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1: The Time They Get Drugged
Buck's awareness of this particular issue built slowly, and then all at once — ironically, just like the problem itself.
At first, it's not even a suspicion.
During that very first shift with Eddie all those years ago, Buck thought he was just kind of volatile. As much as he hates the guy, it's not his business to know what kind of mood disorder Eddie clearly has. (Surprisingly, all things he would never even think about regarding Eddie Diaz, past that first instance)
Throughout their shift, Buck notices how some of the barbs he throws at Eddie are brushed off with an eyeroll or a prolonged stare, while others seem to sink in until Eddie snaps.
His excitement in being able to break this supposedly perfect, put-together soldier had been too exhilarating for him to question why Eddie's temper seemed pendulum-like. Sometimes, Buck would try to re-use an insult that had rattled Eddie before, only for it to fall flat and be faced with a roll of the eyes. Other times, his remarks would be scattered, barely thought through, just a grasp at straws that would seem to hit Eddie like a brick until he was biting back.
When their issues were amended, Buck hadn't really thought to ask. Eddie's moods evened out without someone nipping at his ankles every ten seconds, even if he did still seem vaguely irritable at seemingly random times.
When they'd brought Christopher to the station for his very first ride-along, the behavioural pattern arose again. Buck was leading him around the loft, giving a tour with big, waving gestures, Eddie hovering a foot behind them with a soft look in his eyes.
Showing off the kitchen, he'd made a joke about keeping Christopher's dad fed so he doesn't get mad at them, and Christopher had giggled. He'd giggled and agreed, and said he'd always been like that, and Buck was far too curious not to notice the faint redness of Eddie's cheeks before he was ushering them along.
After that, he started an experiment. A very professional, very practised experiment that earned its own clipboard tucked underneath the top shelf of his locker, out of view. He tracks back every time he can recall — their first shift together, the earthquake where Eddie's anxious nerves hadn't completely settled, even after they'd picked Christopher up, until Buck ordered them each a large pizza and Eddie had gone through the whole thing without even moving.
Day-to-day, it's harder to track. Eddie's an efficient guy, a firefighter, and an amazing parent, which means he's generally very good at making sure his body is functioning at its best. Three meals a day and protein bars or shakes in between, plus the snack collection he keeps in his pantry for Friday night movie nights.
Buck keeps his chart, but it doesn't update regularly, and his hypothesis is still too flimsy to be completely proven — until they get hit by a healthy dose of LSD brownies.
His brain is way too scattered at first to pick up on it. He's more enamored by how small everything seems and how big he feels, like a giant with a tiny, delicate planet in his palm, until he's being put in the back of a cop car with his thigh pressed up against Eddie's, and then all he can think is warm warm warm. He turns to look at Eddie, whose lashes are thick with tears, and Buck thinks he looks glittery.
Once they're checked out, it's waned enough that it just feels like a gentle buzz, and now Buck feels kind of emotional too. Maddie wants to call out of her shift to take him home, but he doesn't really want to be away from Eddie because Eddie gets the feeling that Buck has right now, doesn't he? Instead, Chimney drops Hen back to her wife and then forces Buck and Eddie both out of the car at Eddie's house, and Buck won't complain about that.
What he will complain about is how grumpy Eddie looks while he spends a good two minutes trying to unlock his door (Buck, sober a few hours later, is pretty sure Chimney had watched them sway on the doorstep to make sure they'd gotten in safely from the front seat of his car. Though that still hadn't stopped him from filming it).
"Give me that," Buck hums, reaching for the key and taking it from Eddie's hands before he can complain about that too. He still hears Eddie huff about it. "I need food, my stomach feels like it's eating itself,"
The shift in Eddie's attitude is nearly immediate. He'd been subdued, annoyed in a quiet way, sleepy and slow. But as soon as Buck speaks, he's snatching the key back to turn it in the lock himself, muscling the door open with a determination Buck has never really seen in him.
He follows close behind out of pure morbid curiosity, watching Eddie kick off his shoes in a way he so frequently scolds Christopher for, all but sprinting to the kitchen. A faraway, distant part of Buck's brain starts alerting, and he can practically see the clipboard in his hands.
By the time he's untied his own shoes and neatly ordered both pairs on the shoe rack, it sounds like there's a wild animal ravaging the Diaz household kitchen.
He ambles his way there, wondering faintly if he should grab the broom from the airing cupboard in case Eddie's fighting a raccoon, but his brain is still working a little slower than usual, and he's already past the cupboard by the time he thinks of it, and it's not that easy to just turn around.
Instead of the image he'd concocted of an animal scratching at the cupboard doors, he finds a sight not too dissimilar: Eddie, with an open bag of family-size chips kept for their Friday movie nights tucked into one arm, the other busy shifting cereal boxes aside to grab the beef jerky packets hidden in the back. He's humming happily to himself, jaw working as he chews a too-big mouthful of chips, tucking the beef jerky under his armpit so he can dig deeper.
He doesn't jump when he notices Buck's presence (that is to say, Buck reaches out to grab his shoulder because he seems entirely zoned in on his goal of collecting the world's biggest snack haul), but instead turns to grin around chip crumbs. "Mrrhg-mmgm-mfghm-mfgm-mfgh?"
Buck blinks at him. "Eddie, you need to swallow for me to even try to understand what you just said."
Eddie rolls his eyes, not unfondly, and chews through squirrely cheeks until his mouth is just about empty enough that Buck can actually understand what he's saying. "Can you grab the butter popcorn from the back?"
Still woozy from the last touches of the drugs, Buck can't help the grin that splits his face, or his need to reach out and pinch one of Eddie's red, round cheeks. He's delighted when it only gets redder.
Eddie smacks his hand away but grabs it before Buck can let it drop to his side, and for a moment, Buck can just enjoy the feeling of Eddie's warm hand in his own, brain too occupied by the heat of his skin, too busy thinking they should sew themselves together for the rest of time to notice Eddie digging in the pantry again. Soon, the hand is filled with a bag of premade butter popcorn.
"I'm craving cocoa," Eddie frowns, grabbing the tin from the top shelf. He turns to Buck, eyes wide and round, and Buck already knows exactly where this is going. "Can you make it? It always tastes better when you make it."
"Because I actually use milk and not just hot water," Buck teases, but doesn't argue when Eddie pushes the tin into his hands as well. "Go set up the sofa, make it cozy." He commands, dropping the bag of popcorn on top of the pile of snacks in Eddie's arms, obscuring his face completely. He can hear Eddie humming to himself all the way to the sofa.
Making two cups of hot cocoa (not too hot — even with the last touches of LSD Buck is still wary that Eddie could burn himself pretty easily) only takes around ten minutes, but he isn't quite expecting to find Eddie sprawled out on the sofa, turned on his side so he can dig one hand into his giant bag of chips with ease, propped up on the floor next to him.
His whole face lights up when Buck sets the two cups down, pushing himself to sit up and reach one, his two hands stretched out. Buck grins, taking the place where Eddie's head had been to sip at his own drink a lot less desperately than Eddie. "You're kind of insatiable when you're high."
"Just wanted snacks," Eddie defends, barely lifting his face from the sweet drink. The LSD seems to have hit him a lot harder, which makes sense with Buck's past. They've never really discussed it, but he somehow highly doubts that teen dad, young parent, soldier-turned-firefighter Eddie Diaz had ever had much experience with drugs at all.
While Buck hasn't touched anything in the last couple of years since the job, he'd been partial to smoking and the rare pill for special occasions. The edges of his vision still feel hazy, and his brain fog hasn't cleared all that much, but he feels clear enough for his motor skills to work just fine. Differently, Eddie doesn't seem to know how to fight through those feelings, and instead has accidentally leaned into them completely.
It's kind of nice to see him like this, though — ungaurded, relaxed, naive and sweet in an almost childlike way. It's so un-Eddie, or the only kind of Eddie that Buck's come to know in the last couple of months, that he kind of wants to hold onto it for as long as possible.
Content to let Eddie ride this out, Buck switches on a marine animal documentary and spends most of it watching Eddie's wide-eyed expressions at the bioluminescent jellyfish until his eyelids grow heavy. "You okay, bud?"
"Tired," Eddie sighs, slumping against the arm of the sofa. There's a moment of hesitation, the first flicker of normal-Eddie peeking through, before he pulls his legs up to throw them across Buck's lap so he can stretch out as much as possible for a six-foot-tall man. "My stomach hurts,"
Buck glances down at the empty mugs, the ravaged wrappers, and the hand sneaking out to reach for one of the last strips of beef jerky. He winces. "It's probably just the drugs."
Eddie frowns over at him, chewing on his beef jerky. "Drugs?"
Buck laughs softly, squeezing the stretch of exposed ankle in his lap, and tugs the comforter more comfortably to spread across both of them. "Don't worry about it. You wanna nap?"
Eddie finishes his snack and nods, turning until he's facing the other way on the sofa, face pressed against the back cushions, nuzzling against the material. "Staying here, though. Don't move."
"Okay, bud."
Buck reaches for the remote again, turning the volume down to a white-noise hum, satisfied with his findings. Eddie Diaz is absolutely, one-hundred percent a hangry kind of person, and Buck is now determined to keep his best friend in as high spirits as possible.
2: The Time They Get Jinxed
It shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone that following his discovery, Buck makes some changes. (That is, provided anyone knew what the discovery he made was, but it isn't really something he feels that he needs to share with the rest of the team)
For the many, many months following their accidental dosing, Buck starts tracking Eddie's eating habits. It doesn't take very long to work out exactly how much food Eddie needs in him to keep him happy, which is to say, it's a lot. Or not a lot, but consistent.
Eddie is a snacker. If there are snacks in front of him, he'll eat them. If there's the offer of a sweet treat, he'll jump on it. If Bobby asks for a taste tester, Buck is usually the first to jump, but Eddie is practically glued to his heels anyway, and he's starting to realize it isn't because they share the same goal of learning all of Bobby's recipes.
The closer Buck gets to the Diaz family, the more he wonders how he hadn't noticed it immediately. It makes sense, too, with both Christopher and Eddie being totally spoiled by Abuela and her cooking. The first time Buck is invited to a family meal, he watches in amazement as she practically force feeds each of them the biggest serving they can manage. It's the first time he has ever seen Eddie eating so unapologetically, taking seconds and thirds without so much as an embarrassed look. Likely because of Isabel herself, who scolds Buck when he tries to be polite about how much he wants to take.
A year after the dosing incident, Buck is finally let back into the Diaz household for the first time in weeks. Things with Eddie are still a little off-centre after the lawsuit, but they're finding their way back to solid ground. He knows Eddie forgives him, has heard the words himself, but that doesn't stop him from the plethora of apology dishes that show up in Eddie's fridge.
It becomes a thing, even when everything is completely settled again. Buck is becoming an increasingly good chef under the watchful eye of Bobby, and if he wants to try a new recipe all by himself, there is no one better to try it on than the ever-willing Diaz boys and their seemingly bottomless stomachs. The bonus of being able to add to his clipboard doesn't hurt, either.
Nowadays, he's at 4995 South Bedford Street nearly as often as he's at the loft. He cooks for them, or with Eddie trying his best to help, or they order takeout from the stack of menus collecting in Eddie's living room dresser. He sees exactly when, what, and how Eddie eats, and the itch to bring back his old theory wins every time.
Eventually, it culminates in the notes app on his phone — he can't risk Eddie seeing him carrying around a clipboard with him everywhere, lest he reads what it says one of the days Buck crashes on his sofa. The notes app is much more efficient and worlds more secure.
The locked note has a meticulous chart of how often Eddie needs to eat (with examples down to the hour) as well as his usual meal and snack schedule and the kinds of foods that keep him satiated the longest, or the ones that he'll be tempted by even if he's not particularly hungry. (Underneath, far down the bottom of the note, are the words 'oral fixation????' with a Wikipedia link that Buck hasn't been brave enough to properly read just yet).
Most of the time, Buck finds himself adding information to his personal substack without any real goal in mind. It's like an Eddie-information-bank, which is his favourite kind of information right after Christopher information, simply existing for his own curiosity.
Until, that is, it starts to become legitimately useful.
The pandemic strikes, and the team moves into Buck's loft. He likes having them close, dare he be called needy, clingy, codependent, or any other negative-sounding synonym? He especially likes having Eddie close.
At the beginning, there is a brief moment of doubt that so much time around each other will sour their time together, but it doesn't. Hen and Chimney go on walks together, or separately, but Buck can't really think of any time when Eddie is not with him, other than his calls out on the balcony to Christopher or his parents.
They're two months into this new living situation when Buck realizes he controls Eddie's entire meal plan.
Not down to each and every snack, but kind of. If he's not the one cooking, one of the other three is, but he's still there. He's still the one who places the grocery order at the end of each week, and he's still hovering by the counter while they cook, and he's still around for every workplace meal. It's only natural that he's the one to add Eddie's favourite snacks to the grocery list, and to keep them tucked away in his locker when they're at work. It's only a force of habit that has him continuing to do so even after Eddie has gone back home.
All of this is to say that Buck can occasionally be smart and prepared, especially when considering his friends. That's why he's ready when the probie ruins their shift with one mention of the q-word.
The first hour or so, it slips by his mind. He's too busy berating Eddie for his disbelief in the jinx that he barely recognises the first hunger pangs twisting up his stomach until they're pulling back into the truck bay. Even with their hectic morning, one thought echoes through — if he's hungry, what's Eddie feeling like?
Everyone manages to get their turnouts off and their bodies drifting towards the coffee pot, but Buck b-lines for his locker. He knows exactly how this day is going, and he's not going to deal with a smug, snarky Eddie Diaz turning into a hangry, vindictive Eddie Diaz.
The alarm rings thirty seconds after he manages to stuff his steals into his pockets. They're in the truck ten after that.
"You hungry?" Buck asks as they pull out of the bay, pressing his shoulder into Eddie's. It's a question for just him, even if he knows everyone else can hear it too, but they're used to that.
Eddie smiles at him and shrugs, pressing back with his thigh. "Christopher had a good morning, so we made it out early enough to grab bagels. Why, is your 'curse' getting to you? Can't handle a busy morning anymore with all that new muscle?"
Buck barks out a laugh, face flushing red. The snacks remain in his pockets, but he doesn't forget them. "Not yet."
It's only after they're bundling back into the truck that Eddie's mood starts to take a turn for the worse. Any mention of the curse has him biting back with a level of snarkiness just slightly harsher than his usual quips. Buck appreciates how the rest of the team leaves him alone after that, but he knows that it's not just because Eddie is tired; he's hungry.
This time, Buck doesn't say anything in the truck. He lets the ride pass in exhausted silence and doesn't stop Eddie until they're hopping out.
"Hey," He says softly, catching Eddie's arm before he can head for the stairs to the loft where Bobby is rushing to put his lasagna dish back in the oven. Eddie is a pace in front of him, and even with his back turned, Buck can feel the shudder of a sigh. "Here."
He presses the fruit bar into Eddie's hand and watches the other man's face twist as he turns around. "Bobby's making lasagna."
Buck nods, humming. "Call it a hunch,"
Eddie, still irritable, opens his mouth to make a retort, likely about how Buck's curse isn't real because no curses are real, only for the alarm to abruptly cut him off. He looks too shocked to be annoyed about it, though. Buck grins and squeezes his shoulder again, gently urging him back to the truck. By the time they're on the scene, there's an empty wrapper on Eddie's seat and a smile plastered back on his face.
He doesn't deny any snacks Buck slides his way for the rest of the shift.
3: The One Where It Doesn't Fix Everything
The trend continues after the curse. It's not entirely necessary, but Buck finds it easier to keep emergency-Eddie-snacks on hand wherever he goes rather than trying to deal with Eddie's gloomy moods when he doesn't get a treat often enough. They're stashed in his locker, tucked away in the fire truck during long shifts, hidden in the back of the cupboards in the kitchen, with labels threatening thieves, in the glove compartment of his jeep, and some even in Eddie's own house if he places them strategically enough.
Miraculously, Eddie doesn't notice that Buck only seems to materialize snacks for him. Sparingly, the rest of the 118 don't seem to notice (or don't seem to care to comment on their strange best friend rituals).
When Eddie leaves the 118, Buck spends a lot of time catastrophizing about how much everything is going to change. He knows to his core that Eddie isn't leaving him; he's just taking some time for himself to help Christopher. Buck gets it.
He still feels like he's losing something. When Ravi eats the olives Buck requests specifically for Eddie, he can't even complain. He hates olives, and the jar is open, so they'll expire soon anyway.
When he does manage to catch up with Eddie in person, he makes a point of bringing up meals. It's nice to know Eddie is learning how to cook (not just for the safety of Buck and Christopher's taste buds), but not knowing when, or what, or how he's eating is starting to drive Buck insane.
For the three years they've known each other for now, that is the one thing that Buck has watched so meticulously. Family meals are a staple of the 118, and cooking has become such an important part of Buck's life, and Eddie has too. Without Eddie on the team, with Maddie gone and Chimney chasing after her, Buck feels like everything is falling apart, and he can't even continue the one silent comfort he's always offered to his family.
One evening, he calls Eddie's abuela, and he's not entirely surprised to hear that Eddie hasn't seen her a lot recently either.
He knows Eddie isn't exactly skipping meals. Speaking to Christopher means that Buck can at least somewhat make sure Eddie isn't making his own psyche worse by limiting his calorie intake, and sure, yes, he probably doesn't need as much when all of his exercise is now exclusively in the form of the gym rather than a physical job, but still. Everything about it is setting Buck's nerves on edge.
Even after Eddie tells him that he needs to move on, that he won't be coming back to the 118, Buck can't seem to focus on that. It's what he says to the team, what he frets about most publicly, but it's what it means that scares him so much. If Eddie's already pulled away this much, how much worse will it be in a year? In five?
Naturally, he starts dropping recipes into their vaguely one-sided text chain. At first, healthy meals, he says, Christopher had asked about. Later, calorie-dense, filling meals that might fill the gap in Eddie's recent neglect of his beloved snacking rituals.
He doesn't know if it works, but he hopes at least some of them get used. It's as much as he can do when Eddie won't let him in.
When Eddie heads to Bobby's to ask for his job back, Buck hears about it. It's not entirely on purpose; he knows Bobby would never intentionally betray any kind of loyalty to Eddie, but Buck has been known to be persistent. He thinks his desperation probably plays into it, too.
Their text thread has all but dried out. Christopher's texts are really the only updates he gets on Eddie's life unless he gets really desperate and messages Josh Russo, but he only does that three times, and it's devastatingly embarrassing each time.
All in all, he's piecing together the stories from second-hand sources, and Eddie's frustration is laid out for him in a finished puzzle. This time, he knows it can't all be quick-fixed with food, but he doesn't know what else to do. It doesn't seem to matter anyway — he doesn't have enough time to strategize a new plan before Eddie takes a bat to everything he owns.
During those moments, Buck can't think of much except how desperately he wants to help. How much he wants Eddie to stop hurting, how he'd do literally anything to get it to happen. He tucks Christopher into bed and drags the spare bedding out from the closet to set up a bed on the floor beside the sofa so he can listen to Eddie breathe while he sleeps. Earlier, there had been just a moment where he thought he might not get to hear him breathe again.
In the morning, he calls Carla to take Christopher to school, calls Bobby to let him know he won't be in for his shift, and sits in the kitchen until he hears the quiet shuffle of footsteps.
"You're still here,"
It's an observation, not a judgment. Not quite in awe, but maybe somewhat surprised. Buck's chest aches at the thought that Eddie could ever think he wouldn't still be right here.
"I am," He says simply, standing from the table just as Eddie settles into the seat opposite him. They don't talk as Buck moves around the kitchen, and he's glad when Eddie doesn't protest the coffee and the toast that are slid across the table towards him.
"Shouldn't you have a shift today?" Eddie asks when there are only crumbs left on his plate. It's not enough, and Buck is tempted to make him eat more, but he'll push his luck later.
"Nah,"
Eddie laughs, barely a breath of air, but the sight of it is enough for Buck's stomach to twist. "You're bad at lying,"
Buck shrugs, smiling. "Only to you. You know me too well."
"Yeah," Eddie agrees quietly, his eyes falling to the table. "I need to go to the store."
"We can both go," Buck offers quickly, the words coming out of his mouth barely after Eddie's finished speaking. For a second, he worries it'll be enough to make Eddie shut off again, but he catches the barest flicker of a smile and a knot of anxiety releases from his chest. "I can make us lunch after?"
"You sound like my Abuela," Eddie jokes. "Trying to heal me with food?"
"Hey, I know what your appetite is like. I know you too well."
Eddie nods, just once, and then the room falls quiet again. Eventually, he's the one to break the silence. "I'm sorry I shut you out. I didn't realize it was happening until…"
"Until you were in the deep end," Buck finishes for him. Eddie nods. "I get it, trust me. I'm just glad you're letting me in now. You are, right?"
"Yeah," Eddie says hoarsely, the heel of his palm rubbing at one of his eyes. Buck has the urge to reach out and pull it away, but he manages to resist. "Yeah, I am. No more running away. I'll try."
It's as much as Buck can ask for. It's as much as he can ask of anyone, to maybe ask for help once in a while, but he knows that Eddie can only deny him so much, only turn him away for so long. During the lawsuit, Eddie's avoidance had only survived a singular shift before he gave in.
4: The Time Buck Learns to Bake
Years down the line, it becomes a thing. Eventually, everyone knows about this thing except, seemingly, Eddie.
Buck hadn't realized anyone else had picked up on it, honestly. He continued compulsively updating his note, unaware of Chimney and Hen sharing looks between themselves across the road or of Bobby fondly rolling his eyes from the kitchen, pretending not to notice the big bold title of 'foods eddie can't deny' splayed across his phone screen.
When Eddie had first joined the team, it took attentive, watchful eyes to pick up on his quirks, and no one except Buck seemed up for the job (Not that he minds, it's his favorite job).
But eventually, after seven years of working seamlessly as a team, you notice those things anyway. No one questions why Buck has a snack depository for Eddie, but their grocery list does slightly expand on the number of quick-to-go food items.
Before Eddie moves back to Texas, fracturing some kind of slip-fault in Buck's chest that he prays doesn't shatter entirely, he declares that he's accepting joy. And while Buck doesn't see how moving to his home state to be berated by his parents every day exactly reflects this, he indulges Eddie anyway.
Eventually, when they come home, it's all Buck can do anyway. If he stops moving, he'll feel that open, bleeding cavity.
Food has always been a core part of why the 118 feels so much like a family. They love each other, of course, but it means something to Buck. The family meals, the celebratory and less so barbeques, the Christmasses together, the act of learning to be a better man while he watches Bobby move around the kitchen like a hawk.
There's a desperation in those first months to keep it up, but he struggles. There's a quiet staleness in the air that's keeping everyone from the big dining table. When they do eat in the same space, it's in silence and sandwiched between a busy string of calls.
It gets easier, though. When Chimney accepts the full position of captain, things get easier. Buck knows it'll never be completely the same; he knows there will always be a dull ache when certain recipes get pulled out, but they're moving forward. He's just glad he has something to focus on.
And, God, does he focus. Between snickerdoodles and Nutella brownies and gingersnap cookies, trays of experimental loaves left in every house belonging to the 118 & Co, it's enough to keep a quiet buzz in his head that at least somewhat hums over the blaring tones of loss.
Everyone knows it's his coping mechanism after the whole stress-breakup-baking debacle, but no one steps in because they each have their own rituals to handle the glaring absence in their team.
Chimney is throwing himself into his job just like Athena, both of them becoming entirely consumed by professional obligations, and with the new baby Nash to care for. Hen and Eddie seem completely absorbed with team-building activities like going to IMAX together and not inviting Buck, which is totally fine. He's a fully grown thirty-four-year-old man with other friends, like his sister and her two children. He's very well adjusted.
"It's like, they know I love documentaries. And marine life! I was literally the one who made Eddie sit through every episode of Blue Planet I and II, but it's whatever," Buck pauses, glances down at the baby strapped to his chest. Nash stares up at him. "Am I overreacting?"
"Probably,"
Buck jumps nearly a half-foot in the air, spinning in his kitchen to find Eddie standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest with a stupid grin on his face. He's glad he's put the flour down already.
"What are you doing here?"
Eddie shrugs, sauntering further into the kitchen like he hasn't totally interrupted Buck's free time with his own new best friend. He leans over to eye the tray of snickerdoodles, snatching the biggest, chunkiest one before Buck can reach out to slap his hand away, and props his hip against the counter. "Do I have to text before coming over now?"
"Well, no," Buck frowns, turning back to his mixing bowl. "But I thought you were at Hen and Karen's."
"I was. Then I drove here."
"Why?"
Eddie audibly sighs, and when Buck sneaks a glance at him over his shoulder, he catches Eddie rubbing the space between his eyebrows the way he does when he's getting a migraine, or Buck is being particularly difficult. Could be either, really. There's truly no way of knowing.
"I'm gay,"
Buck damn near drops the mixing bowl as soon as he picks it up, batter streaking up the sides and onto his hands. He turns to Eddie, wide-eyed and mouth agape, breath caught somewhere in the base of his throat, thankful for the small mercy of the foot of space between them, so hopefully Eddie won't notice how his breathing has picked up rapidly.
"Buh," Baby Nash says. Buck blinks. Eddie bites into his snickerdoodle excruciatingly slow.
"I must've misheard you," Buck manages to stutter out after a long stretch of silence filled only by the sound of Eddie crunching and baby Nash humming, tiny little round fists raised in the air. "I thought you said you're, uh, that you're… gay."
Eddie nods, finishing the overstuffed mouthful of snickerdoodle before he replies. It's only then that Buck realizes his cheeks have turned a visible shade of red and that his hands have moved to anxiously wring together, and the whole sight reeks so much of panic that the knot in Buck's stomach tightens further. "Well, I did. Because I am,"
In sudden need for something familiar and comforting, Buck turns back to the counter to place his mixing bowl down and offers both his hands up to Nash. Tiny round fists wrap around each pointer finger. He stares at the top of Nash's bald head. "But you… No, you're not. You're straight,"
When he finally turns his head to look back at Eddie, the tangle of panic and anxiety and something else so much bigger and more complicated shatters completely, because Eddie is frowning. Not like he does when he's confused, or considering something, or mad, or a whole list of other things, but the same way he does when he's sad. The same way he does when someone's said something that hurts, but he's trying not to let the hurt show.
"Okay, Buck."
"Wait, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I'm just…" Baby Nash frees his pointer fingers, and Buck wants to kiss his tiny, round head, but instead, he steps forward until he's toe-to-toe with Eddie. The sudden notion that their shoes are kissing pops into his head. "I'm really proud of you."
At his side, Buck's two hands twitch, desperate to grab onto Eddie but waiting for a sign as Eddie bites hard into the skin of his bottom lip like he's considering something. "You are?"
Buck exhales, a weight lifted. "Of course I am. I'm sorry."
"Eee," Baby Nash says, annoyed they've seemingly forgotten he's there. Eddie laughs, sniffling just once before he reaches out to plant a big hand right over the top of Nash's bald head, smiling at him so fondly, eyes bright with unshed tears, but his expression is completely split open with joy, and Buck feels a wave of affection so strong he doesn't know what to do with it.
"Can I make you a cake?"
Eddie looks up at him, still stroking over the nonexistent hairs on Nash's head, his mouth curled into a grin. "A cake? For coming out?"
"A gay cake," Buck nods, "Because you're gay."
Eddie laughs. "Sure, Buck, you can make me a 'gay cake.'" He huffs, amused. "You know I love your baking."
Buck nearly stumbles over his response again, stunned for a moment. It's rare that Eddie outwardly expresses that he enjoys anything frivolous, or that he recognises his sweet tooth at all (even though it's practically insatiable). But this is post-Texas Eddie, and post-Texas Eddie allows himself to do things like drink juice, eat all of Buck's sweet treats, and declare himself gay at two PM on a Wednesday.
Thank God Buck had learned how to bake.
5: The Time They Go to Nashville
Truth be told, Buck is a little bit annoyed that Bobby had signed them up for the annual Firefighter Olympics in Nashville. But he'd never say that out loud because that's, like, dishonoring the choices of the dead (or something).
And Buck is honoured. It's an event he's always very secretly (and loudly, depending on his mood and Addeal level) craved to be invited to, and knowing that Bobby had put so much faith in them that he'd put their names forth a whole year prior makes him tear up if he thinks about it for too long, but it is terrifying. Couldn't the guy have done it a few years ago, so there wasn't a huge crushing weight of anticipation on Buck's shoulders?
That, and the whole extended period of time alone with Eddie in an unfamiliar city where are purpose for being here is to test how strong our soul tie really is. Maybe a little hyperbolic, a little poetic, for the partnerships they'll be up against, but Buck is pretty sure at least himself and Eddie have a soul tie by now.
Point is, Buck is handling this all spectacularly. He's not worrying that he's completely besmirching Bobbys name by flying all the way out to Nashville under his recommendation just the probably bomb it in the first hurdle and make Bobby's ghost, Athena, the entirety of the 118 and Los Angeles hate him. He's also not worrying over the recent and brick-to-the-face like realization that Maddie may have been entirely right about his feelings concerning Eddie, and he's not worrying that they're practically on a couples vacation together to test their relationship. It's all completely, unconcerningly peachy.
But, if there were anything Buck could hypothetically be worried or not at all worried about, he thinks he hides it pretty well on their journey over.
Before their flight even takes off, he puts in his noise-cancelling headphones, tucks a travel pillow behind his neck, and pulls a sleeping mask over his eyes to conk out for the three hours and fifty-six-minute flight from LAX to BNA. Eddie wakes him up just after they land, and Buck doesn't even have to deal with a cocktail of five different types of anxiety also overflowing with the addition of flight anxiety. Overall, a pretty good start.
When they reach the hotel, the spiralling takes a slight uptick into the 'noticeable and hard to manage' quotient. He'd somehow managed to forget his favorite hoodie back in LA, and now he won't be as optimally comfortable to watch the recorded tapes of past Annual Firefighter Games that he'd sourced on YouTube over their last twenty-four off. To top it all off, Eddie is now standing in front of him in his big pants, dressed to hit the town and the honkeytonks and the fried chicken, using his big stupid round brown eyes to make Buck feel bad about wanting to win.
"Come on," Eddie urges, stepping closer. Something hot and urgent kicks in Buck's chest, but he ignores it. "I hate going out. How many times have I ever asked you to go out?"
Buck raises his eyebrows. "You invite me to everything, all the time. Maddie calls us co-dependent."
She has also called them other things starting with romantically and ending with involved, but Buck is withholding that information for now.
"She does?" Eddie pauses and then shakes his head to get himself back on track. "That's — whatever. I meant out-out, to the bar or the club or whatever. We haven't done that at all since I came out."
Buck wants to ask why that makes it different, what exactly Eddie wants to experience in the bars and clubs of Nashville as a recently self-actualized single gay man in the youthful years of his thirties, but he doesn't. There are other things at stake right now. "Aren't you worried about the games? We need a full night's rest if we're going to win, which is the only option tomorrow, and that doesn't involve ruining top-ability bodies by eating and drinking our weight in chicken and beer."
"Get a salad and a seltzer, then," Eddie teases, taking another step closer. "Please?"
Buck knows immediately that he's lost. "Okay, on one condition, though." Still, he pretends that he hasn't. "When we get back, we do a film session."
Eddie barely even blinks. "Deal. Now, can you please get dressed?"
After conceding like a grown man who makes his own informed decisions, it only takes Buck a few minutes to find something Music City appropriate to wear out, but Eddie is still huffing and puffing by the time he emerges from the bathroom to slip his sneakers on, his phone open with the Uber app already loaded up and ready to go. Buck barely has time to slip on his sneakers before he's being ushered into the elevator, down and onto the street, and then pushed gently into the back of a Kia Telluride.
"Aren't you so glad we did this?" Eddie grins across the backseats, face lit up by the shifting RGB lights of Nashville. All of a sudden, it's retry hard for Buck to remember why he'd been resisting to begin with.
Their destination is non-specific, and Buck is glad for it. He gets to see Eddie's skin lit up properly, without the barrier of a dimmed-out Kia window muting the shifting rainbow colours, and he gets to witness Eddie turn and grin in his direction when they pass a street corner filled to the brim with people onlooking a six-man country band, and he doesn't even complain when Eddie drags him over to one of the hat vendors holing cheap cowboy-attire to tourists. He just nods when Eddie pops the glittery disco ball hat on his head and doesn't think a single thought about how Eddie looks in his own cheap felt Stetson.
through the crowds, Eddie finds them somewhere to eat after some Google Review consulting, and it's only when Buck slides into the booth that he realizes they havem't eaten since before their flight. He'd been intending to call up room service pretty soon after they got to the hotel, but Eddie's plans had derailed them.
"Man, I am starving,' Eddie huffs, reaching for the menu at the end of their table. Buck doesn't even pretend to wrestle him for it, like he sometimes does before inevitably letting Eddie read it first. An ankle locks around his own under their table, and Eddie grumbles away as he reads the menu. The attitude is back, sudden like a sleeper-agent triggered by the aromatic smell of fried chicken, and Buck is totally whipped. These are all non-negotiable laws of the world, like gravity or thanking the bus driver.
It occurs to Buck that Eddie should've had this attitude an hour ago, when he'd been distracted by street bands and silly hats, but he hadn't. That isn't to say a distracting atmosphere works in momentarily holding off Eddie's hangry-induced moods, because if they did then Buck would've never had to start stashing snacks at their notoriously busy and overwhelmingly distracting job, but he had.
Even after eight years, there is still so much research to be done.
+1: The Time it Doesn't Matter
After everything that happens after, Buck is really glad he has zero capacity to say no to Eddie when he really wants something. For a while, after they've been run off the road and Buck finds himself tied against that pole in clothes that don't belong to him, he thinks it might have been the last night with Eddie he'll ever get.
It's a difficult thing to come to terms with when you're bleeding, bruised and dangerously dehydrated, but he thinks it was a petty good night to go out on. Just him and Eddie swapping plates of appetizers and cutting into each others meals at some dimly lit diner-style cozy restaurant in Nashville, cowboy hats still on their heads, ankles curled together.the only thing better would've been a night at home with Christopher, too.
Either way, he makes it out, and so does Eddie, and even though he's still bleeding and bruised and dehydrated, he's pretty damn grateful to be alive.
Well, mostly. The car they're driving the last ten hours back to LA could push him to his limits. It's Eddie behind the wheel, wincing around the wounds from a car crash that could've killed him, but he barely holds back from snapping at Buck when he tries to intervene. Buck only gives in because his own injuries are restricting his movement and one crash is better than two.
They're three hours and three stops in, somewhere in Arizona, when it occurs to him around the sound of the muffled radio station crackling between transmitter towers and Eddie's off-tune humming. Buck is dozing in and out of consciousness, leaning into the heavy feeling of sleep when he hears a distinct rumble.
He can see Eddie tense up beside him, the muscle-lock of his whole body, the hitch in his humming before it continues with a sigh. He cracks one eye fully open. "Was that your stomach?"
"Was what my stomach?" Eddie asks, eyes still trained on the road. Buck turns his full attention to look at him while Eddie adjusts his seat, grabbing at things under him. "I think it was this heap of junk."
"Eddie," Buck starts, quiet. "When was the last time you ate something? Anything?"
The silence is telling enough. "I'm okay, Bud>"
"No, I know you. Maybe you dont realize that but I know you better than anyone, and I was joking back in New Mexico that you get cranky when you don't eat, except that's kind of true and it's been… I mean, it's been days Eddie." Buck is full-on staring at him now, wide eyed add nearly manic, a juxtaposition all sight against the unmoving Eddie Diaz.
"Like, three," Eddie shrugs. "I had those peanuts,"
"We were still in Nashville then!"
"Buck, I promise I'm okay. We're only eight hours from home and Chris is already demanding that hole-in-the-wall pizza place,"
"Eddie," Buck says, and it sounds like a plea. Almost immediately, Eddie's entire body loosens, his fingers regaining color where they'd been white-knuckled around the steering wheel. "Nothings going to happen if we stop,"
He can hear the sound of Eddie swallowing, feel the gritty grinding of his teeth like they're his own, like their bodies had synced together even though they'd been pulled apart. "I just want to get you home."
As if a sign from God, Buck can see a billboard rapidly approaching with a handful of logos plastered along the front. "So w'll go through the drive-thru," He reasons, reaching over to squeeze Eddie's forearm. "Come on, it'll do me some good to stretch my legs, and I can't have you crashing again because you're all woozy,"
"I'm fine." Eddie grumbles, but Buck is already grinning at the first signs of his crumbling resolve. That softened demeanor and the way he's already slowing the car, eyes flicking up to the billboard when they pass by it. "We can stop, but only quickly, and no talking to strangers more than necessary, okay?"
"You got it," Buck mock salutes, already opening up his notes app to write out Eddie's Taco Bell order.
hey end up parking up once they've grabbed their food, Eddie refusing to let Buck drive even just for an hour, posted up its their seats rolled back and every inch of the dash covered in bags.
"Your drink, sir," Buck hands over the sickly sweetened ice tea, slotting his own into the cup holder.
Beside him, Eddie is already biting into a crunch wrap while still digging through the remaining bags to spread their buffet out properly.
He hadn't been snippy with the poor teenager in the drive-thru window, but he'd been short and exact with his words and barely let Buck recite their order before pulling forward to the payment window. His worry is flattering, but Buck can't help grinning over the fuss a little bit.
"Someone's hungry," He comments jokingly as Eddie continues to stuff his face in a way that really shouldn't be attractive in any capacity and yet endears him anyway, sauce smudged around his face. "you;re like one of those kitten videos when they get formula. I think if I tried taking that off you, you'd growl at me."
Eddie grumbles into his food. Buck snickers.
He lets the silence settle so Eddie can gourge himself in peace, commandeering the other mans phone so he can update Maddie on their journey. the wounds on his stomach and abdomen make it sort of uncomfortable to eat too quickly anyway, so he's happy to sit back and snack slowly.
When Eddie's done, he insists on gathering up all of the trash to take to a garbage can himself, forcing Buck to walk with him and stretch his legs.
When they're back in the car, he stops for a moment, both palms flat against his thighs. Buck waits. "Thank you,"
Buck shrugs, picking at a thread on his jeans. "You needed it."
Eddie hums, finally turning his body to look at Buck properly. "And you always know when I do, right?"
There's an itchy feeling under Buck's skin, a kind of trepidation that has him faltering. "Yeah, I guess so."
"It did take me a while to notice," Eddie admits slowly, "But I found a whole box of that organic fruit leather that I know you hate in your locker once. That wasn't for the team, was it?"
"Eddie," Buck says, warningly.
Eddie continues anyway. "You like taking care of people. It's the most obvious thing about you. But I think this is a bit more than that."
"I like taking care of you," Buck corrects, desperately. "You and Christopher. You're my favorite people to take care of."
"I didn't even think about food until you mentioned it." There's a hum in the car, the gentle rumble of the engine Buck hadn't even realized he'd started up again. "I couldn't think about anything else. It wasn't as important."
"I'm okay," Buck assures him, softly. "We made it out alive, again."
Eddie sniffles, a heartbreaking sound, nodding. "I know. But I didn't for a while, and all I could think about was the fact that there was so much I might've never been able to tell you."
Something harsh and desperate kicks up in Buck's chest, worms it's way into his throat, desperate to escape through a plea in his mouth. He tamps it down, giving Eddie the space he needs. "Okay. And do you want to now?"
"Yeah," Eddie whispers, eyes darting all around Buck's face, tracing the delicate features and mapping them away a if he doesn't already have them all memorised anyway. "I love you."
Buck's breath hitches. The engine is still humming, the air smells of Taco Bell and Eddie's sweet tea, and Buck can feel his phone buzzing on his thigh with texts from their family back in Los Angeles. "What?"
"I love you," Eddie says again, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "I'm in love with you."
Still buffering, Buck cracks a smile. "More than food?"
Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. "More than those peanut butter snickerdoodles," He pauses, shar canines digging into his lip. "And you?"
"Yeah," Buck whispers back, his hand sliding down the length of Eddie's forearm until his fingers are pressed into the scratched-up knuckles on the back of his hand. "Eddie, of course I do. Of course."
The hand under his own turns until they're palm-to-palm, fingertips pressed together. "Can you say it?"
"I love you," He promises, sliding their fingers together. "I just didn't know if I was allowed to,"
Eddie hums, stretching his arms out like a pleased cat on a sun-warmed windows edge, rolling his head onto his shoulder to smile at him. "Can you kiss me?"
Buck grins. "Still hungry?"
"For you?" Eddie replies, leaning closer. "Always."
Crumpling the tension, Buck leans closer to slot their mouths together. It's the best thing he's ever done.
He can feel Eddie shiver under his hands, keeping their palms clasped together while the other glides up to hold the back of his head, dragging him closer over the old-fashioned center console. He can taste the sweet tea now, on the heady hot slide of Eddie's tongue against his own, behind his teeth and against the soft inner-skin of his cheek.
He breaks away only to press kisses to the corner of Eddie's mouth, to his reddened cheeks and the little beauty mark under his eye, face splitting into a grin when he feels the tremble of a withheld giggle. He stays there, eyes shut with his mouth pressed against the line of his cheekbone, teeth flat against it. "This might be the best day of my life,"
"Might be?" Eddie asks, the smile audible in his words.
Using all of his willpower, Buck leans back to look at Eddie's face, keeping the anchoring hand against his neck. "Or the day Christopher was born,"
"You didn't even know us then," Eddie points out.
He shrugs. "And yet,"
Eddie smiles at him. "I love you."
"I love you," Buck hums, dragging his thumb along the hair at the nape of his neck. "I love you enough to make you as many snickerdoodles as you want for the rest of our lives,"
Eddie hums happily, squeezing his fingers. "And Christopher,"
"Of course,"
"And," Eddie pauses, his eyes darting up to where Buck knows his birthmark is, feeling the press of a thumb there. "Maybe anyone else we decide to add to the family,"
His breath shortens, stuttering. "I can't wait to get home,"
"Oh yeah?' Buck leans closer again, a hairs breadth away. "You wanna start trying for a baby?"
Eddie cackles, leaning away from his hands only to lean right back in again, kissing against the pink mark where his thumb had just been. "If all of your bones weren't broken right now I'd smack you."
"Get your hands on the wheel and off my body," Buck snarks, sliding their palms apart to drop it onto Eddie's thigh, a safe distance down by his knee.
He lets Eddie resituate himself in the drivers seat (after a few more stolen kisses, because Eddie is nothing if not insatiable), only reaching for the phone after they've pulled out of the Taco Bell parking lot. "When should I tell Christopher to expect us?"
"Seven hours, give or take," Eddie hums, flicking the radio back onto a quiet hum. "tell him there's pizza and a big family discussion."
"Oh yeah?"
"I'm not wasting any more time," Eddie tells him earnestly. If they weren't already back on the highway, Buck would kiss him again. "Not now that we've got you."
Buck grins, settling back into his seat. "I don't think it was wasted. It got us here."