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Eddie’s not certain about a lot, right now, yet he knows one thing: he’s tired of the damn questions.
Okay, maybe he knows two things. The second one being that he’s feeling really puffy.
It might be pushing it to say there’s one more grain of conscious knowledge that’s successfully clouding his mind, but he’ll take a gander, since it’s the most important fact of all—he’s craving a person. A very specific person that promised he’d be waiting.
As Eddie’s established, he can’t think straight. The oral surgeon hovering above him has a particularly nagging voice, and the white noise about his vitals and oxygen levels certainly aren’t helping the situation. Both of the women adorned in blue scrubs fussing over his condition are definitely aliens, too.
There’s no way to prove it, per se, but the assistant standing in the corner under harsh white fluorescents is staring at a computer, and in Eddie’s opinion that automatically makes her someone who’s evil incarnate. He’s got the heebie jeebies. He needs outta this chair stat.
Eddie starts to stand. The primary doctor, who looks uncannily like Jodie Foster from The Silence of the Lambs—nevermind that she’s wearing surgical scrubs and a mask—gentles him with a gloved hand to the shoulder. “Are you okay to walk, Mr. Diaz? Or I can have my assistant Mary secure you a wheelchair if you feel real dizzy?” she asks.
Is she Southern? Does Eddie’s surgeon have the Appalachian accent from the movie? Is his surgeon Jodie Foster? The assistant examining X-rays menacingly sort of bears resemblance to Hannibal Lecter. Wait a minute—
“Mr. Diaz?” Jodie Foster prompts, gentle. This is so trippy. “Are you alright?” She’s totally a detective on the side. Probably the CIA. Eddie’s onto her. “Here, let me help you.”
She fastens her grip around Eddie’s outstretched forearm when he wobbles to his feet, steadying him before letting go.
“We’ll make our way out to the lobby slowly. Let me know if you need to take a break.”
“Thanks, Jodie,” Eddie says around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “I gotta see someone, I gotta.”
The doctor lowers her mask once they’re outside of the spaceship. Room? Spaceroom? Who cares, Eddie’s on a mission.
“It’s Marleen, Mr. Diaz.” She smiles fondly. “You’re in good hands, don’t you worry.”
“I need Buck’s hands. He has nice hands. Where’s Buck?”
“Just down the hall. We set him up with some gossip magazines before your surgery to keep him company. Between you and me…” she leans in conspiratorially, and Eddie pauses midstep, hand shooting out when he loses his balance, knocking against the wall. He almost sends a very sad looking grey minimalist painting careening to the floor. “I’m not so confident that Mr. Buckley was able to sit still. He was pretty fidgety during the consultation a few months back. I reckon he’s anxious to see you.”
So Southern and Buck are the only thoughts Eddie has on the matter. “I really have to get to him.”
“Well, good thing he’s just through these doors,” Clarice The Detective reassures.
Eddie essentially trips over the threshold. It’s tunnel vision from that point on. His eyes rove over the crowded waiting area, frantic, until he finds his target.
Buck’s biting the cuticle of a thumbnail, eyes ping-ponging over the poster adjacent to his head that probably pertains to boring dental hygienics. He’s bouncing his bad leg nervously, still managing to look like the safest place in the world to land even while he thrums with obvious nerves. Buck’s the only real person here, definitely.
“Buckkk,” Eddie drawls to announce his presence. He sways on the linoleum when Buck’s head whips around like someone’s just uttered the word ‘fire’ in a packed room.
Eddie catches the attention of everyone who’d previously been glued to their phones or staring off into space. The bored receptionist behind the front desk huffs loudly. She sort of reminds Eddie of that old lady with the mohawk from Monster’s Inc. He’s watched a lot of Disney lately, thanks to a certain toddler.
Wow, Eddie should quit firefighting and dabble in celebrity dopplegängers, instead. He’s on a roll today.
The receptionist smacks her gum in a way that’s excruciatingly grating. Eddie wants to yell ‘quit it’ like a petulant child, but he refrains when Buck spawns beside him under five seconds later, hands hovering over Eddie’s torso. He wishes Buck would just touch. Touch him everywhere, preferably.
“There you are,” Eddie gushes, faceplanting into Buck’s crewneck-clad shoulder, closing the distance for the both of them. “I missed you! I had four teeth pulled.” He holds up three fingers and wiggles them. “I’m never getting them back, Buck.” Eddie rubs his forehead back and forth into the cotton like a cat seeking pets. “They’re gone. Forever. Do you feel bad for me?”
Buck laughs. The sound surrounds Eddie instantly. Angels sing. Birds chirp outside. There must be a leprechaun in the vicinity.
“So the procedure went well, then?” Buck directs this at True Detective, who’s smirking and already nodding along.
“Jodie Foster, this is my Buck,” Eddie introduces, untucking himself reluctantly from Buck’s sleeve. Buck slides a palm into the small of Eddie’s back, raising goosebumps when he rubs a grounding circle over the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt.
“I’m familiar, Mr. Diaz.” She winks at Buck. Oh, God. Is Eddie's doctor flirting in the middle of his discharge? “Everything was smooth sailing. As for the post-operative proceedings–”
“Actually,” Buck starts, sheepish. “I did research. I got my wisdom teeth out over a decade ago like a normal person but, uh. I wanted to be thorough. For him.” His hand tightens near Eddie’s hip. Eddie preens, absolutely vibrating.
“Ah, gotcha. Well, I’ll be quick,” Nancy Drew says. “It’ll take a few hours and some sleep for the general grogginess to lessen exponentially. It can take up to twelve hours for all sedation effects to wear off.” She lists directions off on each finger. “No straws or hard foods for at least a week. There’s a recommended list of options on our website. We don’t want blood clots.”
Eddie’s fortunate to have Buck with him, because he could simply care less. As the doctor yammers on, he loops a heavy arm around Buck’s nape and smushes their temples together indulgently.
“Did you know,” Eddie interrupts, “That Buck is my partner?” He can’t feel his lips, but he’s determined to drive home the point, regardless of sloppy speech. “Yeah, we’re like this.” Eddie makes a show of crossing his pointer and middle fingers, wagging them in front of the surgeon’s face. “So you can’t take him, Jodie Foster.” He shakes his head emphatically, ungelled hair flopping into his already-blurred field of vision. “Buck ain’t for sale.” Eddie mimics her Southern inflection beautifully. “Capiche?”
“Eddie,” Buck hisses when someone on the far end of the room snorts into their paperback, then covers it up with a cough. “Excuse him, he’s totally kidding.” He glances at the surgeon guiltily. “I think.”
“M’not,” Eddie grumbles, slumping into Buck like a sack of potatoes. “Paws off, or else. El es mío.”
Jodie Foster’s eyes sparkle annoyingly. “Duly noted, Mr. Diaz. If it’s any consolation, I’m a married woman. A happily married one, at that.” She turns to gaze at the grumpy receptionist, who cracks her first small grin when their eyes meet. “To that lovely lady with the endearing scowl on her face,” she adds as an afterthought.
The words go in one ear and out the other. Eddie’s a tad preoccupied with stuffing his nose into Buck’s collar and inhaling like he’s smelling a garden of petunias and not Buck’s musk. He can’t say there’s a vast difference—Buck’s the most hygienic guy on the planet.
“Anyway.” The doctor enunciates the second syllable, summoning up the strength to continue providing recovery information in the midst of Eddie blatantly insulting her integrity. “Can I assume you’re more familiar with the minor details, Mr. Buckley? You’re both medical professionals, I’m aware. You’ve got the written instructions?”
“Absolutely.” Buck’s quick to concur, already steering Eddie towards the sliding glass doors. “We’ll get outta your hair. Oh, and I’ll call if he needs a follow-up. I’ve got stockpiled Ibuprofen ready and waiting,” he rambles. “Thanks so much, Dr. Foster. I mean, Fuller. Dr. Marleen Fuller. Bye-bye. Bye!”
“Phone the office with any questions!” she calls out diligently after them, sounding exasperated.
Eddie’s not sure how they make it to Buck’s truck in one piece. He begs Buck to carry him the entire walk across the parking lot.
“I can’t pick you up bridal style right now, Eddie. What if you flail too hard and I drop you and you crack your head open on the cement?” Buck’s arm tightens around his waist. “What would I tell Chris? That’d be so embarrassing.”
“Don’t you care about me at all?” Eddie pouts, fumbling with the handle of the passengers’ side door. “Ow, it hates me.” He glares at the offending handle when it refuses to budge. “Ugh, open. Open sesame.”
“Okay, relax, Eddie. I've got ya.”
Buck pulls open the steel door effortlessly. Eddie wants to scream. He side-eyes Buck before lifting his foot to the running board—preparing to haul himself up like he’s scaling a cliff.
Both of Buck’s hands are now on his waist, as if the first one wasn’t sending Eddie into the vague beginnings of cardiac arrest. Before Eddie can struggle through the motions, Buck lifts him the rest of the way to the seat, then shuts the door and rounds the truck to the drivers’ side. No one’s ever been so mind-numbingly sexy.
Buck deposits himself behind the steering wheel, moves to key the ignition. He seems to think better of it, reaching over Eddie blindly to buckle his seat belt for him.
Eddie fixates on Buck’s jugular vein while he’s in close proximity. He contemplates leaning forward and sinking his battered teeth into that pale, white skin. Eddie would, if his mouth wasn’t being rented out to synthetic, scratchy fibers.
“You have a nice face,” Eddie mumbles when Buck falls back to fasten his own seatbelt. “You’re so–” he cuts himself off, noticing the flush creeping over Buck’s cheeks. “Pink,” Eddie finishes, but it comes out as ‘ping.’ “I look bad.” Eddie yanks down the sun visor above him to examine his reflection. “I’m so puffy. Why’d I do this, Buck? I’m a chipmunk on crack,” he whines, poking at the flesh of one swollen cheek.
“Oh, hey.” Buck snags the hand Eddie’s assaulting his own face with and smooths a thumb over the veins of his inner wrist. “You could never look bad, swear.”
Eddie gapes at him, deadpan. “I’m a hamster.”
“Not the point. Besides, you couldn’t postpone this forever, Eddie. Your dental insurance was ending. I’d’ve offered up mine in a heartbeat, but that’s grounds for, y’know, fraud and arrest.” Buck shrugs self-depracatingly. “We’d have to be. Um. Married, for that to be on our radar.”
“Then lessget married,” Eddie decides.
Buck fish-mouths exaggeratedly. “I– What? Wow, this propofol really hit you.”
Frustrated tears pool along Eddie’s lashline. “I want a cheeseburger.”
Buck winces. “Well, I. Uh.” He snaps his fingers like a dork. “The best I can do is soup. I can call Pepa on the way home for her caldo de pollo recipe. That’ll be good, even lukewarm. How’s that sound, Eddie?”
Eddie feels the overwhelming urge to cry harder. “Will you make it in the special pot?” he asks, leaning over the center console like a moth to a flame.
Buck smiles affectionately. “‘Course. Only the best for my favorite patient.”
Eddie wants to say so much to him. So many words. They’re all clogged up and sitting heavily on his numb tongue, waiting like tiny toothy predators festering in his gums, eager to pounce on Buck.
The gauze is suffocating, suddenly. He’s tingly all over, and it’s not just because he underwent major dental surgery an hour ago. He utilizes the hand not held snugly in Buck’s to scrabble at his bottom lip—tugs on it like that’ll fix his problem.
“No, no, no,” Buck says, shaking his head erratically like a wet golden retriever. “We’re not gonna remove that, sweetheart.”
Eddie, chastened and infinitely weepy, doesn’t register the surprised gasp Buck lets loose as soon as the term of endearment slips through the cracks.
Instead, Eddie’s actively plotting the best way to crawl into Buck’s crewneck with him, undetected.
“Can you hold both of my hands?” Eddie entreats. He almost thunks his forehead on the dashboard when he lets his body go weightless, but Buck catches him. He cradles Eddie’s cheek in his warmwarmwarm lion paw. Eddie surrenders to the touch. He glimpses piercing sky blue irises before closing his own lids and heaving a happy sigh.
“Tell you what,” Buck soothes, swiping a digit over the freckle just underneath the bag of Eddie’s left eye. “I need at least one limb to steer, so my right hand’s all yours. I’m gonna blast your weird country playlist, maybe even sprinkle in some Lady Gaga.”
Eddie cracks one lid open to evaluate his sincerity. “Bad Romance?” he inquires very seriously.
“On repeat,” Buck confirms. His face is alight with mirth. “And you are going to butcher every lyric. We’ll be back at my place pronto.”
“Promise?”
“You bet I do.” Buck trails the tips of his fingers across Eddie’s jawline, letting go only after he tangles their pinkies together to seal the deal.
Eddie sits back, satisfied. He always is when Buck’s in reach.
Two and a half days later, Eddie’s comfortably sprawled on Buck’s couch, binging, unfortunately, season four of Love is Blind. He’s determinedly ignoring the pain encompassing his molars.
Apparently, as soon as they crossed the threshold of Buck’s house after his surgery, Eddie had moaned and groaned about needing to see which couples made it to marriage.
His and Buck’s Netflix subscription had expired a month prior while Eddie was halfway through the episodes—they split their streaming services down the middle for the sake of saving tons of money.
Eddie had pretended to be unbothered when Buck broke the news that he stopped paying for Netflix. His excuse was that Theo had been more into Disney than anything else while Chris just gamed constantly, and that Eddie’s choice of reality television could typically be located on Peacock. Which, yes, was objectively true, but Netflix’s trashy TV is on another level, as evidenced by Eddie’s guilty pleasures: The Ultimatum, The Great British Baking Show, and Love is Blind. They’re Eddie’s big three, his kryptonite.
At the time, Eddie thought he’d have a go at breaking the cycle and subsequently, his addiction. Buck was an HBO guy, so Eddie figured he’d hop aboard whatever movie or TV fixation Buck was taking an interest in. He always wanted to be in the loop when it came to Buck’s hobbies and enjoyments.
Buck confided yesterday while holding a cold compress to Eddie’s face that Eddie had thrown a tantrum comparable to Theo’s outbursts when Buck tried to suggest another show for his post-surgery couch rotting.
To end Eddie's brief reign of terror, Buck resubscribed to the platform and supposedly provided his own commentary while they slurped broth for dinner that night. The specifics of the first twenty-four hours after his surgery are lost to Eddie.
Now, Buck hurtles into the living room with two plates stuffed with an array of soft fruit, eggs, and potatoes balanced on one arm. Dangling from his fingers are two straw-less cups of orange juice.
“Incoming, make some room,” he says, kicking lightly at Eddie’s ankle with a foot as he places breakfast on the coffee table.
Eddie rolls his eyes but holds one corner of the fuzzy blanket on his lap up, suspended in invitation.
Buck grins boyishly, plops himself down to Eddie’s right and tucks the blanket beneath his chin, getting cozy. “What’re we watchin’? Also, eat up.” He pats Eddie’s knee encouragingly.
Eddie’s stomach lurches pleasantly each time their thighs brush. “Don’t pretend you’re not just as invested as I am, Buck.”
Buck tips back against the headrest of the couch and pops a piece of kiwi into his mouth; swallows. “Alright, fine. Both of the blondes scare me, though.” Buck inclines his head to gaze at Eddie, eyes huge with puppy dog concern. “How’re you feeling? Anything I can do?”
Buck’s curls are damp from the shower he took before prepping their food. His lips are plush and rosy. He could kiss Eddie. That's about the only thing invading his brain other than shitty TV melodrama.
Eddie cuts into his yolky egg with the side of his fork, clears his windpipe. “You letting me crash is more than enough. Being here with me is more than enough,” he answers.
Buck bobs his head up and down, turning his attention back to the screen when one of the aforementioned freaky blonde women begins reading her fiancé to filth at the altar. Buck pinches and rolls a thread of their blanket between his thumb and pointer finger.
Eddie knows with certainty that he’s dying to fill the silence, regardless of the fact that it’s comfortable. “Okay, spill it, Buck.”
Buck blinks owlishly at him, eyes crinkling in surprise. “How’d you–”
“You’re an easy study, bud,” Eddie says.
The tips of Buck's ears gradually become a delectable shade of red. Eddie aches.
Buck blows out a breath, hesitates for a beat too long. “I wanted, um.” He scrunches his nose like that’ll get the words out quicker. “I wanted to know if you remember anything from the other day. That’s all.”
Eddie blanches. The question is like an anvil to the head. Tweety birds float cartoonishly close to his temples in his mind’s eye. Eddie tries to summon up something, understanding that there is a right way to answer this question.
He falls flat, devastatingly. “Was I a pain in your ass? I don’t remember much. Except that I was desperately craving fast food.”
Eddie sees the instant Buck’s walls fly up. He’s clearly missing crucial details; he wants to plead with Buck to let him back in. Either that or jump back in time to five minutes ago when Eddie wasn’t worried about his response to a question he has no recollective basis for.
Buck attempts to play it off. “Right. Duh.” He starts to stand up, food forgotten. “You know what? I left a mess in the kitchen. I’m gonna…” he points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen, dejected. “Yeah. Finish your plate, alright?”
He escapes in a whirlwind, leaving Eddie paralyzed on the sofa. Eddie lets himself stew for approximately two business minutes of spiraling before he’s up and after Buck.
He enters the kitchen conspicuously and loiters by the island, steadfastly silent. Buck’s already elbow-deep in dishes like he’s punishing them, shoulders tense and spine ramrod straight.
“Kids’ll be home soon from Maddie and Chim’s,” Eddie informs pointlessly to break the tension that lurks on every surface in this space. “What do you wanna do in the meantime? I could go for Game of Thrones.”
Buck pauses his rapid movements and visibly sags against the ledge of the counter. “I told you I’m gonna finish up in here,” he snaps, dropping a pan. It clangs deafeningly when it hits the bottom of the sink. Eddie reels back at his tone.
Buck shrinks into himself, runs dripping hands through his curls, then twists to face Eddie head on. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t. I didn’t mean to–”
“Did I say something bad after I got out of surgery? Is that why you’re upset with me?”
Buck’s brows scrunch like he’s about to cry. There’re splashed droplets of water dotting the hem of his navy t-shirt—taunting Buck’s tears to join them. Eddie needs to prevent that.
“I’m not mad at you, Eddie. I’m mad at myself and I’m taking it out on you.”
That’s okay, Eddie wants to say. Do whatever you want just as long as you’re not going anywhere.
Eddie pads across the inches of floor separating them until their chests are scant centimeters from bumping. “What’s wrong? And don’t lie to me.” He jabs a finger into Buck’s sternum.
Buck looks to the ceiling, as if for guidance. “You said some things at the dentist’s office,” he admits. “And… after we left.”
Eddie pales. “Define ‘things.’ Was I– was it anything incriminating?”
Buck frowns, eyes fogged with sadness when they finally connect with Eddie’s. “No, nothing incriminating. Just things I’ve wanted to hear from you for a while. Stuff that you probably wouldn’t have told me if you weren’t high as a kite. Things you definitely didn’t mean.”
And just like that, Eddie slumps in relief. He also guffaws, slapping a hand over one of Buck’s pecs. He sobers up when Buck yelps.
“O–kay. I’m gonna pretend this reaction isn’t mildly offensive,” Buck scowls, but the corner of his top lip is ticking up. Eddie’s entertainment has always been Buck’s own. “What’s so funny?”
“Thank God.” Eddie ignores him in favor of caressing Buck’s hipbone. “I thought I said something that hurt you.”
“You kinda did,” Buck bristles.
“No, no, I mean. I should’ve asked you what happened once I slept the sedatives off. But Buck.” He claps his free hand over his spot—the juncture of Buck’s neck and shoulder. His thumb digs into the hollow of Buck’s throat. “I’m disgustingly truthful in the aftermath of anesthesia.”
Buck’s forehead creases in confusion. “Huh?”
“Ask Hen about the things I said after surgery last September when I got hurt during that Class C house fire. Or, actually, don’t.”
Buck flinches at the mention of the event. “Can’t believe I wasn’t there when you woke up.”
Eddie strokes his clavicle tenderly. “Not your fault. What matters is that that’s why I didn’t want anyone else to pick me up from this appointment. I don’t trust anyone else with my dirty laundry.” Eddie tips forward, lips skimming the shell of Buck’s ear. “Convenient that my only secrets are all about you—what I feel for you.”
He hears Buck gulp. He absent-mindedly pulls on the strings of Eddie’s (borrowed) hoodie. “So when you said you wanted to marry me, you meant that?”
Eddie chokes on nothing. His bravado exits the premises. “Beg your pardon?”
Buck pinches Eddie’s side and Eddie takes the cue, reclining back—but not before running his nose along Buck’s cheekbone.
Buck is center stage once again. Gone are the traces of discomfort and irritation. In their stead: smugness, complete and absolute. Eddie loves him so much he could spontaneously combust.
“In the spirit of candor, I’m tempted to kiss you right now,” Buck says, grabbing at Eddie’s waist and pressing their chests firmly together.
“Oh, are you now?” Eddie goads, blushing like a middle schooler about to dance with their crush. “No suction for at least seven days. Doctor’s orders.”
“Jesus, Eddie. I was aiming for a peck and maybe some heavy petting.” He leans in until their foreheads touch. “I’m not a damn monster.”
“Good. If I got a blood clot because of your mouth, I’d never live it down,” he whispers against Buck’s lips.
Buck’s hands ascend to cradle Eddie’s face gently, so mindful, always.
They’re close enough that Buck’s dilated pupils are morphing into one warped cyclops eye, and that’s the last logical thought Eddie has. Everything else disappears when Buck kisses him.
He keeps it chaste and careful, there and gone. Eddie groans plaintively, coiling an arm around Buck’s neck when he detaches from Eddie’s mouth to suck trailing kisses all over the underside of his still-swollen jaw. Eddie pecks what he can reach of Buck’s hairline in retaliation and whines against his skin as soon as Buck exploratorily bites at his earlobe.
“On second thought, we could get away with making out,” Eddie rasps.
“Mm, I don’t think so,” Buck purrs, tracing a path with his damp lips back to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “I can’t risk facing Dr. Fuller again after she witnessed you staking your claim.”
“Well, my stake-claiming worked, didn’t it? Past Eddie deserves a pat on the back.”
“You always get what you want with me,” Buck says, feigning annoyance that’s undercut by the way he’s looking at Eddie with open adoration. “You say ‘jump,’ and I jump. You say ‘terrorize a lesbian oral surgeon,’ and I enable you.” He kisses Eddie’s cupid’s bow.
Eddie grins at him sunnily. “Guess it’s nice to know I can rope you into taking care of me any time, any place.”
Buck flutters his lashes prettily. “Wouldn’t wanna be doing anything else.”