Hen raises her eyebrows. "You let Chris name her?"
Nodding, Eddie twists the leash around his hand. It's a thing; Buck says it's a nervous tick, but Eddie doesn't get nervous and he doesn't panic. Peanut Butter's ears twitch and she looks up at him.
"Are we allowed to pet her?"
"She's working," Buck says smoothly, bounding down the stairs, "so no."
"Buck," Eddie says, rolling his eyes.
PB's tail immediately thumps against Eddie's leg and she's up on her feet, wagging her whole fucking body because Buck. As soon as he's in licking distance, PB strains against the leash. Buck flashes a smile that's all teeth and crouches down, stroking her head and behind her ears.
Chim throws his hands up. "She's working, Buck."
"Buck's the exception," Hen says, elbowing Chim and giving Eddie a knowing look.
Whatever, she doesn't know anything. "Buck, they're allowed to touch her."
Buck's ignoring him, scratching down the length of PB's back, underneath the harness, the stark black lettering of SERVICE DOG still throws Eddie and he winces, scratching at his jaw.
"Eddie," Hen says gently. "It's alright."
Eddie's response is noncommittal. PB is great with Chris, good around the house, and just generally perfect, but he can't shake that feeling.
a place for us [ao3 link]
eddie/buck, mid-episode for rage
Eddie stares at the phone.
There’s a cop standing just behind his left shoulder, he’s grateful it’s not Athena, looming and reminding Eddie he doesn’t have long. He should call his abuela, in case he can’t get out in time to pick up Chris. He could call call Lena, ask her to bail him out. He can’t call Buck.
The fucking lawsuit.
The anger settles low in his stomach, threatening to boil over. What right does Buck have to drag their personal shit into the open? To let Mackey at it like he deserves to tear apart their decisions and use it against them?
Eddie shouldn’t call Buck, it’ll only lead to a fight.
Picking up the handset, he dials one of the only numbers he knows by heart and touches his forehead to cold stone, hoping his call is answered.
“Hello?”
Eddie swallows. “It’s me.”
“Eddie?” The sound of a couch rustling, the familiar slow intake of breath. “Where are you?”
It’s a bad idea, but Eddie can’t stop himself blurting out, “i need you to bail me out of jail.”
Silence.
“I know I shouldn’t call—”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
The dial tone rings in Eddie’s ear.
When Eddie gets outside of the station, there’s a familiar truck in the parking lot.
Part of him wants to ignore it, to satisfy the rage curling low and angry in his belly and find something else to punch. Part of him wants to wrench open the door of the truck and—
Except.
Opening the door, Eddie climbs inside and tries not to make eye contact. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure,” Buck says. He sounds angry, and when Eddie risks a glance, his jaw is tight. He’s furious, which just makes Eddie angry. What right does he have to be mad at Eddie? It’s his fault Eddie even— “Where do you wanna go?”
The anger stagnates and Eddie buckles in, stares back at the station. There’s a reason he’s called Buck, made the choice to reach out. “Chris is at a sleepover.”
Buck nods, fingers tightening on the wheel.
“Can we,” Eddie starts, fights the urge to snap something angry, fights to keep his tone calm. “Can we go to yours?”
Head snapping right, Buck raises an eyebrow. “Are you serious right now?”
Eddie doesn’t bother answering, lets Buck make up his mind. He fiddles with the phone in his pocket, trying not to check whether Chris has called. He wants Chris to have fun, but there’s always an undercurrent of worry left behind. The truck is tense, silence dragging out into something dangerous. Eddie wants to break it, to snap at Buck for everything he’s doing, for making everything wrong when Eddie’s already struggling to keep his shit in line.
The truck comes to a stop and Eddie’s startled to see they’re at Buck’s apartment. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Get your ass out the truck or I’m locking you in,” Buck says, slamming the door.
Eddie bites back his own retort—Buck’s bailed him out and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna pay Buck back for it—and clambers out of the truck. Buck’s at the door to his apartment block, holding the door open, his back to Eddie. It’s a dismissal that has Eddie bristling, and he storms after Buck into the building.
“Why’d you bring me here?” Eddie asks, when he shuts the door behind them. Buck’s angrily wrenching beers from the fridge and Eddie feels ungrounded, like he’s the only one with a right to be angry and can’t understand why Buck’s—
“You asked me to bring you here.” Buck slams a bottle on the counter. “Just like you asked me to bail you out of jail, Eddie, what the fuck!”
The anger is back, bubbling up, and Eddie snaps, “You don’t get to judge me.”
“My money’s the reason you’re standing here right now.” It’s a warning tone that Eddie barrels right over.
“If I knew you’d hold it against me, I’d have called somebody else.”
“Who?”
Eddie snaps his mouth shut.
“This is gonna fuck up my case,” Buck says, holding up a hand when Eddie starts to retort. “Shut up, Eddie. This is gonna fuck up my case and I came anyway.”
Eddie snorts. “So what, I should be thankful? You shouldn’t even have been suing us—“
“I want my job back,” Buck says. It’s quiet, exhausted, and it stifles some of the anger. Eddie looks at him, really looks; Buck’s deflated, tired, drawn. How is it that just a few weeks ago, Buck and Chris were in a tsunami and now they’re here, everything breaking and running away from Eddie faster than he can make it stop? “I just want to come back and Bobby won’t let me.”
“Buck,” Eddie says.
Buck clenches his hands into fists, rests them on the counter. “What excuse do you have?”
“It’s not an excuse,” Eddie snaps, and then shakes it off, turns around and stalks towards the couch. He needs to stop, to get control of himself. Fuck. He punched someone.
“Eddie,” Buck says, and there’s something about his tone that forces Eddie to look. “You were booked for assault.”
Eddie sits on the couch, rubs at his face. “He was being a dick about Chris.”
The story tumbles from him, because he needs someone to hear, to understand.
There’s a ripple of fury on Buck’s face. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”
“I punched him,” Eddie says with a shrug. Then, thinks about it. “Fuck, I punched him.”
Buck sits on the coffee table, to the left of Eddie. His hands between his legs, toying with a frayed thread on his sweatpants. “What’s going on with you?”
Eddie doesn’t answer. How does he even begin trying to put shit into words? “Nothing.”
“Eddie.” Buck looks up, his eyes wide, and fuck, Eddie hates how unmoored he feels around Buck sometimes. “I never wanted this.”
“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs, leaning back against the couch. “Well now you have it.”
Silence stretches between them again and Eddie fidgets, pulls his phone from his pocket. The anger coasts and he knows if he tugs at it, he could use it to hurt Buck, to tear him apart like Eddie wants to.
Except.
Eddie doesn’t want to. He’s tired, too. He just wants things to make sense, to be right. “He misses you.”
Buck winces, drops his head. “I didn’t mean for things between us to go wrong.”
“What did you think would happen?”
Shrugging, Buck’s jaw tightens again and he stares off towards the kitchen. “Bobby’s the reason I can’t come back.”
Eddie frowns. “What?”
“You said chain of command,” Buck says, sounding hoarse, and he looks back. “Bobby told me I couldn’t come back. That the department said it was okay, but he didn’t think I was ready.”
Something stirs in the back of Eddie’s head. “Why?”
Buck shrugs again.
“Hey,” Eddie says, feeling some of the anger bleed into frustration on Buck’s behalf. “Did he say why?”
“I don’t know,” Buck says, and Eddie hears everything he’s not been saying. The confusion, the hurt, and he’s angry at himself all over again. He’s been so busy and wrapped up in his own shit, with Chris, that he’s never thought to think about Buck. Buck, who’s lost his job, his family, and his confidence.
Sliding forward, Eddie reaches out, expecting a flinch, and when he doesn’t get one, feels relieved for reasons he can’t explain. “I’m sorry.”
Letting out a shaky breath, Buck stares at him.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, sounding wrecked. “I was so concerned with being mad, I didn’t even think.”
“It’s okay.”
“No,” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s knee. “It’s not. You gotta stop letting us off the hook when we hurt you, man.”
Buck's look is wry. “I’ll let you off the hook for that if you tell me what the fuck you were doing punching someone.”
It’s so easy to feel the low burn of anger, of failure. Eddie’s been riding it this whole time, trying to exist in a world threatening to drown him.
“Eddie,” Buck says, reaching out and touching Eddie’s hand. He’s hesitant, apprehensive, so Eddie turns his hand palm up, lets Buck tangle their fingers together.
Staring at their linked fingers, Eddie swallows hard. “Shannon wanted a divorce.”
“I’m so angry all the time,” Eddie says. He hates being this vulnerable, this weak, but it’s a lot and he can’t stop the words tumbling out now he’s started. Buck’s holding him tight, fingers squeezing hard enough Eddie imagines his fingers breaking. Imagines himself crumbling beneath Buck’s touch and he gasps out the rest, eyes wet. “I let her back in, let her see Chris and I knew, I knew it wouldn’t be enough, you know? It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t, she died, Buck, but she was gonna divorce me.”
Buck’s silent.
“I wasn’t enough,” Eddie says eventually. “I just wanted to be enough. So that Chris could be happy.”
A hand touches his face, fingers gentle, and he looks up, meets Buck’s eyes. “Chris is mourning his mom,” he says quietly. “He’s suffered a tsunami, he’s mourning his mom, but he’s happy, Eddie. Or at least he will be.”
“How do you know?” Eddie whispers, afraid that if he talks any louder, the words will prove he’s as weak as he feels.
“Because of you,” Buck says. His voice is certain, hard in a way that forces Eddie to pay attention. “You’re a good dad, Eddie. Sure, you’ve just been arrested,” Eddie huffs a reluctant laugh, revels in the smile on Buck’s face, “but you’re a good dad.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, shaking his head.
“Hey.” Buck squeezes his hand, the fingers against Eddie’s face sliding around to his neck, thumb to Eddie’s jaw. “You’re the best thing in that kid’s life.” A pause. “In mine.”
Eddie freezes.
“After Chris,” Buck says quickly, cheeks pink. “You’re my best friend, Eddie. Whatever that means.”
“A lot,” Eddie says, truthfully. “I haven’t had a best friend before,” he continues. “Not sure if I know how to be. Sometimes I think I do, then others—”
“Yeah.” Buck sounds like he understands.
Sometimes Eddie wants to kiss Buck. To drag him in, hold him close and never let him go. The words won’t leave Eddie’s mouth, stuck somewhere down his throat, threatening to choke him.
Buck shifts again, until he’s sitting opposite Eddie. He takes a breath, touches their foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Eddie admits.
Buck’s eyes are really fucking blue. He’s beautiful in ways Eddie’s never let himself see.
“Shannon died,” Eddie says eventually. “I don’t think I’m over it.”
“I know.”
“I want to be.”
Buck stares at him, expectation heavy between them.
“I want to kiss you.” The words are quiet. Eddie takes a breath, meets Buck’s eyes. “Sometime. When we’re both ready.”
“Okay,” Buck says.
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” Buck’s face breaks into a smile. It’s small, tentative, but bright. Eddie wants to drag more out of him, ones that light up his whole face.
There’s another pause and Eddie breaks first, tugs him in. Wrapping his arms around Buck, Eddie lets out a soft sigh. “Thanks, Buck.”
Buck’s arms come up to Eddie’s back, his nose against Eddie’s neck. “For what?”
Eddie huffs. “Bailing me out? Talking some sense into me.”
“What are best friends for?”
Pulling back, Eddie touches Buck’s face, thumb against Buck’s bottom lip. “Hopefully more than that.”
Buck’s smile is wide, a familiar look on his face. “Eventually. If you earn it.”
Eddie’s startled into a laugh and he drops his chin to his chest, grinning.
“Hey,” Buck says, squeezing Eddie’s arm. Eddie lifts his head and raises his eyebrows. “Either way, I love you.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says. Then, with certainty, says, “I love you too.”
Aaaah, I don't think so, honestly. I mean, I've started to buy ice cream in tubs from time to time which isn't something I used to do but it's both irregular and not exceptional enough to warrant calling "getting into", I'm afraid.
20. What’s in your freezer right now?
Oh, I can answer that easily and exactly because I actually have a list because I keep forgetting things are in there somewhere in the back and then I buy them again (and again. And again.).
Be warned that this is a very German list and I'm not sure how well I'll be able to translate it, both literally and figuratively (in what it conveys).
Let's see:
The mentioned tub of ice cream. It's walnut even though I usually get vanilla and am not actually a big walnut fan. Don't ask me why I got it, then. Half eaten.
Red cabbage, leftover from the last time I made pork roast.
A few bread dumplings, also leftovers from the last time I made pork roast.
A red bell pepper, cut into strips.
10 gyoza wrappers. I make like two too many with every batch and now I'm almost at the point where they'll make a whole batch by themselves!
A salmon fillet.
Half a loaf of kashkaval cheese, cut.
Lemon juice, tomato paste, and garlic paste made in an ice cube tray.
Two small containers of chopped dill, one of chopped thyme.
A bag of chopped parsley.
Four raw gyoza.
A small container of leftover... stew? I don't really know what you'd call this in English. It was originally (like, fifteen years ago) this recipe but I've changed it to my family's taste and it's been a staple ever since. I only make it rarely for myself but since it's very filling, even small amounts can make a satisfying lunch!
Brown mushrooms, chopped.
Grated parmesan.
A chicken breast.
A bunch of... sausage? This was the part I was thinking of mostly when I wrote the introductory paragraph. There is weirdly no real way to translate this into English because I don't think you guys really have this? At least not in the way you can get it at the butcher's? My dictionary is giving me "lunch meat", "cold meat", and "cold cuts"?? Is that what it's called? It's like this. I get a few different types at once so that I can freeze and then thaw them as I need them.
Two ends of Leberkas, which my dictionary helpfully calls "type of meat loaf found in Austria and parts of Germany and Switzerland". Contrary to my sister, I don't actually like the end parts ("Scherzerl") but I still get them whenever the butcher has them because I like putting them, diced, into pasta salads. And sometimes they're big enough to cut them into two pieces, one of which doesn't have the actual end part, and then I bake that and put it on a bread roll.
A piece of butter I rescued from going bad when I last knew I would be gone for two weeks. It's been living here for quite some time now because somehow there's never the right opportunity to take it out.
Three horsemeat sausages.
Two Bratwürste (and I HATE that you guys don't have a translation for that), a special blend the local butcher makes only in the summer which is SO GOOD. It's a bit spicy and I basically can't tolerate spice at all so I was really surprised by how much I like them when I first tried them. They're thin and an orange-y red and shed a lot of oil when you fry them but they're divine.
A bag of scallions. Just like with the celery stick video I reblogged recently, I should be allowed to buy one or two scallions, not a whole bunch of them! My freezer is never free of scallions because of this.
Four bread rolls. The bakery is just around the corner from my flat but I still don't feel like going every other day so I get a bunch of bread and rolls once a week or so and then freeze them for later use.
Two bags of pancake strips. I made way too many pancakes on Saturday and since in broth is the best way to eat them anyway I cut the leftover ones up and froze them in batches so that I get to enjoy my favourite type of soup whenever I want.
