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Buck talks and talks and talks during breakfast with Bobby. He tries not to, he knows he can be A Lot, but Bobby sits there with his mouth quirked up in an affectionate smile and he listens and listens and listens, and asks questions, and is more of a father-figure in that moment than Buck has ever had in his life.
So he tells Bobby about the nightmares, about the loneliness, about not being able to get out of bed some days. He tells Bobby about his childhood — just a little bit, he doesn’t really mean to — and when Bobby says, “You’re more than the sum of your parents’ choices, Buck,” it’s all Buck can do not to launch himself over the table and wrap Bobby up in a hug.
It’s a good morning, even though it started in the hospital. Buck is starting to feel like himself again, the pieces of him that had been drifting away beginning to slot back into place where they belong. But there’s still something niggling at him that he needs to fix before life can truly go back to normal — whatever normal even means.
Buck gets into his Jeep and swings out of the diner parking lot into the usual snarl of LA traffic. It’s early enough that rush hour isn’t in full swing yet, but it still takes an annoyingly long time to get across the city to Eddie’s place. By the time he arrives, the sun is pounding on his face through the windshield and he’s starting to sweat. Why did he have to pick a gray shirt, goddamnit.
“Buck!”
Christopher is standing just outside the house, school bag on his back and massive smile on his face. Something inside Buck nearly crumbles in relief. He’d thought maybe Chris would be mad at him, disappointed that someone he’d trusted had let him down. Yet there he is, grinning like there’s no one else he’d rather see at eight in the morning. Buck doesn’t know what he did to deserve that kid’s affection, but he’s never gonna do anything to jeopardize it ever again.
“Hey, little man!”
The hug he receives is nothing short of perfect, even if he gets a crutch to the shin for his trouble. God, he’s missed this.
“Buck, what are you doing here?”
Eddie looks confused, but it’s the fresh bruise along his unshaven jaw and exhaustion ringing his eyes that grabs Buck’s attention. He thinks about the pained way Eddie pulled away from him the night before and swallows the million questions he has. Whatever discussion they need to have will have to wait until Chris isn’t around to hear it.
“It’s our day off, thought I’d come see the Diaz boys,” he grins.
Eddie steps further out of his house, pulling the door closed behind him. He’s got his keys in one hand, a travel mug in the other, and Chris’ gym kit slung over his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, one of these Diaz boys has school.”
Chris puts his hand on Buck’s leg and looks up at him with those big puppy eyes. “Will you come with us, Buck?”
Buck glances at Eddie, who just shrugs, so he says, “Sure. Why don’t I drive? Your dad can drink his coffee and you and me can talk Transformers.”
Eddie remains quiet for the twenty minutes it takes to get to Chris’ school. He’s not hostile or mad, but he looks resigned, like he knows Buck wants a Conversation and knows there’s no more putting it off. Sure, he’s chipper as hell when he says goodbye to Christopher, but the minute he and Buck are alone together in the car he sinks into the seat, eyes closed as he tips his head back. The bruise on his face is a sickly shade of purple.
“So, I had a bit of a night,” Buck says brightly, because he’s not gonna ask Eddie what’s going on while he’s driving. “This lady hit a guy with her car two days ago and had no idea she was driving around with him sticking outta her windshield. The hospital said she had a brain bleed and it confused her? Anyway, he’s still alive. Thanks to me.”
He winks, playing it up, and Eddie smiles. “Yeah?”
“Uh huh. And the driver.” He should shut up, but Eddie’s still looking at him with that soft, quiet look on his face, and it makes Buck keep talking. “Y’know, I always thought it was the uniform that made me the guy who’ll crawl over broken glass, literally, to help people. To make a difference. But, I dunno man, I think I’m starting to realize that it’s just who I am, uniform or no. When Bobby came to get me from the hospital, he said—”
“Wait, you were at the hospital? Last night?” Eddie looks stricken and it makes Buck’s breath catch in his throat.
“Uh, yeah. Kinda.” He shows Eddie the bandage on his arm. “I got scratched on the broken windshield. It’s nothing, I swear. The paramedics wanted me to get checked because of, y’know, my history. Honestly, Ed, I’m fine.”
Eddie scrapes a hand over his face. “You should’ve called me.”
“Would you have answered?”
“Of course.” But even as he says it, Eddie doesn’t sound like he believes the words.
This time Buck doesn’t say anything. He just drives, glancing over at Eddie every so often. Each time he does, Eddie looks back. Like they’re attuned to each other. They definitely used to be, before Buck went and messed it up. Now it’s time to sort it out.
But when they get back to Eddie’s, Buck decides he’s gotta pick the right moment. He really doesn’t want to fight again, and Eddie’s looking pretty pathetic anyway, slumped at his kitchen table with his head in his hands.
“Have you eaten breakfast?” Buck asks, already pulling open the cupboards.
“Cereal,” Eddie replies, gesturing blindly to the empty bowls left in the sink and the box of Cap’n Crunch on the counter.
Buck snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna make you a proper breakfast. Go shower, I’ll have it ready by the time you’re done.”
Eddie huffs, looking up and raising his eyebrows. “Is that a not-so-subtle hint?”
“No, man, you just look like you could do with taking a load off for a few. A shower will make you feel better.”
It’s the closest they’ve come to actually discussing the fact that there’s something wrong with Eddie, but he doesn’t rise to it. Just takes Buck’s advice and trudges down the hall, disappearing into his bedroom.
Buck heaves out a breath and sets about making one of Bobby’s specialities: the perfect French omelet. He’s gonna have to improvise a little with the filling based on the sparse contents of Eddie’s refrigerator but he finds spinach, mushrooms and cheese, so it could be worse.
When Eddie comes back, dressed in dark jeans and a henley, Buck is just setting two plates piled high with omelet on the table. So what that a couple of hours ago he ate his weight in pancakes with Bobby? He’s always got room for more.
“You cleaned up in here,” Eddie comments, “and dios, it smells amazing.”
“You’re welcome,” Buck smiles, and refrains from pulling Eddie’s chair out for him like he would a date at a restaurant. Instead he sits across from Eddie and raises his glass of OJ. “Here’s to you forgiving me, and to us being friends again.”
Eddie clinks his glass against Buck’s, but does so with a roll of his eyes. “We were never not friends, Buck. It was killing me that I couldn’t talk to you.”
A memory floats to the surface of Buck’s brain, something Eddie said that time in the grocery store, that makes him say, “Yeah, talk to me and to, what was it? Oh yeah, ask me to bail you out of jail. Hypothetically, right?”
Oh yeah, that hit a nerve. Eddie slowly chews and swallows his mouthful of egg, but his eyes go shuttered and Buck knows that this is it, no more lies.
“Not so much, actually,” Eddie admits, and when he looks back up Buck is shocked to see that his eyes are wet. “Buck, I think I’m in trouble.”
It’s not a surprise. Neither is the way every fiber of Buck’s being wants to get out of his chair and gather Eddie into his arms, hold him close and promise him that everything is gonna be okay. Except he won’t, though. He doesn’t know if it will be okay, and it sounds like he’s gonna have to be the grown up one in this situation.
“Okay,” he says, nodding his head. “Tell me.”
To his credit, Eddie looks Buck right in the eye when he says, “I’ve been street fighting. For money.”
Nausea fills the pit of Buck’s stomach. Images fill his head unbidden of Eddie getting pummelled by some great ugly brute with no teeth. With no one there to support him, patch him up afterwards and make sure he’s okay.
“Jesus, Eddie. And I thought I was supposed to be the stupid one.”
Eddie hangs his head. “Yeah, well.”
“I mean, what were you thinking?” Buck bursts out. “You could have been seriously hurt, man, or worse. You’ve got people here who need you, Eddie. Chris needs you.” He pauses, swallows. “I need you.”
The chair skids back with a screech as Eddie jumps to his feet. “Don’t you think I know that? I can’t help it, Buck! I’m just so — so angry, all the fucking time. At everyone! Shannon — she died. She told me she wanted a divorce, and then she fucking died . That’s my fault, if I hadn’t brought her back into our lives only to turn around and change my mind, she wouldn’t have even been on that road to get hit by that car! Chris has lost his mom for good, because I was so goddamn selfish. And then you — and your leg — and I know how hard your recovery was so I wasn’t gonna make it about me and my issues. And the tsunami just — dios , I still have nightmares about losing Christopher. About losing you . Except then I did lose you to that stupid stupid lawsuit, and I just needed to punch something so badly.”
He stops, shakes his head, sucks in a shuddering breath. Buck can’t even move, doesn’t even know what to say.
“It wasn’t supposed to go this far, Buck,” Eddie finishes, voice nearly a whisper. “It’s the only thing that made me feel in control. Please help me make it stop.”
Buck looks at Eddie, really looks at him. His brown eyes are sad and awful. So Buck gets up out of his chair and in three strides he’s right there in front of him, his hands on Eddie’s biceps, reaching out to pull him in and curling his own arms firm around Eddie’s broad shoulders, like a protective band around him.
“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. You were right, last night. I was too focused on myself to see that you were hurting.”
“No,” Eddie says. He makes to pull back, but Buck refuses to let go so Eddie just talks into his shoulder instead. “You went through a lot—”
“We all went through a lot,” Buck corrects him gently. “And none of it, none of it , was your fault, Eddie Diaz.”
Eddie’s arms come up around Buck’s waist, slowly squeezing back. Buck scrunches his eyes shut so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry. He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, Eddie’s hot breath fanning against the side of his neck, wrapped around each other so tightly, breakfast long forgotten on the table, but when they finally disentangle Eddie’s face is dry although his eyes look red and sore.
“No more fighting,” Buck tells him, no room for argument. “We’ll go in the boxing ring, I’ll hold a punching bag for you, I’ll take you to the rage room, whatever. If you need help with money, I got you covered. If you wake up in the middle of the night and wanna talk, you call me. You want me to come to therapy with you, I’m there. But fight club is done.”
For a second, Buck thinks Eddie is gonna argue. But then he sags, his shoulders falling, and nods.
“I’m not gonna feel better until I’ve checked you over,” Buck adds then, concerned about injuries he can’t see.
Eddie rolls his eyes to the heavens, so much like his usual self Buck nearly laughs in relief. “Buck, I’m fine. I’m a medic. I know this to be true.”
“Please,” Buck begs, because he needs to see for himself, needs proof .
Sighing, and looking extremely reluctant about it, Eddie plucks at the bottom of his henley and peels it off over his head.
Ugly smudges of blue, purple and yellow marr the landscape of Eddie’s torso like stormclouds. His ribs look awful, half-healed and scabbed over where the skin has been split from the sheer force of the beating. Buck places his hand gently over the worst of it, feels Eddie’s ribcage expand under his palm.
“Not broken,” Eddie whispers. “Just bruised.”
Buck moves up, brushes the back of his fingers over the swelling on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie inhales softly.
“It looks painful,” Buck mutters.
“It’s not so bad,” Eddie says, just as quiet.
Despite popular belief, Buck’s not actually an idiot. He knows what’s happening here. His feelings for Eddie are an ever-present feature of Buck’s everyday, always just under the surface, bubbling up every time they share a look or a touch, however innocent. Right now Buck feels like they’re boiling over, faced with miles and miles of Eddie’s soap-clean skin and those eyes staring right at him and the emotional vulnerability that has left them both a bit raw.
When Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, Buck thinks he might actually combust.
“ Te he extrañado ,” Eddie breathes, “I missed you.”
And that’s it, he can’t take it anymore. Buck swoops forward and presses his mouth to Eddie’s in a kiss that’s not gentle at all, but demanding and desperate and so, so good.
It gets even better when Eddie tongue traces the seam of Buck’s lips — it gets hot and fierce then, wet and open-mouthed. Buck’s hands are on Eddie’s face, cradling his jaw, but Eddie’s hands can’t seem to decide what to touch first: first Buck’s waist, then up his chest, over his shoulders, smoothing down his back until they settle on his waistband.
“I always thought —” Buck murmurs, lush against Eddie’s mouth, “that it was — it was just me who — God , Eddie.”
Eddie slides his fingers around Buck’s belt to the front, easily slipping the leather through the buckle.
“There was never a good time,” Eddie says, kissing him again and sucking lightly on Buck’s bottom lip, like his fingers aren’t unbuttoning Buck’s fly and driving him absolutely fucking crazy. It’s not fair that he can string sentences together when Buck’s feeling so deliriously drunk on this already.
Then he remembers that hey, he’s good at this. Eddie is far from the first guy he’s been with, although he is the first in a while, and he knows sex. Knows all the best knee-trembling, breath-taking, shiver-inducing moves. Part of him can’t believe that he gets to do them all with Eddie, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stop now.
Buck presses kisses down Eddie’s neck, stubble burning his lips in the best way. He can’t resist leaving a hickey on his collarbone, more on his chest, scattered among the bruises there.
“Buck…” Eddie groans, his hands fisting in Buck’s hair now, not-so-subtly trying to guide him lower.
Smirking against his skin, Buck heads back up instead, nipping Eddie’s ear as he whispers, “If you weren’t injured, we’d be on this kitchen floor and I’d be sucking your brain out through your dick.”
Eddie’s hips jerk into Buck’s and Buck can feel quite clearly just how much that idea appeals.
“But you are injured, so we’re gonna take this somewhere a bit softer,” he adds, grabbing Eddie’s hand and dragging him into his own bedroom. Eddie’s grip is tight but sweaty, and Buck’s glad that he’s not the only one feeling slightly overwhelmed here. For all his blustering and confidence, the fact that this is Eddie means it’s important. Possibly the most important thing Buck has ever done. He really, really hopes this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.
As soon as they’re in the bedroom, Eddie pulls Buck’s t-shirt up and over his head before pushing him down on the bed. Grinning when he bounces, Buck sits on the edge and yanks Eddie in by the hips, making quick work of his fly and yanking his jeans and boxers down his thighs.
Eddie is so hard already, so wet that Buck can’t help but take him into his mouth. He sucks, kisses and licks until Eddie is gasping for breath and pushing him away.
“Too much?” Buck pants, laying on his back and bringing Eddie down with him.
“Not enough,” Eddie says, kissing him again like he can’t get enough of Buck’s mouth. The weight of his body pressing Buck down into the mattress feels so good that Buck can’t help bumping his hips up, only to be impeded by his own goddamn pants. Desperate, he tries to wriggle his way out of them until Eddie takes pity and tugs them over his ankles.
“You’re kind of a dork,” Eddie laughs, kissing the smooth skin of Buck’s inner thighs, the vibrations doing things to him.
“Fuck you,” Buck retorts, breathless. “I’m a goddamn sex machine.”
“Okay,” Eddie agrees, too easy, and Buck yanks him back up to crush their mouths together again. Now that he’s started kissing Eddie, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to stop. He prays to a God that he doesn’t really believe in that he won’t ever have to.
Buck’s had a couple of near-death experiences, but right here with Eddie on top of him, rolling their hips together, his legs wrapped tight around Eddie’s waist? Definitely the closest to heaven he’s ever been.
He pushes up every time Eddie pushes down, fingers roaming over Eddie’s back, feeling the muscles ripple each time he shoves against Buck. Eddie moves one of his arms from where it’s braced beside Buck’s head and uses his hand to grip both their dicks together, and that’s when it gets hot and fast and intense, and kissing becomes nothing more than panting against each other’s mouths, and Buck tenses and finally comes undone, unspooling like a livewire, sparks firing under his skin, leaving him unable to do much more than keep his grip on Eddie’s shoulderblades and hang on while he rides it out.
Eddie is swearing fiercely in Spanish, losing his rhythm, but he drags his hand through the mess on Buck’s stomach and wraps that hand around his own dick, the image of which is so unreasonably hot that Buck groans and shudders.
“Yeah, c’mon, baby,” he blurts out, “come on me, mark me up, make me yours.”
“ Dios , Buck, fuck,” Eddie grits out, hips stuttering, and then he comes with a drawn-out moan, only making Buck dirtier, and God does Buck love it. Love him.
They kiss again as they come back down to earth, softer now, slower. Buck’s mouth keeps doing this thing where he can’t stop smiling, until Eddie catches it too, and then they’re laughing. Eddie collapses into the space next to Buck, and he feels cold now where their skin isn’t touching. He reaches over the edge of the bed and comes back with his shirt which he uses to wipe his stomach before throwing blindly back to the floor.
“So…” Eddie starts, tipping his head to look at Buck.
Buck just grins at him. “Told you I was a sex machine.”
Eddie glares at him without any heat in it, then rolls onto his side and rests his palm over Buck’s chest. His face gets serious and for a heartbeat Buck thinks he’s about to be kicked out of bed.
But, “I want you to know this wasn’t some sort of… gratitude thing,” Eddie says, “Or — or another outlet for my anger. That meant — you mean — a whole lot to me, Evan Buckley. And if this is going to jeopardize our friendship then—”
“Hey,” Buck interrupts, grabbing onto Eddie’s hand and clutching at it. “In case you couldn’t tell from everything I’ve said today: I love you, you idiot.”
A huge smile breaks out on Eddie’s face and Buck can’t help but mirror it, reeling Eddie back in. They make out like teenagers until their lips go numb and kiss-swollen.
They only stop when Eddie’s stomach grumbles, reminding them both that he never did finish his breakfast.
“C’mon, shower and then brunch,” Buck decides, running his hand over Eddie’s side and down to his ass, where he squeezes. “What d’ya reckon old man, ready for round two? Shower sex, easy clean up?”
“Not if you’re gonna call me old,” retorts Eddie, and he jumps out of bed like he doesn’t have several bruised ribs, as if to prove a point. “You coming, or shall I start without you?”
Buck might give his right arm to see that, but right now he just wants to be pressed as close to Eddie as possible, to make sure nothing hurts him ever again.
There’ll be time for everything else later.