for @hearteyesforbuck, because when I have an idea and Eli tells me to write it, who am I to say no? Besides, I’ve been attached to this for three days, and got to sit under my own space blanket to write it in under an hour. Love you, mom!
“Boy, that was quite a show, huh, Chris?” Buck stands up, still reeling a little bit from the way the room had been spinning around them until just a couple minutes ago.
Christopher, for his part, is totally unfazed, leaping down from his chair so quickly that he almost overbalances and stumbles.
“Yeah! This is the bestest Buck day ever!”
At that, Buck can’t keep the grin off of his own face. The Buck Days had been his idea, the month after he and Eddie had started dating, to make sure that he and Christopher got to spend one-on-one time together. It gives Eddie a break too, a couple of days every month to catch up on bills or yardwork or whatever. All in all, it’s one of the best ideas he’s had for a while, and he has to agree with Christopher that the planetarium demonstration was a particularly good choice for today.
“And we didn’t even go check out the new ice cream place yet. It's only gonna get better, buddy.”
“Oh yeah! We should look at the gift shop first, though. I want a s-souv-souviner!”
“If we don’t get soveniers, did we really even go to the planetarium?”
“Nope!” The lighthearted sarcasm goes right over Chris’ head, and he turns around to grin at Buck.
They parade out of the auditorium, following the rest of the audience down the hallway until it ends at the entryway of the gift shop. A handful of visitors peal off, mostly older people heading for the exit, but Buck is only worried about keeping track of the head of reddish-brown hair in front of him. He’s not out for a repeat of the zoo incident today.
Once they're into the gift shop, Buck starts wandering around and looking at the different items for sale. He’s got an eye on Chris, can hear his excited chatter as he moves between the displays. But he also knows that he’ll be accountable for picking a trinket of his own. That’s the deal: at the end of the day, they both get to pick something to take home, something to remember their adventures.
Usually Buck opts for a magnet or something small. He doesn't need another T-shirt or a hunk of plastic, not when he’s got a dozen selfies and all the memories from their day together. Today, he’s turning a mug over in his hands, trying to decide if there’s room for it in his cabinets. It’s plain black at first glance, but the sign on the shelf explains how It'll reveal hundreds of tiny stars when he fills it with a hot drink.
He’s always been fascinated by constellations, had chosen the planetarium for today so he could share some of that excitement with the kid he’s come to think of as a son. So he figures he can have a mug, treat himself to something a little bit bigger this time and reorganize his cupboards later.
Just when the cardboard box is tucked away under his arm, Chris starts calling out for him across the shop.
“What did you find, little man?” He steps up beside Christopher, looking down to see what he’s holding.
It’s a blanket, light grey and fuzzy, decorated with stars, planets and rocket ships. Buck reaches out and runs his hand across it, and Chris grins.
“Bucky, look! It glows in-in the dark too! And it’s 50 inches by 60 inches; that’s more inches than me!”
“It sure is. You could hide all the way underneath it, your dad and I might never find you.”
“Yeah, you would! It glows, so you’d know where I am, even in the dark.” Christopher rolls his eyes, and Buck laughs.
“Good point. That’s your pick?”
“Yeah! Look, it’s got Saturn! With the rings!” He points at one of the motifs.
“Good memory!” When Buck smiles at him, Christopher’s grin grows even wider, craving praise from the adults around him.
“What’d you pick, Bucky?” They start walking toward the cash register as Buck shows Christopher the mug he’s holding onto, then they set both items on the counter.
The cashier reads out the total and Buck’s heart skips a beat.
Almost $80 for a cup and a fuzzy piece of fabric? Screw the LAFD, he should open a gift shop.
But then he sees two little hands come up over the counter and start stroking the edges of the blanket, and he remembers that the price covers way more than just the space-patterned throw.
He’s paying for the memories they’re making too, to let Christopher have these special days with ‘his Buck.’
And that’s worth a million dollars, if you ask him.
Tonight, he and Eddie will tuck him in underneath his new blanket, turn off the lights and listen to him cheer when the shapes light up around him. Eddie will pull the mug out of the plastic sack, get ready to wash it so Buck can have coffee in the morning. The receipt will cling to the box and Eddie will glance at it, admonish Buck for spending $45 on a blanket for his 10-year-old. But there will be a smile on his face, and admiration in his tone, for the man who loves Chris as his own.
Buck would give his left arm for the mass-produced blanket, because it was never really about the blanket at all.
It’s about Christopher knowing that Buck loves him, to Saturn and back.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Eddie has just started packing Christopher’s lunch when he hears bells jingling up and down the hallway. He groans, pulling a long sip from his coffee – the first cup of the day, fresh from the pot, but not quite into his bloodstream yet – and abandons the half-made sandwich on the counter.
“Chris!” He calls across the house, making his way over to the kitchen doorway. “Buddy, we talked about this. Bells are an after-school toy!”
Eddie’s head is already starting to throb, wholly unprepared for this much racket at 7:15 in the morning.
“It’s not me, Dad!” Chris’ voice is considerably closer than the noise of the bells. When Eddie looks around the living room, instead of trying to crane his neck down the hall, he finds that Chris is telling the truth. He’s sitting on the floor, wrestling with his sneakers. Eddie watches him just long enough to make sure he’s not getting frustrated, then goes back to trying to suss out the source of the noise.
Author’s Note: Based on this song here, which I sent to @dramamineontopofme and then after we screamed about it for a while, I turned that into this.
Also @hearteyesforbuck briefly thought this would be smut, so she’s gonna hate me now. But she loves me more, so I’m OK with it.
Read on ao3 here
Eddie drains the last sip from his beer bottle and stands up, running his hands down the thighs of his jeans.
“Be right back, man. Gotta take a leak. I’ll get the next round?”
“Sounds good.” Buck sets his own empty bottle on the bar beside Eddie’s. “You can buy, but I’ve got to pee too.”
It would be weird, Eddie thinks, if it were anyone other than Buck. If he were out for drinks with Chim, or Bobby or anyone else, it would be weird to walk to the bathroom together, to stand side by side at the only two urinals, sidestep to the sink in almost perfect unison.
But it’s Buck. He can’t think of a single thing that could make things weird between the two of them, even as he wracks his brain while he watches Buck in the mirror as they wash their hands.
Except the secret he’s keeping.
Buck looks up then, catches him watching and pulls a face. He crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out, and Eddie can’t help but flick water at him as he laughs.
“Hey,” He keeps looking at Buck’s reflection, turning the mood back to something serious. “Can I ask you something?”
His timing couldn’t be worse; they’re standing in the bathroom at a bar, the kind of place where every surface is just a little bit sticky no matter how many times you wipe it down. He’s not even sure he wants to say anything, thinks he might want to keep his secret to himself. But before he can backtrack, Buck is meeting his gaze in the mirror and he looks so earnest that Eddie can’t bring himself to skirt away from at least part of the truth.
“Of course, Eddie. Anything.” And he can tell that Buck means it, can tell that there’s nothing he could say that would make Buck regard him any differently right now. At least, nothing that Buck can think of. But Eddie’s pretty sure that what he’s about to say could ruin everything.
“You’ve like … you ask people out, right?” The question sounds awkward as it tumbles out of his mouth. It’s not quite what Eddie meant to ask, not likely to get him the answers he’s looking for, but he didn’t give too much away, so he supposes it’s better than if he’d shown Buck his entire hand.
“Yeah,” Buck’s reflection stares at his, and his brow furrows as he tries to figure out why Eddie might be so antsy about his question. “Why?”
“Like … guys?” Eddie bites his tongue, tries not to eye Buck warily while he waits for a reaction. This is the closest he’s come to telling anyone that he’s maybe interested in dating men, short of saying it to his own reflection in the bathroom mirror at home.
(Hindsight, he hadn’t planned this moment to be such a parallel to that one, but the similarities are sort of comforting. It’s always easy to talk to Buck, but talking to mirror-Buck is even lower stakes, like he can pretend he’s leaning against his own counter, not the cold porcelain of the bar sinks while he talks to himself in the third-person.)
“Sometimes.” Buck’s eyes narrow, and Eddie might be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure Buck’s fingers tighten where he’s holding himself up against the edge of the counter. “That’s not a … problem, is it?”
“No! No, of course not.” Eddie stumbles over himself to reassure Buck. He hadn’t been planning to do this tonight, hadn’t even considered that Buck might find his questions offensive. And he doesn’t want to offend Buck. Not ever, but especially not now, when he’s so close to putting everything on the line. “I just need some advice.”
They’ve been in here too long, have spent too many moments standing in front of sinks that aren’t even turned on. Their hands are hardly wet anymore, even though neither of them have reached for a paper towel. If anyone has noticed, there’s really only one conclusion they can come to, one reason two men would walk into a slimy bar bathroom at the same time and overstay their welcome there.
But Buck doesn’t move, so neither does Eddie. Instead, he tries to look like he’s not holding his breath, like he’s not waiting for Buck to shove him across the room and storm out, or – worse yet – give him friendly advice as nothing more than a friend.
Which, really, is looking like the more likely path, given that Eddie asked him for advice on picking up guys, without managing to mention that Buck is really the only guy he’s interested in picking up.
“OK …" Buck trails off and motions with one hand for Eddie to continue.
“How do you do it? I mean, how do you just … ask a guy out?”
“Same way I’d ask anyone else out,” Buck shrugs. “Be straightforward and prepared to handle the rejection.”
Right, of course. Eddie knows that’s Buck’s standard. They’ve spent enough nights sitting together at the bar for him to know that Buck likes to walk up to a woman and ask if she’s interested in joining him for a drink. He’s explained it before, that it means he gets turned down pretty often, but also that everyone’s expectations are clear right out of the gate.
“No, not … I can do that part, the-the actual asking.” Eddie shakes his head and tries again. “How’d you … your first time, how’d you get the balls to just walk up and ask him?”
Buck hasn’t said anything about Eddie needing advice talking to men, and Eddie is pretty sure that it’s a good sign. After all, he’d also quietly confirmed that he’s interested in men, at least occasionally. He hasn’t said anything about being interested in Eddie, but Eddie hasn’t said anything about being interested in him either.
And Eddie is *very interested* in Buck.
“Oh, that?” It can’t have been more than a couple of seconds, but Buck’s response pulls Eddie back to the present. “Easy. I get funky fried.”
“Excuse me?” Eddie blinks his eyes, tries to school his features. He’s been doing some … independent research, late at night, under the cover of darkness and a private browser. And it’s not like he knows everything – not even close, if he can’t even ask a guy out – but he’s pretty sure he knows what he’s into, and he doesn’t remember seeing anything about “funky fried” in the search results.
“Funky fried.” Eddie keeps watching him in the mirror, and he can see the moment when Buck realizes that he may as well be speaking gibberish. “It’s this thing Maddie taught me in high school. I was nervous, a lot, and she was like the only person I could talk to about … everything.” There’s something in the way he says ‘everything; that makes Eddie want to know more, but he knows that this isn’t the time.
After all, if he plays this right, he’ll have plenty of chances down the road to learn everything about Buck.
“But anyway,” Buck continues. “She told me that it would help me to say something really ridiculous before I had to do something that scared me. That way, whatever happened, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’d say all day. Pretty sure there’s exactly no evidence to back it up,” he chuckles. “But it helped. Helps, if I’m being honest. I, uh, I still do it.”
“You … get funky fried?” He knows it’s what Buck had said, but Eddie still isn’t sure exactly what it means.
“Yeah. You just look at yourself in the mirror and say it.”
“Say what?”
“’I’m a funky fried piece of man meat who gets the loving every time.’” Buck at least has the decency to look embarrassed when he says it, his face flushing red in a way that gives Eddie some very indecent thoughts to contend with as he watches his friend in the mirror.
“What?” He tries to hide the crack in his voice, but there’s no mistaking the alarm and confusion on his face.
Hell, he can see it on his own face, looking back at him in the mirror. But who can blame him? He just asked his best friend to help him ask a guy out, and all he got as an answer is to “get funky fried.” It’s not the worst advice he’s ever been given, but Eddie has a feeling that it’s in the top five for least helpful. There’s no way that he’s going to be able to ask Buck out just because he said something weird to himself first.
It’s almost like Buck can read the panic in his eyes, though, because he sidesteps just a little bit closer, close enough that Eddie thinks he can feel the heat off of Buck’s body.
They're not actually standing that close, but Eddie will take anything he can get, especially because he’s still half-terrified that Buck is making this whole thing up, just trying to get a laugh out of Eddie saying something stupid. Which wouldn’t bother him ordinarily, but tonight the stakes are high enough that he doesn't think he could handle that from Buck. Any other reaction, he can work with. But laughter?
Well he might just die on the spot.
“C’mon, just try it. It’s not like you’ll be less confident after.”
And then Buck is standing right behind him, fingers wrapped around his biceps, and Eddie swears that the walls start closing in until all he can focus on is how that Buck’s touch burns his skin in the best way. He’s turning Eddie just slightly, just enough that he’s looking at himself in the mirror, not the space beside him where Buck had been standing.
But he doesn’t let go, leaves his hands searing Eddie’s arms, and he’s sure that everyone will be able to tell exactly where Buck had touched him.
Eddie’s weak in the face of this, can’t resist the one thing Buck has asked him to do tonight.
So he says it, opens his mouth and lets the words fall out.
Or, tries to anyway.
“I’m a fried piece of funky meat man-”
Buck cuts him off. He’s smiling, but he doesn’t laugh and for that, Eddie is grateful.
“Hang on, dude. Try it again. ‘I’m a funky fried piece of man meat who gets the loving every time.’”
“I’m a freaky fried-”
“Funky fried.”
“Man meat?” Eddie gives up on the repetition, because he knows what comes next, and he’s so very confused. It’s supposed to be nonsense, sure, but he just can’t picture Maddie talking to her little brother about his ‘man meat’ when he was in high school.
“Not that kind of man meat, don’t be disgusting.” Buck lets go of one arm just long enough to swat Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie feels his face start to burn. The heat is less than it is where Buck’s fingers are still pressing against his skin, but not nearly as comfortable. “Now try again.”
Right, right. He’s supposed to be making a fool of himself by saying something stupid, not by falling even more in love with Buck than he already is.
He takes a deep breath and focuses on his own eyes in their shared reflection.
“I’m a funky fried piece of man meat who gets the loving every time.” His voice is stronger this time, and he has to hide the way his body tries to shiver when Buck’s fingers flex on his arms.
“Better.” Buck is close enough behind him that Eddie can feel his breath on the back of his throat. “But you’ve gotta really believe it. You are the funkiest piece of man meat to ever be fried!”
Well, when you put it like that …
Eddie takes a deep breath and decides that he doesn’t have much more to lose. Maybe Buck is right; maybe screwing up the phrase three times cut through enough of the tension that he doesn’t have to worry about Buck’s reaction to what he’s about to say.
Or maybe it’s just Buck, the way he’s always made Eddie feel like he can say anything, how he’s never judged him or held a grudge for anything. They’ve been through way worse together, so why would Buck draw the line here?
Eddie knows what he has to do, flexes his fingers at his side and steels himself.
“I’m a funky fried piece of man meat who gets the loving every time!” He doesn’t flinch as he turns around to face Buck and finishes, with the same breath. “Go out with me.”
The light in Buck’s eyes has to be enough to illuminate the entire city, Eddie thinks. He’s grinning ear to ear, this huge, natural smile that Eddie can’t help but return, and shaking gently where he’s holding Eddie by the shoulders.
“There you go! That’s perfect! See, you’re already more confident! Just, uh,” Buck exaggerates a wince, and Eddie chuckles before he realizes that the sound is coming from his own chest. “Next time, maybe hype up in the bathroom, and then wait until you’re actually in front of the guy to do the asking.”
Wait until he’s …
Eddie shakes his head and breathes out a laugh when he realizes what conclusion Buck has reached. He reaches up and grasps Buck’s forearm with one hand, running his thumb in gentle strokes across the smooth skin.
“No, Buck, go out with me.” Eddie tightens his hold and watches the realization dawn across Buck’s face. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at Eddie and smiles. If it were anyone other than Buck, if the circumstances were any different, Eddie is pretty sure he’d be uncomfortable under the intensity of Buck’s stare. And if that didn’t do it, the way he’s just smiling, not saying or doing anything else? That would probably make his skin crawl.
But here and now? Here and now, he’s happy to give Buck all the time he needs to process Eddie’s declaration.
He’s also very glad that it doesn’t take long, because the next thing he knows, Buck is breaking eye contact to stare at himself in the mirror over Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie knows Buck isn’t talking to him, almost feels like he’s intruding on a private moment, even though Buck is still holding onto him. But he’s still drawn to him, unable to stop himself from watching the way Buck’s lips move with the quiet conviction of his whisper.
“I’m a funky friend piece of man meat who gets the loving every time.”
Then he fixes his stare back on Eddie and everything goes right with the world when he nods.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“12-ounce honey latte with almond milk for Tyler!”
“12-ounce honey latte with almond milk for TK!”
“12-ounce honey latte with almond milk for Ty!”
“12-ounce honey latte with almond milk for Kennedy!”
Every day, it’s the same drink. Every day, he’s here at the same time. Carlos could set his watch to this guy, even if he apparently could never make him a nametag.
He walks in 20 minutes after opening, orders the same drink and sits down at the second barstool from the end to wait. Carlos scrawls the name of the day on the side of the cup, even if there’s no one else in the dining room, even though he’s always the one to make the latte, even though he could just walk over and slide it in front of him.
Because he’s hoping that maybe one day, he’ll use the same name twice in a row. And then Carlos will know what his name actually is.
Every day, it’s the same drink. And every day, it’s a different name.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Uh, did I know you were coming over?” He’s pretty sure that he didn’t, if only because he would have texted Eddie to cancel when he woke up feeling this crummy.
“Nope,” Eddie pushes himself down from the counter, crosses the room to take the bags from Buck and set them on the kitchen table. “Did I know you were on death’s door?”
Or, Buck has come down with something terrible, and Eddie insists that he take it easy. But that doesn't mean his chores don't get done.
Author's Note: This whole thing started with a convo in @rebeccaofsbfarm's inbox, so blame/credit to her for helping me cheat my way through this prompt! Love youuuu
Read on ao3 here
Just like aways, tagging: @eddiediazweek @hearteyesforbuck @thisissirius @hearteyesforbuck @dramamineontopofme @twinien @meloingly @myemergence
Eddie pushes the front door open, almost trips over his own feet trying to step across the threshold. Buck is right behind him, laughing when Eddie doesn’t pick his feet up far enough and catches his toe on the lip of the doorframe.
“Shut up, I just want to shower and go to bed.” He grumbles, leaning both palms against the wall for balance as he toes his shoes off.
They’d stopped at a drive-thru on the way to the house, Eddie riding in the passenger seat of Buck’s Jeep because he was already too exhausted to drive. He’d tried to wave Buck off at the mention of food but Buck ordered for him anyway, shoving a cardboard container of chicken nuggets and fries in his lap and threatening to drive circles around town until he’d eaten it all.
The long shift had drained the last reserves of energy from the entire team, but Eddie had taken a harder hit than the rest, having spent half of the night before sitting up in Christopher’s bed and rubbing his back after a bad dream.
“I know, that’s why I had to drive you home. Thanks for the couch invite, by the way. Way better than another 15 minutes behind the wheel.”
“Anytime, man.” Eddie rocks on his feet as he leans away from the wall, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “You want first shower?”
“You never leave any hot water.” But Buck’s eyes soften when he sees the way Eddie can barely hold himself up. “But you’re not going to make it if I shower first …" He trails off, and Eddie can feel him mulling something over.
Watching Buck think is only making him more tired, so he leans his back against the wall and sighs.
“What, Buck? You going to say we should shower together?” He turns his head just far enough to see Buck out the corner of his eye.
“I mean, we change together at work. Why not kill two birds with one stone? It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”
Eddie thinks about what Buck said, processes the words as they roll through his brain. He’s all but dead on his feet, but he has to admit that there’s a certain amount of logic to what Buck is saying.
They’ve gotten dressed side by side countless times since Eddie joined the 118, stood naked underneath separate showerheads in the open-layout shower at the station.
Buck is right, he’s pretty sure. There’s not much difference between catching a glimpse of your buddy in the locker room and standing in the same bathtub to shower.
Besides, it won’t be weird unless he makes it weird, right?
“True.” Eddie nods and stands back upright, careful not to overbalance himself and faceplant. “Works for me.” He wonders briefly if falling asleep in the shower would be considered “weird,” if Buck would catch him if he toppled over underneath the spray.
It would, but Buck would anyway, he decides as he leads Buck down the hall to the master bath.
They stand next to each other to undress, shoulder-to-shoulder but facing opposite directions. It’s not a production, just the way they wind up, each of them watching behind the other, having each other’s backs.
When the water is hot enough to fog up the mirror, Eddie pulls the door back and they step over the edge to face each other under the showerhead. The air is thick with steam, enough humidity that Buck’s hair starts to curl almost right away. Eddie focuses carefully on a ringlet that’s wrapped around the top of his ear, knows that he has to keep his eyeline above Buck’s shoulders, lest he make his best friend uncomfortable.
Here’s the thing: Eddie’s never thought of his shower as particularly small. It’s got more than enough room for him to maneuver, a showerhead with more settings than he has fingers and a glass door that lets in enough light to open the space up without flooding the bathroom.
But apparently when two grown men stand in it at the same time, it’s just tight enough that Eddie has to think carefully about his every move. How can he reach for the shampoo without touching Buck’s bicep? Can he lean back far enough to rinse the suds out of his hair without invading Buck’s personal space? Can he lean back that far without falling over, on account of the exhaustion dragging through his limbs?
He can, it turns out, but he’s really too tired to have to actively think about it. Maybe Buck’s big idea saved them a few minutes, but by the time they’re painstakingly switching positions, letting Buck run his hair under the water and wash the lather from his body, he’s exponentially more drained than he was when they walked in the front door.
Thankfully, they’re both able to clean themselves up and dry off without bumping into one another. There’s enough space in the open bathroom for them to stand a couple of feet apart as they wrap themselves in fresh towels, and Eddie tosses Buck a clean pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt when he’s digging through his dresser drawers.
They don’t face each other when they’re getting dressed, leave enough space between them again to avoid any unintentional contact. But when Buck stands up, Eddie winces in sympathy at the way his back pops. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he realizes that Buck probably shouldn’t sleep on the couch tonight, especially not if his back is already making sounds like that. A solution pops into his mind and falls out of his mouth all in one fell swoop, before he can realize what he’s saying.
“Sleep in my bed.”
Buck turns around as he pulls the shirt down over his stomach, eyes going wide in surprise.
“What?”
“Your back popped,” like that explains it. “Sleep in my bed.”
“Eddie … I’m not kicking you out of your own room.”
“No, you’re not.” Eddie nods, the fringes of his idea fitting together in his head. “It’s a big bed. We can both fit; I have a king. You’re too tall for the couch, Buck. It’s fine, I’m inviting you.”
Eddie’s tired enough that he’s starting to feel a little drunk with it, but he’s not so far gone that he misses the way he can see Buck struggling with his options.
He sleeps over all the time, but Eddie’s never suggested sharing the bed before. He’s thought about it, in the mornings when he can see Buck trying to work the knots out of his shoulders without Eddie noticing, but he’s always stopped himself before he says anything.
“OK,” Buck nods, but he still doesn’t seem sure. “But only until I convince you to buy a new couch, dude.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything, is suddenly too close to sleep to formulate a response. He steps past Buck, back into the bathroom, ignoring the way their bodies brush against each other as he jams his toothbrush haphazardly around his mouth. As soon as he feels like he’s at least brushed most of his teeth, he’s spitting into the sink and stumbling across the room to pull the blankets back and collapse into bed.
His face is buried in his pillow, but there’s just enough light seeping in at the edges of his vision that he’s still awake. So he waves one arm absently behind him, hoping Buck gets the message.
“Turn th’ light ‘ff, come lay d’wn.” The pillow muffles his voice, even as it carries back to his own ears, but Buck seems to know exactly what he’s asking, because a few seconds later, the room goes black and the mattress dips beside him as Buck settles in.
“You’re sure about this?”
They’re not touching, but Buck is close enough that Eddie can feel his breath hot against the side of his face.
“Yes, Buck ‘m sure.” Eddie groans and rolls over. “We don’t have to cuddle or ‘nything. Just shut up and sleep.”
It’s his last conscious thought, until he wakes up the next morning with an arm slung across Buck’s waist. He looks up slowly, only to find that Buck is already staring down at him, and snatches his hand back.
“Buck! I’m-”
“Don’t worry about it. Doesn’t have to be a thing.” Buck rolls over and stands up, and they don’t speak of it again. Buck makes breakfast, like he always does when he stays over, and they get ready to ride back to the station after dropping Chris off at Pepa’s to catch the bus.
But it does become a thing. Buck doesn’t stay over any more often than he did before, but there’s a whole new routine now.
It turns out that it’s actually really convenient to have someone else in the shower to give Eddie a hand with that strip of skin on his upper back that he can’t quite reach. And there’s nobody in their right mind would sleep on the couch when Eddie’s mattress is on offer right now the hallway.
There’s no deeper meaning to it, other than the convenience of having someone right there beside him. After the long shifts, they’ll lay awake together, reassuring each other that they’d done everything they could. They always start out fully clothed, leaving a careful distance between them, but after a few weeks that changes too.
Now, more nights than not, he and Buck will wake up curled together and find that one or both of them had pulled their shirts off overnight.
It doesn’t have to mean anything though, and every time Eddie tries to decide if it does, he remembers that he’s setting an example for Christopher, showing him that two men can be affectionate and open with each other.
That’s it. That’s all it means.
Which is why he doesn’t think anything of it when he throws Buck’s shirt in his duffel bag before work one morning. Buck had stayed over the night before, but left before Eddie was awake so he could make it across the freeway for an early dentist appointment before work. He’d brought a change of clothes, but Eddie isn’t surprised that he was rushing to get out the door and left his shirt behind.
He isn’t sure why it’s so important that Buck never leaves clothes behind, but that seems to be the line they’ve silently drawn in the sand.
So he takes the shirt to the station, but Buck is already out of the locker room when he walks in. He changes into his uniform, then carries the garment out to the common area, trying not to let himself think about how soft and worn in it feels before he tosses it at the back of Buck’s head.
“Hey, you left this in bed last night. Figured you’d want it back.”
Buck reaches up and pulls the shirt off of his head, turning it over in his hands before folding it neatly and setting it on his knee.
“Thanks, Eds.” He doesn’t say anything else, or react otherwise, but when Eddie looks around, Hen and Chimney are staring between them, mouths agape in twin ‘o’s.
“I’m sorry, what?” It’s Chim who breaks the silence, leaning forward like there’s some remarkable story about to be told.
“What?” Buck blinks at him. “Eddie’s bed is way comfier than his couch, so I sleep there now. I suppose you’re going to say it’s weird that we shower together sometimes too? We’re best friends, we don’t need boundaries.”
He sounds dead serious, and Eddie finds himself relieved to know that Buck isn’t any more hung up on how to describe their routine than he is; they’re friends who share a bed and a shower, who cares?
“It’s not weird,” Hen sets her hand on Buck’s knee, right over the shirt. “It’s just not friends, Buckaroo.”
Buck says something in response, but Eddie isn’t sure what it is, can't make out the words over the sound of the realization ringing in his ears.
It’s not friends.
He’s still reeling from it that night, lying in bed with Buck, whose made himself comfortable tucked into Eddie’s side. Eddie’s arm is around his shoulders, fingers toying lightly with the groove where his bicep and chest are pressed together. He can’t stop thinking about what Hen said earlier, about the freight train that drove straight into his heart.
It’s not friends.
Maybe … just maybe, if it could feel like this, if it could feel more than this, better than this, Eddie thinks he might want to be more than not-friends with Buck.
But sleep is pulling him under, so he decides that’s a thought that can wait until they wake up next to each other in the morning.
Relationships: Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen (The Rookie)
Tim slides the house key into the lock of his front door, careful not to let the other keys jingle too loudly as he pushes his way into the living room.
He should have been home four hours ago. Instead, it’s just shy of 1 a.m. as he’s bending down to quietly unzip his boots and leave them by the front door. He’ll bring them back to the closet in the morning, but the rubber soles squeak against the linoleum floors and he doesn’t want to maek any more noise than he has to.
As he stands up, he realizes that Kojo hasn’t come to greet him yet. Usually the dog is on Tim’s feet as soon as he’s in the house, whining and wiggling for a walk or a treat or a pat on the head. He’s surprised at the quiet, until he walks far enough into the house to see over the back of the sofa.
Kojo’s tail thumps against the arm when he sees Tim, but he makes no effort to get off the furniture, even though he knows he’s not allowed up there.
Tim doesn’t blame him though. He wouldn’t move either, if he and Lucy were tangled together on the couch. She’s rolled on her side, facing the back of the cushions. It strikes him as odd at first, the way she’s left her back open to the room instead of laying on her other side.
Then he looks at her a little more closely, sees how her chin is angled up where it’s propped on the arm nearest the door.
This is it! Thanks to everyone who’s read along and participated all week; it’s been a blast!
xoxo
Buck shifts away from the rest of the team, where they’re all piled onto the seats in the station living room, and tries to stifle a sharp cough, then a low groan as his stomach rolls.
He hasn’t felt well all day. He woke up with a throbbing headache and could barely manage to choke down a plain bagel for breakfast, and every time the alarm has gone off, he’s had to squint his eyes against the bright sunshine as the garage doors open and his ears ring. Now, he’s furiously hot, reminding himself that he can’t go take another cool shower without sparking curiosity.
But he can still do the job. Just … a little slower and quieter than usual. He’s keeping his distance from everyone, trying not to raise any alarm or get anyone else sick, even if taking the day off is out of the question.
Because Eddie already called in sick today, and they haven’t told the team they’re dating yet, but how obvious would it be if they were both out the same day with the same set of symptoms?
He’s pretty sure he caught it from Eddie, anyway, and it’s common knowledge at the 118 that Chris has been home from school all week. Eddie’s been taking off early when he can to talk care of his son – Carla fills in the rest of the time, but Chris is pretty attached to Eddie when he’s sick – until yesterday, when Carla had to go over and take care of them both.
Buck had already been over a couple times since Chris had taken ill, so he’d figured he was already exposed and relieved Carla after his shift. He’d told everyone he was “going home,” but that’s feeling more and more true every time he goes to Eddie’s house, even if he can’t say that’s where he’s at.
He’d stopped for crackers and Gatorade on his way over, then spent the evening dividing his attention between Christopher, lying on the couch in his PJs and watching Frozen through fever-glazed eyes, and Eddie, who kept trying to get up and tend to his son.
Not long after Buck threw Eddie’s sheets in the washer and helped him rinse his mouth out in the bathroom, he gave up on the laps up and down the hallway, carrying Chris up to Eddie’s room after the movie ended.
They’d spent the night all snuggled together, with both Diaz boys flipping the covers on and off as the fever fluctuated.
And Buck woke up with a mild fever of his own. Which he’d chalked up to the added body heat from being at the bottom of the cuddle puddle, so he fixed light breakfasts for everyone and handed back off to Carla, sure he’d feel better once he got to work.
He didn’t feel better, though. In fact, he feels worse now, and his throat is starting to get scratchy. It’s getting harder and harder for him to cover his symptoms up, especially when he interrupts Chimney’s movie review with a sneezing fit.
“Bless you.” Hen looks over at him, and he sneezes again. “Bless you. Ble—Buck, are you trying to set a world record or something?”
He shakes his head as he starts to cough, and the amusement in Hen’s eyes turns to concern.
“You feeling alright, Buckaroo? He looks a little flushed, don’t you think, Cap?”
Bobby wanders over and presses his hand to Buck’s forehead.
“Yeah, and he’s hot too.”
“Thanks, Cap. I could use the ego boost.” Buck tries to laugh, tries to play it off, but his voice is raspy.
“Seriously, Buck, do you feel OK? We’ve only got an hour left on shift, if you need to get out of here, take care of yourself.”
“Really, Bobby, I appreciate it, but I’m --” Before he can say “fine,” Buck coughs again and feels the acid crawling up his stomach. His eyes go wide and he pushes past Bobby and Hen, but only makes it as far as the kitchen sink before he doubles over and gags, the few bites of macaroni and cheese he had for lunch reappearing half-digested.
“O-Kay, that settles that.” Bobby approaches slowly, reaching around Buck to turn the faucet on, and patting his shoulder when he turns his face up for a mouthful of water. “Chim, give Maddie a call, would you? See if she can come pick Buck up or if I need to get ahold of Athena.”
“No!” Buck jerks back from the sink and turns around. “It’s-it’s fine, I can drive myself home.”
“Got someone to keep an eye on you?” Bobby eyes him warily until he nods. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll go to Eddi—a friend’s.” He almost gives his secret away, but through the haze of illness, thinks he recovers before anyone notices. “He doesn’t live that far away.”
Bobby carefully schools the grin threatening to break onto his face.
“Alright, if you’re sure you can get there OK.” Buck nods and coughs gently. “Well let us know when you’re done driving, OK, kid?” Buck nods again and turns for the locker room to grab his bag.
Bobby waits for him to have his hand on the doorknob before he calls after him.
“Oh, and Buck?” He turns around. “Give Carla my thanks for looking after you and Eddie this week, and tell Eddie to feel better. Both of you, feel better.”
