Archive of Our Own

June, as it turns out, is a bad time be be haunted by the rainbow.

Well. Anytime is a bad time to be haunted, Eddie supposes. June, the month of dappled sunlight, spotless blue sky and obtrusive rainbows just happens to be especially unlucky. Eddie knows he's being a little ridiculous—probably more than a little, if he's being totally transparent, but he's cutting himself some slack, alright? Thus far, June has proved itself to be a month of delayed self-discovery and confusion so intense it would send the average civilian into a tailspin, and Eddie is barely a week in. Five days, to be precise. 

Eddie is hanging on by the skin of his teeth. It's absurd that this, after everything, is the thing that's going to take him down, send him straight to his grave where he'll spend the rest of eternity six feet under, choking on a truth so enormous it quickly becomes suffocating. Under usual circumstances Eddie would consider himself pretty capable, as a grown man at thirty-three years of age with two tours and almost a decade in the fire service under his belt. He's been married, almost-divorced, a widower. Eddie has a kid, for crying out loud. A kid who is sixteen now and, as much as Eddie hates to acknowledge it, not getting any younger.

One day in the distant future, the baby bird will flee the nest; fly away with his wings spread wide, beak tilted toward the open skyline, and on that day Eddie will be left alone. He'll wander the halls of his rented, two-bedroom home where the walls feel like they're slowly closing in and the windows filter out the daylight in a way they never did before, making space for lingering shadows. 

Ahem. Anyway. 

Clearly, Eddie's been having something of an emotional crisis as of late. In truth, he's been having just about every crisis in the book: emotional, sexual, financial (though, that one's been a constant for the past...forever, so Eddie's not sure it counts) and romantic, too. Kind of. That and sexual come hand in hand, but Eddie is currently trying very hard to not think about it. 

Unsurprisingly, he hasn't been very successful. 

In his defense, June is absolutely the worst month to be bowled over by a sexuality crisis. Which is to say that Eddie went down like pins beneath the sway of a particularly brutal bowling ball—all ten simultaneously, falling over with a violent whack against the slippery orange wood of the lane, something most would call a strike and Eddie calls blatant sabotage. A backstabbing worthy of Shakespeare himself, if you will. 

The rainbows have been driving Eddie fucking crazy. 

It sounds bad. It sounds homophobic, which Eddie is not—he took a quiz, he was worried about potential homophobic feelings and so he dragged himself onto the internet to take a quiz like any other sane person would do and the answer to the unspoken question was that yes, Eddie is repressed and gay. Thus, hypothesis proven. Eddie is not homophobic, he's just gay.

Yet the rainbow haunts him regardless. 

He's a little sore about it. Absurdly, he'd kind of thought they could be friends for a minute there; newly fully-fledged gay man and a rainbow, walking hand-in-hand beneath a blue summer sky. Or hand-in-rainbow-appendage. Whatever. Point is, the rainbows have chosen to wage war instead. The battlefield is Eddie's brain and the weapon is paranoia. 

It's fine. Eddie is indifferent. Besides, he has enough friends, he doesn't really need anymore.

However. Every time, and Eddie means every single time he sees a rainbow—which is a lot of times, there have been a lot of rainbows stalking him this month—he freaks out. It's stupid. Eddie knows it's stupid, but the rainbows are following him and acknowledging the stupidity of the situation doesn't prevent it from happening. It's an autoimmune response, his fight-or-flight instincts collapsing in on themselves, folding over and crumbling until Eddie is left standing, frozen and helpless, as the rainbows mock him from above.

People have started to notice. Yesterday, Hen jokingly asked if he was having a stroke because one of the victims Eddie was supposed to be attending to was wearing a pride pin, and Eddie just—froze. Completely useless, right there in the middle of the field. Sweat beading on his brow, an uncomfortable redness spreading to his face, neck and chest, and the sinking feeling that if someone were to look at him right now, they'd know.

The rainbows are going to give him away, dole out his secrets to the public like loyalty tokens with no regard for how Eddie might feel about it. The rainbows look at him weird, like they know something everyone else doesn't, and it's going to give the game away. The game is going to be up before it's even started.

Buck has noticed, too. He's been giving Eddie that slightly pinched, concerned expression of his a lot recently, and while Eddie appreciates the thought behind it, the frequency of these looks is becoming absurd. It happens like, four times a day now. Eddie wants to offer an explanation of some sort, anything to make it all stop, but he doesn't know how he'd put something like this onto words, so he just—doesn't.

Suffering in silence is more his style, anyway.

In the meantime, Eddie crosses off each day on his little fridge calendar with a building sense of accomplishment. On the fourth, he draws two thick, black lines crossing over each other with a little flourish. On the sixth he dose the same, rise and repeat, gradually pushing down the dread and the shame to make room for something new. Something better. He's not sure what it is yet, but it's there. He can feel it. 

When the time comes, he'll know.

Eddie makes it all the way to the eighth of June before he monumentally screws up and almost accidentally reveals his secret. It sounds a little dramatic, like he's a schoolgirl with a padlocked diary, but Eddie's certain that if Buck weren't so oblivious, that one singular screw-up would've been the end it. He would've lasted only eight days and eleven hours in the war against the rainbows, which is a rather pathetic statistic and Eddie likes to think he's striving for more in life. 

The team are attending to the scene of a motor vehicle accident when it happens. Buck and Ravi are working together, using the jaws to pry open doors and get people out of their cars while Chim barks commands from the middle of the road. Most of the victims are unharmed, so Eddie and Hen are mostly attending to minor cuts and bruises. On the whole, it's a fairly simple call. Nothing they haven't done a million times before. 

It should be nothing. 

It is nothing until Eddie finishes checking over a young girl who had been in one of the cars with her older brother, sending her on her way with a friendly pat on the shoulder. He's trying to not look intimidating, but he's not sure that it works. It's then that Eddie makes the mistake of looking up. 

There's a billboard. That's in itself is pretty normal, billboards are a normal part of LA; advertisers like having somewhere big and visible, and what better place than a billboard? It should be fine. This billboard should not be bothering Eddie at all, except—

Except. There's a giant fucking rainbow.

It's like—and Eddie isn't even exaggerating here—the whole billboard is essentially taken up by a massive, striped rainbow. Each brightly colored strip must be at least two feet high and seven wide, if not bigger. It's—it's obscene, quite frankly. Unnecessary. Also incredibly hard to miss, Eddie can't believe he didn't notice it before.

Boy, is he noticing it now. Fuck. He's—he's doing the thing again. The thing where his face flushes and his palms sweat and his heart beats entirely too fast to the point that he feels on the verge of a panic attack, and there's nothing to even be afraid of. 

Just a big, stupid fucking rainbow. 

He thinks he might be gaping. His mouth is definitely open, at least, which qualifies as gaping, he's pretty sure. His heart seems to be pounding everywhere all at once, blood travelling through the roof of his mouth and to his knees and up his throat. Eddie can't stop staring and people are going to know that he can't stop staring. Or gaping. Or looking a little bit starstruck and a lot terrified, both at once, the feelings pooling in his chest and mixing strangely in his gut. It's not a pleasant experience, to say the least.

Hen is going to know now, because she just knows things like this—and she's a lesbian, he has that working against him too. Chim will then find out because he'll look at Hen and her eyes will say something along the lines of oh, poor Eddie, poor little gay Eddie over there, what the hell is he doing and then his captain will know, too. Buck will know because he can read Eddie like an open book, no matter his mood or the distance or the time of day. Ravi will—okay, Ravi probably won't know. Or care. That's fine. But Harry will know, because everyone else will know and he's a perceptive kid who picks up on shit like this. So all of Eddie's coworkers will know, and the news will eventually spread to everybody he's ever spoken to, slowly but surely, like an ink stain leeching across white fabric. 

Eddie will be stood in the centre of the blackened, charred remains of his life and he'll have nobody to blame but himself.

There's a hand on his shoulder. Eddie registers it distantly, quieter than his internal panic but getting louder with each moment that passes. Then Buck's voice is in his ear muttering, "Eddie, hey, hey. Breathe. It's okay. You're okay. You just need to breathe, yeah? Everything's gonna be fine."

Eddie shakes his head. Everything will not be fine, the rainbow is out for blood. His blood. "The rainbow is watching me," he says nonsensically.

Buck's fingers tighten on his shoulder. "Okay. Okay, that's—" Buck releases a drawn-out breath, the hot air sticking to Eddie's skin along with the sweat and the dirt and the persistent stare of that fucking rainbow. "Did you hit your head at any point? Do you remember, like—I don't know, slipping in the shower or something?"

"I didn't fall. It's—what?" Eddie fumbles. He turns his body towards Buck, keeping one eye on the billboard still. "No. I'm fine, I'm not concussed, Buck."

Buck stares at him like he's being particularly dense on purpose. "Right. But you just told me that the rainbow," he gestures vaguely towards the billboard while Eddie does his best to suppress a wince, "was watching you. So." Buck puts his hands on his hips in the same way he does when he's scolding Theo. 

Despite feeling thoroughly chastised, Eddie elects to dig his grave even deeper. "Is."

"What?"

"It is watching me. Present tense." Eddie needs to stop talking. He needs to stop talking right now because he can't trust himself to operate properly under these conditions, with one eye still trained on the rainbow and half his brain spiraling about interpersonal relationships within the workplace. "You should be helping Ravi, anyway," he says, changing tactic, eyes flickering briefly over Buck's shoulder to where Ravi is stood with Chim, watching this whole thing play out with a bemused expression.

Well. Worth a shot.

"We're done here. Eddie, we got everybody out already," Buck explains, very slowly, like Eddie is having trouble understanding basic concepts. 

"I— yeah." Eddie sighs. "I can see that now."

"Okay. Great, yeah. Why don't we just..." His hand slides down Eddie's arm until Buck is gripping his elbow. Eddie suppresses a shiver at the sensation, Buck's fingers trailing gently down the skin, drawing paths and smoothing over the soft hairs there. "We're gonna go see Hen, yeah?"

"What? No," Eddie protests weakly, but allows Buck to drag him over anyway. "Don't bother Hen. I'm fine."

Buck just scoffs. Eddie is trying really, really hard not to be offended, because he knows he's being weird. Unfathomably so. Insane, actually. But still—it's Buck. He should believe Eddie whether he's possibly concussed or not.

Reluctantly, Eddie lets Buck tug him over to Hen. He doesn't have a choice really, he's fighting a losing battle. 

"Need you to check this one out. I think he might have a concussion," Buck tells Hen, pushing down on Eddie's shoulder until he reluctantly sits on the lip of the ambulance. 

Eddie glares at him, betrayed. "I'm fine. My motor skills are perfect, look." He places a finger on his nose, perfectly dead-centre first try. "See?"

Hen stares at him. Eddie blinks back. "Oh wow," she sighs after a long pause, when she's apparently had enough of torturing Eddie with silence. "It really is bad," she says as an aside to Buck, who nods, vindicated. Then she turns back to Eddie reproachfully. "That proves nothing. You know that."

"I can walk in a perfectly straight line if you need more proof."

"You're concussed, not drunk," she points out. 

"I am neither of those things."

"Well," Hen mumbles, pulling a penlight seemingly out of nowhere, though Eddie can't claim to be paying close attention. "I guess we'll find out."

After the assessment is complete, Eddie is declared perfectly fit and healthy. He does not, as suspected, have a concussion. Hen stares at him, baffled, before waving him off. 

"I told you so," Eddie goads, watching Buck swing himself into the engine with an uncharacteristic gracefulness. If he knows what's good for him, Eddie should shut up. Starting this right now is not a good idea, he needs time to lick his wounds in silence before he goes and pokes the bear again, but apparently he just can't help himself today. "I'm fine. No concussion."

Instead of seeming pleased by this news, Buck just looks even more concerned. "You also told me that the billboard was watching you. Is Hen sure you're not concussed?"

"Pretty sure," Hen chimes in from behind them, and Buck sends her a look over Eddie's head that he can't quite figure out. 

Fuck. Maybe Buck does know? He's bisexual, Eddie briefly forgot this little tidbit in his panic, so maybe he has an intuition for this too? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Nothing is working in Eddie's favor today.

Once Eddie warily settles himself in the engine, Buck leans closer. His breath brushes Eddie's neck, sending synapses firing all over the place. Eddie is not freaking out, he's really not, except Buck might be about to tell him that he knows, that the whole concussion thing was just a farce to throw the others off the scent but Eddie ruined it by being stubborn and now—

"Are you hungover?" Buck whispers, eyes darting around the engine despite that fact that everyone else still wrapping up the scene outside and, to Eddie's misfortune, they're completely alone. 

Eddie briefly stops breathing. It takes a minute for his brain to slow down enough to understand the implication. "What?" he hisses, affronted. "No!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Buck placates, at least having the decency to look a little sheepish, albeit he still raises his hands like he's soothing a wild animal. Eddie, for the record, does not feel soothed. "You're just being really weird, that's all. I'm worried about you," he admits, as earnest as ever. 

The fight bleeds out of Eddie. He can't be mad at that. Nobody could. Buck's eyes are wide, almost pleading, like he's begging Eddie to understand, and Eddie does. He doesn't want to understand, but he does, and he can't tell Buck why even though he really, really, wants to. He just—can't. The words get lost on his tongue every single time, a mismatched jumble of alphabet spaghetti.

Eddie slumps down in his seat like a sad little puppet left to hang limply from broken strings. "Sorry," he mutters. Then sighs, bringing up a hand to cover the bottom half of his face. "It's—I know. You're right, I just... I'm sorry."

"Hey. No, don't do that. Eddie." Buck pries Eddie's hand away from his face, taking it between his own before quickly dropping it, wide-eyed, like his natural instinct to fix had momentarily rushed ahead of his brain. "It's fine. Whatever this is, we'll get through it."

The we of it all puts a lump in Eddie's throat that he doesn't trust himself to speak around, so he just nods. Buck seems to understand anyway, because he pats Eddie on the shoulder, quietly supportive, and turns to face the window. Eddie blinks back against the emotion clogging his throat and stares down at his lap, resigned.

Eddie avoids that cursed stretch of road and the wretched billboard for the rest of the month. He takes detours, deliberately making his journey loop around for much longer than it needs to. He's wasting gas money as well as his own time, probably causing irreparable damage to his sleep schedule too, but it's worth it. God forbid he crash the car or something equally embarrassing as soon as he sees the billboard again. It's better this way—safter for everyone involved.

This does, however, mean he shows up ten minutes late to work one morning after bad traffic and road closures. Usually, he'd just cut across to that road, but he can't bring himself to do it. Cutting across would mean coming face-to-face with the obnoxiously rainbow billboard, and Eddie has yet to reach the point in his life where he's prepared to subject himself to that specific satanic brand of torture. 

Sheepishly, Eddie crosses the floor to the locker room where Chimney waits with hands on hips, eyebrow raised. 

"Cap, I'm really—"

"You're late, Diaz!" Chim sing-songs, looking secretly delighted. Eddie is never late, so he supposes this must be a fun change of pace for him. 

Eddie nods, chastened. "I know. It won't happen again, Cap."

Chimney pats him firmly on the shoulder. "Make sure it doesn't. And get changed, what the hell are you wearing?" He scrunches his nose, looking Eddie up and down as though his sweatpants are anything less than satisfactory. 

"What—" Eddie starts, but Chim is off and out the room before he can even finish to the question, leaving Eddie stranded and alone.

Sighing, he sets his duffel down and changes into his uniform. The blank grey of Eddie's locker stares back at him, the keyhole forming a strange little nose-and-mouth combo. It looks a bit like a face. A tired, dreary face. "Yeah, me too," Eddie sympathies, before reality hits and he remembers that he's talking to a locker, which is, as far as Eddie is concerned, a non-sentient object.

He quickly rushes out of the locker room before anyone observing the scene, overhead or otherwise, can call him out on his weird behaviour.

The loft is filled with the usual Monday morning chatter, hushed but lively all the same. Hen and Ravi are over by the kitchen counter, exchanging tired glances between sips of coffee. Harry sits cross-legged on the couch while Buck—who is, for whatever reason, on the floor—shows him something on his phone. Eddie clears his throat. Buck's head snaps up and he grins widely when he spots Eddie. 

"Eddie! Wait, come here. You should see this too." Buck pats the space next to him on the floor.

Eddie shakes his head, fond. "I'm not sitting on the floor, Buck."

Buck rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Fine, sit on the couch with Harry. Doesn't matter," he grouches, waiting until Eddie situates himself comfortably before continuing where he left off. "So anyway, I bought a ton of chalk a few months back—like, several buckets of the stuff, non-toxic and very safe, I checked the labels—but I can usually never get Theo to sit still for long enough to do anything crafty like that, so I thought it was a lost cause. It was fine. I'd made my peace with it," Buck says sensibly. "But..." He picks up his phone and unlocks it, revealing his photo gallery, hundreds upon hundreds of tiny little saturated boxes overflowing with memories: important dates, photographic scenery and familiar, smiling faces.

The photo Buck clicks on is recent. It falls under Yesterday, which Eddie figures makes sense since they just had a very nice, remarkably relaxing forty-eight hours off. There are about a dozen more photos within the same section, all of the same blurry figure sat on the patio of what Eddie assumes is Buck's garden. "I decided to try again yesterday because the weather was nice and Theo seemed unusually settled, and he loved it!" Buck's face is creased with delight, cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement, wide blue eyes looking up and darting between both his audience members with that familiar uncontainable energy Eddie has come to expect from Buck.

"Did he try and eat the chalk?" Eddie asks distractedly, trying to find a way to stare at Buck without making it obvious that he's staring. It's an impossible balance. God, Buck is so pretty like this. He's so pretty all the damn time, but especially like this. 

Buck nods, face screwing up a little. His lips remain quirked, however, and Eddie can tell he's trying to contain his amusement. "Yeah, of course he did. Almost succeeded at one point, actually." Buck huffs a laugh. "The stuff is allegedly safe for consumption though, so he should be fine."

"It can't have tasted good," Harry muses. 

Buck hums his agreement. "Probably not."

Eddie is definitely staring now. Obviously so, but Buck is distracted scrolling though other blurry photos and Harry is engaged in discussing the pros and cons of...eating chalk? Buck appears is equally intrigued, giving as good as he gets and talking with his hands so fervently that he very nearly drops his phone, sending it plummeting sixteen inches to its untimely death. Somehow, he manages to make even that look cute, fumbling like a newborn lamb and—

Eddie is pulled from his daydream by a tap on his knee. "Eddie." When Buck taps him again, Eddie's spine tinges pleasantly in a way he refuses to acknowledge. "You're not looking. Look. He's so cute, and he's actually really good at it, too. Theo is talented."

"I'm looking," Eddie lies, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from Buck. The picture features Theo, startlingly small against the large concrete slabs, holding a yellow chalk in one hand with an array of multicolor sticks of various sizes spread out haphazardly around him. Rough little drawings are interspersed with grey; a butterfly, a wonky firetruck, a mini, very inaccurate solar system, a half-finished sunflower and—

Eddie's breath catches. Fuck. It's incomplete—there's only a red, yellow, green and blue arcs, the orange and purple nowhere to be found—but it's a fucking rainbow, alright. Right there on the screen, clear as day. Taunting Eddie. Daring him to look away. It knows and, more importantly, Theo knows. He must have somehow foreseen that Buck would take this photo and show it to Eddie, and he's—

Okay wait. Pause. That's ridiculous. Theo is four years old, not an immortal evil genius. Blinking rapidly to snap himself out of it, Eddie takes in a deep breath. Breathe, don't freak out. Be normal about this, everyone already thinks you've been acting weird, don't give them another reason to suspect anything. 

Harry whacks him on the arm. "Dude, they're not that impressive," he says, squinting down at Buck's phone still. Eddie exhales raggedly. Think Jell-O thoughts. "I mean," Harry continues, "I could do that." 

Buck stares at him, unimpressed. "You're not five, Harry."

"Yeah, but—"

"It's cool, Buck," Eddie reassures, plastering on a smile that only feels half real. He seriously needs to get a handle on himself. "Theo's really good at that. You should get him enrolled in some art classes or something."

"Oh. Yeah, that's something to think about," Buck ponders, brows scrunching together. If Eddie's heart rate picks up, that has absolutely nothing to do with it. They're two completely separate, unrelated issues. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to him about it. Thanks, Eds." Buck beams at him and pats Eddie on the knee before clambering to his feet.

Beside him, Harry snorts. "Did your knees just pop?"

"...No?"

Harry laughs as Buck stalks off, leaning back against the couch cushions with his arms crossed behind his head. He looks a little like a double pretzel with both his arms and legs crossed over each other like that.

Eddie grins, unwillingly amused. He's just about to follow Buck over to where Hen and Ravi are still loitering in the kitchen when his phone rings. Awkwardly, Eddie excuses himself and drags his tired body up and off the couch. Harry shoots him a thumbs up as he descends the stairs to the gym, where it's quieter and he's unlikely to be disturbed. 

Immediately, the contact name throws him off. "Sophia?" He'd spoken to his sister only a few days ago, a call they'd scheduled ahead of time, and she knows Eddie's currently working a twenty-four. This combined knowledge fills him with a sense of dread, because he highly doubts she's calling about anything good. Shit, maybe one of their parents died. Or—Adriana? Something could have happened—

"Eddie, thank god."

"What's happened? Are you okay? Is Adri—"

"Hey, woah, calm down. Everything's fine," she assures him, sounding awfully chipper for someone calling out of nowhere on a Monday morning. "I have some news."

"Good news?" Eddie inquires cautiously, leaning back against a pillar. His heart is still racing, not yet recovered from the shock of the last Rainbow Incident. 

Sophia laughs, the sound slightly echoey and distorted through the phone. "Yes, good news. Depending on how you look at it, anyway."

"Okay... You gonna elaborate or keep me guessing?"

"Mark proposed last night," Sophia says giddily, the excitement apparent even through the phone.

Eddie smiles helplessly. "That's great, Sophia. I'm really happy for you both." A pause and then, teasingly, "You did say yes, right?"

"Of course I did." Eddie swears he can hear the eye roll through the phone. "It was very romantic. He popped the question while we were at the sunflower fields, and there was a very pretty rainbow overhead."

Eddie chokes. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to try and turn it into a cough, so he just stays there, slanted against a pillar, choking over the phone. Fuck his life. Fuck these damn rainbows most of all. Can't they give him a break? Just a day, one measly twenty-four hours, that's all he's asking for. 

"Eddie? You okay?"

"Yeah, just—" Just what? How does he explain that he's being haunted by a rainbow, that the full spectrum of colour scares the crap out of him at present, that the ghost of sexuality crises has been following him around for the past month? "It's nothing," he says unconvincingly, and is met with a stretched silence. "Seriously, Sophia. Don't worry about it."

"Alright," she says, still sounding a little unsure. "I'll send you the wedding details by Email. And if you could find someone to bring with you, that'd be great. Mom seems to think you're seeing someone and we're all in on the secret."

"What?"

Sophia huffs. "Yeah, I don't know. I think she wants it to be true so badly she's deluded herself. No pressure, of course, but it'd be nice if you brought someone. It doesn't have to be a girlfriend. You could bring Buck if you wanted. Or any of your coworkers, they all seem lovely."

Eddie doesn't know what makes him say it. He doesn't plan to, but his brain checked out at some point between Rainbow Incident One and Rainbow Incident Two, and it still hasn't checked back into the building. "What if they're not a girlfriend?" he asks quietly, hesitant, barely a whisper. His heart pounds in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. He feels a little lightheaded, vision threatening to white out completely, dread and fear creeping up his spine as their cold hands claw at him. A bead of sweat drips from his temple, trailing down the side of his face. 

Jesus Christ, he's really done it now. This is ridiculous. Part of him—most of him—hopes she won't have heard, and Eddie can continue on with his day ignoring the huge, patchwork rainbow elephant in the room. What was he thinking? He's not—well, he is, but he can't be. Sophia isn't going to take it seriously; she's going to either laugh it off and tell Eddie to stop being stupid, or she'll simply hang up the phone like it's not even something worth considering. 

"You mean—oh," she breathes, equally quiet, the words delicate and so undeniably breakable. There's a pause, and then, "I'd like to meet them either way. It doesn't matter to me. Shouldn't matter to anyone else, either."

Eddie is going to cry. No, scratch that, he's already crying, tears leaking silently but steadily from the corners of his eyes. He brings a hand up to his face to cover it up, ashamed even now of the blatant display of emotion. "You mean it?" he asks, voice wobbly, one wrong breath away from shattering completely. 

"Oh, Eddie. Of course I mean it," she says with conviction, like there was never any doubt about it. The tears flow faster and Eddie can't swipe them away fast enough. "Is it—is this a new thing? Does anyone else know?"

"No," he mumbles, breath hitching. "Just you."

"You—wow. Really? You trusted me with this first?" She sounds surprised, and Eddie can't exactly blame her. Don't get him wrong, he loves both his sisters with his whole heart, but they've never been particularly close. Not the way Buck and Maddie are. He figures the distance has a lot to do with it, but also the fact that he's always floated in a weird middle zone with his sisters, never quite sure where exactly he stands and what he is and isn't allowed to claim from them.

"I didn't really mean to," he sniffles, a little pathetic and a lot relieved. "Feels good though. To— y'know. Get it off my chest or whatever."

"Aw, Edmundo. I'm so proud of you. I know we don't really do the whole feelings thing, but this is...yeah. I'm glad you can like, trust me. Or whatever," Sophia echoes, and Eddie chokes out a watery laugh. 

"This is you doing feelings?"

"Yes. This is a mutual exchange of vulnerability and I expect you to respect it."

Eddie exhales, sagging back against the pillar. He feels lighter, like his blood has been brought to a boil and then evaporated, leaving behind a lighter, emptier shell. It's...nice. A little strange and uncomfortable, but it's a feeling he could grow into. "Love you, hermanita."

"I love you too. And I'll be expecting you to bring a handsome, burly boyfriend with you to my wedding."

"Sophia," Eddie groans, pressing the phone closer to his ear as she giggles. "I don't actually have a boyfriend, it's not—"

"Well, you have plenty of time to work on that. The wedding isn't until next year."

"Why does he have to be burly?" Eddie scans his surroundings, lowering his voice self-consciously. "Why do you think I'd be into burly men?"

"You know why."

"I— Okay. Turns out, I am not ready to have that conversation yet."

"No? Call me back when you are," she says, and then Eddie hears the resounding beeps that follow Sophia hanging up on him. 

"Burly," he mutters, shaking his head as he pockets his phone. Eddie stands beside the pillar for a few minutes longer, staring into space and processing the chaotic mess of the last ten minutes. Then he climbs the stairs to the loft and proceeds to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened; he lets the team offer their congratulations to Sophia, allows Chim to ask borderline invasive questions about Sophia's fiance, Mark, and ignores Buck's furtive, questioning glances. 

Everything is fine. If the rainbows seem just a little less fearsome now, then that's neither here nor there. 

Yellow light floods in through the open window, casting blurry shadows over everything, adding to the late-night feel. It had been ten twenty-six the last time Eddie checked his watch, though he can't be sure how much time has passed between then and now. The house is silent, as it often is these days, with only the occasional sound of muffled voices coming from Chris' room breaking the spell. There's no traffic on the road outside; no neighbors shouting or children yelling or foxes yowling or crickets chirping. Everything is pleasantly still. 

It gives Eddie some much needed time to think. 

Through rigorous process of elimination, Eddie has decided that the only way to win the war against the rainbows is to come out. It makes the most sense long-term. He refuses to be a thirty-something defeated by vibrant colors, so he'll just...tell everyone. A problem shared is a problem halved, and all that. By the time he's gotten around to telling all his loved ones, his rainbow problem will be so small you'd need a powerful microscope to see it. Since Eddie doesn't have one of those, there will be no reason to worry about it.

Simple enough, right?

It seems that way at first, to the version of Eddie who is still riding the high of his spontaneous confession. Eddie resolves to tell Chris first, before he even so much as thinks about telling anyone else, and then he can work his way around to all the other wonderful people in his life. He has yet to figure out how and when he's going to tell his parents—honestly, he's leaning towards the idea of just letting them put two and two together when he shows up at Sophia's wedding with a handsome, burly boyfriend.

...Or maybe not. Upon reflection, he doesn't fancy being the reason his parents storm out of the wedding venue, disgusted and fed up, with God following closely behind them.  

Eddie heaves himself up from where he's sunken into the couch to pull open the fridge, instinctively grabbing two beers by the neck before pausing.

"Jesus," he mutters to himself. Shaking his head, he replaces the second beer and searches through his drawers for the bottle opener (Buck refuses to put it back in the same place every time, so it's always a fun little guessing game) while finally recognizing just shy of eight years too late that, yeah, maybe his relationship with his best friend has never fallen within the boundaries of normal. 

Buck lives and breathes in this space almost as much as Eddie; he plants tulips and dahlias and gerberas in the flowerbeds out back, he helps patch up shitty paintjobs and replace squeaky hinges, half of the ornaments in the house were purchased by Buck just because, and Eddie is constantly finding Buck's keys forgotten around the house and his socks squished between couch cushions and his hoodies in the dryer and the essence of him lingering everywhere, over absolutely everything.

Eddie shouldn't enjoy it as much as he does. Not that he can blame himself, exactly—it's Buck. He's just like that. Nestles himself into tiny cracks, and before you can blink twice there's an entire crater where restraint and resentment and rigidity had built up their fortress, a kingdom blown to pieces with Buck standing in the wreckage like he's not quite sure how he got there. 

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is: Eddie is very much in love with Evan Buckley, and he needs a plan. He can't go in blind and risk losing everything—he's not even sure how far he's willing to go yet. If he comes out, that'll probably make his very obvious heart-eyes even more apparent. Eddie's alleged heterosexuality could be the one lone barrier between Buck remaining in the dark and figuring the true reason behind Eddie's recent strangeness. 

In short: to confess, or not to confess? 

He needs more data.

In order to collect said data, Eddie needs a laptop. Leveraging his hands on his knees to help him stand more smoothly (he is, as mentioned previously, a man in his mid thirties) he tiptoes over to his bedroom, taking his half empty bottle with him. He's not sure why he's tiptoeing. Logically, it makes no sense considering he isn't exactly doing anything incriminating, but it just feels right in the moment. Illegal or not, he does feel a little like he's doing something wrong—like a kid caught out of bed.

Eddie shuffles onto the foot of his bed, legs stretched out in front of him as he pulls his laptop closer. Opening a new browser, he hesitates for only a second before typing am i gay quiz into the search bar.

Clicking on the first option—a WikiHow quiz very originally titled 'Am I Gay Quiz'—he takes in a shallow, shuddering breath. Fuck. He's actually doing this. Okay. Well, no time like the present. Eddie answers all the questions as truthfully as possible, and the end screen tells him enthusiastically that 'you might be gay!'. 

"No shit, Sherlock." He rolls his eyes. 

Next, Eddie scrolls down a little further until he reaches a Buzzfeed quiz. Reluctantly, he presses down on his trackpad and is immediately met with an artsy photo of pride flags. Heart pounding unpleasantly in his chest, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and scrolls once again. 

The first question reads 'choose a colour' with the non-American spelling, which Eddie makes a note of because it's interesting. He's not entirely sure how picking a color is going to tell him anything about his sexual orientation, but whatever. The quiz knows best. 

Eddie chooses yellow. It seems like the safest option. 

Buzzfeed tells Eddie he's 'pretty gay'. Eddie faceplants the mattress in defeat. 

Exposure therapy experiment all but failed, he closes the laptop with more force than strictly necessary and exiles it to the other side of the bedroom. So, he's gay. Eddie knew that already—he came out to his sister this morning, which isn't a very heterosexual thing to do. At least, not where Eddie comes from. What has he learnt from this experience? Precisely nothing. Brilliant.

Eddie stumbles absently through the rest of his nighttime routine, thinking about best friends, gay quizzes and, grudgingly, rainbows while he stares at the ceiling.

Buck rings the doorbell instead of using his key, which Eddie has come to expect as of late because between Theo and however many bags Buck has deemed necessary for their outing, he usually doesn't have any hands to spare. 

Eddie's theory is proven correct when he opens the door to Buck standing on his doorstep with Theo balanced on one hip and no less than three bags hooked onto his other arm. "Eddie! Hey," he greets, smiling despite the way Theo is wriggling, desperate to get away. 

"Eddie! Eddie!" Theo yells, reaching out and making grabby hands for him. Eddie grins back, taking him from Buck, who smiles gratefully. 

Eddie gasps theatrically, swinging round with Theo still nestled in his arms to bring him inside. "No way! Theo? I didn't know you were coming with us!"

Theo nods, practically vibrating with energy. "Yeah! I'm coming to the beach with you guys!" He throws one arm in the air in a miniature fist pump, and Eddie doesn't miss the adoring look Buck gives him. 

"You sure are," Buck agrees. He wanders into the kitchen to set down two of the bags on the counter, but keeps ahold of the other one. Nowadays, no matter where they're headed—another state, his sister's place or just a quick trip to Costco—Buck has about a million bags with him, most of which he usually forgets in the car anyway. "Those two are mostly food, but I figured we could take an ice box or something to keep it fresh," he says, pointing to the ones on the counter. 

"Mostly?" Eddie repeats, eyebrows raised. Theo has begun his wriggling again, so Eddie sets him down just to watch him immediately flop onto the floor, making an invisible snow angel. Well, floor angel. Dust angel, more likely. Eddie really needs to vacuum in here, he's been falling behind with upkeeping the house lately. 

"There's a change of clothes for that one," he jerks his thumb in Theo's direction, "in all three bags. You never know with him, so." Buck shrugs. 

"Better safe than sorry."

"My thoughts exactly," Buck agrees. They share an amused glance, all too familiar with the situations Theo has managed to wrangle the lot of them into over the last few months. One time, they'd gone to visit a petting zoo a few hours away and Theo had managed to duck under a fence and end up inside the sheep pen. 

Suddenly bolting upright, Theo asks urgently, "Is Chris here?"

"Unless he escaped sometime last night, he should be," Eddie jokes.

As he should have anticipated, it does not land with the four-year-old, who suddenly looks a little terrified. "Escaped?" he emphasizes. "To where?" Theo's eyes are wide, darting down the hall to where he knows Chris' room is, the door still firmly shut like it has been all morning. 

"I— It was a joke, bud. A bad one. Chris is definitely here, he's in his room. No need to worry."

Theo looks at him suspiciously. "You sure?"

"Very sure."

"Okay!" Theo says brightly, jumping up. "I will go see him." With that, he's off down the hallway before Eddie can think to chase after him. One look a Buck, who has found an ice box and is meticulously packing the contents of both bags as well as the stuff Eddie had left out on the counter into it, tells Eddie that he's other wise preoccupied, so he follows after Theo and quickly grabs hold of his hand before he can open Chris' door unannounced.

"Theo, buddy, you can't just barge in there."

"Why not?"

"Because that's Chris' space, and he deserves his privacy. We," Eddie gestures between the two of them, "have to respect that." Admittedly, this is a lesson both he and Theo are still in the process of learning together, and the thought puts a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Theo thinks on this for a moment, face screwing up contemplatively. "No," he declares shortly, reaching for the door once more. 

"Theo. No," Eddie says firmly, tugging gently on his hand. He crouches down to Theo's height, facing the sulking preschooler. "If you want to go in there you have to knock. Otherwise we both stay out here."

"Fine," he says, bottom lips stuck out. Eddie watches as Theo knocks once, uncharacteristically gentle. Then again, impatiently, when Chris doesn't answer right away. 

"Come in!" comes Chris' muffled reply. Theo lights up immediately like Christmas has come six months early, pushing the door open with a previously undocumented eagerness.

Theo makes is approximately four steps into the room before shouting "Chris!" and running over to dump himself on top of the teenager, who looks up at Eddie in brief confusion. 

"Sorry," Eddie mouths. 

"It's fine," Chris mouths back, shifting so that Theo sits between his legs rather than on top of them. "Hey, Theo," he greets, holding out his clenched fist. Delighted, Theo fist bumps him before holding two hands up for a double high five.

Eddie watches the two interact, a strange, tangled-up feeling caught in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on. Deciding that the two of them will be just fine on their own, Eddie heads back out to the kitchen. He finds Buck looming over the toaster, squinting at the appliance warily.

"Your wires are crossed, dude," he mumbles, and for a second Eddie assumes Buck is talking to him and preemptively prepares to be offended. Instead, he bites back a laugh when Buck unplugs the toaster and microwave, switching the plugs around and dusting his hands off afterwards in a way that makes Eddie's heart pulse with affection. 

"Are you talking to the toaster?"

Caught, Buck whirls around to stare at him. His shoulders sag in defeat. "Yeah," he admits. 

Eddie shakes his head, lips twitching with amusement. "You and Theo are cut from the same cloth."

Buck grins. "Well, actually," he amends, "Theo is cut from my cloth—"

Eddie reaches out to smack him on the arm, grinning unashamedly when Buck cackles and turns away from him. Helplessly, Eddie watches as Buck moves around his kitchen like he belongs there—hell, Eddie really does believe he knows his way around better than Eddie himself. He just looks so at ease here, and Eddie wants him to stay forever. Theo, too. Both of them, here with Eddie and Chris, a family unit of four. 

It sounds like a dream come true. 

Eddie swallows it down and helps Buck prepare for their day out—not a family outing, exactly, but it's about as close as they're ever going to get. Eddie plans to treasure every precious moment of it. 

A few hours later, Eddie is carefully laying down beach towels with the precision of someone who is about to be judged for his craft. Squinting down at the neat, tucked-away spot they've picked, Eddie thinks the scene could be interpreted as modern art: A Commentary on Utilizing Small Spaces to the Maximum.

The sand has been kicked up in some places, uneven and patchy where the tide has washed in, saltwater sifting through sunlit sediment. Seagulls swoop in overhead, eager-eyed and crooning noisily. Eddie can taste salt on his tongue as well as the fried dough wafting down from the food trucks positioned along the coast. Buck is a little way away with Theo and Chris, getting both of them situated comfortably and reminding Theo not to throw sand or poke someone's eye out with a spade.

Eddie is laid out on his towel, sunglasses secured and face tilted towards the sun as he basks in its warmth when Buck returns. Cracking an eye open, Eddie makes note of the soft pink glow to his cheeks and shoulders. "You're burning already, bud," Eddie says, pointedly allowing his eyes to rest on Buck's face and nowhere else. Whether or not Buck is currently shirtless is none of his concern. 

Buck looks down at himself. "Seriously?" he grumbles, flopping down directly beside Eddie right on top of wet sand. "It's been five minutes." 

"It's been forty-five, Buck," Eddie chuckles. 

"Really?" Buck gives him a sidelong glance, disbelieving. When Eddie nods, he blows out a breath and mumbles, "It felt like five." 

"Time flies when you're having fun." Eddie grabs the beach bag, sticking a hand in and rooting around until he feels the smooth plastic of the sunscreen bottle beneath his fingertips. Aha! Squirting a generous blob into one palm, Eddie gestures for Buck to turn around. "C'mon. Spin."

"You're talking to me the way I talk to Theo," he says, but complies regardless.

Eddie hums, lips ticking up in amusement. He's about to thoughtlessly start spreading the sunscreen over Buck's back when his brain catches up with him—the implications of what he's just done. Eddie now has no choice but to touch Buck's bare skin, and as usual he has nobody to blame but himself. Taking a deep breath, he smooths one hand over Buck's left shoulder while the other travels to the back of his neck. 

Buck flinches beneath his touch. Eddie pauses, pulse hammering in his ears. "Cold," Buck mumbles. 

Heart still very firmly in his throat, Eddie continues his ministrations. He works his way up to Buck's shoulders, fingertips catching on his collarbones as he works. "Turn," he mutters. Suddenly, he's face-to-face with a sunkissed Buck, whose eyes are, fortunately for Eddie, closed. He can feel himself flushing just looking at Buck, so Eddie busies himself with his task and resolves to never look at him again—a very realistic solution to a very normal, common best friend problem. 

Chris ambles over just as Eddie is putting away the sunscreen and Buck is shifting to lie down on his own towel. "Do you need a sunscreen top-up, Chris?" Eddie asks, checking over his son for any signs of burning or heat exhaustion. "Don't want you getting burned."

"I'm fine," Chris assures, shaking his head. He settles down at the end of Eddie's towel rather than his own, and Eddie tucks his legs under himself to accommodate. "Theo wants to go in the sea, but I can't take him," he says, and Buck's head snaps up immediately. 

"He's not—"

Chris shakes his head. "I told him to stay there and one of you would go with him."

Buck exhales slowly, eyes still firmly on Theo like he expects him to make a run for it any second now. "Okay, I'll go with him." He heaves himself up from the towel, dusting off the sand that had manages to sneak its way onto his towel. 

"You sure?" Eddie asks. "I can go with him. Your sunscreen still isn't dry, it'll come off in the water." 

Buck waves him off. "I don't mind. Besides, we won't go in very far—Theo isn't exactly tall," he says, shooting both Eddie and Chris matching grins before jogging off towards Theo, who is grabbing handfuls of sand and lifting them above his head before letting the sediment drain through his fingers like a makeshift hourglass. 

"You okay, mijo?" Eddie checks, turning back to his son once Buck and Theo have safely made it into the sea, splashing and kicking sea water at each other. 

"Yeah." Chris nods, face breaking into a smile. "This is nice."

"Yeah?" Eddie says, softening immediately. "Good. I'm glad." The silence hangs between them, comfortable and sure. Eddie figures now, while they're alone and content, is as good a time as any. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something, actually."

Chris doesn't look surprised. If anything, he looks like he's been expecting this—Eddie has yet to decide whether that makes things better or worse. "About you and Buck," Chris says knowingly, and—

Hold on. What?

"What?" Eddie says aloud, eyes wide. "Me and—"

"It's okay, dad." Chris rolls his eyes, but Eddie is presently too preoccupied with other things to call him out on it. "I know, and I support it. You guys make sense together."

Eddie chokes. "What, like—as partners? In a relationship?" 

For the first time since this trainwreck of a conversation began, Chris looks unsure. "Yeah. Are you not...?"

"No, we're—" Eddie stutters out, feeling completely and totally blindsided. "We're not. I'm not upset that you thought that, Chris. I—well, I was actually going to tell you that I'm gay."

"Oh." Chris looks like he's buffering a little and honestly, Eddie can't say he feels any better off. This conversation has absolutely not gone to plan. There was a script, but it seems that somewhere along the way the script was shredded and the words rearranged into...whatever this has become. "Oh," he repeats. "That's...that's great, dad. But you're sure you and Buck aren't together?"

Eddie laughs despite himself. "Pretty sure, Chris."

"Oh," he says again, processing. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I can see why you might've thought that. But you're sure you're not upset about me being..." Eddie can't bring himself to say it out loud again, the words remaining stubbornly lodged in his throat, but he figures Chris will understand what it is he's trying to say. 

"No. I mean, I kind of assumed as much when I thought you and Buck had gotten together," he says sheepishly, ducking his head like he's embarrassed. Eddie feels a surge of fondness for his kid, always willing to roll with the punches and never letting whatever life throws at him bring him down. He pushes himself up and tucks Christopher into his side, kissing the top of his head.

"How'd I get so lucky, huh?" Eddie whispers, eyes stinging. Chris drops his head against Eddie's shoulder, sighing contently. Never again will Eddie love anyone the way he loves this kid—wholly, completely and without any doubt whatsoever that no matter how many times he makes the same mistake, no matter where or when or how he runs away from it, the love will still be there.  Suddenly, Chris jolts against him, raising a hand to point over at a decorative fountain spraying out tufts of luculent water. 

"Dad, look. There's a rainbow!"

Eddie looks and, sure enough, there's a rainbow. There's always a rainbow.

"There sure is," he says, resigned. 

The end of June rolls around quicker than Eddie had anticipated. It's currently less than ten minutes until midnight, which also means it's less than ten minutes until Eddie's birthday. He'll be thirty-four which is, quite frankly, insane. It seems like only yesterday he was nineteen, newly a father with an infant curled up in his arms. 

Buck and Eddie are cozied up on the couch together, curled facing each other like a pair of parentheses, socked feet just barely touching. Eddie keeps catching Buck's eyes drifting over towards the clock even as he struggles to keep them open. Theo had been especially boisterous today, running Buck ragged and keeping him constantly on his toes. When the two of them had finally managed to get him into bed—a combined effort, Eddie reading a grand total of three stories while Buck stroked over Theo's hair—Buck had essentially collapsed onto his couch and hasn't moved since. 

"Happy Birthday, Eddie," Buck says softly, what can't have been more than two seconds later but must have been, because when Eddie checks the clock both hands are pointed firmly towards twelve. 

"Thanks, Buck," Eddie replies, newly thirty-four and feeling no different for it. Still the same old Eddie, year on year. But—he's been having the though recently that maybe he doesn't have to be. Maybe, if he's brave enough, he could turn things around for himself, start something fresh and new and positive. "Hey, Buck," he repeats, catching Buck's attention where his eyes had started to glaze over a little. 

Buck blinks the haze away, giving Eddie his full attention immediately, just like that. No questions asked. It puts something warm in his chest, a swarm of fireflies buzzing around and forming a shape that looks like trust, a bond built so strong over the years that it'd take an entire army to dismantle it.

"Hm?" Buck hums, eyebrow ticking upwards questioningly. 

"I've been thinking," Eddie starts, and watches the smirk form on Buck's face with a growing sense of tenderness. Buck is nothing if not predictable. 

"Don't hurt yourself."

Eddie pointedly clears his throat, biting back a grin. "Anyway. I've been thinking. I've talked to Chris, and there's something I wanted to ask you," he says, tone settling into something more serious as the blood rushes faster through his veins, lungs contracting with the age-old urge to panic. Eddie pushes it all down because what he has to say is more important than fear could ever be. "Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?"

The room seems to shrink in the moment, the walls closing in as Eddie's vision threatens to white out. It's—he's fine, goddammit, it's just that his brain apparently has yet to get with the program. Eddie breathes in, out, in again, hold for three, out again, hold for four. 

On the other side of the couch, Buck is staring at Eddie like he's gone mad. He lets out a nervous chuckle. "You—ha, okay. Um, so you just said date, I don't know if you—"

"I know what I said," Eddie interrupts, leaning forwards. Whether he means to or not, Buck leans back like he's trying to put as much distance between himself and Eddie as possible, which is admittedly not a great sign. "I'm tired of pretending there's nothing here, Buck. It's not—it's not sustainable. At least, not for me. I couldn't do it anymore without saying something, and I completely understand if you want to pretend this conversation never happened. I get it, I do. I just needed you to know," Eddie says, low and as bare as he's ever been, laying himself out for Buck to see. 

Buck's mouth is rounded out into a comical little 'o' shape, and he appears to have gotten stuck like that. 

Eddie gives him a minute. Then two. The clock ticks on overhead, the minute hand travelling between two and three. Eddie only has so much patience, so eventually he gives into the childish urge to wave a hand in front of Buck's face. "Hey, Buck? You're scaring me, bud."

"Hold on." Buck holds up a hand as if stopping Eddie in his tracks. "You want to go on a date? With me?"

"Yes," Eddie answers, like it's that simple, because it is. It's always been that simple really—he was just too busy fighting invisible battles to see it. 

Buck looks at him, eyes wide and blue and achingly vulnerable. Then he's surging forward, seemingly on impulse, to press his mouth against Eddie's. Eddie catches him by the waist as he all but climbs on top of him, eyes fluttering shut as their bodies melt together, lips and chests and hips pressed up against each other. Buck gasps into his mouth and Eddie forgets how to think, forgets anything and everything other than this, other than Buck and his lips and the way he's got Eddie's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking and biting and pulling—

"Buck," Eddie breathes, more of an exhale than anything that could be classified as fully-formed or coherent. "We were meant to go on a date first. Before," he gestures between them, hand floppy and somewhat useless as his whole body thrums with a newfound energy, "all of this happened."

"Oh? All of this? We're you expecting me to put out on the first date, Diaz?" Buck says, smiling cheekily, cheeks ruddy and breath warm.

Eddie levels him with a look that manages to be part sultry, part unimpressed. "You didn't even make it to the first date, Buckley."

"I don't see why that's relevant," Buck replies, faux offended. 

"Oh, you don't? That's convenient."

Bucks huffs. "Shut up." And then they're kissing again, Buck's hand coming up to cradle Eddie's face, mouths slotting together like two halves of a whole; missing puzzle pieces finding one another at long last, magnets clicking together with a force strong enough to quake the entire universe. 

"Oh, wait." Eddie pulls back, placing a hand on Buck's chest when he instinctively leans in again. "Do you want to come to Sophia's wedding with me?"

"Of course I do, Eds," Buck says, gentle and sweet like he's been handed something delicate and in need of protecting. 

"Perfect," Eddie mumbles, eyes crossing as he attempts to look at all of Buck at once, which simply isn't possible from this angle. He reaches up to pull Buck in for another kiss, this one shorter but no less saccharine for it. "You tick all the boxes, too."

"What?" Buck is staring unabashedly at Eddie's lips, which are slick with spit and bruised a brilliant red. He blinks. "There are boxes?"

"Uhuh. Handsome, burly and boyfriend," Eddie elaborates, ticking them off on his fingers. "Yep, got all three."

"Is that your way of soft-launching our relationship?" Buck laughs, giddy and so obviously enamored that Eddie thinks he must have been blind not to see it sooner. 

"That depends," Eddie says, kissing over Buck's jaw and working his way down to his throat. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

"Fuck, Eddie," Buck hisses as he sucks at the skin beneath Buck's ear. "What kind of question is that? Of course I do."

Eddie nods against Buck's throat, resting his head against where he knows the divot of Buck's collarbone is beneath his striped shirt. This is it—he's made it. Eddie has spent thirty-four years scaling mountains and wading through oceans to make it here, to the safe haven where he has this kind of life. Every single moment leading up to this was worth it. He'd do it all over again a hundred times if it meant he'd make it here, to the summit where he has a job he loves with coworkers who quickly became family, a boyfriend he adores more than anything and the little family they've built together. 

This is it. The battle has been won; the rainbows have retreated, waving their white flags and calling a truce. 

"You're my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow," Eddie whispers, like a secret, and Buck looks at him like he means forever. It's possible that Eddie had it wrong all along and it was never really about the rainbows at all. Maybe what really matters is the treasure that waits on the other side, the X marked on the map, the light at the end of the tunnel.

Either way, Eddie has his technicolor dream, and he means to live the life he's taken for himself to the fullest.