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dispatchpodcast · 10 months

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wedding bells

honestly I wasn't planning to post this because I thought it was too silly but @nymika-arts said I should so. if you like it you can thank her <3

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Buck’s feet are up on the coffee table, his head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed but not sleeping when Eddie sits beside him, mentally apologising to Hen and Bobby as he puts his own feet up on the coffee table and makes himself comfortable. The cushions bounce a little, tipping them towards each other, and Buck grunts at being displaced, then tips himself fully against Eddie’s side. It’s late. They should both be in the bunks trying to get some sleep like everyone else, but Eddie came upstairs for a glass of water and found the glow of the TV and his best friend on the couch instead, a lure impossible to resist.

“What are you watching?” he asks. The scene that is playing out is vaguely familiar but not enough that he can recall the name of the movie or even the actors starring in it.

Buck opens his eyes, head lifting just slightly to squint at the TV. “Um, something about wedding dresses? I don’t know, it was already on when I got here.”

They watch in silence for a few minutes, TV light playing across their faces, but soon Buck’s eyes are closed again, his head back on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie tips his own head back against the couch, too tired to figure out the movie’s plot when it’s already halfway through. Girl meets guy, falls in love with guy, denies that she’s in love with guy, guy wins her over in the end. Something like that, probably. Everyone lives happily ever after.

The background noise of the movie and the warm weight of his best friend against his side is lulling Eddie towards a nap when Buck breaks the silence.

“Do you want to get married?”

“Sure,” Eddie answers sleepily. “Fall wedding?”

“What?” Buck frowns, and Eddie realises: oh, he meant do I want to get married generally not to him specifically. Then Buck is asking, “Why fall?”

Eddie waves a hand: why not? “The leaves are pretty.”

“The leaves—” Buck stops, shaking his head. “We live in LA, Eddie, we’re not exactly swimming in fall vibes.”

Vibes, Eddie mouthes at the ceiling. He blames Ravi and whatever influence he’s had on Buck’s vocabulary. Then he stops, thinks about it some more, and mentally apologises to Ravi for blaming him. He’s pretty sure Bobby is the one who brought vibes into the firehouse.

“Fall has good weather too,” he says. It was summer when he married Shannon and a low pressure system brought down biting, heavy rain that soaked them through as soon as they stepped outside the church. “Not too hot, not too cold, less chance of rain…”

“Doesn’t that happen in a movie?”

Eddie’s turn to frown. “What?”

“There’s a movie where it rains during the wedding,” Buck says. “I can’t remember if it’s supposed to be a good sign or bad sign, though.”

“I think it’s just a sign that it’s raining.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “In the movie, Eds. Like a sign that she’s marrying the right guy or the wrong guy, you know?”

Eddie thinks about fat drops of rain smacking him in the face, his hair sticking limply to his forehead, Shannon shivering against his side, not noticing or not caring as the hem of her wedding dress turns black from the mud.

He thinks about Shannon, pregnant, and the way it felt like a sign. The way it felt like a sign the second time too, but was just the universe mocking him for believing in something like signs.

“I think Hollywood makes rain seem a lot more romantic than it actually is,” he says, shrugging the melancholy away.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, something distant in his eyes like he’s remembering some awkward relationship moment of his own in the rain. “And snow. It’s like they forget how cold and unpleasant it gets.”

He shivers as he says it, some phantom memory attached to that too. Eddie thinks about asking, but Buck’s past is a patchwork of old bruises and anything he doesn’t willingly share is usually one he doesn’t want poked at. If they were at home, on the couch or in the kitchen, nursing a six pack between them—maybe then Eddie would poke anyway, ready to soothe any hurt it uncovered. Now he just nudges Buck with his elbow and says, “So, fall wedding. No rain, no snow, we won’t sweat through our tuxes before we get to the end of the aisle.”

He catches it a beat too late—we—and braces himself for rejection, for laughing it off, for fumbling through an explanation. His heart is torn, hoping Buck will think he just meant they’d both be in tuxes and walking down the aisle because he’d be Eddie’s best man, and half dreading that that’s all Buck will think when he pictures them at the altar together.

Except—

“We could have a destination wedding,” Buck suggests, his fingers idly pulling a loose thread on one of Eddie’s buttons. Eddie swats his hand away before he can unravel it completely.

“Destination weddings are expensive,” he counters. “We should just get married at the courthouse and save all our money for the honeymoon.”

Buck snorts. “You want to pull a Bobby?”

“I didn’t say we wouldn’t invite anyone.”

He wants to say all I need is you, me and Chris but everything this conversation has become already feels too dangerous. Too close to serious. They’ve always been good at blurring the line between friends and whatever else they could be, but this feels too blurry even for them. Eddie wonders if he should pinch himself, just to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“And we’ll have a party too,” Buck adds. “Do you think Hen’s cake guy could do a wedding cake?”

“I think Hen’s cake guy can do anything,” Eddie replies, his mouth somehow still working while his brain is spinning, spinning, spinning. He doesn’t remember a lot of the time he spent under the influence of the LSD brownies, but he’s pretty sure it would have felt like this: everything heightened, one step to the side of reality, this unrelenting gravitational pull towards Buck even back then.

“I don’t know what everyone complains about,” Buck says, head tipped back to smile at him. “Wedding planning isn’t so hard.”

Eddie smiles back, like it’s just another inside joke between them. Like this conversation isn’t happening in the middle of a bubble, thin and wobbly and liable to pop at any moment. He wants to say you make everything easy but the edges of the words are too sharp, too real, and he’s not ready for the bubble to pop just yet. He wants to enjoy it, even though he knows it can’t last.

The music in the movie swells as the girl finally gets her Big Damn Kiss and the start of her happily ever after. Buck smiles twists into something wistful as he turns back to the screen and Eddie wants to hold him tighter, but he’s not even holding Buck so it doesn’t make sense.

“I miss kissing,” Buck tells him, quiet enough that it feels like a confession. “Not—I mean, I like sex too, obviously, but kissing just for the sake of kissing, you know?”

It’s late. Everyone else is asleep downstairs. The glow of the TV and the dim yellow light left on above the stove make the shadows feel deeper around them, the night fuzzy around the edges. The movie’s final scene is rolling into the credits, another love song playing quietly through the loft. Their bubble hasn’t popped yet.

Maybe it’s all of those things, or none of those things, that makes Eddie say, “I could kiss you.”

Buck goes still.

Eddie wonders if he could bite clean through his tongue so he can never speak again. Human teeth are crazy strong so it’s definitely possible, right?

Buck would know if it’s possible, he thinks, and then he really does have to bite his tongue so he doesn’t laugh hysterically. God, why did he say that? Just because he was thinking about kissing Buck—has been thinking about it for months going on years—doesn’t mean he should have said it. He’s halfway to an apology—an excuse, maybe, some way to laugh it off as practice for their hypothetical trip down the aisle—when Buck sits up, pulling Eddie upright with him.

“Okay,” he says. “Show me what you’ve got, Diaz.”

His grin is all bravado, but Eddie knows him well enough to see the nervousness at the edges. It soothes him, somehow, knowing Buck is nervous too. Not that this isn’t still a completely stupid idea, the kind of idea that they can never come back from and will probably regret in about two minutes, but—

He cradles the back of Buck’s head, holding him steady while Eddie tilts his own head to fit their lips together. Gentle at first, growing bolder when Buck’s hands curl in the front of his shirt to pull him closer, tongue running along the seam of his lips until they open to welcome Eddie inside. Buck tastes like coffee, a little bit sweet like the vanilla syrup he keeps hidden away at the back of the cupboard in the kitchen. His breath is warm against Eddie’s chin when they break apart just long enough to breathe, lips lingering together, noses bumping, one kiss made up of a dozen smaller kisses.

Eddie pulls away first, forehead resting against Buck’s just for a moment before he drops his hand from the back of Buck’s neck and makes himself sit back. His hands are shaking, he thinks, and he doesn’t know if it’s fear or desire.

“Oh,” Buck murmurs, reaching up to touch his lips, an absent kind of movement like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Eddie swallows, the taste of Buck still on his tongue. He should—say something, do something, probably not lean in and kiss his best friend again (and again and again).

They both jump when the bell rings.

“Eddie—” Buck starts, but there’s no time. Eddie’s fingers are tingling, his heart stuttering in his chest, but his feet are already moving, muscle memory carrying him while his brain buffers trying to catch up.

“We have to go,” he says, and he’s as grateful as he is irritated by the interruption of the alarm.

“Eddie,” Buck says again, catching his hand to halt him before he can climb into the engine. They’ve got seconds before Bobby sticks his head out the window to ask them what the hold up is, but it only takes a handful of seconds to say, “October.”

“What?”

Buck smiles, “Let’s get married in October.”

He ducks in close enough to kiss Eddie on the corner of the mouth, quick and lop-sided, and then he’s climbing into the engine with a bounce in his step, and—

Oh, Eddie realises, he did mean he wants to marry me specifically.

(“Soo.” Chimney draws the word out awkwardly, looking around at everyone crammed into the engine together. “We all saw that, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Hen answers, her eyebrows raised above her glasses. “We definitely all saw that.”

Eddie just shrugs, his knee pressing against Buck’s thigh, their eyes catching and holding, unable to help smiling at each other while everyone else looks on. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

There’s a round of “uh huh”s and “sure you don’t”s and a half-muttered “at least I’m not finding out about this one four months later” from Bobby.

“By the way,” Buck adds when it’s quiet again, “you’re all invited the wedding.”

They’re still smiling at each other like lovesick fools when the engine explodes into a cacophony of exclamations around them.)

#ep 13 rec

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dispatchpodcast · 10 months

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post 6x18: some out-of-order vignettes | ao3

4251 words

“Buck,” said Eddie, trying to school his face into something less fond and amused. “That’s my couch.”

Buck turned from where he’d been happily showing off the new piece of furniture he’d gotten with Natalia the day prior. “What?”

“The couch,” Eddie repeated, with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You bought my exact couch.”

“No,” Buck replied with a shake of his head. “No, it’s definitely different.”

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Eddie looked at it—a three-seater in dark blue, velvet-y fabric with square corners and deep seats to accommodate his long legs. They’d picked out some nice white decorative pillows for it, and it’s certainly brand-new looking, but—

“It’s totally the same.” Eddie gave up on hiding his smile.

Buck looked back to the couch, tilting his head to scrutinize it. After a moment, he sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Ah, fuck. It’s totally the same.”

Eddie groaned, letting his head thump back onto the edge of the cot behind him. “The pain meds are definitely kicking in.”

“Well, good,” snarked Buck from a chair next to him, attention half-focused on his phone in his hands. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

Eddie sighed, long-suffering. “You too?”

“Yes, Eddie, me too.” Buck replied, thumbs flying as he tapped out something on the screen in his hands. Probably to Maddie. Probably about Chim. Who was probably okay. “Your ribs are fucking broken.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, staring at the ceiling. “And I know what they feel like. I’m fine, there was—other stuff going on.” He thought about that paramedic from the 133 shining a penlight into Hen’s eyes, frowning like he didn’t like the results and going back in to do it again. He thought about the constant jitter of Buck’s leg next to him, the constant worry for Bobby and Chimney who’d taken the other two ambulances before the three of them had managed to squeeze into another cab. “Besides,” Eddie pulled himself back on track. “Did you even get checked out?” He leveled Buck with a look that he hoped had more energy behind it than he had left.

Buck shrugged, powering off his phone with a click. “I’m fine.”

“There’s blood all over your face,” Eddie pointed out.

“Hen cleaned most of it up already.”

“There was more?”

“That’s—Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck said, turning towards him. “I scraped up my cheek and bit my tongue when I fell, and, sure, I’ll be a little bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Eddie pointed out, and he swallowed around a dry throat.

“How… how did you know that?” Buck stuttered in reply.

Eddie gave his own shrug, picking at the edge of the right kneepad on his turnout pants. “I didn’t pass out. I radioed right after I’d gotten my bearings, but no one answered. Then, like, thirty seconds later you must have woken up.”

Buck, for a moment, held Eddie’s gaze with something so unbelievably devastated, and guilty—like the thought of not being able to answer Eddie’s call was the worst possible thing that had happened that day. Then he flicked his eyes down to the floor. “Okay, s-so, like, thirty seconds. I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”

Eddie frowned, thinking about those thirty seconds—an unbearable weight on his back, a growing pain in his chest, and the clawing panic as he listened to the silence stretching out on the other side of the radio and fought the mounting urge to plead, I’m still alive, please, I’m still alive down here.

And then how he’d breathed a hugely painful sigh of relief when Buck finally asked for a headcount, how he’d fumbled into his pocket for his St. Christopher medal and prayed—something he hadn’t done since that awful week of the coma. Prayed that he’d come home safe to his son, but also that Buck would be careful—that he wouldn’t do something stupid and destructive and reckless to save any of them.

That heady rush of gratitude when Buck had sawed the doors open, taking off his safety goggles and assessing Eddie’s situation with a calculating, heavy gaze.

Next to him, Buck cleared his throat, shifting in the chair. “Anyway, you broke three ribs, man. Let the meds do their job.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “Trust me, they are.”

Eddie sipped his Diet Coke, beer off-limits because he was still taking the Tylenol threes. “So, you finally got a new couch.”

“I had a couch before,” Buck pointed out, a matching soda in his hand for solidarity. “Kameron just—y’know, gave birth all over it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, snorting a soft laugh. “That must have been wild.”

Buck chuckled. “The baby didn’t want to wait, I guess.”

“Impatient little guy,” Eddie said. “Must be those Buckley genes.”

“Hey,” Buck protested, pointing a finger. “I can be plenty patient.”

“Sure,” Eddie agreed placatingly, but be noticed how there seemed to be something more behind the mirth in Buck’s eyes—the plastic pieces at the edges of his smile. He fought the urge to say I told you so—mostly because it would have been childish, but also because Buck hadn’t asked for his opinion at any step of the way, and Eddie hadn’t offered.

Eddie decided to wait him out—usually the best course of action when it came to Buck. Eddie understood intimately how much time it could take to parse through a mess of feelings in your brain and formulate them into words that would make sense to another person. Usually, Eddie would sit quietly and sip his beer while watching Buck’s feelings play out on his unguarded face, and after a minute or two Buck would haltingly begin to explain what had been going on with him.

Eddie had tried to explain that to Maddie when they’d both been nearly sick with worry over Buck’s post-coma mental state. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” Eddie had said over the phone. “You can’t force him to talk about it.”

“Eddie, you don’t know him like I do,” Maddie had protested. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And Eddie had opened his mouth to say no, actually, I know him better than you, I know him better than anyone, but—that’s not true, is it? Why would Eddie know Buck better than his own sister, who’s spent the entire thirty years of his life caring for him, when Eddie’s only had him for—what, five years? Then subtract all the things they didn’t talk to each other about and all the issues they’ve had, and—yeah, who is Eddie to say what’s best for Buck?

And then Buck had knocked on his door and passed out on his couch and Eddie had felt righteously vindicated in a way that he almost wanted to rub in Maddie’s face, which was kind of bitchy of him to think.

So, Buck sipped his soda next to Eddie on his new couch, a storm of emotions clear on his face, and Eddie waited him out because that’s what he does.

Buck let out a sigh, and Eddie thought, here it is, he’ll let me in, and then— “Want to watch the Dodgers game?”

Eddie blinked. “Um, sure.”

And Buck turned on the TV.

Doubt roiled in Eddie’s gut.

“What about Hen?” Eddie asked, Buck’s hand tight on his arm as he helped him into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

“Karen already took her home, she’s fine,” Buck replied easily, before he shut the door and rounded the front of the car.

He’d left when Eddie had been taken back for x-rays, taking an Uber back to the station to pick up his car so he could come back to get Eddie and drive them both home. Eddie absently wondered when he would get a chance to get his truck from the station parking lot.

Buck hopped into the driver’s seat, fitting his keys in the ignition but pausing before turning the engine. He fixed Eddie with a gentle, reassuring look. “Seriously, man, everyone’s fine. Athena’s with Bobby, Maddie’s with Chim, let’s go home.”

Eddie swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about just how close literally every single one of them except Ravi had come to something far more serious than some hospital bills and time off work.

His gaze slid to Buck, who flashed him that small, soft, close-mouthed smile that Eddie rarely saw—the one that made his chest feel warm and gooey.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

The Dodgers were losing, and Buck wasn’t talking about it. Eddie tried not to either of those things get to him.

During a commercial break, Buck got up to throw their empty pizza boxes away, waving Eddie off as he moved to help.

When he came back into the living room, he paused under the overhang of the loft, just staring at Eddie.

“What?” he asked, a bit self-conscious.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bought your couch.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t worry about it, man. It’s flattering. You think I have good taste.”

Buck raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if that’s it. Half the furniture in your house is from Target.”

Eddie sputtered. “I—what’s wrong with Target furniture?”

Buck, lowering himself back onto the cushions next to Eddie, raised his hands in a show of innocence. “Nothing, man. I just—I don’t know if I would call it good taste.”

Having no comeback, Eddie just whacked him in the shoulder.

Buck laughed, playfully pushing his hand away. “Hey, c’mon, don’t start shit when I can’t retaliate.”

Eddie smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you know you can’t take me?”

“No,” Buck denied. “’Cause your ribs are still fucking broken.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Buck.”

“Well.” Buck crossed his arms, turning back to the TV as the next inning started. “Forgive me for wanting to be careful.”

For a moment, Eddie considered saying hey, maybe we should talk about how I could’ve almost died again? But Buck clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk about the big things, and Eddie didn’t really want to think about that yet either, so he settled for bumping their shoulders together.

Buck leaned right back into him, and neither of them moved apart—the comforting warmth of the contact buzzing in Eddie’s brain like the alcohol he wasn’t drinking.

Eddie smiled down at his hands. “You like my couch,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck groused, slouching into the cushions as they watched a batter swing and miss yet again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Are you sure you’re both alright?” Carla asked, a worried hand hovering over his elbow. “I caught some of the collapse on the news.”

Eddie flashed her a smile before turning to pour two glasses of water—one for him and one for Buck, who was off in Christopher’s room. “We’re okay,” he said. “A little banged up, but the doctors said I should be back to work in six weeks or less.”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “You better take that full six weeks.”

Eddie set the Brita down and met her gaze. “I’m fine, Carla. Really.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I just—I worry about you, Eddie. Okay? I know you’d rather I didn’t, but I can’t help it.”

Eddie ducked his head and smiled, a bit, filled with that familiar half-disbelief that people really do care about him. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but—I was lucky today. That nothing worse happened, that—that Buck was there to pull me out.”

Carla scoffed. “Of course he was. I don’t think luck had anything to do with that one.”

Eddie tried to fight the blush off his cheeks—he didn’t know what to do with that. Carla’s surety that Buck would save him come hell or high water. His own surety that Buck would be ripping open the doors of that camper van any second now.

When she realized he wasn’t going to say anything, Carla cleared her throat. “I should go. You up for a hug?”

“From you?” Eddie responded easily. “Always.”

Carla pulled him into a gentle-but-still-desperate embrace. “Okay, I’ll get out of your hair.” With a frown, she brought a hand up to ruffle the wilting mess on Eddie’s head. “Your dusty-ass hair. Take a shower, alright?”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright.”

“It’s a little early for a welcome back party, don’t you think?” Eddie said as Athena hugged him in greeting, Christopher heading off in search of the other kids.

“You and Bobby are headed back tomorrow,” Athena pointed out.

“Yeah, and Chimney’s not back for another two weeks.”

“And you best believe I’ll throw another party for him.”

Eddie laughed, before venturing further into the house to greet everyone else. His ribs had healed perfectly, barely a twinge when he’d thrown himself onto the couch in triumph yesterday. Which—speaking of, Eddie’s phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he was doing a very good job of ignoring that.

Or, he was, until a lull in conversation found him standing alone in the kitchen and pulling it out of his jeans. No texts. Which—of course, they’d agreed to go for coffee after his shift on Friday, why would she text him before that—but, still. Eddie was nervous. Sue him.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment while he debates if it’s too much of a desperate move to text Marisol before they even go on a date. Christopher would know.

“Who are you texting?” asked a voice, and Eddie fumbled to turn off his phone and shove it in his pocket before someone could see… what?

He looked up to see Buck smiling at his antics, a beer in hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the counter.

Buck sidled over to join him, staring out the windows at the backyard where the party was in full swing. “Just me. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie replied, for some reason hoping desperately that Buck wouldn’t ask him about—

“So,” Buck nudged an elbow into his arm. “Who were you texting?”

—fuck. Eddie wasn’t sure why this felt like something he didn’t want to tell Buck, to whom he tells everything, but… they don’t really talk about their girlfriends? It was always, always awkward, and it always left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

But, Eddie’s excited about this. Marisol probably won’t be the one, or whatever, but—still. Eddie was excited that his brain was finally in a place where he could think about opening up his life to someone and it wouldn’t send him into a panic attack that landed him in the ER.

And Buck asked.

And Eddie’s not in the habit of saying no to him.

“Um,” he started. “Do you remember Marisol? From the—”

“—yeah, yeah!” Buck cut him off. “So, you were texting her?” He raised his eyebrows, a knowing glint in his gaze.

Eddie blushed. “Yeah, uh… we’re going on a date?” he said quietly, a pit of dread or something similar opening in his gut.

Buck was quiet for a moment, and Eddie risked a glance at his face. He just caught the edge of something shocked and maybe fearful in his expression before it cleared and was replaced by one of those huge, sunny smiles.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaimed. “That’s great! Oh my god, man, this is awesome,” he enthused, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and squeezing him close.

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, still unsure why part of him felt sick with guilt.

“Hey, ever notice how we always start dating at the same time?”

“No, do we?” Eddie lied, thinking about how he’d agonized over making the call and kept telling himself Buck’s with Natalia now, you should do this.

Buck laughed again, before he jolted with surprise and turned to Eddie, excitedly slapping him on the arm. “Dude! We can go on double dates now!”

Eddie frowned. “We didn’t last time.”

Buck shrugged. “Well, you didn’t like Taylor, so I figured—”

“I liked Taylor,” Eddie protested.

Buck snorted. “Uh, no, you didn’t.”

Eddie tilted his head in a you-got-me face. “I kind of didn’t. I thought you didn’t notice.”

Buck dropped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders again, making Eddie huff out a breath. “Oh, Edmundo, I always notice.”

No you don’t, Eddie thought, and then he ignored that.

“But,” Buck continued, a hesitation in his voice. “You—you like Natalia, right?”

Eddie didn’t really know her at all, except for how excited she’d been about Buck’s death-that-didn’t-stick and how angry that had made him. “Yeah,” Eddie lied again. “She’s good for you. And she has good taste in couches.”

Buck laughed, relieved. “Good. So—we’ll do a double date, yeah? Me, you, Natalia, Marisol.”

Fuck, no. Eddie thought. That sounds awful.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie said instead. “That sounds great.”

Eddie was in the kitchen, pre-heating the oven to heat up some frozen chicken tenders because he didn’t have the energy to cook anything else when he felt little arms wrap gently around his midsection. It hurt his ribs, but Eddie didn’t have the heart to dislodge his son—not when these hugs were becoming rarer and rarer each day.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie said, turning in the hold and dropping a hand onto Christopher’s head. “What’s up?”

Eddie had already seen him, when he popped his head into Christopher’s room to find him sitting with Buck, a careful hand brushing the wounds on the man’s cheek. The sight had made something massive and unknowable bloom inside Eddie’s broken chest, threatening to choke him. He’d tamped it down and hugged Chris hello before heading off to shower, but apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Chris looked up, propping his chin on Eddie’s sternum. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, a tightness in his voice betraying him.

Eddie smiled. “Me too.” Even though it sparked the ache in his side into a bona-fide pain, Eddie leaned over to drop a kiss onto Christopher’s head—something he barely tolerates anymore. “Hey, the doctors said I’d be good as new in six weeks. Think you can deal with having me around all the time for that long?”

Chris laughed, bright and happy, and Eddie’s heart sang. “I’ll try,” he joked, and then something clouded passed over his face. “Buck’s okay, too, right? His face is bloody.”

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie sighed. Usually, he would kneel down to meet Christopher’s gaze, but he settled for easing himself into a chair and ignoring the concerned look Chris was giving him. “Buck’s totally fine, he just got scraped up a little bit. And today was pretty—pretty scary. For both of us.” He swallowed down the urge to berate himself for telling his kid he was scared, and it seemed to be the right move, because Chris nodded along with wide, careful eyes.

Eddie sighed again, settling his hands on his son’s shoulders. “But—tell you what. Buck’s gonna stay with us tonight, and he’s pretty bad at taking care of himself, right?” Chris giggled at that, and Eddie smiled in response. “So you and I are gonna have to be sneaky about taking care of him tonight, okay?”

Eddie expected Chris to give another sweet smile, and maybe to offer some comfort so earnest and childlike in its innocence that it made everything in the world feel right again, so he wasn’t quite sure to do when Chris burst out into loud, raucous laughter.

“Okay, what’s so funny?” he said, playing at being annoyed.

“It’s just,” Chris managed through his massive smile. “That’s exactly what Buck said. About you!”

Eddie just blinked in response, and Chris fell into peals of laughter again. “Okay,” Eddie said with mock-offense. “Okay, I see how it is. Gang up on the injured guy, why don’t you.”

“Da-ad,” Chris whined, fixing him with a very grown-up look. “We just care about you.”

Eddie pursed his lips, that unknown emotion threatening to drown him again. “Yeah,” he said, more choked-up than he would like. “I know.”

A small hand covered his, and Eddie flipped his own over to give it a squeeze. “Why don’t you go put on the next episode of María, okay? We’ll translate for Buck.”

Chris smirked. “You mean you’ll translate for Buck.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Eddie offered as Chris disappeared into the living room.

And later, when they were all piled on the couch, Christopher giggling at Eddie’s half-assed translations and Buck protesting that he understands more Spanish than you think, guys, the newest dose of pain meds forced upon him by Buck making his head more than a bit fuzzy, Eddie thought to himself: I wish it could be like this forever.

Buck shouted in exaggerated outrage to make Chris laugh, gesturing at some ridiculous plot point playing out on the screen, and Eddie let that huge wave of feeling bowl him over—that world-ending, all-consuming love.

Just this. Forever.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Hen said, a hand raised to keep Eddie quiet. “He has this whole thing about his girlfriends being couches, and the couch he finally bought is your couch?”

Feeling somehow embarrassed, Eddie just nodded. Hen shared a smirk with Chimney, sitting on the lawn chair that Maddie hadn’t let him move from for the entire party.

“That’s like—almost romantic,” Chimney snorted.

“What?” Eddie said.

“He’s been looking for the perfect couch, but it was yours all along!” Chim crowed, and Hen dissolved into giggles. She was definitely more than a little drunk.

“It’s so sweet, Eddie, come on,” she needled.

“Well, sure, but—” Eddie sputtered. “—romantic? Come on, guys.”

“No, you—you come on.” Hen said around a hiccup. “You guys are—Buck and Eddie! Eddie and Buck!”

“Yeah,” Eddie replied with a frown. “And you guys are Hen and Chim.”

“Nah, no, no, no,” Chim said with a wagging finger. “It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” Eddie threw his hands in the air, one hampered by the half-full bottle in his hand. “You guys are partners, just like us.”

“Yeah, but,” Hen said. “You guys are partners,” she explained, trying for some hand gesture that must have gotten lost in the all the alcohol and rush of the party because she just ended up clasping her hands together awkwardly.

“You guys are crazy,” Eddie said with a long-suffering shake of his head.

“And you’re crazy about Buck,” Hen said in an it’s-so-obvious whisper.

Eddie drew back. “What?”

“Hen—” Chimney started, a hand on her arm.

She shook him off. “No, I gotta—Eddie, you and Buck are like, perfect for each other. You love him, right?” Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses.

“Of course I do,” Eddie said automatically.

Hen gestured emphatically, whacking Chim on the shoulder like this proved her point.

“Hen,” Eddie said gently. “Did you forget that I’m straight?”

Hen scowled, like she did not want to be reminded of this fact. “Okay, but like—if Buck was a girl, you would have asked him out by now. You’d be like—fucking married by now.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but found his mind stuck on Hen’s words. If Buck was a girl. Him and Buck, married. Eddie felt far drunker than he should be off just one and a half beers.

“Eddie, ignore her,” Chim cut in.

Hen frowned. “I’m going to find Karen,” she declared.

Eddie watched her retreating form, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “He’s my best friend,” he said belatedly.

“Eddie.” Chimney kicked his leg. “Ignore her, okay? She’s drunk.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie started.

“Look,” Chim sighed. “We joke about you and Buck sometimes, okay?”

“You do?” Eddie asked.

“Little stuff,” Chimney assured. “Just, like, you’re each other’s favorite person and you’re missing what’s right in front of you, or whatever.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, to refute—what?—but Chim continued.

“But they’re just jokes, okay? We know you’re both straight. I mean, it’d be great if you weren’t, or whatever, but that’s not the world we live in.”

Eddie’s jaw closed with a click. He sipped his beer.

“He’s your best friend.” Eddie looked back to Chimney. “And that’s—” He seemed to search Eddie’s face for a moment. “That’s enough, right?”

Eddie swallows. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Exactly,” Chim agreed with an easy smile. “So, don’t worry about it, okay? She’s just drunk and forgot that we don’t make those jokes in front of you guys.”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Besides, Buck has a girlfriend, and—I have a date on Friday, so…”

“You have a date on Friday?” Chimney exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice flat.

Chimney clapped him on the forearm, unable to reach his shoulder from his sitting position. “Look, man, you’ll find that perfect girl-version of Buck out there, okay? I believe.”

Eddie chuckled. “Sure.”

He looked out to the party—his eyes immediately found Buck, head thrown back in laughter at something Athena had said. The string lights of the backyard made his styled curls shine with a honey-colored fire, his fingers curled carelessly around the neck of a beer bottle made Eddie’s mouth feel suddenly dry.

Just this. Just you, Eddie thought.

“You’re right,” he said to Chimney with a hollow smile. “I’ll find someone.”

#ep 13 rec

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