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“Well, I heard you use the Q-word,” Buck said, after a moment, “so, that was fucked.”
“I was outside LAFD premises.”
“If we get a call now, it’s your fault.”
“If we get a call now, it’s because someone in LA needs help,” said Eddie. “Are you saying you don’t want to go help people, Buck? Because that’s your job.”
“One call is a lot different than a jinx,” he said, with an impatient sigh, like he couldn’t believe Eddie hadn’t internalized that yet. “Personally, I’d rather go to bed.”
Personally, I’d rather take you to bed, Eddie thought.
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Eddie—finally healed from his stab wound and newly aware that he's in love with his best friend—clocks in for his first shift back from medical leave. They don't get any calls.
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“It’s not.” Eddie stepped forward and cupped his palms around Buck’s face, the same way he’d held him that day, one hand cradling his head, the other surreptitiously finding his pulse. “It’s not you or me, Buck. It’s you and me.”
“Eddie—”
“It doesn’t work without you,” he went on, and there was a wrenching desperation to his command. “Tell me you understand that.”
Buck wasn’t sure he’d ever understood anything, ever, actually, because he’d somehow landed in an upside-down world where Eddie kissed him and said I love you and grabbed his face like he never wanted to let go.
“Eddie—”
“I know we’ve both done stupid shit,” Eddie said. “I know tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to anyone, especially with our jobs. But I need, I need you here, with me. If you’re not here, it—nothing makes sense without you.”
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Love