Chapter Text
When Buck gets the call, he’s bewildered. For a second after the woman speaks, all he can do is pull the phone away from his ear and stare at it in confusion. If it wasn’t for the fact that she addressed him by name, he’d be certain that she’d called the wrong number. After all, he’s not exactly famous, and he’s not sure that he’s looking to be.
Paris had been a whirlwind, the Paralympics speeding past him in as long as it took him to run a race. It feels like only yesterday that he’d been there, the eyes of the world on him for his brief time in the sun, gold medal in hand and filter completely gone.
It’s been a shock to the system, suddenly being thrown into the public sphere. At first it was fun, but Buck had grown tired of it quicker than the attention had faded, and he’s not sure that he wants to make a move that will keep his name in people’s mouths.
He asks for ten minutes to decide, his words coming out almost garbled for how they tumble out of his mouth. Any longer than ten minutes, and he knows that decision will be taken right from his grasp.
Immediately, as he does with any big decision, he calls Maddie.
“Is this your fault?” he asks. No hello, no how are you, nothing.
There’s silence on the other end of the line, until Maddie’s voice comes through. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”
“ Dancing With the Stars ? It can’t be a coincidence.” Buck starts to pace around the still unfamiliar floor of his loft, having only just moved in after crashing on Maddie’s couch when he’d returned. Aside from the pile of laundry building up, there’s nothing to mark it as his own space. It’s all clean lines, modern and light, with a wall of exposed brick that probably would have been cool ten years ago.
“What can’t be a coincidence?” She asks, still sounding genuinely confused. “That I got a job there?”
“No, that I just got the call to be on it,” he says. The mixed strains of anxiety and excitement bubble up in him, making him sound far more intense than he feels. It’s Maddie, though, so she’ll forgive his harshness of tone and blunt questioning easier than anyone else would.
She’s stunned into silence for a moment, before yelling “Oh my god,” loud enough through the phone that Buck has to move it away from his ear for a moment. He’s already down half a leg; he doesn’t want to lose his hearing, too. “ You got asked to do Dancing With the Stars?! ” He’s not sure that he likes the incredulous tone that she uses, but he laughs along with her. It is pretty ridiculous, after all.
“So this had nothing to do with you at all?”
“Buck, I technically haven’t even started yet, and they don’t know that we’re related. What a wild coincidence. Did you say yes?”
“Not yet,” Buck says. “I’m worried that if I do, I’ll regret it forever.” When he looks at his empty walls, though, he wonders what there is left to regret. His whole life had peaked, then crashed and burned around him at the same time. With his future so uncertain, why not take this opportunity by the horns?
LA is a wasteland for him, but for some reason it’s the place that he’s ended up calling home. He’s never fully settled, and everyone he knows is either a competitor or his coaching team, which he’s not currently on speaking terms with. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but he’s lonely. The media attention at least creates the illusion that people like him, even if they really just like the shirtless pictures he posts on Instagram.
Maddie had followed him out here last year, and he had feared that they would be strangers to each other after the long stretch of time and traumas that had kept them apart. He needn’t have worried, as they fallen easily back into old habits. When she’d told him about her new job, he’d been as proud as a brother could be, but he knows that they’ll barely be seeing each other for the next few months as she gets lost in the show. This way, they could still see each other. He won’t lose his only friend in LA.
“That depends on what you want from it,” she says, sensible as always. “You’ve got a wave of interest in you right now, it might be sensible to ride it.”
“The pay’s not bad either,” he concedes. While he’s built up his savings from his winnings, there haven’t been a huge amount of other opportunities coming his way. With a lot of decisions to make about what he does next, this would at least be a good way to stall and make enough money to afford living in this impractical apartment.
“Say yes,” Maddie says, as though it’s really that easy. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
He thanks her for the advice before hanging up, calling the producer back just before his time runs out. “I’ll do it,” he says, with a confidence that leaves him as soon as the call ends.
Stomach sinking with instant regret, he walks over to the windows, overlooking the city. This is why he’d chosen to live here, he remembers. The sun streaming in, setting the life around him aglow, even painting the traffic in an idealistic light. Maybe this will be a good thing - his chance to be a part of the world again.
***
What it takes Buck far too long to realise in the hours after he agrees to be on the show, is that he’s never actually seen a single episode. Is he aware of the broader concepts? Of course. He’s seen plenty of random snippets of the show, caught at odd moments. Sitting down and watching even a full episode, let alone a full season, is something that he’s never had the time or inclination to do.
The only significant amount of downtime he’s had in his life, he’d been recovering from a life-changing accident. Sixteen years old, trapped in the spiral of misery and toxic masculinity that he’d been at that age even before he’d lost his leg, the last thing he wanted to do was watch beautiful people flaunting the fact that they had two functioning legs. That, and it was a show for girls , and if the few friends he had left after the accident thought he’d watched it, they’d tease him for being disabled and gay.
Now, he’s disabled and bisexual, and he has no friends to bully him about either of these qualities, so when Maddie turns up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of white wine and an impish grin, he has no reason to say no when she suggests they watch the last season. It is eye-opening, to say the least.
“What the hell have I just signed up for?” he asks, and Maddie laughs at his look of wide-eyed horror. “I’m a terrible dancer.”
“That’s the point of the show, Buck. You’ll learn.”
“Will I? Because these people are really good, and it’s only the first week,” he says, watching as a woman spins effortlessly, before performing a sequence of steps that he can’t even comprehend. “Like, what even is that?”
“It’s a cha cha. Were you not paying attention?” Maddie’s smile is a little smug.
“You’re enjoying this far too much, and we haven’t even started yet.”
“You’re worrying too much! Every year there’s someone who’s maybe not such a natural dancer, but who gets through on personality. Just bring that Buckley charm, and America will be fawning all over you.”
As the episodes pass, he finds himself drawn into the storylines of the celebrities. There’s an older woman, who he vaguely recognises from a talk show, who’s trying to regain her sense of self now that her kids have left for college. There’s a football player, relishing in showing his more vulnerable side through the medium of dance, processing the grief of recently losing his father.
He wonders what storyline they’ll want for him, and shivers at the thought.
There’s one couple in particular that catches his attention.
“What’s going on with these two?” he asks, pointing at the couple on screen. There are so many people, it’s easy to lose track of their names, but the voting information helpfully pops up. Eddie and Ana.
They’re both stunningly beautiful, of course. For this dance, Ana is wearing a blue gown that moves so fluidly as she spins that he nearly gasps. It’s the man that he can’t look away from, though. There’s something inscrutable in those deep brown eyes that draws Buck in. When their dance ends, they stand there, staring into each other’s eyes like they’re the only two people in the world, until the host breaks the moment with a joke.
Maddie turns to him, a little bit tipsy and very excited to share the gossip. “A couple of months before this season started, Eddie got divorced from one of the other pros on the show, who then went off the grid. Then he gets paired with Ana, and this beautiful love story develops between them. They come second, then neither of them even speak to each other again. Classic showmance, but there’s a lot of people who fell for it hard and are very intense about them getting back together.”
“Why do you know this much about the lives of the professional dancers on this show?”
“I don’t know… I guess it was an escape for me, especially last year. It’s so easy to fall in love with these people, because they’re showing you their best and most vulnerable selves. I wanted to believe that love could still happen, even on your second chance, and for a couple of months, I really did.” Maddie turns contemplative, swirling her nearly empty wine glass and watching the liquid as it moves in lazy circles. “That’s part of why I wanted to work on the show so much.”
“To produce showmances?” Buck quips, and yelps when Maddie kicks him.
“No, to produce escapism . I want to make something that helps people, makes them feel good.”
“A very noble pursuit. Not sure reality TV is the avenue to do that, but,” he shrugs. “No, you’ll be great. Who do you think I’ll get partnered with?”
She turns back to the TV, scanning the different pros. “Whichever woman is the tallest,” she says, bluntly.
Buck fidgets with a cushion, drawing it in front of him. He pulls the zipper open and shut as he looks at the dancers, and contemplates his options. They all seem nice, but that’s the keyword, isn’t it? They seem , because this is a TV show at the end of the day, and as much as they pretend that this is an authentic representation of these people, there’s no way of knowing. These dancers are athletes as much as they are teachers, and Buck knows how intense athletes can be all too well. They might act like house cats on TV, but at the heart of each of these professionals is a tiger lurking in the trees, waiting for a moment of weakness.
“Has there ever been a same sex couple on the show?” Buck asks.
It's not that he's shy about his bisexuality, and it's not as if Maddie doesn't know. After all, she's been here for the fallout of his breakup with Tommy. She's here now, still dealing with the breakup and its consequences.
Maddie barely reacts. “Yeah, Jojo Siwa danced with a woman a couple of years ago, and there was a drag queen, too.” She tilts her head, taking in his expression. “Are you thinking about it?”
The path of least resistance is to let himself be partnered with a woman. The more of the show he watches, the more he sees how even the better male celebrities spend most of their time being danced around rather than dancing themselves. They’ll choose someone hot and single and wait for nature to take its course.
He’s not opposed to the idea of meeting someone through the show, but he’s not doing this to look for a rebound. He just wants to have some fun, and maybe learn a new skill or make some friends along the way. It seems stupid to him to close himself off to half of the dancers on the show.
“I might just tell them I’m okay with either,” he says.
A new episode has started, and Eddie and Ana are on the screen again. He watches them as they spin around together in perfect harmony, one organism moving with two bodies. There’s no world, no parallel universe, where he will ever be capable of that level of beauty and grace, but there’s a growing kernel of anticipation buried beneath the constant dread at the idea that he’ll at least have the chance to learn.
“I don't think they'll actually pair me with a guy, anyway,” he adds. “But I don't want to close myself off to an experience, y'know?”
“How will the moms of America be able to thirst over you if you're with a man,” Maddie says, sarcasm embedded in every word. “God, your head is going to get so big after being on this show.”
For most of his life, Buck has avoided social media. In the build-up to Paris, however, Tommy had encouraged him to start posting more, building a name for himself. There’s been a stark change in his followers already, and he can’t deny that enjoys the thirsting in his comment section, even on entirely innocent pictures of him being a tourist around the city after his races were over. He can’t imagine how much more intense it will be, reaching a whole new level of exposure.
He hasn’t posted anything since returning. He hasn’t even taken his medals out, the three of them sitting somewhere in a box that he hasn’t unpacked. The feeling of victory had been so immediately tarnished by the memory of all that he’d lost, to the point that even running had lost its joy. The last couple of weeks, he’s just been sitting on the couch, letting himself rot.
This is his chance to free himself from this rut before it destroys him. All he wants is to have some fun along the way.
***
Eddie Diaz had headed straight to the punching bag the moment he had walked into the gym.
It’s not long now until rehearsals for the show start again, so really he should be reminding himself how to dance. Instead, he’s focused on a different rhythm: the thudding, repetitive beat of his fists as they hit the bag, retract, hit it again. It’s hypnotising, and he loses himself to it far easier than he does to music these days.
Maybe that’s why he keeps finding himself here, instead of in the training rooms or rehearsal spaces that he’s so used to. All he’s wanted for the last year is to escape his own head, escape the divorce, escape the gossip, escape the fact that Shannon had gone again. Now, she’s returned, and he wants to escape that, too. Just as he adjusts to one reality, it all shifts again.
So he works out until his arms are sore, muscles burning from being used so well. It’s a feeling that he’s always enjoyed, the evidence of his hard work deep in the tissue of his body.
In the locker room, he glances around furtively for eyes that pay him a little too much attention, but nobody seems to care. They rarely do, here - it’s part of why he’d chosen this gym in the first place - but old habits die hard. If anything, he feels stupid for his paranoia, existing as he does in the space between famous and not-famous.
Before last year, it had never been a concern at all, but his popularity had exploded and blown back up into his face as it felt as though the whole world suddenly had far too many opinions about his love life. Since he and Ana had broken up, none of those opinions were very kind to him at all.
The temptation to quit the show, or pray that his contract wouldn’t even be brought up for renewal, had been strong. He could move to a different state again, bring Christopher with him and live off the grid. Throw his phone into the ocean and grow a mustache and be a different man.
He’s tried to keep his distance from the show since the last season had finished. Christopher is always his priority, and even though they had both had to adjust to life without Shannon in it, they had pulled each other through. At least she had stayed in contact this time, Christopher beaming every time he got to video call her.
The numbers in his bank account were dwindling, however, and a job is a job, no matter how much the audience who watch you do that job think you’re an asshole. When the producers had called him up, he couldn’t say no. He can’t imagine that he’ll be blessed with a decent enough partner to make it more than a couple of weeks in, though. Can’t imagine that he’ll be a good enough teacher after barely dancing since the final. To be a good teacher, you have to care, and Eddie isn’t sure that he’s able to put in a convincing enough performance of giving a shit.
He used to care. He used to love teaching, sharing the joy of dance. It’s just all so hollow. Like Dorothy, he’s peeked behind the curtain and seen the wizard for who he truly is, disillusionment clouding his joy.
Luckily for him, enjoyment is not required. He’ll just pretend for as long as he can, and hope he earns enough to tide him over for the next six months.
As he checks his phone on his way out of the door, he blanches when he sees the time. He was meant to pick Christopher up half an hour ago. He skim reads the message Shannon has left him, nearly dropping his phone in his haste to call her as he also tries to drive out of the gym’s parking lot.
“I’m so sorry,” he rushes out as soon as he hears her start to say hi. “I lost track of time at the gym, I’ll be there soon.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. How many times has he heard those words from her, tinged with disappointment, as though he’s not even worth being angry at any more? This time, the sentiment seems genuine. A reminded of the Shannon he knew long ago, before they ruined almost every good thing they had together. “More time for me to hang out with my favourite guy.”
In the background, he hears the unmistakable sound of Christopher’s laughter, and a smile breaks out onto his face without him even realising it.
It’s the first weekend that Shannon has had Christopher, and Eddie deflates with relief at the knowledge that Christopher is okay. Not that he doesn’t trust her with him, but after a year of it just being the two of them, it’s hard to let go of that. He’s been a nervous wreck, barely eating or sleeping, taking all of his frantic energy out with his fists.
He drives as fast as one can in LA, and he arrives at the address Shannon had sent him with remarkable speed. It’s a house, not too dissimilar from Eddie’s own, in a nice neighbourhood. A cosy little bungalow, one of the windows lined with herbs, and two faces peering out at him.
Christopher lights up as Eddie steps out of his car, his face vanishing until, moments later, the door is pulled open. They run towards each other, wrapping their arms around each other, Christopher giggling as Eddie picks him up and spins him around.
“Hey kid, I missed you,” Eddie says. It’s silly, it’s only been two days, but it’s felt like forever.
“I missed you, too.”
From the doorway, Shannon watches them from a polite distance, a wistful look in her eye. LA was supposed to have been their second chance, but it had only led to the last thing that he had expected: divorce.
It was for the best, and he knows that now, but every time they’d been apart, there had always been a kernel of hope that next time, they would finally get it right.
“I really am sorry,” he says, hating that she might think he’s an incompetent dad, that Chris might be better off with her than him if he’s going to be like this, though she doesn’t appear bothered by his lateness at all. If anything, it’s the most relaxed he’s seen her in years. “Time just got away from me.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do today than sit around and pray they don’t pair me with the creepy old man they just announced.”
“You’ll get someone good,” he says. “You deserve it.” Out of the two of them, Shannon has always been the better dancer. The creative driving force between them as a partnership, back in their glory days of youth championships.
“We’ll see,” she says, unconvinced. “We’ll all see, next week.”
He grimaces at the thought. On his phone sits the professional dancers groupchat, unopened, with an impossible number of messages. Casting announcements have been trickling in, though Eddie has tried to avoid all knowledge of it. Better to go in completely blind than to build himself up and set the trap for complete and utter disappointment.
“Don’t look so excited,” she teases. “Alright, I’ll see you next week, and I’ll see you ” - she leans down to Christopher - “in a couple of days, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom,” he says, his voice quiet. Eddie can’t imagine how challenging the last few years have been for him. Maybe his parents had been right when they’d told Eddie he’d only drag Chris down with him, but then he looks at Christopher’s little face, and he can’t imagine being apart from him. Is it selfish? Possibly. But Chris is the only light in his life right now.
On the drive home, Chris talks about his weekend with Shannon, and Eddie can’t help but smile at his son’s easy joy. Despite everything, he’s always smiling, even if the dark clouds of teenagerdom have started to loom, even at eleven.
It’s a relief to be home, and to have his home as it should be again, with Christopher in it. Together, they whip up an easy dinner in the kitchen, and watch a movie. It’s a good distraction, but already Eddie’s thoughts are starting to be preoccupied with the show, and all of the logistical concerns that will follow.
Childcare is a challenge. His previous babysitter had moved to a different state, and had simply been ignoring finding a replacement. There’d been no need for months. His abuela and Pepa had offered to help, claiming that it’s no trouble but he can’t help the guilt that threatens to swallow him at having to lean on them so much. How long has he been in LA, and he still isn’t settled? He should be able to look after his own child. He should know how to plan better around the months he loses each year to a show he’s starting to resent.
The closer he gets to their first day, the more the dread starts to spread its wicked roots within him. The last thing he wants right now is to spent hours in a room with a stranger, having to be their teacher and their coach and their therapist all in one, until getting mercifully eliminated. He can’t even carry himself right now, let alone anyone else.
Sending a swift prayer, more from force of habit than any actual belief, he hopes that he’ll just get a nice older woman who the audience don’t connect to. Just let him avoid a fucking storyline this year. It’s not worth the trouble.
***
Eddie doesn’t sleep the night before the first day back. All night, he has visions of a room full of professional dancers who, at best, think he’s okay and at worst blame him for Shannon leaving the state and the show for a year. A room full of people who can only tangentially be called celebrities, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, unsure of what they’ve signed up for. A room full of producers, circling like a hawk waiting to catch sight of its prey, looking for potential partnerships and plotlines for the season.
It’s the same dread that had always haunted him on the first day at school after the holidays, seeing people he hasn’t seen in months, all of them hoping that this will be the best year of their lives, before swiftly realising that it’s still just the same shit as the year before.
He drops Christopher off at school, kissing him on the forehead as he wishes him a good day, Christopher squirming away and leaving as quickly as he can. He reminds Pepa what time Christopher needs picking up, and though her reply is swift and sweet, he knows he needs to resolve this childcare situation before the season starts, and he and Shannon are washed off of their feet. Time just keeps passing him by faster than he can catch it.
By the time he arrives at the studio, he’s running ten minutes late and is considering turning around and not showing up at all. It’s an inauspicious start, to say the least.
He doesn’t seem to be the only one who’s late, though. Nearby, a jeep pulls up, having turned in at a speed that’s probably illegal, and a man and a woman hop out of the car as soon as it stops. He doesn’t recognise either of them, though that doesn’t mean they can’t be celebrities. It’s usually at least a little more organised than this, however. There’s a process to these things that these people are clearly not following.
Quietly, he steps out of the truck, trying to seem inconspicuous as he watches the pair try and figure out the way into the building. For a moment, he contemplates whether they’re supposed to be here at all - it’s not unusual for paparazzi to camp nearby and spoil the cast, but the fact that the woman keeps yelling at the guy for making them late forces him to reconsider.
He tries to sneak his way into the building, hoping that he’ll be able to hide at the back of the production meeting and pretend that he’s been there since it started. He hears the sound of feet hitting the ground growing closer and closer, but he simply ignores it until the situation forces his hand, his heart hitting his stomach as his simple hopes fade away.
“Hey, uh, do you know how to get into this place? My sister’s a new PA, it’s her first day,” a voice pipes up behind him.
Eddie’s spine straightens, and he turns around, trying to find that smile he uses for the show. The one that has never quite reached his eyes. “Sure, she can just follow me.”
The man seems stunned for a second, though he shakes himself out of it when his sister finally appears behind him. “Oh my god, Eddie Diaz,” she says.
Eddie’s smile tightens, but neither of them seem to pick up on his tension. “Nice to meet you,” he says, reaching a hand out in greeting. He leaves an open space, inviting her to introduce herself back.
“Maddie. Maddie Kendall.” She’s a beautiful woman, with big brown eyes that Eddie thinks could pierce right into the murky depths of his soul if he were to look at them for long enough.
“Follow me,” he says, waving her in. He pauses when the brother tries to follow, too. “Your brother can’t come in. Today is top secret.”
Maddie and the brother share a laugh, and he looks at Eddie a little bashfully when he says, “I, uh, I’m on the show, too.”
Eddie wants to keep arguing, but he can feel time slipping by and his stress headache getting worse with each moment, so he just shrugs. “If you guys are journalists or paparazzi, we never met and I never let you in.”
“Scout’s honour we are here with good and pure intentions,” the brother says.
It takes a minute, the siblings bickering the whole time, but he doesn’t pay attention to anything they actually say. It’s nice, though. Makes him miss his own sisters. He hasn’t seen them in months, maybe over a year now.
Josh is pacing just outside the door to the production meeting, his dark hair in stark contrast to how red his face gets when he sees their merry band making their way up the hall. Eddie braces himself for the telling off of a lifetime, but Josh brushes right past him, angrily taking his phone out and shoving it in the brother’s face.
“I’ve tried calling you like 50 times, where the hell have you been Buckley?”
The brother - Buckley? - takes his own phone out, looking at the screen in bewildered confusion. “I had it on silent, sorry.”
Josh looks aghast. “You’re not even supposed to come in this way. How did you get here?” He blinks as he registers the other two people in the room. “Eddie?”
“Josh,” Eddie greets back, deadpan.
“Ugh, just go inside. We’re still waiting on Chimney, anyway.”
Eddie lingers with his hand on the door, enjoying the experience of seeing Josh’s ire directed at anyone other than himself. He scurries in when Josh turns his look of irritation his way, not wanting to piss anyone in production off at the start of season where he’s fairly sure he’ll be left out to dry regardless.
He catches the tail end of a beleaguered Josh hurrying this Buckley somewhere else. It’s the first day for a lot of them, so maybe he’s another new PA or camera crew. Oh, well. Odds are he’ll never see the guy again if Josh is that pissed at him on day one.
In the room, he’s barely given a second glance.
“Nice of you to join us,” Bobby teases, as Eddie sidles over to him. If anyone had told Eddie when he’d agreed to join the show that one day, he’d be friends with the Bobby Nash, he would have laughed in their face. The man is a living legend, and now Eddie gets invited to his family barbecues, and shoots the shit with him at the back of the class.
He can be cynical about the show, sure, but he can’t forget the good things it’s given him.
At last Chimney arrives, and Sue is finally able to start the meeting. Eddie tunes out as she talks - at this point, what is there for him to learn? Soon enough, the dancers are left to their own devices as they wait for the celebrities to be ready. The three of them - Eddie, Bobby and Chimney - cluster together for their usual game of guessing the most outlandish celebrities they could cast.
“I heard they got Cher this year,” Bobby deadpans.
“Finally, someone older than you on the show,” Chimney jokes back.
The producers all nod to each other, and finally the door on the other side of the room opens. In pours a stream of ridiculously beautiful people - none of whom he recognises - and for some reason, the guy he had let into the building.
He squints as he watches him, waiting for Josh to hurry in after him and tell him that he’s in the wrong room, but nobody stops him. Huh. Guess he must not be a cameraman after all.
***
Buck has a smile glued to his face, but his pulse is thumping so strong that he can swear he feels it throughout his whole body, all the way down to the toes of his prosthetic leg.
Being chewed out by a neurotic member of production who, it turns out, is also Maddie’s boss, after running late is not how he wanted to start this whole journey.
The noise in his head and body is so loud that he can barely comprehend the little speech one of the producers is giving to them all. Something about this being a journey of transformation and vulnerability, blah blah blah. A chance for them to show America their true selves, and learn something new about themselves in the process.
The feeling transforms into an itch that his fingers twitch with the urge to scratch. He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to look casual instead of like a man on the edge of insanity. There’s nothing that he can do to make the sensation disappear, as the itch turns into a few seconds of unbearably sharp pain. Some of his competitors swear that they haven’t felt phantom pains in years, and Buck has never envied other people more.
At least it’s a distraction from his own nerves.
He’d been late enough that he had barely had a chance to mingle with his fellow celebrities, though he’s unfamiliar with the majority of them, anyway. Years of training doesn’t leave a huge amount of time to catch up on the ins and outs of pop culture.
The only people he does recognise are Taylor Kelly - a reporter he’d met years ago and had an ill-advised situationship with that he sincerely hopes she has forgotten, though from her catlike smile, she definitely does - and Dr. Karen Wilson, who has made some of his favourite documentaries.
When the speech is over, they’re expected to mingle, so Buck makes a beeline for her. “Dr. Wilson,” he starts, “I’m star-struck.”
She sputters out a laugh, and he grins at her back. “You know, I think that’s the first time anyone’s made that joke with me. Mostly because nobody knows who I am.” She shuffles her feet awkwardly.
“Nobody knows who I am, either,” he jokes. “We can be nobodies together. I meant it though - your documentary on the possibility of life on other planets is one of my favourites. And the special you did on the Mars Rover? I cried so much that my boy- ex- boyfriend thought one of my parents had died.” It’s a mistake to mention Tommy, and an even bigger mistake to mention his parents, but he’s trying not to let thoughts of them bring him down.
“You are just adorable. What do you do?” She squints at him, like she’s trying to place him from somewhere, but can’t quite figure it out. He doesn’t take offense at all - after all, there are actual Olympians in the room. In the grand scheme of athletes, he’s a flash in the pan. A feel-good story for the morning news of a completely unexpected triumph that, after the next few months, would be completely forgotten.
“I’m Buck,” he says. “Won a couple of medals in the Paralympics and went viral for like a day, which apparently makes me interesting enough to be worthy of being in the same room as, like, actual famous people.”
“One of those famous people is a Mormon wife famous for a bigamy scandal, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“ The Doctor Karen Wilson watches the Secret Lives of Mormon Wives? Wow, I guess it’s true what they say. Never meet your heroes,” he jokes dramatically, pretending to walk away. The only reason he knows about the show is because of an ill-advised binge watch last week, hoping that their drama will take away from his own.
“Oh please, like you’re any better.”
“You know, I’d never even watched this show until after my sister convinced me to agree to be on it,” he confesses.
Karen’s mouth drops open at that, and the couple of dancers who were chatting with some of the more desirable contestants nearby turn their attention to the odd couple he and Karen make. As he looks around the room, he realises that they’re the only ones who nobody has come to talk to yet, and he tries not to feel the sting of rejection.
“You’ve never seen the show?” An Asian man says - Buck thinks this might be the dancer with the strange name - Chimney? He feels Karen freeze up next to him, her hand curling around his arm tighter than a blood pressure cuff.
“Well, I’ve seen most of the last season now, but before that, nope.” He gestures a little too big, and accidentally knocks his hand into someone behind him, spilling water over their worn t-shirt. “Oh, shit, I’m so fucking sorry.”
And… of course it’s Eddie Diaz. He seems cursed to only make a fool of himself in front of this man.
Chimney watches them with mischief in his eyes. “I think this is a record for getting you shirtless in a season, Eddie.”
“Why do you only love me for my body, Chimney,” Eddie deadpans back, before turning his eyes to Buck. Buck’s heart stops in his chest - he’d managed to avoid making eye contact with the guy before, but now he finds himself falling into warm, brown eyes. He forces himself to blink, afraid that Eddie will think he’s a creep. “Don’t worry about it, Buckley.”
“How do you know my name?” he asks, bewildered. There was no way he’d recognised him beforehand. If anything, he might still think that Buck is just a lost intern with delusions of grandeur.
“I heard Josh yelling at you earlier,” he admits. “I didn’t introduce myself to you before. I’m Eddie.”
Buck’s hand is encompassed in warmth, Eddie’s hand far bigger than Buck had expected. As they shake hands, Buck is transported from this room of strangers to somewhere safe, the harsh light and overwhelming hum of background noise vanishing into silence. Even the pain in his leg starts to fade. “Buck Buckely,” Buck says, stupidly.
“Buck Buckley?” Eddie quirks a brow at him, and Buck doesn’t even mind that the words are laced with mockery as they come out of his mouth. “Are your parents sadists or something?”
“Oh, no. My name is Evan, but I prefer Buck.”
When Eddie pulls his hand away, the world jolts back into being. He winces as it cascades over him, a sudden barrage to his senses. Behind him, Karen recovers her courage enough to share an inscrutable look with Chimney that Buck chooses to pretend he doesn’t see.
The four of them end up hanging around each other for long enough that a producer walks over to them and gently reminds them that this is a mingling event, and that they’re all here to meet everyone, but as much as Buck genuinely tries with everyone he meets, he keeps finding himself drifting back to that bubble of safety.
Despite all of them in this room being thrown into the deep end together, there’s a sheen of forced happiness that is eerie, as though everyone is wearing a mask and Buck cannot decipher what lies beneath. It feels less like a meet and greet than shark infested waters, and he’s grateful for the calm pool that Karen, Chimney and Eddie offer.
One of the dancers he talks to leans in eagerly as he talks, laughing abrasively at whatever he says, even when it’s not a joke. As he mentions being a Paralympian, her eyes grow even more intense, and he shies away. It’s like he can see the thoughts swirling in her head about how she can use his story to her advantage, milking his disability for all that it’s worth.
The others are nice, though there’s a competitive edge to most of them that he’s used to from races that he’s simply not interested in here. He didn’t say yes to this show to win. He’s only here because he’s lonely.
From what he’s seen of the show, he should be partnered with someone that he can boldly proclaim he will be friends with for life. A deep bond forged through hard work. He wants to be in a safe pair of hands.
He hits a lull, but when he looks around the room, his newly made friends are all deep in conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, he shuffles over to the nearest corner. As much as he craves the company of others, his tank had been half empty before he’d even walked through the door. Now, his energy is dwindling.
The room is too hot, the producers’ gazes are far too intense, and the conversations start to merge with the static of the lights into a singular, unbearable sound that hits him like a crowbar.
Is he allowed to just… leave? The door is within sight, carefully guarded by a watchful Josh. Buck doesn't think he's enough on Josh's good side to ask for a moment of peace and quiet, and to be honest, he's a little scared to ask. He's already failing at having chemistry with anyone; he doesn't want to fail at just standing alone in a room.
“You okay there, kid?” An older man approaches him. Unlike the rest of the dancers, he's dressed more formally. A button down and jeans rather than the near omnipresent athleisure wear.
He knows this man. He knew this man before Maddie showed him a single episode of the show. “Bobby Nash?!” Buck asks in complete surprise.
Ever since Buck had settled in LA, he'd been watching Bobby's cooking videos. They were charmingly poorly filmed and edited, but the recipes, and Bobby's charming demeanor, had been a consistently positive force in Buck's life. He's certain that at least some of the reason Tommy stayed with him so long is because of the skills he's learned from this man.
Finding out he's also a professional ballroom and Latin dancer had been quite the shock.
Bobby laughs politely, with not a hint of arrogance. “That sure is me. Congratulations for the summer, by the way. My wife and I were glued to the Paralympics, and you were definitely one of the highlights.”
“Uh, thanks,” Buck says, ducking his head to try and hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. “I can't believe you even know who I am - I've been watching your videos for years now.”
“You know what, you might be the first person who's ever recognized me for my cooking and not for this,” Bobby says.
“What's the secret ingredient in the Chilli? I've tried everything, but it never tastes right.” It's a question that's been haunting Buck for over a year.
“If you make it to week three, I'll tell you,” he says, winking.
Buck sticks his pinkie out, grabbing Bobby's hand and forcing him into a pinkie promise. “I'll hold you to that.”
Bobby watches with a kind bewilderment, but it’s only once Buck has let go that he realises how overzealous he’s been. It’s this exact energy that had led to the sudden media attention - his impulsiveness always driving him to act before he thinks. Most famously, a toddler had somehow made its way onto the track after his gold medal-winning sprint, screaming with laughter as she evaded security. Buck had run off mid-interview, scooping her up easily, playing games with her until her mother came to collect her. He’d carried on doing the interview after as though nothing had happened, and returned to his room to find a stream of tweets thirsting after him.
Focusing on Bobby and the calm aura that radiates from him helps Buck to filter out some of the sights and sounds that pulse in his brain. He taps his fingers against his thumb, the patterns and pressure of the touches soothing him even further.
“You're like a capybara,” he blurts out.
“Is that a good thing?” Bobby asks, a little confused. “I can never keep up with you young people. My step-son keeps talking about something called rizz and I still don't understand it.”
“It's not a young person thing. You just have a very calming energy.” He takes his phone out, searching for capybara videos to demonstrate, but they're soon interrupted by one of the producers, Sue, walking into the middle of the room and telling them they're about to start something called a chemistry circle.
He looks to Bobby with panic, but Bobby just chuckles and puts a hand on his shoulder, steering him into the middle of the room. “You'll be fine.”
“We'll be doing it a little bit differently this year. Normally, we split everyone up into gendered groups. This year, all of the celebrities will have the chance to dance with all of the pros. To our celebrities here, think of it a little like speed dating. We play some music, you dance for a couple of minutes, you move on to the next person. The most important thing that you really need to do here is just be yourselves. We will do the rest.” Sue's voice is gentle, but domineering. Everyone in the room listens, taking her words as gospel, even if there are some titters and awkward laughs at the concept.
The name is rather misleading. Instead of a circle, each of the professionals is stationed at their own spot, with enough room between for the producers to walk around and observe each of the potential partnerships.
After this, Buck reminds himself, it’s done. He can go home and throw himself on his couch, putting on a documentary, ignoring the world.
He grits his teeth, forcing himself to be positive. He loves meeting new people. He is having fun. He’s excited about learning how to dance. Yes, he’s overstimulated, and it’ll only get worse with the addition of music, but he’ll survive this. He’s survived far worse.
***
If Eddie could ditch one singular aspect of the Dancing With the Star s experience, it would be these fucking meet and greets.
Objectively, he understands how important they are. In the past, he’s enjoyed the experience, throwing himself in with a genuine excitement and openness to meeting new people. He had played the game, throwing his hat in the ring for potential contenders, looking for any opportunity to prove himself.
Last year, he’d lucked out with Ana. This year, he doesn’t see the point in trying.
Even the intriguing notion of them opening up the field to everyone doesn’t excite him. As much as he’s excited about there being same-sex partnerships on the show, he doesn’t stand a chance of being given one, and he doesn’t know what he would do on the off-chance that he is.
So, he goes through the motions, both literally and figuratively, dancing with a revolving door of people whose names he forgets the second they move on. It all just feels grey: making the same steps on and over, repeating the same mind-numbing conversations, seeing the same nervous smiles and jokes.
Then, he looks up and finds familiar blue eyes, that unmistakable birthmark framing one of them. Already, he feels a little bit lighter, the blue bleeding a hint of colour into the grey.
“We meet again,” Buck says as he makes a cautious approach. Despite having danced with more people that he can count on both hands, Buck still appears nervous beneath his bravado, a frightened deer staring down the car that’s about to hit it, daring it to try.
“And we’ll keep meeting - we’re on the same TV show, remember?” Eddie holds his hands out to take Buck’s again, to work his way through a couple of easy cha cha steps. It’s the same as they’ve all been doing - a simple shuffle and back and forth - but Buck seems to struggle even with that.
“Shit, sorry,” Buck says, staring at his own feet as though if he looks hard enough, he’ll be able to psychically imprint the steps into his mind. “I really am trying, I just-”
Eddie stops, and Buck glances up at him in surprise. He can feel Buck’s pulse rabbiting even from the loose grip on his wrist, and the genuine panic in his eyes. “You’re freaking out,” Eddie says, voice calm and even. “I get it. But it’s okay. It’s your first time dancing. You’re allowed to step on my toes a little.”
Eddie inhales, loud enough that Buck can hear, and Buck follows suit, both of them exhaling out slowly together. “You’re in your head about it, so until we swap partners, you’re not allowed to look at the floor. Just look at me.”
Buck swallows, nodding his head, and forces himself to meet Eddie’s eyes. They’re full of concentration, and an attempt at trust, which Eddie is grateful for. That’s always the hardest thing about teaching someone new to dance - you’re really teaching them how to trust in a stranger. That they’ll lead, or that they’ll follow. That they’ll catch you, even as you feel the floor hungrily waiting for you to hit it.
He tunes out the music, counting a slower beat just loud enough that they can both hear it, but not so loud that it escapes the privacy of the bubble they’re in. After a step, Buck glances down again. “Ah-ah,” Eddie says. “Look at me, remember. Don’t worry about what you’re doing, just follow me.”
Slowly, broadly, he telegraphs each step, putting pressure on Buck’s hand or moving his foot into place so that Buck can pick up on his cues and start to follow.
It’s not perfect, and it’s definitely not what anyone would call good dancing, but they make it through a minute with Buck only looking down a couple more times. Aside from that, no more feet are stepped on, and he can see with each correct step Buck makes, slowly falling into the rhythm Eddie sets, how much some of the anxiety sloughs off of him. “There you go,” he says gently.
“What’s my reward?” Buck asks, a somewhat cheeky glint in his eye starting to replace the panic, though it’s still there in the way he’ll look a little frantically around the room, unused to being so thoroughly observed.
“Your reward, huh?” Eddie asks back, raising an eyebrow at him. “By my count, you still looked down at least four more times after I told you not to.”
He tries to keep his tone light and soft, but Buck still deflates a little, although the half-smile remains stubbornly on his face as though he can’t help it. “I’ll do better next time.”
Eddie doesn’t say that there won’t be a next time. That this is his fourth year on the show, and he’s watched it for far longer than that, and there’s no way in hell they’ll get paired together. Instead, he keeps his grip on one of Buck’s hands, moving the other to his waist and leads him into a spin before dipping him down. For the short time they’ll have together, he may as well let himself have some fun.
Buck blinks up at him in surprise, before breaking out into warm, easy laughter that Eddie can’t help but meet. He helps Buck back upright, making sure he’s steady on his feet, before letting go, slapping him on the shoulder in a very manly, heterosexual way. “That’s your reward,” he says.
When it’s time for them to swap partners, he catches Buck looking back. They share a smile, and then it’s back to the grind of it all. Despite this, he keeps an eye out for Buck, pleased to see the ease with which he moves with the other dancers, even if there’s something darker that lingers beneath.
In his mind, he is being incredibly subtle, but the look Karen gives him as he drags his gaze away from Buck tells a very different story. “Am I invisible?” she jokes, but there’s a tinge of genuine fear in the words.
“You’re a natural,” he says, over-egging it. “You’re so good I barely need to do anything at all. Where’d you learn to dance like this?”
“My wife and I used to do salsa lessons together,” she says, turning wistful. He can’t deny that it’s been easier to return to his self after dancing with Buck. Genuinely engaging instead of just letting the time go by and forgetting names and professions and personalities.
“Used to?” he pries.
“She’s a hotshot doctor, I’m busy between research and presenting, we have two kids, you know how it is.” She just shrugs, as though it's inevitable that this fate awaits all couples no matter how in love they are. “This way, I can teach her everything I learn at home. Recapture some of that magic, you know? That, and to prove to myself that I can step out of my comfort zone a little more.”
“Well, whoever you get partnered with is a lucky dancer, that’s for sure.”
“I have begged for Chimney. No offense, but he’s been my favourite for years.” It’s delightful seeing how excited she is, especially over Chimney. Sometimes, Eddie resents how little attention the man gets because he’s short, or Asian, or older, when he’s still one of the best dancers on the show, and easily one of the best teachers. He’s never had a partner he didn’t get on with, or brought the best out of, even if their best isn’t quite up to the standard of the other contestants.
“I hope the partnership gods are listening,” he jokes. Every year, Chimney completes a list of bizarre superstitions in the hopes that he gets the partner he wants. Every year, Eddie mocks him relentlessly for it. There’s no luck to this process whatsoever - only the whims of the producers.
“Well, I hope they listen to you, too,” she says, her tone light with implication.
He looks at her in confusion. “I don’t have anyone I want to be with this year. I’ll just take what I get.”
“So you’ve just been following Buck around the room because…?”
“He’s nervous! I’m just seeing if he’s okay.”
“Sure, Jan.”
“Who’s Jan? I’m Eddie,” he says, and she sighs in exasperation. He doesn’t know why. He genuinely has no idea what she’s talking about.
The day ends with as much forced fanfare as is to be expected from anything on this show. How the producers manage such a ruthless level of cheer, he doesn’t know. They all clap, the dancers all busily discussing who they’re desperate to be paired with - a couple of the guys sound like they might genuinely be about to fight over the young Disney channel star who seemed perfectly nice and, most importantly, clearly has dance experience.
The celebrities leave out of the door they arrived from on the other side of the room, and he gives them one last look, watching Karen and Buck as they vanish into the corridor, probably only to be seen again on Tuesday nights.
“You’ve been quiet, today,” Bobby says, sidling up to him. “Do you want to bring Chris over for dinner? Harry’s got some new games he’s very excited to show off.”
He considers saying no, coming up with an lazy excuse, but the thought of having to figure out dinner and the reminder of how difficult these next few months are going to be are already weighing him down again. “Sure,” he says, grateful. It’s one less decision for him to make. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
The parking lot is far less barren than it had been when he’d arrived, conversations carrying on, discussions about hangouts and social events that Eddie isn’t sure he wants to be invited to swirling around him.
He resets his shoulders, keeping a placidly friendly smile on his face as he says bye to everyone, but he’s grateful when he can be alone in his car again. Just him, his radio, and the endless LA traffic.
If he’s already thinking of choreography for himself and a certain runner, well. That’s between him and God.
***
“This job is crazy,” Maddie says, as they drive home together.
“More so than working in the ER?” Buck asks, eyes glued to the road. They won’t be able to carpool every day, but it’s been nice, knowing that they’ve both had their first days together.
“Nothing is crazier than that, but this is still pretty wild.”
“Do you know who you’re going to be working with yet?” He would be lying if he isn’t a little hopeful that they’ll get put together, though Josh must have figured out that they’re siblings straight away. Two idiots bumbling through the corridor together, arguing like only siblings can.
“I’ll find out after everyone is partnered up,” she says, buzzing a little with excitement. “Which they’ve already started doing, by the way.”
Buck is grateful for the traffic lights suddenly turning red, because his foot had already hit the break. The last thing he wants is for a dancing reality show to inadvertently cause another car crash. One is enough for a lifetime. “What did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything specific,” she says, holding her hands up innocently. “But I heard some whispers. Nothing about you, though, sorry.”
“I’m too impatient for this shit,” he says, drumming his hands on the steering wheel to try and burn some of the residual energy from his body. Apparently, spending hours dancing with strangers isn’t enough to tire him out. “Why am I so nervous? I thought I’d feel better after meeting everyone.”
While a unique and not totally unenjoyable experience, Buck would be grateful if he never had to repeat it. He’d been an anxious mess, and try as he might to pretend that he wasn’t completely overwhelmed, it had been painstakingly obvious.
“Because you have no control over the situation. You’ve thrown yourself into the deep end, and it’s up to the producers to decide if you swim or if you drown,” Maddie says.
Buck stares at her for a moment, jumping when the car behind them honks and hastily pressing on the gas. “That’s bleak.”
He thinks about Eddie, who had been the only dancer to take their time with Buck, drawing him out from the shell he’d uncharacteristically retreated into. How, even after a few short minutes, he felt that he could trust him. How his hands had pulled him through the other side of his fear into something resembling enjoyment.
Even as he’d felt himself starting to drown, Eddie had reached down and pulled him back up into fresh air.
He has no idea what he’s in for, but all he can hope for is that whoever he’s partnered with can give him the same level of patience. He’d met so many people today that it’s impossible to remember them all: a carousel of faces, any of whom could be about to be the key to his future.
From the way that Maddie sits in the passenger seat, both buoyed from her day and exhausted from it, he can only hope that she has someone to keep her afloat, too.
For now, and for always, at least they’ll have each other.
She shakes her head, the negativity disappearing in a heartbeat. “It’s going to be a good few months,” she says, though it’s unclear if she’s trying to comfort Buck or manifest the statement into reality.
Regardless, he hopes that she’s right.