#eddie's couch is the solution not margaret's <3

[ghosthunterbuck]

on couches and the universe

(buddie) (683 words) (6x11 coda) in which margaret buckley is NOT allowed to be the solution to the couch problem <3

The couch doesn’t fit.

It takes everything Buck has not to burst out laughing, because of course it doesn’t. Why would it? It’s not like his Mom had painstakingly measured the entire apartment while Buck watched bemusedly from the chair. Oh wait.

“I just don’t understand,” Margaret says, hands on her hips. “It should be perfect!”

“Maybe it’s a sign from the universe,” Buck says with a half grin. “I have to find my own couch.”

Margaret frowns. “I can find the right one for you, I know it.”

“Look, Mom, it’s fine, I’ll get one when I get one. It’s not like it was with my leg, I can get up the stairs just fine.”

Margaret swallows and looks away uncomfortably. “Evan—” she starts, but then doesn’t say anything to follow.

Buck grimaces. Instinctively, he wants to apologize for bringing it up, but— the voice in his head that apparently turns into bizarro Bobby when he’s in a coma tells him he’s got nothing to apologize for, and he’s pretty sure it’s right.

After a moment of tension, Margaret sighs. “I’d better go call the store to return this.” She steps back into the kitchen, away from the couch that refused to wedge itself in place under the stairs.

Buck hesitates a moment, then steps out on the balcony to make a call of his own.

“Hey,” Eddie says, soft and warm and familiar, and in a moment all the tension Buck hadn’t realized he was carrying seeps from his shoulders.

“Hey yourself,” Buck replies, leaning against the wall and looking out at the city.

“How’s the new couch?” Eddie asks, and this time Buck doesn’t even try to stop himself from laughing.

“It doesn’t fit,” he chuckles.

“And that’s funny because…?” Eddie asks. Buck care hear the bemused smile he’s sure adorns Eddie’s lips.

“Because!” Buck says, gesturing wildly. “The universe or something.”

Eddie is silent for a few moments. “You know,” he says, a little more deliberately, “I think I’m starting to buy into this universe you keep talking about.”

Buck gasps dramatically. “You, Eddie Diaz, a believer?”

Eddie huffs out a small breath. “Yeah, well, something obviously has it out for you and couches,” he says.

“Nah,” Buck replies. “It’s just helping me keep the space open for the right one.”

“Maybe so,” Eddie says softly.

A comfortable silence envelops them, interrupted only by the distant sounds of traffic. Buck’s pretty sure he could stay like this for hours, quiet, resting, listening to Eddie breathe on the other end of the line. His mind wanders, though, and within minutes, Buck speaks again.

“I think I need to ask my parents to go home,” he admits, glancing back at the sliding glass door to make sure it’s closed.

“Why?” Eddie asks, not judgmental or even particularly curious. Just… giving him space.

Buck chews on his lower lip. “In my dream, my parents were there, right? And it was—it was almost happy, you know?”

Eddie hums an acknowledgement but says nothing.

“And they’re trying, I know they are,” Buck continues. “But there’s all this history, and I can’t help but think they wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t been, you know, already here.”

“You’re allowed to need some space,” Eddie reminds him gently.

Buck ducks his head and smiles. “I know,” he says. “I think I just—need some time to separate this version of my parents from the ones in my head.”

“Well, you might not have a couch,” Eddie says, “but I do. It’s yours, no questions asked.”

Buck laughs softly, “I might just take you up on that,” he says.

“You’d better,” Eddie says. “I know it’s only been a day, but Christopher’s been vibrating out of his skin asking to see you.”

“I miss him too,” Buck says. “I think—I can’t just run away from this, you know? But uh—”

“After,” Eddie says, when he doesn’t complete the thought. “Talk to them, and then as soon as you’re done—we’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Buck says softly.

“I know you will.”