nine-one-one, what's your emergency?✮ ellis/ells/el, he/xe, wannabe loser boyfriend. minor, sagittarius, full-time oversharer. ginger cat, night owl, born a stargazer. writer, poet, dreamer. i like and follow from @thefootnotes
this is about family✮ carlos and eddie are my boys. i ship tarlos, buddie, bucktommy, jeddie, nancymarjan, hell anything gay. judd ryder is the loml. grace ryder is also the loml. i hate fandom infighting and discourse, and i'm a multishipper from way back. i have enough faith to keep anons on but i will block and report anyone who brings negativity to my blog.
the ones that end with a second chance✮ a masterlist of my 9-1-1 and lone star fics; and some works in progress that are coming soon!
what if it's meant to be?
seven standalone ficlets for bucktommy positivity week, to celebrate the love shared between our boys, and in our fandom.
pt.1 || pt.2 || pt.3 || pt.4 || pt.5 || pt.6 || pt.7
can you imagine when this race is won?
carlos has decided to become a texas ranger; and tk, in his heart of hearts, can't understand why. but when carlos shares the thoughts of his father, it all starts to fall into place.
fic post.
two years down the drain, two hundred thousand on the gauge
after the breakup, carlos decided to leave austin. texas didn't feel like home anymore, not without tk, and the road stretching ahead of him is pushing to north carolina. but when his car breaks down halfway between knoxville and asheville, he finds himself longing for the lone star state. or maybe for the man he left inside it.
getting here, you did that on your own
tommy receives a promotion at work; a significant one, that evan is eternally proud of him for. but evan's pride isn't what tommy's looking for, mostly because he's never lacked it. the pride he's lacked is haunting him.
it takes strength to forgive, but i don't feel strong
tk's relationship with owen has always been complicated. and he wants to forgive his father for all the empty chairs at the recitals, but one phrase echoes in his brain, standing in the way of all that. i'm going to be a father.
the near and the dear ones (a very merry christmas)
after recent catastrophes, tk and carlos decide a group one-two-six trip to los angeles is definitely in order. marjan and nancy end up at hen's place, tk and carlos crash at buck's, paul stays with eddie, and the ryders are split between the grant-nash's and the hans. two firehouses united for one happy holiday; a perfect christmas, right?
But there aren’t even guarantees that you find your soulmate at all, Eddie had thought at the time. What’s the harm in it? He’ll still do his tour, he’ll marry her for now – the catholicism in them both left no room to doubt that – and if he is ever so lucky to meet his soulmate, he’ll work it out then. The odds weren’t enough to worry him.
Or the one where Eddie Diaz finds his soulmate, but it doesn’t go to plan.
didn't know what i was missing, til you walked in like a vision
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @bucktommyweek's get to know you event
And five; number five, in the chronological list of the reasons why today has been so wonderful, is Tommy right now. Tommy, with his face smeared with soot and his entire muscled build clad in the black-and-yellow turnouts, his hair ruffled adorably and his disheveled look so perfectly, effortlessly attractive; his eyes soft at their crease and his laugh echoing on the bitumen, gaze linking warmly with Evan’s every time he dares to glance across the lot.
Or the one where Tommy has a natural charm, Evan has a perfect day, and the best things are the ones that sneak up on you.
and in a moment, i knew you best
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @bucktommypositivityweek r2!
His date apologizes for being late, and does the round of handshakes, waves, even going as far to pull Hen and Karen into hugs – and Evan has to talk to him about that later, because he had no idea Tommy was as close with the Wilsons as he’s been acting. Chimney eventually points out the dark smear in Evan’s stubble, and Athena hands over some wet-wipes she swiped from the nurses station; Buck plays oblivious when she starts asking questions, but knows from her sly glance and the hardly-surprised quirk in her brow that she’s cottoned on easy enough. With a brief spell of embarrassment, he realizes it probably wasn’t hard to work out – and everyone seemed to know he was into guys before he did, for some reason.
or day 3 of btpw round two - missing moments
T | evan buckley/tommy kinard | 2.4k
get up and shake the glitter off your clothes
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
But drunk, Eddie makes bad decisions; mostly because he forgets basic processes and legalities. He breaks minor laws and does dumb shit that gets him a few short hours in the police station until the charges are inevitably dropped. Or he forgets that the tiny wedding chapels scattered across Vegas have marriage certificates that are, in fact, legally binding.
or eddie diaz week day 7 - wake up married / 'that was...' 'yeah.'
T | eddie diaz & chimney han, eddie diaz/evan buckley | 1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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Why are these lights so bright?
Did we get hitched last night dressed up like Elvis?
Why am I wearing your class ring?
Don't call your mother
'Cause now we're partners in crime
– Waking Up In Vegas, Katy Perry
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Sober, Eddie’s a relatively smart person – for someone who never went to college, and has worked in exclusively blue-collar jobs since he finished high school, he’s got a good understanding of arithmetic and literacy, and he’s got more street smarts than most Californians. He blames that on being raised in El Paso, where nothing ever happens and teenagers make their own fun.
But drunk, Eddie makes bad decisions; mostly because he forgets basic processes and legalities. He breaks minor laws and does dumb shit that gets him a few short hours in the police station until the charges are inevitably dropped. Or he forgets that the tiny wedding chapels scattered across Vegas have marriage certificates that are, in fact, legally binding.
The car ride back to Los Angeles the morning after he married Chimney is so awkward, it would be almost funny if they weren’t both hungover as all hell. Maddie and Buck had dinner planned with their parents, Hen with her little ones, and Chimney really just needed to get drunk out of his mind and not worry about his fiancé at home with her rarely-present parents.
So he called Eddie; and Eddie fulfilled that promise. Chimney got drunk out of his mind, as did Eddie.
Perhaps a little too out of their minds, because now they’re married; they’re married, in Eddie’s truck, more than halfway back to Los Angeles. While Chimney’s supposed to be planning a wedding with Maddie, and Eddie’s in love with his best friend, who firmly does not know.
So the word awkward doesn’t even fulfil the way Eddie feels, right now; it doesn’t even touch on it, because their drunk asses clearly thought that it would be funny, to have one of those dumb Elvis weddings – completely forgetting everything that Big Bang Theory taught them.
“So,” Chimney breaks the silence once they’ve passed through Harvard, eyes closed and head tilted back against the seat. “What are we telling Maddie and Buck?”
“Buck doesn’t need to know.” Eddie grits his teeth. “And Maddie’s your problem. We can get an annulment once we’re back in the city, we don’t have work until Saturday night.”
“An annulment?”
“C’mon, Chim.” Eddie raises a brow. “Don’t tell me my dashing looks are making you think of leaving your fiancé?”
Chimney gives a weak chuckles, wincing and putting a hand over his face. “They really don’t joke about that Nevada sun, hey?”
“No, they don’t.” Eddie sighs. The road itself feels like a laser beam in his head, and everything just sort of aches; but he’d stay on this road forever if he could, because he knows that at the other end of it, there are going to be two Buckleys wanting an explanation.
“Man, maybe we should just stay married and run away and start a new life.”
Chimney laughs weakly again, cranking up the air conditioning and tilting his seat back. “Wake me up when we get to Anaheim.”
⋅⋆⋅
When Chimney clambers out of Eddie’s truck at home, he begs that Eddie come inside while he tells Maddie – and really, it feels like he owes him that much; this was an action they both took.
But Eddie doesn’t want to think about either the hurt or the amusement that will creep onto Maddie’s face, the way it’ll look so similar to her brother’s, the way Eddie will have to tolerate seeing not only Maddie’s disappointment and hilarity, but in a way so connectedly Buck’s…. He can’t handle it.
So he vehemently refuses, locking the car doors and pulling away before Chimney’s even up to the front step; and he just drives.
The house is empty, these days, and cold – Chris is at school, and Eddie donated most of Shannon’s things. Now it’s just the furniture, and whatever Christopher leaves laying around. Eddie threw away anything that reminded him of his wife after she died, and he gets by these days with the bare necessities – even after four years.
Eddie doesn't want to go home; it doesn’t even really feel like home, anymore.
But at some point the gas tank starts getting a little low, and Eddie doesn’t want to have to fill it up before tomorrow’s shift, so he cuts through the sidestreets back to the house – where he’s greeted to the presence of Buck’s car in his driveway, and god fucking damn it.
“Buck?” Eddie calls out when he swings the front door open, latching it behind him and dumping his overnight bag in the entryway, making his way to the lounge room. “What’re you doing here?”
Buck is splayed out on the couch, sipping on one of Eddie’s beers and tapping on his phone, not taking his eyes off his screen as he answers. “Maddie told me.”
“Told you what, exactly?“ Eddie says carefully.
His only response is Buck finally looking at him, with a slowly raised brow and a huff, before he turns back to his phone.
“Wait, are you– are you mad about this?” Eddie scoffs.
“Why aren’t I allowed to be?” Buck argues.
“Because we’re not dating!”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
“ Evan”, Eddie says dejectedly, running a hand through his knotted hair.
An uncomfortable silence falls between them, and Buck stands up, turning to make eye contact. “I’m not telling anyone else. See you at work.”
Eddie blows out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, as Buck brushes past him roughly; he wants to stop the younger man, to just for a second discuss what Evan said, but he can’t do it. Not now.
The door closes loudly, and Eddie crumples over the back of the couch, slamming a fist into the cushions.
i thought it'd be hard to find the one, til i found you
fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
Evan Buckley did all of this; Eddie’s pretty sure that his boyfriend rang up his parents, or maybe even Chris, and found the date. He knows that Buck organised the cake, because it reads “congrats on getting all the way around the sun again”, which is an awful lot of text, but it’s also far too big a cake for the small crowd. It’s sweet, in the weird way that Buck is.
or day 6 of eddie diaz week - birthday surprise / 'that was..' 'yeah.'
T | eddie diaz/evan buckley | 1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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⋆⋅☆⋅⋆When you say
You love the way I make you feel
Everything becomes so real
Don't be scared, no, don't be scared
'Cause you're all I need
– Love Someone, Lukas Graham⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Eddie didn’t immediately click with the 118; everyone was mostly friendly, even Buck, but they were still reserved.
And he comes from a background in the forces; he gets it. You don’t just let anyone into your crew, into the familial bond that a team shares. Not when lives are lost so frequently; people have to earn your respect before they earn your friendship, and they have to earn both before they can even dream of being ‘ part of the family’ .
Eddie’s a charmer, though, always has been; a witty joke, a smile, a niche reference that the right people understand. He found his way deep into the 118 family after just a few short months, and now he’s widely considered to be the soul of it all. A defining spirit. Evan is the heart, and Eddie the soul.
At least, that’s what Bobby said in his speech.
And the fact that there was a speech at all is something that would usually make him weirdly uncomfortable; turning 31 was, in itself, not a huge milestone. But it’s the first year anyone’s actually been able to work out his birthday – it’s a card he keeps close to his chest – and now the entire station knows, which bodes well for the next twenty years.
Evan Buckley did all of this; Eddie’s pretty sure that his boyfriend rang up his parents, or maybe even Chris, and found the date. He knows that Buck organised the cake, because it reads “ congrats on getting all the way around the sun again” , which is an awful lot of text, but it’s also far too big a cake for the small crowd. It’s sweet, in the weird way that Buck is.
Everyone from the 118 is here, at Bobby and Athena’s; the garden is decked in streamers and lights, a big banner hung over the back doorway, balloons scattered across the house. It’s the perfect party, even he has to admit to himself.
But Eddie’s never been a huge fan of it all; balloons are bad for turtles, crowds are bad for his anxiety, and that many platters are bad for his wallet.
Buck knows all of this, Eddie realises, which is why the balloons are all inside, the invite list is very exclusively the close ones, and Bobby made all the food – with May’s help. It’s the best party Eddie’s ever been to, which, the list isn’t exactly long, but it makes sense. Hen Wilson sure knows how to throw a party; but Evan Buckley knows how to throw Eddie a party.
But he also knows when Eddie’s had enough, Eddie can see it in his eyes, can feel the way Buck steps closer for him to lean on. When Chimney abandons their conversation in favour of collecting a drink, Buck promises him – just gotta thank Bobby and Athena, and then we can head off.
The thank-you’s seem to last forever, Eddie thinks, but it’s ultimately only a few short minutes before Buck’s hand on his back is guiding him out the front door, and the younger man pulls open the passenger side door for him, both clambering in.
“Well,” Eddie breaths quietly. “That was…”
“Yeah.” Buck winces. “I promise I told Hen to keep the guest list short, and Chim–”
“It’s okay, babe.”
“Are you sure?” Buck’s brow is knit tight and his eyes are soft around the edges, the way he gets when he thinks he’s overstepped – the way he gets when he thinks he’s done harm. The way he gets when he’s not sure where the line is, whether he might have slipped over it somehow in his own enthusiasm. “You don’t usually like parties, but you deserve to be celebrated, you deserve– you deserve it all.”
God, if that wasn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to Eddie; it’s not that he doesn’t like parties, it’s just the various aspects that make up a party that stress him out, and yet Buck had made it an entirely enjoyable experience; because it wasn’t about drinking or a loud rendition of Happy Birthday, it was about family. It was about being with his family on his birthday.
“It was brilliant, Evan.” Eddie says quietly, leaning onto the centre console with one arm. “Best party I’ve ever been to. I swear on it, I enjoyed myself and you knew when I was done. It felt.. It felt good. Being the birthday guy, kind of thing.”
“I promise I’ll keep it reigned in.” Buck says sincerely, eyes wide to reaffirm his point. “Every year, I don’t want it to be– to be too much. You’re not a big party kind of guy.”
“And the fact that you know that is what’s important.” Eddie says quickly. “I appreciate it, all of it.”
“It wasn’t too much?”
“Not in the least. However, that shirt is.”
“What?”
“Drive us home, Buck.” Eddie says, voice hoarse and low. “And then I want a different kind of birthday celebration, with a lot less clothes.”
Pink springs to Buck’s cheeks, but he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the driveway, toeing the speed limit the whole way to Eddie’s place, barely taking in the implication – home.
am i growing up, or am i growing in?
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
Buck’s not religious. Maybe that’s why things came so easy, to him and Tommy; it wasn’t stressful, it wasn’t complicated, it was just hey, guys! I’m bi! I’m covered in soot from making out with my boyfriend! Surprise! There was no religion involved, no book calling his love a sin; not as far as he was concerned. But things are different for Eddie; Josh has been patient as anything, really, and Eddie’s so grateful, but it feels like he’s at war with his own childhood, these days. Like he’s outrunning everything his religion taught him, and still slipping on the cracks in the pavement.
Or alt 3 from eddie diaz week - self acceptance.
T | eddie diaz & hen wilson, eddie diaz/josh russo | 1.1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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Am I moving on or am I moving in?
And accepting that I'll always be changing
That this life is a mess and it's amazing
I wish I could've told myself when I was a kid
Nobody's really growing up, we're just growing in
You have time kid, just take your time, kid
– Growing In, Maddie Zahm
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Eddie’s relationship with religion has always been a little complicated. His family did the whole she-bang back in El Paso, the service in their best clothes on a sunday morning followed by a big family lunch. The kids carried bibles back and forth to school every day, and not one night went by where they were allowed freedom from bedtime prayers.
He recognises that, for some people, a relationship with whichever deity is important; but for Eddie, it’s suffocating. The idea of some greater force isn’t exactly a comfort, considering what Buck calls his “control issues”.
Buck’s not religious. Maybe that’s why things came so easy, to him and Tommy; it wasn’t stressful, it wasn’t complicated, it was just hey, guys! I’m bi! I’m covered in soot from making out with my boyfriend! Surprise! There was no religion involved, no book calling his love a sin; not as far as he was concerned.
Things are different for Eddie; Josh has been patient as anything, really, and Eddie’s so grateful, but it feels like he’s at war with his own childhood, these days. Like he’s outrunning everything his religion taught him, and still slipping on the cracks in the pavement.
“What’s up with you?” Hen says quietly, on the couch across from him. She hasn’t looked up from her textbook once in the last half hour, but Eddie’s been silently staring into space, his thoughts only occasionally accentuated by distant conversations and the usual work sounds from downstairs.
“Hm?”
“You’ve been dead silent for nearly an hour, and you’re not doing anything, you’re just… sitting there.”
“‘M fine.” Eddie hums. Hen just raises a brow.
“Can I ask you something?” He tries instead; Hen sits up, folding the corner of her page and closing the book in her lap. Eddie clears his throat; “Something, like. Personal?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Normally, almost always, Eddie talks to Buck about his feelings. But not this; Buck could never understand this; not the way Hen will.
“When you, like, realised , did you.. Did it bother you?”
“That I was gay?”
Eddie nods, and Hen blows out a long breath. “Yes and no. My first girlfriend, Amanda, she kissed me at a party when I was sixteen. Before that, I knew I liked girls, I think. Subconsciously. But that was definitely an awakening for me. And– and when I was with her, when I was alone with her, I didn’t really have any regret or guilt or shame about, you know. About any of it.”
“But.. But when you were around other people?”
“When Amanda wasn’t with me, things were.. Complicated. I didn’t like who I was when I was around my parents. I really didn’t like being gay and out in high school in the nineties.”
Eddie chuckles, but it’s not really funny, when he thinks about El Paso; there was nobody out in his year at school, but there was a lesbian in the year above him who’s locker was four down from his; it was always covered in pencil markings spelling out slurs. She used to wave at him in the hallways, and then eventually she stopped acknowledging him at all, and then one day she just… stopped coming to school. Nobody knew what happened. A week later, the vice principal had unlocked her locker and put everything in a box to give to her parents. It didn’t take a genius to work it out.
“It took.. It took me four months to hold Amanda’s hand at school. And then the school admin reprimanded us anyway. You’re allowed to not like it, Eddie. You’ve been taught not to like it, if anything. But you don’t get to hide your shame, you have to learn to unpack it.”
“I’m just…”
“Scared?” Hen offers.
“No, I’m not scared. I mean I am, but mostly I’m just… I’m pissed .” Eddie finishes. “I’m pissed– I’m pissed off that– that I feel guilty for holding Josh’s hand, and I’m pissed because my abuela didn’t believe me, and I’m super pissed that all of this was so simple for Buck meanwhile you and me are.. I have to fight it. I have to fight off this shame , and he can just– just wake up one day and realise he’s into men, and that’s– it’s fine for him. I’ve known I was into guys since I was fifteen , and I waited twenty years to come out because I was ashamed. But Buck can just– can kiss a guy and work himself out and scream it from the rooftops a week later, how is any of that fair?l
Hen considers this all for a moment, standing up from the couch and walking over to drop down beside Eddie, a hand on his knee. Her eyes are soft with something like pity, but there’s a fire in them too, that Eddie feels burning in his own expression.
“Part of it’s a race thing. Part of it’s a religion thing. Part of it is just that you and I are that little bit older, and from less accepting places than California, or even Pennsylvania.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “But that’s the point. We want it to be easier for other people than it was for us, we want our kids to grow up with this being okay.” Hen’s voice is slow but firm, sharp around the edges but warm nonetheless. “I know you’re tired of the guilt. So am I. But we gotta move past it, okay? We gotta move past it. For our own happiness.”
“I’m just– I’m really fucking tired of resenting my own feelings.”
“I know.” Hen’s voice drops even lower, a whisper among the bangs of the firehouse. “I know, but you’ll get there. You’ll get to the pride part. For now, just learn to be okay with yourself, with what you want. That’s the first step, Eddie.”
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Josh rocks up to the station to pick Eddie up at the end of his shift to take him home, and Hen watches from the balcony– Eddie greets him with a kiss, lacing his own finger's in Josh's, and both he and Hen catch the surprise on Josh’s face; but it spreads into a smile pretty quickly, a teasing what was that for? , answered with Eddie’s shy just ‘cause.
And when Eddie turns around to wave goodbye, Hen gives a small nod and a smile. Be okay with yourself.
Hi! I am space_cadet09 on Ao3 and I saw your comment about writing more for Jeddie - if you like we have a rarepair community (I posted your fic in there because we're all big Jeddie fans haha) - and we're doing a Jeddie week in October! Join if you'd like! 💗
wow this was an ask i was really glad to come online to!! i absolutely will be writing more jeddie in the near future, and i have some other eddie/9-1-1 rarepairs so... absolutely would love to join! and the event sounds brilliant !
there is a swelling storm, i'm in the middle of it all
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
They’ve had the conversation about the telepathy; Buck’s not really supposed to use it on Eddie unless there are special circumstances, like something happens on a call or if Eddie specifically asks him to; or if he can tell there’s something Eddie can’t say that he needs to hear. Other than that, Evan tries his hardest to stay out of Eddie’s mind – for both of their sakes. It’s not always a pleasant place to be, for either of them.
or day 5 of eddie diaz week - supernatural elements / 'what are we?'
T | evan buckley/eddie diaz | 1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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⋆⋅☆⋅⋆It takes control of the person I thought I wasThe boy I used to knowBut there is a light in the dark,And I feel it’s warmth,In my heart, in my handsBut why can’t I hold on?– Waves, Dean Lewis⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Eddie loves Buck. He loves spending hours at the younger man’s kitchen island, drinking beer like it’s water and bantering until the late hours. He loves when he wakes up in the bunks, and Buck’s sweet snores can be heard across the room. He loves when he has too much to drink and ends up crashing at the loft, and he loves the way Buck’s hands find their way under his shirt, under his boxers, sending sparks across his skin and warmth into the pit of his stomach.
He really does love Evan.
But he doesn’t want to talk about it; because talking about it means that either he loses Buck forever, or he has to marry the man tomorrow; it’s a psychological tornado he pulls himself into; he blames the Catholic upbringing, the all-or-nothing of the church, mostly, but there’s still an element of the loss he faced when Shannon passed. He can’t afford to let anyone in like that again, halfway between a forever love and a hookup.
And so when Evan said that; what are we? , like the tender, drunken sex and lingering glances and far-from-platonic pats on the shoulder weren’t enough; like it needs a word, a definition, a string of conditions, Eddie ran.
Not literally; he’d said something witty about firefighters and that they were late for work, before leaving the bedroom to get dressed and grab some ibuprofen. Buck had seemed mostly himself by the time they’d actually left Eddie’s place, and entirely back to normal when they got to the station.
That’s probably the only perk of Buck’s ability; he knows when it’s about him, and when Eddie’s experiences get in the way, when the situation is just… complicated. He can differentiate.
They’ve had the conversation about the telepathy; Buck’s not really supposed to use it on Eddie unless there are special circumstances, like something happens on a call or if Eddie specifically asks him to; or if he can tell there’s something Eddie can’t say that he needs to hear. Other than that, Evan tries his hardest to stay out of Eddie’s mind – for both of their sakes. It’s not always a pleasant place to be, for either of them.
There was a stretch of time where Eddie’s bad nights, the ones where it takes hours to fall asleep and almost no time to wake up, were accentuated by Buck; times when the darkness took over in the bunkroom, and Eddie would wake up to Buck sitting on the end of his bed, eyes red-rimmed and arm over a bent knee, watching the older man shuffle upright under the sheets. Nights when his nightmares woke Evan first.
That had become a second rule with Buck’s ability; don’t eavesdrop on my sleep.
Eddie thought the nightmares wouldn’t keep Buck up anymore, that it would just be him and his thoughts in a dark room of sleeping people. He figured the bad nights could be his own, and not an agony for them to share.
He thought that was that.
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Eddie’s hands are shaky, and the air is cold, when he wakes up that night. The room is pitch-black, and he knows just from the lumps in the beds either side that it’s still well and truly the middle of the night. And despite every hair standing up and the sweat pooling on his skin, he knows the nightmare isn’t what woke him up.
Because Buck’s broad hands are on his arm, shaking him awake, and the younger man’s face reads with a fear and urgency that Eddie hasn’t seen since they established the boundaries. Eddie sits up quickly, pulling away from Evan like he’s been burned – what ever happened to boundaries?
“I know, I’m sorry.” Buck whispers, voice cracking.
“Stop. Stop that.” Eddie hisses. “Why did you wake me up? We had an agreement, you’re not supposed to eavesdrop on my dreams, Evan, for fuck’s sake.”
I– I swear, I tried not to, Eds. I…You were…”
“ What?”
“You woke me up.”
Eddie leans back against the headboard slowly, letting out a weak sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head back to face the ceiling before dropping his hands back onto the sheets.
“You were screaming.” Evan’s voice comes out hoarse, jaw clenching as he swallows slowly. “You were– you were screaming, so loud, Eddie, in the dream, and it woke me up, and you wouldn’t stop moving, and I– I had to wake you up. I couldn’t just let you sleep through that, it was– it was awful. ”
Eddie reaches out his palm gently, linking his fingers with Buck’s carefully, watching the way his expression softens at the action.
“I’m sorry,” Buck’s tone is so sincere, so sad; “I’m so sorry I had to wake you up, I know you said that– you asked me not to listen in, and I wasn’t trying to, I promise you, I wasn’t–”
“Evan, Evan, ” Eddie pulls the mans hands between his own, looking carefully into his eyes. “You listen to me now, okay? It’s not your fault. You…You pulled me out of a bad place, Evan, you did that. Thank you. ”
Buck looks away from Eddie, pulling at the top of his shirt with a quiet noise, almost a whimper. “You were screaming, Eddie. Like you were in pain, like– like you were dying. You wouldn't stop screaming. ”
“I’m sorry.”
“You were screaming.”
can you find me soon, because i'm in my head?
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
After the man fell – Eddie can’t even remember his name – Evan Buckley stayed there. He assisted the other passengers in getting down from the ride, and then he’d just sat on the back side of the tracks, high above the world in his harness, until his captain called him to climb down to head back to the station. Long after the five passengers had left in their aid car, he’d rested on the thick steel, looking up at the night sky with an expression so similar to the one he’s wearing now.
or alt 2 of eddie diaz week - different job
T | evan buckley & eddie diaz | 1.1k
read on ao3 or under the cut.
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Lately it’s been hard, they’re selling me for parts,
And I don’t wanna be modern art, but I’ve only got half a heart
To give to you, and I hope it’s enough
How can you miss someone you’ve never met?
‘Cause I need you now, but I don’t know you yet
– IDK You Yet, Alexander 23
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Eddie was operating the ride the night the guy let go on the rollercoaster.
And yeah, it’s been playing on his mind a little – that can be expected of anyone, though, when they’ve watched someone die in their place of work. He’s seen far more gruesome deaths, in far worse conditions, with far worse outcomes. Ultimately, one guy refusing to take a hand and then consequently falling, while still tragic, is incomparably weak alongside the carnage Eddie saw on his tours; so he brushes it away, and he moves on with his week.
An event like a death from such a minor malfunction is nowhere near enough to shut the park, or even the ride; so Eddie’s been working the rollercoaster every night since, seeing as it’s a job nobody else seems to want to take.
The park has a mandated curfew of midnight, every night, so the crowds are usually gone by eleven, and the rollercoaster usually has its last run around half past; Eddie loves working the close shift, loves the quiet as the people drift off and suddenly an amusement park is just a shell. Just stalls, just rides, just stuff.
But a week after what park staff are referring to as “the incident”, just as Eddie’s locking the coaster platform gate, a familiar face appears around the corner of a row of stalls.
Firefighter Evan Buckley, who goes by Buck, has been on national television in the last week; the incident made it onto CNN, then NBC; Eddie would be lying if he said he hadn’t found the man intriguing on both, but his real curiosity lies in the way Buck had stayed on the rollercoaster.
After the man fell – Eddie can’t even remember his name – Evan Buckley stayed there. He assisted the other passengers in getting down from the ride, and then he’d just sat on the back side of the tracks, high above the world in his harness, until his captain called him to climb down to head back to the station. Long after the five passengers had left in their aid car, he’d rested on the thick steel, looking up at the night sky with an expression so similar to the one he’s wearing now.
Buck’s eyes are heavy and tired, his coat collar askew, gaze roaming desperately. It’s almost like he’s looking for answers, somehow, Eddie thinks. His hairs slicked neatly across his head, one strand loose at the front, and his hands are twisted together fidgeting.
“Hey, hi.” Eddie calls out, jogging over to the younger man and giving a little wave. Buck offers a nod in greeting. “It’s Buck, right?”
Buck gives a small sigh. “So you’ve seen the news, then?”
“How are you holding up?” Eddie dodges the question; ‘ yeah, but I’ve actually also been stalking you desperately, because not only are you stunningly beautiful, you also seem to be suffering, and I want to know you’re alright’ would probably be the most accurate answer to that question, and it’s probably not the best one to offer to a man he only briefly met.
“It’s been rough.” Buck’s voice is small, quiet in a way that seems not to suit him. “It’s been rough for me, but it’s been worse for his family.”
“Is there anything I can do? I mean, you must be here for a reason.”
“I…” Buck pushes his palms into his eyes hard, face screwed up. “I don’t know?”
“Just…” Eddie gestures back to the ride. “Why don’t you come with me?”
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Nobody’s technically supposed to do this. But the ride is completely shut off, Eddie has a great sense of balance and he trusts that the firefighter can handle himself; besides, he’s never gotten in trouble for climbing the ride before. Especially not after closing.
He doesn’t climb to the top; he’s a dumbass, not suicidal, so he clambers twenty yards up the ramp and sits on the track, high above the stalls of the park, above the world. Where it’s just him and the starry sky stretching out for miles, until the glittering city lights of LA take over and the whole world around him seems aflame with the glow.
It’s perfect solidarity, he’s never brought someone up before. Not until now.
“Are we supposed to be doing this?” Buck says quietly, when Eddie gestures for him to settle on the track. “Isn’t this dangerous?”
Eddie hums an acknowledgment. “You run into fire for a living. I think you’re used to danger.”
Buck just laughs.
The air goes quiet between them, and Eddie doesn’t know what to say, how to break it; Buck had just seemed so broken, in a way Eddie’s not seen since his tour finished, and it had burrowed into his own chest, an ache he can’t heal twisting through his body. It’s so foreign, too, because he shouldn’t care about Buck. Realistically, he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t feel all this for a stranger. But the pain is flooding him, for Evan, on his behalf or alongside him or out of pity for him , Eddie doesn’t even know.
He must get uncomfortable with the quiet echo of car horns, or he just wants to talk, because it’s only a few minutes before Buck breaks the silence; his mouth barely seems to move, but his words are loud – maybe that’s just the weight of them, though. “He wouldn’t grab my hand.”
Eddie tears his eyes from the city lights to look at Buck; his eyes are soft, sad, but his mouth is a thin line, and his hands are clenched into fists in his lap.
“It’s not your fault, Buck.” Eddie whispers.
Buck scoffs. “Right.”
“It’s not. ”
“I had one job, Eddie.” Buck says firmly, looking out at the hills in the distance, headlights streaking the horizon. “I had one job: save the guy. That is what I get paid for, that is what I trained for, that is what I wanted. And I didn’t do it. I couldn’t get him to grab my hand.”
Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing; nothing, nothing, nothing, for the rest of the night. He and Buck just sit on the tracks for hours, until the dawn peeks over the horizon and their backs both ache, and then they climb back down to the stall.
Buck leaves without a goodbye. Eddie has to stop himself calling out to the man’s retreating figure.
“Stay safe,” He whispers, but the wind steals the words away, and Evan disappears around the corner again.
everyone else sees what you never see
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
It’s agonising and it’s stupid and he should’ve just asked Josh on a date, because that would’ve been simpler and far less tense in the first place. Instead, he’s stuck next to someone he still calls a friend; someone who looks way too good in his blue suit jacket, and has spent the majority of the night passing Eddie beers, tossing out relationship jokes, and overall just making him feel closer and closer to losing his mind.
or day 4 of eddie diaz week - fake dating / 'be gay, do crime'
T | eddie diaz/josh russo | 1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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They think we’re a couple,They bought us some booze,We shared the moscato and laughed, cause it’s true to me
And I’d be embarrassed, if I weren’t so pleasedThat everyone else sees what you never see
We’re perfect together, but I’ll never be the one– Footnote, Conan Gray
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It’s a common misconception; because he married a woman, and he’s not been out with a guy since he left Texas, and he’s the farthest thing from effeminate, everyone assumes he’s not into guys. Which he tried to convince himself was true – again attributing to the avoidance of femininity – but frankly it’s not. Eddie doesn’t feel the need to slap a label onto it like a goddamn pickle jar, but he supposes if you’re going to categorise the uncategorizable, he’d be a male-leaning bisexual man.
He tends to just go with “queer”.
But this is the first time Eddie’s actually dared to bring a guy out to a 118 event, and yeah, it might just be a friend posing as his boyfriend for the sake of both of them, and maybe he has a fat crush on Josh that externally appears to have come to a point, but internally hasn’t; but he still brought a guy to a wedding with all of his best friends present, and it was far too shocking to the lot of them, he’s decided.
“Did we work out,” Josh says quietly, handing Eddie a beer on his return from the bar. “What we’re going to say after all this?”
“Uh, not really.” Eddie takes it gratefully, taking a long sip.
He’s needing all the help he can get to push through this wedding; he’s struggling to remember why, exactly, he thought it would be a good idea to fake-date Josh for the sake of this event; mostly it’s self-torture, because their shared interest in men has resulted in Josh pointing out various guys, for both himself and Eddie to check out.
Eddie’s eyes mostly just give them a once-over, turning back to see what Josh seems to be thinking; but every time he looks back, Josh has already looked past the guy, onto the next one.
It’s agonising and it’s stupid and he should’ve just asked Josh on a date, because that would’ve been simpler and far less tense in the first place. Instead, he’s stuck next to someone he still calls a friend; someone who looks way too good in his blue suit jacket, and has spent the majority of the night passing Eddie beers, tossing out relationship jokes, and overall just making him feel closer and closer to losing his mind.
“We should go say hi,” Eddie eventually says, when the number of guys that Josh has pointed out has ticked well over the number of drinks Eddie’s had so far. “To Buck and Tommy, I mean.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Buck swore up and down he refused to spend his wedding day trying to say hello to everyone who joined them; so he and Tommy have set up a table against the back wall of the tent, where people can come periodically and they can stay close to each other; the bar is at the other end, and the dance floor right in the middle, so they’re kept away from the majority crowd and can enjoy each others’ company and still get to see people as the night went on. It was the perfect solution, actually, and Eddie admired it; he spent most of his own wedding day wandering around the gardens, saying hello to everyone while his new wife was on the other side of the crowd.
A few yards from the table is a smaller, round table, set with a little A-sign chalkboard and a green ceramic bowl; in wide, swooping white letters, the board reads Honeymoon Fund, accentuated with two thick, curved exclamation points. The bowl is overflowing with notes, mostly five or ten dollars, but a significant number are more than that. Eddie swipes a twenty, slipping it into his shirt pocket.
“Seriously? You know when people say ‘ be gay, do crimes’ , theft is usually not what they mean.”
“Hey, if these buffoons are trying to get me drunk with an open bar, they can pay for the uber home.”
Josh allows a small smile at that, before he puts an arm around Eddie’s waist.
“What?” He says at the face Eddie pulls. “If we’re getting away with the dating thing, we need a little touch of PDA. You and I both know its a whole thing for me.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Eddie says quietly.
He doesn’t say anything about the way Josh’s hand on his waistline burns into his skin so wonderfully, or the way that being so tight against his side feels so right, even if it’s all pretend. They click together like two pieces of the same puzzle, but for some reason Josh doesn’t even seem to see it, and Eddie feels like he’s screaming at a deaf man.
“Hey, Eddie.” Buck smiles when the pair approach the table, standing up to hug his best friend, Tommy doing the same, before they both do the same with Josh. “How are you two? How’s the night going?”
“It’s brilliant.” Josh tilts his head slightly in that way Eddie’s noticed now. “You planned quite the event.”
“He’s more than just a pretty face.” Tommy snakes an arm around Evan’s waist, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“How’s the date night going?” Evan bites his lip, a grin creeping through.
“Really well,” Josh says, looking over at Eddie; it’s annoying how good he is at this. “But I think my date’s getting a little empty there, so we’re going to take advantage of that open bar. There are mistakes yet to be made tonight!”
Tommy laughs at that, waving them both away, but Buck grabs Eddie’s arm while Josh starts to head for the bar, whispering in Eddie’s ear quickly. “You’re so down bad, oh my god. Go wife him up, God’s sake.”
Eddie just shakes his head with a smile, following in Josh’s path through the people, catching up to him just past the dance floor and sidling up alongside him. “You’re too good at that.”
“At what?”
“Convincing people we’re together.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Josh quickly orders their drinks at the bar, taking a glass of gin and handing Eddie yet another bottle of beer. “I just have that natural charm, you know?” He teases.
there is no guarantee, that this life is easy
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week
Eddie should have known the risks; he works for a fire and rescue team, he should have realised what can happen – and he doesn’t want Christopher’s disability to limit him the way it does, but as his father, Eddie feels responsible. He should have been realistic about what his son is capable of, he should have been more careful, he shouldn’t have brought him out here, he should have shouldn’t have should have.
or alt 1 of eddie diaz week - adventures with chris
T | eddie diaz & christopher diaz & evan buckley | 1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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Right there where they belong,
And I know I’m not alone
Yeah, when my world is falling apart,
When there’s no light to break up the dark,
That’s when I, I, I look at you
– When I Look At You, Miley Cyrus
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Eddie should’ve known that it was a bad idea; beyond Chris’ disability, he doesn’t even really have the personality for camping. He’s a tech kid, a structure kid, a hot running water kid. The least comfortable camper Eddie’s ever known.
And as the parent, Eddie should’ve said no; Carla warned him, Buck warned him, hell, even Bobby asked if it was a good idea to take Chris to the campsite, a nearly fourty-minute drive out of central LA; but Eddie had been so excited by the fact that Christopher had asked to try it, he’d fallen right into planning.
It had all been going pretty good; great , actually. Chris slept through their first night pretty solidly, and had been eager to keep the activities going.
Eddie should have known the risks; he works for a fire and rescue team, he should have realised what can happen – and he doesn’t want Christopher’s disability to limit him the way it does, but as his father, Eddie feels responsible. He should have been realistic about what his son is capable of, he should have been more careful, he shouldn’t have brought him out here, he should have shouldn’t have should have.
When he saw the blood spreading on Christopher’s t-shirt, Eddie had panicked. He’d panicked hard enough that he’d forgotten where the park centre was, forgotten his medical training, forgotten everything, and just picked up his phone; thank the gods above for cell service out here.
“Eddie? I thought you guys were camping this weekend.” Buck’s voice rings out tinny through the phone, and Eddie puts it on speaker, hushing Christopher’s sobs and pulled his own shirt over his head, pressing it onto the wound on Christopher’s stomach.
“It’s Christopher.” Eddie says quickly. “He– He wanted to go down to the creek, so we did, but his crutch got caught on a rock and he fell and there’s– um. Deep wound to his abdomen, non–life threatening just– he’s in so much pain, Buck.”
“I’m getting in the car, d’you guys need an ambulance? I can call it in.”
“No, no, I don’t think so. It’d be at least an hour til they got here anyway, I just– I need you to come help me get him patched up, I don’t have a med kit, and I need to get him to urgent care, man. This is– its not life threatening, but he’s going to need stitches.”
“Alright, I’m on my way.” Eddie can hear how Buck’s voice is quieter, and guesses the phone’s been tossed down onto the passenger seat of his car.
“Please hurry.” He whispers, and there’s no shot Buck heard him, but he hopes the man knows regardless.
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By the time Buck’s running across the dirt with a bag of med supplies and a blanket, Eddie’s taken Chris’ shirt off and laid him out flat on the grass beside the creek, laying out his own jacket as a pillow. Buck practically skids to a stop beside them, dropping to his knees and immediately pulling out supplies; Christopher whimpers his name through tears, and Evan starts murmuring quiet comforts, changing Eddie’s shirt out for gauze pads, pulling the older man’s hand over to put pressure on the wound.
“We’re going to sterilise and dress them,” Buck says quickly, pulling out medical wipes and ripping one open with his teeth. “I need you to keep the pressure on, Eds, okay?”
“Yeah.” Eddie whispers; it’s frustrating, the way years of medical training and practice goes down the drain when the panic flooded him, the sight of Christopher’s blood enough to stop him on his feet.
But Buck walks him through it, he doesn’t even seem to be surprised at the way Eddie’s panic has taken over his brain, the way all his experience evaporated in a moment. And if it were anyone else, Eddie might feel judged, but he doesnt; not even for a second.
Then again, when has Buck ever been one to judge?
And maybe it’s a testament to their friendship, that Eddie so readily and so quickly called him; but it’s a testament to something deeper, to. It’s a sign of the relationship Buck shares with Christopher, of the way they work as a little family together; an unusually shaped one, but a little family nonetheless.
It’s a reminder, too, of something Eddie’s forgotten; between the drama with Chris and Buck always being off Tommy, it’s fallen into the background. Buck is Eddie’s best friend; more than that, they’re closer than that. If people used the term soulmates without it being inherently romantic, Eddie would introduce Buck as that; as his soulmate, as the other half of his heart, not because Eddie’s in love with him but just because they fit, in a way more consuming and healing than Eddie’s ever known.
So when Buck pulls Chris up into his arms and lays him across the backseat of the Jeep, head in Eddie’s lap, the older man’s not sure he’s ever felt safer, felt more comfortable. Which potentially speaks volumes, considering the apparent pain Christopher is in, but in some weird twisted way, his trust in Evan outweighs his fear at this moment.
“Alright, we’re going to Huntington Park, okay? You two going to be alright back here?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“It won’t be long, Chris, alright? How are you holding up?” Buck asks, brow furrowed.
Christopher gives a slow thumbs up, and Eddie nods with a watery smile.
“Wait, Buck, just– one more thing.”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Thank you.” Eddie says sincerely. “Thank you.”
Buck gives a resolute nod, closing the door carefully.
But there’s a new face at the table tonight, and it catches Eddie entirely off guard; a cheeky grin and a loud laugh and a sense of humour not unlike Chimney’s, but actually funny. His brown eyes are sparkling in the kitchen light, and he holds out a warm hand, his name seeming to float in the air around Eddie when he says it. Albert.
or day three of eddie diaz week - rarepair / 'yes, please'
T | eddie diaz/albert han | 1.1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand, strike up the band
And make the fireflies dance,
Silver moon’s sparkling, so kiss me
– Kiss Me, Sixpence None The Richer
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Family dinner has ultimately become a tradition for the 118; a once-a-month potluck complete with Buck’s store-bought cookies, which have now become a staple every time. The firefighters eat together every shift, that’s true, but it’s an opportunity for the families to mingle; for Karen to hang out with ‘normal people’, for Tommy to see them all when he’s not working, for the kids to muck around as a crowd.
It rotates from house to house; it used to be at Bobby and Athena’s every month until Maddie and Chimney bought the new house, and now the event circles between the two as well as Karen and Hen’s, and even Eddie’s once or twice – but everyone felt bad for him cleaning up alone, and it seemed to just drop out of rotation.
The meal is shared within a pretty exclusive group; an invitation to the 118 family dinner is practically a golden ticket as far as they’re all concerned. Not just anybody gets to show up, so the group rarely changes – other than when Tommy picks up doubles, when May’s out with her friends, when Michael stays in with David; the group stays relatively the same.
But there’s a new face at the table tonight, and it catches Eddie entirely off guard; a cheeky grin and a loud laugh and a sense of humour not unlike Chimney’s, but actually funny. His brown eyes are sparkling in the kitchen light, and he holds out a warm hand, his name seeming to float in the air around Eddie when he says it. Albert.
“Oh, so you’re Chimney’s brother?” Bobby asked loudly when he and Athena were introduced.
“That’s me. The more attractive sibling.”
Hen calls out; “Shade, shade, shade, shade, shade.”
“What’d he say about me?” Chimney cuts into the conversation with a wide, teasing smile.
"I’m the handsome brother, it’s easy to see.” Albert winks at Eddie as he says it, and Eddie just turns around to grab a beer.
He’s going to need a drink if this is a mistake he wants to make tonight.
“Well, which one of us is with the best woman in the room?”
“Yeah, Buckley genetics for the win!” Evan whoops.
“Hell yeah, they are.” Tommy smiles softly, whispering something else to Buck; something that Eddie’s definitely grateful he didn’t hear, based on the face Buck pulls as he hears it.
The laughter and banter continues as Eddie pulls the lid off his beer, sitting down the far end of the table, across from a conversation that Karen, May and Ravi are deeply entrenched in.
“Hey, Eddie!” Chimney calls out. “A hand?”
“In the kitchen? Do you actually want the food to be edible, Han?” Tommy cuts in, handing Buck his beer. “Here, I’ll help.”
Eddie sighs a breathy laugh, and he feels eyes burning into his skin from the far end of the table; but he averts his gaze, working himself into Ravi’s conversation, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Albert’s voice drops out of his own.
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Somehow, even after all these dinners, all these months with the 118, Eddie’s never learned his lesson. He always overeats; he’s two beers and three full plates in when he excuses himself, needing a minute to breathe and wash his face with cold water. It’s hardly his fault that Bobby brought his risotto dish; Eddie just couldn’t stop at one serving.
The problem with the hallway from the kitchen to the bathroom is mostly that Eddie has absolutely zero clue where the light switch; the only light is the silver of the moon, shining through a window halfway down. The rest is darkness; Eddie feels his way out of the bathroom, hands tapping against the wall before he collides with someone just past the little light the window offers.
“Sorry, sorry,” Eddie says, taking the tiniest of steps backwards, head down as a torch light flickers on; and it’s Albert, holding up his phone with the light switched on, a warm smile of achievement on his face where there should’ve been surprise.
So now this guy was seeking Eddie out; two beers wasn’t enough to make this mistake before, but with that new information, it might be.
“Hey,” Albert’s voice is shaky around the edges, like the sort of nervousness you only carry when something matters, and it’s not what Eddie was expecting. “It’s been really good to hang out with you guys.
“Been good to hang with you too.” Eddie says politely, biting down on Albert’s name – if he says it, he’s scared it’ll come out far heavier than he can afford for it to, so he holds his tongue, though barely.
“Well, I was just heading back–”
“Can I kiss you?” Albert cuts him off.
Eddie freezes for only a millisecond, his body still mere inches from Albert’s, his heart pounding in his ears; he freezes for just a fraction of time, the world swirling around him. And then, for once in his goddamn life, he decides to take the leap.
“Yes, please.”
Albert’s whole body springs forward, one hand gently wrapping itself up into Eddie’s hair, the phone clattering to the floor and the light disappearing; the force of the movement sends Eddie stumbling backwards into the light of the window, desperately craning his neck to keep his lips on Alberts.
Eddie’s hands find their way to Albert’s waistline, rucking up his shirt and caressing the smooth skin underneath the fabric, palms running across his waist softly. Where their lips meet is soft and smooth and gentle, a tongue running gently along Eddie’s lip and their mouths moving in unison for moments, seconds that feel like a lifetime.
Both men eventually pull back breathless, Albert’s hands taking a hold of either side of Eddie's face, gaze glistening and a hesitant smile creeping in; nothing like the cocky grin he’d been sporting when Eddie first walked in. This is genuine warmth; not love, not yet, but warmth like Eddie’s not known since Shannon.
“You look..” Albert sighs, breath shallow. “In this light…”
“Kiss me again, yeah?” Eddie runs a thumb along Albert’s waist, taking in the way he leans into the touch.
“Yeah.” Albert nods. “Yeah, absolutely.”
And then the words vanish into the air around them both, because Albert’s lips are on Eddie’s and his hands are back in Eddie’s hair and the hallway is spinning around them, the entire world fading into the darkness until it’s just Albert’s touch like sparks on his skin.
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thank you for reading !! reblog to support my work?
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @eddiediaz-week's day 2 prompts.
At this point in it all, too, Eddie’s become used to the ache across his shoulder and back; it was bad enough initially that he asked his physiotherapist, who redirected him to various specialists, all of whom told him the same thing; it’s minor nerve damage. It’s irreparable. It’s chronic. It’s a lifelong agony that he just has to manage. He can’t fix it. He can’t treat it. He just has to learn to live with it.
or day two of eddie diaz week - whump / 'why me?'
T | eddie diaz/tommy kinard | 1.1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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Pain’s like cold water, your brain just gets used to it
I try to keep swimming and keep Dad’s good word in my heart
But they’re fighting like dogs in the town ‘cross the river
Over a brand-new crosswalk that won’t matter come winter
Lord, sometimes folks just need something to be angry about
What are you angry about?
– Pain Is Cold Water, Noah Kahan
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Nobody has ever accused Eddie of being a weak man; he bears pain like a martyr, Bobby once told him, but that was mostly a criticism of his apparent inability to seek help. If anything, the majority of his family and friends would say he needs to complain more rather than less; because he bottles up his pain, represses everything he’s feeling, until it all spills out like a candle overheating, the pooling wax sending shards of glass flying.
And Tommy’s been gentle with him, been trying to open his shell and coax him into explaining his low moods this week, but Eddie’s not sure he wants to put the weight of this on his boyfriend. It’s something irreparable and unhelpable, and if anything it’ll just make Tommy feel guilty for something that he didn’t cause and can’t fix.
At this point in it all, too, Eddie’s become used to the ache across his shoulder and back; it was bad enough initially that he asked his physiotherapist, who redirected him to various specialists, all of whom told him the same thing; it’s minor nerve damage. It’s irreparable. It’s chronic. It’s a lifelong agony that he just has to manage. He can’t fix it. He can’t treat it. He just has to learn to live with it.
It got better with time, sort of; as his shoulder healed, the initial pain subsided; but the constant ache, the intense shots of pain in his shoulder, the moments where he moved his arm slightly and his whole body felt aflame with the pain, they stayed. It’s like a demon he can’t outrun, and some days it’s better than others, but it’s always there.
A twinge when he wakes up reminds him of the event which reminds him of the war which, some days, sends him spiralling; it’s been more than once, in the five months since they moved in together, that Tommy’s woken up to a crying Eddie trying to settle his panicking brain and holding his shoulder carefully. It’s been even more often that Eddie’s been missing from the bed entirely, and Tommy finds him up far earlier than is needed, in the kitchen making a hot breakfast or on the couch watching bad television.
Tommy asked him to see a sleep specialist. Eddie laughed.
It’s not the sleep, that’s the problem. He doesn’t have nightmares from the war, not often, and the thoughts of the gunshot aren’t what wake him up at four, five o’clock in the morning. It’s the pain, shooting through his body and sending aches as a reminder every time he moves. It’s not enough to stop him doing his job, not even hinder him, but it plays on his mind and it tires him out quickly. Even his libido has been weakened, to which Tommy’s had many concerned glances, because it used to be rare they could keep their hands off each other.
It’s just harder to feel sexy when he’s so tired. Tired from work, tired of the early mornings, tired of the pain.
“Hey, babe.” Tommy calls from the kitchen. “Should we order in?”
“Mhm.” Eddie barely musters the energy for that noise, rubbing at his face with his good hand and leaning back into the couch cushions; everything just hurts.
“Hey,” Tommy wanders over to the couch, sitting on the arm of it; “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“S’nothing.” Eddie pats the older man’s knee, sucking a breath through his teeth when pain shoots across his shoulder at the motion. Shit, that hurt.
“It’s clearly not, talk to me, Eds.” Tommy moves to crouch in front of Eddie, brow furrowed in concern.
“Just– Just my shoulder.”
“Has it been playing up? I can book an appointment with Dr. Brooke for next–”
“God, no, Tommy, I don’t need another appointment!”
Eddie hates that he’s raising his voice, but he can’t seem to stop the floodgates and everything he’s left unsaid for the last two years comes tumbling out in a smooth motion. “I’m tired of appointments! I’m tired of scans, I’m tired of being prodded and poked and I’m really sick of being told that everythings fine and I’m fully healed when I still feel like this. I’m tired of doctors telling me I have full function of my arm, because I know that, I just..” He runs a hand through his hair, clenching his jaw. “I’m just so tired of the pain, Tom. Every time I see Brooke, he tells me that I’m– that my shoulders healed and that chronic pain is normal and that he’s treating patients, not ‘creating addicts’, and I just– it’s so much, Tommy. I’m used to the pain and that scares me.” He breathes out the last of it, barely a whisper. “Why did it have to be me?”
“Well, babe, maybe there’s some, some alternative treatment we could try. Um, remember when Sal had that thing in his leg? He went to an acupuncturist, and that–”
“You’re not hearing me, Tom.” Eddie sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You don’t– there’s nothing that anyone can do. I’ve seen a half-dozen specialists. Doctor Warren said acupuncture won’t work, medicating me will just make me reliant, physio can’t help with the shooting pains, I– I can’t be fixed, Tommy. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this pain in my shoulder and you can’t fix that. So either just– either just hold me right now, or go, because I don’t want you to keep trying to fix me. I just want a fucking hug.”
“Okay,” Tommy stands up slowly, sitting down on the couch beside Eddie. “I can– I can do that.”
Eddie nods, leaning into Tommy’s touch until his head finds it’s way to the man’s chest, his eyes fluttering shut when Tommy presses a careful kiss to the back of his head, and his low voice swarms around Eddie’s head. “Thank you for talking to me about this.”
And for the first time in a while, Eddie doesn’t wake up before Tommy – the man’s already running a hot bath and is ready with a coffee when Eddie rolls over, and it doesn’t fix the pain, but it makes it worth bearing for another day. It makes the weight something worth carrying.
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @bucktommypositivityweek round two!
Buck knew, logically, that Tommy, Hen and Chimney likely hadn’t exaggerated Gerrard’s prejudices; none of them were really the type to dramatize things like that, and they’d all shared a very similar recollection of his leadership. But there had still been a little voice in the back of his head the entire time, telling him there was no way that someone could be that awful.
He was wrong. He was very, very wrong.
or bucktommy positivity week day two - scenes in a firetruck
T | evan buckley/tommy kinard | 3.3k
read on ao3 or under the cut !
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There's something about you,
‘Cause if the whole world was watching,
I'd still dance with you
Drive highways and byways to be there with you
Over and over the only truth
Everything comes back to you
– This Town, Niall Horan
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Buck knew, logically, that Tommy, Hen and Chimney likely hadn’t exaggerated Gerrard’s prejudices; none of them were really the type to dramatize things like that, and they’d all shared a very similar recollection of his leadership. But there had still been a little voice in the back of his head the entire time, telling him there was no way that someone could be that awful.
He was wrong. He was very, very wrong.
It starts with the chores; Hen always seems to end up with the most mundane and tedious of tasks, and nearly every shift, she’s stuck cooking the meals. Sexism at its best, she’s said in the groupchat; apparently Gerrard has decided that the only woman in the crew should be behind the kitchen counter, although everyone preaches that Evan is a far better cook. Especially when, one shift, Hen served half-burnt lasagna that tasted vaguely of undercooked egg – from then on, Buck was allowed to cook the meals, to everyone’s huge relief.
There’s also Chimney and Eddie’s burden to carry; it’s mostly racial comments based in the pandemic or illegal immigration that Gerrard slipped to them both, but there is also an excessive amount of grunt work distributed in their direction – cleaning the trucks when they don’t really need it, mopping the barn floor right after rough calls, rolling hoses at all hours of the night. And whenever Buck offers his own hand to help, Gerrard refuses, asking him to perform much more enjoyable tasks; he’s reorganized the firehouse bulletin board more times than he can count, in the month since Bobby left.
Which, no, Buck isn’t all that happy with.
And Buck is another thing, too; Buck can’t be called that, anymore, at least not on shift. Gerrard insists that everyone call him either Evan or Buckley, not just his nickname. It’s the same for the lot of them; Chimney is now Han, Hen is Wilson – unless Gerrard’s firing sexual jokes in her direction, in which case it’s Henrietta – and Eddie is Diaz, which he is far less than enthused about.
Loathed also, there is the matter of PDA in the firehouse; Gerrard had threatened Hen to be written up when she greeted Karen with a kiss hello. Apparently, public displays have no place in this station. Of course, when Eddie’s girlfriend of the moment rushed in and pressed a frankly uncomfortable kiss to his cheek, that was completely fine. Evan doesn’t really get it – well, he does, Gerrard’s a homophobe, et cetera – but he figures that he and Tommy see each other so little during work, Gerrard’s prejudices won’t be an issue for them.
Today marks only the second time that his and Tommy’s units have been dispatched together since their coffee date all those months ago; and although the older man looks undeniably hot in his turnouts, Buck’s been restraining himself, eyes carefully trained on his work. The 118’s RA unit was called out to help the 217 at the Harbor after a trawler boat capsized off the coast; but complications turned the call into a larger-scale rescue situation, and it wasn’t long before Hen and Chimney were joined by the rest of the 118, as well as the engine crew from the 162.
It’s four hours of cold sea water and the smell of smoke burning into Evan’s brain, a dozen passengers as well as some swimmers caught in the debris, in all states of injuries and drownings, even a couple black-tags pulled from the tide as the sun drags down toward the horizon, orange spilling across the corners of the sky.
And when the last of their patients are discharged from triage, some transported – to Hollywood General, mostly, Buck thinks – it’s just that orange glow settling across the waves, deep purples echoing the coming night from the east side of the sky. Gerrard’s reconvening with the 217’s captain, Hen and Chimney pulled away in the RA, and Eddie packed away the engine – so Buck has a few moments peace before he’ll need to head back to the station.
Buck lets his eyes flutter shut, the noise of waves crashing against the dirt and the background chatter of the straggling 217 crew surrounding him. The sea breeze is brisk on his face, but the golden glow of the setting sun is warm and pleasant, the air thick with the scent of seasalt. His boots are dripping with sand, hair dampened by the sea-spray and curls made only more prominent by the salty harbor air. The horizon is lit orange in a glowing halo, and the tide laps at the toes of his shoes, pulling the grains away.
“Hey,” Tommy’s voice breaks out quietly behind him, and Evan stays unmoving, although a wide grin spreads across his face at the sound, and he utters a soft greeting.
“So that was…” Tommy puffs his cheeks, blowing out a breath and moving to stand beside Evan, gaze fixed on the orange horizon; his features are lit by the reflection of the light in the pinks and oranges of the sky above, every detail of his complexion shining radiantly in the dying rays of sun.
Evan swallows tensely, trying to shift his attention from how Tommy looks in this light; there are so many things he would do, right here on the sand if he had the choice, but all of them would probably be more than enough to have him fired, and many of them involve public indecency also - which is a slight issue.
But when Tommy’s hand slips into Evan’s, every one of those thoughts abandons him, and he stumbles backwards as though burned, wrenching his arm away. He looks up along the sands to where both crews are stood by their respective engines, where Gerrard is talking – to the 217 captain, and a younger man who was once a probie under him, apparently – but no one seems to pay them any mind, and Buck feels the guilt flood upwards from where Tommy’s hand touched, like a ghost on his skin.
“I’m sorry.” He chokes out the words, slamming a boot into the tide and chewing at the corner of his lip. “I’m sorry, I just– Gerrard’s already–”
“It’s fine, I get it.” The edge of Tommy’s tone seems to be tinged with annoyance, despite his words. “You don’t need the extra crap to put up with.”
“No, it’s not–”
“Buck.” Tommy’s voice cuts him off again, and hold on, Tommy never calls him that. “I said it was fine. Leave it.”
The words carry away into the wind as Tommy traipses back up the sand, Evan left facing out to the sea alone as the last light drops over the edge of the waves, just the cold salty air and the engine’s headlights overtaking his senses.
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When Evan gets home that night, Tommy isn’t there. There’s a blue post-it on the countertop with a simple, at sal’s, don’t wait up, i love you,’ etched in black pen, and Buck scoffs, scrunching the paper up before climbing the stairs, dropping his work duffel and collapsing, shoes and all, onto the bed. Eventually he kicks off his sweats and shoes, taking a scalding hot shower before curling back under the covers; it doesn’t take him long to get to sleep, but he wakes to a cold, empty bed, and suddenly those eight hours don’t feel as restful as they did.
Buck wastes the day away watching reruns of Wheel Of Fortune and Seinfeld, and even texts Chris to check in – he’s not ready to come home just yet, but Texas isn’t exactly his favorite place, from how he describes it – calling Maddie a little later to talk to his niece, who shares an admittedly terrible portrait of him. If she weren’t three years old, he’d probably be offended by the depiction.
Eventually, Evan hangs up and has some lunch, then throwing his dirty clothes from last night into the washer alongside some t-shirts and boxers Tommy left in the hamper; A-shift are on from six tonight, so he repacks his work bag early in the afternoon, heads out for a quick run, makes himself a protein shake – and by then he’s late to leave, rushing out the front door with his keys jingling loudly and his crocs scuffing along the tile floors.
When he gets to work, it’s only a few short moments – enough for him to change into his uniform, lace up his boots and pull a cold bottle of sparkling water from the fridge – before the bell sounds, and he leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm, forcing himself upright, downstairs, and into the engine.
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Five alarm fires aren’t exactly common, but they’re not as rare as anyone, in any given FD, would like. And with only an hour left in a twenty-four hour shift – the shift from hell, Eddie’s been referring to it as, considering the difficulty and amount of calls they’ve received – Buck isn’t as enthused about it as he normally would be.
Five-alarms are dangerous. Five-alarms are terrifying. Five-alarms get people killed on a huge scale. And five-alarms mean that if you finish your shift in the middle, you’ll probably still be on duty for another three or four hours at least; all hands on deck, that’s how it works. Gerrard reminds them all of that, when they clamber down from the cab of the engine, dropping onto bitumen and ash; a cloud of it seems to have settled over the road, coating the air with smog and blanketing their surroundings in a thick black layer.
There seems to be a dozen other firehouses or so on the scene, and the blaze is enormous; two neighboring high-rises on the eastside of LA lit up in flames, smoke pouring in all directions, firefighters voices echoing around the precinct, accentuated by crashing glass and cries from the victims at triage. A pure hellscape, just about, of violent heat and exhausted firefighters; Gerrard goes to check in with the IC, and orders Hen and Chimney to relieve the firefighters handling triage. Almost all the first responders around them appear dead on their feet; reports say the fire’s been burning a solid four hours, only growing thanks to the buildings in the area seemingly not so much as glancing at the codes.
“Daniels, Rosen, we need to check with the floor wardens, then relieve the 133 boys on the north wall. Diaz, Buckley, fire attack.” Gerrard orders, face grim. “Run another line, help out the 217, they need someone up the ladder on the delta side. Barnett, you’re operating.”
“Copy.” Eddie says lowly, gaze meeting Evan’s curiously; Buck is mentally kicking himself, he’s obviously worse at hiding this than he hoped.
This isn’t Tommy and Buck’s first fight – is it even a fight, if one person made a mistake and the other just shut them out? – but it’s worse than anything else they’ve yet faced. Tommy’s never left like that before; he’s crashed on Sal’s couch a couple times after big nights out, but it’s always a drunken text with far too many x’s and o’s to be reasonable, and he’s always come back home by the next afternoon. This is different; he’s never disappeared, like this, into his own feelings, and Evan has ultimately decided he hates it.
The 217 crew seem pretty fresh, and it makes sense – they would’ve been one of the more recent to arrive considering the location of the fire – but Evan’s gaze is searching, running along the backs of the firefighters around the ladder truck; Johnson, Garcia, Knox, Kinard. Kinard. Tommy.
His gaze is resolutely fixed on the fire where he stands harnessed at the top of the ladder, his hose raised in the face of it and the flickering light running across his figure, leaving him a sparkling silhouette surrounded by a halo of firelight, from where Evan stands behind the 217 ladder. Tommy’s turnouts are billowing around him as the wind blows diluted smoke low across the sky, and his helmet’s set askew on his head. Even though Evan can’t see it from this distance, he knows Tommy’s lip is likely curled in dissatisfaction; the fire seems not to be dimmed at all by his efforts, and it’s really beginning to look like they’ll have to let this one burn itself out. The structure seemed beyond saving when the 118 arrived, anyway.
But when the night falls across the sky, inky black spreading across, overtaking yellows and blues against the horizon, the crumbling structure’s flames give way. The skeletal frame of the building is blackened with ash, smoke coiling upward and clouding over the few dim-lit stars visible in the California sky as a crowd of civilians whoop and the firefighters stamp out scattered spot fires and leftover flames. Tommy is lowered down to the ground – as is Eddie, who’d practically forbidden Buck from going up the 118’s ladder despite pretty mild weather this time of year – safely back to Evan, soot coated across his skin in a way so reminiscent of that day in the hospital.
And he has to back away to stop himself launching on Tommy, the dark smears on his face and the still-bright gleam of now-gone firelight in his eyes evoking primal temptations in every bone of Evan’s body; no blue-collar man should ever finish a day’s work looking so entirely enticing, Buck decides. It’s a danger to the general public, to have Tommy dropping onto his feet beside the truck this way, a salacious smirk spread wide across a sooted face.
Evan’s restraint is riding a thin line between safety and breakage, but then Eddie catches his gaze, and an order for the 118 and 165 crews to head back to their respective engines echoes from the radio. Buck just offers a small, apologetic smile in Tommy’s direction, hoping it gets the words across before following Eddie’s jog back to Gerrard.
Hen and Chimney ended up transporting a patient with severe burns to Hollywood General, so the RA is missing from where it was earlier parked; the rest of the unit is lined up, leaning against the engine in various states of exhausting following a non-stop shift, John shrugging off his turnout jacket and Tanika sitting on the steps beside the open cabin door.
Gerrard eventually orders them into the ladder and engine respectively, and Buck adopts his usual seat at the back left side of the cabin, gaze creeping out the open window.
And a dozen yards away, alongside another of the 217 crew, Tommy’s watching carefully; the way Gerrard’s orders are followed instantly, not out of respect, but fear, and the set in Eddie’s jaw as he clambers into the cab, and the added smear of soot left where Gerrard had leant against the side of the engine. His eyes are again lit, but not with thrill or satisfaction, this time; with anger, with Evan’s not seen him wear before. It’s engaging, and not unattractive, and the resentment seems to glow around him as he sidles up to the cab window. He rests a foot on the step below, pulling himself up to meet eye level with the crew, hands gripping the sill of the open window.
“Good work today, 118.” Tommy says loudly to the cabin, most members nodding or raising a hand in light acknowledgment before returning to various positions of rest. “You did well.”
That last bit is quieter, and it’s just for Evan; blood rushes to his cheeks – out of pride in his work or shame in yesterday's actions, he’s unsure – and he chews at the inside of his cheek, eyes locking into Tommy’s.
If, in that moment, Buck had to name it, he’d call it a split-second decision. But ultimately, it isn’t that; it isn’t a decision at all, really, it’s a pull so encompassing that it feels almost gravitational, and there’s not enough strength in the reservoirs of Evan’s restraint for him to stop himself; so he leans gently into the feeling of breezy air through the window, the feeling of Tommy’s two-day stubble against the corner of his lip, the feeling of second-hand soot on his skin and Tommy’s hair in his hands.
Eddie lets out a small hum of surprise from the far side of the cab, but Buck hardly processes it between Tommy’s lips on his own and the smell of smoke radiating off the older man’s turnouts, pervading the space around them. It’s accentuated by Tommy’s own scent, coconut shampoo and something woody, always tinged with a sharp edge of plane exhaust no matter how long he showers. If Evan knew how, if it were possible, he’d weave that scent into a blanket and wrap himself in it.
But it’s not possible, and he’s wrenched from the fantastical idea of hiding under such fabrics when Gerrard clears his throat from the front seat. Tommy pulls away, Buck chasing his lips halfheartedly before loosening his fingers in the older man’s hair, and leaning back into his seat in the cab, his hand falling to rest on Tommy’s shoulder.
“Kinard. I think your house is on their way out, wouldn’t want to miss your flight.” Gerrard’s tone is thick with something mocking, not quite disgust but bordering on it. Evan doesn’t miss the way Tommy’s face falls at the sound of it, but he tries to keep the joy set tight on his own; he’s not letting anyone, not even the captain, take this moment from his grasp.
Tommy goes to respond, but Buck tightens his grip on Tommy’s shoulder, cutting into his answer quickly. “My boyfriend was just saying goodbye, Captain.”
The quirk in Gerrard’s brow is something so smug, if Evan could hold his job and throw that punch he would; but he can’t, so he doesn’t, waiting for that tight-lipped frown to spit out some joke, that the conversation can carry on and it can just be something for him and Tommy to collectively complain about over a couple tequila shots with Eddie and Sal.
But the captain says nothing, merely letting out a quiet scoff and turning back to face forward. Tommy presses another, shorter kiss to the corner of Evan’s mouth, an air of finality and satisfaction surrounding the movement, delivered with tenderness.
And when Buck is the victim of some extra chores from Gerrard, as he knows he will be back at the station, it’s worth it. It’s worth it, for the little nod mixed from pride and love that Tommy grants him, and the gleam in his eye promising something else Gerrard would disapprove of, and for the warmth creeping up Evan’s spine. It’s worth the fight, he realizes now; it’s worth the fight, to exist as his whole self, not just the pieces that people want to see in him.
That thought carries him like a cloud for the drive back to the station, and then for the lift home that Eddie gives him, and up the stairs to where Tommy’s already waiting; a crooked grin, that same proud look in his eyes, gentle hands caressing Evan’s skin and tender touches in the most sensitive of places. It’s more than a relationship, more than attraction, more than arousal, it’s an identity; and how proud Buck is, to love a man, to love this man, so entirely, so committedly, so imperfectly.
Evan wakes up the next morning in a warm bed, Tommy’s chest pressed tight against his back and his tiny, sleeping sighs like a whisper into Evan’s ears. And despite Gerrard, despite their argument-that-wasn’t-even-an-argument, despite it all, for just a moment, everything in his little world is pretty damn perfect.
“Eggs sound okay?”
“I can, in fact, cook for myself.”
“But you haven’t.” Hen says blankly. “So do eggs sound okay?”
Eddie sighs. “Delicious, actually.”
“There we go!”
day one of eddie diaz week: "i can, in fact, cook for myself", sick eddie/taken care of
teen & up | eddie diaz & hen wilson | 1k
read on ao3 or under the cut
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I hate how you talk to yourself
It’s not weak if you need to be held
So cut off a little slack
Roll all your cavalry back
My love, take care of yourself
– Take Care Of Yourself, Maisie Peters
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The absolute last thing Eddie was expecting this morning was a knock on his front door; Buck and Tommy are out on a date, Maddie and Chimney are taking Jee and Mara over to hang out with Denny; and he’s practically thrown himself onto the grey couch, his tissues, TV remote and water bottle all stationed within arms’ reach.
His plan was to not have to force himself out of his spot at any point during the day, and potentially to nap – four days straight he’s been coughing up phlegm, his whole chest rattling, and at this point he’s getting extraordinarily tired of the whole ordeal; so he’s half-tempted to leave whoever’s at the door standing there, and to just remain safely on his couch, watching daytime game shows and spitting up murky green mucus.
But Eddie Diaz is nothing if not a generally decent person, in his own opinion, so he pushes himself slowly upright, ignoring the spots behind his eyes as he goes to answer the door; he swings it open quickly, expecting either a Jehovah’s witness, a real estate agent, or a sales rep; instead, Henrietta Wilson pushes the door wide as soon as he lets a crack open, strutting straight past him into his kitchen.
“Hen, hi.” Eddie says lowly, clearing his throat. “Wasn’t expecting company.”
“Well, as I told the others, there’s no way you’re taking care of yourself. They all had plans and the kids were getting pretty loud so I just came here; I want to have a look at you.”
“Seriously? I’m fine. ” Eddie rolls his eyes.
He’s not really the first person to accept help or treatment when he’s sick; in all honesty, he’d rather just wait something out than have to pay the price of any prescription medications or even footing a doctor’s bill; but then sometimes one of his best friends forces her way into his home with threats to check on him, and he’s not paying for that, but it still feels like it’s costing him something. His dignity, or whatever.
“Oi,” She says lazily. “Get out of your head. You’re sick. You’re taking time off, which you never do normally unless Chris needs you, and I can see your couch from here. I know the state you’re in at the moment and I need to check you out because you’re a tough damn cookie and it’s rare that you’re sick enough to sweep you full off your feet, Eddie.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve missed two whole shifts.” Hen scoffs. “You were back on the desk within six when you got shot and nearly died, so. You’re clearly not fine.”
“It’s just a cold.”
Hen's eyebrow quirks at that statement, and Eddie sighs, pursing his lips. “I’m good.”
“You’re not. Let me just put some gloves on and then I’m cleaning your couch because frankly,” She gestures to the pile of tissues flowing off the coffee table. “That’s disgusting. And then I’m going to make you some lunch, because have you actually eaten today?”
“I had a muesli bar this morning.”
“So that’s a no. And we also need to–” Hen walks over to the living room window, pulling the curtains wide. “Let some sun in. Sunlight kills germs. That’s a scientifically proven fact. And maybe crack a window, too, it’s warm out and the fresh air will do you good.”
By the time Eddie actually gets off of the kitchen stool to unlock and slide open the kitchen window, Hen’s already sanitised the couch, disposed of the ever-growing pile of tissues, wiped down the coffee table and poured out a glass of water with ice and lemon juice for them both.
“Eggs sound okay?”
“I can, in fact, cook for myself.”
“But you haven’t.” Hen says blankly. “So do eggs sound okay?”
Eddie sighs. “Delicious, actually.”
“There we go!”
Hen starts opening and closing cabinets until Eddie points out the location of his solitary frypan, at which she is scandalised. “Why do you only have one pan?”
“I’m only one person, Hen.”
“Okay. Sure. That’s normal.”
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“You know,” Eddie says slowly while eating his eggs, the yolk running into his toast – Hen really has made the perfect eggs. “I don’t think anybody’s ever really looked after me when I was sick before. I mean, my parents were always the tough-it-up sort, and god knows that Shannon had her hands full with Chris, so it’s just.. Different.”
“Well,” Hen says with a small smile, reaching a hand across the counter to grab Eddie’s. “I will gladly pick up your dirty tissues and make you eggs any time you need.”
“Appreciate that, Wilson.”
“You’re very welcome, Diaz.”
And as much as he does appreciate that; as much as he appreciates Hen keeping his house mostly snot-free and cooking him a hot lunch, he’s mostly just grateful that she cares. Eddie had friends, before the 118, sure. But not like this, not caring like Hen or supportive like Chimney or sweet like Buck. And since Chris left, he’s found it really hard to climb out of that bed every morning, but his crew, his friends, make it all seem a little less impossible.
“And, hey, Hen.”
“Mm?” She looks up from her plate, dropping her fork down.
“Thank you for giving a shit.”
Her brow softens sadly, and she just takes his empty plate, smiling over her shoulder at him as she rinses off both dishes. “The world won’t fall just because you’re not holding it up. You focus on getting better, okay?”
“Okay.”
“D’you want a hug?”
“Don’t want to get you sick,” Eddie mutters, standing up slowly and walking back into the lounge, collapsing onto the couch. “Push in the latch on your way out.”
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thank you for reading! please reblog to support my work.
a fic by @reyesdiaz for @bucktommypositivityweek round two!!
Maybe it was because he was a little behind schedule when Tommy radioed, or because he’d been so huffy about the incident he’d had to turn back and recenter himself for landing at the country club, but Evan wasn’t quite fast enough to get onto the golf course before what he had presumed to be a weather event turned up; and it was almost a weather event, but not quite. Because it isn’t a storm, really; it is, in a way, but it also isn’t like anything Evan’s ever seen.
or part one of bucktommy positivity week round two - make your own disaster
teen & up | evan buckley & tommy kinard | 1.9k
read on ao3 or under the cut.
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Suddenly, I’m in a hotel
Suddenly, something has died
Suddenly, there’s something in between
Me and the sky
– Me And The Sky, Come From Away Soundtrack
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Between their hectic lives, what happened at Bobby and Athena’s, and the public launch of their relationship causing a double in invitations that pop up in both respective calendars, it took a long time for Tommy to take Evan up in the air.
Buck is a self-declared adrenaline junkie, into anything that will give him a rush; after the lightning strike, it’s increased, if anything. He’s ninety-nine percent sure that the universe will have him live no matter what he does, so he’s been even more willing to leap into things head first since he died.
None of his loved ones seem to share his comfort, but they’re all mostly supportive regardless.
But the point is mostly that he loves being in the air; he loves watching the ground grow ever smaller, the people and cars and buildings twist into tiny little lines and specks against a canvas of greys and greens and blues and brick-red. Even as a kid, he realised most people hated flights; but being on a plane, being in the air, it's a dream come true. And Tommy found a way to get him in the pilot’s seat.
It took a lot; Tommy’s, thankfully, a registered FAA instructor, so he took care of Evan’s training. There was pages and pages of coursework to understand the equipment, and Evan’s basic pilot training before he could sit up the front in the copter. Then there was another twenty hours in the air with Tommy, followed by an extra half-dozen because Evan wasn’t sure about going up on his own just yet. He’s bold, but he’s not stupid; he knew he might still need Tommy’s guidance a little longer. And the kisses pressed to his cheek when he successfully landed weren’t exactly willing him to have Tommy out of the passenger's seat.
But it has to happen eventually, so today is Evan’s first flight on his own. And he’s a little nervous – who wouldn’t be? – but Tommy and himself both think him ready, and tomorrow isn’t promised, et cetera.
Takeoff was smooth, everything’s been running well, and Tommy set him almost a track of sorts; told him where to fly and gave him a rough idea how long it would take. The winds are pretty low today, and the spring sun is hidden behind a little cloud cover, which has made conditions near perfect for Evan’s flight. It’s been… surprisingly easy, actually, learning how to fly a helicopter. After this flight, he only needs another nine hours or so of solo flight time and then he can be assessed for an official license; if things stay southbound at the 118, he could always switch across to Tommy’s section of the department. It’s the ultimate backup plan, really.
When he first started flying, Buck was constantly on the edge of his seat; he was hyper-focused on every action he took, partially because he wanted to keep the stupid thing in the air to prove himself, but mostly because he’d had Tommy in the passenger’s seat. Now, he’s alone, and a lot more confident in his own abilities, so it’s easy to let his mind wander from the aircraft.
Tommy’s voice brings him back via the radio, a gentle tone reaffirming that Evan’s doing well thus far, that the flight seems smooth from ground control and he’s nearly halfway through the route set out for him; Evan practically beams at the radio in response, but lets only a ‘copy that, ground control’ slip out, biting his tongue to hold in a pet name. The last thing he needs is to add another layer of teasing from Tommy’s friends; they’re the first coworkers that Tommy’s had that are cool with him being queer, but they're all either single or married with kids, so his and Evan’s honeymoon phase is the current target of all teasing in the group.
It’s another few minutes before the radio crackles again, Tommy’s voice ringing into Evan’s ears urgently. “Ev, we just got some weird reports about a mile west of you. I want you to land on the golf course at the country club on the south side of Melrose, it’s closed at the moment anyway. Reports might be nothing, but we’re just being cautious.”
Evan chews at the corner of his lip. His first solo flight, and of course it’s interrupted by – likely exaggerated – weather reports. Just his fucking luck, truly. And if he lands by Melrose, it’d take Tommy at least a half hour to get there; a miserable half hour at a country club full of snobs. Complete waste of an afternoon, in Evan’s less-than-humble opinion.
“Ground control, I’ve only got about fifteen minutes on my route left, are you sure?”
“Evan,” Tommy’s voice is more urgent this time. “Evan, it’s dangerous, I need you to land.”
“Copy that.” Buck sighs.
Maybe it was because he was a little behind schedule when Tommy radioed, or because he’d been so huffy about the incident he’d had to turn back and recenter himself for landing at the country club, but Evan wasn’t quite fast enough to get onto the golf course before what he had presumed to be a weather event turned up; and it was almost a weather event, but not quite. Because it isn’t a storm, really; it is, in a way, but it also isn’t like anything Evan’s ever seen.
A swarm of bees, literally millions of them, seem to flood the skies as Evan catches sight of the country club again; they’re everywhere, crowding his windows and making sight damn near impossible; the rotors seem to slow and the aircraft sputters loudly, like the sort of rough cough that you can feel in your back.
“Ground control?” Evan yells into the radio.
“Evan!” Tommy’s voice crackles quietly, overtaken by the loud, collective hum of the bees before entirely shut out; Evan misses when the static was fake and came out of Tommy’s mouth, he barely has time to think, before his panic takes hold and he’s yelling Tommy’s name into the radio, microphone keyed on.
It’s sudden, when it happens; the helicopter sputters twice again, the rotor slows even further, and Evan feels himself plummeting downwards; he barely has time to yell out ‘mayday, mayday’ into the radio before the black at the edge of his vision envelops him entirely, a crash unlike any sound he’s heard flooding his ears and pain shooting up his back agonizingly with the landing.
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Tommy doesn’t go home. He stays the night in a hotel across town, as far as he could get from where the chopper went down, from Evan’s place, from his own, from any of their friends. Evan’s engraved in every corner of those houses, and Tommy can’t handle the reminders, so he just lays in the hotel bed, Eddie fast asleep on the chair by the foot of it – he’d come down to the hospital, and has miraculously stayed strong for Tommy; although surely this has had a huge impact on him, he seems to be refusing to share it with the room.
Tommy’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could handle a second man’s grief, right now.
Hen and Howie both came back to the hotel from the hospital, Howie leaving the room periodically for stretches at a time to ‘go get some water’, but coming back every time red-eyed. Nobody saw Bobby after the nurse broke the news, but they got a text from Athena to say he was alright. Drunk, but safe at home.
Home. Tommy can’t go home; he didn’t technically share the place with Evan, but it felt like it. Evan’s favourite mug in his dish drainer and his dirty clothes strewn across the bedroom floor spoke for themselves, really. There’s too much of him in that house for Tommy to handle right now.
Hen went home to Karen and the kids around eight, patting Tommy on the shoulder and taking Chimney by the wrist, clearly sick of sitting in grief. Not that anyone could blame her; they’ve all been to plenty of funerals because of their job, even more since the pandemic. None of them are new to grief, and it’s infuriating how this one is so personal, so close to them all, and it’s not even because of Evan’s work. It’s because of the strangest natural event of the century.
And, Tommy thinks, it’s because of him. It’s because he let Evan go up in the helicopter alone; and yes, he’d thought Evan ready, but the truth still stands that if he’d been there and ground control had reported the event, he could’ve made that emergency landing in his sleep. But Evan didn’t have his experience, Evan hadn’t been flying two or three days a week for years now. Tommy had prepared him for normal emergencies, and had told him explicitly what to do if anything that he thought could go wrong did.
But he hadn’t thought this could happen. What kind of life is this? Beenado?
Tommy can’t stop playing it over in his head; Evan’s panicked ground control?, followed by an incessant hum of bees and static, his voice echoing Tommy’s name and then a call of mayday before the radio cut out entirely. Ground control had seemed to freeze around Tommy, in that moment, before frantically rushing emergency protocols. Ricky figured out where the plane was going down, and Luke dialed 9-1-1, asking dispatch to send an RA unit and engine immediately. Evan was going to need it, from the height he’d fallen.
Evan stabilised enough for the ride to hospital, but he coded at the hospital, and resus was unsuccessful. The doctors said that even if the fall hadn’t killed him, the beestings would’ve. There was never a shot for him.
Is that supposed to make Tommy feel better, or worse? He’s not sure.
All he knows, right now, is that the thing that he’s committed to, the only thing he wanted to do with his life has been marred by this. He can’t climb into the cockpit again. He can’t, because he feels responsible, and because his own sky-driven obsession killed Evan, and because there’s not really a point anymore. He does what he does to save lives.
Instead, he ended one. He killed the love of his life with his own cruel fixation on flight. He only wanted Evan to touch the sky the way he does, the way he’s always loved. And he did, he truly did; Tommy can imagine him whooping to himself in the cockpit, grin broad and eyes shining. He touched the sky, and then he plummeted out of it.
Tommy looks to the foot of the bed, gaze shifting over to Eddie in the chair, brow furrowed even in his sleep and eyes fluttering with dreams that can’t be pleasant, and he considers the 118. The look on Howie’s face every time he came back from his ‘drink breaks’, Hen’s taut smile goodbye, Bobby’s relapse, the sound of Maddie’s sobs in the hospital waiting room, echoing off linoleum floors, her grief reflected on the face of everyone else in the room.
How is Tommy supposed to live with that? How is he supposed to live with knowing that in his own selfish desperation for Evan to ‘touch the sky’, he’d pulled the rug out from everyone the younger man loves? That in his own want for his love to understand his obsession, understand the life he leads and the work he does, he’d killed him instead?
Tommy rolls onto his other side, eyes sliding over the view out the motel window; it’s not too late just yet, and the city lights are still sparkling, glowing down onto the streets, shadows creeping into every corner. But Tommy keeps his gaze fixed on the lights, away from the shadows, because in every dark corner he seems to see echoes of Evan’s face, of the life they were supposed to have. The life Tommy ripped away.
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