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It feels wrong to be digging through the drawers like this. Eddie knows where Buck keeps his silverware, his cast iron, his plates. He knows that Buck’s spice collection has gotten bigger year over year and is organized first by flavor profile (sweet, savory, umami) and then alphabetically. He knows that Buck keeps his socks and underwear in the top drawer of his dresser, separated by color and purpose. Work. Athletic. Dress. Cozy.
But when he’s looked for things in Buck’s house in the past (a pen, Tylenol, a spare t-shirt), it’s always been with easy allowance. You don’t need to ask to get water, Eddie. Never because he was helping toss Buck’s home looking for stashed drugs. Looking for crimes.
Buck is outside on the patio with Christopher, pale and flushed at the same time, sweating in the same hoodie he won’t take off. Eddie can see them playing cards, can see the glances Buck shoots him through the open doors – nervous even though Eddie’s certain they won’t find anything.
He can’t be certain.
Eddie can’t believe he missed it. He can’t believe he let Buck convince him he was fine, even though a cold lump sat his stomach all fucking month. Warning him. Trying to get him to see and he wasn’t ready to look.
But he can. He can believe it. Because he wanted Buck to be fine. He wanted New Mexico to be over with a few scars and broken ribs and to just leave it all 900 miles behind. It doesn’t work like that, and Eddie should know that by now. After everything they’ve been through. But it’s Buck, and if Eddie’s learning anything about himself, it’s that he’s never been completely stable about Buck.
Eddie finds the mug in Buck’s cabinet, nestled in with the rest of his chaotic collection of mismatched drinkware. Ceramic, a little chip on the bottom from slamming into a counter years ago. The LAFD logo stamped on the side.
It was Bobby’s mug. Eddie’s doesn’t know how he knows it, but he knows it. The same way he knows Buck’s going to be okay. Eddie’s heart cramps a little as he picks the mug up, holding it in both hands. It’s not warm, but it feels warm all the same.
He thinks about Buck getting up in the morning, early, before the sun much of the year, making himself coffee and drinking it out of this mug. In this kitchen. Maybe looking out of one of these windows while he wakes up.
Eddie’s going to help fix this, get Buck through this. He has to.
Eddie actually likes Buck’s house, with its weird corners and odd turns. It’s like someone found a scrap of land and wedged a house into a space it didn’t quite belong. Or maybe pieces of the property and land were chipped away from it over the years.
He likes coming over for dinner, either with takeout from one of their four favorite places or when Buck’s cooking. He likes crashing on the couch to watch a documentary on whatever’s got Buck’s attention that month. He likes coming over to work out in the backyard instead of the station, out in the fresh air and behind the privacy of Buck’s tall fence. He knows Buck bought a heavy bag stand just for him; Buck doesn’t mind boxing, but he’d rather go for a run to get cardio in.
Buck was so excited to show it to him – the punching bag – glossy and new with the rest of his equipment, and even if he didn’t say he got it just for Eddie to use at his house, Eddie knew.
Eddie likes this house, but he doesn’t like rummaging through Buck’s possessions.
Eddie pulls open the next drawer of the cabinet in the living room. Buck hasn’t lived in the house long enough to accumulate too much, but he still has random receipts and batteries and the extra buttons that come with his jackets and sweaters.
Right on top of the pile of ephemera is key chain, still in the plastic packaging. A charm in the shape of a firetruck is attached to the ring.
Eddie picks it up. It’s metal, heavy, solid. A second, round charm hangs from the ring – smaller and stamped with a ‘C.’
Eddie swallows and feels hot tears threaten behind his eyes. It’s clearly a gift, the key chain, waiting to be given. Waiting for a key to be added to it.
He tucks the key chain back into the drawer and moves on.
Buck has a spare bedroom now. Big enough for a full bed, dresser, nightstand, and chair. He has it set up for anyone to stay overnight, or crash for a midday nap. Except Eddie already had a few pairs of sweatpants in the bottom drawer of the dresser, and Christopher has a set of clothes and a spare pair of crutches in the closet just in case.
Outside the second bedroom is a hallway closet with extra linens, towels, and what Eddie is pretty sure is a fancy Christmas tablecloth.
Eddie does his best to thoroughly search the closet for drugs without completely wrecking Buck’s system. He can hear Hen and Maddie and Chim rummaging around the other rooms still. He doesn’t like that Chim’s in Buck’s bedroom, going through his clothes, looking under his bed, his bedside tables. The wrongness of it makes his skin prickle. That’s Buck’s private space. If anyone should be in there, it should be him.
There’s a box in the hall closet on one of the shelves. It’s not hidden, but it has a lid, so he has to look.
Eddie wants to put it back immediately. He wants to look through it completely and keep anyone else from seeing. Inside, are dozens of pieces of paper with crayon and pen and colored pencil drawings. The first page is covered in flowers and grass and rainbows and signed in Jee-Yun’s blocky handwriting. One piece of paper has the outlines of two chubby hands next to each other, one much smaller than the other, and Jee-Yun has written her name and Baby Nash’s above the handprints.
Eddie recognizes other drawings.
Firetrucks and beaches and changing stick figure families. Animals with too many legs and people on skateboards and Buck showing up in Christopher’s drawings as often as Eddie. Pieces of paper Eddie doesn’t remember leaving behind.
One of them a surprisingly good anatomical drawing of a heart, directly beneath it a sketch of a pink and yellow heart with a little smiley face. Eddie rubs his rubs his fingers against waxy crayon and swallows thickly.
Tucked along the edges of the box are ticket stubs from museums, zoos, aquariums, movie theatres. Some old enough that the lettering is starting to fade.
Buck has kept it all.
Eddie takes a deep breath; his heart is so loud in his ears. He can’t cry. He won’t. This isn’t about him. This is about Buck. He failed him this last month; it’s not going to happen again.
Eddie carefully puts the box of artwork back and closes the closet door. Warm sunlight streams down the hallway; the floorboards glow. In the distance, he can hear Christopher laughing at something Buck said, and something unlocks in Eddie’s chest. He continues down the hall.