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Buck doesn’t call Eddie.
He should, probably. It’s late, and it’s a school night so Chris will be going to bed soon, and Eddie is probably worn out and a little woozy from the pain pills. There is, also, the fact that Buck himself is still a little dazed from-- From the kiss. From when Tommy kissed him.
Tommy kissed him.
Anyway, the point is that Buck should probably call Eddie, if he were thinking about anything besides the scrape of Tommy’s stubble, the heat of him, the calluses on his fingers where he’d grabbed his chin. He’s not thinking though, can’t think, really, and so he finds himself at Eddie’s door at almost 10pm on a weeknight. It should maybe concern him that he barely remembers buckling in his seatbelt, let alone the drive over. He feels a little bit like he’s lost his mind, lit up from the inside, skin prickling all over. He feels incandescent.
He sits for long minutes in his car, working up his nerve, trying to bring himself down to earth, maybe, and then stands for more long moments at the door, half dreading the conversation he needs to have with Eddie and half in the clouds, his thoughts spinning wildly.
Apparently, he takes too long, because eventually, Eddie just opens the door for him, looking equal parts amused and worried. “You good?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. He looks a little sleepy, soft around the edges from the hour and the meds. There’s a little wrinkle between his eyes, the faintest hint of a frown.
The answer to that should be obvious. Yes, he’s good, he’s great even, he kissed a man for the first time in his life and it cracked something open inside him and he’s never felt so light, so right. Deep down at the heart of him had been a locked room he hadn’t even known was closed, and somehow Tommy had both handed him the key and opened the door in one small, titanic gesture, and now the whole of him is bubbling over, warm and brilliant and at last at home with himself.
Still, though, he is Buck, and he is a little out of his own mind, so instead of saying something vaguely sane he blurts out, “Don’t apologize to me,” and then kind of wants to smack himself in the face.
“Uh,” says Eddie, blinking. “Okay?”
“Sorry,” Buck says, “Hi. Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Eddie says, and he shuffles out of the doorway to give Buck enough space to pass by. He smells good, a bit like sweat, the woodsy spice of his deodorant with something underneath that makes Buck think of Chris. It’s a weird thing for him to think; he doesn’t look too closely at it.
Behind him the door closes with a soft click, and they stand for a moment in a not uncomfortable silence. The room is awash in warm yellow from where the streetlight pours in through the window; there’s a glass dripping condensation onto the coffee table, and the blanket that usually hangs folded over the back of the couch is puddled at one end. Buck can hear the fridge humming from the kitchen. There’s a picture frame on the mantel, of the three of them on a trip to the zoo; it’s a couple years old, Chris sitting on Buck’s shoulders, leaning just enough to the side he can curl one skinny little arm around his dad’s head. They’re all grinning, the sun bright on their faces. Chris and Eddie’s eyes crinkle the same way. Buck stares at it for a minute, and feels as stupid as he does an asshole. Half of the photos on the mantel are of the three of them in some combination or another, have been for years. He knows this.
“I’m sorry,” he says. When finally he turns Eddie’s face is carefully blank. He’s leaning against the wall, keeping the weight off his ankle. “You should sit down,” and then when Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly, stubborn, Buck sits down on one end of the couch. Leaves most of the couch open, so Eddie can decide exactly how much space he wants between them. “Eddie, come on. Please.”
He watches Eddie’s jaw work in the dim light, and then Eddie sighs, sagging, and crosses the room to sit. He leaves a couple feet between them, but his body language stays open. Tired, but open. “Tommy talked to you.”
Heat zings through him; his skin wants to shiver all over; he is stricken, all at once, with the sense memory of Tommy’s mouth on his again. Buck breathes slow through his nose and hopes the dark hides the blush on his face. “Uh,” he says, clears his throat when his voice cracks. “Yeah. He, uh. He came to apologize.”
Eddie squints at him suspiciously.
“He said you both felt bad--” Here Buck watches carefully, sees the slightest flare of Eddie’s nostrils, the twitch in his jaw, and in it reads what he’d suspected, for all that Tommy had protested otherwise: Eddie may feel bad that Buck felt left out, but he’s also a little mad at him. Buck hurt him, in more ways than one. “--and I know he’s at least a little bit right, but, uhm. I-I also know that I, uh, I was an asshole, a-and out of line.” He swallows thickly, thinks again about the photos of him and Eddie and Chris, at the zoo, the aquarium, the beach. Thinks about Tommy telling him that Chris talked about him, constantly. “Eddie, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I do.”
On the other end of the couch Eddie’s face has gone blank again. He’s surprised him, Buck thinks, but there’s more than that, too. As he watches, Eddie nods slowly, eyes assessing. For a long moment Eddie says nothing. Weighing his words.
Finally, “I appreciate that,” Eddie says. “But Buck--” He pauses, grimacing.
Feeling more than a little sick with guilt, Buck nudges him in the good ankle with his foot. “Go ahead,” he says quietly, and braces himself.
Eddie blinks slowly at him for one long moment, and then when he seems to realize Buck is serious says, so, so carefully, “I get that you have your reasons for it, but it feels really, really shitty that you doubted your place in my life, in our family, because I started spending time with other friends.”
That-- Fuck. Okay.
The thing is, he's not entirely right, Buck knows that now even if he didn't at the time, but he's not entirely wrong, either. He's still not sure who he was more jealous of in the long run. Eddie, who suddenly seemed to have so little time for him now that he'd found a new friend who was cooler and had -- Buck is aware this is not actually true -- more in common with him, or Tommy, who was so cool and so confident and so settled in himself, who got to spend time with Eddie in a way that Buck had maybe started taking for granted. Whose attention had he wanted more? He doesn't know, can't think about that too hard. There's-- He knows there's more there, but if he looks too closely at it right now he really will lose his mind.
And Tommy is-- Tommy was so sweet, Buck's never had someone treat him so delicately, like someone worth being gentle with. Somehow Tommy looked at him and saw him, maybe not in the same way that Eddie does but certainly in a way no one else has. It's-- It's all tangled up inside him, still, just a little bit. It's going to take time for him to unravel it all. He's not quite ready to start, not yet, he can admit that at least.
In the meantime, though...
Our family, Eddie had said. Not just his. Theirs, together.
Eddie has told him that, has shown him that, in so many ways, so many different times. The shame that he let himself forget that, that he got so caught up in his jealousy and his stupid paranoia... It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Yeah, uhm." His voice is so hoarse, god. "I felt pretty stupid as soon as I walked in here."
A blink, and then Eddie seems to realize the same thing Buck had, looks around the room and sees all the marks of Buck's presence around the house. It softens him, a little. Some of the lingering edge melts out of his face, from his shoulders. "Okay," he says. So soft. He's also so soft with him. "But you do know you're part of this family, right? You get that?"
"Yeah," Buck whispers, aching. His eyes are burning. "I'm sorry."
"I know you are," Eddie says, sighing. He sinks back into the couch, the last of the tension seeping from him like water. "And I'll remind you as many times as I need to."
Jesus. If Buck makes it out of this conversation without crying it'll be a miracle.
"Eddie, I--" He has to pause for a second, to breathe out slow and shuddering. "I do know that it's on-- it's on me, the way I felt and the way I, the way I acted. It's not-- You did nothing wrong. I-I know you know that, but I just--"
"Buck."
Eddie's voice is so gentle. Buck really is going to cry.
"You were hurting," Eddie says, just so, so kindly. Buck can barely stand to look at the gentleness in his face. Is afraid it might blind him. "And yeah, some of that was my fault. A lot of it was yours. But you gotta talk to me, buddy. I thought we'd learned better than to keep things from each other."
They had. "We have," Buck whispers, and feels the first tear escape. Breathes, instead of trying to wipe the evidence away. "I-- Sorry. I don't know if I can say that enough."
"Buck. Evan."
That makes his eyes snap open where he'd let them fall shut, feels a little like he's been split in two-- Eddie, sitting on that hospital bed, Tommy, in the warm light of his kitchen. No one but Maddie had ever been able to call him Evan, before, without making him want to tear his skin off.
There's a smile on Eddie's face now, small, a little sad, a lot fond. It occurs to him, suddenly, just how absurd it had been to say he'd felt like Natalia saw him. No one's ever seen him the way that Eddie does. Probably no one ever will.
"It's always going to hurt me," Eddie is saying, "to see you hurting. Thank you, though. But buddy--" and here Eddie's smile goes crooked, all humor, if a little wry, like maybe he's making fun of himself a little bit, "--I think maybe you should think about going back to therapy."
It shocks a laugh out of him, the way Eddie has always been so good at doing. "Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck, "you're probably right."
"I know I am," Eddie says, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly.
Buck laughs again, softly. Now that the weight has been lifted off his chest he can say, "It's been-- I know I was an asshole about it but it's really good to see you so happy," and he can even mean it.
Eddie's eyes go a little wide, at that, shocked. He gets a little pink in the cheeks. Buck can't help but find it kind of cute, how bashful he gets. "I-- Thanks," Eddie murmurs. "It's been-- It's been good. I was, uh. For a while there I wasn't sure I'd ever get to feel so free again, you know?"
"I know," Buck says, feeling a little-- Heartsore, he guesses. That seems like the right word for it. Proud, that Eddie is at a point where he gets to have that. Ashamed, that Buck had almost ruined that for him.
He hesitates, then, chewing nervously at his lip.
Eddie, seeing it, seems to lean forward a little bit, somehow without moving. "What's up?"
"I, uh." God, how does he even talk about this, yet? Can he? It feels too big, still. Like he's standing on the edge of the ocean, and there's a wave in the distance, and if he moves too fast, too soon, it'll swallow him whole. He's done that whole thing before. He doesn't think he's ready to do it again.
"Buck?" Eddie's starting to look worried, now.
"I've got-- I've got a date?" Buck can't help but wince, slightly, at how uncertain he sounds. Can see the way Eddie's eyebrows shoot up. "On Saturday? But I-- I don't. I don't want to talk about it yet."
Eddie frowns. "Okay..."
"I will," Buck hurries to add. "I-- Can I tell you about it after? Sunday, maybe? I'm still-- I'm still figuring it all out."
"Yeah, of course," Eddie says, sounding bewildered.
Which is fair. Buck's acting a little crazy, right now. It's not like he's ever been shy talking about his dating life in the past. But this just-- This is so different, from anything Buck has ever done before. He's not sure he even has the words for it yet.
"Should I be worried?" Eddie asks, still baffled.
"No!" Buck yelps, and then grimaces again. Then, as calmly as he can force himself to sound, "No. I'm, uh. I'm actually really excited, about it? Just. Just nervous."
Eddie eyes him for a long moment, eyebrows drawn. At last, he says, "Okay. Sunday."
"I'll come over, make breakfast," Buck says. "Chris'll be here?"
"He will," Eddie says, still staring at him. Probably Buck could have been a little less unhinged about it, but it's too late now.
"We're good?" He has to ask, has to check. Just for his piece of mind.
"Yeah, Buck." Eddie sounds exasperated now, but he also slides across the space between them on the couch to pull him into a hug. Buck sinks into it, feels for the first time since he got in his car like he can finally, really breathe again. "We're good."