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The thing about being Buck’s girlfriend is that Eddie technically has only been it for approximately seventeen minutes by the time they run into their first hurdle.
The hurdle being a full-blown medical emergency in the middle of the diner Buck had taken her to—the one they’ve been coming to for years on Sunday mornings for waffles and pancakes, usually with Christopher in tow. Tonight, though, it’s just the two of them. For obvious reasons.
Eddie had been halfway through demolishing a plate of maple bacon and waffles—her favourite, the perfect salty-sweet crunch—when everything went sideways.
Now sitting abandoned, her half-eaten bacon grows cold on the table as they wait for the paramedics to arrive.
The situation is fine, in the end, just like she was sure it would be.
With two trained medical professionals on the scene—one with a stocked first-aid bag in the back of her car and steady hands, and the other fast on his feet to race outside to go grab it for her when she’d shouted over her shoulder for him to do so—there’s nothing to really worry about. Especially not with the hospital only a couple of blocks away and sirens already blaring in the distance.
She’s managed to slow the bleeding from where the knife is still actively sticking out of the poor waitress's thigh. In her periphery, Eddie had watched it unfold. The waitress had slipped over what turned out to be an open banana peel discarded on the floor, her roller skates catching on it and sending her ass up, the plates and cutlery she’d been holding tossed gracelessly into the air. Unfortunately, a steak knife had sliced straight into her leg rather than clattering to the floor as everything else, the waitress included, had.
Thankfully, the knife had stayed lodged inside, and no one had been dumb enough to grab at it before Eddie had leapt over the counter and crouched by her side to offer medical aid.
Now, though, Eddie’s nice shirt and her best jeans are covered in blood and coffee stains, the crimson and brown darkening the fabric and sinking in to stain.
The paramedics cart the waitress—Stacy—away, and Eddie stands, turning back to Buck, who is smiling at her from the other side of the counter.
Beneath his warm gaze, her entire body is set alight, and she, for a split second, can forget that she looks a mess right now, on their first real date. It’s not just their first date—it’s Eddie’s first date as herself. It’s the first date since she started inhabiting her skin in a way that didn’t make her want to claw it off. She’d been nervous as hell about it going well, even spent far too long stressing over her clothing choices for someone who generally doesn’t give a damn what she’s wearing as long as it’s appropriate, comfortable and fits well (and, for the record, her jeans fit very well. Buck had mentioned so three times before they’ve even sat down).
She’d even dragged her kid into the decision making progress, who had been packing for a sleepover. Christopher had been a harsh critic, as she’d expected, and made her change her shirt three times and her jacket twice before giving his seal of approval (a vague grunt and a thumbs up as he slid his headphones back into place).
Now, said shirt is caked in mess, ruined till she can get at it with some cold water and hydrogen peroxide. At least her nice jacket is safe, folded in the seat she’d darted out of. She can worry about the stains when she’s home, though, because Buck is right there, smiling, his plush pink mouth curved perfect and adoring.
“Hey,” she breathes out, lifting the panel gate of the counter and stepping out.
“Hey,” Buck says right back, his face splitting into a grin. “So, do you think we’ll get a hero’s discount?”
Eddie rolls her eyes, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “Not a hero, Buck. Just kept her from bleeding out.”
Buck tucks a knuckle under her chin, tilting her head up. Her breath catches in the back of her throat. “Eds, you jumped the counter like a track star going for gold. You ripped the gauze open with your teeth—which was hot, by the way. You talked her down from a panic attack while she could see a knife in her leg. You’re a badass.”
He’s ridiculous. He’s seen her do far more technically impressive things in the field dozens of times. Though he’d complimented her just as hard then, too.
Embarrassment dances a generous line along her cheekbones, all the way up to the tips of her ears, colour blossoming in its wake. “Shut up.”
“Shut me up,” Buck mumbles, leaning in.
Eddie lifts a hand, meaning to grab his shirt, his bicep, the side of his neck—anything—but then she catches sight of it.
Blood. Drying in the lines of her skin. Smudged across her knuckles. She jerks back, ankle knocking against the corner of a barstool, causing her to wince.
Buck blinks, thrown, his hand dropping from her chin. “Hey—what? Did I—”
Shaking her head, she smiles. “No, just—later. I’m— Buck, I’m covered in someone else’s blood. Feels like a bad call for a first kiss.”
Buck stares at her blankly for a beat. Then, softly, he says, “Eddie.”
Her nose scrunches. “I know. It’s— second kiss. Technically. But—”
“Eddie,” he cuts in, “I brought up marriage five minutes into this date. I asked if you thought Bobby would officiate. I live in your house. I’m in your will, and have been for— half a decade.”
He steps into her space like the gap was never there, hand sliding to the small of her waist and backing her up till her spine knocks against the counter. They’re in the middle of the diner, and she’s covered in someone else’s bodily fluids, and he’s—
Beautiful. Fuck. He’s so beautiful. Her train of thought crashes hard when their eyes meet, the bright glimmer of blue sinks into her skin and warms.
“We don’t do things the normal way. Or in any order that makes sense. So, if you wanna kiss me while you’re sweaty, and beautiful, and a little messed up…” Height-wise, there are barely a few inches between them, but the way he leans down so glacially slow makes it feel like miles. Their noses bump together, and her chest seizes. “Then you should kiss me. Biohazards aren’t gonna scare me off.”
“Buck, they really should,” she exhales, the words rushing out of her. But then, body moving before her mind catches up enough to be embarrassed about where they are, she’s sliding a dirtied hand to the side of his neck and pulling him down for a lingering, unbearably sweet kiss.
Then, someone clears their throat behind her. She flushes the darkest shade of red anyone has ever flushed, nudging Buck backwards an inch and turning in a tight circle. The manager of the diner, who is a man in his late fifties with hair as white as snow and a little golden nametag that says ‘Ralph — Manager’, is standing there. He’s blushing just as hard as she is. Jesus Christ.
“Well, thank you for your help. I know Stacy is real appreciative of everything you’ve done,” he says. “Your meals are on us. Would you two like some dessert to…”
Ralph’s eyes flick between them, and Eddie realises—horrifyingly—that while she turned, Buck absolutely did not move. He’s still right behind her, plastered along her back, hand firm on her waist, pressed close like he belongs there. Like a big puppy with separation anxiety.
“—to go?” the manager finishes.
Eddie bites down on a smile. “Uh—yeah. To go is great. You really don’t need to—”
“It’s the least we can do,” he says, interjecting.
Buck squeezes her waist. Because he’s a bastard. Eddie has to physically clamp her mouth shut to stop the small yelping noise that threatens to jump out of her. “Yep,” she manages. “Okay. Whatever cake you recommend. One slice, two plastic forks, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Thanks for dinner,” Buck adds easily over her shoulder. “It really was great. Always is.”
She can hear the smile in his voice, bright and genuine, and it does something ridiculous to her insides—makes her want to turn around and kiss it right off his face.
God, when did she get like this? Giddy. Lovestruck. Completely smitten.
The manager smiles gratefully and politely before he dips away, leaving them alone again—well, as alone as two people can get in a packed diner on a Friday night.
Buck immediately turns her around, like he’s been waiting for it, grin softer now but no less pleased. “To go, huh?”
“I think he’s worried you’re gonna grope me in the middle of the diner, Buck,” she chides with no real heat. “You’re not subtle. I’m surprised you didn’t grab my ass.”
“You’re the one who tried to slip me some tongue,” Buck shoots back, his hand sliding over her hip before finding hers, fingers lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s the first time they’ve held hands, she realises, her heart somersaulting in her chest. It’s her first time holding hands with a man. Tonight is just first after first; she feels a little dizzy with it, the rush of adrenaline never quite slowing down enough for her to catch her breath before she stumbles into the next first time for something.
“So, that mean we’re getting out of here?” He asks.
Eddie shrugs, glancing down at their intertwined hands long enough for her every nerve to light up like cut wires. The hairs along her arms are surely standing up, goosebumps raising on her skin; she doesn’t have to look to know.
“I mean… I could change in the car, and we could go for a walk. Go down to the pier. Date stuff,” Eddie offers, eyes sliding back up to meet his. “Or… we could go back to my place. Which is kid-free for the night. And then… we could throw on a movie you’re not gonna pay attention to and make out till sunrise. Maybe more than make out.”
She watches him as she says it, and gleefully gets to observe the exact moment his brain short-circuits. The fun thing about Buck is, despite all his charming, boyish flirting that drives her crazy—it’s real, real easy to get him right back. A single mention of something intimate, or sexual, or insanely cheesy, and he’s blue-screening for at least ten seconds before he reboots. She wonders if he’s like this with every partner, or if she’s the only one who can get him like that.
She likes to think it’s the second. It doesn’t matter either way. She’s the last partner he’s ever gonna have. He’s stuck with her.
Buck blinks. Blinks again. Then swallows thickly, wetting his lips.
“You think I’m— I’m that easy?” He manages, clearly aiming for casual and missing by about twelve and a half miles.
Eddie’s brow kisses her hairline. “You implying you’re not? Buck, I could suggest jerking you off in the parking lot against my truck, and you’d go for it. Enthusiastically. Eagerly.”
“I—Well. Hey. My girlfriend is… that’s not fair. You’re hot. My girlfriend is hot. And so, so competent. And badass. I don’t think I’m easy, I’m—it’s reasonable!” he insists, gesturing vaguely. “You just saved someone’s life. I’m so reasonable.”
She leans up just enough to peck the pout right off his mouth, fondness radiating off her. “Uh-huh. Okay, Mr Reasonable. Go grab our stuff, I’m gonna grab my med-kit.”
“Mmm,” he hums, thumb already stroking the back of her hand, absent and warm. “Think you should kiss me again before we separate. So I don’t die from attention-deprivation on the way there.”
“Buck.”
“It could happen,” he presses, voice insistent. “Then a pretty paramedic would have to give me mouth-to-mouth, and, well—then I’d just be getting what I wanted anyway.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”
“The idiot you kissed in the bunk rooms in the middle of shift.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He leans down, hopeful, like he doesn’t know that she’d give him anything he wanted. “One kiss. Please?”
“One kiss,” she agrees.
It is not one kiss. He slots their mouths together, chasing her tongue with his as she grips at his bicep, blunt nails digging into his shirt. Their mouths disconnect and reconnect at least three separate times.
Eddie finds herself sighing, pleased and dizzied, right into his mouth. Unbelievably content to be kissed in the middle of a crowded restaurant like two teenagers who don’t know basic social etiquette. Teenage Eddie Diaz at least had the manners to do this in the back alleys of El Paso diners with Shannon, rather than smack bang in the centre of them.
Buck makes her stupid and reckless, though. Maybe in the best way possible.
He nips at her bottom lip, teasing, and her toes curl in her shoes. Jesus Christ. She’s one second away from trying to pop a foot like a Disney Princess. And there is no space for that when she’s backed up against a counter.
She breaks the kiss, nudging him back by a gentle shove to his sternum.
“You’re gonna get us arrested for public indecency,” Eddie tells him, breathless.
“I’m feeling pretty indecent.” He grins at her, easy and boyish, finally stepping away.
Predictably, she misses the closeness instantly. It’s crazy to her—how hard she’s always had to try to be attracted to the people she’s been with, but here Buck is, drawing her in like he’s got his own gravitational pull. They’ve barely begun adjusting to the shift in their dynamic, and still, despite nerves, reason and fear, she finds herself craving to be pressed right against him every second of every damn day.
“Alright, Buckley. Walk. Go grab my jacket and keys.”
He shoots her a two-fingered salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
He jogs toward the table, mile-long legs hugged tight through the thighs of his jeans, and she finds herself tilting her head, eyeing him appreciatively. Yeah. They’re probably gonna do more than make out. She’d be surprised if they even made it to the couch.
Belongings collected (cake included), they head back out to the truck together. Buck’s hand finds the small of her back as they cross the street, fingers splayed and warm against her.
Despite the carnage, this is the best date she’s ever been on. Buck had been brainstorming date ideas on his phone for days after their first kiss, determined to do this right because he wanted to knock her socks off. And who was she to argue with a little wooing? She’d never been wooed before—always the wooer.
He’d insisted on getting ready at Maddie’s so that he could pick her up for their date. Unfortunately, with Buck’s truck in the shop, that meant he drove all the way to his sister's house in Eddie’s truck, dressed in a nice pair of light wash jeans and an open button up shirt (with the sleeves rolled up. Eddie very much noticed the sleeves folded up, straining around his bulky forearms), only to drive all the way back and collect her. Eddie had insisted it was a waste of gas, but he’d insisted right back that nothing was a waste if it was for her.
He’s kind of a cheeseball. Perhaps the cheesiest of all balls.
It’s not off-putting in the slightest. Sure, she rolls her eyes or scoffs when he dips into the cheesiness, but it’s always with a quirk at the corner of her mouth or a fluttering in her stomach. He just does it for her.
And what really does it for her is this: being backed up against her truck by her newly acquired boyfriend as he starts undoing the front of her jeans in the parking lot.
Her breath catches, hand snapping down to grab at Buck’s wrist. “What are you doing?”
Buck dips in, brushing their mouths together. “Helping you get changed. You’re gonna be pissed if there’s blood on the upholstery.”
“You’re stripping me,” she says, voice flat. “In a parking lot.”
His head leans forward, lips brushing against her cheek before lingering by her ear, voice dropping low as he says, “I’m helping, Eddie. Don’t you want me to help?”
A shiver runs up the length of her spine. “You’re—” She swallows. “An idiot.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “But I’m your idiot.”
His fingers find the button of her jeans again, flicking it open. Heat curls in her gut, teasing just behind her navel.
“Maybe you should grab the clothes I’m changing into before you strip me outta these ones, Buck.”
He sighs dramatically, puffing hot air against her ear. “Fine.”
She shakes her head fondly, leaning against the passenger door, glancing around the parking lot—thankfully, while full of cars, it’s devoid of people. She quickly places the box of cake onto the hood. She does not want it to get dropped in whatever idiocy occurs between them before they actually make it into that car. She really wants that cake.
Quickly, Buck grabs her spare clothes from a duffel in the back, the folded pile placed atop the hood as he slides right back into place, his hand skimming her waist.
“Can I kiss my girlfriend now?”
Eddie lifts her arms, grabbing the collar of her shirt at the nape of her neck and tugging it off in one smooth motion, revealing a dark sports bra that hugs her chest tightly. “Sure,” she says. “Go ahead.”
Audibly, Buck gulps, eyes flitting down to the swell of her budding chest. With a change in diet and HRT, her chest is filling out nicely, fat redistributing right where she wants it.
Buck, seemingly, is struck dumb by the sight of it, his hand gripping at her bare side as he opens his mouth, closes it, opens it, closes it, like an uncertain elevator door.
“Earth to Buckley,” Eddie says, lifting her free hand to tap his cheek. “You in there, bud?”
“Um, tits,” he says, eloquently. Then blinks, shaking his head, cheeks flushing—the pink visible even in the dark. He still does not pry his eyes away from her tits. “No, I— yep. Yes. I’m here. Hi.”
God. She could watch him lose his mind over her for the rest of her life. And, if she plays her cards right, despite how many times she’s been dealt bad hands, she thinks she just might get to.
“You know that my mouth is up here—” She tucks a single finger under his chin, lifting his gaze forcibly. He goes easily, blown pupils dragging from her chest to her mouth, then snapping up to her eyes. “—right?”
Buck squeezes her side, thumb pressing into the muscle of her abdomen. “Ye—Yeah. Shut up. I know. I— you’re cheating. You’re… this is cheating.”
She raises a brow. “You tried to take my pants off.”
“I’m going to take your pants off.”
“You might have to regain use of your motor functions before you do that,” she teases, grinning.
He huffs, his hand sliding up her side, brushing briefly over her chest before settling at her jaw, cradling it. Her skin buzzes, fingers curling into the fabric of her bloodied shirt. Her gaze flicks sideways, checking for passersby—but before she can look back, Buck is kissing her.
Not like he had in the diner, or in the bunk room. Apparently, those had been gentle and reserved kisses. She was not aware of that at the time. This is different. All-consuming. There’s a hunger in the way he presses into her, like he’s trying to fuse them together. Eddie kisses him back, pulse thundering. His fingers slip past the waistband of her jeans, no deeper than a knuckle, before pausing, heat seeping into her skin, teasing.
Eddie’s hips roll, involuntary. Her tongue nudges at the seam of his mouth. He opens for her, and his fingers dip just a little further, brushing the hollow of her hip—so close to where she’s—
Fuck. Is she hard from this? From just a little kissing?
The realisation crashes over her, her body suddenly hyper-aware—of him, of the heat between them, of how one small shift of her hips would give her away completely.
She presses a hand to his side, nudging him back. Buck, in response, whines like a dog whose favourite toy has been yanked away, chasing her lips as the kiss is fractured. She laughs breathily, pecking him quickly as she tilts her head back to suck in a steadying breath. “Buck, we need to—” She swallows, chest shifting with every breath. “We need to go. I need to get changed. I want to— you know.”
He tilts her head down again, smoothing a thumb across her cheek. “You wanna what?”
His fingers, still tucked in her pants, wiggle a little—reminding her just how close he is to actually touching her.
Eddie so, so badly wants him to touch her. But behind closed doors, where they won’t be arrested if they’re caught. She really does not want Athena finding out they’re no better than teenage delinquents when it comes to this kind of thing.
“You know,” she says again, cheeks pink. “I’m not giving you the details, or you’re gonna kiss me again.”
He scoffs. “I am not that predictable.”
He is. Eddie knows Buck better than she knows herself. He is not the kind of guy who has self-restraint when it comes to these kinds of things, if the diner make out is anything to go by.
Shaking her head, Eddie leans in, knocking their noses together. “So… you won’t be tempted to kiss me again if I say I wanna go home, to our home, push you down onto the couch, sit in your lap and kiss you till you’re so hard you can’t think straight? Maybe let you grab my ass a little?”
Buck’s head ducks, face tucking into the crook of her neck as he exhales unsteadily. “O-Okay. You… Jesus. You’re a temptress, Eddie. A siren. You’re going to lure me to my watery grave.” He presses a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin of her neck. Arousal licks up the back of her neck, teasing and tempting.
“No, you’re just a horndog,” she mutters, her own voice unsteady as he kisses again, this time open-mouthed and hot. She feels herself melting, hand splaying against the truck door as she tilts her head to the side, eyes fluttering closed. He nips at the skin, and she moans, soft and breathy.
“And you’re not?” he whispers, right against her neck. “You’re totally unaffected, right, Eds?”
She nudges him back firmly, narrowing her eyes. “Buck, you are—” She leans over, grabbing the shirt from the hood and pulling it over her head. It’s only once she’s wearing it that she realises it’s a couple of sizes too big. It’s his LAFD shirt. She glances up, sentence abandoned and raises her brows.
“My duffel was in the back,” he says, grinning. “Thought you’d look good in it. You do, by the way.”
“Uh-huh.”
Thankfully, the spare jeans he’d grabbed from the back are actually hers—otherwise they’d be two sizes too small on her ass and hips and about two miles too long on her legs (the guy really is at least eighty per cent leg). She urges him to stand between her and the diner, using his bulky body as a privacy screen. She quickly shucks her bloodied pants off, handing them to him before pulling her new ones on.
She very much knows her arousal is evident, but he’s merciful enough not to say anything. His silence, however, is accompanied by a smug little crooked grin that she very pointedly ignores.
Eddie buttons her pants up, locking her belt into place. “This is not how I thought tonight would go,” she says, voice low.
“Can I be honest?” He says, voice suddenly void of the teasing it’s been laced with.
Her blood turns cold in worry. That’s never a good sign. Things are going so well. Well— they are now. And they were before all the blood and gore. Did she say something? Did she do something? Was she— she swallows her panic down, forcing a casual smile.
“Uh, yeah.” Eddie straightens her spine, steeling herself. “Always.”
“This is kind of how I expected it to go,” he admits. “I mean—not exactly. I didn’t predict the banana peel. Or the knife. But… I don’t know. Stuff is always a little messy for us. I was honestly more worried it’d be too— boring. Plain. That you’d be bored, and you’d realise you weren’t that into me, and you wouldn’t— um. That you wouldn’t wanna do this. Actually do this.”
Her expression softens, shoulders sagging. She reaches out, smoothing a hand over his forearm where it’s clutching onto her dirty clothes.
“Buck,” she says, “We could’ve sat together at home, doing nothing, just talking, and I wouldn’t have been bored. I just care that it’s you and me. I don’t need craziness, or fancy dates, or any of it. They’re an adventure, sure, but I just… I just need you.” She squeezes his arm. “Buck, baby, I’d watch paint dry with you.”
His arm tenses beneath her touch, jaw clenching. “Sorry,” he mumbles, voice tight, when worry flicks across her face. “I’m trying not to kiss you again, ‘cause I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.”
She laughs, leaning forward and pecking his cheek. “Alright, loverboy, drive us home, and you can kiss me as much as you want.”
Buck takes a step back, moving to turn before hesitating, whole body halting as his eyes meet hers again. “...Just one more kiss?”
She rolls her eyes, lifting a foot and nudging his shin with her boot. “No. Keep moving. If we kiss again, I’m gonna pull your shirt off, and your tits are bigger than mine. It’d be indecent.”
His eyes flit down to the curve of her chest, tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip. “Um— trust me, Eddie. They’re not. Not anymore.”
Eddie’s stomach buzzes under his lingering gaze, fingers twitching at her side as she fights the urge to drag him in and kiss him stupid. “Stop staring at my tits,” she says, voice tight. “Get in the car. We’re not getting arrested.”
“You so wanna kiss me,” he says, clearly beyond pleased with himself as he rounds the car, grinning. “You wanna kiss me sooooo bad.”
She climbs into the truck, rolling her eyes. He’s right, though. She does want to kiss him. Here, when they get home, when they fall into bed, when they wake up tomorrow, and then do it over, and over, and over again till they’re old, and wrinkly, and grey.
Even if she has to jump a thousand hurdles, and wade through muck, and pain, and mess, to do it, she would—just to kiss him again, and again, and again.