Work Text:
What if I roll the stone away?
They're gonna crucify me anyway
What if the way you hold me
Is actually what's holy?
Eddie is drunk. Probably drunker than he’s ever been.
For a while there, Eddie worried they were being too loud, that they’d wake up Chimney and he’d be mad at Buck, especially when the drag queens busted out the music and everyone was shouting, but he hasn’t come out to yell, so Eddie thinks they’re safe. Especially now most of the party-goers have moved on—something about another party in someone’s house. For a moment, Eddie considered following them out the door, seeing where the night took them, but then he saw Buck sitting back on the couch and Eddie just waved them off.
It’s just the two of them now. Head fuzzy, ears ringing from the new and sudden quiet, Eddie sits next to Buck, more space between them than there has been all night. Eddie doesn’t get a chance to miss the proximity, though, because Buck tips over, falling so his head lands in Eddie’s lap. Eddie smiles, absent-mindedly carding a hand through Buck’s curls, damp and sticky with the remnants of gel combined with sweat and beer.
Buck reaches for his phone, squints at the screen for a moment, then sets it aside.
“Tommy?” Eddie asks, voice coming out louder than he expected.
“Nothing. It’s fine, though. I know what it’s like when things are busy.”
“Yeah.” Eddie’s fingers catch on a snag in Buck’s hair, and he works them through. “You guys seem to be doing better, since last time.”
“I’m really glad he gave me a second chance.” Buck smiles, with a wistful sigh, his breath tickling Eddie’s stomach. Eddie shivers—the room must be colder than he thought.
“He’s not an idiot, Buck. ‘Course he did.” Eddie scratches Buck’s scalp a little. Buck hums.
“You’re my best friend, it’s your job to say that.” Buck wriggles a little, getting comfortable, putting his feet up and looking up at Eddie.
Eddie’s hand slips from Buck’s hair to brush over his birthmark, and Buck’s eyes fall closed.
He’s so pretty like this, Eddie thinks.
“Sure, maybe I do have to say that,” he admits. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Anyone would be an idiot not to love you.” Eddie’s mouth works of its own accord, words spilling from his lips. He’s not even sure Buck’s awake, and the alcohol makes everything feel fuzzy, warm, unreal. “I–I’ve thought about it, you know? About you. I think—I could love you like that. If you were a girl.” Eddie frowns—that’s not it. “Or, if I was…”
Buck goes still, his eyes flying open.
“Eddie?” He tries to sit up, but as he moves his foot he knocks a candle from the side table. The flame catches on the couch, spreading to Buck’s pants leg. Eddie jumps to action, grabbing a vase of flowers and dumping it on the couch, using someone’s discarded jacket to smother the flames on Buck’s leg.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
Buck nods. “I'm good.”
The adrenaline has sobered Eddie up a little, but he kneels there in front of Buck, both of them breathing heavily as smoke rises from the couch. Buck looks at Eddie, the beginning of a frown between his brows.
“What did—?” He begins to ask, but Eddie stands up, taking a step back.
“We should probably go to sleep.” He looks around for somewhere to sleep, and his eyes land on the bathtub.
He doesn’t know why that seems like the best option, but he climbs in, rests his legs against the side, and feels the cool porcelain against his back. It's quite comfortable, actually.
After a while, he begins to hear Buck’s snores across the room from where he has settled on the floor. It’s a soothing sound, one Eddie has grown accustomed to over the years.
I could love you like that, he thinks.
Maybe he already does.
Because tonight—Eddie knows it's probably just the alcohol, but tonight has been perfect—aside from Buck being a menace about the sliders and his disappointment at Chimney not arriving before everyone had to leave.
But… arms around each other, screaming tunelessly into the karaoke mic, talking into each other's ears, tactile in a way they haven't ever really been before, the way Eddie always wants to be, deep down? Sure, they hug, and they sit together in crowded rooms or the back of the engine, and Eddie reaches for Buck's shoulder and Buck bumps their shoulders together but tonight has been different.
Eddie has been drunk before, but he thinks that: Buck's proximity, the unbridled enthusiasm and joy was probably just as intoxicating. There was no pretence, no reason to have their arms around each other or to sit so close together that every word they said was inevitably spoken into each other's ears, but Eddie didn't want to be anywhere else, and it felt like Buck was on the same page.
But maybe they aren't on the same page—maybe Eddie's been reading a different book this whole time, and the narrative just hasn't diverged until now.
He closes his eyes, and lets it all play out in his head. What if it wasn’t Tommy? What if Eddie was the one who got to kiss Buck, who made him blush, who Buck couldn’t stop thinking about? What if, when Buck’s head was in his lap, Eddie could have leaned down and kissed him, and had Buck kiss him back?
Eddie’s chest is tight, the very idea of it stirring an old, buried reflex, panic threatening to rise because he’s not, but what if he is?
What if this is what he’s been missing all this time?
What if it’s always been Buck, from the very beginning?
Buck’s his best friend, but so was Shannon, once upon a time, before she kissed him at his seventeenth birthday party and changed the whole trajectory of his life. And he knows loved her, but this feels… different. He loved her, and he felt a tug in his chest whenever he looked at her, and he loved being her husband, but every bump in the road, everything that wasn’t perfect, it made him want to run away. And so he did. He ran from her. He ran from everything
He tries to imagine anything making him want to run from Buck, but his mind comes up blank. He runs towards him, every time. Every injury, every dumb decision and heat of the moment argument, he runs towards Buck, holds on tight and never wants to let go.
He presses his palms into his eyes.
He can’t deal with this. Not now, not while he’s drunk out of his mind and Buck’s going to dance with Tommy at the wedding tomorrow and Eddie is…
He hasn’t broken up with Marisol yet. He’d planned to, but then she’d started talking about how her relationships never last after the nun conversation, and he’d felt guilty at the prospect of being just one man in a long line to disappoint her.
Guilty. Hah. Seems to be a recurring theme in his life these days.
The room is quiet, apart from Buck’s snores, and Eddie’s head is spinning.
He can’t do this now, it’s too big, too much to process at once.
Tomorrow. He’ll figure it out tomorrow.
Before he falls asleep, he sends a quiet thanks to whoever might be listening that Marisol wasn't able to get tomorrow off, that his abuela will be his plus one to the wedding instead.
It gives him some time to think.
When he wakes up, it's to Buck shouting his name. The porcelain is no longer cold, warmed by his body heat, but it hurts to sit up, his skin stuck with sweat to the smooth surface. His mouth tastes like shit, his legs are dead from sleeping with them over the edge of the tub, and his whole body aches.
Why the fuck did he fall asleep in the bathtub? What happened to his shirt? And what the fuck did they do to this hotel room?
Any attempt to reconstruct the hazy memories of the night before is abandoned when he follows Buck to Chimney's room, only to find it not only empty, but pristine.
They get an Uber to the venue, and Eddie sees a vague flash of himself suggesting the same thing last night, Buck's arm tight around his shoulder.
He feels a tug, and wonders if he's about to be sick. He rolls down the window and takes a few gulps of fresh morning air. Bug pats his thigh in sympathy, and Eddie has to squeeze his eyes shut to prevent another wave.
He doesn't think he'll ever forget the look on Maddie's face when they tell her Chimney is missing.
He tries to focus on the main priorities in spite of his thundering headache. Someone hands him some Tylenol, then tea and a selection of hors d’oeuvres from the wedding, which he tries to force down in an attempt to feel more human. It mostly works. He and Buck are sent away to shower and change into something more presentable, and by the time they make it to dispatch with food for everyone and a change of clothes for Maddie, Eddie's just about able to function again.
He can worry about reconstructing his memories of the night before some other time, he figures—right now, Chimney is more important.
It's not until after, when Chím is safe in the hospital, out of surgery and well on his way to recovery, when Eddie's had a chance to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, that he's able to think back.
He remembers Karaoke. He remembers drinking a lot, remembers everyone else leaving and Buck inviting those strangers to join them. He remembers suggesting they go to the hotel, and did he break down the door? He remembers drinking more, remembers hands on his chest, tearing his shirt, and he remembers feeling free, uninhibited, giddy.
And he remembers a tug in his chest, something big, feeling the cold porcelain on his back.
What could he have forgotten?
He goes to pick up Chris and Abuela from where they're staying at Pepa’s house. Sure, with the wedding delayed now, he could probably ask Marisol whether she's free, but he remembers wanting his abuela there, and the thought of calling or texting Marisol right now sends his stomach lurching again, a guilt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time rising in his chest.
“Edmundo!” Abuela whisper-chides him during the reception, drawing his attention away from Buck’s soot-stained face. “You never told me Buck was dating a man!”
Eddie winces, feeling an ice-blade of fear somewhere near his heart. “It's new,” he says.
Abuela is quiet for a moment, looking at Buck, and Eddie's heart races. He loves his abuela to the sky and back, but he knows she's of a different generation, that she is much more attached to the church than he is, that her opinions may skew more traditional than his.
She smiles. “He seems happy, mijo. There can never be too much love in the world, don't you think?”
The ice melts, and in its place is warm, glowing affection—love. “I agree,” he says. They both look at Buck, grinning, giddy with joy at the occasion and the presence of Tommy amongst his family.
So why does her soft, steady hand on Eddie's arm feel like an acceptance of him, as well as Buck?
Why does it feel so goddamn monumental?
He dreams of Buck that night, his head resting on Eddie's thigh. He dreams of curls between his fingers. He dreams of when he was fourteen years old and father García came in to speak about sin, and the blessings of a marriage between a man and a woman.
He wakes up in a cold sweat.
There's a flash, hazy in the moment between the dream and wakefulness, and he sees himself lean forward, tilt Buck's head, and press a kiss to his parted lips.
That didn't happen.
…Did it?
It can’t have happened. If it had, things would have changed. If it had, surely Buck would be weird around him, or would have called things off with Tommy—he would at least want to talk about it, wouldn’t he?
But he hasn’t acknowledged it, so it can’t be real.
It feels real, though. The way Buck looked at him, his fingers in Buck’s hair, he can feel it. He can feel the gel and the sweat and the sticky spot right at Buck’s hairline from a drink that splashed him, and he can feel the weight of Buck’s head in his lap, and the way his eyes widened in surprise when Eddie told him how he felt.
It’s all so confusing, especially as more and more of the night comes back to him. Singing karaoke into the same microphone, singing about never wanting to let go, about true romance. He remembers practically sitting in Buck’s lap, talking in each other’s ears—some proximity might have been necessary, considering how loud it was around them, but Eddie doesn’t remember a single moment of the night after everyone left when he wasn’t touching Buck in one way or another.
With all that in his mind, the memory of a kiss feels less and less far-pitched.
There’s one thing he knows for sure, and it’s enough to send him into a spiral on its own.
He’s attracted to Buck. Whether it was real or not, he wanted to kiss Buck. He still wants to.
And it makes sense, in a weird sort of way. If anyone had asked him to describe, in abstract terms, the person he saw himself falling for, he would have been able to give an answer without hesitation: Someone who was willing and ready to make space for Christopher, someone he could trust with Christopher, someone who fit into the family dynamic they already had, who could accept them both for who they are and push them to be better.
And, if he allowed himself to be selfish, he could go further: Someone who makes him laugh. Someone who can see Eddie’s deepest fears and darkest moments and still stick around, someone who would have his back, and who allowed Eddie to do the same in return, who would be on his side when it mattered but call him out when it mattered more.
And, adding all that together, it makes sense it would be Buck. Because Buck is all of that, and he’s more.
He’s everything.
And Eddie had never seen it before now, never allowed himself to see it, because Buck… well, Buck’s a man. A six-foot-two, muscled, tattooed man with calloused hands and stubble on his jaw and the softest looking lips and most gentle eyes Eddie just wants to fall into.
He’s never let himself see it before now, but he can’t stop seeing it now. He looks at Buck, and what he’d once thought of as simple affection, admiration of all the hard work his best friend puts into making sure his body is strong enough for the work they do, it’s all still there but it’s intertwined with a desire to reach out, to trace the lines of Buck’s tattoos or to hold him close, feel those arms around him, to feel Buck’s lips press against his own without alcohol blurring the lines between dreams and reality.
And, yes, the idea of it makes him panic, but not for the reasons he expected it to. In the abstract, devoid of context, the idea of kissing Buck is… It’s good. The thought, or the memory, or whatever it is, of Buck’s lips against his, it feels like a missing puzzle piece slotting into place.
He breaks up with Marisol. How can he not, now he knows this about himself? Now he knows there’s a reason he kept looking for things to be wrong with their relationship, with his relationship with Ana, even with Shannon—which is something he still can’t look at too closely just yet, or he might just lose it altogether.
He’s gay, and he has feelings for Buck, and it might just be ruined before he even has a chance to start it, because if his memory is real—if they did kiss at the bachelor party, when he was still with Marisol and Tommy was out putting his life at risk to fight a fire while Buck checked his phone for updates from him… That’s no way to start a relationship—not one that has any hope of lasting, at least.
And god, if Eddie ever gets a chance to do this with Buck, he wants it to last. He wants it to be forever.
He needs to know the truth, to know whether these memories are real or not, to know whether this guilt eating him up from the inside is justified.
There's only one person he can ask, only one person who was there, who might remember it. And he can't. He can't ask Buck, because if it's real, he'll be breaking the silence on what happened, opening up a can of worms Buck must be trying to keep closed. And if it's just in Eddie's head, if Buck is blissfully unaware, happy with Tommy, then how can Eddie ruin that by telling him he can't stop thinking about kissing him?
But Eddie is more selfish than he likes to admit, and he needs to know.
He waits until it's just the two of them in the firehouse kitchen, everyone else asleep in the bunks. He doesn't want to do this at home, doesn't want to taint the memories they've shared there, if it goes wrong.
“I've been, uh… I've been trying to remember the bachelor party,” he says, testing the waters. “Feels like a lot of it was a blur, once we got to the hotel.”
Buck looks at him, and Eddie notices a dusting of pink on his cheeks.
“You… you don't remember what happened?” Buck asks.
Eddie's stomach drops. He'd known, of course. Part of him has always known, but the confirmation hits him hard.
“So there is something to remember, then. I wasn't… wasn't just making it up in my head?”
Buck shakes his head. “It's… it doesn't have to be a big deal, you know?”
Eddie frowns. “Buck, what?” He feels a wave of anger at Buck’s dismissal. How could it be anything but a big deal?
“You know, you were drinking, things were all hazy, it’s not… It’s okay, Eddie.”
Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t mean that. You can’t just—Buck. It was… I was with Marisol. You’re with Tommy, it’s not okay!” His voice is loud enough by the end of his statement that Buck glances towards the bunk room.
He actually looks surprised by Eddie’s reaction. Eddie can see him working back through the conversation. “Was?” he asks.
Eddie frowns “What?”
“You… you said you were with Marisol. You’re not anymore?”
Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. “I should have broken up with her a long time ago, but once I remembered what happened—even if it had been just a dream, Buck, I was dreaming about holding you, kissing you, I… How could I stay with her after that?”
Buck’s face falls, his brows knotting together.
“Shit,” Eddie backtracks, realising what he said. “I didn’t mean—I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong, for still being with Tommy after we... They’re different situations, obviously, and if you’ve talked about it, if he’s—”
“That didn’t happen, Eddie,” Buck says, cutting Eddie off mid-sentence.
“What?”
“We didn’t—you remember kissing me?” Buck asks.
“We.. we didn’t kiss?”
Buck shakes his head, and Eddie has to take a deep, shaky breath. There’s relief there, knowing he hadn’t crossed that line, that they hadn’t—but now it’s out there, now Buck knows.
“We didn’t kiss,” Buck confirms. “I thought you were talking about… you said some things. Some things that sort of sounded like you were about to come out to me, that you might have thought about… that was all, though. We didn’t cheat, Eddie.”
“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Buck.” Eddie rubs his hands over his face, digging the heel of his palm into his eye socket until he sees stars. “God, I am so sorry, I should have known you wouldn’t… that you’d never… not again, not to Tommy, but...”
“But you remembered it. You dreamed… about—about us?”
Eddie sniffs. Nods to confirm it. Can’t get any actual words out.
“Eddie…” Buck takes a step closer to him, and Eddie freezes. “Are you… what you said after the party. You said—you thought you could… love me, if you were… you never actually finished the sentence, but—”
“If I were gay.” Eddie finishes the sentence now. He knows the answer now, at least. “And, I’m pretty sure it’s not really an if anymore. So… yeah.” The words come easy to his lips, but as he says them, he feels something like a hand clench his stomach, and he has to take a few sharp breaths to avoid heaving.
Buck doesn’t seem to notice. “And, the… the other part?” he asks.
Eddie grits his teeth, eyes burning with tears he refuses to let fall. “Buck. You’re with Tommy. I—I can’t.”
Buck steps away, leaving a bigger space between them than there had been when they first started talking out here. “Right. You’re right. I—I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m happy for you, though. For figuring this out. It’s… It’s freeing, right? Once it clicks?”
Eddie makes a sound he hopes Buck will take as the answer he’s looking for. Freeing isn’t exactly the word he’d use. Terrifying, maybe? Nauseating?
“Anyway, I, uh… I’m here, you know? If you ever need to… talk.” Buck raps his knuckle on the table to punctuate it.
Eddie nods, rasps out a “Thanks, Buck.”
And that’s it. They go back to the bunk room, they climb into their respective bunks. Buck goes to sleep, and Eddie stares at the ceiling until he can’t stay awake any longer. He dreams of Buck again, hands on his thighs, whispering in his ear, but the voice Eddie hears isn’t Buck’s.
It’s cold, and it’s harsh, and it reminds Eddie of hard wooden pews and incense and the stale, bitter taste of the eucharist swallowed past a lump in his throat.
Clearing the air with Buck doesn’t help anything. It doesn’t ease the guilt Eddie feels every time he feels his thoughts straying to that night, to the dreams and to the reality of what had happened—it wasn’t cheating, but surely it was almost as bad? Telling Buck those things then, knowing he was seeing Tommy. Bringing them back up now, knowing nothing has changed for Buck.
And then there’s the rest of it. The bigger part, really, because the rational part of his brain knows that Buck will never hold this against him, and will never let it get in the way of their friendship.
Buck might not hold it against him, but Eddie is more than capable of holding it against himself, letting the ghost of Father García who lives in his head for the express purpose of making it clear the life he's choosing to lead is one of sin. That his family will never forgive him for this, when he's worked so hard to get to a place where his father might actually respect him and his choices, when his aunt and his abuela are some of the most important people in his life. Sure, Abuela was supportive of Buck, but would it be the same, if it were him? Now that it is him?
He walks around like a ghost for weeks, throwing himself into work and avoiding sleep at all costs, doing everything he could to keep his thoughts away from Buck, from this thing eating him up from the inside.
And then, for the second time in as many months, Eddie finds himself seeking advice from above—from Bobby.
“We keep ending up back here, don't we?” Eddie jokes, sitting across from Bobby in the loft after breakfast the next morning.
Bobby laughs. He's been withdrawn lately, ever since he took a few days off to deal with some personal stuff and came back with a second-degree sunburn, recovering from dehydration and sunstroke.
The burn is mostly healed now, and he's been physically cleared for work for the last week, but Eddie has noticed a distant look in his eye once or twice since his return.
“Is everything okay?” Eddie manages to ask.
“It will be,” Bobby assures him. “Just had a lot of old memories resurface lately. A lot to work through.”
Eddie doesn't mean to, but he snorts. Bobby shoots him an odd look. “Sorry.” Eddie holds up a hand. “Sorry, that wasn't… I just… me too.”
Bobby nods. “You have seemed distant,” he acknowledges. He sets a coffee in front of Eddie. “Anything you want to talk about?”
Eddie takes a sip. “You first,” he deflects. Cowardly, probably, but he does want to be there for Bobby, too.
Bobby's the one to snort this time. “Fair enough.” He doesn't walk away, though. He sits back down next to Eddie. “My father,” he says. “He was my hero when I was a kid. He's the reason I became a firefighter.”
“Wow.” Eddie doesn't know if he's ever heard Bobby talk about his family—he’s mentioned them once or twice, but only in passing references. “You’re a legacy, right?”
Bobby makes a face. “Yeah. Legacy firefighter, legacy alcoholic.”
Eddie doesn't know what to say to that, but Bobby only allows the silence to sit for a moment before he continues. “You didn't get here until I was already back on the wagon, seeing Athena, doing well, but… it was a tough journey. And I don't blame my father, not exactly, but he…he set me on the journey. Gave me my first drink when I was eleven years old, and I spent most of that year looking after him rather than the reverse. I still blamed myself when he died, even though… well. I can see now that I wasn't responsible.”
“It's the guilt that kills you,” Eddie relates. Bobby purses his lips and bobs his head in a single nod.
“Sure is. It's one thing confession can't absolve you of. But, I've got my meetings. My team. I've even been to see Frank once or twice,” he says, with a pointed look that Eddie knows to be a question.
“Yeah. I should probably go back to him, but it's not… I'm not self-destructing, this time. It's just—”
“Guilt?” Bobby prompts.
“Of a different kind. But it's not… no offence, but I don't think I can follow that.”
Bobby laughs, throwing his head back with a loud bark. “A deal’s a deal, Eddie.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right. I guess it is.” He stares into his coffee, searching for an entry point. “When you went to church as a kid, was your priest the kind who liked to talk about sin?”
Bobby raises an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“You know, in terms of… you know, different sexualities and stuff. That kind of thing.”
Bobby sighs. “Well, I was raised in the 70s and 80s, so the church wasn't the only place preaching against that kind of thing.”
“Right. Yeah, I get that. I guess it was the same for me, in Texas. Maybe not to the same degree, but…”
“Right,” Bobby agrees. “Honestly, though, I don't really have many childhood associations with mass. My family were never exactly practising catholics, especially not my dad. Mom did make an effort to bring us, after he… but I was checked out, not really hearing anything the priest said. I didn't truly become a practising Catholic until after…” Bobby clears his throat, stares down into his cooling mug of coffee. “After the fire. After I lost my family.”
Eddie nods, thoughtful. Something occurs to him. “We're a pair, huh?”
Bobby raises an eyebrow.
“You felt guilty, and you found peace in the church, in God. I’m the opposite, I think.”
“You are?”
Eddie nods, looking over his shoulder. It's a wonder nobody has interrupted them yet, but maybe people know by now—if it's just the two of them out here, they're probably talking about something serious. It’s certainly become a habit for them.
“Have I ever told you about when I stopped believing in God?” he asks. Bobby shakes his head. “Well. I was fourteen, listening to a priest try to tell a group of kids that there were certain people—certain kinds of love which were… wrong. He said those kinds of sinful thoughts needed to be kept in line, and you should definitely never act on them. Not if you wanted to follow the path of God.”
The memory is clear as day, reflected in the liquid at the bottom of his coffee cup.
“I didn’t really understand it at the time. I mean, I'd seen gay people on tv a little bit, I guess, but I didn’t know any in real life. At least, none who were out. I just remember sitting there, and thinking that’s not true. That it couldn’t be true. I… I refused to believe it was true. But the priest was pretty adamant about it, and it just… shattered something in me. I kept going to mass to keep my parents happy and to avoid people asking about it, but I stopped believing that day.”
“I can see why it would have that effect.” Bobby smiles at him. “You’re a good man, Eddie. You’ve always known where your values lie.”
Eddie feels a twinge. “It’s not that. It’s… more selfish, I think.”
“No?” Bobby looks at him. When Eddie doesn't say anything, he purses his lips. “There are certain things… I don’t always agree with everything the church teaches,” Bobby admits. “I find my own peace with it, take what feels true to me and dismiss the rest. The God I believe in is one of love—all kinds of love. Nothing trumps that, in my opinion.”
Eddie smiles, a little sad, a little rueful. He wonders who he would be today if he was raised by people who viewed religion the same way Bobby does. “I’ve never really felt that love, honestly.”
“That’s understandable. If I might ask… why are you telling me this?”
Eddie releases a breath. “You can’t guess?”
Bobby’s mouth curls into a half-smile. “I probably can, but I think you need to hear yourself say it.”
It startles a laugh out of Eddie. It makes it easier. “I’m gay.”
Bobby looks proud. “That’s wonderful, Eddie.”
Eddie isn't quite sure he can see it that way yet, but he's getting there.
Bobby leaves to get some paperwork done in his office, leaving Eddie sitting at the table, alone. He must have been right in his earlier assumption, because barely a minute after Bobby’s gone, Hen emerges from the bunk room, and Chim pops up not long after her.
“All okay?” Hen asks him.
Eddie nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”
“Nothing like a Bobby Nash heart-to-heart, huh?” Chim asks, clapping him on the shoulder, surprising a laugh out of Eddie.
“Yeah. Yeah, there isn’t.” He’s surprised to find he does feel lighter, like the heaviness of the conversation had lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. Maybe he understands confession a little better now.
Or maybe he just needs to go back to therapy.
He needs to be alone for a little while, he thinks. There’s only an hour or so left in their shift, but the gym calls to him, the prospect of getting out of his head for a few minutes, working out, just him and his body. He’s halfway down the stairs when he hears the voices.
Buck’s, he recognises immediately. Even if he can’t hear the words, he recognises his voice. Buck had already been gone from the bunk room when Eddie woke up, making himself a smoothie rather than sitting down for breakfast, and he’d been conspicuously absent ever since. Eddie figured he’d been catching up on some chores, but it sounds like he’s talking to someone.
And he doesn’t sound happy.
“Really, Evan?”
The voice is less familiar than Buck’s, but Eddie still knows it. Even if he didn’t recognise it from all their days hanging out, who else, other than Maddie, would call Buck Evan so casually?
Eddie stays out of sight.
“What do you want me to say?” Buck’s voice is clearer now, raised more than it had been before.
“Anything, would be great. The truth, maybe?”
“I told you the truth, Tommy. It’s not my fault you won’t believe me.”
“Seriously? You expect me to believe you’ve never even thought about it?”
“You asked whether anything happened. The answer is no.”
Tommy scoffs. “So you have thought about it, then.”
“Tommy, please, I—”
Eddie turns on his heel. He shouldn’t be hearing this. He hightails it up the stairs, intercepting Chimney about halfway down. He grabs him by the arm and drags him back up.
“What the—”
“Trust me, you do not want to be down there right now.”
Chimney opens his mouth to argue, but Eddie shakes his head. A moment later, Buck storms upstairs, visibly upset. He freezes when he sees them there.
Eddie wants to reach for him, hold him, comfort him, but that’s not his place.
“What happened?” he asks, since it’s all he can do.
Buck glances at Chimney, then at the rest of the team, starting to pay attention to them now. He shakes his head. “Not here. I just need to… Not here.”
“Okay. Later, then?”
Eddie is grateful that the shift is almost done, that he can pile Buck into his truck and drive him home.
“My Jeep—” Buck tries to protest.
“Don’t worry, we’ll come back for it.”
Frankly, Eddie is worried. Buck looks completely dazed, and Eddie’s not sure whether letting him drive alone right now would be the best idea.
They sit at Eddie’s kitchen table, and Eddie sets two large mugs of coffee down between them. Of course, it was always going to happen here.
“He dumped me,” Buck says, in a flat tone.
Eddie sits down heavily. “Oh.” Truth be told, he’d just about guessed that much. Or maybe, he’d hoped.
“What happened?” Eddie asks.
Buck sips his coffee. “He came by to pick me up.”
“Pretty early,” Eddie notes. There’d been a solid hour left in their shift when he’d heard Buck and Tommy… arguing.
“He got his times confused. I told him when I was finished, but he must have misheard, or…”
Or not been listening, a less-than-charitable part of Eddie’s mind suggests.
“Or something. I asked if he’d mind waiting outside, since I still had work to do—I even offered to meet him somewhere else when I was done, but… He started acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
Buck shakes his head. “He just… said some things—suggested something I hadn’t… I hadn’t let myself consider. Not really, not until… I tried to deny it, but I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him he was wrong.”
Eddie wants to ask. He wants to know, but he doesn’t think he could bear it if he’s wrong—if Buck’s talking about something completely different.
“What… What did he say?”
Buck bites his lip. “Do you remember… after Chim’s bachelor party?”
Eddie’s breath catches. It’s all he can do to nod. He remembers—vividly.
“Did you… did you mean it? The things you said?” Buck averts his eyes, like he’s afraid of how Eddie’s going to respond. And Eddie can’t have that—he can’t have Buck doubting even for a second that he meant that.
“I meant every word, Buck.” Even the ones he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say.
“Tommy suggested… he thought that you and I had… done something. Done what you thought we’d done. And when I told him we hadn’t, he asked whether I’d thought about it. About… you.”
“And you…”
“I-I couldn’t tell him he was wrong. I couldn’t say I’d never thought about it—because I had. I do, Eddie.”
“Buck—”
“I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, Eddie. What you said that day, you…”
“I didn't actually say it though, did I?”
Buck frowns. “You—what?”
“I didn’t say the words. Not really.”
“I… I guess not.”
“Do you… want me to?”
“Please, Eddie.”
Eddie feels a rush, warmth flooding his body. He reaches across and takes Buck’s hand in his.
He takes a breath, meets Buck’s eyes, and says it.
“I’m in love with you, Evan Buckley. Buck. I love you.”
Buck takes a sharp inhale at the words, as though he’d somehow still not been expecting it. Eddie watches him, sees the way his shoulders drop at the words, how his whole demeanor changes.
And there it is—that freeing feeling Buck mentioned. He feels it when Buck looks at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Wow. You do, don’t you?”
Eddie laughs. He hates that they’re at the table right now, that there’s a pesky corner between them preventing Eddie from pulling Buck close.
“I—” Buck says, “Eddie, you have to know that I—”
“You don’t have to say it. Not yet—this is so fresh, I get that you’ll need time for this.”
Buck tangles their fingers together. “Thank you. And, I—I’m pretty sure I’m almost there. I’ve been halfway there since we met, it just took a bit of a jolt to figure it out.”
Eddie smiles. He shuffles his chair around the edge of the table until he can reach for Buck, resting a hand on the side of his face, stroking his thumb over Buck’s jaw. Buck leans into it, and he presses a feather-light kiss to Eddie’s palm.
He can’t believe he’d ever felt like this could be wrong. There’s no guilt, there’s no shame or fear or sense of doom. There’s just Buck, beautiful as ever. And there’s love—so much love.
“How do we even… Eds, you’re the most important person in my life. I don't know what I'd do if we… if it goes wrong.”
“Me either. But, Buck… what if it goes right? What if it's everything we've been missing?”
Buck's eyes flicker closed. He licks his lips.
“I want that. God, Eddie, that's—it’s all I want. But what if—”
“Buck, if something comes up, we'll work through it. Like we've worked through everything else as friends. We just… try. And we have faith.”
“You? Eddie Diaz, talking about Faith?”
“There’s not a lot I believe in, but I believe in this. In you and me.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“I… I want this,” Buck says. “I want you, Eddie, and everything that comes with you.”
Buck leans forward then, and he kisses Eddie, there in Eddie’s kitchen, with Chris still at school—it's barely a brush if their lips, and Buck pulls away after just the briefest moment, but it's real. It’s real, and it’s different than Eddie imagined it all those times, different from the false memories and the dreams. It’s so much more, and Buck’s tongue, bitter with coffee, tastes better than any communion ever did.