Chapter Text
"You have to look both ways when you cross the street, Buck, that's like — one of the first things people teach kids," Eddie grits out, the adrenaline of the call still running strong through his veins.
"I know," Buck says dejectedly.
Eddie looks over at Buck where he's lying in his usual bunk, staring straight at the mattress above him. There's a hollow look in his eyes that Eddie can see from this angle, lying on his own bunk.
"Much as you might like to think they do, turnouts don't make you invincible," Eddie adds.
"I know, I know, Eddie."
"Do you?" Eddie asks sharply, and Buck turns his head to look at him. Finally. Eddie takes a deep breath. "Sorry. I just — Buck," he says.
"I know," Buck replies.
"You can't run out into traffic like that."
"You needed help!"
He had needed help: his awake and attentive victim went from chatting to slumped on the ground and in cardiac arrest in mere seconds. But Hen was there with the supply bag just as Buck noticed it all from across the street.
"Yeah, and my partner was there to help me."
Buck makes a strangled sound as pink blooms across his cheeks. It prickles at something in Eddie's chest, makes him have to turn away.
He continues, "It's not your job to help me anymore, and it's not Ravi's job to haul you out of the road."
"You always did," Buck retorts.
Eddie rolls his eyes. "Yeah, because I wanted to. It's not actually a part of the job description."
"'Other duties as assigned,'" Buck quotes, like it's a gotcha.
"Assigned by …?" Eddie asks. When Buck doesn't reply, he takes a deep breath and attempts to resituate them. "Look, Buck."
"No, Eddie, I —"
"Let me say this?"
Buck must feel Eddie boring holes into him, because he turns to look at him again, nodding before turning onto his back again.
"I …" Eddie takes another fortifying breath, looks up at the bunk above him, chip board that's been defaced with sharpie and carved into with utility knives. "You know I'm always going to have your back —"
"Me too," Buck interrupts.
"I know, Buck," Eddie says, unable to hold back a smile. "But … we have new partners. And we gotta let them do their jobs. And we gotta do ours, okay?" Eddie's eyes flit over to Buck again — he's rigid in his bunk.
"Mmhm," Buck nods curtly.
"If Hen and I need help, then by all means, Buck. Come help. But I really don't want to scrape your brains off of the pavement because a fucking Cybertruck ran you down." He injects a level of jokiness into his words, because without it, Eddie thinks he might tear up a little bit. Seeing Buck come within inches of being another statistic in LA's pedestrian-vehicle dataset this afternoon rattled Eddie.
"Fucking Cybertrucks," Buck concurs.
After a beat, Eddie whispers "You gotta pay attention, bud. I can't — I can't lose you."
Buck makes a wounded noise and turns toward Eddie, who turns to face him too.
"I promise, Eddie." Buck's eyes are sincere. "I'll be careful. It was a stupid mistake."
"I believe you," Eddie says, even though he's not sure he does. He believes that Buck will try, yes. But Buck didn't make a mistake today, he just did what he's in the habit of doing. He ran in the direction that help was needed without checking his surroundings. Because Eddie is usually next to him, anticipating this, poised with a hand ready to yoink him back from any hazards.
Buck and Ravi just — aren't there. And they might never be. And that's okay, because Eddie wasn't lying earlier when he said that's not the job. Ravi shouldn't have to be all of Buck's situational awareness. Just because Eddie was willing to take it on doesn't mean it's normal to do that for your fellow firefighter.
"I just. I hate when you need help and I, I can't do anything about it."
Eddie chuckles softly to himself. Buck's the one running into burning buildings without him these days. More often than not, Eddie's in complete safety while he waits anxiously for Buck to return. "It's good for us to get used to being apart —"
The door opens and Eddie cuts himself off with a frustrated groan.
"Eddie, Presby's on the phone — ER doc's got a question for you," Chimney's voice calls out.
"For fuck's sake," Eddie groans, private, just for himself (and probably Buck). "Can't Hen?"
"She was driving, you're the provider on this one."
"Can I call back later?" Eddie would really like to finish this conversation before he forgets everything he wants to say.
"Dude's in surgery, it's a little time sensitive."
Eddie heaves himself out of the bed and across the room, muttering a "we're not done here," as he leaves Buck. The phone call itself ends up being quick, just a few questions that Eddie already answered when he transferred care of the patient to the hospital, but by the time he makes it back to the bunk room, their beds are both empty — no Buck to be found.
Adrift without his best friend, Eddie wanders up to the loft and plops down unceremoniously in the corner of a couch, lets himself sink in and zone out. The mental image of Buck jumping out of the way of traffic starts replaying in his mind.
"Hey, I emailed you something," Buck says when he joins Eddie on the couch a few minutes later — thankfully jarring him out of reliving today's near miss.
"You … what?" Eddie says.
"Emailed you something," Buck says shortly.
"Why?" Eddie doesn't think Buck has ever emailed him. He probably only knows his email address because of their shared Netflix account.
"It's an application form for an apartment in Arlington Heights. Will you be my reference? You're my most recent landlord, technically."
"That's not really …" Not really what their relationship is about, Eddie was going to say, but then Buck's words catch up with him. "You found a place?"
One second they're debriefing a call, the next Buck's moving out?
Chimney, seated on the other couch, chooses this moment to chime in. "Is the baby Buck bird leaving the nest?" It's just good-natured brother-in-law ribbing, but it gets under Eddie's skin. He just barely stops himself from snapping at his captain.
Buck ignores Chim, keeps looking at Eddie. "So, uh, can you sign it? There's a reference part of the form on page two. Just need you to affirm that I'm a respectful tenant."
Eddie returns his gaze. Buck has had most of his stuff packed up in boxes since Chris came back. He's had one foot out the door in theory, but in practice they were just going along like roommates with not quite enough bedrooms.
Eddie reluctantly goes for his phone to pull up the form, but the tones go before he gets it out of his pocket.
As the day progresses, Eddie keeps 90% of his brain on his actual job, and the other 10% on solving the living situation problem. Well, maybe 1% on the lingering desire to protect Buck from danger, but that's wrapped up with the other 9% thinking about housing. All he wants to do is ask Buck — no, tell Buck — to stay. But what is he going to say? Keep living in my too-small house because I want you there? Ridiculous. He can't say that!
Obviously he knew this day was coming, and he knows it makes sense. Buck lived across town from them for all the previous years they lived in LA, and it was fine. It was normal.
Eddie can't really explain it, why the idea of his house without Buck in it makes him feel uneasy. They have to turn themselves sideways to pass each other in the hallway, and that's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to being too crowded. Maybe it's a reaction to being alone in Texas all those months. Maybe it's the fact that, for a while there, it felt like all his life decisions had led him back to his hometown, cut off from his two favorite people — Christopher just on the other side of town but still emotionally light years away; Buck in another state and out of reach. It makes sense that, now that Eddie is back in LA, he's reluctant to give up having them both under the same roof as him.
Eddie watches Buck fill up the giant firehouse pasta pot with water to make dinner. He sees the way being in the kitchen, taking care of his family, settles him — and he watches Buck look over his shoulder every so often, remembering.
Maybe it's this — Buck has been going. Ever since Bobby died, he's been pushing himself to be normal and helpful and solid. Following Captain Chimney's orders, making firehouse dinners, sharing housework with Eddie, helping Chris with his homework, spending time with Maddie and her kids. And Eddie knows him, has been watching him. He knows. He knows — that Buck can't go on like this forever. The grief is going to catch him up eventually. And Eddie wants to make sure he can be there when it does. Much easier to do that when Buck is just down the hall than if he's holed up in a studio apartment in fucking Arlington Heights.
The stark truth of this all hits Eddie in the chest. That's it. And also — that's it. He knows what he's going to say to Buck.
"Ready to head home?" Eddie asks, appearing from nowhere as Buck shuts his locker at the end of shift.
It's thrilling to hear Eddie call it that. Home. But the thrill is twinged by the sadness of reality, too. Buck understood exactly where Eddie was going when Chim interrupted them earlier.
"Oh." He almost forgot. "I got Chim to print that application form for us, actually. One sec!" He pastes a faux smile on his face and pivots back toward Chimney's office. The tab's been open on his phone for a few weeks now; he finally downloaded the file after Eddie left to take the call from the hospital.
"Hang on — wait one second." Buck's stopped by Eddie's hand grabbing at the back of his shirt, choking him until he steps back.
Buck raises an eyebrow in question, plants his feet firmly on the ground to hear him out.
"Hey," Eddie says, voice soft. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah," Buck says. "I mean, it's not as nice as the loft, or, uh, as your house, but —" he swallows "— it'll be good to have a, a fresh start." He feels his face scrunch up in a grimace at such a blatant lie.
"Buck."
He struggles to smooth his expression out. He used to be such an accomplished liar — all those years of trying to project whatever emotion would make his parents least upset, right up until he started doing the exact opposite. Never mind that his therapist says he learned to do that to protect himself from his emotionally volatile family … it's still the truth! But he's never been good at hiding from Eddie, and that's especially true now that they're together at home as well as at work. Buck's boundaries have never been softer, which is exactly why he needs to move out already.
"I mean it," Buck tries again, a little more solid this time. He goes for a small smile and takes another step away.
Except Eddie ignores him and grabs Buck's wrist this time, fingers clasping around it in a tight ring. "I can't tell you what to do," he says. "You've got to do what's best for you. But …" He ducks his head to fish for eye contact, which Buck allows, albeit reluctantly. "I don't want to live alone right now. And … I don't think you should either."
"What do you mean, right now?" Buck asks. He could point out that he's the only one who's going to be alone; Eddie has Chris. (Thank god.) But he thinks he knows what Eddie means. Alone really means apart.
Eddie clears his throat. "With Bobby …"
Buck feels a dull thump of pain in his chest. If he lets it, he knows it could turn infinitely sharp and deep, memories feeding the grief like oxygen feeding fire. But he isn't going to let it spiral away from him, not here at the firehouse in the middle of this conversation.
"With Bobby gone, it doesn't feel like the time to try to strike out on your own." Before Buck can bristle at the implication that he can't take care of himself, Eddie continues, "I know it's weird, that it's not the ideal living situation, and maybe it can't work forever, but can we keep making it work for now?"
Heat prickles up his scalp — embarrassment that he's so transparently not okay. He stares down at Eddie's hand wrapped around his wrist, with his tidy nails and calloused fingertips, reaching for a courteous tone. "I — that's — that's nice of you, I guess. But please don't just say this out of pity for me, Eddie. That's — that's not fair. Unless it's really what you want, I can't —"
"Stay," Eddie cuts in, quiet but firm. "It is what I want. It's not pity. I —" his fingers twitch "— I need you, too."
Oh. The embarrassment subsides, leaving room for bone-deep relief. It's what Buck wants, and he didn't have to ask for it. Eddie is asking for it.
Buck nods. "Okay," he says. "Let's — for now." He flips his hand under Eddie's so that they grasp hands. They shake on it, like a deal. "Let's go home."
"Eddie," Buck says, his back pressed against the front door that he just slammed shut.
Eddie surveys Buck. His curls are sweaty; some are matted down against his scalp, but others are thriving in the humid air.
"Buck."
Buck steps toward the couch where Eddie's been doomscrolling. "Eddie. Eddie Eddie Eddie."
Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. "Buck Buck Buck," he repeats back, only mocking him just a tiny bit.
"I have a surprise for you!"
Eddie raises an eyebrow.
Buck continues, "and it solves one of our, uh, Space Conundrums!"
"Okay …" Eddie's intrigued. He locks his phone and sets it down in his lap.
Because Space Conundrums? They've been having a lot of those lately, ever since Eddie and Chris came home. At first, a lot of it was about the boxes. Where to put them, which ones to unpack, whether Buck should put his own things into them to make moving out easier. Then Chris caught one of his crutches on a stack of boxes and it toppled over. He was fine, it wasn't even really a near-miss, but Buck turned white and immediately started loading boxes into his truck.
Chris, unfazed, continued on his way to the kitchen to get a snack, and Eddie helped Buck carry boxes out.
"Where are you going to take these?" he asked.
"I'll get a storage locker," Buck decided, efficiently packing everything into his truck bed. "Just temporarily."
After that, the Space Conundrums changed a bit. Now it's more about having too many multiples of everything.
The little things, like towels and dishware and clothes, are easier to negotiate: they pick the best of the options to keep and bring the rest to Buck's storage locker.
With bigger things, there's more deliberation over what gets stored. They've each spent a lot of money on their furniture over the years. And though Buck's things were generally more expensive, the Diazes' furniture has character. That lived-in feel. Even Buck agrees. It's why Eddie's sitting on his beat-up blue couch instead of Buck's nice leather one.
"Okay. I'd say close your eyes, but then you won't be able to follow me. So. Follow me!"
"Do I have to?" Eddie's spending a lot of time on the couch these days, too sluggish to do much else.
"Do I — d'y — ye-yes!" Buck's eyes bug out. "You gotta come see!"
"Can it wait?" Eddie's obviously going to get up. He can't deny Buck anything these days — not that he's ever wanted to, not really — but a little bit of riling up never hurt anybody. Plus, Buck's always been a little bit adorable when he's flustered — anyone who knows Buck knows that.
"Eddieee," Buck whines, and there's something about his voice that has Eddie swinging his legs over the side of the couch immediately. Buck's demeanor shifts instantly when he realizes how easily he's won, a grin breaking out on his face. "Oh, yay!"
Eddie tries to peek out the windows to see what's out there as he approaches the door, but Buck moves to obstruct his view, clearing his throat. He looks — nervous? A furrowed brow, shoulders high. It's such a change from the vibrating-out-of-his-body excitement of moments ago. "Hey, uh. So. I found … uh, this piece of furniture, on Marketplace. And if you hate it, it's fine. No biggie! I just … it was such a good deal!"
They don't need more furniture. In fact, they actively need less, so Buck wouldn't buy something new without a really good reason.
"Okay, Buck, I trust you. What did you get?"
"It's … I guess, I mean, um. Well, I think you should just come see." Buck turns around before Eddie can reply and heads out the front door.
Eddie stays hot on his heels for barely even one square of sidewalk, stopping in his tracks when he sees the bright red metal frame that's strapped down in Buck's truck bed. It's upright, so Eddie has a clear view of what Buck picked up for them.
It's bunk beds.
"It's bunk beds!" Buck says enthusiastically, but Eddie can see through the carefully constructed facade, especially since Buck just showed his hand inside.
"I …" Eddie trails off.
"Do you hate it?"
In all honesty, Eddie's not sure how he feels.
Sleeping arrangements are one of the biggest Space Conundrums around. Eddie — unwilling to kick Buck out of the bedroom — slept on the couch for two nights before he swapped to the world's worst approximation of a Murphy bed. Every night, he pushes the couch and coffee table off to the side of the living room and slides his own mattress onto the ground, and every morning he shoves it back against the wall.
It's inelegant. Ugly, too. Buck keeps offering Eddie to set up the mattress on the floor of the bedroom, but if he does that, there won't be anywhere to walk, let alone dresser space.
But this … this could be a solution. He takes a few steps toward the truck, like a magnet's drawing him in. It's not bunk beds like they have at the station, but it's also not quite bunk beds that you'd buy for little kids, either.
"Is this …"
"A full XL and twin XL on top," Buck fills in, understanding exactly what Eddie was wondering. "Those extra inches …" Buck gestures to himself.
No kidding. Buck's pretty much the exact height of a standard twin. When all of the XLs are being used in the station bunkroom, Buck has to scrunch in on himself and lie diagonally across to fit on a standard. He says he doesn't mind, but Eddie knows better.
Eddie reaches out to touch the metal.
"No, I don't hate it," Eddie says, shaking his head. "Buck, this … might be brilliant. And it came with the mattresses?"
Buck nods. They're in mattress bags, strapped snugly to the truck bed.
This might solve several of their Space Conundrums, actually. They could put their queen beds in deep storage. That alone frees up living room space. And if they're sharing the bedroom, Eddie could move his dresser in from the hallway, where it's currently doing a great impression of an LA traffic jam in between stacks of boxes.
Buck grins. "I don't know why we didn't think of this right away."
Eddie knows why. "I didn't want you to give up your bed, Buck — are you sure?"
This is a lot to ask of Buck, to downsize to a full mattress on the bottom of a bunk bed — because Eddie will be taking the top. It's only fair. He's the one imposing on Buck by moving back unexpectedly.
"Yes!" The sparkle is back in Buck's eyes. "This is — it's perfect. Right? No more sleeping in the living room for you. And it'll be fun! Just like the bunk room at work, but — ours."
"Ours," Eddie repeats, butterflies taking off in his stomach.
"Right, but we still, you know, get our own sleeping space."
"Mm-hmm." Eddie taps the frame of the bed, grabs onto it and gives it a wiggle, like he's testing the way Buck strapped it down. "Best of both worlds. Hey, let's get this out."
Their own sleeping space. So, Eddie was right, then. Right not to suggest that they share the bed over the past few weeks. Buck wants his own space. Eddie is fine with that.
Buck opens his truck bed and climbs up to start undoing straps. "Only thing we'll need is some new sheets," he says. "Help me get the queen out of the way, then let's get this set up. I'll go shopping after lunch. See if Chris wants to come along."
Buck didn't realize that the mattress store they pass on their way to work every day doesn't stock full XL sheets in-store until he's standing in the linen aisle with an impatient teenage boy.
"C'mon, Buck," Chris says. "Just pick one."
Chris is right to be as annoyed as he sounds. Buck's been holding up their shopping trip trying to decide between lavender and dark green sheets for the bottom bunk, not sure which will suit Eddie better. He's going to get Eddie a new queen set for the full size mattress, and he can just pull it extra far around the sides.
Because Buck will be sleeping on the twin. It makes sense for Eddie to have the larger bunk. It's his house, and Buck's just a guest. Eddie's sacrificed practically all of his privacy since moving home, what with sleeping on his mattress on the floor in the living room. It's his turn for comfort.
The lavender sheets makes him think of Eddie, but it matches the set he's buying for the twin — they stock the XL ones, but Buck's certain the primary demographic is college students, so the quality isn't as nice as he's used to. But the matching … is it too much?
"What do you think?" Buck holds the two contenders up next to each other for Chris, who rolls his eyes immediately.
"Purple." Chris isn't tapping his foot, but he might as well be.
"It's lavender," Buck says, putting the green set back on the shelf.
"Whatever. I think it's weird." Chris turns and starts heading toward the registers, now that they've finally picked up the last thing on the list.
Buck's heart picks up a few ticks as he catches up with Chris. "Uh … getting purple — lavender — sheets is weird?"
"No, Buck," Chris replies. "The bunk beds are weird."
"Hey," Buck says, putting his hand on Chris's shoulder, stopping him. He tugs Chris into the pillow aisle, out of the main walkway. "I know it's … a little strange. But. Your dad and I …" Buck's chest is heavy just winding up to talk about this. "I. Losing Bobby was —" His voice gets caught in his throat, and Chris's moody teenage pout drops from his face, replaced by a soft, sad look.
"Oh … I'm sorry, Buck," Chris says, patting him on the forearm. "It's … not weird." He doesn't sound convinced.
Buck laughs. "No, it's. It is weird, Chris. I know it is. Your dad does too. We talked about it. How absurd it is. It's, it's cramped and there's stuff everywhere, but it's what we need, right now. To be together, in the same house. To take care of each other, to — to, to take care of you."
"I know." Chris says, his voice soft, hand gripping Buck's sleeve at the wrist. "Dad told me."
"Oh."
Buck didn't realize that Eddie and Chris had discussed it beyond the if it's alright with you, buddy, all three of us are going to live here for a while that Buck was there for. That conversation alone felt like a big step for Eddie, including Chris in a major life decision and all. It's nice to know that Eddie's continued the habit of cluing him in.
And Chris is being surprisingly gentle with Buck for a kid who's been surly all day.
"So like, sorry or whatever." Chris straightens up, heads back to the main aisle. "Can we get poke on the way home?"
There he is: the teenager Buck knows and loves. "Sure, we can get poke. Text your dad and see if he wants his usual while I check out, will you?"
Turns out getting a fitted sheet on a top bunk isn't easy. At least, if the way Buck is struggling to pull the elastic corners over the mattress is any indication.
They worked together to get the bigger bottom bunk set up, and now Eddie leans against the newly reinstated dresser, arms crossed, watching Buck balance on the ladder and tug at the light purple sheet. It's 10:55 p.m. They shouldn't have left it so late to make up the beds, especially since they're both wiped out, with a shift in the morning.
"Need help?" Eddie offers, even though he knows there isn't room for both of them on that ladder.
"Nope!" Buck says cheerfully. "I've got it."
He doesn't have it. After more fruitless tugging and reaching where the corners keep coming up, once Buck starts to get pink-cheeked, Eddie decides to put him out of his misery.
"Hey, don't worry about it. Once I get up there, I'll crawl around and straighten everything out."
Buck turns to look at him, still hanging off the ladder. He frowns. "What do you mean, once you get up there?"
Eddie stifles a yawn. "Come on, Buck, I gotta sleep. You can toss up the top sheet and blankets once I'm up, and I'll arrange everything before I conk out."
"Oh, no," Buck says, hugging the ladder as if Eddie might bodily drag him off. "You're not sleeping up top. That's my spot."
Eddie laughs. "Are you kidding me? You take the bottom. It'll be more comfortable."
"Exactly." Buck peers over his shoulder at Eddie. "Which is why you should sleep on the bottom."
"Buck," Eddie sighs.
"No, listen. I'm not letting you take the top bunk. This is your house. You're letting me stay here. The least I can do is give you room to stretch out."
"I'm not letting you stay here. I asked you to. And I'm the reason you had to give up your incredible mattress."
"Aha!" Buck says, pointing at Eddie. "You admit it! If it's so incredible, you should have been taking the bedroom!"
"What?" Eddie shakes his head. They've lost the plot. "Forget that. We've got the bunks now."
"Oh." Buck swallows, still clinging to the ladder, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Right. Well. I call top bunk."
There is no fucking way Eddie is going to let Buck take the top. He thinks about what he can say to convince Buck to sleep on the full. Buck is taller. He has a bad leg. He also has broad enough shoulders that he's going to be uncomfortably close to the side rails on either side. Him taking the smaller bed is going to make Eddie feel bad. That's probably his best chance, the thing Buck will listen to.
Instead, Eddie says, "Okay, fine. Let me grab you a pillow." He strolls out to the linen closet in the hallway without waiting for an answer.
When he returns, he holds out the pillow and extra blanket just out of Buck's reach, forcing him to climb down to grab the stack —
At which point, Eddie pushes him over onto the bottom bunk and shimmies up the ladder.
"Eddie — what the fuck — that's cheating!"
Buck immediately comes up after Eddie, but Eddie is already stretched out on the mattress, hands behind his head, contentedly staring at the ceiling. He sinks into the thick layer of foam and finds that the bed is actually a pretty nice balance of supportive and soft.
"Eddie," Buck says helplessly, leaning over the rail.
Eddie looks over at him. "Give it up, Buck." He grins, cat who got the cream. Or cat who got the privilege of sleeping in the less comfortable bed. Whatever. "I'm not moving. So you can come up here if you want, but it's going to be pretty cramped."
Buck glares at Eddie, then rubs at his eye with a knuckle. "You suck," he says wearily, reluctantly descending the ladder. "This isn't over," he calls up. "We're revisiting this in the morning."
"Yeah, yeah." Eddie contorts himself to tuck the sheet corners in properly, letting the bedframe squeak horrendously. Below him, he can hear Buck settling in on the full. "Hey, can you toss up that pillow and blanket?" A few seconds later, the items fly up to land on top of Eddie. "Thank you!"
Buck grumbles unintelligibly in a way where Eddie can tell he isn't actually mad. He gets up to turn out the lights, then bumps back into bed.
It's strange how much Eddie can feel Buck below him. Or sense him. It's in the creaking bedframe as he shifts to get comfortable. His slightly congested breathing. Eddie could swear he can feel the air moving differently around him, just from Buck's bulky presence in the room. He closes his eyes in the dark and even though he's several feet above him, it's almost like Eddie could reach out and touch him.
"Hey, Buck?" Eddie murmurs.
"Uh-huh?"
"The bunk beds were a good idea."
There's a moment of silence, then, "Yeah. I — I think so, too."
They're both breathing so carefully into the shared space. Just like the bunkroom, Eddie thinks to himself, even though it isn't really.
"Night, Buck," he whispers.
Eddie is ready to go home. It's the end of a gruelling double that he signed on for only because Chris is away at camp this week. (Somewhat related: the need to pay the camp fees.)
He slumps in his jacket and sticks on his sunglasses to hide his eyes so he can catch a micronap while he waits for —
"Eddie! Wake up!"
He startles back to alertness, realizes he was starting to ever so slightly slide down the locker he was leaning against.
Buck, who is still basically fresh as a daisy since he only worked the second twenty-four-hour shift with Eddie, is standing next to him, half-changed back into street clothes, drying his hair with his special microfibre towel.
"You're driving," Eddie says unnecessarily. No way would Buck trust him behind the wheel like this. "Hurry up."
"Alllmost — ready!" Buck says, pushing his feet into his shoes. Then he snaps up. "Oh, shit, sorry, hang on. Chim asked me to fill out that insurance form thing, like, two weeks ago and it's due today. I'm just going to — real quick —"
He runs off to find the paperwork, and Eddie sighs. Before he can even sit down on the bench, Ravi walks into the locker room. It's the beginning of his shift, and he's got a bounce in his step that Eddie envies.
"Oh, hey, Eddie," he says. He looks him up and down. "You okay?"
"Uh-huh," Eddie yawns. "Just tired. Gonna go home and nap."
"Oh, nice," Ravi says, grabbing the glass cleaner bottle from on top of the bank of lockers. "Yeah, I love my blackout curtains for days like today."
Eddie nods. He is not up for this small talk.
Of course, then Hen walks in, dressed to go home. "This is the last time I'm carpooling with Chimney," she says, unprompted. "He's always staying late, doing his captainly duties."
"As if you weren't the same when you were interim captain," Chimney says, pushing into the locker room with Buck trailing behind. He looks around the room at all of them crowded in. "There are too many clowns in this car."
Eddie can take a cue. "Buck," he says. "You good?"
Buck yawns hugely, the dick. He's running on at least twelve hours' sleep in the past forty-eight. He has no right to be acting so tired. "Yep, I'm ready. God, I can't wait to nap."
"Lucky ducks," Hen says. She nods at Buck. "Do you still have that luxury mattress topper?"
Buck looks up from rubbing his eyes. "What? Oh, yeah, but it's in storage right now."
"Hold on," Chim says as he unlaces his boots. "Between your bed and Eddie's bed — you guys really picked Eddie's bed?"
"Hey!" Eddie says, indignation giving him a little energy. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"No offense," Chimney says, holding his hands up. "But, well … you don't have the luxury mattress topper, do you?"
"Why not just put it on Eddie's bed?" Hen interjects.
The peanut gallery is looking back and forth between Buck and Eddie now. Eddie can feel the flush rising on his neck and face. Maybe if he widens his eyes enough at Buck, he won't tell everyone about —
"Both our beds are in storage," Buck pipes up, oblivious. "The mattress topper is for a queen. It's too big for the full."
"Let me get this straight," Hen says, using the stem of her sunglasses to gesture at him. "You put two queen beds in storage and bought a full to share? Why would you do that?"
"No, well …" Buck looks at Eddie helplessly. "We've got bunk beds. The bottom bunk is a full. The top is a twin. I'm in the bottom, so I guess I could have used my mattress topper, but like I said, it's too big."
There's a moment of silence, broken only by the squeaking sound of Ravi wiping down the glass wall while giving them a judgmental look.
"Bunk beds?" Hen says finally. She looks to Chimney for support.
"What, you two miss the bunkroom when you're at home?" he jumps in.
Now Eddie feels some of that energizing indignation push into his veins. He straightens all the way up and hikes the strap of his duffle higher on his shoulder. "It's just a good way to optimize the space. We both needed a place to sleep, and this is better than one of us sleeping in the living room."
Buck nods, looking relieved. "Space optimization," he says. "When you run out of room, you build up, right?"
Hen starts to laugh. "Oh, my god," she says. "Bunk beds? Are you serious? Whose idea was that?" She knows, though — she's staring right at Buck as she says it.
Eddie feels annoyed. It's one thing to cheerfully roast him. Whatever, she can have at it. But he doesn't like that she's making fun of the bunk beds — of Buck's idea.
He flattens out his face, lets his eyebrow twitch up. "Yeah. We're serious."
Hen holds up her hands. "Hey, I'm sorry. None of our business."
"It's a little our business," Chim says, giving her a pained look. "I want to know!"
Buck is getting that ruffled-feathers look, his arms crossed, chin tipped up. "Sharing a bed isn't weird!"
"I agree, which is why we all thought you were sharing your bed!" Hen bursts out. "I don't get why you're not doing that! It's what you did during lockdown."
Eddie makes eye contact with Buck, then abruptly has to look away. It feels too raw, too embarrassing somehow, to see what's going through Buck's head in this moment. Because the truth is, they just never talked about it. Not even enough to say that they didn't want to share this time around. Eddie just assumed, and now … now he feels like a dipshit. A weird dipshit.
Using the bunks is a good solution. It's nice, even. But Eddie can't help but think that just sharing one of their queen beds would have been easier, nicer.
"I don't think sharing is a big deal," Ravi cuts in, winding the cleaning rag around his hand. "I bet it would have been more comfortable."
"Okay," Eddie says, raising his voice a touch. "I'm falling asleep where I stand. Take me home, Buck." He winces as he hears what it sounds like coming from his mouth. Like Buck has picked him up at a bar, is taking him home to spend the night.
"They've got good support," Buck says as Eddie drags him out into the app bay. "You'd be surprised!"
Their eyes lock just long enough for Eddie to smile sheepishly at Buck around his toothbrush and dart his eyes away. They're in the kitchen mixing dough. Or — Buck is in the kitchen mixing dough. Was in the kitchen alone, for a moment of quiet so that he could think, when Eddie wandered in brushing his teeth.
Buck hasn't made extended eye contact with Eddie all day, not since Hen and Chim learned about their sleeping arrangements and proceeded to roast them within an inch of their lives. It'd be miserable, except that Eddie isn't actually avoiding him, which is the weirdest part about this whole thing. It's possible that he's spending more time around Buck — tooth brushing in the kitchen, and all.
So Buck can't help but wonder …
Could it be possible that Eddie's skirting eye contact for the same reason Buck is? The red high on his cheeks, spilling down onto his neck as he spits toothpaste into the sink — could it be that he's thinking about the same thing as Buck? Is he just as plagued by images of them sharing Buck's bougie memory foam mattress?
It's just that last time he imagined having this conversation with Eddie — them talking about whether or not they could share — it went really differently than the places his mind is going now.
He spent the first week or so after Eddie and Chris came home thinking about saying something like Hey, Eddie, we shared back in lockdown, wanna just bunk up again? Only to picture Eddie with an uncomfortable face saying, Now that you're bisexual, I'm not so sure I want to …
And he knows that's not a charitable way to imagine Eddie. He knew it back then, too. But he couldn't get the interaction out of his head. Imagined it a thousand different ways — Eddie's words far meaner, more biting, even downright cruel at times. And it's all miserable and unfair, and Buck knows that, he does, he really does.
But he was never brave enough to ask Eddie to share anyway, to see what his real life best friend might say. Couldn't let himself imagine a positive outcome.
And now … those positive outcomes are overpopulating his imagination to the point of distraction.
Eddie turns on the faucet and spits into the sink. Buck darts his eyes to the stovetop, listens to the soundtrack of Eddie rinsing his mouth.
Two taps of the toothbrush against the stainless steel draws Buck's attention back to Eddie.
"Hey," Eddie says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Hey."
"Ready to turn in?"
The easy smile on Eddie's face sends a shiver down Buck's spine.
"Yeah," he breathes out. "Let me just cover this." He drapes a clean dish towel over his bowl of dough, pushes it to the back of the counter, then follows Eddie to the bedroom, flicking off lights as he goes. When he comes back from doing his bathroom routine, Eddie is already up on the top bunk. Buck gets himself settled on the bottom and then — listens.
It's quiet, just the sounds of their breathing, and Buck can tell that Eddie's not asleep yet. Which means that Eddie can probably tell that Buck's not asleep yet, either.
"So … whaddya wanna talk about?" Eddie asks.
Buck chuckles once, just a gust of air. He turns over onto his back to look up at Eddie. Well, not at Eddie. But up at Eddie's mattress. He tries to imagine the outline of his body up there. Is he lying on his side? His back? Are his legs bent? Ankles crossed? Not for the first time, Buck wishes the mirror on the opposite wall was positioned so that he could watch Eddie — and Eddie could watch him back.
"Well?" Eddie prompts.
"Hmm." Buck's mind provides an obvious topic — their sleeping arrangements — but he's reluctant to be the one to bring it back up. He lifts his head up off his pillow and gives it a punch to even out the distribution of the stuffing, and then plops back down onto it with a sigh. "What do you want to talk about?"
Springs creak and blankets rustle as Eddie adjusts. "M-mm-mmh," Eddie intones, but he hums it like "I dunno," in that way that means he knows exactly what he wants to talk about, he just doesn't want to say it.
So they're at an impasse.
Buck sighs heavily. "We could always talk about boys," he says.
"Oh, fuck off," Eddie replies. But then he adds "I don't —"
Something about Eddie's voice makes Buck freeze. He what? Maybe Eddie will continue if Buck pretends like he's not there.
"I …" Eddie breathes deeply. "I don't have anything interesting to say about boys," he finishes with a flippant tone, a clear deflection from what he was initially working up to say.
"Fair enough," Buck replies. "Don't worry, I'll pick up your slack, Eddie." Buck lifts a foot and shoves his toes between the bars of the bedframe so he can push at Eddie's mattress with the ball of his foot.
"Hey!" Eddie yelps.
"What's wrong, princess? Is there a pea in your bed?" Buck teases, getting his other foot into the action and rocking Eddie back and forth.
"More like there's a dick in my bed," Eddie bites. "Quit it, Buck!"
Buck stops moving his feet but doesn't let his legs fall, hooking his toes into the metal bar instead, letting his knees hang loose. "That better?"
"Much."
Buck breathes deeply, lets his heart rate come back down to resting.
"You know," Eddie says, and Buck hmms to get him to continue. "This bunk bed thing might get a little awkward if one of us …"
The silence hangs for a minute, undercut by the low hum of the air conditioning. Buck lowers his legs back to the bed. Then they speak over each other.
Buck says, "Wants to jerk off?"
And Eddie says, "Brings someone home."
"Oh," Buck says at the same time that Eddie starts, presumably, choking on his own spit.
"Okay, but we wouldn't," Eddie says as his coughs subside. "That's not — that's what the shower's for!"
Well, Buck is never going to feel the same taking a shower here. He knows Eddie gets pretty worked up if he doesn't jerk it on the regular — fair enough. He just hadn't thought about the logistics of exactly how Eddie was managing his libido with their current living situation.
Buck can feel the edge of embarrassment brush him, but it can't compete with the absolute consternation that he feels about Eddie's comment. "Well, I'm not going to bring someone home!"
"You're not?" Eddie says. "You and Tommy have been broken up for longer than you were together. Aren't you … getting the itch?"
Buck rubs his back against the mattress, feeling squirmy about Eddie talking about Tommy in this room. "Nah. I mean … I'm not in a hurry."
The truth is, he knows himself, and he's pretty sure if he tried to date right now, it would be for all the wrong reasons. To distract himself from Bobby's absence. To put distance between him and Eddie that he feels reasonably confident neither of them wants. To feel wanted — except that doesn't feel urgent the way it sometimes has for him in the past. It isn't a burning-hot need right now because, well, he gets to come home to Eddie. To this. Talking until they fall asleep. Picking the conversation back up every morning.
His mind flits back to Hen's assumption that they've been sharing Buck's queen. Even if they had been, if they'd been sharing all along, he's not sure it would feel like this — like every night is a sleepover. Like he can say anything if he's looking up at the slats above his bed.
"Are you?" Buck says after probably too long a pause.
"Huh?" Eddie yawns.
"Getting the itch. To, uh, date again. Bring someone home. Have sex. Because, uh, I can. You know. I can take a night on the couch. You can take the bottom. Um. Obviously." Buck rolls over onto his stomach so that he can suffocate himself with his pillow. Christ.
He hears Eddie shifting above him, and then there's a little knock. Buck looks over to see him leaning over to look at Buck, just discernible in the soft light of the streetlight outside. He can't read Eddie's expression, but he can hear the wry, fond tone in his voice.
"Not itchy," he says. "But I'll let you know."
Buck feels the relief break over him. "Okay good." Then, as his brain keeps working through his idiotic words from a minute before, "Can you imagine having bunk bed sex?"
"Good night, Buck," Eddie says, fake-stern. Buck can tell he's laughing, and the warmth of it carries him off to sleep.
They do end up talking about boys a couple nights later, in a roundabout way. Eddie is sleepy, starting to drift off to the ridiculous story Buck is telling. He wants to keep listening, but he also kind of wants Buck to save the rest of the story until he's awake enough to appreciate it.
"And then Ian says we should do a keg stand on the roof and —"
"— and clearly you survived to tell the tale," Eddie cuts in. "Somehow."
Buck laughs, and Eddie swears he can feel his low chuckle buzzing in his spine. "Somehow," he agrees. "It was really fucking dumb, but that's college for you, I guess. This was before I got kicked out, obviously."
"Obviously." Eddie yawns again. "I've never done a keg stand," he admits.
"Hmm. I mean, it's not too late —"
"Forget it." Eddie laughs. "We should try to sleep."
"Sure," Buck says agreeably.
The quiet settles around them, and Eddie can feel his eyelids getting heavier when he hears Buck sit up. "You know what I just thought of?" he whispers.
"Hmm?"
"I think I had a crush on him."
Eddie opens his eyes. "On Ian?"
"Yeah!" Buck chuckles. "You know, after — after I realized I'm bi — I kind of thought back about the guys I was friends with over the years. Pretty sure I, uh, had a thing for Connor, actually."
Eddie turns the idea around in his mind. "Yeah, I buy it," he says.
"And there were definitely some other guys who I — in retrospect, you know? But I missed Ian. He was such an enabler. I don't think I would have done half the dumb shit I did without him egging me on." The bed creaks as Buck lies back down. "It's kind of weird to look back and realize I liked someone and didn't even realize it."
I know what you mean, he thinks. He's never really let himself have the thought before — when would he have had time to consider it, between Shannon and Chris and the army? But there was one guy in high school. James. On the baseball team with Eddie. Played in the outfield but had a great pitching arm — Eddie used to stay late at practice, put on the catcher's glove and catch for James. They became such good, close friends during baseball season junior year, and if he thinks back … just a tiny, quiet thought living inside his head.
And now —
Below him, Buck starts to snore, and Eddie flattens the thought right down. Now, nothing. Now, it's time to sleep. He closes his eyes, wills his mind blank, and lets sleep overtake him.
Despite how tired he is, Eddie sleeps fitfully, jerking awake a few times to remnants of bad dreams — vague wisps of lost loved ones and weird circumstances. He dreams of sitting on the beach, watching a wave that keeps pulling out forever, never surging back in, and when he turns to look at the person sitting next to him, it's Shannon. She crinkles her eyes at him behind her sunglasses and points out at the water.
He snaps awake, rubs his eyes. After she died, he used to have dreams like that all the time. Dreams where she wasn't dead. Now they only pop up in his subconscious a few times a year, and usually he can shake it off. It's bittersweet, but it's nothing to cry about. Not anymore. But tonight, before he can talk himself into going back to sleep, he hears Buck gasping.
"Buck?" Eddie says, leaning over the rail to try to see him in the dark. "You okay?"
Buck lets out a choked breath, and Eddie can tell all of a sudden that he's trying to muffle his sobs, and he's got one hand on the ladder to start going down when he hears Buck say in a clear voice, "Sorry. Just a nightmare. I'm fine." He swallows audibly after he gets the words out.
Eddie pauses, listening to the quiet sniffling. "Are you sure? I can come down —"
"No! I mean, that's okay. I'm fine."
"Buck." Everything in Eddie wants to already be down on the ground, so he can look Buck over, make sure he's okay, offer a hug or a glass of water. The things he'd do for Chris. Look after him. "I can stay up here if you want me to, but do you want to talk? Was it … were you dreaming about Bobby?"
"I'm fine," Buck says a little sharply. "I don't want to talk." He sniffs again. "Sorry, I — I'm fine. Go back to sleep."
The ragged breathing and sniffling is suddenly muffled, and Eddie realizes with some incredulity that Buck has covered his face with the blanket. He wants to go down there. He wants to push past Buck's ridiculous determination to pretend he's okay, but — it's clear that Buck doesn't want that. And it's late. Eddie isn't going to make a scene at — he checks his clock radio on the bookshelf he can reach from the upper bunk — 1:56 a.m. He lies back down.
If Buck really wants to pretend the nightmare didn't happen, that everything is fine, Eddie will let him. That doesn't mean he has to like it.
Lying still, listening to Buck trying to calm his breathing, Eddie feels a tear trail down his cheek into his ear. He rubs it away and blinks repeatedly like the action will fast forward him to morning. It doesn't work, so Eddie spends a while flopping back and forth between his left and right sides, not even trying to keep the frame from shaking. Maybe if Buck feels it, knows Eddie's awake, it'll be a reminder that like it or not, Eddie's here and he's not going anywhere.
Buck holds the dry erase marker cap between his teeth as he writes out the lunch menu.
Make Your Own Banh Mi
Corn on the Cob
Watermelon
Not the most cohesive or impressive firehouse meal he's ever planned. The original plan was to assemble all the sandwiches himself and to make fresh rolls, but they haven't been at the station for more than ten minutes together all morning, and now everyone is on the edge of hangry. Time to break out the fast crowd pleasers.
He caps the marker, then looks around for whoever he can recruit to help out. "Hey!" he calls out as Ravi climbs up into the loft. "Can you cut up the watermelon?"
"Oh, sure," Ravi says easily, walking behind Buck into the kitchen area. He pulls out a big cutting board, retrieves the melon from the fridge and then goes for the cupboard above the fridge.
"Hey!" Buck calls out. "What do you think you're doing?"
Ravi freezes, then looks back over his shoulder. "Getting a knife?"
"Not from there, you aren't," Buck says. "Those knives are … for serious cooking." He fizzles out. He was going to say, Those knives are Bobby's, but — they don't really belong to anyone anymore. He rallies, pulls his shoulders back. "Knife block," he says to Ravi and points until Ravi backs away from the set of sharp Japanese knives in the cupboard and grudgingly grabs a dull-ass chef's knife from the block on the counter.
Buck pulls the corn cobs from the giant pot on the stove and stacks them on a platter next to the sandwich fixings and nice mini baguettes.
"Lunchtime!" he hollers at the firehouse at large.
While the gang swarms to fill their plates and try to get some food in before the bell goes off again, Buck drifts over to that high cupboard. He reaches up and touches the cloth roll that holds the knife set. A gift from Athena, Buck thinks. A wedding anniversary gift? Birthday? He's not sure. All he knows is that these were the knives Bobby would pull out when it was time to cook a meal, and that no one else was allowed to use them. No one, except for Buck. He can't count how many bushels of vegetables he's sliced up with these blades, how many cuts of meat.
"Got you a plate," Eddie says right behind him. Buck spins around in surprise. Damn. He's been trying to outrun Eddie all morning, not give him a moment to catch Buck alone. Buck's starting to feel a bit itchy about the distance, even if it is his own doing.
Eddie is balancing two plates, holding one of them out. There's an ear of corn, a giant face-sized slice of watermelon and a sandwich with pickled carrots and daikon radish bursting out the sides.
"Oh, thanks," Buck says, taking the plate and standing awkwardly near the sink. Eddie comfortably leans against the counter beside Buck and starts inhaling his food. Well, okay. If Eddie's going to eat, Buck can eat too. He bites into his sandwich, relishing the crunch of the veggies.
"This is really good," Eddie says, holding up his sandwich. "Really hits the spot."
Buck ducks his head. You'd think he'd be used to Eddie saying nice things about his cooking by now. He cooks three-quarters of their dinners at home, after all. It still makes him feel a little bashful, though. "Thanks, man."
"You ready to talk about it now?" Eddie asks, sliding it into the conversation like it's the next obvious beat.
"Uhh, to debrief the morning's calls?" Buck dithers pointlessly, nibbling on the watermelon rind and looking off into distance. It's true that with Buck avoiding Eddie this morning, they haven't had a chance to check in like normal, but Buck is pretty sure that isn't what Eddie is referring to.
"Come on," he says. He sets his plate down and rubs his hands together. "You know what I mean."
Buck feels hunted. His mind swoops back to his nightmare — a memory, really. It's the last moments before Bobby slammed the lab door down, before he took his helmet off to reveal his bleeding nose. Try as he might to move on during the day, at night, Buck's brain sticks on those last awful moments, the finality of them. "Nothing to say," he says.
Eddie lists into his side for a moment, letting their shoulders press. "You know, I was going to say, you don't have to talk to me, but you should talk to someone. But I really wish you would talk to me."
This catches Buck off guard. He turns his head to look at him. "Really?"
Warm brown eyes, crossed arms, soft mouth. The Eddie Diaz special. "Let me be here for you," he says softly. "We said we'd be here for each other."
And Buck doesn't know what to say to this. It's not like Eddie is enthusiastically volunteering to talk about his feelings either. But before he can formulate an answer, Eddie throws him for a loop, nodding his head over at the fridge. "You should use them."
"What?"
"Bobby's knives. He'd want you to use them."
Buck is hit with a shot of warmth in his chest that radiates out to his face. He feels — elated that Eddie thinks so, even if he wants to deny it.
"They're not really mine," he says.
"They're more yours than anyone else's. It's what Bobby would want."
Buck shrugs. It's true that he cooks most meals on A-shift these days, using techniques and recipes that Bobby taught him. It's true that, other than Bobby, he's the one who has used the knives the most.
"Guess we can't really know what he'd want," Buck says at last. He means to say it matter-of-factly. But instead it comes out kind of bitter. He wishes he could take it back. Pull the words back in and wait until he can say them the way he wants to.
Eddie hums. He doesn't seem surprised or upset by Buck's bitter tone. "I think we can in this instance." He pushes off the counter to go toss his watermelon rind and empty cob. "I saw that butternut squash in the pantry," he says. "Don't make me watch you chop up that thing with the knife block knives."
"Easier to cut yourself with a dull knife," Hen sing-songs out as she walks past, shamelessly picking up on this overheard snippet of conversation. "Trust the paramedic on this one."
Buck is left alone at the corner, half-eaten sandwich tilting on his plate. He thinks about taking down the knife roll, maybe even sharpening up some of the blades. He thinks about Eddie restraining himself last night, staying on his top bunk because Buck asked him to.
I really wish you would talk to me.
It's what Bobby would want.
What would Bobby want?
The memory that haunts his dreams replays in his head now. You're going to be okay, Buck. Remember that. They're going to need you. I love you, kid. Bobby walking away.
The bell rings, and everyone abandons their plates on the table. Buck puts his plate down and goes for the fire pole.
What would Bobby want? Fuck if Buck knows, but he's pretty sure he isn't living up to it.