Buddie - Evan Buckley + Eddie Diaz - 8x17 - Kitchen Scene - Meta
I promised myself I wasn't gonna do this, damnit. I don't have time to dig into every ounce of lore.
But, I kept thinking about the kitchen scene on a long drive. This, of course, meant pulling out my phone to video record my thoughts because I was driving.
And I was thinking about how this was the Buddie scene of the last few episodes and how it's what we really have to chew on during the hiatus. And I have thoughts.
SPOILERS: I doubt many people here haven't seen 8x17, but I'm putting everything under the Keep Reading widget just in case.
Ready to dive into a way-too-long single-scene Meta? Let's!
Let's start with Eddie walking into the room wearing yet another jacket. He's been in layers often in the show, but what caught my eye was how Eddie immediately removed said jacket when he walked into the kitchen.
He's wearing his armor when he's out of the house—feigning fine when inside he's roiling as much as Buck, begging for his best friend to play his usual role and draw him out.
But Buck's trying to live out his interpretation of his father figure's last words—and that's spun him out. Bobby said they'd need him, right? But he feels like nobody needs him.
Instead of having open conversation, he's hyperfocusing on numbers and assessments and feeling like all signs point to, "They're fine". But nobody is fucking fine. Least of all Eddie "I'm a 12" Diaz.
The first shot shows us Eddie walking in. The camera is already unsteady, shaky, bearing the weight of the tension building in that room long before Eddie entered.
The warmth is drained of the kitchen. Nothing on the fridge or counters to suggest personality.
It's clinical. Like an operating table waiting for the blood to spatter as the surgeon makes the first cut. That won't take long.
Then we do something that I love that is acceptable in TV but somehow not acceptable to any of my teachers in my short stories—we shift POV. Our point-of-view goes from establishing the room to taking on Eddie's vantage as he walks in.
We're still on a purposefully-unsteady steady cam, feeling handheld and raw—like the nerves of the two men inhabiting the too small space—forced to wander the perimeter in awkward moves like mice squeezing through a maze without direction.
"Said I was gonna get the groceries." "I was out. It's fine."
And the conflict of the scene—that isn't the real conflict—is established.
Now, folks have commented that Eddie doesn't walk into the room with groceries, though he said he'd pick them up. My guess is that he planned to borrow Buck's car to grab them and has been Pepa-taxi-ing and Ubering around Los Angeles.
As someone who visited Los Angeles recently—that shit is expensive. I rented a bloody car rather than do that and my last visit only lasted 36 hours.
But Eddie wasn't planning on staying long, so my bet is he's relying on the mighty app. So, mayhaps he thought they'd share dinner and awkward silence before he did a grocery run using Buck's car after-shift.
But here's Buck with all the groceries in nondescript paper bags—so easily ripped and torn. Now, paper bags can be great if you know how to hold them properly. But when I first started using them, I tore every. single. one.
You have to do it right. Handle with care. But both of these humans are powderkegs at the moment—one with the canon pointed inward and the other aiming out.
Buck finishes at the one cabinet and moves clear across the room as Eddie pours himself a cup of coffee. Ordinarily, these two are magnets, drawn to one another naturally. But, now the polarity of the magnets have shifted, and they're naturally repelling one another.
It's instinctive—how Buck moves to the other side of the room before Eddie can align them. Yes, Eddie's poking Buck with his comment, but Buck's response is non-commital and passive aggressive.
Neither is handling this "communicating" thing, well. Not that they should, after all. This is supposed to be a scene fraught with heartache and heartbreak and the chasm of grief that often separates us from those we love most.
But it illustrates the point that Eddie and Buck are already walking on eggshells around one another, neither knowing what to say.
In the past, Eddie's house was a safe place for Buck. He could run there when Maddie's mothering was overwhelming or when his boyfriend broke his heart. For Eddie, Buck's presence was so natural that by Season 8A Buck could waltz in without a knock.
And while the walls remain—the foundational bones of a building—the house doesn't feel the same. Because where before one could anchor the other, both are unmoored.
Now, this is an interesting time to note—Buck is torn between being a petty bitch and still wanting to take care of Eddie.
There is no coffee mug out for Buck. So, when he got home with the groceries, he likely brewed a fresh pot of coffee before he started unloading them. Upset as he is—and his protest-buying of the groceries is a manifestation of that—he still instinctively wants to take care of Eddie.
And Eddie's still here for Buck.
We can pretend it's Aunt Pepa, like he said, but the real reason Eddie Diaz hasn't gone home is that things are wrong between him and the second-most important person in his life.
For so long, Eddie has thought his world was a single person—his son. But as the show wears on, the cracks reveal that there are two people that are his world—and one of them has completely closed himself off.
Buck is spiraling, let's be clear. Some spirals are easy to spot. But I went through an entire Post Partum Depression for six months after the birth of my twins and not one person noticed because I'm so good at masking.
And Eddie knows Buck well enough to spot it. He just has no idea how to pull him out because Eddie's instincts are always to wait for the other person to come to him—and too often he waits too long.
Here, Eddie is trying to draw Buck out. This is his best attempt at breaking through the noise to try to get something out of Buck. Because his best friend is internalizing and spiraling. And he does almost everything wrong.
In this scene, I'm an Eddie. My husband is a Buck. It sucked in our early arguments as we learned how to better handle my inherited temper and his instinct to shut down and internalize.
So I feel like Eddie is poking to try to get Buck to share what's really going on, because even Eddie Diaz knows this is not about the groceries.
"Doesn't feel like it's fine."
Because it's not. Buck sneaks a look at him, because he was hoping Eddie was going to say something. He was hoping Eddie was going to spill. He was hoping Eddie was going to talk to him.
These two keep expecting the other to act like a partner while telling themselves they're just friends.
Eddie didn't tell Buck about looking at real estate in El Paso. Buck didn't tell Eddie about adopting a dog. Eddie didn't tell Buck about getting the job in El Paso.
They're going back and forth and back and forth, but this time the hot potato is a grenade. And time's running out.
Buck finally turns to face him.
"I heard you finally got the call from El Paso Fire. Congratulations."
Again, passive aggressive. He's making it clear to Eddie that he heard this from someone else. Not from him. And Eddie immediately panics, freezing momentarily.
The whole thing is couple coded—I made this huge decisions without consulting you, dear—but it's worse because Eddie already left. This just solidifies his life really is somewhere else—away from Buck. And Buck wanted to hear it from him.
Look, I give Eddie credit for keeping Buck tied into his life while he's been in El Paso. Yes, Buck has had a lot of people leave him, contributing to his trauma and abandonment issues.
But Eddie kept him tied in through constant FaceTimes—because it's "serious"—and almost all major decisions regarding his (*cough* their *cough*) son.
So why didn't he clue Buck in on this one?
Oh, something must be wrong with Buck. There must be something off or broken about him that he can't be trusted. Buck's thinking it.
That's where the "all about you" comes in for me.
Buck isn't selfish in that he thinks the world's love and light revolves around him. No, he is self-focused because he was never loved as a child for who he was, so he internalizes any conflict around him as his fault.
Buck can't process the loss of his Father Figure because he thinks the way to do that is honor Bobby's last words—but they aren't aligning with what Buck is seeing around him. So, he's spiraling.
He truly thinks he's not worth staying for. Not worth being honest with. Not worth keeping. It's part of why he tries so hard in life to take care of the people around him.
Because if these people chose him, by God, he's going to choose them back ten times harder to try to keep them. He doesn't realize he doesn't have to try. He's never internalized the fact that they love him for him.
Not because he's "Buck, the guy with the answers" or "Buck, the guy who likes to fix things". Buck has no idea they love him because he's "Buck".
No qualifiers. They love him for who he is.
But he can't see that. So, he spins and spirals and thinks he's a burden, so he won't reach out. But by shutting everyone out and approaching everything clinically, he's lost the connection they all need so much.
When Buck (briefly) lost his job as a firefighter, he was drifting. He couldn't understand that this was a family. But in the aftermath of Bobby's death, he feels like his family is fractured and he can't pull them together.
He feels like he's failed them. And in that way, he's not seeing the full picture. He's only seeing his failure and not their shared grief.
And all his best friend/situationship wants is to draw him out so they can share this. So they can get through this together. So he can help Buck the way that Buck has helped him so many times.
But Eddie has no idea how to begin, and their worn nerves are growing more exposed by the chasm between them, straining from stretching as they pull further apart.
Eddie's now on the defensive, and that's already a bad place for Eddie—because he'll fight back harder to get himself out of the corner.
Now, I'm not excusing the shit Eddie's about to pull—and by that I mean the verbal jabs that that little shit knows are going to hurt—but looking for where it originates. "He's a fighter," Buck once said to Chris after his Dad had been shot.
Oh, those words are forever true for Edmundo Diaz.
"Who told you?"
And then Buck digs in a little. Because he's hurting. Because he's frustrated. He goes through the whole list, spoiling the Surprise Party as he goes, because he's hurt and feeling petty.
This all stems from Buck never truly feeling settled with those he loves. He's always waiting for them to abandon him, to forget him, to forsake him.
His insecurities are fed by the fact that he still doesn't see himself as a part of the ecosystem or organism of their Found Family. He views himself as a grafted piece that never takes.
He doesn't understand that he's loved and cherished and intricately woven into the same tapestry as they all are, the threads intersecting and overlapping in ways that bind them to one another.
He can't see it. And so he lashes out a bit, here, going step-by-step through the perceived betrayal.
"I was gonna tell you." "But you didn't, did you?"
Eddie is slightly out of focus as he says this, just coming into focus. Everything feels off and wrong and foreign in the best of ways.
Let's be clear—camera work is a fucking art. Some people go to school for it. Some people learn it on-the-job. But the camera crew is often under appreciated, and this team is showing off in the best way.
We're getting a feast, loves, of little choices that help lead us on an emotional journey through this scene. That's mastery.
Eddie's brow furrows at Buck's words. He can feel the heat coming off of Buck, at last.
There's something besides the blank "everything is okay" mask Buck's been wearing for the past few weeks. The porcelain's beginning to crack, and Eddie can see the flesh beneath.
But Buck's words aren't about Bobby. They're about them. This isn't what Eddie wanted to discuss. Maybe that feeds into why he waited so long to tell Buck—he wanted them to be in a good place, first.
But there's no space to breathe in a room quickly filling with the smog of their grief and misplaced frustration. Buck moves ahead with his head-canon—everyone thinks something's wrong with me.
Eddie tries to distance himself from it. He knows he is frustrated and he's trying to put space between him and Buck as he simmers.
"Instead everyone's been tip-toeing around behind my back 'cause apparently I'm too fragile to accept the truth."
They are now on opposite sides of the room, the table separating them, cutting them off from one another. A physical representation of the emotional block preventing them from coming together in a time of shared grief.
Between them, a bag of groceries on the table. But it was never about the groceries.
"Can you blame us? Look how you're acting now." "You really think I'd wouldn't have been happy for you?"
Eddie thinks he's being factual—he hasn't yet turned to wordplay as weaponry—but it plays into Buck's fears. Because people who go around him can just so easily move away.
Buck's always afraid that he isn't worth staying for, not worth keeping. Eddie is afraid he's too broken to be the support anyone else needs.
And, God, they need each other, here. Not in a romantic way, no. But because nobody in the world understands the other like him.
Eddie once chided Buck that well as he knows his sister, Maddie, there are ways Chimney knows her that Buck never will. Buck and Eddie are each other's person. No matter what else they will be on this show, that is a fact.
Eddie is ill-equipped to be what Buck needs in this moment because the roles are reversed—Buck repressing and Eddie desperately wanting to draw him out.
He's never learned how to be a partner in that way. We can see from all of his relationships that he's a runner, not someone who digs in and learns how to do it better. So he's going to fuck this up.
And that's going to play into Buck's fears.
Again, he's internalizing that Eddie must think the worst about him. But Eddie doesn't understand that's what Buck is doing. He doesn't know where that comes from—the source of him sometimes acting out and getting it wrong.
It comes from a lack of self-worth, not an over-abundance of self-esteem.
Yes, both have to do with an unhealthy centering of self, but Eddie doesn't fully understand and Buck can't fully articulate.
And right now, neither is in a place to dive in that deep. No, they're too busy tearing at the flesh of the still-wounded animal within, slowly bleeding out from an unhealed wound.
"No, I know you wouldn't be. You'd make it all about you. The trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley. A tragedy in 97 acts."
The most dramatic line ever uttered by the resident King of Sass, but it's more than that.
Where Buck was poking with his remarks about the El Paso job, Eddie is jabbing Buck with a knife. He's cutting into Buck's deepest vulnerabilities trying to elicit a response—to get him to fight back.
But that's not Buck's style. Right now, Eddie is pushing because that is what he needs. It's not what Buck needs. And right now Eddie's hurting too much to see that.
So, his words that normally weave together Buck's wounds tear them further open.
Notably, after this line is when Eddie rounds the table, putting him and Buck on the same side. He pulls back from the jabs, trying to speak plainly.
"You've been spiraling since the funeral and no one knows how to talk to you about it."
But Buck's still hurting from the last comment, the one before. So he responds with a jab of his own.
"Sorry I'm sad that Bobby's dead."
The implication is clear—you're not sad, Mr. "I scored a 12".
Because grief can't be measured on a scale. It comes in waves and crashes. It bowls you over in moments when you're feeling fine and drags you under when you least expect.
And right now it overflows in Eddie Diaz.
PAUSE: I understand there are those who were triggered by this interaction and I do not wish to make light of anything. From my perspective, Eddie was not going to hurt Buck and Buck was in zero danger, but please know that does not in any way suggest I think my opinion invalidates your lived-in experience or understanding of the scene.
He grabs onto Buck's shoulder, pointing with his free hand. As others have noted, I immediately realized it was the "wrong shoulder". Destielers know a wrong shoulder when they see one!
The other shoulder is comfort. It's grounding. It's familiar and loving.
This time, it's a reach of desperation. Note how we have not seen any physical contact between these two since Eddie returned from El Paso. Not a brushing of hands passing a beer. Not a welcoming hug.
Yes, Buck briefly leaned into Eddie as he stood, unsteady, at the funeral. But that's the closest thing we've seen on-screen.
Eddie needs to get through to Buck. He needs his best friend to hear him. So, he grabs ahold of him on that wrong shoulder, and he points with emphasis.
So many emotions flash through Eddie's face as he tries to get through to Buck. He gathers himself enough to keep his words controlled, measured, without accusation.
"You're not the only one that lost him. We all lost him."
Eddie releases Buck and steps away. The emotions are coming through stronger, the next line delivered with the pain and struggle of trying to keep one's emotions in, but them spilling out, anyway.
"And we're just trying to do our damned best to get through it." "Yeah, I know."
Eddie turns away from Buck on this, leaning onto the table, his back to his best friend. He's hurting so bad, and it's tumbling out—those waves of grief crashing one after the other.
He's already stumbling on the ocean floor under the weight of them, shoving him down into the shattered shells that scratch his face.
"Really? Cause you never asked what it was like..."
Because Buck always asks. He hounds Eddie about Panic Attacks. He tells the man he doesn't have to pretend with him. He's always the one pushing to make sure that Eddie is okay.
But neither one of them is okay, and Eddie doesn't know how to play the Buck role in the relationship because reaching out has never been natural.
And can we please talk about the composition of this shot?! I've mostly experienced 9-1-1 via GIFs and clips. But I can't remember many shots that were contained that took my breath away like this one.
I'm not talking about some silhouette of a rescue or some massive explosion or whatever. I'm talking about a shot of two people in this moment who are unable to face the same direction, even.
Eddie wants to be with Buck (again, not romantically at this second... just aligned in this moment) but he's breaking and has to turn away, to root himself on something solid and unmoving like that table.
He's often the anchor with his shoulder touch and words of encouragement—but not today.
Buck wants to be with Eddie, so his body is open to the kitchen... but his gaze is almost entirely away from him in this shot. He's normally the one reaching out, drawing Eddie out from his inner self. But this time, he's the one drowning in his own self-inflicted misery.
He's also holding onto the counter, if you note. They're both holding onto something for strength, for balance, for bearing—because right now they can't hold onto each other.
It's just fucking gorgeous. This whole scene is so fucking gorgeous.
Eddie's flashback hurts like hell. We remember the last time he got bad news of an important death—the time he broke down and took a bat to everything he owned, scaring the shit out of young Christopher who called Buck in desperation.
This time, Eddie knew there was no one to call. There was no Buck nearby to calm his kid and talk him through it.
And that's obviously not Buck's fault, but I think moments like that emphasized for Eddie just how alone he was... and just how much he needs Buck.
No, I don't think the realization has happened, yet.
I have my own head-canons about Eddie's journey of self-discovery that anchor him in who he is, as affirmed by others in his life long before Buck even gets on his radar as a potential romantic partner.
But, that's a story for another Meta (that I swear I am not gonna write, dagnabbit!).
We switch from that dark, shadowed flashback to the too-bright light of the kitchen. Neither is safe. Neither feels like home.
The instability is intentional—keeping us as off-balance as the characters, depriving us of warmth. It's all so cold. So blue. So wrong.
"Sitting alone in the dark. Trying to keep it together so I don't scare the crap out of my kid."
Eddie finally meets Buck's eyes on that last word. Because if they have nothing else, they have Chris.
And both of them know what happened the last time Eddie lost it, the last time he scared Chris. But this time, Eddie knew he couldn't let himself feel it. He had to keep it in for Chris.
Tears well in Eddie's eyes. He's finally letting himself feel. But Buck's still behind the wall, still closed off, still hiding from feeling because he thinks he needs to be strong.
Eddie turns away, again. He knows he's not getting through.
"I'm sorry."
This breaks Eddie. Breaks him right in half. Because the last thing he wants is to make Buck feel worse. He wants Buck to open up to him the way he wants so desperately to open up to Buck.
And this is all Ryan Guzman giving us a feast of a facial journey. I feel like this season he hasn't had many opportunities to shine, so given this wallop of a scene, he gave his all. Nothing is held back.
I'm damn proud of the kid (he's younger than my baby brother, so I feel like I can call him "kid").
But watch Buck in the background. I don't know if this was Oliver Stark's instincts, something written on the page, or a Directorial choice... but it's so subtle, yet so impactful.
Buck can't see Eddie's face, but he knows him well enough to understand this hurt Eddie worse. Oh, no. I hurt him worse. It's another mistake. Another failure. Something else he can't fix.
So he looks away. He oh so briefly looked to Eddie on the apology, but having seen what it wrought, he looks away.
"I know he was important to you, too." "He saved my life. And I wasn't there to save his."
Yes, you were, Eddie. You were. You just don't know you did it. You don't know how you gave an alcoholic hope when he had none. You have no idea how your words had an impact.
You did save him, Eddie. Just not this time.
And it really feeds into how Eddie at his best is the one to offer the words others need. It's really his superpower much as it's his curse. His words can wound, but they can also heal.
He just doesn't have the right words right now.
"And a part of me will always wonder if I was there, could I have made a difference?"
His voice is soft. He's facing Buck, though he's not meeting his eyes. He wants Buck to listen and hear him. He wants Buck to see him and draw him closer, not push him away.
"You don't think I did everything I could to save him?"
Buck stepped away from the counter, at last, on this line. He's not listening at all, now. He's hearing what he expects to hear. Buck, you failed him.
But that's not what Eddie says. And in his mind, Buck just did what Eddie feared he would do—made it all about him.
And, again, this is not about being selfish or self-centered. Eddie just lamented that he feels guilty for not being there. And Buck turns around and accuses him of doubting that he did everything he could.
That's not what it was about, Buck. This is about Eddie sharing Eddie's self-doubt.
But Buck sees it as another example of his own failure. And Eddie doesn't realize that. He doesn't understand the source and intention behind what Buck is saying.
And Buck is mis-reading into what Eddie said. Eddie not being there is about Eddie's guilt, not any accusation on Eddie's part about Buck's worth.
But Eddie feels like he's not being heard, so he gets in one more jab before leaving the room.
"I don't know, Buck. I wasn't there."
They're talking past one another because they don't fully understand the root of one another's traumas and how that manifests. And, like, they're best friends not lovers, right?
Sure, the line is so messily drawn it's more of a squiggle of marker on a damp piece of paper that's spreading in every direction. They've functioned as co-parents and partners for years without noticing.
And this speaks to how little either knows of true love. Of true partnership. That they found it in one another is a miracle deserving of song.
We all know how the episode ends—and I'm not gonna do the rest, dagnabbit—but I do want to point out that Eddie realizes after the fight what Buck needs.
And instead of running away, he tries to do better, to own up to being a dick, to get through to Buck not with words or fights... but with love. With family. With a sense of belonging.
Buck needs something Eddie can't give at the moment. But Eddie knows someone who can give him that grounding. It just happens to be the same human who holds his whole heart.
And that's what Eddie brings to Buck at the end of the episode. No, Buck doesn't get to keep Eddie's heart at this point—the physical representation in his son or the metaphorical one still locked away in a padlocked box within.
But someday, that boy who already thinks of Buck as his second Dad will utter the word "my Dads" and Buck's heart will burst with pride.
Someday Eddie's big brown eyes will hold Buck's blues and the charge between them will be so undeniable that one or both will have to act.
And someday Edmundo Diaz will give himself permision to love as Evan Buckley gives himself permission to be loved.
And that will be a damn beautiful thing.
At least... that's my hope. But I'm a sentimental old fool, so I guess we shall see.
Truly, my hat's off to everyone in this scene. Acting was impeccable. Camera work sensational. Lighting and set dressing set the tone immediately. Editing a dream. Directing was gorgeous. Writing was exceptional.
These are the scenes where I get excited as a viewer and I forget to think about what's happening on-screen from an analytical mind. That's rare for me. So this scene was a real treat!
Thanks for sticking around for this one, loves. It's a one-off! Truly! I'm working on breaking a Pilot, Outlining a Feature, and I need to get back on my Strike Book that has been waiting for my full health (finally getting there) to re-address.
Remember, loves—give yourself grace, make time for joy, and take every opportunity to dance in the rain.
during buddie’s inevitable love confession i need to hear eddie call buck evan. because eddie called him evan when he needed buck to listen and pay attention and show how much buck is needed. he called him evan to tell him about the will because eddie knew buck needed to hear how much he was needed. he indirectly called him evan during the kitchen fight because he needed buck to realize how hurt eddie was and how much he needed him. i think if eddie were to call him evan during the love confession it’ll get thru buck’s head how much eddie needs him and loves him.
“Evan Buckley, a tragedy in 97 acts,” you say? Oddly specific number choice there. Convert that to seconds and you’ve got 1:37, which is a simple digit swap away from, you guessed it, 3 MINUTES AND 17 SECONDS.
the shaky cam during the buddie kitchen fight scene is sooo good….the way it mirrors the building tension and keeps rocking as they circle each other around the counter? and then the way it barely shakes but you can still see some short movements in the shot where Eddie has Buck up against the wall?? oh yeah. that’s really good. excellent stuff
