.
Still caught in a song he wasn’t ready to hear.
The rest of the night plays out like nothing happened.
At least, that’s how Eddie makes it seem.
He’s back with the team at the karaoke bar, laughing as Chimney sings an off-key but passionate rendition of Backstreet Boys , his arm slung casually over the back of the booth. He throws out sarcastic commentary, mocks Hen’s choice of a slow 80s ballad, and pretends like his entire emotional interior wasn’t laid bare in front of Buck thirty minutes ago.
If anyone notices that Buck is quieter than usual, no one says anything.
He tries. Smiles at jokes, claps for songs, sips his drink.
But he keeps glancing Eddie’s way.
And every time he does, he remembers that song.
His voice.
His eyes on his.
And the fact that he was right .
That night, Buck goes home.
And realizes he can’t keep doing this.
He stares at his phone for what feels like an hour before finally calling Tommy and asking if he can come over.
It’s civil, for all of five minutes.
When Buck tells him it’s over, that it isn’t working, that it doesn’t feel right, he tries to argue. Tries to joke it off. When that fails, he blames work. Blames stress. Blames Eddie.
“Come on, I've noticed how you look at Eddie. How you have a smile no one gets except him. The child you literally co-parent,” he snaps. “You think I don’t see it?”
Buck tries to stay calm. “It’s not his fault! This was obviously never going to work.”
“Bullshit. It’s always been him. I knew he’d ruin this.”
Buck moves to open the door, the conversation already dead.
But then Tommy grabs him.
Hard.
Fingers clamping around his upper arm with bruising force.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says, voice low and dangerous now. “You’ll see.”
Buck stares at him, shocked.
Frozen for a second.
Then, training kicks in.
He shoves him hard. Enough to make him stumble.
And then he leaves.
Eddie is half-asleep on the couch, TV low, already in his sweats, when he hears the knock.
Not loud. But frantic.
He opens the door, and there he is—Buck.
Crying.
Eyes red. Shoulders shaking. And his arm, his arm already showing the shape of Tommy’s hand where he grabbed him.
“ Buck? ” Eddie breathes. “What—what happened?”
“He… he got angry. When I broke up with him. Said it was all your fault.” He sniffles. “He grabbed me. Hard.”
Eddie’s blood boils.
“I’m going to kill him,” Eddie growls, already half-turning to grab his jacket.
Buck grabs his sleeve. “Maybe don’t actually kill him.”
Eddie looks at Buck, at the tears streaking his cheeks, the way his body’s still trembling, and all the rage in him turns to protectiveness in an instant.
“Come in.”
He guides him gently to the couch and takes a closer look at Buck’s arm. The bruise is blooming fast. Purple, ugly, a stark contrast against his skin.
Eddie’s jaw clenches so hard it hurts.
“I’ll take care of it,” Eddie says quietly, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with a cold pack and a clean cloth. Eddie kneels beside him, pressing it carefully to his skin. He winces, but stays still.
“Can I stay?” he whispers. “Just for the night. I don’t feel… safe.”
“Of course,” Eddie says immediately. “You can stay as long as you need. You know that.”
He nods. Swallows. Then says, “He wasn’t always like that. He sucked, yeah—but not like this. And… I’m a big guy y’know, but somehow I, I just froze. Isn’t that stupid?”
Eddie shakes his head, eyes still on the bruise. “It’s not your fault. He made his choices. And for the record?” He looks up at Buck. “I never liked him.”
Buck snorts, tearfully. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”
“Good. He was a dick. Didn’t deserve you.”
He actually laughs, a soft, tired sound. “God. Why did I stay with him so long?”
“Because you were scared,” Eddie says, gently wiping away Buck’s tears, trying not to think about how intimate the moment is. “And it’s easier to choose the wrong person when they make you forget how good the right one could feel.”
His eyes hold Buck’s.
But neither of them say anything more.
Eddie goes to his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of sweats and a hoodie for Buck. “Here,” he says, tossing them gently. “They’ll be a bit small on you, but warm.”
Buck takes them gratefully, disappearing into the bathroom.
When he reemerges, hoodie and sweatpants just a bit too tight, Eddie almost forgets how to breathe.
Best friend who in need of help, he tries to remember. Before he can do or say anything stupid he starts talking.
“You can take the bed,” Eddie tells Buck.
“No, no way— you take the bed.”
“I insist.”
“It’s your bed, Eddie.”
“I’ve slept in worse places than a couch.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not letting you—”
“You’re injured,” Eddie smirks. “I outrank you. Go.”
That makes him laugh again.
Eddie wins.
Buck gives him a half-playful, half-exasperated look and heads into the bedroom. Eddie follows him, just to the doorframe, watching as he pulls the blanket over himself.
Eddie reached for the light.
“Need anything?” he asks softly.
Buck hesitates.
Eddie sees it—something flickers behind his eyes. Like he wants to ask him to stay. To slide in beside him and hold him until the shaking stops, and tell him everything will be okay and that he's safe. But instead, he just smiles.
“I’m fine.”
Eddie nods once. “Good. Sleep well, Buck.”
“Night, Eds.”
He leaves the door cracked behind him.
Just in case.
Eddie wakes before the sun.
Years of muscle memory, of readiness, of instinct. But for once, the air in his house isn’t coiled with tension—it’s calm. Quiet. Just the sound of the city rising and the steady beat of his own breath.
Buck’s still asleep in his bed when he starts the coffee.
He doesn’t want to wake him yet. He just wants him to rest.
Eddie makes breakfast quietly, eggs, toast, fruit he remembers Buck likes. Nothing fancy, but warm and real. Something to say, you’re safe now, without having to say the words.
Buck shuffles out of the bedroom in Eddie’s hoodie, rubbing his eyes, hair a mess.
“You made food?” he says, voice soft.
Eddie nods. “Didn’t know what you were in the mood for, so I made everything that wouldn’t burn the place down.”
He smiles, small and grateful, and sits across from him.
“Thank you,” he says after a few bites. “For last night. For… everything.”
Eddie shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“No, I do,” he insists. “For letting me stay. For not making me feel stupid. For not…” He trails off.
Eddie reaches across and squeezes his wrist gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Buck nods again, eyes a little glossy. “Still. Thank you.”
A little later, Buck gets ready to leave.
Eddie hands him a to-go coffee and walks him to the door, resting a hand on his shoulder as he slips on his jacket.
“If he shows up again,” Eddie says, voice even, “you call me.”
“I will.”
He pulls Buck into a long, firm hug. Not careful. Not delicate.
Protective.
“Promise,” Eddie murmurs.
“I promise,” he says into Eddie’s shoulder.
And then he’s gone.
Eddie goes straight to his apartment.
When Tommy opens the door and sees Eddie standing there?
He looks like he’s swallowed glass.
“Eddie,” he says flatly. “What the hell do you—”
Eddie steps inside without waiting for an invitation, casual as can be.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m not here for small talk.”
“You need to leave.”
Eddie smiles like a wolf.
“Or what?” he asks softly, stepping closer. “You gonna try to hurt me the way you hurt Buck?”
He bristles. “I didn’t—”
“You left a handprint on his arm.” His tone doesn’t rise. It doesn’t have to . “I saw it. I treated it. So let’s not pretend.”
He takes one step forward.
That’s all Eddie needs.
Crack.
Eddie’s fist slams into his nose in one perfect, practiced punch. The sound is sickening. He stumbles backward with a yell, clutching his face.
Before he can recover, Eddie lands a second blow just under his eye. Controlled. Exact. He steps back as Tommy hits the floor, groaning.
And then—like it’s nothing—Eddie crouches beside him.
“Now,” he says quietly, “you’ve got your own little reminder. That’s fair, right?”
Tommy glares at him through blood and pain. “I’ll—I'll go to the cops—”
He smirks. “You could . But then I’d know. And I’ve got friends who can make paperwork disappear… but I can make you disappear a hell of a lot faster .”
Eddie stands.
Calm.
Collected.
Terrifying.
“Give Buck his stuff back,” Eddie adds, walking toward the door. “And never see him again.”
Before he steps out, he glances back at Tommy over his shoulder.
“Oh. And Tommy?”
Eddie smiles like it’s a punch.
“He deserves someone a hell of a lot better than you.”
The Next Day – Station 118
It’s a standard shift.
Buck’s quieter than usual, still processing the night before. Eddie works beside him like normal, like always, until he finally opens up to the others.
“Yeah… I broke up with him. It got messy.”
The team offers support immediately—no questions, no judgment. Just quiet nods and affirming words. Bobby rubs his shoulder. Chimney offers to key his car. Ravi offers snacks. Hen just nods like she knows.
And then, he walks in.
Tommy.
Holding a bag of stuff.
He looks like hell—broken nose taped, one eye bruised and purple. The room freezes .
Eddie doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk.
Hen, next to him, notices. She glances sideways, and that’s all it takes. Her grin is slow and knowing.
Tommy clears his throat. “Hey. Uh… brought your things,” he mumbles to Buck, holding out the bag.
Buck takes it slowly. “Thanks…?” He pauses and then asks, “What happened to your face?”
“I’ll just… go.” His voice cracks.
Eddie makes eye contact with Tommy, the one look saying go on, tell him what happened .
“It was an accident.”
Eddie tilts his head, smiling coldly. “Yeah. Life’s full of surprises.”
He flees the second the words leave his mouth.
Gone.
Like he should’ve been from the start.
Buck stares after him, then looks down at the bag. “No way that was an accident.”
All eyes turn to Eddie.
“Eddie,” Buck says, slowly. “ What did you do? ”
Eddie shrugs.
“Nothing,” he says innocently. “Maybe he’s just a very clumsy person. Who knows?”
Chimney lets out a laugh and claps his shoulder. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
Buck narrows his eyes. “You punched him.”
Eddie widens his eyes, all mock-shock. “What?! Me?!”
Buck’s face softens. He knows. He knows.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Eddie just smirks and leans back in his chair, arms folded. “What for? I didn’t do anything.”
But his face says it all.
And Buck smiles, really smiles, for the first time in days.
The shift winds down.
Dinner is slow, quiet, Hen teasing Buck just enough to keep him engaged, Chimney making jokes about how much he hated Tommy and how he hopes that his nose heals crooked. It almost feels normal again.
Buck eventually offers to clean the dishes.
“Gives me a distraction,” he says. “You know. Keep busy.”
Bobby arches a brow but doesn’t question it. Eddie immediately starts helping Buck.
When the others are gone, and the last of the dishes are in the sink, Buck and Eddie end up side by side. Drying silverware. Bumping elbows. The hum of the station’s fridge the only sound between them.
Buck sets the towel down.
“Can I ask you something?”
Eddie nods, cautious.
Buck looks at him carefully. “You didn’t just punch him just for the sake of beating him up… right?”
Eddie’s throat tightens.
Buck presses, voice lower. “Why did you really do it?”
Eddie swallows, meets his eyes. He’s done hiding. He’s so done.
“And please don't throw this on your illegal fight club days or whatever the hell you want to call it.”
Eddie actually snorts at that and then takes a second to gather his courage.
“Because I love you,” he says. Simple. True. No drama. “Because when I saw his hand on your arm, I saw red. And because I should’ve told you that night in the kitchen, or during the storm shift, or basically anywhere before that… but I choked.”
Buck stares at him. Breath caught. Like he heard those words before—but only in dreams.
“Say it again,” Buck whispers.
“I love you.”
Buck closes his eyes, lets the words hit. Then he laughs, a soft, almost disbelieving sound, and says, “You’re such an idiot.”
“Yeah,” Eddie admits. “But I’m your idiot.”
Buck steps closer, towel forgotten on the counter, and grabs Eddie by the front of his t-shirt. Pulls him in like gravity’s had enough of waiting.
He kisses him.
Soft, then deeper.
And right as Eddie leans into it, he hears Hen clear her throat.
They break apart to see Hen, Chim, and Ravi frozen in the kitchen doorway. Chim is halfway through a bite of leftover lasagna. Ravi looks like he forgot how to blink.
Hen just grins.
“About damn time,” she says, like this was all part of the plan.
Chimney raises his water bottle in salute. “Honestly, I feel like this is healing my inner child.”
Ravi just looks really confused. “Wait, you’re back together again? I thought you were divorced?”
Buck flushes. Eddie just rolls his eyes.
But neither of them let go.
Later, when it’s just the two of them again, Buck resting against Eddie’s shoulder on the couch, the couch Eddie slept on just the night before, legs tangled, a game show playing low in the background, Buck murmurs,
“You meant it, right?”
Eddie presses a kiss to his hair.
“Every word.”
Buck exhales. Leans into him more.
“Okay,” he says softly.
Then, after a beat:
“Can I stay tonight?”
Eddie smiles into his hair. “You’re home.”
And for the first time in a long time, Buck doesn’t feel like he’s crashing at someone else’s place, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.