buddie | T | 996 words | on AO3
for @buddiemicrofics day 3 prompt of the same name
Helping Eddie get ready for his date this weekend was as close to torture as Buck had ever gotten.
Even the crushing weight of the ladder truck had nothing on the continuous crushing happening to his chest every time Eddie asked him his advice on what shirt to wear, or what he should bring with him to pick them up (“Roses? Really? Isn’t that a little cliche?”, “I’ve never got flowers before, must be a classic for a reason.” Buck had shrugged.), with every fielded question on what restaurant to go to after Buck finally convinces Eddie not to cook.
“I still think I should cook.”
This time, they’re at the station when he says it, and not only Buck, but the rest of the team echo out “No!”s and “No way!”s and “Don’t make us come to your place on Valentine’s Day, Diaz…” Chim had started (a fair point) then, “Actually, no. You should cook. I want to have something to lord over you forever when we do get called.”
“Damn, alright, alright! I won’t cook!” Eddie calls over their laughter, grumbling out “I think it’d be romantic.” low enough that only Buck could hear him.
Buck leans over, “If you really want to cook, I can always do it and you can pass it off as your own.”
He can see Eddie open his mouth to refute the idea, but he stops himself before he can. “Yeah… that could work.” He puzzles it out in his head, then turns to face him. “You’d do that for me?”
Buck’s already regretting the heartbreak that’s going to come from this, “I’d do anything for you, Eds. You know that.”
In a moment of weakness, Buck files away the smile Eddie gives him.
Sure enough, the dreaded day comes around.
Buck is at the Diazes, sauteeing up some vegetables to go with the steaks (resting in the oven) and the baked potatoes (the shelf under the steaks), and trying not to torture himself with thoughts of Eddie in the shower, Eddie getting out of the shower, Eddie getting dressed after his shower…
He shakes his head free of the thoughts, flipping the vegetables in the pan before they get too crispy on one side.
“Alright. How do I look?”
Buck swallows down the lump in his throat and shuts the burner off before he turns.
Eddie has his hands spread and one knee cocked out, posing in the doorway in his dark jeans and a deep maroon button-down. His hair is expertly floppy, that one strand of hair that haunts Buck’s waking nightmares folded perfectly over the slope of his forehead, his cheeks still tinged pink with the heat of his shower, the–
“What?” Eddie says, half panicked, looking down at himself.
“You’re gonna pair your date night outfit with regular Hanes?” Buck chuckles, gesturing to Eddie’s socked feet.
The grey toes wiggle when Eddie looks down at them. “I’m going to have shoes on.” he protests.
“In your house? The same house you so adamantly insist on not having any shoes on past the length of the welcome mat?”
Eddie’s cheeks get pinker. “Shut up.”
Buck just laughs again, “Okay man, your steaks and potatoes are in the oven, the veggies are done, you just might want to carefully reheat them in the pan before she gets here, and….” he trails off, looking around the kitchen. Wine’s out on the island, the candles are waiting to be lit, the fire extinguisher is in the corner and passing inspection (Buck checked it himself last week). His eyes finally rest back on Eddie. “You look great, Eds.”
There’s a breath let out that Buck’s sure Eddie didn’t know he was holding onto. “Thanks Buck.”
“Alright. I’m just gonna..” he gestures over his shoulder toward the oven with his thumb, the complete opposite direction he needs to go in. “Good luck, man.”
Eddie murmurs out another “Thanks.” as Buck passes, slipping on his shoes and heading to his truck.
He’s only just turned off South Bedford when Eddie calls him.
“Buck!” he sounds frazzled, “Buck I– the vegetables, they’re– I turned the heat back on like you said and now–”
“Hey, hey okay.. I’m turning around.” Buck soothes, having already turned around as soon as he’d answered Eddie’s call. “I’ll be back there in two minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Eddie breathes, relieved, “Thanks Buck.”
“Of course, Eddie. Anything you need. I told you.”
Another sigh, “Yeah. You did.”
Buck hangs up as he pulls back into the spot he just abandoned, thinking of how he can salvage the lack of vegetables for Eddie’s dinner. He pushes open the front door thinking about—toes off his shoes—there maybe being a bag of steamable broccoli in the freezer when he rounds under the arched doorway into the dining room and—
Eddie is standing there, placing two plates onto the table.
The candles are lit, there’s a tres leches cake on the other side, and the vegetables are not burnt.
“Uh yeah.. About that..” Eddie mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “Surprise?”
He smiles sheepishly up at Buck, and all Buck is processing is the opening and closing of his own jaw as he does a frankly astounding impression of a goldfish.
“Oh! Wait! Almost forgot,” Eddie dashes back into the kitchen and returns with a bundle of roses.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Buck.”
Buck is not tearing up right now.
He is sweaty and covered in food spatters from cooking all evening, he’s got his less-than-great jeans on, two different socks, and he is not going to cry.
Later, when they’re both full and sated in more ways than one, bundled together on the couch after a shower with a slice of cake each, Buck says “I’m going to get you back for this, you know.”
Eddie chuckles, kisses his birthmark, and replies, “Can’t wait, cariño.”
