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Water is meant to be holy.
Eddie thinks that's why he chose the water over the juice. Water is connected to Baptisms and purity and protection. Hell, a priest, the priest, had even been there when Eddie had purchased the bottle. He hadn't given the tasteless liquid much thought until it was brought up in conversation. The talking to he'd been given with the man of the cloth had at once dripped him in sin and dried him of it.
It also made Eddie look at orange juice differently.
He's actually holding a glass of the stuff, the taste on his lips, when he realizes. He and Buck had just finished setting the table for dinner, the pot steaming on the stove, flavor in the air, Buck buzzing about bees. It's all he's been talking about since the fiasco with the insects and he's somehow throwing in bits and pieces about Billy Boils.
Eddie's always thought Buck's process with his own brain and how he gets to Point A to Point B was fun. It certainly kept Eddie on his toes. Buck hadn't even spent the bill he won from Eddie; instead he had framed it and put it on his nightstand. Smug bastard. He'd shown it to Eddie with a grand flourish and Eddie had been caught in the middle of wanting to laugh or chase him around the loft.
Now he sits at the table with a glass of orange juice and doesn't wish for water at all.
"Damn."
Eddie looks up from the ripples in the orange. "Hm?"
"You think this stain is gonna come out?" Buck twists at the waist to show Eddie the obvious stain on the front of his apron, pouting and rubbing at the spot, forlorn.
"Which one?"
"Okay. Thanks, Eddie, you're always so helpful."
Eddie smirks. "You know it'll come out; you made me buy that good stain remover."
"Oh, yeah." Buck lifts his head. "The blueberry one."
"Yeah, and it was fucking expensive too. All for the love of your dozens of aprons."
"'Dozens'." Buck scoffs. "I have, like, four."
"Bullshit." Eddie barks a laugh, leaning forward, the edge of the table pushing into his stomach. "I've bought you at least six."
"One for every year." Buck grins, eyes gleaming.
"I thought the Snoopy one was a stroke of genius," Eddie notes.
"Oh, well, if you say," Buck chuckles, refocusing on whatever he's got going on the stove.
Eddie smiles. "I do." He crosses his arms on the table top, still leaning. "You getting ready for the 14th?"
Buck snorts. "Yes, Eddie. You already know my bag's packed and my tank's full."
"Only one bag?" Eddie teases.
Buck waves his hand at him. "Stop."
"Only one bag for the airport that's an hour and a half away. The airport that we're not even going to go into. We're not getting on a plane, Buck. This is barely a road trip."
"So?" Buck tilts his head, steam rising around his face. "Chris'll probably be hungry---there's a joke about airplane food dangling there, you know, but I'm too good for that---and he has to be missing Abuela's cooking."
Eddie nods, sipping at his juice. "He's excited to see you."
"He misses you, too." Buck gives him a meaningful look over his shoulder. "You're his dad."
"So are you." Eddie says, watching in real time as the crest of Buck's cheek flushes.
They've already had this conversation the day Chris called to tell Eddie that he wanted to come home. You're his dad, too. (You've always been his dad).
Eddie thought he had been alone in raising his son; how blind he'd been.
Eddie is old and worn and tired. Buck is shiny and new and familiar. He hasn't changed in Eddie's flawless perspective. Eddie can't see Buck's face, but he knows for a fact that he's smiling, and it's one of Eddie's favorites.
He has to go and see it for himself.
Eddie stands and goes to him, sidles up next to him, rests his side against the counter facing Buck. His clothes smell good from the vapors of the food he's cooking.
Buck glances at him, and yeah, he's got that smile that Eddie adores. "Almost ready."
"Okay." Eddie takes another sip of his juice and he thinks about readiness and he could eat and Buck isn't looking at him anymore and the orange juice is so flavorful---
"Thanks," Buck whispers, "for letting me be important."
And, sometimes, Eddie wants to light his own fuse and explode. Doesn't Buck already know? Doesn't he get it? How crucial he truly is to Eddie and Christopher Diaz? How he is the particles of dust that Eddie breathes into his lungs? How he'd hold his breath if it meant Buck never again left him?
Doesn't he know? (How can he not know?)
Tell him, then.
Eddie drinks his juice and thinks he'd like to taste the flavor from Buck's lips.
He drops the glass. It shatters at his feet.
"Jesus!" Buck jumps, eyes snapping down to the shards. "You okay? No cuts? Don't move--I'll get the broom." Buck makes to move away and---and Eddie can't do that. Eddie has grabbed Buck's elbow like he's a snake striking.
"Wait."
"E--Eddie? What's wrong?"
Oh, fuck. He's shaking. He's shaking, isn't it? How long has that been going on? Oh, God. How long? Since the start. How deep does it go? To the core.
"You're my juice."
Buck gives him the oddest look. "What?"
"Juice." Eddie murmurs, quiet and fast. "Not water; I've never liked water."
"Are you sure? Water is needed for life expectancy---"
"Buck." Eddie stresses, the pressure on his heart a physical thing. "You've never been water. You, since the start, have been orange juice."
Buck's brows furrow, eyes a storm of uncertainty, still trying to swim through the confusion to reach Eddie's side. "I...Eds, I'm sorry, I don't know what you're saying. I'm juice? I always thought I was more like a powerade or red bull, you know? But I see you've given this a lot of thought. So, I guess I can be OJ? I've never had a problem with it, it tastes alright, not my favorite but that's fine. I've always been more of an apple juice guy, actually. You can be a Piña colada with one of those little umbrellas. I was gonna say a craft beer or whiskey on the rocks, but ones basic and the other's just because you're from Texas. I was thinking of you being a badass outlaw but that's giving you way too much credit since I'm just plain orange juice. Why do you get to be a cool beverage, anyway?"
Eddie laughs, a bit unhinged, but with so much love. So much. "Buck," he says, smiling. "I love you."
Buck's smile, this one, only this one, please, forever.
"I love you, too, Eddie."
And it should be enough. Oh, God, it should be, but God bore Eddie hungry.
"Thank you, but no."
Eddie reaches for him, takes Buck's wrist, holds on tight. He's the only thing keeping him upright. Always has been. "No, Buck. I. I have loved you. Been in love with you. For so long. For so long now. I--I'm in love with you, Evan." Eddie gazes at him. At his blue, blue eyes. At his blond curls. At his loving soul. Eddie laughs softly, shrugging, confesses, "You're, uh, you're my juice."
"Eddie..."
Eddie grips tighter, holds onto him. Because yeah, he knows. He has been aware. Buck loves him, but not enough to want him carnally. Completely. All of him. He can hear it in his voice. See it in his gorgeous outline. The---the fucking rejection. Fuck. What an ugly, harsh word. Eddie wants to vomit it right back out as soon as it enters.
"I'm in love with you." Eddie says again. Has to. Is compelled to. "I love you." Again. More. Has to say it as many times as he can in this little bitty space. He'll go mad if he doesn't expell this. His very own exorcism. "I love---"
"Eddie."
Eddie gasps, eyes wide as he takes in Buck. His face. God, his face. He looks so sad. Eddie wires his jaw shut, teeth together, lips trembling. How selfish of him.
"Sorry. Sorry, Buck, I didn't mean to." He never wants to upset him. The love of his life. Of his entire existence.
"Hey. Hey," Buck shushes, turning his arm over to hold Eddie's hand. His touch...God, the way he touches him...holy. "Please, don't apologize, Eddie. Hey, look at me."
"I am." He hasn't looked away for seven years.
"When did you--Eddie, when did you realize about--about me?"
Eddie's mouth is dry. "Right now."
Buck's smile this time is small and depreciating. "I don't want to be your first, Eddie."
And it's like swallowing a live bullet, hot on the tongue and burning down the throat to melt your insides at the hottest degree.
"Please?"
"I can't, Eddie."
Buck draws away from him. Let's him go. And Eddie knows that if Buck walks out that door---that'd be the end of it. He won't be coming back to relive this moment.
Desperate to the ends of his teeth, Eddie clings with his nail beds, his heart outside the cage of his ribs.
"You wouldn't be my first," Eddie sobs, "you'd be my last."
Buck stops. Honest to God stops.
This is it. (This is your last chance).
Eddie stops breathing as Buck turns back to him.
And the look on his face is a blessing and a curse.
"What?"
"You're all I want. You're it, Buck. You're all of it."
Buck stands in the middle of Eddie's house. One foot in the kitchen and one foot in the living room. And isn't that perfect? A visual representation of the two hooks in Eddie's heart? The undeciveness, the 50/50 shot of Buck returning to him, or leaving him.
"Be my last, Buck." Eddie begs into the space between them. "I love you."
And Buck decides for the both of them.
Hail Mary.