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The journey home had been nice. Calm. Quiet. After the whole ordeal in New Mexico, Buck and Eddie both just wanted to get home, see their loved ones. They were exhausted.
It was 10 hours of resting their voices and listening to peaceful music, pulling over every 90 minutes to stretch their stiff muscles.
Once they made it to L.A., things changed. The comfortable silence of the car ride disappeared, replaced with a quiet trepidation.
Buck spent 5 minutes putting lip balm on just to pass time and occupy his mind.
He knew something was coming, could feel it in his aching bones. He was intimately familiar with Eddie's breaking point, so he could sense that Eddie was at the edge.
As they pulled the old car into Buck's new driveway, Eddie's jaw was clenched, fingers gripping the worn leather wheel with force, eyebrows set. All signs that he was feeling something big.
Buck was tired, his whole body was sore. He didn't want to do this right now, whatever this was.
He unclasped his seatbelt, opened his door and found the strength to will his body out of the car. His weak fingers fumbled his key into the lock and he pushed his way into the house, leaving the door open for Eddie.
The kitchen was pleasantly cold despite the L.A. heat, and Buck opened his fridge to grab a bottle of water. By the time he mustered the energy to unscrew the cap and raise the bottle to his lips, Eddie had joined him in the kitchen.
The cold water refreshed Buck's dry mouth and throat, allowing him to get some words out without croaking. "You should go get Chris, or–or go home and get some rest."
"We need to talk about what happened," Eddie countered firmly.
That was it, the thing Buck knew was coming. Ever since Chris had made Eddie agree to regular therapy sessions as a condition of his permanent return to L.A., Eddie had become somewhat... communicative.
Buck usually supported and admired this change to Eddie's habits, but at this time, he wanted no part in it.
He wanted to go to bed. Or to curl up in his big sister's arms. He wanted to call Bobby.
"I don't want to talk," he admitted, quietly. "I don't want to think about it. I can do that tomorrow, Eddie, I just need some peace."
"You can't pretend it didn't happen," said Eddie, "like the lightning strike."
Buck's heart stuttered in his chest at the mention. "That's not what I'm doing—"
"—Buck, what happened was—"
"Respectfully, Eddie," Buck interrupted, "you don't know what happened. You weren't there."
A low blow, Buck knew. The same thing he said to Eddie the last time they argued in one of their kitchens. It wasn't fair, really, but Buck just wanted Eddie to leave him alone. And besides, it wasn't like Eddie was the patron saint of fairness.
"Don't," Eddie whispered, sounding heartbroken. The irritation behind Buck's cruel words deflated, leaving regret in its wake. "Don't say that."
"No, I'm sorry, Eds, that wasn't what I meant. It wasn't your fault. They ran us off the road and then took me while we were both out cold, okay? There was nothing you could've done."
"I should've got to you sooner. I should've—Tell me what they did to you."
"Oh," Buck exhaled with the realisation of why Eddie was so insistent. "That's why you want to know. So you can punish yourself. That's why, isn't it?"
Eddie said nothing.
Buck scoffed, "I thought you were past that. I thought that was what the therapy was for, Eddie, so that you would stop punishing yourself. This wasn't your fault. Bobby wasn't your fault."
"No, this—this is different," Eddie insisted.
"How?"
"It just is."
"Tell that to your therapist."
"Buck, tell me what they did to you."
"It's not your fault, Eddie," Buck promised. He felt more awake now, but whether that was adrenaline from their discussion or a happy side effect of the water he had been slowly sipping in between talking, he couldn't tell. His heart was well on its way to racing, as it always did when he got into it with Eddie Diaz.
"I should've done something," Eddie maintained, voice low, furious.
"You broke out of police custody!" Buck recounted, raising his voice. "I spoke to Athena. She told me how you jumped out of a window in a hospital while concussed and hitchhiked on a horse! You tracked me down to a house in the middle of nowhere, pulled a gun on my kidnappers and risked being shot by police to make sure I was okay," he marvelled, awe seeping into his voice without his permission. "You did everything you could to save my life, and you did, Eds. You saved my life. I'm the one who should've done more. You shouldn't have had to be in that position in the first place, Eddie. I'm a firefighter and I couldn't even break out of that miserable room."
"Buck."
"I was pathetic, Eddie. I broke immediately. She electrocuted me once and I gave in. I should've been able to get out, but I barely even tried. When I heard your voice, I–I couldn't breathe. I–I told them, if, if they'd just let you go, I'd do what they wanted. If they let you go home to your son, I would pretend to be theirs."
Distantly, Buck knew he should've stopped talking at that point, but he couldn't keep his lips from moving and the words just kept tumbling out.
"I was—God, I was sick, thinking about you in danger. Or–Or worse. When I woke up in that house, in that bedroom, I thought you were dead. I knew Chris would need me—I should've tried harder. I was weak. Then they put me in that shed, duct-taped my hands together, and I heard you shouting and I needed you to be safe. I'd die for you and Chris, Eddie, you have to know—"
"You don't get to do that," Eddie interjected, finally silencing Buck's ramble.
"Wh–What?"
"No, don't act like you don't know, Buckley." Eddie's eyebrows were furrowed again. He was mad. "We had this conversation years ago. You don't get to give up and say it's for the good of me and Christopher. Don't put that on us."
"Eddie—"
"What if you had actually died? You want Chris to live with the knowledge that you died for us? That's not comforting, Buck, it's gut-wrenching."
"At least you'd be alive and together."
"So you were just gonna give up? Seriously?"
"If it kept you safe—"
"You don't get to sacrifice yourself for my safety, Evan! You don't get to put my life above yours! That's not your decision to make, that's not what this is. How am I supposed to go on without you? How am I supposed to go on knowing that I'm alive and you're not? How is that fair? You think I could live like that?!"
There was a long pause, silence marred only by heavy breathing.
Buck swallowed, mouth dry again. "I don't think this is for you what it is for me."
Without missing a beat, Eddie shot back, "How would you know? You never asked."
The pause this time was longer. Buck had no intention of replying, no intention of even looking at Eddie. Shame flooded his stomach at the route their dispute had taken, so close to uncovering his reprehensible truth.
"What is this for you, Buck? Tell me," Eddie asserted, stepping closer to Buck.
Buck's entire body was still, like prey desperately trying to go unnoticed. He wanted to bolt but he couldn't move.
Eddie stepped forward again, into Buck's space.
"What are we, Buck?" he demanded, anger permeating his voice. He was in Buck's face now, close enough for Buck to feel the heat radiating off his body. "What am I to you? Tell me."
Something in Buck came undone.
He leaned forward, just enough for his head to tilt into Eddie's, lips colliding like a waterfall meeting a plunge pool.
Eddie's lips were dry and cracked from the long drive, or from the L.A. heat, or from the stress of the kidnapping—once that fact washed over Buck, he realised what he was doing and pushed Eddie out of his space.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Is that what you wanted?" he demanded, forcing himself to look at Eddie.
Eddie's eyebrows softened, his eyes widened, his lips parted.
"That's what this is to me, Eddie, that's what you are to me."
Eddie surged forward, crowding Buck against the kitchen counter, capturing his lips in another kiss. Eddie pressed his body against Buck’s, his warm hands grabbing at Buck's waist while Buck's dangled uselessly by his sides.
Eddie tilted his head slightly to the left, swiping his tongue across Buck’s lips—he tasted like cherry from the lip balm he had used. The taste ignited something primal in Eddie, his hands squeezing Buck’s waist harder as he pulled them impossibly closer. Buck let out a moan, his mouth opening slightly, and Eddie slid his tongue inside. Buck’s tongue swirled around his in response, their lips moving fervently together, Buck's hands finally finding heaven in Eddie's hair.
Buck licked the back of Eddie’s teeth, eliciting a groan from Eddie, which only made Buck’s hold on his hair tighter. Eddie slid his hands under the hem of Buck’s shirt, finally creating skin on skin contact with Buck’s hips. It was like Eddie’s hands couldn’t keep still, moving and circling around Buck’s exposed skin, like he’d lose him if he didn’t cling on.
Buck moved one hand to Eddie’s side, the other still firmly planted in his hair. In one sudden movement, he switched their positions, pressing Eddie against the counter. Their tongues still moving together, Buck pushed his body against Eddie’s, both moaning in unison.
Buck’s hands found their way to the back of Eddie’s legs, lifting him into the air. Eddie laughed into his mouth as Buck shifted him onto the counter, their lips not breaking contact for a second. Buck felt Eddie’s legs wrap around his waist, forcing their bodies together once again. Eddie’s hands found their way to Buck’s curls, grasping tightly, whilst Buck’s migrated to Eddie’s waist.
They kissed until their lungs gasped for air, separating just enough to make room for oxygen. They stayed there for a while, noses pressed together, breathing heavily into each other's space.
"Ask me," Eddie said. "Ask me what this is for me."