Archive of Our Own

Buck’s head felt heavy. He could tell there was a pillow propping him up, and he wished he could sink further down into it, but that would take more energy than he could muster.

He may not be a doctor, or even a fully trained medic, but even he could tell this was not a good sign.

He tried to blink his eyes open, but they felt crusted shut—gross—like he was wearing one of those eye-masks that Maddie used to love sleeping in. He never understood why people liked those; it was such a disorienting way to wake up.

Much like this was. His hands were by his sides, and he could feel starchy sheets, familiar enough that he was 80% sure he was in a hospital. So at least, whatever was wrong with him, other people knew about. That was a good sign.

There was something else, too—a voice. A man was talking somewhere to his left, a stilted conversation that probably meant he was on the phone.

“Really? He seemed fine this morning when I dropped him off . . . no, I understand the flu is going around, has he—”

Did Buck have the flu? No, he was probably talking about someone else. He tilted his heads towards the voice to hear better.

“Yeah, no, if he says he wants to come home then I’ll come—”

The voice broke off; closer to him. Buck tried again to pry his eyes open. The Academy always drilled in the importance of paying attention to your surroundings, and on the off chance he wasn’t in the hospital he should probably wake up and figure out what the hell was going on.

“—holy shit. No, not you, sorry—I think he’s waking up—what? No, I’m still not talking to you. Sorry—tell Christopher I’m on my way. Thanks.” The voice was closer now. “Buck?”

Oh, another good sign. They knew who he was. “Buck, can you—can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he said, except it came out like “hmgh,” barely a low noise in his throat.

“Come on, do me a solid and wake up before I have to go,” the guy asked, and there was something so pleading in his voice that Buck tried again to pry apart his eyelids. This time, he succeeded.

A bright hospital room blinked into focus, all white walls and blue curtains, and a window with full midday sunlight shining through.

“Oh, thank fuck,” said the voice, and Buck blinked until his eyes found the source. There was a guy in his room he’d never seen before; he was wearing an LAFD uniform. An injury on the job, then.

“What—” he tried again, but it came out raspy and garbled. He coughed and tried again. “What happened?”

The guy poured him a cup of water and held it up to his lips for him; Buck was too thirsty to object.

“The house fire in Brentwood—we got separated. You went into the basement to find the family cat and the house collapsed on you,” the firefighter sounded aggrieved, like Buck was a misbehaving kid. Maybe he’d been the IC and Buck had defied direct orders.

“Did—did I?”

“What?”

“Find the—” he coughed again, but shook his head when the guy offered him more water. “The cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, of course you did,” the guy said, looking down to type something out on his phone. “It's fine. You’d managed to trap it under a laundry basket and then you must have laid on top of it, so instead of the house falling on top of that stupid cat, it fell on you. We found you without your helmet,” he added, glancing up at Buck with another admonishing look. This IC’s bedside manner definitely left something to be desired, but there was something warm in his eyes that stopped Buck from feeling entirely on the defensive. “It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

“How long have I been out?” Talking was getting easier, even if understanding wasn’t.

“Almost two days,” said the man, running his hand through his hair. Two days? That was a long time for a random firefighter to be waiting for him to wake up. “God, I’m so sorry—I can’t believe you just woke up and I have to leave, but the school just called and Chris is sick, so I have to go pick him up,” as annoyed as he’d sounded before, his tone had changed to be entirely regretful. Buck wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for.

“That’s okay,” said Buck, in lieu of anything else to say.

“I’ve texted everyone to let them know, so one of them will be here soon,” the guy said, gesturing to his phone and shrugging on his jacket. “Do you need anything before I go?”

“I—no?” said Buck, not entirely understanding the question.

“No?” the guy repeated, almost mockingly, but he had a nice smile so he could get away with it. “Okay well, if you change your mind, text me. I’ll see if I can bring dinner by later, depending on how Chris is feeling,” he said. And Buck was going to ask who Chris was, except the guy was taking a step towards him like—like Buck didn’t know, actually. Was he going to hug him goodbye? He shifted on the pillow enough that he could follow his movements. After an aborted move towards him, the guy reached his hand out and clasped Buck’s shoulder.

He really was very handsome; he had swoopy brown hair and a five o-clock shadow that was turning into the kind of scruff that looked really good when you had dark facial hair. Buck wondered if this guy had ever been featured on the Hot Days and Smoldering Nights with the Men of the LAFD Calendar.  

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Buck,” the guy said, and Buck got the weirdest sense of déjà vu. “Please, for god’s sake, stop trying to leave it.”

And then he was gone. Buck looked around the room, hoping his cell phone would be somewhere obvious; anything familiar would be welcome, actually. But there was nothing—even his own body seemed different. He’d been tracking body fat percentage, but his body felt bigger, bulkier. The man said he’d only been unconscious for two days, but when he tried to think about two days ago, his memory felt slippery and elusive.

He tried to remember the Brentwood fire, but he was coming up empty. He should remember—he had been working at the 118 for a few months, and only a handful of the calls he'd been on were actual fires.

Most of the emergencies were medical, where Hen and Chim took the lead; and the rest of it was downtime he spent trying to win them over. He was starting to, he thought—Hen always indulged him when he got off on tangents, and Chimney’s heckling had begun to feel more like teasing. He was even making headway with Bobby, who’d started asking him to help in the kitchen. And there was someone else . . . Abby? He had to think for a minute, because he couldn’t picture her—but that was because they’d never met.

They’d only had a few phone calls. But there was something about her that intrigued him. He really wished he had his phone, so he could call her. If nothing else, she was good in a crisis.

He guessed this wasn’t really a crisis—he couldn’t see any grievous injuries on his body—it was just a mystery. An inconvenient mystery. But he wasn’t any closer to solving it, and there was nothing in his room to keep his attention, so when his eyelids drooped closed, he let them.

“Buck? Damn, Eddie said you were awake.” Another voice was in his room, this one was familiar. “Come on,” the voice teased. “You’ve slept for two days, you can’t still be tired.”

Fingers were smoothing over his eyebrows, matching the voice, and it was Maddie, he knew it was. She’d woken him up like that hundreds of times in his life. She thought it was a calming way to rouse someone from sleep, and he thought it made him feel like there were bugs crawling on his face, but he never told her that.

And she hadn’t done it in ages anyway, because—because—shit, because he hadn’t seen Maddie in over two years.

His eyes popped open a lot faster than they had the first time around.

“Maddie?” he gasped. She was perched on the side of his bed, looking at him with a smile on her face. She looked different. Older, maybe. And she’d never kept her hair that short. But apparently she did now.

“Hey, Ev,” she said, softly. “How’re you feeling?”

“What—what are you doing here?” he asked, instead of answering. “How did you—?”

“Eddie texted me,” she said. “Well, texted everyone. I was closest; I was just dropping Jee at the Lees so I could come by, anyway. But everyone else should be here soon.” She pursed her lips and examined him, running her eyes over him from head to toe, like she was checking that he was real. He knew the feeling.

“So, you decided this week wasn’t exciting enough, then?”

He was so lost. He had no idea what was going on, and he had an irrational sense that if he acknowledged his confusion, it might break the spell that had brought him his sister.

“What?” he said, for lack of anything else to hang on to.

“First everything with Eddie, you’re dating a guy, and now this? Could you at least spread your major life events out over a few weeks?”

He was dating . . . what? Did she mean—? Buck was confused. He was about 99% sure he was very into women. But if he came out to Maddie, he must be . . . what, bi?

He hadn’t really thought about it before, either way. It was always easy enough to find a woman who’d want to take him home for the night. Sure, he’d check out a hot guy’s ass, but that was normal.

Right?

Everything with Eddie, Maddie had said. Eddie texted. Eddie—that must have been the guy who was here when he woke up. Had he been the one who made him realize?

He thought back to Eddie, the stubble covering his cheeks, his warm brown eyes, his large hand on Buck’s shoulder. Yeah—he could see it.

Wait—Eddie, who’d waited two days for him to wake up. Eddie, who felt terrible for leaving, who was mad at Buck for getting injured. Had Eddie been about to kiss him, before he left? Was Eddie his boyfriend?

Maddie was staring at him now, watching him with beady eyes. He tried to remember the last thing she’d said, but his brain had glitched when she said dating a guy. But he had to say something—he had to act normal. He wanted to stay in this new world where he had his sister back and a hot boyfriend and other people who cared about him enough to be on the way to his hospital room.

“Are you feeling okay, Buck?” she asked.

“Yeah, uhm,” he said, casting around for something normal to say. “Just a big week. How are you—how—how’re things?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and shifted from his bed to the chair next to it. “Why are you being weird?” she asked. “Do you feel okay? Did they come check you over when you woke up?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” he admitted. He was blowing this already. She reached over and pressed the call button on a remote attached to the bed that he didn’t know was there.

“You don’t think so? Are you feeling disoriented? Confused? We don’t know exactly where you got hit, but your helmet was off so if you have a head injury, you have to tell us everything.”

A head injury. Did . . . did he have . . . amnesia? If he’d lost memories, it would explain a lot. It wouldn’t explain how the hell Buck had managed to get back in touch with Maddie and convince a guy like Eddie to date him—but it would explain why he didn’t remember it.

Maddie was still fixing him with a suspicious look when a doctor came in. She was blonde and pretty, with heels and curves and glasses, and for a second Buck thought about turning on the charm, but then he remembered—Eddie.

“Hi,” he said, instead.

“Hi, Mr. Buckley,” she said, consulting the clipboard in front of her. “Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Fine—I’m fine.”

“He’s being weird,” Maddie added. Buck frowned at her, but she was unphased. “I think he’s disoriented.”

“I’m not disoriented,” he said, defensively, even though he was like, really really disoriented.

“Ask him the—the questions, thing,” Maddie said, looking at the doctor. “The checklist.”

The woman’s eyes darted to Maddie, and she said, “that is the first question on the checklist.” She clicked her pen and wrote something down.

Maddie made eye contact with Buck, like, oops we’re in trouble, and it just contributed to the uncanny feeling that this was all a dream. Things with him and Maddie hadn’t been light and easy like that in years.

“Can you state your name?”

“Evan Buckley.”

“What year is it?”

“2018.”

It was immediately obvious this was the wrong answer: Maddie let out an audible gasp, and the doctor’s eyes bulged, and she said, “I’ll be right back,” and fled.

Nervously, he looked at his sister; she was gaping at him, her eyes roving over his face like she expected him to have an explanation written somewhere on there.

“Do you really think it’s 2018?” she asked, softly, almost a whisper.

“I—yeah,” said Buck, feeling weirdly guilty for it. “What year is it?”

“2024,” said Maddie. “Oh my god—you’re missing so much time.”

Six years. He’d knocked his brain so hard that six years of memories had been buried, if not lost, forever.

It should be scary.

And it was, in a way. Six years—so much could happen in that amount of time.

But the thing was, it kind of seemed like what happened in that time was that Maddie moved to LA and saw him often and seemed significantly happier than the last time he’d seen her, and also that he had partner now who cared about him enough to wait by his hospital bedside. It kind of felt like an improvement, like he’d fast-forwarded through the difficult parts and was reaping the rewards of his past self’s work.

“Wait,” said Maddie, eyes narrowing. “If you thought it was 2018, why weren’t you freaking out when you saw me?”

“I was!” said Buck. “It was so weird that you were here. I just didn’t want to make a big deal of it. It didn’t feel real,” he added.

“So you just . . . went with it? Did you—wait, what did you say to Eddie? Do you even remember him?”

“Uh, not really,” said Buck. “But I know he works at the LAFD, too, and he’s my partner.”

“Yeah,” confirmed Maddie. “But you don’t—you’re telling me you woke up in the hospital with a random man in your room and you didn’t even ask questions?”

“I mean . . .” trailed Buck, shrugging. “It was Eddie.”

Maddie let out a sigh so big, Buck felt it like a breeze. “I can’t with you two,” she told him, managing to sound both fond and annoyed. “That is—six years of memory loss and you see Eddie and—” she snapped her fingers. “Nothing else exists.”

---

Eddie would fucking love it if Buck could stop nearly dying on him. He knew he wasn’t exactly one to talk, what with the well collapse and the sniper and the various mental breakdowns; and it was probably easier to say this from his position as, well, himself, but Buck’s near-death experiences always felt so much harder to handle.

Probably because Buck was normally so energetic, unstoppable, so when he was stopped, it felt jarring and wrong. Probably because Eddie still hadn’t fully recovered from the 3 minutes and 17 seconds in which his best friend was dead.

Buck was awake, he reminded himself. Buck was fine.

His phone beeped, but he ignored it. It was hard enough trying to smuggle two pizzas and all of the supplies he’d packed for Buck into a hospital room. Pepa had offered to come by and keep Chris company while Eddie brought him dinner—Chris had been furious that he couldn’t come, but his protests lost steam when he started falling asleep mid-reply—so the only thing someone might be calling him about was Buck, and he was almost to his hospital room.

He could hear voices from inside, meaning the rest of the 118 must have showed up by now. A nurse spotted him in the hallway, trying to figure out how to free his hands enough open the door and pulled it open for him. His thanks were drowned out by the cacophony of voices from inside.

“The entire pandemic? That’s not fair, can they do that to me, too?”

“God, no one tell him what’s going on in politics—”

“Don’t forget though, that means all the good stuff, too.”

“Like what?”

“Jee?”

“Okay yeah, obviously Jee. But besides that, I mean—” Chim broke off. “Oh, hey Eddie.”

Maddie sprung up out of her chair. “Hey, Eddie, she asked, cornering him near the door. “Can I talk to you in the hallway, real quick?”

“Yeah, let me just say hi,” he said, slipping past her so he could see Fully Awake Buck for himself.

“Hey babe,” said Buck, smiling at him in a way that—what was that smile? Why was he looking at him like that? Did he just call Eddie babe?

It had gotten dead quiet in the room. “Eddie, really—” Maddie tried again.

“Coming,” he called over his shoulder, setting the pizzas down on Buck’s nightstand and plopping a duffle bag on his lap. “I brought you some of your stuff—change of clothes, that book you’re reading—”

“You’re so good to me,” said Buck, giving Eddie another look that caused him to pause. Was Buck high on pain meds?

“Yeah, well, I felt like a dick for running out on you earlier,” Eddie said.

“Eddie, just, like, a super quick—”

“Aw, that’s okay, handsome, I can’t stay mad at you,” he said, giving Eddie an affectionate look while somehow making the words sound inappropriately filthy. It came out so casually that for a second, Eddie wondered—is this normal? Is this a thing we do?

But—no. It wasn’t. Confusion set in, fast. Eddie would have remembered if Buck had called him handsome.

“Uh,” said Eddie, at a loss. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but Buck’s eyes on him, like that, was so foreign that he couldn’t figure out what to say.

“Buck, uh—so Buck has some memory loss,” said Maddie, finally, breaking the silence. She gave up standing by the door—that bombshell must have been why she was trying to get Eddie to go into the hallway, he dimly registered—and went back over to the window seat she’d been perching on.

“Memory loss?” Eddie repeated, glancing at her and then looking back at Buck, who was staring at Eddie with what could only be described as bedroom eyes. He wondered if it would be rude to ask about other forms of head trauma.

“Yeah,” said Hen, from the chair on the other side of Chim. She, Chimney, Bobby, and Maddie were all watching him and Buck like they were introducing two pets and wanted to see if they would get along. “He thinks it’s 2018.”

“He what!?”

“Hey,” protested Buck, making a face at Hen that was basically a pout. “I don’t think it’s 2018. I believe you guys that it’s 2024. I just don’t remember anything in between,” he said. He looked back at Eddie, his eyes looking extra blue, and said, “I’m sorry I don’t remember you, yet.” Then, incomprehensibly, he reached out and tugged on Eddie’s hand. “But maybe you can refresh my memory? I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” and what the fuck was happening.

Eddie could feel his cheeks flush pink; he usually wasn’t a blusher, but all of the blood was rushing to his head and Buck was still holding his hand and—

“Uh . . . what—what’s going on here?” Chimney broke the silence, gesturing at Buck and Eddie and their connected hands. “What is this?”

“Oh, shit,” said Buck, dropping Eddie’s hand, his face finally losing that unsettlingly dopey look he’d had since Eddie walked in. “Are you not out? Do they not know about us?”

“Us—?” Eddie asked, rubbing his newly freed hand with the other. There was a weird tingly feeling in it. “Out—Buck, what are you talking about? Am I—You’re not out. Are you—are you coming out to us right now?”

“Shit,” whispered Maddie, and every head swiveled to where she sat, rubbing her forehead like she had a migraine coming on. “I—maybe we can just drop this, and I can talk to Buck alone?”

“No,” said Buck, confusion coloring his tone. Eddie could tell he wanted answers more than he wanted privacy; and anyway, Buck had never been one for keeping secrets. “They can stay, just—tell me.”

Maddie’s eyes scanned around the room, landing lightly on Eddie and then looking purposefully away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—I wouldn’t have, if I’d known . . .” Eddie watched as she finally met Buck’s eyes. “The other day, you came over to tell me that you’d been on a date. With a guy. And that it made you—realize some things.”

Buck shrugged, unphased. Like this wasn’t head-spinning news. Buck—Buck was into guys? He’d been on a date? Why hadn’t he told Eddie? Why would he . . . wait. He and Marisol had gone out for dinner, the night before he’d asked her to move out, and she’d suggested they take a break instead—they’d gone to dinner, and they’d run into Buck and Tommy. . .

“Yeah,” said Buck, simply. “With Eddie.”

Eddie heard some sort of choking noise, and it took a moment before he realized it had come from him. He just—Buck had been on a date. With a guy. And he thought that guy was Eddie. He thought he and Eddie—but actually, it had been him and Tommy, and Eddie didn’t actually know what to do with any of this information.

“Not with Eddie,” Maddie said, gently but firmly. Bobby. Hen, and Chimney were following this series of revelations like spectators at a tennis match.

“Not with—why not?” Buck asked, frowning between Maddie and Eddie. Eddie felt lightly insane, like that time he’d taken laced brownies and the air had got all swirly. Because you never asked me, his addled brain supplied.

“Because—I’m straight,” he said, instead. He was too confused to say it with any real conviction.

“You sure about that?” asked Buck, going back to giving him that look.

“Oh my god, guys,” Chimney interrupted. He pointed at Buck, and said, “2018!” He looked around, and then sighed when he was met with blank faces, like he was tired of having to spell it out for everyone. “He’s Buck 1.0,” he said.

Buck 1.0—the pre-Abby Buck that Eddie had only heard stories about. And he’d heard a lot of stories. Not in years, maybe, but when he’d first started at the station, it had been Hen and Chim’s favorite topic to tease Buck about, since his absent girlfriend was too fresh to touch. He knew about Buck stealing the firetruck, twice, for sex; about Buck’s various mishaps from sleeping with a snake collector, and a roller derby captain, and a librarian, and a tattoo artist, and a veterinarian. About how the name on his hookup app was Firehose and that, from the sample size of women he’d called during his obsession with statistics, he had an 88% satisfaction rate.

Buck’s reputation as a reformed player had always been part of him; Eddie knew it like a fact, the same way he knew that Buck broke his arm four times as a kid or that he’d bartended in Peru or that he’d worked construction in Virginia Beach. It was just a part of his past, something that must have contributed to who Buck had become.

But he’d never seen that part of him in action. Ever since he’d known him, Buck had been searching for something serious; permanent. When Eddie had started at the 118, Buck was so far gone on Abby that he hadn’t realized she’d dumped him. The closest Eddie had ever gotten to seeing Buck 1.0 was hearing about his fling with Taylor; and he’d managed to turn that into a nearly year-long relationship.

So, even though he’d known Buck had been a flirt, he could never really picture it.

He didn’t have to picture it, now. He was seeing it, firsthand. And if he wasn’t crazy, he was pretty sure he was on the receiving end of Buck’s A Game.

“Buck . . . 1.0?” Buck asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He looked younger, somehow, though that was probably just in Eddie’s imagination.

“Yeah,” said Hen, leaning forward and propping her elbow on the side of Buck’s bed. “Believe it or not, a few months after what you remember, you stopped flirting with everything that moved.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” said Hen, her eyes crinkling at him. “You met someone.”

“Eddie,” Buck said.

Eddie was too distracted to track where they were coming from, but he heard several groans and sounds of exasperation from around the room.

“Not Eddie,” Hen corrected, not even bothering to hide her smile this time.

“I can’t believe they managed to be even weirder than the first time they met,” Chimney muttered from where he was leaning against the wall next to Maddie. Eddie wanted to ask them all to leave, so he and Buck could talk about this in private. It didn’t feel right that Buck was giving him those looks right where everyone could see them; he felt exposed, vulnerable. For himself and for Buck, who surely would regret acting like this once he got his memories back.

Bobby came to his rescue. “I’m going to go grab some plates for the pizza,” he said, with zero subtlety. “Hen, want to help me?”

“Do we really need plates?” Chim asked. “Why are you elbowing me, Maddie?”

“Chim and I are going to get some drinks from the vending machine,” Maddie said, steering her husband to follow Bobby and Hen out of the room.

Then the door closed, and it was just him, and Buck, and six years of missing time.

“Alone at last,” said Buck, waggling his eyebrows.

Eddie couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. It was just, the whole situation was so absurd. He settled himself into the chair next to Buck’s bed and crossed his leg over his knee. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

As terrible as the thought of Buck missing six years of his own life—and it was terrible, so terrible he couldn’t really let his mind comprehend it—there was something almost exciting about the idea of meeting this new side of Buck. It was like he just learned Buck could speak Spanish, or that he’d been in the Olympics, or something. He wanted to tease out the details; wanted to know why he’d never seen this part of him before.

“Okay, be real with me,” said Buck, his voice tone still not back to normal yet. “We’re really not dating?” Eddie shook his head. “We haven’t even hooked up?” Eddie’s face was still red and some sort of manic chuckling was coming from his mouth, but he shook his head again. “Not even an experimental kiss? A backseat handy?” Buck went on, teasing.

“Jesus, no,” said Eddie, trying to strike a balance of sounding firm but not wiping the smirk off of Buck’s face. “We’re just—”

“Just what?” asked Buck. “Dragging out the foreplay?”

“Oh my god,” said Eddie, whose face would probably never return to a normal color. “No, we’re best friends,” he said. “We’re—we’re best friends.”

“Oh,” said Buck, and his face lost a little of the smirk, got a little brighter, and warmer. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a best friend before,” he admitted.

“Yeah, me either,” said Eddie.  

“So does that mean I can’t flirt with you?” Buck asked, guilelessly.

“Buck!” Eddie barked out a laugh.

“What?” said Buck, innocently. “You’re telling me I’ve really never even tried?”

“Buck, as far as I knew until ten minutes ago, you were straight.”

“Well, I only found out a few hours ago,” said Buck, giving a half-hearted shrug.

“So, what, you decided that this was a good time to test the waters?” Eddie asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you been flirting with Chim and Bobby, too?”

“Gross, no,” said Buck, scrunching up his nose. It was cute. Buck was being freer with his expressions, sillier than Eddie was used to. “In my defense, Maddie told me you were my partner.”

“At the 118,” Eddie clarified. “I started like a year after you.”

“So, we’ve been working together for six years?” Eddie nodded. “And I’ve seriously never tried to sleep with you?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Eddie. Buck narrowed his eyes. “I mean—no,” he said. “No, I—I would remember that. I would have known if you’d tried to . . . that.”

“Huh,” said Buck, looking at Eddie like he was a puzzle to solve. His expression cleared, then, and he fixed Eddie with a neutral look. “Am I—do you want me to—am I making you uncomfortable?”

Eddie considered that. Was he uncomfortable with the way Buck’s eyes were tracking his movements? With the way his voice kept dropping an octave, the way his lips were smirking?

No—no. It was making Eddie feel a lot of things, flustered, maybe, and overheated. But he wasn’t making him uncomfortable. And Buck had just accidentally outed himself; Eddie didn’t want him to think he was a terrible best friend, the kind of toxic dude who would keep his distance from another guy just because he was queer.

“I know you don’t remember anything,” Eddie said. “But after the last six years, there’s not really anything you could do to make me uncomfortable, Buck.”

“Oh, okay,” said Buck, delighted. “And they say I’m the flirty one—”

“No, I just meant, like—”

But the door was opening, everyone filing back in with paper plates and soda bottles. And to be honest, Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d been about to say, anyway.  

-------

Amnesia was always played off as some horrible traumatic experience in movies and TV shows, but personally, Buck was finding it a little fun.

All of the people he cared about were there with him, and he had the cutest niece in the world, and Eddie apparently came with Christopher, a kid who loved Buck so much that he wanted to Facetime him to say hi, even though he kept needing to lean out of screen to throw up. 

He kind of felt like a time traveler. Or like an actor who’d been given a new character bio—friends as close as family, a sister he saw for weekly dinners, a best friend and his son who always wanted him around—and was told to improvise. He kept counting his fingers and checking the clock and pinching his thigh, little things that grounded him, that proved he wasn’t dreaming.

“You did that a lot after your coma,” Maddie told him, after she noticed him glancing out the window to make sure the sun was actually setting. She and Chimney were the last ones in his hospital room, after everyone had cleared out for the night. He wasn’t looking forward to the night ahead of him, but at least Maddie had returned his phone, so he’d have that.

“My coma?”

“Yeah, you were struck by lightning last year,” Chimney told him. “You’re either very lucky or very unlucky—hard to tell which.”

Maddie checked her phone, and Buck knew they were going to have to leave soon to pick up Jee-Yun, who he’d get to meet soon—it was still weird that Chimney was married to his sister, but he couldn’t be mad about it when they’d created the most adorable little girl he’d ever seen. He just had a few more questions he wanted to get in before they left.

“So . . .” he drew out the word, waiting for both of them to look at him. “Eddie.”

Maddie and Chimney met each other’s eyes, tight-lipped expressions on their faces.

“What about him?” Maddie asked, keeping her voice level.

“He said we’re best friends,” Buck said.

It was funny, he’d always thought the term best friends was a bit immature; they weren’t in middle school, they didn’t have to rank their top friends in order. But now, saying it gave him a weird satisfaction. He was Eddie’s best friend. Eddie was his best friend. He liked that they had a title for their spot in each other’s lives; even if it wasn’t necessarily the one he wanted it to be.

“You are,” agreed Maddie.

“But like . . .” Buck paused, trying to figure out the best way to phrase his question. “We’ve been best friends for six years, and it’s totally platonic?”

“Yes,” said Maddie.

“No,” said Chimney.

Buck’s eyes flew to Chim, who was now rubbing his side where Maddie had elbowed him again. “Good god, why are your elbows so sharp?” he griped.

“Aha,” said Buck, ignoring his pain and pointing an accusatory finger at him. “There is something going on with us. I knew it.”

Chim made a pained expression. “This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” he told Maddie. “It’s like we’re gossiping about Buck to Buck.”

“Yeah, and you’re spreading rumors,” said Maddie.

“There are rumors about us?” Buck asked. When they both hesitated, he went on, “come on, it’s not fair to keep things from me! I technically already know all of this.”

“Actually, we’re not sure you do,” said Chim, cryptically. Maddie sighed, but she didn’t disagree.

“Come on, guys,” Buck begged. “I promise if you ever get amnesia, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“If I ever get amnesia, I won’t remember you promised me that,” pointed out Chim. Buck gave him a flat look. “Okay, okay,” he said, “I mean, Maddie, the less he knows, the more trouble he’s going to get himself in.”

Maddie twitched her lips, thinking. And even though he’d only just gotten his sister back, and even though Chim liked to rag on him more than anyone, Buck kind of liked seeing the two of them together, like this. The way they nudged and interrupted each other and communicated without talking. He wondered if he and Eddie ever acted like that.

“Okay, fine,” relented Maddie. “There have been . . . suspicions,” she said, diplomatically. “About you two.”

“What about us?”

“That—”

Maddie slapped a hand over Chim’s mouth before he could finish that thought. “Ew,” she said, a second later, pulling her hand back and wiping it on her jeans. “Did you lick me?”

“Sorry!” Chim said, looking regretful. “It was a reflex. You were right to try to silence me.” Buck thought their dynamic was cute—really, he did. But also, could they cool it for a second? He needed answers.

“Why don’t you go pull the car around,” Maddie suggested, pulling her keys out of her bag and passing it to him.

“Aye aye, Cap,” said Chim, giving her a salute. “Buck, don’t forget anything else, okay? We’ll come by tomorrow,” he promised.

When he was gone, Buck turned to his sister and found her studying him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, finally.

“Yeah,” Buck answered, without thinking. “I just—this Eddie thing—”

“You are best friends,” Maddie reiterated. “But you’re not normal best friends. You’ve been through a lot together, and sometimes you and him and Chris seem like—like, your own little family unit. It . . . it would be easy for us to believe there was something more going on there,” she admitted. “But neither of you have ever said anything about it, and until Tuesday you’d never even said you were interested in men, so we never pushed. But I think also . . .”

She trailed off, and Buck waited, hungry for more.

“You two mean a lot to each other,” Maddie landed on, fixing her eyes on the duffle bag Eddie had dropped off, that was now sitting next to his bed. “Regardless of anything else.”

When Buck had looked through the bag earlier, he’d found sweats, and several changes of shirts and boxers and socks, a dog-eared book called The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs, as well as a superhero-themed coloring book and a plastic bag full of old crayons, a deck of cards, granola bars, air pods, and his laptop. Before he’d left for the day, Eddie had found a scrap of paper and wrote your password is BuckDraft1 (loser).

So, the point was, he got what Maddie was saying.

After she left, he unplugged his phone from where it had sat charging and started poking around. His photos were mostly of Jee-Yun and Chris, and he scrolled backwards, watching them both get younger and feeling wistful. His memories had to come back—he couldn’t let himself consider the alternative.

Eventually he found the first photo of Jee, a tiny newborn swaddled and wearing a pink hat. But the pictures of Chris went back a long way—Chris at the zoo, Chris at the aquarium, Chris standing proudly in front of a trifold posterboard at a science fair. Chris with birthday cakes and spaghetti, on the beach and at the fire station, Chris at every holiday, Chris making faces at Eddie and getting piggy back rides from Buck and even a few of the three of them—

Your own little family unit, Maddie had said. And the idea of it made something ache in him. He kept scrolling until he found the first photo of Chris on his phone—the kid was sitting in the back of the firetruck next to Eddie, swimming in Eddie’s spare jacket. He and his dad were matching, their turnouts and headsets and smiles. It was objectively adorable.

Buck clicked on the send button and when his phone suggested options for the recipient, Eddie was the first one. Buck clicked his name and typed tell me this isn’t the kid I just facetimed.

When it sent, Buck scrolled further up in their text thread. It wasn’t much to write home about—lots of messages about what groceries the other needed and what time they’d be getting to each other’s places. Eddie mentioned someone named Tommy a few times, and Buck could tell from his own messages that he didn’t like the guy. He’d just gotten to a picture he’d sent Eddie—a blurry photo of a pigeon eating a chicken wing, with the caption this is u and Eddie had replied ????—when a new text came through, and his phone jumped back down to show the most recent message.

This is a great photo why have I never seen it before?

Oh. Interesting. He’d assumed he’d taken it for Eddie; but it was not only the first picture Chris was in, but the first picture Eddie had appeared in, too, so it must have been taken shortly after they’d met. Maybe Buck hadn’t had his number yet.

dunno, he wrote back. maybe bc I found it in a folder labeled ‘secret pictures of eddie to thirst over’

this would be a very weird photo to have in that folder, came Eddie’s reply, lightning fast. Buck grinned.

y? he sent, followed by dilfs are sexy, everybody knows that

I know I’m going to regret this, but what is a dilf?

Buck snorted at his phone. Texting Eddie was so fun—why had he been doing such a bad job of it before this? Dad, he sent through, followed by I’d and Like to and then scrolled through his emojis and clicked on the eggplant four times before hitting send.

Bubbles appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Buck couldn’t help picturing the way Eddie’s face got all red when Buck flirted with him; he wondered if that was happening now, even if no one was there to see it.

That’s not a thing, came through after another minute.

It absolutely is, Buck sent back. can’t believe u didn’t know that. r u sure you didn’t also get some brain damage this week?

That would actually explain a lot. Eddie’s text came through so fast Buck knew he wasn’t overthinking his replies, and it brought him a giddy thrill, wondering what he could get Eddie to say.

like what? he texted back. realizing ud be open to gay stuff with your best friend??

BUCK

Buck was cackling at the text when the nurse came in to go through his nightly routine—he was a little wobbly on his feet, but he was able to take his own slow, unsteady steps to the bathroom, where he could pee and brush his teeth and change into the sweats Eddie had brought him, a task that took an embarrassingly long time, especially given the fact that he wasn’t actually very injured beyond a few bruised ribs and the brain damage. Apparently his body just needed to recover from the trauma of the day.

He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the hospital bed, but the nurse told him that they’d discharge him in the morning, as long as he showed some improvement.

When he finally got back into bed, he saw that he had missed messages from Eddie.

Are you trying to give me a heart attack

I can’t believe this is what Buck 1.0 was like

I now see why Bobby fired you

Try not to sleep with any hospital staff tonight

Buck?

You’re not hooking up with a nurse right now, are you?

I knew I should have stayed to keep an eye on you

It’s not fair of you and Chris to both be out of commission at the same time

Are you okay?

Do you need me to come down there?

Chris is asleep now, anyway

And he’s thirteen, which is probably old enough to be home alone

Not all night but like, if you need me to drop anything off

Buck read through his messages, feeling warmth grow in his chest. Platonic, his ass. Buck wouldn’t call himself an expert in many things, but if there was one thing he was confident in, it was reading signals. And Eddie was giving off flustered and interested and also probably not straight.

The bubbles showing an impending text, and Buck decided to put Eddie out of his misery.

Sorry, he sent, before Eddie’s text could come through, which, he thought, was very mature of him. Just had a quick threesome with a surgeon and a candy striper

Eddie thumbs-downed his text, which was apparently a new feature phones could do.

don’t worry, Buck continued. they couldn’t compare to u

You’re a menace, Buckley, came Eddie’s reply.

u like me, Buck sent back, knowing exactly what he was doing.

no I don’t, said Eddie.

u want to abandon your sick kid to come make sure im not flirting with anyone else, Buck accused.

Bubbles appeared, disappeared. Appeared, disappeared. Buck’s room was dark now, as dark as hospital rooms could get, and all of his attention was focused on his lit-up phone screen, waiting for Eddie’s reply.

Just trying to keep you out of trouble.

That’s what we do.

Buck bit his lip, staring at the words. He’d been eager to put his face on Eddie’s face nearly since the moment he saw him, but this—this was something else. This was what everyone meant, about them being best friends. He didn’t think he’d ever had anyone to text like this—someone who let all his innuendos slide and kept looking deeper.

Buck hearted both messages—he was enjoying that new feature—and texted back, hey, thanks for having my back.

Eddie’s reply came through instantly. are your memories coming back?

Buck paused, thinking. It felt weird that he couldn’t immediately tell what memories were or weren’t in his brain; but when he tried to make himself think about the week before, or any of the moments he’d seen pictures of in his phone camera reel, he came up blank.

no, he typed out, and then amended it to say not yet, why?

Eddie took a minute to reply this time. Just, that’s something we’ve said to each other, said the text. We have each other’s backs.

Best friends, Buck thought again. This man is my best friend.

I’ll have ur back any day, he sent.

And then, because he couldn’t resist, even if id rather have ur back up against my bedroom wall ;)

If Buck hadn’t been staring at the text thread, he would have missed Eddie hearting the text and then immediately un-hearting it and replacing it with a thumbs down. What does that even MEAN, buck, came through a moment later.

why don’t you think about it

tonight

in bed

Buck hadn’t had this much fun in ages. Eddie was too easy to wind up, too good at knowing the right thing to reply. The way he was indulging Buck’s bad behavior but refusing to participate made Buck feel crazed, like he needed to keep going, needed to keep Eddie’s attention entirely on him.

good night, buck, came through, Eddie managing to sound exasperated via text.  

night, Buck sent back. wish I was there!

Eddie didn’t reply.

-----

Eddie hadn’t had such a bad night’s sleep in years.

After Buck’s insane texting, it took him hours to fall asleep. He couldn’t stop tossing and turning, rolling to find a comfortable position and then thinking about how Buck was probably really uncomfortable in his hospital bed; but then again, Buck was used to sleeping on his couch; and it was nice when Buck stayed over, because they could crack open beers and get comfortable and Buck would make them pancakes in the morning. Not that Buck remembered any of that.

One night in high school, he and Shannon had gone to a drive-in where they were showing Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He didn’t remember much besides the unsettling feeling of the characters realizing they weren’t talking to who they thought they were. That’s how Eddie felt—like someone had snatched his best friend and replaced him with a different edition. An alternate Buck, whose personality traits were all scrambled, with reduced maturity and zero shame and flirtation dialed up to the max.

He wished—well, he honestly wished he could talk to Buck about it. He tried to imagine it; explaining this situation to his Buck. What would he say? You got a head injury and now you won’t stop flirting with me? Buck would laugh his ass off, probably. He always got a kick out of seeing Eddie make an idiot of himself.

The thing was, Eddie didn’t know how to not make an idiot of himself in this situation. He just—he didn’t know how to take it. It was one thing if Buck was going to wake up with his memories and realize how ridiculous this whole thing was; if he was going to laugh it off and make a joke of it.

But, if he wasn’t . . . if he wasn’t getting his memories back any time soon, or if he was going to keep flirting with Eddie when he did, then that was a whole other thing. A whole other thing that Eddie couldn’t really think about, at the moment.

Not when he was in bed, trying to sleep. He was trying very hard not to think about it, the same way he was trying not to think about Buck apparently wanting his back up against his bedroom wall. Did he mean, like—what? Like Buck would pin him against the door? Or lift him, and lean against the wall for leverage? Buck had lifted him once before, when he’d been shot; Eddie could barely remember more than phantom hands around his thighs, but he’d seen the footage, shaky video caught by a bystander with their cellphone.

The whole video was awful—bloody and chaotic, and the first time he’d seen it, he’d almost thrown up. But he was almost tempted to watch it again, now. Just to see Buck, his Buck, in action; to see the way he’d moved, competent and unflinching, even under fire; the way he’d manhandled Eddie with ease, lifting and heaving his body, putting him right where he wanted him.

He resisted the urge to watch the video, but when he finally fell asleep, his dreams were stressful, garbled, unidentifiable scenes that shifted from one to the other with no reprieve—Buck, moving like a zombie, covered in blood spatter; Buck, lying still, hunched over a mewing laundry basket; Buck, locking him in the back of the ambulance with another Buck; Buck, hoisting him up like a rag doll, pinning him against—

“Dad?”

Chris’s voice shocked him awake, and he jolted up in bed, disoriented to find himself doing something unspeakable to his pillow. What the—

“Be right there,” he called out, hoping Chris wouldn’t notice his voice cracking. He stopped in the bathroom to splash some water on his face before going to see what Chris needed.

And after he’d replaced the garbage bag next to Chris’s bed and gotten him a ginger ale and some saltines, Eddie didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep.

By the time it was a respectable hour of the morning, Chris had turned a corner. His fever was down, and he kept down an entire piece of toast, and he kept claiming he felt well enough to play video games, but Eddie told him he wasn’t allowed to sit, hunched over in front of his computer screen, and handed a book instead.

Eddie was just turning to leave when Chris asked, “what’s going on with Buck?”

He inhaled to respond but instead choked on air, and Chris stared at him while he had an extended coughing fit. Finally, he managed to get out a strangled, “what?”

Chris lowered the book to his chest and narrowed his eyes at his dad. “What do you mean, what? Does he still have amnesia? When are they letting him leave the hospital?”

“Oh,” said Eddie, patting his pockets for his phone to see if anyone had texted him updates. He must have left it plugged in by his bed. “Yeah, I mean, as far as I know. I think they’ll let him leave today though.”

“Is he going to stay with us?”

Eddie hadn’t thought that far. His brain had only gotten to see Buck today and then everything beyond that was unimaginable.

“Uh—yeah,” said Eddie, after a minute. “I think, probably. Is that . . . is that cool with you?”

“Duh,” said Chris. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not—” Eddie started, then gave up. “Just a bad night’s sleep,” he said. “Are you going to be okay here alone if I swing by the hospital in a bit?”

“Yep,” said Chris, holding his book up again in front of his face, back to being bored by Eddie. The teenager phase was really something.

Eddie pulled into a spot in the visitor’s section of the hospital parking lot, and he definitely didn’t rest his forehead against the steering wheel for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and psyching himself up to go inside. Just like he definitely didn’t take a second shower to wash his hair because it looked weird, or change his shirt three times, or spend a frantic fifteen minutes tidying up the house.

Because he was being normal. He was having a super normal morning.

His phone buzzed, and he checked it. That morning the extended 118 group chat had been busy since Maddie kicked it off around 7 am, texting how’s your head, Buck? And Buck had replied, where am I and then who are you people, which had gotten thumbs-downed by everyone on the chat except for Bobby and Athena, who hadn’t mastered anything other than the normal texting keyboard.

Oh no, looks like the brain injury deluded him into thinking he’s funny, Hen sent, which Chim had liked and then replied actually I don’t think that’s a new development.

That spurred Buck into texting Eddie on the side, a pathetic message that said, help theyre being mean to me in the group chat :(and when Eddie didn’t reply, another message that said aren’t you supposed to have my back?

So then Eddie had replied to the main chat, hilarious joke, buck, we’re all enjoying the levity around your brain trauma. And then to the thread with Buck—good?

Buck sent back two messages, back-to-back, so fast that Eddie knew exactly what he was doing: such a good boy, followed by *bff.

That was around the time Eddie decided to take that second shower.

Now, in the car, his phone showed another message from Buck. what time r u getting here? I need u to protect me from this nurse

What was Eddie doing, hiding in his car? From his best friend? So Buck was being a little more outrageous than usual—he was still Buck. Why was he acting like sitting in his car while everyone’s iced coffees warmed and breakfast sandwiches cooled was better than being inside the hospital with Buck?

First the group chat and now a nurse, he typed. Given that you only remember your life before you met me, you think you’d be better at coping without my help.

He grabbed everyone’s breakfast orders out of the car and shifted them to one hand, so he could text as he walked.

but ur so big and strong, came through Buck’s text.

And you’re an invalid? Eddie texted back, crossing the parking lot into the visitor’s entrance.

Buck’s text came before he made it through the automatic doors. depends, how do u feel about roleplay, nurse eddie?

His knee faltered and the curb surprised him, catching the top of his foot and sending him stumbling into the hospital lobby, only inches from faceplanting into the automatic doors. Eddie’s face flamed, and he tucked his phone into his back pocket without replying.

By the time he reached Buck’s hospital room, he was pretty sure his coloring had gone back to normal. Maddie, Chim, Bobby, and Hen were all already inside, perched on various chairs and ledges. Buck was sitting up in his hospital bed, looking down at his phone, but he looked up as Eddie walked in and his face split into a smile. He was wearing Eddie’s biggest sweatshirt—the one he’d gotten from a fundraiser for the LAFD and then left in his drawer, mostly in case Buck ever needed it.

Eddie himself only wore it sporadically.

“Breakfast!” cried Hen, taking the bag of bagels from him.

Chim reached out to take the tray of drinks, all of which had spilled or sloshed out onto the container when he’d nearly dropped it. “Jeeze, were you running with these?” he asked, holding a drink up to read the coffee-stained label.

“You’re welcome,” said Eddie. “Just be glad I didn’t drop them.”

He glanced to Buck, waiting for the line—did you fall for me, maybe, or were you rushing because you missed me? But instead Buck just kept smiling at him, like he couldn’t believe Eddie was standing in his hospital room.

“You came,” he said, softly.

Eddie could see Hen and Maddie glancing at him in his periphery, wondering how he was going to cope with Buck’s softness. Eddie would like to know that, too.

“’Course I did,” he said, gruffly. He grabbed Buck’s breakfast sandwich from the bag and tossed it at him, a short lob that landed right at Buck’s gut.

Buck huffed a small laugh to himself, then cleared his throat and said louder, to the room, “you guys didn’t all have to come. I’m just getting discharged.”

“Of course we were going to come, Buck,” said Bobby.

“Yeah, I’m not going to pass up a chance to see Buck 1.0 again,” said Chimney, tearing a chunk of bagel with his teeth. Through a full mouth, he continued, “I missed the chaos. You’re staying with us, right?”

Buck stopped sipping his coffee to reply, but before he could— “No.”

Everyone turned to look at him, and it took him a second to realize he’d said that out loud. His voice had come out louder than usual, like he was shouting. He fiddled with the foil from his sandwich and tried again. “I mean—if you want, but—you just normally stay at ours. Christopher’s expecting you,” he added.

This was so normal of him. This might be the most normal Eddie has ever been.

Buck didn’t even smirk at him, just glanced down as he unwrapped his bagel and said, “yeah, that’d be great, thanks, Eddie.”

And then the moment passed. They had breakfast, and every half hour or so a nurse would pop in, promising discharge papers were on their way. Eventually, Bobby excused himself, saying he had to go home and get started on the meals he was cooking so he could drop them off at Eddie’s later. Maddie begged off next, going to hunt down someone from the hospital billing department. So it was just Eddie, Hen, and Chim in the room with Buck when a willowy brunette nurse arrived, wearing form-fitting scrubs, with a retro Star Wars pattern. Weren’t scrubs supposed to make you look frumpy?

“Good morning, Evan,” she said, ignoring Hen and Chim where they sat on Buck’s left and crossing to his bed. “Did I hear you’re leaving us already?”

She didn’t have to sound so sad about Buck feeling better, Eddie thought. Did the Hippocratic oath mean nothing to her?  

“Yep,” said Buck, nodding his head and looking everywhere around the room except at the nurse. Eddie watched him in confusion.

She pulled out a thermometer and held it to his forehead. “I feel like we’ve barely gotten to know each other,” she said. When it beeped, she looked at it and said, “you’re perfect. Open?” She held a pen light up to his mouth, and Buck said ah, and Eddie felt unaccountably pissed off.

“Good,” she moved the pen light to his one eye and then the other. “Blood pressure next,” she said, pulling the cuff down from where it hung on the wall. “If we can get this one around your bicep,” she teased, tapping him on the arm before sliding it up.

“Worked fine last time,” said Buck, keeping his voice even while he cut a look to Eddie.

If Buck wanted to be rescued, Eddie would rescue him. “No, I see her point,” said Eddie. He stood up, across from her on the other side of Buck’s bed. “You’ve bulked up a lot, babe,” he said to Buck, reaching forward to grab his shoulder and squeezed it, gently.  

There was only the slightest indication that the nurse heard, a split-second hesitation in her blood pressure pumps, but when she looked up to report Buck’s blood pressure—a little higher than ideal, but nothing they were worried about—she was much more professional about it.

“Is there anything I should know?” Eddie asked the nurse. He crossed his arms and nodded towards where Buck sat on the bed, watching him with electric blue eyes, and added, “when I take him home with me?”

“Just to bring him back if any symptoms worsen,” she said. “You’re free to leave once you stop by the desk for your prescription.” Then she made a quick exit, meaning Eddie was left looking directly at the seats behind her, where Hen and Chim sat with matching, shit-eating grins.

Eddie glanced at Buck for help, but Buck had his head dipped down, and when his blue eyes flicked up towards Eddie, something about the angle made Eddie want to look away.

Hen and Chim it was, then.

“What,” he scoffed, defensively. “Come on, that was so unprofessional of her. She practically said she wished he was still injured.”

Hen and Chim switched to giving him comically agreeable nods of understanding. Eddie was going to kill them both.

“You really showed her who’s boss,” said Chim.

“Yeah,” agreed Hen. “Thank god too, Buck’s never once had experience dealing with on-the-job flirting.”  

Eddie was saved from saying whatever he was going to say to that by Maddie returning to the room.

“Ready to go?”

-------

The car ride home in Eddie’s truck was too quiet for Buck. After parting ways with Hen, Chim, and Maddie in the parking lot, Buck had followed Eddie to his car, like a kid trailing their parent. Buck wondered if it was bad that he was more curious to see Eddie’s house than he was about his own apartment.

Buck finally reached out to fiddle with the radio station, just to fill the car with something other than silence. “Might as well start catching up,” he said, selecting the station that played top 40s. A popstar was crooning about not being able to be friends, and Buck wondered if he’d be more obvious if he changed it or left it playing.

“If—” Eddie started, nearly shouting over the song. He looked at Buck and then looked back out the window. “If you’re Buck 1.0,” he started, at a more normal volume. “And that nurse was so into you, why—” he broke off. “Why didn’t you—you know. Want to?”

The song went off, and another, more upbeat one filled the silence. Buck turned in his seat to face Eddie, leaning his head sideways against the headrest. “Want to—ask her out?”

“Sure,” said Eddie, shrugging. “Yeah, whatever.”

“I guess I just wasn’t interested,” said Buck, staring at Eddie’s profile. “I think I just imprinted on you, like a baby duckling.”

“You what?”

“Baby ducklings. Biologically, they have a function where their brain like, insta-bonds with the first thing it sees when it hatches, which is usually the mom. It’s like, how they survive, because they just follow it around, copying it and helping it and bothering it so much it's like, worn down into loving the duckling back and looking out for it.”

“So,” said Eddie, furrowing his brow. “In this scenario, you are—”

“A baby duckling, newly hatched into the world with no idea what’s going on.”

“And I am—”

“The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.”

Eddie glanced at him, and when he actually met Buck’s gaze, he kept eye contact for longer than he should have whie driving. Buck broke first.

“So,” Buck said, turning himself back so his body was facing the front window as they drove. “Tell me more about Christopher. What do I need to know about him?”

“Hm,” said Eddie. “Thirteen-and-a-half, and acts like it. Loves video games—you’re getting better at understanding them, so maybe that information is still in there somewhere, god knows it’s hard enough to learn once. Hm, what else . . . He’s big into Greek mythology right now, and he’s really good at drawing. He recently had his first date with a girl named Penny. We’re working on raising him not to be a little player, like you.”

“Sure, like me,” Buck echoed, absently. He wondered if Eddie knew he’d implied he and Buck were raising Chris together; or if it was such a common, casual occurrence that it didn’t even register.  Instead of pointing it out, he asked, “do we have any, like inside jokes, or nicknames, or things I need to know about?” Buck was surprised to realize how guilty he felt about meeting Christopher without being able to remember him.

“Uh, well, you call him Superman, sometimes,” Eddie told him. “We both do. And, uh, you actually—like four years ago there was a tsunami and you guys were out on Santa Monica pier and you saved his life,” he added, like that was a small detail he almost forgot. “But I doubt that’ll come up,” he finished.

“We—what?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “I—sorry, I don’t want you to be in the dark, but there’s so much you’re missing, and I feel like it can’t be good for you to keep getting these bombshells dropped on you . . .”

“No,” said Buck.  “It’s . . . it’s good, I want to know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” agreed Buck. “Maybe it’ll like, jog my memory, or something.”

Eddie chattered the rest of the way home, talking about how Chris and his friends have been hanging out at an old-school arcade and how he’d been thinking about getting tickets to an ice hockey game and how he was excited for space camp and by the time they pulled into Eddie’s driveway, Buck was feeing calmer.

He stood in front of the house, feeling a swoop of recognition, like it was his brain’s default image of the word home. But there were no memories associated with it—no familiarity with the layout, no sense for which door he normally used, no expectation of what would be waiting inside.

“Buck!” Christopher called out, as soon as Buck entered the door, and even though he’d already seen him on a video call, Buck was still caught off guard by him. This adorable, hilarious teenager, this kid who wanted Buck around.

“Hey, Superman,” said Buck, beelining over to the couch, where Chris had set himself up with a pile of blankets and a trash can and his Nintendo switch.

At the nickname, Chris cocked his head, and asked, “are you remembering stuff yet?”

“No, sorry,” said Buck. “Your dad gave me some intel on the drive over.”

“That’s cheating,” said Chris, giving Buck a stern look.

“Hey Chris, didn’t I say no video games?” Eddie asked from where he was toeing his shoes off by the entryway. Shit, Buck forgot to take his shoes off. He got up and kicked his off next to Eddie’s; there was just enough room on the shoe rack for them.

“You said I couldn’t sit hunched over at my desk,” Chris clarified. “Besides, it was just while I was waiting for you guys to get home.” Home, he said, like it was natural that the three of them would be there. Chris turned to Buck, and said, “I found a documentary about amnesia, wanna watch it?”

“Oh, uh—” Eddie started, but Buck was way ahead of him.

“Absolutely I do.” He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and handed it to Chris. Chris powered on the TV and tossed a blanket over to Buck.

Eddie was still standing, watching them both.

“I’m going to heat up the soup Pepa left,” he said, finally, and excused himself towards what Buck assumed was the kitchen.

He and Chris shrugged at each other, and the documentary started to play.

The thing about being in Eddie’s house was, Buck never wanted to leave.

He’d never felt so instantly comfortable somewhere—it was like his body’s muscle memory knew to relax when he was there. Chris was so easy to get along with, so fun to talk to, and he kept sneaking in questions like he was trying to jog Buck’s memory without him noticing. But he never made Buck feel bad when he came up short.

The house itself was a treasure trove of clues to his life; more so than he ever imagined he’d find at someone else’s house. After the documentary ended and Chris went to take a nap, Buck started shamelessly poking around.

The mantle in the living room was covered in photos of Chris and Eddie, members of the 118, people who were probably Eddie’s relatives, and Buck—Buck with Chris, Buck with Eddie, Buck with Chris and Eddie, Buck with a woman who looked like Eddie’s grandma.

There were even more in the kitchen, where Eddie’s fridge was covered in pictures and old drawings of Chris's and invites to parties that had already passed. There was even a photo of Buck and Jee-Yun, no Diaz family members in sight.

Buck checked in the refrigerator, where he found his own favorite brand of oat milk coffee creamer and the kombucha he’d discovered during the Academy—pink apple, his favorite flavor—and two takeout containers, the top one labeled Buck’s.

He was just opening up the freezer when Eddie found him.

“That ice machine jogging a lot of memories for you?” he asked, pouring two cans of half-full ginger ale down the sink drain.

“Just cooling myself off,” said Buck. “Got all hot and bothered snooping through your underwear drawer.” Eddie turned from where he’d been about to lob the cans into his recycling bin and gave Buck a harassed look. “Kidding, kidding,” said Buck, holding up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t make it to your room, yet.”

Eddie threw the cans one, and then the other, with impressive aim. But maybe Buck just thought everything about Eddie was impressive. He’d thought he’d had it bad for Eddie at the hospital, and that was before he saw him interacting with Chris. All of it—Eddie checking for a temperature by feeling Chris’s forehead with the back of his hand, Eddie serving Chris a bowl of soup with buttered toast on the side, Eddie throwing Chris's sheets in the laundry while they were watching the documentary—it was all really doing it for Buck.

He was just so . . . so responsible. So caring. So casually competent and effortlessly dependable. Take care of me, Buck wanted to beg. I’ll be so good if you let me stay.

But Eddie already was taking care of him, was the thing. He’d also brought Buck a bowl of soup with buttered toast, just like he’d delivered to Chris. He’d gotten him icepacks for his head and his ribs. He’d promised Buck they could order from his favorite Thai place for dinner.

How had Buck been best friends with this man for six years and not ever tried to suck his dick? It was unfathomable.

“Find anything interesting?” Eddie asked, turning on the sink and starting to wash the dishes that were piled in there. He pumped soap from a frog-shaped soap dispenser and lathered up the sponge, and Buck had to avert his eyes from the movement of his fingers.

He grabbed a dishtowel and started drying the plates as Eddie placed them in the drying rack, trying to make himself useful. “I’m in a surprising number of your pictures,” he said, accusation in his voice. “You like looking at my face, huh?”

“You know, you put up half those photos,” said Eddie, glancing at him and then looking back down to the sink.

“Yeah?” asked Buck. “Have I contributed a lot to this household?”

He meant it as a joke, but Eddie’s cheeks colored faintly. Buck felt a little zing of satisfaction every time he was the reason Eddie blushed; but this time, he hadn’t even been trying.

“Uh, yeah,” admitted Eddie. “Almost everything in this kitchen, to be honest—you’re more of a cook than I am.”

“Really?” Buck asked, distracted by the tidbit. “I remember that Bobby was starting to let me help in the kitchen. Am I good at cooking now?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “You’ve been perfecting your lasagna recipe. And you always make Chris chocolate chip pancakes when you stay over. But my favorite is your pulled pork tacos—you actually got my abuela to help you with that recipe, so it’s like, the best thing ever.”

“Shit,” said Buck. “I hope I have it written down somewhere.” He meant to make Eddie laugh, but instead he just hummed and kept scrubbing the soup pot. “Glad to hear I’ve been pulling my weight around here,” Buck tried again.

Eddie gave up on the sponge and started rooting around under the sink for a brillo pad. “What?” he asked Buck.

“Like,” Buck used the dishtowel to dry a bowl very thoroughly. “Clearly you let me crash here a lot,” he said, glancing up at Eddie and then back to the bowl. He should probably find a new, drier dishtowel. “I’m probably always eating your food and getting in the way,” he said, shrugging. “It’s good to know that I’m not a deadbeat houseguest.”

“A deadbeat—Buck, what are you talking about?” Eddie pumped soap into the pot and left the sink filling it up; steam was rising from the pot and curling the ends of his hair.

“I mean, I haven’t even seen my place, I bet it’s not as nice as this,” Buck offered. “Shit, I don’t still live with roommates, do I? Is that why I’m always inviting myself over?”

Eddie turned off the sink, leaving the kitchen much quieter than it had been before. He turned, facing Buck, and slowly reached out and took the bowl out of his hands. “Buck,” he said softly, placing the bowl on the counter and reaching out to take the dishtowel next. Buck’s fingers tingled where Eddie’s hand brushed them. “You’re not a guest here. You don’t invite yourself over. You have a key.”

“What?”

“I have one to your place, too. It’s nice—it’s a little industrial for my taste, but it’s nice, a loft with big windows, and a balcony.”

“I do?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “I don’t let you crash here, I—I ask you to, or it just happens, after we do a movie night or a long shift or whatever. You’re never in our way. And you don’t—you couldn’t be a deadbeat if you tried.”

“I mean, I was joking—”

“No, you weren’t,” corrected Eddie, firmly. “I know you. You have this thing where you think you need to like, make yourself useful. Like there’s no point to you being around if you’re not helping other people. And you do, I mean, god you have no idea how much you’ve done for us—but that’s not why you have a key. That’s not why we want you here.”

The dim afternoon light in the kitchen made everything feel warm and intimate. Faint smells of lavender filled the air between them, where the hot soapy water filled the last pot left in the sink. Buck wanted to lean forward and kiss Eddie more than he’d wanted anything before, in his life.

To stop himself, he crossed the kitchen and pulled out a glass, opening the fridge to fill it up with water; he really could use the freezer to cool himself off, after that. “You know, if you wanted me to be less obsessed with you, you’re going about it the wrong way,” he said, instead of actually responding to what Eddie said.

Eddie huffed out a laugh and nodded at the ground. “Well, people have been saying we’re codependent for years,” he admitted. “There’s really no point in pretending otherwise, now. Hey, you must want to shower after being in the hospital,” he said, and as soon as he offered it, Buck realized he did want to, desperately. “If you want to take one, I’ll call in the Thai order.”

“Yeah, actually, that would be great. I need a—”

“Towel?” Eddie guessed. “They’re under the sink.”

“Thanks,” said Buck. “Oh, also—”

“Toothbrush?” Eddie guessed. “They’re behind the mirror, yours is the dark green one. And you have spare sweats in the top drawer of my dresser if you want to change.” He turned back to the sink. “Have fun snooping.”

“I will,” promised Buck. He went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, where a cup held three toothbrushes. Right where Eddie promised they’d be.

------

Eddie wondered if this was what it felt like to go insane.

Everything they had done since entering his house today—Buck watching a documentary with Chris, he and Eddie cleaning up the kitchen, them taking turns getting showered and comfortable while they waited for takeout—were things he’d done a hundred times before. But it all felt different, now.

They were routines Eddie and Buck had developed over years, years of learning each other’s patterns and preferences and fitting each other into their lives and homes and schedules. And now, seeing them through Buck’s newly unfamiliar eyes, their relationship looked obscenely domestic.

Highly irregular, for two best friends.

Almost . . . romantic.

Buck keeping a spare toothbrush at their house was practical, the same way they both kept ones at the station. But looking at Buck and telling him his green toothbrush sat in a cup next to Eddie’s blue one—that felt like he was admitting to something.

With all of his questions and innuendos, Buck was poking holes in the totally platonic, stable, symbiotic situation they’d landed in but never spoke about. Eddie had never thought about all this very much, but now that the circumstances demanded he spell everything out for Buck, it felt almost incriminating. How they spend so much time with each other. How Eddie knew all of his accounts and passwords, his most comfortable clothes and his favorite snacks. How Buck was basically a parent to Christopher, in all but the name.

He had never really been phased by those parts of their dynamic before. If people asked questions, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. But when the one he was explaining it to was Buck, it felt harder to shrug off.

Especially while Buck continued to flirt with him, all brazen and relentless. He was, regrettably, really good at it.   

Buck was funny. Buck had a good smile. Buck had wildly blue eyes and unnaturally pink lips and had put on the type of bulk that wasn’t just for show, it was from using his muscles to help people.

These were all facts Eddie knew about his best friend.

But now they were all being used against him. Buck was weaponizing his best traits, and Eddie had never bothered building defenses where Buck was concerned, so when Buck used his teasing tone, when he managed to make smiling look filthy, when his baby blue eyes roved over Eddie’s body like he was a starving man seeing a feast . . . Eddie didn’t know what to do with all that.

Obviously, Buck was attractive. Objectively. He was always getting hit on when they were out on calls, always getting offers to exchange numbers, to meet up later, to be set up with a daughter or a friend. He always said no, except for Natalia for some reason, and so Eddie didn’t usually have to deal with those realities.

He’d never expected this to be the reality that finally caught up to him: the one where Buck exited the bathroom in nothing but a towel, at the exact same moment Eddie entered the hallway to check on Christopher.

They froze on either end of the hallway. Eddie had seen Buck leaving showers hundreds of times, so there was absolutely nothing new or different or weird about it this time—that’s what Eddie told himself, as he willed his racing heart to chill the fuck out.

But all of those other times had been different, because this time, Buck straightened up, nearly preening, and said in a low voice, “fancy meeting you here.”

He was fisting one hand around the knot keeping the towel closed, and water was still dripping down his stomach, and his hair was curly and wet, and Eddie wondered if Buck would ever let him live it down if he turned and sprinted out of the house.

“You, uh—you forgot your clothes,” Eddie said, stupidly.

Buck looked delighted. He glanced down at himself, and Eddie followed his line of sight—his huge arms, the tattoos on his chest, the towel that was barely clinched closed—and back up at Eddie, catching him with his gaze dropped. “Whoops,” said Buck, not sounding sorry at all.

Eddie nodded.

Buck pointed to his left and said, “I’ll just be in your bedroom, then.”

And Eddie decided to get a drink of water from the kitchen before checking on Christopher.

Eddie ordered dinner from the Thai place Buck was obsessed with, making sure he ordered the works, with all of the appetizers Buck resisted when he’s on one of his weird Keto streaks. It was satisfying to see him try it all again for the first time. Except for the way he kept moaning at each new dish, which Eddie could have done without.  

But he had the urge to keep it going—he knew all of Buck’s favorites, all his quirks and preferences, the little things he does just for himself, when he thinks no one is watching. If he tried, he could probably arrange for this Buck to have a perfect day. He’d start out with a black-and-white latte from the café by the station, and a bagel from that place in Santa Monica, where they pile on so much cream cheese and homemade jam that they have to serve it open-face.

Then a trip to the beach, where Buck and Chris could paddle out on surfboards, not even surfing, just enjoying being in the water—something they both got in the habit of after the tsunami. Lunch at the weird smoothie bowl place Buck wouldn’t shut up about. Then they could post up on the couch, and Eddie could watch Buck watch season 1 of Ted Lasso for the first time again, and then lie to him about there being any more seasons available.

And dinner would have to be a family affair—a barbecue at Bobby and Athena’s, maybe, anything where Bobby was cooking, and all of Buck’s favorite people were there.

He could picture it—Buck, smiling at him from the driver’s seat on their way home, that look he gave Eddie after a day with Christopher or a successful rescue at work. The kind of smile Buck gave when he wanted to keep a good thing going. And maybe Chris would want to have a sleepover with Harry and Denny, so maybe it would just be Buck and Eddie getting back, and maybe—

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s head snapped up. He’d been rinsing the plastic takeout containers in the sink so he could recycle them; except, when he looked down, there were no more containers left, and water was gushing out of the faucet into an empty sink.

He shut it off and turned, blocking the bare sink from view. “What’s up?”

Buck was standing in the doorway, barefoot and in his sweats, holding a pillow and a blanket. They’d had a late dinner and it was almost ten, so it made sense that he was getting ready for bed, but it didn’t make sense that he was walking around with his bedding.

“Hope you don’t mind I stole a pillow,” he said. “I’m going to get set up on the couch. I just wanted to say thanks, for everything.”

“Buck, you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh,” said Buck. “Oh! Yeah, sure. No problem. Is Uber still a thing?” he asked, shuffling the blanket to under his arm so he could to pull his phone out of his pocket. “If you can just make sure I put the right address in—”

“No—you’re not going back to the loft,” Eddie said, incredulously. “You can’t just go wandering around the streets.”

Buck’s lips twitched. “You know, Eddie, six years ago, I was still a functioning adult. Or—mostly functioning,” he admitted. “But I’m not like, a baby.”

“Says the newly hatched duckling,” said Eddie, even though he had never meant to bring up that metaphor again.

Buck gave up on hiding his smile at that. “You worried about me? Did I successfully wear you down?”

Eddie rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh.

“Quack,” said Buck, laughter seeping into his voice.

Eddie was not going to laugh at that, it was far too stupid. “You’re sleeping in the bed, Buck. I’ll take the couch.”

“What? No way, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” said Eddie. “I already washed the sheets.”

“I normally crash on the couch, that’s what Chris said.”

“You don’t normally have bruised ribs,” replied Eddie.

Buck furrowed his brow. “But the couch—”

“Is fine,” said Eddie. “It’s weirdly comfortable, I promise.”

“If it’s that comfortable, it’ll be fine for me and my bruised ribs,” said Buck. Eddie sighed. “Come on, you’ve known me for six years,” Buck continued. “You must know how stubborn I am.”

Oh, Eddie would show him stubborn. “Buck, I’m a medic. And your medical proxy. And I say, you’re not allowed to sleep on the couch with those ribs.”

He didn’t mean to break out his dad voice, but Buck was being ridiculous. He was—actually, it was hard to tell from across the kitchen, but Eddie was pretty sure Buck’s pupils just blew; his eyes suddenly looked more black than blue in the dim kitchen light.

“There is another option,” said Buck, his voice dropping. “We could . . . share.”

He didn’t—he hadn’t considered—he hadn’t thought that would be an option. Eddie crossed his arms, trying to regain his bearings. He hadn’t been prepared for this conversation, was all. “What?” he asked, buying himself time.

“I don’t want you on the couch, you don’t want me on the couch. Your bed is big enough for two . . .”

“Oh,” said Eddie, swallowing. “Um.”

“I’m sure we’ve crashed in closer quarters,” said Buck. He hadn’t moved, but somehow the kitchen felt smaller. And warmer. Did he have the heat on? “And we’re, you know, platonic best friends,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “So, it shouldn’t be weird. Right?”

“Uh,” said Eddie, mouth dry. “No. I mean, yeah. I mean, no, it wouldn’t be—” he didn’t really know what to say, but he had to finish this sentence so that Buck would stop staring at him like that. “Yep, that sounds good,” he said, finally, and turned back around to the empty sink. He flicked the faucet back on, wasting water, just for something to do.

“See you in there,” said Buck from behind him, and it wasn’t until Eddie heard Buck’s footsteps creaking down the hall that he let out the breath he was holding.

Well, fuck.

After he’d taken out the trash, checked on Chris, wiped down every surface in the kitchen, refolded the blankets in the living room, checked on Chris again, taken out the half-empty bin of recycling, double-checked that all the doors were locked, and brushed his teeth for longer than any dentist had ever recommended, Eddie finally went into his bedroom.

Buck was already under the covers, reading his dinosaur book, looking far too at home on the right side of Eddie’s bed, which was actually—he did actually prefer the left side, because it was closer to the door in case he needed to get to Christopher. He wondered if Buck had somehow known that, or if it was just a lucky guess.

Instead of saying anything, he crossed to his dresser and pulled out his pajamas. Then he went back to the bathroom to change—totally normal—and gave himself a brief, silent, threatening pep talk in the mirror.

He was going to be fine. If Buck pulled any of his sneaky flirting in bed, Eddie would just roll over and pretend to be asleep.

“This is so annoying,” Buck said, when he got back into the room, trying not to think about how weird it was to close the bedroom door with him and Buck on the same side of it. Luckily, Buck’s voice sounded legitimately irritated, which was much easier to cope with.

“What?” he asked, plugging in his phone and then climbing under the covers when he couldn’t put it off any longer. But Buck was right, his bed was big enough for two—if he stayed all the way on his side, there was a full foot of space in between them. Eddie picked his phone back up and opened the crossword puzzle app, just for something to do.

“I was like, halfway through this book, and now I have to start over.”

“Oh man,” said Eddie, matching his aggrieved tone. “Is that the worst part of having amnesia?”

“Honestly? Kind of.”

Buck kept reading, and Eddie filled in a clue—six letter name for a right-free MLB player. Jackie? He skipped it. The next clue, Mexican dish similar to taquitos, was an easy one, but that meant the player’s name started with an A, so Jackie was wrong.

“Hey Buck,” he said, before he’d even realized he was going to ask. “Six-letter name for a right-free baseball player?”

“Abbott,” Buck answered, automatically. “Woah,” he said, a second later. “I don’t think I knew that I knew that,” he said, tilting the book down. “Did I get really into baseball in the last few years?”

“Oh,” Eddie said, looking over at him in surprise. “No. He’s a one-handed pitcher—you researched him for Chris.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. Buck was looking at him hungrily, like he was eating up these little details. “He fell off a skateboard, and I had to talk to him about how he can’t do some of the things other kids do.” Eddie remembered that night, sitting at Buck’s kitchen counter. He had felt like a total failure as a dad, like somehow the best thing he could do for his son was also the thing that would break his heart. And then Buck told him about Jim Abbott. While Eddie nosedived into total pessimism, there was Buck, undaunted, meeting him with curiosity and confidence and thoughts on solving problems Eddie hadn’t even articulated yet. Having total faith in Chris. And in Eddie, too.

“You helped me build an accessible skateboard for him,” Eddie finished. He clicked out of the crossword app and opened up his own Instagram. He didn’t update it often, but he’d added pictures of that day, and the video Carla had taken it, because he wanted to remember it forever.

He passed his phone over to Buck, glancing at his face and then away, trying to figure out how to act while Buck took in the image.

“I wish I remembered this,” Buck said, softly. He was sliding the picture back and forth, so the video replayed over and over again.

“You will,” said Eddie, taking the phone back when Buck finally handed it over.

Buck dogeared his spot in the book and then reached over and turned off the light on his bedside table, plunging the room into darkness. Eddie thought about reopening the crossword puzzle, but instead he just plugged his phone back in and settled onto the mattress, next to Buck.

“Can I ask you something?” Buck said, his voice ringing in the quiet room. Or maybe it just felt that way to Eddie.

It was way too soon for him to pretend to be asleep, so he just said, “yeah, of course,” and hoped for the best.

“What—what was it like when we first met?”   

--------

Buck had been gnawing on the question all day. It was one of millions he had, like, where’s Chris’s mom and what happened to Doug, questions that seemed too sensitive to ask without knowing any of the context. And even though it seemed relatively tame compared to those, this was the question that Buck most desperately wanted the answer to. How did we get here? How did I win you over?

He knew Eddie was probably expecting him to ask something else; say something coy and teasing. But Buck knew pulling that in Eddie’s bed was off-limits; he may have been shameless enough to arrange for them to sleep together, but he wasn’t going to risk doing anything that would make Eddie uncomfortable in his own space.

“Oh,” said Eddie, and he let out a breathless chuckle. There was enough moonlight coming through the window that Buck could make out his profile, but he kept laying straight on his back, trying not to spook him. “You were a total dick.”

“What?” said Buck, taken aback. It was hard to imagine any version of himself that saw Eddie and didn’t immediately start drooling. “No way.”

“Just the worst,” Eddie continued.

“I was not,” cried Buck, making sure to keep his volume low so they wouldn’t disturb Chris. “You can’t lie to me because I have amnesia, Eddie, that’s mean.”

“You were the mean one,” said Eddie. “You told me I was too comfortable when I started as a probie.”

“No, I didn’t,” protested Buck.

“You could not have made it clearer that you didn’t want me there,” Eddie went on, and Buck still couldn’t tell if he was being serious, because Eddie sounded so gleeful telling the story. He was pulling his leg, right?

“You said I was supposed to respect my elders,” mocked Eddie. He let out a quiet laugh. “Oh my god, I’d totally forgotten about that.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “Imagine my surprise, Bobby recruits me and is all, I have the perfect partner for you, you guys are really going to hit it off,” Eddie said, putting on his best Captain voice. “And then I show up day one and you’re like, trying to bully me out of the station.”

“Oh my god,” said Buck. “This is so mortifying.”

“It was cute,” said Eddie. “I mean—I think you were just . . .”

“What?” said Buck, graciously not acknowledging that Eddie just called him cute.

“Insecure,” said Eddie. “Not—like, I think I was just the new guy and you hadn’t been there for that long so you were like, marking your territory, a little.”

“I was probably—” Buck started, and then broke off. He’d been about to say already obsessed with you. Because suddenly, he knew. Even if he didn’t remember, he knew that if Eddie showed up at the station looking like that and acting, like, how Eddie acted . . . and if Buck hadn’t known he was interested in men yet? He’d probably gotten wound up, probably would have done anything to keep Eddie’s attention.

But that wasn’t something he could explain to Eddie when he’d already schemed his way into Eddie’s bed.

“—probably afraid you were going to replace me,” he said, instead. “Did you hate my guts?”

“No,” said Eddie, and Eddie could hear his voice curve around the word, and he knew Eddie was smiling; even if he couldn’t see it. “I was just confused. You were so nice to everyone else.”

“Have I ever apologized for this?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, “Don’t worry, it only lasted for like two shifts. We had this call where a guy had shot a live grenade into his own leg—”

“What?”

“I know,” said Eddie. “And he was bleeding out in the hospital parking lot, but we couldn’t send him in with an explosive, and the bomb squad wasn’t going to arrive in time. I was in the army before I joined the LAFD,” said Eddie, filling Buck’s brain with images of Eddie in uniform. “So I was familiar, and I told Bobby I could do it. You offered to help.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “You told Bobby you weren’t going to let the new guy have all the fun,” he said, snorting. “But it was—you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to get into that ambulance with me.”

“I’m guessing we got it out?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. He was quiet for a minute, and Buck wished he knew what Eddie was remembering; wished he would describe every last detail until Buck could recreate the memory in his own mind. “And after that, we just—we had each other’s backs.”

“Oh,” said Buck. “That’s why—you said—”

“Yeah,” said Eddie.

“I’m glad I did that,” said Buck, nearly a whisper. “I’m glad I got in the ambulance with you.”

“Me too,” said Eddie, so soft it was barely audible.

And then, if Buck wasn’t mistaken, they both pretended to fall asleep.

When Buck woke up the next morning, he was alone in bed. He was tempted to pull the covers back over his head, but Eddie had told him he always made chocolate chip pancakes for Chris when he stayed over, and he figured now would be a bad time to skip that tradition.

He padded into the kitchen; it was still early, and there were no signs of life from anywhere else in the house. On the counter was a note that said Running errands, be back soon. -E.  So Buck decided to take his time, familiarizing himself with the kitchen and finding the necessary ingredients for pancakes.

He thought he remembered how to make them, but he looked up a recipe, just to be safe. He put on a pot of coffee and then mixed all the pancake batter ingredients together. And while the skillet was heating, he tidied up the counter; he’d used up the chocolate chips, so the bag could go in the garbage. Only, when he pressed the pedal to open the top of the garbage can, something caught his eye.

At the top of the bin were several crumpled pieces of paper that matched the notepad Eddie left his note on. Buck was absolutely not above rifling through the garbage where Eddie was concerned; he scooped them out and flattened them on the kitchen table.

Morning, Buck, hope you slept well. I’m just going to the grocery

At grocery store. -E

Hey Buck, guessing you’ll wake up before Christopher

Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up

Hey Buck I’m running to grab groceries and a few other things you might need, call me if you think of anything, I’m in your phone as Eddie I think and

Buck grinned at the drafts—proof, laid out on the counter, that Eddie was flustered. That he had been thinking about Buck and overthinking their interactions and god, Buck really wished he’d been the first to wake up that morning.

“Buck?” called Christopher’s voice. “Is something burning?”

Ah, shit. Buck crumpled the notes back up and placed them at the top of the garbage, and then rushed to cut a slice of butter and place it in the skillet.

“Hey Chris,” he called back. “Just a little rusty on making pancakes. Think you can keep them down?”

Eddie got back about an hour later, apparently having remembered that Buck had a follow-up appointment at the hospital already, so he’d only had time to grab a dry pancake to go and kiss Christopher on the head before he was shuffling Buck back out the door.

Buck had felt bad about how reliant he was on Eddie, but Eddie assured him that Bobby had given him a few days of family leave, which, in Buck’s opinion, wasn’t helping them beat the Just Friends allegations.

“Why do I have to go back already?” Buck whined from the passenger seat. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but it felt wrong that he wasn’t driving. Maybe because of the way Eddie kept glancing around and sighing loudly at other drivers on the road.

“To make sure you don’t have a brain bleed,” answered Eddie.

“Ugh,” said Buck. “Hey, do I normally drive?”

“What?”

“When we go places. It feels like I should be driving. Is that a memory thing or am I just being an asshole about your—” he gestured to where Eddie was anxiously tapping his hands against the steering wheel. Eddie stopped his fingers and slid his eyes to Buck, then looked back out the windshield.

“Yeah, actually. You usually drive.”

“Cool,” said Buck.

“It’s just that I hate LA drivers,” Eddie explained.

“You hide it really well,” said Buck.

“Shut up,” said Eddie, leaning forward and turning the radio station. “Are you—is anything else coming back?” he asked, with forced casualness in his tone.

“Yeah, actually,” said Buck, cryptically. “I remember your dark secret.”

“What?”

“You know, the one you don’t think anyone knows . . .”

“Buck, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Damn,” sighed Buck, shaking his head. “Thought that was worth a try.”

“Are you seriously using your amnesia to trick me into revealing a secret?” Buck grinned at Eddie’s incredulous face. “No one told me Buck 1.0 was so diabolical.”

“It’s not fair, you know everything about me,” complained Buck. “You know more about me than I know about me.”

“I don’t know everything about you,” Eddie said.

“Yes, you do,” said Buck. “I didn’t even know I was allergic to Naproxen.”

“I didn’t know you went on a date with Tommy.” As soon as he said it, Eddie snapped his mouth shut, like he was trying to physically stop anything else from leaking out. Finally, Buck thought. Things were getting interesting.

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t know about that, either,” offered Buck. He wasn’t willing to let this drop; Eddie was trapped in the car with him, and if they only had a few minutes before they reached the hospital, he had to make it count. “Who’s Tommy?”

Eddie sighed, like it was extremely taxing to be asked that question. “He’s . . . a friend. He used to work at the 118, before either of us started, but earlier this year we needed—well, it’s a really long story, but we needed a helicopter and he’s a pilot with the LAFD Air Operations, now.”

“Hot,” said Buck, just to wind Eddie up.

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “He and I have a lot in common,” he went on, and for a wild moment, Buck thought Eddie was admitting to jealousy, but then he continued, “we were both in the military, do Muay Thai, like fixing up old cars. I don’t know, he was cool. We’ve been hanging out.”

An image formed in his mind—a man that looked kind of like Eddie except uglier, sitting in Buck’s place on Eddie’s couch. “Without me?” he asked, and it came out whiny, but Buck leaned into it, trying to make it sound like a joke, even though he felt sorry for his past self. Where did this guy get off, trying to swoop in and steal his best friend?

“Uh, not purposefully,” said Eddie, sounding apologetic. “You’re just not into that stuff—watching fights, playing basketball. I’ve invited you and you always say no. I didn’t think you’d care, but then . . .”

“Then what?” said Buck, rapt. He was praying for every stoplight to turn red.

“I don’t know, last week you finally came to one of our pick-up games. And you were kinda . . . weird,” said Eddie, eyes flicking to and away from Buck.

“Weird how?” This was like pulling teeth.

“Uh, you body-slammed me and I sprained my ankle.”

“Oh my god.” This story just got a lot less cute. “Are you alright?”

Eddie laughed, for some reason. “Yeah, Buck, I’m fine. You’re the one going to the hospital, remember?”

“First I bullied you on your first day and then I maimed you for making a new friend?” Buck changed his mind. He wanted all green lights. He wanted Eddie to speed up so he could jump out of the moving car. “Why do you put up with my shit? Were we in a fight when I got amnesia? Are you—is this some sort if pity thing—”

“Jesus, Buck,” interrupted Eddie. “Calm down. We weren’t in a fight. I was being a dick, it was fair you were pissed. I mean, you could have talked to me instead of going all Dennis Rodman on the court, but I wasn’t mad at you. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” asked Buck, who was leaning over the center console to look at Eddie’s ankles, trying to see if one of them seemed swollen.

But instead of calling him on that, Eddie said, “I don’t put up with your shit. I don’t pity you. Except maybe when I saw your jump shot.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“That honestly made me really sad for you,” said Eddie. They were almost to the hospital; Buck wondered if the doctor would be able to tell how much more scrambled his brain had gotten in the last ten minutes. “No wonder you never come to games.”

“At what point in all of this did I go on a date with Tommy, then?”

Eddie’s smile dimmed, and he gnawed on his lip for a minute, waiting for an opening in oncoming traffic so he could make a left. Finally, after he turned, he said, “I’m not totally sure. After the game, I was going to go over to yours—”

“To break my ankle in revenge?”

“Yes, exactly,” deadpanned Eddie. “But I was laid up so Tommy said he’d go talk to you. Said he felt bad about getting between us.”

“Oh my god,” said Buck, so loudly that Eddie jerked the steering wheel. “Then he tried to get in between us even more by asking me out!”

“Buck,” Eddie let out a long-suffering sigh. “I really don’t think that’s what happened.”

“Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t have gone out with him if you didn’t want to,” said Eddie. They were finally pulling into the hospital parking lot. “A few days after, I was out to dinner with my—my ex.” There’s a story there, Buck thought. “And we saw you guys at the restaurant. I thought you guys were finally becoming friends but—I mean, according to Maddie, that was when you—”

“Had my bisexual awakening?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Eddie, paying a lot of attention to his steering as he pulled his car into a spot. “That.”

“That doesn’t disprove my theory,” pointed out Buck. He wished child locks worked on the driver’s side door. Eddie was already unbuckling himself.

“Why else would you have agreed to go out with him, then?” challenged Eddie.

And, fine. If they were going to have to end this conversation so Buck could have his brain scanned, at least he could end it on his terms.

“If I had to guess,” he said, unclicking his own seatbelt. “I’d bet it was because he reminded me of you.”

-----

It was considerate of Buck, Eddie thought, to let him spiral in peace after dropping that bomb on him. He’d led the way into the hospital and waved Eddie towards the waiting room while he followed a nurse down a hallway.

Eddie sunk into a chair—not the same chair he’d sat in a few days ago, waiting for news about Buck the first time, but it might as well have been. He wondered if, after all the years and accidents and incidents they’ve had, he’d sat in every single chair in that room by now.

It was a pointless thought. It was just that his brain had recently been invaded by the sheer force of Buck 1.0, and his own thoughts were shying away from it; like it was the sun, and he was afraid of what would happen if he stared at it directly.

He checked his phone instead, hoping for a distraction, but what he found was even worse: Tommy had texted him. Did the guy have some sort of sixth sense for when he was being talked about?

Want to grab a beer tonight at Boxers? The Dodgers are playing the Astros.

Oh shit.

Tommy didn’t know. No one had told him that Buck had been in the hospital, that he had amnesia. He must be worried about why he hadn’t heard from Buck since the accident. Maybe they’d even had another date planned, and Buck had no idea.

He wondered if Tommy had been texting Buck. If Buck hadn’t told him.  

Tommy also didn’t know that Eddie knew he was into men, now—though he wasn’t sure if that was something Tommy had been hiding, or if it had just never come up.

They should probably talk. They should probably meet up and talk in person, and Eddie shouldn’t just text him why didn’t you tell me you took Buck out on a date?

Yeah, he wrote back. Can’t stay for too long cause Chris is sick, but I can come for a drink.

There—perfectly normal. Maybe a better friend would have called Tommy immediately to update him on Buck; but Eddie was putting all of his effort into being a better friend for Buck, at the moment, so Tommy would have to wait.

Nearly an hour later, Buck emerged from the back hallway, looking cheerful and unbothered. Must be nice, Eddie thought.  

“All good,” he said, walking up to where Eddie was sitting, staring at a crossword puzzle that he hadn’t entered an answer in for the last thirty minutes. He clicked out of the app and stood up to meet Buck; they fell into step, their shoulders brushing. Had they always done that?

“No brain bleed,” Buck continued. “And they said the swelling has gone down even more, so they expect I’ll be remembering more by the end of the week. I actually had a memory, I think—were we sitting in a hallway around here, once? This is gonna sound weird but I had this flash of being in, like, hospital jail.”

I’ll be remembering more by the end of the week. What did that mean? Would Buck go back to his own apartment? Would he stop teasing Eddie? Stop flirting with him? Stop sleeping in his bed?

Of course—of course he’d stop that. This was all temporary. None of that was supposed to be happening in the first place.

“Eddie?” Buck asked, possibly not for the first time. “Was I ever in hospital jail?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Eddie, shaking his head to clear it. They were almost back to the truck now. “Uh, it’s kind of dark, are you sure you want to—?”

“Lay it on me,” said Buck, heading towards the passenger side door. Eddie held out his arm to stop him, and when Buck turned around, he dropped the keys into his hand. His motives were purely selfish, but it would have been worth it just to see Buck’s grin.

“Maddie came to LA, right around the time I started at the station,” Eddie said, once they were both in the car. “She’d kind of been—on the run, I guess, from Doug. A few months later he caught up with her, and it was really bad. He stabbed Chimney and took her up to a cabin in Big Bear.”

“Oh, shit,” said Buck, all traced of his grin gone.

“Yeah,” said Eddie. “You were trying to find her through some questionably legal means,” he said, watching Buck as he pulled smoothly out into LA traffic. Thank god he didn’t have to drive anymore. “Which is how you ended up in hospital jail. But you and Athena ended up going after them. Maddie, uh, killed Doug. Self-defense. Obviously,” said Eddie. “And you guys found her right after.”

“Damn,” said Buck. “I’d been wondering. Figures that my first memories coming back are super traumatic and not like, Chris’s science fair.”

“You remember Chris’s science fair?”

“No,” said Buck. “There’s a picture of it on my phone.”

“Hm,” said Eddie. He remembered that day vividly; nearly everyone at the school had mistaken them for a couple. He wasn’t sure if Buck had noticed; but two separate teachers commented on what a cute family they were, and the mom of one of Chris’s friends had cornered him on the way back from the bathroom to congratulate him. That’s the Buck Chris is always talking about? She’d said, eyeing Buck appreciatively, which would have been annoying, except she was clearly ribbing him. And somehow, it didn't feel even a little bit wrong that she turned to Eddie and said, well done, my guy.

So, if he hadn’t discouraged any of the rumors? Well, it had worked to get the moms in the PTA to back off him, hadn’t it?

But it wasn’t—what was happening now wasn’t as innocuous as that. There were real stakes here, for Buck: how he’d navigate his relationship with Tommy, and how he’d deal with the fallout of what he and Eddie had been doing, when he got his memories back.

How would Eddie be able to look Buck in the face once he remembered everything? How would he defend the way he let Buck flirt with him, the way he’d let Buck goad him into sharing a bed? Buck—his Buck—hadn’t even trusted him with the fact that he was questioning his sexuality; and now everything had turned into such a violation of privacy that Eddie wasn’t sure Buck would ever forgive him.

“What should we do for dinner?” Buck asked. “Bobby texted that he dropped off some meals—maybe one of those. Unless you wanna take me out?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.  

“Buck—we can’t,” said Eddie.

“I know, I know, Chris still isn’t feeling well,” said Buck.

“No, I mean, we can’t—do this. You have to stop.”

“Stop what?” Buck asked. They were at a red light, so Buck was fully looking at him, but Eddie was a coward and couldn’t look at him for more time than it took to see his blue eyes and glance away.

“I just—your memories are going to be back soon,” he said.

“Yeah . . . ?”

“And this like, flirting thing you’ve been doing, it’s been fun for you,” said Eddie, hating himself for saying you instead of us.“Because you’re Buck 1.0. But when Buck 4.0 or whatever version you’re on comes back, when you remember everything, it might be . . . weird.”

“Weird,” repeated Buck, blankly. The light turned green, and he let out a huff of breath. “Weird for you, or for me?” he asked.

“You,” said Eddie.

“Eddie—”

“It’s like, how you can’t kiss a drunk person if you’re sober,” he said.

“I haven’t actually tried to kiss you,” Buck pointed out.

“No, in this scenario, you’re the drunk one,” Eddie explained. Buck, the drunk duckling, his brain supplied, insanely.

“So you want to kiss me?” Buck asked, some brightness slipping back into his tone.

“No,” said Eddie. “I mean—I just mean it like, you’re under the influence. Of Amnesia.” He was regretting ever starting this conversation. He was regretting ever learning to speak at all, actually.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, just digging the hole deeper. “You don’t have all the context and all of the information and you can’t just make decisions for Buck 4.0 without his consent. Especially if he’s going to be back in a few days.”

“Okay, first of all, we’re the same person,” said Buck, who had gone from sounding like he was trying not to cry to sounding like he was trying not to laugh in record time. “I’m not an imposter, Eddie, I’m just myself minus some memories.”

“I know, but like—”

“And secondly, all signs are pointing to Buck 4.0 being just as obsessed with you as I am,” he said. “So maybe by this time next week, I’ll be thankful that past me had the balls to say what current me was thinking.”

“I really don’t think—”

“If you want me to stop flirting with you because I’m making you uncomfortable, I will,” said Buck. “If you—if you don’t want to kiss me because you don’t want me, then say it. But I think there’s another reason you’re saying this.” They’d arrived back at the house, and Buck shut the car off, but neither of them made a move to get out.

Eddie wondered, for the millionth time since Buck woke up in the hospital, what they hell they were doing.

“I think it’s because,” Buck said, taking the key out of the ignition and handing it back to Eddie. “A drunk person can regret a kiss. A sober person knows what they were doing.”

Buck climbed out of the car, but before he closed his door he leaned down, looking at Eddie where he sat in his car, feeling dazed for the second time that day. “But I’m not drunk, Eddie. And I would never regret you.”

And then he closed the door.  

It was easy enough to avoid Buck in the house—mostly because Eddie took a long shower and then spent nearly an hour paying three bills online. By the time dinner rolled around, he’d decided to forgo eating with Buck and Chris; he and Buck could probably stand to have some space, anyway.

He threw on a pair of jeans and a Henley and came out of his room to find Buck and Chris on the couch in the exact same positions as the day before. A cartoon was on; it looked totally incomprehensible, but both of them seemed to be absorbed.

“Hey,” he said, when neither of them noticed he’d entered the room. “Are you guys good heating up one of the dishes Bobby left? I—I’m going out for a bit.”

Buck and Chris both narrowed their eyes at him, with uncanny timing. “Where?” Chris asked, suspicion in his tone.

“Just to meet a friend for a beer,” he said.

Chris swiveled his head to look where Buck was on the couch next to him. He looked back at Eddie and pointed his thumb at Buck, as if to say, he’s right here?

“I have more than one friend,” Eddie defended.

“Are you meeting Hen or Chimney or Bobby?”

“I have more than four friends,” Eddie amended.

Chris was still squinting at him. “It’s not Marisol, is it?”

He saw Buck’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. “Who’s Marisol?” he stage-whispered to Chris.

Eddie should have snuck out the back door.

“I’ll explain later,” Chris replied, ominously. To Eddie, he said, “are you seriously not going to tell us?”

“I’m seriously going to be gone for like, one hour,” said Eddie. It was impossible to argue with Chris without reverting to teenage-level behavior these days.  “Be good. Both of you,” he said. And then he left before they could sass him more.

Tommy was easy to spot; he was sitting at high top near the bar, where the line of TV screens were most visible. Eddie waved and passed him on the way to the bartender, and he ordered a brown ale and a second of whatever Tommy was having. If Tommy hadn’t been watching, he might have asked for a shot, too.

He checked his phone while the bartender got the drinks, but he had no new messages, so he closed his tab and carried the beers over to Tommy’s table.

“Hey man,” said Tommy, finishing his first beer and then grabbing the new glass. “Cheers,” he said, and Eddie watched him take another long gulp, trying to see him through Buck’s eyes. What was the appeal? He liked Tommy well enough, but he couldn’t imagine looking at him and wanting him. Not like—well. “How’ve you been?”

“I have to tell you something,” said Eddie. Better to get it over with. He waited until Tommy looked away from the Astro pitcher and met his eyes.

“Oh,” said Tommy. “Sounds serious.”

“Kind of—it’s about Buck.”

“Oh god,” said Tommy, huffing out a laugh and glancing back at the game. “Did he finally tell you about our date?”

“He—kind of,” hedged Eddie. This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. “He had an accident on the job a few days ago,” he explained. “And now he has some memory loss. So technically, his sister told him about the date, and then he told me about it.”

“Shit, for real?” Tommy asked. He nodded. “But he’s okay?” Eddie nodded again. “Damn. Only Evan, am I right?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at Tommy, but he had gone back to watching the game. “I just—I wanted to tell you in person,” Eddie went on, trying to get a handle on the situation. “I figured you might have been worried after not hearing from him.”

“Well—thanks,” said Tommy, looking at Eddie now that there was a commercial break. “But I wasn’t expecting to hear from him after how our date ended.”

“How did it end?” Eddie asked, shamelessly. “How did it start?”

Tommy seemed to realize Eddie wasn’t dropping the conversation anytime soon. He put his drink down and shifted in his seat. “I don’t know,” he said, sounding way too cavalier to be talking about dating Buck. “After the pick-up game, I went to talk to him. He felt bad, and then he was getting worked up—it was cute,” he shrugged. “So I kissed him.”

“You just—kissed him?”

That was an option?

No, that wasn’t an option, Eddie’s brain corrected. According to what he’d told Maddie, Buck hadn’t known he was into guys beforehand. He couldn’t have been flirting with Tommy—not the way he’d been with Eddie the last few days, so overt it was nearly comical. So Tommy had just—what? Assumed and gone for it?

“Yeah,” said Tommy. “He was into it, so we made plans to meet up for dinner and a movie. And then . . . you showed up,” he said.

Eddie remembered running into them. How Buck had acted weird, said something about going out looking for chicks. Eddie thought maybe he was just posturing for Tommy, because he didn’t know him that well, and Tommy could have a gruff demeaner; he hadn’t realized Buck was putting on the show for him.

He must have been so uncomfortable, to have panicked like that.

Why hadn’t he just told him?

“He got really freaked out when you saw us,” Tommy went on, unbothered. “I decided to call it a night. So, anyway, yeah, I wasn’t really expecting to hear from him again.”

“What about the movie?”

“What?”

“You said you met up for dinner and a movie,” Eddie said. He wasn’t sure why Tommy wasn’t following.

“Oh, yeah, I just ordered an uber instead,” said Tommy, and Eddie could tell he was sneaking glances at the game over his shoulder. “I spent a long time in the closet, I’m not going back in, even for someone as cute as Evan.”

“So you just—left him?”

“I mean, he’s a big boy,” said Tommy. “What was I supposed to do, escort him home?”

“No, it’s just—that was his first date with a man. Ever. You couldn’t have given him a minute?”

“What’s happening here?” Tommy asked, gesturing at Eddie with his beer. “Are you wingmanning him? I thought he didn’t even remember me. I mean, if he really wants to go out again, he can call me.”

“No,” said Eddie, though he wasn’t sure which part he was responding to. He just—no. Tommy was studying him now, completely ignoring the game for once. After a second, his expression cleared.

“Oh, I get it,” he said, with an understanding smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You two, huh? I’d wondered.”

And all Eddie could think of was that if he’d been in Tommy’s shoes, he never, in a million years, would have left. He never would ordered himself a car and left Buck standing on the street, feeling like there was something wrong with him, like he wasn’t good enough to stick around for. He wouldn’t care what kind of pace Buck wanted to move at, because any pace at all meant he was with Buck, and when he was with Buck, nothing else mattered.

So—what the fuck was he doing at this bar, with Tommy?

“Yeah,” said Eddie, standing up from the table. He picked up his beer and swallowed the rest of it in three big gulps—he was going to need the liquid courage soon. “Us two,” he said, slamming the glass back down on the table. “And his name is Buck.”

------

Buck was alone on Eddie’s couch, and he was not having a great time.

After Eddie had left on his mysterious date—Chris insisted it wasn’t a date, but Buck didn’t know why else he would have kept it a secret—they heated up one of Bobby’s casseroles and ate it in front of the TV. Chris put on 50 First Dates, which Buck had been too distracted to object to, and then too absorbed by to turn off.

After two helpings of the casserole, they raided the freezer for ice cream, and he and Chris competed to make the most outrageous sundae, which they ate while watching Adam Sandler make a series of very questionable decisions.  

“Do you think it’s wrong?” Buck asked Chris, swallowing a marshmallow and wondering how pathetic it made him to be moping to a thirteen-year-old. “To have a relationship if one person has memory loss?”

“Gee, Buck,” said Chris, though it sounded more like eee-bugh, on account of all the M&Ms in his mouth. He gulped down the mouthful of toppings and continued. “You’re so subtle.”

“What? That’s literally the plot of the movie,” Buck defended, gesturing at the screen.

“No it’s not,” said Chris, rooting around in his bowl for more M&Ms. “This isn’t like, discourse on the ethics of consent and cognitive function,” he said, like Buck was an idiot. And honestly, he kind of felt like one—was that how 13-year-olds talked these days? He was pretty sure that at Chris’s age, he’d mostly been making fart jokes. “It’s a rom-com.”

“So . . .” said Buck, hoping Chris would answer the original question. Since he was so smart.

“So,” said Chris, in between spoonfuls of ice cream. “There’s a guaranteed happy ending. We’re not supposed to think about how wrong the guy is. Or how problematic the jokes are. We’re just supposed to find everyone’s terrible behavior charming and then cheer when they kiss at the end.”

“Okay, but like—” Buck tried again, mixing the contents of his bowl. The ice cream was nearly soup now. But he was still going to eat it. “Say, in real life—”

“Oh my god,” groaned Chris. “I know you want to make out with dad.”

Buck’s eyes snapped up to Chris’s face. He was still watching the screen, but he had a smirk on his face that was far too knowing for how old he was. There was really no point in denying it, though; he’d missed that turn-off miles back—he was in the express lane now, headed straight for disaster.

“No, I don’t,” said Buck, not even trying to sound convincing.

“Why are you denying it? Literally all you do is moon after him.”

“Okay, I wouldn’t say all I do,” griped Buck. “And before my amnesia—”

“Before your amnesia, you guys were even worse,” said Chris, looking away from where Drew Barrymore was building a house out of waffles to give Buck a reproachful stare. “Because you were so oblivious. At least now you’ve both stopped acting like this is normal.”

“Chris, if you don’t want me—”

“Oh my god, Buck, that’s not why I’m yelling at you,” he said, even though he wasn’t actually yelling at Buck, which Buck appreciated. He mostly sounded exasperated. They were very lucky that Chris was so mature—someone in the household had to be. “This has been dragging on for years. All of my friends know about it. I’ve written Reddit posts about it.”

“You’ve written—what?”

“I just needed confirmation that I wasn’t going crazy,” said Chris. “I wasn’t, in case you were wondering. Everyone on the r-slash-relationships subreddit agreed with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you not to go on reddit?”

“Shouldn’t you and dad be married by now? Jeeze,” said Chris, slumping back against the couch and letting out a deep breath. “You know what, that actually felt really good. I’ll probably update my post about this later.”

“I’m going to tell your dad to check the parental controls on your computer,” Buck told him.

“I’m going to tell dad you want to have his babies,” Chris retorted.

Buck opened his mouth to correct him, thought better of it, and ate a large spoonful of ice cream soup that gave him brain freeze. That was his only excuse for continuing on the subject.

“Do you think he—”

“Wants to have your babies, too?” Chris asked, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, Buck. I have an entire list of proof written up if you want to see it.”

“On your reddit thread?”

“Yes, actually,” Chris started to say, but then a wave crashed onto the beach in the movie, and Buck’s brain ripped him violently from Eddie’s couch to a waterlogged version of the beach. It felt like some kind of vertigo—like he was being tossed around by waves, even though he could feel his legs still on the ground.

“Buck, Buck, can you hear me?” Chris asked.

Chris—the water—he had to find Chris, he had to—

“It’s okay, Buck, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t—there were waves, and Chris was missing, and—

“Buck, look at me,” Chris’s voice broke through the noise, and Buck finally focused his eyes. Chris had turned on the couch, facing him completely, their ice cream bowls safely on the coffee table. Chris was watching him, concern etched across his face.

Chris, who he’d been in a tsunami with.

He realized he was hunched over on the couch, squeezing himself around his middle. He must have been gripping his hair, too, because his scalp felt sore—his whole head did, to be honest.

“Chris,” he gasped out. “Chris, you’re okay.”

“So are you,” said Chris, reaching out to grab his shoulder. “Was that—did your memories come back?”

“I don’t know,” said Buck, trying to sort through the jumbled mess of thoughts that had tangled up in his head. “I don’t think all of them—” he quizzed himself, trying to think of last Christmas, of Jee-Yun, of the cat he’d chased into the basement; he was still coming up empty. “But—the tsunami.”

“Oh,” said Chris, understanding in his tone as he squeezed his hand where it gripped Buck’s shoulder. “Yikes.” Buck snorted out a laugh. He felt like he’d just been put through the spin cycle. Chris got up from the couch while Buck sat hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

“Here,” said Chris, a minute later. He was holding out a water bottle and container of Tylenol. “You should take these.”

Buck looked into his eyes—the same gray eyes he’d looked into years ago, on top of a firetruck. What had he ever done to deserve that kid?

He swallowed two pills, and Chris picked up the remote and clicked the TV off. Buck sat for a minute, scrubbing his head in his hands—it felt stuffy and floaty and heavy all at once. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Chris had dimmed the lights and was moving the blankets over to where Buck could reach them.

“You should rest,” he said, and in that moment, he’d never looked more like a mini-Eddie. Buck squinted up at him, and Chris cuffed him on the chin, and said, “you’re going to be okay, kid.”

Even though he felt a little like his head was trying to turn itself inside out, he smiled. “I remember that, now.”

“Good,” said Chris, making his way out of the room. “Don’t forget it.”

Some time later, after Buck had drifted in and out of consciousness, Buck heard the front door open. He should probably move, but Eddie had been right—the couch actually was very comfortable to sleep on.

“Buck?”

So, Eddie was back from his secret date. Buck mustered up enough energy to give a grunt and wave his hand, and he hoped it was enough to convey that he was alive, and he was fine, and Eddie should leave him there to die alone under the pile of blankets.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked instead, coming closer.

Buck was going to have to face Eddie, wasn’t he? Ugh. He just—all of his memories hadn’t come back yet; there were still glaring absences and patchy spots and things that popped into his brain that didn’t make any sense. But some of his memories had.

Enough that he remembered Eddie.

Buck had been right about what he’d said to Eddie in the car, that Buck 1.0 and Buck 4.0 were the same person, with the same feelings about Eddie, just swapping a few memories for realizations. But Eddie had been right, too—because Buck 4.0 never would have risked jeopardizing what he and Eddie had, no matter how much he’d wanted to flirt with him.

But Buck 1.0 would. And had. And Eddie had been far more receptive than Buck could have imagined—but, still. The game was over now, and it was time to deal with the fallout.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, using one hand to keep the icepack pressed against the side of his head. Maybe if he continued looking pathetic, Eddie would take pity on him.

“I got some memories back,” Buck explained. “Specifically, the tsunami.”

Eddie winced as he sat down on the other end of the couch. “Yikes,” he said.

“That’s what Christopher said,” Buck told him. “It hit me out of nowhere. It was like I had vertigo and an instant headache,” he said. “I totally ruined movie night.”

“What were you watching?”

He walked right into that one.

“50 First Dates,” he admitted.

“I haven’t seen that one. Memory loss, right?” said Eddie, smiling at him indulgently. His pathetic look was definitely working. “Do they make it work?”

“Yeah,” said Buck, his eyes landing to the ravaged remains of their ice cream sundaes, which were still on the coffee table. “At least, I think. We didn’t finish it, but I’m pretty sure it was heading that way.”

Eddie made a sound of agreement in his throat. “You’re good at that,” he said, turning on the couch to face Buck. “Reading signs.”

Buck slid one leg to the floor, keeping the other bent across the cushion, so he was sitting mirror opposite Eddie. “Am I?” he asked, keeping his voice low in the darkened living room.

“Yeah,” said Eddie, scooting in towards Buck. “So good that you could even read signs that—that maybe someone didn’t even know they were giving off,” he said.

Buck felt like a fireworks show was happening in his abdomen; like he’d swallowed a bag of pop rocks.

“Someone?” Buck asked, scooting closer to Eddie. Their knees were almost touching now.

“I was out with Tommy.”

Buck reeled back. Was he seriously—if Eddie had a gay awakening to Tommy of all people, Buck was going to officially lose his mind.

“No,” said Eddie, reaching out to put a hand on Buck’s thigh. He rubbed his thumb back and forth in calming patterns and explained. “I knew he didn’t know what had happened to you, so I wanted to explain. And I guess, I wanted to see . . . what you saw in him.”

“And? If this is all leading up to you telling me that you’re dating Tommy, I swear to—”

“Buck, Buck,” said Eddie, squeezing his thigh and smiling gently. “That’s not what’s happening here.”

“What is happening here, then?” His voice cracked mid-question, but Buck didn’t have it left in him to be embarrassed; every inch of his body was alit with something that felt dangerously like hope.

“First,” said Eddie, scooting in even closer. “You can’t go out with Tommy again. I know you don’t remember, but—you have to trust me on that one. He doesn’t—he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Easy,” said Buck, running his hand over Eddie’s where it rested on his thigh. “Done.”

“Second,” said Eddie. “I might not be as straight as previously believed.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Buck said, tugging on Eddie’s hand until he interlaced it with his own. Holy shit. He was holding Eddie’s hand.

“Third,” said Eddie, rubbing the back of Buck’s hand with his thumb. “I realized . . . it’s stupid to wait until you get your memories back. Because I—I know I’ll want that version of you, too,” he said, pulling Buck’s hand up to his lips and placing a kiss on their intertwined fingers. “Just like I want this version. All the versions of past you and all of the software updates to come—I’m going to want them all.”

“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” said Buck.

Eddie moved his other hand from where it had been resting on the back of the couch, and used to rub circles on Buck’s other leg. “Low bar,” he whispered. “You have a terrible memory.”

“I’m never going to forget this,” Buck said. And he leaned in and kissed Eddie.

Finally, he thought.

Kissing Eddie was like breathing—like the first gasp of air he’d taken after being tossed around by the tsunami; like when he left a building fire and could finally take off the apparatus that only fed him stale oxygen. It lit up corners of his brain; shot through his fingertips; it was sweet and fresh and vital for survival.

Eddie’s lips were soft under his, pliant, and then open, as Buck worked his lips apart. In no time, it became heated; Buck dropped his icepack somewhere, in favor of getting his hand around Eddie’s neck, and Eddie let out a groan that was indecent and leaned back, pulling Buck until he was fully on top of him, pressing down, unclear how he was supposed to cope with the feeling of Eddie’s body underneath his.

Their hands were everywhere, tugging and squeezing and clawing, never able to get close enough. Eddie was pushing up into him and Buck slanted his mouth over his, trying to deepen their hot, open-mouthed kisses, trying to suck Eddie’s tongue, trying to lick into his mouth until the only thing they were breathing in was each other.

After a few minutes—or maybe more than a few, there was no way to tell—the spinning in Buck’s head became less of the fun kind and more of the migraine kind. Reluctantly, he pulled back, sitting up where he’d landed on top of Eddie. The icepack had fallen behind him and cold condensation was pooling against his thigh, but he couldn’t possibly bring himself to care.

Not when Eddie was lying underneath him, looking at him like that, with his hair debauched and his lips swollen and his eyes full of adoration.

“Hi, you,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” said Buck. “I can’t believe I’m being cockblocked by a migraine right now.”

Eddie leaned up, his forehead creasing in concern. “Migraine? When did that come on?” He reached a hand and combed his fingers through Buck’s curls.

Buck would be more annoyed about the continued disruption but he didn’t hate playing patient to Medic Eddie. “Like, an hour ago? When the tsunami memory came back.”

“Did you have the same feeling when you remembered being in the hospital?”

“Not really,” said Buck. “But I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Oh, you’re sure it’s fine,” said Eddie, rolling his eyes and pushing up so he was leaning on his elbows. “Says the guy who woke up with amnesia and pretended everything was normal. The nurse told me to take you back in if your symptoms worsen.”

“She just said that so the hospital doesn’t get sued,” said Buck. “And also probably because you were glaring at her and she wanted to get out of the room.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Eddie, gnawing on his lip. “I don’t want to take you back there. That’s exactly what she wants me to do.” Buck squinted and cocked his head, giving Eddie a doubtful look. “Maybe I should call Hen—”

“Oh my god,” said Buck. “I just need to sleep it off. We’ve just admitted we were in love like, ten minutes ago. Can we just enjoy that? You can keep an eye on me. In bed.”

“In love, huh?” said Eddie, moving his hips around as much as he could where they were trapped between Buck’s thighs. “I don’t remember you saying that.”

“In that case,” said Buck, leaning back down to peck Eddie on the lips, which was a thing he could do now. He lingered, just because he could. “I will refresh your memory. Tomorrow,” he added, climbing off Eddie reluctantly. “I like, really have to go to bed right now.”

“At least buy me dinner first,” said Eddie, climbing off the couch and following Buck down the hall.

“I think we’re past that,” said Buck, but his head hurt, and he forgot to keep his voice down, so before they could disappear into Eddie’s bedroom, Chris’s door opened.

He peeked out and raised his eyebrows at them. Buck was pretty sure they were both disheveled and flushed, and he felt like a teenager again, getting caught after curfew.

“Chris,” said Eddie, his voice overly loud. “We were just, uh—”

“Spare me,” said Chris, retreating back into his room. “Don’t be gross!” he shouted through the closed door.

“Don’t tell your reddit friends about this!” Buck shouted back at him.

“Do I want to know?” Eddie asked.

“No,” said Buck. “Come on.” And he tugged his best friend into bed.

------

Eddie had never been more excited for a shift to be over.

The 48-hour they’d worked had felt interminable; and not just because it was the third and final shift he’d have to endure before Buck got back from med leave. Most of their day had been spent contending with a sinkhole at a waste management plant, and Eddie didn’t think he’d even be able to look at a toilet for a week.

He had been planning to speed out of the parking lot the moment he could clock out, but he ended up staying in the showers for an extra fifteen minutes, just to be sure every trace of the terrible day was gone, and by the time he was finally packing up his locker, he, Hen, and Chim were the only ones left.

“Got somewhere to be?” Hen asked. Probably because he was throwing his stuff in his duffle so haphazardly that he kept accidentally flinging his items of clothing around the locker room.

The truth was, he did. It was Friday night, and Chris was at a sleepover, and Buck was officially cleared for, you know, bedroom activities—which Eddie had forced Buck to confirm with his doctor, even though Buck thought he was being ridiculous.

Plus, it had been 48 hours since he’d last seen his boyfriend.

His boyfriend.

He still wasn’t used to it—but not in a bad way. Not like—he wasn’t uncomfortable about it. If anything, he thought the term boyfriend was too casual for what he and Buck were. A boyfriend was a thing you had in high school; something temporary and unserious, an escalation of a crush.

He and Buck were the opposite of that: solid and committed and built to last. He was Eddie’s partner, in every sense of the word. Eddie hadn’t been bothered to explore his sexual identity, or whatever Buck kept encouraging. He realized that he’d had blinders on that had stopped him from realizing what was right in front of him; and now they were off, and he had Buck, and he didn’t really care about the rest.

It felt surreal, their transition from friends to more. The morning after Buck kissed him, Eddie had woken to find himself curled around Buck’s side, clinging to him like Buck was a lifeboat and he was lost at sea. It was the same way he’d woken up the day before.

And also like the day before, Eddie had catapulted himself out of bed, anxious to put some space between them before Buck woke up.

But this time, Buck was already awake.

He was watching Eddie with raised eyebrows, and it took Eddie almost thirty seconds to remember it all—what he’d said to Tommy at the bar, what he’d said to Buck on the couch. The things Buck had whispered to him as they fell asleep.

After a moment, he became aware that he was standing next to the bed, in his boxers, blushing from his ears to his chest. And Buck was in his bed, waiting for him.

“Can we pretend I didn’t do that?”

“No way,” said Buck, throwing back the covers so Eddie could climb back under them. “I’ve been the embarrassing one way too many times. Get over here.”

“You’re not embarrassing,” said Eddie, climbing back into bed. With Buck. He laid on his pillow, facing Buck, and Buck turned on his side, too.

“You’re literally the only one who thinks that,” he said. “That’s why I have to date you.”

“Oh, you have to date me,” said Eddie, amazed at how similar teasing Buck, his best friend, was to teasing Buck, his boyfriend. Had they been flirting for the last six years? “What a hardship.”

“Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it,” said Buck. He scooted over on the bed until he was half-leaning on Eddie’s chest; the weight of Buck on top of him was quickly becoming his favorite sensation. This must be why people loved those weighted blankets so much.

“Hey,” protested Eddie, aiming to knee Buck, but instead only managing to intertwine their legs. After he realized they’d been staring into each other’s eyes for nearly a full minute, he asked, “is this weird?”

Buck cocked his head, considering. “Us dating?” Eddie nodded. Buck scrunched up his nose, and Eddie realized he’d been thinking his best friend was cute for far longer than he’d voiced it out in his head. “Probably less weird than whatever we were doing before.”

“Oh god,” said Eddie, rubbing his hand up and down Buck’s side, bunching up the soft material of the shirt he’d slept in. “The team is going to be insufferable.”

“Forget the team,” said Buck. “Your son was bullying me last night. Apparently, I’ve been obviously mooning over you for so long that all of his friends know about us.”

“Their parents probably do, too,” admitted Eddie. “Everyone thought we were a couple when we went to the science fair last year and I just went with it.” He slipped his hand under Buck’s shirt; his skin was so warm.

“Ooh, more embarrassing behavior,” teased Buck. “I’ve definitely never done anything like that.” Eddie raised his eyebrows, and Buck fessed up. “Like three months after we met, a Christmas elf told me that we had an adorable son, and I just thanked her.” Buck bit his lip, like he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “Wait! That’s another memory!”

He rolled off of Eddie then, unfortunately, and laid back on the bed, staring intently at the ceiling.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to see how much I remember,” said Buck, scrunching up his forehead in concentration. Eddie loved him, so much. “It’s so weird,” Buck complained. “Like, if I told you to remember every single thing that happened over the last six years, you wouldn’t be able to! But no one would say you have brain damage.”

“Yeah, but a house didn’t fall on me,” pointed out Eddie. “Come on, Dory,” he said, starting to climb out of bed. “I need coffee.”

“Wait!” Buck reached out and grabbed his arm before he could go further.

“What?”

And then Buck twisted up and kissed him.

It was a while before they got coffee.

The rest of the week had passed that way, with Eddie returning to work and Buck all but moving into the Diaz house. Their easy routine had gotten even easier, touchier; now full of soft smiles and slapped butts and stolen kisses.

And now, clocking out from his shift, Eddie was looking forward to an entire night alone with Buck, and two more days off together. And after that, Buck would be back on shift with him.

He zipped up his duffle bag and realized Hen and Chim were still staring at him.

“Oh,” he said, avoiding their knowing expressions. “Yeah—just, you know. To see Buck.”

“Ooooh, Buck,” said Chimney, dragging out his name like Eddie had a middle school crush on the guy.

“Big date planned?” Hen asked.

“Uh,” said Eddie. He didn’t really want to say going to bed and staying there to either of them. “Chris is at a sleepover, so we’ll just be hanging out,” he said. Totally normal.  

“Hanging out?” asked Chimney, raising an eyebrow. “Have you guys even been on an actual date yet?”

“Uh,” Eddie said again. Did driving through In-N-Out on the way to pick up Chris from his friend’s house count as a date?

“Buck 1.0 was a big fan of the grand gesture,” Chimney commented, elbowing Hen. “Remember that time he booked a hot air balloon ride for Abby?”

“I’d almost forgotten about that,” said Hen. “Or when he called in a favor from that guy, with the fancy restaurant that had the gas leak? For Valentine’s dinner?”

“Has he pulled any of that, yet?” Chim asked, looking back at Eddie, who was suddenly feeling self-conscious about their mutually agreed upon plans to order pizza and rent the latest John Wick and then maybe do hand stuff.

“No—I mean,” he said, feeling defensive. “I’m not really a hot air balloon kinda guy. I don’t think Buck is anymore, either. His memory is mostly back, anyway,” he added.

“Ah, well,” said Chim, shutting his locker and snapping the lock closed. Eddie made his way towards the door, itching to get home. “It was fun while it lasted, seeing Buck 1.0 again.”

“I still can’t believe that after years of maturing, it took Buck 1.0 to get you two together,” commented Hen.  

“So true,” said Chim. “You guys really messed up our bet, you know.”

“I’m not apologizing for that!” Eddie called as he backed out the locker room door through the truck bay.  

They were both so ridiculous. They were. They—they didn’t have a point, did they? Eddie hadn’t planned an official date for them, but that’s just because he and Buck were beyond that. They didn’t need to sit across from each other at an overpriced restaurant and ask each other about their siblings and their hobbies. They’d seen each other bleed, for god’s sake.

He didn’t spiral about it.

But he did turn it over in his brain on the drive home. Would Buck want him to plan something? Was he being a bad boyfriend? Was he taking Buck for granted, after only a week?

He’d never been good at this, with Shannon. In some ways, it had been easier to leave the country than to stay in their house, seeing all the little ways he failed her expectations. What if he did the same thing to Buck? What if he was already starting to compile small disappointments that would eventually add up and drive Buck away, and he wasn’t even realizing it?

By the time he’d pulled into his driveway, his non-spiral had turned into something closer to full-blown panic.

“I think we should go out,” he said, woodenly, as soon as he opened the door.

Buck was at the end of the hall, coming out of the bathroom in sweats and drying his hair off with a towel. Eddie tried to think of a romantic date night destination. Did people still go bowling?

“What?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie, still standing by the door. Bowling was probably not very romantic. Maybe a movie—a movie that he’d stay for, unlike Tommy. But it was barely a victory to outperform the man who’d left Buck standing on the sidewalk, mid-date. “We should—we should go out. Do something.”

“Was your shift okay?” asked Buck, approaching down the hallway. He looked so soft and cozy; Eddie could smell his body wash, the steam from the shower.

“Yeah,” said Eddie, again. “Gross, but okay.”

“Nothing weird happened?”

“No,” said Eddie, flipping his keys around in his hand. Buck was the one being weird. Eddie was super normal.

Buck finally came to a stop right in front of Eddie, and dropped the towel so it hung around his shoulders. “Okay, then, hi honey,” he said, half-teasing, half-sincere. “Welcome home,” he said, leaning in and kissing Eddie. After too short a time, he pulled back. “I missed you,” he said, barely a whisper, and then kissed him again.

Eddie felt some of the tension leave his body; or rather, not leave, but redirect—it gathered in his abdomen, pushing up his spine as he leaned into the kiss.

After a few minutes, Buck pulled back from where he’d ended up pressing Eddie up against the front door. Eddie blinked his eyes until he felt normal again, like he was coming out of a daze. He had to look away from Buck’s insanely blue eyes to try to recall what he’d been thinking about a minute before.

“I also missed the station, to be honest,” said Buck, and then he took Eddie by the forearm and started to pull him down the hallway. “I want to hear all about it. Come on, I’ve already got pizza and beer.”

Eddie resisted; he finally remembered what he’d been thinking about when he got home. Buck turned and gave him a confused look.

“I just—are you sure?” He tried again. “You don’t want to—to do something tonight?”

“I do,” said Buck, stepping back into his space. “I want to eat pizza. And watch Keanu Reeves kill two hundred bad guys. And then take you to bed. Is that what you want to do?”

“I—yeah,” said Eddie. Because even though he’d been spiraling, just a little, he wasn’t going to lie to his boyfriend. That plan was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Okay, so,” said Buck, cocking his head, like it would help him understand Eddie better. “What’s the problem?”

“I just—” he sighed, raking a hand through his drying hair. He was being stupid, wasn’t he? “Hen and Chim got in my head about how—how Buck 1.0 liked big romantic gestures, like the hot air balloon ride and the fancy restaurant for Valentine’s Day and I just—we haven’t even been on a real date, yet, so I didn’t want you to—”

Buck’s eyes were practically dancing with mirth by the time he finally took pity on him and interrupted him. “Eddie,” he said, rubbing his thumb over his forearm. “Are you joking?”

“No, I just—”

“Abby canceled the hot air balloon,” interrupted Buck. “Because something came up with her mom. And then I almost choked to death at the Valentine’s dinner.” He turned and started walking down the hallway, leaving Eddie gaping in his wake.

“You what!?”

“I’ve told you that story, haven’t I?” Buck called from the kitchen. Eddie hastened to follow. “She had to do an emergency tracheotomy with a kitchen knife,” he said, opening Eddie’s fridge to pull two beers out. He pulled the bottle opener magnet off the fridge and used it, handing one to Eddie and keeping the other for himself. “That the kind of big romantic gesture you were hoping for?”

“No, definitely not,” said Eddie, trying not to picture Buck, flat on the ground, while Abby cut his throat open.

Buck pulled two plates out of the cabinet and passed one to Eddie so they could dish up their pizza, and Eddie watched him moving confidently around the kitchen. He had been right all along: they didn’t need anything else. Sure, their date nights now looked very similar to every other time they’d hung out in the last six years—but that was just because they’d always enjoyed each other’s company.

Plus, now they also did hand stuff.

“What did you even choke on?” Eddie asked, pausing from where he was reaching for the chili flakes to eye the string of mozzarella that Buck was biting off his slice of extra-cheese pizza.

“Bread,” answered Buck, through a full mouth.

“Oh my god,” said Eddie, turning to him. “Bread?”

“Yeah,” said Buck, gulping down a swallow and looking at him, confused.

“Bread? You’re a terrible duckling,” said Eddie, grinning at him.

“Too late,” said Buck, grabbing his plate and both beers, and heading to the living room. “You already love me.”

And yeah, thought Eddie, grabbing his own plate and following Buck to the couch. He really did.