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fresh out the slammer

Summary:

“Don't.” Buck shuts him down quick and sharp, gaze darting and fixing on a point above Eddie's shoulder, as if looking him straight in the eye could actually kill him. "I know what you were going to say. Just— don't,” he says, setting his jaw determinedly.

“What was I going to say?”

Buck sighs and leans against the Jeep, tipping his head up and closing his eyes. “You still feel guilty. I can see it, Eds.”

The old nickname cuts like a knife through Eddie's chest, and when he hears it, he can't help to make a small, involuntarily wounded sound at the back of his throat. Buck doesn't seem to notice, or care for it.

“Don't do it, okay? You didn't ruin my life, you didn't—” Buck shakes his head and rubs a hand through his hair. “I made a decision years ago. That was all me, okay?”

 

or;
fellas, is it gay to go to prison for your best friend you're in love with? (the answer is yes, buck. that's very gay!)

Notes:

hi so this was inspired by fresh out the slammer by taylor swift. (and also veryyyy loosely slightly inspired by orange is the new black!)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Eddie's in the middle of a call when the air gets knocked out of him. 

At first, he thinks he must be hallucinating— it must be! It has to be his mind playing a cruel trick on him, making him see something he's spent six years fantasizing about. God help him, a day hasn't gone by where Eddie didn't imagine something exactly like this… or well, not quite, but close to it. 

He thinks it must be a dream at first, his pulse roaring in his ears; a white noise taking over his brain— he feels like time freezes for a second, his chest hitches on a small gasp, and then… the comedown. 

Reality crashes back into him like a tidal wave, rough and shocking as it threatens to drown him. The noises of the city flood back in, the sound of a drill in the distance, of construction men screaming orders in muffled voices, of the L.A traffic behind his back, of Hen and Chimney going back and forth as they work in perfect synchrony. 

His voice. 

His voice, saying Eddie's name like no time has passed at all. 

Soft and weak and mumbled on clumsy lips as an even clumsier hand reaches for him, sprinkles of blood staining his fingertips. 

Right. 

They're on a call. 

Eddie's just seen the ghost from his past, but they're on a call. He's working. His team has started to shoot him weird, confused looks, swimming in curiosity and bewilderment. 

“You guys know each other?” Hen asks with an eyebrow raised as she works on patching the gash on the guy's forehead, as Chimney glances at them from where he's attending to another patient. 

Buck blinks up at him, his eyes glassy and blue and even bigger than Eddie's remembered them — an ocean of heavy, long buried history rises and surges, boisterous and relentless. 

“Yeah,” he exhales at the same time Buck chokes out a panicked “No.” 

Fuck. 

At this, Hen's eyebrows raise almost to her hairline and even Bobby seems to be paying more attention than it should be required, his eyes slightly wider and a slight twitch of his lips making Eddie's stomach churn uncomfortably. 

Chimney finishes off with the last patient and turns around, a glint in his eyes that Eddie's come to know well. 

He knows what his team must be thinking— he knows they all probably assume Buck is an old fling or an old crush, even (which actually wouldn't be too far from the truth, even though it's just a tiny, miniscule part of it.) They're probably already planning on the many ways they could tease him about this, how to make light of this already funny scenario. 

Eddie isn't laughing. There's no punchline, nothing funny about this at all. 

“I mean,” Buck chuckles nervously when he realizes Eddie's paralyzed in place, and won't be of any help to dissuade this strange situation they've found themselves in. “Kinda. We used to go to school together.” His smile dims and Eddie notices the way he swallows thickly before he shrugs.  “A lifetime ago, it feels.” 

Ha, that's an understatement, Eddie thinks. Bitterness rolls through him, making him nauseous as the swarm of memories and regrets attacks him with newfound strength. 

“Oh? Do you have embarrassing stories about Edmundo, here?” Chimney perks up. “Man, I'm begging you, please, give us the dirt.” 

“Uh…” 

“He doesn't—” 

“Is Buckley okay?” One of the guys from the construction site interrupts, gaze flicking through all of them until they land on captain Nash. 

“Yeah, they're all okay. No serious injuries— no one needs to go to the hospital, but we recommend that all men involved in the accident go home and rest for the day. Keep a lookout for concussions or anything out of the ordinary.” Hen responds, sending a reassuring smile to Buck and squeezing his shoulder for a few seconds before dropping her hand to her side. 

The foreman dismisses all of them and the firefighters start to pack up their things— all in all, it was a short, easy call. But it left Eddie rattled and off-kelter, torn up in two.  A part of him wants to get the hell out of there as fast as he can, wants to run far, far away from Buck and the guilt that's been clawing at his throat for years, but that now it's at an all time high. 

Another part of him, though, doesn't want to ever move from there. Before he can stop himself, his eyes drink in Buck desperately, like a dying man in the middle of the desert stumbling into some fresh, delicious water. 

His white t-shirt sticks to his chest, made nearly transparent with sweat. The hard lines and ridges of his stomach ripple under the damp material as he moves, shifting his safety helmet from one arm to another as he shifts in place. Eddie can't help it when his gaze from falling to where Buck's work gloves are shoved in the tool belt slung around his waist, so heavy that it drags down the waistband of his jeans, so they're riding slowly on his hips. 

He's so much broader and muscular than the last time Eddie saw him. 

Seven years ago, Buck was tall and not really scrawny— He was one of their star school athletes, captain of the football team and one of the best members in the wrestling team. He'd been toned and one of the most popular guys at school. But now, he's triple the size he'd been then, and his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, doesn't seem as boyish and easygoing as it once was. 

That's Eddie's fault. 

“Hey, Buckley. Why don't you come with us to the station? You'll get free lunch in exchange for Diaz's most embarrassing, cringe worthy stories from high school.” Chimney says, and Eddie wants to laugh, cry and kill his friend all at the same time. “Besides, what better concussion watch than a group of well trained professionals?” 

“Uh…” Buck's eyes dart quickly from Eddie to literally anywhere and anyone else. “I don't know—” 

“Cap makes a mean lasagna. You really don't wanna miss that.” 

“That's true,” Bobby grins. 

“Come,” Eddie finds himself saying, his mouth moving and speaking the words out loud before his mind can even process what's happening. “You should come. We can, uh, catch up.” 

Catch up? What the actual fuck? Eddie knows damn well where Buck's been all these years, and the guy probably hates his guts. He's probably cussing him out internally, wishing Eddie would just go away—

“Okay. Sure.” Buck's soft voice cuts Eddie's spiraling and then there's that. “Just let me grab my stuff really quick, and I'll follow you guys back to the station in my car.” 

 

— 

 

Catching a glimpse of Buck's old Jeep parked right outside the station as Eddie gets off the truck, is… kind of disturbing. Eddie’s been inside that Jeep so many times— he'd been in the passenger seat with his feet propped up on the dashboard as they shared a pack of gummy bears and whined about math homework; or in the backseat, Buck letting him catch quick, short naps in between classes and wrestling practice. 

Buck would pick him up on weekends and they would drive aimlessly around town, joking and laughing and just enjoying themselves. 

There was also that one time, where Eddie accidentally spilled milkshake all over the backseat and they spent a whole afternoon cleaning the car. It was hot outside, so they ended up splashing and jetting water at each other, more than the actual car. Eddie still remembers Buck pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to the grass carelessly, as he shook his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere and making Eddie laugh. 

That'd been one of the moments where the urge to kiss him, to risk their entire friendship and not think of the consequences, had been strong, so powerful that it made Eddie shake in place and his fingertips ache and tingle with need and want. 

Sometimes Eddie wishes he could've been brave. He wishes he could turn back time and just— kiss Buck at that moment. Maybe if he had, things would've been different. Maybe he wouldn't have ruined Buck's life after all. 

Eddie shakes himself from his thoughts and startles as Chim comes from behind him and claps him harshly on the shoulder. “C'mon, lover boy. You wouldn't want to leave Buck waiting, would you?” 

They shrug off their turnout gear and walk up to the loft where Buck is already sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over and looking uncomfortable, so out of place it would be funny if it wasn't for everything else. 

“Alright, Buckley,” Chimney says as he drops into a chair in front of Buck, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Let’s get down to business. High school Eddie. Spill. Was he the teacher’s pet? The rebellious loner? Or—please tell me—was hein drama club? He seems like the type that would be in a drama club.” 

“I wasn't in the drama club.” Eddie huffs. 

“Shhh, Diaz. Let Buck here talk.” 

Hen snorts, clearly enjoying herself, while Bobby sets about reheating the lasagna in the oven, giving Buck a welcoming smile as if to say no pressure. Eddie, on the other hand, is rooted to the spot, unable to decide if he should step in and steer the conversation or let it play out.

“Actually, Eddie and I were on the wrestling team together.” 

Chimney and Hen raise their eyebrows and turn to Eddie with teasing grins. 

“It was boring. Nothing worth telling.” Eddie dismisses it with a gesture of his hand. 

Buck avoids his gaze like the plague and all of this seems like a worse and worse idea by the second. 

A few beats of silence, and then— 

“There was that time where one of the girls in our year filled Eddie's locker with pink glitter because he broke her heart.” Buck says, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. 

“That was a misunderstanding,” Eddie protests at the same time Hen and Chimney crack up, laughing loud and obnoxious. 

“Please explain how that was a misunderstanding,” Hen chuckles. 

“I just told her I couldn't go to prom with her.” 

“And then you took Shannon.” Buck says, teasing— but strained under the surface, subtle enough that Eddie is the only one to notice. 

Eddie feels the words like a punch to the gut. It’s been years since he’s heard Shannon’s name said out loud by anyone outside of his family, but hearing it come from Buck stirs up a mix of emotions he thought he’d buried. Regret, guilt, and that all-too-familiar ache—like a phantom pain in a part of himself he lost a long time ago.

“She asked me first,” Eddie mutters defensively, even though the excuse feels hollow now. It had felt justified back then, a teenager trying to navigate the mess of expectations and emotions. Now, it feels like a flimsy shield against the storm that’s been brewing between him and Buck since they locked eyes on that construction site.

“Mm-hmm,” Hen hums, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Sure, Diaz. You just conveniently skipped over the glitter bomb fallout.”

“Glitter that everyone had to deal with for weeks, by the way,” Buck adds, his tone lighter now, like he’s testing the waters of teasing Eddie again. “It got everywhere. Wrestling mats, showers, my locker too, for some reason.” 

“Okay, enough about the glitter,” Eddie snaps, though there’s no real bite in his voice. He scrubs a hand down his face, torn between wanting to disappear and wanting to drag Buck outside for a conversation they should’ve had years ago. “Are you guys done yet, or are you gonna keep digging through my high school trauma?”

“Keep digging through your trauma,” Chimney smirks, leaning back in his chair. “But don’t worry, we’ll pace ourselves.”

Bobby interrupts before the teasing can escalate further, setting a plate of lasagna in front of Buck and then the rest follow. 

Buck murmurs a thank-you, and for a while, the room settles into something almost normal. The team chats among themselves, with Chimney and Hen occasionally tossing out lighthearted jabs at Eddie, but their attention isn’t entirely focused on him anymore. Eddie finally sits down, trying not to watch Buck too closely as he picks at his food.

The quiet between them stretches, heavy and suffocating. Eddie knows he should say something—anything—but the words get stuck in his throat. How do you start a conversation after seven years of silence? After leaving things the way they did?

“Alright, Buckley,” she says, smirking as she leans forward. “You’re holding out on us. I can tell. What’s the real dirt on Diaz?”

Eddie groans, but Buck actually chuckles—a real one this time, soft and fleeting. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Chimney challenges, clearly enjoying every second of Eddie’s misery.

For a moment, Buck meets Eddie’s gaze, and there’s something in his eyes—a spark of mischief, tinged with something else Eddie can’t quite place. “Let’s just say,” Buck starts, a small smirk playing on his lips, “Eddie Diaz wasn’t always the straight-laced, rule-following guy you see now.”

Hen’s jaw drops, and Chimney looks like Christmas came early. “No way.”

“Way,” Buck says, and for a split second, Eddie sees a glimpse of the boy he used to know—the one who could light up a room with just a grin. “But I’ll save those stories for another time.”

Eddie glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. If anything, he’s relieved. For now, the storm between them has settled into a fragile truce. But deep down, he knows they can’t keep skirting around the past forever.

Eventually, they’re going to have to face it head-on.

“So, what have you been up to since high school?” 

“Kinda weird you guys went to the same high school and now you are both in L.A. Small world, huh?” 

“Tell me about it.” Eddie mumbles. 

“Uh— Actually, I probably should, uh, get going.” Buck swallows the last bite of lasagna and starts to stand up. “I told my sister I'd meet her after work.” 

“I'll walk you out.” Eddie is out of his seat before anyone can say anything, staring as Buck says quick, shy goodbyes to the team. 

It's not necessary— the station is an open space and Buck is definitely more than capable of walking to his own car… but Eddie follows him to the parking lot anyway. 

“Evan—” 

“Don't.” Buck shuts him down quick and sharp, gaze darting and fixing on a point above Eddie's shoulder, as if looking him straight in the eye could actually kill him. "I know what you were going to say. Just— don't,” he says, setting his jaw determinedly.

“What was I going to say?” 

Buck sighs and leans against the Jeep, tipping his head up and closing his eyes. “You still feel guilty. I can see it, Eds.” 

The old nickname cuts like a knife through Eddie's chest, and when he hears it, he can't help to make a small, involuntarily wounded sound at the back of his throat. Buck doesn't seem to notice, or care for it. 

“Don't do it, okay? You didn't ruin my life, you didn't—” Buck shakes his head and rubs a hand through his hair. Eddie wishes more than anything that the man would just look at him. “I made a decision years ago. That was all me, okay?” 

“But I didn't stop you. I could've—” 

“It's in the past.” Buck shrugs, lips pressed into a thin line as he abruptly pushes himself off the car and moves to open the door. “Look, what's done is done.” 

“Buck—” 

“I have to g—” 

“Do you regret it?” Eddie blurts out, barely able to stop himself from following it up with Do you hate me?

Buck flinches and falls silent, his hand tightening on the Jeep's door so hard his knuckles turn white. He takes so long that Eddie thinks he won't answer him at all, that he'll get in the car and drive away, out of Eddie's life— for good, this time. His lungs hold him in suspense, waiting. 

But Buck stays there. After a few torturous beats of silence Eddie gets his answer, and he isn't sure if it would've been better not knowing. 

“Part of me wishes I never met you in the first place,” he says quietly. “If I hadn't met you, maybe I wouldn't— I would've had a different life, I wouldn't feel like shit most of the time, or like a failure with a shitty job, crashing on my sister's couch.” 

“Buck—”

“But then again, I can't really imagine going my whole life without having ever met you at all, so you see my dilemma here?” Buck chuckles bitterly. 

Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut. 

They stand in silence for a few more minutes, until finally Buck speaks again. 

“How's your son? Christopher, was it?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie gulps and opens his eyes, blinking at Buck and praying the tears blurring his vision don't fall. “He's about to turn seven. He's… the best thing that's ever happened to me, adorable and so smart.” He rambles like a damn fool, but Buck smiles, quiet and fragile but the most genuine he's seen him today. 

“Good. That's—” Buck licks his lips. “Then I think I don't regret it. Because you got to be with your son.” 

“I'm so sorry, Evan.” 

“I'll see you around, Eds. Take care, yeah?” 

 

— 

 

The rest of the shift after Buck's departure is… hell. Eddie's out of sorts, crawling up the walls and jumping at the smallest sound. His mind is replaying memories from the past like a bad horror movie, making him sick to the stomach with guilt and regret, and worst of all, a twisted sense of relief. (He doesn't want to analyze that too closely, lest he has a mental breakdown at work.) 

When he gets home, Eddie feels frayed, like an exposed wire about to break. He can't even pretend everything's fine, immediately toeing off his shoes at the entrance and then hugging Chris tightly when he reaches him on the couch, burying his head on his kid's curls and taking a steadying breath. 

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just— missed you today, mijo.” 

One of Chris’ hands lifts and pats him on the shoulder and then on the cheek, and Eddie chokes on a small, wet chuckle. He doesn't even notice Carla until ten minutes later, when he reluctantly lets go of Chris and pads his way into the kitchen, where the woman is heating some leftovers for Eddie with a knowing look. She probably thinks he's had a bad call or something— and he's not about to correct her. 

“Thank you, Carla. You're a lifesaver.” 

“Get some rest, Eddie. Yeah?” She pats his cheek lovingly on her way to grab her purse. She says goodbye to Christopher and then it's just the two of them. 

He has dinner while listening to his son talk about his day, telling him the gossip from elementary school and making Eddie snort or huff in amusement on more than one occasion. 

When they finish dinner, Eddie resists the urge to crawl in bed with Chris and just ruffles his hair, leaving a soft forehead kiss as he finishes tucking him in. 

“Sweet dreams, bud.” 

“Goodnight dad, love you.” 

 

And then— it's just Eddie with his thoughts. 

As he closes the door to his own room, he feels more and more restless. 

When he changes into more comfortable clothes and throws himself into bed, he feels stiff and tense, his muscles screaming at him. 

He saw Evan Buckley today, he thinks as his gaze is stuck on his ceiling. The past gnaws at him, refusing to let him rest. 

 

Eddie's always seen himself as more of a lover than a fighter, really, but sometimes he would get these jitters deep down in his bones like he's thrumming with pent up energy, and the best way to dispel that energy, he realized, is to plant it forcefully elsewhere. He feels it every time he takes his frustrations out on the punching bag, or against an opponent in the ring— much to the delight of his coach. 

Fighting, Eddie comes to realize at the young age of seventeen, is addicting, soothes something deep inside him. Puts him at ease in a way weed at some dumb party never could. 

The wrestling team helps. A lot… until it doesn't. 

Until Eddie screws up in more ways than he ever could've imagined, right when he was supposed to go to college on a full scholarship. 

Wrestling helped, right to the point where Eddie fucked everything up and got a girl pregnant. 

And then, everything changes. Suddenly, he can no longer linger on matters like graduation or if Buck and him could share a room in college, or if Buck would suddenly decide he wants to leave Texas altogether and if Eddie could be brave enough to follow him. Suddenly, Eddie stops being a teenager, and has to face things like marrying Shannon— having a baby with her, earning enough money to take care of her and his kid, and moving out of his parent's place. 

He makes a dumb decision. He knows it the second he thinks of it. But— he's young. And stupid. And so fucking desperate he thinks he could die. 

Jonah, one of the guys on the wrestling team, is the one that approaches him on the school highway, the last week of school and lets him know that if Eddie needs some extra quick money, that he has an idea. 

And that's how he finds himself on a fighting ring, a Saturday night way past his curfew. The energy fizzing just below the surface of his skin, muscles jumping with adrenaline and rage, and so much fear— the only thing that seems to be driving him forward these days. 

Eddie's dripping sweat, in a way that makes him feel powerful and in control as he lands hit after hit on a man that's probably a few years older than him— if not a whole decade older. (He gets a sick sense of satisfaction when he can punch and kick at the guy's stomach, even if Eddie hasn't been able to avoid some blows himself.) 

The fights go on for as long as they have to for someone to win, whether that be through concession or a knockout, and each fighter is only allowed one match each night. Eddie has only been knocked out once or twice, but he has never conceded. Which means he's won quite a few matches, and even the double in enemies. (They all see him as a dumb, too cocky for his own teenager, they underestimate him— and Eddie uses that to his advantage.) 

It’s good, it’s really good, especially when his opponent catches him straight in the face. The force of it nearly sends Eddie toppling onto his ass, but he catches himself, feeling the pain blooming across his cheek slowly. It makes him grin, tasting the blood on his teeth, the way the pain dissolves some of that horrible energy inside him, and he wipes at his mouth as he rights himself and gets back into position. 

It’s dark, as always, and the other guy’s face is swollen and bloodied, but neither of them is giving up yet. 

His opponent throws another well aimed punch, but Eddie's ready for it, dodges and unleashes a series of brutal punches of his own. He startles his opponent enough to gain the upperhand, and once he’s got it, he doesn’t relent, backing his opponent into the corner of the ring and letting loose the full force of his frustration,  anger and terror at the way his life has spun out of control this last month. The bell rings to end the match, but Eddie throws one last punch, wanting to linger on this feeling for a little while longer. He puts his whole weight into it, fist colliding with the other man’s face, the sickening crunch of his nose under Eddie's hand echoing through the bay. The man pitches forward, as blood begins to dribble down his chin and the front of his shirt. 

Eddie delivers one last kick in the heat of the moment, sending the guy backwards and making him crash against the wall, before falling to the ground like dead weight. 

Eddie stops and staggers backward, blinking back into reality and feeling a ball of dread forming in the pit of his stomach as he sees blood quickly pool out of his opponent’s nose and— head. So. Much. Blood. 

Someone kneels and checks for a pulse, and that's when Eddie truly feels the weight of what he's been doing. Panic rises inside his chest. 

“We need to call 9-1-1.” He mutters, too low for anyone to hear him. And then, louder— “Someone call 9-1-1!” He yells as he falls to his knees on the ground and uselessly pats the man's chest, swallowing down the bile that's threatening to rise up his throat. 

Of course— suggesting to call any sor5 of authority when you're knee deep in an illegal fighting ring… does not bode well. 

Hands try to pry him away but he resists— He can't leave. He won't leave. 

His hands are tainted red and are shaking uncontrollably, trembling like they've never before. 

Soon enough, there's the sound of muffled sirens in the distance— Has someone listened to him?— and everyone in that shady, dimmed place starts running, pushing their way out before the paramedics or the cops can catch them. It doesn't take long for the place to be empty. 

Eddie stays paralyzed. The side of his head is throbbing, as is most of his face, and also the left side of his abdomen. His entire body is sore. 

He fucked up. Big time. And now Shannon will be seven months pregnant, all alone, with a baby daddy in prison— God, his parents are going to kill him. His Abuela will be so disappointed in him. 

Eddie was supposed to be good, but he's broken. He's messed up in the head, because who in their sane mind would do something like this? 

“Eddie! What the hell?” 

“Buck?” The name feels like sawdust on his throat and he chokes out a cough that rattles into his chest until he gags. “W-what are you doing here? I thought you were at—” 

“Jackie Taylor's party? I lied. You've been acting weird all month and I know you have a lot on your plate, but you wouldn't talk to me and I— Eddie. What the fuck? What have you done?” Buck shakes his head and kneels in front of him, reaching with a hesitant hand. 

“I needed the money. And I just—” 

The body on the floor wheezes out a weak, fragile whimper. The sirens get closer. 

Eddie is screwed. 

“You could've asked me. We could've figured something out together!” Buck spits out, hurt written all over his face. 

“It's my mess, okay? I'm the one who went and got a girl pregnant, and who's not going to college, and I just— I freaked out okay. This seemed like an easy out.” 

“And how's that working out for you, huh?” Buck bites out and Eddie flinches. 

His friend's eyes soften and Buck gives him a cursory look before sighing. “Are you injured?” 

“N-not too badly. Buck, what am I gonna do? Fuck. Fuck.” Eddie screams and punches the floor in frustration. The paramedics would get here any minute now and it probably won't take much for them to call the police on his sorry ass. 

“Get out.” Buck says suddenly. “Let me take the fall.” 

“W-what?” 

“I'll handle it, okay? Get out!” 

“Evan—” 

“Go, Eddie! Run! Okay? Get the fuck out!” 

“You're insane.” 

“Yeah, but I'm not the one with a pregnant girlfriend waiting for me at home.” Buck says bluntly, pushing at Eddie with his hands and manhandling him towards the exit. “Go. Run.” 

I love you. Eddie has the stupid, stupid, so incredibly, catastrophically stupid urge to say. At the worst time that he could imagine, when one of their lives is about to be ruined forever. 

I love you, Eddie wants to say. And I'm sorry that my love seems to be so poisonous for everyone in my life, but especially for you. 

“Eddie! Stop wasting time and fucking go! It'll be okay. Go!” Buck's screams yank him out of his reverie and Eddie bites his tongue, swallowing back down the words and locking them up on a small box in his heart to look at later. 

And in that moment, Eddie listens to Buck. He stumbles to his feet, and like a coward runs out of there by some back door, a failed gladiator escaping the battle, wounded pride and guilt hot on his tail. 

The guilt chases Eddie relentlessly. Every step away from that dim, bloodstained ring feels heavier than the last, like the air itself is trying to push him back to face the consequences. But he keeps running. His legs move on autopilot, his mind unable to focus on anything other than the broken, wheezing sound of that man's breath and Buck's voice telling him to go.

The alley behind the warehouse is empty, shadows stretching long and jagged under the flickering light of a single streetlamp. Eddie leans against the cold brick wall, struggling to catch his breath. His chest burns, his hands still trembling as he looks down at them. The blood—God, there’s so much of it—feels like it’s already seeped into his skin, into his soul.

He stays there, rooted in place with his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage and clenching like a fist. His stomach lurches again, and his skin goes from fiery hot to clammy and cold. 

Eddie doesn't even know how long he's been there, hidden in the shadows of the alley, when he sees the paramedics wheel the guy out on a gurney— he seems to be alive, thank God. 

And then— 

Buck being escorted out of there in handcuffs, his shoulders hunched over and his face set in a deep frown, sad and disappointed. 

Buck pauses for a beat and his eyes lock with Eddie's for a split second, before one of the police officers puts a hand on top of his head, forcing him down. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” Eddie thinks. The image of Buck being shoved into the back of the car is like a poison tipped arrow that penetrates the deepest corners of his body. 

This is wrong. This is so wrong. Buck shouldn't be the one being arrested. Eddie should! Eddie should be running towards them and screaming at the top of his lungs that he did it, that he is the loser here. The stupid, dumb asshole that fucked up his life the moment he felt cornered. 

But despite his inner struggles, despite his conscience screeching at him to do something, to be brave, to do the right thing— Eddie stays hidden, and watches the red and blue lights from both the ambulance and the police car drive away, getting smaller and smaller with the distance. 

 

His mind blacks out the pain for a while, as he finally starts moving. Somehow he's able to stumble his way to the bus stop, only pausing halfway to be sick in a trash can on the side of the road. There's no one around, but if anyone saw him right now, they’d probably just think he was a drunk, stumbling around the city in the A.M. 

His body takes over when his brain starts to fail again, his ribs screaming in agony. His feet take him all the way down to the bus, but he doesn’t become aware of where he is or where he’s going until he clumsily climbs through his bedroom window, landing hard on his knees and biting down on his lips hard, barely suppressing a cry of pain. 

And once he's in the safety of his house, with his parents sleeping down the hallway and Shannon in their guest room, Eddie lets himself break, muffling his sobs, gasps and wheezes, while he crawls into his bathroom and scrubs his hands raw, until all of the blood has dribbled down the drains. (It never really went away, though. Even years later Eddie can still feel it, can still see it on his skin, can still remember the pungent smell of it, mixed in with sweat, dirt and tears.) 

Buck lost everything that night. If he thought they'd go easy on him for having no previous record, he'd been in for a rude awakening. 

He was charged with aggravated assault and attempted manslaughter (the man Eddie had punched ended up surviving, but walking away from the incident with some brain damage), and organized criminal activity, for participating and enabling an illegal fighting ring and refusing to rat out any names for a plea deal. Not that he would've known who to rat out and he told Eddie to not bother telling him any names, since they'd just go after him and all of this to protect Eddie would've been for nothing. 

The process was long and hard and to this day Eddie doesn't understand why Buck just… took it. Why wouldn't he back off and give up Eddie's name to save his own ass. 

Buck was convicted to 8 years in prison. 

“We have each other's backs.” Buck had said once on a phone, while looking at Eddie through a thick glass window. He was wearing a bright orange, ugly ass jumpsuit and had a black eye— and even then, he'd been unwavering in his decision. 

To this day Eddie doesn't understand why he didn't say something anyway. Why did he let his best friend take the blame? It was cowardly and a shitty move. 

“You’re gonna be a dad, Eds.” Buck had reminded him, looking beaten down but still trying to comfort Eddie. “And you— You're gonna be a great dad. Because yes, you fucked up but I know you and I know the type of person you are, so that kid is gonna be the luckiest child in the whole universe to have you as their dad.” 

“Buck—” 

“Just— don't do anything stupid, okay? For the love of God and everything that's Holy, use your fucking brain and not your fists, Diaz.” Buck's lips quirk up slightly, somehow teasing and sad at the same time. “Be good, or I'll kick your ass once I'm out of here.” 

 

Eddie visited for a while. He would tell Buck all about the odd jobs he'd been picking here and there, or would show him sonograms of his baby, fill him in on all the details of Shannon's pregnancy and Eddie's tentative plans for the future. 

Until one day, he just— couldn't. Buck told him he couldn't keep doing it, listening to Eddie's amazing life as his was wasted away inside a filthy, minuscule cell. 

The week after that, when Eddie had tried to visit Buck anyways, he'd been taken out of his visitors list. It had shattered Eddie, had broken his already worn out, fragile heart even more. 

But he had also understood, deep down. Buck probably regretted his decision, resented Eddie and started to hate his guts. 

 

The sudden blare of his alarm jolts him out of his memories and thoughts.

He wakes to the sound of his own screaming, the nightmare clawing at him from the inside of his eyelids. He jerks and bucks in the bed, expecting to feel handcuffs that were never there around his wrists, leg flaring when he clenches the muscles. His mouth closes with a click, teeth clacking when he bites down to stop the whimper that wants to crawl out of his throat.

He's soaked in sweat, a shivering, aching, terrified mess but he's okay. He breathes through the panic thrumming under his skin, a trembling hand coming up to rub at his clammy forehead, his own pulse thundering in his ears. "Well, fuck.”





He's blearily trying to nurse a cup of coffee in peace, as he thinks of his nightmare— or well, the memory that had him tossing and restless all night. 

In the bathroom he can hear Christopher humming some song Eddie recognizes from a TV show his kid loves. Something that sounds suspiciously like water splashing on the floor can be heard. Eddie's glad he sprang for the water absorbing mats that are all over the floor. Saves him a lot of mopping up after bath time.

Eddie sighs, cradling the mug in his hands as the warmth seeps into his fingers. The coffee isn’t doing much to shake the heaviness pressing against his chest, but at least it’s something to hold onto, something grounding. The memory—that nightmare—lingers like smoke in the corners of his mind. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to let it pull him under again.

Instead, he focuses on the small noises coming from the bathroom. Christopher’s humming gets louder, almost like he’s performing for an audience, and Eddie can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. The kid has no idea what he’s doing to Eddie’s heart right now, just by being so... Christopher.

The sound of splashing increases, and Eddie raises an eyebrow, finally dragging himself off the stool. “Hey, Chris!” he calls, walking toward the bathroom. “What’s going on in there? You better not be making a swimming pool!”

There’s a giggle from behind the door, followed by a hurried, “I’m not, Dad!”

Eddie huffs out a laugh as he opens the door to find Christopher standing in the middle of the bathroom, his hair dripping wet, the floor indeed soaked despite the mats. He’s holding one of his action figures— Eddie knows it's from a video game but he can't remember which one— like he’s conquered some great sea adventure.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says, crossing his arms but unable to hide his amusement. “Looks like a swimming pool to me.”

Christopher grins up at him, unapologetic. “Sorry.” 

“It's okay, bud” Eddie grabs a towel and puts it around his shoulders, ruffling his hair a little bit. “Just try to keep it in the tub next time, yeah?” 

“Yeah, dad.” 

“You need help getting ready?” Eddie asks, forcing himself to wait for Christopher's cue. He's been trying not to hover too much lately, let his kid decide what he can or cannot do and just be there to help if needed. It's hard but he thinks Chris appreciates it. 

“No, I'm okay.” 

“Okay, hurry up. Breakfast's ready.” 

Eddie lingers for a moment longer, leaning against the doorframe as Christopher busies himself with his towel, patting his hair dry with all the determination of a kid on a mission. Watching him, Eddie feels a swell of pride mixed with that ever-present twinge of protectiveness. Christopher’s independence is growing every day, and Eddie is constantly toeing the line between wanting to shield him from the world and letting him take it on, one small step at a time.

With a final glance to make sure there’s no too imminent disaster, Eddie turns back toward the kitchen. His coffee has gone lukewarm, but he doesn’t mind as much anymore. The quiet chaos of their morning routine has a way of nudging the darkness aside, even if only temporarily. He takes a sip, setting the mug down just as he hears Christopher’s footsteps padding out of the bathroom.

“Ready!” Christopher announces a while later, his damp hair sticking up in every direction. 

“Nice work, bud,” Eddie says with a grin. “Come on, eat up before it gets cold.”

 

After finishing breakfast with Christopher, Eddie drives him to school. It’s his day off—a rare chance to catch up on errands, perhaps visit Abuela, and finally fix that stubbornly crooked step on her porch. Yet, on a whim, as if guided by some unseen force, Eddie veers right at the intersection where he ought to have turned left.

Before he knows it, Eddie is approaching the construction site warily. He shields his eyes with his hand and squints at the site, searching at the handful of contractors setting the roof trusses or installing the exterior siding. 

He spots Buck not too far away, the guy's biceps and forearms bulging with the strain of carrying the wood. 

“Buck?” Eddie calls hesitantly. 

Buck freezes, his gaze snapping to Eddie, eyes widening in surprise. Calling over his shoulder that he’s taking his break, he lowers the wood to the ground with deliberate care before striding toward him.

By the time Buck closes the distance between them, Eddie's pulse is pounding wildly, as if it’s determined to break free through his throat. Buck halts a few feet away, tugging off his hard hat to rake a hand through his damp curls. With a low grunt, he shoves his goggles up onto his forehead and asks, “What are you doing here, Eddie?”

Eddie opens his mouth, but no words come out at first. The sound of machinery hums in the background, filling the silence between them. He shifts on his feet, hands shoved deep into his pants pockets, as if bracing himself. 

“I, uh…” he starts, then stops, biting the inside of his cheek. Buck is watching him with those sharp blue eyes, curiosity flickering across his face, but there’s something softer there too—concern, maybe? Patience? It’s enough to make Eddie want to look away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard and presses on.

“I just—thought I’d check in,” he finally says, his voice steadying as the words tumble out. “See how's your head? Or like, if you've noticed any signs of concussion.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. The real reason feels too big, too messy to unravel here, with the smell of sawdust and the weight of Buck’s gaze bearing down on him.

Buck quirks an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You drove all the way out here just to check in?” His tone is teasing, but not unkind. He steps closer, his boots crunching against gravel, and Eddie’s pulse, already unsteady, skips again. “Damn, LAFD’s service really is the whole package.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, his voice quieter now, almost drowned out by the noise around them. LA's finest and all that.” 

For a moment, Buck doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like he’s trying to decipher a puzzle. Then, he nods, slinging the hard hat under one arm, “I'm fine.” He smirks, “Besides, I'm staying with my sister, Maddie—” 

“Oh, right. She's a nurse.” Eddie chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his neck. “I remember.” 

“Well… she's not a nurse anymore, but yeah.” 

“What is she doing now?” 

“Working at dispatch. Maybe you guys will cross paths with her one of these days.” 

The small talk is killing Eddie, but he pushes forward. 

“Listen, about how we left things—” 

“Told you it was okay.” 

“Well, it's not.” Eddie snaps and then takes a deep breath. “It's not for me, at least. Can we– Do you think maybe we could get together or something? I'll invite you for a coffee or whatever you want.” 

Buck’s smile falters for a brief moment, his gaze softening, as if Eddie’s words hit a little harder than he expected. He stands there for a beat, taking in the shift in Eddie’s tone, the way his shoulders have tensed with something unspoken. The teasing fades, replaced by something else—something more serious.

“You know, you don’t have to do that,” Buck says quietly, his voice lower now, the usual lightness gone. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his hands still hanging loosely by his sides, unsure. “I told you, Eddie, I’m fine.”

“Just one coffee, Buck. Or dinner. That's all I ask.” 

Buck looks at him, caught somewhere between hesitation and understanding, the tension in the air palpable. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, his eyes searching Eddie’s face like he’s trying to read between the lines. The usual easy smile is absent now, replaced by something more thoughtful, almost pensive.

Eddie stands there, his hands still buried deep in his pockets, waiting, the seconds stretching out longer than they should. He feels a wave of frustration, but also an unexpected sense of relief. He’s done what he came here to do. The ball is in Buck’s court now, and whatever happens next, at least he knows he tried.

Finally, Buck exhales, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he rubs the back of his neck. “Alright,” he says, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than before. “One coffee. But that’s it. And you’re buying.”

Eddie’s heart gives a small, surprised jolt. He had half expected Buck to brush him off, to offer some polite but distant excuse. Instead, the offer—however guarded—feels like a crack in the wall between them. A step forward, even if it’s a small one.

“Deal,” Eddie replies, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. The tension in his chest loosens just a little. “When do you get off? I can, uh, wait for you or whatever.” 

“It's gonna be a while.” Buck shrugs. “I could meet you tomorrow at 4, though.” 

“Okay, that's— That's fine. Yeah.” 

Buck shrugs, a casual movement that Eddie interprets as agreement. When Buck rattles off his phone number, Eddie quickly fumbles with his phone, hurriedly saving the digits to his contacts, his fingers slightly unsteady.

Their parting is far from smooth—awkward and strained, as if neither knows quite how to navigate the unexpected tension between them. After a brief pause, Buck turns his back, signaling the end of the conversation. He pulls his goggles back down over his eyes, adjusts his hard hat with a quick, practiced motion, and starts to stroll back toward the house, the familiar rhythm of work resuming.

Eddie watches him for a moment, the sight of Buck hoisting the lumber back onto his shoulder stirring something in his chest, but when their eyes inadvertently meet, Buck looks away just as quickly. It’s enough to make Eddie’s face flush with heat. Embarrassment washes over him in a rush, and without a second thought, he spins on his heel and heads straight for his car, his steps hurried as if he could outrun the awkwardness that lingers in the air between them.



 

The place where he asks Buck to meet him is a small café just a few blocks away from the station— everyone at work loves the damn place, swearing by their coffee and delicious pastries. Their baked goods have helped him and the team through countless hectic shifts. 

It's cozy and bright, light coming from the windows. lt's nice, he thinks— the whir of the blender going, the smell of freshly baked cookies. Clusters of people sit round little wooden tables outside, releasing bubbles of conversation and laughter that pop against Eddie's skin.

They sit at an almost hidden corner, where the noise isn't so loud and they can have at least some sense of privacy. 

“By the way, Maddie says hi.” Buck says after a few beats where they just stared at each other, not knowing what to say and neither of them wanting to be the one to break the silence first. Of course Buck is the one who does, though, he's always been nice and thoughtful like that. 

“Does she know?” About, uh, y'know.” Eddie cringes as he makes a vague gesture with his hand, as if that could surmise the sacrifice Buck made for him. 

Buck winces and exhales a slow breath through his nose, hands cupping his coffee and fidgeting with the cup. “No. I never told her. I was scared that she'd— force me to tell the truth or that she would do it for me, I guess.” 

“Maybe she should've.” 

Another sigh. “So you invited me for coffee to appease your guilt?” 

“That's not—” 

“I'm not interested in going over the past again, Eddie.” Buck says quietly, but desperate, elbows over the table and leaning slightly forward. “It’s exhausting. And honestly? Didn't have the best time in prison, so I'd like to put it behind me. As much as I can.” 

“Buck—” 

“And honestly, you're not being fucking fair!’ His voice cracks at the end and his hands shake as he takes a steadying breath. He looks at Eddie once more, a determined frown etched in between his brows. “You're not being fair.” He says softly. 

“I'm sorry.” 

“You feel guilty, I get it. You feel like you should've done more, you should've confessed— and maybe you should've. But there's no sense in dwelling on it, when it's already too late.” 

“I just– Yeah, that's part of it.” Eddie licks his lips. “But I think it's also… I ruined your life, Buck. I let you ruin your life for me, and then you didn't want to see me anymore, which was fair! But, I don't know.” He feels like he might choke on tears. “You're here, and you're living your life, and you didn't even call me? If it hadn't been for that call, I wouldn't even know you're out.” 

“I know.” 

“I visited you so many times, Buck. And you wouldn't see me! You erased me from your list!” 

“I know.” 

“I sent you letters.” 

“I know.”

“You— You know? You've read them?” 

At this, Buck looks down and hunches over his cup. “No. I never read them. I— I couldn't. I… threw them away.” 

“Why?” 

“Eddie, why did you think I did any of it?” Buck chuckles bitterly. It sounds shattered and jaded and cold. “I was so fucking in love with you. I was— head over heels in love with you.” 

Eddie hardly dares to breathe, ears straining to catch every word, every hitch of Buck's breath, every miniscule detail. 

He swallows, blinking hard, teeth worrying his bottom lip. “Y-you were?” 

“I thought it was obvious.” Buck brushes, but he keeps refusing to look Eddie in the eyes. “And well, you're straight, and with Shannon, so I knew I didn't stand a chance. Really, I was a loser. We both know I was going to drop out of college eventually or get kicked out, or whatever— Taking the fall for you, going to prison, it seemed like the only logical choice.” 

The air is kicked out from Eddie's lungs. “Buck.” 

“I just wanted to be happy. But sitting behind that glass every week, holding a phone to my ear to listen to you talk about your wedding and your baby, and all these things that I always fantasized about having with you— It killed me. I was going insane, Eds.” 

“So, you took me off your visitors list and cut all contact with me.” 

“Yeah.” 

The silence stretches between them, long and oh so slow, seconds turning into small eternities as Eddie tries to process this new information. 

Oh if that doesn't make his heart just clench, seize and flutter. If that doesn't break Eddie into bazillion tiny pieces, just to glue him back together all at once. 

If that doesn't make him come completely undone at the seams. 

“You idiot.” Eddie blurts out when his mouth finally decides to cooperate. Buck's head jerks and their gazes lock with each other. “I was in love with you too!” 

“W-what?” 

“I was in love with you too.” Eddie says, sure that they make quite a pair in that coffee shop, to anyone who would look their way— with tears stinging in their eyes and slowly descending down their cheeks, staring at each other across the table. “I was scared out of my mind, terrified that anything I did would make you disgusted at me. I didn't want to lose you.” 

“Oh, Eddie.” 

“And I loved Shannon. In my own way. But I was never in love with her. She was never you.” Eddie swallows thickly. “Which makes me the shittiest human ever and a horrible husband, but— yeah.” 

Buck blinks at him. “You're not with her anymore?” 

“She left me when Chris was two. Left us. And then she died.” 

“Oh.” 

Buck's lips press together, his expression softening with the weight of Eddie's words. His gaze flits to the table, the worn wood suddenly fascinating.

"I'm sorry," Buck finally whispers, voice heavy with sincerity.

"Don't be." Eddie shakes his head. "You didn't know. And you… you already gave up so much for me, Buck."

Buck shakes his head, biting his lip and frowning. His eyes cut to Eddie. “You're never gonna stop feeling like you owe me, are you?” 

“I do owe you.” Eddie argues, but it was the absolutely worst thing he could've said, Buck's walls building up and locking him out in the blink of an eye. 

“Then whatever this,” he points between them, “is, it's not going to work, Eds. Not if you're keeping score.” 

“Buck—” 

“I can't do this. I can't let you—” Buck cuts himself off and laughs. “God, this was such a bad idea. I'm so stupid.” 

“Please stop.” 

“I think I should go.”  Buck sighs and shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Eds. I just can't do this.” 

Eddie panics, his heart racing as Buck begins to stand, his chair scraping against the floor. He reaches out instinctively, his hand wrapping around Buck’s wrist, halting him.

“Wait,” Eddie pleads, his voice cracking. “Please don’t go.”

Buck freezes, his gaze fixed on Eddie’s hand like it’s burning him, but he doesn’t pull away. For a moment, Eddie thinks maybe he can fix this. Maybe this isn’t the end.

“It was nice seeing you, Eddie.” Buck says softly, prying his hand off Eddie's. “

Eddie feels the emptiness where Buck's warmth was a second ago, and it’s unbearable. His chest tightens as Buck grabs his jacket, turning toward the door. The noise of the café blurs into static, and for a moment, Eddie is frozen, unsure of what to do.

Just like years ago, he stands frozen in place as he watches Buck slip away from his fingers. 

 

Eddie doesn’t leave the café for a long time. He sits at the table, staring at Buck’s untouched coffee, his mind replaying the conversation over and over, dissecting every word, every look, every second that slipped away. He feels hollow, as though Buck took a piece of him when he walked out the door. The noise of the café continues around him, but it feels muted, distant, like a world he’s no longer a part of.

Eventually, he pulls himself together enough to leave. The drive home is a blur. The house is quiet when he gets there—Chris is at school, and there’s no one to fill the silence. Eddie leans against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turn white. He wants to scream, to cry, to do something, anything, to let out the storm raging inside him, but instead, he just stands there, staring at the floor.



 

The bell jolts Eddie awake from the quick nap he was trying to take on the station's couch. 

He doesn't even believe in jinxes but if they were ever in the chokehold of one, it would be this shift from hell! Nonstop calls that have left them running on fumes, and despite only being about 5 P.M ish, Eddie is feeling every minute of today dragging in his bones and turning them to lead every time they're called. He is exhausted. 

He rubs at his face where the crease of the pillow has left an indent in his cheek and heaves himself onto his feet, groaning slightly as Chim passes him jogging and claps him on the back a little too hard. 

“C'mon, Diaz!” 

“Let’s move! Incident at a construction site!” Bobby calls and Eddie swears as the adrenaline rushes through his veins.

Construction site? 

A heavy rock of something Eddie is too tired to decipher at the moment settles into Eddie’s gut as the words sink in. Something isn't right. But the ladder truck roars to life beside before it peels out of the bay with a wail of the siren.

In his years of serving as a firefighter, you learn to trust your instincts, what your gut tells you– and this time, Eddie just knows it before he even hears the address.  

The knot in his stomach tightens when he realizes exactly where they’re headed.

The construction site.

Buck’s construction site.

Because of course they're going there. Of course. 

Eddie swallows hard, his grip tightening on the bar above his seat. He tells himself it’s a coincidence, that Buck isn’t the one in trouble, that it’s just another job. But the tension in his chest won’t relent, and the memory of their last conversation still lingers fresh and raw in his mind. 

Is this gonna be just another thing he regrets? One more thing to add to the endless list of things he's fucked up? 

They arrive at the scene within minutes. The place is chaos—workers milling about anxiously, some pointing up at the crane where a figure is perched precariously. 

“Over there!” the man shouts, his voice hoarse. “One of the cables came unseated and it struck him. We think he's fine but he lost his balance and, well—” 

Yeah, they can see it, the man is hanging by his harness on top of the crane, a vream swaying precariously above his head. He's too far away to even attempt climbing down and the structure is too unsteady for him to try to climb up the rope. 

“I don't know how the hell it came unseated!” Another one of the constructors says, a frown etched in between his brows. 

“You can see it on the feed.”

“All right,” Bobby says. “Take us there.” 

The manager takes them to a corner where there's a small feed playing what's going on up there. As soon as they get there, Eddie's blood turns cold. 

“Buck,” Eddie breathes, his heart hammering in his chest.

They can only see the top of his head, with the camera  angled down. It shows Buck's hard hat and some stray dark blond curls peeking from underneath, a birthmark that Eddie would recognize anywhere making it just enough so they can see part of it on the screen. 

That's Buck. That's definitely Buck. 

Because of course it is, Eddie thinks bitterly. 

The sight of Buck’s face, or rather the glimpse of his head on the screen, makes Eddie’s chest tighten. The image of Buck's hand, fisting the rope as hard as he can, knuckles bleeding white as he tries not to let go. 

Eddie feels his stomach lurch, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

"Shit," Eddie mutters under his breath, barely audible over the frantic buzz of the scene around them. His fingers dig into his arm, and he forces himself to breathe. He can’t let himself fall apart now—not here, not like this.

Bobby moves to take control of the situation, shouting orders to the rest of the crew. Hen and Chim work with the ground team to set up the safety lines and the pulley system, while Eddie watches the crane with a sharp, assessing gaze. They need to get Buck down safely, and fast.

Eddie grabs a harness from the truck and starts to secure himself, checking everything twice, then once more. His focus is laser-sharp, the kind that only comes when someone you care about is in danger. He can’t afford to screw this up.

When Bobby signals, Eddie begins the climb, every rung of the ladder feeling like a lifetime. His heart hammers in his chest, and all he can think about is Buck—lying there, probably hurt, waiting for him.

Finally, Eddie reaches the top, pulling himself up onto the narrow platform where Buck is suspended. He doesn’t have to look hard to find him; Buck’s form is unmistakable, his body slumped in the harness, blood staining the fabric of his work shirt. His face is pale, and his eyes are unfocused, but at least he's still conscious. That’s a good sign, Eddie tells himself.

“Buck,” Eddie calls out, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions in his chest. “Hey, I’m here. We’re getting you down.”

Buck's head turns toward him, a shaky smile tugging at his lips, though it’s strained. “You just can’t stay away, huh?”

Eddie doesn’t dignify the remark with a response, his focus already on assessing the situation. Buck is hanging several feet from where Eddie is, so if he's gonna get him down, it's gonna have to be really slow and careful. “You're gonna be okay.” 

"Eddie," Buck rasps, or he tries to, but it mostly just comes out in a croak.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” Eddie says, his tone more stern than he intends. “That cable could've pinned you down.” 

“I know.” 

Eddie presses his lips into a thin, firm line. “Are you hurt?” 

“The cable snapped and it got my arm and my back, I think? But I'm mostly good. Just, y'know— sore and scared shitless, but fine.” 

Eddie’s hands shake slightly as he examines Buck more closely, trying to assess the extent of his injuries without making things worse. His gaze moves from Buck’s arm, where the cable seems to have struck, to his back, where the muscle looks tense, though it’s hard to tell with the harness and the way Buck is hanging.

“Don’t move,” Eddie warns, his voice gentler now but still edged with concern. “We’re getting you out of here. Just stay still.”

Buck nods, but his pale face betrays the strain. Eddie feels a wave of guilt rush over him—guilt for the last conversation they’d had, guilt for the fact that Buck is now in this position, hanging in the air, injured, and waiting for him to rescue him.

It should be anyone but Buck.

In another life, Eddie thinks, where Buck didn't take the fall for him, he's probably safe and sound on some boring job away from the many hazards a construction site usually has. In another life, Buck is probably a bartender, or a teacher, and unburdened by Eddie's mistakes. 

Eddie doesn’t let himself dwell on those thoughts, though, as he checks the ropes again. Every movement is deliberate, calculated, even though his mind is racing with the need to get Buck down safely. His heart pounds in his chest, and he has to fight the urge to rush, because he knows rushing could make everything worse.

Eddie forces himself to take a steadying breath through his nose.

Panic gets people killed and Eddie has learned to control his panic so he could run into burning buildings for a living.

“Alright, I’m gonna unclip you,” Eddie says, his voice calm despite the surge of panic in his chest. “This is gonna be the hardest part, Buck. I need you to hold tight, okay?”

Eddie takes another breath and another and another.

Buck’s gaze locks with his, his blue eyes cloudy but still sharp. He nods, a silent promise of trust, and Eddie feels that familiar flutter in his chest. He wants to promise Buck everything will be okay, but he knows that might not be the case.

Slowly, carefully, Eddie unclips Buck’s harness from the crane, then reattaches it to his own line. His hands don't shake as he works, but he feels he might break down once this is over. Buck's still breathing heavily, his body trembling with exhaustion and the remnants of adrenaline, but he’s holding it together. Eddie can see that much.

“You doing alright up there?” Hen calls through the radio. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie calls back, but the lie is thin. He can’t help but feel that something isn’t right, that things might fall apart any second. But Buck’s safety is paramount, and Eddie’s the only one who can get him down.

With the harness securely in place, Eddie begins the slow, steady process of lowering Buck. He knows they can’t rush this—every second could count, and the higher they are, the longer the fall. The crane’s top sways slightly with the wind, but Eddie holds firm. He’s done rescues before, but this is different. This is Buck.

The descent is agonizingly slow, each foot of ground they gain feeling like an eternity. Eddie keeps his eyes fixed on Buck, watching for any signs of distress, any shift in his body that might signal more serious injuries. But Buck doesn’t flinch. 

Their eyes lock with each other as Eddie feels Buck's hands clutch at his shoulders and his back. Some emotion is cloying at the back of Eddie’s neck and circling around his throat— fear and hope mixing together, but something more too. 

“We’re almost there,” he mumbles, his hot breath fanning against Buck's forehead. “You’re doing great,” Eddie says, even though he knows it’s not enough. “Just a little further.”

When they’re finally close to the ground, Eddie can’t help but feel a rush of relief. The sight of the ground approaching feels like the first breath after being underwater too long. As they reach solid ground, Eddie helps Buck to the stretcher with careful hands, making sure to avoid any sudden movements that might aggravate the injuries.

Hen and Chim are already waiting, and Eddie steps back as they take over. They move quickly, stabilizing Buck’s arm and his back, doing their best to keep him comfortable as they load him into the ambulance. Eddie stands on the sidelines, his chest tight and his hands still shaking from the adrenaline.

Buck’s voice calls out just as the ambulance doors are closing. “Hey, Diaz.” Eddie turns, meeting his gaze one last time.

“I’m okay, alright?” Buck’s voice is weak but firm. “We're— We're even now.” 

Eddie sucks in a breath and holds it tight in his chest as he stares Buck laying on that gurney, the only signs of what just happened are his shaking hands and maybe his sweaty, clammy skin. But he really does look fine. 

Buck’s lips curl into a faint, strained smile, and then the doors close, leaving Eddie standing in the midst of the chaos. The noise of the site—the workers, the fire trucks, the distant chatter—feels muffled now. His thoughts swirl, a mess of guilt and fear. Was this the moment? The one where everything would change?

As the ambulance drives away, Eddie takes a long breath, his heart still racing in his chest. He forces himself to move, to return to the crew. But his mind keeps drifting back to that image of Buck, hanging by his harness, trusting Eddie to bring him down safely. 

It’s not over yet. Eddie knows that. He couldn't ever be over Buck, even if he wanted to. He wouldn't even know where to begin. But the relief—bittersweet as it is—feels like a moment of grace. For now, that’s enough.



 

That night, Eddie barely sleeps. His mind keeps drifting back to Buck—his voice, his tears, the look in his eyes when he said he couldn’t do this. Or later, the way he looked hanging from that damn crane.  Eddie feels like he’s drowning in regret, in guilt, in the weight of everything he never said and the years they lost. He knows he’s messed up, but he also knows he can’t let this be the end. Not again.

Days pass and Eddie is going inside. He goes back and forth from wanting to see Buck no matter what (He even went to the construction site to talk to Buck, and when the man wasn't there, Eddie convinced one of the workers to give him Buck's address) or leaving him alone. Buck wants space, which is more than understandable… it doesn't stop Eddie from hating it, though. 

It’s been three days since their conversation at the café. Five days since he rescued Buck at the construction site, and in that time, Eddie has wrestled with every possible choice he could make. He’s tried to talk himself out of this a dozen times, telling himself to respect Buck’s need for space, to let him heal, to wait. But waiting feels unbearable, like he’s sitting on the edge of a cliff, knowing the ground will give way eventually. He needs to do something, to say something, before it’s too late.

Eddie stands outside Buck’s apartment building, staring up at the windows as if one of them might offer him some kind of sign. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears, and his hands are stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, fists clenched to keep them from trembling.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie pushes through the door to the building, the weight of what he’s about to do pressing heavy on his chest. He climbs the stairs slowly, his mind racing, replaying every possible scenario—what he’ll say, how Buck might react, the ways this could go horribly wrong.

When he reaches Buck’s door, he hesitates, his fist hovering in the air. The hallway is quiet, the only sound is the faint hum of some music coming from one of the other apartments down the hall. For a moment, Eddie considers turning around, walking away, and leaving Buck in peace. But the thought of walking away again, of letting this slip through his fingers, is too much to bear.

He knocks.

The sound echoes in the silence, and Eddie holds his breath, waiting. A few moments pass, and he hears movement on the other side of the door—soft footsteps, the faint rustle of clothing. The door opens slowly, and there he is: Buck, standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of surprise and wariness.

“Eddie,” Buck says, his voice quiet, almost cautious. He’s dressed casually in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair slightly tousled like he’s just woken up. He looks tired, the faint shadows under his eyes a reminder of the weight he’s been carrying.

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice low and uncertain. He shifts on his feet, his hands still buried in his pockets. “I, uh… I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I couldn’t just leave things the way they were.”

Buck leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Eddie, waiting.

“I told you we were even.” Buck tilts his head. “You don't owe me anything anymore— not that you ever did.” 

“I know,” Eddie continues, his voice steadying. “And you were right. I wasn't being fair to you—not then, and not now. I let my fear and my guilt get in the way of everything, and I hurt you because of it. I should've listened to what you were trying to say.” 

Buck’s gaze softens, but his expression remains guarded. “Eddie, I told you, I’m not looking for an apology. I’m trying to move on.”

“I know,” Eddie says quickly. “And I’m not here to drag you back into the past. I’m here because… because I don’t want to lose you. Not again. I can’t. I want you to be in my life, Evan. I want you to meet Chris, and hang out at the station with the team, and want you to come with me to Bobby's barbecues— You said we were even, right? So let's be even. No more keeping score.” 

Buck exhales, his shoulders sagging slightly. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Eddie, you showing up here—it’s not fair to either of us. You can’t just say things like that and expect everything to go back to the way it was.”

“I’m not expecting that,” Eddie says, stepping closer. “I don’t want to go back to the way things were. I want something better, Buck. I want—” He hesitates, his throat tightening with emotion. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you, even if I was too scared to admit it to myself. And I know I’ve got a lot to make up for, but I’m willing to try. If you’ll let me.”

“I'm not the same guy you want, though.” 

“You are.”

“No, I'm not, Eddie.” Buck sighs and sags a little. “I'm a convict. I lived in prison for years! I'm not the guy you remember.” 

“Buck.” 

“I've done things to survive there that I'm not proud of. And I'm… I'm just not the same person that used to be your best friend.” 

“Good, because I'm not the same person either,” Eddie says. “We've both changed. I just want to get to know you again. If watching you hanging from that crane made me realize anything, is that I don't wanna lose you. Not again.” 

Buck looks up at him then, his blue eyes searching Eddie’s face for something—truth, sincerity, maybe hope. The silence stretches between them, heavy and uncertain, until he's lunging forward. 

Buck slams into him first, almost knocking him backwards. Eddie's hands go automatically to Buck's hips, trying to both catch himself from falling and pull Buck closer, his heart beating everywhere, his pulse sending sonic waves through his fingertips into Buck's soft skin, syncing them together, every part of them, forever.

It’s horrible, and messy, and kind of really awkward, but Eddie never wants to stop. Buck keeps trying to climb on top of him, or maybe inside of him, Eddie can’t tell, but Buck's pulling at his clothes and his hair and touching his face and his neck and his chest like he can’t decide what to do with his hands, can’t figure out how to touch all of Eddie at once. Eddie can't help smiling into the kiss, chuckling wetly, hands locking on the dip of Buck's spine and pulling him closer, closer, until there’s no more air between them, and Buck's forced to settle his hands on Eddie's cheeks. 

“Clean slate, right? No keeping score?” Buck breathes, panting.

“I promise.” 

“I don't know why I did that. You were just talking and I—” 

“It's okay. You won't see me complain.” Eddie smiles, locking eyes with Buck's lips and huffing quietly. “I've wanted to do that for so long, you just beat me to it.” He lifts a hand and ghost a finger over Buck's cheek. “You've always been a step ahead of me.” 

Buck cackles a little, overwhelmed in every possible way. He then leans in to nuzzle his nose against Eddie's. “Wanna come in? Maddie’s at work.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes out slowly. “Okay.” 

Buck steps back, leaving enough space for Eddie to enter the apartment. The small space feels intimate, almost suffocating, but in the best way. Eddie follows Buck inside, glancing around. It's cozy, and the couch seems big, if not a tiny bit worn out. 

“Welcome to my room.” Buck jokes and then cringes. “Sorry, uh… yeah.” 

“It's nice.” Eddie says and he awkwardly follows Buck, sitting next to him on the couch, the pillow slightly deeping with their weight. “Homey.” 

Buck blinks at him like they’re living in slow motion, his eyelashes casting the briefest hint of shade over his cheeks before it’s gone again, and he feels like a moth drawn to the flame that’s burning inside of Buck, leaning up and in.

Buck meets him halfway, lifting an arm and curling it around Eddie's back to pull him even closer so they’re pressed together everywhere, leaving the slightest hint of fingerprint bruises on Eddie's hipbone that he already knows he’s going to want to keep forever. Eddie reaches up to get his arms around Buck however he can manage and presses even closer, unable to stand the thought of even a molecule of air between them as he kisses Buck's lips like he’s trying to press himself inside, trying to become a part of Buck that will stay with him forever.

He tastes like toothpaste and sleep and beer, but it's the best thing he ever could've imagined. Buck keeps pressing closer and closer, as well, holding Eddie so tightly Eddie thinks maybe he’s the best thing Buck has ever tasted, as well.

They make out like that for ages, but the feeling of being completely overwhelmed doesn’t go away for even a second, making Eddie so dizzy and blissfully outside of his head that he can’t do anything except for what he’s doing, fingers curling into the bits of hair at the back of Buck's head just for something to hold onto, for something to tether him back to the earth in case he’s actually floating away like he suspects he is.

He only pulls away when the dizziness becomes more from the lack of oxygen than from the excess of sensation, keeping his eyes closed as he presses his face into Buck's collarbone to catch his breath. Buck whines a little, barely even a sound, and tries to pull him back up, but now that Eddie's got some oxygen to his brain the reality of what they’re doing starts flooding in.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he breathes, still mostly out of breath, laying a hand over Buck's chest and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Are you okay? Should we even be doing this?” 

“What do you mean?” Buck asks, confused. “I thought you wanted this?” he breathes back, eyes a little bit wild, like he’s as desperate to get his mouth back on Eddie's as Eddie is desperate to let him do it.

“I do! I just– You were hurt. Your arm, and your back—?” 

“Oh, Eddie.” Buck chuckles. “I'm fine. I mean, I'm a little sore, I guess, but I've had way worse.” 

“That doesn't sound reassuring at all,” Eddie says, but he lets Buck get him a fraction of an inch closer anyway, because he’s having trouble resisting, as well.

“Do you wanna see?” 

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” Eddie blinks and tries not to whine when Buck pulls away from him.

Buck's movements are slow, deliberate, as he takes off his shirt. Eddie even catches the glimpse of a small grimace. He swallows hard as Buck pulls the fabric of his shirt over his head, exposing the bruises, the healing cuts, and the muscles that are still taut with tension.

"See?" Buck says with a light, teasing smile, though Eddie can tell there's a vulnerability behind it. "I'm fine. It's not as bad as it looks."

Eddie hesitates for a moment, his fingers almost trembling as he reaches out. He gently touches the bruised skin on Buck's arm, tracing the edges with a careful, almost reverent touch. "You sure?" he murmurs, voice thick with concern. The bruise on Buck's arm is huge— taking most of his bicep and touching his shoulder—  a variety of purple and pink shades, but green and yellow at the edges, showing it's already healing. 

“And your back?” 

Buck rolls his eyes but he complies, turning around and letting Eddie see an even bigger bruise there, with a thin red scar in between his shoulder blades. 

"I’m fine, Eddie," Buck repeats, his voice quieter now, a hint of something deeper there. “I’m always fine.” 

Eddie hums and then his eyes catch another scar, lower, almost hidden by Buck's arm, on his side, in between his ribs. His eyes brush over it before he can stop himself, and he feels Buck tense under his touch. 

“What's that?” 

Buck heaves a heavy sigh and turns back around, lifting his arm and letting Eddie get a better view. 

“Someone stabbed me in prison. Got a bunch of stitches and then some time in solitary.” 

“They sent you to solitary after getting stabbed?”  Eddie gasps, the breath knocked out of him. 

Buck shrugs. “It was for my own safety or whatever. It was a long time ago, Eds.” 

“Why did you get stabbed?” 

Buck blinks. “I honestly don't remember? I'm pretty sure it was something petty, like the dude stole some of my books and then I stole them back, so he stabbed me.” 

“Buck—” 

“Please don’t. Don't go back to the whole guilt thing.” Buck almost whines.  “Let's go back to kissing. That was so fun.” 

And they should. Eddie wants that, he wants it so bad that he aches with need. 

But then another scar catches his eyes, this one not looking as old as the one in between Buck's ribs. “What about this one?” 

Buck exhales and shakes his head. “What are you doing?” 

“I just— I wanna know, Buck. Please. ” 

“I got it when I was about to be released for good behavior. You know that thing in movies where people get jealous and try to sabotage your release date? That's totally true.” He chuckles, but it sounds sharp and just wrong. “This dude stabbed me with a very pointy toothbrush, and it earned me another month in prison. But it's whatever. I got out eventually.” 

Eddie frowns, staring intensely at the scar on Buck's hip and brushing his thumb over it like he could make it go away. 

“Stop it. I'm fine.” Buck says again, tugging at him until they're kissing again. Eddie doesn't know how much he's allowed to ask for, how much he's allowed to take, so he settles for just enjoying what he's being given, licking all the taste of beer and toothpaste out of Buck's mouth so he can find out what Buck tastes like on his own, and it's quickly becoming one of his favorite flavours. 

After a bit, Buck moves his hands. One starts to droop lower after a few minutes, though, making its way toward Eddie's crotch, until finally Buck's entire hand is resting hot and heavy over Eddie's dick, which is already half hard in his sweatpants.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath when Buck starts palming him for real, unsure if he should just keep pretending like nothing’s happening or if he should just let himself react. 

“Is this okay?” Buck pants into the kiss, sounding unsure and as hesitant as he's ever heard him. His breath is low and gravelly, and it's making Eddie even harder. 

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks. “So okay. More than okay.” 

“Get this thing off.” Buck pants, his fingers running up his sides, underneath the soft of his hoodie, bunching it up under his underarms. Eddie thinks he might lose it; Buck's thumb dragging over his nipple and making embarrassing, involuntary noises fall from Eddie's lips. 

Eddie nods and sits up, pulling the sweatshirt over his head, leaving his chest bare and exposed. Buck reaches out and touches him again, fingers digging into his hips. The way he’s touching him is too methodical, like he’s been thinking about it as much as Eddie has, and Eddie can’t allow himself to have that train of thought. He’ll spiral.

Instead, he crawls on top of him, straddling Buck's hips.

It’s stupid, honestly, that a bit of kissing and touching is bringing this reaction out of Eddie. He can’t seem to control the way his hips are suddenly jerking against Buck's, can’t stop the way he groans every time the blond bucks his hips back up in return, can’t do anything about the way his hands have suddenly taken control of themselves, grabbing and touching every part of Buck they can find. Christ, he’s only ever imagined himself to be in this position in the deep recesses of his mind, and now that it’s actually happening, now that he has Buck writhing and panting underneath him and touching him like he doesn’t want him to ever leave, Eddie feels like he’s on the verge of losing his damn mind.

If he hasn’t already.

“God, this is so much better than I ever imagined,’ Buck groans, moving his hand down between Eddie's back to press his fingers against his hole through the cotton of his sweatpants. Eddie shivers again and turns his head to press his face into Buck's neck, rocking his hips down against Buck’s hand.

“You thought about this a lot?” he huffs, biting the sensitive skin on Buck's neck. “In prison?” 

“Well, didn't have much else to do.” Buck looks down at Eddie, a strained smirk playing on his lips. “Touched myself every chance I could, thinking about you.” Buck turns them around, almost falling off the couch but eventually ending on top of Eddie. “Fantasized about kissing you, sucking you off…” 

“Jesus.” Eddie bites his lip and tilts his head back when Buck pulls his pants down just under his balls, exposing his cock to the cool air of the living room.

Buck settles on his knees between Eddie’s legs and hunches down to get closer to Eddie’s dick, breathing hot over the head and then swiping his thumb over his slit ever so gently. Eddie feels himself relax completely into the sofa cushions, eyes falling shut and toes pressing down into the cushion under Buck’s knees.

Buck starts out with just the tip of his tongue, licking at Eddie’s cock for a moment before pressing his tongue hard against the slit. Eddie lets out an animalistic whine and Buck finally quits teasing, wrapping his lips around Eddie’s cock and sucking hard. 

“Buck,” Eddie breathes out, reaching down to get a fistful of Buck’s hair while Buck sinks his mouth down further. Buck looks up at him with big blue eyes and Eddie can’t help but to fuck up into his mouth, tip of his dick hitting the back of Buck’s throat and making him pull off, gagging.

“Sorry, sorry, shit,” Eddie pants, reaching for Buck to pet him and make him feel better. Buck bats him away, though, leaning back in to hover over Eddie’s dick again.

“Do it again,” he murmurs, licking Eddie’s dick again.

“What?” Eddie asks, breathless and disbelieving. Buck whines and licks his cock again, opening his mouth and nuzzling his head into Eddie’ hand.

Eddie curses under his breath and regains his fistful of Buck’s hair, taking a deep breath before pushing him down. Buck moans loudly around his cock and Eddie tugs his hair a little bit, entirely too turned on for how early in the day it is. 

He holds Buck’s head in place and moves his hips slowly, fucking into Buck’s mouth gently. He gets the feeling that Buck wants more but they’ve never done this before, and Eddie doesn’t want to hurt him. One of Buck’s hands disappears and when Eddie tilts his head he can see the tip of Buck’s cock peeking out of his fist, which is moving so fast it’s only a blur.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He showers Buck with praise. “God, you’re so…so warm, and wet.”

Eddie speeds up a bit, Buck breathing deeply through his nose every time Eddie pulls back to thrust in again.

“God, Buck, I’m gonna-” Buck cuts him off with a loud moan as he comes first, catching it all in his fist and whimpering uncontrollably around Eddie’s dick. “Fuck,” Eddie cries out, holding Buck down for too long while he comes in his mouth.

He lets go a moment later and Buck pulls off spluttering, trying to swallow everything that’s in his mouth. Eddie sits up and reaches for a tissue from the coffee table, wiping first at the corners of Buck’s mouth and then cleaning up what’s still in his hand. 

“Okay?” He hums, dropping the tissue back onto the table and wrapping his arms around Buck. He lays back on the couch and brings Buck down with him, letting Buck rest his head on his chest.

“Liked that a lot,” Buck says, voice weak. “Was, uh, w-was it good for you?” 

Eddie blinks slowly. “Didn't my orgasm clue you in?” 

Buck huffs and shoves him halfheartedly, making Eddie chuckle. 

Eddie grins down at Buck as his fingers start lazily threading through his hair. Buck’s weight is solid against him, grounding in a way Eddie didn’t know he needed until this moment. For the first time in days—hell, maybe years—Eddie feels like he can breathe. Like maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something he never let himself hope for.

Buck shifts slightly, his arm slinging over Eddie’s chest as he relaxes against him. His breaths are slowing, evening out, when Buck sighs and pushes away from him. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life,” he yawns, blinking tiredly up at Buck and giving him a little grin. “You’re quite good with that tongue.”

Buck laughs, voice a little rough and husky. It sends shivers down Eddie's spine and makes him think about going for round two, but he knows they're tempting fate now. 

“We should get cleaned and dressed. Maddie is probably gonna be here any moment and uh… well, as you can see my sleeping arrangements don't leave a lot of space for privacy.” 

Eddie groans softly in protest, reluctant to let Buck move away, but he knows he’s right. As much as he’d love to stay tangled up with him, the last thing he wants is for Maddie to walk in and catch them in the middle of… this.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, sitting up reluctantly. His hands linger on Buck’s waist, though, giving him a soft squeeze before finally letting go. “But this isn’t over.”

Buck smirks, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he grabs his shirt from the floor. “Oh, it’s definitely not over. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

Eddie laughs, running a hand through his messy hair. He watches as Buck heads toward the bathroom, disappearing for a moment before coming back with a damp washcloth. Buck tosses it to him with an easy grin.

“Clean yourself up, babe,” Buck teases, before grabbing his discarded shit and pulling it over his head. Eddie catches the washcloth and huffs out a laugh. 

Eddie does and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to look presentable. 

“So…” He says a few moments later, standing at the door and wishing he could stay. But Maddie will be here soon, and has to pick up Chris from school soon. 

“So?” Buck raises an eyebrow and grins. 

“I'll call you?”

Buck chuckles and nods. “Okay.” He kisses him sweetly and squeezes his hip reassuringly. “See you later, Eds.” 





Three weeks later Buck finds himself  dragging Maddie to the store for moral support.

“Tell me why I’m doing this again?” Buck wonders, as he surveys the wall of vibrantly colored action figures and toy trucks. 

“Because you really like Eddie?” Maddie offers, standing behind him and looking curiously around the lit aisle.

“I guess… you don't think I'm crazy for doing this?” Buck turns to his sister, one second away from breaking down crying in the middle of the store. 

Maddie sighs, annoyingly banging the shopping basket (which currently holds a couple coloring/activity books and a new box of crayons—a name brand, 64-count box, of course; go big or go home, right?) against the side of Buck's leg. “Why are you so worried anyways? You're great with kids! There's no way he doesn't immediately adore you. Remember the kids that lived next to us in Texas? They would always follow you around like little ducks.”

“Yeah, and that was like a decade ago. I haven't interacted with kids in seven years, Mads.” Buck frowns and takes a toy truck, examining it in his hands. “I'm an ex-convict now. Not exactly someone you'd take to a kid's party.” 

(Although that's not entirely true. One Father's Day, the prison had everyone out on the yard and playing with their kids. Buck wasn't a father but he was enjoying the sun and even played hide and seek for a while with some of the children. He even helped some of the guards calm the kids after a brawl broke out. but he thinks that was mostly his instinct. He didn't have to think much about it. Now he has nothing but time to think about every single little thing.)

Maddie makes a sound of protest. “Don't say that.”

“It's the truth,” Buck gumbles. 

“Look, you made a mistake—” Maddie says. 

No, I didn't. Buck thinks to himself but bites his tongue. 

“But you did your time. And now you get to live, yeah? And if you choose that you want to live your life impressing a seven year old…”

“Not impress, exactly.” Buck grins slightly. “I just want him to like me.”

“Be the cool new friend who greets him with a totally unexpected, incredible, albeit belated, birthday present?”

“Yeah. That one. His dad's totally awesome new friend,” Buck says as he pulls a third toy truck from the shelf. “What colors do you reckon he likes?” 

Maddie shrugs. “Blue?”

Buck glances at Maddie over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “Really? Isn't that… too…y'know. What if he actually likes pink? Or purple? Or green?”

“Evan,” Maddie starts with a shake of the head, “You're overthinking this.” 

“Fuck.” Buck runs a hand through his hair and kneels on the ground, grabbing an action figure of Spiderman. What if Chris likes dolls? Or like, hates superheroes? Suddenly he's forgotten everything he knows about kids. 

He sighs and pushes up from his squat, turning to another aisle with video games. “Do you think maybe I should call Eddie?” 

“I think you're going a little overboard.” 

Buck chooses not to comment. Instead, he texts Eddie, asking about what Chris likes. Who knew shopping for a seven-year-old boy could be so daunting? 

Eddie answers him just a few minutes later, telling him to not worry about it. “Well, that's not helpful at all.” Buck frowns and turns to Maddie, practically shoving his phone screen on her face. It only earns him a pitying look from his sister and a bemused smile. 

“This is everything, then?” Maddie asks, watching as Buck adds two videogames to the basket.

Buck shakes his head. “Still need a gift bag. Oh, and a card? Definitely a card. You can't give a birthday gift without a card, we're not animals.” 

Maddie laughs but she follows him as they make their way toward the greeting cards and gift wrap section of the store. 

“You're acting like this isn't Eddie. You know Eddie.” 

“You know this is different.” 

“Is it really, though?” 

“Maddie—”

“I'm just saying, Eddie never cared for gifts. I'm sure his kid won't either.” 

“Kids always care for gifts,” Buck says as he picks up a card with a huge number seven on the front. It's a dark blue with a comic themed background. 

Buck goes through most of the cards and then finally decides on the first one he picked up on. He doesn’t dwell on the gift bags, thankful for the limited choices, and grabs a light purple bag with some white tissue paper decorated with a space pattern— stars and rocket ships and planets. Buck thinks it looks cool. Before he can second guess himself, he tosses the items in the basket and levels Maddie with a nod.

“All done? Ready to go?” Maddie asks.

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Buck replies, cracking a strained smile.

“That's the spirit, little brother.” Maddie chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. The cashier shoots them an amused look before cashing all of their items in. 

 

 

There are moments in life you anticipate will feel monumental—times when you expect to rise into grand, symbolic, and life changing  experiences. These are the moments you imagine will follow you to the grave and maybe even into your next life. Moments so big that you can't really put them into words. 

For some reason he can’t quite explain or understand, Buck expects this time in his life—meeting Christopher Diaz —to be one of those moments. It feels big. The anticipation leaves him reeling with excitement but also feeling a little sick to his stomach, a pit of nervousness and anxiety tightening in his gut. And it is sort of a big deal, isn’t it? It feels like a big deal. Like a huge deal. Maybe if he and Eddie were just old friends reconciling, it wouldn’t feel so significant, so important, like a giant first step. But they're not. 

They've been sneaking around and making out everytime they can, and they've gone on three dates. The most amazing dates that Buck's ever had. (Granted, the only dates he has to compare them to were awkward high school dates that he barely remembers, but still!)

But for all of Buck's spiraling thoughts, fears and catastrophic scenarios, meeting Chris is really not that bad. 

When Eddie opens the door to his house, Buck stays rooted in place for a full minute, much to Eddie's amusement and tiny bit of concern. And then a small head of curls peeks from behind Eddie, and from that second on— Buck's a goner. 

Christopher. 

With a deep breath, Buck  smiles and offers a weak, “Hey.”

Eddie's smile twitches. “You wanna come at any time in this century?”  he teases.

“Ha ha,” Buck replies in mock laughter. “You’re so funny.” 

Eddie just laughs, until his gaze falls to his side where Chris is now standing straighter “Oh, right! Of course,” Eddie starts with another laugh. His eyes flick back toward Buck, and he introduces, “Buck, this is Christopher. Chris, this is Buck.”

Buck takes the moment to crouch down to Chris’ level and extends his right hand. “Hi, Chris. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Chris looks at him with a weary stare, wide brown eyes dropping to his hand before taking it and shaking it slowly. Eddie chuckles, placing an encouraging hand on her back. “It’s okay,” he tells his kid softly. “He’s the one I was telling you about, remember?” 

“Yeah, uh, a-actually. Your dad told me you turned seven recently,” Buck says with a shaky smile, pushing the purple gift back forward and presenting them to Chris. “I wasn't sure what you would like? So I kinda got a little of everything?” Buck grimaces. “I'm sorry I'm late, and uh, if you wanna change anything you totally can! Just, uh, tell me?” 

Buck grimaces again and shoots a panicled look at Eddie. 

He shouldn't have worried, though. A smile pulls at Christopher’s lips, who looks back to Eddie before getting the okay to accept the gift. When he takes the bag from buck, a huge, boyish grin breaks out across his face and he rips through the paper like his life depends on it. “Thanks, Buck!”

Eddie gently guides Chris away from the door and gestures for Buck to come in. In the living room, Chris starts unwrapping all of his gifts and his face absolutely lights up with everything he discovers. Buck feels like he can finally take a full breath for what feels like the first time that week. 

“This is awesome!” 

“I'm glad you liked them.” Buck chuckles. “And, uh, I wasn't sure if you liked Star Wars? I used to be a really huge fan, so—” 

“Dad!” Chris lets out a shriek and gets out two matching green lightsabers, waving them around and almost knocking down a glass bowl from the coffee table. 

Eddie shoots Buck a death glare, but the fond smile tugging at his lips makes it lose all of its effect. 

“You're already spoiling him.” He chides. 

“Yeah, I am.” Buck shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. 

Chris mumbles some Star Wars line that Buck vaguely remembers and accidentally hits Eddie on the arm with one of the lightsabers. 

“Oh God,” Eddie says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What have you done?” 

“Dad, we have to try them!” 

And that's how they end up with Eddie carrying Chris on his back as his kid waves the lightsaber around and chasing Buck through the house, pretending they're all in Star Wars. Buck gets hit with the lightsaber on his head, ear, and shoulder more times than he can count but he can't even bring himself to care. It's the most fun he's had since he was seventeen, so much that his stomach aches because of all the laughter. 

By the time he has to leave, Chris is asking if he can come back tomorrow. Eddie's working but he says that if it's okay with Buck and that if Buck is free, that he could babysit. (Buck does.) 

The following week they have a movie marathon. 

The week after that they go to the aquarium together. 

Five months later, Chris asks if Buck can stay with them forever. 

“He likes me.” Buck tells him, giddy and giggly after helping put Chris to bed.

“He loves you,” Eddie grins, pulling him in by his hips and kissing his lips chastely. “And so do I,” he whispers.

Buck hugs him, throws his arms around him and buries his face into his neck. Eddie grins and hugs him back, turning his head to press his nose into Buck's hair. He loves him so fucking much, he can’t even stand it sometimes. He’ll take him, though, he’ll keep him forever, if he can. He loves him, and Buck loves him back, and that's all that matters. 

They deserve this, after all, after all they've been through— They're finally together.

 

Notes:

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