Archive of Our Own

There is something that Buck has been trying really very hard not to let himself know. He really didn’t know, and then he started to think maybe, just maybe, and then he shut that down entirely. It’s just been harder, lately. There’s something about having Eddie back in L.A., something about the way he looked at Buck when he brought Chris to L.A. in what couldn’t help but feel like a grand gesture, something about the way the world stopped as Buck landed on a rooftop and Eddie grinned at him, hair hanging loose around his face, triumphant grin in place.

Still, there’s a reason why he’s not been letting himself know it, even if it’s bursting through every well-worn seam in his heart these days. He’s running out of time to not know it, he’s pretty sure, the plausible deniability worn so thin that it’s practically see-through. 

Eddie and Chris announced that they’re coming back for good, will have to go back to El Paso to collect their stuff and officially put Eddie’s house on the market, and then it’s back to Los Angeles. It feels like no time at all passes, and they’re back in L.A. for good, and Buck knows.

“What’s up with you today?” asks Eddie, brow furrowed in light bemusement, after Chris has gone to school. 

There were other, better, times to do this. Eddie and Chris had gone to El Paso for a solid three weeks, maybe before then would have been the move. Three weeks should have been enough time to find somewhere good to stay, it’d be great not to have to crash on Maddie and Chim’s couch when the baby is due so soon now, and he knows he can't stay on the Diazes’ couch forever. He’s visited at least twenty places, has some short term options that he could probably move into today if needed, some more long term options that he hasn’t been able to bring himself to commit to in any real way. He’d been planning to have moved out by the times that Eddie and Chris were back, but maybe this is why he was waiting. Maybe he needs to do this, let himself know this, before he actually moves out. 

“Nothing’s up,” hedges Buck, but he’s weighing his options, so when it comes out they both immediately know he’s lying. “It’s– Look.”

Eddie frowns properly now, sitting next to Buck on the couch with his usual easy grace. 

There’s a part of Buck that still thinks it would be good not to know, but there’s also a part of him that thinks maybe it would be better to say it. Maybe it’s time to say it out loud, wash the wound clean, and get to live his life. Maybe it’ll be better for both of them to actually put a name to it. 

“Buck? What’s going on?” asks Eddie, and it's been a common refrain of the last month or so, but this time it's about something different. 

“Okay,” says Buck, putting his half-drunk mug down on the coffee table, and turning decisively to face Eddie. He wishes, abruptly, that he’d waited until the evening. This would be easier with a beer in hand. “Okay. Look, I know that this isn’t– That you won’t–”

“Buck?” asks Eddie, his frown deeper now, a hint of something wild in his eyes as he searches Buck’s face, tries to read the words in Buck before he can even speak them out loud, before he can even admit them to himself.

Buck lets out a frustrated breath, throws his head back briefly to look at the ceiling and gather himself. He looks back at Eddie. “I didn’t realize it would be this hard,” he says to Eddie, honest and feeling stupid with it. 

“What is it?” asks Eddie, “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

“I know,” agrees Buck, because not being open and honest with Eddie has caused half of their recent arguments, because it’s true, for better or worse. “I’m getting there.”

He takes another deep breath in, hold, out. 

“Okay,” he says, “Okay, okay. I need to tell you something, and it’s not– I just need to tell you to have told you, does that make sense?” 

Eddie nods at him, eyes confused but soft, and it’s bubbling up out of Buck. There was no way that he was going to be able to keep not knowing it forever. 

“Eddie, I’m in love with you,” he says, heart thrumming in his chest, in his throat, in his mouth. He feels hot and cold and dizzy by turns.

“What?” asks Eddie faintly, barely even a question.

“I’m in love with you,” Buck says again. “I didn’t know, I didn’t mean to, but I am. I am.”

“You– Right, okay,” says Eddie, so visibly buffering that it makes Buck’s heart clench a little in his chest. Of course he’s in love with Eddie. How could he possibly have let himself pretend otherwise. “Wasn’t expecting this, bud,” says Eddie, and he sounds so shocked that Buck can’t help a wry smile. Of course Eddie’s surprised. They must be the only two people in existence who didn’t already know. “I– Buck, man, you know that I care about you, but…” 

“I know,” he says gently to Eddie, because he did know, but that doesn't make this moment hurt any less, watching Eddie wide-eyed and trying to process, stumbling over his words in a way that he never really has around Buck. “I know, I already knew. I kept saying, it’s pathetic to fall in love with your straight best friend, I tried really hard not to, I really didn’t want… I just. I wasn’t telling you because I expected anything,” he really tries to look Eddie in the eyes, show him how earnest he is, but Eddie’s eyes are almost glazed over in shock, unseeing. “I didn’t– I had to tell you. I can't keep ignoring it, it was eating away at me.”

That gets Eddie to blink, like the idea of Buck in pain over this is all it took, shaking his head a little and focusing back on Buck. 

“I get it,” he says, always so generous with Buck. “I do, I get it. Can’t lock everything away forever.”

“Not for lack of trying!” jokes Buck, and maybe it's a little weak, but he can’t really be blamed for that, in the moment, because the more he looks at Eddie, so poleaxed, the more he knows that this is what will define him forever, this minute. Eddie’s the love of his life, probably, and he loves Buck even if he’s not in love with him, and that just has to be enough.

“Buck," says Eddie, all gentle soft, and it’s more than Buck can bear. 

“Don’t,” he says quietly, “Eddie, don’t. It’s okay.”

“If I could–” Eddie starts, before cutting himself off. 

“Enough,” says Buck softly, “Please don’t say that.”

“I’m straight,” says Eddie, like he can't stop himself, like it hurts him to hurt Buck like this.

“I know,” says Buck, tired and a little sad, “I kept saying– I know you’re straight, I tried not to, but…”

“Buck,” says Eddie, eyes tracing Buck's face frantically. He wonders idly what he can see there, whether there heartbreak is any more visible now it's been confirmed? “I can't lose you, you know that, right?"

“I can’t lose you either,” admits Buck, “This doesn’t… This doesn't change anything, right?” 

He comes across maybe a little more desperate than he should, but it's still hits him hard in the solar plexus when Eddie says, “Right.” It’s the relief, that’s sinking in his chest. It has to be. 

“Okay,” says Buck, picking up his mug and draining the remaining coffee. “I actually have a meeting scheduled with my real estate agent, so I should probably head out to that.”

“Okay,” agrees Eddie, but he’s still moving slow, his eyes wide and a little absent. He looks like he’s in shock. 

Buck gets up to go, pulls his shoes on, goes to grab his wallet from the end table he's been using as a bedside table while he crashes on Eddie’s couch. Eddie grabs his bicep, sudden and strong, and when Buck looks at him, he looks a little frantic with something. Fear, maybe. 

“We're good, right?” Eddie asks, and there's a tremor in it, so faint that Buck thinks anyone less attuned to Eddie wouldn’t hear it. 

“We’re good,” agrees Buck placidly, “Promise. We’ll be good. Nothing’s going to change.”

Eddie nods once jerkily, and then subsides, letting his hand fall off of Buck’s arm.

Buck gives him a little nod and then heads outside, pulling his phone out before he's even gotten to his Jeep. 

He feels a little empty, but he doesn't feel surprised. This is exactly what he expected, exactly what he knew the outcome would be, even when he didn’t let himself know any of the rest of it. 

He dials on autopilot. 

“Hey, Ms. Nolan? The place we were talking about yesterday, would that still be available? As soon as possible, honestly. Yeah, tomorrow works! Sounds good, I’ll head to your office right now?” 

———

Eddie doesn’t actually have to do a tonne of work to rejoin the 118. Having Chim as captain and actively wanting him there is helpful, certainly, but there's a modicum of recertification he has to do, and proof he can still pass the physical. That one he's actually been a little worried about, driving for Uber wasn't exactly keeping his cardio up, but he's been doing his best to get back into shape since he’s known he's coming back after all.

The day after Buck says…what Buck said, Eddie's at the Fire Academy for his recertification. He passes with flying colors, and he’s not a little smug about it. It’s earned smugness, so it's fine, because despite all the months doing fuck all and how little he slept last night, he's still here, still good at this. 

He gets home, vague plans to convince Buck that they should pick up some Thai food in celebration, the urge to brag to someone who will be proud of him ever-increasing. It takes maybe thirty seconds to realize what looks different about his living room. All of Buck's stuff is gone. He’d boxed up a good half of his stuff when Eddie and Chris had said they were coming back, but inevitably stuff had come back out of boxes the longer he’d been crashing on their couch. That’s all gone now, conspicuously empty spots where he’d kept his basil plant, his toiletries bag, the historical biography he’s been slowly making his way through. All gone, like Buck has excised himself from Eddie’s life. 

He digs his phone out of his jeans pocket, inexplicably angry. Explicably angry, actually. Buck had said, had promised, that nothing would change, that Eddie wouldn’t lose him just because he doesn’t, just because he can’t–

“Hey, how'd it go?” asks Buck on the other end of the line, excited and happy, and it fans the flames of Eddie's frustration.

“Where are you?” he asks, ignoring Buck's question entirely. 

“Oh, man, are you at your place already?” asks Buck, like suddenly the word ‘home’ is too fucking good for him. 

“Sure am, bud,” says Eddie through gritted teeth. “Figured we could celebrate. Where are you?” 

“Celebrate? So it went well? Amazing! Did you guys hear? Eddie’s passed his recerts!”

“Buck?" asks Eddie, suddenly so fucking tired. 

"Right, sorry. My meeting with the agent yesterday went well, had to move quick or lose this place.”

"You moved out?” asks Eddie, who already kind of knew that, but selfishly wants to hear Buck have to say it. 

“I know, I know, it’s been sudden, I wasn't expecting it to come together so quickly.”

“You didn't tell me any of this yesterday,” points out Eddie, because after Buck had left the house for his realtor meeting, after Eddie had spent two solid hours sort of thinking and sort of paralysed, Buck had had come back. They’d gone to grab Chris together, had a normal night of Mario Kart and some marinated fish dish that Buck had whipped up. They'd had beers after Chris had gone to bed, and watched some of that stressful cooking drama that Buck loves. 

“I didn’t want to distract you before your recertification today, " says Buck, “Not that– I just mean, I had to move today, and I figured I could surprise you with it when you were done. Surprise!”

“I haven’t even seen the place," says Eddie, aware vaguely that he can practically hear himself pouting. “Maybe I could help you move?”

“I, uh. Chim and Ravi helped me move already,” says Buck, just a touch sheepish, “Didn’t want you to go straight from your recertification and physical to hauling boxes! But we should definitely still celebrate. You want to come and see the new place, or should I come over there?”

It's impossible to define why he's still kind of hurt, still kind of mad, because this is good, right? This is what he should want, as Buck’s friend, for him to find a new place and clear off his couch. It’s not like Eddie gave Buck much of a heads up before he decided to move, last time, and why would he? They’re just friends. This is normal. This is Buck keeping it normal. 

“How unpacked are you? Chris will want to see your new place.”

There’s a longer pause than Eddie's expecting.

“Honestly still a bit of a mess, and besides Chris has that raid between 6-7 tonight. Maybe this weekend?” 

“I completely forgot, yeah, good point. Okay, so celebratory dinner here tonight?"

“Sure,” says Buck easily, “I could drive past that Thai place we like, get takeout?”

There’s a lump in Eddie’s throat that he couldn't possibly explain. This is exactly what his plan for tonight had been. It doesn’t fundamentally matter if they drive out together or if Buck grabs it on his way over. It doesn’t make a difference if Buck ends the night on his couch or in his own bed.

“Sounds great. See you later, then.”

He sounds normal, which is good and expected, because he feels normal too. 

———

There’s something about seeing Eddie in his new place that Buck honestly can't abide. It’s like his presence makes every single flaw of the place more glaringly apparent. He doesn't have room to hang all his wall art, the door frame hangs wonky so you always catch the door handle on your hipbone, the kitchen is too small. 

It’s not like Buck didn't know it wasn't a perfect place when he agreed to move into it, but he couldn’t stay at Eddie’s any fucking longer. He knew, he knew that Eddie wouldn’t reciprocate, no matter what everyone else kept implying, and he'd worked so hard not to get his hopes up, not to even think about it, but. It’s hard not to flashback to that stupid couch, his favorite place in the world once upon a time, now forever the location when he stupidly bared his foolish heart and heard exactly what he’d always known he’d hear: I can’t love you. 

No one can ever love him in the way he wants, which is the sort of lesson you would have thought he would have learnt already, but here he fucking is, back there again. 

Watching Eddie scowl around his tiny kitchen, like he’s measuring it up to something and finding it wanting, like this rat-trap of an apartment is what called Buck away from South Bedford Street. Like it’s at all reasonable to expect Buck to spend the rest of his life sleeping on the couch in the living room, little more than a pet, desperately craving a family to love him. 

“This place is going to be a heat trap in midsummer,” says Eddie for what has to at least be the third time. 

“I don't think I’ll be here in midsummer,” says Buck, having given up on valiantly changing the subject.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asks Eddie abruptly, almost angrily.

Buck frowns in confusion. 

“It’s a short term contract,” he says, confused, “I thought I told you.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, just a little. “How short is short term? Should we be expecting you back at our place in a week or two?”

“No,” replies Buck, a little too quick, so he tries to soften it with a laugh. “Not that short, no, don’t worry. I’m looking into new places already, anyway."

“I see,” says Eddie, and it sound short and sharp somehow. 

“Something long term. Something real, you know?” Buck keeps going, not sure why it matters so much that Eddie gets this, but it does. “Something I chose. I’ve never actually lived anywhere I’ve chosen, that's crazy, right?”

“You chose to live at ours,” says Eddie stiffly, and Buck feels the sting of being known and understood less well than he expected. 

“Yeah,” he says, defensive, “But that was for you and Chris, and I didn't mean it like that anyway.”

“Right,” says Eddie, “Yeah. You meant it like you chose to live here.” 

Does he not get it, or is he purposefully refusing to get it? Either way, Buck has to stop expecting more from Eddie than he's willing to give. He has to stop acting like Eddie should know his every thought or feeling. It’s not fair to either of them. 

“Sure,” he says in reply, and he can feel the fake, brittle spread of his own smile. Eddie’s eyes narrow even further, and then he smiles himself, and Buck can tell it’s just as fake. 

God. This is going to get better, this has to get better, but right now it still just sucks. They’re not talking about that day, because of course they’re not, when have they ever talked about anything real, and that's always worked before, they’ve always found an equilibrium. This is just. It’s taking time. It’ll take time.

It's kind of funny. When the lawsuit happened, and Eddie yelled at him in a grocery store, he’d thought maybe they’d never be friends again. When he’d arrived back at the station and Eddie had looked right through him, Buck had thought maybe that was it. He’d had a best friend and he'd blown it. Eddie had pulled him into a hug within 24 hours, already willing to forgive and forget, to move on. This isn’t worse. Buck didn't do anything wrong this time, he knows that, and he knows Eddie thinks that too, but somehow this is taking longer to get back to normal than anything else has. 

Mostly, Buck isn't really sure what normal is, now that he's admitted to himself, to both of them, that he’s in love with Eddie, that he probably always has been. He’s trying and trying to find it, but god, what is it? And some days it really doesn’t feel like Eddie’s helping. 

So they’re standing in his new apartment, which is awful and pokey and he knows it, and they're fake smiling at each other, and Buck just wishes they were already past this. Wishes it didn’t feel wrong to have Eddie in this space, wishes they knew how to fall back into one another like usual without Buck being in love. Wishes he wasn’t, just for a moment, even though he likes loving Eddie. It’s just that it's easier to like it when Eddie’s not here, trying not to grimace at Buck’s counter space, making him feel like wanting to choose a permanent home for himself is crazy or stupid.

“Beer?” he offers, and it’s still Eddie’s favorite brand in the fridge, and maybe that too is a concession he needs to give up, but for the moment it’s worth the detente as Eddie catches sight of the label, as his smile becomes real.

———

Eddie is trying his goddamn best, he is, but it’s just been a lot so fucking quickly. He’s been sleeping less than he'd like, the same memory playing over and over again on the back of his eyelids each night. 

It’s not a big deal. Just, for some reason, it’s hard not to think about each night. It’s sort of like when you play back an argument, think of the perfect comeback days or weeks later. Except it wasn’t an argument, and there's nothing else that Eddie should have, could have, said.

Anyway, he's sleeping less than he’d like, and it’s weird, but he's lonely. His house doesn’t have the horrible void that it had when Chris was gone, and Buck barely overlapped with them for two weeks, and yet, somehow, the house feels too empty. 

He leans against the doorframe to Chris’ room, knocks it gently. 

Chris looks up from his desk, where he's been doing homework. 

"One sec,” he says, holding one hand up as he keeps writing. He finishes a sentence and puts the lid back on his pen pointedly, turning to look up at Eddie. 

“Pen and paper, old school,” comments Eddie lightly. 

“Yeah,” says Chris, rolling his eyes, “They’re scared of AI, I think.”

“Sensible of them," says Eddie, “I've been saying you can't trust HILDY for years.”

"Not HILDY, Dad, just– Never mind. What’s up?” 

“I was wondering what you wanted to do for dinner tonight? Thought we could invite Buck round, do a movie night?"

Chris grimaces, just a little. “I’ve got that raid tonight, remember?” he says.

“Right,” says Eddie, because Chris did clear it with him the other day, but he hadn’t paid it much mind. There are some drawbacks, perhaps, to keeping Chris in high quality gaming systems. 

“Obviously if you and Buck want to do a movie night without me, that’s cool,” offers Chris easily, “I get it. Maybe next time I can join.”

“Right,” says Eddie again. He feels the air around him, molasses slow, as though from a distance. “Another time, I guess. Shall we just get takeout tonight?”

“Ooh, I’ve been craving Chinese,” says Chris, perking up. 

“Great,” says Eddie, “Come get me when you’ve finished your homework and we’ll put the order in.”

He walks away, leaves Chris to it, and tries not to feel too hollow. There was a time when nothing in the world would have been more exciting to Chris than a movie night with Buck. Than Buck in any form. 

Eddie stares at his phone, glad he hadn’t already texted Buck to suggest it, sort of sick with it too.

Chris is right, he could still text Buck, ask him to come over and spend the evening with Eddie, knowing that Chris is in another room, already busy. 

It feels harder, somehow. It feels like it might be crueller too, now. Buck’s never had a problem just showing up at South Bedford Street with no warning when he wants to be there, so maybe the fact that he keeps not showing up is just what it seems. Maybe he just doesn’t want to be here. If Buck wanted to be here, he would be. Chris is a better pull than Eddie, even now that Buck claims he l– If Eddie texts and admits that Chris is busy, he’s not entirely sure what the response will be, not anymore, and he's not sure he's ready to see Buck tell him that he needs space. If he doesn’t push too hard, he can't be told to back off. It's pretty obvious that Buck’s trying to get space, and apparently moving twenty minutes out into the world’s smallest and most mildewed apartment isn’t space enough. 

Eddie's still staring at his phone, long since gone to sleep, when Chris emerges from his room to order the takeout.

———

The thing about Chimney being officially made Captain is that he can't really be partners with Hen anymore. It’s lucky that Eddie already has paramedic training, and honestly, it's lucky that Buck's already gotten used to working with Ravi. 

It’s kind of embarrassing, how quickly he gravitates to Eddie’s orbit, even when he knows better. Things are normal, they honestly are, except that Buck's had a mortifying few weeks of realizing that he's never been very good at being normal with Eddie. Having him partnered with Hen, off in the ambulance half the time instead of in the engine with the rest of them, it's made it excruciatingly clear. For a start, he's never talked this much to Moss or Henson in his life, and they've been on the A shift with the rest of them for at least four years. More than that, there was a particularly humiliating work out session with Ravi while Eddie and Hen were on a medical call. 

“They’ve been a while,” Ravi had said, “Wonder if we’re gonna have to delay lunch."

“They’ve only been twelve minutes,” Buck had replied in reflex, and Ravi had just looked at him. “It’s not–  Maybe I'm just observant."

“Yeah,” Ravi had laughed at him, “Maybe. Bet if it was me, you wouldn’t know it down to the minute."

“Well, that’s different,” Buck had said, like he didn't know exactly the ways in which it was different.

“All that effort, and now you're denying we're friends?" Ravi teases, but there's something in his eyes that says he knows and he's giving Buck an out if he needs it. 

“Something like friends,” Buck concedes, getting up and ruffling a hand through Ravi’s hair on the way out of the gym to much loud squawking, “Gonna get started on lunch, you're clearly getting hangry.”

He’d gone up to the loft and started chopping vegetables for a risotto, and tried hard not to dwell too hard on how different his friendship with Eddie has always been from his friendships with truly anyone else. 

So it kind of sucks, having Eddie partnered with someone else at the station, but it’s kind of good too. He’s getting better at having normal boundaries with Eddie, behaving like other best friends do. It’s kind of helpful to have Hen and Chimney there as a model, also best friends, also separated when they’ve been partners for years, but actually kind of handling it despite all that. Chimney complains about missing Hen, complains that she’s left him alone with a bunch of morons whenever she and Eddie are off in the ambulance, complains that he misses getting to be more hands-on. It’s all good-natured, a smile shared between friends. 

Buck does his best to emulate that, though with less complaining. Honestly, he's pretty used to working with Ravi by now, and they work well together. They might not be quite the well honed machine that he and Eddie were, but that had taken time. They’ll get there. 

Sometimes, he goes to call Eddie on FaceTime, and forgets that Eddie’s actually somewhere in the station behind him. He's back, and it's good to have him back, but it’s all so different that sometimes there's just a moment where Buck thinks Eddie's still in El Paso. He’s good at shaking that off, but it sits weirdly in his gut that he can even make the mistake in the first place. 

“You good?" asks Hen, coming up to where Buck sits in the loft of the station, nursing a herbal tea because it's got to be three in the morning if it’s anything.

“Yeah,” says Buck kind of absently. “I think so. Maybe not. I don't know.”

“That sounds about right,” says Hen, sitting on the arm of the couch next to him. “Want to talk about it?"

“I just… I don’t know. I know that change is inevitable, and that you have to learn to embrace it, but so much has changed, and it's just hard, sometimes.”

“Oh, Buckaroo,” says Hen, carding her fingers into the hair at the back of Buck’s neck. “I miss him too.”

“I know," says Buck, and he can feel tears trying to well up in his eyes. “I know we all miss him, I’m not trying to– I know we all do, I just–” His voice seizes in his throat, unable to forge on.

“You're allowed to miss him,” says Hen quietly, “You’re allowed to miss what we used to be. Lord knows I do.”

Buck leans into her hand a little rather than answer. 

“Eddie’s a good partner,” says Hen after a while, “Bit too gung-ho for my tastes. Moves before he thinks.”

“He has good instincts,” Buck replies, a smile in his voice.

“I think I never gave him enough credit for how much trouble the two of you would get in.”

“Definitely not,” agrees Buck, laughing a little now. 

“I know it’s different now,” says Hen, more serious again, “But even without Bobby, the 118 is always going to be more than a number, I know you know that."

“I do.”

“Change might be inevitable, but you’re allowed to resent that a little, if you want,” she offers, and Buck huffs a laugh, looks at her properly. Her eyes are so gentle, so knowing. “You scared us, you know, when you shut down, after it…After.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Buck says plaintively, “I was trying to, you know, be there for everyone.”

“I know,” says Hen gently, “And that was sweet of you. We wanted to be there for you too, you know?”

“Huh,” says Buck, “I guess I just. I couldn’t see it that way.”

“It’s hard to see, in the middle of it,” says Hen. “And I know we're still in the middle of it, but…”

“Yeah," says Buck, “I know.” It’s not like it's over, the grief of it all, but it’s a little less all-consuming. Even if things are different, even if they’re different, it’s a little easier now. It comes and goes in waves, of course, but there’s something about being here, all of them, having meals together again. It helps. There’s no need for a grave marker in Los Angeles, because they already have the 118, because it's impossible to be in this station, to sit in this loft or cook in this kitchen, without mourning Bobby, without paying tribute. 

“Think you can try for some sleep in the bunkroom?” asks Hen, her fingers still carding through his hair rhythmically. It's so soothing. 

“Maybe soon,” Buck promises, “I’ll finish this first.”

“Sounds like a plan," Hen agrees, getting up to stretch. She goes over to the counter to refill her water bottle, and then gives him a nod as she heads down the stairs. “See you down there, Buckley." 

Buck nods in return, and leans back into the couch, closing his eyes for a just a beat or two. He’ll join everyone downstairs soon, but there's some odd comfort to dozing on a couch, even when there's a perfectly good bed waiting for him.

———

Eddie’s trying not to be mad, but Buck was clearly fucking lying. “This doesn’t change anything” like this hasn’t changed fucking everything. Like Buck didn’t drop this huge life-altering piece of information and then immediately move out, as though Eddie even asked him to do that. Like they’re not paired up with other people at work, and Eddie doesn't have to sit in the engine and listen to Buck's inside jokes with Ravi and fucking Moss of all people. 

The worst part of it all is that he can't actually complain. They still see each other all the time, still FaceTime when they're off shift and not hanging out, still go grocery shopping together for god’s sake. It’s not the same as those few weeks when Buck was on their couch, having given up the loft for them both, before he found the awful little matchbox apartment he's living in now. They’ll go around the store together, and then split off to their separate cars, a cheery wave over Buck's shoulder to him, and Eddie left in a stupid parking lot feeling weirdly alone even if they've spent half the day together. 

He waits until he gets home before he FaceTimes Buck, which feels like a concession of some sort now that he got so used to FaceTiming Buck between Uber rides. 

“Hey!” exclaims Buck, smile bright, as he tries to balance his phone on something on his counter. His stand-mixer, probably. That apartment does not have the amount of counter space that Buck needs, half of his stuff is still in cupboards or boxes. It puts Eddie's teeth on edge. He could have taken longer, found somewhere that’s a better fit at least. “What’s up?”

“Meant to check in with you about something,” says Eddie, instead of what he wants to say which is ‘since when do I need a reason to call you?’. 

“Ominous, what's up?” asks Buck. He’s bought that weird environmentally friendly washing up liquid, and he squints just a little as he tries to measure it out and mix it up.

“Chris has been out a lot lately, and I know that he wants to rebuild the friendships that sort of stagnated while he was away."

“Makes sense,” agrees Buck.

“It does, and I know that’s definitely part of it, but I think maybe he's sort of testing me?”

“Testing you how?"

“I guess I'm not entirely sure. Like, is it because he knows I’m less likely to say ‘no’ to him  right now? Is he trying to push me to get me to set a boundary?"

Buck pauses, head tilting in thought. It's an endearing habit, no matter what dog jokes Hen likes to mutter under her breath. Chris does it too sometimes, which Eddie's never quite been able to articulate how that makes him feel. 

“I mean,” says Buck, “They both sound pretty plausible. Maybe it's a combo of the two?”

“Or maybe I'm just reading into my son having friends…” sighs Eddie.

“Maybe,” concedes Buck. “Have you asked Hen and Karen? Denny’s around Chris’ age, they might have some insight. Oh, or Athena, she and Harry definitely went through a rough patch recently, but I think there was some stuff when May was a teen too.” 

Eddie’s stomach is sinking, though he couldn’t give a good reason why.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “That’s not a bad idea.” 

There’s a long beat. Buck’s putting away his freezer stuff, and Eddie’s just staring at the camera, watching the unconcerned and easy air that Buck is moving with, and feeling nauseous. The silence feels different than normal. Awkward, somehow, even though Eddie’s never had a fucking awkward silence with Buck in his life, and Buck himself doesn’t look like he’s picked up on any awkwardness. It’s all Eddie then. Of course it is.

“You okay?" asks Buck as he turns back to the camera and seems to register Eddie’s facial expression right now as something to be concerned about. 

“Yeah, I– I was sort of hoping you could talk to him, to Chris I mean. Check in, you know?” 

He hasn’t had to actually ask Buck to help him with Christopher in years. Maybe he never has, not really. Buck always leaped in to help, even before Eddie really knew him, as though it’s just what anyone would do. Even on the rare occasions where Eddie raised something that Chris was going through and Buck didn’t immediately volunteer himself, he never really felt like he had to ask for help. The help was implied, implicit, expected. He voluntold Buck how to help sometimes, but it never felt like this. It never felt like he was actually asking, because it never felt like Buck might say no.

He can see Buck freeze, face half caught in a wince. Can see the moment where he remembers this is a FaceTime. 

“I mean, I– Sure,” says Buck, but he sounds reluctant. He sounds uncomfortable, like he’s just discovered the awkwardness that Eddie was feeling. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” replies Eddie, trying hard not to snap, feeling suddenly defensive of himself and Chris, like Buck’s anyone they’ve ever had to defend themselves from.

“That’s not– Look, Eddie, I’m happy to talk to Chris, obviously, I’m just not sure it’ll be much help. I think it’ll probably prove more useful to talk to Hen, Karen, and Athena honestly.”

“What do you mean?” asks Eddie, throat feelings oddly raw. He kind of feels like he might cry, which is an insane overreaction, and he knows that, it's not like Buck has even done anything wrong.

“I just think that Chris isn’t going to tell me anything he wouldn’t tell you,” says Buck, “And honestly, I think you know that the only real solution here is if you talk to him anyway, If this is him pushing you on purpose, that’s a conversation you need to have with him.”

“Dad up again, huh?” asks Eddie with a fake laugh, deflecting as quickly as he can from the actual hurt and fear that he still kind of feels. 

Buck seems to buy it.

“Hey,” he says with a bright smile and a laugh, “If it ain’t broke…”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Eddie. He wants to ask when Buck’s coming around next, but he never really had to ask Buck to get him to want to spend time with them, back in the day, and he doesn’t want to ask now and be turned down. He kind of wants to snap at Buck for not being able to tell that he’s upset and faking his own good cheer. He kind of wants to hang up and cry, because it all feels wrong, but he can’t actually point to anything without being a monster who’s, what, mad at Buck for being– 

It just wasn’t supposed to change things. He’d promised it wouldn’t change things, and Eddie had known even in that moment that it wasn’t true, that it couldn’t not, but he still hadn’t pictured this. 

“Talk to your kid,” orders Buck with a smile, clearly a joke, so Eddie salutes, and then tries not to think too much about how easily Buck hangs up. 

They’re talking less now than they did when he lived in El Paso. How fucked is that?

———

When Buck gets the call, he jumps at least five steps per flight on his way out the apartment block. He calls Eddie on autopilot, and can’t bring himself to regret it, because this definitely is the sort of news you share with your best friend.

“Buck?” asks Eddie, and Buck immediately laughs a little in sheer joy. 

“He’s coming! The baby’s coming!” he announces as he shoves open the front door, runs to the Jeep.

“Yeah?” asks Eddie, the happiness immediately infectious.

“On my way to the hospital right now,” says Buck, throwing the baby bag onto his passenger seat, and slamming the Jeep door shut behind him. “I get to go to the hospital this time!” 

“Yeah you do!” exclaims Eddie, “Okay, I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“You sure?” asks Buck, even as he throws the Jeep into gear.

“Obviously, shut up,” says Eddie. “Damn, Chris is at a birthday party.”

“Then just bring yourself,” says Buck, “We can text Chris, and he can meet him another time.”

“Yeah, sounds good, I’m texting now,” says Eddie, “Okay, I’m assuming Chim told Hen.”

“I assume, and she’ll call Athena,” agrees Buck, “Hey, can you message Ravi?”

“On it,” says Eddie. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon!” agrees Buck, delighted, and then there’s no time to think about anything except getting there as quickly and as safely as possible. 

He’s going to have a nephew, nothing else matters right now. 

It’s a halcyon day, the kind that he thought they’d lost. Bobby’s not there, and that hurts under it all, but he gets to meet Robbie, and he’s maybe the most perfect baby boy that Buck’s ever been able to cradle in his arms. He laughs and cries and then laughs again at how much he’s crying. He hands his nephew off to Eddie and he’s too happy to let the sight of that cut him to the quick. He hugs Chimney close, and brushes a kiss over his sister’s head, and spins Jee-Yun up into his arms for the tightest hug he can manage. He gets sandwiched in a hug between Hen and Karen, and tries not to cry when he sees Athena hugging Chim after she’s handed Robbie to Ravi, who quickly hands him off again to May. May throws him a frantic look, and he goes over to her side to help show her and Harry how to hold a baby, and then Denny wants a turn, and then he helps support Mara with it too. Chim gets Albert on a FaceTime, and Buck teases him about already being the favourite uncle. They take a picture for Chris, and then another five just to have them. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his abs ache from laughter, and it finally feels more concrete that even with Bobby gone, they're still a family. They still love each other, and these moments are still a joy. 

“I think Chris has FOMO,” says Eddie in an undertone to Buck with a wry smile, holding out his phone to show the vast array of emojis he’s been sent.

“That’s what he gets for being too popular,” grins Buck, and Eddie smiles back brightly, and for the first time in an extremely long time, they feel entirely normal again. 

———

It’s great spending time with Hen, obviously. Hen’s great, everyone knows that, and he likes getting to do more medical stuff, feeling like he’s really helping, really useful. It’s just. He’s been side by side with Buck for years, so of course it’s an adjustment. It would be unreasonable to expect otherwise. Still, there’s something so wrong about watching Buck and Ravi going into a burning building when he’s supposed to stay out here and triage.

“You holding up okay?” and Hen’s not talking to the patient, but to him. 

That’s another thing about Hen. She’s great, obviously, but she also doesn’t let things go the way that Buck does. She pushes him further, or maybe Buck follows his lead more. Whichever. Both, probably.

“I’m fine,” says Eddie through gritted teeth, and both Hen and their patient give him the exact same raised eyebrows. “It’s harder, being out here, than I realized.”

“Ah,” says Hen, like he’s said an awful lot more. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” asks Eddie, mildly annoyed at that response for no reason he could name. 

“You’re used to being the big damn hero, not waiting to hear if the big damn hero’s coming out with a head wound,” says Hen dryly, and Eddie can’t quite hold back a flinch. She softens, a little. “They’ll look after each other, Eddie. He’ll be okay.”

He wants to protest that, not that they’ll be okay, but that he’s thinking about Buck, even though of course he is. Even though it’s reasonable for him to be thinking about Buck. He’s spent years having Buck’s back, and he’s not about to stop now, even if he can't literally watch his six right now. 

“On floor seven, East side,” says Buck’s voice over the radio, “Got two survivors, but think we just lost the stairs, and our way out.”

“Hold tight, Buckley, we’re bringing you an exit,” says Chimney in his captain voice. “Seventh floor?”

“Yes, Cap. East side, Ravi’s just opening a window now.”

“I see it,” says Chimney, “Bringing the ladder around now. Wilson, Diaz, you two done on triage?”

“We’re done,” confirms Hen, “Heading for the ladder now, Cap.” She claps Eddie on the arm, and it serves to break him from the stupor he’d fallen into on hearing Buck’s voice saying he’d lost his exit. “C’mon, Eddie,” she says as she takes off into a run, and Eddie falls in line behind her on autopilot. 

He’s clipping onto the ladder and going up two steps at a time in what feels like milliseconds. There, in the window, Buck and Ravi, smoky and smiling, bracketing two civilians, a middle aged Korean woman and a young Black man. None of them seem visibly injured, and Eddie can feel himself breathe a little easier. 

“Come on,” he says, reaching forward, and of course Buck pushes Ravi forward onto the ladder first. Once Ravi’s clipped in, they send the civilians. Ravi takes the young man’s hand, helps him onto the ladder, passes him off to Eddie. As they start to head down, he can hear Buck talking the woman through taking Ravi’s hand, the two of them following Eddie and his guy down the ladder. There’s an ominous cracking noise, and Eddie can’t help the way his head spins to look, to check, but there's Buck, leaping onto the ladder recklessly and grinning down at him. Behind him, there are plumes of smoke flowing out the now empty window frame, flames already licking up its sides. 

As he hands off his patient to Hen at the bottom of the ladder, he can’t help but say, “I feel like I owe you and Chim an apology for all these years.”

“Oh don’t act like you’re not going to get yourself in trouble again,” says Hen with a fond roll of her eyes before she turns back to the patient. “Here, I’m going to give you a quick check over, and then we’ll start treating you for smoke inhalation, okay?”

Chim comes over to do the same for the other patient, never mind his captainly duties, so Eddie’s left looking over his coworkers. 

“I don’t need oxygen,” complains Buck, while Ravi elbows him, his own oxygen mask already firmly applied. 

“We’ll find out whether you need oxygen,” corrects Eddie, “When you let me check you over.”

“This is so excessive,” says Buck, “You used to agree with me on this.”

“No, I always wanted you to get checked out properly,” says Eddie absentmindedly, “I agreed that I didn’t need a check up.”

“Wow," says Ravi, deadpan and only a little muffled by his oxygen mask. 

“Buck, enough. Come here,” snaps Eddie, itchy with the thought that there's something important that hasn’t been seen, been treated. Buck and Ravi were in there for so long, it felt like, out of sight for an endlessly increasing stretch of time. 

Buck subsides muttering and sits mutely on the back of the ambulance in front of Eddie. There’s something about when his face is covered in ash that makes his eyes look bigger and bluer than usual somehow. His heart rate is normal, he does need oxygen, but not for long. He doesn’t have any injuries that Eddie can tell, both from his preliminary check and from reading Buck’s wide, earnest eyes. 

“Okay,” he says eventually, after running a careful hand over the back of Buck’s head, because he doesn’t trust Buck to always say if he got hit in the head. Buck blinks up at him, eyes excessively blue. “Okay, a little oxygen and you’ll be fine.”

“I know,” says Buck, but he sounds more fond than frustrated now. “I told you I was fine, Eddie.”

“Let me have your back, hmm?” asks Eddie, getting the oxygen mask ready, because maybe it isn’t the same way that he had Buck’s back all these years, but that doesn't mean it’s not a good alternate option. Besides, he knows Buck well enough to know that this line of argument, far more than it being Eddie's actual job right now, will get Buck to agree. It works, of course, because despite all the weirdness in the air, he does know Buck. 

It’s more satisfying than it should be, maybe, to see Buck sitting there with his oxygen mask on, just like he was told to. Buck’s always been one to argue against orders he doesn’t agree with, won’t submit to an authority he doesn’t choose to recognize. It’s nice to have the proof that Buck will submit to his authority. 

Eddie has to force himself to turn away and start organizing the medical supplies in the ambulance. It feels safer, somehow, than watching Buck right now. 

“Excuse me,” comes a tremulous voice, “I just wanted to say thank you for saving me.” 

Eddie hears Buck get up from the back of the ambulance, feels the vehicle resettle just a little without him. 

“Oh, really, we're just doing our jobs,” says Buck, ever humble and always a little unsure of what to do with earnest gratitude. “Besides, I think if you were thanking either of us, you should probably be thanking my partner, he did all the work.”

Eddie turns around to play his part, he’s got his own ‘aw shucks’ routine, but as he does he’s struck by the fact that he actually hadn’t helped this woman, and in fact–

“Like Buck said, we’re just doing our jobs,” says Ravi, who Eddie had completely forgotten was still standing with them. “We’re just happy you’re okay, ma’am.”

He has a sweet smile, and it’s clearly working on this middle aged woman, she looks like she wants to pinch his cheeks. If Eddie thinks about that, then maybe he’ll stop thinking about the aching yawning wound that just opened up inside him. The way he feels dizzy with it, sick and sad and full of a low bubbling anger. 

She walks away, and Buck and Ravi seem to be chatting about her, or about something. Eddie can't actually tell over the rushing of blood in his ears. 

“You have three more minutes of oxygen left each,” he snaps, jumping out of the back of the ambulance and slamming the doors shut. It makes Buck and Ravi flinch, something which Eddie finds inexplicably satisfying, but it doesn’t actually stop the anger or the nausea, so he storms off to find Hen. He should check in with his partner. 

———

It’s a free day, which means that Buck’s got three different house viewings and then dinner at the Hans tonight. 

It’s kind of weird, and mostly very cool, to be looking at actual houses. He’s made jokes about his credit score here and there, he only really started building it when he moved to L.A. under Bobby’s advice, but honestly, between the amount of overtime and hazard pay that Buck has gotten over the years, and the fact that the LAFD have always covered the worst of his medical bills, Buck’s been doing just fine. Maybe his credit is young, but he has a nest egg that’s going pretty much untouched. No one ever seemed to wonder or worry about how he could afford the rent on his old loft, but it wasn’t something Buck ever really had to worry about. He just has less outgoings than the rest of them. One of the few rare silver linings of not having a family, arguably. 

The point is, a fixer-upper would be better probably, would let him keep savings, but he can just about afford to buy outright. It’s not going to be anywhere super central, it’s probably not going to a convenient commute to the fire station, but it would be his. He could have a home, a permanent one, that he’s not going to have to pack up and leave without warning. That’s not going to come full of ghosts and memories. 

It’s hard to look around at a house, someone else's home, and try to picture a future there. Try to picture it as his. It gets easier with every viewing, though. He can admire the natural light in this one, the counter space in that one. He can ask about when this one was rewired, and whether the HOA would care what he did with the backyard in that one. He’s still not exactly seeing himself in them, not yet, but it’s getting closer. 

It’s mostly that it’s a little miserable going around them alone. Maddie truly just gave birth, so he’s hardly roping her in, and this was the sort of thing he would have asked Bobby to help him with, but he missed his chance to pick a home with Bobby. He keeps picturing Bobby in the corner of each room, looking sceptically at the outlets, or wondering whether their insulation is up to code. It’s breaking his heart a little every time, makes him ever more aware that he’s doing this alone. 

He could ask Eddie to come along on these viewings, he knows he could, but it just feels like he’s always so weird about Buck’s current place, like it’s not worth finding out how much weirder he would be about Buck getting something long term, something real. At the same time, it feels weird to think about buying somewhere that Eddie’s never even seen. 

Eddie did that, though. Eddie bought a place without telling Buck until the money had already gone through. Eddie wouldn’t think it’s weird, because he understands that they’re best friends, and this isn’t something that it's reasonable for Buck to assume that he’ll have opinions on. That Buck doesn’t have to, shouldn’t, take Eddie’s opinion into account. It’ll be his home, after all. Buck’s, and Buck’s alone. 

Maybe he should start doing video tours, send them to Maddie and Hen, get their thoughts. Actually, Ravi’s a homeowner, maybe he should ask him to come along next time. He’ll mention it at frolf on Saturday, see whether Ravi’s down. 

———

Eddie’s spending his afternoon on his off at Pepa’s house fixing her porch. He must have done this at least twice since he moved to L.A., but he’s clearly not doing a great repair job if he has to keep fucking repairing it. The handrail is loose, and one of the steps has a wobble to it which keeps threatening to turn Pepa’s ankle, and he doesn’t think it’s the same step he levelled out last time, but he’s not entirely sure. 

Summer’s coming on, the heat ever rising, and there's something satisfying about working up a sweat like this, with good hard work. It takes him longer than it would have done with Buck’s help, Eddie perhaps a little too reliant on his construction expertise. Still, he gets the job done, and it seems stable enough. He’s more than grateful when Pepa comes out with a large jug of sweet tea. She gives him a glass with plenty of ice, and gestures for him to join her on the porch itself as a reward for his hard work. 

“I appreciate you coming over, Eddie,” she says, and Eddie ducks his head and waves her off, because what else is he going to do? Wait until Raphael offers to help? They’d all die of old age first. “How are you doing, Edmundo?”

“Ahh, tia, I’m good, I’m fine, you know,” Eddie deflects, taking a big gulp of the tea as an excuse to stop talking. 

“You are,” she says, but she doesn’t look entirely sure, searching Eddie’s face.

Eddie hesitates, tilting his head a little.

“I will be,” he concedes. “Just need a little time, I think.”

“Oh, my Eddito,” she says warmly, “What's happening? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, but it doesn’t come out as certain as he was aiming for. 

She gives him a look. 

“It’s not– It’s fine, it is, there’s just been a lot of change lately, that’s all,” says Eddie, and it’s an understatement, and it’s entirely true. 

“Ah,” she says, “Now that, I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I talked with Evancito about it, the night Chris came back, you know?” She’s matter-of-fact. Unconcerned. 

He didn’t, in fact, know. 

He’d known they’d talked alone, just the two of them in the kitchen while Eddie and Chris had joked around in the living room, trying to pretend like everything was normal, like he wasn’t keeping one eye on Buck at all times, like he wasn't trying to gauge if he had earned absolution. He hadn’t known what they’d talked about. He’d sort of assumed it was about cooking, or about Chris. 

“What did he say?” he hears himself ask, mouth dry but voice airy and unconcerned. 

“Oh, well,” she says, and she’s actually airy. “He was talking about how much had changed in the last year, and how hard it was to keep up with it all. About how he was struggling.”

She says this so easily, like Eddie hadn’t spent that week picking at the stitches and scabs over Buck’s worst hurts just to try to get a reaction, like Buck hadn’t been shutting himself off and keeping to himself and pretending that he was completely fine to their whole fucking family. 

“He did,” Eddie means to ask it, but it doesn’t come out quite right.

“He’s a good boy, your Buck,” she says, and Eddie feels the words impact somewhere deep in his gut. He feels kind of hollow, like if someone tapped him hard enough right now he'd crumple in on himself.

“Mmm,” he manages.

“Anyway,” she says, “He was talking about how hard it is, to weather change, and I told him what I’ll tell you now, Eddito. You can’t weather that much change. You have to embrace it. You have to recognize what’s changed, and how, and accept it. You have to keep moving forward.”

It’s good advice, probably, which makes Eddie’s immediate revulsion and nausea at the idea that Pepa said this to Buck even more surreal. 

“You said that to him?” he confirms, “You told Buck to embrace change?”

Pepa looks over at him, catches his eyes, and her gaze seems particularly penetrating. She looks like she can see, understand, something in Eddie that he himself has never seen. She looks like the writhing mass of fear and anger and hurt that seems to live inside Eddie at all times these days is clearly visible, and she recognizes it. She looks like she knows him, maybe better than he’s ever let him know himself.

“Yes, Eddito. I told him to embrace change. I told him that if he is ever going to live his life, truly live it, he needs to move forward. He needs to acknowledge the truth of his life, and how it has changed, and embrace it. Find a way to accept change, and move on.”

“Right,” Eddie says faintly. 

There's something in the way she’s still fucking looking at him. It’s not pitying, but it's not not pitying. He looks away.

“I think he is,” Eddie says after a moment. “Embracing change, I mean.”

“Good,” says Pepa, “He needs to. Maybe you should try it too, Eddito.”

It haunts him all night, which isn’t fair. It’s not bad advice, but somehow the idea of embracing this, of being at peace with this new, terrible status quo? He can’t stomach it. 

It makes a change, he supposes, from what’s been haunting him every other night. He’s tried so hard to think about anything else, to be aware of Buck’s sudden determination to leave him behind, to adjust to being paired with Hen, to rebuild his life in L.A. with Chris, anything to keep him distracted. Anything but the way Buck’s face had gone utterly bloodless as he’d psyched himself up to talk. Anything but his wide scared eyes as he’d told Eddie that he loved him, that he was in love with him. Anything but the way something inside himself shattered and was left hollow at the knowledge that he was actively hurting Buck, and had been for who knows how long. He’d felt the entire world spin off axis, and he’s been doing his best to pretend that’s not what happened, but it is. He’s been off axis for so long now, and trying so hard to compensate, but Buck's not fucking playing along this time, not even when he promised nothing would change, and now Eddie knows why. Buck knows things have changed, and he’s embracing it, even as they get further and further from each other. Worse, somehow, he’s embracing it because Eddie’s tia told him to. Somehow, Buck’s taken Eddie trying to show him that they’re still, always, a family and learned that he needs to distance himself. 

It hurts. Eddie’s been hurting since Buck said he was in love, since he assured Eddie that he knew he was unloved in turn, that he wanted nothing from Eddie, despite his supposed love. Since Buck said all that and started running, like Eddie’s ever wanted him further away. 

It’s just not fair. Nothing’s ever been fair, that’s not how life is, Eddie knows that, but this feels particularly unfair. Buck’s the only person who’s ever truly been Eddie’s, who’s had his back through thick and thin, who’s been there by his side in everything. Everything except this, except Buck standing separate to Eddie suddenly, Buck unreachable and hurting because of Eddie.

It’s unfair too, because for all that he made that big dramatic love confession, he hasn’t been acting like it. Eddie’s seeing it play against his eyelids every single night, feeling sick over it at all times, and Buck’s just going about his life like it never even happened. Like he doesn’t even care anymore that Eddie doesn’t– can’t– isn’t–

Like he doesn’t even care.

———

Buck feels like he’s bleeding out. It's stupid, because he knew, he knew, and he told Maddie, he told her. He knew Eddie would never feel the same, and he didn’t let himself get his hopes up, and he still feels like he was dealt a mortal wound fucking years ago and he’s just waiting to succumb. 

It’s not always this bad. Sometimes it’s just normal, sometimes he’s figured out how to let himself forget. Sometimes he can bury himself in his work, or their friends, or even Eddie’s friendship, and not think about that awful mix of horror and pity in Eddie’s eyes. Not think about how easily Eddie has let him slip further and further away, just more proof that Buck had been overreaching past a normal friendship, and Eddie had been politely putting up with it. 

It’s when he’s going to bed, lying there in the dark, that he has to actively try to stop himself from thinking about the last seven years. Try to stop relitigating every single interaction of their friendship to better demarcate where he was pushing past a boundary. Where he was making their friendship something it isn’t, shouldn’t, can’t ever be.

He feels sick every time he thinks about it. 

It’s been good, befriending Ravi properly, getting to know him. It’s also been a rude awakening into what friendship actually looks like. It doesn’t, it turns out, look anything like what Buck’s been imposing on Eddie all these years. He’s just lucky, really, that Eddie’s still willing to be his friend, still in his life, despite all of it.

For all that, he can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. He sees the Diazes so much less now that he's being normal about it, now that he’s being less overbearing. It’s like somehow all the little excuses he used to find to come over have dried up. Chris is too old and too cool to want to hang out most evenings, even with them finally back on an even footing. Eddie still invites him to his little pick up sports games, but they both know it’s a formality that he doesn’t actually expect Buck to say yes to, especially after everything that went down with basketball last year. 

They don't do regular movie nights anymore, not really. They don’t really just spontaneously have dinner together anymore either. It’s kind of funny, but Buck never used to feel like a guest in that house, not until he actually moved in and moved out again. Now it’s hard to believe at home he used to feel. Now it feels like they need at least two excuses each to explain why he’d ever be there.

Buck’s been trying so hard to be good, to be normal, to be fair, but he didn’t realize how much he’d lose by telling Eddie. He didn’t realize that it wouldn’t just change their friendship forever, but he’d lose one of the two places he’s ever had that actually felt like home. He’d lose the comfort from knocking against Eddie’s shoulder, feeling his body heat, hearing his soft little laugh. He’d lose that easy camaraderie which he never used to have to think about in favor of second-guessing every single move he makes. 

Eddie deserved to know he’s loved, that’s still true, and Buck deserved to be able to move on, he knows that’s true too. Still, it doesn’t always feel like a worthwhile trade. He just. He just misses. It’s almost easier when he deprives himself of both Diazes, a constant state of missing and yearning without rubbing his own nose in what he chose to lose. Still, it’s not that easy either. They don’t deserve him cutting them out, punishing them for his own stupidity, his own thoughtless and foolish affection. He thought that if he said it, if he cut out the infection and washed the wound clean, he’d be healing by now. Scarring over, maybe, but healing. Instead, it’s like the hurt is deeper than ever, like he just hurt himself more, and for what purpose? Maybe there’s no recovery from this one. Maybe there never was. 

His phone buzzes, and Buck digs it out.

Eddie

Come over?

Buck 

I have chicken that needs to be eaten before it goes off

Eddie

okay? cook it here then

It’s going to hurt either way, so he may as well let himself. What’s the point of trying to save himself a little pain when it all hurts either way?

Buck 

yeah, okay see you in 20

Eddie

i think you mean 45.

Buck

🙄

see you when i see you 

Buck still has a key to South Bedford Street, but it feels different using it these days. It was hard enough to actually choose to leave. Somehow it feels even harder to choose to come back, even when he’s been explicitly invited.

Buck knocks. The door swings open right away, Eddie clearly ready and waiting. He’s doing the same face he often does these days, like he’s actively working to look neutral instead of scowling the way he clearly wants to. 

“Chicken,” says Buck, holding the tupperware of marinated chicken thighs up between them like a peace offering. “I’ll, uh, just go put them on?”

“Sure,” says Eddie, following him to the kitchen immediately.

It’s weird, tense, and it feels like a regression, like they’re back to having to provoke fights just to talk. Maybe they are, maybe they never really stopped. 

“Where’s Chris?” asks Buck, as he bundles the thighs into casserole dish and covers it in tin foil. 

“Pepa’s,” says Eddie, and it lands like a stone in still water, ripples cascading out.

Buck hasn’t actually been here when Chris is gone since that day, since he admitted to Eddie… He’s spent time with Eddie one on one, but barely, and never here. The last time he was here with Eddie alone, he confessed his love, and even then Chris was asleep one room over. The last actual time, they were fighting in this kitchen, Eddie’s hand on Buck’s collar, tears in both their eyes, a refusal to engage with what each other actually meant for fear of admitting how bad things had gotten. How hard it all was. 

Buck puts the chicken in the oven silently, sets the timer to turn the oven off in thirty minutes. 

He lets himself look at the oven for another moment or two, before turning back to face Eddie. He stands in the doorway, watching silently.

“Chicken’s on,” Buck says rather pointlessly.

“We have leftover rice we can reheat,” says Eddie. A long pause. “You want a beer?” 

“Sure,” says Buck, because he knows a peace offering when he hears one. 

They file to the living room, fall onto the couch in unison. Buck should have aimed to keep a better distance, but they sit, thighs pressed against each other, the hardest habit to break. 

Eddie smiles at him warmly, holding his beer out, and Buck clinks his against it, helpless against a smile of his own. 

“So,” says Eddie, and he sounds cheerful, like all the weird tension of the past few weeks is resolved simply by sitting on his couch with Buck and a beer, “How have you been spending your four off?”

Buck hesitates, and he can see the way that Eddie catches it, his eyes narrowing, tension leaking back into his jaw. They’re good, for a change, and Buck doesn’t want to lie, but also he can’t pretend that Eddie’s not been weirdly unsupportive about all of the moving stuff, and he really doesn't want to see that tight-lipped face that comes out whenever Buck talks about finding his own place. Maybe now is not the moment to mention the viewings he's been to, the ones he has booked tomorrow.

“I actually did frolf with Ravi this morning,” he offers instead, and watches Eddie’s brow furrow slightly. 

“Frolf?” he asks bemused, and Buck has to stifle a laugh at the way Eddie makes it sound like an alien planet. 

“Yeah, frisbee golf,” explains Buck, “Ravi takes it pretty seriously, he has a team with a bunch of his friends. It’s like, objectively kind of dumb in a really fun way.”

“You’ve been before?” Eddie asks, before taking a swig of his beer. 

“Yeah, Ravi makes it like every two weeks, but I’m going like once a month at most I think?” says Buck. 

“I see,” grits out Eddie, and Buck suddenly realizes the warning signs, all far too late. “So you’ll go to sports with him.” He puts his beer bottle down on the coffee table abruptly, and the sound rings out like a shot. 

“Okay, what is that supposed to mean?” Buck asks, immediately feeling defensive as he turns to face Eddie properly. 

“It means that I invite you to basketball, and soccer, hell even beach volleyball, all the fucking time and you’ve come once, but when Ravi asks–”

“I hate basketball, you know that,” interrupts Buck.

“Oh, so that’s all it is, if I’d just tried inviting you to frisbee golf, it would have been fine? It’s just the basketball of it all that’s the fucking problem?” Eddie’s snapping at him, madder than he should be over something so objectively dumb, but there’s something about Eddie in an argument that Buck can’t help but respond to. He’s so fucking sick of de-escalating each of their arguments, of being good, of trying to maintain normal friendship boundaries. “What’s your excuse for soccer then?”

“What do you want me to say, Eddie? The one time I came to one of your games, I twisted your fucking ankle! You really wanted to give that another fucking go?”

“Yes, Buck! Yes, obviously, that’s what I meant, I’m just yearning for you to maim me again, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Buck rolls his eyes, frustrated, “What are you saying, then?”

“You called him your partner, Buck!” exclaims Eddie, standing up from the couch. Buck follows, unable to not. 

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“The other day, at work, you called him your partner.” Eddie sounds, looks, wretched. 

“He is my partner,” says Buck kind of annoyed that Eddie’s acting like this is some sort of personal betrayal, kind of frustrated that this of all things is what they’re fighting about, kind of confused that it got here at all.

“I’m your partner,” snaps Eddie, eyes glued to Buck, a little frantic, like he’s trying to convince him. 

“Eddie,” says Buck helplessly, utterly at sea, “Ravi’s been my partner for nearly six months now.”

“Then what am I?” 

It echoes through the room, Eddie’s eyes so wide and scared the second he's said it, like he regrets putting it into words, his jaw still tense and fists still clenched, like he’s still bracing for a fight. 

“I don’t– Eddie,” says Buck, wind completely taken from his sails, “What do you mean?”

“If I’m not your partner, and I’m not your fucking housemate, what am I? What am I to you, Buck?"

An impossible question.

“You’re Eddie,” says Buck uselessly, “You’re my best friend, you’re– You’re Eddie. That’s all you have to be.”

Eddie shakes his head tightly. “It’s not… This doesn’t feel like friendship, Buck.”

Buck flinches, a dagger to his heart.

“I’m trying,” he says, begs, “I’m trying so hard.”

Eddie shakes his head, just a little, not even consciously it looks like, and Buck can feel the blood draining out of his face, the adrenaline flooding him, the absolute terror of it. His worst nightmare, delayed by a month or so, but still happening after all. The thing that everyone warns you about falling in love with your straight best friend: that if they find out, you’ll lose them. 

“Buck,” says Eddie, all quiet, looking at the ground. Unable to look him in the eye. 

“Eddie, please,” Buck pleads, “I’m being normal, I really am, I’m putting in the work to just treat you like a normal best friend, and I know it's weird right now, I know, but I’m working on it. Please just give me more time to work on it.”

“What?” asks Eddie, looking up at Buck suddenly with narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’d never had a best friend before,” admits Buck, a secret they both knew but had never acknowledged out loud before, “And I didn’t know that I wasn’t behaving like one, not really. I didn't realize, not until… you know. I’ve been trying to be better, to be a better friend, I’ll keep trying, but Eddie, you can't give up on us now.”

“I’m giving up on us?” asks Eddie, and he sounds just as heartbroken as Buck feels and utterly furious about it. “Did I ever ask you to change? To give me space? To be a different friend? I didn’t want that!”

“Be reasonable, Eddie,” replies Buck, annoyed again. “What else am I supposed to do here? How else am I supposed to be your friend and move on? Or am I supposed to just keep being in your pockets and never get over this? Spend the rest of my life hopelessly pining over you uselessly?”

“You’re supposed to stay,” says Eddie, frustrated and sad and hurt all at once. “You’re supposed to have my back! Not give up on this, on us.”

“I’m not! Eddie, I’m not, but I don’t know what you fucking want from me here,” Buck says arms spread wide in supplication.

“I don’t think friendship is supposed to feel like this,” Eddie says again, and Buck throws his head back in hurt and frustration.

“I have been giving you space,” he starts again, hurting and angry and bleeding out from all of it.

“No, Buck, I don’t mean– I mean I don’t think this, how I feel. I mean I’m so angry with you for moving out, and I felt actually sick when I heard you call Ravi your partner, and every single time you do something that I know, objectively, is just how other friends behave, I feel fucking abandoned. I mean you don’t co-parent with me anymore, and maybe that’s more normal, I don’t know, but I hate it. I hate that you live somewhere else, I hate that I can’t even have your back on calls anymore, I hate that you call someone else your partner and that you’re right. I hate it all.”

It sounds like… It almost sounds… That’s not an option though, he knows that. He knows. Despite that, he can’t help but feel his anger and frustration ebb away, replaced by a nameless tide. Surely he’s learnt better than to hope, by now. 

“Eddie,” says Buck, slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal, “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” says Eddie, frantic, but his eyes give away that it’s a lie. Buck’s always been able to read when Eddie’s lying. 

“What are you saying?” he asks again gently. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. Nods to himself. Some sort of decision made.

“You said, that day,” he says, breaking off. “You said you– Do you still?” 

Buck frowns, bemused. “Do I still love you?” he asks. “You know I do, of course I do. It’s only been a few weeks, I’m working on getting over you, but you might need to give me a little more time.”

“Don’t,” says Eddie, and it’s like it’s been ripped out of him. “Don’t get over me. Just. Just come back to me. You keep putting all this distance in between us, and I just want you to come back.”

Buck takes a slow, careful step towards him, and Eddie reaches up immediately, like it’s habit, his hands on Buck’s collar, as though to tug him closer. As though to keep him still, under Eddie’s hands.

“This doesn’t feel like friendship,” prompts Buck slowly. 

“I think maybe it never has been,” says Eddie, “I think maybe nothing has to change, because trying to just be friends was the change.”

“Eddie,” says Buck softly, a question more than anything.

Eddie blinks his long lashes at him, before confessing, “I think you’ve been my partner for years, not my friend.” 

“Your partner,” echoes Buck.

“My spouse,” corrects Eddie, because when he does something, he goes all in. Always has, always will. 

“Your spouse?” asks Buck, his voice cracking a little.

“I hate you being my best friend, it turns out,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Buck closer to him, calm, now that he’s made a decision, settled in his own skin, “I think you should go back to being my spouse.”

“Are you sure?” asks Buck, “If this is to spare my feelings, or because you feel guilty, I don’t want it.”

“Buck, I promise, this is entirely selfish,” says Eddie, so close that the air he expels is warm against Buck’s face. 

“You’re straight,” Buck reminds him quietly, hating that he has to, but unable to bear the idea of Eddie offering himself up for Buck just to keep him close.

“You were straight too, last year,” Eddie points out with a smile, “I don’t think any of this has been very straight, honestly.”

“You didn’t propose to me in a straight, platonic way, then?” asks Buck, and he’s teasing now, all the tension and anger and hurt of the past few minutes, weeks, months, bled out of him. Dissipated in the face of Eddie, so close to him that their lips nearly brush with each word, his eyes dark and smiling and focused on Buck, his thumb tracing its usual soothing path across Buck’s collarbone. 

“Not so much,” agrees Eddie, “I tried marrying my platonic best friend before, I think I’d rather marry the love of my life this time.”

Before Buck can do much more than intake a breath, Eddie kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. Eddie tries to pull back, and Buck pulls him back in, kissing him through his relief and his joy, trying to keep from smiling so much that they’ll have to stop kissing. 

It is, more than anything else, the relief of finally being on the same page again. They’re used to being so in sync with one another that, for all Buck had never expected or assumed that Eddie would love him back, it had somehow hurt to know that they weren’t in tune with one another on this. To know that at some point they had diverged, without even realizing it. It’s a homecoming of a new sort, to find himself back at Eddie’s side, both literally and figuratively. 

“I have more house viewings tomorrow,” says Buck quietly, into the barely there space between them. Eddie inhales, just a little, bracing himself. “For something long term. A home. Will you come with me?”

Eddie’s eyes close in relief, a smile overtaking his face as he nods, forehead pressed gently to Buck’s forehead. 

“You know, I’m only a renter,” says Eddie.

“Oh, I know.” Buck’s smile is permeating every word he speaks, the flutter of Eddie’s eyelashes against his cheekbone only etching that smile deeper.

“Maybe it’s time we had something more permanent,” Eddie offers, and Buck can’t help but kiss him again in response.

“That can probably be arranged,” he murmurs back, some time later, and Eddie just smiles, pulls him onto the couch. The oven beeps as it turns itself off, and they both ignore it. The rest of the world can wait, just a little longer.