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Assistant: Title: 'tis the d@mn season
        Author: fishbitch fishbitch 
        Chapter: 2/2 
        Summary: When he dies, and is buried however many states away from Eddie, if they crack him open and slice his heart up, Buck wonders if they’ll find glinting, glittering gold chunks of fossilized Diaz that he’s kept as close to the core of him as possible. Wonders if they’ll know he lived off of them until he couldn't anymore. If they’ll study that organ and put it in museums, present it to a room full of academics dead set on disproving the physical effects of this love he has, if they'll be disappointed when they can't. He feels a gust of air leave Eddie’s lips and Buck thinks, I’m home. I’m home here, is this home to you? Not Texas, not here, but me, here with me. Does it feel that way to you?or, eddie actually goes to texas and suddenly, five years have passed.
        Contents: Chapter 2: it always leads to you in my hometown
    

    

        
          
          
            Buck hates folding in on himself in the middle of a beautiful day, in the middle of a beautiful park in the middle of a beautiful state in a beautiful boy's car.Buck loves Eddie and he doesn’t tell him because he’s not here. He thinks, maybe, he wasn’t ever.
          
        

      
        
          uh so. is this where ao3 authors drop off excuses as to why their update is months late?? asking for a friend.in all seriousness, mental health is as important as your apartment building trying to burn down twice! let me tell you, evacuating a building wearing a 9-1-1 hoodie only to come face to face with real life firefighters is a trip. all is well on my end and the building did not burn down. twice. along w this i am also a senior in college which is. you know.anyways, the final chapter! i really hope you like it and please let me know every thought you've ever had down in the comments. kudo and whatever else at your own discretion.
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    
  Buck got entirely too many presents that show up at the post office, surprisingly, right on time. It’s tricky around the holidays, but he managed to order and ship everything in just the right window of time to mean he can sneakily wrap them and put them under the Christmas tree after everyone is asleep. 
 
  It’s Christmas Eve and Buck has been here one day short of a full two weeks. He’s held his head in his hands and he’s tongued Eddie until they don’t remember to speak and he’s taken Chris to get ice cream, and pizza, and even tried a new vegan food place down the street from his physical therapists office. It’s been completely overwhelming and emotional and tense tense tense, because these days, when isn’t it. He forgets he doesn’t know these people anymore and they each tune the channel to a distorted, muted version of their lives six years ago. 
 
  Even still, he’s proud of his presents this year. Christopher was easy, money for things he wants but doesn't need, and things for his dorm that he 
  
    actually 
  
  needs. Buck had done some serious sleuthing to figure out what all Chris insisted he didn’t need but ended up totally, absolutely requiring. By sleuthing he means he facetimed Eddie in the middle of a shower when he finally remembered how soon Christmas was. Chris is getting a state of the art Swiffer and a couple space saving ottomans with storage options. And a few bath towels. 
 
  Eddie was—harder. Buck spent hours scrolling online trying to find good mustache products, and after he started growing a beard, good beard products, and then realized that those are gifts you give to someone when you don’t 
  
    know
  
   them. Sure, Buck could say it’s for the sake of his inner thighs and their inevitable chafe when he leaves, but. He doesn’t actually mind that and doesn’t want to have Eddie go shaving it off when it feels, well. Really good. It may have been wishful, or self sabotaging, thinking on his part, but. You know. 
 
  He figured it out eventually. It’s probably not exactly 
  
    fair, 
  
  and he hates to think it, but. If things are going how he 
  
    thinks 
  
  they’re going, he might as well. At least before he never. Never gets to see these boys again. 
 
  Buck loves Christmas. He loves the activities, the food, the drinks, the excuse to get as close as you can to the people you love. He loves warm, crackling fires in the fireplace and jaunty music that annoys the hell out of Eddie so much that he starts mockingly singing along. He loves whipped cream mustaches and cheesy rom coms and smiling so big it aches. He especially loves giving gifts, though he could go without receiving them. 
 
  If he’s said anything to the contrary up till this point, he wants to make it clear that it was just the hot, stifling air of the airport and the crippling fear that no matter how often he’s able to come down here he’ll never get back what used to be his. 
 
  Buck got too many presents and he wraps them all in the trunk of Eddie’s car in the middle of a park in a state that isn’t his. Buck got too many presents and he loves Christmas and as he wraps he does not think about last night. Buck loves Christmas and he got too many presents and he didn’t tell Eddie he loves him.
 
  Buck wraps presents in the trunk of Eddie’s car to the sound of distant, swirling music from an old CD player on the other side of the park. He’d seen the family traipse through earlier, mom and dad loaded up with birthday decorations trailing cautiously behind a little girl skipping her way to the slide to enthusiastically greet a friend. He’d seen the father carrying the old machine with the tips of two fingers.
 
  The tips of two fingers and he didn’t tell Eddie he loves him. Old old old machine still crackling music through worn out speakers, tips of two fingers under a roughed up handle. He doesn’t tell Eddie he loves him. 
 
  He wakes up in the morning sprawled out too wide, taking up too much of Eddie’s bed—because even if it’s his for a couple weeks, it’s never really 
  
    his—
  
  tries to artfully detangle a spread of limbs across various sheets and skin and shoulder and lips lips lips. Tries to get dressed like a normal person and breathe like a normal person and he walks out of the room and right to the kitchen where he brews and pours himself a normal person amount of coffee and he does not tell Eddie he loves him. 
 
  Buck makes eggs in a pan that isn’t his and he steals some car keys that aren’t his and he f@cks a man that isn’t his and he loves a kid that isn’t his and he loves and loves and loves until it shuts his mouth tight and glues his tongue to the back of his teeth and he never tells Eddie what he really wants to. 
 
  After the shooting Buck bit his tongue so hard he’d had to swallow a mouth full of blood that tasted the same as the sea water rolling over him into his lungs coughing it up, and both times the water rushed through him until he couldn’t hear the pounding in his chest but he could taste, just barely, on the very tip of his tongue, 
  
    “Please don’t ever leave me without you again.” 
  
 
  He’d broken a wrist and four fingers digging through mud and he’d had to sharpie over the words scraped into bone on his x-rays before the doctor showed Eddie, 
  
    “I’d have died for you if that’s what it had taken.” 
  
 
  Buck wakes up spilling blood onto his sheets in the middle of the night and shoots a hand over to the right side of the bed and there’s no room in his mouth to say it but it’s coming out along with the heart of him, 
  
    “Eddie?” 
  
 
  Buck watches Eddie pack his house up into twenty five boxes and marks in blue pen every box he’s in and he doesn’t say anything. Buck takes the twenty sixth box home in Eddie’s old truck and he doesn’t sell the car like he’s supposed to and he doesn’t drive Eddie to the airport and he doesn’t tell Eddie he loves him, but to the bottom of a bottle of vodka he spills a tear that dries, 
  
    “Prophecies foretold, prophecies foretold, give it just a second you almost made me alive again.” 
  
 
  Buck visits for Christmas and nothing is his. 
 
  Music jolts to silence, Buck slices the meaty part of his thumb with the scissors trying to catch the sight of the father picking the now sleeping girl up to make one long, cautiously laborious trek to the car and he’s not holding on with two fingertips this time. Is inexplicably more terrified. 
 
  After his body had been thrashed and thrown and struck by concrete water he had gone black, made awake again by the feeling of a little boy in his arms and the reassurance that they were 
  
    together. 
  
  He had felt immediately sure that there was nothing ever as precious as this singular moment, and all at once like the most haunting 
  
    knowing 
  
  that there are a million and one ways you can fail a child. 
 
  Buck slices the meaty part of his thumb with the scissors and he hisses between his teeth and the father does not drop the daughter, he settles her into a pink booster seat, buckles her in, and kisses her forehead three times.  
 
  Christmas is a funny thing. Jackie hates the rush, the unthinking, the mindless sort of unkind people can adapt. Eddie hates the stress at work when people get drunk and stupid. Hen hates the time away from her family and the guilt she always feels at also hating time away from the job. Ravi likes sending out emails to tenants informing them their rent has been covered until the new year. Chim hates the stress Maddie goes through around the holidays, her closed off eyes and jumpy body. Albert resents that Chim never comes with him when he visits their dad. Bobby hates the reminder. Athena hates the distance. Chris hates having to grieve the dead ten graves over because when moms die they go straight to the core of the Earth and they become the grass and the trees and they breathe oxygen to you and they don’t die, not ever, not really. Not in a way that counts. 
 
  Buck hates folding in on himself in the middle of a beautiful day, in the middle of a beautiful park in the middle of a beautiful state in a beautiful boy's car. 
 
  Buck loves Eddie and he doesn’t tell him because he’s not 
  
    here. 
  
  He thinks, maybe, he wasn’t ever.
 
  —

  
  

  Chris is—avoiding him. Maybe?
 
  Eddie is sure, at least, that 
  
    something 
  
  is wrong, but he can’t quite tell. He’s used to Chris’ side eyes by now, especially because Eddie is increasingly cringey, apparently. 
 
  It’s grating today, for some reason.
 
  A reason he won’t look at, won’t touch, won’t bring to bed and f@ck the life out of.
 
  “Something on my face?” He glances at Chris out of the corner of his eyes as he leans down to take a bite of cereal. It’s not even eleven am and he’s already having to battle in the newly legal angst war Chris seems to be bringing home these days. 
 
  Chris shakes his head in abject disappointment, tilting his lips down so far that it almost makes Eddie laugh. ”Are you kidding?” 
 
  Eddie purses his lips and tilts his own head in a show to go on. 
 
  Rolling his eyes, Chris says, “you didn’t tell Buck.” 
 
  “Tell him what?” He asks cautiously, taking a small sip of coffee before his lungs decide to dry up and kill him from the inside out. 
 
  “That we’re moving back to LA.” Chris says in a tone that screams, 
  
    duh?? 
  
 
  Eddie hums, nodding his head. Runs a hand over his chin and can’t help but dart his eyes all across the painted white cabinets that he hates, the stain on the granite, the carabiner Buck must have forgotten this morning in his rush to go—
  
    wherever. 
  
  He feels the LA sun on his frostbitten back, the gust of wind the sea pushes toward land, the screams from the seagulls mixing with the delighted screeches of contented pier goers. A solid hand gripping 
  
    tight tight tight
  
   to his wrist and the smell of him, the feel of the sand between his eyelashes, the sight of blue and blue and red, everywhere. A flash of pure white light painting red tresses of burnt out stars across blue cold skin, the disinfectant before needles, the do more, do anything. The box he left by accident containing the very heart of him, the purple gold of whatever made him good enough for something—something. Greater than himself. Can suddenly feel the weight of that settle over him, the before of it all.
 
  “No. I didn’t.”  He taps the edge of the mug against the granite, three times for three minutes and waits the additional seventeen seconds because he wants to 
  
    always 
  
  remember how long those few seconds can really be. “I-I’m not sure he’d be happy to know that. 
  
    I’m 
  
  moving back, you know? You—he’d be ecstatic, he 
  
    is. 
  
  He is because he l-loves you. So much.” He nods decidedly in Chris’ direction, takes a deep breath in. “I’m worried he might still be in love with, uh. With Jackie? Or, something like that. Maybe that it’s not what he wants, anymore. If he—you know. Ever did.” 
 
  His son—his beautiful, kind, thoughtful, hilarious son, whom he adores beyond measure, has given everything to and 
  
    for, 
  
  and why he’s even alive today—laughs straight in his face from two barstools away. 
 
  He furrows his eyebrows, “okay, wow. Was trying to be open and honest about my feelings but this is fine, too.” 
 
  “Dad!” Chris bellows, loud and uncaring as he doubles over the counter, laughing straight into the granite that Eddie 
  
    hates 
  
  with a burning, fiery passion because they are so d@mn 
  
    grey, 
  
  everything in this house is. Cold white paneling, soft grey counters and white and white and grey and it’s hell. Chris laughs right into the chemicals of it and Eddie’s world has always been muted, but sometimes he’s awarded these small, technicolor moments that chew holes into his retinas and he is in view of how God was made. 
  
    He 
  
  is made. 
 
  And all of this does not mean that his son is any nicer to him. 
 
  “You are so 
  
    dumb!
  
   Dad, come on. You don’t seriously believe 
  
    Buck
  
  ,” he gestured widely into the air with both hands, wearing a confounded face, “is 
  
    in love 
  
  with 
  
    Jackie
  
  .” He shouts through his teeth when Eddie looks bashfully in his direction. He smacks a hand on the top of his head, 
  
    actually, for real, 
  
  and gapes wide open at Eddie. “You’re—you.” He gapes some more. “Seriously?” 
 
  He nods slowly, because. Well.
 
  Yeah, maybe. It’s crossed his mind once or twice. They were married, which means. Being in love and being near each other and sharing secrets and holding hands in the air shrouded in the black dark of a hushed bunk room and. Buck loves like wildfire. Eddie is trained in diffusing bombs and aiding rescues and taking bullets and being nothing of much at all and yet, Buck takes soft hands to his wounds and traces ancient runes into his dead and gone skin and he brings him back to life over and over and over again, will probably keep trying until it doesn’t work anymore. 
 
  Eddie is 
  
    not 
  
  trained in what to do with a Buck that loves someone else. Buck loves lots of people, especially the ones that stick around. Jackie stuck around after a 
  
    divorce. 
  
  They still 
  
    say 
  
  I love you and Buck still calls it 
  
    their house, 
  
  and they were 
  
    married. 
  
  Buck isn’t a—he’s something of a serial monogamist, or at least, he was. Buck loves having a reason for being. Buck worries and frets over her and calls her his 
  
    best friend. 
  
  Pet names and leg massages and, the whole lot of it. All of it’s hers. 
 
  So, yeah. Eddie thinks Buck 
  
    might 
  
  still be in love with her. It’s just like him to hold on too long to something that’s burning to the bone. 
 
  Eddie would know. 
 
  “It’s something to consider, right?” He quirks an eyebrow at Chris because his son is an adult now, and in being an adult he’s decided he wants to be open about their lives to each other. Eddie obliges, because of course he does, but it means getting to know his son on a level he still hasn’t quite, uh, adjusted to. Eddie knows that Chris is a genius in his own right, but also that he’s incredibly perceptive and knowing, when he wants to be. So Chris knows too much about Eddie, maybe, but. It makes Chris feel safe, to know what and who and where his dad is. 
 
  “Do you think you’re just scared because everything has gone on without you? Like, you don’t have a place there anymore?”
 
  Sucking in a sharp, mournful breath, Eddie wonders again at being eighteen. For him, it was a lot of backseat hookups followed by the crushing weight of being an actual adult, having to figure out life and what it means with a baby. Eddie had spent eighteen reading baby books like the world was going to end, one after the other in a train of devastation and grief. Thinking and hoping and trying harder than he ever had to push himself down down down until he eventually fell into hell and could pretend, for a few years, like he was a real person made of the solid stuff. 
 
  Chris is spending his time the way Eddie had dreamed he would--gets selfies from the library of Chris and a couple friends studying for midterms, sleep deprived tipsy texts after midnight making sure Eddie knows how much Chris misses home. He always makes sure to follow it up with, “you and me in LA, I mean.” 
 
  Eddie doesn’t know much about himself anymore. He doesn’t remember who he is when he’s not a parent. He’s spent this last semester with sea legs, buying too many groceries and making too much food for one person and going through boxes and feeling so f@ck@ng lonely that he answers facetime calls from Buck, even when he’s in the shower. He remembers and it is a curse, that at one time he wanted for nothing. It’s true that he doesn’t worry about money. It’s also true that there is no fix to his wanting. 
 
  “Yeah. Probably.” He clicks his tongue, “I am afraid.” He pauses, parsing through his history with therapy to finally feel steady enough to express this. The small, aching need he still feels to keep it all inside before it hurts anyone else, the truth of it. 
 
  “I am afraid.” It’s decisive. “I’ve been gone so long, you know? I missed so much. And I never came back. Where do I fit into everything, now? Everything has to be so--different. 
  
    I’m 
  
  different.” 
 
  “Dad,” Chris complains, “that's a 
  
    good 
  
  thing. Aren’t you the one who told me that change is what happens because you have the time for it? We’re alive and, like. Living a life and we are always going to be changing. But that’s why we choose friends and family who want to see it.” 
 
  “I did tell you that, didn’t I?” He sullenly thinks he should have kept it to himself. He never has been able to take his own advice. 
 
  “You did. There’s nothing to worry about dad, I promise. I-I guess, if you can’t do it for you, then do it for me. I don’t want to be here anymore. There’s only so much of Texas I can take.” 
 
  Eddie studies Chris, the way he’s leaning forward to rest his arms on the counter, how he’s chewing his bottom lip in anticipation like Eddie might actually be considering 
  
    not 
  
  going back. 

  “I already bought the house, Chris, there’s literally no going back.” Chris laughs at this, a twinkling, light thing that wraps hands around his lungs and strangles the life out of him. 
 
  “I'm doing it for both of us. How about that?” 
 
  Chris speaks around a mouth full of cereal.
 
  “Sounds like what you’ve always done.” 
 
  ---
 
  Eddie’s doing laundry when Buck finally tumbles his way inside. Again, making entirely too much noise for a could-be asleep house, but he’s not drunk this time. He’s carrying so many boxes that they tower over his head tilting but, somehow, never falling. 
 
  “Do you need help?” He asks, humor in his tone. 
 
  “Sh@t!” Buck hisses as his foot makes sudden contact with the entry table. “You are not supposed to be awake.” He scowls from around the boxes, turning to watch the floor as he moves slowly to the Christmas tree.
 
  “There’s more in the car.” He offers shyly, setting the boxes down and arranging them to look perfectly messy amongst the other presents Eddie had just put down a few hours after Chris went to bed. He’s not a child anymore, but Eddie still gets a little chill through his chest when he gets to spoil Chris. It’s not something he allows often, but Christmas is always the time Eddie can shove all of his money under the tree and beg and beg and beg Chris to know just how much Eddie would give if he could. 
 
  “Of course there is.” He scoffs, because he gets it. If he acknowledges the fact that Buck buys more than he should, more than he probably thinks is allowed, there’s going to be an even bigger rift that opens up in their guts and tears them further apart. Eddie knows what it means to have Christmas be the reason. 
 
  He dutifully grabs the remaining presents out of the trunk and brings them inside, places them under the tree for Bucks greedy arranging and goes to lock the door. When he comes back, Buck is standing in front of the tree with his hands on his hips, studying the layout like it matters. It does, but only because it does to Buck, Eddie figures. Eddie enjoys Christmas because his kid comes home, he can spoil him without complaint, and because of some remaining, selfish joy that he’s actually here and able to participate. But Buck loves Christmas because it 
  
    means 
  
  something more to him. Eddie never quite figured it out, but he thinks he’s starting to. 
 
  It hits him, suddenly, watching Buck bend down and fiddle with a few bags, that this is what he could have had. It’s what he still 
  
    could, 
  
  if he gets over himself and just 
  
    speaks 
  
  to Buck, instead of doing what they’ve always done. Eddie has a strong urge to stitch his body to Buck’s, to fuse them together until they can't part. To put his hands in place of Buck’s own, squeeze the soft fat of his hips, scratch nails across his belly. Kiss the hollow of his neck, right where his thumb used to go. He wants to do all of this and he wants to have been doing it. To have put his shame, guilt, and terror aside for a chance at--this. 
 
  He doesn’t get to go and change the past. There’s no magic car or box or watch that he can twist or turn to let him change his mistakes. But, as he stalks slowly over to Buck and winds his arms around his waist, plasters his front to the solid heat of Buck’s back, kisses his shoulder, rests his forehead on the top of Buck's spine, he knows. He can’t change the past, but he can work his d@mned hardest to 
  
    make 
  
  the future he sees. 
 
  Buck tenses, doesn’t relax fully but places his hands over Eddie’s on his belly. 
 
  Buck didn’t say I love you back. Eddie woke up this morning to an empty bed, an empty driveway, and an empty coffee pot. Buck didn’t say I love you back. But it’s okay, because Eddie isn’t a twelve year old insistent on his crush going to the movies with him. Eddie wants it all. The hard sh@t that eats away at you until it feels like you’re on opposite sides of the world. Done that, thank you. He’s gotten through it and thinks they might be on their way to the other side of it. The easy stuff, the breakfasts, the care and concern and trust. He’s done that, too, though it was a long time ago now. 
 
  Eddie is a grown man. He knows what he’s asking of Buck and it isn’t an easy decision. To see Eddie and love him anyway. To step into it with him--though. Buck had already done that a million times over, hasn’t he? Hasn’t Buck proven time and time again that he’s something to keep? Hasn’t it also been true that he never had to prove anything to Eddie?
 
  “Christmas is tomorrow.” Eddie hums back, tightening his grip. “Do I get to know what you bought me?” 
 
  “No.”
 
  Buck chuckles, and only as it’s fading does he relax completely into Eddie’s hold. Eddie feels like he’s won something when Buck leans back, like he’s 
  
    earned 
  
  this. 
 
  “Of course not, I don’t even know why I asked.” 
 
  “Because you hate surprises.”
 
  “No I don’t, I love them. I’ve always organized the surprise parties. If I recall, 
  
    you 
  
  are the one who hates surprises.” 
 
  Eddie shakes his head, relishing in the scratch of fabric against his forehead before leaning up, pressing further into Buck and placing his nose to his pulse. His lips brush against Buck’s heated skin as he says, “I just hate parties. You don’t like anticipation. You used to say it felt like dread.”
 
  He’s quiet as Eddie presses a barely there kiss to Buck’s neck, stepping away and rummaging around behind the tree. He lets out a triumphant noise as he stands with a small box wrapped in snoopy wrapping paper. 
 
  “Here.” He says, handing it over to Buck. “There’s more for tomorrow but I got this one for tonight.” 
 
  Buck labors a skeptical look Eddie’s way, assessing the confident arm outstretched with something he can’t absolutely bet on. Eddie is right, maybe this one time, that out of the two of them Buck hates surprises. He plans them because it’s something he can control. Eddie, on the other hand, can’t get enough of them. Buck’s face every Christmas lit by the tree, beautiful brilliant laugh spilling out catching on the hollow home he’s tried to create in a place he can’t rest. It’s a surprise every time that he’s here, still. Always here when they expect him, sometimes even when they don’t. After all of this time he’s still theirs in a way nothing else ever has been, still stitched on with pink red gold thread. 
 
  Eddie loves surprises, and he loves Buck. And he loves Buck’s curiously surprised face as he gently lifts the small box out of Eddie’s hand and tucks it to his chest. Eddie drops his arm but his smile is tacked on as he chooses and chooses and chooses this life one million times over again. “Chris is going to be p@ss@d I showed you alone.”
 
  Buck looks up at Eddie through thick lashes, “Why?” He asks, hesitant and bewildered at Eddie and the way he suddenly decides to be everything he can’t help but miss. 
 
  He blows out a breath of humor and anxiety, chuckles, just barely, before meeting Buck’s eyes. “It’s just you and I now, Buck. I can’t keep making it about him when it’s always been us.” 
 
  Buck tilts his head, narrows his eyes and tries to figure out what Eddie can even 
  
    mean 
  
  by that, but he doesn’t stop. 
 
  “I won’t apologize for leaving. I can’t, and I won’t. Before anything else, Christopher has always come first, that’s true. And I’m not going to say sorry when I’m not and don’t have to be. Not for leaving, anyway.”
 
  “I would never ask you to apologize for that, Eddie. I know. I know you had to do that for him, and for you. I don’t 
  
    want 
  
  you to be sorry at all.”
 
  Eddie smiles, “but I am. For what I did after, you know? For staying gone. Truth is, after a while it just got… easy. To pretend LA never happened, that Shannon never died and I never betrayed my kid because I couldn’t handle my sh@t. It was a blessing, to be in a place where nobody looks at you and 
  
    knows
  
   all of the ways you failed. I couldn’t handle the pressure, I guess. But that doesn’t work either, forgetting. There’s always something you forget to forget.” He gives Buck a rueful look. 
 
  Buck nods, unsure and unsteady, holding tight to the still wrapped box and slowly picking away at a red Santa hat with his finger nail. 

  “I went to therapy. I got stable. I learned how to be happy. I am, you know? I know how it works now, how it feels. What to do with it. Still, though, I was here. I kept staying and swearing, even to myself, that it was what Chris wanted. Some breaking news here, it’s not. It never was.” 
 
  “I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth.” Buck says, shaky but meaning it, needing to finally say it. 
 
  “For what?” Eddie says, puzzled and defiant on Buck’s behalf. 
 
  “For being angry. For letting that lead my life to where it is now.” 
 
  “I don’t think it’s half bad, do you? Nice house. Nice ex wife.” 
 
  Buck laughs loudly, probably too much so for the sleeping college student down the hall but Eddie can’t find it in himself to stop it, to shift courses and potentially ruin this new life he’s decided to make. 
 
  “Yeah, that. She’s better than nice, but you’d know that if you ever took the time to get to know her.”
 
  Eddie hums. He nods once to get Buck to open the present, anxious and shameful even in the wake of the man he loves barreling in and, once again, changing everything Eddie once knew about himself. 
 
  He expects Buck to hesitate, but then laughs at himself because of course Buck doesn’t. He spares no mind to carefully opening the wrapping paper to keep it for later, b@lls it up and throws it next to him on the floor. He pauses for the quickest of moments to look at the box that seems, for all it’s blue velvet and gold accents, like a ring. 
 
  It’s quiet, the middle of the night. Eddie hears a coyote howl to the big bright moon, shouting his worries to her and bathing himself clean in her light. He catches the curtain swaying lightly from the wind flowing through a cracked window, revels in the goosebumps that litter his arms from the chill. Settles his heartbeat to the crackling of the fire in the fake fireplace. Does not get angry about the fact that it’s a fake fireplace where a real one should be. 
 
  “A key?” Eddie knows the disappointed lilt of Buck’s voice is only present because Buck has never needed a key for this house. 
 
  “Yeah. You’ll need it, once we get back and I inevitably have a horrific near death experience on the job. Hopefully Bobby has invested in better health insurance since I’ve been gone.” 
 
  “Back?” Buck mumbles, taking the key now between pointer finger and thumb, holding it in front of his face like it might disappear. 
 
  “If you’ll have me.” Buck shifts his head to look at Eddie, dumbfounded beyond belief and still taking seconds to turn back to the key, then back to Eddie. 
 
  “It’s not real gold, or anything. I got a couple copies made at Walmart, for you and Chris. If--”
 
  “Eddie.” Buck says, firm. He places the key back in its spot, shuts the lid gently and set’s it on the coffee table. He stalks slowly over to Eddie, and the few feet between them lessen until Buck is tucking his fingers into Eddie’s belt loops, and the air around them is just Buck’s cologne, the electric buzzing in his chest, the sound of Buck’s heavy breaths. Buck tugs on the loops and brings Eddie to his chest. 
 
  “I’m not sorry either. For marrying Jackie. It wasn’t a mistake, not to me. And it--I needed it. I needed to marry her, to meet her. To be with her. I needed to move on.” 
 
  “What did you need to move on from, Buck?” 
 
  “You.” He says simply, confidently. Unbreaking as Eddie takes those words and chews on them, bites through fatty liver and gristle. Swallows his shame along with the sinew. 
 
  “I needed to try, at least. And I’m glad I did because I love Jackie. I really, really do. But she’s not my family, not in the way you and Chris are.” 
 
  Eddie closes his eyes, but he doesn’t move. Not closer to Buck, not farther away. He stays put and listens for a howl that never comes. 
 
  “Every time you come down here, you act like you don’t know what to do with us. That’s probably. My fault, yeah? I was the one who couldn’t explain why I’ve been gone for so long. Not in the way you needed it to be explained. I am sorry for that.” He takes another deep breath. “Truth is, after the therapy and the joy and the finding myself, I looked around and realized. I’d taken everything away from me that I needed to survive. I’d taken my own life away from me. I pushed everyone away because, what if they had realized, in the time it took for me to learn how to be, that they didn’t need me? Didn’t want me?” 
 
  “I always wanted you.” Buck says, unhurried but urgent. “Don’t get me started on needing you.” 
 
  Eddie’s smile is close lipped, a gentle thing that Buck wonders at—if he could pick it up and tuck it to his chest. 
 
  “I’m ready to come home.” Eddie says, firm and absolute, just tethered to reality enough that it won’t get caught in the wind and carried away to a place Buck can’t hear. 
 
  Buck marvels at the way a heart can speak. His own thumping furiously against the cage it’s trapped in, howling and hungry for the life Buck has sworn could never be his.
 
  “Home?” 
 
  Eddie nods, sealing the last few inches of space between them with a half step, falling into Buck. “Yeah. Whenever you’re going.” He runs gentle fingertips over Bucks forehead, scanting into his hair and grasping at the back of his head, pulling them together until Eddie can feel Bucks heat in his bones. 
 
  “And you’ll stay?” 
 
  “For f@ck@ng ever. I swear to God, Buck. Always.” Eddie’s lips brush over Bucks slightly chapped lips, hesitant but all love love love. 
 
  Buck isn’t frantic when he sighs, breath hot coasting across Eddie’s already overheated face, rushing out, “Swear to something real, Baby, to something important.” 
 
  Eddie smiles, all teeth and awe, “Will Saint Christopher do?” 
 
  Bucks lips on Eddie had always felt good, objectively because Buck is a f@ck@ng savant when it comes to kissing, but also because it’s god damn 
  
    Buck
  
  . Who moves with his whole body and bullies Eddie onto his tiptoes, tongue searching and recovering Eddie’s heart and f@ck@ng soul, biting his lip when he gets overwhelmed and jutting his hips into Eddie’s stomach. 
 
  Eddie’s hands slip under the hem of Bucks shirt and trail fingernails across his belly until he can’t take it anymore and splays flat palms to an alter Eddie has made of Bucks body, grabbing handfuls of hip and stomach and chest, a desperate push and pull that ebbs out when Buck places a calloused grip around the base of Eddie’s throat. 
 
  He squeezes three times, not applying pressure but holding on, allowing Eddie the few seconds they’re apart to realize this is it, all of it, all of him, belongs to something much greater than the here and now. In forty years, when the greying is over and the wheelchairs are squeaky and his son has a family of his own, it’s them. 
 
  Eddie pushes into the hold around his throat and he whines, breathless and complete, into Buck's mouth, “I love you. I want everything with you.” 
 
  “Are you sure?” Buck says, one more time for good measure. Just in case Eddie might not mean it, in case he might have forgotten the person he’s chosen. 
 
  Eddie grows cold for half of a second, not long enough to scare but noticeable to Buck either way. “Buck, it’s you. Of course I am. I promise you won’t ever have to ask again.” 
 
  The smile Eddie gets in return doesn’t make up the time lost between them, but it’s light and salvation all at once. 
 
  “I love you, too.” Buck prays, against Eddie’s lips that open and catch on those words, sucks Buck’s tongue in along with them so he can see if there’s any more along with them. But it’s just all warmth and home, and Eddie falls into Buck the same way he’s always done, liquid and turpentine, lit matches against winter days. 
 
  A long time ago, now, Eddie chose joy. He chose the pursuit of something entirely unknown and he tackled grown men to the ground in his mind and killed them for a chance at this—joy. Joy joy joy, he upends who he is and throws them to the roaring sea, tossing and turning waves against cliff faces and drags the worst of him to the rip tides. Eddie knows Christopher and he knows joy. Eddie knows Buck and he knows how to breathe.

  —

  Booby: 
  Will you be needing the extra week? - Bobby Nash

  Evan Buckley: 
  yeah, eddie needs help 
  moving back to la

  Booby: .
  👍 - Bobby Nash

  —

  landlord special: 
  dude when tf r u coming back 

  landlord special: 
  ur plants r lowkey dying
   

  pookie: 
  ????? tf do u mean 

  landlord special:
   im not repeating myself 

  pookie: 
  literally two plants ravi 

  landlord special:
   okay and that’s two more 

  than I usually take care of 😒 

  landlord special: 
  and not what i asked

  pookie: 
  later than i thought

  landlord:
   ?????????
   
pookie: eddie needs help moving to la so im taking the extra week
  landlord special:
   ?!?!?!
   

  pookie: 
  ? 

  landlord special: 
  girl PLEASE 😭😫 i almost won

  landlord special: 
  worst news ive heard all year

  pookie: 
  ur apartment building 
  literally burned down 

  landlord special: 
  i said what i said
   

  —

  totally normal queers family chat

  landlord special:
   prepare to be sick of buck 

  hennie: 
  No. Say it isn’t so. 

  Mr. April: 
  Confused.

  Mad Mads: 
  Oh my God. Is it happening?

  albie:
   think so. ravi won’t stfu ab it. 

  eddie baby:
   I’m with Chim on this one as I am also confused. 

  buck:
   ravi fr??? 

  landlord special:
   u don’t understand 

  there was a lot on the line here 

  albie: 
  three thousand dollars cannot possibly 

  be enough for all this

  buck: 
  THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS? 

  eddie baby:
   I am still confused.
   

  Mad Mads: 
  Wait, but doesn’t this mean that Bobby won?
   

  Athena: 
  Hello all. I believe this means Bobby has won both bets.
   

  hennie: 
  If it wasn’t so much money this would be awesome.
   

  booby:
   Congrasturlations. - Bobby Nash

  booby: 
  Will work on fraternization papers. - Bobby Nash

  Mr. April:
   Maddie we lost BOTH bets.
   

  Mad Mads: 
  Yes, exceptionally. 

  eddie baby: 
  Worth it.
   

  
    buck loved “Worth it.”
  

  jack: 
  OMG?????? IT FINALLY HAPPENED????
   

  eddie baby: 
  When were you added to this chat? 

  
    hennie disliked “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  
    Mad Mads disliked “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  
    albie disliked “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  
    landlord special disliked “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  
    Mr. April disliked “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  
    Athena disliked “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  
    jack questioned “When were you added to this chat?”
  

  eddie baby: 🙄

  eddie baby:
   Genuine question, but okay.

  jack: 
  after the wedding, duh 

  jack:
   ravi i still need my cupcake tin

  landlord special: 😬

  —

  Chris isn’t as upset as Eddie thought he would be at having missed out on giving the key to Buck, which is a good thing, really. It means that everything is smooth sailing from here on out and there won’t be any snags that catch on their happy bubble for a long time.

  Well, snags from thorns of their own making, that is. He can’t control the outside world.

  “This airport is awful.” Buck murmurs, scratching at his elbow and trying to draw his body as into himself as he can, failing to bite back an annoyed look at a man that bumps him as he rushes past. 

  “Every airport is awful.” Chris deadpans, looking up from his phone while slapping the wheels on the airport wheelchair they’d provided. “At least people aren’t bumping your head when they push by.” 

  “True that, sir.” Buck replies, loosening his body as Eddie pulls him close by his shirt sleeve, pressing a kiss to Bucks temple because he 
  
    can, 
  
  now. He can do anything. 

  “I think we’ll all be in much better moods once we’ve boarded and are on our way.” Eddie soothes both Buck and Christopher, tapping Chris's shoulder three times with his hand so he doesn’t get more overstimulated than he already is while rubbing a palm up and down Buck's back. 

  They both nod but the sour mood doesn’t dissipate, just quiets as they all find a spot to loiter in while they wait for their boarding group to be called. Eddie spends a few minutes basking in being so close to Buck in public. He lazes a single finger over the only visible hickey left on Bucks pale skin, poking out from his shirt collar, dangerous to look at only because Eddie can’t help but want to suck more onto the delicate skin of Bucks body. 

  He’s working up the courage to ask for a quick bathroom break when a voice he doesn’t recognize tells from a good distance away, “Buck!” 

  Instead of flinching at the loud, unprompted noise, Buck only startles and stops the whole airport with his smile. “Jack!” 

  He quickly untangles himself from his position with Eddie to rush across the terminal and meet with the man--Jack. Eddie watches Buck laugh brightly with him before taking his elbow and moving slowly back towards where he was sitting. Eddie chanced a glance at Chris and he’s already looking back at him, confused. Eddie shrugs his shoulders and looks back at Buck, who’s close enough now that if Eddie strains enough he can hear their conversation. 

  “Looks like you made it in time.” Jack says, voice rough but kind as he pats Buck’s hand with his own that was resting on the cane he has with him. His boots leave a trail of dry, red dirt but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

  Buck blushes, bashful, as they finally approach the little family they’ve made. “Jack, this is Eddie and Christopher.” 

  Eddie stands to shake Jack's hand, still confused but happy enough that Buck seems content. Jack shuffles over to Chris and shakes his hand as well. 

  “Well, Buck.” Jack whistles, turning back, “What do you think now?” 

  “I think I’d like to hear about your visit, Jack.” He smiles, urging Jack to sit in a seat across from them as he settles back next to Eddie, who takes his hand and cradles it in his lap, soothing a thumb over Bucks knuckles. Jack sits, smirks at the display and sighs as he rests back into the seat. 

  “Obviously picked up one of these.” He scoffs, tapping the cane he brought sitting next to him. “One thing about old age, buddy? You’re never prepared for it.” Buck laughs along with Jack, who pauses and points to the crutches in Chris’s wheelchair that they’d tried to leave out in case Chris needed them. “They don’t give us the cool ones like you’ve got.” 

  Chris smiles, “I can get you some stickers.” 

  “I’ll hold you to that. A man’s nothin’ but his word.” He winks, looking back at Buck. 

  “I visited Billy.” And for some reason that shatters Buck's heart, but Eddie’s not quite sure why. “Only fair I go to him, these days, seein’ as he’s the one who had to do all the chasin’.”

  “Do you think he laughs about it?” 

  “Oh, only about every time I go down there. He never got over makin’ me pay for it.” Jack smiles. 

  “Sorry, I just.” Eddie interrupts, hoping he’s a part of this conversation. “Who’s Billy?” 

  Jack chuckles. “Well, I suppose in this situation, he’s Buck.” 

  Buck breaks out laughing, grasping desperately onto Eddie’s thigh while his head bends back to laugh at the ceiling. When he stops, he leans over and kisses just below Eddie’s ear, whispering, “He’s the love of Jack’s life. His Husband.” 

  “Oh.” Is all Eddie can say as he blushes, turning back to Jack who looks sad but fond at the pair. The air turns tense, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just startling as Jack looks intently at Eddie before settling his gaze on Buck. 

  “You remember what I asked you?” He says.

  Buck nods. 

  “And where are you goin’ now?” 

  Buck looks at Eddie, tears in his eyes as he smiles and takes Eddie’s hand, squeezing three times before looking back. 

  “Home. With my family.” 

  Jack nods approvingly. “That’s a good day, then.” 

  Eddie breathes.

  —

  One thing about Jackie? She’s 
  
    loud. 
  

  Eddie used to hate loud people, when he was repressed and full of sorrow, and maybe that’s why he didn’t like Jackie. 

  Or it could be that her being married to Buck instilled a deep, dark jealousy that caused five years of hurt and harm before Eddie could look in the mirror and not attempt to scratch his own eyes out.

  It’s probably that one. 

  Anyway, it’s true. He used to not be able to handle how joy seems to leap from people unbidden whereas it used to take so much f@ck@ng 
  
    effort 
  
  to feel anything but shame, and he didn’t know how to be around it. 

  Buck helped. The firehouse helped. They’re a group of disgustingly optimistic people and it grates on Eddie’s nerves, sometimes, as a man who tries to be serious and stoic, but he can’t contain his own joy when surrounded by so much love he thought he could drown in it. 

  Being around them must have softened him to Jackie. 

  “YES! Are you kidding me?! Buck Buckley you shouldn’t have! Oh, but you did and it’s going on the new fridge at the store immediately!” She runs around the counter, raising a magnet in the shape of a cat in the air with both hands and grasping Buck in a tight looking hug. Buck grunts but easily bends down to hug her properly. 

  “I’m serious, you shouldn’t have.” She says as she steps back, looking at the magnet. 

  Buck scoffs, “Come on, you would have killed me if I didn’t get it. It’s the only one you’re missing. And it’s so cute, look, it’s got the grey and the white, not the tan and white. I did so good, I didn’t get them mixed up this time.” 

  She nods, trying to hold back but squeezing with joy and hugging it to her chest, “You did so good, oh my God. It’s the last one in my collection! I can’t believe you remembered I needed the grey and white Siamese and not the tan and white Siamese.” 

  Buck shrugs, walking back to stand behind Eddie, who’s sitting at a stool in Jackie’s small apartment. He places both palms on either of Eddie’s shoulders and squeezes, rubbing a tight knot at the base of his neck with a gentle thumb. 

  “I can remember stuff.” Both Jackie and Eddie burst out laughing, looking at each other in disbelief. 

  “How many times did you forget our wedding anniversary? And our divorce anniversary?” 

  “To be fair, divorce anniversaries are not a thing.”

  “You forgot your own anniversary, Buck? Seriously?” Eddie turns in his seat causing Buck to settle between Eddie’s spread legs. Eddie tugs at Bucks belt loops and brings them closer. 

  Buck pouts at Eddie before looking up at Jackie, “That was once, and I had a lot going on at the time.” 

  Jackie chuckles, coming around to stand next to the pair. “Hey.” She says, catching their attention. She tucks her hair being and ear and fiddles with her hands on her stomach. 

  “Listen, I know it’s like, kind of awkward. Between you and I.” She gestures between Eddie and herself. “But I am really, truly happy for you two, and I want us to at least tolerate each other. I don’t like, have anything against you. Or whatever.” She looks expectantly up at Eddie and ceases her fidgeting. 

  “We both love the same man, yeah? That should account for something.” She smiles at Buck's gentle hum. 

  Eddie shoots her an approving look, tugging Buck even closer, resting his chin on Buck's sternum and looking up through thick lashes, detailing every small expression that passes through. He sighs, banding his arms around Bucks middle and turns so his cheek is resting where his chin was, looking at Jackie. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing. I don’t like people with bad taste.” 

  Jackie’s laugh is loud and good natured, and Eddie can feel Bucks chuckles in his cheek. Eddie closes his eyes to it when Buck runs a gentle hand over his hair. Relishes in the reality of a dream he’d shut down about fifteen years ago, now, when he was fighting to survive a world he couldn’t ever fit into with the way he was. 

  “So,” she says when he finally opens his eyes. “Tell me about your Christmas.” 

  Eddie can’t say he hates anything, anymore. Not when he gets to throw a hand up in front of Jackie’s face and show off the smooth, gold band Buck had gotten him for Christmas. Buck tells the story Eddie has made Buck explain more than two times, but he listens like it’s the first. 

  “I really wasn’t going to give it to him, like, as a gift. You know, I just. Have had it for a really long time and thought it would be good to give us both closure, or. Something.”

  “Wishful thinking?” Jackie hedges, joking. 

  Buck laughs, “Yeah, I think so.” He smiles down at Eddie. 

  “Anyway. After he gave me the key, I thought. We wasted enough time already, right? And Eddie had ruined the one joint gift that Chris wanted to surprise me with. I thought it would be full circle, to be the one to metaphorically bring us all back together.” 

  Eddie soothes a thumb over the band. “Nothing about this is metaphorical, cowboy. You’re stuck with me.” Buck preens and lowers his head to kiss Eddie, brief but deep, haunting, teasing. 

  Jackie groans, “God, this is so romantic. I’m trying to have my single and thriving era and you’re ruining it.” 

  “Well…” Buck starts, smirking down at Eddie. “If you’re okay with dating a landlord, I might--”

  “Buck!” Eddie laughs, despite himself, loudly, right into Buck’s chest. 

  Eddie hopes, right into the heart of him. 

  When they leave, Eddie will drop Buck’s hand only to get in and out of the car. When they return home, he’ll drag him by that hand all the way to the couch, where they’ll watch a movie and, hopefully, make out until they forget all pretense and make use of the couch the way two empty nesters are supposed to, until Chris comes home for the weekend.

  And the best part?

  None of it will happen in Texas. 

  
  

    
      
        
        
          and that's all! hope you guys had a joyful holiday season, as well as a nice recovery period. this fic is still gaining traction on tiktok, so i tried to hurry it up and get to the f@ck@ng point before someone showed up at my door with a pitchfork. i have a cat in here, okay? don't come all at once.love you all. serious.till next time!'
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