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One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Buck’s ears haven’t stopped ringing since the lab. They rang all the way to the hospital with Chim and Hen, they rang while he drove to the airport, they rang when he talked Chim off the ledge. He’s gone so long with the ringing it’s become part of him. He’s surprised he even noticed the ringing of the bells.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The moment he notices it though, the moment he realises the bells haven’t just joined the cacophony of noise that he’s been drowning in for the past two weeks, it’s like a dam bursts. He’s suddenly so full of sensation. He can hear the bell ringing and he can feel the hard wood of the seat and the itch of the label inside his suit jacket scratching at his neck and the indigo band around his bicep feels like it’s migrated to his neck, pressing down on his carotid, crushing his windpipe.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
He can feel Eddie next to him. A brief glance downwards confirms that Eddie still has his right thigh tilted outwards, another olive branch Buck refuses to take. It’d be easy to stretch his left leg — he’s already cramped in the tiny seat and his knee will for sure remind him later — but he can’t afford it. He can’t stand the warmth he knows he’ll find there, the solace. It’s not what he needs right now.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The ringing echoes in his head, over and over, even though the bell has stopped. The last alarm has sounded for Robert Wade Nash.
Bile rises in Buck’s throat but he doesn’t swallow it down. It stays there, as they salute their fallen captain, as they carry his coffin, as they watch the car carrying him and Athena to the airport, to take him back home. He keeps it there, burning him from the inside out, hoping it erodes through his esophagus and his vocal cords so he never has to speak another word again and then it keeps going and going until it engulfs him whole in fiery acid and Evan Buckley is no more.
“Buck?”
He doesn’t hear the voice, it’s the touch on his arm that brings him back. He’s been content to go through the mechanics of the whole process on autopilot, cut the string tying him to the earth’s gravity and floating away, watching like a lost balloon as a Buck-shaped meat suite shakes hands and pats shoulders and gives and accepts condolences for a man that was his father in anything but blood. A distinction no one paid attention to while Bobby was alive, a tiny, insignificant blip that’s now grown into a gaping chasm.
He’s never been more reminded that Bobby wasn’t his father than when planning his funeral. When he wasn’t consulted by the department on what flowers Bobby may have preferred, on what church he’d have wanted them to use. When he had to sit with his coworkers behind Athena and the kids, the grieving family. Because he wasn’t family. Not really, not in the ways it mattered in this case.
The anger, always simmering beneath the surface, roars its head at the intruder that dares force him back to reality and he turns ready to snap at Chimney or Eddie or Ravi or whoever it is that looks at him with the pity reserved for the poor puppy, freshly kicked out of its home cause it’s too big now and the kids don’t play with it anymore and the parents don’t want to deal with it so it just sits in the rain and waits for owners that will never return to him. But it’s not Chimney or Eddie or Ravi or even Hen or Maddie.
It’s a woman, with a familiar face he can’t place off the top of his head. Shorter in stature, severe, her posture screaming Army, wispy strands of brown hair escaping from her tight bun and framing her face. Her eyes are down-turned, making her look sad which he thinks would be the case even if they weren’t at a funeral.
“Buck. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened. I wasn’t in the 118 for long but Bobby was special, I have yet to meet another Captain like him. He took me in when my station was shut down. I will never forget him.”
He doesn’t know what makes it click but suddenly Buck is back at that supermarket, clutching a box of cat laxatives as if it’s the one thing holding him together, his best friend glaring at him with so much hurt in his eyes it makes his bones ache with the weight of his guilt. And by his side, a woman, severe, wispy brown hair around her face.
“Lena.” He didn’t know how he remembers her name. It feels like that day was fifteen different lifetimes ago. Bobby hadn’t died yet, he hadn’t died yet. Eddie hadn’t been shot. His leg twinges at the memory — or it could be the aftermath of sitting in an uncomfortable position throughout the procession.
She gives a curt nod at that though she doesn’t smile. Buck likes that, it’d feel wrong to smile like this is just a reconnection between long lost coworkers, like Bobby’s picture wasn’t still situated by the altar.
“Yeah, uh… Yeah, he-he was. Special. I’m, uh, I’m glad you got to know him. And, uh, thank you. For-for being there for them when I couldn’t. You didn’t do it on purpose, but still.” Buck is hit with the realisation that he’s never talked to Lena before. She showed up when he was gone and left before he returned, their paths so intertwined by the station and yet never really crossing. He doesn’t think he’s seen her outside of that day, during the 118’s grocery run.
“There’s no point rehashing that. Besides, the team did just as much for me as I did for them. With Cooper, my Captain, down and my station basically disbanded, I was adrift. They grounded me, Bobby, Chim and Hen. Eddie.”
“Right. Right, you-you were friends. With Eddie. He-He’s around here somewhere, I don’t know if you’ve seen him yet.” It hurts, to think that Eddie is there. That he’s no longer on 800 miles away, only available inside his tiny phone screen, glitching out every five seconds because his internet sucks. Eddie is here, in the same time zone, in the same fucking post code, in full HD. Because Bobby is not.
“I know. We, uh… We didn’t end on the greatest of terms. It’s no one’s fault, really, we were both too caught up with our own shit but… Anyway, we’re still civil, of course, but he’s not eager to catch up and I can’t say I am either. I prefer to let past things stay there.”
Buck takes a moment to study her. Her voice doesn’t waver, her posture doesn’t tense, she’s not getting emotional or spilling out her woe is me story at Buck’s feet. She is so different from the 118 it’s painfully refreshing. Any one of the guys in her place would have already delved into a soliloquy of their whole life story but Lena just stuck to the facts and kept on going. Yeah, she and Eddie were friends, no they’re not anymore and that’s that. No sordid tales of hurt and betrayal, no sob stories about days long gone, nothing.
He doesn’t want the conversation to end. Not yet, not when that means he’ll have to go back to his friends and their pity and a job that’s more of a job than it’s ever been and a house that is not a home because the people that made it home are gone. “He doesn’t talk about it a lot. The fighting. Somehow we-we never really spoke about it.” A pause. They really never did talk about it. They were too busy cautiously getting their friendship back, picking up fragments and trying to stick them together while the ground beneath their feet was still shaky. “I know he went to therapy though. So that-that’s good.”
“I know. I ratted him out to Bobby, I think he mandated it. It inspired me to go too. I believed it didn’t work for people like us, talking about our feelings and singing kumbaya. But after Eddie’s… He made me give it a second chance. Actually work through my issues. Yeah, apparently punching your way through it isn’t the recommended way to go.” Lena gives a small laugh at that — no, not really, more like a huff through her nose, as if she’s in disbelief of her own words. And Buck can’t blame her.
“Do you regret it?” The question takes him by surprise. Not because of the question itself but because of its source.
Curiosity.
Lena shakes her head, more hair coming lose from her bun. She takes a second to push them back behind her ears before she answers him, straightening her hat the tiniest fraction. “I know the wise thing would be to say I do. I’m reformed, I’ve seen the error of my ways.
But I don’t. Fighting got me through tough times, fighting was there for me when I wasn’t ready to heal, when I needed an outlet for all the pain and the rage but couldn’t handle facing it. I regret some of the choices I made during that time, if that’s what you mean — I regret dragging Eddie into it. He wasn’t stable enough to handle it, he got too deep too fast. I wouldn’t take it all back but I would have kept a closer eye on him. But I don’t regret the rest, no. I’m where I am now because of it.”
Buck nods along but he can’t say he’s listening. Not anymore, the words “outlet” and “rage” dancing a vicious tango at the forefront of his consciousness. But he knows enough to nod along and Lena must read something on his face, must notice that he’s gone again, because she swiftly makes her way to the parking lot, goodbyes said but no words registering in Buck’s brain. He’s still nodding, but more so to himself this time.
He's still feeling disjointed, like there’s a delay between his thoughts and his movements, a wall between his mind and his body. But for the first time in two weeks, he sees a tether in the horizon, a rope that might lead to an anchor — if he only reaches out and grabs it.
Life has a way of delaying him.
Buck returns to work and he feels so wrong within his own skin he puts in for a transfer, then Chris is back from Texas and for just a moment the sun shines shyly behind the dark storm cloud taking residence in Buck’s mind. But it doesn’t last — nothing lasts anymore. Even when Eddie announces they’re staying, that Buck doesn’t really have to move (though he’s started looking but the housing market is really horrible and his credit is less than stellar), when Chimney tells him he’s not allowed to change stations because they’re still a family, none of it sticks. None of it grounds him.
It’s not until the boys are settled again that he thinks back to his conversation with Lena. They’re in the middle of a shift and Eddie said something that made Hen laugh and the sound makes him physically recoil to the point where he leaves the treadmill and heads to the punching bag. He hasn’t really used it in a while, the last time he remembers pulling the gloves on was when he found out about Daniel. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle bubbling in his throat. That had been the worst thing he thought could ever happen to him. Oh how naïve he’s been.
The punches are good. The pressure on his knuckles, his arm shaking with the force of his throws all the way to the elbow, the small whooshes of the bag as he hits it over and over and over. The punches are good, for a while. And then they stop. The release skips away, just out of reach — again. And that enrages him even more, which only fuels his disappointment. But then Lena’s words about the outlet emerge from some deep trench of his mind and he almost trips over himself in his hurry to go to the showers.
He doesn’t step under the water, there are more pressing matters at hand. He leaves it running though, only slightly remorseful about the waste — the showers are the only true private place in the station and even that isn’t safe if his team knows he’s hiding. So he lets the water hit the tiles and he sits on the small built-in seat, handy for injured or exhausted firefighters and apparently up-to-no-good psychiatric cases. He huddles his phone close to his chest, paranoia still holding on to him as he opens Reddit. Not his go to place for research usually but he doubts googling “fight clubs near me” will yield the results he’s looking for.
It takes a while to find the right post, getting sidetracked by a Street Fighter subreddit that had nothing to do with actual street fighting and everything to do with the homonymous game. People have come, showered and gone by the time he finds it — he’s pretty sure Hen will be curious about his extra-long clean up ritual but he hopes he can wiggle his eyebrows and let her come to whatever conclusion will have her scrunching up her nose in disgust and walking away, muttering about “nasty gays” under her breath.
He’s too scared to screenshot the post, since he and Eddie use each other’s phones interchangeably at this point, so he reads it over and over until he thinks he has it memorised.
289 Merion Street, first Friday of every month, 23:00.
He sneaks a quick look at his calendar before he actually puts his phone out with his things and showers. A week and a half. One of their rare weekends off, enough time to recuperate and heal up on whatever bruises he gets (though he’s not planning on them being many). He doesn’t put anything in his calendar — another thing he shares with Eddie now that the Diazes are back, makes it easier to coordinate with the Chris of it all — but he won’t forget, not this. This is important.
Buck steps under the stream of water, gone cold with how long he’s kept it going but it doesn’t bother him, he barely feels it. For the first time in a long while, the beast in his stomach, the one feeding on his grief and rage and threatening to wreck havoc at any moment, is finally settled, purring contently at the knowledge it’ll be let loose soon.
Buck tilts his head back and his lips twitch at the corners, like the muscles there are waking up from a long slumber and need to learn how to smile again. But it’s okay, he doesn’t need to smile, he just needs to hit something.
And he will. Soon.
If he starts focusing more on boxing at the station gym, no one says anything. What could they say? How could they say anything when they themselves are as adrift as he is? Chimney has taken the interim captain spot but refuses to go into Bobby’s office, instead disappearing somewhere in the station until the alarms are called. Hen obsesses over the ambulance, running check after check on the stock and unpacking and repacking the med bags, every time adding one more thing that might have helped them if they had access to it in the lab. Ravi lurks around like a ghost, barely speaking to anyone, guilt oozing out of him in waves.
And Eddie? Eddie tries — and that’s the worst of it, for Buck. Eddie tries and puts on a smile every morning and makes small little jokes here and there and he makes them laugh sometimes. Eddie goes out and gets everyone coffee and brings donuts and, while Buck can still see the pain in his too-straight shoulders, can still catch him sag under the weight of his own conscience when no one’s looking, he still hates him for trying. For succeeding where Buck fails.
So no one has any leeway to tell him anything if he spends all their down time in the gym. No one says anything when he punches the bag so hard it finally rips after so many years of constant abuse. No one utters a word when he keeps going, the sand making him see red, pummelling at the ruined equipment until he’s covered in sand and the bag is hanging there empty, wrung out, looking every bit as void of life as Buck feels.
He hasn’t sparred in years, not really. Not since Maddie came back into his life and he taught her some self-defence move in lieu of brother-sister bonding time. And before that he hasn’t faced an opponent since his SEAL days. He can’t ask Eddie to train with him, not without revealing too much, so the punching bag will have to do. He can only hope hand-to-hand combat is sort of like riding a bike. He hasn’t done that in a while too but everyone says you can’t forget it once you learn it.
So when Friday comes around, he has his fair share of nerves. Eddie notices because of course he does, Eddie always notices, but he doesn’t say anything until Buck’s almost ready to go.
“What’s up with you, man? You’ve been off for days — a different off, don’t start — but today you’re like about to explode or something.” They’re in the kitchen, as they always seem to be when they talk lately. Chris is in his room, trying to catch up on his summer reading so he’s ready for the upcoming school year, so there are no innocent ears to be wary of but Buck still looks around out of habit.
“I, uh…” He pauses. What do you say to your best friend who, if they knew what you were planning to do, would chain you to them and won’t stop lecturing you for days? “I-I have a date.”
He hasn’t been on the apps since before Eddie left for Texas but no one needs to know that. It’s the one excuse he can use where Eddie won’t be able to tag along — and if his friends start thinking he’s gone back to his Firehose ways to cope, let them. It’s easier than the alternative.
“Oh.” Eddie’s face falls for a moment before he plasters on that smile again, that infuriating smile full of effort and fake cheer. “That’s amazing, Buck. I’m happy for you, putting yourself back out there. I know after Tommy…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Buck rushes to dismiss him because he can’t get into the Tommy of it all, not now, not when he’s about to get out of this house and go beat a guy up, not when he needs to clear his head and focus. “Anyway, yeah, I, uh, I’m gonna be late, so…”
He’s almost out the door before Eddie’s voice stops him. “Are you… Are you going on a date dressed like that, Buckley?”
Buck’s mind blanks so he looks down at himself as he tries to find an excuse. Because they both know he would never show up to a date in sweatpants and his LAFD t-shirt that is starting to tear at the armpit seam. “It’s, uh… It’s casual? Yeah, yeah, it’s, uh, it’s a no pressure kind of thing. Night hike or whatever, y’ know, something chill.”
Eddie doesn’t answer and Buck can’t wait around to find out if his lie was believable or not. He throws a “Gotta go, good night!” over his shoulder and dashes to his Jeep like he’s being chased, gym bag already packed and in his trunk for the past three days.
The drive is a blur, filled with anxious thoughts about jabs, defences, stances — and through it all, that haunting look of effort in Eddie's eyes, a look Buck knows would turn into worry and tinge with betrayal if he knew where his best friend was heading. Eddie had told him before, when his parents had come to visit during Maddie's first pregnancy, that this was not a road Buck would want to go down on — but that was then.
It feels like he blinks and he's in front of the warehouse, the engine cold, indicating he'd been parked a while. Good thing he planned to be early cause he didn't know what seedy, illegal fighting rings thought about punctuality but the fact that it was an illegal club of fighters didn't make him want to find out.
Buck closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in a move he's unconsciously picked up from Eddie, long before they started living together. And his traitorous brain brings him right back to those brown eyes and he can almost hear Eddie's cautious voice in his head and it only fuels his anger with everything. If he can't even get out of the car without feeling guilty, how can he do this?
Should I go back?
It's the thought of quitting that urges him on. The thought of turning the keys in the ignition and driving back to 4995 South Bedford Street, finding another flimsy excuse about his failed "date" before he plasters on a smile and tries to go on as he's been doing — it sickens him. Buck knows he can't survive like this, he needs an outlet.
He pockets his car keys and steps out, slamming the door shut with a bit more force than necessary, as if trying to trap the voice of reason in his head (a voice that sounds suspiciously close to one Edmundo Diaz talking about how Bobby would be disappointed) in the Jeep.
One final breath and he squares his shoulders back, standing to his full height. Time to face the music.
Buck's ears are still ringing while he's driving back home. Partly because the roar of the crowd was so loud it drowned out every other thought in his head. Partly because his opponent got him good.
Buck is decidedly not a fighter. He has the spirit and the tenacity and the stubbornness and the complete disregard for his own safety but he lacks the years of training and the instincts that brings. If he hadn't had his SEAL training, he'd have been knocked out in the first five seconds.
He looks up at the rear view mirror and is taken aback to see the smile stretching his lips, a hint of teeth showing. Once he notices, the throb of his split lip comes to the forefront but his expression doesn't waver. Buck did it. He went through with it and he got a couple hits in so he's got that to be proud of. But most of all, it worked. His brain went quiet and, for that brief moment where the lights burned hot and blinding over his head and all he could taste was sweat and blood, there was no grief. Bobby was still dead and Buck knew the crash from this high would be heart-wrenching but for now he's present and settled and smiling.
The streets of LA are still busy even at 2 am but Buck is still flying so he doesn't register any of the normally irritating traffic. The drive back is again gone in a blink but not due to nerves this time around. It's euphoria that drives him, that has him sitting giddy and trying to come down some before he makes his way into the house.
One last look in the mirror wipes the smile off his face one his eyes catch on the bruise already forming around his left eye. He'd blocked out most of the details of the fight, hadn't even noticed he'd been punched in the heat of the moment. But now he definitely does. And he can explain a split lip to Eddie but a black eye? He's certain to have questions.
At least they can wait until the morning, since Buck doubts neither of the Diaz boys will have stayed up so late, even though it's not a school day tomorrow. Buck's still careful as he twists the key in the lock, pushing the door open slowly, waiting with baited breath to make sure the house is quiet before stepping inside. He takes as much care when shutting it, a bit too much care because he jumps at the voice suddenly booming in the quiet darkness.
"Good date, I take it?"
If anyone asks, Buck doesn't squeal like a pig. The embarrassment will die with him and Eddie if he can help it. But he has more pressing matters to worry about — mainly why is Eddie still awake?
"What are you doing up, Eds? Is something wrong? What hospital? Who is it?"
Buck has the door thrown open before Eddie can stop him with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly in reassurance before letting go, the contact brief, just a necessity.
"No one's hurt, Buck. Couldn't sleep and thought I'd wait up for you. You haven't been on a date in a while, not since… I figured you might want to talk about it?"
His shoulders drop, the tension he hadn't noticed crawling up his spine releasing him. Because last time Eddie was up in the middle of the night, Bobby had died.
Eddie's footfalls are soft on the wooden floor, cushioned by the shocks he always wears around the house, as he steps over to turn on the lamp by the TV. Buck freezes for a second when the living room is doused in a soft orange glow because he can see the table besides the door and the shoe rack and the coat hanger. And if he can see those, Eddie can see them too. Which means Eddie can see him and his black eye in all their glory.
He makes a mad dash for the bathroom, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he passes. "Yeah, uh, it was-it was cool, yeah. Just gotta, uh, you know, drain the pipe real quick."
He only makes it a few steps before Eddie starts following, as Buck feared he would. They've been attached at the hip since he joined the firehouse but living in the same house has torn whatever little privacy walls they had right down. Now whenever they're in the middle of conversation and one of them has to take a leak, the other follows. It was stupid of Buck to wish he wouldn't but he's still disappointed his brilliant escape was thwarted.
Buck doesn't turn the bathroom light on, in a last ditch effort to avoid this conversation, but Eddie does, and he steps into the bathroom before Buck can close the door. Buck doesn't look up but he can see Eddie's socked feet shuffle in front of him, stopping in front of the washing machine, where he usually leans when they both occupy the space.
With a deep breath, Buck raises his eyes a little higher, encountering crossed arms across a broad chest and, in an effort to rip the band-aid off, snaps his head up to meet Eddie's eyes. His face is turned downwards into a frown but his mouth drops open and his eyes widen in horror as he takes in Buck's face. He reaches out before he can stop himself and Buck hisses as soft fingers press curiously on his bruised cheek, trailing down to his bloody lip before wrapping around his jaw and twisting him to and fro the light to observe the total damage.
"What the hell, Buck?! Did you get jumped? Was it your date? We need to call Athena, this is a hate—"
"Do NOT call Athena!" Buck knows he's panicking but he can't have Athena find out. Not because he did something illegal, he doesn't care about that, but he can't have her disappointment. He can't have her look at him and realise she might even be glad her husband is not around to see this.
He tries to free himself from Eddie's grip but the fingers tighten around his jaw and Eddie uses his strength to turn Buck to face him. There's not anger in his eyes — not yet — there's only pity, compassion. It makes Buck almost laugh.
"Buck," the words are soft, measured, and Buck aches, aches knowing the betrayal he's committed, aches knowing he doesn't deserve this care, "there is nothing to be ashamed of. You were taken advantage of and that's-that's atrocious but it doesn't say anything about you. You are still strong and you deserve to feel safe and reporting this will—"
"Iwasinafight." There it is. Out in the open. He can't go on with Eddie looking at him like he's something precious, he wants anger. Anger he knows, anger he can deal with. "I-I was in a fight. I joined a club. Found it online. I know, I know what you'll say but-but this is different, Eddie. I have it under control."
The worry is gone, replaced by a blazing fury and Buck's afraid when Eddie removes his fingers the skin he touched will be singed with righteous anger. He deserves nothing less.
"You-you…" Eddie drops his hands and tries to step back but the space is cramped even without two six-foot firefighters in it so he just presses as far back into the washing machine as he can. "You have it under control?"
"Well, yeah," Buck shrugs — and he knows, he knows the dismissal will only stock the flames, only make it worse for him, but he's a glutton for punishment and Eddie will always be his favourite damnation.
Damnation and deliverance, enclosed in the prettiest orbs of chocolate Buck has ever encountered.
Eddie scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. He purses his lips, trying to fight back the emotions, trying to keep a leash on himself, but Buck knows his buttons and he's pressing them like a master virtuoso. "You have it under control. Jesus, Buck. You-you knew you were being stupid, that's why you didn't say anything. You know what I've been through — you know how this almost ruined me — and yet you thought, what? You can fare better than me because you haven't lost a spouse? Newsflash, you lost a parent. You're as much of a mess as I was back then and if you think you're somehow in a better position you have another thing coming."
Buck sees red and he shoves Eddie on his way out the bathroom, somehow finding himself in the kitchen. Every fight they seem to have lately apparently has to take place there. It's as if this is their altar and they need to claw at each other's throats every few days to deposit a blood sacrifice.
"I didn't lose a fucking parent, I lost a fire captain." He doesn't have to turn around and look to know that Eddie followed him. Eddie would always follow him, just like Buck would always follow Eddie. That's what they do, that's who they are. BuckandEddie. "Just because I called him Pops doesn't mean… He-he wasn't — the funeral made it abundantly clear. I have a father and his name is Philip Buckley and as far as I know he's well and thriving."
Eddie snorts from somewhere behind him and Buck has to grip the edge of the sink not to lunge at his best friend. He doesn't want to hurt Eddie, he could never, but he wants to hurt himself and knowing he's alienated his best friend would pain more than any physical injury he could ever sustain.
"Is that what you're trying to punch out of your system? The fact that they didn't ask you about the flower arrangement?"
"It's not about the fucking flowers!" Buck whisper yells — no matter how irate he gets, the thought of Chris is always at the forefront. "I can't fucking stop thinking about him. Every time I close my eyes I am back in that lab and he's telling me he loves me and every time I try to say it back but I choke. He died and I never — I-I couldn't… So yes, I found a fight club and I went and I punched a guy and he beat me up and you know what, Eddie? For the first time in weeks — weeks! — it all went quiet. For the first time since Bobby died he wasn't at the forefront of my mind. So add another tribulation to your fucking list, have another reason I'm broken beyond repair, but don't you dare judge me for finding something that finally works."
He's heaving by the time he's done — he doesn't even know when he turned around to face Eddie but here he is, fighting to catch his breath like he just ran a marathon. It's all there, out in the open, all his ugly pieces on display and he can never take them back, they're just there for Eddie to see, to contemplate, to disregard. Because that's all Buck's worth. It was fun, entertaining this notion of belonging for a few years, but if all it took was this to wash it all away, well, maybe it had never been true to begin with. Maybe Buck had been deluding himself, led by a compassionate leader whose absence tore down this house of cards like a hurricane.
But Eddie isn't disgusted and he doesn't look at him with pity. Eddie is—
Eddie steps up to Buck slowly, like he's a wounded animal that can lash out at any second. Which, Buck guesses is not completely unjustified. The silence is tense as Eddie approaches and his eyes are so full of sadness Buck feels like he's going to choke on it but he can't look away, he can't tear his eyes from Eddie as the shorter man comes to a stop a few feet away from him, leaning on the kitchen island for support.
"I'm not judging you." What Buck anticipates like a slap across the face turns out to be more of a caress and he tilts his head to the side in confusion. He tries to read Eddie's face but Eddie's not looking at him, his eyes are downcast, focused on some speck of dirt on the counter behind him. It's sometimes easier for Eddie to talk when he's not looking Buck in the face, he knows. "I can't judge you, Buck. I've been there, how could I ever try and act like I don't know where you're coming from? I hate that you're feeling this way and I hate that I get how you feel — we make quite the dysfunctional pair, don't we?"
A pause, a small, shaky breath and then Eddie's eyes are on him and Buck feels like he's drowning in a pool of the most indulgent chocolate. "Because I do get it," Eddie continues and Buck releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. "It's… it's catharsis. It all washes away and you finally feel steady on your feet, even when you're flat on the ground. But the come down can be brutal and it can lead you down a dark path."
"It won't, Eddie, I swear, I promise you. I would never do that to you, to-to Christopher." The fight has drained out of Buck and now he feels every ache in his body, all the exhaustion, it all settles on him like a weighted blanket trying to pull him down to the Earth's core and he just wants to melt into it but he needs to finish this first.
"I know it won't. Because I'm not letting you back there." Eddie has already raised a hand to dismiss him before Buck can even protest. "I'm not saying I'm not letting you fight. If it works, it works — and, frankly, I'm tired of having you mope around all day. But if you're gonna do this — if I'm going to let you do this, we're finding a space to rent and you're fighting me. You are never going back to that place, you hear me? Plus, I could use some practice with something that can actually punch back. Though, judging from your face, that ability is highly debatable."
Buck's never been more grateful to have Eddie in his life. Okay, that's a lie, Buck's always incredibly grateful for Eddie. He certainly doesn't deserve him — didn't back when they first met and he acted like an idiot and doesn't now when he's still acting like that insecure little boy all these years later. And yet Eddie's still here, still sticking around, still looking past the peacocking and the empty threats there to conceal a hurt so deep nothing can ever fully cut it out to find the small boy that just wants to be loved.
"I could still take you, Diaz," he finally says and Buck's brought back to a different kitchen of a different house at a different time, where both of them were jumping around fragmented pieces of their souls trying not to cut the other too deep.
Eddie cracks a smile and shakes his head, eyes full of mirth at the memory. He doesn't continue the joke now, just pats Buck on the arm before he pushes off the kitchen island and turning towards the living room. "I need to go to bed, like, yesterday. Get some sleep, Buck. You need it."
Buck's still smiling long after Eddie's gone, soft shuffled steps fading as he nears the bedroom before they stop, followed by a quick rustle of fabric and then silence. He allows himself one more moment to take in the quiet, to breathe in the knowledge that his boys are close and safe — a ritual he's been practicing every night after their return — before he heads to the couch, his pillow and a blanket already waiting for him. He should really ice that eye but it can wait until tomorrow.
"So we're really doing this, huh?"
Eddie lifts his head from where he was rifling through his gym bag and offers Buck a playful grin. "What, are you too chicken to fight me, Buckley? What happened to 'I can take you'?"
Buck huffs, fighting against his own giddy smile. "It still stands. I just didn't think Mr. Silver Star would be so eager to partake in illegal fighting."
The towel that smacks Buck in the shoulder comes so fast he doesn't have the chance to evade it and he pouts at Eddie's triumphant smugness. "The whole reason we're here is that neither of us partakes in illegal fighting, Buck."
Choosing to book the space around midnight was a strategic choice, to ensure no one would be around to bother them, but Buck still glances around warily to check no one heard them. There's the occasional lone gym goer circling through the treadmill and the weights like he's fighting demons, pausing every couple seconds to film himself, but he's all the way at the other side of the gym. For all intents and purposes, their conversation remains private.
By the time Buck turns back to getting ready, Eddie is already stepping into the ring, hands wrapped and ready, loose black tank top highlighting his sturdy shoulders, a patch of chest hair peeking through the neckline, red shorts flowing around his thighs but the fabric stretching in a delicious hug around his-
"We can still call it off if you want!" Eddie's voice brings Buck out of his thoughts and he ducks his head to hide the blush burning on his cheeks. He rushes to finish getting ready, ripping his shirt off before joining Eddie on the mat. Eddie seems to freeze where he was jumping around on his tiptoes to warm up the moment he lays eyes on Buck but the blonde doesn't notice, too preoccupied with tamping down his own racing mind.
Eddie breaks out of his stupor first, shaking his head and clapping his hands twice to grab Buck's attention. "Alright, Buckley, come at me."
Buck only allows himself a few seconds to entertain the completely inappropriate line of thoughts Eddie's 'come at me' generates before he raises his arms to protect his face, throwing a half-hearted punch Eddie's way. The brunette easily avoids the hit, cocking an eyebrow at his opponent and Buck blushes, following up with another hit that Eddie also blocks.
He can't do it. He was so ready a minute ago but now there's a giant mental block keeping him back because the thought of hurting his best friend, even consensually, is making bile rise in his throat. "Shut up," he mutters before Eddie has a chance to tease him.
"I'm not surprised you didn't make it in the SEALs if you hit like this. I am surprised you only came home with a black eye. What, was the guy you were fighting still in diapers or something? Jee hits better than you, dude."
Buck knows what Eddie's doing, trying to rile him up so he lets go of his hang-ups. Buck also knows it's working. He lashes out again, this hit blocked too but with more difficulty and Eddie responds in kind, Buck barely dodging a punch to the chin.
"You're not playing fair, Eddie," Buck pants as he jumps back a couple steps to give himself a breather. Eddie follows, relentless, chasing Buck around the ring in a flurry of hits that have the taller man struggling to defend himself, ducking and rolling away as fast as his long limbs allow. Eddie still lands the occasional hit, which is how Buck knows the fighter is not using all his strength, but it's still enough to have him retreating.
"Yeah, well, life's not fair, Buck," Eddie spits out between hits, voice tight with the heat of the fight. "If life was fair, Bobby would be alive right now. But instead, the station is torn apart, 'Thena's a widow and all we get is a memorial plaque while he rots away six feet under in a whole other state so we can't even visit. How's that for fair?"
The buzzing is back in Buck's ears, louder than ever, a roar that blankets every other sound in the room, a roar that echoes in his throat as he finally goes on the offensive, mental block gone out the window. Eddie knows what he's doing a little too well and Buck sees red, lunging at his best friend and catching him by surprise with the outburst. Gone are considerations about form and stances and strategy and hit sequence as they wrestle on the floor, Eddie trying to kick Buck off, grappling to flip them over, to regain control, while Buck throws blind punches, fists connecting with the soft flesh of Eddie's sides over and over.
Eddie manages to wrap his leg around Buck's hip for some leverage and flips the blonde beneath him, reaching out to pin his flailing arms to the floor to protect himself before he speaks. "Buck! Buck, stop!"
Buck thrusts his hips up with more force than Eddie was expecting, throwing him off before he could pin Buck properly down with his weight. Buck's on him again in a second and Eddie raises his arms to shield his face but no hits come. Buck's ragged breathing fills the air around them and he watches as Eddie slowly lowers his arms, staring up at him wearily, on edge, ready to pull his defence back up at any moment. But Eddie's panicked voice from before made something in Buck stop, broke through the blinding fog of rage and heartache that had taken over, so now he can do nothing but blink down at his best friend as they both try to catch their breath.
Blue catches on brown and Buck is suddenly aware of their proximity, of every single centimetre of his own skin touching Eddie's, of the bruise forming at the joining of Eddie's jaw and ear, of the flush on his cheeks, making his lips pinker and his eyes shine brighter, of the small cut on his bottom lip staining his tan skin with blood that Buck suddenly wants to taste. He catches something glistening in the light from the corner of his eye and he looks up to watch a drop of water drag down Eddie's face.
Water?
Another drop falls from above, so it can't be sweat. The next drop, Buck can feel drag down his own nose before it drops to travel down Eddie's skin and it's like his brain can only then register the burning sensation in his eyes.
The water is his tears. He's crying.
Oh.
The next breath turns into a sob and Eddie's expression changes, morphs into one of sympathy, of echoed pain, as his own eyes line up with tears. He reaches a hand up, cupping Buck's cheek with a reverence that makes his soul ache, and Buck can't help himself, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss.
It's like the dam has finally overflown, all the anguish and adrenaline frothing and rising until Buck's bursting with it and he breaks, crying into what is probably a very wet and disappointing first kiss but Eddie doesn't seem to mind, gripping Buck's face with both hands and pulling him harder towards him, noses mushed together in a way that they will probably both regret once they're back in their right minds.
Buck breaks apart on another sob and buries his face in the crook of Eddie's neck, body wracked with grief. Strong arms wrap around him and he can recognise the warm timber of Eddie's voice as it whispers soothing words into his curls but nothing registers, the pain too big. By the time the sobs quiet down and the tears dry tacky on his cheeks, Buck's head is pounding, the pain throbbing at his temples. But there's also relief, like his tears washed away some of his blame and self-hatred, lightening the load on his shoulder and his soul.
Eddie is reluctant to let him go when Buck tries to pull back but his hands travel down from Buck's back to rest on his biceps, steady, comforting. "Hi," Buck says, all of a sudden bashful, cheeks flaming hot as the reality of the past five minutes hits him.
"Hey." Eddie's smile is small but brighter, more honest than Buck's seen in a while and he can't help but give him his own grin in return. Eddie's eyes trail down to watch his own hands, thumbs dancing back and forth on the soft pale skin, before travelling back to lock onto Buck's lips. "You kissed me."
"Well, you kissed me back." The response is almost automatic, the desire to poke, to tease, the familiarity of two people that have been through so much together they're practically one singular organism at this point. "Where are your standards, Eddie, I look disgusting."
His attempt at humour is sad, if he's being honest, the self-deprecation a trusty trick that always leaves him feeling a little pathetic. He doesn't want to be that person that makes himself as small as he can at every opportunity but be can't help it, the instinct ingrained deep into his DNA. Eddie just shakes his head, smile never wavering as he lets go of Buck's left bicep to cup his cheek, stroking the rosy skin.
Buck yelps as his back hits the mat, Eddie's manoeuvre catching him by surprise as he flips them over. He can barely catch a glimpse of Eddie's triumphant face before he's leaning in and Buck presses his eyes closed, eager for the incoming kiss. But it's not the kiss he expects, Eddie's lips pressing softly against his birthmark, warmth spreading from the point of contact down to Buck's fingertips. And when Eddie leans down to nose against Buck's sweaty curls before he whispers in his ear, "You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Buck, even all sweaty and gross", Buck's heart stops and stutters and he thinks if he dies now, he dies truly happy.
Then the weight on his lap is gone and Buck pouts (and very much does not whine about it, thank you very much), glaring up at Eddie's offered hand. Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes at his antics. "Come on, Buck, that's enough for one day, I need a break — and some ice."
Buck can't keep up the upset façade much longer, his face cracking into a smile as he takes Eddie's hands and hauls himself up. "Knew I could take you after all."
And as his feet plant firmly on the mat below, as hands stay clasped together despite the sweat and the heat, as eyes meet and blushes brighten and lips stretch wide over pearly teeth, Buck realises the ground no longer feels shaky beneath him. Eddie's his tether, he always had been.