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Entry tags:
9-1-1 FIC: Hourglass
Title: Hourglass
Pairing: Buck/Eddie
Rating: unrated
Words: ~2,300
Summary: Eddie huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, I would. And you wouldn't say no."
Notes: Coda for 8x09.
[AO3]
Hourglass
"What—?" All Eddie can do is stare at Buck. He doesn't understand what's happening right now. "What about your loft?"
Shrugging, Buck says, "Eh, it's not my loft anymore," and he says it like it's easy. He says it like he hasn't lived there for the last seven years, like he didn't fight tooth and nail to keep it after his leg was crushed, even though that meant sleeping on his couch for three solid months. "I gave them my notice this morning. And now you—" He ducks his head a little. "You don't need to worry."
"You—" Eddie's eyes are stinging. "You really did that for me?"
"Yeah. You and Christopher."
Buck says that like it's easy too, like Christopher is never far from his mind. He has his hands in his pockets and a goofy smile on his face, and Eddie—Eddie wishes he hadn't snapped at him earlier. He knows Buck would never ask him to choose. Buck loves Christopher far too much.
It's embarrassing, really, that it takes Hen's prompting for Eddie to unfreeze and give Buck a hug, but in his own defense, a lot has happened in the last ten minutes, and he's still wrapping his head around all of it. Trying to find a renter has been such a nightmare, mainly because it's holding everything else up, and now he doesn't need to. Buck is going to be his renter. Buck is renting his house. Buck is giving up the loft that he loves so Eddie can move to Texas and be with Christopher.
Thank you doesn't seem big enough. Eddie's not sure there are words big enough to tell Buck what this means to him, to tell Buck what he means to him, how much he wishes he didn't have to leave Buck in the first place. Before he can even try, he's being bullied out of the house and into Bobby's car.
They end up at the French place on Robertson, somewhere Eddie's never been because he assumed it was out of his price range. And he was right about that. Looking at the menu has him fearing for his bank account until Chimney finally drops the bit and admits that dinner is their treat. In revenge for nearly giving him a heart attack, he orders a starter for himself, a starter to split with Buck, an entrée, and an apple Pommeau.
Hen buys him another apple Pommeau. Chimney buys him another. Between that and the shot of Cointreau someone tricks him into, he starts to feel warm—not drunk, exactly, but relaxed enough to actually relax. Buck was right about him worrying; it's all he's done since Christopher left, and dealing with the headaches that come with moving has only made it worse. But now, the tense, frustrated knot that lodged behind his sternum months ago is finally starting to ease. He's laughing at Chimney's dumb jokes and Hen's stories about Denny and Mara. He's leaning against Buck more than he usually does.
He likes being close to Buck, but he rarely gets as close as he wants. A restless, anxious corner of his brain always tells him that he shouldn't. He's never been able to figure out why, but now, why doesn't matter. That corner of his brain is full of fancy French booze, so he lets himself have it. He hooks his ankle around Buck's under the table, and he wraps his arm around Buck's shoulders. He ignores the arched eyebrow Hen gives him for splitting the last slice of mushroom tourte with Buck by taking a bite out of it and stuffing the rest in Buck's mouth.
The porch light is off when he and Buck get back to the house. He left in such a hurry that he forgot to turn it on. Without it, the doorway is dark enough that he spends what feels like forever fumbling around with his keys. Eventually, Buck huffs and nudges him out of the way. He opens the door with his own key, because he has one. Because in so many ways, this is Buck's house too. It has been for years. Eddie should've asked him to rent it from the beginning.
He tells Buck that much, but Buck just shrugs. He says, "I had the loft," as he sits on the couch and reaches for the remote.
"Yeah." Eddie sits beside him. Close. Probably too close. "How long are you there?"
"The end of the month."
"Your landlord isn't mad, is he?"
"No," Buck says, shaking his head. "He was actually pretty chill about it. Turns out, there's a waiting list for my building. Me leaving now means he can raise the rent without waiting for me to re-up my lease."
"Slimeball," Eddie mutters, which makes Buck laugh. He's been fidgeting with the remote, turning it over in his hands; Eddie stills him by reaching over and touching his wrist. Too close. "I never said thank you."
"You don't have to."
"Buck."
Buck shrugs again. "It's what you need."
He says it like it's the only thing that matters to him, and something warm starts unfurling behind his Eddie's ribs. He never knew what it felt like to be supported, not until he met Buck. Buck, who introduced him to Carla, who's helped him be a better parent, who took care of him after he got shot, and after his breakdown, and after Christopher went to Texas and he felt more alone than he ever has in his life, even during those few days he spent in a field hospital in Afghanistan, or the first weeks after Shannon left him. Buck, who's done all those things for no other reason than he knew Eddie needed it.
There aren't big enough words for that either, so Eddie just squeezes Buck's wrist and blurts, "I'm going to miss you so much."
Buck looks away for a moment. When he looks back, his eyes are wet. He says, "Yeah, I know," in a voice that's curled inward, uncertain.
"Hey, I mean it."
"Yeah. I'm going to miss you too."
"Buck." Eddie squeezes Buck's wrist again. The idea that Buck doesn't believe him—that he doesn't realize how much Eddie cares about him—has his gut twisting around like a snake. "What's going on?"
Instead of answering, Buck mumbles, "It's getting late," and stands up. "I should go."
"You've been drinking."
"I'll call an Uber."
"Buck."
Buck takes a step toward the door, but Eddie's still holding his wrist, and they bump around for a few seconds as Buck tries to leave and Eddie tries to tug him back down to the couch. He manages it, despite Buck making one at least half-serious attempt at shrugging him off, but somehow, he ends up on his knees in front of Buck, wedged between his open legs.
That corner of Eddie's brain, mostly sober now, screams at him to move. He ignores it and rests his hands on Buck's thighs. He says, "Buck," again, soft. "You have to know that not having you around is going to kill me."
Buck's quiet for a long moment. Then: "You said you didn't have any ties here."
"What?"
"That last showing," Buck explains. His eyes are wet again. "I heard you talking to them as I was leaving. You said you didn't have any ties here. That everything that matters to you is in Texas. And I get it. I'm—"
"Hey, no," Eddie cuts in. "I did say that, but I didn't mean it. I just… they were asking questions I couldn't answer without sounding like a crazy person, so I made something up, that I'm leaving a great job and a great house because I never put down roots out here. But that's not true." He reaches up and cups Buck's face in both hands—way too fucking close, but he doesn't care. "I did put down roots, and I—"
"Eddie, it's fine. I shouldn't have—"
"I did," Eddie insists. Buck squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and Eddie wishes, not for the first time, that he'd bitched Buck's parents out for not loving him enough when he had the chance. It's unbelievable, how little Buck thinks he's worth. "I hate that I have to rip them out."
Buck goes quiet again before asking, "Are you sure you have to?"
"What do you mean?"
"I," Buck starts. He catches Eddie's wrists, but just holds them, doesn't pull Eddie's hands away from his face. "Don't get me wrong, here. I miss him like crazy. But I haven't talked to him much. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and make things worse. But—" He pauses like he's choosing his words. "The few times he's texted me, he's mentioned missing his room, or hanging out with Denny."
"No." Eddie shakes his head. "He's happy out there."
Another pause: Buck opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. What finally comes out is, "Is he? Or are your parents keeping him too busy to think about missing you or coming home?"
Eddie says, "No, that's not," but stops, because yes, now that it's been brought to his attention, that's absolutely something his parents would do. Still: "What… what if you're wrong?"
"Then I'm wrong. But I might be right."
"Is that why you're renting the house? So it'll still be here if Chris wants to come back?"
Buck nods.
"You—" Eddie's voice hitches. Buck really is something else. "You heard what I said to that couple, and you believed it, and you still decided to do that for me?"
Buck nods again.
Eddie doesn't know what to say to that, so he wraps Buck into a hug. He feels good in Eddie's arms, solid and strong, and while that one corner of his brain is demanding he back off, the rest of him is settled, calm for the first time in weeks. When he pulls back, he cups Buck's face again, and he just looks—at the curls brushing his forehead, at the long slope of his nose, at the tiny patch of missed stubble at the hinge of his jaw, at the rosy splash made by his birthmark. His big blue eyes are full of—
Love. They're full of love. Buck's in love with him.
His next thought is, of course he is, we belong together, and that means—
"Oh," Eddie breathes. His heart is beating in his throat. "I love you."
Buck makes a soft, wounded noise and grabs Eddie's wrists again. This time, he does pull Eddie's hands away from his face.
"Buck—"
"Eddie, don't. Not now. Not—" Buck swallows hard. "Not when you're leaving."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Now that he does, it explains so much. Why Buck's the only thing he can think about sometimes, why he always wants Buck closer to him, why he'd been so anxious about telling Buck he's moving, why the thought of leaving Buck behind hurts worse than a gunshot. "But I do. I love you."
Buck murmurs, "I love you too." He touches the freckle under Eddie's eye, then brushes his fingers through Eddie's hair. "I'd do anything for you, so don't ask."
"Don't ask what?"
"Don't ask me to give you the next three weeks and then let you go."
"I wouldn't."
"Yes, you would."
Eddie huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, I would. And you wouldn't say no."
"No, I wouldn't," Buck admits. "So don't ask."
"God." Eddie slides one hand down to the hollow of Buck's throat. "This really sucks."
Buck just looks at Eddie, head tipped to the side like he's thinking something over, and Eddie, still thrumming with this new-found knowledge, feels stripped down under his gaze, completely exposed. But at the same time, he also feels warm and held. Loved. His knees are starting to ache, but he doesn't dare move.
Eventually, Buck lets out a sigh—quiet, almost resigned. He grabs the front of Eddie's shirt and tugs him closer. "Kiss me."
"You said—"
"I know what I said," Buck cuts in. "But I want it. We'll do it once and pretend it never happened."
"And if Chris wants to come home?"
"Then we'll pretend we didn't pretend it never happened."
"You're nuts."
Buck says, "Probably. But you make me this way." He smiles then, a quick flash of teeth. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"
The only possible answer to that is yes. Eddie gets a hand at the back of Buck's neck and tugs him in. It starts out easy and soft, but a beat later, they're both ravenous. Eddie pushes his tongue into Buck's mouth, and Buck snags one hand in Eddie's hair. He sneaks the other one under Eddie's shirt and presses it, big and warm, to the small of Eddie's back. Heat sparks under Eddie's skin; he makes a noise so hungry it should be embarrassing and scrabbles closer. They end up on the couch, Buck flat on his back and Eddie sprawled on top of him. They're both panting when they finally ease apart.
"Buck," Eddie whispers, his mouth pressed to Buck's jaw. "I don't think I can pretend that didn't happen."
After a pause, Buck sighs again. "Me either."
"We," Eddie starts. He thinks if ever two people could make long distance work, it's them, but Eddie would feel like a total shitheel bringing it up after what Buck went through with Abby. "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know yet. But I guess we have the next three weeks to figure it out."
"You—" Eddie runs his thumb across Buck's lower lip. "I didn't ask. You told me not to ask."
Buck kisses Eddie's temple. He says, "I know. But I'm giving it to you anyway."
Pairing: Buck/Eddie
Rating: unrated
Words: ~2,300
Summary: Eddie huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, I would. And you wouldn't say no."
Notes: Coda for 8x09.
[AO3]
"What—?" All Eddie can do is stare at Buck. He doesn't understand what's happening right now. "What about your loft?"
Shrugging, Buck says, "Eh, it's not my loft anymore," and he says it like it's easy. He says it like he hasn't lived there for the last seven years, like he didn't fight tooth and nail to keep it after his leg was crushed, even though that meant sleeping on his couch for three solid months. "I gave them my notice this morning. And now you—" He ducks his head a little. "You don't need to worry."
"You—" Eddie's eyes are stinging. "You really did that for me?"
"Yeah. You and Christopher."
Buck says that like it's easy too, like Christopher is never far from his mind. He has his hands in his pockets and a goofy smile on his face, and Eddie—Eddie wishes he hadn't snapped at him earlier. He knows Buck would never ask him to choose. Buck loves Christopher far too much.
It's embarrassing, really, that it takes Hen's prompting for Eddie to unfreeze and give Buck a hug, but in his own defense, a lot has happened in the last ten minutes, and he's still wrapping his head around all of it. Trying to find a renter has been such a nightmare, mainly because it's holding everything else up, and now he doesn't need to. Buck is going to be his renter. Buck is renting his house. Buck is giving up the loft that he loves so Eddie can move to Texas and be with Christopher.
Thank you doesn't seem big enough. Eddie's not sure there are words big enough to tell Buck what this means to him, to tell Buck what he means to him, how much he wishes he didn't have to leave Buck in the first place. Before he can even try, he's being bullied out of the house and into Bobby's car.
They end up at the French place on Robertson, somewhere Eddie's never been because he assumed it was out of his price range. And he was right about that. Looking at the menu has him fearing for his bank account until Chimney finally drops the bit and admits that dinner is their treat. In revenge for nearly giving him a heart attack, he orders a starter for himself, a starter to split with Buck, an entrée, and an apple Pommeau.
Hen buys him another apple Pommeau. Chimney buys him another. Between that and the shot of Cointreau someone tricks him into, he starts to feel warm—not drunk, exactly, but relaxed enough to actually relax. Buck was right about him worrying; it's all he's done since Christopher left, and dealing with the headaches that come with moving has only made it worse. But now, the tense, frustrated knot that lodged behind his sternum months ago is finally starting to ease. He's laughing at Chimney's dumb jokes and Hen's stories about Denny and Mara. He's leaning against Buck more than he usually does.
He likes being close to Buck, but he rarely gets as close as he wants. A restless, anxious corner of his brain always tells him that he shouldn't. He's never been able to figure out why, but now, why doesn't matter. That corner of his brain is full of fancy French booze, so he lets himself have it. He hooks his ankle around Buck's under the table, and he wraps his arm around Buck's shoulders. He ignores the arched eyebrow Hen gives him for splitting the last slice of mushroom tourte with Buck by taking a bite out of it and stuffing the rest in Buck's mouth.
The porch light is off when he and Buck get back to the house. He left in such a hurry that he forgot to turn it on. Without it, the doorway is dark enough that he spends what feels like forever fumbling around with his keys. Eventually, Buck huffs and nudges him out of the way. He opens the door with his own key, because he has one. Because in so many ways, this is Buck's house too. It has been for years. Eddie should've asked him to rent it from the beginning.
He tells Buck that much, but Buck just shrugs. He says, "I had the loft," as he sits on the couch and reaches for the remote.
"Yeah." Eddie sits beside him. Close. Probably too close. "How long are you there?"
"The end of the month."
"Your landlord isn't mad, is he?"
"No," Buck says, shaking his head. "He was actually pretty chill about it. Turns out, there's a waiting list for my building. Me leaving now means he can raise the rent without waiting for me to re-up my lease."
"Slimeball," Eddie mutters, which makes Buck laugh. He's been fidgeting with the remote, turning it over in his hands; Eddie stills him by reaching over and touching his wrist. Too close. "I never said thank you."
"You don't have to."
"Buck."
Buck shrugs again. "It's what you need."
He says it like it's the only thing that matters to him, and something warm starts unfurling behind his Eddie's ribs. He never knew what it felt like to be supported, not until he met Buck. Buck, who introduced him to Carla, who's helped him be a better parent, who took care of him after he got shot, and after his breakdown, and after Christopher went to Texas and he felt more alone than he ever has in his life, even during those few days he spent in a field hospital in Afghanistan, or the first weeks after Shannon left him. Buck, who's done all those things for no other reason than he knew Eddie needed it.
There aren't big enough words for that either, so Eddie just squeezes Buck's wrist and blurts, "I'm going to miss you so much."
Buck looks away for a moment. When he looks back, his eyes are wet. He says, "Yeah, I know," in a voice that's curled inward, uncertain.
"Hey, I mean it."
"Yeah. I'm going to miss you too."
"Buck." Eddie squeezes Buck's wrist again. The idea that Buck doesn't believe him—that he doesn't realize how much Eddie cares about him—has his gut twisting around like a snake. "What's going on?"
Instead of answering, Buck mumbles, "It's getting late," and stands up. "I should go."
"You've been drinking."
"I'll call an Uber."
"Buck."
Buck takes a step toward the door, but Eddie's still holding his wrist, and they bump around for a few seconds as Buck tries to leave and Eddie tries to tug him back down to the couch. He manages it, despite Buck making one at least half-serious attempt at shrugging him off, but somehow, he ends up on his knees in front of Buck, wedged between his open legs.
That corner of Eddie's brain, mostly sober now, screams at him to move. He ignores it and rests his hands on Buck's thighs. He says, "Buck," again, soft. "You have to know that not having you around is going to kill me."
Buck's quiet for a long moment. Then: "You said you didn't have any ties here."
"What?"
"That last showing," Buck explains. His eyes are wet again. "I heard you talking to them as I was leaving. You said you didn't have any ties here. That everything that matters to you is in Texas. And I get it. I'm—"
"Hey, no," Eddie cuts in. "I did say that, but I didn't mean it. I just… they were asking questions I couldn't answer without sounding like a crazy person, so I made something up, that I'm leaving a great job and a great house because I never put down roots out here. But that's not true." He reaches up and cups Buck's face in both hands—way too fucking close, but he doesn't care. "I did put down roots, and I—"
"Eddie, it's fine. I shouldn't have—"
"I did," Eddie insists. Buck squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and Eddie wishes, not for the first time, that he'd bitched Buck's parents out for not loving him enough when he had the chance. It's unbelievable, how little Buck thinks he's worth. "I hate that I have to rip them out."
Buck goes quiet again before asking, "Are you sure you have to?"
"What do you mean?"
"I," Buck starts. He catches Eddie's wrists, but just holds them, doesn't pull Eddie's hands away from his face. "Don't get me wrong, here. I miss him like crazy. But I haven't talked to him much. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and make things worse. But—" He pauses like he's choosing his words. "The few times he's texted me, he's mentioned missing his room, or hanging out with Denny."
"No." Eddie shakes his head. "He's happy out there."
Another pause: Buck opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. What finally comes out is, "Is he? Or are your parents keeping him too busy to think about missing you or coming home?"
Eddie says, "No, that's not," but stops, because yes, now that it's been brought to his attention, that's absolutely something his parents would do. Still: "What… what if you're wrong?"
"Then I'm wrong. But I might be right."
"Is that why you're renting the house? So it'll still be here if Chris wants to come back?"
Buck nods.
"You—" Eddie's voice hitches. Buck really is something else. "You heard what I said to that couple, and you believed it, and you still decided to do that for me?"
Buck nods again.
Eddie doesn't know what to say to that, so he wraps Buck into a hug. He feels good in Eddie's arms, solid and strong, and while that one corner of his brain is demanding he back off, the rest of him is settled, calm for the first time in weeks. When he pulls back, he cups Buck's face again, and he just looks—at the curls brushing his forehead, at the long slope of his nose, at the tiny patch of missed stubble at the hinge of his jaw, at the rosy splash made by his birthmark. His big blue eyes are full of—
Love. They're full of love. Buck's in love with him.
His next thought is, of course he is, we belong together, and that means—
"Oh," Eddie breathes. His heart is beating in his throat. "I love you."
Buck makes a soft, wounded noise and grabs Eddie's wrists again. This time, he does pull Eddie's hands away from his face.
"Buck—"
"Eddie, don't. Not now. Not—" Buck swallows hard. "Not when you're leaving."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Now that he does, it explains so much. Why Buck's the only thing he can think about sometimes, why he always wants Buck closer to him, why he'd been so anxious about telling Buck he's moving, why the thought of leaving Buck behind hurts worse than a gunshot. "But I do. I love you."
Buck murmurs, "I love you too." He touches the freckle under Eddie's eye, then brushes his fingers through Eddie's hair. "I'd do anything for you, so don't ask."
"Don't ask what?"
"Don't ask me to give you the next three weeks and then let you go."
"I wouldn't."
"Yes, you would."
Eddie huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, I would. And you wouldn't say no."
"No, I wouldn't," Buck admits. "So don't ask."
"God." Eddie slides one hand down to the hollow of Buck's throat. "This really sucks."
Buck just looks at Eddie, head tipped to the side like he's thinking something over, and Eddie, still thrumming with this new-found knowledge, feels stripped down under his gaze, completely exposed. But at the same time, he also feels warm and held. Loved. His knees are starting to ache, but he doesn't dare move.
Eventually, Buck lets out a sigh—quiet, almost resigned. He grabs the front of Eddie's shirt and tugs him closer. "Kiss me."
"You said—"
"I know what I said," Buck cuts in. "But I want it. We'll do it once and pretend it never happened."
"And if Chris wants to come home?"
"Then we'll pretend we didn't pretend it never happened."
"You're nuts."
Buck says, "Probably. But you make me this way." He smiles then, a quick flash of teeth. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"
The only possible answer to that is yes. Eddie gets a hand at the back of Buck's neck and tugs him in. It starts out easy and soft, but a beat later, they're both ravenous. Eddie pushes his tongue into Buck's mouth, and Buck snags one hand in Eddie's hair. He sneaks the other one under Eddie's shirt and presses it, big and warm, to the small of Eddie's back. Heat sparks under Eddie's skin; he makes a noise so hungry it should be embarrassing and scrabbles closer. They end up on the couch, Buck flat on his back and Eddie sprawled on top of him. They're both panting when they finally ease apart.
"Buck," Eddie whispers, his mouth pressed to Buck's jaw. "I don't think I can pretend that didn't happen."
After a pause, Buck sighs again. "Me either."
"We," Eddie starts. He thinks if ever two people could make long distance work, it's them, but Eddie would feel like a total shitheel bringing it up after what Buck went through with Abby. "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know yet. But I guess we have the next three weeks to figure it out."
"You—" Eddie runs his thumb across Buck's lower lip. "I didn't ask. You told me not to ask."
Buck kisses Eddie's temple. He says, "I know. But I'm giving it to you anyway."