Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all starts with a shift from absolute hell.

No, scratch that.

It all starts when Eddie wakes up in the morning, squinting up at his alarm clock only to be faced with 07:34 in bold red letters. There’s a fog still clouding his mind and it takes him a moment to realize he’s overslept his alarm.

First, he bolts upright and gets tangled in his sheets as he climbs out of his bed. Then he almost comes face to face with the door of his closet, if it wouldn’t have been for his hand stopping himself last minute.

Eddie rushes down the hall to wake up Christopher, only to notice he isn’t in his bed anymore, and he is close to a panic attack without his eyes even opened all the way.

The clinking of a metal on ceramic stops his shallow, rapid breathing abruptly, and he follows the sound towards the kitchen, where–

Where his son sits at the table, eating his cereal with a calm only a seven year old unaware of the concept of time can manage. He looks up at him then, his curls bouncing on his head as he greets him with a bright smile like the most innocent angel.

So, it all starts with a morning from absolute hell; with Eddie speeding through their morning routine to make sure Christopher makes it to school in time. Then he gets stuck in stop-and-go traffic in the middle of the city, and ends up coming into work thirty minutes late to–

To work a shift from absolute hell.

And all that without the caffeine of coffee in his bloodstream. He sighs to himself, a slow drawn out exhale through his nose, and walks through the glass door. What greets him is a chaos he has never seen in this building before.

Josh is running around from desk to desk like a squirrel from tree to tree – with the same face and all, but he keeps that to himself – and he doesn’t even notice Eddie slowly sneaking up to his desk behind his back.

He looks around and takes in the coworkers sitting closest to him. A cacophony of calm voices that mask their stressed expressions, fingers landing on keyboards with a loud clack. Every time one of them ends their call, a new one comes in.

Making quick work of starting his own computer and logging into the system with his ID, it takes all but five seconds until he has a call in his line. He accepts it immediately and waits for the call to connect.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” he speaks into his headset, his voice soft and calm, his fingers hovering over the keyboard in anticipation.

“There’s a guy hanging out of a window!” It’s a woman on the other side, her voice loud and filled with a devastating panic as she screams into his ear.

-

Two hours, three car pile-up accidents, four innocuous kitchen fires and one case of public indecency later, he’s ready to crawl home on his hands and knees to sleep for the next twenty hours.

He doesn’t believe in jinxes and people going crazy on full moons, let alone signs of the universe, but with every call coming in seconds after he ended another, he’s convinced one of the trainees said the q-word.

He’s about to stand up and stretch his back when the screen in front of him blinks with an incoming call.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Firefighter Evan Buckley of the 118 with Captain Bobby Nash. There’s been, ugh–“ The sentence cuts off with a groan as Eddie types in the details. “We’re at a four alarm fire downtown, and the building just came crashing down on me.”

The voice is shaking with every spoken word, despite the obvious attempt to remain firm and calm. Probably a result of the shock and adrenaline cursing through the man’s veins.

Eddie would be lying if he says he isn’t a little confused by the call. Surely, there are plenty of teams out there fighting such a big fire, and someone must have noticed he was missing. He opens up the details of the call, and yeah, they called for backup about ten minutes ago.

He clicks on the address and searches through city files of architecture plans to look at the structure and division of the building and finds the right one.

“Okay, Firefighter Buckley, can you tell me your last location?”

“Uh– I was sweeping the fourth quadrant, third floor, I think? I don’t remember the exact position I was in or– or If I’m even there anymore. I don’t know the damage.” Eddie winces at the cough that follows.

“Alright, that’s okay. Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

“My right side it’s, uh, my ribs are burning like a bitch, man,” he chuckles. Even through the phone Eddie detects the lack of humor. “I’m not bleeding anywhere, as far as I can tell. But my radio got smashed, and my team’s probably out there trying to radio me, so.”

And Eddie can only imagine what that must feel like, being out there somewhere, all alone and with no way of contacting the people searching for him. He would probably lie there and wonder what Christopher’s up to, and then a familiar panic would settle deep in his bones and crawl up his throat at the thought of never coming home to his son. It’s a fear he thought he’s left behind when he got discharged from the army.

But then again, he can’t imagine what it must be like to be the one standing outside the building, watching it collapse with a friend, a brother, still inside.

“So, are you even allowed to carry your phone with you?” he asks, trying to distract him and calm him down as he searches for the contact information of the captain of the 118.

“I mean, no? But it’s not like my boss is gonna be mad at me when it’s saving my life right now, or what do you think–“ he pauses. “Sorry man, what’s your name again?”

He asks the question as if Eddie’s told him and he didn’t catch it the first time around. While that wasn’t the case, Eddie doesn’t mention it.

“I’m Eddie. Eddie Diaz.” The line between him and Bobby Nash connects, and for a second all he can hear is a screeching static. “Listen, Evan, stay on the phone, okay? I’m just going to talk to your captain real quick, and we’re gonna get you out of there.”

“It’s Buck. Please call me Buck.”

“Buck. Okay. Stay on the phone, don’t hang up.”

The static turns into a rustling, and then captain Nash comes through, worry and fear mixed in the deep tone of his voice. He can hear people in the background, a cacophony of firm voices yelling orders and medical jargon. Somewhere in the distance is a woman crying, and he has to close his eyes for a second.

He takes a deep breath. You’re thousands of miles away from Afghanistan, you’re safe.

“Captain Nash, this is Dispatcher Eddie Diaz. I have one of your firefighters, Evan Buckley, on the phone right now,” he explains and a gasp echoes down the line. “He seems to be okay, maybe a little banged up. His radio got destroyed and his last whereabouts–“ he rattles off the information he gathered from his short conversation with Buck.

“Thank you, Dispatcher Diaz. That’s something we can work with. Tell him we’re on our way and to just hang on.”

So he does just that.

Buck sighs out a long breath of relief that rattles the speaker, and then he – laughs?

“You know, just two hours ago I promised Bobby I would stop risking my life every chance I get,” he tells him, but despite the earlier laughing it sounds a little choked up. “And now look at me.”

A small sympathetic smile lifts up the corners of his lips. Even though his job mostly consists of talking to victims and witnesses, he’s heard enough stories about reckless firefighters from his co-workers.

Hell, just a couple of months ago he’s been thinking about becoming a firefighter himself. The job came with a lot of advantages - good payment and an insurance that would’ve covered most of Christopher’s needs.

But then he’s found out about the Dispatch Center looking for new employees, and while they didn’t pay as much, the job came with the same insurance minus the familiar adrenaline rush of an active war zone and the twenty-four to forty-eight hour shifts.

Of course he chose more time with Christopher over the better payment. He’s wasted enough time away from him.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, remembering there’s another person waiting for an answer, “This one’s not really your fault, though, is it?”

“I mean, I hope not? Getting fired by Bobby two times in one year is a little much, even for me.”

The laugh escapes him before he can stop it, and all he manages to get past his giggling is a disbelieving, “What?”

“Long story, dude.”

And, okay, maybe it’s a little unprofessional and wildly inappropriate given the circumstances, but has he mentioned the guy actually has a really nice voice? It’s deep and a little hoarse – probably from the dust and debris he’s surrounded by – and it scratches Eddie’s brain just so.

“Oh, come on. You can’t tease me like that and then leave me hanging. Now you just have to tell me.” God, what is he saying. You can’t tease me like that? Really?

Get a grip, Diaz.

“Okay, okay. But only because you asked so nicely.” If it weren’t for the current situation, Eddie would maybe think Buck’s tone just dropped into a flirting purr. “I may or may not have stolen the fire truck to hook up with a guy from Grindr.”

Eddie is defenseless against the force of the snort that comes out of him. But with it comes a sour taste coating his tongue that twists his stomach up into knots. He’ll have to overthink that later, though. Now’s not the time.

“It’s completely valid he fired you. I’m more surprised that he let you back on the team. What were you thinking?” He can’t help but simultaneously laugh and shake his head at the idiocy. The guy sounds like an absolute menace to society, like everyday with him is an adventure and a challenge all the same.

Eddie shoves the sudden want simmering under his skin back down.

“I mean, I can’t say I was thinking, exactly. The blood from my brain was needed somewhere else, if you get what I mean.” Eddie swallows the spit in his mouth before it can try something like. Choke him, or whatever.

All he can manage to get out is a wheezed, “Oh my God!” followed by a groan. At least Eddie doesn’t have any problem with lack of blood in his head, for a heat flushes his entire face at the image of a young, fit firefighter–

He seriously needs to stop before the blood coloring his face travels south. In the middle of the Dispatch Center. Right in front of Sue. With an actual hurt person calling him in a vulnerable position.

A beat of silence follows after that. He can still hear breathing on the other side – and it sounds a little panicked.

“You still with me, Buck?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” It’s only a whisper, but there’s so much emotion in it that Eddie can’t quite decipher. Something that makes him sound a lot younger than just moments before, like he’s just a kid who got lost and can’t find his parents.

Eddie is alarmed instantaneously. There’s a familiar feeling in his gut, something that screams protect, protect, protect. It leaves him a little breathless, the memory of the first time he’s ever noticed that tug, like a rope tied around his insides – pulling and pulling until his stomach convulses.

Christopher was just a couple days old, pressed gently into the fold of his elbow and looking up at him with wide and watery eyes. He’s stopped crying as soon as Eddie picked him up, like Chris knew he was safe. And loved. With someone he could trust with his life.

Protect, protect, protect.

What Buck needs the most right now isn’t all that different. He needs someone who makes him feel like everything’s going to turn out fine, an anchor to the outside world he’s waiting to come back to.

So Eddie tries not to add to the worry and gives his all to stop Buck’s mind from giving in to the what-ifs he’s probably using to feed his fear.

“Still feeling alright? How’s your side?” he asks, his voice overly cheery even to his own ears.

“Still hurting. Might be broken.”

The way he went from full sentences to only a handful of words is not a good sign, for his voice sounds slurry and tired, like he’s about to let his eyes fall shut.

“Hey, Buck?” he prompts. He only gets a hum in return. That’s even worse. “Can you tell me something about yourself? I feel like we’re having a really nice bonding situation here.”

Buck answers with a weak laugh, just a little huff of air that fans over the speaker of his phone.

“I have a sister. Someone needs to call her if they don’t find me,” he croaks. He proceeds to tell him her personal information, from her name and address to her phone number.

Eddie tries not to think about that happening, Buck dying on the other side of the phone while he’s forced to wait and listen as they’re trying to find him.

“Hey man, none of that,” he says —

He has to swallow around a lump in his throat and blinks back the sting of tears threatening to blur his vision.

— as he writes down the information anyway, just in case:

Maddie Kendall,

1500 Hemlock Ave.

Hershey, PA 17033

“Pennsylvania, huh? What brings you to L.A.?” He continues the conversation and ignores how wet his own voice sounds. Buck talking about his sister hits a little too close to home, but at least it means he’s still talking.

Until, apparently, he isn’t.

“Buck?”

Nothing but silence.

“Buck?” he repeats, forcing his mouth to press out the name past the fist of panic curling around his lungs. Seconds pass without a word from the firefighter. Josh and Linda throw him worried looks he only perceives peripherally.

Two minutes.

His fingers find their way into his hair, gripping the loose strands tightly and pulling until it hurts. The pain is grounding, but it doesn’t stop the weird feeling twisting up his intestines.

Three minutes.

A cold drop of sweat he’s only faintly aware of runs down his back as he stares down at the timer telling him how long the call has been connected. Counting the seconds.

Four minutes.

A deafening bang startles him and almost causes him to jump out of his chair.

“Buck?” At first, he thinks it’s his own voice and he just didn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. But it’s a woman, somewhere near Buck, but – by the sound of it – still too far away.

Another loud bang, like metal hitting stone.

“Buck!” Eddie releases the breath he’s been holding when he recognizes Nash’s voice. It’s closer now. “Hey Buck, wake–“

The call disconnects.

-

One of the first things they teach you as a trainee at Dispatch is that you don’t always find out what happens to the people on the other side. A lot of them hang up as soon as help arrives, and sometimes the person calling isn’t even the victim and they don’t know anything themselves.

So he knows that it happens; knows that he should see it coming at any moment as soon as he tells them help is on the way.

That doesn’t stop it from messing with his head, though. He carries home the heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders every single time, and he wonders even after days have passed what might’ve happened.

Firefighter Evan “Call me Buck” Buckley is no exception.

He finishes his shift with a suffocating feeling sitting in his chest, dodging concerned looks and questions from Sue. The drive home passes him by in the blink of an eye and soon enough he sits in his parked truck in the driveway, staring up at the porch light through his windshield.

His son is waiting inside, probably already standing in the entryway to greet him with a tight hug, and he knows he has to shake it off. It’s the job. It’s what he’s signed up for, once again.

Only this time, he won’t drag it over the threshold and let it ruin what’s left of his family. The last thing he wants is Chris – who’s always way too perceptive even for his young age – sensing that something’s wrong. He has to leave it out here and not bring it inside.

He looks up into the rear view mirror and attempts a smile. A cold shiver runs down his spine at the grimace staring back at him.

The gravel path under his boots crunches with every step he takes toward the front door, and before he can even push his key into the lock the door swings open.

“Dad!” Chris screams, and then proceeds to fling himself at him with a sudden burst of strength.

Eddie catches him just in time to scoop him up, and not even the chill settled deep into his bones can stop the warmth that spreads through every fiber of his body as his son wraps his arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into his shirt.

“I missed you too, mijo,” he tells him, stroking his flat palm up and down his back soothingly and kisses the crown of his head with a loud smack. “What’s for dinner?”

As expected, Chris perks up at that, a toothy smile stretching over his face from ear to ear. The smile he gives him in return doesn’t feel as forced anymore.

“Abuela made Enchiladas. I helped!”

“Did you? I can’t wait to try them.”

He carries Christopher inside and closes the door behind him with a kick of his foot.

“Guys, he’s waking up.”

He feels like he’s underwater, miles and miles of blue that keep him from ever reaching the surface. The distant voice only adds to that suspicion, for the sound feels like it’s trying to break through the water flooding his ears.

The person speaking is out there, somewhere in the dry heat of the California sun, basking in the warmth and waiting for him.

Buck can feel the numbing cold seep into his fingertips and a weight pulling him down into the darkness again. But he wants to be warm and feel the rays of sunlight on his skin even if he’s prone to sunburn and sweating like a pig.

He just has to fight against the feeling of stones tied to his feet and follow the light up, up, up. He starts kicking even when his lungs feel like they’re going to combust with the pressure any second.

Keep going, Buck, you’re almost there.

The voice is strange and yet familiar at the same time, a mess he’d try to make sense of if his legs wouldn’t be burning and–

And then Buck wakes up with a gasp that doesn’t seem to fill his lungs. There’s a weight like a blanket draped over him, pressing on his chest and he’s going to suffocate. He can’t breathe, God, why can’t he breathe, he just broke through the surface and the water’s gone–

“Hey, hey.” He’s still kicking when the hand lands on his shoulder. It’s warm and firm as it pushes him back against something soft – a pillow? – and he can’t help but shiver when the warmth creeps through the fabric on his body and into his skin.

Air finally fills his lungs, expanding his chest as his body slumps back and he melts into what he suspects is a mattress.

His eyes feel like someone glued them shut. He rubs a knuckle over them and the dry crust on his lashes causes him to wonder if maybe he actually spent too much time in the salty ocean water of Los Angeles.

The person who put their hand on his shoulder still hasn’t pulled it back, so he forces himself to crack his right eye open. What he’s faced with is Bobby’s frowning face surrounded by white and white and white.

That and the faint smell of antiseptic makes him realize he’s in the hospital.

“What happened?” he croaks and winces. His mouth is dry as a desert. Every word feels like sandpaper scratching his throat.

Chimney comes into his line of sight, giving him a very graphic retelling of the events that lead him to this hospital room. All while obnoxiously smacking a piece of gum.

Buck remembers then. The horrible creaking of metal right over his head, as if the building was screaming in pain. Smoke running through the cracks of the ceiling. How he grabbed his radio to alarm the rest of the team of the structural collapse that was about to happen.

The acidic bile rising in his throat at the sharp excruciating pain shooting through him, causing him to gag and turn to the side in case he was about to vomit all over himself.

And then, like a light in the darkness, like the sun shining through a hole in the pile of debris–

I’m Eddie. Eddie Diaz.

The soothing rumble coming through his speakers like a warm hand caressing his cheek, asking him questions. His skin erupting into goosebumps and the shiver down his spine that didn’t have anything to do with the cold when Eddie’s laugh caused the speaker to vibrate on his chest.

How he wanted to carve out his chest and make room next to his heart to keep it there forever.

He knows, logically, that Eddie was just trying to keep him distracted and nothing more; knows that it was just a stranger on the other side of the phone.

He’s known it back then, too. Lying on the hard floor with a sharp rock digging into his shoulder, and the cold of the concrete seeping into his bones even through the thick layers of his turnouts until he was a shivering mess.

Eddie Diaz was just trying to do his job as best he could without having to lose someone today.

There’s a rustling next to his head before a white paper cup with a straw appears in front of him. He takes a sip, then, and the water is so refreshing a low moan escapes through his lips.

A snort from his left startles him and his head whips around. Hen is sitting in one of the hard plastic hospital chairs, her arms crossed and an amused quirk in her eyebrow.

Buck gives her a sheepish smile in return, before he turns back around to Bobby.

“So, uh, what’s the damage, Cap?”

The expression in his eyes turns sympathetic. Buck swallows audibly. “Two broken ribs and a light concussion. It’s gonna be a couple weeks of rest. I’m sorry, kid.”

The words sink inside his stomach like lead. Great, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You scared the shit out of us. Were pretty out of it when you first came back up in the ambulance, man,” Chim tells him. “Kept calling for an Eddie, and then you went back into dreamland.”

And. Oh. That’s embarrassing. Heat spreads over the back of his neck and over his cheeks, and he’s sure the color of his face is matching his birthmark.

In the corner of his eyes, Hen’s piercing Chimney with a pointed look that seems to be saying drop it, but he isn’t in on their weird little telepathy mind trick, so he can’t be too sure about his interpretation.

Bobby’s smile, on the other hand, is way too knowing for his liking, and the memory crashes into him like a wave into a wall of rocks.

I’m just going to talk to your captain real quick, and we’re gonna get you out of there.

“Hey, I mean, some dispatcher’s are really good at their job.” Even Bobby’s eyes are smiling now, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Good enough to leave an impression, I bet.”

Buck groans. His hands move on auto-pilot to hide his burning face behind them. His whole body feels so flushed it’s competing with a five alarm fire.

“I feel like I’m missing a good chunk of important information here,” Hen teases. “Is Eddie the dispatcher you were talking to?”

His next words are muffled by the palm of his hand still pressed against his lips, “Yeah. Can we talk about literally anything else, please?”

“Oh no, this is only getting good now,” she tells him. But then she gasps dramatically. “Please don’t tell me you flirted with him. Buck, no! Shut up– I said don’t tell me!”

“It was the adrenaline!” he squawks, his arms flying up in the air defensively. He wrinkles his nose when the sudden movement pulls at his ribs. “He had this really nice voice, and I just know he talks you through it, okay? I bet his face is just as nice to look at, he had this whole sexy vibe going on.”

Bobby wrinkles his nose at the words. Understandable, Buck thinks, he probably doesn’t want to hear his employees talking about anything related to sexual activities. They’re most likely violating plenty of work policies right now.

Hen scoffs, “What if he’s a fifty year old with a wife at home?”

Chimney points a finger at her and raises his eyebrows. A gesture that says She’s got a point there, man. And even Buck himself has to admit that she, in fact, does have a point. He doesn’t know anything about the person he was talking to, just knows there’s someone with a nice voice with a slight accent out there.

“Don’t knock it till you try it, eh?” he says and wiggles his eyebrows seductively. It serves its purpose, though: Riling her up.

“Ew, Buck. That’s so disgusting, even for you–“

“Okay, enough, children. It’s late and there are other patients on this ward.” Bobby interrupts, a placating hand held up in front of him. The amused tick of his mouth betrays him anyway.

And if Buck, the epitome of maturity, sticks his tongue out at Hen, that’s between the two of them.

“You know his last name, too?”

Buck turns to look up at Chimney and squints his eyes suspiciously. He knows the sound of Chim’s voice when he’s planning something Buck isn’t going to like. Can read at least twenty different emotions just in the way his jaw is working when he’s chewing his gum, even.

“I do, why?”

“Look him up on Instagram. Find out what he looks like and send him a DM. A thank you or something.” He shrugs his shoulders, the fake disinterest radiating off him and.

Buck definitely won’t be doing that, thank you very much. He says as much to his friends.

“Why not? He actually sounded really worried about you.”

“Bobby, not you, too. Come on, you’re supposed to be the reasonable one here!” he whines. “I can’t just harass this guy in his free time. He’ll probably think I’m a weirdo.”

“I mean…” Hen trails off. Somehow, Buck can still hear the rest of the sentence. I mean, no offense, you kind of are a weirdo. He glares at her. She just shrugs and puts her hands up defensively.

They leave half an hour after that with the promise to come back tomorrow to take him home. Bobby is the last one to leave, giving him a clap on the shoulder and reassuring words, “You earned your place at the 118 with hard work and dedication. It’s yours, Buck. And it will still be there waiting for you when you’re recovered.”

God, the words almost make him cry, and isn’t that pathetic? That, despite his best efforts to keep up with the happy-go-lucky attitude, his own boss detects his fear of getting left behind.

Maybe, he thinks, Bobby has a way to see through all the layers of armor he’s hiding behind and can read the warning signs that he’s been carrying around since his first conscious thought.

Like mother nature handed him a manual instruction at the age of three and he proceeded to engrave it into his bones with yellow warning signs and bold letters that read: Do not press this button, you will activate abandonment issues.

Which is also the reason he can’t just contact Eddie Diaz, he ponders.

He tells himself that, in the end, there’s no use in trying anyway. No one ever stays long enough to see Evan Buckley hiding behind the mask of Buck, and those who have– those who saw the shattered boy cowering and shaking in a corner, they thought what Buck always saw when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, like a branded mark on his forehead: Not worth the trouble.

His parents didn’t care when he packed two bags full of his most important belongings and has left the pristine two story house – not home – where he always felt too small. Not enough to fill the spaces of the emptiness that flickered over his parents’ eyes every time they have dared to look at him. There hasn’t been a single word of protest, let alone the slightest trace of a tear on their faces.

Maddie tossed him the car keys to her jeep, her figure shrinking in the rear view mirror with every second he put his foot on the gas pedal. He hasn’t heard from her ever since, his postcards remaining unanswered even to this day, three years in the future.

A voice inside of him nags him to try anyway. Where’s the harm? If Eddie Diaz isn’t interested, at least he gets to thank him for staying on the phone. For not leaving him all to himself when he was scared. Maybe he is a fifty year old with a wife at home, maybe he doesn’t even have an Instagram account and all his overthinking is useless anyway.

He figures there’s only one way to find out. If this goes wrong, he’ll simply blame it on the pain meds.

It takes him thirty minutes to work up the courage to open Instagram and type ‘Eddie Diaz’ into the search bar.

It’s late when Eddie finally turns off the TV and the overhead lights and makes his way down the hall to his bedroom. He’s brought Chris to bed hours ago, and with his stomach full of the mouth watering food his abuela cooked with his son, he’s ready for his head to hit the pillow.

He’s just finished in the bathroom when his phone vibrates on his nightstand. Then again. And again. Four times in a row.

Eddie crosses the room in three long strides and picks up his phone. He’s already expecting some kind of emergency – why else would his phone blow up a few minutes before midnight?

However, nothing could’ve prepared him for the instagram messages on his lock screen.

It nearly kills him, the itch in his fingers to type out a reply immediately, but then his eyes fall on the little round profile picture next to them and the curiosity gets the better of him.

It only takes him a single tap of his thumb on the username at the top of the screen, and the app redirects him to Buck’s profile in no time. He clicks on the first picture his eyes take sight of. It’s the same black and white picture as his profile picture.

And-

He actually can’t believe what he’s seeing. That guy is hot. Not only does he have the body of a literal God, with tattoos covering his arms, and said arms straining against the fabric of his LAFD shirt, no, the smile that’s captured by the camera is enough to light up even the darkest corners inside of Eddie.

There are dimples that appeared on his cheeks, and his eyes are tightly shut from laughing. He follows the little crow feet at the corner of his eyes, and they lead him to a splotch of dark grey on his eyelid and over his eyebrow.

Maybe a birthmark, he thinks. And he guesses it’s the same color as his heated up pink cheeks.

His suspicion is confirmed a second later when he scrolls to the next picture, a group photo of Buck and three other firefighters from his team.

He drags his eyes up and looks in the mirror on the opposite wall to give his face a once-over. 

Yep, same shade of pink.

The last time his body has had such a strong reaction by looking at a picture of another man was– Well, in high school, probably.

But now that he’s actually seeing the face to the voice and the messages confirm that the firefighter made it out alive, he’s not feeling all that bad about his earlier burst of horniness at the sound of his rough and deep voice.

He can’t wait any longer. He swipes back to the chat and types out a message.

Buck’s reply is instant.

They go back and forth a little bit, but the conversation is over rather quickly. Eddie would be lying if he’d say he isn’t a little disappointed when Buck stops replying, but then again, the guy doesn’t know him. And he probably isn’t all that interested in getting to know him either.

So he locks his phone and puts it back on the nightstand before he turns off the light and drifts off into a sleep way more peaceful than he expected tonight.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s still fairly early. The sun is just beginning to rise, and the house is quiet except for the random creaking that he still hasn’t figured out where it’s coming from.

He immediately fumbles for his phone next to him on the nightstand. No Older Notifications, it reads.

The disappointment catches him off guard.

Huh. That’s new.

Eddie’s not an unsocial person per se, but he also can’t claim that he particularly likes talking to people. Sure, there’s Abuela and Tia Pepa – Chris doesn’t count, he could listen and talk to that boy every second until the day he dies – and the occasional phone call with his parents.

Those are usually filled with accusations and snippy remarks about all of his failures when it comes to parenthood, though, so he ends them pretty quickly. It’s always the same; them putting their finger in a wound that never fully healed, prodding and prodding until the stitches come loose.

Sometimes it takes him weeks until he’s finally, carefully, cleaned and sewed up the wound with a needle and a thread. If one day, by some miracle, the wound will finally heal, it’s going to leave a nasty scar.

And then there’s Josh and Linda, whom he shares a workplace and his lunch breaks with. Josh always tries to get him involved in gossip and after work get togethers with their co-workers, and Linda shares recipes with him and gives him tips to practice his cooking. And he loves her for it, because it means one less accusation his mother throws at him – you can’t even cook him an actual meal, Eddie!

Other than that, he mostly keeps to himself. He never joins Josh after work, and he couldn’t care less about the dirtiest secrets of Anthony who’s sitting at the desk across from him.

Because doing that means belonging to a team, a family. And the last time he’s belonged to such he got shot at and sent home with a Silver Star and trauma no one wanted to deal with.

He’d rather rush home at the end of his shift and spend time with his son, thank you very much.

-

Eddie’s on his way to the break room, fidgeting with nervous energy and hopeful excitement. He steps into the room that’s thankfully empty and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Surprisingly, there’s a message from just an hour ago.

It’s pathetic, he thinks, how fast he’s typing out a reply without having to wrack his brain for something to say for once.

Even if he’s a little irritated by the sudden lack of capital letters and use of punctuation.

“Someone’s in a good mood today.” Josh sneaks up behind him. He reaches around Eddie to grab the coffee pot.

“Jesus,” Eddie yelps, grabbing his chest.

“Most people call me Josh, you know.” Eddie’s eye roll in response is only seventy percent serious annoyance. “So?”

The tips of his ears feel hot. “What?”

“You’re smiling,” Josh tells him. And then nothing else.

The laugh that bubbles out of him against his will feels a little hysteric, “And?”

“You don’t do that. Like, ever. Your lips didn’t even twitch when Carl tripped and fell down the stairs and lost his pants on the way down.” Josh is looking at him with a dead serious expression on his face. “Which, hello? That was kind of hilarious.”

“It was horrible. He needed stitches.”

“On his asscheeks, Eddie!”

And, okay, yeah. It was a little funny. But he’s had enough practice in schooling his features to not add any more embarrassment to the poor man.

“So, what’s got you smiling all sunshine on this beautiful day?”

So what if he’s smiled into his own cup of coffee at a single word accompanied by a smiley? What if he’s smiled about the mental imagine of Buck’s pretty lips forming into a pout like some kicked puppy?

That’s for him to know and for Josh to never find out.

Then again, Eddie knows Josh won’t drop it. That he’s going to annoy and tease him every single shift until he’s blushing all over. Until he finally cracks under his stares and questions. He decides to indulge him, just this one time.

“Uh, remember the firefighter I talked to yesterday? The one stuck in that building?”

“Ah, yes. Buck. What about him?” he asks innocently.

Eddie’s about to open his mouth when he pauses. “You know him?”

“I mean, I know of him, I guess? I’m friends with Hen from the 118.” He lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “I’ve also seen that reckless boy all over the news before.”

“Oh,” he replies. Very eloquently.

“So, what about him? Do I have to tickle every tiny piece of information out of you?”

“He– You know that the call disconnected, right? Yeah, so. I guess he looked me up on Instagram? He sent me a message, letting me know he’s okay and all that. Which– I don’t know, I just kind of appreciate that, you know?” His face is turning hot. He can literally feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. “So many times we don’t find out what happened, but he thought of me and–Stop looking at me like that, man.”

Josh throws his hands up defensively, but the gesture of innocence doesn’t last very long when his grin turns into an evil smirk. “He’s also pretty hot, right?”

“Shut up,” Eddie mumbles into his coffee.

“Sure.” And with that, Josh leaves him to himself after an impressive eye roll and a disappointed shake of his head.

Looking down at his phone again, he notices he only has a couple minutes left of his break. He types out a quick message to Buck and immediately wants to strangle himself.

Talk later? Really, Edmundo? Are we that desperate now?

-

Eddie doesn’t rush home that evening. He doesn’t wave lanes and rush past yellow lights only seconds before they switch to red. He doesn’t grip the steering wheel tightly, and he doesn’t jump out of his car to run inside either.

Because that would be crazy, right? Being so excited over the possibility of talking to someone you barely know and only exchanged words with out of obligation; because his job requires it. Being so excited over the possibility of talking to the first person that made his blood fizz inside his veins and his heart beat against his rib cage like a maniac.

Chris is at a sleepover with one of his new best friends in the whole wide world - his words, not Eddie’s - and he takes a deep breath at the thought of having the quiet house all to himself.

If someone asks, he always claims that he’s more than just a father; more than just someone who dedicates himself to nothing but his kid. He claims that he has hobbies outside of work and hanging out with a seven year old.

And because that’s actually a big fat lie and totally not the case, he’s feeling kind of off-kilter about Chris not being home for the first time.

He all but falls down on his couch when he enters the living room without even bothering to turn on the TV. It wouldn’t be anything more than background noise, anyway.

Checking his phone for the hundredth time today, he finds a new message from Buck that says ugh, i’m so jealous right now. i’m missing all the action. Which is basically the stone that sets the domino effect rolling and results in Eddie telling him about the most absurd calls of the day.

For weeks.

—

—

—

—

—

Buck stares and stares and stares, his jaw hanging off its hinges and–

Sure, it’s no secret Buck has had his fair share of people he slept with. From men to women and anything in between, there have been some really beautiful people he ended up sharing his bed with for a night. It’s Los Angeles, after all. The streets are filled with wannabe actors and models with faces that are made for the big screens.

However, none of them compare to the picture that’s currently filling up his small phone screen.

Eddie Diaz definitely isn’t a fifty year old, and he most definitely has a nice face to look at, just like he said weeks ago in the hospital room.

He just didn’t expect nice being the understatement of the year.

Eddie is breathtakingly georgeus without even trying, casually taking a single look into the camera and sending it a second later.

His chin is lazily propped up on his hand – holy shit it’s massive – and the color of his eyes is a warm chocolate brown he wants to get lost in and never find his way back home.

Buck is helpless against the heat curling in his gut. Helpless against his blood sizzling under his skin. It hits him when he least expects it, the sudden want cursing through his veins, and before he can crack his chest wide open and dissect his heart to overanalyze the fluttering appearing out of nowhere, he casts his gaze away from the man’s face and further down.

The picture cut off most of Eddie’s shoulders, but the little tease he can see off his firm muscles promises an equally firm chest and arms that have enough strength to pin his body down–

He presses his hand on his mouth and barely suppresses a groan.

Because he already knows he’s a goner.

He’s so fucked.

And he can’t even go upstairs and jerk off about it quick and dirty, he remembers, just as something falls to the floor behind him.

Hen is rummaging around his kitchen cupboards, looking for– Buck doesn’t actually remember what she’s looking for. Just knows she’s showed up with Chimney in tow and a bottle of wine under her arm.

Wine night, she’s called it. To stop your kicked puppy moping.

He focuses on his teeth that are almost drawing blood from his tongue where he’s biting it, to refrain from shoving the phone under Hen’s nose and blurting out I told you so.

So, he concludes, the only solution to his problem is to do it to Chimney instead.

Chimney’s eyebrows climb up to his hairline as he lets out an impressed whistle, “Now that’s a beautiful man.”

“Where’s the lie?” Hen says, suddenly right behind him, peeking over his shoulder. “And I like girls.”

“That, my dearest friends, is Dispatcher Eddie Diaz.”

“First of all,” Chimney starts, holding up a single finger. “We’re your only friends, Buckaroo. Secondly – and I don’t say this often – you were right. Texting him was a bad idea. You don’t stand a chance.”

“First of all,” Buck copies, with the same gesture of his hand. “Fuck you. Secondly, fuck you again. You’re mean.”

“Wait, wait, wait. I thought you didn’t want to send him a DM? Have you guys–“ To his horror, Hen snatches his phone out of his hand and starts scrolling. “You guys have been texting for weeks! Weeks, Buck! Why are we only hearing this now?”

“It wasn’t really anything! He just sent me his weirdest calls to distract me from my moping,” he explains.

“Eddie: Couple got stuck in doggy style position,” she reads a random message out loud and he closes his eyes in defeat, already knowing what’s coming. “You replied: Me and you, when? Are you fucking kidding me?”

It’s kind of funny, the way her whole face looks a little hysteric right now. Her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open in shock and disbelief. If she wouldn’t have stolen his phone, he’d take a picture to keep the moment forever.

“He ghosted me for two days after that.”

“Shocking.”

“Listen, it’s really fun talking to him. And Chimney is right. You’re kinda my only friends. It’s just nice having a friend outside of work, is all,” he tells her, because he’s a lying liar who lies.

So what if he has a little crush on Eddie? What if he enjoys talking to him and laughing about his dry humor?

“Oh, Buckaroo.” The expression in her eyes goes all sympathetic, like the mother hen – hah! – that she is. “I get that. I do. But what do you know about this guy, really?”

“That’s the whole point, Hen. We don’t really know each other, we’re just talking and sending each other funny shit. There’s no harm in that.”

She can read him like a book, though, he’s pretty sure of that. She seems to contemplate if she should talk to him and give him the lectures about falling in love with people on the internet, or drop it.

He exhales a deep sigh of relief when she decides for the latter.

She claps her hands and grabs the bottle of wine from the kitchen counter, presenting it by holding it up in the air, “Okay, so, wine?”

-

Buck can’t sleep.

He’s been tossing and turning ever since he went upstairs and slipped under the covers. The conversation from earlier runs through his busy head on repeat, over and over and over again.

It’s well past three in the morning when his phones chimes with a new Instagram message – so what if he’s changed the tone to know when it’s Eddie, sue him – and he sits up against the headboard immediately.

Before his imagination can even begin to come up with the wildest, most inappropriate fantasies, it dings again.

Buck snorts.

A voice in his head screams stranger danger. Weirdly enough, it sounds a lot like Maddie.

On another day, or maybe somewhere in a parallel universe, he would listen to her advice. But here, in this timeline, the side of him that’s petty and ugly thinks Maddie doesn’t have a right to an opinion if she’s not here to tell it to his face. If the only way she’s talking to him is through a fragment of his childhood memories.

And he also doesn’t take Eddie for the kind of guy who would ask him if it wouldn’t be absolutely important.

So he does what any sane person would do, obviously, and he doesn’t have to wait long until his phone starts vibrating in his hand and a Californian phone number flashes across his screen.

He picks up on the second ring, suddenly nervous.

For a moment all he can hear is the rustling of bed sheets on the other side, and Eddie’s breathing traveling through the speaker and into his ear. It’s weirdly intimate, having Eddie so close to him while both of them are in their beds, even though he’s still far away.

Eddie is the first to speak.

“You know, I kind of thought I scared you off when you didn’t respond to my picture,” he says in lieu of a greeting, with something in his voice that doesn’t sound quite right.

“Yeah, no, uh– I– You know– It’s not that you scared me off, it’s just– I was a little–“ Speechless. Yeah, point fucking proven, Buckley. “What happened to hello, how are you?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh. Buck wants to record it to play it on his worst and darkest days.

“Relax, Buckley. I’m just messing with you.”

And Buck wants that teasing tone in his voice to keep going. He really does. But just a minute ago, Eddie dodged him questioning if he’s okay and asked to call him instead, and he still sounds wrong. He doesn’t know how he can tell. It’s not like he knows how Eddie sounds when something’s bothering him.

“Seriously, though. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just been a rough night,” he whispers, and then he adds, “I’m already feeling a lot better now.”

It’s in the way he says it that forces Buck to wonder if that has anything to do with him. The way he lowers his voice like the words are a secret that isn’t allowed to leave the confines of the two of them.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to bother you, Buck. It’s fine, really.”

He wants to scream you could never bother me, please let me be there for you. He chooses not to go absolutely bonkers instead. “You’re not bothering me. And you’ve been cheering me up these last couple of weeks. Fair’s fair.”

“I used to be in the army.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s silent for a minute, and Buck clears his throat, “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, and it’s more air than an actual word. He can hear the click in his throat as Eddie swallows on the other side.

It’s the vulnerability of it all that steals Buck’s breath. He doesn’t have to know Eddie for years to notice the kind of understanding between them. The kind that doesn’t require many words because Buck just gets it. He gets what it’s like to see and feel things you can’t get out of your head.

He gets what it’s like to feel stuck in the memories forever, like walking through a never ending field of quicksand; you can take a hundred steps forward but if you don’t keep moving it’s going to drag you under.

“Is there anything I can do?” he whispers as to not break the fragile moment.

“Just– Tell me something. Anything.” He seems to pause for a second. “I remember your sister’s in Pennsylvania, and you never got the chance to tell me why you’re in L.A.”

Buck laughs at that, but the mention of Maddie steals its humor. It’s a story he usually never tells anyone, not even Hen and Chimney know. Bobby, maybe, because he’s looked through all his documents years ago.

“I’m from Pennsylvania, originally. My sister still lives there with her– I haven’t heard from her in three years, actually. So I don’t really know where she is. But, uh,“ Has forming coherent sentences always been this hard? “I left Pennsylvania a couple years ago. Visited a few countries, tried every job there is, probably. I bartended in Peru, bleached my hair – I’m gonna send you a picture of that later – worked on a ranch, even joined the Navy SEALS.

“I think I was trying to find myself, or some shit. At least that’s what I was telling myself. But when I ended up in L.A. I was none the wiser, man. Until I joined the academy and stumbled into the firehouse of the 118. They’re like family now.”

Buck is really easy to talk to.

Just an hour ago, he’s woken up drenched in a cold sweat and sticking to his bedsheets, his heart racing and thumping against his sternum, and now he’s leaning against his headboard and listening to Buck talk about all his different adventures and his journey of finding himself.

At first he’s thought it would just be a good distraction, but the longer he listens and talks and laughs with Buck, he realizes how long it’s been since he enjoyed the company of another person. How lonely it is if all your life revolves around is work, fatherhood, chores, repeat.

It’s just– He’s not dumb, okay? The knowledge that he wouldn’t be at such ease if it wouldn’t be Buck talking to him isn’t all that hard to grasp. Because, as much as Eddie thought of him as a menace and a dumb boy lacking responsibility, – he got himself fired to hook up, after all – he’s here right now. Telling him stories about himself and surely leaving out all the depressing parts – seriously, what kind of parents just let their kid leave with a beaten up Jeep? – to make Eddie feel better.

So, Buck is really easy to talk to. And while that still leaves him a little scared, he opens up as well.

He tells him about being eighteen years old and enlisting in the army. He tells him about the story behind the Silver Star and what it felt like coming home to a world that seemed to keep spinning and move on with or without him in it.

He tells him about moving to Los Angeles to get away from his parents – he deliberately forgets to mention Christopher and him failing as a father, he’s not quite ready to face Buck’s judgmental disappointment – and almost deciding to become a firefighter.

“Oh, man,” Buck says, and Eddie can practically hear the pout on his face. “We could’ve been working together by now. Can you imagine that?”

And, yeah. He can, actually.

If he closes his eyes, he can see it vividly: Joining the 118 and meeting Buck, getting pulled into his easy going orbit and working seamlessly with him. They wouldn’t need any words, because they just get each other. Them sitting in the truck, pressed together from shoulder to waist to toe. Them becoming family, just like Buck described it earlier.

He can imagine it, somewhere in a different universe where he’s made the decision to become a firefighter instead, how they promise they’ve got each other’s backs.

“Speaking of, when do you go back to work?”

“I have a twenty-four hour shift on Thursday.” He groans. “And I’m actually kind of nervous. My ribs are fine, but I know Bobby’s gonna put me on lighter duty, which is gonna suck.”

“I’m sorry man. I’m sure it’s gonna turn out fine. Just relax and take it easy.”

Buck mutters something under his breath that Eddie can’t catch, even though the phone is right by his ear.

“What?”

“I said, that’s easy to say when you’re not the one who’s been pent up for weeks,” Buck says, and oh, that feeling pooling in his gut is new. “Kinda hard to enjoy it when you’re dizzy from the concussion and your whole side’s burning.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and lets the words wash over him. Lets the image of Buck touching himself, his cock hard between his thighs and his big hand curling around it, play through his head.

It makes him feel filthy, thinking about Buck like that. Thinking about him touching himself right now, with Eddie listening to every ragged breath and noise slipping out between his lips.

It’s probably what possesses him, for he doesn’t recognize his own voice when his next words leave his mouth. That’s a thing for future-Eddie to worry about.

“Buck,” he says, keeping his voice low. “How’s your side now?”

“Better, why?”

God, not even two minutes ago he started talking about being sexually frustrated, and yet he doesn’t catch on.

“Close your eyes and get comfortable.”

There’s a nervous gulp on the other side, but Buck isn’t telling him that he’s crossed a line and asking him to stop. Instead, he can hear him moving around as he gets into position.

“You like that? Taking orders?”

He grabs his phone a little tighter and lets his own hand trail down his bare chest, stroking his hard dick over his boxer briefs teasingly.

Buck’s answer is a hum of confirmation that comes out more like a whine, and any other time Eddie would tell him to use his words, but he isn’t really sure if that’s something he’s into, and he doesn’t want to take it too far.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, like the biggest fucking cliche out here, but he wants to know what he’s working with.

“Nothing,” Buck responds matter of factly. “You told me to get comfortable.”

Biting his lips to keep from moaning at the confession, he shoves his own boxers down far enough to free his own throbbing cock and wraps his hand around it, giving himself a lazy tug. “Are you touching yourself?”

“No.”

“Go ahead then, baby.”

Once again, there’s rustling on the other side, and then Buck moans, a filthy sound that sends sparks of electricity through Eddie’s spine like a lightning bolt as blood rushes through his ears, and he fully encircles his own dick with his hand now, stroking it slowly. 

This is dangerous territory. Eddie’s never done anything like this before, for various valid reasons. Right now, it’s there in the back of his mind, the fear that they’re ruining a perfectly healthy friendship.

He shoves it even further away from his conscience. He wants, wants, wants so selfishly it hurts, and today, he decides, he’s going to take it without any guilt.

“Remember when I sent you that message about the call with the doggy style couple?”

“Yeah– Fuck– Why are you asking me this now?”

“I still remember your reply. And how I thought about it.” The thumping of his heart is slamming against his breastbone, he can see it all so vividly now, and the noises Buck makes only spur him on. “How I would bend you over the next surface and shove my cock inside you.”

Eddie swipes his thumb over his slit and circles the head, smearing his pre-come down on the next downward twist of his hand.

Buck doesn’t say anything, all he receives is the slick sound of him working his cock in fast strokes and the open mouthed sounds he breathes out.

“God, I wanted to grab you by the hips and fuck you so hard it leaves bruises.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yes.”

“You’d like that, huh? My fingerprints all over your skin? For everyone to see what I’ve done to you?”

“Please,” Buck hisses out. “Please.”

His vision almost whitens out at the desperate mess Buck’s become, begging him to fuck and claim him.

“We need to show them all who you belong to, right?” It’s a dumb thing to say. Buck doesn’t owe him anything; doesn’t owe him any loyalty. But he wants to hear him say it. “Who do you belong to, Buck?”

“You. Only you. Fuck– I’m gonna–“

He’s getting close himself. So fucking close–

“Come for me. Come on, Evan. Baby,” he rambles, sweat starting to stick his hair to his forehead.

“Fuck,” Buck swears through gritted teeth. His breathing quickens, and then he lets out a whine that sends a shockwave through Eddie’s entire body.

Eddie wishes he’d be there to see it, to watch Buck throw his head back as his whole body goes tense with the pleasure of his orgasm rippling through him. Wants to lick and suck his bared throat and mark him up.

Buck’s still panting when he lets out a whined, “Fuck, Eddie, baby” and it’s the first time he’s ever said his name out loud to him, and then he used his own trick against him, and that’s all it takes to pull him right over the edge with him.

His chest is heaving, his pulse is pounding in his ears, and he almost sees stars when he comes on his own stomach and all over his own fist with a groan.

“Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help the grin that forms on his face when he hears Buck’s breathless whisper.

“Yeah, holy shit,” he copies, and then a laugh bubbles out of him before he even gets the chance to stop it. Buck joins in with his own giddy giggling, and soon enough they’re both trying to catch their breaths. “You feeling better now?”

“What do you think?” Buck groans out – god, that sound alone is enough to get him hard for another round – and it sends them into another fit of giggles.

“And to think just an hour ago you sent me a ‘You up?’ text and insisted you didn’t mean it like that.”

Eddie leans over to open his bedside drawer to retrieve a packet of wet wipes to clean up his stomach as best he can and wipes his hand as he lets out a chuckle.

“What are you doing?” Buck asks, amused, and then he yawns right into his speaker with his jaw cracking.

“I gotta clean up this mess, but I can’t get up now,” he explains, and Buck’s yawn is apparently contagious. “I’m one with the mattress now.”

“You should go back to sleep, you deserve it now.” The words are muffled by what Eddie expects is Buck’s pillow, but he can still hear the smile that he’s probably pressing into it in his voice

He hums in agreement, content and beat as he closes his eyes and imagines a world where they do this at least once in a week, except then they’re going to actually fall asleep next to each other. Holding each other. Cuddling.

It’s almost like a dream, and it’s the image that lulls him into sleep as his eyes get heavier and heavier. He can still hear Buck’s breathing on the other side, right by his ear where his phones lying on the pillow.

The next time he wakes up, the sun is shining in through his bedroom windows. He picks up his phone that must have slid off his pillow, for he finds it under his thigh under the covers.

9:43 A.M., it reads.

He goes through his text messages, sends a thumbs up to Abuela, who asked him if he could come over later to help set up her new closet. He ignores the message from his mother that says When can we call Christopher again? as if she didn’t call approximately twelve hours ago, and finds a new text from the number he typed into his phone before he hit the call button last night.

Before he reads the message, he adds it to his contacts, feeling a little giddy over the fact he got the number of his — he’d deny it if you ever asked — crush as he adds two emojis to it because Buck would love that.

His answer is a straight up lie. And not even a good one. Christopher’s told him plenty times that he snores like a chainsaw.

Eddie doesn’t even know which of the two message he’s supposed to unpack first.

Because not only has Buck stayed on the phone with him the whole time after they came together, and apparently literally slept together, no, he also just complimented his snoring.

It was kinda cute.

And Eddie— Eddie needs a cold shower, because surely it’s not normal to feel this way. He’s about to overheat, his blood boiling in his veins and his skin tingling, and not to mention his very prominent morning wood throbbing at the thought of Buck complimenting him.

It’s the best kind of overstimulation he’s ever experienced.

He needs to do something about it. But he knows he would feel guilty about it after, jerking off and coming at the thought of Buck without his– presence, knowledge, permission? He doesn’t even know what they are allowed to do and what not. He can’t think straight. 

Actually, he isn’t really sure he’s ever been able to think straight.

But he can’t deal with this sexuality crisis on top of everything else, so he gets in the shower, adjusts the temperature regulator and bites his lip to stop the yelp trying to come out of him as the ice cold water hits his back.

Buck is tired. He’s stayed up late last night, thinking about his phone call with Eddie and the silence that followed afterward. They haven’t texted since the two messages they’ve exchanged yesterday, and Buck’s starting to think they’ve made a really big mistake.

It’s safe to say he has hoped his first shift back to be a slow one today. One where he could chill out and nap in between calls – and maybe attempt an apology text to Eddie during his lunch break at dispatch.

His plans come crumbling down around noon, when the ground beneath his feet starts shaking and objects around him crash to the floor with loud bangs.

The earthquake warning comes a moment after that, their phones ringing and blaring in their pockets, before the sound of the alarm drowns them out.

Awesome.

What follows are back to back calls throughout the day, and by the time it’s almost late afternoon but not quiet evening yet, they’re called to a scene just around the corner of the dispatch center.

Buck tries not to get his hopes up. He really does. Just because he’s close to Eddie doesn’t mean he’s going to see him. Eddie’s in there and busy with the whole of Los Angeles probably calling at the same time.

When his work is done and only Hen and Chimney are needed for medical treatment, he leans against the scorching heat of the ladder truck and takes in his surroundings.

The sun is still high in the sky, slowly turning west, and he can see the heat radiating off the pavement in the distance.

He’s scanning through the crowd of curious bystanders – some of whom have their phones out to film everything but get pushed back by the officers securing the scene – and he’s so busy thinking about his next meal he almost misses the man.

His eyes snap back, landing on broad shoulders flexing against a maroon henley as the man kicks against the tire of the truck in front of him. At a closer look, he sees the hood of the truck denting unter the weight of an electricity pole.

The man turns around, hands flexing in his hair as he pulls, once, twice and, hey, isn’t that–

“Eddie!” he calls and winces immediately. Why has he done that? God, they never talked about ever meeting each other. What if it’s going to be weird? What if Eddie doesn’t want to get to know him personally?

What if all they are is just two men working as first responders – and apparently fuck buddies over the phone, now, too – a job where you need someone to talk to if you don’t want to go insane?

And here he is, unable to keep his mouth shut for once.

Eddie’s head snaps up, confusion pulling at his eyebrows as they’re wrinkled inwards. He scans the scene and he can’t help but take a deep breath that tastes like excited anticipation on his tongue.

His eyes land on Buck after what feels like eternity but has probably just been a few seconds, and the way he tilts his head at him punches the air out of his lungs. His feet start moving on their own.

“Hey,” he breathes when he comes to a halt right in front of Eddie. The warm brown of his eyes scans him from head to toe and back up, and if he weren’t already flushed from his little jog, he’s sure he would be by now.

Two days ago, when Eddie’s first sent him a picture of himself, Buck thought he’s never seen such a beautiful man. Standing in front of said man now and getting to take him in up close almost brings him to his knees.

The soft strands on top of Eddie’s head are a mess, and there’s a freckle under the prettiest shade of brown eyes he’s ever seen. He wants to leave a kiss right in the center of it, let his lips trail over the sharp edge of his jaw and down to the tense tendon where his neck meets his shoulder to bite and leave a mark for everyone to see.

It’s a possessiveness he has no right feeling over Eddie, but his blood is vibrating under his goosebump covered skin, and his heart beats a rhythm against his sternum that chants mine mine mine. 

But then he remembers Eddie’s honest to god toe curling words.

Who do do you belong to, Buck?

Like he’s said before: Fair’s fair. 

“Hey, Buck.” He can see Eddie fighting against the small smile lifting up the corners of his mouth, but it’s hard to focus when all he can think about is wanting to hear that name out of his mouth for the rest of his life, please. Maybe even accompanied by an Evan, baby.

He really needs to stop thinking about that, because Eddie actually looks really rough. They can still have this conversation another day. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He’s sure Hen would have a lot to say about that, some kind of lecture about him being a Golden Retriever and human hybrid.

It’s the wrong thing to say, he realizes, for Eddie’s shoulders slump and an unreadable expression appears on his face. Like he just flipped a switch.

“I’m just–“ He closes his eyes and sighs. Buck wants to taste it on his lips.

“You’re just?” Buck prompts when the sentence ends up unfinished for several beats; before the silence has the chance to stretch into the awkward kind.

“I need to get somewhere, it’s an emergency. But the parking lot was full this morning, and– Well, I had to park my car here, which I never do because–because I’m too lazy to walk around the corner– I mean– Look at my truck, man.” Eddie rambles and the frantic, nervous energy is written all over his face and posture. His hand waves to the pole lying on his car. “So now I’m stuck here, and I can’t even call a fucking Uber, because the whole street is closed.”

Buck’s eyes dart over to the dented truck and back to Eddie, standing in front of him with wide eyes and disheveled hair, his hand on his hips.

He has to keep his mouth shut. He has to stop saying the first thing that comes to his mind and think about the consequences. He’s about to crush his only chance of ever talking to him again if he bulldozes over an unspoken boundary–

But the words leave his mouth before he can swallow them back down and shove them somewhere deep where they will never see the light of day.

“Where do you have to be? We’re about to finish up here, I could, uh– Tell me to just fuck off if it’s too much, but I could ask Bobby if we can give you a ride.” He shrugs, a fake nonchalance he’s not sure he’s able to pull off.

Eddie pulls his lip between his teeth. Takes a step back, takes a step forward. Turns around. He’s clearly contemplating his options here, and Buck is ready for the rejection; ready for the disappointment to wash over him like an ice cold shower.

But then Eddie’s body visibly relaxes and he sighs – a deep breath that seems to travel through his whole body before it’s pushed out through his nose forcefully.

“Yeah, okay, I– Let me just grab my stuff,” he says and points back over his shoulder.

Buck sends him a reassuring smile and nods. His hand reaches up and grabs his radio, too lazy to walk back over to Bobby.

“Hey Bobby, mind if we give Eddie from dispatch a ride? It seems to be an emergency but his car got crushed over here.”

The radio cracks between his fingertips, “Where to?”

Buck’s about to turn around when Eddie appears behind him, startling him so much he flinches. He avoids his eye as he speaks before Buck gets the chance to repeat the question, “Durand Elementary School.”

Buck doesn’t gasp in surprise, but it’s a near thing. He gives Bobby the information and waits for the okay from his captain. He can feel a smile stretching across his own face a second later. “You have a kid?”

Eddie must hear the excitement in his voice, for he relaxes and meets his eyes again.

“Yeah. Christopher, he’s seven.”

They walk side by side as they cross the street, so close their arms brush with every step they take. Eddie is warm next to him. He can’t help but imagine that warmth all over his body, both of them pressed together skin on skin.

“Man, I love kids.”

“I love this one,” he tells him. His voice is soft and fond, filled with so much love for his son Buck feels a pang echoe through the hollows of his chest, somewhere between his rib bones. It’s ridiculous, obviously, being jealous of a seven year old little kid. At the same time, he’s relieved that Eddie is the kind of man who loves his kid enough to worry so visibly.

There’s also a small part of him that feels a sting of betrayal. It makes him feel sick. He’s been talking to Eddie for weeks now, sometimes over the phone and in the middle of the night, about everything and nothing at all. Buck has even told him some of his deepest insecurities and not once has he simply mentioned being a dad.

If he’d put that sick feeling under a microscope, the cells would probably spell out: He doesn’t want anything to do with you. He doesn’t want someone like you anywhere near his kid; near the person he loves most in the world. Because a kid is a responsibility, and never in your life have you been reliable and responsible. Because all you do is fuck things up.

It’s a thought so out of nowhere he almost wishes he’d start crying right here on the spot. Just to flush it out of his body with his tears; to cleanse it out of his system, that feeling of never being good enough.

But that would be pathetic, so he swallows it down and moves to introduce Eddie to his team as they’re about to hop into the truck, pinning both Hen and Chimney with a withering look, that he hopes says embarrass me and your future naps in the bunk room will be anything but peaceful.

Hen hands Eddie a headset and engages him in a conversation about their kids. Buck’s thoughts drift as he filters out their voices and the deep rumble of the truck. He feels nauseous in a way that has nothing to do with the engine rocking with every bump in the road and his tendency to motion sickness.

No, it’s the fact that Eddie, apparently, has a son. And while he might not be a fifty year old man, chances are very high he still has a wife, or a girlfriend at home.

He shouldn’t have just assumed Eddie might be interested over some – even if innocent yet more than just dudes complimenting each other –  flirting, that that gorgeous man is anything other than straight as a pole.

Maybe them coming together was just some kind of stress relief, and Buck is now – on top of a disappointment and a self diagnosed sex addict that slept with half of L.A. – a fucking home wrecker.

God, the woman in his life is probably beautiful, a woman you bring home to meet the parents and want to raise your children with and–

“–his mom’s not in the picture, it’s just the two of us.” He catches the end of Eddie’s sentence and has to stop his head from whipping around to him.

Yet, somehow, he can still feel Eddie’s gaze burning into the side of his head.

Has he wanted him to hear? Does he know he heard it loud and clear? Most importantly, is his big, fat crush on the man that obvious?

Eddie’s imagined their first meeting outside of his own bedroom behind his screen a little different, if he’s being completely honest to himself.

His opinion on the non-existent concept of fate and the universe bringing people together hasn’t changed yet, but Buck jogging towards him like some savior in times of need – just weeks after their roles were reversed – might just be enough to send him into an overthinking spiral about his beliefs.

The tension between them snapped the moment Eddie mentioned his ex-wife and him being separated, and the damn near pout he’s thrown at the window facing away from him disappeared from Buck’s face.

He tries his best to veer his thoughts away from the possible meaning behind that and the fact that Buck looks even better in that tight uniform stretching over his chest muscles and hugging his biceps, instead focusing on Chris, who’s probably scared as he’s waiting for his dad to come pick him up.

But it’s really hard – pun not intended – and really fucking unfair.

Because Eddie can’t just erase the sound of Buck’s filthy, needy moans and whines branded into his memory and reverberating in his head every free second of his day. 

Can’t forget the way he’s panted into his ear and called him baby while he was still stroking himself and releasing into his own hand.

But here he is, and he feels like some sick joke of the universe, of the heavenly father up there, or maybe it’s just his own actions having actual consequences coming back to bite him in the ass. 

It takes about fifteen minutes until Bobby speaks up from the seat in the front, letting them know they arrived at Chris’ school.

Buck is sitting at the door, so he waits for him to hop out of the truck first before his eyes start roaming around trying to find his little boy standing somewhere with Mrs. Alvarez.

A grin stretches over his face as he spots the familiar red glasses and the matching crutches and he all but sprints over to them. Chris spots him right before Eddie reaches him, bursting into delighted laughter as he picks him up and spins him around.

By the time he puts him back down, he’s thanked his teacher about three times for looking after Christopher and staying a little longer.

They make their way back together, and Chris’ is already deep into a rant about everyone in his class freaking out when the earth started shaking, and he uses the deep breath Christopher takes to interrupt him.

“Christopher, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He puts his hand on his son’s shoulder. In the corner of his eyes, Buck is practically beaming at them. “He’s a friend of mine.”

If possible, Buck’s smile grows even wider as he crouches down to be face to face with Chris. He outstretches his hand and waits patiently for Christopher to take it. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Christopher. I’m Buck. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Which is a total lie, but his son is now wearing a beam matching the man in front of him, and Eddie wants to crush him in a hug and never let go. Today’s just one of those days, he guesses.

The gasp Chris lets out brings him back into the here and now, “You’re Buck? The Buck, daddy?”

Wow. He can’t believe his own blood just ratted him out.

His gaze shifts from Buck to Eddie to Buck, eyes dramatically wide in surprise and disbelief. He looks down at Buck, still crouching in a way that must be painful for his knees by now, and Buck’s already looking up at him, with his eyes a little watery and blinking rapidly.

He can clearly read it on his face, how touched he is about the fact that, apparently, while Eddie never once lost a single word about having a son, he told his son all about his friend Buck.

“You’re the one who knows everything, right?” Chris interrupts their intense moment of just staring at each other. “Do you think dogs know they’re dogs?”

Buck bursts out laughing at that, just like on the picture he’s looked at when he first messaged him. His eyes are crinkling, and it’s so genuine, like Chris’ question is the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. Eddie’s heart is ready to explode right here in the school parking lot in front of everyone and their mother, and he feels his own eyes suddenly stinging with tears.

“I actually don’t know that,” he whispers, as if he’s letting him in on a secret just between the two of them. Then he swings his arm around to the fire truck in a presenting gesture. “But I know a lot about firefighters, and today, dear Christopher, I invite you to a very private tour on the 118’s ladder truck.”

Chris whips around to Eddie with a neck breaking speed, not afraid to use his puppy eyes at the opportunity, “Can I, daddy? Please, please, please!”

It’s what they would’ve done anyway, but he finds himself nodding, unable to contain himself from smiling from ear to ear like an idiot, and Christopher whoops in delight.

Chris is sitting between them on the ride back to the station, wrapped in a turnout coat that has BUCKLEY written on the back, and Eddie tries really hard not to feel some type of way about that. 

That ridiculous man has made him feel some kind of way since the very first time they talked, and not only is he incredibly hot and even hotter during phone sex in the middle of the night, but he’s also wearing his heart out on his sleeves and just goes along with Christopher’s shenanigans.

Buck took it upon himself to explain every single thing there is to know about the truck and fire safety in general. The only thing he doesn’t have an answer for is Chris’ question about why Howard Han is called Chimney, and Eddie and Buck share a knowing look over his head, smiling at each other.

The moment the truck reverses into the station bay and comes to a halt, Buck jumps out and takes Chris with him, the two of them whispering to each other and probably scheming against Eddie.

Leaving Eddie all on his own.

He turns around as someone claps him on the shoulder, and he comes face to face with Bobby.

“Good luck with these two in the future, you’ll probably need it” he tells him, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. And then he nods towards a staircase. “Come on, let’s eat something.”

He’s sitting at the kitchen table in a loft – with a couch and the newest Playstation, what the fuck – as Buck comes up the stairs to join them, carrying Chris piggyback.

Chris is wearing a helmet on his head that sways and bangs against the back of Buck’s with every step he takes, and Buck announces loudly, “Can I get your attention, please? Captain Christopher Diaz from the 118 is in the house, and he requested a slide down the pole!”

Chris cheers on his back, lifting his arms in the air, having the time of his life.

And Eddie– Eddie is hanging by a thread, okay?

He presses his heels into the floor and buries his blunt fingernails into the meat of his thigh, because he doesn’t trust himself not to march over there and smash his mouth on Buck’s.

He hasn’t even been mad at Eddie about keeping Christopher a secret from him, instead he just accepted him as part of Eddie.

“Captain Diaz,” Bobby announces equally as loud. “Your dinner is served. Sliding down the pole is for full stomachs only.”

And then he proceeds to pull a chair out at the table, a dish towel draped over his forearm and he fucking bows, making Chris preen.

Buck lets him slide off his back and positions him on the chair carefully, and Eddie finally fucking gets what he meant when he said the 118 is a family.

These people who don’t even know him and his son just gave him a ride to pick up his son without further questioning; just accepted them at their dinner table without hesitation.

Eddie dares to look up at Buck, who plops down into the chair next to him with barely an inch between them, and he knows it’s never going to feel like it’s enough, but he hopes Buck can read it anyway, the silent thank you and I think I just fell in love with you.

-

Chris gets to slide down the pole, after all, with Buck and Eddie waiting downstairs to catch him.

It’s also the exact moment Bobby’s watch beeps next to them, signaling a full hour – 08:00 PM - and suddenly all of them are hurrying away, leaving Eddie to scrunch his eyebrows in confusion.

“Our shift just ended,” Buck explains, ever the mind reader, it seems. “Let me just go change real quick and then I’m gonna drive you two home.”

“Buck, you’re probably exhausted. We can just call an Uber.”

“No!” Chris exclaims, clearly upset if the pout and the crossed arms are anything to go by. “I promised Buck to show him my space room!”

Eddie bites his lip as he watches back and forth between the two of them. He doesn’t want to upset Chris, but he doesn’t want Buck to feel obligated to drive them home after his long day, either.

Buck seems to sense his inner turmoil, and his voice is so so soft when he speaks, “It’s really no big deal, Eddie. But if you insist, then you can show me your space room another time, Christopher.”

Eddie can sense Christopher’s whole body turning towards him, and he knows what’s about to happen.

It’s always the fucking puppy eyes, damn it.

“Okay, okay,” he says, and both of them punch the air with a victorious fist. His answering eye roll is one hundred percent, head over heels in love, fond.

As expected, Chris conks out on the backseat in nothing more than five minutes, and Buck doesn’t actually end up seeing his space room.

He’s waiting for him in the kitchen instead, leaning against the counter and studying the magnets and drawings on the fridge when Eddie walks back in.

“Please forget you saw this mess.”

“I’m not actually sure I’m seeing the mess you’re talking about, but,” he shrugs. “Consider it forgotten.”

“I saw your whole body flinching when you stepped on that lego in the hallway, Buck.”

“Kids are messy. Shit happens,” he says, and then he slaps a hand on his mouth. “Shit– Fuck– Sorry!”

“You know he’s asleep in his room, right?” Eddie asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Still,” Buck hisses back.

If Eddie keeps up with the rate of eye rolls a day, he’ll be ready to see an ophthalmologist soon.

“You want a beer?” He doesn’t actually wait for an answer and makes his way to the fridge, retrieving two cold bottles of his favorite beer, handing one over to Buck.

He takes a sip of his own and starts scratching at the paper label glued to the bottle and keeps his eyes firmly fixed on it when he says, “Thank you for today. Honestly, I think you made him happier than he’s been in a while.”

Buck tilts his head at him as he leans on the counter with one of his hands and the right corner of his mouth twitches up. “Well, I’ve been told I’m his best friend in the whole wide world, so, you’re very welcome.”

“Oh, wow. Luke from first grade is going to cry when he finds out he’s been replaced,” he deadpans, and then he adds, in a whisper, “That little crybaby.”

“Eddie!” Buck squawks, eyes wide in shock as he swats him on the arm with the back of his hand. The spot turns warm immediately.

“Seriously, Buck. Thank you.”

“It’s really nothing, Eddie. He’s a great kid. Believe me when I say I had just as much fun.”

“Oh, I do believe that, without a single doubt.”

“Hey! Is it Pick-On-Buck-Day today?” he asks, mock offended.

“I’d rather it be Pick-Up-Buck-Day today,” he responds before the thought went through his brain-to-mouth filter.

He can see the exact moment Buck registers the words, for his eyes darken in the dim light of his kitchen, and he puts down his bottle before he takes a step closer.

And another step.

And another.

“For you, Eddie, it’s Pick-Up-Buck-Day any day,” he says, his warm breath ghosting over Eddie’s lips.

Eddie darts his tongue out to wet his lips, trying to get a taste as he watches Buck’s eyes dart down to follow the movement.

He’s so fucking close, and he tilts his head in invitation as his eyes pierce into his own and–

He really can’t hold back a second longer.

Almost thirty years of repression does that to a man, he guesses faintly, before he’s yanking Buck in by the collar of his shirt and smashes their lips together.

Buck’s lips are soft under his, just as he’s imagined all this time, and he can’t help himself when he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging lightly.

Eddie wraps his arms around Buck’s neck and licks over the bitten lip teasingly, soothing the sting of his teeth but asking for entrance at the same time.

Buck complians easily, his own hand coming up to cup Eddie’s cheeks gently as he opens his lips just in time for Eddie’s tongue to slip into the warmth of his mouth, licking into him and sucking gently on his tongue.

It draws a whine out of the other man that he gladly swallows down and his hand finds its way up into the hair on the back of his neck, tugging lightly, relishing in the way Buck lets out a groan at the action and his other arm coming up to wrap around his waist like it belongs there, his palm pressing into his lower back.

Eddie feels heat radiating into his skin everywhere they’re touching, and he wants this kiss to never end; wants to keep standing inside his kitchen, surrounded by the feeling of being home in more than just one way.

But they do have to come up for air eventually, so Eddie pulls away slightly. He doesn’t go all that far, though, and just rests his forehead on Buck’s.

Eddie gives him another quick peck to his lips, just because he can, “Buck, baby, you should go out on a date with me.”

Buck huffs out a laugh at that, just a little puff of air that caresses his own lips, “I feel like we’ve been going at this in the completely wrong order.”

“Is that a no?” he asks, and this time he’s the one pouting, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“Are you kidding me?” Buck pulls back a little, but then his lips press a soft kiss to his cheekbone right under his right eye, and his eyes flutter closed at the intimacy of it all, but he can still feel the smile stretching across Buck’s face on his own skin. “It’s always gonna be a yes for you.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, the biggest, goofiest smile on his face as the feeling of having Buck here with him washes over him.

“Yeah,” Buck says, and his answering smile is so bright it’s almost blinding. 

—

6 months later 

—

—

—

—