Chapter Text
If there’s one thing that Buck has learned since starting therapy, it’s that he’s not nearly as emotional of a guy as he thought he was.
He’s always seen himself as a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, sometimes to his own detriment; he laughs, he screams, he cries, and never once does he think that maybe he shouldn’t. He’s known some people throughout his life that might prefer that he sit down and shut up, but he never lets it get to him. He likes being loud, he likes the attention, and he’s getting better at not making himself smaller than other people. The friends he has now actively encourage his personality and his unfiltered reactions, and Buck likes it that way.
This changes a little after the lawsuit—because you’re exhausting still bounces around in his head whenever he feels like he’s taking up too much space—but anyone who knows him even marginally well will tell you he’s an open book. He’s selfless, he’s giving, a heart of gold on that one.
But during one particular session where Dr. Copeland wrenches open the box to everything that he’s kept tightly locked away since the tsunami, leaving Buck wrecked and raw and open until she helps him pick up the pieces, he realizes that maybe it’s only the easy emotions that he wears proudly. The ones that people can brush off as just Buck being Buck, the ones that nobody has to think about too hard or sacrifice too much of themselves for. Buck likes being liked, he likes being a fast friend, so he learned early on that he would rather sink to the bottom of the ocean alone than pull someone else’s head under the surface by reaching out for their hand.
But he’s working on it. Dr. Copeland teaches him how to have hard conversations, shows him how to talk about his feelings to other people without pinning the blame. Buck works on it a little with Bobby, with Maddie, and he thinks it’s going really well.
Then his parents come to town. They barge into his life—into his family—and rip down everything he’s been building, every single carefully placed board and screw twisted and burnt to ashes. All of those old thoughts and feelings rush back to him: the inadequacy, the constant feeling that he’s a disappointment, the instinct to curl himself up into a ball and hide himself in a corner whenever he says something a little too Buck. He doesn’t let it get to him during his conversation with his parents; instead, he uses it. He throws it at them.
Because of you. Because nothing I ever did was good enough.
In the end, he has to beg for it. Love me anyway.
He wants to scream that one, but he knows he shouldn’t. So he doesn’t.
He learns about Daniel and his barricade breaks. It crushes the last of his resolve, the last of the sawdust he had been holding together with his hands.
Maddie tries to talk to him after, texts him and calls him and treats him like cracked glass, but he brushes her off. He doesn’t need her to be his nurse. He doesn’t need her to stitch him up and send him away again only for all the bleeding to be internal.
—
Eddie [10:07]: How was dinner with the parents? Do you still feel like hitting things?
Eddie [10:15]: That bad huh.
Buck [10:17]: they said i should have made it easier on them as kids
Buck [10:17]: like the way they treated me was my fault
Eddie [10:18]: Holy shit
Eddie [10:18]: You know it’s not your fault right?
Eddie [10:24]: Buck.
Buck [10:25]: also i had a brother
Eddie [10:26]: Where are you right now?
Eddie [10:26]: Can I call you?
Eddie [10:33]: I’ll take the three straight to voicemails as a no
Eddie [10:40]: I won’t push but you have to promise me you won’t pretend this never happened okay
Eddie [10:45]: Buck.
—
The one thing Buck can thank his parents for is that he’s gotten really good at pretending everything is fine. Pretending that everything is good, even, that he’s cheerful and happy and dealing with it like a normal person should be and not letting it sit and stew until it’s been too long to address it and everybody has moved on except for him.
He explains the whole story to the team, focusing on the part about Daniel and omitting the part where he begged his parents for the one thing that’s supposed to be a given. He laughs it off, how they had him for spare parts—for defective parts—and most of the team laughs right along with him.
It’s Eddie who isn’t taking any of his shit. The texts from the other night still swim behind his eyelids; he knows he was being a dick, but in that moment, he hadn’t wanted help. He hadn’t wanted someone to tell him that he’s in the right, that it’s not his fault. Because everything with Daniel sure as hell feels like it’s his fault. He tells himself that if his genes would have been just a little stronger, if they would have matched just a little better, then maybe his parents would have loved him.
But he can’t say that to Eddie without Eddie scoffing, without Eddie telling him he’s wrong and his mom and dad are just bad parents who didn’t know how to deal with losing a kid they wanted and gaining a kid they didn’t. Buck thinks Eddie probably wouldn’t phrase it that way, but that’s the way Buck feels about it. Trying and failing to live up to the grand expectations of a dead man, of a dead kid that he never even knew.
So he sits. And he stews. He screams alone in a building that’s on fire in the same way he is, his muscles burning with the effort of lifting an entire tank all by himself, and it feels good. It feels like atonement. That feeling goes away as soon as he’s being rescued along with the victim, Eddie leaning against his back and shielding him from the flames, and it’s not right. It’s not how this was supposed to go.
But then he’s out and safe and surrounded by his family, his real family, so he smiles. He hides himself behind the adrenaline of saving every last person, the pride of no casualties. It’s the part about the job that he loves: getting to save people. Tonight, it just doesn’t hit the same. It’s like he’s Buck 1.0 again, burying his guilt and nonexistent self-worth underneath getting to be the hero. He had thought he was better than that now.
Well, he was. Before the weight of twenty-nine years of lies, of not being enough and not knowing why came crashing down on him in one night.
He can feel Eddie’s eyes on him, watching his face and trying to assess the damage, and it isn’t fair. All Buck wants to do is yell at him to stop looking, to curl up into a ball and hide, to go back in time and pick up Eddie’s calls—but he has an image to uphold. If not for everyone else, then for himself.
He goes back to his apartment to sleep, but he ends up watching the dawn break instead.
—
“Show off.”
“I had to do it.”
“I know you did.”
—
“Your parents lied to you your entire life, and you’re just gonna let that go?”
The last thing Buck wants to do is have this conversation. Of course he’s not going to let it go. He wishes that everyone would just forget that the last few days ever happened so he can go back to living in peace and acting like everything is normal. But he knows he can’t do that, so he gives some bullshit response about therapy and his parents coming to a few sessions with him (which is the honest truth, but Buck would rather yank out his own teeth than go to them) and Hen and Chim seem to buy it even if they really don’t. They’re all too good at knowing when to push and when to let things go, and Buck loves them both so much for it.
“You’re allowed to give yourself some time, you know,” Eddie says, and Buck’s blood runs hot. Eddie is still so good at seeing right through him, and Buck hasn’t decided yet if he should figure out how to close Eddie out or if being seen by him is exactly what he wants. “To process.”
The thought is sweet. Too sweet for what Buck deserves.
“I’m just tired of looking behind me,” Buck says honestly. “I’m ready to start thinking about the future.”
He’s so sick of the way everything still affects him; his nightmares from the tsunami, the memories of pain that shoot through his leg, and now all of the ways his already bad childhood is cast in an entirely new and worse light. He feels like it should all roll right off his back, that he should be fine and good and ready to tackle whatever comes next. That’s what everyone else looks like they’re doing, so he should be able to do it too.
His therapist keeps telling him not to use the word should.
Hen and Chim nod thoughtfully, but Eddie just stares at him like Buck is a puzzle that he’s trying to figure out. Eddie has always been good at puzzles; it scares Buck to no end that Eddie might one day solve the puzzle of Buck’s biggest secret, the puzzle that only needs one more piece to snap in place to complete his heart. He doesn’t think he’ll ever find that piece, so his anger and hurt and love leak out through the gap instead.
The rest of that crazy shift goes by in a blur, and Buck thinks that maybe Eddie has finally given up on the whole thing when they walk out to their cars and he doesn’t try to pull Buck aside. He feels proud of himself as he climbs into his Jeep, the deception a comfortable and familiar weight behind his lungs.
In retrospect, he should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy.
—
No sooner is he changed into sweatpants and slumped onto his couch, staring off into space, when he hears the jiggle and click of the lock on his front door. The only people who have a key to his apartment are Eddie and Maddie, and he expects it to be the former, so he calls out a reluctant greeting.
“Not your boy toy,” Maddie’s voice echoes in his kitchen, and Buck can tell she’s smirking. Buck doesn’t bother correcting her anymore about Eddie. They both know she’s right. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Maddie?” Buck sits up, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. He hadn’t realized how long he’d kept them open just staring at the wall, but now he can see Maddie setting down a bag of take-out onto his kitchen island. “What are you doing here?”
“Chim told me about the conversation you guys had at the station today. He was very excited to tell me about how you’re handling everything well.”
Buck furrows his brows at her sarcasm. “I am handling it well.”
Maddie fixes him with a stare that can only be described as I’m your older sister and I know that’s complete bullshit. “Is that what Doctor Copeland is telling you?”
Buck doesn’t respond, just stares down at his socks, and the weighted silence is enough of an answer. He looks back up to Maddie giving him a sympathetic look, one that Buck thinks he’s seen way too much lately, and she grabs a bottle of wine and two glasses from his cabinet before carrying the bag of take-out over to his coffee table.
“What are you—”
“Move over.” Buck shifts over on the couch so Maddie can lay everything out on the table and sit down, grabbing one of the pairs of wooden chopsticks and snapping them apart. “You didn’t look like you wanted to get up, so I brought the food and the booze to you. Eat.”
“Aren’t you not supposed to drink wine while you’re pregnant?”
Maddie levels him with a look. “One glass won’t hurt the baby. Eat.”
Buck grabs the container and chopsticks Maddie hands him and starts to eat, balancing the box across his thighs. He doesn’t care as much about staining it now that Eddie and Chris are over eating popcorn on it at least twice a week, but he still doesn’t want to spill lo mein on it if he can help it.
After a few minutes of eating in silence, he moves the half-empty box from his lap to the table so he can pour himself a glass of wine against his better judgement. He takes a few long sips, turning his body toward Maddie once he’s done.
“Why are you here?” He asks softly, swirling the wine around in his glass just for something to do with his hands. “Really, Maddie, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Evan, worrying about you is my job.” And because she knows him so well, because they have the same shitty parents, she doesn’t stop there. “And even if it wasn’t my job, I’d do it anyway. You’re worth that, you know. Having people care about you.”
She and Dr. Copeland say it enough, but Buck still doesn’t believe them most of the time. He’s working on it, but twenty years of being consistently taught otherwise doesn’t go away overnight. Or even over months and months of hard work.
“Stop getting lost in your own head,” Maddie says gently, setting her food down and reaching out to rub his shoulder. “It’s okay to not be okay about this. I know you’re probably still mad at mom and dad, and that’s okay. You’re probably still mad at me a little too, and I get that. It’s okay to have feelings, Buck. You don’t have to push them down because you think that’s what everyone wants you to do.”
And Buck knows she’s right. She’s right in that annoying older sister way that’s irrefutable because she’s lived it and come out the other side healed from it, because she’s lived it and doesn’t want him to have to live it too. Even though Buck knows she’s only trying to help, it’s stifling in its own way. He doesn’t want her to make him perfect.
“Can we just put on a movie or something?” Buck asks. He doesn’t want to acknowledge anything Maddie has said. He doesn’t know the right way to answer. “Like when we were kids?”
Maddie doesn’t look happy with the way Buck is going about this, but she doesn’t look pissed either. For a moment, Buck thinks she’s going to push him more, to make him talk about the feeling rotting in his rib cage that feels more like home to him than she does, but all she does is sigh. “Yeah, what do you wanna watch?”
They end up settling on something that they’ve both seen before, and when the wine bottle is halfway gone despite Maddie staying true to her one glass, Buck shifts lower on the couch and leans his head against her shoulder. He means it as an olive branch that he can’t say out loud yet—I forgive you because you pay attention, because you care, because you love me the way they should have and never did—and when Maddie pinches his arm but doesn’t make him move, he knows she understands.
—
Eddie [8:13]: Did you eat? You seemed pretty tired when you left today
Buck [9:02]: mads brought me takeout. and wine
Buck [9:02]: well i had the wine already but she opened it
Buck [9:03]: since when do u ask if i eat?
Eddie [9:03]: Since you looked too exhausted to pick up the phone and order something
Eddie [9:07]: Wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself
Eddie [9:11]: Although if you stop, I’ll finally be hotter than you. Score
Buck [9:13]: ur already hotter than me
Buck [9:14]: dilf rights
Eddie [9:16]: Sounds like Maddie let you have a little too much wine
Buck [9:16]: wait u know what dilf means?
Eddie [9:18]: Yeah I’m flattered :)
Buck [9:18]: no wait how did u learn dilf i need to know
Buck [9:20]: eddie.
Eddie [9:20]: Goodnight, Buck.
Buck [9:21]: fine. see if i ever call u a dilf again.
Today, 7:03 AM
Buck [7:03]: did i really call you a dilf.
Buck [7:03]: please dont tell hen.
Buck [7:05]: i’ll cover ur double next week
Eddie [7:09]: Great! I’ll let Bobby know
Buck [7:10]: you suck
Eddie [7:11]: Hey what happened to the rights I’m entitled to as a distinguished member of the DILF community
Buck [7:11]: u lost them by being an asshole
Buck [7:12]: go drop chris off i know ur making urself late
—
“Buck. My office, please.”
Bobby closes the door behind him as Buck takes a seat in the chair across from Bobby’s desk. He’s almost never in here—he’s had no reason to be in a long time—and it feels colder and more detached than he remembers it. Bobby sits down across from him like he’s in the principal’s office and Buck is going to get scolded for having bad manners.
“Buck, as your captain, I need you to tell me if you’re not okay enough to do this job.”
Well Buck hadn’t been expecting that.
“As my captain, you know that I am.” Buck gets defensive, having fought too hard too many times to let go of his family again this easy. “I haven’t lost anybody since I’ve been back from the lawsuit. I’ve saved everyone. Isn’t that what this job is about? I’ve gone into buildings that were about to collapse and I’ve saved people, Bobby.”
Bobby stares him down. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
Buck deflates a little, confused. “What?”
“Buck, you can’t keep putting yourself at risk like this. It was heroic before, but now it’s reckless and stupid. You’re jeopardizing the whole team when we have to go in after you. To everyone else, it reads like you’re okay with the building falling on top of you if you don’t get the victim out in time.” Bobby presses his lips together like that pains him to say. Buck doesn’t understand why it would. “As your captain, I can’t have someone with that outlook on my team.”
Buck can’t even argue with him. Bobby is right. He’s in a dark place—maybe the darkest place he’s ever been in, and that includes after Abby left—and he doesn’t know how to drag himself out of it. It’s kind of ironic; his job is to pull people out of dangerous places and he can’t even figure out how to do it to himself.
At his silence, Bobby’s shoulders relax and he leans forward. “As your friend, as someone who thinks of you like a son, I want you to be able to talk to me about what’s going on.”
And here they go again with the pity, with the it’s okay to not be okay, and it makes Buck’s stomach feel sick. Does nobody think he’s capable enough to deal with this on his own? Does everybody think he’s weak?
Buck bristles. He might think of Bobby as his father, but he isn’t. He doesn’t get to tell Buck what to do. “Thanks, but I’ve got it under control.”
“No, Buck,” Bobby says firmly. “You don’t. You might have everyone out there convinced, but I can see you. You’re hanging on by a thread, and all it’s going to take is one bad call to snap it in half. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”
“But what if I want to?” Buck kicks his chair back and stands up, his frustration finally getting the best of him. “Everyone is treating me like I’m going to break, and I’m not. I’ve bounced back from everything, Bobby. I saved twenty people while I was off-duty during a natural disaster. I put months of work in so I could use my leg again. I started going to therapy, and for some reason, all of you still think I can’t handle this.” Buck sucks in a breath. “I’m not weak.”
“Buck, I promise. Nobody thinks you’re weak except for you.”
It’s somehow the worst thing Bobby could have said, and Buck doesn’t know why it makes him so angry, but he just has to get out of the office. Now. He collects his emotions as best as he can and turns on his heels.
“Buck—”
He slams the door to Bobby’s office closed and the entire station turns to look at him.
“I’m fine,” he replies out of habit, letting out a small laugh. It doesn’t sound convincing even to his own ears. “Just miscalculated the weight a little.”
He walks back over to where he had been cleaning the inside of the ambulance. He’s almost done with it, and this he knows he’s good at—he can do this in his sleep if someone asks him to—and he gets so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice Eddie has climbed in behind him until he’s clearing his throat.
“You wanna tell me what that whole thing with Bobby was about?”
Buck looks up from where he’s crouching in the corner, steadying himself before he speaks. “Nah, just a routine check-in. You know how Bobby is.”
Eddie gives him that look again, the one that makes Buck feel like a specimen under a microscope. Sometimes he loves the attention. Right now he feels examined. “I’m picking up Christopher after we get off shift, do you want to come with? We can do pizza and movie night. I’m sure Chris won’t mind if we go out of order and let you pick.”
Buck shrugs, staring at the one last spot on the wall that has a fleck of something dark on it. Dirt? Blood, maybe? He reaches up with the rag and scrubs it off until it’s shiny silver again, until every trace of it is gone, until it’s right again.
“Buck.”
“Hm?”
“You’re pretending,” Eddie chides. “Stop doing that. You can pull that shit for everyone else, but I don’t want you to do it in front of me.”
Buck bites the inside of his cheek. Stares down at the floor of the ambulance and tries to ignore how this feels all too like the inside of a grocery store painted beige and green.
“Come over tonight,” Eddie pleads, his voice gentler now. “Christopher misses you.”
“Maybe another time.” Buck stands up, grabbing the spray bottle and the rag and shouldering past Eddie to jump down from the ambulance. Buck doesn’t really get claustrophobic, but he had been starting to understand the feeling. He turns around and smiles wide so Eddie won’t think anything is wrong. “Let Chris eat an extra slice for me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Eddie nods, leaning against the frame of the ambulance. He doesn’t sound like he’s sure at all. “You’ll see him soon, though? The kid really misses movie nights with his Buck.”
And Eddie must know that Christopher is Buck’s weakness. The only weakness that he’s ever been proud of, the only weakness that he would wear as a bright neon badge on his uniform right next to the LAFD patch he had to fight two times to earn. He loves that kid like Chris is his own son, and it feels selfish, the way that Buck loves him. Christopher isn’t his.
The second shift firefighters start to trickle into the station, and Buck sets down the cleaning supplies. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”
Eddie calls after him. “Don’t forget about the double you promised me!”
Buck shakes his head and half-jogs toward the glass doors of the locker room, and he’s only a little surprised when once again, Eddie doesn’t follow him.
—
Buck is glad his first session with his parents isn’t until next week. This morning he gets Dr. Copeland to himself, and he has a hard enough time opening up to her under these circumstances that he’s not sure how well the sessions with his parents are even going to go. He might revert back to old habits, clam up and be unable to say anything in the face of his parents’ disappointment.
Although, he has stood up to them once. Maybe he can find the strength to do it again.
He’s got his iPad propped up this time so he can fuss with his blankets while they talk, and he quietly relays everything Maddie and Bobby have said to him while Dr. Copeland just sits and listens. It feels wrong to open up to her about things like this sometimes, like he’s cheating on a girlfriend or telling the entire class who his best friend has a crush on.
“Tell me something, Buck,” Dr. Copeland says once he’s finished. “Who are you trying to prove your worth to?”
Buck looks at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
She takes a breath. “You said to Bobby that you want to carry the weight yourself. You told him all of the things you’ve fought through to get where you are today, but Bobby knows those things because he was there for them. He didn’t need to hear them again. So tell me, who are you trying to prove your greatness to? Why do you need to be a hero?”
Buck stops and thinks about it for a moment. He loves and hates the way she makes him really examine himself. Sometimes he doesn’t want to know. “Because needing help feels like it’s for other people. I’m supposed to be the one that’s invincible.”
“Why? Why don’t you deserve to ask for help?”
He swallows and his throat clicks. “I don’t—I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want people to feel bad for me, I want to be the one everyone goes to for support. I like helping people. I like being the shoulder that everyone leans on when they need it. I don’t want people thinking that I’m not strong enough to do that.”
“Buck,” Dr. Copeland sighs. “If everyone is leaning on you all the time from every angle, everyone can get up and leave but you. You’re stuck supporting everyone, so you’re constantly thinking about how your movements will affect the people leaning against you. You’ve said that you’re good at reading people, right?”
“Yeah,” Buck confirms. “I’m good at picking up on emotions. I… I want to figure out what other people need from me. To make sure I don’t do the wrong thing.”
“Buck. If you only ever say and do what you think other people need from you, then you’ll only ever attract needy people. They’ll take what they want from you and then they’ll leave, and you’ll let them. You’ll feel like it’s your fault because there must have been something that you did wrong.” She pauses to adjust her glasses. “You can’t live your life like that, Buck. You have to do what you believe is right. You don’t exist for the convenience of other people.”
He sits there in silence. He knows that she’s right, but he’s pissed about just how on the nose she is. He thinks back to Ali and how she decided that he was both too much and not enough, back to Taylor Kelly and how she would only ever let Buck around if it was on her terms. Back to Abby who was so quick to turn against him after months of the two of them being on solid ground, and who eventually took advantage of him even if she hadn’t meant to.
Buck swallows, and his voice comes out all choked up. “I don’t think I know how to be anyway else.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Copeland smiles. “Plus, you have a good support system, Buck. You have people in your life who want to help you. How about you start there?”
It’s not the answer that Buck wants, but her answers never usually are. Therapy is hard, harder than he initially thought it would be, but it’s been worth it so far. Getting back to where he was before his parents came to town is going to take a while, but he feels like he’s got a good foundation going now that he’s talked to her. He’s using bricks this time.
After he hangs up, he decides to cook himself breakfast for the first time in a week. He has felt too exhausted to do much of anything, so the sudden energy boost is a nice change and he starts getting out ingredients for scrambled eggs and bacon. He’s glad that he accidentally puts a few too many eggs in the bowl out of habit—he’s used to cooking for three—because his lock jiggles and the door opens as soon as he takes the bacon out of the pan.
“Hey,” Buck greets him, and it feels a little stilted. He has kind of been avoiding Eddie while simultaneously yearning for him, and now he has nowhere to hide. “What’s with people and thinking they can just let themselves into my apartment?”
“Good morning to you too,” Eddie laughs, taking his shoes off and setting them on the mat next to the door that Buck only bought so Eddie and his military habits could use it. “Are you cooking breakfast?”
“Yeah, I was in the mood. I, uh, accidentally made too much though. You want some?”
Eddie is already pulling out a stool from his island and sitting down, staring up at Buck with a glint of something like determination in his eye. It makes Buck’s heart skip a couple of beats; from panic or from affection he isn’t sure. “Yeah, I’m starving. I only had coffee before I had to take Christopher to school. Abuela is picking him up afterwards too, so I’m free until later tonight.”
There’s a deeper meaning to what Eddie is saying, an unspoken I’m not leaving unless you make me, and Buck hasn’t realized how much he’s been craving a day with his best friend until just now. He just wants to feel normal again, and Eddie has always given that to him. He realizes with sudden clarity that Eddie is the only person that truly makes him feel safe. Eddie cares enough to push hard topics—he pushes gently, but he still pushes—and he always seems to give Buck exactly what he needs without needing to ask Buck what that is first. He supposes that just comes from knowing each other for so long; Eddie has learned enough of him to not need words. Above all else, Eddie pays attention.
There’s a reason Buck’s heart has chosen this man to love.
Buck slides some scrambled eggs onto a plate and throws three pieces of bacon next to them, pushing the whole thing across the island until it’s within Eddie’s reach. “You saying you’re here to babysit me?”
“Only if you need babysitting,” Eddie replies. Buck appreciates that Eddie is giving him an out, no matter how much it sounds like a jab. “Can I get a fork?”
They sit at Buck’s kitchen island and eat breakfast, talking about a whole bunch of little things that Buck can tell are just distractions from what Eddie really wants to say. In the time he’s known this man, he’s gotten good at being able to read him; his body language, his expressions, the way in which he says his words. Buck has always paid attention to Eddie, and right now, Eddie is holding something back.
Eddie offers to do the dishes since Buck cooked, and Buck enjoys the moment he gets to stare at Eddie’s back underneath his t-shirt while he carefully scrubs leftover egg out of the non-stick pan.
“So,” Buck breaks the silence as soon as the water stops running, “why are you really here, Eddie?”
It’s a loaded question. Eddie leans against the sink and it reminds Buck of the night after the lawsuit and the street fight, the night where he opened up a darker part of himself and asked Eddie if the person he really wanted to hit was standing right in front of him. This doesn’t feel all that different. “Because I’m worried about you.”
“Jesus, Eddie, I’m fine,” Buck snaps. He starts to shut himself down. “How many times do I have to say it?”
Eddie looks him dead in the eyes. Unwavering. “Until you can say it in a way that makes me believe you.”
Buck rolls his eyes and stands up, pushing the stool back into its place. Eddie has never been one to sugarcoat. “Look, I don’t know what Bobby or Maddie said to you, but—”
“They haven’t said anything to me, Buck, and neither have you. That’s my problem. After the lawsuit, we agreed that we wouldn’t do this shit with each other. I know you’re not okay. I’ve been trying to show you that it’s okay for you to talk to me, but all you do is push me out.” Eddie’s jaw is locked in the way it only gets when his anger is focused, when there’s a true reason behind it. “It’s not healthy, Buck. Christopher keeps asking me where you are and if you’re okay, and I—I don’t know what to tell him because I don’t know.”
Buck’s eyes are trained on Eddie’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.
“Buck, please. Just talk to me. That’s all I want.”
The silence between them stretches for longer than is comfortable while Buck struggles with what to say. He’s so sick of hiding alone in the dark, but he doesn’t remember how to step out into the light. How to pull someone else’s head underwater, rough hands clasped together, like a song he heard once on some station that Chim likes.
“Buck—”
“Do you think I’m weak?”
It must be the last thing Eddie thought he would say because he looks completely thrown off by it. “What? No. Buck, you’re the strongest person I know.”
“Then why does everybody think I need help? Why doesn’t anyone trust me to handle this?” Buck runs a hand through his hair and feels the ocean inside of him drawing back, gathering up into a wave and just waiting to crash down onto the pier. “You. My sister. Bobby, who’s like a father to me. None of you think I’m capable of handling things on my own!”
Eddie stalks across the kitchen to stand toe-to-toe with him, putting his hands firmly on Buck’s shoulders. Buck’s heart races faster and he prays that Eddie just thinks it’s anger. “Buck. We all know you’re capable of handling things on your own. We just don’t want you to have to. I don’t want you to have to. I—” Eddie clears his throat. “I don’t want you to think that you’re alone.”
Buck laughs, but it falls flat. “Am I not?”
“Buck, come on—”
“No, listen to me,” he pleads, breaking out of Eddie’s hold. “When has anyone ever stayed? Maddie promised me we would go out into the world together, and then she left me behind. Abby was fine with letting me wait for her for months, and when I finally realized she wasn’t coming back, it felt like she left me twice. Ali wanted me to leave behind the only thing I’ve ever had that makes me feel like I mean something, and when I couldn’t give that up, she left. My own parents didn’t even want me in the first place! They had me to save Daniel, and sometimes I still feel like he’s their only son. Like they would rather mourn his death than be a part of my life. I want—I just want—”
Eddie closes the distance that Buck has created between them and tentatively places his hands on either side of Buck’s face. They’re warm and solid and everything Buck knows he can’t have because there isn’t a single reason why he would deserve them. “What do you want, Buck?”
Buck’s vision is blurry from tears he’s trying and failing to hold back. They’re spilling over onto his cheeks and it’s only okay because it’s Eddie, because Eddie is wiping them away with his thumbs like it’s nothing, like it isn’t the most tenderly Buck has ever been treated. He’s never felt so supported, so held.
“I just want someone to love me,” he says quietly. He feels like he’s cracking apart even though there aren’t any pieces of him left to shatter. “I want someone to stay.”
Eddie’s heart looks like it breaks just from the way Buck watches his eyes dim, his lips parted slightly like there are so many things he wants to say and doesn’t know which one to say first. He’s still cradling Buck’s face, his palms a soft contrast to the day-old stubble growing on his jaw, and Buck has the fleeting thought that this isn’t something that just friends do, is it?
“Eddie?”
They’re looking into each other’s eyes now, the mid-morning sun streaming in through Buck’s windows and making Eddie’s skin glow. Buck has to stop himself from swaying forward and kissing him, and he almost fails, his feet shifting on the floorboards.
“Buck…” Eddie finally says, and he sounds like he’s out of breath. “Do you trust me?”
It’s not a question he ever has to think twice about. “I trust you with my life, Eddie.”
Eddie huffs out a breath, then seems to make his mind up about something. Buck can feel Eddie’s palms trembling slightly where they’re resting against his skin. His heart has never beat this fast in his entire life. “Then there’s something I need to do.”
Eddie leans in, and Buck’s last thought before Eddie kisses him for the first time is please, God, let me have him.
When Eddie’s lips press against his, Buck thinks he has to be dreaming. That he fell asleep upstairs after his session and didn’t end up making breakfast after all, that Eddie never let himself into his apartment and into his kitchen and into his heart.
But in Buck’s dreams, kissing Eddie never feels like this. It’s always rough and needy, Eddie taking what he wants from Buck’s mouth. It reminds Buck of being prey to a predator. The way Eddie kisses him now feels like being God to a believer.
His mouth is so gentle, kissing Buck slowly as his thumbs rub over Buck’s cheekbones even when his tears run dry. He doesn’t try to speed up or deepen the kiss—he keeps it exactly where it is, chaste and innocent but with so much feeling that Buck doesn’t know where to put it all. He isn’t sure he has room.
“I can hear you thinking,” Eddie mumbles against his mouth, and Buck’s legs are threatening to give out underneath him. “Don’t. Just let me show you. Let me give you what you’re asking for.”
Buck’s veins turn to ice. “Eddie, if this is some kind of pity thing, I can’t. Not—not from you.”
Eddie pulls back to look at him, and Buck can tell that Eddie’s heart breaks all over again. He needs Eddie to teach him how to pick it up and put it back together so he can make up for being the one who broke it. “Is that what you think this is? Seriously?”
Buck swallows. “I mean… what else would it be?”
Eddie stares at him in disbelief. “I let you into Christopher’s life, Buck,” he says softly. “I let you into our home, into our world. You’re his other emergency contact. You know that he likes his pancakes in fun shapes and that he likes English more than Science. He likes to color with you more than he does with anyone else because you draw with the colors that make him laugh. When everyone else tells Christopher that there are things that he can’t do, you figure out a way for him to do them.” Eddie sounds desperate, like after all of this, Buck might walk away from him. As if. “That kid might as well be your son too. You parent him with me, Buck. We’re raising him together. And I wouldn’t let you do that—I wouldn’t be so goddamn happy doing that with you if—if I didn’t—”
Buck holds his breath. There’s no way he can have this, there’s no way all he had to do was ask Eddie for what he wanted and end up with Eddie actually giving it to him. Please, God, let me have him. “If you didn’t what?”
Eddie lets out a breath that sounds more like a sob. “If I didn’t love you, Buck.”
“Eddie,” Buck chokes out, and he sounds like he’s drowning but he’s not, for once in his life this feeling in his chest is pulling him up and he’s flying instead of falling. Eddie’s got him. Their heads are underwater, but Buck can see the surface and he knows Eddie can get him there. He’s picking up the pieces of himself that have been shattered for who knows how long, and while Buck is distracted, Eddie grabs a loose one from himself and clicks it right into the hole in Buck’s heart.
“Let me love you,” Eddie whispers, tucking his face against Buck’s neck and dropping a small kiss to the side of it. “Let me stay.”
Buck would never dream of telling Eddie no.
“Okay,” he swallows, his voice shaky. “Okay.”
And this time, when Eddie kisses him, Buck kisses back.