Later, Eddie won’t be able to put his finger on what, exactly, finally did it.
Maybe it’s the fact that they're nineteen hours into their last shift before their seventy-two off, the firehouse still and quiet the way it always is when it's so late at night it's wrapped back around to being too early.
Maybe it’s the fact that they're nineteen hours into a shift that feels like it's lasted more than twice that, each call dragging on into monotony, his muscles tense with an anticipation that's had no outlet.
Or, maybe just it’s seven years of them finally catching up to him, stacks of evidence piled so high that he can't pretend not to notice them anymore. It's a steady presence watching his back, offering a hand almost before he can ask for it. It's evenings spent on the couch, dinners cooked and dishes washed side by side. It’s fun facts and wordless glances and countless days of shared blood, sweat, and tears, every moment adding up until the banks of his heart threaten to overflow with it.
All Eddie knows for sure is this: he wakes up in the bunk room in the middle of the night, his heart racing from an already-forgotten dream. He reaches out instinctively, squinting out at the bed across from his own, but he already knows that it's empty.
He throws back his blanket and rolls to his feet, creeps past the rest of his sleeping teammates, and slips out the door.
Buck isn't hard to find, not that he ever is—at least, not for Eddie. He's sprawled out on one of the couches in the loft, decked out in his LAFD sweats and hoodie, his head on the armrest and legs stretched out over the cushions, thumbing lazily through the pages of his latest book.
"Hey, Eds," he murmurs, glancing up at him with a small, sleepy smile. Eddie feels his shoulders soften, a tension he didn't realize he was holding melting away, and his feet carry him forward.
“What’re you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Buck says, but it’s his distracted-by-a-hyperfixation voice, not his my-bad-leg’s-bothering-me-but-I-won’t-admit-it voice. Sure enough, he continues, “I’m halfway through this book, it’s this tell-all memoir by a Facebook whistleblower. I looked it up and apparently Zuckerburg did everything he could to bury it, the author wasn’t allowed to publicly promote it or anythi— oh," he finishes quietly, soft and startled.
Which is fair enough, given that Eddie's crawled up his body and flopped right on top of him, a leg thrown over his hips and an arm across his chest, tucking his face into the curve of his shoulder.
He feels Buck's breath shudder through his lungs, feels his heartbeat pick up just a little. Then a warm hand settles over the back of his head, fingers raking carefully through his hair.
"Oh," Buck says again, a little wondrous. Like Eddie's something worthy of wonder. He nestles closer, sinks deeper. "Are we doing this now?"
Eddie lets out a long exhale—it tastes like relief, and maybe a little wonder of his own.
"Yeah," he answers just as quietly, twisting one of the strings of Buck's hoodie between his fingers. "We're doing this now."
"Okay," Buck says, like it's really that simple.
Maybe it is. Maybe it can be.
Buck's other arm curls around his back, cradling him close. Eddie feels himself relaxing in increments, lulled by unspoken safety of Buck's hold, the familiar smell of his skin, the gentle thud of his heartbeat beneath his ear.
It makes him brave enough to ask, a hushed plea, "You know, don't you? You know?"
A brush of pressure against his forehead—sweet and understanding.
If we are getting a bi Buck dating montage, it absolutely needs to end with a date being like, “hey, so… you seem like a great guy but I don’t think this is gonna work out, you’re clearly still in love with you ex.” Buck’s like, “🤨😑 still in love with my ex??? 🤨😤😒 I’m not—“ “you should reach back out, maybe you and Eddie can try again” and we get to see Buck’s brain start buffering in real time as he realizes he’s spent every one of these dates waxing poetic about Eddie
Buck’s scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of grease when a long line of heat settles along his spine, a pair of arms wrap around his middle, and a forehead lands between his shoulder blades. A pulse of heat rushes through his veins, and the pan he’s holding slips from his fingers and falls back into the sink with a splash!
“Eddie?” Buck croaks, because it could only be Eddie curled around him like a shadow, sure of his welcome and a little shameless with it. “You, uh… You good?”
Eddie snuffles closer, his stubble prickling against the back of Buck’s neck as he scents him. He drags his nose down the tendon of his throat, then buries his face in the curve of his shoulder, sagging against him with a sigh.
“Better now,” he rumbles, in the same rough sort of voice he falls into first thing in the morning when he hasn’t had his coffee yet. Buck shifts his feet, automatically widening his stance to take more of his weight. “Just needed…”
A long, deliberate inhale. Buck valiantly resists a shiver. “Smells good in here.”
“Lasagna’s in the oven,” Buck offers in a tight, breathless voice. “Should be done soon.”
Eddie huffs out a laugh: low and raspy, the sound of it whispering gently past the shell of Buck’s ear. “Sure. The lasagna.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“You are such a dick,” Buck hisses, his face flushing red-hot. “You couldn’t’ve— I am literally elbow deep in dirty dishes, Eddie.”
Eddie’s arms tighten around him. “Don’t let me stop you,” he says.
Buck bows his head beneath the falling water, his ribs shuddering around a shaky exhale.
He’ll pull himself together eventually. Slap a smile back on his face and remember how to be grateful for what he already has.
But first he needs to mourn. He needs to mourn and mope and shed a tear or twenty: then he can bury these stupid feelings and finally put them to rest.
Maybe it’s time to re-download Bumble and Hinge, make a proper effort at getting back out there and moving on—
The bathroom door slams open with a bang! Buck whips around so fast that he nearly loses his footing, then nearly keels over anyway when he realizes it’s Eddie standing there amongst the clouds of steam.
Eddie, whose chest heaves like he’s just run a marathon, his hair a mess and his shirt only half buttoned—like he’d hauled ass out of the locker room in the middle of changing. Eddie, whose expression is granite but whose eyes are wild, his irises totally eclipsed by burning crimson, that spiced-dark-chocolate-char scent rolling off of him like thunderclouds sweeping in over the horizon.
They stare at each other for one long, charged moment. Buck can barely meet his eyes; there’s something almost feral prowling in the shadows of his gaze—sharp and accusing, honed like a knife’s edge—and it cuts him all the way to the core.
Buck’s throat clicks around a nervous swallow, his pulse pounding in his ears.
“Eddie,” he says, almost helplessly, more of a breath than a word.
Eddie’s nostrils flare, his upper lip curling back to flash a single, pointed canine. Then he’s wrenching open the shower door and stepping determinedly into the spray—still fully dressed, boots, belt, watch and all, what the fuck is he?—and he braces a hand on either side of Buck’s waist, caging him up against the shower wall.
“Eddie!” Buck yelps, suddenly and extremely aware of the fact that he’s bare-ass naked, soap dripping down his arms and conditioner clinging to his curls. He clutches his hands to his chest like that will somehow mask the aforementioned nakedness. “What the hell are you—? Hey!”
“Did you actually think,” Eddie starts, and his voice has settled in this gravely, dangerous place that’s making Buck’s stomach do somersaults. “That I wouldn’t come after you?”
“You— C’mon man, you’re getting soaked. Did you even take your phone out of your pocket—”
“You did,” Eddie decides, continuing as if Buck hadn’t spoken, anger and disbelief dueling across his features. “You thought I was gonna just let you go?”
“Jesus, Eddie,” Buck sighs, letting his head thunk back against the tiles, already exhausted with this whole conversation. “Can’t this at least wait until I’m out of the fucking shower—“
“Clearly it fucking can’t,” he growls, and he cups both of those huge hands around Buck’s jaw and yanks his head back down, forcing him to hold his gaze.
“Because last time I checked, we were in this together,” Eddie says—demands, really. Water streams through his hair and down his face in dozens of rivulets, his wet clothes clinging to every sodden, gorgeous inch of him. “That’s the deal, right? You have my back and I have yours. You go in and I’m right there on you six. I’m the one on the other end of your radio, I’m the one that double checks your harness, I’m the one that anchors your line.”
They’re plastered together: a tangle of water and limbs, fabric and skin. Buck’s mouth moves soundlessly, his voice trapped somewhere beneath the weight of his longing, but even if he could say something he wouldn’t have the words. Static blurs the edges of his vision, his mind emptied of anything that isn’t Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
“There isn’t a universe where I don’t come after you, Buck,” Eddie tells him, with all the force and certainty of gravity itself. “I’d have to be dead in the fucking ground before I’d let you go, and maybe not even then. Because you’re mine. You’re mine,” he insists when Buck can’t help the involuntary little noise that escapes him at the declaration. “And you’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to let you spend another second thinking I don’t want you.”
Buck’s heart stops dead in his chest, then kicks in again twice as fast.
“Eddie,” he manages, barely able to hear himself over the sound of the shower pouring overhead. Thank god he’s already got a wall at his back—he’s not sure his legs would support him otherwise, hope turning his joints to jelly. “You… Don’t do this if you don’t mean it. I can’t… I can’t.”
Eddie shifts impossibly closer, angling up until their faces are a hair apart. Their noses brush—a gentle, almost exploratory touch—followed by a solid press of forehead against forehead.
“If you still don’t think I mean it,” he murmurs, his eyes burning like twin flames. “Then you clearly haven’t been listening to me.”
A shared breath.
“Maybe this will finally convince you,” Eddie says, and he leans in and seals his mouth over Buck’s own.
“Sir, if you’re unable to climb out on your own, then we need to hoist you up,” Bobby says. “You can’t stay in your current position without injuring yourself further.”
“I don’t need help, I’m fine!” Dangling Dude yells back. He’s still slowly spinning. “It’s not like I’m the one that called you! Mind your own business!”
Bobby’s mouth twitches, then flattens out.
Stepping back from the ledge, he tells them, “Buck, harness up, Eddie go with him and prep a line, a backboard, and a basket. We can’t assist him while he’s combative and refusing help, but if the situation escalates you’ll have to climb down to him. Hopefully, we can talk some sense into him before it comes to that.”
“Copy that, Cap.”
They move like a well-oiled machine. Eddie goes hunting in the ambulance while Buck fastens himself into his harness, grabbing a coil of rope from the compartment while he’s there, and they meet back somewhere in the middle for their usual safety check.
It goes harness and helmet first, then attach the line and gear bag, then one last check on the helmet for good measure—Buck lost one to a flash flood once, three years ago and Eddie’s never let him hear the end of it.
“Think they’ll be able to talk him down?” Buck asks as Eddie traces along the lines of his harness.
“Not a chance,” Eddie scoffs. His palms skim over Buck’s chest and down his sides, pausing every now and then to adjust a clasp or shift something into place, his brow furrowed in concentration. “He’s gonna argue with them right up until he passes out.”
He gives Buck a quick little tap-tap right over his sternum.
“I don’t know, man,” Buck disagrees, obediently turning so Eddie can check his back. “I think they’ll manage. Bobby and Hen could convince me of almost anything.”
“Well, yeah,” Eddie says. “But that’s mostly because you’re a textbook people-pleaser and extremely susceptible to peer pressure. They’ll have a harder time convincing some rando.”
“Wha— I’m not susceptible to peer pressure!” Buck splutters.
“It’s a genuine miracle that baby-Buck made it all the way to Peru and back without getting abducted or accidentally joining a cult.”
“Okay, asshole, I’m not that bad!”
“Sure,” he drawls out. “Remind me, which one of us let himself be talked into buying three boxes of Thin Mints he’s never gonna eat, and which one said ‘No, thank you’ and kept walking, like a normal person?”
“They were out of Trefoils!” Buck protests. “And I promised I’d buy a box on the way out of the store.”
“Uh-huh. And what about the other two boxes?”
“…They were very persuasive.”
Pointed silence. Buck can almost feel the eyebrow Eddie’s raising at him.
“You know, entrepreneurship is one of the focal tenets of the Girl Scouts program,” he tells him, pretending like he can’t feel the flush creeping down his neck. “So, if you think about it, by buying cookies, I’m actually offering a crucial opportunity to hone their business acumen. I’m nurturing growing minds, Eddie.”
“Of course,” Eddie says loftily. “My mistake.”
He taps again, this time between Buck’s shoulder blades, and with a huff, Buck turns back to face him
“Oh, don’t pout,” he teases. “I’ll eat your Thin Mints for you.”
“‘M not pouting,” Buck pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I already put them in your freezer.”
Buck doesn’t get a chance to talk to Eddie again until they’re loading up to head back to the station.
He’s already outside waiting on him, seemingly nonchalant as he leans against the side of the truck, but there’s a quiet tension pinching at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
Buck doesn’t keep him waiting long.
“Hey,” he starts. “Thanks for, uh, stepping in back there. I tried my best to shake him off, but I guess some people are determined not to take a hint.”
“More like determined not to hear ‘no,’” Eddie grumbles, but his gaze loses some of that tight, flinty edge. “Got your back, man.”
“I know you do,” Buck says, bumping their shoulders together.
Eddie’s nose wrinkles—adorably, but you didn’t hear it here—and leans more of his weight into the press of their shoulders.
“He touched you,” he says unhappily. It isn’t a question.
“Uh, yeah,” Buck admits, ducking his head. “Just a little bit, I dodged when he tried to— um—“ He takes one glance at Eddie’s expression and quickly pivots. “Sorry if I, like, stink or whatever, I know your nose is super sensitive. I’ll hop in the shower when we get ba—“
The rest of the sentence dies on his tongue because Eddie reaches up and wraps a—warm, calloused, fucking huge—hand around the hinge of Buck’s jaw, then drags it purposefully down the column of his throat.
“There,” Eddie says, his voice pitched low. “That’s better.”
“Yeah?” Buck wonders, another rush of yes, alpha, yes, good, mine flooding his hindbrain.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, the tips of his fingers brushing featherlight against his pulse point as he pulls away. He hops up into the cabin, then glances back over at Buck. “You coming?”
Buck shakes himself out of his stupor. “Right behind you.”
Later, Buck will swear up and down that this all could’ve been avoided if Eddie had just opened his mouth at any point and said something.
“It was pretty fucking obvious, tonto,” Eddie grumbles, an arm slung over his waist and his nose nestled against the curve of Buck’s throat—where it’s been for the majority of the last thirty-six hours. “You’re just oblivious. Or blind. Or—”
“Shut up,” Buck says, pulling him closer.
But to recap, Buck’s just arrived at the firehouse for his shift and the knowledge that Eddie won’t be joining him already has him grumpy and irritable—like an itch between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite scratch.
He’s really not looking forward to whichever floater he’s stuck with this time. The last guy that’d come in couldn’t coil his ropes or roll a hose for love or money, and he’d spent most of the shift cleaning up after him. So it’s a genuine surprise and delight to find Eddie sitting in the locker room when he walks in, already in his uniform.
“Hey!” Buck greets, feeling himself perk up like a freshly-watered plant. “What’re you doing here? I thought your leave started today?”
“Bobby called,” Eddie says, double knotting the laces on his boots. He’s forgone the gel today and a swoopy piece of hair falls over his forehead. Buck’s heart jolts in his chest. “Whittler’s partner went into labor just after midnight, and Ginsburg’s still in Cabo until Tuesday, so he asked if I could push it back a day.”
“Bad luck,” Buck sympathizes, digging through his locker. He’s almost positive he’s got a spare uniform buried in here somewhere… yep, there it is. He muffles a yawn against the back of his hand, then tugs the t-shirt he’s wearing over his head. “You gonna be okay out there? I know how you get.”
He senses more than sees the face Eddie makes at that.
“Yeah, well, it is what it is,” he says. “Thankfully I’d already made arrangements for Chris—he’s at Pepa’s until it’s over, and Carla’s helping coordinate his schedule. I’ve got some supplies left over from last time, but if I can’t make it to the store before it hits, I’ll just get groceries delivered.”
Now it’s Buck’s turn to make a face.
“No, you won’t, don’t lie,” he chides as he does up the buttons on his shirt. “Text me a list, I’ll drop off some stuff for you.”
Eddie huffs out a breath. “I’m pretty sure I can manage an Instacart order, Buck.”
“You can but you won’t,” Buck counters. “Pre-rut Eddie gets territorial when the mailman comes by, you’re definitely not gonna eat anything delivered by a stranger.”
Which is absolutely true, by the way. It’s honestly kind of adorable how worked up he gets: all grouchy and growly, stomping around with that little furrow between his brows.
“I can—”
“Eddie,” Buck says, glancing over his shoulder and fixing him with his sternest look. Eddie’s nostrils flare, his spine straightening like he’s about to jump to his feet and stand at attention. “Come on, man, don’t be stubborn. Let me help you.”
He fastens his nametag to his chest, does one last spot check on his hair, and shuts his locker with a click.
“Maybe if you’re really nice to me, I’ll even swing by that place over on Lawrence with those egg rolls you love—”
And anything else he’d been about to say is lost because when Buck turns around, it’s to find Eddie standing right behind him. Like, literally right behind him—How the fuck did he sneak up on him?—a fierce glint in those warm brown eyes.
Before he can do anything other than blink stupidly at him, Eddie pushes him up against his own locker: a full body press, chest to hip to thigh. He nuzzles in close, rubbing a stubbled cheek all over Buck’s throat.
“E-Eddie?” Buck stammers, his voice cracking right down the middle. His skin is buzzing with static—like someone’s overloaded the circuit breaker for his heart, sending pulse after pulse of electricity through his veins. “What’re you doing?”
Eddie laughs, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into Buck’s, oh god. “Take a wild guess.”
“Are you scent marking me?”
“Pre-rut Eddie gets territorial,” Eddie says, echoing his earlier words, curling a hand around Buck’s hip. “What makes you think you’re an exception to the rule?”
“Um.” Buck has no idea what’s going on right now. Unsure of what else to do with his hands, he ends up settling them gingerly on Eddie’s back. “I’m… not?”
“Exactly,” Eddie says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement. He cranes up until he can tuck himself into the space under Buck’s jaw and inhales with a deep, contented sigh. “Why aren’t you wearing your blockers? I could smell you coming the moment you walked into the vehicle bay.”
“I am wearing blockers,” Buck tells him, trying hard not to do something utterly mortifying like whimper or beg or pass the fuck out. Every one of his instincts is screaming at him to bare his throat to the attention, his head swimming with yes, yes, good, please, alpha, yes. “And, uh, actually, did you know that an alpha’s olfactory senses can become up to eighty percent stronger in the three days leading up to their rut? It’s to help them stay in tune with the needs of their pack and mate throughout their cycle.”
“Yeah,” Eddie muses, and he reaches up and undoes the top two buttons on Buck’s shirt, pulling his collar open and nosing at the newly-exposed skin. Buck chokes back a whine by the skin of his teeth, his knees threatening to buckle out from underneath him. “That tracks.”
He nuzzles even closer, then says, “God knows I need every advantage I can get—keeping you is a full-time job.”
Buck’s mouth is painfully dry.
“You mean, uh—” When did it get so fucking hot? “You mean k-keeping up with me?”
He can feel the shape of Eddie’s smirk against his throat. “Sure, that too.”
They arrive on scene—a grassy, fenced-in playground teeming with children and families—and are immediately met by a frantic young woman.
“Oh, thank god,” she says, a huge diaper bag thrown over one shoulder and her arms filled with screaming toddler. “I swear, I looked away for, like, two seconds, Jaime was crying and I couldn’t figure out where their mom packed the juice boxes and when I looked back, she was halfway up—“
“What’s her name?” Bobby interrupts.
“Harper,” she says. “She’s right over here—“
And sure enough, there in the far corner of the playground is a tall oak tree, and about twenty feet up that tree is a little girl. She’s maybe seven or eight at the most and clinging tightly to a branch, her face streaked with tears.
“Hey, Harper,” Bobby calls, calm and steady. “What’re you doing up there?”
“I’m stuck!” she wails.
“I can see that,” Bobby says. “Are you hurt at all?”
“‘M okay,” she sniffles. “But it’s too far, I can’t get down!”
“Hey, that’s alright, we’re gonna send someone up to come get you. You just sit tight and keep holding on, okay?” Bobby tells her. “We’ll get you down from there in no time.”
“No way we get the ladder in here,” Chim observes, pulling off his sunglasses. “We’re fenced in on all sides and the trees are too close together to get a good angle from the curb.”
“How’d she even get up there?” Ravi wonders, squinting up at her. “No way she’s tall enough to make the jump up to that first branch. I’m not tall enough to make that jump.”
“Never underestimate the ingenuity of a determined elementary schooler,” Hen says wisely.
“I can climb up to her,” Eddie volunteers.
He moves closer to the trunk, knocking against the bark to check for soft spots, but it seems simple enough, as far as he can tell. It’s a healthy tree with lots of thick, sturdy branches—plenty big enough to hold steady beneath his weight
“You sure?” Bobby asks.
Eddie shrugs. “Yeah, I got it. I just need a— a boost or a chair or something to get started, but I’ll be fine after that. Then she can hold on to me while I climb back down.”
He glances around, searching.
“Maybe we can drag that picnic table over and—“
“Here,” Buck says, stepping up behind him.
He fits his hands around Eddie’s hips, a long line of heat against his back.
“What are you—?”
Eddie’s feet leave the ground and all thoughts leave his head.
Buck lifts him like it’s not even hard, like he could do this all day, not a hint of strain in those massive biceps. Eddie fumbles clumsily for the branch, all the blood in his body rushing south so quickly he almost goes dizzy with it.
“Eddie?” Buck prompts, lifting him just a little higher—like maybe the problem is that Eddie can’t quite reach. Jesus, he doesn’t even sound winded.
“Right,” Eddie mutters, pulling himself the rest of the way up. “Uh huh, yep.”
