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buddie-buddie · 1 year

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throw a line out (i am on the way down)

7.2k - m - read on ao3 five times buck answered when eddie said "talk to me," and the one time he didn't

“Buck!”

He’d know that voice anywhere.

God, he loves hearing Eddie say his name. There’s something about it, something in the way that Eddie makes it sound special. Reverent. Like a promise.

He’s heard his name on Eddie’s lips more times than he can count, but it’s never sounded like this.

“Buck!”

Something’s different. Hazy. Buck’s body feels heavy, but his head feels light. He’s warm– not hot, but warm. Almost as if someone lit a candle inside him, like something’s aglow beneath his skin. He floats in the haze for a moment, content to let it sweep him away.

“Talk to me!” It’s Eddie yelling again. But he doesn’t sound like himself. Something is different.

There’s something in his voice Buck isn’t used to hearing. Something that takes him a moment to register, to put a name to.

Fear.

Eddie’s scared. But why? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Everything is warm and floaty and good. Everything is good. Eddie’s nearby. No, wait, Eddie’s here. Eddie’s hands are on him now. Buck knows that touch better than he knows his own.

And he hears Bobby, too.

Eddie’s here. Bobby’s here. There’s nothing to be scared of. He tries to open his mouth, tries to get the words out, to tell Eddie that it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to be afraid. But his mouth won’t work. The words won’t come. They swim around in his head, fighting the haze that grows thicker with each passing moment until they disappear.

“Talk to me!” Eddie yells again. Buck’s heard Eddie say that before.

Memories wash over him, pulling him deeper into the haze.

“Metro Dispatch, this is Firefighter Eddie Diaz, Public Service Officer.” Eddie answers his cell phone on the second ring.

Buck’s not sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. “Firefighter Eddie Diaz?” he repeats, laughing. “What happened to hello ?”

Eddie sighs, and Buck doesn’t have to be in the room with him to know that he’s rubbing a hand over his forehead, trailing it down his face as he laughs alongside him. “Oh my god,” he groans. “I– I don’t even– I’m…” he stammers, clearly flustered.

Buck can picture the look on his face, can imagine the blush creeping up his neck and settling on the apples of his cheeks. God, the things Buck would do to be able to run his thumbs over his flushed cheeks, to kiss away his bashful grin. To have the privilege of knowing Eddie– of having Eddie– so intimately.

Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry. Guess I, uh, I’ve gotten a little too used to answering the phone at work.”

It’s been a month and Buck’s still not used to the fact that he and Eddie don’t work together anymore. He thought it would get easier the more time that passed, but the dull ache in his chest hasn’t let up since the day Eddie told them all the news.

And if Buck is being completely honest, hearing Eddie say “work” and knowing that he doesn’t mean the 118 hurts a little more than he thought it would.

Buck opts for levity in an attempt to push past the pang of sadness. “I mean, if you want to change it up, there are plenty of other options.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks. “What do you suggest?”

“What about ‘Howdy?’” Buck has to fight to keep a straight face. “Y’know, honor your roots and all that.”

There’s a pause, and Buck doesn’t have to be in the room with Eddie to know that he’s rolling his eyes.

And Buck could be mistaken. Maybe it’s a case of synchronicity, of Buck hearing what he so desperately wants to. But he swears Eddie sounds fond as he says, “Maybe not.”

“Okay,” Buck concedes. “Forget your Texan blood. You could go more authoritative.”

“More authoritative? Eddie echoes. “Like what?” he drops his voice lower, more serious. “Talk to me.”

Buck laughs. “Definitely a contender.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“As you should.”

“Might be a good idea to switch it up,” Eddie says. “I’m on the phone all day. Only a matter of time until I lose my mind.”

“More than you already have,” Buck ribs.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. He keeps his tone light, but there’s something serious hiding beneath it, something Buck picks up on from the single syllable alone. Before he can press, Eddie continues, “So… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” Buck begins, heaving a sigh. “Remember how I saved your life?”

“Which time?”

“You pick,” Buck quips. He can hear Eddie moving around. Putting things away, opening and closing the refrigerator door. He recognizes the sound of Eddie’s dishwasher kicking on. A sudden and overwhelming sense of longing hits him over the head without warning. Which shouldn’t make any sense– who longs to clean up the kitchen? And yet he aches for it. Putting dishes away and taking out the trash. Dumping clean laundry on the bed and matching up socks.

Something about being with Eddie makes even the most mundane task feel like sacred privilege.

“I’m calling to see if I can cash in a favor,” Buck says.

He’s expecting a smart response, something witty or sarcastic. Maybe a playful ribbing. What he gets instead is a simple “Anything.”

There’s something about the way Eddie says it that has Buck feeling warm inside. It’s simple and it’s easy and it’s honest. Eddie means it. Anything.

Anything.

It’s welcome and it’s appreciated and it means more to Buck than he thinks he could ever put into words. But it’s equal parts disarming, and it takes Buck a second to recover from the unexpectedness of it all. “Uh, well, my– washer’s broken,” he explains. “It’s been busted for a few days now and it’s something with the water lines cause all my neighbors’ are broken too and my landlord said he’d have someone come take a look but that was on Friday and it’s Tuesday now and he still hasn’t gotten anyone out and I don’t want to bug Maddie right now since she just got back and I–”

“Buck,” Eddie cuts in.

“I’m rambling,” Buck realizes.

“You’re rambling,” Eddie confirms. This time Buck is absolutely certain he isn’t imagining the fondness in Eddie’s voice.

On a totally unrelated note, there are butterflies in his stomach.

He takes a breath. “Sorry.”

“No need,” Eddie assures him. “Come do your laundry here.”

“You sure?” Buck asks, all but holding his breath as he waits for Eddie’s response.

He doesn’t have to wait long, as Eddie answers without so much as a second’s hesitation. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Buck says. “I tried to go to the laundromat around the corner yesterday but I guess everyone in the building had the same idea because all the machines were in use and when I called just now they said everything is still taken and I’m out of clean work shirts and I don’t think anyone at the 118 would appreciate it if I showed up for my shift tomorrow in last shift’s clothes and I–”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Eddie assures him. “The offer stands. Even if your landlord has it fixed by the time you get your clothes off the floor and into a laundry basket.”

Ah, yes. There’s the gentle teasing Buck had been expecting.

Buck scoffs, feigning hurt. “What makes you think my clothes aren’t already in a basket?”

“I’ve seen your bedroom floor. Or rather, the lack thereof,” Eddie says. “Worse than Christopher,” he muses.

There’s a long pause. Buck can’t really argue with that. “Fine,” he concedes. “You win.”

“Chris is at science club until six, but if you get here by then you can come with me to pick him up?” Eddie says. It has the workings of a question, with the way his voice ticks up at the end. There’s something hopeful there.

Buck’s smile stretches so wide, he wonders if Eddie can hear it through the phone. “Done.”

Traffic is the third certainty to life when living in L.A.

Death, taxes, and bumper-to-bumper on the 405.

Buck knows this to be true. He used to hate it, used to sit in traffic longing for his old motorcycle, imagining weaving through the slow-moving cars and feeling the wind in his face.

But lately, he hasn’t minded it so much. Not when Eddie’s beside him, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming underneath his breath, stealing glances at him across the center console and listening to him ramble on about whatever’s on his mind.

Sometimes, Buck finds himself wishing for traffic– hoping that their twenty minute drive might turn into thirty or forty, that he might be lucky enough to steal those extra moments with Eddie.

And he’s grateful– so, so grateful for these moments, for this time with Eddie– he’ll never not be grateful when Eddie’s beside him. But if everyone could get a fucking move on today, that would be great.

“We’re going to be late,” Buck mutters, craning his neck in an attempt to see around the cars in front of them.

“It’s fine,” Eddie assures him, seemingly unbothered from where he sits in the passenger seat.

Buck huffs out a sigh, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “No it’s not.”

“Baby,” Eddie says gently. “It’s okay. They can wait for a few minutes.”

Buck can only imagine the things that Eddie’s parents could be thinking– could be saying to each other– while they wait outside of LAX for the two of them to pull up. He’s met them before, and they were fine, but that was when he was just Eddie’s partner. Now that he’s Eddie’s partner, things are different. He doesn't want them thinking he’s irresponsible. Or unreliable. Or worse, that he doesn’t respect them.

He doesn't know what exactly they think about him and Eddie being together. It only happened a couple of months ago, after Eddie got back from visiting El Paso for his dad’s retirement party. Buck had driven this same route, had picked him and Chris up outside of arrivals when their flight got in. It was late and they were exhausted– Christopher was asleep in the back seat by the time they hit the freeway– and Eddie was unusually quiet the whole way home.

When they got to Eddie’s, Buck carried a still-sleeping Christopher inside while Eddie got the bags. They put him to bed and Eddie pulled two beers from the fridge and said, “Stay.”

Buck took the bottle from his outstretched hand and said, “Okay.”

Eddie held his gaze, something soft and vulnerable and a little hopeful in his eyes. “Forever.”

Buck’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammered in his chest. Eddie had somehow given him everything he’d ever wanted, offered him everything he’d ever dreamed of, in one single word. Buck swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat and dug his fingernails into the heel of his palm hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. But he didn’t wake up. It wasn’t a dream.

His eyes shone as he looked at Eddie. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Eddie repeated, taking a step forward and closing the gap between them. Buck can’t remember who moved first, who kissed who.

All he remembers is the slowest, sweetest, most perfect kiss of his life. How Eddie’s lips tasted like beer and his hands felt like home. How something inside of him instantly settled, how for the first time in his life, his brain felt quiet and his heart felt whole.

“Forever,” Buck breathed, the word lost on his lips as Eddie kissed him again.

And so it was.

Eddie told his parents a few weeks ago. With Christopher’s birthday coming up, he was hoping they’d be willing to make the trip. He’d called to see if they’d let him fly them out for Christopher’s birthday. Between Buck and Pepa, his birthday party was shaping up to be the event of the decade. He knew the only thing that could make his son happier than the cotton candy machine, video game truck, and four (yes, four ) piñatas already hidden in Eddie’s closet was a surprise visit from his grandparents.

So he called and asked. They were on board before Eddie could even get to the details, which had Buck sighing with relief from where he sat beside Eddie as he spoke to them. He had placed a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his chest swelling as Eddie all but melted into his touch.

Eddie went on to tell them about their relationship, and Buck waited with bated breath for their reaction. Not that it would change anything about how he felt for Eddie– nothing could– but he knew how important this was to Eddie, how even though his parents had let him down so many times before, there was still some tiny, hopeful part of him eager for their approval. Buck knew the feeling.

“Are you happy, mijo?” Eddie’s dad had asked. Eddie looked up at Buck, smiling as their eyes met.

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, holding Buck’s gaze as he spoke. “More than ever.”

“Then so are we,” Ramon said.

And now they’re here. Well, they will be if Buck and Eddie ever actually make it to the airport. His stomach churns with anxiety as the traffic inches forward.

It’s crawling so slowly that he hasn’t even used the gas pedal in the last few minutes, just lifts his foot off the brake every time the car in front moves forward another half a foot.

The reality of the situation is that Buck spent the last two hours tracking their flight, watching the little airplane icon make its way across New Mexico and Arizona and into California. He announced it was time to leave for the airport a half hour before the Diazes even landed. Eddie had pushed back, pointing out that the airport is only twenty minutes away and it would be at least an hour before his parents landed, deplaned, and got their luggage.

“But what if they didn’t check a bag?” Buck had asked. Eddie had dropped a kiss to his forehead, smoothing out the worry lines. He didn’t dig his heels in, didn’t insist they could wait. He just walked to the front door and pulled his shoes on, and Buck loved him for it.

“Your car or mine?”

And it was a good thing they left when they did. They’ve been in the car for almost an hour, and they still have another two miles to go. Eddie’s parents texted ten minutes ago that they were off the plane and heading to baggage claim, which did absolutely nothing to calm the nerves buzzing beneath Buck’s skin.

“Let’s go!” Buck shouts at the cars ahead of them, slamming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “Should’ve taken La Cienega,” he mumbles, to himself more than anything.

Eddie places a hand on his thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s okay. You know how many times they were late picking me up from things as a kid? We could show up tomorrow and it still wouldn’t be even.”

And okay, that does help a little bit. It doesn’t make Buck feel better completely, but it does help to untangle the ball nerves that’s formed behind his chest.

“How are you not going crazy?” Buck asks after a minute, tearing his eyes away from the long line of cars in front of them long enough to glance over at Eddie.

Eddie shrugs. “Nothing we can do about it.”

Practically speaking, Eddie’s right. Technically speaking, though, Buck could pull into the shoulder and speed around the congestion. But Eddie had shut that idea down about twenty minutes ago. And again ten minutes ago when Buck looked over at him with what could only be described as mischief in his eyes.

Buck groans, rolling his eyes and knocking the back of his head into the headrest.

Eddie looks at him for a long moment, nothing shy of completely smitten. “You done?” he asks after a beat.

“No,” Buck says, groaning once more, even louder than before. “Okay, now I am.”

Eddie shakes his head fondly. “Patience is a virtue, Buck.”

“Well, I think hurrying the fuck up should be a virtue,” Buck grumbles.

Eddie snorts, reaching for the radio and flipping through stations until he finds one that’s playing music instead of a commercial. “Oh, this is a good song!” he says excitedly, turning to Buck expectantly.

Buck gives him a blank look in return. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard this before.

“Wait, seriously?” Eddie asks incredulously. “It’s Stevie Nicks!”

Buck shrugs. He’s already grinning like an idiot, enjoying every second of watching Eddie get all excited over a song on the radio. But nothing– nothing could prepare him for the wave of adoration that crashes over him as Eddie starts to sing along.

“You can talk to me,” Eddie sings. “T-T-T-Talk to me.” He draws out the last word, smiling as he looks over at Buck. “Come on, you know this song!” he insists.

“I don’t!”

Even if he did, Buck wouldn’t admit to it now. Not if it meant he’d lose his front-row seat to this epic performance.

“This is the best part,” Eddie says, reaching for the dial and turning it louder before turning to Buck. “Let the walls burn down, set your secrets free.” He grins, reaching for Buck and cupping his chin in his hands. “You can break their bounds, cause you’re safe with me.”

And god, if that isn’t the truth. Buck has never felt safer with anyone than he has with Eddie.

When he was growing up in Hershey, there was this game all the neighborhood kids used to play at the town pool. They’d take turns swimming out in pairs to the middle of the deep end, reaching up and grabbing opposite edges of the diving board. Then, they’d hang off the edge for as long as they could, until someone dropped into the water and the other was crowned the victor. Buck has vivid memories of dangling there, knuckles white and muscles burning, determined to hang on longer than the kid opposite him.

Most of his friends would drop off the second they beat their opponent, but not Buck. He’d stay on until he physically couldn’t any more. Until his face would burn red, his muscles would ache, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold on any longer.

So much of his life has felt the same– like he’s hanging on the edge, desperate to just keep holding on, to get a better grip on it all. And then he met Eddie. And suddenly, it was like the first summer where they started playing in teams instead of one on one.

Everything was easier.

He was still hanging there, still on the edge, but it was easier. He wasn’t on his own. When it got to be too much for him, there was someone beside him ready to tag him out, ready to share in the burden.

And it didn’t hurt anymore. He felt like he could hold on forever.

Buck loves Eddie’s house.

He loves his own place, too– the loft has been good to him– but it’s not the same. It’s never felt like home. Not in the way that Eddie’s house does.

It took him a while to realize that’s what the feeling was. He spent the first two and a half decades of his life never really feeling at home anywhere. The feeling was so foreign to him that he didn’t recognize it once he had it. He knew that the ever-present current of anxiety thrumming beneath his skin suddenly quieted each time he was at Eddie’s. It was the same thing that happened every time he walked into the 118.

He just didn’t realize the feeling had a name at first.

Eddie’s house feels like home in a way his loft never has. In a way Abby’s place never did. In a way that his old apartment and all of the places he lived before landing at the 118 never did.

In a way his childhood home never did.

Not that Buck’s loft is all bad. It’s the first place he truly ever felt was his. It was the backdrop for some of the best moments in his life. Some of the worst, too. The loft is where he told Eddie he loved him for the first time. The loft is where Eddie said it back, not even a heartbeat later.

The loft is where Eddie first squeezed Buck’s hand three times, an unspoken I love you that quickly became woven into the fabric of their everyday lives. Three squeezes across the center console in the car just because. Three taps on the knee in the back of the engine as they pull up to a call. Three kisses stolen as they stand at the stove in their pajamas, flipping pancakes on Saturday mornings.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And the loft does feel like home sometimes. It hasn't always, not the way that Eddie’s place always has. But sometimes. Like when when he wakes up to slow kisses and the smell of coffee as early-morning sunlight pours through the windows. When contagious laughter and video game sound effects echo off the high ceilings. And when his eyes catch on the second toothbrush beside his in the cup next to the bathroom sink.

And on nights like these, when he and Eddie are here together. Alone together. When Buck’s laid out on the bed, sheets that smell like Eddie balled up in his fists as breathy moans fall from his lips.

They’ve been caught up in each other since the day started bleeding into night, since pink and purple streaks crept into the blue sky, melting away into a deep, inky nighttime. Moonlight flooded through the windows, painting the walls in shadow as they held onto each other hard enough to leave marks and swapped bruising kisses that somehow still felt reverent.

It’s perfect. It’s absolutely everything.

Buck doesn’t know how he ever lived without this.

He’ll be the first to admit he’s had a lot of sex. Like… a lot of sex.

He’ll also be the first to admit that sex with Eddie is the best he’s ever had. Tenfold. By a landslide. No competition.

The first time was a revelation. It was different than any of the sex Buck had ever had, better. Beneath Eddie’s touch, Buck felt awake and alive and whole in ways he never had before.

It was slow and hot and absolutely perfect.

Buck spent the first few days waiting for the bubble to pop, expecting the initial flame to snuff out. Surely it was too good to be true. There was no way sex could be this good all the time, right?

Except it’s been months now, and it’s still just as good. Better, even, if that’s possible. The spark beneath Buck’s skin that was fanned into a flame beneath Eddie’s touch has only managed to burn brighter since that first night.

He can’t get enough.

He’s on his forearms and his knees tonight, Eddie draped over his back. He’s long since lost track of where he ends and Eddie begins, lost all concept of anything except the hot, filthy drag of Eddie’s cock inside him as he falls apart beneath each languid thrust.

Eddie drops a kiss to Buck’s shoulder, and every nerve ending in Buck’s body feels like it fires at once. He gasps, pants, dissolves into broken-off moans and hushed cries of please and Eddie and baby . He feels like he’s glowing, ecstasy shimmering in his veins.

“More,” Buck whines. He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s begging, but it comes out needy and desperate. He turns his head, hiding his face in the pillow as a blush creeps onto his cheeks.

The next thing he feels is Eddie’s hand on his face, his fingers on his jaw, a warm and welcome weight as he turns Buck’s face to the side.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a hot kiss to Buck’s temple. His breath is warm against Buck’s skin, and it sends sparks dancing across Buck’s skin. “Tell me what you want. Let me hear you.”

Buck wants to be closer, wants to feel it tomorrow, wants to forget everything except Eddie inside him. Eddie’s fingers on his hips. Eddie’s lips on his neck.

“Want to see you,” Buck breathes. “Want you to turn me over and fuck me like I’m yours.”

Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice.

They’re standing in the cereal aisle when Eddie’s phone rings. Buck has a box of store brand Cheerios in one hand and a box of Frosted Flakes in the other. Christopher loves them both equally and the grocery list they made during a slow stretch on shift last night says cereal in Eddie’s neat capital letters. But it doesn’t specify which kind, but it doesn’t have to. They both know what Christopher likes. Buck can’t eat either one of them without thinking of the week Eddie spent in the hospital with a bullet hole in his chest. But Christopher loves them.

Buck holds the boxes up to Eddie as if to ask which one?

Eddie looks between the boxes, considering the choices.

“Both?” Buck suggests.

“Both,” Eddie nods, taking the boxes from Buck and placing them in the shopping cart. Buck would be lying if he said he was fully present. As much as he loves this– running errands with Eddie after a slow, quiet shift together– his mind is elsewhere today. He hopes it’s not obvious, but he suspects it is, if Eddie’s lingering looks are any indication.

He’s about to say something when Eddie’s phone rings. One look at the caller ID has him swearing under his breath, picking up the call immediately. Buck can only hear Eddie’s side of the conversation, but it’s all he needs. “Hello?... Oh, no… Yeah, of course. We’ll be right there… Is he doing alright? … We’re on the way now… Can you let him know?... Yeah, thank you.”

“What happened?” Buck asks the second Eddie pulls the phone from his ear to hang up the call.

Eddie sighs. “Stomach bug.”

The rest of their list is abandoned in favor of getting through the checkout and out of the store as quickly as possible, with only a quick stop for crackers and Pedialyte on the way to the register.

A couple minutes into the cross-town drive to Christopher’s school, Eddie’s hand comes to rest just above Buck’s knee.

The familiar touch pulls Buck out of his own mind. It’s only then that he realizes he was staring out the window so intently his vision had begun to go blurry. He blinks slowly, his vision returning to normal as he looks over at Eddie behind the wheel. Eddie’s looking at him expectantly. Shit. He must’ve said something when Buck was zoned out.

“Hmm?” Buck asks, blinking again. “Sorry.”

Eddie looks over at him as the truck rolls to a stop at a red light. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Buck shrugs. “Tired,” he lies. Well, technically, he is tired. They just got off shift, after all. But he and Eddie both know that’s not the reason why he’s been quieter than usual.

“That all?” Eddie asks gently.

Buck hesitates. He wants to talk to Eddie, longs for his advice and his assurances and the way he always manages to hear even the things Buck doesn’t voice out loud.

“It can wait,” he says. At least that’s closer to the truth. It can wait. Until Christopher is better.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Why should it have to? Whatever it is, it’s bothering you.”

Buck shrugs. Hesitates. “Christopher is sick. It–”

Eddie shoots Buck a knowing look, cutting him off. “So?”

Buck sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be dropping a burden on your shoulders when you already have a sick kid to take care of.”

“First of all, we have a sick kid to take care of,” Eddie points out. “You’re on vomit duty this time. Or did you forget that you owe me one after November First?”

Buck can’t help but laugh at that. “In my defense, I was sick too!”

“You’re thirty years old,” Eddie reminds him. “You should know better than to eat that much Halloween candy in one sitting.”

“Christopher is smart for his age,” Buck points out. “Maybe he’s the one who should’ve known better.”

“Maybe you both need supervision when candy’s involved.”

“Maybe,” Buck concedes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Second of all,” Eddie continues, steering their conversation back on track. “You are never a burden.” His voice is more serious now, more matter-of-fact. He’s not leaving any room for interpretation or argument.

Buck tries anyway. “But–”

“I’m serious.” Eddie squeezes Buck's knee reassuringly. Once. Twice. Three times. “Baby,” he says, his voice soft, gentle. “Please talk to me. Let me help.”

Buck absolutely melts. Between the pet name and the soft look in Eddie’s eyes, he folds almost instantly.

“My parents want to come and stay for a bit,” he says. “My dad texted me last night when we were getting back from the car fire on Wilshire.”

Eddie nods slowly. He makes a valiant effort to hide the disdain that creeps into his expression at Buck’s mention of his parents. He doesn’t quite succeed, but it’s successful in reminding Buck just how much he loves this man. As if he could ever forget.

“How do you feel about that?” Eddie asks, turning back to the road as the light turns green.

Buck shrugs. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see them yet.” He expects the truth to burn on his tongue, but it doesn’t. The sky doesn’t come crashing down on him, the ground doesn’t open up and swallow him whole. Eddie doesn’t give him a disgusted look and tell him he’s a terrible son and an even worse human being for thinking such a thing, let alone saying it out loud.

“No one could fault you for that,” is what Eddie says instead. “You’re still healing.”

Eddie’s response is so simple, so genuine– as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It splits something in Buck’s chest wide open.

“I– I’ve talked to them on the phone a couple of times since their visit last year,” Buck says. He’s been working really hard in therapy, and to their credit, he knows his parents have been trying on their end, too. But still, the thought of seeing them again has uneasiness curling in his gut and anxiety thrumming beneath his skin. “But… I don’t know. In-person is different.”

“Definitely,” Eddie agrees, pulling into the school parking lot. Buck can tell he’s trying his best to push past his own personal grudge against Phillip and Margaret for Buck’s sake, and something about that makes Buck love him even more.

“I– I’m just…” Buck’s voice trails off. He sighs. “I’m not sure what to do.”

Eddie pulls into a visitor’s spot and shifts the truck into park before turning to face Buck properly. “That’s okay,” Eddie assures him. “You don’t have to have all the answers.”

He brushes his thumb over Buck’s jaw, which is when Buck realizes he’s chewing on his bottom lip so hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t drawn blood. He releases it, sighs, and admits, “I wish I did.”

“Can I tell you what you do have?”

Buck nods. There’s not a thing on Earth that Buck could ever deny him. Beyond that, too. Eddie could ask him for a piece of the moon and all the stars in the night sky and Buck would find a way.

“You have great instincts,” Eddie says. “Trust yourself.”

“I distinctly remember you telling me I lack basic survival instincts,” Buck points out.

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. “Certain instances notwithstanding,” he amends. “You should trust your gut.”

“You also have time,” Eddie continues. “You don’t have to give them an answer yet.”

Buck nods. Eddie’s right. He doesn’t have to rush into a decision– potentially the wrong one– just because some part of him feels like he owes his parents a quick response. He doesn’t owe them much of anything. And he certainly doesn't need to take on discomfort to ease theirs. He knows that. Eddie is quick to remind him any time he forgets.

“And you have a family here who loves you and who will support you no matter what you decide.”

Buck wonders how Eddie does that. How he always knows exactly what to say, exactly how to say it. How he isn’t scared of the darkness that sometimes swirls inside Buck’s mind. How he always manages to ease his way inside, to chase the darkness away and let the light in its place. He’s fearless in the face of the things that bring Buck to his knees and Buck has never loved anyone in the way he loves this man.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes. He’s not sure he could find any more words if he tried.

Eddie’s hand on the side of Buck’s face is a grounding weight, a welcome touch tethering him to this moment and keeping him from floating away or melting into the seat, especially when Eddie tips his chin up, seeking out his gaze, and says, “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, meeting him for a kiss. They keep it quick, lest they get carried away in the school parking lot about to pick up a vomiting child. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling back and unbuckling his seatbelt. Eddie smiles at him fondly as they get out of the truck.

Five minutes later, Buck is holding the front door of the school open as Eddie carries a very sick, very tired Christopher to the car. Buck knows for a fact that his next 24 hours are going to be filled with vomit and thermometers and disinfectant and reminding Eddie to breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t gag. But they’ll be together. They’ll figure it out together.

There’s nothing in the world that sounds better.

The tension began rising as they headed out of the firehouse and across the parking lot to Buck’s Jeep. Silence stretched between them, hanging heavy in the air as Buck pulled onto the main road.

Around the corner from Eddie’s, he decides he can’t take it anymore. “Okay, what?” he asks, turning to face Eddie as they wait at a red light.

“What?” Eddie asks. Buck can’t help but notice how tired Eddie looks. It was far from the longest or weirdest shift they ever had, and their last call had them back at the station and in their bunks a little after two o’clock. Bobby had sent everyone to wash up and get some sleep as soon as they got back, but the alarm never rang again. Buck had slept straight through until Eddie nudged him awake a few minutes before shift change at seven. He had assumed Eddie had done the same, but he’s wondering now, given the sunken-in circles beneath Eddie’s eyes, if he’s mistaken.

"What ?” Buck echoes, pulling into Eddie’s driveway and parking behind his truck. “What do you mean what? You’ve barely said a word to me in twelve hours.”

He gets out of the car, and it’s possible that he closes the door a little harder than he needs to.

“That’s not true,” Eddie slams his own door, too.

“Yes it is.” Buck’s well aware of how petulant he sounds, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Eddie unlocks the front door, holding it open for Buck before following him inside and closing the door behind them.

Buck doesn’t miss the significance of it. How even when they’re fighting– even if Eddie won’t admit that they’re fighting– Eddie still holds the door for him. He still holds out a hand to take Buck’s coat and hang it up beside his own. He still stomps over to the thermostat and kicks it up two degrees because he knows Buck runs cold.

Not a day goes by when he doesn’t feel like the luckiest man in the world, having the privilege of knowing a love like this.

“You’re mad at me,” Buck says, following Eddie into the kitchen. “Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so needy, so desperate. An older version of himself would hate that, but he’s never felt like he’s had to pretend around Eddie.

Eddie heaves a sigh, opening a cabinet and pulling the can of coffee grounds down. “Drop it, Buck.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Buck,” Eddie warns, stabbing at the buttons on the coffee pot like they’ve personally offended him. As soon as it starts brewing, he opens the dishwasher and starts pulling out clean dishes. Buck starts putting plates away as Eddie reaches for the silverware basket.

“Be careful,” Buck warns, having visions of Eddie accidentally impaling his hand on a fork in his haste.

“Don’t talk to me about being careful after you chased a drunk driver last night,” Eddie shoots back.

There it is.

“I wasn’t in any danger,” he says. He’s not sure why he thinks that line will work on Eddie. It definitely didn’t work on Bobby, who laid into him as soon as they got back to the station.

Eddie scoffs. “What were you thinking?” he demands.

“I don’t know,” Buck says with a noncommittal shrug. He knows Eddie’s not going to like that answer. But he’s not going to lie, either.

“You weren’t thinking!” Eddie all but shouts. “You got on that bike without any regard for your safety.”

Buck hasn’t seen him mad like this in… god, he doesn't even know how long. Maybe since the day he got all broody and finger-pointy in the grocery store during Buck’s lawsuit. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on a little bit. But a quick read of the room determines it’s neither the time nor the place to dig into that a little more.

“My safety?” Buck scoffs. “It’s a bike, Eddie, not an infantry tank.”

“A bike that had already been hit once by the driver you started chasing after!” Eddie argues. “Or did you forget about the broken fibula and the four totaled cars he left in his wake?”

And– well, okay. Eddie has a point there. But it’ll be a cold day in hell when Buck gives him the satisfaction. “It’s not a big deal,” he insists.

“Not a big deal,” Eddie echoes. “Not a big deal? You could have died!”

“But I didn’t,” Buck points out.

“But you could have. And then what?” All the fight is gone from Eddie’s voice. He looks absolutely destroyed.

It’s now, in the light of the morning, that Buck notices just how heavy the circles beneath Eddie’s eyes are, confirming his suspicions that he hadn’t slept much last night– if at all. His hair is sticking out, broken free from its gelled-down hold more than it’s ever been at the end of shift. Buck’s never been a betting man, but he’d put every penny to his name down on odds that Eddie spent much of the night pulling at his hair, tugging on it in the way he tends to when big feelings swell up inside him like waves at high tide, threatening to consume him.

Touch has always been Eddie’s anchor, the thing that grounds him when his mind starts to drift away. He needs to feel something, feel grounded. It makes sense to Buck that Eddie tugs at his own hair when it all gets to be too much. But he’d be lying if he said there wasn't a pang of guilt in his chest knowing that he’s partly to blame.

It hits twice as hard when he thinks about how he spent his night— sleeping soundly in the next bunk, without a clue that Eddie was lying awake beside him, his sleep held hostage by his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. There are silent promises in his apology, unsaid vows behind the two small words. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.

Eddie knows. Buck can tell from the way his face softens, the way that tears fill his eyes as he holds Buck’s gaze. Eddie knows.

“I– I can’t,” Eddie begins. “I can’t lose you. Okay? I–”

Buck nods, cutting him off and pulling him into a hug. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t lose you,” Eddie says again, his words muffled against Buck’s neck.

Buck takes a long, deep breath. He holds Eddie close, presses three tiny kisses to the top of his head, and makes the one promise he knows isn’t his to keep.

“You won’t.”

Eddie’s voice is the first thing he hears.

He’s not sure where he is, or why everything feels so heavy. He can’t lift his arms. Can’t open his eyes. Something’s beeping steadily in the background. But everything’s okay. Eddie’s here.

“You’re gonna be okay, Buck,” Eddie says. His voice is wobbly. Unsteady in a way it never is. “You’re gonna wake up.” He clears his throat. Sniffles.

It sounds like he’s been crying, and something about that has Buck feeling like his heart might split in two.

“You’re gonna wake up,” Eddie repeats. “You’re gonna wake up and you’re gonna talk to me about psychedelic fish off the coast of Indonesia and the newest moon they found in Jupiter’s orbit and the chances of being struck by lightning. You’re gonna be fine, baby.”

“I’m not gonna lose you,” Eddie says, brushing Buck’s hair back and letting his hand linger, cupping the side of his face gently. “You promised.”

Buck registers the weight of Eddie’s hand in his own, their fingers laced together.

It takes all of his strength, everything he has. But he squeezes.

Once. Twice. Three times.

#my writing #take a shot every time i use the word 'fond' in this fic #also every time i make a swimming pool reference #yeah i know #i'm just as confused about that one as u are #if you've been on my blog before it will not surprise you to know that princessfbi enabled me and is to blame for this #buddie #buddie fic #911 6x10 #6x10 coda #kinda??#coda adjacent #evan buckley #eddie diaz #this is pretty soft i'm not gonna lie #there's also a lil bit of sex so be warned if that's not your thing #minors dni #buck x eddie

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crossbackpoke-check · 6 months

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56 and any Yamo pairing! 🫶

i just wheezed so hard when i saw what the song was i almost snorted coffee out of my nose i am so sorry for this one

#56 - kyoto phoebe bridgers + yamo

the story of how this song ended up on my wrapped is too long so it’s going in the tags but. let me set the scene for you.

2026 NHL GLOBAL SERIES™️ JAPAN - Presented by YPPI

November 13 & 14, 2026: Dallas Stars, Montreal Canadiens, Seattle Kraken, Vancouver Canucks

Saitama Super Arena, Saitama, Japan

It’s a pitiful excuse of a consolation prize for not being able to go to the Olympics, but Kailer’s not going to look a vacation horse in the mouth. The arena’s cool. It’s huge. The people are cool. There’s so many more of them than he thought there’d be with jerseys that have his name on the back, and a lot more that have the familiar orange and blue. He takes a picture of the fifth Oilers Yamamoto jersey he signs—this one’s the good Reverse Retro—and texts it to Connor, says,

no one here has even heard of mcjesus

and gets a moon face emoji in response. Leon’s influence. Kailer’s still never really deciphered what that one means, and he doesn’t think Connor knows either.

They don’t have a lot of time off between games, but Kailer’s trying to be a good tourist. His dad had been so happy when Kailer had told him about the series that Kailer’d had to stop him from trying to book a flight a year in advance, and his mom’s been just as bad, sending him every article she sees about Best New Spot in Tokyo! Cool Restaurant! Have You Seen This Japanese Cat Café? that she scrolls across on Facebook since June. Suzy’s in the same boat, so they’ve been crossing off their compiled travel-guide list together, looping in as many guys as they can. Everyone’s been pretty game. All the teams are crammed into close quarters at the same hotel, which means everyone wants to spend as much time as possible outside of it, and it helps that Kailer’s gotten pretty close with all the other guys that the NHL picked up as Global Series figureheads. Robo’s memes? Absolutely fire. The groupchat loves them.

For every item he crosses off the list, Kailer takes a picture and keeps it tucked in his phone notes. It’s like speed-running a scavenger hunt—they’re only here for four days—but he’s doing a pretty good job. His favorite so far has been all the gardens. They’re stunning, trees shining bright red and yellow, and every vendor has been selling maple candies, maple cakes, and even fried maple, though the official maple festival doesn’t start until next week. The second garden he visits, he does it on his own after practice, buying two cakes from a cart near the gate and walking until he loses the bustle outside. It’s easy to get lost in the winding pathways, heading deeper into the quiet, and there’s dozens of benches underneath the burnished leaves where young couples are tucked away on dates, or old friends are laughing and catching up. In some of the little clearings, there’s small shrines where people leave offerings, a prayer for good luck or good fortune.

Kailer stops at one without any people and sets the second maple cake on top of it, then sits and scrolls through all the texts that he’s missed. His mom gets replied to with a picture of him outside the garden gate, grinning and surrounded by other travelers. He sends his brother a picture of a trashy graphic I Love Japan t-shirt with the threat that he’ll buy one for him, and Kailer’s dad gets a picture of the meticulously arranged and cut bonsai that are across from the bench where he’s sitting. The Seattle groupchat gets a recycled meme from Robo, and he gets two thumbs up and an “LMAO” before he can even exit the thread. Finally, Kailer takes a picture of the half-eaten maple cake in his hand, holding it next to a fallen maple leaf on the bench, and gets halfway through typing another message before he thinks better of it.

(On the plane over, Drieds was reading them a story about how when they first introduced the high-speed railway, people were afraid to use it because they thought it would be too fast for their souls to keep up.

“Bro, if that were true, you just left your soul in the middle of the Pacific,” Ebs had laughed. “Planes are faster than trains.”

“Are they?” Matty asked. “Isn’t the train in Japan the fastest in the world?”

Drieds couldn’t make it through the rest of the story over the sound of everyone ripping Matty to shreds, so Kailer didn’t get to ask whether or not they found out anything about planes. Kailer’s not worried about his soul, but the logic makes a strange kind of sense; after all, he traveled 429 miles in five and a half hours once, and that was a little too fast for his heart to keep up.)

Fuck it. Kailer’s been trying to write a response for the past ten days, and he’s sick of swiping in and out of the message, staring at the keyboard so long he starts to see swirls in his vision.

Kailer drafts the text again and sends it, no context, no caption. A text travels faster than a high-speed train or a jet. Maybe it’ll pick his heart back up on the way.

#I don’t know how this song ended up on my Spotify wrapped because phoebe bridgers is too emotionally damaging for me to listen to like.#at all unless i am In It HOWEVER. there is this one silly video that brings me so much joy and made me feel semi-reasonable about listening #to kyoto & it’s the one video of the two painter guys painting the room & the lil guy is being a menace & the other guy just looks at him s #fondly & so lovingly & is that not the thesis of kailer yamamoto. be small be a menace be beloved by everyone. ANYWAY #liv in the replies #look this was going to be such a different thing and then. my brain went HEY BUDDY GUESS THE FUCK WHAT kyoto is a city in Japan.#day off in kyoto. guess who’s Japanese. guess what the nhl loves to do as HIFE publicity. also growing the AAPI audience is HUGE and i thin #they should. like originally i had NO idea what this was going to be (i’m so lying. the line ‘i’m gonna kill you’ but incredibly fond a la #the two painters video kept replaying in my head and i was like l m a o. klimmer & kailer. no plot all vibes it’s klimmer & Kailer that’s i #there is no real plot there is no actual idea the amount of googling that i did to write just this is UNREASONABLE i would love to be norma #about anything ever but i ALSO invented so much backstory to this that has no way of appearing in the actual fic and also jokes for ME #for instance. YPPI is the american manufacturer for yamaha motorcycles and. suzuki. yamamoto. (it’s not my brainworms it’s due to a fancam)#respectfully also i cannot write this fic. i have never been to japan and i think it would take me eight years to google enough #to be relatively comfortable like y’all have never seen the extensive research i put in to fucking phiLLY and a whole other COUNTRY???#where the premise of the fic is learning how to be a tourist in your life and sometimes you have to grow out of things?#yeah i AM going to make something with the idea of Momijigari and life is ephemeral. is that a plot? no it’s vibes.#kailer goes to japan in the fall and realizes he’s a liar. who lies. (he misses [redacted]) (the redacted is because i haven’t decided)#also also. the garden reference is because a) i spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON GOOGLE and found out things to do in saitama and also that #kailer’s grandpa had a meticulous garden and i just think that’s neat #hiding-from-reality-56 #random ficlet is unbeta’d un-anything’d i don’t know WHERE this came from or the real plot of it at all. ok thanks byeeeee

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