Work Text:
As a general rule, Buck is not quick to anger. He works a job that requires a level head and clear thinking. Eddie just has this knack for getting under his skin. He always has and usually, Buck doesn't mind. Usually he actively enjoys it even, happily participating in their inexhaustible bickering.
Recently, it's been different - tempers flaring too fast and too hot, true annoyance creeping in where nothing but well intentioned banter existed before.
Right now, Buck isn't exactly angry, but he is agitated. Frustration prickles under his skin, sharp and unavoidable. Eddie is pacing, silent and stony, hands shoved into his pockets, not looking at Buck.
It's late and they're finally back from the hospital. The light in Eddie's kitchen is harsh and unforgiving against Buck's tired eyes and he feels a tension headache starting to build inside his skull. He leans against the counter and watches Eddie. Eddie watches the floor.
"Are you going to say anything?" Buck asks eventually, keeping his voice low enough to not wake Christopher who's asleep down the hall.
Eddie stops. He looks at Buck. He grimaces.
"No."
Buck crosses his arms.
"Maybe I'll go home then," Buck suggests and knows Eddie will hear it for the threat it is.
"You don't have to do that," Eddie sighs. "It's late. You can crash here."
Buck shakes his head. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," Eddie bites back. "None of this is fine." He gestures around helplessly, like he's trying to encompass the entirety of their lives.
It's true. None of it feels fine. Their team is falling apart and there's nothing Buck can do to fix it. He can't do anything but stand on the sidelines and watch everything he cares about crumble into dust and blow away, leaving him utterly and completely alone. Again.
"Well I don't know why you're acting like it's my fault," Buck counters, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest like a physical barrier between them.
"Of course you'd say that," Eddie scoffs.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Buck takes a step closer. Eddie stands his ground.
"You're making this about you - about us - when it isn't." Eddie's keeping his voice down too and he leans closer to Buck each time he speaks.
"How is this not about us?" Buck retorts, baffled and incredulous.
"It's about Hen," Eddie says firmly. "And you keep bringing it back to us,” he motions between them. “Making it personal when it doesn't need to be."
"It doesn't need to be personal?" Buck's voice jumps an octave and he quickly forces it back down. "This is our family, Eddie. It's all personal."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?" Buck is too tired to unravel the riddles Eddie insists on speaking in.
"At dinner," Eddie starts accusingly. "We’re there for Hen and Chim, then you get mad at me?"
"Yeah, cause you're too caught up in your stupid command structure to see Hen's side in this," Buck starts. "Which makes no sense, by the way, because Hen isn't the one jumping off bridges or trying to do field amputations or walking into the literal line of fire at a call."
"That is so not the same." Eddie wrinkles his nose, offended by the comparison. "I was doing my job."
"You're being reckless," Buck maintains stubbornly. "And guess who gets blamed for it?"
"Oh, give me a break." Eddie rolls his eyes.
"Me," Buck pushes on, undeterred. "You fuck up and it's me who gets the blowback. 'You're being reckless, like Buck,'" he mimics Chim's words from after the whale rescue. "Hen is scared and she's sick. At least she has a reason to be reckless."
"And I don't?" Eddie's even closer now, almost chest to chest with Buck.
"I wouldn't know," Buck replies evenly. "You haven't really been telling me a lot about your life lately."
"What's there to tell?" Eddie replies dismissively. "I look after my kid, I go to work, and I try to get by until the next awful thing happens and I just have to hope I'm close enough to stop it this time."
"Eddie," his name leaves Buck's lips more gently than any other word he's uttered since this conversation began. Something raw and cavernous aches in Buck’s chest. He holds himself back from doing something reckless of his own like closing the minimal distance and folding Eddie into his arms.
"Hen was my partner," Eddie goes on, tone subdued. "For months. I thought we were close. I thought we trusted each other, and she didn't tell me." Eddie's shoulders sag in defeat. "Maybe if she had I could have done something. I could have helped her get the help she needed sooner." He shakes his head. "I don't know, but Chim wasn't wrong for what he did - maybe he could have gone about it differently - but she was putting everyone, including herself, in danger."
Buck is quiet for a moment. He isn't sure what to say. Eddie looks exhausted and wrung out and Buck doesn’t know how to reach him. They're standing so close but it's like there's 800 miles of separation between them again. He feels like they've been speaking different languages for months.
"I'm sorry," Buck says, all the fight draining out of him. "I - I know it's scary, but this isn't on you. There's nothing you could have done differently. She didn't even tell Chim and he's her best friend."
"Would you have told me?" Eddie asks quietly, his eyes tracking up to settle on Buck's.
"What?"
"If it was you - if something was wrong - would you tell me?"
"Yeah." Buck nods without hesitation. "Of course. You know I would."
"I don't." Eddie shakes his head. "That's why I asked."
It stings more than a slap in the face. Buck takes a step back, feels like he's collapsing in on himself. It's all wrong. Everything is wrong. It's not the first time in his life that Buck has felt like the world is crashing down around him, but it is the first time he hasn't been sure that Eddie will be at his side to experience the fallout with him.
"I checked in," Buck says, avoiding the question.
"What?" Eddie asks, brows knit in confusion.
"With Hen," Buck clarifies. "With all of you. I - I tried to be there..." he swallows thickly, eyes burning. "It wasn't enough."
"Buck." Eddie's hand twitches, like he's going to reach out, but he closes it into a fist at the last second and keeps it resolutely at his side. "If I'm not allowed to blame myself then neither are you."
Buck huffs and crosses his arms again. "That's not how this works."
"How does it work then?" Eddie snaps, sounding more worn down than genuinely upset. "How does any of this work?"
"I don't know." Buck rubs a hand across his face. He decides to try honesty. "I feel like everything's falling apart and I don't know how to fix it."
"You're not supposed to," Eddie replies evenly.
"Fix it or know how to?"
"Either." Eddie shrugs. "I don't think -" he cuts himself off and takes a breath, gathering his thoughts. "What happened with Hen - regardless of what anyone could have done to make things easier for her - she made her own decisions. Chim too. There's nothing we can do about that."
"So we're just supposed to let our team - our family - implode?" Buck's voice is climbing again but it's because all of the emotion trapped in his chest is clawing its way up his throat. "That's not what Bobby would have wanted."
Eddie freezes.
Neither of them say anything. Seconds pass and the moment elongates into something tenuous and fragile.
Some indistinguishable emotion passes across Eddie's features. His lips purse and his gaze turns steely. "Yeah, well, he's not here to have a say. We just have to do our damned best to get through it on our own."
Buck's stomach drops. His teeth ache from clenching his jaw too tight.
"What if we don't?" he asks, not looking at Eddie. "What if we can't get through it?"
The exhale that leaves Eddie's lips sounds painful, heavy and too drawn out. "I don't know, Buck."
It's too much to face. Too much to hold. Buck feels like he's sinking down to the bottom of the ocean, into the deepest, darkest depths where nothing but the most resilient of life forms can survive. Buck doesn't think he can withstand the pressure. He wonders how long it will take until he starts to break apart.
Buck doesn't realize he's crying until he feels wetness on his cheeks. He lifts his hand, feeling oddly detached from his body, and rubs his eyes. It doesn't work. The uncomfortable sting of salt water intensifies.
Beside him, Eddie makes a small, anguished noise low in his throat. Buck forces himself to look up.
"Don't do that," Eddie pleads, eyes huge and shining.
"I'm sorry," Buck apologizes, scrubbing impatiently at his face as his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He hates that he cries when he's frustrated. It isn't fair in a fight, he knows that, but he feels so small here, in Eddie's kitchen, in the middle of the night. All alone with his best friend less than a foot away.
"Buck," Eddie tries again, sounding distressed now.
"Sorry," Buck sniffles, he rubs more aggressively at his eyes, willing himself to stop crying. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I just -"
"What are you talking about?" Eddie cuts in sharply.
"This," Buck huffs in frustration, dropping his hands from his face and balling them into fists at his sides. It's useless trying to quell his tears. "I'm being ridiculous."
"You're being ridiculous?" Eddie repeats flatly. He crosses his arms and gives Buck a stern look - the kind of look that only Eddie can give. The kind that forces honesty. "Please tell me you aren't seriously apologizing to me for crying right now."
Buck swallows and ducks his head, suddenly sheepish. Half a moment later, a warm, solid weight materializes on his shoulder. Eddie's palm radiates heat through the thick fabric of Buck's sweater. It's instantly grounding.
"You're allowed to cry, Buck," Eddie says quietly. "We've been through a lot today."
"It's not fair when we're arguing," Buck mumbles, refusing to look up.
Eddie sighs, his grip on Buck's shoulder tightens, his thumb pressing in against Buck's collarbone. "We're best friends. You never have to pretend with me."
Finally, Buck looks up. Eddie is watching him steadily, eyes dark and intent. Buck lets out a slow, shaky breath. He's afraid that if Eddie takes his hand off him, he might shatter. He lets Eddie's touch linger but he doesn't lean into it. Buck simply stands there and soaks up the warmth that's only a fraction of what he so desperately craves.
He's been so cold for so long. The chill is unshakable when his entire body feels hollowed out by months of loss and grief and isolation. All his insides are eroded, like they've forgotten how to shape around anything but emptiness.
"I have been pretending," Buck admits quietly. Eddie's eyes go wide and questioning. "I just -" he sighs, cutting himself off. Guilt and apprehension roll together in his gut. "I feel like I can't talk to you the way I used to."
Hurt flashes across Eddie's face, sharp and unmistakable, but he doesn't remove his hand. "Why not?"
"I'm afraid," Buck whispers, the words tear at his throat, like they're unwilling to be spoken aloud. If he admits to it - noticing the distance that's been growing between them - nurturing it, there's no going back. But Buck is so tired, he can't keep fighting the truth. "I can't lose you too."
The tears are back now, more forceful than before and Buck lets them spill over, watching Eddie's outline blur before him. Maybe it's easier this way, if he can't see Eddie while they drift apart.
"Buck." A second hand lands on Buck's other shoulder and that's - it's new.
Years of observation have taught Buck that Eddie is a creature of habit, resistant to change and committed to structure. There's a correct way to do things - at least in Eddie's mind - and he sticks to the tried and true methods he's carved out for himself. He hasn't touched Buck like this before, hands heavy and lingering with intention. It's been a long time since Eddie hugged him, and this might not be the same, but Buck feels held nonetheless.
"I'm sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn't talk to me," Eddie murmurs, his thumbs working slow, soothing patterns into Buck's collarbones.
For a beat, there's silence between them, but most of the intensity has bled out of it. It's loaded but not overbearing.
“I’ve been holding back too.” Eddie breathes in slowly, like he’s trying to strengthen his resolve to keep talking. “Things have changed. They keep changing.” He swallows nervously and Buck’s eyes trace the bob of his throat. Eddie is close enough that he can see the shadow of his day-old stubble. Close enough to smell his nearly faded cologne.
Probably subconsciously, his fingers tighten on Buck’s shoulders, “I don’t want to lose you either.”
“You wouldn’t,” Buck says without hesitation. Eddie could rip his heart out and drag it across the country with him over and over again and Buck would only cling to him harder each time he returned. Buck has spent a lifetime being left behind and Eddie is the only person he knows will come back every time. “Eddie, you couldn’t do anything to make me -”
“You sure about that?” Eddie interrupts. His eyes spark with an unfamiliar heat and it makes Buck’s blood buzz beneath his skin, dangerous and electric. There’s a note of challenge to Eddie’s voice, like he has some trick in his back pocket that Buck isn’t aware of. He can’t imagine anything that Eddie could conjure that wouldn’t simply make him hold on tighter.
“I’m sure,” Buck answers confidently.
The kiss is like getting struck by lightning - Buck would know. It’s sudden and overpowering and the intensity of it isn’t like anything he can verbalize. He’s sure that his heart stops beating. That everything stops. Time and gravity and reality. Eddie is kissing him hard and fast and desperate, like he’s trying to make a point rather than a statement. It’s all wrong and the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s too fast and too much and miles away from being enough.
They separate with a gasp and Eddie reels back. He covers his mouth with his hand, wiping away the evidence or prolonging the feeling of Buck’s lips against his, Buck doesn’t know. He stares at Buck with wide, panicked eyes, alarm written across his features, loud and unmistakable. Eddie’s watching him with as much incredulous disbelief as Buck feels, as if Eddie wasn’t the one to just break through the barrier that’s stood between them for years so effectively that it’s nothing but rubble at their feet.
If this had happened under other circumstances, maybe Buck would panic too. Maybe if their lives weren’t already upside down, if every emotion he’s experienced in the last year wasn’t unregulated chaos, if he hadn’t watched every immovable fixture in his life topple from their foundations in the last months, Buck might have time to give a second thought to his world collapsing. But Buck knows Eddie better than he knows anyone - in this moment, better than he knows himself - so he closes the distance between them and folds Eddie into his arms.
“You couldn’t do anything to push me away,” Buck repeats, nose pressed into Eddie’s hair, breathing in the scent of him.
Muffled, Eddie laughs into his neck. The sound is half relief and half hysterical. His entire body shakes with it and Buck hugs him closer.
“I love you,” Buck says simply, the confession rolling off his tongue with an ease that something so enormous has no right to.
There’s the ghost of a touch against his skin, the flutter of Eddie’s breath right over his pulse point, the lightest press of lips; and then Eddie’s pulling back, not out of Buck’s arms, but far enough to look him in the eyes.
“I love you too,” Eddie whispers, his line of sight betraying him as his gaze dips down to Buck’s lips again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“It’s been a busy year.” Buck shrugs dismissively. “You’ve had a lot going on.”
That draws a smile to Eddie’s lips, just like Buck knew it would. One of the few talents Buck has perfected is knowing how to make Eddie smile. That’s his job as a best friend and he takes it very seriously.
“I didn’t know what to say,” Eddie admits, his eyes shifting to focus on something past Buck’s shoulder. “It never seemed like the right time.”
“I know,” Buck assures him. Somehow, as impossible as it all is, Buck gets it. He came into this world programmed to understand Eddie Diaz.
“That definitely wasn’t the right time either,” Eddie huffs apologetically.
“No,” Buck agrees softly. “But I don’t mind. I liked kissing you.”
Instantly, Eddie’s eyes are back on his. “Yeah?” he asks, shy and tentative and achingly hopeful. Everything in Buck melts: his insides, his anxiety, his ability to form thoughts, all demolished.
“C’mere.” Buck moves one hand up, curling his fingers through Eddie’s hair and cradling the back of his head.
This kiss couldn’t be more different than the first. It’s so gentle, building gradually as they discover just how closely they were meant to fit together. In the part of his brain still capable of awareness, Buck knows that kissing has never felt like this before. With Eddie it’s so much more than simple enjoyment, it’s essential. Kissing Eddie quickly shifts from want to necessity.
Without breaking the kiss, Buck walks them back, pushing Eddie up against the counter. His hand that isn’t anchored in Eddie’s hair, roams across his body, seeking out each line and curve that shapes him. It’s a relief that Buck isn’t alone in his desperation, because Eddie’s movements are just as eager, his hands moving from Buck’s arms to his back to his hips, unable to settle.
“Oh my god. You have got to be kidding me.”
There’s a thud as Buck and Eddie break apart at record speed, Buck’s hip connecting full force with the edge of the counter. Christopher is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hair messy and expression torn between surprise and mild disgust.
Buck’s stomach drops out of his body, his heart bounding as he tries to catch his breath. Beside him, Eddie doesn’t look like he’s faring much better, his cheeks bright pink and his chest rising rapidly.
Before Buck’s thoughts can spiral out of control, Eddie speaks, his voice much calmer than Buck anticipated. “What are you doing up?” he asks, trying for casual and overshooting it by a mile.
“I came in here to get water,” Chris explains, sounding exasperated but not angry. “I thought you guys were arguing and it woke me up.”
“Sorry we woke you,” Eddie apologizes, having recovered himself incredibly quickly for someone whose entire life blew up last time his son walked in on him with someone unexpected. “We were just talking and things got a little out of hand.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Chris wrinkles his nose.
Buck takes a rapid step away from Eddie, putting even more distance between them, like enough space can somehow undo the last five minutes.
How had he not even stopped to consider Christopher in all of this? It was incredibly irresponsible of him to just kiss Eddie like that with his kid asleep down the hall. Now Christopher is probably traumatized for life - for the second time! - and it’s all Buck’s fault. He feels like a monster. Maybe it’s his turn to move to Texas.
“I’m glad you told him,” Chris sighs tiredly, eyes fixed on Eddie. “But did it have to be in the middle of the night?”
Eddie shrugs sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning to do it like that. It just happened.”
“Wait, what?” Buck asks, looking rapidly between Eddie and Chris. “You knew about this?”
“What? That Dad has a big fat gay crush on you? Um, yeah,” Chris scoffs and it sounds a lot like ‘duh, idiot, everyone knows that.’
Buck blinks.
“Okay, I did not say it like that,” Eddie bristles.
“Okay, well you also told me you wouldn’t kiss in front of me,” Chris counters stubbornly.
“It’s one in the morning,” Eddie gestures to the stove clock, “I could not possibly have anticipated that you would see that.”
The flippant way they’re discussing this leads Buck to believe that this topic is one that’s been discussed thoroughly between the two of them. His head is spinning. How is that even possible?
“Do you think Buck is okay?” Chris asks curiously, ignoring Eddie’s counter argument and peering at Buck through his glasses.
“He’s fine,” Eddie replies confidently, sliding along the counter until their hips are touching. He slings an arm around Buck’s shoulder. “Just processing, right, bud?”
“Uh-huh.” Buck nods, struggling to make sense of the unfamiliar reality he's found himself in.
Chris shakes his head, grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack. “You guys are so weird.”
“Sorry for kissing your dad,” Buck blurts, unsure what to say but feeling like he needs to contribute something.
“I don’t care if you kiss him,” Chris says dismissively. “I just don’t want to see it.”
“Oh.”
“Not because I’m homophobic or something,” Chris rushes to clarify. “That would be crazy. Just cause, like, you’re my parents. It’s weird.”
Buck is going to pass out. He’s going to fall face first onto Eddie’s kitchen floor and break his nose and die. He’s going to die without ever getting the chance to kiss Eddie again. Eddie who is gay. Eddie who has a crush on him. Eddie who told his kid that he is both gay and has a crush on Buck.
There’s no way this is happening in Buck’s real, actual life.
Eddie’s arm loops around Buck’s waist, holding him steadily in place.
This is happening in Buck’s real, actual life.
“I love you,” Buck says, loud and clunky and painfully uncool. He had to say it though, because Chris is the best kid in the world and he just referred to Buck as his parent.
Chris raises his eyebrows. “Love you too, Buck.” He very kindly conceals most of the amusement in his voice.
“Okay, great, we all love each other,” Eddie cuts in. “I think it's past somebody’s bedtime.”
Chris glares at Eddie but it doesn't hold any real heat. “You just want me to leave so you can keep kissing.” He mimes gagging.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “I want you to get a good night’s sleep.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Chris turns away from the sink with his now full glass of water. He pauses in the doorway. “Buck?”
“Yeah?” Buck stands up straight, hoping his voice sounds mostly normal.
“Can you make pancakes in the morning?”
“Oh.” Buck relaxes. “Yeah, of course.”
“With chocolate chips?” Chris asks hopefully. “And whipped cream?”
“Bed,” Eddie warns, fixing Christopher with his best Dad Stare.
“Sure,” Buck laughs, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.
“Okay. Goodnight!” Chris heads off down the hall, and Eddie chuckles softly, shaking his head.
Buck slumps back against the counter. He exhales heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. When he looks up, Eddie is watching him, a fond smile on his face.
“You told him?” Buck asks quietly, feeling close to tears for the second time tonight.
“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Back in the summer.”
“That was months ago.” Buck stares in disbelief.
“Yeah, uh.” Eddie lifts a hand to rub at his neck, face flushing again. “He's been teasing me relentlessly since.”
“I can't believe you let me take you out to pick up girls.” Buck shakes his head. “When you were in love with me.”
“You seemed pretty set on it.” Eddie shrugs.
“Yeah, well I wouldn't have been if I’d known!” Buck exclaims incredulously.
Eddie shushes him, rubbing his fingers soothingly against his sweater-sleeve. “I know. It's alright.”
Tonight has been a lot, more than Buck knows what to do with. From the intervention, to Hen’s collapse and the subsequent hospital trip, to arguing with Eddie, to kissing Eddie. He feels exhausted and wrung out, thoroughly unable to process anything more. Eddie senses it the moment Buck hits his limit, because he wraps his other arm around Buck’s waist, his hands joining at Buck’s hip. Eddie pulls him close.
“You want to stay the night?” Eddie asks, holding Buck tightly enough that he doesn't feel like he's in danger of his knees giving out.
“I did promise Chris pancakes,” Buck reasons, although he would happily get up early and drive across the city to grant Christopher's wish.
“I guess you have to stay then.” Eddie looks up at him, eyelashes fluttering slightly and Buck can't do anything but kiss him again, soft and sweet and full of all the longing he’s been denying for the better part of a decade.
“I guess I do,” Buck agrees, forehead resting against Eddie's.
“Come to bed with me,” Eddie says, reaching for Buck’s hand.
“Yeah,” Buck breathes. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smiling up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s so beautiful, Buck wonders how he ever survived without being allowed to kiss him before. He does it again, just for the hell of it. Just to prove that he can.
Going to bed with Eddie should be something revolutionary and earth shattering, but it's simply peaceful. They curl up together under the blankets, bodies instinctively seeking each other out, limbs tangling together like they already know how to fit.
The solid weight of Eddie against Buck’s front is endlessly comforting, but even as his heart rate settles and his muscles relax, Buck’s brain is still moving at a hundred miles a minute.
For years Buck’s reality has hinged on Eddie being straight - being off limits. In a way, that barrier had always been a safety net, an immovable force protecting their friendship, preserving it. Now everything is different. Now Eddie is half asleep against his chest like he belongs there and Buck is terrifyingly close to accepting it without a fight.
“I can hear you overthinking from down here,” Eddie informs him, not lifting his head from where his ear is pressed against Buck’s heart.
“I just…” Buck trails off on an exhale, unsure how to convey what he's feeling.
“It’s okay, Buck,” Eddie mumbles, turning his head to drop a kiss to Buck’s chest. “We’re going to figure it out.”
“Are you sure?” Buck’s voice sounds small even in the stillness of the room.
“Yeah.” Eddie looks up at him through the dimness. His gaze is soft and so sure that Buck can't help but believe him. He’s always trusted Eddie implicitly.
“We’re gonna wake up tomorrow and everything is going to be different,” Buck warns him.
“I know.” Eddie's hand finds Buck’s in the darkness and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got each other though.”
It's true. For the first time in months Buck feels like he can breathe. He has Eddie back, has more of him than he’s ever had before - more than he thought possible. They’ve always been an unstoppable team.
“Yeah, we do,” Buck agrees. “And, Eddie?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks for telling me,” Buck murmurs, pressing his chin to the top of Eddie’s head. “I’m proud of you.”
“For driving a wedge between us instead of just talking about my feelings?” Eddie asks wryly.
“Yeah, yeah.” Buck rolls his eyes, choosing to overlook the self depreciation this once. “But also, just, for taking the first step. I don't think I could have.”
“Are you thanking me for kissing you, Buckley?” Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows until his face is hovering over Buck’s.
Buck feels warm all over. “Maybe I am,” he replies coyly, like it's no big deal. He can see Eddie’s smirk through the darkness.
“Thanks for kissing me back.”
“Anytime,” Buck whispers, hand finding the back of Eddie’s neck again and pulling him down.
Sleep finds Buck somewhere in a haze of soft kisses and even softer words. For the first time in months, he drifts off without the fear of tomorrow looming over his head.
With Eddie's hand in his and Eddie’s voice in his ears and Eddie’s heart beating next to his own, Buck can face whatever the next day might bring.